#public choice theory
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In defense of bureaucratic competence
Sure, sometimes it really does make sense to do your own research. There's times when you really do need to take personal responsibility for the way things are going. But there's limits. We live in a highly technical world, in which hundreds of esoteric, potentially lethal factors impinge on your life every day.
You can't "do your own research" to figure out whether all that stuff is safe and sound. Sure, you might be able to figure out whether a contractor's assurances about a new steel joist for your ceiling are credible, but after you do that, are you also going to independently audit the software in your car's antilock brakes?
How about the nutritional claims on your food and the sanitary conditions in the industrial kitchen it came out of? If those turn out to be inadequate, are you going to be able to validate the medical advice you get in the ER when you show up at 3AM with cholera? While you're trying to figure out the #HIPAAWaiver they stuck in your hand on the way in?
40 years ago, Ronald Reagan declared war on "the administrative state," and "government bureaucrats" have been the favored bogeyman of the American right ever since. Even if Steve Bannon hasn't managed to get you to froth about the "Deep State," there's a good chance that you've griped about red tape from time to time.
Not without reason, mind you. The fact that the government can make good rules doesn't mean it will. When we redid our kitchen this year, the city inspector added a bunch of arbitrary electrical outlets to the contractor's plans in places where neither we, nor any future owner, will every need them.
But the answer to bad regulation isn't no regulation. During the same kitchen reno, our contractor discovered that at some earlier time, someone had installed our kitchen windows without the accompanying vapor-barriers. In the decades since, the entire structure of our kitchen walls had rotted out. Not only was the entire front of our house one good earthquake away from collapsing – there were two half rotted verticals supporting the whole thing – but replacing the rotted walls added more than $10k to the project.
In other words, the problem isn't too much regulation, it's the wrong regulation. I want our city inspectors to make sure that contractors install vapor barriers, but to not demand superfluous electrical outlets.
Which raises the question: where do regulations come from? How do we get them right?
Regulation is, first and foremost, a truth-seeking exercise. There will never be one obvious answer to any sufficiently technical question. "Should this window have a vapor barrier?" is actually a complex question, needing to account for different window designs, different kinds of barriers, etc.
To make a regulation, regulators ask experts to weigh in. At the federal level, expert agencies like the DoT or the FCC or HHS will hold a "Notice of Inquiry," which is a way to say, "Hey, should we do something about this? If so, what should we do?"
Anyone can weigh in on these: independent technical experts, academics, large companies, lobbyists, industry associations, members of the public, hobbyist groups, and swivel-eyed loons. This produces a record from which the regulator crafts a draft regulation, which is published in something called a "Notice of Proposed Rulemaking."
The NPRM process looks a lot like the NOI process: the regulator publishes the rule, the public weighs in for a couple of rounds of comments, and the regulator then makes the rule (this is the federal process; state regulation and local ordinances vary, but they follow a similar template of collecting info, making a proposal, collecting feedback and finalizing the proposal).
These truth-seeking exercises need good input. Even very competent regulators won't know everything, and even the strongest theoretical foundation needs some evidence from the field. It's one thing to say, "Here's how your antilock braking software should work," but you also need to hear from mechanics who service cars, manufacturers, infosec specialists and drivers.
These people will disagree with each other, for good reasons and for bad ones. Some will be sincere but wrong. Some will want to make sure that their products or services are required – or that their competitors' products and services are prohibited.
It's the regulator's job to sort through these claims. But they don't have to go it alone: in an ideal world, the wrong people will be corrected by other parties in the docket, who will back up their claims with evidence.
So when the FCC proposes a Net Neutrality rule, the monopoly telcos and cable operators will pile in and insist that this is technically impossible, that there is no way to operate a functional ISP if the network management can't discriminate against traffic that is less profitable to the carrier. Now, this unity of perspective might reflect a bedrock truth ("Net Neutrality can't work") or a monopolists' convenient lie ("Net Neutrality is less profitable for us").
In a competitive market, there'd be lots of counterclaims with evidence from rivals: "Of course Net Neutrality is feasible, and here are our server logs to prove it!" But in a monopolized markets, those counterclaims come from micro-scale ISPs, or academics, or activists, or subscribers. These counterclaims are easy to dismiss ("what do you know about supporting 100 million users?"). That's doubly true when the regulator is motivated to give the monopolists what they want – either because they are hoping for a job in the industry after they quit government service, or because they came out of industry and plan to go back to it.
To make things worse, when an industry is heavily concentrated, it's easy for members of the ruling cartel – and their backers in government – to claim that the only people who truly understand the industry are its top insiders. Seen in that light, putting an industry veteran in charge of the industry's regulator isn't corrupt – it's sensible.
All of this leads to regulatory capture – when a regulator starts defending an industry from the public interest, instead of defending the public from the industry. The term "regulatory capture" has a checkered history. It comes out of a bizarre, far-right Chicago School ideology called "Public Choice Theory," whose goal is to eliminate regulation, not fix it.
In Public Choice Theory, the biggest companies in an industry have the strongest interest in capturing the regulator, and they will work harder – and have more resources – than anyone else, be they members of the public, workers, or smaller rivals. This inevitably leads to capture, where the state becomes an arm of the dominant companies, wielded by them to prevent competition:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/
This is regulatory nihilism. It supposes that the only reason you weren't killed by your dinner, or your antilock brakes, or your collapsing roof, is that you just got lucky – and not because we have actual, good, sound regulations that use evidence to protect us from the endless lethal risks we face. These nihilists suppose that making good regulation is either a myth – like ancient Egyptian sorcery – or a lost art – like the secret to embalming Pharaohs.
But it's clearly possible to make good regulations – especially if you don't allow companies to form monopolies or cartels. What's more, failing to make public regulations isn't the same as getting rid of regulation. In the absence of public regulation, we get private regulation, run by companies themselves.
Think of Amazon. For decades, the DoJ and FTC sat idly by while Amazon assembled and fortified its monopoly. Today, Amazon is the de facto e-commerce regulator. The company charges its independent sellers 45-51% in junk fees to sell on the platform, including $31b/year in "advertising" to determine who gets top billing in your searches. Vendors raise their Amazon prices in order to stay profitable in the face of these massive fees, and if they don't raise their prices at every other store and site, Amazon downranks them to oblivion, putting them out of business.
This is the crux of the FTC's case against Amazon: that they are picking winners and setting prices across the entire economy, including at every other retailer:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos
The same is true for Google/Facebook, who decide which news and views you encounter; for Apple/Google, who decide which apps you can use, and so on. The choice is never "government regulation" or "no regulation" – it's always "government regulation" or "corporate regulation." You either live by rules made in public by democratically accountable bureaucrats, or rules made in private by shareholder-accountable executives.
You just can't solve this by "voting with your wallet." Think about the problem of robocalls. Nobody likes these spam calls, and worse, they're a vector for all kinds of fraud. Robocalls are mostly a problem with federation. The phone system is a network-of-networks, and your carrier is interconnected with carriers all over the world, sometimes through intermediaries that make it hard to know which network a call originates on.
Some of these carriers are spam-friendly. They make money by selling access to spammers and scammers. Others don't like spam, but they have lax or inadequate security measures to prevent robocalls. Others will simply be targets of opportunity: so large and well-resourced that they are irresistible to bad actors, who continuously probe their defenses and exploit overlooked flaws, which are quickly patched.
To stem the robocall tide, your phone company will have to block calls from bad actors, put sloppy or lazy carriers on notice to shape up or face blocks, and also tell the difference between good companies and bad ones.
There's no way you can figure this out on your own. How can you know whether your carrier is doing a good job at this? And even if your carrier wants to do this, only the largest, most powerful companies can manage it. Rogue carriers won't give a damn if some tiny micro-phone-company threatens them with a block if they don't shape up.
This is something that a large, powerful government agency is best suited to addressing. And thankfully, we have such an agency. Two years ago, the FCC demanded that phone companies submit plans for "robocall mitigation." Now, it's taking action:
https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2023/10/telcos-filed-blank-robocall-plans-with-fcc-and-got-away-with-it-for-2-years/
Specifically, the FCC has identified carriers – in the US and abroad – with deficient plans. Some of these plans are very deficient. National Cloud Communications of Texas sent the FCC a Windows Printer Test Page. Evernex (Pakistan) sent the FCC its "taxpayer profile inquiry" from a Pakistani state website. Viettel (Vietnam) sent in a slide presentation entitled "Making Smart Cities Vision a Reality." Canada's Humbolt VoIP sent an "indiscernible object." DomainerSuite submitted a blank sheet of paper scrawled with the word "NOTHING."
The FCC has now notified these carriers – and others with less egregious but still deficient submissions – that they have 14 days to fix this or they'll be cut off from the US telephone network.
This is a problem you don't fix with your wallet, but with your ballot. Effective, public-interest-motivated FCC regulators are a political choice. Trump appointed the cartoonishly evil Ajit Pai to run the FCC, and he oversaw a program of neglect and malice. Pai – a former Verizon lawyer – dismantled Net Neutrality after receiving millions of obviously fraudulent comments from stolen identities, lying about it, and then obstructing the NY Attorney General's investigation into the matter:
https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/31/and-drown-it/#starve-the-beast
The Biden administration has a much better FCC – though not as good as it could be, thanks to Biden hanging Gigi Sohn out to dry in the face of a homophobic smear campaign that ultimately led one of the best qualified nominees for FCC commissioner to walk away from the process:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/15/useful-idiotsuseful-idiots/#unrequited-love
Notwithstanding the tragic loss of Sohn's leadership in this vital agency, Biden's FCC – and its action on robocalls – illustrates the value of elections won with ballots, not wallets.
Self-regulation without state regulation inevitably devolves into farce. We're a quarter of a century into the commercial internet and the US still doesn't have a modern federal privacy law. The closest we've come is a disclosure rule, where companies can make up any policy they want, provided they describe it to you.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out how to cheat on this regulation. It's so simple, even a Meta lawyer can figure it out – which is why the Meta Quest VR headset has a privacy policy isn't merely awful, but long.
It will take you five hours to read the whole document and discover how badly you're being screwed. Go ahead, "do your own research":
https://foundation.mozilla.org/en/privacynotincluded/articles/annual-creep-o-meter/
The answer to bad regulation is good regulation, and the answer to incompetent regulators is competent ones. As Michael Lewis's Fifth Risk (published after Trump filled the administrative agencies with bootlickers, sociopaths and crooks) documented, these jobs demand competence:
https://memex.craphound.com/2018/11/27/the-fifth-risk-michael-lewis-explains-how-the-deep-state-is-just-nerds-versus-grifters/
For example, Lewis describes how a Washington State nuclear waste facility created as part of the Manhattan Project endangers the Columbia River, the source of 8 million Americans' drinking water. The nuclear waste cleanup is projected to take 100 years and cost 100 billion dollars. With stakes that high, we need competent bureaucrats overseeing the job.
The hacky conservative jokes comparing every government agency to the DMV are not descriptive so much as prescriptive. By slashing funding, imposing miserable working conditions, and demonizing the people who show up for work anyway, neoliberals have chased away many good people, and hamstrung those who stayed.
One of the most inspiring parts of the Biden administration is the large number of extremely competent, extremely principled agency personnel he appointed, and the speed and competence they've brought to their roles, to the great benefit of the American public:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff
But leaders can only do so much – they also need staff. 40 years of attacks on US state capacity has left the administrative state in tatters, stretched paper-thin. In an excellent article, Noah Smith describes how a starveling American bureaucracy costs the American public a fortune:
https://www.noahpinion.blog/p/america-needs-a-bigger-better-bureaucracy
Even stripped of people and expertise, the US government still needs to get stuff done, so it outsources to nonprofits and consultancies. These are the source of much of the expense and delay in public projects. Take NYC's Second Avenue subway, a notoriously overbudget and late subway extension – "the most expensive mile of subway ever built." Consultants amounted to 20% of its costs, double what France or Italy would have spent. The MTA used to employ 1,600 project managers. Now it has 124 of them, overseeing $20b worth of projects. They hand that money to consultants, and even if they have the expertise to oversee the consultants' spending, they are stretched too thin to do a good job of it:
https://slate.com/business/2023/02/subway-costs-us-europe-public-transit-funds.html
When a public agency lacks competence, it ends up costing the public more. States with highly expert Departments of Transport order better projects, which need fewer changes, which adds up to massive costs savings and superior roads:
https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4522676
Other gaps in US regulation are plugged by nonprofits and citizen groups. Environmental rules like NEPA rely on the public to identify and object to environmental risks in public projects, from solar plants to new apartment complexes. NEPA and its state equivalents empower private actors to sue developers to block projects, even if they satisfy all environmental regulations, leading to years of expensive delay.
The answer to this isn't to dismantle environmental regulations – it's to create a robust expert bureaucracy that can enforce them instead of relying on NIMBYs. This is called "ministerial approval" – when skilled government workers oversee environmental compliance. Predictably, NIMBYs hate ministerial approval.
Which is not to say that there aren't problems with trusting public enforcers to ensure that big companies are following the law. Regulatory capture is real, and the more concentrated an industry is, the greater the risk of capture. We are living in a moment of shocking market concentration, thanks to 40 years of under-regulation:
https://www.openmarketsinstitute.org/learn/monopoly-by-the-numbers
Remember that five-hour privacy policy for a Meta VR headset? One answer to these eye-glazing garbage novellas presented as "privacy policies" is to simply ban certain privacy-invading activities. That way, you can skip the policy, knowing that clicking "I agree" won't expose you to undue risk.
This is the approach that Bennett Cyphers and I argue for in our EFF white-paper, "Privacy Without Monopoly":
https://www.eff.org/wp/interoperability-and-privacy
After all, even the companies that claim to be good for privacy aren't actually very good for privacy. Apple blocked Facebook from spying on iPhone owners, then sneakily turned on their own mass surveillance system, and lied about it:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar
But as the European experiment with the GDPR has shown, public administrators can't be trusted to have the final word on privacy, because of regulatory capture. Big Tech companies like Google, Apple and Facebook pretend to be headquartered in corporate crime havens like Ireland and Luxembourg, where the regulators decline to enforce the law:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town
It's only because of the GPDR has a private right of action – the right of individuals to sue to enforce their rights – that we're finally seeing the beginning of the end of commercial surveillance in Europe:
https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/07/americans-deserve-more-current-american-data-privacy-protection-act
It's true that NIMBYs can abuse private rights of action, bringing bad faith cases to slow or halt good projects. But just as the answer to bad regulations is good ones, so too is the answer to bad private rights of action good ones. SLAPP laws have shown us how to balance vexatious litigation with the public interest:
https://www.rcfp.org/resources/anti-slapp-laws/
We must get over our reflexive cynicism towards public administration. In my book The Internet Con, I lay out a set of public policy proposals for dismantling Big Tech and putting users back in charge of their digital lives:
https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con
The most common objection I've heard since publishing the book is, "Sure, Big Tech has enshittified everything great about the internet, but how can we trust the government to fix it?"
We've been conditioned to think that lawmakers are too old, too calcified and too corrupt, to grasp the technical nuances required to regulate the internet. But just because Congress isn't made up of computer scientists, it doesn't mean that they can't pass good laws relating to computers. Congress isn't full of microbiologists, but we still manage to have safe drinking water (most of the time).
You can't just "do the research" or "vote with your wallet" to fix the internet. Bad laws – like the DMCA, which bans most kinds of reverse engineering – can land you in prison just for reconfiguring your own devices to serve you, rather than the shareholders of the companies that made them. You can't fix that yourself – you need a responsive, good, expert, capable government to fix it.
We can have that kind of government. It'll take some doing, because these questions are intrinsically hard to get right even without monopolies trying to capture their regulators. Even a president as flawed as Biden can be pushed into nominating good administrative personnel and taking decisive, progressive action:
https://doctorow.medium.com/joe-biden-is-headed-to-a-uaw-picket-line-in-detroit-f80bd0b372ab?sk=f3abdfd3f26d2f615ad9d2f1839bcc07
Biden may not be doing enough to suit your taste. I'm certainly furious with aspects of his presidency. The point isn't to lionize Biden – it's to point out that even very flawed leaders can be pushed into producing benefit for the American people. Think of how much more we can get if we don't give up on politics but instead demand even better leaders.
My next novel is The Lost Cause, coming out on November 14. It's about a generation of people who've grown up under good government – a historically unprecedented presidency that has passed the laws and made the policies we'll need to save our species and planet from the climate emergency:
https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause
The action opens after the pendulum has swung back, with a new far-right presidency and an insurgency led by white nationalist militias and their offshore backers – seagoing anarcho-capitalist billionaires.
In the book, these forces figure out how to turn good regulations against the people they were meant to help. They file hundreds of simultaneous environmental challenges to refugee housing projects across the country, blocking the infill building that is providing homes for the people whose homes have been burned up in wildfires, washed away in floods, or rendered uninhabitable by drought.
I don't want to spoil the book here, but it shows how the protagonists pursue a multipronged defense, mixing direct action, civil disobedience, mass protest, court challenges and political pressure to fight back. What they don't do is give up on state capacity. When the state is corrupted by wreckers, they claw back control, rather than giving up on the idea of a competent and benevolent public system.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/23/getting-stuff-done/#praxis
#pluralistic#nerd harder#private right of action#privacy#robocalls#fcc#administrative competence#noah smith#spam#regulatory capture#public choice theory#nimbyism#the lost cause#the internet con#evidence based policy#small government#transit#praxis#antitrust#trustbusting#monopoly
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#thomas hobbes#hobbes#leviathan#political philosophy#philosophy memes#philosophy#social contract#contractarianism#realism#egoism#game theory#public choice theory#political economy#hobbesian
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OKAY question
i wanna reread choices and edit it but i can never make myself do it cause im like "ugh wow so long i simply cannot"
but also, every time i do reread parts of it i have like *thoughts* like SO many thoughts about it and about what i was thinking at the time and how that has or hasn't changed and what i was trying to do and what i love and what i hate and blah blah blah
SO the question: if i did like a lil read-a-long with soph thing, would anyone be interested? like maybe in the form of small podcast episodes where i discuss the chapters as i edit them and you guys can like tell me the different stuff you want me to talk about etc etc and then i will have the motivation to actually do this and also somewhere to dump all of my *thoughts*
or is that like, a stupid idea that no one asked for? i cannot decide whether this is leaning more on the fun cute side or the annoying keep this to yourself side, Y'KNOW?????
so i ask
#like in theory i could do this on tiktok like a normal person#but tiktok terrifies me and i don't wanna#or i could just write posts about it#but i feel like that is going to be infinitely less fun to me than just like#going on lil rants#like extended public voice notes#but again maybe a horrible idea idk#sometimes i just WANT to talk about it like in depth because im a nerd#and i wanna love it again#okay sorry im done now#soph rambles#choices
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Don't advocate government action merely because a clever-and-appealing policy proposal passes a cost-benefit test. Instead, look at the trendy-but-awful policies that will actually be adopted - and see if they pass a cost-benefit test. If they don't, you should advocate laissez-faire despite all those shiny ideas in the textbook.
[...]
The moral: If the only way you can get your great idea implemented is to mutilate it and/or package it with a pile of expensive junk, you really should wonder, 'Is it still worth it?'
Bryan Caplan from “If the Only Way You Can Get Your Great Idea Implemented...” in How Evil Are Politicians?
#quote#books#bryan caplan#public choice#public choice theory#public choice economics#economics#politicians#government#how evil are politicians?
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this is so self indulgent but i watched abd illustrates new video and i loved the fashion designer character soo much T_T Beau made me think of my own fontaine chara, Théo, who's like a .... performer lol? idk he does a lot of stuff... singing, dancing, theatre shows, events etc.. but i thought they would be fun together because Théo would probably seek out a fashion designer .. a lot ... if not for his productions then for his own personal wardrobe LOL
this is super rough omfg my apple pencil has been glitching like crazy lately.. can hardly draw for more than a few mins wout getting annoyed i have no idea whats causing it.. its not even old T_T maybe i dropped it too many times lol
OH MY GOD HIS LEG JUST CUTS OFF i forgot i was going to crop it um. i dont care thats too much work
#abd illustrates#genshin ocs#actually going off abd's own vision theories#i didnt rlly think about my vision choices for my ocs#but he was saying how he thinks hydro charas have very different personal and public personas/personalities yk#well the public literally thinks theo is two diff people LMFAO#which is funny because like how many blonde foxes are in fontaine ..?#ig they just think theyre twins or something ... lyney lynette effect#probably because they thing theo's stage persona is a woman#which hes fine w and kinda thinks is funny but hes also just kinda meh about his gender#hes so pretty i need 2 draw him more#i also kinda want 2 redesign him T_T he doesnt feel very genshin-y#idk ill work on it#sigh#genshin impact#genshin fanart#fontaine oc#abd illustrates fanart#jammy ocs#jammy fanart
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I just turned in an assignment on a greek funerary inscription in which i refuse to ignore the very slight posibility of a queer solution to a textual problem and i am absolutely Terrified
#it's not even that I'm claiming that it must be true#bcs there is no way of proving it#theres no way of disproving it either#which is why i think it should at least be mentioned among the options of how to interpret the strange choice of words#but bcs i feel like i have to defend my choice in including this theory#it takes up way more space than it should have to#or at least i think it does?#maybe not though#i guess i wouldve had to spend time fitting it into the bigger picture anyway#but yeah it's scary#i do feel like i took a big risk here#worst part is that the prof said that if i do well enough on this and two other funerary epitaphs#he'll give me co-author rights when he publishes them himself#which would mean i would get to be a published academic right before i disappear into teaching forever#which would be really freaking cool#but the possibility of it is stressing me out so badly#bcs now i cant just write about the things that interest *me*#no i need to write about what a publication would expect me to write about#so yeah... guess we'll have to wait and see...#if this one isnt good enough i have two other chances i suppose#and i am kinda proud of myself for not budging on the queer theory#and not relegating it to a footnote as i originally planned on doing
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Amartya Sen: The Unsung Hero!
Amartya Sen: Amidst a whirlwind of false news, let’s unravel the inspiring journey of renowned economist Amartya Sen, a man whose legacy continues to shape the world. In this blog post, we delve into the life and achievements of this extraordinary individual, debunking myths and celebrating the truth.
Unraveling the Truth:In a recent wave of misinformation, reports surfaced claiming the demise…
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#Amartya Sen#Capability Approach#Collective Choice#Development Economics#Economist#Ethics#Famine#Freedom#Human Development Index#Indian Economist#Inequality#Nobel Laureate#Nobel Prize in Economics#Philosophy#Political Economy#Poverty#Public Intellectual#Rationality#Senian Perspective#Social Choice Theory#Social Justice#Social Philosophy#Welfare Economics
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Yandere Alastor with daughter reader
A Stag and his Fawn
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(Not proof read cause I'm tired but I need to post)
Masterlist
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Alastor was your adoptive father. He adopted you when you were both still alive. You were only a baby at the time, being left in a dumpster.
When Alastor was dumping bodys in the dumpster he found you, he was originally going to put you in a foster home, but when he saw you open your eyes and look at him seeming at peice, he knew it was a bad idea to put you in any foster home.
Of course, he could not just take you in. He had to get you some medical treatment. So he took you to the nearest hospital to get a check-up and other things. Then he had to do even more other things like birth certificate and adoption stuff. (You know, the essentials)
Anyways, once you were old enough, he taught you his ways of voodoo and murder. (You were already learning from about 4, lmao), and you became a perfect daughter to him (even though you were already perfect to him).
If you were to get bullied in school, those kids would regret it. He would also teach those kids' parents a lesson as well.
If you end up dying before him from it being someone's fault, he would torture that person/persons and eat that person's corpse.
Once he enters hell, he would search for you while aswell becoming a terrifying overlord. And once he finds you, he would pretend you are not his daughter in public so you would not get targeted. He knows you can look after yourself so he would let you in public by yourself, but a shadow will follow you.
But if you are an overlord, he wouldn't admit being your father, but he will treat you like his daughter in public, and he will let others' theories flow. (Overlord or not, a shadow will follow you, btw)
Now, if he dies first, he will patiently wait for you. You, of course, kill the one who mistakes your father for a deer. You then live life how he wanted you to, until you finally arrive in hell.
Once you arrive in hell, he ether will take a while to find you or find you quickly. If you quickly become an overlord just like him, he would be proud, like you have no idea.
(The ways he is with you in hell is the same as I explained in the first death choice.)
Of course, introducing you to people as Alastors' daughter, you will get interesting reactions.
The overlords would be shocked, to say the least, Carmila might like Alastor slightly more cause she has her own daughters.
Now the hotel's reactions ig
Of course, the entire hotel is shocked except for niffty and husk cause yall already probably met (I would tell you that, but that's a different kind of worm)
Anyway, sir pentious would be most likely terrified of you or just won't admit it.
Angel- well, Angel-... he's probably going to start off with sex jokes, and how unfair it is that some random bitch got to fuck Alastor. Your father was not happy.
Vaggie is very suspicious of you once you met. She knew how your father was, so you were not trustworthy. (Which was fair, you showed that same creepy smile your father did)
Charlie loved meeting you. She was and is so happy that Alastor has a daughter and she is and was happy to meet you. She was hoping to help you get redeemed, but you just told her you would rather be in hell with your father.
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I was going to make Alastor more yandere but because of 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑠, he's like that, ok? OK
I did get lazy at the end, so... Yyyeeeaaaa
Hope you enjoyed it
- 𝐋.𝐁 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬
#hazbin hotel#alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#charlie morningstar#alastor the radio demon#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor x reader#sir pentious#carmilla carmine#angel dust#vaggie#husk#niffty#fanfic#hazbin hotel fanfiction#x child reader#x reader#alastor x daughter reader#yandere alastor#yandere#yandere alastor x reader#yandere alastor x child reader#alastor x child reader#the radio demon
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Me because the Percy Jackson series is actually about the different cycles of abuse, which include abuse within romantic partners (Sally and Gabe), abuse between “family” (Percy and Gabe, Meg and Nero), abuse from people in positions of power (the gods over the demigods), and so on, oppression than ranges from having adhd in the public educational system to being forced to perform quests for your entire life for people who could not care less about your well-being, how camp is both somewhere safe but also the bittersweet taste of arriving there and realizing you can never escape, you can never be normal your life will never be the same. There’s no turning back. How Luke was right on theory but not on acts, how these kids got around the idea to never make it to 18, and how there was nothing they could do about that. How many of them sat in their cabins, counting down the days until their sibling/friend/partner came back, only for them to not come back at all. Was it ever their turn to leave someone waiting behind? Annabeth, Percy, Grover, Thalia, the whole deal with Nico, Bianca, Silena, and every single demigod. Children of Apollo were the camp healers, was it a choice? A moral obligation? In camp Jupiter there’s Jason, there’s Reyna, Piper’s story, Leo’s story, the way Jason and Piper’s relationship was heteronormativity pushed by Hero because both of them were queer but she wanted a perfect couple. After being gone missing, people searched for Percy, but Jason? The devastation of Leo and Jason’s relationship, how Leo never knew his feelings for him were required, how both Leo and Piper thought they knew Jason but it was all fake memories, how Jason never fully got his memories back. Hazel’s story, Frank’s story, how Nico and Leo’s mutual dislike for each other comes from a place of understatement. How they both see themselves in each other and look away as one looks away from a mirror when they dislike their reflection. They are both so similar, almost the same. They both are also autistic, except Leo is always masking, and Nico never really learnt how to. Neurodivergence, adhd and dyslexia. Being a demigod is a metaphor for neurodiversity. Was Dionysus actual punishment looking over camp? Or was it spending years and years seeing demigods come and grow and die? Knowing there was nothing he could do about it? Knowing than if he was with the gods, he would be causing their deaths, instead of grieving them? Does Chiron feel hopeless? Memory, names, ghosts. Blades, swords, arrows, blood. So many blood, blood-stained hands. Monsters follow you before coming to camp, did they hurt you family? It was all your fault. They don’t want you to come back, you bring danger, you’re more dangerous than the monster, you are a monster yourself, after all the Minotaur was a demigod too. Leo killed his mother, Zeus killed Maria, Sally got taken to the underworld, Tristan was held hostage, Fredrick and his wife and sons got attacked by monsters, and who’s fault it was? You run away you keep on running but you’ll never outrun the danger because the danger is yourself, you are at fault, how do you run away now?
