➥ Contains: Swoooooning over Chris but what's new, Crissha going strong, oatmeal cookies, fact reveal that might cause wetness
➥ Your neighbor has a favor to ask, and you can't say no to those dimples even if you want to.
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝙸 𝙱𝚊𝚋𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚈𝚘𝚞
“GOD, I FUCKING HATE HER!”
Ryder struck the entryway like a thunderbolt, bringing the wrath of Zeus with him.
“Whoa, what’s going on?” you looked up from your book.
“Caaadence. Her name is Caaadence,” he taunted, on the brink of ripping the fridge door from its hinges. “What would YOU know about the almighty Lara Croft, you batgirl?!”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“She’s not one of my people, Mom,” he aggressively pointed at himself. “She belongs to a Hot Topic store, not my shrine.”
“Your shrine being that comic book place, is that right?”
This kid was unbelievable. Not to toot your own horn, but you were occasionally fighting the urge to smugly declare, “Yes, I made that” when passersby admired your son’s handsomeness. Every time you went to his school, you witnessed a trail of giggles following him everywhere he went. Yet, while his equally hormonal peers were googling date ideas, this dude was super into the other kind of fantasy realm with all the dragons and whatnot.
“It was a collectible figure, Mom. A COLLECTIBLE!”
“This obsession over the collectibles might be the reason why you’re super single, Ry,” you knowingly arched your brows as you turned the page of your book. “Juuust putting it out there.”
As if you put a lid on his rage, Ryder suddenly went silent. The mood shift was so jarring that you momentarily thought you had gone deaf.
“Everything alright, buddy?” you furrowed your brows.
He was growing more and more reserved lately, and this instance was no exception. He might be going through something he managed to smuggle past your Eagle Eye TSA, but he was distant all the same. It was during moments like this that you wanted to scream, “FUCK YOUR SPACE AND PRIVACY, JUST TALK TO ME!”
You would have appreciated a ‘Stop worrying’ button at your baby shower all those years ago because it was getting harder and harder to act like everything was chill.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he replied solemnly. “We’ll hang out at Trev’s tonight. That cool with you?”
“Suuure, bro, whatevs,” you protested in that annoying voice he hated.
“Mom, come on.”
“We don’t spend any time anymore! It’s always you and your boys raising hell somewhere,” you slammed the book close, full-on pouting. “I’m feeling a little neglected, but unfortunately, there is no Mom Services I can call to report your ass.”
“Language, Mom,” he made a dangerous attempt to defuse the tension.
“I GAVE BIRTH TO YOU, BRAT, I CAN SAY WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT!”
He finally burst out laughing, and the heaviness in your chest instantly started to melt. You got a big hug in response, even a smooch on your head.
“How about you and I go catch a movie tomorrow, huh?” he offered. “Just us.”
“Promise you’ll buy slurpees?” you spoke with zero emotion and dead eyes.
“I promise. With my own money and everything,” he kissed your hands and jogged towards his room. “Enjoy your evening, yeah?”
Sure. A Friday night when the entire world had social functions to be, dates to attend, strangers to flirt over drinks with, and you were curled up with a historical romance book that you could stream on Netflix instead.
Goodie.
The soft knock on the door that arrived half an hour later made you jump in your place as if there was someone with a Ghostface mask on out front. Ryder had taken the car, and the driveway was empty. Ergo, who the absolute heck…?
“Hiya!”
“You scared the shit out of me!” you clutched your chest, heaving the deepest sigh of relief at the sight of Chris.
“Sorry, was I too loud?” he asked with genuine panic.
“No, no, it’s… No one really… Anyway, what’s up?” you unwittingly crossed your arms over your chest like you were trying to shield yourself from something.
“I uh… I really hate to ask this, but I don’t have anyone here, so…” he started apologetically. “I have to be somewhere for like an hour, and I was wondering if you’d be available to watch my girls?”
“Oh, jesus christ, you too?” you inadvertently groaned.
“Excuse me?”
You slapped your mouth, mortified by your knee-jerk reaction. Of course, that wasn’t aimed at Chris himself. It was just…
The universe going out of its way to remind you just how lonely you were was a bit unnecessary. It wasn’t like you could remove a tattoo with wet wipes; you were well aware.
“I’m sorry. It’s… Of–Of course!” you put on your best smile to bounce back.
“You are… fucking… amazing!” he placed his hands on your arms and gave them a gentle squeeze.
The full-body shiver that followed had to be a side effect of your prolonged dry spell, right?
You had met this guy only once, and the only thing you knew about him was that he had twin girls he was reading Singing Giraffe to, and that he was flirting with your cat. Sure, he was ridiculously gorgeous. Fine, his smile was endlessly charming. Okay, his physique was fucking unreal, but—
ANYWAY!
“They haven’t shut up about Missha,” Chris welcomed you into his home with a bright smile. “Fair warning, they might scream.”
The twins barged into the living room in the same clothes you saw them in the other day, immediately clinging to their King Daddy’s legs.
“Do you know our names?” the one in the sun-patterned pajamas asked you, having absolutely no expectations of a correct answer.
“Of course!” you pointed at them each. “You’re Harper, and you’re Piper.”
“Wrooooong!”
“You can’t come in if you can’t tell us apart.”
“Yes, that’s not very nice.”
You and Chris shared a brief look. You were struggling to keep a straight face, biting inside your cheeks really hard not to smile.
“Why do you think I couldn’t tell you apart?” you crouched before them.
“Because you couldn’t remember Harper is the moon. I am the sun.”
“So you didn’t swap your pajamas to trick me?” you narrowed your eyes.
“Did not!”
“Did too.”
“Daddy!” Harper pulled out the whine card, looking up at her father for an assist.
You finally caved in to your cuteness aggression and burst out laughing.
“If you say you didn’t, then you didn’t, but I know Harper has a cute little beauty mark right…” you booped her nose, “...here.”
“So do I!” Piper protested.
You feigned thinking for a while, then widened your eyes like an idea occurred to you. The panicked look on their faces when you rubbed Piper’s nose was priceless.
“Oh, look, it vanished!” you gasped dramatically.
The twins looked at each other and bashfully smiled, enjoying your back-and-forth a bit too much.
“You’re very nice, Missha’s mom,” Harper spoke in tiny, looking at her panda slippers.
“You know who’s also nice?” you showed them the carrier behind you.
“MISSHA!”
Right at that moment, the doorbell rang, and when Chris answered it, you saw the reason why he had to be somewhere. Lisa was in full club attire as if she was picking up a frat guy at a Spring Break wet t-shirt contest.
“Isn’t it my job to pick you up?” Chris greeted her.
“Old school,” she sultrily smiled at him. “I figured Daddy had his hands full.”
Ugh, ick!
No judgment, but judgment a little bit. Not that it was any of your business, but considering how he picked the trashiest option out of an entire neighborhood drooling over him, Chris seemed to have abysmal taste in women. This man had freaking daughters; what the heck was he thinking going out with such a… well, Lisa?
“Oh, good, you at least found a nanny,” she flashed a fake as hell smile, wiggling her fingers at you just like the sorority princesses at your college used to do to greet each other.
EXCUSE YOU?
It was as if an invisible prompter had manifested before you, citing all the burn material to hit this life-size Bratz doll with, but before you even opened your mouth for your performance, the twins rushed to the door.
“Missha’s mom isn’t our nanny! She’s our friend!” Harper yelled, glaring at Lisa like she wanted to make her catch on fire with her death stare.
“Oh, hi, Piper!” Lisa chirped. “I know I got it right this time. The sun pajamas!”
Harper’s eyes grew cartoonishly huge, damn near anime-sized, magnifying the tears about to fall tenfold.
“Daddy, don’t go. Lisa’s not very nice,” she clung to the hem of Chris’s shirt.
“I’ll… be in the car,” Lisa turned around, left with no choice other than seeing herself out with that much awkwardness.
“Baby, we talked about this,” Chris kneeled before her. “How are we supposed to act?”
“We need to be nice,” Harper pursed her lips, staring at the floor.
“Yes, we do. I won’t be long, okay? Behave when I’m gone,” he kissed her head, then turned to you. “Thank you very much once again!”
“No problem. Have fun,” you saw him off, hoping your smile passed as genuine.
The door closed, and a dense silence fell over the room. You could literally see the little nimbus clouds hovering over the girls’ little heads, raining heart-wrenching sadness on them. Your only job today was to get them out of their foul mood, and you were going to stop at nothing until you saw them smile again.
“Alright, ladies, we are baking cookies this evening!” you loudly clapped to snap them out of it. “Which kind do you like the most?”
“Daddy likes the oatmeal one,” Piper answered in a small voice.
“Then we’ll make the best oatmeal raisin cookies in the world,” you declared and pointed your miniature soldiers to the battlefield. “To the kitchen!”
With your ultra-enthusiastic mode on, you were able to trick them into thinking the kitchen was a funfair, albeit only for a short while. As you were nearing the sixteenth minute, Harper’s face had fallen again, brows knit together as if she was pondering how to pay the bills this month.
“Is something the matter, sweetie?” you asked as you put the tray in the oven.
“Lisa stole Daddy,” Harper pouted.
“No, she didn’t steal him,” you emphatically corrected. “Your dad should make friends, too, right?”
“But he already has friends!”
“He can always make new ones.”
“But aren’t you his new friend?”
Good lord, you had forgotten how hard this was.
You didn’t want to lie to them, but they were way too young to comprehend the hardships of parenthood, much less a single one. You couldn’t tell them that he needed to maintain relationships with other adults so he could remember he was more than just a father. You couldn’t tell them that once you crossed a critical threshold, the brain shut itself down to new possibilities entirely and made you lose hope. You couldn’t tell them that even though parents would die for their kids without blinking, that kind of love was just not… enough.
You were already hating yourself a little for the last one. How could you ever verbalize it to children when you couldn’t even say it out loud to yourself?
“How come you’re not wearing a skirt like Lisa does?” Piper pointed at your pants as you were lost in thought.
“Because these are very comfortable. See?” you tugged on the loose waistband. “Like your shorts!”
“We wear shorts because we don’t have skirts,” Harper chimed in.
“You don’t?” you arched your brows in surprise.
“Daddy didn’t get us one. Do you want to see our wardrobe?”
You let the girls drag you upstairs by your hands, and as soon as you walked into their room, you traveled back in time. It was eerily reminiscent of Ryder’s childhood bedroom, and he even used to have some of those identical toys. You wondered if the choice of decoration was deliberate because the girls wanted it this way, or if Chris was just winging it based on whatever he could piece together from his own childhood.
“Well, do you want to have skirts?” you asked, maintaining a perfect poker face.
“Yes!”
“Then how about we ask your dad to go shopping together?”
“YAY!”
Your heart sizzled a little in your chest. You had gone through something very similar with Ryder, entirely clueless about what a boy would go through on the way to adulthood, and the nonexistence of a prominent male figure in your life certainly wasn’t helping. Was that the case with Chris, too?
Because if it was, he was going to get the whiplash of his life in a few years when he had to get a mandatory master’s in menstruation.
Leaving the cute quirks of girl dad-ism to be enjoyed some other time, you let the girls pick the itinerary for their playtime, and for some reason, they seemed to get the biggest kick out of the “Guess which twin I am” game.
“I told youuu, you can’t fool meee~!” you feigned taunt with a singsongy voice.
“But I’m Piper!”
“No, you’re a ray of sunshine. Come here!”
Aaand mission accomplished. The living room was bursting with the high-pitched laughter of the twins. Nevertheless, you and the girls were so absorbed in your tickle fight that nobody noticed there was someone leaning against the wall, watching the whole thing with a barely there smile.
“Congrats, you’re the only one that can tell them apart so far.”
The sudden manifestation of the unfamiliar voice gave you a terrible jumpscare, and your little shriek frightened Missha into hiding. It belonged to a girl entirely clad in blacks, including the heavy eyeliner and the nail polish, as if she was in mourning.
“Hi! I was watching the girls for the night. I live across the street,” you introduced yourself when the adrenaline rush subsided.
“I’m Cadence,” she extended her hand. “Chris’s daughter.”
“Cade—You’re Cadence?”
“Um… Have we met?”
Well, FIRST OF ALL, Chris had another child?! Another daughter at that?! She looked hella older than a teenager, just how old was this guy anyway? Were there vampire genes present in this family or something?
“No! No, we haven’t,” you shook your head to snap yourself out of it, “but I believe you’ve met my son. I’m Ryder’s mom.”
“Oh wow,” she smiled, though stained with excess amounts of sarcasm. “You’re so nice, it’s astounding that you are related.”
“Excuse me?” you cocked a brow, immediately pushing her into a panic fit.
“Fuck, I didn’t mean… Shit, I said fuck. Oh my fucking—!”
“Calm down! It’s okay,” you started laughing, placing your hands on her shoulders to pacify her. “We are well aware our kids curse. We just pretend you are still five just to cope with the fact that you’ll be leaving home soon.”
Right at that moment, the oven bell went off, telling you the cookies would also like to join the chat. You put the tray on the kitchen island and handed out the samples for Cadence and the twins, earning heartfelt compliments in the kids category and a stoic “Cool” in the young adult one. Well, the latter sorta translated into “FUCK YEAH!” in Teen-ese, so all in all, a successful batch.
“Wanna tell me your side of the story?” you asked Cadence as you put the cookies in a container.
She heaved the deepest sigh as if she was about to give you the account of her fifth divorce and began her opening statements.
“We’re in the same class…”
She and your dorky jock of a son wanted the same action figure, which happened to be an auction item at that comic book place. Cadence submitted her bid a few seconds past the deadline, but it was a lot higher than Ryder’s. They were both aggressively appealing for their bid to be the valid one, and the store owner had decided to suspend the auction until he could make a fair decision.
All in all, classic teenager shenanigans and absolutely nothing courtroom drama-worthy.
“I’ll be damned, I’ve heard more about my son from you in five minutes than I’ve heard from him in five months,” you snorted.
“You know how it is. Peak angst era,” she munched on the cookie, her face expressionless, but cheekily winking at you.
The entire kitchen population turned to the front door upon the sound of keys turning in the lock. You checked the time to see if you somehow lost track of it, but it was still early.
“Did something happen?” you asked with concern.
“No?” Chris creased his brows. “Should it have?”
“It’s 8:30.”
“I know,” he nodded, confused as to why you were confused. “I told you I’d be gone for an hour.”
“Told ya,” Cadence flashed an endlessly satisfied smirk from the kitchen island, still munching away. “You and dumb bitches are like mentos and coke, Dad. Stop trying to spare their feelings.”
“YOU WANNA REPEAT THAT TO ME, YOUNG LADY?!”
“I love you, too!” she yelled from the stairs and disappeared to her room.
“I actually thought you wouldn’t be coming home at all,” you confessed, a bit embarrassed by your presumptions.
“Do I really give off that much of a player vibe?”
“Well, excuse me for thinking differently!” you protested. “I don’t know many dads that look like you.”
“Yeah? What do I look like?” he asked, clearly enjoying the insinuation behind your words.
Oh, fucking hell…
“Like… the frat pledges at my campus,” you attempted to put the gear in reverse.
“So… I look hot.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But that’s what you meant,” he cheesed annoyingly, turning to Missha for support. “Back me up, baby girl. I can still pull, right?”
“Don’t even. She meowed, ‘Welcome home, cheater,’ the second you walked in, so…”
“Aaand now I need to drink my sorrows away,” he grabbed a beer from the fridge. “Want one?”
You headed out to the backyard for some quiet hangout. The same swing as the one on the porch, pool lights on, the serene sound of water convincing you that this was a secret zen garden. As soon as Chris sat down, Missha galloped outside and jumped on his lap again, curling into a croissant as if she had permanently reserved that spot.
Apparently forgetting all about a recent betrayal.
“We just got some coffee,” Chris began his unprompted explanation. “I only said yes so she would um… she would stop…”
“Harassing you?” you deadpanned, a bit too familiar with Lisa’s ways.
He nodded shyly.
“I take it there won’t be a second date?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“That wasn’t even a first date,” he answered while scratching between Missha’s ears. “Well, my evening was a total bust. How was yours?”
“Sick,” you responded unironically. “We baked cookies.”
“Chocolate chip?”
“Oatmeal raisin.”
“No fucking way, that’s my favorite!”
“So I was told,” you chuckled. “And now you have a fresh batch in your kitchen.”
“Oh, it’ll be gone in one to two business days, no worries,” he reassured you.
Neither of you talked for a while, just letting the tranquility linger in the air. You tried to remember the last time you felt this peaceful, not obsessively worrying about the future, Ryder, the next book signing you needed to arrange, but the archivist of your brain was holding up a ‘Not found’ sign. You wondered if it was at all possible that Chris was sent to you as a remedy of sorts. Not to alleviate all your burden at the snap of a finger, but just to… Just to stop and be. To remind you that you might wanna take all the fantastic advice you were giving everyone else while relentlessly whipping yourself to death. Out of guilt. Out of shame. Out of this unwavering feeling of not being good enough. Not for Ryder. Not for yourself.
You wondered if there was any chance that Chris was sent to you to take the whip from your hands because it was so worn out from being used so much.
“How do you like Summerland so far?” you asked, putting a semicolon to your inner spiral.
“Lives up to the moniker,” he slowly nodded. “The nights are hot as balls, though.”
“Yeah, you’re gonna have a tough time if you don’t get an AC soon,” you concurred.
“I was hoping we could freeload yours,” he looked at you with mischief flashing in his eyes.
“Sure,” you immediately agreed. “Cough up ten bands.”
“WHAT? Even my car is—”
“Or you could man the barbecue on the weekends,” you offered a more reasonable alternative. “Your call.”
“Sold,” he extended his hand to seal the deal. You shook it.
A simple handshake shouldn’t have felt like a tiny jolt of electricity jumping from skin to skin like hopscotch, sending tingles all over your body. Even the parts you didn’t know existed.
“So uh… W–What do you do?” you cleared your throat to get it together.
“Former musician, current surf instructor,” he informed you.
“Really?!” you exclaimed in surprise. “Were you in a band, or…?”
“Yeah. Good times,” he stared at his feet with a smile laced with nostalgia. “I don’t perform anymore, but I still do side gigs from time to time. Jingles and whatnot.”
“I can see the vision,” you approvingly nodded. “Topless drummers were a particular weakness of mine back in the day.”
Chris stared at you in silence for a few seconds, then broke into a smirk so annoying that it felt like he was making fun of you for something.
“What?” you requested an explanation.
“I play the drums,” he divulged, grinning away.
“NO FUCKING WAY!”
“No, really. My set is still intact in there,” he pointed at the garage door. “I’ll show you sometime.”
“Well, I’ll put on my best bra to throw at you then.”
When your laughter died down, it would usually be your cue to start panicking, trying to find ways to fill in that silence, but for some reason, silences were never awkward with Chris. It felt… okay to keep quiet because it didn’t feel like the conversation was dying down. It felt like it was just going out to take a walk around the block, reassuring you that it would come back again.
“Ryder’s father,” he carefully opened the radioactive closet. “Is he… in the picture, or?”
“We’re divorced,” you told him, not exactly in the mood to give him a rundown of your entire history. “I wasn’t expecting a happily ever after anyway. It was a panic ‘I do’ at the city hall on a Tuesday afternoon.”
“Do they have a relationship at least?” he tilted his head.
“Not really,” you responded. “If Ryder one day decides he wants a relationship with him, it will probably be around the time he joins the workforce. His father is more of a conversation over scotch kinda guy.”
“Well, I can’t promise scotch, but if he’s into craft beer…”
“I will kill you! He’s underage!”
He responded with a giggle fit, and something tried to take flight in your chest.
“What about the girls’ mother?” you asked, doing your best to be equally cautious. “Does she spend time with the girls at all?”
His face suddenly fell, and you panicked so hard, convinced you accidentally let the uranium out of the radioactive closet.
“She passed a few years ago,” he replied solemnly.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”
“It’s okay,” he intercepted, forcing a smile, pretending to be nonchalant to the best of his ability. “Not Gemini, not Leo, the other thing in between.”
You didn’t know what to say. You were dead quiet on the outside, but inside your head was an orderless courtroom, having a heated discussion about the finality of death. When you break up with someone, even if you know you will never see them again in your life, there is still a chance the world might glitch because it’s too small. But to know you will never ever ever see them again… No matter how drunk you get in the middle of a night…
No matter how much you miss them…
“I live for my girls now,” Chris spoke, thinking about god knows what with his eyes wandering off into the distance. “I can’t be selfish anymore.”
“The second they’re born, we tuck our lives away in a trunk and start living for them, don’t we?” you flashed a broken smile.
“Well, when I made a few attempts to meet people, the landlords of my heart decided it wasn’t available for rent, so…” he chuckled in defeat. “Message received.”
“I mean, I get it. Kids can be a little possessive around this age, and you’re all they have,” you sympathized with him. “It’s normal that they aren’t thrilled at the idea of you with someone else other than their mom.”
“First, it was Cade. Then she grew up and passed the baton to the twins,” he couldn’t help the frustrated grunt. “Was your son like that, too?”
“Was?” you started laughing hysterically. “My man, he still thinks he’s my personal bouncer.”
The heavy clouds dispersed when you shared that laugh. It felt so nice when he laughed. It felt like a hug. So warm, so comforting, truly like the sunset itself.
No wonder Missha’s sunbeam nap-loving ass was so attached to Chris.
“They can’t really understand yet that I’m not trying to replace their mom,” he continued, finding courage to open up a bit more in your smile. “I’m… trying so hard on my own, but…”
“But?” you gently encouraged him.
“Never mind,” he heaved a resigned sigh. “I don’t want to suddenly demote myself to ‘horrible father’ in your eyes.”
“Just because the love of your kids isn’t enough sometimes?”
His eyes widened a measure, a little startled. You knew that look from the mirror on your bathroom wall. Writhing in shame for even daring to want to be loved. By someone whose factory settings were not unconditional love.
Someone you didn’t share a last name with.
“Hi, neighbor,” you raised your bottle with a faded smile.
You were conditioned not to load meaning into things because “signs from the universe” did not exist. Everyone saw what they wanted to see, and that was it. But when you were with Chris…
When you were with him, it suddenly felt like…
“Thank you,” he uttered in a voice surprisingly tiny for his figure.
“For what?”
“For… not shaming me,” he answered, hyperfocused on his toes as he kicked little pebbles away. “Unlike… you know, the world.”
“If you were to piece a broken vase back together, would you use scotch tape instead of glue?” you suddenly posed a problem.
“No?” he knit his brows together in confusion.
“Why not? Both can hold things together.”
He knowingly smiled at you once it sank in, averting his eyes from you shyly.
“Just because they are shelved in the same aisle doesn’t mean they are interchangeable,” you pointed your beer bottle at him, “which is why there is no reason for you to feel guilty.”
“You don’t feel guilty?”
Aaand this would be where you earned the title of a raging hypocrite.
“Let’s just say the opportunity to feel guilty never presented itself,” you tried to dodge the question.
“But what if it did?”
You were conditioned not to load meaning into things because “signs from the universe” did not exist. Just because he was asking a hypothetical question did not mean that he… It did not mean that…
It did not…
“Would you…? Give it a shot, or…?” he asked with ample amounts of pauses, trying his hardest not to break the door of the radioactive closet. “Should the opportunity just… not hold onto any hopes?”
You were conditioned not to load meaning into things, but he was being too much at this point.
“It… can,” you couldn’t look him in the eye while answering, your voice waning into a murmur. “I mean, if… if it… wants to…”
Chris held Missha up so he could look at her because this seemed like “face-to-face news.”
“I understand this might come as a shock, but I would like to open our relationship,” he spoke dramatically. “If you can’t, I respect it, but once a topless drummer, always a topless drummer, baby girl. I can’t change who I am.”
You cracked up at the cringe fuckboy antics, immediately slapping your own mouth to mute your noise-complaint-worthy volume. Missha let out a tired meow, exhausted from catting all day, and reached for Chris’s neck to continue her nap.
“I think someone has a crush on you,” you giggled, endeared by your human-hating girl acting like this with someone other than Ryder for once.
Chris placed a kiss on Missha’s tiny head, then looked up at you so fondly, damn near inducing cardiac arrest with the sigh he punctuated his sentence with.
“I think I’m crushing on her a little bit, too.”
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intended souls | a lullaby on his throat chapter five
pairing: demigod!hyunjin x f!reader | word count: 13k | genre: mythology au, romance | warnings: adult and sometimes dark themes ; complicated feelings ; angst ; elements of contemporary fantasy ; explicit sexual content. This work is for adult audiences only.
You had known it before, but you were certain now—you would love him even if it annihilated you molecule by molecule. It was not something you could control and yet it felt like a choice, a conscious decision. You loved Hyunjin, and for as long as your heart would beat and perhaps even after, you would continue to love him.
One never really gets used to solitude.
There is no getting used to loneliness, there is only an illusion of it. The origin of this mirage most often comes from one’s foolish desire to be anything but hollow. Because, at its core, isn’t this what loneliness is? To be lacking something, something substantial enough that its absence alters us? Not everything can cause such a feeling. Loneliness, the true kind. Not everything holds enough weight for us to be off-balance once it is taken away from us. Or rather, once it is taken from within us.
Sometimes, it can feel as though something precious melted and disappeared, or like it waited while we were looking the other way before sneaking out. There is violence in that, in this betrayal—it’s difficult to process the shift when we do not see it unfold.
Other times, solitude is expected—but only truly lonely people can understand such a thing. Some people are made lonely and others are born lonely. In this case, it is much like a curse, something that follows us everywhere we go, lurking, but never far.
In this case, it feels like the beautiful and precious thing has been denied to us. Like, perhaps, we failed some sort of test and were proven unworthy of it. There is no suitable analogy for it—we could compare it, however, to having our chest cut open with a badly sharpened knife before our heart is torn away. Most of the time, they don’t bother sewing us back up, and then we become the wound that was inflicted upon us. Bleeding, raw, unsightly enough that people look the other way so they don’t have to see it.
Only the best things can cause this sort of pain, only the most beautiful things can become so foul, so terrible.
When something makes you fly high, it means the fall is harder, more brutal, but unfortunately not lethal.
You never got used to solitude.
It followed you all your life, really—at one point, you told yourself that you were meant to be alone, so you tried to embrace it. And you did so successfully, but to embrace and to get used to it are two very different concepts, and, in fact, they have nothing to do with one another.
It was as you reflected on solitude that you came to realize that a large room full of people sounded a little like the ocean. Murmurs of conversations came all together to form a whole, the sound of it echoing on the walls and the high ceiling, like ripples on water. At its faintest, when fewer people were speaking, you could swear it sounded just like a river.
It reminded you of the river that ran through the city, coursing in curves, flowing gently and delicately, with pretty lights reflecting on it. The music of a violin playing and tickling your ears.
There were, more or less, three hundred guests attending the gala tonight.
It changed nothing to the fact that you had never in your life before felt as alone as you did in that moment, surrounded by people you knew and by strangers, too, in a place that ought to be familiar but wasn’t really.
The sea of them continued to whisper and talk and laugh, the sound of it often punctuated with glasses clinking or chairs scraping on the old floor when people pushed themselves up or sat down. A group of four passed near you as they returned from outside, smelling faintly of cigarettes and winter. You recognized one of the four as the head curator of a museum in Italy, one that you had visited during your Master’s and that you had particularly liked. The man, older now, noticed you and stopped as the rest of his group continued toward their table, a little farther down the room.
“It’s an honor to be invited here tonight,” the man told you, and you had to look up so you could look him in the eyes, or rather, to pretend that you were still human. He shook your hand, but in the end held both your hands in his, squeezing them. “I remember when you were a student, coming to the museum every day… I knew then that you were special. Congratulations, dear.”
You offered him a smile and a thank you, doing your best to look like you meant it. You did mean it, only you couldn’t figure out if it was relevant. If he had truly believed that something set you apart from the masses years ago, wouldn’t he have told you then?
Why wait until now to do it?
The background noise changed when the crowd began to clap politely. You looked at the front of the room, where a small stage had been put in place for the night. It was nicely decorated with warm lighting and real flowers and plants. As you were sitting very close, you could smell them, fresh and sweet. The focus of the decor, however, was the few pieces from the Deities exhibition that had been brought here, into the museum’s atrium. There were three paintings. The first one, on the left, was Agatheia and her three children, depicting the demigoddess sitting in her lush garden, smiling as she was surrounded by Kyma, Prokopios, and Hyathos, who, however, was staring out at the horizon, not quite living in the present moment. It had always been one of your favorite pieces.
The second, on the right, was a large painting showing most of the ancient gods. The scene did not exist in the myths—the gods were never mentioned to have been at the same place all at once, as too many of them were enemies or rivals. At the very top of the frame was Minhas, god of the skies, inevitability, and mortality. He could be seen watching the other gods from his high viewpoint, observing all of them pensively.
Just below, Amaranthos and Perikles were looking down upon the chaos that they had stirred while fighting one another—the first had a sword made of obsidian and the other, a spear made of gold. Kyma, being taken away by Thoros, with Agatheia holding her daughter’s hand, looking like she was trying to get her daughter back from the King of the Underworld. However, Prokopios lay dead at their feet, his skin drained of color, his eyes open and rigid. Sophronia was alone, the goddess of flowers sitting on a rock, weaving a crown of roses. Her gaze, however, was turned to Agatheia. Some texts said that the two goddesses kept a secret friendship, and that it was Sophronia who gifted Agatheia the most beautiful flowers of her garden.
Beneios was there, not too far from Perikles, holding his dead sister’s body, her heart pierced by one of Perikles’ golden arrows. His expression could not be seen, but one could understand his pain and mourning in his posture and in the love with which he held his sister.
At the center of it all was Ismene, on her island, tall and radiant. She stood, towering over the god of light himself—Feliks was with her, on his knees as though he was seeking atonement, or simply begging his aunt for something. There were tears in his eyes and they resembled sun rays, illuminating his despondent expression.
Hyathos was with no one else. Unlike Sophronia, he wasn’t just alone—he was lonely, an arm outstretched, his fingertips caressed by the light spilling from Feliks’ tears. He stood, his ankles caressed by tall grass, his long, soft-brown hair floating in the wind. The expression on his face was complex, often named by art historians as one of the best portraits of its time. He was yearning for something and yet dreading it at once, nostalgic, bittersweet. The more one stared at him, the more emotions appeared—grief, fear, envy, anguish, curiosity. His eyes, it seemed, held whole entire worlds inside of them. You had written well over a hundred thousand words about this depiction of Hyathos alone, and it seemed like there was just as much to say about it still.
The last of the three paintings had been placed at the center. With no great surprise, it was The Cypress Tree, the most sought-after and cherished painting from the exhibition. Even from here, it seemed like you could feel the warmth emanating from it, from its lifelike radiance. It reminded you of the way the sun used to look—a debate that was still ongoing, as some people perceived a change in the color and aspect of sunlight while others did not. Scientists were studying the phenomenon but absolutely nothing hinted that something had changed in the atmosphere, the sky, or with the sun—the sun was the sun, as it had always been. Only, to you, and to some others, it looked different, in a way that could hardly be explained with words. It was in these moments that you envied painters. You thought that Arthur Calverley, who had so beautifully painted sunlight in The Cypress Tree, would have been able to convey this new luminescence with accuracy.
You watched as a woman made her way to the stage, stopping behind the reading stand, lowering the microphone until it was at a comfortable height for her. She seemed at ease in her professional-looking cocktail dress, gazing at the vast room with a smile on her face, looking amused.
The room fell silent almost instantly and all the heads turned in her direction, except for yours. Even as she began speaking and introducing herself as the Dean of the university that presented the Alden Breay Award. You had spoken with her a few times over the phone and again tonight, meeting her in the flesh for the first time. She was a hyper type of person, yet intelligent and witty. It showed as she spoke to the crowd, explaining how the award had come to exist.
You, however, were contemplating how it would be you, very soon, standing on that stage, giving your speech. In front of all of these people and a handful of cameras. Tonight’s ceremony was one of the most highly anticipated of the year, maybe especially since it also happened to be the day you launched the first three books on Cipherian. The first one was a dictionary, and the second was an analysis and explanation of the language’s complex grammar, including its even more obscure dialects.
The last book was the one you hated most. Or loved most. Or, somehow, both at once. It was the one you had begun to write before you had even processed the fact that you had suddenly acquired this language—the one you had so ardently wished to share with Hyunjin.
It was a huge book—a complete translation of the most important texts of the ancient myths, accompanied by comprehensive and detailed essays that you wrote, from the perspective of the only person on earth who could understand them completely. For now, at least, as you had no doubt that linguists and amateurs alike would soon know Cipherian as well as you did, or perhaps even better, rendering you useless once again. Some days, you couldn’t wait for it to happen, wanting nothing more than to be invisible and forgotten, knowing very well that it would leave yet another scar the day it would come true.
It was that book you were the most proud of. You would write other books like it—had already started to do so—with more texts and more translations. Now that you knew the language they were written in, the ancient myths were deeper, more textured. More real, too, somehow.
You did not pay much attention to the Dean as she spoke, instead you focused on the rest of the room, maybe trying to get used to the sight of all these people.
Jisung must have sensed your unease because he reached for your hand under the round table, squeezing it in his. He was most likely just as nervous as you were, considering how clammy his skin was. Yet you appreciated the gesture, turning to him with a joyless smile, to which he responded with an equally flat one. He looked especially nice tonight with his hair combed to the side and a fancy navy-colored suit. He was sitting between you and Seungmin, who also looked especially dapper in a charcoal outfit.
You shared your table, also, with the staff from the museum. Minji sat across from you, obviously agitated but in a giddy kind of way, almost childish. You envied her—she was, a little, the girl you wished you had been at her age. But unlike Minji, you had been born lonely, and you could not change that. When Mrs. Yoo noticed that you were looking in her direction, she mouthed a gentle It’ll be alright at you, making you wonder if it was very apparent that you felt like you were about to throw up.
“Deep breaths,” Jisung whispered into your ear. He had sprayed a little too much cologne tonight, but its vivid scent served as an anchor.
Deep breaths. Easier said than done.
You put a hand over your chest in a lame attempt at calming down. You could feel your pulse through your ribcage, crazed and unsteady.
Your fingers ran into something cool and you wrapped your hand around it, suddenly remembering the existence of the necklace hanging around your neck.
A few hours ago, as you were getting ready for tonight, Jisung entered your hotel room with a small box. It’s for you, he said, handing it over. A gift. And he had never really been the one to buy gifts, so it was suspicious. The gift turned out to be an absolutely stunning yet delicate white gold chain with a small pendant. The pendant was a green garnet whose deep shade of viridian fascinated anybody who looked at it. It was reminiscent of the ocean and a forest at once, and everything in between.
There’s no way you bought this, you told Jisung. Your reasoning was simple—he didn’t buy gifts, and if he was going to buy gifts, they wouldn’t be as nice as this necklace. Only someone with refined taste would pick this over other necklaces. And, lastly, there was no way in hell he could afford it, even if you paid him well. You chose this necklace?
