#we will. we will talk about that. eventually.

[ao3scrapesearch]

Alright! Sorry for being so absent today! I was building a tool so you can all check your own names on demand.

I am asking that you not talk about it on Hugging Face. I'm sure word will get there eventually, but I'd like to avoid them accessing this as much as possible. Feel absolutely free to spread around Tumblr.

Tool is here! Use page 1 to search by username. Use page 2 to search by work ID (which you'll need to do if you're looking for an anonymous work).

That said, I did pay out of pocket for some of the accounts I've needed to do all this. If I need to, I'm fine with eating that cost, but I am going to ask nicely that if you feel like kicking in toward it, you donate to the Ko-Fi I made specifically for this technical project. I was hoping to get a short-term membership, but I was only able to buy access to host this for a full year lmao. BUT regardless, this is freely available to everyone. Do NOT feel like you need to donate if it'll put you in a bad place or even if you just don't want to. Just figured I'd ask instead of quietly sucking up the $180.

Thanks to everyone who helped with the cost to host the tool! I appreciate you so so so much. As of this edit, I'm at $185 total, and right now, I don't expect to have to pay for anything else to keep this available.

I gave the tool a quick test, but please come yell if it stops working. I'm around; I'll fix as fast as I can. It's slow as hell, but it does load eventually. Give it up to 10 minutes, and if it seems down after that, please alert me via ask! Anons are on.

Now with all that being said, time for me to start focusing on how we stop the next scrape.

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 25: June 2024 - Part 6

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The office was quiet. Soft. Safe.

It always felt that way here — a small haven away from the noise of circuits and media storms, from the sharp edges of being forgotten and the new weight of suddenly being seen. The window let in filtered afternoon light, and Simone’s office smelled faintly of lavender and old books.

Belle sat curled in her usual corner of the couch, legs tucked under her, hands wrapped around a mug of peppermint tea she hadn’t yet touched.

Simone sat across from her with her notebook closed, eyes kind, waiting.

“I think the worst part,” Belle said softly, after a long pause, “is that I didn’t expect it to feel so loud.”

Simone tilted her head slightly. “The public knowing?”

Belle nodded. “It was quiet for so long. Just ours. Just… safe. But now—one photo, and suddenly everyone’s watching.”

“Does it feel like a loss of control?” Simone asked gently.

“Yes. And no.” Belle looked down at her mug. “I wanted people to know. Eventually. I chose to walk into the paddock. I chose to kiss him. I posted the photo. It wasn’t an accident. But now everyone has an opinion. People I’ve never met are dissecting my life like it’s a press release.”

Simone let the silence settle for a moment, then asked, “What grounded you when it started to feel overwhelming?”

Belle smiled faintly. “Max. He always knows when I’m spiraling — even before I do. He’ll just take my hand or touch my back and everything feels quieter.”

There was a pause.

“I told Arthur,” Belle said, voice softer now.

Simone’s brows lifted slightly. “How did that feel?”

“Better than I expected,” Belle admitted. “He didn’t defend Charles. He didn’t make excuses. He just showed up. And he listened.”

“That’s progress,” Simone said gently.

Belle nodded. “But it’s only him. I haven’t spoken to anyone else.”

“Do you want to?”

Belle was quiet for a long time. Then: “I don’t know.”

Simone didn’t press her. Just waited.

“I think part of me still wants them to reach out. To say sorry without being prompted. To see me on their own. Not because they’re embarrassed or because the media caught on. Just… because they miss me.” Her voice cracked just slightly on that last word.

Simone’s tone was careful, but warm. “It’s okay to want that.”

“I know. I just don’t know if they’re capable of it.”

“And if they’re not?” Simone asked gently.

Belle looked up. “Then I move forward without them.”

Another pause.

“Can I offer a thought?” Simone asked.

Belle nodded.

“If you do choose to let them in again — not now, not even soon, but eventually — it might be helpful to bring those conversations into a neutral space. Somewhere safe.”

Belle’s gaze flicked toward her. “Like here?”

Simone gave a small smile. “Like family therapy. With boundaries. With someone to help hold the structure while you explore whether rebuilding is even possible.”

Belle didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t want to excuse what they did,” she said. “Or pretend everything’s fine because I married someone famous and suddenly they care.”

“I would never ask you to,” Simone replied gently. “You’ve already built a life. A marriage. Soon a family of your own. The question is whether you want to let them try to earn a place in it.”

Belle’s eyes shimmered, but she blinked them clear. “I think I might be open to the idea.”

“That’s enough for today.”

Belle let out a slow breath.

And for the first time since the Parc Fermé kiss and the global chaos that followed, the silence in her chest didn’t feel like pressure.

It felt like peace.

***

It started with a dress.

Just a simple, pale blue linen one — a favorite of hers. Soft. Easy. Forgiving in the waist. She’d worn it to coffee with Emilie two weeks ago and felt fine in it. Pretty, even.

Now, it wouldn’t zip.

Belle stood in the center of the bedroom, barefoot on the rug, hair still damp from the shower, the zipper stuck halfway up her back as she twisted and strained and tried not to cry.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a flood of hormones and tears and shouting. It was quiet.

A soft, sharp ache of realization.

Her body had changed overnight.

She turned slowly toward the mirror. Pressed a hand to her stomach. What had once been the faintest suggestion now had shape. Curve. Weight. Not enough to scream pregnant to the world, but more than enough to make her clothes sit wrong. To make her feel like a stranger in her own skin.

The zipper finally gave up entirely, and Belle stepped out of the dress with more frustration than grace.

She tried another — a black cotton shift. Still no. Then a flowy skirt — fine at the hips, but suddenly too snug at the waist. A button-down she’d always liked? The buttons across her chest strained so badly it looked like they were preparing for launch.

One by one, the pieces fell to the floor around her.

When she finally dropped into the edge of the bed, she was surrounded by the soft wreckage of what used to fit. A fabric battlefield. Her hands rested on her knees, her breath shallow, her chest tight.

She hadn’t expected to feel sad.

This was supposed to be beautiful — the beginning of something. The miracle. The glow.

But all she could think was: Nothing fits anymore.

And Max wasn’t there.

He’d left for the race two days ago — a back-to-back weekend with media, meetings, track walks. He’d kissed her forehead before leaving, pressed a palm gently over her belly, whispered something about texting her after every session.

But he wasn’t here.

Not now, when her body had changed without warning and she didn’t know how to dress it. Not now, when she just wanted someone to look at her and say, you’re still you.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at it without hope — then saw his name.

Max: Morning, Schatje. I just got out of briefing. I miss you. How’s our co-pilot today?

Belle’s throat tightened. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a second before she typed back.

Belle: I miss you too. Co-Pilot seems to be growing faster than expected. Nothing fits. At all. It’s ridiculous. I feel like a puffed pastry with a heart rate.

The reply came almost instantly.

Max: That is the most adorable description of pregnancy I’ve ever heard. And also: please stop being mean to my wife. You’re beautiful. You’re growing our baby. I’m buying you stretchy things. All the stretchy things.

Belle let out a quiet, helpless laugh — one that cracked right through the tightness in her chest.

Another message came in:

Max: Also I demand a photo. Even if you’re in my hoodie with no pants. Especially then, actually.

Belle shook her head, smiling through the sting in her eyes.

She stood, padded over to the wardrobe again, and pulled out one of Max’s hoodies. It swallowed her whole, but it didn’t pinch. It didn’t judge. It just fit — in the way that mattered.

She took the photo. Hair damp. No makeup. Hoodie halfway down her thighs. The bump was there. Soft. Round. Theirs.

She sent it to him with one line:

Belle: This is what “nothing fits” looks like.

A minute passed.

Then Max replied:

Max: That’s my favorite person with my favorite future inside her. Perfect. P.S. I’m coming home the second this race is over.

And somehow, in that moment, even with her body unfamiliar and her closet defeated…

Belle didn’t feel alone anymore.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Belle: Slightly odd question. Do you remember what you wore when you were trying to hide your pregnancies?

Victoria: Hahaha Has the bump arrived?

Belle: It ambushed me. Overnight. I woke up and suddenly nothing zips and my jeans are threatening to report me to the authorities.

Victoria: God, I remember that phase. I once cried in a Zara changing room because a wrap dress betrayed me. So yes. I remember it well.

Victoria: Okay. Hiding-the-bump tips from a three-time pro:

Flowy dresses

Button-downs + high-waisted trousers unbuttoned and safety pinned

Distracting accessories (big earrings = nobody’s looking at your belly)

Never underestimate a good scarf

Belle: You’re terrifyingly prepared. I love you.

Victoria: We all cope in our own ways. Mine is emotional support designer handbag. Also. You’re glowing.

Belle: I’m sweating and panicked.

Victoria: That’s pregnancy, darling. And when in doubt, steal Max’s clothes, throw on lipstick, and pretend you’re doing it on purpose.

Belle: I’m texting you before every outfit now.

Victoria: I expect nothing less.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Belle: Everything I own has turned against me. I just tried on five dresses. None of them fit. One popped a button and hit me in the face.

Emilie: i’m sorry but this is the funniest tragedy i’ve ever read

Belle: I’m going to have to start wearing Max’s hoodies exclusively. Like some sort of tiny, emotionally unstable Formula 1 driver.

Emilie: you say that like it’s not THE aesthetic of the season also: pls send a pic immediately

Belle: No makeup. Wet hair. Hoodie down to my knees. I look like if depression bought a scented candle.

Emilie: okay that’s going in your baby book "week 16: mother described herself as a sad candle in sportswear" you’re glowing, aren't you?

Belle: No. I’m sweating and mildly offended by cotton. But thank you.

Emilie: you are perfect and your body is doing literal magic and i will be there tomorrow with snacks, tissues, and an emergency haul of ethically-sourced maternity leggings

Belle: I don’t deserve you.

Emilie: no but you’re stuck with me anyway

***

The house was glowing.

Not literally — though the late afternoon sun poured golden light through the open shutters like a blessing — but in the way old homes do when they’ve been cared for. When someone’s loved them back into themselves.

Belle stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled to her elbows, a pencil tucked behind one ear, as Daniel and Jules stepped inside.

“Mon Dieu,” Daniel breathed. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Jules let out a soft, stunned sound and turned in a slow circle, eyes catching every detail — the reclaimed beams overhead, the soft plaster walls in a mineral-washed hue, the original tile floor gently cleaned and sealed instead of replaced.

“I can’t believe this is the same house,” Jules said.

“I can,” Daniel murmured. “Because she did it.”

Belle smiled, cheeks warm. “It’s almost done. A few details left — hardware, window treatments, the stone for the kitchen counters is coming Tuesday.”

“Don’t rush,” Jules said. “We’d sleep on the floor if we had to.”

“No need,” Belle said, leading them deeper into the space. “The guest room is fully dressed. Just in case.”

They passed through the arch into the main living room. The old fireplace had been restored, the stone gently cleaned but still mottled with history. Belle had designed built-in shelves on either side — painted in a soft green-grey that picked up the light without swallowing it — and filled them with old books and ceramics she’d sourced from local artisans.

“Belle,” Daniel said softly. “This is… art.”

She smiled at that. Not flustered. Just pleased.

They moved into the kitchen, where Belle had reimagined the space entirely without losing a single antique tile. A large farmhouse sink had been inset into a custom cabinet she’d designed herself, and the walls were finished in limewash — textured, tactile, alive.

The wide French doors at the back opened onto the courtyard. Once crumbling, it was now a soft, green heart of the home. The old fig tree remained, but Belle had added lavender, herbs, and climbing jasmine that was already threatening to devour the wall.

Jules stepped outside. “You saved the soul of this place.”

“I didn’t want to change it,” Belle said. “Just… listen to it.”

Daniel glanced over at her, smiling. “It’s rare. What you do. Most people walk into old houses and want to erase the past. You made it feel like time had layered into the house instead of over it.”

Belle blinked. Something caught behind her ribs — not pride, exactly, but something deeper. Recognition.

“It’s the first full project I did under my name,” she said quietly. “No firm. No partners. Just me.”

“And it shows,” Daniel said. “There’s nothing generic here. Every choice feels personal. Considered.”

“There are still a few finishing touches. Light fixtures in the guest room, and one of the shutters needs repair. But everything else is… as planned,” Belle explained.

Jules looked around again — eyes slightly glassy now. “It’s more than we imagined.”

Daniel stepped beside Belle and nudged her gently. “You didn’t just design this. You gave it a soul.”

Belle swallowed around the sudden ache in her throat.

“I just listened,” she said. “To what the house wanted to be. And to what you needed it to hold.”

“You do realize this is what great designers say when they’re being modest,” Daniel said dryly.

But Jules only smiled and took Belle’s hands in his. “You made us a home.”

And somehow, that landed more than any award ever could.

As they sat down at the table with lemonade and cheese and fresh bread Jules had insisted on bringing from their favorite bakery, Belle let herself relax into the moment.

The laughter was easy. The compliments genuine. There was no shadow of someone else’s name over her work, no sense of borrowed validation.

Just sunlight, and two clients-turned-friends, and a house that now breathed.

And for the first time in her career, Belle didn’t feel like she was working to prove anything.

She had already done it.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: wanna tell me what the actual FUCK that was between max and lando????

Belle: Define “that.”

Emilie: THE AGGRESSIVE WHEEL-TO-WHEEL “ARE WE ENEMIES NOW” SLAP FIGHT THE DEATH STARES THE POST-RACE NON-HANDSHAKE I’M SORRY, IS THE BRO MANCE DEAD??

Belle: Ah. That.

Emilie: YES. THAT. YOUR HUSBAND WENT FULL FINAL BOSS MODE AND LANDO LOOKED LIKE HE WAS ABOUT TO BITE HIM

Belle: They’ll talk. Eventually.

Emilie: ARE THEY BREAKING UP DO I NEED TO GET THE DIVORCE LAWYERS DO I GET YOU IN THE CUSTODY BATTLE DOES LANDO GET VISITATION WITH THE BABY

Belle: 😂 You are so dramatic. And yes, obviously. 

Emilie: you joke but i’m FUMING i just spent six months convincing myself they were soft-launch brothers-in-arms and now max overtakes like that and lando’s giving “you were supposed to love me” after the race

Belle: It’s called racing, Em.

Emilie: it’s called betrayal he made him crash he gave him a puncture he RUINED HIM i’ve read enemies-to-lovers with less sexual tension than that post-race stare

Belle: Do you want me to ask Max for his side?

Emilie: no

Belle:For the record: Max says he “defended hard” And Lando “should’ve backed out sooner.” He also muttered something about “this is why I don’t have friends.”

Emilie: tell him that’s the most dramatic thing he’s said since “I’m not here to make friends” in 2015

Belle: He is the drama

Emilie: and you married him god i’m proud of you

Belle: Would you and Lando like to come for dinner tomorrow?

Emilie: EXCUSE ME??

Belle: Max is sulking. Lando is brooding. You’re screaming in all caps. I’m fixing it.

Emilie: YOU THINK A CHICKEN PARM IS GONNA FIX A BROKEN BROMANCE

Belle: Yes. That and a homemade lemon tart. Also, you’re bringing wine.

Emilie: oh my god you’re staging a peace summit this is monaco-based diplomacy you’re literally brokering a ceasefire

Belle: We’ve avoided a Red Bull–McLaren cold war so far. I’d like to keep it that way. Also Max gets weird when Lando’s mad at him.

Emilie: i’m bringing rosé and a truce playlist

Belle: Perfect. Tomorrow. 7 PM. We’re serving forgiveness with a side of grilled vegetables.

Emilie: you’re a queen a legend a domestic diplomat

Belle: Good. See you tomorrow. Also, if they refuse to make eye contact, we’re putting on a two-player Mario Kart match and leaving the room.

Emilie: excellent. passive-aggressive gaming therapy. you’re a genius

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Oscar Piastri

Belle: Congratulations on the podium 🧡 You were phenomenal today. Clean, calm, clinical. (And you looked very smug on the podium. It suited you.)

Oscar: Thank you 😊 It’s always nice when Max and Lando are too busy crashing into each other to notice I exist.

Belle: Speaking of which... Care to tell me what that was?

Oscar: Which part? The wheel-to-wheel drama? The parc ferme tension? The complete emotional collapse of an F1 friendship?

Belle: All of it. I’m trying to prep for tomorrow’s “spaghetti and feelings” dinner.

Oscar: I’d recommend garlic bread. And helmets.

Belle: Are they talking?

Oscar: Define “talking.” Max said “he’ll get over it.” Lando said “he can bite me.” So, no.

Belle: Excellent. Nothing like emotional maturity from two men who drive at 300km/h for a living.

Oscar: Incredible athletes. Emotionally 14.

Belle: We’ve having dinner tomorrow. I’m staging a ceasefire over lemon tart.

Oscar: Bold of you Godspeed Let me know if I need to be on standby for emotional support 

Belle: You might. If they refuse to speak, they’re playing Mario Kart until one of them cries.

Oscar: So, normal Verstappen conflict resolution. Got it 👍

Belle: Exactly.

***

Belle pulled the lemon tart out of the fridge at exactly 6:58 PM.

It was perfect. Glazed, golden, topped with thin slices of candied lemon and just enough powdered sugar to look effortless without trying too hard. Not unlike her strategy for this entire dinner.

She heard Max pacing somewhere near the front hallway again. That made lap four. Five, if she counted the loop past the cat bowls.

“Max,” she called gently. “It’s dinner. Not an FIA hearing.”

“They’re late,” he muttered, appearing in the kitchen doorway.

“They’re two minutes late.”

Max crossed his arms, expression unreadable. “Maybe we should cancel.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Because Lando didn’t arrive early to apologize like a teenager with flowers and a mixtape?”

Max looked away. Belle handed him the salad tongs.

“Go toss the greens and remember you’re a grown man with three world championship titles and a mortgage,” she said sweetly.

He muttered something in Dutch and obeyed.

The buzzer rang at 7:03.

Belle opened the door to find Emilie in her best peacekeeping sundress, holding a bottle of rosé in one hand and a smug smile on her face. Lando trailed behind her, suspiciously quiet, clutching a bakery box like it was a bomb.

“We brought peach galette,” Emilie announced. “And emotional tension.”

Belle stepped aside. “We already have both.”

Dinner began civilly enough.

The pasta was well-timed. The wine poured freely. The cats were temporarily bribed into not launching themselves onto the table.

Max and Lando, however, exchanged exactly four words in the first twenty minutes:

“Hi.” “Hi.” “Water?” “Sure.”

The eye contact was brief. The fork clinking was aggressive.

Belle and Emilie carried the conversation like diplomats on a sinking cruise ship. They talked about weather, Monaco construction permits, the absurdity of a $400 baby monitor Belle had returned on principle. They laughed. They smiled.

The boys sulked.

At one point, Max stabbed a roasted carrot like it had insulted his ancestors. Lando sighed in a way that could've shattered glass.

Belle met Emilie’s gaze across the table.

Time for the nuclear option.

“Okay,” Belle said, standing up. “Dessert in a bit. But first—living room.”

Lando blinked. “What?”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” Belle said, already walking, “I’m not hosting a three-course cold war.”

Emilie followed with the wine glasses. “We’re resolving this like adults.”

“In Mario Kart,” Belle added.

Max groaned. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m married to you. I’ve never been more serious.”

Lando slumped onto the couch. “This is ridiculous.”

Belle handed him a controller. “And yet you’re already holding the remote.”

Max hesitated—just long enough for Belle to raise an eyebrow. “Afraid to lose?”

He sat down next to Lando like she’d physically shoved him. “I’ve beaten him in real life. I’ll survive Rainbow Road.”

“Your funeral,” Lando muttered.

By the second race, Max had stopped muttering under his breath.

By the fourth, he and Lando were arguing about blue shell etiquette.

By the sixth, Belle and Emilie had abandoned the couch entirely and were watching from the kitchen doorway, with Emilie sipping rosé and Belle snacking on lemon tart, like it was theatre.

“I give it ten more minutes before they forget they were mad,” Emilie whispered.

“Seven,” Belle said, just as Lando shouted, “That’s what you get for punting me off in Austria!”

Max howled. “YOU STARTED IT.”

Belle smiled. “And… there it is.”

By the time dessert hit the table, Lando was retelling the story of Max drunk in a night club and accidentally running into a wall while sneezing. Max was defending himself with increasing indignation. Emilie was crying with laughter. And Belle?

Belle sat back in her chair, hand resting gently over her stomach, watching her husband finally laugh again.

And she thought — this is what peacekeeping looks like.

A lemon tart. A glass of wine. A video game and a well-timed eye roll.

And love.

Always, love.

***

Max hadn’t meant to wake up early.

The apartment was still hushed in the pale-blue light of morning, curtains shifting faintly with the breeze from the balcony doors. Monaco always felt quieter before eight — like even the yachts were still asleep.

He stretched, one arm blindly reaching for Belle’s side of the bed.

Empty.

The faint sound of running water met his ears, and then the rustle of a drawer, a closet door sliding open.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his hand over his face, and padded barefoot into the hallway.

What he saw stopped him completely.

Belle stood in front of the mirror in the closet, turned slightly sideways, her back to the door. She was barefoot, her hair in a loose braid, wearing nothing but a pair of soft cotton shorts and one of his white tank tops — the thin kind she always stole from his drawer without asking.

And her bump — their bump — was there. Real. Rounded. Glowing in the soft morning light.

Max felt something in his chest shift.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched her. Watched the way she ran her fingers over her stomach, gently, reverently, like she still couldn’t quite believe it.

Like it had finally hit her, too.

Belle caught his reflection in the mirror and startled. “God, Max—say something before you scare me to death.”

But she didn’t move to hide.

Didn’t reach for a robe or yank down the hem of the tank top.

And Max… Max couldn’t look away.

“I didn’t know it was like this already,” he said quietly.

Belle turned toward him, one hand resting low on her belly. “It kind of… popped overnight.”

He crossed the room slowly, his eyes never leaving her. When he stopped in front of her, his hands came up automatically — one to her cheek, the other hovering just above her bump.

“May I?” he asked softly.

Belle nodded, her eyes warm.

He placed his hand against her skin. Warm. Soft. Alive.

A small intake of breath escaped him — almost a laugh, but softer. “You’re really in there,” he murmured.

Belle smiled, tired and radiant all at once. “Surprise.”

He kissed her, slow and steady, his hand never leaving her stomach.

When he pulled back, his voice was a little rougher. “How long until you can’t hide it anymore?”

She exhaled. “A few weeks, maybe. Less if they keeps growing like this.”

Max was quiet for a beat.

Then: “Do you want to keep hiding it?”

Belle leaned into his chest, resting her forehead there. “I don’t know. Part of me likes having it just for us. But… part of me wants to stop hiding. Stop pretending nothing’s changed when everything has.”

Max nodded slowly. “We don’t have to post anything. Not unless you want to.”

She looked up at him. “Would you be okay with the media knowing? With the fans knowing?”

“I’m okay with them knowing we’re building a life together,” he said simply. “They’ll say things. They always do. But they don’t get to have this. Only see it. And only what we give them.”

Belle’s throat tightened. “What if they say I’m just—what if they think this is why we got married? That it wasn’t about us?”

“They can think whatever they want,” Max said firmly. “But I know. You know. And this baby—” he pressed his hand gently to her stomach again, “—will grow up knowing they were born from love. Not gossip.”

Belle nodded, slow and quiet. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I think…” She paused. “I think when it feels right, I want to share it. I just want to do it our way. Not through a headline. Not through some PR leak. Just… something honest. Something small.”

Max smiled. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

She leaned into him again, and he held her there — the two of them wrapped in early morning quiet, one heartbeat becoming three.

***

He didn’t mean to play for hours.

But his hands moved without thought, without permission — soft notes tumbling out one after another, half-finished melodies bleeding into each other, no structure, no rhythm. Just the ache in his chest, transposed into minor keys.

Charles stared at the keys without really seeing them.

Everything since the Spanish Grand Prix had felt like that. Blurred. Half-lit. Shame washing over him in waves until it was hard to tell what day it was.

Fred’s voice still rang in his head.

"He’s not just beating you on track. He’s beating you in every other way that matters."

It should’ve made him angry. Months ago, maybe it would have. But now?

Now it just made him tired.

The front door clicked open quietly.

Charles didn’t stop playing.

Alexandra stepped into the room, keys in hand, sunglasses pushed into her hair. She paused just beyond the piano, watching him. Listening.

He shifted into something sadder without realizing it.

She said nothing for a long time. Just let him play.

Finally: “That’s new.”

Charles nodded, fingers barely brushing the keys. “I didn’t write it down. I won’t remember it.”

Alexandra sat on the armrest of the couch across from him. “That bad, huh?”

He didn’t answer.

Alexandra watched him a beat longer. Then: “You haven’t said anything since Fred tore into you.”

“He was right.”

That surprised her.

Charles didn’t look up. “He was right about everything. About Belle. About Max. About me.”

Alexandra folded her arms, softening slightly. “Charles—”

“I forgot her birthday,” he said, voice flat. “I forgot where she lived. I didn’t know she moved. I didn’t know she quit her job. And I found out she was married with the rest of the world.”

A pause.

“I used to be the person she told everything to.”

His voice cracked on used to.

Alexandra shifted closer. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.” His hands stilled. “And I don’t blame her.”

“She’s your sister.”

“I forgot how to act like her brother.”

It wasn’t said for sympathy. It was just… fact.

He pressed a key. Dissonant. Hollow.

Alexandra exhaled. “You know what I think?”

Charles didn’t answer, but his silence invited it.

“I think you’re not upset she married Max,” she said gently. “You’re upset she didn’t tell you. Because it forced you to realize how far away you let her drift.”

That landed deep.

Charles looked at the keys like they might offer him absolution.

“She stopped waiting for me,” he said, barely a whisper.

“She had to stop,” Alexandra replied. “You never showed up.”

He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” Charles admitted.

“You can’t,” Alexandra said, standing. “Not completely. But you can start by owning that it’s not about you. Not her silence. Not her love. Not Max. You don’t get to demand a place in her life just because you regret not earning it before.”

That hurt more than Fred’s words.

Because it was the truth.

Alexandra stepped forward and kissed the top of his head, just briefly.

“Let her choose if you belong,” she said softly. “But maybe, for once, don’t try to race your way back in.”

She walked out without waiting for a reply.

Charles sat at the piano, still and quiet, and let the silence press in around him like a tide.

He looked down at his hands.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure they knew how to fix anything anymore.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Arthur Leclerc

Arthur: hey just wanted to check in how are you?

Belle: Hi That’s a surprise A nice one

Arthur: yeah well i figured it was my turn to show up you always did that for me even when i didn’t deserve it

Arthur: so you okay?

Belle: I’m good. Quiet days. Work. Sleep. Max. He’s home this week, which helps. I’ve been reading again.

Arthur: you always read when you feel safe i remember that

Belle: I do. Books are still better than people sometimes.

Arthur: not going to argue there i just wanted you to know i think about you a lot even when i don’t say anything

Belle: I know. I think about you too.

Arthur: and I’m sorry for forgetting the little things for thinking you’d always be there whether I showed up or not I hate that it took losing you to notice how much I missed

Belle: You didn’t lose me. You just stopped looking. But you’re here now. That counts for something.

Arthur: thanks for giving me the chance to do better i won’t waste it

Belle: I hope you don’t. Because I missed my little brother.

Arthur: still here still annoying just a bit slower to grow up

Belle: You’re getting there One awkward text at a time

Arthur: baby steps

Belle: 😉

***

They were sitting at the dining table, Belle with her laptop open and a very stubborn government website loading at glacial speed. The overhead lights were low, the cats were asleep on the windowsill, and the apple tart from dinner was reduced to a pair of crumbs and a fork that Max kept stealing bites with.

“I need to go to the town hall next week,” Belle said, frowning at her screen. “It’s ridiculous how many steps it takes to change a last name. I have to book an appointment just to show them I’m legally married.”

Max looked up from where he was balancing a spoon on his finger. “Want me to come with you?”

She smiled. “I think I can survive bureaucracy alone.”

“I don’t know,” he said, mock-serious. “You’re pregnant and emotionally allergic to slow websites.”

“Barely showing and mildly inconvenienced is not the same thing,” Belle replied, nudging his foot under the table.

He grinned, then leaned back in his chair. “We should change your credit card too. It still says Leclerc.”

She groaned. “One paperwork nightmare at a time.”

Max tilted his head, thoughtful now. “And we should probably set up a meeting with our lawyers.”

Belle paused mid-keystroke. “Why?”

He shrugged, casual. “Just to go over everything.”

“Max,” she said gently. “What kind of everything?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His fingers were still playing with the fork, but his gaze had drifted — focused, serious in that quiet way he got when he was thinking too far ahead.

“I want to make sure things are in place,” he said eventually. “For you. For the baby. If something happens to me.”

Belle’s heart pulled.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” she said softly.

“If something happens to me — if I crash or something stupid happens off-track — I want everything set up. No grey areas. No questions.”

Belle set the mug she was holding down carefully on the table and turned fully toward him.

“Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m not planning on dying,” Max said, managing a half-smile. “But I also know how this works. I’ve seen it happen to other drivers. One second, you’re invincible. The next…” He trailed off. “I don’t want you or the baby in limbo if the worst happens.”

She reached out slowly, threading her fingers through his. “You think about that?”

“Every time I get in the car now,” he admitted. “Not in a panicked way. But it’s there. You changed the way I calculate risk.”

“I’m not planning to die,” he added, a wry smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. “I’m just planning in case. I want to make sure you’re protected. That the house is in your name too. That there’s no confusion. That if I can’t speak for myself, you can. Not my father. Not my mother. You.”

Belle sat very still.

Not because she was scared. But because it hit her, suddenly and all at once, how much he was already carrying — not just the weight of fame and expectation and fatherhood, but this fierce, unspoken drive to shield her from the storm.

“I married you because I love you,” Max said. “But I also married you because you’re my person. And I want to make sure you’re not left sorting through a legal mess if the worst ever happens.”

Belle nodded, throat tight. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She reached across the table and took his hand. “Let’s make the appointment.”

Max exhaled — a little like he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.

And Belle, looking at the man who had been so many things to the world — champion, rival, myth — realized that this version of him, the one quietly planning a will while stealing bites of lemon tart, was the one she loved most.

The one who knew the risks. And stayed anyway.

The one who chose her. And kept choosing her.

Even in the fine print.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Lorenzo: We need to get ahead of this before she cuts us out completely. We’ve let it go on too long.

Charles: What do you want me to do, Lorenzo? I said I wanted to talk to her. She doesn’t answer.

Arthur: Because she’s not ready. You don’t get to demand a timeline for forgiveness.

Pascale: I sent her a long message last week. I said I missed her. She didn’t even react to it.

Arthur: Because she’s hurt. Because for years, we made her feel like she didn’t matter until she disappeared.

Charles: I’m trying to make it right.

Arthur: You’re trying to make it comfortable for you. Not better for her.

Lorenzo: Okay, enough. We need to approach this like adults. Arthur, you said she talked to you?

Arthur: Yeah. Because I apologized without making excuses. Because I didn’t act like she owed me anything.

Charles: So what, we just do nothing? Sit around and hope she decides to forgive us?

Arthur: Or we ask her what she needs instead of assuming we know best. Maybe try that.

Pascale: If she’d just sit down with us—if we could talk properly—I know we could fix it.

Charles: She won’t even look at me in the paddock.

Arthur: You yelled about her being married like the whole grid personally betrayed you.

Charles: Well it felt like that.

Pascale: Can we not assign blame? We all made mistakes. I sent a message. She didn’t respond.

Lorenzo: Because your message said, “I meant to text you, but I sent it to Charles instead.” Which we all know is a lie.

Pascale: It was a white lie. I didn’t want her to feel worse.

Lorenzo: She didn’t need you to protect her feelings, Maman. She needed you to show up. That’s what none of us did.

Charles: I’m trying. But every time I think about texting her, I hear Fred’s voice telling me I don’t deserve to.

Arthur: That’s because he’s right.

Pascale: So what do we do? Invite her to dinner? Send another letter?

Charles: I could try calling again.

Lorenzo: No. No more performing care. She’s not stupid. She sees through all of it.

Pascale: We have to fix this. She’s our family.

Isabelle:  You could start by remembering I’m in this group chat.

Isabelle:  I’ve seen every message. Every strategy. Every “how do we make her forgive us” as if forgiveness is a button to push, not something earned.

Isabelle: Arthur apologized. He listened. He didn’t make excuses. That’s why I’m speaking to him. Not because he said the right thing. Because he meant it.

Isabelle: The rest of you? You keep asking how to fix me. You never once asked what I need.

Isabelle: So here it is: If you want a relationship with me again, we start with family therapy. With a neutral third party. No justifications. No guilt-tripping. No “but we’re your family.” Just honesty. Hard conversations. Boundaries.

Isabelle: You want me back? You come sit in a room and prove it. Not with flowers or dinners. With work.

Isabelle: I am not your emotional support sibling. I’m not your afterthought. And I’m not going to pretend this didn’t hurt just because it’s inconvenient for you.

Isabelle: Therapy. Or nothing.

Arthur: …I told you.

Lorenzo: Family therapy it is.

***

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ satoru's mouth runs a mile a minute, especially when things get intimate.

it's a constant stream, sometimes coherent, often just utter nonsense. and it starts the second any skin is revealed, not even after the main event. his blue eyes will widen, a soft gasp escaping his slightly parted lips.

a dreamy, swoon-like sigh will flutter from his throat, a delicate pink dusting his cheeks. "oh, you're so, so pretty," he'll murmur, punctuating the words with soft kisses against your bare chest, his tongue leaving a wet trail over your perky nipples. "incredibly pretty. beautiful. no, gorgeous. actually, ethereal."

you manage a soft thank you, your brows furrowing with building anticipation. for what feels like an eternity, he's been teasing you, a relentless dance on the edge. the slick head of his cock bumps insistently against your clit with every subtle shift of his weight.

he just keeps talking, a breathless monologue about how perfect you look spread out beneath him, how impossibly lucky he feels.

you're seconds away from snapping; that he'd feel a hell of a lot luckier if he'd just slide inside already.

"sato, c'mon," you finally whine, a desperate edge to your voice. "ple— please, just…"

"i am, i am," he coos, a lazy smile stretching across his features. "just give me a minute to properly appreciate m'girl."

you huff out a frustrated breath, giving him a pointed look that clearly conveys your dwindling patience. "you've had plenty of minutes already."

but then, finally, he presses the tip against your slick entrance, and the anticipation spikes. he sinks in slowly, stretching your tight, wet walls with his thick length, and he's instantly undone.

his thrusts are never gentle or rhythmic, but rather urgent, greedy slams, as if he's desperate to absorb every sensation, every inch of you, in that single moment.

"fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me," he pants, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "no— no one takes me like you do."

his eyes are glazed over, pupils blown wide with pure sensation. a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and his hands roam your body restlessly, eventually settling on the curve of your waist, his thumbs digging in possessively.

"i can't— god, i think i could come just like this," he groans, leaning down to nip at the shell of your ear, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. his fingers slip lower, finding the swollen nub of your clit and rubbing against it in tantalizing circles.

"s'wet," he breathes, his voice a husky whisper. "do i do that to you, huh?" it's not even a practiced dirty talk, you realize, just his unfiltered, lust-filled thoughts tumbling out.

as satoru's climax hits, a shuddering wave that ripples through his entire body, he's literally thanking you, a broken, hiccuping sound escaping his lips. his head falls heavily into the crook of your neck, and you kiss away the tears that squeeze from his tightly shut eyes.

satoru pulls away, just by a little, gazing at you with big, blue eyes. "i think— i think we should get married."

[writeriguess]

can i request a bakugou x reader. the reader is in a relationship with him for a few months now. they just never told anyone about it. their friends (bakusquad) are surprised when they suddenly cuddle up during movie night.

Close Quarters and Closer Hearts

The living room hums with the comforting buzz of conversation and the scent of freshly popped popcorn. The Bakusquad lounges around, the flickering glow of the TV casting soft shadows over everyone’s faces. Kaminari’s sprawled out on the floor, a bowl of popcorn perched dangerously on his chest. Mina has claimed the comfiest corner of the couch, curled up with a blanket, while Sero and Kirishima share the remaining cushions, elbows already digging into ribs over the best seat.

You’re hovering awkwardly near the doorway, trying to decide the best place to sit. When your eyes meet Bakugou’s, he arches a brow, lips twitching in a smirk. He’s settled himself at the end of the couch, legs spread in that relaxed but commanding posture. He jerks his chin, wordlessly beckoning you over.

“Oi, finally done loitering?” he grumbles when you hesitate. “Get over here.”

The others are too caught up in a debate about which horror movie to watch—Mina votes for something gory, Kaminari wants comedy—to notice as you cross the room. Your heart races as you sink down beside him. You keep a polite distance at first, until his arm slides around your shoulders, tugging you against his side.

Your pulse jumps, but Bakugou just scoffs. “What, you scared or something?”

You give him a playful glare, cheeks warming. “No, just didn’t know you were so clingy.”

“Shut up.” He squeezes your shoulder and mutters, “You’re the clingy one.”

The couch creaks as the others pile on. Kaminari flops down on the floor at your feet, groaning dramatically. “If I die of boredom, it’s Mina’s fault. Just saying.”

She sticks her tongue out. “You have the attention span of a goldfish.”

“I do not—oh hey, snacks!” He reaches for the popcorn but gets smacked away by Mina’s foot.

The banter continues, but you can’t focus. Bakugou’s arm is still draped casually over your shoulders, his thumb tracing light patterns. It’s subtle, but it feels incredibly intimate. You’re hyper-aware of every breath he takes, the warmth radiating from his body.

It’s not until the movie starts—a classic slasher—that Mina glances over, her eyes narrowing. “Wait a second.”

You freeze, but Bakugou only sighs, muttering, “Great.”

Mina’s eyes bounce from you to him and back again. “Are you two... cuddling?”

The room falls silent. Kaminari’s head whips around so fast you’re surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. Kirishima’s brows shoot up. Sero’s eyes widen.

“No way,” Kaminari blurts out, gaping. “You’re dating Bakugou?”

Your cheeks flame, but Bakugou just clicks his tongue. “No shit, dunce face.”

Kirishima’s mouth drops open before he grins wide. “Bro, when did this happen?”

“A few months ago,” you admit, fidgeting under the sudden scrutiny.

“A few months?” Mina yelps. “And you didn’t tell us?!”

“Would you have believed me?” you counter.

Kaminari snorts. “Uh, no. You’d have to show me proof—like, make out or something.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Keep talking, and you’ll eat a fist.”

“Jeez, okay, chill!” Kaminari laughs, unfazed. “Just saying, I would’ve bet money you’d stay single forever.”

Bakugou smirks. “Guess you’d be broke, idiot.”

Mina’s outrage shifts into a smirk of her own. “Okay, but like... how did this even start?”

“We just clicked,” you say.

Bakugou scoffs. “Took you forever to admit you liked me.”

“Oh, please,” you shoot back. “You were the one dragging me out on ‘not-dates’ every week.”

Kirishima laughs. “Man, you really have a type. Explosive and stubborn.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You done interrogating us?”

“Never,” Mina singsongs, but she relents. The conversation shifts back to the movie, but the teasing glances continue.

Eventually, Bakugou pulls you closer, his hand warm on your shoulder. “Ignore ‘em,” he mutters. “You’re mine, not theirs.”

You smile, leaning into his touch. “Oh, possessive now?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, lips twitching. But he doesn’t pull away, and neither do you.

The movie plays on, forgotten as the Bakusquad starts bickering about plot holes. You’re nestled against Bakugou’s side, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your arm. And despite the teasing and gawking, you can’t help but feel incredibly lucky.

[parrish-the-thot]

A continuation of this post I made

I imagine Steve genuinely doesn’t think about Eddie, like at all. Besides the occasional “what is he yelling about in that table” or “ Munson actually showed up to class” or once in sophomore year he thinks “how much does Munson charge for an ounce of weed? Would he take a $50 for an ounce” which causes Eddie to wait around all day at the picnic table wishing for some shmuck to offer $50 for just an ounce, but no one shows up (Steve had to go pick up Dustin after school and didn’t want him to find weed the weed when he inevitably starts going through Steve’s car)

The lack of soulmate thoughts really irks Eddie, because he knows his soulmate is in Hawkins, but he never thinks about Eddie, like at all??? Positively or negatively?? Eddie jumps on more tables, he blares loud music from his van, he is in a band, he is the drug dealer for all the teens in Hawkins and all his soulmate thinks is “why the fuck did Munson double park his van, I’m going to be late looking for a parking spot now” it absolutely drives him crazy.

He eventually figures out his soulmate must be a jock of some kind because one day he hears “what is Munson doing under the bleachers?” when some sports team is let out of playing with balls practice. He is briefly heartbroken his soulmate isn’t a nerd like him, but then spends the night thinking about how a certain fluffy haired jock could play with his balls anytime.

Steve isn’t not thinking about Eddie on purpose, but they just don’t run in the same circles, so he doesn’t really think about him too much, just in a genuine, “I don’t know them, don’t interact with them, so I don’t really think about them” sort of way. Especially after befriending the kids, Steve’s focus goes to keeping them safe and being a babysitter instead of finding his soulmate.

Steve’s experience with his soulmates thoughts is completely different. Starting in middle school he heard his soulmate think he was cute which he thought was nice. As he got older his soulmate would still think he was cute, but also handsome or pretty which, he doesn’t know any girls who call their boyfriends pretty but ya know, he can roll with that. He thinks he will have to roll with a lot of stuff, since hai soulmate seems to into a…a lot of interesting things, to say the least. Steve has dated a lot of girls but none of them seemed to want to rub their face in his chest hair like his soulmate did, who also wonder is Steve was that hairy everywhere which- he was but he didn’t think a girl would want to know about that.

He would be in the middle of a basket ball game and he hit with a 15 minute monologue about how wonderful his ass looked in “thise little green shirts that ride up his ass in the best way” and how his soulmate “wanted to be those shorts” causing Steve to miss three different shots. Also with all this wildly kinky stuff and even general sex things Steve has never heard of or thought about he figures he should become more knowledgeable to better be prepared for his soulmate.

