Lost in Translation
Copyright âž 2023 by Moonjxsung
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.
Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader
W/c: 26.5k
Warnings: accidental nudity, hospital visit, mention of masturbation, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, bulge kink, sexual asphyxiation, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), brief mention of pregnancy
Synopsis: The older brother of the boy you babysit is an enigma, in every sense of the word- and youâre determined to figure him out.
[this work was based off a request by @antoniorhinothethird - thank you for requesting!]
18+. Mdni!
âą
The idea of babysitting isnât some brilliant proposal you conjured up in a day- but itâs not exactly a choice, either. The idea isnât even yours, in fact, the advertisements you published on the colorful inquiry site at your motherâs behest. But âcollege courses are virtual these daysâ and âyouâll be a mother at some point in your life,â according to her. So two months into the semester, youâll now spend the majority of your time in a new place youâll call home, just 30 minutes out at the Lee Household.
The Lee household is considerably larger than youâd originally anticipated it to be, spanning a sizable amount of grassland and standing nobly tall at 2 stories high. The exterior of the flashy home is surrounded by paved gravel driveways, lining the neat rows of bushels and vines that surround the off-white architectural build. Giant glass windows reflect sunlight in nearly every room of the house, with the exception of the dimly-lit library on the second floor, which flaunts colossal cherry wooden bookshelves that line the walls and cover most of the smaller windows.
âJoon is usually very mellow in the daytime,â Mrs. Lee tells you as she walks you through a tour of the garden. âYouâll only have to worry about his feeding schedules, which Iâve already written and posted on the refrigerator.â
She pivots in front of you, stopping for a moment and gesturing to the stone fountain by the rose bushes. âDo you like it? It was a gift from my husband. When heâs not running the furniture business, he works in restoration a lot. This was his first project.â
âWow,â you say, your lips parted at the sight of the koi fish and the cascading waterfall from its lips. âItâs very beautiful.â
Mrs. Lee smiles at you in response, turning on her heel and continuing to the iron gates in the front.
âDo you have any other questions?â She asks, clasping her hands together and shooting you a saccharine smile. Sheâs intimating, not because of her personality, which you quickly clock as rather warm and inviting. But rather, because sheâs so elegant, her navy silk dress perfectly complementing the chunky pearl earrings she wears, making her look like a character from an old film. Youâre not sure youâve ever crossed paths with such an interesting woman before.
âI think that covers everything,â you say finally, giving her a small bow. âIâll be sure to provide updates throughout the day.â
âOh, no need,â she says quickly. âUnless itâs an emergency, l know youâll have your hands full doing your work while watching Joon. Feel free to just give us a little summary when weâre home for the evening.â
She shoots you a little wink when she finishes speaking, clasping her hands together again and smiling down at you.
âWeâll see you tomorrow for your first day!â She exclaims warmly, opening gate doors as you make your exit out of the garden. When you begin down the paved road, Mrs. Lee suddenly gasps, calling out to you again in a frantic manner.
âOh! Y/n, wait please!â She calls, pulling the skirt of her dress up to her ankles to jog over to where youâre standing.
âMy other son will be home from school in the afternoon tomorrow. Donât be alarmed if you hear him moving about the house. Heâll just keep to himself.â
You ponder the words for a moment, a little frustrated when you realize there will be two kids in the household instead of one, like sheâd previously mentioned. But you just nod and smile at her, seeing yourself out of the driveway once again and beginning the journey back home to prepare for your first day here tomorrow.
*
This castle-at-end-of-the-road is eerily quiet when no oneâs home, a once lively sight of rose bushes and marble statues appearing like something out of a horror movie when youâre by yourself. At every corner you turn, your brain runs rampant with paranoia, placing shadowy figures and silhouettes of people where there are none- except for when youâre in the presence of Joon.
At just a year old, Joon is considered one of the cutest ages, only being able to babble incoherent noises and flail his little hands around when he wants something. His closet is full of matching neutral tones, per his motherâs styling, and his sparse black hair is combed neatly to one side.
Mrs. Lee is right about him- he doesnât cry. Nor does he ever make a fuss, really. He simply sits quietly, in the comfort of his crib, or his high chair, and he curiously peers at the world around him. Youâre certain heâs taken a liking to you already, judging at how he smiles when you spoon-feed him mashed carrots and mimic airplane noises. And he only cries briefly once in the day, stopping almost immediately when you put him down for his nap.
This may be an easier gig than you thought.
While Joon naps, you take the opportunity to get some work done in the library, settling comfortably on the velvet armchair in the corner and running through a few of your online class assignments for the week.
Although youâll be babysitting here for the next few weeks, youâre also completing your final year at university this year, your last semester being completely remote. Which gives you time to take on the babysitting task as a side hustle, and hopefully save enough money to travel a bit after university like youâve always dreamt of.
At half past noon, Joon is still peacefully asleep in his crib where youâve left him, the ambient sound of waves echoing softly from his baby monitor as little snores emit from his curled lips. He looks like an angel when he sleeps, and you canât help but feel your heart swell to twice its size at the sight of him.
The gentle breeze of the October wind travels through the open windows of the library, sending chills up your spine when you sit down to work again. You get up from where youâre sitting on the armchair to latch the windows shut, making sure to lock them, before turning around to take your seat again- quickly startled by the figure standing in the doorway.
âJesus,â you yelp, one hand clutching your chest in fear as you nearly drop your laptop.
The figure- or man, rather, says nothing, scanning the room like heâs searching for something, before turning on his heel and exiting the room once again.
Heâs tall, with a slim yet muscular build, honey tanned skin complementing his chocolate brown tresses. Heâs also dressed rather casually in a pair of light-wash jeans and a black top, a black leather jacket thrown over his broad shoulders and left unzipped.
âSorry, did you need something?â You call out, perplexed by his demeanor. You canât remember if the Lees warned you of potential visitors, but youâre suddenly panicked for Joon, remembering you left his door open.
âNope,â the man calls out over his shoulder, not turning around to face you. And then you see it- a black backpack, slung over one shoulder and seemingly filled to the brim with textbooks.
Their other son.
This must be the son Mrs. Lee warned you would be making appearances in the afternoon. But you had assumed him to be much younger, especially considering heâs definitely old enough to be watching over his own brother.
Before you can gather your thoughts to introduce yourself, heâs gone again, disappearing down the hall the same way he so mysteriously appeared. And you wonder, briefly, how he can be so much colder than his own mother.
*
The first day of your new job is a success. When Mrs. Lee returns home for the evening, she pays you in cash, true to her traditional style, and sends you home with a tin of shortbread cookies as another âthank youâ, though sheâs already voiced it a million times. But the second day is rougher than the first, reminding you of why babysitting isnât always an easy task despite what it may seem.
Joon is particularly antsy today, flailing his arms around when you try to spoon feed him and whining relentlessly when you pick him up. He needs several diaper changes in just your first few hours of working, and when you finally do get him clean, heâs a crying, screaming mess.
Fortunately, he still goes down for his nap at noon, which means you have a narrow window of time to complete your work for the day and get freshened up. The windows in the library are propped wide open again, a cold breeze coming through as you settle in your new favorite spot and open your laptop.
There are a myriad of assignments to complete today, and youâre briefly panicked that you wonât be able to complete the necessary few pieces if Joon suddenly wakes again. But still, you try, skimming through textbooks and typing away as much as you can to make steady progress. And at the hour mark, Joon begins to cry. Rather he wails, loudly, from the other room, startling you when youâre already in deep concentration working through a practice quiz.
You make your way down the hallway and to the right, where Joonâs room is, approaching the crib and catching a glimpse of his anguished state. His face is a robust shade of red as he wails loudly, bubbles of saliva forming at his nostrils and his eyes squeezed shut. You guide him out of the crib and into the safety of your arms, shushing him gently and rocking him back and forth the way Mrs. Lee taught you. And Joon calms instantly, hiccuping through tears as he locks his gaze on yours and fists at strands of your hair.
âThatâs okay,â you coo at him, grazing your finger along his chin and cleaning some of the drool that dribbles from the corners of his lips. âIâm here. Look at you! Youâre okay,â you continue, giggling at him when his quivering lips pull into a small smile. He softens in your arms, smiling and babbling with hushed sounds, clutching tightly on strands of your hair as you balance him in your arms.
âYou want to come do some work?â You ask, nodding your head as if to coax an answer out of him. âThatâs a good baby, huh? Letâs go do some work.â
And you travel back to the library with Joon in your arms, giving him gentle pats on his back as you hoist him tighter into your embrace and balance your laptop with one arm.
When youâre starting on your last task of the evening, youâre interrupted again today by Mrs. Leeâs eldest son, who pokes his head in the doorway and observes as you coo down at Joonâs sleeping figure while working on your computer with one hand.
âDo you want me to take him?â You hear from the doorway, and you crane your neck to look where heâs standing, his hands shoved in his pockets and his backpack slung lazily over one arm.
âIâm okay,â you respond, typing out a word with one hand. He furrows his eyebrows at your failed attempt, approaching you and reaching out his arms to take Joon from your embrace.
âYou canât work like this,â he says, as he peacefully transfers Joon to his own arms. âHe wonât wake up if I put him back, I promise.â
âThanks,â you reply, taking note of his features now that heâs at a closer proximity to you for the first time. He has large round eyes, and long eyelashes that make even you jealous. His nose bridge is sharp and straight, and when he chuckles softly at Joon, you notice his skewed front teeth, ones that make his smile seem sweeter- softer.
As he begins out the doorway, you try to think of what to say to him, not wanting to have another awkward run-in with him like your last one. But nothing comes to mind that wonât be just as awkward as the encounter itself, and you settle on painful silence once again.
As you unlock your laptop, continuing on to your last assignment, you hear the faint noise of Mrs. Leeâs elder son putting Joon back to sleep.
Except he sounds different than he has during your two previous encounters. Heâs laughing, babbling, even cooing at Joon as he puts him back to sleep. And though you really shouldnât intrude, you make your way to the doorway again, where you peer down the hall to listen in on the endearing noises he makes.
âAre you sleepy?â He asks, his voice two octaves higher than usual. âLetâs sleep now, okay? No, you canât have my shirt. Thatâs mine, remember? Letâs have good dreams now. I love you!â
You hear Joon giggling from the end of the corridor and you smile to yourself, wholly moved by the tender little moment he shares with his baby brother. He might not be his full-time caregiver, but he certainly knows what heâs doing. As you stay pondering his behavior for a moment, you donât even notice when he exits the room again, turning to watch you standing around the doorway. Your ear is still leaned into the corridor, clearly having listened in on the private moment.
âSorry,â you say quickly, straightening your posture, a wave of embarrassment quickly washing over you. âI was making sure Joon got to bed okay.â
He just nods once, looking you over briefly before meeting your gaze again.
âMinho,â he then practically mutters, averting your gaze as he waits for you to speak.
Itâs his name, you realize, barely even having registered what he said to you. Heâs telling you his name.
âY/n,â you respond quickly, giving him a small bow and smiling nervously.
And Minho says nothing, pivoting on his heel to exit the corridor and disappear all over again.
*
For two weeks, your job runs smoothly, no glaring problems or hangups. Joon remains fond of you, obedient at mealtimes and when heâs put to bed. And the system of completing your college coursework goes smoothly, being able to get through several assignments a day while Joon takes his afternoon nap. If anything, you might be more productive than you were before this job, despite balancing it between university.
Itâs an overcast Tuesday afternoon, and youâve spent most of your day working in Joonâs nursery on the rocking chair next to his crib. Heâs been a little fussy today, but you find that he calms down a little at the repetitive clicking noises of your laptop keyboard. Once youâve confirmed heâs asleep, little snores emitting from his lips, you gather your belongings and sneak away to the library again. Only this time, itâs not vacant.
Minho sits in your usual spot today, his legs propped up on the footrest in front of him and a book in his lap. He doesnât even notice you in the doorway, strands of hair hanging loosely in front of his face as he scans the page of his book. He also looks significantly more casual than other days youâve seen him around, wearing a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats, a pair of round wireframe glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.
He feels your gaze on him, shuffling about suddenly and closing his book.
âSorry,â Minho says. âI was just⊠reading.â
He realizes how awkward he sounds, verbally conveying his actions to you like this, but heâs too caught off guard to form a more coherent string of words.
âItâs okay,â you say politely, setting your bag down on the floor and occupying the chair across from him.
âWhat book?â You ask, cocking your head at the small red novel he clutches in his lap.
âHm? Oh, uh⊠itâs Love and Limerence. By Dorothy Tennov.â
You nod in response, studying the cherub painted on the cover, wielding a bow and arrow.
âBig romance fan?â
âNo,â Minho says, chuckling at your words. âItâs a required read for my class.â
âHow neat,â you reply. âWhat class requires romance novels these days?â
âMy philosophy course,â Minho says, running the pads of his fingers over the raised text on the cover. âThe psychology of emotion.â
âPHIL 105,â you say, knowing very well the course he speaks of.
âYeah- youâve taken it?â
âNo, but I had a friend who did in freshman year. Iâm in my last semester now- my remaining classes are virtual, though.â
âItâs my last semester, too,â Minho says with a little smile, fiddling with the lobe of his ear as he talks.
âWell best of luck to you in the final stretch,â you reply, shooting him a small smile back. âI hope it all goes smoothly.â
Minho gives a half nod, and then furrows his eyebrows together, like heâs just remembered something.
âIâll get out of your hair,â he says suddenly, sitting up and gathering his belongings.
âOh, I really donât mind-â
âCatch you later,â He interrupts with a nervous tone, almost jogging out of the library and back down the corridor.
And just like the first day you met him, you maintain the same idea of him- heâs such an enigma. Appearing in and out of the household, not one to voice his thoughts or his opinions, no eagerness to know the stranger sitting in his house watching over his baby brother. But somehow, like the rest of the household, you canât help but have a lingering curiosity for Minho, too.
*
âMy husband and I might be late getting back today,â Mrs. Lee says one morning as you feed Joon his breakfast. His tongue dodges the plastic spoon, dribbling mashed food out from the corners of his lips and laughing when you go to dab his face clean with a napkin.
âThatâs alright,â you reply, loading up the spoon with more food. âI can wait until youâve arrived.â
âYou will?â Mrs. Lee asks, a kind of sparkle in her eyes as she speaks. âThat would mean the world to us. Itâs just that my husband has an auction to attend today. And sometimes these events run longer than theyâre meant to.â
âNo problem at all,â you say, smiling at her as you turn your attention back to Joon. âJoon and I will just hang out a little longer today. Isnât that right?â
He babbles something in response, a string of saliva trailing from his lips, and Mrs. Lee laughs at the sight.
âHeâs really taken a liking to you!â
As she fixes Joonâs hair, Minho enters the kitchen, dressed for the day with his backpack already slung over his shoulder.
âMinho,â his mother says in a scolding tone. âNo gum for breakfast. Have a fruit.â
âCanât,â he replies curtly. âMy philosophy exam is today.â
âWhat does that have to do with depriving yourself of food?â
âItâs bad luck to eat before an exam,â Minho retorts, coming around the granite island to kiss her on the cheek. âBesides,â Minho continues. âIâm ditching my second class, so Iâll be home a little earlier.â
When he turns around, his gaze meets yours, and he instantly stiffens.
His gaze turns cold again, his hands shoving in his jacket pockets as he says nothing to you. He just bows, once, and then turns to exit like heâs suddenly in some rush.
âBye,â he calls out, and youâre not even sure who heâs addressing it to at this point.
âI should get going, too,â Mrs. Lee says to you. âIâll call you when we leave the event tonight. And please, feel free to make yourself comfortable after Joon gets put to bed. Thereâs cash on the table if you want to order something for dinner, and extra blankets are in the upstairs closet if you get sleepy.â
âThank you,â you say to Mrs. Lee as she gathers her car keys and handbag. And the house is quiet again when youâre all alone, with the exception of Joonâs heavy breathing as he stares at you curiously.
âItâs like a mansion here,â you say to your best friend as you balance Joon in your arms and crane your neck on your shoulder to hold the phone against your ear. âMrs. Lee is so nice. I thought sheâd be stuck up or something, but sheâs like a second mother.â
âYou hit the jackpot,â your friend voices on the other end of the line. âAny idea how long they need you around?â
âNot sure,â you reply, wiping the granite counter with a rag as you finish up the dishes. âProbably until their son is done with the semester.â
âSon?â She says excitedly. âIs he cute?â
âPlease,â you echo, rolling your eyes. âHis looks mean nothing considering he doesnât say a word.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âExactly that. He just doesnât talk. We go to the same university and itâs like pulling teeth trying to figure out something as simple as what his major is. I think he despises having me around.â
âI mean, to be fair, I wouldnât love someone in my space 24/7. Itâs probably a territorial thing.â
âHeâs not a cat,â you respond, laughing lightly. âHeâs a grown man. I just get the feeling he doesnât like me.â
âWell I highly doubt that,â she says, and you can hear her shuffling about on her end of the line.
âHey, I have to go,â she chimes in. âBut Iâll talk to you later. Good luck with baby Joon and the cat man.â
âThanks,â you reply, chuckling to yourself.
As you hang up the phone, you turn around to gather the last of the dishes, stopping in your tracks when youâre met with Minho himself.
Heâs standing in the kitchen, popping a bubble of gum with his teeth, his gaze locked coldly on yours as he observes the place.
Thatâs right- he did say he would be home a bit earlier after his exam today. Was he standing there for the entirety of your conversation? You canât recall how long the phone call lasted, or even the specifics of what you said. But you do know it certainly wasnât good.
âHi,â you say nervously, scanning his expression for a hint of what heâs thinking. But he provides you none, kicking off his boots and making his way up the stairs again.
The guilt is still eating away at you two hours later- Minho hasnât descended the staircase once since the incident, and you can hardly focus on your school work at the thought of what heâs thinking of you.
Here you are, complaining about him seeming âcoldâ or âoffâ- the whole time youâre the one talking about him behind his back and stirring up drama. If he hated you before, he definitely despises you now. And if he's as close with his mother as he seemed this morning, you could be out of a job by tomorrow.
In reluctant steps, you ascend the wooden staircase, clutching a small mug of coffee and a stack of buttered toast. You remember Minho saying heâd have breakfast after his exam, a task he wasnât able to complete due to your impolite conversation earlier. And while youâre not even sure heâs going to give you the time of day anymore, itâs worth a shot to try.
At the top of the staircase, you realize youâre unsure of which room even belongs to Minho. There are rows of doors down the corridor, which you peer into, looking for any sign of him.
A closet, another closet, the laundry room⊠it feels like a futile task at this point- not to mention, the sinking feeling that youâre intruding, poking into every room in the house like this.
But at the end of the hallway, just across the staircase from Joonâs room, lies one more closed door you havenât tried yet, and youâre sure this one has to be his.
With a deep breath, you balance the mug of coffee on the plate youâre carrying, bringing your free hand up to knock, just once.
No answer.
You pause for a moment, debating whether to just leave and drop the idea of an apology altogether. But you donât, instead forcing yourself to knock once more this time, a little harder than the first.
And after muffled sounds of shuffling about, the door finally opens again, Minho standing with a confused expression on his face. He has a pair of earphones in, one side pulled out to hear you, his glasses sat on his face and a number of textbooks on the bed behind him.
âIs Joon okay?â He asks, looking down the hall in panic as you meet his gaze.
âWhat? Oh! Yes, heâs fine. Heâs sleeping.â
âOh. What are youâŠâ
âI⊠made you some breakfast. I know you didnât have any before your exam this morning. And no, gum isnât a breakfast food.â You chuckle lightly as you hold the items out to him, and Minho looks down at them, blinking a few times before speaking.
âOh. Uh, thanks. You didnât have to do that.â
âItâs no problem. Should I leave them with you?â
âOh, you can put them on the desk over there,â Minho replies, and itâs then that you notice his hands are full with papers. He steps aside to let you in, gesturing to the desk with a piece of paper, and you oblige, clearing the space of a few scattered items and setting down his breakfast.
When you turn around to look at the place, your lips part in awe at the sight of the grandiosity of it. Minhoâs room has bigger windows than any of the others youâve seen, concave around a crescent-shaped seating area that boasts tall ceilings and large glass windows. There are books lining the floors, the desk space and even the window sills, many of them left bookmarked or lying open where they sit.
His giant wooden bed frame is almost hidden behind a hanging curtain, and his desk is nearly inhabitable at the amount of university paraphernalia that lives on its surface.
âWow,â you say, craning your neck to look around the room. âItâs really nice in here.â
âThanks,â Minho says awkwardly, toying with a loose hem on his pants.
âYou really like reading,â you comment, taking note of the books he has lying around. When you say this, Minho seems to stiffen a bit, shutting some of the books and lining them on their spines along his shelves.
âYeah,â he mutters, dropping a few books and kicking them away from him.
You nod at him, pursing your lips, well aware that youâre in the midst of yet another awkward interaction with him, but wanting to fulfill the reason you came up here all the same.
âListen,â you begin. âI wanted to apologize. I donât know how much you heard of that, but I assume it was enough to be hurt by it. And youâre justified in being hurt. It was totally uncalled for of me to say those things- and sure, you might be a quiet person. But that doesnât make it okay for me to go around airing it out like itâs my business. In fact I shouldnât even be on my phone on the job. Iâm here to watch your brother, and I get paid for that service, and itâs completely unprofessional-â
âItâs cool,â Minho says, an unchanging expression on his face.
âOh, um⊠I mean, if you want to fire me I totally understand.â
Minho chuckles softly, and then shakes his head. âIâm not going to fire you. I am quiet. Itâs cool. Really.â
âI mean, I totally get that-â
âUnless you want to be fired?â He inquires with a half-smile, and you chuckle softly in response.
âI really donât. I love watching your brother.â
âGood,â he replies. âThen weâre all good.â
And although you want to say something else to him, you donât, feeling as though you should be satisfied with the state of the conversation. You apologized, he forgave you, and you havenât lost your job. And heâs still quiet, but thatâs just who he is.
When Joon wakes from his afternoon nap, itâs nearly 3pm. Heâs a crying mess when heâs up again, flailing his arms around to beg for a bottle, which you promptly prepare for him after a diaper change.
With Joon in your arms, you get some chores around the house finished, including vacuuming the rugs, dusting off the furniture and tidying Joonâs toys that are usually scattered about his nursery.
Doing chores wasnât an agreement between you and Mrs. Lee- in fact, she usually urges you to focus on your schoolwork and take breaks when youâre not caring for Joon. But you want to, feeling compelled to take care of the space as much as you care for Joon. Although tensions are still somewhat present between you and Minho, the Lee household feels comfortable to you by this point, almost like a second home now.
After chores, the library calls out to you again, evening beginning to fall over the neighborhood and painting the sky with vibrant hues of an autumnal sunset.
The windows are still rolled open from earlier, and your velvet couch looks particularly inviting at this hour, beams of sunset setting it aglow and luring you to choose a book from the cherry wood shelves around you.
