valreifang

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greed | by design chapter three

pairing: hyunjin x reader ; chan x reader | wc: 30k | genre: adult romance | warnings: heavy angst ; mutual pining/sexual tension ; dark ideation ; age gap ; hurt/comfort ; adult and sexual content. reader discretion is advised. this series contains heavy themes that could be upsetting to some. if you're concerned it might be an issue for you, please read the detailed list of warnings. this work is for adult audiences.

Hyunjin, unhurried, handsome, so tangible and so close, raised his hand then, bringing it near your face, gently pressing his index finger onto your cheek to collect a raindrop. His touch lit a wildfire inside of you that no deluge could put out. “It’s raining,” he said, his deep, expressive gaze fixated on the drop he had stolen from you, but not for long because he looked into your eyes then. “It’s okay,” he added with a smile, offering you his hand. “Come with me.”

Greed is, perhaps, among the most complicated concepts of the human psyche, mostly because it can take so many forms that one is often completely unaware it has woven itself into their heart. It camouflages itself as something else—sometimes, even, as something noble, like concern. 

One time, when you were nine years old, some girls in your class started some sort of unofficial hopscotch tournament. The prizes were nothing more than pretty rocks found on the beach or cheap chapsticks that were supposed to smell and taste like fruit but smelled and tasted like anything but fruit. There was also a fake, dollar store pearl necklace. A small dalmatian plush toy. An old Tamagotchi. Stuff like that. Everyone brought something from home. 

Long story short—you were very good at hopscotch. You quickly climbed your way to one of the two finalist spots in the tournament, but unfortunately twisted your ankle at the end of recess. It was nothing. It didn’t even hurt by the end of the day. 

The next day, though, the girls prevented you from participating in the tournament because they didn’t want you to get hurt. Insisting did nothing. Part of you knew these girls didn’t want to get in trouble because exchanging items like that was not allowed at school, and if you got hurt for real, you’d need to see the nurse and it would risk exposing the whole thing.

Part of you knew you were better than them at hopscotch. You didn’t even want any of their trinkets. Well, maybe except for the Tamagotchi. But still. You just wanted to play and make new friends. Back then, your father often told you that Christopher was a good boy but that you should hang out with girls more instead of spending your weekends looking for frogs under rocks with him.

You were too young to understand the entirety of the situation then. It was only later that you were able to see it as a whole. You were only nine years old but your father was witnessing you growing older and approaching that frightening moment in a young girl’s life—puberty. And maybe he figured it wouldn’t be long before Christopher would drag you into the forest for purposes other than frog hunting and he didn’t like that. 

The girls had been children, just like you were. Maybe Monica wanted Lexi’s plastic diamond ring. Maybe Stef wanted, badly, the little Sailor Moon figurine you brought to add to the prize list. If she had asked you would have given it to her. 

But asking. Asking was one of the most difficult things anyone had to do in the course of their life. Because it exposed them. It bared them, displaying their want, their desire, displaying what they lacked. What was missing from them. It showed the world how greedy they were, and there was real shame in that—unwarranted, but it was still there, and very real. So of course Stef wasn’t going to just ask for it. In this world, we all strive to look like we don’t care. About anything. Ever. It’s easier to live this way, to hide ourselves under several layers of nonchalance—because it makes sure we don’t have to make ourselves vulnerable to others.

Greed took so many forms. Envy and jealousy were symptoms of greed, manifestations of it. So was longing, or selfishness. You had reached a point in your life where you wondered if all those words, all those emotions, perhaps, were just synonyms. Maybe they all meant the same thing. 

You were not above it. You had been greedy, too. You couldn’t tell for sure but maybe you had always known you would never be good enough for Chris, yet you had let him love you nonetheless. You let him kiss you, then you let him confess his love and let it grow into something so big, so rooted into him that some parts of himself became parts of you and vice versa. Then you let him marry you. And then you let him put a baby inside you. 

You had been greedy when, all those years before, you had let Liam fuck you just because you wanted to feel something. Anything. Just because you thought it would be your only opportunity in life to feel desired and wanted, as shallow as it might have been. You had been greedy when you found out you were pregnant and that your first thought had been that you, for sure, could not keep this baby because it was going to wreck your entire life. 

Judith was your punishment for it all. Not her, but her loss, which was just as heavy and tangible. The jealousy you had felt when Chris would hang out with girls. How selfish it had been to let Liam touch you and then fuck you even though you did not want him. Because maybe you did it to see if it would get a reaction out of Chris. 

It felt as though you could not be that anymore—greedy. Because it required some stamina. It demanded some life, some… something. Anything. And you had been stripped of all of it. You remembered the last greed that haunted you for a long time, and perhaps the ghost of it still did. 

You wouldn’t have been able to tell this to anybody, but you had been greedy to let Chris stay. To hope that he would love you again. And you were ashamed. It had been greedy at first and now it was just… cowardly. Which might just have been another version of greed anyway. 

It took too many forms to compile them all, which, you felt, made it the most insidious feeling of them all.

Insidious because you had genuinely believed all this time that you had gotten rid of it. That your heart was dead and would remain dead and that it meant you would never taste the sweetly bitter taste of greed on your tongue. It was true, it was an honest thought, but you had never believed it made you a better person than anybody else. It just made you an empty person.

And then one day, everything changed.

The morning after your conversation with Hyunjin, you went to sit outside to watch the sunrise. You refilled your water bottle and closed the shop, walking the short climb uphill for a better, unobstructed view. Most days, you did not mind the trees. If anything you found it quite beautiful. The way light filtered through them, reflected in hundreds of echoes of luminescence, scattered on the grounds or structures, caressing them, changing them. 

But that morning you were craving for something different. Something had changed within you and you weren’t sure what it was, you just knew it required action to make it real, to make it official. 

Maybe you had known all along. That aloneness might have been forced upon you—that you had been made alone and lonely and miserable, but that you would need to do something about it to test the bars of this prison, to challenge them. Not escape them, per se, because you did not believe you would ever not be alone. But, it turned out, no matter how unattainable you were, no matter how broken, somebody had visited that prison. And you were still alone, sure. But a different kind of it. 

So you walked. The sky was a dull gray when you set out, making your way on the dirt road leading to the gate and the main road. There was nothing else in the area—nothing that could be seen anyway. Just a forest and a road and the sound of the river flowing downhill. On some days, the iodine breeze, coming from the shore, made it all the way here, blending with the other scents. The evergreens, the decaying pine needles on the ground, the damp riverbank. Together, they became something else. Still very much distinct—nobody could mistake the smell of the ocean for the smell of trees—yet changed by one another. 

It gave you something to think about.

That day was one of those days. Saltiness permeated in the air along with the rest of it. The morning dew on the grass, rendering it cold and slippery. The trees releasing their pollen. Flowers growing in patches at random places. You walked unhurriedly, knowing you had plenty of time, listening to the forest waking up around you. Finches and chickadees flew over you, crossing the narrow dirt road to get from one tree to another, searching for food or a mate or perhaps both. As you progressed, the trees became more sparse, allowing you to see the river.

It was wide here, and the water was always calm in that spot, making it look like a lake. You had seen it all your life and yet it fascinated you still to this day. Once, when you were little, you had gathered all your courage to ask your parents why they called it a river when it didn’t look like one. Your mother explained that it was a river and just that. That day, your mother found an old school book of hers. You wouldn’t have been more than five or six years old, small enough that every aspect of the world seemed grand to you. It was your mother who taught you that lakes became rivers—that they were the same body of water. She used the poetic approach with you, adding that rivers, even the smallest ones, would ultimately spill into the sea and that it meant everything was somehow connected. She said the place where the river curved and became wide and calm was not really a lake, just a river taking a break before continuing its journey to the estuary and the ocean. 

You thought of your mother that morning when you slowed down to take in the sight of the river taking a break, becoming something else while remaining exactly what it was—a river. Just that. 

You heard the common loons before you saw them. Stretching your neck as you walked uphill, trying to see anything as the dawn was still shy and the world still quite dark. Dark but not opaque like night—dim but see-through. Gossamer. Your mother had taught you that word when she showed you her mother’s wedding veil, made of delicate tulle and lace. Your mother had taught you many things but she wasn’t done schooling you when she died. 

You wish she were still alive because things were weighing on your heart that only a mother would be able to untangle. She would have been the only person to truly understand how it felt when Judith died. And all that it entailed. 

The common loon’s haunting call filled the air, loud and quiet at once, occupying as much space outside as it did inside you. You kept walking, knowing their voices would follow you. When you reached the top of the hill, you went to sit past the trees, on one of the big flat rocks that had been put on the edge of the river to stop people from descending into it. It was enticing after all, this place where the river rested before it became something stronger, but it was treacherous as the undercurrents were quite strong here. 

But the ducks did not mind the undercurrents this morning. You watched them as the sun slowly rose on the horizon, breaking through the forest on the other side of the river. It was a pair. Two adults and their two chicks. It had been your father who told you that common loons mated for life, which meant the same pair would reunite in their chosen place to nest, mate, and raise their young. And when the time to migrate would come, they would go their separate ways more often than not but still reunite come spring.

Since that day, you had nothing but admiration for them. How much faith did one need to have to leave the partner you had known all your life and the place where you had raised maybe dozens of chicks, only to hope that you would see them again when winter ended? 

But what happens if one gets lost? you had asked your father. And he told you that common loons would only pair with another if their mate passed away. Last year, your father attended a high school reunion. Long story short, he reconnected with an old friend—Marcy. Marcy and he had briefly dated when they were teens, and it looked like she would have been down to relive the experience. You understood that he did not want to betray your mother, but sometimes, you feared for him, because he could not move on. 

You reminded him of the common loons one day, thinking it was a solid argument as to why he should call Marcy back. And then you were faced with a truth so ugly and so terrible that you had buried it somewhere deep within you—you had discovered the difference between could not move on and would not move on. Your father would not move on. By choice. Maybe, like you, he refused to let greed permeate him, and chose misery instead. 

The ducks swam gently on the water, the parents feeding their chicks with whatever they found under the surface. You wondered if they were the same two common loons that you had seen for the past several years. Or if one had been lost and the other had moved on. If it were the case, you wondered if they remembered their old mate. If they missed them. 

You wished your mother were here. Right now. Sitting next to you, watching the ducks and the sun as it rose in the sky. 

You would tell her about Hyunjin. 

You would tell her about his paintings. About the kindness with which he treated you—you, a complete stranger. You would tell her he didn’t feel like a stranger the way other people did. Others were strangers in the sense that there was distance between you and them, and perhaps even a wall of sorts. Hyunjin was a stranger but it was not a wall that separated the two of you—it was a door. And he had opened it last night, politely but decidedly. 

You would tell your mother you had never spoken with someone as direct and as honest as him, and that it made you want to be more like him. Because you liked being treated like that. You would tell her he did not hesitate to make space for you, to share weed and liquor with you. You would tell her about the charcoal sketches he showed you.

There was no one else in the world you could possibly tell these things. That you had forgotten what happiness felt like the way expats forget their home country—they remember it like one remembers a movie instead of their past. 

You would tell your mother that Hyunjin was the closest thing to a genuine memory of happiness that you had felt since that awful day when they put your daughter’s dead body in your arms. 

You would tell your mother that you did not want to let him be more than that. That it had already been too much. That each smile was a betrayal to Judith. 

Every flutter of your heart was a betrayal to Chris. 

It could not be stopped—something about last night’s encounter had reignited your heart. And you felt it this morning. It seemed like a frequency emanated from it, steady, echoing the sun rays or perhaps bird song. 

Greed.

Complicated. Intricate. Unavoidable. 

You wanted it all. You wanted to respect your daughter’s memory. Also, you wanted to respect your marriage to Christopher because you had loved him all your life. Also, you wanted to feel something other than the crushing weight on your heart—in other words, you wanted to let Hyunjin soothe some of that pain, let him hold some of that burden for you. 

But you couldn’t have it all, could you? 

You stared at the horizon before you, making sure to notice the beauty in it. But all that you could see was the way Hyunjin looked a lot like the place where a river could come to rest before it started again, only to become something stronger. Grander. 

You had never been one to believe in fate before—there had been no need for it in your life. Not really. 

It had been so long since anything made sense. Harmony had ceased to exist the moment Judith’s heart failed. 

But before her, there had been a painting for which you developed a liking, a fascination. The fascination extended to its creator. The painting depicted loss—the same loss that would be forced upon you years after you discovered it. Maybe you loved it even more after. You certainly understood it better. Unfortunately. 

It had not been a comfort, not really—Loss, the painting, was more like an anchor to you. Something that you could look at and remember that you were not dreaming. That even though it felt like it, you were not trapped in a nightmare. You needed to be reminded of that sometimes, or else you started to hope you would wake up soon. 

Out of all the camping grounds in the world, it was at yours that Naro’s direct descendant ended up. And the colors of Hyunjin’s soul were familiar to you—so was the damage in it. 

And so, it made sense. Somehow. That it was all related. For so long, the pieces of the puzzle had been floating in chaos. And now, one by one, they were finding their place within one another, showing you little by little the illustration their whole would become. 

And you did not know what it would become. 

But today, for the first time in a long while, you wondered what it would all amount to. With genuine curiosity. Today, you wanted to see what the pieces of the puzzle might reveal—if they revealed anything in the first place. Chances were that the image would be abstract or blurred or maybe something terrible. 

However, you still wanted to know. And if that wasn’t the manifestation of whatever changes had occurred within you, then what was it?

You left the shop in Allie’s hands after staying with her a little longer than you needed to, but the cause was noble—you helped her set everything up for the opening, and then you stayed even as the first clients came by. It was almost always the same kind of clients who were here this early into the day. You had the smokers who wanted to make sure they wouldn’t run out of cigarettes with their coffee. You had those who would go fishing and needed bait. You had parents who absolutely needed milk or juice for the kids. Then you had what you called the true vacationers—they were up at sunrise just because. For no other reason than they might as well stay up if they got awoken by a bird nearby or something. They had no worries at all, and often felt like taking a little walk around—they stopped at the shop to get a coffee or a bottle of water, or just to have a conversation with another human being. 

Allie was just the right person to work the mornings. A widow in her 50s, she applied for the job last year, admitting that she craved human connection and wanted an opportunity to find it in a place like Riverside Campground. Neither you nor Chris had any hesitation in hiring her. 

“I think you’re all good here,” you told Allie after doing a last checkup of the self-serve coffee machines. 

“You go sleep now, stop making excuses not to,” Allie retorted with a playful smile. The smile faded a little and her eyes took an inquisitive look. “Are you alright?” 

The tone with which she asked the question shook you, as though you knew it meant much more than just how are you.

“Yes I’m alright, what is it?” you responded with that rehearsed voice and that rehearsed smile that you hated so much.

From behind the cash register, Allie tilted her head slightly, observing you. A group of four, all of them in fishing gear, was approaching. You could hear their voices through the windows. They sounded excited. 

“Nothing,” Allie replied. Then she immediately added, “I don’t know, you seem a little different.”

Part of you wanted to run away from this place—and this conversation—as quickly as possible. You were not the kind of person who talked about these things, certainly not with your employees. Not because you didn’t like them but precisely because you did. You wanted to pretend that you were whole. You didn’t want them to know they worked for a wreck of a human being. Out of concern for them. Out of shame and guilt. Out of greed, perhaps. 

The few seconds it took for you to come up with an appropriate and believable response were more than enough for Allie to understand that whatever you were about to say would not be the truth.

“I’m not used to working overnight,” you said anyway. A lame attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. 

“That’s not really what I meant,” she told you. “I meant different in a less melancholic way.”

You stood near the coffee machines, your eyes fixated on the woman behind the counter, frozen in shock. Panic took over you—you had never told Allie about Judith, not directly. But the older employees, or your father, or Christopher’s parents, would sometimes talk about it, and word usually got around. The team was very sensible about this and never really brought it up. Allie had talked to you about it last year. Because she was a mom, too, and only a mother would understand this loss. She said you reminded her a little bit of her daughter. She hugged you that day, but never talked about it again.

Case in point—Allie knew about it all. She knew about the gaping wound in your chest. 

Today, right now, Allie had become the first witness of your betrayal to your daughter. And you did not know what to do about it. 

“It’s a good thing,” Allie added, her smile returning to her lips. She shook her head and pushed a strand of graying hair behind her ear. “Remember what I told you last fall?” 

Yes, you remembered. It was something that had been told to you before, in passing, in less direct words. It happened last year on the last day of the season—much like opening day, the camping ground organized a big party to end the season. Bonfires, music, barbecue, drinks of all kinds. Allie wasn’t even scheduled that day but she came anyway and sat with you by a bonfire while you were making for her your famous ‘fire apple’, which was an apple coated in butter and brown sugar, slow-roasted over flames. Few words had been said, except Allie had told you, “You’re allowed to be happy, you know?” And when that hadn’t gotten her a response, she added, “Or at least, you’re allowed to be something other than sad.” 

You did not think it was true. The others didn’t know. They didn’t know about what had happened when you were seventeen. The baby that you had been too scared to keep. So it made sense that they couldn’t comprehend the entire situation—they simply did not know that you had failed so many times. That life was punishing you for what you had done. For the thoughts you had. The doubts you had—how you had not been sure that you wanted to have a baby with Chris.

That you had wanted to want it. 

There were no doubts, however, about the very real love you had for your unborn daughter. From the moment you knew she existed within you. That love became unconditional. That love became an integral part of you. But maybe none of it mattered, not if you had been secretly wishing that it would take a long time for you to become pregnant.

Was there a word for wishful thinking, but in a negative context? 

Just a manifestation of your deepest, darkest thoughts, perhaps? 

Whatever it had been. It was all your fault. 

“I remember,” you told Allie with a nod. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.” You didn’t really mean that and you could only hope she hadn’t noticed. “Have a nice day, Allie.” 

And she wished you a good day in return, urging you, again, to go home and sleep. 

You grabbed your things and made your way toward the employee parking lot where you immediately saw that Chris’ truck was there already. You sat behind the wheel of your car, pondering over Minho’s breakfast offer. He sounded like he meant it when he invited you, and the truth was you kind of wanted to go. But another, worse truth was also lingering in your chest—you needed time to process all those thoughts crowding your mind. 

You needed time to get used to the bitter, unpleasant taste of shame on your tongue, and no amount of bacon or orange juice would help with that. How much time? It was hard to tell, and maybe you’d never actually get used to it. Maybe you’d just be forced to live with it. The same way the rest had been thrown at you against your will. 

The same way aloneness was forced upon you.

You dreamt.

The dream was fuzzy, neither good nor bad. A nightmare but not really. It was hard to call a dream a nightmare when it was just a copy of your life. It would be like admitting to something terrible, something that should remain secret, unspoken. 

But you dreamt of a city you didn’t know, a metropolis, walking in its crowded streets, everything around you a blur. In this dream, you were making your way to the cemetery where Judith had been buried, only, you were lost. And you couldn’t at all figure out where to go. You asked faceless passersby for directions but they did not see you, or pretended not to. Only, you were not scared. You were unhappy and upset but this was no different than your usual. 

I want to see my baby, you kept telling these strangers. Tell me where to go, please.

But they said nothing at all, and somewhere in your heart, you knew it was because there was nothing to see in the place where your daughter’s name was engraved onto a pretty crescent moon-shaped tombstone. No amount of tears that you would cry into the soil that covered Judith would ever bring her back, nor would it change anything. 

In this dream, you kept walking in the city you did not know, stopping in front of a building, a shop of sorts, with a large window at the front. There was something displayed in the window—a painting, almost as large as the glass that separated you from the canvas. This painting did not exist in reality yet you recognized it as a self-portrait. It showed a young man sitting in front of an easel, painting a lake. His face was mostly hidden behind his dark brown hair. Black but not quite. You stared at the painting for a long time. It seemed like the lake inside of it was almost too lifelike, as though the man was bringing it into existence just so he could drown in it.

And then you woke up.

The house was quiet. Quiet in a way a house was quiet nowadays—so not really. The steady humming of appliances in the kitchen did very little to cover the noises coming from outside. Cars. Their engines, the tires on the pavement. It was a small street and there weren’t too many cars passing by, but when there were, you heard them. 

Your neighbors too. You heard them. On the left of your house was an empty lot but on the right was a couple in their 70s. Lovely people. They had a few children who were no longer children because they had children themselves. Many parties and barbecues occurred over the summers with everyone in this beautiful family reunited. They weren’t too loud and it’s not like the parties went on until impossible hours. Truth be told, you were so busy during the summer that it didn’t bother you. 

It’s just that you heard them. Cassie and John, and the cars, and the children on their bicycles. And while you were aware that hearing anything at all was a privilege and should not be taken for granted, you couldn’t help but wish that you didn’t, sometimes. 

This—all of this—just reminded you that life went on for everyone else except you. You were stuck somewhere in the past or perhaps in many places. In a mall in the next city over. In a hospital room. And yet nowhere at all. Maybe somewhere under the river, buried, forgotten. 

You rolled into your bed, lying on your side, facing the space where Christopher should be. Would have been if you were anything other than… this. You touched it. The mattress, the sheets. You pressed your face onto his pillow, inhaling his scent. It was just strong enough that you knew for sure he had slept here last night, sometime before you came home. At least he had been alone, because your pillow smelled like you and not like Summer. 

It was with your head on your husband’s pillow that you remembered your dream. You rarely dreamt and when you did, the memory of it didn’t usually follow you into the real world. But it did today, images from it lingering behind your eyelids, playing like scenes out of a silent movie. A city. You, just walking. A man and a lake. A shop.

You opened your eyes again, realizing that you were having an idea. A dangerous one. Frankly, a stupid idea. And you really shouldn’t listen to it. You should forget that dream and the reasons it haunted your mind, but instead you pushed yourself up and made your way to the bathroom for a shower, telling yourself that whatever was occurring in your head was more like being colonized by thoughts rather than having them sprout within your mind. You took your time, more than you ought to. You shampooed your hair twice. You conditioned it mindfully. You washed your body carefully, the way you would if you loved it. Pretending that you loved it and that it was not a graveyard. You rinsed everything off. You applied lotion. 

It didn’t take a lot of time before the smell of coffee invaded the first floor—you let the coffee machine brew your cup while you returned upstairs to put some clothes on, scrolling your phone to find an address. You had been to that shop before but it was a few towns over and you just wanted to make sure. 

It was greedy. What you were about to do. It looked like a generous thing—to an outsider and perhaps even to yourself if you were less self-aware, it would appear as an act of kindness. And it was. But it was so many other things too—things too frightening to even think about. 

So instead of thinking about them, you put on some comfortable clothes, poured your coffee in your favorite travel mug—it had a funny frog on it—and left your home only to get in your car and drive away. The whole time, you wondered what it meant. That you were going where you were going and doing what you were about to do. You wondered if it was as significant as it seemed to be to you. 

You wondered why your heart was fighting so damn hard to stay alive—to keep beating, to keep feeling, when you had wished for the exact opposite for so long. All this time you thought you had some semblance of control over it all. You thought you had some anchor somewhere, something keeping you where you needed to be, which was to say, as far away from happiness as you could be. 

But that day, you drove the hour it took to get to a small art supplies store, run by a lady who liked to visit the camping every other year or so. It was so tiny it was difficult to imagine the shop could hold much and yet you knew that any artist could find what they wanted here, and more. It was a sunny day but the shop was cool because the lady installed air conditioning two years back. 

She recognized you from behind the counter, calling you by your first name, which she remembered, and offering you a kind smile. The wall behind her was covered in shelves that were covered in so many things. Canvases. Paintbrushes. Archival grade glue. Wax, pencils, ink. 

You had no control over the smile you offered her in return. 

“What can I do for you today, young lady?” She always called you that but you did not feel young anymore. “Are you planning another art workshop for the camping ground?” 

You always planned an art workshop at the camping ground, most often for kids, but sometimes one for teens and adults, too. But there was rarely much of a crowd on those, as though grown-ups were too intimidated, whereas children felt no pressure to perform. They came, they spread colors on a canvas and they were content with just that. It was more complicated for adults. They thought they had to be good. They thought they had to know how to paint. But nobody in the world needed to be good at what they did for the first time. Or for the hundredth time. The truth that adults seem to forget, intentionally or not, is that you can keep trying and doing things even if you suck at them. 

“Yes, but that’s not why I’m here today,” you replied, scanning the wall behind her and then the other shelves around you, searching for what you were looking for. “I would like to buy your best, fanciest watercolor paints, please. And aquarelle paper and brushes obviously. The whole kit someone of high skill would need to paint.” 

Those words released a tangible taste on your tongue. Something sweet. It reminded you of honey with the way it coated the inside of your mouth and went down your throat as you attempted to swallow it down. It didn’t get stuck in your throat. It just existed within you. 

You had never really been good at any of it. Making friends, talking to people. Being happy. 

Healing. 

But it didn’t mean you should stop trying even though you sucked at it, right?

It was mid-afternoon by the time you made it back home. You would have been expected over at Riverside some time ago but you also knew that nobody would actually care enough to text you, not unless the campground was short-staffed. Or on fire. And you had been extra careful, checking the schedules twice, making sure that nobody had called off. 

You weren’t Chris, so it meant they wouldn’t notice you weren’t there unless somebody needed something specific from you. Or if they couldn’t find Chris, for one reason or another. 

There was something comforting in that. Invisibility. It felt like your own little superpower—to have the ability to disappear from people’s minds. You left no trace where you went. You were polite and kind and understanding, and yet so forgettable. You were not fun or special the way Christopher was. Christopher stayed in people’s minds long after he had parted from them.

You, on the other hand, did not. 

Which is why you drove back home instead of going straight to Riverside Campground as you initially planned. The thought had occurred to you about halfway through the ride—that Hyunjin had probably forgotten you. 

Nothing about you was substantial enough to leave any mark on people. While it could be comforting, it was not an easy thing to accept and it would have been a lie to say you were one hundred percent okay with it, but you were also aware of the situation and knew better than to keep any sort of hope. Like the hope that you existed somewhere in Hyunjin’s mind even today, several hours after your private moment with him.

What a humbling experience it was. Because you couldn’t get him out of your mind. You thought of his paintings and the way he used color or the way light hit some of his pieces, giving life to them through his agile impasto technique, adding depth with the shadows it left behind. And that made you wonder if there could be beauty buried somewhere within you, should you be seen under the right kind of light. That led you to wonder what kind of light would ever be the right one for such a miracle to happen. 

So you went home, unnoticed, leaving the brown paper bag containing the art supplies on the kitchen table and immediately making your way upstairs. You had showered earlier but you needed to be under the water again, perhaps to wash away some of the things lingering within your skull. You shouldn’t even be thinking of him at all. Hyunjin. It was cool that he was related to Naro but it was another thing to remember fondly the way his lips moved when he spoke. The exact shape of them as he said certain words, like alone, or love. Or when he said your name.

You shouldn’t be remembering the words he said to you because he must have said them to be kind after you forced your secret upon him. When he said that your soul had many colors in it, or that he hoped he would see you again for drinks.

You shouldn’t be remembering the way it felt when he hugged you, holding you in his arms for a brief instant. He was strong but he held you delicately, almost like he was afraid to break you. Couldn’t he see that you were beyond that already? Crushed? Destroyed?

Distracted would have been another good word to describe you as you returned to your bedroom, wrapped in a towel, to find some clothes. You asked the smart speaker for information on the weather to help you figure out your outfit and settled for a sundress, as the day would get warmer around the sunset, and cooler overnight. 

You got dressed. The whole time, you wondered if perhaps you ought to use wrapping paper for the art supplies, or maybe just slap a colorful bow on the bag. But then it would seem like a gift and not just an apology for not keeping the right kind of paint at the general store. However, it really was a gift, because no fucking camping ground sold high-end art supplies at their shop. They were lucky if they had a shop at all. Nobody in their right mind should have expected to find such art supplies in the same shop where they bought live worms for fishing trips. Or tarps. Or toys to play in the sand.

It was just a way for you to say thank you. Something had changed within you thanks to him, and because he had forgotten you didn’t mean you shouldn’t be grateful. He had shown you an exclusive sketch by Naro himself, and that alone meant more than he could even realize. 

You were thinking of Hyunjin’s hands as you went down the staircase, remembering it from videos seen online where he was painting, and it was all that you could see—his hand, the paintbrush he held, and the canvas on which he applied colors. He held the brush in a very particular way. His fingers were long and graceful, and his brushstrokes were just as elegant, perfectly balanced. Strong when they needed to be and delicate when it was required. The videos he posted were pretty short but you could watch him for hours, truly. There was something fascinating about the way he painted. As though he painted like one danced, or played the violin. Like it was his soul the paintbrush was spreading onto the canvas, not paint.

But you shouldn’t be thinking about any of that. At least not in the way you were. 

Which is why you almost collapsed from shock when you heard a voice coming from the kitchen.

“What’s that?” 

Chris. 

Your first reflex was to look through the front window to verify that you weren’t hallucinating. You gulped when you saw that his pick-up truck was indeed parked right next to yours. He must have come in when you were in the shower.

After taking a deep breath, you made your way to the kitchen only to find Chris holding the paper bag and inspecting its contents. Your heart dropped before it entered a frenzied race—your pulse quickened so much you could feel it through your ribcage. In fact, you feared he would hear it from where he stood.

You figured it wouldn’t feel much different if he had caught you straight-up cheating. With a cock in your mouth and all.

It was difficult to read Chris, today especially. You had no idea why he was here as it was past his lunch break and he usually avoided you unless he really couldn’t. His shoulders and neck were stiff as though he was nervous and it made you wonder if something had gone wrong back at the campground. 

Then Chris proceeded to grab one of the items from the bag to look at it under the light spilling from the nearest window. A slight frown appeared on his already tense face. “You picked up painting?” He looked at you in a way that hinted he was trying to be nice about it, but after knowing each other for so long—and after many lost games of Pictionary—he knew you did not have the capacity to sketch even the simplest of objects. 

You ran your tongue on your lips. Your mouth was very dry all of a sudden, enough that it felt a little like your trachea was closing in on itself. You cleared your throat to rid yourself of the lump getting stuck in it, which was shame-shaped. 

The mere fact that you wanted to lie to Chris about this excessively minor event said a lot about the entire situation. In this instant, a vast sadness overcame you. As though you were realizing something that had been under your nose all this time. Only, your brain wasn’t letting you access the entirety of the revelation. 

All that you knew was that despite how seemingly inconsequential this was—meeting Hyunjin—it had shifted things within you, things you previously thought were cemented to your bones.

You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself so you could be brave and not lie to your husband. Because there was nothing to lie about. “It’s for Hyunjin. He traveled with art supplies and the airport lost his bag.”

A cloud passed in Christopher’s eyes but it was only temporary. You saw it but you pretended you didn’t—for your own sake. For his, too. It was barely anything anyway. The kind of cloud that covers the sky momentarily one afternoon and you wonder if it’s going to ruin your day or not, and in the end the blue returns and it doesn’t rain. And you realize there was never even a risk of precipitation.

Maybe, deep down, you were hoping Chris would be angry. Upset. Jealous. Because at least that would mean he still cared. That would mean there was still something to be upset about. After all, you were upset when you saw Summer wearing his hoodie. But he stood there in the kitchen with sunlight caressing his handsome face, on which an expression that was neither anger nor jealousy or even disappointment had appeared. 

“He paints?” Chris said, his voice steady and low, but clear as day. 

“He’s the guy who asked for watercolors yesterday, remember? Jeongin wanted to know if we sold any,” you reminded him, causing Chris to nod before he returned the tube of Phthalo Green to the paper bag.

“I remember.” He stretched his neck—Chris seemed less nervous, or maybe more of something else. It was difficult to tell. “That’s really nice of you.”

The worst part of knowing Chris had fallen out of love for you was that he was still your best friend. He was still the guy you grew up with, the one who would take you frog hunting, the person with whom you shared the most memories. But it was as though that best friend was buried underneath layers of dead soil and you no longer had access to him. Or maybe you did, only you didn’t know which tool to use for the excavation. Today, Christopher looked more than ever like an archeological miracle. Something perfectly preserved, but no longer active. Just remains. The skeleton of what once was. 

You couldn’t help it—you shared your enthusiasm with him anyway. It was greedy. Maybe you just wanted to get a reaction out of him. Something. Anything. “You know, Naro?”

Another nod. 

“Well, they’re related,” you explained. “Naro is his great-great-grandfather or something.” 

A strange smile painted itself on Christopher’s lips, this place that was once so, so familiar to you. “Wow,” was all he said, with a sigh he tried to conceal. 

Every second without a burst of anger was like another blade in your heart. 

“What a coincidence,” you chose to say. You did not know what to say, but you knew you had to say more. You knew it had to be you—it always had to be you. Who soothed the awkwardness of conversations. It was your ball and chain, your burden, your duty. “Are things okay at Riverside? I wouldn’t have expected you at this time of the day.” 

Chris went to the fridge to pour himself a glass of pineapple juice. You could tell it was out of nervousness—he needed to be moving because it was easier than standing there and looking you in the eyes. You couldn’t blame him. 

“Everything’s fine with the campground,” he replied, and he sounded a bit more like Chris then. He drank his juice and put the glass in the dishwasher, turning to you. “I came to see you.”

Your heart jumped but you immediately caught it, making sure to give it a good kick as a warning. Christopher was more than your husband—your lives had been intertwined for as long as you could remember. There was a plethora of reasons why he would have wanted to see you and the scenario in which he suddenly loved you again was the least possible of them all. 

Your words got lost somewhere between your brain and your lips, falling back into your throat as that lump that was still stuck there made breathing difficult. You gulped, staring at Chris as he made his way back to you, closer than he had been, studying you. “I worry about you,” he said under his breath. “When’s the last time you had a real meal?” 

This wasn’t new. There were times when you figured Chris possibly felt guilty about not loving you anymore so he overcompensated in other ways. You hated those thoughts. You hated that they lingered in your brain, no matter how hard you tried to push them away. You wouldn’t want him to know you felt that way. It was so ugly, so awful. 

“Did you eat breakfast?” he insisted. 

“I had coffee,” you recalled, realizing you couldn’t answer his first question. 

“You don’t look well. Sit down.” Gently, Chris nudged you towards the nearest chair. “Your dad called me. He’s worried, too.” With this, he proceeded to grab food from the fridge. By the look of it, he was making you a turkey sandwich. 

“Ah, I understand your surprise visit now,” you sighed. Honest to god, you did not mean for it to come out as caustic as it did. You really were an awful wife. When the hell was he going to divorce you, for fuck’s sake?

“I’m not here just because of him,” Christopher went on, carefully spreading spicy mayo on your favorite bread. “I’m here because I know you lied to Jake. I spoke to him. I don’t care that you lied to Jake to take the night shift,” he added, turning to you. “I just wish you didn’t feel like you had to lie to me about something as insignificant as that.” 

You felt so small then, in your sunlit kitchen, sitting with your hands on your knees. You felt small and stupid and ridiculous, even. Of course. 

“There would have been a time you would have just told me,” he kept going, still making that fucking sandwich. “So it made me worry.” 

Your fingernails sank into the skin of your thighs. You looked through the window—from your point of view, all you could see was the sky and the trees in the backyard, which were beautiful. You liked this house. You wished it had been a happy one. 

“I just wanted to be outside,” you admitted, and it was true. 

“I know.” And you knew he knew. He knew that you liked spending nights outside to put your thoughts back in order, or as close to orderly as they could be anyway. “You didn’t have to lie to me, you know?” His voice was soft but firm at the same time. “You never do.”

You buried your face into your hands. Chris was right. You fought the tears as best you could because you didn’t want him to see you like that. Next thing you knew, gentle fingers were wrapping themselves around your wrists, pulling your hands away. He was right there. Chris. He had lowered himself to look you in the eyes, and he didn’t do that often these days. You loved him in that moment, or maybe you loved the memory of what he used to be.

You did your best to memorize it all. The shape of his lips. The color of his eyes when the sun spilled into his irises. His scent. The feeling of his fingers on your skin. You didn’t want to forget any of it, no matter how painful. You never wanted to forget what it had felt like to be loved by him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your vision blurring. 

“Don’t.” A frown appeared between his brow, and he thumbed a stray tear away as it rolled down your cheek. “Just tell me if I need to call Dr. Carroll.” 

The therapist you saw from time to time, no more than once a year, mostly to appease your father. You had nothing against him. Dr. Carroll was an excellent psychotherapist, it’s just that it was a waste of time for you. Nothing would ever fix you. Nothing.

You flinched, understanding the implications of what Chris was saying.

“I’m not going to kill myself if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

It was him who recoiled this time—Chris physically pulled back a few inches, letting go of you. He hated it. He couldn’t stand it when you said those words out loud, but after having them haunt your mind for so long, you were familiar with them. Chris seemed to believe life was sacred. You believed that too, once. Maybe. Happiness had never found you easily but maybe you used to think something like that at least when Judith lived inside you. 

Any parent would tell you the same—if they lost their child, they wouldn’t want to keep going. Simple as that. 

But you went on. For some reason. And now you were here in this kitchen, with your husband staring at you like you were a horror movie, and maybe you were. 

“Don’t say that.” Chris stood, returning to his sandwich-making duties. “You know I hate it when you say that.” 

In some ways, you envied him. His sorrow was undeniable but presented itself so differently than yours. It was as though Chris had this urgency to live, and to live fully. Like doing otherwise would be a dishonor to Judith. You felt the complete opposite of that. It’s not that you wanted to die—it’s just that you didn’t know how to exist in a way that didn’t fill you with shame, so you were stuck somewhere between two worlds. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” you mumbled as Chris slid a plate in front of you. You stared at the sandwich like you had never seen a sandwich before, or like you had seen a million. 

“It’s alright.” Chris put his hand on your head and ruffled your hair a little. Gently. Kindly. Almost like he still loved you. “I’ll call your dad to tell him you’re fine.” The smell of his cologne blended with the scent of the outdoors that clung to him. He had been around someone who mowed a lawn and you knew what that meant. “I have maintenance tonight but wanna have dinner at Marlene’s tomorrow? Some of the staff will be going to celebrate the season.” 

He did that sometimes. When he pitied you. Or maybe it was for other, more complicated reasons. It didn’t matter—you fell for it almost every time. 

“Sure, why not?” You did love Marlene’s cooking, and it was always comforting at the campground restaurant. It had been renovated since but it reminded you of your childhood nonetheless—bonus if Chris was present. 

Chris nodded and proceeded to put the ingredients back into the fridge. He took his time but you knew it was just because he wanted to make sure you were actually eating the sandwich. It was good. He had used all the things you liked. You ate it while staring at the sky and sometimes at him.

But he got a text from Jeongin—there was a problem back at the campground, something minor about an electric panel. So Chris left. He wished you a good rest of your day and said, “I’ll see you later,” and he left. And the paper bag with watercolors was still on the table and he hadn’t been angry about it, or jealous, and you wish he had been. 

How greedy of you. 

You ate your sandwich in the empty, quiet house. And then you put the plate in the dishwasher and headed out, driving the short ride to Riverside Campground while listening to the local radio station. It wasn’t particularly good but it was distracting enough that while it played, your brain wasn’t full of stuff. You knew it was effective as soon as you turned the engine off because the noise in your mind came back.

One might have believed you were a religious woman if they could hear your thoughts as you walked through the camping ground, holding this paper bag. They were closer to prayer than to rational thinking.

I hope he won’t be there. I hope Minho also won’t be there. But deeper, quieter—I mean, I’d like to see Hyunjin again. I hope I don’t see Chris around. I hope he cancels dinner tomorrow so I don’t have to pretend to be alright around him. I hope I see him tonight. Maybe I should call Dad and ask him to come for dinner at Marlene’s, too. And then, when the familiar sound of an electric lawn trimmer echoed from one side of the campground, you decided to go the other way, even though it would add twenty minutes to your walk. I don’t really feel like seeing Summer today. Chris will probably be with her. I don’t hate her. I wish I hated her. I wish I was her friend. I wish Chris had been angry at me.

It all came down to the same thing—the thoughts were expressed with different words but they held a similar hidden meaning, which was that you wished you were somebody else. Or rather that you weren’t you. Maybe life would be less complicated if you weren’t… that. If you weren’t a woman selfish enough to secretly want her husband to be jealous because she bought art supplies for a handsome young man while secretly wishing this aforementioned handsome young man somehow remembered her at all. The same way she remembered him. Which is to say, a way that involved her lips and maybe her hair, and the way her body felt against his.

How greedy of you. 

Before you knew it, you were walking on the path leading to the RV shared by Hyunjin and Minho. It was mid-afternoon on a bright sunny day and regardless of your abstract, prayer-like thoughts, you really didn’t imagine anyone would be there. Realistically speaking. You figured you’d leave the bag somewhere near the door, hidden from view, and go back. Maybe you’d go hang out at the shop or at the park office. Most people spent the day doing all sorts of outdoor activities before coming back to rest in the evenings. 

Needless to say, you found yourself a little puzzled when you saw that Minho was standing outside the RV. Though a part of your brain reminded you that people were free to do whatever the hell they wanted to do with their time, you still found it strange. You allowed yourself to observe him as you walked, slowing down your pace. He was taking things from larger containers to put them in a fancy backpack. There was a radio playing at a low volume somewhere inside the RV, the sound of it spilling from the open windows. 

That didn’t stop him from hearing you as you approached. To be fair, this was the quietest part of the entire campsite. “We missed you at breakfast,” was all he said at first.

You were far away enough that you thought you misheard him. Surely you must have misheard him. “Excuse me?” You picked up a pace, finding yourself curious and eager to see where this conversation was going. 

“Buh-reak-fast,” Minho repeated, exaggerating his pronunciation. “I made food for you!” 

He looked up from his task then, studying you from where you stood, which was a few feet away. He put the backpack down, leaning against the RV, adopting a comfortable, nonchalant posture, which invited a conversation. 

You took a step closer, a frown appearing over your eyes as they danced around the perimeter as though they were looking for something. Or someone. And maybe they were. But you didn’t want to be looking for anything so you focused on the man before you, only no words came to your mind and even less on your tongue. 

His inquisitive expression turned a shade darker as his eyes squinted. “You didn’t think I meant it when I gave you the invite, did you?”

You gulped, wondering if you were an open book for just about anybody who came across you. “I mean—” But nothing else came, so you pressed your lips together, your heart beating erratically. 

“Hyunjin was right I guess,” Minho sighed. “He said you wouldn’t come because you probably thought I was just being polite,” he added as an explanation. “He said you guys spent some time together last night.” 

“He told you that?” But really you meant, Hyunjin talked about me? And it was stupid. Naive.

“He tends to be right about people. Annoys the shit out of me,” Minho sighed. “For future reference, when I say something, it’s because I mean it, not because I’m trying to be nice.” 

You nodded, giving yourself a few seconds to evade his gaze and let your cheeks cool off. “Noted.” 

As you came closer, it became evident that Minho was gathering fishing gear. He took a few instants to secure everything and zip up the backpack. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you meant it. “I worked all night and then… It’s true that I wasn’t sure if I should come or not.” 

Minho offered you a gentle smile, motioning you to sit down. “Do you want lemonade? A beer?”

“No, but thank you so much though.” You realized you spoke the words before really thinking them over. You were just used to staying away from people, especially strangers. “I just came here to drop this.” You gave the paper bag a little shake. “Is Hyunjin here?” 

“He’s around.” Minho scanned the area, twisting his neck. “He said he was gonna walk by the river. Is that for him?”

“Just a little something.” You could leave it right here. Only you didn’t. “I’ll try to find him. Thank you,” you added with a smile that you almost meant. 

You followed the same path you had last night when you unexpectedly smelled weed—you went over the short fence and landed on the soft grass, the feeling of it familiar underneath the soles of your sandals. Today, the air smelled like the first few days of summer, when the trees and plants were still a little shy but undeniably alive. You remembered feeling like this, once. 

Around you, the river was just as alive too, flowing urgently and sparkling under the bright sun. You held onto the handle of the bag as you walked cautiously, still wondering what the hell you were doing here. And also, what the hell you would tell Hyunjin.

Your train of thought came to a stop abruptly when you heard his voice. It came to you faintly at first, as though it was carried by the wind. But you kept going, reaching the spot where you could see the space where you and Hyunjin had been last night.

He was there today again, sitting on the big boulder, his phone to his ear and a closed sketchbook with a few pencils on his lap. He wore knee-length jean shorts and a loose, white tee. You wondered if Hyunjin’s beauty ever didn’t look effortless. 

The silence lasted long enough that you thought the call had ended, but then he spoke again, in Korean. You didn’t understand what he was saying but you caught the tone of it, the shakiness of his voice. You felt it somewhere within you like an echo, like you had heard it before but on your own lips. 

He said a word then—Dara—and you knew it wasn’t a word. You knew it was a name. He spoke it with pain and with love, and it seemed like you understood the sorrow you had seen in the man’s brown eyes. 

Dara. 

Who was she? A lover, obviously. Only a lover would evoke such deep emotion in someone, and you could hear that in his voice. Was she his girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend? Future girlfriend? 

And then it hit you—it was violent enough that you had to retreat and hold onto the fence behind you, hiding to make sure Hyunjin wouldn’t see you after you let out a faint gasp. 

Resentment. The painting. The two lovers, bound together by pain and tragedy. And all of the other paintings about love that you had seen on Hyunjin’s page, like the one whose background was a deep Alizarin Crimson, only the background spilled over the two subjects who were kissing, turning them red, too. Hyunjin’s perspective on love was soul-stirring, sentimental, painful. Only somebody who went through true heartbreak would feel this way—or be able to recognize it in others. 

The greedy, ugly part of you wished Hyunjin’s heart didn’t belong so ardently to this Dara so that he would fall in love with you someday. Or maybe not fall in love with you—maybe just… whatever it was that people did these days. You weren’t exactly sure what it was. It seemed like everybody was in some sort of situationship with someone they met on an app. The others were waiting for their crush to get out of the situationship they were in. It wasn’t that you wanted Hyunjin to love you—it wasn’t even that you wanted Hyunjin to desire you. Well, it would be nice if he did, but he looked like a young god so there was no chance this would ever happen. 

It’s just that he had seen you.

For the first time in a long, long time, you had let him see parts of you that you hadn’t let anybody else see, and he hadn’t pushed you away. He had told you that your souls had colors in it. He had shown you kindness. And then he held you in his arms, even just for that brief instant.

Once a year, sometimes twice but rarely, you went out of town to some shitty bar just because. You sat there at the counter and at some point into the night, when all the pretty girls had disappeared, a man would buy you a drink. You let him buy you the drink and it never went any further. At most you thanked him, but you rarely even did that. It was just some sort of reminder that maybe, just maybe, someone would want you again. Someday. If you weren’t with Chris anymore. 

Last night, stupidly, had felt like the equivalent of that, but better—like Hyunjin had bought you a drink after seeing all of your wounds and deciding he didn’t mind them all that much maybe.

But he said her name again on the phone. Dara. She must be beautiful. Surely, she was. Surely, his whole entire heart belonged to her, with the way he painted love so raw and powerful, and red, and real. 

You did the only thing that made sense then—you turned around and walked back, cursing yourself for being like this. A traitor to your husband and your dead daughter. You went over the fence and walked the path back to the RV. Minho was still there, scrolling his phone and sitting on a camping chair. 

“He wasn’t there? I mean he’s a good swimmer but I hope he didn’t fall in the river,” he started jokingly but he was serious. 

“He’s on the phone,” you replied, putting the paper bag on the steps near the RV door. “It seemed important, so I’ll just leave this here.” 

“Oh.” Minho frowned as he was thinking things over. “Want me to give him a message then?”

“Not really, it’s pretty straightforward.” You took a deep breath. For courage. The air still smelled like the world should be beautiful. 

“Another time for breakfast then, miss boss?”

“Another time,” you said as you walked away, the sun burning your eyes and your skin. Things were simpler at night. Emotions were simpler to conceal. You hoped Minho didn’t read your face accurately because you weren’t proud of the things going on in your mind. It had been a mistake to come here—to let your heart off its leash. The kind of mistake it was almost impossible to unmake.

The day after, you kept yourself busy with things around the campsite. Phone calls to contractors for last-minute repairs and then overseeing those repairs, sometimes with Chris, sometimes not. You spent a lot of time at the park office doing paperwork because it kept your mind off things while making you feel productive. And the office was air-conditioned, which was a great incentive. You sat at the counter and chatted with Jake and with the clients he welcomed in. You stopped by the shop too, to make sure everything was stocked up. 

You called your father. Well, your father called you first but you were with one of the contractors and couldn’t take the call, so technically you called your father back. He said Chris invited him for dinner tonight but he wasn’t sure he could make it because your aunt had broken her wrist and he had told her he would help her out. It’s fine Dad, you assured him. You were too busy here at Riverside to go visit your aunt after her bad fall and you were glad to know her brother would be there for her. 

It was only well into adulthood that you had wondered what it was like to have a sibling—you had never needed one before because you grew up with Christopher. He was a part of your family and you a part of his. You sort of wished you had a sister now, someone who would be able to advise you on the situation you were in. Which wasn’t even a situation, you reminded yourself. It was more like a string of situation after situation, a whirlpool of events that you found yourself stuck in and you couldn’t get out of. 

The sun was beginning to descend onto the horizon when people started telling the group chat they were headed to Marlene’s. You took care of closing up the park office while Jake headed out, taking your time. Chris’ mom stopped on her way to the shop to say hello—she would take care of the general shop while the staff had dinner. You had the feeling that she had offered just so you didn’t have an excuse not to go. And you knew that people did that with good intentions so you didn’t resent them for it, not really. You just wished they let you decide what was good for you and what wasn’t. 

Still, you made your way to the campsite restaurant. It was maybe your favorite time of the day, when the sun was low enough that its light shone a pretty shade of amber, filtering through tree branches, illuminating the world with warm incandescence. It was the sort of lighting you always looked for when visiting a museum and viewing paintings—you liked to see it recreated on canvases. Renoir had been particularly good at this, although today his paintings carried a commercial reputation, often disdained by art lovers over the world. You could understand that his style—saccharine and bright and saturated—was not for everybody, but you never understood those who claimed he was not a talented painter. In any case. He painted light just the way you liked to see it. 

Sometimes you liked to imagine how people would paint the moments you were in. Like right now. This sunset, this path you were walking on, the people around you. Tired parents and tired children, exerted after a day spent at the pool or the waterpark. Young couples coming back from a hike, older couples taking a leisurely walk after dinner before heading to their RV for an early night in. You had grown up in this place and you had seen more people in it than you could ever remember, but all of them were beautiful in their own way, and all of them, you felt like, would be the perfect subjects for a Renoir-like painting. With the remnants of sunlight caressing their hair or their cheekbones or their lips.

A lot of people were already at the restaurant when you got in. A few campsite patrons, of course, but most of them were done with dinner at this hour, leaving enough space for the staff. You ignored the four tables occupied by them at first, crossing the dining room to say hi to the kitchen staff, asking if they would join you, too. You got a few yeses and a few noes, but Marlene thanked you sincerely for the offer, mentioning that Chris had offered the same. Of course he had. Chris would never, ever leave anybody behind. 

You went to sit with the others, choosing the empty seat next to Allie’s. You were surprised to see her as she rarely participated in such events. She asked about your day as you got settled in, pretending not to notice that Chris was at the other side of the four tables brought together, sitting with Summer, her father, as well as Jake and Jaime, who he got along with. 

“Hey boss,” Jeongin said with his usual brightness. 

“Hey,” you responded, doing your best to make your smile believable, but by now you were pretty sure you were rather good at it. 

“I wanted to say thank you for the other night.” His cheeks turned pink, which you found adorable. “It was fun.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Though, if you don’t ask Lucy out by the end of this summer, I’ll run out of patience.” 

The pink on the young man’s cheeks became a little darker and he hid behind his glass of soda for a few seconds, taking a large sip from it. “I—I—” he stammered, searching for his words. 

Your smile became genuine then. It reminded you of the first few weeks with Chris when you still couldn’t believe he had been in love with you for all these years and yet at the same time you couldn’t believe you hadn’t seen it before, because it was so obvious.

“I’m just joking of course,” you added softly. “But she’s a nice girl, isn’t she?”

“She is, boss.” Jeongin nodded. He smiled, looking at the table while he ran his thumb over a scratch on the wooden surface. “I just figured, you know. It might be weird with her dad and stuff.” 

Christopher had told you the same thing once. You couldn’t help but feel immense empathy for Jeongin—you squeezed his hand in yours, inviting him to look you in the eyes. You had known him for a while now and you did believe to have a good relationship with him. He was among your most trusted employees, and you knew he looked up to Chris a lot. 

“You’re a good man,” you told him, keeping your voice low so as not to be heard by anyone other than Allie and Jeongin. “If my daughter were to date someone like you, I would be happy.” 

Jeongin froze in his seat as the weight of your words reached him. Allie put a comforting hand on your shoulder, perhaps sensing that you needed it. Jeongin knew. About you. About Chris. About the rift between you two. Maybe he didn’t know the extent of it but he knew enough to understand how difficult it had been for you to say the words my daughter out loud and you could see the gratitude in his eyes. 

“Thank you, boss,” he said under his breath. “Let me get you a drink—” 

“No, no it’s fine.” You shook your head. “Dinner’s on me anyway. On us,” you added, a little louder, looking at Chris. “Right?” 

“Of course,” Chris replied without hesitation. “I’m starving, shall we order?”

A few people got up to the counter to give their orders while a few others stayed back as they figured out what they wanted. Jeongin kept looking over his shoulder, glancing at you, almost like he was worried.

“That was a kind thing for you to say,” Allie told you. “He likes you guys a lot.”

“We like him too. I meant what I said.”

Allie sighed faintly, her hand returning to your shoulder for a quick squeeze. “You seem a little better than the other morning,” she pointed out. 

You remembered the river and the common loons and the sunrise, and your heart as it was being reignited. 

“Didn’t you say I looked less melancholic the other morning?” you questioned, using Allie’s exact words.

“Yes. But you also looked like you felt bad about it,” she explained. Allie was very direct—something she said had come after losing her husband, as she had been a very reserved and closed-off person who kept her opinions to herself before. “Would you like to come by for coffee sometime? We could have a chat, just you and I. Away from here.”

It sounded like a good idea in theory. You knew that you needed it. You knew that you couldn’t possibly make sense of all these thoughts spinning in your mind on your own. You’d need someone else, with an outsider’s perspective, to guide you through them. 

You also knew, essentially, what she would tell you. What anybody would tell you. Because you knew what you would tell a friend of yours in that situation.

Some things you just weren’t ready to hear.

You were picking at a dinner you weren’t particularly hungry for, listening to the lively conversations around you and letting them make you feel alive when you heard the bell of the restaurant door ringing. At first, you didn’t even look up—you only did so when you noticed that Christopher’s voice quieted down. So naturally, you glanced at him to see if something was wrong, maybe expecting him to be looking deep into Summer’s eyes with a loving gaze. But he was looking in the direction of the door, where two men stood, speaking in low voices in a foreign language. 

Tonight, Hyunjin’s hair was in a low bun that rested on the nape of his neck. He wore loose, comfortable clothes—a T-shirt and shorts. Minho wore a similar outfit. The two of them had a rugged look to them that you hadn’t necessarily seen before, hinting that they had spent the better part of the day outside. 

Your heart did a stupid little jump in your chest as you watched them scan the room, looking for the best seats. When Hyunjin finally turned to you and caught sight of you, his expression changed. It softened and yet became unreadable, the way a lake would freeze in the winter months, its surface becoming smooth and solid, yet you knew there was much going on underneath.

Minho waved at you and it took you a few seconds to wave back. Hyunjin offered you a smile that you weren’t sure what it meant but you also smiled back, clearing your throat as they walked away, invited to order their food by a Marlene who was eager to give good service to her clients. And to go home for the night as soon as possible. 

“You know these gentlemen?” Allie asked, trying to sound as innocent as she could and failing miserably. “I don’t think I’ve seen them before this year, but one of them came by the shop to buy worms this morning.” 

So they did go fishing after all. 

You cleared your throat again, unable to resist a glance at the other side of the table where Chris was as invested in his conversation as he had been earlier, now sitting with Jeongin and Summer and discussing a TV series they all particularly enjoyed. He did glance back at you, just half a second. Just through the corner of his eye—it was so imperceptible that you might have made it up, just like you wanted him to be jealous yesterday.

You took all the time in the world to bite into your pizza and carefully chew it. 

“I mean they’re clients,” you replied, taking a large sip of soda to chase it down.

“As are hundreds of people on this campground and not all of them say hello to you,” Allie pointed out. “They’re quite handsome, aren’t they?”

You choked on your soda—badly enough that it prompted Hyunjin, who was ordering his food, to look in your direction. You pretended you didn’t see him. 

“We had a chat, yes,” you told Allie. You knew better than to lie to her. And why would you lie? It’s not like there was anything to lie about anyway. “One of them is related to my favorite painter. What a coincidence, right?”

“It’s so cute how you love art. You should go back to Paris,” Allie said with a firm nod. It was one of the first things you ever told her when you met Allie. How you had loved visiting all of the museums in Paris when you traveled there for your honeymoon. Chris had preferred the vineyards in the south of France, but it had been a lovely time. Maybe the happiest you had ever been.

“This place isn’t gonna run itself,” you pointed out. “And I’m not going to put it all on Christopher’s shoulders,” you added when you saw that Allie was about to talk back.

She made a face that showed how she understood what you meant and returned to her food. You ate too, silently, only speaking when directly spoken to, glancing at the other side of the dining room where Hyunjin and Minho were having dinner. You thought that maybe once or twice, you caught them glancing back but it had to be a coincidence—or rather, your group were the only other people in the diner by now and some were quite loud at times, and, of course, it would cause someone to look this way. Right? 

It lasted a while—no more than fifteen minutes. You sat there, wondering whether you should get up and go talk to them. To Minho, but to Hyunjin, too. Wondering what you would say to him anyway. Wondering if you were upset that he hadn’t come talk to you after you bought him painting supplies. But you couldn’t possibly be upset about this, could you? What kind of person would that make you? 

Jeongin left first—he was off duty tonight and you knew he needed the rest. Allie left right after him since she’d need to be up early to open the shop tomorrow morning. It allowed you to also gather your things and walk away—leaving in the middle, neither the first nor the last, would ensure some sort of camouflage. It would leave you unnoticed. It would not raise questions. 

So you gathered your things and brought your plates back into the kitchen yourself to rinse them yourself but Marlene basically threw you out, claiming you were wearing the wrong attire to be on this side of the counter, but really you knew she just wanted you to take it easy. You still took a few instants to inquire about her walk-in inventory, making sure she wasn’t going to run out of anything—it seemed like the campground was especially full this week. 

The dining room was almost empty when you went back. Chris, Summer, and Jake were the only three people left.

Hyunjin and Minho were gone, their table empty and clean. 

“Everyone wanted me to say bye and goodnight,” Chris told you. “We’re getting beers with the kitchen staff,” he added, waving his beer bottle at you. You knew he would only drink one because Chris was on duty for the night. 

“I’ll head home, Dad said he’d call me to update me about Martha.” 

“I hope your aunt’s gonna be alright,” Summer blurted out. She rarely spoke to you these days and you knew why. You understood why. She wanted to fuck your husband and she was actually mature and kind enough to feel bad about it. “She’s so sweet.” 

“She is sweet but she’s also stubborn as fuck, so she’ll be just fine,” you retorted, finding it surprisingly easy to act like a human being around her. Maybe it was out of despair. “You guys have a nice night—”

You walked out of the diner as you spoke and surprise muted the last syllable of your sentence. The door fell closed behind you, the familiar bell ringing with it as you found yourself outside again. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon but its light lingered as it did in the summer, unrelenting and unrelentingly beautiful. The highest point of the sky had turned a dull gray, but everything below was a lovely gradient of lavender, blue, and golden shades. 

In any case.

Hyunjin was waiting for you, leaning against the trunk of a larch tree. 

The reason you knew he was waiting for you is because he straightened up as soon as you exited Marlene’s diner, putting his phone in the pocket of his shorts. Something inside you made you glance around and look for Minho, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

“Hey,” Hyunjin started. A smile as enigmatic as the sunset sky hung on his graceful lips. “Are you going somewhere? I mean—do you have like a minute or two for me?” 

You realized you had frozen in place when you saw him walk towards you and it prompted you to move, too. As though you wanted to put some distance between you and the diner. Or rather, the people in it. 

“Y—Yeah, no, uh, no, I’m not really going anywhere,” you managed, blinking slowly as you stopped in your tracks once you stood in front of Hyunjin. It was as though you had forgotten how tall he was and how broad his shoulders were. Like he wasn’t quite the same person from a distance as opposed to just a few inches away from you.

“Cool, thanks.” His teeth sank into his bottom lip for just a few seconds as he averted his gaze, quickly taking a posture that hinted he was looking for a place to sit down. 

He located a bench on the other side of the larch tree, which faced the river. It was a quiet little spot and you often saw people sitting on this bench, eating ice cream cones and chatting while looking at the water in front of them. He invited you to join him there with one motion of his long arm and you followed him with a glance for the diner over your shoulder. 

“Did you have a nice dinner?” you asked, impatient to break the ice. Your heart was beating fast in your chest, your pulse shallow, rendering your breath a little short. “Seems like you guys spent the day outside.” 

Hyunjin nodded, his smile returning to his lips. “Min wanted to go fishing and he made me go with him.”

“You mean he physically dragged you to the boat and threw you on it?” you asked playfully, tilting your head to the side. 

“Exactly like that. It was more like a kidnapping,” Hyunjin added in the same humorous tone. There was a pause then, maybe to allow both of you to get used to one another and to the quietness of the world. “Dinner was excellent, yes,” he said finally. “You too?”

“I wasn’t too hungry,” you admitted. “But I never didn’t enjoy a meal at Marlene’s.” 

“I bet I’ll say the same by the end of the summer.” Hyunjin sat more comfortably on the bench, laying his arm on the backrest. 

You gave him a nod and a non-committal hum as a response, unsure where to go from there. You enjoyed the momentary silence between you two, noticing the little details about him. The way he was fidgeting with the zipper of his backpack, the gracefulness of his fingers. The honey color of his skin, now sunkissed after a day outside. The wind in the stray strands of his hair. You had never seen anyone like Hyunjin before, and it made you wonder if you would ever see someone like him after.

“How was fishing?” you inquired, but it turned out that Hyunjin spoke at the exact same time as you.

“I wanted to say thank you,” he said simultaneously. “Oh,” he added in the awkwardness of the moment.

“Oh,” you added also, your cheeks turning warm despite the ambient air turning cool. 

Another silence fell upon the two of you. You sat there on the bench, facing the river with your two hands on your knees and your heart in your throat. In that moment, you remembered the time you got so sick Chris had to drive you to urgent care. It was a few years back. It was the first winter after losing Judith. You hadn’t known at first that you were ill. You were fatigued, you had headaches—nothing out of the ordinary for you. It escalated a little and you needed medical care before you realized it. But you really hadn’t known. 

It wasn’t about being in denial. You weren’t in denial that something was happening to you right now. That you felt some kind of way about the man sitting next to you on this bench. You just couldn’t pinpoint what it was—you had known nothing but grief and sorrow for so long that you didn’t think you could recognize anything that wasn’t it. You didn’t think there was space in your heart for anything that wasn’t it. 

“Uh…” Hyunjin started again, cautious, carefully unzipping the front pocket of his backpack. “Yeah, so. I’ll just say it. I wanted to say thank you for what you did for me.”

That caught you off guard. “What I did for you?” 

“You brought me paint tubes and paper and brushes and all that stuff,” he said, speaking very slowly as though you were suffering from amnesia and he needed to remind you of these things. “You bought these things for me. They were all brand new.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“It’s nothing?” He cocked his head to the side.

“Well you asked for them at the shop didn’t you?” you retorted. “You’re a painter. A really good one at that. Obviously you need paint.” 

Hyunjin stared at you for a few seconds, his gaze lingering in unusual places like your hair or the straps of your sundress, or the diner behind you. 

“But I know they don’t sell stuff like that in Stormhaven because we looked for it before we asked for it here at the shop,” Hyunjin explained, still in this slow, very teacher-like tone. “So you went somewhere else.”

“Yes,” you replied in the same voice, wondering if he took you for an idiot and if you should be offended, but something in his eyes told you that you shouldn’t. “I know a great art store a couple of towns over and—”

He interrupted you. “How long did it take you to get there?” 

“What?” What kind of conversation was that even?

“How long did you drive to get to that art supplies shop? Because I checked online for art stores in the immediate area and there aren’t any,” Hyunjin insisted, waving his phone to emphasize his point.

You blinked slowly. It seemed like so many steps on his part just for a few tubes of paint. At least that’s what your brain was telling you, reminding you that nothing meant anything, that life was just a series of events that were or weren’t interconnected.

“I don’t know,” you managed with a shrug. “An hour maybe.”

“An hour and then another hour to come back,” Hyunjin repeated, more like a statement than a question. “You did all of that just for me, a stranger. So why are you saying it’s nothing? It’s really not nothing to me.” 

He seemed a little upset. Like you had just dismissed him in some way.

You blinked again and it was like you were seeing him for the first time. Like you were seeing everything else for the first time, too.

Because you had been just about to lie to him. Which is what you would have done normally. You would have said that you had an appointment in that area and that you were going anyway. You would have said that you were meeting a friend who lived over there for coffee and had gone shopping with her and thought, Well, why not? Why shouldn’t I buy a few supplies? as you walked past them. It was like second nature to you—you didn’t even think about it. It just happened the same way breathing did.

As though you didn’t want people to know you had gone out of your way for them. Not Hyunjin, but not Chris either, not even your father. It had been the same with your mom too, and so many others. What an awful thing. As though you were ashamed of how much you loved other people, how deeply you cared about them.

Because your lies weren’t inherently evil didn’t make you any less of a liar. And you hated liars. You hated lies and deception and anything that wasn’t the truth. What did that mean about yourself?

How many other parts of yourself had you concealed? How much of your soul was buried deep enough that nobody—not even yourself—would ever find it? 

Hyunjin relaxed all of a sudden—his shoulders turned limp. “Sorry,” he said under his breath. “I didn’t mean to sound angry.” 

You must have had a strange expression on your face for his entire demeanor to switch like that. You gulped. 

“You were right to be,” you admitted, suddenly feeling very small and very stupid. You were realizing something important about yourself and it seemed like you ought to be alone during this moment. “You’re not nothing.” You paused then, just to take a deep breath. To give yourself a little courage. “I wanted you to have what you needed so that you could paint. I like your work, or what I’ve seen of it,” you explained slowly, your gaze fixated on the slow-moving water before you. “And I had a good time the other night. When we sat by the river.” 

“I had a good time too.” Finally, after playing with it for minutes, Hyunjin unzipped the front pocket of his backpack. “It’s just. Kindness isn’t nothing.” He was speaking at a low volume—low enough that you could barely hear him. But you could hear him, and you listened. “There are many people who make me feel like I’m not worth it, but you drove all this way to get me paint and it means a lot to me. So I made a little something for you.”

With that, Hyunjin pulled something out of his backpack. You recognized it immediately as the aquarelle paper pad you bought for him—at that sight, your heart picked up a pace again. He opened the notepad, flipping through the first few pages on which you caught a glance of some sketches. There wasn’t much color on them, but it was quite the opposite for the page he stopped at.

Carefully, he tore that page off the pad and handed it to you. “There. Just a little something to say thank you.” 

You took the sheet from him, your gaze going from his face to his painting and back to him as though you couldn’t believe it. And yet you were now holding a painting that Hyunjin had made. The paper felt heavier than it should have in your hand. You studied it, trying to take in the sight of it all at once, but you couldn’t stop noticing the tiniest details. The night sky and its lifelike colors. It wasn’t just any night sky—it was yours. It was the one over your head night after night. With the stars and a few hazy clouds adding some purple to the inky dark blue. The moon could be seen behind the clouds, hiding and yet visible. Beautiful nonetheless.

The painting depicted a river also but not just any river—this river, the river you saw and heard and smelled every day. You recognized it. You recognized the riverbank and the intricate curves of it, you recognized exactly where this was. But there was so much to see. The delicate reflections of the light spilling from the windows of the cabins in the distance, on the other side of the water. The stars and how bright they shone. The tall grass and the reeds just shadows in the night but recognizable anyway. 

The evergreens. One in the foreground, one you couldn’t see entirely. Just some branches. The rest could be imagined. You knew because you knew which tree it was. It was a black spruce and whip-poor-wills liked to rest on its lower branches to sing their nocturnal song. The rest of the forest was more of a blur in the background as it was in real life—just like the mountains on the other side of the river.

To Hyunjin, it was just a painting depicting a corner where he had spent some time one evening, but to you, it meant so much more. This was the exact spot where you came across him the other night and had that long conversation with him. It was the first time you admitted to someone—of your own volition, not because they had heard something from somebody else—about the darkness that resided within you. The sorrow that lingered. That night was the first time you had allowed someone to really see you since you lost Judith. 

And you had never really expected it to happen. As in, you never thought you’d actually let someone see you in a vulnerable state again, but you just assumed that if you did, they wouldn’t stay around for long. It was just too heavy. You were just too heavy, like a fire sucking the air out of a room, suffocating everybody inside.

And yet Hyunjin was here tonight with gentleness in his eyes and paint on aquarelle paper. 

“Oh wow,” you managed after a while, your throat tight. You stared up at him. “Hyunjin, it’s… it’s so nice of you, that’s…” For some reason, at that moment you remembered his portfolio and his Insta page and realized you were holding an artwork of great value in your hands. “It’s beautiful. It looks just like it, too. That place.” 

“I painted it from memory,” he explained. “It was my view that night, while we talked.” He hesitated, his eyes going from the sheet in your hand to the notepad he held. “I painted another one too.” 

Intrigued, you watched as he opened the pad once again, going through pages until he found what he was looking for. His cheeks had turned the color of summer cherries when he handed it to you. 

Your entire body, it seemed, caught on fire when you grabbed it. 

To put it simply, Hyunjin had painted you. 

It was another painting depicting a scene from that other night, with the same dark blue and purple sky, but in this one, the moon was out, and its light was illuminating the woman sitting on the grass. She sat elegantly, in a way you did not think you had sat, with her body slightly tilting at the back, resting on her two hands, her face turned towards the sky as though she was bathing in the moonlight. A couple of mini liquor bottles rested next to her, as well as a walkie-talkie. 

It was you, except it couldn’t be you, because you weren’t this beautiful. Your hair floated in the night like a siren’s would in the sea, or something like it, the light of the moon reflecting on it in Hyunjin’s expert brush strokes. You knew this must have been difficult to blend in watercolors and yet it looked seamless. Likelike. 

No, not lifelike. Enhanced. Because you did not look like this. The curves of your body did not look pleasant like that, or appealing. Your posture was not the one of a demigoddess, and your lips did not have the color of a ripe peach. It was not like looking into a mirror, it felt more like staring at a stranger. The expression on your face was blurry due to the hazy aspects of watercolor but it was enough to see that it was complex. Deep. As though your sadness had beauty in it. 

You sat there, staring at both pieces of art, speechless. 

“I wanted to remember that night. And you,” you heard Hyunjin say. And he was very much there, right there, yet his voice came from another world. 

There were so many words crowding your throat and shoving each other, racing to be the first to spill from your lips, that it took you several more seconds before you were able to speak at all. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted under your breath, your voice weak and quivering. 

“You don’t need to say anything,” Hyunjin pointed out, taking the notepad back from you. He didn’t seem upset. 

“No, it’s just—” You began, stopping mid-sentence with a frown, your gaze following movement on the other side of the river. A bird. It was narrow here, and you recognized a member of the thrush family. Your mother would have known which, but you didn’t. “You painted me so pretty. And—” You paused again, searching for the bird in the dense forest but the day was darkening fast. “It’s just that. That night—it—it meant a lot for me. I never really talk about Judith. I don’t want people to know about her. But I wanted you to know about her. Does that make sense?”

Hyunjin, who was putting his notepad back into his bag, came to a stop slowly, staring at you. Really staring at you. Not really like he was seeing you for the first time, rather like he was visiting a museum for the second time to see an exhibit there and understand it better. 

“It makes perfect sense,” he replied softly. “I understand because I felt the same.”

“Like you wanted me to know about that girl?” 

He nodded, zipping his backpack and leaving it on the ground, clearing his throat. “Dara. Yeah.” 

Dara. So you were right about that name, about her. About the woman you thought was in his art, painted crimson and vermillion. 

But you were a woman in one of his paintings too, now. And you did not know what to do about this. 

“You’re so nice, and kind, and—” You paused, sighing. “I don’t understand how this could have happened to you.” And truly, you did not. She didn’t want to love me back, he had said. What kind of person could that woman be to refuse someone like him?

But if you were to be fully honest with yourself—almost in an ugly, gruesome way. Weren’t you building a cage around your own heart ever since you laid eyes on Hyunjin? Not even willing to admit to yourself that he was handsome? That his scent, blended with the smell of the outdoors, made prickles appear on your skin? That his sunkissed skin was inviting? That you wanted to run your fingers through his silky hair? Weren’t you pretending that you hadn’t felt anything when he helped you over the fence, just holding your arm, or even worse, when he hugged you? When he pressed you against his chest, embracing you? Weren’t you pretending that you didn’t feel it between your legs when his warm breath tickled your neck? Weren’t you pretending that it didn’t overwhelm you that he painted for you?

That he painted you? That he painted the texture of your skin, the curves of your body, and the way your shirt hugged your breasts?

“Things just happen, we’re not really meant to understand them I think,” Hyunjin wisely pointed out. “It’s also in our nature to try and understand them, though.”

“You’re right,” you conceded. “Trying to find meaning in them.” 

Hyunjin nodded faintly. You both allowed silence to creep in between you two as the night covered the sky lazily. Frogs were beginning their night song here and there, some close, some farther. The sky was neither blue nor dark—the lavender gray had taken over it for now, before nightfall would spill over the world. You used the last remnants of light to look at the painting Hyunjin gifted you once again. 

“This means a lot to me,” you murmured. “It’s just so…”

“I’m glad you like it,” Hyunjin responded, looking around, perhaps searching for the frog that was singing nearby. 

The other painting was stuck in your mind the way one was blinded by the sun if they looked at it for too long. No matter where you looked—even if you closed your eyes, it was still there, engraved in your retina.

This—all of this—was too much. The feelings you didn’t want in your chest. The images haunting your eyes and your mind and your heart and your cunt, even. And somehow it wasn’t enough, as though your dormant heart demanded more even. 

“You didn’t sign it,” you pointed out, realizing Hyunjin’s signature didn’t appear on the other side of the page either. 

Hyunjin gave you an appraising look and you waited while he was coming up with an answer. You had seen his portfolio and his social media profiles. You had seen his art. He used to sign each of his paintings with his initials—a simple but efficient HHJ in the bottom right corner of the canvas. And then at one point, he just stopped. It was around the time when he started incorporating more reds into his art.

“I could make an exception for you,” he said finally, retrieving a pen from his backpack. It was attached to what might have been a journal, or maybe it was a simple notebook. 

“You don’t have to,” you assured. But he had already taken the sheet from you and was using the back of the notebook as a temporary table on which he lay his painting to apply his signature on the bottom right corner.

You looked for red in the painting. It was in the purple of the sky and in the warmth of the light coming from the cabins across the river. You remembered the other painting and the colors he had used to paint you. Your skin. Your lips. 

He signed Hyunjin, just that, and gave it back to you. 

“I’ll cherish this all my life,” you said, and you knew it was true. Hell, it felt wrong to hold it just like that. You wanted to go home right now and store it carefully, somewhere safe.

But you also wanted to stay right here. 

“Did you have dessert?” Hyunjin blurted out all of a sudden. 

The question surprised you—you turned to him as though he had spoken to you in a foreign language. 

“Did you have dessert with your dinner?” he asked, motioning at the diner behind you. The lights had been turned on inside, illuminating his sunkissed face, highlighting the details of it. The curves of his lips and those of his nose. The softness in his eyes. “Could I buy you an ice cream?” 

For a second, then two, three, four, and five, you stared at him and he stared at you. It was not so much that you were reading him—perhaps you were trying to see your own reflection in his irises, as though you would understand his viewpoint. His eyes were the color of earth. Of rich soil on a rainy day. His eyes were the color of the bark of an oak tree dampened by dew on a late spring morning. 

If you weren’t greedy, maybe, you’d go home and forget all about tonight.

“No, you can’t buy me an ice cream,” you replied, suppressing a mischievous smile. 

Taken aback, Hyunjin sat straight on the bench. “Oh—it’s fine, I—”

“Friends don’t pay for ice cream here,” you interrupted him. “It’s always free. I’ll just… maybe I’ll go back to my car, I don’t want to damage this—” you added, showing him the precious painting you were still holding. 

“I’ll take care of it.” Hyunjin was putting the notebook and pen back into his bag. He slipped the painting between two pages of his notepad, freeing you of it. “I’ll give it back after we eat.” 

“You better,” you teased, standing up, followed by Hyunjin. “Bet that thing will be worth thousands in a few years.” 

“I doubt that,” Hyunjin responded, hesitant, walking by your side and hiding behind his hair but you could see that he was blushing. “It’s just a tiny thing that I painted in the middle of a lake when Minho wasn’t having me rowing the boat.” 

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Didn’t Monet buy a whole boat so he could go on the Seine and paint from the water? Your argument is therefore invalid.” 

Hyunjin found absolutely nothing to say—he stared at you, dumbfounded, speechless. 

“I just find it interesting that you’d do this—paint this, I mean, and give it to me—and act like it’s nothing,” you said with a shrug. “When not ten minutes ago, it was you who were scolding me for exactly the same thing? How did you word it already?” You pretended to think about it, only, you would never forget his words. “Kindness isn’t nothing.”

Hyunjin sighed and rolled his eyes as though he was exasperated, but his smile said otherwise. He raised his hands like one would raise a white flag. “You’re right. You’re right. You got me there.” 

“I was just joking anyway,” you reassured him. “I don’t care what it’s going to be worth in ten or twenty years. I won’t sell it.” 

You had made it to the small ice cream shop located right next to Marlene’s diner. The owner, who was a good friend of your father’s, was putting the chairs away for the night. You liked Frankie—he was like an uncle to you. He had been there for your father when your mom had passed. He had tried to be there for you when you had lost Judith, but you had not let him. You had not let anybody help you then, not even Chris. 

“Frankie, did you turn off the machines?” you asked Frankie, grabbing a couple of the colorful folding chairs and bringing them to the tiny shed where he kept them. 

“You know I did not, Squishy.” He always called you like that. “And you know that even if I had, I’d turn them back on for you.” 

You turned to Hyunjin, who had put his backpack on the steps leading to the ice cream parlor and was helping out with the chairs, without being asked, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Kindness isn’t nothing. 

“Frankie has been spoiling me since my early days,” you explained. 

“Well, it was hard not to,” Frankie confessed, running a hand in his gray hair. It was all gray now—you could have sworn that just last summer, there was still brown in there. He seemed more tired than usual. “Those two kids kept coming to beg for ice cream. Sometimes, kids are so cute, you know? You just can’t say no.” 

You and Chris. Chris and you. You used to be inseparable—all of your summers and weekends spent together, exploring the camping ground, always discovering more of its secrets. And regularly bargaining your way to an ice cream cone. 

“Sounds like sometimes you just can’t say no even when they’re all grown up,” Hyunjin added with a wink for Frankie. “Give me those,” he added for you, taking the two folded chairs you had just picked up. “I got this, Mr. Frankie, if you don’t mind.” 

“Oh, thank you, son. That’s very kind.” He turned to you. “That’s a nice guy right there.”  

The man gave Hyunjin a gentle squeeze on his shoulder and returned behind the counter of his ice cream parlor, disappearing momentarily while he was washing his hands. Frankie and his wife had struggled for a long time to have a child—they had given up when their daughter, Lucy, had decided to show up. Their miracle, they called her. They were a little older than other parents when they had her but they were amazing parents anyway. Maybe better, wiser parents too. Lucy was the girl that Jeongin was so desperately crushing on, too. It was a lovely family. 

“It’s fine I said,” Hyunjin insisted when you grabbed another chair. “I’ll do it, okay?”

You stood in front of him—it was dark now, or at least the lights from the ice cream shop made the rest of the world seem like the night—and you blinked, just staring at him. 

“I can do it though. I help Frankie or other people around the campground often,” you replied. 

“Are you going to fight me every time I’m being nice to you?” Hyunjin grabbed the remaining four chairs and brought them over to the shed, carefully piling them over one another. “I know you can do it. You’re wearing a nice dress, I didn’t want you to get dirt on it.” 

You looked down, smoothing the fabric of your humble off-white, yellowish sundress, pulling it down as though you could cover your knees with it, suddenly overly aware of your body inside of it and the way some of its curves might make it look. It was a little tight around the cleavage area too. The floral pattern of it—little roses, printed in a rustic style—had looked cute when you bought it. It seemed so stupid now.

“Oh.” You cleared your throat. “Of course. Thanks.” 

You went to fetch the padlock from Frankie and locked the shed closed. The old man offered both of you to come in and wash up—it was significantly cooler inside too, which was nice, despite how cramped the ice cream parlor was. In the end, you ordered your usual, which intrigued Hyunjin so much that he ordered the same thing. 

You liked Frankie’s frozen yogurt but anybody in their right mind knew that ice cream was obviously superior—and since you owned this damn camping ground, why should you settle? You had come up with the ultimate order, which was: in a cup, half a frozen yogurt of a fruity flavor of your desire. Tonight, it was strawberry. Then, the other half was vanilla ice cream—and Frankie made his soft-serve with real cream and real vanilla, so it was insanely good. Topped with fresh fruit—in this case, local strawberries and raspberries because Frankie had some—and when you wanted the experience to be as good or better than sex, the cup was sprinkled with just a little bit of salted pistachios. 

A few minutes later, Hyunjin and you were walking away, back in the direction where you had come from, holding your ice creams in your hands after saying goodbye to Frankie.

“Oh my god—” Hyunjin quickly put a second, then a third spoonful of your delicious creation in his already rather full mouth. “Tish ish sho foking ghood!” 

“I keep telling people that they should not disregard frozen yogurt but should also not settle for it, you know? People think compromises are a bad thing, but they can be so enlightening.” 

To be fair, Frankie’s products were excessively tasty, which largely helped. Still, there was something endearing in watching Hyunjin eat his ice cream, complimenting each aspect of it like it was the first time he had eaten it at all. 

“You’re a genius. You could be a millionaire if you sold this in tubs,” Hyunjin retorted. His face, illuminated again now that you two were walking in the light spilling from Marlene’s diner, was serious. 

You shook your head, giggling. “You’re adorable—” You cut your sentence short, although you didn’t even know what else there was to say. This was all getting too familiar. Was it weird that you said that? Maybe. Definitely. Warmth spread at the nape of your neck and you quickly shoved a spoonful of ice cream in your mouth to cool off.

“No, it’s just, it’s really good,” he insisted, waving the frozen yogurt/ice cream cup at you, walking again, and you followed him. 

The bench was empty and the two of you returned there, sitting to enjoy your dessert. In silence for the first few minutes. You tried to listen to the conversations that you could hear from the diner but it was too fuzzy to make sense of any of the words, and your heartbeat was too loud in your ears. 

Your gaze landed on Hyunjin’s backpack. Somewhere in there was the painting he made for you. And there was also the painting he made of you. You wondered if he also painted Dara, today, while on the boat. 

You wondered what he was telling her the other day when he was on the phone with her.

“When I bought the paints and stuff for you,” you started before you could think this over, “I wanted to give them to you. I mean, in person.” 

Hyunjin looked up from his precious ice cream, staring into your eyes, but saying nothing. 

“I went to your RV,” you went on. “Minho was disappointed I didn’t make it to breakfast,” you added, recalling that moment. “I—uh—I went to give you the bag. He said you were by the river. But you were on the phone, and it seemed important. I didn’t want to bother you, so I left it with him.” 

Maybe he knew that this was some sort of invitation to speak—Hyunjin nodded slowly, faintly, more for himself than for you, and ate more of his ice cream quietly as the sounds of the night took over the forest. 

“Do you remember what I told you the other night?” Hyunjin began, looking up at the sky. There weren’t too many stars yet—it was too early for that. 

Not only did you remember, but you had thought about it enough that you figured you had put many pieces of the puzzle in their place. But you weren’t going to tell him that. “I remember. It was about Dara?” 

Hyunjin took a deep but shaky breath. He forced more ice cream into his mouth. “Yes. I was talking to her.” 

You didn’t pretend to be surprised. “Is she somebody you work with? Do you have to talk to her often?” After all, you had to work with Christopher every day, didn’t you? Maybe it would hurt a little less if you didn’t.

“I don’t work with her, I guess,” Hyunjin explained. “It’s more like… our studios are next door.” He sighed. “We see each other every day. We collaborate on projects all the time. She’s my friend.” 

You almost dropped your cup of ice cream, managing to steady your grip on it at the last second. You found yourself completely unsettled by Hyunjin’s revelation. You hadn’t really expected that. Well, you expected something, sure, since he was talking to her on the phone. But not this. Not like this. Not she’s my friend in the present tense.

“And you’re able to be her friend after what happened between you two?” you asked softly, suddenly concerned for Hyunjin’s well-being, even though you weren’t sure what had happened exactly.

“I was her friend before I fell in love with her. It’s hard to explain.” Hyunjin left his half-eaten dessert on the ground next to the bench, sitting with his knees pressed to his chest. 

You gave him the space he needed, aware that you had probably pushed a little too hard. It was none of your business anyway, was it? And yet. 

You had told him so little about Judith and it had opened a whole new dimension for you. A part of you really, really wanted to do the same for Hyunjin. If you could somehow manage such a feat.

“I don’t want to insist,” you told him. “But if you want to talk to someone—I can be that someone. I want to be. I know it’s difficult to talk.”

“It’s not difficult with you. I like talking with you,” Hyunjin replied. You couldn’t see his mouth as it was hidden behind his knees. “I just… I don’t even know where to start. And it’s not like I haven’t told the story before. I have. I went to therapy because of it.”

“Didn’t it help?” you questioned, trying to focus on the latter part of his sentence and not the first, so as not to melt into a puddle.

He shrugged. “Yes. No. I went for months and talked about Dara plenty, but all that my therapist would focus on was me. He said the reason I wasn’t getting over her was because I had other, deeper issues we needed to address. I didn’t like that.”

You thought about it for a second and it appeared to you clear as day. “You didn’t like that because he made it—your sadness—not about Dara anymore?”

Hyunjin inhaled sharply, apparently surprised by your response. He pressed his mouth onto his thighs, closing his eyes, disappearing behind his hair momentarily. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled, almost strained.

“It felt like it was all I had left of our love. The pain. The longing. And he wanted to take it away from me by making it about other things. So I stopped going.” 

It was instantaneous—your throat shut tight and your eyes tingled with tears that you fought to hold back. It hurt to hear him say those words. It hurt for him and it hurt for you. 

Because what else was left of your love story with Chris if not for that? The pain? Were you holding onto that pain because it was all that you had? Even if it was going to kill you? 

You discarded your ice cream, leaving it in the pebbled soil at your feet, reaching a trembling hand towards Hyunjin. You had no idea what the fuck you were going to do with that hand. You wanted it in his hair, caressing it, tucking a strand of it behind his ear to reveal his deep and soulful gaze. You wanted to cup his cheek and caress his silky skin. Something was calling you to him—something inside of you that you did not know how to control. 

But, gently, you rested your hand on his back. He jumped—just a little recoil because he was surprised—but leaned into your touch, moving closer to you until your entire arm was around his back. Each inch of your skin that touched him was immediately ignited and hyperaware, awake in the night. 

“Minho was pissed,” Hyunjin went on, sniffling. You couldn’t see whether he was crying or not and maybe it was for the best. It might just break you if you saw tears on his almost too-handsome face. “Because he was the one who got me to see his psychiatrist. He was worried about me.” 

“That’s because he cares about you though,” you pointed out. 

“I know. But he doesn’t understand,” Hyunjin mumbled, playing with one of his shoelaces, keeping his hand busy. “He thinks I shouldn’t be friends with her anymore. He suggested that I should cut ties with Dara completely during the trip. To see how it feels.” 

You would know a thing or two about not letting go. 

You took a deep breath, unsure of what you should say next. Perhaps it was best not to say anything. Maybe—no, definitely—the best, most reasonable option for you right now would be to come up with some comforting words for Hyunjin and call it a night. Tell him to get some rest, that sleep would do him good. Then drive home, and go to bed, too.

But Marlene kept liquor in the walk-in cooler. Away from prying eyes—only a few privileged individuals knew where it was, and you were among them.

“Do you want a drink?” you heard yourself say, barely audible enough to be heard over the steady sound of the river. “I know a place.”

At this, Hyunjin reappeared from behind his knees, staring at you with damp eyes. “A drink?” 

“I owe you one after all, but we don’t have to.”

“You really don’t owe me anything.” And yet. Gradually, Hyunjin returned to a more normal sitting position. He wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. “But I could use a drink. It was a long day.” 

A smile sneaked its way onto your lips. It was a gift sent from that thing that you could not control within you, hidden in some secret corner. You gathered the mostly melted ice creams and discarded them in appropriate bins and guided Hyunjin back near the diner, explaining how Marlene liked to keep a good bottle of Hennessy or a fancy scotch around for dire situations.

“A woman of refined taste, this Marlene,” Hyunjin commented. It felt good to see him smiling again. “You never know when you need to get wasted.”

“Indeed.” It seemed wise to avoid the dining room and the staff—in other words, Chris—and go through the back door. “It’ll just be a minute, okay?”

“Take your time. I’ll text Minho to let him know I haven’t been kidnapped.” With that, Hyunjin pulled his phone out of his pocket and walked away, aimlessly, typing on the screen of his device. 

You used your master key to enter the kitchen directly. From here, the conversation was loud and clear, and you heard Jake, Marlene, and Stacy discuss one of the new hiking trails that had been opened in the state park right next door. Jake was very interested in it and was telling the two women about an upcoming one-day trip to the park with Christopher, Jeongin, Summer, and a few more people. It seemed to you like it had been planned just now, right after you had left. 

You stood in the dark and quiet kitchen, knowing you did not need to hear any more of this and yet waiting. Maybe you wanted to hear the excitement in Christopher’s voice, but all that you heard was Summer asking Frankie—who had apparently joined them—if he thought Lucy would want to come too. Maybe Chris had already left for the staff house, where he usually stayed. To keep an eye on things from a little closer, but mostly so he could avoid you more easily. It just gave him a good excuse not to stay in the same house as you too often.

You gathered all of the courage you had—which wasn’t all that much—and made your way to the dining room, standing in the door frame, eyeing the scene before letting anyone see you. He wasn’t there. Chris. You cleared your throat softly and it was Stacy who saw you first, and Marlene second, followed by the others. You couldn’t read the expression on Summer’s face, but you wished you could. It would make it a lot easier for you.

“Sorry to interrupt—” you started, stammering through your words a little. “Marlene, I just wanted to know if I could borrow some sugar?” It was the code you had come up with for the liquor she kept.

The corner of Marlene’s lips curved into a lopsided smile. “Sure thing, honey. You know where it is. Take as much as you need, but be careful not to overdo it. You’ll get diabetes” 

“I’ll be careful,” you promised. “Can I grab the fancy one? I’ll get you a replacement.” Jake also knew about the Hennessy—he suppressed a chuckle by swallowing a generous amount of beer. 

“Make yourself at home,” Marlene insisted with a wink. 

You thanked her and did your best to wish everyone a good evening as warmly as you could, but it was always about not overdoing it. It was hard to tell when you did. When Frankie inquired Did your friend like the ice cream? You assured him that he very much did, of course. Thank you so much Frankie, and make sure to call if you need anything. 

The Hennessy was exactly where it was supposed to be—on the highest shelf in the walk-in cooler, hidden in a small crate that once contained bell peppers. Marlene just put more stuff on top and nobody paid it any mind. You shoved the bottle in a tote bag you found in Marlene’s office. The whole thing took less than two minutes and you exited as quickly as you entered, relieved to put as much distance as you could between you and this place. For some reason.

The sounds of the night had increased in volume again—there were more frogs now, and among them was the loudest and your favorite—the gray treefrog, whose thrill-like breeding call was eerily similar to a bird’s voice. They were hard to spot, and you had seen those frogs just a handful of times in your life, but you enjoyed their musical display, which was also how you could tell that summer had definitely begun. 

It did not stop you from hearing Hyunjin’s voice. At first, you thought he was still on the phone. But then you heard the bell from the main entrance to the diner, and more voices. Most importantly, Christopher’s.

“Ah, boss! There you are,” Jake said. “We were starting to wonder if you ghosted us or something.”

“Sorry for keeping you,” Hyunjin immediately interjected. “I should go anyway—” He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he let it float somewhere in the air, allowing the frogs and the owls to fill the silence.

“Oh no, I shouldn’t be keeping you from going back home and resting after your long day! It was nice meeting you.” You could almost hear Chris shake Hyunjin’s hand. “Careful on your way back, yeah? I know some parts of the pedestrian paths aren’t great over the RV sites, but we’ll get to fixing them in the upcoming weeks.”

Hyunjin coughed nervously. “Sure, yeah, yeah, thanks, Christopher. Goodnight!” Two things became simultaneously obvious to you.

That Hyunjin had told Chris he was going home instead of telling him that he was going to hang out and have drinks with you.

And also that Hyunjin was a terrible, terrible liar. 

The warmth that Hyunjin seemed to constantly elicit in you came back ferociously, spreading from your chest to your belly like an oil tanker spilled into an ocean, making the air in your lungs hot and thick. But sweet, too. There was nothing to hide and Hyunjin could and probably should have told him where he was going, and with whom. 

You remembered the painting. Not the one he gave you—the other one. The one that gave you chills, that made you press your thighs together. It was stupid because his heart belonged to another. It was stupid because you were married and because you were broken. You were the kind of broken that wasn’t even worth taking to the repair shop. You were the kind of broken that nothing could be done for, or with, or about. 

You did not like the part of you that was greedy—that part was urging you to make yourself seen, to make sure that Chris would know you would be with Hyunjin. But what would you even gain? Because even if he felt the same thing you felt when he was with Summer, would it make a difference? You weren’t even jealous. Not anymore. You weren’t jealous because Summer was prettier and younger than you. It had taken you a while but you had even stopped being jealous of how happy she made Chris. Some days, you really just wanted to beg him to please just fuck her and put an end to your misery already. 

That would be too ugly of you. Chris didn’t need that. Not after what he had gone through. 

So you stayed put, listening as the main group walked away. At this hour, the camping ground was mostly quiet and empty—on the first days of the season, especially the sunny ones, people hurriedly did as many outdoor activities as they could, meaning that by this hour most of them were probably sound asleep. 

Hyunjin quietly reappeared after turning the corner of the building, his backpack on his shoulders and his hair secured in a tighter bun. He seemed ready for an adventure, but he stopped and stood there, facing you, and you stood with your back pressed to the wooden wall behind you, staring into the man’s eyes, which were as beautiful as the night around you. You didn’t tell him, you almost said.  

But you didn’t tell him. 

So that made two of you.

Hyunjin motioned at the tote bag whose handles rested on your shoulder. “You got the stuff?” 

You nodded. “Let’s go.” You wasted no time, regretting your choice of footwear and overall fashion decisions as you made your way towards one of the unpaved paths that circled the camping ground.

Most of these were surrounded by more densely wooded areas or tree lines. Chris wouldn’t need it because he knew all the trails by heart, but you used your phone to light up the ground just to make sure neither of you would trip over something. There wasn’t much conversation while you walked, except for when Hyunjin cursed under his breath because a mosquito got him. Two seconds later, you heard the zipper of his backpack and then the vigorous spraying of bug repellent, its strong and potent scent reaching you. 

“Is your blood tasty, Mr. Hyunjin?” you asked, looking over your shoulder, suppressing a smile as Hyunjin was shoving the bug spray back in his bag. 

“I’m a Michelin-starred restaurant,” he replied, scoffing, visibly displeased. “Minho said he liked having me on the boat because I attract mosquitoes and it’s good for fish. He called me live bait all day.” 

Your own laughter took you by surprise—it spilled into the night as clear as the moonlight, echoing in the silence. You couldn’t remember the last time you had actually laughed like this, a true laugh. A laugh that didn’t come at a price, that didn’t need to be exchanged for something else, tears, excuses, or even shame.

Just a laugh because something was funny.

The silence that followed it was heavy and you realized it was so because you had stopped in your tracks. Hyunjin, who was close behind you, had also stopped. You were just stunned by this new feeling in your chest but Hyunjin seemed to believe there was another, bigger problem.

“Everything alright? Did you see something? Are there bears out here? Wolves?” 

“Bears?” You turned to him. “Wolves?”

He seemed a little nervous. “Yeah?” 

“Of course there are bears, but now’s not the worst of the season,” you replied as though it was evident, meaning for it to be reassuring. Only Hyunjin did not seem relieved to hear that at all. “They only really bother humans when they get ready to hibernate. There are no wolves in Maine though,” you added, certain this would comfort him.

Hyunjin’s uneasiness was visible even in the dark. You bit your lip, savoring the mild pleasure you got from the sight of him, but quickly went to put an end to his fears. “You can worry about the mosquitoes more than you should worry about bears,” you concluded. “I haven’t seen one on these premises in two years.”

That did it—Hyunjin gulped thickly but gave you a resolute nod before the two of you resumed your walk. The world fell quiet again, the way nature was silent, which was to say, not at all. Exactly the way you liked it. 

“Where are you taking me?” Hyunjin inquired after a few minutes, trying to see through the tree line and recognize your location in the campground. 

“Not too far from here,” you assured. “There’s this nice little place by the river and—” Your sentence was cut in the middle when you felt something cool and wet and tiny on your shoulder. 

Worried once again, Hyunjin squinted, turning his phone light on too. “What is it?” 

“Ah, shit—” you mumbled, locking eyes with him, unsure whether you should laugh or not. Another raindrop fell on your arm, quickly followed by another on your leg as you remembered the weather forecast on the radio earlier, which your brain had conveniently made you forget. 

A raindrop landed on Hyunjin’s lip and you followed it with your gaze the same way a sinner begs for holy water. More rain fell on your cheeks and you stood as Hyunjin watched it roll on your skin like tears would. A slight frown had appeared on his face, as though he was taking a few seconds to process what he was seeing. 

Hyunjin, unhurried, handsome, so tangible and so close, raised his hand then, bringing it near your face, gently pressing his index finger onto your cheek to collect a raindrop. His touch lit a wildfire inside of you that no deluge could put out. “It’s raining,” he said, his deep, expressive gaze fixated on the drop he had stolen from you, but not for long because he looked into your eyes then. “It’s okay,” he added with a smile, offering you his hand. “Come with me.” 

He was a stranger. 

But he shared the blood of your favorite painter, the one who created your favorite painting in the whole world. It was your favorite long before you knew it was a prophecy, or perhaps an omen. Maybe you should have known. You should have opened your eyes before instead of being so rational all the time and taking everything at face value. 

Maybe you should have realized long ago that life has a voice and that it uses it to speak to us. Some call it fate or destiny. Some call it God. You weren’t sure what you called it, or what you thought it was. You just knew that it had been there the whole time, like a thread weaving the events of your life together. Everything that had ever happened to you had led you to this. 

Hyunjin was a stranger. 

But you knew about the cracks in his heart, and he knew about the void in yours. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled in the sky, and you felt it in your chest, no matter how far the storm was. 

You took Hyunjin’s hand. His skin was smooth and warm, like honey left in the sun for too long. He squeezed your hand a little, leaning in closer to you so he could be heard over the rain, which was gaining in intensity. 

“Where are we exactly? If we want to get to the RV? Is it far?” he asked, pulling away to see your reaction. 

You were shocked by everything that had happened in the last thirty seconds and by Hyunjin’s sweet warm breath that tickled your skin. It took you longer than it should have to give him a response. “No, not too much,” you managed, your voice higher than usual. “If we follow this path, the RV site is at the end of the road on the right.” 

“Alright, let’s go.” Taking the lead, Hyunjin started again, illuminating the path like he had never feared bears would maul him. One might believe he thought that rain was lethal to you or something, with how determined he was. 

The more it rained, the faster you walked, and the tighter Hyunjin held onto you. Or maybe it was you who held onto him, you couldn’t say. You passed the opening that led to the little spot by the river that you liked, promising yourself to visit it soon. Also trying to focus on anything but what was happening. You had to buy milk, and maybe eggs too. You’d definitely need fabric softener. Yeah, you would have to go to the grocery store tomorrow. You’d also go see your father, but there would undoubtedly be a lot of things to do on the campground, as was always the case after a good rainfall. 

Hyunjin caught you just in time when you slipped in the mud—by then, you were completely soaked. He saved you from a nasty fall. After that, you made sure to look where you were going and to stop thinking about everything and anything. 

But then that meant the other thoughts didn’t stop.

What the fuck am I doing here? What am I doing? Where am I going? Why am I running in the rain with a guy I barely know who's… how many years younger than me exactly? Seven, eight years? More? More, I think. What the fuck are people going to say? Is my dress see-through now? Oh god I think so. Fuck. I should have worn the dark one instead. My hair probably looks like shit too. But who cares? Who cares what I look like? It’s not like he’s taking me back to his RV because he’s trying to get into my pants. And even if he was—WHICH HE IS NOT BY THE WAY! EVEN IF HE PAINTED ME. HE’S JUST AN ARTIST—I’m married. I’m married to a man who does not love me anymore but I’m married anyway. I’m married to a man who I know doesn’t want to be with me anymore but refuses to divorce me out of respect for me and our relationship and maybe out of respect for our daughter too. What the fuck am I doing here? How did I get here? 

It just kept going until you reached the motorhome shared by Hyunjin and Minho. It was completely dark inside, and while you were in a hurry to get out of the very cold rain, you became self-conscious.

“I don’t want to wake him up,” you told Hyunjin as he was searching his pocket for the key.

“Don’t worry. If it’s raining, he’s outside sleeping in a tent,” Hyunjin replied with a shrug. His hair had come undone and was completely drenched. “He likes the sound of the rain.” 

He unlocked the door and let you in first—knowing this RV well after having done a maintenance run on it, you turned on the kitchenette lights on your left, leaving enough space for Hyunjin to come in and close the door behind him while you were getting rid of your mud-soaked sandals.

As soon as the door was closed, the rain became a muffled noise, distant, barely real. Out of breath, you leaned on the counter to catch your air—it had been a long time since you ran for that long, especially in those conditions. You looked to your left to make sure that Hyunjin was fine, but as soon as your eyes met his, the two of you froze. 

It was eerily quiet here. The RV was huge—it was meant to accommodate up to four people very comfortably and six if they wanted to squeeze in there a little. Yet he was right there. Hyunjin. He smelled like bug spray and petrichor and mud and strawberries. His hair was pure chaos—wet, messy, all over the place—but it took nothing away from his effortless beauty. Your heart skipped a few beats. It was because of all the running and not because his shirt was sticking to him like a second skin, exposing a lean and toned body, hinting at enough muscle to make you avert your gaze and blush. 

“I forgot it was supposed to rain, but in my defense, they said it would be later into the night,” you said to diffuse whatever weight was falling from your chest to your stomach. It did not work—the feeling lingered. And descended even lower.

Hyunjin was silent. He had removed his backpack and left it in a safe corner and was staring at anywhere except you. A little—or very—self-consciously, you did your best to smooth out your hair. 

“I’ll take this,” Hyunjin said all of a sudden, reaching for the tote bag on your shoulder and handing you a dry towel in exchange. There was one hanging around his neck already. “Uh…” He cleared his throat, his eyes dancing once again, struggling to stay fixated on yours. For one second, maybe two, but no more, he looked at you below the neck. “Maybe you’d want a warm shower? And clothes?” 

You took the towel from him, blushing violently. It felt as though your brain couldn’t even function properly. You, also, struggled to look him in the eyes. Did you absolutely want a shower right now? No. But did you want to be alone for like five minutes?

Yes. 

“O—Okay, well, I’ll wash up, y—yeah,” you managed, stammering your way through your sentence. “Thanks.” You gulped, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I don’t think you’ll have clothes for me.” He was just so lean. And long. 

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t,” Hyunjin retorted as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He guided you towards the bathroom and you followed him, eyes to the floor, thanking him again, reminding him you knew how everything worked when he tried to explain the shower functions. The bathroom was tiny but fully equipped—this RV unit was the campground’s last big purchase and its most luxurious. To think that Minho had rented it for the entire season… 

“I’ll leave clothes here by the door,” Hyunjin told you. “The towels are in the cabinet, help yourself. There are a few combs in there too, for your hair.” 

You barely gave him an answer as you had just come face to face with the mirror. Your hair was not the problem. The problem wasn’t even the dark circles under your eyes from your sleepless nights, or your chapped lips from biting at them too much. 

The problem was your soaked dress and how it stuck to your skin and how it had turned see-through for the most part and that you could see your black lace bra underneath. You buried your face into your hands, properly humiliated. Rookie move. This was what you got for hanging out with a guy who looked like a young god, no less. Hyunjin was the kind of person who just couldn’t have a fashion faux pas—everything would always look good on him. For instance, his wet T-shirt made him look like he was straight out of an alluring magazine ad for some fancy fragrance.

And here you were with your stupid fucking off-white dress with a black bra underneath because you forgot to do your laundry and it was all that you had. The dress stuck to your curves in a way that made you look like anything but a magazine ad. As you stared into that mirror, you could see nothing of the woman Hyunjin had painted in watercolors. She was a version of you that didn’t exist.

You turned on the shower, angrily at first, swallowing back tears and shame and planning the perfect escape. You would tell Hyunjin thank you so, so much for the shower and the dry clothes but you couldn’t stay. You had to go right now. He’d probably want to walk you back and you’d have to be firm and insist and say no. He was just a very, very nice guy. You had no reason to be associated with him whatsoever. He probably just pitied you because of what you told him that other night, about Judith. 

Yes. That was it. 

So you toweled yourself dry and found a dry pair of gray sweatshorts by the door, along with a loose tank top and a zip-up hoodie. Hyunjin had even provided you with a bag for any clothing items you wished to discard.

I’m really sorry, I had a phone call and I have to go, you rehearsed in your head as you were getting dressed. To your surprise, the sweatshorts fit comfortably. Thank you so much for everything, I’ll make sure to get the clothes back to you tomorrow. Oh no, no it’s perfectly fine, you stay right here. I insist. I—

Your mind went blank the moment you put on the tank top. The fabric was soft, the shirt was nice and high-quality. But most importantly, it smelled like Hyunjin. Like roses dipped in golden sunsets. Like spice-infused oud. Like smoke, like amber. It made you freeze in place, inhaling a lot more air than you needed, or should. It was a little tighter in certain places but it felt more like a hug than anything else.

Hyunjin’s voice brought you back to reality like tripping over a goddamn canyon. “Is everything alright?”

You cleared your throat. “Yes, yes, it’s all good—thank you, I’m fine, I—” One glance at the mirror confirmed that you probably should have put on your very wet bra underneath the tank top but instead you chose to wrap yourself in the hoodie, which was even softer than the shirt and smelled even more like Hyunjin, almost as though he had worn it at least once without washing it. 

I need to get out of here. Fuck. 

You pulled the door open and your plans completely fell through. 

Hyunjin was busy getting the back room ready. It was normally the master bedroom but you could tell from his and Minho’s setup that they used it as some sort of living room and instead slept in the bunk beds. He was placing pillows onto it and the bottle of Hennessy was on the shelf behind the bed/couch, with two glasses nearby, waiting for you. 

“There you are,” he said with a smile when he caught sight of you. “Are you comfortable with the clothes? I have more. We can hang your dress to dry in the kitchen if you want but I don’t think it’ll dry anytime soon…” 

“It’s all very comfortable.” Nothing about the way Hyunjin spoke to you made you feel self-conscious about yourself and the way you looked. He really just wanted to make sure the clothes were comfy. His question had nothing to do with the size of the clothes. “Don’t worry about the dress, I’ll wash it at home.” 

“I’ll shower too, but I insist that you make yourself at home. Fridge, food, anything,” he told you for the second time. “There are books by my bed if you want, and the TV remote is here.” He handed it to you. “I’ll be right back.”

Not two minutes ago, you were planning your escape. And now you found yourself sitting on this makeshift couch with a TV remote in your hand, facing a black screen because you hadn’t turned it on, listening to the sounds of the running shower coming from the tiny bathroom a few feet away. Hyunjin had cracked open a window by the couch and you also heard the thunder, realizing that it was noticeably closer than it had been before. You listened to the rain as it fell onto what you were certain was Minho’s tent. 

For an instant, just a few seconds, you were transported back to your childhood. To that one summer night Chris tried to get you to go camping with him in his backyard and you wanted nothing to do with that. It’ll rain! It’ll be so cool, come on! And of course you went. And of course you stayed for about ten minutes before both Chris and you decided it was best to sleep indoors because the wind was scary. 

You sighed—but first, you took a deep breath, inhaling more of Hyunjin’s scent, and it seemed to evaporate most of your brain functions. Except for the one that was responsible for making you notice that the stitching of the crotch on the sweatshorts was pressing at certain places. In certain ways. In certain pleasant ways. 

I’m so sorry Hyunjin, but while you were showering, I had a phone call and I’m gonna have to go. But thank you so much and thank you so much for the painting too. It’s just that it’s my father and I don’t want to leave him alone. Over the years, you had become such a good liar. So good that, often, you yourself couldn’t even tell whether you were telling the truth or not. So this wouldn’t be a problem. You just needed to—

It seemed you had remained lost in your thoughts for longer than you believed because Hyunjin reappeared, sporting shorts and a long-sleeved gray tee. He was squeezing his hair dry with the towel, but little drops of water had stained the shirt around the collar. There was something incredibly soft about him at that moment—maybe it was just the warm lighting or the dewy aspect of his post-shower skin. 

In any case.

You didn’t go anywhere.

“There’s a phone charger to your left,” he said, motioning towards the cord in question. “I—Uh—I mean, I suppose… people would be looking for you and wondering if you’re okay.” 

You blinked, staring at him like you had never seen him before. Everything just felt so different—only yesterday, that statement would have elicited a deep sadness from you, no doubt. It was still there, you could feel it. It’s not like it had disappeared overnight. But there were so many other things alongside it that it was drowning.

You scoffed, shaking your head, still connecting your phone to the cord. “Nobody is looking for me, Hyunjin. It’s fine.” 

He stood near the not-couch, visibly uncomfortable. You could almost feel his eyes drilling a hole into your ring finger. You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what—or rather, who—this conversation was about. 

“He’s not going to wander the campground and desperately search for me all night if that’s what you’re wondering,” you murmured. “This isn’t the kind of relationship we have anymore.” Fully sober? I dropped that lore fully sober? Really? “Hey, let’s have drinks, yeah?” 

“I bet he will want to know where you are,” Hyunjin insisted, dimming the lights before making his way to the liquor and unscrewing the bottle open. “That’s just why I wanted you to know you could charge your phone. Here.” He handed you a glass that was a little too full of liquor but you gladly took it from him. 

You could have told my husband where I was going and yet you did not. But the thoughts remained on your tongue and you swallowed them like a bitter pill, chasing them with the cognac. 

“Don’t try to deflect,” you said, squinting, waving an accusing finger at Hyunjin as he was sitting down next to you. “We agreed to pause our earlier conversation and continue it with drinks someplace else. The conversation was about you,” you added. “So let’s resume.”

Hyunjin’s response was instantaneous—save for the exaggerated scoff he let out before. “Sorry, but I’ll remind you that the only thing I agreed to was drinks!” 

You turned to him, falsely offended, eyebrows raised, and exactly one second passed before the two of you burst out laughing. You had to press a hand over your lips to muffle the sound and make sure not to wake Minho who, after all, was sleeping right next to the window. 

The laughter died out, blending with the thunder. You drank more, letting the liquor smooth out the parts of you that were too sharp. It warmed up your throat nicely. It made you wonder how it would feel to be kissed passionately. With purpose, with lust. You had forgotten those feelings, but drinking the fancy cognac reminded you of tasting yourself on lips that uttered your name fondly.

Hyunjin cleared his throat, coughing faintly after emptying his glass a little too quickly. “Seriously though. There’s nothing to say.” 

“I doubt that.” You hesitated, staring at the bottom of your glass, swirling the rest of the cognac in it. “You know, when I went to give you the paints and stuff? I heard that you were on the phone. I get now that it was with her, and you sounded… agitated. Upset.” You finished your cognac for good measure, keeping the empty glass in your hand just to have something to hold onto while Hyunjin’s gaze was on the black TV screen in front of him. “I don’t know the situation and I don’t want to say that Minho’s right, but if it’s a recurring thing. That your friendship with Dara makes you sad and upset. Maybe keeping a little distance between you two wouldn’t be a bad thing.” 

The silence was deafening, louder than the thunder outside. You regretted your words instantly, wondering if they had been spoken out of greed. Greed, after all, often comes disguised as something noble, like concern. Maybe you just wanted less of Hyunjin’s attention on Dara. Maybe you were the most selfish person you knew, and everything you had ever done had been calculated to benefit from it in some way. 

You knew it couldn’t possibly be true. You knew reality was more nuanced than this. And yet, the whispers in your head were relentless. It was that same greed that had launched the chain of events causing the death of your daughter, so maybe you should have learned your lesson by now. 

“I only meant—” you started, but Hyunjin shook his head, raising his hand.

“I know what you meant,” he cut you off. “The reason I was upset is stupid. And inconsiderate. Selfish. It’s not her fault.”

“I know a thing or two about selfishness.” You made yourself a little more comfortable with your back leaning on the wall near the window so that you would face Hyunjin. He was half lying on the makeshift couch, propped on several pillows. “I don’t think you’re inconsiderate. You’re the opposite of inconsiderate.” 

“Something really cool happened to her. I should have been happy for her, right? Well, I was. I am happy for her. But my first reaction was to be offended that she told me nothing about the project before. It’s not the first time she does something without me. Obviously. I don’t expect her to do everything with me or to tell me all about every single one of her projects. But this… it feels different.”

He grabbed the cognac and poured himself more, glancing at your glass inquisitively. You handed it to him so he could refill it. It had been a while since you had more than just a beer or a glass of wine to drink—you’d need to stop after this one.

“She submitted a few paintings to an art gallery. They gave her a few spots to expose,” Hyunjin explained. “Which is so cool. And I’m so happy for her.” He took two sips of liquor. “She never told me about any of this. I was still in Seoul when she had the idea behind the series of paintings. I was still in the studio next to hers when she painted them. I was still right there when she submitted them. But I learned about it when I saw a reel about it in her Stories.” 

His voice was muted. His voice was more like the ghost of a voice—there was something terribly heartbreaking to it. It made you want to hold him in your arms. Because you understood. You knew what it felt like to lose that closeness with somebody that was once your everything. You start to realize you’ve made a mistake—you start to realize you put too much of your own heart into theirs. You also realize it was inevitable, but that you can’t get those parts of your soul back. 

“I’d say you’re entitled to being upset,” you murmured, tilting your head to the side. It caused a dizzy spell for which the cognac was definitely to blame, so you closed your eyes for a few seconds. It gave you some time to think things over. It also gave you some time to realize that you were feeling the effects of the liquor in you. “Did you guys fight?”

“No, not really. I didn’t want her to know I was upset. But these situations have been happening more and more between us. It’s difficult.” He stared through the tinted window behind you, maybe looking at the lightning strikes in the distance. “When I have ideas like these. I just tell her. You know? I like telling her about my stuff. And when she tells me about hers.” 

For an instant, you imagined that you were Hyunjin and that Dara was Christopher—it all became obvious then. Clear as day. You may not know their story entirely and it may be different from yours, but at the end of the day, it was all the same. It was always the same. In most relationships, at a given time, there would be someone who loved the other more. It was like an old balance scale trying to find equilibrium except it never did. It never really would. It wasn’t supposed to. Love wasn’t supposed to be equal anyway.

But for Hyunjin, that love was getting tiresome. Because he kept holding the weight of it while simultaneously adding more load onto it to make it substantial. To make it something. You had done that for a while too, with Chris. It was like adding logs into a fireplace while letting the flames lick you and burn you, over and over. Trying so hard just so he would still love you. Just so he would love you again. All that love going nowhere. Lost, forever. 

Except Hyunjin was also a lot like Christopher, and so you understood Dara’s perspective, or at least you thought you did. Chris, wherever he went, was loved. He was noticed. Remembered. He was somebody. 

You were not.

“Hyunjin,” you started carefully, hoping you wouldn’t offend him. “Maybe she just needs to do something on her own. To prove to herself that she can do it. You know?”

“She knows she can. She’s a better painter than I am, she doesn’t even deny it,” Hyunjin insisted. “I feel so weird inside. I think it’s working. What she’s doing.”

“What is she doing?” you asked, putting your empty glass on the shelf, deciding it would remain empty because your skin was warm and your thoughts fuzzy. 

“She’s keeping me away. Emotionally I mean,” Hyunjin explained. He finished his drink and put his glass next to yours before laying down again, on his back this time. 

He stretched a little, exposing a sliver of skin between his shorts and his shirt and shivers went down your spine. You decided to keep your eyes closed but it was too late—you couldn’t unsee what you had seen. And you were under the influence enough to wonder what it would feel like to kiss Hyunjin there. Or maybe just brush your fingers on his skin, feeling his toned body under your touch. Or under you.

“It’s kind of a vicious circle,” he went on, completely oblivious to the commotion he had caused within you. “What happened between Dara and me affected me deeply. I never told her it was what made me so distressed, but I wonder if she knew, maybe. I sought comfort from her anyway. I felt alone. I still do. Even when I’m surrounded by crowds I feel so alone, so empty. Then I realized that I needed the comfort to come from her, or else it didn’t soothe me. Then I realized she wouldn’t give it to me anymore.” 

“Maybe she doesn’t give it because she knows you’re hiding feelings from her?” you suggested, but every new revelation by Hyunjin just hurt more and more. You swallowed back your tears, remembering those entire days when Chris used to ignore you—for his own sake—making you miserable in the process, only for you to need him to kiss you goodnight and hold you as you fell asleep. 

“I don’t think I’m hiding anything. I don’t think I can hide anything. I’m not very good at lying.” 

You couldn’t help letting out a faint laugh, no matter how out of place it was. You controlled it as best you could, biting into your lower lip and focusing on the conversation, but Hyunjin raised his head, staring at you with curiosity. “Did I say something funny?” 

It had been a very long time since you had consumed this much hard liquor, especially in such a short amount of time. “No, no—sorry, I just,” you stammered. “It’s—it’s true. You’re not a very good liar. I heard you speak to Chris earlier and… yeah. Sorry.” 

Hyunjin’s head returned to the pillows at the speed of light. He didn’t pretend not to understand what you were referring to. “I know it’s going to sound crazy, but I felt like he was questioning me. He asked me where I had spent the day, so I said fishing. He asked if I had painted anything. And where I was headed for the night. And I froze. It’s dumb.”

You put your hand in the narrow crack of the window just to feel the wind and the rain on your fingers for a few seconds. “Like I said. You’re not a very good liar.” 

Hyunjin clicked his tongue softly but it was not with annoyance. He took a deep breath, facing you again. “Well, what did you tell him?”

“Nothing at all.” The difference between Hyunjin and you was that you, on the other hand, were an excellent liar. You were just tired of pretending, and the facade collapsed once in a while. “It wouldn’t make a difference. I told you—we don’t have that kind of relationship anymore.”

“It might be a language barrier but I don’t know what you mean by that.” Hyunjin was only being polite because his English was excellent.

Nobody in the entire world knew the state of your marriage. You thought your father had his doubts—your in-laws probably did as well. Same with some of the Riverside employees and your friends in common. But your acting was convincing enough, you thought, that it told a solid story. 

Nobody expected a couple to remain the same amount of strong after what you two went through anyway, or just through the passage of time. So it just made sense. The honeymoon phase was over, so it was totally, completely, one hundred percent normal that Christopher spent most of his nights at the campground staff house and most of his days with a woman who was by far more fun and livelier and prettier than you. A woman who was still whole. 

A heavy fatigue took over you. It was sudden but not surprising—you found yourself lying down on the makeshift couch, letting the faint breeze cool you down. “You’re changing the subject again,” you mumbled.

“And you’re dodging.” 

“What do you want me to say?” No one knew. You weren’t sure that anybody was supposed to know, no matter how tempting it was to spill your sorrows.

There was a short silence followed by the sound of brushing fabric—you felt Hyunjin’s weight next to you as he moved and jumped a little when you opened your eyes to find him a lot closer than he had been seconds before. 

He gulped thickly. “I know what they say about couples who lose a—” Something made him stop there. Something that wasn’t greed. You just felt it in your bones that it wasn’t.

Your heart tightened in your chest. Like every time it was mentioned, you relived it in a few seconds. All of it. From the pregnancy test to the moment they put Judith’s dead body in your arms because they thought you should hold her anyway. For grief purposes. And everything after. And everything before, too.

“A baby,” you said for him, and it surprised you that you said it. “We lost a baby. Stillbirth. I knew something was wrong before we made it to the hospital but I was hoping it could be fixed somehow. That they would save her. I didn’t even want them to save me if it came to that.” You rolled on your side to face Hyunjin. “It still doesn’t quite feel real, sometimes.” 

The rain was still pattering on the tent outside the motorhome and on the tree leaves. On the roof. All over the night. That sound used to comfort you. Other things used to comfort you. But your mother was dead, and everything else reminded you of what you had lost. 

Except for the man lying on the bed next to you. Because it was a bed. Even though they sort of used it as a couch, it was still a mattress. A bed. You hadn’t even been in the same bed as Chris in months. Maybe it was because he was a new element in your life but Hyunjin wasn’t a grim reminder. 

He brought no somber recollections. His eyes were soft. And kind. He stared at you with them like you meant something to him even though that sounded impossible. His gaze was hazy with cognac and an entire day spent in the sun and sometimes it lingered over you in places that made your heart flutter. 

Maybe you felt safe with Hyunjin because he was broken, too. It didn’t need to be any more complicated than that. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, resting his hand between your faces. “I don’t think you ever get over that.”

“You don’t.” There was no point in denying it. “And it’s all my fault. I killed her.” You must have been drunker than you thought because you never thought you’d say those words out loud. 

Seeing that Hyunjin was staring at you with a confused expression on his face, you went on. Your voice was weak, hushed. He came closer to hear you better, his scent entering your lungs and colonizing you.

No more dodging.

“I had an abortion when I was seventeen. I let a boy touch me for the wrong reasons,” you explained, your voice shaking with cries, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “It never felt right to have the abortion but I was too scared to keep it. And then, later, when I was married…” You closed your eyes, a trembling breath escaping your lips. “Christopher was ready to have a baby right now but I wasn’t sure. I wanted to want it. And wanting to want something isn’t the same as just wanting it. It isn’t genuine desire. It jinxed it. I cursed it. Chris resents me, and he resents himself for resenting me. It was so hard on him. That’s why we don’t spend nights together anymore.”

Hyunjin inhaled sharply, ready to interrupt you, but you didn’t let him.

“I loved her immediately. Judith. When I found out I was pregnant, no matter how terrified I was and how unsure I had been seconds before. I can’t even explain it. It was the happiest I ever felt. I loved my body so much because it had a baby inside it. I loved Chris so much because he gave me a baby. I loved my parents for giving me life. I loved everything. And her—I loved this little thing inside of me unconditionally from the moment I knew it was there. Words can’t even describe it.”

“It’s not your fault. You talk like you were punished by higher forces for hesitating to have a baby. Fuck—be honest with me right now. Do you actually, literally believe that this all happened to you because you had an abortion when you were seventeen? Seventeen?”

