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The way i would sell my soul to read the next part?? Crazy how a person can have this much talent and the ability to SHOW a whole fucking movie through words. MAXIDENT cb is in a few hours but this is the first thing on my mind rn like i didn't even know it was possible to think about anything else before the cb. I also think it feels so immersive and personal to read is because the characters actually possess irl skz's actual traits. like chan being a mama bear and protecting his kids, hyun painting and his calm and caring nature, minsung is mostly just minsung minus the illegal stuff and don't even get me started on Felix. ahhh I really can't wait for the next chapter. idk what I am supposed to do with my life now that this chapter is over but let's hope taste releasing today will get me going again .def one of the best fics I've read in my 2 year career of being a professional fanfic reader .will read a thousand times more until chapter 3 comes out.

THE ODDINARY SUSPECTS: Chapter 3

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Once Jisung left the room, the doctor completed the final portion of his report.

Diagnosis: Episodic bipolar disorder, heavy OCD, borderline pyromania. The patient is not suicidal – suffers from Type IV CIPA syndrome where he is unable to feel pain, or the temperature thresholds that would inflict injury. Sweat glands seem to function properly. Needs regular monitoring. Currently residing with Lee Minho at North Wing, 3rd Floor, Room 25.

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part vi: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 9500 words)

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Graduation approaches.  There will be a ceremony in the afternoon then a dinner and dance, hosted in a hotel ballroom.  It is nothing so luxurious as your father’s soirees, but it is a milestone that should be filled with meaning and memory. 

You do not go. 

You close this chapter of your life while vowing to never forget a moment of it.  Jisung and Hyunjin both impacted your life for the better. Though you will not put them in danger by association, you hope they will find happiness.  They will both be better in the long run. 

You look at Felix and wish you could grant such a freedom to everyone. 

You let yourself mope for a few days and Felix does not intervene, only checking in now and again to see if you need anything.  You have not talked about what transpired between you, but that was to be expected even without any distractions. 

He extends comfort in a platonic sense at best, more professional than ever with how he hovers in your periphery, ensuring you are safe but never crossing a line.   He will embrace you when you have a nightmare, but he is much more stiff than he used to be.  He does not touch you with his gentle caresses, only holds you with a perfunctory grasp.  You think if this entire ordeal with Jisung had not happened, then he would have stopped altogether by now. 

The night of the graduation, you sleep restlessly and wake in an emotional fit.  You stare at Felix across the bed, your tumultuous emotions flickering between sadness, anger, and longing.   You don’t know what to do, and it isn’t fair, and you want him so badly. 

You dig your fist into the mattress and press your face into the pillow, fighting down a scream.  Your shuffling wakes Felix who whispers your name.  He moves closer then reaches the rest of the way, touching the back of your head. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

“No,” you say, muffled.  You thump your fist against the mattress.  “I hate you,” you say, because you don’t hate him at all.  He’s all you have left yet it does not suffice to say there is only Felix, because even if you had a world of options you would still want him.  He is singular in both charm and peculiarity.  You do not hate him, but the threshold of the opposite looms with a terrifying danger for you both.  What happened with Jisung would be miniscule in comparison to the consequences of this affair. 

You know that, and yet. 

You want to close this space for good.  You want to throw caution to the wind and indulge your most romantic desires.   You want him to want it too. 

“Do you hate me?” you ask, turning your face but not meeting his eye.  

“I—”  He clears his throat.  “I’m just… doing my job.  I can’t have feelings one way or, uhh, another.” 

“That’s not a no,” you say, lifting your gaze to his.  He is propped up on one arm, staring down at you, blonde hair in a dishevelled mess around his face.  His gaze drifts and you feel you are losing him.  “Felix…” you say, imploringly. 

“You have no idea,” he suddenly says, his tone almost vicious.  “No idea… what it does to me when you—when you—when you look… at me… like that.”  He falls onto his back and covers his face with both hands. 

He always looks so skinny in his baggy sleep shirts, all sharp lines jutting out of the fabric.  It completes his lie: the too-happy, naïve boy who is all smiles all the time, with nothing to see beyond the surface.  No one would guess what he is capable of doing.  Even you had not fully realized the breadth of his person until you witnessed it with your own eyes. 

His mind seems to be following a similar path because he says, “You saw me kill someone.”  He rubs his forehead like a migraine is settling there.  “You shouldn’t look at me like you do.  You shouldn’t—I don’t understand—how you’re not ever afraid—of him—of me—”

“I’m always afraid,” you whisper the admittance.  You continue to look at him even while he stares up at the ceiling, his arms crossed protectively over his chest.  “Just not of you,” you say. 

He closes his eyes.  He breathes out through his nose.   

“You’re supposed to be,” he says.  “That’s why I—that’s why I exist, yeah?  I was raised to be this… thing.  People are supposed to be afraid when they see who I am.  Even your father is scared of me.  And if he didn’t—if he didn’t have me on this—this fucking leash—” He sits upright, practically snarling as he speaks.  Only experience in tempering his emotions brings him back down to calm, simply glaring across the room through the dark. 

You wait to see if he will say more, your attention caught by what he let slip.  Even your father is afraid of him, despite having him lashed to a tether of some kind.  You want to know more, but you do not want to take what he does not willingly give, even though you know he will answer any question if you push.  He made that promise a long time ago.   

You are both almost nineteen.  You have spent a quarter of your lives together.  Those years, his present, and his future are all ensnared, and you cannot find it in yourself to forcibly rip his past away too.   

You sit upright as well.  He still does not look at you, gaze faraway.  You twist the blankets in your lap, itching to reach out and smooth back a messy strand of his hair. 

“You’re not just a thing to me,” you say.   

“I know,” he says softly, still looking to the side.  “Sometimes I wish I was just a thing.”  He tips his head, staring into the distance as if he can see a memory playing out in the dark.  “Sometimes I wish… it was that easy.  That I could… put it all somewhere.  Stop feeling.  Stop being.  That’s what I was supposed to be.  If I could—if I did—I wouldn’t be here at all.  But also…” 

He trails off and his mind drifts.  You tug at the blanket again. 

“But also?” you ask. 

His head turns to you, though his gaze is lowered, down to your fidgeting fingers. 

“But…also…” he says.  “I wouldn’t want that.  If I had never… been someone.  If I had never known…someone…” 

He meets your gaze now.  He has not looked at you with such direct intensity in days and it feels like basking in the sun after so much shadow.  Your expression must return a similar ardor because his lips part with a deep exhale, his body instinctively tipping towards yours like it so often does.  He maintains enough mental faculty not to fall all the way, holding himself back, only looking at your face.  He lingers on your mouth. 

“I understand,” you say, tingling with the effect of his gaze, tangible as a kiss. 

“Yeah?” he says, his voice rough. 

You feel a bit fuzzy, distracted with the energy between you.  You only loosely cling to your own train of thought but you manage to say, “Yes.  Making sense of the good in the bad.  Both shaping who you are.  The people you know… changing you for the better.”

“Jisung,” Felix says, ruminating on your words.  Then a flicker of displeasure creases his brow as a thought occurs to him.  “Hyunjin,” he says.  “They were both… part of your good.” 

“Yes,” you say, watching him pull away into his own mind. 

“You liked Hyunjin a lot,” Felix says, clearing his throat.  “I didn’t—I wasn’t sure—”

You roll your eyes even while a smile breaks onto your face.  There is something so charmingly childish about the clear jealously that is suddenly plaguing him.  It isn’t dangerous dramatics or dark pasts – just one boy glaring at the recollection of you dating another boy. 

You push the blankets off your lap and move so you are kneeling at his side.  He looks away but that is fine, because you tuck his hair behind his ear and lean in to whisper, “I didn’t like Hyunjin half as much as I hate you.” 

He clenches his jaw.  His shoulder twitches with a little shiver.  A smile tugs at his lips.   

“Oh,” he says.  “All right.” 

“All right,” you repeat in a mockingly deep voice.   “That’s his reply – all right.  This is why I hate you.”

“Mmm?”  He tips his head, smiling at you.  “Is it?”

You feel flushed.  You sit back again, poking at the covers.  “Among other things,” you say. 

He laughs but tries not to, the result a very low chuckle that he unsuccessfully tries to hide behind his hand.  You shove his shoulder.  He sways dramatically like it was a hard hit.  He is still chuckling when you lay back down, arms stubbornly crossed. 

He lays on his side and props his head in his hand.  There is space between you but you can touch his face with a simple stretch.  You trace your fingertips down his jaw and it smooths out his laughter, expression softer.  Your heart is thundering when you touch his lips, just a light touch.  It should be inconsequential when you consider what you have already done, but it feels substantial as anything else.  You wonder if this sensation will ever lessen.   

He takes your wrist and moves your hand, his breath fluttering over your fingertips.  He swallows hard. 

“I’m a bad person,” he says.  “I’m not supposed to care about being bad.  But I do.” 

“You’re not a bad person,” you say.  “Because of the things they make you do?  How can you say that?”  From the moment he walked into your life, Felix has done everything in his limited power to provide relief.  You did not always appreciate it, but it did not stop his efforts.   

“I am,” he says.  “I’m selfish.  I let myself forget… so many things… when you look at me.”  He lays down on his back, curling one arm under his head.  “You know, I’ve been trained to withstand torture,” he says, casually despite the ripple of horror that moves through you.  “But they didn’t prepare me for, uhh, you doing that… thing with your eyelashes, when you want something.  Or when you, you know, stick out your lip like this—”

He pouts and it makes you laugh despite everything. 

“I don’t do that,” is all you can say.   

“Sure,” he says, with a little smile and eye-roll.  “It’s more effective than a bullet.  That’s all I’m saying.” 

“Duly noted,” you say dryly.  “You know for such a well-trained whatever-you-are, you just made a pretty dumb mistake.”

“Oh?”   

You roll onto your front so the lengths of your bodies are pressing along the side.  You rest your chin in the cup of your hand and smile your most innocent smile. 

“Yes,” you say.  “It isn’t very smart to tell an enemy your weaknesses like that.”

“My enemy,” he says like the word amuses him, corners of his lips ticked up.  He moves quickly, leaning into your space so surely that you can feel his breath fan your lips.  “Is that what you are, then?  My job.  My enemy.”  He laughs the word, then whispers with a teasing smirk, “And my sweetheart.” 

“Sworn enemies,” you somehow manage without even a stutter.  You take his teasing further and say, “You can even tell my daddy.  That’s your job, isn’t it?”   

“That isn’t a joke,” he says, tone serious though his soft expression betrays him. 

“Who’s joking?” you say.  “We’re just two enemies, sharing a bed.  I hate you, and you—”

“Yes?”  He has a cocky look on his face, playful as it is.  “What do I do?” 

You narrow your eyes in a theatrical glare, then you just smile. 

“You...”  Your voice comes softly, your knuckles brushing his jaw.  “You know what it feels like to be inside me.” 

Your heart thumps erratically at his drastic shift in expression, the laughter replaced with shock then obvious vexation, dark eyes slanting in warning.  You just smile like it is of no concern to you at all. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur.  “I’m just saying.  Sweetheart.” 

You roll away, leaving space between you again.  You wriggle your hips more than necessary and your shirt predictably rucks up, your shorts similarly loose and high around your thighs. 

Your heart is still racing even though you got the last word in.  You breathe to centre yourself. 

Then he grabs you by the neck and tugs you back across the bed.  It is a showy demonstration but a gasp bursts past your lips, your hand instinctively clutching his sturdy hand.   It is your turn to be beyond surprised when he presses right up against you from behind. 

“Don’t play games that have no winner,” he speaks into your ear. 

“Who’s playing?” you reply, grinding back against him. 

He exhales, an exasperated sound that has you giggling.  You yelp when he rolls you onto your front, all but planting your face in a pillow before abruptly letting you go.  You lift your head as he swings out of the bed. 

“Where are you going?” you ask. 

“The bathroom,” he says.  “Don’t try to leave or I’ll tell your father, yeah?”  

He is grinning with his victorious retreat.  His alleged training is good enough that he dodges the pillow you chuck at his head. 

Your father returns home the next day.  He never had any intention of attending your graduation, agreeing with his own late father’s assertion that a high school graduation was a juvenile joke celebrating mediocrity. 

Felix already reported that you did not attend so there is nothing more to say on the matter.  The subject of graduation merely broaches the topic of post-secondary education.  He calls you into his office and presents you with a folder detailing the next step of your education.  You will attend his alma mater, a prestigious university that did not require your application as he most certainly just paid for your admittance. 

“And,” he says, “I am generously giving you one more opportunity to prove you are not the unfledged adolescent you have insisted on presenting.” 

This opportunity is online summer classes to pre-emptively advance your position in the program.  As if it matters where you rank in the scheme of things; your life set in stone. 

“Fine,” is all you say.   The wounds from the incident with Jisung are still fresh so you do not have an argument inside you.  It would just be for the sake of itself anyway, as it is not like you have anything better to do with your summer. 

You still complain to Felix.   You find him in the gym, working up a sweat.  A captive audience for your lengthy complaint session. 

He runs a self-made obstacle course while you inexpertly pummel a punching bag to let out your frustrations.  Eventually he takes a water break and wanders over to you.  You crinkle your nose and pretend to be disgusted with his appearance, but in actuality a hot, sweaty Felix reminds you of that cramped car and all the heat between you. 

He tips his head back and drinks his water and your eyes follow a drop of sweat as it licks down his neck.   You look away when he stops drinking, when he swipes a hand across his forehead. 

“Careful,” he says.  “You should tape your hands first, yeah?  You’ll hurt yourself.” 

You slap the punching bag and smirk when he frowns at you. 

“Not funny,” he says, and takes your hand to inspect it.   He is smiling despite his words.  When he catches your eye, he tries to quell it, but his gaze is tender as his touch when he massages your hand.  “Just remembering,” he mumbles.  “First night here.  You and that… what was it?  Eggplant?”  He shakes his head.  “I was, uhhh, not prepared.”  He laughs.  “I clearly didn’t know what I was getting into.”

“Yes, I’m sure I came across as a very intimidating adversary,” you say dryly. 

“Yes.”  He laughs, a sharp breath.  His eyes flick up to you.  “Like no one I’d ever met before.”  

You feel bashful under his gaze.  You look down at where he is rubbing your hand, so very careful with the amount pressure he applies.  It is still hard to reconcile this soft-touched boy with the violence that has evidently puppetted him for all his life.  It seems impossible that he could be a cog in that machine, not with hands like this, not with a touch so delicate in its gentle offer of solace. 

He mentioned being trained to withstand torture, a training he must have received very young because you met him at fourteen as a fully formed soldier ready to follow orders.  To this day, you remember his unblinking neutrality as he pressed the tip of that blade into the back of his hand.   Yet now he holds your hand with such loving attention, so much humanity in his affection for someone else, even where people apparently tried to scrub it out of him.   

It is too much to think about right now.  You pull your hand away and don a faux-haughty air, flicking your wrist at him, fingers wiggling.    

“Kiss it better,” you say with a supercilious tone.  “Or I’ll tell my dad you let me get injured.”

He blinks at you, maybe perplexed with the sudden shift in tone, but then he just laughs and rolls his eyes. 

“Mmm. Right,” he says.  But he checks the door is empty then takes your hand.  You realize this is a stupid ploy because it backfires the moment his lips brush your knuckles.  He looks up at you, his soft bottom lip resting on your skin.  Then he straightens, pats your hand, and smiles an annoyingly perfect, professional smile.  “There,” he says.  “Job well done?” 

“As always,” you say, unsteady.    

He breaks the tension by stepping away to fetch a towel.  He dries his sweaty neck while asking more about your meeting with your father.  You start complaining all over again, giving the punching bag another good slap.  You rant about his usual tyrannical nonsense, but also complain about the graduation affair. 

“They’re usually a big deal, yeah?”  Felix asks.  He is doing some cool-down exercises and you try to not to stare at him.  “Why didn’t he want to go again?” 

“Some stupid bullshit he parroted from his father, because he’s never had an original thought in his life,” you say.  “It is a celebration of mediocrity. I will only attend your graduation from a valuable institution with an education that has been obtained through true work.  As if he’s not paying to get me into university, and as if I won’t be walking out of there with a degree even if I sleep through every exam.” 

Felix laughs in a humourless, distracted way.  You look over and watch as he swings his water bottle up and catches it again.

“His father, huh?” he says.  He shakes the water, absent-minded in his distraction.  He walks backwards then takes a seat against the wall where he looks at you again. “This, uhhh, this everything in the family goes back far, huh?”

“Old money,” you say with an eye roll.  You cross the room to join him on the floor.  “Far enough.” 

“Did you know him?” 

“Who?  My grandfather?”  You slide down the wall and sit beside Felix, your shoulders touching.  “Yeah, I mean, he died when I was about ten or eleven.  You know him too.”  

Felix looks at you in bewilderment and you laugh.

“He was the same as my father is now,” you explain.  “If you know one, then you know the other.” 

“That must have been…” Felix searches for the word but there is very little to sufficiently summarize that household. 

“Yeah,” you say with a snort.  “It was.”  Your grandfather was a tyrant as sure as your father is now.  You cannot say if he was worse,  being so young when he ruled this household, but you remember he occupied the same untouchable sphere of power.  Your grandfather looms in your memory as a grim figure as dark and intimidating as Mister Miroh.  He was on the offense at all times, ambitious and striking out at whim.   Your father, perhaps in response to his own father’s iron fist, has always acted on the defense, holed up in his castle and building his walls high to seal in everything of value.  He attacks in retaliation or proactive defense. 

Neither ever permitted being contradicted or disobeyed. 

“I see,” Felix says.  He looks like he wants to say more, brow still furrowed in contemplation, but then he just sighs and rests his head against the wall.  “Are you sad about your graduation?” 

“I just hope Hyunjin looked out for Jisung.  He’s all I’m sad about.”  Picturing your best friend in a corner of a ballroom with no one paying him any attention is too devastating to think about for long, especially knowing about his home life and how alone he felt before you. 

You take a steadying breath. 

“He just deserved better,” you say. 

“So do you,” Felix says, only just above a whisper.  He pats your knee and you react predictably, all your nerves alight beneath his hand. 

But he does not linger long enough for that warmth to spread.  You are not alone, after all.  There are footfalls overhead and your father is tucked away in his office. 

That night you have a bad dream.  It is nothing so terrifying as a nightmare, featuring no guns or tyrant patriarchs.  It is just a miserable dream. 

You are at your graduation, wearing one of your many evening gowns.  There is nothing so special about dressing up given your forced lifestyle, but the party is not about the gown or a date or anything else.  You are looking for your friend.  That is all you want, but you can’t find Jisung anywhere.  You turn many corners, passing through the lengthy shadows of hotel hallways and school corridors, but there is an eerie emptiness to all of it.  Finally you find a door, beaten and weathered.  You step through knowing there is nothing fancy waiting on the other side of it.  

You find yourself on the roof of a ramshackle house.  Jisung is perched on the edge, dressed up in a blazer and tie but with his signature backwards cap.  He is gazing up at the stars.  You sit beside him, filled with so many things you want to say and yet nothing comes out.  Time feels warped in your dream and you feel like you sit there for days, months, years, the sky dark, the world quiet. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.   

It feels unreasonable to ask for forgiveness, even if you did not willingly abandon him.  You still feel the ache of guilt for having roped him into your life in the first place, but you feel especially guilty for not regretting those years.  You do not want to live in a world where you never met him.  To have never been someone, to have never known someone.  

You know he feels the same way.  He said as much during your goodbye.  

In the quiet, he hugs you, wrapped up comfortably like that last night at his house. 

Somehow that is the moment you become aware it is just a dream, that this is your own mind consoling you, but it is meaningful that your subconscious summons your best friend for that much-needed hug of reassurance. 

It seems ridiculous that you, of all people, should think they have the best understanding of love, but perhaps it is the long absence of it that allows you to recognize when you have it.  You have witnessed every elaborate gift and gesture in the world, but you are quite certain there is no grander demonstration of love than someone holding you for an hour with no other motive than to simply be there, seeing and being seen. 

When you wake, it is with such an ache that you find yourself clutching your chest.  Your uneven breathing wakes Felix.  The moment he touches your shoulder, you roll into his arms and let yourself cry.   He doesn’t ask what it is about, drawing any number of conclusions, but he holds you until your tears turn to sniffles then stop altogether. 

You get drowsy in his arms.  When he thinks you are asleep, he tries to lay you down on your side of the bed, but you are conscious enough to stir and cling to him.  He laughs under his breath. 

“Full house,” he whispers.  “You need to sleep over there.” 

You look at him morosely, blinking back tears.  He sighs, letting his head droop, then he gives you a pointed look.  You are surprised when he flicks his thumb over your bottom lip, drawing attention to the fact you are pouting. 

“Told you,” he whispers. 