The odyssey, the iliad, the statues in museums, you look at them, do you see yourself? Do you see any resemble? Your nose kinda looks like theirs, the shape of their lips, the width of their hands, but that’s a lie you’re nothing like them, never will be, is that a tragedy? Do you want to be like them? Do you want to be a hero and die a heroic death? Or do you simply wish to visit your family on Christmas and live the life your little cousins will eventually live? Maybe you’ll never see the life they’ll live, maybe you’ll die before seeing it. There’s nothing to be done about that, you just have to accept it. Don’t you feel the rage, bubbling inside of you, making your hands shake? What can you do with it? Not much, remember last time, remember Luke, what did he accomplish? Nothing, blood, screams. You remember the war, you remember the city, maybe it was the first or the second time you set a foot on it, now every single time you do (if you do) in the future, it will be tainted. Look in that corner, that used to be destroyed. Look at that building, my friend died against that wall, that road was filled with blood. Was it ours? Theirs? Is there even a difference between us? Should there be? Why were you on your side? Why were they in theirs? Who was right? Who was wrong? You can go anywhere but home, maybe you’re not welcomed, maybe there’s no home to return, maybe it’s better for everyone if you don’t return. Nico keeps Bianca’s jacket, Leo taps iloveyou on Morse code. Piper was forced to be someone she wasn’t, she thought she was someone she was not, she was forced to think that. Who is she? Is she even who she thought she was? Jason still don’t remembers everything, and him? Who is he? Nico will never get his memories back, he wonders about his mom, did he have more family back then? Grandparents, aunts? Hazel is a walking curse. Silena and Clarisse as Patroklos and Achilles. Apollo seeing the brutal reality of demigods’ life on trials of apollo.
Your hand shakes, the sword you hold moves, you feel it’s weight, do you want to hold it? Do you have to?
The dead come back to haunt us, Nico sees Bianca everywhere, Leo still remembers his mother’s voice, Hazel came back from the dead, Frank holds his life on his pocket, Thalia lost a brother twice, Leo didn’t really die, Jason died instead, Percy wished to drown himself, half of camp still waits for their brother to come back, even if it has been months, even if it has been years. Luke’s mother still waits, was she crazy? The campers who thought to recognize their friend’s face for a second before remembering than it couldn’t possibly be them, were they crazy too? Who was crazier? Luke’s mother who did not remember, or the campers who did? The underworld has no mercy only justice, but the world has no justice only mercy. You might get mercy, but you never will get justice. Was it fair anything than happened to them? You might be spared in a war or in a battle out of mercy, out of pity, out of recognition, but that didn’t stop you from having to fight in it, that didn’t stop you from having to wield the sword. Spare all the people you want, turn a blind eye to whatever you want, mercy? sure, but you were still holding the sword, you were still supposed to fight, you still weren’t in charge of your life. How was that justice? How was that fair? Names had power, even their names had more power than your life, even the letters making up their names were more powerful than your fists, could you ever win? Could you ever win when their names were so powerful they could not be pronounced but your life was so worthless they didn’t even care to learn yours? To learn the names of the ones than died because of them. You can’t say the name of you sister’s killer, but you’re still expected to burn an offering to them each night at dinner.
#ahahah this is my super cool and canon version of Percy Jackson than exits on my head ok#can you tell i hate the pjo gods like#a LOT#*exists#pjo#luke castellan#rick riordan#toa#hoo
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Even the most ardent small government type will admit that government has some role to play, even if it’s only enforcing contracts that are bargained for by independent, unregulated entities.
But “enforcing contracts” is exactly the kind of game that only works if the player is more powerful than the ref. If a corporation is permitted to grow so large that it can push the government around, then the government can’t be relied upon to step in when that company reneges on its bargains.
Anyone who lived through the rise of the massive, unaccountable, racist, torturing, spying, conquering post-9/11 security state should be suspicious of what Big Government can do. Government power is not a virtue in and of itself, and the more power we give the government, the more risk we run of state overreach.
But even if governments do nothing but enforce contracts, they still have to be bigger and more powerful than the largest companies and cartels.
This should be an area where good faith leftists and capitalist trufans can come together: making small government possible by banning big business.
Small Government: The ref has to be more powerful than the players
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Saving Grace IV
[Chapter 4]
Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x reader
Word count: ~3.2k
Warnings: mentions of blood, fighting, smut adjacent activity
Mattheo was not fucking around when he said he was heavy into the public displays of affection and physical touch. You had expected and anticipated it during the dinner where you first met each other’s friends, and even at the party given that it was (1) a party and (2) had alcohol which, at least for you personally, heavily lowered your inhibitions and heighted your risk taking choices, hence the lap dance that Theo and Enzo were still talking and teasing about at dinners. Thankfully it had died down over the last couple of days, but just about every two meals one of them will start humming the tune to the song you danced to. The lap dance at the party and Adrian’s initial reaction had seemed to fuel Mattheo further to only display affection more and more.
Mattheo was laying it on pretty thick, especially in potions class, that you now all three had together. That first Monday after the party Mattheo had walked to class with you. To anyone else it probably seemed just like any other couple walking to class together, but you knew that Mattheo didn’t want Adrian thinking he had any sort of chance of being remotely near you during this period. And Mattheo was right, as soon as you both walked into Potions, Adrian was sat at the table you normally occupied. Mattheo could tell by the look on your face that you were annoyed, so in a big display he threw you over his shoulder and brought you to the back of the classroom to an empty table. You had swatted at his back playfully, telling him to put you down and that he was essentially flashing your ass to the class. He assured you he held your skirt down because “he was a gentleman”. You attempted to roll your eyes at him but he grabbed your chin firmly, winking at you before kissing you deeply, only to be interrupted by Professor Slughorn walking in and clearing his throat, informing the two of you that you were in fact in Potions and not ‘Snogging 101’. You would’ve been embarrassed if you weren’t incredibly satisfied with how pissed off Adrian looked.
That was a rather tame display of affection compared to others in the weeks after. Mattheo would hook a finger in the waist of your skirt in the hall to snag you away from wherever you were headed and pull you closer to him. Or he would be just slightly obnoxious and walk to class with his arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind, resting his chin on your head and clunking his feet along yours causing you to erupt into fits of laughter each time he almost tripped. His height helped him spot Adrian in the halls, and he would always pull you off to the side and kiss you deeply, sometimes being a little cheeky with a hand around your throat like that first day in the great hall. You had to admit that part you was getting a little addicted to it all. You were really trying your hardest to not fall for Mattheo and his antics, but he was either a really good actor, or he was liking the set up you guys created just as much as you were starting to. You were validating this theory based on two occasions.
The first was about a week after the party, you and Mattheo had made a routine of walking to potions together and you were waiting for him in the common room, per usual. He had been pretty good at being on time since he knew how much of a stickler you were, but that day he had obviously fallen back to his old ways. You were sitting on the arm of one of the couches, waiting for Mattheo, seemingly watching every other slytherin boy leave for classes. When Enzo and Theo passed you stopped them, asking if they had seen Mattheo. Theo smirked, telling you he was ‘still sleeping, but maybe you should go give him a happy wake up call’. You rolled your eyes, but nevertheless you found yourself walking up the steps to the boys dorm.
“Mattheo!” You knocked on the door, pressing your ear to the wood and listening for any movement, but all you heard was deep snoring. You frowned, flicking your wand and unlocking the door. You looked around the room, hearing the snoring but each boy's bed just looked like a pile of duvets. Then you spotted the familiar curls. “Mattheo,” you sang out his name, his response was a long snore. You trailed your fingers lightly up the duvet to the edge just over his shoulder, gripping the covers and ripping them back. Your cheeks instantly aflame at the sight of his near naked state. The lack of cover made no difference to Mattheo, which you were slightly thankful for because all you could do was stare. Freckles painted along his tan, muscular back. The way he sprawled across the bed made his boxer shorts ride up, exposing more of his thigh and Merlin was quidditch great to him. He stirred slightly, likely noticing the lack of warmth. He turned over, seeing you standing next to his bed, “Enjoying the view, Princess?” Your eyes were glued to his chest but you heard the smugness in voice and instantly looked to the floor, “I, erm, we’re just late Mattheo, you know I hate that.”
He sighed, grabbing your wrist and pulling you down onto him. You let out a small yelp, not quite expecting that movement from him. You sat up, Mattheo grabbing your hips and now you were straddling his lap. “Mattheo,” you went to protest but he only shushed you. “I’m sorry, Princess. I told Theo to wake me but clearly he didn’t,” you wanted to be mad at him, but the way his fingers were dancing up and down your thighs, barely slipping under your school skirt and back had you melting. “I-I guess it’s fine,” you we’re definitely sporting a pout on your face but Mattheo’s smile never faulted. “Besides, coming in late together might make everyone think we were up to something,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, making you giggle and slap his chest. Footsteps could be heard coming down the hall and Mattheo pulled your tie, crashing his lips to yours. You caught yourself, hands on his shoulders while his were now on your hips, ever so subtly moving you back on forth on his lap as you heard someone clear their throat behind you. You jumped off Mattheo’s lap and back to the floor, smoothing your skirt only to see Theo standing at the door. “Forgot my school bag, but don’t let me interrupt,” Theo’s face told you that teasing would be evident at lunch and you were correct.
Last week was another moment that had you questioning how ‘fake’ Mattheo’s feelings were for you. During your walk between classes you found yourself suddenly dragged into an empty classroom, before you could protest your back was against against a wall and Mattheo’s lips were slotted against yours. You sighed into the kiss, and he took advantage of this, slipping his tongue in your mouth, which you gladly welcomed. You were fisting his blazer, trying to pull him impossibly closer when two students walked into the room. One gasped, apologizing and flustered, which only made Mattheo giggle against your neck, still ghosting kisses along your skin before you pushed him away. The other student was Luna Lovegood, who simply stated, “Don’t be sorry, I think being in love is the most special of magic.” At this statement your cheeks were aflame, but Mattheo simply winked at her before pecking your forehead and heading to his next class.
You knew you liked Mattheo as a person. His kindness and humor were qualities you highly admired. But each stolen moment that appeared to be just the two of you had you questioning not only if he was liking you more than a friend, but if you did as well. It kept you up most nights, internally battling yourself. Would it really be so wrong? You two obviously had chemistry, everyone who saw the two of you interact thought so. Hell, most even told you so. You couldn’t fake it that well, could you? And then there was the way he’d sneak touches that seemed like they were only for him. Sitting next to you in classes or at the table in the great hall, hand possessively on your thigh, thumb tracing circles on your skin; no one else could see that, or would even notice where his hand was yet he still made the conscious thought to do it.
That’s why you were so nervous for potions today, it was going to be the ultimate test to your theory. Today would help clarify your own feelings as well as possibly Mattheo’s. Today you were tasked with making the love potion: Amortentia. When given the task, Mattheo gave your thigh a light squeeze, stating openly that he “already knew what his would smell like” before kissing your cheek. Two tables in front of you was Adrian, grumbling like a toddler at the display Mattheo was putting on. You smiled and pecked Mattheo’s lips, party for show and partly because you were afraid of any response you’d have and being too honest. Nevertheless, Slughorn encouraged you all to begin, stating he would make rounds and check everyone’s work.
You grabbed the peppermint petals and leaves, as well as the powdered moonstone and rose thorns. You knew that the potion would not be ready to be actually used for seven days, but you had read that, if made correctly, you could feel the effects of the vapors as the potion is being made. You were unsure how much you wanted to believe that section of text you read but as you kept stirring the scent of tobacco and sandalwood was almost dizzying. You knew that scent, it filled your lungs with every touch or passing that Mattheo gave. You needed to step away, clear your head, “Mattheo can you stir for a moment? I wanna check to make sure we got everything.” He simply grinned, “Sure, Princess.” He grabbed the rod, stirring the simmering liquid when his smile grew wider, turning to you again, “Did you shower this morning, Princess?” You scoffed playfully, crossing your arms, “Why, Riddle, implying I stink?” He shook his head, laughing lightly, “Of course not, love. It’s just, your shampoo is incredibly strong today.”
You swear your heart stopped. Your next hair washing day was not until tomorrow, which could only mean - “Okay, Mr. Riddle, Miss Y/l/n, let’s check your work, hmm?” Your thoughts interrupted by Slughorn. Mattheo nodded at the plump man, taking a step back and motioning with his hand for you to step up and smell it. You leaned over the cauldron, inhaling deeply. “I smell…cigarette smoke…sandalwood cologne and mint chewing gum,” you took a step back, looking to the floor sheepishly. You couldn't make eye contact with Mattheo, but if you had you would have seen the curious look in his eye before stepping up to the potion himself.
Taking a large breathe in, Mattheo began describing what he smelled, “Hmm..I smell, fresh linen…patchouli and…” he trailed off, eyes shooting open with a sudden realization. “Continue please, Mr. Riddle, what was the last you smelled?” Slughorn was cluelessly encouraging him, but Mattheo met your eyes as he nearly whispered, “s-strawberry vanilla shampoo.” Slughorn patted both of your shoulders, congratulating you both on your work and completely oblivious to the tension that was now suffocating the two of you. The second Slughorn dismissed class you were moving to leave the room, cursing Mattheo’s height as he caught up to you in just three long strides.
“Princess, we have to talk about this,” He was on your heels as you continued walking, clutching your books to your chest. “Y/n, c’mon…we need to talk about this,” he rarely used your full name, even though it was all supposedly a facade he was always using a pet name, princess, darling, love. So when your name fell from his lips you stop, turning to face him, “There’s nothing to talk about, what is there to say really?” He pulled you to the side of the corridor, leaning his shoulder against the wall, “C’mon, you know we smelled each other.” You shrugged, “We smell each other like, every day, Mattheo. We’re basically on top of each other in every public space.” You were trying to play it off, but he was having none of it. “We smelled each other, in the love potion, y/n. That’s not something you can make up, we have to talk about thi-”
“Well, well, trouble in fake paradise?” The sneer was evident in Adrian’s voice, your whole body tensing at his presence. Mattheo was instantly in a rage, “Sod off, shithole, you’re irrelevant here, as always.” The smirk on Adrian's face even made you irritated. It was like he thought he knew something no one else did, which, technically he was right, but now was not the time. But he didn't seem to care, just continued to poke the bear, it was like he couldn’t help himself, “You two were convincing in the beginning, but now it’s just sad to keep going. I get you wanted to make me jealous, Y/n, with the flirting and that lap dance, which was incredibly sexy by the way. But really, couldn’t you have picked anyone better?” Adrian took a step toward you as he spoke, backing you against the wall and reaching to cup your face. You were frozen in your spot, however Mattheo’s temper was boiled over.
He grabbed Adrian by the throat, slamming him on the corridor floor. Student’s all around backed up immediately forming a semi-circle around the commotion. Mattheo had Adrian pinned, kneeling on the ground next to him, his face leaning over Adrian’s as the tip of his wand was pressed to Adrian’s temple. “You know I could fucking kill you right now, don’t you Pucey? One simple spell, you know the one. You think my father didn’t teach me how to get rid of pests?” Adrian was squirming under Mattheo’s grip, obviously struggling to breath. “Or maybe I should just make you my puppet, hmm? Maybe then you’d have the decency to leave me and my girlfriend the fuck alone.” Adrian pulled at Mattheo’s fingers around his throat, managing two simple words, “Fuck you.”
Mattheo’s wand was thrown on the floor as he started pummeling Adrian’s face, his fists connecting one after the other as Pucey’s blood started to splatter on Mattheo’s school uniform. “Stop it!” You shouted at the scene, trying to get Mattheo’s attention, but his rage was all he could see. He was over how Adrian was treating you, over his entitlement and how he felt like he had some sort of right to you. He could tell Adrian was almost unconscious, Mattheo wanted to knock him out, make him really understand how serious he was about you, but then he heard your voice pleading again, “Mattheo, please.” He stood up, leaving Adrian groaning on the floor as the circle of student’s started whispering around them. He grabbed your hand, pulling you through the mob of people and headed back toward the common room.
He was leaning against the edge of the sink in your dorm bathroom now, opening and closing his fists and inspecting the cuts on his knuckles. You stood in front of him, holding out your palm for him to place his hand in yours. You waved your want over his cuts, whispering healing spells and watching them close and disappear, forming new scars next to old ones. You did the same to his other hand before placing your wand back in your pocket. Mattheo placed his index finger under your chin, making you look up, brown irises meeting yours, “You know we still have to talk about potions, y/n.” You sighed, nodding and taking his hand, leading him to your bed where you both sat at the edge.
He scooted closer to the middle, making you do the same so you could face each other. You were playing with your fingers, wringing your hands as you waited for either of you to break the silence. Mattheo grabbed your hands in his, giving them a light squeeze. You took a deep breath, “I smelled you. And not because we’re around each other all the time, or because I was making it up for show. I noticed as soon as all the ingredients were in the cauldron together. Before slughorn even asked us to test it out.” You were looking at your hands together, afraid to see what his reaction was. After all, you were the one to ask him for help, he didn’t have to do that, he was just being nice and now you were smelling him in love potions? But he didn’t pull away his hands after hearing what had to say, he was…laughing?
You looked up at him confused, but his eyes were nothing but pure adoration when they met yours. “I knew I was going to smell you, y/n.” You opened your mouth to reply but he continued on, “You are…so beautiful. Not just your looks, but your mind, the way you approach things, your spirit. I knew I liked you that first time I kissed you at dinner. Yes, at first I agreed to this whole thing and what not because I fucking loathe Adrain,” this made you laugh a little, “but after that first kiss, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to let this end.” You were speechless, Mattheo Riddle, bachelor extraordinaire just told you he liked you, like, wanted to be with you, liked you. What was happening? You weren’t supposed to fall for him, let alone him fall for you. You were just supposed to use him, you were-being snapped at again.
“Y/n, seriously? Overthinking or trying to come up with a nice way to reject me?” Mattheo was smiling at you zoning out. “I’m- I’m sorry, it’s just. I’m trying to process it all. I never really thought you would actually like me. I know you said I was pretty and such but, you kiss pretty girls all the time and I…ugh, I made a rule for myself when we first started this whole thing and I’m breaking that rule, but I guess I don’t care becaus-” Mattheo’s lips on yours cut your rambling short. Your hands were wrapped around his neck, tucking lightly at the curls and he slowly leaned further over you, laying you down on your back, lips never breaking from yours. One hand held him up, right next to your head while the other roamed your body, gliding over your neck, down the valley between your breasts and resting at your hip. You grab hold of the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, breathing him in like it’s your last breath before he finally pulled away. “Sorry,” he whispers shyly, “just couldn’t help m’self. What were you saying, love? What rule are you breaking?” You looked him over, eyes dancing with fondness, lips slightly red and swollen, your words tumbling out and not a single feeling of regret as you did so, “I’m falling for you, Mattheo.”
Taglist:
@v1olentdelights @cherry-hoe @itsamusical4lifee @chaosartic @b3ean @l4venderia @mypolicemanharryyy @ma-las @usmell4 @carav4l @thereallink @jinxxangel13 @stvrligghtt @taylors--version @classicfandomavenue @lucyispan @moonlightreader649 @badasseddy @icecube1912
*if your name is bolded i tried to tag you but it didn't show up for me. :(
#Saving Grace#Mattheo Riddle#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle x y/n#mattheo riddle smut#golden era#harry potter
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wait and see ✴︎ cl16
genre: enemies to lovers, fluff, angst barely, other drivers appear
word count: 2.5k
The grid recounts the evolution, nature, and many ups and downs of your and Charles' vague relationship.
auds here... req'd, this was p fun to write i hope u guys like it! :) short bec if it was any longer it wouldnt have been as nice to read i think? anyway... i love u guys. title from this.
Lando takes a seat. “Is this the thingy for…? Yeah? Okay. What am I supposed to do again?”
“Just describe the two of them.”
“Easy. She was always pissing him off.” He rubs his chin, lost in thought. “But… in a good way?”
—
“I told you a hundred times I didn’t want this to be the soundbite you published.” Charles chases after you, his footsteps quickening like a lost puppy as you wrestle your way into the media pen. “A hundred times, and you said okay, and you still published it. Che succede?”
You turn, crossing your arms over your torso. “Look. I said yes, but when I looked it over, nothing else you said was really worth it. It was all just repetitions of the same PR bullshit that makes you look good on camera.”
He rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling with frustration, watching his biting comment on Iñaki rack up hundreds of thousands of views. “This was not a good idea!” He repeats, the same sentiment he’s been telling you in the half-hour he’s known of this video’s publicity.
“But it happened.” You adjust your mic and gesture to Lando, who’s awkwardly waiting for the cameras to roll so you can start the post-FP2 interview and he can talk about his shit car. “I’m busy, so deal with it. Your fans will appreciate you not riding Ferrari’s dick all the time.”
Charles opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it, shoving his way back outside and into the motorhome so he can cooperate in damage control. He doesn’t admit it—to you, to Carlos, to anyone—but the PR that comes of it is more good than it is bad in the end. He doesn’t admit it because it means admitting you’re right, and God if that’s the last thing he’ll ever do.
—
“They were always butting heads,” George says, laughing as he soaks in the memories of it. “Always fighting over something. Anything. Whatever there was that could be disagreed on—they’d be disagreeing.”
—
It started harmlessly enough. Seb walked in with two swatches of color—a blue and a purple—and addressed the room with a light tone, asking what color would best suit the tablecloths at his wedding. And then, as it always did with you and Charles, chaos ensued.
“Blue suits green better.” You wave the blue in his face. “You’re busy thinking of red all the time so you don’t understand color theory.”
“It’s not about coordination! It’s about creating a highlight!” He gestures with his hands, aggressively gesticulating to try and get his point across. “Highlight!”
“Oh, bullshit! Blue!”
“Purple!”
“Are you crazy?!”
Across the room, Seb and George watch in mild horror at the two figures caught in a needlessly intense argument over colors at a wedding that isn’t even theirs.
An AlphaTauri engineer comes in to refill his coffee for the third time, finds the two of you still fighting and is genuinely stupefied. He turns to the two onlookers, asks, “Bridezilla, huh? Happened to me once, too. I swear the grooms always try to weasel their way in to seem more involved but their choices never make sense.”
“Oh, no. They, uh, they’re not together.” George clarifies quickly.
“They’re not?!” The engineer and Seb ask at the same time.
They all watch the argument, bemused, but secretly they all wonder just how correct George is.
—
“We have a saying in Spanish. Del amor al odio hay un paso. Neither of them will understand it—it’s in Spanish, obviously—but I think that applies to them. One minute you think they hate each other, and the next…” Carlos lets himself taper into silence, smiling softly.
—
Being around Charles feels like karmic retribution, a constant eternal push and pull. But it makes the both of you better, even if neither of you admit it in the end. You can’t really grasp why, or how it started—it might take ages if you do so much as try—but you’re content with letting things happen the way they do.
Or maybe you’re not. “You ruined my fucking broadcast, dickhead!”
You toss your earpiece at his chest, body welling up with annoyance. Your segment was being casted live until Charles insisted he take up your airtime to do whatever-the-fuck, you honestly don’t care. And yeah, sure, he’s way more relevant, but the less airtime you get, the less easily you get the exposure you need.
“It happened one time.” He sounds amused, and it patronizes you, sets you on fire. He clutches your earpiece to his chest and hands it back to you.
“Fuck you.” You tug it toward yourself, and suddenly you’re closer, noses almost touching. You step back, but it’s not enough. “You have no idea how much that mattered to me.”
His eyes flit toward your lips, your bodies melting together. “If it really did…” he says, inhaling, “you would’ve just ignored me.” And damn, he’s right.
Charles does not like you. He just knows you well. But then one might argue—isn’t that the same thing?
—
“They have trouble not calling the shots, is the thing,” Lewis offers. “So put them in a team, in a room together, and boom.”
—
“…We didn’t agree on this script.” You underline the problematic lines and toss it onto Charles’ lap from where you stand in front of the sofa. “You want your fans to hate you?”
“The questions were clumsy. I asked you to reword them, but you didn’t.”
“You didn’t ask, to be clear. You demanded.” You click your tongue.
Lewis is in the middle of posting on Roscoe’s Instagram account and manually making typos, but he looks up, interest piqued by the increasingly heated conversation.
“I asked,” Charles insists stubbornly. “Plus, this is a Ferrari segment. You get hired to write on Ferrari, you follow Ferrari.” He points to the yellow logo on his shirt. Ferrari, he mouths. Lewis stifles a chuckle at the sarcastic exchange.
“Jesus.” You reread the script. “Fine. I’ll reword this and this.”
“And that.” He points, tapping the paper.
“Only if you edit this and this. Oh, God, and this.”
“Fine. Wait, that?”
“Are you serious? It’s the corniest statement ever. Edit that or I edit nothing.”
“Okay, bossy.”
Lewis exits Instagram in favor of texting Seb to ask if you two are dating. The response he receives is equally unhelpful: Nobody knows mate.
—
“You know, for all the disagreeing they did, they actually agreed on so much of the same stuff. If they stopped fighting for two seconds they would agree on most things.” Alex muses. “But they never did, so. Or maybe a few times.”
—
Media is a tricky thing. It’s either on your side, or it isn’t.
And this weekend, Charles has drawn the short straw, subjected to bouts of backhanded journalists and tweets for his strategy during quali. You know this especially well—you’re media, for Christ’s sake—and you’ve seen your colleagues hound Charles for how he chose to tackle the session.
Alex is in the middle of a FaceTime call with Lily when he hears it. “Wait—I think they’re talking,” he says to his girlfriend when he hears you approach him, carefully maneuvering himself into optimal eavesdropping position.
“Is this the right thing to do?” Lily’s voice comes through like static.
“I know it’s wrong,” Alex confesses. “But—”
“No, I meant I can’t hear properly. Move the phone closer, you dick.”
So he does, and the two of them listen intently to your talk. You go first, a few shuffling footsteps and an adjustment of your media pass, then. “Will’s been all over you today.”
“Yeah,” comes Charles’ voice, tired if anything. “I, uh… I just hope I can understand where I went wrong and, uh. Well, uh.”
“No, I…” There’s heavy silence. “I think you did the right thing. You didn’t get pole, but it was a good strategy. Better than what was being proposed, anyway. I think that would’ve landed you at the back of the grid, to be honest.”
You both laugh. “Thanks,” he croaks.
“You did great. Don’t, um… don’t let them tell you otherwise. I’m proud of you.”
Alex never tells anybody what he heard. But it inspires many long-winded conversations with Lily about the nature of your relationship. Each time, though, they never arrive to a solid answer.
—
“Hey, listen. I always knew something was there with those two. They had the kind of dynamic you only find once in, like, a million instances.” Daniel says firmly. “But I also kept thinking… poor Charlotte.”
—
You’re half-sure Pierre was the one who bought you all shots. Or a quarter-sure. Okay, you’re not sure at all. Your mind’s cloudy, your inhibitions lowered, tongue loose and laugh contagious. Around the table everyone is laughing, some others have gotten up to dance, but you, Daniel, Lewis, and Charles are all conversing about work, albeit while drunk.
“Is… tequila… plant-based?” Lewis grimaces as he throws another shot back and you all laugh mindlessly.
“Danny,” you say, tapping his shoulder. “Any plans once you’re out of the paddock next season?”
“Ah,” he hums. “Self-discovery and a shit ton of shrooms.”
You all cheers to the epiphany, shots once again entering your system. “And a party again tomorrow!” Daniel adds half-jokingly, much to your delight. Charles, right beside you, throws an arm over your shoulder as he laughs. You’re unfazed.
Daniel’s gaze lingers on his arm a little too long, especially because your own hand reaches upward to wrap around his wrist, to make sure he doesn’t pull away. But you’re both drunk, he reasons. And plus, you can’t usually stand each other’s guts.
“I’ll pass, mate, if it happens,” Charles says, his tone clearly inebriated.
“You’re no fun,” you say lightly, laughing and turning to him. Your eyes are on the other’s, dark, lips almost touching as if you’ve forgotten Daniel and Lewis are even around (though the latter is as good as dead, honestly.)
“Invite Charlotte instead,” Daniel says with a smile, to try and test your reactions. “How long, now? Three months?”
You clear your throat, looking away with a faux smile.
“Oh. We’re not doing so well, to be honest.” Charles smiles, tight-lipped. He hopes Daniel doesn’t ask why. He can’t think of a lie quickly enough to cover how Charlotte told him I love you, Charles, but this is over. I hope you end up with her someday.
—
Seb takes some time to think about it. “Those two always fought. Everyone said that, didn’t they? All the time, disagreeing.” He hums. “I could tell very early, though, that they were also the only two who could truly understand the other. Figuratively, obviously—but as a result, also literally.”
“Elaborate?”
“When you understand someone that well, inside and out, you end up understanding everything they say.” Seb smiles. “That was them, I think.”