The thing with Jisung is that he is a terrible liar. It was actually that very fact that led to the demise of your situationship. When you clearly began showing signs of the Catching Feelings disease, he recoiled immediately and was not inconspicuous about it, no matter how hard he tried. And you knew he tried just so he wouldn’t hurt you. And it was such a stupid thing to do, yet everyone did it—there was no way one could fully protect another from the truth. Nothing could soften the blow—it could only be delayed.
Of course I chose it. But when he saw in your eyes that you didn’t believe him, Jisung added, The lady at the store helped me. Which made total sense, and you probably would have believed him if you didn’t suspect this necklace to be custom-made and worth several thousand dollars.
You wondered if maybe Jisung needed to get laid. After all, he had left this girl he had started seeing after you. He said things didn’t work out. He had been with her for less than a month, even less time than he had spent fooling around with you. After that had been the beginning of the chaos, and he had started following you anywhere—you were not aware of him seeing girls. So you figured that maybe he was hoping you would fuck him in exchange for this insanely expensive necklace.
Thing is, you could be convinced. Maybe you would suck his cock after the gala, in the car on your way back to the hotel suite that had been offered to you since it was closer to the museum than your apartment was. You knew it made him crazy when you looked him in the eyes as he spilled himself into your mouth. After that, you could let him fuck you in the hotel room, on the couch maybe, or against a wall. Jisung fucked desperately, always. You used to like it because you had believed he was desperate for you. You had been a fool, though.
You did not love him. There had been a time when you thought you loved Jisung. But that was before you knew what love was really like.
You nervously fidgeted with the necklace, fully aware that daydreaming about letting your almost-ex hit it just to feel something was not the best coping mechanism.
On stage, the Dean had just spoken your name, inviting you to join her so she could officially hand you the award you had been granted. Your heart jumped in your chest and it felt like it came to a stop, much like your breathing, or the flow of time. For a brief moment, silence reigned in the atrium.
Your gaze flew upwards, lingering on the large skylight that the ceiling was made of. The sky was dark and raindrops rolled down the curved glass.
The thing with solitude is it doesn’t matter if you’ve had it for a long time or not, if you expected it or not—it is always quiet and furtive and violent. And it hit you exactly at that moment. The magnitude of your loneliness. The weight of it—crushing and unforgiving. Maybe you had known for a while but hadn’t been brave enough to admit it to yourself.
You would never be truly happy again. Not without Hyunjin.
You had tasted what genuine contentment was like, you had known what true love felt like, and now everything was bland compared to it. There was no point in chasing a similar feeling because it wouldn’t exist, not without him. There would be days when you would feel joy but you would never be really happy. Something would always be lacking in your life, lacking from you—he had left, it felt like, thousands of little voids in your body and your soul.
You did not want the award. You never asked for it. You let Seungmin and Jisung convince you that you should take it, if only for the monetary prize that would be split between you and the museum. You didn’t need money. You did not want it.
The person you wanted to share all of this with was gone.
A comforting hand pressed itself in between your shoulder blades—Jisung gave you a gentle nudge as a reminder that you had to stand up.
Your legs were weak, trembling yet stiff, but you managed to push yourself up, a little too aware that all the heads were turned toward you, now. As soon as you stood straight, the entire room erupted in enthusiastic applause, the sound of it echoing on the walls, made even louder by the acoustics of the room. You smoothed out your pretty ball gown before closing your hands into fists, your fingernails digging into your palm, as Jisung stood after you, now pressing his hand at the small of your back to invite you to come with him. He took his role of security guard very seriously, but then he had also taken himself very seriously when he had been head of security here, so it shouldn’t surprise you.
“Let’s go now,” you heard him mutter as he guided you toward the front of the room, regularly looking around as if he was fully expecting doom to fall upon you. He kept you close. The plan was that he would wait by the stage while you gave your speech, but now you found yourself wishing he would climb up there with you just so you wouldn’t be alone.
Then you remembered the rift between alone and lonely.
He did help you up the steps though, holding your hand until the last second and giving it a squeeze before releasing you. The spotlights were warm and blinded you enough that you could barely see more than a few tables away—you couldn’t even make out the far end of the atrium, for which you were grateful. You could only imagine it would be easier to read your speech.
The Dean welcomed you warmly, introducing you once again into the microphone while an assistant was bringing the trophy. It was smaller than you expected it to be, yet no less beautiful—made of glass, gold and bronze, it depicted a woman, Alden Breay’s wife, sitting at a desk and seemingly writing. It was his wife’s essay on geopolitics that had inspired him the award in the first place, because, at the time, institutions wanted nothing to do with an essay on politics written by a woman. Breay had to claim the essay as his for it to see the light of day. He had sworn that worthy scholars should never go unheard and ignored again.
You were handed your trophy, which was heavier than it seemed and cool to the touch. You looked at it for a few seconds while the applause gained in volume and ardor. A nervous smile painted itself on your lips, and you took a moment to observe the trophy again, on which your name had been engraved, followed by for her immense contribution to the world of history, linguistics, and art, which changed the world.
You put the trophy down, causing the applause to slowly come to a stop, but not before you heard a few familiar voices calling your name—Minji and Mrs. Yoo, but also your mother, your sister, and your uncle, who had traveled for hours just to be here tonight. Tears welled up in your eyes while the importance of the moment was trying to make its way in the deepest corners of your mind.
From his spot, Jisung handed you the two sheets on which you had printed your speech—it had taken many hours to settle on a final version, and many people had helped. You unfolded it with shaking hands, staring at the words on the first sheet, reading the first sentence. Thank you for being here tonight. It is an honor to stand before you to accept this award.
Not inaccurate or anything, and yet.
Almost painfully, you lifted your head, really looking at the room. Now that your eyes had adjusted to the brightness of the lights, you could see better, although the faces remained unreadable. There were so many people. You gave lectures sometimes or participated in various speaking engagements, but never in front of a crowd like this. You hadn’t even been this nervous during your PhD presentation.
You cleared your throat, reporting your attention to the sheets you were holding. You suddenly felt the urge to look at something familiar, at something comforting—and since the thing you desired most was not available, you turned around, glancing at the paintings behind you. The gods, the gods that you understood better now. You allowed your gaze to linger on Feliks underneath his cypress tree, and then on Hyathos and his heavy expression, and the rest of them. To you, they had become so real that it was hard to distinguish fiction from truth, but you had no desire to perceive reality anyway.
The room fell quiet—a silence so thick you could almost feel it on your skin as it reached you. You inhaled it when you took a deep breath to ready yourself, but as you opened your mouth to begin reading your speech, something shifted within you. It seemed like those words on this piece of paper—words that you had composed, typed, and printed yourself—were no longer accurate.
You folded the sheets again, trying very hard to conceal the uncontrollable shaking of your hands. You remembered exactly at that moment the way it used to feel when you and Hyunjin would exchange emails back and forth, writing entire essays about the myths just for each other. How easy it had been with him—this, and everything else. There was so much that you wished you could talk about with him now that you truly understood the myths.
At the beginning of your essay book, one could read, To you who made me love these stories more than I ever did - each and every one of these words is for you.
Maybe it did not matter. Whether he loved you or not. Because you loved him, and nothing could ever change that about you. And you loved that part of yourself, the part that had fallen in love with this honeyed-skin stranger. You loved the part of yourself that had allowed it to happen, that had gone with him for dinner the very night you met him. So the fact that he didn’t love you as much as you loved him only mattered in the sense that you were alone and would always be, but this love would always have a home in your heart.
“Uh…” You began, recoiling slightly when a slight screech echoed after your voice. You pulled away a little, making sure to speak a few inches farther so the microphone would work well. “I, uh, I spent hours writing this speech, but… But there is more I want to say. And of course, I want to say thank you to those who decided I deserve this award. Never in my life did I imagine something like this would happen to me. So I’m grateful, I really am. And yet—we all know how I came to make the discoveries I made, and so much of it relies on luck that I almost refused the award.”
That declaration was punctuated by murmurs across the room. The more you spoke, the easier you could breathe, it felt like.
You went on. “But language… Language brings people together. To me, instead of being a barrier, it is a gate, an entrance into another culture. I always felt this way, even before Cipherian was Cipherian, back when we only knew a few words of it. And so I think this is why I’m here tonight—apart from the fact that I was persuaded by people close to me—because I believe in the importance of this discovery, regardless of my actual involvement in it. I want to keep writing about it. I don’t think I will have enough of my life to say everything there is to say about the beauty and the intricacy of it.
“You know how they say that learning a language changes you, alters your brain, the way it works, and the way it processes information. I’ve always known that to be true, but it was never as real as the day I sat down to read every word of the myths we had not yet been able to understand. I read about arra, a concept that doesn’t quite exist in our modern world. The authors of the myths thought that love came from light—among other sources, because it could also come from blood, or the ocean—and that it was visible to the naked eye. Love. Arra is what lights up someone’s eyes when they see their soulmate. But even soulmate isn’t quite that in Cipherian. The exact translation would be intended soul, as in, there is only one soul we are meant to bond with. To these people, arra could be seen on someone. And that changed me.”
At this, the crowd’s whispers grew a tad louder, but the voices were appreciative, impressed, even.
“I remember it. Arra. I remember when it once illuminated my eyes, and now that the light went out, I see the world a few shades darker, but at least I have a word that explains the phenomenon.” You paused then, the shaking of your hands calming down only for you to begin feeling it in your throat. “But that’s not all. Cipherian opens a brand new perspective on the concept of legacy. To them, it’s called syn hsar avīmhyphaei. Essentially, the literal translation of that is continuity. Because, what is legacy for us? Let’s put it simply—it is what we leave behind after we’re gone, which is not a concept that can be applied to the gods, can it? How could immortal beings perceive legacy the same way we do if they never cease to exist? Hsar means circle in Cipherian. Syn hsar avīmhyphaei is the circle that continues. The gods’ legacy is what always was and what always will be.
“We do not know well the authors of the myths and even less those whose stories, written in the even more obscure language of the gods, inspired them. But whoever they were had a sensitive and beautiful vision of life, an understanding of it that our brains can barely comprehend.
“So, I think, this is why I’m here tonight. I think it’s the only way I could make sense of this award—because I want people to read those books. I want people to open their minds to this new perspective on life, which I think changes us for the better. It rewires our brains and our hearts and forces them open in a painless, loving way.
“Above all… I wish for people to come together. Exchange, debate, discuss, learn. Love. There is nothing that can be compared to it—the act of bonding with someone because of a shared passion, or a common goal. Maybe the authors took themselves for gods—maybe that was what they wanted us to believe, that their legacy did not follow the rules of time, that it had no beginning and no end. And I think they were right. Let the myths and Cipherian be the bridge that brings people together. Together, let’s create a new and more beautiful legacy.”
The applause that followed your speech deafened you momentarily, but it wasn’t because of its volume per se, it was because, for those few seconds, nothing else existed, not even you. Your soul left your body for a short moment while you were recovering from the immense stress of speaking in front of such a crowd. The return was brutal—the spotlights, it seemed, were warmer than ever, and your dress felt awfully light all of a sudden, as though it did not cover enough skin.
You reached for your trophy and let Jisung escort you back to your table, except everyone on the way there stopped you to congratulate you or shake your hand. Assistants were, however, asking attendees to stand while they cleared some space, as the next part of the gala would be the core party where people could dance and drink, and have dessert after the dinner earlier.
You let Minji take you to a corner to touch up your eye makeup. She did so in silence with a concerned look on her face, a look that you knew very well by now. You hadn’t quite descended from the high of the speech—in fact, you couldn’t remember any of it, not even a sentence—but focusing on Minji’s strange behavior certainly felt like a gentle slap back to reality.
“What’s going on?” you questioned as she handed you your lipstick, which had a nice, creamy peach color. You had too much money now, more than you wanted, so you bought things that cost a ridiculous price. This lipstick was one of these things. “Did I make a fool of myself?” Your heart sank in your chest.
Minji shook her head vehemently. “No, god, no!” she assured, looking properly shocked. “On the contrary—it was great. You were great. You didn’t even look nervous.” She waited until you had reapplied the lipstick and put it back into her purse. “I’m just really proud of you.”
You knew there was more to Minji’s sudden mood shift so you didn’t believe her made-up excuse. You did trust her, though—you could only imagine that she was withholding information from you because she thought it was the absolute best thing to do at this moment. Maybe it had something to do with the annoying journalists from the red carpet—because there had been a red carpet even though you insisted it was absolutely not necessary.
Have you guys been dating for a long time? Asked about you and Jisung, because he was effectively your date for the night—as your personal security, of course.
I love your dress! Who designed it? The dress was nice and you had found it at a luxury shop. A few haute couture designers had approached you, offering to design you a dress for tonight’s event, but you had politely declined.
With which of the gods would you most want to go on a date? A question you had assumed was some sort of bait, considering you had been ridiculed during your university years when you admitted having a crush on one of them. The way a girl has a crush on a guy that doesn’t exist, but it hadn’t stopped the others from giggling not just behind your back, but right at your face.
Most of these so-called journalists had requested a camera interview with you, and Seungmin had politely let them know there would be no such thing tonight.
You didn’t need media exposure. Cipherian, the myths, and even your essays were all over the news and the internet.
“Thank you,” you finally told Minji, making yourself smile. “I owe you and the others a lot.”
“No need to be humble tonight,” she reminded you playfully. “How about I take your trophy upstairs to your office? Seems inconvenient to carry around.”
It was excessively heavy indeed, but now that Minji was offering, what you really wanted was to go with her. Just to be away from all of these people for five minutes. Or maybe twenty.
Or maybe an hour.
“I’ll go with,” you said. You figured you ought to give her a little excuse just so she wouldn’t suspect anything. “There’s something I wanted to check anyway.”
A hand pressed itself on your back, and you recognized Jisung. “Nope, no work tonight.” He had a faint smile on his face when you turned to him. “Besides, you need to eat.”
Jisung took his hand in yours, guiding you away from Minji and toward the tables covered in food at the other end of the room. Since the beginning of the night, it was more of the same—everybody who saw you waved at you or gave you a solemn nod, and you did your best to give the appropriate response, but your throat was shut tight and you just felt weird. Like you expected more from tonight, or perhaps less, in a strange way.
Once you made it to the food, Jisung asked for a few random items on the table, and the server carefully put everything on a plate. “With two forks, please,” Jisung added. “Thank you.”
You also offered the server a smile, just so people would at least believe you weren’t completely miserable. Jisung once again took your hand, so you could go sit somewhere to eat. You weren’t hungry, but you’d eat a few bites just to shut him up—or rather, just so he wouldn’t worry about you too much.
As you walked away, though, you caught sight of the plaque with the caterer’s name on it. It was a bakery somewhere in town, with a very funny name. Familiar in an excessively bittersweet way.
“BabyBread,” Jisung read on the plaque, stopping in his tracks and following your gaze. He chuckled. “That’s a weird business name. But kinda funny, isn’t it?” When he saw that you weren’t responding, he went on, “Do you know this place? The pastries look delicious.”
Did you know this place? Yes. But you hadn’t been inside the bakery per se. Hyunjin, however, intended to take you there for dessert after your first dinner together. Your first date, for all intents and purposes. Yet you yearned for it, for a memory that didn’t exist. You had never tasted the food made over there because instead, you and Hyunjin slow-danced outside. And it changed your life. And it changed you.
“Thank you sir,” the caterer employee retorted with a smile. “Freshly baked today by yours truly.”
“Oh, are you the owner of the bakery?” Jisung asked, making small talk with this stranger. “The name really is something.”
“It’s an inside joke, but yeah, it’s me.” The young man offered both of you a wide, heartfelt smile. He turned to you. “Miss, I want to extend my congratulations on your achievement. I can’t wait to buy your books and read them.”
Two things went through your mind at that moment—the first was that you had a box with copies of the books upstairs and that you would have someone give them to him. The second was that Hyunjin, that first night, had said he knew the owner.
“Please speak to my assistant,” you told him. “Tell her I want you to have the books—I have some in my office.” Before he could refuse though, you continued. “Sir, excuse me, but… There is someone I know, a friend, with whom I almost visited your bakery once.” It was a little more than a year ago—time flew a little too fast to your taste. “He said he knows you.”
The man’s eyebrows raised in a pleasantly surprised expression. “Did he?” His smile softened. “Who is that friend we have in common, then? He never told me he knew THE woman who deciphered the gods’ language!”
Jisung tugged at your arm but you let go of his hand. You closed in the distance between you and the table—the closer to it you got, the more you could smell the sweet scents emanating from it.
“His name is Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin.” Simply uttering his name out loud like this felt like a free fall, and there was nothing you could anchor yourself to.
The young man squinted for a couple of seconds and he tilted his head to the side, just slightly. “Yes, Mr. Hyunjin. We became acquainted when I noticed it was him in a clothing ad across the street…” He let out a soft laugh but the more he spoke, the colder your heart felt. “He used to visit my bakery quite often.”
You swore you could hear Jisung’s impatience and unease as he stood a little behind you. But this baker was the closest thing you had to Hyunjin in months, even though he was just someone who knew him.
“He left the city,” you responded, your voice cracking unexpectedly. You cleared your throat, feeling the familiar prick of tears in your eyes.
The man frowned. “Are you sure, miss?”
Out of habit, you glanced at Jisung, who had an unreadable expression on his face, but was still dutifully holding the plate of pastries with the two forks on it. For an instant, he seemed puzzled, and then forced himself to look neutral again.
“Y-Yes,” you replied, turning to the baker again.
He nodded slowly before shrugging. “I could swear I saw him earlier.” He gestured vaguely at the room behind you. “Must have been a trick of the light.”
The free fall came to an abrupt stop when you landed in a pool of ice-cold water, then sank to the bottom of it, only to end your journey in lava. Too thick to move and too hot to breathe. Almost with fear, you turned around, looking at the ball taking place in the atrium.
“Everyone looks so dapper and fancy tonight,” the man went on with a light tone—maybe he had seen something in your eyes. Maybe, for an instant, you had let your sorrow shine through them. “Probably got confused with someone else.”
Except there was one thing you were sure of, and it was that nobody who had a functional pair of eyes could ever confuse Hyunjin for somebody else. He looked too out of this world for that.
You froze in place, scanning the faces before you, looking for the one you had been so adamantly yearning for. Could it really be? No, it couldn’t, right?
Jisung intertwined his arm with yours again before you could sink any deeper. “We can eat later. Let’s dance. I like this song.”
The song had just begun. Jisung had never been one to dance, not like that. It was a slow-paced classical piece, one that you had never heard before, yet it sounded both nostalgic and sad.
He left the plate on the nearest table and dragged you to the dance floor under the gazes of several people. You wanted to cry. You wanted to leave. You did not want to dance, but when Jisung put his hands on your waist, you let him. He was looking at you gravely, almost like he was sorry that it was with him you were dancing and not somebody else.
You loved him. Hyunjin. It had been foolish to love him but it was not the sort of thing one could control. You knew nothing about him except, you knew his soul. It felt like that. You didn’t know about his family—he avoided the topic always—and you didn’t know about his childhood either, but you knew about his deepest and darkest feelings. And it had been enough to make you fall in love with him.
And now you saw him in everything.
You saw him in the river coursing through the city. You saw him in the cold nights and warm afternoons. You saw him in the strangeness of the world and in its beauty, too. He had become a part of you and that could never be undone, not even after he left. He had become a phantom limb, but the space he occupied in your heart had remained unchanged. You felt him in everything. You felt him in the smoothest silk of fancy hotel room robes. You felt him in the most poignant music, whether it was piano, harp, or cello. You felt him in the emptiness of your bed. In the emptiness of your cunt, and the one of your heart, too.
Jisung led the dance, holding you firmly as he did his best to sway beautifully among the other dancers. Your gaze lingered at many places as you danced—Jisung, the peculiar expression on his face as he held your waist as though he was running out of time. The skylight, displaying nothing but darkness and raindrops. The walls, displaying some of the most significant art the world had ever come to see. The crowd, some of them dancing to the rhythm of the sorrowful melody playing in the room. Others stood around and watched those who danced while drinking champagne. It made you crave more of it. Champagne, or something stronger.
You saw Hyunjin in everything. You saw the color of his eyes in a bottle of luxury cognac, you saw the color of his skin in a glass of expensive white wine, or in a jar of honey left by a sunny window.
You saw Hyunjin in the language of the gods. In the deep and intricate way the myths illustrated love and yearning. You saw Hyunjin in the madness that was taking over you—the one the gods called ceinōahk, a word whose literal translation was everyday love. The concept would be difficult to explain, but essentially, it describes a love that is as natural as breathing, cooking food, or looking at the sky. Actions done on a daily basis, out of need for survival or just because they make life better and are a part of it. You saw him in other words or in grammar rules. You saw him in the commas and other symbols that adorned the ancient texts, like the one you had named the ōleiandyi, for oleanders were the inspiration behind it. A straight line ending in what looked like a star but was a flower with five petals. It took you a lot of practice to get it right because of the specific shape of oleander petals.
The oleandi’s line would be traced below a series of words that needed to be insisted on, with the flower placed at the end to further emphasize the importance of the sentence. It felt as though every word he had ever spoken to you ought to be adorned with the symbol.
Your mind was so obsessed, so broken, so consumed by him, that you even saw him here, tonight, standing across the room, his gaze on you. Staring at you as if he had never left. Like he had been gone for two or three lifetimes.
You had known it before, but you were certain now—you would love him even if it annihilated you molecule by molecule. It was not something you could control and yet it felt like a choice, a conscious decision. You loved Hyunjin, and for as long as your heart would beat and perhaps even after, you would continue to love him.
Even if it killed you. Even if it kept you alive in the most unfair of worlds, which was to say, a world without him.
Bet she sucked her way through that PhD. Sloppy.
The voice that echoed in Hyunjin’s head was so loud and invasive that it might as well have been his own, only it wasn’t. It was plaguing his thoughts the way his father used to. Like poison. Like a nightmare one cannot wake up from.
Like a smear of blood on the cuff of a white button-down.
It had dried already. The blood. Much like the voice haunting his mind, it did not belong to Hyunjin, and it would not go away, no matter how hard he scrubbed or how much handsoap he poured onto it. He knew he wasn’t supposed to get water on it because it was silk, but he needed it gone.
Girls like her always act like they’re stuck-up nerds but next thing you know, they’re giving you a handjob in the bathroom at some wine tasting thing and ask you to finish on their tits.
Hyunjin only wanted to get some fresh air. He could never have predicted he would run into these pigs, men he had never even seen before.
He might have taken it as a sign that he shouldn’t have come here at all. Seungmin had given him ample amounts of warnings. “Are you sure about this?” his former manager had asked him when Hyunjin gave him the necklace that he got for you. “What am I supposed to tell her?”
“Just don’t tell her it’s from me. You can tell her it’s from you, or Han, or a fan. I want her to have it. I’ll be there, but I’m not sure I’ll… talk to her.”
Nobody else in the world knew how much danger you were in. He had tried to warn Han Jisung. He had begged him to keep you safe, but what could possibly protect you from the wrath of the cruelest gods?
He would see you on the news sometimes, or on a documentary series. Each discovery, each translation was a new window for mankind to look into another world. He knew you were drawing a lot of attention to yourself with your work. From mortals. From gods.
He knew he was making it worse, too. Hyunjin did his best to avoid you and thoughts of you, but that was like asking an irredeemable heroin addict to stop thinking about his vice.
They would kill you for it. They would kill you for understanding them, for understanding life the way they did. They would kill you to punish him for falling in love with you.
Hyunjin knew he took a risk by coming here tonight but he told himself he would stay away. That he would watch you being crowned with the award, being recognized by your peers, and that he would leave after. He knew what he had to do. Maybe he had known before, but it had all appeared clearly to him when he learned about your car “accident” a few weeks ago.
His father had called him selfish many times and it had taken all this time for him to realize he had been right all along. Weak, selfish, and self-absorbed. He should not have asked you to dinner that day at the museum. He should have walked out of there as soon as you made his heart jump in his chest. He should have run away when your words made his soul turn from a dull monochrome shade to vibrant with color.
There had been something in your eyes. And it was still there tonight. It was difficult to explain it with words—perhaps you, who possessed the language he had once known but had been taken away from him, would know how to describe it. It was as though you were begging to be loved. Please love me, your eyes said. But stay away.
He was running out of time. To love you. To save you. To make things right. But he was selfish, which meant he was here tonight so he could love you one last time.
She probably rode a dick for that award too.
Or took it in the ass.
I know a guy who can get us into the afterparty.
How about we go say hi and maybe get a few drinks in her?
Hyunjin only stepped outside for one minute because the sight of you in that green tulle dress overwhelmed him. It had been so long since he saw you, since he was in the same room as you, breathed the same air as you—he could only take so much of it at once.
There had been a few other guests scattered around the stairs leading to the front entrance. Hyunjin chose a spot he thought would be the most peaceful, but his attention immediately turned to the three nearest men when he understood that you had gone to university with one of them. They were drunk, meaning the conversation was not happening at a quiet volume.
And they were talking about you.
Hyunjin had never been intimate with rage. It was the very reason why his father hated him. Amaranthos had always wished to witness his middle child become more like himself—ruthless, filled with fury, and thirsty for violence and disorder. Hyunjin, up until now, had always been the exact opposite of all these things. He had no wish to get involved in his father’s wars because he had no bias in them. He had no claims in them. To Hyunjin, all of it had always been so futile—why fight over a territory or an ideal?
It had never been important enough for him. Not those wars, not any other, not anything.
And then he met you.
It was ironic, almost comical. As he felt more and more of his divine essence dissipating, Hyunjin began to display, finally, some of the qualities his father had wanted to see in him for so long.
He rinsed the soap off for the third time, examining the cuff of his shirt under the ceiling light. The blood was still there. Paler, but there nonetheless.
Hyunjin could tell that it was not just the free alcohol served at the award ceremony that made these men speak the way they did. It wasn’t even just lust or jealousy, although it was also that. The one who studied with you, he could tell, envied your success and resented you for it at the same time. Because you were better than he would ever be. And maybe he felt some sort of guilt for letting you give him a handjob in some bathroom at a wine tasting event and treating you like a disposable fleshlight.
Like a shooting star.
Everyone gets tired of me, Hyunjin. I’m just a shooting star.
He heard his father in these men. His cruelty. His impudence. Like poison. Like a nightmare. Like a stain of blood on white silk. He would recognize it anywhere—the corruption, the rot, now seeping through these mortals. Their impulses required so little divine intervention, but it was there. Their minds were too simple to fight their primal urges anyway. The kind of men who were just a little too eager to stick their cocks into something warm. Many gods were like this, too.
When you get tired of me, Hyunjin, will you be gentle with me?
Hyunjin never had to use violence before. He witnessed it many times, he felt it, and he hated it. He was the victim of it often. But it was the first time he tried it with his own hands. His own fists. Grabbing this bastard by the collar of his shirt and slamming him into the pillar behind him, realizing that the hatred he had for this guy extended to himself.
Smashing his face with his fist. One time, two times. Getting hit in return but not the pain that should have come with it. Maybe because he still had some immortality to him, or because he could not let these assholes defile your name like this and not react. Maybe this was his father taunting him—maybe he never meant to send them after you. Perhaps Amaranthos was just reveling in seeing his son’s facade break.
He was stronger than he thought he was. It only took a few punches until the man fell to his knees, mostly knocked out, but with still enough stamina to call Hyunjin a few nasty names. He was bleeding a lot from his nose and his lip was cut open. One of the other two just fled—the last one stared at the scene, frozen, apparently unable to react. Maybe he was trying to decide if it was worth risking getting his nose broken to show his loyalty to his friend.
Hyunjin did not care. He let go of the guy’s collar. He was bleeding all over his sleeve anyway. He backed up. The guy spat at his feet but ultimately just rested his head and stared at Hyunjin with a complicated emotion in his eyes. Guilt. Hatred. Shame. Ecstasy. It shone underneath the rest the same way obsidian reflected moonlight. It gave Hyunjin chills—he let two security guards take him away just so he wouldn’t have to look at the man anymore. And at the poison in his eyes.
Hyunjin avoided the worst of the commotion by bribing the head of security. The museum had hired an outside firm, so he was not familiar with anyone working at the doors tonight. It cost him all the cash he had in his wallet—and it was a lot—but he didn’t care.
When you get tired of me, Hyunjin, will you be gentle with me?
He could not wash the blood off his shirt.
Giving up, Hyunjin used a paper towel to dry himself as best he could, daring a glance towards the mirror in front of him. He barely recognized the reflection staring back. A man in a velvet tuxedo. A man stuck between two worlds, a prisoner of his own longing. With someone else’s blood on his sleeve and shadows in his eyes. It wasn’t Hyathos that he was seeing.
It was Hyunjin—in his most broken, human form.
He felt so small then, alone in this bathroom. Like the weight of the entire world was crushing him. Only, he had never been much more than that. Whatever this was. This was the most he’d ever be—a man who loved you and who had once been loved by you, too.
He took a deep breath, exhaling in a long sigh that left a smudge of condensation on the mirror, blurring his face. The air had become too heavy in here, too thick, much like the silence stuffing the room. He couldn’t hide in here forever anyway, could he? He knew that security rounds were done every ten minutes or so, which meant he had very little time to get out.
The hallway was a little less quiet—the party permeated through the floor here, as though it filtered between the old wooden planks. He wasn’t technically allowed here because it was the administrative wing on the second floor. Hyunjin just did not think it would have been a good idea to wash blood off his hands and shirt in the public bathroom downstairs, so he snuck up here. He knew this hallway because it’s where you brought him that first night. After dinner and slow-dancing in the park. After showing him the hidden painting.
He passed the door to your office, remembering how it felt to hold you and kiss you there. The floor creaked beneath him, but the sound of you in his mind, moaning so prettily in his ear, was louder. Louder than the other voices, too, the cruel ones.
Nothing mattered as much as you did.
And yet Hyunjin slowed down when he walked past the large window just before the staircase. It was so wide that it spanned nearly the entire wall. When he stood at the largest frame in its center, it was all he could see.
And, now, the night took up all of the space within it.
This window should have a similar view to the one in your office, meaning he should be able to see the park and the tree under which you sometimes sat. Only, it seemed like that part of the neighborhood had a power outage. Everything was dark and still. It was a strange sensation—Hyunjin knew it was there. The street below, the park across, the tree, the other museum wings. But the night had swallowed all of it.
His heart tightened in his chest—he had to hold onto the nearest window frame for a few seconds, his head spinning. He almost lost his balance. Almost.
He remembered his orchard.
He had built it, all of it, from nothing. Selecting only the best seeds and planting them with care. The trees grew in the fertile soil between the ocean and a pine grove, and so the fruit carried the taste of the land it grew on. Iodine. Timber. Sunlight. His father tried to convince him to tear down the pine grove so he could plant more trees and harvest more fruit. Hyunjin, mainly, grew peaches, but also apples and plums. He even had a few cherry trees, whose pretty blooms, in the spring, always moved him. He liked the trees he had, but he did not need more. He was content with his orchard. Satisfied. The fruit was juicy and sweet and fragrant.
His father always wanted more. He always wanted him to want more.
Hyunjin used to spend a lot of time there, alone, walking barefoot in the earth or the high grass, tending to his trees. Sometimes, he would venture into the pine grove. And sometimes—especially towards the end, before his father sent him here—he would go beyond the pine grove.
The pine trees were tall and ancient, older than time itself. They swayed gently in the wind, so he took his time, admiring the view on his way, walking the narrow path leading to the other side, stopping only when he reached it. He could not have gone any further anyway because that was also where the land stopped.
It did so dramatically—with a high, steep cliff, overlooking the ocean below. The perfect diving spot.
Hyathos was a demigod. He could not die, as in, death always evaded him or he always evaded death. But he would dive into the restless waters, over and over, as though colossal waves weren’t crashing onto the cliffside. As forceful as it was mesmerizing, the ocean broke onto the sharp rocks. The foam darkened their ochre-colored surface, drying only when the sun would kiss them come sunrise.
Hyathos was a demigod. Patron of desire, of disasters, and fruit trees. He had been loved by light itself, once, but not enough to be its sole craving. It was during one of his dives that he understood that being the god of desire did not mean he was meant to be desired more than anybody else—god or mortal alike. It meant he was more intimate with desire. It meant he felt it deeper and stronger and harder.
Hyathos could not die. But sometimes, as his immortal body hit the water, he hoped he would. He had been interested in mortals before, but it was around this time that he became fascinated by them, visiting witches and warlocks to inquire about the mortal world and the people who inhabited it. What they did. What kind of things they liked.
Their purpose.
Hyunjin’s fingers found the latch of the window in front of him. He could not take his eyes off the darkness below. Truth be told, he did not miss his life as a god, nor did he miss the dominion over which his father ruled, as it never truly felt like home. However, he did miss his orchard a little.
And this window reminded him an awful lot of staring down at the sea from the top of the cliff on a moonless night.
Hyunjin tested the latch—his fingers acted before his mind could think. He wondered what would happen if he jumped. If it would feel the way it used to feel when he dove into the ocean. He wondered if he would die. Could he die, yet? Was Minhas already watching him?
It made no difference. Whether he was watching or not. The latch did not move when Hyunjin tried it. Of course not—it was sealed.
He knew temptation invaded his mind out of fear. Or rather, grief.
He could, maybe, force this safety latch open.
Or he could go back downstairs and watch you in your beautiful dress. He could face you one last time. And if you let him, maybe, hold you again. Just tonight.
Hyunjin. I’m just a shooting star.
This whole time, you had it all wrong. It was he who was the shooting star, and you were the night sky, vast and deep and complex and beautiful. And he would endure all the anguish in all the universes if it meant he could love you in just one of them, just for a little while.
Hyunjin adjusted his bowtie, using his reflection in the window in front of him before making his way downstairs again, searching for you. Always you.
He saw it in your eyes when your gaze met his. Arra. Maybe it had been there since the beginning. He thought so.
Hyunjin felt it in his chest when your gaze met his. Belonging.
It had been there since the beginning.
Upon seeing Hyunjin, your body came to a halt, Jisung crashing into you. You almost toppled over but caught your balance at the last second, which could be classified as a miracle considering how you didn’t even feel your body. Or perhaps you felt it too much, kind of in the same way severe burns affect someone. As in, those burns go through the skin and damage the nerve endings, cutting all sensation. Protecting one from the pain.
It was what you were thinking of as you stood there, staring at the other side of the large room. That something within you was trying to shield you from whatever consequences would arise following this phenomenon.
Because either he wasn’t actually here, or this was somehow a hallucination. You could believe that—you could see how longing for him too much had just caused your brain to produce this illusion, making him appear out of the blue, perhaps as an attempt to soothe this visceral need that you felt. Your mind had produced an image of him. A wraith. Not real, no matter how tangible he looked.
Or he was actually here. Standing there, motionless, as handsome as ever, wearing a black velvet tux, his complex eyes riveted on you. But he had been there before, and then he had left without a word. So perhaps his coming back meant nothing.