You hid your face in a pillow. Or perhaps it was just to muffle the sound of your cries. Nobody else knew. You had told no one. 

“Let’s think for one instant that, somehow, what we feel does influence the things that happen to us,” Hyunjin offered. “Look at me, please.” When you didn’t move, he repeated it in an even softer voice. “Please. Look at me.” 

You flinched when he touched you but it was not out of fear or aversion, it was just that you weren’t used to tenderness. And there was a lot of it in the way he tucked a strand of your damp hair behind your ear before he gently nudged your head. “Please,” he said again. 

You wiped your face before you faced him. But you faced him. No one else knew. About Chris. About Judith. About the crazy thoughts in your head, which weighed so heavy on your heart.

You were here tonight. With him, this man that you barely knew and who barely knew you. Who knew you better than anybody else. And it was out of greed that you were. Out of despair.

“Even if it were the case,” he went on, his voice so full of compassion it stopped your tears on the spot. “I’m sure that your other, brighter feelings and thoughts outweighed the bad ones and would have prevented that tragedy.” 

Your response was instantaneous. “You don’t know that.”

“I know you enough to know you’re not a bad person. What happened isn’t on you. I’m sure you would be a great mom. And if you were my wife, I sure as fuck would give a damn where you spend the night.”

The conflicted feelings within you were starting to pile up dangerously, but whatever that last sentence had unleashed caused the wildest reaction—it made the tears reappear. It made your heart stop in your chest, and then it started again only it was way too fast this time. Uncontrollable, unsteady. You might just be having a heart attack. A wave of warmth was spilling onto you like a high tide, starting from the nape of your neck and reaching all the way to your fingertips, your belly, the small of your back, and your thighs. Between your thighs. You had no way to know for sure but you thought—and it was pathetic—that you were wet. 

It was hard to pinpoint what had done it. If it was just the proximity with Hyunjin or his alluring scent, or the few seconds where you caught a glimpse of his toned stomach earlier. Or when he hinted at your abilities at motherhood just now and uttered the words my wife while talking about you. It had been too long since anybody had given the semblance of a fuck about you. 

You closed your eyes again. To calm down.

The silence that followed was lengthy and not a true silence anyway. The rain was still falling and the storm was getting closer. Just like your father taught you, you counted the seconds between the lightning flashes and the thunder that ensued, dividing the result by 5 to get an approximation of the distance of the storm. It was near but it would probably not pass right over Riverside. It was difficult to concentrate on the numbers anyway because you kept being distracted by Hyunjin’s breathing. It was deep and soothing and comforting the way the wind was comforting when you were in the safety of a warm, secure home.

“Do you still love him? Christopher?” he asked out of nowhere. The storm was about two miles away to the East. 

“I grew up with him. Here, in Stormhaven, at Riverside. He’s my best friend.” You thought that was obvious enough, but just in case, you added, “I’ll always love him. Like you’ll always love Dara.”

“It’s not the same thing.” 

“It’s not the same thing but it is,” you retorted. “Different friendship, different situation, same result. Am I wrong?” 

He didn’t give you an answer but you heard him shake his head negatively. “Well, does he love you?”

“Does Dara love you?”

“We’re not talking about me.” 

“We were very much talking about you, by the way.” The storm was one mile away. “It’s the same for him. He grew up with me. He’ll always love me somehow. But he’s miserable with me. He wants to fuck Summer.”

“Summer?” Then, immediately. “Ah, that girl, I bet.”

“The one he was sitting with at the diner, yes,” you explained. “I don’t blame him. She’s a great person. Like, honestly. They make a great pair. And have you seen her? She’s hot as hell.”

“The one who was wearing his hoodie the other night. I remember,” Hyunjin said in a dry, irritated tone. 

You chuckled, managing to open your eyes despite your head spinning a little more than you’d want it to. “Why are you mad?”

Hyunjin stared at you blankly. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re the worst liar I’ve ever seen. Why are you mad?”

He rolled his eyes, tsking you. “Why was she wearing his hoodie? And why was he sitting with her tonight and not with you?”

“I’m literally wearing your clothes right now. And sitting with you. Horizontally. On a bed.”

“It’s a couch,” Hyunjin pointed out, motioning at the TV. “Doesn’t he realize that he’s holding you back? If he loved you—truly loved you, like a best friend would—he would let you go. A woman like you should be happy.” 

The storm was here. Not here here as in it did not hover the sky directly above you but it was too close for you to count the seconds between the flashes and the thunder, which vibrated within the walls of the motorhome. 

“This is a two-way thing.” You were so tired that you weren’t exactly sure any of this was happening. Maybe you were asleep. Maybe you had gone home directly after dinner and this was all a dream. Some fucked up dream. “I’m not letting him go either.”

“Why not?” Hyunjin touched you again. Your wrist this time, then your hand, squeezing it. You pressed your thighs together as blood rushed between your legs again. Stupid. Ridiculous. It was time you brought back your faithful vibrator from its retirement—this was nothing more than a physical reaction to a lack of something. “I’m not telling you to dump him,” he added. “But either you guys need to make it work or just let it go. You’re hurting yourselves. Are you sure he hasn’t fucked her already? That girl?” 

“I’m sure. He would never.” He might have done what you were doing right now though. He might have spent a night with her. On a couch. Just in her presence. If it were the case, you hoped it had made him very happy. “I don’t know how to let go. I never did that before. You’d be upset if someone told you to let go of Dara, wouldn’t you?” 

“Yes. It’s not the same thing. We’re not married. She doesn’t want to love me. Do you think that Christopher wants to love you?”

There it was.

It all came down to that one question, didn’t it? All of it. All this time you knew what you were supposed to do but you didn’t do it because it scared you. Because you didn’t know what would happen to Riverside Campground. Because you didn’t know what you would do without it—because of course you’d let Chris have it in the divorce. 

You didn’t know who you were without him by your side. He had been there the whole time. Hunting frogs as children. Sneaking out as teens and smoking weed and pretending not to like each other. Adults doing their best. 

Here’s a truth so ugly no one ever wants to admit it to be real—you can do your best your whole life and it doesn’t mean it’ll work out. You can try your hardest and it doesn’t mean anything will come of it. You can love someone with your whole entire soul and it doesn’t mean you’ll be with them in the end. 

And it’s just like that.

Your silence, perhaps, was the loudest response you could have given. Hyunjin squeezed your hand a little tighter before he let go of it but it was only so he could grab a lightweight but soft blanket. “Get some sleep,” he whispered as he lay the blanket over you. 

Stay, you almost told him. But it felt like a dream. You thought you were dreaming because nothing felt the same as it used to. When you were searching for those anchor points within you, you knew they were there. The sorrow, the grief. But you couldn’t see them, the way you couldn’t see people’s faces or the corners of a room sometimes in a dream.

But you could say it now—the reason why you didn’t want to let go. You were afraid to let go of it because grief, truly, was all you had left of Judith. You didn’t have any memories with her except for the few months she was in your belly. She kicked at you from within. You’d sing her lullabies. She had the hiccups sometimes, usually in the middle of the night. This, your grief, and the silence in the delivery room when they pulled her out of you, was all you had of Judith. 

In your dream, Hyunjin said, I’m here. The rain was tapping steadily on the roof still and it lulled you into a deeper sleep, a barren, quiet one, the kind of sleep where the world stopped existing for an instant. 

You only woke once during the night, barely. 

The storm had faded, cooling the air—you felt the breeze from the window on your face and expected to feel cold, only you didn’t. You realized that there were two additional blankets over you. 

You opened your eyes. Barely. 

It was dark but you saw him anyway, Hyunjin, asleep on the other side of the bed. You remembered the common loons. You remembered the place where the river came to a rest, slowing down just for a moment, only to gain momentum again. And depth. And strength. Maybe the strength was never really gone even if you didn’t see it. It was just dormant.

Aloneness had been forced upon you long ago but maybe, just maybe, you didn’t need to drown in it.

You fell asleep again, and your sleep was dreamless and peaceful. 

... to be continued.

↬ ✉️ Hello everyone! It's been a while, hasn't it?

I hope everyone has been doing okay 🤍

I didn't think this chapter would ever see the light of day. Actually, there was a long moment during which I thought I might or probably would never write again. It's very frightening when you realize that your own melancholy has drowned the fire inside you—but I suppose there was a spark somewhere. I did what I could with the chapter—if maybe you felt like it was different, or lackluster, I am sorry. Keep in mind that it is a battlefield, and it's quite bloody. I fought to keep writing. I want to keep writing. Writing is all that I have and all that I am.

Thank you to those who have waited for me. Thank you to those who wait for the other stories too. I'm so sorry I'm like that. I wish I were like the other writers and would post often. You guys are the best readers and I want to give you more. Thank you so much for being with me. Some of you have been there for years—this is special to me. I'm grateful, so grateful. No matter what happens to me or the fire inside me, please know that I'll never forget you, and your kindness, and your love.

Thank you so much, and thank you for keeping me around. Now, you guys better take care of yourselves, and eat your meals okay? All three of them!

PS: I will be answering the asks in my inbox today & tomorrow 🤍 sorry for the delay.

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Left on Read

── .✦ content warning : SMUT! MDI!!! fem!reader; kinda angst; mild burnout; miscommunication; light argument; explicit sex;

✮⋆˙ pairing: idol seungmin × fem!reader

✮⋆˙ word count: 2,1k

✮⋆˙ synopsis: “He shuts you out. You show up anyway. Tension snaps, words cut, and then it's just hands, mouths, desperation — because silence never kept you from choosing him.”

✮⋆˙ A/N: heyy!! I personally didn't like this one – cause I hate writing short ones – I just wanted to post something so the blog doesn't ""die"". if you have some requests or thoughts you want to share, please feel free to send me a message and lmk what you think. don't forget to like and reblog it!! xox ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

The lights in the apartment clock flashed 00:42 AM. I sat curled up on the couch, my phone screen glowing in my palm as I stared at the latest message I had sent him.

No response. Again. I had already double-checked if the messages were delivered. They were.

I sighed and typed another one, shorter this time.

[00:42 AM] Y/N: Are you still at the studio?

[00:56 AM] Y/N: Seungmin?

[01:09 AM] Y/N: Do you at least ate?

Still nothing.

My lips pressed into a thin line. I tapped on Chan’s name instead and sent a quick text:

[01:14 AM] Y/N → Chan: Is Seungmin still at the company?

The reply came almost instantly.

[01:14 AM] Chan: Yup. Still in the recording booth.

[01:15 AM] Chan: He’s arguing with himself about how his vocals suck.

[01:15 AM] Chan: You should probably come take him home before he erases the whole track.

My jaw tightened, fingers clenching around the phone. This wasn’t the first time. I tossed a hoodie over my tank top, grabbed my keys, and headed out.

The city passed like a blur outside the window as I drove, hands tight on the steering wheel, jaw clenched. Maybe this was insane. Maybe he just needed space. Maybe I was overreacting. But I knew him. And if there was one thing Seungmin was good at, it was pretending he was fine when he wasn’t.

The building was mostly empty at that hour, the distant hum of ventilation systems the only sound as I made my way through the halls. When I reached the studio, the door was slightly ajar, a soft trail of Seungmin’s voice leaking through.

Chan was in the producer’s chair, arms folded, head leaning back like he was halfway to sleep. He turned when he heard the door creak. His eyebrows rose. “Wow. He really pushed you, huh?”

I dropped my bag onto the couch with more force than necessary. “He’s not answering me. Again.”

Chan shrugged with a tired smile. “He’s locked in perfectionist mode. Keeps saying his tone sounds wrong. I’ve told him to stop at least four times. He argued. I gave up.”

I crossed my arms. “Is he eating?”

“No. He’s eating self-hatred and... vocal fry.” That earned a half-smirk from me.

Chan stood, slinging his jacket over one shoulder. “He might listen to you, though. I mean... if the pissed-off girlfriend look doesn’t make him flinch, I don’t know what will.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Coward.”

“Correct.” he said, grinning as he walked to the door. “Good luck. Don’t destroy any equipment.”

When the door clicked shut behind him, I finally turned to the booth. Seungmin was inside, headphones on, replaying the same take, muttering under his breath as he adjusted the mic. He hadn’t noticed me yet. I moved closer to the glass, arms folded.

Eventually, he turned—and froze. Our eyes locked. He blinked, surprised, pulling off his headphones. I didn’t wait for an invitation. I opened the booth door and stepped in.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice rough. Seungmin blinked, pulling the headphones off. “It’s late.”

“Yeah. No shit.” I stepped further in. “Did you plan on ignoring me until morning or…?”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t mean to. I’ve just been working—”

“You always say that.” My voice cracked, just barely. “I get it, Min. You love what you do. But I’m not just some… background character in your day.”

A beat passed.

“I just... needed to get this right.” he muttered.

“You’ve been doing this for days. Skipping meals. Coming home after I’ve fallen asleep. Acting like I don’t exist.” His jaw clenched. “You think I’m mad because you’re working? I’m mad because you won’t let me in.” He didn’t answer. “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, Seungmin. Not when I’m right here.”

He exhaled slowly, voice strained. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Yeah well, too late for that.”

He looked at me, finally meeting my eyes. And for a second, he looked smaller. Tired. Vulnerable. “I’m sorry.” he said. “For shutting you out. For making you feel like you don’t matter. You do. More than anything.”

I softened, stepping closer. “I’m sorry too. For making you think you can’t fall apart in front of me.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something more, but the words didn’t come.

“Let me hear it.” I said. He hesitated, then pressed play. The recording played softly in the background. His voice filled the booth—raw, imperfect, beautiful. I didn’t look at the monitor. I watched him. When it ended, silence hung between us.

“You sound like you mean every word.” I said. “It's good. Better even.”

He let out a shaky laugh. “You always say that.”

I reached up, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “Because it's always true. That’s the curse of caring too much.”

He leaned into my touch without thinking.

“I missed you.” I whispered.

“I’ve been here.”

“Not really.”

He looked at me again — really looked this time — and everything about him softened.

“I’m sorry.” he said quietly. “For not replying. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I wasn’t listening.”

I stepped forward, my voice lower now. “Sorry if I made you feel like you’re never doing enough. That’s not what I think. That’s never what I think.” The tension in his shoulders. The tired edge in his voice. I leaned in, closing the space between us slowly, giving him time to stop me. He didn’t.

Our lips met — slow and deliberate, like we were savoring something we weren’t sure we’d be allowed to taste again. There was nothing rushed about it. It was all breath and longing and the echo of weeks spent in silence. His mouth moved against mine like a silent apology, and I kissed him back like I wanted to undo every minute of distance with nothing but my lips.

The way he touched me wasn’t hungry at first —it was careful. Like I was glass. Like he was afraid I’d shatter and disappear. His hands rested at my waist before sliding up, tentative, brushing under the hem of my hoodie. The heat of his palms made my skin jump, and I gasped into his mouth when his thumbs grazed my ribs.

I pulled him closer, fingers threading into his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. His soft groan vibrated through me. It was the kind of sound you only make when something feels too good to be real.

And it did feel unreal.

The studio was quiet, lit only by the soft glow from the control board. The world outside didn’t exist anymore. Just me, him, and the months of tension unraveling with every brush of skin.

He broke the kiss first, breathing hard. “You should go home.” he whispered — but his arms tightened around me like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

“Not happening.” I murmured, my lips ghosting across his jaw. “You don’t get to shut down and pretend I don’t exist just because you’re scared.”

His eyes fluttered shut, like he was fighting something heavy inside him. “I’ve been so fucking lost lately.”

“Then let me find you.” I pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it somewhere behind us. My hands moved automatically, relearning him—his collarbones, the heat of his chest, the slight tremble in his stomach when my fingers dragged down his abs. His breathing hitched.

“You’re shaking.” I said quietly.

“I haven’t touched you in weeks.” he replied, voice wrecked. “I’ve been thinking about this every damn night.”

My hoodie was next. He peeled it off slowly, reverently, like each inch of skin he uncovered was sacred. When he kissed my shoulder — just below my collarbone — I felt my knees weaken. Then he looked up, eyes dark, lips parted. “I don’t remember how to take it slow.”

“You don’t have to.”

I pressed my body to his, grinding slowly against the bulge in his jeans. He cursed under his breath, gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. When he kissed me again, it was messy and breathless. No more restraint — just weeks of built-up tension crashing into us like a wave.

He backed me toward the padded bench, lips never leaving mine, hands everywhere — waist, hips, the underside of my breasts. He pushed me down gently, then stood between my legs, looking down at me like I was some beautiful secret he didn’t know how to deserve.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” he whispered, almost angry with himself for not saying it sooner.

He kissed his way down my body—hot, open-mouthed kisses on my chest, my stomach, the insides of my thighs. When he pulled my underwear down with his teeth, I thought I might combust right there.

He looked up at me from between my legs, eyes smoldering. “Let me taste you.”

I barely had time to nod before his tongue slid over me — slow, firm, deliberate. My hips bucked involuntarily, and he moaned into me like the taste alone was enough to undo him.

His tongue worked me open with practiced ease— lapping, teasing, circling my clit just right before sliding two fingers inside me. I gripped the edge of the bench, gasping, back arching as he pushed deeper, curling his fingers until I saw stars.

“Seungmin—fuck—don’t stop—”

“I’m not going anywhere.” he growled against me. “You’re shaking so pretty for me.”

And I was — legs trembling, breath ragged, vision blurring. He kept going, steady and relentless, until my orgasm hit me hard. I cried out, fingers tangled in his hair, thighs clamping around him as I came with a force that made the world tilt sideways.

He didn’t stop until I was panting, sensitive, trying to push him away with shaky hands.

Then he stood, wiping his mouth, looking thoroughly wrecked — and incredibly proud.

“My turn.” I said, breathless.

I pulled him down by the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button with slow, teasing fingers. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, and when I wrapped my hand around him, he hissed through his teeth.

“You’re killing me.”

“You like it.”

“Too much.”

I stroked him slowly, dragging my thumb over the head, watching his jaw clench and his eyes flutter shut. When he looked down at me, his control was visibly cracking. “Turn around.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Bench.” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Hands on the bench. I need you.”

The words made heat pool in my stomach. I did as he said—bent over the bench, back arched, looking over my shoulder at him.

He lined himself up behind me, running the head of his cock through my folds. “You’re dripping,” he muttered. “Fuck. You feel ready?”

“Don’t make me beg.”

He slid in slowly — inch by inch until he was fully seated inside me. We both groaned. My hands clenched the edge of the bench as he pulled out halfway, then slammed back in, making the whole booth shake.

“I missed you.” he rasped against my ear.

“Shut up and keep fucking me.”

He obeyed, thrusts hard and deep, filling me completely. The sound of skin on skin, his breath in my ear, the ragged moans he tried to hold back—it was too much. And not enough.

I pushed back against him, meeting every thrust, panting his name between gasps. One of his hands slid under me, fingers finding my clit again. I jolted. “Oh my god — Seungmin — ”

“Come again for me, baby,” he growled. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

And I did. Harder than before. My vision went white, body clenching around him, drawing him deeper. He cursed loudly, fucking me through it, and moments later, he stilled — burying himself deep as he came with a broken gasp, his chest pressed to my back.

We stayed like that for a long time, breathing in sync, sweat cooling on our skin. He kissed my shoulder again, softer this time. More tender than desperate.

“You okay?” he whispered.

I nodded, twisting just enough to see him. “That was... good.”

He pulled me into his arms, tucking me against his chest like he couldn’t stand the thought of space between us. We stayed like that, still tangled, breathing each other in.

Eventually, I smiled. “I guess I really did have to come get you.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Please keep doing that.”

I kissed him again, softer this time, and in the quiet hum of the booth, it felt like the rest of the world could wait.

𓇢𓆸 rupture 𓇢𓆸

pairing: ex! seungmin x afab!reader MDNI!!!!!  genre: angst, smut wc: 3.2k cw: use of y/n, swearing, exes that ended in bad terms, tension, etc etc smut cw: fingering, oral sex (fem!receiving), unprotected sex, missionary sex, cre4mpie, choking~ feedback is encouraged ◡̈ i hope you enjoy♡ -˚₊‧꒰ა ginny ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・ Copyright Ⓒ 2025 by deadpanjisung All rights reserved. ☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・

It had been more than a year since you last laid your eyes on his frustratingly handsome face. The unfamiliarity that it brought to you made you feel uneasy. He looked as good as always, dressed in his usual luxury attire. He didn’t notice you at first, but you certainly noticed him; it was almost impossible not to look at Kim Seungmin when he entered a room. You hoped that he didn’t pay mind to your figure standing in the farthest corner of the room.

Your best friend invited you to her company’s anniversary dinner, promising that Seungmin would be on a work trip during that weekend. This weekend. But, of course, there he was, looking as gorgeous as ever. And, currently, staring right at you. You diverted your gaze, feeling like you incited him to look over at you by burning your stare on him. Seungmin quickly turned his face away from you to speak to a coworker. 

“Hey, Y/N!” Chan greeted excitedly when he spotted your table. “How are you?” He gave you a quick hug. You hugged him back.

“I’ve been okay. How are you, Channie?” You asked. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m good! Work’s been crazy lately. I started studying for my PhD in order to get a higher position.” He answered, raising a cup of wine to his lips. You proceeded to have some small talk before he said, “I have to leave now, but I’ll come back. It was so nice to see you!”

You nodded in agreement, waving at Chan as he left. You avoided meeting face to face with Seungmin, spending the whole night glued to your best friend’s side. You greeted many people that you knew when you were still dating him, talked about your life in vague detail, and drank your sorrows away with expensive white wine. 

The last time you saw him was in your house, in your bed. You had spent the previous few months arguing and ignoring each other. All of which led you to your inevitable breakup. You had sex one night after breaking up, before he moved out and he promised you that you’d talk about things in the morning. Nonetheless, when morning arrived neither Seungmin nor his things were around. You had avoided seeing him or hearing about him since then; having spent too much time sulking about your breakup. 

“Earth to Y/N!” Your friend interrupted your thoughts. “I’m going to get something from my car, stay put.” You opened your mouth to tell her that you’d accompany her, but she was already walking down the stairs.

You realized that you lost sight of Seungmin too and decided to play it safe by waiting for your friend in the bathroom. Your heart was beating at a mile per minute, feeling anxious to be alone, to be vulnerable enough to bump into Seungmin. You stared at yourself in the mirror. Your calm demeanor betrayed your innermost feelings of anxiety and uncertainty at that moment. Your friend still hadn’t returned; she would’ve texted you. With a sigh, you decided to return to your table. 

“So, my eyes didn’t betray me, then?” You heard a familiar voice behind you, as you walked out of the bathroom. You stopped dead in your tracks when you heard him. “Nice to see you, Y/N.” Your heart sunk. How can he be so casual after everything you went through?

“I’d rather you never talk to me again, Seungmin.” You turned on your heels to face him. Seeing him up close mad your head and heart ache. “Take a good look because if things go my way, you’ll never see me again.” You turned around again and descended down the same stairs your friend took. 

Tears welled up in your eyes as every emotion you had felt during the last year took over you at once. The cold night would bother you if you weren’t so angry at Seungmin. So angry that you nearly ran over to your car, in heels, nonetheless. Your friend was nowhere to be seen, and, in that moment, you decided that a goodbye text would be enough for her as she was comfortable around her coworkers. 

You sat in your car for a good moment before your friend called you.

“Hi, Y/N. Is everything okay? I didn’t see your message and I had EVERYONE looking for you. Seungmin said you left. I’m sorry for leaving you alone.” She spoke frantically.

“Don’t worry. I was just a little shook from talking to Seungmin after all this time. I’m fine.” You downplayed but the lump in your throat gave you away.

“Where are you? You don’t sound fine.”

“I’m on my way home,” You lied. “I wasn’t feeling too hot, anyways. I’m fine. Thanks for the invite!” 

“Do you want me to come over?” She asked.

“No, honey. I’m going straight to bed, honestly.” You fake chuckled.

“Okay, Y/N. Take care, please. Call me if you need anything.”

You hung up after that. Finally deciding to leave the parking lot. You took the long way home, distracting yourself with music, with tears blurring your vision and your astigmatism wasn’t helping. Still, driving alone made you feel content. 

About 20 minutes later, you pulled up at your apartment building, marking your passcode on the keypad, you took off your heels, walking barefoot to the elevator’s cold floor. You sulked as you watched the elevator ascend through the different floors. Your makeup was a mess, of course, your eyes were barely visible with the running liner and mascara. This is your all-time low.

Or so you thought.

As soon as you stepped outside the elevator, you were faced with Seungmin, who was startled to see you so devastated. He didn’t say anything, just pulled you into a hug. You tensed up, feeling foreign in his arms. You cried on his shoulder, staining his expensive suit; you didn’t regret that. Then, you felt angry. You pushed him out of your way and walked towards your apartment without looking back to him. But you felt him hot on your tracks. You tried to unlock the door as quickly as you could, but he was already behind you.

“Y/N.” You heard him say. 

“Seungmin, what the actual fuck are you doing here?” You asked, turning around to face him with the door open. His expression was nonchalant; he just softly pushed you aside to enter your apartment. “You can’t just come in here! What the fuck, Seungmin? Go away.”

“Nah.” He deadpanned. “You should really change your passcode, though.” You sighed. 

“I’m calling the cops.” You threatened.

“You and what phone?” He asked, raising your phone in his hand.

“I hate you! I hope you know that.” You said, “what are you fucking doing here?”

“I wanted to check up on you.” He replied, casually whilst sitting down on your couch.

“Are you fucking for real right now?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Because! Where the fuck were you when I was depressed out of my mind after you abandoned me and never spoke to me again?” You shouted at him. “Or when I got laid off work because they found out that I wasn’t the rich dude’s girlfriend anymore? Or when I had to beg for my parents to pay for this goddamned apartment for a few months because they almost evicted me? Fuck you, Seungmin. Don’t act so concerned. You’re just pissed because I bruised your ego.”

“God, what the hell? You could’ve called me if you were struggling so much!” He raised his voice. You laughed.

“How could I, really? After you told me we would talk things over, and I wake up to see that you used me for sex and left without a word!” 

“You told me you didn’t care if I left!” He argued.

“Well, you certainly showed me that you didn’t care.” You snapped. “You knew that I was struggling, but you didn’t give a fuck.”

He stared at you for a minute, while you paced around the kitchen.

“You have five seconds to get out or I’ll go to the neighbor’s and fucking call the cops, I swear to God.” You warned him.

“Okay.” He answered and stood up, walking towards the front door. He exited your apartment and instantly entered again. “Okay. The timer’s reset.”

“Fucking hell.” You cursed under your breath. “What do you want, Seungmin?”

“I told you, I’m here to check up on you.” He repeated. “Maybe a year too late… I guess.”

“You’re horrible.” 

“So you’ve told me.” He spoke. “I’m not leaving until you chill out, though.”

You scoffed and walked over to your bathroom, taking your time to wash off all the ruined makeup and tears that this night left you. You changed into your usual nightgown and walked back to the living room. You were pissed off at how comfortable he looked in your apartment.

“Are you happy now?” You asked, “can you leave?”

“Not yet.” He spoke. “Some guy texted you.” Your blood boiled at that comment. “He seemed concerned.”

“So?”

“So, who is he?”

“Why do you care?” You inquired; he answered with a shrug.

“He seems to care about you.” He pointed out. “Is he your boyfriend?” You rolled your eyes. 

“Not every guy I talk to is my boyfriend, you know.” 

“Just asking.”

“Why do you care, anyways?” You scoffed, sitting down on the couch opposite to him. He sighed and took his time to answer.

“I don’t know…” he started, “I think a part of me wanted to get back together with you.”

“As if.” You snickered. “You’re just pissed that I don’t worship the ground you stand on.”

“I mean, yeah. But I haven’t found anyone that matches the chemistry that we have.” He looked at you with a smirk. 

The same smirk that made you take notice in him; you felt the same pull that you always did when you fought while you were together. The truth was that you couldn’t resist Seungmin’s cold charm, which made you melt for him. You knew that you were scooping low. You were throwing away all the progress you had made during the last year with just a smirk from the person you most despised and adored in this universe.

“I hate you, Seungmin.”

“Too bad because I think I love you.” He said, scooting over to you.

Almost every fiber in your being was telling you to leave. Almost every fiber. You undeniably still wanted Seungmin. You couldn’t resist him, that was a fact. Such a fact that you leaned over to meet him in the middle despite knowing that this would not end well. 

Things never ended well when it came to Seungmin.

He crashed his lips against yours, making you feel electricity; something that you hadn’t felt since he left. You wanted nothing more than to kick him out… and to welcome him in. His lips felt hot against yours, his warm hands caressed your bare cheek, ever so lovingly that you almost forgot what he did. Your lips moved in unison for what felt like an eternity. Seungmin’s hands explored the exposed skin on your body, until they tugged at your nightgown, enticing you to take it off. 

In a trance, you took off your nightgown, leaving you in your underwear before a very clothed Seungmin. He smirked when he saw you, hands grabbing at your waist. Your hands found Seungmin’s dress shirt, carefully unbuttoning it until his broad shoulders and lean torso were entirely visible. He kissed you again, the kiss that made your world spin; the kiss that represented everything for you. Your lips burned in lustful detest. And you felt yourself fall deeper into the trance you fought so hard to get out of.

You ran your hands through his bare torso, leaving goosebumps on his soft skin. He moaned into your kiss, separating from you. He looked at you for a moment, your lips missing the heat of his. He dove into your neck, sucking harshly against it, trailing dark marks all over your neck in silent possessiveness. 

“I’d rather do this in my room.” You moaned while he continued kissing down your neck. He gave you one last kiss before standing up and walking towards your room’s door. He looked back at you. You still couldn’t comprehend that this was happening. That he was back in the comfort of your home, where he last broke your heart. 

You walked towards your room, entering behind Seungmin in silence. You heard him unbuckling his belt, lowering his suit pants and underwear alike. Seeing Seungmin naked was a sight that you were never tired of. From his strong shoulders, the moles on his skin, the veins in his cock; you loved everything. You took everything in, suspecting this would be the last time you saw him like this. 

His fingers found their way into your seeping core, the wetness inside you welcomed them warmly. Oh, how you missed having a part of him inside you. You cursed at yourself for letting him in again in the first place. The feeling of his digits inside you was unmatched to anyone else’s, the way he thrusted them in and out of you, made you moan louder than you usually allow yourself to.

The hardness of his erection pressed against you, dribbling the slightest bit of precum on your skin. He pressed harder, grinding his hips into your bare ass. 

“Fuck, Y/N.” He groaned. You let his fingers slip out of you, quickly lowering yourself onto your knees. 

Seungmin took his chance to grab your hair into a ponytail as you took his throbbing member into your mouth. It took you some time to get used to the saltiness of his precum when you swirled your tongue over his cock. His grip on your hair tightened with every bob of your head. Your mouth felt heavenly around him, and his cock felt heavenly inside of your mouth. You took him in deeper, feeling the patch of hair on his pubic bone tickle your nose. Seungmin abruptly pulled himself from you, enticing you to stand back up.

“If you kept going, I would’ve come.” He explained. “I know your pussy has been waiting for me.” 

You nodded, lowering yourself onto the bed. His lips captured yours into a passionate kiss, the calm before the storm. You felt his swollen tip prodding against your own swollen folds. You sighed, knowing that there will be no turning back once he’s back inside you. Seungmin looked at you for approval, you nodded in silent agreement. 

He thrusted into you gently, then all at once. You moaned at the feeling of his long cock inside of you, a feeling that you missed more than you admitted to. Seungmin groaned when he was fully sheathed inside of you. Your warmth engulfed him entirely. The toxicity of your relationship would shift into a secondary plane whenever you felt each other like this. Impossibly together, nothing better to mend it than the sexual chemistry that you both had. 

Seungmin thrusted deep inside of you, setting a slower pace at first, taking his time to feel your cunt flexing around him. You took your time to remember how every vein of his long member felt inside of you too, to feel how he filled you up so casually yet so intimately. You almost cried remembering the last time that you found yourself like this with him. To see how things have changed in a year, still how deep Seungmin has you in his grasp. The magnetic pull that he had on you was everlasting, you’re certain about that. You understood that sometimes soulmates weren’t meant to work out, that such profound a connection would’ve been too powerful for such a simplistic world. 

You were so lost in the feeling, trying to etch it in your soul that you barely even notice Seungmin’s moans as his thrusts sped up. You were so full of him, a feeling that you had forgotten over the year. And you couldn’t help but curse at yourself for allowing something so intimate to happen again. Seungmin thrusted deeper into you, and you felt his sizable length against your cervix, a painfully delicious sensation. You moaned his name during your trance. And he whispered that he loved you before coming inside of you. Your moans became louder once you felt the ardent ropes of his seed filling your insides up. Another feeling that you wouldn’t get tired of. Seungmin’s expert fingers found your clit, rubbing senselessly at your sensitive bud. You grabbed his free hand, bringing it up to your neck. He hesitated before wrapping his long fingers around your throat, his grip was soft, but enough to take you over the edge. You swore that your life flashed before your eyes as you came with a soft curse, followed by his name. Your cunt gripped his softening cock as he attempted to pull out of you. You hissed at the empty, yet full feeling of his cum inside you again. Seungmin kissed your shoulder as he laid down beside you, panting.

“Fuck, Y/N. I fucking love you. I can’t live without you.” He whispered and placed a kiss on your lips. 

You sighed.

If only sex could resolve the myriads of issues between the two of you. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸

The following morning, Seungmin woke up to the rays of sun shining through the window and an empty bed. He sprinted up to his feet, to find you, to profess his love to you. He wanted to beg for you to take him back, to forgive his wrongdoings, to fall in love with him once more. He had had sex many times since you broke up, but nobody ever felt like you did. He couldn’t moan love confessions to anyone but you.

He made his way to the kitchen, seeing a piece of paper next to a fast-food chain bag. 

‘Thank you for closure. You have two days to bask in this apartment. You didn’t even notice that I was moving out. Tell the landlord thanks for me, the lease is still in your name. Take care.

Love always, 

Y/N’

In that moment, Seungmin’s eyes filled with tears. So, this is how you felt when he left. What a catastrophic experience. Nonetheless, he is certain that his heart will find you again.

It always does. 

Order Up! | SKZ

A mini-series where you place an order for your favorite ice cream and I serve you -- well, you'll see. (This IS an NSFW series, so MDNI!)

Directions: To place your order, head to my inbox (link in my pinned post) and tell me what flavor ice cream you want + what topping you would like on your ice cream. Due to a limited amount of toppings, I'd like to limit the orders to One (1) Ice Cream Flavor & Two (2) Toppings per flavor, if you wish to have more than one.

If you place an order that has already been served, I'll simply link you to that serving.

These replies WILL be short & simple, they are NOT full scenarios and are just answers to the topping questions - So if you want a longer reply that is more in depth, ask for two scoops instead of one!

Onto the menu!

Flavors

Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough : Christopher Bang : Decadent & Dreamy

Chocolate Covered Cherry : Lee Minho : Rich & Luxurious

Cotton Candy : Seo Changbin : Soft & Creamy

French Vanilla : Hwang Hyunjin : Smooth & Classic

Strawberry Cheesecake : Han Jisung : Tangy & Elegant

Blue Moon : Lee Felix : Enchanting & Vibrantly Sweet

Mint Chocolate : Kim Seungmin : Crisp & Comforting

Butter Pecan : Yang Jeongin : TImeless & Velvety

Toppings

Hot Fudge - A sexual fantasy of his

Caramel Sauce - What he watches/listens to/indulges in to get off

Strawberry Drizzle - Something non-sexual that turns him on

Chocolate Chips - If he's interested in threesomes/orgys

Peanuts - His favorite position

Candied Almonds - His favorite location to be intimate

Whipped Cream - What he prefers his partner to wear during intimacy

Marshmallow Topping - Where he likes to be touched

Cherries - His favorite toys/If he likes using toys

Coconut Flakes - How he likes it (soft/rough/etc)

Sprinkles - His favorite part of your body

Oreos - His favorite intimate act (oral/vaginal/etc)

M&Ms - An instant turn on for him

Reeses Pieces - His favorite act of foreplay

Pretzels - What position he oftens takes in bed (top/bottom/vers)

Graham Crackers - His favorite part of his own body

Sea Salt - A roleplay scenario he wants to try

Popping Pearls - How he sexts/If he sexts

Example Orders

"I'd like to order one scoop of Mint Chocolate with Peanut toppings please!" "Two scoops of Butter Pecan with M&Ms & Graham Crackers please :)"

L O S E R [HJS]

♫ Pairing: Han Jisung × Reader [F] ♫ Summary: His father disapproves of his life choices, and it subsequently causes a rift between the two of them. Jisung only has one person he feels he can rely on, his best friend. With hopes of becoming one of the biggest rockstars that ever lived, he embarks on a journey to fulfill his life dreams. Will he make his dreams come true with his friend by his side, or will he even sacrifice friendship to live out his fantasy's? ♪ WC: 19.7k [READING TIME: 40-60 MINS] ♪ AU: Highschool, Rockstar ♪ Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff (adjacent), Friends to (??) ♪ Nets: @neverendingdreams-net & @mirohs-aurora-society ♫ A.N: I started writing this over a year ago (Nov 2023) and I've been writing on it little by little since then. When the "Hold My Hand" mv came out, I got burst of inspiration I needed to finish this. I took a while to finish, but it's here. This has not been proofread. Please reblog and leave a comment to let me know how you feel. I'd love a little feedback. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Special thanks to @therhythmafterthesummer thanks for rooting for me with this one. I don't think I could have finished it without your encouragement. Dividers by @saradika-graphics ♫ Disclaimer: This story does not reflect the real lives or personalities of Stray Kids. I do not know them personally. This is purely a work of fiction. ♫ Warnings: MINORS DNI! This post contains nsfw material. Please do not interact with it if you are under the age of 18. Unprotected sex (Be safe and wrap it up. This is fiction, a controlled narrative. I make the rules. Life isn't that simple, so be safe), creampie (semi), cum shot, slight degradation (male receiving), slight femdom/sub (male) dynamics, choking, cum play, cum eating, spiting, hair pulling (male receiving). Do not translate or repost here or on other sites. This chapter contains use of explicit language.

Loser, 외톨이, 센 척하는 겁쟁이 못된 양아치, 거울 속의 넌 Just a loser, 외톨이, 상처뿐인 머저리 더러운 쓰레기, 거울 속의 난, I'm a...

The words resounded in the back of Jisung's mind as he continued to feel the kicks and punches from his classmates. See, with him, you either liked him or you didn't. Sadly, there didn't seem to be an in-between. There was no indifference and there didn't seem to be many that liked him, either. He had a handful of acquaintances, but only one good, true friend. She was the light of his life, that and music. In times like this, when he was beaten and battered, cast out, and torn down by the world, he knew that if he just held on, she'd be there. 

There to comfort him, there to lift him up, there to hold his hand and tell him that it gets better. That's what he had to hold on to, “it gets better.” The promise of that alone gave him enough hope that he'd get through these tumultuous teenage years and one day look back at this and consider it a learning experience. Just something he could mark off as a growth exercise. At least that's what he hoped. He hoped to turn all the shity life struggles into art. His words, his life, his voice. He refused to be a loser.

Jisung wanted nothing more in life than to play his music for the people who appreciated it. For the most part that meant that he was playing it for a crowd of one, you. But he didn’t mind if the venue wasn’t fancy, or if it was just one person taking in the songs that he performed. Just the look of pure joy on your face from listening to his voice, gave him enough hope that one day he could do this on a larger scale. He just hoped that you would be one of the smiling faces when he looked out at the crowd.

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Prestige, influence, wealth. Was that really something worth betting your life and sanity on? According to his parents it was absolutely worth it. Those things were the reason the Han's were where they were in life and they would bite their tongues and die before ever going back to being poor and worthless. At least that's how his father saw things. “Jisung, you have to listen to your father. All he wants is for you to have a good life. Not waste it away-”

“Id waste away staying here. Mom…” He stopped throwing things in his bag to hold his mothers hands, to look her in the eyes. He wanted her, if no one else in this house, to understand why he had to leave. It wasn't about the constant fights with his father, or even the fact that he just couldn’t and probably would never live up to what his older brother had become. He wasn’t built for the life that his parents had set up for him. It physically pained him to even think of himself trapped in the box of boring, yet successful, that his parents wanted to fit him into.

No, he just felt unfulfilled, dead inside. He was slowly rotting away with every breath he took under the rule of his fathers thumb. “I can't let him dictate what should and should not make me happy. Music is everything to me, you know this. So please, just let me go. You know I can't survive here.” He dropped his head, looking at the floor, “He'll kill everything about me.. until there is no use in being alive.” He had made up his mind. Despite the comfort that being home provided him, he’d rather take his chances out on the streets than endure one more moment trapped inside of this amenity filled mansion.

His mother gasped. Just the thought of her baby not being on this earth anymore, crushed her. She pulled her son into a hug for what might be the last time. “There is money in my purse, take that with you. Okay?” She grabbed his face, taking in her son's features. She caressed his chubby cheeks and placed kisses on both. “I love you. Forever and always.” The front door slammed downstairs, alerting them to his father's arrival. The panic set in on both his and his mothers faces.

Oftentimes Mr. Han seemed like he hated Jisung, his own son, just like he hated people who weren't in the same social economic class as him. They had no drive or ambition according to him, no will to make their life better, to be better. As if people didn’t fall on hard times, or suffer from any mental illnesses, making it hard for them to keep a job. He was a hypocrite. Jisung’s grandfather didn’t keep a steady job for years, and the jobs he had were very low income. He provided for his family as best he could, but apparently people like that were scum to Jisung's father. Being poor and struggling were things that his father had long left behind. Along with things like passion, empathy, and even love.

“HAN JI SUNG! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT.” Jisung's heart quickened with the sound of his fathers angry, booming voice. His anxiety was starting to kick in, his breathing picked up, just as his extremities started to lightly shake. He had to have heard about Jisung's outburst in school today, which resulted in the cops being called to his prestigious catholic high school. With his fathers position in the Mayors office, of course this news made it to him. The police probably went and told him the news themselves. This wasn't going to be good. 

“Go out the back, I'll distract him.” She kissed his forehead and headed down the stairs, swiftly. Jisung stuffed all the clothes he could into his duffle, and started out the door, just to stop in his tracks. Next to his bed was a picture of him and his best friend. The one person who could get him through anything. From breakups and heartbreak to bouts of depression, they had been through almost everything together. He grabbed the frame and carefully stuffed it into the bag. 

“I know he's here! Move out my way woman!” He pushed past his wife, physically moving the small woman out of his way. Jisung could hear his fathers heavy footsteps as he made his way up the grand staircase in the foyer. Panic began to flow through the young boy's body. Making sure the coast was clear, he headed out into the hall from his room. The nearest exit of sorts was way at the end of the hall, two whole bedrooms and a bathroom away from his little corner room upstairs. 

He wasn’t much of a runner, even if he was considered to be quick, but he put all of the techniques he’d learned in physical education to work, sprinting down the hall. He made it to his brother's old room and out onto the balcony. Even though he was deathly afraid of heights, this was his only option, if he wanted to escape. It was fight or flight, and he was sure if he tried to fight his dad he’d die. His dad was filled with rage at the current moment and that did not bode well for Jisung. All he could see over the edge was the garden that bordered the pool. 

His mothers pretty array of hibiscus flowers and the cherry blossom tree that sat not far from the window, well manicured and perfect, just like everything else in the Han family’s life. He could hear his father nearing closer, his booming voice filling the large halls and bouncing off the walls, even with the constant pitter patter of his fast beating heart. It was now or never. He closed his eyes, the voice of his best-friend rang through his head, “You can do anything you put your mind to, Ji.” It was like her words gave him wings. That was all the reassurance he needed. 

Just as his father burst through the door to his brother's room, Jisung took the leap. He landed on the bushes below with a loud thud. His father's head peaked over the balcony. “You better stay right where you are, young man.” There was a small tinting of something else besides anger and disdain on his fathers face. 

But Jisung didn’t have the time to try and decipher it as his father made his way back into his brother’s room. No, if he didn’t want to face whatever was coming his way via his fathers slightly justified anger, he needed to go. Jisung hurried to his feet, running out the back gate of their sprawling mansion grounds, never to look back again. 

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“Shit…” He'd been roaming for hours now. The afternoon had turned into evening. The beautiful blue tinted sky shifted into pinks and purples and now it was just pitch black. He had nowhere to go. His feet hurt, his stomach hadn’t stopped grumbling since he got a few miles away from home, and he was terribly tired. Then there also was the fact that he had stupidly left the money his mother wanted him to have, right where she told him it was. He was broke and homeless. Not the best combination at the young age of eighteen. But most had survived worse. At least that's what that weird side of youtube and tik tok said. He was sure he would make it too. At least that's what he hoped.

He walked aimlessly until the streets started to look familiar. The houses were smaller than the ones in his- well his parents neighborhood, but that didn’t make them small. The mini mansions had long curving driveways and tall fences to keep the riff raff out. Well, guess you could say he was the riff raff now. 

He was a delinquent with an extensive record. Trespassing, disorderly conduct, disturbing the peace, failure to disperse, affray, unlawful assembly, and resisting arrest, the last two were tacked on today. The other charges had been adding up since his fifteenth birthday. The only reason he was a free man was the simple fact that he was a Han. He knew that, and it ate away at his core.

Well manicured lawns with expensive cars in the park. This was your side of town. Your family was quite well off as well, just in a different way. Building on the wealth that your maternal grandfather had built for your family. Your parents weren’t as power thirsty as his father was. But that wasn’t saying that they didn’t take your future success in life very seriously. They did. Your schedule was often packed to the brim with extracurriculars and volunteering, just to make sure that your high school resume made it easier for you to get into a good university.

He recognized your street name and he took off in a sprint. Trying to hurry his way to your house. He needed to see you. He needed reassurance for you that he did the right thing by running away. Because without your words of encouragement, he doubted he’d be able to survive the night, let alone live like this. He’d just have to tuck his tail between his legs and go back home to receive whatever punishment his father deemed appropriate. He had nearly a block to go when the familiar sound of sirens and the look of security lights stopped him in his tracks. “Where are you headed to, son?” Jisung sighed. He didn’t need this right now.

“My friend lives on the next block.” 

The guard got out of his car and approached Jisung, an uncertain expression on his face. He didn’t even attempt to hide it. The round and nearly bald, older man looked Jisung up and down, eyes doubtful of his story. “Right, and what is this friend's name?” The man pulled out an iPad with a list of residents in this large subdivision. 

“Y/l/n, Y/n. She lives with her parents…” He sighed, “Dr. And Mr.'s Y/l/n.” Jisung peered over the tablet to see if he could find you, only to find the guard way too immersed in a game of candy crush. “Seriously?” 

The security guard cleared his throat and tapped out of his games screen. “What was the name again?” with an exasperated sigh, Jisung told him your information again. He quickly contacted them, stepping away from Jisung to talk. 

“Yes, good evening. This is Sheldon with Rutherglen Security. I was out on patrol this evening when I spotted a young man out on a run with a duffle bag. When I stopped him he informed me he was trying to go see the daughter of this residence..- ah, his name?” He looked back at Jisung who was impatiently tapping his fingers on his jeans as he stood in the middle of the road, bag strapped across his chest. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Jisung. Han Jisung.” The man nodded and looked away again.

“Jason? Han Jason- Oh okay. I'll make sure to drop him off expeditiously.” He hung up and turned to the boy again. “I guess your story adds up. Get in. I'll drop you off.” He said nothing more and made his way around the tiny smart car, getting in. Jisung eyed the vehicle apprehensively. The window slowly rolled down, “On with it! I don't have all night.” 

The ride was short, he was nearly a block away when he was stopped. The gates to the driveway opened, revealing the lit up rounded pathway that led to the cream colored, French style home with black accents. It was traditional enough not to stick out, but still had a bit of modern flare to it. Truthfully, Jisung always thought your parents were like their house. Vocal, but both vocal enough to rock the boat. 

Some of their opinions didn’t line up with the traditional values of the overall community of Rutherglen, and he admired that. The security guard parked right in front of the house. Jisung could see someone jogging down the staircase inside. The lights in the house lit up with motion, so it made sense to him. The wooden door swung open to reveal a very winded girl, dressed in a band tee and bicycle shorts. 

“Haven't you gotten yourself in enough trouble today?” You rushed out before he could even unbuckle his seat and open the door. “Thank you so much…” Your eyes met the security guards as you leaned into the open window.

“Sheldon.” The security guard nodded.

“Sheldon. Thank you so much.” You opened the door for your friend only for Sheldon to speak up again.

“Excuse me, but are your parents home? I need to go over this with them.” You ushered Jisung out of the car and closed the door, leaning on it as you peeked your head in once again.

“My father is away at a medical conference and my mother is in the Maldives on vacation after major surgery, neither would like to be disturbed. But if you want to hear what my dad sounds like when he's angry, you can give him a ring.” Your voice sounded so sweet, but threatening at the same time. Like honey with the sting of a ghost pepper.

“Ah- no, that's fine. I'll just send them a write up. Have a good night.” He cranked the car back up. “And son, try to stay off the streets at night. You looked like you were up to no good.” 

Before Jisung could answer you interjected, “He will, no worries. Have a beautiful night, Sheldon. Stay safe out there.” With nothing left to say, you pulled your friend into your house and up the stairs to your room. As if the two of you weren't alone, you closed the door. “What they hell, Ji? Your mom called me worried sick, saying you'd gone off and run away. What the hell?” You hissed. You paced back and forth, mind racing.

He sighed, letting the bag he had bared the weight of for just a few hours, fall from him. He was tired and it hadn't even been a day yet. “I.. I couldn't take it anymore. I just knew what he was going to say. What he was going to tell me. How he was going to lay into me for not being good enough. How disappointed he was. How much he wished I could be more like my brother. I just… I couldn't deal with it anymore. He already thinks I'm a failure for not making the grades my brother made. But now I'm even more of a failure.” He plopped onto your fluffy purple bean bag that was situated in your reading nook. 

“Music is to be listened to, not pursued, according to him. I shouldn't entertain these ludicrous fantasies. You know where he took me the other day? To the unhoused encampment near the city center. He told me I'd end up there if I didn't listen to him and do as I was told.” He looked dejected and you wanted to do nothing more than to hold him and tell him everything will be alright. “I guess I just… beat him to the punch.” You sighed, your heart broke for him. He didn't deserve to be treated like that, no one did, really. But especially not Jisung.

“You aren't unhoused, just yet. Tomorrow, I'll skip school and we can look around to find some place to rest your head. Until my parents get back, you can stay here with me. I could use the company.” You could feel a bit of the burden lift off his shoulders and for the first time in a very long time, you saw him smile. He needed this pep talk more than you knew. It made his heart feel a little bit lighter knowing he wouldn’t be navigating this big change in his life without you.

“You know, I don't know what I'd do without you.” He stood unexpectedly and crossed the room to you, pulling you into a tight hug. “You're the best.” You could feel he meant it as he melted into you. He really didn't know what he would do without you. It sounded cliche, but you were literally the wind beneath his wings, his better half. Without you there was no him. He would have come crashing down to earth long ago if it wasn't for you. Your encouraging words always kept him uplifted. Your support always made him strive to be the best at whatever it was he was trying to pursue this week. You were his everything. 

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The next morning you woke up as early as you would for school. You were the top of your class, in line to be valedictorian. They might miss you today, but that didn’t matter as long as you made sure that your best friend was taken care of. Jisung had been there through the worst years of your life. He was quite literally your only friend. The only one who cared enough to stick around when it seemed that everyone in the world turned their back on you, just because the glitter of popularity seemed too tempting to say no to. 

In your freshman year of school your long time best friend Michelle, someone you'd known since babyhood, decided that her popularity over summer break wasn't worth losing. She'd hit puberty and filled out, so that made her popular with older boys. She couldn't take being seen with a “flat chested loser,” like yourself. She acted as though you hadn’t been friends all your lives. She started ignoring you, and the kicker, started rumors that you were doing sexual favors for the grades you were receiving. She knew better, you'd tutored her the summer before, just to make sure she'd have an easy transition into high school. Maybe you should have let her flounder.

You met Jisung during your summer vacation that same year. It was fate, really. You found out he'd moved around a lot before his family decided to settle in Rutherglen. His father had political aspirations, and this would be the perfect place to put down roots and start the career he always wanted. The way he described his folks almost sounded like how yours were. Father with big aspirations to be something better than what his father was. Mother who cares, but will ultimately side with the father. Plus you both had siblings. His older brother that was amounting to big things in life and your younger brother, two years your junior, who was the love of your mothers life. 

You bonded on your love of anime and rock music. Even your views of the world seemed to align. You spent every waking hour with that boy. You exchanged numbers and the rest was history. You'd been inseparable since. So giving up a few hours or days to help your one and only best friend, no matter the circumstances, was absolutely necessary. 

The boy slept like a log. But you understood, he had a hell of a day the day before. He got arrested for staging a protest on campus grounds for LGBTIQ+ rights, which wasn’t the smartest move to make on the campus of an ultra conservative Christian school. His stances went against the school's clear directive, that gay relationships were blasphemous and against all of their beliefs. And though you agree with him, that love is love and should be accepted as such. You knew it would ruffle too many feathers, especially if he didn’t go about it the right way. 

The protest was a mess. He had only managed to get a few students on his side, and they mostly backed out right before the protest was set to begin. The signs the both of you stayed up to make were torn by the kids that liked to ridicule you and bully Jisung. Then when asked by the headmaster to disassemble, Ji stood ten toes down and even cuffed himself to the door that led from the courtyard and into the school. That's how the cops were called. Then he ran away from home. On top of all of that, he almost got detained on his way to your house. 

He deserved to sleep as hard and as long as he wanted. But time was of the essence and him finding at least a roof was imminent. Jisung sounded like a vacuum cleaner as he snored. His mouth was wide open. One leg was under your mattress, how it got there you didn't know and you certainly weren't going to ask. The blanket was wrapped around him like a cocoon and both his hands were stretched above his head like he was superman.

You'd say he looked like a boy with no problems, that was if you didn't know any better. He had plenty of problems. Ones that needed to be handled immediately, you had a “parents are coming home any day now" , type of deadline. You shook him, “Ji, wake up.” He groaned, body flailing a bit. You sighed heavily. His mother told you once that the dead would wake up before she would be able to wake up Jisung in the morning. You could see why she said that now.

“Five more minutes, please?” He pouted in his sleep. The morning sun in its dusty blue haze was starting to peek through the curtains, you needed all the daylight you could afford. 

“No. Get up!” You smacked his chest right over his nipple and he jolted up with a yelp, hitting his head on the ledge of your nightstand. He knocked your lamp over, making it fall to the ground with a hard thud.

“Ow! Why, Y/n?” His pout deepened as he rubbed his head. He looked at you like you’d told him you no longer wanted to be friends. Maybe it was part of his sadness from yesterday that was seeping into the look he was giving you. You didn’t know, but you also didn’t like it. You never wanted him to be sad. To you, he deserved nothing but unadulterated joy. You thought he looked the most handsome when he smiled and nothing else should ever be painted across his lips.

His other hand moved to the spot you smacked, rubbing it while still rubbing the spot on his head. You snorted as you took in the sight, but quickly covered it with concern, seeing that he really was in pain. “I- I'm sorry Ji, I didn't mean to startle you. I just need you up so we can get started. Let me see, yeah?” You moved his hand and inspected the area that had hit your side table. You couldn't see any significant damage past his hair. You kissed the general area. “There. All better?” 

His face heated up, immediately. His thoughts rushed to anything impure he could think of at the moment. He couldn’t help that he was touched starved. He hadn’t had any action since his ex-boyfriend, Minho, graduated over a year ago. Plus, he hadn’t quite come to terms with his new found -okay, maybe they weren’t new and he’s loved you since he first met you,- feelings. Jisung kept his head turned away from you, afraid you'd see the blush that had tinted his cheeks.

“Mhm.” He nodded. Keeping his response simple. He didn’t want you to see his face and use that big brain of yours to figure out just what thoughts plagued his mind about you.

“Well come on, let's get dressed and eat so we can find you some place to stay for a while.” 

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Your mother had been a real estate agent for the past twenty years. She was one of the highest grossing real estate agents in the state. Her vacant properties -which she had plenty of- were what you were going to start with. You'd have to pay extra careful attention to what ones hadn't been looked at in a while and make sure to keep whichever one you settled on that way. “What about that one?” Jisung pointed to a listing of a single family home that was a town over.

“Neighbors would notice. You wouldn't want to be arrested for squatting. I’m sure your dad would love that.” You kept scrolling as he looked over your shoulder, leaning on his hand that was on your arm rests. “It needs to be some place close enough to where I could get to you in case of emergencies, but far enough away from others so they won’t be suspicious.” You chewed on your lip. 

Jisung tried to keep his eyes to himself, but something about the way you looked when you were in full concentration always made his heart flutter. He sighed wistfully. Before all of this happened, he had plans to ask you to be his date to prom. He hoped that if the night turned out well, that he would ask you to be his girlfriend. But he went and fucked things up. His dad did always say he was a good for nothing fuck up. Maybe there was a bit of harsh truth in his words.

“Oh just be honest with yourself, you'd miss me too much if I went too far away.” He chuckled, clearing out his dark thoughts with a joke. Little did he know, he was right. In the four years you'd gotten to spend time with him, even vacations away from each other seemed like torture. Your mother commented once that she'd,

‘Never seen two people who weren't in love, be so attached at the hip. You can’t find one without the other.’ You supposed she was right. A bond like the one you and Jisung had was rare. You considered him your soulmate, your person. So, no, you didn't want him to be too far away. You honestly didn't think you'd be able to handle that. It’s also a part of the reason you were afraid to open any of the letters you’d received from prospective universities. You wanted to stay close to home, but your parents insisted you leave the state, to do and see more. You thought you’d seen enough through traveling and would be just fine close to home and Jisung.

“Don't flatter yourself.” You rolled your eyes to sell the act you were putting on. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble.” 

He scoffed, “Your delusions are getting worse each day. You do realize you're like zero for three at this point, right? I got arrested, expelled, and I'm homeless, and that's all from one day!” You rolled your eyes so hard it was surprising they didn't just roll out of your head.

“How is that my fault? Before the protest I told you to talk to the headmaster to get permission or at least someone on faculty to let them know, but you didn't. You could have talked to the civics teacher, I'm sure she would have happily let us protest. Then when asked to disband, you laid into things harder as if the lack of permission wasn't bad enough. It was for a good cause, yes, but you have to know your limits. You cuffed yourself to the door, Jisung. Like, Seriously?! Then you resisted arrest… I have no words to express how stupid that was. So it's no wonder you got expelled, you broke multiple school rules and managed to get arrested, again.” 

You shook your head. You weren’t disappointed in him, you’d leave that to his father. But you did feel he could have gone about things a little differently. “You didn't even bother telling me that you were running away. We could have planned for this. I could have done something to help before you packed your bags. Least you could have done is let me pick you up.” His arms moved from the arm rest to wrap around you. 

He knew he had you worried, just by the way your eyes looked when you came outside. But his mind was in disarray last night. As soon as he walked in parents house yesterday afternoon he could feel all of what was going to come down on him when his father came home. It was like his mind's eye was open and he could see the immediate future. Said future was telling him he needed to run. That he needed to get out of there before his life ended in that stupid house.

“You can be so annoyingly right sometimes. But it wouldn't be very punk of me if I took the easy way out. Plus, arrest records give me street cred.” You sighed heavily and pushed him away. You couldn’t deal with his strange ideologies right now, you were trying to prevent him from being a common, unhoused, delinquent.

“You're an Idiot.” You mumbled under your breath. You didn't really mean it though. Yes, Jisung made brash, spur of the moment decisions. Yes, they resulted in him being in trouble more often than not. But, Jisung was far from an idiot. Really, he bordered the lines of being a genius. At least to you. He was honestly one of the most sincere and compassionate people you'd ever met. Plus his talent for writing, music, drawing, hell anything he put his mind to creatively, was unmatched. Just don't ask him to play sports. Now, that's when he seemed like an idiot.

“This is it!! Ji, look!” You pointed to the screen, shaking the monitor just from the force. 

“Is that… a van?” You could hear the disgust in his voice, you didn’t even have to look at his face to know his feelings. “You want me to… live in a van?” He grabbed the mouse, scrolling down the page. “There has got to be something… better… right?” It seemed like that was the last property with an actual structure on it, everything else was just land or warehouses. 

“Would you rather a tarp and a cardboard box? Because that might be your only other option.” You quickly pointed out, taking the mouse back from him. “I’m sure one of these vacant warehouses can house you. That is, if you are willing to share your space with roaches, rats, and other creepy crawlies.” He flailed at your words, throwing a small tantrum. 

“Why~ Y/n? Can't I just… stay in your basement or attic or something?” He flopped on your mom's office sofa, still kicking around.

“Because, if my father finds you, He’ll end your life and you know it.” Jisung shuddered at the thought. Your father tolerated him, he always had. He understood that the two of you were friends, but if anything other than friendship happened to spark, he’d flip. He was the type of man that thought his daughter should “preserve her innocence until marriage.” So, that meant he was constantly breathing down your throat about promiscuity and how you should wait. 

That boys, especially ones like Jisung, were not worth your time. He had even had ideal suitors lined up for you to meet during your eighteenth birthday. Someone from a good home with a promising future. Not a homeless dreamer that got expelled from school and ran away from home. To your father, the man for you could never be Jisung, and he had made that known to the both of you in one way or another.

“And he knows exactly what to give me to kill me too. He probably would donate my body to the med school too, just for good measure.” Jisung shuddered at the thought. “Damn it, I hate when you're right.” Your father petrified him. You didn't know this, and he planned on never telling you that your father threatened him the first time they met. Not the first time you introduced them, but the first time they met at the resort. 

Your father had followed you, to make sure you weren't up to anything questionable with the boy you grew so fond of so quickly. He observed from afar, until Jisung got up to use the bathroom. The man towered over the boy, his imposing figure casting a large shadow over him.

“Listen here. That girl that you're chatting up, that's my baby. And as my baby, she gets the benefit of the doubt, you on the other hand, do not. If you're thinking about having sex with my daughter, think twice.” He leaned in, getting down to Jisung's level. 

“I have friends in high and low places. If I wanted to make you disappear, all it would take is a snap of my fingers and poof, you're gone. If you lay a hand on my baby, I'll make sure that's the last time you touch anything with it at all.” It seemed that with every word he spoke he backed him further and further towards the wall, until his back finally hit it. “Keep your hands and your dick to yourself. Understand me?” Jisung nodded slowly, afraid any other action would piss your dad off. “Good.” He patted the boy's shoulder. “Now, hurry up and get back to her. You don't want to keep her waiting for too long, now do you?” Jisung felt like he couldn’t breathe until your father disappeared from his vision. He slid to the ground once the man was gone. That was the day he was glad he had a strong bladder.

So, there was no way in hell he'd be caught here. He didn't want to end up in a ditch somewhere, rotting or worse, he had dreams to fulfill. “Let me see if the lights and water are in my mom's name for this property…” You murmured under your breath. “She doesn't check when small amounts come out of her account. So, as long as you keep your usage low, you should be fine there.” Jisung sat up to look at you, now that his little tantrum was finally over.

All of his thoughts about your father had ceased. Now all he could think about was his fear of losing you. To wake up and not be able to hear your voice, or see your face. How could he survive the wild without you? “Will you come visit me?” You stopped clicking around once you heard the sadness in his voice. You quickly turned around in the office chair to face him. 

“Why would you ask a stupid question like that? You know I will. You living in a weird van can't keep me away. Even if it looks like you’d kidnap children in it.” He laughed at that, your joke lifting his spirits a little. “Now, if you were living in a cardboard box, you might not see me as much.” He kissed his teeth this time, only for you to laugh.

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“How much further is it?” Jisung asked, trailing behind you. You had to ditch the car, the trail was too narrow and overgrown for you to drive it. He hated walking long distances almost as much as he hated running. He was one of the few people who failed physical education, much to the coach's chagrin. They had stated previously that he had the potential to be a great track star. Yeah, that wasn’t remotely the kind of star he wanted to be.

“I think it's just up ahead, there is supposed to be a clearing…” Jisung had his bag and the guitar he had at your house for safekeeping. The one he had at home had been tossed out onto the drive from a second story window. You had a boatload of cleaning supplies, including a mop, bucket, and broom. This place had been abandoned for over a year and a half now, it had to be gross on the inside. 

You could hear him sputtering behind you as he swatted away bugs. “There was no way you could have survived on the outside.” You mumbled, shaking your head. If you were honest, both of you were spoiled little rich kids. Neither of you could survive, especially not without the other. “There!” You couldn't calm the excitement you felt as you saw the silhouette of the van through the trees.

“Fina-fucking-ly.” Jisung huffed, ready to at least take a seat and rehydrate himself. But you had other plans. You opened the van door, the smell of hot air whooshed past you. The pocket door revealed the small kitchen. A sink, floor to ceiling pantry and a counter with a hotplate on top and a mini fridge underneath. You climbed in first.

“This isn't as bad as I thought it would be. At least you have the basic amenities.” You nodded, crawling around on your knees, unaware that Jisung was still standing outside. Apprehension had started creeping its way into Jisung’s subconscious. All the what if's seemingly flying at him all at once. 

“What if you fail? Do you really think she’ll remain friends with a loser that is also a failure?” “What happens when you are here in the dark by yourself?” “What if no one likes your music?” “What if she finds someone else that makes her happier than you do?” “What happens when one of those picks that her father likes sweeps her off her feet? What happens to you then?”

“I don't think I can do this.” He turned on his heels, ready to head back to the car. 

“Ji, wait!” You quickly exited the van to give chase, he had barely made it back to the tree line before you stopped him. His face was red, both from the heat of walking and also from him trying his best to hold back his tears. Maybe he jumped the gun running away from home. He only had two or three months left before graduation, he could have made it that long. But here he was, in the middle of the woods, looking at an abandoned van as prospective housing. 

“If you give up now, you might as well give up on your dreams. Going back home means all of this was for nothing. You might as well throw away all the sheet music and demos you’ve made and go ahead and pick up the law books he was forcing you to read, because you will never do music again if you go back now. Do you want to let your dad win?” He stopped dead In his tracks. Leaving now did mean he was giving up. Going back home to a father that thought of him as nothing but a useless loser was not an option. It might be hard to tough it out, but it wasn’t anything he couldn't get used to. 

He sighed heavily, shoulders drooping with the harsh exhale of breath. “God, I hate that you're always right.” You chuckled. “But, I love it at the same time.” He turned to face you, taken back by the ethereal glow the backdrop of the clearing gave you. You looked otherworldly, a type of beauty that he could never fully wrap his head around. You were the type of person people wrote songs about. He wouldn’t admit it to you, but he was one of those said people. He stood there like he wanted to say something, but he just shook his head, letting the thought go. “You have to promise to come see me often. I… I can't do this alone.” You smiled brightly and he reciprocated. How could he not? To him, you had the most radiant smile. 

“Wouldn't have it any other way.” You reached for him, pulling him into a tight hug. “I'll always have your back.”

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Loneliness. That's what he expected to feel out on his own. His first night was full of it. Every little creek and bump in the night caused him to stir. Afraid that a random serial killer would happen upon his trailer and brutally kill him. Truth was, he just watched too many horror films, October wasn’t that long ago after all. Plus, the two of you loved to break tradition and watch horror and thriller in place of cheesy Christmas love stories where there was always a small town guy and a big city girl who fight their differences to fall in love with each other, while simultaneously saving the town's failing get-together spot. It was always the same trope in a different font and you both hated it. 

When a particularly loud sound pulled him from his sleep, his immediate response was to call you. He’d had enough run-ins with the cops to know not to call them when he was squatting on some middle of nowhere abandoned property. He knew that your soothing voice would be the one thing that would calm him down. It was the only thing that made him feel safe. Just hearing your voice would save him from drowning or bring him back from the brink of death.

“Mhm.” Even with just a hum he knew you had been in a deep slumber. It hadn’t even been the blaring ringtone that woke you up, it was the bright screen of Jisung doing his happy dance after trying the cheesecake you made him for his last birthday.

“Will you stay on the phone with me? It's… Kind of scary out here by myself.” He could hear you shuffling, before settling. Jisung was used to being alone; between his parents traveling for work and his brother being away, loneliness was a constant for the boy. But he knew you were always a phone call away. You’d never failed to answer his call, even if you were asleep or busy; you always made time for him.

“Have you been to sleep, Ji? It's like after four.” Your speech was still slurred, but he found it comforting.

“Yeah. But I keep hearing things.” He played with the fringe on one of the throw pillows you'd lifted from your parents' guest house.

“Want me to sing our song?” He knew you hated to sing, you felt that you couldn't. But he liked for you to sing to him, just for him. Felt like a warm embrace. Your voice was sweet and angelic.

“Please?” You chuckled softly.

Clearing your throat, you started to sing. “Wherever you are, I'll always make you smile.

"Wherever you are, I'm always by your side. Whatever you say, you're always on my mind. I promise you "forever" right now.”

He could feel himself sinking into the mattress underneath him. The worries of the day mentally melting off of him with each word you sang. You were his comfort. He closed his eyes as you continued to sing.

“Someone I can love from my heart. Someone I love from the bottom of my heart. In the center of this love. You are my heart…” 

You paused, hearing the light snoring through the receiver. You couldn't help the sleepy smile that spread over your face. “Goodnight, Ji. Love you.” You hung the phone up quickly, missing his sleep riddled reply.

“I love you too, Y/n.”

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The weeks passed by slowly, turning into months. You meant it when you said you’d visit. You were over at Jisung’s place almost every day. Even when things got a little hectic in your schedule you still made time for him. He appreciated that, he really did. But something was off with you. He felt it deep down, every time you canceled on him, or changed the subject when all he asked was a simple question. You were keeping something from him and it wasn’t anything small either. 

Jisung was sitting on the floor of his van, feet dangling out of the open sliding door, plucking at his guitar. There wasn’t much inspiration flowing as of late. Not when his mind was occupied with you and the secret you were keeping from him. He wanted to know, just wanted to come right out and ask you what you were hiding. But he knew if he was going to ask, he needed to do it gently. You’d shut down if he forced you to tell him what was up. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts he didn’t see you come out of the clearing. Not even the dry grass crunching under your sandals could pull him from deep within his thoughts.

“Ji, I think your ears are smoking. You okay?” The sound of your voice snapped him out of it. His fingers stopped what they were doing and he sat up. 

“Huh? My what are what-ing?” He moved his hand to his ear, feeling for whatever substance you said was coming out his ear, only to realize you were joking. He chuckled. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating?” His class graduated today. Instead of being out, celebrating with you and taking pictures of this great day, he was stuck in his van. Barred from coming within fifty feet of the school. 

“Are you dumb? What kind of celebration would it be if you weren’t with me?” You pulled your hand that he hadn’t realized you were hiding until you flashed your diploma. “I’m free… from well.. High School.” You chuckled. “Those last few months were tough without you, Ji. I had no one to talk to.” You sighed, but his only response was to hum.

The tension had built up in his head, his intrusive thoughts winning the ongoing battle in his head. “What are you hiding from me?” He spoke suddenly, not even bothering to look in your eyes as he asked. 

You shook the diploma cover you held in your hand, “My diploma. Is… is everything alright, Ji?” You looked at him confused. Chalking it up to maybe he’d been out here too long by himself. It had been two days since the last time you were by, you just couldn’t free up time.

“No, it’s not alright. You have been acting strange for the last month or so.” He sat his guitar down and jumped down out of the van, coming face to face with you. “You know you can trust me, so, why are you hiding something from me?” 

You thought you’d been acting normal. Trying to keep those feelings of betrayal from seeping out of your pores like bottom shelf liquor. “I…” He was right, you had been hiding something, from the fear of feeling like you’d lose him if you told him the truth. 

He sighed, frustration taking over his expression. Being a forced recluse had taken its toll on Jisung. Jisung might have had most of the things a person with an actual apartment had. He had a kitchen, albeit a small one. He had a place to sleep, and a makeshift living room. He had a sink and could go pee outside, plus a hose to hose down with in place of showers.. He had to walk a few miles to the local gym to handle other things like real grooming, so his hard on his face and the top of his head had grown out tremendously. Not to mention places you hadn’t seen.

Jisung had gotten a job in town, and used you as a reference. Now he worked the night shift at a gas station. It gave him something to do in the meantime, to help him save up to move somewhere other than this ultra conservative little town so he could pursue his dream. He had always hoped you’d get accepted somewhere cool so he could tag along and get some gigs. He always wanted to be wherever you were.

“Please, just tell me the truth.” His voice was soft. He just wanted to know the truth.

You sighed, eyes focused on the diploma in your hand. “I’m leaving.” You spoke, but you stayed planted in your spot. Jisung looked at you confused. 

“Now? Or…”

“Right before school starts. I… I got accepted into the university of my dreams…. Ji…” The sadness in your voice was palpable. The excitement hit him before the realization hit. You’d been talking about where you really wanted to go if you ever got the chance. It was in a different country, halfway across the globe. You were leaving. For real.

He took a moment. He didn’t want to seem bitter that you were leaving him. But, you were leaving him. His rock was leaving him to float away. You kept his mind grounded, what was he going to do with you gone?

“I.. I’ve been afraid to tell you. I wanted to tell you in my own way, whenever I was ready. But… It never seemed like a good time.” You were picking at a loose string on the hand stitched leather cover.

It felt like an eternity before Jisung spoke again. “You’re leaving… for uni?” You looked up, alarmed by his voice which was devoid of any type of feeling.

"What happened to us sticking together? Staying close to each other?" He frowned, "So.. you're leaving m-..?" He paused, but quickly corrected himself. "You are leaving Rutherglen?"

“Yes, in a few months.” You nodded, hoping that if you explained you had time before you went it would help him to process it better.

He was trying his best to keep all of his emotions from spilling out like an over boiling pot, but he couldn’t keep it in. “How long have you known?” 

Your brows creased into a frown. “How long have I known that I wanted to go there? You know the answer-”

He stopped you mid-sentence. “How long have you known that you were leaving? How long have you known that you were leaving me behind?” His voice came out calm, but it was the type of calm that led to murders.

“Ji- I- don't know. I just.. I wanted to tell you but I was afraid of how to say it-”

“How long?!” He snapped, scaring the both of you. You’d never witness this side of him. The shade of anger almost reminded you of his father. “Y/n.. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

You cut him off this time. “A month.” You spoke matter-of-factly. “I got the letter a month ago and I’ve been riddled with anxiety while trying to figure out how to tell you. You know this is all I ever wanted and I-”

You felt the wind get knocked out of you before you could finish your sentence. “Go.” You stopped speaking as the cold word left your best friend's mouth. “I don’t need you to stay here for my sake. I’ll be just fine by myself.” He didn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth, but somehow, you did. You took a few steps back away from him.

He didn’t dare look at your face, too afraid it would break his heart and make it even harder to say goodbye.

He had to let you go. He knew that and you knew that. All he would be doing is holding you back if he tried to convince you to stay closer to him. He knew this was your dream and he needed to support that. Because all you ever did was support him. He felt it was finally his turn to do the same for you.

If he didn’t let go now, he definitely wouldn’t be able to a few months from now. If he didn’t rip the Band-Aid off now, the wound would never heal. “Just fucking go.” He wanted to congratulate you, tell you just how good you did. That despite all of the hurdles you faced you still came out on top. You deserved to be celebrated. But he couldn’t do that with you, not right now. Not when he was on the verge of ripping his own heart out. He let his long bangs cover his eyes so you wouldn’t look into them and see the immediate regret they held. “Why are you still standing here? GO!” 

You swallowed the enormous lump in your throat. He wouldn’t get your tears, he didn’t deserve them. You couldn’t wrap your head around why he was so upset. You wanted to tell him, you really did. But how do you go about telling your best friend that you won't be able to see them again until some miscellaneous holiday? If that. Your family had money, but you doubt they would even care enough to fly you back and forth, especially if it was just to see some boy.

“Ji, I’m sorry I wanted to-” He stopped you before you could finish by getting in the van and shutting the door right in your face. He could show you better than he could tell you that he wanted you gone. You sucked in a deep breath and turned your back on the van. It took everything in you not to turn around, you didn’t want to say goodbye, especially not like this. Jisung on the other hand, only pretended to let his anger get the best of him. He retreated to his bed as soon as the door closed. He watched silently as your back disappeared into the brush. The sadness took over as soon as he couldn’t see your back anymore. 

This was the end of the best thing he’d ever had. The closest thing he’d ever felt was close to true unconditional love.

The passage of time is a funny thing. One moment you are crying your eyes out because what you thought was your person turned their back on you. Then you traveled halfway across the world to get your degree and ended up spending four more years in another place to get your doctorate. Now you are sitting at your younger brother’s wedding rehearsal. Just who gets married at the ripe age of twenty-two? He just got the hang of legal drinking, for Christ's sake. When did he even get this big? 

Things were hectic, especially considering you were his “best man”, like he didn’t have a male friend to fill the role. You would have been perfectly fine just sitting out with your parents as a bystander. Thankfully you were pretty familiar with his friends and his soon to be husband. Plus you knew the ins and outs of his life, even if you didn’t want to. He said he trusted you more than anyone, that's why he picked you. You couldn’t say no to that, even if you desperately wanted to. 

The wedding was beautiful. His family also came from money, so they spared no expense to make sure that their ‘Lovely boy”, as they affectionately called him, got everything he wanted. That included a destination all the way in lovely Spain, Ibiza to be exact. Your parents paid for the reception, and of course, married or not, no one was going to outdo them when it came to their favorite child. They rented out a whole hotel with beautiful vistas of the Ibizan coastline. Your brother also wanted them to pay for Beyonce to come and perform, but they quickly shot that down, which you found funny. Instead He asked for another artist, one that his now husband seemed to love.

You had just finished taking a picture with the wedding party, successfully embarrassing your little brother with a big kiss on the cheek in the last photo. You couldn’t be happier for his happiness. He pulled you to the side, as the others gathered to make their entrance to the reception. “Sis, I couldn’t thank you enough for all you've done for me.” He put a hand on your shoulder, looking down at you with your mothers smile. Seriously, when did he get so big? “I know things haven't always been smooth sailing between us. I didn’t have nearly as many things to overcome, being that I'm the baby and mom's favorite after all.” He laughed and you playfully scowled. 

“But, I recognize, and I'm thankful for every sacrifice you've made as my older sibling. Without your encouragement I would have never gone to law school, which means I would have never met the love of my life. I'd still be miserable trying to remember all the fucking funky ass medical terms.” You laughed at that, the boy was struggling. He wanted to follow in your fathers footsteps, just to make him proud. But you’d convinced him that he could make him proud just by being himself and succeeding in something he actually loved. It turned out you were right, but when weren’t you? “I needed you to tell me to find something that made me happy. So, my question to you now is, are you happy, sis?” He slid his hand from your shoulder into yours. “I don’t mean with work, we all know you love your job. Dr. Y/L/n.” You smiled, but you didn’t answer the question immediately.

For years now, it felt as if something was missing from your life. But you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. You’d been in a few relationships since you’d left Rutherglen, you’d even been engaged. You’d made friends along the way, some you were even still close to. But for the most part, nothing ever felt worth the effort to keep. Maybe it was the trauma you’d felt from all of your failed high school relationships that found a way to creep into the ones you’ve tried to make. Maybe it was just some weird void left there by the person you thought was your person. Who knows? But, you were alone. But you didn’t feel like you were lonely, per-se. You filled whatever deep well of emptiness with traveling and good food. 

Your brother gave you a look and it caused you to sigh. “I’m good. This is you and Liam’s day, Aaron. I know you want to save the world and all, but you can’t solve all my problems. At least, not today anyway.” You chuckled. It was sweet that he was concerned about you, it really was. But, you’d been trying to deal with whatever this hole was for over eight years now. You found that it was either something that you get used to, or you try to fill. You just decided to get used to it. There was no use in trying to fill the black hole left in your heart by-

“It’s time to head in, you two.” The wedding planner snapped you out of your thoughts. You smiled up at your younger brother before tugging him along to join the rest of the wedding party.

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“Thank you, Manchester!” The crowd roared as Jisung threw his sweaty and torn tee-shirt out into the pit of fans. He and his band Mortal Savages were promoting their latest album, Awkward Example, on tour. This was the last stop on the European leg of the junket, after they had toured the world. He rushed off stage as the throng of fans started to get rowdier than they already were. A small mosh pit was starting to form in the middle and he honestly wanted no parts of that. Last time they waited around while that happened, he lost a tooth and ended up with a concussion and a busted guitar. 

His assistant handed him a bottle of water as he exited the stage. “Your flight is in two hours, Mr. Han. I have arranged a private car to pick you up from your hotel and take you to the airport.” Jisung nodded, listening idly. He just wanted to unwind, before heading to this small gig he and the rest of his band had been booked for. If it wasn’t for this being a special request of a friend of a friend, he’d be headed right back to Seoul with his band.

See, Jisung had made quite a name for himself over the past eight years. After he pushed you out of his life, he picked up the pieces as best he could. Using your exit as motivation. He hoped that you wouldn’t hate him forever, that one day the two of you would reunite. But in case you didn’t, he wanted to use the little bit of light you’d shone in his life to really make something of himself. He started small, busking a few towns over in a big city.

That landed him a few gigs here and there like weddings and bar mitzvahs. As much fun as those were, he had bigger dreams. He started to post short covers on tik tok and things kind of picked up from there. He was recognized by an artist that wanted to start his own label and the rest was history. He’d found his people. He put together his own band from some people he’d met in circles while touring by himself. People who had small fanbases, but great potential. 

Hyunjin, his bassist, was a model. He played bass in his free time and had a few videos posted on his insta account of him playing. He was suggested to him by a secretary at the company. Okay, maybe suggested was a strong word. She had a crush on the bassist, so it was only natural that she suggested Jisung look into him. He did, and he loved his style. Hyunjin introduced him to Felix, his closest friend, a twitch gamer that just so happened to know how to play guitar, and had a pretty surprising set of vocal cords on him. It was only natural he asked him to join the group. 

He found Jeongin in a jazz bar of all places. The kid was a classically trained pianist whose one act of rebellion was to play jazz. Jazz. As surprising as it was, it is what almost got him disowned by his family. Jisung convinced him that if he really wanted to make his parents mad, he should try rock. Turns out, Jeongin’s dad really liked rock music.

Despite him trying to anger his parents, he actually made them proud. Go figure. All he needed to round out the group was a drummer. He found his drummer, an Aussie, on youtube, doing shirtless rock remixes of popular r&b and pop songs. The dude was so undeniably cool he called his manager that night to ask him to find this dude. By the time he woke up the next morning, Chris was on a plane to see him. 

They somehow all clicked, becoming a band of brothers in a matter of months. He couldn’t see his life without these guys now. Jisung was relieved when the door closed behind him in the dressing room. He needed to tune out all of the noise. He hated being alone with his thoughts, they seemed overwhelming at times, but after a set, it seemed to be the one thing that comforted him. He flopped in a chair, directly in front of a vanity, taking in his reflection. 

So many things have changed over the years. He changed his hair a few times, it went from short to long and back again. He recently grew it out, opting to keep the long hair, figuring it stopped his face from looking so youthful and chubby. He'd dyed it several times, but it was currently back to his regular dark brown. His previously unmarred skin was now littered with various tattoos with different meanings and reasons behind them.

Most of them remind him of his past, both the good and bad. Without those moments, he wouldn’t be who he was today. He ran his fingers through his damp fringe, sighing. He had no time to reminisce about ancient history, he had somewhere to be in a few hours and needed to gather his strength to get there. Jisung pushed himself up with a heave-ho and gathered up his things.

It was a quick ride back to the hotel. There were a few fans and reporters posted outside. It was just the ones who had figured out he and his band mates were staying there. His anxiety started to kick in the moment he started to see the flashes of cameras as the car came to a halt in the drop off area. He almost asked his assistant to go get his things, that he’s take care of his personal hygiene when they got to their destination.

But he group mates were already shuffling out of the SUV before he could get his bearings. Jisung felt like he was in a trance, his body moving on auto pilot. The sound had cut out, all he could hear was muffled shouting and the incessant humming noise. His face was blank, gone with any thoughts that he had in his head. There was just this tiny voice in his head telling him, “You got this, Ji.” It sounded an awful lot like his old friend. But it had been eight years and the sound of her voice was something he had long ago forgotten, no matter how hard he tried to hold on to the memory of it.

There were times when he thought he might forget her face, but social media was a constant reminder of it. It wasn’t like he was stalking her or anything . Okay, maybe he was. But it was only just a little bit. He just wanted to know if she was doing well. If she’d gotten married, or made any big life changes. She’d changed a lot too. Her style had changed, as well as her hair a few times. But the thing that stayed the same was her smile. It was the thought of her smile that kept his feet moving as he made his way into the hotel. The sound came back in as the cool air of the hotel lobby hit his face. He breathed a sigh of relief. Thankful he didn’t have another episode like he did a couple weeks ago. He fainted from anxiety and it made front page news, much to his chagrin.

“Alright, everyone go get your things. We will meet back here in forty-five.” His manager spoke after rounding up the band and their staff. It wasn’t much time, but he was glad he’d get at least a few minutes to himself before heading out again into the sea of people waiting for him. The elevator ride up to their floor was filled with eventful conversations between the members and the few staff that took the ride up with them. Jisung would throw a smile or a nod around occasionally, but was otherwise disengaged. His mind was filled with thoughts about his family. How his brother and his wife had welcomed their second child, a little boy with round chubby cheeks just like his uncle. He hoped that his brother would be a better father to the second born child than their father was to him. 

Even though they had since then made up. Jisung knew it was only due to him being a ‘success’, rather than his father truly being sorry for all of the pain he’d caused him. It took a lot of therapy and lyric writing for him to even be remotely open to talking to his father. If it wasn’t for mis mother practically begging him to forgive the man, he would have never even considered it. Turns out that the youth vote can be boosted when your son is a super popular rockstar. Just have said rockstar pose in a few pictures with the mayoral candidate with the same name, and your political career might take off.

He didn’t fault his father for it. He'd worked hard to get his career to that point. There was nothing wrong with booting your votes with a pretty well-known artist. Especially when that artist is your child. His father actually sat him down amidst their reunion and told him that the only reason he treated him like that was because he saw too much of himself in him. That he once had aspirations to be a rock star, that he almost made it. Him and his band had signed a record deal and everything. But things fell through and they ended up having to pay back the company for the debt they had incurred. He just didn’t want that life for his son. He also admitted that he may have gone about things the wrong way, not recognizing the same stubbornness in his son that he once had.

The ding of the elevator brought Jisung out of his thoughts. He separated from his members as he pushed his door open after using the keycard to get in. He was back to his thoughts, now his brain now blotted with thoughts of you. He missed you, dearly. How your lips curled when you smiled. How your hair smelled when you hugged him in the mornings before class. How your sleepy voice sounded. How out of everyone, you gave him the most strength to make it day to day. How a chance encounter was the reason you two became friends in the first place. Even down to how you were his person. 

Even years after seeing you last, you were still his person. He had a feeling you would always be. Countless hit records were written about you and he'd keep writing about you until he couldn't write anymore. His muse. His first true love. His person. The lov- “Aren’t you Han? From Mortal Savages?” His door barely clicked open when he heard the high pitched vocal fry of what he assumed was one of his fans. He sighed. If he hadn’t been caught up in his thoughts maybe he would have seen her and possibly avoided all of this. He quickly closed the door, knowing all too well how some fans could be and he didn’t want to take that chance.

He turned to her with a smile. “Yeah. What can I do for you, beautiful?” He’d learned from Chris that sometimes you had to pacify the fans with a compliment, make them feel special. It made them come back.

Her eyes lit up at the compliment. “I- I was hoping… you might invite me in.” Jisung tried his best to keep his face neutral. “I’m your biggest fan, a-and I wanted to show you just how much I love you.” Stealthily he turned on his camera to record this incident, sometimes you had to be careful with delicate situations like this. He didn’t want his career to end over a ‘he said, she said’ situation. 

He sighed again, “Look, you seem like a nice person, but I’m really tired and I don’t have much time. I have another gig to get t-”

“But your schedule says it’s clear..” She pulled out her phone to provide the evidence. 

“It’s a private event, that's why it isn’t on there.” He nodded, “I really need to get packed up so that I don’t miss my plane.” She took the opportunity to step closer to him.

“I promise I’ll make it worth your while!” She got a little louder, alarming the man even further.

“N-no thank you.” He spoke nervously. He’d had industry friends say that this happened to them all of the time, but this was a first for him. He stepped back, back hitting the door to his room. 

“I’ll be really good for you, Ji.” She pressed her body against his. Calling out the nickname that no one, but you called him. You were the only one allowed to call him that. It was either his last, first, or his full name. It didn’t have the same endearing ring when others said it. He hated how it sounded falling from other people's lips.

“Wh-what did you call me?” He stared at her blankly.

“Ji.” She smiled wide as if she had accomplished something. “I thought it was cute. Everyone else calls you Han or Jisung, so I thought it’d be nice to call you something I came up with on my own.”

The anger was rolling off Jisung in waves, like magma slowly building towards becoming erupted lava. His face stayed calm as he spoke, but every word was pointed. “Don’t ever call me that again. It’s not for you to come up with different names for me. It’s Jisung, not Ji to you. Understand?” She nodded, getting the underlined hint that he was angry. He didn’t even sound like himself.

“Now, like I said… I have somewhere to be and you are holding me up. If you want a picture or an autograph I can give that to you, but I can’t give you anything else.” She took the opportunity to get the picture, but he was sure she was going to write some whack ass caption like, “Don’t meet your idols.” Or some shit like that. He didn’t have the capacity or strength to care at the moment, he had places to be.

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Jisung was often praised for how quickly he could go to sleep. Not many people had that skill, plus the ability to sleep anywhere and not be disturbed by the loud noise surrounding him. But his alleged gift did not come in handy on the flight from Manchester to their private booking two hours and some change away. As a matter of fact, that usual gift seemed like a deterrence. He fell asleep as soon as they got on the plane, but ten minutes later he was wide awake again. He tried his best to get some rest before they touched down, but nothing helped. He counted sheep and took a swig of liquor, he even tried a sleep aid, but here he was, looking out the window as the plane touched down. It had to be his luck, right? Something was off in the universe or something. Because why was his scale tipping towards all this bad will?

Even after arriving and settling into his hotel room, sleep just would not come to him. The hours ticked by. He tried at first to see if he laid in the bed long enough if sleep would still elude him, it did. He tried to gather some inspiration, maybe pen something fantastic about not being able to sleep, the inspiration never came. So as the sun slowly started to creep over the horizon, he decided to take a walk. The beautiful vistas around this hotel were captivating, so hopefully they would provide him with both inspiration and clarity. He stood near the cliff and watched the sunrise, not noticing the woman a few yards away from him, taking in the same views. He was about to leave, hoping that seeing the sun would finally put him to sleep when he noticed something about her. The briny scent of the sea mixed with her scent and just like a care package, the breeze sent it right into his nostrils. 

Every muscle and nerve in his body froze with the familiar scent. But there was just no way. Right? His father asked him to do this favor, saying this was his wedding gift to the son of a family friend. But it never occurred to him that your family were the aforementioned family friends. His body ached to call out to you, run to you, but his mind kept him in the same position. With good reason apparently. You were joined a moment later, a man around your age coming behind you, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders before taking up the spot right next to you. Was that your boyfriend? His anxiety started to bubble in the center of his chest, his heart felt shaky. He knew a day like this would come, when he would have to face you once more. Make amends with how he broke your heart. But he never expected it to be on your family trip. He didn’t expect to meet you again in the same manner he met you the first time. Meeting somewhere tropical with your family somewhere nearby. Now he had to add in a boyfriend to the mix.

His head was starting to pound, he needed to sleep. He needed his heart to stop beating so rapidly in his chest. He needed to call this all off and head back to the comfort of his own home, to get away from the madness. “Jisung, what are you doing out here?” His eyes widened, hearing his name being called. He turned around to see his manager, dressed in his workout gear, just having come from a run. In a panic, Jisung quickly pulled the man away from the scene, hoping you hadn’t heard. Just as he ducked back into the building, you looked around in the spot he was just in, to see no one there.

It took him a while to calm down. He could still see you from his hotel room and it wasn’t helping him one bit. Internet stalking you was bad enough, now he was literally stalking you, watching you from his window like some creep. He was anxious, sleep deprived, and now he had to add scared that he’d truly lost you forever. He looked on at you and your boyfriend, talking animatedly from the window. His arm was around your shoulder, he assumed to keep you warm. Even with the blanket still around you. “What am I going to do?” He was stressed. Hair sticking up all over his head from incessantly running his fingers through it. He couldn't leave, he’d made a promise with his dad to do this in his absence. Plus his mom was somewhere around, she’d been texting him all night about how she couldn’t wait to see her precious baby. He wouldn’t be able to stomach a decision that made her sad when she was clearly so excited.

He wanted to say ‘fuck you’, to being a good son. But at the end of the day he just couldn’t. What if you didn’t recognize him? Or worse. What if you ignored his entire existence? He knew you had every right too, he did push you out of his life just because you’d hidden your acceptance to college from him. Or at least that's what he let you think. He didn’t want to be the reason you didn’t follow your biggest dreams. He flopped on his bed, tired of watching the endless flirtation and touching between you and your supposed boyfriend. He laid in the bed, draping his arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight. “Get a grip, Jisung. It’s just a performance. She’s just a girl. Just do what you came here for and peace out. It’s simple.” At least he hoped that's how things would be. He’d perform, then he and his mom would make their way to Seoul to visit some family. Simple. Easy. Right?

Yeah, things were definitely not that easy. Not for him at least. He eventually fell asleep, just to be woken up by a knock at his door. It was his mother, inviting him to be her date to the wedding. Was he a momma’s boy because he couldn’t deny her this simple task? Maybe, but how could he say no to her? That's how he ended up between his mother and your third cousin, Lilliana, both women talking his ears off as he nodded idly. Luckily the wedding was outdoors, so his sunglasses made a lot of sense. He wasn’t the only one shielding their eyes from the sun's rays. The only reprieve he felt was when the wedding march started. For the most part, the wedding party came in one person at a time. Until it came to the best men, the two of you walked in together, arm in arm. The way he looked at you sunk Jisung’s heart lower than the floor. 

You were stunning, he could understand your boyfriend’s feelings. The way the all red pants suit looked on, put everyone else to shame. Even the way your hair was pinned up, or even how simple but gorgeous your makeup looked, all of the above just complimented your beauty perfectly. He couldn’t pay attention to the actual wedding, his mind and eyes focused on you the whole time. Even if you felt his stare, you didn’t acknowledge it. He was thankful for that. He already felt like a creep from watching you this morning. Even as you walked back down the aisle, he watched you until he couldn’t see your figure anymore.

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Nerves. He stopped getting nervous before shows years ago. But here he was, pacing back and forth, chewing on his already bitten away nails. His members looked on at him, worried. It’d been a while since they’d seen him like this and even though each of them tried their best to comfort him in their own way, nothing seemed to work. The time was ticking down for them to go on stage and the dread in the pit of his stomach was growing exponentially. What if she still hates me? What if she lets everyone know how disgusting of a human being I am for treating her that way? What is this…? What if that…? He was so far into his thoughts it took an actual push from his manager to start walking.  

“Babe, I know how much you love this group and their lead singer's voice. So, using my sister's old connections, I asked his dad if he could get them to perform for our wedding reception.” Aaron spoke, holding up his champagne flute towards his husband. “So, this is Mayor Han’s gift to us for our wedding. Please give a warm round of applause to Mortal Savages!” All of the young people in the crowd went wild, most of them rushing to the dance floor right in front of the stage to get a good view. Aaron hurried to his husband's side to watch the band. But all Jisung could do was look out into the crowd, in hopes of finding you. He felt like a teenager all over again. Transported back to his audience of one. No one else mattered in this moment, not even the grooms who he was here to entertain.

He expected to see anger in your eyes, but instead was met with this inexplicable sadness. “Uh- hi.” Jisung spoke nervously. “It’s been a while since we last played a wedding, but uh- I hope..” He could see your boyfriend whispering something in your ear just for you to shake your head no. It only made him wonder what he asked. “I hope this song reaches someone out there. Because almost every song is written for or about someone. Often it's about the love that got away, other times it’s about the love you feel in the moment. So.. I hope this helps to spread the love that this lovely couple is feeling at this very moment.” He grabbed his guitar, the pick nearly slipping out of his sweaty fingers.

As the song started, he kept his eyes locked on your, not straying away from your saddened yet scrutinizing gaze. 

“지킬게 아파도 돼 네가 흘린 상처들은 감싸 안을게 이미 내게 너는 죄 너는 죄…”

You tore your eyes from him, to focus once more on your boyfriend, giving that man a soft smile. One that was once reserved strictly for Jisung. Most if not all of your smiles once upon a time were because of him, they were for him. Maybe because things were so easy back then he didn’t realize he was taking them for granted, taking you and the love you showed him for granted, platonic or not. Almost as if he couldn’t lose them. To know that the reason you were no longer a constant in his life was all his doing? Felt like a ripping stab to the heart.

“뜨거운 네가 필요해, you are my volcano…”

He was thankful that you let the song end before you excused yourself. Jisung dropped everything, practically chucking his guitar into his manager's hands before running after you. He could hear the confused claps at the reception, he knew he’d have to deal with the consequences of his actions, but those were the last thing on his mind right now. He saw the fabric of your red suit rush to the elevator, but he quickly caught it before the doors closed completely. You sighed loudly, wishing you could have vanished before he found you, but your luck was apparently shit.

“Please.. Just.. hear me out.” He huffed, arms still stretched out at his sides holding the elevator door open. You wanted to tell him no, because what was left to say? He was the one who pushed you out, not the other way around. You owed him nothing. But you gave in anyway. Truth be told, you wanted to hear what excuses he’d make for his past behavior. Because a simple apology wasn’t going to work on you, you needed to know why he pushed you away.

He silently stepped on the elevator with you. The building only had a few floors, so he needed to speak quickly. “I didn’t realize until it was too late that this was your brother's wedding. I hope you don’t think I crashed it on purpose, because that just isn’t the case. I just-”

“Get to the point, Jisung. I don’t have all night to stand in this elevator and talk with you.” You spoke coldly, eyes staring into his murky reflection on the mirrored doors. You wouldn’t even spare him an actual look. He could feel himself getting nervous all over again.

“It’s not an excuse, but in my mind, pushing you away was the best thing for you. I wanted to keep you by my side. But I knew if I selfishly asked you to stay, you would. I also knew that talking with you over the phone or facetime wouldn’t be enough. Especially not when I’d grown used to having you near. Once upon a time, one phone call was all it took and you’d be there, but how could you if you were in another country? I couldn’t deal with even the thought of it. Being able to hear your voice, but not being able to actually bask in your presence- the thought of living like that for four years killed me.” 

You crossed your arms over your chest and rolled your eyes. “But that wasn’t just your decision to make, Ji-” His nickname almost slipped off your tongue, probably a force of habit. “Jisung. We could have figured something out. But you decided our friendship wasn’t worth fighting for. You literally slammed the door in my face. It’s been eight years. Do you think I’m still hung up on how you imploded our friendship on a whim? I’ve moved on. You should too.” Your sentence ended just as the elevator dinged, the old door creaking open. “Congratulations on becoming a success, by the way. I guess me not being around paid off for you.”

Your eyes finally met his, but he didn’t like the look in them. Like you loathed the fact that he was breathing the same air as you. “I can’t.” He spoke, exiting the lift with you. “I can’t move on. I never had any intention to.” He followed after you, even after you dismissed him. You were just trying to get into your room, away from him, away from the noise. But he was persistent. He followed you in. After you didn’t push him out, he continued. 

“Almost every song I’ve written has been about you. For you. I-I hoped that one day you’d see my face on tv or hear my voice on the radio and look me up. I hoped that you’d read my lyrics or my ‘thanks to’ and realize that everything I did was so you could see me. See that I needed to push you away for both of us to grow. I needed the pain to see that my feelings for you were more than whatever platonic bullshit I had reduced them too. I needed that space to understand that what I thought was love with my exes would never compare to the love I have for you. I’ve been in and out of relationships since you walked away from my van and back into the trees and nothing, not even the biggest heartbreak has compared to the feeling of never seeing your face or hearing your voice again.”

You kept your back turned towards him as you listened. You stared out the sliding glass door and glass balcony fence that overlooked the reception area. The party was still going on, everyone was having a good time, despite the lead singer of the band being missing in action. 

“All I’ve wanted this past eight years is for you to understand that I was too dependent on you. I needed to grow up, to man up and I couldn’t do that if you were around. I had to learn to navigate life by myself without you constantly helping me out of every little fuck up. Do you even realize that that's how it was? Everytime I fucked up, you came behind me and cleaned it up to the best of your ability. I flunked a class, you spent your entire summer helping me pass it so I wouldn’t be left behind the next year. I ran away from home and you found me a place to stay so I wouldn’t be homeless. I depended on you so much that I needed to know that I could do it on my own. You needed to go to the school of your dreams so you could do the work you were clearly called to do. I know I went about it the wrong way, I realize that.” 

His voice grew closer, so you closed your eyes, hoping you wouldn’t have to face him. “You broke my heart, Ji.” It hurt him to hear you say it, it hurt even more to hear how brokenhearted you sounded. “I thought that whatever we faced in life, we’d be in it together. Until the wheels fell off. Isn't that what we used to say? Isn't that what we promised?” It was more of a rhetorical question, you were sure you both knew the answer to that question.

“Then all of a sudden I was alone. You’d iced me out. I left the country right after graduation because I couldn’t stand even the thought of running into you, seeing your fucking punchable face. I realized on the plane why it hurt so bad. Why losing you as a friend hurt me worse than losing my childhood best friend to the glimmer of popularity. It was because I loved you. I came to the fucked up realization that somewhere along the way I had fallen madly in love with my best friend. If I thought I was heartbroken before, that made it far worse.” You finally turned to face him.

“Imagine, finally being able to move on. Finally free from the burden of unrequited love, just to hear his voice on the radio.” You chuckled humorously. “To have your friends gush over how hot the lead singer of this band was. Telling you just what his voice did to them in excruciating detail.” You sighed deeply just thinking of all the things your friends said they wanted to do to him or what they wanted him to do to them. 

“To have to suffer silently while they sang his songs or shoved his content down your throat. All while you are nursing the gaping wound he left behind. To keep having to relive the moment he gutted you like a fucking fish all because he what-? Wanted to be less dependent on you?” You tilted your head back as you scoffed. “I had no one, Jisung. You were my only friend. Just like you were dependent on me, it was the same for me. I had to rebuild myself once you were gone. It took years for me to open up to people, I had closed myself off afraid I’d be abandoned by someone else I considered my friend.” He could see that you were fighting back tears. He reached for you only for you to pull back.

“That's for a friend to do. Not for some random stranger that followed me to my room.” That's when the realization hit him. This looked bad. Really bad. He'd followed a girl to her room from a party. Even if you, him, and a few party goers knew the type of relationship you used to have, that was far in the past at this point. You didn't know each other now. For all he knew, you could have had a few drinks. All it took was one out of control rumor and his career would be over. He backed up, letting his hands fall to his side.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was low, almost nonexistent. “Please, let me be that for you again. It doesn’t have to be a full blown friendship, even if I want to work my way back to that. Just- just let me be there for you, please?” Jisung cautiously stepped closer with his arms stretched. It was a slow wrap of his arms around your frame, before he pulled you in close, patting your back soothingly. You both melted into each other. He swore nothing else felt more like home than being in your arms. He hugged you tighter and you broke down, sobbing into his fuzzy cardigan.

“I fucking hate you, Ji.” You gently hit his arm as you wrapped your arms around him. He chuckled lightly, a smile spreading on his lips.

“That’s okay, I’ll take the hate. Just as long as that means one day I can get you to love me again.”

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You took a few moments to recollect yourself, deciding to return to your brother's party. You tried to convince Jisung to go ahead without you, since he was being paid to be there, but he refused. He stuck with you the whole elevator ride back down and all the way until you made it into the reception. “Where the heck have you been?” A man approached the two of you, one who you could only assume was his manager. “You just ran off stage without a word. Do you know how that makes you look?” As he laid into him, you slowly backed away, going for your escape. Only for Jisung to reach back and grab your hand.

“I- I know, Hyung. I- this is her. This is my, Y/n.” He lightly tugged you forward, showing the man you clasped hands. “This is her little brother's wedding. I’ll perform a few songs by myself to make up for my absence. You and the rest of the guys can go ahead and head out. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.” The man looked at him skeptically before he nodded in agreement.

“Fine. I’ll see you back in Seoul in a few weeks. You have a great vacation.” His eyes traveled to you as he plastered on a warm smile. “Congratulations on getting your PHD, I know your family must be proud, Dr. Y/l/n. I know someone was.” His eyes darted to Jisung before he bowed and left to gather up the rest of the band.

“How did you even know I got my phd?” You asked, stealthily trying to pull your hand away from the death grip he had it in, but he didn’t let go. 

“I… kind of kept up with you. Mostly on my finsta account. I also might have received news from your brother. He came to confront me at one of my shows and we’ve been in contact since. Please don’t be mad at him, I asked him to keep it from you. I didn’t want you to find a way to cut off my supply. Knowing you were doing well is what kept me going.” You sent a scowl towards your brother, who must have felt a disturbance in the force. He put his hands up to say he had no choice. You’d talk to him about this later.

“I wanted to experience the milestones in your life, even if it was from secondhand stories.” He pulled out his phone, there was a photo album dedicated to you with pictures spanning from the first time you met up until your first day at your new job as a child psychologist in a nearby children's hospital. “Though I couldn’t be there, I still want to say, congratulations. I’m proud of you.” You rolled your eyes.

“So, what you are saying is… you internet stalked me for years and even pulled my younger brother into it, with a promise to sing at his wedding. Tsk tsk. Wait until the internet gets a hold of that.” You joked. The panic in his eyes before the realization was hilarious to you. “I’m joking, Jisung.” You smiled, “Thank you for being interested in my progress through life. Congratulations to you as well, Mr. Grammy nominated artist. That's amazing, Ji. It really is. I guess we really got what we wanted, huh?” You smiled wistfully. 

But the smile slid right off of Jisung's face. He got part of what he wanted. The other part was standing right in front of him, her hand in his. And as close as she was, she was still so far away. In his mind, it was all a matter of if he was going to truly confess everything in his heart, right here, right now. He was frightened that he might overwhelm you if he did.

Though he had let it slip that he loved you earlier in your hotel room, that was nowhere close to the extent of what he felt for you. He wanted to shout it from the rooftop that the woman he loved had accepted him back into her life after he’d gone and fucked everything up.

Jisung had been swept up in a whirlwind, being introduced to all of you and your brother's mutual friends. His mind being put at ease, finding out that Hangyul was in fact not your boyfriend. Even if a blind person could tell he had fallen for your charm, Jisung was glad that was just his feeling and it wasn’t mutual apparently. Not with how far you put your wedding partner in the friendzone.

Giving Jisung a kind of go ahead to wiggle his way out of the friend zone he’d finally gotten back into. He excused himself, figuring it was time to finish out this set he was kind of sort of paid for. He sat on a stool on stage, acoustic guitar in hand, mic in front of him. “Sorry for bailing out on you all earlier. I saw the love of my life running out of the wedding hall and I needed to catch her before I made the second biggest mistake of my life.” 

Your eyes widened from the crowd where you were standing next to your brother and his husband. “The first was letting her go in the first place. I was young and apparently very stupid. I pushed the best thing that had ever happened to me out of my life and I’ve regretted that decision for the last eight years, twenty-six days..” He looked at his watch, “Ten hours, seven minutes, and 13- no 15 seconds.”

The crowd looked between the two of you, fascinated by the little tale the global rockstar was telling on this modest wedding stage. “I won’t be stupid this time. I promise to cherish every second that I’m blessed to have you in my life. I love you, Y/n. I have always loved you and I always will, no matter how much time passes.” You were holding back your tears. Jisung had always had your heart and despite you trying your best to keep your walls up, afraid that he would hurt you again, they all came tumbling down with every word that he spoke. 

“So, to the grooms. I hope that the two of you continue this beautiful love affair and cherish every single second you have together. Love isn’t something we should push down and trample on, it's something that is meant to be held on to, prized, and exalted.” He cleared his voice. “So, this is for the lovers in the crowd…I hope you love last a lifetime. I hope it never fizzles or fades and burns bright for eternity.” 

He strummed the first few chords of the song, the sound immediately bringing up fond memories of you and Jisung arguing over the best version of it, The Cure, 311, or Adele’s. You were always torn between 311 and Adele’s, while he was adamant that the original was far superior. It’s as if the rest of the world faded into the distance.

Call it tunnel vision, but all you could see was him and all he could see was you. You swayed gently, the gentle sea breeze dancing across your skin just like the melody of his voice. You hummed in tune with him, heart swelling as you realized, this song was for you. He was singing it, for you and only you.

“However far away I will always love you However long I stay I will always love you Whatever words I say I will always love you I will always love you…”

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You don’t remember the exact sequence of events but something clicked after Jisung’s solo performance. Maybe it was the look he gave you that made you feel like you were the center of his universe. Maybe it was the friendly banter you shared while having a few drinks. Maybe it was the late night stroll you took down to the beach or the way he held you to keep you warm. Or maybe it was the kiss you shared under the moonlight, the first of many for the night that got you going. But whatever it was that got you here, you were thankful for whatever combination it was that had you pressed against the door of your hotel room with Jisung’s lips and body pressed against yours. The feeling of his lips on yours felt electric. 

In your youth, you often wondered how it would feel to have that plum lower lips of his between yours. What it might feel like to bite it, just wanting to see his reaction. His reaction was nothing short of mind boggling. The groan that passed his lips, caused you to groan in return. Jisung’s fingers trailed over your body, slowly exploring every inch he could. Every inch that his teenage body begged to explore even back then. Every inch that he dreamed about, steamy scenes that played behind his eyelids every night. He had to be closer to you, the absence of you in his life had left a gaping void that he needed to fill. Right here. Right now. In the very moment. His shirt was first. Tossed somewhere to the side, leaving the tattoos and muscles that he’d gained over the last eight years. Your eyes widened, distracted by the hard musculature he had developed.

Your fingers traveled from his shoulders down over his pecs, making him shiver and whimper. The sounds give you ideas that your heart didn’t want you to act on, but your mind gave you the full go ahead on. “When was the last time..” You asked, hand in the center of his chest as you guided him backwards. He looked back, afraid he would fall, but you grabbed his chin making sure he kept his eyes solely on you. You didn’t stop until the back of his legs hit the mattress, then all it took was a simple push. Jisung was at your will. His round eyes shining up at you with pure anticipation in them.

“When was the last time you had sex, Ji?” You took off your red blazer fist, tossing it on a nearby chair. Next came your vest, you slowly and methodically took your time with each button, simply because you could, but also because the only thing under it was your bra. His eyes darted around, he swallowed hard. His blood was rushing straight to bulge in his pants.

“I-I don’t know. I-it’s been a while..” He kept his statement vague, too overwhelmed by everything that was happening to pinpoint an exact date. “A year- I think. Maybe more.” You smirked, shrugging the vest off your shoulders and tossing it to be with your blazer. You reached down and grabbed his hands, placing them on the waistband of your trousers.

“Take them off.” Oh the look of panic in his eyes set your heart aflame. He was absolutely the cutest. And even though you weren’t normally one to take full control in situations like this, you were oh so looking forward to taking advantage of your dear friend's vulnerability. He was going to be your tonight. The man's trembling fingers reached for the button, almost too shaky to undo them. You were patient, running your fingers through his silky hair. It took him a few minutes, the cool cross-breeze from the open balcony window offering a little air to cool off the heat on your skin. “Panties too.” God, the way the words sounded as they entered his ears did more for him than anything ever did. He’d been waiting to hear those words forever at this point. 

His brain nearly malfunctioned when he moved a little closer to slip off your panties, your scent filling his waiting nostrils. He could explode. Would you think bad of him if he came right now? He’d promise to make it up to you. He must have been led by another power, because he would swear that he had no body autonomy at that moment. His brain wasn’t even at a functioning level that would be considered functional.

You were bare before him, lust darkening your beautiful eyes. He whimpered. “Please..” He didn’t know what he was pleading for, but that didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy hearing it any less. He was pushed back on the bed, stripped of his pants and underwear. Things were going so fast in real life, but his brain had slowed everything else down.

He barely noticed that you had straddled him and started teasing your slit with his tip. He wasn’t even aware of the noises that were loudly slipping from his lips. Jisung was in a haze, one that was carefully crafted by you, the goddess that sat above him.

The whimper that fell from his lips when you slipped him inside of you was the most orgasmic sound to have ever filled your ears. His still shaking fingers flew to your hips, needing something to ground him at this moment. His blunt nails dug into your sides as you teased his tip, letting him dip only a part of it into your entrance. “God.. please…. Please…” He begged, voice strained and whiny. 

He was definitely going to explode like this. He hadn’t even fully entered you and he was already losing his mind. He bit down on his bottom lip, eyes slipping closed as he tried to control himself. But his hips had other plans, he bucked up, pressing himself further into you and that was it, he came on the spot. The tight warmth was too much for him to handle at that moment. You pushed your hips down on him as he came, feeling the stream of cum coat your walls.

When his breathing calmed and his grip on your hips loosened, you pulled what little of him was inside of you out. Tsk’ing at the man underneath you. “Is my baby fucked out already?” You stroked his drenched cock, adding even more wetness by spitting on it. “You couldn’t even slip it in without coming, huh? What happened to that sex god of a rockstar everyone that you were?” He whimpered again, edging on overstimulation as you purposely targeted the head of his cock.

His fists were balled in the sheets, bottom lip chapped red from trying to bite into it. “S-stop, please..” You pouted at him before shaking your head. He deserved to torture just a little for all of the years the two of you missed out on doing this. You could have been his ages ago. His first girl and him as your first boy. But here you were eight years later, with a nice amount of experience under your wings. You were going to take full advantage of it. Jisung’s body convulsed as he came again. His body became rigid as he spurted his cum all over your lower stomach and hands. You jumped, surprised by the sheer amount of it.

You stuck your cum slick fingers in his open mouth, jolting his eyes open. His initial surprise melted as he enjoyed the taste of him on your skin. “Now, you are going to eat me out until I come. Got it?” You leaned down, grabbing his chin to make him look at you in the eyes. You opened his mouth and spit on his tongue, closing it back for him to accept it. You moved, lying down next to him. He wasted no time, getting between your legs expediently.

Jisung could die right now, happily. You were here with him, in the bed, his cum on your body and mingling with your own and pooling at your entrance. A feast, just for him. Everything and more than he could have ever asked for. He dove in, mind fogged with thoughts of you. Your taste. Your smell. That lustful yet dominant look in your eyes as you laced your fingers into his long, permed hair.

And the taste of you? It deserved five Michelin stars, two more than regular just because he said so. You tugged on his hair as he wrapped his plum little mouth around your clit. You used his hair as your anchor to move his head around as you saw fit. A hair pull to signal him to go faster, a pull to the left or right for him to move his tongue elsewhere. He was like your own little tongue flicking toy with a customizable setting. He lapped, sucked, and licked to both you and his content. His moans and whimpers almost outnumber yours.

He was in heaven between your legs, and would gladly mark his tombstone in this very place. His skilled tongue sent you barreling over the edge, your grip on his hair tightening to an almost painful level, but he didn’t complain. He was just happy that he was the one who was able to make you unfold like this.

Your other hand grabbed him by the neck, pulling him up to you for a passionate kiss. You could eat him alive if he let you. The hand in his hair slipped between the two of you. He had already started rutting his hips against you, desperate to feel you again. It was easy to grab him and slip him into you once again, but this time for real. 

Your breath hitched as his eyes rolled back. Your fingers still around his neck squeezed lightly as you continued to unmake and reassemble him with your kisses. He felt like he could feel every single atom that made him, him. His hips were slow to move at first, but once he built his rhythm, that was that. The sound coming from between the two of you was filthy. Spit and cum and your spent were mixing to make the glide in and out of your tight walls even easier for him.

Your toes were curled, knees digging into his sides as you squeezed your legs around him. “Fill me up, Ji. Fuck me full of your love.” Your name slipped off his lips like a prayer at your words. He’d give you the moon and the stars if you kept talking to him like that. “Isn’t that what you've always wanted? To make me yours?” He nodded frantically. You paused your words, fluttering around him at a more consistent pace. You were close, both of you knew it. Both of you could feel it.

“Yo-you are mine.” He kissed at your jaw, “Please, co-come with me. I- I need you-” He couldn’t get his words out to finish his thoughts. He had already murmured the magic phrase. “You are mine.” You came around him, pulling your lips only a breath away, taking in the air that escaped his mouth into your own lungs like it was the only oxygen you needed. His followed almost immediately, your tight cunt draining him of any energy of essence he had left. Your walls continued to flutter around him, even after every drop of him had been emptied into you.

Your hands fell to your sides, legs unlocking from around him. You had nothing left to give, but love to the man you’d loved most of your life. He rolled off of you, body slick with perspiration and the mixed essence that both of you expelled. He exhaled deeply, hand searching for yours, finding it nearby and over the covers. He kissed the back of it, eyes boring into yours. Unspoken words being said with just a look. The both of you admitting what you both knew as this escapade started. You were in love.

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“Encore! Encore! Encore!” The crowd chanted loudly. The lights in the stadium had just dimmed, signaling that the last song had been played. But they still begged for more. The band was backstage, goofy smiles on all of their faces. Adrenaline is still pulsing through their bodies.

“One more, guys?” Jisung asked and they all quickly agreed. One more song to end the night. They headed back on stage to an onslaught of rabid cheers. They had one more song up their sleeves. A song that eighteen year old Jisung had pinned himself, one that embodied the way he felt when he saw the heartbreak in your eyes when he pushed you away. He wanted to do nothing more than to wipe your tears, and hold your hand.

To tell you that everything would be okay. That he loved you, forever and always. Because to him, there was no him without you. He stood amongst his band on stage, belting the lyrics to the song. Eyes focused on the only person he wanted to see in a room full of people, the woman he loved. The person almost all of his songs were about. You, with that big proud smile plastered on your face.

“'Cause all I want is you, not your tears 눈물이 마를 때까지 I wanna make you the happiest one, no fear So baby, hold my hand now…”

FIN

© ✐Channieskies 『MINORS DNI! This post contains nsfw material. Please do not interact with it if you are under the age of 18. Do not translate or repost here or on other sites. Please leave a like , comment, and reblog if you enjoyed this story.♥』

SONG CREDITS: ✻BIG BANG - LOSER ✻ONE OK ROCK - WHEREVER YOU ARE ✻HAN - VOLCANO ✻THE CURE: LOVESONG ✻HAN - HOLD MY HAND

After Hours | 1

-> You keep coincidentally running into your supervisor after work hours. It's getting harder and harder not to flirt with him...especially since he can't seem to stop flirting back.

supervisor!Jisung x office worker!fem!reader

office!au, low-key secret dating, low-key forbidden love, fluff, slight angst, suggestive (let's not kid ourselves)

2.7K

warnings: creepy behavior makes Jisung feel uncomfortable but reader is there to save the day, cursing, mild dirty thoughts (they get worse just wait), really bad flirting not sorry, kdrama cringe bc I'm the author and I can

After Hours navigation

Feedback is greatly appreciated bc honestly I'm still writing the storyline and I need a little inspiration <3

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Coffee is, perhaps, the most important sustenance in existence. From an early age, you remember being introduced to your first love. The smell, the bitterness, the warmth. It's one of the only things that can make you happy when you have to get out in such disgusting weather.

The sky has been crying for hours. Cars drive through puddles, splashing the sidewalk while street drains continue to sing off-key. You manage to escape into the coffee shop just in time to miss a roar of thunder.

It's unexpectedly crowded today. You lean to the side to get a better look at how long the line is. With a sigh, you settle in for an uncomfortably long wait. You're not the only one who loves coffee on rainy days apparently.

It is unfortunate that this rainy day happens to be the first day of your new job. And since you are particularly excited for this job, you really don't want to be late. A good first impression is everything after all.

The chimes on the door ring out again, signaling someone new has entered the shop, earning your attention for a brief glance over your shoulder.

In he trots, the clumsiest man you've ever seen in your entire life. He trips over the threshold trying to beat the rain and almost falls flat on his face. No umbrella, a mumbled curse under his breath, and the hood of his rain jacket dripping onto the floor. He shakes his shoes off, hissing a shiver.

Although you can't see his face from this angle, he begins carefully scanning the coffee shop. If he's trying to be inconspicuous, it's not working very well. His every movement is like a cartoon character.

Where did this clown come from? Is it his first day walking or--

"Oh, damn," you slap a hand over your mouth because that was not meant to be out loud.

But the 'oh damn' still stand because what the actual fuck? The moment he removes his hood, everything changes.

There's an instant attraction you simply can't deny, even if you tried. If someone took your type on paper and manifested it into a single guy, it would be him.

You quickly revert your attention, realizing immediately that the line has in fact moved up without you in the time you spent gawking at a stranger.

His skin reminds you of a sweet caramel macchiato, but his eyes make you crave black dark roast coffee. His lips glisten from the rain, as if nature herself was so enamoured she had to pause to kiss them. His hair is perfectly messy but also styled to compliment his duality that makes you think babygirl, but also you would like him to push you against the wall, please. His shoulders relax as he makes his way to the line.

He stands behind you now, hands in his pockets, jacket open, and a pleasant hum on his lips. You don't recognize the song, but it sparks a curiosity within you. Does he hum a lot? When he's waiting in line for places or cleaning his apartment? It's a cute quirk, one you wouldn't mind tolerating if you were to ever be around it for an extended period of time.

You're such a hopeless romantic. Grow up.

The gentleman in front of you must be getting impatient. He huffs at the wait, turns around, and trudges off, knocking into you on his way because basic manners don't apply to him clearly.

"Oof--!" You stumble backwards. And if it hadn't been for the water on the floor, you might have survived. But you end up tragically slipping and falling into the arms of the customer right behind you.

Looking up, you're face to face with him now. His arms cling around your shoulders while your back has crashed into his chest. He looks surprised but not upset.

He smiles down at you, charmed and amused. "Are you okay?"

Despite being stunned by both the suddenness of the moment and his beauty, you pull yourself together and stand up on your own.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm so sorry, that was an accident."

"Don't worry about it. That guy bumped into you pretty hard. I would have fallen too."

"Well, thank you for catching me," you reply sweetly, brushing yourself off.

"Anytime. Wouldn't want you falling into the wrong arms."

Hold up...did this dude just drop a line on you? Wait a second, look closer.

A half smirk, puffed chest, lifted chin, soft eyes, bitten lip. Based on your extensive experience reading romance novels...he's flirting with you!?

This is no time to get flustered so easily. Oh, but something else is lit under your skin at the notion of his confident body language and adorable dimples -- the growing desire to flirt back and make him stutter.

"Thank you for your generosity and willingness..."

"Jisung."

"Jisung..." his name sounds cute in your voice, "I can be pretty clumsy."

"Me too."

"Yeah, I know," you stiffle a laugh, "I saw you come in earlier."

"Oh," he facepalms into his hand, a regretful groan coming from his chest. "You saw that?"

"Mhm," you nod cutely.

"Well, I guess the jig is up. I can deny it no longer." He takes a bow. "I am a klutz."

Even if it's not that funny, whatever he says makes you laugh. The way his eyes communicate, causing a rush of endorphins and giggles to bubble up inside you. You're completely smitten after only a few minutes.

There's just something about him.

The line moves up periodically, so you scoot your way forward every few minutes. Jisung takes the opportunity to inch his way closer until he's practically standing next to you in line. You don't mind. He gives off a warmth and spiciness you'd like to explore more of.

