Stays Delulus

Welcome to my main Masterlist; I hope you find what you're looking for!

ASKS are Currently: OPEN

🐺Bang Chan: 💡Power Outage - Fluff 🌥️ ⛓️‍💥Corrupted - Smut 🔞 👚Pajamas - Smut 🔞

🐰Lee Know: coming soon...

🐷🐰Changbin: coming soon...

🥟Hyunjin: coming soon...

🐿️Han: coming soon...

🐥Felix: coming soon...

🐶Seungmin: coming soon...

🦊IN: coming soon...

🖤OT8❤️: Kinktober 2024

❓ASKS❓: Ask It Hurts - Smut 🔞

First off, I can't believe it's finally STAY day again, did u see the trailer for 0801? I can't believe we're getting 2 street ver. M/Vs this time. Idk if I wanna cry, scream or laugh.

NOW OK, YK WHAT I SAID ABT ANGST. FORGET IT JUST WRITE EVERYTHING YOU'VE GOT ILL EAT IT ALL UP. (I mean ofc if you've got the time and absolutely and obviously after your hiatus. You've done well writing so much each day *pats head*)

IDK MAYBE I LIKE MY HEART DYING JUST IDK, EVERYTHING SEEMS TEMPTING HELLO?????

*yes more of my yapping I'm sorry (not really)*

Anyways love you byeee😚😚😚

LOL I love this and I LOVE YOU SM UR SO CUTE AHHH

YES I saw the trailer I'm literally BAWLING (I'm not a pre-debut or debut STAY, but I genuinely DO NOT remember life before SKZ so-)

I can't wait for the comeback as wellllll!! I think it's time for ALL of us to cry and scream and laugh all at once LOL

As for the angst...

I have SO MANY ideas, I just need to figure out which one to write TT

And if anyone would like to share whether or not they like the 10 chapter series or just one long story in one post, I would love love love any feedback!!!

My heart, my heart can't handle this. I want more.

The angst is just 😭😭😭 even in the bonus scenes??? Like hello?????

Pls write more angst for chan, pretty pretty pretty plssssss.

But only if u want to, oki love u bye😭

AHG SJIJODFIJ S I LOVE YOU TOO <3333333

Thank you so so much! I love love love reading any feedback anyone has for me!

I'm just taking a little break/hiatus from writing (3000 words every day was NOT easy LOL), but I'll be back at it sometime soon!

BUT OMG I'M SO GLAD YOU ENJOYED THE SERIES!!! I am definitely writing more angst for Chan (I am OT8 but Chan may or may not always have a special place in my heart).

I actually have a few ideas, so if anyone would like to read the synopsis first and vote on what seems more popular, I would love to get started (eventually)!

Synopsis' at the end! Please let me know which one you all would love!!

Cold Prince Chan x Noble Lady Y/n Forced Proximity, "Enemies"-to-Lovers, Black Cat x Golden Retriever Chan is only just over a year away from coronation. His parents have been pushing him to find a bride, but he wants to find someone on his terms. At another one of the lavish balls organized by his parents, he approaches Lady Y/n. She was different, but not in the good ways. She never donated to charities or organized fundraisers. From Chan's first impression, she's definitely fake, pretending to be honest while hiding between lies. When they're forced to stay together for 2 weeks under the King and Queen's order, he does everything he can to drive her away. He finally uncovers her true intentions on a day out, but it's already too late. Lady Y/n leaves the palace, promising to never return under his orders. When he races through the cities trying to find her, he'll do whatever he can to take her back.

Grieving Chan x Sunshine Y/n "Enemies"-to-Lovers, Grump x Sunshine, Black Cat x Golden Retriever Chan was in the hospice every day, visiting his sick great aunt. While he's there, he finds a girl, not knowing her name. She's everything he's not - cheery, bubbly, inviting, warm, and just... happy. As soon as she locks eyes on him, it's too late for him to run. He's annoyed, she's happy. Every day, she offers him things - snacks, water, bracelets, and whatever else she can find. Chan assumes she's just a volunteer, too cheery for a dreary place, but even when he attempts to get her away, he can't. She visits his great aunt as well, brightening up her day. When Chan snaps at her once and for all, his words mean, they do more harm than he ever intended. That day was the last day he saw her, and he never realized just how much he missed her. When he asks around, he finds out the truth. She was never a volunteer. She was a patient.

Paid to Date Chan x Y/n Fake Dating, Friends-to-Lovers Y/n likes someone she has recently met, but recently learned he liked people with experience. Embarrassed, Y/n makes herself a deal. She goes onto a sketchy website, and pays three hundred for someone named Chan to date her for the next three months. No one was supposed to fall in love. Not like this, but it happens regardless. Feelings get mixed up, and it ends with a messy fight and tears. Chan thinks it's over, so he leaves first. When he realizes just how much Y/n had trusted him, and just how innocent she was, he realizes just how big of a mistake he had made.

CEO Chan x College Student Y/n Brother's Best Friend, "Enemies"-to-Lovers You used to be close with him. Chan. Your brother, Minho's, best friend. But something had happened somewhere during high school, and Chan had just pulled away. Only from you, but not from Minho. Chan was still there, but out of obligation. He would pick you up from campus whenever Minho was running late. He would buy you dinner when Minho asked him to make sure you were eating. He was there, but not really there. Chan tells himself it's a mistake when he touches you during the week Minho's gone, pulling himself away and building stricter walls around himself and his emotions. When everything finally falls apart, and the emotions he can't hold in anymore spills, it's only a matter of time before you choose to love him or leave him.

MDNI Warnings: soft!sex, oral (f!receiving), pet names (baby, princess), pinv

A/N: This is the official end to this series! I'll be working on another series soon, and will be back to posting again! I did not forget about the hybrid!Chan ASK, I am just trying to find inspiration on how to write it. Speaking of ASKs, mine are OPEN!

My FULL MASTERLIST is linked!

WC: 2512

Masterlist // Red Lipstick, His Tie, and the Lap of Luxury // --

It’s been seven days since Chan last truly looked at me. Not just physically, but since he’s last seen me. He didn’t look at me like he used to, like I was someone who mattered to him. Seven days of silence. Seven days, seven nights. He’s just the hollow shell of the man I love, his touch either cold or absent.

Whenever he speaks, if he bothered to, his voice stays clipped. I had tried again and again, attempting to reach out to him in vain. I would touch his shoulders lightly when he passed by me, lingering in his study at our place, asking questions I knew he wouldn’t answer. If he had to, he would just give half-hearted answers, each response vague, quiet, and dismissive.

Always turning back to his phone, his laptop, his stress. It’s like trying to hug a glacier. The warmth I thought I knew, the warmth I drowned myself, has turned into ice.

I keep telling myself he’s just overwhelmed. Deadlines passing, endless calls, coming home more worn out than the night before. It didn’t make it hurt less, of course. Not when he left the apartment without giving me a goodbye kiss. Not even a goodbye.

I wait, hoping and pretending things would go back to normal again. Maybe he would sigh, pulling me into his arms and apologizing. Maybe he would just roll over in the bed, facing me and smiling softly like he always did, eyes losing themselves in mine.

But he only grows more distant, the silence blooming into a chasm. Maybe I was the only one trying to reach out across the room.

Tonight, something in me cracks. He was in his study again, typing furiously on his laptop, jaw clenched so tightly I could only imagine it would hurt. I stand in the doorway for a second, gathering my courage and swallowing down the ache rising from my chest. “Chan?”

My voice is soft, but he doesn’t even look up. I try again. “Can we talk?”

His shoulders hunch in, sighing as he continues to ignore me. “I just… I miss you.”

That makes him pause, looking up at me slowly, his eyes dark and annoyed. I try to smile, my lips trembling. “I know you’re busy, but… you know… I just- I just need a little attention. Just a little of you? Maybe I could sit on your lap or just stay in here until you’re done? I-”

“Attention?” he interrupts, echoing my words as he laughs. Sharp. Bitter. Ugly. And suddenly, he explodes. “Jesus fucking Christ, Y/n. Are you serious right now?”

He pushes his chair back, the seat falling hard to the ground as he stands, towering over the desk as he clenches his fists. “I have a million things on my plate, alright? I’m under a bunch of fucking pressure, trying to hold everything together while you go about your fucking meetings!”

I flinch, but he doesn’t see it. Maybe he just didn’t care. “I don’t have time for your pathetic neediness right now! Do you ever know when to stop? You always need something, don’t you? Fuck, Y/n. Just- Just shut up, will you? Shut the fuck up, will you?”

I freeze, the air leaving my lungs. Just like that - no tears, no dramatic sobs. Just silence. I stand frozen, like a child being scolded. Like when my parents had yelled at me in front of him that one time. The same man who cradled me like I was his whole world.

I don’t try to defend myself. I just look at him for a long time, lower lip trembling. “O-Okay.”

One word. Soft. Small. Barely there. I turn away quickly, walking away before he could see the tears burning in my eyes. Chan pushes down the knife that twists further in his heart.

--

Hours pass by, the house unnaturally quiet. Chan’s rage had cooled into something worse - guilt. He didn’t mean to scream at me like that. My voice kept replaying in his head, that small, breathy word. Okay. It wasn’t defeat, just resignation. He knew that tone. The sound of someone giving up.

It was only around midnight when he left his study, stumbling into the bedroom with exhaustion. The bedroom was dark. Empty. No sign of my usual form under the covers. Sighing softly, he strips down until he’s bare-chested, pulling back the covers, ready to sleep.

That’s when something catches his eye.

A deep, red stain. Blood bloomed on the sheets. Not dark, not fresh, maybe about a week old. His heart stops. I wasn’t on my period, he knew that. No sign of the usual pads or tampons in the trash. No signs of any diva cups or anything else.

He can’t process it, just stares at the blood before it finally clicks. That night. The vibrators, the dildo, the intensity of it all. His roughness. He hadn’t even checked on me.

“Y/n?” his voice is a rasp, calling out for me weakly. No answer. Panic sets in his chest as he rushes through the apartment. He storms into the bathroom, looks around the living room. I’m nowhere to be found, but my shoes are still at the door. I’m still in here somewhere.

He runs into the bedroom again, eyes wild as he curses under his breath. That’s when he sees the light coming from the walk-in closet. “Y/n!”

Without another word, he bursts in. I don’t even flinch when the door opens. Chan finds me on the floor, curled between boxes and old sweaters, wearing one of his large hoodies. My head is buried in my arms, knees against my chest as I sniffle, crying quietly. His eyes lock on the tremble of my shoulders, faint and rhythmic. Breathing and breaking all apart. Chan’s heart drops as he sinks to his knees. “Y/n-”

His voice cracks. I don’t respond. He whispers again. “Baby, please.”

He sinks to his knees slowly, like he’s kneeling before something sacred, reaching for me. I let him pull me into his arms, limp and cold like a doll. His hands shake.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” he whispers. His words are broken. “I didn’t know- I should’ve- I should have known. I was fucking caught up with everything else and I wasn’t thinking and I took it all out on you and I shut you out and made you feel alone in our home and yelled at you when all you did was ask for me- I- I told you to sh-shut up- I-”

I clutch his shirt, fingers curling over his chest as I cry. It’s a sign that I’m still with him. Still listening, but hurt. I turn into his chest, eyes shut and face blotchy with dried and fresh tears.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” I whimper. “I just m-missed you and-”

“You’re not a burden. Never a burden, baby,” he breathes, kissing my temple. “Never. You’re everything. It was- I’m sorry, Y/n. I never- I never should have pushed you away.”

He stands, carrying me like I weigh nothing. He laws me down on the clean side of the bed like I’m something sacred. Not a lover. Not a body. But something he’s terrified to lose again, something fragile and human, barely stitched back together. His hands tremble as he tucks the blanket beneath me, shielding me from the blood-stained reminders of what he didn’t notice.

I barely look at him, eyes too swollen and throat too tight, but I still reach up, reaching for him, fingers brushing across his jaw, barely grazing the warmth of his skin. It’s the touch that shatters him. Not the tears, and not the silence. Just that simple, fragile graze of forgiveness, my chin trembling as I try to stop myself from crying.

“I love you,” he breaths, his voice cracking with every syllable. Like he’s saying it for the first time. Like… Like it hurts. Like he’s bleeding it out. And then he leans in, brushing his lips to mine. It’s not just a kiss, not yet, but also a question. A plea. I answer it with a soft press of my mouth against his, letting him know I’m still here. Letting him know I’m still his, if he’s will to stay this time.

Our kiss deepens slowly. It’s never rushed, every moment soft like the hush of a prayer. His lips move against mine like he’s scared I’ll disappear if he presses too hard. Like he’s afraid to ask for more than I’ll give. His tongue meets mine, not to take, but to offer. He gives me an apology. A promise. A quiet surrender. His hands move to my sides, splayed wide and warm, grounding and anchoring my soul back to my body.

I let him. I let him hold me, touch me, and love me. This time, he’s asking.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers softly. He doesn’t ask out of caution, but reverence. Like I’m a sacred ground he’s afraid to trespass.

“Don’t,” I whisper back immediately. “Please, don’t stop. Just… love me.”

His body covers over mine slowly and deliberately. Like he’s a blanket laying over something too delicate to touch the air. He presses kisses to my jaw, soft and trailing as they go down my neck with aching patience. He keeps his kisses slow and measured, breath fanning over my collarbone as he unties the drawstrings underneath. As he tugs off the hoodie, his mouth follows with every inch of skin he reveals. The curve of my breast, the dip of my belly, the faint bruises still shadowing across my thighs. He kisses them like he’s gasping for air, each press of his lips a silent vow. I’m sorry. I see you. I will never forget again. I’m sorry.

When he settles between my thighs, he doesn’t go straight to pleasure. He just looks. His eyes take me in like I”m a masterpiece he nearly destroyed. He murmurs softly, barely audible. “You’re still so soft. So beautiful, baby. So mine.”

And his mouth finds me. Chan flattens his tongue, licking slow and reverent paths through my folds, gentle as a sigh, patient as a prayer. He doesn’t tease, he doesn’t rush it. It’s just warmth. Gasping from the intensity, the safety, and the care, my fingers grasps onto his curls.

He’s not trying to make me come. He’s just trying to make me feel seen and loved and whole.

He hums softly against me, the sound reverberating through my core, a warm tremor that loosens the tightness in my chest. His lips wrap around my clit, suckling gently between the soft, wet strokes of his tongue. I moan, barely audible, more breath than sound. His hands keep themselves on my thighs. Not to force them apart, but to keep me anchored. One thumb strokes softly over the skin there, soothing. Reassuring. Brushing over the bruise there.

“I didn’t see you,” he whispers against me, his voice thick with grief. “I- I should’ve known. You were bleed and I- fuck, princess, I didn’t even check.”

Tears slip from the corners of my eyes, but I don’t stop him. I let them fall as his mouth continues its slow devotion. His apologies are warm against the skin, pressed between soft licks and kisses. “I’m never going to let it get this bad again. I won’t ignore you like that. I swear on it, princess. Never again.”

When I finally come, it’s not from pressure, but the weight of everything breaking open. My body arches, breath catching in my throat as the pleasure pulses through me like a soft wave. Gentle. Healing. A quiet letting go. I whisper his name, voice cracked and wet with tears. He holds me through it, never pulling away, licking me softly as I tremble. Breathing as I come back to myself.

When he crawls up over me again, his face is tear-streaked, eyes glassy. Terrified.

“Can I?” he starts, his voice breaking as he kisses me softly. “Can I make love to you? Real slow, baby. I just want to hold you, yeah? Just want to feel you, princess. Only if you’ll let me.”

I nod, because that’s all I can do. He reaches for my hand first, always my hand. He just laces our fingers together as he guides himself to my entrance, eyes never leaving mine. And then, slowly, and very slowly, he sinks into me.

It’s not just his body joining mine. It’s everything we lost. Everything we’re trying to rebuild. He slides in with aching tenderness, his jaw clenched to keep from gasping too loudly. My walls flutter around him, my own breath catching as he fills me. It feels like home. It feels like forgiveness. It feels like something bigger than either of us.

He doesn’t move at first, just stays there, buried inside me, his forehead pressed to mine as we breathe the same air.

“You feel like home, princess,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “You feel like mine.”

And then, he moves. Hips rolling gently, the slowest rhythm imaginable, like he’s scared that anything faster might break me apart. His body moves in time with his confessions, every thrust timed with another piece of his heart laid bare.

“I miss you.”

“I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“I was scared, and I shut down.”

“I’m sorry for yelling.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel like nothing.”

“You’re everything.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

I cry beneath him. Quiet tears that are unrestrained. He kisses them away with soft lips, tracing each one with whispered apologies, holding me tighter as his thrusts grow deeper, yet still slow and still controlled.

He keeps his hand between us, fingers stroking my clit in the same gentle circles he used to calm me after that nightmare that night. It’s not about pleasure, not just that, but it’s helping me feel. Helping me breathe again.

“Come for me,” he whispers, fingers moving faster with his hips as he kisses my temple. “Come back to me, baby. Please. I need you, princess, yeah?”

And I do. I come on a whimper, my body trembling, my arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders as I come undone beneath him. It’s not loud or violent or desperate. It’s soft and fragile. Healing. Loving.

He follows with a broken moan, burying his face into the crook of my neck as he spills inside me, filling me to the brim as his entire body shudders. He wraps both arms around me, pressing us so close I can feel his heart pounding against my chest.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even bother pulling out. He just holds me, trembling and whispering against my skin.

“I’m here, princess. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He kisses my cheeks, my temple, my lips. Again, and again, and again, and again and again and again.

This time, when I reach for his hand, he doesn’t let go.

~~

MDNI Warnings: rough sex, dom!chan, mean!chan, oral (m!recieving), pinv, crying!reader

A/N: This is all consensual; Chan and Y/n will make up in the next bonus scene.

WC: 1901

Masterlist // Shower Me in Sex // Between the Sheets

Twenty minutes. That would be enough time to do… something. Twenty minutes until my next business meeting. I sigh, groaning softly as I rub my eyes, shaking my head slightly to clear my head. Behind me, Chan shifts from foot to foot before moving to me, his voice soft. “Let me help you.”

I let out a soft groan as he massages my shoulders, thumbs pressing into my neck as he chuckles softly. Neither of us bother to say anything, at least not yet. I glance at the clock. Eighteen minutes. I grab my compact mirror, popping it open before applying a crimson red color to my lips.

“You know what that does to me, baby,” Chan teases, hands still working through my tense muscles, now to my neck.

I giggle softly as I gently push off his hands, turning to face him. “Chan! I’m here to work. These reports are driving me crazy!”

“And you, princess,” he says, giving me a soft kiss on the nose. “Drive me crazy.”

“Do you need any help?” I suddenly ask.

His eyes flash with confusion. “Help? With what-”

He sucks in a breath between his teeth, fingers curling as I reach out to press against his bulge. He chews on his lower lip, doing everything within himself to maintain control. “Baby- You have a meeting in-”

I glance at the clock. “Fifteen minutes. Plenty of time to take care of… this.”

He was completely hard now, my hands continuing to palm his arousal, head tilted innocently to the side. I stand up slowly, laughing softly as he trembles slightly. “Princess… please-”

“Please what?” I whisper, my hand leaving his bulge. He hisses softly as I wrap my hand around his tie, tugging him close to me, my lips brushing his. He speaks through clenched teeth, hands finding my waist. “Y/n, I swear I’m going to-”

“To what?” I ask. I turn us around, pushing him into my office chair before getting on my knees. Tugging on his tie, I loosen it, unbuttoning the top buttons of his suit. “Might get a little sweaty, right?”

I glance at the clock. Twelve minutes. Perfect. I tug on his pants, unzipping the front and exposing his hard, throbbing length. His tip is already leaking, red and raw with need as my fingers brush over it.

Chan’s head falls back, a soft groan escaping his throat as he grasps the armrests, trying to stay silent as I take his length in my hands. I give him a stroke, then another, hands moving faster. I remove my hands, humming softly as he hisses from the cold, length twitching with need.

“Do you want it?” I ask. His eyes flicker to the clock. Nine minutes.

I take him in my mouth, his knees buckling as I place my hands on his thighs. I start out small, my mouth taking in his tip as I swirl my tongue around his precum. The flavor makes me gasp - salty with a tinge of bitter. Gently, I press myself further down, whimpering as he pushes against the back of my throat.

I can hear his slight chuckle as I try to fight the gag reflex, my lipstick smearing on his cock. One of my hands finds his, my other working on the end of his length, playing with the length I can’t reach with my mouth.

“Fuck- Y/n-” he gasps softly, his free hand tugging at my hair, his hips bucking upwards, meeting me halfway as my head bobs. I moan softly, the speed of his hips leaving tears running down my cheeks, mascara smearing down my face.

“Look at you,” he coos, letting go of my hair and cupping my jaw as he wipes the tear, watching with half-lidded eyes as he smirks.

I glance at the clock. Six minutes.

I go harder, moving faster and faster, hands and mouth working overtime. Chan’s filthy talk dies down as he whimpers, ears reddening as his chest heaves, gasping for control. “Princess, p-please-”

I moan in response, the vibrations leaving him twitching. He’s close, so close, panting with his tongue sticking out, sweat slicked on his forehead, hair tousled back as his hips move with my mouth again. “Shit- Baby, fuck, I’m gonna-”

I pull off.

“What-”

“Five minutes.” I smirk as I glance at the time. “Got to get myself ready for the meeting, remember?”

“Y/n-”

“Yes?” I ask innocently. He stares at me for a long minute before taking a deep breath, pulling his pants up and zipping himself up. “Nothing. Just… let me help you fix your makeup.”

He stays tense, eyes dark as he wipes away the mascara lingering on my skin, fixing my lipstick before speaking. “Did I do something wrong?”

I blink up at him, shaking my head. “No. Of course not. What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know,” he snaps, growling softly. “Maybe just the fact that you just edged me.”

Before I can respond, I hear a knock on the door. Time for the meeting to start.

--

“Y/n.”

I look up at the sound of Chan’s voice, meeting his gaze. His eyes are darkened, hair tousled like he’s been running his hand through it for hours. “What’s up?”

He sits on the bed, thighs spreading before tapping his right thigh, head tilted to the side. “Sit.”

“What if I say no?” I ask. He sticks his tongue out of the side of his mouth, his voice hardening. “I said, sit.”

I immediately take back my brattiness, understanding his tone immediately. He wasn’t in for any games tonight. Hips swaying, I make my way to him. Before I can sit, he stops me. “Put on the lingerie I bought for you first.”

Cheeks burning, I grab the lingerie set he has beside him. He tugs on my arm before I can head for the bathroom, a silent demand for me to change in front of him. Tearing off my clothes, I pull on the lingerie. It’s a split cup, crotchless set, teasing my folds, already wet. Chan’s eyes glance down at my panties, thrown on the ground. He doesn’t even chuckle. This makes it scarier. “Already wet, hm?”

He pulls me onto his lap, my back against his chest as I let out a startled gasp. Without another word, he begins to touch me.

One hand plays with my nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand, slapping my core as I whimper softly.

“You don’t come until I say you can,” he snarls, breath harsh against my ear. “Slut.”

The word burns a hole in my chest. I nod, but he snarls, slapping my core again, my clit throbbing in a thrilling mix of pleasure and pain. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I whimper. That’s good enough for him. He continues fondling with my breast, his other hand rubbing my core in tight circles. I cry out, moaning his name again and again as he presses kisses to my neck, leaving marks on my skin as he bites and licks.

“Channie, p-please- I’m-”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he snarls. His fingers work harder, dipping into my sex. One finger, pushing into me. Another. Three. I gasp, sensations all over my body leaving me reeling. “Please-”

He slaps my clit before plunging his fingers back into me, fingering me harder as I cry out. He growls in my ear. “You don’t get to come. Not tonight. This is what you get for trying to edge me, you slut. This is what you get.”

My thighs clench around his hand as I throw my head back against his shoulder, crying in desperation. He pulls his hands off of me, bringing me down on the bed, my back pressing against the sheets. Without another word, he turns to the nightstand, digging through that shelf.

My eyes widen as I see the toys - a vibrator and a dildo. A big one. I shake my head, tears in my eyes. “Chan, p-please. I’m- Just want you, not-”

“You don’t get to decide,” he snarls. “Not after that little stunt you fucking pulled, slut. You’ll take anything and everything I give you. And if you come, you’ll find out just what happens to a bad girl like you.”

Without waiting for me, he presses the vibrator to my clit, and pushes the dildo into me. I nearly come immediately, but his sharp gaze stops me.

Something in my chest twists.

He grabs his discarded tie, tying my hands together to stop myself from touching the toys, keeping them in position. He strokes his hard length, his cock twitching with its warmth and heaviness as he watches me.

“Chan-” I cry out, body writhing. He just growls. “Don’t you dare fucking come.”

My lower lip trembles as a tear slides down the side of my face. He just laughs, cooing at me mockingly as he strokes himself. Harder. Rough. Coming all over my body, again and again.

I’m lost in a haze of desperation, pleasure, and pain, head twisting as my hands try to break through the restraints. My clit throbs as Chan pulls off the vibrator, pulling out the dildo along with it without warning.

He turns to the dresser drawer again, and when I see what he pulls out, the metal glinting in the light… I shake my head desperately. “No, no- Chan, please- I’m s-sorry, I won’t- Please-”

He clamps it around me. The chastity chain. Without another word, he leaves me alone on the bed, trapped. I don’t bother trying to move, my legs quivering. Weak.

I don’t know how long he leaves me there. Maybe just a few minutes. Maybe an hour. Maybe a few.

But when he comes back, he tears off the belt, ripping through the lingerie set before untying my hands. I immediately reach for him, but he pushes my hands off. He just flips me over, hand pressing my lower back down firmly.

