Blackholes
blackholes
=͟͟͞♡ jisung × fem!reader
=͟͟͞♡ parallel universes au
word count: 7.4K
synopsis: you can delude yourself and wait for the paint to dry and take away the evil. but the only truth, unique and unchanging, is that pain only creates more pain. you can close your eyes and believe otherwise, imagine another ending. but when you wake up, jisung is still sick and his illness is eating him from the inside.
content warning: explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), angst, depression, mention of suicide, drinking and smoking, sufference, eventual happy ending (?)
=͟͟͞♡ please, consider reblogging if you like my works!
A drop of crimson red paint is tapping on the ground at a regular rhythm. At first glance, to someone who is not trained to know how to observe, it might even look like blood. The fingertips from which the paint is dripping off are moving slowly over the paper, searching for the weak spot on the canvas. There is always one, where the fabric gives in and the color soaks deeper. The fingers probe its full extent until a small smile of intimate satisfaction appears in your face.
The breaking point is within the body portrayed on the canvas, right in the center of his forehead. It sparkles a little like an Indian diamond, and you dip the tip of your brush in the red paint that previously soiled your fingers. At the bottom corner to the right, near the tapered shape of the feet you have just finished painting, you trace a few words.
pain creates love.
The young man on the canvas is dazzlingly beautiful. His eyes are night onyx, deep as lagoons. His lips are the color of ripe cherries, swollen and tumid. He is portrayed nude, legs spread wide and arms outstretched toward the viewer. He exudes eroticism from every angle, yet he is far from vulgar. A few strands of inky hair hide the pale, flushed skin on his cheekbones. Slender, elegant fingers are stretched out to their full length as if to grasp the air. There is no background. The only foreign element to that body is the canopy on which the boy is slumped. The draped sheets caress his figure enhancing his nakedness without covering it. The only dissonant note in that marvelous sensual work, the only weak point, is the too-hinted blush on his forehead. It's almost not noticeable if you lose yourself in the full beauty of the portrait, but you see it, because you painted it and because it's part of the canvas, part of the subject. And it is singular, as him.
"It's a masterpiece".
The voice is off-screen, as if it's coming from another world. You don't turn to check who it belongs to, but you keep staring at your painting. The sound of small footsteps unravels in the air of the room. The parquet floor creaks at every inch.
"I am not fully satisfied with it".
You run the back of your hand over the fabric, as if the epidermis could erase the color and replace it with a different image. The voice approaches you from behind and blows a crystalline laugh as his shadow reflects off the picture, obscuring the white of the canopy.
"Don't be too hard on yourself. What's wrong with it?"
As you move your gaze from the painting to turn around, the exact copy of the boy portrayed on the canvas stands out in all his glory in front of you. His shower-wet hair frames his ephebic features like a wreath, and a tiny smile illuminates his face in a cascade of light.
"It's not like the original".
The boy shakes his head and time freezes. A few drops of water land on your neck.
"It doesn't have to be".
Sharpened fingers curl around the closed collar of your shirt and begin to loosen it. Button by button, the fabric slips off your figure and the young man in front of you kneels down to slip off your shirt and deposit hundreds of tiny kisses on your hands. When he stands up again, he approaches your body and touches it, appreciating every inch of it and covering it with attention. You lift you face and bite his cheek, losing yourself in the soothing smell of Sunday sex.
Pain creates love, you are quite certain of it. Loving someone who suffers means loving every single portion of their pain and making it your own. It is not easy to desire something so abstract, but there are people who try, with soul, body, bones and sweat. Some succeed, some fail, and some keep trying. You cannot identify yourself in any of these categories. You only knows that you love, unconditionally, without a specific goal. You love so much that the pain is now only the frame to a picture of yours, you love so much that the Indian diamond on the boy's forehead becomes almost invisible to your eyes. Almost.
You can delude yourself and wait for the paint to dry and take away the evil. But the only truth, unique and unchanging, is that pain only creates more pain. You can close your eyes and believe otherwise, imagine another ending. But when you wake up, Jisung is still sick and his illness is eating him from the inside.
+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
You meet Jisung in the twilight of his nineteen years, when he is just a little lump of insecurity and imagination. He clutches a vanilla coffee in his left hand and a briefcase in his right, crammed with story incipits that he will never finish. He dropped out of school to become one of those freelance writers you see on the covers of magazines for intellectuals, the ones who live in unpronounceable French towns and smoke mint cigarettes while sipping aged cognacs. It must not be bad, he thinks, to be envied while basking in your self admiration.
When Jisung sees you, he is leaving creative writing school, and you are leaving art school. You have a white palette under your arm, open apron smeared with oil paints, and nose sniffing the air. In fact, Jisung doesn't really have time to see you, because fate plans to make him trip over you, causing his vanilla coffee to spill all over your pants.
With his face on fire and the excuse of dry cleaning to repay for the damage, you two get acquainted. Jisung discovers that you smoke mint cigarettes, like French writers. No cognac though, you say. You prefer gin. It goes down faster and helps me come up with new ideas for painting.
Jisung asks to see one of your works, but your condition is of him posing as a model for your next portrait assignment, because you had been looking for a face like his for months. Jisung lets you beg for a while, but then he capitulates in front of another coffee.
You live alone in a loft on the fifth floor of a suburban building. The apartment is a hellish mess and it almost looks as if a tornado has swept through the living room, bathroom and kitchen, mixing the different furnishings together. You invite Jisung to sit wherever he wants, assuming he can find a seat.
You silently eat two bowls of instant ramen and then dangle awkwardly in front of each other, thinking about what to say. After a few minutes Jisung breaks the silence and asks you to see your portraits. You dig through the easels piled against the wall before handing him a few palettes.
The portraits are not refined. In fact, that's the reason you are going to art school. You cannot seem to maintain proper proportions between the various body parts you draw. In the first painting you show Jisung, the woman's hands on the canvas are too big and stubby, in the second the eyes are exaggeratedly spaced apart, and in the third the legs are so crooked that they almost seem to belong to two different people. In spite of everything, Jisung fails to give those mistakes the connotation of flaws, because there is something that compels him to stay looking at them without speaking.
While Jisung stares absently at the portraits, you flip through the half-told stories you found in his briefcase and reads fragments of disconnected sentences with a lazy smile on your lips. Jisung reflects for the time of three cigarettes before looking at you and stating that he is ready to be drawn.
When you get up to gather your brushes and paints, out of the corner of your eyes you see the boy becoming pale and widening his eyes. A split second later, the canvas slips from Jisung's hands, crashing to the floor with a reverberating noise.
You don't have time to process what happened because Jisung runs quickly toward the exit, almost crashing against the walls. He runs down the stairs as fast as he can, tripping over his feet, hitting the steps with each step and leaving you, alone in your apartment, one hand extended toward the door, clutching the rarefied air.
+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
"You remind me of someone I've seen before".
The second time you and Jisung met, he has the time to hide behind an alley, because it's easier not to be asked questions if you have something to hide. In this case, you happen to turn on that very alley and you find yourself in front of Jisung, curled in a quivering ball of shame. After assuring him more than once that you don't care if he broke the canvas and ruined the portrait, you convince him to have another cup of coffee together because you will never find a face like his for your painting.
You drink unsweetened black espresso, steaming hot to the limits of what is possible to drink. Jisung looks at you with an horrified look as he opens the third sugar packet and melts the grains inside his vanilla drink.
"Who?"
"I don't know, but I'm sure. Your hands".
Jisung glows and hides his flushed face behind his coffee.
"What's wrong with my hands?"
"They are vaguely erotic".
You lazily runs your fingers over Jisung's manicured nails.
"Thank you?"
"I'd like to paint those too. If you want to. You must promise not to run away and leave me alone like an idiot though".
Jisung stares out the coffee shop window and counts the drops that go condensed in the corners of the glass, Your voice is just a shade in the picture in front of him.
"Mh".
"Can I read something you wrote?"
"Didn't you already do that at your house a few weeks ago?"
"Jisung, come on, I want to read something serious".
"I'll pretend I didn't hear".
You smile andd curl your lips around your glass.
"You don't tell me that's all you wrote?"
"No. Of course not".
"Thank God. Those stories were really cheap".
You barely have time to shield your face behind your arms before Jisung's indigned look - along with his fists - dumps a shower of insults on you. It takes him a few minutes before he realizes that, hey I was just kidding, and he stops swearing.
You stand outside of the coffee shop shortly afterward, huddling under a horrible slime colored umbrella. You shove a mint cigarette between your lips and ask Jisung if he wants to try.
Jisung spends the next half hour coughing and cursing in all the languages of the world.
"You're not really suited to be a writer".
Jisung kicks you lightly and chuckles half offended as he watches you prance around on one foot yowling like a wounded puppy. Then you pull him by the hood of his jacket and smother your last words over his mouth. His comment on the kiss is anything but an insult. Jisung bites his lips and thinks that maybe you are right.
He doesn't tell you, though.
+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
"What happened the first time at my house?"
"What are you talking about? "
"The painting".
"I thought we had already talked about that".
"Indeed. I'm not interested in the painting itself".
"It slipped from my hands".
Jisung looks down and you don't believe him for a second. You finish brushing the bluish sky and wipe your hands on the apron. You watch the canvas, but it's useless. You weren't able to paint decently for months.
"It doesn't matter. I couldn't paint anything anyway".
Jisung barely nods and closes his eyes. He squeezes his thighs together and rocks in his chair, absorbing the faint winter rays of light on his skin.
"Do blind people dream?"
You watch Jisung tensing his back like a cat and stretching slowly, making his spine creak.
"It depends. If they are blind from birth maybe they only dream of sounds".
Jisung opens his eye and observes you, illuminated by the light. He looks almost like a beam of the whitest sun, his hair is tousled and his lips chapped by the wind.
"What do you think is worse, being born without sight or losing it over time?"
"Why are you asking me this?"
"I don't know".
You twist your mouth because Jisung tells that he doesn't know to a lot of things and you can never figure out if it's because he doesn't want to answer or because he really doesn't know. You pretend to be mad at it, but the facade doesn't even last two seconds. Jisung is like that anyway. You love his everything or you don't love anything at all.
"I think it's worse to never have the chance to see colors, or the sun".
He gets up from the stool and sits in your lap, staring at an indefinite spot on your face. You stand still for several minutes without speaking, then Jisung rubs his forehead against your cheek.
"If I couldn't see, what would you do?"
"I'd be painting with words".
Jisung kisses you and you end up flying outside the universe, navigating purple galaxies in the space constellation, running through the Milky Way and on a bridge leading to the end of the world.
+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
"I don't feel like playing anymore".
Jisung, sitting on the wooden chair, looks at the window in an absorbed manner. He crosses his ankles and wrinkles his nose as if to chase away an annoying thought.
"I am bored. I've been sitting in this position for almost two hours".
You let out a soft grunt as you pick up a multitude of dried up tubes of paint from a ceramic jar.
"You are just being bratty", you comment, resting the brush on the coffee table and rubbing your hands against each other to scrape off the remnants of color on your nails.
"What do you feel like doing?" you ask as you look up at him.
Jisung smiles and gets up from his small chair by sliding down part of the sheet that covered his hips.
"You are dirty", he says, beginning to absentmindedly touch his lower lip with his fingers.
"I will take a shower after this".
Jisung shakes his head slowly. He moistens his index and middle fingers with his pink tongue, sticking out of his mouth.
"I don't think so".
Another handful of small steps and he is in front of you, already crushed against the bones of you pelvis. With his hands he brings your neck close to his face and licks the skin exposed by your shirt, from your ear down to the collarbones. There he stops and sucks just enough to leave you with a red bruise.
"I'll clean you up", he moans, biting the patch of skin at the nape of your neck, near your hairline.
You scramble to the kitchen chair, pushed by Jisung's hands that are slipping off your shirt, and it's pointless to tell him that I can't be dirty there because he is wetting a path of bare skin down to your belly button. He sticks his tongue out and he swirls it slowly inside of it, then continues on the dimples above your hip bone.
You feel your leg muscles contracting and you clasp your hands around Jisung's shoulders, pushing him down and allowing him to curl up on the floor, a hungry expression on his face.
Jisung spreads his legs and you let your head loll against the wall behind you as he bites your skin and removes your pants. You feel a tender, raspy tongue lazily sucking on the inside of your thighs and nibbling at them slowly. His fingers cup your already sopping cunt and start moving, circling your entrance and smearing the slick on the skin around it.
Jisung's mouth is searing and his black eyes bottomless. His saliva seethes on your flesh as you tense your legs with tiny spasms each time you feel him biting closer and closer to your aching pussy. Maybe he is sucking away something else, buried deeper somewhere inside you as well, but you have no strength to think about it when Jisung finally makes up his mind and sucks your clit in between his lips.
You hold your breath and all of your blood drains from your brain to focus lower, warming where the other's mouth failed. The wet sound is obscenely filthy as his lips slide up and down along your drenching pussy, lapping at the thin, swollen skin of your lips.
Jisung alternates between spitting dribbles of saliva on your cunt and sliding his fingers inside of you, massaging your aching walls for a long time. When he harshly sucks your clit inside his mouth, he lets out a satisfied meow and closes his eyes, completely enraptured by his own ego, fulfilled while listening to your moans. His fingers grab the tender flesh of your butt and he sinks his nose into your cunt, sucking as vigorously as possible on your puffy clit.
When he feels the walls of your pussy contract around his fingers, he starts to thrust them slowly and takes his time to give kitten licks at your hardened nub, sucking only the tip of it with undulating motions.
You squint your eyes, press your hands on the back of Jisung's neck and you finally cum with a dull gasp. Jisung presses his thumb against his own lips, smearing your release on them. He stares at you with vicious eyes and swallows slowly, wiping his crimson lips with his fingertips.
"You are clean now".
You kiss him, biting hard on his lips and licking his chin and cheeks to remove all of the traces of your slick from his face. When you inhale the smell of his skin, you thank whoever is above or below for allowing you to possess him.
"You are my masterpiece".
+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
The spring of Jisung's twentieth year has the dull, bland taste of rain. It rains all the time, every day. Flowers fail to sprout and the few that succeed, eventually rot.
Jisung began to smoke, even though he gave up on his writing career. It wasn't really suitable, all things considered. He smokes your mint cigarettes and lets the fresh flavor fill his mouth before blowing away the residue. When he looks out from behind the window glass at the water drops tapping on the puddles, he sighs sadly.
You are splayed on the sofa with your legs curled on the floor. You snort, and your voice is hoarse as if you had just woken up.
"Would you like some tea?".
"Uh".
Jisung throws the cigarette in a jar filled with soil. He clicks his tongue against his palate and heads to the kitchen to boil tap water in the pot. He looks for the fruit tea filters behind the pantry doors when he stops all of a sudden, feeling the flesh under his skin instantly freezing. He tries to focus on something, anything. He stares at the wall, he opens his lips and, instead of a cry, what comes out is a whisper.
"Baby".
Jisung trembles and stretches a hand out in front of him. His eyes water and overflow like rain. He squeezes the air with his fingers and his veins swell on his wrists, pulsing his blood down.
"Baby", he slurs again.
You lift your head from the back of the sofa and look at your boyfriend's shoulders hunched forward.
"What's the matter?"
Jisung crinkles his eyes even more and doesn't hold back a tear that lines his cheeks and wrinkles his round chin. He squints, and thousands shades of colors disappear. His muscles relax involuntarily, and he hears the sound of shattering shards as if his brain had detached from his own skullcap to navigate inside of the the cerebral fluid.