“Hmmph.”    

He rolls away but you follow, wrapping around him like a clingy koala bear.  He chuckles and shakes his head, but lays on his back and allows you to rest your head on his chest.  You nuzzle under his chin, hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm.  He rests a hand over yours.  When he breathes, you watch the rise and fall of those hands. 

It is a comforting embrace.  This bed has often felt like a world away from reality.  You stare at those hands, his kind touch.  You cuddle closer, secure with the weight of his arm around you.   

It sets your brain in motion, compiling these feelings with everything he has told you and everything he has done. 

Before you can stop yourself, before the insanity of such a statement dawns, you say, “Do you think we could make it if we ran away together?”

He goes very still, even his breath slowing.  His heart beats a steady staccato under your hand. 

“Felix,” you whisper. 

“No,” he says, sharply, like the instinctive hiss of pain when unexpectedly struck.  He shakes his head, coming back to himself.  “No,” he says again, softer.  His voice breaks as he lowers it to a whisper.  “No, I’m sorry—I’m—I told you—you know it’s not that simple—”

You know he’s right.   Felix is obviously very competent but he is still just one man, and your father would not let you slip through his fingers so easily.  This is disregarding all the technical logistics of running away, like money and food and a place to sleep. 

But a little cabin flashes across your mind and your argumentative side rears itself even though you know better. 

“Maybe it is that simple,” you say.   “He’s just one man—”

“He’s not just one man,” Felix says, sitting up.  You slip through his arms, laying back and watching as he pushes a hand through his hair.  “He is his business, and his… his world… and all the men like him…” 

“And our lives?” you say.  You sit up and put your hand on his back.  “You said I deserved better but so do you.  You aren’t selfish just because—  Stop shaking your head—”

He does but he still looks away, exhaling sharply through his nose. 

“It’s not—”  He chokes on the word, swallows, then speaks again softly, “It’s not just my life.”  He stares across the room, as if once more ensorcelled by some memory playing in the shadows.   “Life,” he says, “in pieces and only for a little bit.  I always remembered that, you know.  That’s how you described it.   That’s what I have.   Being here.   It’s more than—more than what I deserve.   And what I—what I get—is a life worth more than mine—”

“Stop saying things like that,” you say miserably.  You reach for his face but he turns away.  “Do you have any idea,” you say with as much as emotion as you can fit in a whisper, “any idea how much my life has changed because of you, because of the way you are…  Felix, you’re part of the good too.” 

“You can’t—you can’t say things like that to me—”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll start to believe you.” 

You touch his face and he lets you this time, eyes lifting to yours as you guide his face up.  Your thumb brushes that dark constellation of freckles, your eyes searching the face you have woken to every morning for years now – the brown eyes, the dark brows, the wisps of blonde that dash across his forehead.  Your thumb brushes the groove to his upper lip, then the bow of his lower lip. 

You cup his jaw and tip your head, hoping your gaze reveals the words you cannot conjure.  The walls close in around you again.  All those nonsensical ideas make their escape, leaving you in the dark with him.

He holds your gaze, his consternation fading to a different sort of ache.  Longing carves itself in his features, the disconsolate but nonetheless ardent hunger of someone starving at a table they cannot eat from.  He lays his hand over yours, holding it against his face.  Eventually he lowers it.    

“I didn’t count them,” he says. 

“What?”  You blink to attention, confused by the seeming subject change.   “Count what?” 

“The, uhh…” His laugh is dry.  He clenches his jaw and looks down at where he is holding your hand.   “The people.  The people I killed.”   He keeps his gaze low, watching as he strokes his thumb across your knuckles.  “Others counted them but I—I dunno… I didn’t need to.  It comes back to me sometimes, yeah.  Hair colours.  Clothes.  Last words.  I didn’t need to… to write it down, to keep track.   I just remembered.  I still remember.” 

Even before you saw him in action, you knew killing was in his past.  It still feels different to have those suspicions confirmed, that there was that much violence in his youth, but you are not upset for the reasons he must think.  You are only more sympathetic, curling your fingers around his and squeezing. 

He won’t look at you.

“Felix,” you say.  “You were a kid, and I don’t know where you were, I don’t know what they did to you, but that’s not your fault—”

“I was good at it,” he says.  “I was the best.  I thought I knew what I was, why I existed.  Then things changed.  Now I’m not that.   I’m not anything else either.  I have no right to be, yeah?  Do you understand?  I can’t walk away.  It’s all in me and there’s nowhere to put it down.  All I can do is this—this one thing.  And honestly, I don’t even know if it is the right thing.  I just know that if I go with you, that feels selfish.  If I stay here, if I—I keep you trapped here because of me—that’s selfish too—”

“I’m not trapped because of you,” you say.  “I would be here either way.  If it wasn’t you here with me, it would just be someone else.”  So I’m glad it’s you, you want to say, with no obfuscation and no exaggeration.

He interrupts, “I killed your grandfather.” 

It is so unexpected that you freeze.  You cannot help the way you lock up when truly startled, even if the fright is only momentary.  Your body shuts down to protect itself. 

Felix withdraws his hand immediately, sensing your coldness.  You come back to yourself and look at him, though he still avoids your gaze. 

“What?” you eventually manage.  “You—”

“He was the target,” Felix says.  “They tried to kill him before.  Tried, and failed.  There were casualties.   Like your… like your mother.” 

You look away too, chronicling everything he is describing.  Your mother died when you were still in infancy and you were never told much more than that.  You always thought it might have contributed to your father’s obsessive protection efforts, at least in part, but you could never be sure.  

“He was…” Felix says.  “He was like a monster, to me, growing up, like a… like a ghost story or something.  They told us stories about him and men like him.  About how some were so… so powerful… and couldn’t be killed by a regular person… Everything I did—all the killing—was—was justified to me, yeah?  And he was the worst of all.  And if we could get rid of him, then… then all the other bad would go away too.” 

“But it didn’t,” you say, remembering the infallible creature of a man that was your grandfather, the same but different to your father.  Things changed when he died, in a way.  Your father’s defensive operations are contrary to the offensive strategy of your grandfather, but no less intense in application.   You can see how an enemy might have looked at your father, a frightened man always on the defensive, standing in your grandfather’s shadows.  You can see how they might have thought the empire might crumble without the iron fist ruling it. 

“But it didn’t,” Felix says. 

You have questions, so many questions.  Was it all Miroh?  What happened next?  How did Felix end up here?  Why does he stay?  A million questions fly through your mind.   The only one you manage to vocalize is, “Does my father know?”

Felix shakes his head. 

The rest of your questions evaporate into nothing.  Only a breath passes your lips.  Felix is bent over, elbows on knees, shoulders hunched.  He is staring at the ground. 

“Felix,” you say, reaching for him.  “Felix, I don’t blame you for anything.” 

Grandfather, father, it’s all the same poison sloshing from the same spoiled glass.  You would be here either way, only without Felix, his voice and his hands, his heartbeat under your palm.   You cannot imagine the bleakness of that loneliness. 

You lay a hand on Felix’s shoulder, wanting to say all this and more but at a complete loss for words. 

There is a moment of quiet, then he says, “All this time.”  It is barely more than a murmur, face still downturned.  “You were right here.  And they didn’t care, so I didn’t see you.  I didn’t even look.” 

You cup his face once more, guiding him upright.  He comes without a fight but takes his time, like it is agony to meet your gaze.  When those dark eyes locked with yours, a shaking breath leaves his lips, that aching expression returned to his face.   You do not know what your own face is doing, all your masks fallen away, leaving something open and raw, wounded but wanting.  You swipe your thumb over his cheek, the high point where his freckles cluster darkly, sweeping down to where they dim. 

“You’re looking now,” you say. 

You slide your hand around his head, into his hair, fingertips fluttering over his nape.  He shivers and tips his head, naturally leaning into your touch.  You remember seeing the scars that litter his chest, remember feeling the cuts on his back from your own father’s beatings.  You remember all the nights he has held you.  You remember every little tidbit of your life he has tried to rescue and give back to you despite his precarious position. 

You are both in a terrible situation without the tools to truly navigate your way out.  There are no rules for a situation like this, every choice a dangerous one. The only thing you know for certain is you are not alone. 

“I’m afraid,” you say, “but I’m not afraid of you.” 

He gazes at you for a long, thoughtful moment, then reaches to touch your face.  Just his thumb, tracing from temple to chin.  The tremble of his touch reveals more fear than his faint smile, all of it bound tightly in the tension that holds him together, the carefully restrained yearning for something bigger than this moment. 

“Yeah, but I’m afraid of you,” he says on a breath of a laugh. 

“Right,” you say, infused with all the light-hearted sarcasm as you can muster.  “That’s me,” you say.  “Scariest of them all.” 

“You have no idea,” he says, still so sincerely.  It is your turn to shiver, leaning into his touch as his thumb circles your chin.  He smiles again, not his exaggerated toothy grins but a sweet, fond smile.  “My job.  My enemy.”  His thumb presses on your mouth, gently parting your lips.  A breath escapes with the race of your heart.  “My sweetheart.” 

“You’re just being mean now,” you say.  “I hate you so much.”  You hold the back of his neck and tug him close to you.  Your noses brush, his breath colliding with yours.  A simmering warmth is tingling under every inch of your skin, gathering hotly in intimate places.  You scratch up the nape of his neck and he swallows hard. 

“A kiss,” he says, a rough whisper.  “Just one kiss.  It’s too—we can’t—” 

“One kiss,” you say, brushing noses again.  “For now.”

His soft laugh warms you even before your lips touch.  And a touch is all it is, lacking all the rushed dramatics of your first collision.  Even though you’re not truly alone, even though danger encircles this room like a poisonous fog, this little world away from everything feels momentarily invulnerable. 

You let your eyes close, surrendering to the gentle give-and-take of it all.  You wonder what makes a kiss so addicting, and you wonder how you went this long abstaining, and you wonder how you could ever hope to go without it again. 

You run your hands into his hair and pull his face close.  He sinks into the kiss, sharing a gasp before kissing you again.

You feel dizzy with breathlessness but you don’t stop.  You shiver when he cups your neck to control the movement of your head.  Your excitement has you bobbing forward, but he holds you and gently tips your head, then he kisses you with a long, hot pull.  When his tongue brushes your lips, you make a little noise and he very softly squeezes your neck, the only place he is touching, in warning.  This only tempts another sound but you restrain yourself, if only just barely.  

The kiss ends with a gasping breath.  You rest your forehead against his for a long moment.  Then you open your eyes only to close them when he descends, kissing your nose, your eyelids, your cheeks.  His sigh feathers against your lips. 

“More effective than a bullet,” he murmurs. 

Surely, it is meant to be joking, sweet, flirtatious.  But he looks at you with that deep-set longing.  He draws his thumb from your temple to chin again.  He tilts your head to kiss your cheek, closing his eyes like that innocent press is the greatest pleasure of his life.  Your cheek still tingles when he pulls away. 

He smiles then nods towards the top of the bed.  Your heart skips a beat, but then he says, “Sleep now.  No more bad dreams tonight, yeah?” 

You feel tipsy, breathless still, so you don’t argue.  You also do not look away from him.  Your eyes are locked as you slide to your side of the bed and pull back the covers.  He sits on the end, watching you.  Eventually he lays down and looks at the ceiling, scrubbing a hand over his forehead.  His mind is so clearly going a mile a minute. 

“Don’t worry,” you say with a wave of your hand.  “I still hate you.” 

He shoves his tongue into his cheek to hold back the laugh, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.  You just smile, then shrug, then turn your back to him for the night. 

-

The summer passes in euphoric bursts and tiny agonies.  There are days you and Felix are alone in the house, days when a calm settles between you even if all you do is sleep entangled, and there are days your father looms with all his threat and power, when Felix sensibly withdraws and you ache with the need for an intimacy that keeps you sane and human.

Felix is clearly torn between his own desires and the duty he has assigned himself.  It is also apparent that he is still struggling to consider himself worthy of honest affection.  You can see it in the way he stands, the way he looks at you, the way his shoulders tense when you so much as brush his shoulder.  You have laid in his arms more than once, your faces so close that you are almost kissing.  You run your fingers through his hair until the tension leaves his body and he lets himself slant towards you.

Please come to me, stay with me, you think. 

This is another one of those things that cannot coast on accidents, on fleeting moments of lustful tension that would ultimately fizzle if not for the emotional strength propelling them.  It is in that emotional undercurrent you must plant yourself deliberately if you want to feel anything, if you want to heal, and if you truly, completely want him.

Maybe you cannot leave, maybe that kind of rescue is impossible, but you form a haven of sorts between yourselves.  You try to find the words to tell him he’s a person, that you want to be a person for him, a body under his hands and a heartbeat in the dark, but you can never find the right thing to say to fully liberate you from the cage closed around that room.  The words touch your tongue and burn and suddenly you see every nightmare in front of you, every reminder of why this is dangerous.  So you turn your back and say you hate him, even while a kiss on the shoulder is enough to fully unravel you.

The summer is busy, a popular season for parties and events, some your father hosts and some you are invited to attend.  He drags you from place to place, with the rest of your spare time filled with advanced course work.  It is a distraction if nothing else.

At the end of summer, your father calls you into his home office.  It could be for a lecture, a demand, an argument he is itching to start.  You do not know but you appear when summoned.  

Felix is already there, sitting straight-backed in a small chair across from your father’s desk.  There is an empty seat beside him. 

He turns his head and looks at you, reminding you of the first moment you ever saw him.  Some things are the same, but most things are different.  You realize how much older he looks.  He is still slender, still clean-shaven, still very pretty, but he is not a child anymore.  He does not look ridiculous in his black blazer and tie, a holster under his jacket, a competent professional with a job to do.  Uniforms used to make him look even younger, his face too wide and sweet for such a grown-up ensemble.  He looked like a little boy playing dress-up.

He is not a little boy anymore.  You look into his face as you approach, your eyes locked.  His hair is long enough to tie into a little stub of a ponytail.  You ran your fingers through that hair this morning, fluffing the soft ends, making him smile.  You have kissed that pink bow of mouth, both roughly and softly.  You know what he sounds like when overcome with pleasure. 

You met years ago, two peculiar children with so much humanity beaten out of you.  You realize just how much has grown back thanks to the slow but tender cultivation of your relationship. 

It seemed like an impossible thought at the time.  Now it seems like it was inevitable. 

You take the empty seat beside him.  You both look at your father.  His hands are steepled on his desk, his attention rapt as it often is when meting out punishment.  His smile is not encouraging to the contrary, as he will sometimes smile when administering his reprimands. 

But then he says, “Congratulations, I am pleased.” 

He shows you the transcript for your summer courses.  Your grades are more than halfway decent despite your tumultuous year.

“You’ve worked hard to win back my favour,” he says.  It is the kind of comment that would usually trigger your frustration, prompting a quick rebuttal that would quickly escalate.  But you temper yourself, curling your fists in your lap.  You force yourself to ignore his bating, to listen with as stoic a face as you can muster.  Your father smiles, though it is strained.  “In my persistent generosity, I have decided to reward this behaviour in the hopes of encouraging it will continue.” 

He slides a folder across the desk, every encounter a business meeting when it isn’t a brawl.  You take the folder and read through it, the frustration leaving your body as it is replaced with confusion then the vaguest flicker of hope. 

“We are substantially removed from the university campus,” your father says.  “I have decided that for the sake of convenience and your continued academic success that it would be more prudent to move you closer to the university until your degree is completed in a timely manner.” 

“Move,” you say, trying to keep your voice level despite the fact it feels like your heart is trying to leap into your throat.  “All of us?  What about the house?”

“Just you,” he says.  “And Felix, of course, to supervise you.  The penthouse is secured with a high security system, not to mention armed doormen and a plethora of staff throughout the building.  Between that and your bodyguard, you should be secure and thus able to complete your studies without any obstruction.”  He thumps a hand on his desk, making you jump.  “And I expect your grades to reflect that.” 

You nod vigorously, staring down at the real estate listing of the penthouse apartment.  You have only just begun to picture the possibilities of an uninterrupted life, however brief the interim, when your father speaks again.   

“Felix,” he says.  “You know what I expect of you.” 

“Yes, sir,” Felix says with a curt nod. 

“I will have it on record now,” your father says to you, “that I give Felix complete and full control of this arrangement.  You will do what he says when he says it. I also grant him permission to use his own discretion to determine when and how to discipline you if you step out of line.”

“Oh,” you say, too stunned to add more.    

“If he reports that you are making things difficult in any capacity—”

“I won’t,” you say.  “I’ve been good all summer!”

Other than last night when you snuggled up to Felix and started kissing his neck.  It was chaste, a momentary touch, but then a sweet, low sound rumbled in his throat.  Naturally, you did it again, then once more, your lips a little wetter and more open each time.  He eventually had to pry you off him with a warning look, but he could not fully stamp down his smile when you giggled at him. 

“Felix,” your father says, disregarding your retort.  “You have my permission to do what you must to keep her in line.”

“Yes, sir,” Felix says, dropping his head in a respectful bow. 

-

“So what do I have to do get disciplined around here?”

“Stop,” Felix says, even while obviously amused, a smile tugging at his lips.  “They’re still here.”

You giggle and look over his shoulder where your father’s men are moving the last few things into the apartment.  One of them collects Felix to show him the workings of the security system, which Felix quickly learns with his all technological skills.  

You play the part of demure daughter, quietly moving from room to room as your father’s men assemble your life according to his directions.  You did not get to organize much of anything, but you don’t care.  A wall is a wall, a bed a bed.  But these walls offer privacy.  That bed is a new haven. 

It is just you and Felix. 

Eventually the men leave, one by one.  The move began in the morning, but it is late evening by the time Felix closes the door on the last departure.  You wait while he does his security check, in the sitting area, standing at the floor-to-ceiling window that boasts a beautiful city skyline view.  The outside of the window is a mirror, concealing your privacy, but you get to enjoy the twinkling city lights, the bustling world below that offers so much possibility.  It is very different than your view back home, of a perfectly manicured and perfectly stagnant garden, the mansion isolated on a hill with no other souls for miles. 

You remember your first night alone with Felix, how empty that house felt.  Now when Felix joins you, the apartment feels full.  It is brimming with life.

You look at him as he turns on a lamp, brightening the dim room with a cozy golden glow.  The whole room feels warm.  It is not eerie and empty like that house.  You were living in a mausoleum of wealth, rotting away with distractions and half-living in what little remained.  You feel golden and alive, now, here, with him. 

He clears his throat.  He was staring back at you, his regard as intense as yours.  He turns aside now, peeling off his uniform blazer.  He starts talking about dinner, suggestions for this and that, something about school, about going to campus tomorrow and finding your way around.  A hundred topics, more distractions. 

You say nothing so he continues to fill the silence with empty chatter.  He uses his friendliest voice, though your thoughts are not merely friendly when you watch him unholster his gun, when he fiddles with the harness around his chest and pulls it free.  He puts everything on the coffee table and sits on the couch, pretending to be very occupied with organizing it.  He checks his gun as if something could be wrong with it, nimble fingers flicking through its mechanisms as he checks its assembly.

You sit beside him on the couch, watching him fiddle with it. 

He says something about something.  Asks a question, maybe.  He is not really looking for an answer.  You think his heart might be beating just as fast as yours, even though his hands are steady and his gaze is resolute. 

“It doesn’t really matter what I want,” you say in a voice, sighing dramatically.  “My dad says you’re in charge of me anyway, right?” 

He clips the gun shut and puts it on the table.  He looks at it for a minute, then exhales. 

“Are we doing that now?” he asks dryly. 

“I dunno, are we?” you ask, shuffling a little closer to him.  He looks at you sideways then shakes his head.  He puts his hands on his knees and strums his fingers.  “Are you saying I can do what I want?” you ask. 

“Uhh, that depends,” he says.  Another strum.  “What do you want?” 

“A kiss.” 

He looks at you, those dark eyes narrowed, his expression one of warning. 

“Just one,” you say, batting the eyelashes that are apparently more persuasive than torture.  He swallows and you smile.  “Just one is fine, right?”

“You said just one a few times ago now,” he says dryly.  

“No, you said that,” you say with an innocent smile.  “I said just one for now.  But now I’m saying just one, because I’m going to be a good girl.”

“Oh.”  He looks amused now, nodding.  “Are you?  Really?  Wow.” 

“No sarcasm required, thank you,” you say.  “I’m trying to avoid being disciplined, after all.”

His mouth draws into a thin line.  He looks away and cracks his knuckles distractedly. 

“Just one,” he finally says.

“Yes.”  You nod and smile sweetly.  “Just one.” 

That one kiss lasts forty minutes.  First you are side by side on the couch, the blue evening night outside the window colliding with the golden glow within.  That blue light fades to black before long, but that golden warmth stays glowing.  Heat similarly rises between you, soft pecks against soft lips turning to open-mouthed kisses that beg and satisfy with each deep touch. 