—
“It’s impossible to transcribe your interviews,” Will says to Charles. It’s that hour on the paddock where everyone’s waiting for the pre-race bustle to start, so small talk is what’s keeping them busy.
You’re reviewing a few clips from practice on your phone and Seb is chipping into the conversation, which has moved from Mick’s future to F1 into Sky Sports into this.
“What do you mean?” Charles asks.
“You’re always sliding in and out of your three languages!” The Englishman laughs. “I have to consult a native speaker of both Italian and French each time. And you’re always going I, I, I, or we, we, we… but hey, the fans dig it, innit?”
“I think I sound perfectly understandable.” Charles smiles. You’re still busy, unfocused on the conversation at present.
“Like, okay. Look at this.” Will retrieves his phone, opens his voice memos app, and plays one of the audio recordings there. It’s a scratchy one of Charles describing his quali session, and sure enough, even if he’s speaking straight English, the adrenaline and exhaustion have him sounding totally indecipherable.
We—we had gasjdhfhs and I, I, I… I think we need to rejshdhs and thijsjsh about the hsfhdh, yeah? And, and, uh, we ajhshajs. And
Will closes it. “Sebastian, can you tell me that said?”
He shrugs, amused. “Sorry, Charles. I genuinely can’t.”
“See?!” Will makes a voila motion. “Nobody understands this.”
“He said we had good traction and I think we need to recalibrate and think about the boxing strategy, yeah? And we need that mindset.” You’re still going over your phone, busy and not 100% invested. “You two just aren’t listening.”
Charles doesn’t take his eyes off you, or the smile off his face, the whole hour.
—
Pierre comes last, clearing his throat. He’s ready. He knows exactly what to say, so he says it. “Those two are fucking soulmates.”
—
It’s three-thirty when somebody knocks on your hotel room.
But your body still feels like it’s five in the evening, your brain’s stuck at two in the afternoon, and your sleep schedule thinks it’s nine in the morning, so you’re not asleep but instead rewriting notes from the weekend prior.
You’re horribly disoriented when you grab your pepper spray and unlatch the door, and even more disoriented when you see Charles on the other side of it.
“Am I crazy?” He asks, breathless, like he’s been waiting for you all his life. Maybe he has.
“You’re at my hotel room at three a.m., so… a bit.” You rub sleepiness and jetlag out of your eyes. “Charles, what’s going on?”
“I love you.” There it is. “It sounds so stupid. But I love you. And it’s almost—I can’t bear it. I woke up this morning? You, on my mind. Lights go off after a race? You. I go to sleep? You. It’s always you. And I know, I know it’s—I know, with Charlotte, and—but it’s true. I, I, I—I think about you every minute. And usually this happens accidentally. Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s’agit d’amour... moi y compris.
“But this was… I knew I was falling in love and I let it happen. And so I thought, why keep waiting? Why let it drag on and on and fight over and over when I can just come and tell you how much I—and maybe, hopefully, see if you feel the same?”
He pants, tired from his clearly rambled and unplanned confession.
“I love you, too,” you say, struck. Oh God.
“Can I kiss you, then?”
“It’s may,” you breathe. “May I kiss you.”
“You may,” he whispers.
“Right now?”
“Anytime.”
“So now.”
“It’s now or next Tuesday,” he jokes.
“Now is… the best. Now would do.”
“Now would do.” So you cross the threshold and let him scoop you into his arms so he can well and truly kiss you.
—
“Is that all?” The interviewer asks Pierre. “Just… those words? We need a bit more for the article on this event.”
“Oh, yeah.” He gets up, straightens his tie. “Don’t worry. You’ll hear the rest during my best man speech.”
Del amor al odio hay un paso – From love to hate, there is one step.
Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s'agit d'amour... moi y compris – We are all fools in love... me included.
#f1#leclsrc2000#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc imagines#charles leclerc drabble#charles leclerc smut#f1 x reader
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Between the Hammer and Anvil (M)
pairing: mafia boss/ceo taeyong x spy reader
genre: childhood friends to lovers, mob au, ceo au
word count: 33.6k
summary: you are a member of yuta's mob sent to spy on a rival mob's boss taeyong who unfortunately happens to be your childhood love that you haven't seen in a decade. when you realize he's still in love with you, and you with him, you grapple with the reality of your mission. (also includes best friend jungwoo and brief Johnny appearance)
warnings: blood, guns, gunfights, illicit activities, minor to medium injuries, physical violence, kidnapping, mentions of death, explicit sexual content, subyong and domyong and everything in between, oral (m. and f. receiving), slight hair pulling and breathplay, semi public (office) smut. healthy relationship though (besides the spying), accidental pregnancy. minors dni.
“The Scorpion?” You echo. The name is big, feared, and known throughout the criminal world, but never you thought you’d take him on.
“Yes. We need to infiltrate his base.” Your boss, Yuta, speaks busily while sifting through folders on his desk.
“That’s a bold move. He’s the most powerful mob boss in the city.”
“We have no choice. They’ve slowly been taking over our territories. I know we are big in the city as well, second only to him, but he’s too powerful to fight head on. We need to turn the tide against him before we’re nearly wiped out, and we do that by infiltrating his base.” He glances at you. “We need to get intel from there directly so we can figure out how to sabotage his operations, eliminate his members, and hit him where it hurts. Then, with the most powerful organization crumbling, we can take over.”
You mull the idea over in your mind. It’s a good idea in theory but you can’t imagine how you can possibly put it into action. “Do you know where his base is?” He shakes his head. You snort. “No offense, Yuta, but for all your wittiness, this plan is foolhardy. Not to mention risky. How do you intend on infiltrating him? He’s smart, powerful, and hides in the shadows. No one knows who or where he is.”
Yuta smiles. “Nobody did. But I do.” He rummages through his files.
You blink. “You managed to uncover his real identity?”
“Yes.. with a great deal of tracking and tracing through member interactions, we’re about ninety percent sure of his identity.” He seems to find the file he was looking for and pulls up a paper for view. “And I need you to go in, pose as a new recruit, monitor them for a while and then come back and report to me.”
Now, you laugh. “What makes you think they’d just let me in willy nilly?”
Yuta grins behind the paper. “Because the Scorpion knows you.” You freeze. He puts the paper on top of a deck of documents in a folder and slides the case file across the table towards you. The thick stack of papers come into view haphazardly, but the printed photo on top slides stops your heart. Familiar eyes, face, all from your memories. “His name is Taeyong.”
Your mind swirls in flashbacks. Taeyong. A childhood friend. A friend whose father was a mob boss. Your father worked directly under him and you were Taeyong’s age, so naturally, you grew up together, from elementary into high school years. It was always expected that he was to take over his father’s position. His father’s organization was far reaching, well established, and successful. Yet no one would’ve ever believed Taeyong was a mob boss’ heir. He was always kind, funny, full of life, and soft. You’d watch him fall from the jungle gym and cry, thinking he’s soft, much too soft. You wondered how he could possibly be related to his ruthless father while wiping his tears and putting a bandaid on his wound, secretly hoping his softness never went away.
But around high school, he’d suddenly grown shy, avoiding eye contact, avoiding everything, avoiding you completely. It hurt at first and then frustrated you to no end. You’d cornered him between the shelves of the library, watching his face painted full pink, flusteredly asking you what you were doing but all you could say was you’re my best friend, please don't leave me with tears in your eyes. He’d looked shocked, then relaxed, then apologized, finally, promising he wouldn’t. Painfully, painfully ironic because the next day was the last time you saw him.The police had managed to pin your father with evidence. Your dad suddenly made you pack and leave the state before he got caught. You recall crying in the car as you drove away from your home, your friends, from Taeyong. You’ve missed him every day since, even until now. Sometimes, the inexplicable aching emptiness threatens to swallow you whole.
Since moving here to a place outside police jurisdiction, your father began working directly under another mob boss. Twelve years later, it fell to his son Yuta’s leadership, while you followed your father’s footsteps after his early passing and joined to work directly under him.
Yuta was reasonable but strict. And when he was ruthless, he was terrifying. Fitting for what was needed in a kingpin. He used you as his weapon for many missions and was usually successful. But this.. this is beyond what you had bargained for.
“Y/n?” Yuta’s voice shakes you out of your stupor. “Do you recognize him?” You blink rapidly, eyes tracing over the very grown features of the once lanky, shy boy you saw last. The Scorpion. So, it seems that Taeyong did take over his father’s position after all.
“Yes,” you force out, voice shaky for some indiscernible reason.
“Great,” he sighs in relief. “I heard you grew up with him. We can use this to our advantage. If you try to join their organization, hopefully high up in the ranks. He might let you in easily. Then, you can infiltrate and we’ll have our victory on our hands.” Infiltrate. Let you in. You’ll have to see him again..
“No.” The word falls from your mouth before you can stop it. “I… I can’t do it.”
Yuta’s eyes narrow. “You’ve never refused a mission before. Why not?”
“We have uh..” your throat burns. “..history”
He raises a brow, understanding seeping into his features. “A lover?”
Your cheeks burn, and you look away. “No.. just friends.”
Yuta looks skeptical. “How long ago?”
“Twelve years.”
“Good. That's enough time to be over him, or for him to be over you.” He continues rummaging through papers. You realize he’s going to continue with this plan. Your eyes flit back to the photograph, of Taeyong staring up at you, of memory flashes of soft, sweet smiles and blushing and butterflies. The thought of seeing him again, of betraying him…
“Yuta.” He hums in question. “I can't do it. Find someone else.”
He glares at you before scoffing. “You’re being dramatic. Just get in there, infiltrate, and get out. Find his weak points, things we can take advantage of.” Yuta drops the other papers onto the table. “I can’t find someone else to do it. You’re the only one he won't suspect since he knows you.” You hesitate. He leans forward. “You’re telling me that you’d betray us, after a decade, for a boy you had a crush on in childhood?”
“Of course not!” You say, but uncertainty flares in your chest. You are fiercely loyal to Yuta. You can’t imagine betraying him for anyone else.. but this is different territory.
“Good. All you have to do is remember your allegiance and get intel and come back in a month.”
A month.. you will have to interact with taeyong for a month. “And how will I join them if I don’t know where their base is?”
“Easy. You talk to their recruiter.” He says, filing all the papers back into the folder. “I had one of our guys spread the word around about a daughter of a former mob member who has great skills for illegal activities. It’s only a matter of time before they call you.”
You snort. “Wow, you even gave them my phone number?”
“I don’t need to. They’ll trace you on their own.” He answers distractedly, gathering the files. “Why don’t you take the next week off? I don’t want you here when they trace your number and location. Maybe hang around in a coffee shop or something?”
You watch him, nerves creeping up. “You’ve really planned this out, huh? What if I had said no?”
He glances at you. “Remember, this is our only chance to take down the Scorpion and ensure our success for years. I’m not going to waste it. Besides,” he smiles, plopping the files into a near pile on the table. “You never had a choice anyway.”
...
You begrudgingly visit coffee shops, parks and other public places the next week and stay away from Yuta’s base. Sure enough, you get a call from a private number.The man on the other end identifies himself as a recruiter for an illicit organization. The recruiter’s voice was rich and sweet, like molasses or honey. You find yourself enjoying listening to it. He calls himself Jungwoo and says that he heard about you through his connections, that he knew your father worked for this group a long while ago, and that they’d love for you to work with them. You try to sound interested and accept, feeling your stomach churn all the while. You are that much closer to seeing Taeyong after over a decade. He tells you to go to a specific location in the city from where he will pick you up. You follow his directions and within an hour, you’re climbing into a sleek black van with a young, handsome man and driving down the highway.
“We know about your father. He was a well respected man. It’s a shame what happened,” he recounts.
“Yeah, a shame.” You reply distantly, your mind only on the idea of seeing Taeyong after all these years and spy and subsequently betray him. Your stomach churns more.
“Were you okay after that? Did you go into hiding?”
“Uh.. yeah. The police never managed to catch my dad once we left this area.” You are careful to leave out the part where you got involved with another mob, unknowingly the rival of Taeyong’s.
“That’s good. It’s nice that you can return here now.” He smiles at you. You inspect him. Is everyone working under Taeyong going to be this nice?
“When I join.. do you know what position I’ll be or… or who I’ll work under?”
He hums in thought. “Well, since you’re a fresh recruit, you’ll be at the bottom of the hierarchy. Give it a few years and you’ll work your way up. You may even work directly under the boss.”
A few years? You will never get valuable intel for Yuta while working as a simple recruit. You need to be higher up than that to get valuable information. The gears in your mind turn until you play the only card you have. “Is there a Taeyong there?”
Jungwoo freezes, eyes flitting to you suspiciously. Nobody is supposed to know who the boss is, so you’re hoping to play it off like a coincidence “Taeyong? How do you know him?” He asks guardedly.
“We were friends when my father worked directly under his father. I was wondering if he was still here.” Jungwoo’s brows furrow, and you explain further. “Yes, we grew up together.”
Jungwoo gives you a once over before carefully acquiescing. “Yes.. there might be someone like that there. I’ll have to double check our members’ list when we get inside. We’re almost here anyway.” He pulls the car into the lot of a large building that looks like a typical financial office building. Jungwoo parks his car and takes you through the doors, past reception and towards the elevators. The lobby is filled with people who look like office workers, dressed in formal wear and carrying briefcases and files. You figure it’s a nice camouflage for the real happenings of this building. Yuta’s group is mainly hidden underground in the slums and didn’t need this much of a cover. Once in the elevators, you both go to the highest floor. Upon stepping out, you catch sight of the floor to ceiling windows in the hallway. You can see the entire city’s skyline from here. Jungwoo leads you to an empty office room with some chairs and tables. “Please wait here. I’ll uh… check if Taeyong is here and knows you.”
“Okay,” you say, watching him leave. The moment the door shuts closed, your heart begins pounding. You’ve rarely been nervous before, not even during missions or shootouts. But this is different, so wildly different, you don’t know how to behave. You settle for focusing on the stunning view outside the window in order to ground yourself. Not even five minutes later, the door swings open abruptly. You whirl around to see two figures standing in the doorway, making no effort to come inside the room.
One is unmistakably Taeyong, dressed in a suit and hair carefully combed back from his face. His face, that he grew into after all these years, makes your heart come to a stop. His eyes are the same, big and wide and wonderful, even wider now with the shocked expression he wears, along with his parted mouth. His hand is still clamped around the door knob as if it's an anchor to reality. He stands there motionless, eyes running over you in disbelief. Jungwoo stands behind him, slightly bewildered at his reaction. “Y/n?”
Similar shock and disbelief well up inside you. Your churning stomach turns into a butterfly garden. “Taeyong…”
Junwoo watches the exchange before stepping back into the hallway. “Okay.. I.. think I’ll just stand outside.” He disappears from behind Taeyong who dazedly steps into the room. He looks so grown and handsome, with the same eyes you’ve always known.
“Jungwoo asked me… if I knew a Y/n…” he says, his voice so familiar even after a decade. “All I did was just run over here…” He steps forward carefully towards you until he’s standing in front of you. With him so close, your stomach turns into a bursting mush of butterflies and tingles. With his dark eyes drinking in every feature of your face, you barely recall where you are and why you came here in the first place.
“I… It’s been a while,” you manage out.
He blinks, as if registering your voice. “Yes. You’re... grown up,” he flushes. “You’re beautiful.” Your face burns, and burns again when his lips fall into a fond smile, eyes running over your features.“I missed you,” he breathes out. You find yourself sucking in a breath. “Can I hug you?”
You pull him into you without a word, arms wrapping tightly around him. He melts immediately, hands pressing you closer against his chest. You sigh in the embrace, head resting on his shoulder. “I missed you too,” you say, voice cracking a bit this time. The daily, inexplicable longing you’ve felt for a decade has all been washed away in this moment. He squeezes you tighter, nosing your hair, so warm and safe in your arms that you never ever want to leave. It's a minute or two before he reluctantly lets go with a warm smile. He still looks so soft, just as in childhood, and it’s hard to believe you’re hugging a kingpin of a criminal empire.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” He touches your face again, gently. “Were you just recruited?” You nod, pressing your cheek into his hand. “Ah,” he blinks. “Jungwoo?” He calls. The man steps through the open door, eyes taking in the close distance between you two. “She’ll be working directly under me. Give her clearance to everything.”
Your brain grinds to a halt while Jungwoo looks skeptical. “Will she go through the initiation?”
“Not needed.” Taeyong turns back to you, eyes softening. “Her father worked with us for many years. No doubt she’ll be just as loyal as him.”
Jungwoo furrows his brows and looks as if he’s about to say something. Then, he stops himself, says “yes, Boss” and walks out the door, closing it behind him. Taeyong doesn’t pay any mind. He’s still gazing at you, smiling.
“So.. Boss huh?”
He smiles, shrugging. “It took some getting used to.”
“For a kingpin called the Scorpion, you still look like the soft boy crying on the playground.”
He grins playfully. “Do I?” You nod, chuckling. “I’m glad you still remember.”
“Of course I remember. I remember everything about you.”
A light pink settles on his cheeks and you know you’re right; take out the title and he’s still the same boy you knew. “Listen, we actually have a meeting right now with my staff. I want you to join.”
And suddenly you remember why you’re here, how this is a supposed golden opportunity as Taeyong’s mob’s rival, and your heart bleeds in pain. “Ah.. is it really okay for me to join without an initiation?”
“Of course,” he answers easily, trusting, always too trusting. He hesitates and seems to gather courage to raise his hand and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Your stomach bursts into a mess of butterflies once again and you hold your breath, not daring to move. His eyes are soft and you find yourself mesmerized. “You’re already part of this family, just as your father was.”
You grow unbearably soft, forgetting even the guilt as you gaze silently back at him. He does the same, and the air shifts in the silence. He looks like he’s about to say something before someone knocks on the door. “Boss, the meeting is starting,” Jungwoo’s muffled voice sounds through the door.
Taeyong blinks himself back to the present and smiles warmly at you. At that moment, you know more than anything that you don't deserve him. “Come on, let’s go.”
...
The meeting is held in a large room at the end of a hallway that is covered in crystal clear, floor to ceiling windows. You marvel at just how much money this organization must be bringing in compared to Yuta’s. No wonder he wants to take down this group so badly. As soon as you enter, all eyes are on you. A dozen men and women are dressed in suits and formal wear, as if this were no different than a business conference. You have to admit, they play their front well. Taeyong enters behind you and closes the door before standing in front of the room. “Everyone, this is our new member.” He gestures to you and introduces your name.
You feel self conscious as skeptical eyes burn into you from around the room. Given your experience with mobs and their initiation process, no new member should be joining the ranks so high up in the hierarchy, let alone be introduced directly by the boss himself to the inner circle. None of these people should know you yet. You should even be here in this room. And from their questioning glances at Taeyong, they know this too. Taeyong is either oblivious or ignores them by the time he’s done introducing you. You smile and bow slightly before awkwardly shuffling into the back of the room, out of sight, with everyone’s eyes following you all the way.
Taeyong seems to ignore the confused glares and questioning glances and starts the meeting. He outlines high level happenings of the organization, just as a CEO would for a corporation. You watch him confidently explain plans, ask questions to different people, and instruct them on what to do. It’s a marvel, and so different from who you knew in childhood. You take in his frame, dressed in his blazer and black button down and with matching trousers. A kingpin indeed. After giving instructions specific to each person on how to execute the phases of their next operation, he dismisses the group and everyone shuffles out. Soon, he stands alone at the front of the room, peering at the laptop screen sitting open on the table.
You saunter over to him. “You didn’t give me any orders, Boss.”
He looks up suddenly, a little startled, then seems to register your words. You catch the slightest glimpse of a blush before he looks down and rubs his hand across his mouth, obscuring his cheeks. “We uh… may need help identifying possible locations of a big shipment dropoff. You can work with Jungwoo on that. He’ll let you know what to do.”
You notice how he avoids your eyes. “Is that an order?” His eyes stay trained on the laptop, hands moving up from his mouth to scratch the back of his neck.
“Uh huh.” He suddenly catches you trying to hold back a laugh and sighs, ducking his head. “This feels strange. I don’t like giving you orders.”
“I’m just like everyone else.”
He looks at you like he’s about to protest but looks down again. “You aren’t,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
And if that didn’t make your chest hurt with an absurd amount of heart flutters, you would be lying. You watch him silently, not knowing what else to say. “I’ll get right on it, Boss.”His cheeks seem to tint that much more as you leave the room.
...
You’re supposed to be collecting intel, not helping them, you try to remind yourself as you find Jungwoo’s desk out on the main floor of cubicles. He greets you and pulls up a chair beside him in front of his computer monitor.“So, how was your first day?” He smiles as you settle in.
“Not so bad. I think the skeptical looks will take some getting used to.”
“They’ll warm up. Your situation is unusual, after all,” Jungwoo comments. “I’m surprised how quickly you’ve adjusted without skipping a beat. Almost as if you’ve been working for another organization all along,” he jokes. You laugh nervously. “Speaking of unusual, Taeyong seems to .. like you.” He eyes you inquisitively.
“Yeah. I’ve known him for a while. We didnt get to have a proper goodbye the last time we saw each other.”
“I see,” Jungwoo nods. “So were you together? Back before…”
“Oh no, we weren’t,” you shake your head. “Just friends.”
He squints, smiling. “Really? Because you two seem awfully close. I’ve actually never seen him like this before. I’ve been working closely with him for a while now and he has a tendency towards being on the softer side but he is never not strict and can be ruthless when needed. That’s how we become so successful. But with you, all that seems to melt away.”
You can’t imagine Taeyong being ruthless. Ever since childhood, and even until now, he’s been nothing but sweet and kind in everything that he does. “I think he’s just sentimental,” you wave it off. “It’s been twelve years, after all.”
Jungwoo doesn’t seem to buy it. “Whatever it is, it’s only a matter of time before he starts showing favoritism towards you and everyone will take notice. Actually, he already has shown favoritism, and everyone has taken notice.”
Your cheeks burn. You were supposed to not draw attention to yourself. “If you’re talking about letting me in without going through initiation, I think that was just a one time thing. I’m sure from now on, I’ll be treated just like everyone else. No special attention here.”
Jungwoo is about to say something before a woman approaches his desk, calling your name. “Boss wants to see you in his office.”
Jungwoo gives you an insufferably knowing look. You ignore him and follow the lady. She guides you down the main floor of cubicles and towards the end of the hallway with large wooden double doors. It’s clearly the room of someone important. She drags open one heavy door by the long vertical handle and ushers you inside. You step tentatively through and balk at the scene before you. Taeyong’s office is massive - as big as a house. The ceilings are two stories tall. On the left wall, there is a main desk area in front of three bookshelves and various art decor. An armchair sits behind the large desk made of some fancy high caliber wood. On the right, there is a seating area with leather couches and chairs upon an expensive looking, misshapen- shaped rug. Of course, there’s a marble fireplace on the right wall to top it off.
“Oh my god,” you whisper as you step in. Yuta would be fuming with jealousy if he saw this.
You hear a chuckle. You didn’t even notice Taeyong standing by the back end of the room, given that the size of his office completely dwarfs him. He walks towards you with a wine bottle in hand. “Do you like it?” He smiles. “It’s my favorite room in the whole building.”
You step further into the room, taking in even more details you didn’t see at first glance. The leather of the armchair, the carved ivy detailing on the fireplace, the nameplate on his desk that looks suspiciously like it’s made of gold. “Yeah, I can see why.”
He grins again, motioning to his wine glass. “I was thinking we can catch up over wine. We barely had a chance to talk today. And we have twelve years to cover.”
You smile slowly and nod. “Sounds like a great idea.”
Within twenty minutes, you two are laughing over sloshing wine glasses and reminiscing excitedly over old memories. “I could not believe you,” he laughs, filling your glass again.
“I just wanted to know what riding on a bus felt like!” You protest, lifting the glass just as he was done pouring to take another sip.
“But you got on the bus with no ticket at eight years old?” He gazes at you, wide eyed.
“I was curious what a bus would be like! I’m pretty sure the bus driver thought I was one of the other passenger’s kids when I came on so he didn’t bother with the ticket.”
He struggles, laughing between breaths. “How long did it travel before you started freaking out?”
“Like ten minutes.” He laughs louder, hitting his hand on the desk you both are leaning against. “I demanded to be let off. I realized I didn’t know any of those people or where I was going. It was a good thing the bus stopped near your house.”
“I remember you rang the door crying,” he giggles, sipping his glass. “I figure being so rich really does inspire curiosity in such everyday things.”
“Yeah, with all that untaxed money our fathers made from illegal activities, we missed out on a lot of everyday things, so I was completely justified.” You emphasize, watching him laugh again. You smile giddily, feeling energized and oddly proud you can make him laugh so much.
“Of course you were,” he acquiesces easily.
“Our fathers were always busy but do you remember how they’d just drop us off at one of our houses or the other when they needed to go to work?”
“Oh yeah, those playdates were fun.” He smiles, eyes distant. “You were genuinely my only friend back then.”
You protest with a noise before you even finish drinking from the glass. “That’s not true! Remember your ninth birthday party with all our classmates?”
He scoffs before taking another sip, his smile fading. “Yeah, classmates, not friends. Remember that one kid blew out my birthday cake candles before I could? And I just broke down in tears?”
“Oh no, I do remember.” You recount your sadness while watching your friend crying and then the burning anger your nine-year-old self felt afterwards. “Oh and then I-“
“Then you took a chunk of the cake and shoved into that kid’s face,” Taeyong laughs brightly. “You got in so much trouble. And you ruined the cake, but that made my day.” You giggle, remembering the lecturing by multiple parents and the annoying kid crying into his mother’s skirt with pieces of cake still smeared on his face. All that mattered to you though was that Taeyong was smiling through the entire aftermath.
“I didn’t like that kid anyway. He teased me on the playground every day, yet my mom invited him.”
You frown. “I hated him for that.”
He looks at you fondly. “I know.”
You flush a little bit under his gaze, then straighten up and blame it on the alcohol. “Remember middle school and high school and how awkward we got?”
Yong suddenly grows shy and scratches his neck. “Ah yeah… I regret those days.”
“Puberty does wonders,” you roll your eyes before looking at him pointedly. “And our peers not minding their own business while being extremely heteronormative and interrogating any co-ed friendship throughout the entire school,” you point your glass at him. “Which ultimately led you to completing ghosting me freshman year.”
Yong waves his wine glass in apology, approaching you. “I’m sorry! People wouldn’t leave me alone! Besides.. you were ah..” he trails off, looking to the side as he always does when he's embarrassed. You mentally note again how difficult it is to believe he’s a mob boss.
“I was what?” You press lightly.
“You were becoming really pretty and.. uh.. I.. was a toad,” he sighs.
You laugh out loud, reaching out to hold his hand in comfort. “You were not!”
“I was! Do you even know what fifteen year old boys look like?” He shakes his head as he comes to stand before you. “All the wrong proportions.”
You shake your head, smiling giddily at the wine flowing through your system. You set your glass down onto his desk and tug him closer by the shoulders. “You were perfect,” you say purposefully, but don't miss the way a flush rises to his cheeks. Whether it's from the wine or your words or both, you can't tell. “Remember when I cornered you in the library sophomore year?”
His eyes widen. “Yes! I couldn’t tell if you were going to punch me or kiss me.”
You laugh again. “But instead I cried and said I missed you and asked you to talk to me again.”
Taeyong chuckles, eyes growing sober. “Yeah. And I promised to. But the next day..”
“Yeah, the next day.. I left.” Silence fills the room. The muscles of your face are slightly tired from all the smiling. You realize you’ve barely registered how close Taeyong has come to stand in the midst of talking. Your hands are still on his shoulders. His smile fades away until now there's an intense look in his eyes.
“I missed you, Y/n.”
Your chest aches. “Me too. I missed you too.” His eyes dart between yours, and find yourself falling into them. They are the same sparkling, wondrous, soulful eyes you've always known, which have always looked at you like this. It's when these eyes dart to your lips that your mind stops working. A burning, fluttering sensation erupts in your stomach like it did when you were back in middle school, being questioned by your friends on if you were in love with Lee Taeyong. You register him leaning a bit closer. His nose nudges yours, hands slide around your waist, and his hot breath fans your mouth. You subconsciously tighten your grip on his shoulders, your heart rate speeding up, your stomach twisting into knots. All you have to do is angle your head up….
Your lips barely brush his before a loud knock erupts from the double doors. Both of you freeze and are ripped back into reality. “Boss? Something just came up. We need you in the meeting room.” A muffled voice sounds through the door.
Your hands retract from Taeyong’s shoulders with heat crawling across your face. His hands slip from your waist in return, his head falling forward in disappointment before calling out, “I’ll be right there.”