“Don’t you dare fucking come,” he snarls, pushing himself into my core without warning. I let out a cry of pain and pleasure.

He’s not gentle. Far from it. He just thrusts himself into me again and again, groaning softly. I try to twist myself to look at him, but he slaps my bottom, leaving a red mark there. I whimper, but he doesn’t stop, spanking and thrusting and touching me all at once.

His hips just slam into mine. Again, again, again, again, again. My voice cracks. My thighs shake. I can’t tell if I’m crying, sweating, or both. I can’t- I just can’t hold onto anything.

He doesn’t even warn me when he comes, his cock twitching in my core as he fills me to the brim. His chest heaves, lips brushing my ear before he pulls away.

I stay still, barely able to move as I whisper his name. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at me. He just leaves, shutting the door behind him. My eyes prick with tears.

Chan never did this. Ever.

He always held me. Wiped me clean. Kissed me until I was overwhelmed with love.

He never just… left.

My legs ache, my core throbbing, sore. My back hurts, too. Everything does. My heart.

I can’t think. I just stay still for hours.

This is what I wanted, right? Why did it hurt so much?

~~

MDNI Warnings: soft sex, oral (reader!receiving), pinv (no protection; wrap it up, yallz), cockwarming

A/N: This was definitely not very well written, but I will do my best for the next bonus scenes!

WC: 1982

Masterlist // Epilogue // Red Lipstick, His Tie, and The Lap of Luxury

I don’t scream. I don’t fail. At least, I don’t think I do. I just sit up straight, whimpering softly as I muffle my cries in an attempt to not awaken Chan. I wake up, ripped from the blackness of sleep like a ragdoll, my breath catching in my throat like I’m still bleeding and dying out. My eyes dark around the open in the dark room, my chest heaving as I fight for my breath against invisible restraints. The silence is suffocating.

The bedsheets are too clean, too soft, and too warm, the air suffocating and the scent familiar. That’s the worst part.

I bite down another sob, clutching my side on instinct. My scar doesn’t hurt, but my brain can’t tell the difference. It burns like a brand beneath my skin as I try to grasp for control. I try breathing heavily, eyes clenched shut as I count - one, two, three. Each number breaks like glass in my head, leaving me reeling and dizzy as my teeth clamp onto the back of my hand.

My body remembers everything - the blade, the blood, and the sound of his voice. Broken and distant as he begged me not to leave.

I stay quiet, trembling as I hold my breath, making sure Chan would stay asleep. The tears still fall, my fingers tearing into the comforter, teeth gnashing together as I stop myself from biting down hard on my lower lip. I hiccup, a sob escaping from my lips. I press a hand over my mouth before I bolt from the bed, like I’m running from ghosts. From the horrors of my own reality.

The bathroom light is off. Normally, I would be terrified, but I can’t even tell left from right. I don’t turn it on. I don’t need to see myself. I don’t want to see myself.

I just tear off my clothes like they’re on fire, stumbling into the shower and slamming my fists against the taps until the water turns on, water pelting on my skin like a chaotic storm. I don’t know if the water is scalding or freezing. I can’t even tell anymore.

I slide down to my bare bottom, whimpering as the tiles meet my skin, my arms wrapping around myself as my forehead presses against my knees. I don’t know how long I stay like this.

Minutes? Hours? Maybe a whole eternity. Maybe I don’t notice the light shifting through the window. Maybe I’m hallucinating.

The sound of my cries gets lost in the roar of the water, my chest pressing against my thighs as I curl up into myself even tighter.

And then… footsteps. Bare. Even. Tentative. I hear the creak of the door, the light flicking on as I blink past the mix of tears and water in my eyes.

“Baby?”

His voice is soft and sleep-rough. Scared. I don’t speak, nor do I look at him. I don’t do anything but shake, trying not to fall apart as I hold my best, trying to hold myself together. The shower curtain rustles, and then, I feel warmth.

Chan steps in, his discarded clothes tossed haphazardly on the ground outside, kneeling beside me before instinctively wrapping his arms around my body. He feels strong, but also gentle.

“Y/n,” he breathes, his voice cracking. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m here.”

I shiver, curling into him as I press my face into his shoulder. His grip on me tightens, his chest rising and falling as he guides me breathing with a soft murmur. “Inhale, hold… exhale. You’re doing good for me, baby. In… out… again. I’ve got you, yeah?”

My fingers curl over his chest, trying to latch myself onto him permanently. I can’t stop shaking. I want to crawl out of my body and escape. Maybe forever.

“I’m sorry,” I whimper, my voice cracking.

“Don’t,” he immediately says, his voice calming. “Don’t apologize. Not for this.”

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” I continue. “I didn’t mean to! I-”

“I don’t care if you wake me up every night for the rest of our lives,” Chan interrupts gently. “Just don’t keep this to yourself. Don’t hold it in. Just… Just let it out. For me, if for no one else.”

I look up at him, his curls soaked and eyes red. He looks like he might start crying, too, but maybe he’s already shed some tears. I can’t tell.

“The dreams,” I whisper. “I- The nightmares. I keep waking up, and I’m just… there. I’m still on the floor, bleeding, and you were- you-”

I can’t finish the sentence, and Chan presses his forehead to mine. “You’re not there anymore. Not right now, okay? You’re here with me. Safe.”

“I didn’t feel safe,” I confess. “Not until you were here. Holding me.”

He kisses my temple, voice softening. “Then I’ll keep holding you.”

He stands up, pulling me up along with him gently, keeping me close to him. He turns the temperature into a comforting warmth. I barely notice how much I’m clinging onto him until he pulls me under the spray of the water with him.

Gently, he reaches for the shampoo, his touch soft as he massages and lathers my scalp with the soap, his fingers anchoring me. I close my eyes as he presses his thumbs against the soft spot behind my ears. I let out a soft sound, somewhere between a groan, a sob, and a sigh.

“There she is,” he murmurs, his voice thick with adoration. “There’s my good girl.”

I just smile tentatively as he continues, praising me as he rinses me clean. “You’re doing so well. So strong, even when you don’t feel it.”

When he’s done shampooing my hair, he rinses out the soap before conditioning the length of my hair. He rinses it out again, washing the rest of my body, hands lingering on my hips, his eyes roaming over me. Not with lust. His gaze is just… aching. Grieving. Full of love.

“I hate this,” he murmurs. “I hate the fact that I can’t stop the nightmares. I hate the fact that I can’t protect you from your own horrors and fears.”

“You protect me more than you know,” I whisper, reaching for his face and cupping his cheek in my skin. His eyes flutter shut at my touch, and when he opens his eyes again, they’re shining with emotion.

“I love you,” he says softly, tucking a damp strand of hair behind my ears, like the words were the only things tethering him to the ground.

“I love you,” I reply, my voice shaking.

He kisses me. The kiss isn’t for show. It’s not for sex, maybe not even comfort. It’s a prayer. It’s like the kind of kiss that begs me to stay alive with him. When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests on mine, our noses brushing.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers. “Not just to help you forget, but… but to remind you of what’s real.”

I nod, my voice trembling as I take a deep breath. “Yes. P-Please. I want you.”

He doesn’t have to ask again. He doesn’t need to.

When I look into his eyes, I see what he sees. He doesn’t look at me like I’m broken. He looks at me like I’m sacred, his hands moving over my body with reverence, hands slicking over my damp skin. He moves his hands over my shoulder, down my back, going slow at a pace enough to memorize me.

“Baby,” he whispers, voice gravelly, yet soft and tender. “You’re doing so well. So fucking well.”

His thumb traces the curve of my waist, his body falling to his knees as he presses a kiss to my scar. I flinch, but not from fear. It’s just too much. It’s everything.

“I want to make you feel good,” he murmurs, his voice wrecked. “Please, princess. Let me help.”

I nod, whimpering and breathless. That’s all he needs. Chan lowers himself with a sort of control bordering on worship, one hand smoothing down the back of my thigh as he lifts my right leg to rest over his shoulder. I gasp, head falling back as I cling to the slick tile behind me.

The cold from the tiles are no match for the heat in his eyes. The heat of his tongue. His mouth meets me core, and a groan rattles up his throat he drags his tongue against my folds, slow and savoring, like I’m the first real taste of peace he’s had all week.

“Fuck, princess,” he breathes, groaning between licks. “So fucking wet for me already. You taste like heaven.”

He devours me like a man half-feral, his tongue lapping at me with obscene expertise, the water pelting down around us, hiding the obscene sounds of his tongue working through my folds. His soft flicks grow firmer, more hungry, until I’m gasping his name, keening cries tearing from my throat as my thigh shakes around his head.

When his lips suction my clit, my body jerking as the pressure builds hard and fast.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his lips glistening with my sex, breath hot against my skin. “Let go for me, baby. Be a good girl. Be my good girl. I’ve got you.”

So I do.

I come with a strangled cry, nails raking through his wet curls as my hips grind against his face, whimpering as he moans into me like he needs it. He doesn’t stop, he just keeps going, more slow, almost gentle. He takes every tremble and every flutter, lapping up every drop.

It’s too much, too tender, and too intimate. I sob again, not from grief, but from the pleasure of release. When he rises, standing up tenderly, chin glistening, he kisses me like he’s starving, my taste lingering on his lips as he cradles my jaw.

“I need you,” I whimper, my voice hoarse. “Please.”

He chuckles softly, reaching between us to stroke his cock. Once, twice, hard and throbbing between us. He doesn’t push in just yet, just lifts me into his arms and presses my back to the shower wall lining himself up with maddening precision.

“Are you sure, baby?” he asks, panting softly. “Tell me. I need to feel you. All of you. Please.”

With a soft groan, he sinks himself into me, slow yet unrelenting, stretching me inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasps, head tilting back. “Shit. You’re so tight, baby. So warm. Like you were made for me.”

He doesn’t rush it. He just rocks himself in and out of me, slow and deep thrusts meeting my core, hips grinding against mine at the perfect angle each time. I cry out his name, clinging onto him harder.

“You feel that?” he pants, pressing kisses on my neck as he bites down on my skin. “See how perfect you take me? How your body just fucking welcomes me?”

He cups the back of my head, kissing me fiercely between thrusts.

“Come for me,” he growls. “Fall apart around me. I need you, baby. Fuck-”

I shatter around him, gasping and sobbing, overwhelmed by the pleasure, pain, and memory of our love making. He’s near the edge, grinding deep with a broken moan before he stops, breaths ragged. Still inside me.

“Why-” my voice trembles, eyes dazed. “Why did you s-stop?”

His voice shakes from the effort of holding himself back as he cups my face, kissing my temple. “I want to just feel you tonight, baby. Just… stay here. Stay inside of you. I wasn’t trying to find my own pleasure tonight, baby. I just wanted you to feel loved and safe and cherished, baby.”

In that moment, when I was being held, kissed, and filled but not used… I do.

I do feel adored. Wanted. Whole.

Alive.

~~

A/N: I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS SERIES IS DONE!!! Thank you all for following along! I love you love you love you so so much! If you're interested or you're here for smut look out for some bonus chapters coming out soon!

WC: 1609

Masterlist // Chapter 10 // Shower Me in Love

The scar still itches. It’s not constant, like when my body felt foreign after I had woken up. Just something borrowed and broken. In the quieter moments, when I’m washing the dishes or pulling on a sweater, my fingers wander to the side of my waist. It’s hard to notice if you don’t know it’s there, but I can feel it. A slight bump under the shirt I’m wearing. A slight sear of pain when I press too hard.

The scar is faded now, no longer red and angry. It’s more pale now, smoothing out with my skin. The scar’s color is the slightest bit off compared to the skintone at my waist, but it doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would.

Some days, I flinch at the sight of it in the mirror. I don’t flinch because it hurts, but because of what it means. It reminds me of the night everything had changed. The night I had taken the knife. The day I had opened my eyes again, awakening in an entirely new reality.

Some days, I touch the scar with reverence, a soft gratitude because I’m here to feel it all.

As for surviving, it’s different. I learn that it’s not just a finish line. It’s not when I stop bleeding, when I no longer need the monitors, or when the doctors continue repeating the word “stable” like it’s a prayer. It’s also not when I get discharged, sent home with a prescription, pills, and a list of instructions.

Survival… it’s when I wake up, choosing to exist again. Folding laundry even when pain flares up my side. Laughing over the burnt toast Chan makes me, the same man who held my hand through the hell of the hospital.

I let myself be seen, really seen, when I used to think that was something dangerous. And I let Chan touch the scar without wincing, without an apology. I let myself heal.

After the gala and the stabbing, the world had changed. I mean, maybe it didn’t, but the people around me definitely had. One moment, I was the bratty heiress, being the butt of the joke. The girl with red lipstick and designer bags, throwing tantrums over things that didn’t really matter. I was also the girl who threw myself in front of the blade. Bleeding for someone else.

I hadn’t wanted admiration. I didn’t want anything. I wasn’t trying to prove anything.

But my name was suddenly everywhere, no longer whispered with scorn. My name was shouted with awe, people calling my name out on the streets to greet me. #HeroineHeiress had trended for weeks, people digging through my past.

They found kindness. Mei spoke of my fake tantrums, thrown to save her from reprimands. Jiyoung spoke of the charity shop, and how its reputation was threatened by Iseul, then saved by me. The kitchen staff speak of the way I would dance late at night in the kitchen, baking cookies for the staff members. Our chauffeur ends up telling others about the way I would press candy in his hand, leaving groceries for him to take home.

The people I had quietly loved step forward for me, doing so without being asked to.

And then… of course, there was Chan. My constant. My anchor. The man who never left my bedside, even when I couldn’t open my eyes to thank him. He had sat there every day, reading and writing and drawing. Whispering things to me like I could hear him. Talking to me like I was there with him. I think I could, sometimes. It was like my soul clung to his voice when everything else didn’t make sense.

When I was recovering, I would end up sleeping for hours long. Longer than usual.

One night, I had woken up to the weight of Chan’s forehead against mine. His hands were still clutching mine like a pray. I was too weak to speak at the time, but I had squeezed his hand. Chan had broken, tears spilling down his face, his breath shaking. It was the first time I had seen him cry so hard. For me.

It was the last time I had doubted how much I meant to him.

My parents also came to visit every day. I thought it was performative at first, the three of us awkward in each other’s presence. But they still kept coming. My mother traded her designer heels for sneakers, bringing me clean pajamas and tissue papers. My father would bring herbal teas instead, going on long-winded rants about their health benefits. His voice cracked each time he said my name.

When my parents weren’t talking, they would sit beside me, watching and taking care of me, making up for the time we had lost. They didn’t ask for forgiveness, but they still showed up.

For the first time, I wasn’t their brand or their project. I was just their daughter. And for the first time, they acted like my parents.

--

Following my discharge and recovery, Chan and I moved out of the family estate. There was no dramatic goodbye, no big party, no huge announcement. We just packed our things quietly, taking our things and having a goodbye dinner with my parents. It wasn’t the end, of course. My parents still called. They visited often, but Chan and I had our own freedom now.

The apartment was small, warm, and full of warm wood, lights, and quiet laughter. Sure, there were some leaky faucets, squeaky floorboards, and the most beautiful window seat I had ever seen. It wasn’t a palace or estate, but it was home. Our home.

And Chan? He still guards me, even if he’s my lover now rather than my personal bodyguard. Sometimes, I roll my eyes and tell him to relax, but he doesn’t care, just tickles me silly until I’m done complaining. He doesn’t guard me with duty, but with love.

Chan walks on the outside of the street, triple checking all the locks, and watching me in the kitchen in case I would float away. Chan loves me freely and without fear. And I love him, too.

This morning, I wake up tangled in the sheets, sunlight shining softly on us. His arm is wrapped around my bare waist, his breath warming the back of my neck. It’s been years now, more than a few, and maybe close to a decade. Almost a decade since the night I had taken the blade.

“Will you marry me?” he suddenly murmurs, eyes half-closed, voice lazy. It’s like he’s asking me for pancakes. I know well enough by now that he’s joking, but I throw a pillow at him anyway. “You’re supposed to get on one knee.”

I groan softly in mock annoyance despite my cheeks flushing. Chan just laughs, gently pulling me in a kiss, giving me everything I had ever wanted. He gives my cheek a peck before speaking. “Well, you and I are still naked right now, but I don’t mind.”

I throw another pillow at him.

--

He proposes a month later. We had visited the arcade we purchased our plushies from. Things were still similar to back then, despite seemingly so different. I still beat Chan at Dance Revolution. Chan still beat me at that annoying basketball game with the moving hoops.

It was only after, at a beachside dinner with candlelights lining the fence, when he proposes. His hands had shook as he grasped mine, dropping to a knee, holding a ring that glinted like a promise. I had cried through the whole thing.

When the wedding came almost a year later, it was quiet. Small. Soft. We had only invited the people who mattered. Those who felt like family, and friends who made us feel our best. My father had cried during the father-daughter dance, and my mother had hugged me tightly before I walked down the aisle.

Chan’s voice had ruined me. If he got a penny for every time he made me cry, he would be a thousand times richer than anyone else I knew. His voice had cracked on every other word, and when I finally reached for him, unable to hold back, I buried myself in his shoulder, telling him he was evil.

“But I love evil,” I had added quickly. He had laughed, kissing my temple as he steadied my shaking body.

--

Tonight, I lay beside him, his ringer hand resting on my stomach, right above the scar. The wound wasn’t a wound anymore, it was a tether. A map of how I had gotten here. On the nights where the moonlight hits me just right, I reach down, tracing it gently.

I smile because it doesn’t hurt anymore. Because I’m still here. Because the girl who once thought I could never be was here. Love, laughter, quiet mornings, late-night baking, and the messy beauty in between.

If you asked me a decade ago what my life would look like, I don’t think I would have an answer. Maybe I would complain of having a Roomba-like bodyguard. Maybe I would be throwing another tantrum again.

There was a time I didn’t believe things could change. I had always believed I would be someone seen, but now known. Not for a good reason. I believed my life would stay as it was - polished on the outside, hollow on the inside. But somehow, I’m here. Laughing freely, loving fully, and living, not just breathing. Loving Chan. Loving myself.

If I had to choose again, I’d still take the blade. Again and again.

Because this? This is worth surviving for.

~~

A/N: THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR SUPPORT!! This is, unfortunately, the last chapter ( TT I'm not ready for the end TT ). I will be posting an epilogue (featuring soft Chan and soft Y/n), as well as a few bonus scenes (I know some people follow me for the smut... 👀👀)

WC: 3017

Masterlist // Chapter Nine // Epilogue

Y/n’s POV

Everything is dark. Not the type of darkness coming from closed eyes, a quiet night, or just a silent room. It’s a heavy, suffocating kind that feels like silk, like velvet, stretched tightly over the world until it gets too much. Until it’s suffocating. Time seems to slow down, or maybe it doesn’t move at all. There’s nothing around me. I don’t know where anything begins, but I also don’t know where anything ends.

Weight. That’s what I feel. Weight. Quietness. And then, a faint sound - far and few. A soft, pulsing beep. A machine of some sort. A life being monitored, or pretending to. Beneath the steady beep, I hear a voice. It’s blurred, like someone speaking into a pillow. Someone underwater. The voice is low and familiar. Raw. Something I’ve heard before in quieter moments, behind closed doors, and in confessions he didn’t want me to hear.

I strain harder. I needed to hear it more clearly. The voice shouldn’t be here. Not in the darkness that surrounded me. Definitely not in the dark.

The name rushes to me in an instant.

Chan.

His name is enough to undo me, to crack something long forgotten in me. I feel heat, flickering in my chest. It’s not painful, just dull and aching. A memory of pain. A scar. The voice comes through clearer, words whispered to my ear, drifting and pressing against my skin.

“I don’t know how to breathe without you.”

It hits me like a truck. Again. It’s Chan. It is him. He’s talking to me; I’m not alone. I’m not gone, at least not yet. Not entirely. My body feels like cement, heavy and thick, like I’ve been poured and set, left to harden. I try to move anyway.

I try my fingers at first. A small twitch, barely noticeable. I don’t expect anything, but then I feel it. Something warm wrapping around my pinky. Something real. I know immediately. It’s his hand. Holding mine. Tethering me. Grounding me. The fear that had begun to creep up on me slowly drains away.

I’m not scared. I should be, but I’m not. I try to bring myself up, to pull myself to the surface. It’s like swimming through syrup, though. Slow. Thick. Endless. I want to open my eyes and find him waiting for me in this sorry excuse of a room. I want to tell him I’m okay. I want to tell him I’ve heard him, even if I haven’t. But that’s okay. I can feel his words. Somehow.

My body doesn’t listen to me. It refuses to. Each breath is a war, my lungs aching as if they don’t know how to work. Maybe they’re cemented in place as well, unable to expand. I keep trying to pull in air, but I pull too hard eventually. Suddenly, everything clenches. It’s a type of tight that makes my heart race and my mind panic.

My throat closes. My chest locks. A ringing in my ears. The beeping has sped up, and everything feels like it’s slipping away. I think I’m dying again. Maybe I’m given one last chance to come back and tell everyone I love them.

Something suddenly snaps. Through the noise, the static, and the sudden fear, I manage to gasp, the air tearing at my lungs, my throat, raspy and raw. My hand jerks, fighting the syrup I’m swimming through with a rough grimace. And suddenly, I’m at the surface. I found the end. The darkness cracks, light flooding in. Harsh. Blinding. Hospital lights. I see the ceiling first - white tiles and sharp edges. Voices talking over one another in heavy whispers.

“Y/n?” His voice is clearer now, no longer stuck underwater. It slices through the fog in my brain, calling out my name. “Baby? Shit- someone! Fuck- get a doctor- I- Y/n!”

My eyelids are heavy, like someone is forcibly keeping them shut. I can feel the ache in my body, growing stronger the more aware I become. Everything is sore - my ribs, my throat, even my teeth. But fuck, my side. It hurts. All of it fades when I see him.

Chan.

He’s hovering over me, brows furrowed in fear and worry, keeping himself close, but not too close, like he’s scared his breathing will break me. His hair is wild, his eyebags dark shadows, eyes pink from crying. His hands shake, lips parting like he’s unsure of what to say. Maybe he wanted to weep.

I can smell him, too. Strawberries. Vanilla. My shampoo, clinging to him like a memory. Like a piece of me stayed behind while the rest drifted off somewhere to fall between sleep and death.

I hear a nurse, her voice distant as she scrambles urgently, calling out to someone over the intercom. All I see is him. Just him. Chan. My Chan.

His hands cup my cheeks like I’m a ghost, like I’m not real, like he’s scared I’ll disappear if he lets me go. There’s a way he touches me that makes me feel sacred. His fingers still tremble, steadying themselves against my skin. Maybe steadying them for me. He looks terrified, more terrified than I had ever felt before. This reality, it’s everything he’s been holding on for.

I don’t know why I say it. I don’t know if this is even real, or if the drugs they’ve given me to cope with the pain are still fogging my brain. I always thought it was like the movies. Where am I? What happened? What day is it today?

“You were right,” I whisper, my voice a scratchy rasp. “Red does suit me better.”

I smile, my lips curving upwards weakly, face barely moving. The effort takes everything out of me, but it’s worth it. Chan lets out a wet laugh, collapsing softly as if he’s just gotten air after being underwater for so long. Tears fall from his eyes, real and unchecked. He doesn’t wipe them away, just lets them fall.

I lift my hand, weak, shaking, and press my palm to his cheek. He leans into the touch like he’s been starving for it, the proof that I’m here. Real. Alive.

“Please,” he begs softly, his voice cracking. “Say it again. Say anything. Tell me I’m not dreaming. Tell me this is real.”

Before I can respond, before I can even decide on laughing or crying or screaming at the pain from my side, the room erupts in chaos. The door swings open as doctors rush in, other nurses coming to help assist them. The room is too small. Too loud. Chan notices, just like he always does. He just holds my hand, smiling softly at me in reassurance as I try to smile back.

And then, the footsteps. I recognize them anywhere. One heavy and even, the other light and in a rush. The familiar scent of lilies wafts into the room, the expensive perfume making me feel dizzy as I close my eyes with a groan, laying back.

“Y/n?”

My parents.

My eyes still feel too heavy to move, but I don’t need to see them to know the two of them are here. My mother’s shoes click against the tile floor, hesitant and terrified. I force myself to move my head, tilting it to the side, hands squeezing Chan’s as I finally take a look at them.

My mother stands there, staggered and disheveled. Her hands tremble as she covers my mouth in relief, immediately sitting down on the chair beside my hospital bed. My father is right behind her, tears in his eyes as he gently hugs me, keeping me safe in the crook of his arm before kissing the top of my head.

I don’t know what I feel anymore. It’s not warmth. Not hate, either. Just… emptiness, the weight of the past years and fractured relationships sitting between the railing of the hospital bed. I stay silent, turning my head away as I close my eyes. Chan immediately squeezes my hand. I open my eyes again, smiling weakly at him in reassurance.

The nurses assess me, one calling out numbers, vitals, and instructions. Another nurse taps Chan on the shoulder, his voice gentle. “Sir, we’ll need you to step outside as we run a full check on Y/n. I’m afraid all the information we’ll be speaking of is private and-”

“No,” I whisper. The word comes out like gravel, rough and dry, but firm. “Please. He stays.”

Everyone pauses for a second. Chan looks at me in disbelief, but he doesn’t let go of my hand, either. The nurse nods in understanding, stepping back quietly without another word. I’m grateful. I don’t think I could handle it if I let go of his hand.

The doctors go over everything with me in soft voices. I was lucky. The knife had missed all my vital organs, but still tore through tissue. I had undergone surgery, and was stitched up together. The stitches would last for a while, and I would likely be left with a scar on the side of my body.