"Well, Klutz, I should warn you," you say, and Jisung tilts his head at the nickname, "most people don't find it easy to keep up with me."

"Good thing I like a challenge. Who knows..."

"___."

He pauses for a moment, seemingly to process your name, eyes glazing over as if enchanted. Wouldn't it be nice if he was that starstruck by simply your name? Whatever is going through his head, there's a spark behind his eyes, and the mention of your name only made it brighter.

"___," he smiles and continues, "I might just surprise you."

"You really think you can?"

"I caught you once, didn't I?"

"Yes, but one could argue that was just a coincidence."

His voice lowers, playful and knowing, as if daring you to deny it, "A pretty damn good coincidence if you ask me."

There's not many moments his gaze is elsewhere. He keeps his attention locked on you, your attitude, your comebacks, your eyes. Goddamn, your eyes. They make him hesitate, but...he doesn't want to miss the immense possibility hidden behind them.

There's just something about you.

Then something else rudely catches his attention as you approach the front of the line.

“Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“Nothing." He plays off his sudden nervousness with a hand behind his head and a chuckle.

"You said oh shit for nothing?”

You two barely know each other, but somehow he knows you're not about to let this go. And it's easier to just fess up what's wrong instead of playing dumb.

“That barista," he gestures with a head nod. The one behind the register taking everyone's order. The one about to take your order.

“What about her?” You look back and forth, examining his drastic change in body language. “Does she make you uncomfortable?”

“She…wants me.”

“She wants you?”

"Hey, don't be jealous, ___," he chides with a sassy click of his tongue.

“I'm not jealous," you insist, rolling your eyes, "I'm just surprised.”

“You're surprised someone wants me?"

"I didn't mean--"

"Brutal."

“Come on, you know that's not what I meant!"

“I'm not making this easy on you, am I?”

“You're really not," you laugh as you give his shoulder a playful shove.

“Sorry," he apologizes while pretending your push did literally anything.

“Okay, but what's her deal?”

He shakes his head as if bamboozled by the whole thing, a disgusted taste in his mouth as his expression twists and frowns. “She just always flirts with me and it's weird. Last time she said something pretty inappropriate…”

“It must have really bothered you.”

The girl at the register lifts her hand. "I can take whoever's next, please."

“You know what, I don't really need to buy coffee," Jisung says quickly, holding a hand out to shake yours goodbye. "There's coffee at my office anyway. It was really nice to meet you, ___. I hope I catch you again sometime soon?"

“Hold on, you waited in line all this time, and now you're not going to get coffee because of her?”

He just shrugs.

“Uh, no," you say firmly, taking his hand and pulling him with you to the counter. "Come on, we're getting you a coffee.”

He has no choice but to give in, because you're rather cute dragging him along like this, like the two of you are familiar and close. But he's also undeniably nervous. Something feels very wrong about the way the barista eyes him up and down when she sees him.

But something feels very right when you hold his hand.

"Hi," you sing to the girl, "just one second please."

And then you turn to Jisung. Lifting his hand so the barista can clearly see, you interlock your fingers while scanning his features lovingly. "Don't forget, babe, you promised I could pay this time, so get whatever you like. I want to treat my prince right."

Oh, fuck fuck fuck.

You're pretending. This is not a drill. Jisung can't barely breathe when you look at him like that. Mischievous and domestically lighthearted with a hint of sexy expectation.

The most outrageous and yet charming thing you could have possibly done in this moment, and Jisung is struggling to move past the feeling of your nails nonchalantly scratching the back of his hand, like it's habit after holding his hand so many times before. Oh god, the goosebumps aren't going away.

You must be an actress. It's the only thing that makes any sense. Your beauty, grace, off the cuff banter, expressions, not to mention your ability to jump into the scene and play the perfect girlfriend in seconds. Jisung is convinced he's met the next nation's sweetheart, and all he can do is sweat bullets under his jacket and stare into your eyes as if he's stargazing.

He said he could keep up with you. Here's his chance to prove it.

He manages a small, breathless chuckle, "Okay okay. You know I can't refuse that face."

"I know," you proudly reply while hugging his arm, your chest pressed into his side and your lips spread into a wide, victorious smile. "Which is why I use it all the time. I like flustering you."

The whole coffee shop audibly heard the skip in his heartbeat just now.

In the corner of your eye, you can see the barista's smile slowly dying. She's watching you dote and hang all over Jisung with distain. But what bothers her the most is how absolutely spellbound he is by every movement you make, happily mesmerized by your very existence. The way he's looking at you...

"Jisung," she tries to get his attention, "you never mentioned a...who is she?"

"Huh?" He finally tears his eyes off of you for a mere moment, but then they're glued to you once again. "Oh, this is ___. My girlfriend." Saying that out loud felt way too right.

"Girlfriend?" You whine, pausing to shake your head. "I thought you said I'm your soulmate."

"Aw, baby, I'm sorry," he cups your cheek and matches your pout, "of course, you're my soulmate. It was a slip of the tongue. Forgive me?"

You nod happily and boop his nose. "Forgiven." The flush of pink that spreads to his ears definitely isn't pretend.

"Umm," the barista smacks her gum, "I thought you said you were single."

"I was," he sighs, doing his best to play along without getting too caught up in the role. "But then I met ___. And everything changed."

She eyes you up and down with a distasteful frown.

"You could do better."

There's a short silence while the two of you try to figure out where she found the audacity. The only sound is the barista's foot tapping on the floor, a most rhythmic and detestable thump.

While your heart dramatically sinks into your stomach.

"I'll take a caramel macchiato," you finally break the silence, "what do you want, babe?"

"You don't know his order?" The barista cuts in with a scoff. "How can you be his girlfriend and not know his coffee order? Looks like I know Jisung better than you do, huh?" She flips on the sweetie pie act again when she turns to him. "I'll make your usual--"

"I'll take a caramel macchiato as well. And an apology."

"Oh, umm sorry--"

"Not to me." His hand tightens around yours. "To ___."

"What?"

He doesn't repeat himself. The barista can't hardly believe he's serious. But he doesn't back down or make light of what he demanded. You look a little caught-in-headlights as well, unsure of what to do exactly. If anyone should be apologized to, it's Jisung. He's the one the barista has been borderline harassing every time he tries to get coffee here.

And yet Jisung is more concerned about the fact that she made one, minor comment about you not being good enough for him. And who knows, maybe you're not! You just met today and you're not even his real girlfriend!

She clenches her jaw, unwavering eye contact with Jisung as she grunts through her teeth, "Sorry."

Not exactly a satisfactory apology, but at least she won't be bothering Jisung anymore. And you're more than willing to stop by with him a few more times to make sure the story sells and this barista bitch stays in her lane.

You tap your card to pay, grab your coffees, and head for the door.

You gather your umbrella. Jisung pulls his hood over his head. Out the door you go. As soon as your out of ear shot, the two of you can't keep your laughs in any longer.

"Did you see her face when she apologized!? Oh my god, you never get caramel macchiatos, do you?"

"Absolutely never," he giggles behind his hand.

"Sorry if that was completely insane. But it's stupid you can't order coffee because some bitch barista can't keep her eyes up. I know you probably felt weird."

"No, it felt right." A pause of held breaths and fluttering eyelids, and then Jisung scrambles to add, "I mean, it worked, didn't it?"

"Like a charm," you respond, still flabbergasted at the moment.

"That soulmate shit was priceless by the way." Jisung narrows his eyes at you, a teasing suspicion on the tip of his tongue. "You're a real hopeless romantic, aren't you?"

"You're the one who cupped my face and called me baby. If anyone is the hopeless romantic, it's you."

He can't argue against that. Jisung is indeed a hopeless romantic at heart.

"Seriously, thank you so much for not letting me leave. I'll pay you back for this, promise. Anything you want."

"Anything?"

"Name it and it's yours."

"Your number?"

Where this confidence came from you're not entirely sure, but the way his smile lights up like fireworks at your request feels brand new. He quickly corrects his giddiness with a sip of coffee and a shrug.

"I guess that's a reasonable request."

With his number in your phone and the hour ticking by, you exchange glances through the rain. Shy eye contact and hesitating feet. Neither of you want to leave, although it's definitely time to get going, and it's painfully obvious.

"Which way are you headed?"

"Towards City Center."

"Oh, me too! We can walk together. If you'd like?"

"Yeah," you take his arm, coffee in one hand while he holds your umbrella in the other, "I'd like that. Klutz."

"Uh, is that nickname gonna be a thing?"

"I don't know yet. Why?"

"I liked babe better."

Yeah, well that makes two of you. But calling him babe feels a bit too natural for you to be so shamelessly and carelessly throwing it into the mix. But maybe you let it slip a few times while you're walking, you know, accidentally. And maybe you really enjoy seeing the corner of his lips turn up each time you do.

Banter and flirting fly free between the two of you, never once feeling awkward or scary. It's so rare something like this comes along in your life. An instant click like this needs to be protected, cherished. The more you listen to Jisung talk, the more you're convinced he's supposed to be someone special to you.

"This is me." He stops at the doors to a large glass building, the rain still coming down decently hard on your umbrella above your heads.

You look at the building with sad eyes, knowing that unless something crazy happens in the next ten seconds, this magical happenstance of meeting him will--

Hold on.

"Does that sign say Mindy&Mindy Consulting?"

Jisung slowly nods. "Yes. This is my work. Why?"

"I'm starting here today."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm the newest hire for the financial services department."

"Wait," Jisung blinks, "you're the new hire?"

"You know about me?"

"Of course, I do," he says. "I'm the department's Senior Consultant."

"You're the...so that means..."

Any and all confusion morphs as his eyebrows lift and his jaw drops in realization. It hits you both at the same time, a reality bomb just dropped on your little flirty fantasy.

"You're my boss."

::

AH taglist: @nightmarenyxx @cherriive @cepheus3 @strawberriesoup @kayleefriedchicken @hannamoon143 @0omillo0 @fly-you-dam-fools @urlocalmultigroupfan @inlovewithstraykids @felixleftchickennugget @notastraykid @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @lorialia @staybabblingbaby @comicalivy @www-hanverse @dearbisky @hannieslittlerockstar @feetoffthemalfoy @estella-novella @justastraymoa @hityoulikebahng

<3

the letter pt. 2

han jisung x fem!reader

synopsis: after a devastating breakup over the future you couldn't agree on, you and jisung are left unraveling in the aftermath. you wanted a family. he wanted freedom.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, (unplanned) pregnancy, jealousy & miscommunication, emotional cheating undertones.

wc: 8740

[the letter part. 1, the letter part. 3]

Acceptance didn’t come with a sudden epiphany.

It came slowly, quietly, like water wearing away at stone.

At first, the silence nearly destroyed you. The ache of waiting for a call that never came, the sting of every passing day that confirmed what you didn’t want to believe: Jisung wasn’t going to show up. He wasn’t going to reach out. He wasn’t going to be there. It was a hard truth, one that settled into your bones like winter, cold, heavy, impossible to ignore.

But slowly, with time, you began to understand something else: you didn’t need him to.

You didn’t need Jisung to make this real. You didn’t need his permission to move forward. You didn’t need his love or his regret to love this child growing inside of you.

That shift didn’t happen overnight. It took tears. Sleepless nights. A million conversations with Jia and Lana, where you said the same things again and again until the words lost their sting.

“He’s not coming back,” you had whispered one night, curled up on your couch, the blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders like armor. “He read it. I know he did. And if he wanted to be here, he would be.”

Jia nodded, her expression soft but steady. “And that’s on him.”

Lana, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bowl of snacks in her lap, added, “You don’t owe him anything. He made his choice. And now you’re making yours.”

Their words didn’t fix everything, but they helped you breathe a little easier.

You started to remember all the things you used to dream about when you were younger. The things you whispered to yourself late at night when the world felt too loud. You’d always wanted a child. Always wanted a tiny person to love, to protect, to raise into someone kind and strong. Your reasons weren’t grand or poetic, they were simple and honest.

You wanted someone to call yours.

A little hand to hold. A sleepy head to kiss goodnight. A home that echoed with laughter and quiet footsteps. You had always dreamed of family. Of stability. Of unconditional love.

And Jisung had once felt like a part of that dream.

But dreams change.

And now, though it was different, though it wasn’t the picture-perfect family you’d envisioned, complete with a partner who held your hand through morning sickness and doctor appointments, you were still going to have that love. You were still going to have someone who would call you theirs.

A child who would look at you like you were their whole world.

You began talking to your baby more. Not out loud at first, but in thoughts. Little whispers as you lay in bed, hand splayed over your stomach. You imagined what they’d look like. What kind of laugh they’d have. Whether they’d like music like Jisung, or books like you. You tried not to think about him much, but sometimes the thought crept in of him holding your baby, of him realizing what he’d walked away from. It still hurt.

But the hurt wasn’t as sharp anymore.

More of a dull ache. A scar instead of an open wound.

Jia and Lana were your constants, showing up with groceries, dragging you out of bed when the nausea wasn’t too bad, helping you put together a list of things you’d need. They kept reminding you that this child was already loved. That you were loved. That you hadn’t done anything wrong by wanting something Jisung couldn’t give.

“You’ve wanted this your whole life,” Jia said one morning as she rubbed your back while you heaved over the toilet. “This baby? This is your dream. Maybe not how you pictured it, but it’s still yours. That matters.”

You cried after she said it, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming sense of yes. Yes, this was yours. This life you were building, even if it was cracked around the edges, was real. It was happening. And it was going to be beautiful, even in its broken places.

Eventually, you stopped checking your phone for his name.

Eventually, you stopped wondering if he’d show up.

You started making lists, cribs, baby names, pediatricians. You started reading articles, watching videos, planning. You let yourself feel excited. Nervous. Hopeful. Because as lonely as it sometimes felt, there was something growing inside of you that had nothing to do with Jisung anymore.

This baby was yours.

And you were going to love them enough for the both of you.

At first, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The letter.

That goddamn letter.

It sat in his office desk drawer like it had claws, like it had buried itself deep into the wood, refusing to let go. Jisung had tried to forget it. He told himself it didn’t matter, that whatever you had to say was too late anyway. That if you really cared, you wouldn’t have walked out of his life like it was easy. Like he hadn’t fallen apart the moment the door shut behind you.

The drawer was closed, but his eyes kept drifting toward it.

Every time he sat down to write, to work, to practice, his gaze would flicker. Brief, but persistent. He told himself it was just curiosity, not hope. That it was normal to wonder. Normal to think about you. About the things you might’ve written.

Maybe it was an apology.

Maybe it was a desperate plea to get back together, to undo the fight, to rewrite the ending.

He convinced himself that’s all it could be. That you wanted him back, that you missed him like he missed you, except he wasn’t going to let himself believe you were sorry. Because then he’d have to forgive you. And Jisung didn’t want to forgive you.

He was angry.

Still heartbroken, sure. But underneath all that pain was anger, real, raw anger that scorched through his chest like wildfire every time he remembered how quickly you’d walked away. How you'd looked at him like he was the enemy for not wanting the same things. Like he was less because he hadn’t pictured the same white-picket-fence future you did.

So no, he didn’t open it.

He refused to.

The letter sat unopened for weeks, untouched but never fully ignored. It became part of his daily life, a silent weight in the back of his mind. A temptation. A wound. Something he both despised and felt tethered to.

He moved around it. Literally.

Every time he sat at the desk, his movements became sharper. He'd slam drawers harder, avoid resting anything near that one. He reorganized his workspace to make sure he wouldn’t have to reach near the envelope, as if proximity alone might make him cave.

Sometimes he’d linger there at night, just staring at the drawer. Fingers twitching. Wondering.

Not about you. He tried not to think about you anymore. But about what you thought you had to say. What gave you the nerve to write to him after leaving the way you did. After choosing a future without him.

Because that’s what it had felt like, hadn’t it? Like you’d made your choice. You wanted a family. A child. A life of stillness. And Jisung… Jisung wanted freedom. Music. The quiet, sacred simplicity of not being tied down, not yet. Not now. He hadn’t lied to you about that. He hadn’t pretended he wanted things he didn’t.

And yet, somehow, it still hadn’t been enough to make you stay.

So why write?

What could possibly be in that envelope that mattered now?

He started forgetting about it eventually. Or he told himself he did. The drawer stopped calling to him quite so loudly. He buried it beneath a stack of old receipts and tour paperwork. He told himself he didn’t care anymore.

And he didn’t.

Not until he started dreaming about you again.

Not until he walked into his apartment one night, bone tired, body aching from rehearsal and saw your old hoodie draped over the back of the couch. Something you must’ve left behind. He didn’t remember it being there before. Maybe it had fallen out of the closet. Maybe he’d just missed it. But the sight of it twisted something deep in his chest.

He sat down and held it for the first time in weeks.

Brought it to his nose, hoping for the faint trace of your perfume. The scent was long gone, but the memory of it was enough. He closed his eyes. Saw your face. Heard your voice.

“I just want something real, Jisung. Something stable. You don’t get it.”

He’d fought back that night. Screamed things he didn’t mean. Told you that stability wasn’t everything, that you were suffocating him with your picture-perfect expectations. He didn’t mean that either.

He never meant to lose you.

He just didn’t know how to give you what you wanted.

The dreams came harder after that.

Nights filled with half-remembered moments. You, crying. You, laughing. You, walking away. The drawer became heavier again. Not physically, but in the way it felt, in the way his chest grew tight every time he sat down at that desk.

And sometimes, just sometimes, he wondered if maybe the letter wasn’t what he thought it was.

If maybe you hadn’t written to beg, or plead, or apologize.

What if it was a goodbye?

What if it was closure?

The thought made him sick. And yet it stayed. Brewing. Spreading. Curling like smoke around the corners of his resolve.

Still, he didn’t open it.

Not yet.

Because once he did, there’d be no going back. Once he read what you had to say, whether it shattered him or made him ache to run back to you, it would mean something. It would change something. And he wasn’t ready.

Not to feel that kind of heartbreak all over again.

Not to face the truth of whatever words you'd left him with.

Not to know if the dream he’d been trying to forget… had already come true without him.

-

He hadn’t planned on checking his phone again that night.

It was late, past 1 a.m. and he should’ve been asleep. He was exhausted, not just in his body, but in a way that seemed to linger deep in his bones. The kind of exhaustion that didn’t come from long studio hours or back-to-back rehearsals. No, this was the kind of tired that came from missing something that used to feel like home.

But still, he scrolled.

A quiet habit now. Not for his fans or updates or even entertainment, just to feel connected to something, anything. Something that wasn’t the silence of his too-big apartment or the ache of everything you’d taken with you when you left.

His thumb stilled mid-scroll when he saw it.

Jia’s post.

A carousel of pictures, captioned with something casual, “good company, good weather, good wine.” But he didn’t read it right away. He couldn’t. Not when he saw you.

Laughing.

Head thrown back, leaned gently against someone’s shoulder, a guy, unfamiliar, laughing just as openly. It was a candid shot, clearly taken without warning, but it was beautiful. Painfully beautiful.

You looked happy.

And it hit him like a punch to the ribs.

He stared at the picture, unmoving. It was the first time he’d seen you in months. Jia and Lana hadn’t posted you in so long that he’d started to wonder if they were keeping your face off on purpose. Maybe they knew he still looked. Maybe you had asked them not to.

And yet, here you were. In the open. In color.

Smiling.

And not at him.

Jisung dropped his phone like it burned. It landed screen-down on the desk in front of him, but the image was already scorched behind his eyes. You, in that cream-colored cardigan he always liked. The same soft one you’d throw over your shoulders when it got cold, even inside. Your laugh, he could hear it in his mind even if he hadn’t heard it in months.

The drawer creaked.

That drawer.

He didn’t mean to open it, but suddenly, it was. His hand moved before his mind could catch up. The paper felt heavier than it should’ve. The envelope was still sealed, still clean, untouched despite all the time it had spent hidden beneath ignored things.

He stared at it. Again. For the hundredth time.

You’d written his name on the front in your handwriting, he’d always liked your handwriting. Neat, but a little messy in that cute way. It was the kind of thing you didn’t think people noticed, but Jisung had noticed everything.

He lifted it slowly, as if even that movement required more strength than he had left.

The letter rested in his hands.

And then the picture came back to him again that guy, the way your eyes crinkled at something he said, how natural it looked, like it had always been him and not Jisung. Like Jisung was some ghost from another life you didn’t think about anymore.

A rush of something hot surged in his chest.

Anger. Jealousy. Bitterness.

It was a mistake, picking it up. He knew it was a mistake.

You probably wrote this before you met that guy. Before you moved on. Before you laughed like you had never cried over him. So what was the point now? What was the fucking point?

His grip tightened.

The edge of the envelope bent in his palm.

He was going to rip it.

Tear it into a thousand worthless pieces.

He didn’t need your words. He didn’t need your explanation, or apology, or whatever twisted kind of closure you thought this would give him. If you were so happy now, if you had someone else's shoulder to lean on, someone else to laugh with then he didn’t need to carry your ghost anymore.

The paper creaked as it began to fold beneath the pressure of his fingers.

But something stopped him.

Not guilt. Not even curiosity.

Just a question. Soft, poisonous, and small.

What if it wasn’t what I thought it was?

It came quietly. It always did.

Jisung closed his eyes, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. His heart thudded unevenly in his chest. His fingers didn’t release the envelope, but he didn’t tear it either.

Because something was wrong.

Something about that picture. As much as it hurt to see you with someone else, as much as it made him want to break something, there was a tiny flicker of something off. He didn’t know why it stood out, but it did.

The guy’s arm, he wasn’t touching you. Not possessively. Not the way Jisung used to.

And your smile, while bright… had a weariness to it. Something in your eyes. A tiredness he recognized.

Maybe he was imagining it. Reading into something that wasn’t there.

Or maybe he wasn’t.

The letter pulsed in his hand like it had weight now. Like it always had, and he was only just feeling it.

And for the first time in six months, Jisung wondered, really wondered what you had said in those pages.

And whether not knowing would haunt him more than the truth ever could.

At six months pregnant, the exhaustion was more than physical, it had dug itself into your spirit. You felt heavier than your body should've allowed. Not just with the child growing inside of you, but with the weight of silence. Of unanswered letters. Of unreturned phone calls that were never made. Of dreams you'd once held so tightly that now felt like strangers to you.

You had done everything right, or at least you tried to. You took your vitamins. Went to appointments. Listened to the doctor. Ate better. Slept when you could. Cried only when it was too much to hold back. You were being responsible, measured, careful, everything a mother should be.

But no one told you how lonely it would feel.

How much you’d mourn someone who was still alive.

And lately, even Jia and Lana noticed. They tried to smile extra wide around you, tried to pull you into silly conversations, binge shows with you in bed, paint your nails, cook your favorite meals. But the spark in your eyes, the part of you that lit up when you laughed, had dimmed. The grief was quieter now, but more permanent. More settled. Like it had accepted you as its host.

You weren’t bitter.

You didn’t cry over Jisung every night anymore. You didn’t ache the way you used to. But something had changed. You weren’t sure if it was the pregnancy, or the acceptance, or just time doing what it does, softening things while hollowing others out.

It was Jia who brought it up.

“I’ve been thinking,” she’d said carefully, whispering to Lana one afternoon as she watched you doze off mid-conversation.

“That’s never a good sign,” Lana had replied, side-eyeing her from across the room.

“No, seriously,” Jia said, sitting forward. “I think we should bring someone over. Someone who used to make her smile. For real smile.”

Lana’s brows furrowed. “Like… a therapist?”

“No. Chan.”

The silence that followed was thick.

Lana stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “Chan? As in, Christopher Bang? High school boyfriend Chan? Australia Chan?”

Jia nodded, lips tight. “She was happy with him, Lan. Like… really happy. He’s back in town. He messaged me a few days ago and asked about her.”

“She’s pregnant.”

“I know that.”

“And emotional.”

“I know, Lana.”

Lana crossed her arms. “And what if this backfires? What if seeing him makes her feel worse?”

“She hasn’t smiled in weeks.”

“She’s tired, Jia. She’s not depressed, she’s just—”

“I know what she is,” Jia had said, her voice breaking slightly. “And I know she’d never say it out loud, but she’s hurting. She feels like she’s being erased. Everyone sees her as a pregnant woman now, not her. Chan always saw her. Maybe she needs that.”

Reluctantly, Lana agreed.

So now here you were.

Sitting in a small cozy café that smelled like fresh lemons and sun-warmed pastries, a glass of lemonade sweating on the table in front of you, your hands resting protectively on your belly without even realizing it. Jia and Lana sat across from you, exchanging nervous glances every few seconds, which you were just about to comment on when—

A tap.

Soft. On your shoulder.

You turned.

And there he was.

Chan.

The boy who used to give you rides on the back of his bike after school. The boy who’d written you poetry in margins of your notebooks. The boy who once told you, so casually, that if he had a time machine, he’d go to the future just to see if you still ended up together.

He looked different, but not in a bad way. Taller, a little more filled out. His jaw was sharper. His hair shorter. But his smile? That was the same. Gentle, warm, slightly crooked on the left like it always had been.

You blinked in disbelief.

“Chan?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He grinned. “Hey, trouble.”

The old nickname made your chest tighten in the most unexpected way. You laughed before you could stop yourself, quiet, but real. The kind of laugh that had started to feel foreign.

Jia and Lana, now grinning like guilty conspirators, stood up quickly. “We’ll be back in a few. Just gonna, uh, go… admire the dessert case,” Jia mumbled, grabbing Lana's arm.

Lana gave Chan a wary look before disappearing with her.

You turned back to him. “It’s… been a long time.”

“Years,” he said. “Too many. You look… amazing.”

You snorted. “I look like a watermelon.”

He chuckled. “A beautiful watermelon, then.”

That made you laugh again, genuine. His eyes lit up, pleased, but not smug. Just soft.

He sat across from you, and for a few seconds, neither of you said anything. Just… took each other in. There was comfort there. The kind that doesn’t go away just because time passes. He didn’t feel like a stranger, even after all this time.

“Tell me everything,” he said finally. “How’ve you been?”

You looked down at your lemonade, then at your belly. “It’s been… hard,” you admitted. “But I’m okay. I’m getting there.”

He nodded. “You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

And that, that was what got you. The way his eyes didn’t immediately flicker to your belly. The way his questions weren’t laced with obligation or curiosity about the pregnancy. He saw you.

Not the bump. Not the situation. Just you.

You smiled again, softer this time. “You still make people feel like the world slows down when you talk to them. You know that?”

Chan looked surprised, almost bashful. “I missed this,” he said. “Us. Talking like this.”

“So did I,” you said quietly.

He asked about your family, about your writing. You asked about Australia, the music scene, the food he missed. It was like dusting off a record you hadn’t played in years but still remembered all the lyrics to.

And for the first time in months, you didn’t feel like just someone carrying someone else’s child.

You felt like you again.

And that… that felt like breathing.

Jia elbowed Lana gently as they both turned back from the dessert counter and peeked toward your table. You were laughing, really laughing. It wasn’t the kind of hollow, polite chuckle you’d forced out over the last several months. This was the kind that made your shoulders shake a little, your eyes squint, the kind that used to come so easily to you.

Jia grinned, whispering under her breath, “See? I told you. Look at her.”

Lana crossed her arms slowly, watching the way Chan leaned forward a little, listening intently to whatever you were saying. You were twirling the straw in your lemonade as you spoke, and he was smiling like it was the best story he’d ever heard.

“Why do you look like that?” Jia asked, brow raised. “You’ve had that same suspicious face on since he got here.”

“I’m not against it,” Lana muttered, still watching. “I’m just… not all in either.”

“Why not?” Jia nudged her again. “She’s finally laughing. Isn’t that what we wanted?”

“I do want her to smile,” Lana admitted. “I just… don’t want her to get hurt again. She’s not just her right now. She’s carrying someone else’s future. It’s not like she can afford to be reckless.”

Jia softened at that. “I don’t think this is reckless. It’s just… a moment. She deserves to feel normal again, even if it’s just for an hour.”

Lana sighed, quieting her voice. “You remember her that night after she found out she was pregnant. She shattered. She thought she was going to do this with someone by her side. And even now, she hasn’t let herself be happy, not really. What if she starts hoping again? What if she sees Chan as a fix, as comfort, and then it goes wrong?”

Jia frowned, but her gaze shifted back to you.

You were resting your chin on your hand, eyes locked on Chan, laughing again at something he said. You looked… lighter. Like someone had finally taken a backpack off your shoulders.

“I get it,” Jia said softly. “But sometimes it’s not about what might go wrong. Sometimes people just need to feel something good before they fall apart again.”

Lana didn’t respond. She just nodded slowly, her arms still crossed, but her eyes stayed on you.

Fifteen minutes later, the four of you exited the café together, the late morning sun spilling over the street. The air smelled like strawberries and warm bread, thanks to the farmers market set up just around the corner. You turned your head at the scent, curiosity blinking in your eyes.

“Hey,” Jia said brightly, pretending she hadn’t just orchestrated your emotional healing. “Why don’t we walk the market for a bit? It’s nice out.”

Chan glanced at you, his hands casually stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah? Up for it?”

You nodded. “I could use the walk.”

“Pregnancy-friendly pace,” Lana added quickly, ever the protector.

“Obviously,” Chan said with a small smile.

The four of you wandered into the hum of the market, past flower stands, stalls full of honey jars, baskets of citrus and summer tomatoes. You and Chan naturally fell behind, veering slightly into your own space as Jia and Lana moved ahead.

Chan told you about the time he accidentally joined the wrong university club and ended up on a competitive rowing team for a semester without realizing it. About the hostel he lived in that turned out to be a rebranded former psychiatric facility. About the tiny restaurant he worked at on weekends that had a cat as the official “manager.”

He told you about homesickness. About how certain days would feel longer than others, and how he’d sit at the edge of his bed and think of home and sometimes that meant a place, but more often it meant people.

It meant you.

You told him about how quiet things had become lately. How you’d taken up journaling again, mostly to try and remember who you were. How you sometimes put your hand on your stomach at night and talked to the baby even though you weren’t sure if they could really hear you. How Jia and Lana had kept you grounded when you couldn’t see past your own fog.

But you didn’t talk about Jisung.

You didn’t need to.

Chan didn’t ask about the father. He didn’t need that context to care.

Instead, as you both slowed at a stand selling little handmade toys, he asked something else.

“Have you thought of names yet?”

You looked at him, surprised. “Kind of… Nothing set in stone.”

He tilted his head. “Wanna tell me?”

You hesitated. “Promise not to laugh?”

Chan held up a hand solemnly. “Swear on the ghost cat manager.”

You smiled again. “For a girl… I really like Ari. And for a boy… maybe Leo.”

“Ari,” he repeated softly. “Leo. I like those.”

You looked down at your stomach, then back up at him. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

“Because I asked,” he said simply. “And because you’re allowed to tell me. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

That made your eyes sting, unexpectedly. The words were too kind, too easy. You weren’t used to someone offering comfort without strings. Without history. Without expectation.

Just care.

And when he smiled at you again, you believed it.

You felt like someone again. Not a burden. Not a story to explain. Not just a woman waiting for a baby to arrive or a ghost of someone’s past.

Just… you.

And in that moment, under the sun, surrounded by flowers and laughter and warmth, you realized maybe just maybe you could breathe again.

Jisung had forgotten what quiet felt like.

Not the kind of quiet where everything was still, peaceful. No, this was the kind that rang in your ears. A silence so loud it made you clench your jaw without realizing. It had followed him like a shadow since the breakup, lurking in the corners of his apartment, in the spaces between rehearsals, inside his chest when he tried to sleep.

He thought he was finally past it. Past you.

It had been six months. Six months of distraction and denial. Six months of forcing his focus into studio sessions and interviews. Six months of telling himself that he hadn’t needed you in the first place, that wanting something different wasn’t a crime.

But then he saw the photo.

You. Laughing.

Leaning into another man’s shoulder, someone unfamiliar. Someone he couldn’t recognize. The post was from Jia’s account, just a regular scroll moment that hit harder than it should’ve. His thumb hovered over the screen. He’d stopped breathing for a second.

You looked so… okay.

That was what struck him the most.

You looked healed. Soft. Effortlessly content. The man beside you wasn’t even touching you, but it was the way you leaned toward him. The comfort in your posture. The way your eyes crinkled when you smiled.

Jisung had stared at the picture until his vision blurred.

He wondered if you were moving on, if you had someone else, if you were that carefree with someone else and that maybe that letter had never been about coming back. Maybe it had been about leaving for good.

The possibility made his stomach twist.

He sat down at his desk. The drawer was already open a crack. Just wide enough to reveal the corner of the envelope.

His hand hovered over it.

Six months.

What if he’d missed something important?

The image of your face flashed in his mind again, the smile that wasn't his anymore. The softness in your eyes that had once only been meant for him.

And then, without warning, that sick feeling rose again, sharp, bitter, ugly. What if it wasn’t something he wanted to read? What if it was about the new guy? Or worse, what if it was closure?

He could barely breathe.

“I’ve always wanted a family.”

It echoed in his head. Quiet, wistful. It had been one of your first deep conversations. You’d looked at him like he was the future you’d been planning for since you were a little girl. And he’d brushed it off with a joke, even though part of him knew, knew you meant every word.

And he hadn’t listened.

He rubbed his face with both hands.

He’d been trying so hard to be okay, to let it go. But now all the pieces were coming together in his head, twisting into something heavy. The sickness you mentioned to your friends online. The way Jia and Lana stopped posting about you. The letter. The vanishing act.

The man in the picture.

And that look on your face.

He thought about what it meant.

What it could mean.

And slowly, like a creeping storm, one horrible, world-shifting thought started to root itself in his chest.

What if the letter wasn’t about getting back together?

What if the letter was about the family he never wanted and you were giving it to someone else now?

He stood up so fast the chair scraped the floor.

His heart thundered.

The letter was still unopened. Still waiting. Still sealed.

But it didn’t feel like it was waiting for him anymore.

-

The morning air was crisp, just cold enough to bite at his fingertips as he tucked them deeper into his jacket pockets. Jisung had barely slept the night before. Again. Something about the silence in his apartment felt louder than usual lately. He’d left early, headphones in, cap low over his face, hood up. Just another early morning walk to the company, hoping maybe the movement would shake the insomnia out of his bones.

He was halfway down the street, eyes fixed on the pavement, when he heard it.

A laugh.

But not just any laugh.

Your laugh.

For a split second, he froze mid-step. His heart stuttered. He thought he was imagining it. It was familiar in a way that twisted his insides, light, effortless, like wind chimes in spring. It was the laugh he used to live for. The one he hadn’t heard in six months.

It echoed again, closer this time.

He turned instinctively, almost violently, pulling his headphones out and scanning the street behind him. His pulse shot up as his eyes locked on the source.

And there you were.

Standing just a few meters away. Real. Laughing, radiant, glowing in the soft morning sun and unmistakably, visibly pregnant.

Jisung’s breath caught in his throat.

You weren’t alone.

The man beside you, the same one from the picture stood close, one hand resting at the small of your back. He was smiling too, looking at you with the kind of tenderness that made Jisung’s fists clench.

You were leaning toward him, hand protectively on your belly, like the whole world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

And it hit Jisung like a truck.

Not only had you moved on… you had started the family he never wanted. With someone else.

Someone who wasn’t him.

Something cracked deep in his chest.

It felt like betrayal. Like acid and broken glass.

You had left him and this was why?

You wanted a family so badly you found someone else who would give it to you?

His vision tunneled. He was walking before he even registered his feet moving.

Rage. That’s all it was now. Rage that clawed at his skin. Rage that you had laughed like that, that laugh for someone else. That this stranger had touched you in a way that had once belonged to him. That you had trusted someone else with that part of you. With your future.

He didn’t even know what he was going to say. Didn’t care.

All he knew was that he needed answers.

Jisung stopped in front of you, chest heaving, eyes narrowed beneath his cap.

You froze instantly, the color draining from your face the moment you saw him.

The man beside you shifted immediately, subtly protective, arm tightening at your back as he assessed Jisung.

For a second, no one said anything.

You stared at each other.

The tension was unbearable like a rubber band pulled too tight.

You looked tired. Paler. But still you. Still the woman who once laid beside him in bed whispering sweet nothings. Still the woman who broke his heart when she said “you can’t love me if you don’t want my future.”

But now, your eyes weren’t soft. They were sharp. Furious.

The same fury he remembered from your worst fights. The kind that made your voice shake, not from fear, but from pain.

“What the hell do you want?” you said first, voice quiet but hard, defensive.

Jisung’s hands twitched at his sides. “That’s funny. You’re asking me that?”

Your mouth pulled tight. “I have nothing to say to you.”

His voice rose before he could stop it. “No? Nothing at all? Not even a heads-up that you’re carrying his kid now?”

The stranger tensed, but didn’t speak. You shot him a glance, placing a hand gently on his arm to stop him. He backed off slightly, but he didn’t move far.

“It’s none of your business,” you said, teeth gritted.

“I was your business,” Jisung snapped, voice cracking. “You left me—just to turn around and give everything I couldn’t to someone else?”

Your eyes blazed. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” He gestured to your stomach. “Looks pretty damn obvious to me.”

You inhaled sharply, chest rising, as if trying to calm the storm inside you.

“I’m not doing this here,” you said coldly.

“Then where?” he hissed. “When were you going to say anything? Or were you just going to play happy family and pretend I never—”

“Stop,” you snapped, voice shaking now.

He faltered. The venom in your voice hit him like a slap.

“Just… stop.” You shook your head. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to disappear and then show up six months later acting like I owe you an explanation.”

“I didn’t disappear—you left—!”

“Because you made it clear you didn’t want what I did!” you shouted now, and people were starting to glance over from across the street.

Your hand was on your stomach again, protective, trembling.

“I begged you to see the future I wanted. And you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. So don’t come here now trying to rewrite the story.”

Jisung’s throat tightened. His anger was bleeding into something else, confusion, desperation. Doubt.

You stared him down, eyes full of heartbreak and steel.

“Stay away from me,” you said, voice low and final.

You turned without another word. The man beside you didn’t look at Jisung, just kept a steady hand on your back as he helped you walk away.

Jisung didn’t follow.

He stood there, rooted to the sidewalk, heart hammering in his chest, ears ringing.

You didn’t mention the letter.

You didn’t say anything about the truth he had ignored.

And he still had no idea what he had missed.

All he knew now was this:

You had moved on.

And he… was still standing in the wreckage of what he couldn’t give you.

You hadn’t slept well the night before. Again.

At six months pregnant, your body was exhausted all the time, your back ached, your feet throbbed, and no matter how many pillows you arranged around yourself, you could never get comfortable enough to rest. But today, something felt… okay. Maybe not good, but manageable. The sun was peeking through the curtains when you felt a small flutter inside your belly, a gentle reminder that you weren’t alone.

You smiled softly, your hand moving instinctively to rest over the small bump. It had grown noticeably in the last few weeks. Strangers had started to offer you their seat, shopkeepers smiled a little more gently. It felt surreal, this thing you had always wanted, happening now, just not in the way you imagined.

You were still thinking about that when Chan texted you.

Chan: You up for a walk this morning? There’s a little bakery I want to show you. My treat if you let me win the who-pays war today.

You had chuckled at that. His texts were always light, warm, full of memories you hadn’t realized you missed. So you texted back:

Y/n: You’re on. I still say you cheat when you distract me at the register.

You met outside your place, and he greeted you with that big, boyish smile you remembered from high school. He asked how you slept, how you were feeling, how your cravings were, and he didn’t even flinch when you joked about the weird food combinations you’d been eating lately.

The walk was easy. Gentle. The kind of peaceful you hadn’t felt in a long time. Chan was telling you about this ridiculous story from his last few months in Australia, something about a bird, a tourist trap, and his friend almost getting chased by a kangaroo and you were laughing. Not the polite kind of laugh you’d been forcing around others lately, but the real kind that made your cheeks ache.

It felt good. Almost normal.

You reached the bakery and he told you to pick anything you wanted. You eyed the warm pastries behind the glass and finally settled on a croissant and a hot chocolate. He tried to sneakily pay for it while you were busy looking at cookies. You caught him, of course, and the two of you bickered playfully at the counter, your laughter bouncing off the walls of the quiet little shop.

“I swear you’re worse than my grandma,” you teased as you walked out, bag in one hand, and your warm drink in the other.

“Well, she is a lovely woman,” he grinned. “Smart too.”

You rolled your eyes, and just as you were about to say something else—

You heard your name.

That voice.

That damn voice.

Your body went cold.

It felt like the sidewalk shifted beneath your feet.

You turned around slowly, your stomach twisting as you saw him.

Jisung.

It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs.

You hadn’t seen him in six months, not since you dropped the letter under his door. Not since you waited days, then weeks, and finally months for a reply that never came.

And yet here he was. Storming toward you, fire in his eyes and tension in every step. Your heart pounded so loud you could barely hear anything else.

He looked thinner. Harsher. The softness in his face, the one you used to touch so lovingly was replaced with tight lines and something bitter.

Then his eyes dropped to your stomach.

And you saw it.

The flicker of realization.

He said your name again. Sharper this time. Full of something ugly and raw.

The confrontation happened in a blur after that. Words thrown like knives, his accusations loud and cutting. Accusing you of moving on, of starting a family with someone else.

You hadn’t even told him it was his.

You didn’t want to.

Not like this.

Because he didn’t deserve to know, not after months of silence, after choosing to ignore your letter, after making you believe you and your baby weren’t worth a single word.

The worst part? He looked like he hated you. Like your happiness was an offense. Like your child was some betrayal.

And you hated yourself a little for still caring what that look meant.

You didn’t answer most of what he said. You couldn’t. The anger inside you was too heavy, too dangerous to let loose. You told him to stay away from you. To leave you alone.

And you meant it.

When you turned around, Chan’s hand found the small of your back again, steady and warm, and you let yourself lean into it, even if just slightly.

You didn’t look back at Jisung. You didn’t have to.

Because if you did, you knew it would break you.

You walked for what felt like forever. Past the bakery, past the quiet street, into a shaded area just outside the little market. The adrenaline had worn off, and you were suddenly so tired.

Your steps slowed, and Chan noticed immediately.

He gently tugged at your arm to stop. “Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

Your lip trembled.

And for a moment, you tried to lie. To nod. To say you were fine.

But then the tears came.

Without warning.

You dropped your head, unable to hold it in anymore.

Chan didn’t say anything. He just stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you carefully, protectively.

You cried harder than you had in weeks. Into his chest, into the quiet morning air.

All the pain. The heartbreak. The fury. The sadness.

The betrayal of being forgotten.

The fear of being a single mother.

The ache of still loving someone who had let you go.

You clung to Chan like he was the only steady thing in your world.

And in that moment, maybe he was.

He rubbed your back gently. Didn’t rush you. Didn’t ask you to explain.

He just held you. Like you needed.

Like you deserved.

Like Jisung never did.

It took a while for you to calm down after the confrontation. Your tears had stained the front of Chan’s shirt, but he didn’t seem to care, he just kept holding you gently, rubbing slow circles along your back, quietly murmuring, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” like he was trying to patch over the cracks in your heart one word at a time.

Once your breathing evened out, and your tears slowed into hiccups, Chan finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes warm and sincere.

“You ready to go home?” he asked, his voice soft, without a trace of pressure.

You nodded, but you were still silent. Raw. Shaken.

He didn’t push you to talk. He didn’t ask what had happened, even though you knew he had his guesses. That restraint, his patience made your throat close up with a fresh wave of emotion.

The walk to your apartment was quiet. Not awkward, not stiff, just comfortable silence. A kind of silence you could sit in without feeling like you had to perform or explain or fix anything. Chan carried your little bakery bag in one hand and kept the other gently on your back, his fingers barely brushing the fabric of your dress near your shoulder blade. Just enough to let you know he was still there. Still with you.

When you reached your building, he held the door open, then helped you up the steps when your ankles threatened to protest. Once you were inside, he toed off his shoes at the entrance like he used to back in high school when he came over to study or hang out, only this time, the setting was so different.

Chan didn’t seem to mind.

He followed you in, still holding the bag of treats.

“I still paid,” he said casually, turning just slightly to glance at you over his shoulder with a teasing smile.

You blinked, caught off guard.

And then… you laughed.

Just a little.

Soft and tired, but real.

You reached out and playfully swatted his arm. “You’re so annoying,” you muttered, your voice still raspy from crying.

“I’ve been told,” he said, beaming now, clearly proud of himself.

You padded over to the couch and eased yourself down, one hand resting instinctively on your belly. Chan followed, setting the bag down on the coffee table. Then, without asking, he sat down beside you, close enough that his warmth pressed into your side, but not close enough to make you feel crowded.

You leaned your head on the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling for a while. There was a dull ache behind your eyes. Your body was tired. Your heart was even more tired.

He nudged your shoulder gently. “Want to tell me what happened?”

You exhaled slowly. “Jisung.”

That was all you needed to say.

He was quiet for a moment. And then, “Thought so.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him.

“Yeah?”

Chan nodded. “The way he looked at you… back there. Like he was about to explode. I don’t know what happened between you two, but... he doesn’t look like someone who’s over you.”

You scoffed. “He’s the one who left.”

Chan frowned but didn’t comment right away. Instead, he leaned forward, grabbing the croissant from the bakery bag and tearing off a piece. “Well,” he said after a beat, “you don’t need someone who can’t see what’s right in front of them. Especially not now.”

You looked down at your stomach.

The guilt crept in again, slowly.

The heaviness of everything. The choice you made. The silence after the letter. The confrontation that left you shattered all over again.

“I didn’t tell him,” you said, your voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

Chan looked over.

“About the baby,” you clarified. “I sent him a letter... six months ago. Told him everything. That I didn’t expect anything from him. That if he didn’t want to reach out, I’d leave him alone. He never said anything. Never texted. Never called. Never replied.”

You could see the realization settle in Chan’s expression, how all the pieces clicked into place.

“I thought he made his choice,” you said softly. “So I made mine.”

He didn’t try to justify Jisung’s silence. Didn’t say maybe he didn’t read it. Maybe he didn’t know.

Because that didn’t matter. Not now.

Chan nodded slowly and offered you the other half of the croissant. You took it with a shaky breath, your fingers brushing his.

“You did the right thing,” he said. “You gave him a chance. He chose to ignore it. That’s on him.”

You looked at him. At this person who had been absent from your life for years, only to come back like no time had passed so seamlessly, so naturally. You weren’t in love with him. Not now. But there was still something safe about being with him. Something soft and familiar. Something you hadn’t realized you needed.

And when he smiled at you again, nudging your elbow with his, you let yourself lean into him just a little more.

He made you feel like you weren’t broken.

Like this new version of you, mother-to-be, heartbroken, healing was still worthy of comfort.

Still worthy of being held.

Still worthy of being chosen.

It had been hours since he saw you.

Hours since your laugh pierced through the city noise like a haunting melody he wasn’t supposed to hear anymore.

But it was still echoing.

Jisung had barely made it home, barely remembered how he got there, just that he’d walked, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. His heart had been pounding in his ears. Rage, confusion, betrayal, every emotion bleeding into the next until he could barely breathe through the noise.

You were pregnant.

And not just pregnant, you were glowing, smiling, leaning into that guy like he was your anchor. Like you were his. Like the future you once begged Jisung for had already found its way to someone else’s arms.

And all he could think about was how cruel it all felt. How fast it seemed like you had moved on. How wrong it looked for someone else to hold your back like that when that used to be his place.

He didn’t bother turning on the lights when he stumbled into his apartment. The air was cold, untouched. Work, studio, drinking, studio again. That was his pattern now, suffocating himself with anything that could drown out the silence you left behind.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, your laughter followed him. Your eyes. Your voice when you told him to stay away. The venom in it. The hurt.

He collapsed into the armchair near the window, his coat still on, cap still tugged low over his head like he was still out there hiding. With a groan, he reached for the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the floor beside him. No glass this time. Just desperate gulps from the bottle itself, the burn in his throat not nearly enough to mask the ache behind his ribs.

He barely noticed when his hand moved on its own.

Opened the drawer.

Pulled out the envelope.

The envelope you’d left nearly six months ago.

He stared at it, the way he had a hundred times before, only now it looked like a mockery. Like a ghost of something he didn’t want to admit he’d left unread out of sheer spite. It had his name on it, in your handwriting. Soft, familiar.

For a moment, his hand trembled.

He could read it.

He could finally read it.

But then his mind flashed back to earlier.

The way that guy leaned close when you laughed like it was his favorite sound. The way you looked like everything Jisung had never been enough for.

And then came the anger.

All-consuming. Reckless. Bitter.

His lips curled into something half-snarled, half-exhausted.

“She didn’t even wait,” he muttered, the words slurring slightly. “Just threw us away like it was nothing.”

He didn’t care if it wasn’t true.

He needed it to be true.

Because the alternative? That you had waited. That maybe you'd told him something important in this very letter, that he’d ignored something that mattered, that affected both of you…

No.

He couldn’t think about that.

Couldn’t handle it.

So before his hands could betray him and open the letter, Jisung crushed it in his fist.

And then, slowly, deliberately, he tore it in half.

The sound of ripping paper was louder than it should’ve been in the silence of his apartment.

Once.

Twice.

Three times, until it was nothing but scraps in his lap, your handwriting torn down the middle, illegible, unreadable.

And only when he’d destroyed it completely, only when there was no going back did he feel something crack inside him.

The sound that left his throat was ugly.

Somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

He didn’t know why he was crying.

He didn’t even feel like he was crying.

But the tears slipped down anyway, hot and fast, tracking along his cheeks as he tipped back another gulp of whiskey and let his head fall into his hands.

You were gone.

You had moved on.

And now, he had destroyed the only piece of you left that might’ve explained why it all ended the way it did.

And still… he didn’t know the truth.

Still, he was blind to everything except the ache of missing you and the poison of thinking you belonged to someone else now.

He sat like that for a long time.

The ripped letter pieces scattered at his feet like confetti at a funeral, the bottle nearly empty in his hand, and his heart sinking deeper into a guilt he didn’t yet understand.

Because the truth, the real truth was gone now.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

//

masterlist.

❌proofread

[the letter taglist: @kenqki @mbioooo0000 @bearseuming @alisonyus @justjxnniie @chungdol @captainchrisstan @stilesks @banana-bread-thread @linosgrape @chaosandcandies @energyjuice4life @st4rv3lly @hanniebunch @nchhuhi @changbin-wife @felixleftchickennugget @psychobitchsthings @puppymsworld @silly250 @uyyoyyu @beppybeesnuggets ..]

I’m so glad you’ve finished your school! I know school can be rough especially end of the year. Speaking of free time. 🥺👉👈 How about (surprise) angst/hurt with Han this time (at this point I’m trying to go through all the members at least once) Y/N is having just like, the worst day. They come home to Han for comfort but he is also having just like, the worst day. So they argue and Han walls out, but later there’s a fire at the apartment complex and when he comes back there’s like a whole scene and he freaks out. Y/N is already in the back of an ambulance and they’re fine but Han takes five ever to find them and is freaking out the entire time.

Calling you clingy

Han Jisung x Reader 한지성

a/n: Hi! I’m sorry if this took so long but I’m kinda struggling with my emotions lately and I don’t really like the way I write… hope you’ll like it tho

The day felt doomed from the moment you opened your eyes.

Your alarm hadn’t gone off, leaving you scrambling to get ready. You spilled coffee on your only clean shirt, missed your bus, and when you finally arrived at work, it was like the universe conspired against you. A project you’d poured your heart into was torn apart in a meeting, and the snide comments from a coworker still rang in your ears. By the time you walked through your apartment door that evening, you felt like a frayed wire—one spark away from snapping.

Han sat on the couch, earbuds in, a notebook balanced on his lap. His pen moved furiously across the page, his frustration evident in every stroke. Seeing him there, a small part of your tension eased. He’ll make this better, you thought. He always does…

“Hey,” you said softly, closing the door behind you.

He didn’t look up. “Hey.”

You hesitated, unsure if he’d even heard you. “Han… I’m sorry to bother you but I had the worst day. I don’t even know where to start. I just… I really need you right now. Please…”

You had always been nice to him, always making sure to give him his space. And he knew.

But this time, he sighed, setting his notebook aside but still not meeting your eyes. “Y/N, I can’t do this right now. I’m kind of drowning here myself.”

His words hit you like a cold wave. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, rubbing his temples, “I’ve been dealing with my own stuff all day. I’m exhausted too.”

You stared at him, your throat tightening. “I’m not asking you to solve anything, Han. I just wanted… I needed you to be here with me... I’m sorry-”

Finally, he looked at you, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Stop saying you’re sorry! It’s like… you can’t handle anything without me. You’re always leaning on me, and it’s—” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “It’s clingy, Y/N.”

The word sliced through you like a knife. “Clingy?” you echoed, your voice cracking.

Han stood, pacing in the small space. “Yes, clingy. Every time something goes wrong, I’m the first person you run to, and I can’t—”

“And what?” you interrupted, anger bubbling up. “You can’t handle that? I thought that’s what relationships were for—being there for each other!”

His voice rose to match yours. “It is! But I’m not your emotional punching bag! I have limits too!”

Your chest tightened, tears prickling at your eyes. “Fine. If I’m so clingy, maybe I should stop coming to you altogether.”

“Maybe you should.” His voice was cold.

He grabbed his keys from the counter and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The silence that followed felt deafening. You stood frozen, tears spilling over as his words echoed in your head.

You’ve never seen him like this. It hurt so bad it felt like you were drowning in your own tears.

You decided to listen to some music to distract yourself, until..

*Sniff sniff*

The smell of smoke was faint at first, so faint you ignored it. You thought it was coming from outside—someone burning leaves or a neighbor cooking. But then the fire alarm shrieked through the building, and the panic set in.

When you opened the door, smoke poured in, thick and choking. Flames flickered at the end of the hallway. Grabbing your phone and bag, you stumbled into the chaos, your heart pounding as the smoke burned your lungs.

By the time you made it outside, the cool night air felt like relief, but your head swam, and you couldn’t stop coughing. Paramedics found you, guiding you to an ambulance. You barely registered their words as they placed an oxygen mask over your face, the world spinning around you.

While you were fighting for your own life, Han wandered the city, replaying your argument in his head. At first, he felt justified—you’d been overwhelming lately, hadn’t you? But as the minutes stretched into hours, guilt started creeping in. You weren’t clingy; you trusted him enough to lean on him when things got tough. And he’d thrown that trust back in your face.

He turned toward the apartment, ready to apologize, when he saw smoke curling into the sky. His heart stopped.

“No. No, no, no,” he whispered, breaking into a sprint.

The fire was massive, consuming the upper floors of the building—your floor. His lungs burned as he ran, panic rising with every step. By the time he reached the scene, fire trucks and ambulances surrounded the complex.

“Y/N!” he shouted, shoving through the crowd of evacuees. “Have you seen Y/N?”

No one answered. He called your name again, louder this time, his voice cracking. His legs felt like they might give out, his thoughts racing to every worst-case scenario.

Finally, he spotted you in the back of an ambulance. Relief hit him so hard that he nearly collapsed.

“Y/N!” he cried, rushing to your side.

You looked up, your face pale but alive, the oxygen mask resting on your lap. “You came back,” you said hoarsely.

Han dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands shaking as he reached for yours. “I—I thought—I thought I lost you,” he stammered, tears streaming down his face. “I’m so sorry. I never should have left. I was selfish, and I was wrong. I’m so, so sorry.”

You stared at him for a moment, your expression unreadable. Finally, you pulled the mask down, your voice trembling. “You called me clingy, Han. You left me when I needed you most. Do you know how much that hurt?”

His face crumpled. “I know. I was an idiot. I didn’t mean it—I was overwhelmed, and I took it out on you. But I’ll never do that again. I swear. You mean everything to me, Y/N. Everything.”

Your lip trembled, tears welling up in your eyes. “You made me feel like I didn’t matter to you. Like I was just… too much.”

Han cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “You’re not too much. You’ll never be too much. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you if I have to. I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, you hesitated, the pain still fresh in your chest. But the sincerity in his eyes—the fear, the guilt, the love—broke down your walls. You nodded slowly, leaning into his touch.

“Okay,” you whispered. “But it’s going to take time.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hands steadying as he held you close. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

That night, you stayed together in your apartement, after making sure you were all right at the hospital, the weight of the day still heavy but no longer unbearable. Han didn’t let go of you for a second, whispering soft reassurances until your eyes closed.

You weren’t sure how long it would take to heal, but as you drifted off, you knew one thing: Han was willing to try.

@intartaruginha @hannamoon143 @omgsecretsecret @inlovewithstraykids @whoa-jo @madirye062 @vixensss @sseawavee @emilyywhyy @halfwinterhalfuniverse @velvetmoonlght @flourishmoon

✧ Still Yours | H. Jisung

♡ Pairing: Han Jisung × Chubby!Reader

✧ Word Count: 12,208 words | Reading Time: 45-ish mins

900+ Followers Special ♡

✦ Trope: Second Chance Romance | Ex-Classmates to Lovers | Slow Burn | Popular Jock x Bullied Girl | Non-Idol AU

✧ Warnings: Bullying (verbal abuse, fat-shaming), mentions of physical abuse, toxic family, emotional trauma, drinking, mild suggestiveness, language, angst with comfort, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE

♡ Synopsis: Back in high school, she was the chubby outcast—bullied, bruised, and abandoned—while Han Jisung was the untouchable jock who broke hearts and ignored them all… except hers. When life pulled them apart after a brutal misunderstanding, she vowed never to look back. Now, eight years later, she's a successful engineer—independent and guarded. But when fate throws them back together in the most unexpected boardroom, Jisung sees a second chance. And this time, he’s not letting go without a fight. ♡

✦ Author’s Note: For the ones who loved in silence and healed in shadows. This one’s for you. You are seen, and you are enough. ⋆彡

You were a walking paradox, a vibrant ember struggling to glow beneath a thick layer of societal soot. Chubby, they called you, their voices often laced with a disdain that never seemed to dull, each syllable a tiny pinprick against your already tender skin.

Yet, the softness of your frame held a surprising resilience, your cheeks often flushed with a healthy color that belied their cruel pronouncements, a testament to a spirit that refused to be entirely extinguished. Kindness flowed through you like an unseen current, a gentle offering of smiles even to the very faces that contorted with mockery at your approach, a quiet rebellion against the negativity that surrounded you.

And your mind? It was a sharp, agile thing, devouring knowledge with an insatiable hunger, your intelligence a quiet fire that burned brightly in the hushed corners of the library, a stark contrast to the dim view others seemed to have of you. You found solace in the intricate logic of mathematics, the sprawling narratives of classic literature, worlds where your physical form held no bearing on your worth.

But despite these inherent strengths, an invisible weight clung to you, a suffocating shroud woven from the stinging barbs of your classmates. "Hey, look, it's the walking sofa!" someone would bellow down the hallway, their friends erupting in laughter that felt like a physical shove, each jeer chipping away at the fragile foundation of your self-esteem.

"Bet she uses a GPS to find her own feet," another would sneer, their words echoing the insidious voice of self-doubt that sometimes whispered in your own head, a constant reminder of your perceived inadequacy. You learned to flinch inwardly, to brace yourself for the inevitable sting, to become as small and unobtrusive as possible, a shadow trying desperately to blend into the background noise of the school, your gaze fixed on the worn linoleum floor.

Your world had fractured years ago, the sharp edges never quite fitting back together after the sudden, gaping loss of your father. He had been your anchor, a warm, comforting presence whose booming laughter still echoed faintly in the quiet corners of your memory, a phantom sound that sometimes brought a bittersweet ache to your chest.

Now, he was a faded photograph on your bedside table, a silent observer of your increasingly solitary existence, a bittersweet reminder of a love that felt both impossibly distant and achingly present. Your mother, lost in her own labyrinth of grief, eventually found a fragile sort of peace in the arms of another man.

His arrival brought a polite, almost sterile atmosphere to your home, a subtle distance that grew between you and the woman who had once been your sun and moon. "He's a good man," she'd said once, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth you remembered, her eyes focused on some distant point. "He'll take care of us." But 'us' never truly included you in the same way anymore; you felt like a tolerated guest in a life that had moved on without you.

The real chill, however, the bone-deep, relentless cold, emanated from your aunt. After your mother's remarriage, you were sent to live with her, a woman whose lips seemed permanently pursed in disapproval, whose voice was a constant, low hum of criticism that eroded your spirit.

Her house was a place where joy seemed to wither and die, where every corner held the unspoken accusation of your inadequacy. "Are you going back for seconds?" she'd snap, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as you reached for another small portion of dinner. "Honestly, child, have you no self-control?

You'll never find a nice boy looking like that. You'll be alone forever." Meals were silent, tense affairs, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware and her pointed sighs. Chores were endless, thankless, and any small spark of happiness you managed to ignite was quickly doused by her sharp tongue and colder-than-ice gaze.

"Don't slouch," she'd bark across the living room, her voice like the crack of a whip. "Sit up straight. You look like a sack of potatoes. Honestly, the way you carry yourself…" Your home life became a toxic swamp of neglect and emotional abuse, a secret shame you carried like a lead weight in your stomach, a burden that made your steps heavy and your spirit weary.

"Honestly," she'd mutter under her breath as you did the dishes, the clatter of plates a poor substitute for conversation, "your mother always said you were a clumsy one. Just like her."

Across the bustling, often chaotic landscape of your high school moved Han Jisung. He was a figure carved from a different kind of coldness – a detached, almost arrogant aura that seemed to ripple outwards, creating a respectful distance.

A star athlete, his movements on the basketball court fluid and mesmerizing, he was the undisputed object of countless girls' affections. Their whispered yearnings followed him down the hallways like a persistent, hopeful breeze. "Did you see the way Jisung looked at me during practice?" you'd overhear one girl sigh to her friend, her voice dreamy.

"I swear, he totally wants to ask me to the homecoming dance." Yet, he remained aloof, a polite but firm "I'm not interested" the standard response to any lingering glances or hesitant advances. "Sorry," he'd say, his voice cool but not unkind, his gaze already drifting away, "I'm just really focused on the upcoming tournament. Got to keep my head in the game."

His eyes, sharp and intelligent, often held a distant amusement, a subtle disdain for the petty dramas and hormonal surges that defined the high school experience. "Honestly," he once said to his friend, a slight smirk playing on his lips as a group of girls giggled nearby, their attention clearly fixed on him, "they're all so… transparent." He was a world away from your own, a dazzling supernova you never dared to gaze at directly, knowing you were a mere speck of dust in his radiant orbit.

Yet, unbeknownst to you, in those fleeting moments between classes, or during the forced proximity of shared assemblies, his gaze would sometimes flick towards you. It wasn't a look of mockery or pity, but something… else. A quiet, almost clinical observation.

He noticed the way your shoulders would instinctively hunch when a group of popular kids approached, their laughter echoing in the confined space, the barely perceptible flinch in your eyes when the school bell shrieked through the corridors, the determined set of your jaw as you navigated the crowded lunchroom, your tray held like a fragile shield against the judging eyes.

He saw the way your fingers, often ink-stained from hours spent lost in the pages of a book, your refuge from the harsh realities of your life, would nervously twist the hem of your oversized sweater. Once, during a particularly brutal round of hallway taunts aimed your way, the words like sharp stones thrown with intent, he had paused, his usual easy stride faltering for a split second before he continued on, his expression unreadable, a flicker of something unidentifiable in his dark eyes.

One particularly bleak, rain-swept afternoon, the meager grocery money, carefully counted out and clutched in your sweaty palm, the lifeline that would hopefully stave off your aunt's wrath for another week, was snatched from you just outside the familiar fluorescent glow of the convenience store.

A gaggle of giggling, impeccably dressed girls, their faces bright with a casual cruelty that chilled you to the bone, had surrounded you like a pack of predators. "Well, well, well, look what we have here," the ringleader had sneered, her perfectly manicured nails reaching for your trembling hand.

"Going on a little snack run, tubby? Maybe stocking up for winter hibernation?" "Leave me alone," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible above the drumming rain, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"Oh, are you going to cry?" another one taunted, her eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "Maybe a few tears will wash away some of that… extra baggage." "What's this, enough for a diet soda?" the first girl said, snatching the crumpled bills from your grasp.

"Maybe you should try skipping a few meals, fatty," another added, their laughter echoing the hollowness that had become a constant companion in your stomach. "Yeah," a third chimed in, her voice dripping with false concern, "think of it as us doing you a favor. Helping you reach your… goals."

"Just give it back," you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes, blurring their cruel faces. "It's all I have. My aunt…" They just laughed harder, their cruelty a sharp, physical pain. "Too slow," the ringleader said, tucking the money into her designer bag with a smug smile. "Maybe next time you'll learn to run faster. Or maybe just stay home."

Fear, cold and sharp as shards of glass, pierced through you, rendering your legs heavy and unresponsive. Home, usually a place of quiet dread, now loomed like a monstrous shadow in the downpour. Without the groceries, without the flimsy excuse of running an errand, the prospect of facing your aunt's wrath was unbearable.

"Where have you been?" she'd likely snap, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, her voice laced with impatience. "And where are the groceries I asked for? Don't tell me you've dawdled again." You could already hear the accusations, the bitter recriminations, the inevitable lecture about your worthlessness.

You found yourself huddled beneath the inadequate shelter of a dusty shop awning, the relentless rain plastering strands of hair to your forehead, tears blurring your vision as they mingled with the raindrops tracing paths down your cheeks. "Great," you muttered to yourself, the despair a heavy weight in your chest.

"Just great. Now what?" You were stranded, caught in the cruel intersection of teenage malice and a desolate home life, with nowhere safe to turn. "What am I going to do?" you whispered into the storm, the question a pathetic plea carried away by the wind.

Then, through the grey curtain of rain, a figure emerged. Tall and lean, with the unmistakable swagger of the school's star athlete, Han Jisung paused beside you. His expensive black umbrella, large enough to shelter two, dripped steadily at the edges, a stark contrast to the cheap, flimsy one you usually carried.

He didn't say a word, didn't offer a platitude or a condescending remark. He simply extended the umbrella towards you, the silent gesture a stark contrast to the cacophony of cruel words you had just endured. For a fleeting moment, your fingers brushed against his as you hesitantly took the offered shelter, a surprising jolt of warmth in the pervasive cold.

He turned and walked away, disappearing back into the downpour as quickly and silently as he had appeared. "Hey," you called out after him, a confused question forming on your lips, a desperate need to understand his unexpected kindness, but he was already gone, swallowed by the rain.

Confused, a strange cocktail of gratitude and bewilderment churning within you, you watched his retreating figure. Why would he do that? you wondered, clutching the smooth handle of the umbrella, its expensive fabric a stark contrast to your own worn coat.

Just as you began to think it had been a fleeting act of detached charity, a moment of pity from someone who existed in a completely different stratosphere, he reappeared. This time, he held a small, clear plastic bag clutched in his hand. He stopped directly in front of you.

"Here," he said, his voice surprisingly quiet, almost a murmur, his gaze flicking around as if he didn't want to be seen. He wordlessly pressed the bag into your hand. Inside, nestled against the damp plastic, were crisp twenty-dollar bills.

His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes flickered over your face briefly, a fleeting acknowledgment of your distress. He simply nodded, a curt, almost imperceptible movement of his head. "Take it," he added, his gaze direct for a fleeting second, a hint of something unreadable in their depths. And then he turned and walked away again, melting back into the rainy afternoon, leaving you standing beneath his expensive umbrella, the unexpected kindness a heavy, almost unbelievable weight in your hand.

Your lips parted in stunned silence, a soft, disbelieving "thank you" escaping into the drumming rain, a whisper lost in the downpour. The twenty dollars felt like more than just money; it felt like a lifeline, a tiny, unexpected crack of light in the overwhelming darkness.

"Thank you," you repeated, a little louder this time, clutching the bag tightly, even though he was already gone. The warmth of the unexpected gesture spread through the chill of the rain, a small seed of hope planted in the barren landscape of your day. You wondered, just for a moment, if maybe, just maybe, you weren't entirely invisible after all.

The sleek, black umbrella, a stark contrast to the cheap, floral one you usually carried, became an unspoken, tangible link between your vastly different orbits. It stood sentinel in your locker, a silent testament to an act of unexpected kindness that replayed in your mind like a recurring dream.

The twenty dollars, carefully and sparingly used to replenish your stolen grocery money, felt like more than just currency; it was a symbol of a hand reaching out in the darkness, a small spark of hope in the overwhelming gloom. A hesitant "thank you" the next day in the crowded hallway, your voice barely a rustle of sound, was met with a curt nod from Jisung, his usual guarded expression firmly in place, his gaze already sweeping over the bustling student body. But something had subtly shifted, a nearly imperceptible crack in the icy façade he usually presented to the world.

It began with shared study sessions in the hushed sanctuary of the library. He never explicitly invited you, never uttered a direct request. Instead, he would simply appear at your usual corner table, a formidable stack of advanced calculus textbooks and meticulously organized notes in hand.

You, initially wary of his continued presence, found a surprising, almost unsettling comfort in his focused silence. He possessed an unexpected patience when you wrestled with a particularly convoluted equation, explaining complex concepts with a quiet clarity that your often-impatient teachers lacked.

"Think of it like this," he'd say, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sketched diagrams on scrap paper, his voice a low murmur that barely disturbed the quiet hum of the library. You, in turn, would sometimes help him navigate the labyrinthine prose of English literature, your insightful interpretations of symbolism and theme offering a perspective he, with his more analytical mind, hadn't considered.

"That's… actually a really interesting way to look at it," he'd admit, a flicker of genuine intellectual curiosity in his dark eyes. These sessions were mostly silent, punctuated by the rustling of turning pages and the soft scratching of pens against paper, but a fragile, unspoken camaraderie began to bloom in the shared pursuit of knowledge, a quiet understanding passing between you over highlighted passages and solved problems.

Then came the late-night texts, the glow of your phone screen illuminating your face in the darkness of your small room. It started with a simple, utilitarian "Need help with the assignment?" from his number, a question that sent a jolt of surprised apprehension through you.

Hesitantly, you replied with a terse "Maybe," and soon, short, academic queries about formulas and literary devices morphed into slightly longer exchanges about favorite books (his surprisingly leaning towards classic sci-fi, yours towards poignant coming-of-age stories), obscure indie music, and even, occasionally, fleeting, carefully worded glimpses into the mundane details of your respective days.

His texts were often clipped, punctuated by emojis that seemed oddly out of character for the school's notoriously aloof jock – a surprisingly expressive thumbs-up, a thoughtful pondering face – but there was a consistency to them, a quiet checking-in that you found yourself looking forward to, a small beacon in the often-lonely expanse of your evenings.

He stumbled upon your deep-seated passion for retro video games during one of your brief study breaks in the library, when you were idly scrolling through an old emulator on your battered phone, a nostalgic smile softening your features as pixelated spaceships whizzed across the screen.

To your surprise, a flicker of recognition crossed his usually impassive face. "That's 'Galactic Gladiators', right?" he'd asked, leaning closer, a genuine spark of interest momentarily eclipsing his usual reserve. "My older brother used to be obsessed with that game. I remember watching him play for hours."

This shared, unexpected connection, a bridge built on 8-bit nostalgia, led to clandestine gaming sessions at his sprawling, modern home on weekends. His house, with its sleek furniture and panoramic city views, was a stark, almost intimidating contrast to your cramped, perpetually shadowed one, but in the dimly lit, surprisingly comfortable game room, surrounded by the hypnotic glow of multiple screens and the cheerful cacophony of digital sound effects, you found a strange, unexpected sense of belonging.

He was surprisingly competitive, his fingers flying across the controller with practiced ease, but never condescending, and your laughter, a sound you rarely heard yourself make, would sometimes bubble up and fill the room, a light, joyful sound that felt foreign yet wonderfully liberating. "Nice move!" he'd grudgingly admit after you executed a particularly skillful maneuver, a rare smile gracing his lips.

Throughout these increasingly frequent interactions, Jisung remained a keen, almost unnervingly perceptive, silent observer. He noticed the almost imperceptible tremor in your hands when someone raised their voice, even in a casual classroom discussion.

He saw the fleeting shadow of anxiety that flickered in your eyes when he accidentally brushed your arm in the crowded hallway. He learned your instinctive aversion to sudden loud noises, the way your gaze would dart nervously towards any raised hand in a classroom, as if anticipating a blow.

He pieced together the fragmented clues of your unspoken traumas, the subtle anxieties that clung to you like a second skin, an invisible weight you carried in the slump of your shoulders. He never pried, never asked directly about your strained home life or the cruelties you endured within the school's social hierarchy, but his awareness grew, a quiet understanding that seemed to settle in his dark eyes whenever he looked at you, a silent acknowledgment of the battles you fought unseen.

One particularly unpleasant afternoon, as you were walking home from school, clutching your backpack straps tightly, a group of boisterous guys from the basketball team, emboldened by their perceived social superiority, started making crude, insensitive remarks.

"Hey, look, it's Beauty and the Beast!" one of them jeered, his voice dripping with a nasty sarcasm that made your stomach clench. "Guess who's Beauty?" another one chimed in, eliciting a round of snickers. You froze, your face flushing crimson with shame, your instinct to disappear into the nearest crack in the sidewalk overwhelming.

Before you could shrink away and endure their taunts in silence, Jisung, who had been walking a few discreet steps behind you, his presence unnoticed until that moment, moved with a sudden, terrifying speed. He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, grabbing the loudest offender by the collar of his expensive sports jacket, his knuckles white with barely suppressed fury.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Jisung growled, his usual cool, detached demeanor replaced by a raw, furious intensity you had never witnessed before, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. The other guys, initially amused, backed away, their laughter dying in their throats, surprised and intimidated by his violent outburst. Jisung shoved the guy away, his eyes blazing with a protective anger.

"Don't you ever talk about her like that again. Do you understand me?" The guy, visibly shaken and surprised by the ferocity of Jisung's reaction, mumbled a hasty apology and hurried away with his equally stunned friends. Jisung turned to you, his chest heaving slightly, his expression softening infinitesimally, a hint of genuine concern in his dark eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low and surprisingly gentle. You could only nod mutely, your breath caught in your throat, the unexpected, fierce defense leaving you both shaken and strangely… protected, a warmth spreading through the cold knot of shame in your chest.

But the incident, as such things often do in the hothouse environment of high school, had significant repercussions. Whispers followed Jisung down the hallways now, laced with a different, more salacious kind of speculation. "Did you see him go after her like that?" someone murmured, their eyes wide with gossip.

"He's totally obsessed with that… chubby girl. What does he even see in her?" The rumors spread like wildfire, fueled by the public display of Jisung's anger and your continued, albeit still somewhat hesitant, proximity. "Jisung's into fatties," one particularly cruel comment, delivered with a deliberate, cutting edge, reached his ears in the crowded cafeteria during lunch.

The words, meant to be a public humiliation aimed at both of you, hit a raw nerve, igniting a fury within him that you had only glimpsed before. In a flash, Jisung was on his feet, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were bone-white.

He strode purposefully towards the group of guys who had been snickering, his eyes dark with a barely controlled rage. He grabbed the one who had spoken by the front of his shirt and slammed him against a nearby table, sending trays clattering and food scattering across the linoleum floor.

"Listen here, you piece of shit," Jisung snarled, his voice dangerously low but carrying through the stunned silence of the suddenly hushed cafeteria. "She isn't fat. She is chubby, and being chubby isn't inherently bad. She looks absolutely beautiful.

There is a fundamental difference between ignorance and deliberate malice. Educate yourself, you fucker." He punctuated his furious words with a sharp, brutal punch to the guy's jaw before his stunned friends could react and pull him away. The cafeteria buzzed with shocked whispers and a newfound, albeit grudging and often resentful, respect for Jisung's fierce, albeit violent, defense of you.

The rumors, however, persisted, twisting the narrative into something you increasingly dreaded. "Rich brat Jisung dating the school outcast," they whispered, their voices laced with a mixture of disbelief and disdain. "Probably just a phase. He'll get bored of her eventually and go back to the pretty, skinny girls."

These whispers, amplified by the dramatic incident in the cafeteria, inevitably reached the venomous ears of your aunt. The subtle shift in Jisung's behavior, the undeniable attention he was now paying you, confirmed her worst, most cynical suspicions.

"So," she hissed one evening as you were silently washing dishes after a particularly grueling day at school and an even more grueling dinner with her, her eyes narrowed with a predatory suspicion, "that rich boy has his claws in you now, hasn't he?" You flinched at the venom in her tone, the familiar sting of her judgment.

"He's just… a friend, Aunt," you mumbled, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tremor that ran through you. Her hand shot out with surprising speed, catching you across the face, the sharp crack echoing in the small, cramped kitchen. The physical pain was a familiar ache, but the accusation that followed cut far deeper. "Don't lie to me, you little gold digger!" she spat, her grip tightening on your arm like a vise.

"I knew it. I always knew you were after something. Trying to latch onto his money, aren't you? Just like your good-for-nothing mother!" Her words were like a toxic poison, seeping into the fragile sense of hope that had begun to tentatively bloom within you, twisting the unexpected kindness into something ugly and manipulative. The physical pain was nothing compared to the crushing weight of her accusations, her bitter, distorted perception of your burgeoning connection with Jisung.

The relentless rumors, your aunt's brutal abuse and her vile accusations, the gnawing fear of what others were saying about Jisung because of his association with you – it all became an unbearable weight, crushing the fragile shoots of hope that had dared to emerge.

The unexpected bridge you had started to build with Jisung felt like it was crumbling beneath your feet, the whispers and judgments like relentless waves eroding the foundation. In a desperate, self-preservationist attempt to protect yourself, to retreat back into the familiar, albeit agonizing, solitude, you made a drastic, heart-wrenching decision.

With trembling fingers, tears blurring your vision, you blocked Jisung's number on your old phone, severing the digital lifeline that had offered a sliver of connection. You deleted your text conversations, erasing the late-night exchanges that had brought you a fleeting sense of belonging, the digital echoes of his unexpected kindness now too painful to bear.

You started avoiding the library during your usual study times, the quiet corners now feeling like painful, empty reminders of his focused presence. When he tried to approach you in the crowded hallways, his usual aloofness replaced with a bewildered concern, his brow furrowed with worry and a silent question in his dark eyes, you would turn away, your heart aching with a silent scream of despair trapped in your throat, your gaze fixed resolutely on the opposite wall.

The umbrellas and game nights became distant, bittersweet memories, shrouded in a self-imposed silence, a shield you erected to protect your already battered heart from a world that seemed determined to misunderstand and hurt you.

The fragile connection, barely formed, snapped under the immense weight of fear, misunderstanding, and the crushing reality of your own deeply ingrained insecurities, leaving you alone again in the echoing silence of your own making, the black umbrella a stark, painful reminder of what could have been.

--

Eight years. An epoch in the fleeting landscape of youth, a span long enough for the seasons to cycle countless times, painting the world in vibrant hues of spring and summer, then stripping it bare with the stark beauty of autumn and winter.

Enough time for fledgling cities to evolve into sprawling, gleaming metropolises of steel and glass, their skylines perpetually reaching for the heavens, monuments to human ambition and progress.

And certainly enough time for the tentative bud of a high school connection, once so fragile and fraught with misunderstanding, to wither into a distant, almost dreamlike memory, its sharp edges softened by the relentless passage of time, its significance fading into the hazy recesses of the past, like a forgotten melody played on a broken instrument, its notes barely audible.

You were no longer the shrinking, self-conscious teenager haunted by the cruel whispers that echoed in the crowded hallways and the oppressive silence of a toxic home, a ghost in your own life. You had painstakingly, meticulously built a new life for yourself, brick by emotional brick, each one laid with the mortar of hard work, unwavering determination, and a fierce, almost defiant independence that had blossomed in the fertile ground of necessity, a shield against the vulnerabilities of the past.

The late nights spent poring over textbooks, the quiet dedication to mastering complex algorithms and intricate lines of code, the relentless pursuit of knowledge in the digital realm, had finally translated into a thriving career as a successful IT engineer in your early twenties.

You commanded respect in boardrooms, your innovative solutions were sought after by colleagues and superiors alike, and your code was elegant, efficient, a testament to the sharp, analytical mind that had always been your secret strength, a weapon against the insecurities that once threatened to consume you.

Your personal life, however, remained a carefully constructed fortress, its walls high and its gates firmly locked, guarded by years of ingrained caution and a deep-seated wariness of vulnerability. You lived alone in a sleek, minimalist apartment perched high above the city's relentless pulse, a sanctuary of your own making where silence was a welcome companion and your personal space was your own inviolable domain, a stark contrast to the chaotic, unpredictable environment of your adolescence. The panoramic city views from your floor-to-ceiling windows served as a constant reminder of how far you had come, a testament to your resilience.

Close friends were a concept that felt foreign, almost unnecessary, a potential source of pain you had learned to avoid, the risk of emotional entanglement outweighing the promise of genuine connection. The scars of the past ran deep, invisible but persistent, leaving you emotionally guarded, wary of any hint of intimacy, and proficient at maintaining a polite, professional distance from everyone you encountered. Trust was a precious currency you hoarded carefully, rarely spending it, its value inflated by the painful lessons etched into the fabric of your youth, lessons you had no intention of repeating.

One crisp autumn afternoon, the air carrying the melancholic scent of fallen leaves swirling in the city's canyons and the sharp, invigorating promise of a coming winter, you were hurrying down a busy downtown street during your lunch break. A mental checklist of errands – dry cleaning, a quick stop at the independent bookstore you frequented for its comforting smell of old paper and ink, and perhaps a decent cup of artisanal coffee from that new place around the corner – ran through your mind with the precision of a well-written algorithm, each task prioritized and scheduled.

Lost in the intricate logic of a particularly challenging debugging task you'd been wrestling with all morning, your mind still tracing the elusive error in the cascading lines of code, a phantom bug that seemed to shift and evade your every attempt to squash it, you rounded a sharp corner near a bustling, trendy coffee shop and collided with someone.

The unexpected impact sent a jolt through you and your sleek, state-of-the-art smartphone skittering across the textured pavement, its screen momentarily flashing a distorted image of your focused concentration before going dark, a small tragedy in your otherwise meticulously managed day.

"Oh, excuse me! I am so incredibly sorry," you murmured automatically, bending down to retrieve your device, your initial annoyance momentarily overshadowed by the awkwardness of the unexpected physical contact and the immediate fear of a cracked screen, a costly inconvenience in your otherwise meticulously ordered life.

As you straightened up, your eyes traveled upwards, drawn to the man you had bumped into. He was taller now, the lean frame of his youth filled out with a more mature breadth across his shoulders, the boyish angularity of his face softened by the passage of time into a subtly handsome countenance, etched with the faintest lines of experience around his eyes, lines that hinted at late nights and weighty decisions, a roadmap of the years that had passed.

Wire-framed glasses, a sophisticated touch you wouldn't have pictured on the often casually dressed teenager you remembered, perched on the bridge of his nose, framing intelligent, familiar eyes that widened almost imperceptibly in surprise, a fleeting flicker of recognition dancing within their depths, a spark that ignited a dormant ember within you, sending a surprising warmth through the chill autumn air.

His once meticulously styled, almost severe haircut now fell in a deliberately messy wave across his forehead, giving him a more approachable, less rigidly perfect appearance, a hint of artistic disarray that somehow softened the sharp edges of his undeniable success.

He wore an impeccably tailored wool coat, the dark charcoal fabric hinting at considerable expense and understated power, and held a steaming paper cup in one hand, the rich, dark aroma of freshly brewed, high-end espresso wafting in the cool air, a scent that somehow felt both vaguely familiar and entirely new, a marker of his evolved world.

A jolt of recognition, sharp and unexpected, shot through you, followed by a disorienting wave of a peculiar, almost unsettling familiarity that tugged at the frayed edges of your carefully constructed present, pulling you back to a time you had consciously tried to bury beneath layers of achievement and self-reliance. It couldn't be… could it possibly be? Han Jisung.

Older, undeniably more polished, radiating an aura of quiet confidence and understated power you hadn't witnessed in his teenage years, but the intense gaze that locked with yours, the almost imperceptible quirk of his lips as he registered your presence, was undeniably him.

Your immediate instinct was to disappear, to melt back into the anonymity of the lunchtime crowd, to pretend you hadn't seen him, hadn't felt that disconcerting flicker of recognition that sent a shiver down your spine, a ghost of a past you thought you had outrun finally catching up.

You offered a quick, generic "So sorry," and began to sidestep him, your mind racing, trying to reconcile the aloof, often sharp-edged teenager you remembered with the sophisticated, almost enigmatic man standing before you, a man who exuded an air of quiet authority and effortless charm.

"[Your Name]?" His voice, deeper now, a smooth baritone that resonated in a way the adolescent timbre never had, cutting through the surrounding cacophony of city noise like a familiar melody played on a new instrument, a familiar cadence that pulled at the frayed edges of a long-dormant memory. He said your full name, the way he used to all those years ago during those stolen, quiet moments in the library, a sound that sent a faint, unexpected tremor through you, a vibration that stirred something long dormant within your carefully guarded heart.

You froze, your carefully constructed composure momentarily faltering, the practiced indifference you wore like armor cracking under the unexpected weight of the encounter. You reluctantly met his gaze, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach, a strange mix of apprehension and a hesitant flicker of something akin to… curiosity? "Jisung?" you replied, the name feeling foreign and yet strangely resonant on your tongue after so many years of deliberate disuse, a whisper from a life you thought you had left behind.

A hesitant, almost shy smile touched his lips, a far cry from the cool detachment and occasional sardonic smirk you remembered from high school. "It's been a while," he said, his eyes studying you with an intensity that made you feel strangely exposed, as if he could see past the carefully constructed walls you had built around yourself, peering into the guarded spaces you rarely allowed anyone to glimpse. "You look… well. Successful."

Before you could formulate a polite refusal or an awkward attempt at small talk about the unpredictable autumn weather or the latest traffic snarl that had plagued your morning commute, he gestured vaguely towards the curb with his free hand. "My car's just around the corner. I'm actually heading in your general direction, I think, towards the financial district. Let me give you a ride back to your office. Save you the walk."

Suspicion, a familiar and unwelcome companion, immediately flared within you, its icy tendrils wrapping around your apprehension. Why? After all this time, after the abrupt and painful way your fragile connection had ended, leaving you feeling abandoned and misunderstood? What could he possibly want after eight long years of silence, years you had spent meticulously rebuilding your life without him, brick by painstaking brick?

You hesitated, weighing the awkwardness of accepting his unexpected offer against the even greater awkwardness of a prolonged conversation on a busy street, the risk of dredging up memories you had worked so diligently to bury beneath layers of professional success and emotional detachment.

There was a strange pull, however, an undeniable flicker of curiosity that you couldn't entirely ignore, a nagging question about the man he had become, the path his life had taken in the years since you last saw him. Against your better judgment, a small, almost imperceptible nod escaped you. "Okay," you said, your voice betraying a hint of your inner turmoil, the single word hanging in the air between you, heavy with unspoken history.

He led you not to a typical, anonymous sedan, but to a breathtakingly beautiful Pagani, its sleek, aerodynamic lines a testament to both artistry and engineering prowess, its low, guttural growl a subtle promise of immense power that vibrated through the very pavement beneath your feet.

The car turned heads as you approached, its presence a silent statement of wealth and refined taste, a world away from the battered jalopies that cluttered the high school parking lot of your memory. The passenger door swung open with a soft, almost theatrical whir, revealing luxurious leather seats that enveloped you in their rich embrace as you hesitantly settled inside, the scent of supple leather and something subtly, intoxicatingly expensive filling your senses, a stark contrast to the worn fabric of your old school backpack and the faint scent of your aunt's harsh cleaning supplies that still sometimes clung to your clothes.

The drive was short, punctuated by a strained, polite conversation about the unseasonably warm autumn weather and the general state of the city's ever-congested traffic, the mundane topics a flimsy shield against the unspoken questions that hung heavy in the air between you.

As he smoothly pulled up to your modern office building, its glass façade reflecting the crisp blue sky and the bustling energy of the city, a monument to your hard-won success, he mentioned the name of his investment firm, a brief, almost casual remark dropped into the otherwise stilted conversation as if discussing the morning's headlines. "Stratagem Capital," he said as you reached for the cool, brushed metal of the door handle, your fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second, a sudden premonition settling in your stomach.

"We're actually scheduled to have a rather important meeting with your company next week. Regarding a potential significant investment opportunity."

A sudden, chilling realization washed over you, cold and sharp as glacial ice, stealing your breath and sending a tremor of disbelief through you. "Stratagem Capital?" you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, the name echoing in the sudden silence of the car, a sound that resonated with an unexpected, almost ominous significance.

Your company, a promising tech startup you had poured your heart and soul into for the past few years, a testament to your resilience and your brilliance, had been working tirelessly for months, preparing meticulously crafted presentations, crunching complex financial projections that represented your team's collective hopes and dreams, pouring every ounce of energy and fragile optimism into securing a crucial investment that could catapult your small firm to the next level, finally allowing your innovative ideas to truly take flight and disrupt the industry.

The lead investor's name had been circulated amongst the senior staff, a prominent and highly respected figure in the tech industry, a name that carried significant weight, but in the whirlwind of deadlines and preparations, you hadn't paid it much attention beyond the professional implications, the potential for growth and validation.

You looked at Jisung, really looked at him, the tailored coat that spoke of power, the air of quiet confidence that radiated from him, the casual mention of multi-million dollar investments as if it were everyday conversation. The aloof, sometimes volatile jock of your past had metamorphosed into a powerful, influential man, a titan in the very industry you were striving to conquer.

And he was the investor. The key to your company's future, the man whose decision could make or break everything you had worked so hard to achieve, the man who now held your professional destiny in his hands. The unexpected, almost cruelly ironic twist hung in the air between you, thick with unspoken history, unresolved emotions, and the immense weight of a potentially very complicated, and possibly very high-stakes, future.

The past and the present had collided with a force that left you reeling, the comfortable distance you had cultivated shattered by the unexpected reappearance of a ghost from your past, a ghost who now held the keys to your future.

--

The meeting with Stratagem Capital the following week proceeded with an almost unnerving smoothness. You, as the lead engineer on the project, presented your team's innovative work with a calm professionalism that belied the turmoil churning within you. You fielded questions with clarity and precision, your deep understanding of the technology shining through.

Jisung, seated at the head of the table, listened intently, his gaze steady and focused, occasionally interjecting with insightful queries that demonstrated a genuine interest in your company's vision. There was a detached air to his professionalism, a stark contrast to the unexpected ride you had shared, making it almost seem like that encounter had been a figment of your imagination.

Yet, the occasional flicker of something familiar in his eyes, a brief, almost imperceptible softening of his expression when your gazes met, hinted at the complicated history that lay beneath the surface.

Weeks drifted by in a strange state of limbo. The investment from Stratagem Capital was still under consideration, a looming decision that hung over your company like a delicate balance. In the meantime, you found yourself running into Jisung with surprising frequency.

A silent acknowledgment in the building lobby, a shared elevator ride where neither of you spoke, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of the past. Occasionally, their paths would cross outside the office, and he would offer you a ride home, a proposition you initially met with hesitant suspicion.

The first few times, the drives were stiff and awkward. Polite inquiries about work and the city filled the silence, careful conversations that skirted around the eight years of absence and the abrupt end of your high school connection.

You remained guarded, observing him with a cautious eye, trying to decipher his intentions. Was this mere politeness, a byproduct of your professional entanglement? Or was there something more beneath the surface?

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a fragile sense of familiarity began to seep back into your interactions. The silences during the car rides became less strained, occasionally punctuated by a shared observation about a news report or a wry comment about the city's unpredictable traffic.

You found yourself, on a couple of particularly late nights at the office, accepting his offer of a ride without the initial surge of suspicion. There was a strange comfort in the shared journey, a sense of unexpected ease that surprised you.

Unbeknownst to you, Jisung had been meticulously piecing together the fragments of the past, recalling details from your brief time in high school. He remembered your quiet enthusiasm for a particular indie game, the way your eyes lit up when discussing a certain author, and, most surprisingly, he remembered your birthday.

A date that had somehow lodged itself in the recesses of his memory, a small, insignificant detail from a lifetime ago. As your birthday approached, he found himself making plans, a quiet dinner at a restaurant with a discreet, elegant ambiance, the perfect setting to finally ask you out, to see if the fragile connection rekindled by chance could blossom into something more.

Then, one afternoon, as you were leaving the office, he saw you standing outside, laughing with a male coworker. Your head was thrown back, your face radiant with genuine amusement, a carefree expression he hadn't witnessed on you in all the years he had known you, even in your brief moments of joy in high school.

A sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy, unfamiliar and unwelcome, clenched in his chest. The easy camaraderie you shared with this colleague, the effortless joy in your expression, stirred something possessive within him, a feeling he hadn't anticipated.

That evening, as you were packing up your things, preparing for the quiet solitude of your apartment, Jisung was waiting for you in the lobby. Instead of his usual quiet offer of a ride, he stood near the reception desk, his presence drawing the attention of several of your colleagues who were also leaving for the day.

He waited until your eyes met his across the bustling space, and then, his voice carrying with a newfound confidence that echoed through the lobby, he addressed you publicly. "Ms. [Your Last Name]," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, his gaze holding yours. "Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me tomorrow night?"

All eyes in the lobby turned to you, a mixture of curiosity and speculation in their gazes. Caught completely off guard by the public invitation, a blush creeping up your neck, you felt a wave of awkwardness wash over you. The memories of the high school rumors, the sting of your aunt's accusations, flashed through your mind.

Yet, there was also a strange pull, a reluctant curiosity to see where this unexpected turn of events might lead. Under the scrutiny of your colleagues, their hushed whispers filling the sudden silence, you managed a hesitant, "Yes, Mr. Han. I would." The agreement felt both inevitable and incredibly awkward, a step back into a past you had tried so hard to leave behind, under the watchful eyes of your present.

-

A nervous energy, a fluttering anticipation you hadn't permitted yourself to feel in years, stirred within the carefully guarded chambers of your heart as you prepared for the unexpected dinner. You stood before your closet, a meticulously curated collection of professional attire in understated hues that spoke of competence and control, and sought something that felt both comfortable and hinted at the special occasion, a subtle rebellion against your usual reserved style, a quiet acknowledgment of the significance of the evening.

Your gaze finally settled on a cherry red top, a vibrant splash of color that always seemed to inject a bit of defiant joy into your spirit, a bold statement against the muted tones that often mirrored your inner landscape. You paired it with a denim skort, a touch of casual familiarity amidst the potential formality of the evening, a grounding element that reminded you of the woman you were beneath the polished exterior you presented to the world.

To elevate the look, you chose a pair of sleek cherry red heels, adding a confident lift to your stride and a subtle statement of intent, a silent assertion of your own worth. Finally, you adorned yourself with delicate gold jewelry – a slender necklace that rested at your collarbone, catching the light with a subtle shimmer that drew attention to the graceful curve of your neck, and elegant stud earrings that framed your face with a touch of understated grace, adding a hint of warmth to your otherwise cool demeanor.

The reflection staring back was a woman you had painstakingly built, piece by painstaking piece, strong and independent, a far cry from the invisible, shrinking girl of your past, a testament to your resilience and unwavering spirit.

A sharp, insistent knock echoed through the quiet of your apartment, a sound that both quickened your pulse and filled you with a sense of nervous anticipation. Taking a deep breath, a silent promise to yourself to simply relax and enjoy the evening, regardless of where it might lead, you opened the door to find Jisung standing there.

The black satin shirt he wore accentuated the broad expanse of his shoulders, the fabric catching the soft hallway light with a subtle, almost liquid sheen that hinted at a quiet luxury. The wire-framed glasses added an unexpected intellectual air to his already handsome features, making his sharp, intelligent eyes seem even more thoughtful and perceptive, and you couldn't help but notice how undeniably fine he looked, a refined elegance that was both familiar, a ghost of the intense, sometimes volatile boy you once knew, and entirely new, a testament to the years that had sculpted him into this composed, intriguing man.

The ride to the restaurant was initially filled with a nervous tension, a subtle undercurrent of awkwardness that mirrored your earlier encounters, the silence punctuated by the gentle hum of the Pagani's engine.

Polite conversation filled the gaps, careful inquiries about the day's events and the surprisingly mild autumn weather, neither of you quite venturing into the deeper, more turbulent waters of your shared history or the uncertain territory of the present.

You found yourself stealing glances at him, trying to reconcile the composed man beside you, radiating an air of quiet confidence, with the memory of the intense, sometimes volatile teenager who had defended you in the crowded school cafeteria.

The restaurant was perched on a rooftop, offering a breathtaking panorama of the city lights twinkling below like a million scattered diamonds on a velvet cloth. The ambiance was sophisticated and intimate, soft jazz music drifting through the air, the murmur of hushed conversations a gentle hum that created a sense of secluded elegance, a world away from the noisy chaos of your high school days.

The initial awkwardness during dinner slowly began to dissipate as the conversation drifted towards lighter topics – shared observations about the dazzling city skyline, a brief, surprisingly engaging discussion about a thought-provoking documentary you had both recently watched, revealing unexpected common interests that bridged the years.

Then, as the dessert arrived, a delicate chocolate torte adorned with a single, flickering candle, casting a warm glow on his face, Jisung's eyes met yours with a soft intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "Happy birthday, [Your Name]," he said, his voice a low, warm murmur that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, a simple acknowledgment that held a weight of unspoken understanding.

He then presented you with a small, exquisitely wrapped box, the paper a deep, rich burgundy tied with a silver ribbon, the weight of it surprisingly substantial in your hand. Inside, nestled in soft, black velvet, was a heavy crystal perfume bottle, its facets catching the candlelight.

You lifted it, your breath catching in your throat. The delicate, floral and slightly musky scent that wafted upwards was instantly, achingly familiar, a nostalgic echo of your high school days, a fragrance you hadn't encountered in years, a scent that held within it the ghost of a younger, more vulnerable you.

And then you saw it – your name, [Your Name], elegantly and intricately carved into the smooth, cool glass of the bottle, a personal touch that resonated with a profound intimacy. A wave of emotion washed over you, a poignant mix of profound surprise and an unexpected tenderness that resonated deep within your carefully guarded heart.

He remembered. He remembered the small, seemingly insignificant detail of your favorite scent from a lifetime ago, a scent that evoked bittersweet memories of a time when simple pleasures held a greater significance, a time before the weight of the world had settled so heavily on your shoulders.

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him, a raw vulnerability exposed that you rarely allowed anyone to witness, a crack in the carefully constructed facade of your independence.

"Jisung," you began, your voice trembling slightly, the carefully constructed walls around your heart momentarily crumbling under the weight of his unexpected thoughtfulness and the poignant memories the perfume evoked. "This is… this is incredibly thoughtful. More than I could have ever expected. Thank you."

You paused, gathering your courage to voice the deeper turmoil that had plagued you for so long, the insecurities that still whispered in the quiet corners of your mind. "But… I need to be honest with you. I… I don't love myself. Not really. Not in the way someone should. And if I don't love myself, how can I possibly let anyone else truly love me? I'm… I'm afraid of that. Afraid of being hurt again, afraid of not being enough."

The confession hung in the air between you, heavy with years of unspoken pain, ingrained insecurity, and the deep-seated fear of repeating the hurts of the past, a truth you had carried like a secret burden.

He reached across the table, his larger hand gently covering yours, his touch warm and grounding, a silent reassurance that transcended words.

His gaze was earnest, unwavering, filled with a quiet understanding that surprised you with its depth, a knowing look that seemed to see past your carefully constructed defenses. "Then I'll wait," he said softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand, his eyes conveying a patience you hadn't anticipated, a steadfastness that offered a glimmer of hope.

"I'll wait until you do, [Your Name]. Because I know, deep down, the incredible woman you are, the strength and resilience you possess. And I believe you'll see it too, eventually. And when you do, whenever that may be, I'll still be here." His words were a balm to your wounded spirit, an unexpected promise of unwavering support and a profound belief in you that resonated deep within your heart, planting a tiny seed of hope in the barren landscape of your self-doubt, a fragile promise of a future you hadn't dared to imagine.

--

The rooftop dinner, bathed in the soft glow of city lights and punctuated by the raw vulnerability you had dared to share, marked a subtle but significant shift in the long, unspoken narrative between you and Jisung. The confession, the hesitant unveiling of your deepest insecurities, hung in the air not as a source of awkwardness or a point of retreat, but as a fragile, newly forged bridge spanning the chasm of years and misunderstandings.

In the weeks that followed, slow, deliberate progress began, like the tentative unfurling of a tightly closed bloom. A simple goodnight text evolved into a brief, thoughtful exchange the next day. A casual inquiry about the challenges of your workday led to a late-night phone call, the comfortable silence that occasionally fell between you gradually replacing the nervous tension and unspoken anxieties of the past.

He didn't push, didn't make demands or issue expectations. He simply offered his quiet, unwavering presence, a steady anchor in the sometimes-turbulent waters of your emotions, a silent reassurance that he wasn't going anywhere.

He would text a simple "How was your day?" or share an interesting article he thought you might find engaging, a small gesture that spoke volumes about his attentiveness. Occasionally, he would suggest a late-night study session, the pretense of academic pursuit now a comfortable backdrop for shared interests – a complex documentary that sparked a fascinating debate, a classic novel you had always intended to read but never found the time for, its pages becoming a shared landscape of discovery.

Slowly, tentatively, you began to lower the carefully constructed walls around your heart, brick by painstaking brick. You found a surprising comfort in his quiet understanding, the way he listened without judgment, his responses thoughtful and genuine, reflecting a depth of empathy you hadn't encountered before.

He learned your rhythms, the days you needed space to navigate the lingering shadows of your past, the evenings you might welcome a gentle distraction, a shared meal, or a quiet conversation. He even started suggesting you cook together at his spacious, modern apartment, his sleek kitchen a stark and welcoming contrast to the cramped, often tense atmosphere of the kitchen of your childhood.

These evenings were filled with a comfortable domesticity, the shared task of preparing a meal, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, the simmering of sauces, becoming a silent language of growing intimacy and trust.

A year spun by, marked by the subtle shifts in the seasons and the more profound shifts within yourself. Jisung's unwavering patience and quiet, steadfast support had become an integral and comforting presence in your life, a constant source of gentle encouragement.

You found yourself laughing more freely, the sound echoing in your apartment without the familiar tinge of self-consciousness. Your steps felt lighter, your shoulders less burdened. The sharp edges of your emotional guardedness began to soften, replaced by a tentative sense of self-acceptance, a growing understanding of your own inherent worth.

You started looking at your reflection with a kinder, more forgiving eye, the critical voice within slowly quieting its relentless judgment. While the journey to fully loving yourself was an ongoing process, a path you were still navigating, you were undeniably more confident, more emotionally stable, the foundations of your well-being feeling stronger and more resilient than they ever had before.

Then, finally, came the day of the project launch, the culmination of months of intense work, sleepless nights, and unwavering dedication, the very project upon which Stratagem Capital's significant investment hinged. The atmosphere in the office was electric with a palpable mixture of nervous anticipation and focused energy, the air thick with the unspoken hopes and fears of your entire team.

You, as the lead engineer and the driving force behind the innovation, presented the final product with a quiet confidence that belied the subtle tremor of excitement within you, your voice steady and clear as you navigated the intricate technical details, your passion for the project shining through.

Everything went smoothly, the system performing flawlessly, its elegant functionality and groundbreaking capabilities impressing the stakeholders. A collective sigh of relief and a wave of triumphant exhaustion washed over your team as the launch was officially declared a resounding success, a testament to your collective hard work and vision.

That evening, a simple text message from Jisung arrived on your phone, the familiar name on the screen sending a warmth spreading through you: "Stratagem party tonight. Nexus. Consider it a celebration of a job well done."

It was a casual invitation, understated in its wording, but the underlying warmth and a hint of personal invitation were unmistakable, a quiet acknowledgment of your shared journey and your individual triumph. Hesitantly, a sense of nervous excitement fluttering in your stomach, you decided to go.

-

The invitation to Nexus arrived with a subtly possessive addendum from Jisung, delivered via a late-night text that vibrated with an unspoken intimacy: "Wear black. It suits you, highlights the fire in your eyes, and makes those cherry lips look like they're begging for a taste."

Trusting his quiet confidence and the undeniably suggestive compliment, you chose a sleek black dress. Its simple elegance skimmed your curves like a whispered promise, a silent statement of newfound comfort and a daring hint of burgeoning sensuality in your own skin.

The fabric flowed around you like liquid night, a stark contrast to the vibrant, almost defiant red of your birthday dinner, yet equally, if not more, captivating, a subtle promise of the woman you were slowly, deliberately unleashing.

At the club, "Nexus," Jisung's sleek and exclusive domain, the celebratory atmosphere was thick with the intoxicating blend of pulsating music, unrestrained laughter, and the expensive, heady aroma of designer perfume and celebratory spirits.

Your colleagues, flushed with the heady success of the project launch, their usual professional reserve dissolving with each shared bottle of champagne, were in high spirits, their inhibitions lowered to a dangerous degree. You found yourself drawn into their revelry, the offered glasses of the effervescent liquid, each accompanied by increasingly suggestive toasts to your team's brilliance and your own pivotal role, proving utterly irresistible in the face of their insistent camaraderie and playful shoves.

Your notoriously low tolerance for alcohol, a delicate secret you rarely shared, meant the celebratory drinks went to your head with thrilling speed, the edges of the room beginning to soften and sway, the bass of the music vibrating deep within your core, a physical manifestation of the delicious unraveling of your carefully controlled senses, igniting a reckless, intoxicating warmth that spread through your veins.

Soon, a giddy laughter, a sound that had been long suppressed beneath layers of self-consciousness and ingrained caution, bubbled up from within you, a lightness you hadn't experienced with such uninhibited abandon in years.

Encouraged by your tipsy colleagues, their cheers and suggestive winks egging you on, you found yourself on the dance floor, moving with a fluid, uninhibited grace that surprised even yourself, a joyous, almost primal release of pent-up tension and newfound confidence.

Through the shimmering haze of alcohol and flashing lights, your gaze locked with Jisung's across the crowded room.

He was watching you from the edge of the dance floor, leaning against a polished chrome pillar, a soft, almost possessive smile playing on his lips, his gaze dark, intense, and utterly unwavering, a silent observer who seemed to find a quiet amusement and a palpable, smoldering desire in your uncharacteristic abandon.

His eyes held a dark, knowing gleam that sent a shiver of raw anticipation dancing down your spine.

A sudden, deliciously wicked impulse, fueled by the alcohol's intoxicating loosening grip on your inhibitions and a burgeoning, undeniable, almost desperate affection for the man who watched you with such quiet intensity, overtook you with a thrilling recklessness.

With a playful shout that was almost a husky invitation, you weaved through the dancing crowd, a black-clad siren navigating the throng with an unexpected agility, reached Jisung, and, with a boldness that made your own heart pound, yanked him down by the collar of his dark, subtly shimmering silk shirt.

Your cherry-red lips crashed onto his in a kiss that was anything but demure, a rush of giddy affection, uninhibited desire, and a playful, teasing exploration of the boundaries that had long separated you. Your hands tangled in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until your bodies were pressed together, the kiss a heady mix of champagne-fueled impulsiveness and a genuine longing that had been slowly simmering beneath the surface for months, now boiling over.

You nipped playfully at his lower lip before deepening the kiss, your tongue darting out to tease his, a silent, brazen dare in your slightly inebriated state that made his breath hitch and a low groan rumble in his chest.

You punctuated the bold move by gently biting down on his lower lip, a playful yet possessive gesture, before tugging lightly, drawing a surprised, yet undeniably pleased, sound from him.

He recoiled slightly, a flicker of surprise widening his dark eyes before a gentle, yet firm, hand cupped your cheek, stilling your impulsive actions, his thumb stroking the soft skin beneath your ear with a tender possessiveness that sent a delicious thrill spiraling through you.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your swollen lips, a note of amused concern and a definite, husky undercurrent of arousal lacing his tone.

"Easy there, Ms. Y/L/N. Those cherry lips are getting a little… demanding, and you're swaying like a particularly lovely willow tree in a strong breeze. Though, I must admit," his gaze dropped to your lips, a dark heat flickering in his eyes, a predatory gleam that made your pulse quicken, "it's a rather… persuasive argument."

He carefully, yet reluctantly, disentangled himself, his arm remaining possessively around your waist, his touch a steady anchor in your suddenly unsteady world.

Gently but firmly, he steered you away from the pulsating crowd, his concern evident in his steady, unwavering gaze, though a hint of reluctant longing and a definite spark of desire still lingered in their depths.

He helped you into the cool, luxurious embrace of his Pagani, the soft leather a welcome contrast to the sudden heat that flushed your skin.

The ride back to your apartment was quiet, punctuated only by your occasional giggles and his soft, reassuring murmurs, his hand resting lightly on your thigh, his fingers occasionally flexing as if fighting a fierce internal battle against the urge to explore further.

As you fumbled with your door, the city lights blurring through the alcohol-induced haze, Jisung patiently guided your unsteady hand to the keypad.

You punched in the code '14092000', the familiar sequence a jumbled mess in your slightly inebriated mind, the numbers swimming before your eyes. Then, as the lock clicked open, the realization hit you with the force of a sudden downpour, a wave of unexpected warmth flooding through the alcoholic haze.

The numbers… they were his birthday. A small, intimate detail he had entrusted to you, a silent gesture of trust that spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings and the quiet intimacy you now shared, a secret language whispered in digits that now felt like a key to something much deeper.

Once inside your apartment, the lingering effects of the alcohol made you clumsy and endearingly unsteady, your movements a little too dramatic, your laughter a little too loud, each step a playful sway that threatened to send you tumbling.

As Jisung guided you towards your bedroom, his hand a firm, reassuring presence on your back, a wave of affection, amplified by the alcohol and the heady emotions of the evening, washed over you with an almost overwhelming intensity.

You turned to him, your movements slightly exaggerated, a playful glint in your eyes that hinted at mischief and a burgeoning, almost desperate desire. Reaching out, you tugged gently on his hand, pulling him down onto the edge of your bed with a soft giggle that bordered on a husky sigh.

You then proceeded to crawl onto the mattress, straddling his lap, your black dress riding up your thighs with a scandalous disregard for propriety, snuggling on top of him, your head resting comfortably against his chest, the steady, reassuring beat of his heart a comforting rhythm beneath your ear.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair, pulling him closer until your lips were mere inches apart, your breath mingling. "Jisung," you mumbled, your words slightly slurred but filled with a genuine warmth that radiated through you, "I think… no, I know… I love you. You're… you're so good to me. And you smell absolutely intoxicating," you added with a tipsy giggle, nuzzling closer and pressing a lingering, deliberately provocative kiss to the sensitive skin of his neck, your cherry-red lips leaving a faint, fleeting imprint.

You then repeated the playful bite on his lower lip, tugging gently and watching his eyes darken with a mixture of amusement and something far more primal.

A soft chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against your ear, a sound filled with a tender amusement and a palpable, tightly leashed desire that made his muscles tense beneath you. He gently stroked your hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands, his voice a heart-fluttering whisper against your temple, filled with a tender amusement and a quiet longing that mirrored your own, tinged with a hint of reluctant control.

"And I, [Your Name]," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, his arms tightening around your waist for a fleeting, possessive moment before relaxing, his gaze dark and intense as he looked down at you, his eyes lingering on your parted lips, then drifting down to where your hips subtly pressed against his.

"Am willing to wait until those beautiful, slightly tipsy words hold the same crystal clarity as the stars we saw painting the night sky. But darling," his voice dropped to a husky whisper that sent a shiver down your spine, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a feather-light touch that hinted at a barely suppressed hunger, "the waiting is becoming… an exquisite form of torture, especially with those tempting little nibbles."

He held you close, a silent battle raging within him, resisting the undeniable pull of the moment, respecting the vulnerability of your inebriated state, his own desire held firmly in check by a deeper, more profound affection and a gentlemanly restraint that spoke volumes about the depth of his character, even as his body betrayed a different, urgent story.

-- Next Morning

Sunlight stabbed at your eyelids, a brutal assault after the night's champagne-fueled escapades. A dull throb hammered behind your eyes, each pulse echoing the questionable decisions of the previous evening. You groaned, turning your face into the pillow, the lingering scent of expensive cologne a faint, comforting anchor in the sea of your queasy stomach. Slowly, reluctantly, you pried your eyes open, the unfamiliar surroundings of your bedroom coming into focus.

Then, the tantalizing aroma of sizzling bacon and something sweet, like pancakes, wafted from the kitchen, cutting through the fog of your hangover. You pushed yourself up, the black dress from the night before a crumpled heap on the floor. Padding barefoot towards the source of the enticing smell, you found Jisung standing at your stove, effortlessly flipping pancakes, a comfortable domesticity radiating from him that made your heart do a little flip of its own, despite your pounding head.

He turned as you entered, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Morning, sleepyhead," he greeted, his voice a low, teasing drawl. "Slept well? You were quite… enthusiastic last night. Though, I must say," he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, his gaze lingering on your slightly disheveled state, "you have a surprising stamina for someone who claims a low tolerance. You seemed to enjoy our… deep and slow… activities. And if I recall correctly, there were some rather insistent requests for… more."

Panic flared in your chest, hot and sharp. Had you? The memories of last night were fragmented, a blurry montage of laughter, flashing lights, and a reckless boldness you barely recognized. Your cheeks flushed crimson. "We… we didn't… have… sex?" you stammered, your voice thick with sleep and dawning horror.

His smirk widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Relax, agassi," he chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. "Just teasing. Though your attempts to straddle me were… memorable. And your whispered demands were… certainly noted. I got you safely tucked in. All innocent, I assure you. Mostly."

Relief washed over you in a dizzying wave, leaving you slightly breathless and acutely aware of the lingering heat in your cheeks. He moved towards you, his hands reaching out to frame your face, his thumbs gently stroking your temples. "Though," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips, a familiar heat returning to his eyes, "that kiss in the club… and those little nibbles… those were definitely real. And rather… persuasive. You seemed to have a particular fondness for my lower lip."

Your brow furrowed, a wave of mortification washing over you. "I… I don't really remember…" you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper, your cheeks burning hotter.

He closed the distance between you, his gaze intense. He reached out, gently taking your hand, and walked you backwards until your spine met the cool surface of the wall. He placed a hand on either side of your head, effectively pinning you, a playful dominance in his stance. Leaning in close, his breath ghosting over your lips, he teased, "Those kisses were quite something, my tipsy darling. And those little bites… rather… possessive. Should I show you how you did it?"

To his surprise, instead of a denial, a hesitant nod escaped you, a flicker of curiosity overriding your embarrassment.

His eyes darkened, a spark of something primal igniting within them. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against yours, a tantalizing prelude. Then, you surged forward, your hands tangling in his hair, your mouth crashing onto his with a desperate, sober longing. This kiss was different, grounded in a clarity that the previous night lacked, a heartfelt confession in every touch. When you finally broke apart, your breath catching in your throat, you looked into his eyes, the hangover momentarily forgotten. "Jisung," you said, your voice clear and steady, the words carrying the weight of a year of quiet understanding and burgeoning love. "I do love you. I really do."

His gaze softened, a profound tenderness replacing the teasing glint. Without a word, he swept you off your feet, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, and carried you to the kitchen counter, gently placing you on the cool surface amidst the tantalizing aroma of breakfast. His lips found yours again, this time with a fierce tenderness, a claiming kiss that spoke of shared desire and a love that had been patiently waiting. Hands explored, soft moans escaped your lips, the scent of bacon and pancakes mingling with the raw heat of your bodies. Finally, breathless and flushed, you broke apart, foreheads touching.

Han's voice, a low, husky whisper against your ear, sent a shiver down your spine. "I love you more, my love."

-- The End

may we all bloom

© talkinbout [1, 2] please do not edit or crop logo

the way I loved you

── .✦ content warning : SMUT! MDI!! fem!reader; academic rivals; enemies with benefits; one bed trope; angry love confession in the rain; explicit sex; oral (f and m receiving); dry humping; unproteced sex; litgh degratation; public sex; kinda sub seung;

✮⋆˙ pairing: academic rival seungmin × fem!reader

✮⋆˙ word count: 14,4k

✮⋆˙ synopsis: “We were academic rivals — until we weren’t. Now I can’t tell if I want to outscore him or ride him until he begs.”

✮⋆˙ A/N: heyy!! I had so much fun writing this one cause I kinda reunited all my fav tropes together, so I hope you guys enjoyed it!! please reblog it and lmk what you think ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

I hated him. Absolutely hated.

Hated those stupid, wide puppy eyes that tricked everyone into thinking he was harmless. Hated the way his hair flopped perfectly over his forehead like he was in some damn shampoo commercial. Hated those stupid, plump lips that probably got away with too much just by existing.

But most of all — I hated that smile. That pretty, cocky smile he flashed like he knew something I didn’t.

Every time he looked at me with that skeptical little tilt of his head, the one that screamed “I'm better than you haha” — yes, I could hear the cartoon villain laugh — I knew, deep in my soul, that I could strangle him.

Still debating tho if I’d prefer to do it with my hands or my thighs.

The worst part? It wasn’t just rage pooling low in my stomach.

It pissed me off how he could make me hate him and want him at the same time.

Fucking disgusting.

When Professor Lee handed back our essays and Seungmin’s stupid name was sitting pretty at the top with a shiny gold “A+”, I didn’t even think.

I whipped my head around, caught his eyes across the lecture hall, and mouthed: “Rigged.”

His mouth curved into that slow, infuriating smirk, the kind that crawled under my skin and set it on fire.

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head like he owned the goddamn place, and mouthed back, exaggerated and slow: “Don't be mad just because you’re second best, sweetheart.”

Complete with a wink.

A goddamn wink.

I could feel the heat rising from my chest to my ears. Rage. Or something dangerously close to it.

Seungmin tilted his head, still watching me like I was a particularly amusing science experiment. His eyes glinted, and I knew — I knew — he wasn’t going to let this go.

When class ended, I shoved my notebook into my bag and bolted for the door, hoping he’d get the hint. Of course he didn’t.

He caught up easily, his steps lazy, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets like he hadn’t just declared academic war ten minutes ago.

“Rough day, princess?” he asked, voice dripping mock-sympathy.

I didn’t even look at him. “Bite me, Seungmin.”

“Careful,” he said, his voice dropping half an octave. “Might take that as an invitation.”

I stopped walking and turned to him so fast he almost collided with me. He did collide, his chest bumping into mine with a low thud that made both of us stiffen on reflex.

For a second — a stupid, reckless second — we just stood there. Breathing the same air. Close enough that I could see the tiny mole in the middle of the bridge of his nose. Close enough that I could smell the faint hint of mint gum and something warm and boyish underneath.

His eyes flickered down to my mouth — fast, involuntary. My heart hammered against my ribs. Not from fear. From something far worse. He caught himself a beat too late and pulled back a step, but it was already too late.

I smirked.

“Problem?” he asked, trying to sound bored, but his voice was rougher now. Edgier.

“You wish,” I snapped, shoving his chest lightly with my hand.

It wasn’t enough to move him, but it made him smile — that crooked, infuriating, I-know-you-want-me smile. I wanted to punch him. Or grab him by the hoodie strings and crash our mouths together. Maybe both.

“Tell you what,” he said, hands sliding casually into his pockets, pretending like his pulse wasn’t visible on his throat. “Winner of the next project challenge picks a punishment for the loser. No rules.”

I raised an eyebrow, chest still rising and falling too fast. “You’re serious?”

He nodded, slow, like daring me to back down. “Afraid to lose?” he teased, voice pure poison wrapped in honey.

I narrowed my eyes. “You're on.”

His smirk stretched wider — a flash of sharp teeth and gleaming mischief. “Try not to cry when you lose, princess.”

“Worry about your own dignity first, loser.”

He stepped closer again — not touching, but close enough that my body registered the heat pouring off him. “Oh, princess…” he murmured, low and deliberate. “You’ll be begging me for mercy by the end of it.”

Then, without waiting for my reply, he turned on his heel and walked away, hands in his pockets, whistling some stupid upbeat tune like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb between us.

I stood there, heart pounding, palms sweating, fists clenched at my sides. Already plotting how I was going to destroy him.

Or how I was going to let him destroy me.

Maybe both.

If working in the same room as Seungmin was supposed to be a punishment from hell, it was starting to feel a lot more like slow torture.

The worst kind. The kind where you like it.

We weren’t even officially working together — our articles were separate — but somehow, like roaches or debt collectors, he always managed to appear wherever I was: library, café, empty classrooms.

And every time, the same thing: Provocations. Smirks. Stupid bets.

We sat across from each other now, laptops open, papers strewn everywhere. My screen glowed under the cheap library lights, reflecting the blank document I hadn't touched in twenty minutes.

Because Seungmin was there. Existing. Breathing. Tapping his stupid pen against his stupid mouth like he had no idea how distracting he was.

I chewed the end of my pencil, glaring at my thesis statement like it was all its fault.

“Need help, princess?” he drawled, spinning lazily in his chair.

“I'd rather set myself on fire,” I muttered, not looking up.

He chuckled under his breath — that soft, infuriating laugh that always made my skin prickle.

I refused to glance at him. Refused to notice the way his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, veins visible on his forearms. Refused to notice how he tapped his pen in an unconscious rhythm that somehow matched the way my heart stuttered when he leaned back and stretched like a smug little shit.

Focus. Focus.

I bent lower over my keyboard, typing harder than necessary.

He reached across the table to steal my highlighter, and his fingers brushed mine — quick, electric. My body jolted before my brain could catch up.

He smirked. Saw it. Filed it away for later.

I hated him. Absolutely hated.

If hating him included wondering what his hands would feel like pressed somewhere else, well — that was between me and my rapidly deteriorating sanity.

Three hours, five insults, and two coffee runs later, we submitted our articles

I stood stiffly at the front of the lecture hall, arms crossed, waiting for the verdict. Seungmin stood next to me, too close. His shoulder brushed mine once. I moved. He moved closer again.

Asshole.

Professor Lee shuffled through the papers, humming thoughtfully.

Finally, he smiled — a slow, proud smile. “Excellent work from both of you.”

I exhaled. Barely.

“But…” He held up one article.

And I saw it. My name. Bold. Clear. Victorious. I blinked. Once. Twice. I won.

The shock punched through me, followed by something molten and dizzying: triumph. I turned slowly to Seungmin, ready to gloat.

His face was unreadable — that blank, impassive mask he wore when he didn’t want anyone to know he was losing his shit inside. Which meant he was furious.

I smiled sweetly. Sickeningly. “Aw. Better luck next time, loser.”

He tilted his head, mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk.

“Don’t get too cocky. One win doesn’t make you better.”

“No, but it makes you worse.”

He stepped closer, enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Enough that I could feel the heat coming off his skin again.

His eyes dropped to my mouth — quick, instinctive — and I hated how it made my pulse jump.

Before either of us could say something, even dumber, Professor Lee cleared his throat. “Both of you — a word, please.”

We turned, startled, as if remembering there was a whole room watching.

He led us to his desk, his expression serious.

“You two have been selected to represent our department at the International Academic Congress next weekend.” He paused for effect. “An honor. Only given to our best.”

My brain blanked.

Congress? An entire weekend?

With Seungmin?

I felt my stomach flip in the worst way.

Beside me, Seungmin shoved his hands in his pockets, feigning boredom — but I caught the twitch of his jaw. He hated surprises. Almost as much as I hated liking the idea of being trapped with him somewhere far from rules and reputations.

“You’ll be presenting your articles separately, of course,” Professor Lee continued. “But you’ll be traveling together. Hotel accommodations are arranged.”

I nodded, tight, pretending not to panic.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Seungmin turn his head, studying me carefully. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Like he was already plotting how to use this against me.

I gritted my teeth and forced a tight smile. Seungmin smirked, slow and lethal.