One day when Steve is cleaning up a drink he spilled in the cafeteria and heard “god Harrington looks good on his knees, bet he would look even better with my cock in his mouth” figures chances are his soulmate isn’t a girl at all.

With not much else to loose and a new door opened up to him, Steve starts spending time thinking equally horny thinvs about different guys he sees in class, just to see if they will react to what he is thinking. This is how he figures out Eddie is his soulmate.

Steve notices eddies table is getting a little rowdy, as is always does before Eddie gets up on someone’s table and he rants about jocks and preppy girls while stepping on people’s lunches, Steve thinks “what if comes over here, spits in my stretched out hole, and fucks me right next to Heathers Halloways tuna sandwich”

Eddie, whose soulmate didn’t even think about Eddie that one time his car got spray painted a fit was all the school talked about for a week, was NOT expecting that at 12:30 on a Tuesday and promptly trips on a chair and slams face first into the lunch table, breaking his nose.

Eddies friends rush him to the nurse and Steve is torn between this being a sign Eddie is soulmate or Eddie just clumsy, Steve has seen him walk into a door twice, so he don’t 100% sure. Steve decided to test this anytime he has a clear viewpoint of Eddie and starts thinking the most horny, kinky things possibly about Eddie to see if Eddie reacts proves he is Steve’s soulmate (also revenge because Steve had to go through years of Eddie horny pondering interrupting Steve during important tasks games or tests so Steve figures he should pay that forward during eddies dungeons and dorks games)

[not-so-superheroine]

a lot of chatter in the comments about not owing people anything.

a. yes you do. the world is falling apart right now in part because of this attitude. you owe your fellow human consideration.

babies can't help but to scream. but most adults can and therefore shouldn't be screaming in the grocery store just because they're angry.

you can buy headphones or wait til you are alone. headphones are easier.

b. i confront people who blast things in public enclosed spaces. i can't stand it, so i do what i can about it. i often carry spare headphones to lend out so i can ask in a "nice" way. i'm gonna start bringing cheaper earbuds with an adapter now that i've been inspired.

people don't like confrontation and generally turn it down/off and refuse the offered headphones.

i'm not above moving next to them and blasting something more annoying if it doesn't click.

don't be inconsiderate and contribute to making the environment we share worse than it is out of selfishness.

you will eventually run into a me. and you can either adjust then or make a huge ass of yourself in front of a bunch of other people likely agree with me/them. i/they will publicly shame you by causing you to publically shame yourself. it seems humiliating as they often look admonished/abashed. very few people like feeling or looking like an asshole.

i'm not extremely confrontational, but this is a pet peeve. i can't handle the stimulation and YES i am already wearing expensive noise canceling headphones pretty much at all times. even to sleep.

if you think it is safe enough, confront the person doing it. i suggest being kind about it.

"could you please turn off the sound? i'm autistic and have a hard time with that. i am wearing noise canceling headphones but it's still pretty loud."

"that's pretty loud. do you have headphones? would you like to borrow my spare headphones?"

that don't work. (to the extent you are willing to go) get more drastic. make them uncomfortable as you are.

people who do this make me so mad, y'all. and they back down damn near every time after the kind approach.

dangerous in the usa ig bc people have guns and trigger fingers, but i take the risk in public spaces.

to clarify, I'm not talking about on the street, at parks, or at the metro station even. buskers gotta play to make cash.

but in an enclosed space? a library? a plane? doctors office? come on.

i'm literally begging people to relearn how to use earbuds and headphones. i don't wanna hear your fucking tiktok while im waiting for my flight.

[melancholymetropolis]

“I heard the twins were back in town."

My husband’s voice floated about the room as he dried his hair. Bill was only wearing his pajama bottoms and his chest was bare. Stray droplets of water dripped from head, down his pecs and along his abs. I broke my gaze once he pulled a shirt over his bare skin, disturbing my view.

"They are," I sighed, rubbing lotion between my palms. "I saw Stack near the station, while I was picking up the shipment. Along Mary and Preacher Boy."

A shiver ran down my spine at the mention of her name from my lips. I had tried my best to avoid her at all costs. But, just like Stack, she wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. She sent letter after letter to my house. Begging and pleading to have a conversation. Claiming that her guilt was eating her up something fierce and she could barely sleep. 

That was right after Maddie was born. 

She even tried to come over to my house, but Bill stopped her before she could get too close to me. Practically tore her a new one for disturbing my nap after nursing the ever-hungry newborn. 

I knew right then that I wanted to marry him. 

Through the mirror on the vanity, I could see him rise from the bed. His fingers pressed tightly together and a deep frown on his lips. He took small steps toward me, hesitation oozing from his being. Several deep breaths fell from his lips before he met his gaze in the mirror.

"He spoke to you, didn't he?" The look of sadness deepened to one of sorrow. Almost like his soul was aching at the statement.

“He did,” I said, massaging the cream into my neck. “But, your daughter called him ugly and sent him away with a glare.”

The smile turned into a sad smile at the statement. “Fearless little thing. She gets it from you.”

I hummed softly as he reached for the cream and took a dollop from the top. He rubbed it between his palms just like I had moments before. With a firm grip, he kneaded the lotion into my shoulders. My eyes rolled closed as I leaned into his touch and moaned. 

“Baby, I need to ask you something,” Bill said, after a silent moment. “Promise me you won’t be upset.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Do you still have feelings for him?”

I shot from the bench of my vanity and spun around to face him— causing him to stumble back a few steps. “William Chow, explain yourself this minute!”

He raises his hands in surrender and takes another step back. “Baby, you knew this would come up. You always said they would come back home eventually. Part of me thought that meant you wanted to see him again.”

“No,” I snapped back. “That meant that I would have to explain to your daughter why she looks damn near identical to an absolute stranger. Not that I was in love with him!”

“Y/N, we never talk about it,” Bill rebutted, his tone softer than mine. “Not since we first got married. You pretend like the man doesn’t exist and it has left me wondering a few things.”

“Like what?” I interjected. “I will take Maddie and run away with him?”

Bill flinched like I slapped him, but didn’t say a word. 

That was exactly what he thought I’d do.

A lone tear rolled down my cheek as my lip began to quiver. I turned my back to him and placed both palms on the edge of the vanity. A million thoughts swirled in my mind. Images of Stack laying his head on my chest, Mary gloating about how he did the same thing to her, Bill holding my hand during my delivery because Anne was too far away and my baby girl crying for the first time after 12 hours of labor. The vow that I made to her that I would choose a better daddy than her lying, cheating sperm donor. Someone that was kind, patient and full of love; ready to give it away at any moment. 

Someone like William Chow, Bo’s baby brother. A Malaysian immigrant turned baker, damn near identical to his kin with hair past his shoulders. His strawberry and cream donuts were all I ever craved while pregnant. I would gather as much change as I had to snag two at the end of the week, he would alway sneak me an extra one. Bill was the only one to speak to me after it became very obvious I was pregnant. The whole town knew it was Stack’s, since our relationship was hardly private. But, when he left, everyone treated me like spoiled goods. Barely made eye contact and snickered behind my back. Fearing that Stack would shoot them where they stood for looking at me funny.

But, Bill was not scared of any of that. Stack loved his strawberry donuts just as much as I did. Meaning, that Stack would rather cut off his own pinky than cross Bill or the Chow family. 

“After all this time, you still think he has a hold on me?” I whispered as another tear rolled down my cheeks. “After everything we’ve been through?”

“Honey, he can give you things I can’t,” Bill countered. 

The silent part hinted loudly: He could give you more children.

That was William’s only fatal flaw, if one could even count it as such. He was impotent. The possibility of having children together was slim to none, which was why he remained single all that time. Some women wanted a family and others needed a kind of pleasure only a certain an could give. But, that didn’t matter to me. Sex wasn’t a deal breaker for me. I had learned that sex didn’t mean love, nor affection. It was a simple pass time that felt good. It didn’t hold emotion, unless you wanted it to. And like an idiot, I held enough emotion for Stack and I both. Yet, it still wasn’t enough to make him stay. 

We had tried all kinds of herbs, old wives tales and remedies, but it hardly ever worked. His member would stiffen, but not long enough to really have fun. Still, I didn’t care. Bill more than made up for it with his mouth and fingers. He would have me screaming all the way to sunrise.

I turned to face him. I could see tears starting to form in his eyes. His tanned skin turned a faint red, as he pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle his whimpers. Bill’s shoulders shook with sadness as his chest rose and fell rapidly. The sheer thought of losing me, of losing Madeline, was tearing him apart at the seams. I had never seen him cry until that moment and it broke my heart.

I took several strides over to him, leaving a foot of space between us. “Can I hold you, baby?”

“Please,” he sobbed, lifting his head.

I took a final step and pressed my body against his. My head resting on his shoulder and my arms hugging his upper back. Bill gripped my waist with a pressure that was almost painful, but it didn’t bother me. I knew he needed me close.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I’d lose you two,” he whimpered into my hair. “I don’t  think I would survive, Y/N. I truly do not.”

“I would’ve been maggot food if it weren’t for your generosity all those years ago,” I said, rubbing his back. “No man was willing to marry an already pregnant woman. Let alone the broken possession of the Moore twins. Only you would talk to me. Not only talk, but smile. God, your smile would be like sunshine on a rainy day. It kept me warm for hours.”

Bill’s whimpering stopped, but his hold was still firm. “You don’t have to lie, Y/N.”

“I’ve never lied to you, Bill. Not once since we’ve met,” I said, drawing circles on his back. “I’m not about to start now. I love you far too much to let a criminal come between us.”

He pulled back gently and faced me. Tears streaming down his face, he looked at me like I was his entire world and it broke my heart. I brought a hand to his face and placed it on his damp cheek. He leaned into the palm and placed a hand atop mine. His eyes fluttered closed as a shaky breath fell from his lips. Bill's entire body relaxed at my unwavering presence. The floodgates were completely lowered as the tears continued to fall from his eyes. But I knew they weren't for sadness or desperation, like before. These were tears of relief and compassion.

“I love you, William Chow,” I said once our eyes finally met. “More than you'll ever know. More than I can put in words.”

“You are my world,” he replied, pressing his forehead to mine. “And Madeline is my sun. I would be dark and lonely without you both.”

A tear spilled from my eye, which he caught with his thumb and swiped away. His lips were on mine before I could blink. Our bodies pressed together so tightly we could crack an egg. He held me in his arms if I would disappear at any given moment. Kissed me like I would be stolen away from him. The action made the tears pour faster. Our hands gripped each other's clothes before the desire to tear them off struck. 

My hands slithered up his pajama top slowly. Fingers brushing his toned abdomen and structured hips. My touch moved from front to back— I dragged my nails against his lower spine. Bill shivered at my touch and moved his kisses from my lips to my neck. A gasp escaped my mouth as his tongue licked a sensitive part of my neck. A moan followed shortly after as teeth found that vein and dragged it across it. A lovely nip earned him another moan. His hand kneaded my soft rear as he sucked the delicate skin of my neck. His hips ground into mine and I felt his member between us. Stiff and ready to use. 

“Tell me how you want me, suga,” he purred in my ear. “My head between your legs.” Bill’s hot tongue ran across my ear. “You sitting that pretty pussy on my face.” He gave it a little nip. “Or, we see if the new herbs are really up for the challenge.” He ground his hips into me once more and I moaned loudly. 

“Yes,” I replied, breathlessly. “All of the above.”

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

a/n: where did all of y'all come from?! i did not expect this but hey! i'm happy you're here! once again, let me know if you wanna be in the taglist. Smut will be in the next chapter.

also, bare with me. i might not be able to post regularly, but i will try my best to post often.

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

Taglist

@lov4gor3 @marley1773 @thegreatlibraryofalex @beverly-991 @depressedandhornyfl @rollingraypurrr @mea-bby @heyyimmisunderstood @harleycativy @childishgambinaax @mskirara @bishhhitsaurion @daughterofapollo-7 @thickianaaaa @capswife @hrlzy @melodyofmbaku @skywalker0809 @asterizee @nooooonooooonooooo @jackierose902109 @wabi-sabi1090 @rolemodelshit @naebae14 @christinabae @thedondada05 @simpingfor-wakasa @lovesickbwnny @brattyfics @saintsir4n @abriefnirvana @tforpresz @sinflowersugar

[pankowcrumbs]

Overprotective X Lewis Hamilton (Requested)

MasterList

F1 Masterlist

Request: Lewis Hamilton x Reader: Reader is friends with the whole grid and during a party Lewis gets overprotective over the reader when a drunk guy approaches her.

The music pulsed through the walls, bass thrumming in my chest as I navigated the packed house. Someone had turned Max’s Monaco flat into a full-blown nightclub. Lights flashed in blues and reds, bodies swayed in time with the beat, and the smell of overpriced cologne and champagne floated through the air like smoke.

“Y/N!” Lando shouted, waving from across the room with a glass of something in hand. “Come here, you’ve got to hear this story George is telling it’s mental!”

I laughed, weaving through familiar faces Carlos laughing with Charles in the corner, Oscar and Pierre mid dance battle, Alex spinning Lily on the marble floor like they were in a rom-com. Everyone was here. The whole grid. My boys.

And somewhere among them, Lewis.

I spotted him leaning against the kitchen island, glass of wine in hand, talking with Seb, the two of them deep in conversation. He looked good too good, really. All dark curls and quiet confidence, dressed in black, that soft smile tugging at his lips. He hadn't noticed me yet.

Typical. The moment I needed him to, he didn’t. And the moments I wished he wouldn't, he saw right through me.

Not that anything was happening between us. I mean… not officially. We were close, sure. Close enough that he'd know when I was overwhelmed and find an excuse to pull me away. Close enough that I’d memorised the way he smiled when he was tipsy, or how he always touched the small of my back when he thought no one was looking.

But nothing had ever crossed the line. Yet.

“Y/N!” George’s voice snapped me back. “You’re missing it Lando’s trying to convince us that he once beat Max at chess.”

I laughed and let myself get pulled into the chaos, accepting the drink someone handed me. For a while, it was easy to lose myself in the noise and the laughter. These boys this mad, fast-paced, adrenaline-soaked family they always made me feel safe.

Until he showed up.

Not Lewis.

Him.

I didn’t know his name. He wasn’t one of the drivers. Maybe a friend of a friend. All I knew was that he’d been watching me from across the room for the last half hour.

And now, he was walking over.

He was tall, too tall, with a cocky smirk and a half-empty beer bottle. Already I could tell he’d had too much to drink. His steps were unsteady, and his eyes were unfocused, but that didn’t stop him from approaching.

“Hey,” he slurred, leaning far too close. “You’re the girl all the drivers are obsessed with, right?”

I stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” he continued, gesturing vaguely around the room. “All of them, always talking about you. Figured I’d come see what all the fuss is about.”

I took a half-step back, heart rate rising. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea.”

“Oh, come on,” he grinned, inching closer. “Don’t be like that. I bet you like the attention. Bit of adrenaline from having all the boys wrapped around your little finger, yeah?”

“I said no.” My voice was firmer now, but he didn’t seem to care.

And then I felt it.

A hand on my waist.

But not his.

Lewis.

He stepped between us so smoothly it was like a scene from a film his body shielding mine, his eyes fixed coldly on the stranger.

“She said no,” Lewis said, voice low and steady. There was no anger in it just finality. Command.

The guy blinked, surprised. “Mate, I was just talking...”

“You were harassing her,” Lewis interrupted, tone sharp as steel. “And now you’re going to walk away.”

The guy looked around, probably realising for the first time that half the room had gone quiet. That several drivers George, Charles, even Max were watching closely, ready to step in.

Lewis didn’t move.

Eventually, the guy scoffed and held up his hands. “Alright, alright. Jesus. Touchy bunch.”

He turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Only when he was out of sight did Lewis exhale, his shoulders relaxing.

“You okay?” he asked, turning to face me fully, his eyes searching mine.

I nodded, though my hands were trembling slightly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“I saw him watching you. Didn’t like it.”

“You always this protective?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

His jaw clenched slightly. “When it comes to you? Yeah.”

My breath caught.

We stood there for a moment, the world moving in a blur around us. For the first time that night, the music didn’t matter. The laughter, the noise, the lights it all faded.

Just me. Just him.

“I didn’t want to make a scene,” I said quietly, staring at the hem of his shirt.

“You didn’t,” he replied, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. “But I would’ve. If it meant getting him away from you.”

I swallowed hard. “Why?”

He didn’t answer right away. His hand lingered near my face, and when I looked up, he was already looking at me like I was made of something rare. Fragile. Precious.

“Because I care about you, Y/N,” he said, finally. “Probably more than I should.”

I blinked. “Then why haven’t you...”

“Because it’s not just a crush,” he cut in, voice low. “It’s not just some fling for me. If I crossed that line… I wouldn’t be able to go back. I’d want everything.”

My heart pounded in my chest.

“And you deserve everything,” he added, softer now. “Not rushed. Not messy. Not something hidden in the corners of parties.”

I didn’t realise I was crying until he reached up and brushed my cheek with his thumb.

“I don’t need perfect,” I whispered. “I just need you.”

That broke him.

He leaned in slowly, giving me time to pull away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Our lips met like we’d been holding back forever. It wasn’t hurried. It was slow and full of everything we hadn’t said months of tension and friendship and longing all poured into that one kiss.

When we finally pulled apart, I could hear the grin in his voice.

“Roscoe’s going to love you even more now.”

I laughed, still breathless. “He already thinks I’m his mum.”

Lewis chuckled and wrapped his arm around my waist, keeping me close as we walked back through the party. No one said anything, but I caught the knowing glances Lando’s satisfied smirk, Charles giving a subtle thumbs up, George mouthing finally behind his glass.

But none of it mattered.

Because for the first time, I wasn’t just part of the chaos I was exactly where I was meant to be.

With him.

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: part 2. idk

summary: natasha romanoff x married!reader; nat and you used to be in love. now, years later, you're married to a wealthy man and have a daughter with him. will running into natasha change everything?

warnings: none

word count: 6.4k

part 1, part 2, part 3, …

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— COOKIES AND CONVERSATIONS —

"Natasha?"

Her eyes lock with yours as she slowly straightens up, making Nina let go of her sleeve in the process. You pull your daughter closer, staring at Natasha incredulously.

"Y/N", she finally says, a tad too coolly for your liking.

"What are you doing here?", you ask, still wary. Nina has grabbed your hand, a bit confused by how icy and distant the interaction between you two seems. You both said you're friends, after all. She's too young to grasp just how complex your relationship actually is.

'Friends' is far from the truth.

Natasha looks around the lobby, noticing the stares she's getting from strangers.

Yes, she specifically. You're a familiar face around here, probably visiting every week with your daughter in tow. She, however? She's unfamiliar. A face that stands out, someone who doesn't fit in. Her traitorous brain remarks that she should be used to that feeling by now. But she isn't.

"Can we maybe move this outside?", she asks quietly, her eyes flitting back to meet yours. You frown, unsure whether you should agree to her request.

But then again, Natasha is safe. Despite the breakup, despite the years of distance — you trust her. Part of you also realizes that your conversation is being overheard, which you don't like. Too many people know too much about you already, so there's no need to give them more stuff to talk about.

"Fine." You reluctantly follow her, making sure you're holding on to your daughter. No way is she running off again. That'd be the second time within less than a week.

You look at her as soon as you're outside, standing by your car. Natasha pushes her hands into the pockets of her coat, observing you out of the corner of her eye. She still can't shake that habit, it seems — always on the lookout, always studying you. It's as endearing as it is frustrating.

"So?", you eventually say, your thumb rubbing Nina's fingers. You're trying to calm yourself down. Or keep yourself calm. Either of those. "Answer me."

Natasha's gaze briefly sweeps over your surroundings. Traffic, an empty sidewalk, that gigantic building you just exited. Nobody in vicinity, which is a relief.

"I wanted to see you", she says. A half-lie. She did want to see you, in some way at least, but that's not what she's here for. She came her to find evidence, to gather intel about your precious husband.

Can she tell you that, though?

No. Not yet.

Your expression falters for a moment, the mask of indifference crumbling and vanishing. A variety of emotions flickers across your face, unreadable yet obvious. Natasha can see every single one, making her chest feel tight with guilt.

"You've got great timing", you say weakly, feeling the early autumn breeze brush over your cheeks. "It's been seven years."

"It's been a little more than five days", Natasha corrects you, still stoic.

"You know what I mean", you say sharply. "That thing at the art gallery? Doesn't count. Besides: if you wanted to see me, why'd you come to my husband's office?"

"I didn't know this was his office", she immediately replies, which — to you — is even more ridiculous than her claiming she wanted to see you. She's a spy, for god's sake. She doesn't do anything without a purpose, especially not something like this.

"So this is a coincidence?" You let out a hollow laugh. "Natasha-"

"Okay", she says, stepping closer. You quickly look at her, feeling the urge to take a step back. You can't get close to her again. "Maybe I did know he works here. But how else was I supposed to find you?"

"Not at all would've been a start."

"Charming", she says drily, her attempt at concealing the hurt in her voice failing. "Nice to see you too."

"Oh, come on." You sigh. "I'm sorry, but this...it's odd. I didn't think you'd be the one to seek me out first after, you know...", you trail off. She smiles bitterly, averting her eyes.

"Not all of us hold grudges", she says, softer this time. "I guess you're just harder to forget than I thought."

There's a teasing lilt to her voice, something that's meant to protect you both. It doesn't work, but you appreciate the effort. Plus, it manages to elicit a small smile from you. That's more than enough for Natasha.

Nina, ever the restless one, lets go of you to grab Natasha's hand again. The woman looks down at her, a smile appearing on her lips. The child is staring at her as if she's some kind of superhero, which is pretty much spot on.

"Looks like I've been replaced", you comment, the smile on your face turning more genuine now.

Nina is sociable. She loves people of pretty much all ages and is guaranteed to talk their ears off. Still, this kind of immediate fascination is something you haven't seen before. Like mother like daughter, it seems. When you first met Natasha, you felt this kind of enchantment as well. It's a spell that's hard to break.

"I am very likable", Natasha boasts playfully, grinning at your daughter. The little one turns to look at you, pleased that she made the pretty lady smile at her.

"Mommy, she's nice", she pipes up. "Can we get cookies? You promised."

"I did promise cookies", you sigh, shooting her an affectionate look. Then you glance at Natasha. "We were supposed to pick up a snack on our way home", you say sheepishly. "Care to join us?"

"Change of heart?", the redhead teases.

"Yeah, well..." You crack a smile. You're aware you went from pissed off to mildly flustered, all within the span of mere minutes. It'd throw her off guard if she wasn't still familiar with it. "It's always been difficult to stay mad at you."

Natasha hums, looking at Nina again. The girl smiles as if on cue, bouncing on the spot.

"Please?"

"Will I get a cookie, too?", Natasha asks, raising her eyebrows.

Nina nods. "You can have one", she says, her tone generous yet slightly self-important. You and Natasha exchange an amused look — it's a kind and genuine offer, but the way she's saying it makes it sound like the cookies are hers to give away. You're starting to see why your parents have called your daughter spoiled before.

"Looks like the boss has spoken. So, you're joining us?"

"I can't say no to Miss Nina here", Natasha confirms, squeezing Nina's hand.

"Nobody can", you huff, smiling, and take Nina's free hand. "There's a café down the block. We can walk there."

To say that this is weird would be more than just an understatement.

You haven't seen her in years. Haven't talked to her, haven't texted her, nothing. Refusal to reach out from both sides resulted in complete radio silence. And now?

Now you're walking down the street together, both of you holding onto Nina as she walks between you. You're not talking — thankfully, your daughter has decided to do that for you. She's chattering nonstop, her little voice ringing through the air.

It's warm inside the café, with the scent of pumpkin spice wafting right into your faces. Nina instantly lets go of you both, running up to the counter to inspect the pastries. She clasps her hands together in front of her, as if to prevent herself from touching the glass that's separating her from the sweet treats.

"She's a good kid", Natasha says quietly as you catch up to the girl. "She must get that from you."

You smile slightly, glancing at the woman next to you. Your gaze gets stuck, lingers, traces her features. You never could've forgotten what she looks like — not in a million years — but she's even more beautiful than you remembered.

Natasha notices you staring. She looks at you from the corner of her eye, subtly tilting her head. "What?", she asks softly.

"Nothing", you respond in a low murmur, quickly digging through your purse. "It's just weird seeing you here."

She manages a faint smile, silently agreeing with your words. Her eyes zero in on your wallet as you reach for a few dollar bills and her hand comes up to gently stop you.

"I got this", she says, reaching for her own money.

"No, hey-"

"Hush", she says firmly, then gives the barista a polite smile. She lets Nina order her own cookie (the rainbow one, of course), then she lists off everything else. Chocolate chip cookies — a classic —, an espresso and your favorite beverage.

You hide your smile, trying to get over the fact that she still remembers.

You find a quiet, secluded corner of the café, and sit down there. The sky is littered with clouds, covering the sun and allowing the soft lights of the café to be the star of the show.

Nina is tucked into the corner seat between you, her little hands breaking the cookie in two. Her excitement over something so mundane is serving as a buffer between you and Natasha, helping you through initial awkward silences.

"It's a nice place", Natasha comments, taking a sip of her espresso. "Much better than that place in D.C. with the squeaky chairs."

"And the bitter coffee", you add, looking at her. You reach out, tapping the frame of the glasses she's wearing. Those are definitely new. "Didn't know you need glasses now."

"I don't", Natasha says, quickly sliding the glasses off her face. Her eyes meet yours, deep green and softened. "They just help me be recognized less, believe it or not."

"I recognized you", you counter, stirring the hot drink in front of you before taking a tentative sip.

"Yes, you did", she says pointedly, glancing at Nina as she holds out a piece of her cookie. The girl has her head tilted sweetly.

"Trade?"

"Sure, honey", Natasha says, handing her a piece of her own cookie in exchange. Then she focuses on you again. "Now let's hope the rest of Manhattan isn't as sharp-eyed as you."

You roll your eyes, an amused sound escaping you. "Well, don't look at me. I don't think a pair of glasses could ever make you blend in." You pause, a thought crossing your mind. "What are you hiding from, anyways?"

Natasha looks at you, her brain — again — settling on a half-truth. "You know me. From the rest of Manhattan, pretty much."

"Right", you say, smiling faintly. "Always on the run."

"Old habits die hard", she says wryly, leaning back with her arms crossed. Irony — her very own way of suppressing the guilt that's starting to rear its head. She's lying to you pretty much constantly, keeping secrets and finding excuses.

Natasha has reasons for that. She can't just tell you what's going on, not until she knows for sure. Until then, you might be of use.

Telling herself that is easier than admitting why she's actually sitting here with you.

"Funny. I thought you'd have found some peace by now." You tilt your head pointedly. "Or at least a better disguise."

"Me and peace in the same sentence? Never thought I'd see the day", she says, finishing her espresso. "And the disguise? It's low-maintenance."

You let out a sound that's between a laugh and a scoff, wiping a few cookie crumbs off Nina's face absently. She rubs her eyes tiredly and you place a soothing hand on her back. "You were never low-maintenance."

"I thought I was charmingly uncomplicated", she smiles, briefly glancing at Nina to check on her. The girl looks sleepy, so it must be nap time for her soon.

"Yes, sure. If that's what you'd call having three passports in the glove compartment whenever you drove me anywhere."

The sole purpose of the smirk on Natasha's face is to hide a wince. It wasn't just the passports — it was everything that came with being with her. Switching cars while driving in the middle of the night, being prepared to run at any given moment. Making sure she could up and go whenever she wanted. Never entirely grounded, one foot always in the shadows.

Her existence was unpredictable, untethered. A stark contrast to the safe but stifling life you lead now, filled with monotony and routines.

Being with her allowed you to soar, even if it sometimes meant crashing down.

"Touché", Natasha says, watching you smooth down Nina's hair. Yet another new mannerism you've picked up — an endearing one at that. "Makes me wonder why you didn't run."

"Maybe I liked the thrill", you reply, looking at her again. Nina's head droops onto your arm for a moment. She's definitely ready for her nap. "Or maybe I liked the person behind the passports."

"That person hasn't changed as much as you may think."

"I think we've both changed."

Natasha watches you scoop the yawning child into your lap. Nina nestles against you, her eyes closing.

She never thought she'd see you like this: all motherly and nurturing, quietly soothing a child — your child. So maybe you have a point. Maybe you did change.

"Maybe", she admits, giving a small smile. "Some things don't, though."

"Like what?", you ask quietly, a hint of challenge in your voice.

Natasha leans forward, her gaze holding yours. The café, the people around you, the noises and smells — it all disappears. At least for a moment, it does.

"Like the way I recognized you, too."

. . .

— THE WEB UNFOLDS —

Her office is small but efficient, filled with the tools of her trade. Screens glowing with data, paperwork and open files scattered across her desk, a steaming mug of tea. She toys with a pen as she scans the financial documents she retrieved once more, one name standing out: Durant Enterprises.

Multiple transfers to and from said company, the amounts large and the descriptions vague. It's the frequency that makes her pause. This isn't just routine business — it's deliberate.

Natasha feels on edge as she puts her pen aside, now pulling up a secondary window on her screen. She cross-references the company with known entities in her database and starts to dig.

At first, Durant Enterprises doesn't raise alarms. Everything seems ordinary until more troubling details surface.

Natasha pauses, her hands stilling. She stares at the screen, feeling a chill run down her spine.

Ties to overseas operations, suspiciously under-the-radar accounts — and, most notably, an association with human trafficking syndicates.

She swallows, her fingers continuing to move over the keyboard in a rapid pace. A list of contacts connected to Ethan catches her eye, several names matching aliases from SHIELD's database of traffickers and corrupt officials. A few of the numbers that are listed appear to be burner phones, heightening her suspicions.

Natasha plugs in the USB stick and runs a deep scan of the files on Ethan's computer. A dense folder of corporate documents, mostly financial data — endless spreadsheets, balance sheets, transaction records. But, nestled among them, an invoice marked for 'freight services' from a shipping company she's never heard of.

It's not an innocent transaction — the total is unsettlingly large.

She pulls up the details, her eyes narrowing as she connects the dots to previous intel. And there it is again: an obscure company, linked to the same shadowy network she's seen before.

Dammit, Bailey, she thinks, taking a hasty sip of tea. What are you dragging them into?

As expected, her thoughts have drifted back to you. To you and Nina, completely oblivious to what Ethan — the man who's supposed to protect you and care for you — is doing.

And then there's Natasha — about to tear this entire network down, about to expose him to his family and countless others. She knows you'll have to find out eventually; it's only fair, after all. You deserve to know the full truth, even if it'll add yet another weight to your shoulders.

Part of her wonders whether you'll forgive her. She's been lying to you ever since that night at the art gallery, and she continues lying to you constantly. It's what she has to do to protect you and Nina.

Lingering affection wars with duty. Shield you from all of this or tell you the truth, let you live in this little bubble you've created for yourself or make it burst. Natasha shouldn't let her feelings get in the way, especially not when this entire mess concerns you and your daughter as well.

Every part of her being is trying to stop her from getting you involved in this. You don't deserve to be a part of this — but here you are.

And she's certain she'll do everything in her power to protect you, even if it means losing you once and for all.

Natasha sets the tea aside and grabs her phone. Her finger hovers above the call button for an excruciatingly long moment, then she decides against it. She leans back in her chair, starting to massage her temples. A dull ache has started to form behind her eyes.

It's a realization, a resolve, that hurts.

She'll have to use you somehow.

. . .

— MOMENTS IN FOCUS —

The sunlight filtering through the windows has a richness to it, making everything appear softer and more vibrant. Leaves dance in front of the floor to ceiling windows, shades of amber and russet that make the scenery outside look like the perfect October morning.

You look up from the ingredients in front of you — bananas, berries, a handful of spinach, all ready to be thrown into the blender — when you hear footsteps approach. Ethan pauses at your side, briefly glancing up from his phone to press a short kiss to your cheek. 

"Good morning", he says, looking like the epitome of effortlessness. Hair wet and slicked back, a crisp white robe tied loosely around his waist. Nina doesn't even notice him; she's too engrossed in the picture in front of her, her tongue sticking out as she focuses on coloring within the lines of the butterfly. "What's on the menu?"

"Smoothies, scrambled eggs, yogurt with granola", you list off, turning on the blender. It hums softly as the colors swirl together, creating a nice pinkish shade.

"Hear that, Nina?", he asks, leaning against the counter next to you. She barely looks at him before going back to coloring, now choosing a purple crayon. "Jesus. We've really got to make sure she pays more attention. This is rude behavior."

"She's tired", you defend her, pouring the smoothie into two glasses and one plastic cup. "Also, it's 7 in the morning. You can't expect her to function properly at this hour, Ethan."

"Why not?", he counters, reaching around you to grab one of the smoothies. He takes a few big gulps, already sitting down at the breakfast table and reaching for the newspaper. "She's almost four. It's time she learns some manners."

"She has manners", you retort, crouching down in front of your daughter. She stops coloring, her eyes meeting yours expectantly as she waits for you to say something. "Breakfast is ready, sweetheart. Are you hungry?"

"No", Nina says, but gets up anyway. You smile and swiftly lift her into the air, then sit her down on the chair with her booster seat. She reaches for her cup, holding it with both hands as she takes a sip. "That's yummy."

"Thank you, baby." A kiss is planted on the top of her head, then you join them at the table.

Ethan looks up from the newspaper, casually drumming his fingers on the surface of the table. "Do you have anything planned for today?"

"Not that I know, no", you say, glancing at him. "Why? Did something come up?"

"Oh, yeah. This magazine — Art & Culture Monthly, you probably know them — called this morning. They want to feature the gallery's grand opening in their upcoming issue. It's a pretty big deal, you know? Anyway, they'll interview me and also feature our family."

You can hear the excitement in his voice, causing you to smile faintly. Of course — another thing he can add to his long list of achievements. You can't believe you thought he'd ask if you wanted to do something normal. Go to a pumpkin patch, maybe visit a park. Simple, ordinary things.

"Whatever. They want to take a few pictures of us later today — you, me, the kid. It'll be great for the gallery's reputation, and it'll really solidify our place in the art scene."

Your smile fades a bit. A photo shoot. You've done a couple of those before, but they were always for private usage. You don't want Nina's face to be printed in some magazine everyone can buy, even if basically no one would recognize her anyway.

"I don't know", you say hesitantly, handing Nina a napkin. She has some of the smoothie smeared across her chin and cheeks. "It's a bit unexpected. Plus, Nina is too young for that. She won't be able to sit still for that long."

"Hey, it's okay", he says, brushing off your concerns. "You'll be fine, Nina. Won't you? Anyways-" He turns to you without waiting for an answer, "it's a huge opportunity for us — for me, really. They want to showcase the perfect family, and we're pretty much spot on."

The perfect family — husband, wife, cute little daughter. Well-off but still relatable, at least in a way. Always happy, always fitting society's expectations. You're tired of being pushed into this mold.

You sigh, glancing at your daughter. She looks at you, not understanding too much. "Photos?", she asks curiously.

"Yeah, photos. A photo shoot", you say, feeling uneasy. "Are you sure this is necessary?"

"Come on", your husband pushes impatiently. "It won't take too long. Besides — it's not like you have anything to do, do you? You'd spend the entire day sitting around. At least you'll make yourself useful."

You roll your eyes. Yes, that's definitely the case. It's not like you have a toddler to take care of, right? And even if you do — it can't be as hard as what Ethan does, obviously.

"When do we have to be there?"

"Two hours", he says happily, eating a bite of his scrambled eggs. "By the way, did you put chives in this? You know I don't like chives."

. . .

It's an upscale studio, bustling with assistants, lights and backdrops. Ethan is just as polished as the space you're in, immediately stepping up to the photographer — an older man, balding, with tiny glasses and a sweater vest — and staff to charm them. You keep your daughter close, feeling out of place.

As much as you hate this — you have to admit that Nina looks impossibly cute in her outfit. A white cabled fisherman sweater, matching yours, paired with denim jeans in a light wash. A pastel yellow headband is keeping her hair out of her face, making her cheeks look even rosier than usually.

"Mommy, this is itchy", she whispers, tugging at the front of her sweater. You grimace, quietly sympathizing with your daughter. The fabric doesn't exactly feel nice on your skin.

"I know, honey", you reply in a hushed voice, making sure the assistants and photographer don't hear you.

"And it's bright", she adds, squinting as she accidentally looks at one of the lights. You snort in amusement, gently making her turn away so she doesn't let the brightness fry her eyes.

"Yeah, I know. It'll be over soon, alright?"

"You ready?", one of the assistants says, waving you over. You nod and gently nudge Nina along.

The photographer positions you in various poses — Nina perched on Ethan's knee, Ethan with his arm around you, you holding Nina. It feels rehearsed, like they know exactly what they want to sell. Which, realistically speaking, is probably the case here.

Picture after picture, pose after pose. You're not the only one who starts to get restless. You spot Nina fidgeting more than once, subtly reaching into her pockets to make sure her crayons are still there — crayons she brought along secretly.

"Stop that, please", the photographer's voice cuts through the air. You don't like the irritated tone with which he's speaking one bit, but you decide to ignore him.

Nina stops, quickly pulling her hand out of her pocket.

"Yes, perfect. Ideal!", he gushes, continuing to snap pictures of you. You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. You silently wonder whether anyone will look at the pictures and realize that you'd rather be anywhere else. Ethan won't, that's for sure — he's beaming, oblivious to your discomfort.

"Mommy?", Nina whispers as you pick her up, already clutching her crayons in her smaller hand. You're finally done after what feels like an eternity of posing and smiling stiffly. "Can we go home now?"

"Yes, sweetheart, we're going home", you nod, letting her nestle into you. "Let's just finish up here, okay?"

"Okay", she mumbles, her crayons pressed against the clean fabric of your sweater. They'll most likely leave stains, but you couldn't care less about that. You're just relieved you're done with this.

The drive home isn't silent, to your dismay. Ethan keeps going on and on and on about how great the photos are and how important this is and how it'll certainly elevate his public image. He's talking so much you're surprised Nina managed to doze off in her seat, her chin resting on her chest.

You don't bother responding — instead, you just stare out the window, your mind drifting. You wonder whether Natasha would've laughed at how absurd this whole thing is. You wonder what's she's doing, whether she's thinking about you.

In that moment, you get a text message.

Natasha: Hey, Y/N. This is a bit random, but does Ethan know a few guys in the whole arts world?

I'm looking into something for Tony. — 2.17 pm

You: Hey! I can ask him for a few of his

contacts and send you a list, maybe? — 2.17 pm

Natasha: That's perfect, thank you. — 2.18 pm

You look to your left when Nina stirs. She looks at your phone, rubbing one of her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Who is that?"

"That's Natasha", you say. Ethan doesn't even notice. He's now telling your chauffeur about the feature, again rambling about the interview and the art gallery. Part of you is thankful for that.

"Natasha?" Nina suddenly doesn't seem so sleepy anymore as her eyes light up. "Say hi!"

You smile at your daughter's enthusiasm. Seems like she's really starting to adore the redhead.

You: By the way, Nina says hi. She's all smiley. — 2.19pm

Natasha: Right back at her :) — 2.20pm

Natasha: Are you guys in town next week? There's this park near

the old tower, I think she'd love it. (I promise I won't hog the cookies

this time.) — 2.21pm

You glance at Nina. She looks at you, wide-eyed and practically buzzing with excitement.

"Natasha's asking if we want to go to a park with her", you say, reaching out to adjust her seatbelt. "What do you say, NeeNee?"

Your daughter immediately nods. "Yes, I want to go! Can we go?"

You smile faintly. "Sure, we'll go."

You text Natasha back, confirming the day and time. Then you slip your phone into your pocket.

You let out a small breath, your lips curving into a smile before you even realize it. The weight of your lousy day lingers, but it seems lighter now.

The idea of seeing Natasha tugs at your chest in a way you weren't prepared to unpack. It's almost absurd, how a simple text exchange could bring you such warmth. There's a faint flutter beneath your ribs, caused by a mix of excitement and a wary kind of anticipation.

It's been years, yet you still don't know what it is about Natasha Romanoff that can do this to you with such little effort.

. . .

It's a nice day — the October sun is warm but not overbearing, the chatter of children is echoing through the open space. You get out of the car and scoop the squirming child out of her booster seat, her hand tightly clutching her favorite stuffed bear. You set her on the ground, making sure she doesn't just run off.

"Mommy, can we go there first?", she asks, pointing at the swings. You smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Let's find Natasha first, sweetheart. Then maybe she can push you."

Your suggestion earns a gleeful nod. With her hand clasped in yours, you start making your way down the winding path leading into the park. The late-afternoon light dapples the ground through the trees, creating a peaceful but slightly surreal atmosphere — though maybe that's just your nerves.

You spot Natasha near a quiet corner of the park, leaning casually against the wooden fence by the playground. Her pose is relaxed, but her sharp eyes are scanning the area around her.

Once she sees you, her face softens.

"Natasha!", Nina yells, voice bubbling with excitement, and frees herself from your gentle grip to dart forward.

Natasha crouches down just in time to catch the girl in a gentle hug, her expression warm. "Hey, Tiny!"

You ignore the nickname and the way it sends butterflies through your stomach. Instead you approach her, your steps hesitant but steady. She straightens up, her eyes meeting yours, and the park fades into the background.

You feel a small rush of warmth — one that leaves you confused.

"Hi", you say, your voice quieter than intended.

"Hi", she responds, her tone equally soft. But her gaze lingers, taking you in, and the curve of her lips hints at something deeper. "Should we sit? Or does Nina have a playground mission I should know about?"

Nina tugs at Natasha's hand, a grin on her face. "Swings first!"

The little girl manages to slightly break the tension. You let out a laugh, shooting your daughter a fond look. "Looks like you've got your orders."

"Please", Nina adds, remembering the magic word. She keeps pulling at Natasha's hand, who plays along easily. She follows Nina to the playground, all while exchanging a brief look with you — a silent 'Is this okay?'

"Go ahead", you say, nodding, and follow them to the swings.