So you do, selecting a childrenâs book about animals, comfortably sprawling out on the chair with Joon in your arms. He eyes the book curiously, spreading his short, chubby fingers over the cover and tapping repeatedly, as if asking you to read to him.
And you do, setting the book on your knee to angle the pages toward him, as you begin to vocalize the choppy sentences to him.
âA is for apple, hanging from a tree,â you say, caressing his stubby fingers as he pouts in focus. âB is for buzzing bumblebee.â
Joonâs lips curl into a smile, making his best attempt to clap as you point out the colorful images to him.
âC is for crab, walking in the sand⊠D is for dolphin, swimming toward the land!â
Joon laughs hysterically now, clapping his little hands and rocking back and forth in your lap. You laugh, too, at his darling reaction, and give him a little kiss on the head as he fiddles with the cover of the book.
Itâs moments like this that reaffirm the notion for you that this job was the right idea, after all. Youâre inexplicably happy alongside him like this, seeing the world through his eyes and rediscovering things you would otherwise take for granted, like silly picture books or doing chores with him in your arms. You feel so protective of him, eager to make his mom proud and provide a safe, nurturing environment for him as his babysitter- not because youâre paid to do it, but because he now holds a special place in your heart.
The sound of someone clearing their throat startles you from the doorway, and you look up to find Minho standing there, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.
âDid you⊠want something to eat? I was going to order takeout, unless you wanted something else.â
âSure,â you reply, propping Joon up a little closer to your chest. âAnythingâs fine with me.â
âIâll get Chinese, then,â Minho says nodding. He averts your gaze a little, but you can tell heâs just a little awkward when heâs face-to-face with you like this. And perhaps your best friend is right- perhaps itâs not unusual of him to feel territorial over his household. After all, you are here almost every hour of the day, making yourself comfortable in almost every room, tending to the chores here and eating food from their kitchen. You suppose you would be irritated at the thought of it, too.
As Minho leaves to place an order, you take Joon back to the nursery, where you gently put him to sleep for the evening and program his baby monitor to play calm ocean noises again. Itâs like clockwork- heâs out like a light, and the minute he leaves your arms, youâre exhausted, too. The stress of watching over him while balancing your school work might finally be getting to you now- youâre undoubtedly tired, your limbs aching from sauntering about this big house all day with Joon in your arms. And although youâre on a good track, you can hardly remember which assignment pertains to each of your classes these days.
When Minho returns almost an hour later, he holds a thin plastic bag in hand, his other one clutching a fistful of cutlery and two plates. He gives you a small nod when he enters the library, and you put away your laptop to join him on the floor in front of the coffee table.
For a moment, he says nothing as he prepares a plate for you, sliding a cup of wonton soup toward you and dividing portions of chow mein and tofu with wooden chopsticks.
You watch as he breaks a spring roll in half, holding both sides up and comparing to make sure theyâre even.
âYouâre very precise,â you say with a soft laugh, and a breathy chuckle emits from his lips, too.
âIâm trying to make sure itâs even.â
âHowever you cut it is fine,â you respond, pleasantly surprised at how polite he is.
When heâs finished dividing your portions, he slides a plate to you, setting a plastic fork down on the napkin beside you and ushering to the food.
âEnjoy,â he says, shooting you a small smile.
And the two of you eat in silence, the room quiet, aside from the sounds of slurping soup present between you two. Although itâs quiet, it feels comfortable, having him keep you company like this. Itâs a change of pace from your usual days babysitting in the Lee household.
âHow is your school work?â Minho interrupts your thoughts, and youâre momentarily taken aback by him initiating the conversation first.
âItâs good,â you respond, poking at the vegetables on your plate with a chopstick. âItâs on my own time, so I mostly just have to make sure Iâm staying on track. But Iâm finding it easy to get through despite watching Joon in the daytime.â
Minho nods in response, keeping his gaze set on the bowl of soup in front of him.
âHow did your exam go?â you ask, and Minho cocks his head a little. âI got full marks,â he responds after a moment of silence.
âThatâs great! I guess you were right about skipping breakfast having something to do with your academic success, then.â
And Minho laughs for the first time- not a chuckle or a giggle, but a laugh, holding one hand up to his mouth as he does. His laugh is gentle and melodic, filling the room around him with its sound, and you canât help but laugh, too.
âI suppose,â he responds. âI also go nowhere without those philosophy books, so I have them memorized like the back of my hand.â
âPhilosophy major?â you voice back, and Minho nods.
âSo Love and Limerence is like second nature to you at this point.â
Minho gets a little awkward at this, his smile fading a little as he pokes around his chow mein. âYeah,â he says quietly. âYou could say that.â
And fearing youâve somehow offended him, you change the subject again.
âWell Iâm a business major,â you chime in. âSo we donât get interesting reads at all. And Iâm not lugging around a six-pound textbook about returns on investments in my backpack.â
He laughs again, and you feel satisfied at the motion. Making him laugh feels like an exciting feat, like youâve succeeded at something after trying so hard to. And considering how hard youâve been trying to break down his walls these days, maybe it is an exciting feat, getting to know the stranger youâve been sharing a home with for one month now.
âBusiness is a great field,â Minho says, slurping down the remainder of his soup. âYour parents must be really proud of the direction youâre headed.â
You shrug in response. âTheyâre indifferent. I donât have a great relationship with them. They mostly just want me out of their hair once I graduate.â
âYou have any post-college plans?â Minho inquires.
âI finished an internship before this whole babysitting gig, actually. I want to travel a bit after graduation, and then Iâll really settle down for the whole 9-5 working life.â
âWhere are you hoping to travel to?â
Thereâs a glint in Minhoâs eyes as he presses you for answers, like heâs genuinely interested in what you have to say. It makes you feel all warm inside- not many people usually care what youâre up to these days, your family trying their hardest to send you away to work another job and your most of your friends having drifted apart when you began university. Even the friends you do have are more distant these days, considering their classes are still in person, and you donât have a need to be back on campus anymore. Itâs a bit of a lonely life you lead, so being here beside Minho feels different, but pleasant.
âIâm not sure,â you say with a smile. âIâm not really sure where I belong yet.â
âHey, I donât know where I belong, either,â Minho echoes. âSo that makes two of us.â
When the two of you are finished with dinner, Minho takes your plates downstairs, despite you offering, and youâre briefly left alone in the library. Itâs much later than usual now, nearing 9:00, when youâre usually home by 7. The house also has a different vibe to it this hour, many of the rooms feeling much dimmer despite the same lamps being on, and the corridors feeling much quieter and more haunting. You feel a wave of sleepiness wash over you, and though you donât want to be asleep when Mrs. Lee arrives, you canât help but shut your eyes for a few minutes. You can still make out the shape of the bookshelves behind your heavy eyelashes, trying your best not to close your eyes completely, but your mind has already wandered off to slumber, and inevitably, your body follows shortly after.
Youâre somewhere between sleep and consciousness when you feel Minho enter the room once again, looming over you like he wants to ask you something. But he says nothing- instead, he unfolds a knit blanket above you, sprawling it out over your legs and pulling it up to your torso. And you hadnât realized how cold you were before he did, because youâre almost instantly with a wave of warmth and comfort over your listless body.
It feels almost uncharacteristic or Minho to carry out an action this polite- but as he takes his seat across from you, watching as you doze off peacefully, you think he may finally be coming around to you.
*
âIâm ditching my second class again today,â Minho announces the next morning at breakfast. He doesnât eat much, you notice, as he bites into a single apple and hoists his backpack further up his shoulders.
âIâll be home a bit earlier,â he then continues, eyeing you a little, and you give him a little nod.
âThen help with lunch,â Mrs. Lee says, gathering her own briefcase for work. âY/n shouldnât do it all by herself when youâre here.â
âOh, itâs no worry at all,â you quickly chime in, not wanting to be the reason Minho refutes his motherâs words. âItâs what Iâm here to do, after all.â
âNo worries,â Minho says back to you. âIâll be home around noon and we can prepare something together.â
For some reason, your heart flutters a little at the implication of doing something alongside Minho- something so planned and seemingly intimate. You normally just take the days as they come, so having a commitment hanging over your head like this is a little nerve-racking. And in all your worrying, you donât respond to Minho, realizing only as heâs exiting the house with his apple in hand.
âI might be late again today,â Mrs. Lee turns to you, snapping you out of your trance. âBut Minho can stay for the remainder of the time. Iâll still pay you the full amount like I did yesterday-â
âIâm happy to stay again,â you reply to her. âLike I said, itâs what Iâm here to do.â
She smiles in return, clasping her hands and gesturing to the food on the table.
âI canât get Minho to eat for the life of me, but help yourself to whatever youâd like. And thank you again, for staying.â
Youâre reading to Joon in the living room when Minho arrives home from school. He kicks off his shoes dramatically, tossing his bag on the floor and breathing out a heavy sigh while you thumb through the pages of a new picture book.
âHi,â Minho says first, his expression remaining stoic and unchanging.
âHey,â you reply, hoisting Joon a little further up in your arms. âHow was school?â
âTerrible,â he responds, making his way around the granite island to collect another apple.
âWhyâs that?â
âProfessor Kim,â he says curtly, polishing the apple on his button down shirt before taking a generous bite. âA three hour lecture on a Friday really wasnât a smart choice. â
You chuckle a little to yourself, adjusting your position on the floor and trying to balance Joon in your embrace. Minho takes notice of your struggle, abandoning his apple on the counter to come take Joon from your arms.
âThanks,â you say, dusting off your legs as you stand again. âIâm going to get started on something for Joon to eat if you want to wait around. Unless youâre sticking to this exclusively-apple diet.â
Minho chuckles to himself and shakes his head. âIâll help. We donât have much prepared right now and I really need to go grocery shopping.â He secures Joon in his high chair, cocking his head toward the fridge.
âCould you just grab his orange juice? It should be the blue bottle on the right.â
And you comply with his request, promptly locating the blue sippy cup and handing it to Minho.
âThank you,â he says, setting it down on the white tray in front of Joon and twisting it open. âThis should be enough to hold him off until we can whip something up with the few ingredients we have. I want to do something with those sweet potatoes, theyâre reaching the end of their time.â
Joon is a little fussy as he reaches for his sippy cup, flailing his arms around and sliding the cup across the tray to the edge. The cap seems to loosen as he does, tilting dangerously to one side.
âI got it,â you say to Minho, as you approach Joon. You retrieve the cup from the edge of the tray, twisting off the cap again to secure it properly. And as you do, Joon lets out a particularly loud yelp, knocking his hand toward you and letting the bottle fall off the tray entirely.
As you realize whatâs happening, you bring two hands up to push it away from you, but youâre too late- the entirety of the bottleâs contents are spilt onto your shirt, completely soaking you and dripping onto the floor with loud, wet noises.
Minho doesnât see what happened, but he turns around at the sound of your loud gasp, his eyes widening at the sight of you. Even your hairâs gotten wet, stringy pieces falling into your face, damp with the tangy scent of orange juice and dripping down your shirt. His mind races with guilty thoughts, feeling as though he should have stayed watching Joon, being the one to have been caught in the crossfire of his tantrum instead. Joonâs always fussy before meals- he knows this very well. As his mind races with the urgency to grab a towel, a rag- something, his eyes graze to your t-shirt, and he practically freezes.
Your thin white t-shirt is soaked like the rest of you, painting a clear outline of your black bra as the cold contents drip down your chest and torso. The see-through fabric sticks to your body like a cellophane wrapping, outlining every inch of you, every curve and every raised goosebump as you shudder at the sensation. Minhoâs eyes remain locked on your dampened breasts for an embarrassing amount of time, taking careful note of the way your hardened nipples practically protrude through the thin white fabric, almost appearing increasingly noticeable with every passing second. The delicate curves of your stomach are accentuated with your skin-tight shirt, even your navel now visible.
A shake of your hands finally snaps him out of his trance, and you wrap your arms around yourself in a futile effort to cover yourself.
âIâm sorry,â you utter to him, at a loss for words at the notion of being so exposed to him. And Minho is quick to shake his head, now scrambling for a towel.
âDonât apologize,â he says, pulling a towel off the oven handle and sliding it to you. âHere, use this and Iâll go get a larger towel from upstairs and a change of clothes.â
You want to deny the offer, feeling shameful for having already intruded this much on the Lee household and still needing more from them. But as you look down at your t-shirt, you know you donât have a choice, the fabric now feeling cold and uncomfortable as it sticks to your flesh.
âThanks,â you say to him, giving a small nod and not moving your hands from your chest.
And Minho retreats upstairs quickly, trying his best to avert his gaze as you remain in the kitchen.
As Joon babbles incoherently next to you, you canât help but feel stupid, a sense of shame and embarrassment replacing the excitement you had to be preparing lunch alongside Minho for the afternoon. Youâre in disbelief heâs practically seen you half naked like this, and you feel inadequate at not being able to stop Joon from committing the incident in the first place. As you run your hands up and down the raised goosebumps on your arms, you do your best to hold back tears, hoping Minho wonât think less of you for being caught in such a humiliating accident.
Minho is gone for a little while, and you blot at the wet patches on your shirt as you wait, Joon now laughing at your messy state. You canât help but laugh a little, too, admittedly amused at what a disaster the afternoon has been- and you havenât even begun the cooking part of it yet.
When he returns, he tosses you a large white bath towel and a gray t-shirt, still keeping his gaze on the floor instead of on yours.
âHere,â he says simply, his veiny arm scratching the back of his head. âI can also get a sweater if youâre cold.â
As you observe the t-shirt, you realize itâs one of his, not one of Mrs. Leeâs. For some reason, youâd assumed Minho would opt for a womanâs clothes as your change, but the t-shirt has clearly been pulled from his closet, and you blush a little at the idea of wearing his clothes.
âThis is fine,â you reply, wrapping the bath towel around your body and excusing yourself to the bathroom.
You peel the sticky clothes off your body, crumpling them into a pile and changing into Minhoâs t-shirt. Itâs a bit large on you, but itâs much more comfortable, hanging loosely off your body and covering every bit of you that was previously exposed. His shirt smells like him, too, a pleasant scent of laundry detergent and his musky cologne.
When you exit the bathroom, you gesture to the change of clothes, your wet crumpled clothes balled in your hand. âI kinda look like you now,â you say, and Minho chuckles.
âYou can keep it,â he responds, giving you another once-over and nodding shyly. âIt looks better on you, anyway.â
He holds his hand out to you for the wet clothes, which he kindly takes from you to put in the wash. As he does, you go to the fridge to retrieve more orange juice for Joon- except there is none. You desperately search for milk, orange juice- any form of a snack that will keep him busy until his mealtime. But the kitchen is void of anything he can consume, and you begin to panic a little, knowing Joon hasnât eaten in a good while now.
âThat was the last of his orange juice,â you say to Minho when he returns. âAnd thereâs not much else for him to snack on.â
Minho searches the kitchen too, digging through cabinets and moving around jars in the fridge to check for expiration dates. But he quickly realizes youâre right- the fridge is even more sparse than heâd assumed it to be.
âI guess weâll have to make a trip to the store, then. How do you feel about strapping him into a car seat?â
âIâve never done it,â you reply nervously.
âI can show you,â Minho says, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter and spinning them around his index finger. âWe can do it together.â
*
The nearest grocery store is just 20 minutes out from the Lee household. Minho drives a fancy black SUV, and he guides you through how to strap Joon into his car seat, which you carry out with no issues. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the center console as you chat with him about your university courses. For the first time, you notice how Minho seems much more comfortable around you now, cracking jokes occasionally and smiling at your stories about your afternoons alone with Joon. When Joon chimes in from the back seat with his excited babbling, you and Minho babble equally in response, sharing laughter at the ridiculous exchanges among the three of you.
You opt to carry Joon inside the grocery store while Minho walks alongside you, checking off a list he routinely uses to stock up on all of Joonâs favorite foods. And the atmosphere around you is homely, instilling the same sense of comfort in you as your afternoons alone with Joon. One that reminds you why youâre doing this job in the first place- you feel respected here, like your efforts donât go unnoticed, and like you belong. It fills the lonely void inside of you with the sounds of Joonâs laughter, Minhoâs tales of his classes and the trivial tasks of grocery store runs and learning to maneuver a baby car seat.
âI think thatâs it,â Minho says as he checks the list one last time. âMilk, juice, breadâŠâ he reads the items one by one again, and then nods affirmatively when heâs ensured theyâre in the basket.
âThatâs it,â he repeats, shooting you a small smile. âLetâs go pay.â
An older cashier gestures you to her lane at the registers, beginning to scan your items as Minho places them down on the conveyor belt. And then she gives a little wave to Joon, who curiously stares back at her.
âWhat a beautiful baby,â she says, pausing from scanning with a jar of mashed carrots in her hand.
Joon smiles in response, a trickle of drool escaping his lips.
âAnd what a beautiful family,â she continues, looking back and forth between you and Minho. âItâs not easy being young parents, but I can tell the two of you are doing a fine job at it.â
âOh,â you say, chuckling lightly. âWeâre not-â
âThank you,â Minho interrupts, placing an arm around your waist and pulling you a little closer to him.
âWe donât get told that very often.â
You almost freeze at the contact, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he keeps his hand on the small of your back. This woman thinks the two of you are a couple- and worse, Minho is playing along with it. You canât figure out why heâd entertain such a blatant lie, but you donât interrupt him either, curious to see where heâs taking this little bit.
âPeople can be so unfair,â the cashier replies, shaking her head. âAs long as the child is cared for, your status shouldnât matter.â
âExactly,â Minho replies, throwing his hand in the air like sheâs making a point that pertains to him. âYou know, when we got married, everyone told us it would never work. And now look at us- our child just turned 1 and weâre already making plans for a second honeymoon.â
âThatâs amazing!â The woman says, clasping her hand over her heart like sheâs touched by the bogus story.
âIt is, isnât it honey?â Minho says, turning to you.
Thoughts swirl your mind about this performance heâs putting on, but youâre undoubtedly entertained by the whole thing, stifling laughter as you nod in response.
âIt is amazing,â you say finally. âWe eloped and had a shotgun wedding- booked it to Italy right after and now weâre thinking of taking the little one to Paris for a real ceremony.â
The older woman removes her glasses now, wiping her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. You canât help but feel bad for her, seeing how easily sheâs falling for your blatant lies, but Minho shows no remorse, grinning ear to ear and keeping his hand on the small of your back.
âWell Iâll tell you what,â the woman says, putting her glasses back on and shifting her eyes around the store.
âSince you guys just made my day, Iâm going to provide you with our senior discount. Itâs not everyday I see a young couple so beautiful raising such a darling little child.â
âOh, you really donât-â you start to say, and Minho interrupts you before you can finish.
âThat would mean the world to us,â he says in an exaggerated voice, giving the cashier a little bow. âIt would help us out a ton.â
You want to protest, to slap Minho in his pretty little face and ask what the hell he thinks heâs doing lying for a discount like this, but youâre afraid the cashier will see right through your whole stunt and reprimand both of you. So you just nod and let Minho take the lead again.
âThank you,â you echo back to her,â holding Joonâs stubby little fingers as the woman types a lengthy code into the computer.
And Minho smiles at you, shooting you a little wink as he gathers boxes of cereal and jars of food in his arms.
âWhat was that?â You practically yell as you exit the store, balancing Joon in one arm and a bag of groceries in another. âYou totally lied to her.â
âI didnât lie,â Minho says. âI told her a different reality.â
âThat is literally what a lie is,â you echo back to him, securing Joon in his car seat and lining grocery bags on the floor. Minho slides into the driver's seat again, putting his keys in the ignition but not yet starting the car as he waits for you to get in, too.
âI mean, that was like a 10% discount,â you continue, huffing frustratedly as you wait for him to speak. âHow is that worth telling someone a whole list of lies?â
âYou know, thereâs this really cool theory called the anthropic principle,â Minho begins, looking straight ahead through the windshield. âSuggests the existence of a multitude of universes.â
âWhat?â
âSo,â he continues. âPhilosophically speaking, maybe in one of those we're married, and we have a child, and our honeymoon was in Italy.â
You stay quiet for a moment, pondering his words, completely unsure of if heâs flirting with you or teasing you right now.
âAnd maybe,â he chimes in again. âIn one of them, we robbed the store and killed the cashier. And in another, we donât even know each other.â
âWhat are you getting at?â You say, narrowing your eyes in confusion.
âItâs not lying,â Minho says with a smile as he finally starts up the car. âWe just told her about a different reality.â
âSo itâs lying,â you say with a smile, unable to hold back the giggle that escapes your lips.
âA little,â he finally says. âBut it was fun, right?â
And you start to say no, but you canât get the words out, aware youâll be lying twice today if you do.
Minho takes your silence as confirmation, a grin plastered on his face as he rests one arm behind your headrest to pull out of the parking lot. And you canât help but smile, too, the spontaneous thrill of lying to the cashier admittedly being some of the most fun youâve had all week. And the conclusion stands- Minhoâs a little odd. But heâs great company.
*
Mrs. Lee is late again tonight, the second hand on the clock ticking in slow intervals as it nears 10pm. You yawn for the umpteenth time tonight, exhausted from having done so much today, wanting nothing more than to sleep in the comfort of your own bed at home and mentally recharge for another day of this tomorrow. But youâve promised to wait for her, always eager to wait it out until the last second, because Mrs. Lee always expresses her sincerest gratitude when you wait for her.
âSorry, sheâs really late today,â Minho says as he lowers the volume on the television. You completed a few more chores around the house after dinner while Minho powered through his schoolwork, putting Joon to bed before settling on the sofa and watching old cartoon reruns. Now youâve been in and out of sleep for the better part of an hour, Minho remaining close by watching infomercials again, peering at your tired figure and feeling guilty that youâve been here so long.
âItâs okay,â you reply quietly, letting out another yawn. You cross your arms over yourself, still dressed comfortably in Minhoâs t-shirt, and do your best to keep your gaze on the television.
Tonight Minho is stuck on an infomercial for artificial plants, the dull narration lulling you to sleep even further as he checks the time on his watch and glances nervously at the front door.
Minho cranes his neck at your figure again, not missing the way gray bags hang heavy below your eyes, your lashes half-lidded as you feign sleep and force your gaze onto the infomercial.
âDonât you have an early exam tomorrow?â You say to Minho, another yawn escaping your lips as you speak. âDonât wait up on my account. You should get some sleep.â
Minho shuts off the television, standing up from where heâs sitting and dusting off his pants.
âIâll take you home,â he announces, fishing around on the table for his car keys.
âItâs okay,â you reply, not wanting to inconvenience him anymore than you already have today. âI can walk to the bus stop.â
âYouâre not walking,â Minho retorts, scoffing as you sit up and rub your tired eyes with the back of your hand. âItâs pitch black outside.â
âItâs fine,â you say, gathering your book bag and rushing to put your shoes on. Itâs a race between the two of you now, Minho scrambling to locate his car keys while you get ready to leave for the evening.