This was war.

And I was already losing.

The conference was supposed to be an exciting opportunity. At least, that’s what I told myself when I boarded the plane. A few days away from the usual routine, presenting my research for relevant people, making connections—sounds like a dream, right? In theory. The reality? Well, the idea of spending two days in close proximity to Seungmin was a *little* less appealing. But hey, I was here for the experience. And because I didn’t have much of a choice.

The flight was long, and Seungmin had already made himself an expert at finding ways to annoy me.

He sat one row behind me, but naturally, he ended up next to me when the seatbelt sign was switched off. Classic Seungmin move. “Mind if I join you?” he asked as if I had a say in the matter.

I didn’t even bother to look at him. “Please, make yourself at home.” I said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

Seungmin didn’t waste any time. He slid into the seat beside me like we’d been lifelong friends, his shoulder brushing mine in the process. "You know,” he said, stretching his legs out a little too far into my space, “I actually enjoy these long flights. So much time to read, think, or just bother you.”

I pretended to focus on the screen in front of me, but it was hard to ignore him when he practically moved in. “Lucky me,” I muttered, trying my best to be invisible.

He grinned, clearly unfazed. “You could at least pretend to enjoy my company. I’m doing you a favor, really.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you are.” I said dryly.

Seungmin leaned in closer, like he was about to share a deeply profound thought. “I think you’re just afraid of my charm.”

“I’m not afraid of your charm,” I said flatly. “I’m just trying to survive the flight without having to throw you out of the window.”

“You'd kill all of these people if you opened that window, you know that, right?”

Of course I knew, who whe thought I was?

I could practically hear him smirking, even though I refused to look at him. He was annoyingly good at finding ways to make my blood pressure rise with minimal effort.

By the time we landed, I was exhausted—not from the flight, but from keeping my cool around him. The conference itself? That was going to be cakewalk compared to this.

We finally made it through the airport and to the hotel. The city was exactly what I expected: bigger, louder, and more chaotic than I needed. I then with that all my excitement died and I was so ready to be done with everything.

The lobby was eerily quiet, the kind of place where every sound felt exaggerated. When we approached the reception desk, the receptionist greeted us with a smile so practiced it almost looked fake. I wasn’t in the mood for polite exchanges. The way she glanced at Seungmin—almost too interested—made my skin crawl.

She typed something on her keyboard while keeping her eyes on the screen, then lifted her gaze to us with that same, professional smile. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

I stepped up first, handing over my conference credential with a formality I didn’t really feel but was trying to project. It made me look like I had my life together, something that wasn’t going to be ruined by an unexpected trip with my academic rival.

“Hi, we’re from the Department of Social Sciences at National University. We're here for the research congress.”

She glanced at the screen for a moment longer, tapping away before meeting our eyes again. “Ah, of course. Everything’s set for you.” She grabbed a key from behind the desk, placing it on the counter with that same pleasant smile. “Here’s your key. You’ll be in room 325.”

I grabbed the key, but something felt off. The way she handed it to us made me stop, the words almost caught in my throat.

“Just one key?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, hoping the confusion I was feeling didn’t show too obviously. It didn’t make sense that she was giving us a single key for both of us, especially since I knew the rooms were supposed to be separate.

The receptionist looked at me like my question was perfectly normal. “Yes, one key for each couple of participants.”

I blinked, mouth slightly open. A couple? Did she just assume…? I glanced over at Seungmin, who was casually leaning against the counter, an eyebrow raised.

He caught my look and immediately let out a low chuckle. Of course, he found this funny. “What? You didn’t think we were a couple?” He gave me a wink, his voice dripping with that infuriating confidence.

I felt my face flush with a mix of annoyance and… something else. I wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand, but honestly, why was the receptionist so sure of that? Was I really giving off those kinds of vibes?

I couldn’t suppress my irritation.

“We’re not a couple,” I snapped, a little too harshly. “We’re just… two students who happened to be presenting at the same event.”

The receptionist merely nodded, completely unfazed. She didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary about the situation. “Oh, I see. Well, the rooms are all prepared. Would you like me to change the key?”

Before I could open my mouth to say anything, Seungmin was quicker. He grabbed the key off the counter with an air of ease that only made me more frustrated. He was enjoying this, I could tell.

“No, it's okay,” he said smoothly, his eyes flicking to me with that self-satisfied gleam. “We’re fine with it.”

He turned to me, the smugness on his face practically radiating. Of course, this would be his idea of a good time.

I shot him a death glare but said nothing. He was always so quick to take charge of situations that were inconvenient for me. It annoyed the hell out of me.

The receptionist, apparently oblivious to the tension, gave us a polite nod. “Enjoy your stay!”

I didn’t bother replying. Instead, I grabbed my bag and turned away, trying my hardest to ignore Seungmin’s amused expression as I walked to the elevator.

“I can’t believe you’re okay with this,” I muttered under my breath, trying to sound angry, but I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Seungmin followed behind me, taking his time.

The elevator ride up to the third floor was a quiet one, and as we stepped out into the hallway, I could already feel the weight of the situation sinking in. The reality of having to share a room with Seungmin was a lot less fun when you were actually facing it.

Seungmin, still as calm as ever, walked ahead of me toward room 325. His hand was already on the doorknob when I caught up.

I hesitated, then turned to him. “I seriously don’t think this is a good idea.”

Seungmin paused, his back to me, then slowly glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. For a second, there was no hint of a smirk. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked quietly.

I wanted to answer— everything —but he was already opening the door.

The door swung open, and I stepped inside, Seungmin trailing right behind me. The room was… fine. Clean, neat — boring in the way all conference hotels were. But then my gaze hit the bed.

One. Single. Bed.

A king-size, sure. But still — one bed. No second mattress tucked in a corner. No pull-out couch. Just that massive betrayal sitting right in the middle of the room like it knew exactly what it was doing.

I froze, dread pooling in my stomach.

Seungmin bumped into me from behind and cursed under his breath. “Wait. Are you fucking serious?” His voice was low, disbelieving.

I didn’t even look at him. I just stared at the bed like it had personally betrayed me.

I turned to him slowly, my face blank with disbelief. “Well, unless you’re planning on summoning another bed out of thin air, yeah, we’re serious.” I waved my hand dramatically toward the offending mattress.

Seungmin stepped around me, eyeing the bed like it had personally insulted his family. “They expect us to sleep in the same bed?” he asked, incredulous.

“Apparently ‘academic excellence’ comes with complimentary sexual tension. Maybe they'll even throw in some rose petals and a bottle of champagne while we're at it too.” I muttered, folding my arms.

He snorted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“No shit. You think I did?” I snapped. The sarcasm was practically a second language between us at this point.

The room already felt too small, the air too charged.

He looked at me, his expression sharpening into something defensive. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess. I’d rather cuddle a cactus.”

I gave him a slow, sarcastic smile. “Cute. I was about to say you could sleep outside with the stray dogs. You’d fit right in.”

He threw me a sideways look, half a smirk playing on his lips. “If it’s that unbearable, I can sleep on the floor. Wouldn’t want you losing sleep over me.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I practically saw my brain. “The floor’s probably cleaner than whatever germs you’re carrying anyway.”

The tension crackled between us — electric, unbearable. We both stood there, stubbornly glaring at the bed, as if sheer willpower would make it disappear.

Seungmin shook his head, glancing once more at the cursed bed like it might suddenly sprout another mattress. “This is unbelievable. Who the hell organizes a conference like this?”

“Maybe it's a new academic technique.” I deadpanned. “See who survives forced proximity without committing murder.”

He actually snorted at that, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He shook his head, still clearly pissed off. “This is ridiculous. What’s next, sharing a toothbrush?”

I snapped back, my sarcasm sharp as a knife. “Oh, I’m sure that’s exactly what’s going to happen. They’ll give us matching PJs next, too.”

We stood there for another long, heavy beat, neither of us moving.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Seungmin exhaled sharply and said: “We’re not gonna survive this if we keep acting like kids.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Screw it. We'll put a damn pillow wall in the middle. Switzerland rules: you stay on your side, I stay on mine.”

“Fine. But if you snore, I’m suffocating you with a pillow.”

“If you steal the covers, I’m kicking you onto the floor.” I shot back.

He met my glare with one of his own, but there was something else beneath it now.

Something heavier. Thicker. Neither of us said it, but we both felt it. The heat. The pull.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, already moving toward the door. “Let's just get through the conference first. We'll deal with... this trainwreck later.”

Seungmin didn’t argue this time. He just muttered under his breath, low enough that I almost missed it: “Yeah... easier said than done.”

We step off the elevator and into a wide, polished corridor leading to the conference rooms. The air smells faintly of burnt coffee, new carpet, and desperation. The walls are covered in generic modern art — squares inside of other squares — like they were trying very hard to seem sophisticated without actually having a soul. I already feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me like a headache.

Seungmin walks beside me, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking unimpressed with life itself. His hair falls messily into his eyes, but he doesn’t bother fixing it. Typical.

His eyes dart around the hallway, scanning faces like he’s already categorizing who’s worth ignoring. “Ready to pretend we care?” he mutters, voice pitched low enough just for me.

“Thrilled,” I deadpan, not even glancing at him. “Can’t wait to have my brain melted by endless talks about sustainable quinoa farming.”

He snorts, biting back a laugh. “Sounds like your dream date.”

“Yup. Right up there with tax seminars and dental surgery.”

We keep walking, moving with the flow of the crowd. I can see the bright lights of the conference rooms ahead, and it's all I can do to not roll my eyes at the sheer formality of it all. The event feels more like a display of ‘look how important we are’ than anything else.

He grins — a real one, small and crooked — before drifting off toward a group near the front, already blending in like a professional social chameleon. I roll my eyes and slink toward the back, sinking into an empty chair, pulling out my phone just to avoid making small talk with strangers who all think they’re smarter than everyone else.

The speaker drones on about something to do with regenerative soil or whatever. I zone out, letting the words wash over me like white noise.

That’s when I notice him — a guy standing near the refreshment table, dressed casually enough to look out of place among all the tight blazers and forced smiles. He’s got a lazy grin, a coffee cup in one hand, and the vibe of someone who definitely isn’t taking this seriously.

Our eyes meet by accident. I immediately look away, pretending to be fascinated by my own shoes.

Too late.

Footsteps approach, and a moment later, he’s there, leaning on the back of the chair next to mine like he owns the place, like he’s got nothing better to do.

“Hey.” he says when he’s standing in front of me, offering a slight, disarming grin. “I don’t know if you’re as bored as I am, but I swear this place feels like a corporate zombie apocalypse.”

I glance up at him. His voice is light, teasing, and there's a mischievous glint in his eye that reminds me — alarmingly — of someone else I know. He's charming, but not in the typical, obnoxious way.

I can’t help a small smirk. “I’m pretty sure zombies would be more interesting. At least they’d be honest about their intentions.”

“You look about as thrilled as I feel,” he says with a grin.

“Is it that obvious?” I say, tilting my head. “I thought I was hiding it so well.”

“Subtle as a brick to the face,” he deadpans, smiling wider.

I snort before I can stop myself. Okay, he's funny. Dangerous.

“Chan,” he says, holding out a hand like we’re not at the most painfully formal event on earth.

“Y/N,” I reply, shaking his hand briefly before pulling back.

Chan smirks. “So, Y/N... what's your poison? Boring keynote speeches or awkward networking attempts?”

I fake think about it. “Mmm... death by boredom sounds slightly less painful.”

He chuckles. “Agreed. I’m just here for the free coffee and questionable snack trays.”

“You’re brave. I think those pastries have been alive longer than some of the speakers.”

He laughs — a real, full laugh — and leans closer like we’re already conspirators. “Survival of the fittest. Or the most caffeinated.”

I smirk, feeling a little lighter despite myself.

“Guess I’ll see you at the coffee table battlefield later, then.”

“Only if you’re prepared to fight dirty.” He winks. “I swear, if they put any more bland hors d'oeuvres out there, I might start questioning why I even left my house for this.”

I can’t help it—I actually laugh at that. “Yeah, I’d rather be at home, in my pajamas, eating cereal. At least I know it’s not going to taste like cardboard.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, so you're one of those people. Respect.”

There's a beat of silence, and for a moment, we just stand there, awkward in the best way. But I don’t mind it. It's kind of refreshing to talk to someone who isn’t immediately making small talk about "networking."

Nick shrugs, his eyes glinting with a bit of humor. “So, what’s your take on all of this? The conference, I mean. I’m assuming you’re not here for the food production knowledge either.”

I think about it for a moment before responding. “Honestly? It’s not exactly what I expected. I thought it’d be more... engaging, that I'd have a great opportunity to talk about my research, but it’s mostly just people trying to sound important.”

Nick nods knowingly, looking amused. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the vibe I’m getting too.”

I’m about to fire back something sarcastic when the temperature of the room shifts. I feel it before I see him — that tightening sensation in the air.

I turn slightly, and there he is.

Seungmin.

Standing a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest, shoulders rigid. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, but it’s his eyes — sharp, dark — that give him away.

He's staring at Chan like he’s a mosquito buzzing too close.

Chan notices too, casting a casual glance over his shoulder. “Didn’t realize you had company,” Chan says easily, raising an eyebrow at Seungmin.

Seungmin’s smile is a weapon — all teeth, no warmth. “Yeah. She’s with me.”

She’s with me.

My eyebrows shoot up, but I say nothing.

Seungmin’s jaw clenches, and he steps forward, his gaze still fixed on me, but the edge to his voice has softened slightly as he addresses me. “Y/N, we should go.”

Chan shrugs like he couldn’t care less. “Right. I’ll catch you later, Y/N.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, feeling the weight of Seungmin’s presence beside me. “Later.”

He flashes me one last grin before wandering off, utterly unbothered.

The second he’s gone, Seungmin steps closer, his body language screaming tension. His glare burns into me, his jaw flexing as if he’s chewing on all the words he can’t say out loud.

The air between us is thick, but I can’t help it. I need to poke at him, need to let him know that I see right through his little act.

I cross my arms, matching his posture. “You gonna tell me why you look like you’re about to start a bar fight?” I ask sweetly.

He huffs through his nose, looking anywhere but at me.

We head back toward the front, the noise of the conference around us feeling a hundred times louder. The tension doesn’t seem to let up, and I know this is just the beginning of whatever this is between us, the silence between us thick enough to choke on.

I can’t help myself.

“You know,” I say, tilting my head toward him. “you’re acting like I committed a crime by talking to someone with a better haircut than you.” I lied, Chans's haircut isn't better than his long bangs that falls onto his eyes.

Seungmin’s jaw tightens, his eyes flickering toward me, but he says nothing. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and the way his fingers flex against his crossed arms doesn’t escape me. He’s annoyed.

I grin to myself, enjoying this just a little too much. “I mean, it’s not like I invited him to a romantic dinner or anything,” I continue, my tone teasing. “But I did notice your death stare. If looks could kill, I think I’d be six feet under right now.”

Seungmin's head snaps toward me, eyes narrowed. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” I tease. “Because from where I’m standing, it looked a lot like jealousy. Like… borderline ‘punch a guy over a coffee joke’ levels of jealousy.”

He stops walking abruptly, forcing me to stop too. He steps closer — too close — and lowers his voice so only I can hear.

“I’m not jealous.”

I tilt my head, giving him a sidelong glance. “Really? Because it kind of seemed like you were about to challenge him to a duel or something.”

Seungmin glances at me, his expression unreadable, but I can tell he’s getting more irritated by the second. He stops walking again, and his eyes narrow in that way he does when he’s not sure whether to get sarcastic or serious. “I don’t care, okay?” he finally says, voice sharp. “But you could’ve at least told me you were—whatever—you know, talking to him.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Oh, so I’m supposed to run my social interactions past you now? Got it, boss.”

Seungmin’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about, exactly?” I prod, stepping closer to him. “You sure you’re not feeling a little... territorial?”

“Territorial?” He glares at me, clearly trying to keep his cool. “What, like some caveman marking his territory?”

I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “More like a chihuahua, actually.”

Seungmin glares, his ears pinking. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re adorable when you’re angry,” I shoot back, my grin widening.

He lets out a short, frustrated laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Keep pushing, princess. See what happens.”

I arch an eyebrow, leaning closer, letting my shoulder brush his for just a second longer than necessary. “Maybe I’m counting on it.”

For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other — the conference noise fading into the background — locked in this stupid, electric standoff.

Then he huffs, muttering under his breath as he turns to walk ahead of me: “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

I smile, slow and wicked, before following him back into the crowd.

The second the door to the hotel room clicked shut behind us, the weight of reality hit again — one bed.

Still just one.

I sighed loudly, dropping my bag near the dresser.

Seungmin tossed his hoodie onto a chair and stretched his arms above his head, way too nonchalant for someone about to sleep three inches away from their mortal enemy.

“Guess we’re really doing this,” I muttered, staring at the bed like it was a battlefield.

“What’s wrong, princess? Afraid you won’t survive one night without jumping me?” he teased, kicking off his shoes.

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.

“Please. I’m more worried about you crying because I stole all the covers.”

He laughed, short and sharp. “In your dreams.”

We stood there for a second, facing the bed like it killed someone of our family.

“Truce?” I offered reluctantly, lifting a pillow.

“Temporary ceasefire.” He smirked. “Until you start snoring and ruin my life.”

I flipped him off without ceremony and started building a pathetic little wall of pillows down the middle of the mattress.

He watched, arms crossed, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “Very professional. I feel safer already.”

“Good. Now if you so much as breathe on my side, I’m kicking you out.”

“Looking forward to it.”

I grabbed my pajamas and locked myself in the bathroom before I could throw something at his smug face. Changing into my satin slip felt almost ridiculous. It wasn’t even that revealing — thin straps, low neckline, cut just short enough to be a problem if you looked too long — but somehow, the second I caught my reflection, I hesitated.

Why the hell did it feel like I was getting ready for something? I shook off the thought and stepped out.

Seungmin was sprawled across his side of the bed, now wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, no shirt. His skin caught the soft hotel lighting, warm and distracting. He was tapping away at his phone, pretending not to notice me.

He looked up when he heard the door click.

And froze.

Just for a second.

Eyes raking over me in one quick, betraying sweep before he schooled his face back into something vaguely unimpressed. “Nice pajamas,” he said casually. “Planning to seduce the minibar?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Planning to murder you in your sleep, actually.”

He grinned — wide, wolfish. “Kinky.”

I gave him my middle finger again and climbed into my side of the bed, tugging the covers up to my chest like armor.

Seungmin tossed his phone onto the nightstand and settled against the pillows, arms behind his head. The faint glow of the bedside lamp carved shadows down his chest, and I hated — *hated* — that my eyes kept betraying me, sliding over the lines of his collarbone, the dip of his stomach.

I turned off the light with an aggressive click. The darkness didn’t help.

We lay there, stiff, silent, breathing the same charged air. The pillow barrier might as well have been made of tissue paper.

Minutes stretched. The kind of minutes where you feel everything — the brush of fabric, the shift of weight, the tiny creaks of the bed under him.

I couldn’t sleep.

Neither could he.

I could hear his breathing, shallow and uneven. The bed felt too big and too small all at once.

The shitty pillow wall between us was a joke now — some flimsy excuse to pretend there was still a line we hadn’t crossed.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. The air was thick. Every shallow breath I took, I swore I could taste him on my tongue. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was tense. Ticking. Waiting.

I couldn’t see him clearly in the dark, but I could feel him — every shift of weight on the mattress, every small movement that jolted straight through my body like static.

Finally, Seungmin’s voice broke the stillness — low, rough around the edges: “You keep fidgeting.”

I scoffed quietly, turning onto my side to face the vague outline of his body. “Maybe because I’m stuck sharing a bed with my worst enemy.”

“You flatter yourself,” he muttered, and even in the dark, I could imagine that insufferable smirk of his. “You’re the one who built a wall of pillows like I’m going to jump on you or something.”

He shifted closer, just enough that the mattress dipped between us, erasing another inch of space.

“Well, I've heard of your uncontrollable violent behavior, Kim Seungmin.” I lied, I heard nothing, but anything, now I might just witness it.

He laughed under his breath, sharp and derisive. “You're so full of yourself, it’s a miracle your head fits in this room.”

He didn’t say anything else immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch — heavy, charged — until I was practically vibrating from it.

Then, almost too casually: “Bet you think about it though.”

I blinked, my heart stuttering. “Think about what?” I asked, my voice coming out sharper than I meant.

“This,” he said simply. “Us. Fighting, fucking... whatever.”

I opened my mouth to snap back — some scathing insult on the tip of my tongue — but nothing came out.

Because the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

The silence between us roared.

Seungmin shifted again, close enough now that the heat of his body seeped through the covers. “What’s the matter, princess?” he teased, voice dangerously low. “Cat got your tongue?”

I hated him. I hated how my skin burned under his words. I hated how badly I wanted to wipe that smug tone off his mouth — preferably with my own.

I swallowed thickly. “You’re delusional.” I said, but it lacked bite.

He laughed quietly, a deep, rumbling sound that curled low in my stomach. “Am I?” he challenged, voice pure sin.

Then, the tension snapped.

I pushed the stupid pillow barrier away with one aggressive swipe, grabbed a fistful of his face and yanked him toward me.

Our mouths crashed together like a fucking car wreck — brutal, messy, unstoppable. We kissed like we were trying to prove something. Or maybe like we were trying to forget something.

He groaned into the kiss, grabbing my waist like he’d been waiting for permission he was never going to ask for.

I gasped when he rolled over me, pinning me down into the mattress, his hips pressing between my thighs with a hunger that sent a shudder straight through me.

His mouth was everywhere — jaw, neck, collarbone — as if kissing me could somehow make up for all the weeks of tension we’d spent pretending we didn’t want this. His hands gripped my thighs, my waist, like he couldn’t decide where he needed me most.

His hips pressed down, slow and firm, and I felt the friction hit just right — enough to make me gasp into his mouth. He did it again. Purposefully this time. Pressing against me like he wanted me to feel just how hard he was. Like he needed me to know what I was doing to him.

Then he started grinding.

Desperately.

There was nothing careful about it. It was all friction and hunger, his sweatpants dragging against my panties, the pressure building every time our hips met. He was breathing heavily now, panting into my neck, his hands gripping my waist like he was trying to keep himself from losing it completely.

I arched against him instinctively, my hands sliding up his back, under his shirt, nails digging in just a little when our hips met again. The fabric between us was too much and not enough at the same time — the pressure maddening, delicious, torturous. Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I hated how easily he made me feel like I was unraveling — so I did what I always did when I felt too much.

I smirked. “Wow.” I whispered, my voice low and venomous as my lips brushed his ear. “I couldn’t imagine grinding was your way of begging.”

He groaned — like the sound had been ripped out of him — and ground harder, sharper, until I could feel all of him pressing against me.

Hard. So fucking hard.

And that’s when I laughed — breathless and wicked — dragging my nails down his back just enough to make him hiss. His breath was shaky against my collarbone, his lips dragging a trail of heat along my skin. He was already panting, his hips grinding into mine like he couldn’t stop himself, like he needed the friction just to stay sane. I felt him — hard, throbbing against my center — and it only made the smirk on my lips grow sharper.

“You’re really down bad, huh?” I murmured against his ear, dragging my nails slowly up his back. “You barely touched me and you're already losing it.”

He groaned, a sound that came from deep in his chest, and buried his face in the crook of my neck. “You’re not helping.” he muttered, grinding against me again, slower now, desperate.

“Then beg better.” I whispered, my voice deliberately calm, teasing. “Maybe I’ll take pity on you.”

He pulled back just far enough to look at me, eyes wild, jaw tight, completely wrecked.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, his voice a growl now. “You think I can fucking control myself when you're like this?”

“No.” I whispered, rolling my hips up slowly, deliberately. “That’s the fun part.”

Something snapped in him after that. He thrust against me again, this time rougher, more desperate, and I swallowed a moan as his mouth found mine once more. I felt him everywhere — in the way his body moved, in the way his hands clutched at me like I was something he couldn’t hold onto fast enough, in the way our hips met again and again, friction making it hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to do anything but feel.

My fingers slipped into his hair, yanking just enough to make him hiss, and I couldn’t help the smug little grin that curled at my lips. He pulled back just enough to look at me, flushed and breathless, pupils blown wide.

“You're dangerous.” he whispered, his voice low and reverent.

“You love it.” I shot back.

He crushed his mouth back onto mine, swallowing my gasp, and his hand slipped down between us to pull at my panties like he couldn’t stand one more second without being inside me. The kiss deepened, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, hands roaming recklessly.

Seungmin kissed like he fought — relentless, stubborn, like he had something to prove.

And fuck, I loved it.

His hands slid under my nightgown, fingertips dragging up my sides, rough and needy. I arched into him, desperate for more contact, for anything to ground me against the chaos exploding under my skin.

He pulled back just enough to mutter, breathless: “Still think I'm delusional?”

“Shut up.” I gasped, dragging him back down to me.

He grinned against my mouth — cocky, victorious — and then kissed me even harder.

“This is purely academic.” I said, smirking into the dark. “Data collection. Stress relief. Killing time.”

“What, like a science experiment?”

“Exactly.”

“Uh-hum, of course.” he agreed mock-seriously.

Clothes became obstacles. His hands found the hem of my slip, pushing it up, bunching the silky fabric at my waist.

He kissed down my neck, slower this time, like he was trying to savor every inch of skin. My shame was long gone, and so were the layers of sarcasm I wore like armor. His mouth trailed lower, over my chest, down my stomach — and when he reached the waistband of my panties, he paused. Looked up. Eyes dark. Lips swollen. Breath unsteady. Like he was about to kneel at an altar. And I was the altar.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I muttered, trying to hold onto some control.

“Like what?” he said, voice low, his fingers already sliding down my panties.

“Like I’m the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.”

He smirked — not his usual cocky kind, but softer, full of want.

He kissed down my stomach slowly, like he wanted to memorize every inch of skin. There was something almost reverent in the way he did it — not rushed, not greedy — just hungry, in a quiet, desperate kind of way.

When his fingers hooked under my panties and slid them down, he didn’t say a word. But his eyes — God, his eyes were wrecked. Like he’d been waiting for this since the day we met and couldn't believe it was finally happening.

I let my head fall back against the pillows, biting my lip, trying to stay composed. But the second I felt his breath on my inner thigh, I knew I was in trouble.

And then his mouth found me.

The first lick was slow. Soft. Testing.

He groaned like he was the one being touched, and the vibration made me shiver.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair on instinct, trying to ground myself. He didn’t stop.

His tongue moved in careful, messy circles, as if he was learning me — like every stroke was a question and every moan was an answer. He sucked gently, then harder, switching rhythms like he wanted to see what would make me break first.

I hated how good it felt. Hated how easy it was to melt under his mouth.

So I did the only thing I could do — I mocked him. “You’re really putting your whole heart into this, huh?” I breathed, voice shaky but laced with sarcasm.

He pulled back just enough to look up at me, lips already wet, face flushed. “I’ve been dreaming about this since the first time you yelled at me in chem lab.” he said, voice rough. “So yeah. I’m not fucking around.”

Then he went back in, hungrier than before. His hands slid under my thighs, pushing them further apart. He moaned into me like I was something he couldn’t get enough of — and maybe he couldn’t.

I gasped without thinking, barely able to form the words. He looked up at me with a crooked grin and shook his head before diving back in. And I couldn’t stop myself anymore. My hips rocked against his face. My hands tangled in his hair. My breath stuttered and caught.

My body arched. My breath stuttered. My control cracked. “Fuck—” I gasped, rolling my hips into his face. “You’re gonna make me—”

He sucked harder. His tongue flicked just right. And I did. I came with a whimper I tried to swallow, thighs trembling around his head.

Still, he didn’t move — didn’t stop — not until I was squirming away from the overstimulation,

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

dragging him up by the hair and breathing like I’d run a marathon.

He looked wrecked. And so fucking proud of himself. “You should’ve insulted me earlier.” he whispered, kissing the inside of my knee. “I think I’m kinda into it.”

“Shut up.” I said, pulling him into a kiss.

I pulled him up by the hair, still panting, and crashed my mouth into his. Tasting myself on his lips only made it worse.

My hands roamed his bare back — warm, solid, lean muscles flexing under my touch — and I scratched lightly down his spine, earning a low, broken noise from deep in his throat.

He retaliated by sucking a bruise into the hollow of my throat, making me gasp and tangle my fingers in his hair, yanking just hard enough to hear him groan again.

Somehow, he managed to shove his sweatpants down just enough, the condom appearing – from God knows where – clumsily between kisses, torn open with shaky fingers. Even stoned on adrenaline and lust, we managed — barely.

When he finally slid inside me, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Raw.

We both gasped — harsh, ragged — the sudden connection knocking the breath out of our lungs. Seungmin pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard.

“Fuck.” he whispered. “You're gonna be the death of me.”

I laughed — sharp and breathless — grabbing his hips and rolling mine up to meet him, forcing a groan from his mouth.

He moved inside me — slow at first, testing, then harder, deeper, each thrust sending little shocks of pleasure ripping through me. I clutched at him, nails digging into his shoulders, my body meeting his rhythm without hesitation.

The world blurred around the edges — just his breath against my neck, the creak of the mattress, the wet, filthy sound of skin on skin.

The tension in my stomach coiled tighter with every rough drag of his hips, every filthy word he muttered against my skin when he thought I couldn’t hear.

“So fucking tight.”

“So good like this.”

“Mine tonight.”

I whimpered, burying my face against his shoulder, biting down just enough to make him hiss and drive into me harder. The buildup was brutal — slow and fast at the same time — until I was clinging to him, gasping his name like a curse.

He felt it too, I could tell — the way his thrusts became uneven, ragged, the way he cursed under his breath when my nails raked down his back.

I shoved him away, straddling him. “Lie down.” I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, letting my thighs press against his bare skin.

He looked wrecked — eyes glazed, mouth parted, like he couldn’t believe this was real. He obeyed instantly. Hair a mess, chest heaving, lips red. Completely at my mercy. He lifted his head, eyes wild, completely wrecked — pupils blown, lips parted. He looked at me like he didn’t know whether to kiss me or cry.

“Please.” he said, barely a breath. “I need you." He whimpered. “You're so fucking beautiful.” he whispered, almost like he hated himself for saying it. “Like a dream I shouldn’t be allowed to have.” His fingers brushing my hair.

The words made something flutter in my chest, but I ignored it. Instead, I pushed him down by the shoulders, forcing him to lie back on the mattress. He obeyed instantly.

“That's right, pretty boy.” I said, straddling his hips slowly, my fingers dragging over his chest.

His breath hitched at the praise.

I leaned down, lips brushing over his ear. — “You’re gonna keep your hands to yourself.” I said softly. “Just for a while. Got it?”

He nodded quickly. Too quickly. His restraint was paper thin.

I rolled my hips down against his again, this time without any barrier. His sweatpants were already low on his hips, and I could feel how badly he wanted it — the way his whole body arched up, chasing friction, chasing me.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, trying so hard not to move.

I shifted down slowly, kissing along his stomach, watching the muscles tense under my lips. When I reached the waistband of his boxers, I heard him whisper my name again — like a prayer. Desperate. Soft. Shaky.

But instead of going lower, I came back up, hovering over him again. His hands clenched at his sides. He was trembling. He looked like he was losing his mind.

And I loved it.

“You want me to fuck you?” I asked, voice still soft, like I was offering something sacred. He nodded again, eyes locked on mine. “No, Seungmin.” I said, smile sharp. “I want to hear it.”

He swallowed hard. “I want you.” he said. “Please. I want you so fucking bad.”

Only then did I slide down onto him — slow, torturously slow. We both gasped. His hands flew to my hips on instinct, gripping tight, but he didn’t move — like he remembered my words. His head fell back. A sound tore from his throat — low, desperate, guttural. — “Fucking hell…”

I started moving, hips rolling in deep, slow circles. He looked wrecked — eyes fluttering, head tilted back, mouth open.— “Shit.” he choked out. “You’re gonna kill me.”

I leaned down, brushing my lips over his. “You’re lucky I like you needy.”

He grabbed my wrist, eyes locking with mine again — glassy, overwhelmed. “You’re in fact a dream.” he whispered. “You’re a fucking dream, I don’t wanna wake up.”

He was completely under me — wide-eyed, overwhelmed, needy. I rode him slow and deep. He reached up, fingers trembling as they gripped my thighs. “Fuck… you’re unreal.”

I leaned forward, dragging my lips down his jaw. And I kept going. Until he couldn’t speak. Until he was all moans and gasps and praise whispered into my skin. Until the only thing either of us knew was this — us — messy, out of control, too much and never enough.

And this time, I didn’t tease. I kissed him — slow and deep — as I kept moving, feeling him tremble beneath me, completely undone

It hit me like a wave — hot, violent, overwhelming.

I came with a cry I couldn't bite back, my body clenching around him so hard it ripped a guttural moan from his mouth. A few more frantic, desperate grinds and he followed, coming with a rough, broken sound against my ear.

We collapsed together, sweaty, shaking, our bodies tangled messily in the sheets and in each other.

For a long moment, we just lay there — breathing hard, the air heavy with sex and everything we weren't saying.

He didn't move away.

Neither did I.

I woke up tangled in the sheets, the faint light from the window cutting through the darkness of the room.

The room was cold, but the heat of his body next to mine made it almost unbearable.

I shifted under the covers, blinking against the soft morning light bleeding through the curtains.

Seungmin was lying on his side, facing me. His hair a mess, his mouth slightly open, his arm carelessly thrown over the invisible line that we had so dramatically ignored the night before. He looked criminally good for someone who had completely ruined my ability to think straight.

For a second, I just stared at him. At the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. At the faint scratch marks I’d left on his skin.

It should’ve made me feel guilty.

It didn’t. It made my stomach flip in a way I refused to name.

I shifted under the covers, careful not to wake him. Not because I cared. Because I didn’t feel like dealing with the smugness that would explode across his stupidly handsome face when he realized he had officially broken my sanity.

But of course, the bed creaked, and his eyelids fluttered open. He blinked slowly at me, his mouth curling into a lazy, dangerous smirk. “Good morning, sunshine.”

I rolled my eyes hard enough to sprain something. “You drooled on my pillow.”

“You moaned on my neck.” He said it so casually I almost threw the remaining pillow at his face.

I rolled over with an exaggerated huff, pulling the blanket up to my neck.

The bed shifted a second later, and a raspy voice muttered: “You're staring. Creepy.”

I snorted without turning. “Dreaming. About how much I regret this.”

“Sure.” He stretched, the covers sliding lower on his body, revealing way too much bare skin for a casual glance.

I refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I tossed a pillow at his head.

It hit him square in the face. He grunted. “Assault. That's how you say good morning?”

“You should thank me. I could’ve done worse.”

He laughed, low and rough. God, that laugh should be illegal before 9 a.m.

“You already did worse last night.” he teased, flashing that stupid grin that made my chest tight for no good reason.

“Delusional much?” I snapped, pushing the blankets away and standing up, my satin slip sticking to my thighs.

His eyes dropped — quickly, involuntarily — and when he realized, he immediately smirked wider.

“If I'm delusional, at least it's a nice view.”

I threw another pillow at his face and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door harder than necessary.

Behind me, his laugh chased me like smoke under the door.

The last day of the conference loomed over me like a thundercloud. People buzzed around the lobby and corridors, all polished shoes and stiff blazers, pretending not to be nervous while clutching folders a little too tightly.

I sat at the back of the auditorium, my hands cold and clammy around my notes. My stomach twisted itself into knots. My brain, usually so quick and sharp, felt sluggish and heavy.

What if I mess up?

What if they laugh at me?

What if I open my mouth and nothing comes out?

A quiet nudge at my side snapped me out of my spiral. I turned sharply — already defensive — only to find Seungmin sliding into the seat next to mine, a crooked grin on his face. “You look like you're about to pass out” he said under his breath, eyes glinting with amusement.

I scowled. “Thanks for the support, Seungmin.”

He smirked, unbothered. His arm brushed mine as he leaned back casually, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Meanwhile, I was over here two seconds away from vomiting.

He studied my face for a moment, his smile fading slightly. “You’re gonna kill it.” he said, voice lower, more serious.

I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Wow. High praise coming from my archnemesis.” I said, raising an eyebrow.

Seungmin snorted. “Don’t get used to it.” He tapped my folder with the back of his hand. “But seriously. You’re smarter than half the people in this room. Probably smarter than me, too. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud.”

My chest tightened strangely at that. I tried to cover it with sarcasm. “Aw, how cute. If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually cared.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Don't flatter yourself. I just don't want to be associated with someone who faints mid-presentation.”

I let out a shaky laugh despite myself, some of the weight on my chest easing. I glanced at him sideways, heart hammering for a different reason now. “You think I can really do it?” I asked, my voice smaller than I intended.

Seungmin’s gaze softened. He didn’t tease this time. He didn’t smirk.

He just nodded once, firm and certain. “I know you can.”

Something in me cracked a little at that. Before I could embarrass myself further by actually tearing up or something equally pathetic, the coordinator called my name.

I stood up too fast, my knees almost buckling. Seungmin reached out instinctively, grabbing my wrist lightly to steady me. His touch was brief, casual — but it set my skin on fire.

“Go show them why you scare the shit out of me.” he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.

I managed a breathless laugh, clutching my notes like a shield as I walked toward the stage.

His gaze followed me the whole way. I could feel it — hot and unwavering, like a tether pulling at me even across the room.

And somehow, because of him, my hands steadied. My voice, when I finally spoke, didn’t shake.

When I finished my presentation and stepped off the stage, heart still hammering, my eyes found his immediately.

Seungmin sat casually slouched in his seat, arms crossed, looking every bit the cocky bastard he always was. But when he caught my gaze, he gave me the smallest nod. Barely there. But it hit harder than a standing ovation.

I looked away quickly, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too wide. I shouldn’t have cared. But fuck — I did. More than I wanted to admit.

By the end of the last presentation, I was vibrating with tension from the happenings of today and yesterday. I couldn't help myself but let my eyes wander to him every second.

Then suddenly, Chan — the guy from the day before — found me again, appearing with a crooked smile and two cups of coffee. “We really survived it, huh?” he said, handing me a cup. "Yeah..." I took it automatically, forcing a smile.

But my eyes weren’t on him. They were locked across the crowd, watching Seungmin sling his backpack over one shoulder, heading toward the exit without even glancing back.

Something inside me twisted violently.

I barely heard Chan say something else. I just shoved the coffee back at him with a muttered excuse and slipped into the crowd, my body moving on instinct.

I followed Seungmin. Out of the conference center. Down the hall. Toward the elevators.

He didn’t turn when he heard my footsteps. He just stepped inside the elevator. Waited.

When I caught up, panting slightly, I saw the look in his eyes. Tense. Dark. Dangerous.

He hit the button for our floor, and the doors slid closed with a soft ding. The elevator was filled with nothing but heavy breathing and electricity.

Neither of us spoke. Neither of us had to. As soon as the room door closed, I acted on pure instinct. I shoved him. Hard.

Seungmin stumbled back against the wall, his eyes widening in shock — and something hotter — before narrowing with a slow, dangerous smile.

I didn't wait. I closed the distance, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and yanked him into a kiss.

This wasn’t soft. It was furious, messy, teeth and tongue clashing as I pressed him back harder against the wall, claiming him. He grabbed my hips, hauling me closer, but I was faster — shoving him backward until he hit the bed.

I pushed him down, climbing on top of him with a wicked grin.

He stared up at me, breathless, pupils blown wide.

“You like being bossed around, huh?” I teased, grinding down on him mercilessly.

“Only when it’s you.” he rasped, his hands gripping my thighs like he was seconds from losing it completely.

Fury and need and regret crashing together in a way that didn’t make sense but at the same time felt like the only thing that did.

Campus looked the same. Gray, busy, loud.

But everything felt different.

We didn’t talk about what happened. We didn’t even look at each other.

Pretend. Pretend. Pretend. Pretend we weren’t carrying around the memory of each other’s bodies burned into our skin

In class, he sat two rows behind me. I could feel his eyes burning holes into my back, searing a path down my spine. Every. Single. Second. By the end of the lecture, I was practically shaking with frustration.

I grabbed my notebook, marched out into the hallway — and waited.

When he passed, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the nearest empty classroom, slamming the door shut.

For a second, we just stood there, staring at each other, the tension so thick it felt like drowning.

“Problem, princess?” he asked, mock-innocent.

I shoved him lightly. “Yeah. You're breathing again. What the hell is your problem?” I hissed, arms crossed.

Seungmin leaned against the wall, lazy, unbothered, like this was amusing. “Problem? I don't have a problem.”

I stepped closer, glaring. “You stare at me like you want to burn me alive and then act like nothing happened.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I do want to burn you alive.”

I shoved him hard. He didn’t even flinch.

Just smiled — slow, infuriating — and let his eyes drag down to my mouth.

My chest heaved with fury. “Stop looking at me like that!” I snapped.

“Like what?” he said innocently, gaze dropping to my lips again.

I groaned and rolled my eyes before grabbing the front of his hoodie and kissed him.

Hard.

He responded immediately, hands sliding to my hips, slamming me back against the door.

The kiss was brutal, messy, full of months — maybe years — of frustration detonating all at once. Starved. Wild.

We stumbled back against the teacher’s desk, knocking over papers and god-knows-what, neither of us caring.

When we finally broke apart, panting, he whispered against my mouth: “You’re fucking annoying.”

“Takes one to know one.” I whispered back, yanking him down for another kiss.

And somehow...

It became a habit.

It wasn’t supposed to become a habit. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

But suddenly, he was everywhere. In my bed. On his bed. In the backseat of his shitty old car, the windows fogged, the gearshift digging into my thigh as he moved inside me, rough and desperate. In the abandoned book storage, under a dusty skylight, where he bent me over an old desk and muffled my moans with his mouth. And now, in the farthest corner of the library.

He had me pinned against a bookshelf, one hand gripping my hip, the other tangled in my hair as he fucked me from behind. The worn wooden shelf rattled with every thrust, the sound obscene in the silent library.

My skirt was bunched up around my waist, panties forgotten somewhere on the floor. His jeans pooled around his ankles.

I couldn’t hold back a shaky moan when he lifted my leg higher, the new angle making me see stars.

His mouth was pressed to my shoulder, muffling his moans against my skin, teeth grazing whenever I clenched around him. He grabbed my wrist, guiding it to his mouth, biting the heel of my palm, making me gasp, as he fucked me harder.

Seungmin growled low in his throat, and I smirked wickedly, whispering breathless: “Can't handle it, can you, baby?”

He growled low in response, fucking into me harder, faster, more desperate, making it clear who was really in control.

And it wasn’t him.

The orgasm hit so fast it almost knocked the breath out of me, my forehead pressed against the dusty shelf to stay standing.

He followed a second later, groaning my name like a curse, collapsing against my back for a few shuddering breaths before pulling out, carefully, his hands trembling slightly as he tucked himself back into his jeans.

We straightened ourselves quickly — or as quickly as two wrecked, sweaty people could in the middle of a goddamn library.

He grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder like nothing had happened. I smoothed my skirt down, pretending my legs weren’t shaking.

As we walked out of the library, Seungmin shoved his hands into his pockets and said, almost casually: “I... bought that soju you said you liked once.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Was thinking... maybe you could come over. Study. Drink a little. Then…” He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “You know.”

I blinked at him, caught off-guard.

“Wait. That soju? How the hell did you even find it?”

He scowled, defensive. “I just found it, alright?” he muttered, like he hadn’t spent two hours scouring online stores for it.

I raised an eyebrow. “You scoured the internet for it, didn’t you?”

He rolled his eyes, ears pink. “Whatever. Just... if you want to come over later. Study. Drink. Maybe…” He shrugged.

I grinned wickedly. “I'd love to drink myself into a coma with you.”

He grumbled something under his breath but didn’t hide the way the corner of his mouth tilted up.

And maybe...

Maybe I was already too far gone to care

When I stepped into Seungmin’s apartment, a gust of cold air followed me inside, swirling around my ankles and raising goosebumps along my arms. The windows rattled faintly, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the low rumble of thunder, soft but persistent, like a warning. The faint smell of clean laundry and takeout lingering in the air.

It was neat, tidy — almost aggressively so, like he had scrubbed it just to have something to do with his hands.

Seungmin closed the door behind me a little too quickly, shutting out the cold — but not the tension that immediately filled the room.

He didn’t even bother with his usual sarcasm. He just moved toward the kitchen, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders stiff. In that brief moment, I could tell something was off.

I kicked off my shoes and shook the chill off my skin, frowning slightly as I watched him.

Something was wrong. Something more than the storm brewing outside.

“Hey.” I said, having him help me take off my coat and eyeing him suspiciously.

He gave a grunt of acknowledgment and motioned toward the living room, where the bottle of soju sat already open on the coffee table.

We moved to the couch, cracking open our notebooks, pretending we were actually there to study. At first, we did — sort of.

I read over a few pages. He pretended to make notes. We sipped soju in between, the alcohol smoothing the edges of the tension, but not erasing it.

It only grew heavier, thicker. He barely looked at me. His jaw clenched every time I shifted closer.

After nearly half an hour of fake studying and awkward silences, I slammed my pen down dramatically.

“Okay.” I said, turning fully to face him. “Spill it. What the hell is going on with you?”

He didn't answer immediately. Just scribbled something meaningless in his notebook, avoiding my eyes like they were lethal weapons.

“Nothing” he muttered.

I snorted. “Bullshit. Come on, Min. You’re a lot of things, but a good liar isn’t one of them.”

I reached across, closed his notebook slowly, deliberately, and stared him down.

“You’re acting like someone kicked your puppy. You’re moody. You’re stiff. And not even in the good way.”

His lips twitched slightly at that, but he still didn’t meet my gaze. “I said it's nothing.” he repeated stubbornly, but his tone cracked halfway through.

It was almost adorable.

Almost.

I leaned in closer, so close that our knees bumped. “You’re not getting away with it.” I said in a mock-sweet voice. “Not tonight.”

I let my hand trail up his thigh slowly, watching the way his breath hitched. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t move.

“If you're not going to talk…” I murmured, holding his gaze, sliding off the couch and kneeling between his legs, “then I'll just have to loosen you up another way.”

His eyes widened slightly, but he still didn’t say a word — stubborn even now.

I tugged the drawstring of his sweatpants loose, my fingers moving with slow, calculated intent. He was already half-hard — a clear sign that no matter how much he was pretending to be unaffected, his body wasn’t lying.

I freed him with a slow, deliberate motion, my hand wrapping around him. He groaned, low and desperate, his head falling back against the couch.

I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the sensitive tip, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin. He shuddered, his hand immediately sliding into my hair, not pushing, just... anchoring.

When I took him into my mouth, slow and deep, his head fell back against the couch with a broken groan.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, voice already wrecked.

I set a slow, torturous rhythm, hollowing my cheeks, dragging my tongue along every inch of him, savoring every helpless sound he made. His thighs trembled under my palms, and the way his hand tightened in my hair made me smirk against his skin.

His free hand came up, brushing the hair gently away from my face so he could see me — see everything. And then, in the middle of a particularly deep stroke, he whispered it — raw, desperate.

“I saw you…” he rasped, pushing the hair gently away from my face, his thumb brushing my temple tenderly. “At the library... talking with that asshole… laughing… looking so fucking pretty”

I hummed around him, and he let out a strangled sound, his hips bucking slightly.

“Fuck, Y/N... I hated it, it made me crazy.” he admitted, his voice cracking as he stroked my cheek. “Wanted to punch him.” he gasped. “Wanted to drag you away... claim you…”

The words sent a sharp pulse of heat through me. I pulled back just enough to look up at him, my hand stroking him lazily. My heart pounded at his raw honesty, but I didn’t let up. If anything, I doubled down — moving faster, stroking the base with one hand while my mouth worked him expertly.

He was unraveling. Completely. And he didn't even try to hide it anymore.

“Fucking jealous.” he muttered, his head tipping back, exposing the long line of his throat.

I felt him tense, his thighs trembling slightly. Before he could lose it completely, he tugged me up by the shoulders, pulling me into his lap with a growl.

“Get up here” he ordered, voice rough, desperate.

Without another word, he pulled me up by the arms, yanking me onto his lap. I straddled him, sliding my body against his, feeling the heat of his skin under my fingers. Our faces inches apart, both breathing hard.

The soju had given him a slight flush — his cheeks pink, his chest heaving — and it made him look almost innocent. Almost. He wasn't.

I could feel his eyes on me, his gaze dark and filled with something I wasn’t sure I was ready to acknowledge. His hands were on my hips, gripping me so tightly it almost hurt, and for a moment, I let myself savor that — the way he was barely holding on, like if he let go, I might slip away from him.

I pulled my sweater off slowly, teasing him with every inch of skin that was exposed, the fabric sliding over my shoulders and down my arms, before I tossed it carelessly aside. His breath caught when my bra followed, and I couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes devoured me, like he was trying to memorize it, the hunger in them making my pulse race.

I stood up, feeling his gaze track every movement as I slowly unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my lace panties. Seungmin was breathless now, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths as he reached out to touch me, his fingers brushing against my bare thighs, reverent, sending a wave of shivers through me.

“Fuck, you're killing me…” he whispered, voice hoarse.

I leaned in, kissing him slow and deep, feeling the desperation vibrating through him. Without breaking the kiss I slid my hand between us, guiding him to my entrance, and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, I sank down onto him.

The feeling of him inside me was overwhelming — I could feel every inch of him, stretching me, filling me completely. Both of us gasped at the same time, my body shaking slightly from the intensity of it.

I stayed still for a moment, letting the sensation settle, trying to focus on the way his hands gripped my waist, his fingers digging into my skin as if he was trying to keep me grounded.

“You feel so fucking good.” he groaned, his voice low and strained. “I can’t even…”

His hands moved from my waist to my hips, his thumbs pressing against the sides of my ribs, and then he helped me move, his body matching the rhythm I set. I leaned back slightly, letting him fill me deeper with every movement, my hands resting on his chest for balance as I rocked against him. He reached up, running his hands over my waist, my stomach, my breasts, like he couldn't get enough.

His eyes never left me, watching the way my body moved over his, the way I controlled the pace, the way I made him feel like he was losing his mind. I leaned down, kissing him hard, desperate, letting him taste the hunger that had been building between us.

His hands slid up my back, pushing my hair away from my neck, and he kissed me there — soft at first, then with more urgency. The contrast between his gentleness and the rawness of our bodies crashing together made my breath catch.

“You’re fucking perfect.” he muttered, his lips against my skin. “God, you feel so perfect.”

I increased the pace, rolling my hips faster, harder, the friction between us driving both of us to the edge. He was moaning now, his hands moving to my breasts, squeezing and massaging them as I continued to ride him.

I could feel him getting closer — his movements more frantic, more desperate — and I loved the way he was losing himself in me.

“Y/N... Fuck, you’re incredible…” he groaned, his hands slid under my ass, guiding me, helping me move faster, deeper.

I felt my own orgasm building — the pressure, the heat, the way our bodies were in perfect sync, like we were both caught in the same storm.

I leaned down, kissing him again, this time slower, more tender, as I continued to move on top of him. He pulled me closer, his hands sliding up my back, pulling me into him as if he couldn’t get close enough.

“God, you’re beautiful.” he praised me again, his voice cracking. “You're a fucking dream, Y/N.”

That broke me. The words, the way he said them with such vulnerability, the way he couldn’t hide how much he cared — it was too much.

I came first, my body shaking as the pleasure coursed through me, and Seungmin followed right after, his whole body tensing beneath me as he groaned my name.

We collapsed together, both of us gasping for air, trembling from the intensity of it all.

Seungmin’s hand found my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he pulled me into a slow kiss, still out of breath but somehow still wanting more. He pulled back after a moment, his forehead resting against mine as we both tried to catch our breath.

I smiled, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw as I looked down at him.

The slow kiss between us deepened, his forehead pressed against mine, so close I could feel the soft flutter of his eyelashes against my skin, his arms still cradling my waist, his body still warm and heavy inside me. Seungmin's hand traced slow, lazy circles along my spine, as if he had no intention of letting me go.

As if I belonged there.

With him.

The world outside blurred into nothing — just the soft rumble of thunder far away and the faint tremble of Seungmin's breath against my lips.

And somewhere, in the middle of all that… my heart stuttered violently. But it wasn’t like before — not the rush of lust, not the usual reckless thrill.

It hurt.

A sharp, aching kind of pain that made my chest tighten and my lungs forget how to breathe.

And that was when it hit me.

I loved him.

The realization knocked the air out of me, heavier than the storm clouds gathering outside the window. Panic flared instantly in my chest, hotter than anything I had felt that night. The thought sliced through me with terrifying clarity.

I tried to breathe, tried to ground myself, but my mind betrayed me — flooding with every moment, every memory that led me here.

The way he encouraged me before the presentation and said — in the most nonchalant way possible — “You’re gonna kill it.” and “You’re smarter than half the people in this room.” Like it was the most normal thing to say to the girl you're supposed to hate.

The way he used to sit across from me in the library for hours, flicking tiny crumpled paper balls at my forehead every time I started to lose focus, pretending it was just to annoy me — but never leaving until I finished every last page.

The way, after the first time at his house we crossed the line, he wordlessly pulled me up from the messy bed, his arms steady and sure, carrying me straight to the bathroom. No teasing, no smirking — just warm hands steadying me under the shower spray, his fingers gently untangling my hair like I was something precious.

The way he disappeared into the kitchen afterward, reappearing fifteen minutes later with a grilled cheese — tragically burnt, awful grilled cheese — because he thought I might be hungry.

The way he always had some sarcastic comment ready to throw at me — just to see me roll my eyes and smile.

The way that when we were alone his fingers always found my wrist, my waist, the small of my back — little touches so casual they could have been accidental, but they never were. Like he needed the reassurance that I was real and still there.

The way he never once made me feel like I owed him anything in return.

The way he just... stayed.

All of it crashed into me at once, a kaleidoscope of moments that I hadn't realized mattered so much until now.

I opened my eyes, searching his face. He looked so peaceful. So real. His hair messy from my fingers, lips swollen from my kisses, a faint pinkness staining his cheeks from the soju we’d shared earlier. He looked like something I could never deserve but stupidly still wanted. No — needed.

The love sat heavy in my chest, raw and suffocating.

I love him.

I loved his stupid sarcasm. I loved his soft touches hidden behind gruff words. I loved his messy hair, his crooked smile, his smartass mouth. I love his little mole on the bridge of his nose. I loved the way he fought me, pushed me, infuriated me — and still made me feel seen in ways no one else ever had.

Panic clawed at my throat. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

No.

No, no, no.

I wasn’t supposed to feel this. I wasn’t supposed to love Seungmin.

Reality slammed back into me.

I shifted slightly, pulling away just enough for the space between us to feel vast again. Seungmin's brows furrowed, his hand tightening instinctively on my waist.

Leaning away from him, my body trembling as I scrambled off his lap. I could feel the sudden chill on my bare skin as I grabbed my discarded clothes, pulling my sweater over my head with frantic, clumsy hands, avoiding his confused, sleepy gaze.

“Y/N?” he called softly, his voice was thick, confused, still hoarse from our kisses. “Where are you–”

I didn't answer. I grabbed my skirt, slipping it back on quickly, reaching for my bag like the room was on fire.

“Where are you going?” he asked, standing up, his brows furrowing.

I didn’t even look at him. I needed to get out. Out of that room, out of the weight pressing down on my chest. I needed to breathe.

Before I did something irreversible. Before I begged him to love me back.

He moved toward the window and then froze. Outside, it had started to pour — sheets of rain hammering against the glass, the sky flashing briefly with distant lightning.

“It’s's raining.” he said, voice cautious. “Why don't you just... stay tonight?”

I shook my head frantically, shoving my feet into my shoes, my fingers trembling. “I can't.” I choked out, barely able to breathe, my throat closing.

He reached for me but I bolted, slamming the door behind me, running down the hallway, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the walls, my heart breaking with every step.

I ran down the stairwell, skipping steps as I sprinted downward, my heart racing, my vision blurring. The sound of rain getting louder, closer, until I burst through the front doors into the storm.

The moment I pushed the exit door open, the cold rain hit me like a wall, instantly soaking me to the bone — I had forgotten my coat —. I stumbled forward blindly, tears and raindrops blurring together on my face.

I barely made it a few steps before I heard him.

“Y/N!”

His voice, sharp, desperate, cutting through the downpour.

I ignored it. Kept walking. And then suddenly —A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back, spinning me around.

Seungmin stood there, drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving like he had just run a marathon, anger and hurt twisting his face into something almost unrecognizable.

His other hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back slightly so I had to look at him. We were soaked, trembling, our breaths steaming in the cold night air.

His face was wild with frustration, with something deeper, something raw and terrified. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouted, his voice cracking with anger and something else — fear.

I shoved him. Hard.

My hands slamming against his chest, tears spilling from my eyes. “This is your fault!” I screamed, my voice raw, breaking. “Your stupid hair– your fucking smile– your goddamn eyes–”

I shoved him again, sobbing now, my fists hitting his chest uselessly. “I wasn't supposed to feel this! I wasn’t supposed to love you!”

Seungmin grabbed my wrists, holding them tightly, forcing me to stop hitting him. His hands were rough but not cruel — desperate. “You think this was easy for me?!” he shouted back, his voice cracking. “You think it didn’t fucking kill me to see you every day and pretend you weren't everything I wanted?!”

I struggled against him, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the rain.

“You think I didn’t want to scream every time someone else looked at you like you weren't mine?!” he gasped, voice hoarse with the weight of everything he had been holding back. “I wanted to tell everyone. I wanted to grab you and say— she’s fucking mine.”

The rain pounded harder, soaking through our clothes, making our bodies slick against each other.

I tried to pull away again, but he gripped my shoulders tighter, pulling me closer, locking his burning eyes to mine. “You felt it too.” he whispered fiercely. “Tell me you felt it too, Y/N.”

I shook my head weakly, trying to pull away from him, the rain blinding me, my heart pounding so loud I couldn’t think. “I can't–” I gasped, my voice barely audible.

But he didn’t let me go. He stepped closer, almost shaking with the effort of keeping himself together. “Look at me.” he demanded. “Look me in the fucking eyes and tell me it wasn’t real. Tell me you don’t feel anything. Tell me you don’t love me.”

I opened my mouth. Tried to speak. Tried to lie.

Nothing came out, not a single curse or remark. Nothing except a broken sob.

“Tell me you don't feel it, Y/N.”he shouted. “Tell me you don't love me.” His voice broke on the last word, and for a second, the world around us went silent except for the rain pounding against the pavement.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat closed up, the words stuck somewhere between terror and heartbreak. “I don't– I–” I tried, but I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t lie.

The pain on his face when I faltered nearly broke me in half. He saw the truth in my eyes before I could even say it.

We crashed into each other. The kiss was brutal, angry, full of tears and frustration and all the love we were too scared to admit. Full of every unspoken word, every feeling we were too terrified to say out loud.

His hands tangled in my hair, yanking me closer, desperate, like he needed me to breathe. My fists clutched his soaked shirt, pulling him down to me as if I could tear him apart and rebuild him at the same time.

Tears mixed with the rain on both of our faces, the salty taste of heartbreak on our lips as we clung to each other in the storm, drowning in everything we had tried so hard to deny.

We kissed like we were drowning. Because maybe we were.

We were soaked. We were shaking. We were real. And for the first time, we weren't hiding anymore.

He pressed his forehead against mine, rain soaking us, his hand trembling on my waist, his breath was shaky against my lips.

“You're messy, infuriating, impossible — no one never would wreck me the way you do. But I'd let you, a thousand times over, cause that's the way i love you.

Our Last Frame Together Part 2 | H.HJ x AFAB!Reader

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ :･ lover!hyunjin x afab!reader ɢᴇɴʀᴇ :･ angst | ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs :･ character death,reader struggles with depression,gore,sharp object mentioned,injuries.| wc :･ 25k | Previously Part 1

Consciousness creeps back slowly—like a flickering light, like a dream that refuses to let go.

Your head throbs, a dull, aching pulse that echoes behind your eyes. The world is quiet. The hum of the machine has stilled, leaving only the rain outside, a rhythmic tapping against the metal roof.

For a moment, you forget where you are.

And then you inhale—dust, old film, the lingering scent of something metallic.

The photo booth.

You’re still here.

Your fingers twitch against your lap, and when you lift your head, the dim light above flickers weakly, casting shadows that don’t belong.

Something heavy sits on your chest. The kind of weight that doesn’t come from exhaustion, but from something deeper—something that lingers in the bones, in the marrow, in the spaces between memories.

Slowly, you reach forward.

The photo strip is there.

Warm from the machine, edges slightly curled. Your hands tremble as you pick it up, eyes scanning the glossy surface.

Four frames. Four stolen moments.

The first—your empty stare.

The second—the glimmer of tears.

The third—your collapse.

The fourth—pure light.

You swallow thickly. The last frame is strange, blurred at the edges, as if the camera had captured something that wasn’t meant to be seen.

Something not of this world.

The breath you let out is shaky, unsteady. You clutch the photo strip tightly, press it to your chest, and squeeze your eyes shut.

You need to leave.

The curtain rustles as you step out, blinking against the streetlights, against the way the rain has softened into a mist. Your limbs feel heavy, your footsteps unsteady, but you move forward. You keep moving.

The train station isn’t far.

You slip inside, greeted by the hollow quiet of the platform. The air smells of damp concrete and cold metal. Fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead.

A train arrives with a low hum, its doors sliding open with a soft sigh.

You step in.

The carriage is nearly empty. A few tired strangers sit scattered across the seats, lost in their own worlds, their own lives.

You take a seat by the window, press your forehead against the glass, and close your eyes.

For a moment, the present dissolves.

For a moment, you are somewhere else.

Somewhere warmer. Somewhere simpler.

Somewhere with him.

Then.

Hyunjin sits beside you, his shoulder pressed against yours, his fingers carefully tearing apart a flaky pastry, offering you the bigger half with that same boyish smile.

"You always take the smaller piece," he teases.

"You always give me the bigger one,"you counter.

"That’s because I love you."

Your heart stutters at the memory, at the way he had said it so easily—like it was the simplest truth in the world. Like it was as natural as breathing.

The train sways gently, and the past pulls you deeper.

You remember the way he’d rest his head on your shoulder when he was exhausted. How he’d mumble half-asleep complaints about practice, about deadlines, about life moving too fast.

"Let’s just stay like this forever," he had whispered once, half-laughing, half-serious.

And you had laughed too, not knowing that forever was never promised.

Not knowing that time would steal him away.

The train rattles past an open field, and it feels like another ghost of the past—how the two of you would press your hands against the glass, watching the world blur by, snapping quick photos on your old film camera.

"For the memories,"he had said, clicking the shutter. "For us."

For us.

Your fingers curl against your palms.

A lump rises in your throat.

The past feels too close, too sharp, like a knife pressing against tender skin. You exhale slowly, forcing yourself back into the present, forcing yourself to open your eyes.

But when you do, the seat beside you is empty.

Hyunjin is gone.

And you are alone.

The train speeds forward, pulling you along with it.

But your heart?

Your heart is still chasing ghosts.

The train slows, its brakes letting out a soft screech as it pulls into the station. The chime overhead echoes through the empty carriage, signaling arrival, urging movement.

You step out onto the platform.

The air is thick, heavy in a way that makes your chest tighten. The walk home feels strange—like wading through something invisible, something intangible. The streets stretch longer than you remember, the city lights blur at the edges, flickering like distant stars.

There’s something off.

Something weightless in the air, something that makes your skin prickle.

You pull Hyunjin’s jacket tighter around yourself, his scent still lingering in the fabric—faint traces of cologne, of warmth, of something that once belonged to you.

Your footsteps echo against the pavement.

You pass by the corner store where he used to buy late-night snacks, past the old bookstore where he’d browse for hours, running his fingers over the spines of books he never bought but always admired.

Every step feels like a step back in time.

Like the past is curling at the edges, unraveling into something real

The night clings to your skin like something sentient, something breathing. The air is thick with the weight of rain-soaked pavement, the distant hum of the city, the ghost of a name that lingers on your lips but never leaves.

Hyunjin.

Your steps are slow, uncertain. The world feels off-kilter, edges blurred, as if the universe itself is unraveling in soft threads, trying to sew something back together—something that was torn apart.

And then—

A scent.

Warm. Familiar.

Cooking.

Your pulse stutters.

It hits you like a memory—like late evenings spent tangled in domestic simplicity, his laughter curling into the steam of a boiling pot, his hands careful as he chopped vegetables with the precision of an artist.

But this isn’t a memory.

This is now.

And it shouldn’t be.

Your hands shake as you reach for your keys, fingers fumbling, slipping, the metal clinking in protest. Your breath quickens. Your heart pounds.

This isn’t real.

It can’t be real.

The lock turns, the door creaks open, and—

Everything stops.

A golden glow spills from the kitchen, warm and soft, flickering against the walls like candlelight. The air is thick with the scent of something cooking, something real, something you shouldn’t be able to smell.

And then you see him.

Hyunjin.

Standing by the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring a pot like this is just another evening, like time hasn’t stolen him away, like you haven’t spent weeks drowning in the absence of him.

Your breath is caught somewhere between your ribs.

He hums—soft, low, a familiar melody that sends a tremor through your spine.

Your mind screams impossible, but your heart—your heart doesn’t care.

It beats for him.

It always has.

And then he turns.

And he smiles.

"You’re home."

The words fall from his lips as if they belong here, as if they are stitched into the very fabric of this moment, as if he has been waiting for you all this time.

Your world tilts.

Your knees threaten to buckle.

Hyunjin steps forward, arms wrapping around you in a warmth that is too much, too overwhelming, too devastatingly familiar.

You don’t move.

You don’t breathe.

Because if you let yourself believe this—if you let yourself melt into him, into the scent of his skin, into the feeling of his heartbeat steady and alive beneath his chest—then what happens when you wake up?

What happens when you realize this isn’t real?

What happens when the universe corrects its mistake and takes him away from you again?

You squeeze your eyes shut.

And for the first time in weeks, for the first time since the world shattered beneath your feet—

You wish you never had to open them again.

Hyunjin’s arms are warm—too warm, too solid. The weight of him anchors you in place, but your mind is still drifting, still caught somewhere between what is real and what is impossible.

His heartbeat presses against your ear, steady, rhythmic, alive.

"What’s wrong?" he murmurs, voice laced with concern. His hands, familiar in their gentleness, settle on your back, holding you like you might slip away.

And maybe you will.

Maybe this is just another cruel trick, another illusion conjured up by grief and exhaustion.

You open your eyes.

Slowly, carefully, as if the moment might shatter if you move too fast.

His face is inches from yours—so close you can see the soft glow of the kitchen light reflecting in his eyes, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the slight furrow in his brow.

You reach for him, fingers trembling as they brush over his cheekbone, his jaw, his lips—every detail that you thought you’d lost forever.

"I need to know," you whisper, voice barely a breath.

Hyunjin tilts his head, searching your gaze, waiting.

"What happened that day?" you ask. "The day I got my scar. When we were in the park."

It’s a secret only he knows. A moment buried in time, untouched by anyone but the two of you.

If this is a dream, if this is some cruel mirage, then he won’t remember.

But he doesn’t hesitate.

"It was the summer after we graduated high school," he says, voice soft, distant, like he’s unfolding the memory in his hands. "We snuck out past midnight and rode my bike to the park. You were trying to climb that stupid jungle gym, and I told you it was too slippery from the rain, but you didn’t listen."

A soft laugh escapes him, though his grip on you tightens.

"You slipped," he continues, "scraped your knee on the metal. It bled more than it should’ve, and you wouldn’t stop crying—not because it hurt, but because you thought it was ugly. And I—"

He exhales, his fingers brushing over the faint scar just above your knee, as if checking to see if it’s still there.

"I kissed it better. Told you it made you look cool, like a warrior or something."

Your breath catches.

The world tilts.

Because this is real.

This is him.

No one else could have known. No one else could have reached back into the past and pulled out that night, that laughter, that fleeting moment of something so simple, so full of love.

The realization crashes over you like a wave, dragging you under, pulling you into the depths of something uncontrollable, something overwhelming.

And then you’re kissing him.

Desperate. Trembling. Needy.

Your hands cradle his face, pulling him closer, pressing against him like he might disappear if you let go. His lips are warm, impossibly soft, moving against yours in a way that feels like home, like longing, like every missed moment collapsing into this one.

His hands find your waist, gripping, grounding, holding on like he’s just as afraid of slipping through time as you are.

The kiss deepens, turns breathless, turns into something raw, something aching.

Because this is impossible.

Because you lost him.

Because you got him back.

Because you don’t know how long this will last.

But right now—right here—Hyunjin is in your arms, warm and alive and yours.

And for the first time in a long time, the world feels whole again.

Hyunjin’s laughter is soft against your lips, the warmth of it brushing over your skin like a ghost of something you thought you’d lost forever. He pulls back, breathless, eyes bright with something alive, something eager.

"I have a surprise for you," he says, excitement bubbling in his voice.

Your heart clenches.

He’s so happy, so unaware of the way your chest is tightening, the way your fingers are curling into the fabric of his sweater as if holding on will keep him here.

"Tomorrow—" he starts, hands still resting on your waist. "I was thinking we could go somewhere. Just like we used to. Just the two of us. No worries, no stress—just you and me on the road."

The words echo in your head, bouncing against the walls of your skull like a cruel reminder of the past.

The road. The freedom. The laughter. The wind in your hair.

And then—

The crash.

The blood.

The screaming.

Your heart stops.

The warmth of the moment is suddenly suffocating, the air too thick, the light in the room too harsh.

"Hyunjin—" your voice comes out weaker than you intended, hands pressing against his chest, as if trying to create distance between you and the inevitable. "We don’t have to, really. We can just—stay here. Have a lazy day. You’ve been working so hard, you deserve to rest."

His brows furrow, his lips parting as confusion flickers across his face.

"What? No, come on, you’ll love it—I promise. We used to do this all the time. Remember? Back then, we never knew what tomorrow would bring, and that was the best part."

Back then.

Before life got heavy. Before things stopped going as planned. Before he—

You squeeze your eyes shut.

The fear is curling around your lungs, sinking into your bones, whispering in your ear

You already lost him once.

You can’t lose him again.

You can’t let this happen.

"Hyunjin, I just don’t think—"

But he’s so insistent, so persistent, hands moving up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones like he’s trying to wipe away your hesitation.

"Please," he murmurs, voice softer now, gentler. "It’s been so long since we’ve done something like this. Just trust me."

You do trust him.

But you don’t trust the universe.

You don’t trust fate.

You don’t trust that this isn’t some cruel trick, some fleeting moment meant to be stolen away again.

But the way he’s looking at you—God, the way he’s looking at you, like you are his entire world—makes you weak.

So you swallow the lump in your throat.

You push down the anxiety clawing at your chest.

And you nod.

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay."

But your hands don’t stop shaking.

Because deep inside, you know—

This is how it started last time.

📸🎞️…..

The motorcycle hums beneath you, steady and alive, but your chest feels tight—like a vice around your ribs, like hands wrapping around your throat. The wind whips past, tangling your hair, but it does nothing to cool the heat of your panic.

Hyunjin rides ahead, his hands firm on the handlebars, his body warm against yours. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air—soft, familiar, real.You tighten your grip around his waist, holding on as if your touch alone can anchor him here, as if it can stop time from slipping through your fingers.

But the air feels heavier with every mile.

The neon lights of the city blur into streaks, and your mind pulls you backward—back to that day.

The crash. The sound of metal against flesh. The blood on the pavement.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket.

"You okay back there?"Hyunjin calls over the wind, voice light, oblivious.

You suck in a sharp breath. Say something. Anything.

"Yeah,"you force out. "Just cold."

He chuckles, one hand momentarily leaving the handlebar to squeeze yours.

"Almost there, love."

That word—"love."

It clenches something deep inside you, makes your stomach twist, makes your hands shake against him.

Then—

Up ahead.

The turn.

The truck.

The headlights cut through the night, blinding, merciless.

The street ahead narrows, funneling you toward fate, toward inevitability.

This is where it happens.

This is where you lose him.

The roar of the truck’s engine grows louder.

Your heartbeat slams against your ribs.

The air thickens, warps—

And then—

The hum of the photobooth.

The world rewinds.

Suddenly, you are seconds before the crash.

The truck is coming.

Hyunjin doesn’t see it.

You have one chance.

One moment to change everything.

You don’t think.

You act.

Your hands fly forward, gripping the handlebars—

And you yank.

Hyunjin gasps—sharp, startled.

The motorcycle swerves violently.

The truck blares its horn.

For a fleeting second, you think you did it.

You think you saved him.

But then—

The motorcycle skids out of control.

The impact comes fast, brutal.

The street pole looms in your vision before you can react.

The crash is deafening.

Hyunjin is ripped from the bike.

Thrown.

Farther than before.

Too far.

Your body slams into the pavement.

The Pain again explodes—your ribs, your skull, your legs—all burning, all screaming.

Everything spins.

But your eyes—blurry, desperate—search for him.

Hyunjin.

He’s there.

Lying still.

Too still.

"No."

Your voice is hoarse, barely a whisper.

You try to move. Try to reach him.

Your arms shake.

Your vision darkens at the edges.

"Hyunjin,"you choke,He doesn’t respond.

Your fingers find his hand.

Cold.

Unmoving.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You saved him.

Didn’t you? Didn’t you?

A sob wracks your body, shaking you to your core. You made it worse.

Darkness holds you in its grasp, thick and endless. There’s no sound, no sensation—just the weight of something unbearable pressing against your chest. Then, like a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the world pulls you back.

Your body jerks awake.

You’re sitting.

Your head throbs, your limbs feel weightless, unmoored. Your breaths come in short, panicked gasps.

The scent of old film and dust fills your nose.

The hum of a machine echoes softly.

Your fingers clutch at the fabric beneath you, the vinyl seat cool and familiar.

No.

You blink rapidly, disoriented. The walls around you are narrow, the dim glow of the photobooth's screen illuminating the cramped space. The curtain sways gently, as if undisturbed, as if nothing had happened at all.

No, no, no.

You rip the curtain open.

The city is unchanged.

Rain still pours, streaking down the pavement in rivers. Neon lights still flicker, their reflections shimmering in the puddles. People pass by, hurrying under umbrellas, untouched by the storm raging inside of you.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

The motorcycle. The crash. Hyunjin—

Your hands fumble for your phone, fingers trembling as you pull up his number.

You press call.

It rings, but no answer.

The breath you were holding escapes in a broken exhale.

He’s gone.

Again.

Your knees nearly buckle as you clutch your phone to your chest, pulse roaring in your ears.

Then, your eyes drift back to the machine.

The screen glows softly, waiting. A lump forms in your throat.

The photobooth—

It brought you back.

It rewound time.

It gave you another chance.

Your hands shake as you reach into your pocket, fingers brushing against the smooth edge of a coin.

There’s no hesitation.No fear.

You shove the coin into the slot.

The machine whirs, swallowing it whole,and the countdown begins.

"Take me back," you whisper.

The coin is swallowed, as you wait impatiently.

A breath. A heartbeat. A pause that stretches far too long.

The machine does nothing.

No hum, no flicker, no shifting of reality. Just silence.

Your pulse stutters.

No.

You press your trembling hands against the seat, nails digging into the vinyl. The air inside the photobooth is stale, thick with dust and the faint scent of old film. The same as before. But nothing is happening.

It’s not working.

Your vision blurs.

The walls around you suddenly feel too close, pressing in, suffocating.

"No, no, no—"

You shove at the machine, desperate, your breaths turning ragged.

"Please,"you whisper, voice cracking. "Take me back—please, just one more time—"

Nothing.

A sob tears through you, raw and aching, as you collapse against the wall.

It was all in your head, wasn’t it?

You did faint.

You did hallucinate it all.

There was no second chance. No way to fix things.

Hyunjin is gone.

Gone, and you’re sitting in some rusted old photobooth, crying over a ghost.

Your body shakes as you bury your face in your hands.

It’s over.

Click.

The sound shatters through your thoughts.

You freeze.

Your breath catches in your throat as the familiar mechanical whir fills the tiny space.

The screen flickers—light flaring, too bright, too much.

Then—

A flash.

A blinding, all-consuming white.

Everything vanishes.

Flash!📸🎞️………

When you wake, you’re gasping for air.

Your hands scramble against the floor, cool pavement beneath your fingertips. The rain is softer now, a steady rhythm against the streets.

Your head is pounding.

Your limbs feel weak.

But none of that matters.

Your fingers fumble for your phone, slipping in your damp grasp as you pull up Hyunjin’s number.

Please. Please, please, please.

You press call.

It rings.

"Hello?"

The world stops.

Your breath shatters. The sound of his voice—low, gentle, alive.

Your lips part, but no words come out.

"Hey—?"His voice shifts, concerned. “Are you okay?" A sob escapes you, unbidden.

Your fingers clutch the phone so tightly it might break.

“Hyunjin,"you whisper, the name trembling off your tongue like a prayer, like salvation, like something you thought you’d lost forever.

"Yeah?"he laughs softly, the sound familiar, warm. "What’s wrong? You sound—"

You can’t answer.

Your free hand claps over your mouth, stifling the choked cry threatening to spill out. Your body trembles, the weight of everything crashing over you all at once.

He's here. He's real. He's alive.

Tears spill freely down your cheeks, mixing with the rain.

"Where are you?"he asks again, softer now, like he knows something’s wrong. "Do you need me to come get you?"

You nod frantically before realizing he can’t see you. "Yes,"you gasp. "Please—just come get me."

"Okay, okay, breathe, love—"The nickname breaks something inside of you.

You press a hand to your chest, trying to hold yourself together, trying to believe this moment is real.

"I’m on my way,"Hyunjin promises. “Just stay right there."

And for the first time in what feels like lifetimes, you let yourself hope.

The rain has softened into a drizzle by the time he arrives.

The low hum of an engine, the sharp skid of tires against wet pavement—these sounds should be insignificant, nothing more than noise blending into the rhythm of the city.

But for you, they are everything.

Your breath stills as the motorcycle pulls up in front of you, as Hyunjin swings one leg over the seat with the ease of someone who has done this a thousand times before.

Like nothing ever happened.

Like he hasn’t died in your arms.

Like you haven’t spent an eternity clawing through time to bring him back.

His helmet comes off in a single, fluid motion, damp hair falling into his eyes. And then he’s looking at you, searching.

"Are you okay?" he asks, breathless. His brows furrow, voice laced with concern. "Did something happen to you? Why are you here? Did someone—"

"I’m fine," you interrupt, too quickly.

His frown deepens. You know he doesn’t believe you. You know he sees the way your fingers tremble, the way your clothes are still soaked from the rain.

But he lets it go.

For now.

A deep exhale leaves his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, flicking stray droplets of water from his skin. "God, I came here as fast as I could—" He stops suddenly, gaze flickering past you. His lips curve into a smirk.

"You like this booth that much?"

Your stomach twists.

The photobooth stands behind you, silent, unmoving. An unmarked grave for the ghosts of the past, the keeper of all your mistakes.

You force a smile, but it feels wrong on your lips. "Yeah," you lie. "Guess I do."

Hyunjin chuckles, shaking his head.

"You’re weird."

You have no idea.

For a moment, there is only the sound of the rain, the distant murmur of passing cars. Then, with a small inhale, Hyunjin straightens.

"I have a surprise for you."

Your body goes rigid.

"A surprise?" you echo.

He nods, eyes glinting with something soft, something impossibly warm. "Yeah. But you have to ride with me first."

Your breath catches.

The motorcycle gleams under the streetlights, water slipping down its frame like silver threads.

You can still feel the weight of it beneath you. The wind against your skin. The brief, fleeting moment when everything felt infinite—before it all went wrong.

Before the world tore him away from you.

But something is different this time.

Your heart still stammers in your chest, but not from fear.

Not from the unbearable weight of inevitability.

This time, it isn’t dread coiling in your stomach.

It’s something closer to resolve.

You exhale slowly, stepping forward, fingers brushing against his.

"Okay," you say, voice steadier than you expected.

Hyunjin beams. "Just like old times."

And this time, you aren’t afraid you knew.

The wind howls as the city blurs past—neon lights streaking like shooting stars, the hum of the motorcycle beneath you steady, powerful. Hyunjin’s warmth is against your back, his hands firm on the handlebars, his breath steady.

For a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe.

That this time, it will be different.

That maybe, just maybe, you have outrun fate.

But then, in the distance, you see it.

That cursed stretch of road.

The place where it all unraveled.

And you know—it’s happening again.

Your grip on Hyunjin tightens. Your heart slams against your ribs, panic clawing up your throat like bile. You cannot let this happen. Not again.

The truck emerges from the intersection, just like before. Its headlights pierce through the night like a cruel, unblinking eye.

You make your choice.

With every ounce of strength, you throw yourself backward, dragging Hyunjin with you.

His body jerks, his startled gasp swallowed by the roar of the engine. The sudden shift in weight tilts the motorcycle just enough—just enough to miss the truck.

The plan worked, You should feel relief.

But you don’t.

Because the pavement is rushing up too fast, too hard.

The bike skids. Your body is weightless, airborne—then crashing, tumbling, scraping against asphalt.

A sickening crack.

White-hot pain sears through you as your skull slams into the curb. Your vision swims, a kaleidoscope of blood and neon.

📸🎞️….

You wake up inside the photobooth.

The scent of dust and old film floods your senses, the seat beneath you stiff and unyielding. The air is thick, suffocating.

Your fingers twitch.

You lift your head.

Outside, the rain still falls—soft and relentless. The world beyond the curtain remains unchanged. As if it hasn’t shattered a thousand times before. As if it isn’t cruel and unyielding.

You reach for your phone with trembling hands.

Dial.Ring.Once. Twice.Then—Voicemail.

Hyunjin is gone. Again.

The breath you didn’t realize you were holding collapses from your lungs.

A choked sob rips through your throat as you press your forehead to your knees.

"Why?"

The machine hums beside you.

Cold. Silent. Unforgiving.

You know what it’s telling you.

Try again.

Try again.

Try again.

But no matter how many times you turn back time

Hyunjin always dies.

The coin is cold between your fingers, edges worn from use, from time, from fate itself.

You stare at it in your palm, light catching the dull metal, reflecting the weight of your choices. It feels heavier than before—or maybe you are just tired.

How many times have you done this?

How many times have you begged the universe to let him live?

And how many times has it spat in your face, laughing cruelly as you failed again and again?

You exhale, slow and unsteady, looking at the machine in front of you.

The photobooth stands the same as always—unchanged, indifferent to your suffering. Its flickering light buzzes softly, casting shadows on the rain-slicked pavement outside. It doesn’t care about your desperation, your grief, your exhaustion.

But then—

The screen flickers.

Words appear, stark and cold against the dim glow.

"LAST CHANCE."

Your breath hitches.

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

"Last chance."

The words sit in your chest like a stone, heavy and unmovable.

No more retries. No more do-overs. No more mistakes.

You close your eyes.

You have tried everything—ripping him off the bike, crashing yourself instead, warning him before the ride. And yet, he always dies.

But not this time.

This time, you know what you have to do.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the coin, pressing it against the slot.

The moment your eyes flutter open, you know.

The air is different—warmer, familiar. The hum of the photobooth fades into the background, drowned by the sound of the rain outside, the distant murmur of the city at night.

You gasp, heart hammering, and stumble out onto the wet pavement. The world is still here. The lights, the streets, the scent of rain mixing with the faint aroma of something—something warm, something home.

You don’t stop to think.

Your feet move before your mind catches up, carrying you through the winding streets, past the corner store, past the bakery that still smells like sugar and early mornings. Every step feels like déjà vu, like running through a dream you’ve lived a hundred times before.

And then—

The door.

Your apartment.

The golden glow from the window spills onto the hallway floor, flickering gently as if inviting you in. Your fingers shake as you fumble with the keys, breath catching in your throat.

You push the door open.

And there he is.

Hyunjin.

Standing in the kitchen, barefoot, humming softly as he stirs something on the stove. The scent of soy sauce and caramelized onions fills the air, the same meal he always makes when he’s been away for too long. He always says cooking makes a place feel like home.

And he’s here.

Alive.

Whole.

"Hey, you’re home," he says, turning with a soft smile, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I was just—”

You don’t let him finish.

Your body moves on instinct—crossing the room, reaching for him, pulling him in.

Your hands grasp at the fabric of his shirt, desperate, like he might slip through your fingers again if you don’t hold tight enough. Hyunjin barely has a second to react before your lips crash against his—deep, needy, filled with every unsaid word, every lost moment, every lifetime where you never got to do this.

He freezes, startled, but then—he melts.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, fingers pressing into the small of your back. He kisses you back slow, deep, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, like he’s trying to pour all the time you’ve lost into this one single moment.

And God, you let him.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more—more of this, more of him, more of the life you were meant to have.

You breathe him in. The faint traces of cologne on his skin, the warmth of his hands against your spine, the quiet sound he makes when you deepen the kiss.

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to press his forehead against yours, breathless, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

“Woah,” he murmurs, laughing softly. “Missed me that much?”

You laugh too, but it comes out broken, shaky.

Because yes.

Yes, you did.

You missed him in ways he will never understand.

You missed him across timelines, across tragedies, across every cruel hand fate has dealt you.

You press your lips against his again, softer this time, lingering.

Just in case. Just in case the world tries to take him from you again.

Hyunjin’s fingers slow, his hand hovering over the dish in front of him, but he doesn’t stir it. The quiet of the room stretches out, thick with the weight of your words, hanging in the space between the soft hum of the kitchen lights and the soft simmer of the pot. He doesn’t move immediately. For a moment, everything stops. The world outside the window, with its distant traffic and muffled voices, fades into a distant murmur as if the universe itself is holding its breath, waiting for him to respond.

You watch him, waiting, the question lingering in the air like a fragile thing, delicate and raw, too heavy to ignore. You can feel your heart thudding, loud in your chest, almost too loud for such a quiet moment. You hope he won’t hear it. You’re not sure if you want him to.

"Sometimes I wish I could stop time," you repeat quietly, almost to yourself, your voice trembling ever so slightly. "And just stay here with you, but... I’m scared. Scared that if I do, I might never leave. Do you think that’s selfish?"

His silence presses on you, thickening the air, weighing down the words you’ve let slip from your mouth. You can’t quite tell if you’re relieved or terrified. It’s not a question you wanted to ask, but something in you needed to. Needed to say it, needed to know what he’d say. Because, even if it was selfish, even if it was wrong—wasn't it true? Wasn't it the thing you truly wanted more than anything else in the world?

You can’t bring yourself to look away, to break the connection, to hide what you’re feeling. You’ve spent so long trying to guard it—this feeling, the ache that never seems to leave. But in this moment, with him, with the quiet warmth between you, you can’t pretend anymore. You can’t pretend that you don’t want this to last forever.

Hyunjin is still. Too still. His eyes flicker to the dish, then back to you, like he’s searching for something—some hidden meaning behind your words. His gaze sharpens, as if he’s trying to read the delicate, fragile truth written across your face, but he doesn’t find the words there. Instead, he sees the cracks. He sees the way your lips tremble slightly as you breathe. He sees the sadness hiding in the corners of your eyes, the way your hands grip the edge of the counter like you’re bracing yourself against something, something inside you that you can’t quite shake.

The air between you thickens with something unspoken, and he steps closer, but he doesn’t touch you. Not yet. His fingers are still loosely holding the spatula, but he doesn’t move it, doesn’t stir the dish anymore. Instead, he stands there, watching you, as if his presence alone could somehow help you find the right words. He doesn’t answer right away, and you feel the panic start to stir in your chest, rising up like a tide.

"Hyunjin..." you murmur, the words barely escaping your lips, your voice a whisper. But he doesn’t respond. He simply looks at you, studying you with an intensity that makes your heart tighten. He sees through you. You know he does. He always has.

And then, finally, his gaze softens, the lines of tension around his eyes easing, though the questions still linger, unspoken. He places the spatula gently down on the counter, the quiet sound of it hitting the surface more final than you expected. He steps forward, closing the distance between you, and reaches out slowly, as though he’s waiting for your permission, for you to give him a sign.

His hand, warm and steady, touches your arm lightly, his fingers brushing the skin there as he steps even closer, his presence enveloping you. His eyes are softer now, but they hold something deeper—something that feels like the weight of years, of shared memories, of moments where time felt like it had stopped, just for the two of you.

He searches your face again, and then, finally, his voice breaks the silence, quiet but sure. “No,” he says softly, his words like a whisper, but filled with weight. “It’s not selfish.”

You blink, and your heart stutters in your chest, the relief crashing into you, almost too much to bear. Your breath catches, the tears that have been threatening to spill start to rise, but you force them back. You don’t want to let him see how close you are to falling apart. But you can feel it—the tightness in your chest, the ache that never really goes away.

“It’s human,” he adds, voice low, almost reverent. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, almost too soft. “I think…” He pauses, searching for the right words, as if he doesn’t want to give you the wrong answer. "I think I feel the same way. I would stay here, too. With you. If I could, I would. But..." He stops, as if caught by a thought that’s just out of reach, a hesitation you both understand. "But life… it moves forward, doesn’t it? And I don’t want you to be stuck here, not when you could have more."

His words, so carefully chosen, feel like a knife against your skin. You don’t want more. Not without him. Not without this.

“But it’s not selfish to want that," he murmurs, almost to himself. "I understand."

And in that moment, something shifts. The weight in your chest loosens, just slightly, and the room around you seems to shrink, as if it’s holding its breath, waiting for you to decide—waiting for you to give into the longing that’s been building between the two of you.

You look up at him, his face so close to yours now, the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breath mixing with yours. And for a moment, it’s like time has stopped—just as you wanted. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe, just for now, that’s all you need.

“Dinners ready!” Hyunjin whispers.

last one!📸🎞️….

As the scent of dinner lingers in the air, the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint clink of dishes blend with the quiet atmosphere of the apartment. The kitchen light casts a golden glow over everything, the calm before the storm of words.

The couch is soft beneath you, the fabric cool against your skin as you sit, your legs tucked up under you, your hands restless in your lap. You wait for him, watching the rhythm of his movements as he tends to the plant—the one he’s always been so careful with, so tender. His fingers, gentle but sure, water it like it’s the most delicate thing in the world, as if each drop of water is a promise, each moment with it an act of devotion.

And you can’t help but watch him, watch the way he leans in so close to the plant, his brow furrowed in concentration.

It’s strange, how something so simple can pull you in. It’s strange how he can make something so ordinary feel like an act of love, like a secret you don’t understand but feel deep in your chest.The way he cares for things—this plant, for instance—is just the way he cares for you. Always so tender, always so gentle, always so patient, as if he’s trying to keep you alive, to make sure you bloom and grow just as he wants you to. As if he’s afraid of losing you.

You swallow hard.

It’s almost too much.

He doesn’t notice you watching him, not at first. But when his gaze lifts, when his eyes meet yours, it’s like he’s caught in the act, caught doing something he didn’t mean to show you. His lips curl into a teasing smile, but there’s a hint of something in his gaze, something softer than his playful tone suggests.

“You’re staring so much,” he says, his voice light, full of affection and humor. He shakes his head, stepping back from the plant, but the smile never leaves his face. “You love me too much. How could you ever live without me?”

His words float in the space between you, and for a brief moment, it feels like the weight of them hangs in the air, thick and heavy. If only he knew.

You smile, but it’s a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, a smile that feels more like a mask than anything else. You don’t answer him, not immediately. You just watch him, the way his movements are so fluid, so effortless, as if he’s always been this way, always been the person who’s had the ability to make everything feel easy.

But nothing is easy, is it?

When he finishes with the plant, his movements still slow and deliberate, he finally turns to you, his eyes searching yours, waiting for you to say something.

You hold your breath for a moment, feeling the tremor of anticipation in the air, the kind of quiet that feels like it’s building to something. Something important, something impossible to ignore. Something you’ve been trying to say, but haven’t found the courage for.

Then, he’s sitting beside you, the weight of his presence beside you, his body warm and familiar. His hand comes to rest on the arm of the couch, so close to yours that you can feel the heat from his skin, the invisible line between you both that feels thicker than anything else in the room.

“So…” He turns toward you, his voice soft, almost hesitant in its own way. “What was that we were gonna do?”

You exhale, and for a brief second, you wonder how you could ever tell him what you really need to say. How could you possibly tell him that every moment feels like it’s slipping through your fingers? That the seconds, the minutes, the hours spent with him—they’re all so fragile. So fleeting. As if, in the back of your mind, you can hear the ticking of some invisible clock, counting down to a time when this moment will be gone.

But you can’t. You can’t say it, not yet. Not when you’re so scared of the truth that you’ve been hiding.

So, you look at him, at his soft, warm smile, and you force your voice to be steady, to sound as though everything is fine, when inside, you’re breaking apart.

“It’s nothing,” you say, your words quiet, your heart beating faster than it should. “Just... dinner. Just this.” You gesture vaguely around the room, as if it could explain everything you’ve been trying to say without saying it. "Just us."

His eyes linger on you, searching, as if he knows there’s more, but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t press you for answers, and for a moment, you think you might actually be able to hold this together. To make it through this. To make it through him, through the love that’s eating you alive from the inside out, the love that’s too big for both of you to carry.

He leans closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and his hand brushes against yours, just the slightest touch, like he’s trying to anchor you to him, trying to remind you that you’re here, together.

"Hey," he says gently, his voice tender and full of something you can’t quite place. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

And in that moment, it feels like everything could be okay. Like everything could stay just like this, in this small corner of the world, with him by your side. But you know, deep down, you’re just pretending. Pretending that time won’t eventually catch up with you both. Pretending that nothing will ever change.

And you hate yourself for it.

But for now, you smile, and you let him hold you in the quiet.

The air is thick with an unspoken tension as Hyunjin’s words hang in the air, tempting fate, inviting the unknown. The motorcycle sits idle in front of you, gleaming in the dim streetlight, its engine quiet for now, waiting for the moment to come alive. He looks at you, his face open, his eyes wide with the same easy smile he’s always had—one that hides the truth beneath, one that gives nothing away, one that makes you feel safe even when you’re drowning in your own thoughts.

He doesn’t know. He doesn't know how you feel, how the weight of everything—everything that’s happened, everything that’s to come—presses down on your chest, makes it hard to breathe, makes your heart beat too fast, too hard. He doesn’t know the depths of what you carry, how the scars on your heart are too deep for him to see, no matter how much he’s loved you. No matter how much you’ve loved him.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he says, his voice light, carefree, like it’s just another adventure to add to the endless list of memories you’ve already collected. The same motorcycle. The same promise. The same broken, fragile hope that you’ll find a way to outrun the clock that’s ticking for both of you.

And for a moment, it feels like you might. For a moment, you let yourself believe that you could just ride away, leave all of this behind, and start over. Start fresh. Be new. Be free.

But you know better. You know that life doesn’t work that way.

You force a smile, nodding in agreement, because what else can you do? The fear in your chest gnaws at you, a constant reminder that nothing lasts forever. The inevitability of it. The aching knowledge that no matter how many times you tell yourself otherwise, no matter how many times you kiss him, touch him, beg the universe to let this moment last, it’s all slipping away.

Before you climb onto the bike, before you’re swallowed by the hum of the engine and the wind that will tear at your face, you stop. You stand there for a moment, looking at him, really looking at him, as if you’re memorizing every inch of his face, every line of his body, every movement of his hands.

You pull him close, desperate to feel his warmth one last time. You press your lips to his, deep and needy, as if this could be the only kiss that matters. The only kiss that will make a difference. Your heart is pounding, each beat a painful reminder of the words you can’t say, the things you can’t bear to think about.

As the kiss deepens, you feel the tears prick at the corners of your eyes, hot and threatening. You break away from him, your breath shaky, your hands trembling as you place them on his chest, as if that could somehow steady you. As if you could control this moment, control what comes next.

“Hyunjin,” you say, your voice low and shaky, but full of the truth you’ve been carrying for so long. "Do you know what you’ve done for me?" You inhale sharply, trying to steady yourself, but the words keep coming, tumbling out in a rush, like you’re afraid to stop, afraid to give them time to sink in.

“You’ve pulled me out of the darkest places. You’ve saved me from myself more times than I can count. There were moments when I didn’t think I could keep going. When everything felt too heavy. When life felt like a burden I couldn’t bear. And you—you were there. Always. No matter how hard things got. No matter how broken I was. You were there.”

You break down then, unable to hold it in any longer. The tears that had been threatening to spill fall now, hot and fast, streaking down your face as you grip him tighter, like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you let go. Your chest heaves with the weight of everything you’ve been holding in, and you let it all pour out.

“You—You were my light. You were my reason to keep fighting. You... you helped me through everything. The debts. The pain. The fear. You always helped me keep going when I couldn’t see a way out.”

The words choke in your throat, each one harder to say than the last, but you can’t stop now. You can’t go back, not when you’re so close to finally telling him everything that’s been breaking you apart inside.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, the weight of it threatening to suffocate you. “I don’t know what’s left if you’re not here. I don’t know who I am without you, Hyunjin. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s fine when you’re the one who’s kept me alive. I need you more than anything.”

You pull away, wiping your eyes quickly, but it doesn’t matter. He’s seen it now. Seen the cracks in your facade. Seen the truth of what you’ve been hiding from him, from yourself.

And as the tears fall, he doesn’t say anything right away. He just holds you, his arms strong around you, his breath warm against your skin. His heart beats against yours, steady, like everything is fine. But you can feel the shift in the air. The weight of the words you’ve spoken, the gravity of what’s about to come.

And for a fleeting moment, you wonder if it’s all worth it. If the risk of losing him, of losing everything, is worth the pain you know will follow. If the love you share can withstand the force of time, of fate, of everything that’s pulling you apart.

But you don’t have an answer. Not yet.

There you were again, the same road, the same fateful turn. The motorcycle hummed beneath you, the world whizzing by in a blur of streetlights and memories, and yet, all you could feel was the weight of inevitability pressing down on your chest. The air was sharp, biting at your skin, but your heart was colder. Colder than the wind, colder than the world around you.

You didn’t know what to do anymore. You didn’t know how many times you had tried. How many nights had passed in this cruel cycle, replaying over and over like some broken record. Each time, you thought you could change it. Thought you could fix it. Thought you could outrun the future. But no matter how many times you altered the course, no matter how many desperate attempts you made—it always ended the same.

Hyunjin would die.

It didn’t matter how early you jumped back, how much you tried to adjust the timing, how much you begged for a different outcome. Every turn, every decision, every twist of fate—they always fell short. Every calculation was wrong. Every move you made too slow. Every plea for mercy too weak.

The screams that tore through your heart each time you crashed, the painful realization that you had failed again. That you had failed. You couldn’t save him. You couldn’t change what was already written.

And so, now, as you swerved once more, you closed your eyes. You closed your eyes because you had finally accepted it. You had finally understood. You had fought so hard, tried so many different ways to bend fate to your will, but no matter what, you always lost. You were always too late.

Hyunjin’s voice broke through the roar of the wind, but you couldn’t hear him—not clearly, not through the ache in your chest. You felt the tug of inevitability in the pit of your stomach, the weight of time pulling you both toward the same end. No matter how much you fought it, no matter how many times you turned the clock back, the outcome was always the same.

It wasn’t about the ride. It wasn’t about the thrill or the freedom you once felt. It was about the crushing certainty of fate, the cruel truth that no matter how many times you tried to alter it, no matter how many times you jumped back to make it right—this was how it had to be.

It was always too late.

And in that moment, a hollow peace settled over you. The fight drained from you, leaving only the quiet despair of acceptance. You didn’t have to run anymore. You didn’t have to keep trying to change something that was already set in stone. Because, in the end, this was always the way it was meant to go.

You had tried everything. And now, you understood sometimes, the only thing left to do is let go.

The final blow came like the end of a cruel symphony—the sound of tires screeching, metal crumpling against pavement, the sickening impact that shattered everything you knew. It happened so fast, yet in those moments, everything felt suspended, like time had drawn its final breath and left you choking on it.

You could see it, feel it, even as the world spun out of control. His body, lifeless, sprawled across the pavement, his blood staining the road—a vision you had seen too many times, yet every time it cut deeper into your soul, leaving a wound that refused to heal. Hyunjin, your Hyunjin, the one who had been with you through every storm, now lost in the chaos, his body broken beyond repair.

The agony was unbearable.

Then, as everything blurred into darkness, you felt the familiar pull. You fell, crumpling to the ground in a heap of shattered pieces, consciousness slipping away, and when you awoke… it was the same.

Inside the photo booth.

The cold, metallic scent of old film lingered in the air. The faint buzzing of the machine was the only sound that met your ears. Your fingers trembled as they reached out, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, suffocating you.

You blinked, disoriented, your mind racing as the realization slammed into you once again. It was happening again. The same cruel cycle.

Tears pricked at your eyes, the rawness of the grief, the guilt, too much to bear. You tried to swallow it, but the ache inside you was too vast, too consuming. Your chest tightened with every sob that choked its way through your throat. How many more times would you have to go through this? How many more times would you have to watch him die, helpless, as fate snatched him from you again and again?

But as the sobs wracked your body, a chilling thought seeped in, cutting through the chaos of emotion. There was no more turning back. No more changing it.

This was it.

The realization settled like an iron weight in your chest. The pattern had been set. No matter how many times you tried, no matter how much you begged, you could never change it. There was no undoing this. Hyunjin was slipping through your fingers, and the very act of trying to rewrite what had happened was only dragging you deeper into the pit of despair.

You weren’t just caught in a loop; you were trapped in fate. The cruel, unyielding truth whispered its bitter song to you, and in that moment, you understood: You were never going to save him.

The machine clicked, breaking your thoughts, and the photo slid from the tray. Your hands shook violently as you reached for it, the trembling only intensifying as you saw the face that had haunted you in every waking moment.

There he was—smiling. Alive.His eyes sparkling with life, just as they had before. Just as they would never again.

Hyunjin.

In the photo, his smile was everything you remembered. The way his eyes lit up when he laughed, the way he had always managed to make you feel like everything would be okay. You could hear his laugh in your mind, see the light in his eyes, the man who was so full of life. The version of him you lost.

You held the photo close to your chest, tears falling freely as you stared at it. The cold, hard truth slammed into you, suffocating any breath you had left. This moment, this piece of him, was all you would ever have. And it was slipping away, just like he had.

You realized, then, with devastating clarity, that no matter how many times you tried to change things, no matter how many chances you took, the story would never change.

There was no more turning back.

Hyunjin was gone. The weight of the finality crushed you—crushed your soul. The endless ache was now a permanent part of you, a scar you would carry for the rest of your days.

The photo fell from your hands, the sound of the paper hitting the floor the only thing that echoed in the silence of the booth. And you let the tears fall freely, knowing that no matter how much you wanted to rewrite history, you could never save him.

Hyunjin was gone. And that was the truth you couldn’t escape.

You stepped out of the photo booth, the night air heavy around you, thick with the weight of what had just unfolded. You stood there for a moment, gazing at the booth, as if it held the answers to questions you no longer had the courage to ask. Its dim glow flickered, casting fleeting shadows on your face, each one a reminder of something lost, something irretrievable. You couldn’t escape the feeling that this was the last time you’d ever see it, the last time you’d ever hold on to the fleeting moments it offered.

You reached into your pocket, your fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the pack of cigarettes you’d grown so accustomed to. Your breath hitched, your heartbeat louder than the world around you. Pulling one out, you lit it with the flick of your lighter, the flame briefly dancing in the cold, before being smothered by the wind. You inhaled deeply, the burn in your lungs a small relief, a distraction from the emptiness that seemed to grow by the second.

You exhaled, watching the smoke spiral upward, dissipating into the night, as if carrying all the pain with it. “This is it, my love,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, caught somewhere between resignation and acceptance. “I don’t know how, but I will… just for you.”

A tear slid down your cheek, the cold night air stinging your skin. You closed your eyes, fighting the suffocating grief that threatened to pull you under. The silence of the night seemed endless, just as endless as the lessons you were forced to learn.

You opened your eyes, staring at the photo booth once more, the memories flooding back. The laughter. The love. The hope. And the devastating truth.

“Having to learn to live without you,” you murmured softly, the words heavy on your tongue, “is a lesson I never wanted to learn.”

And with that, you took another drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs, letting the pain become a part of you.

The End.

©️strangevynl ; I hope everyone enjoyed this series, this story was also inspired by an old cdrama that me and my siblings watched back then. It was so vivid but I remembered it was impactful that I still did not forget it even if it was so long ago. But yes I hope everything goes well for everyone. See you in another decade.

taglist for this series🏷️; none yet!

[ req? yes / no ]

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ──── who would’ve thought you would’ve met the love of your life on the same day he was going to be fucking you into the mattress only a hour later.

( 対 ) bang chan + fem. reader wc. genre · contains! mature content. / back to library

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ one of my all time favorite chan photoshoots…

“do you not know what he’s known for?” your makeup artist asked , you sat in your chair getting your hair down. “duh he’s literally bang chan , of course i know what he's known for.” you said. “you’re a lucky bitch , other actresses are dying to do a movie with him , but he refused to do this scene with anyone but you.”

you smiled smugly into the mirror. “can’t help i’m the best.” you shrugged. “is that so?” a voice said , making you both turn to the door; the man you were talking about standing in the walkway. “you asked for me no?” he nodded. “you’re right , i did.” you could feel the tension in the room; everyone knew this would be a good shoot. “and according to yourself you’re the best , so that would make me the best right? the best only works with the best right?”

the staff removing themselves from the room , leaving you and him , with tension that could cut through skin. “you could say that i guess.” you said , he was now standing behind you, staring ahead into the mirror. “you look good.” he said. “i know.” he chuckled softly; his hands making their way to your shoulders. “you’re pretty smug baby.” he squeezed, making your heart flutter and your lower region flutter. “will you keep that same energy when you’re begging for me to let you cum later, yeah?” he whispered in your ear, his hand that was resting on your shoulder coming down to slide down the robe you wore to cover the minimum amount of clothing you were sporting. “i wore the best thing my stylist could find.”

“it’s cute baby.” he said. “too bad im gonna rip it off you in about 20 minutes.” his hand dropping and you didn’t bother to fix it , leaving the man wanting more. “i’ll leave you to it.” he stepped back, taking in your appearance in the mirror. “damn.” he whispered , making you smile. “kinda want to take you here.” he said leaving you alone in your dressing room — leaving you wanting more of him.

luckily for you; you didn’t need to wait much longer, soon they were bringing you to the set , your heels clicking on the floor as you walked with confidence, sitting down on the bed that was provided for the scene; the robe long gone, leaving you in the sexy underwear your stylist could get her hands on. “where’s chris?”

and just as if someone called on a genie , he appeared. “here i am.” that same dimple smile you saw a while ago. “great you both look great , like a real couple.” she said; his eyes were trained on you. “you hear that? we look like a real couple , that’s how good we look.” he said climbing on the bed. “you got all pretty just for me.”

“you two ready?” the director asked; pressing the button. “good luck!” she said giving the signal that the camera was rolling. luckily the scene was a softer one , you two were like a real couple… then the scene came , the one you’d been aching for since he called for you a few weeks ago.

“spread your legs let me see how wet you are for me.” it felt like he was speaking from his mind and not the script; your legs opening for him. “good fucking girl.” he slapped the inside of your thighs. “look the mess you made.” he said , his thumb grazing your clothed clit. he got as close as he could so only you could here. “remember what i said.” grabbing the waistband of your panties. “these have to go.”

you heard the sound and the feeling of the fabric tearing. “ah fuck!” you whimper, his hands gripping your thighs keeping them apart. “look at that.” he gave your pussy a slap. “she’s begging to be filled.” it didn’t even feel like the script anymore. “she’s crying for me.”

the camera right on your face as he pushed himself inside you. “ah sh-shit.” his veiny hand coming up to your throat , tightening it as he pounded into you. “you feel me?” he groaned. “right here.” he pressed on your stomach adding to the pleasure. “ye-yes fuck.” you cried out. “fuck me , please!”

he cursed as you clenched around him; your warm cunt not letting him go. “look at you -fuck- all dumb and pretty for me , good girl.” your screams and his grunts filled the set , the crew felt the chemistry much as chan did — in fact this is most chemistry he’s felt with anyone he’s ever filmed a movie with. “chan!” you screamed , his hands tangling your hair , tugging on it. “you’re gonna cum for me?” he gave you one deep thrust. “i can feel it.” the heat from the lighting burned your already hot skin. “be a good slut and cum for me.”

your legs shook as you came; a scream getting caught in your throat as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “shit , you’re tightening around me -fuck- i’m gonna cum.” he hissed , pulling out to get the perfect shot , jerking his cock off until he came on your naked chest. “shit.” he hissed , his cum painting your skin white.

the scene was cut as you tried to catch your breath. “good job both of you.” the director said. “people are gonna love this , you two are like a match made in heaven.” she gave both a thumbs up as your stylist gave you some wipes and a robe to cover your body. “you hear that? people are gonna love you.”

“they already love me.” you said. “oh that mouth , gonna get you in trouble one day.” he said. “maybe i’ll have to be the one who trains it, yeah.” he got close to your ear once again.

“maybe i’ll record it just for us it.”

©️LUVYENI

Call It What You Want

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI

Genre: friends with benefits to lovers, smut, fluff

Summary: You and Hyunjin have been doing this 'friends with benefits' thing for a while now. But let's be real. You love him. And when he starts showing similar feelings, you're terrified. And it leads to a whole lot of Hyunjin-style drama.

“Fuck, princess,” Hyunjin groaned, voice wrecked, “you’re so tight.”

He had you pinned to the bed, as he fucked you like the world’s about to end. His hips snapped against yours, each thrust hitting so deep you’re seeing stars. Galaxies even. His lips were on your neck, sucking bruises - which would have your art class whispering for weeks.

You pressed your eyes shut, losing yourself in him completely. The way he moved in and out of you. The soft wet sounds that filled the room. And him whispering the filthiest things in your ear.

You were barely coherent, nails digging into his back, pulling him closer. Hyunjin had this glint in his eye, as he shifted slightly, hitting that spot, and you choked out a moan, tugging at his short dark strands.

His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers circling your clit, and your orgasm hit you so hard, and you whimpered his name, clenching around him so tight, making him curse.

His thrusts turned sloppy as he whispered, “Fuck, that’s it,”

He came just as hard, burying himself deep inside you, and you were both panting, sweaty messes when he finally collapsed beside you. Pulling you close, he kissing your temple, and you let yourself enjoy it, just for a second.

It started about an year ago at a frat party you were dragged to by your friend, Jennie. You’d been sulking in a corner, nursing a warm beer, when Hyunjin, already tipsy, waltzed over, and declared you “the hottest grump he’d ever seen.” You’d scoffed at him, but in less than ten minutes, you had somehow ended up making out in his room upstairs.

One thing led to another, and now you were in this absurd, hilarious mess called, friends with benefits.

---

Hyunjin: You left your glasses on my nightstand. I can bring it over

You: Bring it to class tomorrow

Hyunjin: I’m keeping them hostage. 

You: Hyunjin 🙄

Hyunjin: Sleepover tomorrow? I’ll make pancakes.  

You: Maybe. But only for the pancakes.  

Hyunjin: Liar. You want my pancakes and you know what.

Hyunjin: Night, Nerd Queen 😘

You: Night, Hwang.  

---

You smiled at your phone, heart doing that stupid flip again. You knew you shouldn't be feeling like this. You two were friends with benefits. Fuck buddies. But every time you were with him, you fell for his stupid smile and his childish self way harder than you liked to admit. 

It was a Friday night, and you were curled up in your dorm, binge-watching a new series, when your phone started buzzing.

Hyunjin's frat was organizing a party, and he was probably charming the socks off everyone with his stupidly perfect face. You were trying to stay strong - no running to him tonight - because if you kept giving in to his every whim, he would surely figure out that you were completely, pathetically in love with his dramatic ass. 

And that was a secret you kept locked in a vault.

But Hyunjin? He wasn't making it easy. Your phone lit up again, and you caved, glancing at the screen.

---

Hyunjin: Babbyyyyyy where are you 😭 This party sucks without you! 

Hyunjin: Seriously, come over. I miss your face.  

You: You’re drunk, aren’t you? I’m staying in. Go flirt with your bros. 

Hyunjin: Drunk? Me? Pshh. Ok maybe a lil. But I only wanna flirt with youuuu.

Hyunjin: Come over, I’m lonely.

You: Lonely? Go cuddle Felix.

Hyunjin: Felix doesn’t moan like u do. 

You: Nope. I’m in my PJs, and I'm comfy. You’re on your own tonight.  

Hyunjin: I'm coming to you then. Can't escape me.  

You: Hyunjin, no. Stay at your party. You’re too drunk to walk across campus.  

Hyunjin: Too late. I'm on my way. Gonna cuddle you so hard you forget ur own name. 😤  

You: Oh my god. 

Hyunjin: I'm gonna climb into your bed and never leave. 

You: I’m locking my door.  

Hyunjin: You won't. You love me too much. 😘 Be there in 10. Wear that sweater I like.

---

You groaned, tossing your phone onto your bed. You should lock your door, but you don’t. Instead, you fix your hair, pull on that oversized sweater (the one he liked, because apparently you’re weak). Your heart did that stupid fluttery thing again, and you hated it. You were supposed to be the cool, studious introvert. But here you were. 

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on your door. You opened it, and there he was, looking like a dishevelled Greek god. His short hair and forehead glistening with sweat, his cheeks flushed, and his leather jacket slipping off one shoulder.

He gave you a sunny smile, his eyes lighting up when he saw you.

“My girl!” he slurred, stumbling forward and wrapping you in a sloppy hug. He smelled like beer and his cologne, and it was so unfairly intoxicating. “Told ya I’d come. Missed you so much.”

“You’re so drunk, Jinnie,” you said, but you were smiling as you guided him inside, shutting the door. “How did you even make it across campus without falling into a bush?”

“Love,” he declared dramatically, flopping onto your bed. “Love gave me wings.”

He patted the bed, saying “C’mere, nerd. I need cuddles.”

Then he decided that he couldn't wait, and grabbed your wrist, tugging you down next to him. You landed with a squeak, and he immediately buried his face in your neck, nuzzling like a needy puppy.

“Fuck, you smell so good. Like… home and sexy books.”

“Sexy books?” You laughed, pushing at his chest, but he’s clinging to you like a koala. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he mumbled. “God, I love you.”

He's drunk, you remind yourself. He doesn’t mean it. But your poor heart wished that he did. Meanwhile, his hands slid under your sweater, and you yelped as his cold fingers grazed you stomach to move up and cup your breasts.

“Hyunjin! Your hands are freezing!”

“Then warm me up,” he whined, and before you could stop him, he was crawling under your sweater, tugging it up and burrowing into it. “Lemme in, it’s cozy in there.”

“Oh my god, you won't fit under my sweater!” you laughed.

He was wiggling, his head and shoulders all the way under the fabric.

“You’re gonna rip it!” you squealed, but he just hummed, pressing his face into the space between your breasts. 

“Worth it,” he mumbled, voice muffled. “Wanna live here forever. You’re so soft. And warm.”

You were dying, torn between shoving him off and melting at how stupidly cute he was. He was still trying to fit into your sweater, but finally gave up with a huff and whine and said, “Fine.”

And then settled for wrapping his entire body around you instead. He threw a leg over yours, arms squeezing you tight, face buried in your chest (half submerged in your sweater).

“This’ll do. For now.” he said, and you hummed, stroking his back. 

“You’re such a baby,” you said, and you both remained silent as his breathing slowed and you thought he was falling asleep. But then he murmured, “Love you…so fucking much. You’re my everything.”

Your heart stopped. You froze, hand still on his back, waiting for him to laugh it off or say something dumb. But he just snuggled closer, sighing like he was finally at peace. You swallowed hard, emotions bubbling up.

You loved him too. His childish giggles, his unhinged texts - but saying it felt too big, too scary. So you just hold him, letting the moment linger.

“Sleep, you idiot,” you whispered, kissing the top of his head (poking out through the neckline of your sweater). He hummed, already half-gone, and soon he was snoring softly, clinging to you like you’re his lifeline.

---

Hubby: Morning, wifey 😘 You're so cute when you sleep. Didn't wanna wanna wake you up. Let's go get some breakfast?

You: WIFEY? You changed your contact name to HUBBY? Hyunjin, I’m going to murder you.  

Hubby: Murder your husband? Harsh, babe.

You: You’re not my husband. You’re a silly boy who needs to stop stealing my phone.  

Hubby: I don’t have to steal anything. You're mine. Your phone’s mine. Deal with it, nerd.

You: You're delusional.

Hubby: Call it what you want

Hubby: Now come gimme a kiss, I’m dying😩  

---

You rolled your eyes, yet you were grinning like an idiot before kicking your feet and squealing into your pillow.

---

Later that day, you were in the library, trying to study, but Hyunjin had other plans. 

---

Hubby: Wifey, I’m lonely 😢 Lets study together. 

You: Stop calling me that. And I’m not falling for your tricks. I’m studying.  

Hubby: Tricks? Don't be so mean my love

You: I’m muting you.  

Hubby: You can’t mute your soulmate. Be real fir once, you can't resist me. 

You:  You're so full of yourself.

Hubby: Come over and you'll be full of me too 😉

You: Omg HYUNJIN. 

Hubby: Lmao you're so easy to rile up. Ok, I’ll be good. Love u, wifey. 

---

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. He was so stupidly endearing, and you hated how much you loved it. You were about to reply when a shadow fell over your table. You looked up, and there stood Hyunjin, holding a coffee and grinning. 

“Surprise, wifey!” he said, loud enough for it to echo through the library. He slid into the seat across from you, completely ignoring everyone’s glares. “Coffee for my love.”

“You’re not my husband,” you hissed, but you took the coffee. “And how are you even here? Don’t you have class?”

“Nope,” he said, leaning forward, chin in his hands. “Had to see you. I knew you'd be wearing those glasses and looking so cute…makes me wanna bend you over this table.”

Your jaw dropped, and you kicked him under the table. “Hyunjin! We’re in a library!”

He laughed, unbothered, and grabbed your hand, kissing your knuckles.

“Can’t help it.” 

You snatched your hand back, face burning.

“You’re insane. Go away before I get kicked out.”

“Nope,” he said again, scooting closer until his knee brushed yours. “I’m staying. Gotta protect my wife from nerdy predators.”

He winked, and you were so torn, because you wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe this was real. But this whole thing started off on sex. And you were worried that he'd get bored and he'd get over you. 

You tried to focus on your notes, but Hyunjin was making it absolutely impossible - humming softly, doodling “Mr. & Mrs. Hwang” in your notebook. You give him a glare and yanked your book away, ruining the cute doodle he was working on. 

He gave you a pouty look, and you narrowed your eyes at him. The usual Hyunjin would whine or tackle you into a hug. But he did none of that. Instead he stood up, putting your pen down as he held your gaze, and then just walked away. 

You watched him disappear, and for the first time ever, you were terrified. 

It has been three days since the library incident, and you’re losing your mind. No “wifey,” no texts about bending you over a library table. 

Nothing. Just… silence. The worst part? You missed it. You missed his childish whining, his needy cuddles, his sweet face. You tried to play it cool, but by day four, you were a mess.

You had just finished class and were walking towards the campus cafe, when you spotted him. Hyunjin. Reading. You did a double take, nearly spilling your drink. Since when did Hwang Hyunjin, read a book that thick? He was sitting under a tree, leaning against the trunk, looking so soft in his hoodie and glasses (glasses?!). Your heart squeezed, but you were also annoyed.

You marched over, plopping down next to him. He glanced up, one eyebrow raised, and went back to his book. No grin, no nothing. Just a cool, “Hey.”

“Hey?” you repeated, incredulous. “That’s it? Why are you ignoring me?”

He closed his book, looking at you with a neutral expression that was so unlike him it was creepy.

“I’m not ignoring you. I’m just… reading.”

“Reading?” You narrowed your eyes. “You haven’t spoken to me in days. What’s your deal?”

He shrugged, and said, “Figured you were sick of my ‘needy bullshit.’ You kept telling me to stop, so I stopped.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. He was being… serious?

“I didn’t mean stop everything. You’re acting like we’re strangers.” you snapped.

“I’m giving you space,” he said, his voice is tight. “You said I was too much. So, here’s not-too-much Hyunjin. Happy?”

Happy? You were miserable. But he was staring at you, all sulky and gorgeous, and you realized that he was on strike. No kisses, no touching, no sex. He was punishing you for resisting, and oh, it was working.

“You’re pouting,” you said, poking his cheek.

He swatted your hand away, but there was a flicker of his usual playfulness.

“Am not,” he muttered, turning back to his book. “Go study or whatever. I’m fine.”

You stared, heart twisting. He was hurt, and you did this. You pushed him away, and now he has dialled it back to zero. But you weren't letting him win this. You needed your Hyunjin back, drama and all.

You couldn't take another day of this cold-shoulder nonsense. You mustered the courage for what you were about to do, and walked to the frat house. Ignoring the party raging downstairs, you headed straight for Hyunjin’s room. You didn't knock - you just barged in, and there he was, at his desk, sketching. He was in a loose tank top, hair messy, pencil moving with that focused intensity that made him look so unfairly hot. He glanced up, startled, then leaned back, crossing his arms.

“Ever heard of knocking?” he asked, but there was a spark in his eyes, like he'd been waiting for you.

“Nope,” you said, shutting the door. “We need to talk.”

He raised an eyebrow, playing it cool, but that pout’s still there, lingering. “Talk then. I’m listening.”

You took a deep breath, heart pounding. You’ve been resisting him for months, pretending you were not in love with him. But you were done fighting. You reached into your pocket and pull out the ring pop you had bought on a whim at the campus store - a cheap plastic band with a strawberry-flavored candy “diamond.” It was ridiculous, but you were desperate.

“Hyunjin,” you said, stepping closer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away. I was scared. Because I have wanted more for a while now. I don't want to be someone you sleep with. I wanna be more. I miss you. I miss being your wifey. I miss you so damn much.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything, so you kept going, holding up the candy ring.

“You wanna be my husband? Fine. Here’s your ring. Marry me, you idiot.”

For a second, he just stared, and you felt like you'd broken him. Then his face blooms - eyes sparkling, cheeks flushing, grin so wide it could overshadow the sun. He looked so happy, so Hyunjin, it was like the room got brighter.

“Wifey,” he breathed, voice shaking. “You’re proposing? With a candy ring? Fuck, that’s so cute. I think I'm gonna cry.”

“Please don’t cry,” you said, but you’re grinning too, heart racing. “Just say yes so I can stop feeling like an idiot.”

“Yes yes yes,” he said, jumping up and grabbing your face, kissing you so hard you stumbled back. His lips were soft and desperate, and you kissed him back, hands tangling in his hair, and it was like the world snapped back into place. He was yours, drama and all, and you were his.

The kiss deepened, all tongue and heat, and you were both gasping, pulling at each other like you’ve been starved. He lifted you onto his desk, knocking over his pencils and sketchbooks, and you laughed against his mouth.

“Careful, Hubby,” you teased, and he groaned, kissing you harder.

“Say it again,” he murmured, hands sliding under your shirt, warm and needy. “Please.”

“Hubby,” you whispered and he practically whimpered, pressing himself closer, lips trailing down your neck. You made out for what felt like hours, all sloppy kisses and wandering hands, until your lips were swollen and your hearts pounding.

Finally, you pulled back, both of you panting. He had the candy ring on his finger, and he looked so genuinely happy and excited.

“I love you so much,” he said, holding up his hand to admire the ring. “Strawberry’s my favorite.”

“You’re such a dork,” you mumbled, but you were beaming, because he’s your dork. “I love you, Jinnie.”

---

Hubby: My heart’s gonna explode.  

You: You survived the strike, you’ll live.