Leaves crunch beneath the soles of your shoes, the air having a slight bite to it already. A boy, slightly older than Nina, runs past with his father chasing after him. Laughter and voices carry through the air, allowing you to relax a little.

Natasha makes sure Nina's holding on tight before she takes the lead in pushing her. You stand next to them, arms loosely crossed over your chest to preserve some warmth.

"Higher!", Nina promptly demands, trying to glance at Natasha over the thick fabric of her scarf.

"Higher? What are you, a little daredevil in training? You're going to give your mom a heart attack!"

"She's already started", you say, mildly exasperated. "You should've seen her last week, when she tried to climb the bookshelf."

"Huh." Natasha smiles, her eyes briefly meeting yours. There it is again, that annoying tug of warmth. "Sounds like someone I used to know."

You huff, but you can't deny the truth behind her words. You shrug, pushing your hands into the pockets of your coat.

"You never complained."

"I didn't", she agrees, gently stopping the swing when Nina starts to talk about the merry-go-round. "Doesn't mean you didn't make my nerves fray, though."

"Please." You start walking to the merry-go-round, watching Nina speed ahead. "If anyone's nerves were frayed, it's mine. I watched you leave for missions on a weekly basis. I can't even count how many times I stitched you up afterwards."

"You make it sound like I was some kind of wrecking ball", she smirks.

"You didn't need to be." You let out an amused chuckle, your eyes glued to Nina as she sits down on the circular bench of the merry-go-round. "You were a force of nature, and I spent most of my time just trying to hold it together while you ran off into the chaos."

"You always did", she agrees, her voice quieter now. You stop when you reach the merry-go-round, watching Nina as she starts to spin around. "You were good at it, though. At stitching me up, I mean. Better than I deserved most days."

"Very true", you say, trying to keep it light. "I think I deserved a medal for keeping up with you."

"You mean for putting up with me?", Natasha corrects you, her hand briefly touching the handle of the merry-go-round to make sure it doesn't spin too fast.

A faint smile forms on your face. She's not entirely wrong — some of the time, it really was 'putting up with her'. Rolling with it, with her lifestyle, with the way every day seemed to be pure chaos.

You know it's not her fault. It's who she is, it's the life she ended up choosing for herself after never getting to have a choice. You were patient, too — you understood why she had to do all those things. Why she could never just rest.

"I'm just saying: most people would've thrown their hands up after the third emergency stitch job", you say mock seriously, earning a quiet laugh.

"Good thing you're not most people", she says, her smirk letting some tenderness shimmer through.

"Yeah", you agree, watching her. She's looking at Nina again, making sure she isn't spinning too fast or getting dizzy. Again and again you realize the same thing: only days later, Natasha fits in perfectly. Maybe that's what scares you the most. "Real good."

. . .

With Nina playing in a sandbox, you and Natasha get to be alone for a moment. You never take your eyes off your daughter to make sure she stays right where she is, but most of your attention is on the woman sitting next to you.

"I never knew how fast things could change", you speak softly, your words lingering in the chilly air. "I mean — one moment, I was making all these big plans. And now?"

"...now, you're a mom", Natasha says, smiling faintly as Nina smushes down her sandcastle.

"Yeah, exactly."

"You found a calmer life", she says, half to herself. It's bittersweet — she's glad you made it to a place where you don't have to worry about her or the dangers that come with the territory anymore. Now, your days are filled with cartoons and picture books and colorful bandaids. No more midnight missions, no more bloodies bandages. "A safer one."

"Calm and safe, sure", you mumble absently. "But I'm not so sure about...better."

Natasha turns to look at you, frowning slightly. What you said is odd enough, but the way you said it really threw her off. She scoots closer, her voice lowered.

"What are you talking about?"

You open your mouth to answer, but before you can say anything, Nina calls out to you. She's running, one hand clutching her teddybear. "I'm thirsty, mommy."

"Come here, honey." You grab a juice box from your backpack and hand it to her. She struggles with the straw for a moment, then she manages to poke it through the hole. The straw is now covered in grains of sand, making you grimace — but, of course, your daughter doesn't care about that.

She empties the juice box in record time, then she tosses it into the trash can. Off she goes again, her eyes locking onto the pony spring-rider. Natasha watches her with increasing fondness, silently wondering whether, in some other, faraway universe, this is what her life looks like.

"Always on the go", you say quietly, watching her. "So full of energy, I swear."

"I guess that's why I like her so much", Natasha says, glancing at you. You smile.

"She reminds you of yourself, huh?"

Natasha laughs under her breath, shrugging. "Maybe. Though I hope not too much."

You look down at your lap, at your hands that are resting there, and subtly toy with the ring on your finger. Your gaze shifts back to Natasha, a small, wistful smile on your face.

"I disagree. I wouldn't mind if she was a bit...wilder." You bite your lip, then add: "Like you. I mean, you were the one always pushing me out of my comfort zone. It was part of the deal: I tried to rein you in — unsuccessfully —, and you kept pushing."

Natasha smiles, her hand briefly reaching out to squeeze yours. You exhale softly at the simple touch — you haven't felt her skin against yours in years, but it's still the same.

"Did I ever do it right?", she ponders. "Push you the way you needed?"

"Maybe not always", you admit. "But you made me feel alive. Even when it was complicated."

. . .

"For you!", Nina says, handing a flower — a chrysanthemum — to Natasha. The redhead smiles, taking the small plant and twirling it between her fingers.

"A flower? For me? I'm honored!" Natasha turns to look at you, a teasing look on her face. "See? She already likes me better than most people."

You chuckle, lifting Nina into your arms. "I wouldn't be so sure", you say, smiling back just as teasingly. "She gave the mailman a flower last week, too."

"Oh really? And here I thought I was special."

You hum, adjusting your hold on your daughter. "You are special", you say, this time completely sincerely. You can't remember the last time Ethan spent the whole day with you like this — simply existing, doing things that aren't work-related, making sure Nina has fun. This was Natasha's idea, too — not yours. For the first time in a while, you don't feel isolated.

You clear your throat, giving a quick nod. "Well, uhm...thank you. For this. She really had fun."

Natasha hesitates, her gaze flickering from the flower to your face. "I didn't just come for her", she eventually speaks, the words hanging in the air as you exchange a look. You swallow, managing a faint smile.

"Let's not get too sentimental", you say, trying to sound lighthearted. You nudge Nina to distract yourself. "Say bye, honey."

Nina waves at Natasha. A few hours of playing outside in the fresh air have turned her cheeks rosy. "Bye, Natasha!"

"Bye, Tiny."

Another quick glance at each other, then you part ways. Natasha goes in one direction, you go in the other. Years linger between you, years that were spent together and that keep you close. There's a pull that's close to magnetic, and you're not sure how you managed to resist it for such a long time.

Both of you wonder whether you were ever able to truly leave your past behind — or if, somehow, you're still tangled in it, just waiting for the right moment to unravel.

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @fxckmiup

[captain-joongz]

Wonderful nothing

this is a part two to Deserve you <- read this part first!

Pairing: brother-in-law!Seonghwa x f!reader

Genre: smut, dark

Summary: Months later, still reeling from your experience on your wedding night, you try to go on about your life as best as possible, but Seonghwa seems to be a little too damn adamant on messing with your life. Between juggling your husband's inappropriate behaviour and suspicions, and dodging your family's over-bearing questioning, could the edge the two of you keep dancing on be getting a little blurry?

Word count: 26.3k words

Warnings: infidelity, mentions of drugging (not of MC), implied sexual harrasment and predatory behaviour towards employees (by the husband), obsessed seonghwa, so much breeding kink you guys, this whole fic is just hwa trying to impregnate the MC, deepthroating and face-fucking, fingering, degradation/humiliation kink, possibly strange physics around fucking on a table (please suspend your disbelief lmao), back-shots, a bit of manhandling?, yujun being an ominous prick, i hope that's all???

A/N: here it is, folks - finally! i've genuinely put my soul into this piece and agonised over it being as best as possible, so i hope it lives up to the expectations! i might go through it again tomorrow and edit a little more. title taken from Glass Animals' song Wonderful Nothing. thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy!! <3

“I’m just telling you to prepare you,” my mother’s grating voice carried around the sitting room, and I fought to keep my eyes from rolling where I sat collapsed in a fancy settee, “She will be asking. And it’s not like the rest of us aren’t curious too. You’ve already been married almost nine months, and still nothing.”

I shook my head, cradling my glass with vodka juice closer to my chest, and doing my best to ignore the line of questions I’ve been met with non-stop for the past few months.

Why am I still not carrying Yujun’s heir?

At first whenever the topic came up I just tried to play it off, smile and laugh and tell them we still had time, that it’s going to happen eventually. Now I just pretended not to hear mostly.

“After the… display… the morning after your wedding, we all thought you’d be pregnant by now,” my mother continued musing, tone seemingly light but carrying a pang of bitterness to it, just like it always did when she chastised me for not being good enough. It didn’t use to be as often as it was now, and I suspected she felt pressure from the Parks and desperately hoped I wouldn’t embarrass our family in front of them. I stayed quiet, though.

Of course I’d never say it, but discreetly to myself I often thought the same. I was also surprised that after the night with Seonghwa I didn’t get pregnant – but I didn’t. And I wasn’t about to mention anything, because I didn’t want to bring any more attention to that cursed day. I couldn’t forget it, but I sure could still pretend it never happened.

“Sometimes it takes a little time,” I voiced out loud instead, not turning around to face her. I kept my focus stubbornly glued onto the wall where a huge Park family portrait hung, an old oil painting with a single man in a uniform standing prickly by a fireplace, face all tight and stern. I knew that fireplace – it was in a room just down the hall, in Yujun’s father’s office. When we were introduced into this room for the first time, Mrs. Park excitedly chattered off about which ancestor of theirs it was, but I zoned out and didn’t listen to a single word. Since then I wondered many times whether it was Mr. Park’s grand-father or great grand-father, and I used it as a distraction every time I found myself in this salon. Just… staring at his unfriendly face, trying not to think about bringing disgrace onto his bloodline.

“Yes, but it’s been months,” my mother stressed, and I could perfectly imagine the displeased expression on her face she wore whenever I talked back to her, “Now would be the perfect time to announce news like that. If you’re not pregnant by the end of the first year of marriage, the Parks might start to worry about your ability to fulfil your duty to your husband and this family.”

I wanted to scoff at those words so bad. I hated that dated mindset, and I hated that my position in this family was hanging by a thread because of it. If I failed to deliver an heir, the Parks would push for a divorce, and my family wouldn’t be able to survive such an embarrassment, even though we no longer lived in Joseon. This was the 21st fucking century, and yet this whole situation was still being treated as if we lived in the 1760s.

I might have as well been shoved into a rice chest too.

Sometimes I almost wished I could tell her the truth. It would be worth it for the immediate satisfaction, that’s for sure, but it would fuck over my life spectacularly. And I knew I couldn’t count on any of these fuckers to have my back.

I often wondered about how she’d react to that, though. Well, mother, of course I’m not pregnant. The last sexual encounter I had was fucking my brother-in-law on my wedding night while my husband, his brother, puked his guts out in a bathroom on the ground floor.

Clutching her pearls wouldn’t even begin to cover it. She’d probably get carried out on a stretcher. And still no grandbabies – just shameful.

And in the months after the wedding it turned out that being married to the youngest Park was just as nightmarish as I thought it would be, if not more.

He drank often, and no matter what he did he couldn’t beat out the smell that carried everywhere with him, that he was steeped in. He wasn’t unattractive by any means, he definitely had a certain young chaebol charm, but he constantly smelled of sweat, stale vodka or whiskey, and cigarette smoke. The men he spent his time with were loud and obnoxious, and the exact kind of company that would strike a pang of fear in any woman. I certainly did my best to never be alone in a room with them, and I never left my drink out of sight either.

I didn’t know the full extent of his activities, and I didn’t want to.

And he didn’t care for me either, thankfully. The only time I even existed in his mind was when he returned home drunk and horned up, pressing up against me and mumbling drunkenly things that turned my stomach with his breath smelling like garlic and pussy. It was a miracle he didn’t make me throw up on a nightly basis.

Yujun, just like me, was very aware of the ‘duty’ to have children we faced, and always brought up the topic when he wanted a quick fuck.

So I had to take matters into my own hands.

Growing up in the higher echelon of society often left you with many very useful contacts in your phone. A lot of people of the same age all grew up together through our parents’ endless parties, galas and fishing trips, or whatever else they thought of to chase away the boredom, where we watched them drink and make fool of themselves like they weren’t the people running the world. That left us with a sort of quiet camaraderie – we shared many thoughts and opinions of them, but we still had some time left before we had to go and become them.

That means that when I contacted Jeong Yunho, a son of our family’s private visiting doctor, who went in his father’s footsteps and recently finished his degree to join his family’s practice, he was more than welcoming to my odd requests. All it took was a nice check, and he was writing me prescriptions for whatever I needed.

And what I needed were pills that quickly knocked someone out and lowered their sex drive.

So that whenever my husband dearest came home in the mood, I slipped him some in his water, took him to the bedroom and played up our interaction until he passed out, and then in the morning I pretended we fucked the whole night.

Yujun didn’t question his lack of memory, as he himself was aware he was most probably drunk and high on all kinds of stuff, and he was the kind of man whose ego far overshadowed his intelligence, so all I had to do was pander to his delusion of grandeur and sexual prowess and he left the house feeling like a god of sex while I was blissfully left alone.

But obviously that wasn’t something I’d boast about to my mother. Or anyone else for that matter, not even Seonghwa.

Seonghwa who’d be annoyingly smug about such information. Seonghwa who’d take it as an invitation to come over and fuck me all night instead of Yujun. Seonghwa who I didn’t see much in the past months because I did my damned best to avoid him.

Seonghwa who was stepping into the room right behind his mother just minutes later, as if I summoned him with my gloomy pondering.

I immediately swallowed down the last of my drink I had and prepared myself for the fucking show, because no way we’d have to spend hours here together. My mother was already standing, a fake wide smile plastered to her face as she greeted Mrs. Park loudly – who of course wore a very similar expression. I managed barely a smile as she half hugged me, keeping a few inches between us, while she pretended to kiss my cheeks (like I had fucking rabies). It was a hilarious charade, and I’d laugh at it too, if I was a little more drunk and cared a little less about my mother’s opinions.

Seonghwa greeted my mother similarly, but to me he slowly walked up and quickly grabbed my wrist to lay a single deceptively gentle kiss to the back of my hand. He did it quickly, not lingering or making a show of it, and I was at least a little thankful for that with both of our mother’s eyes boring into us. His gaze was dark though, and I saw the amusement and twisted excitement bubbling in it, reminiscent of how he looked that night. He knew he had me where I couldn’t avoid him.

And I knew I was in deep shit.

Because this was the look of a man determined to get what he wanted. And I knew what Seonghwa wanted maybe a little too well.

“Thank you for inviting us, Yeongja-ssi,” I heard my mother say just as Seonghwa stepped away and the rest of the world snapped back into place – now that the man wasn’t sucking all of my attention in like a black hole.

“Of course, you’re family now!” came a faux cheery reply, and I prepared myself for the most boring, awful afternoon in my life.

We were currently away from the city, sitting in the Parks’ family summer residence where they apparently spent a lot of their time when they weren’t needed around their businesses. It was march now, and Mr. Park invited my father, and the rest of us by default, to join him on his first hunting trip of the year, as the residence came with a hefty amount of land primed to be the best hunting grounds.

So now I was stuck in this fucking house, looking at all the pompous architecture and interior design, while the men ran around the forest for days and shot at everything.

“Aren’t you supposed to be hunting?” the question slipped out of my mouth before I knew what I was doing, and I realised it was the first proper thing I said probably all day. My tone wasn’t very friendly, but if the two women caught that, they said nothing – though they did turn to us curiously, watching our interaction.

The man in question grinned at me though, very amused by my somewhat hostile stance, and shifted where he sat on the dark blue sofa across from me.

“I will be joining them tomorrow,” Seonghwa answered easily, “I just got here an hour ago, and I’d like to rest for a bit.” It was a very diplomatic answer, very polite and bland. I hummed, looking at him very pointedly for a moment longer, before I turned to pour myself another glass.

“So, Y/N,” Mrs. Park eagerly took the opportunity to talk to me while I seemed more open to conversation, “do you have any happy news to share?”

Sighing, I settled back into my own settee with a fake smile, ignoring how Seonghwa’s eyes ignited with the mention of the topic.

This was going to be a long day.

I wouldn’t quite say I was snooping, but I found myself wandering around the house even through the spaces I definitely wasn’t allowed to, and I knew that. Like right now, where I stood in the middle of the aforementioned study, taking in the stupid fireplace in real life so I could compare it to the painting later when I was dissociating from yet another conversation about jewellery. I wasn’t interested in the paperwork laying on the desk of the office, but I knew Mr. Park would have a seizure if he knew I was so close to all his business bullshit.

That’s why the moment I heard a floor creak just a few steps away from me, I was jumping guiltily and spinning around to the door with my heart wildly beating out of my chest. The sudden movement caused me to spill some of my drink, and I felt the icy sticky fluid running down my fingers onto the floor.

When I saw who stood there though, I both relaxed and panicked further. A very different kind of nervosity took a hold of me as I breathlessly watched Seonghwa leisurely stroll into the room, dark eyes trained on me unblinkingly.

I saw his gaze flicker to the floor briefly, lips quirking up at seeing the mess, before he whipped up a cloth handkerchief and kneeled down right by my feet to wipe it away. He did it all so quickly I found myself flinching back, stumbling away from the crouched man until my back hit the table behind me, much to his entertainment.

My mind very unhelpfully supplied a mental image of the last time I had Seonghwa kneeling for me, which had me cursing myself while I fought to unclench my thighs. The man no doubt saw me squirming though, judging from the amused smirk he had as he stood up again.

He was wearing his hunting attire – looser trousers with knee-high boots and a tweed jacket over a white shirt, all in black so that the red tie popped out with the sudden splash of colour. It complimented his figure, of course it did – just like everything the man wore, and he knew it.

“Didn’t you say you were going hunting today?” I tried to bite out with hostility now that we were alone. Our mothers decided to have a last-minute shopping spree, searching for new dresses to wear at the first feast of the season that would close out this trip in a few days. I respectfully declined, though the politeness took a lot out of me, so I dedicated the rest of the afternoon to sulkily wandering the halls not speaking to anyone.

“I was,” the man answered smoothly, gesturing to his clothes, “obviously.” He took a few more steps towards me, and I couldn’t help but fixate on the wide-open door of the study. Couldn’t he at least close it if he wanted to do this right now?

 “You’ve returned with your bounty, then?” I asked then, cold sweat pouring over me at that. If Seonghwa was back, that meant everyone else was likely too. More curious eyes to stumble upon this scene, which was just awesome.

“Only me,” came his swift answer, as if he saw right into my mind and read all my worries, “I told them I’m tired of the outdoors and I’m going back for a quick late lunch with mother.”

“Your mother isn’t here,” spilled out of my mouth quickly – like I was actually hoping for him to take that information and decide to leave again, “They went into the city.”

Seonghwa only grinned my way though, that beastly edge shining through his carefully constructed indifferent mask. His hands were lazily locked behind his back and it gave him an almost whimsical vibe. Like a fairy, here to fuck up my day.

“I know.”

Well, it seemed it was as easy as that.

At this point it would take Seonghwa only two more steps before he was all pressed against me, and I nervously gripped the edge of the desk I was leaning on. I fucking hoped he wouldn’t – there were always people running around here. You were never fully alone in this house, whether it was the maids, or the two servants, or the kitchen staff or even the three fucking chauffeurs killing time outside with a very bored gardener, the chances of no eyes being on you in a house like this were critically low.

Seonghwa seemed to be deliberating on that as well, because I did see him hesitate for a moment, almost turning as if to check the open door, before he ultimately threw all that out the window and swiftly moved towards me until I felt his firm sculpted chest and stomach pressed into my soft lines.

I found myself gasping, even though I saw it coming the whole time – I knew he was going to do it, and I still startled when I felt his hands grasp at my waist. His warm breath hit the crook of my neck, his cheek almost pressing to mine as he moulded himself over me just like that night in the hotel. I wasn’t sure if my heart beat so fast I could barely register it or if it stopped all-together, but I sure wasn’t breathing as my skin broke out into goosebumps at physically feeling Seonghwa release a breathy chuckle against my neck.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten what I promised you before, doll,” he whispered sensually, pressing his hips harder into mine like he was trying to remind me. As if he needed to remind me – as if I wasn’t thinking about it all the time anyway, even though I haven’t seen his face for weeks.

One of his hands smoothly glided over my stomach until it possessively rested on my lower belly, right over where my womb would be, and I finally stuttered out some breaths.

“This right here is mine,” Seonghwa’s lips brushed over the sensitive skin of my ear before he bit down gently, “and I intend on delivering.”

Just as quickly his hands suddenly slid down to the back of my thighs and before I knew it, he was pulling me up onto the table and slotting his hips between my legs hard. I floundered for a moment, hands shooting up to stabilise myself and grabbing onto his shoulders, which was probably something he was very happy about.

I wouldn’t know, I was too busy gasping at the feeling of his already hardening cock pressed tightly into my clothed sex. Not even my startled limbs stopped him from grinding against me slightly to drag out the sensation though. I felt the way he squeezed at my thigh before one of his hands flew up to tangle into my hair, tugging me to his sinful mouth.

I’d like to believe I gave in so easily because I was confused, or surprised. I’d like to say I received him so quickly because my mouth was already open on a gasp, but in my heart I worried whether those were true.

Seonghwa didn’t waste time (he never did, he was very efficient in everything he did) and immediately dipped his tongue deep into my mouth, hungry mouth kissing me all messy and wet. This time when I gasped, he swallowed it down with a quiet groan, hand tightening in my locks and pulling slightly to pry me more open for him.

Just as I fully registered what has happening, realised I was quickly overheating, a wave of staggering warmth spilling over into me from his heated form pressed so close, and I grew dizzy – and then he was suddenly gone, a few steps back and looking perfectly put together except for his wet swollen lips and wild dark eyes. He didn’t even breath hard, though his pants bulged out obscenely, betraying that he was affected by this little tryst too, just like I was.

I sat on the desk, confused and aroused, thighs splayed open wide and chest rising and falling rapidly with my laboured breaths. I felt the spit cooling in the corner of my mouth, the wet feeling bringing embarrassed flush to my face.

I felt my core throbbing too, my traitorous cunt calling out for him to come back (she remembered well) and make it all better, but the man was already walking out of the room with a pep in his step, a shit-eating grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes – while I struggled to pull myself together.

The glass I brought my drink in was overturned on the desk, swaying back and forth on its side, and the cold liquid was seeping into my pants and the carpet underneath. I wondered how I didn’t even feel the wetness, but I did have bigger problems at the moment.

With a curse I jumped down and tried to salvage the mess, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. Especially not when I finally walked out of the room to find someone more qualified to deal with the ruined carpet and ran right into a red-faced blushing maid who couldn’t even look into my eyes as she rushed in to deal with the aftermath.

My heart sank, and I hoped that the staff here was as tight-lipped as ours, because I sure as hell wasn’t ready for this all to fall down on my head yet.

I didn’t see Seonghwa for the rest of the day after that – the man didn’t even show up at dinner, claiming to be too tired and needing to retire early. When I retreated to my room that night I found myself creeping through that house like a scared little mouse, paranoid that that he was behind every corner just waiting to jump me.

It was very fitting that we were here for a hunting trip – because he did feel like a hunter, only his prey wasn’t out there in the woods. It was sleeping in the house with him.

Yujun managed to stumble into the room late into the night even here, though I had no idea what could have been keeping him while we were staying in a house in the middle of the woods (maybe it was better to not know, now that I thought about it). When he clambered into the bed, for a moment I froze and laid still, waiting for what he’d do next. As every evening, I had a preventative spiked glass of water standing on the nightstand – if he as much as bumped into me, I’d be turning around to offer it to him with a sweet wifely smile, pumping it straight into his throat if I had to.

Thankfully the man seemed to be exhausted and he just shuffled around for a moment before stilling and falling asleep almost immediately. I had a sinking feeling I knew what that meant, and I could only hope that whatever unfortunate woman he had come across was alright. Disgust coiled tightly around my stomach and suddenly the idea of sharing a bed with this man was making me so sick I almost threw up. Automatically I sat up, feet hitting the floor before I even fully thought of what I was going to do.

I was just about to sneak out and leave the room to go take a breather, when I remembered Seonghwa’s predatory smile as he leisurely walked out of the study earlier that afternoon. Better not leave the room actually, not while he was in the same house at least. I cringed at that and sank back into the soft bedding.

What a fucking life I was leading. I was getting pretty sick of tiptoeing around everyone like that.

So I just turned my back to the man I married and tried to pretend he wasn’t there as I forced myself back into sleep.

I wasn’t sure when exactly I was pulled under, but when I jerked awake in the morning I was already alone. All traces of Yujun ever being there the night before were gone, and the sun was sneaking in through the folds of the curtains. The hunt has already begun.

Both my mother and my mother-in-law acted normally, and even though the one unfortunate maid that was saddled with dealing with the aftermath of my indiscretion with Seonghwa yesterday couldn’t quite meet my eyes, I assumed no one else knew. The day dragged on, painfully slow and tense, as I laughed dutifully with the older women’s chatter and ignored their little probes trying to get me to talk about my married life.

By the time the evening rolled by, I was drunk, cranky and exhausted of all the social interactions. During dinner Seonghwa kept his dark gaze trained on me, making me squirm with unease under the suspicious eyes of my mother. As I walked to my bedroom, I stopped the maid as she walked by and pressed a couple bills in her hand, avoiding her confused face. When Yujun came, I gave him his water and waited until he passed out.

Same shit, another day.

The next few days went by both terrifyingly slow and shockingly fast, like the universe was pulling me into both directions. For most of the time, I just felt strangely suspended in some cosmic in-between. I was struggling to connect to the other two women even before, but now that Seonghwa routinely made his presence known I felt even more distant from their dreary bullshit. Our fathers and my husband spent their entire day gone or butchering their bounty, and even during the night Yujun rarely bothered me – either too tired or just not in the mood ‘for my bullshit’, as he lovingly put it.

That left Seonghwa – my loyal shadow, my curse following me around, the ghoul, the phantom. He made it a game for himself to mess with me. Since the incident in the study he never got quite as close, but I saw his amused smirks whenever he brushed against me while leaving a room, or whenever his hands lingered on my body just a touch too long while no one was looking.

The man used his unfavourable position well to get his way. The invisible wall between him and all the rest of the family was even more painfully obvious the longer we spent with them, felt in all those awkward glances and stuttered half sentences. Seonghwa was always sort of falling through the cracks of the Park family, stalking the halls and rooms like a ghost of mistakes past.

Mrs. Park could barely bear to look at him for too long, and Mr. Park hated that he deserved to be respected, especially when faced with his other son’s never-ending disappointments.

That allowed him to slip through their awareness, linger on the edges of everyone’s consciousness like a forgotten thought you can’t quite get rid of, and it haunts you with its elusiveness.

Seonghwa only made his presence known when he absolutely had to, he used their niggling unease at his presence to find easy excuses to leave – to just… fade away without a trace. No one missed him when he wasn’t there – only relief was left in his absence. Their reluctance to see him and perceive him gave him plenty of opportunities to do his wrongs in plain sight knowing everyone was wilfully not paying attention. Seonghwa had it down to science.

And very rarely, I’d see his eyes flash with hardened pain. The kind that never leaves your heart, coming from wounds that cut just a little too deep to heal. In those times I found it in myself to pity the man, and I hated him for it.

But slowly I found myself realising that the same glass wall that kept Seonghwa detached from others was keeping me detached from them as well. I was caught with him on the other side, and the way we both disappeared into the background, blended into the wallpapers, was a truly disturbing experience. Like we were existing outside of their time and space.

All the burning looks exchanged, the agonising brushes of skin against skin – it all went unnoticed. And I felt so alone, so alone and left with a beast hungry for my blood, hunting me in plain daylight – and yet no one saw.

I knew Seonghwa felt emboldened by this. It was all written clearly in his wicked grins.

He liked to tease it out, play with me sweetly, but I could see he was gearing up to pounce again. His eyes sparkled with terrible excitement whenever he caught my gaze across tables, rooms and corridors, lurking by corners with dark eyes watching my every move.

By the last day of the trip I was fidgeting with unease, unable to sit still and jerking at every rash movement. It had my mother strictly reprimanding me, sending me warning glares and constantly reminding me to act like a lady. She thought it was the alcohol, and it wasn’t lost on me how she watched me disapprovingly whenever I got up to get myself a fresh glass of something – even though all of us were doing nothing but drinking and gossiping.

The men for a change spent that whole day in the kitchens to prepare their bounty for dinner, and their boisterous laughs carried through the whole house. Their great spirits were no doubt also supported by a hefty amount of liquid courage, but I didn’t see my mother casting disgusted glances their way. Hypocrite.

Seonghwa came in with a platter of cheeses and fruits, passing by me with a hungry expression on his face before he schooled it into a polite smile for our mothers. I couldn’t believe I sincerely didn’t see it before, when I was planning the wedding. Now it was all I saw, and it made me want to run.

With the evening approaching it was like I could physically feel the anticipation rise. The tension felt thick enough to cut, thick enough to taste it on my tongue every time I opened my mouth. Thick enough it got me wondering whether the others could sense it too.

I’ve never been too great with polite small-talk, so I spent the dinner quietly chewing through my food listening to whatever the topic was discussed at the time distractedly. Seonghwa was surprisingly chatty that evening, and he seemed to be in a great mood – which stupefied everyone else present at the table, as they were used to the way the man usually kept himself at a distance.

Only I knew that it meant incredibly bad things were about to go down in this fucking house.

Unfortunately once the women got tired of keeping their attention on the very male oriented conversation of their husbands and sons, they shifted their focus back to our little corner. I lasted all of three not so very subtle remarks about how a nice little retreat like this was the perfect opportunity to get pregnant before I was shooting up on my feet and excusing myself to the bathroom with a tense smile.

My mother’s eyes firmly gestured towards Yujun, but I ignored her rapidly souring expression and left quickly. What did she want me to do? Get pregnant by him right here on this table? (fate has a funny was of unfolding)

The long-haired man who was the reason for my unease in the first place was also subtly watching me, though for the first time I found his face unreadable. That unsettled me, and I basically ran out.

I stalled for as long as I could, but it ended up only buying me twenty minutes of peace before someone sought me out.

When I heard slow unhurried footsteps aiming towards the bathroom I had hidden in, I was already steeling myself for it being my mother. It didn’t surprise me – I kind of suspected she’d end up blowing up at me one way or another. If it wasn’t about my lack of children or the lack of desire to rectify it, it would definitely be about the very impolite behaviour I exhibited as it threatened to give Mrs. Park the wrong impression. Personally, I didn’t give a fuck about Mrs. Park’s impression of me – it’s not like she could do anything worse to me than what I was already involved in.

Wanting to avoid that conversation for as long as possible, I bent over the sink and scooped up the running water to bury my face in it.

I realised I was wrong about my assumption the moment I felt two strong hands settle on my waist as a wiry body pressed up against me. I knew those hands. I knew that body.

Startled, I jerked up – already knowing whose eyes I was going to meet in the mirror. In my haste I ended up barrelling into his chest. The man took it all in his stride though, and his arms swiftly moved to wrap around my waist. Shamefully, it was a touch I was intimately familiar with, even if we haven’t interacted in that way for months.

Seonghwa was smirking back at me where I was gawking at him in the mirror – and I quickly got reminded just how shameless the man was. A little further behind his shoulder I saw the door wide open, again. The loud voices and laughs carried through the hallway easily; after all the terrace wasn’t that far from where we currently stood.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hissed out aggressively, but did nothing to shake him off. He stared at me for a few long seconds before I was suddenly being spun around. My back hit the counter, but it was hard to focus on anything but the demanding mouth that was abruptly descending on mine. Tongue swiftly swooped inside my lips, punching a little dazed gasp of surprise.

Just as quickly he was pulling away. His hand grasped onto my jaw, keeping my head angled in a way he liked. Gaze dark, it slid across my features in an appraising way, like he was looking at a painting.

“I’m fulfilling my promise,” came his answer finally. Seonghwa didn’t bother lowering his voice, he was as comfortable as ever where he started pushing me down towards the ground. And it took me about four seconds to realise what he was doing – and promptly I started blushing.

I allowed myself to hit the floor with my knees, but as soon as his hand came back to grasping me, I started resisting. I threw a stormy glare up back at him and jerked my head to the side. A spark of arousal flashed through his eyes and I saw his lips twitch in a smirk. Anger pulsed through me.

“Why the fuck are you doing this?” it came out a lot tenser, my voice low with all the frustration that has been building up in me since we got to this fucking house. That finally got a reaction out of him – for a split second it was like a shadow passed over his face, eyes darkening with something different than the anticipant arousal I usually saw painted there.

Then the man leant down, his long black hair sliding down shoulders and hanging in the space over me. His otherworldly beautiful face was twisted over me, sneering with all the emotion in the world.

“Because I want to,” he whispered, voice underlined with something beastly, “and because you’ll let me.” Then his hand was back, man-handling my face towards his crotch. I swallowed the shame that bubbled up at his words. I wish I could argue back, but even now I wasn’t pulling away as Seonghwa pushed me against himself, letting out a sigh of relief. He was right, and I didn’t want to bring more attention to it – though he felt the lack of resistance in me.

But as long as we didn’t talk about it, everything was normal, right?

With a bit of alarm I realised that Seonghwa was already hard, pants straining and tenting with his beautiful length. I remembered it well, I even remembered trying to suck it in my hazy state and Seonghwa stopping me, promising me a next time.

Well, here he was. A man of his word.

But even harder was the realisation that I could feel wetness sticking to my panties. I’d slicked up for him, and all it took was a bit of force and some mean words. Humiliation burned in me, and it was making my cunt throb even harder, already crying to be filled with something before he even started doing anything.

So instead of focusing on that, I casted another look towards the man, this one teary and resigned and aroused. Pleading. It was just as much me wanting to get it over with and as it was squirming with anticipation.

Seonghwa took one look at me and scoffed, lips curling into an arrogant grin – though the way arousal swirled in his pupils wasn’t lost on me. As always, he was a man of action. His hands made quick work of the pants fastenings, pulling the fabrics down. I was so close that the moment his cock sprang free it smacked lightly into my cheek. 

Just as I remembered it, it was pretty and long, not as quite thick, but nicely curved. Seonghwa watched me with amusement flicking behind all that lust, entertaining himself by circling his hips so that the head of his cock smeared against my face. I flashed him another irritated glare, if only to see him slowly get more riled up. He was enjoying my rebellion, and as excitement slowly settled into my stomach, I worried I might too.

The door was still wide open, and our families could still be clearly heard from where they sat and conversed while the atmosphere in the bathroom felt almost too quiet. Something silent pulsed between our gazes, something almost like a secret being shared.

Seonghwa caught onto my strategy quick. I wasn’t sure if it was all written in my eyes – I found it a little scary how easily he could read me sometimes, but I could sense the change in him. The moment he decided he wasn’t going to let me play him like he wanted to play me. His hand came back to my face, grasping my jaw tightly like before. But this time his touch swiftly moved. I had only a second of warning before he was stuffing his fingers in my mouth, firmly prying it open and keeping it that way.

There was no supressing the shudder that went through me, neither the tiny moan that clawed its way out of my throat at the roughness of his touch. The man didn’t bother telling me to be quiet, not with that self-satisfied smirk on his face. I bet he couldn’t care less about the kind of mess I made, he probably wouldn’t even give a shit if someone walked straight in and saw. That thought terrified me, but like always when this man was involved – I did nothing to stop him (truly a self-fulfilling prophecy).

He must have decided that there was enough waiting though, because suddenly there was a cock sliding into my mouth. Seonghwa’s hand kept my jaw open to fight against the flinch of surprise, but I still gasped, my eyes flying up just in time to see his beautiful face screwed in relieved pleasure.

Seonghwa gave me a few seconds of calm before he was pulling back and smoothly sliding back in, the cock filling my mouth up completely. A hum of contentment escaped me on instinct and I sank into the feeling, eyes falling shut. Two or three more thrusts came in easy and soft, and then his fingers slipped out of my mouth and gripped my hair instead.

Seonghwa was a relentless lover, all powerful thrusts and rough sighs of pleasure. When he fucked you he possessed you, owned you, held you in ways that moulded you to his satisfaction. And what was more – he wanted to see you know it. This encounter was no different.

He didn’t let me pretend for long. Before I knew it, his strong grip was forcing my head back, pulling until tears pearled up at the corners of my eyes. His hips were moving in languid smooth glides, contrary to the harsh thrusts he was delivering to my mouth. I only took it for a few more moments before I was blinking open to give him another stern glare – which was much harder to do with his cock sliding into my mouth until I felt it hitting the back.

He groaned out the second our eyes met and I choked on the head, pulling back only to thrust even further in with a provoking grin. Upon my gasp a flurry of saliva spilled out my lips, dribbling down my chin and throat. My mouth was so full my head was spinning with it; I was barely breathing, puffs of air escaping me in uneven bursts, and all I could hear were Seonghwa’s stuttering quiet groans. All I could feel was the way he throbbed on my tongue, the way he tasted of salt and musk. Then he was overriding all of my senses.

As he jerked forward to sink into me once more, his hand flexed in my hair and pulled. I felt my eyes roll back into my skull as my mouth stretched open on a moan. Seonghwa’s cock slid in deeper than before and I gagged on it, feeling my mouth and throat so full of him I couldn’t think about anything else. The tears that lined my eyes before were now freely falling down my cheeks. I could see it his gaze that it was exciting him even more, could hear it in the way his breath hitched in the middle of a muted groan. He was watching me with twisted awe, dark satisfaction creeping into the sharp edges of his sneer.

This time when he pulled out he gave me a few seconds to cough and wheeze and swallow, and I felt my knees throb now that I wasn’t getting distracted by everything else. The coldness of the floor was seeping into my bones, the hardness pressing into the soft skin there. The harsh line of the marble counter was digging into the back of my head, right underneath where his hand gripped me. Clinking of cutlery against porcelain carried through the air, the easy conversation just a few metres away still going uninterrupted and creating a steady hum beneath the cacophony of the quiet huffs and groans filling the little room we were in.

We were both breathing hard, but something very different reflected in Seonghwa’s face. Something that pushed my heart into overdrive with sharp notes of unease. Something that wasn’t there the last time I was with him – something that shifted from cruel to obsessive.

When he gripped my jaw again, eyes darkening with lust, I opened my mouth automatically, which pleased him. I didn’t want to like that, didn’t want to like pleasing him – but the way my stomach fluttered betrayed me. I knew, and he knew.

Seonghwa always just seemed to know, no matter how much I hid.

Taking a little step closer he pressed up against me fully, and when his cock slipped into my mouth this time, he barely had to move. With one hand he kept my hair in a tight grip, pushing the back of my head against the counter – and the other slowly migrated towards the porcelain sink above me, gripping it and leaning on it to keep the circling of his hips smooth. On every stroke he filled my mouth to the brim until I felt his sack press into my chin, all messy from the mix of my saliva and his salty bitter precum. I felt the sticky mixture sliding down my throat into my cleavage from where I choked and gagged.

The flavour of him exploded my senses, pushing me down, deeper into the pulsing pleasure.

“Asking me why,” the man suddenly muttered, breathless and wrecked, hands flexing and hips rough, “like you don’t watch me with those begging eyes.” His hand moved from my hair to wipe away the tears sliding down my cheeks. He abruptly kicked up the pace and the hands I’ve kept uselessly buried in the fabric of my dress subconsciously flew out to grab onto his thighs. I heard his voice break off into a tight moan and answered in my own, the flames of my own arousal pulsing through me with revenge out of nowhere – my own lust catching up to me so abruptly it knocked me off my axis.

“Acting like you don’t- don’t know… deep down- …that you’re mine,” he was getting tongue-tied with the exertion, and I knew just how close he was by how chatty he was getting. The truths always rolled off his tongue easier right on the cusp of painting me with his cum.

“B-because no one else- no one else sees you-” He was getting frantic with his pace, hitting the back of my throat with the head of his cock and stuffing it as far as my body could accept it. I was trying my best to breathe through my nose and keep my throat open, but my senses were getting so overwhelmed, my head spinning and dizzy, face all wet and body shaking. My juices dripped down my thighs, cunt pulsing and squeezing, but I didn’t have the capacity to do anything about it, not with how Seonghwa overruled my every thought. I whined, deep and long and needy, and felt his cock throb and jump while he moaned high in the back of his throat. “No one else sees you- like I do.”

Cum exploded into my throat, abruptly and without any warning, thick spurts quickly filling up the whole cavity. I choked on it, but my instinct kicked in and I started swallowing, though thick globs still slipped out of my mouth and joined the mess on my chin and neck, mixing in with the shiny cooling spit. I still felt him throbbing, his whole body tense and shaking over me, quiet whines escaping him as he tried to stifle himself.

Seonghwa held me in place for several long seconds before his body relaxed, and he slipped out of my mouth with a satisfied sigh. I got all of four seconds to take notice of my wheezing breaths and wet face and neck, mouth still knotted with the thick liquid that was now dribbling down all over me. Seonghwa cared for none of that.

His eyes flashed, and then I was pulled up to my feet and onto the counter. My head still spun, mind too gone to be fully coherent, but I knew I shouldn’t even bother closing my legs – not when the man was already prying himself in between them, pushing them roughly to the side.

When Seonghwa kissed me, all I could focus on was his pleased hum at the taste, the shudder that ran through him, the way his heavy breath hit me with wanton sighs while our tongues mingled. One of his hands sneaked down to grab my thigh and the other didn’t waste any more time, plunging right where it wanted to be.