Maybe he was here and he would just leave again.
It wasn’t burn injuries you thought about when he moved—Hyunjin, or the mirage of him, stood straight, walking slowly and steadily towards you. Something else came to your mind—it was as though each one of his steps was a detonation in your chest, instead this time there was no destruction. It was as though he was holding your heart in his hand and every inch of distance he closed between you was another not-so-gentle squeeze on it, forcing you back to life, breathing air into your lungs, allowing blood to course through your veins again. He was here. No illusion could have such an effect on you—only the real Hyunjin could find a way to your soul, bypassing any and all defenses on his way. He was the only thing you would ever let anywhere near your heart, even if it killed you.
He was standing right in front of you before you knew it, bringing with him his elaborate scent, enveloping you in it. Woody petrichor, with amber and floral undertones that made him smell like the exact moment when the sun pierced through stormy clouds.
It really was him. His not-brown eyes, something darker, something brighter. Heavy with a burden that could not be expressed with words. His pomegranate lips, his honey skin, his delicate yet violently beautiful traits, framed by his silky dark hair. Its shade of black was so rich it was reminiscent of a night sky that had northern lights dancing in it. A black with furtive undertones—damp, rich soil. Solar eclipses. Burnt wood. The warmth that you remembered radiated from him, deep, soft, peach-colored, and just as sweet.
All you could do was stare at him, taking in the sight of him, the elegance with which he held himself, the grace he exuded just by standing there.
Your gaze returned to his eyes, studying them. There was something in them that you hadn’t seen before. Not that it hadn’t been there—because it had been. You just had not known to look for it because you hadn’t yet known it existed.
Arra. The force lighting somebody’s eyes as they gazed upon their soulmate—or rather, their intended soul.
His bottom lip quivered, yet Hyunjin parted his mouth open, his eyes dancing all over you. “Darling,” he breathed, and his voice hit you like a storm. He said it again. “Darling…”
Relief came first, then fondness, followed by familiarity. You had thought about it a lot in your mind, the moment you would see Hyunjin again. Not because you assumed it would happen, but because you couldn’t help it. Whatever indifference had inhabited you in the first months after his disappearance had evaded you long ago, and the truth was that you could hardly fall asleep at night without imagining a scenario in which you saw him again. Sometimes, it was grandiose—he broke into a radio station while you were giving an interview, or he himself went on TV to give one, talking about how much he missed you. Other times, you just ran into him on a street somewhere.
When you questioned him about it, Jisung told you that Hyunjin needed to leave or else you would be in danger. He did not know too much about it, but it had something to do with Cipherian, the myths and the translations. You couldn’t wrap your mind around any of it and Seungmin was no help. Despite having been Hyunjin’s agent for years, he also had no idea of his involvement in any illegal activities, and certainly not anything related to linguistics. Therefore, you did not think it was true.
It’s not like there’s a price on my head, you pointed out that day. To Jisung, who had been hired by Hyunjin to be your personal bodyguard. Because, well, there was some kind of price on your head.
Maybe it made you hate him a little less. Hyunjin. Maybe you resented him less, too. Whatever involvement he had in it—a foolish part of you wanted to believe he truly did it for your safety. For your own good. That he left reluctantly. That Jisung didn’t lie when he said Hyunjin loved you.
So when you slipped under your covers at night—whether it was in your bed or in an unfamiliar hotel room—you thought about him. Hyunjin. And about the moment you might see him again in a place that wasn’t an ad in a magazine or a billboard on the side of a road, whether his body was used to advertise perfume or a car or expensive jewelry. You thought about the true him, in the flesh, about his honey skin, the unnatural warmth that always emanated from him, the silky sensation of him underneath your fingertips or under your tongue.
Maybe it made sense that it would be here. In this museum, under the very skylight where you met him first, surrounded by the same walls, and even, for the most part, the same people. You wondered if you were the same woman you had been back then, all those months ago. It felt like you weren’t. Like he had changed you somehow.
You let relief wash over you for all the seconds it required—it was truly Hyunjin standing there, and he seemed healthy. He seemed fine, so nothing bad must have happened to him. He also didn’t look like he had developed some kind of hatred for you over time, which, selfishly, comforted some part of you. You became aware that something else was lurking underneath the relief—it was sharp, unkind. Ugly.
For a second or perhaps two, you thought the world came to a stop but it turned out it was quite the opposite. Around you, it kept going. The world kept spinning and so did the dancers, intertwined, beautiful, relishing the moment, unaware of the storm going on in your chest. It was you who turned motionless. It was your heart that turned stagnant and inanimate. Maybe it wanted nothing to do with what was coming.
But you couldn’t help it.
The tears burned your eyes. They were hot. Scalding. As though it was acid rolling down your cheeks. You took a step back, feeling Jisung somewhere there but ignoring him. The world kept spinning. The whole time, the world had kept going, and you had been forced to follow along. You had been obligated to get up in the morning and to continue existing without Hyunjin. And he hadn’t even said goodbye.
When you spoke, your voice came out all wrong. Foreign. As though it was acid spilling out of your lips, too. “You lied to me.” Your throat felt so tight it hurt. “You said you’d be back soon.”
The memory was fuzzy, but it was undeniably there. You were sitting at your computer, writing compulsively, your naked body wrapped in a blanket, your pussy still sore from your earlier passionate lovemaking with Hyunjin. The scent of his cum lingered on you, musky and sweet. Remembering it was more painful than remembering all the months during which you were without him. Or all the other times you had been abandoned. All the other times you had been made ephemeral.
Will you be back soon? you had asked him.
Soon, he had said. And it had been a lie.
“You lied to me,” you repeated, louder, your voice turning into a growl and a sob all at once. Your legs felt weak and your arms weaker, but you reached for him, Hyunjin, because you wanted to hurt him, maybe. Hit him in his perfect face.
He caught your fist before it struck him, staring at you with wounds instead of eyes. He parted his lips, searching for words, but they never came. Still, he held your hand in his, inches away from his cheek, daring to squeeze it tenderly every few seconds.
“I bet you’ll say it was to spare me,” you added before Hyunjin could say anything. “I bet you’ll say it was so you wouldn’t hurt me. Well, guess what? It didn’t work!”
You were vaguely aware of the heads turning in your direction, but you were mostly aware of Hyunjin and of the way your hand felt when it was being held by his. Because he was not letting go, even if you tried to pull away. He looked a little like you had stabbed him in the chest. For an instant, it felt like you were looking into a mirror. For once, your pain had found its match.
“I know,” he murmured, a scowl appearing between his eyebrows. He made no attempt to apologize. He did not ask for your forgiveness.
He did not let go of your hand.
Instead, he pulled you closer. You tried to find something to say. You searched for strength within you—not to hit him, not really, but to scream at him. It was what you wanted to do. The entire time, since that day you finally allowed yourself to miss him, it had been what you had wanted to do. Scream at the top of your lungs. As though you needed an exorcism. People had hurt you before Hyunjin. Objectively, people had hurt you in worse ways. People had cheated on you. People had taken advantage of you. They sometimes said cruel things behind your back.
And it had affected you. All those times. Deeply. Or so you thought.
It all seemed so meaningless now. As you were facing Hyunjin again after all this time, you came to realize what love was. You had known for a while that you loved him and that it was true love. The truest, most forthright kind of love you had ever felt, and that you would ever feel, too. But you hadn’t really thought that you’d see him again.
But you hadn’t really thought that he loved you the same way you loved him.
He did not let go of your hand. He was just inches away now, his face so close that you could only see the details of him—the moles on his honey skin, the fine lines adorning his pillowy lips, their pomegranate shade. The strand of silky hair that fell over his dark eyes. His purposeful and deliberate and troubled gaze.
His breath smelled like the wine they served. The sleeve of his shirt was slightly damp. Hyunjin did not let go of you.
You only became aware of the inert quality of your heart and soul as it dissipated the very moment Hyunjin kissed you.
He pressed his lips onto yours, his mouth warm and trembling, unsure yet unequivocal. It might as well have been your first kiss with the way it made you come alive. It might as well have been the thousandth time he kissed you with how familiar it felt—known but not mundane. Lips that were more than just a memory. Lips that you had longed for, that you had craved for, but you had not dared hope for. Because the absence of them had left you suffocating—and how could one even hope without air in their lungs?
Hyunjin deepened the kiss, pulling you closer, and you let him, moaning faintly into his mouth. He breathed into yours. And you in his. Kissing him was easy and soft and mighty. His lips reminded you of a late summer peach. You couldn’t let go of him, and he did not let go of you, still, his tongue finding yours, tasting you, feeling you.
You thought of the first time he kissed you.
And the last time.
And everything in between. The agony of it.
He kissed you again, tightening his embrace. You had never experienced such ecstasy. It was him. It was really him. And you felt his love on his lips. You saw it in his eyes. His kiss felt like a plea. It felt as though there were only the two of you on earth.
At least until somebody bumped into you as they danced with their partner.
You allowed the kiss to break, but Hyunjin caressed your lips with his thumbs, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Darling,” he murmured, and you heard him over the music and the crowd. You would have heard him over thunder, over an avalanche, over anything. “Let’s get out of here, yes?”
Of course. You would follow him everywhere if he asked you. Your hand was still in his. You glanced at Jisung, who seemed reluctant to let you go, and offered him a reassuring smile. The smile came easily to your lips—it wasn’t rehearsed or forced. You realized that you meant it.
You felt the cold air before even stepping out—someone took their time closing the door behind them, and you remembered you had left your jacket in your office upstairs. Somehow, this did not bother you.
It was cold enough that the rain had turned to snow.
Thick snowflakes fell lazily from the sky, quieting the city, melting in places, and covering the ground in white patches in others.
Hyunjin held your hand still, but with the other one, you caught a snowflake on your palm. It dissolved almost instantly, but it remained long enough for you to see its intricate lines, unique yet familiar.
It was too early in the year for snow. The fact that it snowed was strange, but it did not bother you, nor did the cold. Hyunjin was staring up at the sky with eyes full of tears, as though it meant something to him.
One day, you told yourself, you would ask him.
If he stayed, that is. But at least now you were choosing to follow him and to let him unmake you. His love, your love—it was worth paying whatever price.
to be continued...
Author's note: 🧍♀️ well. I never expected I'd be here, posting this, today. But here I am... and you know I want to thank you all, my readers who have stayed loyal & patient despite my VERY long hiatus. So, thank you. It's just nice to come back home and not find the house completely empty, you know?
But I cannot not thank my dear @cb97percent, without whom I would have given up a long time ago. She believed in me while I didn't believe in anything. She still does. But much like Chris caught Hyunjin just in time on that infamous day at the studio, she doesn't seem to want to give up on me, so I really wanted to say a special thank you.
I am so, so privileged to be here, and to have my readers and friends and this space. I just want to say, I'm so grateful. To everyone who made it possible: please know you've contributed to something deeply meaningful for me.
permanent taglist: **this is my taglist as it were the last time I posted something which is a long long time ago. I'm so sorry to have tagged you in something you don't care about if I have. If you want me to remove you, please DM me and I'll just do it. If you want to be added to the taglist, please also let me know**
I am so glad you decided to share this new chapter with us! I mean wow this was soooo good. The lead up to the reunion with Hyunjin was written so well. The entire time I was on the edge of my seat trying to guess what was going to happen next. It was literally one of those moments where I had to cover the next few lines to ensure that I didn’t spoil the story for myself. You also do a great job at describing emotions because the entire time it felt like I could fully understand your character and what she had gone through.
I have mentioned this before, but the way you describe scents is so fitting and nostalgic. When she see Hyunjin again for the first time in ages she mentions how he still smells the same, “Woody petrichor, with amber and floral undertones that made him smell like the exact moment when the sun pierced through stormy clouds. ” I just love how she immediately makes that association :)
Also just this series in general is soooo amazing! I have so many quotes from this story saved. One of my favorites is, “Only the best things can cause this sort of pain, only the most beautiful things can become so foul, so terrible.” I really just like the way you implement the concept of Llhas throughout the entire series. ALOHT is so well thought out, well written, and overall just amazing from the first chapter all the way to this most recent one! Again thank you so much for sharing your works with us and trusting us with your stories☺️I will always be in your corner cheering you on🫶🏽
best friend! Kim 𝓢eungmin x f!reader x campus crush! Bang 𝓒han 9,193 words
in 𝓦hich: you can do nothing but complain to your best friend seungmin about the thin walls of your apartment and your roommate’s relentless sex life driving you insane. you don’t have to guts to admit to him that sometimes you actually listened in, hoping that her hot boyfriend, chris, was pounding into you instead. but seungmin isn't stupid, and he helps you give chris a taste of his own medicine.
content warnings & tags: this honestly became way smuttier than I had expected tbh, so proceed with caution. voyeurism !! 65% of this is dom! seung and the rest needy! chan. eventual threesome, degradation, use of toy, orgasm denial(?), lots and lots of name-calling, masturbation (f), oral (f & m recieving), unprotected sex, lots of things tbh, so lmk if i missed anything! sexual content ahead, viewer discretion is advised.
conversations with seungmin were like slipping into your favourite worn-out hoodie; something that you don't even remember when it had become a constant in your life.
somewhere between late-night study sessions and shared meals at the campus café, he had quietly become your best friend; the one person who had seen you cry over grades, over family calls that ended too abruptly, over dreams that felt too big for dorm-room ceilings. with him, nothing felt too heavy to say out loud.
you were on the phone now, sprawled across your bed, your laptop abandoned somewhere near your feet, whining about the latest group assignment while he laughed—loud, unfiltered, the kind that made your stomach flip even when you pretended it didn’t.
“—and then this idiot submits the wrong file, so now we’re all scrambling like headless chickens,” you groaned, flopping dramatically onto your pillow.
seungmin snorted. “sounds like karma for calling my coding project ‘a glorified calculator app’ last week.”
you laughed despite yourself. “prof seemed to agree with me if i remember correctly.”
he scoffed, already launching into a dramatic defense of his work, when suddenly you heard it. the soft click of the door. followed by hushed giggles. footsteps. your stomach dropped.
“oh no,” you muttered.
“what happened?” seungmin asked, confused at the sudden change in your voice.
before you could answer, the muffled sound of voices drifted through the thin walls. your roommate. and her boyfriend.
“ugh,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “it’s happening. again.”
seungmin laughed. because of course he did, with your misery being his main source of entertainment. “what is?”
“it’s sooha and her boyfriend. chris? i’d told you about them, remember?” you replied, lowering your voice instinctively. “they can not keep it in their pants, man, i swear. she’s been dating this guy for, like, two weeks now, and almost every day they decide our dorm is their personal love hotel. it’s so fucking annoying.”
“sucks to be you,” seungmin said, completely unhelpful and way too used to your roommate’s antics.
you huffed, half annoyed, half exhausted, and he moved on, ranting about something else entirely. some professor. some deadline. his voice droned comfortably in your ear, familiar and grounding, and yet your attention betrayed you.
because the noises didn’t stop, they never did.
they only continued till you felt like you were losing your mind.
to be honest, it wasn’t truly even that bad. your rooms were on the opposite ends of the cozy living room, and the walls were thick enough that you could continue with your work without needing to blast music at full volume if you were focused enough.
but it was never about the sounds, no matter how much you told yourself, but it was always about his presence.
the noises started almost immediately— soft at first, the creak of the mattress in the next room, her breathy laugh turning into something softer, needier. then his low murmur, the kind that carried just enough bass to vibrate through the wall. you could picture it too clearly: his hands on her waist, her head tipping back, the way the bedframe would tap rhythmically against the wall soon enough.
you swallowed hard.
“hey? you there?” seungmin’s voice sharpened, his concern cutting through the haze.
you blinked, grounding yourself. “what?”
“you went quiet,” he said. “you okay, angel?”
of course he noticed. he always did. he knew your pauses, your tells, the way your breathing changed when something was wrong. and now this, apparently.
“yeah. yeah, of course,” you said quickly, laughing a little at your awkwardness. “sorry. i’m just… yeah. it’s nothing. continue.”
but it wasn’t nothing.
you’d complained to him countless times about your roommate. about the noise, the lack of boundaries, the frustration of trying to study or sleep through it all.
what you didn’t tell him was the part that made your stomach twist with guilt. the part you buried so deep you barely admitted it to yourself.
that sometimes, in the quiet moments when you were alone with your thoughts, your imagination betrayed you. that sometimes you pictured her boyfriend in places he had no right to be.
the idea unsettled you as much as it lingered, and the shame of it burned hotter than the thought itself.
“i need to go now,” the muffled sound of seungmin getting up and moving around brought you back. “you sure you’re okay? you can come by if you feel too uncomfortable or something? i’ll just tell the guys to reschedule—”
“no, no, minnie, that won’t be necessary, i’m fine. thank you for offering though,” you say. “sorry for making you worry, i was just… thinking about what we’re gonna do with the project.”
“okay then,” he didn’t sound convinced, but didn’t press further. “all the best, angel.” he ended the call, and silence settled in, making it harder for you to ignore the couple next door.
it had been weeks since your last call with seungmin. assignments, group meetings, finals prep; the usual excuses had kept you both busy and orbiting around each other at a safe distance.
quick waves across the lecture hall, a shared eye-roll during a particularly brutal presentation, but no real time. no late-night rants, no movie marathons, no accidental silences that meant too much.
now that your exams were finally over, it felt as if a weight had been lifted, and you had called seungmin over to make up for lost time.
you hummed to yourself as you fired off yet another text, wearing your most comfortable tank top and shorts; double, triple checking if he had picked up all the snacks you had asked him for;
seung
seungmiinnnnnnn
u got the spicy ramen right?
AND the chips i told u about??
DON’T YOU DARE FORGET THE SOJU
minnniee my loveeeee
pls come quick baby i’m starving
his reply was instant, predictably teasing;
crazy how you only care about me when i bring snacks
yes mom i have everything
stop spamming or i’ll eat them all in the hallway
you practically skipped out of your room when the doorbell rang, bare feet padding across the cool floor, already rehearsing the dramatic “finally!” you were going to greet him with.
but then you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw him.
chris was sitting on the couch, legs spread comfortably, elbows on his knees, thumbs flying across his phone screen with that same focused frown you’d seen a hundred times from across campus. he looked up when you froze in the doorway, and his expression softened instantly into that polite, disarming smile.
“hey,” he said, voice low and easy. his gaze flicked over you— quick, not lingering, but enough to make heat crawl up your neck anyway. you were suddenly hyper-aware of the thin strap slipping off one shoulder, the way the shorts rode up your thighs when you shifted.
“sooha’s not here,” you voiced your first thought, because apparently your brain had forgotten the concept of small talk.
“oh, yeah i know,” he looked sheepish.
no matter what complicated feelings you had about him and sooha, you still knew chris was a good person, who was oblivious to whatever was shared between you and his girlfriend.
and standing there alone with him now, you felt a pang of guilt for how thoroughly you had been avoiding him on campus these past weeks, your eyes finding everyone but his when he waved or smiled at you from across the room.
“sorry for coming here unannounced,” he continued, “but—”
the doorbell rang again, cutting him off, followed almost immediately by seungmin’s unmistakable voice.
“yah, did you die or something? open up before i eat all your snacks! don’t test me!”
you laughed despite yourself, the tension cracking like thin ice as you excused yourself, hurrying to the door.
“i had literally been standing here for, like, three hours,” seungmin complained as soon as you opened the door, his hands reaching to loosen the tie he was still wearing from his part-time job. then suddenly his expression shifted, eyes sliding past you to the living room. “chan hyung? what are you doing here?”
“chan… what?” you echoed faintly, stepping aside to let him in, your brain short-circuiting at how easily that nickname had rolled off seungmin’s tongue.
chris looked up, surprised, then grinned wide. “minnie?”
seungmin stepped fully inside, kicking the door shut behind him, eyes darting between you and chris like he was trying to solve a math problem in real time.
you moved on autopilot, taking the bags from seungmin’s hands and mumbling, “i’ll just… put these in my room,” before you heard the two of them exchange a few words, laughter spilling out effortlessly. you softly clicked your bedroom door shut behind you and leaned against it for a second, breathing.
what the actual fuck?
a few moments later the knob turned. seungmin slipped inside, eyes comically wide, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper the second the latch caught.
“when you said sooha’s horny ass boyfriend was chris, you meant chan hyung?” he was unsure whether he found this funny or horrifying.
“how do you know your chan hyung anyway?” you huffed, somehow feeling annoyed at this new information as you plopped down on the edge of your bed, arms crossed over your chest.
“we used to go to the same high school... was in the same friend group for a while,” he said with a soft smile, his eyes drifting to the way your breasts looked pushed up for a split second. “and we had a few classes together this semester, too,”
he didn’t mention the part where they’d fucked girls in the same room, sometimes at the same time.
“well then how come you never mentioned this friend of yours?” you muttered. your annoyance hid something worse; embarrassment.
seungmin shrugged, an amused smile on his face. “i mean… i don’t know, you never asked? he’s just someone, y’know? it just never came up.”
he dragged your desk chair over and sat facing you, knees almost touching yours. the easy teasing from earlier was gone; now he was watching you carefully, like he could see the embarrassed flush creeping up your cheeks and the way your fingers found the hem of your tank top, an obvious nervous tick.
you huffed, trying to play it off. “great. so i’ve been ranting to you about this guy for weeks, and you’re just… casually friends with him. fan-fucking-tastic.”
seungmin’s mouth twitched, fighting a smile. “to be fair, you never said his name until like… a month in. plus, i think i know like, i don't know, three chris-es? c’mon. i just never connect the dots.”
you groaned, flopping backward onto the mattress, arms over your face. “i hate everything.”
he laughed fondly, shaking his head at your reaction. a silence washed over the room as he watched you, giving your thoughts room to drift back to months earlier, when it had all begun.
you and sooha were civil in the way strangers sharing a small space learn to be.
polite smiles. short conversations about laundry schedules and whose turn it was to take out the trash. you never fought, but you never clicked either. there was nothing to talk about, no shared humor, no late-night confessions. just co-existence.
and then there was chris.
you were strangers at first, your life more peaceful when you didn’t know of his existence.
but then one mundane day you saw him, laughing with his friends, and something about the way he just existed made everything else blur.
you only knew he was a semester ahead of you, nothing else, but ever since then, you seemed to find him everywhere.
the library steps. the cafe outside the campus. outside your lecture hall. he always smiled at you when your gazes met, not in a way that felt intrusive, just… warm. polite. but somehow intentional enough to feel that his eyes always found yours. enough to make your chest feel oddly tight every time.
a few nights later, you told sooha, the day a blur of cheap alcohol and lowered defenses. your living room smelled like spilled soju and burnt popcorn, and the music from someone else’s room thudded through the walls. you remember sitting cross-legged on the couch, both of you giggling at nothing, courage borrowed from the green bottles.
“you know chris, the one with the australian accent? i think i have the biggest crush on that man. he's soo fine,” you giggled between hiccups, the first time you had admitted that fact to yourself.
sooha had gone quiet, just looked at you with those unreadable eyes, then shrugged. “cool.”
you'd laughed it off, feeling happy with your first genuine interaction with your roommate, and had passed out on your bed still in your jeans.
and then the next day, head heavy from the hangover and clothes sticking to your body, you found chris on your living room couch.
kissing sooha.
chris's eyes flicked to you for half a second— surprise, maybe guilt— before sooha pulled him back in deeper, choosing to ignore your presence.
you'd slammed your door as you retreated back into your room, hangover soup or a shower be damned. after that day, your secret stayed buried, known only to you.
that was the moment resentment took root. you told yourself that it was about loyalty. about boundaries. there was hatred, yes, but not just for her, although she carried the weight of it.
but if you were honest, the ache burned brighter whenever you saw him. for her getting to taste what you'd only daydreamed about. for the casual way she'd claimed something you'd never even had the courage to reach for.
at first, it was more than just the noise that annoyed you. it was the inconsideration, the timing, the way they never seemed to care if you were studying or trying to sleep. you complained about it endlessly, venting to seungmin, shoving headphones over your ears.
until one night, something shifted.
you were lying on your bed, laptop open, a movie playing that you had lost the plot to hours ago. and like clockwork, the sounds started again.
you waited for irritation to rise. for anger. for that familiar knot of resentment.
it didn’t come.
instead, for once, the noises weren't loud enough.
you shifted, thighs pressing together almost automatically. the bedframe started its steady rhythm—slow at first, then building. you could hear the hitch in her breathing, the way it caught and released. but your mind wasn't on her anymore.
it was on him. always.
your body moved without asking for permission, your cheek pressing against the door before you had even registered leaving the bed. there was a heat that didn’t belong, coiling low in your stomach. your thoughts turned traitor, slipping into places you hadn’t allowed them to go.
you hated it. you hated yourself for it. yet still, that didn’t stop you.
you fell to the ground as your hand slipped under the waistband of your shorts without thinking, without letting yourself think.
shame flared hot behind your eyes, but what was hotter was the way you imagined chris's hands, the same ones you'd seen gripping her waist that first day, sliding up your sides instead. his mouth on your neck, the plush lips giving you wet and sloppy kisses, marking you. his hips rolling into you with that same deliberate pace, making the frame knock just like that. the low groan you'd heard him make once or twice, rough and wrecked, vibrating through the wall and straight into your core.
your breath came shorter, fingers brushing over sensitive skin, already slick from nothing more than imagination and sound. it was humiliating how fast it built.
every thrust in the next room echoed in your head as if it were yours. suddenly his weight was pinning you down, fingers tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp. “you enjoying this, huh?” he smirked, his voice making your core vibrate. he said your name, his lips touching your ears, his voice low, broken, and desperate.
you bit your lip to stay quiet, but a small whimper escaped anyway.
the rhythm picked up—faster, harder—and so did your hand, circling, pressing, chasing.
when you came, you let out a load moan, your body feeling limp and hot.
you opened your eyes and you saw no one but yourself on the mirror in front of you, your arousal staining the floor and your nipples hard against your tshirt, shorts abandoned somewhere near your ankles.
the emptiness of the room hit you like a shockwave; sharp, silent, shameful. you lay there afterward with heavy breaths, heart hammering, staring at the ceiling with wet fingers and burning cheeks.
you hated how good it felt.
you hated even more that you knew you'd do it again.
seungmin’s low laugh pulled you back to the present like a hand pulling you from under water.
you blinked, realizing you’d been staring at nothing—lost somewhere between the memory of that first humiliating night and the present, where your thighs were pressed so tightly together the muscle ached, your breathing shallow and uneven.
he was still sitting in the chair he’d dragged over, elbows on his knees, close enough that you could see the mole under his left eye, and the faint dusting of red on his cheeks and ears.
“your breathing’s all fucked up, angel” he said quietly, no teasing this time. just observation. clinical, almost. “and your thighs—” his gaze dropped deliberately to where your legs were clamped shut, then flicked back up to your face. “—are clenched so hard i’m afraid of what i’ll see when i push them apart.”
heat flooded your cheeks so fast you felt dizzy.
you opened your mouth to deny it, to laugh it off, to say anything that would make this moment less real— but nothing came out.
seungmin didn’t look away.
instead, the corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction, just enough to make your stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment.
“do you listen?” he asked, voice so soft it barely carried. “when chan fucks her. when he gets loud. do you… listen in?”
“i—” you tried to say, but all that came out was a breathy gasp as seungmin put his hands on either side of you, caging you between him and the mattress. his breath tickled your neck, and you shivered.
you’d always known seungmin was attractive. objectively, of course (or that's what you told yourself). the kind of attractiveness that made people do double-takes in the café line. the kind that used to make you stare at his fingers when he strummed his guitar, and maybe lose your breath when sometimes he would engulf you in a hug and you felt his hard muscles press against your soft skin.
but you never let those thoughts linger, no matter how hard that was for you, because losing him would gut you worse than any crush ever could.
you stared at him now— really stared— and saw the boy who’d held your hair back after too many shots, who’d stayed up until dawn helping you cram for midterms, who’d once driven across town at 2 a.m. because your voice cracked on the phone and you couldn’t say why.
but right now, with his face buried in your neck, pupils dark and steady, that careful boundary felt paper-thin.
“seungmin,” you whispered, hands clutching his arm to… push him away? but your hands stayed in place, involuntarily giving his arm a squeeze to ground yourself.
on hearing your fragile voice, seungmin pulled back a bit, and your body instinctively arched forward at the absence of his warmth.
he searched your eyes for a moment. “you’ve been disturbed by their noise for so fucking long.” he said, voice just as low, “maybe it’s time you gave him a taste of his own medicine, angel.”
your breath faltered at his proposition, the weight of what he was implying settling between you. but before the words could fully sink in, his mouth finally found the side of your neck.
a surprised, sharp gasp tore out of you. his lips were warm, soft at first, then firmer as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss just under your jaw. heat exploded under your skin like someone had struck a match. your hands flew to his shoulders—not pushing, just… holding on.
he pulled back again just enough to meet your eyes, a slight frown at your tense reactions.
“hey,” he said, voice rougher yet somehow softer now. “this doesn’t have to change anything between us. this is just me… helping my best friend take some revenge.” his thumb brushed your cheek, gentle, even if his gaze burned. “if you don’t want this, any of it, tell me to stop. tell me and i’ll stop right now.”
your mouth was dry. your whole body felt like it was vibrating.
you searched his face, looking for the joke, the safety net, the signs of mirth on his face after he would prank you. it wasn’t there.
all you saw was him. waiting. wanting.
but still giving you the power to end it.
but you were just a girl, with a stupidly attractive best friend whom you trusted more than yourself.
“don’t stop,” you whispered, your lips desperately reaching for his. you felt him smile against your lips as he finally kissed you, and he kissed like he had been wanting this for years. like he wasn’t just helping you get revenge.
his mouth found your collarbone again, and the way he groaned gave you an inkling that maybe the times he had stared at your neck was not him just admiring your necklaces. suddenly, you felt something sharp—his hand pulled a fistful of your hair to gain better access— and you expected to feel pain at his rough actions, but instead, you let out the loudest moan.
outside the room, you heard a thud, as if something had fallen.
“that’s right, baby,” seungmin smirked, giving your hair another pull. “you’ve got to scream for me tonight, show him what he’s been missing,”
seungmin’s hands were firm on your hips as he pushed you back onto the mattress, the springs dipping under your combined weight as he lay your head on the pillow. you landed with a soft bounce, breath catching, and before you could even process the shift, he was hovering over you, knees bracketing your thighs, one palm planted beside your head, caging you in without touching you anywhere you desperately wanted him to yet.
his eyes were dark, amused, predatory in a way you’d never seen directed at you before. the boy who used to steal your fries and fall asleep on your shoulder during movie marathons was gone— in his place was someone who looked like he’d been waiting to unravel you for longer than you’d ever suspected.
you tried to steady your breathing, tried to look at anything but at his face, only for your gaze to snag on the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders, the faint sheen of sweat already gathering at his throat.
then he moved.
he shifted to the side, reaching for your nightstand drawer with casual familiarity, like he’d done it a hundred times before. the drawer scraped open and your stomach dropped.
no. no fucking way.
“you think i don’t know about this?” he pulled it out slowly—your slim, purple vibrator, the one you kept buried under chargers and old files like it was national secrets. the same one you’d used on those nights when chris’ low groans had pushed you over the edge faster than you cared to admit.
seungmin held it up between two fingers, turning it lazily so the light caught the smooth surface. then he looked back at you, smirking, looking triumphant.
your face was already burning, but the heat that rushed through you now felt nuclear. you wanted to disappear into the mattress, wanted to snatch it from him. you wanted—fuck—you wanted him to keep looking at you like that.
“you’re not as slick as you think you are, angel” he murmured, voice low and velvet-smooth. his thumb flicked the base once—just once—and the toy buzzed to life for a split second before he clicked it off again. “i’ve heard it through the wall more times than i can count.”
your mouth fell open. no sound came out.
he leaned down until his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “every time you think you’re being quiet? every time you bite your pillow so hard and think i can’t hear?” he dragged the cool tip of the vibrator lightly down your chest, grazing your hard nipple over the thin tank top. you arched without meaning to. “i know exactly what you sound like when you come, baby. and i know you’ve thought about me fucking you just as much as you’ve thought about chan.”
a whimper slipped out before you could stop it. seungmin pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again. his smile was slow, filthy.
“such a little slut,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “getting off to the sound of your roommate getting railed. using this pathetic thing while you pretend it’s his cock instead.” he pressed the vibrator against your inner thigh—still off, just the promise of it making your skin crawl—and dragged it upward in a lazy line.
“but tonight? tonight you’re gonna make noise for real. loud enough that chan can’t pretend he doesn’t hear. loud enough that he’ll lie there next to her wondering who’s making his sweet little neighbor sound like she’s being ruined.”
your thighs trembled. you couldn’t look away from him. “min…”
he clicked the vibrator on—lowest setting—and settled it against the damp cotton of your shorts, directly over your swollen clit. the thin fabric dragged deliciously against you with every tiny buzz, giving the sweetest friction, but also the worst kind of tease, because it still kept him so far away that your hips already ached to shove the barrier aside.
you gasped, sharp,and involuntary, and seungmin’s free hand shot up to cover your mouth, thumb pressing against your bottom lip.
“uh-uh,” he whispered. “not yet. save it. i want him to hear every fucking sound you make when i finally let you fall apart.”
he dragged the toy in slow, torturous circles, watching your face the entire time, watching the way your brows knit, the way your hips jerked despite yourself.
“tell me,” he said, voice rougher now. “tell me you want him to hear how wet you get for me. tell me you want him to get jealous.”
your head thrashed once against the pillow, the words stuck in your throat, thick with shame and need.
seungmin leaned in, lips grazing yours, just a tease. “say it,” he breathed. “or i stop.”
you swallowed. your voice came out wrecked, barely there. “i… i want him to hear.”
“hear what?”
“how wet you make me, min,” you cried out, desperate for more. “i want him to hear how wet i get for you.”
seungmin’s eyes flashed. “good girl.”
with one hand, he reached for his tie, and the sight of him taking it off was enough to make you cum. he caught your wrists in his hands, tying them with the satin fabric before turning the vibrator up a notch.
and then he kissed you again, claiming, while his other hand shoved your shorts and panties aside just enough to press the toy directly against your bare skin.
the first real moan tore out of you before you could stop it. loud. unmistakable.
“that’s it baby, make him hear how much you enjoy being heard.” seungmin felt it. the way your hips jerked up against the vibrator. the way your thighs trembled around his knee. he chuckled.
“oh, you like that, don’t you,” he said, almost sweetly. “you like knowing he’s right there, hearing you fall apart for someone else.” he clicked the vibrator up one more setting. the buzz intensified, ripping a sharp gasp from your throat before you could swallow it down.
“louder,” he ordered, pressing the toy firmer, grinding it in tight circles that made your vision blur at the edges. “come on, show me how much of a whore you are.”
you whimpered, high and needy, and seungmin’s free hand slid up to cup your throat, not enough to hurt you, but enough to make you know who’s in control.