He holds your face in both his hands when you tremble, keeping you steady, letting you melt into him.   He moves when you tug at his shoulders, mutely imploring as you lay back on the couch, though he holds himself well above you, maintaining distance. 

When his arms get tired, he lays back.  He lets you crawl on top of him, and sighs, giving in, holding the back of your neck as you wrap your arms around him.  You kiss again, wet and hot and hungry, losing time and sense. 

You kiss until it shows, when his whole mouth is pink and his skin is flushed and he can barely keep his eyes open with the dreamy intoxication of it all.  You are straddling his waist, hands on his chest, his holding your waist.  A breath breaks the kiss when you settle right above where he is hard, the ridge of him in his denim fitting between your open thighs.  You are wearing jeans too but the thick material does nothing for true modesty. 

You settle there against him, fitting like perfectly slotted halves of a whole.  His brow creases, a truly tortured expression that pours into bliss when he yields to desire.  He holds your hips, keeping you there against him, and goes back to kissing you with long, slow presses, eyes closed and the occasional breath gentle. 

Your fingers are in his hair, stroking at his nape.  Lovely low sounds slip into his sighs.  You can feel how desperately turned on and wanting you are, clenching around nothing if he so much as shifts.  You imagine laying here like this with him inside you, not moving much, lazily kissing and joined together like you have all the time in the world.  The very thought has you clenching again, whimpering into his mouth.  It sounds a little pained so he strokes your back, under your shirt, making you shiver very noticeably.

“Are you okay?” he asks, with a completely shot voice, rough and low. 

“Mhm,” you say.  Words take a long time to come back to you.  “Just… thinking…” 

“About?” 

“If we were kissing…” 

“We are kissing,” he says with a chuckle, tracing circles on your spine

“And,” you say, pointedly, and press your knees into his hips.  “If you were inside me while we did it.” 

That makes his hand pause.  Then he thunks his head back hard and fast, missing the cushion and hitting the arm of the couch.  His eyes close and his face scrunches, newfound pain adding to his present torture, all of it making you giggle. 

“You keep doing that,” you say, remembering him hitting his head in the car too. 

“That’s because you…”  He can’t even finish, he just makes a pained noise and shakes his head.  It makes you laugh a little more, biting your own bruised lip as you look down at him.  He cracks one eye open, his cheeks dimpling with the tug of a smile.  He slides his hand far up your back, thumb finding the band of your bra and skirting it, then diving back down to your spine to settle just above your ass.  “If I was inside you,” he says softly, “we would not just be kissing.” 

It is your turn for a pained noise, hiding your face in his neck while he laughs. 

“You can’t say things like that,” you whine.  “That’s just mean.”

“Mhm.”  He gives your ass a pat, making you wriggle on top of him.  “Okay,” he says breathlessly.  “That was one kiss.  Or something.  I think we’re done.” 

“You’re the wooorst,” you say as he sits up.  “I hate you so much.  You’re so evil.  You’re so sick and twisted—”

He just laughs, patting your sides and shaking his head.  You only stop complaining when he kisses your nose, a sweet little peck.  His smile is tender.  He touches your cheek. 

“Say it again,” he says.     

“What?  I hate you?  Fine.  There.  I hate you.” 

“One more time?” he teases, cupping your jaw, kissing your neck when you try and speak again.  Your words get garbled and he laughs, shaking his head.  “That’s what I thought,” he says.  “Now up.  I’m in charge.  It’s time for dinner.”

“I can give you something to eat—”

“Up.”  His tone is stern but he is still smiling.  “Don’t be trouble.”

“Me?” you say.  “When have I ever been trouble?  I’m perfect.”

“Of course you are,” he says dryly.  “I don’t know why I worried.” 

“Exactly,” you say, running your fingers through his hair.  Your eyes are locked, your smiles soft.  You kiss his nose.  “And I’m just getting started.” 

---

I love this so much! 🩷🌸

The cherry and blossoms imagery everywhere (the drink, the cafe, even Jisung's home) was so pretty. And Jisung reminding her again and again to not thank him and this is the bare minimum (which why can't we get in the real world, hello?).

And omg the ex texting with the emojis and all reminded me of my ex-crush... dark times, I tell you😭

Also how do you add the 3 photos at the top together? Whenever I try to do it the 3rd one goes in the next row T_T.

SAKURA — [18+!]

“What are you saying? Y-You think I’m pretty and smart?”

Fuck. He cannot turn the conversation around and made a complete fool out of himself as it seems.

“I–“ He takes a deep breath.

“Listen. If you were my girlfriend–“

Jisung stops himself again when he sees your eyes widen.

🌸 SYNOPSIS: After seeing your ex with the girl he told you not to worry about, you rush to the café your roommate works at but find Jisung there instead. Despite being in the same friend group, he has always hated your ex and consequently ignored you, too. So, why on earth is he taking care of you then, once you start crying and explain what happened?

This is my entry for skzwritingcafe‘s May/June event “Blossoming Love”!

🍒 CONTENT INFO: jisung x afab reader, enemies/frenemies to lovers, angst/smut/fluff, kinda ‘only one bed’ trope, mutual pining, college au, barista jisung, reader is demisexual although not explicitly mentioned, reader is referred to as girlfriend once, content warnings and smut tags under the cut

🧁 WORD COUNT: 12.4K

☁️ CONTENT WARNING: alcohol consumption, mention of breakup, mention of cheating, past toxic relationship, insecurities and taking the blame for other people’s faults, jealousy, slut shaming

🍰 SMUT: dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f receiving), semi-protected piv, praise kink, possessiveness, marking (m receiving), one pussy slap, dacryphilia, name calling (pretty, good girl, baby, slut)

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nswf content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.

You knew it.

You fucking knew it.

Time to pick out that expensive colour palette and draw a stupid clown face on your skin.

After today you will definitely need it.

‘No need to be jealous of her, dear,’ he said back then. And you believed his bullshit.

But what disgusts you the most is the fact it took him less than a month to jump into a new relationship with the girl he told you not to worry about—as it seems, judging the fact you just saw them with your own awake eyes holding hands in public, bickering into each other's ears.

Maybe it has even been going on longer than a month but you don’t want to think about that. Well, you can’t. It makes your stomach twist and turn, an uncomfortable knot in your lungs making it hard to breathe.

That’s the last thing you needed to see. Even injecting bleach in your veins sounds like a five star party in comparison to that. You would rather much live in ignorance, unaware of what you witnessed.

Your fight or flight reflex decided for the latter—actually mentally healthier, once you will have a chance to rethink this situation with a clear mind. But not for now. Escape is your best friend this evening.

Especially, since your actual best friend and roommate, Lee Felix, left the apartment without his charger and for once again his phone must have died some time ago. Not a big problem—you decide to go home instead, already looking forward to some spicy instant ramyeon, an unopened bottle of soju and a new series on Netflix you wanted to start days ago.

But—as it seems today is the worst day to ever exist—and you get reminded of it when you stand in front of your apartment building’s door, ready to open it with your keys. One small problem occurs—you must have left those keys at home. Inside. Just a door, a hallway and another door separating you from it.

You sigh and let your head fall back in annoyance, before you check the time on your phone’s dim lit screen, reading 21:48.

It’s late enough to head to a bar and that’s exactly what you do, finding yourself in a dark, stuffy pub half an hour later, sipping on your second Somaek of the night. The atmosphere doesn’t really brighten up your mood but the alcohol for sure does. The third drink in, you can feel yourself get dizzy, scrolling through the apps on your phone.

Felix still hasn’t texted you but you remember that he met with Hyunjin, telling you they really really have to get some project done for one of his classes that he has failed before. So, you decide to not annoy him further. It’s your fault anyway. You’re the one that forgot their keys and you’re also the one that overreacts completely, whenever the tiniest inconvenience triggers some bad emotions to bubble up.

You just want to start over. You don’t want to be caught in this endlessly running wheel like a stupid hamster. Yes, your ex has left many scars that will bring up the past for some time whenever you think back of it. But you simply don’t want that anymore.

You’re craving closure, real closure. A love that is blossoming with passion instead of coldness, blooming with honesty instead of lies and shining bright with trust instead of doubts.

However, you are aware that those things don’t exist. Maybe in the arts although you’re not quite convinced about that either. No matter if it’s the eighth Netflix show you put on this week but can’t even get through a whole episode, some book you laid aside after it got too unrealistic or a movie they showed in the cinema that makes you mad you spent as much money on a small bag of popcorn as on the ticket itself.

Nothing really touches your heart anymore, nothing gets under your skin. That’s what he did to you.

Or maybe you’re just overthinking, over exaggerating like you always do once the booze hits your brain. You should stop drinking, be responsible. Despite that, there are too many men seeking your attention in this pub and that’s the last thing you want.

Yes, you said you need closure. But not that kind. Well, you need to get laid, too. However, some random idiot isn’t your first choice. It’ll maybe help you forget about your ex but this still isn’t the passion that you need. You’ve never needed someone like this. You crave intimacy that’s characterised by trust. So, how is some stranger supposed to know what satisfies you anyway?

Not even your ex was able to do that. Which makes the fact you’re still crying about that little shit even more pathetic. But, well, at least you know that he won’t be able to make that girl—that he told you not to worry about—cum and that kind of leaves a little triumph to you. At least something.

Maybe you really need to start over. But dating is so fucking exhausting these days. No one wants anything serious anymore and isn’t even interested in getting to know a person first. You’ve never really enjoyed casual hook-ups. You don’t have to be absolutely in love with someone to have passionate, mind-blowing sex with them but there has to be some type of emotional connection, something that keeps you going and already lets you roll your eyes to the back of your head at the sheer thought of their fingers grazing over your skin.

There’s only one person you’ve ever had this dynamic, this utmost wild chemistry with, although nothing has ever happened between the both of you.

Because, unfortunately, you don’t really get along with him. Well, you do. He is the one that is always avoiding you. You’re not even friends but tend to see each other quite often since you’re part of the same group. Still, there’s a special connection between you although it’s hard to believe.

God. You already sense him making fun of you once he finds out that your ex must have been cheating on you. He was already so fucking happy about your breakup. The smile that was plastered all over his stupid, beautiful face was disgusting.

Yes. Your ex and you had been a couple for many years but you’ve never managed to get that other stupid boy out of your head. There’s something about the look in his big brown eyes that he’s got whenever he looks at you after defeating you in yet another round during board game night.

There’s been some tension between the both of you throughout all these years. But not in a common, usual way. It’s a heated desire that under all the hate and mess wants to be more, wants to be the opposite. He has never been necessarily mean to you, simply ignored you and maybe made fun of you during games but that’s it. Still, you’ve always seeked his attention and some delusional part inside your heart tells you he does the same.

God, Y/N. You’re a hopeless little fool.

You feel your thoughts drifting away further, the surroundings becoming as unimportant as your silly little dreams and hopes.

Until two very familiar faces approach the table next to yours. The two plop down on the seats. He helps her out of her jacket, before they start skimming through the menu.

Out of all the pubs, bars and lounges in this freaking big city he chooses to bring the girl he’s told you not to worry about to this stupid place. Idiot. God, you hate him so much. You hate her so much.

There’s an uncomfortable feeling bubbling up in your chest. They haven’t spotted you yet but the urge to go to their table and down the rest of your drink all over him is within reach.

No. Calm the fuck down, Y/N. You’re better than that. You’re better than him. Better than both of them.

Until the waiter comes to their table and even though it’s crowded and loud in here, you’re close enough to catch parts and bits of their conversation.

‘Welcome, my favourite couple.’

‘We’re glad you’re here once again.’

‘Happy five month anniversary.’

Well. You finally have honesty now. A little late but at least you don’t have to worry anymore, think about the ‘what ifs’ and so when you’re indeed aware that he cheated on you.

Maybe the healing process will be easier this way, knowing you can fully blame it on him. If your heart and insecurities let you grasp that.

You want to start over. Be better than him. Better than all this. Ready for a blossoming love that has been waiting for you all this time.

But maybe not today.

At least that’s how you justify your actions, when the liquid in your half empty glass spills all over your ex’s head and you rush out of the venue, knowing for sure you will never go here again anyway.

🌸

Half an hour and half a bottle of water you bought at some shady convenience store later, your bladder announces itself. Fuck. You should have used the bathroom at that pub before probably gaining a ban on entering that place again.

Still no message from Felix which means still no possibility to go home.

You could just go to the next bar, sure. But you’ve lost your interest in getting shit-faced or talking to some stranger a long time ago.

Grabbing your phone from your pants’ pocket, you open Google Maps and search around in the area your drunk self has brought your feet to until you realise you’re pretty close to the workplace of that friend who isn’t replying to you and has the only other key to your shared apartment.

Perhaps, Felix is at the café he works at. He usually gets school stuff done there with Hyunjin, snacking the last delicious brownies that weren’t sold that day and sipping on one caffeinated beverage after another.

You’ll see. Maybe they’re even still open and you can get some lemonade or cupcake to fight against the dizziness in your head. The water has helped a bit but not quite enough. You’re still tipsy and fear having a hangover tomorrow because you mixed different types of alcohol together.

Fuck. You really shouldn’t have drunk out of impulsiveness but unfortunately impulsiveness is practically your middle name.

A little walk later, you end up in front of the house right at the corner of the street. The lights in the café are still turned on. However, the sign reading ‘closed’ shines just as bright. You decide to enter nonetheless. The whole crew knows you quite well, since many people from your friend group work here.

Pushing the door open, you enter the building. It smells like blueberry muffins, hot chocolate and vanilla brownies. A slight scent of cherries makes it into your nostrils, helping you feel at ease. They have always been your favourite fruit—reminding you of safety and better days, the blossoming leaves on their trees a metaphor for a new start that you so exhaustingly crave.

You take a few steps further, walking around and spotting some used dishes at the counter. There’s no sound coming from the kitchen. Maybe one of the employees is taking a break before they get back to cleaning up the place.

And Felix isn’t here to study with Hyunjin. Dammit.

Where did that freckled boy go?!

You stay there for a few minutes—standing rooted in the spot, as you contemplate maybe quickly using the bathroom and in case Felix’s colleague gets aware of it, you will just explain the situation to them.

After a quick fresh up and somewhat regaining some dignity despite still being pretty much shit-faced, you decide to have a short pause. That’s why you sink down on one of the chairs, checking your phone but still no message from Felix or anyone else.

This is ridiculous.

Just like your whole fucking life.

You let out a deep groan that’s followed by a sigh.

And then—out of the blue—a voice startles you, making you jump up again from your seat.

“What do you want here?”

It’s Jisung.

The Jisung.

Your longtime enemy—whom you have that incredible tension with—that happens to be a part of your friend group. He has always been adored by all the members. Well except for one.

Your ex.

They’ve never gotten along.

And maybe that’s why Jisung has always ignored you, too.

“Y/N? Are you listening?”

His voice sounds annoyed which isn’t news. He’s always made you feel as if you don’t… exist. Basically ignored you to a point that it made you feel like you’re air.

What you don’t know is that Jisung does in fact view you like air—but more like oxygen. A slightly addicting, toxic oxygen which molecules make him dependent on you so he decided to stay away from you instead to save both you and him. But he still needs you in order to survive.

Apart from that, he has always in fact despised your now ex boyfriend. Not just because of the fact he was with you and—in Jisung’s opinion—not treating you as you deserve. He has never liked the dude in general.

But it’s just now that he realises that his voice suddenly came off too harsh, twice. Fuck. He just can’t think straight around you. Or think at all.

“Yeah– sorry– I d-didn’t know where else to go and I saw the lights were still on in here…” you confess now, as little sniffles fill the room.

Jisung finally grasps that you’re intoxicated and probably confused, maybe don’t even know why you came here and he won’t blame you. He would never. But he’s just as confused, too.

“Y/N… you’re drunk, aren’t you? Why else would you stay when Felix isn’t here? You hate me,” he says and those last three words are so small and almost inaudible but you still catch them.

You don’t hate Jisung. It’s more of a reaction of the lack of interest and almost disliking towards you he has made sure to constantly rub into your face for the past four years.

But that’s not the current debate of the synapses inside your brain.

You don’t want to break down. Not in front of him. Or anyone.

But you’re drunk. You’re exhausted. You are so fucking tired of all this.

There’s no control over the words, they simply spill out of your mouth, slip from your lips.

“I… He… He– He cheated on me.”

You burst out into tears then, eyeliner and mascara ruined as the black paint runs down your face. You hide your eyes behind the palms of your hands and everything becomes a blur, your sobbing the only sound you’re listening to.

“Fucking asshole,” you hear Jisung in the distance.

Footsteps echo through the room and suddenly he’s so close to you that it makes your heart skip a beat and you don’t quite understand why it does that.

Your enemy pulls you into a hug then and your whole body paralyses, as he softly strokes your back. His hand wanders up to your head, giving it a few little pats.

 “Okay. Listen,” he begins again, “you’re obviously drunk. I’ll prepare some food and water for you.”

You let go of him for a second, searching for any sarcasm in his words.

“Why are you so kind?”

Jisung blinks, a little surprised you ask him this question and he can’t differentiate if you’re astonished by him being kind while being your long time enemy or if you don’t expect any kindness from anyone at all. To not add any fuel to the drama, he settles for the second option.

“Don’t praise me for the bare minimum, Y/N. That dude really left some scars.”

Jisung brushes with his hand over your head a second time, before he grabs a tissue. Just when he is about to guide the paper to your swollen eyes, he decides against it and places it in your hand instead.

You wipe some of the tears and mascara away but it doesn’t help that much.

“Here, have some water and a bagel first and tell me what happened,” he says a little later. Jisung sits down on the other side of the table, as he gives you the drink and food.

The tears arrive again when you realise how kind Jisung is to you and that your ex would have never done the same if you showed up at his place after a mental breakdown.

Jisung watches you drink a bit and take a bite from the cake before he hands you another tissue when you spill some of the liquid, the droplets running down your chin and throat.

It takes everything within him to not lose his mind. This is fucking inappropriate. You come here devastated, bawling your eyes out and Jisung’s head is filled with the ideas that aren’t supposed to be there. But your makeup is smudged and the tears are streaming down your cheeks again. Jisung feels like the biggest perv on this planet that your crying face makes him think of unholy thoughts he shouldn’t have.

“Why would… why would you listen?”

His heart breaks. He’s back in reality at least. He assumes it’s caused by your insecurities but he fears that he’s responsible for your distrust, too. After all, he’s never really approached you these past years, staying as far from you as possible. He’s got his reasons for that as well but he could never speak them out loud to you. That would be the end.

“It’s just an offer. I won’t leave you alone like this.”

He wants to say more.

“T-Thank you.”

You thought he hated you? Well, he’s never explicitly said that. But he’s acted that way by ignoring you constantly and since he does in fact dislike your ex boyfriend—which was communicated many times and is a mutual feeling—you assumed Jisung hates you, too.

“I… you remember the girl my ex brought along at our last board game nights?”

Oh, he definitely does. He’s never liked her either and didn’t quite understand why she tagged along with your now ex when he was still with you back then. Inviting a friend is one thing but giving them all attention instead of you, their partner, is a line crossed. Jisung would never do something like this if he was your boyfriend.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. He’s taking a sip from his water, too. Jisung is already expecting the worst and he wouldn’t be surprised if your ex is either now with her or has already had something going on during your relationship.

“Well… I–“

Your throat cuts off the words. Another sniffle escapes and you wipe away the tears once more.

“It’s alright, Y/N. Whenever you’re ready, yeah?”

You nod, trying to ignore the confusion in your head and the butterflies in your heart when his hand softly grazes over your own.

“I saw them together… after my class. So, I wanted to get out of there, just ran away and ended up in some bar. Unfortunately, they had to choose that location as well and I overheard their conversation…”

He is still stroking your hand, attentively listening to every syllable you let out.

“I found out that way that this has been going on for five months, therefore he cheated on me and I got so angry, I spilled my beverage all over his head and–“

“You did what?”

There’s a proud smile on Jisung’s face but due to the countless tears blinding your vision you don’t see it.

“D-Downed my drink on him– fuck, I should really call him and apologise–“

“What?! Why would you apologise?”

Jisungs scoffs. He can’t believe you are taking the blame for such a disgusting thing your ex did. Your reaction is more than understandable. If he was in your position or even saw him do this to you, he would have done way more than that. That bastard deserves all of it.

“He’s… he’s probably got his reasons to choose her,” you quietly say, head hanging low.

“That fucking asshole cheated on you and you’re the one taking the blame?”

Jisung can’t decide if he’s more angry or sad—the dude has practically smashed your self confidence to the ground and stomped on it when you were already on the floor.

“I’ve seen her… You know her, too. She’s prettier and smarter than me anyway.”