I had lost a lot of blood while I had stayed still, eyes shut. They said my body fought, like I had something to live for. I had burned up with a fever, screaming in my sleep. Injections suffered in my wound, leaving my survival nearly unlikely for a few hours. I don’t remember any of it, but Chan’s grip tightens like he does.

I don’t feel lucky. Not one bit. Just fragile, being held together by some needles and tape. As they continue speaking, now to my parents, I close my eyes, trying to figure out what I had missed. What exactly had my body gone through?

When the nurses finally leave, I thank them, thanking the doctors after. The machines continue to beep, but the room stays silent. It’s just the four of us. My parents, Chan, and me.

Besides me, my mother leans back against the chair, her usual perfectly rigid posture faltering as she folds her hands tightly on her lap. She doesn’t say anything, just looks up at my father, who remains standing, eyes dark with grief and shame before she speaks.

“Y/n,” she begins. Her voice is low. Shaking. “I don’t- I don’t know where to begin. We made so many mistakes.”

I don’t say anything, I just stay quiet. It was familiar, that ache in my chest.

“We thought we were protecting you,” my father says. “But we were just molding you into something the world couldn’t touch. Something polished and untouchable.”

My mother stares at my hand in Chan’s. “We didn’t know we were the ones breaking you.”

“You weren’t supposed to carry everything alone,” my father adds softly. “But… But we made you believe you had to.”

“We said- We thought your kindness was just dramatics,” my mother continues. “We thought you warmth was a weakness. You were always giving and looking out for everyone in the house, but… we didn’t see that. We didn’t look close enough. We didn’t see you.”

Tears prick in my eyes.

My father speaks next. “We’re not asking for forgiveness. We just want to tell you. We failed you. And… And we’re sorry.”

Silence hangs in the air again. I don’t say anything, just take a deep breath, shallow and soft. I nod quietly. It’s not everything yet, but it’s something. The beginning of the bridge of trust. One I might start crossing. Slowly. Meeting them on the other side.

“Thank you,” I finally whisper. Nothing else needs to be said. They just take the hint, standing quietly. My mother brushes my hair back gently, hesitating and trembling before stepping back. My father gives me a hug again, nodding to Chan before the both of them leave.

Chan is left alone with me now. He exhales shakily, the silence thick, but no longer oppressive. Everything feels full. Full of everything we haven’t said.

“I didn’t think I’d ever hear your voice again,” Chan says. His voice cracks, his words hoarse and wrecked. “I’ve been sitting here for days talking to you. I was hoping something would stick to you. I was hoping you would be able to hear me.”

“I heard something,” I answer. “Pieces, I think. I heard you say you couldn’t breathe without me.”

He cracks a smile, broken yet sweet. Devastatingly handsome. “I said a lot. Maybe too much.”

“Can you tell me again?” I whisper, my eyes wide.

He tilts his head, looking back at me curiously. “All of it?”

“All of it,” I repeat, giggling softly.

So he does.

He tells me things from the very start. He tells me about the night I had taken the blade, the blood seeping into his clothes, his hands, his skin. He had screamed my name, begging for me to stay with him. Staring and replaying the security footage over and over again, unable to recognize his own voice. He had never been so terrified before.

He tells me about how he had kept praying over and over again. Maybe I would push the both of us out of the way and into safety. Maybe he would be the one who saw the blade in time. Maybe none of this would happen. The gala would continue. Our lives would continue.

A part of me is glad things played out the way they did. It meant we could be together. Accepted. No more fear.

He tells me of the Chois. They had hired the hit men, and gotten arrested. Articles had been published, leaving the business world in shock. Many people had spoken out about the Chois afterwards, leaving them with no more employees. No one to back them.

He tells me about the way people have taken interviews. Jiyoung had spoken out about Iseul and the Charity Shop. She had revealed the threat against her job and the shop’s reputation just because Iseul had donated her dupes. People would assume the shop had sold the real ones to benefit themselves rather than give to those in need. As soon as the story had been revealed, people had immediately unfollowed Iseul, bashing her online for her fakeness.

It got to the point where people began hacking security cameras, exposing her at the luncheon. Iseul spilling wine on me had spread on the internet. Sure, I got a bit of criticism for kicking down a chair afterwards, but there were just as many people sympathizing with me.

Chan tells me about Mei. She had spoken up about how I had helped her out with figuring out how the family liked their things. She had talked about the way I would cleverly throw tantrums and demand something new just so she would get things right for my father or my mother.

He also tells me about our chauffeur, the way he spoke of me and the way I would hand him treats or groceries. He tells me about the way kitchen staff had broken down talking about the way I would learn to cook. Talking about the treats I would bake for everyone.

“You became a hero,” he says softly, brushing a thumb over my knuckles. “Not because you were an heiress, but because they loved you for being you.”

I listen quietly, eyes locked on him, shock and surprise coloring my eyes. Each word he says is surreal. Chan leans forward, eyes glassy yet steady. “Your parents also changed. I know they just talked to you, but… they changed. They visited you every day. Your mother gave me food and clean clothes and made sure I was taking care of myself. Your father sat beside me and told me stories of you from when you were little. Like when you would warm his side of the bed before he would get home from work.”

My throat tightens as Chan continues, holding me steadily. “They started acting like your parents again. Not… Not managers.”

“What about you?” I whisper. “Are you okay now? Did the hitmen hurt you? Or-”

“I’m okay,” he interrupts gently, swallowing, his breath catching. “I was with you the whole time. I held your hand, and I was begging for you to come back to me. For a second chance. For you not to leave me.”

I squeeze his hand weakly, laughing a sob. “I’m here.”

He laughs as well, his voice cracking before falling silent again. His eyes stay locked with mine for a long time before he finally breaks. “I love you.”

My breath hitches as I nod, a smile breaking out across my face. The largest grin since I had woken up, probably. “I love you, Chan.”

“I’ve loved you for so long,” he whispers. “I was just too… too scared to admit it. If you’ll have me, if you can even find it in your heart to want me after everything, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make anything up to me,” I say. “You were the one who was there for me the whole time. You protected me from my fears and… and I trust you. A lot.”

He sucks in a breath, leaning in closer to me. “Y/n-”

“I swear it,” I say, my lips brushing his.

“Will you have me?” he whispers.

I look at him. Really look at him. The exhaustion in his eyes. The rawness in his voice. The shaking in his hands. “You don’t have to ask.”

“I want an answer,” he says, cupping my face.

Even with the pain, the history, and the scars… There is no world where I don’t want him. I nod. “Yes.”

He kisses me. Gently. Soft. His hands are locked with mine, a vow, a promise he would never let go. He whispers against my ear, lips brushing my hair, telling me I was brave. For the first time, I believe him.

And for the first time in a long, long time… I don’t feel afraid to be seen.

~~

A/N: I'm crying TT Sorry for the shorter chapter! (Thank you for 5000 total likes!! Y'all are the absolute best TT)

A/N: On another note... Chapter 10 will be the last chapter of the story :)

WC: 2805

Masterlist // Chapter 8 // Chapter 10

Chan’s POV

You never should have taken the knife for me. I still remember it - the way you crashed into me. The way you took the blade that was never meant for me. I heard the thud of your body. Your gasp. The blade cutting into what should have been me.

After investigations and arrests, the assassins’ motives were revealed. They were hired by a business opponent - the Chois. They mistook that politician for your father, but were content after injuring you.

I didn’t even know how loud I screamed, Y/n. It was only until I saw the security footage and saw the news articles with all those videos. I didn’t even recognize my own voice in the footage. I kept watching the video, unable to stay away from the graphic detail. I kept praying for a different ending. One where I would be faster, where I could’ve been the one to push you out of the way. But each time, it was you on the floor, and me just too fucking late.

I still can’t wash the blood out from under my nails. It’s not there anymore, the blood, but I still feel it. Everyday. I don’t think I ever well.

I’m sorry, Y/n. I never wanted you to feel like you were alone. I yelled at you because I was scared of what was happening between us. That’s no excuse though, is it?

You always carried yourself like you were hiding. You pretended to be a brat, but you were terrified of being seen. I never hated you. Far from it.

Remember that lesson you had with Mrs. Choi? You looked so scared. The feel of your fingers twisting into my shirt broke something in me. You were terrified. And I hated that you were. You lived each day under the weight of impossible expectations.

Then there was that charity event. You looked so angry and pissed off when Jiyoung handed you that piece of cloth you insisted was a crime waiting to be arrested. I saw Jiyoung crying after you pulled her aside and told her off. I thought you were just being a brat, just like the way your parents described you, but I was wrong. I talked to Jiyoung later, and she explained it to me. You had been sympathetic, telling her you would buy Iseul’s entire line of clothes to save the shop from embarrassment. You were saving Jiyoung, her job, and the shop all at once. I looked at all the clothes you donated - they were real, your favorites, and comfortable pieces for those who couldn’t afford much. You paid for everything with your own money as well, didn’t you? I had talked to one of the employees running the cashier register, and she said you wanted those who were less fortunate to just go into the shop and take what they needed.

Then there was the thing with Mei, one of your family’s many maids. You had exploded, screaming for some fucking apple juice, and I had truly thought you were insane. I didn’t hear what you said, I only saw you lose it on her and slap the tray of tea she was holding out of her hands. I saw how you bent down to the ground to help her clean up the shattered pieces. It was only when I talked to Mei alone that I realized what you were trying to do. You were saving Mei from your mother. Your mother had a specific temperature she liked for her tea - scalding hot. The cup Mei had prepared was cold after the kitchen had rushed her in fear of pissing your mother off.

I had stood there, judging you before I even asked. I thought you were being cruel, even when all you were doing was shielding someone else from the very same cruelty.

You have a golden heart, don’t you? I just refused to accept it. After all, how could someone with your status be so nice?

And of course. There was the tantrum over the shampoo bottle. You had screamed, throwing the floral scented bottles at the walls, leaving a mess behind in your awakening. I had discussed it with your parents. You missed your nanny, Mrs. Na. She had been the one who watched over you as a child, and treated you like a child. Not like an heiress preparing to perform for eyes who judged the surface. That’s what you craved - understanding, gentleness, and kindness. It shouldn’t have been something you asked for. It always should’ve been something you got without question.

That day at the arcade, you were so free. I still remember the way your eyes sparkled in excitement when you, undoubtedly, beat me at Dance Revolution. I still remember the way you had pouted in mock anger when I beat you at that one basketball game.

You gave that little girl our remaining tokens, smiling like it didn’t cost you anything. I still heard it, though. That sadness. The ache in your voice as you spoke. You were saying a final goodbye to the life you would never be able to have. “We were just visiting the area, so we won’t be putting these tokens to use anytime soon.”

No. We definitely weren’t tourists in the area, but you knew it would be one of the few times you would ever enjoy living life like just any other person, right? That wolf plushie you bought… you said it reminded you of me, but I think it also reminded you of the life you could have outside of the harsh reality of the world you’re always surrounded by.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully understand the struggles you face as a business heiress, but I do know I swore to be there for you. Always. Even when you hated me and screamed at me. I never meant to be the one who hurt you, but I have a real knack for making you run away and cry, right?

I won’t ever get that feeling out of me. The feel of you clinging to me like I mattered. You trusted me, Y/n, and I broke that trust.

You had responded to me so beautifully that night. You had craved my touch, arched beneath my touch, and clung to me like you were scared I would disappear. You felt like something I couldn’t touch. Maybe a sin, but something I couldn’t push away. Your breathless whimpers, the way you clenched around me like I was the only thing grounding you.

You listened to my every command, you listened to my words, and you felt me. And when it happened again later that morning… shit. You knew. You knew what I liked. You didn’t have to ask, you just performed.

You gave yourself to me. All of you. I only gave you what I thought I was allowed to give. But now, I regret it. It wasn’t enough.

That’s not even the weirdest part. You parents… they figured it out. They figured us out. I thought they would blame me. Really. I’m your bodyguard. You’re my ward. I’m supposed to save you. I’m supposed to protect you, but I still didn’t.

I overheard them talking outside your hospital room. They were asking themselves if it was their fault you ended up in this position. I stayed by your side the entire time I could, and I only left when your parents asked me for some privacy. So they could spend time with the daughter they had pushed away.

I guess I can’t fault them completely. After all, they had your best interests at heart, even when they didn’t convey it in a way that made you feel appreciated. Your parents stopped caring about the family image afterwards. They didn’t care if paparazzi took pictures of their tear streaked faces or swollen eyes.

I wish you could see how proud they are of you.

Your mother was replaying the video. Both your mother and your father were listening to what was exchanged between us. They kept replaying those words you whispered to me. I love you. Maybe a part of them wished you felt safe enough to tell them that as well, but to no avail, right?

I swore they would get angry. I’m not supposed to touch you. Not the way I did when you clung to me like I was your only lifeline. Especially not the night we made love; the kind of love you appreciate.

I was sitting by your side, hands holding yours again, when your mother had come in. She hadn’t said anything against me. She had just handed me a tray of food, given me a clean set of clothes, her eyes red but warm. Thanking me for taking care of me, when I had really let them down.

I’m also there late at night, when the sky is dark and the stars begin to faintly shine. Your father had come in late at night once. He didn’t say anything, just gave me a nod before sitting down quietly beside me, staring at our locked hands. It was only later when he spoke to me. “When Y/n was younger, she would sleep in the master bedroom with her mother and I. I was working late, and… she slept on my side of the bed rather than the middle like usual. The next day, she came running up to me with excitement and asked me if the bed was warm. It was the middle of Winter, and she said she had slept on my side of the bed so she could warm it up for me.”

I nearly cried at his words, Y/n. You were always caring, weren’t you? You just had to destroy that part of yourself and pull on a mask too soon.

The doctors had said you had said you survived, but barely. Your mother had cried, breaking down as she held your father. And your father? His composure finally broke. I wish you could’ve seen it. I couldn’t help myself. I had to tell them. “You should’ve seen how she smiled. Before I ruined it.”

They told me not to blame myself. They told me it was their fault you never smiled anymore. They told me they were the ones who stripped you of everything you had ever known. You never saw your nanny after you had gotten old enough to stay at home alone. You never saw your friends from public school after they enrolled you in a prestigious private school. They told me how they stripped you of everything you had ever loved just to save your family’s image.

I can’t bring myself to eat or sleep or do anything. Your parents are taking care of me like I should’ve taken care of you. They tell me they’re doing what they were supposed to do with you. I guess they feel like they have a lot to make up for. Your mother had spoken softly to me. “She never looked at anyone the way she looked at you.”

Oh, and you know that bratty image everyone has of you? Yeah, that’s all gone now. After the news outlet had come, people began talking. Jiyoung took an interview with a popular news outlet and spoke of your contributions to the shop she worked at. I bet you would be ecstatic at this - Iseul is getting dragged quite literally everywhere. Jiyoung didn’t hold back once. Apparently, Iseul had verbally abused all the workers at the shop, and after the information got leaked, her family’s employees slowly left one by one.

Mei also took requests from interviewers wanting the scoop from employees. She spoke of how you took care of her without making it overbearing. The chauffeur spoke of how you always talked to him during long rides, how you would send home treats and groceries for his children, and how you would always give him a quick hug before he headed home. The cooks talked about how you would bake treats in the kitchen for all the employees, thanking them for always cooking up what you craved.

Some people also asked me for interviews, but… I didn’t take any. I couldn’t, Y/n. Not without you standing by my side. Not without you coming back to me. Please, Y/n. I’m begging you.

I carry your wolf plushie with me now, alone with my strawberry one. Each time I see the both together, I’m reminded of what we were. “Remember how you said I was warm like the wolf? You were the one who made me feel safe, Y/n. You were the brave one. You always were.”

I can already imagine it. I can picture you waking up, rolling your eyes and telling me I’m being dramatic. I can hear your whisper as you grab the wolf plushie, smirking in satisfaction as you tell me that, of course, you were braver. I also imagine telling you the words I don’t have the guts to say aloud.

Kids have been drawing wolves and strawberries as well. People are leaving plushies they find at the counter of the hospital. I’ve taken them from the nurses and lined the counters with them. I wish you could see it. I hold each of them tightly, Y/n. I hold each strawberry like it’s you. I cradle it with your hand, begging you to come back to me. I fall asleep at your side whispering apologies for things I should’ve apologized for eons ago.

Hashtags are also trending, but if you saw them, I think you would close your eyes right back up cringing at them. #HeroineHeiress. #Y/NTheBrave. #SheisourQueen. You have a lot of fans now. They’re all carrying wolves or strawberries.

You deserve every bit of it, though. Every hashtag. Every tribute. Every wolf and every strawberry drawn by kids who see you the way you were always supposed to be seen - something more than an heiress.

Do you know what really breaks me? After I yelled at you that last time you went to the nightclub, I heard you crying. I knew you were holding the wolf plushie in your arms like it was your saviour. You were clutching it, tears rolling down your cheeks, sobs muffled in your pillows. I pretended not to hear you because… I don’t know, Y/n. I don’t know why I pretended not to hear you. But I do know I regret it. So much.

The first time I visited you, you didn’t move once. Your fingers didn’t twitch. The day before yesterday, they didn’t either. Nor did they yesterday. Or today. I brush your hair behind your ears, when there’s no hair sticking out, just in case you could feel me. The beeping from the machine next to the bed keeps lying. It says you’re still here, but… where are you? Each night, I pull your hand to my lips. I kiss your skin softly, just so you can feel the warmth through the cold. Just in case you know it’s me. I’m not leaving your side. I never will.

A nurse comes into the room, checking the machines like she does each day. I tense, and I wait. Your eyelids twitch. Barely. A part of me is sure I imagined it. She doesn’t notice it. She just adjusts the saline and walks away. I continue to stay frozen, wishing it was all a dream.

You pretended to be a brat to survive your life of luxury and horror. I pretended not to care about the tantrums you threw just to stay in control. There’s nothing left to pretend about. If you come back to me, I’ll never wear a mask again, Y/n. I’ll do Dance Revolution with you at the arcade as many times as you want. I’ll bake cookies with you every night. I’ll never leave your side. Only if you come back to me.

I love you, Y/n. I was the first one to say it, but I was also scared to say it, too.

I’m too late. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from myself.

If you wake up, Y/n, I’ll tell you everything. I’ll be your everything. I’ll spend every breath earning the forgiveness I don’t deserve. The forgiveness I know you would give me without wasting a beat.

I’ll love you without fear. Please, baby. Please come back to me. I don’t care if you’re selfish, but you can’t be selfish this way. I can’t survive a world without you in it.

I love you, Y/n. Please? Come back to me? I don’t know how to breathe without you.

~~

A/N: I apologize in advance :)

WC: 3223

Masterlist // Chapter Seven // Chapter Nine

I don’t cry. Not yet, at least. I just lay down in the bed, the mattress suddenly too big and empty. I hear him, and a part of me wants to run back out, but the larger part of me just keeps me stuck in the room. When I hear him approaching, I squeeze my eyes shut. He doesn’t say anything, just sighs softly before getting into bed. I feel his presence, his hands gentle as he scoots closer to me, pulling my hair back gently.

When the morning comes, I get up early, dark circles under my eyes. My parents are at the dining table for once, surprisingly. I quickly join them, posture straight as Mei places a plate in front of me. It’s full of eggs, my favorite, bacon, and buttered toast. I smile softly. “Thank you.”

Chan takes a seat beside me. I scoot away from him, my back straight as I keep my eyes fixed on anything but him. My father speaks up, tilting his head. “Y/n. What makes you so tense?”

“Oh,” I say, my voice almost sarcastic. “Chan was just making sure Mrs. Choi’s lessons were sticking.”

When my father looks at Chan, he forces himself to nod, a tight smile on his face. He turns back to me. “You’ll grow out of this nonsense soon.”

The rest of the morning is silent, my parents finishing breakfast quickly before leaving me alone with Chan. Chan hesitates for a moment. “Morning, Y/n.”

“Morning,” I echo. My eyes rise to meet his for a second, my voice even and neutral.

Chan looks down as I turn back to my food, his voice soft. “Are you… Did you sleep okay?”

“I’ve slept worse,” I answer. My voice isn’t full of venom, just resigned, like he’s a wild animal I learned not to pet. Chan speaks softly. “Do you want to go to the arcade? Just… birthday tradition?”

I shrug. “If you want to.”

That’s how I find us being driven to the arcade. Again. This time, it’s not fun. I watch, a polite smile on my face as Chan tries to get me to join him. I do, a bit reluctantly, but I do anyway. His eyes land on the hoodie I’m wearing. His. He tugs on the drawstring, heart sinking as I pull back, his voice quiet. “I didn’t know you still wore it.”

I take it off, ignoring the chill settling on my arms, pushing it into his chest. “You would notice if you looked hard enough.”

He holds the hoodie, his scent mixing with mine, my shampoo. Chan stares at it, his hands trembling slightly, throat tight, thumbs brushing over the fabric. It was warm, but it lacked all my warmth. Chan follows me, grabbing the tickets in my hands gently, eyes searching mine. “Can I buy something this time?”

I hand him the tickets wordlessly. He exchanges them for a strawberry keychain, immediately hooking the chain onto his keyring. I speak quietly, almost reluctant. “Why the strawberry?”

“Reminds me of you,” Chan simply says. “It’s sweet on the outside, but it gets tart on the inside. And… And there was the time you gave me that strawberry candy. I still remember it.”

“Sweet,” I answer. “Are we done now?”

He nods, his chest twisting. I make my way back to the car, and he follows me, sitting beside me. As our chauffeur drives, I hug myself, keeping quiet, my shirt thin against the crisp air. Something about the way I was hugging myself nearly breaks Chan. He grabs the blanket between us, gently draping it over me.

I don’t thank him, nor do I smile. I just tug the blanket tighter around me, face turning away. Somehow, that hurts Chan more than anything else.

And so, this pattern continues. I don’t yell, I don’t scream, and I don’t cry. I just tolerate Chan, the days passing by. He sees me picking at my food, shrugging people off as I retreat to my room.

There’s the time I head to another gala, sitting silently in the car on the way there, my dress shimmering and lips glossed. He sits besides me, clad in his suit, hands clenched. “You look pretty.”

“Thanks,” comes my blunt response. He takes one of my hands, holding it in his grasp. When we arrive at the gala, I pull away quickly.

There’s also the time I had scratched myself, a shallow cut on the back of my hand. I had ran it over water, drying it quickly. When Chan walked into the kitchen, I quickly turned, hiding my hand. “I’m fine.”

He hadn’t even asked yet, but he doesn’t say anything, just grabs my hand and pulls it towards him. I know he’s holding himself back, with the way his teeth tug stubbornly at his lips. I mutter, eyes avoiding his. “You don’t need to.”

“Just let me,” he says.

So I do. I tolerate him, the silence, his care, letting him bandage the wound ever so gently. He lingers, taking his sweet time before pulling back. I leave immediately. “Thank you.”

--

My heart is bleeding, more than I let on. I could feel his words in my skin each time I see him. Clingy. Delusional. Exhausting. My lips tremble each time I think about it, my head dropping to hide the tears that suddenly seem all too familiar. I don’t know what to do. I want to talk to him, but a larger part of me recoils at the thought of him losing it on me again.

That’s why I do what I do best. I flee. I shrink into myself.

I find a dress, I call some friends, I let people talk their way into my head. I’ll go find another club. I’ll find someone else I can dance with. I’ll party hard. Maybe too hard. Drink until the hurt disappears. Just so I can pretend to be free. Like I’m not waiting for him to come after me. To chase me down and demand me to talk with him.

He wouldn’t, right? And if he did… Maybe, hopefully, it would be too late.

--

The music is loud, the alcohol flowing free as I laugh, throwing my head back. I’m grinding against some man, his voice in my ears as he grips my hips, swaying with me as I turn to face him, clinging him. For a second, my heart stutters, his lips too close to mine. I turn my head to the side in time, laughing it off as I point to something in the distance, making some stupid comment about it. I just laugh off my panic, my heart pounding.

I grab another shot of tequila, downing the shot. It didn’t burn anymore. I wasn’t sure how intoxicated I was, but I was just happy to forget the pain, even if it was by a little. My eyes catch on Chan, who’s staring at me with a look in his eyes that promises danger and consequences.

Who is he to care? The thought rushes through my mind, and a wide smile spreads across my mouth. I grind harder against the man, turning my body so my back is pressed against his chest once more, facing Chan head on. His eyes lock with mine, almost challenging. I don’t back down. I won’t. I just party harder, gazes locked as I down shot after shot, letting random men touch me, their touches fleeting, and their gazes suggestive.

“Y/n.” Chan finally storms over to me, his face stern. The music continues pounding through me. I let out a laugh, giggling as I shove him away. “Go away. I’m having fun.”

“We need to talk,” he snaps.

My smile widens. “About what? You’re- You’re not interesting whenever you babysit me. You’re all functional without a personality. A-And, you think I’m immature, right? I’m just de-defending myself from people like you. You’re like a Roomba! You take away everything.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches, and he grabs my wrist without another word, pulling me outside, the exit sign gleaming at us mockingly.

The bass inside still vibrates through the concrete ground, but it felt more different now, like we were in our own world. I stand with my back to the wall, sobering up at the chill, my arms around my torso, breath shallow. Uneven. Sweat and neon glitter clings to my skin, the confidence in the club fading with the touches of those inside as Chan stares me down.

I know to shut up.

“Do you get off on being a walking disaster?” he finally snaps, his voice low yet lethal. “Shit, Y/n. You were the perfect show, right? A spoiled little princess running around for any fucking slob who so much as glanced your fucking way.”