Hubby: Never. You looked so hot with that ring, though. Oh fuck, I'm hard again. 

You: HYUNJIN. Behave for five seconds.  

Hubby: Can’t. I’m married to the hottest nerd ever. I’m gonna kiss you forever.

You: I love you baby

Hubby: Fuck, I love you. My wifey. My nerdy goddess. I’m never shutting up again, you know that, right?  

You: Good. I missed your dramatic ass. 

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120 @silly250 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

AND OH ITS HARD TO LEAVE YOU, WHEN I GET YOU EVERYWHERE.

have you heard Seungmin covering Stitches by Shawn Mendes???

LUST

☾⋆⁺₊ pairing: OT8 x fem!reader ˖⋆࿐໋ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: Lee Minho plans a little getaway with his closest friends, their wives, and you, his girlfriend and most adored and prized possession, right after he intentionally reads your private diary and leaves him wandering with your writing about something particular.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 — 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: MDNI 18+, smut, cuckolding, mention of age gap, cheating, est. relationship, pet names, edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, daddy, dreg, corruption & praise kink, impact play, handjob, oral sex, fingering, clitplay, boob play, slight roleplay, gangbang, double penetration, bukkake, unprotected sex, creampies, cumplay, & more !! ̊ ̟ ꒷꒦ ̊ ̟ ꒷꒦ word count: ~15k

ʚ⁺˖ 𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 ˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ (𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 '𝟮𝟰) ₊˚🕯️♱‧₊˚. 00: THE INTRO

main masterlist ; taglist ⭑.ᐟ

a/n: happy and spooky october! my very first kinktober event! (and ot8 lmk what u think:3) i tried to put a tiny plot lol

“I decided to take a couple of days off, well, starting with this weekend at least” expressed your boyfriend calmly, turning the page of his book, disinterested.

You sat up, turning your body to see him and slightly loosening the grip of his arm over your shoulder as you lifted your head from his chest and watched him happily and confused.

“Why is that…?” you asked him with a smile on your face.

Your eyes sparkled and Minho, your boyfriend, saw them directly, causing him tenderness, you knew there was something about him, you noticed something different from the first instant since you knew him so well, it was the first thing you noticed in the morning, but for some reason, you didn’t ask him and now you felt like you were about to know the reason.

“I just… want to relax, I haven’t done that in a while, even before my birthday” he expressed, with his typical tone that you knew so perfectly, that there was something more in-depth in his short and simple answer.

Also, he wasn’t the kind of guy who brings up the topic of his birthday and doesn’t seem fazed by surprises.

You squinted your eyes for a moment and watched him, every faction of his perfect, chiseled face, watching him closely and you knew what a lousy liar he was, Minho wasn’t making eye contact with you all of a sudden and was about to burst out in nervous laughter.

“It’s okay love” you finally replied, genuinely happy for his decision, “you know how happy it makes me that you take these breaks and be with me, it’s to be with me, right?”

He smiled warmly at you, tenderly showing his front teeth and hugging you again as he finally closed his book. You melted at his expression and countenance, you really loved every part of him. You were both there, on a quiet Sunday on the couch reading placidly, Minho sitting and you lying on his chest, enjoying each other’s warmth and company. But in a way, he was a little unsettled and you hadn’t noticed that yet since he was acting so natural and calm.

“Of course I do, honey, I adore being with you… I’ve planned to go to the cabin, shall we?”

You nodded happily, pulling your face closer to him.

“I love the idea…”

And before you could kiss him, he spoke again saying:

“And have the boys come with me…”

Minho blinked suddenly waiting for your answer, but you pulled away from him a little and quickly thought that’s what all the mystery surrounding him during the day was about.

“Oh, you’ll go only with t…”

“No love, I want us to go, them and I thought I’d invite their wives.”

You didn’t know what to say for a moment, you just stared at him for a few seconds and you could think that it was his cabin anyway, his own property and he could decide what to do with it at his own will, so you just smiled, deep down a little disappointed because you had already got the idea into your head to spend a weekend alone in the relaxing forest with your boyfriend, an activity he really loved; but you respected him a lot, absurdly a great amount that you used to be so modest with him to what led you to be submissive to him, something you have discussed previously, in that you may have different opinions and you were more than free to express everything with him, yet you didn’t know exactly why you couldn’t accomplish it. You loved the cabin, it was so spacious, it was literally a big house, the landscapes were beautiful and Minho had it very well kept as it was like his own sanctuary. There was this idea that if he didn’t have to be a civilian and functioning adult with a job in the city, he would live in the quiet of the forest without thinking about it, but it was a few hours outside the city and its access was not so easy. He always offered you his cabin as a way of escape for inspiration in your new work, but he was busy all the time and couldn’t stay with you there, causing you fear and uncertainty to be alone in the forest so you just politely declined every time.

“It’s okay, Minho, it will be fun” you replied kindly, giving him a quick kiss anyway.

You felt the softness of his lips for a brief moment, thinking about that homely, adventurous, and manly side you loved about him, he adored his typical ‘man activities’, being outdoors, camping, fishing, building things, giving you instructions when you didn’t know how to do something he knew almost automatically like fixing a car, putting together a piece of furniture and all those little things he took care of, sighing softly, every now and then letting out an aghh in a whine and looking at you with his big eyes in a falsely disapproving joking way to continue to help you anyway with all his willingness and affection, all those small and simple actions in huge contrast to how you met him, so formal, academic and modestly. You loved him so much and he loved you too.

“I knew you’d like the idea, princess. Do you want me to buy you a new wardrobe to go into the woods this time? It’ll be cold and the last time we went it was summer…”

Your cheeks turned warm quickly, something about him spoiling you too much, buying you and giving you everything, absolutely without whining and you without even having to lift a finger, still caused you some shame, you wanted to earn it, you had been unemployed for months now after graduating, but Minho was supporting you and he used to tell you that you shouldn’t think like that, you did work hard, in writing your new book… but simply, you didn’t manage to finish it. He has given you everything and so many opportunities that even the slightest thing shocked you, despite your already long-standing relationship.

“I’ll see what I can buy myself…” you wanted to emphasize the words buy myself, implying that you would use the money they used to pay you from time to time when you sent the manuscript of some chapters.

“Buy all you want, use my card, dear” he sentenced with a smile, “Do you want more coffee?”

You didn’t even reason his question and nodded somewhat stunned, the next thing you saw was your boyfriend get up from the couch to grab your cups on the nightstand before you and walk to the kitchen. You followed him with your eyes, you wanted to be so grateful to him in such a way that he could feel it and touch it, he kept telling you that he knew you were grateful and that your final art will be a delicious reward for him, but sometimes you felt the need to do something for him… but you couldn’t think of something concrete, not like the things he did for you. You also thought, as you leaned your body back against the couch, how much he loved the cabin, and his 7 closest friends, so when he mentioned ‘the boys’ you knew exactly who Minho meant. You met them over time in your relationship, at reunions and birthdays, you got to be at the birthday party of Seo Changbin, Han Jisung, Lee Felix, Kim Seungmin, Bahng Chan, and the upcoming was Minho’s, you met the rest of his close group, Yang Jeongin and Hwang Hyunjin. Only four of them were married, Chan, Changbin, Seungmin and Hyunjin, and of those four, all except Chagbin already had children, about the others, you really did not know their love situation. But you also knew their respective wives and to be honest... They seemed to you, like women with eccentric but empty personalities, and it was not as if you took the time to know perfectly well Minho’s best friends, you only knew their occupations and their approximate age, all of them were older than you, even the youngest was a decade older than you.

Suddenly curiosity flooded you… why would Minho suddenly want so many people on his property, Minho was so reserved and enjoyed solitude, and his home being invaded by 11 people sounded so exhausting, even for you who hoped not to be the main hostess, you thought that he definitely had a reason and you wanted to find out what it was about. Minho on the other hand was nervous, it was more than obvious that there was a reason but he didn’t feel completely confident about sharing the idea with you… without you calling him sick. A very very sick man, invading your privacy and abusing your trust, but since just a few days ago the disturbing idea did not leave his mind and he wanted to act slow, seeing the result of his craziest thoughts.

๋࣭ ⭑๋࣭ ⸙ ᨒ↟ ⋆｡°

“Do you want to say goodbye to our privacy for the weekend?” you mentioned cheekily, moving dangerously close to Minho.

It’s been five days already, since your boyfriend prepared each one of them with every little detail to go to his house in the forest and make a good impression as a host, with his closest friends and some of their wives.

He frowned in confusion, small dewdrops falling on his straight, short, dark hair, as he closed the back door of his SUV where he had stowed all the luggage.

“Huh?”

“I mean… I love fucking in the cabin with you and now we’ll be with more people around” you commented, pouting a little.

Minho chuckled, incredulously running his tongue along his cavity, amused by your comment, he looked so fucking good, his face just awake, still him in all his senses.

“God, y/n, it’s seven in the morning” he smiled amused with his hands on his hips, almost indignant, “You’re thinking about sex this early?”

You blushed, “Mmm, I’m kinda horny.”

“Wasn’t last night enough?”

You denied frantically, wrapping your arms around his body, “I can never get enough of you…”

Minho released a chuckle, returning your tight embrace, wrapping his strong arms around your lower back and drawing you into his body as an adorable but mischievous smile graced his pretty face and he looked at your countenance in amusement.

“Mmm, okay, but we can’t be late, it’ll be quick…” he mentioned in a low, thick voice, moaning softly in jest as he walked around moving your body trapped in his arms, alerting all your senses.

You were glad, you smiled happily moving the muscles of your face and raising your ears on the spot, being touched by Minho always put you in a perfect mood.

“We’ll be right on time” you replied, lost in the closeness of his face, lips, and soft chin.

“It better be because that fucker Seungmin is always on time.”

You laughed, somewhat stunned letting yourself be carried by his steps to the entrance of his home, where once inside, Minho pushed you against the door and took your lips passionately, surprising you a little, you tasted the fleshiness of his lips and his fresh breath from his oral hygiene just a few minutes ago, his left hand held your cheek while with the other he squeezed your waist tightly; you had dressed so cute and autumnal that your boyfriend had to kiss you after seeing you all dressed up, hair and make up done, dressed in your denim mini skirt, sweater and thin scarf while he was telling you in your ear and between kisses how cute you looked, how much he loved you and how you looked like a cute little doll like that, completely ruining the random lip combo you had chosen, he also got horny seeing you like that, with your mini skirt and such a candid look, getting even jealous for slight seconds that his friends would also see you like this every day, since you weren’t confident enough with them to walk around in your comfortable and loose clothes inside the home, so you had packed different and elaborate outfits with all your necessary makeup, Minho was heated halfway through your kissing session, but unlike you, he knew how to calm down and didn’t ask to do it right there, but it certainly left you wanting more, with your poor core muscles tingling restlessly, but you just watched as your boyfriend stopped, pretending to be shocked and busy, saying he had to get everything into the car and if you would help him, leaving you pining, but right now he was kissing you with much more intensity than a few minutes ago, his body was getting closer and closer to yours to the point where you could feel the hardness of the door on your back and the stiff denim of his crotch with his hard penis trapped in it, rubbing against you.

It took you small seconds to keep up with him, his lips and tongue moving nimbly across you and you couldn’t help but feel the typical tingle in your bottom, enjoying the moment and fantasizing about how much you love sex and intimacy with your boyfriend. It wasn’t something you used to remark on, but your mind kept spinning on how much of an expert Minho was with you, it wasn’t like you were the most expert at sex either since, after all, he was the first with you in everything and he was the only person you knew sexually, but he made you feel so great, he knew exactly where to touch you and how to drive you crazy, if that made you young and naive you didn’t care, you loved every moment of the day you got to explore with him, explore the endless desire and pleasure you had until you were panting after you climaxed so intensely.

Minho loved every part of you, he used to ignore the fact that you were younger than him and were slightly a doll to him, so moldable and manipulable to his desire, but he put that aside —or at least he convinced himself to do so— and was quite the gentleman with you, because he loved you, even though sometimes, most of the time, he notices the way you love to be treated a little rough in bed, driving him absolutely wild, fantasizing in all the ways you both could get to fulfill both of your fantasies. In fact, he notices every detail about you, it is inevitable for him not to be aware of you and to be deeply obsessed with you, your relationship started that way, with piercing glances from him to you in places where he should have been professional and kept his posture, but you were the fucking temptation in person, making his life miserable the time he couldn’t have you.

But now, he had you all to himself, all the time, every moment you both desired, Minho adored every inch of you, he praised the ground you walked on, he loved that you were his and taking you around as his most special person and his most prized possession and award, nothing took away his smug smile every time he held your hand in public, he adored possessing you so his deep kisses trapped every part of you as you felt the warmth of his organ separate from you to go down to your neck, gently pulling the thin fabric of your scarf, causing you to tingle and shiver but the feeling didn’t stop, as you suddenly felt his lips on your neck, breathing in your scent, kissing your skin, losing himself in the pure paradise that the sweetness of your being was giving him.

Minho took a deep breath, his libido on edge and his cock throbbing at your slightest proximity, he was losing his mind, he wanted to bite your skin, to revel in your sweet moans of his teeth mistreating your docile young skin but he held back, like a man aware in his senses, but lately he has been holding back a lot when it came to you, one part of him wondered why and the other knew exactly the reason, with a slight prickling sensation in his chest, Minho has been thinking too much about it.

“Fuck, bunny, I can’t fuck you right now, but I’ll be quick and take care of that needy part of you” he whispered into your neck, his heaving breath rocking you, “We can’t be late…. or, fuck it, do you want me to fuck you now?”

His right hand traveled from your waist to your pussy, cupping it for a moment, sending a pang of sudden surprise arousal through your body, you bit your lip, still with the feel of his on yours, with his taste and the madness it was taking you to feel the tip of his nose brush against your neck.

“It’s okay, Minho” you answered without thinking, and without even reasoning a single word he had said, you weren’t thinking clearly, your hormones were high, and you just enjoyed the pressure of his palm on your clit.

“Yeah, what?” he murmured in amusement, pulling away from you to stand in front of you, with a half smile, enjoying your docile expression of pleasure.

You looked up at him into his huge, completely dark eyes which watched you expectantly. You blinked to try to reason but he pressed his hand against your center again making you release a soft moan.

“We’ll be late…” you replied with difficulty, your face was turning red, you were starting to get hot, “You can do whatever you want…”

“Say what you want, now” he ordered, his sudden switch surprised you but you liked it at all, he sounded so serious.

“Can you take care of me quickly, please” you almost gasped in supplication.

“You just love when I make you feel good, don’t you?” he replied haughtily with a smile on his face, giving you a fleeting kiss.

Minho quickly slid to the floor, staying right at the height of your skirt, which he lifted it and his smile somehow got bigger as he saw you wearing tiny protective shorts under it, something in him quickly fantasized about the fact that you were not a bad girl looking for evil, you could be spontaneous and naughty and only wearing your underwear underneath, instead you were protecting yourself as you would be at least almost 72 hours along with more men.

“Good girl” he whispered, panting and mumbling, yanking roughly at your shorts and panties.

You watched Minho, glancing down at him from above, you couldn’t deny how incredibly aroused you were and of all the areas of your body that cried out to be touched, it was in more desperation your sweet throbbing cunt, you wandered between your thoughts and his lewd acts; if only you had ignored the fact that Minho had to receive his friends and decided to be completely filled by him, you would already be naked, pressed against his body as the two of you created more tension, as he prepared your body well before fucking you hard because Minho loves to have you so wet, messed up before finally inserting his well-endowed manhood into you, it was something so common with him, but no, instead, before you could even process it, your handsome boyfriend captured your pussy in his mouth, leaving you stunned and gasping, kissing your area dirtily and nimbly, his lower lip and tongue caressing your folds, labia and clit, his upper lip rubbing on your pubic skin, sucking finely. You thought about how much you enjoyed having him eat you whole and, that if he decided to do it with the same delicacy and passion with which he always gives you oral sex, you would only drag out your orgasm and that might lead you to fall behind with your journey, but you were so needy all of a sudden, that a little bit of your boyfriend’s magic and movements in your desperate spot was enough for you just now.

Minho looked into your eyes raising his gaze and did not take his mouth away from you, he closed it, daintily brushing his lips to gently kiss your mons pubis and moved towards you again, parting your folds and losing himself in your pulsing clit, sucking on it, not caring about your skirt in his mission, as it was tight enough to stay stuck above your hips. You intertwined your hand in his soft hair, enjoying your boyfriend’s warm cavity in your slick. Minho was equally or worse exasperated, so he couldn’t help but torture himself further and in one swift movement he unbuttoned his jeans with one of his hands and pulled his cock out, almost grunting with your pussy in his mouth at the sensation of his hard piece of flesh exposed, pumping in pleasure, he stroked it, filling his hand with his own precum and began to masturbate gently, while with you he remained somewhat rough.

His suction increased in intensity, making you let out a squeal and then bite your lip, his tongue was increasing in speed, his licks were more constant and deeper, you were building your orgasm magically, but you lost your mind as you felt his fingertips caress your folds and then run them more roughly through your wetness until they sought your entrance, teasing you with a single finger, then inserting two, effectively thrusting them inside you, you were a mess of sighs and heavy breathing but you let out an audible moan again as you felt his third finger in you and the gentle nibble of his teeth on your sensitive area.

You were both in bliss, his cock being stimulated by himself to orgasm but not missing a beat in you, finding himself multitasking as he satisfied you with his hand and mouth. You began to shudder, feeling the tense climax in every inch of your body, his fingers were filling you, his tongue licking you all over making incredible shocks of pleasure come to you as you looked into his eyes from time to time, his whole pretty face buried in your core as he struggled with himself masturbating. You gasped in exasperation as you moaned his name, you loved moaning his name, stroking his hair, watching him satisfy you. Your stiff muscles ached but your core was being divinely pleasured and without warning, you cum on your boyfriend’s magical fingers fucking your insides.

Minho pulled his fingers out to taste every part of you one last time, jerking his cock hard until he squeezed and expelled every drop of cum loaded in his sizzling arousal, groaning through his teeth as he ran his thick tongue naughtily cleaning every part of you, making you slightly restless again and hard to recover from your orgasm, because you knew it was a little provocative game Minho liked to play on you, but before you could become aroused again, he broke away from you, raising his face to look at you, his mouth glistening from you, smiling genuinely happy as if he had tasted something finely delicious.

“Go on, princess, go get cleaned up, I’ll do the same and meet you here at the front door to go, okay?” spoke Minho softly.

You were both agitated, but satisfied that you couldn’t have asked for anything better before starting your little adventure in the forest of which you had no idea what you were in for or about to do so in the meantime you kept calm about it, but the more you thought about it and the closer and closer you got to your destination, you were terrified of the idea of looking like an immature girl who was all the time next to her boyfriend because she didn’t have enough confidence with the rest of the people who would be there, because the more you thought about it the more absurd it seemed to you the matter or the reason for such a weekend. You tried to look on the bright side, but deep down you hoped it wouldn’t be a long or tedious weekend at all.

You two went to get cleaned up and returned with big smiles to get into Minho’s car and drive a little over two hours out of the city to officially head into the woods. You fixed your makeup on the way as Minho drove, gently squeezing your thigh as he gave you a smile and headed off on his way to his property, you returned the sweet gesture with a smile and excitedly, did your best not to sleep, talked the whole ride with Minho and had fun selecting music.

“Play something from IU, baby” commented your boyfriend watching you holding your phone to handle the music, then looking back towards the highway.

“IU…” you replied playfully, squinting your eyes and pouting at him, annoyed.

Minho laughed and the rest of the ride was so enjoyable, you were a little sleepy but it was enough for you to see the attractive profile side of your partner and suddenly you would blurt out something that came to your mind. But in moments of silence, when the music was the only thing that accompanied you, you thought about the situation, it was obvious that Minho wanted to spend some time with his friends and he would leave you with the wives of his best friends but… what the fuck could you talk about? You were a recent college graduate, your hobbies were so normal and banal to those of a young girl your age, but from there also came your uncertainty and insecurity that you would be judged and that they would think of you exactly the same but with Minho, if you are young and your vision or ambitions were oriented differently, then what were you doing with Minho, but it was an answer that you could respond surprisingly with the most cheesy and even childish words, but because you loved him, the support was mutual and that’s why you were with him.

“Maybe… this weekend you can finally find inspiration, sweetie.”

You hummed in response as you nodded softly as he interrupted your thoughts, but right after hearing that you went back to diving into them and the constant worry you had about writing something; Minho noticed your silence immediately wanting to remedy the problem.

“Oh, my dear, I wasn’t telling you that to pressure you, you have time, enjoy, I love you” he said worriedly, speaking fast and controlling his impulses to let go of the steering wheel to hug and touch you.

“Oh, it wasn’t that” you replied unconcerned and somewhat guilty that you made him feel bad, “It’s okay, I’m sorry, Minho. Thank you.”

All the things Minho did for you. Or at least you always thought so. You just wondered if you could ever give it back to him.

Some time later you arrived at his house, your excitement and nerves grew once the tires of his car passed through the forest dirt and on a cool, beautiful October morning, two lovers stood in front of the house you never thought held surprises for you.

The cabin, as Minho used to like to call it, looked the same as you remembered it the last time you went, in the summer just a few months ago, but the atmosphere was cooler, the sky was gray and it was adorned all around by the beautiful autumn color palette, it was cozy, it was absolutely all the essence of your lover Lee Minho in one property.

“I’ll take the things out, hon. If you want to sleep you can go inside, it’s all ready, the housekeeper left it spotless” he added, coming up to you to hug you and pin you against his car door.

“It’s okay. I’m not sleepy, really” you wrapped your arms around his neck, “Besides your friends could be here any minute.”

And just as you said that, you both could hear perfectly besides the sound of the wind and leaves flying, the sound a car driving up to your direction. You both turned your head to the left waiting for the car to show itself, until it did a few minutes later.

“Was he coming behind us and we didn’t see him?” added Minho amused, not releasing his grip on your waist.

You didn’t react, you were so comfortable with your arms on his shoulders that you both watched in anticipation as the car parked and the people got out of it.

Kim Seungmin. Just the person Minho had said would arrive first. Minho had all these characters as best friends. Kim Seungmin, superstar baseball player married to the model and creative director and manager of one of the most famous girl groups currently, basically she was a socialite and businesswoman, Jung Jisook, but better known as Kim Jisook legally taking her husband’s last name.

You felt the woman’s judging look as she lowered her Chanel sunglasses from her face, watching as you and Minho continued like two lovebirds cuddling. You felt bad for a small moment and slowly stopped hugging your boyfriend, who also gently pulled away from you to move closer to his friend.

“Fuck, Minho, I’m early again” Seungmin said suddenly, putting his hands on his hips falsely indignant.

“Nice to see you again, Minho, the house is beautiful and you have the lake for yourself, amazing. I want a lake house too now” added the woman happily, approaching your boyfriend to greet him, “Thank you for inviting us.”

“How are you Jisook? It’s good to see you too, and don‘t worry, my house is your house. How’s Jungmin?”

Jungmin, the Kim’s little two year old boy. You haven‘t met him yet.

“My sister is taking care of him by herself these days” Seungmin replied, “Why did you bring us here again?” he joked, “Ah, by the way, nice to see you again…. Y/n, I’m Kim Seungmin in case you don’t remember.”

You let out a giggle, you were absorbed by the situation around you that you had even forgotten to speak.

“Hello” you replied shyly, waving your hand, “Mr. and Mrs…”

“Seungmin, please” he interrupted you with a smile to which you nodded, he looked straight at his wife, waiting for her to do the same.

“Jisook” she replied despondently.

You bit your lip nervously, you understood and felt her slight disdain for you as before you, in Minho’s life there was someone else, his ex-wife Miyeon, who you were very much aware is still a close friend of his best friends‘ current wives.

“Well, settle in, make yourselves comfortable, Y/n will show you to your room."

“You seriously have rooms for everyone? That’s great” Jisook added, “Honey we should get something like that, wouldn‘t that be fun?”

“The forest at night?” her husband replied, “No thanks, Minho likes it because he’s a maniac.”

You laughed at his comment and waited for Seungmin to put their bags down. You watched him carefully, you had to confess that each of Minho’s friends had their own particular charm and, each of them were really attractive men. Seungmin had innocent looking, droopy-kind eyes, short black hair and a manly, elegant and slim build, with a clean and slightly boyish appearance.

You finally opened the house and led the Kims into the room your boyfriend had previously indicated. You saw Jisook inspecting the place as she walked in and somewhat awkwardly you were about to leave them alone when a “Thank you, y/n” from Seungmin stopped you for a second.

You didn’t know if you were crazy, if you were seeing things that weren’t but Seungmin’s tender and kind look at you changed for a second, his dark eyes were shining and you could notice how he subtly checked you out, somewhat mischievously. You smiled and walked out, frowning and wondering if it was all in your imagination.

But there were so many of their intentions that you didn’t know, Minho’s big little secret baiting you, you were the main attraction, the real reason for those men‘s stay at Lee Minho’s cabin.

You rejoined Minho outside the house, watching each of his friends arrive, taking surprise after surprise as you watched each attractive man walk through the door of the house behind you as you directed them to their room since that was the task Minho had assigned for you.

Next, Seo Changbin, who complained when he arrived and did not think he would be early, but it was all arranged by his wife who wanted to be near the lake; he was an aeronautical engineer with a PhD and a professor at the prestigious university where Lee Minho himself was also a faculty member; accompanied by his pretty model wife and owner of a women’s sportswear line, Seo Chaeryeong. Changbin, in addition to mathematics, loved to keep his image healthy and exercise, so his appearance was muscular and his eyes were so uniquely shaped.

Next, Lee Felix, arriving alone, something about him looked anxious but happy, he was a handsome, freckled, big eyed man with long, blond, dyed hair, he arrived confident with a blue designer suitcase, Felix was a programmer who worked importantly designing video games or something like that you understood from Minho. Right behind him came Hwang Hyunjin, a painter who owned galleries with his wife Vittoria, an exclusive interior designer, who had, together with Hyunjin, been involved in much of the cabin’s interior for years now.

Later at about the same time, Bahng Chan, owner of a boxing academy, which Minho attended, and chief of police in the city, together with his wife Miah, who you had no idea what she did but lived a good life with Chan. After him, Yang Jeongin, the youngest of your group of friends, editor-in-chief of a major fashion magazine, arriving with a huge smile and charisma, secretly being one of your boyfriend’s favorites.

At this point you were exahusted, you didn’t expect to see so many people all of a sudden, you had forgotten your social battery, but finally, your boyfriend’s best friend, Han Jisung, the handsome Han Jisung, producer and composer of major entertainment companies, could not be missed.

They were all, the house was certainly full, a few hours had passed and you were already starting to judge each one with a bit of your writer’s mind, but you decided to ignore it, letting yourself be carried away by the simplicity of the time. Minho had planned it all, cooking for you, getting together for lunch, setting up around the house so you could relax, you were having a good time leaving the fact that you felt highly judged by the four women older than you.

The first day went so well, you went to sleep with Minho kissing him sweetly good night but… the nightmare came the next morning, when your boyfriend distanced himself from you to spend some time with friends and you were forced to spend time with the eccentric and millionaire women, at first it went well, Chaeryeong, the youngest after you, invited you to run early along the forest, which you accepted, when you were about to do so, her husband was outside, preparing some things with the other guys, setting up camping tents because apparently they would be spending the night outside today and after she gave Changbin a quick kiss and started jogging, he gave you a half smile and you couldn’t help but feel watched again, just like the first day Seungmin did, in fact you have been feeling watched, heavy gazes on you.. but you thought you were starting to get paranoid, they didn’t bother you, but they confused you too much… why were they looking at you, as if you were in the spotlight and suddenly they wanted to eat you with their eyes.

You didn't give the matter a second thought, you came in from your little exercise, clearing your mind by jogging through the trees, feeling the cool air hit your face, leaving you breathless and in a cold sweat. You went back to the cabin, showered and dressed up again this time slightly more comfortable and natural, you thought you were going for a quiet afternoon, but your boyfriend forced you to spend the rest of the afternoon with the women in the town 40 minutes away.

You couldn’t believe it, there you were, in Hwang Hyunjin’s car while his wife was driving, you didn’t know if Minho was waiting for them to become your best friends overnight, but it was absurd… they were something unbelievable. You didn’t want to judge them as women blinded in the perfect life and glamour, but they were exactly that, you didn’t blame them, if you had the necessary money god knows how unbearable you would become too, but, being with other people, seeing the sunsets and the sunrise from a new perspective, all those little factors that were making you become yourself again little by little, you were inspired.

You arrived, spent a nice night under the stars and a campfire, eating smores, telling absolutely everything, each one was so talkative in their own way, you could feel why Minho appreciated them a lot, but the robots at their sides didn’t help them at all, you wanted to love them, you wanted to feel in the closeness and trust of women, but you had such neutral opinions about them, they judged with their eyes every time they laughed loudly and you understood that sometimes it was annoying, but not to be reflected that way all the time. The camping tents were in vain, in the end everyone went to sleep inside, that night Minho surprised you, being overly affectionate all of a sudden.

“Look at the view” he said, hugging you from behind, sniffing the smell of your hair as he pointed to the window.

Darkness and more darkness, only a pine tree being dimly illuminated by the light outside. You never stopped to think how scary it looked at night because you were all the time accompanied by Minho and you felt completely safe.

“It looks scary” you spoke your mind.

“It really does, a little bit” he spoke in your ear, turning you unexpectedly to face him.

You looked into his eyes, you understood exactly what was going on.

“I need you” he confessed to you.

Your cheeks turned pink, you were a little shy to have sex because it was so likely that they could hear you, in that case, Felix, Jeongin and Jisung who slept in the same room near yours.

“I don’t know, Min, I don't want to be vulgar and be overheard…” you expressed apologetically.

Minho’s mind spun around, vulgarity, noise, scandal, it was all he could think of lately.

“If you don’t want to do it princess that’s fine, but if you want to do it we can be so, so quiet” he whispered, seducing you as he brought his face dangerously close towards you.

You kissed him. And he got his way that night, it wasn’t like you refused either and, with a hand over your mouth, trying to cancel out any noise coming from you, you and Minho fucked that night. The forest was silent, your muffled moans and Minho’s withheld moans decorated that night.

๋࣭⭑๋࣭⸙ᨒ↟⋆｡°

The next morning you woke up without the silhouette of your lover by your side, you took a shower and got ready to go downstairs for lunch but everything was particularly quiet that Sunday morning, your last day of adventure.

You looked around a bit scared, it was as if there was no one else in the house, giving you chills, lunch was ready, at least yours, set on the kitchen island, but there was no one there, but suddenly Minho’s presence managed to scare you a bit.

“You’re awake, baby. Come, we’re outside, have lunch here with us.”

Minho spoke softly to you, giving you a kiss on the cheek and taking the plate of food, the glass and the cutlery to head towards the back area of the house where Minho had a sort of balcony or small living room outside to relax. You were glad not to be alone for a moment, but the strange feeling inside you returned when you saw that it was only his seven best friends sitting there. You felt the piercing gaze of each of them with every step you took.

“Hey, Y/n” Chan greeted you to which you smiled nervously, sitting down.

“Hi” you replied to everyone in general.

You just wondered where their wives could be and how seeing you there alone among them all was questionable, or was it just your mind making you think that.

You were a little shy, yet you dared to look at each of their faces, it really seemed as if they knew something you didn’t, they were hiding something.

The rest of your lunch none of the wives showed up and you felt so shy to ask, but none of them felt shy with you, questioning you down to the smallest detail.

You didn’t understand what was going on, but they did.

๋࣭ ⭑๋࣭ ⸙ ᨒ↟ ⋆｡°

Finally back home almost at dusk, you couldn’t help but think about the way you met Minho and that maybe that’s one of the main reasons why you were getting disapproving looks from wives, you knew it was wrong, it wasn’t the best of cases but it happened, you released sparks and your love was born unexpectedly. You had met Minho in a somewhat unfavorable way, in your last winter at the university before graduating, Lee Minho was your professor. At first there was nothing but sighs and complicit glances that you thought were only coming from you, but you didn’t know you were driving Minho crazy and over time… it was inevitable, you got closer and closer to each other on winter break, he took you on clandestine dates, showed you his home, showed you his heart and a side of him that he didn’t think would ever come out again after his divorce, but by January he was already confessing to you that he had never flirted or fallen in love with a student… that the fatality of the situation was inevitable… but that if somehow you both had to try, you didn’t hesitate, at that point you were so immersed in him, everything had his name written all over it and it was perhaps because he was your first great love. You started dating secretly until you graduated and by June he offered you to live with him to which after thinking it over, you accepted and everything with you had been wonderful so far, everything could have been perfect if it wasn’t for your constant feeling of stagnation at work.

You looked at your boyfriend’s profile side and reenacted in your mind the slightly weird moment when he almost forced you to spend with his 7 best friends, you knew you shouldn’t take it that way, but all the women leaving and leaving you alone with 8 men was a situation you were left to think about… but you were so sweet and naive that you didn’t have the slightest idea of the thoughts that ruled the mind of the one you used to think of him as a sweet and tender lover, Minho’s thoughts.

Minho had a degree in languages, literature, in grammar, courses and postgraduate degrees in publishing and among countless other things that surprised you, his family owned a popular and old publishing house which only further developed Minho’s passion for literature and one of the things that made him fall in love with you was your sensual and unique way of writing, the way you chose the words to develop the perfect paragraph of whatever it was you wanted to put forward, the subtlety of your eroticism in words, for when you were both secretly lovers you used to write short stories from a compilation of these in a book he published under his publisher under a pseudonym you both chose, the thrill of something so morally wrong, the ephemeral and forbidden sex in his office, all that motivated you so much, but now he lived with a broken heart that you couldn’t find something concrete to write about so you could have your first book.

Minho saw you frustrated even though you tried to hide it, and on several occasions he witnessed how much you used to write in a notebook, by hand, to which he curiously asked you one night what it was about, to which you nervously answered that it was just your personal diary.

At first he didn’t care, he thought it was cute the way you still wrote by hand, when even he couldn’t keep that level of commitment, but one night, a Saturday night to be exact, a week before he proposed to visit his house in the forest, you went out with one of your friends leaving him alone, so he came into your office, really without any purpose, he saw the chair in front of your desk and remembered how tenderly nervous you were when he found out you had a personal diary, suddenly, curiosity invaded him: Minho knew he shouldn’t, that he was invading your privacy but he was so curious to know, he shared all his secrets with you, but how many of them you kept.

And then, he looked for your diary, finding it after searching, you had hidden it. He wasn’t going to sit down and read every page of your privacy as if it were the damned newspaper, he was just curious about what you were saying most recently, to which, that night, with his heart racing, he opened the journal and read, with a smile as he visualized your calligraphy on the paper.

I have had fantasies. I honestly don’t know why if sex with Minho is wonderful. It’s just… at first it was these dreams, so hot I’d wake up in a daze, with wetness in my panties, feeling it so real, but I’d forget them right away, they were blurry memories of this one and sometimes I just thought they were dreams where I recreated something sexual with Minho, sex on the couch, sex in the kitchen but, god, I sound like a perverted, sexually frustrated older woman in her declining sex life, but, I had this encounter, with one of Minhovs best friends ...

Minho’s heart almost stopped beating for a second and he turned pale when he read that, continuing in panic with the reading, almost wanting to close the journal and not thinking that it could be about what he feared the most, an infidelity. He read on.

… and I think from there, for some reason my subconscious has gone crazy. I was always a firm believer that dreams sometimes had meanings, sometimes they were random products of your mind… but the fact that you imagine even when you are asleep seems incredibly fascinating to me, I always liked dreams, even if they are nightmares, it’s just that, it’s an indicator that your brain never turns off even for a second, I don’t know, it’s something difficult to explain that fascinates me too much. The point is, I ran into one of his best friends while I was doing some grocery shopping and we had a nice talk and I couldn’t help but think how different he was from Minho but the way I liked him so much, he is so handsome, I must admit, he has an exceptional charisma and I think from there my fantasies have grown, I think he is the one I dream about.

Minho stopped reading for a second to look at your manuscript in disbelief. While thousands of not so friendly thoughts ran through his mind: who were you talking about? What the fuck was that all about? Did you like a friend of his? Who? What was going on?

For a moment I had the idea of writing about that, about a woman who frequently has fantasies about her boyfriend’s best friend, but I don’t know, I hope to elaborate and not fall into cliché, besides, what purpose can it serve? Will it be a book about infidelity? Am I unconsciously being unfaithful to Minho? I know minho is not like that, that if I tell him the idea and show him a draft he will be brutally honest and judge as a critic and not as a boyfriend, but I am so uncertain, what if he thinks it is something that happens to me, something I am somehow becoming very familiar with, or am I just overthinking it?

I talked about it with my friends, they told me it’s normal at the same time yes and at the same time no, they laughed at me saying that after all I just wanted to fuck his best friend, but then they argued something that left me thinking more than I already was.

First times and only loves. Minho is the only thing I know of love and I love him. But, it was also my first sexual relationship and my friends argued that it’s only because I’ve never tried another man other than Minho before.

I thought it was absurd, I love him, everything with him is great, the way he touches me and makes me feel, I can easily say that I want to be all my life with him, but the idea had already been embodied in me, they were right, he has been the only man, but it is normal that only sometimes I think what will it feel like to explore with more?

I don’t want to leave him, I love him, I don’t want to cheat on him either, but I’m young and I want to experiment. But I’m also young and I don’t think clearly.

The more Minho read, the more dizzy he became, the next thing, he was astonished, words written by you of an explicit description of everything you would like to do, or at least, everything you dreamed of with a man who was not him. You described him as stronger, firm and rigid fingers going through your core, strong thighs hitting your body every time he penetrated you… god, Minho read absolutely everything with frightened eyes, he wished he didn’t.

Curiosity killed the cat. Minho had stopped fantasizing about other women because with you he had it all… but your argument drove him crazy, he did have experience with more women, but for you Minho was everything, he didn’t know whether to be flattered or confused.

He knew it was wrong and he shouldn’t have read it in the first place but, the stunned left his body after a couple of days and something in him was ignited, the fact that you were so sexually turned on and wanted to try all kinds of sizes… his thoughts weren’t exactly sweet, he imagined your sweet face while you were being fucked, wasn’t that what you wanted and craved so much?

If you wanted to experiment with more men, why not do it with what he already knew and had full trust in.

The idea was unhinged and he didn’t know how to put it to his friends, until he said it, so suddenly and in a serious tone as he used to be, a simple and classic Minho, gathered in tranquility, he blurted out:

“Mmm, I think we should fuck Y/n.”

His friends looked at him puzzled, doubting if they had heard right. They knew how special you were to Minho, why would he offer something so insane? Or was it a joke?

It was a crazy idea, but in the end, they all agreed.

On the other hand, on the way Minho questioned you if you had felt good and if you had noticed the unhappiness and frustration on his friends’ faces about the marriage, you found it strange because you idealized marriage so much and expected it to be the most sacred thing, hoping that one day you could unite your life forever with his.

๋࣭ ⭑๋࣭ ⸙ ᨒ↟ ⋆｡°

And then you were seduced to another weekend in the forest, you were happy as your writing had flowed so naturally and your boyfriend’s gentle proposal filled you with excitement again.

“Let’s go one more time to the cabin, finally without so many people” he mentioned to you spontaneously, while you were tending the garden in autumn as he gave you a resounding kiss on the cheek.

There you were again, but just as you arrived you got the huge surprise that you already had visitors.

“What is this? I thought we would be alone” you said to Minho before getting out of the car.

You weren’t upset just confused by his strange behavior lately.

“Relax, princess. It’s just 3 of my friends, they adore you, come on.”

Minho was quick to get out of the car. It seemed as if Bahng Chan, Hwang Hyunjin and Lee Felix were waiting for you. Again you felt inside you that feeling that they were planning and hiding something you had no idea about.

You greeted them. You tried to be okay but it bothered you that Minho was telling you half the things, or so you felt.

“Hi, Y/n, what do you want to do today?” greeted you sweetly Hyunjin of which you were a bit confused.

Minho gave him a withering look as you both walked towards the entrance. Everyone was nervous but tried to hide it.

“Campfire? Camping? A movie?” added Chan.

“Go to the lake with me” interrupted Felix.

You looked at them strangely because just a week ago your talks were still a bit formal, you didn’t talk much like you could say that with all the confidence, but you didn’t take it badly, you liked them, you saw the kindness of their intentions, or at least you thought so, they were nice men worthy of Minho’s love so, you liked them too.

“No” Minho replied almost annoyed.

“I’m fine, thank you, what can we do Minho?” you asked innocently.

You managed to raise the gazes of the other men, seeing how you sought Minho’s opinion on everything.

They remembered that moment in the backyard of Felix’s house where Minho summoned them when he told them about his crazy idea.

“She's… pretty and submissive, it’s cute, she seeks my approval but honestly I’ll could never be able to say no to her.”

“Too pretty I’d say” Changbin added amused.

Minho gave him a dirty look.

“And she asked you that she wanted to be fucked by 8 guys and you couldn’t say no to her?” joked Seungmin.

“No. It’s not like that, it’s just, it’s something I know.”

“Who in the world asks his friends if they want to gangbang his girlfriend?” provoked Seungmin.

“Shut your mouth, Seungmin, if you don’t want to participate then forget this” Minho spat.

“Oh no, I’m in” he quickly replied scoffing.

The rest of the friends laughed.

“Then why the fuck do you have to…” Minho was about to comment but was interrupted by Felix.

“What do you know, you said you knew something.”

Attention went to the freckled man but once as soon as Minho warmed up his vocal cords to respond, all 7 pairs of eyes focused on him.

“I read something from her, how she’s young and currently has been fantasizing about being with more men because…. shit, I don’t want to stir up your dirty fantasies, but-”

“As if this wasn’t dirty enough already” Jeongin muttered with a grin. Minho continued.

“… I’m the only man she’s been with, she has no other experiences besides me so, I don’t know, it came to my mind to give her more experiences, me, deciding with whom, maybe it’s fear so she won’t go and cheat on me with some idiot I don’t know.”

“Then it’s better that she cheats on you with your idiot friends, how thoughtful” Jisung spoke, joking.

But the idea that you were inexperienced flew in the heads of each of the men, they always wondered how Minho could have you, but now the most important issue for them was that now they could have you too. They were more than delighted.

Eight guys for you alone seemed so aggressive to Minho, so he divided his group of friends, Chan, Hyunjin, Felix and him on Friday; Jisung, Changbin, Seungmin and Jeongin would arrive early tomorrow.

The afternoon went fast. The men were so ready, but you had no idea.

During dinner, somewhat early, you felt Minho’s hand provoke your center under your skirt, caressing your thighs, squeezing your clit. You hadn’t thought about sex until Minho touched you.

Although you had to admit, seeing Chan always turned your cheeks red, because he was the one you fantasized about. Chan was so cute, he had a cute and contagious laugh, his face changed harmoniously every time he smiled, he was attentive, you got to know him a little more at the supermarket, when he had left work and was doing his shopping. But… none of his other friends were bad at all, if you looked at them in detail, it was hard to say you weren’t attracted to at least more than one, or all of them, you felt like a little slut but, you were young and they were handsome men.

After that, you tried to watch a movie, but after 20 minutes they all went outside with the weird excuse of wanting to go get some air, you watched them confused leave and you were just left with your boyfriend, sitting on the couch.

“Uh, it’s going to start raining, they should go inside” you said, suddenly remembering the weather forecast and the sounds of thunder falling recently.

Heavy rain was coming, and not just meteorologically.

“Y/n” Minho spoke softly to you, placing his hand on your bare thigh.

Your attention returned to him, you were turned facing the direction the boys had left a short while ago.

“Yes?”

Minho sighed, nervous, you put your hands on his back worrying immediately, you were about to speak but he said.

“I have this crazy idea, if you don’t want to do it that’s fine. Seriously, we can forget I said it…” you looked at him scared, every faction of his face lit up by the TV as the movie continued to play, “I want you to experiment more, I want you to be free to try other men.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, it was as if he had entered your head for a second, you turned pale. Minho looked into your eyes, his eyes were shining, they were bigger and pleading as you looked at him scared.

“You have every right to do it” he continued, “But I don’t want it to be behind my back or with any asshole. If you want to do it, that’s what boys are for.”

You looked at him puzzled.

“What?”

“You don’t want to have sex with other men? Isn’t that what you’ve been fantasizing about? Honey, I’m telling you seriously, you can tell me anything, your every thought and desire and I’ll see about fulfilling every one of them.”

You wanted to scream noo! Logically at those questions, but you kept quiet… how did he know so much? Is it true that after all Minho knows you so perfectly that he could now read your mind?

You bit your lip, your world was spinning thinking about what he was implying that you should have sex with his friends. He was right, you thought, the idea was crazy and you should forget he even said it.

But… was it true? Or were you dreaming?

A loud thunderclap made you a little jumpy. You needed him to be clear.

“Minho, I- … what do you mean?”

“That if you want to try more men and have sex you can do it now. Chan, Felix and Hyunjin are waiting for you” he replied slightly cooler.

You felt a cold breeze hit your skin. If you said yes… you were really going to have sex with them, if you said no, nothing will happen.

“Are you for real?” you replied in disbelief.

“I never joked for a second with you, my baby” he gave you a quick kiss on the lips.

You were perplexed.

“I know it’s hard to think about it, you can take as long as you want…”

“And if I say yes?” you replied uncertainly.

“Then you’re going to have the experiences you wanted so badly.”

The rain came down heavily all of a sudden. The boys went into the house giggling and slightly wet.

Your heart raced, you heard their voices and laughter approach and in the adrenaline of the moment, you responded.

“Yes, okay. I accept.”

Minho squeezed your thigh and smiled at you. The three men entered the room slightly wet with huge smiles plastered to their faces, you made eye contact with each of them and then averted your gaze, thinking that all this time they were here so they could fuck you.

You couldn’t hide the fact that this strange situation excited every part of you, but then you thought that two of them are married, but one of them is Chan, you were going to try him for the first time. You bit your lip, your mind told you that you should feel remorse but you were not the least bit guilty of being Hyunjin and Chan’s mistress for one night.

๋࣭ ⭑๋࣭ ⸙ ᨒ↟ ⋆｡°

You prepared yourself. You were nervous, rambling about the situation that you even took a shower, went back to fix your hair and put on makeup. You knew it was just sex but your mind kept thinking about it, not the dirty act but, what it will be like itself.

Minho came into the room. You were ready, you wanted to look your best for the other men waiting for you downstairs.

“Are you sure you want to do this, sweetheart?”

A flash of lightning illuminated the dark forest. You smiled and nodded, letting yourself be escorted by your boyfriend.

Minho turned on the house lights. He set up the main room, pushed aside the small table to leave the spacious carpeted floor space clear.

The three men sat waiting for you, leering and hungry for some of your young skin.

You sighed and Minho led you to the front of them. From left to right, Hyunjin, Chan and Felix. The rain was still echoing outside as you heard your loud heartbeat even in your ears, you were aroused like you had never been before that you were even afraid to tremble from the excitement built up in your body.

Their appearances, the way they were different and sat differently, their respective looks towards you… everything made you shudder.

“Well” Chan spoke, ”can we begin?”

You nodded softly.

“You look beautiful, Y/n, by the way” Felix suddenly blurted out making you blush.

“Rules” warned Minho, ”we won’t do anything she feels uncomfortable about, as soon as she asks to stop or that she doesn’t like something, we listen to her, okay?”

The men nodded.

“She’ll love it” Hyunjin stated with a smile.

“Who do you want to start with, princess?” spoke Minho to you.

The question took you by surprise, Minho saw your innocent confused face.

“Oh… you can start with yourself and, teach us” whispered your boyfriend seductively, tugging at the hems of your sweater to take it off and leave you in your bra.

The thermostat was on in the house, yet you felt a sudden chill on your exposed skin.

Chan and Hyunjin bit their lip, one hand resting on their thighs as they stirred restlessly, uncomfortable from the large erection trapped in their pants. Felix averted his gaze shyly, but then stood in awe watching the spectacle.

You noticed the bulges in each of their crotches and yours began to throb, you thought how dirty it was, fucking four hot men at once, you had never had another experience beyond Minho and now you were going to have three more at the same time. You were wet and restless.

Minho pulled your skirt down, letting it fall gracefully to the floor, leaving you half naked in front of them.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful” Hyunjin murmured, finally stroking his erection.

“Take off her bra” ordered Chan in a thick voice.

You truly felt like a doll, letting yourself be undressed. Minho removed your bra and couldn’t resist the sensation of massaging your breasts with both of his two strong hands. You bit your lip.

“Shit, Minho, don’t touch her yet” Chan complained.

Felix watched you with wide eyes, scared but he was so excited, he wasn't sure if he wanted this, he was a little shy, but as soon as he saw you spread your legs and exposed you to the sun, he was ready to give you a little kiss.“Come here, babygirl” ordered the older one.

Minho slowly let go of you and you obeyed his action by moving closer to him.

“Sit on that end and start touching yourself for us, show us your sweet beauty, baby doll.”

You listened to Chan and watched as he pointed to the edge of the couch, to one side of Felix.

You almost moaned at the sensation of your slick fluids, you were so wet and the manly voice that was ordering you around was making you more and more sick. Felix watched you with wide eyes, scared but he was so excited, he wasn’t sure if he wanted this, he was a little shy, but as soon as he saw you spread your legs and exposed your glistening pussy, his cock throbbed and his mouth salivated, you look so appetizing he wanted to lick you whole.

The four men moaned softly at the sight of your exposed pussy as you pulled the fabric of your panties aside. You leaned back against the armrest of the couch and acting on a voracious instinct for pleasure, you looked down at your exposed intimate area and began to touch yourself, then looked up at the other men.

You massaged your clit, felt your slick and let yourself go, trying to hide your shyness. You watched each of them closely, Hyunjin and Chan’s slitted, piercing eyes, in contrast to Felix’s big, kind eyes, almost as cute as Minho’s, who was standing there watching the show you were giving his friends.

You moaned and closed your eyes letting yourself go, you slipped two of your fingers in and they became engrossed in the softness of your digits sliding into your wet entrance; their limbs ached, asking to be touched, while you enjoyed yourself, thinking that something else might be filling you right now. You quickened your pace without thinking, about to bring yourself to orgasm, but Minho interrupted saying.

“Stop” he walked over to you, squatting down in front of you, ”Kiss me baby, then show the boys how you do it.”

You looked at him confused. You were shaking, a mess, you never thought you would be this excited in your life. You took Minho’s lips who kissed you wildly, leaving you breathless. Then you felt yourself being taken by someone else, you stood in front of Felix and the man kissed you shyly, enjoying the act.

Felix’s lips were a different sensation than Minho’s, his timing, his tongue on you that you lasted some time with him, Felix was not able to control himself with you, he wanted you too much. But suddenly, a big hand grabbing your forearm and pulling you away from the blond boy.

Chan took you with ease to settle you on his lap, sitting right on his erection for your pussy on it, taking your hips, pressing you down as he kissed you sensually and made you grind on his cock. You were breathless, your pussy throbbing hard, again enjoying a different and greater sensation of his erection on you, his hands on your body and his lips and tongue exploring you.

When you came to Hyunjin you felt once again like a toy which was being passed between boys, but Hyunjin did not take you desperately like the rest, he took hold of your hand with which you had been masturbating and brought the fingers you were pleasuring yourself with closer to your entrance, to put them in his mouth and suck them erotically while he looked into your eyes.

“Mmm” said Hyunjin happily with a tender expression of pleasure, “You taste just as I thought, so fucking sweet, baby.”

Finally he took your face between his big slender hands to kiss you, his lips were fuller to the rest, his tongue was slow but skillful, you felt like you were slowly going to heaven.

You had the feeling that you were about to be destroyed.

Chan noticed how lewdly Felix was watching you while you had your moment with Hyunjin, Chan wanted to have some fun, letting the younger one decide first.

“What do you want to do, my little mate?” said Chan amusedly to Felix.

Felix swallowed nervously, looked at Chan and then returned your gaze to you. Felix said in an exquisite thick voice.

“Let me eat her.”

You shuddered. As you pulled away from Hyunjin. Your lips were already swollen, each one of them adoring your tenderly agitated expression.

“Okay” Chan spoke, biting his lower lip and licking them afterwards.

“Babygirl, come here, settle in.”

Chan took you by the hips again and sweetly gestured for you to position your body with your knees on the couch, given the view of your ass to Felix, your torso passing over Chan’s thighs and your face and arms reaching towards Hyunjin.

“Well, enjoy yourselves. You know what to do” you heard your boyfriend say.

You could imagine what this was about and it made you nervously worked up. Felix was the first to expose his cock, you turned your eyes towards him and could see him stroking his exposed member, to pull down your panties and settle in to bury his pretty face in your core, licking your folds and searching for your clit. You moaned as you felt his warm tongue on you and Chan ran his large hand down your bare back enjoying the view, his hand was gentle but it burned in every part he touched you, you were lost in pleasure, you were reaching levels of arousal you never thought you were capable of feeling.

Chan sought your entrance and teased it with his fingers while Felix kept pleasuring himself on your pussy, you began to shudder and lose strength.

“Fuck” muttered Hyunjin excitedly at the pornographic scene of his blond friend licking your pussy and your submissive position.

Hyunjin pursed his lips and released his cock as well. His was right in front of you, it was big, erect, veiny, its pink tip was covered with his white precum. You felt dirty but you loved every second of it.

“Come on, sweetheart, you can take it.”

You stopped looking at his cock to look him in the eyes and then lowered your gaze again. You moistened your lips and took it between your hands, it felt so good, Felix kept stimulating you and Chan started playing with your breasts while still caressing your back and ass, squeezing it hard at times. You licked Hyunjin’s glans and when you opened your mouth wide to take his hard cock fully, Felix thrust his thick tongue inside you, teasing you uncontrollably. You gasped with Hyunjin’s big cock in your mouth, Felix was stimulating the rest of your cunt with his free hand while he couldn't help jerking off.

You were losing your temper, you wanted to explode in your orgasm, but you continued to taste Hyunjin’s cock, licking his entire length, running your lips along it feeling its thin skin and notorious veins, being accompanied by the sweet gasps of that young artist. Hyunjin grabbed your hair, giving you support as you took his shaft, bobbing your head, but you were getting more and more breathless, your eyes began to glisten, you were so close, you were being distracted by the sensation of your nipples being pinched and your breasts being fondled and how very sticky the oral sex Felix was giving you was getting.

“You’re doing it so good princess” Minho’s voice came next to your ear, “You’re so cute taking Hyunjin’s cock so well, good girl.”

Your eyes searched for his image, you were sure your expression was a mess, you didn’t understand how he looked so cute and peaceful as he witnessed the dirty act of his girlfriend’s mouth being filled by his best friend’s dick. It was sick, twisted, it was so fucking hot you had no self-control.

You were collapsing, losing strength, and struggling not to drop your abdomen onto Chan’s thighs. You whimpered with Hyunjin’s cock in your mouth, drooling, with Felix’s tongue inside you and his fingers on your labia and clit, you collapsed in your first climax, making your body quiver. You pulled Hyunjin’s cock out of your mouth for a moment to enjoy your orgasm, took a breath and moaned loudly. Felix felt his hard penis throbbing and in a low moan he cum in his hand as well.

“Aw, baby girl’s first orgasm of the night," Chan spoke tilting his head as he appreciated your trembling body, “Good job, Felix.”

You were weak but skillfully aroused. Your chest was rising and falling with difficulty, you were dizzy between so much pleasure but your mind kept asking that now how would they have fun with you.

He placed you in front of him on his lap again and whispered in your ear:

“Now you’re going to ride daddy’s cock, yes, baby girl?”

His words rocked you. You nodded with big, bright submissive eyes, driving him crazy.

Chan left you in his old place on the couch, stood up and began to undress. Minho plopped down beside you, all watching the little spectacle of the older man undressing.

“Ah, this dude can’t keep his clothes on” Minho commented amused.

You turned to see him, he was also so agitated and excited that you felt bad that you didn’t have him and could attend to him.

When Chan pulled down his pants and boxers to take them off you were engrossed. He was huge. You bit your lip and subtly denied, feeling afraid and insecure, that was going to break you in two, it wasn’t going to fit. But, remembering your boyfriend’s big thick cock there was a good chance you would enjoy it.

“Come here.”

Chan carried you in his arms. You automatically wrapped your legs around his waist, his body was strong, he had big pecs and marked abs. You looked into his eyes… you had never been this intimate and vulnerable with anyone but Minho… now you were being shared with his best friends.

Chan carried you with one arm while his available hand held the base of his erect cock to rub his soft glans on your pussy. You moaned as you were teased and you fliched in surprise.

“Fuck, it’s big” you suddenly blurted out between a sigh, causing a smug giggle to come from Chan, you looked up at him still surprised and blushed.

“You cant take it, babygirl.”

And the next thing you felt was his cock sliding inside you making you whimper. The others watched the act of your body weakening and shuddering as you held tightly to his neck, how your entrance stretched adjusting to Chan’s size as you whimpered louder and louder the deeper he got inside you.

“You feel so good” moaned Chan feeling your walls wrap around his cock completely, “Fuck you Minho, he had all of you to himself?” he mumbled.

His cock slid in easily, you were so wet, you shivered hugging yourself to his neck, resting your face on it, you were as full as you had ever been, slightly fuller than Minho made you, the bulge of his cock was noticeable in your lower belly, Chan came deep inside you, staying a few seconds without moving so your walls could get used to him. “Can I move now, little one?” he whispered sweetly to you.

You nodded quickly, sore but excited, "Yes, please… daddy."

Chan’s ears turned red as he heard you call him daddy and fill him with his fantasies. He grabbed your buttocks and began to control your body over his cock, going up and down slowly, giving them the erotic view of your sensitive hole being penetrated, of his glistening cock thrusting inside you, capturing the arousal of each of you, causing their hands to go to their respective penises and begin to masturbate at the grotesque image of your entrance being abused by Chan’s big cock as you both moaned in pleasure. Even Minho couldn’t take it anymore and pulled his erect cock out to stroke it at the image of your body being absolutely fucked by someone else.

Chan was tearing open every part of you, his pumping cock bouncing into you, his thrusts were gentle, slow and deep, manipulating your body up and down in a sweet rhythm, at that point you were both a mess, your breasts and hard nipples rubbing against his marked pecs as fluids from both of you slid along his cock, trickled out of you onto the floor and stained his sensitive testicles every time you had him deep inside you.

“Shit” gasped Chan, ”Come join in, someone can take her from behind.”

The phrase altered your senses amidst the whimpering mess you were being.

“Is that okay with you, angel?” Chan asked you again breathlessly, “Fuck your beautiful ass?”

You looked him in the eyes, Felix and Hyunjin were already to the side of you with their hands stroking their cocks.

“Y-yes.”

You answered, not sure what could happen. You looked around for Minho with your eyes, he was sitting there watching absolutely everything.

“Good” Chan replied, giving you a tender smile disappearing his lips for a second.

Chan pulled out of you suddenly making you whimper, his cock touched his abs as it was loose. Chan didn’t hesitate, he laid down on the carpet, dropping you down sitting on his cock with your labia between his rigid member.

“This way we’re going to fill you completely,” Hyunjin said.

Chan lifted your body to slip his wet cock between your ass, trying to prepare it before they could enter you that way too. You bit your lip at the sensation, you had long felt the knot in your stomach but you were only prolonging your climax. You became restless and nervous again.

“Fuck, nobody has any lube?” commented Chan somewhat exasperated.

He didn’t want to hurt you, at least he didn’t want Hyunjin to, as he positioned himself behind you and Felix stood in front of you, leaving right in your face the sight of his stiff cock.

“It’s okay, I’ll be gentle” moaned Hyujin, getting on his knees close to Chan’s thighs.

Chan pushed you gently and you quickly understood it was to take his cock again, he lined it up with your entrance as you slowly let yourself fall on top of him, causing you to sigh. You shuddered as you felt Hyunjin’s tip moisten your rear area, rubbing his precum, he parted your buttocks with his hands digging into your skin and entered gently, making you scream louder than Chan’s penis in your vagina.

You whimpered, closing your eyes tightly and biting your lip as the male presences took guilty delight in your suffering. Hyunjin moaned in ragged gasps at the extremely tight sensation of your conduit.

You held yourself tightly in Chan’s abs, whimpering each time you felt his cock deeper in you. You had never had anal sex before and it was burning like hell itself, but the lust in your body was greater than your pain.

“Is it okay, baby doll, are you liking it?” whispered Hyunjin slightly concerned.

“Yes” you whimpered.

Hyunjin was also big and within moments, you were being penetrated on both sides.

"Move slowly, Hyun, let her adjust a little" cautioned Chan.

They both began to move in you leaving you hoarse and breathless, Chan lifting his pelvis and pounding your pussy while Hyunjin buried himself into you, they started slow but their pace gradually increased, leaving you with the most unique experience you were ever going to forget. Chan held you firmly by the hips and Hyunjin squeezed your right buttock with his hand while another hand played naughtily with your breasts.

Then you looked at the blond boy’s genital area, his stubble pubic area with tiny freckles on it, you were transfixed, thinking how uniquely beautiful Lee Felix was, you looked into his eyes before taking his cock and did your best to please him while two of your holes were being completely filled and used.

Your movements on his cock were imperfect due to the constant pounding of Chan and Hyunjin against your body that was driving you crazy. But Felix didn't stop panting, he loved it, he stroked your hair more delicately to how Hyunjin took you a few moments ago. You felt dirty, used and aroused, all your possible entrances occupied and each of them dripping in some fluids, your cheeks were shiny from the little tears shed. You were on the verge of collapse again, once again, your body could no longer hold it in.

On the other hand, Minho smiled happily, happy that lust won on that rainy night, he was in glee at the dirty image of your little body destroyed among men, he was as happy and excited as a young hormonal boy discovering his favorite porn. He was happy to have been able to fulfill your fantasies.

Chan babbled things that left you in the clouds, the moans of the three of them set fire inside you and the situation again seemed like a dream, a very dirty one.

Each of the best friends were enjoying it like they had never experienced sex before, everything was full of lust and passion, a sweet young woman at the beck and call of the pleasures and dark fantasies of men in search of forbidden sansations.

You pulled Felix’s cock out as you felt it quiver in your mouth and happily let him cum on your tongue. You became somewhat foolishly confused letting yourself be carried away by Chan and Hyunjin’s thrusts and whimpered again letting yourself release in the most intense and long lasting orgasm. You wanted to collapse in surrender, but both men continued on you some more until moaning and cumming hard inside you.

“Good girl-” Chan mumbled.

“Fuck, she’s full of cum now” Hyunjin smiled happily.

They both pulled out of you to contemplate the collapse of your twitching muscles expelling their glistening semen.

You finally felt yourself breathing, you thought you had tachycardia, you were out of your senses waiting to recover. You saw Minho approach you, again with his cock sheltered in his pants, with a calm expression and suddenly he carried your weak and naked body in his strong arms, you breathed in his scent and saw him with some embarrassment with your already flustered face.

“You did very well my princess. I love you” he whispered and gave you a tender kiss on your forehead, “Do you want to try something new tomorrow?”

Your boyfriend carried your exhausted body to the warm bathtub that he had already prepared, taking care of you after the unexpected night you had.

๋࣭⭑๋࣭⸙ᨒ↟ ⋆｡°

The next morning you didn't know how to act. It was strange, but the first thing you saw when you came downstairs were Minho's other friends at the entrance, Yang Jeongin, Kim Seungmin, Han Jisung and Seo Changbin. You greeted them shyly with a smile, as it was obvious what awaited you next as soon as night fell.

You went to the kitchen, where you heard voices, finding the men who saw you naked and vulnerable a couple of hours ago, the same ones responsible for each of your sighs and pleasure that crazy, rainy night. Everyone sat down to breakfast but it was obvious that the main course they wanted was you right now.

Chan, Hyunjin and Felix left in the afternoon, confusing you, but you quickly realized it was someone else's turn. None of them wanted to lose you from the spotlight, but just four of them got away with it.

Just when you were alone, in the quiet of the balcony reading a book, not paying attention and with your mind spinning trying to process what the fuck was going on; Minho went with Chan to buy you some birth control pills at the town pharmacy because you had forgotten yours and that was the perfect time for the four of them to take you and lure you into a little game.

They told Minho before they left you, “We'll take care of her.” Minho wasn't stupid and knew of the high probability that they would end up fucking you without him being there, which annoyed the hell out of him, but he would see a way to arrange it, that night.

“Want to play baseball?”

That sentence from Seungmin was a total lie and you knew it, still you followed him into the woods, in an area far away from the house, not only him, but the three other guys followed him too.

“Shit, Seungmin, do you know where we are?” mentioned Jisung annoyed.

Seungmin innocently looked around and stopped in his tracks.

“This is the place.”

Everyone remained silent.

“Oh no, we're lost,” Jeongin added dejectedly in jest.

The four of them watched you, again with leering and hungry looks, you wondered for a second... why you had to follow them there, but it wasn't as if your legs were moving on their own.

“Isn't that right, little one? You're lost but you have the good fortune that four kind men will help you get home, only if you obey and thank us, or we could help each other.”

Your breath shortened, you understood Changbin's dirty game perfectly. You saw Jisung, Seungmin and Jeongin, then turned your focus back to the closeness of Changbin and his strong grip on your waist.

“And how will I ever be able to thank you?”

Changbin flashed a half smile, “Just be a good girl and obey our directions so you can get home.”

You nodded, “Kiss Jisung, he's waiting for you” he softly ordered you.

Jisung opened his eyes in fright once you approached him, surprised that he is the one you were going to initiate with. You kissed him, letting yourself be carried away by the sensations of other lips on yours and in the heat of things, the excitement and pleasure traveled fast in your bodies, you were being fucked by Seungmin and his long cock while doing your best to give a good blowjob to Jisung who was holding on to your body, as both of your hands were busy masturbating Changbin and Jeongin, whose long and nimble digits found a way to play with your clit.

It was a very different baseball game than how you thought.

But your actions had consequences. There you were, in a different pleasure session very distinct from last night, this time Minho was part of it, no longer being sweet and attentive to you, he was spanking your ass hard, forcing you to confess everything you did in the woods with his friends in the afternoon, until you were sore, your ass burning with pain and your eyes shining. His friends enjoyed the spectacle of the game of your pleasure and suffering.

“Take her, guys” Minho said coldly and pushed your body, not so exaggerated but you didn't put up any kind of resistance so he almost threw you. Seungmin came closer to you,

“See? You're nothing but just a fucking slut desperate for some sex. Isn't that so? Look how fucking needy you are.”

His words turned you on, it was the disdainful tone he used and the annoyed expression on his tender face, plus he suddenly started to finger you.

“Should we take turns...? I wanna fuck her” Jisung commented somewhat confused causing Minho to let out an unexpected giggle.

“I'll go first.”

You sighed as you listened to Changbin and let him take your body to the couch, moaning at the pain in your ass at the slightest rub. He spread your legs apart and began to taste your center, rolling your eyes.

“You're rewarding her that way and I think it was clear what a bad girl she was” Seungmin said.

Changbin pulled away from your pussy just at the sweetest moment, controlled your body with ease, turned your body quickly and started to fuck you hard making you squeal.

“Right, you're a little whore” Changbin moaned, spanking you harder on your already red and hurting ass.

You whimpered in pain but his thick cock felt so good around your walls.

“Fuck you, Changbin” Jeongin expressed somewhat frustrated.

Everyone took Jisung's idea, the next one inside you was Jeongin who pulled on your hair as he penetrated you in a delicious pace, the next one was Seungmin, who kept spanking your ass and his body slammed into yours at every deep thrust. And the last one was Jisung, he flipped your body as he fantasized about the movement of your tits while he fucked you hard, he was the one who left you the most breathless and the only one who managed to cum in you.

The others unloaded their cum on your chest as they vigorously pulled their cocks, making you feel dirty and humiliated, but it was something new that you liked.

๋࣭⭑๋࣭ ⸙ ᨒ↟ ⋆｡°

Sunday night was the high point of that crazy weekend that seemed to have no end. All it took was telling Minho:

“Why did you split up your friends? On you-know-what…”

“I thought eight guys was absurd.”

“Maybe it's not at all.”

And there you were, naked with eight needy, stiff cocks eager for you. The best part, was the men who carried it. You adored seeing their distinct and attractive faces and bodies begging for you, from the sensations they were giving you.

This time all eight of them were naked, looking so intimidating waiting for the next move. You were a helpless little deer in the woods, surrounded and in the sights of hungry beasts.

Hyunjin was the first to approach you, putting on a show for his friends as his mouth feasted on your breasts and his hand worked fast on your core, then his hand focused mainly on your clit as Jeongin's fingers were sunk deep into you after Hyunjin had happily invited him.

You slowly watched the silhouette of everyone approaching between your blurred vision due to the high level of libido in you and your body trembled in excitement, trying to think in what way they would make your body enough for each of them.

You were still in awe, not understanding the reason that brought you there, but just enjoying and letting yourself be carried away by the lust of the moment. But you had no idea that it was all caused by the domino effect of Minho's curiosity that led him to read your diary that night.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦ ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89 @lolareadsimagines @lailac13 @ayyonoona @do-you-remember-summer-127 @wildtokay @korthbum @oddracha @hyune-sssne @velvetmoonlght @shadowhunterathene @compersian @binniesbabe @strayywayy @mallielovssyou @isabel-018

lmk if u want to be added for more kinktober, or if i omitted u oopsi, and pls have an age indicator! also I can’t tag some u :p but there’s ur username w luv

unspoken storm

⭒˚‧♱ pairing: kim seungmin x fem!reader ⁺‧₊˚ ♡ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: On an unfortunate night of heavy rain you find yourself stuck without being able to move forward, until a kind man sees you and offers to give you lodging until the rain stops but he turns out to be your teacher; once being alone leads you to get to know each other better in such a specific way, exploring dangerous territories and forbidden fantasies. ₊ ⊹⋆ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 — 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: MDNI, smut, oral sex, fingering, pussy slaps, clit play, boob play, masturbation, pet names, hair pulling, chocking, light spanking, multiple orgasms, slight corruption kink, unprotected sex, creampie, adultery, teacher x student. word count: 19.6k

kinktober '24 ₊˚🕯️♱‧₊˚. 07: professor

wen’s note: hello😃 the kinktober is still on going (sadly) #yolo #girlythings #slay

“Okay, take care of yourself too, honey. I love you. Don’t go out until the rain is over,” he said, looking out the window.

It was about to get dark, but the dense dark clouds forming in the sky made Kim Seungmin shudder, he had a complicated relationship with rain, he loved it, but certain aspects of it simply sent shivers down his spine, like the predicted rain now, which is bound to be intense and leave a huge series of weather consequences and disasters in its wake, he was scared, it was an unexpected intense storm that took—or was about to take everyone by surprise, that the people were advised at the last minute not to leave their homes. Seungmin sighed, lost in the dark grey clouds looking out from his little son’s room on the second floor.

An awkward silence formed, so thick that Seungmin could feel it even with his cell phone pressed to his ear. Things had been getting heavy between him and his wife for a while now, and he hated being alone in such situations. He couldn’t even tell her I love you without her forming a tense atmosphere, poor Seungmin almost fell weak at the silence.

“Seungmin, it makes me nervous not to be there, talk to your sister to know that Geonwoo is okay” mentioned from the other end of the line his wife, worried and sighing, deflecting the topic.

Seungmin drew a half smile on his face, almost picturing his wife’s worried expression perfectly. Her hand on her forehead, running her hand through her hair, and her frown, he imagined her inside the hotel room wearing her Chanel attire, her short, dark, shiny hair perfectly straightened.

“I’m sorry I left Geonwoo with Sangmi and his cousins, sorry to worry you, I didn’t know a storm was coming.”

Gaeun sighed again. This time, Seungmin heard her heels hit the floor and the sound of a sheet being wrung out. She sat on the bed and removed her shoes, he thought.

“It’s okay, Seungmin, I can’t take the flight because of the same thing with the storm; it will only last all night and part of the morning, I’ll still be in touch to hear from Geonwoo.”

Now Seungmin sighed, turning his body to the side of the window, “Okay, well, Gaeun…”

“I have to go,” she interrupted him. “Text me when you’ve talked to Sangmi to hear from Geonwoo. Bye.”

And she hung up the call she initiated, which initially excited the poor jilted man. Seungmin turned his body to look out the window again and this time he observed his neighborhood, the other houses in the suburbs painted faintly in gray colors. Big houses with big gates giving them privacy. His life was gray now. He thought back to the monotonous conversation just a few minutes ago despite his very clear and risky attempts:

“Hello, Gaeun! How are you, how was the conference?”

Seungmin was happy, missing his son’s warm company so without thinking he went upstairs to his room, dark, without turning on the lights, illuminated by the uncovered curtain on his window.

She didn’t even bother to answer him that, causing him to be displeased.

“Seungmin, you took Geonwoo to his taekwondo practice? Gosh, I forgot to tell you, I got a little late with the lecture.”

“Sure, I also know exactly what our son does” he grumbled, in a passive-aggressive tone.

“Mmm… that’s nice. I hear there’ll be a storm and it may be light out, so you’ll be fine with Geonwoo. It will only rain heavily here for a few hours but my flight was cancelled.”

Seungmin cleared his throat, knowing exactly that his wife would not agree with what he was about to say.

“About that… I know—Now… I didn’t know and Geonwoo took a bath, got some rest, we ate and I took him to play with his cousins at my sister’s house…”

“So? Isn’t Geonwoo with you at home now?” her tone went up, ready to start a fight, but she didn’t have enough energy. “Good. Take care of yourself, I think the storm is about to start, it’s dangerous for both of you to drive and go to pick him up.”

Seungmin sighed despondently again, unhappy with the lack of communication was causing in his marriage. He loved Gaeun but every time he approached her she only seemed to block him, he felt he was closer to his divorce than he was to patch things up with the woman he loved. He looked down, staring at the shiny ring around his finger, thinking of the symbolism and meaning of eternity it was supposed to signify. He let out a disbelieving chuckle, playing with his ring and resigning himself to the fact that once again, as soon as Gaeun return from her trip, she wouldn’t be the same as she always was, the one he knew and loved.

He looked at his little Geonwoo’s room, empty and perfectly tidy as he was a pretty neat and tidy child like his father, but lately, Seungmin felt like everything was a mess and out of place. He couldn’t fix things, and he couldn’t tidy it up which drove him crazy, sometimes he questioned if he really loved her… or if was it to maintain the perfect image of a happily married family.

He didn’t let any more time pass and phoned his sister.

“Sangmi—”

“We’re fine, we’re all here, Hyunjin is already in the house. You’ll let Geonwoo sleep, here, right?” his sister quickly replied.

A sharp flash of lightning illuminated the gray suburban scene of his neighbors, making the answer more than obvious, Seungmin began to get nervous. The rain started.

He grimaced and began to walk down the stairs.

“Mmm, please. I didn’t prepare for the storm.”

“No one did, actually. You want to FaceTime with Geonwoo?.”

“Shit, it’s not the end of the world, but sure.”

“Seungmin, a storm can seem scary to a five-year-old,” his older sister scolded him.

“And I’m not with my little guy, dammit. Pass him to me.”

Seungmin plopped down on the couch and talked to his little boy for a while, gently explaining that he would sleep over there and early in the morning he would go get him. Seungmin had hung out with his sister for a while and had a last minute conference to attend, so he left his son there in the meantime, however on the way, about to arrive at his destination he got a message, that the meeting was canceled due to unexpected news of an approaching storm, so they wished him a safe stay at home. He disgruntled, parked his car and inquired a bit about the unexpected news, being taken by surprise by the sudden weather forecast, the day was cold and cloudy but he did not know that something that intense was coming. His sister texted him right away, sending him home since it would take time to get back to her house anyway and he would probably be caught off guard by the rain while driving. Seungmin, with some guilt at not being able to be with his son and with a disapproving grimace heeded his sister, as she was right, he was closer to his home than hers. As soon as he got home he received Gaeun’s call and his internal conflict began again and again… wondering what had suddenly gone wrong.

A rumbling thunder startled him a little and the heavy drops hitting the outside violently made their presence felt in his silent and lonely house. The rain sounded fast and aggressive, Seungmin got up from the sofa, unwilling to turn on the TV and resigned that the light could go at any moment and went to check his windows, uncertain whether to leave the curtains uncovered or to cover his windows and, as he was rambling at the front window of his house, then suddenly, almost in a automatic impulse, he sighed, heading upstairs, making sure the windows were closed... until it was time to check his wife’s office. Seungmin hesitated, his hand on the cold doorknob, and entered. A place full of warm elements, specifically colder than the rest of the house, more so than outside. It was as if there was no point in that brightly lit place filled with family photos when they had once been a happy married couple.

Seungmin had no idea what was going on. Had she gotten bored of him? Why did he feel like a stranger every time he talked to the love of his life?

He entered the place slowly, wary of every step he took. Somehow the place looked different from other times, different from the sweet memories he has of carrying his son to her office, asking Gaeun for help every time the little one cried and Seungmin didn’t know what to do, they were both first time parents, parenthood was so new to both of them and it still was. But one was enough, or so his wife demanded, she wouldn’t even entertain the idea of getting pregnant again.

Seungmin sketched a half smile as his long slender fingers finely touched the desk, oh, the sweet memories of passionate and wild lovemaking on that piece of furniture were just that, passing memories etched in his mind that came to attack him at his most vulnerable moment. Just like the unexpected rain, it was like his time alone in that weather was pushing him to the limit. He clenched his fist; should he leave his wife? Let her be happy? Gaeun stopped smiling. He missed her smile, he missed her. But it actually made her happy not to be with him anymore?

The windows were closed. Just like his wife’s heart. Seungmin stood behind one of them, giving the view of another angle of the street of his neighborhood. He wasn’t watching anything specific, nor did he expect to, until he saw a figure lost in the heavy rain, standing on the sidewalk, between in front of his home and his neighbor’s house. Seungmin watched the figure, craning his neck and leaning toward the window to distinguish the figure better, frightened, curious, and in disbelief. It was a poor girl, in the rain. Almost as if she were a ghost.

It was you, stuck and trapped in there, soaking wet and feeling useless. You had been in the town library until late because only that library had those old volumes of books you liked to dig into, to your luck, you had forgotten your laptop in your dorm, but to your bad luck, you found out about the rain later and naively believed you could make it to the university on time by following your same routine walking, speeding up your usual steps, without the storm catching you, but it did, and it did it in such an unfavorable spot, you were in a neighborhood, stranded. Your heart was pounding, and you felt at the end of the world, nervous, unable to take your cell phone out of your bag because it would obviously get wet, your only option was to take refuge under the roof of the front porch of a house, or seek shelter with one of the families inside them, but you were paralyzed, with fear, it was a wealthy area, all houses surrounded by big gates, no one could see you, and all for being too stubborn and follow your same route as always…

You were about to move, to look for that shelter, when a manly shout in the distance, blurring between the sound of the rain hitting the ground, practically saved you from everything. And a mischievous, innocent but amused smile formed on your face as you knew exactly who it was.

“Hey, you! Over here! Come here!”

You turned to see the familiar voice that seemed to be shouting at you and carefully ran, clutching your bag tightly to do your best to make your cell phone survive the rain, until you approached the slim, masculine figure.

Seungmin wandered for a few seconds, whether to help you or not, whether to leave you in the rain, he even wondered if you were real or if it was something he was imagining, causing him a tingle of a shiver down his back, he still questioned what kind of person and gentleman he would be if he simply decided to ignore you, worst case scenario was that you could be something paranormal or a serial killer, either option would at least start a flame in his boring life, he thought. However, as your sodden, grief-stricken complexion drew closer to the entrance of the gate, Seungmin could gradually recognize you, as could you. Finally, you were close, gently stealing each other’s breath; you raised your gaze, seeing his soft expression that you had so memorized, and in a faint whisper you could only ask, pretending to be surprised:

“Professor Kim?”

He didn’t stop to acknowledge you on the front of his house and just stretched out his arms, feeling the cold, damp October weather shiver his skin. He was effortlessly gorgeous holding an umbrella, inviting you to get underneath it too.

“Come in, please come in,” he said, leading you to the entrance of his house, closing his gate.

The limit of the umbrella’s protective space forced you to get closer, catching a glimpse of his masculine countenance, his smooth jaw, his sharp profile; the closest you’ve ever been to him. You almost breathed in his perfume, but the satisfying smell of earth and wet pavement was stronger.

You barely saw the entrance, a sweet nice garden tinted in grey and plants violently hit by the rain drops.

Your body slowly resented the change in weather, from harsh cold to the warmth of his house that slowly embraced your body, still, you shivered from the cold still having difficulty adjusting, all your skin, numb and bristling, your muscles stiff and standing unexpectedly in the foyer of your college music teacher—your favorite one, didn’t help matters. You fidgeted slightly as you let your eyes feast on his worried countenance and the sight of his cozy dwelling, enjoying the sweet scent of cinnamon and soft pine.

“God… you must be cold, you’re—”

“Ugh, I’m so sorry too, I’m soaking your floor….. Mr. Kim.”

He left the umbrella and put his hands on his hips, undaunted that you knew his name since he knew exactly who you were. His student. Y/n. What he didn’t know exactly… was what you were doing in that neighborhood, since it was away from the college area, going more towards the nearest city.

You examined him, noticing very small, shiny droplets in his dark hair and his slightly wet shoulders, making it visible on his shirt. He looked so good.

“Nothing’s wrong—” he murmured, staring at your wet body, lightly soaking his floor, your posture gently hunched over, your clothes tight to your body, your knees uncovered by your skirt, pulled together, “Wait, here.”

Seungmin hurried to the laundry area in his house, returning in short seconds with a towel, but he lost himself at the sight of your light beige sweater wet and pressed on your breast, revealing a little of your pale pink bra. You were still hunched in place, surprised by the suddenness of the situation, embarrassed to be standing in your teacher’s doorway dripping his floor. You looked at Seungmin, who handed you the towel, quickly and scared that you caught him looking at your body, with a soft expression of concern on his face, furrowing his straight eyebrows and friendly gaze. You noticed. He watched you, and he liked what he saw.

“Mmm… Miss, Y/ln, right? Y/n?” he mentioned as he handed you the towel abruptly, clearing his throat.

You nodded happily, immediately causing a warmth in your stomach knowing that he recognized you since you were just another student in his class, of the multiple he used to teach at different semesters. Just another woman from the multiple he saw at work everyday. He was also a sport commentator, more specifically for baseball in a national news channel, making him a micro-celebrity. How could you not know him, he was handsome and gain a lot of respect, but he was also a simple teacher, having so many facets in him. Does he loves music? Does he love baseball?

“Yes” you laughed softly, looking him in the eyes, “Thank you” you mumbled shyly.

And to think you don’t know shit about sports, but watched every time he was there.

You grabbed the towel, shyly drying the ends of your hair, arms, and legs, and then wrapped yourself in it….. You suddenly thought that the house was so quiet… and knew perfectly well that Professor Kim Seungmin had a wife and a young son. They are not at home? Why would his wife let him attend to a young girl in distress in the rain? You would be jealous if Kim Seungmin were your husband. He was all dream and charm.

Seungmin saw your act, the towel passing over your body, holding back a sigh as he thought… now what? He couldn’t send you out again, neither could anyone else pick you up right now. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, more than just giving you quick help. It was obvious, you had to stay, at least until the storm subsided. You watched Seungmin, his bright eyes with some uncertainty in them… he didn’t expect, that of all people, it had to be specifically one of his students that he had to give shelter to for the time being. In a way, he was relieved, at least you weren’t a complete stranger. He knew you, your work was impeccable and you were a smart and outstanding student, but you were still his student and he was still your teacher. The situation seemed strange to him… but he was doing it purely out of kindness. The rain was heavy. The decision was more than obvious, so he, quickly keeping order as in any of the situation, said, coming out of his trance:

“You need to take off your clothes” his sudden comment between the silence of his home and the noise of the rain outside gently and playfully raised the corner of your lips, retaining a smile, you watched him shyly but mischievously, he understood how the comment could have been interpreted that he even in a way got a little nervous. “You’re so wet…” he didn’t make it better, “and you might catch a cold, come on, come. Leave your shoes in the hall, grab some slippers, I’ll put your clothes in to dry and I can give you something to wear in the meantime.”

He held out his arm, gesturing with his it inviting you to follow him, but neither of you moved an inch. You watched each other, squinting your eyes softly, watching him closely. He was dressed in a white button-down shirt, loose fitting to his slim build, and soft beige pants, you wondered if this was how he always dressed, even at home. Professor Kim was handsome, smooth ivory skin, short black hair, and narrow brown almond-shaped eyes that always made him look so innocent and friendly, you found his usual very serious expression tender, he kept his youthful appearance, he was shy, quite a tender and cute husband, the kind of man you dream of having at home, he likes baseball, he knows his fatherly role and things around the house, but he also has his soft and artistic side, which is what he does for a living. You’d be lying… if you didn’t admit that you’ve had a crush on him for a long time, ever since the first course he taught you in college. But you kept it all that way, secret and innocent, you knew he was married and older than you, everyone knew he was married to the head of the business school, a former member of the most popular sorority at the university, where they met. You were curious to know… where she might be… or if you had been lucky enough to be alone, because to you that’s exactly what it looked like. Seungmin took a slow breath and blinked suddenly until he managed to snap out of his trance, wondering for a second what it was that consumed him in seconds, the sight of you, helpless, cold and wet, sharing glances.

“Oh… were you going somewhere? It’s obvious you can stay here until the rain calms down” he said suddenly, reproaching himself that in a situation like this, there wasn’t much to do.

You shook your head. “Thank you very much. Well, there’s not much I can do. I was stuck in the rain. I still have to check if my phone didn’t get wet. Thank you, Mr. Kim… just, I didn’t mean to inconvenience you or your wife, sorry.”

Seungmin smirked, almost snorting at the word wife. He raised his eyebrows for a second and ran his tongue along his cavity. He was annoyed. Annoyed that he couldn’t control something he held in his hands. Your comment was subtle, you just wanted to know one thing, besides the reason for getting such an expression as a response…

“Oh, no. We’re alone. I hope you don’t mind” he added, more respectful, taking a step back.

You shook your head again, the corners of your lips almost wanting to twitch again in a mischievous smile. You were about to have your alone time with him. It was as if the world was working wonderfully after the cardiac moment it had gotten you through under the storm.

“Not at all. Thank you very much. I’ll call someone to come get me as soon as the rain is over.”

You both knew that wouldn’t be anytime soon.

“I’ll give you a ride, don’t worry,” he replied as he tried to find a solution for you, “Go on, change in the guest room, I’ll go get you some clothes.”

“Agh, even my bag is wet, can I leave it here too?”

Seungmin nodded with a smile, you took out your cell phone, thankful that it didn’t get wet, and followed his pace behind him. You admired every detail of what you could of his house until he led you to the guest room.

You were cold, your wet clothes were heavy and clinging to your body, your hair was a mess.

“Wait here… let me get you some clothes” he told you.

As soon as he went into his closet… he asked himself what the fuck he was thinking, letting his student in. But he sighed, thinking that it would have been exactly the same situation but with an unknown woman, either way, it looked bad.

But he had to admit it. It was the most fun he’d had all week. Caught in the rain with a pretty girl. He snickered, thinking it was silly.

But it’s just kindness, kindness. He thought over and over again. He picked up a white sweater with thin blue horizontal stripes quickly, but stopped as he thought… what will you wear underneath. Seungmin rubbed his forehead nervously and the first thing that came to his mind was his wife’s exercise leggings. And then his mind won, betraying him and thinking of your body, soaking wet and his mind visualized if it was even possible… that even your underwear is wet too. He bit his lip, not wanting to give you a pair of his wife’s panties so as not to look like a pervert, so he just took the two garments and would feign ignorance and that’s all he could think to borrow you.

You were there, waiting for him, standing still in your place in front of the pretty white door that gave access to the guest room. You were still shivering from the cold, your skin bristled and your nipples were hard; still… you took the time to look around his house, you still couldn’t believe you were alone, it was a unique opportunity you hoped to enjoy, alone, together with your crush of years, Professor Kim, trapped under the same roof, deep down you hoped the rain would stay.

“There it is,” he said, appearing in the hallway.

You smiled shyly at him, brushing his hand subtly as he held you clothes and entered the room. Seungmin watched from head to toe your wet body backward enter the room, which he was going to offer you if the rain continued throughout the night, and as soon as you closed the door he turned, turning his back to it, puffing air into his cheeks, putting his hands on his hips and letting out the air he had been holding. He wondered if he should tell Gaeun, that he found his student lost in the rain and was going to spend the night at the house. But it sounded insane, he comforted himself by thinking that it wasn’t like Gaeun cared too much either, things were going so badly with her, but she was still his wife. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, about to tell her, but decided against it, chances were she would never even find out you were there, what was the point of telling her right now, besides he had no phone signal.

You on the other hand, looked at yourself in the mirror of the room and closed your eyes deeply in shame, thinking that you looked like a mess in the rain, wet, like a cat waiting to be rescued, it was obvious that Mr. Kim’s kindness was going to save you, because you were lucky that he noticed you. You went back to drying off and tidying up as much as you could. You took off your wet clothes and cursed because even your underwear was wet.

You put on the leggings, first looking at them closely and assuming exactly whose they were. At least they looked good on you. And then the soft sweater, this time the huge smile appeared on your face without shame, you knew it was Seungmin’s, something about it told you so besides the obvious manly cut of the garment. You grabbed your cell phone quickly, you couldn’t help but take as many pictures as you thought necessary at your teacher’s house wearing his sweater. But you saw something you didn’t like very much, no signal on your cell phone. You were hoping to at least distract yourself a little bit with it, acting like a typical, normal, disinterested young woman, using her phone, otherwise you would go crazy… since... you had to interact with Professor Kim.

You came out embarrassed, with your wet clothes in your hands and smiled as you saw him there waiting for you. His manly back wearing that white shirt that fit him well and made him look more attractive. Seungmin turned to see you, acting fast.

“Ah, yes, let’s go.”

Night had fallen on you without realizing it, so as you passed by he was lighting the way by turning on the switches in his home. By far, the interior design of his house was just like you imagined, dark furniture details, warm light, everything tidy; Seungmin directed you to his laundry room, but you shyly had your clothes wrapped up, because you had put your panties and bra in there, you were blushing, wanting Seungmin to turn around, but he was attentive, holding the washer lid for you.

“You can wash it and then dry it, I guess we’ll have time, apparently the rain will last for quite some time.”

You stared into his eyes, letting out a brief, nervous chuckle with a smile and as soon as he made eye contact with you, you took the opportunity to awkwardly shove your clothes into the machine.

“Really, thank you, Mr. Kim” you said genuinely, wanting to distract him.

He liked it when you called him by his name formally. He could’ve said you call me Seungmin, at least just for tonight, but he didn’t want to. Seungmin closed the lid of the washing machine and let it do its work after having previously prepared it while you were changing. He watched you for a moment, deciphering the kindness in your eyes but there was a certain glint of darkness in them that he didn’t know exactly what they meant, it intrigued him too much. Once again you felt some tension build, both of you were close, with nothing but each other’s breaths and gazes. He was about to move, to get out of there to want to cut and evade that strange feeling that was growing in him, when a loud thunder startled you and you took a step forward, brushing against your teacher’s body. Seungmin laughed softly, amused by your reaction. You closed your eyes, slightly frightened and whispered almost to yourself:

“God, storms make me nervous.”

Seungmin smiled, saying nothing, and didn’t notice your non-existent closeness until you opened your eyes and both of you stared at each other again, his smile slowly erasing, again going into a trance, seeing your eyes, your lips… god, it had been a long time since Seungmin had felt tension like this, it had been months since he had felt something so intimate, private and exciting. He couldn’t stop, he liked the sensation forming in him, his eyes traveled to your neck to your chest breathing deeply, your nipples became hard again, and your skin bristled at Seungmin’s intense gaze which you had never witnessed before, you could almost swear that his gentle and docile gaze would never change no matter what, that he was serious but you weren’t able to imagine him being angry or being rude… but now… it was just a game of piercing gazes. Seungmin smiled inwardly, looking cheekily at your chest, thinking maybe it was an attempt of yours to seduce him.

You half-opened your mouth, almost ready to speak, you didn’t know what exactly to say but you were both lost in each other, brushing bodies and clothes, unfortunately, the loud noise of the wind blowing and the tree branches hitting his windows distracted and scared both of you a little. Seungmin regained his posture, moving away from you. What at first was his heart beating vividly, passionately, and deeply, turned into a nervous and rapid beating; nothing could justify his actions, he didn’t know what he was doing, letting you come inches closer to him, allowing you to have intimate glances and breaths, he must have lost his mind, he felt dizzy, confused, a pervert for having a series of thoughts about you. Maybe the loneliness and abstinence were making him a little unhinged, he hadn’t had sex with his wife in long months.

But that didn’t justify wanting to fuck the first attractive woman who came across him and had a sexual tension.

“Mmm, it’s already night, are you hungry?” he spoke, nervously.

Seungmin wished to erase all thoughts, but being alone, trapped in the rain didn’t help him at all.

You licked your lips, looking at him and wondering if the situation would allow it… would you kiss your teacher? It was obvious he was nervous, you found it tender and warm the way he opened his eyes somewhat frightened, turning away from you, avoiding you.

“Mmm, no, thank you, were you… about to eat dinner, Mr. Kim?” you said a little flirtatiously, approaching him with slow steps.

Seungmin kept backing away nervously, as if he was someone else, as if he hadn’t seen your nipples harden brazenly a minute ago. He let out a chuckle, sighing in mock relief.

“Oh, no. That’s good, because I’m really not good in the kitchen” he joked, a big grin on his face.

You laughed softly.

“But” he continued, clearing his throat, “can I offer you… tea? You must be cold, let’s go get some hot tea.”

Seungmin turned quickly… thinking about what was supposed to entertain you for the night and remembered, of course, that you both shared a love of music. He gave you a small smile as he prepared the tea and you sat on the kitchen island chairs, leaving your useless cell phone with no signal on the counter.

The tea making was serious for him. You thought it was cute, he had it all, cups ready, plenty of options, it was tender, until you eyes got fixed in the way his long slender fingers worked.

Something about him today was making you restlessly excited, every move he made, he looked so elegant and attractive, putting the kettle on while dressed and looking like a handsome TV actor.

You had enjoyed your time with him, but it was hopelessly strained by the feeling of tangible tension in the room, maybe it was time to go home. Time to leave before you do something stupid.

“And… do you live around here?” he said suddenly.

The question surprised you. You didn’t think he would ask, but it was obvious, what were you doing in a kind of private wealthy neighborhood when you were supposed to live in a simple dorm at the university.

“No…” you mumbled nervously, “my aunt does, about 4 blocks from here” you lied. “I was at the local library for a paper and the closest option was this neighborhood.”

Lie after lie, you had a couple of secrets you’d never dare tell him, like the fact that you dated a guy long ago whose family lived in that same neighborhood and now, almost by fate, found out exactly where Seungmin lived.

Seungmin grimaced, leaning his body and elbows to the counter, a curious expression on his handsome face.

“Mmm, maybe I know her, maybe not, I don’t know everyone…”

“Yeah, I live in a dorm but, there’s something about the library in town that I like better than the one on campus” you interrupted him, trying to divert his attention.

He raised an eyebrow, “Your aunt was waiting for you at home?”

“No… I took the quickest way I could and still ended up wet” you replied to which Seungmin laughed, “And there’s no signal on my phone.”

“Ah, yeah, not on mine either. We’ll be out of communication for a while and then it’ll come back. This damn town and its problems. Is your phone charged at least? I heard there’ll be a blackout soon.”

You nodded quickly, stirring in your chair, sighing softly thinking about how to survive that night having him right in front of you, his arms exposed by his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his sure attractive appearance and complexion, staring at you. Until again, the squeaking of the teapot distracted you again. Seungmin prepared the tea very mainly and sat down next to you, passing you a plate with three biscuits, inviting you to take one with his gaze and a gentle waggle of his eyebrows, willing to at least enjoy someone’s company on that terrifying night of unstoppable rain.

You whispered a soft thank you, enjoying his company, admiring your closeness, blowing into your tea before taking a sip and feeling the immediate warmth in your body and the sweet taste. Cinnamon. You could smell since he was making it. So sweet and warm, just as you imagined the skin on his neck would be, with your nose brushing against it, delicately.

You both watched each other in silence for a moment, sipping from your drinks and taking a bite of the biscuit, until you decided to say more relaxed:

“Were you going somewhere dressing like that?”

He smirked immediately.

“Like what?” he asked, lowering his gaze to his attire. “Is it too much? It’s casual.”

“No. It looks good on you but…” Seungmin blushed slightly, his eyes widening in surprise at the soft compliment, cup in his hand “I don’t know why I thought you’d wear something more comfortable than… those beige pants.”

Your gaze unconsciously went to his thighs, his long thighs trapped in those jeans, you really hadn’t the slightest intention of seeing him like that, but you noticed Seungmin’s throat clearing and his hands rubbing on his thighs nervously. You raised your gaze, to meet his face close to yours, avoiding looking at you, with his lips pressed together. A wicked smile came across your face, still not understanding how he went from confident to shy in seconds. You lowered your gaze to his thighs, now really inspecting them the way he believed from the first time.

It was driving you crazy, you liked him too much.

“Oh yeah, and what did you think I’d wear?” he commented, using a playful tone.

You looked at him. There wasn’t so much need for more words to feel the ineffable. But you both wondered, who would be the one to make the very risky and forbidden move?

Again, his piercing gaze on you and his few inches of very little help.

“Mm, maybe-”

“Do you often think about what I’m wearing?” he chuckled, sipping from his tea.

Now he was slightly nervous. It was like a game, passing the anxious feeling among the tension.

He cleared his throat again. Stopping himself. Repeating to himself that you were his student and he had to treat you with respect.

“I was about to go to a meeting but it was canceled because of the storm” he added before without even letting you think of a quick answer.

“And why are you alone?” you words slipped from your mouth, in a soft sincere tone.

You saw his side in profile. You honestly just wanted to see him talk and talk. You threw the question out without thinking and earned a slightly dirty look from him, raising an eyebrow. Seungmin watched you for a few seconds before answering, then averted his gaze to the front.

“My wife is at a conference in another city,” he replied, almost reluctantly.

You played a bit with the cup, not taking your eyes off him. Why would he talk about his wife like that?

You nodded slightly and looked straight ahead too, at nothing specific. You pressed your lips together, thinking that you were no one to ask about his son and it was strange to mention the topic since he never did in the first place, and you... you just knew.

You felt the conversation was ending. Words were missing and there was only the haunting sound of heavy rain between you.

Your heart began to pound, you watched his exposed arms lean back against the kitchen island and suddenly you felt more of a doom approaching. You had to leave. You had never planned such a thing, never thought of him more than your little crush, never fantasized about him with uncontrollable passion as you did just now. You could control yourself, but you found it too difficult. That ring on his finger seemed to be staring at you, but something about the rest of him looked so inviting.

“Do you think... the rain will stop soon?”

You spoke. Seungmin reacted, delighting in your soft voice close to him after having had that series of thoughts where he questioned absolutely everything about him... what he could have done wrong for his wife to have stopped loving him? Almost forgetting that he had such a sweet company by his side.

“What?” he turned to look at you slightly concerned, “No. Why?”

You were embarrassed now, to have his attention and to say something that wouldn’t make sense now, let alone in the situation you were both in right now, trapped.

“To... not to bother you and go home,” you said, embarrassed, looking down and almost in an uncertain whisper.

“What?” he repeated. “You’re not bothering me, on the contrary... we can keep each other company, for now.”

You blushed and smiled. Your lips glossy and appetizing from the steady sips of tea. Seungmin wished for a second to be that cup to be between your hands and feel the brush of your lips.

Seungmin swallowed dryly. Nervous and overthinking suddenly.

“This... is making you uncomfortable, do you want to go home?”

You quickly denied, cowering at the thought of whether you wanted to flirt with him. It was just you two drinking tea.

“No, no. It’s not that... it’s just... kind of hard to be without a cell phone signal.”

He chuckled softly, gently raising the right side of the corner of his lips.

“You can’t live without your phone?”

“Oh! It’s not that either it’s just... I’m just thinking I hope my roommate thinks I'm okay."

He nodded softly and took another drink of his tea. You’ll be fine. Safe. He thought. That he had to calm down, he’ll never put you at risk, nor touch you. Why would he?

“But you are. I don’t think she’s going to come out looking for you in this situation, is she?”

You smiled amusedly in denial.

Silence formed between you. Your body relaxed at his presence, your heart was beating normally, it was just a soft, slight nervousness that wouldn’t leave you at ease. You never thought that such a moment would come, so you never thought what to talk about with your beloved crush, Professor Kim.

He sighed. You couldn’t watch a movie together, there was no wifi. But he could invite you over, make you feel more comfortable, like a guest or a visitor, show you his house, his music room, play some boring board game.

You felt yourself becoming shy beside him, after thinking it was cute when he got shy and you liked to playfully be slightly daring.

But his sincerity suddenly came out, giving insight into the reason for your silence, why there wasn’t much to say when he said:

“I guess... we don’t have much in common, huh? I’m just a teacher and you’re a student. I don’t want to ruin the moment by asking you about college, I know for many of you it’s a difficult or tiring topic that you’d rather not say.”

You smiled warmly at him, “I’m fine with talking about college. I like what I do. It’s not that tiring for me... and… you’re one of the professors who make studying worthwhile.”

Seungmin blinked, unprepared to receive a gentle compliment, coming from your soft lips covered in cinnamon tea.

“Well... Ah...” his eyes wouldn’t leave your figure for a second, tracing every feature of your face with his gaze, causing a slight warmth on your cheeks that he gradually noticed. “I guess we haven’t introduced ourselves either, we just assumed to know each other. I’m Kim Seungmin, a music teacher and... baseball commentator in my spare time.”

Your cheeks were starting to ache from smiling and trying to hide such a gesture all the time. It was like a dream filled with a dark palette of colors and the only bright thing was the two of you sitting next to each other. A beautiful scene, where you both decide to get to know each other.

“Y/n. Music student and... Taking journalism courses.”

You were afraid of sounding uninteresting to him, after all, your lives were opposite, but you connected in a way. He was an adult with his life figured out, you were a simple young woman whose life revolved around working or studying hard for your future.

Seungmin could have asked your age, but he didn’t want to. It was not relevant. He didn’t want to know the obvious age difference between you. You were young, pretty, sitting daintily next to his slim build of a man, older than you.

“Journalism? You want to end up on a news channel too?” he commented amused, taking a gentle sip of his tea again and setting it down on his plate afterwards, causing the distinct and first sound between you, glasses coming together.

You let out your smile again, laughing softly, “No, no, I really don’t see myself doing that.”

“And how do you see yourself in the future then?”

Hopefully by his side, his arms, in the nearest future. You thought. But it was harder than expected it.

“I don’t know yet... maybe, writing about music. Mm, that’s why I was at the library, only there are old newspaper archives saved on their computers.”

Finally, a truth spoken.

“Oh, so you’re a smart girl.”

As if Seungmin couldn’t like you more at that very moment, you come to mess with one of the qualities he likes so much in a woman.

You turned slightly red again.

“I wouldn’t say that as such...”

“Come on, be honest,” he spoke, more relaxed, turning his body slightly towards yours “what college student does their homework... goes to the library, on a Friday afternoon?”

You smiled incredulously.

“A lot of them actually, Mr. Kim” you replied evidently, turning your body towards him as well. “I think you slightly misconcept students” you joked.

Seungmin wanted for a second to change the tea for a beer, to make it more homely, more relaxed and joking, making it the perfect excuse to squeeze your shoulder ‘friendly’, the perfect excuse to talk to you like a cute and kind woman he met by chance, make it the perfect excuse to touch you and get close to you. But he had to stop all those thoughts and attempts.

Seungmin smiled, showing off his perfect, cute teeth, with a more relaxed countenance.

“Okay, okay. I get it. Then you’re just a good girl.”

In your mind you responded to that. You could have. It didn’t cost anything. More than a slightly awkward smile that showed your nervousness, making you look tender, as you nodded softly. But you didn’t. It was the way he said it, that caught you and surprised you, making you stare into his eyes, lost. It seemed like he said it in a soft, subtle tone... like he was flirting with you.

You didn’t want to delude yourself. But him staying with his body also turned towards you, not taking his gaze off you and allowing the tension to build told you otherwise, it was the worst thing, he was allowing it.

Seungmin achieved his goal. You got so worked up just with a subtle tone of his words. Right where he wanted you.

Your smile gradually faded and more like a reaction of disappointment, it was quite the opposite. Surprise. Uncertainty. Fear that the worst was about to happen.

At this point your knees were colliding and Seungmin opened his long thighs letting yours have a better fit between his. The breathing of both of you increased, there was no reason for both of you to be so tense, watching each other with an insightful desire. He is married and he is your teacher.

Seungmin wandered in his thoughts, if that’s what you wanted... or if he approached you he would look like a perverted, unfaithful idiot. He was transfixed, lost, enchanted and mesmerized in you but one false move and it could all be ruined. It was forbidden, risky. You both lost too much... or won.

And before you could even decide... the loud enough sound of his washing machine indicating that your clothes were ready to go into the dryer was sufficient to distract you both. Seungmin closed his eyes deeply, coming back to his senses, realizing the cruelty and stupidity that was about to happen if neither of you stopped, if only one of you had leaned a few inches closer to the other... Seungmin would have caught your lips without a second thought, would enjoy every second of the velvet feel of you on him, would hold your face and revel in your fine jaw movements traced on his fingers.

He shook his head gently and in one swift movement, stood up from the chair.

“You… your clothes are ready...” he stammered, nervous, agitated and dizzy.

But you on the other hand, did exactly the same, awkwardly, without thinking, whispering a useless:

“I... I can go.”

You thought of your underwear immediately, you felt embarrassed that he had to be the one to go look at your clothes, it felt like an invasion of your privacy... but that didn’t matter now, it decayed and destroyed in seconds the moment you both stood up from your chairs awkwardly, pushing them back slightly and leaving you both facing each other, bodies completely joined.

It took you a short second to raise your gaze and convey again with your eyes what your minds were trying to hide. He could pull away from you, he should have, but he chose not to.

You could feel his body rubbing against yours, giving you goosebumps. Stiffening your nipples and your muscles, which Seungmin noticed and without even thinking whispered:

“Are you... cold?”

It wasn’t cold. But more like a mechanism for surviving his closeness, you could feel him so close, this time it didn’t take anything... just leaning closer to his lips. The shame left your body, that shame you felt for a second that he would see your underwear if he went to that beeping call in his laundry room, that moment between you was intimate enough, you wanted to be completely vulnerable before him if possible... but would you do it? Would you risk it? To your married professor?

You shook your head softly. Throwing it all to hell. Maybe just for tonight. You were alone, and if it’s just a kiss... you didn’t want to think about the consequences, you didn’t want to think about the highly possibility that he might throw and shove your body in annoyance that you made such a nefarious move, or that after a kiss you both didn’t know what to do... but his bright, dark eyes said something else.

Your eyes sparkled too. Your countenance relaxed and you half-opened your mouth. Seungmin knew exactly your next move as soon as he detected every single signal. But he stood there.

That lonely man let himself be carried away. He let him revel in your sweet face, your blushing cheeks and your eyelids closing, moving closer and closer to him to join your lips. Seungmin didn’t let it be awkward for a second, he also closed his eyes and let himself be carried away by the new world of sensations you brought him to. From the first second your lips collided, you both knew that this was where you were both meant to be.

Explosions of emotions growing in you both, he first enjoyed the soft and pillowy impact of your lips and suddenly... warm, silky jasmine bloom petals, cinnamon flavored, a subtle and intoxicating sensation, driving him insane, hypnotizing him, velvet lips against his dry and lonely ones, it was so delicate and beautiful, leaving his heart pounding, leaving him with a lingering, unforgettable impression.

Both of you finally relaxed, leaving just than your racing hearts, strength and attraction to be with each other, but kissing deeply and passionately, sharing and creating a secret in the heavy rain that night.

It was leading to doom for both of you. The storm had unleashed more than one disastrous problem. Infidelity, lust, desire, passion. Revealing every little secret, your infatuation for a married man, your less than innocent intentions, your willingness to commit the perfect adultery; his lonely life, his abstinence, his sadness and rage and above all, the carnal desires of both of you. It was as if the two were kissing for the first time. It felt incredibly intimate and vulnerable. Your chest brushing against his, while both of your hands still dared not touch... it was purely wicked.

Seungmin clenched his fists tightly until he couldn’t feel his hand. He must push you away, he must stop kissing you, stop not reciprocating, but he couldn’t give in. It had been a long time since he had felt like this, with the level of adrenaline and excitement as he did now. He was enjoying and rejoicing in every damn second, forgetting who he is for a moment.

And then, just as a fleeting flash of lightning struck, followed within seconds by its thunderous sound, you dared to do it, to touch him... to put your hands on his chest as soon as you knew he was reciprocating just the way you had dreamed.

But that only unleashed almost a trigger in Seungmin. What were warm hands doing on him, wanting to wrap around his neck...? From another woman, a woman who wasn’t his wife... and what were his lips doing on yours?

He stopped it abruptly, pulling away from you, leaving you confused, your lips red, sucked and glossy, begging for more. But he watched you in fear, his tender eyes wide in terror, his flat chest rising and falling heavily as he stood three feet away from you.

He couldn’t believe it.

He began to get nervous. What had he done? Why, and with whom... with someone he barely knew? You had never exchanged so many words, more than the necessary ones shared in his class. But now... he was absolutely screwed, worst of all, he was liking it. Everything in him wanted to get close to you again and kiss you even deeper, to drown in you.

You smiled. Finding it ridiculous to stop just when things were about to get more real, you weren’t going to accept it. You had to have him, at least today, you both wanted this, you knew that.

You took steps towards him, but he kept backing away.

“Y/n, I’m sorry, it was a mistake.”

He tried to explain. Remedy himself. But it was in vain, you were so possessed by having him, now.

“Was it?”

You tilted your head and looked at him, your emotions running high. Your heart pounding hard in your chest like raindrops on the ground. Please don’t act shy, Mr. Kim, you wanted to say, but your intense gaze spoke for itself. The mistake had already been made and it was obvious that he reciprocated with an inexplicable passion because you both desired each other, but he was simply in denial for a moment, stunned, accelerated and frightened. Never, in his 13 years of relationship with his wife, had he ever...

Seungmin stood still, letting you approach him again. You thought he looked so cute. You didn’t know his wife and you didn’t want to.

And he thought... you were alone anyway. He thought about Gaeun; what will keep her so distant from him?

Having you like this, in front of him, with a bright, lustful gaze, willing to risk everything to this night... it made him think... that if it was possible that his wife’s lack of interest was because she also found someone else.

“The lights will go out any minute, we should get ready and look for flashlights and lamps and things from the.... garage...”

Seungmin swallowed dryly as soon as you got back in front of him. He didn’t even know what he was saying, he was spouting any nonsense... trying to distract himself from the obvious fact of his desire for you.

You nodded, playfully, pressing your lips together in a sizzling pout.

“You’re right, Mr. Kim. We should get ready... should we.... stay together?”

You brushed your nose against his. Sharp and strangely cold. Your bodies were coming together again and you tilted your head again, gently, this time in a more confident motion, not hesitating for a second whether he wanted it or not. You knew. Because he was slowly preparing his lips, because his whole body was yielding and surrendered in front of you. You kissed, slowly, knowing absolutely nothing about each other, but seeming to know every part of you, you were in such synchronicity. You were making the same movements, enjoying the same thing... or maybe Seungmin was enjoying it maybe a little more than you.

It was inevitable, that your soft lips, tantalizing and provocative, did not provoke in him a tingle in his very vulnerable organ, right in his crotch. He felt pathetic, feeling himself getting firmer and firmer and his erection pumping slowly up and down his length... all from the simple act of soft, short kisses, teasing him, from the simplicity and intimacy of the moment, of your lips touching his, then leaving them... leaving light, sonorous kisses that left him wanting more and more... until finally taking it hard and not letting go.

Seungmin held your face in his hands, a warm and cool sensation at the same time, he did it just as he had fantasized too, his fingers memorizing every soft stroke of your cheeks and jaw, of the feel of your lower face, moving, synchronizing in his movements, colliding face to face, his straight nose tenderly brushing your skin at first, then in seconds pressing hard, deepening each movement, each kiss, sharing breath, or lack thereof, absolutely mesmerized with each other.

Sweetly you placed your hands on his ribs and held on to that shirt that was too big for him. You let yourself go and moved as close as you could to his body, pulling him completely together, instantly surprised at the firm, hard sensation protruding from his pants.

It was obvious that by being kissed in such a sweetly wild and passionate way, in such an inexplicable way as you both were, you were also slowly building excitement, satisfaction and some sexual pleasure... but knowing that he was already fully aroused was something you didn’t expect. As you kept kissing... you wondered for a moment... if it was just that, a sizzling make out? Nothing more? Or if you should really be ready for anything and start with something more. Something truer, dirtier and more intimate, take action by discovering how this had Seungmin.

You began, opening your mouth tentatively, letting him taste the inside of your mouth, let your tongue play with his, let the act escalate and become even more erotic. Seungmin in disbelief took it all in and sucked your lips hard as this time he delighted in your warm, restless muscle. It was becoming real, but his intentions were still unclear.

The constant thought of whether something sexual was really happening... you had to be prepared. You never believed it. You didn’t even think you were capable of approaching your teacher beyond a simple question related to some project. What would have him so aroused? Besides the incredible fact of your sizzling kisses. But the thought that he was fantasizing about you made you gasp. But there you were, both of you, devoted. Your arousal was growing, having his warm body against yours, his mouth fighting against yours as well and his lean, tall build surrendered to what the night had in store for you was getting to you enough, making your body desperately ask for more and more of Seungmin. So you took a bold step in haste, an important action to finally be the two of you under that storm. If he’d already been fucked one part then you’d make sure he’d get fucked all of it and make it worth it.

With your sensitive area tingling and your lips tenderly moistened, right down there, while the ones on top were still being devoured by a man with his libido at its peak, one of your hands slowly slid down to caress his erection and squeeze it right under those pants. That took Seungmin by complete surprise, who at first gasped softly between your lips but your continuous caresses disoriented him even more, causing him to pull away from you for the second time. He took a step back again with his breathing heavy.

You bit your lip, confused and excited at the same time, you were agitated and fearful that you had done something wrong, besides the cruel game of adultery you were getting into, in the same house where he lived with his wife every day. Seungmin didn’t rethink the idea of infidelity, in the end he had already committed the stupidity... but he thought if...

“Darling... are you sure… of doing it?”

Seungmin’s ears were red and while your cheeks tinted the same color. His tone of voice was more serious and insecure. Inside, he was dying for you to say yes.

Seungmin... was never the most sexual man, he loved his wife and could live his life without having so much sex, and he was aware that devoting his life to his young son would gradually decrease their sexual encounters, he was fine with that, sex two or once a month, fine, he hadn’t even noticed that he didn’t do it that often... but no sex for four months, constant cold treatment from his wife towards him... it was driving him crazy, he needed more than discharge his energy, he needed to solve the problem from the root, get help by being a real man, but that night he was going to forget about that completely. He was going to have you all to himself if...

“Yes...”

You moved closer to him, tangling your fingers in the loops of his pants and pulling his body towards you.

“Isn’t this what you want too, Professor Kim?”

You used the most seductive tone you could find in you, making Seungmin’s cock throb just from the gentleness of your words. The thought went to his head and pumped centered in his crotch... you were both going to be corrupted.

He nodded, embarrassed. If you had known... that this would be happening... maybe you would have worn your best perfume so the scent would still linger on you, better make-up that would last over everything... but all those little details seemed to matter little to Seungmin. He wanted you, just now, you could tell in the hungrier way he kissed you, desperate but in nimble movements, without being messy for a second. You kept shyly rubbing his erection as Seungmin’s hands caressed you this time. His big hand on your face while the other cupped your neck, feeling the fineness of your hair getting in the way, your warm skin and throbbing body, Seungmin could feel it. His hand traced your breasts over the fabric of his sweater and down to your hip, you knew what awaited you, still you moaned between his tongue buried in your mouth as you felt his skin brush against yours, his hand moving up your abdomen under that sweater. Seungmin played with every inch of your skin, squeezing it tightly, stroking your skin and feeling every fine hair on your stomach and tracing his long fingers down your lower back, still not quite reaching your breasts.

You were panting, holding back subtle moans between his mouth pressed to yours. Those other people’s leggings began to bother you, to feel so suffocating on your legs. You were making a mess in his wife’s leggings, moistening them, leaving every trace of your throbbing sex from all the desire built up by Seungmin.

He wanted to take his time, enjoy your mouth a while longer and rejoice in the feel of your skin and then enjoy your breasts in his hands.

His swollen lips went down to the bare, sensitive skin of your neck, his hand removed some of your hair and let it rest on the back of your neck while the other finally dared to come up and touch your very aroused breasts, you heard him moan softly into your neck as he touched them, his fingers playing with your nipples, his big hand squeezing them.

“Why aren’t you wearing anything, huh?” he whispered in a babble, as aroused as he had ever been, every part of his manly body desperate for sex, his member rigid and needy, his heart almost pounding through his chest.

“M-my underwear got wet too...” you replied, causing you to shiver through the sounds of voices.

He scoffed at your neck. “And I thought you were such a good girl...”

You were beginning to despair, to sweat slightly even. Your cute, needy area hadn’t received any attention so far, unlike his, you kept rubbing his growing, large bulge.

“Come here” he whispered.

He pulled away from you slightly, placing your hands on your waist as he left fleeting kisses on you, pulling your body and to guide you following his slightly awkward step to the one of the edges of the kitchen island. Seungmin lifted your body with ease, leaving you sitting on the cold marble. You were grateful, every second you spent standing in front of him you felt yourself getting weaker and weaker, useless with incomparable sexual energy.

You had the opportunity to observe him completely, his agitated countenance and his sex infused with eroticism. You licked your lips, almost thirsty to see, touch, and feel what was visible under his pants, to visualize that bulge released... but his gentle caresses diverted your gaze and made you stare into his dark, lust-filled eyes.

A smile curled on his thin lips.

“Then I guess you’re not wearing your panties either.”

You shook your head at his comment and saw his hands lustfully lose themselves under that sweater, caressing your abdomen and breasts, making you bite your lips hard. In one swift movement, Seungmin pulled your body by your hips, leaving you close to him, your legs spread wide, positioning himself in between them and stealing a few kisses as his hands tugged at the leggings that were the only garment blocking his view of your needy sex covered deliciously in the lubrication released by your worked up glands.

You sighed half-heartedly and helped him up a bit, leaving those slippers on the floor and jerked your body, finally allowing the garment to slip off of you, his knuckles grazing your thighs, down your legs until you were vulnerably exposed. You bit your lip, unsure of being in such a position with him, but you were already highly aroused, just longing for him to finally touch you and make you his over and over again.

Seungmin scoffed, joyful, excited and finding it unreal everything that crossed his mind and he was dying to do to you. He almost sighed as he got a small glimpse of your pussy. You pressed your legs together, without thinking about it, preventing him from seeing the full view of you.

You moaned softly, your pussy exposed, feeling the ambient climate, wet and throbbing. Seungmin looked into your eyes as you saw every part of him, his face, his shiny black hair illuminated in warm light, his countenance, his hands on your legs, his large and appetizing erection... he watched you, seeking approval to which you nodded once and spread your legs, showing him sin disguised as pure paradise. His eyes sparkled as he realized that he would be pleasuring a beautiful woman, that he would have her vulnerable and aroused, moaning, touching and enjoying what was most forbidden to both of you. A beautiful and pretty woman, who on Monday morning had to treat her as just another student.

The corner of his lips forming a half smile and his cock trembled at the same time, he was dying for this feeling from you, for you to give his erect member a warm, frantic and cozy place to be in, he had yearned for it for a long time and now he had it all with you. Seungmin watched your face, slightly red, your body still wearing his sweater, leaning gently against the marble and your pussy exposed... your sweet delicacy of femininity gently rubbed by the fabric of those leggings, ready to be touched.

He teased you a little, superficially running his hands over your mons pubis, giving you a hot shiver and depriving you of an audible moan, thinking he was about to touch you, but he didn’t, his hands went up your abdomen and waist, lifting the sweater in his wake and leaving you with your breasts exposed, to knead and play with them, squeeze them, pinch your nipple, making every part of his hand remember the feel of them; then he leaned to you, you looked at him expectantly and excitedly and Seungmin dared to give you the sweetest kiss so far, slow, full of passion and secrets, as if you were a real pair of lovers.

His hands were still on your breasts and his lips came down in time with them, by the time Seungmin was kissing your jaw, his hand cupped your pussy in its entirety and his long middle finger slowly and gently caressed your wet pussy lips, causing you to moan. Seungmin pulled away from you, looking at you expectantly and fascinated at the result of your sweet red face beginning to moan; he continued with hot wet kisses on your neck, squeezing your breasts with one hand and with the other finally working on your needy sex.

He almost raised an eyebrow, slightly taken by surprise at how warm and very wet your pussy was, it was unexpectedly satisfying, his hand sliding on your velvety vulva.

You watched him, your brow furrowed at the constant concentration and stimulation your body was receiving, your eyebrows down, your eyelids drooping in heavy ecstasy each time his hot breath hit your skin and his hand began to touch you. You wanted to see it, you wanted to see the dirty act of his long fingers that you always fantasized about touching, tracing and memorizing your womanhood with, his hand getting lost in your wet center, desecrating your sweet forbidden place for a married man like him; but his body was all over you, his face wandering your skin, his nose and lips kissing all the way down your body until he reached your breasts while his skillful fingers pressed just the right spot on your intimate part, causing you to gasp and arch your back gently.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, you always wanted this, don’t you? Did you fantasize about you teacher fucking you?” he mumbled, breathy and aroused against your sensitive skin.

Every word made your skin crawl. It was true. You fantasized about him all the time, in every possible scenario.

“Y-ye… Mm, I like you, Mr. Kim…” you struggled to say between moans, held grunts and intense lip bites.

“It’s like you’ve been waiting for me to touch you… feel that little soaked pussy.”

The idea got him harder, the sweet, nice and smart girl of his class, nonchalant but charismatic… somehow finding a way to seduce the old man of her—your professor, to make him misbehave in an irrevocably lust and him to have you, blissful and naked, with an arouse stirring body every time he touched your cunt wrapped in an exquisite sloshing sound.

Somehow you got shy at how wet you were feeling, making a mess for him.

His mouth found your breasts and lingered on them, devouring them with insatiable lust, from your angle you saw perfectly his naughty tongue circle your nipple, gently biting and sucking it, but the pleasure didn’t end there visually, you were exploding in sensations, being stimulated from the root that had you panting, Seungmin played with your clit in delicious movements, also knowing exactly which parts of your vaginal lips to explore, delighting the wetter they got.

“Are you okay, are you enjoying it?”

He questioned you sizzlingly, his innocent gaze riveted on yours with his face close to abdomen. Seungmin had left your breasts sore and stimulated and was doing the same with your pussy, using and stimulating it with his hand.

“Mmm, yes yes yes... fuck” you could only beg needily, stretching out your words.

He smiled again, kissing your abdomen and slipping a finger into you with ease at such you lubricated pussy you now had. His lips caressed lower and lower until they stopped at the skin of your pubis, finally he raised his gaze and stood straight, watching your pelvis move slightly at his stimulation. As he pulled away you could see it, his thumb pressing and caressing your clit, his middle finger driving you crazy at the soft, wet effect of being inside you moving constantly while the rest of his fingers struggled with playing a little more with your labia.

