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wonbyyou · 6 days ago

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the loyalty test | park sunghoon

synopsis: your friend asked you to test her boyfriend, sunghoon.

cara's corner: don't stay with a cheater. leave your boyfriend if he cheats on you, leave your best friend if she sleeps with your man. with that being said, let's get into the story. i didn't think the story would be this long but here we are. this is 11.1k words, i'm actually impressed.

taglist: @underyang @k1ttyjwon @miauumin @hi00000234567 @nnmura @jvngw0nlvr @avaloveshoon @acidsoju @liciaunlockmyheart @yunlazia @kristynaaah @calilovesdilfs @skzenhalove @fakeuwus @tobiosbbyghorl @starry-eyed-bimbo @qualityghostgirlie @kirakun @bossbitchbabie @cheryyluv @rikidaze @pinkieluvv @dazedhqqn @kaiaonsaturn @whateverhoon @hwang-hynjin @hoonatic @babygguk98 @chvconn3 @nithxhoon

You adjusted the thin strap of your deliberately chosen dress—dark red, silky, cut to cling just right—feeling utterly out of place amidst the beer-soaked chaos. Your friend’s instructions echoed in your head like a relentless mantra: Find him alone. Get close. Touch him. Flirt.

You spotted Sunghoon almost immediately, a still point in the swirling madness. He was leaning against the wall near the makeshift bar in the crowded living room, nursing a plastic cup of something clear. He looked effortlessly cool in dark jeans and a simple black henley that hugged his lean frame, the sleeves pushed up to reveal taut forearms.

The chaotic energy of the party seemed to part around him, respecting his quiet intensity. He wasn't scanning the room; his gaze was fixed thoughtfully on the ice swirling in his cup, a slight furrow between his brows. Handsome. Your friend’s voice hissed in your memory. Huge dick. You shoved the thought down, a flush creeping up your neck that had nothing to do with the stifling heat.

Taking a deep breath that did little to steady your nerves, you navigated the sweaty bodies towards him. The scent of cheap beer, stale smoke, and too much cologne assaulted your senses. As you approached, you saw his head lift slightly, those dark eyes flicking towards movement, then locking onto you.

Recognition dawned, followed by a flicker of polite surprise. A small, courteous smile touched his lips—the same one he always gave you, reserved but friendly.

"Hey," you said, your voice needing an extra push to be heard over the music. You stopped just slightly closer than strictly necessary for conversation in a noisy room. "Sunghoon, right?"

He nodded, straightening up from the wall. "Yeah. Nice to see you again." His voice was deeper than you remembered, a smooth baritone that cut through the surrounding din. His gaze traveled over you, quick and assessing but not leering—taking in the dress, the effort. "You look different," he observed, that faint smile lingering. "Not usually your scene, is it?"

The directness threw you. "Is it that obvious?" You forced a light laugh, trying to channel Jisoo’s instructions. Touch him. You reached out, letting your fingertips brush lightly against his forearm as you gestured vaguely towards the pulsating crowd.

"Bit overwhelming." The contact was electric—his skin warm, the muscle beneath surprisingly firm. You pulled your hand back quickly, hoping it seemed natural.

He glanced down at the spot your fingers had touched, then back up at your face. A trace of amusement danced in his dark eyes. "Very." He took a slow sip from his cup, watching you over the rim.

"What brings you into the lion's den tonight? Research for sociology?" The ghost of a smirk played on his lips. He remembered your major from that group dinner weeks ago.

"Something like that," you deflected, seizing the opening. Compliment him. Make it personal. You tilted your head, meeting his gaze directly, letting your eyes linger on his face before dropping deliberately to his mouth for a heartbeat, then back to his eyes.

"Actually, I saw you standing over here looking… admirably patient. Most people look like they’re about to vibrate out of their skin at these things." You paused, leaning in a fraction closer under the guise of being heard.

The clean, woodsy scent of his cologne mixed with something inherently masculine enveloped you. "That color," you murmured, nodding towards his dark henley, "it really makes your eyes look… intense."

Sunghoon didn't move away. He held your gaze, the amusement deepening into something more focused, more… intrigued. The polite mask slipped just enough to reveal a sharp intelligence, a hint of something far less passive simmering beneath the surface.

"Intense?" he repeated softly, his voice dropping lower, somehow more intimate despite the noise. He mirrored your posture, shifting his weight so his body angled slightly towards yours, closing the space further without actually touching. "Is that a good thing?"

His proximity was dizzying. You could see the fine texture of his stubble along his jawline, the way a stray lock of dark hair fell across his forehead. See if he flirts back. He was definitely flirting back.

"It can be," you breathed, holding his gaze. Your heart hammered against your ribs. The guilt over Jisoo warred violently with the undeniable thrill sparking along your nerves. This wasn't just politeness anymore; this was a subtle, dangerous game. "Depends on the context."

Sunghoon’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile—a smile you’d never seen him direct at Jisoo. It transformed his face from handsome to dangerously alluring.

"And what context are we operating under right now?" he asked, his eyes drifting over your face again, lingering on your mouth this time before meeting your eyes. The implication hung heavy in the air: Why are you really here? Why are you looking at me like that?

Before you could formulate a response—something clever, something flirty that didn’t betray your mission—he gestured towards your empty hands with his cup. "Can I get you a drink? This punch is lethal, but they have beer that's marginally less likely to induce blindness."

"Surprise me," you said, recovering slightly, injecting a playful lilt into your voice. "Though blindness sounds… adventurous."

He chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated pleasantly in your chest. "Adventure has its place." He pushed off the wall fully. "Don't move." The command was gentle but firm, accompanied by another of those penetrating looks before he turned towards the crowded bar.

You watched him go, your breath catching as you saw the confident set of his shoulders, the way people subtly made space for him. He wasn't just handsome; he possessed a potent magnetism that drew attention effortlessly.

Huge dick.

The intrusive thought resurfaced, bringing a fresh wave of heat to your face and lower. This was worse than you'd imagined. The tension wasn't just palpable; it was a living thing coiling in the pit of your stomach, tightening with every lingering glance, every subtle shift in his demeanor.

He was playing along, and he was good at it. Too good? Was this just how Sunghoon was? Or was Jisoo right? The line between loyalty test and treacherous fascination blurred dangerously as you waited for him to return, the pulsing music fading into the background.

Sunghoon returned, weaving effortlessly through the crowd. He held two plastic cups, one filled with something suspiciously pink, the other with amber liquid. He handed you the pink concoction with a wry quirk of his brow. "Adventure, as requested. Proceed with caution."

Your fingers brushed his as you took the cup, another jolt of awareness shooting up your arm. He’s Jisoo’s boyfriend, your conscience hissed, but the thought felt distant, muffled by the pounding bass and the intensity of how close he was.

"What horrors await me?" you asked, forcing a lightness you didn't feel. You took a tentative sip. It was cloyingly sweet, laced with cheap vodka.

"Survival," he countered, leaning back against the wall beside you, his shoulder a whisper away from yours. He took a slow sip of his beer, his gaze sweeping over the crowd before settling back on you. It wasn't predatory; it was… intensely focused. Like you were the only clear thing in a chaotic painting.

"So," he began, his voice a low rumble designed to cut through the noise without shouting, "this 'research'. Are you cataloging mating rituals? Or just seeking inspiration for your next paper on social deviance?"

Flirt back. Keep it light. But the sheer weight of his attention made lightness impossible. He wasn't buying the academic cover.

"Maybe I just wanted to see if the quiet guy in the corner was actually plotting world domination," you deflected, meeting his eyes. The dim light caught the dark flecks within their deep brown, making them seem fathomless. "You have that look about you. Calculating."

A genuine laugh escaped him this time, warm and rich, briefly cutting through the party’s din. It transformed his face completely, softening the sharp angles and revealing a surprising charm. "World domination requires better snacks than these," he gestured dismissively towards a bowl of stale chips nearby.

"And a quieter venue." His eyes locked onto yours again, the amusement fading back into that unnerving focus. "Though plotting... sometimes happens. Especially when someone interesting walks up and starts paying very specific compliments."

The directness stole your breath. He was calling you out, gently but undeniably. The carefully constructed persona Jisoo had demanded—the flirty temptress—crumbled under his scrutiny.

The guilt flared briefly, sharp and cold: Jisoo. Betrayal. But it was instantly drowned by a wave of something hotter, more immediate. His nearness, the heat radiating off him, the way his gaze held yours with such unsettling intelligence… it was intoxicating. The mission blurred, then dissolved entirely. You weren't pretending curiosity anymore; you were genuinely fascinated.

"Specific?" you echoed, your voice lower than intended. You took another sip of the vile punch, needing the burn to ground you. "I just call it like I see it." You let your gaze travel deliberately over his face again—the strong line of his jaw, the defined curve of his lower lip.

"You’re easy to look at, Sunghoon." The words came out husky, stripped of artifice.

He didn't look away. A slow, almost imperceptible shift occurred in his posture. The casual lean against the wall became something more deliberate, more… possessive. He set his beer cup down on a nearby ledge littered with empties.

"Easy?" he murmured, his voice dropping even lower, becoming a private vibration between you in the crowded room. He took half a step closer, eliminating the last sliver of space. You could feel the heat of his body now, smell the clean scent of his skin mingled with the faintest trace of beer.

His hand lifted, not quite touching you, but hovering near your waist as if to steady you against the press of bodies behind. "I find looking at you requires significantly more concentration."

The air crackled. Every nerve ending screamed. The party noise faded into a dull roar, muffled by the frantic pounding of your own pulse in your ears. His nearness wasn't just physical; it felt like an embrace, a magnetic pull that threatened to erase all reason. Jisoo’s boyfriend. The thought flickered weakly, a dying ember against the wildfire he was igniting.

"Why's that?" you breathed, tilting your face up towards his. The challenge was there in your eyes now, stripped bare. Not Jisoo’s challenge, not a test—yours.

Sunghoon’s gaze darkened, intensifying. He didn’t smile. His focus was absolute, consuming. That careful reserve he usually wore had vanished completely, replaced by a raw intensity that was both thrilling and terrifying.

His eyes traced the line of your cheekbone, down to your mouth, lingering there with an undisguised hunger that sent shivers cascading down your spine. His hand still hovered near your waist, radiating heat.

"Because," he said slowly, each word deliberate and heavy with unspoken meaning, his voice rough around the edges, "you walked over here playing a game I know very well." He leaned in infinitesimally closer; you could feel the warmth of his breath ghost over your lips.

"But somewhere between the 'intense eyes' and that dress..." His gaze dropped momentarily to the silky fabric clinging to your curves before snapping back to your eyes, burning with a fierce curiosity, "...you stopped playing." He searched your face, his expression unreadable yet profoundly potent. "Now I'm just… fascinated. Trying to figure out what you're really after tonight."

The confession hung in the humid air between you—a detonation of pure, undeniable tension. Jisoo, the loyalty test, the reason you’d sought him out… it all evaporated like mist under a hot sun.

There was only this: the pulsing music vibrating through the floorboards, the press of bodies creating a false intimacy around you two, and Sunghoon’s overwhelming presence—handsome, sharp, and looking at you as if he wanted to unravel you thread by thrilling thread. You were no longer gathering evidence.

You were caught in a current you hadn't expected to find, pulled inexorably towards a dangerous depth where consequences felt like a distant shore. The game was over. Something far more real, far more perilous, had begun.

The walk to Sunghoon’s apartment building three blocks away was conducted in a silence thick enough to choke on. The night air clung to your skin like damp silk, amplifying every brush of his arm against yours as you navigated the cracked sidewalks under flickering streetlights.

Your mind raced, scrambling for justification. Evidence. I need evidence. Jisoo needs to know. But the arguments felt hollow, paper-thin defenses against the raw magnetism pulling you towards him. Every step felt less like reconnaissance and more like surrender.

He’d simply said, "It’s too loud to talk there," after your stilted agreement to leave the party. His tone hadn’t been a question, nor an overt invitation laced with promise. It was a statement of fact, delivered with that unnerving calm that seemed to cut through chaos.

He hadn’t touched you beyond the necessary guidance through the crowd, yet his presence beside you was a physical weight, a current of awareness humming between you.

His apartment building was a renovated brick structure, older but well-maintained. The lobby was quiet, cool, and smelled faintly of lemon polish. You followed him into a small elevator, the confined space amplifying the tense silence. He stood close, staring straight ahead at the polished metal doors, his profile sharp and unreadable in the dim elevator light.

You studied the controlled line of his jaw, the way his dark hair curled slightly at his nape. Handsome. Dangerous. The duality was intoxicating.

The apartment itself surprised you. It wasn’t the messy bachelor pad you might have expected. It was minimalist, almost starkly elegant: clean lines, low-slung modern furniture in shades of charcoal and cream, a single abstract painting on one wall lit by a discreet spotlight.

Shelves held books—actual books, not just textbooks—and a few sleek pieces of tech. The air was cool and smelled faintly of sandalwood and something else… him. It felt curated, controlled, a reflection of the man himself.

"Make yourself comfortable," Sunghoon murmured, gesturing towards a deep charcoal sofa. He moved with quiet efficiency towards a sleek kitchenette area separated by a breakfast bar.

"Can I get you something? Water? Soda?" He opened a stainless steel fridge, the light illuminating his profile—the sharp cheekbone, the focused set of his mouth. He glanced back at you, his dark eyes catching the light. "Or," he added, his voice dropping slightly, resonating in the quiet space, "something stronger? I have whiskey. Bourbon."

The offer hung in the cool air. Something stronger. It wasn't just about the alcohol; it was an invitation to shed the last pretense of the party, of Jisoo, of anything outside this contained, intimate space. Your throat felt dry. You perched on the edge of the sofa, the leather cool beneath your palms despite the warmth flooding your body.

"Water is fine," you managed, your voice sounding thin. Evidence. Stay sharp. You needed your wits. But even as you said it, your gaze drifted over him as he moved—the way his black henley stretched across his broad shoulders as he reached for glasses, the defined muscles in his forearm flexing as he poured water into a heavy crystal tumbler.

The quiet domesticity of the scene was deceptive. The tension hadn't dissipated; it had deepened, becoming a low thrum in the room's very atmosphere.

He brought your water first, setting it carefully on a coaster on the low table before you. His fingers brushed yours as he handed it over—a deliberate touch? An accident? The brief contact sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch audibly in the stillness.

He didn't comment, merely holding your gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary, that unsettling intensity back in full force. His eyes seemed to say: I know why you're here isn't simple. And I'm waiting.

Then he turned back to the kitchenette for his own drink. You heard the distinct clink of ice cubes, the smooth pour of amber liquid into another glass. Bourbon. He returned not to the armchair opposite, but sat on the sofa beside you.

Not touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. He stretched one arm along the back of the sofa, not quite touching your shoulders, but the implication was clear—an open space, an invitation held in abeyance.

He took a slow sip of his bourbon, the ice clinking softly. The silence stretched, thick and expectant. He wasn't pushing. He wasn't demanding. He was simply… there. Waiting for you to make the next move.

The apartment felt like a world apart, insulated from reality, where the only things that mattered were the space between you on the sofa.

The water glass felt cold and slick in your hand, utterly inadequate against the heat building inside you. The mission was a distant memory, drowned out by the deafening silence and Sunghoon’s patient, predatory stillness.

The silence stretched, thick as the humid night air outside the sleek apartment windows. The only sounds were the distant rumble of thunder promising a summer storm, the soft clink of ice in Sunghoon’s bourbon glass, and the frantic drumming of your own pulse in your ears.

The cool water in your hand did nothing to quench the heat pooling low in your belly. His gaze, heavy-lidded and unnervingly direct, held yours.

"So," you began, the word scraping against your dry throat. You took a quick sip of water, the chill a brief shock. Ask him about Jisoo.

"Jisoo mentioned you had a big presentation this week. How'd it go?" The question felt clumsy, forced, a desperate attempt to anchor yourself in the reality of why you were here.

Sunghoon took another slow sip of his bourbon. A ghost of a smile touched his lips, not quite reaching his eyes.

"It went," he said, his voice a low, smooth rumble that vibrated pleasantly in the quiet space. "As well as these things ever go. A lot of posturing, a lot of jargon." He swirled the ice in his glass, the sound sharp in the stillness. His gaze never left your face. "She tell you that? Or were you just… making conversation?"

Your fingers tightened on the cool glass. "Making conversation," you admitted, the lie tasting bitter. You forced a lightness you didn't feel. "Seemed like a safe topic. Safer than…" You trailed off, gesturing vaguely with your free hand, encompassing the charged atmosphere, the proximity, him.

"Safer than what?" he prompted, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. The movement brought him fractionally closer. His dark eyes held a challenge, a spark of dark amusement.

"Safer than asking why you followed me home from a party where you looked like you didn't belong?" His tone was teasing, but the intensity beneath it was undeniable. He remembered your discomfort, your initial reluctance. He’d seen it.

A flush crept up your neck. "I didn't follow you," you protested, the defensiveness sharpening your voice. "You suggested leaving. I… agreed." For Jisoo. For the test. The mantra felt flimsy, a child’s shield against a storm.

"Did you?" He tilted his head, studying you. The lamplight carved shadows beneath his cheekbones, making his gaze seem even deeper, more penetrating. "Or did you just see an opportunity?" He paused, letting the word hang, heavy with implication.

"An opportunity to… what, exactly?" He took another deliberate sip, his eyes never leaving yours over the rim of the glass.

"To see if the quiet guy in the corner was as interesting as he looked when someone paid him the right kind of attention?"

The directness was breathtaking. He was peeling back the layers of pretense with surgical precision, leaving you exposed. The carefully constructed narrative of the loyalty test felt like ash in your mouth.

"Maybe I was just curious," you countered, meeting his gaze with a defiance you didn't entirely feel. "You’re not exactly an open book, Sunghoon. Jisoo talks, but…" You let the sentence hang, a deliberate provocation. See if he takes the bait about Jisoo.

He didn't flinch. Instead, a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips, transforming his face from handsome to dangerously captivating. It wasn't the polite smile he gave Jisoo; this was something darker, more intimate, reserved for this charged space between you.

"Jisoo talks," he echoed, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. He leaned back again, his arm returning to the sofa back, his fingers now dangerously close to brushing your shoulder. "But does she see?" He held your gaze, the intensity in his eyes burning away any pretense of discussing his girlfriend. "Do you see?"

The question wasn't about Jisoo anymore. It was about this. The electric current humming between you on the sofa. The way your breath hitched when his fingers neared your skin. The way his gaze dropped to your lips for longer than necessary. The way the air felt thick with unspoken desire, a palpable force pressing in from all sides.

"What am I supposed to be seeing?" you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. The water glass was forgotten in your hand, condensation slick against your palm. The mission was a distant, irrelevant speck.

There was only Sunghoon, his proximity, his scent, the raw magnetism that made rational thought impossible. You were adrift in the tension, no longer pretending to steer the ship.

Sunghoon didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, his dark eyes roaming your face—tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your cheek, the slight part of your lips. The silence stretched, thick and sultry, charged with the weight of everything unsaid.

The storm outside rumbled closer, a low growl mirroring the turmoil inside you. He finally lifted his bourbon glass, took a slow, deliberate sip, and then set it down on the low table with a soft clink.

He turned his body fully towards you on the sofa, one knee brushing lightly against your thigh. The contact, even through the fabric of your dress and his jeans, sent a jolt of pure electricity through you.

He leaned in, just slightly, invading your space in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. His voice, when it came, was a low, intimate rumble, laced with bourbon and a promise that made your core clench.

"You tell me," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek. His gaze held yours captive, dark and fathomless. "What are you hoping to see?" The question hung in the air, heavy as the impending rain, stripping away the last vestiges of the loyalty test and laying bare the dangerous, undeniable attraction that had brought you to this point, to his sofa, trembling on the precipice of something you could no longer pretend was just for Jisoo.

His gaze, intense and unblinking, held yours captive. It stripped away the feeble justifications, the crumbling facade of the loyalty test.

Jisoo’s name flickered in your mind, a ghostly ember, then vanished.

All that remained was the raw need coiling deep within you, answering the magnetic pull emanating from him. The air crackled with unspoken desire, thick enough to taste.

You didn't answer with words. Words felt inadequate, brittle things against the sheer force of his presence. Instead, your breath hitched, a soft, desperate sound that seemed loud in the profound stillness. Your lips parted slightly, an involuntary surrender.

Your gaze, wide and dark with a hunger you could no longer deny, flickered down to his mouth—that sculpted curve you’d noticed since the party, now dangerously close.

A slow, predatory satisfaction bloomed in Sunghoon’s eyes. He saw the answer written plainly across your face, in the trembling of your hand still clutching the forgotten water glass, in the rapid rise and fall of your chest beneath the silky fabric of your dress. He didn’t need words either.

With a deliberation that was agonizingly slow, he lifted his hand from the back of the sofa. Not to touch your shoulder, as it had hovered before. His fingers, warm and sure, brushed a stray strand of hair back from your temple.

The touch was feather-light, yet it sent a jolt straight to your core, making your muscles clench involuntarily. His thumb traced a scorching path down the delicate line of your jaw, stopping just beneath your chin.

His touch was electric, claiming. It silenced the last, faint echo of protest about Jisoo. There was only this searing point of contact, the rough pad of his thumb against your sensitive skin, the dark intensity of his gaze holding yours prisoner.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low, husky rasp that resonated deep in your bones. It wasn't harsh; it was possessive, an anchor in the dizzying current pulling you under. "Just look at me."

You obeyed, drowning in the deep pools of his eyes. You saw the banked fire ignite, the careful control fracturing to reveal the raw, primal hunger beneath. He saw the answering surrender in yours—the dilation of your pupils, the flush staining your cheeks, the way your lips trembled ever so slightly, aching for something only he could give.

The distance between your mouths was a mere breath. You could feel the warmth of his exhalation. His thumb pressed more firmly beneath your chin, tilting your face up towards his. His other hand finally abandoned its casual perch and settled firmly on your waist, pulling you fractionally closer on the sofa.

The heat of his palm burned through your dress, branding your skin. His fingers splayed possessively over your hipbone.

"Stop thinking, baby," he murmured, the endearment rolling off his tongue with a low cadence that made your stomach flip. "There’s nothing out there but noise." His gaze dropped to your lips again, lingering, a dark promise. "Just this. Just us."

The last thread of resistance snapped.

His head dipped. Slowly. Inevitably. Giving you one last heartbeat to pull away, a moment you couldn't have taken even if your life depended on it. Then his lips met yours.

It wasn't tentative. It wasn't gentle exploration. It was a claiming. His mouth slanted over yours with a fierce, sudden hunger that stole the breath from your lungs. His lips were firm, demanding, moving against yours with an urgency that ignited an instant, answering blaze within you.

The taste of him flooded your senses—the complex warmth of bourbon, the underlying sweetness of his skin, an intoxicating flavor that was purely Sunghoon. His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. The hard planes of his chest met your softness, the heat of his body enveloping you.

A soft moan escaped you, muffled against his mouth. It wasn't a sound of protest, but of pure, helpless surrender. Your hands, trembling, found purchase—one gripping the cool leather of the sofa beside your thigh for stability, the other rising instinctively to clutch at the soft cotton of his henley where it stretched across his shoulder. The fabric bunched in your fist, an anchor in the dizzying rush.

He deepened the kiss immediately, his tongue seeking entrance. You yielded without hesitation, opening for him. The slick, hot slide of his tongue against yours was an erotic shockwave. It was bold, possessive, exploring the sensitive contours of your mouth with a skill that made your toes curl.

His thumb continued its maddening stroke along your jawline, angling your head to take the kiss even deeper. The scrape of his faint stubble against your sensitive skin added another layer of delicious friction.

The storm outside broke with a sudden, violent crack of thunder and the drumming rush of rain against the windows, mirroring the tempest he was unleashing within you. His other hand slid from your waist, gliding up your spine beneath the silky fabric of your dress.

The cool air hit your exposed skin for a split second before his large, warm palm settled possessively between your shoulder blades, pressing you even closer, erasing any lingering space between your bodies. The thin barrier of clothing felt suddenly unbearable. You arched instinctively into him, seeking more contact, more heat, more of him.

He shifted on the sofa, his leg sliding between yours, the hard muscle of his thigh pressing intimately against your core. A sharp cry escaped you, muffled against his mouth, as the delicious pressure sent shockwaves of pleasure radiating outward. You arched instinctively, grinding against the firm pressure, seeking relief and friction in the same desperate movement.

Sunghoon broke the kiss abruptly, pulling back just enough to look down at you. Your lips felt swollen, sensitized, glistening. Your chest heaved, straining against the confines of your dress. His own breathing was ragged, his dark eyes blazing with unchecked fire, pupils dilated until only a thin ring of brown remained.

He looked utterly wrecked, his usually impeccable control shattered. His gaze raked over your face, down your throat, lingering on the rapid pulse fluttering there, then lower, to where the neckline of your dress clung damply to your flushed skin, hinting at the swell beneath.

"God," he breathed, the word rough, strained. His hand on your back slid lower, fingers splaying wide over the curve of your hip beneath your dress, his grip tightening possessively.

The hand that had been at your chin now traced a scorching path down the column of your throat, over your collarbone, until his thumb hooked gently into the thin strap of your dress. He didn't pull it down yet; he simply held it, his thumb rubbing slow circles against the sensitive skin of your shoulder. His gaze locked back onto yours, intense and demanding.

"Tell me," he rasped, his voice thick with desire. His thumb pressed more firmly against your shoulder strap. "Tell me this is what you wanted." His thigh pressed higher between yours, intensifying the delicious friction. "Tell me you feel this… this need."

You couldn't speak. Words were impossible. Your body answered for you. You surged forward, crashing your mouth back against his with frantic hunger, your hands tunneling into his dark hair, pulling him closer, deeper. Your hips rolled against his thigh, shamelessly seeking the pressure, the heat.

A ragged groan tore from him as he met your desperation with his own. His hand at your hip slid around to grip your ass, fingers digging into the yielding flesh beneath the silk, pulling you harder against his thigh, guiding the rhythm of your frantic grinding. His other hand finally tugged your dress strap down your shoulder, the fabric pooling slightly, exposing the swell of your breast and the delicate lace edge of your bra.