My chin jerks up at his words, eyes flashing with shock and hurt. He continues, his eyes dark. “Was that the plan? Were you just going to flash some skin and bait some desperate idiots? Like their filthy hands make you feel powerful? God, it was fucking pathetic. Every time you laughed, every time you smiled, you looked like a kid. A fucking child playing dress-up, begging strangers to tell her she matters.”

No sound escapes my mouth as my lips part.

“Do you think cheap touches and borrowed attention mean you’re in control? All I saw was a girl so fucking terrified of being invisible, she’d rather be pawed at like some toy,” he spats, shaking his head in disgust. “You could’ve drowned the room in your parents’ money, yet you still need strangers to clap for you just so you can pretend you’re worth the oxygen you waste.”

That one lands hard, my eyes widening with tears. I try to steady my breathing, but my chest rises and falls in panicked bursts. He continues, his voice bitter. “Let’s not forget the way you tried to stop me when I pulled you outside. Babysitter? Roomba? Cute. But tonight, you proved what everyone else already thinks of you. You’re just some shallow, attention-hungry brat playing adult with grown men who wants a bite of the family fortune.”

I flinch, shaking my head. “No- Stop it. Stop.”

“Maybe that’s all you’ll ever be,” he laughs. “Just a headline and a liability. Some body under fucking glass because you’re too fragile to be real.”

My lower lip trembles as silence falls over us, tears welling in my eyes. Chan realizes it too late. He had gone too far. Way too far. I laugh bitterly, tears falling down my face as I whisper. “Yeah. I am scared.”

“Y/n-” he starts, his hands reaching out for me. I shake my head desperately, pushing his hand away.

“Just let me be scared in peace for once,” I interrupt. I look up at him once before pushing past him gently. Something in his chest twists. “Congratulations, Chan. You made the brat shut up.”

When I get home that night, I grab my wolf plushie from my nightstand, clinging it to my chest. It smells like Chan - fresh, clean, and comforting. Or at least the Chan I knew. I cry myself to sleep, tears soaking its fur as Chan lays beside me. He doesn’t reach out to comfort me. He doesn’t whisper an apology.

He just stays silent.

--

Another gala, the lights shimmering softly. Something felt sinister, like a tiger waiting to pounce on its prey. I shift from foot to foot, following my parents as they introduce me to different business heirs. Again. Chan keeps close behind me, his hands at his side.

I take a deep breath, looking around as I tug on the bracelets around my wrist. The familiar jazz plays in the background, the chandelier sparkling with its bright diamonds as guests continue to dance, whispering seductively and sipping champagne beneath their smiles. I’m wearing a red dress, clinging to my upper body and flowing around my legs. Chan had said it once - red suited me. I had just teased him, telling him it made me look like trouble, but he had just answered calmly - trouble never looked so beautiful.

I feel like a shadow of that memory.

I hadn’t wanted to come, but my parents were the one to insist on me coming along. I needed to meet up with the business heirs, the politicians and businessmen, all monsters wearing masks of wealth and power. Image, they had said. Reputation. Smiles for the cameras. Pretending the last weeks hadn’t hollowed me out. My mother turns to me, adjusting the straps of my dress, pulling a few strands of my hair to the front, framing my face. “Just smile tonight. Please. We need this to go well.”

Chan remains cold, distant. Maybe he regretted his harsh words from the club night for only a second. Maybe he really did believe his words. He’s distant, moving to stand near a wall, his eyes cold and icy as he scans the room. He’s like a ghost - quiet, close. No longer muttering sarcastic comments that forced me to hold a laugh, my shoulders lowering in ease.

He’s kept himself in “bodyguard mode”, his back rigid as he listens to the footsteps of the guests, eyes scanning the room. Neither of us reach for each other anymore. I don’t hold his hand. He doesn’t steady my lower back. He just hovers and lingers, at the edge of my world. Close enough to see, but too far to feel. A part of me thinks he hates me, or maybe he hates himself for letting me get so close.

I still knew one thing for certain. He would throw himself in front of danger for me. I would do the same.

That’s when I see him. A caterer in his mid-thirties, moving through the room. His walk was too stiff, his tray tilted slightly. Someone with that much experience shouldn’t be struggling unless they’re injured. That’s when I see it. A gleaming object under the tray, his fingers coiling around it.

“Chan,” I call, my heart racing. He’s already moving, eyes locked on the man. The caterer raises the knife, aiming for a politician a few feet away.

Chan intercepts him, twisting his wrist as it drops to the ground, landing a punch in the man's jaw when he struggles. The man yelps, but Chan isn’t done. Another punch to the jaw, to the ribs, a kick to his chest, leaving the man crashing into a glass table, shattering it.

Everyone screams, chaos erupting. They go back to the way things were after the man is down, a few applauding. “That’s why they pay him the big bucks.”

But still, something wasn’t right. The security guards are nowhere near.

I see him before Chan does. Another man, another caterer, barely older than me by the looks of it. He stays hidden, moving around the wine station, quiet and moving, blade already raised.

Chan doesn’t see him.

“No,” I whisper, whimpering. I don’t think, I just run, kicking my heels to the side. My chest burns, my hands shaking. All I see is Chan and the blade, glittering under the chandelier, the light mocking as I race against time.

He’s going to die. I let out a soft cry. Chan turns, his eyes widening as he sees the assassin. The blade is meant for him.

It doesn’t land.

My body collides against Chan’s, hugging him tightly. I feel the blade slide in, stealing the air from my lungs. I don’t scream. I don’t cry. I just let out a muffled, broken sound, no more than a gasp, crumbling to the ground as the man pulls the blade out. Someone tackles the man. Another grabs the knife.

Maybe the world goes quiet, but for me it goes loud. Too loud, my ears ringing.

Chan doesn’t register any of it, he just catches me like I’m already gone.

“Y/N!” he screams, voice cracking, eyes full of terror. His hand press against the wound, my blood soaking through his suit, hot and terrifying.

People scream. Others call for help. Security finally makes their way forward.

Chan only sees me. My skin paling, lashes fluttering as I fight the urge to succumb to the darkness surrounding me.

“No,” he cries, begging softly as he cradles my face. “No, baby- you’re okay, okay? You’re okay. This- Stay with me. Please. Help- Help is coming-”

“I told you I’d be brave,” I rasp, smiling weakly.

“Don’t talk,” he begs. He’s rocking me now, his arms wrapped around me like a lifeline, hisehead pressed against mine. “Don’t- Just hold onto me-”

“You weren’t looking,” I whisper, my voice cracking as tears well in my eyes. “I couldn’t let it be you.”

His body shakes, tears running down his face. “I’d take a thousand blades if it means you get to live. Why- You shouldn't have done that- You-”

“You were right,” I murmur, coughing up blood. “That night- The club- I am selfish.”

“Y/n,” he cries. “I didn’t mean it. I never mean it. I-”

“I wanted to go first,” I continue, tears falling down at my face. “So I don’t have to know what it’s like without you.”

His chest pounds, form crumbling above me as he holds me tightly. “No- Don’t talk like that- Don’t- Don’t leave me, please.”

“I’d do it again,” I continue, head resting against his chest in exhaustion. “Even if you hated me forever.”

“I never hated you,” he sobs. “I never- I was scared- I don’t-”

I use the last bit of my strength to reach up to him. “I love you. Even if you don’t say it back or forgive me o-or if you forget. I love you.”

“No- please-” his tears fall on my face like rain, splattering on my face.

I lift my head, pressing the softest, weakest kiss to his lips. A last touch. A last moment.

My lips go still. My body goes limp. The gala is dead silent.

“Y/n?” he whispers, his voice cracking. I don’t answer. He screams. Agonized. Pained. “Y/N! GET UP- NO- P-PLEASE-”

He sounds raw. Loud. The scream you make when the world ends in front of you.

Security steps forward, leading paramedics to the scene. My parents push forward, my father shouting my name as my mother collapses for the first time, sobbing. “Not my baby- please, no-”

Chan doesn’t let go of me, crying hard. “She’s still warm. She’s- She’s still here-”

He holds me in his arms, clutching me like a child clutches their favorite toy. Security pulls him away gently, his suit glinting with my blood, hands covered in red. He watches as they bring me on the stretcher. Unmoving. Silent.

He just stares at the puddle of red. At his trembling fingers. The tears continue, refusing to stop, his voice hollow as it cracks. “She saved me. She couldn’t save herself, but she saved me.”

His head falls forward, letting out a roar as he punches at the ground, fists bruising, red and raw. “I was supposed to protect you- I couldn’t- I couldn’t even protect you from myself.”

No one says anything else. My parents follow the paramedics. Paparazzi take their pictures.

The world continues watching him fall apart.

~~

A/N: Taglist request here!

MDNI: Smut at the beginning of the chapter.

A/N: I also apologize beforehand for Chapter 8...

WC: 3209

Masterlist // Chapter Six // Chapter Eight

The light starts filtering through the window in the early morning. A few hours have passed since our intimate encounter. Now, I feel him shifting behind me, his breath warm against my neck, fingers splayed on my hips, tracing lazy circles on my skin. His touch is tender, my core stretched from what he had given me just a few hours ago.

“I know you’re awake, baby,” he murmurs softly, his voice low with amusement. His hands slide up, palming the underside of my breast and squeezing it gently. “You’ve been squirming since I kissed your shoulder.”

His fingers flick over my nipple, and I immediately try to bit back a sound. Not exactly a moan, but Chan catches it anyway. His voice is teasing as he speaks. “What’s wrong, baby? Still needy?”

My embarrassment doesn’t let me answer right away, his fingers sliding down to my stomach, my navel, near my clit. I gasp when his fingers brush over the sensitive nub. He doesn’t press against it, not yet, but he hovers there, already aware of the ache building up in my core. He pulls away, turning me to face him. “Use your words, baby. I’m not gonna do anything unless you ask me nicely.”

My face flushes, heart hammering. “Ch-Chan…”

He raises an eyebrow, and I continue, teeth tugging my lips. “Please… I need you. D-Down there. Again.”

He tilts his head to the side, his eyes dark. “I don’t know, baby.”

“Please…” my voice trails off, cheeks reddening. I took a guess. I could kind of tell. He had been the one in control earlier, his eyes hooded as he looked down at me, his voice demanding. Controlling. “Please, Daddy.”

Shit. The words echo in his head as he snaps, flipping me onto my back as I gasp. His hands are on either side of my head, eyes burning with authority and control. He purrs softly. “There’s my good girl. Open your legs for me, baby. Let me take care of what’s mine.”

I open without a thought, the thrill of pleasure already fogging my brain as his mouth trails down my body. Slow, deliberate kisses make me ache with need. He’s slow, refusing to rush, making me wait. Even when I plead, cries falling from my lips, he keeps his touch controlled and precise. He just keeps me beneath him, his touch leaving me trembling.

Eventually, I find his head between my thighs, my core tightening in anticipation as he licks a long, slow, deliberate stripe. I whimper, thighs trembling as he holds me legs apart, his mouth locked with my core, slow at first, developing into deep, rhythmic strokes that make me cry out his name, a keening gasp escaping my throat.

“Can’t stay quiet?” Chan asks, laughing against my core. I whimper. “Shit, Y/n. You were all embarrassed earlier, and now look at you, dripping all over my mouth.”

My hips jerk up desperately. “P-Please-”

He holds me down, tongue fucking my core relentlessly as his fingers dig into my thighs. “Stay still. Be a good girl and take everything I give you.”

His fingers push into me, curling up slightly asI cry out. His mouth falls to my inner thighs, kissing my skin before he snarls softly. “Come for me. Now.”

His fingers push into me roughly, the orgasm hitting hard as I scream his name, hands falling to his curls, body arcing into him. Chan laughs, continuing to use his fingers as I whimper. He doesn’t let up, even when I’m shaking. He just pulls his fingers out, laughing softly. “We’re not done yet, baby. You asked for me, yeah? Daddy isn’t gonna go anytime soon.”

He flips me over, pulling me up on my knees. My body sways in his arms, lost in the haze of pleasure as he grabs his belt, securing my hands behind my back. He pushes me down, my cheek pressed against the mattress, flushing from embarrassment as he grips my ass, kneading the flesh and spreading me apart. I can barely think, the hum of arousal too loud, the belt tight around my wrists, a reminder of who I belonged to.

“Look at you,” Chan laughs, voice heavy with amusement and hunger. “My perfect little slut. All soft, spread, and dripping for Daddy. Such a good girl, yeah? Ready to be my cocksleeve?”

I whimper at the title. Chan leans in, his fingers grasping my jaw and forcing my head up to face him. “Say it. Who do you belong to, baby?”

“Y-You,” I sniffle. “Belong to you."

He slaps my ass once, his voice angry. “You, who?”

“You, Daddy,” I whimper, breath hitching. He slaps my ass again, sharp and stinging as I cry out. His hand splays across the mark, soothing it as he growls in my ears. “Louder.”

“You, Daddy!” I cry out, trembling under his chest.

His lips pull back as he purrs. “Good girl. Now tell me, do you want Daddy’s cock, baby? Does my good girl want to be full of my mark and ruined for anything else?”

I nod desperately. “Yes, yes- Please- Please, Daddy. Please.”

“No need to beg,” Chan says, chuckling darkly. “I do like it, though. You’re here to just take what I’m giving you, yeah? That’s all.”

He hums softly, as if he’s taking his time, lining his cock with my folds, teasing me as he slides in. My slick arousal clings to him, and without another second, he’s thrusting into me, hands gripping my hips as my fingers grasp at air, hands stuck behind my back.

The stretch is sudden. Perfect. Chan groans above me, the sound guttural as he fucks himself into me. “Fuck- Y/n, this pussy is mine, yeah? So fucking tight, like you were made for Daddy.”

Each stroke is harder than the last, the relentless rhythm growing louder as his hips slap against my ass. The headboard slams against the wall, the sounds obscene as I scream into the mattress, the brutal pace leaves me reeling, a hand tangled in my hair, the other splayed on my stomach as he pushes himself further into me.

“This what you needed, baby?” he growls, panting in my ear as his hips press further and further into me. “Need Daddy to ruin your tight little cunt, yeah? Yeah?”

“Yes-” I whimper. “Ah- y-yes-”

He slaps my ass, hand moving around to slap my clit right after. I whimper, legs shaking as he growls. “Yes, what?”

“Y-Yes, D-D-Daddy,” I sputter.

“You’re gonna come when I say so, understand? Not a second before, not a second after. This pussy- This cunt belongs to me,” Chan snarls.

“Yes, Daddy,” I whimper again.

He reaches around me again, rubbing tight circles over my clit with practiced precision. As my walls flutter, I bite down on the bedsheets, doing my best to desperately obey.

“Look at you,” he taunts. “So desperate, so pathetic. You want Daddy to be proud, right? You think you deserve to come?”

“I want-” my voice cracks. “I just w-wanna- I wanna be your good- please, Daddy-”

“Then beg like the good slut you are,” he snarls.

“Please,” I sob, tears blurring my eyes. “Please let me come- Daddy- I need- I need you- need to come-”

“Come for me,” he demands.

My body explodes, the orgasm ripping through me like a wildfire, shattering everything in sight. I scream his name into the bedsheets, walls spasming around him as my eyes roll back.

Chan isn’t far behind, groaning as he slams into me once, twice, and a third time before stilling. His cock twitches in me, overstimulating my sensitive walls as he empties himself deep inside of me.

He stays there, cum dripping out of me, spilling down my thighs, breath hot against my back. Gently, he pulls, out, my body crumbling as he unties my wrists, massaging the marks before pulling me into his arms, his chest heaving. “Good girl. You did so good for me. Daddy’s proud of you, okay?”

I just nod, exhausted and satisfied, lips trembling. “Just wanna make you proud.”

--

The following days after our intimate encounter is like heaven. Sunlight streams through the windows each morning, catching his sharp jaw, his glistening collarbone, and the pink fingerprints he left on my skin. He holds me tightly, praising me gently, tracing my body with the reverence that makes me want to cry.

He’s not just gentle in the privacy of the room, though, he’s softer as a whole, even in the public. He brings me tea when I’m stressed, poring over the papers my parents hand me, expecting me to figure out what the puzzle of the numbers are. Other times, I steal his hoodies, rummaging through his drawer and finding the most comfortable one.

When he sees me wearing it, his lips twitch in amusement, eyes softening slightly as he tugs on the drawstrings, ruffling my hair. I keep his hoodie on at all times, clinging onto him whenever I could. We cook together, giggling quietly in the kitchen, running out of the house down to the convenience store late after midnight.

We watch movies together, knees pressed together, reaching for the popcorn between us. He pulls me in his lap a few times, his arms comfortable around my waist, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Whenever we hear the footsteps of our parents, we pull away, my posture slouching as Chan straightens up, his eyes ahead.

I didn’t want to get used to it, but it made it hard to hope.

That’s exactly when things start to change.

It wasn’t overnight, but it was close. It started out with waking up alone, his side of the bed warm, but empty. No notes, and no goodbye. It didn’t bother me in the slightest, until it started happening over and over again. I tell myself he’s just busy. Maybe he had another job; maybe my parents were giving him more tasks.

But then he starts pulling away physically. He doesn’t fall in step next to me when we’re walking, always a few steps behind me at business galas. He pulls away from me whenever I sit next to him on the couch, and he avoids me when I try to kiss him goodnight.

“Look, it’s got your face!” I say once, showing him a small cactus I had impulsively bought. He doesn’t even crack a smile. Everything between us was growing farther apart, the heat beginning to dissipate.

By the time two weeks have passed, he’s completely avoiding me. When I’m home, he disappears, saying something about needing air. He doesn’t explain, just opens the creaking door and leaving hastily. Other times, he snaps at the little things, easily irritated, staring off at nothing. It’s like he’s a completely different man, so unlike the person who had kissed me and fucked me with an unmatched passion.

I didn’t want to be clingy, I just found different ways to remind him I was there, whenever he was ready to explain. Small notes in the pocket of his shirt, making a cup of tea in his favorite mug at night before he would try to fall asleep. He acts like he doesn’t notice, always cold, always pulling away.

And then…

--

October 3rd. It’s 3:09 AM, to be precise. The mansion is far too quiet, a stillness that makes Chan feel like he’s drowning in his skin. His back is turned to my side of the bed, brows furrowing. Suddenly, he sits upright, his eyes falling to my side of the bed.

His blood runs cold. Empty. Without another word, he slides on his slippers, every instinct on high alert. He was here to do his job, to be my bodyguard, that’s it. Chan stays close to the wall, creeping against it before he moves closer to the light spilling out of the kitchen. Carefully, he peers in.

There I am, clad in a large hoodie, giggling softly as I twirl around, humming to music only I could hear. The sleeves of his hoodie are pushed up, the hem falling to my thighs, drowning me as flour lingers on my cheeks. The oven light paints me in gold, my eyes checking on the cookies, full of anticipation.

That’s when Chan snaps.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

His voice whips through the air like a gunshot, leaving me flinching as I gasp, dropping the spatula I’m holding into the sink. I turn to him, eyes widening before I smile brightly. “O-Oh, hey. I- I didn’t mean to wake you, I was just-”

“Just what?” Chan snaps, storming into the kitchen. “Pretending to be a housewife? Baking cookies in the middle of the night like some deranged person hoping for a pat on your fucking head?”

“I…” My voice breaks off, trailing away as I look up at him, eyes wide. “I- I thought you might want something sweet. You’ve been tired, and I-”

“Give it a fucking rest,” he snaps, his voice rising. “Tired? Of course I’m fucking tired. I’m tired of being smothered, and I’m tired of pretending you’re not following me like a lost dog. I’m tired of you acting like a fucking night of sex makes you feel special.”

My breath hitches. “I never s-said-”

“You didn’t have to,” he spats. “I see it in your goddamned eyes each time I walk into the room. You’re so fucking desperate, like you’re hoping I give a shit.”

My mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. Chan continues. “I don’t care, alright? I don’t care how many cookies you bake or how many stupid smiles you give me. You’re not some precious shit I need to handle gently. You’re just noisy. You’re just some clingy, needy, delusional, shit I never asked to deal with. This is just a job. This-”

“Chan,” I whimper, tears welling in my eyes. “I’m not- I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop saying my name like it matters to you!” he roars. “You don’t fucking know me! You’ve never known me! You just made up some version of me in that little head of yours to make yourself feel better about being alone and unwanted!”

I freeze, the silence sharp enough to draw blood. He’s not even close to done. “You’re exhausting. Always so fucking present trying to do what? Useful? Cute? Worth something? You’re not. You don’t fix anything, and you don’t make things any better at all. You just fill up the rooms you enter with smoke until no one else can breathe. And you still ask why they can’t fucking breathe.”

My lower lip trembles, my hands falling to the side. I want to fight his angry words, but nothing comes. I just turn away, lips trembling as I pull out the last batch of cookies from the oven. Without another word, I leave, pausing only at the door. “I’m- I’m sorry.”

With that, I leave, slow and silent, the way people do when they know there’s no winning or surviving. Chan’s chest heaves, turning to stare at the cookies angrily. That’s when it finally clicks.

They weren’t just cookies. They’re chocolate chip cookies, shaped like hearts. A few cookies are lined up, frosting on them to spell out Happy Birthday Chan! Some of them are messier, a sign I had redone them over and over again until they were just right.

And then, a letter addressed to him, folded up in an envelope with a cute wolf sticker and a cactus drawing. His fingers fumble as he opens it.

Happy birthday, Chan!

I’m a bit scared to say it out loud, but maybe I will later. I just know you’ll wave it off and say it’s not a big deal. Lately, you’ve been a bit distant, but I know you’re just doing your job, right? But I didn’t want to go ignored, so I guess I needed to try something.

I baked some cookies for you! I hope you like them and remind you of home. You should eat them when they’re warm; I like reheating them and adding a bit of salt at the top, just so they’re soft and gooey in the middle, but hard on the outside. That’s like you, right? You always act so tough, but I know you have a really soft heart inside.

I don’t want you to think I expected anything from you. I just want you to be okay, and I want to be able to be a person you can open up to. You’ve always inspired me to be the best person I can be, and I sincerely promise I won’t be a brat, at least not to you :) 

Can we spend time together later? Only if you want to, of course. I just want to show you that someone remembered and someone cares. I may or may not have peeked at your profile on my father’s desk. But I do want to say that you deserve the best things ever. Even if you don’t believe me, even if you don’t say thank you, and even if you hate me for trying…

Happy birthday, Chan. You were born for a reason, and you really did change the world My world, at least.

Yours always, if you’ll have me,

Y/n

P.s. - I love you!

The letter trembles in his hands, his throat burning. For the first time in weeks, he wants to scream. Or cry. Or go back in time to take back the words he had so callously spit out at me. But all he hears is silence. All he sees is a tray of cookies.

All he remembers is the broken I’m sorry I had whispered. He reads the letter again. And again. And again. It wasn’t the most heartfelt letter, but it cut right into his heart. He clings onto the paper, a tear smudging the ink as he holds back a cry, staring down at it, the cookies, the note, my way of showing I cared without making a scene. I remembered.

He barely remembered what he said, only remembering the way my face changed when he spat them at me, the life draining from my eyes as I turned and fled. He wanted to believe it was better this way, and that he needed to get away before he ruined me anymore, but it was a lie.

I had kept trying, over and over again. And he only continued to ignore me. Each time he was back late, he would find me asleep on the couch, clad in his hoodie, waiting for him. Even when he got irritated at me over the smallest things, I would fix it without being asked twice.

I had wanted him to feel special. Loved. He only made me feel worthless. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything. He just trembles, grabbing a cookie and showing it down his throat, a mix of sweetness and the saltiness of tears mixing. He wants to find me, to beg and plead and everything else in between.

But what do you say to someone after you tell them they’re worth nothing?

Especially when they believed you were everything?

~~

A/N: MDNI Taglist request can be found here.

WC: 3659

Masterlist // Chapter 5 // Chapter 7

Chan hovers over me, his eyes conflicted and his breath shallow. His arms are taut, hands on either side of my head. His shoulders are tight, like he’s barely holding himself together. It’s like he has to force himself to stay frozen. Chan doesn’t touch me, not yet, atleast. But he’s close. Too close. The kind of close that makes me lose my breath and steals the air from my lungs.

My fingers stay tangled in his shirt, knuckles whitening as my lips tremble. I don’t say anything. I’m scared. I’m scared that if I speak, he’ll pull away. I can’t let that happen. Not tonight. Chan’s voice is pained, like he’s close to snapping. “Y/n. You- You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

He’s not mad, not scolding me. He’s just sad. It’s weird, seeing the worry and guilt swirl in his eyes. I shake my head, my eyes meeting his. His eyes are dark, but not in a bad way. Just full of conflict, raw and emotional. Vulnerable. I whisper softly. “I do know. I want- I know I want you. Please- don’t pull away like you’re disgusted. I can’t-”

His face falls. Just for a second. I swallow nervously as he closes his eyes, like it was painful to hear me. “You don’t disgust me. Not- Not in the slightest, okay?

His eyes open, piercing mine. “Tell me to stop.”

His voice is softer now, pleading with me. But I can’t do this. I can’t. “I don’t want to. I don’t want you to stop.”

My heart thumps in my chest, pounding in my ears. I wonder if he can hear it too. His gaze drops down to my lips, leaning in. Hesitant.

“Y/n…” he whispers. My name is like a sin and a confession all at once. I didn’t mean to do it, but it just happened. A whimper, escaping my lips, catching in my throat. I guess that’s what breaks him.

His lips meet mine.

He doesn’t rush it. It’s not rough or hungry in any sense. He’s just gentle. Careful. Kissing me like I was something fragile. He kisses me like he’s trying to remember the shape of my lips, like he’s scared I’ll disappear if he goes too hard. His hands cup my cheek, brushing a stray tear I didn’t realize had fallen.