His fingers skirted around the edge of my soaked underwear for a fleeting touch and then two of them were plunged deep inside me. Both of us groaned at that, a little too loudly for the circumstances – probably way louder than we could afford, but I couldn’t muster up the energy to care and I knew Seonghwa just didn’t. His eyes were eating me up, filing the interaction away, hungrily flitting over my face slackened in ecstasy. Our faces were so close our noses brushed each other, hot breaths mingling and sounds of pleasure almost harmonising. Like they were coming from the same source, from some hive-mind that distributed this depraved indulgence equally between us both, no matter who touched who and how. The intimacy of it all, that was what tore my heart up the most – and yet I still couldn’t force myself to look away from his beautiful sharp face coloured with bliss.

The patience from before has dissipated it seemed, because Seonghwa didn’t pause to let me adjust, didn’t even let himself think about. Instead he started up a quick rough pace, ramming into me with force that always left me breathless, pads of fingers a little too happy to find that magic little spot deep inside me and rub it endlessly.

I felt like I was losing my mind, the way the pleasure rushed my bloodstream and my brain, my body could barely process the sudden onslaught of sensations and it shook, shook against him like I was going to tremble apart. Seonghwa’s hand didn’t stop for a single moment, the wetness streaming around his fingers and splattering on my thighs. The squelching sound felt so loud in that little bathroom, especially with how enthusiastic his movements were.

I tried to strain my ears to see whether the others were still entertained by each other, but I couldn’t focus on them, not when Seonghwa’s fingers curled inside me, not when his thumb pushed on my already sensitive clit, not when he dived into the crook of my neck to kiss and nibble on the skin there. I felt my thighs shake, my knees lock, as the wave surmounted, as it grew and grew until I couldn’t take a single breath without risking crying out loud enough for the whole mountain to hear.

My cunt throbbed and pulsated around his digits, swallowing every inch. I was never more aware of how beautiful and strong his hands where than that moment, when they were bringing me to heaven and back in a bathroom barely a hallway away from our families.

Seonghwa chuckled at me as he watched me slowly, deliriously cum on his hand, while I fought to keep my head on straight enough to not moan out. The tension that was mercilessly rising, filling me to the brim and making my legs shake, released in a big boom, like a star exploding into a supernova. Like a star being born. I felt like I was on the cusp of a cosmic event.

My back arched violently and I threw my head back with the ecstasy, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging wide open with a silent scream. One that I managed to swallow down with the last strands of sanity before it all drained out of me – and all that was left was just a wave after a wave of relief, all pumping out through my throbbing contracting hole.

Seonghwa’s fingers still moved gently, sliding in leisurely to prolong the sensations and to keep me full. I wasn’t ready to be empty, it would take me a while before I came back to myself and realised who I was fooling around with and where, but until then I desperately clenched on them, begging them to stay firmly lodged in.

And Seonghwa indulged me with soft croons, mouth now travelling down my throat to the crook of my neck, smiling and humming into the skin in a manner that was supposed to be calming, but I in my mind couldn’t interpret it as anything but mockery. Soft, sweet mockery that seeped into me, equal parts soothing and maddening.

When I came back to myself I was slumped into his embrace, head aimlessly lolling around on his shoulder while he entertained himself by kissing all the skin he could reach without dislodging us. My brain came back online with a few grumbles before I started slowly pulling away. This wasn’t the time or the place for gentle sweet nothings.

Seonghwa clocked in my change and moved accordingly, but as the bastard he was he took his damn sweet time pulling out, savouring each inch his fingers caressed on the way. Making me feel him till the last second. I ignored him and attempted to stand back on my feet, only to find them weak and shaking

I ostentatiously ignored him as I turned around to check myself in the mirror, but I couldn’t escape his gaze through the reflection. His eyes were like black holes, gravitational pull dragging me into them, devouring me raw. The strange glint returned to them as they roamed freely over my form, taking in my messy make-up and glossy eyes. My face wasn’t wet anymore, but I felt the grime of the dried saliva and cum still sticking to my skin.

When his eyes flitted over the carnage left behind, they sparkled with pride. My stomach swooped, falling through the floor all the way down to hell. I could barely breath under such appraising gaze.

Then they jumped to my eyes, watching me for a second before the intensity of his expression melted off into a little smirk, and he turned and left. Again. Walking through those open doors like nothing happened, like nothing was wrong.

He threw one last dark greedy glance over his shoulder and then he was gone.

I did all I could to not collapse under the strain of all that, shaky hands curling into fists by my hips while I stared at the empty space the man occupied up until a few seconds ago. I could still feel the endorphins rushing through my blood from the orgasm, but now that all was said and done all I could do was continue moving forward.

So instead of breaking down, instead of charging out of that stupid fucking room and punching Seonghwa right in the face in front of everyone still covered in his cum (which is what I kind of wanted to do) I turned my eyes to myself and did my best to salvage what I could while my heart raged in my chest.

Any thought that sneaked into my head I snuffed it out, quieting all discord before it could worm itself under my skin. Almost a terrifying clarity took over me, the silence of my mind making the aftermath of what happening feel even worse. No matter what I did, I couldn’t escape it.

I did it again. I did it. Again. With Seonghwa.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Breathed slow through my nose. Tightened my grip over the cold porcelain, trying to ground myself into the density of the material. Into the solidity of the floor under my feet (solidity of the floor under my knees) where I stood (as I kneeled). I squeezed harder. It wasn’t helping.

My body felt strangely light with the absence of Seonghwa’s possessive hands grabbing onto me, and I almost swayed when I pushed away from the sink to walk back onto the terrace to finish the meal. I was stuck with the image of his dark hungry gaze tattooed onto the back of my eyelids, and any time I pushed my fingers through my hair to straighten it I wanted to tug on it as he did, to remind myself. To relive it. I was sick.

When I sat back down into my seat, it was like stepping into a parallel universe. Even my mother seemed to forget I was gone for such a long time and nobody spared me a single glance. The feast has moved on and most of them were now nibbling on a dessert, but I wanted to eat myself away from this so I reached for the leftover meat and potatoes.

God knows what the conversation was about – I certainly wasn’t listening. I clocked in the buzz and hum of it happening, I heard the sounds of plates and dishes and cutlery, of chewing, laughing, teeth clanking. But I didn’t hear.

Everything just felt so normal. I felt like melting. I wanted to melt. My mother threw me a disapproving glance when I reached for more food (so she did see me) and I ignored her as usual. No one else turned, not even Seonghwa – who was now back to quietly enjoying watching everyone else exist from a safe distance.

His eyes didn’t stray to me a single time. I huffed quietly and ate with maddening anger burning me from inside out.

He didn’t look at me again, not that evening and not the day after when we left. I burned.

It was a week and a half later when I started realising something was wrong.

Yujun begun spending a smidge more time at home, the reasons for which were a complete mystery to me at that time – and not like I cared much, since he kept out of my way for the bigger part (which itself was strange). I did notice how he seemed to watch me with a touch of suspicion though. Nothing specific, just… mistrust. At whatever I did. However I moved.

Each day a catalogue of all the things he could feel suspicious about ran through my mind. Did Seonghwa say something? Did he notice anything during the hunting trip? Did he find out about the pills? Was this about the wedding night?

There were too many things I had kept from him, too many things I did that were wrong, and the possibility of him finding out about any of them was frankly terrifying. Yujun was unpredictable and violent, and that was scarier than Seonghwa’s uncertain threats.

And when he came into the bedroom to sleep, even smelling of alcohol, he barely ever bothered me – not even once did he ask for sex, and that was completely unprecedented for my husband. The little pills I’ve grown so reliant on when dealing with him sat untouched hidden in my closet and somehow that made me feel more worried than when I used them on him almost nightly. It felt like the calm right before the storm.

I kept going on with my days, of course I did. What other choice did I have? Yujun’s eyes followed me everywhere, as soon as he got home, and shadows passed over them, darkened them (they were nothing like Seonghwa’s, nothing like his hungry dark orbs). I saw in his gaze how he was trying to figure something out. Like I was a puzzle.

Honestly, it was the most brain activity I’ve ever seen him do, and we’ve been married for almost ten months at that point.

But not knowing what it was that set him off put me on edge. I had no idea what to hide from him, what not to do. Not that there was anything to do about anything concerning Seonghwa. The man went back to his games and hasn’t spoken to me since we left their summer mansion. Not even a glance on the way out, like his fingers weren’t still wrinkled from my pussy. Not even one of his infamous smirks.

It made me strangely upset. Made my heart feel strangely heavy.

Mrs. Park has recently taken up the hobby of making very ugly jewellery, and of course, had to turn that into a ‘small home-run business’, acting as if her husband wasn’t one of the richest men in all of Korea and didn’t finance the whole thing. My own mother in her infinite wisdom thought that having to spend my days with my mother-in-law would finally pressure me into pregnancy – since there was no way she wouldn’t be asking every day, at this point I was surprised she wasn’t full on asking about her son’s dick performance and cum consistency (actually, maybe that was a good thing, because I had that kind of information about the wrong son) – but she took it on herself to rope me into helping her.

God damn me for ever telling my mother I found arts and crafts relaxing.

So now I spent my afternoons sitting in her dust pink saloon toying with pearls and pulling them on strings while listening to her complain about every person that’s ever crossed her path, and desperately ignoring all her attempts to probe into my marriage.

And even then I haven’t seen Seonghwa once.

I made the mistake of asking her about him one time and her expression as she told me he was just ‘busy’ was enough to make me not ask again. Not that I really wanted to know about him (I told myself), but just like before – his sudden disappearance after all the shit he said during our last time together was unnerving me.

What was his plan here? What the fuck did I get myself into?

With dodging Yujun, silently trying to cut out my mother’s bullshit out of my life, having to wait hand and foot on my mother-in-law and fearing what Seonghwa was going to do, I felt like losing my fucking mind. Within ten months my life spiralled completely out of control.

I was nothing but a pawn to them, nothing but a vessel with purpose. Get the family money, birth a child. Take revenge.

I lived in a house with a man I didn’t trust and feared what he could be capable of. I kept putting these misplaced feelings of sympathy on Seonghwa, when he didn’t give a shit about me any more than all the other people in my life.

He was not my friend. He wasn’t even on my side – Seonghwa was always on his own side, and no one else was allowed there. No one sees you like I do, my ass.

No, we were both alone together. That’s all that was. I was handy to him. A useful toy. And just as he said – I’d always let him. Because – just like he said – no one else saw me. So I just kept going, stewing in it all, each day almost physically feeling a bit of my sanity escape me.

And then one day I realised what was going on with Yujun.

All it took was coming home earlier from his mother’s house and going up the stairs too quietly. I knew the second I saw him staggering out of a guest room with his pants half undone – I knew. He started coming home more often because I was rarely there. And some poor maid most likely ended up paying for that.

History does repeat itself, as Kendrick Lamar once said. Sometimes it doesn’t need a reason. He hated his brother for being a bastard, and here he was – tempting the same fate.

He didn’t notice me – because of course he didn’t, he wasn’t the most aware person on his best days, and lately it’s been weird between us. I was half-hidden behind our very decorative banister too, which was just pompous and pretentious enough to hide me out of the clear line of sight while still giving me ample opportunity to peek.

Yujun disappeared into his office. I got up from the stairs and sprinted into the guest room.

I hated being right. Well, at least that day in that instance I did. She was a pretty young thing, with big fearful eyes and long straight hair, so thin I was worried she was going to faint on me when she noticed my form looming in the door like a cryptid. She looked weary though, holding onto her loosened uniform with something heavy settled in her limbs.

For her, it was a day of realisations too, it seemed. And a wife coming home just seconds after her husband fucked you, that’s a bad one. Not many great outcomes out of that one.

She looked to me with tears, the panic taking over her features as she jumped to conclusions about what I’d no doubt do to her for this. I guess that rich ladies weren’t the best clients when their husbands turned out to be cheating bastards unable to keep their hands to themselves. If I was anyone else, she’d be right to be terrified.

But I wasn’t like Mrs. Park that even after years of getting rid of her husband’s unscrupulous affairs and intimidating away poor women that found themselves in the crosshairs of their broken marriage, still ended up with a bastard child always mocking her failure.

And I wasn’t like my mother either – that didn’t speak about it, but even after all the talk she did about me having to sleep with my husband still sighed with relief when my father chose to enter someone else’s bedroom. I guess that she found paying his affair partners away easier than fucking him herself – not that I’d wish that kind of fate on anybody.

“Did he hurt you?” were the first words out of my mouth, and I saw her form tremble. She shook her head once, unsurely, and then twice more with conviction. Tears spilled down her cheeks and her mouth was glued shut with terror. I hoped my own disgust over my husband wasn’t overshadowing my judgement, but I worried for her.

“Are you sure?” This time she didn’t move, just stood there and stared at me with devastated resignation creeping into her eyes. When her lips finally unsealed, all that came out was a sob.

“Am I getting fired for this?” Her cries were getting loud enough to draw unwanted attention, so I quickly turned to slam the door shut. Yujun would now either be drinking or having his post-nut nap anyway, but I didn’t want to risk him hearing us have this conversation. It would be for the best if he didn’t even know I was home yet.

I shushed as gently as I could with the urgency that now ran through my veins, and she immediately shut up, still waiting for the big blow out. Walking closer I took her in – she really couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. She was a new face too, I haven’t registered her around the house much yet, way too used to the older Mrs. Kim that worked for us for all those long, long months.

“What’s your name?” I wanted to get the most important thing out of the way first, and slowly build up to this conversation to ease her mind a bit, but I wasn’t sure how much I could actually get through to her.

“Ha-eun,” she sniffled as she said it, hand going to wipe away the mess on her face, and I handed her a handkerchief. Ha-eun still eyed me with suspicion, but she seemed to have calmed down significantly. Her uniform was still a little messed up from where my husband presumably got his hands on her, and it made for a miserable picture.

“Ha-eun, are you alright?” The girl just kept staring at me, like she expected this all to be a trap, but eventually she nodded. It didn’t seem very convincing, but I didn’t want to push her too much until she fully calmed down. Which didn’t seem to be something she was capable of in that moment.

“I can’t lose this job,” she suddenly sobbed out again, shaking hands grabbing onto me like a follower onto a messiah, praying hands begging and tugging, “my mother-“

“Ha-eun!” I raised my voice lightly and the girl stopped her crying for a moment to look at me, big wet eyes expectantly watching my face for clues. I tried to smile at her, just to be reassuring. Based on her trembling form, I wasn’t sure how successful I was. “You’re not losing your job.”

Once again she nodded and then as if the words caught up to her, she did once more, lips shaking to hold in her distress. She was a bit taller than me, so when I grabbed her shoulders to look properly into her eyes I lost a bit of the effect having to look up, but she honestly looked like a drowned kitten, so it didn’t matter much at all.

“I’m going to ask for the last time,” I didn’t try to sound threatening, but it was surprisingly difficult to word things well when we both were running on very different but definitely very intense emotions, and I didn’t want to push if it turned out she really did like him, “Did he… push you? Or pressure you?” After all, just because I’d rather set myself on fire than touch him didn’t mean everyone else thought that too.

For a few tense silent seconds I felt like the asshole in the situation. Maybe it said more about me than it did about Yujun the way my mind immediately jumped there. I guess he did have a certain charm to him (if you didn’t inspect him much closer) – I could see how he could mess with a young girl’s heart, promising her riches and comfort and a few sweet words, even though he constantly smelled like booze and cigarettes. The Park genes and bank accounts definitely did a lot of heavy lifting, but still. For a split second a certain young handsome face framed by long dark hair flitted into my mind (his fingers in my hair, his hands on my hips) and I shook my head to dislodge the claws he sunk into me, blinking the unbidden memories away.

But then the girl in front of me started crying again, and my heart broke for her.

“I- I can’t lose this job…” That was answer enough. I shook with the sudden uproar of rage taking over me. In my own home. I was sharing a bed with this man. Lived in the same house. He was supposed to be getting me pregnant (I was so glad he wasn’t – I never wanted to carry his spawn). I could scratch myself out of my own skin with the crawling feeling of being married to someone like him.

I had to put my own disgust on pause though, because witnessing my meltdown was the last thing Ha-eun needed right now.

Still I couldn’t stop a very worrying thought from fighting its way to the forefront of my mind.

Yujun fucking someone else in our house and coming to our bed already sated, not asking me to fuck him – that meant he knew to a certain extent that I had been lying to him about our sex life – since he stopped trying to get anything out of me. He probably didn’t know about the pills (otherwise he’d already make a scene) but he must have known I was somehow manipulating him. He most likely also assumed I was getting it elsewhere.

That’s why the suspicious glances. I was right – this was all going to crash down and burn around me faster than I was ready for. I had to do something – but what? That was the golden question.

I wasn’t fucking built for this.

“You’re not losing your job,” I managed to push out through the turmoil, mind half gone, and the girl latched onto that, latched onto me, like it was a saving grace. She thanked me, she thanked me for what she thought was me letting her get assaulted two bedrooms over from my own bed.

“I’ll get you a new job,” I promised, grasping onto her hands so she couldn’t pull away in shock, “a better one, away from all this.” More mistrust, two steps back after the progress we just made. Fear. But I didn’t have time to deal with that right now.

I had to figure out how to help us both.

The next few days were tense in the house, tenser than ever before. I called Mrs. Park and let her know I wasn’t feeling well and not wanting to make her sick I’d stay home for some time until I was sure I wasn’t contagious anymore. She hardly seemed to care, offering me barely a half of a sentence of reassurance before hanging up to go do her own thing. I kind of wanted to cuss her out, but her not caring was the better option of the two. She could have been showing up on my doorstep with chicken broth or some shit. Even though it stung a little, I still had to count my blessings that she wasn’t some helicopter parent.

Yujun was the bigger problem currently. Sometimes during the first two days of us awkwardly hanging around the house he figured out I found out about the affair and now was getting pissy about me cock-blocking him. He stomped around the house throwing hateful glances around like a toddler, embarrassing both himself and me. When he knew I was home, he was locked in his office. He didn’t sleep in the bedroom anymore (I had no idea how to let him know that wasn’t a punishment).

I had no idea what he thought he was going to accomplish with this, but to a man who probably always got what he wanted was throwing tantrums most likely the only way to show his displeasure about not getting his way.

The thing I really struggled with was delivering on my promise though. As I grew up, I cut contact with a lot of people I used to hang around when younger, so there weren’t many ‘friends’ I could ask for a favour and know that I’d be handing Ha-eun over into good hands. My parents were out of the question, because my mother wouldn’t let me deal with it this way. She’d make Ha-eun’s life living hell until she herself wanted nothing to do with any of us. I could never tell her why I wanted our maid to go work for them, and she’d never accept a new person without an explanation.

I messaged Yunho, as at the time he was the only person I was sure about having some manners around the circles in which I ran. He texted back within hours that their house was full, but he’d ask around. A polite version of ‘no, and don’t bother me with it anymore’.

I stubbornly ignored the fact that there was a person I knew that I was decently close to (if you could call us that) who owned a literal hotel, but where I stood right now – I’d rather chew off my own hand than to contact him. It didn’t take very long for me to get desperate though.

Yunho did actually end up asking around, which pleasantly surprised me, but most of the people around us couldn’t care less or didn’t want to get involved in a drama like this. Because a woman getting rid of a maid from her house could only mean one thing, and the fact that I was so vocal about it was seen as very embarrassing and humiliating. They’d for sure laugh about me in private, but wouldn’t do shit outside the bounds of their very comfortable lives.

I knew I couldn’t push it any further just a short few days later though, when while walking down a hallway I heard Ha-eun protesting to someone. With my hackles immediately raised, I stomped over to the room it was coming from.

Our living room was spacy, full of air and light, with minimal décor. I actually kind of hated it, but it wasn’t my house, not really – not in all the ways that mattered, and I didn’t exactly care for re-decorating, so I just let it be. Ha-eun was clearly just in the process of dusting one of the decorative bookshelves when Yujun approached her. He was standing firm and not swaying at all, which honestly surprised me to see. I couldn’t off the top of my head remember when I last saw him closer to sober than tipsy.

The maid saw me first, cause my husband was angled more to have his back to me, and she immediately fell silent, sizing me up with a guilty look on her face and reflected in her teary eyes. It took Yujun all of three seconds of the awkward silence to realise what was happening, and when he turned around he was already scowling with anger.

My gaze slid down his form. He was gripping her wrist, not very gently. As he stood there, stewing in his anger, I shot one pointed glare at his hand, and he dropped it. The room was so quiet I could hear all of us breathe, as we just stood there and glared at each other. Then Yujun just stalked off, breezing past me with a stormy expression on his face, not saying a single word.

I waited until I heard the door to his office slam shut, the boom reverberating through the whole house, before I redirected my attention to the young woman. She was shaking, holding her wrist. There were red imprints on it. I wanted to storm upstairs right after Yujun and beat him to a pulp.

“Go home for today,” I told her, as calmly as possible, and she nodded, “Don’t come in tomorrow. I’ll text you the details of your new job during the afternoon.” She nodded again, this time more fearful, but didn’t argue with me over it, something very resigned settling in her features. I figured that at this point risking losing this job without having a fall-back was the better option to dealing with the man.

The house was eerily silent while I got myself ready to leave, and I casted a few curious glances towards the closed locked door my husband disappeared behind. I was getting really fucking tired of policing everything that happened in these halls, and the prospect of this being the rest of my life made me want to burn it all down. For now though, I’d keep that in the arsenal of options.

As I was walking out of the house knowing full well where I was going, to who, and what was going to happen, I really couldn’t fucking believe I ended up having to resort to that. I kind of hated it, actually – because it felt like this was truly unescapable, like Seonghwa was right when he looked at me like he was inevitable. I hated proving him right. But if he could use me to his means, I could definitely use him for mine. At the end of the day, he did want something from me, and I could do something with that.

I haven’t been to Seonghwa’s hotel since that fateful night, but still as I walked inside the restaurant seemed almost uncannily familiar. I really didn’t want to think about that day though, so I pushed those thoughts aside and steam-rolled towards the reception.

I was worried whether Seonghwa would even be here, and what would I even tell the poor guy sitting behind the counter. How do you storm into a hotel and demand to see and speak to the owner? I kind of wished I’d exchanged numbers with him back before everything happened (though during these months I found myself grateful for not having that connection to him, I couldn’t imagine what he’d be sending me), but now suddenly asking Mrs. Park for his contact info wouldn’t go unnoticed. It’d be weird, and she’d be asking why I wanted to speak to him. No one ever wanted to speak to Seonghwa. No one ever asked for him. He just was everywhere, ready.

And it must have been some sort of black magic, some sort of a cursed sixth sense – because as I was walking up to the reception counter, preparing myself to demand to speak to him – there he was. Casually standing around talking to one of the employees. As I said – just there, ready. Like he sensed I’d be searching for him. Like he knew my life devolved into spinning in his orbit.

It was strange how quickly things could descend into madness – and I haven’t even interacted with the man for weeks at a time.

He had a small soft smile on his face, the polite kind you put on when speaking to people you didn’t know well. No matter what I thought of the man, I had to give that to him – he knew how to wear that mask. How to pretend he was human, just like everyone around him. When he looked at you with that pretty face wearing a gentle smile and spoke softly, you’d trust him with anything.

Seonghwa was what people imagined the devil to be. And I felt crazy for being the only one aware of it, like he was a blind spot. Nobody wanted to see, but I had to – I had no other choice. He showed me, he chose me to know.

The moment his eyes caught mine he was immediately tuned to me, face open and curious, painted with shock. At least I could say I surprised him once.

I walked up, and not bothering with any pleasantries just said: “I need to speak to you.”

All of the employees standing around eyed us with curiosity and interest, probably not used to their boss being spoken to in such manner. I bet most of them didn’t even know who I was, that I was technically his family. Seonghwa’s only answer was his smile shifting a little into the vaguely savage grin I was more used to, and he simply gestured for me to follow him. I did, still not saying anything further.

Seonghwa’s office was sleek and elegant, decorated minimally in mostly black and white with some warm accents to offset the emptiness. It fit him well – pretty but hollow. We both walked in confidently, acting like we were nothing more than simple acquaintances. I hoped my face didn’t betray anything, but I knew the man could probably see the anger swirling somewhere deep within me.

He knew very well what he did and what were the circumstances we parted on, it was all written into his amused smirk as he lead me down the hall.

The lock on the door clicked quietly, but I clocked it immediately, already accustomed to how he did things. This was his turf. He’d close and lock the door. No one interesting to catch the show here – quite the opposite actually. Just a bunch of people trying to make it through their shifts.

Seonghwa was already grinning as he sat down behind his dark desk, a knowing expression settled on his face. I wondered how he knew it’d end up this way. But I guess that when you have no one else you inevitably end up going to the one person you know will indulge you, no matter what.

“What can I help you with?” the cheer in his voice kind of undermined the way he tried to sound professional and business-like, and I fought off a sneer at the blatant display of giddiness. Seeing him, what I wanted to do next required to swallow down my pride, but I could do it.

It definitely wasn’t the worst thing he’s ever made me swallow.

“I need a favour,” I told him point-blank, finding no reason for beating around the bush, “No questions asked.” The man hummed, folding his hands on top of the sleek surface. He gestured for me to go on.

“What kind of favour?” I realised this might have been the only time we actually had a conversation without any sexual undertones, and the normalcy of his tone was almost weirding me out.

“You’ll employ a maid here,” I laid it out for him, giving him no space to protest (not that I thought he would, this was prime opportunity for him), “with proper rates. A good stable job.” That had Seonghwa snorting sardonically, eyes twinkling with condescension. I wasn’t sure whether it was aimed at me or Yujun, but it still made the fire within me roar with barely contained rage.

“Well, that didn’t take long,” he drawled out in that awful mocking voice, “How pregnant is she?”

“Hopefully not at all,” I glared back at him and he smirked right back.

“I see, so just preventative?” he asked jovially, white teeth flashing me with that beastly smile he so often wore.

“I couldn’t care less about what he does and with who,” I fired back immediately, feeling myself get all worked up over this again, “I’m worried about her safety.” He just hummed again, watching me for a few tense seconds, before he opened his arms wide as if stretching them.

“You know what I want in return,” he spoke it so smoothly, like it was the easiest thing in the universe. I supposed to him it might have been, because he demanded. He wouldn’t be hit with the consequences nearly as bad. I frowned at him.

“Is there ever anything else that you think about?”

“Not with you in my sight.” His expression was playful, with a small grin pulling at his lips. Was he fucking flirting right now? Under the intensity of his gaze I couldn’t help but blush slightly at the words, but immediately cursed myself for even listening to such bullshit.

“Do I though? Know what you want?” I shot back, walking a little away from the table to look at the shelves with displayed trinkets. It was mostly photos of Seonghwa with influential people and certificates and awards the hotel won, but there was the stray flower or a piece of art. “It doesn’t feel that way to me.”

To my side the man hummed thoughtfully, leaning comfortably in his chair. “I always thought I was rather clear about that,” he rumbled back, voice taking on a little more seductive tone. But I willed myself not to buckle, not today.

“There’s a lot of people to fuck and entertain you, I’m sure they’d indulge you,” I tried and failed to keep the bitterness out of my tone, and saw Seonghwa frown slightly.

“None of them are you,” he said plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the universe.

And now it was my turn to scoff and laugh at him with scorn, lips curled in a way that betrayed just how he affected me, just how mad I was going. “Please,” I sneered at him, sharp teeth on display, “don’t make me laugh.”

Seonghwa looked at me wordlessly for a few silent moments, processing the rawness of my emotion in the face of his desire, and then he patted the table in front of him, leaning back into his chair and spreading his legs wide. I watched him for a moment.

“Come on, come here,” Seonghwa said finally when I didn’t move towards him. Seconds ticked by as we were locked in a stalemate, just watching each other – but I never saw his resolve waiver. He’d already become so confident I wouldn’t refuse he didn’t even seem to be worried about whether I’d come to him or not. I tried not to think about that as I finally moved towards the empty space with a sigh.

His hands were on my hips before my ass even hit the wood of the desk, where I leant on it in between his open legs. They reverently caressed my sides, sliding up and down gently and with devotion that put me off, knocked me slightly off kilter. I felt his warmth seep into me, the weight of his hands comforting in a way that unnerved me. I knew then, that I missed it. I felt too loose without him holding me, untethered to the ground.

I’d come to the realisation that I liked the dizziness stemming from his scorching touch.

I watched him as he lost himself to the feel of me under his hands, eyes glued to where he touched, half-lidded and wanting, shrouded in a mist of something almost adoring. My heart sped up under his attention, as it always did – and I was getting tired of the never-ending cycle of shame and guilt that would be no doubt hitting later.

He was either a damned good actor, or this was spinning out of control way too fast (like everything else in my life).

“What are you doing?” I asked the man, and the exhaustion came through in my voice, “What is all of this really about?” At first it seemed like he didn’t hear me at all. He sat still, hands in motion and gaze trained to them, like he didn’t register anything that happened outside of that. Then his hand slowly slid over to my lower abdomen, in a gesture that was by now awfully familiar and made my heart quiver with some sort of macabre suspense.

“Family,” he answered simply, eyes rising to meet mine slowly (so open and wide and telling), “Revenge.” He kept the eye contact, to a point it made me uncomfortable – and yet I couldn’t pull myself away from him, couldn’t break the connection that was struck up between us. “But you already knew that.”

“Revenge…” I tried out how the word tasted on my tongue. Like ash. Like heartbreak. Loneliness. I looked at the man and he was still watching me, steadily returning my gaze. His eyes almost felt hollow in a sense, and I felt that terrible surge of pity again.

“You want a family?” I didn’t even know what I was saying, didn’t know where I was steering this conversation – just that it was all dangerous territory. I should have already known by then. Give him an inch, and he takes a mile (and gets you pregnant). Seonghwa didn’t answer my question though, not really. He just leant in into my stomach, putting his weight on me. I fought off the instinct to bury my hands into his long locks, but I couldn’t stop them from gently settling down on his shoulders. He kept looking at me with those huge eyes, clouded with something I couldn’t quite name, and stayed stubbornly silent. I sighed.

“Why me?” That was the million-dollar question. Why me? This felt beyond what happened between us that first night. That was revenge. Whatever was happening now was a whole different beast.

“You see me.” Something scalding hot poured into my veins, like molten gold – and I couldn’t tell whether it was dread or delight.

Before I could process his words, come to terms with my whole world tilting starboard, Seonghwa was standing up. His body moulded over mine, nose bumping into my stomach and my breasts as he went up, momentarily burying into my neck before his face was suddenly all up in mine.

From this up close I could fully take in his striking features. The blemishless honey-toned skin, dark chocolate eyes, sharply cut cheekbones. The intensity of him burned from here, and I loved getting scorched. I loved the heat.

His hand came up to slowly, gently caress my face, and I let him. I held still for him, lulled in by my treacherous heart. This was all doomed, all of it and both of us. I didn’t even know if he was telling the truth. I never knew if he was telling the truth – that was the trade he was in. A double agent, always working towards some deeper harsher goal.

Nice words were weapons. Seonghwa knew how to wield them.

His thumb passed underneath my eye, pressed lightly into the soft, thin skin. His lips parted, tongue darting out to wet them. He watched the path of his fingers, hypnotised.

“Your eyes,” Seonghwa whispered to me sweetly, “they don’t look through me.” I sighed again.

“Seonghwa-“ But he didn’t let me speak – didn’t let me finish that thought. He was pressing in closer (I wasn’t even aware that was still possible), and our eyes met again.

“Just let me have this,” he said simply and then he was leaning in, lips sliding across my cheek until they found the corner of my lips and settled there gently. I had a split second to make my decision – and I did. My heart trembled and for a brief flash I thought – what about the things I want to have?

But still it wasn’t all that hard to turn my face slightly until our mouth slotted into each other, fitted like they were always meant to end up there. I was used to unyielding ferocity when it came to kissing Seonghwa, but this time he slowly dipped his tongue in my mouth as if tasting me. I matched his energy, I always did (or I tried to), and savoured him.

He kissed me like you’d enjoy fancy wines – sipping leisurely, experiencing, dipping yourself in slowly, submerging your senses in one at a time. Digging for sweetness, appreciating the sourness. I sighed and hummed into his mouth, and he swallowed that down too, like appetisers.

When his hands came up to my thighs to push me onto his table fully, I was already going myself without even needing his direction. He trained me well (history did repeat itself) – I found myself in the same position as on his father’s table all those weeks ago. But this time it was Seonghwa’s office, with his door locked and determination to see this through at an all-time high.

I also didn’t waste a second and threaded my hands into his silken shirt, pulling him with me as I used the momentum to lay down on the table. Seonghwa followed loyally, gracefully bending down to loom over me without breaking the kiss. The only evidence of the movement was the deep breath he released into my mouth as his tongue suddenly dipped deeper, and I moaned quietly into him. I felt his lips stretch into a satisfied smile, fingers digging deeper into my flesh where he clutched at me.

Feeling generous, I went with the flow without waiting for his cues, keeping him glued to me as the kiss devolved more and more into something messy and wet and loud. He shifted closer and our bodies aligned well enough for his hardening bulge to press into my core – so I did what any rational person would do in that situation. Let go of all thought and went to wrap my legs around his hips to pull him closer, feel him drag against me.

The man only chuckled in response, a light sound that carried a hint of arrogance to it (a sound I was beginning to crave), and pushed my legs away. Before I could react he was dislodging from me, pushing me into the table as he straightened and looked down at me. Excitement fizzled through me and I found his eyes easily – they read as much lust as mine must have, dripping with intent.

In a sense, it was liberating. To let go of everything, leave the world behind a door and just feel. I turned off all the things in me that related to anything in the outside world, and let him dip me into debauchery once more.

“You’re such a lazy girl,” Seonghwa whispered, teasing, “You have it too easy with me, don’t you know? I spoil you too much…” His hands slowly moved up my sides to my breasts, each grabbing one roughly, just feeling their weight. I gasped at the touch and my back arched up on instinct, pushing myself more into him. He chuckled again, this time much darker.

“Always just get on your back or your knees,” each word was underlined with a squeeze until I twisted underneath him, desperate, “Always let me do all the work. Do you think you deserve to have it so easy again?” I was barely paying attention to his words, instead focused on how his lips moved – their tantalising drawl, the way they curled so deviously, sensuously. Everything about him was so indecent, so seductive – it was enough to drive a saint mad.

And I was the farthest thing from a saint.

When I failed to respond to him, Seonghwa smirked – like that was the excuse he was waiting for – and stepped back, completely disentangling our limbs and bodies. I put all of my will into not whining for him pathetically. That would inflate his ego, and I wasn’t about to contribute to that. I already did too much for this man’s confidence.

“Get up, darling,” Seonghwa ordered, strict and no-nonsense, like a man expecting to be obeyed no matter what. And I was nothing if not eager to please. I was on my feet quickly, so quickly that my head spun for a few brief seconds and I had to clutch the table for support.

Seonghwa either didn’t notice or he didn’t care, because he was more occupied with pushing me out of the way and situating himself to sit and lay down on the table himself. With his height it was a bit of an awkward position – his feet brushed the floor in an arch that didn’t look very comfortable and his head hung over the edge on the other side, but he looked perfectly comfortable if the shit-eating grin on his face was anything to go by.

One of his hands swiftly patted his lap and he winked at me. “Come, climb on top, doll.” He wanted me to ride him on his office desk. I felt my cheeks heat up, but I still wordlessly undid my skirt and let it drop to the ground. Seonghwa’s sparkling eyes glided over the exposed skin of my legs, but I didn’t give him much chance to ogle before I was propping myself up on the table and settling down in his lap. His hands automatically shot out to grab onto my hips, and in this position I was directly on top of his now hard-rock cock.

Before I could stop myself I was gyrating on him, chasing the faint sparks of pleasure it provided. I was too tired that day to pretend I wasn’t enjoying myself, or to fight this out of some misplaced loyalty and shame. I spent months escaping this and here I was anyway, back in his grasp – so why should I care for propriety at this point?  

I set up a nice rhythm and just let myself go, let myself drown in that tidal wave of looseness of muscles and limbs that pleasure always brought on, with my head empty of all except his hands on me.

“W-what are you even talking about?” I stuttered out, eyes closed and head thrown back, living through the feeling of Seonghwa’s hands on my hips dragging me onto his cock again and again, “See you? I ca-can barely stand to look at you.” That drew a deep rumbly chuckle out of the man, so low I felt the vibrations reverberate through me where I sat on top of him.

I didn’t know why I felt the need to return to this now, but the unfinished conversation niggled at my insides – we were so close to some monumental revelation, right on the doorstep of a revolution. I couldn’t let him kiss it away.

“That’s a lie, darling, and you know it,” he purred back at me, draping me in sweet velvet as his hands moulded me to his liking, “Your eyes can’t ever stop following me when you’re with me. It’s exhilarating, knowing how much you need to see me.”

And the thing was – he was right. I never did not look at him. As soon as he entered a room, I was aware of him from beginning till end, of every little thing he did or said, even of how he breathed. How he looked when happy, when sad, when angry, when mischievous. He was like a lure – your eyes just couldn’t pull away.

A fly in a spider’s web, spun round and round and round, dazed with poison and consumed, slowly, deliciously. That’s how it felt to look into his eyes.

And yet he was right – I did it every single time.

“Then what was all the shit during the hunting trip about?” I asked breathlessly, hips stuttering as I was getting distracted again, “All the talk you did then, about owning me, huh? You always humiliate me. Scorch me and then walk away, make me feel like a piece of shit, make me feel angry. Make me hate you.”

“Welcome to my family, doll,” he sneered at me sardonically, hurt pulling at his features. So much pain and anger in one person, it almost seemed impossible – and yet here I was, face to face with it.

He beckoned me with two fingers, and like a puppet on a string I leant in towards him, settling down on him chest to chest. The scowl disappeared as quickly as it came, melted into a teasing grin while both of his hands slowly crept up my outer thigh until he was playing with the seat of my panties with his arms wrapped around the back of my thighs.

All incentive to finish the conversation left me, burying those uneasy feelings away under the wave of desire that consumed me.

I felt my core throb and squeeze at his touch, anticipatory and already slick where his fingers met with bare sensitive skin. I shuddered on him at the feather-light teasing touch, the way he skimmed around the wet pink flesh without really committing to a place to touch to drive me insane, and I throbbed even harder as another wave of slick rushed out of me.

Seonghwa took his sweet time coating his fingers in my wetness, playing around, occasionally pressing on my clit to hear me keen into his neck. The wave of want was rising in me, nothing in me but the mindless desire to feel full of him, for him to quench that need to feel pleasure from any touch he’d bestow on me.

My hips moved almost on their own, shuffling and straining to lead his fingers where I wanted them, but they stayed ever so elusive. I heard the man chuckle into my hair and rose my head to look at him.

The look in his eyes was much darker than the playful grin stretched on his lips, and that’s how I knew he’d cave in soon. Because no matter how much Seonghwa tried to keep his cool and stay in control, I saw how easily he slipped into the haze, how he lost himself in lust when a wet pussy was presented to him.

He couldn’t ever resist the pull.

And just as I thought – the moment our eyes met and the arousal flared between our gazes, his fingers were very decidedly sliding through my folds and slipping inside. He started off with two right away, and even though I’ve been getting wetter by the second, it took a bit of work to stuff them both inside – but then he took up a slow, intense pace, stroking inside with firm motions that left me feeling how the waking fire begun licking up at my tummy.

I sighed and moaned, eyes falling shut with the surge of sensations. I let my head fall back down onto his chest, burrowing into his crisp clean shirt and drowning in his spicy woodsy perfume that overwhelmed my senses.

Relief. All I could feel was immense relief, wrapped nicely in a touch of building ecstasy as Seonghwa gradually sped up his hands, fucking into me with more and more force. My pussy squeezed around the digits, felt every inch, ridge, knob. I loved the way they reached so deep inside, and I let him know by moaning out louder every time they bumped into the bundle of nerves deep inside of me, while the palm of his hand pressed down on my clit with every thrust.

I wasn’t sure if it was by the position, where I was all spread for him with my legs splayed wide over his hips with my back arched and ass on display, or by the situation itself (or because it’s been so long since I last had him), but I could feel the orgasm building in me faster than I was used to. It was honestly kind of humiliating how easily he could break me down in the most primal and primitive way the moment he got his paws on me, with nothing but a couple of well-aimed strokes.

Seonghwa didn’t seem to plan to let me have this without him though, because as soon as he felt me tightening around him as my moans carried higher and higher, he pulled his fingers out. I raised my head immediately with a disgruntled moan and it was enough to just catch a glimpse of his self-satisfied smirk before his arm sneaked around my waist and pulled me closer to his neck.

I was confused for a moment, head buried in his hair and taking in the scent of him, when I felt his hand messing around somewhere on his lap and I realised – he was trying to open his pants without pushing me away. The dress pants perfectly hugged his waist (a man like him wouldn’t wear anything that wasn’t hand-tailored to him) so I didn’t even have the sounds of a belt buckle to go off of. I only knew he succeeded when he moved both his hands down and started shuffling around to pull the pants down.

It was actually quite funny, and I released a few amused chuckles at his struggle. Which did not go unnoticed.

Before I registered him moving, I was being pulled roughly to sit on his very naked and very hard cock, the length throbbing underneath my wet core. The moment I could get any kind of stimulation again, the amusement was long forgotten and I didn’t waste a second and started writhing on top of him, jerking my hips unevenly back and forth and drenching us both in my wetness.

A half of a strangled moan escaped Seonghwa before he caught himself, hands shooting out to grab onto the meat of my hips to stop the movement. His nails dug into the skin there with the strength of his grasp, the sting heightening the pleasure and making everything richer. For a brief moment our eyes met, his darkened with so much potent lust I shuddered, and then he was pulling me up to get me on his cock.

It took a few tries and both of us were already half mindless at this point, but when I felt him slip inside it was like finally getting a sip of cold water after wandering through the desert for days, weeks. Months. Almost nine months.

It was like coming home, and I could cry with the relief.

I went to grab onto his shoulders but was met with heated fabric instead – and suddenly came to the realisation that he hasn’t undressed again. Agitated, I started tearing into his buttons, probably taking some out with the force I used to open his shirt and slide it off his shoulders and arms until the sleeves hung over the side of the table.