He broke the kiss again, panting, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, along your exposed throat, sucking lightly at the frantic pulse point. His teeth scraped gently, sending shivers down your spine. His hand left your ass to slide up your side, his thumb brushing boldly over the lace-covered peak of your breast. A sharp gasp tore from you as the rough pad ignited sparks even through the fabric.

"Sunghoon…" It was a choked plea, your voice barely recognizable.

He lifted his head, his eyes burning into yours. His thumb continued its maddening circle over your nipple, the lace rasping deliciously against the sensitized bud. "Tell me," he demanded again, his voice a guttural command. "Say it."

"Yes," you gasped, your hips still rocking against his thigh, the slick heat between your legs undeniable. "Yes. This. You. I need…" The rest was lost as his mouth crashed back onto yours, swallowing your confession. His hand slipped beneath the cup of your bra, his warm palm closing possessively over your bare breast, his thumb rasping over the hardened nipple.

The sensation was electric, blinding. The kiss turned savage, hungry, a prelude to something far more primal than conversation, far more explicit than any test.

The shift was immediate, primal. Sunghoon hauled you fully onto his lap in one powerful motion, your knees sinking into the sofa cushions on either side of his hips. Your dress bunched high around your thighs as you straddled him, the sudden, intimate press of his hard body beneath yours stealing your breath anew.

His erection, thick and insistent even through his jeans and your damp panties, ground against the exact spot that ached for him. A low, desperate sound vibrated from your chest as you instinctively rocked your hips, seeking that pressure, that friction that promised oblivion.

"Fuck," Sunghoon hissed through gritted teeth, his head falling back against the sofa for a heartbeat, his eyes squeezed shut as your movement dragged against him. His hands flew to your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh above your hip bones, holding you stead—or perhaps just holding on. When his eyes opened, the look he gave you was pure, feral hunger.

His gaze dropped, ravenous, to where your dress had slipped off one shoulder, the lace cup of your bra doing little to hide the peaked nipple beneath. With a growl that resonated deep in his chest, he yanked the other strap down. The silky fabric pooled around your waist, leaving you bare from the waist up save for the flimsy lace bra. The cool air hit your exposed skin for a fleeting second before his large hands were on you.

He didn't tease. One palm closed possessively over your covered breast, the heat searing even through the lace. His thumb found your nipple immediately, rubbing the stiffened peak with deliberate, rough circles that made you cry out and arch into his touch. "Sunghoon!" His name was a gasp, a plea, an affirmation.

"Look at you," he breathed, his voice ragged, his eyes glued to the sight of his hand on you. "God, so damn perfect." His other hand abandoned your waist to slide up your spine and fumble with the clasp of your bra. It sprang open easily. He peeled the lace away with agonizing slowness, letting it fall forgotten onto the sofa beside you.

Then there was only skin. Warm air, then his searing gaze, then finally—his hands. Both palms closed over your bare breasts, kneading the soft, heavy weight with a groan of pure appreciation. His thumbs swept roughly over your nipples, sending jolts of pure electricity straight to your throbbing core.

You gasped, your head falling back, your hands gripping his shoulders for purchase as he molded and squeezed, worshiping the soft flesh with a possessiveness that left you dizzy.

"These," he murmured, his voice thick and dark. "Been driving me crazy." He leaned forward abruptly, catching a taut nipple between his lips.

The sensation was explosive. Hot. Wet. Devastating. He sucked deeply, pulling the peak into the scalding heat of his mouth, his tongue lashing the hardened bud with relentless pressure. A ragged cry tore from your throat as your back arched violently, pressing your breast deeper into his mouth.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there, urging him on. He groaned against your skin, the vibration traveling straight to your clit. His other hand continued its assault on your neglected breast, squeezing, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger with delicious roughness.

He switched sides with agonizing leisure, lavishing the same fierce attention on your other breast, sucking hard, licking and teasing until you were whimpering, grinding down onto the hard ridge of his erection in desperate, involuntary circles.

The denim of his jeans was rough against your sensitive flesh through your soaked panties, but the pressure was exquisite torture. Each downward rock dragged the soaked fabric against your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain radiating through your entire body.

Sunghoon lifted his head from your breast with a wet pop, his lips swollen, his chin glistening. He watched you writhe above him, grinding against his cock like a woman possessed, his eyes burning with dark satisfaction and unchecked lust.

One hand slid down from your breast, over your trembling stomach, pushing the bunched fabric of your dress higher until he found the hem of your panties.

"Look at you," he rasped again, his gaze locked on yours as his fingertips traced the soaked lace stretched tight over your aching heat. "Riding me already. Soaked clean through for it." His finger dipped beneath the elastic waistband at your hip, sliding downwards over the curve of your ass. He didn't go lower yet; he just held you there, feeling the heat radiating from your core, his gaze daring you to keep moving.

So you did. You locked eyes with him, defiance and pure need warring in your expression. You braced one hand on his shoulder, lifted yourself slightly, and then ground down onto him again—hard, deliberate, letting him feel every slick inch of your need through the layers separating you. The friction was almost unbearable. A choked groan tore from him, his head thudding back against the sofa cushions.

His hand at your hip tightened like a vise. The other hand slid back up to grip your bare breast roughly. "Keep going," he commanded, his voice guttural, strained to breaking. "Keep grinding that sweet little cunt on my cock." The crude word, spoken in that low rasp, sent another bolt of pure heat through you.

You obeyed, rocking against him with increasing abandon, chasing the pressure against your clit, feeling him thick and hard beneath you, every shift a promise of what was to come.

His thumb finally breached the waistband of your panties fully, sliding down to find your slick heat directly. Not delving inside yet, but pressing firmly against your clit through the sheer lace, right where you needed it most as you moved.

The grinding down onto his cock and having his thumb press firmly against your clit was too much. A sharp cry escaped you, your rhythm faltering as white-hot pleasure spiked through you.

Sunghoon chuckled darkly, his thumb pressing harder, circling firmly. "Not yet," he growled, watching you unravel. "Not nearly done." His free hand slid from your breast down your body, following the curve of your spine to grip your ass cheek firmly through the silk of your dress and panties. "Keep moving. Show me how bad you want it." He pulled you down harder against him as he thrust his own hips up off the sofa cushion in a short, sharp jerk, grinding himself against you with brutal force.

The breath left your lungs in a rush. You were pinned between the relentless pressure of his thumb on your clit and the hard ridge of his cock grinding against your core.

Reason drowned in sensation. There was only this: the wet heat of his mouth on your skin, the bruising grip of his hands on your flesh, the relentless friction building towards a shattering peak, and the raw, undeniable knowledge that you’d crossed a line there was no coming back from—and you didn’t want to. Not for anything in the world.

Sunghoon’s other hand still kneaded your bare breast, fingers digging into the soft flesh, pinching your nipple just hard enough to make you cry out. Sweat slicked your skin where your bodies pressed together, the air thick with the scent of sex and bourbon and desperate need.

He watched you with burning intensity, his breath coming in harsh rasps that matched your own. A dark, predatory satisfaction curved his lips as he felt the tremors building in your thighs, saw the frantic helplessness in your eyes. You were close, teetering on that knife-edge.

"Look at you," he growled, his voice a rough scrape against the pounding rain outside. His thumb pressed harder against your clit, making you whimper and jerk against him. "Taking it like you were made for this. Taking me." He leaned forward, his hot breath washing over your damp neck just below your ear. "Not like Jisoo."

The name hung in the charged air like a slap. Your rhythm faltered for a split second, a flicker of something sharp—guilt? Shame?—piercing the haze of arousal.

Sunghoon felt it. His grip on your breast tightened almost painfully. "No," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "She’s… careful. Polished. Likes it slow. Sweet." He ground up against you deliberately, the hard length of him rubbing perfectly against your core through the layers.

"But you…" He pulled back slightly to look down at where your bodies were joined, then back up at your face, his gaze scorching. "You're fire. You're wild. Taking my cock through my jeans like a fucking dream." He leaned in again, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly confession that vibrated through your bones. "Better. So much goddamn better."

The words shouldn’t have sent that jolt of pure, illicit heat straight to your core. But they did. It was a wave of dark, forbidden pleasure that washed over the flicker of guilt, drowning it in pure arousal. A deep flush bloomed across your chest and neck.

You couldn’t meet his eyes. You squeezed yours shut instead, biting your lip, trying to hide the undeniable surge of excitement his cruel comparison ignited.

He saw it all. The blush. The clenched jaw. The way your inner walls fluttered desperately around nothing but the promise of him. His eyes narrowed, sharp and knowing.

"You like that?" he demanded, his voice suddenly harder. His thumb stopped its circling on your clit and pressed down with deliberate, steady pressure. "Hmm? Tell me." When you didn't answer immediately, trembling under his scrutiny, his hand on your breast moved.

He lowered his head. For a heartbeat, his hot breath fanned over your taut nipple. Then his teeth closed on it. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough—a sharp, possessive bite that made you cry out, arching violently against him.

"Ah! Sunghoon!"

He released the tender peak with a wet pop, laving it once with the flat of his tongue. "Answer me," he commanded, his gaze locked onto yours, unyielding. "Does it turn you on? Hearing me say she ain’t got shit on you? That you’re taking what’s hers?" His thumb resumed its torment on your clit, insistent.

Tears of overwhelmed sensation pricked your eyes—shame and pleasure tangled inextricably. "Y-yes," you gasped, the confession ripped from you, raw and helpless. "Yes… it does."

A savage smile touched his lips. Triumph. Possession. "Knew it," he breathed. He shifted his grip on your hip, pulling you impossibly closer until not even air existed between your bodies.

His other hand slid from your breast to cup the back of your neck, holding you still as he brought his mouth a breath away from yours. His eyes held you captive, burning with months of suppressed hunger.

"That party," he rasped, his voice thick with memory and desire. "First week of fall semester. You walked into that crowded room wearing that little black thing… laughing." His thumb traced your jawline.

"Jisoo was talking at me, and I couldn't hear a damn word. Just saw you. The way you moved. That look in your eyes… like you knew something wild." He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "Wanted you then. Wanted to pin you against the nearest wall and make you scream my name loud enough to drown out the whole fucking school." He brushed his lips against yours, a ghost of a touch. "Wanted to see if you tasted as good as you looked."

His confession, raw and explicit, obliterated any lingering shred of thought about Jisoo or loyalty tests. It was gasoline on the fire consuming you.

"Every time," he continued, his voice dropping even lower, guttural and rough against your mouth. "Every goddamn time she brought you around… it was torture. Watching you smile at me. Smell you." His hand on your hip slid around to grip your ass firmly through the silk, grinding you down onto his aching cock with deliberate force.

"Wanted to ruin that pretty lipstick smudged all over my cock." He finally closed the minuscule distance, crushing his mouth to yours in a kiss that was pure possession, laced with pent-up craving.

The kiss was fierce, consuming. You met it with equal desperation, your hands fisting in his hair, your hips moving in frantic circles against him again, spurred on by his words, his touch, his overwhelming presence.

The comparison to Jisoo wasn't forgotten; it was fuel now, feeding the inferno, making every touch feel forbidden and exquisitely stolen.

He broke the kiss only to suck another bruise onto your collarbone, then capture a nipple again in the searing heat of his mouth, sucking hard as he rocked up against your grinding hips, both of you chasing the precipice he'd pushed you towards with his words and his touch. There was no going back. Only forward, into the consuming fire.

The tension coiled so tight between you threatened to snap the very air.

One hand remained buried in your hair, fisting the strands possessively at your nape, while the other slid down your trembling body, over the curve of your hip slick with sweat, to grip your bare thigh where it pressed against his hip.

His thumb stroked the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, making you shudder. "Need that pretty mouth on me." His gaze dropped deliberately to his lap, where the thick outline of his cock strained obscenely against the zipper of his jeans, damp from your grinding. "Suck my cock."

The command, delivered in that low, velvet-rough voice, punched through you. Heat flooded your face, but it was drowned by a wave of liquid desire pooling lower, making you clench around nothing.

He didn’t wait for verbal assent. The hand in your hair tightened, guiding your head down firmly. "Come here, sweetheart." His other hand went to his belt buckle, the metallic clink loud in the heavy silence broken only by your panting breaths and the drumming rain.

He made quick work of the buckle and button, then dragged the zipper down slowly, deliberately, the sound obscene. You watched, mesmerized, as he pushed his jeans and boxer briefs down just enough over his hips, freeing himself.

The gasp that escaped you was involuntary, genuine shock mixed with pure, carnal awe. He was big. Thick, hard as iron, flushed a deep red, veins standing out starkly along the rigid length. The sheer size of him, the intimidating reality of it pressing against your lower belly for a moment before he guided you lower still, stole your breath.

"Look at that," he murmured, a dark thread of satisfaction in his voice as he watched your wide-eyed reaction. "Knew you'd appreciate it." His thumb stroked your jawline. "Now open."

You obeyed, lips parting instinctively. He guided himself with firm pressure, the blunt, broad head nudging against your lips, already slick with pre-come. The salty, musky scent of him filled your senses. You tentatively flicked your tongue against the weeping slit.

Sunghoon hissed sharply, his fingers tightening almost painfully in your hair. "Fuck, yes. Just like that." He pushed forward gently, the fat head breaching your lips, stretching them wide. "Take it."

You sank down slowly, the sheer girth requiring focus, forcing your jaw wider than felt comfortable at first. You concentrated on relaxing your throat as he filled your mouth, thick and heavy on your tongue. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked experimentally.

A guttural groan ripped from him, his hips jerking upwards involuntarily. He gasped, head falling back against the sofa cushion. "Just like I dreamed. That mouth… so goddamn good."

Encouraged, you began to move, establishing a rhythm. Up and down, your lips sealed tight around his shaft, tongue swirling around the head each time you pulled back, sucking firmly. Your free hand braced against his rock-hard stomach, feeling the muscles jump and tense beneath your palm.

The sounds were obscene: wet suction, his harsh breathing, the low groans that rumbled in his chest every time you took him deep. You looked up through your lashes to see him watching you, his expression fierce with rapture, sweat beading on his temples.

Seeing his control fray under your mouth sent another surge of heat straight to your own core; you moaned around his cock, the vibration making him curse violently.

"Shit! Keep looking at me just like that," he demanded, his voice thick and strained. "Watching you swallow me down… fucking beautiful."

His hand fisted in your hair controlled the pace now, urging you down deeper, holding you there as you fought your gag reflex. Tears pricked at your eyes, but the feeling of him pulsing against your tongue was intoxicating.

"Taking it so well," he praised raggedly, his knuckles white where he gripped the sofa cushion beside him. "Such a good fucking girl for me… Sucking my cock better than…" He trailed off with another groan as you hollowed your cheeks fiercely on an upstroke.

He let you work for another few glorious, desperate moments before suddenly tightening his grip in your hair and pulling you off with a slick pop. Your lips felt bruised, swollen. You looked up at him, dazed, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his glistening cock.

"Enough," he growled, his voice ragged but laced with iron control returning. "Need more than your mouth now." In one fluid motion born of startling strength, his hands slid under your ass and hauled you fully off the floor.

Before you could register anything more than a gasp, he stood, effortlessly lifting you with him, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The hard ridge of his cock pressed insistent and burning hot against your soaked panties through his open fly.

He carried you like you weighed nothing, his strides long and purposeful across the dimly lit living room towards a hallway. The world tilted; you clung to his shoulders, burying your face in the curve of his neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin.

He shouldered open a door and kicked it shut behind him. The master bedroom was shadowed, dominated by a large bed. Without ceremony, he walked to its edge and threw you down onto the plush comforter. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs. Before you could even process it, he was on you, kneeling between your legs.

"Off," he commanded roughly, fingers hooking into the waistband of your soaked panties and the bunched silk of your dress tangled around your waist. He didn't bother with finesse. He pulled both down your legs in one sharp yank, practically tearing them off and flinging them aside. You were suddenly naked.

The cool air hit your exposed skin for a fraction of a second before Sunghoon’s large hands were on your inner thighs. He pushed them apart ruthlessly wide, spreading you open completely before him in the dim light filtering through the window. His gaze was pure fire as it raked over your glistening sex—swollen folds slick and bare, your clit throbbing visibly at its apex.

"Fuck," he breathed, the word reverent and rough. "Look at you. Dripping." He leaned forward slowly, deliberately, settling himself between your thighs. His large hands slid under your ass, lifting your hips towards his face. His thumbs hooked into your folds and spread you wider still. "Perfect."

And then his mouth was on you.

It wasn't gentle. His tongue swept through your soaked slit from bottom to top in one long, flat stroke that made your back arch off the bed with a sharp cry. He groaned against you, the vibration sending sparks shooting up your spine.

"You taste so good," he muttered against your flesh before diving back in.

He devoured you. His tongue was relentless—broad strokes lapping up your essence, then focused circles around your throbbing clit that made you whimper and fist the comforter. He sucked the sensitive bud lightly at first, then harder, drawing it into his mouth and flicking it rapidly with his tongue-tip.

"Oh God! Sunghoon!" Your hips bucked helplessly.

He held you firm, thumbs keeping you spread wide open for his assault. "That's it," he growled against your clit before sucking again. "Sing for me." He slid two fingers inside you without warning, curling them upwards instantly to find that spot deep inside that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Yes! Right there!" You were sobbing now, lost in the sensations of his mouth working magic on your clit and his fingers pumping relentlessly inside you, stretching you deliciously.

"So fucking tight," he praised, his voice muffled against your skin as he added a third finger, stretching you further, his thumb rubbing firm circles against your clit in counterpoint to his sucking.

"Take three fingers so easy… greedy little cunt for me." The crude word shouldn't have made you clench around him harder than ever, but it did. He groaned at the sensation. "Yeah… squeezing my fingers… knew you needed it bad."

He increased the pace of his fingers, pumping hard and deep, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit as his mouth sealed over it again, sucking fiercely. You were hurtling towards the edge, sensations coiling unbearably tight.

"Gonna come?" he demanded roughly, lifting his head just enough to watch your face contort. "Look at you… all flushed and desperate." He sucked hard on your clit again while simultaneously thrusting his fingers deep and crooking them perfectly.

"Sunghoon! I'm– I can't–!"

"Do it," he commanded, his voice guttural with need. "Come all over my mouth. Show me how good I make you feel."

The command shattered you. Pleasure detonated, a white-hot explosion tearing through your core and radiating outwards in violent waves.

You screamed his name as you convulsed around his thrusting fingers, your hips bucking wildly against his relentless mouth as he kept sucking and licking through every pulse of your climax, drawing out the shattering pleasure until you collapsed back onto the bed, trembling violently, utterly spent.

He slowly withdrew his fingers and lifted his head, his lips and chin glistening wetly in the dim light. He looked down at you, wrecked and trembling beneath him, with a look of primal satisfaction that promised this was only the beginning.

Sunghoon then loomed over you, the heat radiating from his body like a furnace against your trembling skin. His eyes, dark pools of molten hunger, locked onto yours as he shifted his hips, positioning himself between your spread thighs.

The thick, flushed head of his cock pressed against your soaked, swollen entrance. You felt impossibly stretched already, the sheer girth promising to breach boundaries.

"Nervous?" he rasped, a flicker of dark amusement in his gaze as he saw the apprehension warring with raw desire in your eyes. He brushed a thumb over your slick lower lips, gathering your arousal.

"Look at you…so wet for it. Soaked through just thinking about taking me." He leaned down, bracing his forearms on either side of your head, his breath hot on your face. "Gonna fill you up… make you feel every fucking inch."

He pushed slowly. Deliberately. A low groan rumbled in his chest as your tight entrance yielded, stretching agonizingly wide around the broad head. The sensation was overwhelming—a burning fullness, an exquisite invasion. You gasped, your hands flying to his biceps, nails digging in.

"Oh god… Sunghoon…"

"It fits," he ground out, watching your face intently, his jaw clenched with the effort of restraint. "Just gotta take it." Another inch sank deeper, stretching you further. The friction was intense, a sharp blend of pain and profound pleasure. "Tight…so goddamn tight."

He kept pushing, sinking deeper into your clutching heat. You felt impossibly full, stretched to your absolute limit. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision. "Please…" you whimpered, arching against him, torn between the instinct to pull away and the desperate need for more. "I can’t… it’s too much…"

Sunghoon froze, buried deep within you. A slow, predatory smile touched his lips. He lowered his head, his lips brushing your ear.

"Can’t?" he whispered, his voice dripping with mocking challenge. His hips gave a subtle, grinding thrust that made you cry out. "This isn’t what you wanted? Crawling into my lap… letting me taste you… begging for my cock?" His hand slid down to grip your hip possessively.

"Don't lie to me now, sweetheart. You wanted this. You wanted me. Deep inside this sweet little cunt." He emphasized the crude word with another slow, deliberate grind deep inside you.

The tears spilled over, tracking hot paths down your temples. The stretch was intense, overwhelming, the sheer size of him pushing you past comfort into a dizzying realm of sensation.

Sunghoon saw the tears. His mocking expression softened infinitesimally, replaced by a fierce intensity. He didn't stop moving. He began a slow, deep rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in with that same devastating fullness. But his thumb came up, surprisingly gentle, brushing the tears from your cheeks.

"Shhh," he murmured, his voice losing its edge, becoming almost tender amidst the relentless possession of your body. "That's it. Taking it so well. Taking me deeper than she ever could…" He kissed your damp cheekbone. "My good girl. So fucking perfect stretched around my cock."

His words, the jarring contrast of the brutal penetration and the gentle caress, the sheer presence of him inside you… something shifted. The sharp edge of pain began to melt, transmuting into something else entirely.

A deep, throbbing pleasure started to unfurl from your core, radiating outwards with each deep, slow thrust. You felt… owned. Filled. Utterly consumed. A helpless moan escaped you, different this time—less pain, more surrender. Your hips began to tentatively lift to meet his downward stroke.

Sunghoon saw the change instantly. The dazed, overwhelmed look in your eyes softening into pure, cock-drunk need. He let out a low groan of approval. "There it is," he breathed, his thrusts gaining a fraction more force. "There's my girl. Feeling it now, aren't you? Feeling how good my cock feels buried inside you?"

"Y-yes," you gasped, your voice thick, barely coherent. "Sunghoon… feels… so full…"

"Full of me," he growled possessively. His pace quickened, no longer slow and deliberate but purposeful, driving deeper with every snap of his hips. "Tell me," he demanded, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, hiking it higher over his hip to open you wider, sink deeper. "Do you want me to tell you how much better it is… better than her?"

You whimpered, overwhelmed by the sensations—the stretch now a delicious ache, the friction sparking fire along your nerves, the relentless pressure against that spot deep inside that made your toes curl. Forming words was hard. "Tighter…" he said, the confession made your toes curl. "So much… tighter…"

He slammed into you hard, drawing a choked scream from your throat that dissolved into a sob of pleasure. "Yeah," he hissed, his control fraying. "Fuck yeah, you are. She doesn’t take it like this… doesn’t feel this fucking good." His hand slid up to squeeze your breast roughly, pinching your nipple.

His thrusts became punishing, brutal, driving into you with enough force to rock the bed against the wall.

Your body clenched around him like a vice, waves of pure, blinding ecstasy crashing through you. The climax tore through you, obliterating thought, leaving only sensation—the relentless pounding of his cock, the searing heat pooling and exploding, the feeling of drowning in pure, carnal bliss.

He roared your name as he felt you clamp down, your inner walls milking him. His rhythm faltered, then became frantic, jackhammering into you through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"Gonna fill you up," he gasped, his body rigid, trembling. "Fuck! Take it! Take my cum deep!" With a final, guttural shout, he slammed home and held himself there, buried to the hilt as hot pulses erupted deep inside you, flooding you with his release. You felt the warmth spreading, the sheer intimacy of it pushing another soft whimper from your lips.

He collapsed partially onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest heaving against yours. He stayed buried inside you, softening slightly but still impossibly large and deep. After a moment, he lifted his head.

Sweat dripped from his brow onto your chest. He looked down at you, utterly wrecked beneath him, tears dried on your cheeks, lips swollen, eyes glazed with satisfaction. A slow, utterly possessive smile spread across his face. He leaned down and kissed you, deep and lingering, tasting yourself and him on your lips.

When he pulled back, his eyes held a dark promise that sent a fresh shiver through your sated body. He gently brushed a strand of damp hair from your forehead. "That," he murmured, his voice rough but satisfied, "was just warming you up, baby. Just the start of what I’m gonna do to you tonight." His thumb traced your swollen lower lip. "We aren't close to done."

The air in the quiet coffee shop felt thick, charged with the unspoken. Rain streaked the large windows, blurring the grey city street outside. Jisoo slid into the worn leather booth opposite you, her usual bright energy dimmed, replaced by a nervous exhaustion. The sharp scent of espresso couldn’t cut through the heavy guilt settling in your stomach. Two days. Two days since you’d looked your best friend in the eye and lied.

"Hey," Jisoo said, her voice tight. She fiddled with the sleeve of her sweater. "Thanks again for… you know. Testing Sunghoon for me. I just had to be sure." She took a shaky breath. "So? How did it go? Honestly?"

You forced your face into a mask of reassuring calm, the lie tasting like ash. "It went fine, Jisoo. Really smooth. I did everything you asked—flirted, suggested meeting up, the whole thing."

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. "Sunghoon? Didn’t take the bait. Not even close. Said he was flattered but completely committed to you. Solid as a rock. Definitely not a cheater." The words felt like stones dropping into a still pond.

Relief washed over Jisoo’s face, softening the tension around her eyes. "Oh, thank god. I just… I needed that reassurance." She took a gulp of her latte, then her expression clouded again.

"But… it’s weird now. Since then? I barely hear from him. Texts go unanswered for hours, sometimes a whole day. And when I do see him…" Her cheeks flushed, not with shyness, but frustration. "He’s… distant. Doesn’t want to be intimate. At all. We tried last night, and he just… pulled away. Said he was too tired. It’s like he’s switched off."

A cold shock, followed immediately by a treacherous, unwelcome surge of heat, flooded your core. He doesn’t want her. The realization hit you like a physical blow.