"Baby, where am I?"
You sprint to your feet at lightning speed and you hold up Jisung before he can crash to the floor. His head, as an unconditional reflex, lunges forward and slams back against your forehead.
"Where are you?"
Jisung thrashes against your chest and continues to shake with convulsive spasms. He grits his teeth and tries to slip out of your tight embrace.
I love you say I love you and you see me I see you tell me.
"I am here. I am behind you. I won't leave you", you try to soothe him.
He turns around in deluded strength and fumbles with his fingers in search of you face. He taps lips, eyes, hair, cheekbones, squeezes knuckles and bites his own tongue.
"I don't see you".
Jisung's voice trembles. He opens his mouth two or three times, but his words dry up like a desert. A breath of wind, and he speaks feebly.
"I see nothing".
no no no no no no no
"The painting too. I couldn't see it anymore. It didn't slipped from my hands".
Jisung is gushing like a raging river and in a split second he becomes aware of herself, of you, of everything floating in his mind.
"It wasn't there".
say I'm there and you see me because I'm here and I won't leave you say that-.
"It was just a black hole".
please
"I lied to you".
I don't want to
"I never told you how my mother died".
"Jisung".
"No. You have to listen to me".
You feel your throat burning as if someone was smoking inside your stomach. You can feel the aftertaste of ash in the mouth of your esophagus and you try to swallow. But nothing goes down.
"Do you know what glaucoma is?"
"I don't think I want to know".
"It's a disease that affects eyesight. Your eyes accumulate water until the internal pressure is too much. You can't feel pain. That's why it is diagnosed too late. It's like your eyes are drowning in tears".
You die a little with each word, as if Jisung is spewing ink, and you are an inkwell collecting phantom waste.
"She couldn't stand the idea of not being able to see anymore".
"You could not have-"
"I have it".
You feel like falling. You stumble and fall. You fall for an endless time, and you fall into a dark well. You don't touch the bottom and keep falling into the cold. You try to scream but that requires oxygen, and your lungs contract, spitting out carbon dioxide because there is no more oxygen in you. So you cling to the walls, crawl your fingers and flay you skin. A cry rumbles out, but the voice is not yours.
+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
The first time you make love, Jisung feels broken. Not in the external sense of the act itself. He feels broken in a deeper place, where you cannot touch and where he didn't even know he could feel something. This is the reason why, in the middle of the intercourse, he starts crying and wets the sheets with salty tears. He cries so quietly that you don't even realize it.
"Paint me".
"What?"
Jisung rolls up between the covers and straddles you.
"I wish you would paint all the colors of the world on me".
He moans and rubs his nose against the protruding bones of your neck. Tears dry on the skin of his cheeks. When you taste the salt on your tongue, you softly bite his chin.
"Paint is bad for your skin, you know that?".
Jisung bursts out laughing, and you laugh too in response.
"I know, but I would like a sun on my stomach. Or on my back".
You clasp Jisung's hips in your hands, anchoring him to your waist.
"You are bright already".
"And a meadow, too, all over my arms. And light, everywhere. Beams of light all over my face. I want to shine in the night".
+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
"You'll be there right? After".
"Where?"
"On the other side".
You slide the brush over Jisung's shoulders, lying on the floor with goose bumps caused from the cold tiles.
"Don't move".
There are empty liquor bottles scattered on the floor, with a bittersweet smell lingering in the room and permeating the walls. No light. Many unlit cigarette everywhere, a few blood stains - or perhaps paint - on Jisung's feet. You keep painting without seeing where you are passing the brush.
"I will follow you everywhere, if I can".
"You know that it won't be possible for you".
"I know".
You kiss the colors on his skin and Jisung tastes like sweat and burnt wood.
"But maybe it's better this way".
Jisung reaches out his arm and tentatively finds the neck of a bottle, brings it to his lips and drinks the clear liquid, letting a few drops slide down his chin to his nodular neck. Jisung picks up the alcohol with his fingertips and brings it to his eyes, pressing a little. It stings at first, but then he begins to see stars in front of him, so close he thinks he can gather them in the palm of his hand.
"Do you want me to open the window?" you ask.
Jisung shakes his head and pushes you against him, causing the brushes to fall from your hands. He clings to your back and pet your hair, smelling it and tasting it with his tongue.
"Did you take your medicine?"
Jisung shakes his head and searches for cigarettes inside his pants. He manages to find one and places it between your lips.
"It won't be so bad".
You inhale the smoke and blow it out somewhere in the darkness of the room. You rest your lips on Jisung's without kissing him, the dry taste of tobacco invades his throat and he smiles with the corners of his mouth.
"I have to take you to the sea, near the cliffs. I can paint the waves on your cheeks. We can even jump from very high if you want. Or you can sleep on the sand and taste the water".
Jisung pulls the smoking stick from your fingers and takes a wide puff of smoke, holding it inside himself as much as possible, then pulls you against him and opens his mouth, breathing into you.
"It will be fine, Jisung".
Jisung laughs and feels his throat tighten in a thorny grip. He gasps and pushes the lit cigarette on the back of his hand. He grits his teeth.
"How come I'm not sure?"
You take his lips in between your fingers and squeeze them until they open wide, then you move closer and whisper everything to him. You whisper the world and the universe.
you are light you are white and red you are scarlet you are perfect you are alive alive alive you are not the rain because it keeps raining and I will always wait for you on the other side always because you are alive and you are here it will be okay
And it should be okay, it should be right. Jisung would have kissed you and said it's true, it's always okay when you're here. But no, he pushes you on the chest and shrugs, his eyes blazing and his lips frozen.
"Listen to me. Outside, somewhere in this infinite universe, there is a parallel world. I know for a fact that it exists, just as I know that in that world everything is right, as it should be here. There is a Jisung running across the grass on a sunny day, and you are chasing after him and falling down in an attempt to catch him. There's the two of us laughing and drinking until dawn, throwing ourselves on the ground and hugging each other so we don't get cold. We have flowers on the balcony and dew in our hair. It never rains. The sun always shines. This world really exists, and it's beautiful. But what you have to understand - what I want you to understand - is that this world, this one, it's not that. This is the reality that hurts, the one where you have to pay a price for your life. We can't run across a meadow here, because you picked me and adopted me out of pity. You even managed to fall in love with me, and that's the wrongest thing you could have done. Because you could really be bright, you could really shine, have flowers on the balcony and dew in your hair. But you chose me. And this is not the world in which everything is right. This is the world in which I am fading, the world in which I am losing the color that you are so desperately trying to put on me. But look what happen, look".
Jisung gets up and you can feel his small body clawing in the dark inside the room to open the balcony door and go outside. The apartment is suddenly pervaded with a gray light, reflecting the color of the sky. You look at Jisung, naked, stiff and trembling under the raindrops falling from above.
Jisung pulls his lips up in a distorted smile.
"See?"
Water runs down his back and the paint drips on the soles of his feet, sliding down to his short, pink nails.
"The color melts under the rain. It only lasts a few seconds before I come back to be as transparent as your canvas. And this is not the world where the sun shines. These are blackholes. Life, light, nature, they are all projections in my head. But you. You can still make it. You don't have to follow me. Don't follow my selfishness".
"Jisung, I have to".
Jisung trembles and the water rushes over him. The reality mocks him and everything he can love.
"No, you want to".
don't come with me you are my love
"Don't follow me to the other side. You will fade too".
You clench your fists and watch the drops wetting the ephebic figure in front of you. Jisung comes to you and blows desolate words into your face.
"When I ask you to paint me, don't. When I ask you to pity me, don't. When I beg you to come with me, please, don't".
"No. I must follow you. Everywhere. As long as there are black holes, I will be behind you. As long as this world sucks. As long as I breathe".
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One night you close your eyes and, instead of the sea, you see boundless steppes and barren grasslands. After what seems like miles and miles of dry lands, inside a small depression - almost a pit - you see Jisung, curled onto himself, all naked and with his limbs tangled together, hidden from the world. You don't ask yourself why you can see such a small body at such a distance, but your muscles set into autonomous motion and you find yourself running in that direction.
After endless minutes, you reach what seems to be the final destination, but the pit gradually moves away from you. However, for some reason, you can still see Jisung swinging himself with his face pressed into the dry earth.
You speed up your run and you begin to feel your throat tightening as the first drops of sweat make their way onto your forehead. Shadows cast themselves in the barren ground, but they are distorted by the shadow of your own body and of the dim, suffocating light of the sun. The image of Jisung blurs for a few seconds, and when it becomes clear again, those same shadows are catapulted onto him as well. You lift your head and you see dozens, hundreds, thousands of hawks flying in circles over Jisung's ditch, which tightens and lengthens as it becomes deeper.
The last steps of your run are slow, while the first hawk descends in slow motion on Jisung's soft face and begins to do something to his cheeks. You see Jisung's cheekbones become parched, almost to the point you fear that a gust of wind will blow them away. The second hawk glides beside the other, and you cannot get the soles of your feet off the dusty ground as it begins, slowly, as if it was foretasting a feast, to peck at Jisung's moist eyes.
Soft tears continue to gush, tiny raindrops that can nothing against the infecundity of the place where they stand. The thousands of hawks fly inside the pit and peck at the remnants of that dead body, tearing it apart with their hooked beaks. They chew the skin and swallow Jisung's life, paralyzed in his grave.
After what seems like centuries, they soar together in their cruel dance of farewell. Your feet finally unclench, but it's no longer necessary, because Jisung now stands in front of you, perfect. The tender, rosy flesh barely flushed on his cheeks and the slender, trembling body almost hairless, beautiful.
without
eyes.
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Jisung is tired. June is an agony of dampness spent under the sheets, and you spend countless nights hoping that Jisung's sobs will cease and he will finally sleep. July is no better. The heat is starting to get unbearable and Jisung wants to keep the windows closed, hooked shut, so that not a single draft of clean air can penetrate into the apartments. Along with that, he stops drinking.
You keep opening the windows, even if Jisung screams and cries like a baby, and you force his lips open with the help of your fingers, making him swallow some liquids. August is definitely a torture when he stops taking his painkillers and his stomach turns over, forcing him to vomit all day and all night.
There is no turning back now.
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"Tell me".
There is so much smoke inside the room that even if it wasn't that dark, it would be impossible to see more than an inch away from your face. You are lying half on the floor, half on Jisung's sticky thighs, smoking a cigarette that seems to be his only remaining foothold in his earthly existence.
"What?"
Jisung's voice is hoarse and distressing. It has changed exponentially in the past two weeks, since he refused to let you go outside to buy something to eat. You fighted against it, and he bit your hand viciously before starting to cry in shame.
"When you want to leave, tell me".
"You can't come with me. We've already discussed it".
"No, you have already discussed it. By yourself. You don't listen to what I say".
Jisung opens his lips and raises a graceful hand as if he was trying to slap you in the face. Eventually, the hand sags and the slap becomes a trembling caress.
"Jisung, please", you become pleading, tired and desperate. With your bandaged fingers you caress Jisung's thin knuckles, one by one.
"Just tell me. I won't follow you, I promise".
Jisung laughs. His head rests against the wall.
"You will follow me".
"Please".
Your lips meet in the compact darkness and they rub, dry, against each other in the memory of an old, worn-out passion.
"I love you, and you are a liar".
+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
When you manage to drag Jisung out of the house in September, you almost gave up. You don't know if it is because of the faint light or the clouds, but Jisung's once tan skin is now grayish, and it makes his figure looks unhealthy and contagious at the mere sight. You also brought out brushes, hundreds of them, and half-squeezed tubes of color.
"Why did you bring me here?"
The grass under Jisung's shoes rustles in response. You are in a park just outside the city, a destination for a few couples and students with nothing to do.
"You asked me to paint you".
"That was a long time ago".
You pick up the brushes from your bag and pull a forced smile between you lips.
"And you, quite a long time ago, told me you wanted to shine. Here, then".
The tube of yellow paint curls against the wooden palette and the brush bristles wet in contact.
"Lay down".
Jisung tries to deny it, but then he seems to see in you the edge of a precipice, and maybe he feels a rush of pity and compassion for both of you. He wonders how it is possible to have reached that point without someone having the heart to save you both. Or save at least you.
With an awkward movement he leans over the lawn and lies on his back, shivering from the drops of water trapped between the blades of grass. You kneel beside him and barely lift the edges of his shirt, uncovering his belly and round hips. Jisung closes his eyes and trembles when he feels your open mouth kissing the flesh near his navel. You begin to trace marks near that spot, dipping your brush occasionally into the color. When you finish that first step, you keep painting all around radially, as if the first object was the focal point of the entire image. With your fingers you caress his petite chest, the spots uncovered by the color, the skinny hips, and as much of Jisung as you can.
Once you are done, you lean forward. Jisung reaches out and gently touches your hair, entwining it between his index fingers and anchoring you to him. Jisung's entire chest is a cerulean expanse of sky. There is sky everywhere, interspersed with green tree foliage intertwining on the sides. Down, just above his pelvis, a clear sea joins the sky in a blue line of horizon. And in that small, hidden spot of the kiss, you painted a sun.
"Do you like it?"
Jisung opens his eyes and instead of your face he sees a black universe. He feels two tears sting and run down his cheeks, his chin and to his chest, wetting his lips folded into a smile.
"It's perfect".
+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
It's December when you think you feel Jisung moving on the bed and kicking off the covers. You also think you can feel his lips kissing you softly and his arms wrapping around your neck before sinking into the oblivion of sleep with his words in your mind.
remember you promised
But when you wake up, Jisung is not really there. The mattress is empty next to you and the sheets are tangled at the bottom of the bed. You snap to your feet, ignoring the dizziness and the fact that the room seems to be moving in circles around you.
"Jisung?"
You call him in a choked, shrill voice, a knot forming in your throat. You hear a ringing noise in you ears and you begin to search everywhere inside the apartment. You want to hope, you really do, that he just went out, but you cannot force yourself to believe in it because Jisung, by now, hasn't been out alone for months.
"Jisung?".
You look again, inside the shower stall, in the small balcony, under the couch, in the closet where you keep you painting canvas, inside the closet in the bedroom. But it's just when you are about to leave the house that you see it. On the living room table, between the keys and the fruit basket. A farewell letter.
You don't even understand how you actually got to pick it up, unfold it, and start reading it, that you tear it in two in your hands, teeth gritted and tears beginning to overflow from your eyes.
"Jisung".
You run outside without even closing the front door, engulfing the steps in trembling, messy strides. You reach the street and the only thing that you can think about is that I promised you, but you should have told me when you were about to go, you should have told me. You run on the road, crossing the roadway, risking getting run over, running on the sidewalks, running over people, running for hours. Until you see him.
For a moment you don't even notice him, caught up in the heat of your research. Yet it's him, standing in front of you. Perfect and naked, with a red dot on his forehead, like in your painting. Beautiful and full of life. As he has never been. As in an iconographic image branded in your head. And it's so perfect, and beautiful and full of life that you give in.
and yet you promised not to follow me
You close your eyes and take one step in his direction. Jisung smiles and spreads his arms wide, and so do you. An inch apart, and Jisung kisses you.
I love you.
You push back your tears.
"I am ready".
and you follow him.
+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
You are 23 years old when you die. You are found in your apartment, lying on the floor, completely naked and smeared with paint. That's suicide, it is obvious, but nobody take a guess on why you decided to end your life.
When they take your body away, a dirty brush of yellow paint slips from your hand and ends up stepped on by the coroner.