Seonghwa’s beautiful sculpted chest came into view, and I remembered back to that night – when we were in a similar position and he buried himself in me, in kissing me, marking me, biting me. My hands reverently glided over the darkly flushed skin, worshipping all that deadly strength hidden under the softness and grace, and the man let me. He watched me, hands pulling me firmly onto his lap, as I was swallowed into that haze.

And when I leant down to lick at the skin, he didn’t stop me. With every tentative flicker of my tongue, every shy kiss or a shallow bite I distributed, he sighed gently and stayed still, taking my worship with impatient grace.

The room was quiet except for our pronounced breathing, nothing seeping in from outside – not through the door, not through the walls. Our eyes met, my hips jumped, he groaned. There goes the silence, I thought as I swirled my hips on him, savouring the feeling of his cock lodged as deep inside me as it could go.

The table creaked and for a split second I worried if it could take us, but then Seonghwa was using his hands to help me move in little circles, subtly pulling me faster, faster, until my brain felt scrambled at how his tip grazed and pressed on the delicious little spot all the way inside me. Neither of us said anything, but neither of us broke the eye contact either. We just moved, instinct overriding all else.

His scalding hot skin underneath my body was beginning to burn into me in such a familiar way I sighed at the sensation. I closed my eyes and let the press of our bodies speak for itself, my face subconsciously finding the crook of his neck to bury myself there and cover myself in him.

My hand slid down his side, feeling each rib on its journey. Seonghwa, for someone so bitter, was always so full of life – and only here, like this with him, I could feel all that life spill into me through our touch. I never felt quite so alive as when I felt his chest expand with pleasured breaths underneath the pads of my fingers. I heard him sigh out, and something on the table cluttered. It was a soft sound. I wondered what he saw, what he looked at.

His hands on my hips tightened before they slid up and slowly tugged off my own shirt, which I completely forgot I still had on. Instead of raising my arms (which would mean not touching Seonghwa), I squirmed and wormed until it fell down my arms onto his stomach before I quickly threw it off to the side. I was expecting him to for my bra next, but he didn’t. When his hands caressed their way back down, he grabbed onto my hips with such a force I felt his fingers dig into the meat of my ass.

His hips pressed up, and where I still held onto his waist I felt his back arch off of the table lightly with such a quiet groan I would have missed it if it wasn’t for the silence in the room. And just like that fire roared in me again, arousal pouring over me like hot summer air – pushing its way into my lungs and stealing my breath, covering me whole.

I gradually sped up, kept going with every little moan it punched out of me, every sigh of pleasure it earned from him, until I was riding him in earnest to the symphony of the table shifting on the floor and the wood of it creaking softly. Until I felt his cock slide out and then hammer back in with every new maddening swirl, especially when Seonghwa started working his hips in earnest too.

That’s when I finally opened my eyes again – when his first thrust knocked the breath out of me on a surprised moan, and I scrambled to find purchase on the smooth planes of his torso. His gaze was trained on me, right where I left it, dark pupils blown wide as he took me in while I moved on top of him.

Maybe someone would call this nothing more than cheap thrills – but there wasn’t anything that felt cheap about this. It felt like more than it should have been. On the contrary, these were very expensive thrills – expensive with consequences among other things.

We fell into a rhythm very quickly, bodies moving in tandem, thrust for thrust and groan for groan. The terrible sound of wet skin clapping against wet skin thundered through the office, but I didn’t have it in me to feel embarrassed about anyone outside hearing. Not when I heard that desperate edge in Seonghwa’s moans, not when I felt myself squeeze again and again around his throbbing length, when it filled me so good, when the pleasure was making it hard to think of anything at all.

I was blanking, mind wiped of anything other than his dark eyes boring into me. Seonghwa rearranged his grip on my hips and then he was railing into me from bellow, punching desperate moans out of my throat. I let gravity help me, pull me down onto his cock, and his hands to pull me back up, only to drop me down once more. The force of it all turned everything very loud, the quiet atmosphere now broken with how close we were to ruining each other.

Though Seonghwa would no doubt argue that he’s already ruined me a long time ago, the silly egotistic man he was.

The dark-haired man groaned very loudly, completely unabashed in his pleasure. I felt his fingers slip around with sweat, I even felt it trickling down my back, felt it where my ass met his thighs, felt it clinging to my pubes, to my arousal. I could smell it on us, in the air. Saw it wetting his hair when I finally brought myself to focus back on him.

Seonghwa glistened, and the desk shook, and our eyes rolled back, and the pleasure built. It was all so overwhelming. So close to bursting. I always felt close to bursting at the seams around Seonghwa. 

One of his hands slipped down between us to bump around my pussy and press onto my clit, but it was so hard to do with the pace and the wild thrashing of our bodies, so it only served to tease me more than offer relief. I still took it, happily, needily.

“You know, though-“ Seonghwa gasped out – and here it was again. His never tired mouth, so eager to spill all those truths the moment he got his cock in me, always needing to share, to be heard. And I listened. “You know…hhhng- that you’re mine.”

The way we breathed so hard prevented me from reacting in any way except for my eyes snapping to his blown-out ones. They were wide and honest, a mockery with almost a touch of desperation. But so, so open in a way only sex could bring out.

“I don’t- belong to anyone,” I struggled to speak through the rising fire consuming me from the inside out, I could feel my climax building with every thrust, every stroke, every time his cock hit me just right. Seonghwa’s expression betrayed just how close he was getting too – not even the cocky smirk he tried to send me could hide how his lips curved into moans, or the way his hazy eyes slipped closed ever so often.

My thighs were killing me, burning and screaming with every movement, but the peak was just there, right around the corner. I gritted my teeth and ground down with determination. Seonghwa’s grip tightened and the man groaned desperately, eyes almost gone, but soon his mouth was running again.

“Y-you don’t have to wear my mark- to- to- know it’s there,” as he pushed the sentence out through the strain, his chin jerked to where my hand laid on his frantically jumping chest. The one where I wore my rings, which glittered under the light and shone with beautiful contrast to his honey skin.

I wanted silver. I liked it more. It was the only thing that went my way this marriage. The only thing in which someone cared for my opinion. I watched the diamond sparkle as my hand slipped on his sweaty chest. I could see his wild eyes trained on me obsessively from the corner of my eye, taking in my reaction.

I willed my hips to slow down, to take their time and leisurely bounce in his lap, but the intensity of the encounter still continued rising, and at this point there wasn’t anything any of us could have done to stop our oncoming orgasms. Seonghwa’s brows furrowed together and his breath hitched, but he quickly matched my tempo. The force of his thrusts were still enough to knock groans out of me on every stroke, and now with us going slower it’s like I felt his cock even more viscerally.

It was so hard to think about anything else, my mind was overheating under Seonghwa’s skilful hands. The man was too good at reducing me into a mindless animal, swaying and writhing on him with only goal in my mind – and the singular consolation prize was that he was just as gone, face flushed and eyes dazed.

“You- you k-know,” I stuttered out, pushing my brain to work so I could push this weight back onto him, to get back at him as always – cause that’s what we did, we provoked the other until we hit a truth that then couldn’t be hidden anymore, and everything became much too real. And I was about to do it again – unleash something that deep down we both must have realised long ago, but haven’t spoken into existence yet.

“You know, that even if- you get me preg-nant,” my tongue and lips were not cooperating with me, so heavy and useless with the bliss coursing through my veins I could barely stammer the sentence out, “it won’t- it won’t be your child.” It was a whole mouthful, but so was Seonghwa.

The man’s eyes ignited with something that made me shiver, that put a little bit of fear back in my heart when it started growing so comfortable with the pity he elicited. It’s like he kept tricking me into forgetting what he did, what kind of person he was. And I kept falling for it, until the wolf under his skin showed his teeth again and I knew, that I fell deeper each time.

Seonghwa’s hands came back to grip my hips, harder this time, until his fingers dug deep into the soft skin and flesh there, like he was clawing at me. I released a whimper at that, and my hips stuttered, almost distracting me from what I was trying to do with my words – and he knew that, that arrogant fucker.

He pulled me onto himself harder, slamming me onto his cock as he thrusted up, his tip ramming into the sweet spot. The room was overcome with the squelching sound of my wet pussy as he pounded away, the slapping of damp skin and my moans hitting crescendo.

This orgasm felt like a freight train, rushing towards me where I laid tied up on the tracks. I knew it would hit me with a force that would tear me apart, I knew it was inevitable and so close. My stomach tightened and cramped, pussy pulsated. I felt his cock throb too, almost bursting. Everything around me sped up, twisted around, melted and deformed. I could feel my world getting crushed under the pull of Seonghwa’s specific brand of ecstasy.

“But I’ll know,” the man under me rushed out, eyes blown wide and so, so wild. Our gazes met and it was like everything snapped into place, I couldn’t pull away from him even if I wanted to. Our bodies collided, again and again, and again. I couldn’t hold back my moans, feeling the pleasure rush through me, faster and harder, making my blood boil in my veins.

One of my hands slipped down between our bodies, desperate to give me the last push I needed, to continue where Seonghwa left off. He didn’t care for it, didn’t smirk or grin, didn’t chastise me, no smart remark or anything. His whole body shook beneath me, just as desperate as mine to finally hit that high.

“We’ll know,” he gasped out just as I felt myself slam into it, bliss pouring over me and burning me to crisp, like a lightning hitting me. My thighs shook and my toes curled, as I cried out loud enough to have the whole building hear. I didn’t care, not when Seonghwa’s gaze was still on me, still drinking everything in, hungrily scarfing down all my expressions and sounds, or the way my pussy squeezed around him in a way I knew drove him absolutely crazy.

“We’ll know,” he groaned again and finally his eyes rolled back in bliss, mouth open on his beautiful high-pitched moans. His cock twitched and spurted inside me, filling me with warmth, with life. But I still didn’t stop my hips, like I ran on residual energy and the inertia pushed me forward until I milked him of everything he had. His hips strained too, instinctually driving deeper as he spilled himself, pushing me onto him to prevent me from bucking off his cock.

The table absolutely shook under us, creaking for its damn life, before we both hit stop and fell down, tired and sweaty and breathy, a tangle of wet limbs and hair. The room smelt kind of horrendous, but I hardly cared with my faced plastered to Seonghwa’s chest that jumped up and down jerkily with every desperate breath he drew in.

I was almost surprised there wasn’t steam rising from our bodies, because the heat was encompassing, settling over us alongside the calm and stillness that overtook everything; now that all the energy was released.

As soon as I started being more aware, I realised that Seonghwa’s hands were now mindlessly caressing over my hips and back, fingertips lazily pressing patterns into my heated flushed skin. We both still tried to catch our breaths, and I found myself guiltily liking the way we rose and fell in tandem with each other, making me think back to that expensive bathroom – to the way Seonghwa’s eyes reflected so much pleasure, like I was the one touching him and not the other way around. A hive mind of bliss.

And thinking back to that time, today I couldn’t quite bring myself to pull away like I did then, full of anger and frustration. I liked the way Seonghwa coddled me after, how he held me close. Like this mattered, like we mattered. Like we weren’t two absolute fuck-ups playing with something way beyond our powers. Well, maybe not beyond his powers, but I surely felt like a fish out of water here.

Neither of us said anything, the silence stretching to a point that we both knew it was a conscious decision instead of a by-product of our little tryst. I could feel the way the dark-haired man’s fingers stilled here and there, as if waiting for me to tear myself away and march out of this room, like I would have in the past. Like I should have, really.

The position couldn’t have been comfortable for him at all, with this head and legs hanging off awkwardly off the desk, but he didn’t seem to be too perturbed by that. Quite on the contrary – there was something almost content about the way he messed with my hair and hummed under his breath more to himself, almost as if forgetting I could hear him.

Once again I got the all-consuming premonition that this was about more than just envy and revenge. Something changed. Something. During the first night, his eyes spewed hate, and his tongue spat pure poison all nicely wrapped up in sweetness. He aimed to hurt, to humiliate, to let me know just what he thought of us both and what this was about for him.

Today his hands gripped at me with air of possessiveness and pride.

That thought was what finally propelled me to get up from him, even though the way our skin peeled away from each other where it matted together by dried sweat actually made me sad to be losing that contact, and the movement only ended up pushing me further into his lap and onto his soft cock.

There was a sigh from the man, one that wordlessly spoke of the same regret I was beginning to feel over tearing the comfort away, but otherwise Seonghwa continued to hold his tongue, not losing a single sentence. He watched me though, as he so often did and as I so often tried to ignore (even though I already knew that was an impossible task).

Somewhere in the room a phone started vibrating, generating a loud and distracting hum as it skittered off over the floor. None of us looked towards it, we just sat there and pretended we weren’t casting curious glances towards each other, asking what now.

Seonghwa’s hands settled over my hips again, gripping and pushing again, and then I could feel it – his cock slowly twitching back to life, valiantly fighting to harden again. I rolled my eyes at him and scoffed, and he only grinned. It felt too light of an interaction, and that was wrong.

The last words he said slammed into me like a brick wall, suddenly and overwhelmingly, and my heart stopped for a moment when I finally found the brain power to dissect them. My pussy longingly throbbed over his length, and Seonghwa groaned lightly, but I still forced myself to move up and start climbing off.

I caught a glimpse of Seonghwa’s confused eyes before he scrambled to follow after me.

“What-“ his words got interrupted by the phone setting off again, loudly demanding attention with an incoming call. With a bit of start I realised it must have been my phone, since the noise was coming from the direction of my discarded handbag. That couldn’t mean anything good.

No one ever called me for anything good.

I ignored whatever it was Seonghwa was about to try and bend me to his will with and moved to go get it, only for him to swiftly plaster himself completely to my back, naked skin to naked skin. He must have lost the pants somewhere along the way, and his fingers were already sneaking up to undo my bra while his other arm snaked around my waist to steer me back to the table. Only now he was pushing me to bend over it, just like I was expecting him to do back when he first beckoned me to come closer.

Maybe that’s why I went so easy.

So easy, it was so easy to let myself be pushed into the wood, so easy to wordlessly spread my legs wider before he even pressed closer, so easy to clench around his thickness when he effortlessly slid back in without an ounce of resistance.

So easy to cry out softly with the first thrust and sigh under the gentle patterns his hands drew into my back and hips. Any rational thought I managed to cling onto in those precious moments between the all-consuming inferno that our interactions always devolved into, those where all gone now, pouring out through my ears while the lust and arousal flared up so intensely it choked me up. Or it might have been the way Seonghwa wasn’t pulling any punches now that he was back in power.

The phone started vibrating and humming for the third time before it fell silent for good, but all I could see behind my eyelids was Seonghwa’s face as he was cumming under me with a smart retort still hanging onto his lips. I had a feeling the way his hips rammed into me now was the new smart retort, this one very pointedly telling me it’s no use trying to run away from the pleasure.

And even now he wasn’t holding back on those sounds, letting it all flow out his mouth freely and unabashedly, like he craved the whole hotel to know just how much he was enjoying fucking me behind everybody’s back. The way he was holding onto me, pushed me into the wood, pinned me under his weight, and I just stood there with quivering trembling legs and let him ravage me, unsure whether the wetness sliding down my thighs was a new wave of arousal or his previous load. I thought to myself that he probably liked having me that way, but then all thoughts melted away and all that was left was pure bliss.

This time things were escalating even faster, spiralling into another mind-numbing climax before I even really had time to process the situation we found ourselves in. It was like I was three times as sensitive, especially to the way he clung onto me desperately, like he couldn’t handle the thought of me walking away before giving him a full chance to take me as many times as our bodies could take.

This time around Seonghwa fucked me like he wanted to prove himself to me, and I found I might have been a little too receptive to that from how fast I was ready to come around his cock again.

Then, the landline on the table started ringing, and ice filled my veins. This was no coincidence.

Seonghwa didn’t even stutter in his pace as he leant over me to reach it, and for a few seconds I fell into the wishful thinking that he was just going to decline the call. But then the click of the phone being picked up rung through my ears and I damn near held my breath.

Suddenly I was hyper aware of all the sound in the room – the still creaking desk, though it was much quieter than when we laid on it, the absolutely debauched wet squelch as Seonghwa happily pounded away into me, the way our breathing couldn’t quite hide the exertion. There was no way the person on the other side wouldn’t be able to pick up on these, but I still prayed.

“Yeah?” Seonghwa already sounded so incriminatingly breathy with that one word, and I squeezed my eyes shut while I willed myself to keep completely silent. Then he was chuckling. The phone hit the table next to me, and I was suddenly able to faintly hear the man on the other side.

“Was Y/N there today?” Yujun growled into the receiver in his usual irritable tone. My heart dropped. What the fuck was Seonghwa doing?

I flailed under him as quietly as I could without actually audibly panicking, but he only leant on me harder, keeping me still and pushed into the table as his hips took on a much harder pace, taking the time to pull out almost all the way before slamming in hard enough to have me knocking into the wooden edge in a way that elicited both a tang of pain and boundless pleasure. Stars danced in front of my eyes and my hands shot out to grab onto the opposite edge to ground myself against the onslaught of sensations, internally cursing Seonghwa to high heaven and back.

“She was,” the man in question answered, and I imagined he’d be giving me a cheeky look, lips turned into a satisfied smirk, if we were facing each other. Instead I focused on pushing my face harder into the unyielding wood, hoping to at least muffle myself a little bit. Somehow, it felt like that only made it worse though.

I was surprised Yujun didn’t notice the huskiness of Seonghwa’s voice, didn’t hear how winded he was getting, how he was fighting to not trip over his tongue, didn’t hear the panting in-between his words. Or maybe it was just me who was always so tuned in to him, who couldn’t not notice every single thing he did.

I wondered how he looked right now. What was the expression on his face. Did his lips curl in a manner that was much crueller than when he spoke to me? Did his eyes look at me like we were both in on the secret and not like I was the tool?

(How did he truly feel about me?)

“She left right after she asked her favour,” Seonghwa said next, tone as level as he could hold with his hips still wildly pistoning into me, and I swallowed down the gasp of surprise at him lying for me. I didn’t think he’d sell me out, but straight up lying that I had already left? I wasn’t expecting him to go the extra mile.

On the other hand, if he wanted me to carry his child and pass it off as Yujun’s, he couldn’t exactly have the man know this was going on.

There was a beat of silence on the line before a bit of a technical buzz carried through, along with the man’s angry inhale.

“And did you grant her the favour?”

I wished so bad I could have seen Seonghwa and not be buried head first into his desk. I tried to turn around, just enough to catch a glimpse, but he was still pinning me to the wood, now almost mindlessly that he was focused elsewhere. His hips slowed down too, shallowly fucking into me and using just enough force to tease the current of pleasure underneath the surface. For the first time I didn’t think he was doing it on purpose, not when I felt his fingers twitch with annoyance where he held me.

“Of course I did,” Seonghwa’s tone was stone-cold, cold enough to almost instinctively make me shiver. I’ve never heard him like that, he always put on his ass-kissing tone whenever he spoke in front of his family. He sounded sleazy, maybe, but never this hostile.

It reminded me of our first night, when he’d get angry with me for mentioning his brother. I guess that was just a bit of his true self he didn’t mind showing. Though, through today I’ve probably seen a couple of other parts too – oh, the privilege.

Yujun on the other side growled, frustration dripping off of him even through a phone. “Stay the fuck out of my family’s business,” he gritted through his teeth, and I imagined his handsome face all screwed up in a grimace. When he acted like a petulant child, he just had this look about him, and I couldn’t unsee it. Somehow he even looked like a five-year-old throwing a fit, it was crazy. And hilarious. When it wasn’t happening to me.

Seonghwa wasn’t as amused as me though, that much was clear from the shaky inhale I heard behind me. His hips even jerked forward with that sudden rush of anger, and I bit my lip until I swore I could feel it tear to stop myself from moaning out loud.

I fucking couldn’t understand how he kept his composure.

“Your family’s business? I’m family too, Yujun, be so kind to remember it,” Seonghwa spit out with vitriol I haven’t witnessed from him yet – I was slowly beginning to realise that what I thought was his worst behaviour might have been him being nice, actually, “And it’s good that I took care of it, before it became a problem. Who do you think would end up having to deal with it anyway once your mother caught wind of what was going on?”

But those words were fighting words, and they had the stick in Yujun’s ass on fire real quick. With the sound of violent movement on the other side of the line, I was pretty sure that had this been a face-to-face conversation, he’d be throwing a punch right about now. My husband just was that way, always hitting first and thinking later. And Seonghwa just seemed really good at pushing the wrong buttons.

“You? Family? A fucking half-blooded mutt off the streets?” now this was real anger in Yujun’s voice, coming from a deep dark ugly place inside him, a place that grew from being coddled too much while being hated at the same time. “You’ll always be beneath me, Seonghwa, you better remember that.”

All the tension and air I’ve been holding back released in a barely audible gasp at the turn of the conversation. Seonghwa behind be grinded to a halt, like the meaning of the words took a second to truly catch up to him. Silence took over, deep uncomfortable tense quiet that settled over us like a blanket made of sharp rocks, and for a moment nothing moved. I didn’t even dare to breathe.

“I would have dealt with it myself.” My husband’s grating voice cut through the atmosphere, completely oblivious to the bomb he set off on my side of things. A conceited arrogant little tiger, pissing into a dragon’s river.

“I know what it looks like when you ‘deal’ with things,” the dark-haired man’s response was scathing in tone, condescending and full of scorn, but it did set him back into motion. I didn’t realise the intent behind his hips in that second, but I knew exactly what he was trying to do a moment later when suddenly they barrelled into me with such force I felt my entire core squeeze down and ignite through the torrent of painful pleasure.

Even the best trained soldier wouldn’t be able to keep that moan from clawing its way out of their throat. It rang through the room, loud and clear and desperate, as my head spun with barely contained delirium, followed by a quieter drawn out whine when the man took the opportunity to grind his hips into me and torture that sweet receptive spot even more.

He himself released a little pleased sigh, like he was also finally more attuned to the burning need for stimulation after teasing it out for the both of us to fight with his fucking brother over the phone.

Mortification set in, rapidly growing into anger like I haven’t felt in a while. That fucking dick did that on purpose. He wanted to get back, and he fucking played with both of our lives – I could even almost remember the exact moment he decided what he’ll do out of pettiness – when he took a breath right before speaking.

I wanted to turn around and hit him, to push him away and scream at him, to pull his beautiful fucking hair and spit on him, but Seonghwa did no longer care for the phone call and pounded away, chasing that rush and unabashedly groaning at every squeeze my cunt gave him. And all that came out of my mouth instead of screams were angered moans.

“You fucking pig,” I heard Yujun spit out in disgust, his voice buried under the hum in my ears, the crackling of pleasure overriding my brain, head stuffed full of cotton and no thoughts beyond finally getting that second orgasm.

I didn’t even notice when the line started beeping, signalling the call had been ended, not when Seonghwa was suddenly pressed into my back, cackling like a fucking maniac – like he didn’t just gamble with everything for the cheap satisfaction of pissing off his brother. My lips pulled into a grimace, teeth snapping through the groans as I was so mad, so mad I could cry, burst out, but I just couldn’t stop chasing that high.

I would have fucking died for the bliss he offered.

“What kind of a husband,” Seonghwa gasped into my ear gleefully, “doesn’t recognise his wife’s moans?” There was a murmur of something more, but I couldn’t make it out through my insides melting under him.

“Yujun- Yujun’s never fucked me,” I gritted through my teeth, words moulded around moans and sighs. I felt the table move and shake under us, especially since Seonghwa’s been just gaining speed and power, pounding away until I was so overwhelmed with all my senses I fought to just get those words out. “O-only you, only- you-“

I had no idea why I felt the need to emphasise that – out of all of the things I wanted Seonghwa to hear, the ones that would make him even bolder definitely weren’t the ones that should have been falling from my lips. But then he gasped behind me, growling so low in his throat it sounded like a prattling purr, and I was lost to my spinning head once more.

I felt his hands tighten around my hips, felt his burning body, sweaty chest melted into my back, muscles on his thighs jumping with every thrust that sent them hitting into mine. His winded breath in the crook of my neck, slick lips sliding over the skin in a messy half-kiss.

“O-only me,” the words sounded like they were punched out of him, and he pressed closer, desperate to merge into me, make us two parts of a whole – something no one else in our lives ever gave us before, something no amount of discount affection could buy – something only him promised with the fire behind his eyes.

I arched under him, presenting to him and pushing back into his thrusts, eyes rolled back and a continuous ringing sounding through my ears.

“Only me!” he might have been shouting, but it felt like a whisper against my overloaded senses, I felt it more than heard it, before the orgasm was slamming into me violently and robbing me of the last breath I had left. I registered my mouth opening on a wheezing scream, I felt my toes curl where they dug into the floor, hands clasped into the wood of the desk where I had to be leaving imprints and scratches at this rate.

My whole body seized as ecstasy exploded over me and everything went white for a few seconds. I distantly registered Seonghwa’s hips jerking as he pumped me full of his cum for the second time, his damp breaths hitting my back where he laid his sweaty face onto my shoulder blades.

I felt melted. When the waves of the climax finally started mellowing, leaving me standing on shaky legs with my fingers hurting and red from how hard I gripped the table. I was sliding on the smooth surface, feeling an immense heat coming from inside, while my skin started feeling the coldness of the air in the room.

Where Seonghwa touched, everything felt even more amplified, but I was relieved to hear he was just as wrecked by this experience. It was easy to tell – the man that was all about composure and staying in control was crumpled behind me, panting heavily and mumbling something I was too fried to comprehend.

It took us a long time before either of us felt composed enough to talk – at some point Seonghwa gathered enough wit and energy to move us into his chair, and I found myself in his lap, back to stomach, heart to ribs, mouth to ear. And we just sat silently, soaking in the atmosphere.

I knew something heavy was about to be said. Or done. A world was about to crash down, and we sat there, naked and blissed out, careless and cruel and stupid. His fingers curled in my hair, pushing the strands around gently. I didn’t know Seonghwa was capable of gentleness, not true gentleness at least.

I didn’t want to look at him, I didn’t want to see the expression he wore on his face. I wasn’t sure what it would be, but I knew seeing it would change something in me, and I didn’t want that. I was quite comfortable in my well, but what laid beyond the walls – that was all wilderness, all Seonghwa. He prowled those parts, like a hungry desperate wolf.

But maybe I had more dog in me than I thought.

Maybe he was right, and maybe he saw the same beastliness flash in my own eyes when he looked at me. Maybe that’s why he never looked away. Even now, I could feel his eyes burning into the side of my face, always so starved of attention.

“That was more than reckless,” I whispered finally, breaking the pattern of soft breathing that was filling the room with at least some presence, “that was dangerous, Seonghwa. Stupid.” I felt something clawing at my throat, some emotion I wanted to swallow. Desperation and disappointment – that for every revealed truth, there was an act of madness, for every inch given a mile was taken.

The man rumbled beneath me, but otherwise showed no indication that my words even reached his ears. My heart sank. If my life became the equivalent of being stuck on a deserted island, why was this the man that had to sink with me?

“He’s never fucked you?” he asked only, something almost proud shining through in his voice and I sighed.

“No.” Petulantly I didn’t want to give him more if he didn’t even work for it a little bit. I only got a chuckle in response.

“He’s been bragging about it, you know? About fucking you almost every night,” Seonghwa stated, hand now idly tapping small rhythms into the meat of my thigh. Something bitter crept into his voice. I rolled my eyes.

“Of course, that’s what he does,” I spat out, not giving a shit about censoring myself about the kind of feelings I had when it came to my husband. After all, if there was anyone who’d understand, it would regrettably be Seonghwa. “He’s never even come close.”

I stilled a little in his arms, deliberating. The words sat at the tip of my tongue, the admission of what I’ve been doing ready to slip out, but I hesitated. Seonghwa sat beneath me, patiently waiting. But really, what was one more leap of faith?

“I give him pills,” I confessed, for the first time putting my actions into words and speaking them out into the universe, “they knock him out. Then I just lie in the morning.”

A beat of silence, and then he was laughing – slow and disbelieving at first, but gradually gaining in volume and mirth as the words set in. I felt him shake whole, vibrating with joy. I did feel a bit of shame, but mostly at admitting something so embarrassing to him. His hand came up to caress at my cheek, and I let him.

“My my, you’re definitely very resourceful,” something to genuine happiness shined through his tone, and the warmth it spilled into my chest legitimately surprised me. This wasn’t that kind of affair, never would be. Still, even those feelings opened a pool of acid in my stomach, I couldn’t make myself move, to pull out of his willing arms.

Everything felt so different from our two other encounters, and I was so confused. I couldn’t even tell if this was real, or if I was just dumb and desperate enough to fall for anything.

I didn’t try to chastise him again, I knew there was no point. He’d only hear what he wanted to hear, so I just let it go and swallowed my feelings down. Like I always ended up doing.

Seonghwa chuckled, purred, and I spiralled.

When I got home that evening, it was with an achy back and an armful of shopping bags just in case. I doubted Yujun really cared about where I was, but since I was ignoring his phone calls the whole afternoon, I wanted at least a bit of reassurance I’d have an alibi to fall back on.

Coming back to a silent house knowing it wasn’t empty was quite depressing. The tension was thick in the air, the unsaid words painted all over the walls, soaked into the carpets and carved into the wooden furniture. They’d most likely find their way into my ears, if not today, then definitely later – throughout my very long, very unhappy life and marriage.

Shockingly I found Yujun sitting in his office. All I saw was a glimpse of his angry face through the open doors as I passed on the way to the bedroom, and I already knew tonight wasn’t going to go very well. I took my time changing into comfortable home clothes, ignoring streaks of dried cum coating my thighs, or the way I could still almost smell and taste Seonghwa on my skin.

I needed a shower. I needed to not feel him anymore.

When I walked out, Yujun was already waiting for me leaning on the doorframe of his office, watching me darkly. It wasn’t a suspicious gaze, I had no reason to suspect he knew, but I still felt my heart stutter and my palms grow clammy.

It was impossible to hate Seonghwa when he was with me, but it was impossible to not when I was faced with the consequences of his rashness. His eyes haunted me, flashing through my mind that last tender look as I was walking out of his office, the one that almost sold it to me. The one that almost felt like…

Yujun cleared his throat, and I pulled my attention to him, willing my eyes to look and see him, and not his brother.

“So this is how it’s gonna be now?” I turned my head to him fully, cocked to the side like I was trying to figure him out, like his anger was puzzling to me.

“What exactly are you talking about?”  I tried to respond as neutrally as possible, giving the man an unimpressed look. He didn’t like that very much, it turned out.

“You have no right to stick your nose into my business,” he seethed, taking a few threatening steps towards me, finger in the air pointing my way. His words sounded suspiciously close to what he told Seonghwa, but I buried the memory away as soon as it appeared. I stumbled a couple steps back, heart palpitating in fear, but I doubted he’d actually do anything. “If I knew you were gonna be a fucking cockblocker, I’d be having way less fun where you could see. Funny, I didn’t take you for the jealous type.”

That had my hackles rising too, real quick, and I barrelled the few steps I took back towards him, my own face screwed up in a grimace.

“I don’t give a shit who you fuck, Yujun,” I spat at him, pointing right back, “I don’t give a shit where or when or how you do it. But I’m not going to stand by when you harass our staff. Our staff! If you want to be a fucking pig, do it outside!”

To this, he said nothing. He just stared at me, his red angry face twitching as I refused to back down. Seconds ticked by tensely, like sand trickling through an hourglass, so palpable and concrete I could feel it physically. We were closer to each other than we’ve probably ever been, and I was not enjoying myself. But thankfully, neither seemed to be Yujun, cause only a couple moments later he scoffed and walked away without a single word. It was only when he reached the door to his office that he turned around with a scathing look and said: “The only thing I’m curious about, my dear wife, is who you’re fucking.”

Then he was gone with a slam of the door, swallowed by the room in a blink of an eye. I could feel my heart beating out of my chest, beating so hard I was having trouble catching my breath where I felt it pounding against the bones. I was dizzy, barely able to tell up from down when I stumbled back into my bedroom.

I thought that Yujun must have had his suspicions, but this felt like a warning. And my husband felt reckless in a way that Seonghwa couldn’t rival either – it always felt more chaotic, like he could take out anybody without a single care. There was at least a semblance of order in what Seonghwa did, even if it made sense only to him. With Yujun though, once he got that look in his eyes, anything could happen.

And I didn’t know if he was warning me because he wanted to scare me, or because he had found out. My only consolation was that if he did know, he’d probably blow up all our lives for it. Petulantly angry Yujun, silent treatment Yujun, those were positive signs.

The following weeks didn’t treat me very kindly. The constant stress of the tense atmosphere in our house was taking its toll on me, even though my husband went back to spending most of his time elsewhere and only returning home to sleep off hungovers or to be a cloud of misery and scare off our personnel.

I constantly felt sick, shaky and tired. I barely slept, I was paler than usual and found myself frequently lost in thoughts. My mother kept getting upset with me over it, so at least something in my life hasn’t changed.

Seonghwa disappeared again.

Yujun hasn’t entered the bedroom since I first found out about the maid, and while I viewed that as something positive, it turned out – fate and life aren’t as easy as that. You should always remember. Whenever you least expected, even the best of things can turn around and fuck you over.

A little over a month after this encounter, after a month of a silent home, tense angry glares, hate and spite, my nausea kept escalating until I was forced to visit a doctor by my mother, who was worried that if I was seriously ill, my chances of pregnancy would decrease even more drastically. Always so lovely to know your family cared for your health.

That’s why she was there though, that fateful day.

Not wanting to die just yet, I did go to my doctor at her insistence and asked for complete bloodwork tests to be done. I had no idea I was about to step into the biggest trap of my life, when I walked in a week later, mother in tow, mumbling something under her breath – something no doubt very not nice or polite, knowing her – and so I ignored her.

When it came time to enter the office, I reluctantly let her tag along as my doctor gathered the needed documents. In those few last moments of quiet and calm, we both shuffled around the room looking at the displayed posters and models, trying our best to not converse with each other.

Then the doctor walked back in, and something in her wide blinding smile already put me on the edge. Bad premonition settled into my stomach, further aggravating the sensitive organ until I almost felt I might need to go throw up right there and then. I took that feeling of sickness and clung onto it, keeping it rolling through me to remind myself why I was here – because I was tired of feeling ill all the time.

Still, in that moment, irrationally I couldn’t help but think of Seonghwa and his fascinated eyes when he watched me get bred by him, and I felt my heart squeeze with anxiety. I shook it off and took the offered chair, my mother still leisurely walking around the room for a moment longer before she found the appropriate amount of attention was on her and sat down.

The doctor just watched us happily for a moment, happily shuffling the papers around, before she energetically clapped her hands together, making me jump slightly in my seat.

“Congratulations, Miss Jang,” she exclaimed cheerily, and I felt like I got sprayed with a bucket full of ice cold water, all at once freezing in my chair completely. My mother still hasn’t caught on, thinking she might be congratulating me for being healthy, but I knew. I walked in with a bad feeling, I walked in thinking of the man who talked about nothing else but getting me pregnant – I knew already what she was going to finish her sentence with.

“It must be very happy news for you, since I see here that you got recently married!” the doctor continued full of joy, completely oblivious to the two very different reactions going on in front of her.

“Oh!” my mother blurted out, finally catching on to what the doctor was trying to say in the most elaborate way ever, “Oh, Y/N!” For the first time in months true joy spread through her expression, and it made me feel sicker than I already was. I guess two people were getting what they wanted, then.

“Yes, congratulations,” the doctor repeated, again, and finally said the quiet part out loud, “You’re pregnant! It might be a recent development, I’ll make you an appointment with our clinic’s gynaecologist, he’s the very best in the game.”

At this point my mother was excitedly prattling off something, looking at me with relief as she took the news in. She started asking something about that doctor, but I could barely comprehend what was going on.

All I saw in front of my eyes was Seonghwa. What would he say? How would he react? Christ, what about Yujun – he knew we hadn’t slept together in weeks, maybe he even started suspecting it’s been months. He alluded to me having an affair. He’ll fucking kill me once he finds out.

This was the moment I realised I was sitting in a car just about to drive off a bridge. Time stopped, and I just stared over the edge, to the abyss below. In my mind I was there, tasting the damp air on my tongue. Everything was caving in. I felt my chest squeeze tighter and tighter until I couldn’t breathe.

My mother tugged at my arm and said something, but I didn’t hear a single word, so I just nodded. She smiled and pulled out her phone, almost instantly excitedly running her fingers over the keyboard. Great. God.

What was I supposed to do now?

As I sat there and watched her shoot a message after message, press call and boast to everyone, only one thought dominated my mind.

I had to speak to Seonghwa. As soon as possible.

thank you for reading, darlings! let me know in the comments/reblogs or through asks if you liked the story! i love reading your opinions and general screaming into the void haha!

♡ master taglist ♡

@afangirl91 @bear-hugs-and-kisses @luuucifer-writes @anjoellamorte @ami7-12bts

@thenaverse @shakespeare-in-the-park7 @karinaever @anaspectoflife @luvly-angel

@sousydive @goldietigers294

[morganaawriterr]

His brown eyes; Park Sunghoon

SYNOPSIS ➺ You no longer recognize Sunghoon’s eyes. They used to be full of love, and now, are empty and numb. In the forest with him you soon find out why they have changed so much.

REQUEST ➺ For this sweet girl @semi-wife! Her bundle was: Lapis Lazuli (Sunghoon). The devil (Cursed bond). Moon water + clove (Vampire). Dark romance. “I’d burn the world to have you.”. “Your soul was never yours to begin with.”

WARNINGS ➺ blood; death; very angsty because I got carried away; cursed bond;

Check out "Enchanted Corner" to see the original post with the rules to make a request yourself!

You stand tall in front of your lover, eyes locked with his, though you can’t seem to recognize him anymore. Sunghoon’s eyes are the same dark brown that you’re used to, but something is missing. Behind those beautiful irises that you love so much, there is nothing. They look empty and soulless, like he isn't capable of feeling anything.

The full moon is bright and glistening, reflecting its blueish glow down on the dense woods where you two are. The noise is all around you, in the wind brushing against the leaves, the cicadas, and the owls. All these sounds are loud and deafening as you face Sunghoon in silence.

“I never knew it would come to this…” he started, his voice failing him.

You have never seen him like this, hesitant and afraid. His gaze avoids yours as he speaks, as if he's trying to make it easier for himself.

Inside, guilt is destroying him. Now he knows why you and he are cursed. And he also knows what he has to do to stop the curse, and it makes him sick to his stomach. Sunghoon recognizes it won't be easy, but he also understands that it’s what must happen so he can love you in peace.

“What are you talking about?” you inquire, confused. Your skin shivers as the icy breeze brushes against your bare arms.

“The curse,” he begins again, eventually looking into your face. “You and I are cursed because of your past life. A life where you left a powerful vampire behind to be with me. You don’t remember, but I do. You left the wedding ceremony and came back to me. And when we were planning to run away together, he found us and killed you with an arrow. But it wasn't just an arrow! He asked a shaman to curse it.”

The vampire’s words hit you like a punch in the stomach. You don’t want to believe any of it, but your body seems to recognize his truth, because all of a sudden, it feels hard to breathe. Your throat knots, suffocating you, as if you weren’t supposed to know any of this.

“Sunghoon…” you whisper, voice low. “That can't be true—”

“I watched you die so many times. First, by an arrow. Then, you had a terminal disease. And now, only fate knows what will happen to you if we don’t break this curse.”

He speaks slowly, but he feels as though he is going to explode. It isn’t easy to meet you over and over again, to fall in love all those times, and then watch you die before he can make you his. And it kills him.

“How can we break it?” you ask, stepping closer, needing to feel his cold skin against yours to soothe your nerves.

“I have to kill you.”

The way he said it, so calmly and without hesitation, sends a shiver down your spine. You gasp, tears forming in your eyes. The step you took forward is followed by two steps back. He doesn’t dare to look at you as his words hang in the air like a promise.

“Sunghoon…” you manage, heart pounding in your chest.

“I’d burn the world to have you, you know that,” he explains, reaching out and cupping your face. “But your soul was never yours to begin with.”

You stay silent, unwilling to believe what he’s saying. This is madness. There’s no way you’ve lived this many lives, and there’s no way that Sunghoon killing you is the only solution to end the curse. It was already hard enough to accept that he was a vampire, now this?

Frustrated and overwhelmed, you take another step back. Tears roll freely down your cheeks as you feel his hand slide off your face slowly, leaving a cold mark behind.

“I won’t let you kill me. That can't be the only way. I refuse to—”

Before you can finish, your vampire lover is already behind you, his strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist and his breath close to your neck. Sunghoon can feel your heart pulsing beneath his grip, and it almost makes him regret what he’s about to do.

“I’m sorry, YN… I will look for you in your next life.”

With that, he kisses your neck sweetly and plunges a blade into your heart. You gasp, stunned. Blood begins to pool inside your chest, overflowing everywhere around you. Some rises in your throat, and when you cough, it splatters across his pale face.

The only way he could break the curse was to have you bleed into his hands, so he holds you in his arms a little longer, feeling life slowly drain from your body. After you grow heavier and limp, he gently lays you down in the tall grass.

His dark eyes brim with tears, his face stained crimson, his hands soaked in your blood. Sunghoon feels like he’s being strangled; his throat tightens and burns with every breath he takes.

He knew you would never accept dying. He knew you would try to escape and find another way. But this was the only way. You had to die in this life to be free in the next. He had to let you bleed, so he could love you afterward.

And maybe that’s why his eyes looked so hollow and numb earlier today... because he knew you were sentenced to death the moment you met him.

Author's Note: Im so excited to post this first request!! It turned a bit sadder than i wanted but i think it fits! Thank you so much for requesting hun, i hope you like it! As always, thank you so much for all the love, reblogs are always appreciated! Masterlist

Taglist: @mrsjjongstby @kawaiichu32 @maewphoria @tunafishyfishylike @deluluscenarios @firstclassjaylee

If you wanna be added or removed from the taglist just comment below!

[sirfrogsworth]

Understanding the Inverse Square Law

(Without Math)

When I was first getting deep into photography, I kept running into lessons about the inverse square law. They would always tell you the effects and the math but they never explained the cause. Why does the light do this?