You’d stupidly, selfishly assumed he was still sleeping with Jisoo too, that the stolen hours in his bed were just… extra. But this? This meant every desperate moan he’d drawn from your throat, every deep, claiming thrust, every time he’d filled you completely… it was reserved solely for you. A dark, possessive thrill warred violently with the crushing weight of your betrayal.

"That’s… strange," you managed, your voice sounding strained even to your own ears. You reached out and squeezed her hand, the contact feeling like a lie. "Maybe he is stressed? Work pressure?" You babbled generic comforts, your mind flooded with visceral memories: Sunghoon’s hands gripping your hips, his mouth hot and demanding on your skin, the thick stretch of him inside you.

Your phone buzzed violently on the table, the sound jarringly loud in the quiet café. Jisoo jumped. "Someone’s eager," she remarked, a weak attempt at lightness.

Your throat closed. The screen lit up: SH. Your fingers felt clumsy, slick with nervous sweat, as you unlocked it.

Sunghoon: Can still smell you on my fingers. Been driving me crazy all evening.

Heat exploded low in your belly, a sudden, slick pulse of arousal that soaked your underwear instantly. The memory was overpowering: those long fingers, skilled and knowing, sliding deep inside you, circling your clit with relentless precision until you shattered.

The phantom sensation, combined with the raw intimacy of his words, made you clench your thighs together under the table, the ache intensifying to a sharp throb.

Before you could even begin to type a frantic Stop or We need to talk, another message flashed up.

Sunghoon: Come over. Now. Need you riding me until you can’t walk. Want to feel that tight heat squeezing my cock dry. Picture you bouncing, taking every inch… gonna make you scream. *Image Attached*

You tapped the image. A choked gasp caught in your throat. It was him, just the lower half. Grey sweatpants stretched obscenely tight over a massive, rigid erection. The thick outline of his cock was unmistakable, the head a prominent bulge near the waistband, a distinct, dark patch of dampness where pre-come had soaked through the thin fabric.

The raw, visual demand, the sheer carnality of it, sent another gush of wetness flooding your core. You were drenched, trembling with a need that momentarily eclipsed everything else.

"You okay?" Jisoo’s voice cut through the haze, sharp with concern. She was leaning forward, studying your face. "You look… really flushed. And you’re breathing fast."

You snapped your head up, tearing your gaze from the image seared into your mind. "Fine!" you blurted, the word too loud, too high-pitched. "Just… warm. It’s warm in here." You fanned your face uselessly, hyper-aware of the slickness between your legs, the frantic drumming of your heart. The guilt was a crushing vise, but it was no match for the wildfire Sunghoon had ignited with a text and a picture.

Driven by a hunger deeper than shame, your thumbs moved almost of their own accord.

You: I'm on my way.

You hit send. The single syllable felt like a point of no return. Jisoo was still talking, her voice a distant murmur about Sunghoon’s confusing behavior. You barely heard her.

All you could focus on was the phantom weight of him, the remembered stretch, the image of that desperate bulge, and the promise in his words. You mumbled something vague about needing to leave, grabbing your bag. Jisoo looked puzzled but nodded.

You practically bolted from the booth. Pushing through the café door, the cool, damp city air hit your heated skin. You leaned against the rain-slicked brick wall of the building, the scent of wet pavement and distant traffic filling your nose.

Closing your eyes, the conflicting sensations overwhelmed you: the insistent, throbbing ache between your legs, Jisoo’s trusting, worried face, and the stark image of Sunghoon’s cock straining for you. It all collided in a wave of unbearable tension. One word escaped your lips, a raw, breathless whisper laced with desire, guilt, and the terrifying thrill of the secret:

"Fuck."

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linoxpudding · 5 months ago

Text

Second Chances - Han Jisung

summary: when your husband fails to show up for your family, you bring up divorce — only then does he wake up

pairing: han jisung x fem!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, married with kids

word count: 1318 words

a/n: remember the twins in jisung's part of this fic? here's a little years later scenario where they have a younger brother now

The Kids: Twin Girls (Jisoo, Minsoo - 7 years old) and Son (Jihoon - 5 years old)

~°~

You were exhausted.

Physically, emotionally, mentally—every part of you was stretched thin, fraying at the edges. The weight of everything threatened to crush you, and tonight, it finally broke you.

One of your twin daughters, Minsoo, had her first-ever ballet recital at school today. The one she had spent months practicing for. The one where she had asked, with those wide, hopeful eyes, “Will Appa come this time?”

You had smiled, smoothed down her tutu, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “Of course, baby. He promised.”

But promises didn’t mean much anymore. Not when they came from Han Jisung.

Because when the curtains lifted, and Minsoo stood on stage, her little eyes scanning the audience with anticipation, her smile slowly faltered. Her twirls lost confidence. And when she finally spotted you, sitting alone, her lips wobbled.

And your heart shattered.

Just like it had last month when Jisung missed Jisoo’s science fair. And the time before that, when he forgot about Jihoon’s first-award ceremony at school, where your youngest won an award for being 'most creative' in his class.

How many times were you supposed to make excuses for him? How many times were you supposed to be both parents while he drowned himself in work, in schedules, in music, in everything but the family he promised to cherish?

Not anymore. You reached your breaking point.

Jisung felt it the moment he stepped into the house.

Something was wrong.

The lights were dim, the air heavy. His bag slipped from his shoulder, and he rubbed a hand down his face, exhausted from a long day in the studio.

“Baby, I’m home,” he called out, toeing off his shoes. He glanced at the clock. 12:37 AM.

Late. Again.

The guilt gnawed at his chest, but he pushed it down. He had deadlines, commitments—he was doing all of this for you and the kids, wasn’t he?

Still, when you stepped out of the kitchen, arms crossed, eyes void of warmth, his stomach twisted.

“We need to talk.”

He sighed. “Babe, can it wait? It’s been a long—”

“No.” Your voice was firm. “It can’t.”

Something in your tone made him look up. Really look. And for the first time in a long time, he saw something that terrified him.

You weren’t just mad. You were done.

“Baby—” he started

“Let's go to our bedroom,” you cut him off, “the kids are sleeping, i dont want to wake them up.”

He followed you quietly, and as soon as he shut the bedroom door behind him, you said it.

“I want a divorce.”

The words left your lips like venom. You had imagined saying them before, but you never thought you’d actually do it.

Jisung blinked. Like he didn’t hear you. Like his brain refused to process the words.

“W-What?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I want a divorce, Jisung.”

His bag hit the floor. His breath hitched. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.” He shook his head, laughing weakly, like this was some cruel joke. “You’re just mad. We fight, we argue, but we always—”

“I’m tired, Jisung.” Your voice cracked. “I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of raising our kids alone. I’m tired of watching them get disappointed over and over again.”

His jaw tightened. “I provide for them—”

“I don’t care about money!” You snapped, voice breaking. “I care about our kids growing up with a father who actually shows up! You keep missing everything, Jisung! Do you even know how much it hurts them? How much does it hurt me?”

Jisung’s breath came out uneven. “I—”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes stinging. “You know what’s funny? If we get divorced, maybe then they’ll actually get to see you. Because at least then, you’ll be forced to make time.”

Jisung’s lips parted, but no words came out. He looked at you like you had just stabbed him.

Then, suddenly—

Thump.

He dropped to his knees. He felt the world tilted. His ears rang.

Jisung’s knees hit the floor before he even realized what was happening. His hands shot out, grasping at your legs, your hands, anything he could hold on to.

“Please,” his voice was barely a whisper. “Please, don’t do this.”

You flinched, stepping back slightly, but he held onto your legs tightly.

“I know I messed up,” he choked out. “I know I’ve been the worst husband, the worst dad, but please—please don’t leave me.” His fingers curled around your waist, his grip desperate. “I’ll fix this. I’ll be better. Just… don’t give up on me.”

Your face crumpled, and you teared up and gently you pulled away from him.

“Jisung… it’s not that simple.”

“But it is,” he pleaded, voice trembling. “It is to me. I’ll do anything. I’ll quit music—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply. “You love music, Jisung. I would never take that from you.” Your voice wavered. “I just need you to love us just as much.”

He let out a sob, his chest shaking. “I do.” His voice cracked. “I do, I do, I do. I love you. I love our kids. You’re my whole world, please don’t leave.”

Jisung, the man who once stood on sold-out stages with a mic in hand, now knelt before you, crying.

And it broke him.

The memories hit him all at once.

The way Jisoo had tugged at his sleeve last week, asking if he could just stay home for one day.

The way Jihoon had slowly stopped telling him about his day, because he knew Appa was busy.

The way Minsoo had once whispered to him, “Appa, do you love me?” Even though he reassured her, he knew this question shouldn't even have crossed her little mind in the first place.

His heart clenched so painfully he thought he might die from it.

You exhaled shakily. “Jisung, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

His breath hitched. He looked broken.

His face was crumpled, his hands shaking, his entire body trembling as he knelt before you. And you hated it.

You hated that even after all this, after all the pain and loneliness, you still loved him.

And maybe that was the problem.

You let out a deep breath. “Jisung, I—”

“Then let me prove it,” he whispered. “Give me one last chance. Let me fight for you, for our family.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, you reluctantly said, “…one last chance.”

Jisung let out a broken sob, he quickly got up and pressed his forehead against yours, then cupped your face before whispering, “I won't let you down ever again.”

He then pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurt.

But deep down, a part of you wondered.

Would things really change?

Or were you just delaying the inevitable heartbreak?

------------------

The next few months felt… different. Not perfect, not magically healed overnight, but different.

Jisung started coming home earlier—first by an hour, then two. At first, the kids were hesitant, unsure if this was temporary, but slowly, their walls began to lower. Jihoon started showing him his drawings again. Jisoo asked him to help with her homework. Minsoo hesitated before ballet practice, glancing at him nervously.

“I’ll be there,” Jisung promised.

And this time, he was.

He still made mistakes—forgot to pack Jihoon’s lunch one morning, burned dinner when he tried to help. But instead of brushing it off or making excuses, he tried again. He listened more. He asked questions. He showed up.

And you?

You watched. You waited. You guarded your heart, afraid to believe in him again. But every night, when he reached for your hand—just a small touch, a silent reassurance—you found yourself hesitating less and less.

Maybe love wasn’t enough to fix everything. But effort? Effort could.

And for the first time in a long time, Jisung was finally trying.

#skz au #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #han jisung imagines #han jisung scenarios #han jisung x reader #dad!skz #dad!han jisung #skz x reader #han jisung fluff #han x reader

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thedensworld · 6 months ago

Text

Sound Of Vengeance | C. Sc

Genre: action, angst, arranged marriage au!

Summary: after happily living an arranged marriage, he found out that his charismatic, flawless, and admirable wife has a secret hiding from him.

Warning: mention of violence, car accident, blood, knife stabbing, gunshot, stuff.

Seungcheol watched you from his position, his ears tuned to the men’s conversation, but his eyes were fixated on you, following your every move. He noted how your gaze lingered on the speaker’s lips, how your expression shifted subtly with every word. That smile—poised, eloquent, and effortlessly charming—spread across your face, leaving no one in the room unaffected. A sharp pang of jealousy coursed through him. His grip tightened around the glass in his hand, the cool surface grounding him against the rising heat in his chest. It was supposed to be his. His lips. His gaze. The attention you dared to lavish so intensely on anyone but him.

"How do you think, Seungcheol?"

His father's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Seungcheol turned slightly, meeting the older man’s expectant eyes. The glass of wine in his father’s hand swirled lazily, a stark contrast to the tension in Seungcheol's.

"Don't pressure him, Mr. Choi," another man interjected with a chuckle. "The younger generation these days—they’re different. They won’t rush into having children immediately."

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened as he registered the conversation. Children. Family. An image of you flashed through his mind, your soft laughter echoing in a distant memory. His shoulders squared as he finally replied, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge.

"We’re working on it," he said smoothly, casting a brief glance your way. "My wife and I want to have a child as soon as possible, but with business being so hectic, it’s been a challenge."

The men nodded in understanding, their attention shifting back to him. Seungcheol seized the opportunity to steer the conversation away.

"Speaking of challenges," he continued, his tone shifting effortlessly, "how’s the harbor, Mr. Kim? Has your son resolved the issues with the government yet?"

Mr. Kim let out a disgruntled sigh. "It’s been nothing but delays," he grumbled, shaking his head.

Seungcheol leaned in slightly, his presence commanding yet unassuming. "Delays can be costly," he remarked. "If you need additional support, let me know. I’ve had some success navigating similar situations."

As the conversation deepened into business matters, Seungcheol's gaze flickered back to you. You were laughing now, your head tilting slightly as you responded to someone. His chest tightened again, the earlier jealousy morphing into something deeper—something unspoken, buried under the weight of his responsibilities.

But for now, he played his role, the perfect husband in a room full of expectations.

Seungcheol excused himself from the group, his movements purposeful as he made a beeline toward where you were standing. You turned toward him, sensing his presence before he even spoke, and the corner of his lips twitched in satisfaction. Without hesitation, his hand found its place on your waist, a silent claim that did not go unnoticed.

“Choi Seungcheol, Ji Y/n’s husband,” he introduced himself to the man in front of you, his voice firm and polished.

The man extended a polite smile. “I’m Hong Jisoo. I attended your wedding a few months ago. Nice to meet you.”

Seungcheol nodded curtly, his sharp gaze scanning the man before replying, “From Hong Property, I presume?”

Jisoo chuckled softly, shaking his head. “That’s my father and brother. I work in a hospital,” he clarified, pulling out a business card and offering it.

Seungcheol accepted the card, his eyes briefly scanning the text. Dr. Hong Jisoo, Psychiatry Department. His lips curved slightly, though his grip on your waist tightened almost imperceptibly. When he glanced up, his gaze landed on you, noticing how your eyes flickered to his lips, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Just like every day. Just like how it was supposed to be.

“I wasn’t aware my wife was acquainted with a psychiatrist,” he remarked, his tone casual yet laced with an underlying edge.

“Old friend,” you replied smoothly, your tone light as you cast a brief glance at Jisoo.

That glance didn’t sit well with Seungcheol.

His thumb gently brushed against your side, a subtle reminder of his presence, as he straightened slightly. “I’m sorry, but we have to leave,” he said, his voice firm yet polite. His attention shifted to you, softening just enough to mask the possessiveness simmering beneath the surface. “Love, should we go home?”

You nodded, offering Jisoo a polite smile. “It was nice catching up, Jisoo. Take care.”

“Likewise. Have a good evening,” Jisoo replied, his tone warm yet reserved.

Seungcheol didn’t wait for further pleasantries. With his hand firmly on your waist, he guided you toward the exit, his strides confident and unwavering. The air between you carried a tension he couldn’t quite articulate, but the quiet sense of satisfaction in reclaiming your focus was enough for now.

Seungcheol used to be just a man obsessed with his work, a relentless workaholic. His life revolved around business—expanding, negotiating, multiplying his family’s wealth tenfold. Relationships? They were an afterthought, a distraction. Blind dates came and went, each one predictable and forgettable.

That was, until his parents introduced him to you.

He approached the blind date with little expectation, assuming it would end like all the others: polite small talk, forced smiles, and no sparks. But with you, everything was different.

The moment your eyes fixated on him, he felt it—a current of electricity that surged through his entire being. The way your gaze roamed over him, studying him with quiet intensity, left him unnerved in the best way. You started with his eyes, then trailed downward, your focus lingering on his lips just a second too long. That moment branded itself into his memory, leaving him restless and preoccupied for a week.

He couldn't get you out of his mind. And that was how he agreed to an arranged marriage, a decision that surprised even himself.

Now, months later, he lay beside you in the dim morning light, the quiet intimacy of your shared space filling the air. As he felt you stir awake in his arms, he opened his eyes, his thoughts drifting to the night before. He had been a little rough, a little too consumed by the jealousy that burned in his chest when he caught you looking at someone else’s lips.

“Did I go too rough with you last night?” he murmured, his voice husky and low, thick with concern as he tightened his embrace around you.

You squirmed slightly, shifting to face him, your sleepy eyes meeting his. He searched your expression, his brow furrowing as silence stretched between you.

“Was I too rough? Are you okay, love?” he asked again, his worry evident now.

You shook your head slowly, your lips curving into a soft smile. Reaching up, your hand cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin as you pulled him closer. Without a word, your lips met his in a tender, reassuring kiss, melting away the tension in his chest.

When you pulled back, your voice was gentle, teasing. “Was something wrong last night? You seemed… different.”

Seungcheol hesitated, the tips of his ears flushing red as he avoided your gaze for a moment. How could he admit that the fire in him last night was born of jealousy? That the mere thought of your attention lingering on someone else’s lips had driven him to near madness?

Instead, he exhaled softly and shook his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “No,” he lied, his hand sliding up your back to rest between your shoulder blades. “I just can’t help myself around you.”

You laughed lightly, the sound warm and soothing. “Good,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again, your lips brushing against his like a promise. Because, as much as Seungcheol tried to play it cool, you already knew—you had him completely undone.

"We’re going to be late if we don’t start getting ready now," you told Seungcheol, glancing at the clock with mild urgency.

He chuckled, his deep voice laced with mischief as he leaned closer. “Five more minutes,” he murmured, his hand brushing yours before pulling you along with him toward the bathroom. A teasing grin spread across his face. “Together, of course.”

Later, as the two of you settled at the dining table, Seungcheol joined you with a fresh, clean look and a calm demeanor that betrayed none of his usual morning rush. “I’ll drive you,” he said casually, sipping his coffee.

You blinked, looking up from your plate in surprise. “What?”

“I’ll drive you,” he repeated, meeting your gaze. “And I’ll pick you up today.”

His firm tone left little room for debate, but the soft warmth in his expression made your heart flutter. You quickly nodded, taking the last bite of your sandwich with a smile tugging at your lips.

At the office, Seungcheol was all business. The moment he stepped through the door, his trusted right-hand man, Lee Jihoon, was already waiting with updates and a detailed briefing.

“Today’s schedule is packed,” Jihoon began, keeping pace with Seungcheol as he strode toward his desk. “The shipping updates are as follows: the cargo from Incheon has cleared customs, and the team is preparing the distribution reports. The Hong Kong shipment—”

“What’s the status on that?” Seungcheol interrupted, his sharp eyes flicking toward Jihoon.

“It’ll arrive tonight,” Jihoon replied promptly. “Do you want to oversee it yourself?”

Seungcheol shook his head as he sat down, loosening his tie slightly. “No need. I trust you to handle it. Just make sure everything is documented thoroughly.”

Jihoon nodded, jotting down a quick note. “Understood, sir.”

As Jihoon left to attend to the shipment, Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, glancing briefly at his watch. His thoughts wandered to you, wondering how your day was going and reminding himself to clear his evening to pick you up as promised. Balancing business and you wasn’t always easy, but for him, it was a priority he wouldn’t compromise.

There were a few strict rules in your office, and everyone at Ji Art Gallery knew to follow them without question.

Rule one: never speak to you with your back turned. Communication had to happen face-to-face, ensuring nothing was misunderstood.

Rule two: click the light switch whenever someone entered your office. You always had a mountain of tasks, and multitasking was not your forte. The light switch was an unspoken signal to gain your attention without disrupting your workflow.

Rule three: lunch hours were sacred. During this time, you watched the news alone. No one was allowed to enter, except for your family. It was an unbendable rule, one you wished could explain itself.

To everyone else, you were a perfectionist boss, firm but fair. What they didn’t know was that behind the rules lay a quieter truth—you are deaf, relying on observation and lip-reading to navigate the world.

It wasn’t perfectionism that demanded your routines. It was survival.

As you worked, engrossed in reviewing a painting’s exhibition proposal, the door to your office suddenly opened, and your mother stepped in unannounced. She clicked the blinds shut with a sharp movement before tossing a branded paper bag onto your desk.

"Here," she said brusquely. "Wear this for your next intercourse with Seungcheol."

You glanced at the bag, your expression calm despite the storm brewing inside. The name of an expensive lingerie brand was emblazoned across it in bold letters.

"I’ll send some herbal remedies to your house later,” she continued, her tone cold and matter-of-fact. “Make sure you get yourself pregnant within the next two months."

She flopped onto the couch in your office, crossing her legs elegantly as if she hadn’t just barged in to dictate your life. Her sharp eyes focused on you, scrutinizing every detail of your reaction—or lack thereof.

"Why don’t you say something? You’re deaf, not mute," she snapped, her words slicing through the air.

You sighed softly, your eyes fixed on her lips as you watched each word fall out of her mouth with precision and purpose.

"Yes, Mother," you replied, your voice measured, betraying none of the turmoil inside.

A smile curved on her lips—a smile that never reached her eyes. "Be a good girl for me and your stepfather, Y/n. You have a lot to repay. No one wants to raise a deaf child," she said cruelly, standing up with the air of someone who believed they were owed the world.

Her words were poison, but you stood stoically, refusing to let her see the cracks she left behind.

"But," she added, adjusting the hem of her designer jacket, "once you have the Choi family heir growing inside you, we’ll all be fine. So, make sure you do your job."

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heels, the sound of her expensive shoes clicking against the floor echoing in your office. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving a suffocating silence in her wake.

You sat still, staring at the paper bag she had so carelessly thrown onto your desk. The weight of her expectations pressed against your chest, but you forced yourself to exhale, straightening your shoulders.

Every day, you practiced watching the news, focusing intently on the movement of lips to perfect your ability to read them. It was a quiet, relentless routine, your way of ensuring no one would ever discover your deafness. You wanted people to communicate with you comfortably, unaware of your secret.

It was a weakness you’d been forced to accept 15 years ago. The result of a tragic car accident that not only robbed you of your hearing but also took the life of your stepsister.

You still remembered waking up in the hospital, disoriented and frightened. The first thing you saw was your mother, her face twisted with rage as she screamed at you. Her mouth moved furiously, but you couldn’t hear a single word. You could only guess at her accusations, but you were certain of one thing—she wished it had been you who died instead of your stepsister.

That was the turning point.

From that moment on, you became the scapegoat of the Ji family, the one burdened with their collective frustrations and failures. Surviving that accident, instead of being a blessing, turned into a curse. They treated your survival as an inconvenience, a debt you were expected to repay with unwavering obedience.

“You survived, his daughter didn’t,” your mother’s lips had said once, her voice forever silent to you but still haunting in its clarity. “So make yourself useful.”

From then on, you learned to carry their expectations silently, shouldering the weight of their contempt while striving for perfection. You worked tirelessly, honing your skills, building your reputation, and hiding your deafness as if it were a crime.

Being the "goat" of the Ji family meant you were their sacrifice, their scapegoat, but it also fueled your determination. If survival was your punishment, you would ensure it wasn’t in vain. You would rise above their cruelty, even if it meant enduring the pain of their indifference and the burden of their demands.

You weren’t just surviving anymore—you were fighting. And every day you practiced, every lip you read, every rule you enforced in your life was proof of that.

Every moment of intimacy with Seungcheol was blissful, a haven where the world outside ceased to exist. Even though you couldn’t hear the sounds he made—the soft gasps, the whispered words you imagined he might say—you felt every touch, every movement, as if they spoke directly to your soul. But you always wondered if he felt the same way. Did he share the same satisfaction, the same warmth, the same euphoria at the peak of it all?

You wished you could hear him. Just him.

Seungcheol always looked at you with such tenderness, his gaze soft and unwavering. It made your heart ache with guilt. The guilt of knowing that you and your family had trapped him in this marriage. The guilt of hiding your secret from him—your deafness, the one part of you you couldn’t bring yourself to reveal. And the guilt of knowing your family was draining his wealth under the guise of a business arrangement.

Every time he smiled at you, every time he touched you like you were his world, the weight of your lies grew heavier.

How could you allow yourself to be happy in a marriage built on deception?

The warmth you felt with Seungcheol was tainted by the cold reality of your circumstances. He deserved honesty, love without strings, a partner who could give him everything. And yet here you were, bound to him by a contract you had never wanted but couldn’t escape.

Every night you lay beside him, listening to the silence that enveloped you, longing for a world where your love could be as pure as the way he looked at you.

Seungcheol was always amazed by how poised and graceful you carried yourself in public. As a Ji, it was expected, but being married to you had brought a constant stream of surprises he never anticipated.

One of those surprises came during a business meeting involving Wen Junhui, the son of a long-time Chinese producer Seungcheol had worked with for years. Since the business had been handed down to Junhui, negotiations hadn’t been as smooth as before. Seungcheol hoped that meeting in person during Junhui’s visit, accompanied by his wife, would be the perfect opportunity to revive their partnership.

But what Seungcheol didn’t expect was what happened next.

Junhui’s wife, Daisy, had been deaf since birth. It was something Seungcheol had learned in passing but hadn’t given much thought to—until now. As he turned to look for you, he saw you standing with Daisy, engaging her effortlessly in sign language.

His breath hitched. You moved your hands with such confidence and fluidity, your expression lighting up as Daisy responded with equal enthusiasm. Neither Junhui nor Seungcheol could hide their surprise.

“Your wife is incredible. I didn’t expect this,” Junhui said, clinking his glass lightly against Seungcheol’s. “Daisy rarely gets to meet someone who can sign fluently. Thank you for bringing her; she’s finally relaxed for the first time in a long while.”

Seungcheol offered a polite smile, but inwardly, he was stunned. “Thank you,” he said simply, his eyes drifting back to you.

Junhui glanced at his wife before turning back to Seungcheol. “I heard you wanted to negotiate the pricing of our products.”

Seungcheol’s attention snapped back to the conversation. He nodded eagerly. “Yes. We haven’t found a supplier with the same quality as yours. I’d like to propose that we continue the terms we had before. Would you have time tomorrow? I’ll bring the paperwork.”

Junhui thought for a moment before nodding. “Sure. But how about bringing your wife as well? Daisy seems comfortable around her, and it would be nice for her to have someone to talk to while we discuss business.”

“Of course,” Seungcheol agreed, still taken aback by what he’d just witnessed. “I’ll speak to her about it.”

As Junhui moved to speak with someone else, Seungcheol found his gaze lingering on you. He had never known you knew sign language, let alone that you were so fluent. Seeing you connect with Daisy in a way so few others could made him feel something deeper—a mixture of awe, pride, and a touch of guilt for underestimating just how remarkable you truly were.