My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer until there’s no more room between us, his free arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me in until my body arches against the hard planes of his torso.

He kisses me like he’s trying to apologize. It’s like everything else around me is dizzy, his kiss grounding me. I can feel everything disappearing - the distance and the walls he built to keep me out. His mouth parts, his tongue brushing against the seam of my lips, asking for permission.

I give it to him slowly, hesitant yet surrendering, giving myself to him fully. He tastes like spearmint and hesitation, full of things he won’t allow himself to say. Our chests press together, the heat of his skin seeping into my skin. I want more. I want all of him, and I want the version of him between the cracks - vulnerable, protective, and afraid of how much he feels.

Even now, he’s holding back, his hands falling from my skin and clenching the bedsheets rather than me. He pulls away, our lips swollen. His forehead meets mine, his eyes wild as I gasp for breath, his lips trembling. “This changes everything.”

“I know,” I say, my voice shaking. “I know.”

“I don’t know if I can give you what you want,” Chan whispers. I whisper back. “I’m not asking for perfect. I’m asking for you.”

His eyes close again for a second, jaw tightening like he’s contemplating something within himself before his eyes open again. This time, when his lips graze mine, it’s a promise and a goodbye wrapped in one.

I press my lips closer against him, whimpering softly. His hands find my waist, reaching up under my tube top, brushing the underside of my breast. I gasp softly, his kisses trailing down to my jaw, my neck, sucking on my collarbone. I whimper, moaning softly as my eyes close, lost in the feeling of his love. One of his hands fall to my thigh, pushing up the miniskirt I’m wearing, tracing my inner thigh.

He’s everywhere at once, hands moving up to my tube top, brushing the underside of my breast again. Gently, he tugs the tube down, hands gentle, exposing the top of my breast. My chest heaves, his fingers skimming over the soft flesh until-

“Wait.” My hands press flat against his chest, sudden and trembling, eyes wide open, no longer in pleasure but startled. Chan freezes instantly, pulling back from my skin, resting on his elbows as he whispers gently. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna touch you unless you want me to, okay? Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

I sit up quickly, turning away from him as I hug myself, covering my chest as my tube top slips down around my waist. Chan doesn’t say anything else, just scoots closer to me, behind me as his hand gently rests on my back. Patient. I take a deep breath, pressing my chest to my knees. “I’ve never- I’ve never done this before.”

“Y/n-” Chan starts.

“I mean- I’ve never had sex before,” I whisper, eyes squeezing shut. “I’ve never let anyone touch me or-”

“You don’t have to explain,” Chan says gently. “You don’t-”

“I’ve never kissed anyone either,” I add, the words tumbling out in a confession, slipping from my mouth. “That was my first kiss. With you.”

Chan blinks once, stunned into silence. “You…”

“I know,” I whisper, laughing brokenly as I wipe away my tears desperately. “Shocking, yeah? The bratty heiress has never kissed someone before. It’s pathetic.”

“Hey, look at me,” Chan says, tilting his head to try and catch my gaze. I keep my eyes down, turning away from him. Chan continues. “You’re not pathetic, okay? You don’t owe me any explanation, okay? I’m- I was just surprised. I don’t think less of you, not at all.”

I sniffle softly. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to- to ruin things. I don’t want you to- to think I’m a child. I-”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Chan says, cutting me off quietly. “You were just being honest, and you’re just telling me the truth. That means more than anything that will happen tonight, yeah?”

I hesitate, chewing on my lower lip before I allow the words to slip out. “Have you done it before?”

Chan freezes before speaking slowly. “You mean sex?”

I nod, still unable to look at him, fingers tightening their grip on my elbows. I was bracing myself, waiting for the answer to break me.

“Yes,” Chan says softly, his voice honest. “I’ve… yeah. I have had sex before. A- A few times.”

I flinch, shrinking into myself as I nod. “They were probably confident, right? They probably knew what to do and what to say and-”

“They weren’t you,” Chan interrupts, voice steady yet soft. “None of it matters unless it’s you.”

I look up at him, sniffling softly. “If I gave myself to you, would you stay? Would I be… Would I be worth something?”

Chan’s face twists into something broken and soft at the same time, pulling my hand into his. “Don’t say that. Don’t diminish yourself like that, okay? You’re already worth everything to me. You don’t need to do anything for me to care.”

“But you’ve done this before,” I say, voice cracking. “And I haven’t. I didn’t know if I was allowed to stop. I didn’t know if I would make you leave.”

“I’m not going to leave you just for saying no,” he whispers gently.

“But I didn’t even say no,” I whisper back, my voice cracking. “I let it get that far, and I let you touch me, and I- I got scared.”

His face falls every so slightly, but I continue. “I’m just- I’m scared of being wanted. I-”

Chan pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me, shielding me from everything else. My tears soak through his shirt, but he doesn’t care, my voice cracking on a sob. “I ruined this, didn’t I? I-”

“No,” Chan says softly. “No. I’m here, okay? You’re safe with me. Always.”

--

I don’t remember what happened after. I just find myself falling asleep in his arms, and waking up there. My eyes find the clock. 5:26 AM. I whisper softly. “Chan?”

Chan shifts slightly, eyes fluttering opening as he tucks the blanket further up to my chin. “Morning.”

His voice is rough, but tender. My cheeks flush. “Are we still okay?”

“Of course we are,” Chan says softly. “You fell asleep. Do you want to take a shower?”

I nod, sitting up. When the blanket falls, I gasp, covering my bare chest. Chan looks away immediately, his ears red. “I- I swear- You fell asleep with your top… down. I didn’t want to move you. I didn’t touch you. I promise.”

I nod, quickly getting up. “Yeah. I’ll- I’ll be right back.”

And so, I take my shower, brushing my teeth to rid myself of the last bits of alcohol. Chan takes a shower after, brushing his teeth as well before he joins me back on the bed. My cheeks flush as I take in his natural scent, pressing myself against him. He murmurs softly into my hair. “You okay?”

I nod. And then… “I want to t-try.”

Chan freezes, his arms stiffening. For a second, I'm scared I messed up, but Chan just pulls away slightly, eyes searching mine. “I need you to be sure, Y/n.”

“I’m sure,” I whisper. I swallow hard. “I’m sure. As long as it’s with you.”

“If you need me to stop,” Chan whispers. “Say red. If it hurts, tell me immediately. If- Talk to me, okay? If anything goes wrong, tell me. Nothing is too small for me to know, and nothing is too stupid for me to know, yeah?”

I nod, my eyes meeting his as my chest heaves. He kisses me softly, his lips gentle as I wrap my arms around him. His hands travel my body, mapping every inch of me as his lips move down the side of my mouth and along my jaw. I whimper softly as he marks my neck, his teeth grazing my skin as I gasp, eyes wide, his tongue soothing the sting before he continues.

His hands gently push my shirt up, my upper body moving so he can pull it off of me. He leaves me in my bra, tugging my pajama shorts down and leaving me in the matching lace panties. He takes a deep breath, voice low. “Fuck, Y/n. You look like a fucking goddess.”

He pulls off his clothes, a blend of elegance and desperation. When I see his size, my eyes widen, flying back up to his eyes as he laughs softly, his hands stroking his length, hot and heavy in his hands. Gently, his naked form settles over mine, still clad in my undergarments. My hands explore his back, anchoring him to me as he nips as the straps of my bra. As his fingers trail over the lace, I let out a soft moan, arching into his touch.

Chan reaches around me, unclasping the bra and letting the lace fall away to reveal the soft curves of my chest. He inhales sharply, eyes darkening as his hands cup a breast, running his thumb over my nipple, watching in fascination as it hardens. “Gosh, Y/n. You’re beautiful.”

He leans down, pressing a kiss to my breast, the other groped at by his hand. His mouth surrounds a nipple, sucking and lapping at it, giving it his full attention before biting down softly. I whimper, gasping at the spark of pleasure shooting through my veins.

Chan chuckles softly, moving to my other breast as his hands slide down to my panties. I whimper as he delves beneath the cloth, finding the ache between my legs as he strokes my folds gently. I let out a needy moan, lips pressing together immediately in embarrassment. Chan just smiles, stroking my clit as he murmurs softly. “Don’t hide your pretty moans from me, baby. Let me hear you.”

My hips buck up as I gasp, his thumb pressing on my clit suddenly. My head falls back as he slips a finger inside, doing so slowly, his eyes locked on mine in concentration, making sure I wasn’t uncomfortable in any way. As he begins to pump his finger in and out, my hips buck against his hand, a needy whimper falling from my lips as he continues to add more of his digits, moving fast and curling inside me to make me see stars.

“You’re so tight,” Chan murmurs, his voice low. Raspy. “Gonna make sure you’re prepared for my cock, yeah? You’re gonna be a good girl for me and listen, yeah?”

I nod, but he’s not satisfied, his fingers stopping for a moment as I let out a pained cry. “I need to hear you answer me, Y/n.”

“Y-Yes,” I gasp, desperation coloring my tones. “Y-Yes. Gonna- Gonna be a good girl for you.”

His teeth flash into a dangerous smile. “Good girl.”

He goes back to pumping his fingers in and out of me, his teeth tugging on his lips as his thumb presses against my clit, his other hand tearing off my panties. My hands reach for something - his back, the bedsheets, his arms.

My eyes catch onto his size again, a desperate whimper escaping my throat as my hand moves to touch it. Chan gasps, jerking softly at the feeling, his hips moving with my hand as he continues to fuck me with his fingers. His fingers move faster, thumb moving in tighter circles as my grip tightens on his cock, hot and heavy in my hands. “Shit, Y/n. You’re gonna make me lose control, baby. Not gonna last long.”

“Chan-” I whimper, crying out his name. “P-Please- Can’t-”

I feel myself tensing, coils of pleasure winding in my core as my walls clench around his fingers, long and thick. That’s exactly when he pulls away, his eyes dark as he pushes his fingers into my mouth. “Suck.”

I listen, too loss in pain and pleasure as I cry, shaking my head desperately at the loss. When his fingers pull out of my mouth, I sniffle. “No- N-No, please-”

“Sh,” Chan says softly. “Patience, baby. Patience.”

His eyes are dark, his fingers falling to my waist as he holds me in place. “Tell me you want this, Y/n. Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” I whisper. His cock twitches against my inner thigh, my core aching and leaking. He pushes into me. Just the tip, teasing me and leaving me aching for more as he pulls out, even when he’s barely able to hold on. “Chan, please- I- I need you. I want you.”

That’s all Chan needs to hear. Slowly, he pushes in, just the tip, again. This time, when he pulls out, he pushes in again, going a little further. His arms are tense, like he’s holding himself back from slamming his hips into me. I clench around the length he gives me, crying out his name. “Ch-Chan-”

He pulls me up for a second, slipping a pillow below my lower back. As soon as he sets me down again, I let out a strangled scream, his name falling from my lips as I cry out. His hands brush away a stray tear. “Breathe for me, baby. You’re doing good for me, yeah? Such a good girl for me.”

I whimper at his praise, walls clenching. Slowly, he eases the rest of himself into me, all the way. My eyes fly open, wide with fear as he holds me in his arms, his forehead pressing against me. A pained whimper escapes me, pleasure and pain settling in my core at the sensation.

“Breathe with me,” Chan says again. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay.”

I take a deep breath, my muscles tense around him as I sniffle. Chan presses a kiss against my lips, his voice soft. “I’m going to move when you’re ready, okay? The pain will go away slowly once I start moving, but only when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut before I meet his gaze again. He nods, kissing me again softly, swallowing my cries as he moves, hips rolling in a slow and deep rhythm. Each thrust sends a bigger jolt of pleasure through me, my body stretching to accommodate his large size.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he groans, lips against my mouth, full of pleasure. “Fuck, you feel so fucking tight and- shit. It’s like you were made for me.”

I whimper as his hands fall to my ass, squeezing the round globes before moving all over my body, his touch fleeting and leaving me wanting. My spine arches up again, the obscene sounds of skin slapping skin filling the room. I lose myself in the sensation, lights flickering in my vision as I cry out.

His hand falls to my clit, finding the sensitive nub, throbbing under his touch, as he rubs tight, quick circles once again. I cry out, head falling back in a silent scream as I cry out his name, core tightening as I claw at the bedsheets below me.

Chan leans down, his teeth finding my neck as he moves faster. The slap of skin against skin mixes with the creaking bed frame, our moans and cries of pleasure falling into a beautiful harmony. I cling to Chan, pulling him deeper against me. “Chan- P-Please- Harder- Can’t-”

He growls, eyes flashing with hunger as he thrusts himself harder into me, pulling my lower back up. The new angle allows himself to kiss my cervix, hitting that secret spot in me with each drive of his hips. His hands are slick with my arousal, moving up to palm my breast, kneading the flesh roughly. As his fingers pinch and roll my nipple, the stimulation forces me to cry out as pleasure continues to shoot through me.

I lean up, kissing him desperately, our tongues tangling in a frenzy of filth and desperation. Chan pulls away gently, a contrast to his darkened eyes, his voice rough as he snaps, commanding. “Touch yourself. I want to see you touch yourself while I fuck you, Y/n.”

My eyes widen slightly, cheeks flushing at his demand. The throb of my clit and the sensation of his cock against my core pushes away any embarrassment, outweighing any other semblance of control. My hands reach down, fingers desperately finding the sensitive nub. His own hands cover mine, guiding my fingers as I touch myself, fingers finding the sensitive flesh, moving in time with his thrusts.

Chan just stares down at me, heavy-lidded and hungry as he continues pounding his cock into me, thick and long. The sight of this - me touching myself, lost in the pleasure, pushes him to continue. He leans down again, kissing me before sucking on my nipple, biting down and sucking hard, dominating me in every sense of the word.

I move faster, fingers numb as his thrusts get harder, his chest heaving as the both of us gasp for breath. I could feel myself losing control, his fingers taking over mine as he rubs my clit harder, efforts doubling as his hips slam into mine, the headboard pushing against the wall.

“Ch-Chan-” I cry out, unable to say anything else. “Chan-”

“Come for me, baby,” Chan urges, teeth gritted. “Shit- Baby, come for me like a good girl you are.”

That’s what does it. My orgasm crashes over me, inner walls clamping on his cock like a silken vice. Wave after wave of ecstasy courses through me, my body twitching as I writhed beneath him. He doesn’t let me go, just holds me hips down securely as he continues pounding into me desperately. I cry out, screaming his name in desperation.

He doesn’t stop, fucking me through my climax. The feeling of me coming undone around him… Fuck. With that, he comes as well.

“Y/n-!”

His buries himself to the hilt, hips twitching as he rides out his own release, scalding ropes of his seed painting my womb. Neither of us move as I whimper softly, his body falling forward onto his elbows as the both of us catch our breaths.

“Chan,” I whimper, lips trembling as tears well in my eyes. He gently shushes me, kissing my tears away as he whisper softly. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m going to pull out, yeah? It’s going to be okay.”

I cry out, as he does so, chest heaving at the sensation. “There we go. Good girl, baby.”

At his words, I squirt. Chan freezes, eyes wide as a mix of my pleasure and his ooze out right after. His fingers push into me again, me gasping in surprise as my thighs tremble, pressing close. “N-No- Chan-”

His eyes soften, immediately removing himself before pulling me into his arms, his voice soft. “I’m sorry, baby. Just gonna hold you now, okay?”

I nod, too tired to say anything else, my head resting on his chest. As the room cools from the heat of our passion, Chan traces patterns on my skin, his voice low. “I love you, Y/n.”

“I never thought you would be the one to say it first,” I tease, exhausted. He just smiles back. “You gonna keep me waiting?”

I shake my head, pressing a kiss to his mouth, eyes fluttering shut. “I love you, Chan.”

~~

A/N: Taglist request here!

Pre-Warning - Chapter 6 will be SMUT, please do NOT click on the link ESPECIALLY if you are a minor.

WC: 3705

Masterlist // Chapter 4 // Chapter 6

Y/N’s POV

It had been a few days, almost a week, since that day at the dinner party. My parents had questioned me relentlessly, asking me why Chan had been carrying me in his arms. I had just shrugged it off, mumbling something about having felt ill. They had, thankfully, bought it.

Now, a week later, I find my stomach grumbling. I’m seated next to Chan on my bed, nestled close to him as I read a book, his hand playing with a stray lock of my hair. He chuckles softly. “Hungry?”

I pause before nodding. Without warning, I sit up, gasping softly as I grin. “Chan! Can we go to that convenience store nearby? I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise.”

The clock had just passed two in the morning, Chan shifting to sit up straight as he laughs softly. “Okay, fine. But let’s be quick. And careful. And quiet. And-”

“I get it!” I say, giggling softly as I follow him. He grabs his jacket, opening the front door softly and letting me go past him first. The night was cool, the air crisp and refreshing, full of a soft lavender scent from the front garden. Streetlamps lined the neighborhood, soft haloes casting themselves as we walked. We don’t say much, just me in his hoodie, his usual neat attire fluttering in the air. Everything around us was almost hushed, the world holding its breath, as if keeping us a secret from the eyes of everyone else.

When we reach the store, the bell rings softly, piercing the silence as the cashier greets us. Without waiting, I grab a basket, running down the aisles as I grab snack after snack. Chan sighs in amusement, eyes twinkling as he grabs the basket from me, holding it as I continue through the aisles. I point to a snack, my laughter bubbling through my chest as I smile at Chan. “Do you want anything? Maybe chips?”

“I think I’ll just take your snacks,” Chan answers, laughing softly. My eyes glint with mischief as they land on the ramen he never ate. Too spicy, he had said once. “How about Buldak?”

“Y/n!” he says, shaking his head as he pulls me away from the aisle. “No spicy ramen. Anything but that.”

His cheeks flush as I laugh harder, the store like our secret playground as we head to the counter. As the cashier scans our snacks, I lean my head against his shoulder again, yawning softly. He reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering for a second too long. My eyes catch his gaze, his ears flushed as everything else fell away. His eyes fall to my lips, his own twitching before he suddenly pulls away, fists clenching around the bags of food.

After paying, I thank the cashier, my voice quiet as Chan nods, following me out the door and back home. The both of us walk side by side as we chatter about everything and nothing at all. Back in the mansion, I pour out the pineapple juice, handing him his glass as he heats up the non-spicy ramen we had settled on.

“Chan?” I ask. He hums in response, placing a cookie on my plate. “Do you ever get sick of watching over me?”

For a second, I feel like I may have ruined the moment, Chan’s silence heavy before he answers, a slow breath escaping his lips. He drops his chopsticks, staring down at his hands before looking away, his eyes dark. “Of course not. Especially not when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” I whisper, my breath catching in my throat. He doesn’t answer. He just finds my hand under the table, holding onto me with the gentleness that had come familiar.

I smile, soft and genuine before leaning into him again. The rest of the night passes by, his usual stiff posture softening out as we eat all the evidence of our late night adventure. When we head back to bed after getting ready, he holds me in his arms, just like he had been doing every other night.

--

I guess I was too hopeful.

It started out small, after that convenience store run. Chan had stayed consistent, holding me in his arms each night, walking beside me, tucking behind the strand of hair that always strayed from the rest of my hair.

And then, he pulled away. He would mumble excuses, telling me he had something to do late at night. I would end up hugging the wolf plushie to my chest, falling asleep alone, while Chan would slip in hours later, settling on his side of the bed. He would sleep, back turned to me.

As for the times we would be out, Chan fell in step behind me, rather than beside me. It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried to reach out. I would catch his gaze, eyes wide, but the warmth that I grew familiar with was replaced with a brittle chill. Each time I spoke to him, he would avoid me, his voice carrying a hardness I didn’t know existed.

“Chan,” I say, finally cornering him in the kitchen one day. I try to reach out, but he jerks away coldly. “Chan- What’s wrong? You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’m fine,” Chan answers, his voice cold. I flinch at the tone. “Chan, you’re not fine. You’re- I want to help. Did I do something? I-”

“You don’t get it, do you?” he snaps, voice sharp. “I don’t need you hovering over me all the time. Maybe you just don’t understand the pressure I feel when I’m supposed to be protecting you, alright? So just leave me alone.”

“Chan,” I whisper, my name falling from me like a prayer. “I’m not your enemy.”

He just laughs, turning away. “Just… give me some space, Y/n. I need to… I need space.”

A lump in my throat rises, unable to speak. My tongue felt too heavy. Too dry. “Please. Don’t shut me out. Not now.”

“Maybe I want to shut you out. Maybe I want you to shut me out,” Chan answers. His words are heavy, filled with a raw pain and anger I hadn’t spotted before. That night, as I lay down beside him, his body stiff as he looks up at the ceiling, I whisper softly. “I miss the person you were, you know. The one who was laughing with me just a week ago. The person who held me close and cared.”

“That guy’s gone,” Chan says. He turns away, back facing me. “Forever. You should… You should listen to your parents, Y/n. I’m just your bodyguard, nothing else. You need to find someone who can provide the lifestyle you want.”

“Don’t say that,” I say, pushing myself up on an elbow. “You know that’s not- I don’t want to lose you. Why won’t you let me in?”

Tears fall down the side of my face as Chan keeps himself turned away, his voice harsh. “You don’t want me, Y/n. You want the idea of me. Besides, this isn’t professional of me, Y/n. You deserve better.”

I curl into myself at his words, shaking my head desperately albeit he couldn’t see. “No. That’s not- That’s not true. You don’t- You don’t understand-”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

My lips tremble as I grab the wolf plushie sitting between us, my arms heavy as I hold it close. I didn’t know what was wrong, but his words ring in my head. You should listen to your parents, Y/n. I’m your bodyguard, nothing else. You need to find someone who can provide the lifestyle you want.

What had my parents done?

--

“I’m going to the club Friday night,” I say. I was sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor, a notebook open as I scribble in it with my pen. The lamp casted over my clothes, all scattered on my bed as I begin planning for the club night already. Chan stands against the wall, his arms crossed as he glances at me.

“The club? Why?” he asks, his voice sharp. Accusing. I shrug, better be honest than not, right? “I want to just let go, you know? Things haven’t been the same between us. I want to breathe a little.”

“That’s reckless,” Chan immediately retorts. “You don’t need to be somewhere like that. You could do anything else. You could go out for a walk, or-”

“I’m not asking for permission,” I interrupt, eyes meeting his angrily. “I’m just telling you, so you know where we’ll be.”

A jaw tenses, eyes flickering with something dark before he answers. “Are you trying to prove something, Y/n?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Maybe I just want you to see me the way you like me. Me as me.”

“What if I don’t want to see that?” the words slip from his lips before he can stop them. My face falls for a split second, my face turning away before I answer. “Then you’re the one losing out.”

His gaze drops, looking away before he speaks, his words stinging. “If you say so.”

I stare at him, the silence louder than any argument. Without another word, I push past him. Whatever. I didn’t need him. I was fine before him, I would be fine without him again.

--

Boom. I let out a cheer as the bass drops, music pounding in my chest as I jump with the crowd, swirling lights flashing against the wall, the neon hues making me feel dizzy and excited all at once. I push my way through the crowd, finding the bar and grabbing a shot of tequila before downing it, my throat burning as I laugh.

I spot Chan, of course, who is always standing to the side, his narrowed eyes giving me enough insight on what he was thinking about me in the nightclub. I make my way to him, hips swaying. I was wearing something simple enough. A tight tube top barely holding on, and a miniskirt that swayed with each step.

“Channie,” I coo, giggling softly, my face flushed red. “What would you do if you weren’t a bodyguard?”

He stiffens at the nickname, eyes flickering to mine as a shadow falls over his face. My question was simple enough. Casual. But it seemed to hang in the air. He looks away, his voice falling flat. “Why?”

I just blink, reeling at his tone before shrugging, my voice pushing. “I don’t know. I’m just curious. You’re always so… focused. And on task. I wanted to know if there were other things you wanted to do.”

“Does it matter?” he suddenly snaps, his back straightening as he turns on me. His voice was too loud, pounding in my ears as I take a step back. “Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper, my voice trembling. He still hears me. “I thought- I just want to know you better. Behind the whole bodyguard thing. I just want to know who you are when you’re pretending not to care.”

“Well, I don’t want you to know,” he answers, his voice icy. He pauses before speaking, his voice quiet. I almost missed it. “Don’t ask me things like that. Not when I’m trying not to care.”

My lower lip trembles. “Chan- why are you being like this?”

He just laughs. “Go back to clubbing, Y/n. That’s what you’re here for, right?”

I stare at him before I nod in defeat. Without so much as another word, I turn and leave, the distance between us louder than the music. The burn of the tequila in my throat resurfaces, and somehow, I want that pain to come back. I down shot after shot of tequila, ignoring the burning gaze of Chan’s eyes on the back of my head. It was time to let loose.

I spot him immediately, a handsome stranger. Tall, confident, and a charming smile. He catches my glance, nodding as I smile back. It was easy letting her take over me. The girl who bit her lip, swaying to the rhythm as the music washed over her. My movements are fluid, each step bringing me closer to the man and farther from Chan. Chan, who’s still watching, still glaring at the back of my head. I catch his gaze as I dance, his eyes annoyed. Not jealous. Not angry. Just annoyed.

My chest tightens, and I force myself to look away. To focus on the man dancing with me. He smiles, leaning down as his hands find my waist. I move them lower to my hips, giggling as my fingers curl on his shoulders. The man leans in, lips brushing my ears. I don’t hear him, but I laugh anyway. The feeling was thrilling, my body turning as his chest presses against my back.

I throw my head back, his nose buried at the side of my neck as I grind against him, desperate to feel something. To feel whole. Wanted. I throw Chan a glance, his fists curled. When he sees me staring, he lets out a dry laugh. My lips twitch before I turn away, facing the man again.