It's like when the doctor gives you a pill to fix something. You swallow it, wait a bit, and eventually you feel better. But you rarely know what the pill is actually doing.

So when it comes to lighting, you have to decide if you want to be the doctor who understands the why or the patient who just swallows the pill and gets the desired effect.

Every tutorial will say if you double the distance of a light from a subject, the intensity will drop by 1/4. They will give you a formula so you can do exposure calculations.

Sometimes they will refer to somewhat helpful diagrams with clues on what is happening.

But most just teach the easy version.

If you move the light closer, you will get quicker falloff into shadow and the background will be darker.

If you move it farther back, everything will be more evenly lit, but the background will be lighter.

The teacher will shoot some examples and show you something like this.

By the end of this post, I want everyone who reads it to *truly* understand what is happening.

Because if you understand it on that level, it will change how you think about light and photography. It will have the added bonus of explaining magnets and WiFi and even the sound coming out of your speakers.

If I am an effective teacher, this is something you will think about in your everyday life, even if you don't care about photography.

In a previous post, I talked about how light was a bit like a shotgun blast. The closer you are, the more concentrated the pellets. If you are farther away, the shot disperses.

But this wasn't the analogy I wanted to use. It was just the easiest to find visual examples of.

My preferred analogy was spray paint. And I'm hoping with some janky home-made visuals, I can do a better job of explaining the concept.

Let's start by explaining the humble photon. It's the fundamental particle (or wave) of light. Think of them like individual tiny globs of paint in a spray can. A photon is emitted when something loses energy. And unmodified light sources typically shoot out photon globs in all directions.

A point light source is a theoretical concept where a single point in space shoots light evenly in every direction. For our purposes we're just going to imagine a basic light bulb as the point source.

But our eyes and cameras have a limited field of view, so from here on out we are going to think of the light emitting from the bulb as having a cone shape. We are just concerned with what a camera can actually see.

Well, well, well... what does that cone of light look like?

I'm sure we have all used spray paint before. So let's imagine we are spraying a white ball against a gray wall. We spray for 1 second and hold the can at different distances.

In each scenario we are spraying for the same length of time and the exact same number of photon paint globs are emitted from the nozzle.

Let's think about what each scenario would look like from the camera's point of view.

Here is our unpainted ball and wall.

Here is the spray can held at Distance 1.

Note how the red paint is very concentrated and appears bold and saturated.

Distance 2.

Now the same amount of paint is dispersed over a wider area. The bold red spot in the center is more muted. And some of the paint is spilling onto the background.

Distance 3.

Everything appears to have a light red tint. The background and the white ball appear to have similar intensities of red. The coverage is very even. The same number of photon paint globs are being asked to cover a larger area so they are spreading out and diluting the color.

Okay, now let's exchange tiny photon paint globs for real photons.

I'm bringing back my baseball and showing these same 3 distances.

The nice thing about eyeballs and cameras... they can compensate for different light intensities. Our eyes have night vision and cameras have long shutter speeds, large lens apertures, and ISO amplification.

And if we compensate for the dimming caused by the dispersed light...

Photography teachers will tell you that if you move the light farther away, the background will get brighter. In reality, everything is the same level of dim and the camera exposure is brightened.

What if we wanted to spray the same area from far away without losing as much of the red saturation? We could add a super nozzle to our spray can that emits a bunch more photon globs in the same span of time.

This would be like turning up the power of the light. You have to emit a bunch more photons in that same time scale to compensate. Then you don't have to adjust your camera settings when you move the light farther away.

Let's look at a practical example of when you might think about the inverse square law to help solve a problem.

You have two subjects in a scene, and you put the light just out of view of the camera. You might be thinking that a larger light source is softer, so you want it as close as possible.

Unfortunately only one person is lit in the scene. She is getting the concentrated photons before they can disperse.

So if we want both people to have similar lighting, we can move the light farther away. You will have to comprimise a little softness. And you will have to change your camera settings or increase the power of the light.

Note that the intensity of light in the area they are standing in is very similar now.

By using a large light modifier, the photographer was able to move the light back and keep its general softness, but also evenly light both subjects.

And now I need to talk about one aspect of my spray paint analogy that does not work with the inverse square law. And it has to do with the specular highlight on the baseball.

Spray paint does not reflect paint. It just sticks to things. And reflection throws a tiny wrench into my explanation. Because parallel light rays do not obey the inverse square law. When you light something, the most central photons from the subject's perspective are going to be traveling in parallel. They have a direct path from the light to the camera lens or your eyeball.

Now if the reflection material is perfectly matte, the light will disperse and act as the inverse square law suggests. But if the surface is even a little glossy, the most concentrated parallel rays are going to bounce directly into your eye as a bright white spot.

And if you study this diagram a little closer, you might figure out why specular highlights are usually white.

If you look at the specular highlight on the baseball, even though the rest of the image gets dimmer as the light gets farther away, that spot stays bright.

Though the spot seems to disappear at Distance 1. Curious, eh?

It's still there. It's still reflecting directly into your eyeball. But the light around it is so concentrated and bright, the specular highlight blends in.

Which means if you have some nasty highlights on your photo subject, moving your light closer might make them go away. If someone has a shiny forehead, this can equalize the overall exposure and hide the shiny.

This guy has a bright spot on his nose. It is there in both photos.

But his face is so much brighter in the left photo that the spot blends in. It's a bit of a mind bender because the camera exposure is adjusted so the finished photos appear the same amount of bright.

You have to remember if you only move the light farther away and don't increase its power or increase the camera's exposure level, the photos would look more like this.

So if you make the rest of the face as bright as the highlight, it blends in.

Neat!

So, was I successful?

Does the inverse square law make more sense?

This is why WiFi gets weaker at a distance. This is why magnets lose their attraction when you pull them apart. This is why speakers get quieter when you move away from them.

I can't tell you how much knowing the why has affected my thinking about lighting. I see so many video and photo people talking about lighting setups who are just following memorized placements.

"Put a light above the subject at a 45 degree angle to get Rembrandt lighting."

But the second they encounter light doing something unexpected, things fall apart. They resort to trial and error and brute force the solution.

Knowing how the pill works can prevent that frustrating process.

I no longer care about the math. I can just visualize the cone of influence and predict what will happen. Understanding the behavior of light and not just the end effects has made everything more intuitive. I just wish it hadn't taken me so long to understand this. But, hopefully, this post has shortened that journey for you.

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Hidden Treasure

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 1653

Summary: You surprise Bucky by wearing a gift he got you and he has a hard time keeping his hands to himself.

Warnings: swearing, smut, butt plug

A/N: For @avengers-assemble-bingo AA-Kinky Bingo with square Public Sex & Butt Plug. Card (KB010)

A/N 2: Thank you to my Beta readers @late-to-the-party-81 & @lfnr-blog-blog-blog also @late-to-the-party-81 for the header & Stella @stellar-solar-flare for the idea behind this.

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site or run through AI. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen.

Tonight was going to be a night to remember because you had planned a special surprise for your boyfriend, Bucky. He’s always talked about being spontaneous in your relationship and you’d always been eager to indulge him. The pair of you fucked a lot and literaly anywhere you could get your hands on each other, so it wasn’t surprising that tonight you’d had the idea to indulge in some public sex. To make it even better you’d also decided to wear a pink jewel butt plug. The pair of you always talked about different positions and scenarios to incorporate in your sex lives, so tonight you were going to plan the best sexcapade ever with your man.

You were looking at yourself in the mirror and when you turned around you could see the pink jewel sparkling at you. Just looking at it, you knew Bucky was going to lose his mind when he realised you were wearing it. You pulled the cute dress you had on down over your hips and hid the hidden treasure, wondering how long it would take him to find it. 

When you heard a knock on the door, a giggle escaped your lips. When you open it, Bucky is standing there, just taking you in. “Hey, doll, you're looking fine as hell tonight. Are you sure you don’t wanna stay in and cuddle? I could do that thing you like with my tongue.” He pokes it out from between his lips, attempting to demonstrate, but you stopped him.

“Bucky, you promised to take me out tonight. We can have fun later I promise,” you plead with him.

“But I’m feeling pretty horny,” he pouted. “I just want to sink my cock deep in your pussy and feel you squeeze around it.” A little frisky, Bucky chased you around the apartment as you squealed in delight. When he eventually caught you and pinned you against the wall, he reached around to squeeze your butt, but instead nudged your butt plug.

“What do we have here?” He questioned you with a lear as he lifted up your dress, spun you and took a good look at the toy nestled between your butt cheeks. Looking back over your shoulder, you saw Bucky’s mouth drop open and you swore he had hearts in his eyes. “Oh, doll, you’re in so much trouble. No panties and a butt plug? Now I have to play with you before we go out.” 

“Bucky,” you whined out. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Well, I’m definitely surprised, that's for sure.” Bucky stepped back, his hands on his hips, and he licked his lips.

“Please, let's just go out for a little while and then we can play afterwards. I promise you can take what you want then. I’m all dressed up just for you so we can go on a date. Please, Bucky, let's go have some fun tonight.” You were at the point of begging and you weren’t ashamed to be doing so.

“I can’t say no to you, doll. Not now, not ever. But later your body is mine. Let’s head out and go to the new club. I’ve heard it's very nice and that Tony Stark is an amazing host.”

“Sounds good, Bucky.” You grabbed your keys and ID before skipping out the door with your boyfriend trailing behind you. As you locked up Bucky slapped your butt and chuckled to himself. You knew his patience was going to wear thin tonight, so you were going to have to make the most out of your date.

Bucky drove you both to the Stark club which luckily wasn’t far from your apartment. Although, having you arrived and observed the large line outside, you started to doubt if you would actually get in tonight. However, Bucky just grabbed your hand and bypassed everyone, heading straight to the door. When he stopped in front of the bouncer, Bucky gave his name and just like that, he let you both in.

“I didn’t know you knew someone here.”

Bucky smiled at you. “I know the manager Steve, we go back many years.”

“I’m impressed. Let’s grab a drink — I need liquid courage if I’m going to dance.”

"You have as many as you want doll, but I'm gonna just have the one - I am driving after all."

You made your way over to the bar and Bucky ordered a pair of beers, paying for both. Transaction completed, you walked over to a table and sat down. You both started talking about how your days have been. Bucky started, telling you about how he’s ready to fire an employee named John for all his screw ups he has been making and in turn you told him about your crazy day at work. As you were talking, Bucky stared at you with his cool blue eyes, and when you finished he asked, “What made you finally choose the butt plug?”

Your cheeks got hot and you squirmed in your seat at the mention of it, making the item itself shift inside you. “You said you wanted me to surprise you sometime, so I figured I’d do just that and use the butt plug you bought me for my birthday a few weeks ago.” You shifted again, but this time more purposeful, keeping your gaze locked on your boyfriend’s. “Have to say it fits nice and snug. Makes me yearn for your big cock to be inside of me.”

Bucky growled. “Keep talking like that and I may just have to give you what you want.”

In response, you seductively drank your beer, your tongue swirling around the top before your lips wrapped around the top as you took a long pull of your drink. When you swallowed you made a show of it and licked your lips. For good measure, you added a small throaty moan which threatened to turn into a giggle as Bucky picked up his own drink and started to chug it. You knew you’d got to him. His cock was probably hard enough to pound nails and he wasn’t waiting any longer.

“Come with me,” he said gruffly, as he placed his now empty beer bottle on the table.

You finished off your own drink just as quickly and took his outstretched hand. Bucky pulled you efficiently through the crowds of people and toward the back of the club. He pushed through an exit-only door and headed outside, pulling you along in his wake. As soon as the door closed he was on you. 

His lips crashed against yours in a heated kiss and his hands grabbed your ass. You moaned into his mouth when he pulled your dress up over your hips and started playing with the butt plug. The sensation was so good, and you could feel your pussy getting wet.

“Wait until we get home — my cock is going to replace that plug. I’m going to fuck that ass real good.”

“Fuck, Bucky. I need you.” You kissed him all over his face, waiting for him to dominate you.

“Then you’ll have me,” he replied, huskily. 

Bucky lifted you off your feet and you quickly wrapped your legs around his trim waist, your back resting against the wall as Bucky pulled himself free of his pants. Rubbing his cock through your wet folds until he was slick with your arousal made him groan, but he didn’t delay in placing the tip of his cock at your entrance and sinking into you. Now it was your turn to let out a noise of pleasure. However, he allowed you no time to adjust, immediately thrusting up into you, hard and fast. The pair of you moan, not holding anything back and you meet him thrust for thrust as he takes you apart piece by piece.

The thought of getting caught spurred you on as you let Bucky take control of your body. He thrust into you over and over again, his eyes locked with yours. On a particularly hard thrust, he sealed his lips over yours and swallowed your moans. 

“Fuck princess,” he mumbled against you. “You feel so tight around me. Gonna let me fill you up like a good girl?”

You answered him with a filthy kiss, before adding, “I want it, Buck. Need you to fill me up.”

Harder and faster Bucky pistoned into you as you panted his name. One hand reached between you and he started to rub at your clit with quick motions which was all that you needed to tip over the edge, your panting turning to a cry that echoed into the night's sky. 

“Bucky!”

Your walls squeezed and spasmed around his cock which made Bucky’s pace falter. However, as soon as you came down from your high he chased his orgasm with a few hard thrusts, before he spilled inside of you. 

For a few moments Bucky didn’t move, just catching his breath. However, he didn’t wait too long before he pulled out of you and placed you back on your feet. Tucking himself back into his pants, he then helped you smooth some of the wrinkles from your dress before he leaned back into you and kissed you like his life depended on it.

“Princess, can we go home now? I’m more than ready to play with this butt plug and your ass.” 

“But Bucky, I didn't even get to dance tonight,” you pouted at him.

“I’ll do the horizontal tango with you all night long, instead,” Bucky smirked back at you as you giggled. “This time we won’t have to rush and I can take my time with you. What do you say, princess?”

“How can I say no to this handsome face? Fine, but next week you’re bringing me back here for the full experience. Deal?”

“Deal, love. Now let’s hurry before I have to take you in the car.”

Tags:

@americasass81

@awesomerextyphoon

@awkwardgiraffe726

@b3autyfuld1sast3r

@caplanbuckybarnes

@denisemarieangelina

@fictional-affairs

@get0verit

@joannie95

@jobean12-blog

@jtargaryen18

@jvanilly

@kmc1989

@labella420

@lfnr-blog-blog-blog

@madscape

@mcira

@mdemontespan1667

@missvelvetsstuff

@mrsmischief209

@mycrazyasslikestoread

@nekoannie-chan

@noellez-best-life23

@notyourtypicalrose

@obsessedwithcevans

@patzammit

@princessofdarkwinter

@rayofdawnworld

@sarahowritesostucky

@spectre-posts

@stellar-solar-flare

@steviebbboi

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork

@wolfsmom1

@yenzys-lucky-charm

@casa-boiardi

@avengersfan25

[slaaverin]

Jimin releases a song on International Pride Day with an untold truth concept, where he sings I love you babe, at the top of his lungs, but he also mentions the person having secret feelings for him and he says "lets be more honest". He films the video for the song and leaves set and hops on a plane with JK to Japan immediately a few hours later, walking through the airport with both of them being clingy and were super clingy in Japan, that we saw. And since then, he and JK have not gotten shy and hid away one bit from their bond. They openly traveled the world and released a show after, with very questionable sus moments. Jimin randomly tells us he's sleeping at JK's. Jk randomly tells 20 million people he is showering with Jimin singing romantic songs. Telling us these intimate things, as 30 year old men? Umm Okay. They're doing their joint enlistment together, sending wreaths together as a unit. To me, this is exactly what "lets be more honest" looks like. I'm not saying all this proves Jikook is real, but from where I'm sitting, Jimin's words make no sense being directed at other members, that people ship him with. And I stand by that, cause I don't see him being open and honest with other members. He doesn't even talk about other members barely, but esp not in the context he talks about Jk, he isn't saying he spends the night with them, he isn't making ramen jokes toward them, he isn't putting fans in their places for saying they wanna marry them, he isn't flying to them on a couple day and spending couple days with them, he doesn't let them on his personal album on a hidden song, like he did Jk, where in the song he calls someone his baby, his dangshin, his protector, the one he wants to be side by side. So, by not doing that, that would be the opposite of "lets be more honest" right? if he's still hiding everything away with other these members they swear he wrote that about, but instead, constantly does and says things so openly about Jk and is always side by side with him, instead? I think the answer is in everyone's faces and has been all along. Or maybe I'm just delulu lol.

You're far from delulu and yes the answer is staring at us in the face. Always has been. Since day 1 Jimin told us who is heart belongs to (telling us again with Jungkook's face appearing at the end of Who).

It's clear it's obvious it's simple there's no need for mental gymnastics.

I hope some day this fandom will finally adress the elephant in the room and treat jikook's bond as it deserves to be treated.

Jimin and Jungkook have been clear enough. Now people only need to have the eyes to see, which is another problem lol

If jikook keep being honest, maybe more and more people will wake up to this simple truth eventually and stop making so many unecessary fights.

Let's cross fingers 💜

[seospicybin]

EVERMORE.

CHAPTER I

Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (s,f,a)

EVERMORE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When your daughter’s wedding weekend brings you, a former it-girl and Chris, a legendary rockstar back under one roof, the two of you must navigate old memories, unexpected feelings, and the chaos of family. As laughter, love, and a hint of scandal unfold, you're both reminded that some love stories don’t end—they just change shape. (22,8k words)

Author's note: I suggest reading this with an open heart and let it take you places ♡

Chris Bang Shares the Sweetest Surprise: “My Baby Girl’s Getting Married” July 14, 2024 — by Peter Han. Rock legend Chris Bang, frontman of the iconic ‘90s band Bang Theory, shocked fans this weekend—not with a surprise single, but with something far more personal: his daughter Tigerlily is engaged. The 47-year-old musician shared the news on his private Instagram, posting a rare father-daughter photo with the caption: “She used to hold my hand crossing the street, now she’s holding someone else’s. My baby girl’s getting married. God help him.” The post quickly went viral as fans poured in their congratulations (and nostalgia), remembering Tigerlily as the tiny girl who used to appear backstage during Bang Theory’s heyday. Sources close to the family say Chris has known about the engagement for months and has been "surprisingly chill" about it—though insiders claim he gave Julian, the lucky fiancé, “the talk” every overprotective dad dreams of delivering. “He’s proud,” said a longtime friend of the singer. “Even if he grumbles a lot, you can tell he’s thrilled for her.” Tigerlily, an illustrator and low-key darling of the city's creative scene, has kept the relationship mostly private. The engagement ring, however, is anything but. Fans spotted the vintage cut diamond a few weeks back—sparking early speculation that something big was coming. As for wedding details? Chris joked in an interview last month, “I’ll be there in a tux, crying into my whiskey.” We wouldn’t expect anything less.

-

The sun filters gently through the windows of the little bakery-slash-café Tigerlily picked for the cake tasting, its soft golden glow casting a peaceful warmth over the morning. You're perched beside her at a small round table near the corner, notebooks open, samples of cake laid out like precious little treasures on delicate porcelain plates.

It’s surreal, watching her like this—flipping through pages of catering options, seriously contemplating between lavender shortbread cookies and chocolate-dipped biscotti for the wedding favors. She’s focused, her brow furrowed slightly, her pen tapping her chin.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” you tease, breaking off a corner of sponge cake to taste.

She glances at you, mock-offended. “Of course I am. This is the cake. The most important cake I’ll ever have.”

You laugh softly, and she smiles, biting into a piece of vanilla almond before shaking her head. “Not this one. Too sweet.”

You nod, agreeing. “The buttercream’s nice though.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” she says, scribbling a little star next to it in her notebook.

The morning rolls on like that—cake tastings, discussions about savory vs. sweet hors d’oeuvres, the pros and cons of giving out mini olive oil bottles as favors. Eventually, the two of you take a break, coffees in hand, sitting outside the shop under the early spring sun.

Tigerlily leans back in her chair and studies you for a moment, sipping her latte. “You’re glowing.”

You raise a brow, pretending not to know what she’s talking about. “It’s the buttercream.”

She squints at you, unconvinced. “No. It’s something else. You’re… happy. Like, really happy. Did something happen?”

You offer her a vague smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just enjoying today.”

Tigerlily gives you a look that says she knows you better than that, but she doesn’t push. “Well, whatever it is, I like it. You look like someone who just remembered what it feels like to be a little selfish with your joy.”

You chuckle under your breath. “Maybe I am.”

She bumps her shoulder against yours. “Good. Keep doing that.”

You glance at her, your heart warm. “And you keep remembering that your wedding cake is supposed to make you happy.”

She laughs, and just like that, the moment folds itself gently back into the rhythm of the day—the two of you turning back to menus and ribbon swatches, sipping coffee in the sun, wrapped in the easy intimacy of mothers and daughters, quietly grateful for how love, in all its forms, continues to find its way back to you.

Back home, the sun has dipped behind the hills, casting a warm golden hue through the kitchen windows. The scent of garlic sizzling in olive oil fills the air, mingling with the sound of music playing in the background. You’re chopping tomatoes while Tigerlily stirs something in the pan, humming to the music, her movements fluid and light.

There’s something peaceful about this moment. The simple rhythm of cooking side by side, the way your conversation flows in and out of silence so easily—like waves, effortless and familiar.

“You know,” Tigerlily starts as she grates cheese over a bowl, “I love when we do this. Just the two of us in the kitchen. Feels like home.”

You smile, sliding the chopped tomatoes into a bowl. “It is home.”

She glances at you, a soft look in her eyes. “You’ve seemed… happier lately.”

You raise a brow. “You said that earlier.”

“I know,” she says, turning back to the stove, “but now I can really see it. The way you move, the way you talk—it’s like there’s a little spark in you again.”

You pause, stirring the basil into the sauce, trying not to smile. “Maybe I’m just excited about your wedding.”

Tigerlily grins, not buying it. “Maybe. Or maybe it has something to do with a certain someone...?”

You let out a soft laugh. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when I think something—or someone—is making you happy.” She leans her hip against the counter, watching you carefully. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But… does he make you feel good?”

Your hands slow as you stir. You glance up at her, thoughtful. “I guess... yeah.”

Tigerlily nods, her voice gentle. “Then I think that’s enough. For now.”

You reach out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear like you used to when she was a little girl. “You’re wise beyond your years.”

“Thank you. I get it from my mom,” she says with a smirk.

There’s a knock on the door just as you’re draining the pasta, steam rising up in curls. You glance toward the front of the house, wiping your hands on a towel.

“That must be Julian,” Tigerlily says, already untying her apron. “Can you check the sauce for a second?”

“On it,” you call after her, giving the pot a little stir as you hear the front door open.

But instead of the familiar laughter or a fiancé’s greeting, there’s a pause. Then you hear Tigerlily’s voice float back, tinged with surprise, “Oh. Hi.”

You lean around the doorway just in time to see her stepping aside, revealing Hyunjin standing at the door. He’s holding a brown cardboard box. His white shirt clings faintly from the warmth outside, sleeves rolled up, and he looks as casual as ever—until his eyes find you.

“I just came by to drop this off,” he says, lifting the box a little. “Your pottery piece. It’s done. I figured I’d bring it over before I forgot.”

Your lips pull into a smile without you even realizing it. “That’s really kind of you.”

Tigerlily glances between the two of you. And then, casually, with the slyest little smile tugging at her lips, she says, “Well, Hyunjin. Since you’re here… why don’t you join us for dinner?”

Hyunjin looks at her, then at you—his eyes searching for an answer in yours. You give him a subtle nod, soft and encouraging. He smiles, just a hint shy, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be this lucky. “Yeah. I'd love to.”

Tigerlily beams, already heading back into the kitchen. “Hope you like pasta.”

You take a step toward him, meeting him halfway to take the box from his hands. Your fingers brush briefly. “Thank you. For bringing this.”

His voice dips low as he smiles, “I figured you’d want to see how beautiful it turned out.”

You raise an eyebrow, playful. “The pottery or the delivery guy?”

Hyunjin chuckles, slow and warm. “Both, I hope.”

And you’re smiling again—because how could you not?

-

The three of you settle around the dining table, plates filled with steaming pasta and roasted vegetables. The mood is light, cozy, laughter from the kitchen trailing into the soft hum of music playing from the speaker in the corner.

Tigerlily reaches for the cardboard box Hyunjin had placed on the table earlier. “Is this it?” she asks, already opening the lid.

You nod, twirling your fork. “Don’t expect too much.”

But when she pulls out the finished plate, her eyes go wide with delight. “Wait—this is actually beautiful! Mom, you made this?”

“She did,” Hyunjin says proudly, his voice warm. “First try too.”

Tigerlily turns to you, mouth parted in disbelief. “When did you even make this?”

Hyunjin answers before you can. “A few days ago. In my studio.”

There’s a glint in his eye, a teasing edge to his grin as he throws a quick wink your way. “She was… very committed. Focused. Hands-on.”

You nearly choke on your wine at the innuendo hidden in his voice, shooting him a warning look. He only smirks deeper, clearly enjoying himself.

Tigerlily squints suspiciously between the two of you. “Wait. What kind of pottery class was this exactly—?”

A knock at the door cuts her off.

“That must be Julian,” she says, hopping up from her chair and leaving the room.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Hyunjin leans in slightly, his fingers brushing yours under the table before gently, confidently, slipping into your hand. The warmth of his palm is grounding, calming.

You glance at him, heart skipping as he quietly says, “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

You hear the front door open, Tigerlily’s bright laugh greeting Julian as they come inside. And still, under the table, Hyunjin doesn’t let go.

Julian’s eyes widen the moment he sees Hyunjin sitting at the table. “Oh! I didn’t know our best man joining dinner tonight.”

Hyunjin rises slightly from his seat, giving Julian a quick hug. “I was lured in with the smell of pasta.”

Julian chuckles and teases, “And by my girlfriend's mom, apparently?”

You shake your head and give Julian a playful glare. “Julian, please, just sit down,” you tell him.

The food is warm and comforting, and conversation flows easily. Most of it stays light—talk of flower arrangements, DJ options, the pros and cons of buffets versus plated dinners. Julian and Tigerlily finish each other’s sentences more than once, making you smile. You feel Hyunjin’s thumb brush gently along your palm under the table. It’s barely noticeable, but grounding.

Then, somewhere between the second glass of wine and the tiramisu being passed around, Tigerlily turns to you. “Hey, Mom… what was your wedding like?”

You pause, surprised by the question.

Tigerlily shrugs. “You never really talk about it. I mean… you and Dad. Did you do a big thing?”

You exchange a quick glance with Hyunjin before shaking your head. “No. No big thing.”

Julian tilts his head, curious now too. “Really?”

You smile faintly, brushing your fingers around the rim of your glass. “Chris and I got married on a whim. It was… spontaneous. We were both young and in love and reckless. He was on tour. We were somewhere in between cities—I don’t even remember where exactly—and we just decided to do it.”

Tigerlily blinks. “Just like that?”

“We found this little church. We had a very small, quiet ceremony. No guests. No dress. Just the two of us, the band members and a couple of strangers as witnesses.”

There’s a quiet that falls over the table. Not heavy, just thoughtful. You hesitate a little before glancing at Hyunjin, unsure of how he might take hearing all this. Would he think you were careless? Impulsive? Too much of the past still tangled in you?

But he’s already looking at you and he’s smiling. Soft. Warm. Reassuring. Then you feel it—his fingers wrap gently around yours beneath the table, giving your hand a tender squeeze. It tells you everything you need to hear. That he sees you. That your past doesn’t scare him. That he’s still here.

Tigerlily breaks the silence with a gentle sigh. “That’s kinda romantic though.”

Julian laughs and nods. “Very rock-n-roll.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He just continues to hold your hand quietly, letting his thumb trace slow, soothing lines across your skin.

The night eventually comes to an end and you send everyone on their way out of your house. Tigerlily gives you a warm hug followed by a kiss to your cheek and Julian takes his turn next.

“Dinner was perfect,” he says. “Thank you again.”

You smile, eyes flicking toward Hyunjin, who lingers just behind them. When it’s his turn, you can feel the air shift—your body naturally leaning toward him, instinct ready to close the space for a hug. But you stop yourself. Tigerlily is right there. And you’re not ready. Not just yet.

Hyunjin seems to understand, offering you a simple smile instead as he says, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, softer than you meant to.

He turns to walk toward his car, and you watch him go, your chest tightening with each step he takes away.

“Hyunjin,” you call out before you can stop yourself.

He turns, brows slightly lifted in surprise. “Yes?”

“I—” You hesitate, then clear your throat. “I need you to help me with something. Inside.”

He tilts his head, confused but nods. “Sure.”

Just as he starts walking back toward you, Tigerlily and Julian pull out of the driveway. She rolls the window down, grinning and waving at you. You lift your hand, wave back. Only when their headlights disappear into the night, do you step back inside and hold the door open for him.

Hyunjin steps in after you. “What can I help you with?”

You close the door behind him and immediately turn on your heel. Without a word, you reach for him and kiss him. His body stills at first, caught off guard—but only for a second. Then he’s kissing you back, his hands catching your waist, pulling you closer.

When you finally break the kiss, breath shallow and cheeks flushed, you whisper, “It was just an excuse. I couldn’t— I'm too embarrassed to kiss you in front of Tigerlily. Or Julian.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a moment, his lips curling into a grin. “So you made me come back inside for that?”

You smile, a little embarrassed. “Yes.”

He chuckles once, low and warm in his chest—and then he’s spinning you around, your back pressing into the door with a soft thud as his body finds yours again. He cups your jaw and leans in, lips brushing yours as he murmurs, “Next time, you don’t need an excuse.”

Your back is still pressed against the door, lips tingling from the kiss Hyunjin just stole, when he leans in again, cupping your jaw and kissing you once more—slower this time, like he wants to memorize the feel of your mouth. You respond instinctively, hands slipping up his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt.

Time feels suspended. The only sound is the quiet hum of the night and the soft breaths exchanged between kisses, one melting into another as if neither of you wants to let go just yet. But eventually, you gently press your hands to his chest, letting your forehead rest against his.

“It’s getting late,” you whisper, voice low and reluctant.

He pauses for a second, lips barely brushing yours, before pulling back with a soft chuckle. “So it is,” he mutters, still close, eyes half-lidded with affection. “And I should be a gentleman and go home.”

You laugh, nodding as you slide your hands down to rest at your sides. “That would be the noble thing to do.”

He doesn’t move just yet. Instead, he brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers grazing your cheek as he tucks it gently behind your ear. He holds it there for a second, like he’s framing your face with his gaze alone.

“Goodnight,” he says, softly, as if saying it too loud might break the moment.

“Goodnight,” you echo, your voice just as tender.

He leans in and kisses you again—just once this time. Soft, warm, brief. Then he steps back, slowly pulling himself away like it physically pains him to leave.

You watch him walk out, the door clicking shut behind him. And for a long moment after, you stay where you are, heart full, smile lingering.

-

The bridal shop smells faintly of fresh flowers and fabric softener, and the soft classical music in the background sets a dreamy tone. You sit on a plush ivory chair, sipping on complimentary tea, watching as Tigerlily disappears behind a curtain with a stylist and a few dresses in her arms. You're looking at the shop catalog when Tigerlily pulls back the curtain and steps out in her first gown.

You gasp, mouth hanging open and unable to say anything until a moment later. “Oh, sweetheart,” you say, standing up with a hand over your chest. “You look like a dream.”

She spins slightly, admiring herself in the mirror. “It’s nice, right? But I think we can go bigger,” she grins, already cueing the stylist to bring the next one.

The two of you only have one hour and a half to try the dresses and Tigerlily makes a good use of the time by trying everything that suits her style. She slips into the fourth dress with a glimmer in her eyes—and this time, when she steps out, she doesn't say a word.

You inhale sharply. “Oh…”

She stands tall in the mirror, draped in delicate lace and layers of flowing silk. The bodice hugs her perfectly, the train trailing behind her like a soft whisper. She turns toward you, a little breathless herself. “I think this is it,” she says quietly.

You nod, trying not to get emotional. “You look… perfect. Oh, my goodness!”

The stylist hands her a veil, and as soon as it's pinned to her hair, the both of you lock eyes—and tear up.

“Okay,” Tigerlily says, wiping at her cheeks, “that’s enough of me for now.”

You laugh. “What do you mean? You’re the bride.”

“Yeah, yeah. But we’ve got time left in our session, and we’re not leaving until you try something on.”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yes, you. We need to find your dress too. And you’re not showing up to my wedding in some boring beige thing off a department rack. You’re trying on dresses, Mom.”

Before you can protest, the stylist is already leading you to a different rack—sophisticated, elegant evening gowns in rich tones and luxurious fabrics.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” you mutter as she zips you into a soft lilac number.

Tigerlily laughs and pulls out her phone. “Hold still,” she says, already dialing.

You hear a familiar voice on the screen. “What’s going on?” Chris’s face pops up, framed by what looks like a dressing room backstage.

“We’re at the bridal shop. Look what I made Mom do,” Tigerlily grins as she turns the camera toward you.

Chris’s eyes widen dramatically. “Whoa. Okay. Okay—hold on, are we sure you’re not the one getting married?”

You roll your eyes, smoothing the fabric down your sides. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious. You look—” he whistles low, “—absolutely stunning.”

You feel a small blush creep up your cheeks. “Stop it.”

“She’s trying to upstage me,” Tigerlily deadpans to the phone. “I knew it.”

Chris laughs. “I mean… if anyone could, it’s her. That dress? Ten out of ten.”

You glance at yourself in the mirror and smile softly. “It’s been a while since I wore something like this.”

“You should wear things like that more often,” Chris says through the screen, his voice quieter now. “It suits you.”

And though the moment is playful, there’s a quiet sincerity in his tone—and Tigerlily catches it too. She glances between the two of you, her eyes softening, but she says nothing. “Alright,” she chirps after a beat. “We’re gonna keep playing dress-up, I’ll call you later, Dad.”

“Bye, sweetheart. Bye, stunning mystery woman,” Chris teases as he waves.

You roll your eyes again but can’t stop smiling as the call ends.

“Okay,” Tigerlily says, arms crossed as she eyes your reflection. “We’re getting that one.”

By the time the two of you pull up in front of your house, the sky is blushing with the colors of early sunset. You unbuckle your seatbelt, still smiling from the day you've had.

“Thanks for today,” you tell her, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she grins, reaching into the back seat. “I’ve got something for you.”

You narrow your eyes as she plops a glossy pink box with a silk ribbon into your lap. “What’s this?”

“Just open it.”

You untie the ribbon and lift the lid. Nestled inside are some fun bachelorette party essentials—mini champagne bottle, a personalized satin robe with your name embroidered on it, a face mask, a little card that says Bride Squad, and a gold foil invitation.

You lift your gaze to her, amused. “Tigerlily.”

She’s already looking at you with big, hopeful eyes. “I want you to come to the bachelorette party.”

You blink. “No. Absolutely not. That’s your night to go wild with your friends. I’m not—this—look at this,” you hold up the robe, “I’m too old for this.”

“You are not too old,” she says with a huff. “And even if you were, I don’t care. You’re still my best girl. I want you there.”

“Tigerlily, sweetheart, you’re supposed to drink questionable cocktails out of straws shaped like—”

“—Don’t finish that sentence,” she says quickly, then grins. “But yes. And you’re coming.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You should be partying with your bridesmaids, not your mother.”

“I want both,” she insists, wrapping her arms around your shoulder. “Please? It won’t be all chaos, I promise. It’ll be fun, just us girls, nothing crazy. Just come and be part of it. For me, please?”

You sigh, already losing the battle. “You’re impossible to say no to, you know that?”

She beams, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “That’s the point.”

You look down at the robe in your hands again and let out a soft laugh. “Fine. I’ll come.”

Tigerlily cheers and hugs you tight, rocking you side to side in her excitement.

As you step out of the car and wave her off, you stand at your front door for a moment, still holding the box. Your smile lingers. The robe, the invite, the day you just had—it all makes you feel like you’re slowly stepping into something new, not just for her, but for yourself, too.

-

Hyunjin’s studio is warm with late afternoon light filtering through the tall windows, casting soft golden hues over the clay-splattered floor. The two of you are standing at the workbench, sleeves rolled up, aprons on, fingers already dusted in fine powder.

"You know," Hyunjin says, handing you a neatly portioned piece of clay, "we should make something that fits together. Like puzzle mugs."

You raise an eyebrow. "Puzzle mugs?"

"Yeah," he grins. "Like, yours has a little curve and mine has a little bump and they fit together when we put them side by side."

Hyunjin is an artist yet he suggests something silly like this, you can't help but chuckle at it. “You’re such a romantic.”

“I'm not ashamed to admit it,” he says, leaning in to bump his shoulder lightly against yours.

You just smile, settling in at the wheel as he sets up beside you. As you begin shaping your mug, Hyunjin watches you like a hawk—only under the guise of being your personal instructor.

"Your fingers are too tense," he murmurs after a while, stepping behind you.

"I think I'm doing just fine," you say, even though you secretly enjoy it when he helps you.

"Let me help you," he says anyway, his hands gently slipping over yours as he guides the movement. His chest brushes your back, warm and steady, and his voice is low in your ear. "There... see? Perfect."

You’re pretty sure he just wanted an excuse to be close. “You know,” you tease, glancing over your shoulder at him, “I’m starting to think you just like hovering.”

“What gave it away?” he smirks, not even trying to deny it. Then he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, lips lingering just a second longer than necessary.

You try to return to focusing on your mug, but every time you settle back into your work, he finds another excuse to touch—helping you fix the handle, brushing clay from your cheek, nudging your hip with his playfully. And each time, he steals a kiss. A peck on the temple. A brush along your jaw. One, right at the corner of your lips that almost makes you drop your clay.

“Hyunjin,” you warn softly, fighting back a smile.

“What?” he says innocently, grinning like the devil as he presses another kiss to the back of your neck. “I’m just helping.”

“You’re distracting.”

“Exactly,” he says, and finally leans in to steal a proper kiss—gentle, warm, slow. His lips taste faintly of the coffee you shared earlier and his hands settle at your hips like they belong there. When he finally pulls away, you’re both smiling, cheeks flushed, hearts beating just a little faster.

The studio hums with a quiet kind of satisfaction—the kind that comes after creating something with your hands, something just yours. You wipe your hands on your apron and step away from the wheel, wandering toward the shelves that line the studio walls. His latest pieces are perched there—soft-glazed bowls, sculptural vases with rippling textures, experimental forms that look like they’re breathing.

You tilt your head, admiring them, fingers tracing the air just above their surface. “I see that you’ve been busy,” you murmur.

From behind you, you feel the slow, steady presence of Hyunjin as he steps close. Then his arms slip around your waist, pulling you gently back against him. His chest warm against your spine. You smile without even realizing it.

“I had inspiration,” he says into your neck, his voice low, his breath teasing your skin.

You turn your head slightly, your body already reacting to the soft press of his lips just beneath your ear. He places another kiss just under your jaw, then another lower, slower, right where your pulse flutters. Your breath hitches.

“Hyunjin…” you whisper, but it comes out less like a warning and more like a sigh.

“Mhm?” His mouth is still at your neck, smiling against your skin.

You tilt your head a little more—partly to tease, partly because you can’t help it—and he takes it as invitation. One hand stays curled around your waist, the other slides along your hip, and when he finally turns your head toward him, his lips find yours in a kiss that starts soft but deepens quickly. His mouth moves with slow purpose, like he has all the time in the world, like he wants to taste every part of you.

When you finally pull back, just enough to breathe, his forehead leans against yours and he murmurs, “I could stay like this forever.”

Your hand comes up to rest against his cheek, your thumb brushing the clay-smudged skin there. “We’d have to eat eventually.”

Hyunjin chuckles, his dimples flashing. “Only if we eat from the couple plates we made.”

You smile, caught in the bubble of this quiet, golden moment, his arms still holding you close. And somehow, even in the silence, you can feel the beat of something new beginning—carefully, naturally, without needing to rush.

Hyunjin's arms are still wrapped around you when he leans in, lips brushing your cheek in a gentle kiss that makes your heart flutter. “Let's go somewhere this weekend,” he murmurs. “Just us. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere far.”

You turn your head to look at him, and he’s already smiling—eyes filled with that kind of mischief and affection that always seems to undo you. You open your mouth to answer, but your thoughts momentarily scatter at the sight of his beautiful face so close to yours, lit with the fading light and warm contentment. You almost forget what you were trying to say.

“I can’t,” you finally manage, with a soft, apologetic laugh. “I have Tigerlily’s bachelorette party this weekend.”

Hyunjin’s smile falters into a playful frown, his brows drawing together. “So… you’re going to have fun without me?”

You nod slowly, teasing. “Exactly.”

He scoffs, mock offended. “What if you meet someone younger and prettier than me?”

You give him a long, dramatic look. “Younger, maybe. But prettier?” You shake your head. “Impossible.”

Hyunjin bursts into laughter, his dimples showing as he grins wide. “You’re so biased.”

“Only a little,” you say, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek. “And you have the bachelor's party too, right?”

He hums, then leans his forehead against yours, his voice dipping lower. “Still… I’d rather be alone with you.”

You smile, cupping his jaw. “It’s just for the weekend.”

Hyunjin groans quietly, burying his face into the crook of your neck like a sulking child. “I miss you already.”

You laugh, soft and breathy, your fingers tangling in his hair as you hold him there. “We’re literally together right now.”

“Not the same,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin.

You let your eyes fall closed for a moment, just savoring the closeness, the way your body molds into his so naturally. It’s been a long time since you felt this light, this wanted—this adored. And the truth is, you’re starting to miss him already too.

He rests his chin lightly on your shoulder, the curve of his smile brushing against your skin. You place your hands over his, but then slowly turn in his embrace to face him. His eyes are soft, searching. And in that moment, with his face so close, his hands so gentle on your waist, your heart swells—too full, too fast.

“Hyunjin,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, “I need to say something.”

He straightens, listening and he holds your gaze, giving you all of his attention.

“These feelings between us…” you take a breath, “they’re strong. Maybe a little too strong sometimes. They make it hard to think clearly.”