As Seungcheol mingled with a group of businessmen, his mind was suddenly pulled elsewhere when he realized he couldn’t spot you anywhere. A twinge of unease crept in, but he brushed it off—until his phone vibrated in his pocket. Glancing at the screen, he was surprised to see your caller ID.

You never called.

In fact, you hated calling, even in emergencies. It was a well-known rule that anyone needing to contact you had to text or call your secretary, Seo Myungho. For you to call directly was entirely out of character.

Seungcheol excused himself from the lively conversation, weaving through the crowd toward a quieter area. Pressing the answer button, he brought the phone to his ear.

“What’s wrong, love? Where are you?” His voice softened, filled with concern.

The voice that responded wasn’t yours. It was sharp and unfamiliar, carrying a sinister undertone that sent a chill down his spine.

“‘Love?’ Very funny, Choi Seungcheol. Didn’t your father ever teach you not to care too much? Makes you weak, vulnerable.”

Seungcheol froze, his jaw tightening. The words hit like a taunt, a deliberate jab meant to rattle him.

“Who is this?” he asked, his voice dropping to a cold, controlled tone.

“Relax. I’m just a fan of your wife. She looks stunning in black tonight. I’d love to—”

“Where is she? Why do you have her phone?” Seungcheol snapped, his composure slipping as his eyes darted across the ballroom.

A low laugh came through the receiver. “You know, secrets can be dangerous, Seungcheol. Especially the ones your lovely wife is keeping from you.”

“Stop playing games! Tell me where she is!” His voice was edged with desperation now.

The call ended abruptly, leaving Seungcheol gripping the phone tightly, his knuckles turning white. His heart pounded as he scanned the room again, his mind racing.

“Ji Y/n!” he called out, his voice booming across the corridor.

There was no sign of you. The air felt heavier with each passing second, the tension clawing at his chest. He dialed your number again, but the call went straight to voicemail.

Just as he rounded a corner, his hurried steps brought him face-to-face with someone. Relief flooded through him when he realized it was you.

“Cheol?” you asked, startled by his sudden embrace. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his breath uneven as though he’d been holding it in.

“Thank God,” he whispered, burying his face into your shoulder for a moment.

“What’s going on?” you asked, confused by his reaction.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning you as if to ensure you were unharmed. “Where were you? Where’s your phone?”

You blinked, frowning at his intensity. “I don’t know. I can’t find it,” you admitted, rummaging through your clutch only to find it empty.

Seungcheol’s expression darkened. Without another word, he pulled out his phone and called Jihoon. “Get the car ready. We’re leaving now.”

The ride home was tense and silent, the weight of his unspoken thoughts filling the space between you. You glanced at him repeatedly, but his stern expression gave nothing away. His grip on your hand was firm, almost as if he feared letting go.

Once home, Seungcheol ensured you were safely tucked into bed. “Get some rest. I’ll handle this,” he murmured, his lips brushing your forehead.

After he left, you stared at the closed door, unease creeping into your chest. Something was wrong, but you knew better than to press him when he was in this mood.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol retreated to his office, his hands trembling slightly as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. The liquid swirled in the glass, much like the chaos in his mind.

He dialed Jihoon again. “Trace her phone immediately. Whoever has it was at the event. Secure the guest list and cross-check everyone.”

Jihoon hesitated. “That’s going to take time, sir. We’ll need to involve third parties.”

“I don’t care how long it takes. I want answers,” Seungcheol growled, his voice low but seething with authority.

After ending the call, he sank into his chair, his mind running over every possible angle. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest as he stared at the glowing city skyline through his office window.

“Who are you?” he muttered under his breath. The question gnawed at him, the weight of it pressing heavily on his chest.

And more importantly, why would anyone dare to use the person he loved most to threaten him?

Seungcheol jolted awake, his breath hitching when his hand reached out to find the other side of the bed cold and empty. A sense of dread gripped him as the events of last night resurfaced in his mind. The mysterious phone call and its ominous implications lingered like a heavy shadow, refusing to let him rest. He’d only managed to get some sleep because you had come into his office and practically dragged him to bed. But even now, his thoughts raced—who was the caller? What secret could they possibly be referring to?

His heart pounded as he sat up, scanning the room for any sign of you. Then, a faint sound from the bathroom caught his attention. He was out of bed in an instant, his strides purposeful as he approached the door.

“Y/n?” he called, his voice laced with concern as he pushed the door open.

There you were, crouched in front of the toilet bowl, your body wracked with discomfort as you emptied the contents of your stomach. The sight made his chest tighten.

“You okay, baby?” Seungcheol took a step closer, but you weakly waved a hand, signaling for him to stay back.

“Don’t… I’m fine,” you muttered between breaths, your voice strained.

Ignoring your protests, Seungcheol was by your side in seconds. He knelt beside you, his large hand gently soothing the back of your neck while his other gathered your hair to keep it out of the way.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured softly, his concern palpable.

When you were finally done, he helped you to your feet, steadying you as you rinsed your mouth at the sink. His hand remained firm on your waist, his protective instincts in full swing.

“Talk to me,” he said gently, guiding you back to the bed. “What’s wrong? Do you want me to call the doctor?” His brows knitted in worry as he tucked you in, his hand brushing stray hairs from your damp forehead.

You shook your head weakly. “I think it’s just food poisoning from last night’s dinner,” you murmured, offering him a faint smile in an attempt to ease his concern.

Seungcheol let out a small chuckle, though the tension in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate. “Food poisoning or not, I’m calling Dr. Kim just to be safe. No arguments.”

You sighed but didn’t resist, too exhausted to protest further.

“And no work for you today,” he added firmly, sitting on the edge of the bed as he reached for his phone. “I’ll let them know you’re not feeling well. Just focus on resting, alright?”

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as his soothing presence eased some of the discomfort. As he dialed the doctor, his gaze lingered on you, the lines of worry deepening on his face.

Jihoon’s phone buzzed just as Seungcheol finished his meeting with a client. He glanced at the screen before answering the call from Dr. Kim, a slight frown crossing his face as he listened. Seungcheol, sitting across from him in the car, noticed the shift in Jihoon’s expression.

"Yes... she is? I see." Jihoon’s voice was calm, but Seungcheol's instincts told him something was off.

After a beat, Jihoon ended the call and turned to Seungcheol, his face betraying nothing but the weight of the news he was about to deliver.

"Your wife is pregnant, sir."

Seungcheol’s heart seemed to stop, his entire body going still as the words hit him like a cold wave. But it wasn’t just the pregnancy that unsettled him. The next words were the ones that sent a flicker of anger through his veins.

"But your wife is in the office now," Jihoon continued, his voice measured. "She has an important meeting with the curator that she couldn’t leave."

Seungcheol’s pulse quickened, the fury within him rising. The news of your pregnancy only added to the questions swirling in his mind, but the fact that you were in the office—at this very moment—was what pushed him over the edge.

"Drive me to her gallery," Seungcheol ordered, his voice dangerously cold.

Jihoon nodded, without a word, and signaled to the driver to make a sharp turn. Seungcheol’s thoughts raced as the car sped toward the gallery. His heart pounded with a mix of emotions—anger, confusion, and a deep, gnawing worry.

Seungcheol arrived at your office just in time to see your psychiatrist friend, Dr. Hong, leaving. His heart skipped a beat as he watched the man walk out, the realization settling uneasily in his chest. He turned to Myungho, your assistant, who had stepped forward to greet him.

"I heard she had a meeting with the curator. Is the curator... apparently also a psychiatrist?" Seungcheol asked, his words barely more than a murmur as his thoughts raced.

Myungho looked momentarily taken aback, his eyes widening before he answered, "Are you referring to Mr. Hong, sir?"

Seungcheol shook his head, frustration mounting as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. The events from last night, the shocking news of your pregnancy, and the fact that you had still gone to work this morning despite his request—everything was colliding in his mind, leaving him on edge.

"Is she free? Can I see her?" Seungcheol asked, his voice quiet but firm.

Myungho nodded without hesitation, immediately leading him to your office. He announced Seungcheol’s arrival before stepping out, leaving the two of you alone.

You looked up from your desk as Seungcheol entered, your gaze softening at the sight of him. "Seungcheol, you're here," you said gently as you stood up.

He approached you slowly, his fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His voice was softer than usual, a tenderness beneath the usual calm. "I told you not to work," he murmured, his gaze searching yours.

You met his eyes, guilt flickering across your face. You bit your lip slightly, feeling a pang of regret. "I'm sorry. But I had a meeting with a foreign curator earlier. I'm glad it went well," you said, offering him a small, reassuring smile.

Seungcheol’s expression softened as he leaned in and kissed your temple, his lips lingering for a moment longer than usual. "I heard about it," he said quietly, his smile widening. "We're going to be parents." The excitement in his voice was undeniable as he took your hands in his. He looked at you with a warmth that melted some of the tension in the air.

You smiled weakly, leaning into his embrace as your head rested against his chest. His comforting presence grounded you, even as the weight of the moment settled over you both.

"You’re going to be an amazing mother, love," Seungcheol whispered, his hands gently cradling you as you closed your eyes, basking in the sincerity of his words. The world outside the two of you seemed to disappear as the reality of your future together began to take root.

You stepped into your childhood home, the weight of the news you had to share pressing heavily on your chest. Your mother’s wide grin greeted you before you even crossed the threshold, her hands moving wildly as she signed with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Oh, look who’s finally here," she signed, her expression one of mock excitement. "What’s the good news, Y/n?"

You hesitated for a moment before signing, "I’m pregnant."

Her hands froze mid-air, her face flickering with surprise, but it didn’t take long for that emotion to morph into something much darker. She straightened up, her sharp gaze locking onto you. "Pregnant?" she signed, her movements quick and sharp. "Of course, you are. The Choi heir..."

You fought to steady your breath, trying to brace yourself for the storm you knew was coming. But your mother’s expression softened into something far too calculating. "This will fix everything, Y/n. You’ve done your part, finally. You’ve done something right," she signed, her eyes now gleaming with something almost predatory, like she was already envisioning what this could do for her.

The sting of her words was familiar, yet still sharp. You looked away briefly, trying to gather your thoughts before signing back, "This isn’t what I wanted."

Her laughter was sharp and cruel. "Oh, please," she signed, her tone dismissive, as if your words had no weight at all. "What else could you possibly want, Y/n? You’ve got the Choi family wrapped around your finger. You’re carrying the heir. " Her hands moved with exaggerated flourishes, her gestures mocking the sincerity of your feelings. "You should be thanking us."

You could feel the bile rising in your throat, but you bit your lip, refusing to let her see how much her words stung. "I didn’t ask for this," you signed again, more forcefully this time.

She shook her head, her expression almost pitiful. "Of course, you didn’t," she signed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Who would, right? A girl like you—deaf, unremarkable, never good enough for anything more than a marriage of convenience. But look at you now. You’ve done it. You’ve secured your place."

You bit your tongue, trying not to let the tears sting at your eyes. She had always been this way, using your deafness to remind you of how little she thought of you.

Her next words were even sharper, and you could feel the coldness in every words as she signed, "You’ll never be anything more than a stepping stone for your husband's wealth and power. Look at you, finally fulfilling your role as a good little Choi wife."

You flinched at the bitterness in her words, but you held your ground, trying to keep the hurt from showing on your face. It was clear now that she wasn’t speaking to you as a daughter but as a means to an end. You were nothing more than a transaction in her eyes.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, signing with as much defiance as you could muster, "I’ll make my own future, with or without your help."

She rolled her eyes, signing back with a mocking smirk, "You think you’ll be anything without us, Y/n? The Choi family is your ticket. Don’t you see? You’ve got your future set, and this baby—this baby—is the final piece. You’ll be taken care of for the rest of your life, all thanks to us."

The words hit you like a slap to the face, but you didn’t react. You didn’t need to give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.

With a final glance at her, you signed, "I’ll make my own choices. You can’t control me anymore."

Your mother’s lips curled into a sardonic smile, her eyes never leaving yours. "Oh, sweetie," she signed, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. "You never did have any real choices, did you?"

The finality in her words hit you hard, but you turned your back on her before she could say more. It didn’t matter anymore. You had made your decision long ago. The Choi family may have given you a life of comfort, but at what cost?

You left her house feeling emptier than when you arrived, the weight of your family’s expectations a bitter reminder of the path you had been forced onto.

"You've been silent. You don’t like the food? I can ask the cook to make you something else," Seungcheol’s voice was soft but laced with concern as he noticed you staring blankly at your plate, barely touching the food. You shook your head, offering a weak smile in his direction, though it didn’t reach your eyes.

"It’s just... I don’t feel like eating," you mumbled, your voice barely a whisper as the weight of everything you were feeling pressed down on you.

Seungcheol sighed, his expression tinged with worry as he leaned forward, his eyes never leaving you. "Do you have anything in mind that you want to eat? You have to eat, love," he urged gently, his tone firm yet filled with care.

You shook your head once more, the knot in your throat tightening as you stood up from the dining table, your legs feeling heavier than usual. "I’m going to bed. My head hurts," you said, avoiding his gaze as you walked away, the words feeling suffocating in your chest.

Seungcheol didn’t push further, though his worry was palpable. He nodded quietly, watching you retreat to your shared bedroom. The soft click of the door closing behind you left an unsettling silence in the air, one that lingered in the room long after you were gone.

As soon as the door was shut, the weight of everything that had been building up inside you crashed over you. You let the tears fall, each one a painful reminder of the life you had been forced into, of the expectations you could never seem to escape. The facade you’d held up for so long finally crumbled, and you were left in the quiet emptiness of your own despair.

Till when do I have to endure this kind of life?

The question echoed in your mind, unanswered, as the tears continued to flow.

Seungcheol received a package that morning, its plain exterior offering no hint of the chaos it would bring. At first, there was nothing suspicious about it. But as he opened it, his stomach churned. Inside was a pair of women’s underwear, carefully folded, accompanied by a note that sent a cold shiver down his spine:

"Do you like it when she stares at your lips? I like it too."

Seungcheol crumpled the paper immediately, his fists tightening around it. His heart raced, not from surprise, but from the overwhelming disgust he felt. He knew exactly what the note was referring to—and he hated it. Hated that everyone found your gaze just as captivating as he did. It made him furious, this feeling of possessiveness creeping over him.

"Who sent this?" Seungcheol demanded, holding up the package to Jihoon.

Jihoon glanced at the contents, his brow furrowing with concern. Without hesitation, he dialed the security team. Moments later, he turned back to Seungcheol, his face tight with frustration.

“They said it was just a courier,” Jihoon informed him.

Seungcheol scoffed in disbelief, tossing the crumpled paper onto the desk. "A courier? That’s all they have? I want more than that."

"Can we track the sender?" Seungcheol pressed, his voice sharp with impatience.

Jihoon took the package from his hands, his eyes scanning it briefly. "I’ll get on it. I’ll let you know what I find," he assured him.

Seungcheol wasn’t satisfied, but he knew there was little else to do but wait. He ran a hand through his hair, the frustration building in his chest. There were still so many questions left unanswered.

“What about the person who took my wife’s phone? Have you found them?” Seungcheol asked, his voice hard.

Jihoon handed him a file, his tone quieter now. "The phone was found near the hotel the next day. Whoever took it must have gotten rid of it immediately. It’ll take some time to track the voice, though."

Seungcheol flipped through the file, his gaze hardening as he processed the information.

“Are you familiar with the voice?” Jihoon asked, sensing Seungcheol’s growing unease.

Seungcheol shook his head, frustration bubbling inside him. "No. I don’t think they’re from anyone around me. And as for the Jeon family… Haven’t heard from them since Wonwoo got married."

He said it with a bitterness that was hard to miss. The Jeon family, once a rival of the Choi family, had always been a thorn in his side when it came to business dealings. And now, with a situation like this unfolding, it didn’t feel like a coincidence. Seungcheol couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than simple revenge or some random act.

"Whoever’s behind this is going to regret messing with my family," Seungcheol muttered under his breath.

The same threats arrived with relentless frequency—through emails, packages, and anonymous phone calls. But Seungcheol had long since stopped letting them consume him. None of it mattered as long as he knew you were safe with him. He’d doubled the security around your gallery and fortified the guards at his house. With his child growing inside you, his protective instincts had only intensified. You and the life you carried were his priority—his entire world.

For a while, that mantra kept him grounded. But by the fifth month of your pregnancy, as your belly began to show, the threats took a darker turn. They became more pointed, more unsettling. One email read, “Close her eyes and see what she heard.” Another note taunted, “She’ll never listen.” Each message seemed to inch closer to the secret they claimed to know.

He kept the weight of it all to himself. He couldn’t bear the thought of burdening you. You already endured enough—carrying his child, enduring the discomfort of pregnancy from morning until night. The last thing you needed was to shoulder his fears. No, this was his fight, and he was determined to keep it that way.

“As long as she’s safe.” That was the mantra he repeated to himself every day. It was his anchor, the thought that kept him moving forward despite the shadow looming over him.

“Do you think it could be someone from your past, sir?” Jihoon asked one evening, breaking the silence in Seungcheol’s office. He looked frustrated, just as perplexed as Seungcheol about the source of the threats. Ten years of working together still hadn’t prepared Jihoon for something like this.

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know. I’ve pissed off plenty of people, sure, but nothing to warrant this kind of obsession.”

Jihoon frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the answer. “It doesn’t make sense for this to be random. Someone claims to know her secret. Someone knows you.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. That was the part he couldn’t wrap his head around. He’d always been someone who preferred moving forward rather than dwelling on the past. That was how he lived—how he thrived. But now, the threats weren’t just confusing; they were demanding something he didn’t know how to give.

“I’m not sure what they want. But they’re not getting her. They’ll have to go through me first,” Seungcheol said, his voice low and resolute.

Jihoon nodded, his expression grim. “We’ll figure this out, sir. But the longer it takes, the more dangerous it gets. These messages aren’t empty threats.”

“I know,” Seungcheol said quietly, his gaze hardening. He looked out the window, his hand instinctively resting on his phone in case you called. As long as she’s safe, he reminded himself. That was all that mattered. For now.

On your first anniversary, Seungcheol wanted to celebrate with an intimate dinner at home. He hired a renowned chef to curate a fine dining experience and had the house meticulously decorated with flowers and candles. It was meant to be a perfect evening, a celebration of your bond and the life you were building together. You were unaware of his plans, but a single photograph shattered the illusion.

The picture showed your home transformed into a romantic haven, the dining table adorned with delicate arrangements and warm, glowing lights. But as you stared at the photo, your surroundings brought a stark contrast. You were seated in a dim, suffocating room, the air damp and reeking of decay.

Jisoo stood before you, his face illuminated by the faint glow of his phone as he grinned. He closed the device with a soft click, his demeanor unsettlingly calm. You struggled to process the situation, piecing together fragments of memory.

Jisoo had offered to drive you home, assuring everyone—Myungho, the guards, and even yourself—that you were safe in his care. Yet here you were, trapped in a place you’d never seen, with a man you thought you trusted.

"Even like this, you still look pretty," Jisoo murmured, his voice gentle but laced with something sinister. He crouched down to meet your gaze, his hand brushing against your cheek in a mockery of tenderness.

It took a moment for the realization to sink in: Jisoo had kidnapped you. The man who had been your psychiatrist, your lifeline when you lost your hearing, had betrayed you. He wasn’t the kind and attentive figure you had thought; he had been paid by your parents to ensure you stayed functional, nothing more.

"It took me months to get to this point, Y/n, so you better cooperate," Jisoo said, his grin widening. "Or else I’ll reveal everything to Choi Seungcheol."

Your stomach churned as his words sank in.

"A pretty girl like you doesn’t deserve him, to be honest," he added, almost as if he were musing aloud. "But hear me out. You’ll leave him in a month. Come with me, or no one will be able to protect you."

"What are you talking about, Jisoo?" you asked, your voice trembling as your hands instinctively moved to shield your growing belly.

Jisoo chuckled, leaning back as though amused by your confusion. "Don’t act so innocent. I know you didn’t marry him for love. It was all for your family’s benefit."

You froze, his words striking a chord of truth that left you paralyzed.

"The investment the Choi family made into your family’s business—it saved them from ruin. But it wasn’t enough, was it? Your parents wanted more," Jisoo continued, his gaze dropping to your stomach with a flicker of disdain.

"No one wants this baby to disappear except for you and me, Y/n," he said, his tone softening into a chilling whisper. "I can give you the life you deserve, away from all of this."

His words sliced through you, leaving a gaping wound of betrayal. You had trusted Jisoo, confided in him during your most vulnerable moments. He had been there when no one else was, not even your mother. You had believed in his kindness, even supported him when he confided about the pain of losing someone he loved. But now, that same man was holding you hostage.

"You don’t understand, Y/n," Jisoo continued, his expression darkening. "All your secrets—your deafness, your marriage—they’ll all come out eventually. Seungcheol will find out everything. And when he does, he'll destroy you. But you don’t have to wait for that to happen. Leave him and run away with me."

"And if I don’t?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Jisoo’s grin faded, replaced by a cold, menacing stare. "Then you and the baby... will get hurt."

Your heart pounded as you sat frozen in the suffocating room, his words reverberating in your mind. The man you had trusted was a stranger, his obsession and bitterness now a threat to everything you held dear. Betrayal tightened its grip around you, suffocating and inescapable. This was not a situation you had ever imagined for yourself, and yet here you were, trapped in a nightmare.

"Happy anniversary, love." Seungcheol’s voice was warm as he leaned down to kiss your temple. You barely managed to stand in front of him, your legs shaky and your heart heavier than ever as Jisoo’s words echoed in your mind.

"Seungcheol will find out everything. And when he does, he’ll destroy you."

Your eyes wandered across the room, taking in the meticulously arranged decorations, the fragrant flowers, and the elegant dinner set for two. The sight should have filled you with joy, but instead, it suffocated you. This wasn’t a celebration. It was a cruel reminder of everything you had been hiding. Every affectionate gesture, every whispered “I love you,” all laced with deceit.

Your chest tightened as you looked at Seungcheol. He stood before you with a loving smile, holding a bouquet in his hands, radiating pure happiness. Yet all you could see was the weight of your betrayal pressing down on you.

"It was all for your family’s benefit." Jisoo’s voice rang in your head, relentless and unyielding. You tried to silence it, but it only grew louder, drowning out the world around you.

Every night, as you lay beside Seungcheol, watching his peaceful figure in the dim light, you were reminded of the lies. The way his chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his features soft in sleep, it made you ache. He was so innocent, so trusting, so undeserving of the darkness you had brought into his life.

"I love you," Seungcheol said, his voice steady and sincere. The three words you feared most hung in the air, piercing through your facade. They weren’t just words to him—they were a promise, a testament to how deeply he cared for you. And you had used that love as a weapon, a means to an end.

Your family’s plan had succeeded flawlessly. They had wanted him to fall for you, to depend on you, to bind him to your family with a child. And now, here you were, carrying his baby, living a life built on manipulation.

"You’ll leave him in a month. Leave him and run away with me." Jisoo’s words were a persistent shadow, haunting every step you took.

You wished you could hear Seungcheol’s voice in this moment, soothing and full of love, reassuring you that everything would be alright. But you couldn’t. The silence in your world was unrelenting, leaving you trapped with only your thoughts and regrets.

And you wished you could hear yourself. Maybe then you would know how broken your voice sounded as tears streamed down your face, how your words betrayed your trembling resolve.

"I’m happy," you whispered, a lie wrapped in fragile sincerity. You weren’t happy—not with this life, not with the choices forced upon you. But you had made your decision. You had chosen to stay, chosen to protect the baby growing inside you, chosen to shield Seungcheol from the pain of the truth.

Because despite the lies, despite the betrayal, you couldn’t bear to hurt him. Seungcheol was the first person to love you without condition, without ulterior motives. And you couldn’t bring yourself to destroy the one person who had shown you what real love could be.

Seungcheol came home with his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing. Earlier that evening, Seo Myungho, your assistant, had paid him an unexpected visit at his office. It was past working hours, but the usually quiet and composed man had come with urgency etched across his face.

"I'm sorry for taking your time, but there's something you need to know," Myungho said, pulling out a photograph.

Seungcheol leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. Myungho placed the picture on the desk.

"I've worked for your wife for years, and my observations have never been wrong," Myungho began cautiously.

In the photograph, you were stepping out of a building with Jisoo, and the timestamp matched the day of your anniversary.

"I was supposed to drive her home that afternoon," Myungho continued, "but Mr. Hong insisted on taking her instead. I followed them. It took them two hours to get home, and this picture was taken while I was tailing his car."

Seungcheol's brows furrowed deeply. "Are you trying to say she's cheating on me?" he asked, his voice tight with disbelief.

Myungho hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "It's not something I can confirm, sir. But I will say this—she hasn’t been the same since that day. If they were involved in an affair, she wouldn’t have told me to stop letting Mr. Hong visit her gallery."

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched as he leaned back in his chair. "What exactly are you insinuating, Seo Myungho?"

After a pause, Myungho finally said what had been weighing on his conscience. "Your wife… I think she’s in danger."

The words hit Seungcheol like a thunderclap.

When he stepped into the house, his voice echoed through the empty halls. "Y/n!" he called. There was no answer. He hurriedly searched every room, his calls growing louder and more frantic.

"Y/n!"

Finally, he made his way to his home office. That’s when he noticed your phone lying on his desk, ringing in response to his calls. The top drawer of the desk, where he kept the bank books, was slightly ajar. His stomach twisted when he realized the bank book with your name was missing.

Unlocking your phone, Seungcheol’s blood ran cold. On the screen was a series of messages, the tone eerily similar to the threats he had been receiving over the past months.

"Leave the house now, or I’ll tell everything about your secret."

Seungcheol’s grip tightened around the phone as he immediately dialed Jihoon. His voice was steady but filled with urgency as he barked orders. "Mobilize everyone. Start searching for her now."

He scanned the phone again, another message flashing on the screen.

"I’ll wait for you at the park near the bank."

Seungcheol sent Jihoon the location before sprinting to his car. He had no doubt now—whoever had been threatening him was after you too.

"My boss… your wife…" Myungho’s earlier words echoed in his mind, the revelation twisting like a knife in his gut.