Jisung does know your ex’s new girlfriend. After all he invited her to every fucking board game night after they became ‘friends’.

“Okay, Y/N. First of all, there’s no one smarter or prettier than you. Second of all, don’t put the blame on yourself. That’s something I noticed you’re doing quite often. I get that. I know where it’s coming from, but it’s not good for you. If people treat you like their doormat, you have to fight back.”

The synapses of your brain shut off for a moment. If that’s possible. Nonetheless, you can’t think straight. But, well, you’re never able to think at all if you’re around Jisung.

Did he… did he just say you’re pretty and smart?

As if one compliment wasn’t already enough to make your head spin.

“What are you saying?”

Jisung’s eyes hastily blink, a cough follows. He’s readjusting himself, slightly feeling caught but he knows he can turn the conversation around and maybe not make a complete fool out of himself.

“You should stand up for yourself,” he repeats.

“N-No… I know that, in theory. I meant the first thing… y-you think I’m pretty and smart?”

Fuck. He cannot turn the conversation around and made a complete fool out of himself as it seems.

“I–“ He takes a deep breath.

“Listen. If you were my girlfriend–“

Jisung stops himself again when he sees your eyes widen.

“He’s a fucking piece of shit. End of discussion.”

You hold back a giggle and decide to keep wondering if there is more behind those words.

Pretty.

Smart.

Both of it.

Wow.

You take another bite from the bagel—it’s filled with hummus and grilled vegetables—as well as the last sip from your water, before you place the glass back on the round table with a thud.

“What would you like to drink? It’s on the house,” Jisung offers.

He’s already standing up, still severly embarrassed, as he disappears behind the counter. You stand up too, approaching him as if it’s the middle of the day and you’re making your usual order.

It’s rare that Jisung has a shift when you’re here but when he ends up having one, he usually grants you the same nothing of attention as he usually does.

So, this is all so new. Him talking to you. Offering you another drink. Listening to you.

Gosh, you will never get over this stupid crush on him if he–

Fuck.

Well, it’s no secret towards yourself anyway. Hasn’t been anymore for a long time now. But you have always tried to not give it too much thought, knowing he doesn’t like you back.

However, your view shifts a little with these two words.

Pretty. Smart.

It’s the most mundane compliment. But sometimes it’s not that much about what you say and rather about how you say it. Just the way he accidentally slipped it between those other words makes your knees go weak.

“So, what would you like?”

His voice drags you out of your daydreams, bringing you back to reality—somewhat.

Caffeine would be nice.

“Can I have an iced coffee?”

Jisung grabs a fresh glass and the ingredients.

“Sure.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe the comfort, the fun, the general safety to be around him—which the Y/N from half an hour ago would have never believed exists—but you get a little more open around him and with this the urge to tease him grows rapidly.

“You’re not gonna ask me if I want anything with that? Like extra whipped cream, caramel sirup–“

He sighs. “Would you like some extras with that?”

It’s fun being like this. After all he deserves it for the things he’s put you through those past years and you're glad he takes it on the humorous side.

“What do you guys have?”

You’re playing this game perfectly, acting as if you’re actually one of his customers and Jisung gets reminded once again what a pity it is that his shifts are rarely at the same time as you usually enter the café. He could forget about everyone and everything else when you’re around.

But he catches himself drifting off again, it’s way more fun for him too, playing along.

“Ketchup and mayo,” he states.

You scoff but on the inside you’re fighting for life to hold back the immense laughter that’s bubbling up. But you won’t be defeated so easily.

“Okay, Han, forget what I said.”

He chuckles but at the same time pretends to be hurt, placing a hand on his chest. “Stop calling me by my surname.”

You click your tongue, leaning over the counter with your upper body.

“I call you what I want.”

Jisung ignores you first, instead focusing on preparing a beverage for you. With the angle he’s practically disappearing behind all the baked goods in the vitrine, you can’t witness what he’s doing exactly.

A minute later, he stops his actions and turns around towards you again.

“3500 won, please,” he says, looking at you with a fake, bright smile.

“You’re charging me after you said it’s for free?”

He chuckles again, “Only good girls get free drinks.”

Fuck. You feel your knees suddenly becoming all wobbly, as if they’re made of pudding, similar to one of the cakes they offered today at the café.

Han Jisung has always managed to make your head spin and it’s not different now. You’re afraid, though, that he will notice. You need to play along. No matter the cost.

“Okay, sorry, Sungie. Please, please forgive me. I’ll be a good girl for you.”

What has gotten into you, Y/N?!

Jisung tries to ignore what the begging of yours does to him and he’s quite glad that he’s standing behind the counter. Otherwise, you would see the outline of his immense erection that is growing inside his pants. Yes. Just with those few words.

Fuck. He’s dreamt about this so many times—your cute voice asking him to kiss you, to touch you, to shove his cock inside you and rail you into oblivion until you cum all over him.

“Fine,” he says and catches himself, preparing the beverage for you. Grabbing the ingredients, he gets to work as you wait for him, already sitting at the table again. Your drunk eyes hover through the café, admiring the pretty blossom trees. You’ve always liked the decor here.

Once he’s finished and this way awakens you from your daydream, Jisung heads towards you and places the glass right in front of you—an iced coffee latte with caramel swirls and whipped cream on top.

“Here you are.”

When he sees your questioning look, he adds, “I’m not gonna make you a new one. You mentioned these two things so I added them.”

You look at him again, a little apologethic.

“Thank you… it’s just– the milk.”

“It’s plant based,” he explains. “Therefore, lactose free. I know you don’t drink dairy products. Same counts for the cream.”

He remembers?

Han Jisung remembers a stupid detail like this although you’ve never told him? Which is, well, not surprising since the two of you talked more tonight than compared to all those past years combined.

You take a sip from the caramel iced coffee, humming a little when the taste spreads over your tongue and the sweetness helps you forget about all the bad stuff that happened today.

Taking your time, you gulp down the liquid at a much faster pace than usual but you can’t get enough. Your so-called enemy watches every move you make, while he drinks a little bit of his water from time to time, snacking on some bagel—one with mozzarella cheese, tomatoes and basil pesto.

It’s the first time you take in every detail of his appearance now, probably the longest you have ever looked at him—it could almost count as staring—which once again reminds you how beautiful he is.

Jisung’s hair has gotten much longer. But you’d be lying if you said you’re only noticing this now. You’re always admiring him. He’s pretty, handsome and attractive. You can’t deny it.

God. You’re a hopeless fool. Who falls for their enemy?

Well. Maybe we can finally agree that enemy is a little too harsh to describe him. Rather a frenemy. He’s never been a rival of yours, it’s just that there was lots of distance created between the two of you and the wall that has been separating you is finally crumbling down into a thousand tiny pieces.

You notice another thing now.

Jisung is wearing shimmering accessories that look like your favourite fruit and you have to ask him about it. In case it comes off weird you can just pretend you talked about it to find out where he bought them. Not that you would care about any reaction of his. Of course not.

“Wait– are you wearing cherry earrings?”

He nods, “Yeah.”

Great. This makes him even more amazing. As if you weren’t already doomed anyway.

And as if this isn’t enough, your appetite for your favourite fruit announces itself and faster than you’re able to realise that you’re speaking, the words are already spilling from your lips.

“Do you have… anything with cherries here?”

Jisung looks at you dumbfounded.

“Cherries?”

“Hm. I love them,” you say. “Just like the blossom trees. Whenever they bloom it feels like a new beginning to me.”

A new beginning.

Do you mean with him, perhaps?

Probably not.

Because you’re definitely still tipsy. A little philosophical. It’s normal. Jisung shouldn’t aim those words at himself.

Which is hard. Considering he’s had a crush on you for four years. Despite the fact you hate him and he’s never understood why. Sure, he detests your now ex boyfriend—but for a reason.

First, he saw all the red flags and the bad things that guy is up to. Although it hurts him seeing you like this, it doesn’t surprise him that your ex cheated.

Second, jealousy has always been taking over Jisung’s whole body, flooding his veins, demolishing his heart, whenever he saw him touching you or kissing you. At the thought of him on top of you, grazing with his hands over your skin and body, Jisung’s stomach turns.

But… yeah.

You asked a question.

Let’s get back to it, Jisung.

“Anything for you.”

No matter what he does. His precious voice is playing like a song on repeat in your head. Rose-tinted glasses are glued to your face. And everything just feels so comforting with him. As if you’re meant to be here with him. As if he's meant to be taking care of you.

As if the both of you are meant to be together.

Goosebumps. All over your skin. Even though it’s still twenty degrees outside and even warmer in the café. That’s it—the passion you were thinking about. Jisung has literally done nothing but just with a few little words and glances he manages to conquer your stupid little heart. It’s not even to blame on the alcohol—you’re barely tipsy anymore and it’s not as if this is the first time he has had this effect on you.

Fortunately, you’ve got enough time now to both drown in your emotions and observe Jisung preparing a drink for you from afar. He’s taken off his sweater and is now only in a tank top, showing his firm arms to you and you wonder if he’s doing it on purpose. But you don’t want to get your hopes up too high, although they look kind of realistic at the top of the cherry trees here.

A little later, Jisung comes back with a pink drink in his hand, professionally placing it on the table with a small thud before he sits down again.

“A sakura latte. But my own version with cherries at the bottom of the glass,” he says, his cheeks coloured in the same shade as the beverage.

“Thank you, Sungie.”

It just slipped out. The nickname.

And the thin rose tinted layer on his face turns cerise now, copying the fruits at the bottom of the glass.

But can he blame himself?

The odds have never been in his favour but tonight everything seems as if it’s meant to be, as if it’s destiny screaming at him to finally make a move. Jisung has been referring to you as his chérie in his head for some time now but he would never admit that.

It’s too weird—an hour ago the both of you still believed that you’re longterm enemies just to realise that you get along quite well. More than that. And on top of that, the intense desire, the utmost tension is still lingering in the air, increasing its density with each fracture of a second.

Your eyes hover around, when you get a little shy after Jisung has been looking at you for a sole minute. Your gaze hits the remaining sweets that were offered today when the sun was still up. Getting up, your feet bring you a little closer now, appetite announcing itself once again.

You read the little cards with names attached to them, as you place your index finger on the glass, pointing at the colourful cupcakes.

“The blueberry-vanilla muffins are called Little Sin?”

Jisung chuckles, “Yeah. Minho came up with the idea.”

This doesn’t surprise you. Minho—Jisung’s best friend and unofficial boss of the café—has always had the funniest ideas, his personality seems to work with a fourth dimension. You like him, he’s part of your friend group too, and the only one who’s desperately been trying to convince you to, first, leave your now ex boyfriend and, second, give Jisung a chance to at least become friends.

You’ve always wondered why. Especially, why you were supposed to approach him when you’re the one who gets ignored. But it makes sense now. Being with him has granted you more safety, comfort and excitement in a little more than an hour than all those years being with your ex combined.

You smile then, when you read the name of the other cupcake.

“And naming the raspberry-vanilla ones Hot Love was his impressive creativity, too?”

“Exactly,” Jisung says, laughing out loud.

“Of course. Should have seen that coming.” You turn around completely now. “Can I have one?”

Jisung instantly gets up from his seat, getting behind the counter.

“Of course. Which one?”

You tilt your head, your index finger tapping your mouth, as you try to choose.

“Hm… can’t decide,” you admit.

“You can have one of each, you know?” Jisung offers, until another idea hits him. “Or… we could share.”

“O-Okay,” you immediately respond.

A minute later you find yourself once again at the table, sharing the sweet goods. It feels so familiar and not at all uncomfortable. Jisung doesn’t make you shy around him, if any, he worms out the potential that has been slumbering inside you. You feel at ease, being near him.

“Jisung?”

Another half an hour has passed and the two of you have talked about almost every imaginable topic, realising you get along quite well when you both try.

“Yeah?”

He feels comfortable around you too and he wants to regret not approaching you earlier but it doesn’t matter when he sees you smile whenever he cracks the dumbest joke, when he witnesses you get flustered after a compliment or when he observes your eyes flickering around in the room, looking at the cherry trees.

“I’ve always liked the decoration inside the café. The blossom trees, you know. Who came up with the idea?”

Are you reading his mind, perhaps?

“Uhm… it was me,” Jisung confesses.

“You like cherries and blossom trees, too?”

Yes, but I like you more and that’s why I chose that theme.

Jisung decides to simply nod instead.

“We have more in common than I thought,” you say, downing the rest of your sakura latte as Jisung does the same since he made one for himself, too.

“W-We do…”

He gets a little shy now, even shyer than he usually is. But luckily, you’re the one taking the initiative now.

“Wow, we could have really become friends earlier if you hadn’t ignored me for the past four years,” you say, not really thinking about your words before speaking them out loud but that’s the effect Jisung has on you—you can be completely honest and share whatever appears on your mind.

“I-I’m sorry…”

Silence fills the room for a minute until you speak again.

“I just… I’ve always wondered why. It’s because of him, right?”

Jisung hesitates.

“Hm, I fucking hate that dude, to be honest. I’ve always had. But… with the way he treated you– I–“

“Yeah… he’s the worst. I seriously don’t understand how I stayed with him for that long,” you quietly admit with a forced smile.

“Please don’t blame yourself for this, yeah?” Jisung adds, reaching for your hand and you let him.

His skin feels so smooth and warm against your own, heating your heart up from the inside, similar to the sakura latte and the warm muffins you shared earlier.

“He… he always said that… that I make everything about myself. As if I’m some self-centered bitch,” you say.

You don't care if it ruins the mood or if it’s inappropriate to talk about your ex with the guy you… like.

But it’s different with Jisung. Besides that, you know how much he despises him, probably even more than you detest that piece of shit.

“You?”

You nod and Jisung squeezes your hand tighter when he sees the hurt swirling around in your beautiful eyes. God, he could get lost in that view but he absolutely hates seeing you like this. You deserve to be treated like a queen, worshiped like a goddess.

“Yeah… because I’m passionate about the things I like or when I engage in conversations I tend to share my personal experiences, that’s just how I show my interest and affection,” you explain, head hanging low.

Jisung’s other hand comes to your face now, placed under your chin, so he can tilt your head in an angle that you're forced to look into his eyes.

“Y/N, listen,” he begins, his jaw clenching at the thought of how much your ex destroyed your confidence. “You’re not self-centered at all. He definitely is, though. Besides that, there’s nothing more beautiful than listening to people talking about something that touches them or just makes them smile.”

There it is.

A smile appearing on your face again and you believe what he says.

“T-Thank you.”

“Not for that,” he reminds you once more.

“Jisung?”

His gaze shoots up from where your hands meet up to your face.

“Yeah?”

“Just so you know, I’ve never hated you either. If anything, I’ve always liked you and wanted to get to know you better,” you say.

And there it is.

A smile appearing on his face as well and he believes what you say.

You stay like this for a solid minute, enjoying the atmosphere.

Until a vibrating sound startles you, indicating you received a message.

You excuse yourself, grabbing your phone from your pants’ pocket. Opening the chat with your roommate, you reread your own text from earlier first.

[You 21:32]: felix are you at home?

You realise that you’ve never mentioned that you aren’t at home either and you’re glad about this now. Otherwise, Felix would have probably gotten a heart attack reading your words. At least you can tell he’s somewhat calm—despite the stress caused by his uni project—judging his message.

[Felix 🐥 01:56]: sorry for the late reply my phone died but i’m not coming home tonight, Hyunjin and I really need to finish that project, love you 💕

But fuck—it clicks then.

You will not be able to get home today. It’s ridiculous to stay up all night and what are you supposed to tell Jisung?

Jisung. Right.

No… that’s a dumb idea. You can’t ask him that.

“Jisung?”

His eyes find yours again, after you put away your phone.

“Hm?”

Deep breaths. It’s gonna be okay.

It’s weird isn’t it?

But it’s also two in the morning.

You will just emphasize you only have innocent intentions.

Well. Is that the truth, though?

You don’t want to scare him away but, again, you feel comfortable and safe enough to propose that idea.

So, that’s exactly what you do.

“I don’t want you to think I mean it in this way but– can I stay at your place tonight?”

Fuck. His heart skips a beat. Of course, you said you don’t mean it like that. But the sole idea of you being in the same room as him for more additional hours makes him absolutely excited.

“A-At my place?”

Shit. You already regret it. It’s in fact weird. A few hours ago you didn’t even talk to him and now you’re behaving as if you’ve been friends for centuries.

But the even weirder thing is that it actually feels like it.

It doesn’t help that you’ve had this incredible crush on him for such a long time now.

And it doesn’t help Jisung either that he feels the same about you.

“Felix has this important project and I forgot my keys inside the apartment and I don’t want to annoy–“

“Of course. Whatever you need,” Jisung interrupts you.

Despite the (not so) obvious feelings for you, he will not leave you alone at night.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Not for that.”

That’s the bare minimum again and Jisung will remind you from now on that you shouldn’t settle for just that.

“Are you already tired? We can head home, if you like,” he offers, when he takes a quick glance at his phone, realising how late it is.

“S-Sounds good.”

🌸

Jisung’s one room apartment is small but cosy. A tiny kitchen leads to a balcony. You can’t quite explain what it is but every detail seems carefully chosen, reflecting Jisung’s personality perfectly. It’s not as if he’s put lots of thought into the little decorations but maybe that’s exactly what makes you think of him—an insane intuition without any intention behind it.

“You can sleep in my bed, I’ll stay on the couch,” he says, as he points at the furniture.

“Don’t be ridiculous… there’s enough space for the both of us,” you tell him.

You appreciate the respect but a quick glance at his sofa tells you that not even an elementary student could sleep on it without breaking their neck.

“A-Are… are you sure about that?”

It’s almost cute that he’s become so shy again. That’s what’s fascinated you the most about him all this time. Jisung is versatile and still so predictable at once.

“Hm, it’s the famous trope after all,” you tease.

He looks at you dumbfounded, as he heads to the kitchen in order to bring water for the both of you. You sink down on the couch, reaching into the opened bag of crisps as if you’ve been here nth times before.

“Tro– what?”

Jisung plops down next to you, handing you the beverage.

He’s oblivious. You won’t tease him more. It was a joke after all.

Wasn’t it?

“Nothing,” you giggle.

Taking a sip from your glass, you grab your phone from inside your pocket and place it on the couch table. The screen lights up in an instant.

It’s just now that you’re realising you’ve missed a bunch of notifications since looking at your phone the last time when Jisung drove the both of you to his apartment a few minutes ago.

[idiot]: (8) missed calls

That’s when time starts standing still.

You probably dissociate for at least half a minute and everything becomes a blur. Since Jisung opened the balcony door, a breeze of fresh air enters and hits your skin but you barely notice it. The same counts for the sakura taste on your tongue, it’s still present but you can’t focus on anything right now.

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You blink once. Twice. A third time.

Until you manage to turn your head towards Jisung.

“I… He– He texted me.”

He scoffs, his eyes growing wide, “God… that’s pathetic.”

“Hm,” is all you’re able to let out. You grab your phone from the table next, staring at the notifications. You’ve got a message from him as well but you need to open the app first to read it.

Fuck. What are you gonna do now?

The most rational answer would be to ignore it. But you can’t. Messages make you emotional although they shouldn’t. They get under your skin and pretty often you have the urge to immediately reply when receiving some risky text and then responding way too emotional.

Maybe Jisung knows what to do.

“Can you… can you help me?”

He gives you a soft smile, as he nods and places his hand on your shoulder. Jisung squeezes it a bit just like he did with your hand earlier at the café.

“You can always just ignore him, you know?”

It is the most rational answer. But you don’t want to be rational right now.

“Yeah… but I also always have that immense urge to have the last word,” you admit.

Jisung chuckles, “Very relatable.” The palm of his other hand is directed towards the ceiling now, telling you to give him your phone. “Let me see.”

You’re glad he doesn’t argue with you and just supports what you think is right for you. Your ex would have never done the same.

Jisung opens the messenger app and you both carefully read the disaster of a text.

[idiot 02:18]: Y/N… please answer… I swear it’s not what it looked like… it happened after our breakup 😔💔

“That guy… I doubt he’s even believing himself,” Jisung hisses, which makes you laugh a little.

You get back the device and start typing. Once you’re done, you press ‘send’.

[You 02:34]: stfu I overheard your conversation

“Yup. Very valid,” Jisung says.

It doesn’t even take another full minute for the next message to follow.

[idiot 02:35]: I am at your house with cookies and a bottle of wine… we can talk about everything… I’m not with her anymore 🥺😘

“He can’t be for real,” you mumble and at the same second get another one.

[idiot 02:35]: if i really think about it, i have only ever wanted to be with you, baby ❤️❤️🥺

“God… he is in fact fucking pathetic,” you laugh.

“What I’m saying,” Jisung adds.

You have a great idea what to respond and immediately start typing again.