Nobody finds dozens and dozens of canvases depicting the same boy. Nobody finds intact packages of painkillers. Nobody finds mint cigarettes and bottles of gin. Nobody finds a shredded letter saying "I am going". Nobody.
"You said you wouldn't follow me".
"You knew I would".
"I love you, and you're a liar".
+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
Outside, somewhere in the infinite universe, there is a parallel world. There's a Jisung running on the grass on a sunny day, and you are running after him and falling down trying to catch him. There's the two of us laughing and drinking until dawn, throwing ourselves on the ground and hugging each other so we don't get cold. We have flowers on the balcony and dew in our hair. It never rains. The sun always shines. You could really shine, have flowers on the balcony and dew in your hair. But you chose me.
You chose me.
©️ jilixthinker, 2023. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.
More Posts from Valreifang and Others
💔❤️🩹🇵🇸🇵🇸To Those with Compassionate Hearts and Conscience,🇵🇸🇵🇸💔❤️🩹
My name is Mohammed Nasr, from Gaza, where war and suffering prevail. In this land that has turned into hell, my family has lost everything. I lost my brother Mahmoud, my brother Ahmad suffered a leg amputation, and I have been injured in my legs and abdomen. My parents suffer from chronic illnesses, and my children, Nasr (7 years) and Alin (6 years), are suffering from malnutrition and skin diseases.
The war has destroyed our homes and businesses, leaving us without shelter or resources. Our displacement has caused my mother and siblings to live in different areas of Gaza, while I, my wife Yasmin, who is battling cancer, and my children are in the south.
We are living in a state of displacement, having fled more than ten times, and we are struggling with a lack of food and water. My wife now requires treatment abroad, which is extremely costly, and we cannot afford it.
Therefore, I appeal to you with open hearts to extend a helping hand, whether through financial assistance or psychological support. Even a small contribution could change our lives.
I thank you from the depths of my heart for your support and concern.
Sincerely,
Mohammed Nasr
Hey stayblr, I've been thinking of ways we can unite to help Palestine in the current genocide. With Israel closing borders again, no aid is allowed in and local organizations on the ground urgently need our help. So, i thought of rallying to raise donations for Palestine, big or small, as every dollar counts and can truly make a difference.
Initial target : 3000 dollars ✅
‼️ Next Target : 3500 dollars.
To be split between Care for Gaza, UNRWA and Palestine Children’s Relief Fund.
We’ll raise the target goal according to our progress!
update as of 15/06/2024- [10:03 a.m.] : 3107,35 dollars!!
For transparency, donations will be received through my Kofi, with daily updates on our progress. Here are the links to UNRWA’s, Careforgaza’s and PCRF’s work in Gaza!
Palestinians are saying that this is the worst phase of the genocide yet. They need as much of our help as we can give them, so please, let’s all stand together for this.
If you cannot donate
- please reblog and share around!
- stream hind’s hall (all proceeds will be donated to unrwa!
here are the receipts of our 1000$ donation to UNRWA & 1000$ donation to Careforgaza (to their paypal acc)
im waiting for paypal to release the 1k on hold to donate it!
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
-------------------------------------------------------
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 BREAK UP BUSINESS — EP. 9
[ an advent calendar series ]
— contains adult content, minors do not interact 🔞 —
[ abstract ]: Minho takes you on a business meeting where you meet one of his fellow colleagues and his boss. Caught up in the mess inside your head, you start flirting with the mysterious man—especially when Minho’s eyes are on another woman.
[ general ]: minho + fem reader, childhood friends/enemies → lovers, non idol au, best friend’s ex, demisexual reader, angst + fluff + smut, sunshine x grumpy, she falls first but he falls harder
[ warning ]: jealousy!!!, smut [ includes fingering (f rec), semi-public, praise, reader gets called baby, darling and good girl ]
[ words ]: 2.5K
[ note ]: the updates are slow but I hope you’re still interested in reading. enjoy my dears 🩵 I hope you like this cameo of another skz member 🤭
[ !! ]: the beautiful dividers are from @saradika-graphics
“Thank you for the spontaneous meeting, everyone,” the man with the muscular arms speaks greeting everyone. No, you’re not objectifying him but you just noticed. You’re just a woman after all. A woman that’s still going through a rough heartbreak that can’t think straight at this point anymore. “And also a ‘hello’ to everyone else attending.”
He looks at you, making eye contact and you’re immediately drawn into his gaze. Gosh, you’ve really hit rock bottom. But can you blame yourself?
After all, you woke up next to Minho once again, who was clinging his body against your back, skin to skin, and after you met him in the kitchen he pretended as if nothing happened. Perhaps he doesn’t notice. But two mornings in a row? You doubt it.
For a second you wonder if it’s weird that Minho dragged you to this business conference with him but he just told everyone you’re his assistant and he’s not the only one sitting here with another person together. You realise that his company has a lot more female employees than you would have expected and you wonder why that’s the case. Well, you used to work in different fields of customer communication too and usually it’s a women dominated field, but that break-up-business-thing… you only expected men to be so soulless to work for a company like this.
“How’re the statistics going?” the man asks again and starts a conversation. Everyone is handing in their data that’s showing off their huge success—at least that’s what they call it, you still find it pathetic. You don’t care if anyone calls you a goody-two-shoes with a stick up your ass, but you can’t imagine yourself working a job that does more harm than it brings good to this society. Maybe you’re naive, yes, but sometimes you like that about yourself. It’s what’s kept you positive over the years of growing up.
“Mr Lee is once again ahead of all of us, well done,” the man next to him with the squishy cheeks is speaking. He looks a bit like a squirrel and now you can’t unsee it. Dammit.
“Han, don’t make me blush. I’m just very ambitious that’s all.”
And I’m close to throwing up.
You’ve always known that Minho has an ego as big as Antarctica but he could have toned it down a bit, huh?
“Absolutely,” the man in the front, you realise now he might be the team’s leader, replies, “that’s why he’s our best employee. You can all learn from him.”
“Thank you, Chan,” Minho says, sounding actually thankful for once. “We could go out after this, drinks on me?”
Wow, that’s very spontaneous and not very Minho-like.
Wait.
Does that mean you will go with them?
God, you’ve always thought Minho was an introvert just as much as you are. For a second you contemplate texting Soyeon and asking if she wants to spend the evening with you instead, but then you remember she’ll be on a date with her new boyfriend Felix. Shit. If you don’t wanna get bored inside Minho’s apartment—which is at the other side of the city—you’re gonna have to go with them. If he even wants you there.
“What are you waiting for?” your childhood friend asks you.
“What?”
Your gaze darts up, meeting his awaitening eyes.
“You’re coming with us. Here’s your coat,” he explains, handing you the jacket and helping you inside it.
You don’t notice it but Jisung—the squirrel guy—stops in his tracks and observes the sweet little gesture his colleague does for you. Giggling a little, he brushes it off and leaves the conference room.
Half an hour and a limousine ride later, you find yourself inside yet another posh bar—what a surprise—sitting around a huge table with Minho and all his coworkers.
“You’re Y/N, right?” the woman sitting next to you asks. “Minho has told us so much about you.”
She seems nice, hair blonde hair falling over her shoulders and she carries a bright smile on her face. “Yes! O-Oh, really?”
“Only good things, don’t worry,” she reassured you. “I’m Yuqi by the way. Nice to meet you.”
“So, you’re all working for the company?” you ask her and she pours a bit more water into your glass. You thank her, watching her take a sip from her red wine.
“Yes! I’m doing the same job as Minho and Jisung. Jeongin, the guy over there,” she points at a man with fox-like eyes who waves in your direction, “is my assistant, so he’s basically in the same position as you. Oh, and Chan is our boss but I’m sure you already know him.”
You don’t. And you wonder now if it’s weird.
When you hover your eyes around in the room, you notice that the woman sitting on Minho’s other side is caught in a conversation with him. Quite a deep, focused conversation. She’s even throwing her arm around him, pulling him closer.
You’ve never thought about it but… what if Minho is dating someone?
He’s never been the type of relationship kind of guy. In addition, he’s been sleeping in a bed with you for the past two days just because you’re feeling lonely.
Perhaps he just views you as a little sister at this point. You wouldn’t be surprised. He made that very clear that he’s not interested, when you poured your heart out to him and he never replied to your confession years ago.
Maybe she’s his girlfriend. She’s beautiful, almost looks like a doll. You wouldn’t blame him.
He leans over, whispering a joke into her ear and she laughs out loud, covering her mouth.
Fuck this.
You notice the sound of footsteps behind you, as a man is tapping Minho’s shoulder.
“Hey, can I talk to your assistant alone for a second?”
His assistant?
Wait. That’s you.
Minho catches a quick glimpse of you and you nod. “Yeah, sure.”
Fuck. He realises now that Chan must be confused. Yes, they’ve been friends for some time and since Minho is his best employee he usually lets him decide things on his own. However, it’s common that when an employee hires an assistant, this person has to be introduced to the boss first before starting their job.
Minho watches you get up from your seat, utterly irritated from the sudden situation and the flirting session he’s been focusing on for the past five minutes. Yuqi sends you a reassuring look and gestures two thumbs up, before you follow the team leader to a separate room.
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing serious. I just haven’t had the opportunity yet to properly introduce myself. I’m Bahng Chan,” he starts.
You smile, “Nice to meet you, Mr Bahng. I’m Y/N.”
“Oh, please, call me Chan,” he chuckles. “It’s fine. I’m not your boss, you’re working for Minho after all.”
“Y-Yeah, I am. For not that long yet,” you explain. Fuck. You hope you’re not gonna get Minho in trouble for anything you might be saying.
“Yeah, I figured, but you seem to have a big influence on him. At least from the customer reviews of these last few days.”
Shit. Yes, you might have been successful with crashing the wedding but the day before that you… kind of messed up.
“I’m… I’m sorry if something wasn’t meeting your expectations, Sir,” you try to phrase it as sensitive as possible.
“Sir? Stop with the honorifics, Y/N. It’s all good,” he emphasises. “I think that a little backlash and a not so successful experience is good for Minho too. His ego…”
“Oh, yeah. He’s got a lot of that,” you finish his sentence.
Chan laughs along, “You get it. As the team leader it’s my job to organise everything and guarantee that all employees get along, you know?”
“Yeah, I understand that. I used to work in a position similar to you, in customer communication,” you inform him.
He tilts his head, “Oh, what happened?”
“I… quit the job. It’s silly now looking back but I wanted to become a stay at home wife. Until my fiancée called off the wedding not that long ago,” you tell him the short version of how your life broke down to its pieces.
Chan’s eyes are widening, “Fuck, I’m sorry. Truly sorry. My fiancée ran off at the altar a couple of years ago.”
“Fucking hell, that’s even worse, Chan,” you reply.
God, this must be more terrible than the shitshow that you’ve been going through.
“It’s okay,” he says, “otherwise I would have never started this job and found all those wonderful people you know?”
Hm, some type of revenge story? You don’t blame him. Maybe this job they’re doing isn’t as evil as you thought it is.
“You’re right.”
“I mean it,” he repeats. “Even if it feels as if your whole life might be falling apart right now—that’s because your new life is waiting for you.”
Those words stick with you. It makes sense. Your new life is gonna cost you your new one.
“Thank you for this. Seriously.”
“Maybe it’s what I would have needed back then,” he adds, shrugging his shoulders.
“Well, from a neutral perspective, you seem very happy and stable,” you compliment him.
“Thank… you?”
“Gosh, I didn’t mean it in a weird way,” you tell him
Chan chuckles, “I know.”
“Did you… find love again?”
Is it weird to ask him that? Well, this conversation started off strong on the oversharing part on both sides, despite not knowing each other so who cares?
“Not yet. I’m not looking for anything serious right now, as cliche as it sounds,” he explains. “What about you?”
“I’m confused. You know, that man, my ex fiance, I really thought that it was the right decision despite knowing he’s not… the one. This sounds so sad and I’m yapping and–“
“It’s okay, Y/N,” the man reassures you. There’s something about his soothing voice and the glitter in his eyes that gives you comfort. Not in a way that Soyeon or Minho do, but it fits the occasion.
“I’m… utterly confused,” you repeat. “I think… it’ll take time, maybe some distraction to get him off my mind and actually grasp and figure out what I want in life.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Chan says, letting his mouth speak faster than his brain can grasp his proposition.
You raise one of your eyebrows, “An idea?”
“I could help you with the distraction part,” he offers, licking his lips.
“I’m–“
“Oh, God, I'm sorry if I overstepped your boundaries,” he immediately pulls back his words.
Well…
The thing is, you do find him attractive. And maybe that’s what you need right now. A little meaningless intimacy to close that chapter.
“N-No, it’s just, I usually don’t do this casual thing, but maybe it’s a good idea to do it with someone I barely know,” you tell him.
It’s not rational. And it doesn’t need to be. This is future-Y/N’s issue to deal with.
“You wanna come with me?”
“Yes,” you say, placing your hand on his tie and he grins back at you.
“You’re so beautiful, fuck,” Chan whispers into your ear.
He’s got your spread out on the bathroom counter, your thighs apart and his fingers playing with the hem of your very much soaked underwear.
“Don’t… tease,” you tell him, a moan slipping right between those two syllables.
“Be a bit more patient, baby. I’m gonna make you feel good, I promise. Get your little head away from all those worries, yeah?”
He slips his hand under the fabric, only pulling it to the side, not bothering to take it off. Then Chan’s fingers are brushing your wetness, spreading your pussy lips apart. His thumb is grazing over your swollen clit, smooth circles stimulating your bundle of nerves and it works. In that moment, you’re only thinking about the sensation right between your legs.
“Please,” you whisper and he continues with those sweet motions.
“You’re doing well for me, darling. Such a good girl,” he praises you.
When Minho allowed you to live with him for an unknown time, you thought that the two of you would get close again. But you remember how he ruined everything back then so why should things be different now?
Yes, the first thing that came to your mind was the idea of Minho being the next and hopefully last man to touch you, given the fact that you’ve never entirely gotten over him, but you also know that your mind is too much of a mess right now to let that happen.
If you ever get close again then it must come from the heart. No distraction. No revenge. No other motifs thrown in the mixture.
“R-Right there,” you say, when Chan slips two fingers inside your hole at once, curling them a bit to search for that sweet spot and finding it.
He picks up his pace, rutting into you land you’re caught in trance. So much, that you almost don’t notice now your purse falls down and everything inside is now splattered on the bathroom tiles.
“Shit—we can grab that later,” you say.
Chan nods, but when he catches a quick glimpse of all the items that aren’t inside your bag anymore, he comes to a halt—seeing your ID card.
He immediately pulls out, licks his fingers clean and licks up the plastic card.
“Y/L/N? Your full name is Y/L/N Y/N? Fuck, I’m such an idiot and an asshole,” he immediately hyperventilates, “how have I not noticed?”
“W-What do you mean?” you ask, very confused to say the least.
“Your Minho’s childhood friend aren’t you?
“Yes,” you say.
Chan closes his eyes and throws his head back. Regret is washing all over his face. “We should stop this. I’m sorry, I’ll never touch you again.”
“Chan, I don’t get this. Why… what’s going on?” you ask.
Is this some… bro code? But that wouldn’t make any sense. You’re not Minho’s girlfriend and he’s made it very clear in the past that you’ll never be either.
“I can’t tell you much but… it feels like betrayal,” he explains.
“Why? It’s not like Minho and I have ever been anything serious.” It’s not easy speaking those words out loud when your heart still aches after all those years.
He gulps. “Let me help you put on your clothes again.”