His brows knit just slightly, not in worry—just in quiet attention.

You continue, “When I was younger, I rushed into things. I followed my heart blindly because that’s what you do when you’re young, right? But now... I’ve learned. I don’t want to make the same mistakes.”

His expression softens even more, lips parting slightly as he listens.

“I want to do this right,” you say. “I want to take things slow. I need you to understand that.”

For a moment, he says nothing. Just watches you, his eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, he nods. “I understand,” he says softly.

Your chest loosens with a breath you didn’t know you were holding. And then a smile curves at the corner of his mouth—playful and warm.

“I can do slow,” he says, tilting his head as his thumb brushes lightly along your waist. “But just so you know... I’m still going to kiss you every chance I get.”

You laugh, a soft, breathy sound, because of course he’d say something like that.

“But only after I ask,” he adds with a wink, “like a gentleman.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart flutters anyway. Slow, you think. Yes. But that doesn’t mean it can’t still feel like falling.

-

The bachelorette weekend takes you to a vibrant coastal city, the kind that pulses with energy even before the sun sets. Tigerlily books a gorgeous suite for herself, her closest friends, and you—even if you keep joking that you're the designated chaperone.

But she’s not having that. “You’re not my mom tonight,” she says as she tosses a glittery, body-hugging dress onto the bed in front of you. “You’re my hot bestie. Now get changed.”

You laugh, holding up the dress. “You do realize I’m going to need a chiropractor after this.”

“You’ll need a shot, not a chiropractor,” she grins, already pulling on her heels. “Come on. Let’s have fun.”

The club is loud, crowded, and alive. Music throbs through the walls, and the lights flicker in time with your heartbeat. Tigerlily's friends are instantly swept onto the dance floor, but you take your time at the bar, ordering a drink just to ease into the chaos.

As you wait, a man—mid-thirties, maybe younger—leans on the bar beside you. “Let me guess,” he says, eyeing you with a slow smile, “you’re not from around here.”

You arch a brow. “That obvious?”

“In a good way,” he says smoothly. “You’ve got this whole... mysterious elegance thing going on.”

You chuckle, amused but not buying it. “Mysterious elegance, huh?”

Before he can continue, Tigerlily appears at your side like she’s been watching the whole thing. She slides her arm through yours and grins at the guy. “Sorry, she’s taken.”

You sputter a little. “Am I?”

“You are tonight,” she replies without missing a beat, already dragging you back toward the dance floor.

“Was that necessary?” you ask, laughing.

“Absolutely. That man looked like he was about to write you poetry.”

You shake your head, but you're smiling. “I still got it?”

Tigerlily bumps her hip against yours. “You never lost it.”

The two of you dance. And for the first time in a long while, you let go. You laugh until your cheeks hurt, sway to the beat, sip cocktails with sparkly straws, and feel a version of yourself you haven’t seen in years stretch awake. And you realize—you're not just doing this for Tigerlily anymore. You’re doing it for you.

Despite Tigerlily’s words saying that you’re not the chaperone. That tonight, you're just one of the girls. But the second the night winds down and heels start coming off, the music now just a low thump in the background of your ears, your maternal instinct takes over like second nature.

You count heads and then guide swaying bodies down the hallway of the hotel. One by one, you get them to their rooms—someone’s missing a phone, another forgot their keycard—but you manage. You always do.

Tigerlily is last. She's clutching onto your arm, half-laughing, half-mumbling something about how the room keeps spinning. She can barely walk straight, so you wrap an arm around her waist and hold her steady.

"You’re so bossy when you're sober," she slurs, giggling into your shoulder.

"I’m always bossy. Sober or not," you mutter fondly, helping her into the room.

You ease her down onto the bed and begin unlacing her heels. She flops back dramatically with a groan, like the soft sheets have defeated her.

“No sleeping until you drink this,” you say, pressing a cold glass of water to her lips.

She takes a few sips, grumbling. “You're worse than Julian.”

You smile and gently pull a blanket over her. "Duh! I'm your mother."

Once her breathing evens out and you’re sure she’s asleep, you head to the bathroom to wash off the night. The cool water feels good against your flushed cheeks, and by the time you’ve changed into a loose shirt and shorts, your feet are aching, and sleep is calling. Sighing to yourself that you're indeed too old for this.

You slip under the covers beside her. The hotel bed is wide and soft, and for a moment, you stare up at the ceiling, thinking about how tonight felt like a glimpse into another life. A little wild. A little young. A little free.

Tigerlily mumbles something in her sleep and shifts closer, curling into your side like she used to as a kid after a nightmare. You smile, gently smoothing her hair.

"My girl’s getting married," you whisper to the dark, a little in awe of it all.

You're just about to doze off when your phone vibrates on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with Hyunjin’s name. Your heart does that little skip it always does when it’s him.

You answer quietly, voice soft in the dim hotel room. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says, and even through the phone, you can hear the smile in his voice. “Did I wake you?”

“Not yet,” you whisper, glancing at Tigerlily snoring softly beside you. “I just got into bed.”

“I miss you,” he says without hesitation.

You smile. “You just called me this afternoon.”

“Yeah, and that was already too long ago,” he murmurs. “How was the party?”

You sigh, rolling onto your back. “Loud. Wild. There was a lot of dancing, a lot of drinking. Oh—and a couple of guys tried to flirt with me at the bar.”

There’s a beat of silence, then—“What?”

You bite your lip, already amused.

Hyunjin groans dramatically. “Were they cute?”

“Hmm… not really my type.”

He scoffs. “So you have a type?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Apparently, yes.”

“Let me guess. Tall. Buzzcut hair. Has paint or clay on his hands at all times. Annoyingly charming.”

You grin into the darkness. “Sounds familiar.”

“I can’t believe you let someone else talk to you,” he mutters, pouting so hard you can practically hear it.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m possessive,” he corrects, “and jealous. And currently imagining you in a crowded club looking way too good while I’m stuck thinking about you while everyone else is having fun at Julian’s bachelor party.”

You shake your head, heart fluttering. “You have nothing to worry about. I spent the second half of the night chaperoning drunk girls to their rooms. I’m pretty sure that killed the vibe for everyone.”

He groans again. “Why are you like this? So good. So angelic.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “I’m not that good.”

“You are,” he says, quieter this time. “You’re kind. You take care of everyone. You have no idea how rare that is.”

There’s a pause. You blink up at the ceiling. “Are you drunk?” you tease, voice softening.

“No,” he says, “Maybe, but also... stupid in love.”

You hold yourself back from smiling but in the next second, you catch yourself doing it on the reflection on the mirror.

“I miss kissing you,” he says suddenly. “I miss the taste of your lips. I keep thinking about it. How long until I get to do that again?”

You go quiet, warmth blooming in your chest, spreading slow and tender. “I miss you too,” you finally say.

He hums. “Do you think about kissing me too?”

You bite your bottom lip and smile to yourself. “Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Sleep well.”

“I’m imagining it anyway,” he says, smirking through the phone.

“Bye,” you laugh, and hang up before he can say anything else.

You set your phone down, heart beating fast, and lie there in the dark for a long moment—grinning like a teenager, feeling like one too. God, you missed this feeling.

-

The energy is electric in Tigerlily’s suite tonight. The whole room glows under soft, warm lights and the scent of vanilla candles mingles with the sugary sweetness of the cakes piled high on the coffee table. Laughter bounces off the walls as music plays low from a speaker tucked in the corner.

You’re all dressed in matching silk pajamas—rosy blush pink with embroidered initials on the pocket, courtesy of Tigerlily, of course. The fabric is smooth against your skin, the kind of luxury that makes you feel girlish and a little silly, but it’s infectious.

Someone pops another bottle of champagne and the fizz makes everyone cheer. Flutes are constantly being topped up, hands full of chocolate truffles and strawberry cupcakes, and someone just declared it was time for a group selfie with whipped cream on their nose.

Tigerlily is glowing in the middle of it all, a tiara nestled into her soft waves and a sash that reads BRIDE TO BE draped over her shoulder. She looks at you from across the room with her eyes sparkling, and you smile back, shaking your head fondly as you take another sip of your drink.

“Come on, you’re not getting out of this,” one of her friends laughs, dragging you toward the bed where they’re setting up for a game of “Truth or Dare.”

“I thought I was just here to supervise,” you tease, sliding onto the edge of the mattress.

“Not tonight,” Tigerlily grins, sitting next to you and leaning her head on your shoulder. “Tonight, you’re one of the girls.”

You feel warm—not from the champagne, but from the comfort of being surrounded by joy. It’s been a while since you’ve had a night like this.

You narrow your eyes at her and say, “Truth”

A collective gasp and a series of excited giggles erupt from the circle of girls, and one of Tigerlily’s friends—a bold one named Minji—leans forward with a mischievous grin. “Okay then,” she says, eyes gleaming. “Since it’s all girls here and we’re already past tipsy, we want to know—how was the sexual chemistry between you and The Chris Bang?”

The room explodes into shrieks and laughter.

You blink, caught completely off guard. “Excuse me?” you choke out, a flush rising up your neck.

“You picked Truth!” Tigerlily sings, covering her face in secondhand embarrassment.

You laugh, flustered but not backing down. “Are we really doing this?”

“Rules are rules!” someone shouts.

You glance at Tigerlily, who is already groaning into a pillow. “I’m only answering this to scar my daughter for life,” you say dramatically, and everyone howls with laughter.

You pause for effect, taking a sip of your champagne with a smirk. “Let’s just say… every night was a new adventure and Tigerlily’s dad is a very skilled lover.”

A wave of delighted squeals and gasps ripple through the room.

“OH MY GOD!” Tigerlily yells, throwing the pillow at you while everyone collapses into laughter. “MOM, NO! I didn’t need to hear that!”

You can barely breathe from laughing so hard. “You asked for it!”

Minji claps her hands gleefully. “Best answer of the night. I have no regrets.”

You and Tigerlily are both flustered—her from horror, you from champagne and the sheer chaos of the moment—but the laughter is infectious.

The room softens as the champagne bottles empty and the sugar rush fades into warm, lazy giggles. The lights are dimmed now, casting a golden glow over the suite as everyone lounges on the fluffy rug or leans into the plush pillows scattered across the floor. One of the girls starts playing soft music in the background, and someone else—Juni, you think—sighs dreamily.

“Okay, okay,” she says, tipping her empty glass toward Tigerlily, “before I start crying for real—can we talk about how lucky we are to know this woman?”

A chorus of “yes” follows, and the room starts to glow with something softer than champagne.

They take turns—each of them sharing stories. Some are sweet, like the time Tigerlily stayed up all night helping a friend through a breakup. Some are silly, like the time she tried to impress a guy at a party and ended up slipping on her own drink. And some… are a little wilder.

“She once went skinny dipping once and almost got caught by hotel security,” Minji blurts out.

“MINJI!” Tigerlily yells, lunging for a pillow.

Everyone’s laughing again, and in the middle of it, Tigerlily covers your ears with both hands. “You didn’t hear that,” she says, eyes wide with mock horror.

“Oh, I definitely heard it,” you say, smiling as she pouts and hides her face.

More stories come, even more heartfelt ones. Her friends talk about how fiercely loyal she is, how she’s always been the glue that holds everyone together, how she lights up every room she walks into. And the whole time, you sit there beside her, watching her cheeks flush pink, her eyes glimmering from the emotions threatening to spill over.

At some point, she leans into your side and links her arm with yours. “I love them so much,” she whispers, voice soft and sleepy.

You press a kiss to her temple. “They love you just as much.”

It’s warm, the kind of warmth that settles in your bones. For a second, everything else fades—the wedding, the planning, even Hyunjin—and all that remains is this moment, your daughter surrounded by love, and you sitting right next to her, proud and full-hearted.

-

The suite is quiet once everyone have left. The laughter has faded into soft snore and the occasional rustle of satin against sheets. You and Tigerlily are curled up on the bed, wrapped in a cozy tangle of blankets and the lingering scent of champagne and cake. Her head rests against your shoulder, her breath warm and slow, still tinged with the sleepiness of wine and emotion. She murmurs something incoherent, and you chuckle softly, reaching up to remove the little sparkling tiara still resting askew on her head.

“There,” you whisper, placing it gently on the bedside table. “Queen of the night, now ready to sleep.”

She hums in response, eyes barely open, and you run your fingers gently through her hair, brushing it back from her face the way you used to when she was a child falling asleep in your lap. For a moment, the years blur — she’s no longer the grown woman about to become a bride, but your baby again. Just your little girl.

Then her voice comes again, quieter this time, like a secret unfurling in the dark. “Mom, do you know the real reason I brought you on this trip?” she asks.

You smile, looking down at her. “Why don’t you tell me, honey?”

She shifts, propping herself up on an elbow, her eyes glossy now, shimmering in the low light. “Because after you told me how you didn’t even get a real wedding with Dad, I realized… this is your first time too. First time doing all of this. First time experiencing... life.”

You open your mouth to say something, but she’s not done. “I started thinking about how much you missed. You had me when you were barely older than I am now. And while everyone else your age was out discovering the world, you were raising one.”

Her voice cracks, and she blinks fast, but the tears slip out anyway. “You missed a lot, Mom.”

You reach up and gently cup her cheek, brushing a tear away with your thumb. “Maybe. But I also gained more than I ever thought I could.”

She looks at you, really looks, her heart in her throat.

“I wouldn’t change a thing,” you continue, voice steady despite the lump forming in your chest. “If I had a chance to do it all over again, I’d still choose this life. I’d still choose you. You were never the thing I missed out on — you were the gift. The best one I’ve ever had.”

That’s when she breaks, she buries her face into your chest, arms wrapping around you tightly as her sobs come freely now. Her words are muffled, broken between sniffles and hiccups.

“Thank you,” she cries, “thank you for being my mom. For everything. For always being there.”

You hold her close, your arms strong around her trembling frame, your lips pressed gently to her hair.

“And I thank you,” you whisper, “for being mine. For choosing me back. You’ll always be my baby. Even when you’re someone’s wife. Even when you’re old and gray. You’ll always be my little cub… my Tigerlily.”

She cries harder at that, and you let her. You stroke her hair, her back, hold her like you did when she was small and scared of thunderstorms.

“I love you so much, baby,” you murmur as you kiss the top of her head.

And in the hush of that hotel room, surrounded by the remnants of a celebration, you feel it — the profound, unshakable bond between mother and daughter. One that no wedding, no passage of time, not even the miles of growing up, can ever change.

-

The taxi pulls away from the curb, and you stand in front of your house, suitcase in hand, the night air brushing cool against your skin. The neighborhood is quiet, the kind of silence that seeps into your bones after a long trip. You unlock the door and step inside, greeted by the familiar hum of home—and the stillness that now feels a little too heavy.

You set your bags down by the door, slipping your shoes off as your gaze sweeps across the dimly lit living room. It should feel comforting to be home, but the silence echoes strangely. Maybe it’s the way the weekend had been so full of life, of laughter, of your daughter’s arms wrapped around you, her voice in your ear. Maybe it’s the realization that her wedding is only a week away. One week until she starts a new chapter—without you at the center of it.

You sigh, about to head to the bedroom when your phone rings. Your heart lifts the moment you see his name on the screen. Hyunjin. You answer with a tired smile. “Hey.”

His voice comes through warm and eager, “Are you home?”

“Yeah,” you say, confused but already softening.

“That’s great,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Because I’m outside.”

“What?” But you’re already moving, already making your way back to the front door, heart kicking in your chest. You pull it open and there he is.

Standing on your porch in the glow of the porch light, hands in the pockets of his coat, smile stretched across his beautiful face. “Hi,” he says, gentle and breathless.

You don’t even think. You throw yourself at him and he catches you with a laugh, wrapping his arms tightly around you, the kind of embrace that grounds you instantly. Your face buries into the crook of his neck, and you breathe him in — warm and familiar, like something you've been missing without realizing.

Later, the two of you are curled up on the couch, mugs of coffee in hand, the glow from a single lamp painting the room in soft gold. You’ve traded your travel clothes for something more comfortable, and Hyunjin hasn’t left your side since you walked through the door.

“I brought you something,” he says with a spark in his eyes, reaching for the small box he placed on the coffee table earlier. You tilt your head as he opens it and pulls out two perfectly shaped mugs. The couple mugs you made together in his studio.

You take one gently, brushing your thumb over the glaze. His signature artistic touches are there—little swirling patterns on the handle, the bottom rim etched with a tiny heart. The craftsmanship is beautiful, but it’s the meaning that steals your breath.

“Hyunjin… they’re beautiful.”

He grins. “I know. You’re getting pretty good at this, you know.”

You raise a brow. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious. You’re a natural.” He plucks your mug from your hand and places it beside its twin on the kitchen counter. “And I want you to keep them here.”

“Here?”

He shrugs, slipping his arm around your shoulders as he comes back to sit beside you. “Yeah. This is where they belong. With you.”

You blink at him, lips parting. He offers you a sheepish smile, like it’s nothing. But to you, it’s everything. You lean into his warmth, head resting on his shoulder as the steam from the coffee curls in the air between you.

“How was the trip?” he asks softly, his hand running gentle strokes up and down your arm.

You exhale slowly, gaze fixed on the steam rising from your mug. “It was fun. Loud. Chaotic. A little overwhelming.” You chuckle. “Tigerlily made me dance at a club. Can you imagine?”

He smiles into your hair. “I can. And I bet you were stunning.”

You laugh, shaking your head before your voice turns quieter. “But it wasn’t just the party. There was this moment… with Tigerlily. Just us, after everyone left. And in a week… she’s getting married. She’s starting her life.”

Hyunjin listens, pulling you closer, fingers lacing with yours.

“And when I came home… it just hit me. The silence. The shift. Like something changed and I didn’t realize how final it was until I walked in that door.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, just lets you rest against him, his breath steady and grounding. Then he whispers, “It’s okay to feel that. Change is hard. Even good change. But it doesn’t mean you’re losing anything.”

Your throat tightens at that, your eyes stinging again, but not in a bad way.

Hyunjin lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles. “You’re not empty. You’re evolving. And I’ll be here. Through every version.”

You look up at him, heart aching in the best way. “You always know what to say.”

“I just say what I feel,” he says with a soft smile. “And what I feel is... I’m really glad you’re home.”

You press a kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment longer than you need to. “Me too.”

The soft lull of the evening hums in the background—rain patters lightly outside the window, and the room is quiet except for the gentle clink of mugs being set aside. You’re still nestled in Hyunjin’s arms when he tilts your chin up, searching your eyes. His thumb brushes across your cheek as he leans in to kiss you.

It starts slow—familiar and warm, like finding something you didn’t know you missed. But the way he presses into you speaks of how much he’s been holding back. You feel it in the way his hand cups the side of your face, in the way his lips part against yours, deeper, more certain.

“I missed you,” he whispers in between kisses. “So much.”

Your breath catches as his mouth moves again, softer now, teasing. “I kept thinking about kissing you like this…” His lips brush against yours again. “Touching you again…” Another kiss, slower this time, more drawn out. “And now I can’t stop.”

It’s dizzying—the way he says it, the way he shows it with every breath, every brush of his hands on your waist, your back, your hips. You clutch the front of his sweater, kissing him back just as fiercely, tasting the longing that matches your own. But as it grows, so does the awareness in your chest—the deep pull of trust, of something safe and real building between you.

You slow the kiss, your hands rising to cup his face, and you look at him—really look at him. His lips are swollen, eyes dark with affection and something more primal, but his expression softens when he sees the look in yours. “Hyunjin,” you breathe out. “Do you… want to stay over tonight?”

A silence settles for a moment, but only because he's searching your face for meaning. Then, the corners of his lips curl up into a gentle, knowing smile. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I’d really like that.”

He kisses you once more—slow, tender, unhurried now. Like he understands what this means. Like he’s willing to hold it all gently.vAnd in the safety of that moment, with his arms around you and the warmth of his smile pressed against your lips, you realize—Maybe it’s time. Not to rush. But to let yourself be loved.

-

The rain has settled into a soft rhythm outside your window, a hushed lullaby that fills the silence between you and Hyunjin as you lie tangled together in the quiet of your bedroom. The lights are dim, casting everything in amber warmth, and his body is curved around yours like he’s meant to be there—one arm draped across your waist, his fingers tracing absent-minded shapes along your hip. His voice is low and soft when he speaks. “It’s raining.”

You smile, your cheek pressed gently against his chest. “It was raining the night Tigerlily was born,” you murmur, nostalgia coating your words. “The heaviest rain I’ve ever heard. I remember thinking it was the sky weeping with joy.”

Hyunjin hums, brushing your hair back behind your ear as he listens. “Tell me everything,” he says quietly. “Tell me what it was like. Tell me about you. About the parts of you I haven’t met yet.”

You tilt your head slightly, meeting his gaze. He’s looking at you like he wants to memorize it all. So you tell him. About your favorite book as a teenager. About the first concert you ever went to. About how you decided to not go to university and went to auditions instead. About the coffee shop you used to write books in. About the day you found out you were pregnant and how you cried, terrified and overwhelmed but already in love. About how motherhood changed you. About how you still feel like that twenty-something girl sometimes—just trying to figure it out. He listens to every word, never interrupting, never pulling away. His fingers draw lazy circles on your arm, and you can feel the quiet weight of his attention.

You smile softly after a while, your voice dipping into playful territory. “So... do all of that make you rethink this? About me?”

He turns his face into your hair, chuckling. “It makes me love you more.”

And just like that, the moment stills. You shift to look at him, propping yourself up on your elbow as you search his face. “You said it,” you whisper, a bit stunned.

“I did,” he says, not missing a beat. His voice is calm but sure, eyes steady on yours. “I know we’re taking it slow. And I’ll go as slow as you need me to. But that won’t stop how I feel about you. I can’t help it.”

He reaches out, cradling your cheek in his hand. “I love you.”

The words land in your chest like a heartbeat. Warm and undeniable. And then he leans in, kissing you like he means it—with depth, with tenderness, with the weight of every quiet, growing feeling he’s been carrying since the moment he met you. His thumb strokes your cheek as your lips move together, and the sound of the rain outside continues like a hymn for something sacred blooming between you. In this moment, you believe him. You believe in this. You believe in love—again.

The rain is still falling outside, a soft, steady backdrop to the way his body settles closer, his hands moving over the curves of your waist, the dip of your hip. He kisses you again, deeper this time, and his hand slips beneath the hem of your nightdress, starting to inch it upward when you stop him with a quiet touch to his wrist.

“Wait,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin pauses instantly, eyes flicking up to meet yours, concern etching into his brows. “What is it?”

You swallow, your hand still wrapped gently around his wrist. “I’m not what you think I am,” you murmur, heart beating too fast. “I’m not young anymore, Hyunjin. My body’s not perfect. I have lines, softness, marks from time. I just—” You hesitate, searching for words. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

For a second, there’s only the sound of rain and your breath between you. Then he smiles. That beautiful, slow, devastating smile that always seems to unravel something inside you. He leans in, brushing a soft kiss to your lips, then your cheek, then your jaw.

“You think I don’t see you?” he says gently, voice low, threaded with something that feels close to awe. “I see all of you. I’ve seen you laugh, cry, carry the weight of the world with grace. I’ve seen you fall apart and still be strong. And you’re beautiful. So beautiful to me.”

Your chest tightens, something deep and old melting at his words.

Hyunjin lifts your chin so you’re looking at him, really looking. His gaze is steady, sincere. “Let me see you,” he says softly. “All of you.”

And with trembling breath, you nod. Your fingers let go of his wrist, and Hyunjin helps you out of your nightdress with patient care, not like he’s undressing you, but like he’s unveiling something precious. When you're bare beneath him, you brace yourself—but he only looks at you like you’re the most breathtaking thing he’s ever laid eyes on. His hands move gently over your skin, warm and grounding, and then he leans down to kiss you again—slow, deep, filled with everything words can’t hold.

In his touch, in his gaze, you feel it: desire, yes, but also reverence. Love. A quiet promise that he sees you—not just your body, but your story. Your soul. All of you. And to him, you are beautiful.

Hyunjin takes his time with you—like he’s memorizing every inch of your skin, every shiver and sigh. His lips meet yours in a deep, lingering kiss that makes your heart ache in the most exquisite way, and when he pulls back, he trails kisses along your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Every touch feels like a vow.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath dancing over your skin. “I’ve dreamed about this. About you.”

His mouth moves lower, over the slope of your chest, down to the valley between your breasts, his hands cradling you gently as if you might break. He pauses just long enough to look at you again, like he wants to be sure you're still with him, still saying yes—and when you nod, he smiles and continues, kissing down your ribs, your stomach, slow and reverent.

He murmurs sweet things between kisses. “You don’t even know how you look to me,” he says, his voice hushed, like a secret he’s only brave enough to share now. “You’re out of this world. You’re art.”

When he reaches your hips, his fingers ghost over your sides, grounding and careful, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there. Then further—over your thighs, your inner thighs, where his kisses turn softer, slower, like he’s worshiping the very idea of you. And then, like a final act of devotion, he kneels and lifts your foot gently, pressing a kiss to your ankle, then to the inside of your calf, like there’s no part of you undeserving of love. You feel your breath catch in your throat. Not from arousal—though that coils steadily too—but from the overwhelming way he sees you. All of you. And still chooses to love every part.

As he makes his way back up to you, his eyes meet yours again, tender and warm. “I want to know everything about you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every scar, every story, every soft place you’re afraid to show.”

And when he kisses you again, it feels like surrender—but the safe kind. The kind where you let yourself be seen and loved, completely.

Hyunjin flashes you a smile before he disappears between your thighs like he’s slipping into a world made only of you. His hands settle on your hips with a kind of tenderness that makes your chest ache, grounding you as his mouth begins its slow, deliberate worship on your pulsating cunt. Every flick of his tongue on your clit is thoughtful, every kiss between the folds is reverent. He’s not just trying to please you—he’s trying to learn you, to know you and you’re unraveling beneath him. But still, you’re quiet. Holding your breath. Biting your lip to keep any sounds at bay, your fingers curling into the sheets instead of his hair.

Hyunjin notices so he lifts his head, lips slick and eyes dark with adoration and something deeper—hunger, yes, but also love. “Why are you being quiet?” he asks softly, teasingly. “You think I don’t want to hear you?”

Your breath stutters as you look at him and he leans up just slightly, presses a kiss to your inner thigh. “Let them out,” he murmurs. “All those beautiful noises you’re holding back—I want to hear them. All of them.”

Your pulse thrums in your ears then he lowers himself again with a smile that’s both wicked and gentle. And when he starts again, landing his plush lips on your drenching core, slower this time, more insistent, you don’t hold back. And Hyunjin—he hums his satisfaction against your skin like it’s his favorite sound in the world.

It doesn't take long for Hyunjin’s skilled mouth to take you where you need to. You fall apart beneath him—trembling, gasping, your fingers tangled in the sheets as waves of pleasure roll through you. He doesn’t stop running his tongue between your wet folds until you’re completely undone, your body twitching with the aftershocks, your breath ragged and uneven.

Only then does he pull away, slowly, languidly, as if savoring the last taste of you. There’s a smug little smirk tugging at his lips as he rises, and the look in his eyes—it’s all heat and devotion, mischief laced with reverence.

You’re still catching your breath when he leans over you again, his mouth brushing yours. The kiss is unhurried, deep, and when your tongue meets his, you taste yourself on him—warm, intimate, dizzying. He groans softly against your lips. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “For coming so beautifully like that for me.” His eyes flicker over your face, lips brushing yours again. “You taste so good, I already want another.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your body still buzzing from the high, your fingers curling into his hair as you pull him in for another kiss, and you’ve never felt so wanted, so seen completely his.

After a while, Hyunjin sits back on his knees, eyes locked with yours, his breathing still uneven. Without a word, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion. His skin glows under the soft light, golden and lean, the shadows carving definition along his chest, his arms, the delicate lines of muscle and bone that move with each breath. He watches you watch him, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face as he unbuttons his pants, not rushed, letting every movement stretch, deliberate and teasing. Piece by piece, he undresses for you—until there's nothing left between you. Then he leans down, his hands bracing on either side of your body as he hovers over you once more, heat radiating from him as his bare skin meets yours. The sensation is overwhelming—startling in its intensity. Chest to chest. Stomach to stomach. Legs tangled and breaths mixing in the space between your mouths.

Your body arches instinctively, responding to the feel of him, the way he fits so perfectly above you. One of his hands strokes along your side, memorizing the lines of you with reverence. His voice is a whisper, brushing your ear as he lowers himself fully against you.

“There’s nothing in the world that feels better than this,” he murmurs, kissing your temple.

With that, he lets the moment settle around you like silk, like warmth, like something you never want to end. Then, your hands lift on their own, hesitant at first. Your fingertips trace the line of his collarbone, down the slope of his chest, across the gentle dip between his ribs. You feel the way his heart races beneath your touch, the way his muscles flex subtly as your fingers explore him. He watches you in silence, his gaze soft, his lashes lowering when your palm rests just over his heart. There’s a faint tremble in your voice when you whisper, “You’re so beautiful.”

His breath hitches. The smallest, most vulnerable sound. A shy smile curves his lips as he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. “You really think so?”

You nod, letting your hand move lower—over the dip of his waist, the subtle trail of muscle that disappears beneath the sheets. “All of you. Every inch of you,” you murmur, and he exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath waiting to hear you say that.

Hyunjin kisses you again, and this time there's nothing tentative about it. It's deep, warm, and possessive—the kind of kiss that curls your toes and makes your body arch instinctively toward his. His hands roam, slow but confident and you gasp softly against his lips when his palm slides down your side, cupping the curve of your hip.

The kiss grows hotter with each passing second, his body pressing you further into the mattress. His breath is ragged when he finally pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “Do you have any condoms?” he asks, voice low and husky with anticipation.

You’re still catching your breath, nodding slowly when he suddenly adds with a crooked smirk, “Not that I’m planning to give Tigerlily a younger sibling… not yet, at least.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the sudden flash of humor easing the last of your nerves. “Drawer in the bathroom,” you reply, voice soft but steady.

Hyunjin grins at you, a glint of fondness—and something deeper—shining in his eyes as he brushes your hair back from your face. “Be right back,” he says, and then he leans down, giving you one last kiss—sweet and slow, as if he doesn’t want to leave your lips even for a second—before slipping off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

Not long after, the bathroom light flicks off, and soft footsteps pad against the floor. You lift your head slightly as he returns, a quiet smile playing on his lips and a tenderness in his eyes that makes your chest ache in the best way. He walks over with the same graceful ease he always carries, but there's something else now—something deeper in the way he looks at you like he's seeing all of you, and wanting every piece. He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. You hear the soft crinkle of the foil packet, that small sound somehow thunderous in the silence of the room. It makes your skin prickle with anticipation. You can’t see everything he’s doing, but you don’t need to. The intimacy of it, the knowing of what’s about to come, makes your breath catch.

When he finally turns to you again, Hyunjin shifts closer, slow and deliberate, his body warm as it presses into yours. He doesn’t rush. Instead, he leans in gently, one hand finding your cheek, fingers featherlight as they cradle your face. His thumb brushes your skin, and you feel the slight tremble in his breath as his forehead touches yours.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, like you’re a secret he wants to keep safe.

You look into his eyes, and for a moment, there’s nothing else. Just you and him. Then, he leans in, kissing you with that same softness, his body melts into yours, skin to skin, the kiss deepening as his hand glides from your cheek to your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him. Every inch of you fits against him like you were meant to be held this way.

And in that quiet, sacred moment, nothing else matters but the way he kisses you—as if he's telling you without words just how much he wants you, and how deeply he already cares.

Your fingers curl gently against the slope of his back as he settles between your legs, his body warm and familiar now, like something you’ve known all along.

Hyunjin nudges his nose against your cheek and murmurs, “I’m going to take it slow this time. Really slow.” There's a teasing glint in his voice, soft and sultry, and it pulls a quiet laugh from your throat.

“You say that,” you whisper back, voice already tinged with need, “but you never do.”

He grins, brushing a kiss along your jawline. “I mean it tonight.” And you can tell he does, not just in the way he speaks, but in the way he moves. He aligns his cock to your entrance and then he pushes his throbbing length into you slowly, carefully like he wants you to feel everything.

And you feel it, you feel all of it. Every inch of his hard length entering you, filling you, every breath, every shared heartbeat. The two of you let out a raw, satisfied groan at the feeling of being inside each other, at last.

The moment Hyunjin starts to move, it’s almost too much—the fullness, the stretch, the heat of his cock inside you. Your body reacts before your thoughts can catch up, instinctively tightening around him, your breath catching in your throat.

He lets out a guttural groan, dropping his forehead against yours. “You can’t do that,” he breathes, voice thick and frayed. “If you keep clenching like that, I’ll—” He swallows hard, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “I’ll embarrass myself.”

You try to bite back a smile, only half-successful. “Sorry,” you murmur, not sounding sorry at all.

His eyes open again, and there’s laughter there, but also something deeper—adoration, restraint, the ache of wanting to last. “This is our first time, let me make a good impression,” he playfully says, and then he kisses you again, slower this time—true to his word—as he begins to move with deliberate tenderness, making sure every second counts.

A moment later, Hyunjin moves within you in slow, deep rhythms—measured, reverent, like he’s savoring every second. His breath hitches now and then as he buries his face in your neck, whispering praise between kisses and sighs. “You feel so good,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe. “So warm, so perfect…”

Each word wraps around you, deeper than his touch. “I’m so lucky… to feel you like this. To have you like this.”

Then he leans back just enough to make you meet his gaze, his hand cradling the side of your face. And in that moment, you feel completely seen. Not just your body, but your soul. The walls you’ve built over the years, the scars, the quiet fears you’ve kept tucked away—he sees them all. And he stays.

A wave of emotion crashes over you so suddenly, so powerfully, it steals the breath from your lungs. Your lips part beneath his kiss, but your body trembles beneath the weight of feeling, and you can’t bring yourself to kiss him back.

Hyunjin notices and he pulls back immediately, concern etched across his features. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice soft and urgent. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, eyes closing just as the first tears slip down your cheeks.

He stills completely, pulling out of you without hesitation, wrapping his arms around you as if he could shield you from whatever it is that’s hurting you. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, kissing the corners of your eyes, your cheeks, your jaw. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t,” you choke out, your voice cracking around the lump in your throat. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing your hair out of your face, concern still dark in his eyes. “Then what is it?”

Your gaze locks with his, and for the first time, you let the fear rise to the surface. “I’m scared,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “Of this. Of you. Of what I’m feeling. It’s so much.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. He just wipes the tears from your cheeks with the backs of his knuckles, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone gently, grounding you.

You swallow thickly, your voice hoarse. “I don’t want to get hurt.”

At that, a bittersweet smile curves at the corner of his lips, his brows furrowing just slightly. He cups your face in both hands, presses his forehead to yours, and kisses you again—slow and full, the kind of kiss that says everything he can’t yet put into words.

When he finally pulls back, he whispers against your lips, “I'm not going hurt you. I promise.”

In his eyes, you believe him. You pull him close again, wrapping your arms around him, your fingers wrapping around the nape of his neck.

Hyunjin hesitates only a moment—watching your eyes, searching for the unspoken permission—and when he sees it, he slowly slips himself into you again and starts to move, his body rocking against yours in quiet devotion.

It’s different now. The fear is still there, but it no longer weighs you down—it lifts, transforms into something new, something freeing. With every slow thrust, every kiss that brushes your skin, you feel your heart split open, not in pain but in release, like something you’ve held too tightly for too long is finally being set free.

You let him in. You feel him. All of him. The weight of his body, the cadence of his breath, the way his heart stutters against your chest. And in the stillness between movements, in the soft moans and whispered names, in the curve of his mouth against your neck—you feel the truth of the connection between you. It’s real. You hold onto him tighter, not to cling, but to anchor yourself in this moment.

“I’m here,” he murmurs between kisses, like a vow. “I’ve got you.”

With one final, aching stroke, the pleasure builds, wraps around both of you until you fall into it together—his name breathless on your lips, your name a prayer on his. You come undone in his arms, and he follows, holding you like you’re something sacred. In the quiet after, as your bodies settle and your hearts slow, there’s no fear. His skin is warm, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you lay curled into his side, your leg tangled with his beneath the sheets. Your eyes flutter shut as you let yourself melt into him, cheek pressed to his chest where you can hear his heartbeat. It’s grounding, comforting like a lullaby made just for you.

“You okay?” he asks softly, voice raspy from the night but threaded with affection.

You nod against his chest. “More than okay.”

You sigh contentedly, letting yourself soak in the warmth of his body and the calm that settles between you. Nothing about this moment is rushed. Nothing about it feels unsure. It’s just you and him—bodies entwined, hearts open, quiet and full.

-

It's like the rain didn't happen last night as the sun is shining so brightly the next morning. You’re at the stove in your robe, humming to yourself as you flip a pancake, already plating the crispy bacon beside it when you hear footsteps shuffle in—slow, heavy, and unmistakably sleepy.

You glance over your shoulder just in time to see Hyunjin appear in the doorway, shirtless with the sheet from your bed still clinging to one shoulder like he didn’t bother shrugging it off. He’s rubbing his eyes and yawning, but that sleepy smile—so sweet and lazy—stretches across his face when he sees you. He walks straight to you and wraps his arms around your waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You weren’t in bed,” he mumbles, voice gravelly from sleep. “I woke up and you were gone. That’s not fair.”

You laugh softly, continuing to stir the eggs in the pan. “Someone has to make breakfast.”

“Wrong answer,” Hyunjin grumbles, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “I wanted morning cuddles.”

Before you can respond, he’s already turning you around gently and lifting you by the waist with ease. You let out a small squeal as he sets you on the edge of the kitchen island, your legs dangling off the side. He places his hands on the counter on either side of you, caging you in with that warm, sleepy grin on his face. You return the smile, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a slow, soft kiss to your lips.

You kiss him back just as softly. “Good morning.”

His smile widens, and then he’s peppering your lips with quick, playful kisses—one after the other, barely giving you time to breathe between each one. You giggle, trying to squirm away, but his arms tighten around your waist and he buries his face in your chest with a content sigh. You rest your hand on the nape of his neck, holding him close, the warmth between your bodies matching the gentle golden light spilling through the kitchen window.

Hyunjin stays nestled against your chest for a long, comfortable moment before he lifts his head and looks up at you, eyes still sleepy but filled with something softer—something warmer. “So…” he starts, voice a little hopeful. “Can we finally take that trip together now?”

You let out a laugh, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Are you forgetting something?”

He blinks. “No?”

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. “The wedding is this weekend.”

Hyunjin pauses, then groans dramatically as he drops his head back against your chest. “Nooo, right. That.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, giggling.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you with a pout. “Okay but… hear me out. What if you just told her to push the wedding to next weekend instead?”

Your laughter echoes through the kitchen as you lightly smack his shoulder. “You want me to reschedule my daughter’s wedding so we can go on a trip?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs playfully. “Priorities.”

You shake your head, still laughing. “Anyway, as the mother of the bride, I’m only going to get busier this week with the final prep.”

Hyunjin groans even louder this time, letting his head fall against your shoulder like the world is ending. “Ugh. Being the best man sounded more fun in theory.”

You grin, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “You better take that duty seriously. Tigerlily will haunt your dreams if you mess it up.”

“She already does,” he mutters with a dramatic sigh.

You laugh again, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “You’ll survive. And once the wedding’s over…”

He perks up, eyes sparkling. “Trip?”

“Well, I was going to say...” you pause to pick up your mug of coffee, “coffee?”

Hyunjin gasps in delight as he sees the couple mugs you made filled with hot, steaming coffee. “Coffee first then the trip,” he murmurs with a grin as he picks up his mug.

Before taking a sip, he kisses you right then and there—soft and triumphant, like he’s already picturing you both somewhere far away, together.

-

You open the front door just as the cab pulls away from the curb, revealing Chris standing there with his suitcase in one hand and his daughter Riley beside him, hoodie pulled over her head, nose buried in her phone.

Chris offers you a tired smile, stopping right on the doorway to give you a quick hug. “Hey.”

You smile warmly, stepping aside to let them in. “Hey. How was your flight?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, brushing his hair back as he steps inside. “Fine. Long.”

You give him a knowing look—his eyes are a bit bloodshot and there’s a weariness in the way his shoulders slump—but you don’t push it. Instead, your eyes drift toward Riley, who’s still in her own world, thumbs tapping at her screen, headphones on.

“Riley,” Chris says with a light nudge to her shoulder. “Say hi.”

She looks up for the first time, pulling her headphones down just slightly. “Hi,” she mutters before stepping in and giving you a quick, one-armed hug.

You wrap your arms gently around her, unfazed. “Hi, Riley. Good to see you again!”

She nods and offers a polite smile before slipping past you, already pulling her headphones back on and wandering further inside, eyes back on her phone.

You glance at Chris with a knowing smirk, and he sighs. “Teenagers.”

“She’s grown up so much,” you say softly, watching her disappear into the living room.

Chris chuckles, dragging his suitcase the rest of the way in. “Yeah. She’s got that whole ‘too cool for life’ thing down to an art.”

You close the door behind them and gesture toward the hallway. “Come on in. I’ll show you both your rooms. You can rest a bit before dinner.”

Chris nods, rolling his shoulders. “Sounds good. Thanks for letting us stay.”

You glance at him with a playful look. “You’re still family, Chris. You don’t have to thank me.”

His eyes soften at that, and for a moment, there’s a quiet understanding that passes between you—years of history wrapped in a single look. “Still,” he says, “thank you.”

Later that afternoon, the house feels warm and quiet, filled with the subtle scent of fresh cookies and the soft clinking of mugs. You and Chris sit across from each other at the kitchen island, a plate of chocolate chip cookies between you and steaming cups of coffee in your hands.

“So,” Chris says, leaning back slightly in the stool, “you’re still making those cookies I like.”

You smile over your cup. “You think I made them just for you?”

“I choose to believe that,” he says with a grin before taking a bite.

You laugh softly, stirring your coffee. “How’s life back in the city?”

“Busy,” he answers, nodding. “The label wants to reissue an old Bang Theory album, so I’ve been working on it. Lots of meetings, a few studio sessions, lots of… nostalgia.”