[You 02:36]: if it was possible i would punch you through the phone screen

“That’s my girl,” Jisung mutters under his breath but you still hear him.

The three little dots appear on the screen before they vanish away again. They make a comeback and a second later you get bombarded with the following monstrosity…

[idiot 02:37]: baby… please. i’m in front of your house. why aren’t you opening the door for me? we can discuss everything 🥰😘❤️ and then get back together… I missed you 😔🥺❤️❤️

Jisung cringes. You do the same.

“God, the way he texts should have been a reason enough to break up with him, pretty.”

You chuckle. And ignore how the use of the pet name makes you feel.

Then you type something again.

Maybe without thinking enough but impulsiveness is still your middle name.

[You 02:37]: I’m at Jisung’s

“Y/N– I don’t know if that was such a good idea,” he says, a little bit of fear audible in his words.

“Fuck– I’m sorry– I didn’t want to drag you into this–“

“No, no. Not because of me. I think he will turn this against you,” Jisung says.

And as if he’s summoned it, his thoughts become reality.

[idiot 02:38]: Jisung?? tsk i should have known

“Fuck.”

“You don’t have to answer, you know that, right?”

You don’t have to reply and at this point you don’t want to anymore. Laying the phone aside is probably the best idea.

But your ex is faster to double text.

[idiot 02:39]: that pathetic loser has always wanted to fuck you… but i’d never expected you to be such a whore… I wonder for how long this has been going on

“Y/N.”

Jisung’s voice is strict.

“Huh?”

You turn your head around, looking at him. His jaw is clenched and there’s nervousness spreading all over his face.

“Give me the phone. Now.”

You obey his words, trusting him completely as you try to ignore the effect the tone of his voice has on you.

Jisung sends a message, hesitates and adds another one before he hands the device back to you.

You read the first one.

[You 02:41]: Jisung’s here. Watch your mouth before I stuff it with tissues. I’m just here for her and taking care of the mess you made.

You giggle. The tissue thing sounds like something he learnt from Minho.

You read the second message.

And your heart skips a beat.

[You 02:42]: Just for your interest: I’ve never fucked her, you idiot. But I can promise you that tonight I’ll definitely have her screaming my name ;)

Fuck.

You lock your phone and lay it aside, screen facing the table.

Your head is spinning again.

But this time in a positive way, if that makes any sense.

Does he mean it?

No. That was probably just to end this nerve wracking conversation.

Yes, you know now that Jisung is indeed not your enemy but wants to be your friend instead.

But that’s it, right?

On the other hand, you’re still thinking about the fact he called you pretty and smart three hours ago and that he said something along the lines of ‘if you were my girlfriend’.

But that was just to prove some point… nothing… nothing personal.

Right?

But fuck it.

You’ve never been so close to tasting everything you’ve ever wanted and although you’ve never believed in destiny, you know that all this can’t be a coincidence.

Now or never.

“I-Is it true?”

Jisung looks at you with those big doe eyes. God. Your heart could melt at the sight.

“W-What?”

Deep breaths, Y/N.

“That you have always wanted me?”

He shyly giggles. “Y-Yeah.”

Oh.

You wouldn’t have expected him to, first, actually return those feelings and, second, to confess it so quickly.

It grants you an insane boost of confidence.

Especially when you think back to the last message he sent.

Tonight I’ll definitely have her screaming my name.

You hesitate. But you don’t want to test the waters, you want the whole ocean right now.

“The other thing, too, Sungie?”

He gulps. “What d-do you mean?”

“That you’re gonna fuck me tonight,” you say, catching your lower lip between your teeth.

The boy instantly turns red, hiding his face behind the palms of his hands.

“Y/N– I’m sorry I– I thought that maybe he would stop text–“

“Because I’ll let you,” you cut him off.

His face appears again and where there was an absolute shy look a second ago, there are dark eyes now staring right at you with the utmost form of pure lust swirling around inside them.

“Say that again,” Jisung challenges you with a husky whisper.

“I’ll let you fuck me,” you admit. “I’ve wanted this for so long, too.”

He lets his head fall back and when he tilts it down again, you watch his tongue wet his lips first and then graze over his upper teeth.

“Are you kidding me?”

Fuck.

Have you gone too far?

You probably have.

You shake your head. “No. Of course, only if you want to–“

Jisung interrupts you by smashing his lips into yours.

You stay like this for some seconds—mouths being pressed against one another until he slowly starts moving.

And when he invites your tongue in, you can sense some hints of the sakura flavour from the beverage earlier since he had one of those rose tinted drinks too.

That’s when it hits you.

Cherry blossoms are blooming all over and around you. He tastes like your favourite fruit but even better. The goosebumps are back on your skin when he pulls you closer.

That’s it.

The passion you’ve been hoping for, no, that you have been craving all this time.

You want to turn back time.

Make up for all the missed years.

Or at least switch back to a minute ago so you can experience the feeling of his lips aligning with your own, sending the first spark through your whole body, for the first time once more. Over and over again.

Your initial idea with this was to deal with the tension but it’s about time that you stop denying and lying to yourself.

It’s not just that. It’s so much more.

You feel a little dumb for only fully realising now but Jisung is all you’ve ever wanted, ever needed—on every level imaginable.

And as much as you want him to take of each layer of your clothing, he has to know first that this means more to you than just a one time thing that happened in the heat of the moment.

“Sung– wait–“

He immediately pulls away. Jisung fears he’s gone too fast, too much, too far.

Fuck.

He wishes the first kiss between the both of you would have been in a more romantic setting. As cliché as it sounds—aligning his lips with yours while you’re standing under those pastel pink trees would have been a dream come true and what you truly deserve.

But can he really be blamed when his long-time crush asks, no, begs him to basically devour them like a five star meal?

“Do you want to stop?” he asks then.

You can see the fear in his eyes. That’s the last thing you want.

“N-No– it’s…”

But it’s hard speaking up about all those thoughts that are running at high speed in your mind. Especially, when he’s looking at you with his beautiful brown eyes that have gotten a few shades darker since the first kiss.

Fortunately, Jisung senses you’re just as shy to speak as he is but he still manages to initiate the conversation. He dearly hopes he’s not misinterpreting something. In case you regret what has happened so far, his heart will immediately shatter into a thousand pieces.

“What’s on your mind, pretty?”

You giggle when you hear the pet name. But you have to be serious now. It’s so important that you don’t give the wrong impression to him.

You want this. You really do. But you want this to be more after and not just a one time thing. Jisung is way too important to you and your stupid little heart.

“I don’t want you to think this is a rebound… I–“

“I know it’s not,” he cuts you off.

He’s got his truth now and Jisung can officially call himself the fucking happiest man on earth, if not even in the whole universe and whatever follows after that.

“How do you know?”

It’s hard to explain. But, subconsciously, he’s known for some time. Jisung’s insecurities simply have gotten in the way, telling him it’s just his imagination.

But the conversations you shared in the café earlier, the way you allowed him to take care of you, the fact you’re at his apartment now and, fuck, the way that kiss felt—filled with such a passion he has been craving for years, if not his whole life, convinced him.

“I’ve had my doubts for years and was sure it’s just my desperate feelings for you telling me you might return them but I know now you might like me just as much,” he says, adding a little teasing smirk at the end.

“H-How… so obvious?”

“You’re fucking obvious, baby,” Jisung continues, grabbing you by the waist and placing you in his lap and you just let him. “Maybe that’s why I’ve never given up. I was convinced you hated me, understandable, since I ignored you all this time and do in fact hate your ex.”

“Don’t mention–“

He places a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Sorry. But do you wanna know why I’ve ignored you for four years?”

You look into his eyes again and you can already feel the secrets unveil themselves in a heartbeat. Although you seem to already know what he’s about to say.

“Why, Jisung?”

He gets closer now, his mouth dangerously near to your face, lips practically hovering over your skin if there wasn’t a thin layer of air separating you.

“I had to hold myself back. For several reasons”—a kiss on your cheek—“to not… sorry for the mention but punch that dude in his face”—a kiss on your jawline—“To ignore my own feelings for you. But, also”—a kiss on your neck—“to not bend you over the next surface, if I’m honest.”

You’ve always known there’s been utmost desire blooming between the both of you. A blossoming connection as bright as the leaves of your favourite tree.

And it feels exactly like this when Jisung aligns his lips with yours another time and you’ve never wanted to drown in a feeling this much before—he tastes like everything you long for. The sweetness of the blueberry and raspberry muffins. The freshness of the sakura latte. The comfort of the safety he grants you. The passion of the desire you have for him.

That’s why you allow him to take the next step, when he slowly pushes you down on the sofa, towering over you now. Jisung tugs a strand of your hair behind your ear, as he looks at you with the warmest smile this earth has ever witnessed.

But there’s no time to react or do anything, when his mouth collides with your neck again and as if you’re on autopilot, you spread your legs for him, allowing Jisung a more comfortable and intimate position.

One of his hands wanders up to cup your breast, massaging it through the fabric of your shirt and bra. In an instant, you prop yourself up on your elbows and Jisung seems to be able to read your mind when he helps you out of those distracting barriers.

He becomes that cute guy again when his eyes flicker down to your bare breasts and it makes you almost as shy as he is right now.

“Sungie… don’t look at me like that,” you say, covering your chest with your hands but he softly pulls them away.

“No, no. You can’t look as beautiful as this and then hide.”

You allow him to continue, rolling your eyes to the back of your head when his kisses meet one of your breasts. Jisung starts twirling his tongue around the hardening nub, while his hand is busy playing with the other.

A moan slips out of your mouth but you don’t even try to hold it back since there’s neither a reason nor a need for it.

“Sungie?” you call for him again when you notice something.

He looks up at you through his thick lashes, big eyes staring right into yours.

“Yeah, pretty?”

You giggle because of the name again, “You know, it’s kinda unfair that you’re still wearing your shirt…”

He chuckles and within a few seconds the fabric lands on the pile of clothes on the floor and your gaze on his upper body. You’ve always expected him to be on the more muscular, athletic side but this beats all of your expectations.

“Wow… you’re beautiful,” you let out.

Jisung shies away but you grab his face and direct it back towards you.

“You can’t look as beautiful as this and then hide,” you quote him.

That’s all he needs for his eyes to turn ten shades darker again and a few moments later, he’s carrying you bridal style towards his bed. Your body meets the mattress, the weight of it shifting underneath you and Jisung wastes no second to help you out of your pants, leaving you under him in only your underwear.

“Fuck… pretty,” is all he says, brain turning into mush at the sole sight of your almost completely naked body.

Jisung positions himself between your legs then, thighs lying on his shoulders when his mouth approaches your covered pussy. Even in the dim lights of his room, Jisung is able to witness the little wet patch on your cerise laces. He giggles to himself, before he lets his tongue collide with the fabric. Licking a long stripe over your hidden clit, he makes you arch your back because of this slightest touch.

And it’s enough for you to desperately, impatiently beg for more.

“Take them off,” you cry out, already freeing yourself from your panties.

With the most evil smirk to ever exist, Jisung helps you slide them down, leaving you naked on his bed for him and him only.

He dives back in, about to devour you like a five star meal, when his mouth comes in contact with your mound. Jisung starts with small little kisses, as two of his fingers painfully slowly spread your pussy lips apart and he could come undone untouched at the spot when he sees and feels how drenched you are.

“Sit up for a second,” he tells you and you follow suit.

Jisung is on eye level with you now, bringing two of his fingers close to your face.

“Open, pretty.”

You do as you’re told, inviting his digits in before you start sucking on them.

“Fuck…”

His eyes are practically glued to your mouth, watching how you take his fingers in and Jisung wonders how heavenly it would feel if he replaced them with his cock—which has by the way already been painfully hard since the two of you started kissing.

But it’s about you now. Jisung has waited for four years for this moment, being selfish is the last thing he wants.

That’s why he gets back to his previous position. In an instant, his tongue is back on your clit—this time without a layer of fabric between them—and his fingers are circling around your entrance, teasing you to beg for more.

Jisung hears another moan spill from your lips and it’s the most beautiful melody his ears have ever witnessed. He wishes he could record it, play it over and over again as a memory of tonight and all the following nights after this one.

“Sungie,” you call for him again, as you hide your face behind the palms of your hand. The anticipation is practically killing you by now, a feeling so intense it makes it impossible to hold back any longer.

“Need you…”

Jisung chuckles. “You need me, baby?”

His voice has dropped down low by probably two octaves.

“Yeah… your fingers, inside me,” you manage to speak.

Jisung follows suit, as he enters you, immediately feeling you clench around him. He lets out a moan himself now, before he slowly starts thrusting into you, stretching you so deliciously.

“Fuck–“

You arch your back when his tongue meets your sensitive bud again, drawing the prettiest movements around it, making you curl your toes.

Jisung lets go for a second, but keeps his fingers inside your tight hole as he slows down the pace.

“Baby?”

“Hm?”

He chuckles a little when he sees your fucked out face.

“Listen how wet you are, pretty. For me, hm? Only for me,” Jisung says. His fingers start thrusting faster into you now, as squelching sounds echo through the room.

“For you…” you whisper under your breath, before your head falls back again.

He picks up his pace, adding a third finger before he begins curling all three of them so he’s able to brush that certain spot inside you.

That’s it. The build up is getting more intense with each second that passes. You’re overdosing on pleasure.

“Sung–“ your words get cut off, when his tongue once again starts making out with your clit, saliva running all over it.

Jisung moans against your heat, not even thinking about stopping any time soon but it seems as if it won’t take you that much longer to reach that sweet relief.

“Come on, baby,” he encourages you, continuing with his movements like an expert, “cum all over my tongue and fingers.”

As if he’s flipped a switch on you, his demand turns into reality, when time stands still and the indescribable feeling takes over your body, possesses your mind and soul. It’s like a thousand sparks of fireworks, a million blossoms of those cherry trees blinding your vision when the sensation spreads through your core and gets welcomed by your whole system.

Jisung helps you ride out your high, his movements becoming slower when he feels the overstimulation kicking in. He slips his fingers out of your hole, giving your clit one last but soft kiss before he licks his digits clean from your essences.

He stares at you for a solid minute, waiting for the next move to follow from you this time.

But it seems as if he doesn’t have to be impatient, when you’re already sitting up again, pulling him closer by his neck, as you whisper, “You… you c-can’t eat me out like that and– you have to finish what you started, Sungie.”

He chuckles, before his lips crash into yours and you can taste yourself on his tongue.

“Then let me fuck you, yeah?”

You fall down on your back again, as you watch Jisung dangerously slowly fumble with his belt. The leather drops to the floor and he wastes no time to let his jeans follow. The tip of his cock is staining his boxers, a wet patch very visible for your eyes. It looks uncomfortable, almost painful, how restricted he is behind the fabric, the tent proving it quite much.

“Please– c-can’t wait no more–“

Jisung pulls the remaining fabric down, kicking it to the rest of the clothes and you gulp when you see him fully naked for the first time. The head is leaking precum, the length a little above average but the girth is probably what makes your head the dizziest.

“Let me go grab a condom real quick, pretty.”

You circle your hand around his wrist, stopping him from making a move.

“I’m on birth control. I’m fine without one, if you’re, too.”

He smiles at you, truly touched by the trust you have for him and it surprises him once again how the two of you used to be anything like this a few hours ago. Well, maybe it wasn’t ever like this. Maybe this is how it was supposed to be all along.

“Of course.”

His hands wander under your thighs then, as you’re still spreading your legs so beautifully obediently for him and Jisung pulls you closer, until your ass is practically right at the edge of the bed. He’s still standing in front of it, his cock back in his hand as he starts stroking it.

“You’re gonna beg for it, pretty. Beg for my cock, beg me to make you cum again, hm?”

Fuck.

How on earth are you supposed to survive this?

Jisung spits in his hand, smearing the saliva all over his length before he brings it closer to your pussy, tip slowly grazing over your clit which forces a moan out of you.

“Sungie– please, please, please,” you beg, just how he asked for it.

But that’s not enough for him.

“A little more, baby.”

Instead of finally sliding his cock into you, he continues teasing you, brushing it over your clit until the grip of his hand tightens and those soft movements do a one hundred and eighty degree turn, when his length collides with your clit, as he slaps it against your sensitive nub.

You let out the so far loudest moan that night, unable to wait any longer.

“Please, fuck me. I need you– need you to stretch me with your cock– need you inside–“

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, “I adore how desperate you are for me.”

“Only for you, Jisung.”

And that’s when he pushes just the tip inside, your pussy walls inviting him in as you start clenching around him. Jisung takes his time with you, checking your face regularly but all you do is impatiently begging him for more. Centimetre after centimetre follows until he’s bottoming you out completely.

“You better be,” he adds, still referring to his possessiveness.

You usually don’t like it when guys act that way but it’s different with Jisung. It’s not as if he’s doing it out of jealousy but you’re aware he’s driven by his utmost desire for you.

Positioning your legs over his shoulder to reach that certain angle, he starts thrusting into you at a steady pace.

And, fuck, does it feel good. You’re convinced the both of you are anatomically made for each other, destined to be connected in the most intimate way to ever exist.

“Fuck– I’ve dreamt about this for years– fucking years,” he cries out in between thrusts.

“Feels so good,” you compliment him, more and more synapses in your brain shutting off with each second. But you don’t need to think right now anyway. All you need is Jisung to take care of you, pleasure you, make you cum once more. Over and over again.

You’re a little dragged out of your daydreaming, when Jisung slips his length out, earning a whine from you. He grabs you by the waist and turns you on your stomach.

“Ass up,” he says and like a puppy you follow suit like you always do.

A few seconds later, he’s stuffing you full of his cock again, pounding into your desperate hole at a merciless speed.

“You’re such a good girl– only for me, yeah?”

“Hm, yours, only yours,” you whimper.

Your head is buried into a pillow, as you’re drooling all over the fabric. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head but that’s nothing new.

“Good little slut– fuck, I can’t believe I-I’m gonna be able to be inside that tight cunt every day from now on–“

“Yes, please–“ you cry out, not quite sure what you’re asking for but subconsciously the idea of having Jisung fill you whenever you need him is everything you’ve ever wanted.

“You’re mine, yeah? You get that?”

You slam your hand against the headboard, desperately trying to find some balance but failing miserably when Jisung rams his thick cock into your quivering hole like that.

“Yes, yes!”

He chuckles, “Good girl.”

And faster than you’re able to realise what’s happening, he’s got you in the previous position now, but this time Jisung is even closer. Your legs are thrown over his shoulders and his face is so close that he wastes no time to kiss you. It’s both once again so soft and passionate at the same time.

He’s still rutting into you although he’s lost some speed because his movements are getting a little sloppier too. Especially, whenever you clench around him, as two of his fingers are between your legs, playing with your clit to bring you closer to that sweet relief that you’re so desperately longing for

You bury your head in the crook of his neck. The beautiful marks you leave on his skin are destined to stay there for a while, like a tattoo that’s supposed to be a memory of tonight.

A few moans escape Jisung’s mouth. He pulls back a bit so that he can both stretch out the time until his orgasm washes over him and get a closer look of your face. He admires the few littles tears running down your cheeks, caused by the stimulation he is granting your body with his fingers, his cock and his words that follow next.

“You belong to me– I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this–“

Fuck. You won’t be able to hold on any longer, you can practically already taste your climax again, when your cunt quivers around him.

“Hm, more– please– don’t stop, Sungie–“

So, he follows your instructions and Jisung watches how you come undone once more, this time much more intensely than the previous one. You fear you black out for a second when the white glittering sparks fill your vision again and you allow the feeling to take over you.

Jisung’s movements become even clumsier.

“Please– inside, Sungie– I’m begging–“

He lets out a moan at the thought of stuffing you full of his seeds. Jisung places another sloppy kiss on your lips before he can’t hold back any longer.

“Whatever my g-good slut asks for, s-she’ll get,” Jisung says, before his cum seeps into your aching hole, painting your walls white.

Everything after that becomes a blur and a few minutes later, Jisung has already taken care of your exhausted body, cleaning you all carefully before he puts you into some of his clothes.

He joins you under the covers a little later, pulling you close to him as he watches your eyes almost fall shut. Jisung adds a soft kiss to your forehead, simultaneously stroking your cheek.

“I’m happy you came to the café tonight, you know?”

You nod, “I’m happy that we’re finally on the same page.”

“It was getting exhausting, to be honest, pretending that I’m not interested in you,” he says.

You chuckle, kissing him on the cheek.

“Same here.”

Staying like this for a while, the both of you get ready for bed a little later until you meet in his bed again. Jisung turns off the lights, as he cuddles closer to you.

“We should get some sleep, pretty, so that we’re well rested for our date tomorrow.”

🩷 AUTHOR’S NOTE: I'm so grateful that I was able to participate in this event. It was lots of fun! Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging it and sharing your thoughts with me—there are no limits, from keyboard smashes to long essays, every kind comment is dearly appreciated and the number one motivation for authors to keep going. Have a nice day!