âItâs really not a problem- where are my keys?â Minho mutters to himself, patting the pockets on his jacket and rearranging stacks of papers on the coffee table.
âIâm fine, really.â
âNo, Iâll drive you,â Minho says, still tossing aside the mess heâs made to locate his keys.
âIâll walk,â you reiterate again, and Minho finally exhales frustratedly.
âThen Iâll walk with you,â he finally announces, ditching the car keys altogether and stopping to look at you. He looks tired, too, evident bags under his eyes and his hair tousled from running his hands through it frustratedly.
âMinho, I really donât want to burden you-â
âItâs not a burden.â
As he speaks, you hear Joonâs baby monitor alerting you that heâs awake for the evening, wailing loudly when he realizes that heâs alone. Itâs perfect timing, too, Minho already having planned to wake him up so he can walk you back.
âWait here,â Minho says to you as he begins toward the stairs. âIâll get his harness.â
The dim street lights illuminate the dark paved roads, a crisp chill in the air as you walk alongside Minho with your hands in your pockets.
Joon sits comfortably in his harness against Minhoâs chest, curiously taking in the atmosphere around him as you walk in silence to your bus stop. Itâs not a long walk, only 20 minutes from Minhoâs, but you feel admittedly much safer with Minho by your side, his and Joonâs presence feeling homely even at this hour. For nearly the entirety of the walk, the two of you say nothing, too tired to engage in conversation, but still comfortable in the presence of each other, and not needing to say anything. Joon babbles saliva every now and then, Minho bringing a finger up to wipe his chin, and the only other sounds are that of crickets and the gentle sway of the trees.
âThis is me,â you say to Minho when you reach the familiar blue bench of your stop.
You sit on one side of the bench, slinging your book bag over beside you and crossing your legs. And to your surprise, Minho occupies the other side, one hand resting gently on the back of Joonâs head while the other pats his back gently.
âYou donât have to wait,â you tell Minho quickly, and he just shakes his head silently in response.
The silence between you remains, Joon toying with the collar of Minhoâs shirt as you wait for the bus. Thereâs so much you want to ask Minho, so much you still want to find out from him. Youâre well aware that you havenât quite figured him out yet, but youâre undoubtedly sure that he is a nice guy, after all. From lending you his t-shirt, waiting up for you on late nights, even walking you to your bus stop and waiting for the bus with you. You think briefly back to his little joke at the grocery store, smiling to yourself when you remember heâd chosen to pretend you were a married couple for no other reason than to make you laugh after having had such a rough day. And his innate fascination with looking at everything through a philosophical lens, the passion for his favorite subject so robustly present wherever he goes.
âWhatâs that theory again?â You ask Minho as your thoughts verbalize amidst the silence.
âHm?â
âThe one about the universe.â
âThe anthropic principle?â He questions, and you hum in response.
âYeah, that one. Do you think there are like, a million versions of us right now, justâŠsitting here?â
âSure,â Minho replies. âBut the conditions would have to be just right.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âWell, the theory states that conditions have to be just right for us to coexist in the universe weâre in right now. Itâs sort of like a coincidence that this one evolved so that we could thrive in it. So there might be other versions of us, just not as definitive. We might be rocks, or bugs. Or maybe thereâs a more advanced version, where weâre still on our honeymoon in Italy.â
âOr the one where we killed that cashier,â you chime in.
âExactly,â Minho replies, a small smile tugging at his lips.
You ponder his words for a moment.
âDo they all follow the same timeline?â You ask him.
âWhat do you mean?â
âDo they all last forever? What if we got divorced? Would we part ways in every universe?â
Minho stays quiet for a moment, thinking back to the philosophical theories tucked in the back of his mind.
âI donât know,â he finally replies. âIâd like to think some versions have a happy ending, but maybe some of them donât.â
As silence falls over you again, your bus finally turns the corner, making its way down the street toward your stop.
âThatâs me,â you say, getting up and gathering your belongings again.
Minho stands up, too, saying nothing as the bus finally halts in front of you, the brakes screeching to a stop with the loud exhaust of the doors as they open.
âThanks,â you say to Minho before getting on. âFor walking me.â
âItâs no problem,â he replies, shooting you a tired smile.
Minho watches as you board the bus, taking your seat toward the back. He scans the aisles momentarily, making sure youâre sat somewhere safe, away from anyone he might deem sketchy at this hour. And when he feels confident youâll make it home okay, he brings Joonâs hand up in front of him, giving you a little wave as he watches you smile back through the tinted windows, sending him off with a wave back.
*
From then on, things shift between the two of you. Minho is a constant, always offering to walk you home on late nights to engage in discussions about your university work or his favorite theories. When heâs home early from his classes, the two of you enjoy cooking for Joon together, making trips to the grocery store where the cashiers are now fully convinced youâre a married couple. On late nights, the two of you often engage in lighthearted philosophical debates while you wait for Mrs. Lee to get home for the evening. When heâs walking you home for the night, doing homework alongside you or just passing by, Minho indulges you in all his favorite philosophical questions, and you entertain them, using the opportunity to get a better glimpse into his mind and how he thinks.
Itâs exactly this that tears down Minhoâs walls, you find- he, in all his philosophically-educated glory, sharing his perspective while you poke holes in his arguments and reach a conclusion together. Sometimes youâll reach a stalemate, the argument fizzling out with no clear answer. And sometimes he can change your mind almost instantly, the arguments leaving his lips like second nature, always quick to persuade you in the opposite direction and provide clear reasoning. Heâs very skilled at his work, and you quickly realize why heâs so passionate about philosophy in the first place.
Itâs not something Minhoâs used to yet- having a companion like this, one who actually cares about anything he has to say. Someone to come home to, somebody to bask in the simplicities of life with and affirm that heâs not completely incapable of making real human connections. And admittedly, maybe he loves playing house with you, coming home to your home-cooked meals and caring for the baby together.
Maybe this version of the universe deems you a babysitter, and he, just an outcast. But sometimes Minho swears he can see different versions where youâre so much more than that to each other.
In late November, you take your first week off, leaving on a small family trip to a city just a few hours out to go see extended family.
You tell Minho of your little excursion the week prior, and he pretends to be disheartened, but you know deep down he must be relieved to have some space to himself again. Of course youâre not able to watch Joon, and Mrs. Lee has a friend watch him in your absence, but youâre surprised at how much you miss the Lee household when youâre not there. The trip to the city is filled with repetitive questions from family about your major, your internship, your potential salary in an entry-level position and general university questions. And yet all you catch yourself thinking about is Joon, and Mrs. Lee and especially Minho.
You wonder what heâs doing in the comfort of his grand room all by himself, surrounded by books and tall windows. Minho once told you that he can go a whole day without talking when heâs not having philosophical debates with you over coffee. You wonder if heâs talked today, or if he attended his classes or how his exam on Tuesday went. Thoughts of him plague your mind every waking second- whether Minho would like a certain food, if Minho would agree with this statement, even what the people around you would think if you dragged him along and played house with him like you do back home. In this version of the universe, maybe heâs reading a book or watching a movie, but in another, he could be right here, telling his string of lies to your extended family.
On the last day of your family vacation, you find yourself in an old bookstore, and all you can think about is Minho. Heâd love it here, you think, grazing your fingertips along the old cracked spines and yellowing pages. And as you scan through the philosophy section, several of the books already piquing your interest, you spot it.
The small familiar crimson book, just barely larger than your hand, delicate to the touch and painted with the same Cupid depiction as the one you know so well. A first edition copy of Dorothy Tennovâs Love and Limerence. You canât help but smile to yourself, scanning the bookâs contents briefly before closing it again and bringing it up to the counter. Itâs not like youâre trying to worsen this little developing crush you have on Minho, but he seems to be everywhere you go- and candidly, you just want to have him figured out.
*
When you return to the Lee household from your vacation, the atmosphere is calm, sunbeams shining through the large glass windows and illuminating the house with a romantic glow. Joon eats his breakfast well, downing his orange juice and causing you little trouble throughout the day. And Minho arrives just after 3, his backpack slung over his shoulder and a book in hand.
Your heart beats erratically to see him again, trying your best to avert his gaze as he enters through the front door and kicks off his shoes. When he makes his way through the kitchen, you attempt to look busy, wiping down the counters with a kitchen rag and balancing Joon in your arms.
âHi,â Minho says, a little shyly as you keep your eyesight on the granite counter below you.
âHey,â you respond, pretending like you hadnât noticed him enter the room, when in reality, youâve been well aware of his arrival since he parked his car out front.
âHow was your trip?â Minho asks, setting down his backpack and loosening the collar of his sweater.
Heâs dressed for the chilly weather outside, a simple black knit sweater paired with blue jeans.
âIt was good,â you reply, folding the rag with one hand and setting it aside. âI kinda missed it here.â
Minho smiles at you nervously, toying with the hem of his sweater as he hears you speak.
âIt was pretty quiet without you here. I think Joon missed you.â
âDid he?â You question excitedly, poking at Joon with your finger and cooing at him. âIs that right? You missed me?â And Joon giggles excitedly, smiling between the two of you.
When the room falls quiet again, Minho clears his throat like he wants to say something, but he doesnât, instead keeping his gaze fixed on yours. The room is teeming with awkward tension between the two of you, two hearts clouded in desire to act on this conflicting emotion of fleeting lust and a mutual understanding of each other, but neither one of you say anything, letting it die with your silence and circle your minds aimlessly again.
âI got you something,â you say suddenly, and Minhoâs heart quickens a little.
âMe?â He questions, pointing to himself as if you need clarity of who he speaks of.
âYes, you. Itâs in my bag upstairs.â
And you begin your ascent to the staircase, motioning for Minho to follow you as you bring Joon with you.
âClose your eyes,â you tell Minho when youâve entered the library again.
âShould I be scared?â He asks, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.
âClose them!â You exclaim, and he finally puts his hands out in front of him, shutting his eyes, a big grin plastered on his face. You place the book in Minhoâs palms gently, making sure to position it so that the cover is facing him properly.
âNow open.â
When Minho opens his eyes again, he doesnât even need to read the words before knowing what it is. Heâs immediately familiar with the first edition of Dorothy Tennovâs Love and Limerence he holds in his hands, uniquely characterized by the contrasting art style to his, and the much older, yellowing pages.
âMy book,â Minho says, biting his lip as he holds back a bigger smile, one that will most definitely point to the incriminating fact that heâs smitten.
âYour book,â you echo, leaning on the wall across from him. âItâs a first edition. The bookkeeper said theyâre pretty rare to come by.â
âYou didnât have to-â
âDonât worry about it,â you reply, fixing Joonâs hair and averting Minhoâs gaze. Youâre afraid if you make eye contact with him, this whole nonchalant front will crumble down in front of you, because youâre embarrassingly smitten with him, too.
âThank you,â Minho says, thumbing the raised gold-foiled cover outline of Cupid. âIâll go put it with the rest of them.â
And he disappears down the corridor, his book tucked in the endeared clutch of his hands.
While Minho adds his book to the rest of his collection, you put Joon down for his nap, gently placing him on the soft blanket in his crib and adjusting the baby monitor. He blinks up at you a few times, his lips pulling into a shaky smile as his lashes finally flutter shut and a wave of sleepiness washes over him. You exit the room quietly, closing the door just halfway like you always do, and then make your way down the corridor to Minhoâs room. The door is left ajar, but you hear him shuffling about, and you enter after giving a gentle knock.
Minho seems startled at this, jumping up from where heâs standing, in front of his bookshelf with Love and Limerence held open in the palms of his hands. He shuts it quickly, shoving it on the top with another stack of books, and then almost shields his bookshelf as he turns to face you.
âI didn't hear you come in,â he says, nervously shifting his eyes to more stacks of books on his window sill and nightstand.
âI put Joon down for his nap,â you reply, cocking an eyebrow as he stands there awkwardly. âIs⊠everything okay?â
âYes,â he says quickly, blinking nervously when he sees you peer over his torso at the bookshelf.
âWhereâd you put it?â
âCanât remember,â Minho says, a breathy chuckle emitting from his lips as he tries his best to avoid talking about it. But you catch on- and youâre certainly not going to let him evade the subject.
âWhat are you hiding?â You finally ask, eyeing him with a small smile. Minhoâs face drops a little, sighing once as he steps aside and grants you full visibility of his bookshelf. Thereâs nothing out of the ordinary- books of all colors and sizes lined neatly on the shelves, some of them left open or bookmarked. A good amount of them appear to be philosophy books, which doesnât come as a surprise to you.
âItâs just your books,â you say flatly, and Minho scratches the back of his head before he speaks again.
âLove and Limerence isnât a required read for university.â He says in a low voice.
âOh,â you reply, unsure of why it should really matter to you.
âNone of them are,â he continues. âItâs just my personal⊠collection. Of romance novels.â
And then you finally understand.
Minho- the stoic, otherwise quiet being, in all his philosophical studiousness and awkwardness, is a sucker for romance. Once the cogs begin turning in your head, they donât stop, everything about him now making a little more sense to you. Why he stays locked up in his little tower all day reading book after book, why heâs so hopeful when he speaks of the human condition and of love, why he loves taking care of people so much. Heâs just a big softie underneath it all.
âThereâs nothing weird about that,â you chime in. âIn fact, itâs really cool.â
âYeah right,â he retorts.
âIâm dead serious. Iâve never met someone with so many copies of Thorns and Roses before.â
Minho shakes his head, moving to sit on his bed with his palms tucked under his legs. His gaze remains locked on the floor, an expression of shame still visible on his face. And when you see him exhale deeply, like heâs been nervously holding his breath all this time, you feel bad for him. If thereâs anything youâve learned about him since meeting him, itâs that heâs really a bit of a dork. Youâre not sure youâve ever seen him look so vulnerable before.
âWhich oneâs your favorite?â You ask, skimming your finger along the neat row of spines.
He shrugs. âPride and Prejudice, maybe. But these days itâs Love and Limerence.â
Minhoâs voice is trembling, just above a whisper as he reads off his list of favorite novels to you. And you chuckle softly in reply, pulling the little red book out of its respective home on the shelf and tossing it to him.
âRead me your favorite passage.â
He furrows his brows a little, like he thinks you might be making fun of him. But when you take a seat next to him on the bed, wide-eyed and gesturing to the book in his hands, he realizes youâre genuinely asking him to.
âGo on,â you say, gesturing to the book once more.
Minho opens the book to the middle, flipping through yellowing pages with small font. Most of the pages are littered generously with blue sticky notes, Minhoâs messy handwriting annotating all his favorite passages. When he finds the page heâs searching for, he eyes you cautiously, as if waiting for permission to begin reading. And with a deep breath, he begins, his voice shaking a little as he finds his footing.
âNow by these presents let me assure you that you are not only in my heart, but my veins, this morning. I turn from you half abashed--yet you haunt me, and some look, word or touch thrills through my whole frame--yes, at the very moment when I am labouring to think of something, if not somebody else.â
At the last words, his gaze meets yours again, eyelashes trembling as he waits for your reaction. He waits for you to laugh, or to dismiss the words, or leave altogether. But you just stare back at him, your heart beating erratically at the poetry he utters, completely in awe with him.
He feels otherworldly at this distance, this intricate fascination with love and human connection. The way his brown tresses fall loosely in front of his big eyes as he speaks, his plump lips pulling into a nervous smile to reveal the row of skewed teeth you find a home in every time. Heâs like the passage reads- thrilling your whole frame, consuming you whole and filling your mind with thoughts of him, and his poetry and his kind demeanor. You find yourself a little closer to him, your eyes darting to his lips and then back to his curious eyes, fantasies of him running rampant in your mind.
And Minho keeps his gaze locked on yours, too, leaning in a little closer to you, the book closing on its own as his hand slips away from holding it open and onto the bed beside you. The implications are there, the atmosphere around you heavy with desire and uncertainty, and just as you wield the courage to bring your lips a little closer to his, youâre promptly interrupted.
âMinho-ah!â A voice calls from downstairs. You quickly clock it as Mrs. Leeâs, who must be home early from work.
âIâm home early!â She calls again, confirming your theory, her footsteps getting louder as she makes her way up the stairs.
You sit up promptly, smoothing down your shirt and standing to bow when Mrs. Lee pokes her head in the doorway. Minho stands up too, making the whole situation look unbearably obvious, and you pray she canât tell whatâs going on between the two of you.
âY/n,â she says with a warm smile. âIâm sorry I forgot to tell you I would be home a little earlier today. Joon has a doctorâs appointment.â
âNo worries at all!â You voice back, bowing again as she smiles. âI was actually going to leave early today. I have a bit of a headache.â
âOh, do you want a cup of tea?â She asks, heavy concern present in her voice.
âNo thanks, I think I just need some sleep.â
You turn to Minho, whoâs standing with his hands in his pockets, looking a little disappointed as you give him a small bow.
âTake care,â you say to him, pivoting to head back to the library and gather your things.
Minho hears his mom see you out of the front door, chatting briefly with you about your trip and sending you off with a little wave.
He shuts his bedroom door and locks it, sprawling out on the duvet of his bed and running his hands over the book still beside him.
Heâs not sure what happened- whether you were about to kiss him, or whether it was just wishful thinking. But every way he interprets the encounter, Minho swears he can feel your yearning for him, too. Is he crazy to think you might feel the same? Maybe he, too, finds it laboring to think of something- if not, someone else, besides you.
*
Joon is a particularly picky eater in afternoons, making a big fuss of foods he usually devours in the mornings and evenings. He skillfully dodges every spoon, every bite and feigns his interest in even his favorite snacks and desserts. And while youâre usually patient with him, today youâre frustrated, having mentally scolded yourself several times since yesterdayâs events.
A part of you wants to ditch all of this, reminding yourself that youâre here to work a job, not lust after the son of the person who hired you. But the other part of you canât help but imagine how things would be different if you just let yourself fall gracefully into him- heâs so much more than a fleeting thought to you. You want to understand him, having challenged yourself to figuring him out from the moment you came across him. But maybe you want him to understand you, too. You want him to understand that you feel at home whenever heâs around, his philosophical discussions and this game of house you play making you feel like you belong here. You want him to understand that although you know he feels like an outcast, none of his odd quirks matter to you when heâs reading his favorite love stories across from you in the library, catching glimpses of you when he thinks youâre not looking. And that maybe this universe conditioned itself just right so that you took up this job and crossed paths- and that has to mean something bigger.
Thereâs nothing different about the afternoon following yesterdayâs, except for you spending a considerable amount of time on your hair and makeup, the anticipation bubbling inside you at the idea of seeing Minho again. You have no definitive plan, no script of how itâs going to go when he arrives from school. But you also know thereâs something in your throat that wants so desperately to get out, and you wonât let it. As Joon toys with the cereal in his bowl, he looks up at you with big, curious eyes, and you wonder what heâs thinking, if anything. He doesn't know anything beyond the simple tasks of eating and sleeping, living with the comfortable knowledge that heâs being cared for. And although it seems much easier, you canât help but sympathize. What a gift it is to feel- what a gift it is to carry emotions so deeply they eat away at you like this.
Youâre infatuated with Minho- that fact stands true. And whether or not it benefits you to do anything about it, youâre determined to do something with all of this feeling, lest it slips through your fingers like he almost did.
You donât hear Minho come home when he does, busy in the garden tending to Mrs. Leeâs plants when the usual alert of his car pulling into the driveway passes you by. So when he wanders the corridors searching everywhere for you, you donât take notice.
Minhoâs desperate, hoping to ask you to stay just a little bit longer tonight, having also had the epiphany that heâs completely fallen for you, too. And what he hopes to do with it, heâs unsure- but he does know that every romance novel on his shelf would refute the idea of letting this feeling dissipate. Kiss her, tell her, do something. Anything.
He strides down the halls with purpose and vigor, a nervous smile pulling at his face at the thought of seeing you again. Itâs all heâs thought about today, having had just two hours of sleep as he sorted out what to say to you. And while heâs not well-versed in the practice of confessing his love, he feels his whole life has been devoted to the very purpose of being here and finding you. The debates you share, midnight walks to the bus stop, the book- heâd be a fool not to reciprocate what you yearn for. And when he doesnât find you, Minho feels the familiar pit of worry form in his stomach. Heâs not accounted for a change of plans, or even what might happen if you reject his admission. He wants to believe so badly that the answer is yes, risking everything just to say something.
20 minutes after heâs been home, Minho receives a phone call, answering in a rush while he checks the upstairs rooms for you.
âHello?â
âItâs Sujin from class,â the phone at the other end says plainly. âIâm here for our project.â
And Minho freezes, remembering very well that he has a project due very soon, and his partner is here tonight to work on it with him. He sighs heavily into the line at the change in plans, knowing heâll have to bottle his emotions another day and act on them tomorrow when he can get you alone.
âOh, right,â Minho responds, making his way to the stairs and jogging down them. âThe door should be unlocked.â
He stuffs his phone in his back pocket, making his way to the door to meet Sujin, and as he passes the sliding door to the backyard, he finally sees you. Knelt on the ground in a white sundress, your hands tainted with soil as you tend to the tomato plants and hum to yourself. Minho smiles at the sight of you, the urge to tell you right now stronger than ever. But before he can call out to you, Sujinâs already made her way inside, peering curiously around the place and clutching her purse in hand.
âWow,â she says, chuckling lightly. âYou didnât tell me you were rich.â
Minho scratches the back of his head awkwardly as she grazes a marble sculpture with her fingers. His eyes remain on you through the glass door, transfixed by the way you tuck your hair behind your ears and pat your dress as you stand up again. Sujin takes note of Minhoâs evident distraction, briefly glancing out the window and back to him.
âWhere are we working?â She asks, pursing her lips together.
âWe can work upstairs,â Minho explains, as you finally make your way inside.
At first youâre confused at the sight, Minho looming over a girl much prettier than you, her long hair styled neatly over one shoulder and a matching formal two-piece hugging her curves beautifully. And then as you see her begin up the stairs in the direction of Minhoâs room, you finally understand.
Of course thereâs another woman.
Of course there was a catch to all of this, because why else would things condition themselves so perfectly that youâd win him over?
And suddenly everything feels pointless- confessing to him, feeling any ounce of emotion regarding all of this, even working this job. He has a girlfriend, and sheâs much prettier than you are. And he's trailing behind her after giving you a shy nod, likely embarrassed at the fact that youâll be here tending to his household while he fucks her in his upstairs bedroom.
You canât help but think that perhaps something got lost in translation, because Minho evidently never liked you, and unless this version of the universe magically conditions to work in your favor just once, itâs going to remain that way.
*
When the tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, they donât stop. You canât feed Joon without hiccuping through a hot rush of tears that fall from your cheeks onto his tray below him. Joon seems to sense something is wrong, pausing the task of dodging his food to observe the way your face contorts as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. And when you do stop to look at him, all you can see is Minho, his eyes and lips resembling exactly that of his elder brotherâs.