“minnie… ah, seungmin, i’m so close,” you were surprised at your ability to form words, for all that was currently occupying your brain was seungmin, seungmin, seungmin.
it was all to much, the buzz of the vibrator hitting your swollen clit, his hands around your throat and your inability to do anything. and worse of all? the way he was looking at you.
“not yet,” he turned the vibrator off, throwing it aside. you cried out, your needy whimpers making him smirk. he removed your shorts and panties, and his eyes seemed hypnotised by the way your juices were spilling out, already making a wet spot on your bedsheet.
“look at you,” he breathed, and for the first time that night, he was the one who looked speechless.
in an instant, his mouth was on your cunt, his tongue making patterns on your wet walls that made you see stars. as if that weren’t enough, without warning he pushed his finger inside you, making you scream, fighting against the restraints your hands were tied in.
“such a fucking slut,” he murmered, the vibrations of his voice against your skin making your hips jerk. “getting wet at the thought of him hearing you, aren’t you? picturing him on the other side of the wall while you leak all over my face like a desperate little whore.”
your breath hitched, and you felt fresh heat flood between your legs at the words. you wanted to deny it, to close your thighs, anything to hide how true it was, but your body betrayed you: another involuntary roll of your hips chasing the pressure, a tiny, broken sound slipping out before you could stop it.
he chuckled, dark and knowing, his free hand coming up to push your tank top aside and grip your breast, giving your nipple a firm squeeze. “yeah, there it is. listen to yourself. bet you’d come even harder if he knocked right now, didn’t you? if he walked in and saw what a pathetic, cock-hungry mess you turn into the second someone teases this slutty cunt.”
he inserted another finger inside you, and your back arched off the bed with a choked moan. your cheeks burned; shame and arousal twisted so tight in your stomach you could barely breathe. you shook your head weakly, no, no, that’s too much, you wanted to say, but your hips kept grinding, the sound of his digits pumping in and out of your slick folds filling the room.
“tell me exactly what you want him to hear. go on, paint the picture for me, you desperate fucking whore. do you want him to hear you moaning my name? begging for cock like the needy bitch you are? or—” his voice dropped even lower, lips coming up to brush yours as he spoke, “—do you want him to hear you be ruined? scream it loud enough that he knows exactly what a dripping, shameless slut is in the other room?”
your hips bucked once, twice, chasing harder pressure you weren’t allowed to have yet. shame burned hot in your cheeks, your chest, but it only made you wetter, slicker, more frantic.
he felt it. of course he did. “don’t you dare hold back now,” he growled, nose brushing yours. “say it. tell me you want him to hear you come so hard the bed shakes. tell me you want him to know you’re getting off thinking about his cock while i play with your greedy little hole. use your fucking words, angel,”
your throat worked, lips trembling as another helpless roll of your hips grounded his fingers deeper against you. any remnant of denial was gone; only raw, humiliating need left.
“i… i want him to hear me come,” you whispered, voice cracking, barely above a breath. “fuck, min— i want him to hear how loud i get… how wet i get for you… how much i need… how much i need your cock inside me,”
your eyes fluttered shut for a second, mortified, but your body kept moving—small, desperate thrusts against his fingers like you couldn’t stop even if you tried.
he laughed softly, cruel and pleased, rewarding you with a rougher pace and another finger that ripped a choked moan from your throat.
“good girl. that’s my nasty fucking slut.” he murmured, lips grazing your ear again. “keep going. tell me you’d let him listen every night if i told you to. tell me you’d spread these legs wider just so he could hear how filthy you really are.”
“i… i would,” your breath came in short, ragged gasps now, thighs quivering, clit throbbing. you were shaking now, teetering right on the edge, humiliated and so unbearably turned on you could cry. “p-please seungmin, i’m so close,” you moaned, your voice hoarse from your screams. “please, let me cum,”
“you’ve deserved it baby,” he chuckled, his tongue finding your clit again. “cum for me, my filthy little angel,” he commanded, voice thick with satisfaction as he sucked your clit between his lips, humming deep so the buzz traveled everywhere. “don’t you dare hold back. scream it—loud enough for him to hear every fucking second of how wrecked you get for me. let the whole damn apartment know what a desperate, dripping slut you turn into when i own this pussy.”
your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. the coil snapped hard, white-hot pleasure ripping through you in violent waves. your back arched off the bed, thighs clamping around his head as a raw, broken scream tore from your throat: his name, over and over, ragged and shameless, repeated like the only prayer you knew. “fuck—seungmin! yes—fuck! yes!”
each pulse of your orgasm milked more slick from you, coating his tongue, his chin, the sheets beneath. you shook uncontrollably, fingers twisting in the restraints, your thighs around his head pulling him closer even as overstimulation made you whimper.
tears pricked your eyes from the intensity, cheeks burning with the fresh wave of humiliation—he’d made you loud, made you obvious, and god, it only made the aftershocks hit harder.
he didn’t let up right away, lapping lazily through the mess as you trembled, murmuring against your oversensitive flesh. “that’s it… good girl… screaming like the needy whore that you are.”
the aftershocks still rippled through you in slow, lingering waves. your body felt molten, legs splayed open, chest heaving, seungmin’s tie still circling your wrists, no longer tight, loosened by every restless movement you’d made. the sheets beneath you were a mess, damp and cooling where your release had soaked through. seungmin’s mouth was slick with you, chin glistening as he finally lifted his head, eyes dark and shining with satisfaction.
he crawled up your body slowly, deliberately, pressing soft, wet kisses along your stomach, your throat, the corner of your mouth. “fuck,” he breathed against your lips, voice wrecked and soft. “you sounded so pretty screaming my name like that. think the whole building heard.”
you managed a shaky laugh, half sob, too overwhelmed to form words. your clit still throbbed faintly from overstimulation, every tiny shift of your hips sending sparks up your spine.
seungmin kissed you properly then, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, with one hand tenderly caressing your cheek. when he pulled back, his thumb brushed over your swollen bottom lip.
“i’m gonna get you some water, okay?” he murmured, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “and maybe clean you up a little before round two. don’t move.”
he slipped off the bed with that easy grace of his, and paused at the door, glancing back at you— spread out, flushed, wrecked— and his mouth curved into something dangerously sweet.
“stay right there, angel. i’ll be back in two minutes.”
the bedroom door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts. as you forced yourself to take deep breaths, trying to calm down, you tried to process exactly what had transpired between the two of you.
you had never thought this day would come— you, cumming on seungmin’s tongue and him, promising you a round two — but somewhere deep in your heart, you also felt that this was a long time coming.
he had told you at the beginning that things between you didn’t have to change after this, but after getting a taste of what you both could offer each other, you knew there was no going back, and you couldn’t deny the excitement curling in your chest as you looked toward this new stage of your relationship.
but no matter how much you tried, there was still something at the back of your mind, or rather someone—
you heard footsteps. but not seungmin’s light, familiar steps; they were heavier, slower. hesitant.
and the breath caught in your chest as the door opened— and there stood chris.
he looked… wrecked. hair mussed like he’d run his hands through it too many times, shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows, forearms tense. his eyes, dark, pupils dilated, locked onto you immediately. they dragged down your body: the hickeys blooming on your neck and chest, the tie still loosely binding your wrists, your legs parted just enough that he could see the slick mess between them, the wet spot darkening the sheets. your brain told you to sit up, to cover yourself, but your body was too tired. and your heart? well…
chris didn’t speak at first, just swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing. his chest rose and fell like he’d sprinted here, as if he hadn’t just been sitting a few feet away, his ears picking up on every little whisper.
“i—” his voice came out rough, cracked. “i… heard everything.”
the shame that should have crashed over you instead twisted into something hotter, sharper. your thighs trembled under his stare.
he took one step inside. then another. the door swung shut behind him with a soft click. he took a seat on the chair seungmin was occupying, not saying a word.
“baby,” he breathed, his hands on the mattress, as if touching you was something he hadn’t earned yet. “you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
you squirmed under his gaze, happy to finally see him look at you the way you had always wanted, but there was something stopping you from truly enjoying his stare, from telling him to come over and ruin you.
“what about…?” your voice trembled, trying to make sense with whatever strength you had left in you.
his smile almost wrecked you. “i broke up with her weeks ago. she asked me to come get a few of my things today, that’s why she went out,” he whispered, his voice vibrating through your whole body. “i couldn’t continue the relationship… how could i, when even when i’m with her, my mind always wandered to the room next door?”
“what?” you regretted not being friends with sooha, because then you could’ve known this vital piece of information ages ago. “but i thought… i thought it was you in her room yesterday… doing… y’know?” you blushed before you could complete the sentence, feeling shy despite the fact that you were literally lying naked in front of him and that he had probably heard you say worse things in the past hour.
“did you see me?” he smirked as you shook your head no, getting up on the mattress, his face inching closer to yours with each words. “or did you hope… did you imagine it was me, each time you heard her get railed. or worse… did you imagine yourself in her place? did you imagine yourself getting fucked,” his breath tickled your cheek, so close yet too far apart. “by me?”
up close, he smelled like clean sweat and something woodsy— his cologne, the one you’d caught whiffs of in passing for months. his eyes flickered to your bound wrists, then back to your face.
“seungmin tied you up?” his voice was low, strained. almost primal.
you nodded once, barely. chan’s hand hovered near your cheek, hesitant, then gently brushed a strand of damp hair from your forehead. the touch was so careful it made your chest ache.
“did he make you come like that?” he asked, thumb tracing the edge of one hickey. “screaming loud enough for me to hear every second?”
another small nod. your lips parted, but no sound came. he leaned down slowly, giving you every chance to turn away.
instead, your back arched, wanting him to be closer.
his mouth found yours, tentative at first, like he was testing if this was real. then deeper, hungrier, tongue sliding against yours with a groan that vibrated through your whole body. one hand cupped the back of your head; the other slid down your side, fingers digging into your hip like he needed to anchor himself.
when he broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, breathing ragged.
“i’ve wanted this,” he confessed, voice barely above a whisper. “every time i saw you on the couch, your bra strap fucking inviting me to snap it and hear you moan. i’ve wanted you ever since i saw you across campus, looking so damn angelic that you almost blinded me, doll.
“i’ve wanted you every time you looked away… i wanted to pin you against the wall and make you finally fucking look at me. really look, without your eyes drifting away.”
his hand slipped lower, fingers brushing the soaked mess between your thighs. you jolted, oversensitive, but arched into it anyway.
“seungmin got you this wet, huh?” he murmured, almost awed, circling your clit once, gentle, testing. you whimpered. “i gotta thank him for this then,” he smirked.
in a flash, he had rolled you over, pushing down on your head as he aligned your ass against his bulge. you shivered when your wet folds came in contact with the rough material of his jeans, and let out a loud moan as his hand landed on your cunt as a sharp slap.
“tell me to stop,” he said, echoing seungmin’s earlier words, but his voice was thicker, more desperate. “tell me, and i’ll leave right now, i promise.”
you met his eyes, dark, burning, pleading. “don’t stop, chan,” you whispered.
chan groaned at the way the nickname rolled out of your mouth, like the words had punched the air out of him.
he pushed his jeans and boxers down just enough, cock springing free, heavy, thick, already leaking at the tip. he fisted himself once, twice, eyes never leaving yours.
then he notched himself at your entrance, slow, careful despite the tremor in his arms.
you gasped as you felt his tip enter, already stretching you perfectly, the slight burn blending into pleasure so intense your toes curled.
“i’m gonna fill you up,” he rasped, pushing in inch by inch, your loud cries about him being too big, too much, falling on deaf ears. “gonna fuck you so good you forget anyone else ever touched you.”
with every firm thrust, you felt your bed frame thud against the wall, the sound of your fantasies coming alive making your head dizzy and your moans louder.
“louder,” he growled against your ear, voice wrecked. “scream for me like you did for him. let kim seungmin hear it when he comes back. let him know who’s ruining you now.”
your hands, still tied up, found you clit, as you erratically touched your swollen bud. “fuck, yes, yes! you’re filling me up so good, channie, oh fuck.”
the rhythm chan had set was brutal, deep, punishing strokes driving fresh, broken cries from your throat. you were loud, deliberately so now, moaning his name like a chant, letting it echo through the thin walls, through the cracked bedroom door.
“fuck—channie, yes, right there—harder, please—”
your voice cracked on every syllable, your brained so hazed that you didn’t even realise it at first when the door opened again.
seungmin stepped inside, two water bottles dangling loosely from his fingers, a warm washcloth in his other hand. he stopped in the doorway, eyes sweeping the scene: you face-down, ass up, chan buried to the hilt behind you, one hand fisted in your hair to keep your back arched, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.
as your face turned towards him, for one terrified heartbeat, you thought he would be angry, rightfully so, your brain chided you. you thought that the easy affection in his eyes would shatter, that he’d storm out, that everything would end here in shame and silence.
instead, Seungmin tilted his head.
a slow, lazy smirk curled his lips.
he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms casually, like he’d walked in on you eating snacks instead of getting railed within an inch of your life.
“didn’t know you were such a greedy little slut, angel,” he drawled, voice soft and amused. “one cock wasn’t enough?”
something about the way he was looking at you, not like he was surprised, but rather entertained, broke you in the best possible way.
your cunt clenched hard around chan, visceral and involuntary, and chan groaned low in his throat, hips stuttering for a second. seungmin noticed too, the way your eyes rolled back and the fingers on your clit when slack for a moment.
“fuck— she just squeezed me so tight,” chan rasped, glancing over at seungmin without slowing down. “think she likes this more than we thought.”
seungmin’s gaze flicked to you once again, your flushed face, your trembling thighs, the way your mouth hung open around desperate little gasps, and then back to Chan.
something wordless passed between them: a knowing look, a tiny nod, the kind of silent communication that only happens when two people have already decided the same thing long before walking into the room.
they weren’t surprised.
they weren’t jealous.
they were… prepared.
seungmin pushed off the doorframe and walked over slowly, setting the water bottles and cloth on the nightstand like this was just another tuesday. he stopped right in front of your face, fingers sliding under your chin to tilt your head up so you had to look at him while chan kept fucking into you from behind.
“look at you, such a desperate little cumslut,” seungmin murmured, almost sweetly. his fingers brushed your cheek, then trailed down to roughly squeeze your breasts, another hand came up to your mouth, thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip. you whimpered around the pressure of his thumb slipping into your mouth. your tongue curled instinctively around it.
“greedy little whore. all tied up and drooling already. you really couldn’t wait two minutes for me to come back before you let hyung stuff you full, huh?” you whimpered—half apology, half plea—as chan drove in particularly deep, making your whole body jolt.
seungmin murmured, chan chuckled darkly, slapping your ass for good measure as he slowed his thrusts just enough to make you whine in frustration.
“she’s been loud,” he said conversationally, like he was discussing the weather. “kept moaning my name— channie this, channie that. thought you might want to hear it up close.”
seungmin’s fondly rolled his eyes as he smirked at chan, his eyes darkening with satisfaction.
“oh, i heard,” he said softly. “every filthy little sound.” he pulled his thumb free with a wet pop, smearing your own spit across your cheek. “but i think she can be louder, can’t you, baby?”
he unbuckled his belt with one hand while his other hand fisted the base of his cock, already hard again from watching you get wrecked. in an instant, his shirt was also discarded, falling somewhere beside your tank top that you didn’t even realise had been taken off in your haze.
chan pulled out almost completely, leaving just the tip inside, making you sob at the sudden emptiness.
“open,” seungmin ordered.
your mouth fell open on instinct, tongue dipping out.
he slid in slowly, inch by inch, until your nose brushed his pelvis and your throat fluttered around him. you gagged softly, fresh tears springing to your eyes, but you didn’t pull away.
“good girl,” he praised, fisting your hair as he thrusted into your mouth in a rough shove. “take it all in.”
chan pushed back in at the same time, filling your cunt while seungmin fucked your mouth. the dual stretch, the rhythm, the way they moved in perfect tandem like they’d rehearsed this, sent your brain to complete, blissful ruin. no thoughts, no shame, only the primal need to be used, filled, and fucked stupid by both of them in perfect, cruel sync.
they talked over you like you weren’t even there, like you were just the perfect toy they’d finally decided to share.
“she’s so fucking tight,” chan groaned, hips snapping forward. “feel that? she’s clenching every time you bottom out in her throat.”
seungmin’s fingers tightened in your hair, guiding your head in shallow thrusts that matched chan’s pace.
“angel likes being used,” he murmured, almost tenderly. “look at her eyes, rolling back already. bet she’d come just from this. from being our fucking hole, made to be used only by us.”
your body agreed before your brain could catch up.
your cunt spasmed hard around chan, clit throbbing untouched now, and a muffled, desperate scream vibrated around seungmin’s cock as another orgasm ripped through you, sharp, blinding, humiliating in how easily they pulled it from you.
seungmin groaned at the feeling, hips jerking forward once, twice, before he pulled out just enough to let you gasp for air.
“again,” he said, feeling himself reach his limit. “come again while we’re both inside you. show hyung how greedy this pussy really is.”
chan’s hand cracked down on your ass, sharp and stinging, and you screamed again, louder, voice hoarse and wrecked.
they didn’t stop.
they just kept going, fucking you between them, filling every hole, praising and degrading you in the same breath, until you were nothing but trembling, overstimulated sensation and their names on your lips.
chan broke first, a low, guttural groan tore out of him as he buried himself deep and came hard, flooding your cunt with his thick cum. when he finally pulled out, his cum immediately seeped out, hot, obscene, trickling down your thighs, mixing with everything already leaking from you. he fisted his penis as more hot liquid flooded out, marking your back.
the sudden gush, the slick warmth coating your insides and dripping onto your back, snapped the last thread in you. you came again, violently, clenching around nothing, a choked sob ripping free as your whole body seized.
seungmin followed suit, and he gripped your jaw tighter, tilting your head back.
“open wider, angel, don’t you dare waste it.” he fucked your mouth in short, punishing thrusts until he spilled down your throat, thick and bitter and endless. you struggled to swallow around him, gulping desperately while he milked every last drop, hips stuttering, voice wrecked. “that’s it… drink it all like the good girl you pretend to be.”
when he finally eased out, strings of spit and cum still connected your lips to his tip. he wrapped long fingers around your throat, watching with dark, possessive eyes as you swallowed hard, throat working visibly. then he pressed two fingers against your tongue, dragging it out flat.
dazed, wrecked, stupidly proud, you stuck your tongue out further, showing him the mess you’d taken, lips swollen and glossy, a dazed little smile curling the corners even as tears streaked your cheeks.
seungmin’s thumb brushed your lower lip almost tenderly. “fuck… look at you,” his voice was soft now, completely different from when he was calling you a greedy slut. “ruined and still so pretty.”
chan’s hand slid up your spine, slow and grounding, as he leaned down to press a surprisingly gentle kiss between your shoulder blades.
both men drew back for a moment, giving you room to sink bonelessly onto the sheets, chest heaving in the sudden, fragile quiet.
“yeah, just like that princess,” chan whispered, “deep breaths.”
seungmin climbed on the bed, laying down facing you, and he folded out his arm, inviting you.
you giggled as you settled against his hard chest, and he engulfed you in a warm embrace, caressing your hair and trailing soft kisses over your cheeks. “you’re okay, right? did we go too far?” his eyes searched yours, concerned. you shook your head earnestly, caressing his cheek.
“you did so good, princess,” chan whispered, hands massaging your ass, softening the red marks he had left. “so perfect for us.”
chan then reached for the washcloth seungmin had left on the nightstand and began cleaning you with careful, gentle strokes. the damp fabric glided over the sticky mess on your inner thighs, between your folds, wiping away the evidence of how thoroughly they’d used you. his touch was soft, almost worshipful, thumb occasionally brushing soothing circles over the sensitive skin as you hummed in satisfaction.
after a moment, chan settled beside you on the bed, his larger frame curving protectively around your back while seungmin stayed pressed to your front, caging you gently between their warmth. chan’s hand found your arm, stroking slow and firm from shoulder to wrist, grounding you as your pulse still hammered beneath your skin.
you bit your lip hard enough to taste the faint copper of it. slowly, you eased out of seungmin’s loose embrace just enough to lift your head and meet both their eyes; first chan’s steady gaze, then seungmin’s softer, searching one. the question clawed its way up your throat, small and scared.
“are you guys… sure you’re okay with this?” your voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling on the edges. “that i might want you both just as much?”
you hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until their low, shared chuckle rumbled through you.
“we want you, and want to take care of you princess,” chan said simply, no hesitation, a wave of understanding passing between him and seungmin. “both of us. and we’re not gonna make you choose. ever.”
seungmin hummed in agreement, nuzzling into your hair.
“your needs come first,” he added softly. “always. and if you want both of us, then that’s what you’ll get. no jealousy. no games. just us taking care of you.”
chan leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, gentle this time, full of everything unspoken. When he pulled back, his eyes were soft, steady.
“we’re not going anywhere,” he promised. “you’re ours, and we’re yours. however you want us.”
and since then, the noises continued, only now you had zero complaints.
peach notes: lowk regretting the fact that kim seungmin was not inside her, but i felt too tired to write more lol. also, can you tell that i'm a fucking whore for the both of them? 😮💨 no lube no protection and allat. sorry if chan's part felt too rushed, lowkenuinely entered flow-state writing min's parts. (#need that) ( pls don't ask me abt if min went to freakin antartica to melt a glacier to get her the water lol, nothing about this is logical anyway, honestly i just needed them to fuck by that point, i'm just a girl ┐(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)┌ )
and wdym there's more than a 100 (hundred!!?) of you here already!!1? thats insane, i could kiss u all. and i'm really overwhelmed by the love you've given me on my first post, truly thank you so much, i'm so grateful to each of you who reblogged and/or left a comment. pls feel free to drop by and send an ask to lmk your thoughts or literally anything, i would love to chat with you all <3
you'll see me next in march, unfortunately exam szn doesn't let me be horny 💔
» summary: jake was stuck. sex had gotten boring, always the same routine, nothing exciting enough to stick in his head. he wasn’t exactly searching for something new, but when a stupid bdsm test came up in conversation with you, he found himself way too curious. suddenly, he’s researching kinks at 3am, making reddit posts like an idiot, and realizing that maybe he doesn’t just want answers, he wants to try them with you. and maybe all he wants right now is ask: i don’t wanna be just friends, don’t wanna be away from you, can i be a pet?
✰ pairing: jake x fem!reader // ✰ genre: smut (mdni!!), friends to lovers, college au, slowburn-ish #nowplaying » cat & dog - tomorrow x together | mutt - leon thomas | wet dreamz - j. cole | doo wop (that thing) - lauryn hill | mrs. officer - lil wayne | so fresh, so clean - outkast | word count: 28k
!! warnings: smut (mdni), smut, unprotected sex (do not do it!!), petplay, brat!reader x brat tamer!jake, power dynamics, bdsm dynamics, alcohol and weed consumption, anal play, oral sex (m and f receiving), size kink, fingering, squirting, degradation and praising kink, dirty talk, rough sex, bitch the whole thing they are freaky lmao
JAKE SIM HAD THIS REPUTATION AROUND CAMPUS, AND HE KNEW IT. he wasn’t the type to deny it either, he kind of leaned into it. he had the face, he had the charm, the easy smile that worked on almost anyone, and he was well aware that people liked talking about him. he wasn’t shy about the fact that he hooked up with a lot of girls, not in a bragging way, more like he genuinely didn’t see the point of pretending otherwise. if he wanted something, he went for it, and most of the time he got it.
the funny part was that it never really felt like enough. people would assume he was satisfied, like he had it all figured out, but the truth was, after a while, it all started blending together. same kind of nights, same routines, same conversations that ended in the same place. he liked it in the moment, of course, he wasn’t going to lie about that, but he always went home with this weird feeling, like something was missing, and it wasn’t the whole “looking for love” thing either. it was more that he wanted something different, something he couldn’t even name yet.
he wasn’t the type to sit around and analyze himself too much, but he noticed the pattern. no matter how many people he fucked, he’d end up lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking, is that really it?
he didn’t talk about it with anyone, because what was he supposed to say? “yeah i’m sleeping with half the campus but i’m still kind of bored”? that would sound ridiculous. and you knew him enough to know the image he carried, everyone did, but what people didn’t really see was that restless part of him, the part that kept looking for something he couldn’t find. and he hated admitting it, but lately he started realizing that maybe the problem wasn’t the girls or the sex itself, maybe the problem was that he wanted to try things he didn’t even know how to explain without sounding insane.
“you ever feel like… sex is just the same shit over and over?” jake asked, not even looking directly at sunghoon while the fifa match rolled on his tv.
sunghoon paused the game immediately, which already said a lot, because sunghoon never paused fifa for anything. he turned to look at jake dead in the eye. “what the fuck are you talking about?”
“i’m serious,” jake said, sighing. “like, yeah, it’s good, but sometimes i’m just… i don’t know, bored.”
sunghoon started laughing so hard he almost dropped the controller. “you? bored? mr. i-had-sex-in-the-theater-bathroom last week? nah. shut the fuck up.”
“that’s exactly what i mean!” jake argued, leaning forward. “it’s always the same shit. hook up, make out, fuck, pass out. repeat. i’m telling you, i feel like there’s supposed to be more, but i don’t know what the hell that is.”
“okay,” sunghoon said, nodding like he was being thoughtful, but his grin gave him away. “so what you’re saying is… your dick’s tired.”
“that’s not what i said.”
“sounds like what you said.”
before jake could fire back, the door creaked open and heeseung walked in with a bag of chips and a joint between his fingers, looking like he hadn’t slept in two days. he glanced at the tv, took a drag, then looked at them. “you guys talking about gooning?”
“kinda,” sunghoon answered instantly, pointing at jake. “apparently mr. campus heartthrob is bored of pussy.”
heeseung raised an eyebrow, ripped open the chips, and sat down on the armrest. “wow. should we throw you a funeral?”
jake groaned and buried his face in his hands. “you guys are fucking useless.”
“nah, bro, i’m serious,” sunghoon said, nudging him with his foot. “maybe you just need some freaky shit. like, tie someone up, put on a costume, bark a little. switch it up.”
“the fuck are you even saying?” jake shot back, but the way his ears went red didn’t go unnoticed.
heeseung caught it instantly, grinning like a devil. “wait. wait. oh my god. jake wants to bark.”
“shut the fuck up,” jake muttered, ending the conversation.
but the thing is, jake thought sometimes about barking. i mean, not literally standing in someone’s room on all fours going woof, but the thought of something that wasn’t just the usual sex crossed his mind more than once. like, there had to be people out there doing shit that wasn’t just missionary or whatever. he wasn’t about to admit it out loud to sunghoon or heeseung because he knew they’d never let it go, but after that night, the whole “maybe you need to bark” thing kept replaying in his head. and he didn’t immediately shut it down. he laughed in front of them, told them they were idiots, but later that week, lying in bed at two a.m., he actually caught himself googling “unconventional sex stuff.”
that’s how he ended up on reddit. it wasn’t even intentional, he just clicked link after link until suddenly he was in some forum full of people talking about kinks like they were trading recipes. half the stuff freaked him out, the other half made him curious in a way he didn’t know how to process. he didn’t think he was a freak, but then again, maybe he was, because none of this was coming up in regular conversations, and he clearly couldn’t bring it up to his friends without being clowned for the rest of his life.
so one night, after reading through threads for way too long, he gave in and made a throwaway account.
r/TooAfraidToAsk
u/australianlebron127 | 12m
i feel like i’m bored of sex but don’t know what i’m looking for, is that normal?
i’m a 23 year old male and i’ve been pretty active since like freshman year of college. i’ve hooked up with a lot of people, and i guess on the outside it sounds cool, but honestly it all feels the same and i keep thinking i’m missing something. my friends make jokes about “freaky stuff” and once someone even said i probably just need to bark or whatever, which was stupid, but now i can’t stop thinking maybe i actually do need something like that.
i don’t even know what i’m into, i just know regular sex feels kind of… repetitive. i’m not in a relationship and i’m not looking for love advice or anything like that, i’m just wondering if it’s normal to feel like this or if i should be trying to figure out what i like more. and if i should… how do you even start? like i can’t just ask someone “hey wanna let me experiment with you” right? idk.
after he posted it, jake shut his laptop like he just confessed a crime. he honestly thought no one would even read it, but the next morning when he checked again, there were already a bunch of replies. some of them were just people trolling him, like one guy wrote “bro just buy a dildo and stop crying,” which didn’t help at all, but there were also some longer comments from people who actually sounded like they knew what they were talking about.
one person wrote something like, “you don’t have to know your kink right away, just pay attention to what sticks in your head. if something makes you curious, that’s worth exploring.” another person said, “try to communicate with partners, you’d be surprised how many people are also bored of ‘regular’ sex and want to experiment too.” and then there was one comment that just said, “maybe you’re into power dynamics. look into dom/sub stuff, that’s usually a good starting point.”
jake read through all of them with his face buried in his pillow, feeling like if anyone walked in and saw what he was doing, he’d have to transfer schools immediately. but at the same time, it made him feel a little less crazy. apparently, other people were going through the same thing, or at least close enough. he wasn’t the only one who felt like sex got repetitive after a while. still, he didn’t know what to do with that information. he wasn’t about to sit sunghoon down and say, “hey bro, what do you think my kink is?” and he sure as hell wasn’t going to test this out with some random hookup from a party. if he was going to try anything new, he wanted it to be with someone who actually knew him, someone he trusted not to laugh in his face.
and that’s when he remembered you.
he met you through jungwon and sunoo. you were always around, more like part of the background of the friend group. jake thought you were cool, funny without trying too hard, and yeah, obviously really hot, but he never made a move because you weren’t like the other girls he usually talked to at parties. you didn’t even go to half the parties. when he did see you, you were usually laughing with your friends, completely unbothered by whatever was going on around. you never hooked up, never even flirted, but there was this one time that stuck with him.
he was walking past in the middle of a random conversation between you and sunoo, and he caught enough of it to never forget. you were holding your phone, laughing so hard, and you went, “who the fuck gets a hundred percent vanilla on the bdsm test? you have to try to be that boring.”
sunoo immediately grabbed the phone from you, yelling, “shut up! you literally got ninety-six percent petplay, you freak! what are you even talking about?”
jake didn’t even know what to do with that information at the time, but he remembered the way you just laughed and shrugged, like it was nothing. he laughed too, mostly because sunoo looked like he was about to pass out from embarrassment, but the conversation burned into his brain. now, weeks later, lying in bed after scrolling through way too many reddit threads about kinks, that memory hit him again, like his brain suddenly pulled out a file he didn’t realize he kept. and you sounded so comfortable with it, like talking about sex wasn’t this big taboo topic.
jake thought about it more than once after that, and now, with all this restless energy in his head, it started to feel like a sign. maybe you weren’t close, maybe you weren’t the person he texted at two in the morning, but you were the only person he could think of who might not laugh in his face if he admitted he was… curious. so he picked up his phone, scrolled through his contacts until he found your name, and stared at it for a solid minute like the letters might rearrange themselves into “don’t do this.” then, because he was jake, he typed something dumb and hit send before he could overthink it.
jake: yo do u know if the cafeteria is still selling those massive cookies or did they stop
you didn’t answer right away, which made him instantly regret his entire life, but then the screen lit up.
you: why are you texting me about cookies at 11pm
you: and yes they still sell them lol
he grinned, already feeling lighter.
jake: good to know
jake: important info
there was a pause, and then you sent back:
you: you’re so weird sometimes
he laughed out loud at that. it was stupid, but it gave him enough courage to type what he really wanted.
jake: hey random question tho
jake: u remember that bdsm test thing u joked about w sunoo once
jake: do u still have the link perchance
he stared at the message after sending it, suddenly way too aware of how insane it looked. but it was too late, it was out there. his brain was screaming at him that this was either the best idea he ever had or the dumbest one, and he wouldn’t know which until you answered, but your reply came quicker than he expected.
you: LMAO jake why are u asking me this
you: are u abt to send me ur result rn bc i wanna see
you: don’t lie i KNOW ur not 100% vanilla
you dropped the link right after, and jake felt his stomach twist because now he had no excuse. he clicked it. the layout looked ancient, like a quiz someone coded in 2005, but it was apparently the same test everyone online swore by.
he started reading the questions, and it was instantly ridiculous. stuff like “would you enjoy being tied up?” or “would you enjoy tying someone else up?” and the scale went from “absolutely not” to “hell yes.” jake sat there, thinking way harder than he expected. some of them were easy to answer—no, he didn’t want to be whipped until he couldn’t walk—but others made him hesitate, like maybe he’d try it, maybe it didn’t sound that bad.
when the petplay questions showed up, he froze for a second. he could practically hear sunghoon in his head going “bro, bark,” and it made him want to close the tab, but at the same time… he didn’t click “absolutely not.” he thought about it, sighed, and picked “maybe.”
twenty minutes later, the results loaded on his screen in neat little percentages, like it was about to diagnose him with something.
jake stared at the screen. part of him wanted to laugh, part of him wanted to throw his phone out the window, and another part of him just thought: yeah, that actually makes sense. he sat there, debating whether sending it to you would make him look confident or like the biggest clown alive. but you had asked to see it, and he kind of did want to know what you’d say. so he did send you the screenshots, three images of his percentages sitting in your chat, and you answered almost instantly.
you: LMAOOO
you: okay i expected switch 100% bc u give off that vibe
you: but 94% pet?? never in my life would i have guessed that
jake felt his ears burn. he didn’t even know what that was supposed to mean, but the way you typed it made him smile anyway.
jake: bro don’t act like u weren’t the one clowning sunoo abt this shit
you: yeah but i didn’t expect u to be secretly into meowing
jake: i didn’t say i’m into that
you: mhmmm the math says otherwise jakey
he groaned and threw his phone onto his pillow, but then picked it right back up. he wanted to defend himself, but at the same time, it felt good that you weren’t making it weird. you were teasing him, yeah, but it was soft, like the way you’d tease a friend. even though jake didn’t know if friend was the right word.
jake: alright then, where’s urs
you: oh i’m not sending mine
jake: tf why not
you: bc it’s funnier to let u wonder
jake: wtf does that mean
you: it means one day maybe i’ll show u in person idk
jake stared at that message for a solid minute. in person? what do you mean “in person”? he had no idea if you were flirting, being sarcastic, or just messing with him for fun. either way, the thought lodged itself in his brain immediately and refused to leave. he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with that, but his brain decided to run off with it anyway. like maybe, hypothetically, if one day you actually did drop to your knees in front of him and said “meow,” he wouldn’t hate it. actually, he might really, really not hate it.
so that week jake couldn’t stop thinking about it. so naturally, at three in the morning when any normal person would be asleep, he was hunched over his laptop, typing “what is petplay kink” into google like some dad learning how to use tiktok.
the first page of results didn’t help much. there were a bunch of articles that tried to sound educational but were really just people overexplaining, and then there were forums with way too many details he wasn’t ready for. he clicked through anyway, and five minutes later he was learning that apparently some people actually bought collars for this stuff, and leashes, and there was a whole thing about drinking water from bowls. he sat back in his chair, “no way,” he muttered to himself. “there’s no way i’m buying a dog bowl.” but then another part of him was like… okay, maybe not the bowl, but the collar thing? that didn’t sound as insane.
he kept scrolling. one post talked about how petplay wasn’t always about barking or crawling around, sometimes it was just about roles, like playfulness, obedience, teasing. that part made more sense to him. then he fell into another rabbit hole, this time about “brat taming.” apparently it meant dealing with someone who liked to push back, tease, talk back until you had to put them in their place. jake read three different threads about it and had to close the tab because, yeah, he was definitely into that.
he shut his laptop after an hour of scrolling, face buried in his hands, because what the hell was he even doing? one week ago he was just another guy with too much free time, and now he was sitting there seriously wondering if buying a collar off amazon would be insane or just a solid investment. and the kicker was, every time he thought about it, your face showed up in his head.
so when he saw you for the first time after that, he felt something weird going on around his pants. and jake wasn’t a fucking teen anymore, he wasn’t gonna get hard just by looking at a girl, but somehow he was… semi hard. it had been a long time since that happened out of nowhere and he thought it was kind of strange, like his body was reminding him of things he hadn’t thought about in months.
you looked up from your laptop, saw him, and smiled. that smile — bright, easy — made him immediately forget that anything felt weird. you waved, and jake had to remind himself to actually walk toward you instead of standing there like a moron.