As the song reaches the peak, I fall against the man, clinging onto him as his hips rock forward slightly. I feel his desire, a soft groan escaping his lips as I feed into it. I feel disgusted, yet thrilled. Maybe Eunhyuk wasn’t wrong. Maybe I was a cock hungry whore. I feel the alcohol getting to me, my brain fuzzy. The man’s leading me to the exit. I follow him without another thought.

That’s when I feel someone pull me back harshly, my feet stumbling as I gasp. Chan. Before I can pull away, he’s dragging me outside, wrenching my arm as he turns to face me, furious. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Why are you-u s-s-swearrring a-at me-eee- heehee,” I giggle, my words slurred.

Chan’s voice is full of venom as he snaps at me, his words harsh. “You look fucking pathetic, Y/n. Do you even know what you’re doing? Flirting with some stranger who gives you the lightest bit of attention. You really like tossing your bodyguard aside when it’s convenient, right? When you’re feeling bored?”

I force myself to stand tall, pulling away from him weakly as my voice shakes. Still fierce, though. “I’m not your t-toy, Chaa-Ch-Chan. I’m not- n-not gonna b-be your burrrdenn.”

“Burden?” Chan sneers, his voice full of disgust as he looks down at my flushed face, red from the alcohol. “You’re just a spoiled little brat who doesn’t know how the real world works. You’re always throwing some fucking tantrums, but you expect me to back you in every single argument. Guess what, Y/n. I’m not here to be a fucking caretaker, alright? I’m here to make sure you’re being safe. Clearly, you don’t know what that damn word means.

“You keep- You keep destroying me,” I say, my lower lip shaking. “You s-said- You said I wasn’t weak, but you’re still- you’re mean. You don’t know what else to be. Yelling at me isn’t going to fix m-me.”

His jaw tightens, tone dropping into a growl. “Fuck it, Y/n. Maybe you deserve to be broken. Maybe, for once, you need to know how everyone feels around you. Maybe it’s time for you to be the one that feels like nothing.”

“I-” My voice falters as I look up at him. Tears well in my eyes as I sniffle, already stumbling away. “No, Ch-Chan. Maybe it was stupid for me to ever think you would want me. Love me.”

I pull away completely, shaking at the anger in his eyes. My tears spill over. “Maybe I’m better off a-alone. Yeah.”

The words are sharp despite the tremble in my voice. I don’t bother looking back. I just needed to run. To escape. To get away from the man who had gone from cold to warm to ice in just a few months.

–

Shit. Chan had reached into his inner pocket, immediately grabbing his phone to track my location. That’s when he had felt my phone. He was left there, alone, no tracker on me, and no way to locate me. Without another thought, he races in the direction I had gone off in, but it was too late. I’m nowhere to be found.

It’s already midnight. I’m supposed to be at home, safe in bed, asleep in… in his arms. Maybe. Chan shakes his head, dispelling the thought immediately as he continues racing through the city. He visits all the hole-in-the-wall nightclubs I knew. I’m nowhere to be found.

“Hey,” Chan says, grabbing a man outside another club, the man grumbling as he stumbles, clearly intoxicated. “Have you seen a girl wearing a tube top and a miniskirt?”

The man laughs, his eyes sparkling. “Looks like allllllll the womeeeen I lo-loveee.”

Chan lets go of him in disgust, turning away to find the car. Without another word, he drives through the streets, looking for me at every corner. Fuck, fuck, fuck. If he couldn’t find me, he would be dead. With a half scream tearing from his throat, he slams a fist on the dashboard, voice trembling. “Y/n. God, you fucking- why did you run?”

The worst-case scenarios ran in his head. What if I was hurt? Lost? Drunk and vulnerable on the streets. Each image twists in his head, getting darker than the last. His instincts are on fire, surging like a wildfire. He needed to find me. He had to. Chan swerves into a parking lot, slamming the brakes and pushing open the door furiously. His footsteps are heavy as he turns on his phone flashlight, sidewalk cracks illuminated.

That’s when he hears it. A carefree laugh, light and unmistakably mine. Without another thought, he runs to the direction of the sound, stopping short when he finds me. I’m seated on the bench, hair pulled down, mascara running down my face. My cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, eyes sparkling with joy as I giggle, swaying to some music only I heard.

“Y/n.” Chan sits besides me on the bench, his voice steady. Cold. “Why did you run? You scared the hell out of me.”

“Scared? Of me?” I look up, giggling harshly as I hiccup. “Haha! You should be scared of me!”

And then, suddenly, I burst into tears, my hands shaking as I try to wipe them away, the drops uncontrollable. Chan’s jaw tenses, trying to keep his icy composure together, his voice flat. “Y/n. Stop it. Pull yourself together.”

I hiccup, laughing through my tears before I speak, words still a slurred mess. “I’m not crying! I’m just… emotional! An emotional mess, hahaha. You don’t get it!”

My head falls against his dramatically, giggling again. Chan just stays still, the ice in his chest cracking ever so slightly. “Y/n. You are drunk, and you are acting like a mess. I get it.”

I shake my head, hiccuping again before speaking, blabbering nonsense.

“I’m a mess!” I declare, giggling wildly. “A mess! But- But you’re the cold one. The cold… The cold, mean one. Why can’t- Why can’t you h-hold me like b-b-before?”

Chan’s face falls, hesitating before holding me, his voice falling to a low pitch, wobbling ever so slightly. “Because- Sometimes being cold is the way I know how to protect you.”

“You know… You know I’m all of yours, right?” I whisper, no longer giggling as I sniffle. “All of me.”

Chan doesn’t say anything, just holds me in his arms, carrying me with a practiced strength. He holds me bridal style, one arm under my back, the other under my knees. It was easy for him to carry me. I was only heavy from the things I was holding in me, now spilling out with messy sobs and soft hiccups. My head falls against his chest, hair tickling his neck, filling his nose with my shampoo and a sharp tang of beer.

“I’ve got you,” Chan murmurs, his voice steady. He heads to the car, the cool air surrounding us. In his arms, she was warm and fragile, more delicate than I let him know, even in my wildest moments. Chan’s chest twists at the moment; I was so… unguarded. Human. Real.

When he reaches the car, I reach for his twisting it in my fingers as I sniffle. “Don’t put me down. Please.”

Chan’s lips press into a thin line, stopping himself from scolding me as he gently removes my hands from his shirt. “Come one, Y/n. Let me drive you home.”

--

The door to my room clicks shut behind us, a soft finality despite the tension lingering in the air. Chan lays me down on the bed, his calm demeanor a contrast to his panicked state just hours ago. I grab a pillow, throwing it at him. He catches it easily, eyes furrowing as I sit up. “Y/n, get down. You need to sleep.”

I grab another pillow, throwing it to Chan with another sharp giggle. Chan lets it hit him this time, sighing. “Y/n, what is it?”

I move to stand, but Chan stops me. “Y/n. No. You’re not a model of logic and grace right now. Don’t even think about standing-”

“I can stand!” I laugh, giggling as I get up. I stumble, gasping as I catch myself on his shirt. Chan catches me, holding me steadily. “You’re going to hurt yourself, Y/n.”

“You already hurt me,” I whisper. My hands fist in his shirt. Before he can pull away, I stumble back, yanking him down onto the bed with me. He falls forward, stumbling with me, face inches from mine.

For a second, neither of us say anything, his face inches from mine, chest heaving. He pushes himself up, but I pull him back, my eyes desperate, voice breaking. “N-No. Chan- please. Don’t leave me like this. Not- Not tonight.”

I sniffle softly. “Please? I- I want to matter to you even when you’re not being paid to care.”

~~

A/N: Tumblr taglist requests at the top of Chapter 1!!

WC: 3812

Masterlist // Chapter 3 // Chapter 5

When the dinner is over, I slip away quietly, edging towards the back door leading to the garden outside. The music and champagne continue to buzz, humming behind me like white noise. Just when I’m about to wrench open the sliding door, a voice stops me. Minjun. “Y/n.”

I turn to him slowly, his hand wrapping around mine before I can slip away again. I try to pull back. Really. But his grip is too tight. Too firm. I clear my throat, looking away uncomfortably as Minjun pulls me closer with a smirk. “There you are, Y/n. I thought you were avoiding me on purpose. You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

My face smoothes out, my lips keeping themselves neutral. “Of course not. I was just… getting some air.”

Minjun’s laugh isn’t pleasant, the sound not quite reaching his eyes. His eyes, which had no shame, roaming my body as his gaze drops to the slit that cut through my upper thigh. I swallow nervously as his eyes move higher to my neckline, the silk suddenly hugging me a little too tight. “Yeah… of course. The dinners are stiff as hell, hm? But you look… shit, Y/n. You look like art. This dress… feels like it was made just for you. Fit for… you know.”

“My mother picked it,” I mumble, shifting uncomfortably.

“Ah, did she?” Minjun asks, his lips curling into what looks like a sneer to me. “She has excellent taste, then. But honestly, it seems like you were the one who chose it, Y/n. It’s like you know what it’s doing. Look at that… Look at the way the dress is hugging your waist. It would be criminal not to notice.”

He finally lets go of my hand. I welcome the freedom, only to curl into myself as his fingers slowly trail down my arm. I do my best not to flinch. Minjun continues talking, a low murmur more creepy than intimate. “I saw you earlier, you know. That little smirk and the way you walk. You’re not like anyone else, are you? You’re untamed, Y/n. You have a fire that makes you unafraid to bite.”

“You’re imagining things,” I answer sharply, taking a step back.

“Am I?” Minjun asks, his eyes darkening as he smirks, taking another step closer. “Come on, don’t pretend, Y/n. I know what this is. You know, everyone knows. You hate this life, yeah? Fake smiles… meaningless handshakes… You don’t want to be bought and controlled like a puppet. You want someone who wants you. A little messed up, a little wild… Open-minded. Someone who won’t care about the rules.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap, trying to move around him. His arm darts out, blocking me from moving. Minjun continues, his voice low. Rough. “You want someone to want you, Y/n. That’s what I’m saying. Not for a fucking family name or a fucking brand deal. Just you. Your mouth and… you know. That body.”

My eyes fly up to his, shock coloring my pupils. “Excuse me?”

Minjun leans in closer, his breath against my cheek, his lips brushing my ear. I recoil. “I can be that for you, Y/n. No strings, no drama… just a good night. You want it, don’t you? Let me take you off the edge. Let me take you and-”

“Get away from me,” I gasp, stumbling back. “S-Stop it.”

His hand finds my waist, drifting lower as he chuckles. I stay frozen, unable to move as his hand brushes the hem of my dress lightly. Too lightly. It’s like he’s trying to see how far he can go. I whimper as his fingers dip under the edge of the fabric, his fingers running up my inner thigh again. My eyes dart around, trying to locate Chan. Shit. He had been dragged off by the security team to discuss some camera not working. Hurry up, Chan.

Minjun continues, teeth flashing as he laughs at the twist in my face. “What’s wrong, Y/n? Are you not wearing anything under this dress… or maybe… you wanted someone to find out?”

I slap his hand away, chest heaving. “Get away- Don’t touch me.”

My eyes flash with fear, face twisted in a mix of disgust and vulnerability. He laughs. “Oh, relax, Y/n. Stop being so innocent. You’re wearing a dress like this and you don’t think anyone is going to notice? Gosh, Y/n. That bodyguard you have is also staring each time you turn around.”

“But he’s someone who wouldn’t touch you, right? And that’s not what you want. You want someone who isn’t going to ask for permission.” At the look on my face, Minjun’s eyes soften mockingly. “Oh, I’m not asking for anything heavy like marriage. Not any bullshit commitment. Relationships are boring. But I could give you something else. A quick fuck, yeah? A little escape. You’re aching for something that feels good. A night where you don’t have to pretend. Just us - no names, no cameras, no parents.”

“Stop it,” I whisper again, my voice trembling. “Stop- I don’t-”

“Your body’s saying yes even when your mouth is saying no,” Minjun says softly. “You don’t want to be handled like glass, do you? You want someone who can match you. I can do it; I like my girls complicated. We could go right now; there’s a bedroom upstairs. Let me just take you there, yeah? Bend you over and-”

“Minjun.” My body pulls away as I hear Chan’s voice, slicing through the air like a blade, body pushing through the crowd in anger as he wrenches me back. Minjun tenses at Chan’s lethal tone, straightening up. He glances lazily at Chan, the corners of his mouth twisting up. “I was just chatting. No need to be sensitive. We’re all adults here.”

Chan pushes me behind him, his body blocking me. I can already feel the stares as he snarls. “You’re going to walk away. Now.”

“I don’t follow orders,” Minjun says, his smile slipping into a mean sneer. “You’re just-”

“If you don’t leave now, I’ll break both your wrists. Maybe your neck as well if I’m feeling generous,” Chan says calmly. “I’ll take the lawsuit with a smile.”

Minjun glances at the people staring, lips twitching with annoyance as he finally turns away. “Gosh. Fine. Geez. Overprotective much?”

Before he leaves, he shoots me a glance, smirking as he eyes me up and down, voice greasy. “If you’re tired of knights in shining armor, you’ll know where I am. Door’s open. Always.”

He slinks back into the crowd. Chan turns to me as I exhale again, shoulders slumping. His voice is quieter now. “Are you alright?”

“Did you really need to do that?” I ask, taking a step back. His eyes furrow. “What?”

“You made a scene. In front of everyone. It’s embarrassing,” I hiss, crossing my arms before I end up hugging myself in front of the stares again. Chan’s tongue sharpens. “He had his hands on you, Y/n.”

“I was handling it!” I retort. I didn’t know why I was arguing with him. Maybe the humiliation hit me harder than the anger. Chan’s voice gets icy. “He was going further than that.”

“And you think I can’t deal with creeps myself?” I snap, my voice rising with bitterness. “You always do this, Chan! Swooping in like a white night. You make me look pathetic! I don’t need you to fucking save me.”

“Don’t curse at me, Y/n,” Chan says, his eyes glaring at me.

“I can curse at whoever THE FUCK I WANT!” I snarl. I feel a grip on my arm, and I whirl around to find myself face to face with my mother, her face calm, but her eyes twisted in anger and disgust. “Y/n. Let’s go. There are a few more people I want you to meet.”

--

I wait until she’s distracted, lost in a conversation with one of her business friends, laughing about how old the Lee family’s cuffs were. Chan sticks behind me, posture stiff. Unwelcoming and cold, a far cry the way he was acting with me at the arcade just this morning. When I slip away, Chan follows, but he doesn’t rat me out. Not yet, at least, I think bitterly.

That’s when the opportunity arrives. A security guard approaching Chan again, his face flustered. “Mr. Bang! I’m so sorry to bother you again- the camera cut out. I tried doing what you showed me, but it’s not working.”

Chan gives me a glance before nodding quickly. “Alright, show me. Quickly, please.”

As soon as he’s gone, I run. Slipping through the crowds, I manage to find a dimly lit hallway, my chest heaving as I cling to the walls. I slip off my heels, steps muffled by the carpets. At the end of the hallway, I find a storage room, no lock on it. Quietly, I slip into the room, twisting the knob and shoving the door closed before allowing the darkness to overwhelm me.

A sliver of light spills in from the base of the door, highlighting the boxes piled in the corner. Besides them were easels, a beautiful painted sky adorning each. I sit down on the far wall, burrowing myself between a stack of chairs and a crate full of glass vases.

It’s the first time I allow myself to breathe, my chest heaving as I let out an audible gasp. My lower lip trembles as I stare at the door, eyes welling with tears. A part of me wonders if any of them would notice my absence, but my question is almost answered immediately. My phone buzzes three times. I can guess who it is - my mother, Chan, and maybe our chauffeur. Whatever. Let them panic.

I don’t know how long I stay in the storage room for. Maybe an hour, maybe just ten minutes. It doesn’t matter. Not as long as the chattering stays outside the room, the light dim enough to kill the sound of my shallow gasps. That’s when I hear the footsteps - precise and evenly spaced. Like a fucking metronome in human form.

There’s a pause outside of the door, a gentle knock resounding through the room. I don’t answer, my teeth gritted. The door opens. I don’t even have to look up to figure out who it is. A bitter laugh bubbles through my chest and out of my mouth. “Seriously? Did they put a tracker in me, or are you just that creepy?”

Chan steps inside, closing the door behind him quietly with a soft click. My eyes meet his gaze. He didn’t look panicked. Didn’t look relieved. He wasn’t the slightest bit ruffled - tie perfect and hair in place. Chan sighs softly, his face twisting into something that wasn’t anger. Maybe just… disappointed. That seemed worse.

“I noticed the missing weight of your footsteps,” he answers, his voice flat.

I turn away, lips curling into a sad smile. “Funny.”

“The room was different,” Chan says calmly. “It’s more silent when you leave. LIke it’s intentional.”

I frown at his observation, muttering quietly. “Or maybe I just didn’t want to be gawked at like an auction item for once.”

“Maybe you should say so,” he answers coolly.

“Right,” I say sarcastically. “Because everyone is dying to hear my opinion.”

Chan gives me a look, his eyes unreadable. “It doesn’t matter if they care or not. But Y/n, maybe it would be easier to protect you from everyone else if you didn’t vanish without warning.”

“I wasn’t trying to vanish,” I snap back. “I was just… escaping.”

“To a storage closet,” he says without missing a beat. “How… dramatic.”

I chew my lower lip, my heart suddenly twisting uncomfortably. “It’s the only place no one’s going to expect me to perform.”

“Don’t make me come looking next time,” Chan says, his voice closed off. My lower lip trembles as I whisper in the stillness of the room. “Do you not care?”

“About what?” he asks, his face turning to me. At the sight of my teary eyes, his face falls. “Y/n, don’t- don’t cry. Not because of me.”

“I’m not crying because of you,” I whimper. He scoots closer to me, his hands reaching out. I don’t pull back. “Then why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I’m just- I’m just scared.”

Chan doesn’t speak, his eyes just fixed on my face. I look away immediately, my throat closing as I try to find the words. “I didn’t mean to yell at you earlier. I just… I never- I didn’t know what to do. Minjun-”

My voice cracks at his name, a bitter taste in my mouth. Chan’s voice is soft as he shifts closer to me. “You don’t have to explain it, Y/n.”

I shake my head desperately, eyes wide as I look up at him. “I do- I- I looked you in the eye and told you I didn’t need your help but I did. I did, Chan.”

My fingers play with the hem of my dress, tugging at the silk, wishing I could just disappear into the stitches. The seams. “You still gave it to me anyway.”

“That’s my job,” Cha says quietly, leaning against the wall gently.

“No, it’s not. I mean, you were hired to keep me safe, but…” my voice trails off. “It’s not your job to give me your blazer or let me get a wolf plushie at an arcade or lie to my mother so she won’t get angry. That was never part of your job, but you still- you still did it.”

The words just poured out, and when I suddenly stop, the room feels to suffocating. Too silent, like the air is holding its breath with me. My voice is small. “I don’t want to need anyone, but earlier… earlier I needed you. And that pissed me off.”

Chan laughs dryly, his lips curling up. “Yeah, I think you made it pretty clear.”

I nudge his elbow, my own lips flashing a fleeting smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to curse at you.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he says, turning his head to face me.

“Still. I shouldn’t have. I was just embarrassed and angry. I wanted to be strong, and I thought I could handle it myself, but I couldn’t. I was just… frozen,” I say. I swallow. “I hate how easy it was for Minjun to make me small.”

Chan’s hand curls over mine gently, squeezing it softly. “Hey, you weren’t small, okay? You said no and you tried to stop him. That’s not being weak. Not at all. You were being brave.”

I look down at our hands, my pinky hooking his as I whisper. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

The silence takes over once again, our breaths even and matching as our hands stay clasped lightly. This time, I’m the one who breaks the silence. “I miss the arcade.”

“I liked you there,” Chan suddenly says, his ears flushing. “You were you. Real.”

“You liked me?” I ask, my chest thumping as my eyes meet his gaze. Chan just chuckles. “I said what I said.”

“You’re still kind of a jerk, you know,” I say, smiling softly. He shrugs, his voice low. “Yeah. Well… you’re still kind of a brat, Y/n.”

I swallow, leaning my head against his shoulder. “But not now.”

He nods. “No, not now.”

His shoulder is warm, his arms wrapping around me gently. When I don’t pull away, he pulls me closer, his chin brushing the top of my hair. I swear I feel his lips press against me gently, but I pretend not to notice.

“I don’t want to be touched like that,” I whisper, the words like a secret. “Not like that- Not by him.”

“I know.” Chan’s voice is different now, not the soft and quiet gentleness. Just low, vicious, and lethal. “If he comes near you again, Y/n, I will-”

“Break his wrists,” I finish. I giggle softly. “Right?”

“Something like that,” Chan mutters, his voice taking on a tinge of amusement. “And maybe I’ll snap his neck if I’m feeling generous, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. The silence takes over again, his promise sharp and solid between us. I don’t thank him, but I also know I don’t need to. The words sit between us, not heavy, just unspoken. Chan glances down at me, shifting closer before he speaks, curiosity tinging his tone. Maybe caution. “Do you care about rumors?”

I pause. “I don’t- I don’t know. Not really. Rumors always fly around. They believe anything.”

I lift my head, looking up at him. His eyes are calm and observing, not mocking. Not like them when I let my emotions out. Y/n again. Of course it’s her. Ugh, ignore her, she’s just throwing a fit. Something flickers through his eyes, his face softening. He doesn’t smile, not really, but he’s more gentle than what I’m used to. He nods, gently pushing me to sit up. I watch as he twists his body, shrugging off his blazer before draping it over my shoulders. Again.

I grip his blazer with both hands, his scent surrounding me. He smelled clean. Fresh. Warm. Each thread carried something woody - maybe cedar. A hint of vanilla. I feel safe. Chan speaks softly. “You know you’ll catch a cold here. The floor is freezing.”

I shrug, laughing. A real laugh. “Then why are you sitting here too?”

“Because you’re here.” The words are simple, but they do more than they should. I feel the fight drain out of me, the need to put on a shield disappearing. I didn’t mean to do it, it just happened, my body leaning into his again. My thoughts blur into one another, eyes half-closed, body suddenly warm. Chan notices the shift, but he doesn’t move away, like he’s not sure if I’m asleep or not. I let out a tired yawn, eyes closing shut.

As the darkness takes me, his hands gently shift my head to securely fit onto his shoulder. His hands, so used to handling weapons, are the same hands that hold me like I matter. He says something quietly, but the haze of exhaustion gets to me. I don’t know what he says, but I know he’s here.

That’s all that matters.

Chan’s POV

You shift against me, just barely, but enough to make me notice. Your breath is slow, eyelashes fluttered shut as you succumb to the exhaustion you feel. Your lashes flutter, hands gripping the blazer I had handed you, refusing to let go.

Shit. I lean my head back against the wall, closing my eyes as I cradle you against me. My chest rises once, falling again as I try to steel my emotions. I didn’t mean to be so cold to you. I didn’t mean to snap back at you. I should’ve understood you; you were just embarrassed, wanting the attention to be off of you, but I guess I didn’t understand.

I had just seen the way Minjun groped you, that fucking bastard, his hands creeping up your dress, your face twisted with fear. I just snapped, my sense of duty overpowering any other thought. I wasn’t trained to be emotional when carrying out my duties, but that didn’t stop me.

I look at you again, curling into yourself, your breath evening out. One shoulder remains bare, the blazer slipping off. The silk of the dress clings too tightly on your skin. You never should’ve worn it. You looked like you were suffocating, like you were trying to disappear within it.

You weren’t dressed for yourself. You were dressed for your mother. For everyone else. Them. People who wanted to tame you. Cameras.

But you wore it anyway, because you were expected to, even when it hurt. My throat tightens slightly, shifting carefully to tuck the edge of your blazer back around your shoulders. It makes you look smaller, swallowing you whole in my scent. Small, not weak. Never weak.

You had held your own tonight, even when you froze up, afraid. Even when that fucking bastard grabbed you. Your voice was shaking, probably more than you had realized, your fists tight as you tried not to cry, tried not to collapse.

But you still apologized to me after, shaking and on the verge of tears, only to fall asleep like you trusted me.

“Fuck.” The word slips out as I run a hand through my hair, chest heaving. This was bad. I needed to keep my distance. I was supposed to be unbiased. Only professional. I had wrote it the night I signed the contract. Protect her from outside dangers. She is not your responsibility, just an assignment.

But she had looked up at me, those big eyes in the storage room, raw and cracked with emotion. I didn’t feel like a bodyguard then, at least, not just a bodyguard. I just… I felt like I had failed you from getting hurt. Again.

I watch as you breathe again, a soft whimper escaping your lips. Gently, I slide my arms under you, cradling you close to me. One under your knees, the other under your back. You whimper again, clinging onto the blazer, head resting against my thumping heart.

Your body fits against me like you’re made for me, my legs steady as I stand up. It’s like you’ve done this before, like I’ve held you before. That hits me harder than I expect. My eyes land on your heels, discarded on the ground. I bend down, slipping the straps over my fingers. Without another word, I head out of the storage closet, ignoring the stares of others. One hand holds your heels, my arms full of you. Y/n. Mine to protect.

You were always talking big, smiling like a brat and whispering words with fire. But your words… they ring in my head. I looked you in the eye and told you I didn’t need your help but I did. I did, Chan. That didn’t sound bratty at all.

Your armor had just cracked. You let me in, even if it was for just a second. My heart races as I carry you to the car, signaling for the chauffeur to head home. I don’t know if I can go back to pretending. Acting like I’m just here for just a paycheck.

When you’re home, back in bed, I hold you tightly, tucking you in my arms, against my chest, lost under the blankets. A part of me fears that you’ll wake up right now, remembering you’re supposed to hate me. I’m the one who constricts your freedom, right?