"She’s deaf," Myungho had said quietly. "She lost her hearing in a car accident. I overheard a conversation between her and her mother once."

Seungcheol pressed harder on the gas pedal, weaving through traffic as Myungho’s voice played on repeat in his head.

"Do you know how much your wife has suffered in this marriage? I thought she found solace in Mr. Hong at first. But then she told me to stop allowing him to visit, and that’s when I realized—he wasn’t helping her anymore."

Seungcheol gripped the wheel tighter, fury and dread clawing at his chest.

"Mr. Hong likes your wife, sir. And I believe he’s the one behind these threats."

The puzzle pieces clicked into place. Jisoo had been manipulating everything, orchestrating the threats, and now he had escalated to targeting you. Seungcheol’s heart raced as he sped toward the park, the weight of the truth pressing down on him.

"What is his deal?" Seungcheol muttered under his breath, frustration bubbling in his chest as he raced toward the park. His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp ring of his phone. Seeing Jun’s name on the screen, he immediately answered, his voice commanding, "Speak!"

"Sir, where are you?" Jun’s voice came through, laced with confusion. "Everyone is in front of Seoul Bank, but we don’t see you or Mr. Lee here."

Seungcheol’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as anger flared in his chest. "It’s the park near SK Bank, not Seoul Bank!" he snapped, his voice booming.

Jun hesitated for a moment, clearly taken aback, before replying, "But sir, Mr. Lee instructed us to gather at Seoul Bank."

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white against the steering wheel. His mind raced as he processed the situation. Why had Jihoon sent his team to a different location? Was it a mistake, or was there something more sinister at play?

"Forget what Mr. Lee said and head to SK Bank immediately," Seungcheol barked.

"Understood, sir. We’re moving now," Jun replied before the line disconnected.

Seungcheol’s mind churned as he pushed the car to its limit. Was there something he was missing? Jihoon was one of his most trusted people, yet this discrepancy felt off. A sinking feeling settled in his chest, whispering that this was more than just a miscommunication.

Every second felt like an eternity as Seungcheol’s thoughts spiraled. Had Jihoon deliberately sent his team elsewhere to buy time? If so, why?

His gut told him the pieces of the puzzle weren’t adding up. If Jihoon was involved in this, there would be hell to pay. For now, all that mattered was finding you.

Seungcheol first met Jihoon during the interview for his secretary team recruitment. Even then, he could see the passion and fire in Jihoon’s eyes—a fighting spirit that convinced him this man could help navigate the treacherous waters of the dark business he was trying to expand. Back when Seungcheol left his position at his father’s company to build his own empire, Jihoon had been his first hire, his personal assistant. For the past ten years, they had been inseparable, working side by side through every challenge and victory. Jihoon wasn’t just an employee; he was someone Seungcheol trusted with his life.

But that trust was now hanging by a thread.

Seungcheol’s heart dropped when he saw Jihoon’s car parked by the curb. He hurried over, peering inside only to find it empty. His gaze darted around the area, but there was no sign of Jihoon—and more importantly, no sign of you.

Panic mixed with fury as emotions churned violently inside him. He clenched his fists, his breathing ragged, and immediately dialed Jun. His voice was sharp and commanding when Jun picked up.

“Track Jihoon’s location. Now. He’s missing,” Seungcheol ordered.

“Understood, sir,” Jun replied quickly, not daring to ask further questions.

Seungcheol ended the call, his mind racing. Jihoon had been the first person he’d confided in about the threats. He’d trusted Jihoon to investigate, to handle everything discreetly. But now, the puzzle pieces were falling into place. Jihoon had sent the team to the wrong location deliberately—to buy himself time.

And that could only mean one thing. Jihoon wasn’t just aware of the threats. He was one of them.

A cold realization settled over Seungcheol, chilling him to the core. The man he had trusted for a decade had betrayed him, and now you were in danger because of it.

Seungcheol gritted his teeth, gripping his phone tightly as he fought the urge to call the police. That wasn’t an option, not for him. He’d made the mistake of involving the police before and paid dearly for it. His hands weren’t clean, and he knew better than to invite unnecessary scrutiny into his life.

All he could do now was rely on his people, his resources, and his determination. He couldn’t afford to let emotions cloud his judgment. He had to focus on two things: finding you and finding Jihoon.

And when he did, Jihoon would have to answer for everything. For the lies, for the betrayal, and most of all, for putting you in harm’s way.

A phone call shattered the tense silence as Seungcheol sat in the living room of his parents' house. The air was heavy with shared worry and shock, each family member struggling to process the sudden revelation of Jihoon’s betrayal.

Seungcheol’s spine stiffened the moment he heard the voice on the other end of the line. It was unmistakable—Jihoon. The man who had been his closest confidant for ten years had finally revealed himself.

“Choi Seungcheol,” Jihoon’s voice came cold and calculated, carrying a chilling undertone.

Seungcheol sighed deeply, the weight of realization pressing down on him. “So it’s you,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

A low, mocking laugh echoed through the line, and Jihoon’s voice followed, dripping with venom. “Hong Jisoo did a great job moving Y/n. He’s a better player than I expected.”

Seungcheol gripped the phone tightly, his knuckles whitening. “What do you want, Jihoon? What dragged you into this madness?”

Another laugh escaped Jihoon’s lips, sharper and colder this time. “Beg, Choi Seungcheol,” he hissed. “At least suffer for a bit. That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? Ruining lives and walking away.”

“Stop speaking in riddles!” Seungcheol barked, frustration and desperation mingling in his voice.

But Jihoon’s next words stopped him cold. “You killed my mother that night,” Jihoon spat, his voice trembling with years of suppressed rage. “Do you even remember? Or is it just another ghost buried under the weight of your family’s sins?”

Seungcheol froze, the accusation hitting him like a freight train. “I never killed anyone! Especially not a woman!” he shouted, his mind scrambling to make sense of Jihoon’s claim.

Jihoon let out a bitter laugh, his tone growing harsher. “Oh, maybe it wasn’t you. Maybe it was your father. Honestly, I don’t care anymore. Your entire family is a wreck!”

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol started, trying to piece it together. “What are you talking about? What happened to your mother?”

Jihoon’s voice cracked with raw emotion. “You could’ve saved her, Seungcheol. You were there. You saw her lying in the street after that accident. Instead of helping, you let your driver speed off. You left her—my mother—alone to die at the crossroad near Jongno.”

The memory stirred faintly in Seungcheol’s mind, a shadowy fragment from years ago. A car accident. A desperate night. Could it be true? Had his family been responsible? Was this all Jihoon’s revenge?

Seungcheol swallowed hard, his voice low and steady. “Jihoon, if what you’re saying is true, let’s talk about it. Let’s fix this.”

But Jihoon’s response was icy. “Fix it? You can’t fix what’s already broken, Choi Seungcheol. Your family destroyed mine, and now it’s my turn to take everything from you.”

There was a pause on the line, a dreadful silence that made Seungcheol’s heart race.

“Let’s see if your wife survives this,” Jihoon said, his voice eerily calm.

And then, a deafening gunshot rang through the phone.

“Jihoon!” Seungcheol yelled into the receiver, his voice cracking with panic. But the call had already ended, leaving him in a suffocating void of silence and dread.

"You promised not to hurt her!" Jisoo shouted, his voice trembling as he held up a gun, his eyes wide with panic. He had just witnessed Jihoon aiming the weapon at you, your unconscious form sprawled on the cold floor. At the last second, Jisoo lunged, shoving Jihoon’s hand away. The gun fired, the bullet ricocheting off the far wall, narrowly missing you.

Jihoon snarled in frustration, swinging his arm to shove Jisoo aside. Jisoo stumbled and fell hard onto the floor, the gun now pointed directly at him. Jihoon’s gaze burned with fury.

“This is your fault,” Jihoon hissed, his voice like ice. “You left her phone at Seungcheol’s house. Do you realize how close he came to finding us?”

Jisoo glared up at him, his expression a mixture of anger and betrayal. “This isn’t about her! What you want is Seungcheol! There’s no need to hurt her!”

Jihoon let out a cold, humorless chuckle. “Seungcheol made me lose someone I loved. Isn’t it only fair he loses his? Who told him to have a weakness in the first place?”

“You’re insane, Jihoon,” Jisoo spat, his voice rising with disbelief. “This was never the deal!”

“I make the deal,” Jihoon said with a cruel smirk. “I decide how it plays out.”

Jihoon had pieced everything together when he discovered who had called Seungcheol using your phone that fateful night. It was Hong Jisoo—your old friend and, ironically, your psychiatrist. Jihoon’s curiosity was piqued. Why would an old friend go so far as to threaten his friend's husband?

The answer came quickly: Jisoo was in love with you. He had been ever since you became his patient. Jihoon saw the truth in Jisoo’s eyes—the way he lingered on your name, the way he spoke about you with barely contained bitterness. Jisoo had been waiting patiently, hoping for his chance. But that chance never came. Your family, powerful and calculating, had arranged your marriage to the Choi family. To someone far wealthier, far more influential than Jisoo could ever be.

Jisoo felt betrayed. Everything he’d done for you, all the time he’d spent caring for you, meant nothing in the end. His motives became clear: he wanted to end your marriage at any cost. And when Jihoon offered an alliance, Jisoo jumped at the opportunity, even if it meant working with someone as dangerous as Jihoon.

The final piece of Jihoon’s plan clicked into place when he saw you. The day of your blind date with Seungcheol, Jihoon had been there, driving the car to pick up his boss. He noticed you speaking with someone in sign language, your hands moving fluidly as you signed, “I can sign because I’m deaf.”

It was a fleeting moment, but it struck Jihoon deeply. His mother had been deaf too, and in that instant, he saw the vulnerability Seungcheol had brought into his life. Jihoon began to watch closely, waiting for Seungcheol to fall for you, and when he did, Jihoon knew he had found the Choi family’s Achilles’ heel.

You.

Seungcheol’s love for you had turned you into his greatest weakness. Jihoon’s plan had been carefully orchestrated, each move designed to exploit that vulnerability and make Seungcheol pay for the sins of his family.

And now, standing over Jisoo with a gun in hand, Jihoon felt the culmination of his years of planning. The question was no longer whether Seungcheol would suffer—it was how much.

Jisoo’s hands trembled as he slowly pushed himself off the ground, his gaze locked on Jihoon, who stood menacingly with the gun aimed at him. The weight of betrayal, desperation, and fear swirled in Jisoo’s mind.

“I won’t let you do this,” Jisoo growled, his voice raw with emotion.

Jihoon cocked his head to the side, his smirk unwavering. “You won’t let me? What can you possibly do, Jisoo? You’ve already played your part. It’s over.”

But it wasn’t over—not for Jisoo. In one swift motion, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a knife, the blade gleaming under the dim light. Without hesitation, he lunged at Jihoon with all his strength, his movements driven by pure instinct and fury.

Jihoon’s eyes widened in surprise as Jisoo’s body collided with his. The gun went off, the sound of the shot reverberating through the air, but the bullet missed its mark, hitting the wall instead. Jihoon staggered back, his grip on the gun faltering as Jisoo shoved the knife into his side with brutal force.

A guttural cry of pain tore from Jihoon’s throat as he felt the blade sink into his flesh. Blood seeped through his shirt, staining the fabric crimson. Jihoon’s hand instinctively tightened around the gun, his vision blurring from the searing pain.

“You think this will stop me?” Jihoon hissed, his voice strained but laced with venom.

Jisoo didn’t respond, his breathing ragged as he pushed the knife deeper, his resolve unshaken. He could feel Jihoon weakening beneath his grip, but he underestimated just how dangerous Jihoon could be, even in his wounded state.

With a surge of adrenaline, Jihoon raised the gun and fired again, this time hitting Jisoo square in the shoulder. The force of the shot sent Jisoo stumbling backward, his grip on the knife loosening as he fell to the ground.

Both men were now gasping for air, their bodies trembling from the pain and exertion. Blood pooled on the floor between them, the room thick with the metallic scent of violence.

Jihoon clutched his side, his hand slick with blood as he leaned against the wall for support. His gaze flickered to Jisoo, who lay sprawled on the floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder and groaning in agony.

“You really thought you could outsmart me?” Jihoon sneered, though his voice was weaker now, his energy draining rapidly.

Jisoo coughed, his chest heaving as he glared at Jihoon through the haze of pain. “You’re no better than the people you claim to hate,” he spat. “You’ve become the monster you wanted to destroy.”

Jihoon’s expression darkened, his fingers tightening around the gun. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, his tone cold. “But at least I’ll have justice for my mother. You? You’re nothing but a coward, Jisoo. Hiding behind your obsession.”

Jisoo’s hand twitched, reaching for the knife still embedded in Jihoon’s side. But before he could grab it, Jihoon raised the gun again, aiming directly at Jisoo’s chest.

“I warned you,” Jihoon said, his voice icy and devoid of emotion. “Stay out of my way.”

The sound of another gunshot echoed through the room. Jisoo’s body went still, his eyes wide in shock before they slowly fluttered shut.

Jihoon let out a ragged, shaky breath, his knees giving way as he collapsed to the floor. His hand instinctively moved to the knife buried in his side, but he didn’t dare pull it out, knowing it would only hasten the flow of blood. Pain shot through him with every shallow breath he took, sharp and unrelenting, as if his body were punishing him for every choice that had led to this moment.

His vision blurred, the room tilting as the strength in his legs failed him completely. He pressed his back against the wall, trying to steady himself, but the cold surface only amplified the chill spreading through his body. Each heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears, a reminder of how quickly his time was slipping away.

As his gaze wandered across the room, it landed briefly on the lifeless form of Jisoo, crumpled a few feet away, his blood staining the floor in dark, viscous pools. The memory of the fight replayed in Jihoon's mind like a broken record—Jisoo’s desperate lunge, the glint of the blade, the deafening crack of the gun.

Jihoon’s breath hitched, his hand pressing harder against his wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. The edges of his vision darkened, the world around him losing focus. His chest heaved as he tried to stay conscious, but the weight of his injuries was too much to bear.

The room felt eerily quiet now, the echoes of their struggle replaced by the faint, distant hum of the city beyond these walls. Jihoon tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling as a bitter smile played on his lips.

Seungcheol’s heart hammered in his chest as he and his team stormed through the abandoned harbor. The old warehouse loomed ahead, a towering silhouette against the dark sky. Every breath felt heavier as he pushed forward, each step fraught with mounting dread. They had tracked Jihoon’s location down to this forsaken place—now, all he could think of was finding you, ensuring you were still alive.

The sound of his boots pounding against the cracked pavement echoed in the still night air as he reached the heavy doors of the warehouse. With one forceful push, they creaked open, revealing the cavernous interior dimly lit by flickering overhead lights. The air was thick with the smell of rust and dampness, the kind of place that whispered forgotten secrets.

But what greeted him inside was far worse than he’d imagined.

Blood. It was everywhere. Pools of dark crimson staining the cold concrete floor. A wave of nausea threatened to overtake him as his eyes darted across the scene. His team fanned out, but Seungcheol’s gaze was drawn to the lifeless body of Jisoo, sprawled across the floor in an unnatural position. The unmistakable evidence of a gunshot wound on his chest confirmed that he was beyond saving.

Seungcheol’s pulse quickened, a suffocating pressure forming in his chest. He couldn’t stop his legs from carrying him toward the body. His eyes briefly shut as the weight of the situation settled into his bones. Jisoo—dead.

But where were you?

His breath hitched as his gaze swept the warehouse. There was no sign of you. No trace of Jihoon. The blood led into a narrow corridor at the back of the warehouse. His pulse raced, the fear gnawing at him like a festering wound.

“Search the entire place. Don’t leave a single corner unchecked,” Seungcheol ordered, his voice tight with barely controlled panic.

His men scattered, checking every shadow, every room, but still, no sign of you. His heart sank with every passing second. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of their frantic searching.

Seungcheol moved toward the back, following the blood trail. It led to a door cracked slightly open, its edges stained with crimson. Without hesitation, he pushed it open, his eyes scanning the area for any clue, anything that could point him to you.

There were drag marks. Disturbingly faint, but they were there. Leading toward the docks.

His mind screamed at him to hurry. “Get to the docks! Block all exits!” Seungcheol barked. He could barely hear his own words over the rush of blood in his ears, his vision narrowing with each second.

He needed to find you. He would find you. No matter what it took, no matter the cost.

The water lapped softly against the shore, the only sound that seemed to break the tense stillness. Seungcheol stared out at the dark horizon, feeling the weight of the past few hours pressing on him. Was it too late?

“I’ll find you,” he whispered, barely audible to anyone but himself, as he squared his shoulders. “I swear I will.”

You ran, your heart pounding in your chest as the cold night air stung your skin. Your feet, bare and scraped from the rough pavement, barely registered the pain as you pushed your body to its limits. You could still hear the haunting memory of Jihoon’s voice in your head, feel the weight of Jisoo’s betrayal in your bones.

They wouldn't come back. They couldn't come back.

The thought of them finding you again, of them dragging you back into their nightmare, was enough to keep you moving even as exhaustion threatened to pull you under. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your throat dry and tight with thirst, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

And then, just as you were beginning to feel your legs betray you, you saw them—a group of women, dressed in thick wetsuits, their movements confident and assured. They were divers, the kind who harvested abalone, their hands strong from years of working the sea. They noticed you before you could stagger past them, their trained eyes immediately scanning your bloodstained dress and the wild, frantic look in your eyes.

"Young woman? Are you okay?" One of them called out, her voice gentle but concerned.

You lifted a hand, weakly waving in their direction. You could feel your body weakening, the adrenaline finally starting to wear off. The ground beneath you tilted, and your knees nearly gave way. You knew you couldn’t keep running for much longer. Your vision blurred, but you forced the words out.

“I was kidnapped…” Your voice cracked, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. The truth hung in the air like a heavy weight. They could see it in your eyes—the terror, the exhaustion, the desperation.

The women exchanged quick glances, scanning your disheveled state, the blood on your dress that stained the night darker still. They didn’t question you. Instead, one of them stepped forward, her tone gentle but firm.

“Come with us,” she said. “You’re safe now.”

You didn’t have the energy to protest. Your legs wobbled beneath you as they carefully supported you, guiding you away from the dangers you’d just escaped.

With each step, you felt yourself slipping closer to unconsciousness. The dim lights of the village shimmered like a distant dream, and you clung to the hope that, maybe, for the first time in what felt like forever, you were finally safe.

"What happened that night?" Seungcheol demanded, his voice cold and heavy as he confronted his father. The room was dimly lit, the weight of the topic casting a suffocating shadow over them. The matter at hand was the death of a woman his father’s car had struck 15 years ago—a moment that had come back to haunt them both.

His father took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. "She was a cleaner at our company. But before that, she was a witness to one of our transactions. She confronted the leaders and threatened to report everything to the police unless she got paid off." His tone was calm, detached, as though recounting a mundane business deal.

Seungcheol’s fists clenched. "And?"

"I gave her enough money to raise her children. More than enough. I even found her a job. She was deaf, Seungcheol, and no one was willing to hire someone like that back then."

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened as the pieces fell into place. Jihoon’s mother had been employed as a cleaner for several months before that fateful night. But it didn’t end there.

"She demanded more money," his father continued, voice devoid of remorse. "She wanted more, and I had no better option than to make her disappear."

Seungcheol felt a wave of nausea as his father’s words hit him. He nodded grimly, the memory of that night flashing in his mind. "That’s what I knew. She wanted more money," he muttered, almost to himself. "That’s why I left her that night. I thought she was just another extortionist."

There was silence between them until his father broke it. "And your wife? Has anyone found her?"

Seungcheol shook his head, his heart sinking further into despair. "No. Neither her nor Jihoon." His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. The thought of you out there—alive or worse—was unbearable. You were the first person he had ever truly loved, and now you were gone, all because of the vengeance Jihoon had carried for years.

His father frowned, his brows knitting together. "No body was found in the water either?"

Seungcheol exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. "No. But there was blood on the edge of the dock."

His father’s eyes darkened. "Do you think it was Jihoon’s?"

Seungcheol hesitated, biting his lip as his gaze met his father’s. "I wish it was. But..." He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

His father studied him carefully before speaking. "There’s something else, isn’t there?"

Seungcheol’s throat tightened as he admitted quietly, "was it possible? She’s pregnant."

The weight of the revelation hung in the air. His father nodded in understanding, his expression grim. "We’ll send more people tomorrow," he said firmly, rising to his feet. He placed a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder, his grip surprisingly steady. "We’ll find closure, one way or another."

Seungcheol didn’t respond, his thoughts spiraling. He didn’t want closure. He wanted you. And the uncertainty of whether you were alive or gone was a torment he wasn’t sure he could endure.

One week.

Two weeks.

A month.

Three months.

Time crawled by as the search for you carried on, only to come to a devastating halt. After three agonizing months, Seungcheol made the painful decision to officially call off the large-scale search. The slowdown in the business was affecting countless lives, and he couldn’t justify sacrificing so many for his own personal grief. Yet, in his heart, the search never truly stopped.

Every weekend, Seungcheol would find himself wandering from one village to another near the abandoned harbor, relentless in his quest. He’d strike up conversations with locals and ask questions.

“Do you have a picture of her?” a villager would ask.

Seungcheol would pull out the photograph, his fingers trembling slightly as he handed it over. You always looked beautiful to him, flawless in every way. Even now, with the ache of your absence, he could only see perfection in your face. The day he’d first laid eyes on you, he’d been captivated, unable to believe someone like you could exist.

The truth of your deafness, which your parents finally revealed to him on the night you disappeared, hadn’t changed his view of you at all. If anything, it made him ache more for what you had endured.

“It was my idea to hide the fact she is deaf! Please forgive me, Son-in-law,” your mother had pleaded, her voice cracking with guilt.

Seungcheol had stared at her, his chest tightening with anger and disbelief. “Tell me one reason why her deafness was a secret.”

“Because a woman’s obligation as a wife is to listen,” she replied, the words cutting through him like a knife.

His hands clenched at his sides. He couldn’t imagine the kind of torment you must have endured growing up in a household like this. The burden of expectations, the cruel standard you were forced to meet—it was suffocating to even think about.

Your mother continued, as if the words excused her actions. “We were relieved when we found out she was pregnant. At least she fulfilled one of her obligations. She lost so much after the accident...”

“Stop,” Seungcheol snapped, his voice laced with restrained fury. “Stop speaking about her in the past tense. She’s still with us. She has to be.”

But even as he confronted your mother’s callousness, doubt and fear gnawed at his heart. Every village he visited, every person he spoke to, left him with nothing but disappointment.

“We’ve never seen anyone like her,” a villager said, shaking their head. “She’s so beautiful. Is she your wife?”

Seungcheol nodded, a faint, hollow smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, she’s my wife.”

That evening, as he drove back home, the weight of his failure pressed down on him. The house, once filled with your warmth, now felt unbearably quiet. The memories of you lingered in every corner—the way you smiled, the way you turned your head to face him whenever he spoke, the way you stared at his lips, a habit he’d never fully understood until now.

It was during those lonely nights that everything started to make sense.

Your habit of always needing to face him when he spoke. The lack of phone calls. The way you’d tilt your head and say, “What?” if he wasn’t looking directly at you.

You couldn’t hear him.

And he’d never realized it.

He thought back to all the times Hong Jisoo had tried to hint at the truth through his cryptic threats. Jisoo had known, just as your parents had, that you had been forced into the marriage. Seungcheol clenched his fists, anger and regret churning inside him.

He felt like he had failed you—not just as a husband but as the man who should have protected you from all of this.

And now, you were gone.

His phone rang in the dead of night, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the room. Seungcheol groggily reached for it, his heart sinking at the thought of more bad news. But when he saw the caller ID, his exhaustion was replaced by curiosity.

Seo Myungho.

Your former assistant had never called him again after that time, let alone at this hour.

Seungcheol answered, his voice hoarse, “Hello?”

“I found her.”

Three words. Just three words. But they hit him like a lightning bolt, sending him bolting upright from the bed.

“What did you say?” he asked, his voice sharp and desperate now, as if he couldn’t trust what he’d just heard.

“I found her, sir.”

Myungho’s search for you had been relentless, driven by a determination he couldn’t explain but refused to ignore. He carefully tracked your weeks, estimating your birthing date. His method was simple but meticulous—he regularly visited hospitals and clinics in the areas surrounding the harbor where you had last been seen. It was a grueling process, but last week, his persistence paid off.

He spotted you stepping out of a small clinic, your rounded stomach unmistakable. Myungho’s heart skipped a beat. If his calculations were correct, you were due any day now.

Discreetly, he followed you back to a modest village nestled along the coastline. There, he discovered an elderly woman had taken you under her wing, providing you with shelter and care during these past months. Myungho watched from a distance, observing how you seemed to have created a life for yourself despite everything. He saw you teaching local children sign language, your hands moving gracefully as the kids mirrored your gestures with bright, eager faces.

“What are you doing here, young man?” A gruff voice startled him one afternoon. He turned to see an elderly man approaching, his gaze sharp but curious. “You’re not from around here. Are you from the city?”

Caught off guard, Myungho scrambled for a believable response. “Uh, yes. I’m here looking for a great restaurant,” he said quickly. “The kind that serves abalone.”

The old man’s face brightened. “Well, you’re in luck! I’ve got the best abalone in the area. Come on, come on, I’ll serve you myself!”

With little choice but to follow, Myungho was soon seated at a modest table in the man’s small home. A steaming plate of abalone was placed in front of him, the rich aroma filling the air.

As the man chatted, he grew more animated. “You know, there was a big fuss a few months ago. A young woman came here—a deaf woman, staying at Mrs. Jeong’s house. They say she ran away from her husband. Nobody knows what really happened to her, though.”

“Enough, old man!” a woman’s voice scolded. Myungho turned to see the man’s wife slapping his arm lightly. “It’s supposed to be a secret!”

“I was just talking,” the old man grumbled, rubbing his arm.

The woman sighed and turned to Myungho apologetically. “Mrs. Jeong is a respected figure in this village, and she asked us to keep the young woman’s presence a secret. I hope you understand.”

Myungho nodded, hiding his relief. Mrs. Jeong. Now he had a name—a connection to you. He had finally found the key to bringing you back.