You clear your throat, cheeks burning. “I should go. Unless you need me for whatever that is.“
He shakes his head, rubbing his hand over his mouth like he does to hide his blush. “No no, you go on home. I don’t want you to be overworked on your first day.”
You gaze at him. He looks a bit put out and avoids all eye contact, frowning. You briefly wonder if he even enjoys being a mob boss. You lean up and kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He brightens up considerably, a smile blooming back onto his lips, eyes sparkling once more. “Yeah.. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
...
You return home in the evening, mentally replaying every single moment of that day. You swear your heart feels lighter than it has in years, as if the answers to all your life questions have been found. The world around you even seems to be a bit more colorful and you find yourself enjoying the walk from the parking lot to your apartment. You lightly smack your head. “Oh god, what am I doing? I’m a member of the mafia, not a giddy high school girl in love.”
Were you in love? Your cheeks burn, remembering how you shamefully melted at every single thing Taeyong did and said today. You even threw all caution to the wind and almost kissed him. You force yourself back to reality with a pounding heart. You really don’t want to know the answer to your question. You spot something in front of your doorstep and find a small cardboard package addressed to you from an unknown address. You step inside your apartment and rip open the cardboard flaps, revealing a brand new cell phone with a note. It reads: Activate this. Don’t take this anywhere outside your house. So, Yuta sent you a separate untraceable phone with which you can contact him to provide intel. You loathe how smart that man is. Groaning, you plop onto the couch and activate the phone. As soon as it’s set up, you receive a call. “Hello?”
“Missed me?” Yuta’s voice sounds from the other end.
You rub your forehead. “You tracked my location to figure out when I came home so you could call me?”
“Yes but mainly so I could find out where the Scorpion’s base was,” you hear him smiling on the other end. “And now I do, thanks to you.”
“Great,” you say sarcastically. Now Yuta knows where the headquarters are. You’re not sure if that’s good.
“So?” He prods. “Tell me everything.” You hesitate and then relay to him how you were accepted without initiation and are working directly under Taeyong. You feel dirty while doing it, knowing you’re nothing but a weapon to Yuta for selling out a man who completely trusts you. “Good. Very good. Keep doing this until you collect enough information that we can use to really hurt them.”
“…Alright,” you say tiredly. There’s a glaring silence from the other end. You sigh and adjust your tone. “Yes, Boss, I’ll get right on it.”
“Good,” he says before hanging up. You toss the phone across the cushion, feeling disgusted. What are you doing? How can you do this to Taeyong? You bury your head in your hands, mulling over your reality. At the same time, Yuta and his father helped you and your family when you had no one. You feel guilty if you don't do as he says, as if you were caught between two impossible choices.
You don't sleep well that night.
...
You return to the office the next day. Jungwoo texted beforehand asking if you needed a ride to the office but you figured you could take your own car. Once you’re inside the building, it amazes you again just how much like a typical financial office space the entire place looks. People are busy with files and documents, rushing this way and that in their business clothes, meetings are held in conference rooms, and telephones ring throughout the floor. What a mask for the sheer amount of illegal activities happening here. You find Jungwoo seated at his desk, working away already. He greets you with a smile and a pat to the chair next to his. You vaguely remember you’re supposed to be helping him pick locations for some shipment dropoff.
“Shall we pick up where we left off yesterday? You know, before the Boss whisks you away again?” He grins, teasingly. “By the way, I saw you leaving the office yesterday looking very flushed.”
Yesterday's memories flash through your mind, of the laughing and flushed cheeks and that almost kiss. You clear your throat abruptly. “We were just drinking wine and catching up.”
He grins into his coffee mug, swinging his chair a little to face his computer screen, not believing you for one second. You sigh and begin your work, asking plenty of questions when you need to. Jungwoo is kind and explains everything, their operations, clients, alliances, even the hierarchy of the organization itself. It’s a wealth of intel and you loathe it. You loathe having to know and learn things from people who trust you. You dread having to report it to Yuta. Your resolve in this “mission” falters by the day and you’re not sure your loyalty can last this week.
You barely see Taeyong today. You only catch a glimpse of him talking to a subordinate in the hallway before disappearing into his office. Whatever came up yesterday must have made him very busy. You try not to deflate. Once the day ends, you bid Jungwoo goodbye, give one last glance at the hallway to Taeyong’s office and head home. You don’t get a call from Yuta that night. After all, he made it clear that you are expected to call him and report any new intel you receive, but you don't have it in you today, or for any day for that matter. The evening passes by uneventfully and you fall asleep in your bed.
...
Like a dutiful employee, you return to the office the next day and the next, slowly getting used to the daily routine of the organization. You even begin to enjoy it. You are given the easiest tasks and are often paired up with Jungwoo, who you already know and who readily helps you understand things. You wonder how many new initiates were afforded the same privilege upon joining. Taeyong even invites you to his office again a few times this week for more wine and story time sessions. You’re happy to see him, but this time, you’re careful to keep a distance and not drink too much lest you repeat what almost happened the other night. Kissing him would make things… complicated, even more than they are now. You're not sure you’ll go back to Yuta if you do, no matter how much you want to kiss him. Taeyong seems to notice your distance and keeps a respectful space. You try not to feel disappointed that he does.
From the outside, it becomes evident that everyone else views you differently. They either avoid you completely or are overly respectful and almost treat you as their boss. You ponder Jungwoo’s words earlier, that everyone will take notice of Taeyong’s favoritism of you. The regularly scheduled rendezvous office sessions with their Boss probably aren't helping. You wonder if your preferential treatment will invite resentment from anyone. So far, everyone has been respectful to you, but by the end of the week, you get your answer.
You get your answer to two things, actually. One, your preferential treatment definitely does invite someone’s resentment. Two, you couldn't imagine Taeyong being ruthless. You said that before today. On the way to Taeyong’s office one day for another meet up, one of the male employees lingers behind you, the same one you’ve seen around with a perpetual stink eye and a bad attitude. You don’t recall exactly what happens, only that he’s spitting insults at you as he follows that steadily grow to shouting.
“Outsider!” He shouts. “You didn’t even go through the initiation and you’re on more classified projects than I am!? Hell, you’re probably making more money than me.” You shoot him a glare without a word. You’re almost to Taeyong’s office. The brute will leave you alone then.
“Doesn’t even have the decency to turn around,” he growls. “Fucking bitch.” Then, his hand is in your hair, yanking you backwards sharply against his chest. The pain is like needles shooting throughout your scalp, stars and tears bursting from your eyes. Despite the shock, your training kicks in immediately, and you elbow him in the ribs so that he keels over. He lets go of your hair, giving you the chance to turn around and go for a kick to the chest.
You don’t have a chance to do anything else before someone is throwing him off of you. He’s knocked into the wall of the hallway before he falls down. Taeyong is bent over him, clutching the man’s jacket until his knuckles turn white to lift him partly off the ground. He is absolutely furious, something you have never ever seen before, yelling something that you don't register. Then, he punches him in the face. Other people are shouting and running down the hall towards you three. Taeyong’s eyes are hard, jaw clenched, his fist cocked and pulled back as if to punch the man again. You step forward, hands finding his shoulders and stepping him away from the man groaning on the floor. Taeyong’s eyes are cold and glaring.
“I want him out!” He shouts, uncharacteristic, pointing past your shoulder. “I want him stripped of everything, all clearances, documents, his name on everything. I want him out of here and dropped at a police station! He can rot in jail for all I care!” People rush to do his bidding, restraining the groaning man and lifting him off the ground. An ugly bruise is already forming on his cheek where Taeyong punched him. You tug him into his office and shut the large door closed. The commotion and noise from outside is muffled here in the silence of his room. Taeyong however is still restless. His chest is heaving in anger, jaw clenching as he paces back and forth. He’s clutching his one fist, which seems slightly swollen.
“That fucking pig.” He growls, taking you back. You’ve never even heard him curse before today. “What the hell was he thinking!? Putting his hands on…” he focuses on you, softening. “Did he touch you? Did he hurt you? Of course he hurt you, I saw him-“ his voice wavers before becoming harsh again. “I swear to God I will-“
“Taeyong, hey, look at me,” you reach for his arms to stop him from pacing. He stops moving and closes his eyes to take a deep breath. In the next moment, he exhales and opens his eyes to gaze at you, his stunning eyes that you’ve loved for years. Your heart softens. You don’t want him to be in such pain.
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually like this,” he mumbles.
“Well, he got what he deserved. You just beat me to the punch.”
“It’s not that. I’m not this jittery or restless. I’ve dealt with worse than these kind of people before. I would’ve instructed someone else to restrain him but when I saw that it was you, I…” he trails off, eyes growing unfocused.
“Are you okay?” You cup his bruised hand.
His eyes flit back to you. “You’re asking me?” He releases another breath, thinks for a moment and shakes his head. “No I’m not,” his voice wavers.
You push forward and hug him gently. You wonder if it’s been a long time since he’s lost his composure. “I’m okay. I'm here and I'm okay.” You can feel him trembling against you and slowly relax, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you tightly against him. Then he gives in, inhaling your scent and burying his face in your neck.
“You’re okay,” he repeats, a bit shakily. You’re taken aback about how absolutely undone he is, how worried, how much he cares for you. It might even be a trauma response from you disappearing from his life all those years ago without a word.
A lump forms in your throat. “I’m sorry,” you mumble into his shoulder. He pulls away in confusion, his wonderful eyes roaming your face in question. “Not for this. I’m sorry I left. I.. must have put you through so much pain.”
His eyelids flutter, arms around you squeezing tighter. It’s ridiculously comforting. “That wasn’t your fault.” You stay silent, tucking your chin back onto his shoulder, heart feeling heavy. “I’m sorry for what that pig did to you.” His voice is harsh, and you can feel his jaw clenching against your shoulder. “He was always a shady guy, harassing other members.”
You pull away slightly. “It's okay, it's not my first time.” He looks at you with such disturbed anguish you feel bad for saying anything. “But I'm okay. I'm alright.”
He sighs and gives you a thin smile. Then, he blinks and remembers to let you go. Your arms detangle from each other and you stand there, gazing silently, before he speaks. “I’m sure you could have taken him,” he smiles.
“Yes, I could have,” you grin.
He smiles a bit proudly, then looks to the door. “I should.. take care of the commotion outside.”
You nod. “Sure.. and thank you.”
He looks confused then looks away, scratching his neck “You don't have to thank me. It was… well I didn’t even process what I was doing when I did it.”
You smile. “Still, I got to see another side of you.”
He flushes, looking away. “And you… you like it?”
You shrug. “I finally know why you're a mob boss.”
He smiles, his expression almost relieved, before he chuckles and takes his leave. When he disappears into the hallway outside, you feel an ache from the empty feeling of missing his arms around you. When you get home and Yuta calls, there's no information you want to give him. “What did you learn this week?”
“Nothing.”
Silence fills the room for a moment. “Are you serious? You’ve been there for a week now and there's no new info?”
“What do you want to know, Yuta?” You snap. The deceptiveness of this mission has finally taken its toll on you. Seeing Taeyong drop everything to defend you today is enough to make you not want to help Yuta again.
“I don’t know! Key operations? Shipment drop-offs? Members' names? Where can we hurt them the most, Y/n!?”
You groan internally, wishing you can just hang up. You remember finishing your task with Jungwoo in picking a drop off location for a shipment. You figure this is relatively harmless information to keep Yuta off your back. “They’re dropping off some important shipment for some high profile clients, probably government officials, tomorrow at eleven at the hotel on twelfth street. Maybe if you intercept them you can get that shipment and hurt Taeyong’s operations.”
“Taeyong? You’re not calling him the Scorpion anymore?”
You curse mentally. “Scorpion, sorry.”
There’s silence from the other line. “This information is barely useful but I’ll take it.” He pauses. “Do you remember where your loyalty lies?”
You roll your eyes. “Of course.”
“Good. Because the minute it changes, I’ll have you extracted from there.” He hangs up abruptly. It’s a threat. He knows your allegiance has changed. Although, it’s not as if you tried very hard to conceal that fact.
...
You decide to go in late the next day after lunch, mainly because you were tossing and turning awake all night. But the minute you walk into the office, the air is different. Everyone is tense and nervously mumbling. You approach Jungwoo at his desk who also looks more nervous than usual. You take in his bouncing leg and him peering at the computer monitor, reading an email intently. He barely notices when you slide into the chair next to him. “What’s wrong with everybody today?” Jungwoo startles at your voice, but instead of greeting you with a warm smile as he usually does, he looks at you sympathetically. You gaze at him, your smile fading. “Jungwoo, what is it?”
“Taeyong was shot.”
“What!?” you stand up so fast, the chair tips over and clatters to the floor behind you. He stands up with you, hands up in a placating gesture.
“Listen, he’s fine! He was meeting with some government officials today during our dropoff location and somehow, someone seemed to know he was there and that he was the Scorpion. They tried to take him out.” You are paralyzed, a wave of nauseas guilt hitting you all at once. “I’m not sure what followed. There was a scuffle of some kind, maybe he fought the gunman after being shot.. the details were unclear. It was a bullet graze to his shoulder and a few other injuries from the scuffle. He got checked at the hospital and they bandaged him up. He’s resting at home now. But he’s kind of depressed and won’t let anyone in, he said, though I think he’ll make an exception for you.”
Your heart flips. “Can I see him?” He nods and both of you hurriedly take your leave and get into Jungwoo’s car to drive to Taeyong’s home. His “home” turns out to be a ridiculously sized penthouse in a ridiculously sized high rise luxury apartment. “I guess the salary is good,” you mumble, peering up at the building from your window.
Jungwoo snorts. “You have no idea.” You enter the equally ridiculously luxurious lobby and Jungwoo escorts you to a special elevator that seems off limits to everyone else. “This will take you directly to his apartment.” He says, ushering you inside the elevator and pulling out a card from his wallet. “Just text me to let me know when you want me to take you home.”
You watch him scan the card against a pad and step back out of the elevator. “Thank you, Jungwoo,” you say sincerely.
He gives a nod. “Just make sure he’s alright.”
Then, the doors close, cutting off your view of him, before you’re taken directly to the top floor. With a ding, the doors open, revealing polished marble floor and ceiling. You step through hesitantly. His penthouse is much like his office, oversized and luxurious. It’s two stories tall with marble walls and floor, and a floor to ceiling window view of the city skyline in the living room that stops your breath. You wonder if he lives in this entire place alone, as you wander through the space. Somehow, you find your way to his bedroom and knock on the door. You hear a groan from the other end. “I said go away, Jungwoo, I don’t want-“
“It’s me.” Silence answers from the other side before you hear a small “come in.”Your heart leaps into your throat when you spot him lying on the bed with a bloody bandage wrapped around his shoulder. Other cuts and bruises litter his arms and face, and probably his torso which are obscured by his shirt. Tears sting your eyes. You see people injured everyday as part of your job but this is not bearable. Even worse, this is all your fault, all because you told Yuta that intel about the drop off. Now Taeyong’s injured, and nearly died because of you. You’ve never felt so disgusted with yourself. “Oh.. oh no,” you hold back a sob as you approach his bed.
Taeyong gazes up at you, no doubt able to see your stress. He even offers a small smile as you sit down gently at the edge of the bed, your stomach churning at the bloodied bandage on his shoulder. “I’m guessing I’ve looked better?” He smiles, though his eyes are tired. You blink back your tears, not even processing his humor. Your hand comes up to hover over his cheek. He gazes up at you with what looks like hope. You banish all doubts and gently cup his cheek, finger stroking his slightly bruised skin. His eyes flutter closed and he nuzzles your hand immediately. Your heart squeezes in pain and affection.
“Taeyong, I…” you swallow a heavy breath. What can you say? You’re sorry? Sorry for not protecting him? Sorry this is all your fault? Sorry, you were sent here as a spy to gather intel and you’ve been lying to his face this entire time? Guilt stabs at you ruthlessly, as you gaze down at this sweet boy meant for a softer life than this. Instead of speaking, you take clean cloth nearby and gently wipe a dirt smudge from his cheek. He watches you silently, his eyes like the starry night sky that you fight not to focus on. You spot a deep bruise on his wrist, and take another clean bandage to wrap around it. His hand is light in yours, his eyes watching you carefully. Once you’re done, you can't help but raise his hand to your lips and kiss his wrist reverently. His chest stutters in breath. Cuts on his fingers and the back of his hand catch your eye this time. You take another bandage and clean each one, kissing them too, one by one. His eyes turn soft, always soft when they’re on you.
“Does it hurt?” You ask softly when you’re done.
“Not anymore.”
You flush, turning back to his fingers, stroking them gently with your own. ‘Remember how I used to put bandaids on you when you fell on the playground?”
He smiles and the butterflies take flight in your stomach. “Of course. You’d grumble that it’s not that bad while putting it on and looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like… like I’m the most precious thing in the world,” he says softly, “Like you love me. Like how you’re doing right now.”
You fall completely silent, the breaths halting in your chest. Wordless gazes are exchanged. Then, he reaches up with his good hand, tangles his fingers in your hair, and pulls you down to kiss him. You don’t resist and melt so fast against his lips it's almost embarrassing, but he could never make you feel embarrassed. His kiss is soft, reverent, and gentle. You sigh into his lips as he strokes your hair gently. Warmth blooms and spreads to every inch inside of you until he pulls away with soft lidded eyes. Your forehead rests on his. Both your eyes are closed with breaths mingling as you both savor the moment after so many years of waiting. Then, he kisses your forehead and your heart twists again, with guilt and love and pain and all.
“Taeyong I…” you struggle and he notices. His newly bandaged hand comes up to stroke your cheek in comfort as he nuzzles your nose. “I’m so sorry.”
He takes it as you being sorry for his injuries, because he doesn't know. Doesn’t know you’re a traitor. “Don’t be. I was careless.”
You can’t even object and explain that he never did anything wrong. Frustration wells up inside you. “After all these years I just want to be with you.”
It’s a careless slip, a frustrated wish voiced aloud when it was meant to be kept buried in your thoughts. But it’s too late. A light kindles in Taeyong’s eyes that replaces all the tiredness they held before. His lips lift into a beautiful smile that makes your heart flutter in all ways and you realize you are doomed. You never had a chance against him.
“Then be with me.”
...
After more bandages and kisses, you don’t want to leave Taeyong, but know he needs rest. When you let him know as much, he pouts and asks you to stay. You give him a final kiss to the forehead in response and tell him you’ll be back tomorrow. He lets you go after that. Literally. He was holding onto your wrist to prevent you from leaving.
With your heart thumping and affection running high, you give Jungwoo a call and ask him to pick you up and drop you back at your place. You thank him profusely for doing it so late in the night. When you step through the door, you spot the secret cell phone that Yuta gave you lying on the table, and feel anger rip through your body. It was Yuta. He took your intel about the drop off and sent men there to steal or sabotage it or who knows what else. When they saw Taeyong, they couldn’t pass up the opportunity to kill the boss. It’s a miracle Taeyong even made it out alive. You grit your teeth and pick up the phone. A notification pops up with 3 missed calls from Yuta. Without another thought, you call him back. It goes straight to voicemail. You figure. It’s late in the night so you decide to leave a message. As soon as you hear the beep, you growl into the phone. “The deal’s off. I can't do it and I’m not coming back.”
You hang up and pull out your own personal phone, holding the two cells side by side in your hands. Yuta’s tracking both of them. You make up your mind to have both destroyed and dumped tomorrow.
...
You feel much freer going to work after that voicemail for Yuta and destroying both your phones. You let Jungwoo know you need a new phone and it takes no effort for him to get you one. Besides this, it takes a few weeks for Taeyong’s shoulder to heal. He misses work the entire time and rests at home. You visit him after work each day and take your own car so as to not bother Jungwoo. Most of the evenings and nights are spent changing his bandages, talking and sharing sweet kisses.
“It's nice to be taken care of,” he comments, sitting on the edge of the bed. He has a tank top and you try not to fixate on the muscles of his arms as you remove his shoulder gauze.
“No one’s ever taken care of you while injured?” You ask, putting some ointment on his shoulder wounds. He winces a little and you give him an apologetic look.
“Well, I live mostly by myself. And I've never been this injured before. Jungwoo does have access in case of an emergency and he needs to get me. But other than that, no one knows I live here.”
You lift his arm slightly to wrap the gauze over and around his shoulder. His eyes roam your face, watching your concentrated features. “But this giant penthouse and no one ever comes by? That’s lonely. Especially knowing you,” you smile.
He smiles back before scratching his ear. “Uh, well.. I’m not entirely alone here. Sometimes my past partners would stay here.”
“Past partners?”
“Yeah.. you know, relationships.”
“Oh,” you say. Of course he hasn’t been single, you mentally note, just look at him. The thought makes you feel strange, though. You’ve missed such a huge chunk of each other’s lives but feel like you’ve known him forever. You finish wrapping the bandage around his shoulder.
“But I'm glad you’re here and not.. them or anyone else,” he manages out. “To be honest,” he laughs, looking down at his hands, the cuts having healed long ago. “I was looking for you in those people, but never quite found you.”
Your heart melts, eyes taking in the way he’s bent forward, avoiding your own. You cup his cheeks, bending over to kiss his forehead. “I was looking for you too all these years.”
He glances up and smiles slowly. “Really?” You nod. “So, we wasted our time?”
Your thumb strokes his cheek, and you watch the way his eyes flutter. “I suppose we did.”
“Well, in that case, we’d better make up for it.” He wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you into his chest so hard you both topple backwards onto the mattress.
Surprised laughter bursts from you, hands trying to push him off as he rolls you to the side and onto the bed. “You’re injured! Stop it!” you say between laughs.
He tries to prop himself on the bed with you underneath him, eyes dancing with amusement. “I'm the kingpin of the greatest mob empire. A little shoulder wound won’t - ow!” his shoulder flinches as he puts pressure on it.
Concern floods your chest. “See, I told you.” You maneuver him to rest flat on the bed against his pillow once again. “You need to rest, oh great kingpin lord of everything.”
Unbelievably, he pouts. So you acquiesce and lean over to kiss him. He hums happily, threading his hands through your hair. When you pull back, his eyes are soft. “Can you stay tonight?” You glance at his shoulder but he tugs at your arm. “Please? I don’t get sleep anyway when you’re not here.”
You swallow, gazing at his pleading eyes. “Of course.” A smile blooms on his face before he makes room for you to lie down next to him. Your body is a mess of nerves and butterflies but once you’ve settled in his soft sheets, he immediately wraps his good arm around your waist and bends forwards to kiss your forehead.
“Goodnight Y/n,” he sighs, snuggling closer.
“Goodnight,” you echo, feeling more comfortable than you have in a long time.
...
The next day, you wake up feeling well rested for the first time in your life. Taeyong’s body is plastered to your back, his good arm wrapped around your waist like a vice. The sunlight filters through his window blinds, falling onto his soundly sleeping face like bars of gold, and you think, just here and now, life is perfect. You’re not sure you’ve ever said that before.
You flip over to see him. Your heart lurches at his peacefully sleeping face. He looks like an angel. You push back his hair from his eyes and lean over to press a slow kiss to his temple.
He stirs, inhaling. “Hmm, what was that for?” he asks sleepily, eyes still closed.
You chuckle at his sleepy smile.“Nothing. You looked cute.”
He blinks open one eye. You giggle at his messy hair. “Cute, huh? I’m the mob kingpin lord of everything and you call me cute?” he mumbles sleepily.
“Hmm, definitely the cutest king for sure.”
He chuckles, reaches his arms over his head to stretch but flinches in pain, bringing his arm back down. “Ah, still sensitive.”
Worry flashes through you. “Are you sure you wanna come in today?”
“Yeah, it's been over a week and I'm feeling much better. Besides, a mob can't run without its cute boss.” He mumbles sleepily, throwing his good arm around your waist again. You gaze at him longer, your heart fluttering. It’s a slow realization that also happens all at once somehow - you want this everyday, for as long as you imagine. It grows worse the longer you stare at him. He cracks an eye open. “What?”
It’s impossible to hold it back now no matter how much you try. “I love you.”
He grows still, both eyes flying open as he gazes at you in slight surprise. “What?”
You run your fingers through his soft strands again, pushing them away from his eyes, your heart lurching. “I love you.” Your voice is soft, almost as if you’ll shatter him.
Taeyong stares for a moment before pulling you in to kiss you, morning breath and all, but you can’t give a care in the world. When he finally lets go, he’s grinning from ear to ear. “I love you too. So much.” You laugh in disbelief as he cups your cheek and presses his forehead to yours. “To be honest, I’ve been having trouble holding those words back since the first day you came here.” Love flares in his eyes. “I loved you even before this. I’ve loved you since childhood.”
You’re slightly surprised at the sting of tears in your eyes. “I’ve loved you since then too.”
Taeyong cups your cheeks and presses short kisses again and again on your lips, saying I love you between each one. You chuckle, blinking back tears as you accept them. Then, he pushes aside the heavy comforter, and rolls you over so that he’s on top, kissing and gently stroking your hair, making your heart lurch over and over again. Soon, his short kisses become longer until your mouths are pushing and pulling like tides. You kiss until your lungs burn. When you pull back, gasping for breath, he presses his forehead to yours.
“Y/n,” he mumbles reverently. Your fingers skit down his jaw to the nape of his neck. He shivers in response, hot breath fanning your lips. You pull him impossibly closer to you and he meets your lips again. His tongue slips through your lips this time and sends sparks through your stomach. It grazes your own tongue, and you sigh, letting yourself melt into him, his warmth and body heat, the unbelievable feeling of being in his arms, his fringes tickling your forehead, his breath fanning your face. You kiss until you can't take it anymore.
He whines a little as you pull away once again. You laugh breathily, watching him balance on his propped arms over you. “Isn’t your shoulder hurting like that?”
He gives you a boyish, lopsided smile. “Honestly, my shoulder has been hurting the entire time, but I don't care.” In horror, you try to rip away from him but he easily drags you back and pins you to the bed without so much as a retort. His fingers intertwine with yours and hold them against the pillow.
“For a cute mob boss, you’re pretty strong,” you remark. He only grins and buries his head in your neck, pressing kisses down the skin. More electricity buzzes through your body. His kisses are hot and wet and you arch when he meets a pulse point. Your voice comes out shaky. “Taeyong, if you keep going, I won't be able to-“
“Me neither,” he answers. His voice is a different color than usual, one that you haven't heard before. It’s gravelly and rough. Combined with his body insistently pressing yours into the mattress and his kisses to your neck, your body turns into a mess of tingles and butterflies.
His teeth nips your pulse point and you gasp, pressing your hips against his slightly. He picks up on this imperceptible movement and rolls his hips against yours with a low groan. You can feel him through his pants, and you arch and moan at the friction. Your hands clutch the cloth of his tank top from his back until it's bunched in your fist. He pulls back a small to observe your reaction, his pupils dilated.
His hand comes up to touch your face reverently. “Y/n, do you want to…”
“Yes, keep going, please.” You should be ashamed at how easily you beg, but you could never feel that way for him, especially with the way his pupils dilate and his breath comes out ragged.
“How far.. do you want to go?”
“Everything, I want everything from you,” you press your head to his, feeling strangely emotional. “I just want you, please.” He seems still for a moment, gorgeous dark eyes boring into yours. The uneven breaths fill the silence, as if he were savoring this moment. Then he reaches down , fingers slipping inside your pants, and pressing your clit through panties. A moan falls from your lips, your hips arching towards his touch. His dark eyes drink in every reaction. Then, he moves to suck your neck again and you’re clutching his tank top harshly as he works your clit, moaning into his ear. You have half a mind to drag his tank top half way up his chest until he gets the idea and pulls away from you. He sits up, slipping it over his head, and tosses it to the side, revealing his bare skin with tattoos littered here and there. When he falls back to you, carefully supporting his injured shoulder, you drag him in for a kiss. “You are so beautiful.”
He moans slightly into your mouth, tongues meeting again before pulling away. “I can say the same for you.” He eyes your shirt. “Can I?”
“Yes,” you manage out.
His lithe hands peel your shirt up and over your head. His eyes roam over your torso with a bated breath as you sit up a little and undo your bra. It’s a few seconds of awed silence once you lie back down before his hot mouth planting on your nipple. You arch and moan loudly, your eyes clenching shut. “Oh god.”