His left hand continued to caress you with no set rhythm, moving up your abdomen, breasts and neck; this was becoming a pleasurable torture for Seungmin, as the dirty act of keeping his hands busy on you was taking him more than just into forbidden territory, but into the new sensations of a sexual desperation, he was feeling the agonizing pain of his firm unstimulated cock, his pants were squeezing, his manhood was screaming for attention but he found it more important to pleasure you first, in delighting himself at the touch of a woman. Seungmin missed it too much, the power he felt in having control of a woman’s pleasure, of the sweet, soft moans coming out of their mouths, of the wild, messy sex, of his hands getting dirty in their pleasure... and he had you, you weren’t bad, on the contrary, you were all a dream come true, your pussy smooth, young, juicy, ready to be treated wonderfully as you deserved.

Seungmin enjoyed reacting to the pleasure you were having, your hands leaning on the marble and bending your fingers in sign of wanting to scratch the table, your sweet babbling moaning and your cute sucking air between your teeth while you brought two of your fingers with slight desperation to your labia majora, one finger on each side, rubbing your skin because you really didn’t know exactly where to put your hands, you were acting agitated, the sex and foreplay was clouding your sight and mind.

He slipped his second finger in with ease, digging into you as deep as he could touch, but it was enough, his long fingers were scratching a delicious spot on you. You wouldn’t take your eyes off him, he looked so good giving pleasure and to him you looked so good at that angle, being a little mess on his kitchen table, wearing his sweater, pulled up to your chest, exposing your breasts, legs sweetly spread, letting him use your pussy.

His third finger, making you squeal, a third finger was already opening your entrance and might as well be the perfect thickness of a penis in you, you bit your lip, watching his left hand settle his crotch, squeezing it as he mumbled a “Fuck” then using that hand on you, playing with your clit and wrapping his digits around your stimulated labia. You thought about how hard it must be for him, being so incredibly stiff and aroused, with his cock still trapped under those khaki pants, but at the same time you fantasized about the image of his cock and the idea of him filling you completely, fucking you non-stop.

Seungmin looked you up and down, from your flushed face to the nakedness of your body and your wet pussy being pleasured and he licked his lips.

“You’re enjoying it, huh? Tell me you’re enjoying it.”

You nodded, resenting the change of rhythm of his fingers on you, from a slow and teasing one to a faster and more violent one, setting you to moan throatily, “Yes-yes” revealing your needy naturalness.

“You fucking like that, huh?”

Seungmin who was well known for being neat and tidy, was getting fascinated by the way in the mess you were leaving on his fingers and his table; he was so excited that your pussy received heavy but slightly gentle slaps from his hand, making you aroused and moan; he did so, biting his lower lip, just to remark how you were for him and swell and redden even more your stimulated vulva for what was awaiting you.

Everything was so hot in itself and when you didn’t think it could get any better, when you thought he was going to let you bring you to orgasm with his fingers penetrating you, caressing your pussy with the room already filled with moans and your wet cunt sounds; his thin mouth made its presence tasting the skin of your pubis all the way down and sucked on your clit. You couldn’t believe it, it was unreal every move that man made in you and you let him make.

“I want you to cum in my mouth, princess, I want to taste you... all of you.”

He said, sending vibrations into your core at every hot breathy word, making you shudder.

Seungmin sucked your clit, almost giving it a loud, dirty, slow but lovely kiss, putting dedication to that key spot in you as his fingers filled your insides. His tongue was warm and the strength of it was impressive, the tip of his tongue exquisitely pushed the right places, he licked your length with no problem and went about eating you completely, making you collapse between your pelvis and roll your eyes as you babbled how good it felt.

His licks kept an exquisite rhythm that brought you to the perfect stimulation that made your entire body shudder and you could almost be sure for certain an intense orgasm was approaching in you, putting every feeling on the edge in every inch of you. His movements of his hot tongue were so perfectly performed that Seungmin seemed to have already studied your anatomy before and made you just the way he was driving you crazy, his fingers never leaving your entrance and his tongue getting lost in your wet center. You felt him so close and it put you into an agonizing, shuddering rush of emotions, you stroked his hair, his straight shiny dark hair. He looked at you, his kind and tender eyes thirsty for sex as his mouth was buried in your pussy, while it felt every particle of his lips, tongue and the soft bite of his teeth.

Seungmin caressed your body, your breasts, your thighs and just when he felt your body trembling indicating your approaching orgasm, he pulled his fingers away from you, sucked your cunt and squeezed your thighs tightly, provoked your entrance with his muscle and closed his eyes with intensity as he felt the desperate tingling in his crotch, but enjoyed and savored every subtle movement of your body, your gasps and all your intense orgasm, spilled into him.

You felt embarrassed for a second, your breath hitching as you tried to take in what just happened... your handsome teacher you were always in love with, as soon as you saw him, had just given you oral sex and gifted you with the best experience and orgasm... suddenly nothing seemed real, you were unaware of everything around you, but the only familiar thing was him, reveling in you, humming ‘mmmm’ as he made sure to taste everything from you.

Seungmin adored that, adored you now. Seungmin stood up, his elegant countenance looked glisteningly dirty, his chin glistening in your fluids. He smiled, his cheeks softly flushed, squeezed your thighs and said:

“Mmm, you’re such a good girl, did I make you cum, baby?”

You bit your lip. He was still hard. So not content with your thrilling and stirring orgasm, you sat up slightly, seeing him in the same position he had already been in for some time to which, breathlessly you commented:

“Can I help you, Mr. Kim?”

Your hand went once more to the stiffness of his erection, rubbing your hand on it and you noticed his almond-shaped eyes close, his jaw tightening as he cursed softly. You sighed, taking his reaction as blunt approval without the need for words and with your pussy well stimulated and sticky, you did your best not to slide messily on that table, as if you hadn’t made enough of a mess already. Seungmin watched your every move carefully and as soon as a naughty smile formed on your face and you got down on your knees in front of his notorious cock erection, he let out hot, deep and loud sigh closing his eyes.

“Let me return the favor, Professor Kim.”

You looked up, watching him innocently. You knew what he was playing at. The reason why he never allowed you to call him Seungmin or correct you... was it that he was playing the dirty game of corrupting one of his young students? Either way, you thought it was fucking hot, calling him and treating him with a certain authority.

Your mouth began to salivate at the thought of his stiff shaft on your tongue and his particular taste. You tried not to shudder at the undoing of his belt but you were getting horny again and you were recovering from an orgasm at the same time so the task was somewhat complicated, but you wasted no time and as soon as you could, you unbuttoned and pulled down his pants and underwear, leaving in front of you his swollen, virile sex, its tip pink and covered in white by the little mess made of his own precum. Your heart skipped a beat, you looked at him who was looking down at you from above and then you looked at his sleek cock, as nice as he was, you couldn't believe it. Its size was ideal and holding it in your hand made you sigh, just like all the small, or big, things he provoked in you.

You smiled broadly without containing the enormous happiness you felt holding the swollen and vibrating sex of that married man in your hand. You knew you were doing too much wrong, that karma could come back to you in the worst way, but you couldn’t stop, it was an addictive activity that put your morals aside. Your heart beat madly again; Seungmin stroked your hair at once and watched every action in detail, your hand holding his length, feeling and delighting in every inch of his texture. You had never felt yourself with an insatiable sexual appetite as you did now, every intense pulsation of his throbbing cock in your hands as you moved up and down; you didn’t resist your mouth getting the same, or even a better experience, so you stuck out your tongue and made sure to taste every part of Seungmin, starting with his silky smooth tip, wrapping it around your tongue and moistening it as you shyly licked the rest of his length and dared to slowly and carefully take it into your mouth, almost in an innocent and shy way, but as soon as you felt his throbbing, needy cock in a sufficient quantity to fill your cavity, the corners of your lips lifted into a smile of genuine happiness, it felt so good, to make him feel good, it felt so good to have the man of your dreams whimpering as he clenched at your hair and you watched him throw his head back, exasperated and aroused. Seungmin had a smooth texture, an exquisite way of filling your mouth with his cock, and you happily began to suck him in gentle motions, taking your time and savoring every part of his rigid shaft. He for his part, trembled, whimpering from deep within his chest, wanting to shed tears of happiness at feeling fully filled, at being satisfied and cared for in the vulnerability of his solitude.

“Ohh yeahh, ff-fuck” he grunted, his voice thick, lost in sex.

He tried to be tough and not so loud, but he was, his pleasure noises were slowly becoming consistently more agonizing. Every gasping moan came from deep inside him, he was enjoying it, too much, experiencing sex like he never had before.

His eyes blinked constantly, trying not to water at the sensation of his cock being perfectly pumped and, a couple more grunts, he saw downward, your submissive body on your knees and your sweet lips wrapping around his broad penis as your head kept in constant motion, his cock losing itself in your cavity, the inside of your cheeks wrapping around his detonating veins and skin, his glans going deep enough to tease your throat and graze your uvula and palate, your hands playing with his balls from time to time and caressing his pubic area going up to his smooth V line of his pelvis; and when your jaw ached, you pulled his wet, hot sex out of you and whimpered for air, licked your lips and stroked his erection again. It was a dream, a dirty, pornographic dream come true, it was raw, and real; your mascara running subtly, being waterproof and enduring the heavy drops of the storm hitting your face, but not your teacher’s stiff cock leaving you breathless.

Seungmin moaned loudly, thinking he could cum right there, feasting you with every drop of his cum while leaving your pretty face smeared on it too. But he wanted and wished for something better than filling your mouth, he wanted to unload all that rush of cum and fill your little pussy. Oh your pussy... Seungmin would start having you in his dirtiest fantasies from today on, he would dream about you, he would fill his underwear with cum just thinking about you, he would masturbate thinking about you and your heaving body and used cunt... he had no words to describe how amazed he was with you now.

And you, watching him stroking your hair and being needy, panting and surrendered to you did not compare to any of your previous experiences. This was Seungmin, that handsome man you spent time watching in videos, on TV, in your classroom, you didn't want anyone else, ever.

He saw you fidgeting, your legs moving more than usual as you became aroused again and your mouth struggling with his cock as a glistening dribble of saliva combined with his precum came out in the messy act. He was ready to replace the softness of your lips wrapped around his cock with your luscious cunt.

“Come here, ahhh, let me put you back on the table.”

He was doing his best to keep himself on edge. You were sucking and licking him every stress and night he mindlessly slept sadly without the slightest show of affection.

Your eyes sparkled and grew innocently bigger at his breathy, husky, almost stifled moan of request, but you heeded him. He grabbed you by the waist and put you back on the table in your old place. He hurriedly removed your sweater leaving you completely naked, you were surprised for short seconds but understood as soon as you realized he had a lustful look on his face and his big hand was stroking his wet cock. You knew exactly what he wanted.

Seungmin moved closer to you and you trembled with nervousness and excitement as your mind and body recognized what was about to happen, but he bit his lip, wavering between actually doing it or not... it was what he wanted most, to fill you completely, to pierce your warm and soft inside.... but the fleeting thought of looking for a condom also crossed his mind, it was the ideal thing to do, it was the right thing to do, you had already both screwed everything up... he couldn’t risk the constant feeling of danger for a few exquisite moments of pleasure, could he?

You began to get desperate and spread your legs slowly giving him the view of your exposed pussy and also the beautiful sight of your naked body, yielding to him. You leaned towards him, touching the collar of his shirt and whispered in his ear.

“Come on, Mr. Kim. Do it... no problem, please fuck me” you asked him moaning hotly every word, wanting him not to hesitate and do what you had dreamed of so much.

What you had dreamed of so much... you still remembered the first time you thought how much you wanted Professor Kim Seungmin to fuck you hard. It must have been a simple Thursday, years ago, when you were even younger, when something about him looked different... his forehead was slightly uncovered, he had combed his hair differently and a few buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, he looked so tender and carefree, but for some reason you began to fantasize that behind that sweet and innocent appearance was a real man. He started playing the guitar and that drove you to perdition, you couldn’t stop thinking about his hands, touching and squeezing your skin, filling and moving skillfully and subtly in your pussy as he did with those strings.

A smile you hadn’t seen on his face until now was plastered on it, it was arrogant, cocky and showed a certain happiness in it. You wanted to say a little more, to provoke him by hinting that he wouldn't dare to do such a thing... but his hand taking his throbbing cock distracted you completely and your sight was diverted to the act.

Your heart picked up steam again and each heavy breath became more intense each time you watched as he and his erect manhood moved closer to your core. It was about to happen, and he warned you with a thick, raspy in your ear:

“I will make you mine...”

He whispered, almost internally more to himself than for you, as if his whole body was preparing for the big moment of the night, the perfect moment to culminate the disaster of an egregious infidelity, one of the worst things that could have happened in his house, the sexual act with a quasi-stranger. And you felt it. His wet, fleshy tip rubbing, pressed from your clit going down into your slippery labia and finally teasing your entrance until pushing himself slowly inside you, into your so empty pussy, now being slowly filled by his length sliding deep into you. You both sighed in exasperation and bit your lip watching his cock finely pierce your insides as Seungmin was still close to you. You watched that explicit part of both of your bodies come together and then admired his smooth features, reveling in the sensation of the most forbidden sex.

A bright, eerie lightning strike came through that window in his kitchen, followed by his outrageous thunder, again, but nothing could frighten you or impress you this time, finally, being completely consumed by desire and sin. You moaned ragged and needy, clinging to his shirt and back to every inch his hard cock pierced and advanced deep in you, you were on the edge of that table where he usually lived day after day, taking hold of his desire and body at every single little thrust of your pussy consuming his cock. Seungmin moaned too, victorious and relieved like never before in his life, closing his eyes deeply and enjoying his sex joining yours.

Your thighs squeezed and encircled his hips as you let out a squeal at the feel of his manhood scratching your cervix, being deeply buried in you and feeling his length throbbing between your walls. Seungmin let out a growl, breathless, reflecting his arousal that was setting him on edge with his emotions running high. Your devotion was afloat, it was so tangible and pure that the rain could witness the big lie, that it was two lovers making love to each other that night. His thumb caught your chin still wet in the combination of his fluids and your saliva from the dirty act performed by your pretty mouth moments ago, he ran his finger across your lips, across your erotically open mouth begging for sex and his face moved closer to you, giving you a sizzling, passionate kiss as he finally started the real end game, the disastrous final act where the married man engulfed and let himself be carried away by temptation and sin, moving his intimacy into yours, leaving you breathless, easily sliding his cock into your tight core that burned like the sweetest inferno.

You let yourself be penetrated, moaning between his lips each time his swollen, throbbing cock slid into you, your sounds beginning to be questionable, between pleasurable pain, your body throbbing and aroused and your hands firmly clutching his back. Seungmin continued to kiss you, harder and harder as he set an agonizing rhythm inside your pussy. He was in glory, touching heaven every time his cock moved inside your tight insides and was smothered by your spongy walls. Every function of your body seemed to change and only work on his constant movement against your body and your pleasure.

He let you breathe, ramming into you as he intimately pressed your foreheads together and admired your exhausted face and energetic body being pounded over and over again. The sound of your wet pussy being used took over the place in conjunction with the gasps of both of you; somewhat awkwardly you searched for a way to unbutton his shirt, in haste as your whole body trembled and struggled to get used to his exquisite pace, finally leaving him with his bare chest and abdomen.

“Fuck, fuuuck...” he gasped with his hot breath hitting your face.

It was frantic, but slow, deep and precise, each thrust moved something in you and blurred your vision, you were being purely filled with joy. You caressed his abdomen and luridly lowered your gaze to your entrance being fucked over and over again. Seungmin brought his hands up, the right one gripped on your waist while the left one desperately caressed your breasts, he controlled your body with ease, making you settle and you let out a soft cry as you felt his cock sweetly hit a spot on you, managing to arch your back. He reached for your neck, taking it between his hand. You stared at him, his sweet gaze was gone and he was just watching you... differently, taking out every frustration on your body.

Seungmin began to ram you faster and deeper, colliding skin against skin, leaving you immobile but excitedly restless. He began to use your body more as an object of desire, taking absolute control of you. His threatening, sensual grip on your neck began to take on meaning as he squeezed it tighter and tighter each time. For a moment he stopped being that tender teacher with that soft image you used to remember and had become simply Kim Seungmin, an older man with whom you were gaining experience, giving you the most intense sex and next orgasm. You could feel him, depriving your breath, squeezing your neck tightly until he left you struggling, just at the hottest and sweetest moment of the sex act, when you were being fucked hard, his pelvis thrusting hard into your body every time his cock slid into you, just when you were exasperatedly agitated, struggling with your breathing, he simply choked you erotically, making sure to make each of his thrusts so intense that your torso resented every stroke.

Your body was easy to control, you were becoming a doll with which he could deposit all his semen and fulfill even his dirtiest fantasy. Slowly you let yourself enjoy, slowly lying back on the cold marble, allowing yourself to be used by him. You touched his arms, his hand around your neck. You were so close, to your exasperation at not feeling air and to the most intense point of your sexual climax. Seungmin could tell, your strong lip bite and arched back were easy signs, but he had no plans to leave you tired from just the first big round of your long night of fun. Your breasts began to jiggle violently between each hard thrust, your blood began to pump rapidly with force, struggling to keep your body’s composure functioning, pushing you to orgasm and desperation to get your proper oxygenation. Still, you were in heaven itself, being touched by his sex over and over again with your fingers brushing the soft skin of his arms on your neck.

A deep growl escaped Seungmin’s lips between excited sighs as he felt the sizzling kiss of your walls on his cock, squeezing it and indicating your intense orgasm.

He slowly released you, leaving your neck slightly red, you breathed deep and fast, trembling and feeling the crazy rhythm of your heart pounding in every inch of you. Seungmin teased you by filling deeper into you, he smiled at the sight of you, your body losing control and giving in to each pounding thrust that hit your pussy hard. He stroked your lips with his thumb, your mouth half open, feeling dry at the exasperated moans coming from you from such frantic activity.

“Are you about to cum, little one?”

Seungmin questioned you, lowering his hand delicately to your naked body, caressing it with his knuckles and making you shudder all over. You were still struggling slightly for air, but you nodded desperately and as he bit his lip gently, raising his eyebrows motivating you, authorizing and urging you on, you were already collapsing under his intense act. You touched his arms, holding your trembling body and sobbed moaning in pure joy, culminating intensely with his rigid member thrusting into you. You looked at his handsome face during the process and he moaned echoing your orgasm in him.

As soon as you were done and your abdomen was rising and falling with heaviness and agitation, Seungmin pulled his limb out of you, making you feel for seconds incomplete and you saw his cock touch the bare skin of your pubis. You had finished, but from that angle his sex looked so swollen, wet, his tip looked so inviting and you noticed that he was still erect. Your whole body suddenly reignited, wanting the idea that deep down, one of the things you wanted was to see him come to orgasm, to see him unload his cum so messily and enticingly, to see him moan out such an act; so you sat up straight, he was enjoying watching your exhausted, heaving body satisfied that he put his agonizing arousal aside for a second, but suddenly you appeared in front of him, saying seductively breathlessly:

“Let me make you cum, please Mr. Kim, I can help you. I want your-you to cum.”

He almost released a chuckle. Your bright eyes wrapped in a light coat of happy tears, your sweet face begging for sex, your eager body wanting for more... you didn’t even have to suggest it. He was there, to possess you and use your young body just the way you were so eager for.

“Come here” he replied grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you down from the table. “What an interesting choice of words, miss Y/ln...”

Seungmin said in your ear, in quick seconds he had you pinned against the edge of the table as he turned your body and pressed his against yours, your ass felt his throbbing erection brush against your skin, your back felt his chest and finely the fabric of his open shirt, as his hands squeezed the back of your forearms.

“...for someone you should have respect for.”

His next move was something you would never have expected or seen coming. A hard spank on your ass, making you squeal with shock. You liked it.

“You use that little mouth to talk to your elders like that?”

Spank after spank, hard enough to leave your ass red and make you squeal with pain and excitement. Seungmin squeezed your buttocks, managing to maximize and perpetuate the burning and pain in your skin, as he bit his lip, then caressed your buttocks skin and kept spanking you. Unconsciously you let your back arch, resting your hands on the edge of the furniture and let yourself be hit and touched with the back of his fingers caressing your visible juicy labia, teasing you with his digits pushing and stirring your organ. It was the perfect excuse, Seungmin wanted to do with the pleasure of your body whatever, to explore every inch on that forbidden night, he wanted to fuck you for hours until he saw the light of day.

“But what can I expect if with that mouth you sucked your teacher’s cock with pleasure.”

His words worked magic, the undertone and his pitch full of pure sexual connotation raised your sex drive again. You moaned as soon as you felt his cock thrust into you again, sinking deep with ease as you were already so wet. Seungmin let out an exasperated whimper as he felt you, your throbbing pussy beginning to slowly create desire and arousal for your whole body. You arched your back more, your elbows and arms lying on the table clinging to the intensity of movements that awaited you and Seungmin began to ram into you hard, his cock already deep inside you stirring your insides and kissing your cervix. He saw the act of his pelvis and pubic area rubbing against your ass and bumping your body with agility, he caressed your bare back and licked his lips, suddenly thinking that he craved the closeness of your body, of your tired and quivering body on his, so he gently pulled on your hair for a few moments without missing his rhythm, you didn’t understand his signals, until he took hold of your shoulder and said:

“Come here, come closer, pretty one.”

He pulled your naked body close to his abruptly, you stood on tiptoe raising your ass without thinking and closed your eyes sighing at the feel of him so close, his pelvis squeezing your ass and his bare chest on your back, Seungmin pushed your hair aside, leaving the right side of your neck exposed and attractively positioning his face there, his right hand was firmly holding your neck loosely and the other played touching your breasts and abdomen, but he delighted and found himself by pressing the sweet spot of your clit while he kept penetrating you in a wild and exquisite pace. You gasped filling you with emotions and threw your head back closing your eyes in pleasure enjoying every violent movement in you, his hand working rapidly on your clit and labia, his wedding ring criminally dirty in your fluids, his cock penetrating you furiously. Suddenly between gasps everything became so primal, you could think of nothing else but the wonderful sexual world you were living in, both of you cursing in exasperation, creating an ephemeral, sickeningly intimate connection.

You began to tremble, to lose strength and feel strangely desperate, whimpering and rejoicing on the verge of climaxing again, Seungmin was so exact and precise, exquisitely fucking you until he blurred your vision; he as well as you, with his moans in your ear, the constant pounding of skins colliding and his cock quivering inside you, he was so close to his orgasm, both of you could feel each other at such intense and genuine levels. You turned your face to catch a glimpse of his pleasurable, agonized expression as he whimpered your name followed by the comforting, warm sensation of his semen completely filling your entire vaginal cavity. Holding on to his arms touching your body, you cum intensely as well, collapsing breathlessly with his body pressed to yours. As he cummed in you, Seungmin smoothed his movements, until he pulled out of you, drained and leaving a pornographically falling mess staining his perfectly clean floor.

And there was the most perfect heinous and sinful act, your naked body, panting and flushed in sex with your pussy quivering spilling his glistening white semen. Seungmin tried to catch his breath with his face wrapped in sorrow and satisfaction, hidden in your neck. Whatever happened... you had a wonderful time, you had never had such a mind-boggling, frenetic and beautiful sexual experience as you had now. So intimate, long lasting and intense. You relaxed your feet and still agitated you turned your body to see the handsome face of your favorite teacher, his red cheeks and shiny hairline wanting to sweat, you smiled, genuinely happy, so glad that things had turned out this way, that you both had wanted each other so badly, that you could finally have the man of your dreams that you had been pining for so long; you were going to be the one to approach him, but Seungmin stepped forward, placing his warm right hand on your blushing cheek gently, saying softly,

“My sweet Y/n... That was beautiful.”

You enjoyed his fine touch, looking into his eyes and from an impulse, almost childish and pure, like that of an innocent girl rushing at her first love, you took a quick step towards him and caught his lips, he joined his body to yours, pushing you with his left hand and letting it rest on your lower back, while the other was still touching your face. You rose up on tiptoe and wrapped your arms around his neck, stroking his hair and gently pushing the back of his neck, at first it was messy, desperate and passionate involving the bold touch and sound of your tongues colliding, revealing your first intentions with each other; but the more time passed, the rhythm softened, ending in a long, sweet and intimate kiss, colliding your agitated heartbeats.

When you separated, breathless, vibrant with emotion and with your heart fluttering, but in a purer and sweeter way, you looked at each other for a few seconds and did not hesitate to lean your head on his shoulder, still embracing him, with your tired face close to his neck. You closed your eyes and you couldn’t say anything else, because you couldn’t find the right words to say after living an unique experience for you. You took a deep breath and let yourself be hypnotized by the closeness of his body. However, within seconds you heard him say:

“Oh... the light went out, already” he mentioned more calmly.

Both of you were slowly regulating your breathing still. Seungmin hugged your body without thinking, the damage was already done, but at least it would be a little secret you both shared, he had no idea what would happen tomorrow, and he didn’t have the slightest interest to know, for the first time in his life, he didn’t have something under control or planned, as soon as he had you and was holding you, just a little bit more... he felt calm.

You opened your eyes in surprise and found nothing, other than your vision in pitch black, a somewhat shadowy darkness. You still felt Seungmin, but seeing absolutely nothing made you uneasy.

You gently turned away from him, still touching his hands.

“Are you afraid of the dark...?” you heard him say right in front of you, still in his place.

“Mmm, not as such, but not seeing anything and it being all dark does get a little scary.”

You heard Seungmin let out a giggle and let go of your grip, you guided yourself based on sounds, the sound of his belt buckle moving and clothes sliding on, you assumed he put his underwear and pants back on as you followed with an eerie fear, eyes wide open, listening to his breathing plus complete darkness in front of your eyes.

You were thankful that the electricity lasted throughout your slow, sizzling sex act.

Seungmin patted his counter blindly, having roughly the calculation of his own kitchen, he managed to touch the tea cups and then felt a cell phone being palmed.

“I think it’s your cell phone,” he commented, lighting up slightly as it turned on automatic and displayed your lock screen, he handed it to you, whispering, “You can turn on the flashlight... if you want.”

You scoffed, heeding him and noticing that indeed Seungmin was already in his pants. You didn’t shine a direct flashlight on his face, but just enough of an angle to see him.

“I have to go to the garage to get out a few flashlights and...”

“No need for that” you added subtly on impulse, “Seungmin,” you called his name for the first time, feeling even closer to him poetically, he remained still, facing you, his face slightly illuminated, “I’m tired... and it’s night, I can just go to sleep, though I’m a bit scared, can you stay with me?”

He smiled, letting out a light breath, it felt like lucid dreaming since he couldn’t see you and was only guided by your voice.

“You want that?” you nodded happily biting your lower lip even though you were sure he couldn't see you, “Sure, I have some lamps that don’t take up electric light in my room. You can get cleaned up and I’ll borrow something to sleep in. Take my hand. You’ll light the way, okay?”

You laughed softly, seeing his expression, raising his eyebrows followed by a gentle smile. You took his hand and amidst the complete darkness you both walked up the stairs until you reached the master bedroom. His room. Where he slept every night, you thought and... in a way, the one he always shared with his wife, yet you felt Seungmin’s manly and clean scent predominate in the room.

“I’ll turn on the lights” he warned you, letting go of your hand.

You lightened his figure, going to each side of his bed on the night stands, turning on two warm light lamps, one on each side. Then you saw him open the curtains of his large windows, letting in a little of the moonlight, moon almost full, romantically and subtly illuminating the room. It seemed to you for a moment... stupidly tender every little thing he did... and in a way, romantic. The tense darkness, the solitude and intimacy that surrounded you, the non-stop rain outside, the moonlight...

The lamps didn’t illuminate much, other than the area around the bed. Seungmin was standing in front of his window, his expression and body nervous and tense, despite having lost all reins with you a few moments ago downstairs. You put the flashlight of your phone right on him, he was somewhat far away from you and watched his tender countenance. You smiled, thinking how much you needed him again, not having him around felt like the real crime and sin. So, you turned off the light of your phone, leaving it on the nightstand near you and walked slowly and sensually towards him. Seungmin remained still, watching your naked figure emerge from the darkness and the dim light like some kind of a beautiful demon, or a deity of the night, ready to bless and curse him at the same time.

You stood in front of his already agitated body and trapped his neck between your arms, putting them over his shoulders and touching his hair. You leaned in for a kiss, under the moonlight and the violent rain lashing every part of the small town, a kiss, soft, slow, erotic and delicate, that turned into a series of hot and breathtaking actions. His hands took your waist and slowly went up and down caressing your body, something in you that night could not leave you alone, it was such a fatal attraction that you could not separate from each other, let alone get complete satisfaction from each other, you wanted more and more, reflecting it in your desperate kisses and excited bodies.

You started by sliding down his shoulders his already open shirt, caressing his skin in the process and Seungmin let the garment fall to the floor. Without detaching from each other, you both walked to your large bed, perfectly made, about to witness another disaster, another room in his home about to worship another disastrous and sizzling hot act of infidelity and carnal desire. Your legs collided with the edge of the bed, Seungmin’s passionate lips trailed down your neck as his hands explored and kneaded your body with desperation. Both of your sexes again braced themselves, quivering and moistening, impatient and hungry to have each other.

“Seung-Seungmin” you sighed, before you fell surrendered to his bed or lay down on it, you caught his attention by saying, “Get undressed too, please.”

Seungmin smiled, parted from your skin and quickly complied with your orders, pulling down his pants and underwear quickly and stripping them off; he returned to you, laying you gently on the bed, kissing your body again. You moaned, at the sensation of his genitals colliding and rubbing as he made you his with his lips on your body.

“You couldn’t wait, huh? I was going to take my clothes off anyway, princess” he growled into your skin, his breath burning into you.

You wanted it to happen again. His throbbing, big sex piercing you unprotected, his raw texture between your walls, controlling your body, being under the effects of him, being intimately under his body... but the thought of having him, under you, made your pussy throbbingly restless, which made you moan softly:

“Let me-let me be on top.”

Seungmin seemed to ignore your request for sizzling seconds and continued with his lips tasting your breasts, abdomen, and when he reached your pussy, you moaned half-heartedly as you felt his breath, you clung to his sheets and he kissed the inside of your thighs, making you believe he had every intention of servicing you down there again, but he stopped. He leaned his body in and saw your aroused body illuminated in the dim warm light.

“Do you want to ride me, little girl? Is that it?”

You nodded and followed his lead as soon as you saw him settle into his own bed. You approached him desperately, crawling a few steps to his naked body waiting to be attended to. His cock was so inciting, waiting for you, every fiber of Seungmin’s body crying out for you. You positioned yourself finally, your thighs to the side of his, grasped the base of his rigid penis and bit your lip as you teased his soft glans at your entrance, until finally letting yourself fall on his cock, taking it all in completely, crushing his testicles and subtly painting them in your wetness.

“Ohh, yesss, baby, that’s it, so fucking good for me fuck, I love filling you all the way up” Seungmin whimpered, your walls exquisitely squeezing his cock.

You hugged his neck, squealed and started to move to your rhythm, enjoying his length in you. Seungmin delivered short, loud spanks on your ass, squeezed it with desire and massaged your body, your waist, your breasts, each sex act with you surpassing the last, he was in fucking heaven and hell, gleefully rejoicing in your pussy kissing his testicles each time you agonizingly slid your cunt deep into him, reveling in the sensation of your pussy devouring his cock, but mostly of your yielding, young body on his.

This time you were in complete control of him and your pleasure, you chose what movement and rhythm to do while his little comments encouraging you and his moans hardened your nipples and made your ears red, it felt so good to have him under you, filling you up.

You rode Seungmin not looking for perfection in the strokes, but an inevitable pleasure for both of you, driving him crazy, your squats were imperfectly perfect and that had him wild, you were young, seizing and learning to take the cock of his lonely, excited self. Seungmin raved at your tits bouncing up and down on his face, taking them between his mouth and tasting your nipples, taking you to the limit; when he felt you were struggling leaping on his cock and out of breath he would support you by grabbing your waist, helping you bounce exquisitely on his sex.

Your vision began to blur. You were so close. The sex was being delicious, you grunted every time your clit rubbed finely against his skin and your chests collided; you kissed Seungmin passionately one last time, before collapsing completely. He was so close too, he took advantage of your body and moved it with slight abruptness, his length in and out quickly; you hugged yourself tighter to him, hiding your red face on the side of his neck and whimpering in his ear, you felt his cock throbbing inside you shortly followed by a hot shot filling your pussy, Seungmin hugged your body tightly, whimpering and staying still shuddering in his intense orgasm. His cum began to slide down his length, you continued, sloppy but strong movements over his cock, your pussy consuming and sinking into him until you shivered in your climax, falling surrendered and joined your heaving, tense torsos together. You remained in each other’s embrace for a moment, the golden light kissing your exhausted bodies yielding in pleasure.

Seungmin slowly lay back, letting his body and head fall back on his pillow, your body fell back on top of him and he began to caress your spine still with his warm cock inside you.

You were so tired, what you remembered was him coming out of you, both of you going to the bathroom to wash up after such unbridled and passionate acts. Seungmin put on new underwear, sleeping shorts and a white t-shirt, you hoped to sleep next to his warm and naked body, feeling his skin, but you said nothing, you agreed to sleep only in one of his t-shirts and, at least you slept in his arms that night, he hugged you while he tried to have a conversation with you... but you fell entranced in his scent, your eyelids heavy until they closed completely.

The next morning was the real hell.

It was the next day, the day that neither of you wanted to come, that neither of you wanted to face, you had to think about your actions. Your filthy, heinous deeds...

Seungmin woke up early, as common as his adult body was already used to. He woke up carefully, letting you sleep peacefully. He set himself the task of meticulously cleaning and disinfecting every part of his house, of removing every trace of the rampant, dirty, sinful sex that occurred the night before between a husband and his mistress, whose gasps, screams and bursting orgasms were silenced by the storm. He cleaned the kitchen island, the floor stained in droplets of his semen, he dry your clothes, folding them and putting them on the bed near you, he took a shower and waited for you to wake up... not late enough, as you only had two hours until his wife came home.

The only trace of sex that inhabited his house was you and the lustful ghosts of the night before. But Seungmin didn’t particularly want to get rid of you, his intense, passionate lover. There was something about you that he adored, beyond sex. He sat beside your body resting, sleeping peacefully and watched you tenderly, your face slightly puffy, your hair tousled and your cheek squashed into his pillow as you breathed deeply, he wished to live that every day, to have you always. He slowly leaned his body back, leaning on his elbow and watching you closely, thinking with a slight ache in his chest, that in the daylight you were even more beautiful, you shone brighter, that you deserved all that and not what he could scarcely and almost humiliatingly offer you—an affair, a forbidden romance, a fleeting love filled with passion and clandestine encounters, of hiding and living with a huge burden of guilt, of simply becoming the other woman, a full-time mistress.

You deserved to be treated with everything nice in the world, with delicacy, you deserved to be taken out on dates, to wear a beautiful dress and be taken out in the daylight without any fear of being seen, to be showered with flowers, gifts and sweet kisses. You deserved someone who would make loving love to you, not someone who just used your body. You were young, smart and sweet; you were everything he could dream of... but deep down he felt it should only remain a dream and a whim.

His life would go upside down if he ever chose you...

And between the anguish and his time of admiration for you, Seungmin lost track of time and fell asleep, sleeping next to you, his arm on the sheet that covered your body.

The morning light spilled through the rain-kissed window, painting the room in fragile gold and shades of blue. Seungmin lay beside you, his breath slow, his wedding band glinting like a quiet wound against the sheets. The storm had passed, but inside you, a tempest lingered—guilt, longing, the ghost of his touch still warm on your skin.

You breathed in his perfume and smelled the expensive scent of the sheets in which your half-naked body was wrapped. You lay there, dead ashamed. Like a whore wrapped in someone else’s sheets... you were satisfied, happy, guilty, a whirlwind of emotions with your tired body in sex.

You rose, careful not to wake him, and sat on the edge of the bed, thinking.

It had been a mistake, hadn’t it? A fleeting, fevered thing, born of thunder and hushed confessions.

But seeing Seungmin, didn’t make you feel guilty, but gave you a pang of feeling, of uncontrollable envy at wanting to be the real woman he woke up with that sight every day.

It was unfair.

Something in you was grateful that it was just sex, otherwise you would have fallen more in love and deluded than you were. He was a good man, interesting, you knew it, you loved him, but he wasn’t yours. It was just vulnerability that sparked that storm and a lot of luck. Maybe.

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89 @lolareadsimagines @lailac13 @ayyonoona @do-you-remember-summer-127 @wildtokay @korthbum @oddracha @hyune-sssne @velvetmoonlght @shadowhunterathene @compersian @binniesbabe @isabel-018 @paborachaslvt @tirena1

⚠️ I think this is the updated taglist :0 this fic is part of my kinktober section which is still incomplete, it’s been a while since I haven’t posted, so i completely understand if you don’t want to be tagged anymore, let me know any changes hehe :3 ty for understanding, sending love! <3 ⚠️

Dolly VII

~ part 7 of the Dolly series

pairing: han jisung x afab!reader

genre: smut, fluff, sci-fi

synopsis: you, being a tech-savvy person, decide to get one of the new sex dolls on the market. with your skills and brains you manage to unlock the doll's secret and make a perfect plan on how to discover the secrets of the doll's maker too.

wc: 8.2k

warnings: oral (f and m), somnophilia, unprotected sex, creampies

a/n: i've never been to an observatory so idk how things go there and i couldn't find a detailed description of the experience so i just winged it, don't come at me if you've been to one

~ divider by @bunnysrph

"Fuck yes!" you laughed, lifting your fist up in the air triumphantly. You were so early.

Following the latest technology advancements and even working on some of your own led you down into a deep dive and you had heard rumors here and there about something completely new and different coming out soon. And now they were finally here for the public to enjoy.

Sex dolls.

But no, they weren't regular dolls that were made of plastic. The site claimed that they were made out of newly discovered materials that made them feel human, made them able to heat up, get hard, cum. In your years of being a programmer and hacker you have never heard of such a thing.

You scrolled through the entire site, of course they were made by BIMT. They were known for their discoveries in robotics and artificial intelligence. But they were also shady. Their founder, Helena died mysteriously and any ex employee kept their mouth shut when asked about their job. You saw the interviews and read articles before. You saw the glint of fear in those people's eyes, like they were threatened to be silent with death.

You already tried looking into it before, you were always a curious cat and you always did your research, sometimes even illegally but hey, what has to be done...

BIMT hid their tracks very well, even their official site was impenetrable no matter how many times you tried hacking into it. There was no revealing documents, pictures or interviews anywhere, not even on the deep dark web. You couldn't even find anything about it after hacking into social media accounts of ex workers. It made you even more intrigued. You always loved a good challenge.

And the dolls being made by them was just the stroke of luck you needed. Excitedly, you scrolled through each dolly profile. It was so hard to decide, but one of the dolls caught your eye more than the others.

Jisung, the nerdy doll. You thought he was just like you, a smarty-pants, the person who knows the answer to almost anything, brain full of fun facts and finger ready to lift up and say 'actually!' before you start explaining to someone why their claims are wrong based on this and that.

Yes, he had to be yours.

Not even a week later, your package arrived and you were practically bouncing off of your walls and climbing up your ceiling. You ripped the paper off the box eagerly before opening it and gasping.

"Oh you are even more beautiful in person!" your hands instantly flew to the doll's body as you explored it. "Does feel human." you nodded to yourself and leaned in to inspect his face.

With eyes opened and frozen you had to admit, Jisung looked a bit creepy no matter how pretty he was made to be.

"Time to dissect." you wiggled your eyebrows and pulled Jisung up in a sitting position. "Perfect."

Your fingers brushed over the little usb opening, almost missing the paper that slipped down. You grabbed it and started reading.

Hello,

my name is Jisung and I am your nerdy doll.

I love music, singing, dancing, rapping, watching anime and reading comics. Maybe I have too many hobbies? But I am happy to share them with you!

Please take good care of me, sometimes I feel down and alone and will need your comfort and presence.

Hope you will love me as much as I love you.

"Versatile little guy, aren't you?" you smirked, playing with his hair a little. "I think you and I will get along perfectly."

You scooped your dolly up and brought him to your room, placing him down on your bed before going back to grab the manual. You skimmed over it, nodding every now and then in surprise. This really was some kind of never before seen technology. You wondered how BIMT managed to produce the dolls and what else they made that no one knew about.

Being a programmer, you knew stuff like this was the result of trial and error. You kept thinking about how they actually got to here and what they had to do to make something as advanced as the doll on your bed.

"Let's see what you got, pretty boy." you smirked as you stood in front of Jisung. You gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing maybe the most lean waist you've ever seen.

"Wow." you gasped. "Yeah, you're not real." you chuckled, placing your hand on his chest. Your fingers twitched against him, he felt real, like a real human being. And he was warming up under your touch.

Your hand slid down, touching his chest, his nipples that seemed to become more pebbled the more you ran your fingertips over them.

"Look at that." you giggled before sliding your hand down until you got to his jeans. You noticed a small piece of paper sticking from the pocket.

"What's this?" you pulled it out and opened it.

My baby!

I am so excited for our first date!

I might be a little shy at first though. Hopefully you will still enjoy our first night together.

"Oh, I'll enjoy." you smirked, seeing the bulge that was straining against his pants. You unbuttoned them and pulled the zipper down, feeling the heat radiating off of him. Your fingers wrapped around his clothed length and you palmed him over his boxers. He twitched in your hand and you gasped.

"I'll discover your secrets, Jisung. But first let's have some fun, shall we?" you smirked, thinking how the doll should be used for what it was essentially made for. Why not have a little fun with it before you actually hack into it?

You slid his boxers down and his length slapped against his stomach, red and dripping, ready for you.

"Wow." you gasped, he was big and shaped perfectly. You couldn't wait to try him out so you stripped out of your clothes, throwing them haphazardly anywhere they landed in your room. Jisung was propped against your pillow in a half-sitting position and you crawled on the bed, hovering over his chest as you chuckled.

Why did it seem like his eyes were sparkling? Like they were trained on your pussy? Like he was actually seeing you before him?

"You want this?" you smirked, your fingers sliding on your folds then back up as you spread them before placing one finger on your clit and playing with it. Your dolly blushed at your ministrations and you gasped.

"What the fuck?" you chuckled in disbelief as you leaned over his face and tried to take a better look at him, to see if he was breathing, blinking, moving, anything. But it seemed like his heart wasn't beating at all. It's probably just a feature the dollies have, you thought to yourself as you continued touching your wet folds and playing with your clit.

"You have pretty hands, little dolly." you smirked, grabbing his wrist and bringing his hand to your breast. "Mm." you moaned as you moved against it, his skin was smooth and warm and it felt so good against yours. Your other hand was still between your legs and you slowly pushed two fingers inside your pussy, moaning at the feeling while staring at Jisung's face. The look on the doll's face was so sweet, almost innocent and you couldn't help but think if he was a real man, you'd definitely fall for him, he seemed just your type.

After a few minutes of playing with yourself, you were starting to lose patience the more you stared at Jisung, he was so alluring. You slid down to hover over his cock before grabbing the base of it and pressing the tip on your wet folds.

"Fuck." you groaned, throwing your head back. He felt so real, so perfect and you slid down slowly, taking his length in until he bottomed out inside you and you sat on him, squirming around to adjust. He filled you up like no one else and your eyes rolled back as soon as you started fucking on him.

A string of curses left your lips while you bounced up and down on him, getting his heavy cock more wet with each movement as you kept squeezing around him. You braced your hands on his defined chest and fucked him harder, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot and making you groan loudly as your eyes watered from arousal.

Your thighs started burning, legs tingling as a sheen of sweat covered your body while you kept fucking Jisung harder, noticing his face was becoming even more red.

"You enjoying, dolly?" you smirked between moans and clenched around him, forgetting that with your doll's sensitivity he could cum just from that. And that is exactly what happened, without warning he twitched and exploded inside you, making you gasp and clench even harder around him. The wetness and warmth made your eyes roll back and you followed after him, cumming around his cock and riding your high as long as you could.

"Tsk. Naughty dolly." you chuckled, pinching his cheek. "Wow, your face is warm." you added, pressing your palm against his heated skin. You leaned down and kissed his lips, they were so soft and for some reason tasted like cherries. Your lips kept pressing into his, before moving onto his cute puffy cheeks and placing more sweet kisses there.

"Hey!" a giggle escaped your lips when you felt him getting hard inside you again. "I'd love to but my thighs hurt." you pouted before sliding off of him. "My jaw is fine though." you winked at the doll before sliding down and coming closer to his cock, wet with yours and his juices. With a shrug, you pressed your tongue against him and gave him one long lick from the base to the tip, tasting yourself and again, something like cherries mixed with it.

"What are you made of? Fruit?" you let out another giggle before leaning in again and wrapping your lips around his tip. You sucked lightly, moaning and enjoying the taste and feeling of him. Your hand wrapped around what you couldn't take in your mouth as you slid as far down as you could and started moving your head up and down on Jisung's cock. Your eyes fluttered shut and you got into a rhythm, moaning and swallowing around him because he tasted so good.

It didn't take long for your dolly to explode again, this time painting your mouth with his warm cum and you swallowed every last sweet drop of him. You leaned up and kissed him again before leaving the room to take a quick shower. You didn't bother to put anything else but a short robe on when you came back to clean up your dolly too.

"Now. Let's see what you are made of."

You lifted him and put him in your chair before taking the usb cable and connecting it into the back of his neck and then into your computer. After opening the terminal and typing out a few lines of code, you were in.

"Hah!" you laughed. BIMT might've shut their ex employees up and they made sure no one could find dirt about them or hack into any site they made but they probably never thought that someone would actually hack into one of the dolls.

"What kind of code is this?" you gasped a little as you looked at lines and lines of code that your dolly was made from. It was definitely some advanced programming language but still it was readable, and to someone who did this for life it wasn't hard to understand after taking some time to look at it and read it out.

You saw that it had some type of advanced AI implemented inside it, some kind of genetic algorithm carrying the unique DNA of your Jisung dolly. It wasn't like any other genetic algorithm you worked with before and it was clear to you that this technology was far ahead of its time.

"How the fuck?" you shook your head, scrolling through the lines of code, seeing that a lot of the features the doll had were 'turned off' before getting to a line where there was a loop holding the factory reset button.

Should you do it? Reset the doll and see what happens?

You turned towards Jisung and looked at his face, your eyes searching his glassy ones. You saw there were features of the doll talking, laughing, even something about his heart beating. You suspected that he was actually 'alive'. You felt like you were in some kind of science fiction movie as your finger hovered over the left mouse button.

"Fuck it." you said and clicked it.

For a few moments, nothing happened until you noticed all the lines with features changing rapidly before your eyes. You jumped a little and looked at Jisung again. He was still for a moment before his eyes watered and then his face became red as he fought for air. He blinked a few times and then took a deep, painful breath in, his eyes became wide and his hand grabbed at his chest.

It looked like your dolly was alive after all.

Jisung looked around before his eyes landed on you and his hand flew to the usb pressed into his skin. With fearful eyes he stared at you and gasped.

"W-who are you?" he asked, backing away in the chair as you stared at him with mouth agape.

"Um, y/n. I bought you?"

"I... I was sold?" Jisung's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Why would Mother sell me?"

"Mother?"

"Why am I naked?!" he screamed suddenly, trying to cover himself up with his hands as his face became incredibly red.

"We just had sex? Or I fucked you. You're a sex doll? You don't remember anything?"

Jisung frowned again, pressing his lips together as his eyes moved left and right for a few moments before they widened.

"Yes, I remember now what happened." his cheeks were rosy again. "Can you please give me my clothes? I'm... embarrassed."

"Sure." you stood up to grab his boxers and Jisung saw a glimpse of your core as you moved around, quickly looking away as he started heating up.

"Here." you gave him his underwear and he managed to put them on while still sitting in the chair.

"Why am I hooked to your computer?" Jisung asked and you got closer to the screen and observed the code, seeing something you had never seen before in your life.

Under all the lines, new lines kept appearing as if the code was writing itself while Jisung spoke, thought or took in a breath. It was like a brain, doing all the things that would keep a human being alive and let them do all the things they do so easily.

"This is fascinating!" you kept gawking at the code.

"Please... I don't wanna be hooked to any more machines." Jisung whispered and you turned to look at him again.

"I'm sorry." you tilted your head before unhooking him from the cable and he winced, grabbing at his neck and you watched in real time as his skin grew over the opening.

"What the-" you kept chuckling in disbelief. But despite you being in shock, it was Jisung who stared at you like you were the weird one.

"You look confused. What's the last thing you remember, Jisung?" you asked and he bit on his lip, gulping as his eyes fixated on your cleavage.

"Hey, buddy!" you snapped your fingers with a chuckle. "Eyes up here." you pointed to your face and he sputtered a little.

"The last thing I remember? You-"

"No, before coming here." it was your turn to blush.

"Ugh. I remember my brothers and our Mother. She made us come to life. She loved us, she would never sell us." he quickly shook his head, getting upset. You reached out slowly and placed your hand over his and Jisung looked up at you with wide, shiny eyes.

"Do you know her name?"

"Mother? Isn't that her name?" he pouted a little, looking like a kid waiting to be praised for the right answer.

"Wait a sec." you said and googled Helena Bang, showing him a picture of her. "Is this mother?"

"Yes! Yes, that's her!" Jisung smiled and nodded.

"Jisung, I'm sorry but... but she is gone. She died a few years ago."

"W-what? What do you mean? That can't be true! She was there with us, teaching us everything and reading us books and, and-"

"Hey, hey, calm down. I didn't mean to upset you." you rolled you chair closer to Jisung's and took his hands in yours. He looked at you with tears in his eyes, sniffling as he tried to understand just what you were saying to him.

"Look, obviously something happened in between and someone wiped your memory." you tried soothing him, drawing circles with your thumbs into his skin. "But don't worry, you came to the right hands because I will help you remember everything and discover what is happening in BIMT." you nodded and Jisung exhaled.

"Okay. I trust you. You're really pretty." he said with rosy cheeks and you laughed.

"You trust me cause I'm pretty?"

"No, I trust you because... because I have a feeling I should. And you're also pretty." he looked down and you giggled, leaning in and kissing his cheek softly.

"You're pretty too." you whispered in his ear.

"T-thank you." he stuttered, playing with his fingers.

"Now tell me everything you remember. Don't leave any minor details out." you said and Jisung began talking.

"We looked different before, when we were first made. We spent a lot of time in these big tanks filled with some kind of liquid. They called them 'incubators' and they would take us out and hook us to some kind of machines. They did something to us, I couldn't see what but I could feel it. I think- I think they were adding skin and other parts...and it hurt. A lot. But after that we were transported to this big mansion and we lived there with Mother. She took care of us, she taught us everything and she read books to us and played games with us. We spent time in the garden of the house a lot. Chan, Changbin and I had a lot of fun in the house gym, but Changbin spent lots of time there. And there was a pool, I'd hang out there with Felix and Hyunjin. And Hyunjin also loved the garden a lot. Seungmin too! And the library, Seungmin would sit in the library a lot, reading all the books Mother had there! Jeongin spent a lot of time in the game room playing videogames with Seungmin and Felix. And Minho really loved cooking and taking care of the cats in the mansion. We had a wonderful time together. I remember we would grill in the backyard and I had a guitar, we all sang together. I- I don't know what happened after that." Jisung hugged himself. "All I remember is a feeling. A deep seated feeling of angst and fear. Something happened to us, we were separated. From each other and from Mother. We went to sleep. And then I woke up here."

"So, Helena did make all of you." you smirked, looking up the current CEO of the institute. "And this bastard decided to completely turn everything around and make money in such a dirty way, making himself look like a genius who made you." you shook your head in disbelief. "Do you remember him?"

Jisung shook his head with wide, innocent eyes.

"Don't worry, Jisung. I'll get to the bottom of this."

-

After a proper shower and meal, Jisung seemed to be more calm than earlier as he wandered around your apartment, brushing his fingers against your furniture and decorations.

"You don't have a garden? Or a library? A gym? A pool?" he looked at you expectantly and you let out a cackle, now dressed in your comfy pjs and ready to relax before sleep.

"That's something only rich people have. Here, I have a balcony. Come." you beckoned him with your hand and he followed. You opened the door to your balcony, taking a deep breath in, the fresh breeze of an early summer evening caressing your skin.

Jisung took in a deep breath too and cautiously placed his palms on the railing before looking down.

"Wow. It's really high up." he said and you stood next to him.

"Does it scare you?" you put your hand next to his.

"It's just a little... uncomfortable. But I like the plants you put here." Jisung smiled at the few flower and plant pots you had all around your balcony.

"Then don't look down, look up." you took his hand and pulled him to the little bench and table you had placed there. "You can see the stars from my balcony."

Jisung's eyes widened a little as he scanned the sky, a small smile twitching on his lips as you observed him.

"You seem fascinated." you said as he stayed silent.

"I've always loved the stars, felt like they held answers to any question. I begged Mother to take us to an observatory so we can look at the sky together. She always said it was too dangerous to leave the house and that it's not time yet. She said we had to wait for the right time to leave, to be independent."

"You still wanna do that?" you smiled and he looked at you, nodding quickly.

"I'll take you then."

Jisung gasped, his body jolting in excitment. "Really?!"

"Yes, I've never been to one either. I think it would be something fun to see." you said and he kept nodding the entire time, making you chuckle.

"Are you tired?" he asked when you yawned.

"Yes and I have lots to do tomorrow. I'm working on a big project for work and I also want to look more into your code." you said and Jisung shivered a little.

"You're gonna hook me up to your computer again?" he pouted.

"I'm afraid that's the only way to find out more." you chewed on your lip.

"Do you think my brothers are in danger?" he asked then, frowning in thought.

"They could be. But no one bought them yet."

"Can you?" he asked and you chuckled.

"What I had saved up I spent on you. I got nothing left. But I could call a friend. You said Chan was the first doll made, right?" you asked, standing up and Jisung nodded.

"Then I know what to do." you reached your hand to him. "But now, let's go to sleep."

Jisung took your hand and let you lead him back to your room.

"We are sleeping together?" he asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes and embarrassment painted on his cheeks.

"Of course." you smirked a little and pulled him down on the bed with you.

With his cute face and pretty eyes, Jisung managed to steal a few kisses from you before he fell asleep in your arms.

Jisung woke up when it was still dark outside, the sky still full of stars albeit a little less shiny now as the sun was supposed to rise soon. He looked at your sleeping frame, reaching his hand to gently touch your cheek, his fingertips on your skin. He played with your hair before putting it behind your ear. He's never seen someone as beautiful as you and he never felt this sort of excitement, like butterflies and fire inside him for anyone else but you.

Jisung's face flushed when he realized he was aroused by your presence and warmth. He had no idea what to do, should he wake you up or just ignore it? He squirmed in place, accidentally grazing against your bare thigh. A moan left his lips and he couldn't help himself, pressing against you again and dragging his clothed length against your soft skin. His hands gripped at your hip and his eyes closed as he whimpered quietly. The movements and sounds made you snap out of your dreams and your eyes fluttered open.

"Jisung?" you whispered and he froze.

"I'm- I'm sorry Y/n. It's just-" you chuckled, shutting him up with a sleepy kiss as your hands traveled down.

"Take what you need." you smirked after getting rid of your shorts and underwear. He gasped a little as you grabbed his wrist and led his hand between your legs.

"You feel that? For you." you smirked, eyes closed as his fingers explored your wet folds. You pushed his boxers down slowly and pulled him in closer to you, your brain foggy and turned on after sleep. Jisung slotted his hips between yours and gripped your thighs, spreading your legs more before grabbing his cock and sinking it into you. Both of you moaned, hands grabbing desperately at each other.

"Y-you make me feel like I'm burning." he buried his face in the crook of your neck and a breathless chuckle escaped your lips. Jisung whined, gripping at you as he started dragging his cock against your walls slowly, fitting perfectly inside you.

"J-Jisung... Feels so good." you whimpered, arching up into him.

"Yeah, baby?" his lips pressed into your flushed cheek as he fucked you slowly and deeply.

"Yeah, perfect." you gasped, your hands roaming on his back, up and down his smooth skin, feeling the defined muscles.

"You're perfect too. So warm." Jisung whimpered, speeding up just a little as he lifted your shirt up, exposing your breasts to him. He bit on his lip and you moaned, arching into him and encouraging him to touch you so he placed his hands on your breasts, squeezing them and playing with your nipples. Your legs wrapped around him as your hands kept roaming on his skin, his lips on your neck and chest, his body swaying into yours until you were brought to climax together.

"Wow." Jisung smiled, laying his cheek on your chest and looking up at you.

"It's much more fun when you're not just lying there." you joked, poking his cheek.

He pouted and frowned, swatting your hand away. "For me, it was fun to just watch you too."

"I'm sure it was." you giggled, wiggling out of his hold and getting up. "We got work to do."

Jisung whined but followed you to the bathroom. After a shower and breakfast you picked up your phone a called a friend. She lived a little out of town and was enthusiastic about technology in her own way. She was a little older than you and used to do research for BIMT while Helena was still alive but any time you asked her something about it, she'd shut you down, never quite giving you any straight answers. She was an intelligent woman but paranoid that people were listening in to her conversations so she moved away from everyone, changing her life into something more simpler, more close to nature.

You told her everything and heard the gasps she let out, the murmurs of disbelief.

"So, can you take Chan? I think we might have a chance of helping the dolls if you do. Since Jisung was 'sleeping' and supposed to just be used as a sex doll, then the other dolls might be struggling too. I don't think it's right. Maybe they're not completely human... but their heart is beating. They hurt, they feel. They think. They don't deserve to be mistreated." you talked as you paced around your kitchen, Jisung's head following your body as it moved left and right over and over again.

A deep exhale on the other side of the phone.

"Fine. I'll help them. I will take Chan."

Satisfied with the answer, you thanked your friend and hung up.

"Everything is going according to plan, Sungie." you smirked, grabbing his cheeks and smushing them, making his lips pop as he whined.

"You're adorable." you chuckled and kissed him as he blushed profusely, grabbing at your waist.

"Now I gotta actually work and after that I will look at your code." you said.

"What shall I do until then?" he asked and you chuckled.

"You can watch tv. Or read. I mean I'm sure you can find something interesting to do while I work."

Jisung nodded and you watched him make his way to the living room before you walked into your room and sat at your desk.

-

A few hours later, Jisung walked into your room and stared at you sheepishly, fiddling with his fingers.

"Yes?" you chuckled, turning to look at him.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Are you?" you asked back and he nodded, his cheeks rosy. "I will order some food for us."

It didn't take long for your lunch to arrive and the two of you decided to take advantage of the nice weather and eat out on the balcony.

"Y/n?" Jisung said after some time, his cheeks puffy as he ate and you chuckled at his cuteness.

"Yes?"

"Can we take a walk?"

"Oh! Of course. We can do whatever we want." you nodded with a smile.

"Really? Mother never let us leave the property around her mansion. It was too dangerous. That's what she always said." he shivered a little.

"Nothing will hurt you here, I promise." you reached for his hand and he melted.

"I trust you."

"Good, then let's get some fresh air."

Jisung was almost like a child, pointing at everything, happy to be out and about, by your side as you held his hand and took him to your favorite ice cream place, down the familiar streets of the city and to your favorite park.

By the time you got home, night was falling and he was exhausted. You didn't have the heart to hook him up to a computer again, letting him rest in your bed as you sat at your desk and researched the code you copy-pasted from him.

You were getting closer to understanding it. Maybe even close enough to make some tweaks of your own, write a few more lines that would help you understand more so you could help the dolls free themselves.

"Challenge accepted."

A few weeks later, you were able to read the code, it was not that hard for you to get there since you've been doing this for years. You made progress with Jisung, he was willing to cooperate, helping saving his brothers was the only thing on his mind. He was smart too, knowing some things you didn't and that helped you understand some of the programming too.

Somehow he knew that the usb opening reveals itself with a press of his fingerprint over the spot. That's how you managed to plug him into your computer every few days, you didn't want him to feel like that was your only goal, to pick away at his mind. You wanted him to be happy, to you he was human and you had to admit you were starting to fall in love with him more and more each day.

"Jisung, look!" you called out to him one day as you scrolled on your phone while he read some manga, both of you having a chill afternoon.

"What?" he scooted closer to you, looking down at your phone.

"All the dolls have been sold out! I mean... your brothers." you grimaced and he sighed.

"That... was fast. But we know where Chan is?"

"We do. You want to go see him?" you asked and Jisung nodded.

"I will try to convince my friend to let us visit her. She is so paranoid that she never gives her address to anyone. I bet she had Chan picked up somewhere else so she doesn't give away her info. She barely gave me her phone number!" you threw your hands up in frustration.

"Please, try it! I really want to see him!" Jisung clung to you with a hopeful expression.

"Of course." you smiled, softening when you looked into his eyes.

You leaned in and kissed him gently as you wrapped your arms around him and his wrapped around you, pulling you closer into his heated body. You deepened the kiss, your tongue playing with his, a fire burning up inside your body.

As the kiss kept getting more heated, you sat up and pressed your hands on Jisung's chest but he grabbed your wrists gently and leaned back, looking at you lust filled eyes.

"Let me." he whispered and took the lead, pushing you against the couch and leaning in to kiss your neck. You let out a moan, your head falling back as you gripped at him. His hands roamed on your body slowly, mapping you out and squeezing a few times as he kissed and nipped at your skin.

"You're so beautiful." his lips trembled against your skin as he lowered them to your cleavage.

"Jisung." you moaned, hands tangling in his hair as he squeezed your hips. He whimpered at the sound of his name sounding so sinful when it spilled from your lips. He slid the straps of your top down, staring at your breast popping out with almost a fascinated look.

You arched into him and his hands gripped your thighs, lips attaching to your skin again, kissing the swell of your breast to your nipple before swiping his tongue over it, making you tremble and tug at his hair. Jisung kept repeating his actions, alternating between licking and sucking on both your nipples, his eyes closed as he enjoyed. You ran your hands over his shoulders and back, pressing your fingertips into his defined muscles.

His fingers inched closer to your core, brushing against the warmness over your shorts. Your breath got caught in your throat and he looked up at you before sliding down on his knees between your legs.

"Let me taste you, baby." he smirked a little, pulling you closer as he hooked his arms around your thighs and leaned in to press a kiss to your core.

"Fuck, Jisung!" you moaned, hips lifting up towards him as you hooked your fingers in your shorts. You started sliding them down with your underwear and Jisung helped, pulling them off of you completely before gripping your inner thighs and spreading your legs more.

He groaned and stuck his tongue out, licking a fat stripe over your folds to your clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

"Ah!" you jolted, gripping his hair harshly and tugging on it, making him moan into you and suck at you harder. His tongue prodded at your entrance and you whimpered, pushing his head into you and Jisung spread your pussy with his tongue, tasting you, lapping at you. Your legs were trembling and closing around his head as you neared your climax, your fingers tugging at his hair. Jisung moaned into you, fucking you with his tongue faster, eating you out like he's been craving to taste your essence his entire life. Your thighs almost crushed his head when you came, his name leaving your lips in a loud moan as your body shook.

Jisung whined loudly too, licking at you until you pushed him away, feeling overstimulated.

"Fucking hell." you exhaled and looked down at him to see him completely disheveled, his hair messy, eyes hazy and lips glistening with your release.

"Please, it hurts." he whimpered.

"What hurts, baby?" you gasped a little, leaning over him to take a better look at him. He moaned desperately, palming the prominent bulge in his sweats, it was straining against the fabric, wanting to be freed and buried inside you.

"Come here, Sungie." you helped him up and then hooked your fingers in his pants, sliding them down with his underwear. His cock slapped against his stomach heavily, dripping only for you.

You reached towards him and he gripped your wrist gently.

"Don't." he shook his head. "If you touch me, I'll cum." he said, his cheeks becoming red in embarrassment as he shut his eyes tightly and attempted to calm down just a little. You waited, looking at him endearingly, it was adorable just how desperate he was for you.

He opened his eyes suddenly and pushed you down, making you gasp in surprise and delight as he spread your legs wide, his hands running up and down your thighs for a few moments. You whined and got rid of your top and Jisung got rid of his shirt, not wanting anything to be in between you. He hovered over you, grabbing his cock and running the tip on your wet folds.

You arched your body into his, your hands coming up to touch his shoulders and arms. Jisung's eyes fluttered as he slowly pushed in, filling you up to the brim. He pressed his body against yours as you embraced him, wrapping your legs around him. After savoring the moment, Jisung's hands gripped at your hips as he started moving inside you.

"Mm... Y/n, you feel so good. So perfect for me." he whimpered and you gripped at his upper back.

"You're perfect for me too, Sungie. Harder, please!" you whined, lifting up into him, trying to match his rhythm. Jisung brought his hips into yours harder as both of you gripped at each other, pressing closer and closer together like you wanted to melt into one person.

"I love you." Jisung moaned out into your ear as he clutched at your hips, enough to leave bruises. You gasped as he rutted into you desperately, the words that left his lips made you clench.

"I love you, Jisung!" you whimpered and he unravelled, exploding inside you and riding his high as he fucked his cum deeper into you, making you clench as you finished around him, your entire body burning up. There were tears in his eyes and you grabbed his face and kissed him sloppily, still trying to catch your breath and come back to your body. He pulled out of you and laid on top of you as you held each other, just enjoying the moment.

"You really love me?" Jisung looked up at you after some time. You couldn't help but giggle at his cute face.

"I love you so much." you hugged him tightly, it was more than just words, it was a promise.

-

"Hey there, friend! How's everything going with your dolly? Did you wake him up yet?" you asked, after calling your friend who ordered Chan dolly.

"Not yet. I'm scared to." your friend answered.

"Just do as I did. He'll wake up just like Jisung did. And speaking of Jisung, he really wants to see Chan."

"I- I don't know about that. What if you get followed here?" you recognized the panic in her voice. "I don't want them to find me."

"Who is 'them'?" you asked for the hundreth time, knowing she'd never answer.

"I can't say. They may be listening, may know Channie is here. I can't risk it anymore, I can't!"

"Please, just calm down! We need to help the dolls, and no one can do it but us, do you understand that? I know that you're scared but trust me, okay?" you pleaded with her.

A long exhale from the other side and rustling sounds as she moved around.

"Alright. But if something happens-"

"Nothing will happen. Well, nothing bad. I promise."

You sighed after hanging up, hoping she would just wake Chan up already so she could get information out of him too.

"So, any luck?" Jisung came into your room, a bowl of ice cream in his hands.

"Nope." you shook your head and he whined, digging into the ice cream with his spoon.

"What are we going to do now?" he asked and you rubbed his arm soothingly.

"Let it unfold. I believe she will come to her senses and do what I asked of her."

"You have lots of belief in people." Jisung noted.

"Not all people. Just ones I feel I can trust. Anyways, why are you not dressed?" you crossed your arms and looked at Jisung expectantly, with a teasing glint in your eyes.

"Dressed?"

"For the surprise I have for you." you pouted and he gasped, standing up immediately.

"That's today?! Fuck, I'll be ready in 10!"

You chuckled at him as you watched him running around clumsily and getting ready. You left him to it as you went to the bathroom to finish your makeup. Jisung walked in later, just as you were adding some last touches. His arms wrapped around you, his chin on your shoulder as his eyes found yours in the reflection of the mirror.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked and you smirked a little.

"I'm not saying." you teased and Jisung pouted.

"Okay but I won't stop bothering you about it." he poked your side and you wiggled out of his arms with a chuckle.

"Listen, we are going somewhere you've always wanted to go."

Jisung knew just what you were referring to and he decided to stop asking questions and instead he gave you a soft kiss of appreciation, excitement building up inside his body as you led him out of the apartment and to your car.

The observatory was a little out of town and the drive there was cozy, you were playing a chill summery playlist as Jisung pulled the window down and closed his eyes, enjoying the breeze, the fresh air and smells of nature around you. The night was so calm and quiet, instead of it being eerie, you felt excitement building up inside you as you neared the observatory. When you parked, you already noticed that without all the light pollution from the city, the stars were more luminous and visible.

"Wow! It's so pretty already." Jisung exclaimed when you got out of the car and you chuckled at his enthusiasm.

"It is." you looked around in wonder before walking up the path to the observatory, Jisung's hand finding yours as you entwined your fingers together. There were a few other people there and the little tour started with a short presentation and walk around the exhibition of planets and the history surrounding their discovery, along with stories and facts about other space phenomena. Jisung was gasping every now and then, practically vibrating with excitement next to you that he almost forgot how to walk a few times, tripping over his legs and blushing when you squeezed his hand and giggled at him.

You were excited too, waiting for the main course of the evening, looking through a real telescope and seeing all the planets up close, well as close as you could. Soon, you were lead to the telescopes and seeing the planets was nothing like you thought it would be. For some reason, the shapes and colors on the planets felt familiar after seeing so many high quality pictures that were taken of them. But, at the same time seeing the celestial bodies with a professional telescope made you realize that they are actually up there, that they have mass and actually exist, not just as pictures. It was a feeling you couldn't describe and Jisung was equally as if not even more mesmerized by the experience.

As the tour ended and you got back to your car Jisung couldn't stop babbling about everything you saw. You couldn't help the fond smile that spread on your face as you watched him so happy and animated.

It made your chest warm.

"Do you think someone else lives up there, with a telescope of their own watching Earth?" Jisung asked when the two of you laid in bed that night, embracing each other.

"Maybe they do. We'll never know, I guess." you said, running your fingers through his hair.

"Maybe they come visit us one day." Jisung smiled and looked up at you, his cheek pressed against your chest.

"I hope it'll be a peaceful visit." you said and Jisung agreed, his eyes fluttering shut as you soothed him with your touch.

Two weeks later, Jisung was still doodling planets the two of you looked at as you made breakfast when your phone started ringing. You grabbed it and saw it was an unknown number, contemplating if you should answer.

"Who is it?" Jisung looked up at you and you shrugged.

"I have no idea."

"Maybe it's your friend. Or Chan!" he perked up.

"Oh, you're right." you nodded and answered the call. "Hello?"

"Miss Y/n L/n?" a monotone voice sounded from the other line.

"Yes?"

"We understand you have bought Jisung, the nerdy doll. We regret to inform you that all the dolls have to be returned due to a malfunction. You will get a refund of your money, of course. Tomorrow we are coming to collect the doll." the voice spoke and you smirked at Jisung.

"Sure." you said calmly. "See you tomorrow."

The man bid goodbye and you put your phone down as Jisung looked at you expectantly.

"It's happening." you said and Jisung put his pencil down and nodded, understanding immediately.

"Time for me to write some code." you smirked and he exhaled and nodded again as he took your hand.

You had worked tirelessly on it for months, perfecting the code as you predicted that something like this would happen, you knew you had to have some type of guarantee that you can save Jisung and his brothers. After hooking him up into your computer, your fingers started gliding against the keyboard like they were dancing and Jisung watched you with tenderness in his eyes, affection and sadness washing over him. He knew you were doing this for him and his brothers and he knew he'd have to leave you, at least for a little while and he couldn't bear the thought of being away from you.

But still, he was thankful.

You typed out the code and started talking. "With this I'll be able to track you and see what's happening. And they won't be able to pull the plug and make you sleep. You'll have to act as if they did it, I don't know if it will sell when they see your code and see that it has been tampered with. But I am counting that it will buy us enough time to infiltrate the building. Enough to cause a commotion. You just have to act like you're cooperating with them and not raise any suspicions. Understood?" you looked at him seriously.

"I understand." Jisung nodded firmly.

"Good. Just trust me, okay?"

And he did, Jisung trusted you with his life.

That night, both of you cried while making love, knowing it might be your last, at least for a little while but you didn't wanna be apart even for a second. Jisung sang you to sleep like he always did and you knew just how much you were going to miss his comforting voice.

Come morning, the doorbell rang some time after breakfast and you squeezed Jisung's hand as you saw he was getting anxious.

"It's going to be okay. Just act how we practiced." you assured him, grabbing his face and kissing him lovingly. Jisung gripped at your arms, desperately holding onto you and wishing you had at least one more day together.

"Soon, you'll be free, you and your brothers and we will go to the observatory again. And wherever else we want, I promise." you talked, your forehead pressed against his.

"I love you, Y/n." he whispered.

"I love you too." you pecked his lips once more before both of you made your way to the door.

There were four men in suits looking at you with serious expressions on their faces.

"Give us the doll." one of them said and Jisung nervously stepped closer to them.

"I'm here." he said and the men just looked at him quietly for a moment before nodding.

"Get in the car." another one said and Jisung looked back at you. You exhaled and winked at him, encouraging him to do as they said.

You watched his back as he left, his shoulders tense as he tried to keep himself together. Tears threatened to fall from your eyes but you had to compose yourself for this plan to work.

"Thank you for your cooperation, miss." the man said before all of them turned and left.

You quickly ran to your room and grabbed your phone, calling your friend.

"Did they come get him?" she asked and you could hear a commotion behind her.

"Yes. I did as we planned. Is Chan ready?" you asked and she let out a chuckle.

"Oh, he is ready. You should get here as soon as possible." she said.

"Fuck yes!" you laughed, everything was going just how you needed it to for your plan to work.

"Uhm, but... Y/n?" your friend hesitated and you paused your excited pacing.

"Yes?"

"We have company." she said and you gasped.

"What company?"

"Someone who can help us a lot."

You smirked and nodded to yourself, it was time to bring BIMT down.

@moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog @pancake-freckle @felixsbrowniesarmystayengene @minhooofr @hyunjincanraptoo @yaorzu-blog @ari-hwanggg @linofthelace @hyunjinlosthisamericano @the2000girlani @hhjlvr @beabidoobee @psychicdreamers @juskz @quokkacidal @chuuyaobsessed @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @lixies-favorite-cookie @thelostprincessofasgard @linocvp1d @stayjinnie @portgasdbru @lilgothhishhh @selinia86 @felixsbabe @staytinyluva @sadroses98 @katexstay @gnabnahcsworld @hazelbazil @iwannahugchangbin @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @skzfelixlove @skzjen @syedazarintasnim @geektacularmommom-blog @cookiesnmilfx @kayleefriedchicken @stxt-bby @strykdsstanot8 @hyunjinhwang2018 @binniesbabygirl @hyunjiniretti @linavc @julciaqwerty @salemluvsmusic @diipsy

series: love me two times

businessman minho! x former one night stand reader (and soon to be spouse)

chapter 1: whiskey, regret, and other engagement traditions

read introduction here

word count: 3100 words

WARNINGS: strong language, sexual content (maybe eventual smut if i have the strength to), emotional manipulation, toxic family dynamics, power imbalances, alcohol use, eventual gun violence, blood and injury, blackmail, surveillance, themes of control, secrecy, betrayal, emotional repression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, psychological tension under the guise of romance, dubious business dealings, mentions of public scandal and reputation damage, manipulation via arranged marriage, and consistent, unapologetically bad decision making from most, if not all, characters involved. british humour. in case you all pussy out from that.

A/N: oh my god she's here. chapter 1 is here. i have no clue as to how this is going to end but i put my whole soul, heart, brain and dick into this fic. (which is a lot, mind you) thank you for the support on a whimsical little intro i wrote at my grandparents' house while my dog slept on my feet. thank you thank you thank you. chapter 2 coming next weekend. hopefully. also omg sho's first non lower caps fic

playlist. (coming soon)

─── Lee Minho had always been a man who thrived in chaos. Corporate wars, high-stakes meetings, and PR disasters were his playground. But even he couldn’t have predicted the one nightmare he’d spent years running from would land right back in front of him, wrapped in a perfectly tailored suit, flashing a smile that had ruined him once before.

He could handle anything…

Except the one person who had, through one night alone, known exactly how to bring him to his knees.

Lee Minho liked to think of himself as a man who could handle anything.

Corporate warfare? Child’s play. High stakes negotiations? His playground. He could charm billionaires over black coffee and through a simple peak of his collarbone, crush competitors with a smile, and walk out of a scandal cleaner than he went in, usually with a headline the press couldn’t stop foaming over.

Adaptability was his superpower. Precision, his trademark. Control? Non fucking negotiable.

At least, it had been, until you happened.

Again.

He stared at you, his supposed fiancé(e), the ghost of one of his most notable past mistakes, and thought—briefly, desperately—that maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he had worked himself into a stress-induced psychotic episode, and in reality, he was rocking back and forth in his office chair while his assistant frantically called for medical assistance. Would he be embarrassed that this would be the second time this would be happening? Maybe. Would he atleast be overjoyed by the fact that you weren't standing before him, far more gorgeous than all those years ago? Absolutely.

But no. This was real. You were real. This was happening.

You were still standing there, looking just as horrified as he felt, though, annoyingly, still unfairly attractive. Time had been disgustingly kind to you. And you had that same look in your eyes as before, the one that told him you were about seven seconds away from causing him severe emotional distress. And possibly a boner. Although he wasn't drunk enough for that. Not yet, atleast.

His brain short circuited as he watched you approach the table. You, of all people. He had been expecting a stiff, glass-of-champagne, charity-gala kind of person. Not you—the human embodiment of bad decisions and incredible, incredible sex.

Minho could laugh. His parents had unknowingly betrothed him to his favourite one-night stand. Brilliant.

“You have got to be fucking with me,” you finally said, sliding into the chair across from him.

“I wish I was,” Minho muttered, picking up his glass of whiskey and downing half of it in one go.

“So,” you said, resting your elbows on the table. “Long time no see.”

Minho blinked at you. Long time no see? You were acting like you’d bumped into him at Tesco, not like you were about to be married to the man you once absolutely ruined in a hotel room after a night of reckless decisions and expensive cocktails.

You, who had once dragged him into a bathroom stall at some questionably pricey nightclub and ruined him for every person he fucked after. Which he unashamedly agreed, were a lot. And the worst part was perhaps, that he remembered everything. He remembered the way you had looked at him that night, like you knew exactly what you were doing, like you had been born to make him suffer in the best possible way. He remembered your voice, the way you had laughed at him when he’d tried to act cool and ended up tripping over his own shoes, too fancy for him at the time. And he remembered the morning after, waking up alone, the only trace of you being a note scrawled on hotel stationery that simply read:

cheers for that. 10/10. no notes.

Minho had never been so simultaneously offended and impressed in his life.

And now? Now he was supposed to marry you? Spend forever with you...or atleast attempt to?

He took another large sip of whiskey.

“So,” you said, eyes sparkling with amusement. “How’s life been treating you? Still a bit of a man whore, or have you finally learned to keep it in your tailored trousers?”

Minho inhaled sharply through his nose. “I am a legitimate businessman.”

“Ah, so still a man whore,” you mused, nodding sagely.

Minho chose to ignore you.

"This… is a mistake," he muttered, running a hand through his usually well tamed hair. "This has to be a mistake."

"Oh, absolutely. Because otherwise we'll have to tell our parents we can’t get married because we’ve already seen each other naked," you say, leaning back in your chair with an unimpressed look. The very same that had drawn Minho to you that night. Because who did you think you were? Ignoring his wit and charm as he sat in the club's sofa, basking in attention and alcohol? The arrogant lad had decided that night, to prove himself to you. And prove, he did. A decision he didn't otherwise regret...until now.

Minho groaned and tried to reach over to his glass of whiskey, only to realise you were already drinking from it. "I swear to God, this is karma. This is divine punishment for my past sins."

"Well, considering your past sins include half of Central London, yeah, probably," you said with a shrug, swirling the now empty crystal glass.

He glared at you, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. You, in contrast, beamed at him with the kind of saccharine sweetness that suggested you were enjoying every second of his suffering. Minho noted internally, that you'd make a terrible actor, given that while the smile made it seem as though he was the only one seconds away from throwing up, your bouncing knee gave you away.

Minho, for his part, looked as though his soul had momentarily left his body. He blinked slowly, like someone trying to wake from a very specific, very inconvenient nightmare.

"Right," he said eventually, clapping his hands together in a sharp, business-like motion, as though trying to galvanise himself into action. "Let’s get this over with. How are we going to get out of this engagement?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, as if the matter were no more serious than choosing what to have for lunch. "Run away to Spain? Fake your death? Oh! You could seduce my grandmother so she convinces my father to call it off?"

"I am not seducing your grandmother."

"Coward."

Before Minho could offer a retort—no doubt a scathing one—a waiter, appeared at your table. He was the very picture of refined hospitality: all polite smiles, pressed shirt cuffs, and the faint waft of expensive cologne that trailed behind him like a signature.

"Good evening. May I start you off with a drink?"

"Whiskey. Double. Actually, just bring the bottle," Minho said, without so much as a blink, eyes still on you.

"Make that two," you added, not missing a beat, but still being polite and stable enough to break eye contact with Minho and smile at the waiter.

The attendant gave a courteous nod and retreated, leaving behind a faint trail of bergamot and judgement.

Minho exhaled slowly and dropped his head into his hands for a moment before glancing up at you, utterly defeated.

"This is going to be a disaster," he muttered, as if saying it aloud might somehow lessen the blow.

Minho barely had a moment to wallow in the tragic comedy of his predicament — engaged, against all logic, to a person who had just suggested seducing their own grandmother — before reality doubled down.

It came in the form of a booming, far-too-cheerful voice that could only belong to one man.

“Ah, Minho, you’ve met your fiancé(e)! Wonderful!”

The words rang through the restaurant and Minho flinched so hard he nearly knocked over the cutlery. He didn’t dare turn around. There was no need. He knew that voice. That was the voice of a man who thought forced betrothal was not only acceptable, but downright romantic.

His father.

Minho visibly recoiled, gripping the edge of the table as if bracing for impact. He had to physically resist the very natural urge to bang his forehead repeatedly against the pristine linen tablecloth.

And then, his parents descended upon the table in full force — exuding money, control issues, and the smug satisfaction of people who had just solved a problem by creating three more.

His mother was dressed in a sleek, couture suit that probably required its own bank account, looking every inch the woman who judged people based on the mineral content of their bottled water. His father wore the expression of someone who’d just sealed a lucrative merger and genuinely believed his son should be grateful for it.

And then there was your dad.

Looking every bit like the kind of man who once tried to bribe a headmaster with a case of vintage wine and a framed photo of himself shaking hands with a minor royal. So what if you weren't the best at studies during school? Was it really your fault that your Physics teacher was a bigger bitch than daddy dearest here?

Minho had never met him before, but he looked exactly as one might expect the father of someone like you to look—sharp suit, sharper glare, and the quiet intensity of a man who considered emotional vulnerability a personal failure. He radiated a kind of heavy, generational disappointment, like someone who’d been sighing over your life choices since the moment you learned how to form opinions of your own.

“Hello, sweetheart,” your dad said, planting a quick kiss on your forehead, affectionate in the way a CEO might congratulate a junior employee for not burning the office down. Then he turned to Minho, assessing the man who was supposed to be his future son-in-law with a look that would've made 16 year old Minho audibly whimper.

Your husband-to-be, drawing out every ounce of his professionalism, business acumen, and carefully cultivated adult composure, managed to respond with:

“Hi.”

Brilliant. Smooth. Absolutely nailed it. James Bond could never.

Your dad, unsurprisingly, looked as though he’d just been personally insulted.

Minho’s own parents, however, were beaming across the table, undoubtedly proud of their matchmaking skills.

“This is perfect,” his mother gushed, settling into her seat like she’d orchestrated the entire evening herself (she had). “I knew you two would suit each other.”

Minho let out a laugh that could only be described as emotionally strangled. Suit each other? Yes, absolutely. Because nothing screamed long term compatibility like a one-night stand from his blackout phase that he'd spent the past few years actively repressing, only to now be legally tethered to it in holy matrimony.

“So,” your dad said, leaning back in his chair with all the gravitas of a man about to sign a trade deal. “Shall we discuss the terms of this marriage?”

Terms. Terms. Marriage. Minho wasn’t sure which part of that sentence he found more horrifying — the casual contract language or the undeniable implication that none of this was a joke.

Minho looked at you, searching your face for some kind of solidarity. Instead, he found you sipping your whiskey like it was just another Wednesday, eyes half-lidded, posture relaxed—like this whole thing wasn’t giving you heart palpitations.

But oh, it was.

You weren’t calm. You were resigned. You’d played this game before. You knew exactly how your father operated: charm first, control second, and condescension somewhere in between. This wasn’t a dinner—it was a business meeting. And you were already sick of it.

“Well,” his father said briskly, “the wedding will take place in three months.”

Minho choked violently on his drink. “Three months?!”

“Yes,” his mother replied smoothly, not even blinking. “Any longer and people will start gossiping.”

Gossiping. Of course. Because obviously, public perception was the real villain here.

“Three months is plenty of time,” your dad added, nodding with the calm authority of a man who hadn’t even asked how you felt about any of this.

Minho's brown eyed flickered to you again, looking for help. A hotline number. A hint of rebellion. Something. Anything.

You just smiled at him.

It wasn’t kind.

“Now then,” your dad continued, “what about a prenup?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Minho’s father nodded enthusiastically. “We’ll have our legal teams draft it immediately.”

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good,” Minho cut in, finally finding the will to form sentences again. “But- do I get a say in this?”

His mother tilted her head in that familiar, patronising way that suggested she thought his input was adorable but entirely unnecessary.

“Minho, darling,” she said, her tone one of pure condescension, “this is for your own good.”

Your dad chimed in, nodding. “If either of you had a reliable romantic track record, we wouldn’t be here. But let’s be honest-” he waved a hand vaguely in your direction “-you don’t, and-” he turned to Minho, gaze sharp and deeply insulting,“-you certainly don’t.”

You smiled tightly, jaw clenched just enough that it hurt.

Minho felt his soul attempt to vacate his body. Right there. In the middle of this overpriced, mood-lit, jazz-playing nightmare of a restaurant. He was going to die. And the only thing good about a death here would be that Art Blakey was playing in the background.

“So it’s settled,” his mother said brightly, with finality in her voice, “Three months from now, we’ll have a wedding.”

Minho turned to you. You turned to him.

You raised your glass in a slow, sarcastic toast.

“To our bright and happy future,” you said, voice honeyed, but eyes suddenly cold.

And your father smiled like he’d just won. Because unbeknownst to the two of you, he had.

•━━━━━━━━━━━•

Minho had made a lot of terrible decisions in his life. A truly impressive number. Enough to warrant a multi-part documentary series, probably titled Lee Minho: A Lifetime of Questionable Choices—with dramatic re-enactments, ominous voiceovers, and a theme song that sounded like a slow motion car crash. His friends could probably star in it too.

But agreeing (not really) to marry you?

Oh, that was shooting straight to the top of the list. Hall of fame. Permanent exhibit in the Museum of Regret.

Because it had been barely twenty four hours since the disaster that was your engagement dinner, and already, he felt his life being ruined, one sarcastic comment at a time.

“So, how long have you two been engaged?” Felix asked innocently, if one could call anything Felix did innocent, while stirring sugar into his overpriced cold brew.

Minho looked up from his coffee, eyes already tired. He’d made the mistake of inviting you to brunch with his friends. In public. With witnesses. Clearly, he’d suffered a blow to the head.

“Oh, it’s been wonderful,” you gushed. You reached over to squeeze Minho’s hand like you actually meant it. Maybe you did. Minho didn't want to bother with the details if it meant another migraine. “We’ve been informally engaged for a whole, what, twelve hours now? It’s been magical. Truly life altering. I can’t wait to be legally bound to this man forever.”

Minho squeezed your hand back. Hard.

“Yes,” he deadpanned. “Overjoyed. Thrilled. Best day of my life.”

Felix, the little gremlin, grinned, his mind already turning your worrying marriage into a soap opera. “Well, it’s about time you settled down, hyung. You’ve been a menace to society for years.”

“First of all, that is highly inappropriate. I am a legitimate businessma-”

“Mate,” Chan, Minho’s business partner, cut in. “You once forgot a woman’s name mid-bloody-date.”

“And she had to remind you,” Hyunjin added, sipping his neon-green liquid. Whatever it was.

“And you still got her number,” Seungmin chimed in, looking vaguely offended on behalf of all women. You'd be sure to send his number to your recently heartbroken friend.

Minho groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why had he thought bringing you to brunch was a good idea? Why had he brought you into public? With his friends at that? He had practically announced a 'Bully-Lee-Minho' day himself.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said brightly. Too brightly. “He’s very devoted now. Wakes up every morning and just stares at me in awe, whispering about how lucky he is.”

Felix gasped, awestruck at the beauty of love at first sight. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” you said, smiling. “He even cries a little.”

Minho nearly inhaled his coffee. “I do not-”

“He does,” you said solemnly, giving his hand another squeeze. “It’s beautiful.”

Chan leaned back in his chair, way too entertained. “Well, I can’t wait for the wedding. Have you set a date?”

“Not yet,” Minho said quickly, cutting you off before you could say something like ‘we’re thinking next week, on a volcano.’ “We’re taking our time.”

“Oh, obviously,” you added, ever helpful. “We have to enjoy the honeymoon phase before I find out all his deep, dark secrets. Like his skincare routine, or lack thereof. Which I'll have to change either way. Or his browser history.”

Hyunjin gagged. “Please. Spare us.”

“No, no,” you mused, eyes alight with mischief. “I think he’s hiding something. Like a secret past. Maybe he was a failed K-pop trainee. Maybe he’s got a tattoo that says ‘Live, Laugh, Love.’ Or he owns a mug that says Boss Babe.”

"I actually gifted him that." Chan added, sipping his protein smoothie.

“Or if he has a pet rock named Gary, considering one of his girlfriends was Australian,” Hyunjin added and Chan nods proudly.

“Or an old TikTok account where he lipsyncs to early 2000s emo hits,” Seungmin said.

“I knew you gave eyeliner energy,” Felix muttered.

Minho buried his face in his hands. “Please. I am begging you all to stop.”

You just leaned in, resting your chin in your hand as you smiled sweetly. “Aww. He’s shy.”

Minho resisted the urge to walk directly into London traffic.

But even as the table erupted into laughter, and your brunch turned into an impromptu roast, something shifted. A cold thread of unease slid down Minho’s spine.

You were laughing, yes. Playing the part perfectly. But beneath the sparkle in your eyes was something else—something guarded. The way your smile didn’t quite reach all the way. The way your shoulders tensed every time someone mentioned the wedding, like the word itself had claws.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, not entirely. Maybe it was the text from your father that he had watched you ignore minutes ago. Maybe it was the transparent pants Hyunjin had worn years earlier making a reappearance in his head for some reason. Or maybe it was just his own overworked brain, spinning a conspiracy out of nerves and too much caffeine.

Whatever it was, Minho decided to shelve it for later. He had reports to review. Contracts to sign. A mountain of paperwork waiting for him and exactly zero emotional bandwidth to spare.

He’d figure it out. Eventually.

For now, he’d go home, finish his paperwork, and go to sleep.

Not knowing that what he’d wake up to would be far more fearsome than your father’s moustache.

Far, far worse.

Because somewhere, in a dimly lit security office, a grainy CCTV recording, dated four years ago, timestamped 2:14 a.m., was being uploaded by hands far too eager and far too vengeful.

A bed. A hotel logo in the corner. Two familiar silhouettes.

And the unmistakable beginning of the scandal that would burn everything to the ground.

...

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cw ; oral, degradation, sexting ig?, dirty talk abt threesomes and exhibitionism, name calling: slut, pet names: angel ( 639 w. )

minors dni. for mature audiences only !

strands of minho's dark hair stand up straight from your relentless tugging, your hands now clenching restless around the edge of the kitchen counter.

"please, minho — " you moan at another sharp suck of his lips around your clit, his cheeks dusted pink with arousal. "we have to stop. what if jisung walks in?"

"idontfuckingcare."

he cants your hips to bury his face deeper between your legs and you notice he's got a smidge of pudding on his cheek. the rest of the dessert sits next to you, long discarded in favor of something tastier.

"b-but i do," you counter weakly.

"is that so?" minho finally sits back on his haunches and locks eyes with you. there's a mischievous glint to his eyes. it makes your blood sing with arousal and anticipation.

"because i know you care. i think you'd like for him to walk in on us."

your eyes widen in shock, the sudden heat rising to your face feeling like it'll burn the skin right off. you open your mouth to protest but minho's faster —

"don't lie to me, angel," he chuckles. "i can see the way your pussy clenches."

if you thought your face couldn't get any hotter than this, you were wrong.

minho rises to his feet, the sweet siren call of your pussy momentarily forgotten now he's hooked his claws into this little secret of yours.

he wasn't supposed to know. how did he…?

"you want him to watch, don't you? want him to see how well i fuck you." minho's lips are so close they're almost touching the shell of your ear, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your thighs. "you want to see how desperate he'd get when watching you stretch around my cock like the good slut you are."

your breath hitches in your throat and minho knows he's got you. hook, line and sinker.

"and you're just as desperate to give him a good show, aren't you? come on, open your pretty mouth."

you oblige without thought and minho pushes two fingers in deep, pressing down on your tongue and making you gag around them. he holds them there for a moment to watch your struggle before bending in close again. his breath tickles against your skin and you shiver.

"bet you'd let him fuck this tight cunt. he wouldn't even have to beg for it."

although his fingers slide in with ease the stretch still surprises you, the mild sting bleeding into a dull pleasure at the curl of his digits.

minho whistles. "you're this soaking wet just from thinking about fucking my best friend?"

you're too embarassed to look him in the eye, but whimper nonetheless when he pulls his hand away and sucks his fingers clean. it leaves you feeling aching and empty.

"what… what are you doing?"

minho retrieves his phone from his back pocket and waves it in front of you.

"i'm sending a voice message."

you swallow your reply as he presses the recording button on the screen.

"hey jisung-ah, you want some dessert? i have leftovers."

"minho!" you slap his arm and he chuckles, holding the phone out of reach. it only takes a few seconds for it to ding. your chest tightens in anticipation when he opens the chat, revealing jisung's text.

is this a threat? did i buy the wrong pudding?

minho smiles and leans in, brushing his soft lips against yours in a tender kiss. you blink up at him, puzzled by the sudden gesture. then his fingers pinch your clit. a jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine and a loud, whimpering moan tumbles from your lips.

minho's grin widens and he presses send. then he pushes the recording button again, the fingers of his free hand slipping down and sinking home with practiced ease.

who said anything about pudding?

© planet-dusk reposting, copying and translating my works is prohibited.

it’s something about jealous chan.

it wasn’t often that he would get this way— that singular raised eyebrow, snarky remarks, the squeezing of your thigh. though when he did, it was noticeable. blatantly obvious.

he didn’t like when guys talked to you, or even be anywhere near you. it drove him nuts seeing a smile creep onto your face from just talking to another guy, or when you laughed at someone else’s joke. why didn’t you react that way with him?

was he the problem?

oh but he was. you two weren’t dating— in fact were merely just friends, but you did know of each other. despite that, chan wanted you all to himself. he admired every part of you, and wanted nothing more than to shield you from the male gaze.

the music was louder than anything around you, but you didn’t care. here you were, in a random room with a complete stranger. you had no idea where bangchan was, nor did you care— well, you were too drunk to care.

your moans we’re soft and persistent as his lips bit and nipped at your skin, leaving small marks against your neck. his hand slipped up your dress, brushing over your clothed area slightly.

you wanted this, you needed this.

so why did it still feel like it wasn’t enough?

because it wasn’t him?

the boy’s hand tugged at your skirt, eager to pull it off only to be stopped by someone coming into the room. you whined out, looking over to see bangchan standing in the door way. before you could say anything, he invited himself in, leaving you in a confused dazed.

“Chan?! I thought you went home?”

“You think this is funny?”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, watching as he walked over to the two of you, glaring at the boy harshly.

“Woah man, I didn’t know this was your girl.” you sighed, moving away from the boy and giving Chan an annoyed look.

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a friend and needs to act like one.”

chan grabbed him by the arm, pulling him out the room and closing it behind him. you heard the lock click making you sit up. you stared at him blankly, unsure of what to say to him. you had no idea what he was thinking or what his intentions were, but you remembered this expression before. the scoffing, the rolling of his eyes.

jealousy.

he was jealous.

“Before you get all riled up. It was nothing Chan, we barely did anything.”

he walked over to you, eyeing your neck for a moment before laughing to himself. a small red mark was painted into your skin, turning almost a soft purple. you’ve surely done it now and this may have been enough to set him off.

“Barely did anything, huh?”

he glared at you, his eyes feeling as if they were stinging into your skin. his eyes trailed down your skin, being met with multiple bite marks, and the small tints of pink that threatened to form into a hickey. he peeked at your skirt, seeing the zipper half way undone. your heels laid a mess on the floor as the male’s jacket rested beside them.

“I don’t understand what you’re getting all worked up about.” you stumbled up, rolling your eyes at him as you bent over to grab your heels.

chan grabbed your wrist, pulling you back up and holding it by his head. He squeezed it, his nails digging into your delicate skin.

“Chan— ow, let go of me!”

your brain was fuzzy, legs so numb, you couldn’t quite grasp what was going on. one thing was for sure though, you were desperate. desperate for his attention, desperate for someone to touch you and make you feel as if you were worth something.

and the gaze he gave you, only made that feeling it worse.

“What will it take for your dumb little brain to realize.”

he leaned in, his face merely inches away from your own. the tension between you two grew, making your body heat up and your heart beat out of your chest.

“I don’t like other people touching what’s mine.”

you stayed quiet, feeling his glare worsen as he backed you up against the wall. he let go of your wrist, his hand grazing under your chin softly.

“And calling me a friend?”

your skin was hot to the touch as he brushed his lips by your neck, smelling a mix of your perfume and the previous man.

“Bold choice of words for someone who begs for me every other night, isn’t that right bunny?”

this is what you wanted. his attention— you wanted him to notice you, to want you as bad as you wanted him. his gaze was still harsh, not softening in even the slightest. his free hand slipped under your skirt, his fingers running along your clothed area. a soft whimper escaped you, making you shift slightly in reaction.

he circled your clit softly with his two fingers, his lips kissing against your neck. he sunk his teeth into the same areas the man did, only harder receiving a small yelp out of you.

chan tugged at your band of your underwear, pulling it down until it fell to your ankles. he slipped his fingers between your folds, gathering a bit of your slick.

“Chan, fuck— more.”

“So needy, aren’t you baby..”

you nodded your head, feeling his fingers push into you softly. your walls clenched around him as they curled, hitting your sweet spot perfectly. his hooded eyes felt as if they burned a whole into your skull. he tilted his head at you, watching you fall apart as he pumped his fingers into you repeatedly and not letting up.

“You like that?” he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding up your weight as your knees began to buckle under him.

“Is this what you wanted? Poor bunny wanted my attention, hm?”

he pulled his fingers out of you, placing them on his tongue to taste. a low growl escaped his mouth as you both watched your string of slick connect from his tongue to his finger.

“As much as I wanna give you what you want,” he pushed you onto the bed, bending you over just enough to expose your ass through your skirt.

“You sadly don’t deserve the princess treatment.”

chan quickly undid his buckle, pulling his pants down slightly. he pulled his cock out of his band, rubbing it softly against your folds. he threw his head back, pushing himself in you just enough for you to feel his tip.

“Fuck baby..” his hand gripped your waist as his cock sank deeper into you, feeling your walls constantly squeeze at him.

he fastened his pace, pushing his tip against your sweet spot with every motion. his nails dug into your skin, his strokes getting sloppier by the minute as he fucked his emotions into you.

you didn’t even deserve this— you were about to give yourself away to some random man all because he wasn’t paying attention to you. but god, was it so hot to see how desperate you were. watching you fuck on the closest thing you could find, only to realize they were nothing in comparison to himself.

he wrapped his arm under your waist, pulling you up against his body. his hand held the front of your neck, squeezing it softly but still allowing you to breathe.

“All these guys, and they don’t fuck you like I do huh?”

you whimpered and moaned as he pounded into you, showing no mercy. chan dug his nails into your neck, making you cry out in response.

“Aww, too fucked out you can’t even respond to me? That’s too bad.”

his grip onto your neck wouldn’t let up, your legs shaking as they felt like they would give out at any moment. chan relentlessly fucked you, his thrusts getting harder and faster as he felt himself slipping.

“Chan.. oh my god.” he kissed at the back of your neck, groaning against your skin as he felt your walls quiver around him.

“Gonna cum for me baby?”

he was practically out of breath at this point, his tip leaking into you. you nodded, knowing any marks you once had were now going to be replaced by the marking of his nails. he pushed your body toward the bed once again, fucking you into the mattress with no remorse.

a small white ring formed around his member as your drunken whines filled the room, begging him to slow down as you reached your peak.

“that’s it, let it out f’me.”

within seconds he let himself go, his own pleasure leaking out of your abused hole and mixing with your juices. chan let out a large sigh, feeling you pulsate around his cock as his thrusts slowed.

“Feel so good when I fill you up.” he mumbled, pulling his cock out of you.

he pushed two fingers into you, pumping them slowly as he watched your thighs squeeze from overstimulation. he used his free hand to grab you by the hair, pulling your head up. you cried out in pain, feeling his fingers curl inside of you.

“The next time you talk to another man..” he leaned over, lips only a few inches away from your ear.

“If I even see another man touch you, i’ll make sure he watches me destroy you.”

chan pulled his fingers out of you, placing a soft kiss against your cheek. he pulled up his pants, hand running against the curve of your ass.

“Are we clear bunny?”

💌: took me a little longer than i hopped to finish this but it’s ok hehe. i hope you guys enjoyed !

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25-28/∞ gifs of my north star ♡

Love you better- H.JS

So, LATAM Jisung did something to my heart and I had to write something for him 🫠 I was supposed to also post uno and chill part 2 today but I accidentally fell asleep during the afternoon and since it's already late, I won't be able to finish it. Good thing I have a long holiday and only come back to uni on Thursday so wait for a lot of updates during the following days (including an Easter special fic 🤭). Nari, if you see this, please don't freak out 😚

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: smut, bros code breaking

Alexa, play Friends With Your Ex by Landon Barker

It all started the night you left Chan.

Not in a dramatic, Hollywoodian explosion. No screaming, no shattered plates, just silence. A final, tired “okay”, and the soft click of a door that didn’t reopen.

You didn’t know where to go, so you walked. It didn’t take long for your phone to buzz.

Hannie: you okay?

That was all it took.

He met you at that 24 hour diner which served bad coffee and greasy bacon slices. Han slid the booth across from you like it wasn’t the middle of the night, like you hadn’t just broken up with his best friend.

He didn’t pry, didn’t ask you why it ended, or if you were okay. He just sat there, gave you his hoodie when you started shivering and let you cry into a plate of pancakes.

And since then, he kept showing up.

You’d text each other more. Stupid jokes bloomed into real conversations. He helped you move boxes out of Chan’s place without asking questions. He made you laugh when no one else could. He gave you rides home late at night because ‘it’s not safe for you to walk'. But he never pushed or crossed a line— he just was there for you, in case you needed it.

Until the night everything changed.

You were sitting in his car parked in some random parking lot. Raindrops tapped against the windows, music playing low. You were wearing his hoodie again and this time, your knees were pulled up in the seat, chin resting on top of them.

“I don’t get it”, you murmured, staring at the blur of city lights outside, “How he just… stopped loving me”

Chan had always been a good man. A kind man. But he was never there. Always at the studio, always putting your relationship last. You didn’t break up with him because you stopped loving him— you did it because he forgot how to love you back.

Han exhaled softly, glancing at you from the driver’s seat, “I don’t think he stopped loving you”, he said quietly, “I think… he just didn’t know how to love you the way you needed”.

That made your chest tighten. You turned toward him, realizing there’s something heavy in his gaze— something he’d been trying not to say for weeks.

“Han…”

He leaned in just a little. Not enough to kiss you, just enough for you to feel the heat.

“I shouldn’t want this”, he said quietly, eyes flicking to your mouth.

“Yeah… you shouldn’t”

“But I do”

You don’t remember who leaned in first. Maybe it was him, maybe it was you. But suddenly, your mouths met like you’ve been starving, like every night he held back, rushed to the surface all at once. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb gently brushing your cheek and suddenly you were kissing him hard.

Messy. Desperate. The car windows started to fog with your breath, your bodies twisting in the cramped front seat. Your legs slid over his lap and his hands grabbed your waist as he tried to stop himself— but he couldn't.

“He never touched you like this, did he?”, he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

“That’s so wrong”, you whispered, but you were already pulling his hoodie off.

“Then why does it feel this good? Why aren’t you stopping me, huh?”, he groaned, voice rough as his lips found your collarbone.

Because the truth was— you were not just kissing Han. You were kissing every stolen glance. Every accidental touch. Every night you wished someone saw you the way he always did.

It was messy, forbidden— everything you were not supposed to want.

But in that moment with Han’s hands under your shirt and his voice whispering your name like you owned him— you finally felt wanted again.

“You’re still not stopping me”, Han breathed, voice hoarse against your skin.

He was right, you weren’t. You should. But your fingers were already tangled in the hem of his shirt, already tugging it up, palms sliding over the warm lines of his stomach as you straddled him in the driver’s seat.

Your breath hitched when your hands traced over his inked skin— his tattoos, surprisingly familiar, mapped out across his muscles.

“God”, you whispered, brushing your fingertips over just under his ribs, “These always drove me crazy”.

Han let out a low groan, eyes closing as he leaned into your touch, “You’ve barely seen them” he said, voice rough.

“I saw enough”, you whispered, lips ghosting over his neck, “I just didn’t let myself want to. It had been three long weeks, you know”

His hands found your hips like instinct when you grinded down on his lap, head falling back against the headrest. “Fuck”, he groaned.

You kissed him again, your teeth clashing slightly. He moaned into your mouth like he didn’t care that this was sinful. Bros code? He barely remembered it existed.

His hands were everywhere— trailing up your thighs, gripping your hips, sliding under your shirt until he gripped your bare waist like he needed to hold on or he’d have lost himself completely.

“We can’t do this, Yn… Tell me to stop”, he said suddenly, breath shaking.

But your reply was a soft, “Don’t stop”, whispered into the curve of his neck. You didn’t want him to stop, not when he touched you like that.

You rolled your hips over his lap slowly and he let out the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard from him.

Han’s hands gripped you tighter, his jaw clenched. “Jesus”, he muttered, kissing down your jaw, “You’ve been in my head for weeks. Every time you looked at me like you needed me… I couldn’t think straight”

You whimpered as he slid his hand under your bra, gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples. He pulled your shirt up, just enough to kiss the curve of your chest, hot and desperate, leaving a purple stain there. Even though it was sloppy and frantic, it made you cry out his name.

“Hannie…”

That definitely did something to him. His eyes flicked up, then he pulled you back in for another kiss— this time deeper, filthier, full of tongue and need and everything he’d been holding back.

You could feel how hard he was beneath you, straining in his jeans, as you rocked down again, dragging a soft whine from his throat.

“You keep doing that and I’m not gonna last”, he growled.

“I don’t want you to last”, you whispered, “I just want you to”

He let out a harsh exhale, more like a curse, then leaned forward. “Backseat”, he muttered, eyes dark with lust, “Now”.

You crawled over, and he followed right behind, pulling the door shut with one hand and dragging your hips into his lap again. This time, it was faster, hungrier. He slid your panties down your thighs without fully undressing you, and the thrill of it made your pulse race.

His fingers slid between your legs, and he cursed under his breath. “Damn, you’re soaked”

You arched into his touch, head falling back. “This is so bad”, you pant, “So, so… ah… wrong”

“Then why…”, he murmured, kissing the corner of your lips as he sank two fingers inside you without any warnings, “Does it feel so fucking good?”

You gasped, grinding down against his hand, and he watched you unravel, like he was trying to memorize every twitch, every moan, every part of you.

He fucked you with his fingers slow at first, curling them just right, until your hips were jerking and your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Let me make you forget him”, he whispered.

And god, you did. You fell apart in his lap with his name on your lips, and when you came down, trembling and breathless, he already got his jeans undone, already guiding you on him with a look that said: ‘Please, just this once, let me have you’.

You took him teasingly slow. As you sank down on him, your fingers clutched the back of the seat, lips parted in shock at how good it felt— how right it felt even when it shouldn’t.

His hands held your hips, anchoring you as you started to move.

The car rocked, the windows fogged and the world outside disappeared.

All that was left was Han— his body, his voice, his mouth. The desperate gasps, and whispered curses.

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart…. better than I ever imagined”, he groaned, head falling back.

That made you pause, “You… imagined this before?”

With eyes closed shut, he nodded, breath shaky, chest rising and falling fast. “Every time something went wrong”, he whispered, voice wrecked. “Every time he ignored your feelings cause he was at the studio. Every time you showed up glowing in a new dress and he barely looked at you before saying you looked pretty cause he had a deadline”

A choked sound escaped him— half groan, half confession— as he thrusted into you again. “Fuck… every time I thought, ‘I could be better for her. I could actually make her happy’ “.

Your eyes stung. From the overwhelming pleasure but also from him. From the way he was baring himself to you in a way no one else ever has.

You blinked, lashes heavy with tears, a lump forming in your throat. And then you kissed him. Hard. Deep. With everything— every buried feeling, every confused moment over the past few weeks.

You kissed him like he was the only thing that made sense in the middle of the wreckage you’d been walking through. And he kissed you back like he’d been waiting years. Like this was a secret he was finally allowed to speak.

His thrusts started to lose rhythm, stuttering, desperate, like he was chasing the edge just as hard as you were. The windows were completely fogged now, your skins slick with sweat, your hands gripping his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing left in the world.

You were so close it hurt, each grind sending heat spiraling low in your belly, pressure curling tight until you gasped, eyes wide and unfocused.

“Fuck, I’m…” you started, but he cut you off.

“I know, me too, just come with me”

And when he reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, all while looking at you like you were the whole sky, that was what tipped you over. Your body tensed, then unraveled all at once— hot and shuddering, pleasure crashing over you in waves so strong you almost forgot to breathe.

He followed with a low moan of your name, hands gripping your hips as he came, pulling you down hard against him one last time.

Everything went silent, save for the sound of your panting breaths and the soft hum of the car engine.

You were still wrapped around him when he murmured, “I meant it, you know”

You blinked, heart still racing, “What?”

“All of it”, he said, voice low. “I know it is still soon, but I could be better for you. I want to be. I want to make you happy”

Your chest tightened. No one had ever said something like that after sex. Not to you, not like that.

You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his, and whispered, “You already are”

Han smiled, lazily and crooked, and then he added, “Also… you definitely ruined my backseat forever”

You laughed, breathless and full of something bright and warm and real. “Worth it, tho” you say.

“Guess we’ll just have to use the front seat next time”, he grinned.

You laughed harder this time, still tangled together, still flushed and bare and glowing. And then, you realized:

You might be completely fucked up

But maybe… you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

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How do you think angry sex with Chris would go? Like, after a fight, maybe a jealousy fit? We all know he is hella respectful, but I truly believe in this case his mouth is spitting fire. The degradation is on another level, he'd say and do the most messed up shit. Of course, afterwards, he would be a puddle to your feet.

Jealous

synopsis: Chan seems to think you and Jisung are a little too close.. and he gets a little jealous…

tags: smut, afab!reader, possessive (lowkey kinda toxic chan i think. idk but he’s very possessive), dacryphilla (? reader cries a bit)

a/n: idk what to think of this? I lowkey hate it lol, but let me know what you think!

You, Jisung, Minho, and Chan are hanging out in Jisung and Minho’s shared dorm. You’re currently curled up on the floor near the coffee table, practically leaning into Jisung as the two of you share a ridiculous story from when you went out to eat earlier that week. His hand brushes your arm while he mimics someone’s voice and you double over laughing.

Across the room, Chan watched. He’s sat on the couch, one ankle resting on his opposite knee, jaw tight, arm sling over the back like he’s comfortable—but he’s not. His eyes flick to you, then to Jisung, then back to you again.

Youre laughter is too.. free. Jisung is sat way too close. And you haven’t looked in Chan’s direction once in the past ten minutes.

He tells himself it’s nothing. You love him, not Jisung. But the way that you tilt your head at him with that soft smile, it stabs at something hot and unsettling in his chest.

You finally—finally—glance over to him. Chan’s gaze doesn’t waver. The look in his eyes is a little darker than usual, hooded and unreadable, but you don’t comment on it. You just offer a soft smile before standing up.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, the words directed more towards Jisung than him, as you head your way down the hall towards the bathroom.

The second the door closes behind you, Chan pushes himself to stand and quietly slips out of the room following right behind you.

You’re halfway though washing your hands when there’s a soft knock on the door. “…It’s me.” comes Chan’s voice.

You blink, staring at the closed door.

“Can you let me in?”

Your stomach flips, you unlock the door and crack it open. Chan doesn’t wait, he pushes inside and shuts in behind him, and it locks with a click.

“What the hell was that?”

You narrow your eyes, “What was what?”

Chan scoffs, “You two were all over eachother. What the fuck was that about?”

You roll your eyes, “He’s just being nice.” Chan stops in his tracks, jaw clenched, eyes dark.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know what you were trying to do.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not allowed to laugh with our friends? Am I supposed to walk around with my head down so no one gets the wrong idea?”

“I’m not stupid. You were flirting back.” Chan whisper-yells, keeping his voice low so that the two in the living room don’t hear him.

“I wasn’t even flirting. You’re just being insecure,”

In one second he closed the space between you two, hand gripping your jaw firmly, tilting your face so you had no choice but to meet his furious gaze.

“I’m not being insecure, but if that’s what you think, fine. But don’t you dare act like you didn’t know what you were doing in there.”

You inhale sharply as your back hits the counter. “Chan..”

He bites his lip, “I just want you to remember who you belong to.” His mouth crashes onto yours before you can even think of a response, a mix of anger, frustration and desperation. His hands grip your hips, backing you into the counter and lifting you onto the counter like you weigh nothing.

“You want attention so bad?” He hissed against your mouth, “You’re gonna get it. Every. Fucking. Inch of it.”

You gasp gassing his lips as the cool marble meets the backs of your thighs and he swallows it greedily. His hands are already under your shirt, skimming your waist, pressing your bodies closer.

“You think I didn’t notice the way he looked at you?” he mutters against your mouth, dragging your shirt over your head. “The way you leaned into him?”

Your jeans are gone before you even realize he’s unbuttoned them, you tug at his shirt in retaliation, teeth grazing his jaw as he yanks it over his head and throws it somewhere behind him.

One hand slips between your legs as his mouth trails down your neck, teeth grazing your skn. You squirm beneath his hands, heat pooling fast and thick into your stomach.

You whimpering when his hand slips under the elastic of your panties and his fingers rub against you slick folds. He smirks against your neck. “That’s right. Only I get to touch you like this, make you this wet.”

“You like making me jealous, don’t you?” he growls. “You like when I lose control over you.”

You shake your head, breath ragged as you try and grind your hips against his fingers. “I don’t—I wasn’t trying—“ You cut yourself off with a moan as he presses one finger into you. You pull his closer by the front of his hoodie to try and connect you lips again.

Chan groans in response, deep and desperate. “You’re mine,” he grits out, finger quickly thrusting in and out of you, curling every so often to hit that one spot. “Say it.”

His words were filthy and his tone was mean. You let out a strangled moan, “Yours.. I’m yours.” you whisper. But the sudden loss of his fingers as he slides them out of you makes you whine, hips instinctively changing his hand.

You barely have anytime to catch your breath when you feel him slide into you and you grip his shoulder with a loud moan.

“That’s it. Louder.”

You let out chocked moans and whimpers of his name again and again, tears begin to run down your cheeks and your voice cracks as he thrusts into you with a ruthless rhythm. “Look at you,” he groans, lifting a hand to gently wipe your tears away. “So needy for me now.”

You bite your lip when you feel his tip graze onto your sweet spot, tucking your head down to his shoulder. His fingers tangle in your hair to pull your head back up.

“Don’t hide now, baby. You wanted this. Acting like a brat all night so that i’ll fuck you like this, yeah?” You shakily nod against his neck in response.

He gives a sharp tug that pulls a loud moan from your lips. So much for trying to be quiet, there’s no way they didn’t hear that, but at the moment, you couldn’t care less.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Good girl. Let everyone hear you, baby.” His voice send a shiver down your spine. He shifts slightly, adjusting your legs so that your thighs are wrapped tightly around his waist. The new angle has him driving harder and deeper into you, and you can help but grind your hips down against him, desperate to meet every thrust.

His hand grips your hips, holding you in place like he’s afraid you’d disappear. Every thrust is rough, angry, desperate. He makes you feel every word, every breath.

You voice starts to falter a bit and your legs tremble around him. “You gonna cum for me?” he groans into your ear, “Cum on my dick baby, c’mon.”

You let out a moan and your body trembles with your release. Chan keeps thrusting into you as your legs fall slack around him, no longer able to hold themselves up. “Please—too much.” You whine as your nails dig into his arms. “Chan—“

“You can take it. Just a little more.” He grunts. Each snap of his hips sending an overwhelming wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You feel the pace of his hips falter against you and his voice cracks with each hushed moan that escapes his lips.

“Fuck. I’m so close-“ he breathes. You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a desperate kiss, the two of you swallowing each moan that escapes each others lips.

“Come inside me.. please,” You whimper against his lips. Chan lets out a strained grunt in response, his thrusts growing faster, more desperate as he chases his own pleasure. One hand drops between your bodies, and his fingers rub at your clit in harsh, relentless circles. The overstimulation makes your breath hitch and you cry out as you feel another climax quickly building.

His hips still, and you feel him twitch inside you as spurts of warm cum begin to coat your walls. The sensation of him releasing inside you sends you spiraling all over, your climax crashes over you as your legs tremble against the counter.

There’s a long silence filled with nothing other but the sound of your heavy breathing. Then you feel his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you close.

“I.. You know I didn’t mean that right?” Chan murmurs into your neck, voice hoarse and wrecked with emotion. “I was just…fuck. I was jealous. I’m sorry. I took it out on you, and I shouldn’t have.”

You don’t answer right away, your body still trembling. You finger find their way into his hair, gently threading through the strands. “I know,” you whisper. “But really, I wasn’t trying to do anything.”

He pulls back enough just to look at you, guilt flooding his eyes. “I know, I know. I just.. the thought of anyone even looking at you like that, touching you..” He trails off, jaw clenching as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“It messes with my head.” He admits softly, “But it’s not your fault. I just can’t loose you. And the thought of someone else even trying just—I’m sorry.”

“You’re not gonna loose me.” Your voice is a bit hoarse, but there’s no hesitation in it. The reassurance seems to calm him a bit and he nods. He finally pulls put, breathing still a bit shaky. His fingers lazily trace your thigh as he watches, completely hypnotized as a slow, messy is of both yours and his cum begins to slowly drip out of you and down onto the counter.

“Fuck..” he mutters, low and gravelly, thumb brushing your inner thigh, almost in awe. “Look at that…”

You chest still rises and falls with each shaky breath you take as you glance down than back up to watch as he steps away and grabs some tissue for you (and to clean the counter).

You smirk, “You think Jisung will be mad that we fucker in his bathroom?”

Chan lets out a breathy laugh and his eyes flicker to yours. He leans forward, kissing your collarbone.

“Oops,” he murmurs, voice low and smug and clearly not sorry in the slightest.

“It’s no secret, i’m sure they heard,” His words send a flush down your neck. “I’ll just turn the fan on.”

You laugh, quiet and breathlessly, taking the tissue he offers you to clean yourself up while he cleans the counter.

