Summary: Returning to the ZGDX base is more than just crossing a threshold—it's claiming the place that always waited for her. And when chaos and belonging collide, Chen Yao realizes she isn't just part of the team. She's family.
Chapter Ten
The flight back to Shenzhen was long but strangely peaceful.
Yao slept most of the way, curled up against Sicheng's side under a thin airline blanket, her head tucked under his chin, his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders as if daring the world to even think about disturbing her. He didn't sleep much. He spent most of the flight awake, one hand lazily stroking along the curve of her hip, his thumb brushing soothing circles into her side, his mind running through every plan, every detail, every way he was going to make sure she never had to feel alone again. By the time the wheels touched down on Chinese soil hours later, he did not care how many had passed, the tension that had once lived inside him, the endless coil of waiting and wondering, had finally unraveled.
She was home.
His home.
Sicheng easily hailed a car, loading her bags into the trunk himself while Yao tucked herself into the front seat beside him, still bleary-eyed but smiling. Neither of them spoke much on the drive back to the ZGDX base. There wasn't a need. Every glance, every touch, every easy silence spoke volumes. It was nearly sunset by the time the sleek black car pulled through the familiar iron gates, the sprawling complex of the ZGDX grounds coming into view.
Yao's stomach fluttered nervously as Sicheng parked by the front entrance, but when he opened her door and held out his hand, she took it without hesitation. The moment her sneakers hit the pavement, she straightened, pulling her small suitcase from the back with a snap of the handle.
Sicheng didn't say a word. Just smirked lazily, slinging her backpack over his shoulder as if daring anyone to question it.
They walked side by side toward the front doors.
Casual.
Unhurried.
Like they had done it a hundred times before.
Yao could already hear the noise inside, the familiar chaos of the team winding down after a scrim, the low rumble of voices, the occasional shout, the sharp bark of laughter.
Sicheng pushed the door open and stepped aside to let her walk in first.
And the second she did….. Chaos erupted.
It was Pang who saw her first. He was halfway through shoving noodles into his mouth, perched backwards on the couch, when he spotted her standing there, suitcase in hand, and promptly choked, noodles flying everywhere.
Yue, sprawled across the beanbags with a gaming controller in hand, did a double-take so violent he fell off the side, hitting the floor with a thud and a dramatic yelp.
Lao Mao blinked once, twice, and then simply stared, mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish out of water.
Lao K froze with a bottle of water halfway to his lips, dripping half of it down his front without noticing.
Ming actually stood up from his place on the arm of the couch, his arms crossing slowly, his face shifting from casual to suspicious in a blink.
Rui, coming out of his office with a sheaf of papers in hand, paused mid-step, his glasses sliding slightly down his nose.
There was a beat of stunned, perfect silence—
And then an explosion of overlapping voices:
"WAIT—"
"WHAT—"
"ARE YOU—"
"SHE'S STAYING?!"
"HOLY SHIT—"
Pang launched himself over the back of the couch, nearly face-planting in his rush to reach her. "You're staying?!" he howled, wide-eyed and wild with glee.
Yue scrambled up from the floor, pointing dramatically. "You're living here? Like—here here?"
Lao Mao just shook his head slowly like he was watching the apocalypse unfold.
Even Lao K let out a low, stunned whistle, muttering under his breath, "Well... we're doomed."
Ming narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Sicheng, who just leaned casually against the wall behind Yao with a smug little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, daring him to question it.
Rui looked like he was mentally calculating insurance costs.
Yao blinked at all of them, her heart full, her chest aching with how stupidly, ridiculously happy she was—and smiled. A real smile. Bright and free and so full of life that for a second, the whole base seemed to go still. "Yeah," she said, her voice steady, her fingers brushing Sicheng's where he stood behind her. "I'm home." And the base, loud, chaotic, wild, stupidly full of love, exploded all over again. Because she wasn't visiting. She wasn't passing through. She was theirs. And nothing in the world was ever going to be the same again.
The second Yao's declaration settled into the air— I'm home —the base exploded into chaos.
Pang was the first to recover, leaping toward her with both arms wide like he was about to tackle her in a bear hug. "I call dibs!" he yelled. "I get to help her unpack!"
"No way!" Yue yelped, lunging after him. "I was friends with her first! I get first dibs!"
"You're both idiots," Lao Mao muttered, casually stepping between them like he was preparing to referee a street brawl. "She's not a damn carnival prize."