When the due was coming, the pain from the contractions gripped your body like a vice, leaving you breathless. The small clinic in the village had tried their best, but it quickly became clear they couldn’t handle the complications of your delivery. You needed a cesarean, and time was running out.

As you sat hunched on the clinic bench, clutching your swollen belly, Myungho appeared. His presence was unexpected, his expression calm but urgent.

“I’ll take her to the hospital,” he said firmly, addressing the worried midwife.

The midwife looked at you, hesitant. “It’s a long drive, and the baby could come anytime,” she said.

Myungho met your gaze. “We don’t have a choice. Let’s go.”

You blinked, stunned by his sudden appearance. “Why are you here?” you asked weakly, the pain stealing the strength from your voice.

He didn’t answer immediately, guiding you carefully toward his car. His hands were steady but firm as he helped you into the passenger seat. “I’ll explain later,” he said, closing the door and rushing to the driver’s side.

The contractions were coming faster now, each one making you grip the seat harder. The car sped down the uneven village roads, Myungho’s hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“Breathe,” he said, glancing at you. “Focus on breathing.”

You tried, but the pain was overwhelming. Sweat dripped down your temple, and your vision blurred. Between the waves of agony, your mind buzzed with questions. How did he find you? Why was he here?

The ride felt like an eternity, each second stretching into minutes. Myungho’s jaw was tight, his focus unwavering as he navigated the winding roads.

When the lights of the hospital came into view, a weak sigh of relief escaped your lips. Myungho pulled up to the emergency entrance and jumped out, shouting for help.

Within moments, a team of medical staff surrounded you, gently lifting you onto a gurney. Myungho stayed by your side until the doors to the operating room loomed ahead.

You reached out, grabbing his sleeve. “Why are you here?” you asked again, your voice trembling.

He paused, looking down at you with an intensity that made your heart ache. “Because someone had to protect you,” he said softly. “And I owe it to him.”

Before you could process his words, the doors swung open, and you were whisked away. As the bright lights of the operating room blurred your vision, one thought lingered in your mind—was he talking about Seungcheol?

Seungcheol stormed into the administration ward, his breath ragged as his frantic eyes scanned the room. When he spotted Myungho standing near the counter, clutching a pen and a clipboard, he closed the distance in long, hurried strides.

Without hesitation, Seungcheol grabbed Myungho’s arm, his grip firm but trembling. His voice was raw, almost pleading. “Tell me she’s alive.”

Myungho looked up, startled but composed. “Please calm down, sir,” he said, his tone steady yet empathetic. “I assure you, she’s fine. She’s in the operating room right now.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened in shock, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The operating room? Why? What’s wrong?!” His chest tightened with dread as scenarios raced through his mind.

Setting the clipboard aside, Myungho placed a reassuring hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder and guided him toward the waiting lounge outside the operating room. “Today is her due date,” Myungho explained as they walked. “She’s giving birth to your child.”

The words hit Seungcheol like a tidal wave, rendering him momentarily speechless. He stopped in his tracks, his gaze fixed on Myungho as if needing confirmation that he’d heard correctly. “My… child?” he echoed, his voice laced with disbelief and a glimmer of hope.

Myungho nodded firmly. “Yes, sir. She went into labor earlier, but the clinic in the village couldn’t handle the delivery. It’s a cesarean operation. That’s why I brought her here.”

Seungcheol’s shoulders sagged, a mix of relief and anxiety washing over him. He pressed a hand over his mouth, his thoughts racing between fear for your safety and the realization that he was about to become a father.

“I need to see her,” he said, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to maintain his composure.

Myungho shook his head gently. “The doctors are doing everything they can. All we can do now is wait.”

As they reached the waiting lounge, Seungcheol sank into one of the chairs, his head falling into his hands. The sterile smell of the hospital and the faint hum of medical equipment filled the silence around him.

“She’s strong,” Myungho said softly, standing beside him. “She’s been through so much, but she’s strong. And she’s going to make it through this.”

Seungcheol nodded, his jaw clenched as he fought back tears. “I should’ve found her sooner,” he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “I should’ve protected her.”

“You’re here now,” Myungho said firmly. “And that’s what matters.”

Time crawled by with agonizing slowness as Seungcheol remained in the waiting lounge. His gaze never left the double doors leading to the operating room. The fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glow on his anxious expression, emphasizing the deep lines of worry etched into his face.

He tapped his foot impatiently, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Every passing second felt like an eternity, the weight of uncertainty pressing heavily on his chest. Myungho sat a few seats away, silent but observant, giving Seungcheol space while staying close in case he was needed.

Finally, the double doors swung open. A doctor stepped out, his surgical mask still in place, his face partially obscured but his eyes calm and professional. Seungcheol shot to his feet, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

“Doctor, how is she? Is she okay? And the baby?” he asked in a rush, his voice trembling.

The doctor gave a small, reassuring nod. “Both the mother and baby are safe. The operation went smoothly.”

Relief flooded through Seungcheol like a wave, his knees threatening to give out beneath him. He exhaled deeply, pressing a hand to his chest as if to steady his racing heart. “Thank God,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“The mother is resting now, but you can see her shortly,” the doctor continued. “The baby has been moved to the nursery for observation, but everything looks good.”

“Thank you,” Seungcheol said earnestly, his voice thick with emotion. He reached out and shook the doctor’s hand firmly, his gratitude evident in his grip.

Moments later, a nurse led Seungcheol to your recovery room. The sight of you lying in the hospital bed, pale but peaceful, made his chest tighten. He approached cautiously, his footsteps soft as if afraid to disturb you.

You stirred slightly, your eyelids fluttering open. When your gaze met his, a flicker of recognition crossed your tired face. “Seungcheol…” you murmured, your voice weak but laced with emotion.

He sank into the chair beside your bed, his hands trembling as he reached for yours. “I’m here,” he said softly, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry for everything. For not finding you sooner, for everything you’ve been through…”

You managed a faint smile, your fingers curling weakly around his. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re here now.”

Seungcheol leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And I’m never leaving again,” he vowed.

The nurse returned moments later, wheeling in a small bassinet. Inside, a tiny bundle of life stirred, letting out a soft cry. Seungcheol stood, his breath catching as he saw the baby for the first time. The nurse carefully lifted the infant and placed them in your arms.

You both gazed down at the child, a mix of emotions reflected in your tired but radiant faces. “It’s a boy,” the nurse said with a smile before quietly stepping out to give you privacy.

Seungcheol leaned over, his hand resting gently on the baby’s tiny head. “He’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with wonder.

For the first time in months, the weight on Seungcheol’s heart lifted as he held onto the two people who now meant everything to him.

"We don't have to talk about anything yet. Your recovery is my priority now," Seungcheol said softly, his voice steady but filled with emotion. He gently tucked the blanket around you, his touch as careful as if you might break. Leaning in, he placed a tender kiss on your temple, the warmth of his lips lingering like a silent promise.

"Choi Doahn," you whispered, the name slipping from your lips as you cradled your baby for the first time. It was barely audible, but Seungcheol caught it. The way you spoke the name—so full of love and meaning—etched itself into his heart. From that moment, he began calling the baby Doahn.

Doahn now rested peacefully in the small crib beside your bed, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm with his soft breaths. Seungcheol couldn’t take his eyes off him. The baby was so small, so delicate, yet he already held a monumental presence in Seungcheol’s life. He crouched beside the crib, his hand hovering over Doahn as if afraid his touch might disturb the baby's perfect tranquility.

Seungcheol’s heart ached with a bittersweet mix of love and regret. How much of this had he missed? The small kicks, the first signs of life, the moments you must have longed to share with him during your pregnancy—he hadn’t been there. He had failed to protect you both when you needed him most.

When the nurse handed Doahn to him for skin-to-skin bonding, Seungcheol felt his breath hitch. The baby stirred slightly in his arms, a soft murmur escaping his tiny lips before settling again. As Seungcheol cradled him against his chest, the warmth of Doahn’s fragile body against his skin unleashed a flood of emotions he had held back for too long.

Tears streamed down Seungcheol’s face, unbidden and unstoppable. They weren’t just tears of relief, but also of guilt, sorrow, and overwhelming love. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Doahn’s head, his lips trembling as he whispered, "I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. But I’m here now, and I’ll never leave you or your mother again. I promise, Doahn."

You watched from the bed, your heart full despite your exhaustion. Seeing Seungcheol with your baby, the tenderness in his touch, and the raw emotion on his face reminded you of the man you fell in love with—the man who always cared so deeply, even if he didn’t always know how to show it.

Seungcheol turned to you, his tear-streaked face breaking into a soft, grateful smile. "Thank you," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "Thank you for giving me him… for fighting through everything. I don’t deserve either of you, but I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you both feel loved and safe."

In that quiet room, the three of you found a moment of peace amidst the chaos that had brought you here. It wasn’t the end of the journey, but it was the beginning of a new one—a chance to heal, to grow, and to finally be a family.

It was late afternoon when Seungcheol finally broached the subject. The soft glow of the sun streamed through the hospital room window, casting a warm light over you as you rested in bed. Doahn was asleep in the crib beside you, his small form wrapped in a blanket. Seungcheol sat on the edge of your bed, his hands clasped tightly together, as though gathering the courage to speak.

"I think we need to talk now," he said gently, his voice low so as not to wake the baby. He searched your face, his eyes brimming with unspoken emotions.

You nodded, your fingers fidgeting with the blanket draped over your lap. You had been waiting for this moment, dreading it but knowing it was inevitable. "Where do we start?" you asked softly, your voice carrying both hesitation and resolve.

Seungcheol took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "I want to start with an apology," he said, his tone steady but thick with emotion. "I failed you, love. I should’ve protected you, been there for you when you needed me most. Instead, you had to face all of this alone." His voice cracked slightly, and he paused, looking down at his hands. "I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through. And I’m sorry for not realizing sooner… about your hearing. I should’ve known."

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump rise in your throat. "It wasn’t your fault," you said after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. "I kept it a secret because I was scared. My parents…" You hesitated, the memories of their harsh words and expectations still painful. "They told me I wouldn’t be good enough for anyone if people knew. I didn’t want to burden you with it."

Seungcheol’s heart clenched at your words. "Y/n, you’re not a burden. You never were, and you never will be. I hate that they made you feel that way." He reached out, his hand covering yours. "You’re perfect to me, just the way you are."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you met his gaze. "I was so scared, Seungcheol," you admitted, your voice trembling. "When Jihoon took me, when I was alone in that village… I thought I’d never see you again. I thought you’d given up on me."

"I never gave up," Seungcheol said firmly, his grip on your hand tightening. "Not for a second. I searched for you every day. Even when the official search ended, I couldn’t stop. I knew you were out there, and I had to find you."

You nodded, the sincerity in his words soothing some of the pain you had carried. "I know now," you said softly. "And I’m grateful. For everything you’ve done for me and for Doahn."

Seungcheol’s eyes softened as he looked at you. "We’ve both been through so much," he said. "But I want us to move forward together. As a family. No more secrets, no more fear. Just us, starting fresh."

Seungcheol had been watching you with quiet anticipation, his gaze filled with patience and love. You took a deep breath, meeting his eyes with a resolve you hadn’t felt in years.

"If.." you began, your voice steady but laced with emotion. "If we’re going to move forward, I need you to know there are things I can’t compromise on anymore."

Seungcheol’s brows furrowed slightly, his concern evident, but he nodded. "I’m listening," he said softly, leaning closer.

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. "I want my freedom," you said firmly, your voice carrying a weight that left no room for doubt. "I want to be free from my parents’ control. They’ve dictated so much of my life—how I should live, how I should act, even who I should marry. I can’t go back to that."

Seungcheol nodded slowly, his expression serious. "You won’t have to," he assured you. "I’ll make sure they understand that you’re your own person now. Whatever it takes, I’ll stand by you."

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you pressed on. "And also...," you said, your voice faltering for a moment. "I… I want to hear. I want to try to get my hearing back."

Seungcheol’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "You mean… surgery?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. "I’ve been thinking about it for a while," you admitted. "Living in that village, teaching sign language to those kids… it made me realize how much I’ve missed out on. But more than that…" You paused, your voice breaking as tears rolled down your cheeks. "I want to hear you, Seungcheol. And I want to hear Doahn."

The raw emotion in your voice made Seungcheol’s chest tighten. He reached out, taking your hands in his. "Love," he said softly, his voice steady and full of warmth, "if that’s what you want, then we’ll make it happen. Whatever the cost, whatever the process, I’ll be with you every step of the way."

You let out a shaky breath, relief washing over you at his unwavering support. "Thank you," you whispered, your fingers clutching his as though he was your lifeline.

Seungcheol smiled faintly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "You don’t have to thank me," he said. "This is your life, your choice. And I’ll do everything in my power to help you live it the way you want."

In that moment, you felt a surge of hope—hope for a future where you could finally take control of your own life, where you could experience the world in ways you’d only dreamed of. And with Seungcheol by your side, you knew you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

Months passed, and the promise of a new beginning grew stronger with each passing day. With Seungcheol’s unwavering support, you underwent the delicate surgery to restore your hearing—a decision that filled you with equal parts hope and fear. The process wasn’t easy; it was marked by long days of recovery, uncertainty, and moments of self-doubt. Yet, every time you felt like faltering, Seungcheol was there, holding your hand, his quiet reassurance anchoring you to the dream of what could be.

When the moment finally came, when you heard Doahn’s soft, melodic coos for the very first time and Seungcheol’s deep, steady voice calling your name, it was as if the world had burst into vibrant color. A rush of emotions overwhelmed you, tears spilling down your cheeks as you clutched Doahn close to your chest, his tiny hands gripping your shirt.

"He sounds… perfect," you whispered, your voice trembling with wonder, every syllable carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions.

Seungcheol knelt beside you, his gaze filled with warmth and relief. Resting his hand gently on your shoulder, he whispered, "Just like his mother." His voice, rich and tender, was the sweetest sound you’d ever heard.

With your hearing restored, the world transformed into a symphony of wonders. Every sound was a discovery—the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore, the laughter of children playing. Even the hum of the city streets, once distant and imagined, felt alive and vibrant. But nothing compared to the sound of Seungcheol’s laughter. The way his voice softened when he spoke your name made your heart swell, reminding you of how far you’d come together.

Seungcheol honored his promise to give you the freedom you craved. The chains of old expectations were broken, and you stepped into a new chapter of your life with a renewed sense of purpose. You found joy in teaching sign language, helping others rediscover their voices, and advocating for those who had been silenced by circumstance. Doahn grew up surrounded by unconditional love and support, his first words—soft and innocent—brought tears to everyone’s eyes, especially Seungcheol’s.

Though the scars of your past lingered, they no longer defined you. Instead, they became a testament to your resilience. Seungcheol, too, carried the weight of his guilt but turned it into strength. He made it his mission to make up for lost time, pouring his love into every moment he shared with you and Doahn.

One quiet evening, the three of you sat by the ocean, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of gold and amber. Doahn toddled between you and Seungcheol, his giggles echoing like music against the gentle waves. You leaned into Seungcheol, resting your head on his shoulder as a soft sigh escaped your lips.

"This is freedom," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with certainty and peace.

Seungcheol turned to you, his lips brushing your temple in a kiss as tender as his words. "And it’s just the beginning," he replied, his voice brimming with quiet determination and love.

In that moment, you knew that despite everything—the pain, the struggles, the loss—you had finally found your place in the world. A place where love, freedom, and hope could coexist, and where the future stretched out before you like the endless horizon.

The moon was about to cast its pale light on the quiet dock as you dragged Jihoon's limp, injured body toward the water. His breathing was shallow, labored, and each step you took felt heavier than the last. Blood seeped through his torn shirt, staining your hands as you struggled to pull him closer to the edge. He groaned, a faint sound of resistance, his body twitching in pain as he fought to stay conscious.

"Stop..." Jihoon rasped, his voice weak but filled with defiance. His head lolled to the side, his eyes flickering open to meet yours.

You crouched beside him, your breath coming in shallow pants. For a moment, you simply stared at him, the man whose vengeance had cost you so much. Despite his condition, Jihoon’s gaze burned with stubborn determination.

But you didn’t speak. Instead, you raised your hands, signing slowly and deliberately so he could follow your words.

“눈에는 눈, 이는 이로는 세상은 눈먼 자들로 가득 찰 것이다.” (An eye for an eye will leave the whole world blind.)

Jihoon’s brows furrowed as he struggled to focus on your hands, on the message you were conveying. His lips twitched, forming the faintest shadow of a bitter smile.

“Do you think…” he coughed, blood specking his lips, “… that this will change anything?”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you signed again, your hands moving with precision, your expression unwavering.

“복수는 또 다른 상처를 남길 뿐이다. 넌 네 복수의 무게를 견딜 수 있겠어?” (Revenge only leaves another wound. Can you bear the weight of your vengeance?)

Jihoon’s head sank back, his strength waning as he closed his eyes. You could see the conflict in him—the doubt creeping into the cracks of his resolve. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, and for a moment, silence enveloped the dock, broken only by the gentle lapping of the water against the wood.

“You… don’t understand,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It wasn’t just revenge… It was justice.”

You shook your head, your hands signing one final phrase, your movements deliberate and steady.

“정의는 희생으로부터 나와야 한다, 증오가 아니라.” (Justice must come from sacrifice, not hatred.)

Jihoon’s eyes opened, tears brimming at the corners as he gazed at you, his face a mixture of pain and regret. The weight of your words—or perhaps the truth in them—seemed to settle on him like a crushing tide.

You stared down at him, your heart pounding. For a fleeting moment, your resolve wavered. Memories of the good times—of his laughter, his loyalty—flashed through your mind. But those moments were gone, drowned beneath the weight of his betrayal.

“Goodbye, Jihoon,” you signed slowly, the finality in your movements echoing in the air between you.

Then, with a steady breath, you placed your hands on his shoulders and shoved.

Jihoon’s body slid across the wooden planks, his weak protests lost to the flow. The splash as he hit the water shattered the stillness, ripples spreading out in every direction.

You stood at the edge, watching as he sank beneath the surface. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the water settling, the ripples fading into stillness once more.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides as you turned away, the weight of your actions sinking in. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

The dock felt endless as you walked away, the stars overhead offering no solace. Whether Jihoon would rise from the water or disappear into its depths was no longer your concern.

This was the end of the path you had both walked together—and the beginning of a new one, without him.

The end.

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lisanamjoon · 5 months ago

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JISOO | AMORTAGE | ALBUM SCANS ♡

#femaleidolsedit #femaleidol #femadolsedit #idolady #ggnet #kgoddesses #ksoloists #**#blackpink #jisoo #kim jisoo #dazzlingidolsedit #kpopccc #ultkpopnetwork #blackpink jisoo #bp #bp jisoo #amortage

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pasteidolons · 10 months ago

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aphelion - hjs

pairing: archaeologist!hong jisoo x curator!reader genre: angst, smut, fluff, short story other characters: kim mingyu, xu minghao, choi seungcheol, park sooyoung, kang seulgi warnings: afab reader, alcohol use, cursing, smut (oral, p in v sex), people not able to talk out their feelings word count: 13.5k summary: the past catches up to you at an archeology exhibit in the italian town of pompeii. feelings trapped and unknown come to light when you end up face to face with someone you thought you’d never see again.

It’s not that the Italian sun is unfamiliar to you, you’d basked in its glow on a handful of occasions as you had traveled and worked in this country rich in both wine and history. The sun bearing down on you isn’t harsh, but it isn’t kind either, its soft rays acting to lull you into a dreamlike state of relaxation and wonder as it swallows the fluorescent lights of the airport as the sliding glass doors lead you outside and into its heat. Stone pines reaching towards the heavens, it is a strangely comforting feeling to see them looming above the cypress trees that adorn the landscape around the Naples airport. Maybe it’s you just thankful to be back on solid ground, the flight had been turbulent and the line at customs hellish. All you really want is a nap.

“Oh my god I can’t believe we made it,” hand finding the rim of a jet-black pair of Ray Bans, Park Sooyoung’s attention is drawn to the bright sky above, cloudless and blue as it reflects in the lenses of her glasses. “How long is the drive to the house?”

You and your friend had met up a few days earlier in order to travel together to an archeological conference in the historical hotspot of Pompeii. She, being an archivist in New York, and you, being one in London, had rarely seen each other since your grad school days and took this as an opportunity to convene with another friend, Mingyu, and play catch-up. It isn’t the most ideal of circumstances, since this is a work trip, but you’ll take what you can get in stride and hope for the best.

Papers folding and bending against each other as the pair of you stroll through the exit terminal, various cars and buses aligning the strip to both pick up and drop off passengers, you sigh, “Half an hour?”

The now meaningless plane tickets and visa information are now tucked away in a pocket of your bag, gone to the world until you’ll need it again to assess your travel information for reimbursement purposes. Flying on the company dime isn’t something you’re unwilling to do.

From what your phone had told you and the various guides that had tried to help in the airport, you’re looking at a relatively short journey to the home you’ll be staying in. Your other hand holds the grip of your rolling suitcase as it trails behind you, clicking against the tile underfoot, “Although, Mingyu said that he could drive extra fast if we needed to get there sooner.”

The only way you can tell that your friend’s eyes had widened is from her eyebrows peeking out from the top of her sunglasses and her mouth left slightly agape at your statement, “No thanks. If it’s anything like it was back in New York, I’d prefer to live this weekend.”

Small laugh escaping you, you know she’s excited to see him, but she’d never admit as much. “He said he’d be under the Alitalia sign,” eyes scanning the cars but more importantly the faces of the drivers to try and determine a recognizable one among the masses.

“There he is!” Sooyoung’s voice, shrill and excited, calls out as she rushes over to a small red Fiat parked parallel between two large tour buses. A roll of your eyes at how obvious she’s being, it isn’t tooth rottingly sweet, but it is certainly something.

He’s leaning atop the small car’s hood when he hears the delighted call of your friend, eyes trailing upwards from the phone in his hand and a dimpled smile gracing his lips as he watches the two of you walking closer. “I was starting to think you took the wrong plane.” Phone slipped into his pocket, Mingyu pushes himself off the car and begins to walk towards you.

Sooyoung’s arms quickly wrap around his neck as she leaves you to catch her falling suitcase, a short ‘tch’-ing from your lips as she lets go of him and returns to her bag. “We got caught up in customs,” a step forward and you sling your arm around his neck in a quick hug before releasing him, “who knew July was prime tourist time?”

“The perfect reason to have a conference, huh?” He laughs, glancing towards Sooyoung’s and your luggage. “I’m not too sure all of this will fit in the trunk; someone might be stuck with it in the backseat.”

And that’s how you find yourself, head pressed up against the window as the rolling hills of the Italian countryside pass to your left, while a mountain of a collection of both Sooyoung and your baggage peeks into your periphery. Headphone in your right ear, you’d been listening to a podcast on your flight detailing different religions around the world and were continuing on listening to one detailing the festivities of the Roman holiday Saturnalia.

As you listen to how, while a merry tradition, it held underlying themes of human sacrifices and the benevolence/maleficence of the gods, you find yourself slowly nodding off as you press the side of your head against the glass of the window and close your eyes. Not before eyeing Mingyu looking over at Sooyoung with a smile on his face as her attention is rapt upon him. You’d made a bet with him when the three of you had first been acquainted as to just how long it would take him to ask her out. The way they look at each other is something you think only found in movies, it makes you yearn for an affection you don’t quite have in your life. Although you’d lost that bet, as they hadn’t so much as gone on a date, you can tell they’re just too chicken with one another to say anything.

The darkness of sleep quelled when Sooyoung quietly rouses you as she gently shakes your knee with her hand. She’s turned to look at you when your eyes crack open and the golden glow of the afternoon haloes her to make her look even more ethereal.

“Your forehead looks bruised,” a smile, more so caring than anything malevolent, on her lips as she knows how you’d barely slept the entire flight. “Mingyu said we’ll be there in a few minutes.”

A look out the window and you realize that the scenery has shifted significantly, becoming rockier as the sight of the mountain is now far more in view than it was when you’d fallen asleep.

“The house is on the southern end of Vesuvius, it’s actually pretty close to the ruins if you have time to visit while you’re here,” Mingyu notes, knowing how much Roman history had enthralled you in your earlier years of work.

“We’ve got a few days,” Sooyoung ponders as if she’d already planned out her free days at the conference, “I’m sure we can squeeze it in.”

Eventually the car winds its way through some narrow street at the base of the mountain and you come upon a small, rustic looking house. The walls are old, obviously not built in this century, but look well cared for. There is a small walkway leading around the side of the house and you wonder where it’ll take you, but most of your attention is focused on pulling your bags from Mingyu’s car.

“Your room’s the second door on the right after you go up the stairs,” Mingyu says as you make your way to the front door as he was now struggling with the weight of Sooyoung’s bags in his grasp.

After rolling your eyes at him you make your way inside, the dark wooden floors and pale beige walls greeting you rather plainly. There is something elegant about the simplicity, but your attention now lies on not losing your center of balance as you haul your bags up the narrow staircase. You follow his directions and move down the hallway and come to your room, bed made and the last glittering rays of sunlight peek in through the curtains on the singular window above the bed. It’s quaint and homely, something you hadn’t had for a very long time as you think to the dismal apartment you keep London.

You descend the flight of stairs, thankful that you don’t have to tote any more luggage up from the car, and make your way into the kitchen. Perhaps you’d hoped to grab a glass of water, yet your actions halt when you see the figure of and older woman standing at the kitchen counter with several canvas bags in hand. She smiles and gives you a small wave while cheerily saying “Buona serata!”

Returning the gesture with a mumbled “Buona serata,” of your own, you skirt around the edge of the kitchen to grab a glass and pour yourself some water from a nearby pitcher.

“My landlord likes to come over every Friday to cook,” A voice from your right and you glance over and notice Mingyu standing beside you. “She says it’s because her family’s grown up now and she needs someone to care for.” A nod of your head as you watch the older woman unpack her canvas grocery bags, the contents full of things both familiar and foreign.

“Grazie mamma,” Mingyu smiles and walks forward, seeming to want to help his landlord in her cooking ventures. His helpful hands are eventually swatted away, her saying something rapid but you get the gist that she doesn’t need any aid.