© j-0ne25 2023 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

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Boxer!Minho. That's it.

big strong man letting you win when play fighting…….

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FIND ME (INSIDE EVERY HEARTBEAT)

LEGEND 🖤Pairing · 📜Word Count · 🪐AU/Genre/Trope · 🚨 Warnings

🖤DILF!Lee Know x (afab) Reader 📜9.8k | Approx. 41-min read 🪐Exes to lovers, Angst with fluff frosting, Mutual Pining, Smut with a disgusting amount of feelings 🚨Reader discretion advised: A painful breakup, mentions of previous toxic behavior, body worshipping, breeding kink (Minho legitimately wishes to knock mc up and the feeling's mutual), praise kink (m), vaginal fingering, oral sex (m, f), unprotected sex, creampie. 💌Shoutout to @straywrds for throwing this idea at me and running away like everything's fine. 💭Reblogs & comments are always appreciated and please keep in mind they are the ultimate motivation fuel.

SYNOPSIS He loved you deliriously, but it wasn't enough to keep him from letting you go. Years later, you run into each other again.

He's a dad now.

This one-shot is a spinoff from the universe of 「THE ZONE」 — Events take place much later than Minho's arc (unreleased as of July '23).

“I’m fucking poisoning you, aren’t I?”

Cavalier. Presumptuous. High-and-mighty. Show-off. A trainwreck. A goddamn fucking know-it-all. 

Lee Minho.

You had found him at his worst all those years ago like a little stray cat drenched in rain, hissing at everybody who dares to come close just to make itself look intimidating. He had lost a friend and he was hurting a lot, making his defenses taller than The Great Wall. Made of iron, impenetrable almost.

You had fallen in love with his full moon smile hidden under layers of midnight brokenness.

“Do not say such things!”

“You and I both know who you really should be with,” he spat, jaw and fists clenched in unison, “We should… we should just break up.”

Another outburst again. Minho was a man comprised of intense emotions. Pleasant delight to manic euphoria, tinge of arousal to fatal lust, mild irritation to unhinged fury at record speed. You loved how passionate he was, but it was indeed true that it was hurting you every once in a while.

But calling that poison?

“Please,” you begged him in tears, “Please don’t do this.”

He loved you deliriously, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from letting you go because he thought you belonged with someone else. Someone who had a decent command over his own emotions, someone who would make you mostly happy rather than half the time. They would at least be able to stay in your good graces when their pros trumped their cons.

Whereas Minho was in a vicious cycle of erasing all the rights he accumulated with a single colossal wrong.

“I know how much I’m hurting you. It’s who I am at this point. I can’t help it,” he averted his eyes from you, squeezing his eyes to push his tears back, “Just… Don’t make this any harder.”

“Minho, please… We can get through this together. We can—”

“It’s not your job to fix me!”

And just like that, he walked away. As if all those years you had spent together were just a dream. As if all the dreams you had did not exist. As if he had never called you his sun. It had caught on so much that you wouldn’t even call each other by your names; he would call you Sunny instead, and you would call him Moony. 

Sun? What sun? 

Light was a social construct, and it could go to fucking hell. Ever since Minho left, it was always new moon for you, and darkness was all you knew. Everything lost its color and turned into bleak monochrome shades.

And it was getting dimmer with each passing day.

You were going crazy. You talked to your friends about the same things over and over again. Nothing was consoling you. Nothing was able to splash a bit of cold water on the hellfire that broke out in your heart. The lilies you loved so much had died. It kept raining torrents. You cried and cried and cried over him until you ran out of tears to cry. You had never felt this helpless in your life. 

Minho used to sing quiet lullabies for you in his arms. 

You lost sleep. 

Minho used to make grilled cheese sandwiches for you on Saturday mornings. 

You lost your appetite. 

Minho used to draw silly doodles on post-its and stick them all over the house so that you would laugh when you saw them. 

You lost joy. 

You bundled yourself in your cocoon of blankets for days on end, hoping it would pass. Sooner than later. Sooner than later. Sooner. Sooner. Please, I’m dying over here.

“It’s time, sweetheart. Come on, get up.”

You were so consumed in grief that you had lost all sense of reality. To this day, you were thankful to Hyejin for dragging you to a therapy appointment that day.

It still took a long-ass time, but you at least managed to reach a state of neutrality instead of violently breaking down when you heard the name Minho. The hellfire was put out, but the gentle sizzle of the everburning amber was still there. You had no choice but to come to terms with carrying that around for the rest of your life.

When it was time to reintegrate with the rest of the world again, you even entertained the thought of having someone in your life. You went on several dates. There were people you genuinely liked among them, too, but it always ended up the same.

“You’re still in love with your ex, aren’t you?”

Maybe. You were deluding yourself into thinking otherwise, but maybe… Even after all this time… 

You couldn’t help it. Minho was your first true love, so naturally, the cut he left behind was the deepest of them all. He still popped into your mind every now and then, making you wonder how he was doing. Whether he was happy or not. Whether he was thinking about you.

Whether he was regretting his decision at all.

When you woke up that Saturday, you had a really bad craving for grilled cheese, but you realized were out of ingredients. If you left right away, maybe everything would be different, but you decided to leave after taking a shower that lasted twenty three minutes. When you left your apartment, you briefly returned because you forgot to take out the trash. The cab you took ran one red light on the way, and you debated whether you should go to the bookstore now or after you finished your shopping, eventually opting for later.

…all of which cumulatively contributed to the exact moment you thought you finally went insane in front of the dairy aisle.

“Sunny?”

A bolt of lightning struck in the exact spot you were standing when you heard that name rendered in that voice. You heard something erupt in the distance, and the tremors of a violent mushroom cloud destroyed everything into a pile of goddamn debris.

When you slowly turned your head to your right, you indeed saw the one thing you were dreading to see for so long holding bread slices and a block of cheddar in his hands.

“Minho.”

His equally shocked expression was slowly replaced by a smile, and once you saw those cheekbones raised again, you felt your heart thumping in your ears. 

“I can’t believe it’s actually you. You look fantastic!” he threw the groceries into his shopping cart and approached you, “How have you been?”

Your heart ached. He looked as good as you remembered him. Even better actually with those waves in his hair. The dark circles under his eyes were long gone, and while happy was up for debate, he at least looked healthy.

“I’m doing better,” a vague smile appeared on your lips, “How have you been?”

“More or less the same neighborhood.”

Both of you were looking at each other, and there was something akin to an awe-filled silence between you. It wasn’t tense, but it was extremely intense. You were replaying every single memory of Minho in your head at x100 speed and wondering if he was doing the same. One wrong word could pop the oddly cozy bubble that immediately enveloped this moment, and you weren’t ready for it to end yet. You wanted to beg him like he used to when you tried to drag him out of bed.

Please, Sunny, just five more minutes!

“Are you in a hurry? Can we grab a cup of coffee right outside?”

You had managed to take one step forward after fighting all those demons. What if this was ten steps back? What if this small encounter was going to leave another unfillable void in your soul, and what if—?

“Of course,” you heard yourself say despite everything that was yelling at you inside your head. He smiled at you again.

It made you wanna throw yourself into the freezing cold ocean every time he smiled.

After completing your purchases, you made your way to the coffee shop in front of the bookstore, and Minho headed to the counter without even asking you what you would like. He returned with two large cups of dark roast americano, and you could smell the drop of caramel syrup in it. He still remembered how you took your coffee. 

Your heart sizzled.

“Thank you,” you dragged the coffee towards yourself on the table for two, “You grew out your hair. It really suits you.”

“And you dyed yours. I really like the color.”

There were so many things you wanted to say, so many questions you wanted to ask, but you didn’t even know where to start. Then something caught your attention as you kept playing with the lid of your cup.

“You got a tattoo, huh?”

“It’s Polaris,” Minho touched his left wrist, “It’s for my daughter. She’s my little star guiding me.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach so fast that you felt queasy. Did you… hear that correctly just now?

“You… you have a daughter,” you flashed him a terrorized smile.

It wasn’t a question, but it was. It wasn’t an interrogation, but it was. So he did find someone after you. Not only did he find them, but also… Also…

Did you do to her the same things you used to do to me? Did you also tell her you loved her endlessly? Was she able to touch you like I would? Did you miss me when you realized I beat her at that one good? 

“Yeah!” he brought out his wallet and showed you a picture in it with a smile, “Her name is Nari.” 

“N-Nari?”

It would have hurt less if he started torturing you right then and there. Lilies… He named his daughter after goddamn lilies. Mr. I’m-Poisoning-You had indeed gone ahead and found a toxin-immune terrain to breed.

Was this a fucking joke?!

“Oh wow, she’s the spitting image of you!”

“She’s great,” Minho looked at the picture fondly, “Being a father really changes you, you know. It puts things into perspective.”

Of course you knew. You had always known he would be a terrific father. A quirky one, for sure, but filled to the brim with love for his children. 

“How about you? You got any kids?”

You couldn’t believe you were asked this question by Minho as if you didn’t plan to have two kids once upon a time. One boy and one girl, the best of both worlds. Preferably twins. He was going to annoy the shit out of you with your son, and you were going to retaliate with your daughter because that was, quote, ‘How she will learn to be a boss lady later in life’.

“No,” you flashed a broken smile at him.

The mood was getting considerably solemn. What were you expecting anyway? For him to not be over you? He was the one who wanted to walk away, so why the surprise? What kind of hope were you holding onto all this time?

Were you unknowingly holding onto some hope all this time?

“Uh… So what do you do?” you attempted to change the topic, “Did you make it as a dancer like you wanted?”

“I’m actually a chef now,” Minho leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms on his now broader chest, “If you’ve ever been to Four Seasons downtown, I’ve probably served you.”

“Whoa, isn’t that a Michelin restaurant?”

“Which I’m responsible for obtaining.”

“That’s fucking impressive!”

Neither of you touched that radioactive waste zone again until you reached the bottom of your coffees. Instead, you talked about stuff you would do at a college reunion. What happened after you graduated? Were you able to land a good job? Of course you were; your professors never shut up about how promising you were. Your boss, though? He could go fuck himself. The chef thing? While he was wondering Minho found himself in the cookbook aisle at this very bookstore one day, and it was all downhill from there. He had never thought about turning his hobbies into a career before and he should have done that sooner.

Both of you spent an entire hour like this. Pretending. Acting like you weren’t extremely shaken by the other’s presence, and in complete disbelief that this was the reality you were leading now.

“It was great to see you,” Minho spoke as you were leaving the place.

It was a disaster to see you, you wanted to yell at his face. I’ve been doing so fucking well up till now, and now I’m back to goddamn square one. Why did you have to fucking show up again?

“You too,” you smiled at him instead.

When you least expected it, he reached for a hug and all of a sudden… 

That familiar scent.

Sandalwood. Ocean. Salt. Sunscreen. Forest breeze. Pine trees. Passion. Love. Lust. All in the same whiff.

Minho. 

The one that got away. Willingly.

Even after all this time, I still love you.

“I really hope this won’t be our only encounter,” he sheepishly smiled and took his phone out, “Do you mind if we—?”

“I don’t think so, Minho.”

His expression immediately fell. He was sulking. You hated it when he pouted. You just wanted to give him the entire universe so that he would smile again.

But this past hour had taken the life out of you.

“I’m sorry, I– I didn’t mean to assume,” he put his phone back and turned his eyes to the ground, “Of course. When you agreed to have coffee with me, I just thought…”

“It’s not that.”

You creased your brows trying to pick your words carefully. A part of you was still mad at him for what he put you through, but it wasn’t like you wanted to get back at him for it. You were trying to move on, and exchanging numbers and having him around was certainly not the way to do that.

You could never be friends with him again. Not when you knew what he tasted like because you knew for a fact that he tasted like your soulmate. 

And you were forever doomed to be the fully functional half of a perfect whole without Minho.

“I almost died trying to get over you,” you finally met his gaze, “It was nice to catch up, yes, but you seem to have much more important priorities now.”

You reached out for his hand, and he watched you stroke his tattoo with your thumb.

“My daughter.”

“I’m very proud of you, you know,” you smiled genuinely for the first time, “I know it’s not unheard of for people to change, but I’m very glad to see you changed for the better.”

Minho opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he smiled at you again, albeit in a thousand pieces.

It made you wanna burn yourself alive every time he smiled like that. You instinctively pecked his cheek and hailed an approaching cab.

“Say hi to the missus for me,” you smiled at him as you got in and took out your earphones from your pockets, “Houston Drive, please.”

Only after the cab took off was Minho able to register what you just said.

“Wait!” he dropped his bags, “Sunny, please wait!!!”

Minho started running after the yellow vehicle gliding down the road like a yellow serpent but to no avail. He eventually slowed down to a halt, panting hard as he held his knees in complete fatigue. With his last remaining strength, he yelled after you as if you would be able to magically hear him.

“THERE IS NO MISSUS, SUNNY, PLEASE!”

“You’re fucking kidding me!”

“Nope. I’d rather gargle cyanide than bring him up in a conversation,” you talked into the speakerphone as you were tearing the lettuce in the kitchen, “Minho is a daddy now.”

“And who’s the bitch?”

“Jin…”

“I SAID WHO’S THE BITCH I JUST WANNA ACCIDENTALLY RUN INTO HIS WIFE SOMEWHERE WITH MY CAR!”

While Hyejin’s murderous intentions to avenge you were appreciated, you didn’t possess the knowledge that would satisfy her.

“I didn’t ask.”

“What do you mean you didn’t ask? Aren’t you at least a little bit curious?”

“I’m not about to spiral myself into a comparison olympics, sweetie.”

“Urgh, fucking Lee. Pops out of nowhere like a goddamn jack in a box after all this time,” Hyejin scoffed into her receiver, “If I ever see him, I will crack his ring finger!”

You initially laughed at her violent comments, but then… something hit you.

“Actually, he wasn’t wearing one.”

“A married man and is not wearing his wedding ring?”

“I mean… I assumed he was married.”

“Let me ask you something, Sunny,” she sarcastically emphasized, “Did you or did you not hear it from his mouth that he was married?”

You drew a total blank at her words. No, you hadn’t asked him that because why the fuck would you? Who would have wanted to know what would be their untimely demise?

“But he has a daughter.”

“That literally doesn’t answer my question,” Hyejin insisted, “Did he tell you he was married?”

“He– he didn’t.”

“WOMAN!!!”

You didn’t know what to make of her reaction. When you were still together with Minho, Hyejin was the number one fan of your relationship, but obviously, people had to choose sides after a breakup. She was always there for you through your darkest times, but now…

Was she insinuating what you thought she was insinuating?

“Here’s what we’re doing,” she continued, unbothered, “Next week, you’re getting into your classiest slut attire and we’re having dinner at Four Seasons for operation ‘This is what you missed out on motherfucker’. I’m making a reservation right now.”

“Hyejin, please!”

“I SAID WHAT I SAID. DON’T MAKE ME RUN YOU OVER, TOO!”

Then she hung up on your face.

Minho didn’t say it, yeah, but it didn’t necessarily mean that he was single, either.

But what if he was?

What if he was?

What if…?

“So what if he is?!” you threw your phone on the couch in exasperation.

On the D-Day, you took the longest shower of your life drowned in your thoughts, and started to get ready for your dinner plans as if you were going on a fucking date.

The possibility of seeing Minho again stirred something in you, no matter how much it was in a work context. If anything, you were nervous to be in his fascinating Michelin chef presence, quite possibly fucking shit up in the hottest way possible. Because that was what he was. Intense. No matter what he did. You didn’t even know how you would be able to see him considering… He had to be in the kitchen, no? It wasn’t like the man was serving people himself. Would you make up an excuse? Would you try to sneak into the back? Would you purposefully send your food back, or ask for the chef to come over so that you could pay him compliments in person?

Why did you agree to Hyejin’s plans again?

“Good evening. Did you have a reservation?”

You were there to have dinner, no? Basic human needs and whatnot. Then why did it feel like this man was questioning your entire life trying to decide whether you were worth being there or not?

“Yes. I believe it’s under Ahn Hyejin?”

He went through the gargantuan notebook he had in front of him, and once he confirmed the name, he made his way inside.

“This way, please.”

You thought he was going to lead you to a table in the middle of the people crowding that large hall, so naturally, you were befuddled as hell when he passed the restaurant area and guided you towards a more secluded place.

“I’m sorry, I think there’s a mistake. I’m supposed to be having dinner with my friend?”

“Yes, ma’am. Ms. Ahn has booked this VIP room for you.”

“For me?” you creased your brows in confusion, “As in she’s not coming?”

He finally slid a door open and gestured you to go in. There was a table for two inside in front of a window looking over a fantastic city view along with a lot of kitchen utensils. You walked towards one of the chairs and sat down.

“Enjoy your experience,” the maître d’ left you by yourself in that extravagantly luxurious room.

Confused out of your mind, you attacked your phone to call Hyejin to ask where the hell she was, but she wasn’t picking up. The one time you needed her the most…

“Dammit, Jin!”

She was the one who came up with this plan without telling you what the plan fucking entailed, so what in the fresh fuck was up with that indeed?

“Good evening.”

You heard the door slide open again. A person clad in jet black kitchen attire let themselves in and greeted you without looking at you. You could literally hear the fireworks or a nuclear bomb go off in the distance when you turned towards the source of that honey voice. The person’s expression, on the other hand, was in between being on the brink of crying and flashing the most genuine smile of their life.

Your heart melted into a puddle when you saw him.

“My name is Lee Minho. I’ll be your personal chef tonight.”

“You’ll— my— personal what?”

He had a very entertained smile on his face seeing how flustered you were.

“Well, isn’t that why you came here tonight? To dine?”

Was it??? The last time you checked, you were under the impression that you were going to have dinner with your best friend to throw shade at your ex. Not be in such an unnecessarily close proximity to him that you would question all your life choices that led to that moment.

“I– I don’t… Hyejin booked…”

“Ah, of course. The boss lady herself,” Minho slightly bowed at the name as a sign of respect and then licked his lips with absolute mischief shooting from his eyes, “So you did tell her about me, huh?”

“Why– why– why would I do that?”

“I find it a little hard to believe that she of all people would coincidentally request me. I know she put a bounty on my head back in the day,” he casually handed you a menu, “Would you like my recommendations or would you like to create your own menu for tonight?”

He was standing tall with an upright posture right next to you with his arms clasped behind his back, waiting on you like your personal bodyguard. You had noticed how he must been working out a couple of days back, but those bulging veins that traveled from his elbow down to his hands confirmed it for you.

Minho used to despise moving.

“I’d like to have so very much wine, please,” you handed the menu back to him while gulping. He chuckled in delight.

“As for the food?”

“Surprise me.”

His chuckle turned into gentle laughter for some reason.

“With pleasure,” he took the thick cardboard away from you.

Minho opened a very decent bottle of cabernet sauvignon first to accompany your appetizers, and then promptly got to work. You watched him create magic right before your eyes. The way he was executing his craft with such passion and enthusiasm felt like you were supposed to be paying to watch him cook. It was that satisfying, and he made it look so easy. Smooth wrist movements, a tight grip and flawless command over his knives, brows furrowed and lips slightly pouting due to concentration. You didn’t even realize how much time had passed when he finished your first course.

“Please enjoy,” he placed an incredibly fancy-looking black porcelain plate in front of you.

And when you took your first bite of the food…

“God—DAMN, Min, you used to struggle even with pasta. How the heck did this happen?!”

You knew you fucked it up royally when you met Minho’s gaze. As nervous as you were, the familiarity of having him around had tricked you, and the word just slipped from your lips. Min. The way he looked at you so longingly when he heard that name from you again… After all those years…

You wished the ground would swallow you whole.

“Thank you. I appreciate it very much,” Minho broke into a very comforting and content smile sensing your internal struggle, “I’ll get started with your entrée.”

He proceeded to prepare your main course, and as he was busying himself with it, you suddenly blurted out with the courage you got from your wine.

“Why don’t you make it for two?”

“Are you expecting company?” he asked not looking away from his cutting board.

“I’d like you to join me.”

He finally met your gaze, and you saw the whirlwind of emotions stirring in them. Surprised, definitely. Undertones of happy. A tinge of excitement maybe. And then he smiled.

It made you wanna lock him in the tightest embrace every time he smiled.

“I can’t do that while I’m working,” he returned to his cooking, somewhat bashful.

“You can if a paying customer is asking you to,” you insisted, “Please.”

Please? Did you just say please?

Did you know how many years did he wait for you to say that in any context? Did you know how unequipped he was to say no to that request?

Without saying anything, he threw another marinated steak on the grill in front of him and added another portion of baby potatoes right next to it. Shortly after, he pulled two plates from the cabinet below him and decorated them exactly the same. 

Minus the little demiglace sun he drew on your plate and a crescent moon on his.