You allow him that, still, you don’t stop the conversation. “Talk to me, Chan.”
He sighs, “I can’t, okay?”
“Is Minho in love with me or something?”
Chan doesn’t answer. He doesn’t answer.
“He is, isn’t he?”
Chan takes a step back, before he scoffs, “The fact that you’re asking this when he talks about you behind your back as if you placed the stars in the sky should tell you to get new glasses.”
“Hey, that was mean,” you laugh out loud.
And then you grasp it.
Is it true? Or is this just some weird way of turning you down?
“I’m right, though,” he repeats. And despite not knowing Chan quite well, you believe him.
“Yeah, you are,” you whisper, standing on your feet again. “Fuck. I… I think I should go back or… go home. With him.”
“Use condoms, yeah?” Chan teases you.
“Thanks for… the talk,” you say, before you reach for the door knob.
“Anytime, Y/N. It was nice to meet you nonetheless.”
© leeknowsallyoursecrets 2024 — copying, stealing or translating my work is prohibited
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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Kinktober Day 23: Breast Worship
[kinktober masterlist.]
🔞 warning: smut below! mdni.
pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Han Jisung x reader
•
Hyunjin’s arms wrap firmly around your figure as you lean back against him in bed, his slender fingers toying with the buttons of your Henley tee. He traces them one by one, reaching lower and lower until he’s at the valley of your breasts, and then he dips a finger into the hem of your shirt, lightly caressing over the mound of your left breast.
You let out an amused chuckle, glancing down to observe his still-traveling fingers, and then you turn to meet the growing smirk on his face.
“Sorry,” he voices simply. “I’m a bit distracted.”
“I can tell,” you say to him, leaning further back into him. He takes the opportunity to cup both of his palms over your mounds, massaging them in circular motions as he tries to draw his attention back to the movie playing on the television across from you, yet failing miserably.
Before you can comment about his visibly failing attempt at distracting himself, he tugs your shirt down over your chest, exposing your chest and allowing his palms to sprawl out over your bare flesh. You let out a soft moan at the sensation of the air conditioned room grazing your skin, your nipples already erect at the gentle breeze that caresses them. And then you let out a little gasp when Jisung now turns to face you, beginning to say something about the movie, yet pausing his speech at the sight of you and Hyunjin.
His eyebrows furrow at first in a state of what you initially presume to be confusion, until he lets out an audible whine, gesturing to Hyunjin frustratedly.
“See, this is what I mean,” he begins. “Every time you get to sit next to her, you guys leave me out.”
“No one’s leaving you out,” Hyunjin responds with a light chuckle.
“Sure feels like it,” he retorts.
“Hey,” you chime in gently, reaching out to caress his toned arm. “Why don’t you join in on the fun?”
“And share with him?” Jisung whines, running a hand through his hair. “You know I don’t do threesomes.”
“Suit yourself,” Hyunjin replies plainly. And before Jisung can protest any further, Hyunjin is leaning down to take your breast in his mouth, sucking gently around your nipple and kneading your flesh with the palm of his calloused hand.
Jisung observes as your lips part in pure ecstasy, your body arching up into him almost instantly at the contact. He feels his heart quicken as he watches Hyunjin’s plump lips wrap around your nipple with such purpose, emitting a light sucking noise when he pulls away to litter your skin in kisses. And you don’t miss the way his eyebrows arch up in a desperate manner, as though he’s hoping Hyunjin will provide some form of invitation a second time.
You know not to embarrass Jisung, refraining from reiterating that he’s welcome to involve himself in the dirty little act. Instead, you coax him with a simple wave of your hand, gesturing to your vacant right breast while Hyunjin works on your left.
Jisung doesn’t protest it this time around, scooting toward you on the bed to assume a position in front of your seated figure. He leans down so that he’s face-level with your chest, positioning his right leg in front of him to shift his weight comfortably against the mattress. And then his glistening lips part over your right nipple, before taking you in his mouth, too.
An audible gasp escapes your lips at the feeling of both their mouths working you at once, sucking generously around your erect nipples as though they might coax fluids from you. Hyunjin litters your flesh in wet kisses before taking you in his mouth again, humming softly against your flesh as he kneads your skin in comfort motions.
Jisung’s pace is much quicker, his tongue swirling around your nipple in rapid flicking motions, trailing over your mound and tracing little patterns along the goosebumps that arise with their sensual touches. He moans against you, muttering something about how good you are to him, though his words are barely audible when his lips are suctioned firmly around you.
Your hand reaches down to cup around the back of his neck, tangling in his silky tresses and tugging lightly to break his contact with you. When he’s effectively parted from your chest, drunk on the feeling of your perfectly sculpted breasts in his mouth, he meets your lips this time, indulging you in a wet, needy kiss. His lips work against you much like they worked your chest- quick, desperate, with every intention to taste you and pleasure you. And he pulls away just as quickly as he’d captured you in a kiss, bending down to take your chest in his mouth once more. He feels entirely whole with your nipples gracing his tongue, as though he’s meant to be here feeding off your chest for his own pleasure. His eyelids flutter shut in a state of pure bliss, humming softly against your skin when he lets his teeth graze against you, emitting a soft moan from the back of your throat.
At the same time, Hyunjin now breaks the contact, pulling away to observe the way your nipple glistens with his saliva. A long thread of his own saliva connects his pink lips to your nipple still, dissipating against your chest when his lips pull into a satisfied grin. And then he gathers a wad of spit in between his lips, letting it trickle down over your breast and coat your flesh in a sheen layer of moisture.
You let out a fervent moan when he does, throwing your head back slightly as you relish in the sensation of your chest feeling even colder now. His fingers plunge toward your chest to gather a bead of saliva before it can find purchase on your Henley shirt, pressing firmly against your skin as he rubs it into you in soothing motions. Your shirt is already a mess of drool, both his and Jisung’s, as the pads of his fingers tweak your nipples and trace the convexes of your mound.
Then he’s taking you in his mouth again, his motions much gentler than Jisung’s, yet intentional, as he begins to suck you again.
The pleasure is overwhelming now, your legs squirming beneath you as their hot breaths swirl against your skin, their hands groping every inch of you while you arch up into them. They take turns uttering affirming words when they pull back to gasp for air, chuckling lightly when you massage their tresses in encouraging motions.
“So sexy,” Hyunjin remarks, tracing kisses along your mound as his hands work you eagerly.
“God, I fucking love your tits,” Jisung chimes in, rutting against the mattress with every slight motion of his mouth.
Your head throws back when they quicken their pace to suck at the same speed now, the entire room filling with lewd, wet noises and soft moans. Your legs cross over each other to calm the rhythmic ache between your legs, chasing the sweet friction of your pajama shorts against your aching clit.
And before you can ask them to touch you elsewhere, you feel it at last- a gush of fluid when you reach your orgasm, your entire body contracting as their tongues flicker over your sensitive nipples and suck little bruises along the flesh of your mounds.
Hyunjin is the first to pull away, embracing you for a drooly kiss, before uttering his thanks to you and glancing down at Jisung. When Jisung pulls away, he’s red in the face, his mouth glistening with saliva, heavy breaths escaping his parted lips. He mutters his own thanks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he turns his attention back toward the television and makes an effort to ignore the raging erection he now sports beneath his jeans.
Hyunjin’s hands dance along the hem of your shirt again, tugging it back up over your chest and adjusting the buttons once more. Your shirt is littered with dark spots of saliva, your nipples still protruding against the tight fabric, as Hyunjin leans down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, keeping his lips pressed against the shell of your ear for a passing second.
“We’ll pick this up again in a little bit,” he remarks, wrapping his arms around you as he had before. And your breathless gasps are almost louder than the movie playing, languid bodies tangled with each other, as you anticipate a second round of pleasure.
*
have you heard Seungmin covering Stitches by Shawn Mendes???
Hwang Hyunjin Fic! Recommendations
(pt 1) my blogtw! — some chapters/oneshots may contain heavy smut,horror,angst read at your ownrisk. 🌌 — smut 🫐 — fluff 🌊 — angst
BEUTY IN DEATH - Chase Atlantic ▶• ||ıı|||ıı|||||ı|ıı|ı. 2:00
! Miniseries + synopsis
The Strange Man of Monterrey Manor by @/quokkacore
•🌊🌌 (complete)
– Willoughby, 1799 — Life as the heiress of a disgraced house has not been kind to you. You’re neglected, unwanted, and used as a bargaining chip for your father to weasel his way out of the debt he owes the moment you come of age. It takes a turn for the stranger when you’re chosen to wed the owner of the manor atop the mountain — a mysterious, eccentric, cruel lord no one has ever seen. Whisked away to the dark and cold house and wed to a stranger, your questions become more and more. Why is Hyunjin the way that he is? What are the strange noises that echo through the house late at night? And why does your heart begin to beat faster whenever he’s nearby?
Pluto by @/seospicybin
• 🌊🌌 (complete)
– Knowing that your life will end soon, you choose to have your desired death by making a pact with the devil with a red hair, Hyunjin
The taste of honey by @/straywrds
• 🌊🌌 (ongoing)
– You were promised to Hyunjin before you were even born. Every year, he writes you a letter for your birthday and you write him one in return. Twenty years after the first correspondence, it's time for you to move to the Hwang Estate and meet him for the first time.
four of wands by @/straywrds
• 🌊🌌 (ongoing)
– “I didn’t say the Four of Wands appeared to people who are in love. I said it appeared to people who were falling in love. It’s not the same thing.” Hyunjin shook his head, his red hair falling back in front of his face, partially covering his eyes, like a storm moving over a dusky sky. “And, I’m not a psychic. I’m a witch.”
INFERNO by @/cb97percent
•🌊🌌🫐 (ongoing)
– Hyunjin is supposed to get married to his childhood best friend a month after he turns eighteen. He's so clueless about what "manhood" entails that his mother consults to arranging a "makeshift wife" to train him for it.
Anti-Romantic by @/jisungsdaydreamer
• 🌊🌌🫐 (ongoing)
– After a lifetime of heartbreak, you try your chance at romance for one last time, meeting up with L.A.'s most beloved dating coach, Dr. Hwang Hyunjin. Lines are crossed and strange events ensue.
SUPER BOARD by @/straywrds
• 🌊🌌🫐(ongoing)
– He's the guy everybody has seen around but nobody actually knows anything about except that he's an art major and sells weed...
! ONESHOTS
need to know by @/hwajin
•🌌
surprises by @/writerracha
•🌌
magic and rune by @/mimziie
•🌌
taste by @/hwajin
•🌌
sweat by @/hwajin
•🌌
love untold by @/hwajin
• 🌌
insecure by @/hwajin
•🌊🫐
kitchen counter by @/hwajin
•🫐
touch me by @/slutforleeminho
•🌌
ALIEN — [18+!]
![ALIEN — [18+!]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/6de2406a0318826ea1d099308ba8a7c9/46b0d2785a768723-f4/s500x750/d82e24171abfdd8075ea136df60529e0d07a5ddf.jpg)
![ALIEN — [18+!]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/1a5dbba96e3245c4d615b167f49e695d/46b0d2785a768723-2d/s500x750/8bcf4a2e5e97f86a4c4e3bd316609e5c4ef29b99.jpg)
![ALIEN — [18+!]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/60551d9d791c909da687e38183bec0ad/46b0d2785a768723-24/s500x750/98eff7f814ec2215f9b29607947393822f1451da.jpg)
“Remember… you’re my girlfriend,” he whispers into your ear.
It lets shivers run down your spine.
God, how you wished he said that in a real context to you.
![ALIEN — [18+!]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/22724730ccb8c491efcd2a0e2246f16b/46b0d2785a768723-76/s500x750/c55de882c13feddb84f92259467f53ebc635ca24.jpg)
👽 SYNOPSIS: Spawned at the age of thirteen—on his mission as a spy on planet earth—Jisung is made to build a bond with a human, quickly developing a tie of friendship and trust. On his 25th birthday, he is supposed to bring said creature to his home. But there’s a problem—by now, he has fallen hopelessly in love with you and there’s only one way to escape the awful mission: you need to return those hopeless feelings.
💭 CONTENT INFO: jisung x afab reader, alien/demon jisung, human reader, childhood friends to lovers, fake dating au, angst/smut/fluff, dark romance, mutual pining (they are dumb idiots), demisexual reader, there’s only one bed, perv jisung but reader isn’t any better lmao, based on the meme of jisung “spawning” as a teenager and a dream about an alien abduction I had in 2020, also a huge thank you @ lotus for inspiring + encouraging me to continue working on this story so make sure to check out her fic otherwordly, warnings and smut tags under the cut
🫧 WORD COUNT: 10.9K
🛸 CONTENT WARNING: (heavier topics since it’s dark romance, also contains spoilers) kidnapping, alien abduction to experiment on humans, demon powers, mention of death threats, pervy behaviour (panty stealing)
⛓️ SMUT: dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, mind reading (consensual), slight bondage, praise kink, marking, slight spit play, creampie, name calling (baby, angel, good girl, love, slut, whore)
The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nswf content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.
Three hours
“Sometimes I feel as if I don’t belong in this world.”
Jisung’s hand comes to a halt, stopping the motion on your head for a second. Your hair feels so soft colliding with his skin.
“Do you know that feeling, Sungie?”
He chuckles. Out of embarrassment. Nervousness. You name it.
“What do you mean?”
You get up from your position—your head in his lap—now, taking the seat next to him on the sofa instead.
“You know… like an alien almost.”
He believes his heart suddenly stops.
“No,” Jisung exhales, “I-I don’t know what you mean.”
Suddenly, you scoot a little closer again and by now your best friend believes you will actually be able to listen to his pounding heart, basically pumping through his sweater. He looks adorable like this. It was a great idea to hide all the scissors in your shared apartment and Jisung is simply both too lazy and too introverted to make an appointment at a hairdresser which works quite well for your advantages.
But not for his.
Especially, when you once again look at him like this before bringing your hand to his head, disheveling the strands. His hair is even softer than that innocent look on his face—which is surprising for two reasons.
First, Jisung practically killed his hair by an endless cycle of bleaching and dyeing it black and bleaching it again in a way too short span of time, sending any hairstylist into cardiac arrest. But it’s still beautiful and not as fried as you would have expected it to be.
Second—and this is the part that you are unaware of—Jisung is anything but innocent. Quite frankly, he’s basically the polar opposite of that term.
Not by choice, though.
He’s a victim of his own destiny after all.
“You’re a nerd, a fucking weirdo like me, Sung. You can’t tell me you’ve never felt like an outsider,” you tell him with a smirk, nudging his shoulder in the process.
But he doesn’t really react the way he usually does.
Something seems to be off today. Strangely off.
“You said alien, not outsider,” he says, keeping his gaze on the show that is playing on the bright screen in front of him.
You catch the remote in your hand, turning off the TV.
That’s when Jisung looks at you. But mostly because he’s pissed off that you’re switching his focus on the conversation now.
He doesn’t want to talk to you about this. Not now.
Any other day would have been fine but he gets even more nauseous thinking about the consequences of the clock reaching midnight will have.
“I meant the same,” you continue. You take a sip from your lemonade, before placing the bright pink strawberry beverage back on the table in front of you. “Don’t put too much thought into what words I choose to describe similar things.”
You can see Jisung rolling his eyes. His arms are crossed in front of his chest—his very much muscular chest that he’s hiding under the thick sweater. The fact he’s been hitting the gym regularly again these past weeks makes you almost start drooling at the thought right here.
Yeah. That’s the other issue.
You don't only find your roommate and best friend absolutely attractive but also have a massive crush on him.