You hum, intrigued. “That sounds kind of nice. Do you miss it?”

Chris considers the question for a moment, then shrugs. “Some parts of it, yeah. Others… not so much. Touring at this age isn’t as fun as it used to be.”

You chuckle. “Your back can’t handle the stage dives anymore?”

He snorts into his coffee. “Exactly. What about you? Still working on that book?”

You nod, your smile softening. “Yeah. Actually, I’ve been… into pottery lately.”

Chris pauses mid-sip, eyebrows lifting slightly before he nods. “New hobby, huh?” he chuckles, then takes another cookie. “Good for you.”

You both settle into a brief, comfortable silence before he glances up again. “So… rehearsal dinner. What should I expect?”

You perk up at that. “Oh! It’s at that restaurant by the garden terrace downtown. Casual but elegant. Lots of wine. Julian’s parents are hosting it.”

Chris nods, then takes a breath. “And… his family? What are they like?”

You give him a curious look. “Why? Are you nervous?”

“A little,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m just… her dad. You know? Want to make a good impression.”

You lean forward, grinning. “Wait—you? Chris Bang, lead singer of Bang Theory, is nervous about meeting some suburban in-laws?”

He groans. “Don’t make fun of me.”

You laugh, then soften. “I’m not. I just think it’s sweet.”

He raises an eyebrow, mouth curling into a teasing smirk. “You calling me sweet now? That’s dangerously close to flirting.”

You roll your eyes and take a sip of coffee. “It’s called reassurance.”

Still smiling, Chris leans his elbows on the counter and looks at you. “So, what do you suggest? Show up in leather and play it cool?”

You grin. “I think just be yourself. You’re already charming and likable. You don’t even have to try.”

Chris watches you for a beat, and his smile turns just a little bit softer. “Thanks.”

You shrug, playful. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Oh, it’s already there,” he says, popping the last cookie into his mouth.

He takes a slow sip of his coffee, then lets out a deep sigh, tipping his head back slightly as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. “There’s just one problem, though.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

He gestures vaguely to the room upstairs where Riley is resting in Tigerlily’s old room. “Riley. She’s impossible. I swear, she’s glued to that phone like it’s a limb. I can’t get her to talk, help out, or even look up most of the time.”

You chuckle, resting your chin in your hand. “Classic teenager.”

He groans dramatically. “Yeah, well, classic teenager is driving me insane. I’ve tried being cool dad, strict dad, let’s-talk-about-it dad… nothing works. I need backup. I need you.”

You give him a slow, amused look over the rim of your mug. “You need me?”

He nods, with the exasperated sincerity of a man who’s been bested by a teenager. “I’m begging. Please. I don’t think she even knows we’re here. She could be texting someone in another dimension for all I know.”

Laughing softly, you set your mug down and lean back in your chair. “Chris, relax. I’ve got this.”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You sound way too confident.”

You give him a sly smile. “Because I am confident. I know how to handle a teenager.”

He leans forward, elbows on the counter. “Okay, now I’m curious. What’s the game plan?”

You wink. “You’ll see. But let’s just say… I've got it.”

Chris lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. “God, I forgot how terrifyingly effective you can be.”

You grin at him. “Don’t worry. Just leave it to me.”

-

You walk quietly down the hallway and knock gently on Tigerlily’s old bedroom door, the one Riley is staying in now. After a brief pause, you push the door open to find her sitting cross-legged on the bed, phone in hand, headphones hanging loosely around her neck, her thumbs busy tapping away.

“Hey, Riley,” you say softly, offering a warm smile. “Just wanted to check in. Do you need anything? Snacks? Water?”

Riley barely glances up, her tone monotone. “I’m good. Thanks.”

You step inside anyway, gently closing the door behind you before crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Okay,” you say, watching her fingers move rapidly across the screen. “Well, I just wanted to thank you for coming.”

At that, she shrugs, eyes still on her phone. “Well, my Dad made me come so...”

You chuckle, not offended at all. “That sounds about right.”

She lets out a small laugh—barely audible, but you catch it. You smile softly and add, “Well, thank you anyway. I’m really glad you’re here.”

Riley hums noncommittally, still not making eye contact, but you don’t push. You let a few seconds pass before casually continuing, “You know… I follow your Instagram.”

That gets her attention. She blinks and glances up at you, just briefly. “You do?”

“I do. You’ve got great style. I love your outfit posts—your mirror selfies are seriously top-tier.”

Riley raises an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching slightly. “Really?”

“Mm-hm. I like clothes too. Always have.” You lean in conspiratorially. “Wanna see my wardrobe?”

That’s when her eyes truly light up. She lowers her phone just a little, the blue glow no longer dominating her expression. “Wait, really? Like… now?”

You nod, grinning. “Of course. Come on. I’ll even let you try them on.”

Riley finally sets her phone aside, her posture shifting from uninterested to intrigued in seconds. “Okay… yeah. That sounds kind of cool.”

You stand and hold your hand out toward her. “Come with me then.”

You lead Riley into your wardrobe, flipping on the warm overhead lights as the space glows to life with rows of carefully organized clothing, shoes lined up like museum pieces, and soft fabrics hanging in every hue imaginable.

Riley’s eyes go wide. “Whoa…” she breathes, stepping in like she’s just walked into Narnia. “This is insane.”

You smile as you watch her scan the racks, fingertips grazing along silk, velvet, denim, and tulle. “Insane in the best way, I hope?” you tease, enjoying her wonder.

Every few seconds, she gasps or lets out a quiet “Oh my god,” especially when she stumbles upon something particularly glamorous or vintage. Then she freezes in front of a sleek black number with subtle rhinestone detailing and a high slit—one you’d worn to a fashion event years ago. “Wait. Is this the dress you wore to the Paris thing? I saw a photo on Pinterest. You looked iconic.”

You laugh, a little flattered she noticed. “That’s the one.”

“Can I… can I try it?”

You raise a brow. “Of course you can.”

In minutes, you’re helping her zip it up, smoothing the fabric against her frame as she steps in front of the mirror. It's uncanny how it fits her like a glove. She turns to the side, then full-on beams at her reflection. “I look like I’m about to get photographed on a red carpet.”

“You kinda do,” you say, snapping a few pictures of her with her phone as she poses, giggling in between.

Then your eyes catch on a lace-detailed dress with soft pastel floral prints hanging nearby. You pull it out, holding it up. “This one… I got it after doing a shoot for Italian magazine. They let me keep it. You’d look beautiful in this.”

Riley’s eyes widen with excitement. “Wait, can I try that one too?”

“Absolutely!”

She changes into it quickly, emerging like a flower blooming, delicate and glowing as she twirls in front of the mirror. She watches herself with awe, running her hands along the fabric.

“That,” you say, stepping behind her with a soft smile, “is the perfect dress to wear for the rehearsal dinner tonight.”

She stops spinning and looks at you through the mirror, eyes wide. “Wait, really? I can wear this?”

You nod. “Yes, you can. You’d make that dress proud.”

Without warning, Riley turns and throws her arms around you, hugging you tightly. “Thank you,” she mumbles into your shoulder. “Seriously. Thank you.”

You hold her close, smiling as your heart swells. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Still wearing the dress, Riley continues combing through your wardrobe like it’s a treasure trove. Her fingers glide over hangers until she pauses in front of a garment bag tucked into the corner. It’s slightly dusted but clearly protected with care. “What’s this one?” she asks, curiosity peaking as she gently tugs at the zipper.

You turn just as she peels it open halfway, revealing the edge of intricate lace and delicate beadwork—ivory, timeless, unmistakable. It's a dress you wore when you got married to Chris, it's not even a designer piece, you bought it at a vintage shop in the city Chris’s band was touring in. The sight of the dress evokes the memories and it's so vivid as if you just pulled open a pandora's box. Your breath catches for a moment, your smile faltering just slightly. “Ah…” you walk over casually, your voice soft, “That one’s… it’s torn at the seam.”

Riley looks up at you with wide eyes, clearly still interested but sensing something in your tone. “Oh, okay,” she says, releasing the zipper and stepping back with respect. “Still looks really pretty though.”

You give her a gentle smile and nod. “It used to be.”

She shrugs and moves on to the shoes, gasping at a pair of jeweled heels. “These are insane!”

You wait until her attention is fully stolen by the footwear before stepping back to the corner. Quietly, you zip the bag all the way up, your fingers brushing over the fabric through the plastic. Then, with a soft breath, you tuck it further back into the closet, behind a row of coats. Hidden, again. Where it belongs.

You turn back to Riley with a smile as she holds up two pairs of shoes in each hand, debating which one to wear with the floral dress. “Help me choose?” she grins.

“Sure,” you say, walking toward her again, brushing the past off your shoulders like dust.

-

The sound of Chris’s voice echoes through the house. “Hey! Can I get some help here or am I tying this thing myself and risking public humiliation?”

You head toward his room, already dressed and putting on your earrings. As you enter, Chris turns around and does a once-over with an appreciative grin.

“Well, damn,” he says, eyes twinkling. “You clean up dangerously well.”

You wave him off with a roll of your eyes, “Focus. I’m here to save you from that crooked tie.”

You step in front of him, fingers deftly fixing the knot and as you do, you notice some silver hair on the side of his head. As you straighten the fabric, he tilts his head slightly. “How’s Riley?”

“Handled,” you reply with a pleased smile. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. She’s dressed, she’s excited, and she actually spoke more than three words.”

Chris looks genuinely impressed. “Miracle worker.”

Before you can respond, the soft clack of shoes against the stairs makes both of you turn. Riley steps down carefully, dressed in the floral lace dress you lent her, her makeup subtle and pretty, her hair styled loosely. She’s trying to play it cool, but her eyes are scanning for your reaction.

You gasp dramatically. “Chris. Look!”

Chris immediately joins you in the praise parade. “Oh my god. Is that my Riley bear?!”

Riley rolls her eyes, cheeks a little pink. “It’s just a dress, dad.”

You and Chris start clapping like over-enthusiastic parents. “JUST a dress? You’re glowing!”

Chris ruffles her hair, earning a swat, and you step in. “Okay, okay, hold still—give me your phone, Riley. We’re documenting this transformation.”

She reluctantly hands it over, trying not to smile. You snap a few photos of her, letting her pose. Then Chris steps in beside her, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “Come on, let’s show them where she got her style,” he jokes.

You take several adorable shots of the two of them, and when you lower the phone, Riley looks at you. “Now one with you.”

You blink, surprised. “Me too?”

Chris is already stepping behind the camera. “Come on. In you go.”

You move in beside Riley, wrapping an arm around her as she does the same. Chris captures a few shots, then Riley grins and pulls out her own phone. “Okay, selfie time.”

The three of you squeeze together—Riley sandwiched between her two very proud, very amused parents. The moment she taps the button, all three of you are laughing. Caught in the blur of joy and history and something that, just maybe, feels a little bit like family again.

“This is fun but we should go or else we'd be late for the rehearsal dinner,” you remind them as you grab your purse from the sofa.

The drive to the restaurant is lit with the golden hue of the setting sun, and the soft hum of the road beneath the tires fills the pauses between chatter. You sit in the passenger seat, Riley lounging in the back, headphones tucked away for once as the three of you settle into a rare moment of shared ease.

Chris glances over at you, tapping the steering wheel absently. “So, tell me again about Julian’s family. I need some common ground. I can’t exactly open with ‘Hi, I used to headline stadiums and wreck hotel rooms.’”

You smile. “Julian’s dad was a big-time broker. Wall Street type. Retired now, enjoying the fruits of his labor. They’re older than us by a good stretch.”

Chris exhales, visibly relieved. “Older is good. Older might think I’m mature by default.”

You chuckle. “They go on boat trips every other weekend. Sailing types.”

Chris nods, keeping his eyes on the road. “Boats. I can do boats. Talk about waves, sea breeze, sunscreen—yeah, I’ve got material.”

Then, with a hesitant glance at you, he asks, “Do they know about me?”

Before you can answer, Riley leans forward between the seats, totally deadpan. “You’re not that famous, dad.”

You burst out laughing. “She’s got a point.”

Chris’s mouth drops open in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

Riley shrugs, clearly enjoying herself. “I mean, unless they were obsessed with rock bands in the 90s… probably not.”

Chris pouts and glares at her through the rearview mirror. “You too, Riley?”

You reach over and pat his thigh consolingly. “She’s right. Julian’s parents don’t know about the world tour, the platinum albums, or... the groupies.”

Riley pipes up again, her voice playful, “You know, back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.”

Chris groans dramatically. “Unbelievable. The women in this car are ganging up on me.”

You and Riley catch each other’s eyes and exchange a conspiratorial smile, both suppressing your laughter. “Better get used to it,” you tease, nudging his arm. “It’s a girls’ world now.”

-

The soft buzz of laughter and clinking silverware filters out from the warmly lit restaurant as you, Chris, and Riley step through the doors. It’s cozy and elegant, decked with white linens, twinkling fairy lights, and thoughtfully arranged floral centerpieces—Tigerlily’s touch, no doubt. The moment she spots the three of you, her face lights up, and she hurries over, Julian in tow.

“Mom!” she beams, throwing her arms around you, then turning to Chris. “Dad! You made it!” She gives him a long hug before pulling back to smile at Riley. “And Riley, you look amazing.”

Julian adds his own greetings, hugging you and Chris warmly. It’s all easy, affectionate, natural. But before Riley can slip away into the corner with her phone again, you gently nudge her forward and catch sight of Maude nearby, cheerful and stylish, and chatting to her girlfriend Alexa.

“Riley, this is Maude,” you say quickly, catching her before she can disappear. “She’s Julian’s sister and knows everyone here. Maude, could I ask you to keep her company?”

Maude grins. “Of course! Come with me, I’ll introduce you to the good mocktail table.”

Riley hesitates, but with a glance back at you—and maybe some hope at escaping parental banter—she follows Maude with a small, grateful nod. You watch her go, a little relieved, and then turn your attention back to the next task: Julian’s parents.

You and Chris approach them together. Julian’s father, dapper in a navy blazer, shakes your hand warmly. His mother, elegant and composed, greets you with a smile and a gracious air. You’re used to this, the polished rhythm of pleasantries, the light conversation about the venue, the weather, the flowers—but beside you, Chris is just slightly stiff, the way he always gets when he’s not sure of the social cues. He’s doing fine, polite and charming, but you can feel it—that slight lag in his rhythm, the way he hesitates before reaching for the wine glass, unsure whether to join in the toast or wait.

So you start guiding, gently, without calling attention to it. When a toast is offered, you clink glasses first so he knows it’s time. When Julian’s mother mentions their yacht trip, you slide in a prompt. “Chris is a fan of the sea too, aren’t you?”

He picks it up with a grateful smile, easing into the conversation. When there’s a lull, you fill it, helping him navigate the small talk minefield. You even whisper reminders now and then—a soft nudge about names or who’s married to whom.

Through it all, Chris stays close, often glancing at you with that familiar mix of gratitude and amusement. He leans over at one point and murmurs near your ear, “I’m way out of my depth here, you know.”

You smile without looking at him. “That’s why I’m here.”

Once Chris has finally found his rhythm with Julian’s parents, tou quietly slip away from the table. You spot him a few feet away, deep in conversation with Julian now—his brow slightly furrowed, his arms crossed, and that unmistakable dad energy radiating off him as he most likely doles out the classic father-of-the-bride threats in the nicest way possible. You chuckle quietly to yourself, amused by the sight. Poor Julian, you think.

At the bar, you thank the bartender as he hands you your drink. You bring the glass to your lips, letting the bubbles fizzle pleasantly on your tongue when a warm voice calls out your name, familiar and unmistakably fond.

“Wow,” Hyunjin breathes as he approaches, eyes shining with awe. “You look…” He pauses, head tilting slightly as his gaze travels from your hair down to your heels. “Beautiful doesn't even begin to cover it.”

You feel the warmth rush to your cheeks as he takes your hand gently in his, not caring if anyone’s watching, and with a playful smile, gives you a slow twirl. The hem of your dress flares softly around your legs as he drinks in the sight of you from every angle, murmuring a quiet, reverent, “Beautiful,” with each pass.

You let out a flustered laugh, brushing a hand over your flushed cheek. “You look gorgeous yourself,” you say, letting your eyes drift over his striped suit, perfectly tailored to his tall, lean figure.

He leans in, gaze flickering to your lips—but you catch him, palm gently meeting the center of his chest to halt him. “Not here,” you murmur lowly, glancing discreetly toward the direction of Julian’s parents. “And definitely not in front of Julian’s parents.”

Hyunjin frowns with a pout, clearly not satisfied with that response. “Then let’s sneak out. Just for a few minutes. I want to kiss you.”

You laugh under your breath, swatting at his chest playfully. “Behave,” you whisper, trying to reel him in. “You’ll cause a scene.”

Just then, a voice cuts in—deeper, familiar. “Who’s this?”

You both turn to find Chris standing a few feet away, his expression neutral but eyes sharp with curiosity. Your breath catches for a moment before you clear your throat and take a step closer to the two men.

“This is… Hyunjin,” you say, gently slipping your hand into Hyunjin’s. “He's the best man and... My boyfriend.”

It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud in front of Chris—and for the briefest moment, something shifts in his face. Just a flicker of something unreadable. Surprise, maybe. Something quieter, deeper. But just as fast, it’s gone.

Chris steps forward, extending a hand toward Hyunjin. “Nice to meet you.”

Hyunjin, ever polite, takes his hand with a firm shake. “It’s really nice to meet you, sir.”

Chris’ brows twitch upward at the sir, and the corner of his mouth quirks slightly. “No need for that. Just Chris is fine.”

Their handshake lingers just a second longer than it needs to, and even though no words are spoken in that pause, you feel it—the silent exchange of acknowledgment, respect… and perhaps a little wariness.

You hold your breath, watching the moment closely, your hand still lightly resting on Hyunjin’s arm. Then Chris releases his grip and offers a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says simply, looking at you.

And then, from across the room, Tigerlily calls for his dad. “Dad, come here,” she waves her hand in the air, gesturing him to come.

Chris flashes both of you a polite smile. “Sorry. Duty calls.”

As Chris walks off, Hyunjin watches him go, the corners of his mouth twitching up with amusement. As soon as Chris is out of earshot, Hyunjin turns back to you with a sly glint in his eyes, that playful smirk already forming.

“So,” he says, leaning in just enough to make your heart skip, “boyfriend, huh?”

You feel your cheeks heat immediately, your gaze flickering anywhere but his face. “Don’t start,” you mutter, attempting to brush him off—but that only encourages him.

“Oh no, I’m definitely starting,” he grins, eyes lighting up. “You said it so naturally, too. Just—‘this is my boyfriend.’ Like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

“Because it is,” you argue softly, trying not to smile.

He leans in again, voice low and teasing, “Yeah, but to your ex-husband?”

You swat at his arm, flustered and amused. “Shut up.”

He laughs, catching your hand in his. “I’m not judging. Honestly, I’m honored. Just… didn’t expect to be introduced that way tonight.”

You finally glance up at him, your expression softening. “I guess I didn’t either. But it felt right.”

Hyunjin smiles at that, his teasing nature giving way to something more genuine. He squeezes your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. “Well,” he says, eyes sparkling, “for the record, I like being your boyfriend.”

You can’t help the shy grin that spreads across your face, and before you can say anything back, Hyunjin brings your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. “And I’m definitely not letting your ex-husband be the only man who’s crazy about you tonight.”

Everyone gradually finds their seats as the waitstaff begins to move through the room, setting plates and pouring water and wine. A soft hum of chatter surrounds the long table, silverware clinking, glasses being lifted in early toasts. The atmosphere is warm, glowing with low golden lights and quiet laughter. Then Julian stands, gently clinking his spoon against his glass to get everyone’s attention.

He clears his throat and glances down at Tigerlily, who looks up at him with a soft, expectant smile. “I’ll try to keep this short before I embarrass myself,” he begins, the room quieting. “But there’s no way I could go into this weekend without saying something about how thankful I am.”

He looks around the room—at his parents, at yours, at all the people seated at the table—and his voice wavers just slightly as he continues, “Tigerlily and I are really lucky. Not just to have found each other, but to be surrounded by people who love us, who raised us, and who’ve taught us what real love looks like.”

You catch Tigerlily’s face as he speaks—her lips pressed together, her eyes shimmering. She's trying not to cry, already reaching for the edge of her napkin. You smile gently, heart full and aching at once. When you glance to the side, your gaze falls on Chris. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, his expression unreadable, jaw slightly tense, eyes fixed on his daughter. You know that look. It mirrors something in your own chest—pride, joy, and that sharp, bittersweet ache that comes with letting go.

Without a word, you slide your hand beneath the table and find his. He immediately laces his fingers with yours, holding on so tightly like he’s anchoring himself to something real, something steady. He finally turns to look at you, his lips tugging into a small, tender smile. You return it with a soft one of your own, no words exchanged—just the silent, lifelong understanding of what it means to love someone so deeply and now watch them begin a life of their own.

Then, as if pulled by the same thread, you both look at Tigerlily. She’s laughing through her tears now, her hand on Julian’s arm, her eyes sparkling with happiness. She looks radiant. In love. Right where she belongs. And in that moment, hand in hand, you and Chris both realize—this is exactly how it's supposed to be.

-

A moment after everyone got home, the house has settled into a gentle hush. You peek into Riley’s room one last time, knocking softly before opening the door just a crack. She’s already tucked into bed, still scrolling on her phone, but she looks up at you.

“Need anything before bed?” you ask, keeping your voice low.

She shakes her head. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

You offer her a small smile. “Alright. Goodnight, Riley.”

She surprises you with a quiet, “Goodnight,” and just as you’re about to close the door, she adds, “Thanks for today.”

Your heart warms at her honesty. “Anytime.”

You close the door gently and make your way downstairs to check in on Chris. You knock on his door, and his voice comes through, muffled but clear. “Yeah, come in.”

You open the door, only to be greeted by the sight of him in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, barefoot, hair a little messy from travel. You let out an exasperated sigh and avert your eyes.

“Seriously? You could’ve told me you weren’t dressed.”

Chris glances up from his suitcase, entirely unfazed. “What? It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

You shoot him a glare. “That was years ago, Chris. Put on a damn shirt.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “You knock, I answer. It’s not my fault you walked in without mental preparation.”

You roll your eyes. “Go to the bathroom.”

He gives you a slow, curious look. “Why?”

You hold up the dye kit in your hands. “Bathroom. Now.”

Chris groans as he drags himself off the bed. “Seriously? What’s wrong with silver?”

“Tigerlily will scold you if she sees those roots showing,” you say as you guide him toward the bathroom. “And it’s not a crime to look your best at your daughter’s wedding.”

He mutters under his breath but follows you anyway. Minutes later, he’s seated on a stool by the sink, a towel draped around his shoulders as you brush the dark dye through his hair with careful hands. “This feels like punishment,” he mumbles.

You nudge his forehead. “Stop moving.”

He grumbles but stays still. The silence settles in comfortably between you, only broken by the soft sound of the brush through his hair and the tap dripping behind the sink. After a while, the dye sets, and you gently guide his head back over the sink to wash it out. Water flows over his scalp as your fingers move through his hair, rinsing with care. His voice comes low, soft under the rush of water.

“I still can’t believe our little girl is getting married tomorrow,” he says, his gaze distant as it rests on the ceiling. “I feel like I blinked and she grew up.”

You pause for a moment, then resume gently rinsing. “She’s still our little girl, Chris.”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “But I missed so much. And now I feel like I’m scrambling to catch up.”

You turn off the water and begin patting his hair dry with a fresh towel, eyes on your hands as he keeps speaking.

“I didn’t always get things right,” he admits. “There are a lot of things I’d do differently now.”

You look down at him—his head still leaned against the edge of the sink, eyes searching yours with something unspoken swimming just beneath the surface. Regret. Grief. Maybe love. You feel your chest pull tight, so you look away before it reaches too far inside you. “What matters is you’re here now,” you say softly, tucking the towel around his shoulders. “That’s what she’ll remember.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks up at you with a kind of quiet intensity that makes your breath catch. You clear your throat and gently step back.

“Dry your hair. Don’t stay up too late.”

He’s still watching you, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

You stop in the doorway and glance back at him, one hand on the frame. “Goodnight, Chris.”

“Goodnight,” he replies, voice low but warm, towel in hand, heart in his eyes.

You slip out of the room, closing the door gently behind you, the silence folding around you like the echoes of something once familiar.

-

The late afternoon sun dips low in the sky, casting a golden glow across the garden as soft chatter floats through the air. The scent of fresh roses and blooming lavender perfumes the breeze, and strings of fairy lights hang from the trees, gently swaying. Everything feels like a dream, a romantic still frame of the perfect moment. You sit on your seat on the bride’s side, nestled between rows of white chairs, surrounded by family and friends dressed in soft pastels and summer suits. The aisle is a winding path lined with petals, leading toward a floral arch that frames the altar, and beyond it, the endless sky.

Julian stands at the front, fidgeting with his cufflinks and taking anxious glances down the aisle. He looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him, his mouth pressing into a tight line as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

Beside him is Hyunjin, the best man, looking entirely too composed in his sleek black tuxedo. The sunlight catching on his cheekbones like it’s trying to show off for him. He catches your gaze and grins, eyes sparkling.

“You look beautiful,” he mouths, followed by a playful wink.

You feel your cheeks warm as you shake your head at him with a smile, mouthing “Behave.”

Then the music shifts. The gentle notes of the string quartet swell as the bride chorus begins to play. Everyone rises from their chairs. You stand too, breath caught in your throat, eyes fixed on the archway at the start of the aisle.

And then she appears. Tigerlily. Your baby girl. She walks out slowly holding a bouquet of Tiger Lilies, her arm tucked into Chris’, the train of her dress sweeping across the grass. The sunlight catches on the delicate beading of her gown, making her shimmer like something out of a fairytale. Her face is radiant, cheeks flushed, eyes glistening with emotion. You almost lose it. You feel tears prick your eyes, the kind that tug at your soul and make your heart swell with pride and nostalgia all at once.

Chris walks beside her, steady but quiet. His smile is soft, but you know him too well—you see the storm behind his eyes. You know it’s taking everything in him not to crumble. He looks like he’s walking her toward the end of something, not the beginning. Like letting her go is breaking him in the most quiet, graceful way.

They reach the front. Chris lifts her veil and kisses her forehead, saying something that makes her smile through her tears. Then, with a deep breath, he takes her hand and places it in Julian’s. You watch that exchange, your heart clenched and full.

Chris walks over to you and takes the seat beside you. He doesn’t say anything at first, just exhales like he’s been holding his breath the entire walk. “She looked like you,” he whispers, voice low and full of everything he’s feeling.

You smile through your tears. “No. She looked like her own.”

And together, you both turn your eyes toward the altar, watching as your daughter—glowing, loved, fearless—stands at the beginning of her forever.

The ceremony unfolds like a dream under the soft golden hour light, with the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds punctuating the vows. Julian’s voice wavers slightly as he speaks his promises, and Tigerlily’s hand trembles in his—but she’s glowing, absolutely glowing. And when it’s her turn to speak, her words are steady and full of warmth, brimming with all the love she’s always carried in her heart.

You catch Hyunjin stealing a glance at you from across the aisle, and your heart stumbles a little. He doesn't smile this time—not fully. His gaze is calm and steady, almost reverent. Like he's seeing not just you, but the idea of forever with you. Like this moment, this ceremony, is a mirror of something he imagines for the two of you someday.

You glance down, the thought so sudden and visceral that it lodges itself deep in your chest. When you look up again, he’s still watching you. Still quietly imagining that future. But then your attention shifts—to your right, where Chris is sitting still, his hands folded tightly in his lap. His jaw is clenched, eyes glassy, blinking fast to fight the tears. You nudge him lightly with your elbow and lean in.

“You’re crying,” you whisper, teasing gently.

“I’m not,” he mutters, voice thick.

You smile at him, your heart aching in the softest way. You reach out your hand, palm up, inviting. He hesitates for a second. Then takes it. And just like that—your hand in his, Tigerlily’s laughter ringing through the garden as she slides a ring onto Julian’s finger, and Hyunjin's eyes still quietly resting on you across the aisle—it feels like everything has aligned. The past, the present, and the future, all suspended in this one, perfect moment.

Chris squeezes your hand once, tightly, and doesn’t let go until the officiant finally announces: “You may now kiss the bride.”

The guests erupt into applause and joyful cheers, but you stay there, sitting side by side with Chris, hands linked. And somewhere in the space between it all, you find peace. And hope. And the fragile, blooming warmth of something just beginning.

-

The sky has shifted into deep lavender, strings of fairy lights twinkling above the garden as the celebration comes alive with soft music, clinking glasses, and laughter echoing between tables. Tigerlily and Julian share their first dance beneath the glowing canopy, their movements slow and tender, like time has slowed just for them. You watch them with your hand over your heart, your emotions still tangled between pride and awe and that bittersweet ache of letting go.

As their dance ends and the applause fades, you feel a familiar hand reach for yours. Chris gives you a little smirk, bowing with exaggerated flair. “May I have this dance?”

You roll your eyes but slip your hand into his anyway. “You may.”

He leads you onto the dance floor as another slow song begins, his hand settling naturally at your waist, your other hand clasped in his. The rhythm is familiar. Easy.

“She really went and married him,” Chris says after a beat, watching Tigerlily and Julian mingling through the crowd.

“She really did,” you say, smiling.

He sighs dramatically. “Still can’t believe that kid had the nerve to steal my little girl from me.”

You laugh, full and bright. “Chris, she’s not ten anymore.”

“She’s still my baby.”

“She still is. Just… someone else’s baby now too,” you tease, giving his shoulder a little squeeze.

He shakes his head like he can’t stand it, and you soften your smile. “You should move on already.”

“Oh yeah?” he challenges.

You tilt your chin and gesture across the dance floor to where Riley is laughing with Maude, her whole face lit up. “You’ve still got one more daughter to walk down the aisle.”

Chris groans, loud and dramatic. “I’m locking her in the house. She’s never dating. Not on my watch.”

You swat his chest lightly. “Be serious!”

“I am serious.”

You pull back just enough to look him in the eyes and say, “Go ask her to dance.”

He raises a brow. “Right now?”

You give him a gentle push in Riley’s direction. “Yes. Go on, before someone else steals her first dance from you too.”

Chris grumbles, but he grins as he lets you go and heads toward Riley. You watch as she lights up, surprised and a little embarrassed, but delighted all the same as Chris bows again and takes her hand like he did yours. You're smiling as you watch Chris spin Riley into a laugh, the two of them dancing under the soft garden lights like time had rewound just for them. But then—

Strong, familiar arms slide around your waist from behind, and before you can turn, Hyunjin’s voice hums by your ear, low and mischievous. “Excuse me,” he murmurs, “but I believe it’s my turn.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he spins you into the middle of the dance floor with a dramatic twirl. You laugh, the sound spilling from your chest like it’s made of air and starlight. “Hyunjin—!”

“Shhh,” he grins, pulling you in until your body fits perfectly against his. His hand holds yours firmly, his other palm resting warmly on your lower back. “Let me have this.”

You feel his breath brush your cheek as he leans in, nose nearly touching yours. “I want to kiss you.”

You dart your eyes around, heart hammering. “Not here. Not in front of everyone.”

His lips brush against your temple instead, soft and electric. “When can I kiss you then?” he murmurs into your skin, voice playful but laced with heat.

You fight your smile and reply with a teasing lilt, “Well... Not now.”

Hyunjin chuckles, and with a wink, he twirls you again, the hem of your dress fluttering like petals in bloom. When you spin back into his arms, he pulls you even closer—so close that your chest presses flush to his, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs and his heartbeat. “I’m done waiting,” he whispers against your ear, his voice deep and full of longing. “Come with me.”

Before you can answer, his fingers lace through yours tightly, and he tugs you gently away from the celebration. Past the tables, past the strings of lights, past the slow dancing and laughter. Into the quiet, into the night, into something only the two of you can name.

-

The laughter and clinking of glasses fade into a distant hum as Hyunjin leads you between the tall, leafy hedges lining the garden's edge. The lights from the celebration barely reach this far, just a soft golden spill through the leaves as if the night itself is conspiring to give the two of you this moment.

And then he’s on you. His lips crash into yours like he’s been holding back all evening. Hands cradling your face, he kisses you again and again—urgent, breathless, hungry. Only when your hand comes up to rest against his chest, a gentle push for air, does he finally pull away, panting softly as his lips trail down to your neck. He kisses along your pulse, over the delicate skin just under your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Hyunjin,” you murmur, breath catching.

He finally stops, brushing a few strands of hair from your face as he cups your jaw with both hands. His eyes are crinkled with a soft smile, tender and dizzyingly full of emotion. “The next wedding,” he says quietly, “is going to be ours.”

You freeze for a beat, heart leaping and stumbling all at once. “Hyunjin…”

“You must think that I’m like most guys who dates for fun, huh?” he asks gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I don’t do that. I’m dating you because I want to be with you. I want… this. You. Forever.” His voice isn’t rushed. It’s not pleading. It’s just steady, like it’s the most obvious truth he’s ever said.

You feel a mix of things rise up in you—warmth, affection, fear, disbelief. The way he says it, so certain, so casually serious—it makes your chest tighten. “We agreed to take it slow,” you remind him softly, not out of rejection, but to anchor the moment.

“I know,” he whispers, his thumb now gliding over your lower lip. He leans in and kisses you—just a featherlight touch. “And I will. I’ll wait as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

Another kiss follows, this one deeper, slower, like a vow made without words. When he pulls back, he grins with a twinkle in his eye and murmurs, “But… maybe don’t take too long. I’m dying to see you in a wedding dress.”

You roll your eyes with a breathless laugh, shoving lightly at his chest. “Hyunjin…”

He smiles, presses one last kiss to your forehead, and whispers, “I mean it.”

Hidden within the tall shrubbery, Hyunjin crashes his lips on yours again, slower this time—his lips moving with a kind of reverence that makes your chest ache. You sink into him, your hands curling into the lapels of his suit as his arms wrap tightly around your waist, anchoring you to him like he can’t bear to let go. His kiss deepens, coaxing soft sighs from you, and you feel his fingers sliding into your hair, cradling the back of your head as if the world outside this hidden place doesn’t exist.

And then you hear the crowd erupts into cheers, and from the distance, a familiar sound blares through the night air—the unmistakable opening chords of a Bang Theory classic.

You freeze against Hyunjin’s mouth. He stills too, forehead pressing lightly to yours. “Is that…” he breathes, blinking in disbelief.

“Yup. That’s Chris and his band.” You laugh under your breath and grab Hyunjin’s hand. “Come on.”

He doesn’t hesitate, just lets out a chuckle and runs with you. The two of you tumble out from the hedges like teenagers sneaking out of detention, laughter bubbling between you as you dash back toward the celebration. Lights twinkle overhead, the night air is pulsing with music and nostalgia, and your heart pounds—not just from the running but from the moment you just shared, and the one you’re about to run into.

As you round the corner and reenter the garden’s glow, the music is in full swing, and there he is—Chris on stage, guitar slung over his shoulder, grinning like the rockstar he once was and always will be.

Hyunjin leans in close as you both slow down and catch your breath, his hand still wrapped around yours. “I can’t believe your ex-husband is literally the entertainment,” he says, wide-eyed.

You nudge his side, laughing. “Welcome to my life.”

-

The garden is alive with music, lights twinkling like stars overhead, and the unmistakable sound of The Bang Theory floods the air—loud, raw, and full of heart. People are on their feet, clapping and dancing, and you’re still catching your breath when you spot her—Tigerlily, radiant even under the stage lights, her veil slightly askew as she laughs with Julian by her side.

You weave through the crowd and reach for her hand. “Come on!”

She looks at you, confused for a beat, but then you’re both swept into the music, jumping and dancing like you used to in the side of the stage when she was still small enough to ride your hip. Chris stands center stage, belting out the lyrics with the same fire he had back in the day, but his eyes? They’re all on Tigerlily.

It hits you like a wave. You remember those afternoons when Tigerlily was still tiny, running around barefoot on studio floors while the guys messed with chords and amps—Chris tuning his guitar while she banged on the nearest drum like she belonged there. She did belong there. That loud music, that messy chaos—it was the soundtrack of her childhood. And now here she is, in a wedding dress, jumping and dancing to her father’s band like she used to before she even knew what weddings were.

You and Tigerlily scream the chorus together, laughter spilling out of both of you, your hands joined as you spin her around. Chris catches the moment from the stage—his grin faltering just enough for a shimmer of emotion to shine through before he launches into the next verse like the proudest dad in the world as Tigerlily dances to the soundtrack of her childhood on the very night she’s stepping into her future.

The music is pulsing through the garden like electricity, laughter and cheers erupting louder with each beat, and Chris is thriving in it—completely overtaken by the high of the moment. He’s grinning ear to ear, sweat glistening on his forehead as he shreds through the final chords, nodding his head in rhythm, his whole body moving like he’s twenty-five again and headlining a stadium.

“This one’s for you, my little cub, my Tigerlily!” he shouts into the mic, pointing directly at her with a wild gleam in his eyes.

The crowd erupts. Tigerlily throws her arms up, shouting back, “I love you, Dad!”

And that’s when Chris—caught in the euphoria, lost to the beat and the cheers—does the unthinkable. He backs up two steps, pumps his arms like a stage diver prepping for flight, and with the agility of a man who should not be this agile anymore, he launches himself forward into a full somersault on stage. Gasps ripple through the crowd. Time slows. He flips. He rotates. He almost nails it—

But then, his boot catches something—maybe a coiled cable, maybe the corner of a pedal—and the landing doesn’t come. Not properly.

There’s a loud, crack of his foot slipping. A snap of something else. His arms flail mid-air.

And then—

THUD.

Chris faceplants off the stage with a dramatic, unforgiving crash. The mic hits the ground with a screech. His leg still tangled in the cable. A drink spills nearby. The music cuts out mid-note. The garden is dead silent. Everyone freezes. Mouths open. Eyes wide. And Chris… doesn’t move.

-

The sky starts turning that lazy shade of early evening gold when you pull up to the driveway. The tires crunch softly against the gravel and when the engine cuts off, silence settles for a beat before your phone starts ringing. You grab it from the passenger seat without even checking—some habits are muscle memory by now.

“Hi, Mom,” Tigerlily chirps, her voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “Just landed. It’s sunny. I can smell coconuts.”

You smile as you push open the car door and sling your bag over your shoulder. “You two made it?”

“Mhm. Luggage in tow, no delays, miracle. What about you? What are you up to?”

“Just got back from driving Riley to the airport,” you say, juggling the keys as you step onto your porch. The lock clicks under your hand. “She couldn't stop thanking me for the dress.”

“That’s good,” Tigerlily says. “How’s Dad?”

You step inside the house, voice softening as your eyes land on him right where you left him—stretched across the sofa, casted leg propped stiffly on a pillow, laptop on his lap, the crutches standing by next to the sofa. He’s scowling at the screen, probably editing something with the same intensity he once reserved for writing songs about heartbreak.

“He’s fine,” you say as you shut the door behind you. “Still alive. Still... working.”

Tigerlily hums. “I’m not that worried. He’s with you.”

You pause for half a second, just long enough to let that sink in before you shake your head and move toward the kitchen. “Don’t start. Just enjoy your honeymoon.”

“Okay, okay. Love you and send my love to dad. Bye!”

“Love you, cub,” you murmur before the call drops.

You fill a glass of water at the sink, and behind you, you hear the faint shuffle of headphones coming off. “Hey,” Chris calls, voice hoarse like he hasn’t spoken all day. “How was Riley?”

“She’s good. Boarded safe,” you say, turning with the glass in hand. “Oh, and Tigerlily sends her love.”

You lean against the counter. He looks at you from the couch, hair a little messy, turning curly from the humidity. The house is quiet in a way it hasn’t been for days. You take a sip of water, your eyes meeting his across the space.

“So, Chris,” you say, tilting your head. “What do you wanna do now that it’s just the two of us?”

-

✨ Evermore: Chapter II is available on my Patreon ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @drhsthl @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanniebunch @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @rylea08 @hwangjoanna @simeonswhore @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo @inlovewithstraykids @angstraykids @lenfilms @inniesfanblog @multi-fandommaniac @tirena1 @nightmarenyxx @nebugalaxy @akindaflora @iknow-uknow-leeknow @satosugu4l @jinniejjam

[sunderwight]

I don't think it was intentional, but I do think it's kind of realistic in the Watsonian sense that by the time we get to VOY the people of the Federation have adapted some almost religious opinions on the Prime Directive as some kind of moral mandate in and of itself, rather than a cautionary guideline which you can get into deep hot water over if you don't have a damn good reason for breaking it.

For all that the people of the Federation talk about moving past their fraught and divisive history, it's pretty clear that they're still the same breed of humans as we are. It's even something of a major storytelling element in the First Contact movie. Picard is clinging to the idea that he's not, deep down, a violent or vengeful person, but he's also full of wrath and hatred towards the borg that goes beyond the need to defend against their incursions. DS9 is also full of this theme, that humans and other "socially advanced" starfaring people kind of think they've reached enlightenment, when really they've just eliminated a bunch of social pressures.

So if these people are basically just like us, truly, then of course they eventually started losing sight of the point of General Order 1/The Prime Directive and getting kind of chuch-y about it. By emphasizing the importance of following the rule over several generations of people who then may or may not have actually had the reasoning behind it explained, or explained consistently, they accidentally imbued it with the authority of a divine mandate.

I never got how past TOS every Star Trek writer seems to treat the Prime Directive as some sort of sacred edict rather than the anti imperialist screed it actually is. TOS was made in the Cold War where Russia, the USA, and other countries were basically playing tug of war with smaller countries to their detriment, so writer Gene L. Coon came up with the idea that Starfleet should not do that, that civilizations should be allowed to develop on their own without being used as catspaws by more powerful entities.

The problem is that somewhere along the line this got lost and it turned into “these people are all going to die but saving them would violate the Prime Directive”. Like yeah you should save people from dying, just don’t do it in a way that makes them your client state!