“hey!” you called, motioning him over. “come sit.” you were sitting at a table with jungwon and sunoo, laptop open in front of you. jungwon was typing something, sunoo was scrolling on his phone, “so… did you get the giant cookie from the cafeteria or what?” you asked, a playful grin on your face.
jake internally thanked you, harder than he wanted to admit, for not bringing up the test. one, because he would have died of embarrassment with jungwon and sunoo there, and two, because honestly, thinking about it again might have made him get hard all over again in the middle of the library cafe. “uh… no, not yet,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and not make it sound like his entire body was having a meeting about you.
“oh, okay,” you said, opening your laptop wider. “we can grab some after i finish this thing.”
he slid into the chair next to you, careful not to get too close, careful not to breathe like he was dying, and just tried to act like a normal human. which, for jake, was hard work when you were smiling at him like that.
after a while, you both got up and headed to the cafeteria. he was quieter, more reserved, but trying to respond, trying to interact without sounding like he was hyperventilating. by the time you got to the display with all the cookies, it was just the two of you. jake tried to act casual while his brain reminded him that he was, somehow, still semi hard and that his body was apparently having its own agenda today. he felt like a complete freak but the thought made him laugh at himself.
“so… chocolate cookie?” you asked, eyes sparkling, and then paused dramatically. “or are you gonna switch to vanilla?” you emphasized the word switch, looking at him like you knew exactly what you were doing.
jake couldn’t help it. he laughed out loud. “oh, okay, i see what you’re doing,” he said, shaking his head. it was ridiculous, and he felt ridiculous, but in a way that made him feel… funny.
“what? i’m just trying to make cookie decisions fun,” you said, smirking, clearly loving that you got a reaction out of him.
“yeah yeah, sure,” he replied, and then couldn’t resist pushing a little. “sooo… you said you were gonna show me your result personally, remember?”
you tilted your head, mock-serious. “wow, curious, aren’t you?”
he felt his face heat up, part embarrassment, part horniness, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how casual you were about all this. am i really getting turned on by a conversation about cookies and some quiz? he thought, mentally cursing himself, and then laughed a little because, yeah, apparently he was. “i mean… i’m not curious,” he said, though he was. “i just… maybe want to see it. for science.”
“mhmm, for science,” you repeated, grinning, clearly reading right through him. you sat down at a table after paying for the cookies, you opened your laptop casually, and started scrolling through your results. “alright, so… brace yourself,” you said, smiling at him, “here.” jake leaned a little closer, trying not to stare too obviously at your face and also trying not to think about other… possibilities.
jake blinked a few times, and his brain immediately went to the oh shit this is hot mode. he felt his stomach tighten and had to consciously remind himself to breathe. he tried not to picture too much, trying not to lose it right there in front of you. after a beat, he swallowed and forced his voice casual. “yeah… i mean… i kinda imagined your result being something like this.”
you raised an eyebrow, grinning like you knew exactly what he was thinking. “ahh, so you were thinking about my results, huh?”
jake felt his face heat up instantly, but he couldn’t help laughing a little. “shut up…” he said after you teased, clearly enjoying the fact that he was squirming just a bit.
“never thought you’d be into petplay,” you said casually, glancing at him.
“me neither,” he admitted, a little embarrassed. “i’ve never actually done it.”
“oh really?” you teased. “but it’s on your test.”
“yeah… i’m just… assuming i’d like it,” he said, shrugging. “never explored my kinks before. that’s why i did the test.”
you smiled at him, eyes soft. “honestly, i get it. it’s fine. makes sense.”
for some reason, hearing you say that made him feel comfortable, thinking how nice it was to have someone he could actually talk to about it. you kept talking about the results, scrolling through different percentages, laughing at some of the weirder ones, shaking your heads at others, like “who the hell is this person” kind of stuff. jake felt like he could actually breathe a little easier, like maybe exploring this shit didn’t have to be some big awkward thing.
and then he caught himself thinking about it — again, for the hundredth time — that maybe having you actually… participate in some of it wouldn’t be that bad. like, actually being there while you did the petplay stuff or teased him, whatever. and the thought hit him in a weird way that made him grin like a complete idiot, because yeah, it was exciting, and yeah, he could feel that familiar tightness in his pants again.
so after that, jake found himself doing more research about things you might like. he didn’t even know why he was looking this stuff up. he told himself it was curiosity, like he was just trying to understand a phenomenon or something, but deep down he knew it was more than that.
he was intrigued by the kinks, by the way you’d come across as so… private. he’d never seen you with anyone, never heard stories about your experiences, and somehow that made him hornier and more curious at the same time. the weirdest part was that he felt like he knew a lot about you because of that damn bdsm test, but also realized he didn’t know shit—whereas you probably knew tons of stories about him and his past hookups.
eventually he went back to reddit. of course he did. he found a server for kinks and typed out a post, hesitating over every word, trying not to make himself sound like a total weirdo.
r/kink_advice
u/australianlebron127 | 3m
how do i talk to a friend about mutual kinks?
hi, i’m a 23m and i have this friend (24f), she’s cool, funny, super private, and i think maybe we like the same kinks. we’ve talked a little about bdsm stuff and she shared her results on this bdsm test once, which were very similar to mine. i’m curious and want to maybe explore things with her, but i have no idea how to even bring it up without making it weird. any advice?
the replies came fast. some were generic, like “just be honest and communicate,” or “don’t push anything she’s not into.” but then one comment made him stop scrolling for a second.
comment: if she’s into petplay or praising kink, just call her a good girl out of nowhere and see how she reacts, or tell her to behave.
jake stared at that comment for longer than he should have. he couldn’t believe that the solution was potentially so simple, and also so terrifying. he wasn’t sure if it was genius or completely insane.
so he thought about putting the plan into practice that weekend, at the frat party. he already knew you’d be there because you’d mentioned jungwon and chaewon had been bugging you to go, and for jake, that sounded like the perfect opportunity. when he got to the house, sunghoon shoved a drink into his hand before he could even say hi, and riki was already trying to drag him outside to smoke a joint. jake brushed both of them off with a laugh, sipping the drink just to keep sunghoon from nagging, and then he saw you.
you were across the room, leaning against the counter with chaewon, laughing about something. you weren’t dressed overly flashy, nothing insane, just jeans and a cropped tank top that showed a sliver of skin when you moved, and your hair pulled back like you didn’t even try that hard. but for some reason, to jake, it looked better than half the girls in glitter dresses floating around the place.
he felt his stomach tighten in that same way it had the other day, and he had to stop himself from grinning too obviously. you had this golden retriever kind of energy, the kind of person who always smiled when someone waved, always asked how people were doing, and jake had that too, except his version usually came with flirting and ending up in someone’s bed.
he could feel the stares of other girls in the room, some who he’d already hooked up with, some who he knew wanted to. he caught one or two smiling at him, making the kind of eye contact that usually meant come over here later, and he knew he could. he could pick almost anyone in the room if he wanted. but for once, he wasn’t interested. the whole point tonight was you.
jake took another sip of his drink and pushed through the crowd, his eyes flicking back to you every other second. he was hyping himself up in his head, thinking about that stupid reddit comment and whether he was actually crazy enough to try it out. every step closer to you, the thought kept repeating in his head: good girl. just say it once. see what happens.
so he walked up to you, slid into that little circle, and went, “hey,” giving you and chaewon a nod. you both greeted him back, chaewon with her usual dry smile and you with that bright one that always made him feel like you were actually happy to see him, even if it was just a quick hello at a loud party.
the conversation was easy, just small talk but not awkward. eventually chaewon excused herself to get a drink, and right then minjeong walked past. she gave jake a quick once over and stopped long enough to rest her hand on his shoulder, leaning in with a smile that was way too obvious. “jake, later come find me, okay?” she said in that flirty tone that didn’t leave much room for interpretation. he just gave a small nod, polite enough but already knowing he wasn’t going to.
when she walked off, you tilted your head and started laughing under your breath. “wow,” you said, dragging the word out, “how many girls here have you hooked up with?”
jake immediately shook his head, pressing his lips together like he was trying not to laugh. “not that many,” he said, though even he knew it sounded weak.
you raised your brows, clearly amused. “and none of them made you wanna… what was it again? meow?” you asked, grinning at him like you were way too proud of yourself for remembering.
he froze for a second, caught completely off guard, before he tried to play it cool. “you’re not letting that go, huh?” he leaned in a little, lowering his voice like it might soften the blow of how flustered he actually was. “but, i mean, maybe it’s because none of them knew how to behave like you, i think.”
he said it half teasing, half testing, and his smile was trying to cover the way his heart was picking up. you squinted at him, amused but confused, and went, “what do you mean behave like me?”
jake didn’t even hesitate. “uh, it was in your test. brat, sub, pet, you know what i’m talking about.”
you let out this little laugh, shaking your head. “ok, that’s in my test, but you don’t know if i’m actually like that in real life. you literally said you’ve never done petplay, and you’re just assuming you’d like it.”
he shrugged, leaning back slightly, but his eyes stayed on you. “yeah, but have you done it?” his tone was way too direct for the middle of a crowded party.
you laughed again, but this time it was softer, like you were a little embarrassed. “uh… yeah.”
jake grinned, instantly smug. “then there you go. point proven. you do behave.” you didn’t say anything right away, and that threw him off, because you were almost never quiet around him. you just looked at him for a second, like you were deciding something in your head. so he tilted his head and asked, “what?”
“nothing,” you said quickly, then paused. “just thinking if you’ve ever even talked about this with anyone else before.”
he scratched the back of his neck, a little awkward now. “not really. i mean, sunghoon once told me i should bark at someone to see if i’d like it, but i didn’t take him seriously.”
you cracked up at that, covering your mouth for a second. “maybe minjeong would like that. i don’t know. you could always try it on her.”
and that was the moment it hit him, clear as day. he didn’t want to try anything with minjeong. he didn’t want to test it out with some random girl who was already halfway throwing herself at him. he wanted you.
before he could say anything though, you excused yourself, saying you were gonna grab some water or check on chaewon or something, and then you slipped into the crowd. jake stood there for a second, realizing that if he actually wanted this to go anywhere with you, he was gonna have to be more direct about it. no more hiding behind jokes or waiting for you to bring it up.
after a while, jake found you by the drinks table, leaning against it with a plastic cup in your hand. you were turned, and when you noticed him coming over, you gave him this small smile, the kind you always did that looked automatic. “can you fill mine up too?” he asked, holding out his cup.
“sure,” you said, reaching for the tap and tilting his cup under it.
the words came out of him before he even thought about them. “good girl.”
you froze for a second. like, literally stopped mid-pour. then you turned your head slowly to look at him. “what’d you say?”
he didn’t flinch. “i called you a good girl.”
he had no idea where the confidence was coming from. maybe from the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in weeks, maybe from the way you’d been laughing at his teasing earlier, maybe from too much beer, maybe from all of that. but he didn’t look away. you held his gaze for a moment, then nodded once, finished filling his cup, and handed it back to him.
he grinned. “what? did you get flustered at that?”
“shut up, jake,” you said, but you were smiling, trying to hide it, and then you turned and walked off before he could say anything else.
he’d said it once, and you didn’t blow him off, didn’t get weird, didn’t shut it down. if anything, you’d reacted. ok, he thought, taking a sip, i need to be even more direct.
later that night, jake found himself outside, because jake was jake and he couldn’t say no to a blunt rotation with his friends. he was leaning back against the side of the house with heeseung and beomgyu, all of them passing around a joint. heeseung was halfway into some rant about how he thinks all stanley cups are potentially weapons when you came bouncing out the door.
“wow,” you said immediately, spotting them. “look at you guys, stoner squad.” you laughed, light and teasing, but not mean.
jake felt that stupid twitch in his pants he’d been fighting all night right away and he hated himself for it. you weren’t even doing anything. you were just smiling like always, tail wagging friendly, and somehow that was enough to get him semi hard again.
he held the joint out to you. “want some?”
you tilted your head, eyes narrowing like you were weighing it. “hm. it’s been a while. i don’t know how i’ll react.” but you took it anyway. your fingers brushed his as you grabbed it, then you brought it to your lips, inhaling slow. jake couldn’t stop watching the way your chest rose and the way you let the smoke slip out through your lips. then you looked up at him, big doe eyes, blinking like a puppy, and it wasn’t just the weed. that was a look, and he knew that look. he saw it tons of times before from other girls he knew that wanted him to fuck them.
“you did good,” he said quietly, the words almost slipping out of his mouth on their own. his voice was low, soft but steady. praising.
you blinked, eyes widening a little, and then, of course, you smiled. not your usual grin, but this smaller one, just for him. you passed the joint back to him, and didn’t say anything. jake smirked, turned, and shoved the joint back at heeseung and beomgyu. then he leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only they could hear. “you two get the fuck outta here.”
heeseung frowned like he was about to argue, but beomgyu caught on quick, grabbed his arm, and dragged him off with the joint still in his hand. jake barely noticed, his eyes were already back on you. he could feel that edge of nervous energy sitting in his chest.
“you know,” he started, voice little lower than usual, “i’ve been thinking a lot about that test we took.”
you tilted your head, sipping the last of your drink. “oh yeah?”
he let out a quick laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “yeah. like, i’ve always wanted to try some of that stuff with someone, but i never really had anyone to test it out with.”
you snorted, but it wasn’t mean, it was playful. “come on, jake. you’re telling me you’ve had no one to test kinks with? that’s new. that’s not the jake i know.”
he laughed too, shaking his head, stepping just a little closer. “come on, you know that’s not what i mean.”
“how’s it not what you mean?” you asked, raising your brows like you were calling him out. “jake, there are at least ten girls in this house right now that i’ve personally heard say they’d do literally anything you asked. you’ve gotta be more confident.”
“the problem,” he said, this time leaning in slightly, his eyes flicking down to your mouth before back up, “is that i don’t want just anyone.”
you paused, holding his gaze, and your lips tugged into this little smirk. “then be confident and ask the person you actually want.”
you said it so obviously, like you were spelling it out for him, and jake knew you’d already figured it out. you weren’t running from it either, which only made his pulse faster. he forced himself to stay calm, not too flirty, just enough to keep it casual, smug in the only way he knew how to handle this. “look,” he said, “i know this might sound a little out of nowhere, but when i say i’ve been thinking about it, i mean i’ve actually been thinking about it.” you didn’t interrupt, you just watched him, waiting. “and i don’t want it to come off like i’m some fuck boy with weird kinks trying to test them on anyone who’s remotely into the same stuff. that’s not it. but…” he hesitated for just a second, then pushed through, “if you wanted to… if you were down… you could maybe show me the things you’re into sometime. so i can see if i’m into them too.”
he said it steady, without laughing, without looking away, even though inside his stomach was doing flips. you smirked at him, leaning in just enough to make him think that you were about to say something he wanted to hear. “yeah,” you said, dragging it out, “i could try that sometime.”
jake froze for a second, because hearing you actually say that out loud hit him harder than he expected. it had been a long time since he’d felt this type of nervous to hook up with a girl, he wasn’t just anxious but he was also excited, and his brain was already five steps ahead picturing what it would be like. and now you were looking at him with those wide puppy eyes, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t been this gone over someone in a while.
so he leaned in, not even thinking too much about it, just following the way your words had practically given him permission, but right before he got there, you stepped back, smirk still on your face. “sometime”, you corrected, “i didn’t say tonight.”
and then you turned, casually walking off, and jake just stood there, blinking at the back of your head as you went back to the house. he didn’t even know what to do with himself. he could only think one thing: when exactly had he gotten himself this fucked?
after that night, jake couldn’t think about anything else at all. every morning he woke up, the first thought in his brain was basically: when is sometime? it was killing him. his dick was practically on a constant timer, ready to embarrass him at any random moment. he’d see you on campus, just doing normal-ass things, like tying your shoe, talking to someone, sipping your coffee, and then you’d look up, smile at him like you didn’t casually say you might let him try out some kinky shit with you, and instantly his pants got tight. it was torture.
he tried to play it cool, but the truth was his brain was fried. he couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways it could go. you acting like a brat and him finally having an excuse to put you in your place? yeah, he wanted that. you in a collar? he was picturing it. you on all fours, maybe purring at him? his dick didn’t see a problem with it.
the only issue was, he knew there were steps to get there, like he couldn’t just skip straight to “here’s your leash.” but still, he wanted it, and every day it was getting more unbearable. and jake kept replaying it in his head, wondering if you’d been kinkshaming him that night. but no, you didn’t look disgusted. you looked like you enjoyed making him squirm.
so after days of overthinking, he finally just thought, fuck it, i’m texting her.
he stared at his phone for a second, then finally muttered to himself, “fuck it.” jeans went down, dick out, and he just leaned back against the headboard, taking a deep breath. this was the first time he was sexting someone like this, like really trying to push boundaries, and he never imagined he’d get this fucking horny reading messages.
the thought of you was too much. he didn’t even really see your words at first. his eyes were half lidded, mind spinning, imagining you there, acting like you were challenging him to keep control while he was already losing it. your texts were just triggers at that point—he didn’t need them to imagine every little sound, every whine, every little movement you’d make when he told you to behave. his hand moved on its own, faster and harder, and then he felt finally letting go, spilling all over himself, and it hit him how long it had been since he’d actually come like that just from his own hand and a fantasy. it wasn’t some casual fap to random porn. it was you. the idea of you teasing him, bratting him, letting him call you a good girl, and him slowly building you up in his mind.
finally he wiped his hand, leaned back, and looked at his phone again. the last message from you was there:
you: youre jerking off arent you?
you: hope u have fun thinking about me
you: good night jakey 😊
he just froze for a second, grinning like a complete idiot, and then read it again. and again. and again. every time he did, he couldn’t help himself— his hand went back to his dick, and he was off, imagining your voice, your little smirks, the way you’d act bratty and subby and soft all at once. he spent the rest of the night like that, phone beside him, mind completely tangled up in fantasies about you, and every time he looked at those messages he had to jerk off again, like a fucking teenager.
and it kinda turned into a routine before he even realized it. every night, somewhere between brushing his teeth and pretending he was gonna go to bed early, jake ended up texting you. it started light, memes, random shit from his day, but without fail it slid into something else. not always full on sexting, sometimes it was just you pushing him with one-liners that had him hard in minutes. like that one time you just sent:
you: good pets beg nicely, don’t they?
and he actually sat there, cock throbbing in his sweats, typing and deleting five different responses before finally sending something he never thought he’d put in writing.
and yeah, he was screwed. because he did like it, he liked you bratty, needy, whiny. he liked calling you his pet. but the thing that really fucked him up was realizing he’d always end up giving in to you anyway. no matter how much he talked big, if you told him to try something, he’d try it. if you wanted him to push a boundary, he’d push it. he was supposed to be the dom, but half the time he felt like a dog wagging his tail waiting for scraps from you. and yeah, the results saying “switch” were not a surprise at this point.
he even got nerdy about it. he continued reading reddit threads, doing kink tests, scrolling through subs at 3am like he was studying for a final exam (he should be studying for a few, actually). the only problem? he still hadn’t seen you in person. and that was driving him insane.
he could type all the filth in the world, imagine you in a collar, call you his pet until his dick hurt, but at the end of the day you were still just words on a screen. and jake wanted more, he wanted your voice in his ear, your body under his hands, not just a fucking notification making him hard. and the longer it went, the worse it got. he’d go to bed thinking about you, wake up still hard, spend the day waiting for your messages just so he could crash again in that same loop. at some point he realized he was way past curious.
and jake wasn’t even subtle about it. he’d been walking past your dorm for like the third time that week, pretending to be interested in the vending machine in the lobby. he’d already bought a snickers earlier but here he was again, suspiciously pressing buttons like he couldn’t decide between m&ms or kitkat, when the truth was he didn’t give a shit about chocolate. he just wanted to “accidentally” run into you.
and then it happened. you came through the door, head down, digging through your bag for your keys. he froze with a kitkat half dangling from the machine slot, suddenly feeling like he’d been caught doing something illegal. you finally looked up and your face lit up with that same smile you always gave him, like he wasn’t the guy who called you pet and jerked off every night to your bratty texts. he felt that familiar kick in his chest, the one that made him insane because it wasn’t just sexual. sure, you drove him crazy with how much he wanted to fuck you, but there was more. he liked you, like actually liked you, and that was worse somehow. mutt-level disaster, horny as hell but also weirdly in awe every time you looked at him like that.
“what are you doing here?” you asked, eyebrow raised, smile playing like you already knew the answer.
“uh, just grabbing something from the vending machine,” he said, holding up the kitkat like it was evidence. smooth.
you gave a small smirk, clearly not buying it, but you didn’t call him out. instead, you shifted your bag on your shoulder and said, “come on, i need to grab something from my dorm. sunoo is waiting for me at the library”
he followed, trying to act casual even though his brain was on fire. his heart was racing, not just because maybe something could happen, but because he had no idea how to handle actually being around you in real life. so when you opened the door to your dorm, he stepped inside and it was like stepping straight into your head. everything screamed you.
“you want coffee?” you asked, already moving toward your tiny coffee setup.
“i’m good,” he said, hands stuffed in his pockets.
“well, i’m making some anyway. i can’t function without coffee after lunch.”
he leaned against the wall, watching you move around, trying not to think too hard about how bad he wanted something to happen. like, yeah, he could just sit here and drink coffee with you and that’d be fine, but at the same time, every cell in his body was screaming that he wanted more. he was running through a dozen different scenarios in his head, every single one ending with him in your bed.
you sat down on the couch with your coffee, legs crossed, and jake stayed planted against the wall, staring at you. you looked up at him, those doe eyes soft and ridiculous, and asked, “what’s up? you not gonna sit?”
he swallowed, felt his chest flip, and thought, oh my god i’m about to do something dumb, but then he just did it. he dropped to his knees right in front of you, which made you blink, because nobody ever kneeled in front of you unless they were messing around. now you were exactly eye level with him, and that felt like a weird, intense pause. you raised one brow. “what are you doing?”
he gave that stupid smirk he always used when he wanted to sound like he knew what he was doing. “roleplaying,” he said, like it was the most normal explanation in the world.
you laughed, set your mug down on the side table, and then came back to him, serious for a second. “jake… are you sure you want this?”
he blinked, because of course he was sure. “are you kidding? i think i made it pretty obvious.”
you watched him for a beat, like you were checking him out, “i want you to be comfortable testing something you’ve never done before,” you said.
“i’m comfortable,” he answered, eyes locked on yours. “you comfortable?”
you let out a small, low laugh and relaxed against the back of the couch and spread your legs a little so he had room, shifted so your knees were wider, like you trusted him to handle whatever came next. “very,” you said, voice steady, challenge hiding under the calm.
he smiled, the kind that was more confident than he’d felt in weeks, and slid his hand up to rest on your knee, fingers pressing the inside of your thigh as he edged closer. he kept his touch soft at first, like he was checking the water temperature, then moved a little higher, deliberate but not rough, watching you for every little reaction. “you got me down bad for you,” he murmured, a bit proud, but pissed off at how much he wanted you.
you rolled your eyes, amused and dangerous. “then why are you taking so long to take what’s yours?” you teased, voice quiet and sharp.
so the moment he caught your eyes flicking down to his mouth, he decided he wasn’t gonna make this easy for you. in one quick motion he slid his hands behind your thighs, gripped hard, and just picked you up like you weighed nothing. before you could even gasp he’d flipped the whole situation — he was on the couch now, you on his lap, straddling him. you let out this sharp little yelp, more surprise than anything, and the second you realized the position, you went quiet. his hands were holding your thighs tight, his bulge pressed right under you.
“i’ve been dreaming about you sitting on my lap like this,” he said.
“yeah?” you breathed out, lowering your face closer to his, testing him. you shifted your hips just enough to grind against him through the layers of clothes, and that made his fingers dig in, holding you down so you couldn’t keep moving.
“behave, won’t you?” he muttered, his voice flat but loaded.
that made you smirk. “what, jakey? i thought you wanted this,” you whined, tilting your voice into that bratty little tease you knew would get him worked up. and then you were grinding on him again, slower this time, just to push.
his grip on your thighs went rough, firm enough you’d probably see the marks later, and you leaned forward like you weren’t fazed at all. he was smiling now, biting his lip, annoyed and turned on beyond reason. “give me a kiss before i put you in your place,” he said, like it was some casual request, but you both knew it wasn’t.
you were still smirking when you leaned in, noses almost brushing, clearly waiting to see how far you could stretch him before he snapped. jake thought, yeah, this girl is gonna ruin me, but he wasn’t about to let you see that written on his face. he just held you tighter and kept that cocky little grin, watching you lean in with the most torturous pace ever.
and when you did, you kissed him slow, dragging it out like you wanted to prove a point, and he kissed you back like he’d been training for this exact moment, tongue slipping into your mouth like it belonged there. he’d imagined this a hundred times, maybe more, but in reality it was so much better. when you started grinding down on him again, all drawn out and teasing, he caught your lower lip between his teeth, tugged, then went right back in. he didn’t stop until he had to pull away just to breathe, drunk on you, trailing down your jaw with his mouth, nipping and kissing until he got to your neck.
the second he heard that tiny whimper spill out of you, he fucking lost it. his hand came up, not soft, cupping your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to look at him. you smirked at him, and it made him growl out, “you’re so fucking hot.” before you could toss some bratty reply back, he cut you off. “kneel for me.”
you hesitated just a beat, smirking, like you were about to be clever. but then you surprised him, you actually obeyed, slipping off his lap and sinking to the floor in front of him. his chest felt tight watching you like that, hair a little messy, looking up at him from the floor. he leaned forward, spread his legs a little wider, and let out this low laugh. “good girl,” he said, steady. then he added, “hands on your knees. look up at me.” you did it, but with that smirk like you were humoring him, not surrendering. he arched a brow. “what’s with that look?”
“what look?” you asked, voice all fake innocence, eyes wide.
“the one that’s begging me to make you behave,” he shot back. his hand went to your hair, not pulling hard, just testing. you didn’t flinch, you leaned into it. “say please,” he said next.
you tilted your head, lips parting. “please what?”
“don’t play with me,” he warned, squeezing the back of your neck lightly.
you laughed, bratty and breathless. “you don’t even know what you want me to say please for, jakey.”
he groaned, like you were already driving him insane. “jesus christ, you’re a handful.”
you beamed, proud of yourself. “am i not your favorite little handful though?”
he gave a dry laugh, leaning forward, eyes locked on you. “yeah, you are. and you’re gonna regret milking that.” his thumb brushed your lower lip, pressing down just enough to make your mouth part. “open up,” he said. you stuck out your tongue in response, rolling your eyes like you were daring him to do something. “god, you’re such a brat,” he muttered, shaking his head but clearly loving every second. “don’t worry. i’ll train you right.”
jake already knew he was too deep in this to stop now, so when his thumb pressed harder into your lip and you opened wider, he spit right into your mouth without thinking twice. you blinked at him, a little shocked. “swallow it all,” he’d said, and you did, no hesitation. he could see it hit you too, the way your shoulders shifted, that look in your eyes flipping. that was the first time any guy had done that to you, and jake clocked the moment you gave in a little, the brat suddenly turning pliant.
he smirked, dragged his thumb out of your mouth and replaced it with his index finger, pushing against your tongue. “suck.” you did, lips wrapping around it, tongue working slow like you wanted to torture him. he groaned, letting you do it, and then switched it up, making you take his thumb. “good girl. now tell me what you want, pet.”
your eyes flicked up, all teasing again, and you mumbled around his thumb, “it’s hurting, jakey.”
his brain stalled for a second. wow, she’s actually kinky as hell, he thought. he softened, brushing his free hand across your cheek. “what’s hurting, baby?”
you pulled his thumb out just enough to pout at him, voice dripping brat, “i need you so much it hurts.”
that one hit him straight in the gut. he was in awe, just staring at you. “aw, princess,” he said, almost laughing in disbelief. “do you need me to take care of you?” you nodded fast, lips pushing out in a little whine. “but,” he leaned down, pressing his forehead close to yours, “you gotta deserve to be rewarded, you know that, right? will you behave for me?”
your nod was eager this time, quick. “i will, i promise.”
“yeah?” he said, standing up slow, eyes locked on you the whole time while his fingers went to his belt. he tugged it loose, the leather sliding through the loops while he bit his lip. your eyes tracked every movement, wide and hungry, those stupid puppy eyes making him feel feral. but the second you started to lift your hands from your thighs like you wanted to reach for him, he snapped. “uh-uh.” he pointed right at you. “what’d i tell you? hands on your thighs, pet.”
you huffed, clearly annoyed, but put them back exactly where he wanted. “good girl,” he said again, dragging his zipper down nice and slow, making sure you stayed right there, waiting. he tugged his jeans and briefs down in one go, his cock springing free, thick and heavy, and the second your eyes widened he almost lost it. you actually drooled a little, lips parted, and he laughed low, cocky as ever. “yeah, like what you see, huh? big, but you can take it, right baby?”
his hand landed on your head, gentle but firm, fingers threading through your hair. you pouted up at him, whining softly, “i don’t know, jakey.”
he grinned like you’d just said the funniest shit in the world, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “don’t know? c’mon, you’re my good girl. you can take it. i know you can. don’t make me remind you.” and you nodded so fast, eager, like his words flipped some switch inside you. “see? there she is. good girl. now… go slow, pretty. just lick it. like a kitty.” you leaned in, tongue shy at first, just dragging along the tip, and he hissed, hand tightening in your hair. “fuck, yeah… just like that. lap it up for me.”
you licked your way down his shaft, soft little flicks of your tongue, and he was going crazy, eyes screwed shut for a second, trying to hold back. “jesus fuck, look at you. you’re actually licking me like a fucking kitten. do you even know how cute you look right now?”
you hummed against him, pulling back with a wet mouth and whispering, “maybe i just wanna play with you.”
he laughed again, smug but wrecked already, giving your cheek a few pats like he was rewarding you. “play all you want, sweetheart. just remember who owns you now. okay?” your eyes went wide at that, pupils blown, and you nodded, lips pressing back against the base of his cock, licking slow all the way up. he groaned, the sound broken. “fuck, that’s it. my pretty pet, my good little kitty. keep showing me how bad you need it. you’re making your owner so proud.”
jake never pictured himself like this, or saying those things, not with anyone. he’d had his fun before, sure, but the fact that he was seconds away from spilling down your throat from those innocent little eyes alone? yeah, that was new. he was way more down bad than he ever admitted.
so when your tongue started moving faster, when you got bolder, sloppier, sucking him off with that bratty determination like you wanted to prove something, he groaned, hand snapping down to your hair. a sharp tug, a wet pop leaving your lips as his cock slipped free. you looked up at him, eyes wide, bottom lip sticking out in a pout.
“aw, you want more, baby?” he teased, voice ragged, trying to keep control when he was already losing it. you nodded instantly, needy, and his smile widened. “you’re getting it, don’t worry. but for now…” he leaned back on the couch, cock heavy against his stomach, and patted his thigh. “come on, hop on.”
you did exactly that, crawling up into his lap like the little cat he kept calling you, hands pressing into the cushion as you moved, hips hovering just enough that your clothed core brushed his bare cock. the second you started to grind down, though, he didn’t let you have it, he flipped you fast, pressing you down so your cheek met the couch cushion, ass up high for him. “that’s better,” he muttered, sitting under you. the sight alone nearly ruined him, your ass arched perfectly, skirt riding up.
his fingers slid along your thighs before catching on the fabric, tugging at your skirt. “let’s take this off, mhm?” he peeled it down slow, tossing it aside, leaving you in just your panties. he let his palm rest over one cheek, rubbing soft, soothing circles, like he was calming his pet after riling her up too much. “look at you,” he murmured, voice softer now, almost in awe. “all laid out for me. such a good girl.” his hand smoothed over your ass again before giving it a light squeeze. “stay just like this, pet. don’t move unless i tell you to.”
you whined into the cushion, wiggling your hips like you were trying to bait him, and he laughed low, shaking his head. “bratty already? we talked about this, remember? ass up, face down. behave for me, or you’ll wait longer.” his tone was playful, not cruel, but it still made you still, biting down your whines. he leaned in, letting his cock brush lightly against your thigh, teasing. “good. that’s better. see? my sweet pet can listen. and when you listen, you get rewarded.”
his hand drifted down, slow, lazy, like he had all night to play with you. two fingers pressed against the thin fabric of your panties, dragging along the damp spot he already knew he’d find. the second he felt it, he chuckled, low and pleased, rubbing small circles just to hear you react. “aw, you’re soaked right through, baby. that’s so hot.” his tone was teasing.
you whined, pressing your face harder into the couch, your voice muffled but still clear. “only for you.”
that made his cock twitch, he leaned forward, chest almost brushing your back, lips close to your ear. “oh yeah? only for me?” he pressed his fingers harder against the fabric, not slipping inside, just making you squirm. “then tell me, pet. tell me what you want me to do.”
you let out a frustrated sound, trying to grind back against his hand, but he had you pinned with his thigh under your stomach, keeping you in place. “i want your fingers,” you whispered, needy.