He strips your pants and underwear from you in one movement. His hand returns to your clit though this time, his finger slides into your core, stretching your walls. A moan tumbles from your lips as he comes up to press kisses to your face. “My love,” he calls gently as you moan again, “my Y/n.” Sparks fly behind your eyes in your pleasure. Your head presses back against the pillow and you let out a particularly loud moan. Then, he rips his hand away as well as his mouth and you’re left teetering, then coming back down the way you came, unsatisfied. You let out a whine but he sits up, panting harshly, grabbing a condom from the drawer in his nightstand and settles back between your legs. He gives you another kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Your heart thrums each time you say it. Then he’s slipping inside you, stretching you until your eyes flutter closed. You’re full and you realize this is how you've always belonged, how you were always supposed to be. He thrusts slowly, lips hovering over yours or pressing all over your face, his eyes fluttering when you squeeze around him. You realize this is different from all the other partners you’ve ever been with. It feels like he fills you with life , every second he looks at you or smiles or walks into a room, he fills you with purpose.
You live for his moans, unabashed and light and airy and beautiful. It makes you lose yourself so much faster. His lithe hands clutch the bedsheets beside you, lips grazing your neck, hair tickling your face. You realize you want him all the time, near you all the time, you want this forever. You memorize everything, his touch, his scent, his features screwed up in the pleasure you give him. You’d give him anything. You memorize him until he hits a spot inside you that has your brain coming to a halt. He notices easily, lifts one of your legs to hook over his good arm, and hits it again, much more intense this time, until you're shivering and arching, your mind turning to mush. Sweet praises fall from his lips as he pushes into you. You’re perfect, you’re so beautiful, my love.
My love.
You contract around him like a vice, burying your head in his neck, muffling the moan bordering on a scream as you come apart. He shivers as your nails dig into his back and halts his movements until your walls grant his cock mercy enough to move again. He finishes the last few thrusts until he's pressing deep inside you with a loud groan, and you vaguely think you wouldn’t mind hearing that sound forever. He collapses on top of you, panting and breathing harshly but you couldn't care less about his weight squeezing you. Your hands tiredly comb through his hair, littering kisses along his forehead while he catches his breath against your chest. Pleasure brims and hums through your body and mind as you relish the feeling of him in your arms. After a few beats, he lifts his head up just enough to kiss you. “I love you.”
You smile, brushing back his sweaty fringes. “I love you, too.” You’re rewarded with a beautiful smile before he rests his head back on your chest. “Wait, wasn’t your shoulder hurting this entire time?”
He makes no effort to move. “Yes, but I didn't care.” You groan and he only chuckles against your skin.
...
You end up going a little late to work that day. Taeyong doesn’t seem to mind, though. He seems content enough to brush his teeth with you, shower, change into office clothes, grab breakfast and drive you to work in his car, even though you have your own parked in the garage. You’re guessing it's the inkling of domestic bliss that’s keeping a smile on his face and making him leisurely savor each mundane moment with you this morning. As for you, it’s something you never knew you needed. It’s easy to imagine a life like this and only this, with none of the complications. Taeyong looks over at you in the passenger seat with a smile, bright eyes, so many times during the drive to the office that you’re laughing. “What is it?”
He chuckles and shakes his head, turning back to the road again. “Nothing.” You let it go, but your heart flutters. Once you step through the lobby, the busy chatting stops and are replaced by jeers of welcome aimed at Taeyong after his week’s absence. Soon after, though, their curious eyes are trained on you. It’s obvious you came in the same car together and therefore probably from the same place since you usually drive yourself. If anyone had any suspicions before about you both, they definitely know for sure now. Once you and Taeyong enter the elevator, he pulls you close and kisses you once again. “I love you,” he smiles.
You laugh, adjusting his tie. “I love you too. Not tired of saying it?”
The way he looks at you, eyes half lidded, an amused smile across his lips as if you’re the most perfect thing in the world, makes you feel foolish for even asking. “No. And I never will be.”
Your heart flutters, biting back your smile. “Me neither.”
He grins this time and kisses your forehead. Then, he deflates a little. “I wont see you much today.” His fingers brush a lock of your hair. “But maybe by the end of the day, you can swing by my office?”
“Deal,” you agree, snaking your arms over his shoulders. “We'll go home together after?”
“Of course,” he smiles, leaning forward to kiss you one more time before the elevator doors ding open at the top floor. He grins again and pulls away. “I love you.”
You laugh. “I love you, too.” You go your separate ways. When you approach Jungwoo’s desk, he’s already smiling, face tilted and propped on his hand.
“You’re in a good mood.” Jungwoo comments.
Your steps falter. “Ah.. I’ve uh…”
“No need to explain. Everyone saw you two come in together. The boss is practically bouncing with each step,” he smiles knowingly, turning back to his computer. “It’s good that he looks better though. Everyone was worried. Thanks for taking care of him.” He says, glancing up at you. “For all those days.”
Your cheeks burn. “How did you know-“ But Jungwoo gives you a look that makes you feel foolish for even asking. You plop down in the chair next to him, propping your bag against the desk. “Of course you know.”
“Actually, you might see more of him today. He has a client meeting at a high end club and I’m guessing he’ll take you as a date.”
“Really? Why does he need a date?”
He shrugs, crumpling up a piece of paper in his hands. “He doesn’t.” He throws it in the basket. “But he’ll ask you anyway.” He grins.
You watch him clean up his desk of unneeded and old documents. “You’re very perceptive of people aren't you?”
Jungwoo smiles. “It’s my job. I recruited you, remember? I find out things about people.” He says a matter of factly before changing the subject. “So, a newbie whose first mission is with the Boss himself. If no one was sure of your privilege, they’re sure now.”
You exhale, shrugging. “I'm pretty sure everyone is sure of it by now. I just hope I don't get attacked again.”
Jungwoo freezes then, concern flooding his eyes as he turns to face you. “I never asked, how are you feeling after that?”
You shrug. “I'm fine, I guess. I’ve dealt with worse.”
Jungwoo nods slowly. “Taeyong was angrier than I’d ever seen him. He made sure we removed that guy. But please know he was an outlier. People may not be the friendliest here but everyone’s generally happy to have you around.” He cups your hand in comfort, sincerity evident in his eyes. “I hope you always feel safe here.” He pauses to smile. “Even though we're an illegal organization.”
You wordlessly listen to Jungwoo, feeling strangely touched. Yuta never made you feel like this. “Thank you,” you say, and you mean it.
He gives you a warm smile that makes you feel even softer. “Now come on, we have a lot of work to do today and many things to discuss.”
“Like what?”
“Like, did you sleep over at Taeyong’s last night?” He grins, leaning over in interest. You shove his arm, pulling peals of laughter from his lips. The rest of the day passes with jokes and work, with you secretly counting down the hours until you can visit Taeyong in his office. It seems as if an eternity passes until Taeyong himself is strolling onto the main floor and approaching Jungwoo’s desk.
“Hey guys,” he greets. Jungwoo glances at him with a hint of surprise. You figure this is an unusual occurrence since Taeyong usually summons people to his office. “I was just wondering if I could borrow Y/n in my office for a second, if I’m not interrupting or anything.” Taeyong seems a bit hesitant.
Jungwoo shakes his head slowly. “You’re never interrupting anything. You're the Boss.”
Taeyong blinks. “R-Right…” he turns to you. “Is it okay with you?”
Jungwoo watches the exchange with growing interest. You try to ignore him and stand up from your seat. “Of course it is.”
“Great,” Taeyong says, before waving at Jungwoo, which you also assume to be unusual given Jungwoo’s perplexed expression “Bye, Jungwoo.”
Jungwoo waves slightly in confusion. “Bye…?” He watches until you two disappear from sight.
Taeyong curses once you’re out of earshot. The laughter you’re holding back spills from your lips. “What was that?”
He slows enough to allow you to fall in line with his walking. “I have no idea. I just.. felt weird beckoning you to my office chamber as if you’re my maid or something.” He shakes his head. “God, Jungwoo’s going to think something is wrong with me.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t,” you reply, biting back a smile. So, he feels weird about you calling him Boss and also about ordering you around. It’s strangely sweet in its own way, how a man with all the power at his hands refuses to see you as anything but his equal.
He drags open one massive door to his office and ushers you inside. Once you’re in, he shuts the door, pulls you to his chest and kisses you. “Mmm what are these for?” You ask when his long kiss dissolves into small short sweet ones littered on your lips.
“I just missed you all day. And missed kissing you all day.” You giggle as he turns to littering kisses over your face. Your hand wraps around his tie and tugs him to you abruptly so that he can kiss you properly on the lips. He makes a soft noise that travels like electricity through your body. The kiss turns deep once again, your hands coming up to comb through his soft hair. When you pull away, your breaths are shallow and his gaze is intense. “Believe it or not, I actually have work for us to do.”
You chuckle. “Jungwoo told me. We’re going to some high end club?
He takes a moment to gather himself before pulling away from you. “Yes, just to visit a client we’re sorting out a contract with.”
Your nerves twist in your stomach. You remember the last meeting with a client ended in a gunfight. Your eyes settle on his shoulder, where you can still see the bandage underneath his office shirt. “Are you sure?”
He glances at you and sees the concern in your eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll be safe,” he smiles reassuringly. “To be honest, I still don’t know why I was targeted that day and by whom. I’ve ordered everyone to track them down, but we haven't found any clues.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s probably a rival gang that somehow got our info.”
Your blood turns to ice. You haven’t even told him about what happened that day, about where you’re from and the truth about why you’re here. You can sell out Yuta right now. You can give Taeyong all the information and help him take down your former leader. But the words fail you and you realize that you can’t. You’ve spent a decade working under Yuta, longer than you’ve even known Taeyong. As much as you hate it, your loyalty to Yuta are your chains. You can’t rat him out. And worse, even if you do, what if Taeyong hates you? What if he sends you away and never wants to see you again? What if you have to return to Yuta? Return to a cold, meaningless life full of violence and crime, devoid of sunshine and sleepy smiles and slow mornings.
You swallow back any words and stay silent. You feel awful. You’re a liar. You never want to lie to Taeyong, ever. But you’re a coward and you don’t know what to do. Even if he doesn’t know now, he will find out the truth eventually and hate you then. Taeyong seems to notice your intense conflict and mistakes it for concern. He steps towards you, a soft smile finding his lips that nearly makes the terrible thoughts melt away. “I know you feel bad, but it's not your fault that I was injured,” he takes your hand gently in his. “Besides, I don't think any sniper will be able to find me at a strip club.”
Your whirling thoughts pause momentarily. “We’re going to a strip club?”
“It’s technically a gentleman’s club. It’s just a meeting with an old client. She runs the whole place and makes quite a lot of money from it. She wants us to protect her territory. A lot of members of the criminal underground frequent there and have been stepping out of line and making her workers uncomfortable. The security they have there doesn't intimidate these kinds of men enough. She wants mob protection, so these criminals will feel less inclined to do whatever they want.”
You nod. “It’s an honorable cause. But if you’ve met her before, why am I coming?”
His eyes slide away from yours in embarrassment. “Because.. I’m uh… they like me over there,” he flushes a light pink, “I’ve gotten.. too much attention when I went alone in the past. I might as well show them that I'm taken.”
The image of women and probably men hanging over Taeyong as he talks business, flirting with him, their fingernails running down his chest, makes your insides twist in jealousy. Yes, you figure, you should be there. “Yes, you are taken.” You grip his tie and watch his eyes flare. You chuckle and mentally note his reaction. “So, this is our first date?”
He snorts. “At a strip club? No way. I'll plan a much better one than that.”
“I thought you said it’s a gentleman’s club.”
He laughs. “Come on, let’s head out. We’ll have to dress up a little.” You both stop by your apartment to pick up some fancy clothes and make up before driving over to his place to get ready. By time you change, style your hair, apply makeup and jewelry, the sun sets and the evening sky’s moonlight glows through the windows. When you walk into the living room and find Taeyong in a tuxedo, silver cuffs, and his hair neatly combed back, your heart nearly stops in your chest. He has a similar reaction when he spots you. “Wow.” He stares breathlessly for a moment before blinking back to reality. “Oh no, maybe I should go alone. This isn't a good idea.”
“What? Why?”
His eyes run over you once again. “Because you’re beautiful. Too beautiful. There's going to be too many sleazy criminals there. They’re already harassing the workers. They’re not going to leave you alone.”
“I’ll be fine. I can handle myself. Besides, do you think I’m the only one who looks good? I’m not letting you go there alone looking like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re too beautiful too,” you echo his words, watching him flush. Then, because you’re feeling playful and curious, you decide to push further. “And because you’re mine.” His eyes flare. You see him swallow imperceptibly. You don't know why it feels good to see him like this, but you want to do it some more. “They’ll keep away if they know what's good for them.”
His breath catches in his throat. He swallows again and seems to blink himself back to reality. “F…fine, then. Just tell anyone who asks that you’re with me and I'll say that I'm with you.”
“Tell them that I'm yours and you’re mine. Understood,” you grin.
“Ah… right,” he mumbles, unable to find a suitable reply. A pretty blush spreads across his cheeks as his eyes slide away from yours. It never fails to satisfy you. He pauses, then gently cups your face and brings you close to kiss you. He pulls away and gives you a warm smile. “Okay, let's go."
...
You know that gentleman’s clubs are just higher end strip clubs, but this one is so far beyond anything you've seen before. As you walk in, you’re hit with the sight of patrons dressed in black tie, waiters carrying flat dishes holding unknown colorful alcoholic drinks, curved leather booths scattered throughout the space, crystal chandeliers hanging overhead. “I can see how this owner can afford us,” you mutter. Your arm is looped through Taeyong’s as he guides you through the area and towards the back rooms. You pass by people chatting, drinking, smoking, and eventually spot the main stage. Some dancers are already there, dressed in sparkly two pieces.
Some of the girls passing by to get to the stage notice Taeyong and smile brightly at him. Some touch his shoulders and arms, bat their eyelashes, give cherry lipped smiles, even though you’re quite literally hanging off his arm. You suppose your presence here doesn’t spurn any of them in the slightest. Taeyong guides you into one back room that looks like a luxurious private meeting room of sorts. An older woman adorned in jewels and a shimmering gown is seated upon an expensive looking armchair with a lit cigarette between her painted nails. A few girls stand or are seated around her. They smile and greet Taeyong when he walks in but their friendly gazes turn to questioning glares when they fall on you. It seems as if the air itself stops when you walk through the door.
“Who is she?” the older woman asks, voice raspy probably from years of cigarette smoke.
“She’s my date,” Taeyong answers easily.
They all eye you suspiciously. “This is the first girl you’ve brought in as a date. How long has she worked for you?”
“How is that relevant?” Taeyong counters.
The woman ignores him and glares at you. “How long, girl?”
“…A few weeks.”
Murmurs start from the girls. The older lady laughs and takes a drag from her cigarette. “And you let her in this high up already, working by your side? Ever the softie you are,” she notes. Taeyong flushes slightly. “You’re not worried she’s a spy?”
Your heart jumps. Taeyong’s brows furrow. “Of course not. And I’ve known her much longer than a few weeks. We just.. were separated for a long time.”
Her eyes narrow a bit. “That’s even more dangerous.” Her lips blow a puff of smoke. “She’s not allowed in here. That’s final.”
Taeyong growls. “Listen, Mabel, we have a contract to sign.”
“Yes, with very sensitive content. Which unauthorized people should not be allowed to listen in on.” Her eyes coldly drag down your frame. “No matter how pretty.”
Taeyong looks like he’s about to argue but you stop him with a hand to his shoulder. “It’s fine,” you say, not wanting to complicate things. “I’ll wait outside.”
He glances at you, brows knitted. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s no big deal.” You give him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and step out the door. You hear a muffled sentence from Mabel of she’s got you bad, huh? through the door before you’re walking into the buzzing scene before you.You decide to sit at the bar because you need to be alone. Mabel’s words have triggered you. You feel awful, guilty, and disgusted. You have to tell him the truth, even if he hates you forever. But what if he doesn't hate you? What if he understands, forgives, and then wants you to help him take down Yuta? You pause. How can you take down Yuta? You spent a decade under him, working for him, being with him through good and bad times. You can't just turn against him completely. You feel stuck. You seem to always feel stuck these days and it’s making you miserable.
“Why the long face?” You hear a rich voice behind you. It rips you from your internal monologue. It’s a tall man with dark hair, twinkling eyes and a colorful suit. He sticks out easily among the crowd. You notice he already has a drink in hand.
“Ah.. just a bad day.” You say a bit dismissively, looking back down at your drink, hoping he’ll get the message and disappear. He doesn’t.
He nods in understanding and slides into the stool beside yours. “I’m Johnny. You Yong’s girl? I saw you come in with him.”
“Uh.. Yes.”
He nods, taking a sip from his glass. “He’s never brought anyone with him here before.”
You eye him. “Do you work here?”
“Nope. I’m from my own..um… group.” He smiles. “I come here sometimes as a patron.” Right, you think, Taeyong did mention that members of other criminal groups hung out around here. It’s the reason why the owner needs protection in the first place. Johnny bumps you slightly with his elbow. “So, why are you so sad? Is he not treating you well?” He smiles easily. “You can come to our side, you know, and work as a spy. You have the look. A beautiful woman with eyes like yours, who wouldn’t believe every word that comes from your lips?” Johnny smiles into his glass. “Best part is Taeyong doesn’t have to know.”
He’s joking, but you know it's the way deals are made underground. The thought of taking him up on his makes bile rise in your throat. “No.. I don’t…” you blanch.
He notices the look on your face. “Too loyal?” he nods in understanding. “It’s not for everyone.” he glances at you. “But you never know.” He raises a hand to touch your chin. Your reflexes get the better of you and you grip his wrist before he can touch you.
“Y/n,” Taeyong’s voice cuts through the air, catching both you and Johnny in surprise. He’s fuming. Similar to the time when the man jumped you in the office, his expression is hard and unmerciful. “Is he bothering you?” His eyes slide to Johnny who releases a breathy chuckle and turns back to sipping his drink.
“I was actually just leaving.” You slide out from the seat and walk past Taeyong who gives Johnny a lingering hard glare before following you out the door.
Once you’re seated in his car, Taeyong grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. “What the hell was he doing? I knew I never liked him for a reason.”
“He’s from another organization?” You ask.
“It's a smaller one. It operates at the outskirts of the city. They’re one of the… less moral organizations that others need protection from. They’re a thorn in our side but nothing we can’t handle.” He glances over at you, concern replacing his irritation. “Are you okay? You look.. sick.”
You shake your head. “It’s nothing I… just…” you exhale tiredly. “It’s nothing.”
His worried eyes scan your face. “Is it because of what Mabel said? Don’t listen to her. I trust you with everything I have.” You gaze at him, speechless. His words make you feel infinitely worse after the night you’ve had.
When you return to his apartment, you change out of your dress like you can’t wait to get it off. Then, you mindlessly set to packing up the things you’ve left at Taeyong’s place while staying over the past few days. Taeyong watches you wordlessly, still in his suit, looking as if he’s about to say something, then changes his mind. The cycle repeats until he works up the courage. “Did you…want to stay over tonight too?”
You glance at him and try not to chuckle at his puppy face. “I would, but I have to go home and take out the trash and do the dishes and .. get new clothes,” you sigh, walking over to him. “But I’ll come visit later, okay?” Your fingers take to combing through his hair, coaxing a sigh from his lips.
“What if you moved in with me?” He says it so easily, lost in the feeling of your nails against his scalp. Your fingers pause and his words hang in the air. At your silence, his eyes fly open in panic. “Is that too soon? Of course it is. Fuck, forget I said anything.”
He so visibly retracts in on himself that you’re scrambling to reassure him. “No, no, I’m just… surprised is all.”
He sighs almost helplessly, brows pinching in frustration. “I just see you here and .. when we spend time together, I..I want it… all the time… and nothing else,” he says heavily, grasping your hand and holding it up to his chest. His dark maroon eyes are large and heartfelt. “Sometimes I wish I just had a simple life. No mobs, no criminals, no territories or fighting. Just you and me in a house, living peacefully.”
Your eyes burn, pricking with tears. “Me too,” you whisper, unable to convey just how badly you’ve dreamt of the same dream for so long. “Me too.”
His expression is almost as if he’s witnessed a small miracle. He pulls you into the tightest hug, as if he can’t hold you close enough. You breathe him and relish the weight of his head tucked against yours, the smell of his lingering cologne and the comfort of his arms. “We can talk about it later,” he mumbles into your neck. “Can you stay over tonight, please?”
You forget about packing. “Of course.”
...
The next day when you come into work, you spot Jungwoo sporting a new type of pistol that spikes your curiosity. You ask him to show you the features and end up seated, facing him with the gun in your hands. Jungwoo’s fingers slide against your own as he guides yours to the grip and the trigger. "The safety lock is actually here," Jungwoo points out, turning over the unfamiliar silver pistol in your hands before guiding your finger to the small button. You test the weight of the gun with both of Jungwoo’s hands cupping yours. "It's comfortable, isn't it?" He offers with warm eyes.
"Yeah, it is,” you say incredulously. “I haven’t seen-”
"Jungwoo." A serious voice cuts through the atmosphere. Both of you stiffen and spot Taeyong, arms crossed with hard eyes, taking in the scene before him. "Don't you have something to turn in for me?”
Jungwoo releases your hands as if they were burning hot coals. "Yes, sorry Boss. I was just taking a break and showing Y/n my new gun."
"Well, get on it.” His usual soft voice is hard. Jungwoo’s face drops. Taeyong’s eyes slide to you. “Y/n, can I see you in my office?” He doesn’t wait for you as he begins walking back.
You and Jungwoo exchange bewildered glances as you stand to follow him. Once you step into his office, you notice that Taeyong doesn’t greet you. He leans over his desk, his hands gripping the wooden edges. “Did you.. need me for something?” You ask, perplexed by his demeanor.
He straightens up, running his hand through his hair. “No,” he sighs, turning to glance at you. “You… you ah… you and Jungwoo…” he trails off, averting his eyes. He huffs. “You and Jungwoo…spend a lot of time together.”
You try not to laugh. “Yes, you assigned us to work together. On everything. Don’t you remember?”
He only grumbles, rubbing his forehead. “Right.”
“Are you alright?” You test carefully.
“I’m fine,” he says curtly, turning his back to you once again to walk towards his desk. You wait for him to elaborate but he doesn't.
“Well… if you are, could you apologize to Jungwoo later? It was kind of rude.” He glances at you and then exhales, plopping into this arm chair. He tries to speak but struggles, then seems to give up and glare at his tie. “Hey,” you say gently, following his path around the desk until you’re standing by his chair. “Tell me what’s wrong.” You touch his chin, then run your fingers through his hair that has his shoulders slumping with stress seeping out.
"I'm sorry,” he sighs, the hardness in his voice gone. “It’s just, the past few days.. with you finally being mine after so many years… but then stupid Johnny at the club was with you and then Jungwoo was holding your hands and… I just got jealous. It's silly, I know. You love me. There's no doubt about that." He mumbles, sighing. “I can’t help it.”
“Oh,” your brain processes his words. “You were jealous?”
"What else was I supposed to be?" He now lifts his face to look up at you directly. "I think of you in every moment, in every breath I take, even in every dream I have at night. And then I see you with Jungwoo.. or someone else.. and I get jealous of them, for being in your presence. Because sometimes, they’re the ones that have your eyes… or hands on them. Not me.”
You chuckle. “Even though I have my eyes on you ninety nine percent the rest of the time?”
“Only ninety nine percent?” he laughs, his smile finally appearing. “I want the full one hundred.” He twists his chair a little to bury his head in your stomach. “I’ll give you anything you want, Y/n. Anything in this world.”
You sigh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I know.” He doesn’t respond and seems deflated so you try to reassure him. “I get jealous too.”
He lifts his head to look at you. "Really? I never noticed."
“I don’t tell you.”
He suddenly sounds curious. "Jealous of whom?"
Your cheeks burn and you look away. “I don’t know. When the women were all over you at that same club the other day. When I hear you haven't been alone all these years, that you loved someone else. It.. makes me jealous.”
Taeyong’s eyes seem to kindle with light. He stands up slowly until he’s slightly towering over you. "So.. you're jealous of my attention too.” His eyes darken only slightly, but the air shifts. "Would you prefer that I give you one hundred percent as well so that I only ever pay attention to you?”
You feel flustered at your vulnerability but provide your answer without breaking eye contact. “Yes.”
He falls silent then. The air is still around you, growing heated as you gaze at each other, wordlessly. "What would you do if they were here right now?” His voice is low, raspier than before.
You know he wouldn’t engage; has no interest in anyone else but you, but from every previous interaction with him, you know by now he’s very into you being possessive. So, you decide to indulge him and playfully growl. You lean over and kiss his pulse point. He swallows hard. “I’d wring them away from you.”
Your words work on him. He shivers in your arms. "What else?” he asks, his voice slightly more gravelly in your ear.
You think. “I’d also push you against the nearest wall and kiss you until you’re panting, making sure they watch.”
He grows still. “Really?” You nod. It looks like it’s the right answer. He abruptly pulls away from you with a determined look on his face. "Good. I need you. Right now. Let's.. let's go to the closest wall we can find."
You laugh out loud, following along as he pulls you away from his desk. “Which wall?" He tugs you towards one end of the room, coaxing another laugh from you.
“There is no one to watch here. Should I just kiss you against a wall?”
"Yes. Yes, that's the idea," His voice turns rough once again. He pulls you to the wall nearest his desk and turns around to face you. "Show me, love." he orders, his eyes dark with his fringes falling into them. Your throat grows tight, all your previous laughter disappearing. He leans close to you again, hand wrapping around your wrist so that you can’t back away. "I want you to show me how jealous you can get. Right now." He growls lowly. You swallow thickly, and force your limbs to move. You raise your hands, his loosening from your wrist, and press against his chest. He doesn’t break eye contact as you push him against the wall. He gasps a little when he hits the surface, eyes darkening again. You press forward to kiss him harshly. He moans as he kisses you back just as aggressively. “Yes,” he breathes shakily between kisses. “You’re so good.”
Your mouths push and pull like tides as you keep up the show. “You like this? Being shown who you belong to?”
He’s gasping between kisses, all your words exciting him further. "Oh.. god yes, I do." he breathes out. "I love it.. I love knowing that I’m yours.” He lets out a small moan. "You'll make sure that no one will steal me away from you, right?"
You kiss down his neck, nipping the skin slightly, causing him to tremble in your arms. “Yes. No one can take you from me. You’re mine.” You say the words you think will affect him most and you’re right. A pretty blush settles on his cheeks and he moans softly at your kisses.
"Yes... no one will take me away from you because you're mine, and I'm yours,” he breathes, eyes lidded.
“Yes,” you soften, littering kisses down his jaw. “You’re mine and I’m yours.” He shivers when you undo his buttons to litter more kisses along his collarbone. You subconsciously press closer to him and feel his hardness graze your thigh. “You’re this worked up? From just my words?” You ask fondly, nipping his chest. His eyes are closed, cheeks flushed, hair falling into them.
“F-From you. I’m worked up from you,” he mumbles.
It’s endearing. You comb this hair back from his face and kiss him. “Well, it would be unfair to let you go home like this.”
His eyes seem to focus on you in confusion before you press your palm against the bulge in his slacks. He shivers against you. “Y/n-“ You press until he bites his lip. Your nimble fingers unzip his pants and slide in past the hem of his boxers to grip him. He gasps, eyes flying open. “Oh god,” he moans. You keep a tight grip as you stroke him, watching his head fall back against the wall, jaw working open. You lean forward to kiss his neck.
“Good?”
“Good… so good,” he nods. You struggle to work him with the small space you have in his boxers but he moans so beautifully even with what little you do. “Y/n,” his eyes open, half lidded, shallow breaths. You pause to look at him. “I love you.”
You soften, push forward to kiss him gently, chastely, so at odds with your hand still stroking him. “I love you too, so much.” You squeeze him gently and he gasps, breaking away from your kiss and arches against the wall, moaning, and you know you have to hear more. With a final kiss to the hollow of his throat, you drop to your knees. He gazes down at you, eyes going wide, then jaw clenching, arousal seeping into his face. You grip his pants and boxers slide them down a bit along his hips until his length is free for your undivided attention. The sight of it completely hard has arousal surging through you but a brush of his hand to your cheek breaks your focus.
He’s gazing down at you softly, arousal drenched on his face but tended by loving concern. “Are you sure?”
You take his hand by your cheek and kiss it firmly, smiling up at him. “More sure than anything.” Then he hisses as you stroke him, hard in your grip. You budge closer until your lips are right by his length and gaze at him with dark eyes. “I want you to know what I do for you and nobody else.”