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Bound by Duty (Bang Chan)

~~~ I have fought battles, braved storms, and faced the darkest nights, but nothing has ever made my heart race like the way you look at me. You are my greatest victory, my sweetest surrender, and the only home I will ever need. ~~~

Synopsis: You are caught between your duty to the kingdom and your forbidden love for the king’s highest knight, Sir Bang Chan. As tensions between rival realms rise and the threat of war looms ever closer, your dangerous romance ignites like wildfire, risking everything you hold dear.

Word Count: 23k

Tw/Cw: MINORS DNI. NSFW, cursing, unprotected sex (no glove, no love), bang chan is a simp, one bed trope (sorry, not sorry), fingering, slight dom!chan, virgin!reader, slight violence, death threats, kidnapping, kinda slow burn??? (like they love each other, but duty comes first kinda thing.

Note: I literally poured my heart and soul into this, so enjoy!

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You stood at the highest balcony of the castle, the cool evening breeze whispering through your silk gown. Below, the kingdom stretched for miles, the golden fields of wheat swaying under the dying light of the sun. From this height, the world looked peaceful.

But you knew better.

The halls of the castle echoed with tension. War loomed on the horizon like a shadow creeping ever closer, dark and inevitable. Scouts returned with reports of enemy forces gathering at the borders, their numbers growing by the day. Whispers of betrayal lingered in the corridors, and even the bravest of knights no longer spoke of victory—only survival.

And yet, amidst it all, the king still found time to plan your future.

Your betrothal had been finalized weeks ago, a political move disguised as duty. Prince Taeyong of the Northern Territories was to be your husband, a man you had never met but whose name was carved into the fate of the kingdom. Your marriage would solidify an alliance, combining armies, fortifying borders. A necessity, your father had said. A blessing, your maid had reassured.

A prison, you thought.

You gripped the railing, your knuckles turning white. You had never known love—true love—but you knew enough to recognize what this was not. The weight of expectation crushed you, the knowledge that your life was not your own. You were a pawn in a game you had never asked to play, your heart a sacrifice in the name of power.

Your mother had warned you years ago, when you were just a child clinging to the idea of fairytales and freedom. A princess does not choose whom she loves. She chooses what is best for the kingdom.

But what if what was best for the kingdom was not best for you?

The sound of armored footsteps in the courtyard below drew you from your thoughts. Your tilted your head, watching as the knights gathered for their evening drills, their swords gleaming under the torchlight. They moved with precision, bodies honed for war, minds sharpened for battle. They would be the first to ride out when war finally arrived. The first to die.

Your stomach twisted.

You turned away from the sight, stepping back into the dim glow of your chambers. The room was grand, adorned with silken drapes and gold-threaded tapestries, but it felt suffocating. Every inch of it a reminder of the life you could not escape.

A life where your heart did not belong to you.

A life where you could not love who you truly loved.

And soon, a life where war would decide everything.

That night, you lay awake in your chambers, staring at the ceiling as the candlelight flickered against the stone walls. Sleep refuses to come. It never does, not when your mind is a battlefield of thoughts you cannot silence.

Tomorrow, you will meet your betrothed.

The thought makes your chest tighten.

Taeyong of the North. A name you’ve only heard in whispers, spoken with either fear or grudging respect. A man known more for his conquests than his kindness. His kingdom is built on war, his soldiers bred for battle. He is the kind of ruler your father admires—ruthless, cunning, a man who does not flinch at the thought of bloodshed.

Will he see you as anything more than a transaction? A pawn in this grand game of power?

You turn onto your side, fingers curling into the silk sheets. Somewhere beyond the castle walls, the world carries on. In the villages, merchants barter, children play in the streets, lovers hold hands beneath the moonlight. A life you will never know.

A soft knock at your door makes you sit up. It’s late—too late for a servant.

“Come in,” you call, smoothing out the wrinkles in your nightgown.

The heavy wooden door creaks open, and a familiar figure steps inside.

Sir Bang Chan.

He enters without hesitation, though he removes his helmet as a sign of respect. His dark hair is damp with sweat from the evening drills, his tunic slightly loose at the collar. He is a knight—one of the finest in your father’s service. A warrior who belongs on the battlefield, not in the chambers of a princess.

And yet, here he stands.

“Your Highness,” he greets, his voice steady. But there is something in his eyes—something he masks well but can never quite hide. A storm brewing beneath the surface.

“Sir Bang Chan,” you reply, keeping your voice composed. “It’s late.”

“I know,” he admits. He hesitates for a moment before stepping further inside, closing the door behind him. “I needed to see you.”

Your heart stutters.

He shouldn’t be here. You both know it. But the truth is, you want him here. More than you can ever admit.

“What is it?” you ask, though you already know.

His jaw clenches. “The war is moving faster than we anticipated. Scouts reported enemy forces less than two days from the border.”

The war. The ever-looming war.

“And my betrothal?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He exhales sharply. “It will happen. The king insists it must, to secure the alliance.”

A silence stretches between you.

You look at him then, truly look at him. The way his hands curl into fists at his sides. The way his shoulders tense as if he’s holding back words he can never say.

The way his eyes—so dark, so full of unspoken things—linger on your lips before snapping back to your gaze.

Something inside you cracks.

“What if I don’t want this?” you whisper.

Chan lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You think I don’t know that?” He steps closer, just a fraction, just enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off him. “Do you think I want to watch you be given away like a prize to a man who doesn’t deserve you?”

Your breath hitches. “Then stop it.”

His eyes darken. “You know I can’t.”

Because duty binds you both. Because love—true love—is a privilege neither of you can afford.

But in that moment, with war on the horizon and your fate slipping through your fingers, you wonder.

Will you let the world decide for you?

Or will you dare to defy it?

The silence between you is thick, suffocating. The weight of everything—war, duty, desire—hangs in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Chan stands close, too close. The dim candlelight casts shadows across his face, sharpening the angles of his jaw, the determination in his eyes. He has always been composed, disciplined. But right now, you see the cracks beneath the surface.

He is unraveling.

And so are you.

“Tell me to walk away,” he says, his voice low, rough with something dangerous.

You swallow hard. “You know I can’t.”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable, something raw. His hands clench at his sides like he’s holding himself back from doing something reckless, something irreversible.

“Then what do you want me to do?” he asks, frustration bleeding into his tone. “Watch you marry him? Stand by as he takes you away, knowing you’ll never be happy? Knowing you—” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening.

You don’t dare breathe.

“Say it,” you whisper.

He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “Don’t do this to me, Y/N.”

But it’s already too late.

Because you’ve seen it—the way he looks at you, the way his walls crack when he is near you. You’ve felt it in every stolen glance, every fleeting touch, every moment where the world fades and it’s just you and him.

“I can’t do this,” he mutters, turning away, running a hand through his dark hair.

And just like that, the moment shatters.

The reality of your situation crashes down on you like a tidal wave. Tomorrow, you will meet your betrothed. Tomorrow, you will be bound to a man you do not love. Tomorrow, this—you and him—will no longer exist.

Unless…

Your breath comes faster as a reckless thought takes hold.

“Come with me.”

Chan freezes.

Slowly, he turns, his eyes searching yours, as if he isn’t sure he heard you right. “What?”

“Come with me,” you repeat, your heart pounding. “Let’s leave. Tonight.”

His expression darkens, a mixture of shock, anger, and something dangerously close to hope. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“Yes.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “You don’t.”

“I do.” You step forward, reaching for his hand before you can second-guess yourself. The contact sends a jolt up your spine, his warmth grounding you, anchoring you. “If I stay, I will be nothing more than a prisoner in a golden cage. I will marry a man I don’t love. I will be sent away to a foreign land where I will never see you again.” Your grip tightens. “And you will go to war. You will fight for a kingdom that does not care about you, a king who sees you as nothing more than a weapon.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t pull away.

“You’ll die for them,” you whisper. “And I will live a life I never wanted.”

Chan’s breathing is uneven now, his fingers twitching against yours. He is breaking, you can see it.

And you want him to.

Because you need him to.

“Please,” you murmur.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. The weight of the world sits between you, the consequences of this decision pressing down like a blade against your throats.

Then—

A sharp knock at the door.

You both jolt apart.

“Your Highness,” comes the voice of a guard. “Your father requests your presence immediately.”

Your stomach drops.

Chan steps back, his expression shifting instantly—cold, unreadable, the perfect soldier once again.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he says quietly. But there’s something different in his voice now, something uncertain.

You nod, though you aren’t sure if later will ever come.

Because as you leave your chambers, you can’t shake the feeling that something is about to change.

Something big.

And it might already be too late to stop it.

You walk down the hall in silence, the weight of the guard's footsteps echoing in the stone corridor, a cold reminder of the world outside these walls. Your pulse still races, each beat a reminder of the words you almost spoke, the decisions you almost made.

You reach the throne room, your heart pounding in your chest. The doors swing open with a heavy groan, and the chill of the grand chamber greets you. Your father, the king, sits at his throne, his sharp eyes trained on you as you approach. He is always so composed, a king who never shows his hand. But tonight, the tension is palpable. The air is thick with something that doesn’t feel like the usual state affairs.

"You’ve kept me waiting, Y/N," your father’s voice booms. The power in it is unmistakable, a force that has shaped your entire life.

“I apologize, Father,” you reply, lowering your head in respect, though every fiber of your being wants to rebel, to scream that you’re not ready for what’s coming.

The king’s gaze softens for a fleeting second, before he speaks again, his tone darker now. “Taeyong arrives tomorrow. He is the key to securing our kingdom’s future. The alliance will strengthen us against the northern tribes. Do you understand?”

You nod, trying to keep your emotions in check, though inside, you feel as if your world is unraveling.

“I understand, Father.”

But you don’t. How could you? How could anyone expect you to understand a future where your heart is chained to a man you do not love?

Your father leans forward, his eyes narrowing. “This is your duty. Our kingdom’s fate rests on this union. And I will not have you defy me, do you hear me?”

You swallow, trying to suppress the trembling in your hands. “Yes, Father.”

The king stands, his movement commanding the room. “Good. Tomorrow will be the beginning of your new life, Y/N. And you will be ready.”

He steps toward you, placing a firm hand on your shoulder, and for a moment, the weight of his expectations crushes you. You want to tell him how you feel, how the weight of this impending marriage feels like a death sentence, but you don’t.

Because in this moment, you realize something that terrifies you: You don’t have a choice.

The doors swing open again, and a guard enters with urgent news. Your father’s face darkens as the man speaks, his words clipped and quick.

“Your Highness, scouts have reported an enemy force approaching from the south. It’s only a matter of days before they arrive at the border.”

The blood drains from your face.

War is closer than ever. The looming dread that’s been following you for weeks now feels more real, more immediate.

Your father looks at you for a long moment, his expression hard. “This alliance with Taeyong must succeed. It’s the only way to secure the kingdom’s future. If we cannot unite, we risk everything.”

The weight of his words hits you with an almost physical force. But as you look at him—your king, your father—you can’t help but feel trapped. The walls are closing in on you. Tomorrow, your life will change, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

The decision you made earlier, in the quiet of your chambers, resurfaces.

Come with me, Chan.

The thought pulses in your mind, frantic and urgent, like a lifeline thrown in the middle of a storm.

But now, as you stand in your father’s throne room, that same thought is drowned out by the roar of impending war. The weight of your duty presses down on you again. The reality of what it means to be a princess—the weight of a crown you never asked for, the price of your freedom—has never been clearer.

You want to run. You want to flee from this life, from this kingdom, from everything that has been forced upon you.

But as the door closes behind you, you realize that escape is a dream you cannot afford.

The next morning, as you prepare for the meeting with Taeyong, you can’t shake the image of Chan’s eyes—the way they softened when he stood in front of you last night, the way he hesitated when you asked him to run. He’s a warrior, yes, but there’s a softness in him, something that makes you wonder if he, too, feels the pull of something more than duty.

But your duty to your people will always come first.

Or will it?

The next morning, the castle is alive with preparations for the arrival of Taeyong. Servants rush through the hallways, the scent of fresh bread and roasting meat filling the air as you walk through the corridors, your mind a storm of conflicting thoughts.

You’re in your chambers, standing before a mirror, watching as your maid adjusts the lace at your collar. The weight of the dress feels heavier today, like the fabric is pulling you further into a life you never chose.

“Your Highness,” the maid says softly, her voice hesitant, “may I ask… Are you feeling well today? You seem… troubled.”

You force a smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine, Bom. Just a little tired.”

She doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t press further. As she finishes your attire, the door opens without a knock, and in steps your father’s trusted advisor, Lord Hwang. He’s a tall man with sharp features, always impeccably dressed, his eyes cold and calculating.

“Princess Y/N,” he greets, bowing slightly. “It’s almost time for you to meet the Prince. Your father is expecting you at the gates.”

You nod stiffly, your stomach tightening. “Thank you, Lord Hwang. I’ll be there shortly.”

As he leaves, you can’t help but glance out the window, your thoughts drifting back to the night before. Bang Chan’s words echo in your mind, the conflict in his voice when you asked him to leave with you. You hadn’t even told him you were serious—he didn’t have the luxury of hope in this world, not like you did.

“Come with me,” you whisper to yourself, as though saying the words aloud might make them real. But you know it’s a fantasy, an impossible dream. There’s no escaping this.

You step into the hallway, where a line of soldiers stand at attention, their eyes straight ahead. None of them make eye contact with you, but you can feel their gazes—cold, unfeeling, like you’re nothing more than a princess they serve, not a woman with her own desires.

As you walk towards the gates, the familiar path feels different. The walls seem taller, the ground harder beneath your feet. When you reach the courtyard, the sight of Taeyong’s approaching party sends a shiver down your spine.

He is tall, his figure imposing. His black armor glints in the morning sun as he dismounts from his horse. His eyes, cold as steel, lock onto yours as you approach.

“Princess Y/N,” he says, his voice low and commanding, though there is a hint of a smile on his lips. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

You force yourself to smile, nodding. “The honor is mine, Prince Taeyong.”

His smile widens as he steps forward, towering over you. “Please, call me Taeyong. The title of prince is far too formal for what’s about to come.”

Your stomach turns at his words, but you don’t let it show. You extend your hand for him to kiss, a gesture of formality you’ve done a thousand times, though this time, it feels like a betrayal. His lips brush your knuckles, and the sensation sends a cold chill through you.

Behind you, your father steps forward, clapping Taeyong on the back. “Welcome, my friend,” King Taemin says. “We are grateful for your presence. Let’s discuss the future over breakfast.”

As the two men walk side by side, speaking in low voices about alliances and kingdoms, you find yourself lingering behind, the weight of your decision heavy on your heart.

You can feel eyes on you. Cold, judgmental eyes.

And then, a voice.

“Princess.”

You turn quickly, and your heart leaps in your chest.

Bang Chan.

He’s standing near the stables, his armor gleaming under the sun, his stance rigid as always. But his eyes are locked on yours, filled with something unreadable. You quickly look away, not wanting to be seen staring.

“Sir Bang Chan,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “What are you doing here?”

He steps forward, his eyes scanning the courtyard before meeting yours again. “I was sent to keep watch. The enemy could strike at any moment, and I need to be prepared.”

You nod, but there’s a coldness between you now, a distance you both refuse to cross. You can see it in his eyes—the same conflict you feel. Duty. Honor. And the secret longing neither of you can admit.

“You should return to your post,” you say, forcing a tight smile. “I’m sure my father will want you by his side.”

Chan doesn’t move, his gaze never leaving yours. “Princess, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “What is it?”

He takes a deep breath, his fists clenching at his sides. “I can’t keep pretending that this is all just about duty. I care for you more than I should. And I can’t watch you marry him.”

His words hit you like a physical blow, and you feel as though you’ve been punched in the gut. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You want to say something, anything, but the fear of what might happen next silences you.

“You think I don’t know?” you whisper, taking a step closer. “You think I haven’t thought about it every day? The way I feel about you…”

You pause, your heart racing. “But we can’t. We can’t be together. The world won’t allow it. We have our places, our roles. You’re a knight. I’m a princess. And I’m about to marry a man I don’t love.”

Chan’s eyes darken, but his expression is pained. “Then why are we standing here?”

You swallow hard, your voice shaking. “Because there’s nothing we can do. The war is coming, and everything will change whether we’re ready or not.”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “Then let it change. Let it.”

You shake your head, the tears you’ve been holding back threatening to spill. “It’s too late. The kingdom needs me. My father needs me. And Taeyong—he’s part of the plan.”

Chan looks at you for a long moment, his face torn with emotion. Then, without another word, he turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd of soldiers preparing for the worst.

You stand there for a long time, the words left unsaid hanging in the air, heavy and suffocating. The reality of the choices before you presses down on your chest, and for the first time, you wonder if this will be the last time you ever see him.

As the day stretches on, your heart feels like it's being pulled in two different directions. The castle is brimming with activity, preparations for the arrival of Taeyong only adding to the mounting pressure. You can’t escape the constant hum of voices and the shuffle of soldiers, and every glance from those around you feels like a reminder of what’s to come.

You stand near the grand hall, watching as the last of the decorations are placed, the scent of roses filling the air. Your father is already in the hall, speaking with Taeyong and his advisors. The thought of the union—the betrothal you never asked for, the life you never wanted—threatens to drown you.

Your mind keeps drifting back to Chan. The words he spoke to you earlier repeat in your mind like a broken record.

I care for you more than I should. And I can’t watch you marry him.

His confession lingers in the air between you even now, like an unspoken promise. You’ve never felt this torn, and the reality of it sinks in deeper with every passing minute.

“Princess?”

You turn, startled, to find Lord Hwang standing behind you, his eyes sharp as ever. “The king requests your presence.”

You nod, though your stomach churns. The weight of your decision sits heavily on your chest, and yet, there’s a part of you that wonders if it’s already too late to turn back.

The hall is grand, as always, but today, the walls seem to close in on you. Your father, King Taemin, stands at the center, his back straight and imposing as he speaks with Taeyong. The two men are deep in conversation, and your father’s laugh rings out—a sound that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Princess Y/N,” Taeyong says, turning as you approach. His voice is smooth, almost rehearsed. But there’s something in his eyes that makes your stomach twist. “I trust you’re feeling well this morning?”

What a fucking prick. You force yourself to smile, though it feels like a mask. “Yes, thank you, Prince Taeyong.”

“You’ve been quiet today,” he notes, his voice laced with something dangerous. “I understand. A woman of your beauty and status must feel the pressure of the eyes upon her.”

You swallow, the words coming out in a strained breath. “I suppose I’ve always been under pressure.”

Taeyong steps closer, just a little too close. The scent of his cologne fills your senses, and you can feel the weight of his presence pressing down on you. He’s always been polite, but today, there’s something more. His gaze lingers a moment too long, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you.

Before you can say anything else, there’s a sudden commotion by the entrance.

You turn sharply to see Chan standing at the doorway, his figure cutting through the crowd like a blade. He’s dressed in full armor, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on you. His eyes, dark and conflicted, lock onto yours, and for a split second, the noise of the room fades.

Your heart lurches in your chest, but you quickly look away, afraid of what might happen if you don’t.

Chan strides forward, his expression unreadable, until he stands at your side, his presence a stark contrast to the cold politeness of Taeyong.

“My lady,” Chan says, bowing slightly. His voice is steady, but the tension in his tone is unmistakable.

You feel the air thicken. Taeyong looks between you and Chan, his smile faltering for just a second, and then returning with more force.

“Ah, Sir Bang Chan,” Taeyong greets him with a forced politeness, his tone barely veiling the subtle challenge. “A knight in shining armor. Always a pleasure.”

Chan doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he just stands there, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a quiet storm brewing between you both—silent, but intense.

Your heart beats faster, and a knot forms in your throat. You want to say something—anything—to break the tension, but the words are stuck.

“Is there something I can assist you with, Sir Bang Chan?” Taeyong asks, his voice laced with thinly veiled irritation.

You see it then—the way Chan’s jaw tightens, the barely restrained anger behind his eyes. But when he speaks, his tone is calm, almost too calm. “I’m here to ensure that the castle is properly secured. My duty is to protect, not to engage in politics.”

You almost breathe a sigh of relief at his restraint, but then the tension shifts. It’s in the way his eyes flicker to you, the way he holds himself back, knowing that the moment he says too much, everything will change.

"Of course," Taeyong says, his voice laced with mock sweetness. "Duty first, always."

You can feel the undercurrent of hostility between them, a quiet but potent rivalry. It’s not just political; there’s something personal about it. And you’re caught in the middle, trapped in a game you never wanted to play.

Taeyong looks at you again, his gaze lingering with an unsettling intensity. "I trust we'll have a proper discussion later, Princess. After all, we have much to talk about, don't we?"

You try to keep your face neutral, but his words feel like a weight pressing down on your chest. This isn’t just about duty anymore—it’s about control. His control over you, over your future, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

Chan takes a step closer to you, his arm brushing against yours in a brief but undeniable touch. The contact sends a shock through your body, and for a moment, you almost forget about the others in the room. You look at him, your eyes searching his face for some sign, some glimmer of hope.

But instead, you see the pain in his expression, the resignation that mirrors your own.

“We’ll talk later, Princess,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. And then he turns, his footsteps heavy as he walks away, back into the throng of soldiers and advisors.

You watch him go, your heart aching with a mixture of fear and longing.

And then Taeyong steps forward again, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “You look troubled, Princess. Is there something I can do to ease your mind?”

You meet his gaze, the tension in the room thick and suffocating. “I don’t believe so, Prince Taeyong.”

But even as you say the words, you know that the storm is far from over. And soon, it will break.

Bang Chan's POV

Chan strides through the grand hall, his armor clinking with every step, though the sound does little to mask the heavy weight pressing down on his chest. His heart is pounding—raging—and it's all he can do to keep from snapping. He knows he shouldn’t have stayed. He knows it was damn stupid to let his feelings spill out in front of her, to risk everything for a moment of honesty.

But he couldn’t stop himself.

He had seen the way she looked at him. The way her eyes flickered when their gazes met. For just a brief moment, it felt like the world had stopped. Like everything that chained them down—war, duty, her betrothal—had all faded away. And it was just them, caught in that fleeting second of truth.

But now? Now, reality’s crashing back down, hard.

He exhales a frustrated breath, fingers running through his curly brown hair. His boots echo on the stone floor like the ticking of a clock—each step taking him farther away from her, farther away from the choice he should’ve made.

He should’ve walked away.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Chan,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head. “What the hell were you thinking?”

His thoughts spin in endless circles, each one getting more tangled, more painful. He knows what he has to do. The kingdom needs him. His oath to the king is clear. He has no right to her. She’s a princess, and he’s just some damn knight.

But goddamn it, it doesn’t feel that way. Not when he looks at her.

He reaches the stables and stops in front of his horse, the stable hand standing by nervously. Chan nods at him but doesn’t stop to say anything. Instead, he mounts his horse in silence, his muscles tense, his mind still stuck on her.

Y/N.

His hand grips the reins too tightly, his knuckles white, his jaw clenched. He tries to shake off the anger, the pain, but it’s all still there, gnawing at him.

He should’ve never spoken those words to her. He should’ve never told her he cared. She doesn’t need that weight. She’s already trapped by the chains of her life—betrothed to Taeyong, the looming war, the expectations of a kingdom that only sees her as a bargaining chip. She doesn’t need some knight—some fool like him—complicating everything.

But the truth is, he can’t stop. He never could. Every time he’s near her, he feels it—like some electric current, something raw and untamed, pulling him toward her. The way she looks at him, the way her eyes hold this fire that matches his own. He can’t turn it off. He can’t shut it out.

“Damn it,” he hisses under his breath, urging his horse into motion. The rhythmic sound of hooves against the cobblestone is the only noise in the otherwise empty courtyard.

His mind wanders back to the scene in the hall, the way Taeyong had looked at him. The way the prince was just a little too smug, like he owned her. And the way Y/N had stood there, quiet, her eyes full of things she couldn’t say—things Chan couldn’t hear, but could feel deep down. It tore at him.

The damn prince wasn’t good for her. But he wasn’t the one who would get to choose.

“Focus,” Chan mutters to himself as he rides toward the outer gates. “Don’t be an idiot.”

But the more he tries to focus on the mission ahead—the war, the kingdom, his duty—the more his thoughts keep circling back to her.

Y/N.

He hates it.

And he knows it’s only going to get worse. The knot in his chest tightens, and it feels like everything’s breaking down.

As Chan rides out of the castle grounds and into the open fields, he finally slows his horse. The wind against his face does little to ease the storm inside him.

Why the hell does it have to be like this?

Why the hell can’t he just be the man she needs?

He should’ve walked away. He should’ve kept his damn mouth shut and kept being the knight he’s supposed to be. But no—he had to let it all out.

“Fuck,” he growls, kicking his horse into a faster gallop.

The motion isn’t enough to outrun the thoughts, though. He’s still thinking about her—the way she looked at him, the pain in her eyes. She wants something more than what she’s being given. And maybe—just maybe—she wants him, too.

But it doesn’t matter. She’s going to marry Taeyong, and that’s the end of it. She’ll never choose him. He’s just a soldier, and she’s a princess.

A knight like him doesn’t get to have the girl.

But goddamn, does it hurt.

Hours later, after the war council has ended, the tension in the castle is palpable. The air is thick with anticipation—war on the horizon, the betrothal looming—and Chan finds himself standing alone in the training yard, his sword drawn.

The practice dummies stand in front of him, but it’s like he’s seeing them through a fog. He slashes the sword through the air, his strikes sharp and controlled, but the anger doesn’t leave. It’s there, coiled tight in his chest, and no matter how many times he swings, it only tightens.

“Damn it!” he yells as he drives the sword into the wooden target, the sound of it echoing through the empty yard.

He stands there for a long moment, panting. The adrenaline is wearing off, but the pain is still there. His breath is uneven, his heart hammering in his chest.

“You’re not going to fix anything by swinging a sword,” he mutters to himself.

But it’s the only thing that’s keeping him from breaking down right here.

He stares at the practice dummy, his grip tight on the hilt of the sword. His thoughts are a mess—thoughts of her, of the war, of the kingdom that has him shackled. All of it.

He wants to scream. He wants to break something.

“Damn it,” he mutters again, his voice cracking as he lowers the sword.

Nothing makes sense anymore. It’s all slipping through his fingers, like sand.

And he can’t do a thing to stop it.

Your POV

The days stretch out before you like an endless expanse, each one heavier than the last. The castle feels suffocating, the air thick with anticipation—of the war that looms closer with each passing day, of your betrothal that you cannot escape. The weight of it all presses down on you, until you can barely breathe.

You were born into this life, one of duty, of responsibility, of alliances forged before you had even learned how to speak. Your marriage to Taeyong has been set for years, a union that will strengthen kingdoms and ensure peace. The thought of it stirs nothing but a deep ache in your chest. You’ve seen the way the people around you talk about him, how they admire his strength, his power. But none of them see what you see. They don’t know what it’s like to be trapped by your bloodline, to be expected to put your heart aside for the sake of an entire kingdom.

You can already hear the laughter from the hall below, the celebration in full swing. Everyone is preparing for the union. The prince, the one who will be your future husband, has already arrived. His presence is undeniable, his name on everyone’s lips. He is the kind of ruler everyone expects you to want. But you don’t. You never have.

You pull your gaze from the window, the distant stars barely visible behind the thick, swirling clouds. You know what’s coming—your betrothal, the prince’s arrival at the ceremony. But none of that changes the fact that your heart keeps drifting back to the one man you cannot have.

Chan.

Your feet carry you silently down the hallways, your mind racing. You can hear your own heart pounding, each step feeling heavier than the last. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. You know he’s not supposed to be in your life the way he is. He’s a knight, a warrior—his duty is to your father, to the kingdom. But that doesn’t change the truth.

He’s been your constant, a reminder of everything you could have had if the world had been different.

When you see him standing there, his figure cutting through the shadows of the corridor, you can feel your breath hitch. You want to run to him, to close the distance between you, but you stop yourself. You know the consequences.

“Chan,” you whisper, your voice trembling more than you want it to.

He turns slowly, his eyes catching yours. There’s something in them—something broken, something raw. The air between you thickens with every passing second.

“What is it, Your Highness?” His voice comes out rough, as though he’s holding back words that could shatter everything.

You step closer, the world shrinking with each movement you make toward him. “You’re leaving soon,” you say, the words falling from your lips before you can stop them. “I don’t want to see you go.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he looks at you, and for a brief moment, it feels like he’s seeing you for who you truly are. Not the princess, not the daughter of the king, but the woman who is desperate to be free.

“You should,” he says quietly, his voice tight. “You’ve got a future waiting for you. A future with him. With Taeyong. You have a kingdom to save.”

His words stab deep, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to look away. “And what if that future isn’t what I want? What if I want something else?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries the weight of every emotion you’ve tried to bury for so long.

Chan’s gaze softens, his jaw tightening as if he’s fighting with himself. “You don’t understand what you’re asking,” he says, his voice strained. “I’m not the one you should want. You have everything you need already. You’re bound to him. You’re—”

You don’t let him finish. “No. I’m bound to nothing but the duty they’ve placed on me. I’m not his, and I never will be.”

There’s a moment of silence, a stillness that feels unbearable. You step even closer, your hands reaching for him before you can think better of it. His hand trembles slightly as it brushes against yours, and for a moment, you both just stand there, caught in that unspoken understanding.

“Please,” you murmur, your voice breaking.

He looks down at you, his expression unreadable. He takes a slow step back, his hand slipping from yours, and the distance between you both feels like a chasm. “You can’t ask me to stay,” he says, the words heavy with finality. “You have a life, a future, a kingdom that needs you. I can’t be the one who drags you away from all of that.”

“But what if I don’t care about any of that?” The question hangs between you, thick with the truth neither of you can deny.

He shakes his head, his eyes filled with frustration and something deeper, something more painful. “You don’t mean that. You can’t.”

And in that moment, as you stand there, you know he’s right. He’s right, and it breaks you.

The sounds of the castle fade into the background as you make your way back to your chambers, the weight of the decision already beginning to settle on your shoulders. You try to ignore the questions swirling in your mind, the urge to run, to leave it all behind. But it isn’t that simple. It never was.

You glance one last time at the window, the stars now completely hidden behind the storm clouds that have gathered. The war is still out there, and your betrothal is still waiting to happen. Your future is set in stone, whether you like it or not.

But what if there’s another way? What if you and Chan—what if you could leave it all behind?

The thought lingers in your mind, but even as you entertain the possibility, you know how dangerous it is. The consequences of disobedience are dire. The kingdom, your father, the prince—they’ll never let you go.

But your heart doesn’t care.

Your heart is already somewhere far away, with a man who could never truly be yours.

The night stretches on, and you can't seem to escape the thoughts that have taken root in your mind. As you sit alone in your chamber, the silence feels suffocating, broken only by the soft flicker of the candlelight. The castle, with its stone walls and corridors filled with echoes of voices long gone, feels like a prison. The weight of your duty, your future, hangs over you like a dark cloud that refuses to dissipate.

You close your eyes, trying to steady your breath, but your thoughts keep racing back to him—Chan. The way his eyes softened when he spoke to you, the unspoken words that lingered between you like an invisible thread, binding you together even as he stepped away. You can still feel the heat of his touch, the way his hand trembled when it brushed against yours. It was a reminder that, despite the distance, despite the kingdom that demanded everything of you, something else was possible. Something forbidden.

But is it worth the risk?

The war is coming, and every day that passes brings you closer to the decision you don’t want to make. The decision to marry a man you don’t love, to give yourself away for the good of your kingdom. Taeyong, the prince. His face is still so fresh in your mind—his confident smile, his regal posture—but all you feel when you think of him is cold indifference. He’s everything your father wants. Everything the kingdom wants. But he’s not the man you need. He doesn’t see you. Not truly. Not like Chan does.

You pull yourself from your thoughts, standing and pacing the room restlessly. You can't stay here. Not tonight. Not when everything feels like it’s unraveling, not when your heart is torn between two impossible choices.

As you make your way toward the door, your mind races with a single thought.

You need to see him again. You need to hear his voice, to feel his presence beside you, just one last time before everything changes.

You move quickly through the halls, the flickering torchlight casting shadows that dance along the stone walls. You don’t stop to think. You don’t give yourself the chance to hesitate.

You reach the training building, the familiar scent of leather and iron filling your senses. The sounds of the castle are distant here, the quiet broken only by the occasional whisper of wind against the stone. You spot him almost immediately—his broad shoulders silhouetted against the dim light as he practices with his sword, his movements fluid and precise, the anger in each strike as sharp as the blade in his hand.

You should turn back. You should leave him to his duty. But you can't.

You can’t leave him.

“Chan,” you say, your voice louder this time, as you step into his line of sight.

He pauses, his sword held still in midair. For a moment, you think he might turn away. But instead, his gaze shifts to you, and in that one glance, you feel everything—the tension, the unspoken desire, the guilt—come crashing down on both of you. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but you can see the conflict in them. The struggle he’s been carrying. The same one you’ve been carrying.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice low, guarded.

You take a step forward, your heart pounding in your chest. “I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t pretend anymore.” You pause, searching his eyes for something, anything. “I need to know if you feel the same way.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he lowers his sword, stepping toward you. The space between you narrows, but his expression remains unreadable. “You know I do,” he finally says, his voice soft but steady. “But it’s not that simple, Y/N. You’re the princess. You’re betrothed to Taeyong. Your duty isn’t just to yourself.”

“I don’t care about my duty,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Not when it means giving up everything I want.”

Chan’s gaze softens, and he steps closer, his hand reaching for yours but pausing just before contact, as if unsure whether to continue or pull away. “You’re asking me to make a choice I can’t. We both know that.”

Your chest tightens, the pain of the truth settling in like a heavy weight. “Then what do we do? I can’t go through with it. I can’t marry him. I can’t marry someone I don’t love, Chan. I can’t do this alone.”

“Then come with me,” he says suddenly, the words cutting through the tension like a knife. His voice is raw, desperate, as if he’s finally giving in to the one thing he’s held back for so long. “Leave with me. We can disappear. We can be free of all of this.”

You stare at him, your heart racing. The idea, the possibility, is almost too much to bear. To leave everything behind. The war. The kingdom. Your family. The responsibility that’s been drummed into you since birth.

“I can’t,” you whisper. “I have too much to lose.”

His face falls, the lines of frustration deepening around his eyes. “And what about me? What do I lose if you go? What do I lose if I stay and watch you marry him?” His voice cracks, and you can hear the pain in it. “I’ve already lost you before we even had a chance.”

For a moment, the world seems to stand still. The storm inside you swells, and you can’t breathe. You can’t think. All you feel is him—the rawness of his words, the intensity of the emotions flooding through you. He’s right. You’ve already lost him, haven’t you? You’ve already let fate steal away what could have been.

But is it too late to fight for it? Too late to change the course of your future?

You look at Chan, the man who has seen you for who you truly are, and for the first time in days, you make a decision.

“Let’s run,” you say, your voice trembling but certain. “Let’s leave now. Before it’s too late.”

For a second, there’s nothing but silence. Then, he steps closer, his hand finding yours at last. The warmth of his touch is the only thing that matters now, the only thing that feels real.

But as you stand there, the weight of the world still presses down on you. The war is still coming. The kingdom still demands its price.

You stand in front of Chan, the space between you filled with so much unsaid tension it feels like the air itself is charged. His eyes search yours, but there’s something deeper there, something raw, something that neither of you can escape anymore. You’ve been dancing around it for so long, trying to deny it, trying to bury it beneath duty and expectation, but in this moment, all of it fades into nothingness.

The weight of your responsibility, of the future that awaits you, is still there, but it feels distant now. The world feels distant. All that matters is the man standing in front of you.

“What are you going to do?” His voice is low, tight, as though he’s trying to keep himself in control, but you see through it. You see the struggle, the pain, the desire.

“I don't know,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. “I just couldn’t pretend anymore.”

For a moment, his gaze hardens, as if he’s trying to push back the urge to pull you close. He clenches his jaw, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. But even that feels like a battle he’s losing. “You can’t keep doing this, Y/N,” he says, his words heavy with something he can’t name.

“I don’t care,” you reply, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “I can’t marry him. I can’t marry someone I don’t love.”

The silence between you both stretches out, and you can see the internal war raging in him. He looks at you like he’s trying to make a decision he knows he can’t. His eyes flicker between yours, his lips pressed into a thin line.

But then, all at once, the walls he’s built between you both crumble.

He takes a step toward you, his hand reaching for your face with a gentleness that makes your heart race. You don’t step back. Instead, you lean into his touch, your breath catching in your throat as his fingertips brush against your skin, sending a shiver through your entire body.

“Y/N…” His voice is barely a whisper, his breath hot against your lips. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

You can’t answer. You don’t need to. Because in that moment, you both understand.

Without another word, he closes the gap between you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s fierce, desperate, and full of longing. All the frustration, the pain, the want you’ve both been holding back is unleashed in that single moment. His mouth moves against yours with a hunger that takes your breath away, his lips firm yet tender, as if he’s trying to pour all of his feelings into you in that one kiss.

Your hands move instinctively, reaching for his chest, your fingers trembling as you feel the heat of his body under the fabric of his tunic. He responds with equal urgency, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel his heartbeat, wild and erratic beneath your fingertips, mirroring your own.

The kiss deepens, and everything around you fades away. There’s no kingdom, no war, no betrothal. There’s just him. Just you. The taste of him, the feel of him, the way his body presses against yours, is all that matters.

His hands move to your back, drawing you in even closer, as if he can’t get enough of you. His lips trail down to your jaw, his breath coming fast against your skin, and you close your eyes, losing yourself in the sensation of him—of the way he feels so right, so necessary, even in this chaos.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you gasping for breath, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of the kiss. You can’t look away from him. His eyes are dark, heavy with emotion, but there’s something else there too—something dangerous, something reckless.

He speaks your name, his voice hoarse, and you feel it like a plea, a whisper that cuts straight through you.

But it’s too late for words now.

Because this—this kiss—is everything you’ve both been holding back. And you know, deep down, that it’s only the beginning of something neither of you can control.

The room is thick with the heat of your shared breath, the air heavy with desire. You can feel it in the way Chan’s hands tremble as they rest on your back, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress as if he’s trying to anchor himself. Your heart beats faster, the moment suspended in time, neither of you knowing what to do next, or how far you can go before everything unravels.

You both stand there, breathless, bodies so close you can feel the heat radiating off each other. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes closed, as if trying to push back against the overwhelming pull between you. For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence, the tension between you thick and palpable.

He pulls back just slightly, enough to look at you, his eyes dark with emotion. “I want you,” he whispers, his voice strained, rough with need. “But this... we can’t do this. Not now. Not like this.”

The words hit you like a cold wave, crashing over the heat of the moment. You nod, even though every part of you wants to scream, wants to tell him that you don’t care about anything else right now. You only care about him, about this connection, this undeniable chemistry that pulls you closer with every passing second.

But you also know he’s right.

You can’t rush this. You can’t let your emotions drive you into something that will change everything. The kingdom, your duties, the war that’s coming—it’s all too much. You’re standing on the edge of a precipice, and one wrong move could send you both tumbling into a world neither of you can control.

“I know,” you breathe, your voice soft but firm. You reach up, your hand cupping his face, your thumb brushing over the line of his jaw. “I don’t want to lose myself in this moment. I want you, Chan. But... not like this.”

He exhales slowly, as if the weight of those words brings him some sort of relief. His hand moves to yours, his fingers intertwining with yours, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you—no titles, no responsibilities, just two people who have shared something they can’t take back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words sounding like an apology but also like a promise. “I can’t... I can’t let this be something we regret. Not now.”

The honesty in his voice makes something inside you ache, a longing that feels both impossible and necessary. You want to press forward, to let your instincts take control, to let the walls you’ve built come crashing down. But deep down, you know he’s right. This isn’t the right time, and neither of you is in a place to surrender completely.

You nod again, your fingers tightening around his. “I know,” you repeat, though the words taste bittersweet on your tongue.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The silence between you feels heavy, but it’s also peaceful in a way—like a quiet understanding has settled between you. You’re not ready for this step, not with everything hanging over you. And yet, there’s a sense of something deeper, something that tells you this is just the beginning.

Chan’s gaze softens as he looks at you, and he leans in to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. His lips linger there, warm and tender, like a promise of things yet to come.

“We’ll have our time,” he murmurs, his breath against your skin making your heart skip. “But not now. Not when the world’s about to fall apart.”

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his touch ground you, as the reality of everything sinks in again—the war, your betrothal, the kingdom. But there’s something else there too. A spark. A connection that you can’t ignore, no matter how much the world tries to pull you apart.

Chan pulls back slightly, his hands still on your waist, but there’s a gentle, almost comforting distance between you now. The tension, while still present, feels more manageable—more like something you can handle together, without giving in to the heat of the moment.

You stand there, wrapped in the quiet of the room, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the air. Chan’s touch lingers on your waist, warm and grounding, but the space between you has shifted. There’s a subtle tension now, the kind that isn’t immediately uncomfortable, but you both know it’s there—waiting, simmering beneath the surface.

His fingers gently trace along your arm, and you shiver at the contact, the sensation sparking a desire you can’t ignore. But you don’t move away. You don’t want to. The simple act of being close to him, without the urgency of the moment, feels like a small victory.

"I’m sorry," he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t mean to... push things. But I don’t want to hurt you."

You tilt your head back, meeting his eyes. There’s a depth in them, something vulnerable, and you can see how much he’s holding back, the same way you are. You reach up, brushing your fingers lightly against his cheek, soothing the tension you feel radiating off him.

“You haven’t,” you reply softly. “I don’t regret it. I just... I don’t want this to be a mistake. I don’t want either of us to do something we’ll regret.”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable, and he leans in, just close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “I don’t want to regret it either,” he admits, the words laced with sincerity. “But I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N. This isn’t just about us. It’s about everything.”

You know exactly what he means—the kingdom, the future that’s already written for you, the war brewing in the distance. The stakes are high, and neither of you can afford to make a decision based on something so fleeting, something so dangerous.

“I know,” you whisper, closing your eyes as his words settle deep in your chest. You lean into his touch again, just for a moment, the connection between you undeniable, despite the distance you’ve created between your bodies. “But it doesn’t mean we can’t have something real. Something that’s just ours.”

For a second, Chan hesitates, as if considering your words, weighing them against the gravity of everything. He’s not a man who takes risks lightly—especially not with his duty, his honor, and certainly not with you.

But then, slowly, he nods. “Something real,” he echoes, as if testing the idea. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

The promise in his words stirs something inside you, a flicker of hope you can’t quite snuff out. Even in the chaos that awaits, even with all the obstacles that stand in your way, there’s something beautiful about the thought of finding something real with him—something that isn’t dictated by kingdoms or political alliances. Something that’s yours alone.

His hand slides down to yours, intertwining your fingers. The simple act grounds you, reminds you that no matter what happens, you aren’t alone in this. You have him. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to keep you from drowning in the storm that’s approaching.

But then the door creaks open, and the world outside the room comes rushing back in. The sudden intrusion is like a cold bucket of water, dousing the warmth that had settled between you both.

A voice calls from the hallway, firm, urgent. “Your Highness, the king requests your presence.”

You exchange a glance with Chan, and for a brief moment, neither of you speaks. You both know that the real world—the one that demands sacrifices and decisions you’re not ready to make—has come knocking again.

Chan releases your hand gently, but his gaze doesn’t leave yours. “We’ll talk again, Y/N,” he says, his voice steady, though you can hear the tension still lingering beneath the surface.

You nod, unable to find the right words. The knot in your chest tightens as you turn toward the door, the weight of your future pressing down on you with every step. But as you reach for the door, you pause, glancing back at him.

For a brief moment, the world seems to disappear. The war, the betrothal, the responsibilities—it all fades into the background. There’s only you and Chan, and for the first time in a long time, you wonder if maybe there’s a chance. A chance to change everything.

“I’ll be back,” you whisper.

Chan’s eyes soften, and he nods, though the uncertainty remains in his gaze. “I’ll be waiting.”

And with that, you step out of the room, back into the world that is pulling you away from everything you’ve ever wanted. But as the door closes behind you, you can still feel the warmth of his touch, the weight of his words, lingering in the air.

The night was unusually quiet, a stillness that hung heavy in the air, as though the castle itself was holding its breath. You had just finished your meeting with the king regarding the wedding that was taking tomorrow and had retired to your chambers. It felt as of the weight of the world pressing down on you with every step. The walls felt closer tonight, suffocating in their coldness, and the thought of tomorrow—of your arrangement with Prince Taeyong—gnawed at your insides.

But you had little time to think on it. The gentle knock at your door broke the silence, and you glanced up, a frown forming as you reached for the door.

"Who is it?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the stillness that had settled in your mind.

"It’s just me, Your Highness," came a soft, familiar voice. One of the guards, surely. "We’ve been instructed to make sure you’re safe tonight, due to reports of enemy activity near the borders."

You hesitated for a moment before slowly opening the door. "Very well," you murmured, stepping aside to let the guard in. The man was tall, his face obscured by the hood of his cloak. Two other guards stood behind him, equally cloaked in shadow.

Something about the scene felt off, but the exhaustion in your bones made you dismiss the unease. You were about to turn back to your room when the guard at the door stepped inside, closing it behind him with a subtle, almost imperceptible motion.

The moment the door clicked shut, a wave of panic surged through you. You didn’t have time to react before the guard at the door lunged toward you. His hands were quick, too quick, and before you could make a sound, he clamped a hand over your mouth, stifling any cry for help.

Your heart raced as the two other guards advanced, their hands grabbing you with ruthless efficiency. One of them yanked your arms behind your back, and you struggled, but their grip was too strong. The familiar scent of the castle’s stone walls and polished wood began to fade as you were dragged toward the hallway. Your mind raced, trying to piece together the situation.

Why were they here? What were they after?

Your breath quickened, panic rising in your chest, and just as you opened your mouth to scream, the guard’s hand tightened around your throat, cutting off the sound before it could escape.

"Quiet," he hissed in your ear. His voice was cold, foreign—unfamiliar. "We don’t want to hurt you, Princess. But we will if we have to."

The world blurred around you as they moved swiftly through the castle, past hallways and stairwells you knew too well, but they weren’t taking you in the direction of the exit. They weren’t leading you anywhere familiar. The unfamiliar chill of dread crept through your veins as you realized this was no routine guard shift. Something far more sinister was happening.

Minutes later, you were thrown into a dark, cold room, the door slamming shut behind you with a deafening clang. You stumbled back to your feet, your mind racing. What was happening? Why you? Why now?

Your eyes darted around the darkened space. The only light came from a flickering torch mounted on the wall. You couldn’t see much, but you could hear the echo of footsteps approaching.

"Who are you?" you demanded, your voice shaking with the adrenaline that coursed through you. "Why are you doing this?"

The man who stepped into the light was no stranger. The figure was tall, with dark, sharp features that sent a chill down your spine. His eyes gleamed with a cold, calculating light. Surprisingly, he was dressed in the colors of your ally—the banner of the Northern Kingdom—a kingdom that had been a sworn friend of your father's for years.

But it wasn’t the man’s face that sent the real terror surging through you. It was the realization that the man before you was not just any soldier, not just another commander.

It was Lord Hwang.

Your breath caught in your throat, your mind scrambling for clarity. "No... it can’t be... you?"

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, so you recognize me." His voice was smooth, laced with a bitterness that sent a shiver down your spine. "I must admit, I was hoping you wouldn't."

You took a step back, your eyes wide with disbelief. "What is this? Why—why are you doing this? You’re one of my father’s allies. You’re supposed to be—"

"An ally?" Hwang interrupted, his voice hard, mocking. "Your father and I have been playing this game for years, Princess. You think I’m just another soldier, just another face in his ranks? No." He chuckled, the sound dark and chilling. "I’ve been playing my own game all along."

The room felt smaller, the walls closing in as his words hit you like a cold wave.

"But you... you’ve been helping us," you whispered, your voice shaking. "You’ve been on our side."

"On your side?" he scoffed. "You’ve always been a pawn in this game, Y/N. A princess. A bargaining chip. And I’ve been here, waiting for the right moment to take what’s mine." He stepped closer, the smirk still tugging at the corners of his mouth, but there was something colder in his eyes now—something far darker. "Your father never knew. But I’ve had my sights set on this kingdom for a long time."

A sickening realization washed over you, and the room spun as you tried to process the words. "You... you’ve been behind the attacks? The sabotage? The uprisings?"

Hwang’s smile widened. "You’re smarter than you look, Princess. Yes, it’s all been me. The raids on the border. The attacks. I’ve been carefully orchestrating everything. All to bring your kingdom to its knees."

Your chest tightened, a sick knot forming in your stomach. "But... why? Why do this? Why to me?"

He leaned in closer, his face now inches from yours, his cold breath ghosting against your skin. "Because, Y/N," he whispered, his voice turning from mocking to something darker, "I want everything. And I will have it all—your kingdom, your throne... and you."

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest as his words washed over you. Betrayal. The taste of it was bitter on your tongue. You had trusted him. Believed him. And now, he stood before you, revealing the truth.

"You’ll regret this," you spat, summoning every ounce of defiance you had left, even as fear crept in around the edges. "This isn’t over."

Hwang’s eyes glinted with amusement. "Oh, Princess, the only thing that’s over is your kingdom’s future. And if you’re smart, you’ll stay quiet. Because what’s coming next... is far worse than you can imagine."

With those words, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving you alone in the darkness, your mind racing, your thoughts spinning as the reality of the betrayal settled over you.

Lord Hwang wasn’t just a traitor.

He was the one who would destroy everything you had ever known.

The sound of the heavy door slamming shut echoed through the room, leaving you in a suffocating silence. Your mind raced, struggling to process everything Hwang had just revealed. You felt the weight of his betrayal like a crushing weight on your chest.

He was behind it all. Every attack, every raid, every plot against your kingdom... it was him.

The reality of the situation sank in, suffocating you. You had trusted him, believed him to be an ally, a friend, and now... now he had used you, manipulated you, and betrayed everything you held dear. The anger boiled within you, mixing with the fear and confusion that still clouded your thoughts.

You tried to steady your breathing, fighting back the wave of panic rising in your chest. You couldn’t let him see how vulnerable you were. You couldn’t let him know how much this hurt. Not yet. Not when you still had a chance to fight back.

But the more you thought about it, the more helpless you felt. You were locked in this cold, unfamiliar room, a prisoner in your own kingdom, and Lord Hwang had orchestrated it all. Your mind raced, trying to think of any possible way out of this, any way to warn your father, your people.

No, I can’t let him win.

With determination burning in your veins, you pushed aside the fear that threatened to overwhelm you. You scanned the room, looking for anything—anything that might help you escape, any sign of weakness in the carefully laid plans of your captors. But there was nothing. The stone walls were unyielding, and the heavy door was locked tight. You were trapped, and the cold realization of that truth made your heart sink.

A faint noise from outside the room made you freeze. Footsteps. Someone was coming. Your heart began to race again, the adrenaline coursing through you as you tried to prepare yourself for whatever was next. Were they coming to interrogate you? To silence you?

The door creaked open slowly, and a figure stepped into the dimly lit room. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a brief moment, you thought it might be Hwang again, or perhaps one of his men, here to finish what he had started.

But then you saw the figure more clearly, and your stomach churned.

It was Taeyong—the very man you had been betrothed to.

But he wasn’t here to comfort you or offer assurances. His eyes were cold, distant, and when he spoke, it was with the same chilling tone you had heard from your enemies.

"Y/N," Taeyong’s voice was low, almost amused, as he stepped closer to where you were seated. "I see you’ve finally figured it out."

You stood up from where you had been sitting, your pulse quickening. “You... you knew about this? You knew what Lord Hwang was planning?”

A wicked smile curled on Taeyong's lips. "Of course, I knew. I’ve been a part of it all along. I had to make sure the marriage between our kingdoms went smoothly, after all."

Your eyes widened in shock. “You—you're working with him? You betrayed me too?”

The man's laugh was cold, cruel, as if your shock amused him. "I didn’t betray you, princess. I did what was necessary. This war, our alliance, it’s all a game. You’re just a piece I needed to move into place. Nothing more."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. "I was never anything to you, was I?" you whispered, the bitterness rising in your throat.

"Exactly," he said flatly. "You’re nothing but a tool. A way to unite our forces. Your kingdom was never important to me. Just the power it could bring."

Fury bubbled inside you, but you held it back, the realization sinking in even deeper. "So, everything... everything was a lie?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and anger.

He stepped closer, his expression darkening. "Don’t be naïve, Y/N. The sooner you accept the reality, the better."

You stood straighter, refusing to let him see how much his betrayal affected you. "You think I’ll just sit here and accept this? That I’ll just let you destroy everything I’ve ever known?"

"Try and stop it," Taeyong said with a smirk, turning to leave. "It’s already too late."

With that, he disappeared through the door, leaving you standing there alone again. Your heart felt as though it had been ripped from your chest. Both Hwang and Taeyong —the two men who had been so close to your father, so trusted—had betrayed you.

But you weren’t going to let this be the end. You would find a way to stop them. You would find a way to escape this.

For now, though, the cold stone walls of your prison mocked you, and you were left with only one thing: determination.

You would fight.

The door slammed shut behind Taeyong, leaving you alone in the cold, dimly lit room once more. Your thoughts were a whirlwind, crashing together in a haze of anger, disbelief, and a growing sense of urgency. You could barely process the depth of the betrayal, but the fire in your chest refused to be extinguished.

I will not be their pawn.

Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms as the weight of the situation settled in. You knew you couldn’t stay here—physically trapped, yes, but also mentally chained by the lies and manipulations. The more you thought about it, the more everything clicked into place. The subtle manipulation by Lord Hwang, the way Taeyong seemed too eager to go along with the marriage. It had all been a set-up, and you had been a fool to trust either of them.

But no longer. You would find a way to turn this around. You had to.

The first step was getting out of this room.

You quickly scanned your surroundings once more, looking for any weaknesses, any way to escape. There was a small, barred window, too high to reach unless you could climb. The stone walls were unyielding, and the door was locked tight, but you had something they didn’t know about—you had your wits.

You moved to the far corner of the room, crouching down and running your fingers along the stone floor, searching for anything useful. After what felt like an eternity, you found it—a thin crack in the corner near the baseboard. It wasn’t much, but it could be just enough. You pressed your fingers into it, carefully prying at the stone until you heard a faint, satisfying click. The stone moved slightly, revealing a small hidden compartment.

Your heart raced as you knelt down and peered inside. There, buried beneath the dust and grime, was a small but sharp piece of metal—likely left there by someone who had been locked away before you. You grabbed it quickly, testing its weight in your hand. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

With a sharp breath, you stood up and pressed the metal against the lock on the door, feeling the small edges scrape against the mechanism. It wasn’t easy work, but you were determined. You knew that every second counted. You had no idea when they would return, and when they did, you couldn’t be here, couldn’t let them catch you off guard again.

Minutes passed like hours, the sound of your breath the only noise filling the otherwise silent room. The metal bit into the lock, and with a sudden, sharp click, the door opened just enough for you to slip through.

The hallway beyond was dimly lit, and the shadows seemed to mock your every step. You hesitated, listening for any signs of movement. Nothing. The silence was oppressive, but it gave you a brief moment of hope. You could still make it out of the castle. You could still escape.

As you crept down the narrow passageway, your mind raced with the possibility of confronting your father—of finally telling him the truth. Or perhaps you could warn your people, rally them before Taeyong’s plan unfolded fully. But you had to get out first. You had to—

Stop.

A noise from further down the hallway froze you in your tracks. A group of soldiers, their armor clanking lightly, appeared at the far end of the corridor. You stepped back into the shadows, pressing yourself against the stone wall and holding your breath. Your heart beat loudly in your chest, and you cursed silently. It was too soon. They were already here.

You waited for them to pass, but just as you were about to move again, a voice cut through the silence.

"Looking for something?"

Your blood ran cold, and you froze. The voice—low, calm, but laced with something far darker—was unmistakable. You slowly turned, dread sinking in as you came face to face with Taeyong.

He stood at the other end of the hallway, his arms crossed, his eyes piercing through the shadows like a predator watching its prey. His expression was unreadable, but there was a glint in his eyes that made your stomach churn.

"You…" you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, but the weight of his presence was crushing. "You knew I would escape. This was all part of your plan, wasn’t it?"

He smirked, a cruel, cold smile that sent a shiver through your spine. "I always knew you were clever, Princess. You’re not as naive as you look. But you’re still too late." He stepped forward, his boots echoing against the stone. "You shouldn’t have come here. You should’ve stayed in your room, stayed where I put you."

Your pulse quickened. "You’ve been playing me from the start," you said, your voice shaking but growing stronger. "All of it—every attack, every betrayal—it was you. It was always you."

His eyes gleamed with a cold, cruel satisfaction. "You were never going to win this game, Y/N. Not with me in it. I’ve been pulling the strings the entire time. I don’t need you to understand. I just need you to accept it."

The finality of his words hit you like a slap to the face. This was it. He was the one who had orchestrated everything, and now he was standing before you, closing in with every word he spoke.

"You won’t get away with this," you said through gritted teeth, your body trembling with the need to run, to fight, to do anything but stand here helpless.

He chuckled, taking another step toward you. "Oh, but I already have. You’re already lost. This is just the beginning."

Before you could react, the sound of footsteps echoed from the other end of the hall. A group of soldiers appeared, forming a barrier around you. They were quick, efficient, and had you surrounded within seconds. You were trapped once again.

Taeyong’s smirk widened as he stood just out of reach, his eyes cold and unyielding. "Get her back to her cell," he ordered the soldiers. "We’re not done yet."

Your chest tightened as the soldiers moved to grab you. You fought back, struggling against their grip, but it was futile. They overpowered you with ease, dragging you away from the one moment of freedom you had tasted.

Taeyong’s voice echoed in the distance as they pulled you back toward the dungeon. "You’re mine now, Princess. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it."

Your heart hammered in your chest as the soldiers dragged you through the cold, dimly lit hallways. The sound of their heavy footsteps echoed in your ears, each step a reminder that you were no longer in control. Taeyong’s words, chilling and final, echoed in your mind.

You’re mine now, Princess.

A surge of panic threatened to overwhelm you, but you pushed it down, clinging to the only thing that still gave you hope—your resolve. You would not let this be the end. You couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after what you had learned.

They shoved you into the dungeon, the cold air biting at your skin. The stone walls were rough and damp, the scent of mildew and old stone filling your nose. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness, taking in the familiar, grim surroundings. The cell. The one place you had always feared, and now, here you were again—only this time, you knew you had to escape.

The soldiers didn’t waste any time. They shoved you inside a small, isolated cell, locking the iron bars behind you with a harsh clink. The cold metal of the bars pressed against your skin, and for a brief moment, you let yourself lean against them, your breath shaky. You couldn’t afford to lose yourself here, not when you were so close to everything unraveling.

You straightened up quickly, your mind already working on your next move. Escape. You had to get out. No matter what it took.

A low voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Princess?” asked a voice from the shadows of the cell next to yours. You turned sharply, eyes scanning the darkness until a familiar face emerged. The figure stepped closer to the bars, revealing the sharp, worried features of the man you loved.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him. “Chan…”

Your heart pounded as you stared at the beautiful man through the bars, the realization of everything that had just transpired still fresh and raw. His brown eyes met yours, filled with concern, but also a hint of something deeper, something unsaid between you.

"I couldn't let them take you," Chan whispered, his voice strained with emotion. He stepped closer to the bars separating you, his gaze never leaving yours. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I should've seen it coming, should've protected you."

You swallowed hard, the weight of everything pressing down on you. "He... he played me, Chan. He played us both." Your voice shook with a mix of anger and disbelief.

Chan's jaw tightened, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The tension between you was palpable, thick with unspoken words and the silent acknowledgment of everything you'd both lost. Then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed the bars in front of him, his grip tight, his body tense with frustration.

"I won’t let him win," he said, his voice low but firm.

Before you could respond, he stepped closer again, and your breath caught in your throat as his hand brushed the side of your face. His touch was gentle, but it sparked something inside of you—a feeling that had been buried under all the chaos. He was close enough now that you could feel his warmth, the steady rhythm of his breath, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

"I’ve been such an idiot," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper, his forehead resting against the bars. "I should’ve known. I should've been there for you."

Your heart ached, but the ache was mixed with something else—desire, longing. Without thinking, you reached through the bars, your fingers trembling slightly as you touched his hand.

"Chan..." you whispered, your voice faltering. "I need you."

The words hung between you like a delicate thread, and before either of you could speak again, his lips were on yours, soft and urgent. The kiss was a spark, igniting everything that had been simmering beneath the surface. His lips moved against yours with an intensity that left you breathless, his hand sliding around to your neck, pulling you closer.

Your body responded instinctively, your hands reaching through the bars, grabbing onto the front of his tunic, desperate to feel him closer. The kiss deepened, and you felt every inch of tension in your body dissolve, replaced by a burning need.

His lips tasted of the bitterness of everything he’d been through, but there was also a sweetness there—something you couldn’t ignore, something you both had been holding back for far too long. The kiss was filled with a mixture of desperation, regret, and longing, as if the world outside the dungeon no longer existed, and all that mattered was the connection you shared.

Finally, you pulled back, your breath coming in ragged gasps, and looked into his eyes. For a brief moment, you forgot everything—the betrayal, the war, the impending danger. It was just the two of you in this moment, and nothing else seemed to matter.

"Chan..." You could barely form the words, your voice hoarse. "What do we do now?"

He kissed you again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if trying to savor the feeling of you against him. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky. "We fight, Y/N. We fight for this. We fight for each other."

The air in the dungeon was thick with the weight of your emotions, the kiss still lingering on your lips. It felt like a moment suspended in time, like something you both had been waiting for but never quite knew how to reach.

Chan’s hand lingered on your shoulder as he stepped back, his gaze intense but full of resolve. "We can’t stay here. Not like this." His voice was low, a barely controlled urgency in his words. He glanced around quickly, making sure no guards were in sight, before moving back to the bars. "I’ll get us out of here. I know a way."

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, not only from the intensity of what had just passed between you but from the terrifying reality of what lay ahead. The escape. The unknown.

Chan moved swiftly, eyes scanning the dungeon once again before his gaze settled on the small window in the far corner of the cell. It was barely big enough to fit through, but it was a possible escape route—a plan he had thought of long before, and one that now seemed like their only chance. His hands moved deftly, inspecting the stone around the window. "We’ll need to act quickly," he murmured, almost to himself. "I can make it work. But you need to trust me."

"I do," you said, stepping closer to him. The words came easily, almost instinctively. The trust between you had grown in the quiet moments, in the stolen glances, in the fleeting touches. And now, in the desperation of your situation, it was stronger than ever. "Let’s go."

Chan’s expression softened as he turned back to you, the briefest flicker of warmth in his eyes before the soldier in him took over once more. "I’ll get the guards distracted. You stay low. When I say go, you make your move."

With that, he disappeared into the shadows, moving like a whisper through the darkness. You were left standing alone in the small, cold cell, your pulse thundering in your ears. Your eyes darted around, every sound amplified in the silence.

The minutes felt like hours.

Finally, a loud clanging sound broke the quiet—a door opening. A guard’s voice rang out, shouting for the other soldiers to follow him. You could hear the scramble of boots on stone, and your heart raced with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

Now.

You pushed yourself up against the cold bars of the cell, moving quickly but silently as Chan had instructed. The guards’ voices grew distant, and your breath caught in your throat as you slipped through the small gap where the bars had been loosened. You were free.

With your heart pounding in your chest, you followed Chan’s silent instructions as he led you through hidden passageways beneath the castle. Every step felt like a risk, every breath like a gamble, but you didn’t hesitate. You couldn’t. Not when there was a chance—however small—of escaping everything that had entangled you.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally emerged into the cool night air. The stars above were faint behind the clouds, the moon casting a soft, silvery glow over the landscape. Chan’s hand was firm in yours as he led you across the grounds, away from the looming castle walls and into the woods that bordered the kingdom.

"There’s a caretaker’s cabin up ahead," Chan said, his voice steady but quick, a sense of urgency in his words. "It’s hidden well. We’ll be safe there for a while."

You nodded, your mind spinning as you followed him through the darkened woods. The sounds of the forest filled the air—the rustling of leaves, the distant chirping of nocturnal creatures. It was peaceful here, so different from the chaos you’d just left behind.

After what seemed like hours, you finally reached a small, humble cabin nestled between the trees. It was quaint, with a thatched roof and wooden walls that looked weathered but sturdy. It felt like a world away from the palace—away from the plots and the battles that awaited you.

Chan opened the door slowly, his eyes scanning the inside before he ushered you in. The cabin was simple but warm, a fireplace crackling softly in the corner. A small bed sat against the wall, and a few basic chairs were scattered around the room. It was the kind of place where you could breathe, where you could rest, where you could pretend for a moment that nothing had changed.

Chan closed the door behind you, the weight of your escape finally starting to sink in. You were safe. For now.

You looked at him, your chest tight with a thousand emotions. "We did it," you whispered.

He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he moved toward the fireplace, letting himself drown in his thoughts. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the strain of the day’s events weighing heavily on him. Finally, he turned toward you, his eyes soft but filled with something deeper.

"You’re safe now," he said, his voice quiet, almost like a promise.

Your chest tightened as you stepped closer to him, your fingers brushing against his. "And what now, Chan?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "What happens next?"

He met your gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, his lips curved into a slight smile, the first real smile you’d seen from him since everything started. "Now, we survive. We stay hidden. We plan our next move."

You nodded, but there was a weight in your heart. The war, the betrayals, everything was still out there. But in this moment, with him by your side, it felt like you could breathe for the first time in a long while.

For the first few hours at the cabin, you focused on survival—finding stored food, gathering firewood, and securing what little comfort you could. After a quick meal and a roaring fire, a new dilemma presented itself.

"Take the bed, Princess," Chan said, gesturing to the lone cot in the corner. "I don’t mind."

You glanced at him, weighing the offer before shaking your head. "It’s not that small. We can both fit."

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, relenting with a small nod. Turning away, he gave you privacy to change out of your gown and into an oversized tunic you had found. The moment your body hit the cot, exhaustion settled in, the aches of the day momentarily soothed by the minimal comfort it offered.

Chan, meanwhile, undid his boots and then his tunic. You looked up at the wrong—or perhaps right—moment, catching his gaze just as he wiggled his eyebrows.

"Enjoying the view, Princess?"

Heat crept up your neck. You buried your face in the pillow, praying he wouldn’t see the flush on your cheeks. But of course, he did.

With a chuckle, he climbed onto the cot beside you. You shifted slightly, offering him what little extra space you could. With a tired sigh, he pulled the blanket over your shoulders, his warmth settling beside you.

You turned to face him just as he closed his eyes. "Thank you."

He cracked one eye open, brow furrowing. "For what?"

"For saving me."

A small smile tugged at his lips, dimples appearing. "Of course, m’lady."

Then, before you could think twice, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips, his hand cupping your cheek. You melted into him, fingers threading through his curls as the kiss deepened. The tension, the desperation of the past hours—gone, lost to this moment. For now, it was just the two of you.

When you finally broke apart, you shifted onto his lap. Chan’s grin widened as he steadied you, fingers pressing into your hips.

"Desperate, are we, Princess?"

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up."

His hands tightened slightly around your waist as you settled your palms against his broad shoulders, your heart pounding in time with the flickering firelight.

He held your gaze for a lingering moment before crashing his lips onto yours, the sudden force making you gasp against his mouth. This time, there was no hesitation—just raw intensity. His hands roamed your waist, tracing firm, possessive lines down to your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as if grounding himself in the moment. You tangled your fingers in his curls, giving a gentle tug, and the deep, guttural groan he let out sent a shiver down your spine.

"Chan," you breathed between heated kisses, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Chan..."

He pulled away just enough to look at you, his lips brushing against your jaw. "Yes?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as warmth crept up your neck. You swallowed, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze.

"I—I haven’t really... done this before."

His expression softened instantly, the fire in his eyes flickering with something deeper—understanding, patience. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your flushed skin. "Then we'll go slow," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Only what you're comfortable with, Princess."

As the night stretched on, Chan remained true to his word, never pushing or pressuring you beyond what you were comfortable with. His touches stayed feather-light, his kisses never straying from your lips or jaw unless you guided him elsewhere, letting you set the pace.

Heat pooled low in your stomach as your hips began to rock against his, a slow, teasing rhythm that he matched effortlessly. You could feel him hardening beneath you, the evidence of his arousal pressing against your core through the thin fabric of his trousers. The low, needy groan that left his lips sent sparks of electricity arcing through your veins, igniting a fire deep within you.

"Princess," he whispered hotly against your ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin there, sending delicious shivers down your spine. "You're making it quite difficult to behave myself."

Embarrassment flooded through you at his words, heat rising to your cheeks, but it was quickly chased away by a wave of red-hot desire. You rolled your hips again, reveling in the way his fingers tightened on your waist, digging into your soft flesh as if trying to ground himself in the moment.

"I don't want you to behave," you murmured, feeling bold and brazen under his heated gaze.

His eyes flashed at your words, darkening with a sudden intensity that sent a thrill through you. He captured your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue tangling with yours, exploring every inch of your mouth as if trying to memorize your taste. Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more.

But suddenly, even the thin fabric of your clothes felt too much, too heavy and confining against your oversensitive skin. You pulled away just long enough to yank the tunic over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought, leaving you completely bare before him.

His eyes darkened even further as they raked over your naked body, taking in every curve and plane with a hunger that bordered on reverence. He reached up, cupping your breast in his calloused palm, his thumb circling your nipple teasingly. You gasped at the touch, electricity arcing from your chest straight down to your core, hips bucking involuntarily as you arched into his hand, silently begging for more.

"Chan," you whimpered, frustration and need mixing together as his touch continued to tease, to dance along the edges of what you really wanted. "Please."

He chuckled against your skin, the sound low and rich and full of dark promise, sending shivers down your spine. "Please, what?" he murmured, lips brushing against your throat, breath hot against the damp skin there.

"Touch me," you demanded, grinding your hips harder against his erection, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your veins. "I need—"

But before you could finish, his hands were already moving, one slipping between your bodies to stroke at your most sensitive spot. You cried out, hips bucking wildly as he circled your clit with the pad of his thumb, the calloused skin providing just the right amount of friction. His teeth grazed against your neck, sucking bruises into your skin as you writhed against him, desperate for more, for everything he could give you.

"Is this what you need, Princess?" he murmured, lips moving against your throat, tongue darting out to soothe the sting of his bites. "You need me to make you fall apart on my fingers?"

You could only nod frantically, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, a spring wound too tight, ready to snap at any moment. He kept stroking, adjusting his pace to match the desperate rock of your hips, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with every brush of his thumb, every roll of his hips against yours.

And when his teeth sank into your neck, just hard enough to sting, just hard enough to send you tumbling over the edge, you shattered apart, crying out his name like a prayer as ecstasy crashed over you, wave after wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure pulsing through your veins.

Afterwards, you collapsed against him, boneless and spent, your body trembling with aftershocks as you struggled to catch your breath. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he pressed gentle kisses to your hair, your temple, anywhere he could reach.

"Chan," you whispered, your voice tremulous with want. "I need more. I want to feel you inside me – all of you."

His gaze darkened with desire, understanding your meaning instantly. With a soft groan, he shifted, removing his trousers so that there were no barriers between you. Your eyes roamed over his nude form, drinking in the planes and angles of his body, the mix of strength and vulnerability in his bare skin.

Gently, he eased you onto your back on the narrow cot, settling himself over you, his body a warm, welcome weight. His hardness brushed against your slick folds, and you shuddered at the contact, your hips rising to meet him instinctively. "Are you certain?" he rasped, even as his body shook with the effort of holding back.

In answer, you reached down between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance, your intent clear. "Please, Chan. I need you. I'm ready."

With a shuddering breath, he began to press into you slowly, with exquisite care. You gasped at the initial stretch, your body adjusting to accommodate him, the unfamiliar sensation of being filled, completed. Inch by tantalizing inch, he sheathed himself within you, until at last, you were joined completely.

For a long moment, he held himself still, buried to the hilt inside you, allowing you time to adjust. He kissed you deeply, a tangle of tongues and teeth, before he began to move, setting a slow, rolling pace. Pleasure built between you with each glide, each rocking thrust, an inferno of sensation. Your legs wound around his hips, heels digging into his lower back, urging him impossibly deeper.

"Princess," he groaned against your lips, "you feel incredible. I've never...I can't..." He trailed off with a shudder, losing himself in the rising tide of passion, unable to form a coherent thought beyond the feel of you gripping him tightly, the perfect slide of your body against his.

You met his movements, angling your hips to take him even deeper, relishing in the incredible fullness, the sweet ache that bordered on pain, your body stretched to its limit. With each stroke, the coil of pleasure in your core wound tighter, bringing you closer and closer to the brink. Your fingernails dug into his back, scoring his skin, urging him on, desperate for the crescendo you could feel building.

His thrusts grew faster, harder, the steady rhythm fracturing into desperate, pounding need. You moved with him, helpless cries spilling from your lips, lost to everything but the slide of his body in yours, the symphony of passion rising between you. At last, with a sharp cry, your climax overtook you, inner muscles clenching around him as ecstasy crashed through you, a tidal wave of sensation that left you breathless.

Feeling you shatter beneath him, your body gripping him like a vice, Chan followed you over the edge with a ragged groan, his hips slamming against yours erratically as he spilled himself deep inside you, filling you with his essence. For a long moment, you clung to each other, chests heaving, skin damp with sweat, as the aftershocks of pleasure slowly faded, leaving you both boneless and sated.

As your breathing gradually steadied, Chan shifted, rolling onto his side and gathering you into his arms. Your head rested against his chest, where the steady thrum of his heartbeat echoed in your ears—a soothing rhythm that seemed to sync with your own. His fingers traced gentle paths through your hair, each touch tender, grounding you in the warmth of his embrace.

"That was... incredible," you murmured, your voice still laced with breathlessness.

A slow smile spread across his lips, his dark eyes soft with both satisfaction and something deeper—something reverent. "You are incredible," he corrected, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. "I've never felt anything like that before."

You nestled closer, your fingers idly drawing lazy patterns over his skin. A deep sense of peace settled over you, a contentment that went beyond mere words. "Neither have I," you admitted, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. "It's like we were made for each other."

His hold on you tightened slightly, his grip firm yet gentle, as if he never wanted to let go. "We were," he murmured with quiet certainty. "And I don’t ever intend on letting you go"

Your breath hitched as you met his gaze, the depth of emotion in his eyes mirroring your own. "You don’t have to," you whispered, the words slipping out like a vow. "I'm yours, Chan. Forever."

A flicker of something intense passed over his features—relief, devotion, love. He tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. This one wasn’t hurried or desperate; it was a promise, a seal on the words you had spoken. A kiss filled with all the love, passion, and unspoken commitments that tethered you to him, now and always.

As your breathing gradually steadied, Chan shifted, rolling onto his side and gathering you into his arms. Your head rested against his chest, where the steady thrum of his heartbeat echoed in your ears—a soothing rhythm that seemed to sync with your own. His fingers traced gentle paths through your hair, each touch tender, grounding you in the warmth of his embrace.

The cabin was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire and the distant sounds of the forest outside. You could still feel the night’s chill clinging to your bare skin as you woke, blinking a few times before you realized that Chan had gotten up.

He stood across the room, hands braced against the wooden table, his head bowed slightly as he took deep breaths. The tension in his shoulders had not eased, and you could see the war waging inside of him. He had fought for you, risked everything to bring you here, but neither of you knew what would come next.

“Chan,” you said softly.

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, he let out a slow exhale before straightening. “I should go check the perimeter. Make sure we weren’t followed.”

“You think Taeyong will send someone after us this quickly?” The question tasted bitter on your tongue.

Chan’s jaw clenched. “If he realizes you’re missing, he won’t rest until you’re back in his grasp. He’s not the type to let go of something he thinks belongs to him.”

A shiver ran through you, though it wasn’t from the cold. “Then we don’t let him find me.”

Chan finally looked at you, his dark eyes filled with something unreadable. “It won’t be that simple, Princess.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. “Then tell me what we do,” you whispered. “Because I can’t—I can’t go back.”

His gaze softened, and before you could say anything more, he was in front of you. His calloused fingers brushed your cheek, the touch grounding you in a way nothing else could. “I won’t let him take you,” he murmured, the promise thick in his voice. “Not now. Not ever.”

Your breath hitched. “Then we fight.”

Chan let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. “It’s not just a fight. It’s a war.”

You knew that. You had known that the moment you realized the man you had been promised to was the one behind your abduction. But the truth didn’t scare you as much as the thought of being trapped again. Of being used as a pawn in a game you never asked to play.

“I’d rather die fighting than go back to him,” you said firmly.

Chan’s expression darkened. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

His hand tightened against your cheek for a moment, his thumb grazing over your skin like he was memorizing the feel of you. Then, with a sharp inhale, he pulled away. “Go back to sleep. I’ll return soon.”

You wanted to argue, wanted to tell him that sleep would not come easy now, but you knew it was useless. Chan was a soldier first, and right now, his instincts told him to protect. To scout the area. To make sure you were safe.

So you let him go.

You watched as he pulled his cloak tighter around himself and slipped out into the night, his silhouette disappearing into the trees. Only then did you let yourself collapse onto the bed again.

As the fire crackled beside you, one thought remained at the forefront of your mind.

Taeyong would come for you.

And you had to be ready.

The hours passed slowly. Every creak of the wooden cabin, every gust of wind outside made your heart lurch in fear. Sleep was impossible. Instead, you lay curled beneath the blanket, staring at the flickering fire, waiting for Chan to return.

When the door finally creaked open, your breath caught. Your fingers gripped the edges of the blanket instinctively, but the tension eased the moment you saw Chan step inside. His hair was damp with sweat, his cloak dusted with dirt and leaves, but his sharp eyes met yours immediately, scanning you like he was making sure you were still safe.

“Nothing,” he muttered, closing the door behind him and bolting it shut. “No signs of anyone tracking us.”

Relief flooded you, but it was short-lived. “That won’t last,” you said quietly. “Taeyong—he’ll come eventually.”

Chan let out a slow breath and tugged off his cloak, tossing it onto the chair. “Yeah. I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders still tight with tension.

You sat up. “Then what do we do?”

Chan hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, his expression unreadable. “First, you rest,” he said, his voice softer now, but firm. “You’re exhausted.”

You shook your head. “So are you.”

He exhaled sharply, then crouched down in front of you. His hands rested on the edge of the blanket, close but not quite touching. “Y/N.” His voice was quieter now, but there was something raw in it, something that made your chest tighten. “I need you to trust me.”

You searched his face, finding nothing but determination and something deeper—something unspoken. “I do.”

His lips parted slightly, as if the words had caught him off guard. His fingers twitched against the fabric, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The fire cast golden light over his face, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw, the intensity of his eyes.

Your heart pounded.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his.

Chan didn’t move away.

Instead, his hand turned, his fingers wrapping around yours. “I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured, like a promise.

You swallowed. “And if they find us?”

His jaw clenched. “Then I’ll fight.”

His grip on your hand tightened, just for a moment, before he let go. “Get some sleep,” he said again, standing up. “I’ll stay up for a while, keep watch.”

You wanted to argue, but the exhaustion in your bones was undeniable. So instead, you nodded, reluctantly lying back down.

As you closed your eyes, you felt Chan sit on the edge of the bed, close but not too close. His presence was steady, grounding.

Soon you were fast asleep, letting the darkness of slumber wash over you.

The night passed in restless fragments. You drifted in and out of sleep, haunted by the echo of Taeyong’s voice in your memories, by the phantom sensation of cold metal shackles around your wrists. Each time you stirred, you felt Chan’s presence nearby—silent, unwavering. He never left the edge of the bed. Even when exhaustion surely clawed at him, he stayed.

By the time the first traces of dawn crept through the cabin’s small window, you turned onto your side, blinking up at him. He was still awake. His posture was tense, his gaze fixed on the dying embers in the fireplace.

"You didn’t sleep," you murmured.

Chan’s lips quirked slightly, but there was no humor in it. "Couldn’t."

You pushed yourself up slowly, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs. "You can’t protect me if you collapse from exhaustion."

His jaw clenched, and he ran a hand down his face. "I’ll rest when we’re safe."

"You always say that," you whispered. "But when will that be? When we’re halfway across the kingdom? When Taeyong’s forces are at the doorstep?" You exhaled, voice growing softer. "You’re not invincible, Chan."

His eyes flickered to yours, something dark and unreadable shifting behind them. "I can’t afford to be anything else right now."

The weight of his words settled between you. You understood—gods, you understood. But it didn’t make it any easier to watch him break himself for your sake.

You hesitated before reaching out, your fingers brushing against his. He stiffened slightly but didn’t pull away.

"Just for a little while," you murmured. "Close your eyes. Let yourself breathe."

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze searched yours, like he was trying to find something—assurance, maybe, or a reason to allow himself this small mercy.

Finally, with a slow, reluctant sigh, he gave in.

"Fine," he muttered, shifting back against the headboard. "But only for a little while."

A small smile ghosted your lips as you laid back down beside him. The space between you was small, but the warmth of his presence was enough. His breathing slowed, his shoulders gradually losing some of their tension.

The peace didn’t last long.

You didn’t know how much time had passed—an hour, maybe two—before a sound outside snapped you both back into reality. A rustling. Faint, but deliberate. The kind of sound that didn’t belong to the wind or the shifting trees.

Chan was already moving before you could react. His body tensed, hand reaching instinctively for the dagger strapped to his belt. He pressed a finger to his lips, signaling you to stay silent. Your heart pounded as you sat up, gripping the blanket like it could somehow ground you.

The rustling came again. Closer this time.

Chan’s eyes darted to the door, then to the small window above the fireplace. His movements were careful, controlled, but you could see it—the flicker of unease in his gaze.

Then, a voice. Low. Muted. Speaking in hushed tones.

Not alone.

Your stomach twisted. Had they found you already? Was it Taeyong’s men? You gripped the sleeve of your tunic with pure fear.

Chan shifted closer to the door, positioning himself between you and whatever was outside. He gripped the dagger tightly, muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike.

Then—

A knock.

Three slow, deliberate taps.

Your breath hitched.

Chan didn’t move, didn’t even breathe.

Then, a voice—gravelly, older, laced with something familiar.

"Open up."

Chan’s eyes narrowed. He hesitated only a second before unbolting the door and pulling it open just enough to see. You couldn’t see who was outside, but Chan’s body relaxed a fraction.

A gruff sigh. "Took you long enough," the voice muttered.

Then the door opened wider, and an older man stepped inside. His beard was streaked with gray, his clothes worn from travel. But his eyes—sharp, assessing—locked onto you immediately.

"So, this is the princess."

You stiffened. Chan stepped slightly in front of you again, his protective instinct flaring. "Not here," he muttered. "Talk inside."

The man gave a curt nod and shut the door behind him. The air in the room shifted, heavy with unspoken tension.

"Who is he?" you finally asked, voice quieter than you intended.

Chan glanced at you, then back at the man. "An old friend."

The man snorted. "That’s one way to put it." His gaze flicked back to you. "And I’m the one who’s gonna make sure you don’t end up back in that bastard prince’s hands."

Your breath caught.

Chan’s grip tightened on the dagger. "You said you had a way out."

The man’s expression darkened. "I do. But it won’t be easy. And if we don’t move fast, you’re as good as caught."

Chan’s posture remained rigid, his eyes locked onto the man with the same guarded intensity he always carried. You knew that look. It meant he was calculating, deciding if he could trust this so-called friend.

You, on the other hand, were still reeling.

"How do you know about Taeyong?" you asked, your voice firmer now, the fear buried beneath your growing anger.

The man turned his sharp gaze on you, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. "You think the world doesn’t know? Word spreads fast when a prince betrays his own kingdom. Taeyong’s been buying loyalty left and right, gathering allies in the shadows. The moment he took you, the balance shifted."

Your stomach twisted. You’d known Taeyong was dangerous, but hearing it spoken so plainly—hearing that his influence reached beyond the castle walls—made it feel even more real.

Chan’s grip tightened around the dagger. "How do we know you’re not one of them?"

The man sighed, rubbing his temples. "Because if I was, you’d be dead already, boy. And the princess would be back in chains." His eyes flicked to you again, softer this time. "I’m here because I owe someone a debt. Someone who would want her safe."

You frowned. "Who?"

The man hesitated for just a moment. Then he said a name you hadn’t expected.

"Your mother."

Your breath caught.

Your mother had died years ago—before Taeyong, before war had ever loomed on the horizon. She had been a queen of grace and wisdom, beloved by the people, and yet her death had always felt… off. A fever, they had said. A sudden illness.

But now, hearing this man speak of her as if she had planned for something beyond the grave—

Your heart pounded. "You knew her?"

The man nodded slowly. "Not well. But well enough to know she saw this coming. She told me if things ever turned, I’d have to make sure her daughter didn’t end up a pawn in someone else’s game."

Your hands clenched in your lap.

Your mother had known.

And she hadn’t told you.

Chan was watching you carefully, his gaze softening just a fraction. You weren’t sure if it was because he saw the turmoil brewing inside you or because he already knew this truth and had been waiting for you to find out.

You took a slow breath, forcing yourself to focus. There would be time for grief later. Right now, survival was the only thing that mattered.

"What’s the plan?" Chan asked, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

The man straightened. "There’s a caravan leaving before sunrise. Merchants, mostly. They don’t ask questions, and they don’t check faces too closely. You slip in with them, make it across the river, and from there, we get you to the rebellion."

Chan tensed beside you. "The rebellion?"

The man smirked. "You think you’re the only ones who want Taeyong gone?"

Your breath came faster. There were people out there fighting against him. People who hadn’t been silenced.

Hope.

It was dangerous, but it was there.

Chan turned to you then, searching your face. "It’s your choice, Y/N."

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the decision settle on your shoulders. Running had never felt like enough, but fighting… fighting was something new.

And maybe it was time.

You met Chan’s eyes and nodded.

"We go."

The man—who still hadn’t given his name—nodded in approval, moving swiftly to the small wooden table near the hearth. He pulled out a rolled-up map from his satchel, flattening it against the surface. The firelight flickered over its surface, casting shadows across the jagged lines marking the kingdom’s borders.

Chan moved closer, standing protectively near you, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. His body was tense, ready for anything.

The man tapped a spot near the eastern river. "The caravan is camped here for the night. They’ll move before dawn. If we reach them in time, we can blend in before the morning checkpoint." His finger traced the route southward. "Once we cross into the borderlands, we break off. The rebellion has outposts in the foothills."

You studied the map, your stomach twisting with nerves. "How do we know they won’t recognize me?"

The man glanced at you, his eyes flicking briefly over your posture, then back to the map. "It’s not about recognition. It’s about being inconspicuous. We’ll keep to the shadows, move quickly, and avoid the main roads. You’ll have to be just another face in the crowd, no different from the many others that pass through the checkpoints."

You frowned, knowing how much effort it would take to mask everything that set you apart. Every detail of your life—every expectation and every burden—had been formed under the spotlight of the royal court. To pretend you were ordinary felt impossible, but survival demanded it.

Chan’s jaw clenched. "We won’t be able to just walk in and out without drawing attention."

The man sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’ve seen the guards at the checkpoint. They’re not looking for anyone in particular. If we move quickly and stay to the back roads, we’ll get through undetected."

You swallowed, your mind racing through the possibilities. "How will we know where to go once we’re past the checkpoint?"

"We’ll stay close, and I’ll guide us from there. You don’t need to worry about the rest." His voice was firm, a reassurance that didn’t quite reach your chest. "Now, let’s prepare."

~~~TIME SKIP~~~

It took you three days to meet up with the rebellion.

The journey had been grueling. Each day felt like it bled into the next, the urgency pressing down on you with every step. Every shadow seemed to hide a threat, and the silence of the wilderness was only broken by the constant rush of your footsteps and the occasional murmur of Chan and the man leading you.

By the time you reached the rebellion’s hideout, you were exhausted, physically and mentally. The exhaustion settled deep into your bones, but you couldn’t allow yourself to relax just yet. Not when the stakes were so high.

The hideout wasn’t much—just an old, decrepit farmhouse hidden deep in the forest. The rebellion's members were holed up here, their movements quiet and calculated. The moment you stepped into the small, dimly lit space, your eyes darted around, taking in the ragtag group of fighters. They looked wary, sizing you up, but there was something else there too. Recognition. The kind that came from desperation, from being on the edge of something bigger than themselves.

"You’re late," a voice cut through the silence.

A tall, lean man stepped forward from the shadows. His eyes were sharp, calculating, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath the hardened exterior.

"We had some... complications," Chan said, his voice tight but steady. "But we made it."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Complications? Such as?"

You tensed, but Chan gave you a brief, reassuring glance, his hand resting subtly on your lower back. He was trying to calm you, to keep you from reacting. The last thing you needed now was for the rebellion to question your loyalty or your intentions.

"We ran into some trouble along the way," Chan continued, his gaze unwavering. "Nothing we couldn't handle."

The man nodded slowly, as though weighing Chan’s words. "And the princess?" His eyes flickered to you, making you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. "I take it she's the reason for the delay."

You straightened, ready to speak, but Chan beat you to it, his tone laced with a warning. "She’s with me. And she’s no less determined than the rest of us."

The man eyed you again, lingering for just a moment longer before he nodded. "Fine. I’ll leave it to you to explain."

He motioned for you to follow him, and you did, Chan at your side as the others parted to let you through. You couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all watching, studying every move you made. And why wouldn’t they? You were no longer the princess. You were an outsider, just another face among them. But they didn’t know who you truly were, not really. And you didn’t know how much longer you could keep up the pretense.

Inside a small, makeshift war room, the leader of the rebellion—whom you hadn’t yet met—stood over a table littered with maps. He didn’t look up as you entered, but the tension in the room grew, a thick silence hanging between you all.

"You made it," the leader said, his voice low and cold. "Now we plan."

Chan leaned in, listening intently as the leader began to outline the next steps, but you found your mind drifting, your thoughts tumbling over one another. You had been living a lie for so long now—pretending to be someone you weren’t, pretending you were just like them. But the rebellion was your only hope now. It was the only chance you had left to survive, and perhaps to find something more than just survival.

Your gaze flickered over to Chan, his face hardened with focus as he listened to the plans. His presence was a constant, a steadying force in the chaos that surrounded you. But even with him by your side, you couldn’t escape the weight of the situation, the constant worry gnawing at you.

"You’re not alone," Chan murmured quietly, just loud enough for you to hear. He hadn’t even turned to look at you, but his words wrapped around you like a protective shield.

You leaned in slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I never thought I’d end up here."

Chan’s hand brushed against yours, a silent reassurance. "You’ll get through this. We all will. Together."

You wanted to believe him, to let the words settle in your chest and replace the fear, but it wasn’t that simple. The rebellion was still a risky gamble, and so many unknowns lay ahead. But for now, you had no choice but to place your trust in them—and in him.

The leader of the rebellion finally looked up, his gaze settling on you. "You’ve been trained in the ways of the court. You know how to play a part. But this is different. The rebellion needs more than just your skills. We need your full commitment. Your life, your safety—it’s not yours anymore. Understand?"

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. It wasn’t just about survival anymore. You were here to fight, to take a stand, and there would be no turning back.

"Good," the leader said, his tone colder than before.

You glanced at Chan, catching the fleeting warmth in his eyes.

The days leading up to the attack on the castle felt like a blur, each one filled with training, planning, and a constant sense of anticipation. The rebellion had gathered their forces, and the tension in the air was palpable. You had taken your place among them, no longer a princess in a palace, but a fighter with everything on the line. But despite the intensity of it all, there was still a sense of unease gnawing at you—a feeling that something wasn’t right.

Chan had been by your side every step of the way, his presence a steadying force. There was no denying the bond that had grown between you both, the unspoken connection that had deepened over the past days. Yet, despite all the closeness, he had kept a certain distance, as if shielding you from the full weight of the battle that was about to unfold.

"Stay behind the lines," Chan had told you more than once, his voice softer than usual, the concern clear in his eyes. "It’s not safe for you out there."

You knew it was a command, not a suggestion, but part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of frustration. You had already proven yourself capable, already fought beside him, and yet, here you were, told to stay back.

"You can’t tell me to just stand by," you’d snapped once, your voice sharp. "This isn’t just your fight, Chan. I’m in this with you. No matter what."

He had said nothing in response, just a flicker of something in his gaze—something unreadable. He was trying to protect you, and for all his strength, his resolve, there was still that vulnerability when it came to you. It made your chest tighten, but you swallowed the feelings down. You couldn’t let them get in the way.

As the first light of dawn crept across the sky, the rebellion gathered in formation. The drums began to sound, signaling the start of the battle. You stood behind the lines, sword in hand, heart pounding as the anticipation grew.

"I’ll be back," Chan said to you, his eyes locked on yours for a beat longer than usual. There was a fleeting tenderness there, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. "Stay safe."

And then, with a final squeeze of your hand, he was gone, charging into the fray with the rest of the rebels. You watched as he disappeared into the chaos, your heart in your throat.

The battle was chaos from the start. The clash of steel, the shouts of men, the roar of battle cries—it was overwhelming. You remained behind the front lines, doing what you could to help where necessary, coordinating the defense, directing others, but every moment you spent away from the fight felt like an eternity.

Then, a shout broke through the noise. A loud, desperate cry that made your blood run cold.

"Chan!" you heard someone yell, the voice panicked.

Your heart skipped, and without thinking, you darted toward the front lines, your feet moving faster than you could process. You knew you shouldn’t be there. You knew it wasn’t safe. But you had to see for yourself.

As you emerged from behind the barricades, you saw him—Chan, bloodied and staggering, a sword wound across his side. His armor was dented, his face set in a grimace of pain, but he was still fighting, still pushing forward, swinging his sword with sheer determination.

You rushed toward him, but someone else got there first. The rebels around him were struggling to keep the enemy at bay, but it wasn’t enough. He was too far from the rest of the forces, and the enemies were closing in.

“Chan!” you shouted again, panic rising in your chest. You pushed your way through the chaos, your heart hammering as you neared him.

He saw you, his expression flickering with something between relief and frustration. “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse, strained, but there was a softness to it—a concern that made you want to scream.

“Chan, you’re hurt!” You reached him, gripping his arm to steady him, your eyes scanning the gash on his side. The blood was flowing too fast.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, but it was clear he wasn’t. “You need to go back—this is too dangerous for you.”

“Not without you.” You refused to leave his side, knowing time was running out.

His hand found yours, his grip weak but insistent. “I’m not going anywhere until we win this,” he said, though his words were laced with pain. The enemy wasn’t stopping.

The battle had shifted again. More reinforcements for the other side. But you couldn’t just leave him, not when he needed you.

“Chan, you’re bleeding—you're not fine!" You pulled him closer to you, desperation taking over. He winced, clearly in more pain than he let on. The sight of him like this twisted something in your chest, the vulnerability of the man who had always been your protector, now so exposed, so human.

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted, though his breath was becoming shallow. "We need to push them back, or we won’t make it."

Your heart was racing, but your mind was focused. "We need to get you out of here first."

A sharp cry came from another soldier, and the pressure of the situation heightened. With the enemy bearing down on them, it was clear you had no time to waste. You gritted your teeth and grabbed Chan’s arm, pulling him toward a small alcove that offered some cover.

"We’ll regroup," you said, though it was more of a prayer than a plan. You didn’t care about the battle right now—just getting him safe.

But before you could do anything more, an explosion rocked the area nearby. The ground trembled beneath your feet, and smoke filled the air. You instinctively pressed yourself against Chan, shielding him as best as you could.

The battle raged on, the sound of weapons clashing and soldiers shouting filling your ears. You had no idea what was happening around you, only that you had to keep moving.

But when you turned to look at Chan, you saw the strain in his eyes, the way his hand weakly held yours, and you knew. This battle wasn’t over, but for him, it was. He was slipping, and fast.

"Stay with me, Chan," you whispered, your voice breaking as you guided him further away from the front lines. "Please."

"I’m here," he whispered back, but it was faint, and you knew the fight in him was dimming. You couldn’t leave him. Not now.

The sound of the battle was fading, but it didn’t matter. You just had to get him to safety.

You refused to let go of Chan’s hand as you dragged him toward the safety of a nearby tent, your heart pounding with every ragged breath he took. His blood was warm against your skin, seeping from the wound in his side at an alarming rate. He was trying to keep himself upright, but you could feel his strength slipping.

“Just a little further,” you urged, voice tight with panic. You weren’t sure if you were saying it to reassure him or yourself.

Chan let out a low groan, his body sagging against yours. “You should’ve stayed back,” he murmured, his voice weaker than you’d ever heard it.

“And let you bleed out on the battlefield?” you snapped, adjusting your grip on his arm. “Not happening.”

Finally, you reached the tent. Two rebel soldiers rushed forward, their expressions morphing into shock when they saw Chan’s condition.

“Get a healer!” you barked at them. One of the soldiers ran off without hesitation, while the other helped you ease Chan down onto a pile of blankets.

Chan hissed as he landed on his back, his hand gripping yours weakly. His face was pale, his forehead slick with sweat, but his gaze remained locked on you. “You shouldn’t see me like this.”

Tears burned the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You shook your head fiercely. “Don’t say that. I’m right where I need to be.”

The flap of the tent burst open, and the healer rushed in, dropping to Chan’s side with practiced efficiency. You scooted back to give them space, your hands shaking as you watched them work.

He was going to be okay. He had to be.

The healer pressed cloth to Chan’s wound, and he tensed, his jaw tightening in pain. His fingers curled into the blankets, a low groan slipping from his lips.

“You’re lucky the blade didn’t go deeper,” the healer muttered, pulling out supplies from their satchel. “But you’ve lost a lot of blood. You need rest.”

Chan huffed out a tired breath. “No time for that,” he mumbled.

You clenched your fists. “You’re not going anywhere until you’ve healed,” you told him firmly. “I don’t care how much you want to throw yourself back into battle.”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk but was too exhausted to do it. “Bossy.”

You let out a shaky laugh, despite the lump in your throat. “Someone has to be, since you clearly have no sense of self-preservation.”

The healer shot you both a look. “If you want him to survive, let me do my job.”

You swallowed hard and nodded, shifting back even further, though you refused to leave the tent.

Chan’s eyes flickered toward you as the medic worked, his gaze softening. “You really aren’t leaving, huh?”

You shook your head. “Not a chance.”

His fingers twitched slightly, and you reached out, lacing them with yours. His grip was weaker than before, but he still held on. Even now, in the middle of a war, with blood staining your hands and chaos raging outside, you knew one thing for certain—

“I love you.” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, but you didn’t regret them. You meant them with every fiber of your being.

Chan’s breath hitched. His hand squeezed yours as tightly as he could manage. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice raw, like he’d been holding it back for too long.

A tear finally escaped down your cheek, but you didn’t care. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I’m going to make sure you’re okay,” you promised.

Chan smiled weakly, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. “With you here… I already am.”

The battlefield was chaos—clashing steel, dying screams, and the thick stench of blood in the air. But despite the wreckage of war, one undeniable truth cut through the carnage: the tide had turned in your favor.

The enemy forces, once ruthless under Lord Hwang's command, were breaking. You could see it in their frantic movements, the way they hesitated before striking. The moment the news spread—Lord Hwang was captured—their will to fight crumbled.

Your father, alongside Taeyong, had fallen in battle, cut down in the very war he had, without realizing it, waged against his own people.

The sight of his lifeless body on the bloodstained field had sent a shiver through you, not of grief, but of finality. His reign had ended not in grandeur, not in control, but in ruin. And now, as the last of his soldiers dropped their weapons, as Taeyong was killed and Hwang was captured, it was truly over.

A sharp cry of victory erupted from your troops. The war—the one that had stolen so much, that had nearly cost you everything—was won.

A strong, familiar hand grasped yours. You turned, breath catching in your throat as Chan stood beside you, blood seeping from a wound in his side, but alive. Alive and standing with you, despite the battle that had nearly torn him from you.

“You’re hurt,” you breathed, your fingers tightening around his.

His lips twitched, exhaustion weighing on his features. “It’ll take more than a battlefield to keep me from you.”

Tears burned at the edges of your vision, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now. You pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath your palm. He had fought for you, bled for you, and yet he was still standing.

Your throat tightened, your heart aching with the weight of everything you had both endured. “I don’t want to lose you again, Chan.”

He exhaled shakily, resting his forehead against yours. “You won’t. I swear it.”

And then, despite the battlefield, despite the onlookers, despite the remnants of war still surrounding you—he kissed you.

It wasn’t a kiss of desperation, or relief. It was a promise.

A promise of forever.

One month had passed since the war ended.

The city, once darkened by the rule of your father, was beginning to heal. The streets bustled with life, no longer weighed down by fear. The people—your people—had chosen you as their queen, and with that came the responsibility of rebuilding everything your father had destroyed.

As you stood in the grand hall of the palace, the air was thick with anticipation. The golden crown rested in the High Councilor’s hands, moments away from being placed upon your head.

You glanced to your side, where Chan stood, dressed in ceremonial attire. His wound had healed, though faint scars remained—a reminder of the battle that had nearly taken him from you. But more than that, it was a reminder of everything he had fought for. Everything you had fought for together.

When the crown was finally placed atop your head, the room erupted into cheers. You weren’t just the daughter of the fallen king. You weren’t just the girl who had once been trapped behind the palace walls.

You were the queen.

Chan’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours as he leaned down slightly, murmuring just for you, “So, how does it feel?”

You turned to him, a smile playing at your lips. “A little less terrifying with you beside me.”

His grip tightened. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The coronation bled into the wedding—two moments intertwined, symbolizing not just the end of an era, but the beginning of something greater.

As you stood before the people, vows exchanged beneath the flickering glow of the palace lanterns, you realized something—this wasn’t just about winning a war. This was about everything that came after. About building something new, something better.

As Chan kissed you before the crowd, sealing your marriage with the weight of love and devotion, you knew one thing for certain.

This was the beginning of forever.

Thank you, dearest readers, for enduring that grammatical mess I call a story. I might make a part 2, depending on how well this does. We'll see. Please like, comment and reblog, thanks :)

***My works are not allowed for translation or reposting as your own without my permission***

like ink on paper, like red wine on white silk ( the taste of honey chapter 4 )

pairing: young aristocrat hyunjin x f!reader | wc: 32.4k | genre: 19th century au, arranged marriage, romance, smut | warnings: period-appropriate themes & customs including sexuality and beliefs ; virgin!reader ; mutual pining ; slow burn ; heavy angst ; anguish and dark thoughts ; view all compiled warnings here. This work is for adult audiences only. This work portrays explicit sexual content and themes & actions that might trigger some, reader discretion is strongly advised. @cb97percent, dearest, this one's for you.

You had seen a tiger only once in your life but it was quite memorable. It might have been domesticated but it was still the largest cat you had ever seen. You wouldn’t forget the look in its eyes as it descended to devour the carcass the circus workers had left for him. A beautiful beast, too thin, locked in a cage. Hyunjin had the same look in his eyes tonight. What a beautiful beast he was, too, only his prison did not have bars. 

The morning of your thirteenth birthday, you found yourself barefoot on the back porch of your family’s villa, throwing nuts on the ground for your favorite squirrel. You liked all the squirrels, of course, but this one had a special place in your heart because its tail was missing. Not only did it stand out, but he was also noticeably less dexterous. He moved slowly and rarely reached the same spots as the others that sometimes roamed the property. 

You named the squirrel Henry. And it wasn’t that big of a deal either. It was just that your family could most definitely spare a few nuts here and there and this tiny rodent could use them. It made you smile, though, to see him and his unusual hopping as you went on your days. It gave you a thing to look forward to—and you had very few of those.

You were nervous that your mother would find you here. Like that. Because of Henry and because of other things, too. At that point, it was the second year he spent around the villa and your mother was well aware that you had taken a liking to him. There were things, like Henry, that she tolerated. The beehives, for example. She let you spend some time every other day with the old beekeeper, Mr. Ito, and you had no idea why. She was so strict and unyielding about everything else that it made no sense to allow you something as beautiful as that. 

Sometimes, you wondered if it was so that you would not hate her. Perhaps she thought that if she let you have the beekeeping and a garden, it would keep you strong for the rest of it. For the endless lessons—etiquette, manners, dance, embroidery, reading, sewing, singing. 

In a couple of years, you’d be learning about politics—a woman, especially not a lady, did not need to be very knowledgeable on the matter, not to the point of forming an opinion about any of it. 

However, she would need to know enough to entertain some conversation with her husband, and maybe even some of his business partners, while the men sat around a table to discuss such things. A lady would not be at her place sitting at the table but she would be expected to make a brief appearance—it gave her husband a good reason to show her off, especially if she made one or two witty remarks and was generous on the wine or liquor they drank. 

Your mother made you write that down. All of her lectures. All of her lessons. She said it made you practice spelling and your calligraphy at once, and that written words are engraved deeper into the memory of girls. In your bedroom there was a large dresser made of cherry wood and one of the drawers was almost full to the brim with sheets of paper. The words your mother made you write down. The standards she expected of you. 

Like, a lady should know better than anybody how to run her house—including her husband. For that, your mother regularly made you join the staff in their chores. You had learned how to wash, dry, and fold laundry. You had learned how to store food, and how to make preserves. More lessons would come. Your middle drawer was full of loose sheets with everything and anything on them. Recipes for soups or cakes or venison. Lists of the best brands of specific products, from cleaning supplies to liquor. Reputable clothing brands. 

There were a few songs among those sheets, too. These, you didn’t mind. You liked music. Out of all the lessons, singing was your favorite one, partially because it bore your mother enough that she never stayed around for the entirety of it. But also, and most importantly, you were good at it, and music made you feel alive. You stood near the piano while your teachers played, and you sang along while working on your pitch. Sometimes, the teachers even let you play a few notes on the piano.

You often sang to the bees. The hives and Mr. Ito were your usual audience, and they were easy to please. You were too young to execute some of the harvesting steps, Mr. Ito said, but you were welcome to watch as closely as you wanted. He said that you enthralled the bees, that they remained calm when you were around.

The morning of your thirteenth birthday, you woke up before the rest of your family, although you could hear the staff already at work. The night before, it had been Lillie, the Head Housekeeper, who put you to bed. Your parents were hosting a big dinner to celebrate your sister’s engagement to the son of a wealthy man and you had to be excused from the festivities due to a stomach ache. So it had been Lillie who put you into your sleeping gown and brushed your hair. She pressed warm towels on your belly to make the stomach ache go away. You liked Lillie. She was kind and always treated you with tenderness and love, the way a mother would, the way your mother never had. You only figured the belly ache came from all the stress you had that day, in anticipation of your birthday. It seemed like thirteen was such a big number, even if it was just one more than twelve.

Your sister was seventeen. She and her fiancé would get married soon after she turned eighteen.

You questioned your mother about that one afternoon. “Mother, you said that we would begin our journey to Hwang Estate not before I turned twenty, maybe after.” Already, at your age, you were aware that it was unusual. “Why is Kimi’s marriage at eighteen, then?” 

Your mother liked it when you asked direct questions. “Because your marriage is more important,” she told you. “When he is of age, Lord Hyunjin will become a more powerful man than Mr. Hughes, so I want you to be more prepared. More… ripe. When I send you over to him.”

But you had visited the lumberyard owned by the Hughes with the rest of your family. It was huge. The whole place smelled like freshly cut wood, but it was very dusty. When you pointed out to your mother that it looked like this place was rather busy and that it must be important, she shook her head. “Hwang Estate is one thing, my daughter. The estate itself is large—I told you, it is surrounded by a beautiful pine forest. But the Hwangs own the land beyond that forest, too. More acres than your brain can comprehend without seeing it. There are farms on it. He also owns a factory.” 

In any case. You weren’t exactly sure you understood what importance was, not in the context related by your mother. Because to you, none of these things were important. Not the size of the Hughes’ lumberyard, not the size of Hyunjin’s estate or the farms around it. To you, all that mattered was that one day, you would go over there and get married to your friend. Your only friend.

You turned thirteen today. 

That morning, you woke up with something sticky and warm between your legs. For the first few seconds you assumed you peed the bed, which seemed properly impossible, and yet. Then, after frantically pushing the covers off you, you found yourself in a small puddle of your own blood. You stared at it for a long time, tears running down your face. You tore the sheets off the bed and realized that it had stained the mattress, too, but you wiped it as well as you could and put fresh covers back on. Nobody would guess, and your bed wasn’t due for a change for two more days, so it would give you time. 

It was too soon. You had been told to expect it a few years from now.

Your mother had prepared you for that day. The day you would become a woman. You knew what that entailed. Your mother had prepared you for that, too—the consequences of it all. The monthly bleeds were part of the cycle that would allow you to have a baby inside you one day. It would be Lord Hyunjin who would put it there. The baby. And your mother had taught you all about that too, saying that Lord Hyunjin was like a gardener. He would plant his seed inside you on the days when you did not bleed out of your entrance. She called it like that. An entrance—a garden. 

The act is a lot more pleasurable for men than it is for women, she also said. They sometimes have special demands or requests—it is expected of you to comply. You are pretty, you are young, you are a maiden, and the most precious thing you have is this purity that you keep between your legs, that your husband is waiting to break. For this reason, it is expected of you to keep your garden unsullied until your husband plants his seed inside it.

Unsullied. 

But that morning, you washed yourself up and hid your soiled clothes underneath your bed with the bedsheets. You shoved your least favorite cotton shirt into your undergarments and put another nightgown back on—this way, nobody would know what happened. You needed time to process.

You had never had much of it. Freedom. But from the moment your mother would find out you were bleeding from between your legs, you would have none.

You hated the feeling of it. The dampness, the sharp pain, the nausea spells taking over you. But you stayed outside nonetheless because you were waiting for the mail. 

Your heart jumped at the mere thought of it. If you were lucky enough, you would be able to intercept Mr. Greene—the villa’s Head Steward—before he brought the mail back into his office, and he would give you Hyunjin’s letter. 

Year after year, it was the only thing you ever looked forward to. Your birthday, and the words Hyunjin sent you. 

However, that morning, it wasn’t the mail that you intercepted, but rather a conversation between your parents. They hadn’t seen you on the back porch because the curtains of the parlor were drawn, but one of the windows had been left open to let some fresh air in. It very soon became obvious that you weren’t supposed to hear that conversation at all but you could not move without the risk of the creaking of planks to betray you. 

“Are you seriously going to refuse Lord Grover’s offer?” your mother scolded in a tone that was usually reserved for you. “An Earl, Ian! An Earl! Are you out of your damn mind?” 

A silence followed during which you heard your father let out a long, tired sigh. “We made a promise and I intend on keeping it,” he said in the end. “I’m a man of honor.”

“You may be a man of honor, but Hwang is no longer of this world to complain about a broken promise,” your mother retorted with disdain. “Because he had no honor at all and it caused his demise. Do you really want your daughter to marry into that family?”

Your heart sank to your stomach as your brain was working at inhuman speed to process everything you were hearing. You may have been only thirteen, but you weren’t stupid—you knew what this conversation was implying. You knew of Hyunjin’s father and the shame he had brought on his family—Hyunjin had sent a letter that year, telling you he would understand if you no longer wished to marry him. But to you, his father’s wrongdoings meant nothing. 

Because it was him that you liked. Hyunjin. And you knew he wasn’t like that, like his father. You knew from the letters he sent, and because you were very much unlike your mother. 

“I want our family to be able to keep its head held high,” your father said. “It would bring dishonor to us if we were to annul the betrothal. What Hwang did doesn’t change the fact that our daughter will marry into a wealthy, comfortable life, and we still keep our word.”

“Your word. It was your word, not mine.” Your mother clicked her tongue. “I don’t think it would bring us dishonor at all. I don’t think the Hwang boy would have much trouble finding himself a wife. With his mother’s connections, he could probably marry some royal relative, even. For all we know, it’s what he’s going to do anyway. He’s getting older now, an orphan, and he’s responsible for himself. Who’s to say he won’t wed some girl and impregnate her, completely disregarding our arrangement?” 

You pressed your hand over your mouth to muffle the sound of your sobs, which you could not control. The inside of your body felt cold like a winter day. You felt so little all of a sudden. Insignificant. Stupid. Unsightly. Revolting. With blood sticking to your thighs and tears rolling your face and your hair tangled and unwashed, with the scent of nuts and corn on your fingers after feeding Henry. 

She was right, your mother. 

Hyunjin was your friend. Your only friend. He was all that you had and you didn’t even have him yet. He was kind and sweet in the letters he sent you, but nothing about it promised you a happy marriage to him or a marriage at all. Even if he said he couldn’t wait for you to come live with him. 

He was reaching an age where boys wanted certain things and thought a lot about girls and their gardens. 

“The exact same could be said about Theodore,” your father retorted. “He could impregnate two or three princesses by the time our daughter is of age.” 

Theodore—Lord Grover’s son. You did not know him but he and his parents had been guests for the dinner last night, their family being close with the Hughes. It was an honor, your mother said, to host an Earl and his family for a meal, and it had been why she had been so quick to send you away last night when you felt ill. She’d rather you disappear than embarrass her with your childish pain, which, in the end, had been caused by something that was anything but childish. 

He was sitting a few seats down from you during dinner—he had been seated by your mother, not too far from your brother. Surely, she wanted him to become friends with the future earl. Theodore was a tall boy of almost twenty years old, with dark eyes and chestnut-brown hair that had a touch of cinnamon in it, which you could only assume came from his mother, whose hair was the color of copper. He was very outgoing and talked to everybody with just the right amount of respect and politeness expected of him. He was handsome even, in the way a boy his age could be. Not quite a man yet but no longer a child.

“He wouldn’t do that! He’ll be an earl,” your mother insisted. “Don’t you want your daughter to marry an earl?” 

You could no longer control yourself—the nausea hit you so hard you became dizzy and fell to your knees. You cried, just waiting for the lightheadedness to pass, unable to help your sobs. The pain in your lower abdomen was so sharp it felt like a knife but the pain in your heart was sharper. You didn’t want any of that. You wanted Hyunjin. You had known all your life that you would be his wife someday. And you didn’t want it any other way.

“What is this?” You heard your mother as she approached the nearest window. You couldn’t stand in time, but you managed to wipe some of your tears and your mouth before her face appeared through the glass. 

A strange expression, one that you had never seen on her, appeared on her face. It crept up slowly, almost like she was resisting it. Your father appeared by her side—you heard him talk to her in a very irritated voice but couldn’t make out the words as you were too taken up by the mere effort of stopping your cries. Your mother hated it when you cried. 

She stormed outside but by the time she was on the porch, you had run away, not minding the destination. All that you wanted was to go far from here. You wanted to be yesterday when you weren’t a woman yet. You wanted to be years from now when you wouldn’t live here anymore but on a pretty estate surrounded by a pine forest.

If Hyunjin wanted you at all. 

Your mother caught up with you when you tripped over a rock and fell face-first into the soft grass growing around the property. The soil absorbed most of the shock but none of your shame or your sorrow. 

“Get up! Someone will see you!” She grabbed at your gown, attempting to pull you up. “What have I told you about eavesdropping? What have I—”

Her sentence was cut short when she saw blood in the process of tugging at your gown. It left her speechless long enough for you to stand on your own and escape her grip. “I don’t want to marry him,” you managed through your tears, but it was difficult to speak with how tight your throat was. “Please, Mother. Not him, not Lord Grover’s son,” you begged, and you had never begged before in your life. “Please, Mother, I don’t love him, I don’t want to, please, please—”

She raised a hand in the air and used it to strike you in the face hard enough that you almost lost your balance again. It effectively caused you to stop crying as you stared at her, bewildered. It wasn’t the first time you got a strike to the face, but it had never been this hard before. The pain spread underneath your skin like spilled ink on paper. 

There were tears in her eyes, but that happened when she was really angry. “How dare you speak to me like this! How dare you show yourself in such a way when we have guests in our home!” 

The sting became an ache on your cheek. You knew it would become red and swollen, which meant you would spend the next several days locked in your room, away from prying eyes.

“You’re not worthy of the Grovers, clearly,” your mother commented with disdain. “The wife of an Earl does not act like a spoiled child.” She scoffed. “I doubt they will retain their marriage offer after they hear of your little tantrum.” 

You did not know what kind of life you would live. But if you ever had a child, you would not hit them, not even if they misbehaved.

“You said I was going to marry Hyunjin,” you muttered, averting your gaze. “He’s my friend.”

“Friend? He’s your friend?” She lowered herself to look at you from up close. “You know, they say he has his father’s demons in his eyes.” 

“No,” you said. Then, “I don’t care. I love him.” 

Your mother broke into a burst of hysterical laughter—it echoed in the quiet morning. You noticed Henry nearby, alarmed by the sound, scuttling away. 

“Mother,” you murmured. “Please, stop.” She looked scary. You just wanted to return to your room. “Please. Stop.” 

She didn’t stop yet—instead, the laughter slowed down, punctuated by deep breaths. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, following your gaze. “Were you feeding that vermin again? What did I tell you about this?” 

“He’s not vermin! He’s… he’s my friend.” Henry had reached a tall oak tree and disappeared among the branches. 

“He’s your friend,” your mother repeated, her eyes filling with angry tears again. “Let me guess. You love him, too? Have you ever had a fondness for something whole? Why is it that whenever you love something, it’s broken, or crippled?”

She grabbed you by the nape of your neck and dragged you back home, lecturing you about the responsibilities of a girl who became a woman and how you had to be stronger than this, stronger than your willingness to help out a squirrel that didn’t have a tail, stronger than the strange feeling brought by your first bleeding. You had to be stronger than those stupid little childish feelings of yours. “You’re a fool for loving him, child.”

The year you turned thirteen, your mother was so angry at you—or at your father, or both—that she did not allow you to read Hyunjin’s letter. She burned it in front of your eyes, and if a gift had come with it, she never told you. “You will learn to behave like a woman. Like a lady,” she said as the paper turned to ashes. “You could have been the wife of an earl, but instead you will be the wife of a deranged man. Maybe he will be despised by all—maybe that is what you want. To be stained by him.” 

He was all that you had. Hyunjin. He was all that you ever wanted, because all this time, he had been the only thing that made you feel like a person and not a lump of clay to be fashioned into something. And you loved him—as broken as he might be.

The sky was blue and clear and the air was cool, the breeze carrying the scent of fall with it. The grass you lay upon was cool too, but soft and comfortable, heating up slowly under the sun as the day advanced. There was nothing around except for the pine forest on one side and a secluded corner of the lake on the other. You could hear the gentle waves flapping on the shore. You heard a few birds, too. 

The scene may have been beautiful and serene, but it was the last thing on your mind at the moment.

Hyunjin, your Hyunjin, towering over you, his shirt half-unbuttoned and his hair undone, occupied every molecule of your brain, of your soul. He looked like a feral thing like that, but perhaps it was just because you couldn’t wait to feel him even more.

“Open your legs for me darling, will you?” 

His voice echoed through you like an earthquake, starting from your scalp, running all the way to your extremities, but not without coating your core with something warm and heavy. Your lips were raw and swollen from the past hour spent kissing him. On the mouth, in his neck. His hands, his jaw. 

You locked eyes with your husband. You never wanted to look at anything but him. He was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. 

His fingers dug themselves deeper into the plush flesh of your thighs, waiting, eager. He didn’t need to ask you to do it—if Hyunjin wanted, he could open your legs at any moment he wished. He was stronger than you were, and you wouldn’t resist him anyway.

But he liked asking. And you liked it when he asked. When he begged.

His honey skin was warm, warm enough that you did not feel the wind. You only felt him. And his hands on your thighs, so close to your pussy that you swore he could feel how wet you were.

Slowly, you parted open your legs, just for him, and met no resistance. Hyunjin’s expression changed, turning grave and contemplative as he watched. As you offered yourself to him.

He bit his lower lip. “Oh,” he murmured, his voice low, evoking the same honey as his skin. “Baby, you’re soaked…”

You would never get used to it. 

Hyunjin lowered himself between your legs, wasting no time before he left wet kisses over your thighs, holding you still. He had hitched up your skirt a while ago already and the contrast between his body and the cool air gave you goosebumps. 

It never quite felt real. When he touched you. When he held you. When he looked you in the eyes and called you darling, at any time of the day. You kept waiting for the moment you’d wake up from this dream and return to reality where Hyunjin avoided you like the plague. Yet, months passed, and it never came, allowing you to make a home out of this dream-like life you were in. 

You did awaken in the morning but the dream kept on going because you were in your lord husband’s bed and his arms were usually wrapped around your body. If they weren’t, you were holding him, and if you weren’t, he was pressed so close to you that you could feel him, all of him, over all of you. His scent, masculine yet delicate, now lingered on you always, following you wherever you went like a reminder of his love. 

You liked it. When you woke up like that, in Hyunjin’s bed, his hard, straining cock pressed on your lower back. You liked it so much that you usually made a point of not waking him up to make the moment last longer. You let it permeate you like ink on paper. Like red wine on white silk. Keeping your eyes closed, you usually registered every little detail you could. Where his hands were. The rhythm of his breathing. His pulse. The little sleepy noises spilling from his lips. 

But came a time when it was no longer enough, when your soaked pussy ached for him in a way that could not be put into words. Sometimes you woke him up by taking him into your mouth. You liked it so much. His deep, bitter taste, stronger in the morning. His musky scent. You rarely felt as connected to him as when his heartbeat pulsed through his cock onto your tongue. He watched attentively as you sucked him off, as you massaged his balls just the way you knew he liked. You loved feeling him resist the urge to fuck your throat—the restrained thrusts, the whimpers, his fist in your hair. 

Sometimes, he’d tell you that he loved you as he emptied himself in your mouth, and you were certain that this was as close as you’d ever get to a miracle.

This morning, it had been Hyunjin who was up before you. He woke you up with a kiss on your bare shoulder, pulling you back against him. “Let’s have breakfast by the lake, darling, while the weather still allows it.” Some trees were losing their green and turning yellow—you knew that soon, what wasn’t a pine or a spruce would be bright orange or red, and that days would be cold, and nights even colder. 

This was Hyunjin’s secret place, he called it. It was quite a walk from the manor but worth every minute of it. It was private and comfortable and pretty. He liked being with you here.

He liked eating your pussy here.

Your breakfast—fresh bread, cheese, and autumn strawberries was left untouched in the basket you carried it in. Hyunjin had decided he wanted to feast on something else. 

You shuddered when his hot breath caressed your glistening folds, but you arched into him when he used one of his hands to part your pussylips open. You never reacted gently to him—every little contact felt like a thousand kisses, or a thousand little flames, or both at once. 

Heat rushed to your core when Hyunjin gave your pussy three kisses. One on your mons, one on your entrance, and lastly one directly onto your clit. You moaned, biting into your fist, knowing that you were out of sight but not necessarily out of earshot. 

“Darling.” He did not need to say anything more—one word, this one word, was worth a lifetime of waiting. 

Hyunjin gave your cunt a few tentative, bashful kitten licks, moaning when your taste melted on his tongue. He accentuated the pressure he applied by bobbing his head, licking and lapping at you. 

Your hand found his hair. So that you could anchor yourself to something. So that you could keep it there, right there, and rub yourself all over his face. “Yes, yes, yes…” Your voice was no more than a desperate whine. Hyunjin responded by moaning louder into your cunt, reacting to how needy you were. 

“My darling wife,” he murmured, pulling away just a little to breathe. He looked at you from there, his gaze piercing and heavy, his pink, pillowy lips coated with your slick. “You become such a wild thing when you get your pretty pussy eaten, don’t you?”

You clenched at that, at the sound of his voice, at his hooded eyes. Propping yourself on your elbow to make sure you’d see as much as you could, you watched as Hyunjin returned to your folds, licking at you with fervor, as though he was running out of time, or patience. It was sloppy, and the sounds of his mouth as he tasted you were making you dizzy. 

He slurped and slurped, his smooth tongue running all over your folds before he lingered at your entrance, teasing you, then pushing it within you. A stronger wave of pleasure took over you every time. And he knew it. Hell, you could feel his pleased smile against your pussy as he fucked you with his tongue in long, slow licks, savoring you, swallowing every drop of you that he could. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. 

You wanted him in every way one could have somebody. If it had been possible, you would have woven your soul to his so that the two of you were never apart. He belonged there. Between your legs. In your heart.

And you belonged there too, in his embrace, in his heart. You belonged to him.

You wanted him. To feel him, to feel him against you. You tugged at his hair and yet Hyunjin did not budge—he moved from your hole to your clit, flicking his tongue gently all over it, bringing you closer to the edge. You moaned with your mouth wide open, your voice echoing over the lake, disappearing into the pine forest. You moaned again, louder, pulling harder at your husband’s silky hair so that he would come find you here. “Please,” you pleaded, your face contorted with pleasure and impatience alike. 

He was handsome in the purest way possible. In the most sinful, depraved way. His mouth remained agape as he caught his breath, his lips and cheeks and chin wet with your juices. His breath smelled like your cunt. Some of his hair stuck to his temples—you pushed it behind his ear as you caressed his flushed cheek. 

He was so hard—his trousers did very little to conceal the bulge his cock formed in them. He rubbed himself onto your cunt, staining his pants with your cream. 

You took his face in both of your hands, pulling him into a kiss. He took your lips and kissed you hard with his pussy-infused mouth. You loved your own taste, especially like this. He whispered your name and you breathed it in, whispering his in return. 

Hooking your knees on his waist, you rolled Hyunjin until he was on his back and you straddled him. He was even more beautiful like this, sprawled onto the soft grass, lips swollen, the tent in his pants beckoning you. You took no time pulling his pants down, exposing his length. Finally.

You loved his cock. You just loved it. The way it looked. The way it tasted, the way it smelled. The way it felt under your tongue or in your hand or anywhere else on your body. You wrapped your hand around his base, eliciting a hiss from Hyunjin, his head falling back to rest on the ground. 

You loved your husband, you loved his cock. And you wanted him badly. You wanted him in ways he would never take you—how often did you desperately rub your clit at the thought of him fucking you? Of him claiming you by stuffing your tight cunt with his cock, filling you with his cum? You often wondered what it felt like. To be made whole by your husband’s seed, dripping slowly out of your fucked out hole after he was done with you. 

He throbbed in your palm. You secured yourself on top of him, guiding his cock at your pussy but not at your entrance. He moaned when you coated it with your creamy slick, grunting at the sensation of his smooth, hot cock rubbing onto your soaked pussy. He touched it, grazing his fingertips on the places where his length touched you, your pussy, the soft, pillowy skin there. One morning you woke up to him sketching you, using his dominant hand to draw you naked on his bed and the other to stroke his leaking cock. He refused to let you touch him—you weren’t to move, he was drawing you. To practice. He really wanted to learn. He drew you well, down to your slick sticking to the soft trimmed hair of your pussy. And then he made you cum with his tongue two times, and he blew his load all over your face just to watch it drip onto your tits. 

You loved him. You rubbed your soaked pussy all over his length, using him the same way you sometimes used a pillow to relieve your urges. He was so hard. God, so hard. For you. Just for you. 

He tugged at the shirt you were wearing, undoing enough buttons to free your tits. He kissed them, he caressed them, he twisted your nipples until he felt your pussy throb at that. 

His eyelids fluttered when you found your rhythm, rutting against him with your hips rolling in ample waves. “Baby—” he let out with a strangled voice. “Use me. Like that.” 

And you were using him a little. Once you felt his cock, nothing could stop you. It drove you crazy when he was this hard, when he was looking at you as if you were the most beautiful thing in the world. It just felt so good. Him, there, between your folds, throbbing against your clit. You leaned over to kiss him again, harder this time, your tongue following the same tempo as your hips. You knew that Hyunjin would cum soon because his breathing was shallow,because his fingers were digging themselves into your waist. 

You were close too. You wanted to appreciate the moment, the feeling of your cunt on him, your slick dripping onto him, but your mind kept wandering to your most profound desires. You wondered what it would feel like if you were riding him like that but with his cock inside you. How deep it would reach. 

You could. Fuck, you could guide him inside you right now—you were so wet it couldn’t possibly be difficult for him to stretch you open, but you’d love it if it hurt. You wanted it to hurt. You wanted Hyunjin to drill into you. You wanted him to use you, to fuck you so hard it brought tears to your eyes. You wanted to be used and loved and fucked by him. 