“my fingers, huh?” he dragged them along your slit, slow enough to make it torture. “you want me to make you feel good with these?” he brought one up to your lips, letting you see the damp shine of your own arousal. you nodded quickly, pout forming again, and he laughed, patting your ass lightly like he was warning you. “needy little thing. so spoiled. but since you asked so nicely…”
his fingers dipped under the waistband of your panties at last, the fabric dragging down just enough for him to slip inside and find your folds. you moaned loudly and whiny, and he swore under his breath at how wet you were, coating his fingers instantly. “fuck,” he muttered, curling one finger inside you while his other hand smoothed over your hip, keeping you steady. “there we go. my good girl, taking me so easy. stay still for me, pet. let me play with you just like this.”
his fingers started moving faster, curling and dragging in a way that made your whole body jolt against his thigh. you yelped, louder this time, the sound bouncing in the quiet room. jake immediately leaned down, his breath brushing your ear. “quiet, pet. don’t want anyone hearing, do we?” you bit your lip, tried to hold it back, but the next time his fingers pushed deeper, a sharp whimper slipped out anyway. his voice dropped. “i said quiet.”
you tried again, muffling yourself against the couch cushion, but your body betrayed you, another sound ripping through your throat when his pace picked up. and then, suddenly, he pulled his hand away completely. the emptiness made you groan, frustrated, your hips wiggling back in protest. “ill have to punish you now, you know that right?” he said it calm, almost like he was explaining something obvious, but the way his hand smoothed over your ass right after made you shiver.
you tilted your head just enough to glance back at him, pouty and bratty. “maybe i wanted you to stop.”
he raised his brows, amused, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “oh yeah? is that what you’re telling yourself?”
you wiggled again, pushing your hips back against him like you were testing his patience. “maybe i like it better when you’re mad.”
he laughed under his breath, shaking his head, but there was heat in his eyes. “careful, pet. you’re about to get exactly what you’re asking for.”
and then his hand came down. not too hard, but enough to make your body jolt, the sound echoing sharp in the room. you gasped, and then laughed breathlessly, almost taunting. “that all you got, jakey?”
his jaw flexed, and his hand landed again, harder this time, the smack making your skin sting. “you really wanna test me right now?” he let out a low groan, dragging both hands over your ass before landing another quick series of spanks, steady and controlled. each one made your body jerk, and each time you made some sound that only pushed him further. “fuck,” he muttered, “you like this too much.”
his hand smoothed over the warmth he’d left behind, fingers soothing, but then he landed one more sharp smack that made you yelp louder than before. he immediately grabbed your hair, tugging your head back just enough so you couldn’t bury your face anymore. “i wanna hear you beg properly,” he said, his tone firm now, “say you’ll be good for me, and maybe i’ll give you back my fingers. if not…” he squeezed your ass hard, “we’re staying right here until you learn.”
the moment you opened your mouth, ready to fire back with something bratty or maybe even give in and beg, the bell rang. both of you froze, staring at each other wide-eyed.
jake blinked, still holding your hair, then muttered, “i think you were too loud?” but the way he said it wasn’t teasing, wasn’t even part of the game, it was just matter of fact, like he really thought your whines had carried down the hall.
you stared back at him, cheeks flushed, and scoffed. “no, i don’t think so.” and then the bell rang again, even longer this time, and you panicked, scrambling, yelling “i’m coming!” towards the door.
jake almost choked, because his brain short-circuited for a second and he thought, god, i wish she’d say that in a whole other context.
everything after that moved way too fast. one second you were half naked, bent over, bratting about his punishment, the next you were yanking your skirt back up and pulling your shirt down, your hair all messy and your lips swollen from kissing. you grabbed his pants and his wrist and dragged him towards your bedroom. he was stumbling after you, his dick still hard, bouncing against his stomach because he wasn’t even wearing pants anymore, which just made the whole thing ten times more ridiculous.
“stay there, quickly, i’ll be right back,” you hissed at him, shoving him into your room and throwing his pants at him while he caught them in the air.
jake stood there, half dazed, half turned on, thinking this was the most chaotic blue balls situation of his life. his cock was throbbing, his shirt was wrinkled, and he was hiding in a girl’s bedroom like a teenager.
he sat there on the edge of your bed, pantsless, staring at the door and he could hear everything clear as day. suddenly he could hear sunoo’s voice carried through the dorm, cheerful and way too loud for jake’s current situation. “y/n! i was calling you, you didn’t answer. i was waiting for you at the library. i got worried!”
you sounded way too casual for someone who’d just been spread out over the couch whining under jake’s fingers. “oh, sorry, i dozed off. i was so tired.”
there was a pause, then sunoo’s suspicious tone: “why are you red? and your hair looks… what happened?”
you snapped back instantly, “i was sleeping, i told you.”
jake, meanwhile, buried his face in his hands. jesus fucking christ. this was ridiculous. that was his cue, he quickly pulled his boxers back up, then wriggled into his jeans. because as much as his dick hated it, it was way too humiliating to sit there listening in with his bare ass on your sheets.
while he was buttoning up, his eyes wandered. your room was… very you. he noticed sanrio plushies stacked in the corner, a little snoopy mug on the desk with pens sticking out of it, and an actual pink and white gamer setup with a keyboard that lit up like cotton candy. he blinked at that one, he didn’t even know you gamed, but apparently you did, and you did it in the most annoyingly cute way possible. it was distracting, like the whole place was a scrapbook of your personality, and he was sitting there in the middle of it half hard, listening to your best friend interrogate you in the next room.
then he heard you again, your voice a little rushed. “let me just go to my room and fix myself up, i’ll be quick.”
sunoo didn’t sound convinced. “i’ll come with you—”
“no, wait in the living room. were you born glued to me or something?”
“what the—are you crazy?” sunoo shot back, baffled.
“sunoo, let me change alone,” you said, sharper now, but still playful enough to throw him off.
jake had to bite back a laugh, shaking his head. you were juggling this so smoothly, meanwhile he looked like an idiot sitting on your bed, surrounded by stuffed animals, pretending this was normal.
and then the door cracked open and you slipped back in, closing it quickly behind you, leaving sunoo muttering to himself outside. jake was sitting there, finally dressed, looking suspicious. you let out this little laugh, low, like you couldn’t believe how cute he looked sitting there stiff on your bed surrounded by your plushies. he stood up, kind of sheepish, and you just smiled at him like nothing was out of the ordinary, whispering, “im so sorry, i have to go,” with a pout that made you look more like a kid ditching class than someone who just had her ass smacked red ten minutes ago.
he thought you were adorable like that, so he shook his head and said, “it’s okay, i liked distracting you.”
then you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss on his lips. not hot, not horny, not dripping with tension, just a casual kiss. and that’s what fucked him up a bit, because he never did casual kisses like that with anyone.
“i’ll change, leave, and you can stay here, okay? i’ll leave the door open so you can head out whenever. you can even get comfy if you want to, i don’t mind,” you said like you were inviting him to borrow a hoodie or something. easygoing, no stress. he stood there thinking, wow, you really weren’t trying to make him feel embarrassed, even though you could’ve. you could’ve outed him to sunoo in two seconds flat, but you didn’t.
so you turned around, grabbed clothes, changed right there like it was nothing, and then you were gone, chatting back at sunoo.
and jake just sat there on your bed, hands on his knees, staring at the kuromi plush in the corner like it had answers. his dick was still half hard in his jeans, but his brain was louder than his body this time. he thought, holy shit, i just had the kinkiest, freakiest time of my life and somehow my dick never even got inside her once.
after that day, things between you and jake definitely got steamier. he was still jake, pretending he just “happened” to run into you on campus, but really he was timing shit out. he knew your class schedule better than his own. sometimes he’d wait outside one of your lectures and play it off like, “oh hey, didn’t know you had class here,” and then two minutes later he had you pressed against a wall making out. subtle wasn’t his thing anymore.
he started hanging around your friends more too. jungwon, who he already kind of knew, turned into his partner-in-crime somehow. jake was showing up to sit at your table like he belonged there. sunoo kept giving him these looks, like he was three seconds away from calling him out, and jake swore the guy had to know something even though you promised you hadn’t told him a word. it was just the way sunoo looked at him– suspicious as hell.
and the thing was, jake couldn’t really keep his hands off you. you’d be standing in line at the vending machine and he’d pull you aside to kiss you like he hadn’t seen you in a year. in between classes he’d tug you down some hallway and you’d laugh, telling him to chill, but you’d still kiss him back. the parking lot was another story. he kissed you once against your car, his hand already halfway down the back of your jeans, when someone walked by and you had to shove him off, both of you laughing.
the thing is, none of it ever went further than hot kisses and some wandering hands. it wasn’t full-on sex, not yet. and that was what was killing jake slowly. he was losing his mind because you’d give him just enough: enough roleplay, enough teasing, enough touching to keep him hooked, but never the whole thing. every time you whispered something bratty in his ear or let him grab your waist in the middle of campus, he wanted you more. and the more he got, the less satisfied he felt, because it only made him hungrier.
so he came up with this plan. he wanted to make it special, and he couldn’t quite figure out why he cared so much. the timing lined up with jungwon’s birthday, just a small gathering at his place with close friends. jake was invited, obviously, him and jungwon were basically glued at the hip now. so he offered to pick you up.
when you got into his car that night, jake didn’t even wait a beat. you barely closed the door before he leaned over, caught your chin, and kissed you. it wasn’t rushed though, he kissed you slow, deep, like he’d been starving all week. you kissed him back, let him taste you for a second, before pulling away with a laugh. “jake, we’re gonna be late,” you said.
he smirked and said “worth it.” then, just to make your stomach flip, he grabbed your other hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles before starting the engine. jake kept sneaking looks at you, thumb brushing your hand where it rested in his. when you arrived at jungwon’s, jake slipped his hand to your lower back as you both walked inside, guiding you.
the whole night, jake barely left your side. if you went to the kitchen, he was there leaning against the counter, sipping from his cup, making stupid commentary. if you sat down, he took the spot next to you, knee brushing yours. it wasn’t possessive, not even official, but he hovered like a guy on a date, even though neither of you had ever said that word out loud. and the thing was, you let him.
sometimes your friends would tease – sunoo gave you this knowing look across the room at one point – but you brushed it off. the real issue wasn’t what people thought. it was that every time jake leaned in close to whisper something dumb in your ear, every time his fingers brushed against yours under the table, you wanted him so bad it made you dizzy. and judging by the way he kept staring at your mouth all night, he was having the same problem.
when the party ended, he offered you a ride back to your place, and at the elevator going down in jungwon’s building, he already couldn’t hold it. the doors closed, the silence hit, and he cornered you right there, pressing you against the wall before you could even blink. his mouth was on yours, hot and messy, your little whine breaking between the kisses making his head spin. you tugged at his shirt, and he groaned into your mouth like he’d been waiting for this all damn night.
he pulled back just enough to breathe, lips still brushing yours, and whispered, “come to my place, please.” he didn’t even think before saying it. it just spilled out.
you didn’t even hesitate. you just nodded, whispered “okay,” and kissed him again like you couldn’t wait either.
the car ride was a whole other mess. his hand was glued to your thigh, fingers sliding higher and you weren’t doing anything to stop him. he kept smirking at you, leaning close enough to murmur shit like, “you’re so needy, aren’t you?” or “you’ve been teasing me for weeks, baby. you think i’m letting you off easy tonight?” and every time, you’d bite your lip and nod, your bratty side slipping but not disappearing entirely.
by the time he pulled into the driveway, you were both buzzing. he didn’t even bother with slow steps once you got inside. the moment the door shut, he pressed you against it hard, kissing you. one hand held your waist, the other grabbed your wrist and guided it straight to his bulge through his jeans. “see?” he panted against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours. “this is what you do to me.”
and you felt it hard and heavy under your palm, and the way you looked up at him, wide eyed and needy, just about made him lose his mind right there.
he didn’t even give you a second to think. he was now scooping you up, you gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he carried you down the hall like he’d done it a hundred times before. except he hadn’t, and he was going crazy about the fact that it was you in his arms. he kissed you the whole way, sloppy, greedy kisses that landed half on your lips and half on your jaw because he refused to stop even while moving.
by the time he made it to his room, he basically tossed you onto the bed. he climbed on after you, settling between your legs like he was claiming his spot. “open up for me,” he said, and you did, spreading your thighs wide, and the way he looked at you like that nearly made you combust. he grabbed your leg, lifted it, and started kissing up from your ankle, slow and deliberate, leaving wet trails on your skin until he was nipping at your inner thigh.
“i’ve been dying to have you like this,” he murmured against your skin, and then looked up at you, eyes dark, “you’re mine, aren’t you?” you were too far gone to answer, your head falling back, a whimper spilling out instead. that wasn’t enough for him. “answer me, pet,” he demanded, giving your thigh a squeeze.
you nodded desperately, voice breaking as you whispered, “i can’t take it anymore, jakey. i need you.”
he smirked, brushing his lips right where you were the most sensitive but not giving you what you wanted yet. “i got you something,” he said, and just like that, he pulled back.
you blinked up at him, confused and needy, while he turned to his nightstand. he pulled the drawer open and, without much hesitation, pulled out a pair of shiny handcuffs. “oooh,” you laughed, your cheeks heating, but there was excitement in your voice.
the thing was, jake had been planning this longer than he cared to admit. last week, he had walked into the little sex shop near campus and walked out with a small bag of things he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually use. he told himself it was “just in case,” even though deep down he was already picturing you.
the shop itself had been an experience. he walked in like he belonged there, but the second he saw all the shelves stacked with vibrators, butt plugs, leather collars, and some shit he didn’t even know the name of, he nearly turned around. he swore the old lady behind the counter was judging him, even though it was literally her job. jake had grabbed the handcuffs, lingered a little too long in front of the section with leashes and collars, and even picked up a blindfold before chickening out and putting it back.
he paid fast as hell, shoved the bag in his backpack, and prayed no one he knew would walk past the store. and now here he was, finally pulling the cuffs out.
he looked back at you on his bed, all spread out and waiting, and thought, holy shit, i actually bought this for her. i’m really about to do this. “do you want that?” he asked, voice low, holding the cuffs up so they caught the light.
your stomach flipped. you couldn’t stop the bratty little grin curling at your lips, couldn’t stop the way your thighs shifted like you already knew what was coming. “yes,” you whispered, your voice just breathless enough to make his smirk turn sharp.
“fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head like you were too much, “you’re so dirty, aren’t you?”
before you could even think of something smart to throw back at him, he was already climbing over you, grabbing your wrists and snapping the cuffs around them, locking them together above your head. the metal was cool, firm, and you shivered when you felt it click. he spread your thighs wider with a slow push, his hand on your knee like he owned every inch of you.
“stay still, or i’ll punish you,” he said, and it was low, commanding, no room for play in it. you whined, hips already twitching up toward him without your permission. “behave,” he warned, shooting you a look that made you clamp your lips shut, “already told you.”
he reached down, tugged your skirt off, tossing it aside so you were bare under his gaze. he kissed along your inner thigh, slow and messy, lips dragging up your skin, making you squirm even though you tried so hard to stay still like he told you to. when his mouth got close enough to your panties, he pressed his face against the heat of you, inhaling, and you heard him groan low in his throat. “my bunny smells so fucking good,” he muttered, almost like he was drunk on it already.
“your bunny?” you whispered, testing the word, voice shaky.
he smirked against you, looking up through his lashes. “yeah, mine. my pet. my bunny.” something in you melted, and you couldn’t stop yourself from nodding, tugging uselessly at the cuffs. “what does my pet want?” he teased, his voice dropping lower, his lips brushing the fabric of your panties as he spoke. “want me to eat you out, hm?”
you nodded desperately, the words tumbling out of you, “please—jake, please.”
he tilted his head, pretending to think about it, then tapped your thigh. “aw, you deserve it, don’t you? you’ve been so obedient.”
you whimpered, nodding, whispering, “yes, yes, i deserve it, please—”
and then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanked them down in one quick move, tossing them to the floor. “fuck, look at you,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss just above your heat, deliberately avoiding your clit while you squirmed beneath him. “drooling for me already. my perfect little bunny.” you tugged at the cuffs, frustrated, whining his name. he chuckled against your thigh, the sound vibrating through your skin. “patience, baby. i’ll give you what you want when i’m ready.”
and then, finally, he licked a slow stripe up your folds, and your whole body jolted. you moaned, loud and messy, your back arching as his tongue pressed deeper, as he lapped you up like he’d been starving for it. he groaned into you, “that’s it,” he mumbled against you, licking you again and again, “make those pretty noises for me. let everyone know who you belong to.”
his tongue was everywhere, sliding, circling, pressing against your clit just right before pulling away, dragging down to lick into you, greedy and messy. his hands were firm on your thighs, holding them open wide, keeping you spread for him like you had no choice but to take it. you were whimpering, tugging at the cuffs, your chest rising and falling fast. “please, jake—”
he groaned into your pussy, the sound vibrating against you, making your hips jerk. he pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, lips and chin wet. “say it properly, pet. you wanna cum? beg for it.”
your face burned, but the desperation in your voice gave you away. “please let me cum, i need it, i need you, please, please, i’ll be good—”
he laughed low, then pressed his tongue flat against your clit, making your head fall back. “you’re gonna cum when i say, okay, bunny?”
you nodded frantically, whining, “okay, okay, i’ll wait, i’ll wait—”
but your body betrayed you. the way he sucked on your clit, the way he lapped you up like he wanted to drink you dry, it was too much. your thighs shook, your whole body tensed, and then you broke apart, cumming hard into his mouth before he even gave the word. you cried out his name, the cuffs rattling above your head as you tried to ground yourself, and he didn’t stop. he kept licking, messier now, tongue fucking you while you were still trembling, overstimulated, every nerve raw. you tried to squirm away, but his grip was too strong, holding your thighs wide open, his mouth still working you like you were his.
when he finally pulled back, his lips shiny, his breathing heavy, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then crawled up over you. his hand caught your chin, firm and unyielding, forcing your face up to look at him. “did you just cum without my permission?” he asked, his voice dark, his eyes locked on yours.
you bit your lip, trying not to smile, bratty even with your chest heaving. “yeah, what you gonna do?”
his grip on your chin tightened just a little, his smirk sharp, dangerous. “you’re about to fucking find out, bitch.”
the word made your eyes widen, a flash of surprise mixed with the way your stomach twisted with heat. he saw it, of course he did, and it only made his grin curl wider. without saying anything else, he freed you from the cuffs, and then he reached over to his drawer again, sliding it open, and soon after you felt him turn you over, pressing you chest down into the mattress. his hand slid along the back of your neck as he fastened something firm around your throat. a collar.
“if you wanna act like my bitch,” he muttered close to your ear, tugging on it once to test the fit, “maybe i’ll just put a leash on you.” your body shivered at the sound of it, and you let out a whine muffled against the sheets. he gave you a second to breathe before pushing off the bed, standing tall. “get off the bed,” he ordered, his voice steady but sharp. “kneel on the floor. hands on your thighs. like i taught you.”
you moved quickly, scrambling off the mattress, and the second your knees hit the floor, you dropped into position, head slightly bowed, palms flat against your thighs. you felt the weight of the collar with every breath, heavy, real. jake sat back on the edge of the bed, legs spread just enough, elbows resting loosely on his knees. he looked down at you for a long moment, letting the silence sit, letting you squirm under his gaze. then his hand came out, patting the top of your head like he was rewarding a pet.
“you look so fucking pretty in a collar,” he said, his tone low, rough. “acting so obedient now. not so bratty anymore, huh?” your lips parted, but you stayed quiet, because you knew better now. he leaned back a little, watching you stay perfectly still on your knees in front of him. the collar sat snug on your neck, and he let his fingers trace over it like he was reminding you who put it there.
“good girl,” he said slowly, almost teasing. “but let’s see if you actually learned something.” his hand came down, tilting your chin up so you were forced to meet his eyes. “you want me to let you touch me?”
“yes, please,” you whispered immediately, your voice shaky but eager.
he smirked, clearly satisfied with that, but still not giving in. instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your face. “tell me what you are.”
your eyes flickered, nervous but turned on. “i’m your pet.”
his grin stretched wide. “and what does my pet want right now?”
your body squirmed as you shifted on your knees, thighs pressing together, heat pooling low. “i want to please you.”
“hm,” he hummed, tilting his head. “you want my cock in your mouth, don’t you?”
“mhm, yes, so bad.” you said whiny.
he raised a brow, clearly enjoying dragging it out. “why should i let you?”
you whined, the sound spilling out without you meaning to, and he chuckled low. “please, jake… i’ll be good, i promise.”
he leaned forward again, his lips brushing against your ear. “beg properly, pet.”
your hands clenched against your thighs, nails digging into your skin as you whispered quickly, desperate, “please let me suck your cock, i need it, i’ll be good, i’ll do it how you like, just please.”
he smirked like he’d been waiting for that exact moment, thumb dragging over your bottom lip again before pulling his hand away completely. “open my pants.” your hands shot forward instantly, fumbling just a little with the button and zipper, pulling them down slowly, careful, like you knew he was watching your every move. he shifted his hips up to help, letting you slide the fabric down enough, and when his cock sprang free, thick and already hard, he grabbed the back of your head, forcing you to look at it.
“there it is,” he muttered, his tone sharp. “the thing you’ve been begging for.” you licked your lips, eyes wide, but you stayed frozen until he gave the word. he smirked again, tugging your hair gently. “go on, pet. show me how good you can be.”
you started slow, almost too slow, your lips brushing against the tip first, tongue flicking against the slit while your hand wrapped around the base. jake groaned right away, his head tipping back as his fingers tightened in your hair. “fuck… you’re really gonna tease me now?” his voice was low, almost strained, but you didn’t speed up. you flattened your tongue along the underside and dragged it down, taking your time, making him twitch against your lips.
you slowly pushed him deeper into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, but still holding back, pulling off every few seconds just to lick around his head again. drool was already starting to wet your chin, and the sight made him groan even louder. “shit… look at you. on your knees, drooling for me.” he tugged harder on your hair, guiding you back down, and you let him.
he held you there, watching you take him slow, your throat stretching around him as you gagged softly, eyes watering a little. that sound made him grit his teeth. “fuck, you like this, don’t you?” he muttered, his voice harsh now. “mhm? you like choking on my cock like a good little bitch?”
you moaned around him, the vibrations sending a shiver through his body. he pulled you off suddenly, saliva dripping from your lips, and forced you to look at him. “answer me,” he demanded, his grip unrelenting.
you gasped, your voice weak but clear. “yes, yes! i like it.”
he smirked, his thumb smearing your spit over your lips. “damn… you like the whole thing, don’t you? degradation too?”
before you could answer, he pushed you back down, this time not letting you go at your own pace. he thrusted up into your mouth, using your head like a handle, fucking your throat without mercy. your gagging filled the room, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gasped for breath between strokes. “that’s it, baby,” he groaned, his hips snapping up harder, faster. “take it. take it all like the dumb little slut you are.”
you clawed at his thighs, not to push him away but to hold on, and he laughed breathlessly. “jesus christ, you’re sick for this. my obedient pet one second, my dirty slut the next. fuck, i’m never letting you go.” he shoved himself deeper, until your nose pressed against his skin, and held you there, watching your throat work around him. you gagged, choked, saliva spilling everywhere, but you didn’t fight it, you let him use you, collar tight against your neck, and it drove him fucking insane.
he drove himself until he lost it, groaning your name as he came, and the warm, filthy flood hit the back of your throat. you gagged around him, eyes wide, stomach tightening as his hips convulsed, and when he finally slowed and stilled you swallowed reflexively, shaking, tasting him on your tongue.
he watched you the whole time, chest heaving, and then he pulled out. you were breathing hard, cheeks flushed. he scooped you up with this sudden tenderness that almost felt comical after the roughness, picked you up like you were light as a feather and carried you back to the bed.
you lay there as he settled down beside you, and his hands were all soft now. he kissed your face like he was making up for everything, trailing from your mouth down to your collarbone, lingering, then along your arm to your hand where he actually sucked on your fingers for a beat, ridiculous and sweet and wildly out of sync with what he’d been doing minutes before.
“my baby did so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice full of something that wasn’t only lust. “you treated me so well.”
you were breathless and whining, voice small and needy. he smiled into your neck, tasting you again, and you felt both stupid and right to be lost in the softness after the dirty stuff. his praise kept coming, until, in a quick motion that made your heart jump, he shifted behind you so your back pressed into his chest. he folded you into him, one arm wrapping under your ribs, the other finding your legs and holding them open wide.
“i’m gonna reward you now, okay?” he said into your hair, voice steady. “i feel bad for being mean to my bunny.” there was a teasing edge but also actual warmth. you could feel him hard against the small of your back, steady.
he cupped your thighs, fingers warm, and brushed a palm over your slick where he’d made you come earlier, slow, deliberate. you squirmed, he kissed the back of your ear, then whispered, “do you want my fingers again? or do you want me inside you?”
you looked back over your shoulder, eyes bright, tiny smirk slipping through the haze. “i want you,” you breathed.
he hummed, pleased, and his hand slid between your legs, fingers parting you easily. he started with one finger, slow, pressing in and curling gently, testing, then adding a second as you moaned into his shirt. his thumb found your clit, rubbing in easy circles while his fingers worked inside you, a steady, confident rhythm that built you back up from the edges. “that’s it,” he praised, low and rough. “such a good girl. take it for me.”
you were trembling, the combination of his fingers and the proximity of his cock against your back making everything too much. you whined, hips rocking, chasing more, and he laughed softly, biting at your shoulder. “you make the dumbest little noises when i touch you. it’s almost embarrassing how much you need me.”
his thumb pressed harder, fingers curling deep, and your whole body shook, forehead falling against his shoulders. he kissed the back of your neck, lips dragging over the collar around your throat, his breath hot against your skin. then his voice dropped darker, meaner, right in your ear. “do you want my cock inside you, hm?” you whined and nodded, and his fingers slowed, teasing, holding you on edge. “ask me nicely, pet.”
you squirmed, chest heaving, and finally whispered, “please, jake, i want it. i want your cock, please–”
he groaned low, his grip tightening on your waist. “that’s my girl. begging so sweet.” he lifted you up just a little, enough to line himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance. he didn’t push in right away. instead, he held you there, rubbing himself through your folds, letting you feel how hard he was. “feel that? all yours if you behave.” you whined and tried to sink down, but his hands stopped you. he breathed against your ear again. “slow. i’m gonna make you take it slow.”
inch by inch, he guided you down onto him, your body stretching around him, every second dragging out. he held your hips steady, forcing you to feel every bit of him sliding in. your moans filled the room, shaky and raw, and he kissed the side of your neck, whispering, “good girl. you’re doing so good for me.”
he bottomed out finally, keeping you still, cock buried deep inside you while his arm locked you in place. his lips pressed to your collar, then your ear. “stay right here. don’t move. let me feel you.”
you could feel the way his chest rose sharp against your back, the way he was fighting to breathe steady. his forehead dropped to your shoulder, and for a moment he didn’t move at all, just holding you there, stuffed full, his heavy cock twitching inside you. “fuck,” he groaned, low and broken, like he’d been waiting forever for this. his hand dragged down your thigh, squeezing tight. “you don’t know how long i wanted this. how bad.” his hips shifted just a little, not even pulling out, just grinding deeper into you, chasing more of your heat.
when he finally started to move, it was slow, dragging himself out a few inches and sliding back in just as carefully. the stretch made both of you gasp. he kissed your shoulder, your neck, muttering, “fuck, you feel perfect. so tight.” his thighs shifted under you, his body adjusting. he pressed his feet into the mattress, grounding himself, and the new leverage let him sink back in harder. the bed creaked with the movement, his grip on your waist tightening.
his thrusts picked up, still controlled but deeper, faster, each one hitting with more force. the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, his breath rough in your ear. his rhythm built steady, more sure with every thrust, the need he’d been holding back finally breaking through as he fucked into you from below, hips snapping up against you.
“that’s it,” he growled against your ear, voice ragged. “take it. take my cock, pet. bounce on it.” his free hand slid down your front, fingers finding your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make you jolt. you whined, back arching into his chest, and he laughed low, mean but so turned on. “look at you– you love when i rub your clit while i fuck you stupid, don’t you?”
your answer came out broken, just a mess of yes and please, and he rewarded you by pressing harder, rubbing tight circles while still driving his cock into you rough and deep. “good girl,” he panted, his lips brushing the side of your neck, wet from his kisses. “you’re mine. my sweet bunny, taking me so well.”
he slowed just enough to shift you, his hands sliding down your sides as he pulled out of you. you were still shaking when he turned you around, moving you onto his lap so you were straddling him, knees on either side of his hips. his cock brushed against you, wet and hot, as he guided you down onto him again, inch by inch, until you were seated fully, face to face.
his eyes locked with yours, dark and heavy. “that’s better,” he murmured, breathless. “i want to see you while you ride me.” he grabbed your hips, steadying you, then started rolling them forward, showing you the rhythm he wanted. “move, puppy,” he said quietly, voice rough. “show me how you ride.”
you began to move, slow at first, your hands pressed to his chest. his palms slid up your sides, then cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened under his touch. he squeezed, played, tugged gently, making you moan. “look at my pretty pet,” he said, fingers teasing your nipples while his hips pushed up into you. “bouncing on my cock so good. does it feel good, pup?”
you whined in answer, head tipping back, and he reached up and caught the collar at your throat, fingers curling in the strap to pull you back down until your faces were inches apart. “closer,” he ordered. “right here. eyes on me, baby.”
his grip on the collar held you steady as you rode him, your breasts moving in his hands. he pinched your nipples again, rolling them between his fingers while he thrust up into you, forcing another whimper from your throat. your nails dug into his shoulders as you tried to move on him, the stretch making your breath come out in shaky little sounds. your forehead dropped to his, eyes squeezed shut.
“jake–-” you whispered, voice breaking. “it’s too much. you’re too big…”
his smirk flickered, a small groan in his chest as he pulled a little on your collar to make you look at him. “aww,” he said, low. “but you can take it, can’t you? slow down, baby. don’t run from it. let it in.”
you nodded, trembling, and started to roll your hips slower, dragging yourself up and down his length inch by inch. the shift made it even deeper, and you gasped, biting your lip. jake leaned back, eyes fixed on you, and put both hands behind his head, elbows out, like he was watching a show. his cock twitched inside you as you tried to keep the rhythm, struggling a little at how full you felt.
he let out a quiet, cruel laugh. “can’t even take all of it without whining. you love it, though. you love how big i am.” you whimpered, hips moving slower, trying to adjust, and he tilted his head, smirk growing wider. “that’s right. ride it nice and slow. so tight around me. so small. look at you struggling on my cock like that, fuck, so hot—”
you slowed down on purpose, hips rolling even slower than before, your hands pressing against his chest like you were testing him. your eyes caught his as you bit your lip, that bratty look on your face making him groan. he tugged at the collar just enough to make you jolt. “don’t play with me, pup.” his voice was low, sharp. “you think i won’t punish you?”
you tilted your head and moved even slower, your nails dragging down his stomach. “maybe i want you to.” your voice was soft, teasing, a little whine under it.
his jaw flexed. “oh, you want to act up?” he sat up, one hand gripping your hip tight. “you’re just begging for it, aren’t you.” he pulled the collar again, making you lean closer to his face. “say it. say you want me to punish you.”
you let out a small sound and whispered, “i want it.”
he smirked. “good.” with a quick motion he flipped you off his lap and onto the bed, stomach down. his palm pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you down while he shifted behind you. “hands and knees. now.” you scrambled to obey, getting on all fours, the collar still around your neck, your hair falling into your face. his hand slid down your back and squeezed your ass. “stay like that. don’t move until i tell you.”
you were already whining softly, arching a little. “look at you,” he said, voice darker now. “do you want me to punish you for real?” you nodded, still on your hands and knees. “say it.”
“i want you to punish me.”
his palm landed on your ass in a sharp smack, not too hard but enough to make you gasp. “that’s what i thought.” his other hand slid between your thighs, fingers teasing just close enough to where you wanted him but not touching. “my little bunny likes acting up so she can get punished, huh?”
“yes—” you whispered, squirming under him.
“then stay still.” he pressed himself against you, his cock sliding along your folds but not pushing in yet, just rubbing enough to make you moan. “this is what happens when you’re bratty, pup. you get teased until you’re dripping. you want it now? want me to fuck you like this?”
“please,” you whined, pushing back a little.
he grabbed your hips hard. “ask properly.”
“please fuck me, please punish me,” you said, voice breaking.
he chuckled, low and rough. “good girl. now you’re talking.” he gave another slow thrust against you, still not entering, his fingers circling your clit. “tell me what you are.”
“i’m your pet,” you gasped.
“louder.”
“i’m your pet!”
he groaned at the sound, leaning down to speak right into your ear. “fuck yeah you are” his hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he lined himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against you but still waiting, making you squirm even more. his smirk was audible in his voice. “now i’m gonna show you what happens when you’re bratty, pet.”
he slid forward suddenly, both hands gripping your hips hard enough to make you gasp. before you could whine another word he pushed your face down into the mattress, palm on the back of your head, making you arch with your ass up and your cheek pressed to the sheets. “this is where you belong when you’re acting like a brat,” he growled. “face down, ass up.” his other hand came down on your ass again, sharper this time, making you let out a choked moan.
you tried to lift your head but his palm kept you there. “stay down. don’t look at me. pets don’t look at their owner unless they’re told to.”
“fuckk—” you whimpered, voice muffled by the sheets.
he slammed the rest of the way in with one rough thrust, making you cry out against the mattress. “that’s it. take it. you’re just a little bunny for me to fuck, aren’t you?”
“yes—”
he started moving, rough thrusts, his hips slamming into you while his fingers dug into your skin. “fuck, listen to you,” he snarled between breaths. “whining like a toy. you like when i use you like this? you like being my bitch?” he gave another sharp slap to your ass, then slid his hand up to grab your hair, yanking your head back just enough to hear you gasp. “say it.”
“i like being your bitch—”
he groaned and slammed into you harder, his cock hitting deep, his hand still tangled in your hair, and his thrusts picked up pace, rough and unrelenting, his free hand sliding between your legs to circle your clit while he fucked you from behind. “you’re gonna cum when i tell you. until then you’re just a hole for me to use, you understand?” you whimpered something incoherent and he smirked, fingers still working your clit. “what? can’t even talk now? my little pet’s gone all dumb on my cock?”
“yes—” you managed to gasp, hips trembling.
he chuckled darkly and slid his other over until his thumb pressed against your asshole. he didn’t push, just rubbed in slow circles while still thrusting into you. the sound you made was almost a squeak. your hips jerked and he felt it immediately. he pushed a little harder with his thumb, still circling, testing. “ohhh,” he said low, voice heavy with amusement, “you like that too, huh?”
you buried your face in the sheets and nodded. “fucking dirty little puppy,” he growled, pressing his thumb a little deeper, then pulling back to circle again. “getting wet while i play with your ass. you’re so fucking filthy. is that what you want? you want me to fuck your ass too?”
“yes, fuck, jake—” you said again, voice high and shaking.
he leaned down, lips brushing your ear, thumb pressing just a bit harder. “fuck, you’re unreal. begging for more when you’re already full.” you whimpered again, hips pushing back against him without thinking. “tell me how bad you want it,” he ordered, his cock sliding slow inside you while his thumb teased your ass. “tell me you’re my dirty bunny and you want me to take you wherever i want.”
you gasped, “i want you to take me—please—”
“not enough,” he said, thrusting a little harder, his thumb pressing a little deeper. “say exactly what you want.”