All softness drains from his face and his eyes grow ravenous. He gives you a nod and you take him into your mouth. His head hits the wall, body trembling a little as your mouth engulfs him. You drag back and come forward, tongue swirling against him, slowly setting a rhythm that has you humming. His breaths grow harsh and shaky quickly, his hands combing through your hair. You relish the feeling of him, the weight of him in your throat. You want to hear him moan but one glance tells you he seems to be holding back. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, eyes clenched shut in concentration, hand gripping your hair gently. You decide to pick up your pace and he curses, biting his lip hard. Your shallow sucks grow deeper and his length goes in further along your throat. He trembles and a low groan finally loosens from his lips. You yourself nearly moan at the sound and take him even deeper, until he hits the back of your throat. His eyes fly open and he attempts to pull back his hips, tugging you by your hair back a little to get you to slow down. “Y/n… I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
You ignore him, grab his hips and shove him back into your mouth. He harshly gasps out your name and it’s everything you wanted to hear. You gaze up at him, tearing yourself from his length with great self control. “I’m in control right now, aren't I?”
He shivers at your authoritative tone and surrenders. “Yes, ma’am.”
Your stomach burns at the title and you quickly set back to work, taking him deep in your mouth. This time, he moans freely, his hand back in your hair. His soft caresses of your hair become tight, his finger curling around the strands absently as his face screws up in pleasure. Soon, he’s subconsciously guiding your head in your movements as his hips push forward to meet your mouth. It makes his length go even deeper in your throat until you have to focus more not to gag. His free moans are music to your ears, his head is tilted back against the wall, eyes clenched closed. With one particular stroke, you feel him pulse in your mouth. Then, his eyes are flying open and he tugs you off of him roughly by your hair. The sensation sparks pain and pleasure through you, coaxing a noise from your lips, which he seems to notice. He pants harshly, eyes lidded, as you gaze up at him in confusion. “I’m… too close,”. He struggles to find his composure. “I .. don't want to lose myself in your mouth.”
“Where then?” You tease as he helps you stand up. His eyes darken.
“You’ll see.” Your breath catches as he steps forward, backing you towards his desk. “I think it’s my turn to show you how possessive I get.” His lips crash into yours and it's rough, rougher than he’s ever kissed you. You gasp as his hands grip your cheeks and hair hard, pressing you insistently against him. You feel heat pool quickly in your lower abdomen. He walks you backwards, kissing you hard until your back hits the edge of his desk and he’s towering over you. His dilated umber eyes hold you captive, his hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips parted with shallow breaths.
“Sit.” He directs you. You obey, lifting yourself on your tiptoes and then seating yourself on the wooden edge. Then, he kneels, and it’s so graceful and how he does so, but your throat goes painfully dry. He takes one of your legs in his hand and kisses your ankle, still strapped in by your formal shoe. He lifts it so it slides over his shoulder and does the same with the other.
He gazes up at you, brows low, gaze dark and you swear you’ve never been so turned on. He grips the hem of your skirt and slides it up to reveal your thighs. He comes closer to kiss the revealed skin, never breaking eye contact with you, his gaze searing into yours. Your gut is a mess of fire and butterflies, twisting and flipping and grappling for sanity while your mind wonders where did that young shy boy that you knew all this time go?
“Y/n,” he groans, sliding your skirt up all the way until the front is bunched around your hips. It's when his hands grip the hem of your panties does electricity strike your senses. He gazes at you as if asking for permission and you lift yourself up slightly in response.
He smirks and slides your panties down your legs, past your socks and over your heels before tossing them somewhere neither of you bother to remember. He settles back close between your legs and the image of him gazing up at you on his knees sears itself in your brain. Then, he leans forward and licks a stripe along your core that has you gasping and clutching his shoulder. He smiles and presses his hand against your stomach, hinting at you lie back against his desk. You shiver and obey and it's not even until your head hits the wood does he lick another long, broad stripe that has you arching.
“Shit,” you gasp, clutching the edge of his desk. You feel him grin between your legs before his fingers slide inside you. Your eyes clench shut, mouth falling open as the burning stretch gives away to pleasure. He pumps his fingers leisurely into you, making your toes curl in your shoes. He licks your clit at the same time, causing a long moan and a jerk for your hips. You vaguely wonder when was the last time you’ve been pleasured like this.
He pushes his fingers deeper and curls them deep inside that has you letting out a long moan of his name. He groans at that and retracts his fingers, leaving you empty. “Look at me,” he says raspily into your skin. “I want you to look at me.” You lift your head up a small ways to see him between your legs, his dark eyes glaring at you, his nimble hands hooking around both of your thighs. Then, he slides his tongue inside his tongue inside, hot and thick. You let out a high pitched moan, hand coming down to tangle in his hair as you arch up. “Oh god,” you clench around his tongue as he goes deeper. He groans in satisfaction and you can feel it reverberate through your body. Sparks of pleasure fly in your vision. His tongue twists and moves and flicks inside you, turning your limbs and mind to jelly. Your head hits the back of his desk as you arch again and suddenly you feel his nails digging painfully into your thighs. You lift your head up to glance back down at him and he gives you a pointed gaze. Right, keep your eyes on him.
He continues his ministrations, leaving you arching and moaning and whimpering all while struggling to keep eye contact. He doesn’t let up once, not even when you accidentally tug his hair too hard, which earns a hiss and then a moan. He continues, tongue sinful sliding deep inside you before moving to wrap his lips around your clit and suck hard. That has you gasping, moaning, hand tightening in his hair as your face screws up in pleasure. He watches every single facial expression carefully while working you all the while. He slides fingers inside while suckling your clit and when he curls them once again deep inside you, you fall apart.
‘Oh god, oh god,” you moan out as you hurdle towards your end. He groans when he feels you coming, and redoubles his efforts so that you have to cover your mouth when you scream. You fall back against the mercilessly hard wood as the purest bliss washes over you. You arch and moaning and shake around his tongue until he groans into your core, tongue lapping up everything you have to give him. He leaves you then, granting you enough mercy to come back to reality and your body with all the energy sapped out of you.
He’s suddenly near you, bending over and pressing his body against your weary one to kiss your forehead. Hand comes to comb through your hair gently as you regain your composure.
You open his eyes to see him smiling softly down at you. “Good?” You nod breathlessly. He smiles proudly. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”
Your words catch in your throat as he guides you to sit up against the desk once again. He stands before you, towering, his hair even messier now thanks to you, and a slight shine to his lips where he didnt wipe you off completely. He cups your cheeks reverently and bends down to kiss you. It’s loving and passionate and you find yourself melting against him one again. His hand runs through your hair before he tangles it in a few strands in the back of your head and tugs firmly. You gasp harshly, breaking away from the kiss as your head is forced back a little. He examines you briefly before he tugs again experimentally. You moan this time, eyes fluttering and pleasure buzzing through your body. He drinks in your reaction like it's an elixir of gold. “Just as I thought,” he mumbles before gently combing through your hair again. “I can’t believe I do this to you. The effect I have on you,” he says reverently, watching your hair slip from his fingers.
You catch your breath. “You have every effect on me.”
He gazes at you intently before leaning over and gives you another kiss. Then, he helps you off his desk until you're standing on your slightly unreliable, still shaky legs. He steadies you with his grip on your hips. He presses his lips to your temple and eyes his desk behind you. “You know… I dreamed of having you here.” His eyes are dark again, pupils blown wide, voice raspy. “Some days, it distracts me so much that I can’t do any work sitting here,” his eyes flit across the wood. “I’ve wanted it for so long.”
“For how long?” You ask.
“Since the day you walked into this building,” he laughs, nudging your nose with his. “You were so beautiful,” he sighs, settling his forehead on yours. “And the first time we drank wine here and I almost kissed you? After that, god, those thoughts would not leave me.”
“What…” you swallow, “what thoughts?”
His eyes darken. “Of you bent over my desk, moaning and whimpering as I fuck you.” Excitement buzzes throughout your body, arousal seeping through you once again, so embarrassingly quickly after your release. Taeyong cups your jaw, his thumb resting on your lip. his stare is dark, unwavering. “What do you say, my love?”
You swallow hard. “We should make those thoughts reality.”
His eyes darken impossibly more. “You sure?”
“Please.” His eyes darken again, growling as he kisses you hard. Then, he turns you around, pressing your stomach into the edge of the desk and drags his hands down your body. He presses and kneads your clothes breasts, his hard length pressing into your ass as he kisses down your neck. You moan and arch against him. “Bend over,” he instructs. A wave of arousal hits you hard as you do his bidding. Once you’re bent over with your forearms resting against the wood, Taeyong flips over your skirt. You hear him groan, probably at how unbelievably sopping wet you are by now, especially from having come once already. Then his hard length is sliding into you and all thoughts grind to a halt. Both your moans synchronize as he slowly thrusts into you, mumbling praises while you fight to stay sane. You are still so sensitive and the lazy drag of his length against your walls compounds your pleasure. He eventually picks up speed, sending pleasure coursing through you with each stroke. One hand tangles in your hair, and you feel him press down against your back until his lips are by your ear. “God, I love your hair.” He gives a firm tug so your head is pulled back against his neck, coaxing a shaky moan from your lips. He groans and sinks his teeth into your neck. You gasp at the sharp pain mixed by the pleasure brought from his hips.
“Oh,” you gasp out as his hips speed up, his hand still in your hair, his teeth by your neck. It all sends your mind spiraling. He moans into your ear, whispering praises on how good you feel, how long he's waited for you, how much he loves you. Then, his other hand comes up to grip your throat and suddenly, you’re whimpering.
“Is this okay?” He whispers lowly in your ear, his hips not faltering in their brisk pace.
“Yes yes yes,” you manage out, relishing the pressure on your throat. You want to feel him everywhere, in any form, as much as you can while he takes you for himself.
He chuckles. “Good girl.” You moan and clench so hard his thrusts stutter and he gasps into your ear. “God, Y/n….You like that dont you?” You moan in response and he chuckles, resuming his thrusts. He kisses down your ear and your neck. “My good girl, my sweet girl.”
You gasp, feeling yourself clench even tighter at his praise, pulling more moans from his lips. You push your hips back to meet his thrusts and he groans.
“Say my name, Y/n,” he orders, hand slightly tightening around your throat.
You mentally scramble to remember words. “Ah, Taeyong.”
He groans lowly, possessively, his thrusts turning rougher, making you cry out. “Say.. say you love me,” his voice is a bit softer this time but still demanding.
“Hah.. I love you,” you manage out, fingers scratching the wood for leverage.
He releases a harsh breath against your ear. “Again.”
“I love you,” you gasp, eyes clenching shut at his harsh pace.
He moans, gently kissing the side of your face that he can reach from behind you, so at odds with the rough thrusts that are making you shiver. “Again, love.”
“I love you,” you cry out. He growls as his thrusts grow faster and the grip on your throat grows tighter, pulling whimpers and incoherent mumbles from your lips. His other hand untangles from your hair and reaches down to rub your clit.
“Ah!” your yelp echoes through the office. The hand clutching your throat slides up to clamp around your mouth.
“Careful, I may have a big office but they can still hear you from outside,” he warns, voice strained in pleasure as his lips brush your cheek. “And I wouldn’t mind all of them hearing you. But I think you’d be very embarrassed walking past them into the office after this.”
You breathe harshly against his hand, and pressing it against your mouth to signal him to keep it there because you know you’ll definitely not be quiet. He growls, his thrusts growing harsher now that your moans won't reveal you. His fingers resume drawing circles on your clit that has your whimpers coming out muffled against his hand. Your legs are shaking again, mind numb, moaning incoherently into his hand clamped around your mouth. He lets you sink flat onto the desk when you can’t hold yourself up anymore, the coolness of the wood offering some relief to your flushed face. He fucks you until his breaths grow harsher his moans louder before he drapes himself over you.
“You’re mine,” he growls into your ear. He hits a spot deep, deep inside you that has you careening. Combined with his words and his finger on your clit, you lose yourself into pleasure for the second time. The world washes in white as you come, gasping harshly into his hand and dragging nails down his desk, walls squeezing him mercilessly. “Y/n,” he moans, desperate, thrusting into you until he strains and stills suddenly. With another moan of your name, his warmth spills inside you. He lets out a long groan as he shakes before collapsing on top of you.
Both of you fight to catch your breath. After a few minutes, it seems to take all of Taeyong’s energy to drag himself off of you and collapse into the armchair nearby. You’re still gasping over his desk, not trusting your legs to support you if you stand. “Oh my god.”
He chuckles, hand combing through his hair. “Did I get carried away?”
Pleasure is still thrumming across your body, through every inch of every nerve. “Please.. get carried away more often.” He laughs out loud. You push yourself off the desk and shakily stand up.
“Come on, let's get cleaned up,” Taeyong says, tangling his fingers with yours. “I have more things for you in mind at home.”
Your stomach flips. “Still haven’t gotten it out of your system?”
“Nope.”
At home, he gives you so many hickeys that you have to wear a high neck shirt and a scarf when you go to work the next day. When you meet Jungwoo, he only quirks a brow.
“What?” You ask.
“Nothing,” he smiles knowingly. “I’m guessing it's going well with the boss?” You flush under your scarf. “He apologized to me, you know. You wouldn’t happen to have something to do with that, do you?”
“Uh,” your voice comes out high pitched. “Nope no, uh.. he just feels bad.”
He smiles, eyes narrowing. “Does it have anything to do with the scarf you’re wearing in June?“
“Don’t you have work to do?” You snap. He only chuckles and turns back to his computer.
...
Several pass with this routine of work and then staying over at Taeyong’s place some days of the week. The days you do, you wake up from restful slumber with his arms around your waist, his sleepy mumbled protests when you try to leave his arms, even for the bathroom. On the weekends, you spend time making breakfast and sharing kisses and watching funny movies and cleaning his apartment. It’s domestic bliss and you wish it lasted forever.The days when you don’t stay over, you stare at the emptiness of your apartment and wonder if you should just move in with him. You would have said yes already had you not felt so guilty for lying to his face everyday. You can’t even imagine taking that step when he still doesn't know the full truth and how you’ve betrayed him. Judging from his sad expressions any time you pack up and head back to your apartment, you can tell that he wants to ask you to stay for good, to move in, but he hasn’t mentioned the idea after the first time he brought it up.
Apart from this, life is routine for a while. Soon after, however, strange things begin to happen. A few of the lower ranked members get ambushed while running some operations in the city. The following week, a shipment was stolen. A few days later, some high profile clients suddenly decide not to work with the group anymore. And, the worst of all, somebody shoots at Jungwoo on his way to work. Yesterday, Taeyong told you that someone was following his car while heading home. He managed to lose them before they discovered where he lives.
“It’s bewildering,” he said in his office, brows pinched in concern. “No one has ever attacked us like this before. We are the most powerful criminal organization in the city with the highest security. Who could suddenly have access to all our details and carry out attacks like this?”
Today, your stomach churns with dread as you drive home. You remember how shaken everyone was, including Taeyong, and you hope to god it isn’t what you’re thinking. As soon as you step into your apartment, you spot a letter on the floor by the entryway. Someone must have slid it under the door. Come back or we kill him. You have one week. -Y.
The note shakes slightly in your hands. You read the words over and over until they’re seared into your memory. Then you push down the overwhelming sensation of dread swelling up inside you. Your suspicions are confirmed - Yuta’s behind everything. And now he’s exploiting your weakness for Taeyong so that you’ll be forced to come back to him. You don't know how he got access to so much classified information to do as much damage as he did. He seems to be everywhere, attacking everyone at once, out of fury. You wonder if it’s because of you. Either way, it’s only a matter of time before they kill Taeyong.
Still shaking, you crumple up the note and slam it into the trash can. You feel the sting of tears in your eyes and shut the door to your room, collapsing onto your bed. You won’t be able to sleep tonight. You make up your mind about at least one thing, though. Taeyong won’t get hurt again because of you.
...
The next day, you don’t bother checking in with Jungwoo and drag your feet to Taeyong’s office. He stands at his desk, organizing files and smiles at you brightly when you enter the room. Then, he registers the expression on your face. “What’s wrong?” His brows furrow.
You steel yourself with a shaky breath. “I’m leaving.”
His face falls, hands dropping the files onto the desk. “What?”
And suddenly, you can’t hold back your tears. “I’m leaving. I have to leave.”
He registers your tears, realizes you’re crying for the first time in front of him, and swiftly walks over to you. His arms pull you into a hug, pressing your face into his shoulder. “Why? Why are you crying?” Concern heavily laces his voice.
“All these attacks that are happening.. you being followed… it’s all because of me,” you manage out against his chest.
His arms tighten around you, his breath stuttering. “Y/n, what are you talking about?”
You sniff and pull back, taking in his concerned face. It’s likely the last time you’ll see it when he still has love for you, before you tell him the truth. “I was sent by another organization as a spy.” It’s like slow motion, the way his face drains of all emotion and grows hard and shaken. His arms retract away from you as if you’re poison. He steps back suddenly, far out of your proximity and your heart shatters. “I know. I’m a traitor,” you say shakily, staring at the ground so you don’t have to look at that heartbreaking face. “You have every right to be angry.” Tears fill your eyes, emotion choking your words. “But I had no chance with you. I knew even before he sent me here that I’d fall in love with you and I told him as much.”
Taeyong makes no further movements to step close to you. His voice is cold when he speaks. “Who sent you?”
You exhale. “Yuta.” His expression hardens. He knows him. You’re not surprised. Yuta’s mob is second only to Taeyong’s in the city. “He sent me here to gain intel because he knew we were close. He…he knew you would trust me and keep me close despite being a new recruit,” you say wearily. “I told him I didn’t want to but he forced me. It…it was so hard being here, seeing you, lying to you and everyone, you have no idea.” Tears fill your eyes as you chance a glance at him. Taeyong’s face is carefully neutral but his eyes betray him. They are filled with unspeakable hurt. Your heart lurches.
“I gave him some intel about that shipment drop off at the hotel. Then, you got shot. That was because of me.” Taeyong inhales sharply, you can see in his eyes that you’ve shattered his heart further. You feel nauseous. “I didn’t know it would get you hurt. When I saw you injured and bleeding, I called it off. I told Yuta I was never coming back.” Your words stutter and tears slip from your eyes. “So, he took revenge. He’s behind all these recent attacks, all because of me. He sent a note to my apartment yesterday saying either I come back or he’ll kill you.”
Taeyong seems alarmed and then turns thinking, mind working overtime. You continue.
“So many people have already gotten hurt, even Jungwoo, because of me. It’s only a matter of time before you get injured o-or worse and I can't.. I can’t be responsible,” you gasp, wiping your eyes. “So, I have to go back. I have to never see you again.”
Taeyong’s face is unchanging, his voice still cold. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth before? Especially after you called it off with Yuta?”
You exhale. “I should have. I should have told you from the beginning. But I’ve been loyal to Yuta for a decade. After my father escaped, we joined his mob. It’s only because of his protection that the police didn’t catch my father and throw him in jail.” Understanding seeps into Taeyong’s eyes. “I couldn’t betray him. But I couldn’t betray you. I just… I was just stuck,” you bite out, clenching your fists. “And I was afraid if I told you the truth, you’d want me to leave. I was happy here for the first time, with you. I just wanted to disappear into this life, where I didn't have to think about anything else, not even the idea that you’d find out the truth and hate me,” Pain seizes your chest. “I was a coward.”
“But you want to leave now,” he notes, expression still neutral.
You blink at him. “Because you’re in danger. It doesn't matter how I feel anymore.”
He watches you for a second before the slightest hint of emotion shows on his face. “Do you love him?” He swallows, eyes pained. “Yuta?”
“No!” The word falls so quickly from your lips but his pained expression doesn’t shift. “I’m only loyal because he’s like family. Like… like you. I couldn't easily turn against him just like how I couldn’t be against you. But I never loved him,” you say evenly. “And I love you more than anything.”
Taeyong’s expression falters, softens. “If… if I allow you to stay, will you help us bring him down?” He asks carefully.
Words fail you for a moment. You thought Taeyong would yell in anger, throw you out like he did with that man. Instead, he gives you the smallest chance of penance. As of yesterday, you found happiness with Taeyong while Yuta threatens you and uses the love of your life to hurt you. It’s clear he will never see you as anything more than his weapon. And for the first time, everything feels clear. “Yes, I will.”
Taeyong seems relieved. “Then… then stay. Help us bring him down.”
You blink at him, wide-eyed. “You trust me?”
Taeyong looks away. “I don’t know yet. But I can’t just let you go back to him. Who knows what he’ll do to you as punishment.” His hands curl into fists. “And I may not trust you completely, but I still love you. And I’m not losing you again, not after I found you after all these years.” You inhale. You never imagined that this conversation would end in any way other than with you leaving and never seeing Taeyong again. Something painfully tight in your heart loosens and suddenly, tears spill from your eyes. Taeyong reaches for you, then falters for a moment before deciding. He steps forward and pulls you into his arms. His fingers tangle in your hair and press you close to his chest. You melt against him, relishing the sound of his heartbeat as you cry freely. “Shh, it’s okay.”
“I love you,” you cry.
“I know,” he says gently, stroking your hair. He kisses your forehead. “I’m not losing you again.”
...
Over the next few days, you tell Taeyong everything you possibly know about Yuta and your old mob, including sensitive information. You hold nothing back. You know this is the time for endings. Taeyong uses every scrap of your information and turns them into orders for other members, into strategies and plans that will give an advantage, and generally puts things to work to ruthlessly take Yuta down. You are grateful that he does not tell the entire office of your treachery. It only appears as if Taeyong has received a sudden influx of highly sensitive information related to a hostile rival mob in a stroke of good luck. But as members of a criminal organization, not everyone is so naive, and they pick up on your sudden increase in visits to his office. Their warm looks suddenly turn to suspicious glares and wide kept distances.
Jungwoo’s reaction hits you particularly hard. You’re not sure if Taeyong told him the truth about you since he’s his right hand, or if, more likely, Jungwoo found it out by himself. Either way, when you try to speak with him the first day after your revelation, he gives you the cold shoulder. You dont blame him, of course. He gave you information in confidence, which you relayed to the enemy and indirectly put him in danger. Still, your stomach sinks at his aloofness and spreads ice through your heart. You make sure to visit Taeyong’s office only from now on and relay only the necessary information, missing your friend’s twinkling eyes and warm smile the whole time.
Over the course of this work, even Taeyong keeps a distance. He doesn’t show you affection as much as he did before. When he does, it’s with a slightly guarded look in his eyes as if you’ll attack at any moment, with his kisses and touches all too fleeting. Sometimes, you feel lucky if he gives you a smile. You try to blame it on the busyness of work in taking down a rival mob, but it makes your heart crumble all the same. You know he needs time to build back trust, so you give him space. You don’t stay at his place these days and leave work before he can ask. It’s better than him telling you no or, worse, feeling pressured to offer. Whatever he feels, you want to be there for him, always, and hope that he’ll eventually make his way back to you.
With everyone in the entire office regarding you suspiciously, work becomes a cold place. You’re also well aware that the ultimatum’s deadline is approaching, of which Yuta ordered you to come back within a week’s time or he’ll kill Taeyong. You’re sure that it will be more difficult for Yuta to target Taeyong now that the latter has all the dirt on him, has bolstered his defenses and is launching raids and attacks against Yuta, but it still makes you uneasy.
Taeyong seems to remember this too and asks you about it during one of your meetings with him. “Where did you say you found that note from Yuta?”
“My apartment.”
He blinks. “So he knows where you live?” You nod uneasily. He stiffens slightly. “Y/n, you can’t stay there.”
“I know.” You sigh. “I was thinking of secretly moving to a hotel. I’ve been packing and getting ready.”
“No!” He says bewilderedly but cuts himself off with a sigh. “With me. Stay with me.”
You stare at him. “Are you sure?”
He gives you a level gaze. “Of course.”
You hesitate for a few moments before nodding. “Okay. I’ll bring over my things.” His face melts in relief, churning small butterflies in your stomach. Taeyong seems to want to say something else but decides against it and turns back to work. It’s enough though, for you.
“I can take the guest room,” you offer, once you’ve unloaded your boxes and suitcases into his apartment.
“Don’t be silly.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Just use my bed, like you’ve done a million times.” You hesitate, uneasiness stirring in your gut. His dark eyes fix on you. “I don’t hate you, Y/n. You don't have to worry about making me uncomfortable.”
You still don't budge. He makes a show of plopping down on his bed and scooching to the far most end, patting the space beside him. You acquiesce with a sigh and climb in, settling into the sheets and lie down, facing away from him. You relish the familiar feeling of his mattress and his scent on the sheets, remembering the last time you were here before everything changed. “Goodnight Y/n,” Taeyong mumbles behind you.
“Goodnight,” you say into the darkness. Of course, the next day, you wake up tangled in each other's arms. You nearly hate yourself for it. He’s still sleeping and you find yourself quietly admiring his features, as you always do, when you wake up beside him. He looks so angelic and peaceful. You chance a small kiss to his forehead that you don't deserve before tearing yourself away. He catches you, though, arm wrapping around your back to press you to him as his eyelids flutter open. It's silent for a moment before he kisses you. You melt embarrassingly fast in his arms before he pulls away with a sigh. It’s silent for a few moments before you speak.
“I didn’t have a choice,” you say thickly, your heart aching.
“I know.”
“I should've told you. I wanted to tell you.”
“I know,” he smiles, his eyes sad. “Your soft spot is your family and the people around you. And you were stuck between two. I know because it's mine too.” You sigh, blinking back the sting of tears in your eyes. He brings your hand up to kiss your palm. “I forgive you. Now, just forgive yourself.”
A few stray tears make their way down your cheeks. He wipes them gently. “Sorry. You probably prefer a girl who’s much less messy than me,” you laugh weakly.
He shushes you. “In all your rawness, ugliness and truth, that's how I want you.” His words seep into you. He gives you a final kiss to your forehead before removing himself from the bed to get ready for work. You manage to do the same.
...
This new way of life continues for several weeks more. Yuta continues his attacks on the mob but not on the same level as before since Taeyong has been counterattacking and sabotaging his operation, thanks to your help. You continue to supply as much information as you can remember, like how many members Yuta has, where they’re active, who are their allies, what documents he kept in his ever-secretive files. It helps greatly and Yuta’s attacks seem to decrease by the next month.
Everyone’s coldness towards you seems to thaw until you are accepted back as their member, all except for Jungwoo. He still doesn’t speak to you as much as before and when he does, it's curt and quipped, with cold, short words, not spending more time in your presence than necessary. It torments you. You make up your mind to have a direct conversation with Jungwoo so that he knows how sorry you are. But you also haven’t been feeling well suddenly the last few days and have not come into the office all together. Yesterday, your stomach churned as soon as you woke up and Taeyong caught you throwing up in the bathroom. He was worried and fussy and you assured him it must have been some bad fish you ate the day before. He didn’t want to leave you alone, and outright refused at first to go to work, but you assured him you’ll take some medicine and will be fine in a few hours. He left only after ten minutes of convincing and a promise that you’d call him if you were not feeling well.
As soon as he left, you finally let the dread swallow you whole. Could you be pregnant? You recounted that night in Taeyong’s office months ago when you definitely didn't use a condom. You facepalmed. If only you two hadn’t been so far gone with each other that day, you would’ve remembered. You tried to relax. Maybe it was something else. You did, in fact, eat fish the day before. One pregnancy test would have solved this question but you decided to do it later. Today, you’re determined to come into work and talk to Jungwoo. Damn your queasy stomach. He’s your only focus. Thankfully, you manage not to throw up this morning and unnecessarily worry Taeyong. Instead, you get ready and drive to work with him. As soon as you get into the office, you make your way to Jungwoo who is busy with some emails on his computer.
“Jungwoo?” He doesn’t turn to face you, his full attention fixed on his screen. “Can we talk?” He sucks his teeth and doesn’t bother to turn around. “Look, I know I’ve-” An unpleasant nausea rises in your stomach, and suddenly you’re bolting towards the female restroom without another word. When you finally emerge back onto the main floor after emptying your guts, you spot Jungwoo staring at you from his desk, eyes narrowed suspiciously. You approach him, giving him a pathetic attempt at a smile. “Just some bad tuna.”
“For three days in a row?” He asks. You merely stare at him in question as to how he could possibly know that. “I know you haven’t come into work the past few days,” he answers. You stare at the ground, tapping your shoe against the carpet, feeling foolish. He releases a sigh. “Does Taeyong know?” You shake your head and grumble, rubbing your forehead.
“Why not?”
You exhale. “I… I'm still processing it myself. I'll tell him soon. I just need my head to clear.” you say wearily.