“What’s she making?” you ask as you catch sight of Sooyoung walk into the kitchen, almost as pale as a sheet as she makes way over to your side.

There’s a gentle tugging at your shirt as Mingyu questions his landlord. A glance to Sooyoung and she mouths ‘We need to talk’ before getting interrupted with Mingyu saying, “Chicken cacciatore with polenta, I think?” A buzz from his pocket and he looks at his phone, “My roommate’ll join us in a little while. He’s on his way back from a dig and shouldn’t be too long.”

Mingyu hadn’t mentioned his roommate too much, just said they’d met when their team was assembled to scour Site V in the ruins of Pompeii and they’d become fast friends. They’d been living with each other for almost a year now and you can't even recall the name even after Mingyu had probably mentioned it a handful of times when you’d talked over the phone.

“Sounds good,” you smile, tugging at your shirt becoming a little more forceful as the urgency in Sooyoung’s eyes is more prevalent. The landlord says something to Mingyu, and he answers with a nod and leaves the kitchen and heads into the living room. “What is it?” After a moment’s calm you turn to your friend, corners of your mouth turning downwards.

“I left my moisturizer at the hotel in Warsaw,” a gentle tugging again, pleading as she speaks once more, “Can I borrow yours?” The soft strums of a guitar and melancholy vocals of a woman emanating from the room Mingyu had left to go to, the landlord must’ve asked him to put on music.

“Is that what you were so weird about?” A gentle scoff leaving your lips as you nod, “Yeah, it’s in my-”

“I know!” She’s already bounding up the stairs and leaves you with the last of your sentence still in your throat.

“She hasn’t changed much, has she?” Mingyu asks as he reenters the kitchen. His gaze lingers on where Sooyoung once stood, a ghost of a smile noted by his dimples.

“Not one bit.” You note, “But you haven’t either, Mr. Kim. Your head is still stuck on Rome and on her.”

“She’s not-?”

“Dating anyone?” You interrupt at his worried tone, “No. Unless she’s got some hunk back in her lab.” A look of relief on his brow as you take a sip of water, “You know, you really should ask her out. She was excited to see you again.”

“It’s just,” a hum as he pauses to ruminate on his thoughts, “She’s all the way in New York and I’m here for who knows how long. It’d be difficult and I wouldn’t want to put that on a new relationship.”

“If you don’t think she’d pack her bags and move here you’d be lying to yourself,” A shake of your head as the sound of Sooyoung descending the staircase echoes around the small kitchen and brings your conversation to a stop. “It’s also Italy, for God’s sake.”

“I think your roommate’s here,” Sooyoung announces, stating that she’d seen a car pull into the already cozy driveway and turn its headlights off. Almost right as she finishes her sentence the sound of the front door opening catches everyone but the landlord’s attention, as she is too busy cooking and humming along to the music coming from the other room.

It’s funny how the memory of someone can stay so far gone in the depths of your subconscious that you can very well forget about them until they’re standing right in front of you. A fleeting glimpse into who and what you were before you’d blossomed into a more mature adulthood staring at you with eyes equally surprised as your own. A small ‘o’ shape of your mouth mirroring; the tousled hair, button down linen shirt and dust and dirt that clings to his khakis almost pulling you from the anchoring weight of the past. A small smile as he looks to Mingyu, the landlord and Sooyoung before hoisting a bottle of wine in the air, “I didn’t want to come in empty handed for our guests.”

“There he is,” Mingyu nods to the former, “This is my roommate Josh, we’re both partnered up on the same dig team.”

Jisoo. His name is Jisoo. “It’s-” you begin but falter almost immediately, unknowing if your friend is aware of the lingering history between both you and his roommate.

“Nice to meet you,” an interjection from Sooyoung as she nods towards Jisoo, eyes trailing down to the bottle in his hand. “Would you mind if we crack that open now? It’s been a long day.”

Dinner had gone and passed more jovial than you’d thought it would, despite the coldness emanating from Jisoo who sits at the opposite end of the table as you. Fingers fiddling with the fork of your dessert plate, you prod at the panacotta lying half eaten in front of you as your appetite had been sated the moment Jisoo said that it was his favorite dessert.

Maybe he notices the lull in conversation, the sound of crickets chirping rising over the once chattering group, “So where did you and Josh meet?” Attention more turned towards Sooyoung rather than to yourself. Maybe it’s a slight to you but you don’t blame him, it only furthered the aching feeling in your chest as you bring your glass to your lips and drink the fiery vintage.

“We were all three interning together in New York our- what- senior year of college?” Sooyoung muses, lifting her wine glass to her mouth and taking a small sip, twirling the remnants of the local Lacryma Christi wine to aerate it further once she’d finished drinking. “Right?” She looks to Mingyu, who’s toying with another bottle of wine behind the three of you. The small bottle opener in hand, he only replies with a simple ‘Yeah,’ before furrowing his brow and setting back to try and uncork the stubborn bottle.

Elbows on the table as a flushed Jisoo leans in, “Where did you go to school?” He had always held his alcohol well, had something changed since you’d last seen him? Jisoo seems far more tipsy than he should be after two glasses of wine.

“It’s a small all girl’s school you’ve probably never heard of,” A wave of her hand as she sets her glass down onto the wooden table. “What about you?”

“Hamilton,” A glance to you, brief and painful, before he turns back to your friend, “But I also studied abroad in Korea for a little bit too.”

“Ah, you went there too. And you also studied abroad, right?” Sooyoung looks to you, brow raised in question as her index finger circles the top of her glass, inviting a response that you never wanted to give. “Did you know each other?”

“We knew of each other.” The sound of Mingyu pulling the cork from its home resonates around the small kitchen as you speak.

It was a Tuesday night, you’d just started watching Derry Girls and the cooling cycle of your AC unit had just kicked up with its trilling noise when a text on your phone buzzed, the words of the infamous “You up?” blaring across the screen in bold black letters. It was 10:47PM and you had a nine am the next day, you really shouldn’t respond. You could say no, say that you’re tired and want to go to bed instead of fucking your friend for the umpteenth time when he was trying to get over some girl he’d been chasing after on and off for your whole college career. But you didn’t, you wouldn’t ever because there’s that undeniable loneliness you had where human affection is a sought-after substance when you refused to forge the intimate bonds that held a man close to a woman. Or a man to a man. Or woman to a woman. Or to whoever preferred whoever. You aren’t one to judge.

Leaving the text for a moment, maybe two, to ruminate and stew in the Atmos of the unknown you responded saying “Only if you’ve got a bottle with my name on it.” Phone discarded onto your sofa you didn’t move again until he replied that he’d be over soon.

And with that you were off to the races to tidy up, clean bits and wipe of counters and take out the trash as you know he’s either on his way to the store, or already there, to pick up the treasured Cabernet Sauvignon that tasted of regret and unspoken vows the next morning. It was a solemn ritual; you’d drink as he lamented over the girl (half a bottle each), listen to music that both of you liked, he’d tell you the same story of him and his brother getting trapped in a tree as a child (because he obviously hadn’t ever told you this tale before), some film he’d watched once and couldn’t remember playing as the backdrop, and at some point he’d start playing with your hair. Long and slender digits patting, running through and twirling the strands that fell around your face, you weren’t even sure if this was done subconsciously or not. Not that you really cared anyway. Fingertips gently grazing your shoulder in the glow of the tv, then your cheek, then your lips as his hand slipped under your chin and your mouths clash together in a wanton want for something constant. And then you’d have to excuse yourself to the bathroom to make sure you looked a presentable mess in your drunkenness.

Cheeks warmed with the wine trapped inside of you, maybe you’d had a little too much as your hand reached out to steady yourself on the counter as your other moved to brush a few strands of hair from your forehead. Fingers danced over your lips as the fiery feeling of his atop yours hadn’t quite left your system yet, you would laugh at yourself tomorrow for relishing in it but the you of now would soak up this limelight as this was the first time this semester this had happened. You had begun to wonder if it would again before his text tonight. Another look at your phone and it was nearing 1:30, a drowsiness in your system accompanied by the lull of the red had you stifling a yawn behind a hand raised to your mouth.

He’s in your bed by the time you exit the bathroom. Eyes shut and slow breathing as the woes of the world were only that of it spinning greatly on its axis. Conceptual in nature you never sought to feel anything more than just a friendship with him. Sure, it was a friendship that was deeply ingrained in fucking each other to take your mind off whatever was troubling you at the time, but a friendship, nonetheless.

You stood in the glow of the streetlights bleeding in from the outside, a majority of his clothes had been strewn onto the floor, and yours were quick to follow. You were trying to get the damned hooks of your bra to unlatch when you heard him shift behind you.

“Allow me,” a smirk danced along his lips as he noticed you struggling with unlatching your bra. You relented as the palm of his hand landed on your lower back, sliding up leaving behind a trail of warmth. In a simple motion, he was able to unhook it with only one hand.

A short laugh as you shrugged off the garment, throwing it to the littered pile of clothes on the ground. You turned and found his lips, “Love that party trick of yours,” you murmured between kisses. With your right hand you gently pushed him backwards towards the bed.

As the backs of his knees hit the mattress, he fell back, but not before reaching to grab your hands to bring you down with him.

After a few more pecks with your chest flush against his, you sat up, straddling his lap as he chased your lips until he couldn't reach them anymore. Instead, his hands that were entwined with yours released their hold and traveled up your sides, finding anchor on your hips. It was then he began to gently guide your hips to move, you couldn’t help the moan that fell from your lips or the way your hips instinctively rolled over his painfully hard cock.

“I can feel you through the fabric,” he sighed out breathing heavily, he glanced down to where your bodies almost met, the wetness of your core seeping through the layers of cloth. “Is that all for me?”

“Only for you,” you murmured, knowing it would spur him further. “Just touch me more.”

With a newfound sense of purpose, he did. His right hand raised, his thumb brushed over your breast, his index finger moved as well to play with your hardening nipple. You found yourself shifted to the flat of your back when you let out a moan and he moved himself to hover over you, looking down at his hand gliding over your skin, any feeling of shyness quickly left him. His lips met yours as his hand slid back down your side, the other being used to leverage himself over you.

Something’s said, you’re not sure exactly what as it’s a mixture of words you do and do not understand. Jisoo’s lips lower, to your collarbone, through the valley of your breasts and down to your stomach. His hands find the sides of your hips, his own feet falling to the floor as he drags you to the side of the bed so that your knees and calves dangle over the edge. Fingers tangled through his dark and once coiffed locks as he lowered himself to your core, you couldn’t help but to try and quell your pounding heart.

“Help me with this part?” He asked quietly, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your underwear. You obliged willingly, raising your hips to let him slide off the cloth with ease. “Perfect,” you could hear the smirk in his voice.

His lips captured your bud and your back arched at the contact, his hands moved away from your breasts and down your sides to the insides of your thighs, gently pushing them apart.

His fingers run along your slick, gathering it as he releases your clit with a small pop before he pushes his index finger inside of you. After a moment, the word, “Move,” left you more enthusiastically than you anticipated. Yet he met your request with fervor, pumping his digit into you while you curled your fingers in his hair, gently tugging at his locks.

“Fuck–!” voice breathy as it leaves you, another finger, his middle, added to your core causing you to relinquish your hold on him to find your hands tangling atop the duvet.

“Do you feel good?” He questions almost teasingly, knowing the answer as you let out a string of words ebbing on profanity and proclamations of your feelings.

“I think– you know the answer–!” You tried to joke before you cried out as he pistons his hand faster, you feel yourself on the precipice of release. It's when he reattached his lips to you clit did the band snap within you and you cried out, your limbs had begun to tremble when he continued his movements, riding out your orgasm until you lightly nudged him away with your knee and he pulled his fingers from you.

“Come here,” you murmur as you sat up, holding your hands out to him as he rose from the edge of the bed to stand between your open legs. Your hands found the sides of his face and pulled him in for a kiss, the taste of you and him intermingling in your mouths. One of your hands slipped away from his face, traveling down his bare chest and towards the hem of his boxers.

“We don’t,” he stopped, lips parting from yours as he searched your eyes, his hand finding yours, “we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” you nodded, head tilting slightly as if to gauge him, “do you not want to?”

“God, fuck,” he sighed under his breath as you caught your lower lip between your teeth, “Of course I do. Do you have a condom?”

“In the side drawer,” you said breathily as he stepped away, quickly fumbled in the dark for a moment before he procured the condom.

And with that he pressed his lips to yours once more and your back hit the mattress. Your teeth clicked together clumsily, but it was forgotten with a small laugh as your fingers traced the elastic of his waistband. He hovered over you, forearm holding up his upper body as he trapped yours within the confines of his knees, his free hand moved to help yours pull down his underwear.

The room was filled with tangible electricity, a palpable anticipation that hung heavy in the air as you both had shed the last remnants of clothing. Your skin tingled with anticipation, every touch sending shivers down your spine.

His lips found yours once more, urgent and hungry, as if trying to convey all the longing and desire that he’d been harboring towards that other girl for months. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you lose yourself in the sensation of his lips moving against yours.

It’s then he pulled back, tearing open the condom’s wrapper and quickly rolling it onto himself. You watched his eager moments in amusement as you sat up, fascinated by how much he was willing to fuck. When he caught you looking, a deeper rooted desire overtook him and he came back to meet you at the side of your bed. Your hand went out to stroke him, but he caught your wrist, gently pushing it back onto the bed.

“Mine,” His breath hot on your skin as he leaned in, pushing you back onto your back, hive raspy tone sent chills shooting from your head to your toes as he aligned himself with you. The breath had been pulled from your throat, when he pushed himself inside. “Please say you’re mine.”

A strangled sort of laugh escaped you, unknowing why he was acting in such a possessive manner. “Just for tonight.”

As your bodies melded together, skin against skin, you lost yourself in the sensation of him, in the overwhelming intensity of your connection. Each touch, each kiss, sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, building to a crescendo that threatened to consume you both.

When you looked at him, a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his hair tousled from your hands running through it, your heart swelled with a feeling as if it were trying to crawl up your throat. The scent of pine and a shiver snaked itself up your spine. He removed his lips from the side of yours, looking down at you like a beholden idol, his hips snapped into you as he'd begun to chase his own high.

There was desperation in his kiss, and you hoped it wasn’t stemming from where you believed it to be. Your eyes screwed shut in abject ecstasy as your peak toppled you off of a high cliff, and it didn’t seem like Jisoo was too far off behind you.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, pulling out of you. His fingers quickly moved around the condom and he pulled it off before wrapping his hand around himself. He stroked himself a few more times before you felt stripes of heat spurt onto your abdomen.

He stood for a moment, regaining his composure before he excused himself for a moment, returning from the bathroom with a damp washcloth and gently wiped it across your stomach to remove the essence of him. Jisoo then tossed the rag onto the floor and fell next to you on the mattress before wrapping his arm around you. His breath was warm against the back of your neck as your chest still heaved with the sighs and exhalations of pleasure.

The shock that came oh so prevalently to your features when he uttered the cursed “I think I love you” instead of the usual transition into a deep slumber.

Try as you might to steal him away from his yearnings and into the beguiling sin that engrossed you like a funeral shroud you shook your head with a, “No you don’t,” as you raised his hand to your lips and placed a chaste kiss onto his knuckles. A laugh as you were drunk on the spirit and freed inhibitions accompanying the acidic red scouring your veins. “You’re in love with the possibility of something loving and fucking you back.” In truth you weren’t sure if that’s it but repeating it to yourself and vocalizing it sure sounded better than facing your own crippling anxiety of it all.

Tensing under you as the brush of your lips atop his skin left him more flushed than not, “I just confessed to you and you’re telling me that I don’t love you?”

“I am,” a nod of your head as you turned atop the mattress to face him, his breath hot against your face while a confused expression settled into his. “You are far too drunk to be saying things like that and I’m far too drunk to want to accept them,” you reached your hand to caress his cheek before you felt his reach up to gently grasp around your wrist to pull it away.

“Are you saying you’ll love me when you’re sober?” The sensation of rough stubble beginning to emerge from his face still lingering on your fingertips, you closed your hand to staunch the feeling.

Scoff from your lips piercing him like an arrow, “I’ll love you when you start loving yourself over that girl.” The orange slants of lights bleeding in through your blinds from the street below your apartment was the only thing that illuminated the two of you. His hand fell away from your wrist and your hand dropped down onto the small space of mattress that distanced your body from his. “You’re too stupidly handsome to not love yourself.”

Quizzical smile playing on his lips as you felt his eyes peering into yours. “You think I’m handsome?”

“I’m pretty sure ninety nine percent of the population thinks you’re handsome, Jisoo.” A roll of your eyes as you turned onto your back, looking up at your pale ceiling, orange glow still emanating from outside.

“What about the other one percent?” As you moved to place your hand atop your stomach he asked, also moving to look up at the ceiling with you.

He was only the narcissist you knew him to be when you were alone with him. Joshua may have loved his physical appearance but was always critiquing his personality, his interactions with others. “Oh, they actually do think you’re handsome, they just haven’t realized it yet.”

“Can we just stay like this?” Breaths intermingled with the cool air of your apartment as he moved to take your hand in his, warmth emanated from his palms and danced atop his fingertips. “I don’t really feel like-”

“Yeah, of course,” an impending sense of dread ran cold through your once warm veins, an involuntary shiver coursed through you causing him to pull you in closer as he thought that you were just cold. You weren’t, just knew of what’s to come tomorrow.

He was gone by the time you woke up, morning light shining in as you had to hold a hand up to block it from permeating through your eyelids any longer. When your hand ran atop the cool mattress where he was supposed to be, a pang reverberated around your rib cage as you realized he must’ve been absent for some time. Normally after one of these nights the two of you would head to some diner that still sold breakfast around noon while you frantically typed away at an email telling your professor that you’d gotten food poisoning the night before and couldn’t make it to class. Now you were alone and void of the sense of urgency that skipping class tended to put on you.

As if he had impeccable timing, your phone buzzed on your nightstand, a notification detailing that you had several missed calls and unread texts. A sigh from your lips as you reached out to grab the device, swiping it unlocked and reading the last message he’d sent, “Blue @ 2?”

He’d already been seated when you walked into the dingy diner on the outskirts of your college town. Gaudy retro blue interior, a mockup of Elvis at the entrance and the small jukeboxes adorning each table just reminding you of all the times you’d sat in here, hungover and tired. Now you were hungover, tired and anxious. Jisoo was picking at a tray of fries as you slid into the booth, looking up to you as you sat, the vinyl squeaking as you moved atop it, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

There was a gritty, off sounding version of Israel Kamakawiwo'ole’s ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ coming from the little jukebox to your right and you wondered if Joshua had fished out the quarters from his mess of a wallet for it to be playing. He knew it was one of your favorites. “I’m working on my stealth, might just drop out of college and become an international spy at this rate,” You smiled as you shrugged off your jacket.

A nervous smile on his lips, you hadn’t seen that since your freshman year and the whole debacle with that girl had started. Something was on his mind and you knew it would never come out unless you prodded first. Smile on your face faltered as an impending feeling of dread began to surge through you, “What is it?”

“What?” Eyes widening as he shoved a fry in his mouth, “Do I have something on my face?”

“Why did you ask me to come out when I know you’ve got a history or business class right now?”

“A Comprehensive Study of Italian Literature throughout the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries.” Another fry eaten, he spoke with his mouth full, “It’s not really something I want to sit through every day. And I wanted to see you.”

“For?”

“Do I have to have a reason for wanting to?”

“You typically do.” A shrug of your shoulders as most of the reasons had been like the incident that spurred last night’s escapade, or to run over notes for an upcoming exam. And that one time where he’d asked you to look after a cat he’d been trying to smuggle into his no pets allowed apartment complex.

Silence as the cogs turn in his head, you can almost see them as he tries to vocalize his thoughts. “It’s about last night.” His hand rests atop the red basket that housed the last of the fries. He lets out a sigh, removing his hand and brushing it atop a nearby napkin, “I mean what I said.”

“Jisoo…” name faltered on your lips as you knew what was to come, “You know I’m not looking for that right now. And what about that girl? Isn’t that why you came over in the first place?” the dynamic shifting between the two of you with every word uttered out of this conversation. It was uncomfortable as you felt yourself pulling away when all he wanted to do is try to get closer to you. An anxiety running through you as your fingers clenched into fists atop your pant leg.

“That's why I came over. I realized I was looking for someone to replace you when all I ever needed was here.” His voice was quiet, calm and an air of shakiness interlaced through it.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“I’m not really sure.” Humming as he took a glance out the window, gray clouds sweeping over the once verdant blue of the evening. “Are you really never going to give me a chance?” He still wasn’t looking at you, you weren't sure if he was able to.

It’s blurry now, the rest of that afternoon. It had begun to rain while the two of you sat in that diner, precipitation pelting the sides of the restaurant as you both made a haste escape to your apartment. Clothes littered on the floor as you somehow make your way into your bedroom, kisses both chaste and longing grazing your skin as your hands run through his now messy locks.

You hated how tender Jisoo was, how bittersweet his lips felt on yours as his hands caressed your sides as he pressed himself on top of you. Hated how he melted under you and careened for your touch even if you’d only lifted your hand from his seconds prior. There was a want inside of him that you could feel rearing to break free, but he was holding himself back, he always held himself back. He craved an affection you were unwilling to give, too reluctant to lose yourself to the possibility of him.

This wasn’t a goodbye; it was a plead for you to stay. With your sheets wrapped around you and strayaways of your hair clinging to the sides of your face you tell him to leave, you’re tired and need to get some sleep at some point because you've already missed too many classes. It pained and tormented you to push him away, he was a good friend, a good lover but you never once had the thought that he could hold that guarded place in your heart that had been untouched by anyone. You were afraid that you loved him back.

You hadn’t said a word to him since that afternoon. Nothing from him ever came to you either, the ties had been cut at that meeting and no trying to forage the relationship anew ever came. The two of you grew apart and became separate people, you never looked after him and you had no idea if he looked after you. There was some comfort you gave yourself in never seeking him out, you didn’t have to own up to the fact he existed anymore and that the assholishness of your years prior could remain a secret. But now faced with that undeniable presence of him back in your life you feel as if the pillars holding you aloft are beginning to crumble.

“With the earth is in aphelion we tend to lose ourselves, finding that even though it may be summer and memories of an us no longer presents itself, we question the now and want to return to the past. It’s a captivating notion, isn’t it? Take this time to reflect on yourself and the choices you’ve made to understand who you are now and who you were then.”

Roll of your eyes as the host begins to finish up her spiel of moving forward as it feels all too relating to your current situation. Hand moving to pause the podcast as you hear a gentle knock on your door. You’d finally gotten the back of your dress zippered up on your own after what felt like an eternity of it not budging those last few centimeters. “Come in,” you call out and Sooyoung opens the door right away.

“Are you almost ready?” She asks, looking stunning as ever in a simple sparkly nude dress, the v of the neck gives only little to imagine but she pulls it off with more grace than anyone else you could picture. “Mingyu’s getting the car ready so we should all head out soon.”

“Yeah,” you nod, glancing to the small standing mirror atop the wooden dresser. It wasn’t optimal lighting to pretty yourself up in but you’d dealt with worse.

“What’s aphelion?” She asks as she reaches for the door handle, eyes looking to the now black screen of your phone. “The lady on your podcast was talking about it.”

“It’s the furthest point away the earth is from the sun. We’re actually in it right now.” Musing as you move to toss your phone onto the bed, beside your purse that you’ll be using that night.

“Isn’t it summer though? If we’re at the furthest point, shouldn’t it be winter?”

A shrug of your shoulders as she opens the door, realizing your answer could probably be better recurved via a google search. “I couldn’t tell you,” muttering as you lean over to collect the pair of shoes strewn at your feet.

Sooyoung leaves as you begin to slide your heel into your shoe, once put on you stand for a moment on wobbly legs as you hate the way these events make you dress up for things. You feel like a newborn foal as you tiptoe your way to your purse and then to the door. Cracked open it lets a sliver of light in, then a shadow passing over it as someone walks by. “Sooyoung, did you-” thinking it was your friend returning to her room for something you open the door and look down the hall, only to find the widened eyes of Hong Joshua looking back. The two of you stare at each other, vocalizing internally a conversation that had yet to occur or maybe that had in your dreams. “I thought you were-,” a shake of your head as you wave it off. “I’m going now.”

“After you,” a hand motioning to the stairwell as you brush past him, palpitations thrumming so loudly inside your chest you’re surprised he can’t hear them.

When you get to the car you see that Sooyoung’s already in the passenger seat, scrolling through her phone as Mingyu messes with the radio of the car in a feeble attempt to get it working again. You slide into the backseat, your stomach dropping when the other backseat door opens and Jisoo gets in beside you. Never in your life had you wanted to be in a bigger car than you were in now.

It was an uncomfortable ride to the welcome party, Mingyu and Sooyoung made casual small talk whereas the back two seats lay dead silent as you try to cave in on yourself. Jisoo is everything you remember and everything you curse, the scent of his favored Jo Malone cologne soaking into you as you sit in the backseat has you reeling. You don’t even know they made the Amber and Lavender scent anymore. Nor were you aware that he could dress this nicely, he’d only followed the preppy boy trend back in college and at his best you think you could recall him wearing some Ralph Lauren polo to an outdoor event. That was the Jisoo you’d known. Not the dolled-up enigma that sits next to you, his knee lightly knocking into yours as the car moves over the bumpy streets.

You’re not sure which deity to thank as the Hotel Diane is only a twenty-minute venture from the house. Before anyone has the ability to assist you getting out of the car as you roll up to the entrance of the venue, you unbuckle your seatbelt and make a speedy retreat into the bowels of the conference. You can hear Sooyoung calling out after you as you race into the plethora of archeologists, researchers and everything in between. A sigh of relief as you find the restroom, locking yourself into one of the stalls as you try and sate your rapidly beating heart.

It was supposed to have stopped a long time ago, the regret and anguish over him. Yet the flame ignited once more when his eyes had met yours yesterday evening. You barely slept that night and you were plagued by memories the entirety of today. Hong Jisoo is a plague that you don’t want to give up. Or maybe the memory of him is, you know nothing of what became of him after the triste in college had ended and you had gone your separate ways.