Lao K pinched the bridge of his nose with a muttered curse. Ming sighed long and low from the couch, rubbing a hand over his face as if he was mentally preparing a speech about professionalism that he already knew no one would listen to. Even Rui looked like he was seriously considering walking right back into his office and pretending none of this was happening.
Yao blinked at the sudden tidal wave of arguing, her suitcase still clutched in one hand, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the sheer force of the welcome she was getting. Before she could say anything, before she could even think. A pair of strong arms slid around her waist from behind. She squeaked in surprise as Sicheng, with a lazy grunt, simply lifted her off the ground, hooking his arm under her knees and cradling her effortlessly against his chest.
The entire room froze.
Pang's mouth dropped open so hard it looked like it might hit the floor. Yue made a choked, sputtering noise that suspiciously sounded like someone short-circuiting. Lao Mao blinked once, slowly, then just crossed his arms and watched the train wreck unfold with grim fascination. Lao K's eyebrows raised with an amused look on his face. Ming's expression went completely blank, the exact face he wore right before someone got thrown into extra drills. Rui sighed deeply, muttering something about early heart attacks and insurance premiums.
Yao stared up at Sicheng, half-mortified, half-dazzled, her hands fisting into the front of his jacket on instinct. "You—what are you—" she gasped, but he just smirked down at her, infuriatingly smug, like he had been waiting for this moment.
"She's living in my room," Sicheng declared calmly over her head, addressing the team like he was announcing something as casual as a dinner order.
The base exploded again.
"WHAT—" Pang shrieked, actually stumbling backward into the couch.
"NO FAIR!" Yue cried out. "THAT'S CHEATING—"
"You can't just claim her like she's a—" Lao Mao started to say, but then paused, grimacing slightly, realizing who he was talking about.
"Yeah, actually, he can," Lao K muttered, already done with the drama.
Ming just stood there, arms folded, face unreadable, clearly debating whether he could charge Sicheng rent for two now but in reality he was pleased the girl was going to be staying with them now where they can keep an eye on her AND Cheng was less of a pain in the ass with her around.
Rui pinched the bridge of his nose and murmured something that sounded suspiciously like, "I need a raise." however he was pleased she was staying because she for some reason could control his idiot players with a single look at the brats.
Meanwhile, Sicheng was already moving, carrying Yao easily across the room like she weighed nothing, ignoring the uproar around him with the complete, serene indifference of a man who had already won.
Yao, flustered and laughing helplessly, buried her face in his shoulder to hide the ridiculous grin splitting her face. "You're unbelievable," she muttered against his neck.
He snorted softly, shifting her higher in his arms, his mouth brushing the curve of her ear as he murmured just for her, "Get used to it, Shorty. You're stuck with me now." And somehow, with his arms wrapped around her, with the noise and chaos and wild love of the team exploding behind them. She had never felt more at home in her entire life.
The noise from the living room faded behind them as Sicheng shouldered the door to his room open, kicking it shut without even bothering to look.
He carried her straight across the space without hesitation, the familiar room dim and warm, sunlight filtering in through the curtains. It smelled like him. Sharp. Clean. Home. He set her down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at her waist, his body still crowding hers, refusing to put any distance between them.
For a moment, they just stayed there—breathing each other in—while the world outside the door kept spinning, loud and chaotic and completely irrelevant.
Sicheng leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of her, his forehead dropping to rest lightly against hers. "Welcome home, beautiful," he murmured, the words so low, so full of meaning, that her heart squeezed painfully tight in her chest.
She barely had a second to reply before he caught her mouth in a kiss—deep, hard, devastating. The kind of kiss that left no room for questions. The kind of kiss that stripped them both bare all over again. Yao whimpered into him, her hands flying up to fist into the front of his jacket, clinging desperately as he poured everything into her with his mouth, his touch, the heat rolling off him in waves.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard, his hands still firm at her hips, anchoring her in place.
She smirked up at him, her lips kiss-bruised and her eyes gleaming with a wicked sparkle he knew far too well. "I forgot to mention something," she said, her voice light, teasing, deliciously dangerous.
His eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering across his face. "Oh?" he drawled, his voice rough, still wrecked from the kiss.
She leaned up just a fraction, letting her lips brush the shell of his ear as she whispered, low and sinful: "I'm wearing a thong under this dress." She pulled back just enough to catch the immediate reaction, the sharp flare of heat in his eyes, the way his hands flexed, the way his jaw clenched like he was holding himself back by a thread.