The chores feel like a futile task now, and you let them sit there for the remainder of the evening youâre working for. In fact, the only thing you do complete is the task of getting Joon to bed when the sun begins to set, marching carefully upstairs to not interrupt Minhoâs time with his girlfriend. And the word makes you sick, to think that heâs been stringing you along all while having a girlfriend- a fact he so conveniently left out.
Joon goes down without a fuss, and when heâs finally asleep, you escape the confines of the second story to lock yourself in the downstairs living room and complete your school work. How much of that is spent crying instead, you canât quite remember.
Itâs just after 9 when Sujin leaves for the evening, but youâre not awake to take notice when she does. You wake to the familiar sound of infomercials playing quietly on the television in front of you, Minho sitting on the floor in front of the sofa you occupy. His head hangs as he holds a book in his lap, probably some cheesy romance he projects onto him and his girlfriend, and his thin wireframe glasses rest on the bridge of his nose.
The dull narration on the television advertises jewelry tonight, and you let out a sigh as you feel your swollen eyes adjust to the bright screen in front of you. At this, Minho turns around, giving you a sheepish smile as you try to shut your eyes again. But itâs too late- heâs already seen you awake for the evening.
âHi,â Minho says for the first time today, bookmarking his page and lowering the volume on the television. âSheâs late again today, but I saved you some takeout.â
âIâm not hungry,â you reply quickly, sitting up and reaching for your bag. âIn fact, I need to go home.â
âOh, sure,â Minho replies, a little hurt at your rushed tone. âI can walk you-â
âNo need,â you say to him, pulling on your sneakers and doing everything in your power to avert his gaze. He furrows his brows a little, knowing you never reject his offers to walk you home.
âIs everything-â
âFine. I just need to get home,â you reiterate, finally sitting down and smoothing down your wrinkled dress.
Every part of him is annoying you right now, your mind teeming with the reminder that youâve been wasting your time trying to know him better while heâs been entertaining a whole girlfriend these past few months.
âY/n, wait,â Minho calls, still intent on telling you tonight, while the feelings remain stronger than ever. But youâve already crossed the room to the front door, where you avert his gaze so he wonât see you begin to cry again.
âBye,â you call to him, not even looking back before youâre turning the knob and seeing yourself out. âTell Mrs. Lee it was an emergency.â
And he wants to ask if it was, but he canât, staring at your rushed figure jogging down the street as you distance yourself from him before he can string you along any further.
*
Thus begins the game of avoidance.
It starts through keeping your conversations with Minho as short as possible, not engaging him when he tells you about theories heâs studied this week or what his days on campus were like. When he asks about your day, you give him one-word responses, muttering a simple âfineâ before turning your attention to Joon again.
When Minho asks to go to the grocery store, you pretend you have a headache- for three days straight. So he makes the trips solo, balancing bags on one arm and telling you about how the cashiers have begun to ask where his pretend wifeâs been. You give him no reaction, nodding as you feed Joon his dinner and glance at the clock for the umpteeth time, desperate to get away from him.
And the mystery woman remains, marching into the Lee household in afternoons like she owns the place, already having memorized the path to Minhoâs room as she makes her way up the stairs and doesnât acknowledge you. Sheâs beautiful everyday that sheâs here, short skirts and long ponytails you canât seem to look away from. And sheâs even more hypnotic when sheâs in the presence of Minho, the two of them as a couple certainly a sight for sore eyes. If they were a married couple, youâd reckon they'd be much more distinguished than you and Minho would.
âDo you want a coffee?â Minho peers into the library one night to ask you. You keep your gaze locked on the computer in front of you, trying your best to keep your guard up as he waits for a response.
âNo, thank you,â you say coldly, continuing to work on your essay.
When he realizes youâre not going to say anything else, Minho enters the room reluctantly, his hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe and gives you a once-over. You say nothing, still, holding back your emotions so as not to cause a scene. And Minho can tell somethingâs wrong in the way that you shift your eyes to him briefly and shake your head as if scolding yourself for doing so.
âDid I do something?â Minho finally asks, his voice a little shaky.
âNo,â you say quickly, skimming the same sentence on your laptop screen over and over again.
âAre you⊠sure?â
âYes, Iâm sure.â
He fiddles with a loose thread in the pocket of his pants, keeping his gaze on the floor and thinking about your differing behavior toward him the past week.
âWe just havenât talked much. And you never really leave here anymore. I wanted to make sure I didnât overstep any boundaries-â
âOverstep?â You interrupt, scanning your eyes over the screen of your computer. âThereâs nothing to overstep. I get paid to watch your brother, not hang out with you.â
You feel guilty the minute the words leave your mouth, but you feel even worse knowing heâs just been stringing you along with a girlfriend this whole time. The atmosphere feels akin to when you first met him, awkward and cold, and with tensions high like this, you donât feel at home in the Lee household anymore.
âSorry,â Minho says, nodding. âYouâre right. I guess Iâm overstepping by asking.â
You only look up at him when he leaves, his shoulders sagging as he leaves you alone once again- only this time, you have a feeling heâs going to stop making an attempt to rekindle things anymore.
And youâre right- Minho stops trying entirely. There are no more offers to walk you home, no philosophical debates over coffee or grocery store trips where you act as a married couple. Youâre still covered in knit blankets when you fall asleep accidentally on the couch, but Minho doesnât stick around watching his infomercials to wait up for you anymore. And he still saves you his takeout when he orders, but he leaves it neatly packaged for you in the fridge instead of bringing it up to you like he used to.
Youâve gone from a mutual infatuation for each other to complete strangers once again. The house feels lonely and cold like it once did, your only real human interaction occurring in the few minutes you have with Mrs. Lee at the start and end of the day.
Minho doesnât talk to you at all, locking himself away in his room like he did when you first started caring for Joon. And when you see him in passing at late hours of the night, he looks indifferent, sagging his shoulders as he averts your gaze with a book in hand and disappears down the corridors again. At some point, you begin to see his girlfriend less- in fact, his stoic composure makes you wonder if somethingâs happened between them. But as time goes on, you start to realize this is less about his girlfriend- and more about you.
What a gift it is to feel- but also what a curse. To let something consume you so entirely you can barely breathe without it. Itâs laboring to think of anything else, of anyone else besides Minho and what he means to you. And as you replay your last interaction in your head for the nth time this evening, you think back to the day you started here. You knew the fundamentals of caring for a baby, having trained just enough to land a job doing it. All you wanted was to be liked by Mrs. Lee, and by baby Joon- and by extension, Minho. This household quickly became someplace you felt like you actually belonged in. But your purpose here has completely diverted from its original path, having prioritized Minhoâs complexities and his feelings toward you above what you were hired here to do. Youâve experienced a roller coaster of emotions trying to understand him, and just when you thought youâd cracked him, you realized his heart belongs to someone else. So with the comfortable knowledge in mind that perhaps the universe isnât, in fact, conditioned for you to mean anything more to him than just a babysitter, you understand itâs time to stop forcing any other version of it.
*
Thereâs nothing particularly out of the ordinary two weeks into your avoidance of Minho.
You still havenât talked, he still keeps his distance and you get paid to perform the job youâre here to do. But one afternoon before Minhoâs even home from school, Joon refuses to eat. It starts with a tantrum he throws at breakfast time, which you consider typical as he knocks his cereal onto the floor and waves his hands around restlessly. You can only spoon feed him a couple spoons of yogurt before heâs put down for his afternoon nap. And when you wake him for his post-nap meal, heâs just as fussy. He seems to be bothered by something, crying loudly as you offer him different snacks and try your best to calm him down. But nothing seems to work, and when he begins refusing his bottles late into the afternoon, you start to panic.
Mrs. Lee isnât home for a few hours, youâre unsure of when Minho gets home and you donât have any way of getting to a hospital right now. The guilt and the fear eat away at you as Joon cries loudly, his face turning a bright shade of red as snot dribbles from his nose onto his shirt. He must be hungry, and clearly uncomfortable by something, only youâre entirely unsure what. His pacifier doesnât calm him, nor does his favorite stuffed animal or his favorite television program. When his crying reaches the 10-minute mark, you feel hopeless, well prepared to drag him onto the bus to the nearest hospital yourself, fully convinced youâre going to lose your job. And as you begin to cry, too, the front door opens, Minho walking in with his backpack clutched casually in one hand and his car keys in the other. His girlfriend is with him this time, her head hanging as she uses her phone, completely oblivious to the atmosphere around her.
âMinho,â you call helplessly from the kitchen, and his head snaps instantly to look at you. Your eyes are nearly bloodshot from crying, your sleeves drenched in tears from wiping your eyes and your voice shaky as you speak. Itâs the first time youâve said his name in weeks, you realize, feeling your heart race as you call for him.
âWhat happened?â Minho asks when he turns the corner, throwing off his backpack and approaching a very fussy Joon.
âHe wonât eat,â you reply through hiccups, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater again. âIâve tried everything. He wonât stop crying.â
Minho takes Joon in his arms, rocking him gently back and forth, to no avail; Joon starts crying even harder now, dribbling snot onto Minhoâs sweatshirt and hitting his chest repeatedly.
âIâll have to take him to the clinic,â Minho says in a rushed tone, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and making his way toward the door.
His girlfriend finally turns the corner into the kitchen, putting down her cellphone and huffing frustratedly.
âWhatâs going on?â
âSorry,â Minho replies, shoving past her with Joon in his arms. âI have to go. We can work on our project another time.â
Your heart drops at the words- project. Project, as in a project for his university. With a classmate.
You want to cry more now, for being so stupidly angry with him over nothing, but you still have to help Minho take Joon to the clinic. Sujin doesnât protest, quick to exit without so much as a goodbye as Minho scrambles to fetch Joonâs car seat.
âIâll get him in the car seat,â you say, pulling your sneakers on as he balances Joon in his arms.
âYouâre coming?â
âOf course Iâm coming,â you scoff, already taking Joon from his arms and ushering him outside. âGo start the car.â
*
âLee?â A nurse calls, holding a clipboard close to her chest as she scans the waiting room.
You and Minho both stand up, Minho balancing Joon in his arms as the nurse gestures you to the door.
âPlease, follow me.â
Both of you walk side-by-side down the corridor as she double-checks papers on her clipboard, making a sharp right and leading you into a private room.
Minho sets Joon down on the examination table, holding his arms to steady him, and you stand beside him as you wait for the doctor.
âSheâs just reviewing the results,â the nurse says, referring to the x-rays Joon took earlier. âSheâll be in shortly to discuss them.â
Minho nods silently as the nurse leaves the room, leaving the two of you alone once again. You say nothing, unsure of how to break the awkward silence as Minho wipes a string of drool from Joonâs mouth and avoids eye contact with you.
You feel awkward, embarrassed and so, so stupid, for having treated Minho like absolute scum because you assumed the worst of him. It breaks you to see him avert your gaze like this, treating you the same way he did when you first crossed paths. He has his guard completely up again, and youâre not sure heâs ever going to let it down around you. As you lose yourself in doubtful thoughts, the door opens, Joonâs doctor sauntering inside and wiping her hands with the strong scent of hand sanitizer.
âHi there,â she says cheerfully, giving you both a warm smile. âAre we here for baby Joon today?â
âYes,â you both say in unison, and she laughs a little.
âYou two are very synced. They say it happens in the first year of marriage.â
âWeâre not married,â Minho chimes in quickly, and you turn to look at him, feeling a pit in your stomach all over again.
âNo?â She questions. âMy apologies. Is mom here today?â
âIâm just his babysitter,â you say quietly. âThis is his brother.â
âI see,â the doctor says, eyeing you both. âWell you may notice Iâm fairly calm, and thatâs because thereâs no terrible news I have to share. Baby Joon is just suffering from a little mucus buildup. Heâs probably feeling the impaction, and the discomfort has caused a loss of appetite.â
You feel a weight off your shoulders instantly, relieved that this isnât a more serious matter. Heâs going to be fine, you think to yourself. Heâs going to be his normal self as soon as this is over.
â⊠Just be sure to use a syringe to drain the mucus a couple times per day, and make sure he gets plenty of sleep.â
As the doctor writes Joon a prescription for his saline syringe, you catch Minhoâs gaze briefly, shooting him a relieved look. He gives you a small nod in response, as if to say heâs glad you came along. And he is, he just canât say it out loud.
*
âI think heâs finally sleeping,â Minho says, patting Joonâs back gently as he stands up from his chair. The two of you have been sat in the library for nearly two hours since getting back home, in complete silence as you read your books and wait for Joon to fall asleep. You take breaks every now and then to drain Joonâs mucus, alternating roles between holding his face still and using the syringe on him. And when heâs finally comfortable again, he dozes back off to sleep, little snores escaping his lips.
Minho leaves the room to put Joon to bed, and while heâs gone, you take the opportunity to pack your stuff and prepare to leave for the night. You feel guilty, not having said much to Minho this evening, especially with the newfound knowledge that this mystery woman was just a partner for his project. But youâre not sure what to say, well aware that heâs probably already decided you hate him, and thereâs not much else you can do to fix things.
âHeâs down,â Minho says as he re-enters the library.
âThatâs good,â you reply with a solemn smile, packing your laptop in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.
âI should get going.â
âDo you⊠need me to walk you?â Minho asks a little shyly, and although the offer is tempting, you shake your head no.
âIâll be fine. Itâs really not as unsafe as youâd think.â
Minho just nods, understanding that you still donât want to be close to him. And he gives you a little bow, before he exits the room and makes his way up the stairs to his own.
As you begin to leave, an object left on the chair across from you catches your eye.
Itâs Minhoâs book- the first edition copy of Love and Limerence you gifted him. You take the small book in your hands, scanning its contents briefly and examining the pages. Heâs already annotated several of them, despite having read the book numerous times now, and you canât help but smile at his scribbled notes circling all his favorite quotes and underlining them twice. You know itâs valuable to him, despite coming from somebody he probably despises right now, but you decide to take it up to him anyway, not wanting him to lose it.
When youâre outside his door, you give a small knock as itâs left ajar, and Minho hums in response.
You enter quietly, holding the book out to him and shooting him a small smile.
âYou left this downstairs,â you say, and Minho reaches for it quickly, embarrassed you mightâve seen some of his annotations.
âThanks,â he replies, setting it back on his bookshelf of romance novels.
He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, patting the spot next to him, and you join him at a comfortable distance as he keeps his gaze on the hardwood floor.
For a moment, no one says anything. And then he sighs deeply, before finally speaking.
âIâm sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.â
âYou didnât,â youâre quick to reply.
âI clearly did,â Minho retorts. âAnd I know Iâm quiet, and I kind of shut myself off from the rest of the world. But I never meant for it to affect you.â
âIt didnât affect me,â you reiterate.
He scoffs lightly in response.
âWhy wonât you just say it? You havenât talked to me in weeks. You donât even look at me. I clearly did something to push you away.â
You donât reply immediately, pondering what to say. And ultimately, you let your emotions speak for themselves.
âI was jealous.â
âOf what?â
âOf the girl. The one whoâs been here almost every night.â
âSujin?â
âLook, I donât know, okay? I donât know who she is or what she is to you-â
âMy project partner,â Minho interrupts. âOne who hates my guts.â
âProject partner,â you continue. âIt doesnât matter who she is- I like you, Minho,â you finally emphasize, turning to meet his gaze. His lips are parted in shock, his eyebrows furrowed as he hears you speak.
âIâm fucking infatuated with you, and it drives me crazy. I canât go on vacation without seeing you in the books at the stores, I canât sleep at night without your stupid theories replaying in my head. And I jump to the worst possible conclusions when youâre even near another girl. Iâm going crazy trying to be liked by you- trying to look at everything through the lens of your romance theories or your book quotes, or whatever. But itâs so scary to like someone this much.â
Minho says nothing for a minute, collecting his thoughts as you let go of the breath youâve been holding. Heâs not used to people liking him- let alone being this intrigued by him. And especially when itâs in the form of reciprocation, from the one person heâs infatuated with, too.
âWhy is it scary?â Minho questions, facing you now, his eyes darting briefly over your lips and then back up to your worried gaze.
âBecause Iâm here for a job. Iâm not supposed to be feeling all this. Youâre not supposed to be part of this.â
âHow do you know that?â Minho retorts, leaning in a little closer to you now.
âI justâŠâ
âYouâre allowed to feel, y/n. Youâre allowed to want this.â
And before you can protest his words, his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately like heâs pacifying the arguments before they can come to fruition. Your heart beats erratically in your chest, your mind racing with a million thoughts about what youâre doing, and what this whole thing even implies, but you shut them out with the rest of your concerns, pressing your thighs together as he brings two hands to your face and cups your chin gently. His lips work against yours so beautifully, so effortlessly, like the two of you have done this several times before. And maybe you have, in all his alternate universe theories- on your honeymoon, on the run from the police- right here in the comfort of his grand bedroom, his hands snaking up to pull off your cardigan as you tug desperately at the fabric of his t-shirt. Minho says nothing between passionate kisses, afraid if he talks you might realize whatâs happening and leave. But you wonât leave, especially not when youâve been dreaming of this, too.
When your cardigan is off, Minho moves a little closer to you on the bed, letting one hand guide itself onto your waist and trace the gentle curve of your body there. Heâs delicate with his movements, careful not to startle you with his touches, but heâs also admittedly thought about this for weeks. The thought of you confessing was never something that crossed his mind- he was so sure heâd driven you away after that night. Never in his wildest fantasies had Minho considered the possibility that you were this smitten with him, too. But he did have thoughts of your lips on his, thoughts of your hands intertwined with his and ungodly visions of you under him, right here in his bed. Visions of his mouth on your breasts after youâd accidentally exposed yourself to him in the kitchen and he was forced to give attention to the massive erection that grew in his pants. And after youâd gifted him his favorite book, attentive to the details heâd indulged you in which he never otherwise shared with people, visions of making love to you ran rampant in his mind, filling you up over and over again with remnants of him as a form of saying Iâm infatuated with you, too.
Minhoâs kisses become needier as your words replay in his head, darting his tongue out to dance against yours with the sounds of exchanging saliva present between your plump, eager lips. He pushes you back gently so that youâre now lying on his pillow, the angle so intimate, the view of his room from here like something youâre not supposed to see. The ceilings appear even larger when youâre flat against his bed, the curtains that drape over his bedpost seemingly miles high.
Minhoâs kisses trail down to your neck now, eagerly peppering your flesh in wet kisses as your hands reach up to tangle in his hair, holding him closer to you and letting him graze his lips wherever he desires. You canât help but feel guilty having him all over you like this when you remember how youâve treated him these past couple months- criticizing his tendencies to be quiet, intruding on his space and pushing him away because of a girl youâd assumed to be his girlfriend. But you also know most of it has been because you want him to mean more to you- perhaps youâve just been trying to change things so that in this version of the universe, heâs not just an enigma to you. You want all of this- his lips on yours, his body pressed into you and to give yourself completely to him.
âJust so weâre clear,â Minho says suddenly, pulling away from you to hold eye contact with you. âIâm crazy about you, too. I really like you.â
And you canât help but smile back in response, pulling him in again to press his lips on yours. He smiles into the kiss, too, satisfied youâre both on the same page. And although your now eager movements imply something more is about to happen, you donât have to verbalize anything, his fingers snaking up your shirt serving as answer enough.
âIs this okay?â Minho asks, grazing your flesh with his big hands as he toys with the hem of your shirt.
You nod in response, sitting up a little and completing the task of pulling it off over your head and discarding it beside you. You waste no time on your bra, either, reaching around to unclasp it and rid yourself of the fabric without him having to ask. His eyes widen again at the sight, having remembered every curve of your body since that incident in the kitchen. But now in front of him again, he feels his cock swell in his pants, desperate to act on the urge. In nimble movements, his hand cups the mound of your breast, kneading it gently and sighing at the sensation of your soft skin against his. His mouth finds yours again, indulging you in a slow, passionate kiss, and then he trails down until he meets his hand at the mound of your breast, pressing a chaste kiss to your flesh before finally latching his lips around your nipple.
He starts with gentle kisses while your nipple rests between his lips, a string of saliva dribbling down to coat your hardened bud. And then he takes it between his lips with more force, beginning a gentle sucking motion as he gives your other nipple attention with his free hand, circling the tip with his thumb in tender movements.
You sigh beneath him, the sensation sending a shiver up your core, your nipples hardening even more in his touch, now eager for him to give your soaking core some attention. But he takes his time stimulating you, moving to your other breast to take your nipple in his mouth and leave a trail of saliva. Your body shivers when the cool air grazes your wet nipples as he pulls away, and he meets your lips again to kiss you passionately.
While he kisses you, your hands now toy with the hem of his shirt too, signifying for him to take it off. And Minho reciprocates with a little nod, finally pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his bare chest to you. Itâs a marvelous sight to see more of his honey-tanned skin, his toned muscles and his broad pectorals practically begging for you to touch them. And just above his stomach, a horizontal pale pink scar, one that he eyes momentarily and then gives you a shy shrug.
You run your fingers along the scar briefly, tracing it in its entirety and bringing your hand up to caress his face.
âI didnât think I could be any more attracted to you,â you say to him sheepishly, tracing the scar again. âYou look like the poetry youâre so obsessed with.â
Minho feels an involuntary smile pulling at his face as he leans in to kiss you again, this time intent on giving himself fully to you the way you deserve.
Your kisses both grow hungrier, needier, as your bodies tangle into each other, and Minho loops a finger into the hem of your panties, tugging them down so that he has access to your sopping cunt. As your hands tangle further into his soft brown hair, his finger traces down the length of your stomach, dipping into every curve and over every inch of flesh he only got a brief sight of. And when he finds your mound, you arch up into him, parting your legs slightly to give him access. Minho doesnât waste another second, attaching the pads of his fingers to your clit and working you in circular motions as he kisses you. Little gasps escape your mouth as he does, breathing heavily into his kisses and grinding your core closer to him as he quickens his pace, smearing your arousal around your aching clit and circling two fingers around to massage you gently. His cock is now fully erect against his abdomen, prodding into your upper thigh as he trails his kisses down your neck again, but heâs patient, forgiving with his movements, eager to pleasure you first.
As his kisses graze your neck, you tug his boxers over his cock, pulling them down so youâre equal parts undressed. Minho winces a little at the sensation, a bead of precum already dripping down the head of his cock, and you feel yourself clench around nothing at just the sight of him hard for you.
When he takes note of your anticipation, he glances down at his own erection, locking his gaze with yours again as if to confirm again that this is okay. You nod in response, reaching your hands around to loop them behind his neck and pull him a little closer. And then your gaze falls to his cock again, waiting for him to make the next move.