Something tells you that he feels the same. You suppose, at least, judging from the way he looks at you when he believes you don't notice.
Or the fact he always buys that strawberry-kiwi flavoured lemonade for you from the convenience store right across the street.
Or how he always makes sure you drink enough water besides that, eat your meals, get enough sleep—including cuddles with him whenever another one of those awful nightmares is haunting you.
Jisung makes dinner—aka instant ramen—for you whenever you’re too exhausted after work.
He encourages you to make appointments at doctor’s offices that are long overdue.
He holds your hand when you cry, he holds your hand when you laugh.
Jisung picks up dandelions he sees on his way home, knowing they are your favourite flowers.
I don’t care that they are considered to be weeds. They can grow anywhere, no matter the surroundings. They don’t give a shit and I love that, you’d always explain. And the way they shapeshift, not caring what others think.
Your best friend takes care of the apartment whenever you’re too tired—although he’s the most chaotic person you know.
He does the laundry, even separating the colours—yeah, unbelievable, considering he’s a man!
Speaking of laundry.
That’s where another, darker hint of him possibly having a crush on you comes into play.
You believe it started a few years ago, some time during college, but it has happened more frequently the past few months.
It’s not a big deal, you know that washing machines sometimes swallow socks and other smaller, thinner stuff.
But it can’t be a coincidence that a lot of your panties go missing, can it? Or that they take a lot longer to be washed than other pieces of clothing, right?
Especially those tighter, prettier ones. The ones that are reserved for special occasions that, well, don’t really happen but they still make you feel absolutely attractive wearing them from time to time.
Just a couple of days ago—while doing the laundry this time—you went into Jisung’s room to grab his dirty clothes from his hamper and found three or four of your worn panties hidden between his sweaters and jeans.
In addition to that, some of them were possibly a bit different than how you remembered them to look like when you discarded them—now decorated in… well… his cum.
If it was anyone else, you’d be disgusted and it perhaps sounds problematic to an outside person but since you trust him so much, you don’t care.
You feel embarrassed to admit it but for some reason you feel flustered and may have, possibly, thought about him coating your used underwear in his juices while you were inches deep in your cunt with your own fingers.
Maybe. Just maybe.
However, that’s why you want him to make the first move. You want to know that he’s serious about it before you confess anything and either those accusations are wrong or he’s just generally… weird. Pervy. Whatever.
Or doesn’t want anything serious. Which is very reasonable.
But you’re not up for casual sex, never have been. You don’t judge people craving intimacy without a special bond but after trying it some time in college, you decided you live better with meaningful encounters.
Well. Those encounters have been non-existent for some years. To be specific—since you realised how much in love you are with your weirdo roommate.
“Can we just go on with the movie?”
Right. You’re still here with him.
God it’s fucking embarrassing that those little thoughts have your heart running a marathon and you intuitively pressing your thighs together.
But Jisung doesn’t notice.
“Yeah, you are weird. Weirder than me,” you reply.
Jisung doesn’t say anything but you’re not waiting for a reaction. He’s probably stressed from all the work. His new job has been sucking all the light and life out of his soul, almost turning him into a career demon.
Since you feel bad about that, you decide to grab the remote, continuing the movie.
You can practically feel the anxiety that is shooting out of his body, filling the whole living room in a tense atmosphere.
You’ve probably gone too far. Fuck.
“Sungie?”
He sighs, since he’s not really in the mood for any more questions from you today. He just wants to get this over with. “Yeah?”
You hear the annoyance, the constant stress that is crawling under his skin and how it’s reflected in his quiet voice. So, you make sure to be extra sensitive.
“I’m glad you’re here with me. I’m sorry if my words hurt you. I just wanted to tell you how comfortable and safe I feel around you since you never judge me for being… different.”
Fuck.
This just makes him feel even more horrible.
You probably won’t think that way anymore once the clock strikes midnight.
“I’m… I’m very glad to have you, too, Y/N.”
His heart aches.
He’s definitely the worst living being in this whole universe.
Thirty minutes
You’ve fallen into a deep slumber but Jisung doesn’t care. It’s quite the opposite. There’s nothing better on this planet than having you snuggled up in his lap, your quiet and peaceful little breaths filling the room.
You trust him with your whole heart. Whatever it is—you’ll always feel comfortable around him. He’s your anchor when the floods are dragging you away from the shore right into the deep ocean.
What a shame he will destroy everything in less than half an hour.
All those years.
Those years of trust.
Of familiarity.
Of friendship.
Of something that could have become love, perhaps.
Jisung doesn’t need to worry anymore if you return his silly little feelings. Not if he’s the one to demolish that tight bond in the next hour.
He hears a vibrating sound coming from next to his seat on the couch. His eyes switch to his second phone, screen lightening up in the dark living room.
[Boss 23:32]: The ropes and chains and all you need are in the box we sent you. Any more questions?
He could burst out into tears at the spot. But Jisung will have enough opportunities to cry out his heart later.
He hates this.
He hates everything and everyone.
This whole universe is a shitshow for throwing him into a destiny like this.
Although he’s asked his evil boss a thousand times, Jisung won’t give up. He loves you too much for this. There has to be some type of escape.
So, he types, trying again.
[Jisung 23:34]: Can’t I just ask her to come with me?
He sees the three little dots appear and his heart might as well just rip his chest open.
Another message pops up, making his head all dizzy.
[Boss 23:34]: No. That is too risky. It has to be kidnapping just to make sure she really tags along.
Fuck.
There’s no way around this horrifying situation.
Twenty five minutes.
Twenty four minutes and fifty nine seconds.
Twenty four minutes and fifty eight seconds.
You suddenly stir around in your sleep, as you adjust your position to lay on your back and still very much on Jisung’s lap.
Your beautiful eyes open a little, just as much as they manage to do in this sleepy state and enough for you to see your best friend above you.
“Sung?”
God. His heart is built up again just to break into a tiny thousand splinters another time.
He will lose you.
If it’s not for you turning against him—which would be more than understandable—he will at least lose you to those evil bosses that have made gruesome plans with you as the main character.
And Jisung happens to be the deliverer.
“Y-You’re still awake?” you ask in your sleepy state.
Your best friend places a strand of your hair behind your ear, softly grazing over your cheek—one last time.
“Yeah, baby,” Jisung softly hums, “you fell asleep. It’s almost midnight. ‘M gonna bring you to bed, okay?”
You blink a few times, propping yourself up.
“Hm? W-What about your birthday, Sungie?”
Even in a situation like this, Jisung is all you care and think about.
“My birthday will be twenty four hours long, we’ll have enough time after sleeping,” he assures you, before he picks you up.
You fall asleep in his arms, as he carries you bridal style to your room. Luckily, you’re already in your—unfortunately very skimpy—pyjamas, so Jisung only has to tuck you under the covers and lay your little plush quokka next to you. His name is Peter. Jisung gave it to you as a present on your birthday last year.
He watches you another minute, saying goodbye to the peaceful atmosphere before it’ll vanish away.
Although you’re already deep in your slumber, you still witness your best friend placing the sweetest kiss on your cheek, before he leaves your room.
Three minutes
The door creaks open again a little later and Jisung curses himself for the noise.
Unfortunately, you notice the little sound, as you wake up and change in a seating position in your bed.
“Sung? Is it your birthday yet?” you ask, when you make out his silhouette in the distance.
“No, no,” he says, as he approaches you. You can tell by the increasing volume in his soft voice.
So soft.
So opposite to what he’s about to you.
Jisung is carrying all the supplies behind him.
In a box there’s enough chains, ropes and tapes to keep you quiet.
But he can’t do it to you.
At least not like that.
He can’t physically harm you when he already isn’t able to avert the mental hurt.
“Why are you here then? Can’t sleep? We can cuddle,” you offer.
Jisung is about to get nauseous. Fuck. This is the worst day ever.
But he can’t do anything against it. He can only try to ease the situation a little.
Well, but how do you make a kidnapping attempt comfortable for the victim?
“Don’t worry about me, baby,” Jisung says, when he reaches the edge of your bed. “Go back to sleep, yeah?”
You fall down on your back again.
“Alright… good night.”
Jisung feels bad for thinking that the position you're in enlightens two thoughts he shouldn’t have.
First, you look absolutely alluring like this. Your shorts have ridden up a bit, putting your thighs on full display for him. It’s a beautiful picture—one that lets his mind wander to the idea of having you under him, watching you drool in anticipation as you beg Jisung to kiss you, to touch you, to fuck you.
Second, you’re making it a little too easy for him to fulfill his awful mission. It’ll be anything but complicated to tie your wrists and feet together, shut your mouth with some tape to throw you over his shoulder.
There’s just one small issue.
Jisung will not be able to do this while you notice anything.
He can’t do that to you. He can’t traumatise you even more.
In all of his twelve years on this planet, Jisung has never used his demon powers against people that he loves.
Well, there’s a first for everything.
👽
You wake up on the backseat of a car. The windows are darkened, making it impossible to get even a glimpse of your surroundings.
It’s insane how fast your heart is beating and how much trouble you have getting oxygen into your lungs—mostly caused by the utmost panic that is washing over you and the restraints around your hands, arms and legs aren’t making it any easier.
You figure out that the kidnapper forgot one important thing—he didn’t cover your mouth.
However, it still takes you at least five minutes, as you listen to the sound of the engine and a song on repeat with the title Driving Nowhere thundering from the speakers, to regain power over your voice.
“Sorry– uhm– w-who are you… why am I h-here?”
He doesn’t want to talk back. But the tears are stinging in his eyes when he hears the fear in your broken words.
How could he have done this to you?
He is your best friend. The person you’re the closest with, that means the most to him. He would literally kill for you.
And now he’s hurting you instead?
Well, it’s not as if he’s ever had the choice.
That was his destiny from the beginning.
Who would have thought he would first befriend his victim and then hopelessly fall in love with them?
Jisung is the worst demon to ever exist.
But he’s never wanted this life anyway.
Maybe he can somehow justify kidnapping you once he explains that the only other alternative would have been that both your lives end here. To be fair—that isn’t really an option.
“Y/N…” he decides to call out your name. He can’t lie to you. He’s been crying about this since the car ride, that’s supposed to bring you to the portal, started an hour ago.
When the sound of his voice enters your ears, your breath hitches.
What on earth is going on?
Does this have something to do with his birthday?
It could be. But why are you restricted by ropes and chains then?
“Sungie?” your voice is so small, almost inaudible, but he still catches that sweet but terrified melody.
“I’m… sorry…”
You break out into laughter then. More like a scoff. You don’t know what to say or do.
Maybe it’s a dream. You’ve been having a bunch of weird ones these past weeks.
But something tells you it’s not. Something tells you this is reality.
“So you’re… kidnapping me?” you decide to just ask him.
“I… am. Yeah.”
He’s not even denying it?
Is this one of those little fantasies he has?
Jisung doesn’t know about it but some time ago you accidentally scrolled through his browser history when you were borrowing his computer for a work project, finding a collection of ebooks, mangas and animes all including darker genres.
There was also some adult content revolving around helplessness, hypnosis and bondage as well. It wasn’t anything too alarming, all in a consensual context but putting two and two together it’s absolutely weird now.
And, yes. You watched those videos. Of course, only for scientific purposes. Although, you may have discovered some unknown kinks of yours in the process.
However, there’s a difference between having a fantasy about something and actually doing it.
“Jesus Christ, I told you to stop consuming those weird books and shows about demons and God knows what. It seriously fucks with your brain.”
Jisung thinks his body paralyses. It’s a miracle that he can still keep his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel.
You’re sure there’s an explanation behind this.
You trust your best friend too much to believe he’s been leading you on for the past twelve years to then grab you and bring you somewhere unknown. It’s obvious that he hides some secret identity—maybe he’s a spy or working for secret services and can’t tell you more and therefore has to kidnap you to bring you along to his next mission.
Jisung has been behaving suspiciously his whole life, you’ve always thought it’s funny. Especially since he seems to not grasp that you’re aware of it.
Of course, it’s fucking toxic nonetheless. It doesn’t matter if his intentions are pure, he’s scared you for life.
So, the only logical consequence is to tease him as well.
With your own weapons.
“Besides that,” you start again, “if you wanted to fuck me, you could have just told me.”
The car comes to a halt when he suddenly hits the breaks. Jisung can be glad no one is driving behind you around that hour since he would have otherwise caused an accident.
“W-What?” he asks.
“Just kidding,” you say. “I’ll go back to sleep, wake me up once we’re at our destination.”
Jisung gulps. So loud that you must have heard it.
Maybe that’s why you open your eyes again, before you start speaking, “Also, before I forget it…”
He looks at your reflection in the rearview mirror.
“Huh?”
You click your tongue.
“Happy birthday, you weirdo.”
👽
It’s a miracle but you actually manage to fall asleep again.
Well, you did. But before you were able to wake up, Jisung used his demon powers again to make sure it stays this way.
That’s how he manages to guide you through the portal unscathed and he’s so fucking glad about it, he’s close to tears again.
You’re only waking up a little while later, sitting on a bench next to none other than your best friend who's holding you in his arms. The restraints around your wrists and ankles are gone but you can still sense the tight feeling around them, no matter how careful Jisung was with you.
“Where am I?” you blurt out, hastily turning your head around, taking in your surroundings.
“Safe with me, I-I promise,” Jisung says.
The air tastes weird around here. You’re sure you’re inside a building but oxygen seems pure, as if you’re inhaling molecules at the beach—one that is far from any type of civilization. All natural.
People seem to be generally smaller here, Jisung being amongst the tallest.
Weird. You really can’t figure out which country you’re in.
You have a distant memory of the car ride earlier but what happened after that is wiped out. You suppose that Jisung brought you here, possibly by plane.
Earth seems to turn around faster, making you dizzy. Maybe you’re closer to the equator which would explain the intense speed.
But that shouldn’t be that much of a difference, right?
It’s almost as if you can feel the rotation of the massive rock that gravity glues you to spinning around.
Speaking of gravity—from time to time it’s almost as if a force is pulling you to the ground. Not strong enough for you to actually land on the floor, but you still feel it.
It’s all so… weird.
You seriously don’t know how else to word it.
But Jisung is here with you.
As ridiculous as it sounds, you feel safe with Jisung. Here in his arms. His warm breath tingles your skin whenever he pulls you closer.
You noticed the tears in his eyes minutes ago and maybe they are enough to tell you he didn’t want this oddinary situation either.
“I believe you,” you tell him.
His head snaps towards your face, as he stares at you in disbelief.
“Really?”
Well, even if you wouldn’t—it’s not like you have a choice anyway. You’re completely relying on him.
“I do. So, could you please explain to me what the fuck is going on?”
He gulps, then he nods and a few more tears spill from his beautiful dark brown eyes. God. They’ve always amazed and almost hypnotised you to some extent.
“Y-Yeah,” he hesitantly begins, “it’s gonna sound dumb and weird but please bear with me.”
When you nod, Jisung gains enough confidence to start explaining.
“We’re not on planet Earth but on an earth-like planet called ITEM 180325—yes, the name is dumb, humans chose that years ago—that is also part of our solar system.”
He watches your confused expression. You’re caught in a bad movie, you’re sure. But the first thing that comes to your mind is something else.
“Wait– isn’t our solar system made of Venus, Mars, Saturn and others?”
Jisung nods, “Yeah. ITEM 180325 is just a dwarf planet, even further away than Pluto and for some reason, humans on earth haven’t realised yet that there's oxygen and water and such here. There’s the theory that… we originated from earth, that ITEM collided with it or split apart from it years ago. I-It’s the planet where I am actually from.”