For half a heartbeat, the room was utterly still.
Sicheng growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through the space between them like a promise, a warning, and a surrender all at once. "You're playing with fire," he muttered darkly, his hands sliding down to her thighs, his fingers slipping under the hem of her dress, finding bare skin and the thin, teasing line of lace she had promised.
Yao smiled sweetly, tilting her head at him with mock innocence.
He snorted once, rough and sharp, and then he moved, pressing her back onto the bed with a slow, relentless pressure, following her down, covering her completely. "You think you're ready to deal with what you just started?" he rasped against her throat, nipping lightly at the skin there.
Yao shivered, her arms wrapping around his neck, tugging him closer. "I'm counting on it," she whispered. And the way he kissed her after that—hungry, rough, worshiping—left no doubt. She had started it. But he was going to finish it. Thoroughly. Completely. And neither of them would ever want it any other way.
The second her teasing words left her mouth, any fragile restraint Sicheng had been holding onto snapped cleanly in half. He crashed his mouth against hers in a kiss that was hard, deep, and absolutely consuming, stealing the breath from her lungs, leaving her clinging to him, trembling with the force of it.
Yao whimpered against his mouth, her hands fisting into the front of his shirt, desperate and helpless under the sheer, relentless weight of him.
Sicheng didn't give her a chance to pull away—not that she would have. One hand tangled roughly in her hair, keeping her right where he wanted her, while the other moved lower, unbuckling his belt with sharp, deliberate movements, the quiet metallic clink of the buckle cutting through the heavy air between them. He moved fast, efficient, raw, unzipping, shoving his jeans down just far enough to free himself with a rough, low growl that vibrated straight through her. When he finally pulled back, just far enough to drag his gaze over her, kiss-swollen lips, flushed cheeks, the wicked gleam still burning in her eyes—it took everything he had not to lose it right there. His mouth curved into a dark, dangerous smirk as he bent down, brushing the tip of his nose along her jaw, his voice a rough, sinful rasp against her skin, "My room is soundproof, beautiful." The promise, low, guttural, wrecked, sent a violent shiver down her spine.
No one would hear her scream.
No one would hear her beg.
No one would hear the way he was about to destroy her, in the best possible way.
He caught her wrists, pinning them briefly above her head with one large hand, as his hips pressed between her thighs, the hard length of him rubbing against the thin scrap of lace she had so boldly confessed to wearing. Yao gasped, her back arching off the bed, her body already aching, already desperate for him. Without warning, with one sharp, fluid thrust, he slid deep inside her, filling her completely, making her cry out as her body tightened helplessly around him. Sicheng groaned low in his chest, burying his face against her neck, holding still for a breathless moment, letting her adjust to the sudden, overwhelming fullness of him. She whimpered under him, her thighs tightening instinctively around his hips, her body arching to meet his. And then he moved. Hard. Deep. Relentless. Driving into her with a force that left no room for doubt, no room for hesitation. Every thrust was rough and raw, dragging broken, helpless moans from her lips, each one swallowed by his mouth as he kissed her again and again, wild, claiming, worshipping. "Mine," he growled into her ear, punctuating the word with a sharp, devastating thrust that made her cry out again, her fingers clawing at his back, her body shuddering under him.
"Always," she gasped back, her voice barely a whisper.
His rhythm grew harsher, deeper, grinding into her just right, pulling sounds from her she didn't even recognize as her own. And he took it all. Took her —completely, absolutely—like he had been made for this, for her, for the way they fit together so perfectly, so inevitably. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, the soft, desperate cries she couldn't hold back, the deep, broken sounds torn from his throat as he lost himself in her completely. The world outside his soundproof walls ceased to exist.
Every thrust was deep, hard, devastating. The rough drag of his jeans, half-pushed down his hips, brushed against her inner thighs with every sharp movement, the rough fabric scraping lightly over her bare skin, adding a maddening friction that made her whimper helplessly beneath him.