The two of you say nothing as Minhoâs hand finds the base of his cock, pumping himself gently before leaning in to kiss you. He lets himself hover closer over you, until his cock is kissing your entrance in the same gentle, wet movements as your lips. You lift your leg up slightly to grant him access, and then in gentle movements as your eyes remain shut, you feel him push his tip inside of you, stretching you out around his girth and causing you to gasp. Heâs bigger than you anticipated, even the dripping arousal of your cunt having trouble taking him wholly. But he brings his fingers down to your clit again, massaging you slowly to ease the pain. And it works, your body relaxing around him as he pulls back a little and thrusts in again, this time pushing further until heâs completely bottomed out inside of you. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, his cock pulsating inside of you as he holds it there, feeling every inch of you clench around him and take him so well now. And then with a gentle kiss to your lips, he begins to move, his hips pulling back slowly to thrust back inside of you.
You feel so full of him, having him exactly as youâd always imagined him- circling your thoughts, hovering over you and finally inside of you, his cock brushing against your cervix so delicately with every thrust. Your labored breaths become one as you pant into each otherâs mouths with overwhelming pleasure. Minho steadies himself with one hand on the mattress beside you, quickening his pace a little as he feels his cock twitch inside of you in response to a particularly pornographic moan of yours.
âFuck,â he breathes, shutting his eyes as he continues to slip in and out of your soaking cunt. âYouâre so full of me, arenât you?â
He brings his lips to your neck again, nibbling the flesh between his teeth and letting it bruise as you moan beneath him.
âIâve thought about you everyday,â you respond, angling his lips to yours again as he fucks you. âIâve thought about this so many times.â
âYeah?â Minho says with a satisfied smile, working circles back onto your clit.
âYes,â you breathe back, toying with his hair as your arms wrap around his neck. âI wanted you to fuck me like the characters in your romance novels.â
Minho feels his cock twitch again, wincing and slowing his pace so as not to finish just yet.
âI canât help it,â you whimper underneath him. âI think about you all the time. I think about you fucking me all the time.â
Minho intertwines his hand with yours, pressing it down on your abdomen and letting yourself feel when his bulge fills you up at every thrust, the motion visible beneath your palms.
âFeel that, baby?â He asks between kisses to your drooly lips. âFeel how good I fuck you? Is this what you imagined?â
You gasp at the sensation once you feel it, the bulge of his cock protruding against your palm with every pump inside of you. You nod breathlessly, almost unable to reply to his words now.
âI imagined it, too,â he says, picking up his pace now. âYou donât know how badly I wanted to bend you over the couch and fuck you right there the moment I met you.â
He groans a little as you clench around him and moan in response.
âMinho,â you say breathlessly, not missing the way his cock twitches inside of you once again. âWill you finish inside of me?â
He pauses for a moment, scanning your expression for a sign of whether or not youâre being serious.
âPlease,â you beg, as if reading his thoughts. âIâm on birth control. Just want to feel your seed inside of me.â
He shuts his eyes briefly as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in a little closer.
âAre you sure itâs okay?â Minho asks, locking his gaze on yours again. âI want to, but I want you to be sure about it.â
âIâm sure,â you say quickly, the last syllable hitching in the back of your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. âPlease, just wanna feel you fill me up.â
He thrusts harder into you now, the room teeming with the squelching noises of your pussy taking him so effortlessly.
âYou like it when we play house like this, huh?â He says, wrapping a hand gently around your throat. âYou like imagining me as your husband, donât you? Fucking you like weâre married?â
And it doesnât take you more than a second to think before youâre nodding desperately at his words. You do love it, this sense of belonging when youâre in the Lee household. But you also get aroused at this second life you lead alongside him, caring for the baby like itâs one of yours and being fucked by Minho when no one else is around to hear your lewd moans.
âYes,â you reply, your response muffled by his grasp on your throat. âYou make such a good dad.â
âWeâd make such good parents,â he emphasizes, kissing you breathlessly. âWhat do you say I fuck a baby into you and we find out for real?â
You feel yourself contract around his girth at the words, not having considered it seriously, but turned on at the idea of carrying a child just for him.
âIs that what you want?â Minho asks, nearing his orgasm as he thrusts even faster into you now, panting into your mouth above you.
âYes,â you reply with a whimper. âWant you to fill me up so bad.â
âYeah?â He cuts you off, pressing your abdomen harder with his hand. âIâm gonna cum, baby. Want you to feel it.â
Your senses hone in on the feeling of your palm over his bulge, pulsating rhythmically as he nears his orgasm.
âIâm cumming, fuck, Iâm gonna finish,â Minho says, shutting his eyes in pleasure as he moves at his fastest pace now, his grip around your throat holding you steady as you lose yourself underneath him. Heâs never finished inside someone before, but he has no intention of pulling out now, the conversation of impregnating you sending him over the edge as he reaches the cusp of his release.
You contract around his breathlessly now, eager to take his load, never having taken someoneâs either, but desperate for Minho to be your first.
And with a few more harsh thrusts, Minhoâs cock twitches once inside of you, finally letting out a generous load of his cum inside of you, the gush of his release filling you up so fully, the warm sensation of his milky white release thrusting deep inside of your pussy as he fucks the rest into you.
He feels his head spin, his eyes shutting instinctively at the sensation as he lets go fully inside of you, no urgency to pull out or stave off his release like he usually has to. And it takes a while before heâs begun to soften again, the knowledge of giving you his cum almost rousing him again and lengthening the period of his release inside of you. Minho already knows heâs going to be addicted to finishing inside of you from here on out- and he doesnât want it any other way.
The warm feeling is all it takes for you to finish in mere seconds, contracting around him as he fucks you through his orgasm, your release mixing with his and dribbling down the side of your thighs as he begins to slow down. Minho doesnât pull out immediately, instead caressing your face to gauge your reaction as he softens inside of you.
âWas it okay?â Minho queries, tucking sweaty strands of hair behind your ears and loosening his grasp on your throat.
âIt was more than okay,â you say breathlessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he smiles down at you. âI feel so full of you.â
Minho kisses you sweetly, rubbing his thumb along your hand soothingly as he pulls out of you, a string of his cum connecting to you still and dribbling onto the sheets as he rolls over to lay on his side.
For a moment, the two of you say nothing, your chests rising and falling as you catch your breath and ponder the dayâs events. Itâs not what you expected was going to happen when you saw yourself up to his room again, but it is what youâd hoped would happen eventually. And the atmosphere feels much lighter around you now, completely void of the lingering sexual and emotional tension thatâs plagued you for so long.
âMinho?â you say quietly.
âYeah?â
âPhilosophically speaking, how many versions of us do you think are lying next to each other like this, right now?â
Minho thinks over your words for a moment, and then he chuckles lightly.
âWell if the universe was conditioned right, Iâd hope for an infinite amount. But considering how long it took us to get here in this version, Iâd say just one.â
And he sits up, leaning in for another kiss as two fingers tuck his arousal further into you, holding his release inside of your still-sensitive body.
*
âHave some bacon, honey,â Mrs. Lee says to you as she scrambles to get her things together for the day. âI made a lot, so help yourself.â
âThanks,â you reply, strapping Joon into his high chair and smoothing down your skirt.
Ever since that evening, you and Minho have been inseparable. The two of you wait until Mrs. Lee is gone for the morning, desperately grabbing at each other and giggling between kisses until Minho has to leave for his classes. And when he returns, itâs much of the same, the two of you helping put Joon down for his afternoon nap before escaping up to his bedroom and making love until Joon wakes again.
Minho is completely and utterly obsessed with you, the same way you are with him, but you both know this game of house you play canât go on forever. Mostly because you feel the guilt eating away at you day by day, every waking minute youâre tending to your duties as a babysitter or conversing with Mrs. Lee. Itâs hard to be in the same room as Minho when sheâs around, the urge to just confess even more present when she attempts to facilitate conversation between the two of you and youâre forced to act like heâs still a mystery.
But you have him more figured out than you ever have before, memorizing the freckles on his body like the back of your hand, reciting his favorite quotes like prayers and replaying the melodic giggles that escape his lips. You donât want to be apart from him, but the point still stands- itâs scary to like someone this much. He consumes you more than he ever has before, filling every waking second of your life with remnants of him. You love when he reads romantic philosophical theories to you, or when he cooks you and Joon dinner after a long day. But you feel guilty when youâre alone with Joon again, hoping he canât somehow tell that youâre only thinking of his brother when youâre preparing his bottles or feeding him. You hope Mrs. Lee doesnât notice when your hair is a little too tousled to have just been from a nap, or the time you had to cross your legs to keep Minhoâs release inside of you when the two of you had finished just in time for her to make it home. Itâs selfish, and itâs unfair. And with no sign of this fling stopping anytime soon, you donât see any other option to be fit.
âIâm leaving,â Mrs. Lee finally says, grabbing her car keys off the kitchen table and pulling her heels on. âMake sure to get Joon his medicine!â
The two of you watch as she shuts the front door behind her, and then you wait until her car starts, holding your breath as she pulls out of the driveway and begins down the street in what feels like an agonizing amount of time.
The minute sheâs gone, Minho turns to you again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you lean back against the counter.
âMorning,â he says with a shy smile. He wastes no time leaning in for a romantic kiss, which you reciprocate, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling into him.
When he pulls away, the two of you say nothing, holding each other in a comfortable embrace as he rubs little circles into the small of your back.
âI guess itâs just mom and dad home right now,â he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. âIâll ditch class right now if you want me to fill you up again.â
And his offer is tempting as he presses his erection into you, working more kisses down the nape of your neck and trailing his hands up your skirt.
âNo,â you finally say, pushing him away and collecting your thoughts. âYou need to get to class. I have a lot of stuff to do. Iâm working, in case you forgot.â
âOkay, okay,â Minho says, holding his hands up in surrender. âI digress.â
He pulls back to caress your face with a visible smirk as your eyes graze his thighs, so beautifully sculpted under the fabric of his jeans. Youâre not sure youâve ever been so sinfully tempted by somebody before, like Eve to the apple, like a moth to a flame- heâs intoxicating, but you know you shouldnât be indulging this while youâre here to fulfill your role as a babysitter.
âYou should go,â you say to him, swallowing nervously as his hands trace the outline of your lips.
âYeah,â Minho replies, a hint of disappointment present in his voice.
And without another word, he gathers his car keys off the table, sending you off with a little wave as he disappears for the day.
You may have Minho mostly figured out now- his fascination with romance and philosophy, his soft interior under the stoic exterior he presents everyone else with, his astounding levels of emotional intelligence and unwavering kindness for the people he loves. But now that things have become a little more complicated between the two of you, you fear all of this will come to an end as fortuitously as it all began.
The reality is, this isnât one of Minhoâs romance novels- youâre both real people, with emotions and convictions and reservations. And though you want this fleeting thing to last forever, youâre well aware that things donât work that way, especially when youâre just a babysitter at the end of it all. Sure, Minho sees you as much more than that- but you were hired to be here in the Lee household, paid to fulfill your role here, and once this comes to an end, your relationship with Minho likely will, too.
⊠and thus, the decision to quit your job isnât one you take lightly. It succeeds hours of thinking, weighing your options and planning out exactly what youâre going to tell Mrs. Lee when she asks why youâre leaving so suddenly. You want to do another internship, you decide on telling her, hoping she doesnât poke enough holes to get the truth out of you- âI think far too much about your eldest son and itâs eating me alive.â
*
All day long, you try your best to shut Minho out of your thoughts, focusing on your online courses and caring for Joon like you used to. But it feels futile, this task of pretending things are the way they used to be. Theyâre not- youâre sneaking behind Mrs. Leeâs back and hooking up with her eldest son. When allâs said and done, youâll be right back in your own home, with your parents desperate to send you elsewhere once again, and your own life to tend to. This double life you romanticize isnât real, nor is it attainable anymore.
Your phone call with Mrs. Lee to announce your decision doesnât set anything in stone yet, her words urging you to speak with her later this week when she has some free time. But you know once you do speak with her, youâll only have a few evenings left with Minho until this is all over. And you donât have the heart to tell him just yet, but if things go anything the way they did when you first brought it up to him, you know heâs going to be heartbroken.
When Minho arrives home that evening, he can already sense something is wrong. Youâre sat in the garden, where you typically donât go, your legs crossed neatly over one of the sunlounger chairs as you let your thoughts consume you. Mrs. Leeâs koi fish fountain stands nobly in front of you, a robust stream of water trickling from its lips and into the concrete bowl below. Youâre mesmerized by it as you always are, the steady sound of water coupled with the birds chirping in the sunny greenery around you as peaceful as ever.
âHey,â Minho says, sliding open the screen door and stepping outside to meet you.
âHi,â you reply, holding a hand up over you to shield your eyes from the sun. Youâd forgotten how divine he looked today, his white button up now folded up at the sleeves and exposing his veiny forearms to you.
âHow was your day?â Minho asks, pressing a small kiss to your temple as he occupies the spot beside you and stares at the fountain.
âOkay,â you respond, though youâre lying through your teeth. âJoon went down about an hour ago.â
Minho nods, and then he furrows his brows together as he speaks again.
âWhy are you out here?â
You shrug in response, keeping short with your words as he pushes you for answers. And you want to tell him itâs because you made the most painful decision to call Mrs. Lee and forfeit all of this, but you know itâll only hurt more, so you divert from the truth.
âIt was stuffy inside,â you voice back, shooting him a small smile.
Minho seems to relax beside you, his shoulders sagging a little as he takes notice of your calm demeanor. He doesnât have reason to believe anythingâs wrong, judging by the way you converse so casually.
âYou want me to cook you something?â Minho asks, placing his palm up next to you, and you let your hand intertwine with his.
âWill you read to me?â You ask, eager to indulge in your favorite activity alongside him.
âI can read to you,â Minho echoes back, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. âWhich book?â
Youâre both in the cozy atmosphere of the library later that evening, Minho sat on his favorite velvet armchair as you occupy a spot in his lap with his arms wrapped around you. The book is positioned in front of him so you can both see, his fingers holding open the thin pages as the poetry leaves his lips, pausing in between lines to press kisses to the crook of your neck when heâs reminded of you in his favorite characters.
And you hold back tears in the moment, wanting so badly to tell Minho that youâll be letting go of all of this, running back to the monotony of your old life, one where Minho doesnât exist and you donât have to balance the complicated feelings of liking someone to this degree. But you bite back your words, careful not to ruin the intimate moment you share while he loves you in an ignorant state of bliss.
âThe pleasures of love are always in proportion to the fear,â Minho begins a new chapter, grazing your neck with his lips.
He trails a bit lower to graze your shoulder now, pressing a small trail of kisses as he pauses his reading. You giggle softly in response, feeling his fingers find the strap of your tank top to pull it down your shoulder so he can pepper kisses there, too.
âMinho,â you say softly, writhing in his embrace as he tickles every inch of your skin with his kisses, now shutting the book and setting it on the arm of the chair.
âCanât help it,â Minho responds, shutting his eyes as he snakes his hands up the back of your tank top. âYou look so beautiful right now.â
As you adjust in his lap, you can feel heâs now rock-hard in his jeans below you, his thighs flexing underneath you as he wraps two hands around your waist and runs them up and down your sides. You take the hint, turning around in his lap to face him, and let your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself.
âWhat are you thinking about?â Minho asks, bringing his lips to yours as he feels his hardened cock graze against the fabric of his jeans, eager to pleasure you.
You want to express your fears, your doubts, to tell him the truth about what you spoke about on the phone with Mrs. Lee earlier today. But you canât, not when he looks so tantalizing in front of you like this, his bulge perfectly outlined in his tight jeans and his veiny arms flexing below the fabric of his collared button-up. Youâve been roused for him since he left in the morning, his offer swirling your mind coupled with his appearance, like something out of a wet dream.
âYou,â you voice back, whimpering pathetically into another kiss and rocking your hips gently over him so that heâs practically whimpering for you, too.
Neither of you have to say much, knowing already where the evening is headed, as you unzip his pants and palm his erection through the fabric of his boxers. Minho watches as you slide off his lap, dropping to your knees in front of him and tugging the fabric of his jeans. He complies with your urges, pulling them down to his knees and freeing his erection from his boxers, exhaling deeply as the cool breeze of the room grazes his leaking tip.
Without a second to waste, you take him in your mouth, letting your saliva coat his shaft as you kiss his tip tenderly and then guide him down your throat, the base of his cock just barely meeting your lips as you struggle to take him fully. Minho groans at the contact, bucking his hips off the chair to guide himself further into you, feeling his cock twitch when you gag a little at the contact. You stay like that for a good while, bobbing your head in rhythmic motions up and down his hardened length, your saliva allowing you to graze his shaft with ease.
Minhoâs thighs contract desperately below him, trying his best to stave off the orgasm heâs been longing for since the moment he saw you this morning. His hands find your hair, pulling your locks into a makeshift ponytail and gasping as you take him a bit deeper now, pulling back again to pepper the tip of his wettened cock in drooly kisses.
âFuck,â Minho breathes out, clutching the arm of the chair so desperately. âBaby, stop, I donât want to finish yet,â
And you release him with a gentle pop, knowing exactly what it is he wants so badly. You never deny it, sitting back up again to position yourself over his cock you intertwine his hands with yours. He uses one hand to tug your panties to the side, and then in one swift motion, you guide his cock inside of you, sliding down the slick of his length and bottoming out with ease. You take him so well now, always able to adjust to his girth instantly as your cunt is always dripping in anticipation when heâs near.
Minhoâs hand moves to push your tank top up, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking harshly as you begin to bounce on him with gentle movements. The room fills with sounds of panting, sucking and desperate moans as his cock fills you fully with every thrust, brushing against your cervix as he moves to your other nipple and kneads your breast desperately.
âWhat was that quote again?â You ask in labored breaths as he comes back up to kiss your lips.
âThe pleasures of love,â he begins, breathlessly working his lips against yours as you clench around his length. âAre always in proportion to the fear.â
Minho feels his cock twitch inside of you, always nearing his finish much faster when you make him recite all his favorite quotes and book excerpts to you.
Except this one speaks much louder to you, directly aligning with your present-day emotions, circling your mind relentlessly as he fills you. Maybe this is what his book speaks of- the pleasures of love, being filled so fully and lovingly by Minho, two pieces of one whole like youâre both made for this, to make love into the late hours of the night while he recites poetry to you.
And all of this in proportion to the fear- this constant fear that heâs just a fleeting entity, that youâre both naive to play house like this and pretend itâs anything more. The fear present while youâre sneaking behind Mrs. Leeâs back, letting him fuck you like heâs married to you and indulge you in all of his deepest secrets, as though youâre the only one allowed to know him this intimately.
The love and fear and indeed in proportion to one another- you love him as much as youâre afraid of loving him.
âI love you,â you say suddenly, bringing him in for another kiss before he can respond. But the way his kisses work against yours, hungry and passionate, thereâs not a hint of reluctance in his response when he pulls away to speak again.
âI love you,â Minho breathes back, working his kisses against yours as his cock pulsates inside of you, desperate for release. âAnd I hope every version of the universe is conditioned for us to be right here.â
You smile into him, slowing your movements as you feel him contract inside of you, and then his thighs flex as he finally finishes inside of you, shooting hot white ropes of his cum into your still-clenching cunt, his release already beginning to dribble back down his length as he feels you slow down over him.
You bring a hand between the two of you, gathering his cum on the pads of your fingers to circle your clit in gentle movements, stimulating yourself to your release, too, as you contract desperately around him and breathe labored kisses back into his mouth. Your juices mix with his as you catch your breath, keeping him inside of you as your chest rises and falls with gentle movements. But the two of you say nothing, pressing your lips together to indulge in more passionate kisses for the few minutes you have left before Mrs. Lee makes it home for the evening.
*
The garden is particularly beautiful the next afternoon, teeming with the sounds of birds chirping and trees swaying in the gentle autumn breeze. Mrs. Lee let you know sheâd be home a little earlier to have a chat about your decision to leave, and when Joon is put down for his afternoon nap, you receive the call that sheâs in the garden waiting for you. You enter hesitantly, worried Minho might catch you and question what youâre doing out here. But heâs not home from school yet, you remind yourself, glancing around the tall grass and neat rows of potted plants for Mrs. Lee.
âY/n!â A voice calls from one of the patio chairs. âCome, sit!â
Mrs. Lee sits with her back facing you, a large white sun hat atop her neatly styled hair and complementing her matching white jumpsuit. Her gaze remains locked on the koi fountain youâre always transfixed by, too.
âHi Mrs. Lee,â you say, giving her a small bow as you take the seat next to her. âItâs a pleasure to see you again.â
She nods with a smile. âSo good to see you when we have a little more time. Iâm sorry Iâm always such a mess in the mornings.â
You shake your head quickly, brushing off her words. âNot at all! Itâs always nice to greet the family before I start my day.â
She just smiles in response, turning to nod at you, and then she turns back to the fountain.
âI was a little surprised when you called the other day. I hope things are going okay.â
âThey are,â you interrupt quickly. âThey absolutely are. Joon is so pleasant, and the job is great. I really love it here.â
âI hope everything at home is okay,â she moves on to say, and you quickly reassure her.
âYes, everything is fine! Everyone is doing great.â
âI understand,â Mrs. Lee says, eyeing the ground before turning to face you now. âYouâve done so much for us, Iâd be lying if I said Iâm not going to miss having you around here in the mornings.â
You shoot her a sympathetic look, feeling a pit form in your stomach, too. You feel the same, probably tenfold, at the idea of leaving behind the household youâve called home for so many days.
âIâm going to miss it here, too.â
âAnd I know Joon is going to be heartbroken,â Mrs. Lee says with a chuckle.
You chuckle too, giving her an understanding nod.
She pauses briefly, furrowing her brows together, before continuing her speech.
âYouâre such a bright young woman, and I know youâre destined to do amazing things. If thereâs a way I can help in this transition, please donât hesitate to let me know, okay?â
You nod at her words, and watch as she smooths down her top before standing up. She seems to wait for a moment, as if hoping for you to say something, and when you donât, she begins to make her way back inside.
âWell, Iâll let you go for the evening. Thank you again, for everything. And you have my phone number if-â
âMrs. Lee?â You call out suddenly, catching her before she can get much further. She turns around at the worry present in your voice, her face shifting into that of concern.
Without having to voice anything else, Mrs. Lee sits down again, waiting for you to continue. But you canât, your heart beating wildly in your chest at the thought of even bringing up the topic of Minho. Iâm in love with your son, you want to say to her. Iâm so in love with Minho and I hope you understand I donât have a choice but to leave this all behind me.
âYou know,â Mrs. Lee interrupts your thoughts, breaking the silence that fills the air. âThis koi fountain was my first gift from Mr. Lee.â
You nod at her, remembering when she introduced it to you on your first day here.
âWe werenât married yet. It was his first restoration project, and my dad hated him. So he had a lot of trouble getting it over to me.â
You chuckle lightly, amused at her story which seems to calm you down a little.