“please use me, please fuck me—”
he smirked against your ear. “use you where?”
“fuck my pussy—please—”
“and?” he pressed.
“play with my ass—please—”
his laugh was low and sharp. “you’re fucking unreal.” his thrusts got faster, the sound of your skin slapping together filling the room. his thumb slipped just inside your ass now, shallow, teasing, while his cock filled you completely.
“oh fuck—” you cried out, your voice cracking.
he pulled your head up by your hair, forcing you to arch your back. “look at you,” he muttered, “fucking begging to be filled from both sides. you’re my dirty little bunny, aren’t you?”
“yes,” you whined, “i’m your bunny, please—”
“what do you want now?”
“i want to cum,” you begged, voice shaking. “please, i need to—”
he slowed down, almost stopped, his thumb still moving at your ass. “you’re gonna cum when i say, pet. got it?”
“please,” you cried, hips trembling, “please let me—”
he leaned down to your ear, still holding your hair tight. “ask me right. say you want your owner to let you cum.”
you gasped, “please let me cum, please, please—”
his cock slammed into you again, hard enough to make you cry out. “again.”
“please let me cum,” you sobbed, “please let me cum—”
he finally lost it, his thumb pressing deeper, his cock pounding into you rough. “fuck, you’re so fucking perfect—cum. now. do it.”
you broke with a loud moan, your whole body shaking as you came around him, clenching so hard he had to grip your hips to hold you steady. he didn’t slow down, his thrusts got even rougher while you were still coming. his voice dropped low, almost a growl. “you like this, bunny? you want me to fill you too? want me to pump you full?”
you whimpered a weak “yes—” still trembling.
“say it right,” he said, still thrusting. “say you want me to breed you.”
“i want you to breed me,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “please fill me—”
he bit your shoulder lightly, his thumb still at your ass, his cock slamming into you harder and faster. “fuck—” he groaned, “keep saying it.”
“please breed me, please fill me up, i’m your puppy, please—”
he lost whatever control he had left. his hips snapped hard, one final thrust burying him deep inside you, his breath coming out as a rough moan. “fuck—” he hissed, his cock pulsing as he spilled into you, still grinding against you to push it deeper. he stayed there, pressed against your back, his hand still on your hair, his thumb still teasing your ass while he twitched inside you, panting against your ear. “good fucking girl,” he muttered, voice hoarse.
you were still shaking, whimpering quietly, your body soft under him. he kissed your shoulder once, still holding you there, still buried inside you. “you’re mine now,” he said, low. “so fuckingperfect.”
he stayed there for a while, and kissed the back of your neck, gently, slightly sliding off after a moment. he took off your collar while he still kissed your neck, and both of you went quiet, just breathing. it wasn’t heavy or awkward, it just felt like everything around had slowed down, just quiet in a way that felt right. jake moved first, reaching down to grab the sheet that had ended up at the foot of the bed at some point. he pulled it over you and ran his hand down your arm once, probably making sure you were okay without actually asking out loud yet.
you didn't say anything, just turned your head a little with your eyes half closed. he sat up and reached for his water bottle on the nightstand, the one he always kept there, and handed it to you without a word. you took a few sips and smiled at him, the kind of small tired smile that doesn't need explanation.
he was still catching his breath a little, looking at you like he was trying to process the last hour. it was one of those moments where he seemed caught between wanting to laugh at himself or just stare at the ceiling and think about his life choices. he let out a breath and said, "you good?" you nodded, and for a second neither of you moved or said anything. then he laughed, quiet and almost to himself. "i can't believe i get to do this with you."
you looked at him, a bit confused at first, then smiled. "what, the freaky stuff?"
"no," he said, shaking his head but still smiling. "i mean yeah, that too obviously. but i'm talking about all of it. i never thought i'd actually find someone who'd let me figure shit out without making it this whole weird thing, you know?"
you laughed and turned on your side to face him properly. "jake, we already did enough weird shit to last you the entire semester. i think you've figured plenty out."
"yeah i know," he said, laughing too. "but i'm being serious right now. you make it easy. i didn't know that was even possible with this stuff."
you grinned, half teasing him because that's just how you two worked. "you're getting all emotional on me now."
he grabbed a pillow and threw it at you playfully, and you caught it against your chest while laughing. "shut up," he said. "i'm trying to have a moment here."
"you're doing great," you said, your voice still light but a little softer.
he smiled for real then, the kind of smile that takes over his whole face even when he's trying to play it cool. he leaned over and kissed your forehead, staying there for a second with his hand resting on your side. "just tell me if anything ever gets too much, alright? like anything at all. i don't want to fuck this up."
you nodded, and there was a pause before you said, "you won't. i'd tell you if something was wrong."
that seemed to settle something in him. he laid back down, one arm behind his head and the other still draped over you. the room was quiet except for the sound of the sheets whenever either of you shifted around. you laughed out of nowhere, and he turned his head to look at you with his eyebrows drawn together like he was trying to figure out what was funny. "what?"
"nothing," you said, still smiling. "you just look like you're overthinking again."
he ran a hand through his hair and sighed, then looked back at you. "yeah, i was just thinking about something. i don't ever want to be too rough with you or whatever."
you blinked, a little surprised he was bringing that up now, then smiled. "jake, it's fine. i like it. you know i like it."
“yeah, i know,” he said quickly, his thumb brushing your arm while he talked. “but i don’t want you to think that’s all this is. that i just want that.”
you turned your head toward him, eyes narrowing slightly. “it’s not?”
he frowned, confused that you even had to ask. “no, of course not.”
you stared at him for a second, quiet, and it was the kind of silence where you both realized you might not have been on the same page about this whole thing. he kept tracing these light patterns on your shoulder with his fingers and said, "i mean yeah, i wanted to try stuff and experiment or whatever. but i don't want you thinking i'm just using you for it. that's not what's happening here." you looked down for a second, feeling a little embarrassed but also not really knowing what to say to that. he reached up and tilted your chin with his hand so you'd look at him again. "you know i could hook up with literally anyone else if it was just about trying shit out, right?"
you rolled your eyes and laughed. "okay yeah, i get it. you're very popular and desired."
he smiled but shook his head. "that's not what i'm trying to say."
you laughed again, softer this time and less defensive. "i know."
he watched your face for a moment and said quietly, "do you want to talk about it?"
"only if you want to talk about it," you said, your voice smaller but honest.
and then neither of you said anything for a full minute. it was funny in that awkward sort of normal way, like both of you knew this was one of those conversations that could get too serious too fast, and you were just tiptoeing around it. he started messing with the edge of the sheet and you started tracing random shapes on his arm with your finger, both of you obviously thinking about the exact same thing but pretending to be casual about it.
here's the thing though: jake had started catching feelings for you at some point, it just happened. it wasn't just about the sex anymore, and honestly it maybe never was from the start. he liked that you didn't treat him like he was this thing people whispered about at parties or like he was someone's weird project. you just looked at him like he was a regular person trying to figure himself out, not like he was some reputation that walked around campus. you made him feel like it was okay to be curious and mess up and not have everything figured out right away.
he looked at you again and said, "you okay?" and you nodded, smiling just a little, like you both understood that things were different now but neither of you wanted to ruin the moment by saying too much too soon. he leaned in and kissed your forehead again, even softer this time, and you laughed under your breath.
so you ended up staying there the whole next day. it wasn't really planned or discussed, you both just didn't mention leaving and it made sense to stay. he tossed you one of his shirts when you went to take a shower, this soft worn out one he always slept in, and he grinned like an idiot when you came out wearing it like it was the most normal thing in the world.
you ordered food later because neither of you felt like cooking anything, and he made this whole big production out of picking a place even though he always ended up choosing the same korean spot every time. he let you take the last dumpling and then spent ten minutes complaining about it just to keep the joke going. by the time it got dark outside, there was still some movie playing in the background that neither of you were really watching, and you'd ended up half asleep on his chest while he scrolled through his phone with one hand and rubbed these slow circles on your arm with the other.
it was all very normal and kind of domestic, which was weird because this was jake, the guy who never really stuck around with anyone for more than a night or two. but there he was, asking if you wanted water every twenty minutes and telling you to stop thanking him so much for every little thing.
heeseung and sunghoon had gone out that night, which honestly made everything easier. jake mentioned they'd probably get back late, and they did. you heard the front door open at some point but by then you were already half asleep in his bed with his arm around you, both of you pretending not to hear them trying and failing to whisper in the hallway.
the next morning though, that's when it got funny. you woke up first and stole one of jake's hoodies because the place was freezing, then went to make coffee in the kitchen. sunghoon walked in first with his hair going everywhere and his eyes barely open, and he just stood there for a second staring at you like his brain was buffering.
"morning," you said, trying to act completely normal while pouring coffee into a mug.
he blinked a few times, pointed at the hoodie you were wearing, and said, "is that jake's?"
before you could even answer, jake walked in behind him, yawning and scratching the back of his neck. "yeah, what about it?"
sunghoon just started laughing, but it was that disbelieving kind of laugh. "nothing man, just wow. didn't think i'd ever see this day actually happen."
later that day you headed back to your place, jake drove you back. he kissed you before you got out of his car, one of those slow ones that made you both smile after, and then when you got inside your dorm, he stood there in the parking lot like an idiot, watching you get in.
the thing was, after that morning, jake couldn't get you out of his head. and not just in the way he'd been thinking about you before, when it was mostly about wanting to try things or wondering what you'd be like. now it was different, now it was everything.
he'd be sitting in class, supposedly paying attention to some lecture about marketing strategies or whatever, and instead he'd be thinking about the way you'd smiled at him that morning when you handed him his coffee. or he'd be at the gym with sunghoon, mid set, and suddenly he'd remember the way you laughed when he made some dumb joke, and he'd lose count of his reps. he'd remember your moans, then he had to immediately shut that thought away because he didn't want to get hard in front of his gym bro.
"dude, you good?" sunghoon asked him one afternoon, watching jake stare at his phone for the third time in ten minutes.
"yeah, why?"
"you've been weird all week," sunghoon said, setting down his weights. "you keep smiling at your phone like a psycho."
jake shoved his phone in his pocket. "i'm not smiling."
"you literally were just smiling."
"shut up."
but sunghoon wasn't wrong. jake was down bad, and he knew it. the problem was he didn't know what to do about it. you two hadn't really talked about what you were doing, if this was just experimenting or if it was more than that. and jake, who usually never cared about labels or definitions, suddenly found himself wanting to know.
he thought about texting you constantly. not even anything important, just random shit like "what are you doing" or "did you eat today" but he didn't want to seem clingy. except he kind of was being clingy, because every time his phone buzzed he hoped it was you, and when it wasn't, he felt weirdly disappointed.
it got worse at night. he'd lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, and his brain would just replay everything. the way you looked in his hoodie, the way you fit perfectly under his arm, the way you'd kissed him goodbye. and yeah, of course he thought about the freaky sex too, but it wasn't just that anymore. he wanted to wake up next to you again, wanted to make you coffee, wanted to hear you laugh at his stupid jokes.
"i think i'm fucked," he said out loud to his empty room one night, and then laughed at himself because yeah, he definitely was.
by thursday, he'd seen you twice on campus. once you were walking with chaewon and you'd waved at him, that bright smile that made his chest feel tight, and he'd waved back trying to act normal. the second time you were sitting in the library and he'd sat down next to you without asking, and you'd just looked up, smiled, and went back to your laptop like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"you're distracting me," you'd said after a while, not looking up.
"i'm not doing anything."
"you're breathing loud."
he'd laughed, quiet so he wouldn't get shushed by the librarian. "sorry, i'll stop breathing."
you'd looked at him then, that little smirk on your face. "don't be dramatic." and he'd stayed there for an hour, pretending to study but really just sitting next to you, and when you finally packed up your stuff, he'd walked you to your next class even though his was in the opposite direction.
friday night, the guys wanted to go to some party, but jake wasn't really feeling it. he was lying on his bed, scrolling through unhinged instagram reels, when heeseung knocked on his door. "you coming or what?"
"nah, i'm tired."
heeseung raised an eyebrow. "you? tired of a party? since when?"
"since now."
"does this have anything to do with y/n?"
jake looked up at him. "what about her?"
heeseung grinned. "nothing. just seems like you've been in your head a lot lately." he paused, then added, "she's cool, by the way. i like her."
"yeah," jake said, looking back at his phone. "me too."
"then maybe stop being weird about it and just tell her that."
after heeseung left, jake stared at his phone for a solid five minutes before finally opening your messages.
[jake]: you doing anything tonight
you answered almost immediately.
[you]: was gonna watch a movie probably why
[jake]: can i come over
[you]: sure :))
so the thing is, jake wasn’t planning anything when he texted you. like, actually nothing. he just wanted to see you, sit around, maybe talk, maybe not. that was it. except, obviously, his brain didn’t get the memo. because the second you said “sure :)” he was already pacing around his room like an idiot, thinking about what shirt to wear, and then laughing at himself because why the hell did it matter what shirt he wore if this wasn’t a date.
he kept telling himself it wasn’t like that – that he wasn’t going over to hook up or whatever. so there he was, caught somewhere between i just wanna hang out and oh god what if i end up wrapping a collar on her neck again, and honestly, it was ridiculous.
the problem was, jake had never really done this before. not the whole “liking someone” thing, at least not in a way that made him feel this normal, it was messing him up. his chest hurt sometimes, but in a good way, and it annoyed him how much he liked it. he wasn’t used to missing people. usually, when things ended, they ended. easy. but with you, it was different. he was basically down bad and self aware enough to hate it.
he couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. gone to see someone just to be around them. it had been years, maybe never. he wanted to be near you, which felt ridiculous for someone who used to brag about never catching feelings.
somewhere between grabbing his keys and pulling on his hoodie, he had this thought that made him stop and laugh. maybe this was his actual kink. not any of the stuff he'd spent hours googling at three in the morning or reading about on reddit. his real kink was apparently just wanting to spend time with you. no expectations, no plan, just you existing in the same room as him. which was possibly the lamest thing he'd ever admitted to himself, but also kind of true.
and for jake, that was kind of terrifying. because yeah, he’d done a lot of freaky things, but this? catching feelings? this was new level freaky. he had no idea what the next step was. he didn’t know how to play it cool, didn’t know what it meant if he just wanted to hang out, didn’t even know if you felt the same. all he knew was that when you said sure :) he felt something warm in his chest that no amount of hookups ever gave him.
so he got in his car, sat there for a second with his hands on the steering wheel, and said, “this is so stupid,” before driving anyway. because no matter how dumb he felt, he knew he’d rather feel dumb next to you than cool anywhere else.
when jake showed up at your dorm, he didn’t really know what he was expecting. maybe he thought you’d tease him for getting there so fast, or that you’d joke about him being obsessed, which, honestly, wouldn’t have been wrong. but when you opened the door, hair a little messy, wearing some oversized hoodie and cute kuromi socks, he just smiled. it was automatic, the kind of smile that happened before he could even think about it.
you went back to the couch and sat down, pulling your legs under you, while he hovered for a second like he didn’t know where to sit. then he just dropped next to you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “so,” you said, turning toward him. “did you come here for a reason?”
he looked at you for a second before answering. “i just wanted to see you.”
you raised your eyebrows, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “that’s it?”
“yeah,” he said, and that was the truth. he shrugged a little, but his hand found your thigh without even thinking, resting there gently like it belonged. “that’s it.”
you didn’t say anything right away, but your smile softened. you leaned back into the couch, and he followed your movement like gravity. it wasn’t even about anything physical; he just couldn’t help it. his arm went around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer. it was clingy, yeah, but he wasn’t trying to hide it.
you picked up the remote, flipped through netflix for a while, and he watched you instead of the screen. it was stupid, but he couldn’t help paying attention to the small things, like the way you curled your toes under the blanket, how you made tiny comments about every movie title you didn’t like, how you’d glance at him now and then with that small knowing look like you could tell he wasn’t really watching. “you’re not paying attention,” you said, side eyeing him.
“i am,” he said, though he definitely wasn’t.
“what’s the movie about, then?”
he paused. “uh… friendship?”
you laughed, shaking your head. “it’s twilight, dumbass.”
he grinned, leaning in until his chin was resting against your head. “yeah, but maybe there’s still friendship in there somewhere.”
you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t push him away. he stayed there, arm heavy around you, tracing lazy lines with his fingers on your arm. it wasn’t like him to be this still, this soft, but he didn’t really care. after a while, you said quietly, “you’re weirdly touchy today.”
“you don’t like it?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you.
you thought about it, lips pressed together like you were pretending to consider it. “i didn’t say that.”
“so you do like it,” he said, smirking.
“maybe,” you said, eyes still on the screen. he chuckled and leaned in closer, his nose brushing the top of your head, smelling you. you didn’t move away, just sighed in that way that said you were pretending to be annoyed. his hand stayed resting on your leg, thumb brushing back and forth like a small habit. you glanced at him again and said, “you know you don’t have to act all sweet just to hang out, right?”
he smiled, soft but sure. “i’m not acting.”
you gave him that look, the one that was amused but skeptical, but you didn’t push it. instead, you leaned into him more, your head finding its way to his chest. he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. everything felt slower here, quieter. he liked it more than he’d admit out loud.
later, when you started talking about random things, the class you hated, how the dining hall food was getting worse, how sunoo accidentally set off the dorm alarm again, jake listened like every word mattered. he didn’t even try to hide the smile that kept showing up on his face. and if anyone asked him what that night was, he wouldn’t have known how to describe it. it wasn’t a date, it wasn’t anything official. it was just him and you, a blanket, twilight rants (jake laughed his ass off), and a weird sense that something about all this felt new.
after a while the movie was still on but neither of you were really watching anymore. you were warm under the blanket, leaning against him, and he felt your breathing slow down a little. his own eyes were heavy but he didn’t want to move, not when you felt that close. eventually though you stretched, yawned, and mumbled that your neck was starting to hurt from sitting like that. he nodded and followed you when you got up, both of you kind of quiet but in that easy, comfortable way.
your bed was small, definitely not made for two people, but you didn’t even have to ask him to join you. he slipped in right behind you, pulling you close without hesitation. it was a little awkward with all the shifting around, but once you were both settled under your blanket, it just felt natural.
he tucked his chin against your shoulder, one arm wrapped tight around your waist. you stayed like that for a while, just listening to each other breathe, the silence stretching out in a way that didn’t feel heavy. then he said, voice low like he wasn’t sure if he should break the quiet, “i wanted to see you tonight. that’s all.”
you turned your head slightly, trying to look at him. “i know,” you said softly. “i can tell.”
he let out a small laugh, kind of embarrassed. “good. because i didn’t… like, i wasn’t coming here expecting anything. i just wanted to hang out. i like being around you.”
you felt your chest warm at that, even if you tried not to show it too much. “you’re being really sweet right now.”
“yeah, don’t get used to it,” he teased, then got quiet again. his fingers started tracing light patterns on your stomach, like he couldn’t sit still. “can i be honest about something?”
“always,” you said.
he hesitated, then said, “you know how we’ve been messing around… i really like it, what we're exploring, i don't know.” he laughed at the way he said it, but kept going. “more than i thought i would.”
you blinked, but you didn’t pull away. “okay,” you said, keeping your tone even. “you can just say that. it’s not weird.”
“i know,” he said quickly. “i just don’t want it to sound like that’s the only reason i’m here, because it’s not. i figured it’s better to say this out loud instead of keeping it in my head.”
you nodded slowly. “that makes sense. so what about it do you like?”
he smiled a little, though you couldn’t see it. “the control. the way you look at me when i push you like that. it’s… i don’t know. i didn’t think i’d be into it this much, but i am. and i think i want to explore more of it, but only if you’re into it too.”
you thought about it for a second, then said, “i am. i like it too. and i like that you’re saying this, actually. it makes it easier for me to tell you what i like.”
he squeezed your waist gently. “yeah? tell me, then.”
you turned a little so you could face him better, your noses almost brushing in the dark. “i like when you call me names, but not just mean ones. like, the pet stuff feels… i don’t know, kind of comforting? even when you’re rough. it makes me feel close to you.”
his eyes softened. “that’s good. i want you to feel that way. i don’t want it to ever cross a line where it feels bad.”
“it doesn’t,” you said quickly. “and if it ever did, i’d tell you. but i like that you’re not afraid to be rough and that you pay attention when i push back. it feels balanced, you know?”
he nodded, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “that’s what i want. i don’t want it to just be me getting what i want. i want it to be both of us, figuring it out together.”
“that’s what this is,” you said. “we’re figuring it out.”
he smiled at that, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your temple. “you make it sound easy.”
“it is easy,” you said, settling back against him.
he wrapped you up tighter, holding you close enough that you could feel his heartbeat against your back. “okay, then here’s me being honest again,” he said after a pause. “i’ve never really done this before. not just the kink part, but… like, the after part. i’ve hooked up, i’ve tried stuff, but actually wanting to stay after, wanting to come over just to watch movies? that’s new. and -- it scares me a little.”
you reached back and laced your fingers with his. “i think that’s fine. it doesn’t have to be figured out all at once.”
he exhaled like that was what he needed to hear. “thanks. i… i really like this, i mean.”
you smiled into the dark. “i like this too, jakey.”
for a while neither of you said anything else. his hand stayed tangled with yours, his body warm against yours. you shifted a little, not because you were uncomfortable but because you wanted to see him. when you turned in his arms, he loosened his hold just enough to let you face him, your noses close in the dark. he blinked at you like he hadn’t expected you to move, and for a moment the only thing either of you did was look at each other.
you reached up and brushed your fingers along his jaw, soft and slow. he leaned into your touch without thinking, like it was natural. then you kissed him, and it wasn’t rushed or hungry, not the way you’d kissed before when things were heated and messy. this one was tentative at first, a press of lips that lingered, both of you testing the space.
he kissed you back just as carefully, almost shy in the way he moved his mouth against yours. his hand came up to the side of your face, his thumb rubbing small circles near your temple. it stayed like that for a while, slow and steady, until you tilted your head and opened to him a little more. the change was small but he noticed right away, kissing you deeper, still unhurried but with more intent.
he pulled back just a fraction, enough to whisper, “you feel so good,” before kissing you again.
the warmth built gradually. every time you moved your lips against his, every little sound you made, it drew him in further. he shifted closer until his chest pressed to yours, until there was no real space left between you. you hooked your hand into the collar of his hoodie, pulling him down when he tried to lift his head. when he finally rolled forward, easing his weight over you, it was careful. he braced one arm beside your head so he wouldn’t crush you, letting you feel the solid press of him without it being too much. your legs brushed his, your hands sliding up into his hair, and the kiss turned heavier but not rushed.
he pulled back again, just slightly, breathing against your lips. “you’re perfect,” he said quietly, and it didn’t sound like a line. it sounded like he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.
you kissed him again, harder this time, and he let out a low sound, moving with you, his body lowering a little more until his hips were pressed to yours. still, his pace stayed gentle. every movement was patient, every kiss followed by another, his mouth moving from your lips to your cheek, down to your jaw, then back up like he couldn’t get enough but didn’t want to rush.
“you’re so good to me,” he murmured against your skin, kissing the corner of your mouth again. “i don’t even know if you realize how much.”
your chest tightened at that, and you held him closer, wrapping your arms around him fully now. he pressed his forehead to yours, smiling a little. “i think i could get used to this,” you said, giggling.
“yeah?” he asked, voice low.
“yeah…” you said again, softer this time.
next thing you knew, it was the next morning. sunlight sneaking through your blinds, the both of you tangled up under your blanket, very obviously naked. the night before hadn’t been about roleplay or collars or anything wild. just you and him, a lot of kissing, a lot of laughing in between, and, well, some very unconventional sex. unconventional in the sense that it felt so unplanned and sweet, but also somehow clumsy in a way that made jake whisper “fuck, this might be the best sex i’ve ever had” against your shoulder while you both tried not to laugh.
you both had class that day, but when your alarms went off, you just looked at each other, groaned at the thought of moving, and made a joint decision to skip. you didn’t even say it out loud, jake just reached over, turned off your phone, and pulled you closer.
the day turned into this weird mix of domestic and ridiculous. you made instant noodles together in your dorm kitchen, him insisting he was the “chef” even though he literally almost forgot to put water in the pot. you ended up watching some more twilight movies on your laptop while lying in bed, and he kept pausing it every ten minutes to ask, “wait, so who’s this guy again?” even though you’d explained three times already.
somewhere in the middle of all this, jake got curious and started testing out “soft” versions of kinks he hadn’t gotten around to yet. nothing serious, more like experiments. at one point he asked if he could blindfold you, then immediately ruined it by laughing because he tied it too tight and you complained you couldn’t breathe. another time, he asked if you’d let him feed you chocolate with his hands while calling you “princess,” and you went along with it until you both started laughing so hard the chocolate melted everywhere. he even half joked about barking for you, even though he was actually being very serious.
the point was: it was fun. it wasn’t serious or heavy. just you two being idiots together, seeing what worked, what didn’t, and realizing that sometimes the kinkiest thing was just how easy it felt to try with each other.
when night rolled around, he finally had to leave, which turned into a whole production. you walked him to the door, and he kept stalling like he forgot something: first his phone, then his hoodie, then his keys, even though they were all in his hand. every time you leaned in to give him a goodbye kiss, he found an excuse to kiss you again, until it was basically ten minutes of nonstop kisses.
“okay, i really have to go now,” he said at least four times, and yet he was still standing there, thumb brushing your jaw.
“you’ve said that already,” you pointed out, laughing.
“yeah, but i mean it this time,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again. when he finally pulled back, his voice dropped a little softer. “i had a really good time, you know. like… today. all of it.”
you smiled, brushing his messy hair out of his face. “me too.”
jake kissed your forehead, then your lips one last time, and finally walked out the door. and of course, thirty seconds later, you got a text from him: miss you already.
so obviously you told sunoo about it. what was going on between you and jake. and of course he freaked out, because that’s sunoo. he gasped so loud you had to shush him before someone else heard, then he grabbed your pillow and started smacking you with it, yelling things like i knew it! i knew he liked you! until you had to bribe him with snacks to calm down.
and the thing was, you didn’t even know what you wanted to call it. you’d always kind of liked jake, but in that he’s hot but he’s also kind of an idiot and will probably break my heart kind of way. he’d always been the friend who didn’t take things seriously, the one you swore you’d never catch feelings for because, well, you didn’t want to get hurt. so you built this wall around yourself, kept reminding yourself this was casual, just fun. and you decided you weren’t going to put any labels on it unless jake said he wanted to.
meanwhile, across town, jake had just gotten back to his place. he kicked off his sneakers, flopped down on his bed, stared at the ceiling for a solid five minutes, then pulled out his phone. and, naturally, he opened reddit.
he's typing out a draft for r/Relationship_Advice. the title says friends with benefits situationship except i don't wanna be just friends and i wanna be her pet instead. he’s mid sentence writing about how you wear stupid kuromi socks that distract him way too much, when he decides to scroll the subreddit first.
and then he sees a post. a post that sounds… exactly like you.
r/RelationshipAdvice
u/KeroppiNumber1Lover | 2h
am i overthinking this or is my fwb secretly my boyfriend?
okay so i (24f) have been friends with this guy (23m) for a long time. we were just friends until maybe a month or two ago when he came to me asking for advice about kinks. he remembered i once did that bdsm test thing for fun and thought i’d know more than him, and he wanted to “try some stuff out” and i said fine, why not?? we trust each other, no big deal. so we started hooking up and trying some of those things together.
except now it doesn’t feel like we’re just testing things anymore, it’s different. he still jokes around a lot but when we hang out, it’s not always about sex. sometimes he comes over and we just sit there watching dumb movies. last time we spent hours making fun of twilight together and it was TOO fun. he also keeps doing these little things like he brought me coffee one morning just because???? and then played it off like it wasn’t anything and when i told him i was stressed he hugged me for so long i thought my back would crackkkk sirrrrr that is not fwb behavior omg
the problem is he is kind of known for hooking up with a lot of people in college?? not in a bad way just he never seemed serious with anyone. he’s always been the type i wouldn’t trust to water my plants because he’d probably forget after one day so i’m scared i’ll be stupid if i start to catch feelings for him. but i think i already am?? i do like him, i just don’t know if he feels the same or if this is just me overthinking it. should i say something, or keep my guard up until he says something first?
jake is lying there in bed with his phone basically falling onto his face. he blinks at the screen, rereads it once, then again. “nah… no way. it can’t be… can it??”
then he hits the part about the bdsm test. his brain short circuits. because he did ask that. he literally asked that. he scrolls faster, sees the twilight part, the coffee, the hug. every line feels like a receipt against him. it’s not even subtle. he groans into his pillow. “oh my god. this is literally about me.” then he makes the mistake of reading the comments.
comment 1: “girl if he used to be a fuckboy, protect your heart.”
jake, out loud, also typed: “I WASN’T EVEN THAT BAD. jesus. can y’all move on??”
comment 2: “sounds like you’re already dating, just without the title. either lock it down or walk away.”
jake: “ok see?? finally someone with a brain. pin this comment.”
comment 3: “guys like that just want comfort without commitment. don’t fall for it.”
jake, furious: “i literally brought her coffee at 8am and watched twilight for her. TWILIGHT. what more commitment do you want??”
comment 4: “if he’s treating you like a gf, he probably thinks of you as one already.”
→ jake: “YES. thank you random internet genius. i love you.”
comment 5: “say something before it drags on. if he’s serious, he’ll say yes. if not, at least you’ll know.”
he sighs. “okay. yeah. fine. i get it. i’ll say something. god.”
he ends up throwing his phone down on the bed and just staring at the ceiling, feeling like the universe is laughing at him. like, of all places, reddit?? that’s where he finds out you’re basically calling him your “maybe-boyfriend”?
but deep down, even while he’s cringing at strangers dissecting his love life, he can’t help smiling. because at least now he knows he’s not the only one catching feelings.
so after doomscrolling reddit for like an hour and basically convincing himself he was the main character in your post, jake sat there and thought, ok i can’t just do nothing. he wanted to make a move, but not the usual dumb moves he always made. he started running through everything he knew you liked. movies. you had a letterboxd longer than a textbook, always roasting his “basic” taste but still making him watch stuff with you. sanrio. you had those socks on, like, every time he came over. your little chococat keychain was hanging off your bag right now. the oversized hoodies you lived in. your pc setup that he still couldn’t get over because he never struck you as a gamer, but then he walked into your dorm that one time and saw a glowing pastel keyboard with little frog stickers on it.
he kept trying to figure out: how do i surprise her? he thought about showing up in a full hello kitty hoodie (terrible idea), maybe making you watch every twilight movie in one sitting (he’d die), or even buying you some dumb sanrio plush and pretending he didn’t spend hours looking for it. none of it felt right.
a few days later he was sitting on the floor while heeseung was baked out of his mind, button mashing fifa with sunghoon. jake was half talking to himself when he muttered, “i just… i don’t know how to ask her without making it weird.”
heeseung, not looking up from the screen, said, “why don’t you just ask her out like a normal person.” jake stared at him. “yeah, like, words. say them. ‘do you wanna go out.’ boom.”
sunghoon snorted. “crazy concept.”
jake groaned, but in the end he thought, maybe they’re right. maybe you’d actually take it well.
so the next day, he pulled the dumbest move possible. he memorized your class schedule. you were sitting in one of your electives, sunoo on one side of you, when jake just strolled in and sat down on the other side. no notebook, no laptop, not even pretending. he just leaned back in the chair like he belonged there.
you blinked at him, whispering, “what are you doing here? you don’t even take this class.”
sunoo leaned forward across you, eyes narrowed. “yeah, what are you doing here?”
jake ignored him completely and looked at you, his voice low. “are you free tonight?”
you laughed quietly, shaking your head. “yeah… why? wanna come over?” you asked, teasing him before he could answer.
but jake shook his head, smiling a little. “actually, i’ve been thinking about taking you out.”
sunoo raised his brows, looking back and forth between you two like he was watching a live drama unfold. you just bit back another laugh, a little caught off guard but also clearly not against it. “okay,” you said softly. “where?”
he hadn’t actually planned that far, but he quickly blurted, “there’s this restaurant off campus. i heard it’s good.” it wasn’t fancy, but it was nice enough that it felt like a real step up from eating cup noodles in your dorm.
you tilted your head, still smiling. “so… a date?”
jake nodded, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. “yeah. a date.”
you tilted your head a little, smiling. “yeah, that sounds nice.”
and in his brain, jake basically blacked out. oh my god she said yes we’re going on a date holy shit this is happening. he wanted to fist pump the air like an idiot but instead he just sat there nodding like it was no big deal. he mumbled something about texting you later, then immediately packed up and left the classroom before sunoo could say a word.
the second he stepped out, he pulled out his phone and typed “she said yes” into his notes app like he needed proof it actually happened. then he drove home and told himself to stay calm. he was not calm. he tore through his closet, tried on three different shirts, showered twice, searched “best first date outfits men” on pinterest. eventually he gave up and picked the cleanest shirt he had, some jeans, and sneakers that didn’t look like they’d been through war.
when he went to pick you up, you opened the door and jake’s brain short circuited again. you weren’t overdressed, you just looked nice. too nice for him, he thought. your hair, your perfume, the way you smiled at him, it all hit him at once. he immediately leaned in for a quick peck, lingering a little too long, his hand sliding down to your waist like he couldn’t help himself. “you look really good,” he blurted.
you smirked. “you too.”
the restaurant was this little italian place just off campus. dim lighting, small tables with candles, the kind of spot people actually go to for dates. he held the door for you, pulled your chair out, doing all the things he never thought he’d actually do. the conversation was easy. you both ordered pasta, and while waiting for the food you ended up talking about random stuff, laughing over the couple next to you who were obviously on a bad date, debating which twilight movie was the worst one.
“new moon,” you said confidently.
“nah, eclipse,” jake argued, shaking his head. “that one fight scene was garbage.”
“you laughed the entire time.”
“exactly. it was trash.”
the food came and you both dug in, joking about how unromantic it was to slurp spaghetti. at one point you teased him about how “un-jake” it was for him to plan something like this, and he shrugged with a small grin, admitting, “yeah well… i wanted to do it right.”
after dinner, he drove you back, and when he parked outside your dorm, the air in the car felt a little heavier, charged but not exactly awkward. he glanced at you, smiling. “you know, i had so much fun today.”
“me too,” you said, meeting his eyes.
jake leaned in and kissed you, slow and sweet, his hand finding your cheek. when he pulled back, he looked at you for a second, then smirked. “even though you’re calling me your maybe-boyfriend on reddit.”
you froze. “what— oh my god. you read that??”
he laughed, nodding. “yeah. it popped up. i knew it was you.”
you covered your face with your hands, groaning. “i’m gonna actually die.”
he gently pulled your hands down, kissing your palm, still grinning. “no, don’t worry, i liked it. i even went through the comments. i might’ve called a girl an idiot for saying you should protect yourself from fuckboys.”
“you argued with strangers about it?”