Your mouth falls agape. “What?!”
Jisung is not… human?
Your best friend chuckles, “I know, it sounds absolutely ridiculous. But it’s the truth. It explains why the habitants here look human-like, just smaller which is caused by the gravity that’s a lot more intense here.”
“And I’ve always thought you’re just not tall,” you say.
“Oh, I am tall here,” Jisung says, crossing his arms in front of his chest, earning a small nudge from you.
“Anyway, tell me more, Ji.”
He looks around, making sure no one listens to what you say. After all, the inhabitans of ITEM have mastered their skills in almost every language that is spoken on earth.
If you thought humans were great scientists and astronomers, you haven’t met ITEM’s people before. They’re much more advanced in anything technological, basically a thousand levels and years ahead.
That also explains what follows next.
He nods, “I’ve been a spy on planet earth since I was thirteen and, well, this will sound pretty bad but my main mission was to bring you here on my 25th birthday.”
You look at him with big eyes and Jisung takes one last deep breath, before he announces the worst part of this all.
“Please know that I didn’t h-have any choice to make. They threatened to k-kill both of us if I didn’t o-obey–“
“I believe you,” you cut him off.
But he instantly wents on with his rambling.
“They recruit humans h-here for… experiments. I don’t know exactly what they do but rumours say that it’s pretty bizarre and crucial. T-That’s why we’re here but– I already have a plan B how we will escape so please don’t–“
“Okay. I trust you,” you reassure him.
That’s when your words register.
You… trust him?
Seriously?
Never ever in this world he would have expected you to not detest him after what he did to you.
“Wow… I thought you would hate me after this.”
You understand him. You’ve always been an empath and you get that there was no other possibility than this.
And besides that…
He’s still Jisung.
Your Jisung.
Your best friend. Your other half. The person you trust the most in this world.
“I could never hate you.”
It’s the most inconvenient situation but you can’t control it. Your gaze flickers down to Jisung lips. God, those beautiful lips. How often you dreamt about laying your own on them…
And he notices you staring at him, as the thinnest layer of pink appears on his squishy cheeks.
But you can’t kiss him. Not here. Not now.
You still have so many questions and when the ideas start running around, doing parkour in your head, you just start speaking.
“Ji, is that… why you don’t have any… family?”
He instantly knows what you’re referring to.
Right. His alien identity.
You both still have to get used to the secret being revealed now.
“Yeah. I have relatives here but they… abandoned me. That’s why the government assigned me this horrible mission. I indeed spawned at the age of thirteen on Earth.”
You think back to how you two first met.
Eighth grade, a warm morning in early September. His tanned skin was glittering so beautifully in the autumn sun.
Jisung told you right from the start that he’s been living in an orphanage but he never seemed sad about it. It all makes sense now.
You can’t miss something that you’re not aware of.
Besides that, the love and trust he got from you and your relatives has always been enough to feed his heart.
His smile proves that he must be thinking about the same fond memories right now, you can tell—almost as if you’re communicating without any words.
“Han Jisung, Y/LN Y/N.”
A voice suddenly erupts from right beside you. It comes from a man wearing a name tag that says The President’s right hand man.
“Your appointment with the president is next.”
The man disappears again, leaving your best friend and you alone in the corridor, still sitting close together on the bench.
That’s when you see Jisung’s mood has suddenly shifted. It did a one hundred and eighty degree turn.
Fear. All over his face. You can practically feel it with your own heart.
He realises now that this might be over soon.
Fuck.
He hates himself now for never making a move on you.
Jisung could have spend hours, days, months and years kissing and loving you if he hadn’t been such a fucking coward.
“Okay, calm down, Sungie,” he hears you speak.
But he just looks at you.
“How the fuck am I supposed to calm down? How the fuck are you not stressed?!”
You grab both his arms, holding him, trying to ease his mind as much as possible.
“Because I trust you. I trust us. There must be something to stop that evil mission,” you say.
That’s when a lightbulb appears over his head, rushing away the dark clouds that had been above him just prior.
“There… there is… but I can’t expect that from you,” he says with a shy voice.
Yeah. As if you’d care.
You’d do anything to save the both of you.
You would literally kill for Jisung.
“God, stop playing around. Whatever it is, I’ll do it,” you say all nonchalantly.
He takes a deep breath, as he catches a glimpse of the palms of his hands that are lying in his lap.
“They w-will be… less likely to do experiments on you if… if you’re my g-girlfriend.”
That’s it?
You were expecting some stuff including a billion won, your first born and a fucking unicorn.
“Alright. Let’s do this, then,” you tell him.
“Really?”
Don’t get your hopes up too high, Jisung.
“Sure, bro. If that’s what it takes for me to survive, I’ll play the best girlfriend you've ever had.”
Bro.
Yeah, he should in fact not get his hopes up too high.
In the meantime, you curse yourself for calling him that.
Bro.
Well, you don’t want him to believe you have a crush on him.
Which is dumb because you, in fact, have a crush on him.
But Jisung doesn’t. You’re sure.
He’s just the kindest person and always watching out for you because you’re friends.
This doesn’t explain the laundry-incident but that’s neither the right place nor time to debate this very much arousing disaster in your head right now.
There’s another thing that needs to be discussed beforehand.
“How do we get back?”
“Hm?”
“You know, back home,” you say.
The lightbulb turns on again.
“Oh I… there’s this guy I have to find at the ceremony tonight… he’s like a spy from earth, originally from ITEM as well but turned his back against them. He has been in a situation like this and will help us. His name is Minho. We met before.”
His words fully convince you that Jisung didn’t want this at all.
This time you hear the door next to you swing open, revealing the man from earlier.
You reach for your best friend, no, fake boyfriend’s hand, squeezing it a little.
It’s gonna be okay.
You’re gonna get out of here alive and well.
The man with the name tag is suddenly next to you again and coughs, drawing your attention to him.
“Sorry to announce this but the appointment will be postponed to tomorrow morning. The president invites you to the welcome party for all the humans tonight, though.”
Oh.
You don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing and judging from Jisung’s look on his face he doesn’t know how to categorise this either.
“Here is the key card for your room. Since you seem to be a couple, we assigned you a shared room.”
👽
The dress in a teal shade doesn’t only hug your body quite perfectly but also matches the tie that Jisung is wearing. It makes sense—the president must have chosen that for the both of you.
You’re already entering the party venue, when your mind is still occupied with the view of the hotel room they have given you.
Absolutely luxurious—to an amount that it looks nothing but pretentious—with a huge king size bed in the middle. Ornaments of pure gold, shimmering diamonds and real silk are embellishing the interior.
It’s not like Jisung and you haven’t slept in one bed before, you’ve been best friends for twelve years—going on camping trips during the summer months every year—and with your current nightmares occurring spontaneous cuddle sessions have been happening more frequently.
However, this whole fake dating thing and the possibility of never seeing him again as of tomorrow, if the bosses decide to keep you for their psychopathic little experiments, it makes you wonder if this is the last possibility you get to finally do what you’ve been dreaming of for the past years.
You don’t even care anymore, you won’t let the chance slip again.
Not when you don’t know what follows tomorrow.
Or if tomorrow follows at all.
“Are you okay, baby?”
Jisung has called you by this name since some night in college when the nightmares started.
What you don’t know is that it was simultaneously when your best friend fell even harder for you. He’s always had a crush on you but his feelings hit harder on a random friday, when he picked you up from a party. You drank way too much after seeing your toxic ex at the frat house and just got emotional.
On autopilot, you dialed your best friend’s number and he immediately went there and brought you home to your shared apartment. He made sure you got sober again, made food for you and helped you get ready for bed—even brushing your teeth when you fell asleep in the middle of the process—and stayed by your side until the morning.
The first nightmare was probably caused by mixing beer, vodka and tequila together throughout the night. But the next ones followed for different reasons.
Those are the side effects of his demon powers.
Making someone he loves suffer in order to pull them closer to him. To make them cling to him.
So that he can take care of you.
It’s absolutely fucked up. But that’s how things are when you’re from ITEM.
“I’m okay, no worries,” you tell him.
You wonder if time stood still for a minute when your thoughts were running around again.
“Would you like something to drink?”
Your head snaps towards Jisung. God. You really have to calm down.
But how?
You’re fighting for your life, basically, and pretend to be Jisung’s significant other.
Being his lover is all you’ve ever dreamt of. After all, during nights of procrastination in college—which should have been spent with studying—it wasn’t unusual for you to create a sim of Jisung and one of you and make them marry each other, living their happily ever after.
Luckily, Jisung never caught you. That would have been the embarrassment of the century.
“Yeah… but water is fine,” you say.
“Of course.”
Jisung decides to copy your choice, as he tells you to wait. He walks towards the bar, asking for two glasses of iced cold water to keep you both awake.
Just when he’s about to grab the objects and head back towards you, someone stops him.
“Han Jisung?”
Strong arms instantly fill his vision. The guy isn’t much smaller than him, definitely one of the taller ones on this planet.
But how does he know his name?
“Yeah… that’s me. And you are?”
The buff man takes a sip from his bright pink glittering drink, the scents of pitaya entering Jisung’s nostrils. The liquid evaporates shimmering dust, drawing his attention to it.
Something like this would never happen on earth.
Maybe Jisung should have gotten a fancy beverage like this as well, but he needs to stay sober.
“I’m Changbin, nice to meet you.”
The name lets the lightbulb appear above Jisung’s head again.
This is good. Very good.
“Do you know if Minho is here?”
Changbin nods, “Oh, yeah. I saw him dancing with his spouse earlier. He should be somewhere around.”
“Thank you.”
Jisung takes the glasses in his hand, before he walks back to you and gives you one of them.
He doesn’t know what overtakes him—maybe the desperation, the hopelessness or his true love for you—but he gets dangerously close to you in a public setting.
All of a sudden, Jisung grabs your hand and for a second you get startled because of it.
“Remember… you’re my girlfriend,” he whispers into your ear.
It lets shivers run down your spine.
God, how you wished he said that in a real context to you.
You dearly hope your little lies will be successful enough to bring you back to earth and escape that shitshow. This whole setting is worth more than all your worst nightmares combined.
That’s when it clicks.
You’ve never cared about any label between the both of you.
Of course, you want to do things with Jisung that friends usually don’t do.
You’ve imagined him being the man next to you at the altar.
But you’ve always been okay with how everything has always been. It’s because you love Jisung so much that it doesn’t matter to you, what you two are.
You just want him close.
You just want him to be with you.
You just want him.
Maybe that’s true love after all.
Jisung’s been staring at you for a solid minute now, still holding your hand and pulling you closer. But complaining is the last thing you want to do.
It overcomes him right again.
All of a sudden, you feel a soft kiss on your cheek. It lasts a little longer than you would have expected.
“Everything’s gonna be okay, angel. I promise.”
Angel.
That’s unusual.
Jisung called you by this name only a few times.
The first one was when you fell off your bike when you two were fourteen. He rushed to you and even though he didn’t know anything about giving first aid, he still managed to make you feel better. Just him being there let the pain vanish away.
The second time was when your first boyfriend broke up with you in highschool, leaving you for the girl he told you not to worry about. When you called, Jisung was basically already at your house, bringing you a bag full of ice cream, candies and tissues without saying anything.
The third time was in college when you didn’t pass an exam you’ve been studying for for months but the professor didn’t like you. He assured you with the kindest and sweetest words, including this little pet name.
“Han Jisung, glad to have you here.”
The movie of nostalgic memories that is playing in front of your inner eyes suddenly comes to a halt.
You see your best friend taking a bow and you copy his movements.
“Mr Park. Thank you for the invitation.”
The man has a name tag on his suit jacket, saying The President’s right hand man. It’s the one from earlier.
“Oh, please, call me Jinyoung,” he says, shaking Jisung’s hands.
Jisung bows once more. Jinyoung gives you a warm smile, making you wonder how this person could possibly be involved in any of the deviant experiments.
“Your girlfriend is an asset to our whole planet. I can really imagine the two of you living happily ever after here,” he says, still keeping his gaze on you.
You thank him, feeling heat rise up to your head.
Then, Jinyoung comes a little closer to Jisung, aligning his mouth with your friend’s ear, making it impossible for you to catch his next words.
“What a shame your little fake relationship wasn’t convincing enough.”
You see Jisung freeze—his whole face and body paralyses.
“Baby?” he calls you.
“Hm?”
“Here,” he says, giving you the keycard, “why don’t you go to the hotel room, I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?”
You simply nod, too confused to ask any questions. So, you just follow suit, leaving Jisung alone.
In the meantime, he gathers up all his strength and focus to do what he has to do—find the guy he is looking for.
Lee Minho.
He has a faded memory of what he looks like. They met some years ago at a meeting on earth.
Five minutes pass. Another ten minutes follow.
Jisung is giving up.
Although Changbin told him Minho will be here, he doubts it at this point. Maybe, he just didn’t want Jisung to feel any more hopeless.
“Why are you drinking water, when there’s plenty of fancy beverages to try here?”
The voice startles him. It sounds familiar.
Jisung turns his head around, staring right into the eyes of the man he’s been searching for.
“Is it you… Minho?”
“Yeah– Jisung?” he asks when he notices his old friend.
“Chan… told me to search for you,” Jisung explains.
That’s when it fully clicks. Minho realises what their older, shared friend told him.
They’ve all been in similar situations before. Minho brought his assigned human here roughly two years ago, on his 25th birthday. He fell in love with them as well, the same Netflix drama-like disaster Jisung is caught in now.
They weren’t dating either, Minho had the same stupid idea to just pretend, soon realising it’s not enough to fight against everything evil.
So, Minho is his last chance. He’s the only one who can tell him how to survive. After all, he saved his person and himself two years ago, too.
“Park said we… w-weren’t convincing. Does this m-mean the worst?”
Jisung’s palms are sweaty, his knees are getting weaker and weaker with every second.
“Well… there’s still time. I will explain the rules to you. But in order to get back to earth, you have to follow them exactly how I tell you. No chickening out,” Minho warns him.
It’s all or nothing.
“Sure. Whatever it is, I– we will do it,” Jisung says.
“You both have to work on it.”
Jisung nods, rubbing with his hands over the sides of his pants because his palms are still so sweaty. God. He’s so fucking nervous. Not about what Minho will tell him but about the whole situation and growing possibility of not being able to save you.
“So, what is it, Minho?”
The older one gets a little closer, making sure no one hears them.
“Your love wasn’t convincing enough… We had a few couples here pretending to be in a relationship or get married even. I did the same back then. But the evil force can’t be overpowered if it’s not real.”
Jisung nods, trying to catch all the words despite the deafening sound of his heart beating at the speed of light.
“This means,” Minho continues, “you should work on that, make it as authentic as possible and if you meet that expectation, the portal will open on its own. You still have a chance—at the very last when you’re at the meeting with the president tomorrow. But the sooner, the safer.”
He pulls Minho into a hug, clinging onto his friend.
“Thank you so much.”
The other man chuckles, “Not for that. See you on earth.”
👽
“So, it wasn’t enough,” you sum up Jisung’s five minute long hysterical monologue.
He came back with tears in his eyes, falling to his knees and begging you for forgiveness that he brought you into this. You shushed him up again, telling him to not be such a drama queen and that whatever’s going on can be solved.
Then, he poured his heart out, telling you about Jinyoung’s words and how he met Minho afterwards.
You have to do more than this. You have to be real.
“We weren’t authentic,” you repeat his words.