âLuckily his parents adored me,â she continues. âAnd they offered to house it in their backyard until we married. For the 15 years we dated, my koi fish lived in their garden. And when we did marry, they rented a big truck to help haul it over. It was such a project! But itâs my favorite part of the garden.â
You shoot her a saccharine smile, well endeared at the way she speaks of Mr. Lee. You can tell sheâs in love with him, even this many years later.
âSometimes I wondered why they would do something so nice for me. But as I grew closer to them, I learned not to question what was meant for me. They loved me, as did Mr. Lee. And I wasnât going to run from any of that, no matter what I felt I deserved.â
Your head snaps in her direction at her last words, realizing how they apply to you. But she doesnât know about Minho- at least not to your knowledge, or Minhoâs. She gives you a sheepish smile as you furrow your brows, and then she takes your hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze.
âI hope you won't run from what you deserve, either.â
You nod a little bit at her words, finally understanding the weight of them, and then you look back at her with a confused expression.
âMrs. Lee, are you talking aboutâŠâ
âMinho?â She finally says, with a warm smile. She takes your other hand in hers, too, tilting her face to yours so that sheâs making proper eye contact as she speaks.
âI had wondered why he was so happy these days. Minhoâs always been a bit of an outcast. But I havenât seen this spark in him since he started his obsession with all those romance novels and philosophy studies of his.â
You chuckle lightly, a weight off your shoulders as she finally speaks of what circles your mind so heavily.
âBut how did youâŠâ
âI knew it when I saw it,â she says. âI knew it, because he had the same look in his eyes as when I met his father.â
You feel your heart swell in your chest, your shoulders relaxing as she continues to speak.
âHe speaks of you like poetry,â she tells you. âAnd for that alone, Iâm thankful for you. Now what you choose to do is your decision- but I hope you know you will always have a home here with us. Not just as a babysitter, but as family.â
When Mrs. Lee finishes her speech, she gives your hands a little squeeze, smiling at you and back at the koi fish fountain. It feels much more sentimental to you even now, the beautiful waterfall that cascades serving as a reminder of its permanent restoration rooted in the infatuation Mr. Lee had for Mrs. Lee. And watching it stand so beautifully like it did all those years ago, youâre reminded that love can be a lasting thing, no matter the circumstances. The universe can condition itself to make things last, affirming the philosophical notions Minhoâs always told you. And that perhaps you do deserve this, a sense of belonging here in the Lee household, right here alongside Mrs. Lee and Minho, and even baby Joon.
As you watch the fountain together, the sound of the sliding door makes itself known behind you, and you turn around to find Minho entering the garden, baby Joon sitting comfortably in his arms as he makes his way over.
âHi,â Minho says, coming around to give Mrs. Lee a kiss on her cheek. âWhatâs going on here?â
He looks visibly worried, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Mrs. Lee, as if to silently ask you what sheâs told you.
But Mrs. Lee just smiles at him, as she gets up from where sheâs sitting and smooths down her jumpsuit.
âWe were just having a girl chat. Iâll leave you two alone.â
And she disappears behind the screen door again, shooting you a little wink as she does, her anecdote circling your mind, still.
âWhat happened?â Minho asks, settling down next to you and balancing baby Joon on his knee. Joon fists at the fabric of his shirt, babbling incoherently as you smile down at him.
âNothing,â you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. You refrain from saying anything about leaving, not wanting to interrupt the tender moment you share with Minho and Joon in the sunlight of the garden.
âYou have a really cool mom,â you settle on saying, smiling at Minho as he chuckles softly in response.
*
The afternoon sun beams through the glass windows of the library as you lie comfortably in Minhoâs lap, his book positioned in front of you as he presses a small kiss to the back of your hand before turning the page.
Outside, the birds chirp songs of early spring, the steady stream of Mrs. Leeâs koi fountain audible as you peer down at the garden.
Mr. and Mrs. Lee sit in the tall grass, fiddling with a box of tools as Mr. Lee repairs a new project for Mrs. Lee. This oneâs a much larger fountain, one heâd told you would take several months, perhaps even years. But Mrs. Lee sits beside him, relishing in stories of his restoration process and laughing with him as he works. You canât help but smile at the sight, her stories about him playing in your mind whenever you catch a glimpse of them together.
âDo you think they could be us in another universe?â You ask Minho, turning to face him as he peers out the window, too.
âI hope so,â he says with a smile.
You settle closer to him in his lap, pressing a small kiss to his hand as he continues reading.
âAnd think not that you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.â
At his words, you hear baby Joon cry out, having woken from his afternoon nap.
âIâll get him,â Minho says, shutting the book and setting it aside to go tend to the baby.
And as you peer back out the window, the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Leeâs laughter filling your ears, baby Joonâs voice calling to you, Minhoâs philosophy book perched on the chair beside you and the sun beams shining their light through the windows, you know that this is belonging, this is love.
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pieces of you
single dad!chan. x fem!reader
genre : neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. mutual pining. 8.7k wc
summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.
a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated đ€ the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!
winter falls masterlist.
i.Â
âI canât believe youâre making me do this.â
âShh, daddy smile.â
Soft murmurs linger just beyond your door, elusive words that could easily be dismissed as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks, jolting you from your momentary contemplation.Â
A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attireâa loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever's behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground in a soft descent.
âWhatââ the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She's clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand.Â
âHey there,â your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor's muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you.Â
âHi, my dad wants to tell you something,â she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure.Â
âYour dad?â
âMm. Heâs a bit shy, thatâs why heâs hiding,â she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth.Â
âAnd you arenât shy?â you inquire, tilting your head.Â
âNu-uh,â she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh.Â
She isn't shy because she feels protected.
You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes. Â
Heâs beautiful.Â
Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.
âSorry for bothering you,â a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.
âI'm your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually donât have flour,â he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips.Â
âYou didnât check beforehand?â you ask, laughter tinting your voice.Â
âI forgot,â he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.
âCan we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said itâs too cold out,â he asks, his hand resting on his daughterâs shoulder soothingly.Â
âIt is too cold out,â you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support.Â
âAnd of course, I'll bring you flour. Donât worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?â
âIt's okay, we'll wait here. Donât want to intrude.âÂ
âThank you!â Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display.Â
âYeah, thank you so muchâŠâ he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.
âYn. And you?â
âChris.â
âNice to meet you, Chris,â you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if youâre grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes canât behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within.Â
Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowonâs nose. âAnd nice to meet you too Rapunzel.âÂ
Your words make her hide behind her fatherâs leg, peeking out slightly to look at you.Â
âSee I'm not the only one who gets shy,â Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dadâs grey sweatpants.Â
Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being.Â
âShe gets a pass, she's still young, right Sowon?â
âAre you calling me old then?â Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowonâs back.Â
âOld enough to forget about flour,â you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers.Â
âTouchĂ©.âÂ
A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracksâ Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed.Â
âDid sheâŠâ you whisper and he turns to you.Â
âYeah, fell asleep,â he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. âSheâll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.â
âYou donât know how to make them?âÂ
âNo, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,â he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you.Â
âWell, keep the flour, in case you need it again.âÂ
âThank you, Yn,â he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you.Â
âYouâre welcome Chris,â you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move.Â
Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.
âUhm,â he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. âI'll get going.â
âYeah, sleep well, Chris.â
âThank you,â he smiles before turning around.Â
An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you wouldâve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen.Â
One hour laterÂ
You knock softly on Chrisâ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight.Â
âHi,â you greet, hands behind your back.Â
âHey,â he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind.Â
âCookies,â you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips.Â
âYou made them?âÂ
âYeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,â you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief.Â
âYou didn't have to do this,â he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears.Â
âI know. I wanted to. and I'm a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don't worry about it,â you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before.Â
âThank you, Yn, I donât even know what to say,â he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth.Â
âNo need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,â you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head.Â
âNo, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,â he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It's just them two.Â
âStudio?â you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both.Â
âI'm a music producer,â he clarifies. âI made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.âÂ
âI'm sure she appreciates that,â you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.
âIâŠ. I'll get going.â
âYeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.â
âI'll see you around.âÂ
âYeah, I'll see you,â he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it.Â
ii.Â
âCan you wait!â a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you.Â
You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chrisâ leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.
You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention.Â
âHey, Yn,â he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago.Â
âHey, Chris,â you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours.Â
âThe cookies were good,â he smiles softly and you grin. âI'm glad you think so.âÂ
âWhere is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.âÂ
The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.
âI can text you the address?â you propose.Â
âYeah, here,â he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screenâ their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.
âCute picture,â you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly.Â
âShe insists on trying her makeup on me.âÂ
âShe makes you look better,â you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek.Â
âShe wants to become a stylist,â he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.
âI find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,â he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying.Â
âLet me guess, she wants to use these on you?â
âYeah. She also said that I quote âneed to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.ââ He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her.Â
âShe has you wrapped around your finger,â you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten.Â
âShe can be very scary for such a little girl.âÂ
âWhat does she threaten you with?â you ask, feigning horror.Â
âNo goodnight kisses,â he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door.Â
âTorture,â you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch?Â
âUhm,â you clear your throat, âI can help you. with her hair, I mean.âÂ
âYou don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,â he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the worldâs burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend.Â
âI don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.âÂ
And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.
âThank you,â he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well.Â
âYouâre welcome. Let me just change my clothes.âÂ
âïžâêłâąâ
âAnd then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,â you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements.Â
âIt looks easy when you do it,â he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair.Â
âDo you like it,â you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth.Â
âPretty!â she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. âYou are pretty.â
âAnd you are pretty too. right, daddy?â
You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.
âVery much so,â he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours.Â
Sowon suddenly climbs on her dadâs lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest.Â
Were there red neon exits you werenât aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someoneâs hand, or to make everything you've ever wanted slip from your grasp?
âWhat do you think?â Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.
âI love it!â you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows.Â
âFun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,â he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly.Â
âDid you just roll your eyes at me?â he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. âDad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.âÂ
âOh, right,â he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, âthen, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?â
âWill you watch a movie later with me?â
âOf course, baby.â
âOkay then,â she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue.Â
âYou can stay and watch the movie with us.â
âIt's okay, I have some things to work on,â you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.Â
âAre you okay?â he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him.Â
âWeâre conditioned to say yes even when we arenât, right?â he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your bloodâ which one will reach your heart first and flood it?Â
Your facade cracks. His voice wins.Â
âSo, you don't have to reply now,â his thumb swipes once across your pulse. âBut I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.âÂ
iii.
Youâve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.
âShould I start buying groceries for you?â you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the worldâs eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years.Â
âFor my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,â he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him.Â
âJust with salt?â
âShe added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,â he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly.Â
Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.
It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You wouldâve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didnât know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris.Â
âCan you please come over,â you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.
âWhy are you whispering? are you okay?â he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didnât ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture.Â
âThere is a cockroach. a flying one,â you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp.Â
âI'm from Australia,â he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. âI've seen worse,â he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours.Â
He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. âI don't think I can sleep in there tonight,â you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, âwhy does it feel like we went through war?âÂ
âWe? You were behind my back all the time.â
 âI was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.â
 âI canât believe a cockroach scares you this much.â
 âYou literally screamed when it flied towards you too.â
 âI didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.â
 âMm, sure,â you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him.Â
And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night.Â
âLet's watch Tangled,â Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly.Â
âBaby, we watched this movie for the pastâŠâ he looks at you for support. âThree,â you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. âYeah, for the past three movie nights,â he whines slightly.
âBut I love it,â she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. âAgain! Again! Again!â
âFine,â he concedes, mouthing âsave me,â from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm naturally draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chrisâ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality sheâs ever known.
It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.
âShe fell asleep,â you whisper, tapping Chrisâ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter.Â
âI'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,â he says apologetically and you shake your head.Â
âI don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.âÂ
âAre you here just because of the movie?â he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. Heâs cold and hot, in and out, yours but not.Â
âWhat do you want me to be here for?â you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly.Â
âThe company.â
âI do find Sowon entertaining.â
âJust her?â he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back.Â
âAnd you too, I suppose, by extension.â
âBy extension, mm,â he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. âThen I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.â
âSo sassy,â you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, âI like your company too, idiot.âÂ
âYeah?â he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesnât care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near.Â
âYeah, Chris, I really do,â you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly.Â
He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. âYn,â she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek.Â
He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near.Â
Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece thatâll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps heâd let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay.Â
One week later.Â
You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your homeâs entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.
âSowon,â he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead dipped in alarm.Â
âSowon?â you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.
âYes, she has a high fever, and it wonât come down. I tried everything, and I-I donât know what to do anymore. Sheâs shaking, but I canâtââHe trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse. Â
âItâs okay,â you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. âLetâs go see her, okay?â
âIt's her first time being this sick,â he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair.Â
âIt's okay. Donât panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?â
âYes, a few minutes ago,â he replies as you guide him towards her room.
âGood, it'll start working soon,â you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.
âHey, Rapunzel,â you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.
âHow are you feeling?â you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.
âCold,â she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. âI know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?â
âI-Iâm shaking,â Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing.Â
âShh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,â you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.
âChris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?â you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.
âSure. Sure,â he repeats, scurrying out of the room.
Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.
âThank you,â you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Sowonâs knee gently.
âHey sweetheart,â he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face.Â
âHey daddy,â she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess.Â
âYou're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,â he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm.Â
The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems.Â
âI love you too,â she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowonâs eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling.Â
You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.
âIt's better now,â you smile reassuringly and Chrisâs eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter.Â
âWill she be okay?âÂ
âShe will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.âÂ
âOkay, thank you.âÂ
âCan we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?âÂ
âMm,â he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowonâs features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks.Â
"She looks just like you," you softly smile.
"I know," he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.
âChrisâŠâ you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up.Â
âLet's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,â he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode.Â
You get your answer soon afterâit takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chrisâs cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.
A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chrisâs hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.
You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.
The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.
Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak.Â
"Chris," you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on.Â
âI'm a horrible father,â he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himselfâan adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.
âYou're not, what are you saying?â you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze.Â
âI didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.â
âIt's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-â
âNo, no, no, it's not just about this!â he snaps, despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. âItâs hard. Itâs so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.âÂ
âYou're wrong,â you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. âChris, you're wrong,â you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears.Â
âYou love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.âÂ
âWhat if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?â he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away.Â
âShe loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.â
You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.
âIf I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,â you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat.Â
âYou won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,â you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. âTo be cared for.âÂ
Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak ofâ Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.
âI'm sorry,â he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek.Â
âWhy are you apologizing?âÂ
âSo you'd find a reason within you to forgive,â he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before.Â
Five days later.
chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?
yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years
chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs
chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didnât mean it like that ă
ă
Â
chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspiredÂ
yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help?Â
chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiringÂ
You donât reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock.Â
âWhat are you working on?â you ask once youâre settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. âA song for Sowon,â he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide.Â
âThat is so sweet,â you pout, inching closer to him. âHow is it going?â
âI've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.âÂ
âCan I read what you wrote?âÂ
âYeah. Yeah, sure,â he searches through his papers. âHere.â
May these words be the first to find your ears
The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here
I'll give you everything I have
I'll teach you everything I know
I promise I'll do better
I will soften every edge
I'll hold the world to its best
And I'll do better
Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart.Â
âI'm sorry,â you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and heâs kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago.Â
Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. âIs it so bad it made you sob?âÂ
âShut up, you know this isnât the case.âÂ
His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.
âTalk to me?âÂ
âIt's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,â a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. âEverything my parents never felt for me.âÂ
Chrisâ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes.Â
âI don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chanâs hold on your hands tightens. âIt stings to remember what couldâve been.âÂ
Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away?Â
âCome here,â he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own.Â
âYou grew up well, Yn. You did well.â
You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch.Â
âLove can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.âÂ
He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin.Â
âYouâre doing well too, Chris. You shouldnât doubt yourself as much,â your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. âSowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.â
âIs that what she told you that movie night?â
âPartly,â you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close.Â
âWhat else did she tell you?â he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.
You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.
âShe thanked me, said that I make you smile more.â You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. âDo I?âÂ
âThere are smile lines that donât show on my face until you're near.âÂ
âOh.â That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. âCute,â he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.
âSorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,â you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chrisâs laptop. âI wanna hear this,â you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.
âThis one? Itâs not really good, let's listen to something else,â his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.
connected.mp3 starts playing.Â
Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isnât you.Â
You wished to be the only one Chris liked.Â
âItâs a- a demo for one of my clients,â he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your bodyâs temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out.Â
So, you put on your best taunting smirk.
âI know you want me donât crumble.. No need to be desperate weâre just getting started,â you sing-song back. âYou were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?â you grin, inching your chair closer to his. âFeeling yourself, Mr. Bang?â
He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.
âItâs cute how affected you seem by it,â he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.
âI'm not,â you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. âI think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,â you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair.Â
âI was thinking of a pretty girl.â
âYeah?â
âMm,â he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. âThe prettiest.â
"Who is she?" you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of anger.
âyââ The door suddenly opens, Sowonâs small frame standing by the door, sheâs rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.
âDaddy, I can't sleep,â she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until sheâs buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.
âWant me to sing to you, sweetheart?â
âYes,â she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold.Â
âSleep well, Sowonnie,â you whisper.Â
âCanât you stay with us?â she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.
To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you arenât opposed to it.Â
You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could.Â
You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. âI'll stay till you fall asleep.âÂ
Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till youâre no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date.Â
iv.Â
Youâre avoiding him.Â
Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that youâre tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks.Â
Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chrisâ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh.Â
He misses you. He never thought heâd miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasnât a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up forâ one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory.Â
He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.
He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles awayâ your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you.Â
Heâd remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyesâ the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughterâs rambles.
How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?
âDad?â Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. Sheâs sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.
âYes, sweetheart?â he asks, walking over to her side.
âWhere is Ynnie?â she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.
âI don't know, baby.â
âDoes she not want to play with me anymore?â Sowon whispers, and he doesnât remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question.Â
âNo!â he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowonâs face between his much larger hands. âOf course not baby she loves you a lot.â
âOkayâŠâ she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.
âDo you wanna work in the studio with me?â he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. âYes!âÂ
âFinish your food first, okay Wonnie?âÂ
âOkay!âÂ
In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.
So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he wouldâve knocked much sooner.Â
âHi,â you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowonâs bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.
âYou're avoiding me,â he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.
âI'm not,â you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.
"Look at me, hm?" he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. "Yn, please, I want to look at you."
Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him.Â
And then you speak.
âYou asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,â you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. âDo you still want to know my answer?â
âOf course, always.â
âI'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,â you chuckle dryly, âbut it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I⊠I can't, I-â
âWhat if I ask you to stay?â he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.
Heâs as scared as you are.
âChrisâŠâ
âWhat if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,â he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. âWould you? Would you stay?â
âI'm terrified,â you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm.Â
âI know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.â
He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins.Â
âOkay.â
âOkay?â
âI'm staying.â
âYou are?â
âI am,â you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile.Â
âUm, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,â his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.
âThank you for asking me to stay.â
âYou made it less daunting,â he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. âI missed you.â
âI missed you too.â
He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. âWhy are you so nervous?â
âWhaaat? I'm not,â his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly.Â
âWhat happened to connected Chris?âÂ
âHe is flustered by the girl he wrote about.â
Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place.Â
âI think the girl should get paid for being the muse.â
âOh yeah?â he smirks, âI'll think about it.â His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. âLet's talk more tomorrow, okay?â
âOkay,â you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. âGood night, Chris.â
âGood night, yn.â
You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again.Â
you win.Â
âI forgot something,â he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck.Â
Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. âMy hope,â he whispers, as his lips find yours again, âmy missing piece.â
Heâs hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.
bonus (one year later).Â
âSo I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,â Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face.Â
âHow much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?â you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.
âAnd⊠Wait, where is the flour?â he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly.Â
âDaddy, you are really bad at groceries.â
âAm I?â he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chrisâ name.
âYes, itâs good Mom bought it,â she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both.Â
It's her first time calling you mom.Â
You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"
âYes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.â
âWhat happened to being a stylist?â
âI can't be both?â she frowns innocently.Â
âYou can be anything you want, princess.â you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.Â
In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.
Heâll propose to you tomorrow.
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đđđ đąđđđ! - stepdad!bang chan x fem!reader
wc: 10.2k
cw: chan is your mother's boyfriend and you want to fuck him, chan is 30 and reader is described to be younger & in college, lix is a menace, changbin is a moral compass, you do not care about morals, SMUT MDNI.
synopsis: you're home for the holidays, and your mother - who you can't stand - has a new, young, hot boyfriend. it's such a good idea trying to seduce him.. right?
a/n: it's so here <3 my first commission! i hope u all love it <3 smut warnings under the cut ofc. i also tried a new format with this fic so pls let me know what u think?!?
ËÊâĄÉË
sw: dirty talk, breeding kink, mutual masturbation, daddy kink, unprotected sex, creampies, degradation, cumplay if u squint?, humiliation if u squint?, anal fingering (f rec), oral (f rec), edging maybe briefly, sex with feelings
ËÊâĄÉË
You hated going home for the holidays.
You were a rich kid, to put it simply. Your mother loved to leech off the men that she was with, marrying them quickly and trying to suck as much money as she could out of them in gifts and straight up cash before they eventually clued on and left her. It had been why your father had left when you were a mere infant, but youâd always lived in luxury due to the incessant payments that he was forced to give. Youâd never met him, but there was a plus side - he was paying your college tuition, where you met your best friends.
Perhaps if you thought about it a bit more youâd realise that the only reason you went to college was to get away from your mother. She pissed you off, sauntering around the house in silk kimonos with a maid trailing behind her, pausing to look in mirrors so that she could choose where her next round of botox would hit. She frustrated you beyond belief, but you still had to go home for Christmas. Annoyingly early, too, because she had a surprise for you.
Okay, well, it wasnât a surprise. Sheâd FaceTimed you a week earlier, an irritatingly wrinkle-free face popping up on the screen as she sipped mulled wine and revelled in your absence. She had a new boyfriend, she said. Youâd love him, she said. Your opinion matters most to me, she said. The last one you knew to be a lie. God, you hated her.Â
Still, you lugged your suitcase through the front door and huffed, booting the side with your foot to try and shake some of the snow off. No surprise, she hadnât helped you in from your taxi. She hadnât even come to get you from the airport a mere twenty minute drive away. You dropped the suitcase on the floor, giving it another kick just for good measure, and then you were trudging into the kitchen. Youâd heard voices from there, so it had to be them.
âOh, honey!â Your mother chirped upon seeing you. You couldnât see the face of the man washing dishes behind her, his white shirt sleeves rolled up and back facing you. You didnât care anyway. âYou made it home safe, then.â
âYeah. The taxi driver was super nice and let me call him mum,â You quipped. She furrowed her eyebrows, lips pursed.Â
âOkay, youâre being weird already,â She mumbled, and then shook her head, shrugging it off. She walked to the man by the sink, spinning him around by his slender waist to display him to you. âThis is Chan!â
You felt silly, stood in the kitchen doorway in oversized clothes and covered in ivory snow. The manâs eyes found you, shocked by your motherâs harsh manoeuvring, and he blinked with surprise at your figure. You blinked with surprise, too.