But I still wanted to see you spread your wings.

~~

A/N: Again, please check out Chapter 1 if you would like to be a part of my taglist! :DD

WC: 3617

Masterlist // Chapter Two // Chapter Four

The next day, I wake up closer to Chan than I expected. My nose brushes his shoulder, his body laying flat on his back as his eyes stay shut. I don't move for a moment, just enjoying the silence, lost in thought as my mind raced back to the cupcake.

“Are you still pretending to be asleep?” I whisper. Chan's eyes open slowly, as if he was debating whether or not to answer me. “I didn't want to disturb you.”

I'm tempted to give him a sharp response, but the memory of the red velvet cupcake lingers in my mind. I turn away, back facing him like it usually did at night, my voice quieter. “Thank you. For the cupcake.”

A pause. I wonder if he regrets it. He probably did, right? Chan stays silent for a beat too long. Again. “You don't need to thank me. It was your birthday.”

I stay silent. He continues. “Why didn't you say?”

I shrug, turning back to face him before speaking quickly. “I don’t know. I didn’t think anyone cared.”

Chan doesn’t say anything, slipping out of the bed. I watch as he leaves, heading into the bathroom. I lay on my back again, yawning softly as I hug a pillow to my chest, listening to the soft sound of the water faucet and the soft bristles of Chan’s toothbrush. When he comes back out, his voice is quiet. “Get up, Y/n. Breakfast is ready.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t argue, legs swinging over the side of the bed as I quickly brush my teeth. Chan stands waiting in my room, just like he always does, his eyes straight ahead as I use my fingers to brush through my hair. Yawning softly again, I lead the way down to the dining table, finding my parents already having finished eating. I ignore the disappointment in my chest, my voice quiet. “You both- You’ve both finished already?”

“Yes,” my mother interjects, her voice sharp. “You’re free for the morning, Y/n. Be in your room by two in the afternoon tonight. We need to get you ready for the dinner tonight. It’s your chance to turn your image around.”

Right. Image. I nod, sitting down as I pick at the toast on my plate. My mother waves at one of the maids. “You! Bring me some tea. Quickly. I need to go shopping.”

The maid - Mei - nods quickly, her eyes wide as she scurries to the kitchen. I take a bite of my toast, glancing up at my parents as Chan sits besides me. Even while he was eating, he was silent. I sigh, my father looking up from his phone before standing up quickly, running his hand through his hair. “I need to go stop by the office and fix something. I’ll see you all later at the dinner.”

I chew my lower lip, grunting in response. That’s when Mei comes back, her eyes wide as she holds a wooden tray tightly, a teacup resting on it. My eyes narrow as I look closer, suddenly standing up. Something didn’t feel right, my stomach twisting with unease as I watched Mei’s hands shake. My mother’s voice is grating my skin, her words sharp shards as she drones on about family image again. I ignore her, my eyes fixed on Mei’s form as I frown. “Mei. Get me a glass of apple juice. Now.”

She looks up at me, then my mother, eyes darting nervously between us. My mother rolls her eyes, her voice full of irritation. “Y/n, you can wait. I need to go now.”

I whirl around to face my mother, eyes angry. “No! I want my apple juice now!”

Before my mother can say anything else, I let out another scream, shoving the tray out of Mei’s hands. The tea goes flying, dripping down the walls as I let out a laugh. Chan’s on his feet, grabbing my wrist and pulling me to face him, his lips pulled back in a sneer. “Are you crazy?”

I shake my head, pushing him back as I giggle, dropping to the ground besides Mei as I gather the shattered ceramic in my hands. I keep my voice mockingly sweet, my smile wide enough to hide the shaking in my hands. “Oopsies, my bad, Mei. I didn’t mean it.”

My mother is already speaking, her voice low as she speaks sharply to Chan. While they’re busy, I sigh, my voice low. “Sorry, Mei. The tea isn’t hot enough. If anyone asks, I threw a tantrum, okay? My mother likes her tea boiling.”

She nods, her voice trembling as she gently takes the broken ceramics from my hand. “Thank you, Miss Y/n.”

I just smile brightly as relief floods through her eyes, straightening up. “Nevermind. I don’t want juice anymore. I’ll be back by two. I’m going out.”

Without waiting for a response, I turn on my heels, stalking out of the room. Sometimes, it was easier leaving when everyone else already thought I was unhinged.

--

“However many tokens this can buy,” I say, throwing a wad of cash onto the counter. The person working the counter looks up in surprise, her eyes flickering from my face to Chan, who is, without a doubt, judging me with that cold, hard stare he seemed to be born with. I smile sweetly. “Is there a problem?”

She shakes her head, quickly cashing in the bills before handing me three containers, each full to the brim with tokens. I thank her, cradling them in my arms before grabbing Chan’s wrist and pulling him along without another thought. He grunts in surprise as I giggle, jumping up and down as I point to the basketball hoop, bright lights flickering around us. “Let’s play!”

I had dragged us to an arcade, the music from each game overlapping into a gentle buzz as people of all ages played. I hand Chan a basketball after pushing in four coins into the machine’s slot, my eyes wide with excitement. “Are you good at this, Chan?”

“I don’t know.” I frown at his sharp words, glancing at him before I look away, my voice quieter. “Can’t we just have fun?”

“I’m not here to have fun, Y/n,” Chan retorts, his eyes meeting mine, cool. “I’m here to protect you. I was employed by your parents, remember? I’m supposed to make sure you’re not in any danger.”

“For fucks sake, Chan,” I say, throwing the basketball in my hands hard at the backboard. It bounces off, the lights almost mocking at my miss. “It’s an arcade. You know none of those snobs will be here. They would rather be caught dead wearing a dupe than here with who they call peasants.”

“Do not-”

“I just wanted to celebrate my birthday,” I blurt, looking stubbornly at the ground suddenly. “Even if it’s a day late. I just- I just want to have fun. With someone else. Like- Like friends would do.”

Chan stays silent for a moment longer, his voice softer. Almost gentle. “Fine. But I’m only playing one game.”

With a slight smile, he shoots his basketball, the ball bouncing on the rim before making a clean swoosh through the net. I cheer, clapping my hands in delight. Chan lets out a soft laugh, the first laugh I had ever heard from him. His ears flush a pretty pink as he looks away quickly. My laughter catches in my throat, like a lump stuck in my chest. Was he already done? To my relief, he turns back to me, shrugging slightly. His gaze lingers on me for a beat longer than it should. He smiles - small, but real. “Come on. We’re here to have fun, right?”

I brighten immediately, the lump in my chest giving way as I find my voice again, nodding excitedly. Chan laughs again, a little louder. A little more at ease. That’s how I find myself happier than I had ever been in a long time. Chan and I run around the arcade, shooting basketballs, playing with laser guns, and riding fake motorcycles. We’re both laughing consistently, exchanging tokens as we collect handfuls of tickets.

For the first time, I have a few hours to myself. The world isn’t scripted, no expectations resting heavily on my shoulders. All I see are flashing lights, sweaty foreheads, and the sound of laughter. My laughter. Echoing louder than my mother’s voice.

After another intense round of Dance Revolution, I gasp for breath, chest heaving as I glare playfully at Chan. “I definitely beat you. Hand me the tickets.”

He sighs, glancing at his watch as I grab his tickets, stopping me from adding more tokens into another game machine’s slot. “Y/n, we should go now. It’s almost two, and your mother…”

His voice trails off as I nod, my shoulders slumping. I turn to a little girl nearby, her eyes wide as she roams the various games, her father following behind. I stick out the container of tokens, smiling at the little girl as she pauses, looking back at her father before turning to me. “Hey! We’re just about to leave. Would you like our last tokens? We were just visiting the area, so we won’t be putting these tokens to use anytime soon.”

“Papa?” she whispers, turning back to her father. “Can I?”

He nods, thanking us. “Thank you so much! Chaeyoungie, say thank you.”

“Thank you!” she exclaims, smiling with excitement as she reaches for the container. With a final goodbye, Chan and I make our way to the exit. Before I push the door to leave, Chan stops me, handing me the tickets he had gotten. “Hey. Let’s go get a prize.”

I look up at him in surprise. “Are you not going to keep your own tickets for your own prize?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’ll be my birthday gift to you, okay?”

I pause before nodding, my eyes wide. As we head to the counter together, I settle on one thing almost immediately - a gray wolf plushie, its eyes small, dimples on its face as it smiled excitedly. I turn to Chan, holding it up next to his head before giggling. “Perfect. It looks exactly like you!”

His mouth parts slightly, but he presses his lips together quickly, suppressing his smile. Without another thought, he shrugs off his blazer, his ears red as he wraps it around me. “Come on. Don’t want to keep them waiting, yeah?”

The ride home is comfortable, Chan’s blazer wrapped snugly around me. I lean my head on his shoulder, playing with the plushie in my hands as I smile down at it. This time… Chan makes me feel safe. It feels like he’s the wolf I’m holding in my hands. Just fiercer. And real.

--

Any semblance of safety is destroyed as soon as I get home, my mother’s voice ringing out furiously. “Y/n! Where the heck were you? It’s already a quarter past two! I asked you to-”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Liang,” Chan says, stepping in suddenly. “It was completely my fault. I was going to get Miss Y/n home earlier, but we saw the Lee Family’s son, and I thought it would be in the Liang Family’s best interests for Y/n to talk with him for a bit.”

My mother pauses, her eyes shifting to me, lips twitching. “You didn’t do anything stupid, did you?”

I shake my head. “No! Of course not! I just- I just said hi, and we talked for a b-bit. I didn’t… yeah.”

When my mother turns back to Chan for confirmation, he just nods, a tight smile on his face. Placated, my mother nods, turning on her heels as she leads the way down to my room and into the bathroom. “Alright. Come on, Y/n. Time to get ready for the dinner later tonight. I went shopping this morning to get a new outfit for you; one that you will wear.”

I nod stiffly, my hands curling around the wolf plushie, tightening my grip on it, as if it was the source of my comfort. My mother urges me into the bathroom, Chan grabbing the plushie from me gently, his eyes quiet, yet full of meaning. I’ll keep it safe.

“Ma,” I whisper, my eyes suddenly catching onto the bottles on my bathroom counter. Shampoo, conditioner, body cleanser, everything… “Did you buy all of this?”

My mother nods, smiling with satisfaction. “Yes. I went shopping this morning to buy your outfit. I figured you might as well need a new scent. That brand you use is so cheap. The vanilla is too light. You need something better.”

“I don’t like these scents!” I suddenly snap, turning on her angrily. “You know I hate the smell of these florals! They smell so- so-”

“You will use what I bought you,” my mother snaps, her hands uncurling. “Do not talk back to me. Hurry up and get ready. Now.”

My lower lip trembles as I stare at her defiantly. With a half scream tearing from my throat, I turn, grabbing the outfit she had picked for me and slamming the bathroom door shut behind me. I open the cabinets in my bathroom desperately, looking for the familiar brown bottles I used. For the familiar vanilla scents I applied each day. I gasp desperately, fingers shaking as I look for the ghosts of her presence. “No, no, NO! WHERE DID YOU GO? WHERE DID YOU FUCKING G-GO-”

My voice cracks as I scream, the sound full as I grab the scented bottles my mother had purchased for me, flinging them across the room as I sob. “NO! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO-”

Chan barges into the bathroom, my mother on his heels as she yells at me. “Y/N, SHUT. UP.”

I glare at her, my voice trembling. “You- You got rid of th-them- I used my own m-money to buy those. I told you I HATE THESE SCENTS! I HATE THE FUCKING FLOWERS! I WANT MY VANILLA BACK. GIVE ME MY-”

She slaps me. Hard. I stumble back, pushing away Chan’s hands as he attempts to grab me. My lower lip trembles as I stare at my mother, my voice suddenly quiet. Deadly quietly. “I hate you.”

“I’m doing what’s good for you,” she snaps back. “Hurry up. I will not hesitate to drag you by the ear if you continue your brat attitude.”

She pushes her way out of the bathroom, Chan following her. He lingers by the door for a moment, his eyes on me. I give him the sharpest glare I can muster, and he closes the door quietly behind him. When I’m alone, under the sting of the shower spray, I cry, my voice wobbling as I sink to the bathtub’s ground, hugging my knees to my chest.

The scent of the florals are suffocating. Too much. It wasn’t the familiar vanilla I knew. The scent of the woman who had raised me when I was younger. The woman who sat behind me, soft hands braiding my hair gently as she told me fairytales, eyes sparkling as I giggled. The woman who had held me when I cried, running into her arms each time thunder struck. Each time my mother striked.

My childhood nanny, Mrs. Na. The one person who had treated me the way I should’ve been treated at that age - like a child. Not… Not someone who was being trained for an image. The vanilla used to mean home. Warm hands that held me, and a lap I could cry into.

I sob harder, my skin crawling as I claw at my skin, gasping for air as I tremble. I stand up shakily, my trembling as I let out a choked cry, hands gripping the shampoo bottle my mother had bought angrily. My chest heaves as I glare down at it. Fine. Fine, I would use it.

Tears streaming down my face, I lather the soap into my hair, crying as my fingers tear through my scalp. I stay in the shower for a long time, ignoring my mother’s knocks until my eyes are dry and my hands no longer shake. I step out of the bathroom, body wrapped in a towel. Chan’s eyes flicker to my form. I keep my eyes down, hugging the towel tighter to me.

My mother sits me down at my vanity, stylists already grabbing strands of my hair. I sit eerily still, my eyes fixed on the reflection staring back at me. I take a deep breath, my voice quiet. “Chan.”

“Yes, Y/n?” Chan’s back straightens, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. I look at the wolf he’s still holding in his hands. He moves to me immediately, placing the plushie in my hand gently. I whisper softly. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he murmurs. The stylists busy themselves, quickly styling my hair before tugging me upwards. Chan immediately turns to face the wall as they tug off my towel, my gasp of surprise and angry glare doing nothing to stop their efficiency. I grit my teeth as I pull on the dress my mother had bought, straightening my back as my mother tugs my shoulders back. The dress fell to my mid-thighs, a slit on the side hinting at the smooth skin laying beneath.

“There,” my mother says, turning me to face her. “Perfect.”

I catch a glimpse of myself in the vanity mirror, nearly scoffing. Without another word, I grab my purse, storming off to the waiting limo, Chan on my heels.

–

The dinner party was already suffering. Everyone followed the dress code to a tee - black clothes and gold jewelry, sipping on expensive rose champagne like they deserved it. Everyone was performing, once again, laughs a beat too late, lashes fluttering like they were interested.

My mother kept her grip firm on my elbow, dragging me along to different business heirs. It was weird, her voice more cheerful than usual, introducing me with a pride that didn’t belong to her. Or me. It belonged to the family, like she always said. I keep a tight smile as she brings me to another business heir, his smile flashy and all too bright. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/n. I’m Kang Minjun.”

I dip my head, forcing a smile on my face. “It’s nice to meet you, Minjun.”

“Now, I’ll leave you two alone. Go ahead and get to know each other a bit more, alright?” my mother says, giving me a pointed look. “I’ll be chatting with Minjun’s parents.”

When she’s gone, Minjun turns to me, his voice a low murmur, stepping closer. “Well, Y/n, this dinner party seems fantastic. I’ve heard a lot about you… Let’s talk casually.”

Chan steps closer to me, his eyes fixed on Minjun’s carefully as I shift, mumbling. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

“Let us go find a seat,” Minjun says, smiling as he sticks out an elbow. He seemed harmless enough. I place my hand in the crook of his elbow. Minjun turns to Chan, tilting his head to the side politely. “I’m sorry, and you are?”

Despite his politeness, something in his tone makes my skin crawl. Chan stays silent, looking at me pointedly. I answer, my voice quiet. “He’s to accompany me.”

“I see. He’s your guard, isn’t he?” Minjun asks. His eyes darken as he turns to Chan again. “Don’t worry, I won’t harm your ward.”

I recoil slightly at his words. Minjun only pulls me closer to him. As the dinner starts, he pulls out a chair, smiling at me before sitting beside me, Chan on my other side. I look up at him once, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Stiff. Minjun moves his chair closer to mine, his smile almost predatory-like.

Waiters swarm the table, serving plates heaping with food. Minjun takes the handkerchief next to my plate, gently unfolding the delicate shape. “Let me help you with that, Y/n.”

I tense slightly as he places the napkin on my lap, his fingers lingering on my thighs. As we begin eating, he uses his free hand to touch me lightly, forcing me to engage in a conversation I did not want. Minjun keeps his touches fleeting. A light tap on my shoulder, a second on my arm. Until they’re not fleeting anymore. I curl into myself as his hands slip under the handkerchief, grabbing my thigh. His thumb brushes the inner part of it, trailing upwards as I shift uncomfortably. My breath catches. I don’t move. Maybe… Maybe if I don’t move, he’ll stop. His fingers move higher up, dipping under my dress.

He smiles brightly at me. “Is something wrong, Y/n?”

I know I’m supposed to shake my head. I’m supposed to pretend everything is fine. Before I can figure out how to respond, Chan suddenly speaks, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade. “Mr. Kang. Please pass the salt.”

Minjun’s hands recoil as if burned, grabbing the salt shaker and handing it to Chan. Chan turns to me. “Y/n, change seats with me.”

Minjun opens his mouth to protest, but I’m already out of my seat. Chan pushes the chair in for me, his grip on his plate tight as he switches his with mine. As we continue to eat, I freeze, staring at the fork in my hand.

Chan had already given me everything. His tickets from the arcade games. His blazer when I sat in the back of the car with him. He had given me his seat. And now… my cheeks flush. He had left me his fork.

~~

A/N: Please check out Chapter 1 if you would like to join the taglist! Thank you :)

WC: 3,524

Masterlist // Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

“I told you before!” My mother screams, a strike landing across my face as her hand flies, a blur in the room as my head snaps to the side, trying not to cry out at the blow. “I told you to not make a scene! I told you to be quiet and play nice, but you can’t do that, can you? It always has to be about you! It’s never about family, you don’t care about anything or anyone unless it involves you, right?”

My lower lip trembles as I look up at her, tears in my eyes as my fingers shake, curling into fists. I knew it was bad, but sometimes, I really did want to strike back. Not hit, but scream and yell and tell her everything I thought about her and this whole farce of a family.

Chan stands at the side of the room, his eyes fixed on my face. There had been something wrong with him since the end of the luncheon. At first, I thought I had something in my teeth, but as the hours passed, I figured he was just trying to figure me out - and not in a good way. Every time I wound up in an argument with another arrogant heir, his jaw twitched. And now, each time I flinched from the woman who gave birth to me, his eyes blink. Just once. Slow and steady.

“I never made anything about me,” I retort, trying to ignore the sting on my cheek. “It’s not my fault Iseul spilled her wine on me! I wasn’t- She- She was smirking! She meant-”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” I flinch as my mother raises her voice, my body shrinking back. Her hands were already uncurling, ready to strike me if I said anything more. I swallow nervously, eyes falling to the ground as she continues. “I swear, Y/n. You better get your act together. Mrs. Choi will be coming around every day for the next week before your event next week, the Charity Shop. She’ll make sure you’re disciplined for it.”

My teeth graze my lips before I bite down hard, stopping the barrage of words threatening to spill from my lips. I could taste the slight copper from the blood flooding under my lips as I nod stiffly. I hated Mrs. Choi; she was the epitome of harsh and violent. Every time I spoke out, she would have her ruler flying through the air, hitting the back of my hand. Other times, she would go off on a tangent, screaming as she took her anger out on me.

Chan steps forward, looking down at his watch. “Excuse me for interrupting, Mrs. Liang. I believe Miss Y/n has to attend one of her afternoon lessons.”

My mother’s face smoothes out as she nods stiffly, eyes still fixed in an angry glare on my face. “Thank you, Chan. Y/n, go now. I do not want to hear of any trouble from you again.”

As soon as I leave, I turn to Chan, angry. “My lesson is in another hour! Is this your way of playing Prince Charming? I don’t need your fucking help, okay? Just leave me alone!”

“I’m not trying to save you,” Chan snaps, his voice angry. “Yes, your lesson is in another hour, but you haven’t done your homework yet, have you?”

The fight drains out of me, leaving me empty and cold. I turn away before he can see the cracks. “Whatever.”

Chan doesn’t say anything for a second, his eyes still fixed on me. His voice is quieter now, but no less harsh. “That’s what I thought. You talk a lot for someone who gives up fast.”

His words sting. I walk away without another word.

–

“Again.”

A cool breeze runs through the room, calming my rising temper as I take another deep breath, my back straightening as Mrs. Choi taps her ruler on my shoulder, her voice annoyed. “Straighter.”

“This is the tallest I can be,” I say, my eyes meeting hers. “Unfortunately.”

Mrs. Choi raises her ruler again, an angry glare crossing her face. Before she can strike my hand again, Chan steps forward, his voice sharp. “Mrs. Choi, I believe you weren’t hired to abuse Y/n.”

Mrs. Choi pauses, her eyes flickering to Chan’s before she fixes him with a harsh glare. “I’m simply doing what Mrs. Liang wants. If you have a problem, maybe bring it up to her.”

Chan takes another step forward, stepping between Mrs. Choi and I, his eyes flickering with annoyance. “I am Miss Y/n’s bodyguard, Mrs. Choi. As much as you may want to discipline her, Y/n here is standing as straight as she can. I’m the one who was employed to protect her and keep her in line. If you have a problem with that, then perhaps you should bring it up to Mrs. Liang instead.”

I can see Mrs. Choi’s grip on her ruler tighten. I swallow nervously, shrinking into myself behind Chan. When Mrs. Choi attempts to move around him, Chan’s arm darts out, stopping her. I cling onto the back of his shirt, fingers curling over his rippling muscles as Chan speaks. “Last warning, Mrs. Choi. It’s that, or I’ll talk to Mr. and Mrs. Liang myself. I’m sure they want only the best for Y/n. Her recent performance certainly shows you haven’t done your part. The proof is all there, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Choi sputters before stepping back, her face flushed with anger. With a sharp smile, Chan steps back, my hands falling back to my side as I take a deep breath, chest heaving. Mrs. Choi leaves without another word, her grip on her purse tightening as she stuffs the ruler in there.

“Thank you,” I mumble, turning away from Chan as I hug myself, my hands gripping my elbows.

“Don’t thank me,” Chan says. The silence lasts for a moment longer before he continues, his voice quieter. Almost softer. “No one deserves that.”

--

In the days leading up to the event for the Charity Shop, Mrs. Choi makes sure I’m in what my mother calls “perfect condition”. Each time she’s about to lash out, her eyes flicker to Chan, who’s always watching, before she steps back, her tongue sharp. It’s like he’s a guardian. Silent but watching.

Eventually, the days bleed together, just like they always did. I continue practicing - perfect posture, practiced smiles, and eloquent words. The bitterness remains despite the bruises fading from my hands.

The entire time, Mrs. Choi watches me like a hawk; Chan watches her like a threat.

--

“Y/n! Are you ready?” My mother’s voice grows louder, her steps getting closer as she opens the door, finding me applying last minute touches of makeup on my face. Chan stands in the corner, dipping his head softly when she barges into my room.

“Almost,” I mutter, not bothering to look up. She sighs, rolling her eyes before turning to Chan. “Just make sure she’s done soon. The car is ready.”

“Do I have to go?” I suddenly ask. “It’s just a waste of time. The whole thing is a waste of-”

“Y/n,” my mother says. “It’s for your own good. For the family. You need to turn around that bratty image you have.”

She stalks out of my room without another word. When silence settles over the room again, Chan speaks quietly. “She’s not wrong. Hurry up.”

I give him an annoyed look, my face twisting into irritation as he leaves. Slamming my makeup brush on the table, I stand up and grab my bag before following him.

The Charity Shop wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily, but the whole concept of me going there… it was strange. I had my old clothes stuffed in bags, already packed in the back of the car. "Let's go," I mutter as I slide into the back seat alongside Chan. My parents were in the middle row, our chauffeur nodding as he starts the engine. "Let's get this over as soon as possible."

My mother shoots me a sharp glare as Chan turns to me, his eyes a warning. I just yawn softly, my lips curling up into a smile. "Channie, sweetie, care to buy me a new alarm? Preferably one that doesn't scream like a hyena."

"Do not talk to him like that, Y/n," my father says, exasperated. "Chan isn't your servant. If you want to buy something, just ask us."

"Fine," I answer. I turn back to Chan, a sugary smile on my face. "Channie, sweetie, care to get rid of that nasty alarm? It's getting on my fucking nerves."

"Y/n!" My mother snaps. "Do not make me discipline you again."

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms as I turn away, facing the window angrily. Chan sighs, not bother to speak. Again. Of course again. He never spoke, did he?

Our chauffeur - Mr. Yu - pulls into the boutique's parking lot. With his help, all the bags full of my clothes get brought into the store, settling in the back couch.

I wrinkle my nose. The Charity Shop smelled like fake floral, a last minute effort at hiding the usual dust lingering on the counters. This was the place business heirs went to purchase their clothes, using their money to pretend they had taste at the relatively "high-end" thrift store.

Despite my annoyance, I welcomed the warmth, a nice break from the cool breeze outside. The carpets were full, creamy and plush, soft jazz playing in the background. The staff members stood waiting, smiles wide despite their trembling hands, clad in white gloves, as if all the clothes they handled were fragile. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, clearing my throat as I greet them with a tight smile. "Hello."

"Miss Liang!" One of the salesclerks greets, her voice trembling slightly as I shake her hand. "Welcome to The Charity Shop, we are so thankful for your generous donation."

I wave her off, forcing a smile on my face. "Of course! It was nothing." That was a lie. It cost more than my sanity.