“You look like shit,” Sooyoung’s voice hitting you almost as soon as you exit the bathroom, “Not your makeup or anything, that’s fine.” A hand raised as if sensing your aura or to generalize the vibe you were giving off, “Your expression though. What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” You blink, trying to mask the anxiety riddled through you with a confused façade. “Nothing, I just really had to use the restroom.”

“And it had nothing to do with the handsome man sitting in the backseat with you?” She poses as the two of you begin to walk through the atrium, sliding past other partygoers. As you near a catering staff member holding a tray of drinks, Sooyoung reaches out and plucks one off of the tray and hands it to you before getting one for herself, “You’ve been acting weird since last night.”

A sigh as you bring the glass to your lips, drinking as you stride forward into the main gala, a large room adjacent to the main atrium. “Seeing him just reminded me of school, is all,” It isn’t a complete lie, just not the wholehearted truth either.

It seems as if everyone’s begun to be ushered into the main hall, the lights of the stage in the back of the room brightening as an older man walks up, a handful of notecards in his grasp. Doors shut behind the last of the stragglers, the gravelly voice of the man begins to welcome everyone to the annual conference and how it was such a treat to hold it in a historic place. The lights of the room dimming to draw attention towards the stage, you find yourself lost in drink as he speaks, eyes wandering the crowds as you catch Joshua looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite put a name to. It only made you drink more, swapping out your now empty glass with a new one from a server’s tray nearby.

The speech drags on for another five minutes or so, detailing the events of the weekend. The words tuned out as you feel the burn of alcohol down your esophagus. When the speech is done and the lights brought up, you and Sooyoung make a round around the room, chatting with several acquaintances from conferences and events prior and greeting any new faces you come across.

“How’s your new exhibition in London going?” A voice asks as you turn to your left, “I hope everything got there safely?”

Turning to now greet a familiar face, “Of course it did, Seungcheol. No thanks to you, of course.” Mischievous smile flashing as Sooyoung leaves your side to wander over to a group of Mingyu’s cohorts. “I’m surprised you lent us your exhibit on such short notice, it’s only been up for a few days but luckily enough I was there to see the inaugural showcase. It’s absolutely phenomenal, by the way.”

Smile now coating his features, “I’m glad it worked out. And anything for an old friend.” He takes a sip out of the glass in his hand, glancing around the room for a moment as if to observe the atmosphere. “It seems busier than usual, doesn’t it? I hear it’s largely in part due to the handful of new teams they’ve set up in the area.”

“Well, typically these are held in stuffy new cities, can’t blame the attendance for being higher here.” You note as you look over the faces of the other patrons. “St. Louis wasn’t all that exciting, was it?”

“Learning about Cahokia was, though.” He notes with a raised brow and turns his attention back to you. “I saw you come in with Mingyu, do you know him?”

“We interned at the Smithsonian and went to grad school together; do you know him?”

“I met him the other day when a few of us early birds were able to get a behind the scenes tour of sector V. I actually know his teammate Joshua, I saw you come in before them so I’m assuming you know him as well?” Seungcheol questions as he scans the crowd for the sight of the taller looming above everyone else.

“Only a little bit,” You lie as the varnish of perceived reality begins to chip away, bit by bit, “I’d say I’m better acquainted with Mingyu really.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. He’s a bright kid, if you ever get to know him, was a great help when our junior archivist was out of town for a while…” You hope he can’t see the painted smile on your face as he speaks again, “Have you met any of their teammates? It really is an eclectic bunch.”

“I haven’t actually, I think Sooyoung’s talking with them now.” Peering back to see Sooyoung laughing at something Mingyu was saying, “I should probably introduce myself.”

“I’ll leave you to it then, I’ve got an archivist and an architect to track down somewhere around here. It was nice seeing you again,” He gives you a short nod before heading off into the masses.

“There’s the woman of the hour,” Sooyoung’s hand that isn’t occupied with a wine glass slips around your waist as you approach the group. “I was just telling them how you managed to snag the Gohyang exhibit, not that they really care. They’re all archaeology nuts.”

“I take it I don’t need to introduce myself then?” Shooting Sooyoung a short glare before looking to the handful of people surrounding you, “It’s nice to meet you all.”

“Nice to meet you too,” A voice speaks up and a hand raises to meet yours as Sooyoung’s grip around your waist is lost. “I’m Minghao, the site supervisor, kind of in charge of these guys.”

Another voice beside him, “Don’t let him act all high and mighty about it, it’s just because our real team leader broke his wrist skiing and is on leave for the next two weeks.” Different hand to shake, “I’m Seulgi. I work in forensics.”

“And you already know Mingyu and Joshua, they’re pretty much our main diggers,” Minghao notes and looks to Mingyu, “Where is he by the way? Didn’t you two come together?”

Humming as Mingyu’s eyes scan the crowd, “I’m not sure, he might’ve ducked out to get some fresh air. You know how he gets.” Unable to find him, his attention returns to the group, glancing over at you, “Was he always this weird at events?”

“Do you know him?” Seulgi's voice interrupts before you’re able to speak, pulling your attention away from your friend and to her.

“I-”

Once again interrupted, this time by Sooyoung. “She actually went to school with him. Small world, isn’t it?”

“Not so much in this field,” Minghao muses, something wistful in his tone, “We all come across each other at some point.”

“You’re still not going to get over that Russian tomb raider, are you?” Seulgi sighs, attention focusing back to you. “But was he? He’s always happy at the dig site but whenever we come to these sorts of events, he gets all quiet and taciturn. It’s like he’s looking for someone who’s never really going to show up.”

“That’s uh- Oddly specific.” Uttering under your breath, uncomfortable at the turn of events and barrage of questions being thrown at you. “And I really didn’t know him that well.”

“Ah come on,” Sooyoung’s voice slurs ever so slightly as you take a sip of your drink. “I can hardly believe you went to a small school in the middle of BFE, go on a study abroad trip with him and didn’t talk to him.”

Pressure building as if you’re a kettle with nowhere to expunge the steam rapidly rising inside of you. You’re a trapped animal, cornered in a room of vicious predators.

A nervous, shaky laugh escapes you, and before you can stop yourself, the words start tumbling out. “I mean we were classmates and we knew each other- We were kind of friends and more, but it wasn’t supposed to be serious, you know? I needed to focus on my studies, on my career. I wasn’t ready for anything more, and I told him that, but he just… he wanted more. But it didn’t make sense because he was in love with someone else, always talking about her like she was the one, and I felt like… like he was just using me to fill some void or get over her or something. And I knew it wasn’t right, but I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I did, and now—”

Your voice cracks, the guilt and confusion spilling over as you realize how loud and rambling you’ve become thanks to the alcohol that not only lessened your anxiety but loosened your tongue. The group falls into an uncomfortable silence, the weight of your confession hanging in the air. You can feel the burn of a gaze on the back of your neck, and when you turn, there he is—Jisoo, staring at you, his eyes filled with a mix of hurt and something else you can’t quite place.

Smile instantly dropping into a grimace, a mumbling of “Oh shit,” as he brushes past you without so much as a glance, wine stem threatening to break under the stress you now exude from your fingers. A pit dropping in your stomach as the reality of your words and the carelessness of your actions only sought to further dredge you from the comfort of your mind and into the abysmal present.

"I'm so sorry," you apologize with wide eyes to the group. A guilty being inside of you chases after him, the clacking of your shoes atop the marble floor echoing around the space yet muffled by the number of people that you’d outright embarrassed him in front of. Not that they’d all heard, only the ones that matter to him. You set the wine glass in your hand atop a small table before you exit, only after downing the last of the liquid that remained, hoping the warmth of your cheeks is more so from the wine than your mortification. You need liquid courage, yet if you consume any more, you’re unsure what other vile secrets may come tumbling from your lips.

Jisoo’s standing in the atrium of the building when you find him, tie loosened from his neck as if it had sought to choke out every last word from his mouth. You approach with a slowing velocity, unsure how to reintroduce yourself after the disaster of an evening. Another calamity incurred by a slip of the tongue and careless action by you, unlike your past self now this blinding awareness overtook you and a tremendous amount of guilt found itself weighing you down.

“I’m not good with words, I never have been.” A hand had run through his hair as he looked far too more shaken now than he had in the moments prior. Footsteps atop tile as he paces the space, a statue of some Roman deity or emperor looking down upon the two of you as if it meant to judge your sins. “I’ve tried so goddamned hard to forget about this and you just think it’s okay to waltz right back into my life and make it all some sort of fantastical joke?” You feel as if you were a child being scolded by a parent rather than whatever you would define your relationship with Joshua now. If there even was one to define. Eyes trailing the floor as the sternness in his voice was reason enough for you to never want to make eye contact with him again, your blood was hot, and you were warm with repentance. “You broke my heart, what makes you think that you have the right to come back?”

“If you want me to say I’m an asshole I can, the largest of assholes who was too stupid and vain to think of anyone but myself. That was a total lie back there I don’t even know why I said it.” You feel slovenly with the way the words fight their way out of you as you apologize for the immoralities of a time long past, “Jisoo,” he winces at the name, your sure no one’s called him that in some time, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Sorry for much more than the scene you’d just caused.

“Did you really never care about me?” The pain in his voice renders you from the present and into the past where he’d found you hidden away in some closet at a fraternity party. Your arms slung around the neck of someone you’d only met a handful of times before then, focus breaking when the door opens, and streams of blinking led lights from the party outside flooded into the dark space. It had taken you a moment to recognize the large silhouette in the doorway, shadow casting onto the two of you locked into a crude embrace. Blinking you return to the hardened stare he gives you now, reminiscent of that you saw in his eyes that day. “You fucked my friend and didn’t think anything of it.”

“We hadn’t spoken in months! I wasn’t obligated to pine over you when we’d practically become strangers.” Yet you had. This hallowed feeling had plagued you for months following that night, you’d remembered it the morning after and had an apology text written that you never found the courage to send. It sat on your phone screen for longer than you would have liked it to, but that’s what it did, sat and collected virtual dust while you found solace in finding use in other men to take your mind off of him.

Eyes finding comfort in the statue above, you wait for the words trapped inside of his chest like a caged beast to be wrought upon you as he had probably wished to do since the last you’d seen him. They never come. No floods or wrath or hellfire fury wrung out for you to find. Just silence as the gentle chatter from the ballroom down the hall faintly ambling as the backdrop to your tragedy.

“If I had known it was you, I wouldn’t have come.” Spare him from this detriment of character. Scared. You were scared and that’s why you’d not spoken to him since that rainy afternoon. He’d said something before he left but you were too busy trying to keep yourself together to remember what he’d uttered. In his absence you’d try to remember, but it all proved fruitless and you perhaps had lost one of your truest friends that day. “Didn’t Mingyu tell you we were coming?”

Hands in his pockets, gaze racked onto something painted onto the domed ceiling of the atrium. “He did.” Breaking your gaze from the statue you look to him, quizzical brow already set atop your features.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Voice quiet, you feel the alcohol tunneling your vision and pulsing through your fingertips.

“To see if you’ve changed, to see if you’re still vehemently against my happiness.” Eyes turned to you as a frown adorns his lips. You’d never felt such seriousness come from him, it made you feel even more a cornered animal than you’d been in the ballroom. “It’s obvious that you are though, I should’ve expected as much.”

“Vehemently against your-? What the hell are you talking about Jisoo?”

“You never wanted me to be happy!” Hands flying out of his pockets as they move to gesticulate a feeling you couldn’t quite comprehend. “Every time I tried to move towards you, you always pushed me away. I tried to accept and understand that, but you let me into your arms on more occasions than I can count on my two hands. If you really didn’t want me then why did you continue to let me in like that?”

“Because I thought I was doing you a favor! I was taking your mind off of that girl! You never wanted me, or I was too stupid to see that you actually did because you talked about her all of the fucking time!” Voice raising as you continued, a fire boiling in your blood that you hadn’t realized had been only simmering for the past eternity. “It took too long for me to realize that I loved you back.” You were in love with him. You are in love with him and now you’ve gone and ruined any chance you had at reconciliation again. It’s as if some Austenian novel was taking place yet it was far too real and far too raw for it to be anything as romantic or gothic as such.

“Loved me back,” a bark from the back of his throat, a laugh of incredulity as the damnation in his gaze is ever so present, he didn’t believe you and he had every right not to. “You know, I thought about what I would say to you if I saw you again,” Leaning back so his weight now lay on the base of the statue, “I wrote out countless scenarios, questioning why you never reached out. Why I never tried to either. I was so, so angry at you and now I’m just tired.” Frown as he looks to the floor, the fire once bright behind his eyes simmering into a broken flame, “I can’t be too upset; I was as much an ass as you back then for not wanting to respect your wishes. But if I had loved you any less, I might just hate you now.”

A moment’s pause to reiterate what he’d said in your mind, the alcohol running rampant you take a few deep breaths in hope you’d heard what he admitted correctly. ‘Loved you any less,’ sounded like he certainly didn’t despise the essence of your being but with the way he’d acted prior to tonight made it seem as if you were a ghost to him. “Are you saying you don’t hate me?”

“I’m saying I’m old enough to realize that we both had our faults.” Gaze still trailing the veins of marble in the floor, “I used you as an emotional coping mechanism for the longest time before actually realizing I liked you. I didn’t even talk to her that last night, I just wanted to come over to be with you. But you,” Lower lip bitten as he nods his head, “I was never able to figure you out.”

Humbling as this whole situation is you’re finding it harder to stay upright, you move to stand next to him and motion to the bit of statue base beside him. He nods and scoots over enough to allow you enough space to lean alongside him. Warmth from where he once was lingering on your back, you let a sigh loose from your lips, “I was too selfish, I said I didn’t want to get involved with anyone, but I was just scared.” Foot tapping against the floor as the gentle reverberations echo around the room, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I didn’t even sleep with your friend, I left soon after you did.”

Mouth parted to say something more, it never happens as the door to the main hall opens and Mingyu emerges, quickly moving to the two of you. “Would you mind if we head back a little early? Sooyoung’s a little, no, super drunk and I don’t want her to say anything embarrassing. Well, anything more embarrassing.”

Knowing how your friend got seemed to momentarily distract and sober you, a look to Joshua and then to Mingyu you nod your head, “I don’t mind.”

“I don’t either,” Jisoo agrees and then opens his palm for Mingyu to throw him the car keys, “You get her and I’ll pull the car around.”

Gentle breathing as the warmth of another lying next to you in bed rouses you from slumber. Light peeking in from the window overhead as you shift, the fragrance of a rose scented shampoo greeting you. “Sooyoung,” a grumbling from your lips as you hadn’t realized that she’d snuck into your bed during the night, she was a clingy, cuddly drunk that you were normally never one to accommodate. But last night had been different, you barely remember the ride home as you’d been in and out of slumber. Joshua had driven while you took the passenger seat, Sooyoung’s head atop Mingyu’s lap as she gently snored away, finding sleep a much better accompaniment than drunkenness in a moving car.

“Five more minutes,” a murmur from her as she pulls the blankets closer to her chest, “I think I’m still drunk.”

“Want to trade,” a hand moving to your forehead as you sit up, waves of nausea rolling like an unbearable tide through your system. “I need a Powerade and a nap. Do they have Powerade here?”

“Pedialyte maybe,” Sooyoung says, sounding more awake as the covers fall away as she sits up. She ponders for a moment, sleep in her eyes as she stares down at the white duvet. A yawn escaping her as she turns to you, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Hand running through your knotted locks, looking over to your similarly disgruntled friend.

“Oh, you know, the stock market.” Retort scoffing from her, “I’m talking about whatever the fuck happened last night between you and Joshua.”

Maybe you’d thought it all a dream, the argument and your drunken folly. Yet presented to you again you couldn’t help but acknowledge it, “I said something stupid and I apologized to him.” More than that you’d unthinkingly confessed you liked him eons too late, but you could blame that on your inebriation, although you’re not sure what he’d say. You’re not sure you saw him have a sip of anything at all last night.

“Seemed like a little more than that,” Shoulders shrugging as she moves to slide out of your bed and walk over to the small vanity. “When he was carrying you inside you were all over him, apologizing about something.”

“I what?” Eyebrows raising as you feel the familiar flush of embarrassment creep along your spine. “You must’ve been seeing things there’s no way in hell he’d do that.”

“-Even made sure to bring you some water,” you hadn’t realized she’d been continuing. “I can’t really remember much else though.” The sound of acute popping as she stretches her arms, “I’m going back to bed, wake me up if anything important happens, okay?”

A shake of your head as you usher her out to leave, an icy feeling running from your head to your toes as you think you’d rather stay in this room the entirety of your stay than face whatever was beyond the door. When you do get that confidence to venture out, as you didn’t hear anyone trapezing about the house, you try and quietly amble down the stairs as to not wake your slumbering friend a few doors down. Pounding in your head you make way to the kitchen to rummage around for an aspirin or five to rid yourself of the aftermath of indulgence. Quiet, “Shit,” escaping you as there’s nothing to be found, only water and tea. So, when Jisoo finds you sitting alone at the kitchen table, water glass in hand as your head is pressed gently to the rough wooden surface, he can surmise you’re probably not feeling your best. You hadn’t even heard the front door open, nor had you guessed he’d be dressed up in business attire once again. Another jarring thing to add to your morning.

“I figured you wouldn’t be feeling great,” His voice soft as if not to disrupt the cosmos, “I brought you and Sooyoung some espresso. It won’t cure your hangover, but it’ll wake you up.” The sound of a cup hitting the tabletop and you look up to see it sitting in front of you. The shift in his attitude over the course of the last two days all too paradoxical and overwhelming for you to think of right now. Your hand reaching forward to grasp the paper cup in your hands and slowly bring it to your face.

A sip taken and you sit up, “Thank you.” Finger running over the small hole atop the lid, “Sooyoung’s still asleep. I’m not sure when she’ll be up again.” Jisoo responds with a slight nod of his head, not furthering the conversation as it seems he’s lost in thought. “Where’s Mingyu?”

“At the conference,” It takes him a moment to respond, “I ducked out early to make sure you both were doing okay. He also wanted to know if the both of you wanted to check out the ruins today. It’s going to be crowded but we can sneak our way through without too much hassle.”

“I think we’d both be up for it after a little more sleep if that’s alright?” The scent of the espresso finally hitting you, it was good but didn’t sate the anxious butterflies floating around your stomach.

“That’s fine, you can go and get some sleep, Mingyu’s not supposed to be back for another couple of hours.”

“It’s quite sad, isn’t it?” Walking through the ancient and weathered streets of Pompeii felt more as if you were walking through a graveyard rather than a place frozen in time. In a way it is a graveyard, yet most came to ogle at the plastered bodies of the deceased than appreciate the ability to see how the people once lived and thrived. You stand now, with Mingyu and Sooyoung, Jisoo standing some feet back as you gaze at one of the faded frescoes from antiquity.

“Sad, yes. Tragic? Absolutely.” Mingyu says as he takes a few steps further into the atrium of the household, towards the small, empty impluvium that sat in its center. “But in a way it’s kind of happy too, don’t you think? It’s a city lost in time but we’re slowly uncovering the past and its people.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve got a room like this in the MoMA,” Sooyoung says, looking down to the little guidebook in her hand.

“That’s actually from a villa outside of the city,” Mingyu interjects, “It’s preserved beautifully.” They share a look and you turn away, not wanting to impede on their moment.

Instead, your attention turns to Jisoo, who’s walking through the doorway and out into the street, lip bitten you contemplate following after him since you hadn’t really spoken to him since that morning and a plethora of questions are running around your head. You excuse yourself from the other two, not that they would’ve noticed as it seems they were in deep conversation, and head out into the increasingly overcast afternoon. “I don’t want to sound weird but what exactly did I say to you when we came back here last night?” Voice calling out to Jisoo as he reads something carved into a slate of marble beside the house. Standing atop the steppingstones that dotted the antique streets so that you could get a better look at him. “I can’t really remember and it’s been eating me alive all day.”

Hum from his lips as he glances to the cloudy sky and then to you, “You did say something about being ‘the most unmitigated and comprehensive ass,’ was that Shakespeare?” There’s a slight smile to his lips and you feel your stomach doing cartwheels. “You said it at least ten times.” He strides over, not needing to take many steps since his gait is that of a giraffe’s.

“Austen, actually.” Words coming out in almost a whisper as the two of you stand in silence. Birds cawing overhead and the buzz of nearby tourists as you don’t know what to say next.

“For someone who was never a romantic, you sure as hell indulge in romantic things,” casual musing and he moves his hands into his pockets. The air smelled of sun-dried dirt and salt envelops you, even with the clouds above the harshness of the sun felt ever so present on your back.

“I’m sorry,” words escaping you, “I-”

“You’ve already apologized more in a weekend than I could’ve hoped for in my entire life,” A shake of his head as he raises a hand to stop you. Tongue swiping his lower lip, “You know, I thought I was supposed to be angry when I saw you again, but when I saw you standing in the house after all this time, I was more happy than not?” Laugh escaping him, “Maybe I’m crazy.”

“I was too,” in a strange way you had been. The anxiety had been there, of course, yet there was an undeniable elation at seeing him. Flicker of a smile coming over you, “Maybe we’re both crazy.”

“Mingyu’s said you’ve climbed up in your career pretty fast,” A nod of his head, “I’d love for you to tell me more about it if you’ve got time to grab dinner while you’re here?”

“It’s not like we’re housemates for the week or anything,” You smile, “I’d really like that.”

When he takes your hand and doesn’t let it go after you’ve exited his car, that’s when you start to think, finally, his resentment towards you had begun to fade. When he holds the door open and pulls your chair out for you at the restaurant, is when your heart starts thrumming. When he pays the tab but you go out for an hour or two longer talking, reminiscing, and catching up is when you feel like you can look at him without any semblance of regret or shame. When his hand lingers atop yours while he tells you a story about an extravagant find in Site V is when you can’t wipe the smile from your lips and the euphoria from your chest.

“So, other than becoming a wildly prolific curator, what else have you been up to?” Hand moving away from yours as he leans back in the small wooden chair. The dim lights of the restaurant casting soft shadows across his features.

“I play tennis on the weekends, I’ve also got a cat back home but she’s kind of an asshole,” you laugh, returning your hand to your lap. “But what about you? I always thought you’d go into curation, never saw you as the archeologist type.”

“To be honest I thought it’d be like Indiana Jones, but I think the movies overexaggerated his job a little bit,” the joke playing gaily in his eyes as he shoots you a small smile. “But I might look into a museum job when I get older, it’s just too much fun being out in the field right now. I didn’t enjoy archiving as much as this.”

“I get that,” agreeing as you reach for your water, taking a sip before placing it back onto the table. “So, did you and that girl ever work out?”

“That girl,” Joshua pauses, “You know she has a name, right?”

“Of course, but I don’t think I’ve ever called her by it.” Lips pursed as your finger plays with the condensation on the glass.

“What did you call her? An anglophile or something?”

“She always had that stupid union jack jacket on, it was like she was trying to be a wannabe Beatle,” it wasn’t a bad jacket. You realize now that it had probably been jealousy that coined the title.

A short laugh, “I remember that. But no, we never ended up together. I’m really only dating one person right now.”

Brow furrowing, had you gotten this whole night misconstrued? “Oh really? Who is it?”

“I’m not really sure, to be honest. We kind of found him halfway under a rock a few years back and have been trying to piece him and his story together ever since.” Eyes widening as he tells you the tale, “He’s at least nineteen hundred years old so I don’t think it’ll work out between us though.”

“You’re an asshole,” scoffing as you roll your eyes at him. In all honesty you were a little relieved he’d only been joking.

The two of you slowly begin to realize the lateness of the hour, the moon hanging high as you exit the bar with warm faces and hints of smiles lingering on your lips. There is a coolness in the air that hadn’t been present when you’d entered, it wasn’t cool enough to make you shiver but it feels pleasant as it runs over your skin. The drive home is filled with aimless chatter, it just feels comfortable to be back on good terms with him and feel his presence once more in your life.

Not too long after you arrive to the house, you find your friends absent. Checking your phone, you see they’ve gone off to watch a film and wouldn’t be back for another hour or two. You sit on the plush, green velveteen sofa of the living room as Jisoo saunters in with a bottle of wine and two glasses in hand. “I’m shocked at the amount of wine everywhere, I feel like if I stuck a spigot into the ground it’d be wine that comes out instead of water.”

“The Italians love their aperitifs and their wine,” Jisoo says as he pours out two glasses and hands you one. The TV turned onto a channel playing a movie you know but dubbed in Italian, you watch for a moment before feeling the brush of a hand atop your shoulder. Turning to look, you see Joshua’s head tilted to the side as his fingers dance along your shoulder.

“Can you tell me if I’m being too presumptuous?” A nod of your head as his fingers begin to absentmindedly play with a few strands of your hair, “But I don’t think my feelings about you changed all too much since I told you I loved you. And I understand if you don’t want to accept me again because it’s been too long, and we’ve grown apart but-”

Jisoo’s ramblings are cut short when you lean forward and place a kiss on his lips. It isn't your first kiss with him, nor was it his with youu. Although it was your first kiss with him that you wholly put intention behind as you’d never allowed it before because it had called for an intensified intimacy, you’d been scared to assign yourself to such a concept. Yet now you feel as if you were ready, “I love you too.”

Pulling your face away from him, the stars of disbelief shine in his eyes as the glow of the TV lights illuminate the smile on his lips. He looks relieved, sated and gleeful, a cornucopia of feelings that were unobtainable so long ago. Without another word you settle into each other, your head upon his chest as his hands run absentmindedly through your hair, the staticky nature of the television and sounds of a summer night outside lulling you both to sleep. It’s difficult to explain the situation to your friends that walk in an hour and a half later, startling the two of you awake as they come upon you. Their hands interlocked with each other, you shoot Mingyu a look to which he avoids, Sooyoung only winks and looks down to your hand which you find covered by Jisoo’s. It’s a silent act of solidarity, just a casual acceptance of what time had spurned as the night trudges onwards and you return to his side as the other two make their way upstairs.

#seventeen x you #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #hong jisoo x reader #hong jisoo smut #hong jisoo fluff #joshua x reader #joshua x you #joshua smut #joshua fluff #joshua angst

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