The ripples of pleasure in your core became waves and then a monsoon—surging from within, warm and intoxicating. You could no longer control your moans as they spilled from your lips in loud, staccato breaths. You moved faster, rubbing yourself harder on Hyunjin’s cock, like an animal would. It was too good, too warm, too wet—you couldn’t hold yourself up. Collapsing onto his chest as you chased your high, you buried your face into his neck. Just fuck me just give me your cock… please please I want you to cum inside me—

You realized you were speaking out loud when Hyunjin put his hands on your arms, pulling you away so that he could look you in the eyes.

You had never seen this look on his face before. A glare. Something worse. 

For a second—just a second—he frightened you. Like he was a lion and you were a gazelle in the moments before he ripped your throat open. And yet you did not love him, or want him, any less because of it.

His grip on you tightened and before you knew it, you found yourself pinned on the ground underneath him, his cock dangerously close to your hole. You couldn’t move. You could barely breathe underneath the weight of him, dazed from the manhandling.

Time came to a stop. Hyunjin took in the sight of you and you of him. A strand of hair fell in front of his face. You could hear nothing except your own panting. His hand rose slowly and he reached for you. It looked, almost, like he was going to caress your cheek. 

Instead, he grabbed your face, holding you like that. He spoke to you then, his voice low, more a snarl than a sentence. “Stop. Fucking. Tempting. Me.” He gave one powerful thrust, his length buried not into your hole but within your folds as he rubbed himself onto you so hard it made you sink into the soil a little. 

Sparks ran under your skin—you were too close to the edge, trapped underneath Hyunjin’s weight. Your eyes rolled back. “Please,” you heard yourself say but your mind was being separated from your body, your consciousness leaving you. “Please,” you said again, fire taking over your insides, your cunt dripping. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not that he scared you. Not the ache in the places where his hand held you in place. For an instant, you wondered if the imprint of his fingers would remain on the skin of your face.

Hyunjin let out a noise that was something between a growl and a moan. “I know.” His face was flushed and angry and beautiful. He held your face still as he kissed you hungrily, as his rutting became erratic. “Give it to me, just cum, just fucking cum.”

Something sank within you—an ache spread from your lower back to your pussy under the relentless rubbing of Hyunjin’s cock onto your clit. Your hips stuttered as your release finally reached you and you dissolved into pleasure, moaning uncontrollably. You arched onto Hyunjin and he was all over you—biting your neck, your shoulder, the soft flesh of your breasts. His free hand was groping and squeezing you everywhere while the other forced you to look at him while you came. 

The flutters of your pussy reached his cock in shockwaves—he throbbed so hard that you felt it, and his expression changed—his fury melted as deep, low moans escaped from his parted mouth, and you did not think he could really see you, not with his eyes glazed over like that. He was murmuring words that you could not make out, and as your aftershocks hit you, he flooded your mons and your inner thighs with his cum, hips bucking as he emptied himself all over you. It was so wet, so lewd, that it prolonged your orgasm almost painfully as you clenched around nothing, your vision blurred. 

Hyunjin collapsed onto you, spent, finally letting go of your face. The ghost of his grip remained as your bliss faded. You slid your hands under his unbuttoned shirt, embracing him like that. You gave his temple a little kiss. Then another. His cock was softening, locked between your two bodies, resting on your lower stomach. 

Shame took over you. Like ink on paper. Like red wine on white silk. 

Lips trembling, you caressed Hyunjin’s thick, soft hair. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice evading you. 

He said nothing and it made you want to disappear. You had come to realize that Hyunjin’s silence was far worse than his rage. 

“I’m sorry Hyunjin,” you repeated. 

He pulled himself off you but his face was turned away so that you could not see him. And you felt so little then, so stupid, laying half-naked on the grass, your cunt sticky with your husband’s cum. 

“I’m so—”

When you went to apologize for a third time, he did turn to you then—his expression was solemn and he silenced you with one look. Then he gave you a kiss, a soft one. 

“Don’t,” he spoke against your lips before kissing you again. “Please, darling, don’t.” 

He reached for one of the handkerchiefs you had put into the basket along with the breakfast. It was one of those you had embroidered with Ha-ri and her daughters, an activity you found a lot of enjoyment—and peace—in. It had little bees on it, with Hyunjin’s name just below.

He used it to wipe his cum off you. You flinched—being caressed by him could never leave you unfazed, not even in this situation. You were still sensitive from his licking, his rubbing, from him. Your handsome lord husband, the only thing you had ever wanted. 

The only thing that could make you soar as high as a bird and fall as hard as the coldest downpour. He was much like a storm, with violent winds, with darkening skies, with menacing thunder. Beautiful and intriguing enough that you wholeheartedly ran outside, bare and uncovered, and let the rain drown you one or a hundred times.

He said nothing—he left you there as he rose, buttoning his trousers back up and making his way to the lake so he could rinse out the handkerchief. His hair floated in the breeze and a couple of ducks floated by, their quacks echoing over the water. The pleasure between your legs mutated into something else—you were sore, and the cool weather was affecting you a whole lot more without Hyunjin’s body to warm you up. You brought your knees close to your chest, hugging your legs as you sat there, watching your husband ignore you.

You realized now the mistake you had made—it wasn’t even that you lost control today and said certain things. It was that a few months ago, after the whole ordeal at Lord Jeon’s place, you and Hyunjin hadn’t really talked. Not about this. Never about the specifics of it. He ate your pussy often, and you rubbed or sucked his cock just as often. He’d say things like careful there, it’s going to leak after he spilled himself a little too close to your entrance. But then he’d usually just lick his cum off you, and it normally ended with you having a second or third orgasm, so you weren’t going to complain. 

He showed the affection he had for you, not just in bed. He was visibly more comfortable around you. He’d often say that he loved you. He’d make little surprises for you—flowers picked around the property, more thread for your embroidery, or a freshly painted scene he made for you. 

He called you darling. Almost all of the time now. Even around others. You still remembered the first time he did so in the daytime with an audience—you were visiting the Bangs, whose property was on the other side of the lake, for Lady Bang’s birthday celebration. It had been a small, intimate affair—unfortunately, Lady Bang’s health issues had been making her life more difficult, but she seemed to enjoy her birthday anyway. Changbin and Ha-ri were there as well as Lord Han and his wife, who was also rather close with the Bangs. 

The celebration began outside with light snacks and beverages. You were having tea with the other women while the men were a little farther, standing by the lake and discussing real estate—a topic that bored Hyunjin to death, so you knew he would try to divert it sooner rather than later. You had become accustomed to it—no more than that, you loved it. This little habit of his. When he came to you to help make his current conversation—business or not—more interesting.

Darling, he’d said from across the yard, his voice loud enough that you—and everyone else—heard him. What are those plants that grow by the water on our side of the lake? The ones that smell so good? I’m trying to convince Lord Han that he wants some for his new cottage home.

The fragrant herb grew naturally in a few places on Hwang Estate, its scent made stronger on days where it rained right before the sun warmed up the earth. You remembered warmth spreading on your cheeks as you fumbled with your words—and your needle. Mugwort, my love, you replied, and Hyunjin raised his cup of coffee at you with a smile before turning to the others again. You remembered even more the lightness in your chest and Lady Bang’s knowing smile. Ha-ri’s, too. Not a word had been said about it, except for Lady Bang’s gentle remark, Your husband seems healthy these days, Lady Hwang. It looks like having you around is good for him. You look well, too.

So you knew that what had happened at the Jeons’ place had done something to soften his heart. Except you had thought that it was open. And that it would keep opening over time, like the petals of a flower unfurling slowly under the sun as spring became summer. 

But you realized now that instead of opening, his heart had cracked open—just enough to let some of his love trickle out and spill, to allow some of his light to warm you up, but not enough that he would ever be yours. Not in the way you wanted him to be. And it went so far beyond the act of him putting his cock inside your pussy. It was the thought behind it, his will to never, ever do so was a symptom, a manifestation of something that was festering within him. Like one who had the flu would have a fever and a cough—he recoiled if the tip of his cock even grazed your entrance. 

Or at the sight of a newborn baby, an event that happened two weeks ago in town when a mother—the wife of a farmer who worked on his lands—approached him to present him her daughter. A beautiful little girl, soundly asleep in her mother’s arms, all pretty and snug in a bundle of blankets. He barely acknowledged the woman before running away, leaving you with her. You had been more than happy to chat with her and to praise the little angel in her arms, but when she asked if you wanted to hold her, you realized that you just couldn’t. You froze in place, finding yourself unable to take the baby in your arms. 

Like a manifestation of something festering inside you. A testimony of everything you didn’t have, and never would.

That morning, as the autumn breeze caressed your hair and the places where your skirt did not cover your legs, as you watched your husband soak a cum-stained handkerchief in the lake, you thought of your mother. And of all the ways in which she had warned you.

She had been right all along. Your heart was drawn toward anything that was broken, and the worst part was that you couldn’t help it at all. Out of all the wretched, damaged things you had loved, though, Hyunjin was by far your favorite. 

Hyunjin helped you up when he came back. It seemed that his hand lingered on your forearm a little longer than he needed it to, but perhaps it was just your imagination. 

He did not say a word, not one word, as you walked back to the manor. He disappeared into his bedroom, locking the door behind him. You knew he would wash up before joining Changbin and others in the parlor, where they would hold a meeting about Hyunjin’s upcoming business trip. In the city.

Some things just never changed. You hated it, still, when he left for that place where he used to be so acquainted with the brothels. 

Some things just never changed. You had been a fool for loving him before, and a fool you still were.

That day, Ahnjong came to help you with your bath and your gown but you refused her—you told your maid that you were feeling sick, that your stomach was a little upset, and that you wished to rest for a few more hours. She believed you, mentioning that she had seen the breakfast return completely whole after your walk with Hyunjin. 

You did bathe—in water so warm that it burned your skin. Yet it was not enough to cleanse the shame off you. 

You only went outside in the afternoon to check on your beehives. With winter approaching, they weren’t very active and no longer produced enough honey for you to harvest it. Instead, you just made sure that everything was clean and in order so that they could keep getting ready for the cold season. You envied them. They could not know it, but their setbacks would be temporary. The snow and the ice would thaw and spring would bring with it new flowers and warmth for them to enjoy. But for you, it seemed, the cold would be everlasting. 

When Ha-ri mentioned she was going to visit the town for a few errands, you immediately asked to join her. Just to put some distance between you and Hwang Estate. Between you and Hyunjin. You hadn’t even seen him after returning home and yet you needed to be away. 

“My lady,” Ha-ri said, keeping her voice low to make sure that the coachman wouldn’t hear her. “What is troubling you like that?” 

You kept your head turned toward the small window, watching the scenery outside. The soft, green grass, the trees and their coloring, the clouds floating in the sky. It was all too beautiful—it did not make sense to be witnessing it when your heart was in such a state of disarray. 

Not giving her an answer would be worse. You took a deep breath, and as you did, the feeling of Hyunjin’s rage came back to you. His firm grip. And you, the stupid fool who did not want to escape it, who relished every moment of it. 

“It always worries me when our husbands leave for more than a day or two,” you responded. “You know that, Ha-ri.”

She leaned over so she would be a little closer to you, observing you. “Is that really it?” 

“Yes.” You nodded, turning to her. She was studying your face carefully, looking for hints that you were hiding something from her. You could only hope that all of your mother’s lessons hadn’t been useless, that you could still make your face tell something other than what was in your heart. 

Ha-ri sat back on her bench, crossing her arms over her chest with a frown on her brow. She did not believe you. “Changbin came to see me during a recess. He told me that Lord Hwang was particularly short-tempered today.” 

You ran your tongue over your teeth, inhaling as if to give yourself some time to think this all over. Ha-ri was a friend now, a true friend. The kind of friend you never had except for Hyunjin through his letters when you grew up. She knew a lot about the things that went on between you and your husband. She knew enough to properly humiliate both of you if she ever wished, but you knew she’d never do such a thing. You knew you could trust Ha-ri with your secrets. She didn’t even tell them to her husband. 

A heavy silence fell between the two of you. Ha-ri was, also, the kind of sister you never had, despite having been brought up in a household with two of them.

You felt tears in your eyes as you were choosing your words. You didn’t even know what to say to her, and yet you couldn’t possibly not tell her. You would go crazy if you didn’t. It seemed like you couldn’t see ahead, like you were stuck in the middle of a field on a foggy day, and you didn't know where to go to reach home. 

When Ha-ri caught sight of your tears, she covered her mouth in surprise before handing you a handkerchief. This one was also one that you had decorated with her, and the sight of it was enough to make the tears roll down your cheeks. You hid behind your hands as you wept. 

“Oh, my lady…” She put her hand on your thigh, patting you there gently. Lovingly. “You don’t have to tell me—I think I know anyway…” She pushed a strand of hair away from your face and you removed your hands to look at her. 

She was right—you didn’t need to tell her, because she knew it was about Hyunjin, and also probably guessed it had something to do with the distance he insisted on keeping between you and him. 

So, that afternoon, Ha-ri brought you with her on her errands, making sure to occupy the silences when they went on for too long, talking about this and that. Nothing too interesting and nothing too boring either. She decided, on the spot, that she would be making new dresses for you for the winter and made you choose your fabrics and colors. Ha-ri was a good friend, and you only felt worse for not being comforted by all her efforts. As though you didn’t deserve her—and maybe you didn’t. Maybe you didn’t deserve any of this. 

Your mind was too busy with memories from the morning to properly appreciate Ha-ri’s friendly chat as she explained to you her ideas for the dresses she wished to make. In your mind, all that existed was Hyunjin and his fingers sinking into the delicate skin of your face, his weight on your body, keeping you pinned down on the soft soil. His skin hot and feverish and his beautiful face contorted with fear and resentment. And lust. And love.

After the fabrics, Ha-ri informed you that she needed to stop by the Apothecary to replenish her stash of fever cures—she knew that in the winter months, her little girls would surely need some, and let you know that she always hoarded as much as she could during the fall. You made a few purchases yourself, a little distractedly, mostly to reassure Ha-ri. To give the impression that you weren’t in fact hearing in your mind Hyunjin’s feral groans as he aggressively rubbed his cock on your pussy. Like he couldn’t resist it. Like he wanted to be done with it—with you—as quickly as possible. 

You thanked the apothecary and followed Ha-ri outside, answering her questions about honey even though both of you were very much aware that she already knew how beneficial honey could be for a sore throat or even a light cough.  

She was already seated when you stopped in your tracks, your gaze going blank as you went to climb back into the coach. Suddenly, it was no longer Hyunjin's desperate release you were thinking of, it was Lee Minho. 

And a promise you made to him—and your husband—several months ago already. 

“I’ll be right back, Ha-ri,” you heard yourself say. You even felt a smile appear on your lips. And you knew it was convincing by the face your friend made when you spoke to her. “I forgot something—some oils, for my hair.” 

Of course she believed you and it made you feel like you were the worst person alive, taking advantage of Ha-ri’s good heart.

“My lady,” the apothecary, an older gentleman, said when you reentered his shop. He had just concluded a quick sale with a young man who had been waiting in line after Ha-ri and yourself. “Is there a problem with your purchases?” 

You had always been burdened by the thing between your legs, whether it was about the bleeding or the piece of flesh inside you, the one that you so badly wanted to keep whole so that Hyunjin could claim you. You remembered the day you became a woman and the feeling of the blood dripping from you, the smell of it, too. It had been so violent, especially for a child of that age. And yet, you had come to see it as a blessing. Every month, your body reminded you that one day, it would welcome within it Hyunjin’s heir.

But that was before knowing it would never be the case.

“No, no, there isn’t a problem,” you replied, crossing the small room to meet the old man at the counter. “I’ve forgotten something that I’d like to buy, if you have it in your possession, of course.” 

This seemed to unsettle the apothecary a little. He tilted his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean, my lady?” 

You took a deep breath but that did very little to stop your lips from trembling. “Can I trust that our conversation will remain private?” When the man went to respond, you raised a hand, insisting. “Truly private. At any cost,” you added. “You may not tell my lord husband, or the doctor in our employment, or anybody.”

The apothecary’s gaze lingered on you for a few seconds, then he bowed his head low. “Of course, my lady. I am at your service.” 

Maybe you trusted him, maybe you didn’t—the truth was that in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because you simply wanted to have a bottle or two of it in your possession just in case. Perhaps it could be some sort of safety net. A hail mary. 

It was Sookie who told you about it, many years ago. At the time, it had appeared to you as one of the highest offenses, as one of the worst things a woman could do. But Sookie had insisted that you would understand one day—you just didn't believe her.

But that was before.

You cleared your throat and did your best to look like you weren’t wildly nauseous. “Sir, do you remember the… the tea you sold me, a few months ago?” 

The apothecary’s posture changed immediately, and so did his facial expression—he stood straight, looking very solemn, crossing his hands on the counter. “Yes, my lady. I dared not ask, of course, but I noticed you stopped buying it.”

You nodded. “Yes. Of course, I’m sure you understand.” 

He nodded, too. “I understand.” 

In your chest, your heart fluttered and it felt, for half a second, like you were freefalling. “I’d like to purchase something like it, only stronger, more potent. I was told of such a product by somebody who I trust, who was familiar with it.” Because she used to work in a pleasure house—but you didn’t need to tell him that. A man his age must have seen all kinds of things. “I’m sure you understand,” you said again.

He did not avert his gaze, staring at you in the eyes with a mix of surprise and sadness, which you did your best to ignore. “I understand,” he echoed, his voice a little more faint. “Stronger, you say…” 

Some poisons were just strong enough to eradicate a life growing inside a woman’s body without harming her too much. But, according to Sookie, it could destroy her womb if there was nothing to kill inside of it, so one should be absolutely certain to be pregnant before starting the treatment. 

You felt tears returning to your eyes but you fought them. “Yes. A bottle, please.” 

The man sighed. It took a few seconds before he finally disappeared at the back of his shop. You took this opportunity to wipe the corner of your eyes while he was searching for what he needed. 

You wondered if god existed, and if he did, if he would ever grant you forgiveness for what you were doing. 

All that you had ever wanted was to be a good wife to Hyunjin. All your life you had waited for it, for the day you would marry him and then for the wedding night that would follow. 

And now it just felt all like a big failure. You understood him and his wishes and his fears, yet it did not stop you from wanting to be his wife, really his wife, without him being ashamed or afraid. 

It was all that you had ever been allowed to be—Hyunjin’s betrothed. You owed it to him and to yourself to try and make this marriage whole. 

The apothecary returned, putting a small bottle made of dark glass on the counter. “A woman should take a few capsules as soon as she notices her monthly bleeds are late,” he said in a low voice, barely audible even in the quietness of the shop. “She should take a few more a day or so later while she is still bleeding. To… ensure the job is finished.” 

You took the small vial and stored it safely in your bag, exchanging it for a generous amount of gold coins. But the man did not touch them, he only stared at them.

“I would prefer if you did not pay me for this, my lady.” He pushed the gold back toward you. “I do not hold judgment—I do not need to know the reasoning, but I won’t accept payment, not for this. I simply can’t.” 

His words were just like blades, each of them sinking into your chest deep enough to draw blood. You collected the coins with shaky hands and left the store without a word.

The days were shorter now—the sun disappeared faster than you expected it to. It seemed like you saw less and less of it, noticeably so, every day. You went for a walk around the estate after your errands with Ha-ri, letting it drag much longer than you needed to, more than you should. It just felt good to be alone with the exception, occasionally, of a small forest animal. 

At dusk, you came across a squirrel who looked a lot like Henry, except this one had a tail. The bottle was tucked in the inner pockets of your jacket and it felt as though it weighed a ton. You remembered Henry and how he had simply stopped visiting you one day. Lillie had told you he might have found a partner but you just knew he was dead.

It didn’t matter that it was dark outside—no matter where you went, the lights inside Hwang Manor shone bright enough for you to see in the distance. All you had to do was walk towards them and hope not to put your feet in the wrong place. Only, maybe it was exactly what you wanted. Maybe you didn’t mind slipping and falling into a creek and hitting your head. Maybe you didn’t mind tumbling into the lake and being swallowed by it, only to never be seen again. 

You used to believe that nothing could be as painful as that, as difficult as that. To be Hyunjin’s wife and not knowing whether he loved you or not. How foolish of you.

This was much worse. Knowing that his heart, indeed, beat for you, and yet he kept a reasonable distance between you two. On purpose. According to his wishes. You had done nothing to soothe his wounds, because, in fact, you had made them worse, like rubbing salt onto them instead of kissing them softly. Because you were a stupid little girl, and your mother’s relentless teaching had done nothing to prepare you for this. It had done nothing to make you enough for him, for Hyunjin.

After all, he wasn’t just a lord. He was Lord Hwang, but he was intelligent—very, very intelligent. He knew much about the world and about literature, or art. He took good care of the business he oversaw. He had refined tastes—he liked beautiful things, complicated things. Things like him. An intricate meal, a detailed painting, an interesting conversation. He liked silk sheets and lavish wine. He liked unusual books. 

And you… 

He loved you. But you were too simple, too uncomplicated to permeate him the way he did for you. To hold any weight where it mattered.

He loved you.

But marrying you had not been an option. He had not chosen you. 

You heard them calling out for you sometime after sunset. You quickly made your way back as you did not wish to draw any attention to you. It was Seonghwa who welcomed you, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. “My lady,” he said with concern in his eyes. “Supper will be served shortly, I… Are you alright?” 

You hadn’t cried—the sorrow you felt was too deep for that. The tears would take longer to make an appearance. You felt like a beehive in the winter. Alive somewhere inside, but sluggish, inactive. You wondered what exactly Seonghwa was seeing in you to inquire about your well-being. You wondered if the shadows haunting you had begun spilling from your eyes, or perhaps your lips. They, for sure, had spilled from your heart, hurting Hyunjin in the process.

“I’m alright. Don’t let them wait on my behalf, Seonghwa. Have the chef serve dinner whenever he wishes and I’ll join as soon as I can.” 

You let Ahnjong take you to your bedroom so she could brush out your hair for dinner. You remembered, then, that the Bangs were visiting tonight. It happened often and those dinners were usually rather spontaneous. Normally, you were delighted.

She brushed out your hair and put it in a braid and you felt nothing. Your mind was elsewhere. “My lady,” the young maid mentioned, “there’s mud on your gown.” And there was. You let her undress you, removing all the layers that had been soiled by the damp autumn soil. You let her choose your new gown and she went for the deep red one. “His lordship’s favorite,” as she pointed out. 

When she wasn’t looking, you took the small glass bottle from your jacket and hid it underneath your pillows. Your hands were still shaking and you realized it was because you didn’t want to face Hyunjin again. You didn’t want to see the bitterness in his eyes, didn’t want to feel his resentment behind the facade that he would surely put up. 

You stared into your mirror, taking in the sight of you. Your parents were wealthy but you had never owned beautiful clothes such as this gown before you came here. You hadn’t been allowed that—for soirées, your mother would borrow a gown from someone else. She didn’t want you turning ungrateful, she said. She wanted to remind you of what you were worth. You could see it now—all of it. In a way you never had. You could be wearing the queen’s dress but it wouldn’t make a difference. It wouldn’t change you as a person, wouldn’t add to your value. It wouldn’t complicate you. 

Not once before had it occurred to you, not in a way that reached you so deep within your bones. That you weren’tHyunjin’s choice. You were his father’s choice—or rather, a way for him to settle the matter quickly. After all, when he and your father made the arrangement, he was already engaged in his extra-marital affairs. Perhaps he knew that it would end badly. Perhaps he could sense that he was risking a lot and that his family was likely to lose its reputation sooner rather than later, so he just took the first offer he got. And you were that. The first offer, or the more convenient one.

It had never occurred to you before because you had never, not once, felt like Hyunjin would have wanted it any other way. Until now, it had simply felt like fate had brought the two of you together. Maybe, in some vain, arrogant way, you had believed that he would have picked you if given a choice.

But he had not chosen you.

Dinner was already ongoing when you descended the stairs. You heard your guests first. Maybe Hyunjin had decided not to attend. Maybe he didn’t want to see you. Maybe—

“We shouldn’t be gone for more than three or four days,” you heard him say in the dining room. “I’m thinking, after we’re back, we should go on a hunting trip. The three of us.” 

Your heart dropped. At least now you knew he was at dinner, so he wasn’t completely disgusted with the idea of eating at the same table as you.

But he wasn’t even gone yet and he was planning to leave again once he returned. 

“What an excellent idea!” Lord Christopher exclaimed, after which you heard a thump, as though someone had punched the table.

“What, me too?” Ah, so Changbin was there as well. Which meant…

“My lord, are you planning on stealing my husband away from me?” Ha-ri asked playfully. Only you knew she sort of meant it. And you knew, maybe, that she thought having Hyunjin close would comfort you.

“Of course not,” Hyunjin responded, and you heard wine or liquor in his voice. “It’ll be just a few days.” 

“Maybe I could meet with you in the city the day after tomorrow,” Lord Chris offered. “The land on the West has quite a lot of deer, or so I heard. Should we ask Lord Jeon to come along, too?”

A short silence followed. By then you had made it to the dining room but waited behind the door before you entered. 

“Maybe we could,” Hyunjin said in the end. “I know he’s rather busy, but asking would, at the very least, be polite.” 

You chose this moment to make your entrance, hoping that the conversation between the men would be engrossing enough that you wouldn’t be noticed. However, naturally, every head in the room turned to you, all five of them, and also the maid who was pouring wine into everyone’s glass.

“Oh no, stay seated,” you told them when they went to stand for you. You walked around the room—they had given you a chair next to Hyunjin’s. Of course they would—the housekeepers didn’t know any better. A million thoughts were going through your mind and yet you somehow managed to remain composed, even trying to smile. “It’s lovely to have supper with such friendly guests. Please excuse my tardiness.” 

“Oh no, the pleasure is ours, my lady.” Lady Bang was glowing tonight with her hair held at the back of her head and a stunning periwinkle gown. “I was afraid you were ill.” 

You went towards your seat as you tried to come up with a believable lie, something that would be neutral, something that would not hint at anything. You knew the maids were listening, and even though they had no bad intentions, it seemed that they liked to analyze everything that was said between you and other guests of the manor. If you lied about where you had been, they would know, and it meant everybody would know you were hiding something.

But how could you make them understand that it wasn’t a tangible thing that you were hiding? Not an affair or criminal activity. It was your sorrow that you wanted to keep secret. Because you didn’t want anybody to know. And above all, you didn’t want Hyunjin to know that you were gloomy. It would only make things worse. 

As you reached for your chair, Hyunjin pushed himself up rather abruptly, and for an instant, you believed he would leave dinner and your heart skipped a few beats. Instead he pulled your chair for you, dipping his head. “My lady.” He did not look at you when he spoke, but you sat down anyway, doing your best to keep your breathing steady. But the truth was that your head was much like an apiary in the summer—buzzing and lively, with every part of it sparking and working. 

You wanted to cry. You wanted to sit down with Hyunjin and talk to him calmly. You wanted to slap him in the face maybe. You wanted to tell him that you loved him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to watch him paint. You wanted to have a nice dinner with your friends and get drunk on wine and you wanted your heart to be lighter than the petals of a rose. You wanted to cry. You really wanted to cry. You wanted to ask Lady Bang and Ha-ri to follow you to your bedroom so that you could tell them everything. 

Yes. Yes, that was it.

The burden had become too heavy and now it felt as though you were suffocating. As though you were drowning in it.

You were given a glass with wine in it as well as a bowl of soup. The others were halfway through theirs—you tasted it, partially to warm yourself up and mostly to delay the moment you’d have to talk. Nobody had said anything after you sat down—but it was obvious that Lady Bang was still expecting a response.

“I went for an evening walk and lost track of time,” you told her. “I always get a little confused at this time of the year. The days are getting so short.” 

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Lord Christopher said with a frown. “Especially at this time of the year—the wild animals are looking to feed in ample amounts to prepare for the winter.”

You took a large sip of wine—it was good, sweet but still strong and tangy. “Oh, I doubt I would become anything’s dinner, my lord.” 

“I must insist. There have been sightings of wolves in the mountains nearby. I would hate it if anything happened to you, my lady.” 

You almost choked on your wine but it went largely unnoticed when Changbin echoed Lord Christopher’s advice and the attention was all turned to him. You managed to swallow the wine and ate some soup to soothe your throat, but now your mind was tainted with Christopher’s words. He was right—something could happen to you out there. Anything. You could come face to face with a bear or a wolf or a hunter could mistake you for the game he'd been tailing for a day. You could slip and fall and crack your skull open on a rock.

You felt it all happening—you became aware of the danger and you waited for the moment you would be afraid, only, it never came. Instead you were invaded with the urge to return out there and walk blindly into the forest, waiting for it to decide your fate. Maybe it would be a relief for Hyunjin—maybe he would get to choose who sat next to him for supper and who woke up in his bed in the morning. 

“Thank you for your concern,” you told Lord Christopher, hoping he wouldn’t notice how weak your voice was. “I’ll keep that in mind should I want to be out again after dark.” 

Ha-ri went to say something but she was interrupted by the loud knock it made when Hyunjin put his empty wine glass back on the table—a lot harder than he needed to. 

“No. You will not anymore. Never again.” He spoke at low volume but he enunciated every word very clearly, making himself heard. His voice was coated with quiet rage, turning your stomach to lead. He did not look your way but he went on. “You will not venture away from the manor after dusk. Never again. It isn’t safe. There’s nothing to gain from it. And if you must do it in the daylight, you will do so in the company of someone else. Is that clear?” 

The silence that filled the room following Hyunjin’s statement—or rather, command—was so heavy that you could almost feel it permeate your lungs as you breathed in. You dared not look away from your bowl of soup, wondering what you ought to do next. That had never happened before, not like that at least. Hyunjin had never been the kind of husband to exert his manly rights—quite the contrary, in fact. You could tell he always tried to be anything but whatever his father had been like. 

You did raise your head then, at the same time as Hyunjin did—the guests were very interested in their own soup all of a sudden—and you saw them. In his eyes. You saw those demons you had always heard about, those you had been warned against most of your life. You had never been frightened of Hyunjin until today. Until this morning, when he lost himself. Until now, when he didn’t look like himself. 

And yet you could not look away. And yet you could not love him less.

You stared into them, into his eyes, searching for the ones you had come to know. The ones that were like molasses on a slice of pound cake. They were still somewhere in there, weren’t they?

Hyunjin tried so very hard not to be like his father. As for you? 

You—you were the result of years of coaching from your mother. She had taught you all about that—what to do when your husband would give you a command, whether it was to get him a glass of liquor, to help him change his clothes, or to get on your knees so he could have his way with you. Your mother might have forced these thoughts into your mind, but she was far from being the submissive wife she had tried to fashion you into. Tonight, if she were you, she would have snapped at Hyunjin for his comment, in front of their guests. Things would have escalated later. You used to hide your head under your pillows so as not to hear your parents yell at each other. And other things. 

You tried so very hard not to be like your mother, too.

You took one deep breath, then another. You reached for Hyunjin—he recoiled at first, a faint scowl adorning his brow, but you simply took his hand in yours and squeezed it gently. 

“Of course, my love.” You gulped, but the knot in your throat remained. “You’re right. It was reckless. I shall be more cautious in the future.” 

He stared down at the hand you were holding as though he couldn’t believe what you were saying. You figured the moment might have lasted a thousand years if it weren’t for the maids who came to swap the bowls of soup for dinner plates, which were filled with a roast that looked and smelled fantastic. 

Lord Christopher commented on it, echoed by Changbin, and dinner went on. It went on around you but you took no part in it, simply responding to questions when you were talked to and smiling when someone said something humorous. 

They spoke about politics. Lady Bang inquired about Ha-ri’s dressmaking. Changbin asked Christopher about the renovations that were taking place on their estate. Lord Christopher asked if you had any plans to go and visit your family back home sometime soon and you made up some lie about it. 

Ha-ri suggested that everyone went outside before dessert—just to get some fresh air. You followed her as she took your hand and invited Lady Bang to come with while the men could go wherever they wanted. But really you knew she just wanted to get you away from Hyunjin. 

Only you didn’t really. He was angry at you—more than he had ever been. And you were his wife and you were supposed to make things right. 

Ha-ri led you and Lady Bang to her sewing room, where she opened the door of the balcony to let in the night air. You stood there for a moment while she was showing Lady Bang her new fabrics for the winter, but your mind was wandering elsewhere. Your thoughts had been sent a few days from now, when your husband would be in the city. He was so angry at you that he might just go see if any brothel had something to offer. Perhaps he would fuck once or twice until he was pacified, and then return to you. 

He did choose them. Those women. He asked for them and was given some time and pleasure with them in exchange for money. But you? He never asked for you and he got nothing in exchange. Nothing at all. 

You thought nothing could make your night worse—and then two maids entered the sewing room with a teapot and cups. “Mr. Seonghwa sends us,” one of them, Salma, said. “He said the ladies might want a warm drink.” 

You watched as the two young women prepared the tray and the tea, your mind far away from this room. You were listening more to whatever was outside than what was occurring here, searching for Hyunjin’s distant voice in the night, wondering what he, Christopher, and Changbin might be talking about. You would not be so bold as to suggest he would ever talk about you with them, but, selfishly, you wanted to hear some kind of sorrow in his voice—the same that inhabited you. Or maybe you had it all wrong. Maybe that anguish, that desolation, didn’t live within either of you—perhaps it was the other way around. Maybe, instead, it embraced you, contained you, like a cursed sanctuary. Maybe it had become your home, one that you weren’t sure you would ever escape. 

You thought nothing could make your night worse—and then, when the maids were done setting up the small table for tea, they glanced at each other with knowing smiles and pink cheeks. 

“My lady,” the other one, Emi, told Lady Bang, dipping her head very low. “Pardon the intrusion, I—” She took a deep breath, as though whatever she was about to say was terrible. 

Inquisitive, you took a few steps towards the scene.

“We were simply wondering if what they say about you is true, my lady,” Salma added, also dropping her head, her cheeks darkening. “It would be such wonderful news.” 

You instantly knew what this was all about when you saw Lady Bang react to the question by instinctively pressing a hand on her stomach. 

A few seconds passed, during which Ha-ri stared at you, and only at you. Slowly, Lady Bang turned to you with a complicated expression on her face, making you wonder how much she knew. How much she had guessed. And that made you wonder how obvious it all was. 

It made you wonder what the maids were saying about you.

It made you wonder if they could hear your heart shattering in your chest.

“Well,” you made yourself say, knowing very well you weren’t fooling anybody but pushing through regardless. Let them talk. The maids and the stewards and the apothecary and everyone else. Let them say whatever the fuck they wanted. “Is it true or not, my friend?” 

She hesitated, biting her lip, but not moving her hand from her stomach. “Yes, it is. I found out last month, but I wasn’t sure it would hold so I didn’t—”

You raised your hand. It made you wonder if they noticed how badly it was trembling. “There’s no need to explain yourself, my lady. What lovely news! Congratulations!” 

It was her, Lady Bang, who pulled you into an embrace, not the other way around. You vaguely heard Ha-ri dismiss the two maids, doing so politely but firmly as your friend held you against her. Despite the numerous layers of fabric both of you were wearing, it seemed, almost, like you could feel it. It radiated from her, from her belly. The life that she bore. The miracle, the blessing she carried inside of it. You allowed yourself to cry, figuring at first that it may look as though they were tears of joy. And really, they were. But there was so much more to it. 

“I didn’t want you to hear about it like that,” she whispered into your ear. “I’m so sorry.” 

You didn’t respond, prolonging the hug more than you needed to. 

And then you saw everything so clearly it was like looking through a window. You understood everything. When they told you who you would marry and when, and how, and why. When they decided for you. You understood why your mother had tried to put an end to the betrothal, why she had been so adamant that you should marry somebody else. 

You understood why she had warned you against broken things. It was not because she hated you, not because she resented you or despised you. It was because she was protecting you. Out of love. The way a mother only could love, which is to say, violently. Had she known? She couldn’t possibly have known, at that time, the exact details of it all, but she must have guessed that one day you would find yourself in such a challenging situation. She didn’t want you to get attached to Henry because he was a tiny squirrel, smaller and weaker than the others, and he was likely to become a hawk’s dinner or freeze to death much sooner than you expected. 

She didn’t want you to get attached to Hyunjin because she knew that once a woman had opened her heart to a man, he held the power to destroy her. 

You understood everything. You understood why you were so ashamed of it—that Hyunjin refused so categorically to ever, ever fuck you. You understood why it hurt you so much, why that shame lingered, why and how it had stained you. Like ink on paper. Like red wine on white silk. 

Because your mother had not seen that coming. And she had promised you that when a lady made sure her garden remained unsullied, it would be the one thing her lord husband would without a doubt love about her, that he would desire it, that he would vulgarize it to his heart's content. She had made it seem as though there was no way this would ever fail. That if you were still pure on your wedding day, your husband would plant his seed in your garden, and there was no other option. She had made you feel as though it was the worst of offenses when a man wanted nothing to do with his wife’s garden. 

She had made you feel as though you would fail, as a woman and as a wife, should you not be touched by your husband.

And even if you understood Hyunjin’s struggles, his fears, his complicated feelings towards his father and even fatherhood itself—you couldn’t undo the lectures that had been given to you, that had been carved onto your mind. They had become a part of you, intrinsically so. If you could, you would cut your skull open and pick them from your brain to discard them, but it would mean losing pieces of yourself. And you were okay with that. If, somehow, you could turn into a blank canvas, if you could be unmade, you would let Hyunjin fashion you into a wife that would be enough for him. That would be enough to heal his wounds instead of making them worse. 

You thought of the old beekeeper, Mr. Ito, and of the day he showed you how to make sure honey was pure. He said that if one day, you were no longer able to produce your own, you should at least know how to procure the real thing. 

“If honey is pure,” he had said, using a match to light a candle, “it will burn.” And he had shown you all the steps—wrapping cotton around a stick and coating it in honey before dipping it into the flame. You remembered the scent of it, sweet, sweet, sweet, and the way the honey, pure and unadulterated, caught on fire. 

You wanted to run back home. It was not possible but you wished for it anyway—you wanted to see the villa from afar and run barefoot on the grass again. You wanted Henry to be still alive. You wanted Mr. Ito to be still alive. Even just for an instant, you wanted to be more like that little girl again, the one who held hope in her heart, the one who wasn’t afraid to burn.

“You ladies enjoy your tea,” you murmured, pulling away before anyone could see your tears. “I will go see how dessert is coming along.” 

Neither Ha-ri or Lady Bang tried to stop you even though you weren’t particularly convincing. You walked away, ignoring the staircase as you passed it—you had no intention of checking on dessert or on anything. Hell, you weren’t even sure what you were doing at all until you made it to your bedroom and caught sight of your bed. You barely took the time to close the door behind you, crossing the room until you were sitting atop your soft mattress, feeling the linen and silk sheets laid on it. All white. Oh, how badly you wanted to stain them red. 

You reached under your pillow, finding the small bottle obtained from the apothecary earlier. The label only had a skull and crossbones on it and, underneath in a thin font, Diachylon.

What had he said? The apothecary? That you should take it after noticing a pregnancy. He couldn’t have known, of course, that you had an entirely different objective in mind. 

You wanted to be more than this. 

You wanted the state of your garden to be anything but a problem. All this time, all your life—it all had been about this, hadn’t it? So much had been forbidden—running, ice skating, horse riding. Freedom. All this time you had believed, subconsciously or not, that your fucking garden should remain unsullied. That Hyunjin would be a happy husband as long as you managed to offer yourself to him in the purest form you could. That he would be displeased should your garden be anything but immaculate.

There was one thing you hadn’t even considered, though.

What if you didn’t have a garden at all?

What if you set fire to it? Would it burn? If it was pure, would it burn? 

With trembling hands, you pushed the lid open, looking at the contents of the bottle. It was difficult to make out in the dark lighting of your room, but it was half-full with capsules. You held one between your thumb and your index, inspecting it. It seemed to be dark in color and had a thick consistency, just like honey. A strong, unpleasant scent invaded your nostrils when you breathed in—this had nothing to do with the little teas you brewed yourself a few months ago. This had the power to make a barren, lifeless place out of your womb. You brought the capsule to your lips after pouring yourself a glass of water from the pitcher on your nightstand. 

Knock knock knock. “Darling? Darling, are you in there?” 

You stopped breathing, motionless, your heart picking up a pace. 

He couldn’t know. He couldn’t ever find out about what you were doing. You knew it would destroy him. You knew that on some days, he wasn’t much more than a castle without bricks, a tree without leaves, a canvas without paint. And today was one of those days. 

It took exactly three seconds for you to bury the bottle under your pillow. You would remove it sometime later when it would be safe, after you had ingested the pills. When you would be absolutely certain that nobody would ever find out. You would never tell anybody. They would presume. Hyunjin would, Dr. Lee, even Ha-ri. But you would die before admitting the truth to anybody. You wouldn’t even tell Cloud. You wouldn’t even tell the bees. You wouldn’t even tell the wind about what you had done. 

“Darling?” Hyunjin said again, his voice lower now. “Can I come in?” 

You stood, figuring that not responding would only make things worse, but before you could cross the room, he let himself in—you hadn’t locked the door, apparently. Just two seconds later and he would have caught you shoving capsules of poison down your throat.

It took your breath away. You wondered if you would ever not be moved by him, by his presence, his existence. He stood there, his back on the closed door behind him, staring at you with his eyes like ink on paper, his lips parted, plush and raw from whiskey, like red wine on white silk. 

“Yes.” The words spilled from you without you having any control over them—like one part of your brain was constantly on edge, ready to make you Lady Hwang at a moment’s notice. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to make our guests wait, I just—” 

Whatever excuse you were going to make up, he didn’t let you say it out loud. He pushed himself off the wall, darting towards you—for an instant, it looked a little like he was going to attack, to pounce like a tiger. You had seen a tiger only once in your life but it was quite memorable. It might have been domesticated but it was still the largest cat you had ever seen. You wouldn’t forget the look in its eyes as it descended to devour the carcass the circus workers had left for him. A beautiful beast, too thin, locked in a cage. 

Hyunjin had the same look in his eyes tonight. What a beautiful beast he was, too, only his prison did not have bars. 

He did not lash out—when he stood just a few inches away from you, he stared down at you, cupping your cheek in his big hand. “Darling,” he whispered. His breath smelled like whiskey and like wine. His hair smelled like the outside air. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

It was not the first time it happened. The last time, he had gotten angry because you had drunkenly made a risqué comment during dinner. Even if it was an intimate dinner with people from the estate—Changbin, Ha-ri, Dr. Lee, Seonghwa, and Su-jin. It was always the same thing. You keep tempting me, he had said. And then he kissed you hard but you kissed him harder and he ate your pussy all night. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you murmured, caressing his perfect face. “It’s okay. Do you want to lie down?” He was very drunk—he was holding on to you as though he was afraid to collapse. 

“No, I want—I want—” but he couldn’t say it. Whatever he had in mind remained there as he frowned, his gaze not once moving away from your lips. “I want to stop being like that,” he uttered finally. 

You wanted to tell him that it would be alright soon.

But he kissed you. 

He pressed his lips onto yours, taking your mouth in his, claiming you once again. You kissed him back as his hands descended on your waist so he could pull you closer. He buried his face into your neck, biting you gently, suckling on your skin. He gently led you towards your bed, his lips not once leaving your skin, his tongue like flames licking at you. 

He’s too drunk, you told yourself as he lifted you just enough so he could sit you down on your mattress. But it felt too good. And you loved him too much. 

“Don’t let me talk to you like that again, darling,” Hyunjin said as he followed you onto the bed, on his hands and knees above you. He kissed you again, his hands scrambling to lift up your skirt. “Please. Promise me you won’t let me ever again.”

Your mind was all over the place, so much so that you didn’t know what he was referring to. After the breakfast fiasco, he had barely acknowledged your presence. 

“You were right though, I shouldn’t have stayed out after dark,” you pointed out, taking his face in your hands, forcing him to look you in the eyes. 

His had tears in them. And it broke your heart.

“My love.” Your throat was shutting itself tight but you fought it. “You can be mad at me, it’s alright. This is what a marriage is like.” And you meant it. 

Hyunjin froze in place, one hand squeezing your thigh, the other somewhere near your head. “Mad at you?” He frowned deeply, staring at you like it was the first time he ever saw you. “Mad at YOU?” 

You felt even more foolish then, your pussy already wet just from a few kisses and even fewer touches, realizing that you had misunderstood him. 

“None of that anger, or hatred, is directed at you,” Hyunjin managed slowly. “I love you. My beekeeper wife. I love you. I love you. I love you—” And then he was back on your lips, his tongue gliding in between yours. 

How could you tell him? How could you tell him that he was his own worst enemy, that he was the only thing keeping himself on a leash? 

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that tonight, but that's not all. This morning too.” He spoke to you between kisses, feeling the damp linen over your cunt with his fingertips. “I shouldn’t have… touched you like that. It’s wrong.” 

And yet you clenched around nothing remembering the way it had felt when he pinned you down, when you had been trapped underneath him. When he held you in place, his grip unforgivable and strong. It would have been factually wrong to say you hadn’t been frightened at all. And yet you feared nothing from Hyunjin—you trusted him with your life. 

“I liked it,” you breathed, losing yourself in him already. 

“It’s wrong. Baby, it’s wrong,” he insisted, his voice somewhere between a moan and a grunt. “Don’t ever let me do this to you again. Hit me if you must.” 

You moaned too when he rubbed your folds through your underskirt in slow, lazy circles. You reached for his trousers, attempting to undo the button. Hitting him? No. Taking his cock in your mouth and letting him fuck your throat? Yes. 

“Oh fuck,” he groaned when you squeezed him through his pants. 

Here’s what would happen—you would have drunken sex during which Hyunjin would open his heart to you, during which he would pleasure you, shatter you, devour you. He would finish in your mouth and you would welcome the sting at your throat and your sore jaw because they felt just like kisses. It wouldn’t be the first time such an event occurred. Tomorrow, you would talk it out. And progress would or wouldn’t be made. 

Or so you thought, until Hyunjin stretched his arm a little to pull your pillow closer, perhaps to lay it under your head. He stopped everything, motionless, and you could only watch in horror as he pulled the vial from where you had hastily hidden it. He looked at the label and then he looked at you. You remembered the morning of your thirteenth birthday—the day you became a woman. Waking up in a puddle of your own blood, afraid, ashamed as though you had done something terribly wrong. 

Hyunjin pulled away, standing next to the bed, still gaping at the bottle he was holding, his tented pants unbuttoned.

One thing about Hyunjin though was that he kept his promises. He had hated speaking harshly at you that morning so, tonight, he did the opposite. 

“Darling,” he said in a strangled voice, softer than you ever expected. “Wh—” He lost his words again and you sat down on your bed, shaking. “I forbade you.” The look of betrayal on his face was, perhaps, the worst thing ever inflicted on you, worse than any insult your mother might have hurled at you. It would have hurt less if Hyunjin had hit you in the face. 

“Please,” you began, but you were in a panic, dizzy and tired and drunk and scared, and it seemed like you had lost all ability to speak. “Hyunjin—”

Not once did he raise his voice. “Come.” He grabbed at your arm and did so in an exceptionally delicate manner. It would not have been different if you two were walking in a wildflower field on a sunny day. “Here, darling. Did you take these just now?” 

Before you could give him an answer, he dragged you to the lavatory, making you stand right in front of the sink. The mirror showed you a bleak reflection. You could barely recognize yourself. 

“Throw them up. Now. Please.” 

“Hyunjin, I—”

He pressed his hand at the back of your head, forcing you to lean over the sink, but not really forcing you. He would have done the same motion should he have wanted to show you a beautiful flower on the ground. “Do you want me to do it for you?” he asked calmly, bringing his fingers near your lips. “It’s okay baby, it’ll be over in a second.” Before you knew it, his fingers were in your mouth, reaching for your throat to stimulate your gag reflex. And he knew exactly how to do so—he was very intimate with the aforementioned gag reflex. 

He was so gentle with it that you weren’t sure what brought the tears to your eyes exactly—maybe it was his distress, or the pussy-laced fingers invading your mouth. Or maybe it was shame and regret. 

In one swift motion, you grabbed Hyunjin’s wrist to pull him away, freeing your throat. You coughed, choking on your own spit. 

“Darling,” Hyunjin began, and you raised your hand to quiet him while you caught your breath. 

You wiped the tears at the corner of your eyes, but one glance at the mirror revealed the mess that you had become. “I didn’t take it. I’m fine.” 

“You didn’t take it,” he repeated slowly, almost like he didn’t understand. “You didn’t take the medication. Are you lying to me?”

“No. I didn’t.” You left the washroom, returning to your bedroom before he could get ahold of the capsules. While Hyunjin stood there, you quickly closed the lid on the bottle and set it on the small table by the window. 

You noticed the droplets of water sticking to the glass. As though they were beckoning you, you made your way to the door leading to your balcony. The rain was light but cold, the sort of rain that was almost snow but not quite. Everything was dark, so dark that you could not make out the mountains on the horizon. 

Hyunjin joined you in the cold, his eyes darker than the rainy night. 

You wished, almost, that he would scream, that he would be enraged. You wished, almost, that he reacted violently. But instead, he held you. Close. He pressed your head on his chest and held you there, caressing your hair, rocking you ever so slightly in a comforting motion. You couldn’t tell whether he was trying to comfort you or himself.

“Darling,” he whispered, his voice blending with the rain in the exact same way he blended a deep red with true black on a canvas. “I would kill any man or woman who laid a single finger on you. I almost did so once and I would and will do it again if I ever need to.” He held you tighter. He was warm, feverish, and his heartbeat was irregular. “In this case, I’m the one who’s hurting you. So tell me, darling. Tell me what I’m supposed to do.” 

You wanted to tell him that he wasn’t hurting you but it would have been a lie. As reluctant as you were to admit it. You had never admitted it to yourself before. You swallowed a sob, wrapping your arms around your husband, holding onto him. 

He pulled away so he could look you in the eyes, holding your face in his hands. His pretty traits were twisted in anguish. You watched as a raindrop rolled from his temple, where his wet hair stuck to his skin, down to his jaw. He waited patiently until you were strong enough to look him in the eyes, too. 

He caressed your lips with his thumb—he didn’t seem drunk anymore, as though the shock had sobered him up. 

“Darling,” he said nonetheless. “I’m begging you. I’m begging you. I’m nothing without you. Nothing, do you hear me? Your absence would cause my demise, in one way or another. And yet I do not want to die. I want to be alive. With you. I want to hear your laughter, I want to wake up by your side. I want to taste your honey. I want to paint you, and travel with you, and—” He paused, overwhelmed, while your heart swelled with love and something even deeper than that, something that didn’t even have a name. “I’m sorry I’m not enough. I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want. But please, don’t—” 

You put your hands over his—he was trembling. He was digging a hole in your chest. 

“I’m sorry I did that this morning. I’m sorry I got angry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You had never seen him like that. He was broken. 

“I told you I liked—” 

But he didn’t let you finish your sentence. He shook his head and a few more droplets of rain rolled down his cheeks. “You don’t know what was on my mind. Terrible things. Disgusting things. I almost…” His gaze became unfocused as he replayed the scene in his mind. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. “It won’t happen again. I won’t let it. I won’t hurt you, I won’t—” 

“Hyunjin.” You thought about all of the colors in your heart, about all of the words in your mind, about all of the sorrow in your veins. You wanted—no, you needed—him to understand. “All my life, they told me I needed to do this and that and be this and that and not to do this or that. And not to say this, but to say that. And I know that your childhood was awful, a lot worse than mine, but you will never understand what it is to have been born a woman.” 

That seemed to unsettle him and to ground him at once. He straightened up a little, looking at you inquisitively, listening as the rain kept on pouring on the both of you. 

“Every day, from the age of six or seven years old,” you went on, “I was reminded of how important it all was. I was told that if I did well—if I was intelligent enough, pretty enough, if I took care of my hair, of my body, of my—” You gulped, finding it harder to breathe. “Of my garden, I would become worthy of bearing your heirs. Hyunjin, it’s the only thing that was allowed to define me. My entire life. The beekeeping was just a distraction from that reality. I was made to be the mother of your children more than I was made to be your wife. I don’t know what I am without that. I’m nothing if I’m not that. And yet I understand you, and I respect your wish to never have children. I love you, Hyunjin. I just wanted… I think I just wanted to get rid of that burden. I told myself it was to relieve you of it, but really, it was for me. I wanted to be something more.” 

Slowly, Hyunjin lowered his face just millimeters away from yours, ghosting your lips with his, his hot breath spreading on your skin like ink on paper, like red wine on white silk. His forehead pushed onto yours gently. 

“My pretty, pretty wife.” He kissed you—a deep, languid kiss, his tongue caressing yours, his fingers closing into fists in your hair. “Can’t you see? Can’t you see what I see in you?”

Another kiss followed—this time, however, he pulled you with him until his back hit the wall behind him. It rained a little less here, close to the manor, but a shiver went down your spine anyway. 

“It was never about what I want or don’t want,” he continued, his lips caressing yours with every word. “I do want it too. More than you would ever expect. I want to fuck a baby into you. I want to make love to you and I want to see your belly swell with the life that I put inside it. I want to hold the baby we made together and kiss its little baby forehead. And then, when it’s big enough, I want to fuck another into you. And another. I want to love them the way my father never loved me. I want to love you, and them, forever. It’s not about what I want or not. I want it. I just cannot, in good conscience, let it become reality. My blood is tainted. The fairy tale would turn into a nightmare, and I would hurt you, and our family.” 

Traumatized. Your husband was traumatized. 

And maybe, probably, so were you. 

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, where the scent of his cologne was stronger. He held you in his arms for what might have been a minute, or perhaps an hour. He only moved when he noticed your body trembling not from emotion, but from the cold—he took your hand then, leading you back inside. 

“I’ll go ask for a bath for you.” He kissed the top of your head. “You need to warm up. I’ll make sure our guests are comfortable for the night, too.” 

You didn’t let go of his hand when he took a step away—he turned to you, head tilted to the side. “I want to have my bath here.” You took a deep breath. “And come back to me. Don’t lock yourself in your room.” 

“I’ll come back.” Normally, on the evenings before he left for a business trip, Hyunjin went to bed early, often in a room separate from yours since he didn’t want to wake you up in the morning.

“Okay.” You touched him, his toned chest, letting your fingers linger on the buttons of his shirt. He left the room and you almost collapsed, barely making it to your bed.

You lay down. You just lay down, your eyes fixated on the ceiling above. You were still there when the two maids came in—it was Salma and Emi. You remembered that Anhjong was off duty until tomorrow morning.

“Lady Hwang,” they said in unison, dropping their heads. Salma was holding Cloud in her arms. As soon as she saw you, the cat jumped on the ground so she could join you in bed. “His lordship said you were to have a bath,” Emi added. 

You gave them a simple hm hm, caressing Cloud’s soft fur as the almost fully-grown cat rolled into a ball next to you, her purrs echoing in the quiet room. You closed your eyes, trying to breathe at the same slow pace as her. 

“Should we add anything to the water, my lady?”

“Just some jasmine oil, Salma. Thank you.”

“You seem tired, Lady Hwang. Should we stay? I can wash your hair if you wish,” Emi offered. 

“I am tired,” you admitted. “But I’ll be just fine. After you’ve filled the tub, please return to your quarters and enjoy your night.” 

You were eager to plunge into the small but comfortable copper tub of your lavatory—while Hyunjin’s was more spacious, yours felt, well, like yours. You liked this room and everything about it. The balcony, the view in the morning, the furniture, the rich wood adorning it. In any case—for some reason you couldn’t quite explain, you craved Hyunjin’s presence in a space that wasn’t his. Almost like you feared you would overdose on him.

He was far by now. Most likely, he was back downstairs with Lord Christopher and Changbin who were having late-night drinks, as they usually did when the Bangs visited. Normally, you would be with Ha-ri and Lady Bang,somewhere in the manor, chatting and doing lady things. It did not matter, however, how far away Hyunjin was—you could still feel his hands on your body, his lips on your skin. You could still hear his voice in the air around you. 

Can’t you see what I see in you?

You wondered what it was that he saw. You wondered if any of it came from you, really you, or if it was all just more attributes forced onto you. 

It was never about what I want, or what I don’t want.

Apparently not. None of what Hyunjin had told you tonight felt real—you would be able to recite each word but your mind simply could not believe them. 

Hyunjin had not chosen you, he had not chosen to be engaged or married to you. 

But neither had you. And it did not change one thing about the amount of love you held for him, or how profound that love was. 

I want to fuck a baby into you.

You pressed your thighs together, clenching around nothing. You hadn’t lied to him—it was true that you had been built into a baby-making wife. But what was also painfully true was your hunger. Your yearning. And it had nothing to do with childbearing. It was not the sort of thing a lady should ever have on her mind, let alone act on. They locked women in asylums for thoughts far less lewd or offensive. 

You wanted Hyunjin that way because you desired him. You wanted him like he was a part of you that was missing—and maybe he was. Maybe he was exactly that. It didn’t matter how it would happen. He could hastily take you from behind at some event, unable to help himself. Or he could take his time, sinking into you over the course of several hours. He could, if he wanted, hurt you. He could pull your skirt up at any moment and take you, claiming you for good. He could, if he wanted, fuck his demons into you. You would gladly rid him of them. He would not need to be kind. He could pin you down, tie you up, pull your hair. Nothing that he would do to you would hurt as much as the absence of him did.

But you loved him.

You loved him enough to give up just about anything if it meant you would be together. The edges of his soul were sharp, but so were yours. He had given you quite a few cuts just like you had done to him. He had never chosen to marry you. You had never chosen to marry him.

But you had fallen in love with him.

And you had chosen to let that happen. 

No amount of tears, of pain, of frustration would ever make you regret that, or make you wish your life had taken another turn. Often, others kept their hearts closed—they made sure to stay at a safe distance from the things they liked out of fear of those becoming things they loved. But you weren’t like that and you had never been. 

Once, your mother had told you, Why is it that whenever you love something, it’s broken, or crippled? And you did not have an answer to that question. You loved what you loved. Period. She had tried to paint you as weak because of it, and for a long time, you believed her. You could see it clearly now. No love, certainly not the honest, unconditional kind, was the symptom of a brittle heart. On the contrary—only the bravest ones allowed it to permeate their souls.

One day, a traveling merchant visited your family’s villa—he was selling strange wares, something you had never seen before. Plates, vases, cups, teapots—except they were not new. He had said that these pieces had once been valuable and that they had been discarded by their owners after shattering. This man, an old man, explained to your father and to you how he had made it his life’s purpose to repair these objects so they could be beautiful again. So that they could fulfill their purpose. 

He used gold to reattach the pieces together. The practice had a name, only you couldn’t remember what it was called.

You loved Hyunjin exactly the way he was—as broken or crippled as he might be. And one day, maybe, he would let you become the string of gold that held him together, something that made him whole again.

A delicate scent of jasmine reached Hyunjin’s nostrils as soon as he pushed your bedroom door open. He almost dropped the tray he was holding when Cloud snaked in between his feet, dashing out of the room with one of her characteristic—and very loud—meows. At this hour, she usually liked to hang around the kitchen. The staff fed her some meat and she liked to nap by the oven while it was still warm. 

“Is that you?” you inquired. Your question was followed by gentle splashes of water, indicating that you were already bathing. 

You didn’t need to say his name. He knew when you were speaking to him because your voice sounded different then.

“It’s me.” Without wasting time, he went to you.

The air was thick in the washroom, heavy with the humidity created by your apparently very hot bath. You didn’t seem bothered by the heat one bit, laying in the water like a siren, head resting on the edge of the tub. It was too dark for him to see you nearly as much as he’d like, but he could make out your silhouette under the water, familiar and enticing. 

His heart still beating unevenly after tonight’s events, he sat on the chair near the bathtub, setting the tray on the counter next to him. You observed him in silence, your hair floating around you, your fingers tracing circles in the water, creating ripples on the surface of it.

“I brought you some food.” His voice was still shaking. He couldn’t stop seeing it in his head. Those awful capsules you kept. The look in your eyes when he found you. The look in your eyes this morning when he almost violated you. “You haven’t had dessert.” 

You remained quiet, your eyes not leaving him once. He had stepped out just short of half an hour, long enough to let things settle, to digest at least some of it. Long enough to hear the staff talk excitedly about the big news, which had just become public. Literally moments ago, apparently. It was with tears in his eyes that Christopher confirmed it to be true. And it was with tears in his eyes, too, that Hyunjin embraced him and congratulated him. If there was one man Hyunjin had no doubt would be a wonderful father, it was him.

Hyunjin rose from his seat, grabbing one of the pieces of honeycomb he had brought. They were a part of your last harvest—while you insisted they should be reserved for presents to your friends or guests, he didn’t like thinking that you worked so hard to take care of your bees, all summer, only to give away all of the yield. 

It was sticky on his fingers. He lowered himself right by the tub and brought the sweet treat to your lips. You took a little bite from it and more honey spilled on his hand, dripping on your collarbone. Hyunjin ate the rest, savoring each second of it, the chewy beeswax and the unique taste of your wildflower honey. 

“Do you want more, darling?” he asked softly, licking his fingers clean so he wouldn’t waste a single drop.

“No, Hyunjin. Thank you.” 

He stood again, wincing in pain—the injury to his knee had healed well but his leg had never been quite the same since—and returned to the counter to get you something else. Your lips curved into a smile when he brought you a small glass of port. You went to hold it but he didn’t let you. Instead, he pressed it on your lips, helping you drink it.  

“Oh, it’s the good one,” you commented after the first sip. 

“Only the best for my darling wife,” he replied with a smile that was a little somber. 

This time, you didn’t let him—you took the glass from him, allowing him to drink his own. It was really warm here and the fabric of his shirt stuck to his skin in places, or maybe it was just the curve of your bare shoulders. 

Your free hand broke the surface of the water and you held it palm up towards him. His heart jumped a little when he understood what you were asking for, but he held your hand, squeezing it gently. 

“I apologize, Hyunjin,” you uttered slowly. “I’m sorry I…” You sighed, drinking a small sip of port while you found the right words. “I’ve been so selfish.”

He almost choked on his drink. “Selfish? No, that’s me, I’m selfish. I keep doing what I think is right because otherwise my conscience couldn’t take it. I should have realized before that it has consequences. That even if we think something is right, it doesn’t mean it is.”

He had repeated the pattern you had been used to—putting you through his own issues and pacifying you with an apiary. Wasn’t this exactly the same as your childhood? He still remembered your letters from then—he remembered all of your letters—and how surprised you were that your parents would allow you to learn the beekeeping trade. His intentions mattered little here—of course he had done it to make you happy. And it had made you happy. Only it was like making you lick honey off the stem of a rose—the taste would be sweet, yes, but the thorns would cut your tongue nonetheless.

You sat upright, pulling yourself closer to him, your chin resting on the arm you kept on the edge of the tub. “We’re sick in the head, aren’t we?” you whispered, sorrow written all over your face. You sighed. “I had a very unladylike idea. And you had the very unlordly reaction to shove your fingers down my throat to make me throw up. All of that just because I’m too… concupiscent for my, or your, own good.”

“Concupiscent?” He swallowed the last of his port but barely, coughing it down. 

“Yes, concupiscent!” you repeated, but this time, your traits had softened and the ghost of a smile appeared on your lips. “Both in the literal and Christian sense of the word.” 

“You’re exaggerating, darling.” He became serious then. In his head, his thoughts danced in circles, too fast for him to grasp onto one. The truth was that he couldn’t stop thinking of the moment he saw you with these evil pills. 

You had it all wrong. He had failed to make you see the love he had for you. He had failed you as a husband. As a friend. Because if you knew the extent—the magnitude—of his devotion, the thought wouldn’t even have crossed your mind. Because then you would have known that any harm you caused yourself was inflicted tenfold onto him. 

You were the only thing in the world that mattered. He would give up on it all if it meant that joy had made a home out of your heart. 

“I’m not,” you went on. “I’m humbly asking for your forgiveness.” 

“There is nothing to forgive. Darling. Nothing.”

You looked into his eyes. “You’re wrong. There is. I am asking for your forgiveness. Please give it to me.” 

He discarded his empty glass. “I dare not ask for your forgiveness, but—”

You cut him off. “I forgive you.” 

The air had been kicked out of his lungs—for a few seconds, he could only hear a ringing in his left ear. He didn’t deserve you. He never had. You had too good of a heart—it should love something other than him. In a perfect life, you wouldn’t be Lady Hwang. You wouldn’t even know of his existence. In a perfect life, you would be a princess, or perhaps even a queen, and your husband would have a soul that didn’t have holes in it. 

But life wasn’t perfect. Which meant that his life was absolutely perfect.

Because it had put you on his path. Because you were his sweet, sweet wife, living under his roof, because you took his name, because you were his. He knew he held no ownership over you and yet you were his woman. No matter how hurt, no matter how deranged either of you were, Hyunjin was your man and you were his woman.

“And don’t tell me not to,” you added. “I’m not taking it back. Can we try again? Please?”

“Try what, darling?” he caressed your hair. Most of it was damp. 

“This. All of this. Our marriage.” You thought about it. “I don’t want to erase what we had, but I want to move past tonight. I made a mistake and… I want to outgrow it.” 

He sighed, kissing your forehead. Your skin was warm—the warmth spilled inside of him, traveling from his lips, spreading within his body. “Then, I do forgive you.” He still didn’t see anything he ought to give you forgiveness for, but if it was something you needed to hear from him, then he ought to say it. “Promise me you will never hurt yourself? You’ll never only hurt you if you do so.” 

You nodded, tilting your head to the side, inviting him in for a kiss to which he did not resist.  Hyunjin kissed you slowly. Your mouth tasted like honey and port and you smelled like jasmine and he was so in love with you that sometimes it felt like he was dying. It had to be what death felt like, right? Frightening and peaceful at once. 

You deepened the kiss, breathing your sweet air into his lungs. He moaned when you rested your hands, dripping with hot scented water, onto his shoulders to pull him closer. Only he was as close as he could be. You owned him. He was little more than a marionette dictated by your existence. 

He melted into the kiss, warmth spreading in his belly. Your fingers, sneaky and agile, began undoing the buttons of his shirt. You smiled against his lips as you undressed him lazily and he, himself, took care of his trousers. Clothes seemed so futile when he was with you—any moment spent without the contact of your bare skin on his was wasted.

It took no time for him to step into the tub with you. Only, this one was much smaller than the one in his bedroom so he had to squeeze himself there. Fortunately you found a solution to the problem when you came to straddle him, your ass resting on his thighs, your arms around his neck. 

He kissed your lips again, then your neck. He licked the honey off your collarbone, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your hips. The warmth you had sparked within him had turned into something else. It felt, almost, like something was vibrating at a low frequency in his lower abdomen. 

“Baby, we don’t have to,” you murmured into his hair, holding onto him. “I just needed you close.” Maybe you were feeling him grow hard against your thigh—Hyunjin had no way to resist you. But it was becoming difficult. To resist. 

Because, before tonight, he had never admitted to anybody—not even to himself—the things he told you. In some ways, he became aware of them as the words spilled from his lips. He couldn’t explain his panic. You wouldn’t be the first woman to use this substance to prevent or stop birth. He was well aware of the practice. 

How could he explain this to you? 

He recognized the bottle in your hands from across the room. He had seen it before, or something similar enough anyway, in his mother’s bedroom cabinet. He couldn’t explain it to you because he had no way of proving it anyway, but he knew that his mother had suffered numerous miscarriages. That he was the only baby who ever held inside her. 

Had she wanted him at all?

Had she tried to get rid of him, too? Had she tried to prevent him altogether in preparation for whenever his father might want to unleash himself onto her next? 

Maybe, what he had seen at that moment as you sat on your bed, holding the medicine in your hands, was the reality he had been avoiding for so long—by trying so hard to be unlike his father, he was becoming indistinguishable from him. He was becoming him, only in a different shade perhaps. 

He wanted to be more than that. He wanted to be more than trying to be something, or someone. He wanted to deserve you. Really deserve you.

And it was difficult to resist. His willpower was weakening the more time he spent with you because it just meant he loved you a little more each day. And every day, it was a surprise because he had never imagined he would have the capacity to love you more than he already did.

And yet. 

“I’m right here darling.” 

He let his hands travel along the paradise that was your body, stopping only to cup your breasts. He played with your nipples in slow, relaxed circles, using his thumbs. The rest of his fingers squeezed you, eliciting a little breathy moan out of you that was so alluring it made him dizzy. 

You caressed him, too—his neck, his arms, his forearms, holding onto his wrists, your face twisting in pleasure with every new touch despite how you seemed to want to fight it. He didn’t want to fight it. He didn’t want to fight anymore. He had fought his inner demons his whole life, and for what? 

“I’m right here,” he said again, his eyes gliding over your body. “God, look at you. My pretty wife… and those tits…” 

You blushed violently so he did not let you turn away—gently pushing your chin upwards with two of his fingers, Hyunjin watched as your skin became a canvas on which color was spreading, deep and vivid and moving, better than any masterpiece. 

“Lovely,” he commented, peppering your face with little kisses. 

You giggled under your breath, taking his mouth for a deep kiss. Your lips were smooth and warm—he kissed you back, desperately, losing a bit more of his sanity with each second. 

“Why are you laughing?” he questioned, amused and endeared and aroused. “Did I say something funny?” 

You shook your head and took a few instants to give him your response, during which he admired you some more. Your eyes like stories, telling more than an entire library ever could, your flushed cheeks, your lips, raw from kissing. 

“No.” You bit your lip, sinking onto him a little more, the weight of you delightful on his hardening cock. “You make me feel beautiful.” 

Maybe it was his life’s calling—maybe he had been put on his Earth to serve that one and only purpose. To serve you, your heart, and your beauty. To be the mirror in which you saw all of those things that made you the ravishing woman that you were. From your smile to the way you pronounced his name, or your sweeter-than-honey voice. Your mind,stronger than mountains and your heart. Your heart, which was much like an ocean—grand, full of life, and deep. Your heart held so much that sometimes he worried you would collapse under its weight. But no, not you. Because you were you. His pretty beekeeper wife. And there was nothing he wanted more than to drown in that sea. 

“You are beautiful, darling.” 

He throbbed when you rolled your hips just a little, seeking friction. Your lips parted open but no sound came out of them. What a shame—he ought to change that. 

He, too, bucked his hips, but a little harder, and this time you blessed him with your voice, moaning as you let your head fall in the crook of his neck. He was going to be fully hard soon if you kept going. If he kept going. He slid his hands at your back to rest them on your ass, keeping you close. The feeling of your hard nipples against his chest was enough to drive him crazy. There was no space between your body and his, and yet it wasn’t even enough. He needed more. He needed you closer even.

“I wish I had understood all these things before,” he confessed, massaging your ass, rubbing his erection on your thigh and the soft skin of your cunt. 

“We said we were moving on,” you reminded him, kissing his jaw. “I just want both of us to be happy.”

Moving on. Something he had never quite done before. His entire life, Hyunjin had been haunted by the ghosts of his past and some days, he still felt as though he was the little boy hiding in his room—in this room—to escape fury or despair. 

But he would do any one thing you asked for. His defenses had all been annihilated tonight. He was finally allowing his heart to tap into his deepest, most secret desires, to turn silence into words, to let them take flight. He hoped it wasn't too late, but it was tonight that he realized that love would always be stronger than fear. 

“What else do you want, baby?” Anything. You could ask for anything and he would give it to you. 

Your lips crashed on his for a passionate kiss—you let go of his shoulders to shove a hand underwater, wrapping your fingers around his cock. “Let me make you feel good,” you said between kisses, squeezing him, making him see stars already. Heat pooled between his legs and he suppressed a whimper when you fondled his balls in the most tender, sensual way you possibly could.

He groaned in your mouth as you alternated between palming and pumping his length. “Close your eyes,” you whispered, pushing his head back to expose his neck. You kissed him there too. 

You thumbed his tip skillfully, using just enough friction, touching him in all the right places. “Oh fuck.” You knew him by heart, didn’t you? He was a slave under you, obeying each of your commands. 

“I want to ask you something.” Your voice was low. “I want you to tell me what you were thinking about this morning when you…” 

He throbbed in your hand at the mere memory of it. You felt it, adjusting your pace accordingly. 

“No,” he managed, his breath hitching. “It’s not… right.” 

Your languid massage came to a halt—instead, you squeezed him so hard that his entire body jerked forward, pleasure and pain becoming one, spreading under his skin. 

You went on. “I want to know what it would be like. If we…” 

He tried to steady his breathing but you made it very difficult by literally holding him by the balls and looking like a goddess on top of him. 

“We never have to do it,” you added softly with a smile. “But I want to imagine it in my head.” 

We never have to do it only Hyunjin had reached the limit. Of what he could prevent. Of his self-control. His temperance had run out.

“No man should say these things to his wife.” It was too lewd. Too honest. “I fear I would feel compelled to act upon my words. And it wouldn’t be right to do so tonight, would it, darling?”

“Not if you do it to silence me,” you breathed. “It would only be right if you did so because you wanted it so bad that you couldn’t help it. Isn’t that what almost happened, earlier? Is that why you were so angry this morning?” 

He throbbed again—harder this time, moaning as you gave his cock a gentle squeeze. “Baby—” 

Fuck this.

He had enough of it all. Of trying. Of resisting. Of pretending, even to himself, that he wasn’t obsessed with it, with you. He should have loved you hard on your wedding night. He should have loved you hard every night after.

“Tell me,” you insisted. But instead of telling you, he lifted you off him—you stared at him surprised, retreating a little farther. 

He pushed himself up, splashing water all over the floor in the process, getting out of the bathtub. You turned to him, reaching for his cock again—hard, straining—and opening your mouth to take him between your lips, but he stopped you, cupping your face instead. “Get up, darling.” 

Your eyes widened with anticipation and he had to force air into his lungs as you stood, graceful and sinful at once, your skin covered in goosebumps. Water rolled down your body and he followed it with his gaze. He liked the way the drops slowed down around your stomach before they continued their course, disappearing in the trimmed, silky-soft hair covering your pussy. 

You stepped out of the bathtub, your arms around his neck to kiss him—he kissed you back but wrapped your legs around his waist as he lifted you. He should have done so on your wedding night. He should have done so every night after.

“A—Are you sure?” you managed, grinding almost painfully on his erection, kissing and licking his neck, leaving a trail of spit behind. “You’re not doing it just to—”

He lay you in your bed, dampening the sheets immediately but he didn’t care. He held his cock, giving it a few lazy pumps as he kneeled over you. “No, I’m not doing it to silence you. Or whatever.” He kissed you. Your thighs. Your mons. Your waist. Your breasts. Your neck. Your lips. “I’m doing it because I can’t fucking resist you anymore.” 

You whined when he pushed onto your knee to spread your legs for him, holding onto his arms like you were afraid to fall. Were you scared? Turned on? Eager? You looked eager—disheveled, with your eyes glazed over, your chest rising and lowering with your small, shallow breaths.

You let out a loud moan when he cupped your pussy, feeling how wet you were and it wasn’t from the bath. Your juices stuck to his fingers and the palm of his hand as he massaged you, the tip of his fingers teasing your ass. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—” You sighed, head falling at the back, arching your back. “Yes, please—” 

It would be a lie to say he hadn’t thought about this moment a lot. Because he had. Before meeting you and after. Sometimes he was imagining long, elaborate scenarios, and others simply picturing the moment he would work you open and the context didn’t matter.

Except it mattered. Context was everything. Context was more important than the act itself. It was with shame that he was towering over you tonight, the flames of the candles around your bed lighting only some parts of you—your left breast, your waist on the left side, too, your face. You had granted him his forgiveness a little too quickly and it didn’t feel quite deserved now. So he would keep begging you for it until he was satisfied. Until he knew he earned it, really earned it.

He clicked his tongue at the sight. “Darling.” He pressed two fingers at your entrance and he swore he could feel your pulse there. He caressed you, smearing your slick all over your pussylips. “Not so fast.” He needed more time.

He would keep begging until he knew he deserved you, which was to say, he would keep begging until his last breath. He didn’t need to use words for it. He would put his mouth to a better use than that, whispering his pleas into you.

He lowered himself between your legs, in this sacred place, kissing your inner thighs. Your skin smelled like the jasmine oil you had bathed in but the scent of your pussy was better. Sweeter. 

“You want to know what went through my mind this morning?” He inhaled you, pressing his face between your legs, your slick coating his face. You writhed under him, your fists finding his hair. “It might offend you to know I was frighteningly close to forcing myself onto you.” He lapped at your cunt, teasing you, letting your taste melt into the tip of his tongue. Just little kitten licks, but each of them sent a jolt of lightning directly to his crotch. Each of them made you moan louder than the last. 

It was true and it felt good to say it while tasting you. It felt good to say it, period. 

“I wanted to keep you there and spread you open,” he went on, tilting his head to the side a little so he could reach your entrance better. Your cunt fluttered on his tongue, forcing a grunt out of him. “I wanted to watch myself sink into your tight cunt. Wanted to bury myself as deep as I could.” 

You cried out, your hand closing into a fist in his hair, pressing him closer, rolling your hips to meet his tongue, to rub your clit onto his nose. You were hungry for more but he was hungrier. A craving that could not be explained with words. 

“I wanted to break you open.” He used two of his fingers to expose you to him. “I wanted to fuck you. And ruin your pretty pussy.” Hyunjin pushed his tongue into your tight hole, licking you, fucking you with it. He did it because he knew you loved it, he knew you lost it every time he did it. But the truth was that it was an out-of-body experience to feel your cunt flutter around his tongue. You arched into his mouth, your voice filling the quiet room. “I thought exactly the same thing the very day I met you. We weren’t even married, darling, and I already wanted to ravage you.” 

He quickly returned to your cunt, kissing it, fucking it sloppy with his tongue. You were meant to be worshiped. Could you feel that? Could you feel that each swirl of his tongue was a new prayer? 

He barely heard you over the lewd sounds of his own mouth on you, but he could swear you muttered something like please fucking do it, which made his legs go limp a little. He groaned, taking himself in one hand to soothe the aching pressure he felt at his core. Eager. So fucking eager, and impatient. Acting innocent earlier with your we don’t have to do it, knowing fully he would. Knowing he had no wish for restraint anymore.

No, of course, you weren’t like that, were you? You wouldn’t torture him this way. But you were hungry for cock, and it was driving him properly insane.

He emerged from between your legs out of breath, your juices dripping all over his chin. “You really don’t know, do you?” God, you were so fucking wet. And he wasn’t even really drunk anymore—yet he felt lightheaded, like he was barely more than a cock and a mouth and a heart that loved you endlessly. “You ask for something but you don’t know if you’ll be able to handle it.” He meant that. As though to prove his point, he lay his tongue flat on your folds, taking one firm lick, slurping on you like you were the most extravagant dessert. Which, well, was exactly what you were. He was certain he could live off your cunt and only your cunt. You were the only sustenance required to keep him alive. “If I had my way with you, you would have blacked out while I made you mine.” 

You clenched around nothing, pressing your thighs together, pressing his head harder in between them. Concupiscent his ass. You were straight-up horny. But he had known this about you for a while now, hadn’t he? He just hadn’t let that information sink in—truly sink in—in order to protect you. Or himself. Both, perhaps. 

“I have to relax you before,” he explained. He was leaking already. “Do you understand, darling?” 

He glanced at you in time to see you nod—you propped yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him, making it impossible for him not to smile. Even in this light, he could see your beauty. Hell, it could have been daylight or completely dark that it wouldn’t have made a difference. Your beauty transcended all human senses. 

“Don’t hold back,” he warned you, returning to his post, his purpose, his home. He pushed a single finger into your dripping hole—farther than he ever had before, just past the second knuckle. He felt it in his crotch when you clenched around him, writhing and whimpering desperately. 

He gave your clit a kiss first, a gentle one, massaging your walls with his finger. 

And then he unleashed himself on you. 

Hugging your clit in his plush lips, he licked and sucked onto it, regularly changing his tempo, fucking you with his finger at the same time, speaking sins and miracles into your cunt. The way you pulled his hair to fuck yourself onto his face made him want to die or something like it. He almost came when he felt a deep throb within you. You were close, too. 

He rotated his wrist, inserting a second finger inside—and almost lost his sanity because of it. How tight were you even? You wouldn’t be able to take his cock, would you? He wouldn’t even be able to put half of it in your virgin pussy. 

Your voice turned into pretty staccato moans when he found the soft spot he was looking for. You couldn’t stop clenching around his fingers, so he licked at your clit, obeying its demands, wishing nothing but to fulfill his function. 

“Yes, oh yes, oh my god—” You weren’t making much sense, but the sound of your voice almost brought tears to his eyes. Beautiful.

His wife. His woman.

He applied a bit more pressure in both places—your clit and the sensitive spot inside your cunt, moaning with you as you ascended, rubbing his cock onto the mattress. 

He did not stop when you came—you were convulsing almost violently on the bed, pleasure taking over you, crying out, your cunt pulsing under him. You gushed onto his face, coating it with your sweet, sweet, sweet cream. He stopped breathing, becoming one with you, letting your orgasm move him, too. Letting the high tide take him. Gradually, you came to a stop and he followed you into stillness too, only removing his fingers once he was certain your high had receded. 

You collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily, the scent of your cunt all over him and this room. 

He was well aware that simply thinking such a thing was a cardinal sin, but he knew that if angels made love and had orgasms, they looked just like you when you did. Sounded like you. Felt like you. Tasted like you, too.

He couldn’t see it in the dark, but he knew that a special treat was now pooling at your entrance. His special treat. His reward for helping you reach rapture. He waited a few seconds while you were resting before selfishly lapping at your entrance once more, collecting your juices, slurping and swallowing them, swallowing you. 

You came back gently—he felt your hand in his hair again, caressing him lovingly now. He smiled as he drank the last of you, not wasting any time before he climbed up onto you so he could share your taste. You looked fucked out, your skin was hot and feverish, and he kissed you hard. He could feel you tasting yourself, seeking the sweetness in his mouth. He throbbed at that. He was no longer reigning over his own body for you were the queen sitting at the throne.

You pulled away, looking him in the eyes as best you could in the dark. You touched his face. He was feverish too, sweat pooling at his temples, his hair stuck in all sorts of places.

“We don’t have to,” you whispered for the second time that night, with a sweet smile on your lips and, if he wasn’t making things up, tears in your eyes. “I love you, Hyunjin.” 

“I love you too, darling.” His leaking cock rested on your pussy, as it usually did when he was making an approximation of love to you. “You know I love you, right? Don’t lie to me.”

He appreciated that you took a few seconds to think about it. You nodded, wiping the corner of your eye. “I do.”

Hyunjin leaned down to kiss your forehead. And then he kissed the tears on your cheeks. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer. 

“Are you saying we don’t have to because you don’t want to, baby?” He gave your lips a kiss, too. “Because it’s okay.”

You shook your head vigorously. “No! No, I want to.” As though to prove your point, you wrapped your legs around his waist, the two of you becoming completely intertwined. But it was more than just your bodies—it was your souls that were entangled, too.

“But you’re crying.” He hated it when you cried. It was as though each tear was a thousand years of torture. 

“I’m crying but I’m not sad.” You held his face with both hands. “I’m not even scared. I'm happy.” 

He sort of wanted to cry, too so he understood what you meant. Tonight really was special. It was strange to know he was currently creating one of the most beautiful memories in his life, one that he would cherish even when he would be old. Perhaps especially when he would be old.  He smiled. “You’ll have to tell me if I hurt you.” 

“You will hurt me,” you said with conviction. “I want it to hurt.” 

He grunted, burying his face in your hair while he recovered from that lethal plea. You caressed his back, his waist, his ass, dragging your fingernails along his skin, tickling him all over. 

There wasn’t much left of the flames on the candles, which meant he had limited time. Because if there was one thing all of his fantasies had in common, it was that he truly, profoundly wished to look into your eyes as he fucked you. When he claimed you.

“Darling,” he began, “I want you to look at me.” 

You did, your eyes finding his when he positioned himself. His heart skipped a few beats when he spread you open. He guided himself near your entrance but stayed there. “Keep looking at me. Don’t close your eyes.” 

He could not wait anymore. It felt like he had waited a thousand years. It felt like it was the only way, maybe, you would truly understand the love he had for you. If he fucked it into you.  

“I love you,” you said again as he ever so slightly pushed the tip of his cock inside you. Barely. Not even an inch. 

But he caught on fire nonetheless. 

It took all of the composure in the world not to buck his hips violently—he had reached nirvana. He had ascended somewhere higher than heaven. Somehow, he could taste love and lust. He could hear colors maybe. 

“I love you,” he managed, his cock throbbing dangerously. 

He moved a little, sinking deeper into your heat, his cock engulfed by your tight warmth. His eyelids fluttered as blood rushed to his crotch but it felt like his heart was sinking and was beating somewhere there, astray but more powerful than ever.

You were so wet, so snug around him, your eyes not leaving him, your pretty mouth parted open as you took more and more of him. It was becoming difficult for him to move now. “Relax baby,” he muttered, retreating a little. 

“Do it,” you begged, your fingernails sinking into his back. “Take me, please.”

He caressed your folds, each of his moves slow and purposeful. “Again.” 

He sank into your warmth once more, not forcing it but making sure all of his tip had disappeared. “You’re so fucking wet,” he commented, hissing through his teeth. 

He kissed you, deeply, trying to say something with his tongue for which he could not find the words. You kissed him back, undulating your hips gently. 

He made sure it was as unhurried as it could possibly be. Hyunjin guided his cock into your intimacy, sinking into your dripping hole. 

“Deeper,” you whined, spreading yourself more for him.

“Shhh, baby.” He caressed your cheek, thrusting into you with more strength finally, stretching your virgin cunt open, moving in shallow thrusts, patiently. Yet impatiently. These few seconds appeared to him much longer than all of his existence so far.

It was better than anything he had ever thought it would be. Not because you were tight and not because you were soaking wet for him, and not even because you were a virgin and he was about to claim your chastity, the crumbs of innocence you had left. You were better than any whiskey, making him drunker than liquor ever could. Because he loved you. Because he had you. And he wouldn’t want his life to be any other way. It didn’t matter the pain that he went through if it meant that he got to be with you in the end. 

If given the choice, he would do it all over again so that he could be here with you, tonight, his aching cock forcing itself inside you. 

You cried out when he met resistance—he came to a stop, his heartbeat echoing in his ears. 

“Don’t close your eyes,” he breathed. “Just look at me.” 

He pulled away a little only to thrust back into you. And then he did it again. And again. Kindly. Slowly. You struggled with keeping your eyes open but you did so anyway, your moans more beautiful than any music as he fucked you into his woman. 

He would compare it to the feeling of jerking awake in the middle of the night, feeling like he was falling from the sky. That strange feeling of losing his balance, his senses, of not knowing where he was or where he was going.

Yes. It felt just like that when he breached you open.

He saw it in your eyes for just a second. Pain, pleasure, surprise. Ecstasy. You gasped, clenching around him, your fingernails cutting the skin of his back. He observed you the way some observed masterpieces in galleries, taking it all in, noticing the subtleties, engraving the beauty in his mind so that it would remain there forever. You looked at him like you had been falling, too, and like he was the only thing you could hold onto. You looked at him like you were seeing him for the first time. For the thousandth time. 

“FUCK—” Nothing could even compare to you. How tight you were. How well you took him. How beautiful you were with your flushed cheeks and the tip of your tongue resting on your bottom lip. 

Hyunjin moved inside you, stretching you some more, finally bottoming out. He looked down, barely seeing anything but enough to be aware that his cock was buried deep inside you. He stayed there, returning to your face, to your mouth. Just lips on lips, your breath tickling his skin, the spasms of your pussy calming down with you as you adjusted to his size. 

“Are you okay?” he asked under his breath, not sure whether he was or not. “Talk to me.” 

“Y—Yes.” You inhaled and exhaled a few times but it didn’t seem to have much of an effect. Hyunjin could feel your pulse through your skin. “Fuck me, Hyunjin.” 

You would kill him someday. 

“Spread your legs a little more for me, yeah?” He adjusted himself to be more comfortable as he kissed you. Your mouth, smooth and wet, still tasted like your pussy.

He didn’t break the kiss as he resumed his thrusts, barely moving at first. You jerked your hips underneath, attempting to fuck yourself onto him. He didn’t let you—not right now. He held you down by your waist, slowly pumping in and out of you, and the dance began. Because it was much like it, a dance—but so was just about everything beautiful, wasn't it?

Hyunjin remained calm for a while, fucking you slowly yet relentlessly, his body over yours and your hands all over him, feeling him, his abdomen, his arms, even his cock as he fucked you with it. Like you were trying to learn him the way you would learn a language or a trade. Or a dance. 

“You’re so—so big,” you moaned before biting into his shoulder as his fucking picked up a pace. As he slammed into you a little harder, but not nearly as hard as he could, or wanted to. 

He had thought it would be easy to ruin you but he had been wrong. You were the most precious thing in this world, and each cry tortured him to no end while, also, filling him with the highest pleasure he had ever experienced.

“Fuck me. Like that. Yes—” 

He did, obeying your command as he was meant to, stuffing you with his cock. His gentle thrusts blended into another shade of red when your gasps turned into long, erotic moans. He danced with you harder, faster, pounding into your dripping pussy, driving himself insane, driving himself close to his high. 

“Take it. Take my cock.” He was begging you in strangled groans. 

“Yes, please, yes!” 

He didn’t want it to stop. He never wanted this moment to end—he was ready to explode but he wished this night would last forever. It was all he ever wanted. To be balls deep into your cunt, your voice echoing in the room, the lewd sounds of your bodies colliding like music to his ears. He slowed down, taking some time to kiss your neck, your bare shoulder, to inhale the scent of your hair, to taste your pussy on your lips. 

“Baby.” You pressed your hands on his ass in an attempt at pushing him into your pussy again. Eager. So eager. “Don’t stop.” 

He needed a minute or an eternity. He was experiencing true bliss for the first time in his life, buried into your wetness, making his peace with whatever demons had been haunting him before.

When he failed to give you what you wished for, you did something that surprised him beyond words—you hooked your leg around his, rolling over and taking him with you until he was lying flat on his back. At one point in the maneuver, he slipped out from your soaked cunt and the air felt cold and brutal around him. He missed you immediately. It felt like he was lacking something, like he had lost an organ. 

Before he knew it, you were straddling him, panting, reaching for his cock to put it back where it belonged. 

It dawned on him then. As if he could see it all clearly, finally. You were his wife. You were the girl he had written letters to all his life. You were the girl who sent him letters all his life, too. You were the woman he married, the woman he had desired for years. The person he had loved all this time, the one he belonged with, the one he belonged to. And you were on top of him, claiming him just as much as he was claiming you. Time came to a stop when he realized that his wildest dreams had come true.

You sank onto his straining cock, taking more of it inch by inch, getting used to feeling him this way. You came to a stop when you were completely sitting on him, clenching violently. You were going to milk him. You were going to fuck his soul out of him. 

You rolled your hips tentatively once just to see what it was like. Then you did it again with a little more determination. And again. And again—soon enough, you were riding him in powerful, needy movements, accompanied by equally needy moans. Fuck. He was doomed.

Hyunjin snapped when you lay your hands flat on his chest, using another angle to take even more of him. 

“Already greedy,” he muttered, fucking you from below. “Look at the way you take my cock.” 

Like a pro. Like your body had always known his. 

“Take it. Use me, baby. Take what you need.” Hyunjin was close—his cock throbbed every two or three seconds and he couldn’t hold for much longer, certainly not with you on top of him like that, bouncing on his cock. 

He squeezed your tits, caressed your tummy, held your waist. He cried out when the speed of your riding increased, when your voice turned into desperate little gasps. 

“Take it.” You were using him. Abusing him. Edging yourself on his aching cock. “Cum on my cock, darling.” 

He grabbed your waist to guide the rolls of your hips, pushing you up and down on him, using you the same way you were doing with him. He was close. His vision was blurred—he had already started to melt into the mattress beneath him, his entire life dictated by the intoxicating sensation of your tight cunt undulating up and down his length. 

His pretty wife. His beekeeper wife. No longer a virgin but a cock-hungry, desperate seductress with whom he was hopelessly in love. 

The pressure in his abdomen became too much—his muscles tightened as he felt himself toppling over the edge. He saw sparks. He felt them, too, all over him. 

Hyunjin let out a long, drawn-out moan when he came, back arching into you, hips stuttering, pleasure shattering him in pieces. He spilled himself inside you, spurting thick ropes of cum and filling you with them. You fucked it all deeper inside you as you came, too, your pussy fluttering, your upper body collapsing onto him, your hips moving with your orgasm, obeying it. He didn’t think this amount of cum ever came out of him before—he was still twitching and leaking when you came to a stop, spent and content and exhausted. Much like him. 

Neither of you moved for a long time, long enough for all the candles to run out of wax, turning the room completely dark in the night. 

It wasn’t just dark. It was quiet—very quiet. And Hyunjin realized it was the same in his mind, too. For the first time in a long, long time—there wasn’t a voice shouting or whispering vile things in his head. There was nothing, only light, only love. Only you. 

You climbed down his softening cock but it was only so you could curl up in his arms—still, it felt just as erotic as making love to you when his seed dripped out of you, some of it landing on his skin, lukewarm and sticky. 

He held you close, the both of you sweaty, beautiful messes. 

“I hope I didn’t hurt you too much, darling.” He smiled, kissing your forehead.

It wasn't just that it was quiet in his mind—his chest was lighter, too. 

You hummed softly, your eyes closed, lulled to sleep by the rush of pleasure you experienced. “Not too much.” You opened your eyes but barely. “I didn’t think it would feel this big inside me,” you admitted. “But I loved it.” 

Hyunjin blushed, pressing you against him, keeping you there. If he could have it his way, neither of you would ever have to leave this bed. 

"Did I do alright?" you asked sleepily.

"Alright?" He held you tighter, kissing your forehead. "You fucked the life out of me, darling."

You giggled, the both of you comforted.

His slumber was dreamless, and yet he never ceased to feel your presence, even in his sleep.

It was sunlight that woke him up the next morning—for a few seconds, he thought it all must have been a dream, that it couldn't possibly have been true. Except you were still exactly in the same spot, naked, with light bruises on your waist where he held you, last night, as he rammed into you. There was more coloring at your neck where he sucked the skin too hard. 

You woke up too, smiling as you remembered the night before. He was about to kiss you when you looked at him with wide eyes like you had just gotten an epiphany. You sat up in your bed quickly, pushing yourself to the side, observing the mattress. 

“Oh my god,” you uttered, your voice raw from all your pleased screams and moans of the night before. “Hyunjin, we really did put way too much.” 

He didn’t get it at first. Only when he sat up, too, did he see the same thing as you, which was the faintest—and it was really, really faint—pinkish-red stain on your white silk sheets. There were a lot of other stains, and to him it looked no different than staring at a piece of art, for they were remnants of his lovemaking with you. 

Still, he chuckled with you, amused by your shock and at the way you covered your mouth, remembering your wedding night and his subterfuge. “Oh,” he simply said, admiring your body now. He had never felt any particular way when he entered a church, no matter how much he had been told of the sanctity of this place. But, looking at you, he understood what he ought to have been feeling all this time. His holy place. You were the goddess and the church at once, absolving him of all his sins, forcing him into sinning, hearing his grateful prayers and making him plea for mercy. 

The same pinkish-red spread on your cheeks, delightful to see. “I’m so embarrassed now,” you pouted, hiding your face in your hands. “Everyone saw it! Oh no!”

He couldn’t help but laugh, following you into your lavatory as you fled the scene as though it would diminish your shame. He chased you, catching you by the waist and lifting you onto the counter to sit you down there. He kissed you—your mouth tasted like old water and the ghost of your pussy had lingered on your lips. “You’re okay, darling. They don’t matter.” 

And he meant it. Hell, for the first time, he really did mean it. 

That adorable pout didn’t leave your face. However, you played with his hair while he covered your breasts in kisses.“We need a bath,” you pointed out. “We’re disgusting.” 

Your bathtub was still full of last night’s water. Hyunjin was supposed to leave for his business trip soon, but he had more important things to do, which were to wash up and have breakfast with you.

Or have you for breakfast. 

He had never in his life before felt so alive. He had never before wished for immortality. He would not have enough of a mere mortal lifetime to love you. 

“Let’s get dressed and have a bath in my room, yeah?” he suggested. “And then we can—”

You bit your lip, looking somewhere down his chest, smiling coyly. “Can we… you know? Again?” 

“Yes, my darling. Again and again.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, taking in the sight of you. He had seen you wear luxurious gowns, he had seen your hair braided elegantly. But you had never been as beautiful as you were now. 

That day was the first day in Hyunjin’s life where he felt absolutely no dread, no gloom. From the moment he woke up in your cum-stained bed to the moment he fell asleep much later at night, in a different city after painfully parting from you, all that he held within him was peace. Peace and elation. 

He had held you close, very close, and you hadn’t broken into pieces. It had been distance that almost ruined it all, and Hyunjin would die before he let anything get in between you two again. 

“You really are a little too cheery, brother.”

Hyunjin glared at Jungkook, elbowing him on his left side to shut him up. “Don’t call me that in front of people,” he muttered between his teeth. “Actually don’t call me that at all. Ever.”

“You’re no fun at all, Hwang.” Jungkook rolled his eyes, turning to the rest of the group who were having a completely unrelated discussion and not paying them any mind. 

It was a splendid autumn evening, with a descending sunset and a cool breeze, making the walk from the hotel where he, Changbin, and Christopher stayed, quite pleasant and even invigorating. After three days of mentally draining business meetings and futile dinners with investors, Hyunjin had decided to prolong the trip a little, to go hunting among other things. Well, he didn’t really want to at first, but you insisted.

“It might be the only opportunity you get to do such a thing with Lord Christopher before he becomes a father,” you pointed out. “Knowing him, I doubt he will stay away from his wife and child much.” 

You were right, of course. So Chris had joined him, Changbin, and Jungkook for a short hunting trip, and Hyunjin was trying very hard to focus on all of that instead of remembering how it felt to sink inside you…

“Are you even listening to me?” Jungkook waved his hands just inches short of Hyunjin’s face to bring him back to the present moment. “Damn. Are you sure you’re quite alright?” He turned to the other two. “Did he hit his head or something?” 

Changbin shrugged while Christopher hid his smile. “He’s not telling us either, so I don’t know what his problem is.” 

Jungkook gave Hyunjin a look that was a little too knowing, but he couldn’t possibly know anything about his current state of mind, so Hyunjin brushed it off as regular jungkookesque behavior.

“I’m listening,” Hyunjin said impatiently. “I said I didn’t mind going, I just wish you would have told me about this dinner before I left. We would have packed better, more appropriate clothes.”

Jungkook waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. Teddy isn’t like that. I’ve known him a long time and he's even less lordly than I am.” 

“Well he mustn’t be very lordly at all then,” Hyunjin pointed out, causing Chris and Changbin to burst into laughter. Even Jungkook smiled reluctantly at the joke, pretending to be offended by it.

After spending most of the day outside hunting—and not catching anything, not even a hare—Jungkook had declared that the four of them had been formally invited for dinner at the residence of an old friend of his. He hadn’t really called him his friend, suggesting he was mostly an acquaintance. To Hyunjin, he had admitted to meeting him at a sex party. “But he had a girl on his cock and another was on the girl’s cunt, so we didn’t talk all that much.” 

Which did not make Hyunjin eager at all to meet Jungkook’s not-friend, but he apparently had a great collection of weapons that both Chris and Changbin really wanted to see. He had longswords and maces and even a few katanas, or so Jungkook claimed. Hyunjin figured, considering the man’s political influence, that he might be able to negotiate something out of it, or at least to make a good impression. Maybe it would serve a purpose one day. 

Which brought him to tonight. He followed the three other men, listening a little to Jungkook’s insane sex parties stories or his personal description of a few of the weapons they were about to see. But really Hyunjin was wondering what you were doing. It would be your birthday soon and he had found lovely gifts for you. He couldn’t wait to give them to you, to share them with you. 

It took little time to reach their destination, which was a large townhouse in a posh neighborhood of the city. They were greeted by Jungkook’s friend himself, and despite his discontentment with the outfit he was wearing, Hyunjin made sure to use his best manners. 

“I am so pleased to meet you, Lord Hwang,” the man said as he let them inside, away from the cold air. He was tall—taller than him even—and had chestnut-brown hair. “I heard a lot about you.”

“I have also heard a lot about you, Lord Grover.” Hyunjin dipped his head politely. After all, it wasn’t every day that he entered the home of an Earl. “Thank you for hosting us. I only wish we dressed more appropriately for the occasion.” 

“I see nothing wrong with the way you are clothed, gentlemen.” 

The house’s steward made an appearance then, bowing deeply as he saluted his guests. 

Grover turned to him. “Isaki, have you prepared the parlor as I requested?” 

“Yes, my lord,” the young man—a boy, really—replied. “I’ve also brewed some tea.” 

Hyunjin knew he wouldn’t like Grover when he failed to thank his steward, letting young Isaki walk away after announcing tea. His gaze crossed Christopher’s and he saw the same displeasure as his own in it. The two of them seemed to have the same taste when it came to people.

Jungkook and Lord Grover caught up while he was giving them a tour of the house. This was only his secondary residence, which he kept for business and political purposes. He had a large estate in the countryside, somewhere a little down south. 

“Isn’t this the region where your lady wife is from, Hwang?” Jungkook asked as they walked into the empty dining room. And Hyunjin knew, from the shape of his mouth, that he almost called him brother again.

He tsked, letting his reaction pass as something other than annoyance. “Yes, yes it very much is,” he managed, observing the many paintings adorning the walls. Two of them were by famous masters and he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t impressed. 

“Ah, yes, indeed!” Lord Grover grinned. “As she might have told you, Lord Hyunjin, she and I have met on one occasion and attended the same events a few times. Naturally, her chaperone wouldn’t let her anywhere near me at that point,” he added. 

Hyunjin felt that new information fall into his stomach like a rock into a lake. He stayed still, his eyes still fixated on the stunning nighttime scenery painted by James Wright he stood by. The moon, and the light radiating from it, were absolutely stunning. 

“I wouldn’t think she told you of the time we met,” Grover went on. “But I wish to congratulate you on your wedding, no matter how late. Have you been enjoying married life? Or is married life the reason you’re visiting the city? There are many reputable… tourist spots.” 

Hyunjin clenched his jaw, focusing on the details of the painting. Each leaf was painted in detail, it seemed, giving the impression they were swaying in a soft breeze. Was he crazy, or was this man taunting him?

“We’re here for business, Lord Grover,” Changbin responded in his place. “I must say, Lord and Lady Hwang form a strong pair.” 

“Seconded,” Christopher added.  “Lord Grover, is that what I think it is?” 

Christopher pretended to be fascinated by an antique chair in a corner, giving Hyunjin some respite. He was doing everything he could to stay calm, only, he could never be calm when it was about you. He didn’t like that you had met this guy before. When exactly? And in what circumstances? 

Why hadn’t you told him?

He forced himself to take a deep breath. Of course, you couldn’t possibly have listed every person you ever met. The reason Hyunjin never heard about him, most likely, was that the encounter wasn’t particularly significant. Right?

Before he could finish ruminating over this, the short tour of the dining room was over. “Teddy, they really wanted to see the katanas,” Jungkook said with a smirk.

“With all due respect, Lord Jungkook,” Christopher began, a playful smile on his face, “I believe you expressed quite a lot of excitement at the idea yourself.” 

“I swear to god these guys don’t give me a single break.” Jungkook sighed dramatically. It was at that moment that Isaki made a second appearance. 

“Tea is ready, my lords,” he said, dipping his head and keeping his eyes on the ground. “The parlor is this way.”

“We’ll dine in the parlor if you gentlemen don’t mind,” Lord Grover explained. “It’s a simple, casual meal, and I’d much rather we all make ourselves comfortable.” He paused, his big, dark eyes dancing from him, to Jungkook, and back to him. “Lords Jungkook and Hyunjin—my mother expressed the wish to meet you. She is aging and very ill, so she will not be joining us for supper.” 

No matter how upset he was, Hyunjin could only feel empathy for that fact. He knew that a son never really got over the loss of his mother—and Theodore had lost his father about ten years ago or so, becoming Earl when he was only twenty-one. He could relate to that, no matter how untrusting he was of the man.

“Of course,” Jungkook said at once. “Teddy, tell me—has her condition worsened?” 

Grover gave him a nod, a grave expression on his face. “The doctor says she doesn’t have much time left. At the risk of sounding heartless, I have to admit I’d rather it didn’t last for too long. There is no need for suffering when there is nothing to gain from it.” 

“I’m terribly sorry to hear this.” Hyunjin dipped his head politely. “Let’s go meet her so that she can rest for the night afterward.” 

“Isaki, can you please show Lord Christopher and Mister Changbin to the parlor? Don’t wait up, too—drink the tea while it’s hot.” 

The group parted in two halves and Hyunjin followed Theodore into a narrow corridor to the left. Jungkook walked with them, the three of them remaining quiet, out of respect. Hyunjin couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in his chest, like a darkness looming, and he didn’t like it. He tried to blame it on Jungkook’s insane stories about those parties he attended with Grover, only that didn’t help much. 

They quickly reached their destination, which was a large bedroom in which Theodore’s mother lay on a single bed. The rest of the room was furnished with couches and armchairs, suggesting the woman was accustomed to welcoming guests into this room. It was dark at first, so Hyunjin helped Theodore when he lit up a few oil lamps. 

“Hello, Mother,” he told her as he brought one of the lamps to her bedside table. “Were you sleeping? Our guests are here.”

The woman was thin and her skin was pale with a waxy aspect to it. Her son helped her sit up in her bed while Hyunjin and Jungkook waited politely behind. She seemed rather unwell yet she gave Theodore a smile when he adjusted her pillows. The entire room smelled like illness and camphor. 

“Lady Grover.” As the eldest, Jungkook spoke first, going as far as getting on one knee.

Hyunjin mirrored him, out of respect for the woman who was visibly at the end of her life. “Good evening, Lady Grover.” Her hair was somewhere between gray and copper, but it was dull and frizzy, lacking care and health.

It took quite a while for her to say anything—by the time he and Jungkook were standing upright again, she was squinting, staring at both of them intensely as if she was trying to decode them. Theodore remained by her side but let her speak first.

Then, finally, her gaze came to a stop, lingering on Hyunjin. “By god, Teddy, he looks exactly like him.” She brought a weak, shaky hand over her shriveled, dry lips. “Come closer, young man. Please.” 

Hyunjin was aware of the way Jungkook was gawking at him from the side, only he was too preoccupied to try and translate his body language. It wasn’t the first time such a scene occurred and yet he despised it every single time. He would sometimes be at an event, having dinner with clients, and a complete stranger would come up to him to strike up a conversation, mentioning how they knew exactly who he was because he looked so much like his father. 

But he knew better than to disrespect a lady like her, so he crossed the room, coming to stand next to Lord Grover. He couldn’t find a single thing to say. 

“Oh, heavens!” Lady Grover’s eyes filled up with tears and unrest took control of him, the weight of this invisible, impending doom now tangible in the air. “Closer, young man, let me see you.” 

He didn’t initially react—too surprised by the situation, Hyunjin stood there, quiet, the gears of his mind going faster with each passing second. At that moment, he remembered that fateful visit to Jeon Manor a few months ago and coming face to face with Lady Myeong in a hallway, moments before dinner. The look on her face had been quite unforgettable, like she had just seen a ghost. You have your father’s eyes, Lord Hwang, she had told him. And his allure, too. 

Hyunjin twisted his neck, searching for Jungkook’s eyes, trying to see if he was thinking the same thing he was. And by the looks of it—he was, indeed, sharing his fear. 

Before he knew it, Lady Grover grabbed his hands, squeezing them in hers. Nothing about the gesture was inherently wrong—she held him lovingly, even, and he didn’t mind the cold of her skin or the fact that he could feel her bones through her flesh. It was the look on her face that frightened him. 

“Oh, truly…” He lowered himself closer to the woman, unsure of what to do. Big tears were rolling down her bony cheeks. “You might just be even more handsome than he was, but it’s undeniable,” she told Hyunjin. “I have missed your father every day since the last time he and I were together.” 

He heard footsteps behind him—Jungkook had come closer yet remained at the back respectfully. 

“They all said such atrocious things about him,” Lady Grover went on, her shoulders shaking with her cries. “But they didn’t know him like I did.”

“My father made bad decisions,” Hyunjin conceded. That had been a response that Christopher taught him when both of them were still young Back then, Hyunjin was under his tutelage after his father’s death. 

She shook her head. “No, child. They did not understand him. How could they understand him when he never let them see his true colors? The colors of his spirit?” 

She looked somewhere behind him. “You too, Lord Jeon. You have the eyes and the cheekbones.” 

She was jumping from one topic to another and yet making her point very, very clear, without having the need to speak it out loud. It was obvious that this woman had known his father intimately. Very much so. How many women like her were there? 

“Nobody knew him better than I did,” she let go of Hyunjin’s hands, gesturing weakly at the empty space by her bed. “They took him away from me. Away. I didn’t have a choice.” 

Her cries intensified, causing a violent episode of coughing—Hyunjin retreated while Theodore attempted to help his mother drink some water. A couple of nurses rushed into the room, asking them to leave. Stunned, Hyunjin’s feet managed to get him out of the room but he stopped when he found himself in the hallway with Jungkook and Theodore. 

“What’s the meaning of this, Teddy?” Jungkook inquired. He looked upset and he wasn’t easily moved, which said a lot about the gravity of the situation. 

“I heard so much of this Lord Hwang after my… father passed,” Grover said with a shrug. “It only made sense to me that my mother met his son while she still can.” The intonation with which he said the word son didn’t please Hyunjin. “Thank you for indulging her. Shall we join the others for dinner?” 

Hyunjin walked slowly, staying behind, deep in his thoughts. The implications of his short encounter with Lady Grover were quite evident. She had clearly known him intimately—in a way nobody else, not his mother, not himself, had. The new piece of information left him speechless, although Hyunjin knew he ought not to be surprised by it. How many mistresses did he have? Did they all believe he loved them? That he wasn’t using them? 

How many illegitimate children had he fathered? 

He could not stop staring at Theodore now, not even after they reached the parlor and sat down on plush armchairs around a coffee table covered with food. It wasn’t just in the way he looked. It was in the way he held himself too, and the shape of his mouth when he smiled. It was unequivocal though, and he could not unsee it. The deep shade of brown of his eyes and his honeyed skin. 

Hyunjin spoke very little and ate even less, letting the others fill the conversation and only talking when directly spoken to. He was trying to put his thoughts in order. He was trying to convince himself he had nothing to fear from Theodore Grover—that should they have the same father, there would be no consequences to it.

The plates of food got emptied and maids came to clean up the table while Isaki was serving scotch, but Hyunjin was still trying to imagine all of the ways he could harm him, should the earl decide to. It would make no sense to even tryanything. Hyunjin’s estate prospered well, sure, but if Grover somehow came after him, claiming to be a Hwang, he would lose everything. His title, his land. Hell, his reputation too. 

As the other men drank, Hyunjin sat there, wondering what would compel Grover to claim anything he owned as his. 

The response came to him when Theodore invited them to follow him to his roofed terrace. He liked to smoke a cigar after dinner, apparently. “And Jungkook knows I get the best imported cigars,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, because you control the docks.” Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“If that’s alright with you, Lord Grover,” Chris began, “I’ll stay behind. I have no wish to smoke any cigars, and I do enjoy looking at your stunning collection here.” 

Grover nodded. “Of course. Then perhaps I should ask the entertainment to come in now instead of later?” He turned to his steward who was standing quietly in a corner of the room. “Isaki, get them.” 

The women entered the room as Theodore was grabbing his smoking paraphernalia from a drawer. Five of them—no, six. Young and obedient, they listened to the earl’s command when he asked them to stand in a row before them. 

Hyunjin averted his gaze, fighting a strong spell of nausea. He had to get out of here. He had to get the fuck away from this man. 

“Choose whichever you like, gentlemen,” Grover said with a smirk. “They’re all quite skilled—I tested them, so I’d know.” 

A very heavy and uncomfortable silence grew in the room. It felt like Hyunjin had something stuck in his throat preventing him from breathing as much air as he needed. He hated this. It wasn’t even the first time such a thing happened, but it was the first time since, well, you. 

His unease did not stem from a desire to spend time with any of the prostitutes. What he feared was that you would hear something that you wouldn’t like and that you wouldn’t believe him if he told you nothing had taken place. He couldn’t bear to lose you. 

He couldn’t bear to hurt you. Not any more than he already had.

“I’m leaving.” Hyunjin stood, the words escaping him before he could really think about it. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Grover, but I will return to the hotel.” He was quite certain that both Christopher and Changbin would follow him.

He was right—they stood, too. But before they could speak, Grover turned to them, making his way towards the girls, all of which wore excessively revealing clothes.

“You don’t have to worry about a thing, Lord Hwang,” he uttered slowly. “I heard of your… unique tastes. I requested Mindy here especially for you. Right, sweetheart?” Pushing open the loose robe she was wearing, he revealed her belly, small but round—she was visibly with child.

“Lord Grover!” Christopher started, but Hyunjin raised his hand to quiet him.

With a calmness he didn’t know in himself, Hyunjin reached into the pocket of his blazer to find his gold. Ignoring Grover, he crossed the room, giving each woman a substantial amount of money. “Thank you, ladies,” he said politely. “I believe this pays for your evening and more. You may leave.”

They all looked at each other, visibly frightened, but Hyunjin did not look away from Grover’s eyes, who was staring back with a defiant expression on his face. It took quite a while before he told them, “You heard the man. Leave. I’ll simply let your madam know that she ought to send me something better next time I host these guests.” 

“There won’t be a next time,” Hyunjin retorted as the women quickly scuttled out of the room. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Lord Grover. I shall pray for your mother.” 

Without waiting for a response, Hyunjin turned his heels and walked away. To his surprise, Jungkook was also going after him as well as Christopher and Changbin. 

“You haven’t even asked me how I met her,” Lord Grover exclaimed with a joyless laugh. “Your wife. I wish you had at least asked me, I was dying to tell you.” 

Hyunjin stopped right in his tracks, very well aware that he ought to be better than this. That he ought to display more class than this bastard. 

“Let’s go,” Changbin muttered through gritted teeth, but Hyunjin did not budge. 

He faced Grover once again. “You met her. What about it?” he asked him. “My wife is quite remarkable, I’ll agree—I understand how she would have made a strong impression on you. My lord.”

“Oh, she is remarkable. And grew into a radiant, exquisite young woman, no doubt.” Grover chuckled, but Hyunjin’s anger was slowly rising within him, reaching dangerous levels. “I went for a visit to her family’s villa, you see, with my parents. She was still a young girl, properly trained and yet feral. I knew she would never be fully tamed. I noticed her for it, of course. She showed up to the villa barely an hour before the feast would be served, her hands dirty, her hair sticky and messy with honey.” 

He leaned against the wall behind him, crossing his arms over his chest, acting out a little too dramatically in his pondering man pose.

“In any case. First thing I hear after dinner is how her mother wishes to break off her betrothal to a certain Lord Hwang. Her mother comes to my mother, and I just so happen to be in the next room over, from which Mother calls me and asks if I would be inclined to offer this young lady a proper home, should I take her as my wife. What was I to say? I liked her, as undomesticated as she might have been. Too bad her father—” 

Hyunjin didn’t hear the rest of his story. He had thrown himself at Grover before he could utter even one more word. His fist closed around the velvet of his collar. His other fist slammed into that classless bastard’s face. There were shouts behind him, even hands trying to grab at him, but Hyunjin did not let go of Grover, not even as he retaliated and punched him back a few times. 

He did not register the impacts as pain. He did not register them at all, and yet Grover got him square on the lips, almost breaking some teeth in the process, and got his nose, too. How could he. How dare he keep a memory of you at all? You were not his to remember. He was nothing to you. 

Hyunjin pinned him against the wall, hard enough that the back of Grover’s head hit it, dizzying him momentarily. He had a few weak attempts at punches but Hyunjin dodged them all. Had he ever truly wished to be engaged to you? Had he used those hands to give himself pleasure with the thought of you on his mind? 

“If you touch my wife—” Hyunjin groaned when the taste of blood invaded his mouth. He spit on the ground at Grover’s feet, holding him at the wall with his forearm against his throat. “If you touch even one strand of her hair, if you dare put your foul eyes on her even just once. You’ll regret it. You’ll fucking regret it—” 

Hyunjin’s threats were cut short when Christopher successfully pulled him away from Grover. 

“Take him outside,” Changbin told Chris as though he wasn’t even there. “Don’t let him come back here.” 

His soul didn’t feel like it was quite tethered to his body. He had very little control over the slander and threats he shouted on his way outside, held firmly by Christopher. Not even the cold night air calmed him down, not his friend’s pleas, and certainly not reason. 

The only thing he remembered was you and the secret promise he had made.

He meant it. He would die before he let anything get in between you two again. 

... to be continued.

Author’s note: Where do I even begin? I looked at the date of the last release of this story and just… What can I say. To those who are here today, reading this—thank you. Thank you for being so patient and for understanding the stupid ways my inspiration works. Thank you for urging me to prioritize my health. I realize now that it’s a lot because I do feel safe taking my time, resting, etc that I’m able to write happily. This chapter was challenging and a lot of it was by pure fear to disappoint my faithful readers. I hope it was at least a little satisfying. I’m very glad to be releasing this today. 

Thank you to those who reblog, who send messages, who interact meaningfully. It is thanks to you that I’m still on here and that my stories aren’t confined to my computer. Please know that your kindness goes a long way for me and to other authors as well. It’s appreciated and it motivates me every day. Lots of love 🤍

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@mmoonriseflowerr ; @palindrome969 ; @rubyshoedpixie ; @shywolfcherryblossom ;

@skzfelixlove ; @suhomylife ; @ven-fic-recs ; 

thinking about possessive felix. he’s obsessed with you, obsessed with your body. he adores it— in fact, he’s absolutely infatuated by it. as if it was an infection slowly taking over his brain.

it just makes him go even crazier when he comes home to the smell of freshly baked cookies. he loves cookies— you knew that, but he especially loves when you make them for him. however, he didn’t expect to see you in.. merely a shirt while making them.

you stood there humming to yourself as you placed each cookie on the plate, your apron not snug enough to portray your curves. you wore one of his shirts, giving it an overly baggy effect on your body. felix placed his things down on the couch, coming over to you quietly but not enough to scare you.

you felt his presence take behind you as he wrapped his arms around your waist, feeling what his shirt was clearly hiding.

“making cookies without me, hm?”

his face snuggled into the crook of your neck, making the hairs on your neck stand up from his warm breath. you hummed in response, picking up a cookie to hold it in front of him. he smiled, taking a bite. the warm cookie crumbled into his mouth, chocolate melting on his tongue.

“how is it?”

felix finished the rest of the cookie, arms still locked around your waist. he felt his pants straining as he brushed your backside, his member tingling at the sensation. he moaned softly, playing it off as the cookie making him feel this way.

“good as always pretty.” he snaked his hands up the oversized shirt, feeling at the warmth of your thighs. he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“tastes sweet, but I could use something sweeter.”

felix pressed his lips against your skin, sinking his teeth to leave a small but painless mark. you let out a small whimper, feeling his fingers slip under the hem of your panties. he stopped just above your entrance, feeling your thighs tense from him barely touching you.

“you know how crazy you make me?” he smelled the shirt, your soft sweet scent intoxicating his nose. your scent clung to his shirt, making his blood rush.

“wearing a shirt like this, my shirt.”

felix trailed kisses down your neck, his fingers lightly rubbing against your clit.

“hiding yourself from me..” he undid your apron with his free hand, feeling your legs part just for him.

he slowly pulled the apron over your head, the shirt following until you were left in nothing but your underwear. his right hand remained in between your folds, rubbing circles around your bud. his left hand ran up your side, grabbing your breast softly.

“felix…”

he squeezed it in his hand, watching as your knees buckled from the sensation. felix rolled your clit in between his fingers, taking a bite at your neck. your whimpers were like music to his ears, feeling your skin heat up from the pleasure.

“you know how much i like seeing your pretty skin.”

he snuck one finger into your entrance, feeling your walls clench around it slightly. a soft moan escaped your lips, your back arching just enough to push up against his member. felix groaned in response, pulling his finger out of you.

“fuck, i can’t take this.”

he pulled you to face him, your innocent eyes meeting his dark brown ones. you felt his hand cup your chin, a small smirk appearing on his face as your cheeks burned red.

“let me have a taste, yeah? hungry for more than just a cookie.”

felix kissed down your body, pushing you against the counter as his tongue flicked at your nipple softly. your eyes widened as the sensation hit you, a small whimper pushing through. he gave your other tip the same treatment before moving further down your body, stopping just above the hemming of your panties.

he glanced up at you, his dick practically rock hard from catching you in such a vulnerable way. he watched your tits perk up, your soft eyes begging as you awaited his next move.

“relax, baby.” he tugged at your underwear, pulling them down to your ankles until you were completely naked.

“just wanna taste this sweet thing.”

felix spread your legs slightly, watching your cunt glisten in front of his eyes. he used two fingers to spread your folds, your slick leaving a trail against his pads. he kept his fingers in place, dragging his tongue along your entrance and up toward your clit.

you threw your head back in response, a soft moan escaping your lips. your grip on the counter tightened, feeling his tongue flick against your sensitive bud.

“mmh. so good. please..”

he wrapped his lips around your clit, sticking a single digit in your entrance. he slowly pumps it inside of you, curling it slightly to hit your sweet spot.

“you like that pretty?” felix’s eyes met yours, watching as you tried to catch your breath.

“you like when i’m all over you like this?”

he sunk his teeth into your thighs, sucking on the skin until it turned a deep shade of red. he slipped another finger into your hole, pumping his fingers into you as your thighs threatened to close around his hand.

felix used his free hand to keep your legs parted, his mouth trailing back to your pussy. he sucked, licked, he tasted all he could, practically feining to get full off of you.

“so close..” you mumbled, running your fingers through his brown locks. “faster, please.”

he sank his teeth into your other thigh, his digits still exploring inside of you. he ran his thumb along your clit, his lips pressing into your skin as he sucked on it gently.

“cum for me pretty.” he ran his tongue along your thigh, gathering up your leaking slick.

“let me taste how sweet you are.”

you threw your head back, rolling your hips against his fingers as you were desperately trying to cum. felix wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking against it. he felt your legs shake above him, your juices trailing down your leg as you tried to catch your breath.

“fuck. fuck, felix.. oh my god.”

within seconds you came undone, feeling your hips sink into his face as his tongue gathered up your taste. he anchored you with his strength, moaning into your soaked cunt.

“good girl.. let it out f’me.”

you struggled to grip onto the counter, feeling like you were about to collapse at any moment. felix pulled his fingers out of you, picking the shirt off up the floor and standing up to meet you. He put the shirt over your head, kissing your jawline softly.

he grabbed a cookie from the platter, taking a small bite of it. he pushed his knee inbetween your legs, feeling your body tense as he rubbed against your cunt.

“you didn’t think we were done did you?” he licked the chocolate off his fingers, pulling your chin to meet his hooded eyes. his free hand ran up your waist, squeezing it softly.

“this is only the beginning sweetheart.”

💌: just a little something i’ve been working on tehe. this had absolutely nothing to do with cookies but… a cookie! 🤭 i am now going to sleep since i work early tmrw lol

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Gwan sik's constant "if you don't like it then run away and come back to me" is the reason why geum myeong was able to leave yeong beom. She knew...she knew that her father would be by her side no matter what and I love how the show highlighted the importance of supportive parents. I'm so sad that it ended though. Dramas like these are so rare. They always end up leaving a mark.