I am the most authentic, Y/N, because I am in love with you, Jisung thinks but he doesn’t say it out loud.
“Maybe… maybe not enough,” he adds.
Well. That still sounds very manageable.
You can act the best if it’s not acting, after all.
Showing Jisung affection isn’t the hardest thing in this world. Sure, you haven’t done it before, haven’t made a serious move so far because of your stupid crush on him but now it’s live or die and you can at least blame it on that.
A win-win situation.
Not really. But you keep telling yourself exactly that.
“We can work on that,” you say.
“H-How?” he shyly asks.
“We… could kiss. For instance,” you suggest, slowly nodding your head.
Jisung’s eyes are practically falling out.
“N-Now?”
If not now, when? Does he want to wait until tomorrow?
You doubt it’s a good idea to randomly start a make out session when meeting the president for the first time just to be escorted to the experiment building.
“Why not? You said the portal might open on its own when we’re convincing enough. We have no time to lose,” you remind him.
Jisung nods and just when he’s about to take a step towards you, he decides to take off his suit jacket as well as the tie.
He pulls at the teal fabric, loosening it before he throws it right on the chair a few meters away.
Oh, God.
You’re doomed.
With long strides he approaches you, before he grabs your face with both his hands.
“Are you sure you want this?”
It’s the only chance he’s got.
It’s the only chance you’ve got.
“Yes. Absolutely.”
For a second Jisung believes this isn’t about pretending anymore.
Especially, when he finally presses his lips against yours and you instantly give in, practically melt and then drown in his hold. Your hands copy his motions, as you pull him closer. He instead places his own on your hips, pulling you closer.
You can’t get enough. He hasn’t even done much yet but you’re already under his spell.
Jisung’s tongue grazes over your lips next, asking for entrance which you eagerly allow him. Your own starts dancing with his, swirling around at the same pace and rhythm of your heartbeats.
He can’t hold back—his lips are leaving their place, very much against your preference, but he makes up for it when he attaches them to your jaw instead. The most beautiful patterns wander down your neck, before they decide to stay there for a little longer, drawing the prettiest flowers all over again, almost like a tattoo that’ll remind you of who you’ve belonged to all along.
When Jisung pulls back for a second, his eyes finding yours, you could swear they darkened by a thousand shades, almost looking—unreal, magical, demonic.
“Still not enough, huh?” he teases, like the menace he is.
His hand is keeping your head in place, index finger lifting up your chin so that you’re forced to look at him.
“Hm, we could try more, Sungie,” you playfully reply, clicking your tongue.
“More?” he asks, pretending he doesn’t know what you’re referring to.
After all, your request should be the most intimate form two souls can engage with, right?
Jisung hasn’t forgotten about the fact that you’re only sleeping with people you have a strong, romantic connection with. But he’s too shy to ask what this means and also doesn’t want to ruin the mood.
And well, in your case this shouldn’t be a hindrance anyway.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about burying your cock inside me before,” you provoke him.
“H-How–“
There’s a reason Jisung hasn’t made a move on you before. It’s, well, let’s say connected to his identity of not being human.
At least he blames it on that and not the fact he’s an absolute coward.
“I caught you stealing my underwear, you creep.”
Well and that. Yeah. That was also something holding him back.
His guilty conscience.
But when he can’t be with you, he thought the idea of you would live up to it.
Spoiler: It didn't. Jisung got desperate over time and the fact he has all those deep and dark desires, a million times stronger caused by his hidden strength, didn’t make thinking logically any easier.
It did start innocently. At first, they were just thoughts. Then, you accidentally left one of your panties in his laundry basket when giving him his fresh clothes.
And well from there… it all went downhill. He tried to be as discreet about it as possible.
He always made sure to throw your panties into his own hamper after… using them for what they’re not intended to be used for.
Spoiler: He failed.
“Y/N– I’m sorry I–“
Your hand wanders up to his face now. He deserves a little teasing.
Was it wrong doing this? Absolutely.
Did it just turn you on even more? Maybe.
So, you brush over his cheeks with your fingers, as a pout appears on your face.
Jisung is terrified. He feels bad about it and you can definitely tell.
“You’re a bit of a pervert but it’s a good thing that I’m the same when it comes to you,” you whisper.
That’s when his eyes darken even further, almost making him look like a creature from another world.
Well…
“You like the idea, hm?”
Oh, fuck.
You underestimated this.
“You’re craving my hands all over you? Want me to touch you, to take care of you, angel?”
He kisses you again. A billion times more passionate than before, if that’s even possible. You give in, allow him to guide you through the movements, before you pull away.
“I want you,” you tell him and that’s all he needs to hear.
Jisung lets go for a second to switch off the big light and turn on the little lamps above the headboard instead, shrouding the room in a dim colour of red. How convenient this hotel is.
You chuckle, when he comes closer again, already busy continuing the little artwork on your neck again.
You lose track of time and space, of everything that the universe has ever come up with. Nothing matters when you’re with Jisung, he’s all you’ve ever needed and if you’re to die tomorrow, you lived the best life you could’ve ever had.
“You’re beautiful,” he says between kisses, but all you can do is whimper, as your head falls back, letting him take the lead.
“Baby?”
He disconnects his lips for a second from your skin, before he lifts up his gaze, wanting to be on eye level with you.
“Y-Yeah?”
Jisung takes a deep breath. He still has to warn you about something before you take this any further. God, he seriously prays you won’t freak out.
“Once we start… you may have noticed how my eyes turn darker… I won’t be… won’t be able to stop… there are these powers that will t-take over me and they will affect you too and–“
“I want this. I’ve wanted this for years,” you reassure him.
Whatever it is, you’re fine with it. You’re not surprised he might differ a little from humans, he’s not from earth after all.
Meanwhile, Jisung is busy trying to not scream out loud.
You’ve wanted this for years? For fucking years?
“Are you for real?”
“Yeah. I thought you’d catch the hint sooner,” you let him know.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
He tilts his head a little, bringing his hand to your face to place a strand of hair behind your ear.
A move he did so many times before but for some reason your heart skips two beats in a row this time instead of just one.
“I wanted you to make the first move… with all your pervy behaviour I wanted to make sure you’re doing this because of me and not some general thing–“
“No. Just you. It has been you all along,” he admits.
“Then… what are you still waiting for, Han Jisung?”
That’s when his eyes darken to the fullest, filling your whole vision. He looks like… something mystical. Like the opposite of an angel and you wonder if that’s the reason he chose that name for you.
“Ruin me, demon boy,” you half-jokingly say.
But since it’s Han Jisung we’re talking about, of course this only turns him on even more.
He instantly goes in for a kiss and now the feeling overtakes you completely, you feel your souls connecting—a sensation you can’t describe with any word of any language you’ve ever learnt.
It’s like he’s your gravity and you’re floating in space, getting closer to him until you become one.
Jisung’s hands are by now all over you and you wonder how long it’ll take him to basically rip that short teal dress apart, until… well… the dress leaves your body on its own.
It wasn’t Jisung who took it off you, he was way too busy pulling his own button up shirt over his head.
Which means…
“You can take off– with your mind?!” you ask, standing there in your underwear only.
Jisung admires your body for a second and when he realises you’re wearing his favourite pair of panties of yours, he fears he might just cum on the spot. God, how many times he sneaked into your room to grab that specific piece of fabric.
“Hm, I can do a lot more than that,” he tells you.
“For instance?”
“Well, just in general fuck your brains out.”
The words leave his lips all casually and you might as well swoon right here, right now.
But Jisung is faster, already picking you up—bridal style—to place you on the huge bed. The mattress shifts under your weight and moves a little more when he follows.
He gets rid of his pants next, leaving him only in his boxers. You can already see the outline of his hardening cock, straining against the fabric of his underwear. Your friend turned lover positions his upper body between your legs, parting your thighs with no effort, before his lips make the most beautiful sequel of that artwork on your neck.
And that’s when your mind goes blank.
You don’t know if Jisung helped you out of your bra, if it was his demon power or you yourself but a minute later you find yourself almost completely naked in his hold.
Jisung’s fingers are grazing over the thin material of your panties. They’re practically transparent—arousal dripping through them—which is the reason they are his favourite. He imagined you wearing these and wondered if he could catch a glimpse of your pretty pussy whenever you walked up the stairs in front of him while wearing a dress.
He could. A few times when your skirts were short enough.
But nothing comes close to having you a few inches away from him, sprawled out on the bed, begging for more.
However, Jisung takes his time. Painfully slowly, he finally slips down your underwear but keeps it not too far away for later purposes.
As if he’s controlling your mind—but you’re in fact just more than eager—you part your legs even further, granting him better access. Jisung dives right in, after spreading your pussy lips apart. His tongue collides with your clit and for a second you believe you’re in heaven.
Collecting a little bit of saliva—although you’re more than wet enough for him—he spits on your sensitive nub, just to go right back to making out with it. You’re already arching your back, gripping the sheets and begging for more.
Your head gets thrown back and whimper after whimper leaves your mouth. Just when Jisung lets out a moan himself, drowning in your delicious scents, your gaze snaps back.
He looks so alluring. Almost like an angel, a God—it’s unbelievable he is supposed to be a demon or whatever he calls himself.
“Oh, thank you baby,” Jisung coos.
“I… I didn’t say anything, did I?”
You’re confused.
You did only think that, right?
Not that you’re denying anything but you don’t remember speaking even a syllable these past minutes. All that’s made it out of your mouth have been moans so far.
“Well… not out loud,” Jisung smirks. “I can still hear you.”
“You can read my mind,” you say. “You can read my mind?!”
He chuckles now.
“Demon powers, sorry. Should I turn it off?”
“No it’s…” something I touched myself to before, you want to say but cut off your words.
“Yeah, angel? It’s what?”
Angel.
Of course.
Han Jisung, you’re a fucking tease.
The brattiest demons of them all.
“I like it… yeah,” you admit.
“Me, too.”
Then you see his tie move on its own, basically levitating towards the bed. Right from the chair where it was just mere seconds ago.
Absolutely normal, sure.
The fabric is hovering over your head now, before it comes dangerously close to your wrists.
That’s when Jisung—despite seeing that absolutely eager look on your face—gets hit with second guesses.
“Are you okay with that? Or is it weird because–“
“No, I like that, too,” you confess.
“You like that?”
The smirk that appears over his face is letting heat rush towards your face.
“Maybe a little more than just liking.”
“Hm, I can tell,” he teases you.
“How? I didn’t think that.”
“Oh, solely by the way you’re squeezing your thighs together. I would have noticed that as well if I was a human.”
His tongue brushes over his teeth, one corner of his mouth rises up a little.
“You little–“
“Nah, you’re gonna be a good girl now, yeah?”
Oh, fuck.
“What if I’m not?”
The fabric floats closer to you, slowly wrapping around your wrists until your arms get thrown over your head. The tie turns into a knot, gluing you to the metallic headboard.
“Well, that would be a pity because only good girls are allowed to cum,” he warns.
That’s how you find yourself—all obediently—right back where you were a few minutes ago. Moaning, screaming, underneath him.
Jisung flicks his tongue over your clit, all whilst two of his fingers are dangerously close to your entrance, circling around it.
The tight piece of clothing around your hands stings a little, but you have to admit that you enjoy it even more because of the sensation. Despite that, you can’t think of anything right now anyway. Not when Jisung is finally pushing his two digits it, immediately feeling you clench around him.
He wonders what it will feel like to bury his cock inside you.
You’re wondering the same, or something similar, that’s why you call out his name.
“Sungie?”
“Hm?”
Jisung looks up from between your thighs, lips and chin covered in your arousal and feels you clench around his fingers when you notice. So, he starts moving them, still listening to your words.
“What did you think about when you… stole my panties?”
He chuckles, “Exactly this, to be honest. Have you squirming underneath me. Begging me for more. Absolutely helpless and eager.”
The thrusting motions continue, he scissors you open a little, before he adds a third finger. You let out another moan, nearly not catching what he says next.
“But I also thought about… how I would make love to you.”
There’s no possibility to respond or even think about his words when he shuts you up by curling those digits in an angle that makes him reach that certain spot inside you. When Jisung feels the effect he has on you, he brings his tongue right back on your clit, drawing circles around it.
“Sung– I–“
He nods, way too busy with his tongue, attacking your swollen bud even further. The thrusting movements pick up their pace and a few seconds later, you come undone, screaming his name for dear life, gripping the headboard.
Ecstasy takes over your whole body, possessing your complete mind and soul. Jisung helps you ride out your high, decreasing his speed when he feels you get even more sensitive from his touch. He pulls out of you and you watch him lick his fingers clean, wiping away your remaining liquids on his face.
“Jisung…”
He’d thought you’d be a little exhausted from that mindblowing orgasm, but it seems as if his powers are already taking over you again.
“Yeah, baby?”
You pull him closer, another passionate kiss follows as you taste yourself on his tongue.
“Need you…”
He chuckles once again, “What do you need, angel?”
You grunt. “Your cock inside me– please–“
So, he loosens the tie around your wrist and just manhandles you around in a ninety degree turn, flips you onto your stomach with little to no strength needed.
You see his underwear land on the chair across the bed and that’s when you notice something else right beside it. There must be a reason why Jisung opted for this position—he can watch your pretty face in the mirror while railing you into oblivion from behind.
“You ready, love?”
Love.
Jisung’s stroking his length, as you’re on all fours for him, giving access to your aching heat.
“It’s been some time… since I…” you tell him.
That’s when he slows down a little, softly brushing over your entrance with the tip of his cock.
“I’ll be gentle, yeah?”
Almost unbelievable, considering those words leave the mouth of a demon.
You hastily nod, before he pushes a few centimetres in. Your walls tighten around him in an instant, welcoming him in. His size is definitely above average but you’re not surprised. After all, you’ve watched him wear those grey sweatpants with definitely no boxers underneath before.
You’re not any better than him when it comes to watching and dreaming unholy thoughts about roommates.
“Sung– you’re so big–“ you let out.
“Shh, you can take it, baby.”
You nod and that’s when he finally bottoms you out. He starts moving with a painfully slow pace but you thank him for that, as he stretches you out carefully.
“Look in the mirror,” he orders. “I want you to watch how I fuck you, I want you to see what a slut you are for me.”
Oh, God. You’re already close again. That’s what his words do to you.
His cock is stroking your walls delightfully, as you follow his demand. Your nails are digging into the sheets, holding onto the fabric for dear life while Jisung fucks you senseless.
“You look so pretty, angel. Letting me do all the work while you’re being such a good slut for me, hm?”
“Hm…” you hum in agreement.
“Don’t need to think about anything, baby. Just let me take care of you, yeah? I know exactly what’s good for you.”
And so, you do.
Jisung picks up his pace, finding that spot inside you again when he changes his angle and adjusts your position a little. Two of fingers wander between your legs, as they start to rub your clit again like his tongue did earlier.
Mindless babble leaves your lips, your brain has shut off a long time ago.
Nothing matters anymore when he’s fucking you this good.
“Baby?” he suddenly calls out for you.
You want to reply but only a moan makes it past your lips, so you eagerly nod instead.
Jisung chuckles, “I’m going to make you cum all over my cock as if it’s the only thing you were made to do.”
It seems as if he can in fact control your mind—or you’re just dangerously close to your second climax because he’s taking such good care of you.
“Need to– close–“ you cry out.
Skin is slapping against skin. Squelching sounds are filling the room. Moans definitely make it past these four walls.
“No, baby, not until you beg for it like the good whore you are,” he tells you.