After he placed the plates on the table, he grabbed a fishbowl wine glass for himself and poured a generous amount of burgundy courage into it as if he wanted to drown himself.

“To you,” he raised his glass. 

You reciprocated. Your glasses kissed each other way more fearlessly than you two could coexist in the same room. If Minho cooked dinner for you in the privacy of his own kitchen, it would only be slightly more intimate than this.

You both ate in silence for some time. You savored every bite, every flavor he managed to squeeze into that plate. It might have been completely delusional of you to think this way, but for some reason, everything everything in front of you tasted so sweet just because Minho made it for you. Nothing in this world could be this concerningly delicious to make you think whether you were having your last meal or not.

“Minho, I’m going to ask you a question.”

To hell with it. The itch at the back of your brain was about to drive you crazy, so you just had to scratch it before you snapped and went on a fucking rampage.

“Yes?” he asked you with his brows raised.

“To be brutally honest, I’m kind of scared to hear the answer,” you put your fork down and stared at it, “Are you…?”

How to ask this? How to not pry but pry at the same time? How to make him think you didn’t have the ulterior motives that you absolutely had? What if he gave the wrong answer? Because there was a wrong answer here.

“You’re– you’re married, right? To Nari’s mother, I mean.”

“No.”

A total lack of pause. He answered your question so nonchalantly as if to say What the hell is wrong with you?

“Really?! I mean…” you immediately cleared your throat, “I mean, are you– are you divorced, or…?”

“We never got married.”

What the hell was that feeling of relief spreading throughout your chest at a concerning speed?

“Why not?”

“Because we were never together to begin with,” Minho took a sip from his wine, “Nari wasn’t exactly born out of love.”

The clouds passing by his beautiful face… They were a distinct type of nimbus. Quite dark. Charged with lethal bolts of lightning. If they rained, they would sure as fuck create disastrous floods after them.

“Her mother and I… Let’s just say our relationship lasted for less than an hour under a lot of haze,” he started drawing circles on the rim of his glass, “There was a time in my life when I turned to less-than-ideal means to…”

Then he pierced a hole in your soul with his eyes.

“To try and forget you.”

Once upon a time, you knew a man. He wasn’t aware he had pirated his entire personality from someone else, and he would do anything to get his way. Anything. Even say things that would mean so much to an average person with zero restlessness on his conscience because he didn’t have one. He just didn’t give a fuck who he was hurting as long as he got what he wanted.

Years later, that very same man was sitting right in front of you, holding his heart between his hands openly and giving you a free pass to crush it into mere dust if you wished. The amount of vulnerability in his voice… He knew he deserved it. He knew he deserved the worst of it.

“I’m not proud of it, but I’m taking responsibility. She was the one who wanted to keep the baby, but she is nowhere to be found most of the time. So I filed for full custody.”

“You’re– you’re raising her on your own?”

“Yes,” he smiled and then switched to his playfully cocky mode you were a bit too familiar with, “I mean Rose helps us a lot of course, but I’m not about the give her all the credit. I’m indeed a superdad to my baby.”

You involuntarily chuckled. Why of course, even in the form of a joke he just had to compliment himself because that was Lee Minho for you.

“How old is she now?”

“She’s four.”

If someone had told you that years later you would be listening to this beautiful disaster with Everest-level cockiness talk about his baby girl fondly, you would die laughing.

Minho wriggled in his seat and cleared his throat, then spoke without looking at you.

“Well… Are– are you…?”

“Am I what?” you reached for your glass.

“You know,” he dragged his finger down the stem of his glass as if that was the most important task at hand, “Have someone. In your life.”

He seemed almost scared to look at you, but eventually mustered his strength to face his fate. You dragged on the silence for as long as you could handle and shook your head no. Not only was there massive relief on his face, but Minho also let out a very deep breath that accompanied his blooming smile.

“Sunny.”

The tone of his voice changed all of a sudden. Serious. Determined. He reached for your hand over the table and fearlessly looked deep into your eyes as he talked this time.

“I’ve never stopped having feelings for you. Never.”

His skin on yours once again. Hesitant but oh so soothing. Asking to come home.

All your senses were extremely heightened somehow.

“I thought I was doing what I believed was the best for you, but I hit rock bottom. I lived my life as a walking corpse after I let you go, but you know why I’m glad Nari exists?”

Every time he talked about his baby girl, all his razor-sharp features softened, and the amount of compassion he had for her was simply bursting out of him.

“She turned me into a man that I always wanted to become for you. She is teaching me about patience. She is teaching me about unconditional love,” Minho swallowed a sob to push it way down, “And she reminds me so much of you.”

This right there was how cruel life was. You both had to be dragged through hell and back in your own ways to become the people you were at that very moment. Nothing had gone according to the plan, but then it made you think. 

So what if it hadn’t? 

Would that necessarily be the better option? What if you and Minho stayed together to the point of resenting each other so badly that you couldn’t stand the idea of sharing a life anymore? So what if it wasn’t you two that were supposed to change each other for the better? At the end of the day, Minho was a household chef and a devoted father who seemed much more level-headed, and you were a successful editor-slash-writer who refused to put anyone else right at the center of your life anymore.

All things considered, did that really turn out so bad?

All things considered, could you give him another chance?

All things considered, would you be able to find it in your heart to forgive him?

“You’ve always been my Moony, Min,” you smiled at him through the tears threatening to fall, “And always will be.”

His smile, on the other hand, grew so devastatingly big that you were almost blinded.

“I was thinking, after I’m done here would you like to—?”

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

“DO YOU MIND, GENE?”

The poor maître d’ was just doing his job, but Minho got so annoyed to be interrupted at the best part that he couldn’t help the volume of his voice and startled both of you.

“I sincerely apologize,” he judged the crap out of Minho solely with his eyes and put a little envelope in front of you, “Ms. Ahn extends her regards.”

When you opened it, you saw that it contained two keycards in it for room 1116.

“Well, Gene, Ms. Ahn is indeed here, isn’t she?” you closed the envelope and shot him a knowing look, “I promise I’m not going to do anything. I just want to know.”

The tall man in his crisp brand-name suit got flustered out of his mind but felt obliged to provide you with an answer anyway.

“We’ve been strictly instructed to monitor your mood and let her know if you were in distress, ma’am.”

“Thank you very much. While I don’t appreciate the CCTV treatment, please tell her I’m really enjoying myself.”

As the man apologetically bowed and made himself scarce, you removed one of the keycards from the envelope and slid it towards Minho.

“Here’s your tip, Chef Lee,” you spoke with the softest but infinitely seductive tone, “Why don’t you pick up a bottle of your most expensive champagne and meet me upstairs?”

Without giving him a chance to speak, you got up to your feet. Minho’s eyes followed your every move and his jaw dropped when you came that close to him and leaned in.

“You remember how we used to not let each other sleep, right Min?” you placed a little kiss on the mole on his nose and left him there to marinate in his feelings for a while.

You thought he would take a while to arrive, but shortly after you entered the room, you heard a knock on your door.

“Can I come in?”

“Why didn’t you just let yourself in?” you looked at him in surprise.

“I uh– I wanted to make sure you actually want this,” he scratched his neck, “Maybe you’re having second thoughts, or maybe y—”

You shut him up by kissing him, and his eyes immediately closed. His lips in yours again… So soft. Occupied the space in your mouth just right. Burned you with the amount of desire they were coated in.

Some things had changed, yes, but some things were never going to change.

He still tasted the same.

“Does that answer your question?”

When you looked at him like that and dragged your fingers down his cheek, Minho lost his remaining sanity and devoured your lips. You pulled him in from the collar of his uniform as he shut the door behind him with his foot. Your hands were all over each other wanting to touch everything at the same time. You guided his hand between your legs to show him how wet you were already, eliciting a deliciously loud groan from him.

“You fucking know how weak I am for you, so you’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you?” he spoke into your mouth, “Keep this up and someone’s getting knocked up tonight.”

“Then fucking put your money where your mouth is. I dare you to breed me.”

“I hope your birth control fails.”

“I hope your condom breaks.”

“Joke’s on you. I don’t have one on me.”

You pulled him in for another fiery kiss, but when you attempted to take off his top, he stopped you.

“No, no, no, baby, I need to shower first.”

You shuddered when you suddenly heard the address he used to have for you. Minho also realized what he just called you and examined your face intently to determine the level of his fuck up. 

“I’m– I’m so sorry. Force of habit.”

“It’s fine,” you smiled at him contrary to his expectations, “More than fine actually.”

“I promise I’ll be back in five minutes. Time me.” 

You giggled as he grabbed a towel and bolted to the shower. When he reemerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and his wet locks sticking to his face, he still had forty-three seconds to spare, and you almost lost your whole entire shit when you saw him half-naked after all this time.

Minho had always been gorgeous, but now in addition to that, the man had become totally ripped.

“Now where were we?” he sat right next to you and attempted to kiss you again.

“Nuh-uh,” you stopped him in panic as if you weren’t on the brink of jumping him yourself, “You did kill the mood. You gotta work me up again.”

“Again,” he echoed you, “So I did work you up before.”

Even when he knew what he was doing to you, Minho would always try to coax you into saying it out loud. Give him attention, tell him how pretty he was, praise his oral skills, moan his name when you were cumming… He lived for that shit.

But once his lips touched your skin again, there were no remains of the playfully brazen guy anymore. It was like he was trying to tell you something without actually saying it.

“Did you miss me, too, Sunny?” he kissed the corner of your lips and started moving downwards, “Did you miss me as much as I missed you?”

His hands were all over you, albeit moving very unhurriedly. He was inhaling you a lot as if he had been to war and was down bad with homesickness.

“Say yes,” he spoke into your neck while pulling the straps of your dress down, “Even if you didn’t, please say yes.”

“But yes,” you affirmed and kept repeating it like a mantra to him, “Yes, I missed you to death. Yes. Yes.”

No amount of shampoo or shower gel could hide his sandalwood scent from you. You were getting lost in him just like you always did as if you didn’t spend any time apart. Minho stopped for a moment and looked at your face while stroking your cheeks, eyes beaming with adoration.

“You have another tattoo?” you touched his right shoulder, “Don’t tell me that’s for your daughter, too, because this looks depressing.”

It was a completely blackened sun as if it was in an eclipse. His expression turned serious all of a sudden.

“It’s for you actually.”

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach.

“You were my sun. You still are. I already felt like I had completely eclipsed you, but when we broke up, my entire world darkened,” he caressed your hair, “It’s a little brighter now thanks to my little girl, but it’s… It’s not the same.”

You were suddenly overcome with so many emotions that you found yourself on the brink of crying. Minho’s eyes. Minho’s lips. Minho’s love. Minho. Minho. Minho.

“Love me,” your voice quivered, “You owe me years’ worth of touches. Just love me.”

“Shh, it’s okay now,” he kissed your hands and laid you down, “I’m right here.”

You let him pacify you with his touches as he stripped you fully. He caressed every inch of your body softly and marked every piece of skin he uncharted with a little kiss. As if he was discovering you afresh. 

“Hate me all you want. I deserve it,” he pulled himself up to your eye level again, “Just let me kiss it all better. However long it takes.”

Then he proceeded to place his wet ‘days of the week’ kisses that you had missed so so so much. 

“Monday.”

Your lips.

“Tuesday.”

Your neck.

“Wednesday and Thursday.”

Your breasts.

“Friday.”

Your tummy.

“Saturday.”

Your thighs.

“And Sunday.”

Your clit.

“You remember how we used to party on the weekends, right Sunny?”

You inadvertently let out a giggle seeing him smirk at you that mischievously.

“Let’s see if I remember it correctly,” Minho got comfortable between your legs, “This spot is for sucking.”

He wrapped his plush lips around your clit and sucked on it with a barely there pressure just to tease you. He knew it would never be enough even if he kept this up for hours.

“This spot is for kissing.”

He moved right under your clit and kept placing feathery kisses on the area. He was slowly pushing you towards the very edge of impatience and he loved the way you kept flinching under him. 

“And this spot is for licking.”

Then he slithered down to your oozing entrance and started to lick into you with intermittent kisses. Just like on the nights you made up after a huge fight.

“Ah, Min…”

“Call me your baby again,” he spoke quietly into your pussy but you could feel his words inside you, “Call me baby like you used to.”

His way of passionately apologizing to you over and over again. He was drawing little suns and crescent moons on your pussy with his tongue, hoping you would recognize them. Hoping you would accept them as tokens of how sorry he was.

“Fucking god, your taste,” he contorted his face in absolute delight, “You taste better than the rarest delicacies, Sunny.” 

He put your hands on his head for you to guide him, wrapped his hands around your thighs, and started a heavy makeout session with your cunt. The feeling was so intense that your eyes rolled back.

“I’ve kicked several addictions so far, but this? I’m never getting sober,” he wiped his chin smeared with your arousal and sucked on his finger, “I’m addicted to you. Down bad. Always have been.”

He gently slipped two fingers inside and started massaging that spot right behind your clit. Your moans were slowly transforming from quiet little staccatos to dragged-out sounds of pleasure as if you were belting a note.

“Better, right?”

“Much better,” you tugged on his moist locks, “God, you’re fucking amazing with those fingers, baby. You’re… You’re so… Oh, fuck!”

Minho was never able to control how he reacted to you whenever you praised him in bed for any reason. He was in dire withdrawal as it was as it had been such a long time since you showered him with compliments. You might have said one word, but it still automatically awakened Minho’s beast mode because if there was one thing he loved more than anything, it was competing with himself. In any capacity. His fingering got a little faster, and he alternated between sucking and licking long drags on your pussy until you came all over his fingers. He licked them clean and crawled on top of you to kiss you with his cum-stained lips.

Once you gathered your wits again, you laid Minho down and hovered over him. You kissed him with the very same days of the week. His scars. His tattoos. Like you were accepting his apologies. Like you were accepting him for who he was. He kept wincing under you in pleasure and tried to catch a glimpse of your face as you made your way down.

“You remember how we used to fuck for hours on Sunday mornings, right Min?”

You worshipped his abdomen just the way he liked it, touching and placing wet kisses all over. His large hands were caressing your hair as he watched you with his head tilted, dying of anticipation of the moment your lips would finally meet where he needed you the most. Minho loved the prelude, always had, and his breathing was much faster already. 

“Should I go further down?” you teased him by kissing his crotch, “Should I?”

“Don’t make me beg!”

You would, but maybe some other time. You took his flushed cock in your mouth and started blowing him as slowly as possible. Deep. To taste his essence rather than pleasure him. All of a sudden, it felt like he was never gone, and this was just another night in your bed you were spending together until the faint blue lights of daybreak told you to stop fucking and go to sleep.

Even after all this time, I still love you.

Minho didn’t rush you. He was so scared you would come to your senses and leave him all alone for good that he couldn’t even move. 

He wasn’t about to mess it all up again.

“I’m right here”, you held his hands to reassure him, “I’m right here, Min. I’m not going anywhere.”

Once you said that, all the muscles he was unknowingly clenching loosened and he relaxed into the pillow, completely letting go and just relishing the feeling of you around him. He was getting dangerously close to his release, but that wasn’t a part of his plan.

“Don’t!” he stopped you when you started choking on him, “Don’t make me cum. Not yet.”

When you let go of his cock with a loud pop, Minho immediately sat up and pulled you in for a deep kiss. His tongue still tasted like you in your mouth.

“Beg, baby,” you scratched right under his chin, “Beg to fuck me. Beg for me.”

“Let me make it up to you,” he brushed your hair away from your face, “Let me show you why I’m your other half. Why we belong together. Please.”

“What if I say no?”

“Please, baby,” Minho pleaded with his lips on your neck again, “Let me fuck you. Let me fuck you deep. Let me fly us both. Let me drive both of us crazy right here right now. You know I can.”

If Minho’s weakness were your praises, then yours was his relentless begging. You were ready to spread your legs for him four sentences ago, but what fun would it be if he didn’t turn into an utterly desperate lover so eager to please? You placed your hands around his neck and harshly pulled him down with you, signaling him you were ready.

“Oh fuck, you still feel like heaven inside,” Minho took deep breaths as he carefully settled inside you, “You still fit around me so snugly.”

How full he made you feel inside every single time was insane. No matter how much he stretched you, no matter how wet you were for him, it didn’t matter. The second he started moving inside you, that feeling was so intense that your eyes rolled back with a loud moan.

“You still react the same to me, Sunny,” he chewed on his lips and picked up his pace just a measure, “Does it still feel as good, baby? Do you like the pressure?”

You slammed your hands on his hips and groped him for how overwhelmed you were with pleasure.

“God, it feels much better than I remember!”

“Wrap your legs around me. Let me go deeper.”

When you did as he said, Minho was able to angle himself properly to reach a critical spot inside you.

“Fuck, that’s deep!”

“I know how my girl likes it. I know all your hotspots,” he maniacally smiled, “I know how exactly you like to cum like the back of my hand.”

“Getting cocky there a bit?”

“Tell me if this rings a bell,” he continued to fuck you deep but now with slower thrusts, “Folds teased until you’re rabid. Pussy fingered and clit sucked until it’s numb in my mouth. Breasts fondled. Thighs kissed. Legs massaged with my cum as your aromatherapy oils.”

You involuntarily groaned at how fucking brazen he was being with you. Minho grabbed both of your hands and pinned them right above your head.

“Then it’s my turn, and I fucking drill you into this mattress like my personal pornstar, and you take it like the good girl you are. Sound familiar?” he started moving with sharper, more precise thrusts, “Do you deny any of this? Do you deny that I know how to fuck you just right?” 

“Min, please!”

“I’m made for you, baby. Don’t you ever forget it,” he unleashed himself on your lips like a starving predator.

All that filled that dark room for a while was both your muffled moans melting into each other as well as the obscene sounds of skin against skin and lewd squelches coming from sopping wet cunt.

“Listen to you. Fucking dripping,” Minho sharply hissed, “Go ahead baby, you can soak me more. Don’t be shy.”

“Fucking– Just– Fuck, you’re– How d– oh my GOD!”

“Aww, I know baby, I know,” he placed an unnecessarily chaste kiss on your forehead, “Getting fucked by your man so good you can’t even talk properly. Am I doing that good of a job pleasuring you?” 

“You’re doing perfect, baby.”

“Am I still your good boy, Sunny?”

“Keep talking like that and I’m gonna fucking sink my teeth into you!”

“I dare you to bite me.”

You could try to wriggle away all you wanted but Minho’s grip on you was like a deadbolt. You weren’t able to move an inch. He slowed way down and watched the way he disappeared into you while biting his lips so hard they were about to bleed.

“See? See how it slides right in? I turn you on so bad you can’t help getting wetter,” he shoved a couple of fingers inside your mouth to suck on, “Night after night, I dreamed of this. You. Getting so fucking wet around me that I have no choice but to cum.”

You weren’t able to talk anymore, but what you really wanted to do didn’t require any words anyway. You swirled your tongue around his fingers and looked at him so desperately that there was no way he wasn’t going to react to this.

“Don’t look at me like that with those begging eyes, or I swear to god I’ll breed the shit out of you,” he landed a light smack on your thigh and took his fingers out, “And you best believe it’s going to hold. Your walls are so swollen already.”

“All talk no play. You’d fucking better finish inside,” you rattled him, “My pussy’s too pretty not to be eaten or creampied, and that’s a fact.”

“Yes, it is. It fucking is. It deserves to be creampied first and then eaten,” he threw his head back in absolute ecstasy, “And you already know I swallow.”

Minho channeled all his focus on that particular spot inside you that you liked so much. The curvature of his cock was aligned just right to end you.

“Now let me hit that exactly the way you like it.”

He buried himself into you to the hilt. Once he bottomed out, he pushed a little more forward and started hitting that spot hard in a staccato rhythm like a pulse, never once pulling back.

“Oh, FUCK YOU!”

“Right there, isn’t it? You love getting this spot fucked,” he was more than satisfied watching what he was able to do to you, “God, you’re literally ascending.”

It was only at that moment did Minho realize one of the closet doors to the left side of him was plated with a mirror. Once he caught a glimpse of the two of you in the frame, he throbbed hard inside you.

“Oh, jesus fucking christ!” he turned your attention to the same destination, “Nobody can ever do it like us, baby. Look how fucking hot we are.”

Minho being his otherworldly sexy self, fucking the life out of you like there was no tomorrow was already enough to blow your mind, but when you actually saw yourself getting fucked…

You could literally feel yourself excessively oozing.

“Soaking the sheets, huh?” he contently chuckled at the trail you were leaving under you, “Time for my girl to give it to me good, then.”

He swiped his thumb on his tongue and started going to work on your clit. While you thought the level of eroticism was going to end you, it suddenly became…

Something else.

“I belong right here, Sunny. Don’t ever leave me without you,” he started going harder, “I’m begging you. Please.”