“Does anyone else know?” He asks. You shake your head. Jungwoo watches you with an unreadable expression. Then, he adjusts the chair beside him, the one that used to be yours. “Sit,” he instructs. You gaze at him with a glimmer of hope and obey. Once you do, he turns to face you, brows pinched in concern. “How are you feeling?”
“Nauseous,” you grimace, pressing your hands to your abdomen. He bites back a laugh.
“I can guess. I meant your mind.”
You slink in your chair. “I'm scared. A mob at war is no place for a child.”
He nods. “And how do you feel about telling Taeyong?”
“Not much better. I’m sure he’ll be happy. I’m not worried about that. But for many months, I'll be… pregnant… and vulnerable.. With this war, if I fall into danger or if anybody takes me, I think he’ll destroy everything, even himself, trying to get me back.” You gaze at the carpet, deep in thought. “And I’m also afraid he’ll lock me up and never let me do anything out of fear for my safety.”
“Well, for the first one, you don't have to be pregnant for him to destroy everything to get you back,” Jungwoo says, smiling “And the second one, yeah, he would probably do that.”
You chuckle, glancing at him. “I know I have to tell him. I’m just… figuring out how to, I guess.”
“You’ll figure it out,” he reassures you.
A few moments of silence settles between you. “I missed you,” you finally admit, watching the unguarded flinching emotion in his face before he attempts to shutter it away. You cover his hand with yours. “I’m sorry, I truly am.”
Jungwoo gazes at you then, sincerely, and whatever resistance he’s trying to put up against you fails. “I know. I'm sorry too. I'm here for you, you know?” You nearly tear up in relief. You tug him into a hug, which he reciprocates easily. Warmth spreads through your chest and to your heart that has been aching for months. Then, Jungwoo tugs himself away from you. “Careful, I don't want Boss yelling at me again.”
You laugh. “I won't let him do that. It's the reason why I got pregnant anyway,” you mumble.
He looks at you sharply “What?”
“Nothing!” You stand up suddenly. “I uh.. am late, bye.” You hear him laughing as you scurry off.
...
You join Taeyong in his office to help out on some work. Your stomach seems to settle down the rest of the day, thankfully. Your brain swims while you watch Taeyong work busily, trying to figure out how to break the news to him. Would he be happy? Of course he would. You know he wants this more than anything. You just have to work up the nerve. Maybe you can later, when you return home. The day ends and he drives you back to his place, as he’s been doing for weeks since you’ve moved in with him. “You know, it’s nice having you live with me. It feels almost as if we’re married.”
You snort. “We don’t argue enough to be married.”
He chuckles. “We’re happily married, how’s that?” He offers.
“Oh, so that’s why people specify the phrase ‘happily’ before the word ‘married’.”
“Yes,” he laughs. Once you get into his apartment and settle in, he gives you a look. “I would marry you, you know.”
Your cheeks heat up. He looks sincere. “Really?”
His eyes twinkle. “Yes.”
You gaze at him, speechless with emotion before you remember your news. “I need to tell you something.” His brows quirk as he undoes his wrist watch. Just then, the elevator dings behind you, signaling someone has gotten on from the bottom floor. Both of you freeze and turn to face the metal doors.
“That’s strange. No one has access to the elevator except Jungwoo. Did he tell you he was coming over?” Taeyong asks. You check your phone. No text messages or calls. Chills run down your spine as you stare at him and shake your head slowly. Taeyong’s eyes widen. Then, the doors ding open and you realize it’s most definitely not Jungwoo. “Y/n, get back!” Taeyong shouts.
Four or five men with guns step out of the doors and into the penthouse. It’s a surreal sight but they are all familiar. Yuta’s men. You scramble backwards away from them but one lunges to catch your sleeve and drag you off the chair towards them. You barely register Taeyong grabbing the gun from his dresser and aiming at them with a shout to let you go. The man who has you in his grip whirls you around to face Taeyong and presses a gun to your head. All the color drains from Taeyong’s face, but he doesn’t lower the gun. The man holding you captive growls behind you. “She belongs to us. We’re taking her back.” His arm bars your neck and presses hard until you wince. “Yes, bring even traitors like you back,” he snarls into your ear.
Taeyong flinches as if to make a move but all guns suddenly train on him and he freezes once more. You merely gaze at Taeyong, trying to apologize with your eyes. His face is hard, his eyes a storm of emotions. His gun is still aimed at your captors, both hands wrapped around the handle, one finger around the trigger but you know he’s outnumbered. The gun against your temple pushes into your skin. “If you make one move, we’ll shoot her right here.”
Taeyong’s eyes flash. “Why don’t you just take me instead? Or kill me? Isn’t that what your boss wanted from the beginning?”
“Because someone would just replace you. Why do you think Yuta didn’t just send her as an assassin? We want to destroy your organization from the inside out. And she,” the gun nudges your head. “Is the key. She knows all your secrets by now. And as long as we have her, we’ll control you.” Another man speaks up. “But that doesn’t mean we won’t kill you and her if you try anything.”
“It's okay. I’ll be okay.” You reassure Taeyong as calmly as you can.
Taeyong’s eyes shine, the gun wavering in his hands before he lowers it. “I’ll get you back, I promise.”With that, the men are stepping back into the elevator, dragging you with them. Your last view is Taeyong’s distressed, anguished face before the metal doors close.
...
After a never ending van ride with your familiar kidnappers calling you a traitor and telling you to wait until Yuta gets his hands on you, you end up back at his base, sitting in a dark, empty room with a single chair and a lightbulb dangling above you. You know this room. It’s one of the rooms they used to question enemies and prisoners, although “question” is an understatement, you think, spotting the faded bloodstains on the ground. Just then, the door opens to reveal a familiar face with long red hair. “Long time no see, Boss” you hum as Yuta steps into the dim light of the room.
He looks angry. His eyes glint as he slowly circles you. “Yes,” he gives a fake smile. “I recall the last time I saw you, when you were still loyal.”
“Yes, that was a while ago. Many things have changed since then.”
He snorts. “Things, huh?” He stops in front of you, peering down. “Why don’t you tell me every single piece of intel you know about that place, just like I ordered you to?”
You match his glare. “Do you need it? You seem to be managing fine against them on your own.”
Yuta grits his teeth. “Not anymore. Your boyfriend put up a good fight against us. You saw to that, I’m sure.”
“How did you manage to do that much damage in the first place?” You ask.
“I wasn’t aware this was my interrogation session.” He growls. “Besides, I don’t answer to traitors. You’re lucky you're even alive to ask questions. I could've had you killed for your treachery instead of being taken.”
You huff out a laugh. “Then you would’ve lost your precious chance to use me to take down Taeyong’s mob.”
His eyes flare. “Right, Taeyong. The one you threw everything out for.”
“I told you when you gave me this case and I didn’t want to take this one. I told you the risk.”
“I didn't think we’d lose you so easily. After ten years, you throw that loyalty away?”
You glare at him. “Ten years is not enough for me to put my loyalty to you over him.”
He seems to falter. Then, he steels himself, eyes flashing with anger. “How long then? Twenty years?” You don’t reply. ”Fifty? One hundred?” When you still don’t respond, he throws his hands in the air. “I don’t believe this.”
“It's not personal, it's just-”
“Yes, it is personal!” He jabs a finger into your face. “I send you to do a job and you throw out everything we built together over some crush!?”
“You know by now it’s not some crush!” You bite back. The anger on his face crumbles a little into surprise. You sigh frustratedly. “You don’t understand. I didn’t have a choice. I was stuck between you and him. I couldn’t betray either of you. Do you know I didn’t rat you out right away? I didn’t tell Taeyong or anyone until you sent me that fucking note. And when I did tell them, it was because I was going to leave and come back to you. That’s when they saw me as a traitor. I was loyal and a traitor to both sides.”
Yuta falls silent for a few moments before speaking quietly. “But you didn’t come back to me. You stayed and helped him take me down. You made your decision in the end.”
“Yes, I did. But it’s because you were going to kill him. It’s not because you meant nothing to me.”
He falls quiet again. “Tell me what you know of the Scorpion, Y/n.” You stay silent, staring at the floor. “You know this business. If you don't tell me what you know and prove to me your allegiance, you’re of no use to me.”
“What then? Are you going to torture me? Kill me?” You ask him. “Would you do that to me, Yuta?”
He doesn’t respond. He only turns and walks out the door, speaking over his shoulder. “You have one day to make up your mind.”
....
Taeyong is losing his mind. Jungwoo has never seen him like this. He called an emergency meeting, had people come back into the office to assemble in the conference room, and proceeded to pace and ramble and stumble over his words as he tried to explain the situation. He runs his hand through his hair until it stuck up on the ends, even stopping to kick a chair over in frustration. Jungwoo still can’t believe you were taken from his apartment. He figures they must have tracked you somehow. “I want everyone to split up and come up with plans to get her back,” Taeyong orders, his voice uneven. “We already know where his base is, thanks to her. We’ll meet back here in ten minutes. Dismissed.”
The room empties out with people already mumbling ideas. Taeyong goes back to pacing, scratching the back of his head nervously before growing taut. Then, he kicks another chair over with a frustrated grunt. It’s only then does he notice Jungwoo is still in the room. “Ah,” he blinks, embarrassed, staring at the chair. “I was just… just frustrated.”
“I know this is a dumb question, but are you okay?” Jungwoo asks.
Taeyong’s face crumbles into despair. “They just took her… right out from under me, they just came in and pointed a gun at her head and took her.”
“I know,” Jungwoo tries to sound soothing. “I’ll help in any way I can.”
Taeyong doesn’t look reassured. His brows are pinched and his lips have been twisted in a perpetual frown since he walked in here. “We have to come up with a plan.”
Jungwoo nods. “Any ideas so far?”
Taeyong chews his lip. “Maybe we can just raid his base with sheer manpower. She can figure out how to run or hide in the commotion. If she gets her hand on a weapon, she can even help us out before we get her out of there.”
Jungwoo’s stomach churns, remembering how, just today, you couldn’t get through a full conversation with him without vomiting. Worse yet, you’ve been like this for the past three days. The plan doesn’t seem like the best idea given your condition. “I don’t know about having her join the fight. We have to keep her protected at all costs.”
Taeyong looks at him inquisitively. “I mean, she can handle herself. She’s a trained soldier.”
Jungwoo realizes you never got the chance to tell Taeyong the truth. “She didn’t tell you?”
Taeyong blinks. “Tell me what?”
“She’s pregnant.”
Silence blares loudly in the room for a full minute. All emotion drains from Taeyong’s face only to be replaced with shock. “What?”
“She’s pregnant. I caught her throwing up just this morning.”
Taeyong looks dazed. “She’s pregnant..?” Jungwoo nods. Taeyong’s eyes become misty. He suddenly grips his forehead. “She told me it was bad tuna.”
Jungwoo bites back a laugh. “She told me that too.” He watches Taeyong blink back tears and take a breath, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “Boss, listen. We can't let her fight on her own. She’s not well as it is and can barely keep her food down. On top of that, the baby…”
“The baby...” Taeyong breathes. His eyes are a million miles away. “Her and my baby… and,” His eyes grow cold, jaw clenching. “And Yuta took her.”
“Yes, he did.” Jungwoo says. “And he might kill her tonight if she doesn't give him any useful information.”
All panic is gone from Taeyong. Now he’s cold, rigid, familiar, the one that Jungwoo is used to. “We’re not going to show mercy.” Taeyong growls. “And we’ll find a way that doesn't put her.. or.. our baby.. at risk.”
Jungwoo grins. “Yes, Boss.”
...
You’re locked in a cell for the night. Not really a cell, more like one of their spare bedrooms that can be locked from the outside. It’s not too bad; it has a bed and a bucket. The bucket is particularly useful for your nausea bouts that have started up again since they locked you in here. Even if you try to escape, it will be difficult in your condition. Fatigue aches throughout your body. Your head feels light and your stomach is perpetually queasy. Being kidnapped, questioned and thrown into a cell certainly hasn’t helped. At least they gave you some semblance of a dinner, you think, eyeing the slop of food in a bowl on your table.
You can’t sleep, obviously, and opt to keep your mind busy during this insufferable silence. You try to trace how Yuta knew where Taeyong’s penthouse was in order to kidnap you. Then, it hits you. Your old cell phone that you threw out because Yuta was tracking it - you did that after you visited Taeyong’s place for the first time. Yuta must have just figured that any place you were staying at for a long stretch of time that wasn’t the office or your apartment was Taeyong’s.You wonder what Taeyong must be thinking. He was so panicked when you saw him last, understandably. You told him the location of Yuta’s base weeks ago, so he definitely knows where you are. He’s probably on his way here right now, or hopefully before tomorrow.
You wonder if Yuta would really have you killed tomorrow if you don’t cooperate. He’s always been strict, mean, ruthless, but never entirely heartless. You find it hard to imagine him being able to execute you after spending a decade together.
Suddenly, the sound of shouting and banging doors erupts from outside. Then, gunfire. You shoot up in bed and catch the sight of people running to and fro through the small window of your door. It looks like Taeyong came early after all.
...
“We attack from the front main entrance in heavy numbers. Jungwoo, you lead this group. A small group will loop around the side. There should be a back entrance that will likely not be guarded because of the commotion at the front. I’ll slip in there and find her,” Taeyong instructed the team.
They follow it perfectly. As Taeyong slips through the back entrance and descends into the underground base, he hears shouting, gunfire and footsteps bounding down hallways. He quietly navigates the abandoned backrooms. He vaguely remembers you describing the layout of this place once. If he remembers correctly, the place where they hold prisoners should be…He turns the corner and finds a series of doors lining the entire hallway. Behind each one is a bedroom. All of them are empty except for one whose light is filtering through the small window of its door. Anticipation swells inside him as he dashes to the room, muttering a prayer that you be okay.
The door is locked. He curses and peers through the window. He sees your face, alarmed and caught off guard before you register that it’s him. The sweetest relief floods him at the sight of you unharmed. You mouth something that he can't hear before you motion to the outside wall at the end of the hallway. He follows the line of sight and spots keys dangling on a wall hook. He dashes over to grab them before running back, unlocking the door and shouldering it open. You’re swallowed in a hug so quickly you can barely breathe. Taeyong’s arms are around you, squeezing you to him, tucking you under his chin, before running through your hair and cupping your cheeks. He’s mumbling questions and you realize he's checking to see if you're injured. You can feel him trembling. “Hey, hey, I’m okay,” you reassure him, holding his hands that are cupping your cheeks.
Anxiety bleeds from his face. He checks you one again, then pulls you in for another crushing hug. You can’t help but sigh and melt in his arms, grateful that he’s here. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he murmurs.
“It's not your fault.” You rub his back. Another round of gunfire erupts in the background. “We have to get out of here.”
He pulls away. “No, we’re not running. Yuta will just come after us. We’re going to defeat him here.”
Your stomach flips. “Defeat… Will you kill him?”
Taeyong’s brows furrow. “Yes. He was going to kill you wasn't he?”
“I know… I just-” More gunfire rings out. You turn to Taeyong. “Give me a gun. I can help. I know their weaknesses and where to hide in this place.”
Emotion envelops his face. He cups your cheek softly. “Not this time.”
“Why not?”
“You… the baby…” he trails off, his eyes shining.
“Oh,” you swallow. “Jungwoo told you.”
He releases a breath, lips curling into a small smile before he presses his forehead to yours. “Yeah, he did.”
The sounds of gunfire and shouting grow louder. “I can help, Taeyong. It can make a lot of difference out there. What if our guys run into a dead end hallway and get shot down? I can help everyone navigate this place, especially where to retreat to.”
He pulls away from you. “No.”
Your eyes roam his face. “Please. I'll hide. What if you take more losses because you could have used me?”
“That’s a risk I'll take.”
“Taeyong…”
“Please, just for this one time, please do as I say.”
You fall silent. He’s never given you an order before. His hand slips from your cheek as he turns towards the door and the sound of gunfire. You make a last attempt. “I'll hide, I'll keep safe. I just want to help.” He shakes his head one more time, steps out of the room and closes the door, automatically locking it from the outside. You speechlessly stare at him through the small window. He gives an apologetic look before running off. You stare in disbelief and then rattle the door handle. It doesn't budge. The sound of gunfire rises and you anxiously wonder if it's because Taeyong entered their line of sight. If he gets hurt again when you could've done something about it….
You slam your palms against the door this time, desperation and anger rising inside of you. He locked you in here like another prisoner. “This is not happening,” you mumble. More gunfire rings out. Someone shouts in pain. Tears sting your eyes. There must be some way.
You look through the door window at the ground of the hallway outside and spot the keys on the floor close by. Taeyong must've dropped them as soon as he unlocked the door and ran to hug you. You kneel and find a big enough gap under the door for your palm. You stick your hand out, fingers brushing the edge of the keys. You pinch them with your fingertips and drag it through the door successfully.
You stand up and exhale in victory, fumbling with the keys. You unlock the door from your side and make your escape. Gunfire echoes from all around you, from every floor and hallway. Most of the people you find along the way are unconscious or too injured to fight, and a few you fear may be dead. Most of them are Yuta’s men. You know almost all of them and it makes your heart ache. Then, you hear Taeyong’s shout and all blood drains to your legs. You sprint into the main hall and spot Taeyong’s familiar pistol on the floor by the door to Yuta’s office, which is open. Your stomach lurches and panic seizes your brain. You fight down the rising nausea in your stomach and run through the door.
Taeyong is bleeding on the floor in front of you, clutching his leg while Yuta stands by his desk, the same spot where he gave you this mission all those days ago. His gun is aimed directly at Taeyong. Without thinking, you hurl yourself into his path.
“Stop!” You shout.
“Y/n!?” Yong shouts in disbelief. “What are you doing here!? I told you to stay there!”
You glare at Yuta who’s been frozen since you first stepped in his line of sight. “If you’re going to shoot him, you’ll have to shoot me first.”
Yuta stares at you, gun still aimed. His face is hard but uncertain. “You’d give up your life just for him?” You don’t respond but your expression is all Yuta needs as an answer. Taeyong gives a protesting groan behind you. The sound of gunfire tapers off in the distance. The raid sounds like it's coming to a close. Yuta releases a breath, his gun wavering. “All I wanted to do was take down the Scorpion. You made it so, so difficult. I only retaliated.” Yuta grits his teeth.
“You harassed my people, infiltrated my organization, and tried to assassinate me. Taking her was the final slight,” Taeyong growled. “Don’t act like you are the victim.”
Yuta glowers. “Y/n, I will let you walk out of here right now if you step out of the way.”
“Walk away, huh? So what about that ultimatum you gave me when you brought me back here?” You ask him. “You were never going to kill me if I didn't give you intel because you can’t do it.”
Yuta avoids your eyes and doesn't respond. You were right; he has a soft spot for you too. “So, what’s it going to be? Will you kill us both?” you ask.
Silence fills the room. His gun is still trained on you. Then, you hear Taeyong’s voice from behind you. “She's pregnant.”
Shock envelops Yuta’s face. His gun wobbles before he lowers it. He seems to search for confirmation in your face and finds it. He groans, running his hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
You stare at him, perplexed. He turns around and grips the edge of his desk, head falling forward in defeat. When you realize he’s not going to shoot, you immediately kneel by Taeyong’s side and check his injuries. There's a gash below his knee but it doesn't seem terribly serious. “Y/n,” Taeyong whispers. “Grab my gun back there and shoot him while he’s distracted.”
You freeze. “What? I can’t do that.”
Taeyong’s brows furrow. “Y/n-“
“She won’t kill me if that’s what you're whispering about," Yuta calls, sighing heavily before turning around to face you once more. “She’s too soft. Too attached.” His head falls forward. “What a fucking weakness,” he mumbles, almost to himself.
“And you?” Taeyong glares. “You won't kill me as soon as she's not in your line of sight?”
Yuta only looks on tiredly. “No. I’m not going to take a father away from his kid before it's even born.” Silence fills the room. It looks like Taeyong doesn’t know what to think. You remember how Yuta has always refused to hurt children and, if he could help it, parents. It's why he and his father gave you a chance to join this mob when your family was on the run. Similar to Taeyong, there's a softness behind the ruthlessness that sets their mobs apart from all others in the city. “Everything I built is gone,” Yuta sighs tiredly. “Most of my men are dead or injured, my base is discovered.”
You help Taeyong sit up, and tear a cloth from your shirt to wrap it around his wound. “We both did some bad damage,” Taeyong grunts as you tend to his injury. “We seriously compromised each other. Worse yet, we’re the two biggest mobs in the city and now we’re handicapped. The worse, less moral, more violent ones will try to take over.”
Yuta hisses. “The ones peddling drugs and trafficking humans. They will turn this city into a fucking warzone while vying for power.”
Taeyong nods in agreement. His bleeding seems to have stopped. He sits up with a wince. Yuta stares glumly at the ground.
“Maybe you both can come to a truce,” You suggest, catching their attention. “I know we’re literally sitting in the aftermath of a bloodbath of a mob war but… if you have a common interest, maybe you can come to an agreement or ceasefire or….” you trail off as both men stare at you as if you’ve grown two heads. You sigh exasperatedly. “Do you want Johnny’s mob taking over? The one that's already terrorizing that club we went to and probably every other establishment in the city?”
Taeyong and Yuta exchange glances. They seem to come to a begrudging, silent understanding. Taeyong turns to you. “Ceasefire for now. We’ll… talk about this later. We have to check on our members.”
You eye Yuta in question. His eyes are narrowed and you know he’s mulling over every angle and opportunity in his head. In the end, he exhales. “Fine. Ceasefire. Go tend to your wounded.”
...
In all, a handful were injured. A few died. You find Jungwoo unharmed and give him the tightest possible hug. Once you leave the base, Taeyong gets checked over at a hospital. They don’t ask any questions, as always, since they have a general idea he’s with the mob that runs the city. You stay with him overnight until he's discharged in the morning. Both of you return to his place after that and try to recover over the next few days. Taeyong orders the office closed for a few weeks. He says that, after everything that’s happened, people need time to process the loss of life, assess the damages and heal mentally and physically. Yuta honors the ceasefire and, for a few weeks, it seems as if there is peace.
A few days after the raid, you finally register the dull anger broiling in your stomach. You find yourself keeping a slight distance from Taeyong whenever he’s nearby and you realize, for the first time, that you are angry with him. He realizes this too and finally speaks on it one evening when both of you are watching television in his bedroom. “Back in Yuta’s base, you know why I had to leave you in there, right?”
“No, I don't.” You sit up from the bed to face him. “You almost died. Maybe it all would’ve been better if I joined and we talked Yuta down sooner.”
Taeyong frowns. “Or he would’ve hurt you. You trust in his goodness too much. I was only trying to protect you.”
“It didn't feel like protection. It felt like an easy way to guarantee your peace of mind at the cost of my free will.” You stare at him. “You cannot make decisions for me.”
“I can if you’re carrying our child.” He glares back.
You purse your lips. “I’m aware that I need to protect myself and the baby, but I wanted to protect other people too, just like you. That isn’t something you can order me not to do. You’re not the Boss in everything.” You pull away from him and slide off the bed.
“Y/n.” His expression of anger turns to pleading.
“Do you know how helpless I felt? You could have been dying and I would have been stuck behind that door. And if all of you were killed, what then? I’d just be stuck there, with no one to come get me out.”
“But we weren't killed and you did get out. Somehow,” he says bluntly. His expression looks like a parent’s who is chastising their child for disobeying orders. The look you gave must have been so full of disappointment since he sighs and acquiesces. “I wasn't thinking much at the time. I was just afraid you’d deny my order and run into combat, which you did. I… needed to keep you somewhere safe.”
“Keep me or lock me?” You huff. “It felt so insulting to be physically locked away and not being allowed to do what I thought was best at the time in my mind because fear clouded yours. Why are your wishes more important than mine?”
Taeyong visibly slumps against the headboard. “No. They are not more important. I was just.. selfish and scared. When they..” He falters before his voice comes out shaky. “When they came here, put a gun to your head and took you from my own place where I should've been able to keep you safe, I thought you were dead. I lost it. Every minute when I didn't know you were okay, I was losing my mind.” He releases a heavy sigh, blinking back tears. “Then when I saw you again unharmed in that cell, I was so relieved. I couldn't bear the thought of you being in danger again and I just acted on my feelings.” He swallows. “I’m sorry.”
Your heart lurches. You climb back into his bed and take him into your arms. “I didn't think of that. I’m sorry too.” He sniffs and presses himself closer. What a mess, you think. Injured twice, put in danger’s path too many times, all with a baby on the way. “This is no life for a child,” you sigh, tickling his hairs under your chin. “I wish we could get away from all this.”
His hand presses against your stomach. “Maybe we can.” You glance at him in question. “I can step down as boss. We can abandon this violent life, raise our child safely and live in peace.”
You blink, gazing down at him. “That sounds like a dream. But you said the mob was compromised and the city will suffer.”
His words come out muffled against your chest. “Maybe Yuta could take over.”
Your brain grinds to a halt. “What?”
You pull back to look at him. He sighs, propping his head on his arm. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I can’t think straight right now. Too much has happened recently.” He glances at you. “But we originally kept other mobs in check. We kept the city stable and safe to an extent. But now, we’ve destroyed each other. Others will challenge us. If we merge into one organization, we can consolidate power and retain our standing.” He chances a look up at you. “Besides, I’m impressed with how he was so good at finding out our top secret information. He might be a boon to our team.”
You release a breath, sliding down against the headboard. “I never thought I’d hear that from you.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t know the extent of the damage we were doing to each other until we were in his base, surrounded by bodies, from both sides. Not to mention our months of attacks against each other before that.” he sighs. “People have taken it hard here. We are weakened.” He says. “And Yuta didn’t…. he kill me when he could have. I would have killed him in his position. I guess that’s something.”
You gaze at him. “So is this the truce you will offer him? Merging? And you’ll step down and make him boss?”
He winces. “I don’t know about making him boss. He can run his own unit as part of our larger organization if he chooses. But I’ll step down.” He says, smiling. “And we can live far away from the violence and never think about it again.”
“That… sounds almost too good to be true.”
He takes your hand and kisses it. “We deserve it after all these years. I want to be a father rather than a kingpin. I’d much rather be by your side raising our baby and being your h… um,” he averts his eyes and clears his throat. “Being domestic.”
Your heart melts, noticing the pink tint to his cheeks. “You do love domesticity.” You chuckle. “Who will take your place then?”
Taeyong grins. “I think someone deserves a promotion.”
...
Over the next few weeks, Taeyong notifies Yuta of the proposed plan, who begrudgingly accepts. He also tells the office about the news of the merger, earning loud protests of outrage. “We’re supposed to work alongside the people that killed us!?” One member shouts.
Taeyong gazes around the conference room. “It’s either this or we close down. Given what’s happened, it will be extremely difficult to climb back to where we were,” he explains. “We will be vulnerable to attacks by other mobs and more people will die. If we don’t come to an agreement with Yuta, he might begin attacking us again as well. This will repeat for a while.” Grumbled murmurs echo around the room. “Also, I will be stepping down.”
That gets even louder shouts. Taeyong raises his hands signaling everyone to settle down.
“You said we’re compromised but you’re going to leave us without a leader!?” A woman protests.
“Someone will replace me, of course. Someone who is far better suited to the position than me, someone who is much more intelligent and perceptive will be a force to be reckoned with if anyone dares challenge us from now on.” Taeyong smiles, eyes fixing on one person. “Jungwoo.”
Jungwoo looks stunned. The mumbles of protests pause entirely for a few moments before they turn into cheers and hollers. Someone slaps him on the back a few times in congratulations and he blinks as if in a daze. “Me? As Boss?”
Taeyong grins. “Do you accept?” Jungwoo blinks furiously before nodding. “Then, congratulations.” The room bursts into applause. Absolutely no one objects to his appointment. Jungwoo has always been the most intelligent and discerning, and will no doubt be a force to be reckoned with against any of the mob’s enemies. Within a few days, Taeyong officially hands over the position, his office, and the reigns to his right hand.
...
In the following weeks, Taeyong exchanges a few calls with Yuta, mostly on how to merge the organizations, and discuss grievances and conditions. They settle on some specific deal you don’t understand, but it must be adequate since Yuta agrees to merge and actually comes over to the office for a few meetings. Within a month, they officially merge and things seem to stabilize and run smoothly. Jungwoo takes to the new role quickly as well. He already knows the inner workers of the mob so he needs very little training. In turn, Taeyong is able to resign fully. Jungwoo insists on throwing a going away party, filled with some teary goodbyes, congratulations and well wishes with the pregnancy. From here, you can begin to believe things will actually get better.