Chan was hot. Incredibly so, actually, and he looked young. Younger than your mother, with a big nose you wanted to ride and plush lips parting as he raised one hand to wave at you, still wet with soapy dishwasher. You wanted to lick him clean. The white shirt he wore stretched across broad shoulders, and the sleeves were fit to burst around incredibly toned biceps. You allowed your gaze to wander down, eyes focusing on the thick thighs in the black dress trousers he wore.Â
There was no way this was real. âOkay,â You burst out laughing, eyes darting between Chan and your mother. âAnd, who is Chan? A friend? A colleague? Heâs not your boyfriend.â
Chanâs eyebrows shot up in surprise. âNo, I am. Iâm your motherâs boyfriend, sweetheart.â
His voice was deep - too deep, deep enough to haunt your dreams and those late night sessions you had in your bed with your trusty vibrator. This was going to be trouble. You were going to be trouble.
âYouâre shitting me,â You couldnât get the amused smile off of your face. No fucking way. Your mother hadnât bagged that. âYouâre fucking with me. You have to be. Mum, heâs closer to my age than he is to yours.â
âIâm thirty, actually,â He mumbled, looking sheepish. Your mother stared at you in shock, jaw dropped at your brazenness.Â
âI rest my case,â You concluded, nodding decisively. When the two of them just continued to stare, you bristled slightly, starting to hop from one foot to the other. Awkward. âYou⊠are you actually together?â
âYes, honey,â Your mother confirmed, still looking shocked. You scoffed.
âOkay, I really need to go, actually,â You gushed, turning around to leave the kitchen. âIâm- Iâm going to my room. Really nice to meet you, Chan, really.âÂ
Shooting upstairs, you completely ignored your suitcase still leaking snow all over the hardwood floors and darted into your bedroom. It still looked exactly how youâd left it, band posters all over the walls and teddies littering the end of your bed. You threw yourself on top of the mattress, fingers yanking your phone out of your pocket and clicking the button on the most recent group call on FaceTime. Immediately, your college best friends picked up.
âThereâs already a problem?â Felix scrunched his nose up, face way too close to the camera. Changbin was on the other side, face looking confused in the little square designated to him on your phone screen.
âI just met my motherâs boyfriend.â
âOh, right, how did that go?â Changbin questioned, tilting his head to the side. You caught sight of your face in your own little square, flushed and appalled.
âHe is thirty years of age, Changbin,â You began. Felix gasped, tiny hand moving to cover his mouth. âHe is thirty years of age, and he is really fucking hot.â
âOh my god,â Felix mumbled, muffled behind his hand. âOh my god, you have to fuck him.â
Changbin choked on air. âShe has to- No, Felix, no!â
âNo, I canât do that. It would be fucked up,â You mused. Or.. âWait, would it even be that fucked up? He is closer to my age. I hate my mother.â
Felixâs hand fell, and he giggled before speaking in his trademark goblin voice - âFuck him.â
âDonât!â Changbin shrieked, his phone shaking in his hand. âI really think this is a bad idea.â
âI think itâs a great idea,â Felix grinned, looking smug. âIâd do it.â
âThereâs not a lot you wouldnât do,â Changbin retorted. Felix stuck his tongue out at him. You, however, were silent, musing on the situation and staring at your wall. Could you do it? Changbin noticed, sighing. âBaby, please no.â
You licked your lips, nodding. You could do it. You wanted to do it - needed it, even. Those biceps were going to plague your life forever otherwise. âOperation fuck my motherâs boyfriend is a go.â
Felix screamed in delight. Changbin ended the call.
SATURDAY
It was time. Your mother was out at brunch with some friends, and you had plans to invade Chanâs personal space because you had a feeling heâd be too polite to tell you otherwise. You knew heâd set up the spare room as his own home studio, because your mother had delighted in telling you how Chan was a super successful music producer and was often tinkering away in there these days. You were going to let yourself in, try to get to know him a bit.
The knock you landed on the door was anything but subtle. Your fist rapped on the door and you heard a little hum in response, so you swung open the door, eyes landing on Chan hunched over his desk. He looked even younger like this, beanie pulled down over dark curls and headphones positioned on his head. He continued to stare at the file on his computer, head bobbing absentmindedly, so you strode up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
He spun around on his computer chair, blinking confusedly at you. âOh, hello.â
âHi,â You beamed. âSorry about last night. I was rude. I was feeling kinda weird, yâknow, with the travelling.â
âNo, I completely get it,â Chan put his hands up as if to diffuse the atmosphere. You nodded, still smiling. Chan stared at you when you didnât respond instantly, and you crossed your hands behind your back, pressing against the plaid pattern of the dress youâd chosen for today. It was all part of the plan - the tight, short dress was perfect for seduction. He looked down at your chest, before clearing his throat, reverting his gaze to your eyes. âUm⊠did you need something, by the way?â
You gasped, as if remembering. âOh, yeah! I did. My mother told me you were a music producer, and I was really curious. I was wondering if youâd show me some stuffâŠ?â
It was Chanâs turn to smile, nodding excitedly. âOf course. Here, put these on.â
He linked two fingers around his headphones and handed them to you, to which you obediently put them over your ears. He was quieter now, but you could still slightly hear him mumbling as he found a spare chair for you to sit on. Your eyes scanned the files, eventually fixating on a file titled Drive. That one had to be dirty.
âOkay, so. I have this one, itâs my most recent one, and-â
âI want to listen to that one,â You cut him off, pointing at the song. When you turned to look at him, he was biting his lip nervously, pink tinting the ends of his ears and his cheeks. âWhat is it, Chan?â
âYou- that one is a little, uh⊠heh. A little inappropriate.â
Unsurprisingly, you darted over his desk to grab the computer mouse and double click on the file. Chan squealed, but you ignored him, listening to the song. You were right. It was dirty, the two singers crooning about something that was a thinly-veiled innuendo about driving. It took you a second and then you clicked. One of them was Chan. This was Chan singing, on a song about sex. God, could he get any hotter?
You slid one of the ear cups off of your ear, turning to Chan with a shit eating grin. âThis is you singing? Youâre really good, Chan.â You werenât lying. He was really good, and it had you wondering why he was a producer and not singing.
âYeah, well, it was just an experimental track. Me and my mate were just messing around,â Chan mumbled shyly, hand scratching the back of his neck. You tried to avoid staring at the way his biceps tensed in his tight t-shirt at the movement. He was still blushing, but you had to kick it up a notch.
âIt is kinda inappropriate, though, isnât it?â You chirped excitedly. Chanâs lips parted, as if he was looking for something to say. His eyes stared into your own, piercing and dark and all-consuming. âI think youâre a little dirty, Channie.â
Chanâs eyebrows furrowed at your use of the nickname. âThatâs- you canât say that. Thatâs inappropriate.â
âWhat?â You feigned shock-horror. Play dumb. âI canât call you Channie? Why not?â
âThatâs not what I meant, and you know it,â Chan groaned, pointing an accusing finger at you. You giggled anyway, jumping up and slipping the headphones back onto his head. You made sure to trail your fingertips down his neck after doing so. He shivered noticeably. You smiled.
âThat was super good, Channie, thank you.â
You didnât miss his groan of disbelief as you bounded out of the room. You had him, and it was easier than youâd expected it to be.
SUNDAY
Something was happening. You werenât sure what, just yet, but something was happening. Chan was acting a little weird after what happened the day before, and youâd already caught Felix and Changbin up on the nonsense plan you had.Â
âI think you need to accept that this is just down to you having a fat crush on him and severe daddy issues,â Changbin mused, and you gasped. He was right though. This wasnât completely about getting back at your mother in a sick, twisted way. You wanted him.
Phase two of your plan was underway as soon as you caught sight of him on the sofa. He was watching some cheesy Christmas movie, your mother tinkering away in the kitchen - when had she ever cooked? - so it was prime seducing time. He had one of the thick throw blankets over his lap, fingers playing with the fluffy fabric absentmindedly. You hopped into the living room in your short pyjamas, frowning at Chan when you felt the goosebumps on your legs.
âWhatcha watching?â You asked, making him jump when he realised your presence. He smiled nonetheless, motioning to the seat next to him, and you took it. You perched and ensured that you left no room between you both.
âSome cheesy film. The womanâs marrying a prince, I think.â
âSounds awful. I canât wait to watch it,â You smiled, and Chan chuckled, relaxing on the sofa. You managed to make it five whole minutes before you were rubbing your hands up your legs, trying to create a semblance of warmth.Â
Chan turned to you, frowning. âAre you cold, sweetheart?â
âYeah,â You whined, pulling your legs up into your chest. ââS cold in here, right?â
âCâmere,â He mumbled, reaching for the end of the blanket and throwing it over your lap. You hummed contentedly, inching a little closer under the guise of the cold weather. The blanket was warm. You were kind of jealous heâd been in such comfort this whole time while youâd been thinking of ways to get his cock inside your mouth.Â
âThanks, Channie,â Chan only nodded, continuing to watch the film. You had a feeling he was pretending to be so focused on it, given you werenât sure he even knew the plot before your arrival.Â
You squirmed on your seat, thrashing each way until you found yourself comfortable, hand splayed over Chanâs knee. He tensed under your touch.Â
âYouâre touching me, sweetheart,â He warned, his voice low and deep. You shivered, turning to him.
âAm I?â
âYou are. Youâre touching my leg underneath the blanket, arenât you?â
You hummed. âIs that okay, Chan?â
Chan turned to you, his eyes not even holding any sign of shock. He knew what game you were playing, you realised, and maybe he was playing along. He licked his lips, head back against the sofa, and then he shrugged dismissively.Â
âIt doesnât bother me.â
You left your hand there for the whole film.Â
MONDAY
The showers at home were something youâd missed. The ones in college didnât quite cut it - not even now that you lived with Changbin and Felix in your own student home. All three of you were young adults, after all, and that came with you being a little too messy.
At home, you didnât have to worry about mess. Your mother had cleaners employed with your dadâs money anyway. Admittedly, you realised you were being a little spoiled, so youâd learned to clean up after yourself. The showers were still better, though. Bigger, and the water pressure hit you just right.Â
Especially when you detached the shower head and pressed it to your clit. You felt pathetic. Youâd only tried to seduce Chan for two fucking days, and there you were, legs shaking at the thought of him. Maybe it was the chase that got you feeling hot, or maybe it was the fact that you might actually be getting somewhere - you might actually be getting close to fucking him, muscles bulging as he ploughed into you.Â
It had you pressing the shower head harder, your spare hand coming up to pinch your nipple. You whined, bucking your hips into the water stream. The steam was all over the bathroom by now, staining the shower with condensation and making your skin feel pruned and flushed. Or did you feel flushed from the thoughts of Chan? Maybe heâd fuck you the way you liked. He must have experience, you assumed, being a few years older than you. You thought about how heâd make you feel, how heâd touch you, and how youâd feel in his arms. You thought about how youâd feel when you came, and what it would be like to be with him. You wanted to feel him so badly.
Was he as big down there as he was everywhere else? Sure, heâs not too tall, but heâs every part a man. That much was clear. Would he bend you in half, pushing you into a mating press and fuck you raw the way you liked, cumming inside and letting you call him daddy and-
You wailed, legs trembling with one last buckle before you were cumming. You felt wet, too wet even just from the shower, and you belatedly realised youâd have to wash again. Ugh. This plan needed to end, like⊠yesterday.Â
Coming out of the shower freshly washed, you wrapped a towel around your figure and checked the time on your phone. Your thumb slipped around the screen from the condensation in the bathroom, but the plan was going well. If you left the bathroom now, then hopefully Chan would be heading to bed, and heâd catch you in your towel. Ideally, heâd be so hot for you that heâd just have to have you, and then you could get the thoughts of him out of your head.
You burst out of the room in a flurry of steam and movement, almost tripping over your own feet when you noticed that it had actually fucking worked. Chan stood stock still at the other end of the hallway, his eyes fixated on the way the towel wrapped tightly around your chest, at risk of falling. You smiled, waving innocently, and he stalked towards you. He was seeing red. You could tell from the way he cornered you, crowding around you with the small advantage he had on your height.
âYou need to stop this,â He mumbled, eyes looking at your motherâs bedroom door. He was playing a dangerous game. You were, too, and you both knew it. âIâm dating your mother. You need to stop this, sweetheart.â
âStop what?â You tilted your head, acting confused. âI just had a shower.â
Chan scoffed, shaking his head. âI fucking heard you in there.â
Oh. You couldnât hide your smirk that time. âYeah, I missed that shower head. Why were you perving on me, Chan?â
Chan rubbed his temples. He wasnât wearing a beanie today, only a hoodie and baggy joggers. You liked it. You could see his hair like this, dark and curly and frizzy on his head. He looked cute. Wait, what?
He took a deep breath. His eyes moved to fixate on you, tongue running over his teeth. âWhy would I be perving on you?â
âOh, donât lie,â You crossed your arms over your chest. Chanâs eyes moved down to stare at where your tits bulged over the towel. âI bet you stood there for ages, cock hard in your cute joggers, listening to me moan in the shower. Thatâs a little fucked up, no? Thinking about your girlfriendâs daughter like that-â
You were cut off by him pushing you to the wall, lips slamming into yours. He bit into your mouth instantly, letting out a deep groan and hands moving to grab your ass through the towel. You let your lips part in a whimper, pushing your tongue into his mouth and running your hands through his hair. It was a filthy exchange of tongue and teeth, and by the end of it, you were gasping, grabbing him by the waist and trying to pull him closer. You pulled away, breathing heavily and your eyes still locked on each other. You both stood there, not speaking, as you both processed what you had just done. You both knew it was wrong, but you wanted it so bad.
Chan stepped back, breathing out a heavy sigh. âGoodnight, sweetheart.â
You watched in shock as he turned around, walking into your motherâs bedroom and leaving you there. You were wet again. This was getting ridiculous now.Â
In your room, Felix screamed so loud you had to turn the volume down on your phone. Changbin choked on air again.Â
TUESDAY
You hadnât seen Chan all day. You presumed he was in his studio, working away on another track while your mother was in work. You were bored. Felix had been spending time with his family, and Changbin was out doing rich kid things that you could sympathise with. Thrashing around on your bed, annoyed and huffing, you decided you were just going to go and annoy Chan. It was your newly favourite pastime to get under his skin.
Stalking down the stairs to his studio, you paused when you heard a voice. Not just one voice, two voices. Was your mother there? No, no way. She never goes into that room, itâs his work room. Youâd been in there though. You tried to suppress a grin at that realisation.Â
The other voice was a manâs. Chan had a call on speakerphone, judging by the tinny effect covering the unknown maleâs voice and Chan humming every so often. Who was the other man? A colleague, or just a friend?
âItâs fucking ridiculous, mate,â Chan groaned. You could barely hear him, and you held your breath, coming closer to the closed door. âI want her so bad, and itâs so wrong. I- I kissed her last night, Minho.â
There were a few yells from the other end of the phone. âYou kissed her?! Chan, you fucking animal. You want her so bad, just fuck her. Sheâs clearly hoping thatâs the outcome here.â
You grinned. You were.
âSheâs- itâs outrageous. She walks around in practically nothing, and sheâs got such a tight fucking body, man. She makes my dick so fucking hard, Iâve never felt anything like it before. Even when I met her, in the kitchen, she was-â
Chan cut himself off with a sigh. âMinhoâ hummed, waiting for him to continue.
âSheâs so bratty. Sheâs exactly the type of girl I wouldâve gone for, before I met her mother.â
âSeriously?â Minho questioned, and Chan agreed. âYou have to do it.â
âMinho-â
âNo, Chan. Iâm serious,â Minhoâs voice was firm. âIf sheâs fucking you up this bad, you canât have liked her mother that much, yeah? Just do it. You know itâs going to happen anyway.â
âItâs-â Chan began. You could imagine him rubbing his temples in distress behind the door. âSheâs younger than me. I donât want her to feel as though Iâm taking advantage, yâknow? The ballâs in her court.â
The ball has always been in your court.
âIt sounds like she wants you to take advantage, to be honest,â Minho erupted in a fit of giggles, and you found yourself almost laughing along. Minho was annoyingly right. You only hoped he could get rid of that stick up Chanâs ass and get you a good dicking down.
It meant it was time for the next phase of your plan. You assumed Chan had wanted you, embarrassingly so, but you werenât quite sure until heâd kissed you the day before. After hearing this conversation? Well, you had to do it.
You returned to your room, scribbling a quick note on a piece of paper. If Chan found this, which he would, it meant that heâd come to your room tomorrow night and you could maybe talk about what the fuck was going on. The sexual tension was too much for you, and now you knew he felt the same. Why were you beating around the bush? You had to make something out of this.
You ignored the stuttering of breath you heard when you slid the note under his door, and returned back to your room with a cocky grin.
WEDNESDAY
Chan hadnât mentioned the note. You didnât think he would, but you felt disappointed nonetheless. Youâd woken up in the morning, eaten breakfast with him and your mother - cringing when he kissed her on the cheek when she left for work - and youâd even done the dishes yourself, letting him slip off to do some work in the studio. It was prime time for him to mention what youâd written, and he hadnât. It was pissing you off.
Still, good things come to those who wait. You were confident. Felix had been egging you on all day over text, Changbin had been sending random upset emojis. It was perfect.Â
Settling on your sheets at night, you felt a little pathetic. Youâd lit a few candles, left the curtains just right on the window so that the moonlight billowed in, and Chan hadnât arrived. Maybe he hadnât received your note. No, there was no way - you practically heard his response through the door when he saw it slid under. He got the note. Perhaps youâd made him uncomfortable, made him withdraw from you despite all the progress youâd made. Why had you put in so much effort? You didnât like him, not like that. Or did you? You felt ridiculous, almost like a child waiting for-
A knock on the door brought you out of your self-loathing thoughts, and you jumped up, swinging the bedroom door open. Chan immediately crowded inside of your bedroom, pressing the door shut softly. You stood there in silence, taking him in. He looked cosy, in a baggy hoodie and plaid pyjama bottoms. It was hard to believe he was dating your mother, especially when he looked so vulnerable like this - dark, curly hair still slightly wet from his shower, and his eyes blown wide with an unreadable emotion while he looked at you.
Chan sighed. âYouâre really playing with fire. Do you know how this could look, me coming into your room at night? Do you know how wrong this is?â
You faltered. For the first time since meeting Chan, you felt as though he was angry at you. âI- I heard you on the phone, Channie. I thought you wanted me too.â
You watched in awe as Chan crossed your bedroom, groaning and throwing himself onto the bed. He was hard, erect in his bottoms. You blinked confusedly. He was hard just from being in here?
âI do want you,â Chan said, but it was muffled, hidden behind his hands that he had placed over his face in distress. He let them fall to his sides, staring up at the ceiling. âI want you so bad that itâs pissing me off beyond belief. I know what youâve been doing too, trying to seduce me. Itâs so pathetic it makes me feel hot, yâknow?â
You giggled, following his journey across the room and settling next to him on the bed. You sat cross legged, comfortable in your long pyjamas. The candlelight flickered, casting a glow over his face, and he turned to look at you. He licked his lips, and then he let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.
âThis is ridiculous-â
âItâs ridiculous that you havenât fucked me yet,â You responded, quick as a flash. Chan leaned up on his forearms, raising an eyebrow at you. Now was the time. You had to say it. âYou know how bad I want you. I touched you up on the sofa, and you let me. You wanted me to, I think. Correct me if Iâm wrong, and Iâm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but-â
âYou didnât make me uncomfortable, and youâre not wrong,â Chan admitted. You could see the blush on his cheeks despite the dimly lit room. He took a deep breath before continuing. âI want you, too.âÂ
Chan shot across the bed, leaning in and kissing you deeply, his hands tangling in your hair. It made you wet beyond belief that he just felt like he knew what he was doing, hands travelling down to your waist to softly press you into the sheets. His tongue swept into your mouth, pressing against yours and you whimpered, making him groan into the kiss. When his hands went up to your hair, he intertwined his fingers in the strands and pulled, making you gasp and let out a heady, hot breath. He pulled away, lips parted when he stared at you.Â
âYou are such a horny little thing, itâs so hot,â He mumbled, lips pressing to your neck. He bit your skin sharply, making you keen and spread your legs, allowing him to position his hips between your thighs. The movement pressed his bulge into your core, and you tried not to shift and move your hips in a rhythm of pleasure. His fingers traced over your skin, and he chuckled, a low, sexy sound that made your heart race. He pulled back, leaning back on his legs and staring at you, eyes blown wide with lust. âI want to see you touch yourself.â
You paused. âWhat?â
âI want to know what you like. Show me how you make yourself cum, and Iâll fuck you tomorrow night. Howâs that sound?â He was propositioning you, teasing you, and you were falling for it - hook, line and sinker.Â
You gave him a nod. Right. Touching yourself for him - that was something you could do. This was just another Wednesday for you, you loved putting on a show, especially for a man who was rock hard and obviously desperate for you. But with Chan⊠why did you feel so fucking nervous all of a sudden? You'd spent your whole day waiting to fuck him, and heâd taken back the power, thrown a wrench into your plans.
You leaned back on your bed. How did you sit sexily? You were stuck in your own head.
Chan moved backwards, hand moving over his clothed erection. Heâd spread his legs, thick thighs parted for you to see the promising bulge between them. "Pretend I'm not even here, sweetheart," he said, eyes blown wide with lust. You almost rolled your eyes. Easier said than done, when he was sitting there with his dark curls and his thick, kissable lips and his impossibly huge bulge. âTouch yourself like youâve done before. Show me how you make yourself cum, and Iâll fuck you tomorrow, I promise.â
Fuck it. You'd never let an attractive man break you down yet, and that wasn't going to change. You nodded timidly, hands moving to grip your breasts through your shirt. It made you sigh, and Chan responded with a noise of his own when you impatiently rucked the fabric up to above your chest. Sucking two fingers into your mouth, you whined when you traced the wet digits around your pebbled peak teasingly.Â
âAh, âs- Iâm sensitive there, Channie,â You mumbled, and he nodded as if he was making a note for it for later. You trailed your fingertips across your nipples, pinching and twisting them almost painfully just to make your hips cant up into thin air. You were too impatient to do this how you normally would, so you scratched your fingernails down your tummy and shoved a hand in your pyjama bottoms. You were met with slick, wet folds, fingers sliding around in the mess you made.Â
âShow me,â Chan said, eyes trained on where your hand disappeared beneath the fabric. âShow me that pussy. Youâre meant to be showing me everything, remember?â
âShow me yours and Iâll show you mine,â You huffed, and Chan shook his head in disbelief, grinning. You were shocked to see he actually listened, though, pushing his joggers down to his thighs and letting his erection spring out. It was impossibly hard, pearlescent drops accumulating on his cockhead and you licked your lips subconsciously. âI wanna-â
âNo,â Chan cut you off, hand moving to wrap around his cock in a tight fist. He was long, thick and heavy between his thighs and you felt your pussy clench sadly around nothing. âShow me your pussy. Iâm not asking again, let me take a look at it.â
You whined, pushing your pyjama bottoms down to reveal your slick core. Your clit was swollen, throbbing with need just from a few kisses and Chanâs general presence, and you could feel a rivulet of wetness sliding down between your lips. Chan groaned in approval, hand quickening on his cock just slightly.