You held him by his waist and pulled him for a kiss with your arms around his neck. You were both clearly so overwhelmed by your emotions. It was never just lust with Minho. Every time you fucked, it felt like a reaffirmation, a renewal of promises between you. You had badly broken and bruised each other once upon a time but at the end of the day…

“It’s you,” he spoke into his mouth breathlessly, “It’s always been you. You own my heart, Min.”

If you kept talking, he was for sure going to be moved to tears. Minho suddenly stopped and rested his back against the headboard, promptly making you straddle him to pick up where he left off.

“I’ve always loved you, Sunny. I always will,” he rolled his hips into you, “Tell me you love me, baby.”

“Even after all this time,” you moved away the locks of his hair covering his eyes, “I still love you, Min. I love you to the moon and back.”

To the moon and back.

To the moon.

Your Moony.

Minho finally lost all control and started fucking into you so fervently that it was impossible for you to endure that pressure.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Again, baby.”

“I love you, Min.”

“Oh, fuck, I’m about to cum!”

He gently pushed your chest back to make room for his thumb and started rubbing you frantically. The second you contracted hard around him with that high-pitched moan, Minho let go and came really fucking hard as if he was having a spasm. He came so much and it was so wet between your legs that you didn’t know which of those drops belonged to you and which ones belonged to him.

“Don’t pull out,” you grabbed him by his nape and pulled him closer, “Deeper. Fuck your cum deeper into me.”

“You’re driving me clinically insane,” Minho bit into your lips, and then promptly kissed them along with your cheeks and your forehead, “Just like we always wanted, huh? The best of both worlds.”

You rode out your high in that utter state of bliss and collapsed on top of him, but even in his fucked out state, Minho clung to you like a koala bear. He kissed your shoulders and your neck, wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you into his embrace.

“I did miss you so much,” you started playing with his hair once you both calmed down, “But there are some realities we need to talk about.”

“You mean Nari.”

“Yes,” you averted your eyes avert from him, “I can’t just appear in her life just to disappear again, Min.”

“But who says you need to—?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” you interrupted him, “I don’t even know if she would like me.”

“Well, considering she’s growing up with the fairytales I tell her about Sunny the Princess, I think she wouldn’t mind seeing her in the flesh, but I digress.”

“You what?!”

He let out a loud cackle at your reaction and kissed your lips.

“I know the situation is not what we thought it would be, but Nari could be our child, baby. We can give her a baby brother, too,” he pressed your hands on his chest, “I’m ready for this. If you’re also willing, just say the word, and we can have our happily ever after.”

A happily ever after. With Minho. Maybe the means of getting there didn’t really matter after all as long as you got to have it. Nevertheless, it wasn’t a decision about two people’s lives anymore.

“This seems too big of a decision to make overnight.”

“Then tell you what, how about we ease into it?” Minho propped up on his left elbow, “I take you out on a few dates, we fuck on the third date, and if you see a promise by then, you meet her by the tenth date. How does that sound?”

“Damn, tenth?!” you widened your eyes in shock as if Minho just insulted your entire ancestry, “I have to wait that long?”

“She’s hard to get. You can’t just appear in her life just to disappear again.”

You landed a light smack on his arm for mimicking you, but the picture he painted for you was more than fair.

“That sounds lovely.”

You kissed him to your heart’s content to avenge all that time you spent apart. With his eyes closed, Minho’s hands never left your skin as if to make sure that you were indeed real and right next to him, and this wasn’t one of those dreams again.

“I love you, Sunny,” he glided his fingers down your cheek, “You complete me.”

“Even after all this time?”

He flashed a smile so endearing you almost melted into a puddle right then and there.

“Always.”

He wanted to punctuate that moment with a kiss at the expense of getting your lips painfully swollen, but the deeper he kissed you, the more something was awakening in him again. Before you knew it, his hands were slithering down your back and groping your hips.

“Already?” you looked at him all surprised.

“You have no idea about the drought I was in for years, so yes, already,” Minho pulled you under him and trapped you under his frame, “If you fall asleep, I’m fucking you awake tonight.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Happy belated anniversary to The Zone.

If you enjoyed this story, feel free to share your thoughts with me in reblogs, tags, or in my inbox. As long as you're kind, that is.

-R. (CB97%)

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Oddinary suspects is literally my #1 fanfic, SINCE the day I've read it, which was a day before the Maxident comeback. And i remember that because i reblogged it with a whole damn annoying essay😭 BUT ONG I'm so excited that it's finally back, even if it's revamped or anything. I literally remember every little detail of that story even though i read it almost 2 years ago, it lowkey changed the trajectory of my life ngl. Anywayyy, will be here reading, supporting, everything. Just wanna know if it'll stil retain some of the og plots (mainly minsung and hyunchan), either ways I'm exhilarated, enlivened, moved, adrenalized, all of these!! Just fangirling over your writing, as always.

「SINdicate」 · Sample Chapter

CARPE NOCTEM

➥ Bang Chan x Mafia Queen Reader (f) x Hyunjin — Gang AU, Noir, Cyberpunk, Dystopian, Dark Romance, Found Family, Crime, Reverse Harem

➥ 3.4k (Approx. 15 min. reading time)

⚠ — Matriarchal gang environment, atypical gender roles, dystopian cyberpunk setting, public sex (see masterlist for more before reading) ⁞  Full disclaimer on tag policy here.

➥ You're supposed to meet your "consort" and his family on the night of your birthday, but the stranger sitting three tables away from you looks more enticing.

★ This chapter is released as an interest check regarding the remake of The Oddinary Suspects, originally published in March 2022.

“Excited?” your older sister asked with a bright smile looking at your reflection in the mirror.

You didn’t know if anybody else made such a big deal out of it, but your family certainly milked the shit out of their womb evacuation anniversaries. It was your 25th birthday in a couple of hours, and you were supposed to celebrate it like some fucking national holiday.

If you were Madam President, you would order the flags to be lowered in half, honestly.

“Not really,” you put on your large hoop earrings, “We’re gonna go. I’m gonna meet my consort and his family as if this is an engagement party, and it’s gonna be awkward as fuck. You know, just another Tuesday.”

“Come on. It’s not that bad,” Jamie hugged your shoulders from behind, “I heard he is very excited to be your partner. Maybe some sparks will fly tonight, huh?”

Oh, goodie. Sparks.

In your not-so-humble opinion, it was an extremely dumb tradition to make a whole spectacle of ‘becoming an adult’, not to mention getting families involved in it, but it was part of The Code. All your lives, you had been taught to live by it. Your mother had received an advanced copy of this guy’s virginity report for approval whereas all you had to send back was proof that your hymen was intact. Were you a virgin, though? It kinda depended on how one interpreted it at this point.

You weren’t going to apologize. You didn’t ask for any of this.

What you found hysterical about this whole thing was the horror stories your caretaker Bianca used to tell you. About how there were no means for men to prove their virginity back in the day. No residual dermal tests, no DNA tracing, nothing. You just had to take their word for it. Their word!

Every Thanksgiving, Bianca still offered her gratitude to Grace Tardell for inventing these methods for, quote, ‘leveling the playing field in the humiliation department’.

“Bet money he’s as miserable coming to this thing as I am,” you wore your ‘special occasion’ perfume and rubbed your wrists together, “You’re an exception to the rule, sis. Not everybody is as lucky as you.”

Jamie had always been an incorrigible romantic. Annoyingly so, but you couldn’t really blame her. Everybody needed something to hold on to, and she chose love. Not only that, she chose the painful kind of love. Out of anybody in the entire Vesper Hills, she got her heart stolen by the one guy she shouldn’t have. Hell, the groom’s father was not even going to attend the wedding, but who the fuck could object? “The kids loved each other” and The Don gave her blessing. End of discussion.

Come to think of it, your sister might have been proof of how you didn’t have a say in what kind of life could choose you. It just happened. It stalked you like a vulture, then forced you to live it through and fulfill your destiny.

But was it really destiny? Was there really a thing called meant to be?

You couldn’t be any more content with her being the next in line. She could go ahead and give birth to as many heiresses as she wanted, and you would be just fine with spoiling your nieces and nephews rotten.

“I’m going to be the most fucked up aunt in the history of everything,” you threatened her in advance every now and then, “Those babies are getting inked the second they start high school.”

“Woman!”

“What? We got our pledge tattoos when we were fifteen, mind you.”

Humans were sponges who took the shape of whatever they absorbed in life, weren’t they? You knew what fear was. You knew what a survival instinct was. When you combined them, it became this slime in a disgusting shade of brown, and people thought it was respect. It wasn’t. Jamie thought the butterfly riot in the pit of her stomach was love. It wasn’t. She was so high on dopamine that she had deluded herself into thinking she would actually have a cute little family sired by the son of Ukiyo’s mortal enemy. But the matter of the fact was that she was going to give birth to either the next heiress or a commodity.

This was the reality of this family. Everything was just a transaction.

As the car was driving you to Midori, you were still snickering to yourself, in disbelief that you were ‘required’ to go through this. With someone whose existence you had no knowledge of three months prior. And everyone was supposed to act like this was just an everyday thing to cross off their to-do lists.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” you unwittingly spoke through your teeth.

“Watch your damn language, miss,” your mother chastised with a deadpan voice, “You’d better get it out while you can. You’re going to be on your best behavior when we get to the restaurant.”

“Of course, Mother,” you calmly smiled at her, “I wouldn’t want to lose my TV privileges or anything.”

It was an unspoken deal between you and her. She acted like she could put you on a leash, and you pretended you were compliant with the suggestions she called rules. No harm, no foul.

Just don’t fucking do it in public.

It was a matter of utmost sensitivity. Only select individuals were privy to the real identity of The Don. The public knew your mother simply as a restaurateur. One glance at her Givenchy dress and the way she carried herself like the queen she was, it wouldn’t be anyone’s first guess that this graceful lady was running an entire syndicate by herself.

You just knew you could never fill her shoes. Too much discipline and poise and whatever. Thank fuck Jamie existed to save you from that capital punishment.

“My liege,” Chef Rukawa welcomed your party himself at the restaurant door and did a 90-degree bow to your mother, “It’s an honor.”

You were promptly escorted to the private area where a family of three was already waiting for you in extravagant attire. Your beloved consort and his parents, the whole Song family were on their feet to greet you as if Madam President had just walked into the room. After exchanging cordial pleasantries, Song Sr. cut right to the chase.

“I would like to introduce my son Mingi.”

Everybody at that table knew what was going to happen later that night. Mingi was going to fuck you into ‘a woman’, and you were going to fuck him into ‘a man’. This bond was going to exist between the two families forever so that he could be your first choice to fulfill your obligation of expanding the clan when it was time.

Yet, he did it so pleasantly like there was nothing outrageous about introducing his son as a sperm bank.

You nodded at your consort who looked as miserable as you pictured him to be. Ever the gentleman, he was commendably trying to pass his discomfort as the awe of an honor. You felt genuinely sorry for him.

Did anyone even ask this guy whether there was someone he would rather be with?

“You’re going to love the blowfish, Mrs. Song,” your mother gushed about the favorite trick of the chef she handpicked for this restaurant, “Chef Rukawa is the master of the taste of death.”

Your guests seemed impressed whereas you and your sister were scarfing down this poisonous delicacy when you were just middle schoolers. It really shouldn’t have been this easy to wow someone.

You made a passable effort not to be your menace-to-society self, but midway through dinner, you were already failing to keep a convincing front. You were bored. God, you were bored out of your mind. Your mother was saying stuff. Your sister was saying stuff. Even the Songs were saying stuff, but you and Mingi were the only silent parties even though you were supposed to be the protagonists of the night. You had no opinions on the topics being discussed whatsoever, not that you had to declare any thanks to the ladies being chatty on your behalf.

You took one look to your left in desperate need to witness something remotely interesting, and all your attention immediately condensed on somebody at a table for two.

Gorgeous inked body wrapped in a crisp suit. Canine features that rendered him dangerously magnetic. He was sitting across a woman twice his age, and simply judging by the utterly flustered state he put her in, his silver tongue was doing one hell of a job seducing her.

“Right, sweetheart?”

“Huh?” you turned to your mother and agreed to whatever it was she wanted you to agree with, “Oh, yes. Of course.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would guess he was working for you, but you didn’t know this guy. You were too familiar with the entire roster—you had made your rounds with all of them already, and the clan knew they were to let you know the second there was a new arrival.

Who the fuck was this, and why wasn’t he between your legs?

Mere moments later, he placed a long but chaste kiss on his date’s hand and made his way towards the exit, holding a custom-made cigarette box and an expensive-looking lighter. Just looking at him was short-circuiting your thoughts, and you were starting to lose control of your own body by the second. While you were able to filter most of the noise of your table, the same damn thing kept interfering with your obscene daydreaming, and you were— you were about to—

Right, sweetheart?

Right, sweetheart?

RIGHT, SWEETHEART?

“Excuse me!”

That came out much louder than you intended, naturally startling your entire company. You quickly broke into a polite smile and stood up.

“I need to use the restroom.”

You grabbed your clutch and removed yourself from the table, your eyes frantically searching for the beautiful stranger. You leisurely followed the sweet and spicy trail he left behind and found him in the alley to the left of the restaurant entrance. Eyes closed, head tilted back, back against the wall, smoking without a care in the world.

“Hey.”

He looked at you with dreamy eyes like he just woke up. Probably thinking you were going to ask for a smoke, he readily opened the box in his hand without a word. You had no interest in his joints. All you wanted to know was what his lips tasted like. You didn’t know why, but you just knew it was much more intoxicating than the taste of death still lingering on your palate. You approached him as if you were really going to borrow a cigarette, then hit him with a question.

“Wanna fuck?”

You just went for it since you didn’t have much time, and to say that he was dumbfounded would be a gross understatement. He almost dropped the cigarette squeezed between his lips, looking at you like you were a lunatic, but his surprise quickly turned into amusement once he recollected himself.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m an escort myself,” he chuckled, “I actually have a client inside.”

“You think I’m an escort?”

“Why else would you proposition me that directly?”

Oh, this guy had no idea who you were, let alone your affiliation. Talk about the perfect man. Your disposable prince charming was standing right in front of you.

“Because you’re hot, and I have a situation here that needs to be taken care of,” you trapped him against the brick wall and spoke against his nicotine-ridden lips, “I only need five minutes, handsome. Name your price.”

“You’re expecting to cum in five minutes?”

“Tsk, don’t be ridiculous,” you shook your head in disapproval, “I just need to be fucked.”

He was sizing you up trying to figure out what you were up to, but who could even blame him? Some random person was cornering him for ‘five minutes’ in an alley. Who was to say you weren’t going to stab him to death?

“Here?”

“Yes, here,” you caressed his face with the back of your hand, “You’re not gonna say no to breaking in a ripe virgin, are you?”

The way his face changed was everything to you. He was definitely one of those bubble wrap enthusiasts, but his mind wasn’t cooperating with him to process that this was indeed real. Quick cash. On a silver platter. From a virgin. While he was on duty.

Even you would consider it too good to be true if you were in his shoes.

“Show me your ID,” he tried to hide how thickly he gulped at your declaration to no avail.

You gladly handed in the documentation proving your lawful readiness to get your back blown out while he reached for his inner pocket to pull out a pen-like device you had never seen before. He pressed it on the chip of your ID, and only after that green light at the tip went off was he fully convinced of your ‘legitimacy’.

“This is a first for sure, but I don’t judge,” he contently smirked at you, devouring your body with his eyes from head to toe, “How would you like to be popped then, baby girl?”

Full disclosure? In the most animalistic way possible.

You wanted it to hurt to block out all the ‘Right, sweetheart?’s still annoyingly ringing in your ears. You wanted him to leave bite marks on your neck. You wanted his hand prints on your thighs. You wanted him to go insane with pleasure when he was finally inside you, and there was only one reason why.

You just didn’t want this to matter.

If you treated it like a cheap thrill, it was going to be one. Fucking an escort in an alley did not require any paperwork or ridiculous documents of proof, and most importantly… The absolute most crucially…

You were the one who picked this man.

You had said much worse things in your life, but you couldn’t tell him any of that.

“Act like your client is your wife, and you’re cheating on her with me,” you told him instead, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Am I allowed to kiss?”

“You’re allowed to do everything,” you squeezed his cheeks and dove into his lips.

The grassy nicotine taste was still there, but you could also taste the peachy notes of the cocktail he shared with his lady. His lips were so full in your mouth, begging to be bitten or sat on for that matter. You were already regretting your decision not to do this on a mattress where you had him for a full hour all to yourself.

“I’m not buying it,” he breathlessly smiled against your mouth, “You’re not a virgin at all, are you?”

“You’ll see it when you struggle to sink into me.”

“It means nothing,” he slid his hand up your thighs, “Just the way your tongue moves in my mouth is enough to make you a whore.”

You liked this guy.

He was professionally impatient. He knew he had to be quick to get the job done, certainly the case when he already had a client inside who paid his full price. He dropped to his knees to eat your pussy so he could get some lubrication for himself, and you fucking knew you were right. The lips of this demon were one thing to kiss, but a whole other universe to get your cunt made out with. You were ascending with each lick, and if he kept that pace steady for a whole minute, you really were going to cum all over his fucking gorgeous face. He stood up again and latched himself to your lips, hurriedly unbuckling his belt to reveal what he was going to fulfill your request with. A delicious girth that was sure to give you exactly what you wanted.

He aligned himself with your entrance, ridiculously careful for an alley job just because you told him you were a virgin. You wanted him to be fucking reckless so that you could get the mess you so desired, but it looked like he needed very specific instructions to do so.

“Harder,” you whined into his ear while holding onto his broad shoulders for dear life, “Like you will pass through me.”

You almost lost your mind when he rammed himself into you on command and finally crossed the border. Fucking delectable, sure to leave a memorabilia behind.

“Is this what you want?” he looked right into your eyes with hellfire in his gaze.

You frantically nodded in response. Yes. Yes, that was all you wanted. To be treated like just another hole to fill without your last name playing any role in it. To be groped and kissed and bitten without the fear of the consequences.

You had never felt this alive.

“Fuck, don’t clench! I’m—“

“Let go,” you whispered into the stranger’s ear, “Fucking breed me, you gorgeous beast.”

He came so hard when you barely finished your sentence, grunting in your ear and exerting a futile attempt to control his volume. You didn’t cum. You didn’t expect to cum anyway. You had asked him for one thing only, and man did he deliver.

“Remember this,” you rewarded him with one last kiss once he regained his composure, “I sure as fuck will.”

Then something you didn’t quite expect happened.

He smiled back at you with his dimples on full blast. His eyes were dripping with a mixture of sleepiness and contentment, and he was licking his lips as if to satisfy the craving for a taste he couldn’t get enough of. You had no idea why it felt so eerily familiar, and what was worse, you were suddenly overcome with an irrational urge. It was insane to even think about, but if you were even remotely acquainted with this man, you would actually ask him to be your boyfriend right then and there. The strangest thing that ever crossed your mind.

“Chris,” he pulled you back to reality and handed you a card he pulled out from his back pocket, “If you ever want me again.”

You looked at the tastefully designed business card and tucked it away in your clutch while pulling out several hundred dollar bills to squeeze into his waistband. You pulled your underwear back up and left him there to fully gather his wits before attending to his client again.

You did drop by the restroom before heading back to the table. A little to freshen up, a little to check if the point you wanted to make was ready. You were gone for less than ten minutes, but you were welcomed back like a war hero.

“Where have you been, sweetheart?” your mother widened her green eyes the second she spotted you, “I was beginning to worry you had fled or something.”

What she meant as a lighthearted joke ended up being your tipping point.

If only she hadn’t been testing your barely-there patience with this whole thing, even more relentlessly during the course of the night. Maybe you wouldn’t get that ticked off. Maybe you wouldn’t be prompted to do what you did next because you had resolved to confide in your consort in private about this.

I’m sorry, Mingi. I really am. This has nothing to do with you. I hope you understand.

You threw the bloodstained piece of fabric shoved into your clutch right in the middle of the table, not giving a shit about the consequences that were sure to follow.

“Why don’t you lose it to someone that actually matters to you? I’m afraid I’m not viable anymore,” you spoke directly to Mingi, then addressed the rest of the table with a forced smile, “Please enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Whatever. Scandalized gasps arose behind you, but you were doing both Mingi and yourself a big favor. You left the restaurant without even looking back, a single drop of blood dripping down your thighs, and hailed a cab to go spend your birthday doing the only thing you knew best.

Seizing the night.

「© 2021-2024, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

AUTHOR'S NOTE

"Sample" lol.

If you're interested in peeking through the closed doors of Ukiyo where a lot of roles are reversed, let me know and we'll make it happen ^^

✉ Enjoyed this? Share your thoughts with me! It would also be cool of you to reblog so that my work can reach more people.

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