With all the new free time, Taeyong is able to help take care of you for the rest of your pregnancy. He supports you through all your woes, like making you food, holding your hair back while you’re hurling into the toilet, massaging your aching muscles. Some nights he props his chin onto your stomach, speaking to the baby with a light in his eyes. It’s the deepest peace you’ve ever felt. A month later, your morning sickness evens out and you identify the faintest change in the protrusion of your stomach. A baby bump. When you first show him, Taeyong is over the moon. He can’t keep his hands off your tummy. His eyes shine and lips are curled into a smile that stays for a week. It’s also when you chance a question at Taeyong that you meant as a suggestion, just something to think about, but it changes everything. It’s when you’re lounging in bed, one of those restful days. Sunlight pours in through the blinds and the television is low in the background. “Taeyong?” He hums in question. “Do you want to get married?”
A beat of silence passes. “...What?” You chance a glance at him. He’s absolutely shocked. Heat flares on your cheeks in embarrassment.
“I don't know… I just thought maybe someday we can. I know we don't have to, but I just thought we’re going to be together… I mean, forever, right?” You blush. “That came out cheesy. I meant neither of us have any intention to leave, so might as well-”
He cuts you off with a kiss and pulls away before you can even process it. “Yes, yes, yes,” he litters butterfly kisses across your face and pulls you into a hug. You melt, laughing into his shoulder. “I thought you wouldn’t want to.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” You giggle. “We’re already having a whole kid together.”
“I don’t know,” he pulls back, a smile curled wide over his lips. It’s wonderful to see him happy. “I want to. I definitely want to.”
Your heart soars. “Then let’s get married.”
....
It’s short work to plan your wedding. Neither if you want it too large, but much of the office is invited to reception afterwards. It arrives in another month, your belly swelling a little bit more by then, but not noticeable under your wedding dress. The ceremony is emotional and filled with reverence. You’ll never forget the sight of your groom in his tux, shining eyes and smile, calling you his wife and him your husband, the words like magic on your tongue. The reception afterwards is a jubilant contrast, full of dancing and drinking. A few colleagues, including Jungwoo, pat you on the back in congratulations. You pass the night in a tizzy of dancing and laughing until a familiar figure enters the hall. You think it’s a stranger before you realize it’s Yuta. He spots you, eyes running over your wedding dress before giving you a smile. “Yuta?” You ask in disbelief. “I can’t believe…”
“That I'm here at your wedding? Neither can I.” He laughs a little, surveying the venue hall before focusing on you again. “Taeyong invited me.” You stare at him in surprise. He shrugs. “We are business partners and all.” He grabs a glass of champagne off of a passing waiter’s dish. “Surprisingly, it seems that your husband and I work well together.”
You bite your tongue but can’t seem to hold the words back. “How can we know that you’re not going to split and attack us again when you’ve recovered enough power?”
He blinks. “What, and repeat the same cycle that ended me up here? Don’t worry. I’m not that stupid, sweetheart.” He says, and suddenly, you’re the one who feels stupid. “You look beautiful by the way. Your father would have been proud.” Emotion grips you without warning. Yuta gives you a final smile and turns away, sipping his champagne as he disappears in the mesh of guests and dancing.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of chatter, smiles, drinks, dancing and food. When the night ends, you and Taeyong climb into his car to the whoops and hollers of the crowd, and drive back to his place. You both would have been tipsy out of your mind and gone straight to bed, but since you can’t drink, Taeyong refuses to as well, claiming emotional support. That leaves time for other things.
“Alright, how do you want this to go down?” You ask, undoing your jewelry in front of his vanity.
Taeyong laughs, unzipping your dress when you offer your back to him. “You mean for our wedding night?” You nod as you slip off the gown and sigh at the freedom of not being weighed down by a thousand pounds of fabric. He eyes you as you undo the rest of your jewelry, your hair and underclothes. “I can think of one thing.”
“And what’s that?” You ask, catching sight of him through the mirror. He’s leaning against the bedpost with his arms crossed, still dressed in his tux but without the jacket, looking as handsome as ever.
"I think I'd like to be your plaything for a while.” Your brain grinds to a halt. You turn to blankly stare at him. He smirks. "What's the matter?” He reaches out to place his hands on your hips. "I promise I won't resist whatever you want to do to me.”
You swallow thickly. “You’re teasing me.”
"Oh, I'm not teasing you at all, love,” He smiles softly, his hands tightening slightly around your hips. "I'm giving myself up to you.” You blink hard. A former kingpin at the complete mercy of his wife. Just the thought of it has heat blazing through your body. His voice breaks you out of your thoughts. "Play with me, tease me, do this however you want. I’m yours,” his lips brush your jaw. “I’ll be your good boy.”
You inhale deeply as his arms wrap around your waist and press you to him. “You’ll do anything?” He hums in acknowledgement, kissing down your neck. “Alright,” you test, “kneel for me.”
He smirks, and steps away from you. He then kneels down, lowering himself until his knees hit the ground and he’s peering up at you. “You… you actually did it.” you breathe.
His eyes dance with amusement. "What, did you expect me to disobey you?” He chuckles softly, and his eyes going dark. "Or is it just seeing me on my knees that's making you lose your train of thought?”
“Uh… yes.. it's the knees.”
He grins, reaching out to caress your calf. “Now what should I do?”
“I don't know. I didn't think I'd get this far.”
He laughs. Then, he takes your hand and begins kissing your palm. “Use me, love.”
Heat flares in your stomach. You cup his cheek gently. “Would anyone have suspected the mob king lord of everything was so submissive? And obedient at that?”
He nuzzles into your hand. “I think they all know me pretty well. Besides, I’m only like this for you.”
“Hmm,” you move your hand to cup his chin and rest your thumb on his bottom lip. You do it out of curiosity, but his lips close around your thumb without hesitation. His dark eyes burn into yours as his tongue circles your thumb. You are struck with a flashback to that evening in the office, how he held you down against his desk with his gaze burning into yours and ate you within an inch of your life. Heat burns and pools through your body. You pull your hand away, tug him up to stand again and kiss him hard. He groans into your lips, arms wrapping tightly around your waist and mouth parting immediately to grant you entrance. He lets you completely dominate the kiss, your tongue sliding past his lips. His demeanor is so different from that time in his office. He’s much more vocal now, whiney even. His lips are soft and pliant, his brows knitted in slight desperation, his hands roaming over your body. You break for air and plant kisses under his jaw.
“My good boy,” you mumble. His eyes flutter closed and he releases a loud groan. You pull away to take him in. His lips are stained from your lipstick, his hair that was neatly combed before now slightly messy, his dress shirt rumpled, eyes lidded and mouth panting. “Get on the bed.” He obeys quickly. You watch as he settles against the headboard before waiting for your next order, his eyes expectant and eager to please. “Take off your vest and shirt.” He listens without complaint. He tilts his head back to undo the tie at his collar before throwing it to the floor, then unbuttons his vest and dress shirt underneath. He works with urgency, nimble fingers determinedly undoing every part of his ensemble all because you asked.
Now free from your garments except your slip underdress, you comfortably climb onto the bed to rest beside him. His dark eyes fixate on you as the final button is undone. He tears off his dress shirt and throws it off to the side, revealing his familiar bare torso that encourages your eyes to run across his tattoos.“You’re beautiful,” you mumble before leaning over and kissing him deep. He melts immediately, hands cupping your cheeks to pull you closer. You pull away abruptly to leave hot, open mouthed kisses down his jaw and neck until he’s groaning lowly and melting into the mattress. You nip his skin with the slightest nick of your teeth as you travel down to his collarbone. It has a profound effect on him, pulling shallow breaths and moans from his lips. Your lips travel over his heart and down his chestline. His breathing turns harsh, and moans grow louder. You opt then to lick down his abdomen, leaving him shivering.
You glance up at him. You figure your gaze must have been dark and full of lust because he looks completely wrecked and held immobile. His cheeks are flushed, lips stained red, pupils dilated. You maintain eye contact as you kiss and lick and nip down the rest of his abdomen, urging his muscles to quiver and flex the lower you go. Once you get to his pantline, he’s already straining against his slacks. You press a final kiss to the spot below his navel, earning a jump of his muscle and a low groan from him, before undoing his belt and tugging the garment completely off his legs, along with his boxers. You don't wait to press kisses to his thighs. His hard cock is so easily within reach but you choose to litter kisses along his hips, thighs, and navel instead. You tease until he’s whimpering and pressing his hips up from the mattress and towards your mouth. When you kiss the juncture of his thigh and pelvis, he gasps, tangles his fingers in your hair and moans. “Please, Y/n.”
“Please what?”
His hazy eyes manage to focus on you. “Please stop teasing.”
You hum, moving to suck the juncture of his pelvis while your hand not-so-accidentally grazes his balls. “You mean like this?”
He gasps harshly, fingers tightening in your hair, head tilting against his pillow. “Y-Yes, yes like that.”
“But I don’t want to stop. Not until you’re completely gone, and begging and teary for me.” You see him swallow, eyes darkening a few shades. He barely has time to find a response before you’re back to kissing, sucking, and biting his thighs until he’s panting and whining once more. After a few more minutes, you can tell that his mental cohesion is slipping. His brows are knitted, bottom lip bitten and red, eyes helpless with the slightest hint of desperate tears.
“Please, please, please Y/n,” he babbles, gasping at your tongue on his hip bone. His hands are still in your hair and you allow them to stay there so long as he isn't forcing your head towards where he needs you the most.
“Just a little longer. You said you wanted to be my plaything, didn’t you?”
He shivers at that, eyes clenching shut. His cheeks are flush much more now. “I can’t take it anymore.”
You hum as you mouth along his pelvis. “Tell me what you want.”
“You mouth,” he moans brokenly.
“You already have my mouth,” you say, pointedly ignoring the straining, leaking cock within reach.
His eyes fly open when you mouth his balls, suckling the skin. He shivers hard, eyes rolling back. He pants harshly, fighting to remember words. He trembles under you, hands shaky in your hair. “On my cock, please, please.”
“As you wish.” When your lips close around his cock finally, his face twists into a pained grimace. You slowly stroke him with your lips, tongue swirling around his length, pulling harsher breaths and shivers from him. His eyelids flutter and are so deeply lidded they are almost closed. He seems to fight to keep them open if only to take in the sight of you between his legs. You take him up till his base, enveloping him entirely with his mouth until his cock hits the back of your throat. He arches and releases a deep groan. He twitches in your mouth, and you realize he’s already close. You take the liberty to speed up, your lips meeting the hilt each time, tongue swirling around his length. He gasps harshly for breath, back arching, hips trembling and bucking up to meet you before you hold them down with your hands. You suck him faster, making his moans grow higher in pitch until he’s suddenly seizing up, tight and still, his head pressing back into the pillows and back arched beautifully. His warmth fills your mouth and you groan, relishing it as you swallow. He’s shaking everywhere as collapses on the bed with another breathless moan.
You continue licking him clean while he pants to catch his breath. He’s still hard in your mouth, you realize, and you can’t help continue sucking him until he’s flinching and tugging you off of him by your hair. “Ah, too much.” You relent, thinking you’re tormented him enough for one night, and press a final kiss to his hip. He pulls you up to kiss him, hands reverently cupping your cheeks, mouth and tongue moving leisurely against you. When he pulls away, he has stars in his eyes. “You’re amazing.”
You laugh. “It was that good, huh?”
He presses another kiss. “I think I almost blacked out.”
You laugh. He guides your leg over his hip to straddle him comfortably. You kiss his palm. “Y/n,” his eyes shine, cheeks still flushed. “Tell me I’m perfect.” You blink at him and he explains. “The first day you came to us, when we talked in my office, I told you I looked like a toad and you said I was perfect.” He flushes “I couldn't tell you at the time how it made me feel, but now I can.” He kisses your hand. “Tell me I’m perfect. Tell me everything.”
Your heart melts at his pleading, vulnerable eyes. You hope he knows you’ll give him everything he asks for. You give him a soft kiss. “You’re perfect,” you say, watching his eyes glow with your praise. You litter kisses across his cheeks and forehead. “You’ve always been perfect. You’re sweet and strong and kind and you’re mine. Absolutely perfect.”
He shivers and groans, hands pulling you roughly against his lips to kiss you. You melt into him, hands running through his hair, breathing in the lingering scent of his cologne. You slip off your underdress and the rest of your garments, watching his eyes darken. When you straddle him again, you’re already so wet from having him in your mouth from before. You slide him in easily up til the hilt, pleasure bursting across your eyelids while he grips your hips like a vice, lips parted and head tilted back against the pillows. This time, it’s slow and passionate, just like your first. You bend low to kiss him and barely allow a few inches of distance the entire time you ride him. You relish his groans, his fluttering eyes. Praises fall from your lips in abundance, without pause or restraint, and you watch the flush of his cheeks grow darker after each one until he's vulnerable and moaning and tucking his head into your neck, coming inside you a second time with a broken whimper. It hurls you towards your own edge, gripping and contracting around his length as you hold onto him for dear life.
When the moments passed, the vice grips on each other loosen, and both of you catch your breath. He doesn’t let you roll off him onto the mattress. Instead he holds you close, pressing one hand to your stomach, which still looks barely different than before, but his eyes shine as if the baby is already here.
...
The rest of the pregnancy is blissful. It consists of buying baby items, picking out names, cleaning out Taeyong’s guest room and setting it up for the baby, though both of you know it will probably end up sleeping in your room with the guest room used for nothing other than storage. As the date approaches, Taeyong gets increasingly more anxious. You try to calm him and redirect his focus to baby proofing the entire penthouse, which works well. He’s adorable, nervous and tittering, worried if he’ll be a good enough father. You remind him again and again that he will be.
When the day finally comes and contractions erupt and you’re whisked away to the hospital, Taeyong is a mess. Jungwoo even visits to calm him down, which works. By the end of a long day, a baby girl is born. He’s absolutely enamored, and has her in his arms all night, rocking her gently, cooing and speaking soft words that have her falling quiet to listen. Sometimes, he remembers to tear his eyes away to give you a teary, beaming smile. It’s enough to make you the happiest person alive. Upon coming home, it takes many sleepless nights for you two to get the hang of it - the feeding, the crying, the burping. Within a few weeks, though, it’s a natural order, a timetable, a cycle. Tonight is one of those rare ones when you’ve miraculously gotten the baby to sleep a few hours longer. Taeyong and you relish the few moments of quiet and try to get some sleep.
“You’re a good mother, you know,” he mumbles sleepily in bed, arm thrown around your waist. “I’m glad she looks like you.”
His words envelop you in warmth. “I think she looks more like you, actually. Don’t you see her giant brown eyes that take up half her face?”
He chuckles and makes your heart flutter even after all this time. “My eyes are not that big.”
You cup his cheek. “They are and they’re wonderful and I’m glad she has them.”
He cheeks warm under your palm. He pulls you close and kisses you. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
A high pitched, piercing cry rings out, startling you both before you’re groaning. “She gets that voice from you, though,” he says.
“She does not!” You complain. He gives you a pointed look at your near screech of protest. “Fine, maybe a little.”
He chuckles, stopping you from slipping out of bed. “I’ll get her, don’t worry. Get some sleep.” You sigh in thanks.He presses a kiss to your forehead before he’s slipping out the door. The piercing crying suddenly quiets down once his coos interrupt the noise and soon, the house is silent with no sound other than a baby’s whimpers and your husband’s soft words.
In that moment you’re grateful for all the choices you’ve been able to make.
#taeyong#nct#nct smut#taeyong smut#nct scenarios#taeyong scenarios#nct taeyong#nct fics#taeyong fics#nct imagines#taeyong imagines#jungwoo#nct mafia au#nct mafia fic
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Superpham AU (part 7)
Masterpost
A short one today, but I thought this section was funny (until it got sad again).
-----
It’s a quiet evening in the Lane-Kent household: Lois is trying to turn her notes into an article, Clark is going over Jon’s math homework, and Jon is watching a show Lois is only half-following. It features lots of gunfire and explosions, though Lois’s— unfortunately extensive— experience with witnessing real violence makes the version on TV look cartoonish. She suspects that is part of the show’s appeal.
Danny is paying about as much attention to the TV as Lois is, engrossed in something on his phone. At least he’s in the same room as the rest of them, instead of sequestering himself away.
“Hey Lois?” Danny suddenly asks.
Lois looks up from her work. “What’s up?”
“Did you know the internet thinks you’re Superman’s girlfriend?”
Lois knows that if she looks at Clark, he’ll be turning red, the way he always does whenever this particular subject comes up. Lois herself is barely holding back a laugh. Jon’s wrinkling his nose, looking thoroughly embarrassed by his parents.
“Well, I am,” she says, barely keeping herself composed.
“No, I mean—” Danny begins.
“You mean people say that I’m dating Superman and married to Clark?” Lois glances at Clark, who is now hiding his face in his hands. “Someone forgot to check for cameras after rescuing me a few years back, and we got caught kissing on film. It was let people think Superman is a homewrecker or let them think I’m in a polyamorous relationship with my husband and his alter ego.”
“That’s… really weird.” Danny is giving her the kind of judgmental look only teenagers can give.
Lois does laugh at that. “It is, a bit. But it helps protect Clark’s secret identity, so I don’t mind.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Clark finally says. “There were other ways to handle that situation; she just thinks this is funny.”
“Even your parents think it’s funny,” Lois says. Clark just sighs, faux-aggrieved.
“It’s not even the weirdest thing on the internet about Superman,” Danny says. “It’s just the weirdest thing everyone agrees is true.”
“Please do not tell me what else you’ve found,” Clark says.
“You can tell me,” Lois says. “We can just make Clark leave for a bit.” Reading conspiracy theories about Superman is her guilty pleasure, though if anyone asks, she does it to keep tabs on anyone who might have a viable way of hurting him.
Danny just laughs, and something in Lois’s chest seizes up. Is this the first time she’s heard him laugh since he came back? She thinks it might be.
She doesn’t want to call attention to it; like as not, that would just make him pull away again. Instead she says, “Superman doesn’t even get the best conspiracy theories. Those are all Batman.” That’s because Bruce purposefully cultivates them, of course, but that’s not important.
“Which one is he, again?” Danny asks.
It’s not that Lois ever forgets that Danny has spent most of his life in another dimension. But little offhand comments like that… they really drive it home. There are plenty of superheroes, even Justice League members, that most of the general public has never heard of— but Batman is not one of them.
She's saved from answering by Clark.
"You'll meet him eventually," Clark says. "He's a good friend of mine. And Jon and Kon are close to his two youngest sons, Robin and Red Robin."
Danny nods thoughtfully. "Right. I think Red Robin's in the group chat Kon added me to."
Lois reminds herself to thank Kon next time she sees him. He and Danny seem to have connected, and Kon seems to have made it his personal mission to keep Danny from slipping too far into one of his funks again.
"Speaking of Kon," Clark begins. "Ma and Pa want to know when we'll be able to make it to Smallville to visit."
They've been trying not to overwhelm Danny by introducing him to too many new people at once, but maybe that was the wrong choice. Maybe they should be pushing him to get out more, to connect with this dimension. Besides, Kon spends most of his time in Smallville, and they already know that he and Danny get along.
Lois re-evaluates the article she’s been working on. Perry would probably appreciate it sooner rather than later, but if she turns in a smaller article this week, she can probably swing a weekend off. If not, she can always work on it from Kansas.
“This weekend should work,” Lois says. “If that’s alright with you, Danny.”
Danny looks a little surprised to be consulted. “I— yeah, that works. Not like I have anywhere else to be.” He laughs a little, but the joke falls flat, and Lois resolves to double down on helping Danny connect with more people here in this dimension.
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i don't have a fully formed theory on it but i feel that the queer community is deeply hostile to neurodivergence. Endless, contradicting rules, the constant threat of social ostracism, an encouragement towards self-policing. Queer identity is less about self expression and more about placing oneself in the "correct" spot in an expansive web of oppressor/oppressed power relations that must then inform your actions and the actions of others toward you. Maintaining your place is a full-time job of public relations where you must project at all times the aesthetic the corresponds to your assigned identity, which itself is everchanging and dependent on the exact subgroup of the queer community you are dealing with at any given time. Your painstakingly maintained presentation may fall out of fashion at any time, or your entire identity may be altogether rejected, leaving you the choice of standing your ground despite the mockery and harrassment, or sweeping the offending label under the rug and moving yourself to a more acceptable one. Even if you follow everything to the letter, once enough people dislike you that becomes reason in itself to have your place rejected. It somehow manages to offer neither the freedom of self-expression nor the comfort of well-established rules. It's just high school. It's just endless fucking high school.
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Kinktober day 14
Conner Kent + Breeding and/or excessive cum
I shall always devour my kryptonian headcanons. Atlantean reader, because I was feeling nasty when I wrote this. *tucks hair behind ear*
I may have taken the word excessive too far...
Kinktober 2023 masterlist.
You were Atlantean, going by the hero name Cetus. It hadn’t been your choice, the name, but one the public started calling you because of your uniform when you started. You were the offspring of an Atlantean and an Amazon warrior. You had been born on Themyscira, but the fact that you were born male and with the need to be in the ocean, you were given to your father to be raised.
You still visited your mother regularly, and got trained by not only her but her friends, that mixed with the training of your father, who was a skilled warrior himself, you became very skilled. When you chose to start fighting crime, your mother had given you a uniform created by the same individuals who armoured the Amazonians, as she wanted you to be safe.
It was similar to the outfit of a gladiator, but had been made in a material that allowed you to stay in the ocean. Your outfit also had actual shoes, and had little exposed skin to keep you safe from enemies, but the Greek inspiration was very clear. It had led to all kinds of theories amongst the people that you were some secret warrior raised by the Amazonians, which was partly true, but your Atlantean heritage didn’t stay a secret for long since you did many of your battles side by side with Aquaman, Aqualad, and the likes.
You were put on the young justice team since you had more experience than the rest, but you were still young enough to not count as a full-fledged hero just yet. You worked well together with the team, getting along better with some more than others. There were some arguments with Megan, as an Atlantean you possessed telepathy, and you disagreed with her ways of using her powers at times.
This led to arguments with Conner, as he was defensive of the girl he had feelings for at the time, but as time passed you all matured. Conner and Megan broke up after a short relationship as teens, you split off from the team to be your own thing, so on and so forth.
This didn’t mean you didn’t work with the other heroes on the regular, but you weren’t a member of any team, except for a place on the justice league roster like most others in your situation. It was because of this you were placed on a mission with Conner, to a dessert of all places. It must have been a mistake, or the ones sending you there hadn’t planned on you guys staying there for so long, but even as a halfblooded Atlantean you still needed water after a while.
Conner had panicked when you suddenly dropped like a bag of bricks, as you’d been out of the ocean for a long time before the mission even started, having to work together with other members of the league on reports and the like. It had been a plan for a quick scouting mission, but here you were, dehydrated and with your consciousness fading in and out.
Conner had never dealt with you become dehydrated, sure he’d seen other Atlanteans, but your half status allowed you to go longer without. The two of you ended up in a small cave Conner had found, as he hoped bringing you out of the sun would help. Normally he would have just carried you off to the ocean, but seeing you, someone he thought as almost unbeatable and someone he had come to develop feeling for as well, collapse in that way, he had panicked.
In your half-conscious state, you had knocked off your helmet, one that looked similar to that of a gladiator but without the hairs on top, the golden metal rolling across the cold floor of the cave. You were splayed out across the cold stone floors, your half lid eyes looking up at the kryptonian standing above you through your lashes, your dry tongue subconsciously running across your bottom lip.
Maybe it was the candle you had held for Conner for a long time, maybe it was just delirium, but you nudged his subconscious with your own, planting images of him crouched above you on his knees, his hands undoing the bottom of his suit. Conner sputtered, going completely red in the face as he tried to stutter out words, his kryptonian biology kicking in at the fact that the one he yearned for seemed to return the want.
His hands came to cradle his crotch, trying to hide how he was already becoming hard at the mere thought of doing what you seemed to want of him. Conner was still trying to fully comprehend what you had hinted at wanting, his face only going redder and cock growing harder as you made easy work of removing the upper part of your armour and undersuit, leaving your upper body completely bare.
“Please Conner…” you mumble out, your tongue already feeling thick and useless as you gulp, your mouth dry and uncomfortable. Conner gulped, glancing behind him towards the entrance of the cave as if debating on simply flying off to gather water, but the wanting look in your eyes seemed to be what he needed to make his decision.
You both moaned softly as Conner undid the bottom of his suit, his heavy length twitching to the colder air of the cave as he shuffled forwards, placing his knees on either side of your torso as your hands came up to rest of his tense thighs. You gulped dryly as his cock twitched in his hand, a thick bead of precum already dripping from the tip and landing on your neck, a shiver running through you as your eyelids fluttered as you felt the water inside the liquid slide into your skin.
It probably wasn’t the most useful or sanitary idea on fixing your situation, but laying there as Conner jerked himself off above you quickly made those thoughts disappear from the both of you. Conner let his hips buck into both of his hands that he had wrapped tightly around his thick length, twisting his already wet hands as precum dripped in a constant river down onto your skin.
You didn’t have to do much, just squeezing his thighs seemed to do the trick as Conner looked down at you, his pupils large as they almost swallowed up the blue of his eyes. His cock throbbed, a moan leaving him as you opened your mouth, sticking out your dry tongue. That seemed to do the trick as the hero above you let out a deeper drawn-out groan as he came, shooting thick heavy spurts across your face and tongue.
He shivered, but his erection didn’t seem to let up, one of the positives of being kryptonian it seemed, his hands only growing slicker, the noises only growing wetter and more erotic as his movements only seemed to grow more desperate. The cum on your tongue assisted in returning the wetness to your mouth, the light-headedness seeming to leave you to a certain degree.
With your newly returned awareness, you leaned up, pressing the flat of your tongue against his leaking tip, causing Conners hips to buck as another spurt of cum shot out of him, striking the top of your mouth, and spilling down your chin and soaking the skin of your throat and chest. A satisfied hum left you as you swallowed the thick liquid in your mouth with an audible gulp, growing more and more confident in your movements.
Conner couldn’t help but buck his heads, the hands gripping himself letting go so he could lean forwards, supporting his weight instead so he wouldn’t collapse on top of you as you closed your lips around his tip, starting to work your head up and down as you rubbed your tongue all over the skin you could reach.
The kryptonians noises had reached a higher pitch as you kept moving your lips up and down his slick length, drawing out orgasm after orgasm from his heavy cock, letting it fill your mouth just to let it overflow and start running down the rest of your torso. Conner had never dabbled much with his refractory period or his biology, but now he cursed not being curious in the past as he seemed to be stuck in a constant state of orgasm as you drew more and more out of him, it seemed never-ending.
With one last lewd slurp you finally withdrew from his cock, a thick string of spit and cum connecting the tip of your tongue with his length, the string pulling before it snapped, joining the rest of the lewd mess that had been left all over your torso and face. Conner was still shivering above you, somehow still hard but so sensitive as you carefully pushed at his torso to get him to sit up again.
He blushed as he finally focused on the sight of you as you laid there covered in his fluids, making a huge mess of the cave floor beneath you, but neither of you seemed to truly care at the moment. Conner bit his lip as he shuffled down your torso, straddling your hips instead as his hand came up to wipe away some of the cum covering your lower face, his face still red as he leaned in, pressing his lips almost shyly against yours.
You couldn’t help but find it amusing how the guy who had just covered you in so much of his essence seemed so shy about kissing you, or how he was still hard against your stomach, but you responded in kind to his kiss, shutting your eyes to enjoy the press of lips on lips. You found your hands resting on his hips as the kiss was disconnected, spit connecting your mouths as he sat back. “Guess you aren’t dehydrated anymore, huh?” Conner chuckled breathlessly, gulping as he sat back on your thighs.
You found your lips pursing as you reached down, grabbing at his hardness, causing Conner to whimper as his hips bucked into your hand. “That doesn’t mean were done though” you mumble, starting to jerk your hand, much you Conners enjoyment. It was gonna be a while before you two would be done here, maybe you’d actually end up finding the limit to the kryptonian refractory period, but only time would tell.
#kinktober#kinktober 2023#male reader#conner kent#superboy#dc#young justice#conner kent x male reader#conner kent imagine#conner kent x reader#conner kent headcanon#superboy x male reader#superboy x reader#superboy imagine#superboy headcanon#dc imagine#dc headcanon#dc x male reader#dc x reader#young justice x male reader#young justice imagine#young justice x reader#young justice headcanon#justice league#justice league x reader#justice league imagine#justice league headcanon#justice league x male reader
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