I look at her name tag. Lee Jiyoung. Her smile brightens as she continues. "Would you like a walkthrough of our latest collection? It arrived this morning."

"That sounds good," I say. I turn to Chan, throwing my bag in his arms. He glares at me in annoyance before I turn back to Jiyoung. "Lead the way."

As I follow Jiyoung, Chan stays on my heels, my parents behind him. I could already imagine it, his unreadable, passive face, almost seemingly pretending to be superior. Sometimes, I believe he was born that way. At the thought of a baby Chan with a straight face, I stifle a laugh, steeling my expression as we enter the back room of the Charity Shop.

My smile drops. Sequined cuffs lined the shelves, followed by embroidered scarves and fake designer brands. My brows furrowed as I turn to Jiyoung. "This is the new collection?"

She nods, her smile faltering at my change in expression. "Y-Yes. It arrived this morning. Is everything okay? There are more pieces over there and-"

I hold up a hand, my voice quiet. "Hold on. This is the Charity Shop, where people donate luxury brands to be thrifted, correct? Who donated their closet for this drop?"

"I believe it was Miss Baek Iseul," Jiyoung says nervously. My eyes narrow as I grab the nearest shirt, ripping it from the hanger. "Is this a joke?"

Chan steps forward, his voice sharp as he turns me around to face him. "Y/n! Did you need to do that?"

I can already see my mother's face reddening. I reply to Chan calmly, my voice steady. "Is it a problem if I hate this drop?"

I don't bother waiting for Chan to reply, turning to Jiyoung again. She trembles under my gaze as she speaks, voice shaking. "Miss Iseul said the clothes were handmade. It was a women's c-collective from-"

"They need a new muse," I interrupt sharply.

"Would you like me to inform the store manager?" Chan suddenly asks me, stepping forward. His eyes are fixed on my face, lips downturned.

I exhale sharply, irritation taking over my face as I turn to him. "No, Chan. Unlike you, I don't get off on making people feel like shit."

"Y/n!" I jump slightly as my mother snaps my name, her eyes enough to make me reign in my temper.

"Sorry," I mumble. I turn to Jiyoung, who shifts uncomfortably. "Anyways, someone mentioned clothes for me to try on?"

She nods immediately, eyes flashing with relief. "Yes, Miss Y/n. I'll go get the set now."

She scurries off, grabbing a pile of dresses laying on a vanity's chair before returning to me, handing me the first one with a smile. It was a puke green color, two sizes too large, gold lining the turtleneck collar.

"That," I immediately hiss, my voice slow as I enunciate each syllable. "Makes me want to puke."

"I'm s-sorry," Jiyoung stammers, her cheeks flushing.

"Come with me," I snap. When Chan moves to follow, I stop, jabbing his chest. "This is private."

He stops, his lip twitching as he nods stiffly. I stalk away to the back, away from the other assistants. Jiyoung stammers when I turn to face her abruptly. "I'm s-sorry, Miss Y/n. I didn't mean to offend you or-"

"It's alright," I say softly, my eyes gentling. "I'll buy the entire line Iseul dropped, alright?"

I point to a baby blue dress. "Here, give me that."

She hands it to me, her cheeks still flushed. "Of course."

"Look here," I say, bringing the seams up to the light. "The stitches are uneven in length. And the designer logo? It's pressed on, not embroidered. Iseul dropped off designer fakes, not the real deal. Tell your manager I was happy with the clothes, and took everything. The clothes I brought are all real. Next time, check the stitches and the logos. If you actually sold this line, your shop would close in a snap, okay?"

Her face floods with relief, immediately nodding. "Thank you so much, Miss Y/n. I'm so sorry, I had no idea- I didn't meant to upset-"

I stop her gently, smiling at her. "No need to apologize. Fakes are hard to spot. Anyways, I'll help you style the set up of my line. Is that alright?"

She nods eagerly, blinking away the tears I pretend not to notice. I follow her as other salesclerks swarm around us, helping us sort the clothes I had brought in.

When the clothes have been sorted, I find Chan. "Time to go."

His eyes flicker to Jiyoung before meeting my gaze. I roll my eyes. "What?"

"Do you treat everyone like that? Or just the ones who can't fight back?" He asks. I glance at Jiyoung, her eyes slightly red.

I look away. "Don't talk about things you don't know."

–

Later that night, I rummage through my closet, throwing things on the ground before grabbing them and bringing them into my room, only to dump them on the ground again.

Chan gives me a pointed look, but I ignore him, pulling out a few tops and more bottoms. "Chan."

He stiffens. "Yes, Y/n?"

"I'm going to a club. What should I wear?" I ask, tapping on my chin.

"You're underage."

"No one will care," I retort. A muscle in his cheek twitches. I roll my eyes. "Whatever. I'm taking a shower."

Without another word, I stalk into my bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. With that, I get ready, washing my hair until the strands were about to break, scrubbing my skin until I was left feeling raw.

I stare at myself in the mirror, lips twitching into the practiced smile before I pull on my outfit for the night. It was bold, a red tube top that seemed almost too small, paired with a black miniskirt that would be enough to catch looks.

A sudden urge to scream rises. I don't bother suppressing it, grabbing my foundation and slapping it onto my face, my chest heaving. I feel his presence before I hear his knock. "Everything okay in there?"

"Everything is perfect," I snap back. "Just wanted to throw a tantrum."

He mutters something under his breath. I don't hear what he says. Tears well in my eyes as I muffle a whimper, streaking through the messy foundation. I wipe it off, chest heaving as my fingers tremble. Red lipstick swipes across my mouth, eyes bold with eyeshadow.

I didn't know what I was doing. I just piled on the makeup until I felt safe. When I emerge, Chan gives me a look. "You're not going clubbing."

"You can't tell me what to do."

--

I hadn't felt so free before, the lights flashing as the beat of the music pounded in my ears, my heart, my everything. Chan watched on the sidelines, his eyes narrowed as I downed shot after shot.

"Y/n," Chan says, his hand reaching out to stop me from grabbing another drink. "You're not being safe. You're being reckless."

I giggle, my cheeks already flushed a pretty pink. "Oh, Channie. Calm down."

His lips twitch as he tries to pull me away from the dance floor. That's when a man bumps into me. Too deliberate. Too close to be an accident. Chan's about to step in, but I'm already talking. "Oh, hello handsome."

The man grins, his voice cocky. "Hey beautiful."

"What's a man like you doing alone?" I ask, already batting my eyelashes as I lean into him. He falls right into it, his voice a low murmur, hands already on my bare waist. "Just looking for someone interesting."

Chan grabs my shoulder, his voice sharp. "Y/n, don't."

But it's too late. I'm letting the man drag me onto the dance floor. "You're looking at her."

I find Chan an hour later, stumbling and clearly intoxicated as I giggle, my words slurred. "H-Heyyy, Cha-annn."

He grabs me suddenly, throwing me over his shoulder. I giggle, slapping my hands on his back. "Put me d-dooown."

He only does when we're outside, waiting for my chauffeur. He immediately snaps at me. "What the hell, Y/n? Are you stupid? You should know better than that! What if that man had bad intentions?"

"He didn't-"

"FOR FUCKS SAKE, Y/N!" Chan suddenly roars. That sobers me up, my glassy eyes clearing as I look up at him uncertainly. He laughs, his voice almost mocking. "Oh, so now you pay attention, Y/n. You only pay attention when you have nothing to say right?"

When I don't answer, turning my face away stubbornly, he continues, lips curling up in a sneer. "When Mrs. Choi's ruler gets a little too close, yeah? Or when your mother loses it on you again."

I turn away, hugging myself as I tremble. I tell myself it's because I'm cold, but I know it's just the emotions bubbling under the surface, begging to break through.

Neither of us say anything. I hear him shift slightly before I feel it, his suit jacket curling around my shoulders. Tears well in my eyes as I whisper. "I just wanted to have fun."

"You could've had fun another way," he snaps back, his voice icy.

I look down at my feet as my chauffeur pulls up.

"Well, happy fucking birthday to me," I mutter, my voice small.

--

When we get home, Chan slips away, no doubt reporting me to my parents. I wash up, the grimey sweat of other peoples' hands disappearing. When I'm done, I yawn, slipping on my pajamas before climbing into bed.

I frown. Chan was gone longer than usual. My stomach feels uneasy at that. The last thing I needed was for my parents to barge into my room, giving me a lecture on the importance of family image.

I just close my eyes, hoping to fall asleep before the shouting would begin. That's when I hear Chan, opening the door quietly. I tense slightly, keeping my eyes closed as he makes his way to my side of the bed.

When he leaves for the bathroom to wash up, my eyes flutter open. A red velvet cupcake with frosting and extra sprinkles lay on my nightstand.

Tucked underneath it, a note.

Happy 21st Birthday. I'm sorry I didn't know.

I bite my lower lip, sniffling softly before I sit up, cradling the cupcake in my hands. The tears fall, the saltiness mixing with the sharp sweetness of the treat as my teeth sink into the cupcake. I didn’t know he heard me, but maybe he listened more than I knew.

When I'm done, I stare at the note, Chan's scrawled handwriting seeming to grow larger the more I stare at it. I set it in the drawer of my nightstand before laying back down, curling on my side.

This time, I didn't turn my back on Chan. I fall asleep facing his side of the bed.

A/N: I really hope you enjoy this story! Posting Schedule will depend on how many chapters I have ready (hopefully daily!). If you wish to join the taglist, please fill out the form linked here!

WC: 3,338

Masterlist // Chapter 2

She’s a brat. That’s what I expected he would assume. It wouldn’t surprise me, that’s how my parents viewed me. Y/n Liang. My name rolled off the tongue easily, a memorable name among the many other rich families. I was heir to Liang Corporations, the company that had been founded by my grandfather, pushing my family from middle class to richness in just a few years.

As our reputation grew amongst the citizens in the country, it was clear that security would be a necessity in our world. My father and mother had hired many - maids, servants, a cook, a driver, a butler, and now, a bodyguard. My bodyguard. The fifth one this month, I think. Bang Christopher Chan. And I would be meeting him today.

I sigh, yawning as I fidget slightly in my father’s office, my mother glaring at me with annoyance as she hissed at me again. “Stop fidgeting.”

I roll my eyes, but don’t respond, stilling my wringing hands and sitting up before she could continue to scold me. Looking around, the office was well decorated, plants in the corners, a family picture hanging behind my father’s office chair, which was seated in front of a large wood table. Everything was neat and tidy, a packet of paper meticulously stapled together on the desk, a pen sitting right next to it. The golden glint of the writing utensil shines under the bright lights.

I can hear a knock, and the voice of our family butler - Samuel - comes through the door. “Mr. Liang, Mr. Chan is waiting downstairs. Shall I retrieve him?”

“Yes, thank you,” my father replies, his drawl tired as he sighs, closing his eyes for a second. My brow furrows, but I don’t say anything.

The silence seems to stretch between us, neither me nor my parents attempting to strike up conversation. It was always like this, a simple routine. I would keep to myself, and my parents would check in on me. Occasionally. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, but I push it down. It didn’t matter. I just needed to pull through, make connections with other businesses, whatever else I needed to do to keep the corporation afloat.

Now that you are older, Y/n, you must think of your future. This means building connections with heirs of other companies, and finding someone who can support you. Do you understand? My mother’s words ring in my head, and I can practically see the scowl rising to my face. At the huff of my mother, I steel my expression, a frown on my face, brows slightly furrowed, but I don’t push my luck. The last thing I needed was my mother to start scolding me right as my bodyguard would walk in.

Speaking of him. A gentle knock on the door, followed by Samuel’s voice. “Mr. Liang, Mr. Chan is here.”

“Come on in.”

The double doors to the office are pulled open, and I straighten up slightly as I look at him. Bang Christopher Chan. His eyes flickered across the room, observing the surroundings before his gaze fixed on me, my mother, and then my father. He dips his head, his voice cold. “Greetings, Mr., Mrs., and Miss Liang.”

My parents greet him, and I grumble when my mother nudges me, greeting him as well. Chan was young, but older than me by three years. His hair was tousled neatly, dark black in a comma cut, suited in a black suit, his tie tucked in neatly. He had dark brown eyes, brows trimmed neatly above them, accentuating his nose and full lips. When his gaze flickers to me again, eyes cold, my gaze shifts to the side, turning back to my father.

I didn’t even realize how close he was. His steps were quiet, having stopped just a foot behind my chair, his eyes fixed straight ahead, like a robot trained to follow the orders of one man. One voice.

“Y/n, stand up and let Chan sit,” my mother frowns. I glare at her, but comply, moving to the side when Chan moved to sit silently.

“Chan,” my father begins, a small smile on his face. “Thank you for coming.”

“It’s my pleasure.” The words that come out of that man’s mouth lack every bit of emotion. It was like he was a robot, his eyes emotionless as he spoke, like he was trained to just respond with appealing words. At the thought, I stifle a laugh, pressing my lips together. My mother glares at me, and I roll my eyes, huffing softly before I refocus my attention.

“Well, let’s get started then. This is Y/n,” my father looks pointedly at me, gesturing to me. “Y/n, say hi,”

“I’m not a baby,” I mumble. I shift my gaze to Chan again, my eyes wary as I take in his ever so icy gaze. “Hello.”

He dips his head before turning back to my father, who continues without missing a beat. “In the job description, I mentioned a few things. My daughter is a…”

His voice trails off, but my mother fills in the words. “She’s a brat.”

I frown, my protest already slipping out of my mouth. “I’m not-”

“That’s enough.” My father’s tone is clear, a no nonsense gaze in his eyes before he continues. “I apologize. Anyways. Your job will be to watch over Y/n here twenty-four seven. Make sure nothing and no one harms her, and make sure she’s safe at all times. She has a large bed in her room, so you two can share it, I suppose.”

My eyes widen at my father’s words, and I open my mouth again, but a sharp jab from my mother’s elbow shuts me up, my lips twitching as I hold back a hiss of pain. Chan nods, his voice emotionless again. “I understand, Sir.”

“Good,” comes my father’s reply. “In addition to that, I would like you to make sure she behaves. She’s at the age where she can begin building connections with other heirs to other companies, but she hasn’t been listening to our orders. Please do your best to discipline her.”

My eyes narrow at my father’s words, but I refrain from talking back. Whatever. I block out the rest of the conversation, my father’s voice a slow drone in the background as he sets out the various tasks for Chan to complete. When they’re done, Chan nods once, his head dipping perfectly in a forty-five angle before he speaks, his gaze shifting to me. “I understand, Sir.”

I want to roll my eyes. Thirty minutes in, and he’s barely said, what? Ten words? But a sharp glare from my mother makes me bite my lower lip, Chan standing as he shakes hands with my father and mother. He turns to me, his presence suddenly menacing as he looks down at me coolly. When his eyes meet mine, my gaze drops, and I mutter under my breath. “I’ll go up to my room, Dad. Mom.”

They nod, and I leave my father’s office, Chan's footsteps at my heels. When I stop suddenly, he doesn’t flinch, stopping with no trouble as I turn to him. “Are you seriously staying in my room?”

“Yes,” his voice is curt, but when I wait for more, he continues, voice cold and clipped. “I’m to follow your parents’ instructions.”

His hidden words are clear. My feelings don’t concern him. I nod, eyes shifting away before I continue to walk, turning back to head up the large staircase. I find my room, my bed made neatly, desk littered with books and notebooks, a pencil lying in the middle of the papers, the chair in front of my desk pushed in. My face flushes at the mess. “I’ll clean that up.”

Chan doesn’t say anything, standing stoically against the wall as he watches me, my hands quickly stacking together the papers and pushing the notebooks neatly into a shelf on the side of my desk. I dust off my hands when I’m done, glancing at him, but his eyes remain cool as he observes me.

“Can’t you, like, say something?” I ask, not letting the annoyance I felt rise as I stared at Chan. His lips twitch, but he remains silent for another second before speaking. “Thank you for cleaning your desk.”

I blink, stupefied at his words, before huffing. I gesture to the bed, my tone cool as I speak. “Whatever. You can sit. Here. Or on the chair. I don’t care.”

He nods, but remains standing. I roll my eyes, clenching my fists before I turn to my bathroom, my voice ringing out clearly. “I’m going to use the restroom. Don’t bother me.”

“I won’t.” His voice is enough to piss me off, but I refrain from exploding as I slam the door behind me, holding back a hiss of annoyance as I lock the door, leaning against it tiredly. My eyes squeeze shut for a moment. In. Out. Breathe. And again.

I’ll be fine.

--

The next day, a loud shrill wakes me up. I groan, my eyes fluttering open to see Chan already up, standing in the corner of the room as he stares straight ahead, jaw tensed. I groan, my voice sharp. “What the hell is that?”

“Your new alarm,” Chan answers. “It’s eight, you should be up.”

“Turn it off,” I grumble, pulling the blankets over my head. “I’m sleeping in.”

“You have a luncheon to attend,” Chan says calmly, his eyes flicking to me. “Your mother’s orders.”

Right. That thing. The luncheon occurred once a year, always at some extravagant venue, full of powerful business families, divided into their little allied groups. Everyone was always dressed up, showing off their wealth, snide comments being made as people conversed with their so-called “friends”. Sharks disguised in silk, and snakes disguised in gold. Everyone had the same smiles - tight-lipped, eyes glassy, words smooth.

With gritted teeth, I sit up, my hair slightly tangled as I yawn, grabbing the alarm and flinging it across the room. The clock shatters on the ground, parts flying as the screen cracks, the mocking light flickering as its life sputtered out. Chan immediately snaps, his voice sharp. Not loud, just sharp. “Pick that up. Now.”

“No,” I answer, glaring at him. “I didn’t ask for a new alarm, did I? Go tell one of the maids to get rid of it for me.”

Chan’s eyes fly to yours, his voice lowering despite the growing redness in his ears. “You’re not my employer, Y/n. You don’t give me any orders. Now pick. It. Up.”

I falter, ever so slightly, at the venom in his voice. He wasn’t loud, but he was clearly dangerous. Different from the previous people my parents had hired. Chan takes another step forward, his voice hard, and his lips pulled back in the faintest of sneers. “I’m not new to this, Y/n. I suggest you don’t challenge me. I’ve worked with people like you before. People who destroy things for attention because they don’t know what the word ‘no’ means. Brats, Y/n. Brats with more money than sense.”

My lips part, preparing a sharp retort, but he’s not done. Not even close. “I’m not your servant, nor am I here to be liked. Let alone by someone like you. I’m here to guard you.”

“If you think that means indulging in your tantrums, maybe you’re just mistaken,” he hisses, each syllable enunciated.

“You don’t know me,” I snap back, my eyes narrowing.

“No,” Chan agrees, his lips curving upwards in a mocking smile. “I’m glad I don’t. But I do know your type. Now hurry up and get dressed, lest your mother barges in here angry.”

With that, he stalks out of the room, the anger clear in his stiff posture. But of course he remained cool, his professionalism having already put me in a box. Y/n Liang - Unworthy Brat.

--

The ballroom sparkled with gold and champagne, the colors clashing, painting an image of luxury, wealth, and prestige. Gold trims wrapped around seats, lining the table clothes and the walls. A pianist sat in the back corner, playing some soft tune to mask the danger of the snakes in the room. I hated it already.

Taking a deep breath, I push my sunglasses higher on my nose, scanning the room as I chewed on my gum, lips curling up into a mocking smirk. People were already staring, no doubt in amusement or distaste at my outfit - a black, cropped top and short blue jeans, all clad with extravagant gold chains, my black shoes clashing with the gold tiled floors.

Whatever. They could stare. I was good at this, good at playing the role of a bratty, difficult, and dramatic heiress. They could call me hopeless, but I could act like I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to let them control me. Never.

My mother nudges my back, the gesture seemingly graceful despite the sharpness between my ribs. “Smile,” she says quietly, her eyes polite despite the telltale signs of her anger. “Do not embarrass us today.”

“I’ll try,” I say, smiling sweetly. “But maybe don’t bring me next time.”

Two steps behind us was Chan, of course. Unblinking and suited up, looking very much like the prominent bodyguard he was. His face remained passive, but I could already feel the disapproval he had for me. I meet his gaze, my smile growing as his eyes narrow, flickering back to the crowds.

The crowd buzzes as caterers begin making their way out of the siderooms, holding small dishes of food and glasses of champagne. When I reach for a glass, Chan pushes my hand away, his voice rough as he leans into my ear. “You’re underage. No drinks.”

I roll my eyes, pulling my hand back as I turn away, my voice annoyed. “Fuck off.”

“Y/n.” If I was home, my mother would’ve striked me across the face. Thankfully not. Chan straightens, his voice cold. “It’s alright, Ms. Liang. Miss Y/n will be straightened out.”

My lips purse as I turn to my mother. “Why don’t you go talk to Mr. and Mrs. Lee? They’re over there waiting.”

She shoots me another sharp glare, the threat in her eyes clear - don’t embarrass the family. I don’t really care, but I nod stiffly anyway. When she’s gone, I let out a soft sigh, shoulders slumping as I move through the crowds. Chan stays with me, of course, his presence ever suffering; I do my best to ignore it, though.

That’s when I hear his voice. Jang Eunhyuk. “If it isn’t her herself, Miss Y/n Liang.”

I turn, facing him head on, his hair combed to the side, body clad in a suit. My lips curl in a sneer at the sight of the tech company heir, his tall frame flashing a tight smile. All teeth, no charm. He laughs softly at the flicker of annoyance across my eyes. “Still skipping board meetings?”

“Still measuring your self-worth with Powerpoint slides?” I ask without blinking. Eunhyuk’s smile slips for just a second. In the corner of my eyes, I see Chan stiffen, his eyes glaring at the side of my head, shoulders tightening as he adjusted a cuff.

Eunhyuk’s smile doesn’t waver, despite seeming more forced. His eyes flicker with annoyance, the irritation evident as he leans in, voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “Still got a sharp tongue, I hope you put it to good use. Although, I admit, I was hoping to see a new leash around your neck. Your parents aren’t shy of complaining about you, Y/n.”

Chan’s about to step in, no doubt pulling me away from a man with such lewd comments, but I wasn’t going to back down from a fight. My smile grows wider. “Aw, I didn’t know you cared so much about me. It’s one thing to be jealous, but you’re teetering on projection, hm?”

“Oh, come on, Y/n. You might be a brat, but we both know you’re fake,” Eunhyuk continues. “Your image is exhausting, isn’t it? You’re just trying to act like a rebellious heiress.”

My face falls for a split second. Eunhyuk doesn’t notice, but Chan does, a muscle in his cheek twitching. I know he’s about to step in, his hand already moving, but I push him back, my voice a sharp hiss as I tilt my head, glaring at Eunhyuk. “At least I don’t try to act interesting. People are just drawn to me.”

Eunhyuk doesn’t bother hiding his true thoughts, his lips curling back into a sneer as he turns to Chan. “Tough job you’ve got, babysitting this thing. I don’t envy you. Not a bit.”

Chan doesn’t respond, his expression passive except for the twitch in his left eye. He straightens his posture, his eyes sharpening as he gives me a pointed look. Maybe I didn’t like Chan, but at least he was on my side. He was supposed to be, anyway.

“Be careful, Eunhyuk. You may think I’m a brat, but I’m not spineless. I’m not going to kiss up every CEO and heir just to feel important,” I hiss.

Eunhyuk lifts an eyebrow. “Oh, but you do throw tantrums and fuck every cock who doesn’t care if you’re a whore.”

“At least I have fucked,” I retort. My cheeks flush slightly. That was a lie, but he didn’t need to know. “Better than having to ride someone else’s cock just to feel powerful.”

His mouth falls open, eyes widening and lips parting as if he’s about to say more. I’m already turning away, catching Chan’s gaze - cool and unreadable. As I walk away, Chan tailing me, I continue, my voice a bored drawl. “Later, Eunhyuk. Try not to drown in daddy’s shadow.”

As I make my way around the rest of the venue, a group of girls, all in pastel designer dresses snicker. I turn to them slowly, as one of them calls out to me. Baek Iseul. She reaches out, her nails scratching my skin as she laughs. “Y/n! I loveee your outfit, it’s so cute, isn’t it?”

She moves closer, the wine glass tipping precariously. That’s exactly when she makes her move, the red liquid tipping onto my clothes. She coos, her voice full of a feigned surprise. “Oh no! I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

I take a deep breath, one I couldn’t hold back as the first flicker of anger flashes through my eyes. She just smiles, muttering as she turns back to her friends. “Brat tax.”

I blink, turning away as I stare down at my soaked clothes. My smile was tight; it should’ve been trademarked. I could even hear my mother’s voice in my head. “Let it go, let it go.”

I couldn’t. With an angry scream tearing from my throat, I kick a chair to the ground, my chest heaving. I can hear the sudden silence, the faltering conversations, music coming to a stop. Iseul steps back, her eyes flickering with the slightest bit of fear, truly startled. I swallow, feeling the angry gaze of my mother as Chan grabs my wrist, his eyes already blazed with anger.

“Oops,” I say sweetly as I turn to everyone else. “My mistake.”

The air immediately shifts as people turn back to their conversations. Judgements and whispers cloud the rooms. Typical. Y/n again. Always the Liang daughter. So dramatic. Brat.

I avoid Chan’s gaze, but I can feel his eyes on me, staring me down like a spotlight - heavy and assessing. I wondered what this was. Exhibit A in Why Y/n Liang is a Brat, maybe? I grab a glass of water, muttering a thanks to the waiter before stalking away, ignoring the fire rising in my chest and throat. Whatever. Like Eunhyuk said, I had already established my role, hadn’t I? A brat.

And Chan? He had signed up for this, hadn’t he?

~~