âSpread it, show me your hole,â Chan said, and you moved your thighs further apart for him. Reaching down with two fingers, you moved them into a v-shape and spread your folds for him. Your hole quivered under the inspection, leaking more wetness and Chanâs eyes were hyper fixated on it. âOh, baby. That looks tight. Has no one ever fucked that little pussy right, huh? Tell me.â
âN-No,â You shook your head, thighs quivering when you finally let two fingers rub over your clit. You started with a blistering pace immediately, making your toes curl into the sheets and your back arch upwards. âNo, I- itâs only boys from college, I donât-â
âAh, I see. You need someone older, yeah? More experienced?â Chan questioned, his breath coming out heavy with every tightly fisted movement on his cock. You whined, nodding, and then you were breaching your hole with two fingers immediately. The stretch made you groan, head falling back against the pillow. âIs that why you tried to seduce me, yeah? Wanted to have my cock stretching you out just right, wanted to call me daddy while I made you cry?â
God, heâd got it. He was right on the mark. âYes, y-yes, I- I wanted to, oh, I wanted to call you daddy, and- and feel you inside me, and oh, Channie, please-â You cut yourself off with a moan, perhaps too loud as you curled your fingertips up against your g-spot. Chan threw his head back, letting out a grunt as he pinched his cockhead almost painfully.Â
âSay it then, baby. Whatâs stopping you?â He polished the head of his cock, moaning before he took it into his tight grip again. His precum served as lubrication, his hand now making wet slick sounds on his thick length. You gasped when he moved his free hand to his balls, rubbing calloused fingertips over them and letting out his own gasp. âBeg me for my cock. I know you want it, look at you. Fuckinâ desperate, yeah? Beg daddy for his big cock.â
âOh, daddy,â You whined, moving your free hand to rub over your clit. Everything was so wet, sliding around your pussy and you were honestly surprised you could feel anything - but it felt so fucking good, having him watch you like this, learning what you liked so he could replicate it. âFuckinâ- daddy, daddy, please, can I have it? Been good, doinâ what you asked, I- hnnng, daddy, oh my god-â
âNo,â He smiled, a cocky grin while he rubbed one hand over his cock and the other over his heavy balls. âNo, baby. Not tonight. Make yourself cum tonight, and daddy will help you tomorrow.â
âI- need more, need more, I-'' Chan surged over the bed, leaning over your figure to press his lips against yours. His tongue dominated your mouth again, and you could feel his closed fist hitting your stomach as he worked himself to his orgasm. The sensation had you whining against his plush lips, fingers thrusting quicker into your pussy and your other hand sliding around your clit messily. When he pulled away, lips digging into your bottom lip teasingly, his lips were quick to move to your neck to suck some dark purple marks into the skin. You felt yourself trembling, your body tense as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. Your fingers stroked your walls faster, pussy fluttering around your digits in delight, and your mouth opened in a gasp as you felt your body tense and tremble with pleasure. âIâm gâna- gâna cum, gonna cum, please, can I? Can I, daddy? Can I cum for you, please?â
âYeah, baby,â He huffed, eyes rolling back into his head. He was practically drooling onto your skin, lips parted against your neck as you whined and thrashed on your bedsheets. âCum for me. Been good for daddy, havenât you? You can cum, baby, câmon. Show me how pretty you are when you cum.â
You fell apart around your own fingers, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave. Your thighs tensed with your orgasm, your pussy clenching down impossibly tighter around your hand and flooding down to your knuckles with your cum. You begged and pleaded, your voice a barely audible babble as your body shook with the sensation.Â
Finally, when youâd just felt like you were coming down, Chan pulled your wrist away from your pussy. The movement left you empty, your walls still clenching down except now it was around nothing, and you whined, bottom lip quivering in need.Â
âHands off,â He sighed, hand slowing down on his cock. He was trying to last longer for something - you werenât sure what, but you let your other hand drop from your clit obediently. âDaddyâs gonna cum on this wet little hole, baby, okay? You gonna let me cum here, mark you as mine?â
âYes,â You moaned, nodding. You couldnât think of anything better, actually. ââM yours, Iâm yours, daddy, gimme.â
âDirty thing, perfect little girl,â He grunted, and then he was positioning his cockhead at your hole. With a few more movements, increasing in speed, you watched as his face screwed up in pleasure. His hips bucked, and with a final thrust, he came. You felt his cum drip down your hole as he groaned through his orgasm, thick white cum plastering your pussy. It was definitely the sexiest thing youâd experienced, but you still felt a little disappointed - why couldnât he have just done it inside you?
âWanâit,â You whined, pulling your legs back. Chan chuckled upon seeing the pout on your lips. âWhy couldnât you- in me, wanted it in me, daddy.âÂ
âGreedy bitch,â He mused, and then he was delving down to your core. Your mind went blank when his tongue licked fat stripes up your folds, collecting all of his cum and your wetness in his mouth. You briefly thought you could cum from this, very quickly judging by the way he knew what he was doing, but he simply leaned over you and grabbed your jaw.Â
Oh. You let your lips part, tongue lolling out of your mouth obediently, and he spat the mixture of your cum into your mouth. You felt him lick into your mouth again, groaning at the taste of your pussy and his load. He smiled against your lips and pulled away, your eyes wide as you tried to process what had just happened.Â
Chanâs lips curved in satisfaction at your state, your chest still heaving with a blotchy rash that bore the truth of what youâd been up to. He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, and then he was standing up and leaving the room, bottoms barely pulled over his hips. You laid there, feeling an intense mix of pleasure and confusion.
What the fuck just happened?
THURSDAY
You hadnât even processed what had happened last night. In all honesty, youâd run out of the house in the morning under the premise of a coffee date with friends you didnât even have. You just sat in the cafe on call with Changbin and Felix and screamed way too loudly for a public area. The whole cafe knew of your predicament by the end of it.
Upon your return home, youâd beelined to your room and kicked the door shut as quietly as you could. Unfortunately, your foot slipped on the floor and youâd ended up face down with a groan.
Turning over onto your back, you huffed at the offending item that had caused your decline to the ground. A piece of paper met your eyes, neatly folded and written on with what looked like black Sharpie when youâd finally unravelled it.
Three words. Three words that changed your life and let you know that what occurred the night before had really happened. No, not âI love youâ - it was simple, a scrawled âyour room, tonightâ. It did happen. You touched yourself in front of Chan, and he was planning on coming back to your room to continue what youâd discussed.
You wanted to squeal and kick your feet, but beneath it all, you felt panicked. This plan had gone too far, and youâd perhaps started to think about spending time with your motherâs boyfriend - actual time, not just sexually charged meetings. It hurt a little bit, a pang in your chest when you remembered that what was happening really was just sexual. Your little arrangement being anything else just wasnât fathomable.
Chan was interesting. He was a fucking music producer, for godâs sake. That was just straight up cool. That, and he was older than you - you did have raging daddy issues like your friends had said, after all. His friend had sounded funny on the phone, which meant he had to be funny, too.Â
All things serious, you didnât really know much about him, but you wanted to know. Felix had encouraged you to find out, and you felt like you owed it to him - or yourself, you werenât sure.Â
The knock on your door once the evening fell brought you out of your reverie. Chan didnât wait for a response, swinging your bedroom door open and walking straight in as if he owned the house. You huffed at his demeanour, yet your eyes were still fixated on the way he walked over to your bed with intent. You threw your phone to the side. Felix would have to wait for your half-typed text message.Â
âBack again so soon?â You quipped, and he raised an eyebrow. He was only in grey joggers, the thin material highlighting his thick dick imprint between his legs. The fabric hung low, showing off the body that you knew he worked so hard for. His chest was honey toned, yet covered in light, sparse freckles - you wanted to make yourself acquainted with every single one. You felt a little overdressed in just an oversized t-shirt and shorts.
Seeing the frustrated expression on your face, Chanâs own face fell. âDo you not want me here?â He said, voice no more than a whisper. âI can go, if you donât want to see me tonight. I just thought-â
âI do,â You nodded, finally raising yourself from your position lying down to sitting up cross legged. Chan laid on the bed in front of you, one arm propping his head up. He gazed at you for a few moments, and you could see the relief in his eyes at your words. âI do want to see you tonight. I want to see you like⊠a lot. Donât you think itâs weird though? Iâm your girlfriendâs daughter, Chan, and weâve kissed and- and done other stuff, and-â
He scooted over so that he was next to you, and you leaned into him subconsciously. He pulled you in with his arm around your shoulders, broad and muscled. You felt content, comfortable and most of all safe. It was a feeling youâd never felt before.
âI donât think itâs weird,â Chan hummed, his chest vibrating beneath where youâd landed when he pulled you in. He chuckled, then, his hand moving to your hair comfortingly. âOkay, maybe it is a little weird. Iâm just very interested in you. I know you heard me on the phone to Minho, and yes, you are my type - I want to know more about you. Like, even beneath the sexually charged tension, heh.â
Oh. You licked your lips, eyes fixated on a random spot in your wall. âYou do?â
He nodded. âI do.â
You couldnât help yourself. You raised your head, surging over Chanâs body to press a kiss to his lips. His hair was soft when you ran your hands through it, despite random curls getting caught in your nails and causing him to groan at the pain flooding through his scalp. His hands went to your waist, licking into your mouth while he effortlessly pulled you on top of him. The show of strength had you whimpering into the kiss, hands moving down to his jaw. It clenched and unclenched while he had full control over your mouth despite you being on top.Â
You pulled away with a wet sigh, moving downwards to kiss at his neck. He groaned underneath his breath at the sensation of your lips on his skin. Your bed squeaked awkwardly as you moved down it, too quick for the old springs to handle. It felt naughty, kissing him like this in your childhood room - it felt even dirtier than the night before had, and you hadnât done anything yet.
âI need you, Chan,â You whispered, nipping at his collarbone. âNeed you. Please.âÂ
He gasped as he felt your tongue trace the outline of his collarbone. He flung one bicep over his dark eyes with a deep sigh, allowing you to kiss and bite all over his skin. He looked like he was trying to control himself. You didnât want him to.
Your hips started to grind against him, and you placed your palms flat on his chest. Both of Chanâs hands moved back to your hips with a surprised noise, but he didnât stop you. His dick was hardening in his joggers, and it was providing the best clothed friction to your aching, needy clit below your pyjama shorts. You saw how big it was before, yet the length of it still shocked you when you slid your clothed core up and down the shaft.
âDaddy,â You whined, hips starting to buck frantically. You were sure that you had never felt this needy in your life. âDaddy, daddy, I want you so bad. You turn me on so bad, make me feel so hot, please-â
âBaby,â Chan groaned, his head falling back against your pillows. The soft pink bed sheets juxtaposed completely with what you were doing, and juxtaposed completely with him - Chan, the muscled man with dark hair who wore black and grey clothes constantly. It was as if he was corrupting you, and he was in a sense, being so much older. âBaby, câmere, come and lay on the bed. Let daddy eat you out, yeah?â
âNo,â You shook your head, hips still moving on his erection. Chanâs chest had started to accumulate a thin layer of dewy sweat, slick on his skin and making you want to lick it off. âI want your cock. I donât wanna wait, I donât wanna wait, please, just put it in, Iâm wet enough, I promise.â
He knew you were babbling, incoherent in your haze of lust, but he still entertained you enough anyway. You spread your legs wider when his hand met your thigh, and then he was pushing two fingers beneath your shorts. He was met with your slick folds, and you gasped at feeling the touch of his fingertips, calloused from years of working with music.
âOh, fucking hell. Dirty girl, dirty fuckinâ girl,â Chan moaned, his eyes almost rolling back into his head. âThis pussyâs so fuckinâ wet, baby. All we did was kiss. Are you that much of a slut for me? Are you that much of a slut for your motherâs boyfriend? Thatâs filthy.â
âYes!â You wailed, nodding. You reached down, canting your hips backwards a little bit so you could spread your thighs wider before hooking your fingers in your shorts and pulling them to the side. The movement revealed your pussy, clit swollen at the top of soaking wet folds, covering your drippy hole. âI wanâit so bad, so bad, so bad, please, please. Just push it in, make it hurt, I donât care-â
Chan shoved the fingers of his spare hand between your parted lips, effectively shutting you up. âShut up. Youâve got to prove to me you deserve it, baby.â
With those words, he was pushing a finger past your entrance. It breached your hole easily, the digit sliding through your wetness and curving up past your g-spot. Chan shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and shock, and then he was pulling his finger out. With a quick movement, heâd yanked his joggers down and let his cock spring out. The coarse hair was trimmed above his long, thick shaft and you couldnât help but imagine the type of friction that would give your clit - you couldnât wait.
âYou were right. That slutty pussy is wet enough,â He mused, pulling your hips over his bare cock. Your pyjama shorts were slightly in the way, and you pulled them aside even more, letting your folds leave wetness over his shaft. âLower yourself on it. Stretch yourself out. Slowly.â
You did as he asked, lowering your body onto his length. You felt the stretch immediately. You moaned, loud and ringing off of your walls. You didnât give a shit if your mother heard. Fuck, you needed this. You wanted to bounce all over his cock until there was nothing left and your hole could do nothing but remember the tight fit. Trying to sit down quicker, Chan grabbed your hips, stopping you while only half his length was in you.
âYou're gonna hurt yourself like that, sweetheart. That hole is so tight around me.â
âPlease, daddy,â Your head fell into the nape of his neck. You wriggled yourself in his tight hold, trying to get more of his length in your pussy. He shook his head against you, chuckling.
âYou want it? Fine, but don't fucking cry to me when it hurts,â Chan said, letting go of your ass. You realised he'd been holding you up, and within a millisecond you'd slammed down onto him. You wanted to scream, the stretch more than you could take. He laughed again, raising his eyebrows at you mockingly. âToo big?â
"N-No, perfect," You retorted. He moaned, spreading his legs and placing his feet flat on the mattress. More. More. Fucking more. You began to raise on him, expecting to ride that perfect cock, but he started to thrust up into you at an unrelenting place straight away, his balls slapping against your ass. You moaned incoherently, almost babbling, hands digging into his toned biceps. He leaned up to nip at your neck, and then he was pulling your t-shirt off of your body.
âNo fucking bra?â Chan laughed in disbelief. His mouth went straight to your nipples, biting and sucking on the hard peaks. You jostled on his lap with his thrusts. You wanted to rub your clit, but you felt like he probably wouldn't let you. âKnew you were fucking filthy, sweetheart. You didn't even care about me going raw, did you? You want my load in that dirty hole. And now I find out these pretty tits were only one layer away from meâŠâ
His voice trailed off. You whined, leaning down to try and kiss him again. He shoved his two fingers back in your mouth, making you suck on them. His bruising sucks caused your nipples to hurt, and you fucking loved it. You knew he was marking you up and you'd just have to deal with it.
You tried to start riding him. He didn't let you, manhandling you off of his cock.
âDaddy!â You whined in protest. Chan chuckled. He lifted you and manhandled you so your back was facing him on your bed, and you immediately repositioned yourself so you were face down, ass up. He reentered you in one swift thrust, causing you to jolt in surprise.
âFucking tight pussy,â He groaned, thrusting into you with the same vigor as before. You almost screamed, but managed to just moan incoherently. The mattress creaked, the sound of old springs ringing around the room. âFucking dirty hole. Listen to that, sweetheart. Can you hear how wet your cunt is for daddy's cock? For your motherâs boyfriendâs cock?â
You tried to stop whining and moaning to hear what he was pointing out to you, hearing wet slaps. Your cheeks burned with humiliation, fingernails digging into the mattress. You knew you were dripping for a fact now. You could hear it, you could hear everything, his balls slapping against your clit as well as the wet noise of his heavy cock reentering you.Â
You threw your ass back against him, trying to get the tip to hit that special spot inside of you.Â
âI think that asshole needs me too, sweetheart,â Chan laughed mirthlessly, his hands resting firmly on your ass, encouraging your bouncing. You moaned in response, clenching your pussy tight. He was going to ruin you for everyone. You'd have to just keep coming back for more. âYou want daddy's finger in there? You want me to finger your asshole?â
Oh, yes. âPlease, daddy, need to be full,â You said, wiggling your hips against him. You vaguely registered him reaching around you and making you suck on the fingers that had previously been in your mouth. He was going to fill both of your holes, and he moaned loudly at the sight of you sucking his fingers. There was no way that the whole house hadnât heard you both by now. You hoped they were sleeping.
You sighed in ecstasy, feeling the fingers begin to move inside your ass. His thrusting was now hitting your g-spot in your pussy, given the added pressure from being full in both holes. You felt the orgasm finally begin to build. You liked the way he wasn't rushing you to cum, not like those younger college boys. He was taking care of you and just having good fucking sex. âFeels so fucking good, daddy. Feels so good.â
You were now semi-incoherent, your words all joining together in one long moan. Chan loved it, judging by his moans. His cock was pulsing inside you. You wondered if he was close. You wanted him to fill you up to the point where it was dripping out of you.Â
He pulled out of you again, grabbing your leg with one strong hand and flipping you onto your back. You were out of breath from the exertion, despite him doing all the work, and he looked fully composed save for the thin sheen of sweat on his body.
âFeels good, baby?â He asked, looming above you. You squirmed feeling your sweaty back rubbing against the blanket uncomfortably, but you nodded anyway. You wanted to please him. He looked down at your writhing body, letting out another groan. âSo fucking sexy. You donât know how much you fucking killed me, teasing me like that. Touch that pussy for me again, show me.â
He started pumping his shaft quickly, still staring down at you. You reached down with one hand and immediately pressed two fingers against your entrance, collecting the slick gathering outside before diving straight in. You curled your fingers against that spot inside of you, whining out. It wasn't enough. Not after having that fat cock in you. He definitely had ruined you for everyone else, including yourself. Nothing was ever going to feel the same again.Â
âMmm. Looks so wet, sweetheart. Daddy wants a taste, is that okay?â Chan questioned, moving back onto his knees. You pulled your fingers out and tried not to cry at the loss.
âPlease, daddy. Wanna cum in your mouth,â You slurred out, pushing his head towards you. He moaned into your pussy, taking his fat tongue and licking one wet stripe up your slit. He pulled your pussy back, exposing that throbbing clit to him, and placed one lick directly onto your button. "Fuck, daddy, feels so good! Suck it, please, suck it. I - please - need to cum so bad!"
âNeed to cum, huh, sweetheart? I'll make your little pussy throb for me and then I'm putting my cock right back in that tight hole, where it belongs,â He spoke. He thrust two fingers into your slit, much thicker and longer than yours. You spread your legs, holding them up against your chest. You literally almost purred when he started moving his fingers, curling them up into that spot and sucking on your clit whilst he did so. It wasn't going to take long. The man was clearly amazing at every part of sex.Â
You focused on the feeling of his wet tongue rubbing up against your clit and writhed, feeling closer and closer to the edge. He knew what he was fucking doing. Your thighs started to shake, taking everything in you not to just let them go from your hold and clutch around Chanâs head. You wanted him to permanently live between your thighs. Your eyes clenched shut, a deep sigh leaving you.Â
âFuck, I'm gâna cum,â You mumbled out, chest heaving and flushed a shade of crimson. Chan pulled away, causing you to whine. You pouted, reaching up to grab his shoulders. "No, no! You said I could. You said you would help me.â
âWhat I said was that I'd make it throb for you and then I'm sliding back right in here, sweetheart. Be good for daddy, you'll get to cum,â He positioned his length at your core again, sliding right back into home. You both moaned, and he was fucking you in a mating press this time, almost as if you were a couple in love. You wished you were, and realised this was definitely your favourite position so far. The man fucked like an animal and now he was fucking you like he was going to breed you, and you loved it. He reached down with one hand to rub your clit rapidly, trying to bring you to the edge. âThis is my fucking pussy. My favourite fucking pussy, my only girl, the only pussy for me, okay?â
âFuck!â You cried of overstimulation, hands still wrapped around your legs. âGâna... getting close again, gonna-â
âCum then, sweetheart, flood my cock. Make a mess for me, come on, do it," Chris encouraged, breathing heavily next to your ear. His eyes were focused on where he was entering you over and over again, taking note of the white ring of slick that had formed around the base of his cock, soaking the hair that rested there. You scrunched your eyes shut, feeling overwhelmed with bliss. âThat's it. That's my good girl.â
White hot ecstasy overtook your body. You wanted to squirm, but with the pressure of the muscular man on top of your body, you had nowhere to go. You focused on the feeling of his slick chest rubbing against your sensitive nipples, whining and moaning as the orgasm coursed through your body and made it feel like you were being electrocuted.Â
âFucking clenching on my cock, shit,â Chan groaned, his hand falling away from your clit once your breathing had began to calm slightly. His hands went down to grab your hips, and before you knew it, he was lifting your hips up and fucking you senseless, treating you like a toy. âW-Wanted to be soft with you for our first time, sweetheart. I'm not normally like this, not at all, but this fucking pussy is driving me insane, fuck... I need to fill you up. Will you let daddy fill that pussy with my cum, sweetheart? Let me breed you, make you mine?â
You nodded quickly, unable to speak at this point. Your hole felt raw, sensitive and fucked open, but you needed his cum in you. You thought you might die if you didn't get it soon. His tip jabbed into your g spot incessantly, almost causing you to cum again, but you subconsciously knew you couldn't take another orgasm at the same level as the previous one. You might die.Â
âFucking- gâna breed you, sweetheart. Gonna make you mine. G-Gonna give you a baby, gâna fill you up, fuck!â
With an animalistic growl, Chanâs head dropped to your neck, biting into the skin there and definitely leaving a mark. You felt his hips still and cum flooded out of the tip of his length, flooding your hole with a new sense of wetness. You sighed with content and laid there until Chanâs breathing calmed, his body weight fully on top of you and yet not uncomfortable.Â
âI have to be honest about something,â Chan sighed. You looked up at him from your position on his chest, and he looked down at you with an apprehensive look. He looked a lot shyer than he did moments before, when he was fucking you senseless and calling you a slut - he was blushing now, embarrassed. You were sure thatâs what you liked about him. âYouâre- itâs like you were made for me. I donât know what the fuck to do, heh. Iâm falling for you, I think.â
You blinked, leaning up to rest inches away from his face. Got him. Youâd got him. âWell, thatâs okay, Chan. Youâre closer to my age anyway, right?â
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