Yao gasped, her head tossing back against the pillows, her body arching desperately into him, needing more, needing everything. The over-stimulation, the burn, the stretch of him inside her, combined with the maddening friction of denim and skin, was driving her completely, beautifully out of her mind. She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, heels digging into the curve of his back, trying to anchor herself as he thrust into her with the same slow, devastating precision. But it wasn't enough. She needed more. "Please," she gasped, voice breaking apart between moans, her nails raking down his back, leaving faint red trails in their wake. "More... harder, please—Sicheng—"
The way she said his name, wrecked, desperate, clinging to him, made him groan low against her neck, the sound brutal, raw, possessive. "You're killing me," he growled, voice shaking with how close he already was, how much he wanted to give her everything she was begging for. He shifted, adjusting his grip on her hips, grinding even deeper as he pulled almost entirely out of her, only to slam back in, harder, sharper, sending her body arching up with a ragged cry. The jeans rubbed against her thighs with every thrust now, rough, maddening, perfect, adding to the overwhelming heat building low in her belly.
Yao sobbed his name again, clenching around him, every nerve ending on fire, every breath a broken, desperate plea for more.
And Sicheng gave it to her. Harder. Deeper. Each thrust slamming into her with a rough, relentless force that made the bed creak, made the air shudder, made her scream his name until she thought she might shatter from the sheer intensity of it. He buried his face against her throat, biting lightly at her skin between gasping kisses, growling soft curses against her as he drove her higher and higher. "You feel so good," he muttered, the words breaking apart in a groan, "so perfect... made for me."
"Yours," she sobbed, her fingers clawing into his hair, her body meeting every thrust, riding the brutal edge of pleasure and pain and needing more, always more.
"Mine," he snarled, slamming into her harder, his jeans scraping against her thighs, her body straining against him as she spiraled tighter and tighter.
The pressure was unbearable now, blinding, clawing its way up her spine, building higher and higher until she could barely breathe, until all she could do was feel. She was going to break. She wanted to break. For him. Because of him. With him.
The tension coiled tighter, almost unbearable now, every thrust pushing her closer to the edge of something vast, something blinding. Yao sobbed his name against his shoulder, her body writhing beneath him, her nails digging into his back, leaving frantic, desperate marks he would wear like a badge of honor.
Sicheng wasn't faring any better. Every inch of him was tight, shaking with the effort it took to hold back, to let her go first, to give her every last drop of what she needed. But he was barely hanging on. Not with the way she clenched around him. Not with the way she moaned his name, over and over, like a prayer, like a curse, like he was the only thing tethering her to this world. "You're mine," he growled against her throat, thrusting deep, grinding his hips against hers, the rough drag of his jeans only making the sensations sharper, hotter, more unbearable.
"Yours," she gasped, her legs tightening around his hips, locking him in, her entire body trembling violently against him.
"Come for me, Yao," he rasped, his voice breaking apart against her ear, the desperate edge of it cutting deep through her chest. "Come now—"
She shattered. The orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, ripping through her with brutal, blinding force. Yao cried out, arching beneath him, her entire body convulsing, clenching around him so tightly he choked on a groan, his hips jerking helplessly as he lost himself completely.
He thrust once, twice, deep, hard, claiming her utterly, and then followed her over the edge with a broken, wrecked roar, burying himself deep inside her as he came, his entire body trembling from the force of it. They clung to each other, shaking, riding out the crashing waves together, their hearts pounding in a wild, chaotic rhythm that somehow still matched perfectly. When it was over, when the last tremors had finally faded, Sicheng collapsed against her with a low, exhausted groan, bracing most of his weight on his elbows to avoid crushing her but refusing to pull out, refusing to let go.
Yao lay beneath him, utterly spent, her body still twitching with aftershocks, her fingers tangled tightly in his hair, her breath sobbing quietly against his shoulder.
For a long time, neither of them moved. They just stayed there, tangled together in the wreckage of what they had made between them—sweat-slicked, trembling, completely and utterly theirs.
Finally, Sicheng lifted his head just enough to look down at her, brushing damp strands of hair away from her flushed, tear-streaked cheeks. His thumb traced the corner of her mouth, slow and reverent. "You," he whispered, voice raw and wrecked and full of something so much bigger than lust, "are never leaving this bed again."
Yao let out a shaky laugh, still breathless, her body aching in ways she didn't even know were possible. "I wasn't planning on it," she whispered back, her voice cracking slightly.
He leaned down and kissed her, slow and deep, full of quiet promises he didn't need to say aloud. When he finally pulled back, he tucked her tightly against his chest, one hand stroking slowly down her back, anchoring her there. Safe. Home. His. And as she drifted off, exhausted and utterly at peace for the first time in what felt like forever, she heard him murmur against her hair, so soft she almost thought she had dreamed it: "Forever, Shorty." And she believed him. With every broken, healing piece of her heart. She believed him.