“Sungie, please, please, please–“
“You can do more than that, sweetheart,” Jisung adds, knowing he’s just as close as you are.
“Please– I need to cum– can I– please?”
“Okay, okay, angel, I’ve got you, yeah?”
Your vision gets filled with stars, as the feeling takes over you, sensation spreading through your veins. It triggers Jisung to reach his high as well and after you begged him for it, he paints your walls white, shooting his thick spurts of cum into your cunt.
Everything after that is a total blur. Jisung takes care of your fragile body, cleans you with a towel before he puts you into the bathrobe he finds hanging on the wall. He tells you to use the bathroom, before he helps you sit on the bed.
You’re definitely gonna be sore tomorrow.
Once you come to your senses again, you see the brightest smile on Jisung’s face.
However, he said that that Minho guy told him the portal will open on its own when you’re authentic enough.
But there's still no portal.
How is getting your brains fucked out not authentic enough?
Well, considering the odds aren’t in your favour and your life will change forever tomorrow, become a disaster you’re caught in without Jisung, the person you love the most, you might as well just tell him the whole truth, right?
You don’t care if he doesn’t love you back.
But he’s been so honest to you about his hidden identity, felt so comfortable to share it—so you should reveal your secret too, right?
There’s never been an actual reason to not be your true self around him.
It’s okay to be different as long as we can be different together with the people we adore the most.
So, without any useless introduction, you just tell him.
“I am in love with you, Han Jisung.”
His eyes widen. Then his mouth falls agape.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Say that again.”
You smirk, “I am in love with you, you weirdo.”
He startles you a little when his lips collide with yours, sealing them in the most heartwarming kiss you’ve ever received.
Then he pulls away.
“I am in love with you too, Y/L/N Y/L.”
A shining light blinds your vision, enlightens the whole room.
There’s a portal next to you. Just appearing there out of nowhere.
You chuckle. It makes sense now.
You’ve never had to prove your love to anyone else.
True love only has to be proven to the person that’s receiving it. Over and over again.
By caring for each other.
By looking out for each other.
By being there for each other in the darkest times.
By trusting each other no matter what.
But most importantly—by showing with words what we feel.
Because when we speak things out loud, that’s when they turn into reality.
🤍 AUTHOR'S NOTE: thank you so much for reading! I was pretty terrified to upload this since it's a little darker and I have never posted something alien au lmao but it was so much fun writing. I'm very happy I continued this story despite my insecurities. I hope, you enjoyed it too. If that's the case I'd be very grateful for any kind comments and reblogs you leave. Always rember that these are the number one motivation for us authors and likes mean nothing on tumblr considering its algorithm. Thank you for considering it and have a nice day :)
© j-0ne25 2023 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited
Always You
Pairing: Best friend! Bangchan x Afab! Reader
Summary: It’s hard to enjoy a party when your best friend who you’ve been in love with for years turns up with his girlfriend…
Warnings: MDNI, dom!chan, sub!reader, possessive!chan, unprotected sex (don’t be like them) dirty talk, cum eating, multiple orgasms (f!rec) fingering (f!rec) mentions of mastubation, spitting (chan spits on it yk..) tummy bulge, creampie
Wc: 2.7k
a/n: did I write and edit it this in one sitting? yes I did,,, is this also my return to writing fics after 5 years bc I’m so attracted to chan idk what to do?? Also yes 🤪
‘‘Lixieee watch my drink, I nearly dropped it’’ You roll your eyes and smile at Felix as he practically jumps on you. His parties were always rowdy, especially when Jisung wormed his way into the planning. Colourful lights strewn around every pillar and doorway, countless bottles and cheesy red cups littering the granite countertops in the dorm kitchen, the air thick with smoke and the sickly sweet scent of liquor.
Part of you loved how committed the boys were to throwing the most stereotypical frat parties, the perfect way to unwind from the stress of uni life. You scan the room for that all too familiar face but find no sign of him, your shoulders dropping slightly, the disappointment in your chest too strong to ignore.
You and Chan had been best friends since you were 12, your parents pushing you together as an unlikely duo. You'd immediately become inseparable,spending every second with each other. People had always questioned your relationship, everyone thought you must be dating if you were so close, but you and Chan were just friends, at least that's what you convinced yourself it had to be.
You first started having feelings for Chan at 18, you were university freshmen starting the next big chapter of your lives together and you couldn't get him out of your head. His deep brown eyes that sparkled when he spoke about the things he loved, his soft curly black hair that you loved ruffling to annoy him and his dimples that became impossibly deep when he smiled. Being around him was both torture and comfort. Three years later and you were still completely in love with someone who views you as his best friend, nothing more. In other words, you're utterly fucked.
‘’Lix, have you seen Chan tonight? I thought he was coming’’ Felix still clinging to you in his tipsy state. His messy blonde hair slightly covering his eyes and freckle-dotted cheeks, a pink blush dusting his skin thanks to the many drinks he’d already knocked back.
‘’Nah not yet, he said he's coming later after his date’’ he slurs his words a little, all giggly and happy, not knowing the ache his words cause you. You hum in response, suddenly feeling less sociable than a few minutes ago.
‘’Ahhhhh speak of the devil’’ Felix laughs and nods toward the doorway, Chan's broad shoulders making it look tiny. His hand interlocked with hers, observing the room and briefly locking eyes with you before looking away.
Chan had been dating Euna for a few months, but it never got easier seeing them together.
They'd met in one of your classes, Euna was sweet, pretty and very popular with both the students and teachers. It hadn’t taken Chan too long to fall for her and spend less and less time with you. He swore nothing had changed between you two but you knew better. It wasn't long after they started dating that Chan began cancelling your plans because ‘Euna planned something’ or he ‘just couldn't make it that day’ You wanted to believe that it would all go back to the way it was soon enough but that day never came, Chan drifting further as time passed.
You missed his smile, the way he would make you laugh, the way he would bring you your favourite food when you were tired or upset. You thought that maybe one day you would be together, that Chan would see you as more than just his best friend. Sometimes it felt like more between you two.
He and Euna weave their way through the crowd, her trailing slightly behind, Chan looking back at her every so often with a smile, the sight of them making you nauseous though you wish it didn't. Chan lets go of her to pull Felix into a hug, Euna eyeing you awkwardly as the two of them catch up. Euna had never been rude to you, never made a snarky comment about you being friends with Chan, but she never really said much around you if you were honest.
‘’Your dress is super pretty’’ you squeak out attempting to break the silence between you two, She offers up a small thank you and a tight smile and turns to Chan as he pulls her into his side, his attention now on the two of you instead of the tipsy blonde Aussie
‘’Hey y/n’’ Chan smiles as he lets go of Euna and pulls you into a quick side hug, letting go as quickly as he’d pulled you in, his soft musky scent filling your senses. The four of you make small talk, Chan's eyes catching your own as Felix rambles to Euna about his current pc build. The air starts to feel suffocating, his glances making you feel trapped. You quickly make an excuse to leave, Chan's smile faltering as you excuse yourself from their conversation and disappear into the crowd of bodies.
It was impossible to think while Chan was standing there, his arms wrapped around Euna unapologetically. The jealousy burning more than the straight tequila sloshing around in your cup, you start to sway to the music begging yourself to forget about him and enjoy your night. You feel a pair of eyes follow your silhouette but you continue to drink and dance, the alcohol making its way through your system and drowning out every thought.
You feel a figure behind you grabbing your hips and swaying with you, turning your head to see the blurred outline of Hyunjin, his hair in his eyes, a pair of red sunglasses perched on his nose. You let yourself melt into him, you'd always found him attractive anyway. You and Hyunjin move together perfectly, his smooth movements guiding your own as he whispers the lyrics to the song in your ear, his plump lips catching your skin slightly. You finally move your eyes to Chan still feeling someone watching you, secretly wishing it was him. You’re met with a sharp glare, his eyes never leaving you and Hyunjin, his jaw locked in annoyance, you roll your eyes at him and turn around to face Hyunjin winding your arms around his slender neck.
You turn back to glance at Chan to find him charging your way, ripping you from your dance partner's embrace and towards the stairwell.
‘’Chan what the fuck are you doing?’’ you yell, trying to wriggle your wrist from his strong grip as he pulls you upstairs and into one of the empty bedrooms.
‘’What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are YOU doing y/n? Grinding all over Hyunjin like that’’
‘’We are not doing this right now, why does it have anything to do with you, Chan? Why do you even care?’’ venom coating your words, attempting to open the door and leave but being stopped short when he stands in the way, eyes burning into yours. Chan had never been like this with you, what had gotten into him?
‘’What? Are you suddenly into Hyunjin?? We both know he's not right for you y/n’’ his eyebrows knitted in annoyance.
‘’And how would you know what's best for me Chan? We hardly talk anymore!’’ you run your fingers through your hair, easing the tension building up behind your eyes.
‘’Of course we still talk, you know i've been busy’’ he fires back, disregarding how much space really had built up between the two of you.
’Give it up Chan and go back to Euna, what I do with Hyunjin has fuck all to do with you’’ you can't deal with the confusion, why is he acting like he's jealous of you and Hyunjin? Why does it matter to him?
‘’’I’m your best friend y/n of course it has something to do with me, he's not right for you’’
‘’Oh my god get your head out of your ass chan, just like you said, you're my best friend not my boyfriend. You can date but I can't? I'm not gonna wait on you to notice me for the rest of my life’’ You turn your face away from him, your confidence and fire slipping as Chan studies you intensely, the room silent apart from your breathing.
‘’My god you’re an idiot’’ Chan mumbles before grabbing your chin and smashing his lips onto yours, you melt into the kiss at first before snapping out of it and pushing him away
Chan what are you doing?’’ You feel dizzy as you maintain your balance, your hands still pressed against his toned chest. your lungs heaving in time with the thud of the music coming from below.
‘’You really have no idea, do you? I’m fucking in love with you y/n, why do you think I even started dating Euna in the first place, I wanted to get over you, why else would I jump into a relationship with a girl I hardly knew??’’ The annoyance in his voice evident as he goes on, he runs his hand through his hair repeatedly, messy waves falling in his face.
You stare up at him stunned, your lips parted in surprise, he pulls you back in, his lips covering yours as he presses you into him with fervour. He deepens the kiss and walks you backwards, his hands pressing into your hips, his hold nothing like hyunjins. He pulls away his eyes searching yours for something, anything.
“Tell me to stop, if you don't want this I’ll walk away” his voice is breathy and pained, evident that the last thing he wanted was for you to say now.
You've waited too long for this, for him to need you, touch you. You know it's wrong, his girlfriend just a floor below but you’ve wanted and waited too much to stop and walk away, you can deal with your moral shortcomings tomorrow.
‘’Please, Chan’’ you whisper, desperate for him to touch you again, clenching your thighs together as heat pools in your lower stomach, your insides on fire for him. He watches how desperate you are for him, your answer clear.
‘’Fuck you’re perfect’’ you look at him pleadingly and he can't hold back anymore, he’d thought about you like this too many times to count, in dreams and when awake. When he can't sleep and he fucks his fist wishing it was you, how pretty your moans would sound as he rocked into you, how tight you'd be around him, how his cum would leak out of your fluttering hole. He was too far gone, a man possessed.
You gasp as he pushes you back on the bed, his weight pressing you into the mattress perfectly, he licks and nips at your jaw, his hand finding your soaked underwear under your skirt, circling your puffy clit through the slick fabric.
“You’re so wet for me baby, bet Hyunjin could never have this effect on you. Gonna fuck you so good you'll forget he exists’’ his words making you tingle, his fingers exactly where you need them.
‘’Only want you’’ Your voice comes out breathy and fucked out even though he’s barely touched you and it sends a rush of blood to Chan's already rock-solid cock, straining against the tight fabric of his black jeans.
He sinks two fingers into your tight pussy and you scream in pleasure and pain at the intrusion, his fingers so much thicker and longer than yours, the stretch taking your breath away
‘’Yeah be a good girl and take my fingers in that tight little cunt, I know you can’’ The way he whispers as your pussy stretches around his fingers and wet squelches echo through the room has you throwing your head back, Chans other hand finding your tits as he stretches you out for him. You shake as he moves his fingers in and out of you, the stretch now dissolved into intense pleasure. He can tell you're close, your eyes closed in pleasure as you sigh out his name.
‘’cum for me pretty, cum around my fingers’’ You moan his name over and over as he rubs your soaking clit and plunges his fingers into your sopping hole, your back arching in pleasure as he works you through your high. Shouting his name as you cum on his fingers. He pulls his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean. The sight alone already making you needy for more
‘’Need you so bad baby, need to feel you milk my cock’’ he breathes out as he undoes his belt, desperate to be inside of you. You spread your sticky thighs, your glistening pussy on full display for him. His cock springs free from its confines, his pink tip leaking down onto the rest of his thick veiny length. It was no surprise he had the prettiest cock you'd ever seen. He gives it a few pumps, slapping your clit with his bulbous tip, and you moan in pleasure at the sting.
‘’Take it, baby. Gonna stretch you out so good, gonna make you mine’’ his voice shaky as he presses into you, your pussy spasming around his hard length splitting you open, he slowly bottoms out with a moan stilling inside you. His cock making your stomach bulge with his size
‘’Fuckfuckfuckkkk you're still so tight, such a perfect pussy’’ his words coming out more like a mantra, the feeling of you around him making him pussydrunk. He fucks in and out of you grabbing your thighs, spreading you wider for him, watching where you’re joined as he takes you.
‘’talk to me baby girl, tell me how I make you feel’’
‘’Love it when you fuck me Channie, love your cock so much’’ your voice strained and whiny, writhing against the sheets as he sets a rough pace. He spits on your pussy, the liquid dripping down to where you meet, the sight only aiding his pleasure.
‘’Bet you thought about this huh? Thought about how good it would feel when I ruin you, hmm baby? Bet you’d touch this little clit thinking about how good I would fuck you?’’ His thrusts become sloppy as he nears his orgasm, his fingers coming to circle your clit. Your moans getting louder as you get close for the second time.
‘’Cum with me baby, wanna cum in this pussy, fill you up with my cum’’ his thrusts getting more erratic and desperate as you orgasm together. You scream his name, your nails digging into his toned back muscles. Chan stills as he spurts his hot release into you, his cum painting your insides a milky white. He collapses onto you, his muscled chest pressed against your fucked out form, both of you breathing heavily.
‘’Fuck you're mine, just mine’’ he whispers, his cock still inside you, both your release leaking out around his still hard dick..
‘’Yeah just yours, Channie’’ you breathe out dreamily, still coming down from your high
You both lay like that for a while, Chan's face tucked into your neck, leaving gentle kisses, his cock stiffening again inside of you, the party coming to an end downstairs. Things had happened so fast you hadn't realised Chan brought you to his own room, the purple lights giving his skin a lilac hue.
‘’Chan. What happens now?” You hesitate not wanting to ruin the moment, praying you didn't just fuck everything up with him with a simple question.
He sighs into your skin snuggling closer ‘’I meant it when I said you're mine y/n, Euna knows she and I are done, she knew I was in love with you. I want this, I want you’’ his voice soft and sleepy.
Your heart nearly explodes, ‘’I love you too Chan, I want you too’’ you kiss him passionately, his tongue fighting yours for dominance, smiling into the kiss as he begins moving inside you again. It feels like a dream and you can't believe he's in love with you too, that he wants you like you want him. Now you have him you'll never let him go, you have always been his, even if he didn't know it.
‘’It's always been you y/n’’
-ty for reading!! Alr working on more hehe
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