“yep. full on fighting in the replies. i was on your side, by the way.”
you shook your head, laughing. “you were on your side!”
he kissed your cheek, still laughing, softer this time. “maybe. but i like being your maybe-boyfriend.”
you kind of froze when he said it, like it took your brain a second to actually process. your face went a little hot and you looked down, suddenly shy. he noticed right away and leaned in a little closer, still holding your hand. “hey, don’t freak out. i like you. i’m not trying to rush anything, i swear.” you blinked, trying to figure out what to say, and he kept going before you could answer. “like, i know this was supposed to be a friends with benefits thing, right? but every time i’m with you i feel like… i don’t know. like i’m the one chasing you. and i keep calling you my pet in bed, but it kinda feels like i’m your dog instead.”
that made you laugh, like actually laugh out loud, and he smiled because you finally looked at him again. “you’re ridiculous,” you said, still laughing.
“yeah, but i’m serious. i don’t wanna be just friends.” he squeezed your hand and added, a little softer, “i want more than that.”
you let out a small sigh, still smiling but definitely nervous too. “i like being with you. i like you, jake. i just… didn’t know if you felt the same.”
“well, i do.”
your face lit up immediately. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
you smiled tenderly and that was all he needed. he leaned across the console, kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand cupping your cheek while you kissed him back. it was sweet and warm and a little desperate, the kind of kiss that made it pretty clear neither of you were just “friends” anymore.
so the whole week after that, jake was basically living in boyfriend mode without even saying he was, but oh boy, he was. like, he was picking you up from class just because he “happened to be around,” but then he’d have your favorite snack waiting in the car. you two started having this dumb little routine of going grocery shopping together, and he’d put random stuff in the cart just to see you roll your eyes and then sneak it back when you weren’t looking.
at night, he’d call you even if you’d already spent the whole day together. sometimes he’d just be lying in his bed, rambling about whatever, and then suddenly go quiet like he realized how much he liked hearing you breathe on the other end. he’d come over to yours a lot too, and half the time sunoo would be there making fun of him for being “clingy as hell.” jake didn’t even deny it anymore, he was too busy following you around your own place like a golden retriever.
but there was one night where he was acting especially wild. like, from the second he saw you, he couldn’t stop touching you. his hand on your back, his arm around your waist, kissing your shoulder while you were just trying to make popcorn. he looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were actually there with him, which, to be fair, was how he felt most of the time.
you noticed, of course. you kept laughing at how clingy he was being, but he just smirked like he didn’t even care if he was obvious. he leaned in close while you were sitting on the couch, his voice lower than usual. “you know,” he said, fingers brushing over your knee, “i kinda wanna try something different with you.” you tilted your head at him, curious, and he grinned, eyes way too mischievous. “don’t freak out, i’ll explain. but i promise you’re gonna like it.”
later that night, you were in his bedroom, and the whole house was quiet. jake was in one of his moods, where he couldn’t keep his mouth off you. he kissed along your neck, your shoulders, down your chest like he was trying to memorize every bit of you. his hands were slow but firm, holding you in place like you were something he wanted to worship. every time you made the slightest sound, he murmured praise into your skin, all soft but teasing. you looked at him, a little out of breath, and asked, “what is it you wanted to try?” your voice was curious, and that made him grin even wider, like he’d been waiting for you to ask.
he sat back on his knees, eyes glued to you, and said, “i got you something. a little toy.” the way he said it was too casual, like he wasn’t basically throwing gasoline on the fire. “thought it’d suit my puppy.”
the second he called you that, you slipped into it without even thinking. you tilted your head at him, playful, already slipping into that pet energy he loved so much. your hands curled against the sheets like paws, and you looked at him with wide, eager eyes. jake chuckled low, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “see? there she is. my good girl.” he leaned down and kissed you again, slower this time, almost smug at how naturally you fell into the role. “you’re gonna let me try it on you, right?”
the way you nodded instantly made him laugh against your mouth. “of course you will. my puppy always listens.” he kept praising you in between kisses, dragging his hands down your sides, his voice soft but dripping with control.
he reached over to his nightstand, opening the drawer like he was trying to be casual about it, but you could see the way his hands hesitated for a second. jake pulled something out, set it on the bed next to you, and for a moment he almost looked shy. it was a buttplug with a soft little tail attached, and he rubbed the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure if he’d just ruined the mood.
“i, uh… got this for you,” he admitted, glancing at your face quickly, testing your reaction. “it might be a little… freaky. i wasn’t sure if you’d even wanna try it.”
but you didn’t flinch. instead, you smiled at him in that way that always made him feel like his chest was on fire. “i want to try whatever you want to, jakey.”the second you said that, something in his head clicked, the nerves melted into pure want. his whole body reacted before his brain caught up.
he let out a low laugh, shaking his head, but you could see how much hotter he suddenly looked at you. “you’re… insane, you know that? i bring this out and instead of running you’re saying yes. fuck. my perfect puppy.”
he kissed you hard then, deeper than before, one hand cradling your jaw like you were something fragile even while his words were all possession. he left the tail sitting on the pillow beside you, within sight, like a promise for later. “you’re already so good for me,” he kept murmuring against your skin as he started peeling your clothes off piece by piece. every time a new inch of you was bare, he touched it, kissed it, praised it. “beautiful… all mine… such a good girl for me.”
his hands roamed like he couldn’t decide where to stay, gripping your hips, sliding up your ribs, tracing along your thighs. his voice stayed low but steady, every praise making you sink further into the role he loved. “you’re my puppy,” he whispered against your stomach as he kissed lower. “you listen, you let me take care of you, and you make me want you more than anything.”
he stayed there for a second, breathing against your skin. jake looked up at you, and there was that look again, the one he’d had when he showed up in your class, when he asked you out, when he kissed you in the car after dinner.
“you know,” he said, voice softer now but still a little teasing, “when i first started this… all i wanted was to mess around. try things. have fun. i didn’t think it’d turn into… this.” he gestured between the two of you, a small huff of laughter escaping. “you’ve got me completely gone.”
you reached out, brushing his hair back, laughing, “i like being yours. i wanna be yours”. and he exhaled like he’d been holding it in for weeks.
he kissed you then, slow, warm, but still a little desperate. when he stopped, he smiled so wide it almost broke his face, and whispered, “good. because i don’t wanna be just friends. i wanna be yours too.”
the toy stayed on the pillow, forgotten for now. just the two of you, finally admitting what everyone probably already knew.
!! ronnie's notes: i can’t believe i finally finished this fic 😭 i actually started writing it back in june and for some reason it took me forever to get it done lmaoo mostly bc i really wanted to take my time with it and make it feel right. i’ve been planning to post it for kinktober since literally junee, so the fact that i’m managing to post it before october ends feels kinda unreal 😭 this is actually my third kinktober fic this year, i also posted one for jake (which was technically for a sabrina carpenter album collab but it counts 😭) and one for soobin that i wrote like a million years ago. but this one was the fic i’d been planning for kinktober since the beginning, so she’s special to me!!! anyway, i really hope you guys like it. thank you for reading and for sticking around <3
➥ Bang Chan x Reader (f) x Jake — 7.1k (~30 min. read)
⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Mind games, Jake is a little insane and we love it, threesome with stepbrothers, FFM encounter, double vaginal penetration (see casebook for more)
➥ You and Chris are about to pull a stunt that upgrades you to “Channie & Clyde”, and his stepbrother will gladly assist you if it means he can touch you however he wants.
The entries of this collection are standalone and only loosely connected.
*a/n: This was supposed to be a drabble, then I discovered "Outside" exists.
He’s SO husband, but, like, in a daddy way.
Yeah, if you’re into swinging maybe.
Girlies were so busy swooning over Chris’ dimple-frosted rizz that whenever they heard an allegation painting him as an unhinged freak, they were clutching their pearls with a dramatic “He would nev–ver!” by default. Even if you livestreamed the events right from his bed, you would probably be dubbed a deepfaker because the delulu stans of academia were convinced Dr.-to-be Bang was the service dom of the century. You know, just like a daddy husband would be for his bride.
Talk about perception management, jesus christ…
In addition to a few joint papers, Chris was the author of some of your nastiest memories, so you knew firsthand that the fastidious husband material act was a flaming pile of bullshit, probably concocted by the aggressive lawyers retained by the Bangs. It was even more appalling that no one seemed to notice anything when he was hiding in plain sight—he was literally turning the department building into his own debauched playground some nights. It was actually such a common occurrence that every time you had to work late, you were expecting him to misbehave somewhere.
It wasn’t like you were out looking for him, okay? Crucial instruments were needed for the advancement of science, like coffee or the staple sitting in your desk drawer, and during your side quests, you just happened to hear things passing by an empty classroom, his father’s office, the faculty lounge…
“Do it again. She gets wetter when you’re mean.”
…or the restrooms, as was the case that particular night.
Throughout these staged coincidences, you were used to hearing people having pleasure seizures or Chris performing the raunchiest dirty talk, but you did not know who that voice belonged to.
Of course you would be intrigued!
You pressed on the door handle extra carefully to suppress the god-awful creak, but maybe you didn’t even have to. The wet sounds that welcomed you were so loud that you wondered if this was a deliberate attempt to make the passersby outside hear what was going on in here. No one was out in the open—the sounds were coming from one of the stalls, but it made no sense. The building was almost entirely empty anyway; why couldn’t they pick a much more comfortable location for… whatever the fuck this was? Why the restroom? Why the stall?
Questions, questions…
“D–Deeper…”
“We told you. Squirting’s extra.”
Squirti— Extr— We?
HUH?!!
The questions multiplied to the size of a platoon and charged at your mind at full force. This voice did belong to Chris, but the other man was not one of the seven usual suspects. And from the way he worded it, this seemed like a uh… a professional service.
Just who the fuck was in there with him?!
“Stop teasing!!! Make m— Make me cum.”
“Tsk, but that’s also extra,” the unfamiliar voice taunted. “You pay me to eat your pussy, not to make you cum.”
The conquest of the night was on the brink of committing manslaughter at best, first-degree murder at worst. She didn’t have any control over her volume whatsoever, either because of excess pleasure or sheer helplessness, and her response came out as a spectacularly frustrated whine.
“FINE! HOW MUCH MORE DO YOU WANT?!”
“Fifty bands. Can you afford it?”
Evil. This was straight up evil. The two men were sinisterly laughing at each other, but they seemed to have no intention of ceasing whatever wet contact they had established with her skin. If anything, the sounds were getting lewder, louder, meticulously designed to drive her clinically insane.
And something about this was so profoundly erotic that you were dripping between your legs.
“Didn’t think so,” the stranger’s emotionless voice echoed in the dark room, and a pornographic slurping sound followed, making the woman properly sob.
And maybe, just maybe, you stayed in the stall nextdoor, wishing they were devouring you instead, listening in on this sweet torture until you quietly made yourself cum.
Maybe.
The next day, you were feeling some type of way when you walked into the lab, a.k.a. the designated space for your research group that looked more like a luxury lounge and less like a beacon of knowledge. Chris was chilling on one of the gargantuan bean bags, reading a stack of stapled papers like he was enjoying some beach read. He showed no signs of being even slightly hungover, looking fresh as fuck as if he wasn’t the one playing the most wicked games within these very walls just hours ago.
“Papers are graded and on your desk,” he informed you without even looking at you.
“Alright, Superman, I don’t know how to word this in a politically correct way, so I’m just gonna go ahead and say it,” you dropped your bag on the couch a little too hard, exasperated as fuck with his limitless antics. “Are you running an illicit cunnilingus ring around here?”
He cracked up so hard, and you physically felt your annoyance turn into a bullet train in your veins because your intention was not to entertain him.
“That’s a great name for it, actually,” his stupid heart-melting laughter finally died down, “but I prefer the term side hustle.”
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
“I never joke about eating pussy,” he uttered with a straight face. “How’d you hear about it?”
“I was forced to. You weren’t exactly being discreet last night,” you scorned, feeling petty for reasons unknown. “I’m pretty sure that’s against college policies. You could get fired for that, you know.”
“No, you could get fired for that,” he pointed at you, clicking his tongue with a wink. “I run this shit, baby.”
“You mean your father does,” you sneered at his spoiled brat entitlement.
“Does it matter? I’m immortal all the same,” he put his papers away and clasped his hands under his nape, getting into a more comfortable position. “Why’d you ask? Are you interested in my services?”
“Don’t I already get your services for free?” you cocked a brow. “Like, twice a week.”
“No, you don’t. What you get is the base model,” he obnoxiously answered. “You didn’t really think the view from the third floor would be the same as the penthouse, did you?”
This fucking peacock of a man… You took a deep breath through your smile, discreetly biting inside your cheek to keep your poise.
“Another guy was in there with you,” you took a seat on the couch diagonal to him, “and he wasn’t from your entourage.”
“That would be Jake.”
“I’m enlightened all of a sudden,” you scoffed. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
“I should hope so. Everybody knows he’s my brother from another mother.”
“I thought your resident wingmen were the red hot chili peppers of Scoville.”
“No, I meant it literally,” he took a bit of a dramatic pause for some reason. “He’s my stepbrother.”
“He what?”
Yup, there it was. Who knows what your face looked like when he volunteered that information, but he suddenly looked very pleased. Turns out the more you tried to avoid entertaining him, the more you were doing exactly that.
“Interested now?” he smugly grinned.
Fuck yeah, you were, but openly frothing at the mouth had never been your style. There was a certain… class to this, if you will. The view from the third floor and the penthouse might not be the same, but neither were their residents.
That was what made all the goddamn difference.
“I guess it would allow me to cross one more thing off my bucket list,” you nonchalantly looked at your nails.
“What the hell kinda list has stepbrothers in it?” he reacted way too chalantly in response.
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Oh, I really do.”
“Well, I prefer something more elegant than sneaking around in restrooms, so I have something more… elaborate in mind,” you pretended you didn’t hear him. “If you’d indulge me, of course.”
“We’ll see,” he challenged you. “Intrigue me.”
Truth be told, you hadn’t been able to think about much else since last night’s fever nightmare. Whenever you closed your eyes, all you could see was that restroom. You kept imagining yourself in there. What you would say. What you would have them do. If you were paying them, they were supposed to cater to your whims, and you kept thinking about what those whims would be. What they could be. How you could extract every last drop of pleasure out of it. Out of them.
You wore a smile as sinister as the laughs you heard the night before as you broke everything down for Chris, all the way down to the tiniest details your imagination let you conjure. When you were finished, he just stared at you, flabbers thoroughly and utterly gasted, looking like he was running out of self-restraint to practice.
“I said intrigue, not make my heart stop,” he snarled at you, “but I knew there was a reason I’m this attracted to you.”
“Yeah? Which is?”
“You’re one sick bitch,” his parted lips slowly curled into a grin, “and I mean it as the highest compliment.”
“You think your sidekick would be down?” you softly asked him.
“I think you should ask him yourself,” he reached for his phone.
“Why can’t you just ask for me?”
“Oh, trust me, you won’t wanna miss this,” he placed the call, still cheesing.
It had only been fifteen minutes when the aforementioned sidekick barged into the office, annoyed out of his mind that he suddenly got subpoenaed, speaking as fast as he could to signal his patience reserves were completely depleted.
“The fuck was so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone? I had to make a U-turn in goddamn traffic,” he berated Chris. “Make it quick, I gotta be at th— Whoa…”
Whoa, indeed.
You weren’t expecting someone this hot to show up, either, but that wasn’t even the surprising part. You had never seen someone actively melting at your sight before, and for whatever reason, this man that you were seeing for the first time looked somewhere between starstruck and lovesick as he walked towards you.
“I can’t fucking believe it’s you,” he held your hands, squeezing them like he was afraid to let the love of his life go. “It’s really you!”
Confused wouldn’t quite cover the state you were in—you were thoroughly dumbfounded. He seemed too much like he was majoring in fuckboy sciences to be interested in your h-index, which meant you had ZERO leads on why he was acting like this.
“I’m sorry, have we met?” you hesitantly asked.
“Yeah, you kinda have,” Chris cleared your confusion when he could take a break from having the time of his life watching his brother’s severe crashout. “He’s your top subscriber.”
“You’re retriever15?!”
“FUCK, SHE KNOWS ME!” Jake started freaking out in earnest. “You heard that, right? She knows me!”
“Cool it, bro, this isn’t a hi-touch event.”
“My face doesn’t even show in those,” you spoke, unsure if you should be impressed or alarmed. “How did you know it’s me?”
“Motherfucker can’t attend a class for two weeks back to back, but when pussy is involved, all of a sudden he has a PhD in stalking,” Chris kept giggling in his corner.
“That’s WILDLY inaccurate. I wasn’t stalking, I was just educating myself on her lore,” Jake corrected him quite seriously. He then sat next to you, his arm stretched on the backrest, sneakily moving to pull you into a hug. “Golden boy here says you need my help with something?”
“I’d say it’s more service procurement than help,” you reached for his hand on your shoulder, blatantly pulling it down so you would properly be in his embrace.
“Then how may I be of service to my princess?” he asked with a crooked smile, his eyes involuntarily darting to your lips.
Okay, real talk? You had no idea what it was about you or your content that made him like this, and his intensity was a bit scary. Nevertheless, it also made him the perfect yes man, so who were you to complain?
You walked Jake through your little scheme, as well. Unlike his brother, he kept his composure throughout the whole thing, lazily playing with your hair as he listened, somehow taking this whole thing way too seriously. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was his default mode during business negotiations, or if he was like this because you were requesting something from him.
“Your setup is fine, but it’ll work better if Chris goes full asshole by the end,” he eventually commented on your gameplan with so much conviction.
Evil. This man was straight up evil. He was drooling all over you just two seconds ago, but all of a sudden, he was a war room general now?
“Because?”
“You want your target to be vulnerable enough to cave,” he informed you, clearly speaking from experience.
“Can you believe they call this doberman a golden retriever?” Chris asked you, but it didn’t sound rhetorical at all. No. No, you could not.
In fact, this simp seemed to be just the right kind of sick in the head to show you a good time.
“Damn, you’re not just a pretty boy, are you?” you brushed the back of your hand against his cheek.
“No, I’m a professional slut,” he declared, kissing the fingers caressing him, “and of course there’s gonna be a fee for services rendered.”
“Fine, quote your price.”
“You say that like you’re ready to pay anything,” he smirked, eyes beaming with lights in the deepest shades of red. “Should I start having hopes?”
“You should start putting your money where your mouth is,” you responded.
“Can I put you where my mouth is?” he licked his lips while pulling you closer. “I swear I’ll make you cum like you never have.”
“I said, cool it, bro,” Chris threw a pen at him.
“Fucking buzzkill,” Jake deadpanned, rolling his eyes, then gave you your answer. “It’s nothing astronomical. I’m gonna be the one playing your boyfriend.”
“That’s it?” you creased your brows. “I thought you were gonna ask for something insane.”
“I mean, I’m a very affectionate boyfriend,” he intertwined his fingers with yours, “I don’t shy away from PDAs at all.”
“Still not as insane as you think,” you chuckled.
“Which also includes fucking you in public,” he brushed his nose against yours. “Insane enough now?”
Question marks started appearing on your face at long last. Chris, on the other hand, was acting like this whole exchange was an SNL episode, intermittently giggling to himself.
“I mean, not public public,” Jake quickly explained, dragging his fingers down your neck, and already on his third round of eyefucking you. “I just wanna finger you a little bit while we slow dance to some whore anthem and make out. I’m a romantic like that.”
“I’m obligated to inform you that I bite when I get too horny,” you grazed your nails on his neck a bit too harshly.
“Hickeys on my neck marked by you? Fuck yeah.”
“Some romantic you are,” you snorted.
“Well, I’m also a whore, so…”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Chris rose to his feet.
“What? If you’re gonna be getting your dick wet, she should have her fun, too, Chrissy,” Jake faked a pout. “That pussy’s not gonna eat itself.”
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d start to suspect you’re trying to wife her up or something,” Chris narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
“I’d be so down,” Jake barely dodged frothing at the mouth, then spoke in a deliberately tragic tone worthy of a soap opera lead role. “All the meaningless munching leaves me so empty, I’m year–ning to cockwarm the love of my life into fucking her awake at night.”
“You’re already so down bad, christ, go jerk off somewhere else,” Chris heaved an annoyed sigh. “You in or what?”
“The day I say no to that, check me into a psych ward,” Jake smiled really big, adoring eyes kissing all over your face.
On D-Night, you walked into Lobos flanked by the yin-yin brothers—because there was nothing yang about them—and it was damn near impossible not to have an ego orgasm. Everyone in the room was ogling them. As the number one hater of weirdly possessive guys, you were utterly perplexed as to why you enjoyed it a bit too much when they put their hands on you, a hand holding yours, an arm around your waist, even a few kisses here and there, as if to make it crystal clear to everyone who you belonged to. Maybe it had something to do with knowing this was all an act.
Or maybe it didn’t.
One thing you did notice, however, was how Jake was constantly reaching for the upper hand whenever he was around Chris, making everything a matter of pride. Whose car they were going to take. Which booth they were going to sit at. Whether they were going to order bottle service or not.
Who was going to hit that first…
“I have a good feeling about this,” Chris smiled at you, though nowhere near wholesome, once the stack of shots Jake ordered arrived at the table. “I mean, if it doesn’t work, we can always visit the staff restroom again, right?”
“Staff restr— Wait…” Jake turned to Chris. “You’re telling me you two hooked up already?”
“Not did,” Chris corrected him, having too much fun divulging the factual reality. “We do.”
“Can you fucking see what’s on my back?!” Jake borderline screamed, legitimately offended. “It’s a knife!”
“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even know she existed, so fucking focus. We don’t have a slot for your tantrums on our program tonight,” Chris slapped him on the back, then pointed at someone by the bar. “What about her?”
“That’s Riki’s side piece. If he hears you looked at her wrong, he’ll probably put a hit on your ass,” Jake answered, jaw still clenched in annoyance, and nodded towards another one at a crowded table. “That one.”
“Nah, I know her. Too bitchy for my taste,” Chris scowled.
“I think I found her,” you smiled to yourself, staring at a girl in a blue dress on the dance floor.
After a swift deliberation amongst themselves, the brothers gave their stamp of approval for your choice, and you all started downing shots one after another as if to numb yourselves prior to the main course.
“We ride,” Chris slammed the last glass on the table and stood up. “I’ll see you guys home.”
No wonder he was the “golden boy” because the levels of efficiency this man worked at were insane. You and Jake watched Chris blend into the crowd and seamlessly pull the girl to dance with him. She didn’t even protest. Fine, he was charming and whatnot, but just what the hell did he exude that allowed him to get into any pants he goddamn wished?!
“So,” Jake pulled you close from your waist as well as back to earth. “You wanna pay me right now or…?”
You inadvertently chuckled. If this man had no tolerance for one thing, it was any amount of attention paid to his older brother when he was around.
“You know, you seem like the type to fall in love very quickly,” you started playing with his collar.
“I’m not sure if fall in love is the right word here,” he held your hand and locked his fingers with yours.
“I agree. I should have said become heavily obsessed for no apparent reason.”
“No apparent reason? You’re hurting my feelings,” he faked a pout. “I’ll have you know I was like this even when I didn’t know what your face looked like.”
“You still knew what my pussy looked like.”
“By that logic, I should be in love with all of my fleshlights.”
“You’re not in love with me.”
“How would you know?”
“You can’t produce one substantial reason as to why you’re like this, so we both know you’re just pussy drunk,” you refuted him once and for all, “and you haven’t even had a sip, mind you.”
“Okay, science diva, let’s see if you’ll find this substantial. It’s nothing too complicated, just simple math,” he instantly launched his rebuttal. “You’re an attention whore, and I have infinity amounts of it to give, which means we’re compatible as fuck.”
“To what do I owe this stellar review?”
“Oh, sorry, were you masturbating for strangers online out of the goodness of your heart?” he tilted his head, his words perfectly marinated in sarcasm. “You love it when someone gets horny because of you.”
You burst out laughing at the overly candid response because, well…
“Touché,” you acknowledged.
He looked so pleased with himself just for making you laugh, smirking with the captions that read “That’s more like it,” as if that was the only correct reaction you should give him, but it instantly vanished when you finally established the skin-to-skin contact he’d been waiting for. Your hands were moving up his neck, encouraging him to walk as boldly as he talked.
“Have I ever told you how sexy you look in this blazer?” you spoke dangerously close to his lips.
“No, but I can definitely get used to it,” he answered, one hand gliding down your hips.
You took his bottom lip between your teeth, gently tugging on it, and his eyes rolled as if he was getting his dick sucked. That was his last straw.
He pulled you into a deep kiss, and by god you almost surrendered your soul right then and there. If he was able to get you that wet just from that, who the hell knew what else he was capable of doing with that mouth?
“Imagine,” he started painting you a picture, his hand sliding up your bare thighs. “Me right here all day, your legs shaking on my shoulders so hard you can’t even walk. Doesn’t it sound fucking amazing?”
“You wanna be my on-call plug?”
“I don’t wanna be on call,” he heaved a deep sigh, sinking his teeth into his lips just at the mere thought. “I wanna fucking live here.”
“Which one are you really?” you chuckled at his overenthusiasm. “A doberman or a golden retriever?”
“I don’t show fangs unless you cross me.” He placed your hand on his cheek and rubbed himself against it. “Keep me happy, and I’ll become the best boy.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, I’m begging you to let me fuck you.”
It was endearing in a twisted way that he seemed ready to do whatever you asked him to do, and part of you did want to give him a to-do list to complete. And maybe you would someday. As his tongue swirled around yours, you had mentally jotted down fifteen delicious items already.
“We can slow dance here, too, right?” you held his hand and moved it further up your thighs.
He shuddered when his fingertips made contact with your wetness, but he was quick to take the hint. A whore anthem was playing, you were making out, and there was only one thing missing from the scene.
“Wet…” he teased your entrance, inches away from losing it entirely. “God, you’re so fucking wet.”
He slid two fingers inside you with great ease, and your eyes widened at the impact. He was loving the way you were reacting to him, heavily breathing into his mouth with your forehead pressed against his, trying to make him move faster to absolutely no avail.
“Jake…”
“If you moan my name like that again,” he lovingly pecked your lips as if he was in the middle of a romantic gesture, “I’m not gonna take responsibility for what I’m gonna do to you.”
“What… What are you gonna do?”
“I’ll leave that to your imagination,” he grazed his teeth on your jawline, “but it will be wet.”
You turned towards the dancefloor to see how the other hand of the operation was doing. Chris and the blue dress girl were now by the bar. As she was telling him something with big hand gestures, his eyes were on you, watching you get fingered with blank eyes. It was probably just for a few seconds, but it felt like hours to you. When Jake followed your line of sight, he noticed what you were looking at, and the smile he flashed was all kinds of perverse.
At long last, Chris snapped out of it and scratched his nape, which was the agreed-upon signal telling you to take position.
“To be continued,” Jake finally stopped his torturous teasing and shoved his glistening fingers in his mouth. “Let’s go home, beautiful.”
The ride back home was silent. Neither you nor Jake was saying anything, but something was buzzing in the air. You were both smiling, sharing knowing looks and risky touches at the back of that cab, probably imagining your own versions of how the events of the night were going to unfold.
As soon as you walked into the warm room, Jake received a text from Chris telling him he was on his way. You needed to set everything up before his arrival, but the first words you uttered had nothing to do with the plan.
“Can I get a t-shirt or something?”
“T-shirt?” Jake arched his brows.
“Aren’t you my boyfriend? I’m entitled to your wardrobe.”
You were also entitled to the ownership of his mental faculties because he was all but drooling just imagining you in something of his. He quickly snapped out of it and led you to his bedroom, forcing the very last drop of his self-restraint to stop himself from drilling you into his bed.
“Have at it,” he slid his wardrobe open.
“You know what the best thing about this is?” you asked seriously as you picked a loose flannel shirt.
He knew what words were before you started stripping right in front of him, discarding every item of clothing until you were buck naked. He just watched you in complete awe, jaw slack, spacing out while you put on nothing but his shirt.
“It’s gonna smell like me after I leave,” you broke into a convincingly innocent smile.
“If you’re trying to make me cum hands-free, I’ll aim it at your face, just saying,” he found his voice again somewhere at the back of his throat.
“That’d be cute to watch you try,” you chuckled and handed him a t-shirt and sweatpants. “Put these on.”
Your eyes savored the trailer of the blockbuster you were about to enjoy soon as he stripped. Chiseled lines, slender figure, his honey skin screaming at you, “Kiss me or bite me, but fucking do something.”
“Now we look like a believable couple.” You opened your hand and extended it to him. “Paw.”
“Woof,” he placed his hand in your palm.
“Good boy,” you stole a quick peck from his lips and headed to the living room, leaving the poor guy to combust in your wake.
Once he was done kicking his feet over exchanging numbers with you, you started a muted video call with him, then set your phone on the coffee table while Jake left to place his inside Chris’ nightstand drawer. When he returned, he immediately snuggled up to you on the gigantic couch, putting on the horniest show he could find to, quote, “tense up so the release would be better.”
Because constantly caressing you from the waist down with kisses on your neck wasn’t enough torture apparently.
Your people of interest let you know they arrived when the blue dress girl’s loud laughter echoed in the hallway. When the bedroom door closed in the distance, you positioned your phone against a glass on the coffee table, making sure it captured a wide angle. Shortly after, the picture was up on the screen—Jake’s phone was out of the drawer, currently being placed above the headboard to only show a shirtless Chris. He must have been done blindfolding the girl.
The second you and Jake made eye contact, you grabbed his shirt and crashed into his lips. You were stripping each other so fast, paying no mind if you were tearing fabric or ripping some buttons in the meantime.
“Showtime, baby,” he smiled into your mouth and lay you down on the couch, perfectly angling your pussy towards the camera.
On the screen, you could see Chris moving in a languid rhythm. He was so focused on the lens that it felt like he was fucking you, looking straight at you as Jake descended between your legs. You were already too on edge from being teased all night, and if Jake stalled any longer, the anticipation was going to kill you.
When he closed his mouth on your pussy at long last, you finally understood why bitches were paying him bank to get their pussies eaten because HO–LY SHIT!!!
One swipe, and you sounded just like the woman from the restroom stall. Loud, guttural moans were ripping from your throat with each lick, and you were clawing the couch cushion, trying to ride his tongue for more friction. He hugged your thighs tighter to stop you from moving, devilishly smiling at you with his mouth full, but you could still hear his eyes saying, “You’re not getting what you want.”
“J–Jake… Please!”
“What did I tell you about moaning my name, huh?”
He abruptly stopped and sucked on two fingers, sliding them in so excruciatingly slowly that you had half a mind to break free of his grip and ride him to death. But when he hit the spot…
Fuck the stars, you were seeing entire galaxies behind your eyelids.
“Right—Right there!!!”
“That’s it, baby, let go.”
His tone was so comforting, but what he was doing made it impossible to calm down. He had your clit trapped between his lips, sucking on it as his tongue kept teasing, fingers massaging your deepest corners with firm motions, pace climbing dangerously fast. Your entire body consumed by hellfire, your sanity in shambles, your reality all distorted, you were just waiting for the alarmingly tightened coil inside you to snap. Any minute. Any minute.
Any minute now.
“Let go for me,” Jake kissed your clit. “Let go. I earned this.”
The coil didn’t snap; it nuked the entire room into a measly pile of debris.
Your back arched so high that you almost sat up straight, completely drenching the spawn of satan between your legs, and on the screen, you saw Chris violently convulse watching this. Even when you had no drops to squirt anymore, Jake didn’t stop, tongue still gliding all over your soaked folds as if he wanted to see just how far he could push it.
Well, turns out not very far.
“He fucking lost it, didn’t he?” he chuckled, then climbed up to kiss you.
You couldn’t tell how long had passed as you lay there, just tasting yourself on his lips. Your hands eventually reached below his waist, but he stopped you in a panic.
“Hold on just a little bit more,” he tucked your hair behind your ear. “It’ll be worth it.”
You turned off the camera and put your clothes back on. This was Chris’ cue to run this home now. It was so quiet that you could hear everything going on down the hall.
“Beat it,” he dismissed the blue dress girl. “No sleepovers.”
“Huh?”
“Are you deaf? I said move.”
“Fucking jerk!!!”
“Show me what you got,” Jake whispered into your ear.
The door swung open, and you heard angry stomps approach closer. You rose to your feet and walked to the hallway to make it look like you were just going to the bathroom.
“Whoa, whoa, are you okay?” you suddenly stopped the blue dress girl with a concerned face.
“Your roommate is a total asshole!”
“Easy,” you put your hands on her shoulders and gently nudged her towards the living room. “Come, sit for a bit.”
The TV was back on by then, and it really looked like a couple was having a cozy night in. Once she took her seat on the couch, you sat between her and Jake, listening to the rundown of events that you already knew. You and Jake were forming the most generic sentences of comfort, but the fact of the matter was, every word she uttered fell on deaf ears. You weren’t interested in any of that.
What you really wanted was currently resting between her legs.
“I’m really sorry about all that,” you held her hand, gently caressing it with your thumb. “Guess you played to the wrong audience tonight, huh?”
“Wrong… audience?”
Jake rested his head on your shoulder, and you both looked at her silently. Currently, the blue dress girl was a) mad, b) vulnerable, and most importantly, c) frustrated.
The lineup couldn’t get any better than this.
“We’re at least courteous enough to let our guests finish. If you’re interested, of course,” you said almost wholesomely. “If not, we’d understand.”
You weren’t even going too hard on the rizz, but she was still blushing. You slowly leaned in to kiss her, and she reciprocated, her frustration working wonders on how fast this was progressing already.
Though you almost ruined it when she unwittingly crossed a red line by attempting a move on Jake, and your reaction made his heart stop for a good three seconds.
“That’s mine,” you stopped her. “You can’t touch him.”
“Oh, s–sorry!”
“But you can watch him,” you flashed a calm smile to appease her. “I know he will.”
You pulled her legs to make her lie down and spread them wide, arching your hips towards Jake as you got comfortable. She was in such a rush to get out of here that she hadn’t even put her underwear back on, and the sight was…
Jesus christ…
Chris had done a perfect job creaming her pussy, and to think that this had happened because of you… While watching you…
Maybe it was because of that fact, or maybe Chris actually tasted like narcotics, who knows?
Behind you, Jake slid your shirt up to get your back bare again. Shortly after, his warmth enveloped you as he kissed your neck, the chain of his necklace tickling you a little bit, then he started paving a wet trail of kisses down your spine. You felt his tip prodding your entrance, still throbbing from the mayhem he caused not too long ago, and when he started sinking into you, fully hard and ready to destroy, you just could not help the unholy sound you made.
And the blue dress girl lost it.
Only a few licks in, she was already falling apart on your tongue, but the way Jake made you moan into her pushed her to the ledge pretty quickly. You didn’t pay much mind to her pleasure; this wasn’t about her. This was about you wanting to relish Chris on your taste buds from a vessel he bullied, and a little bit about Jake for being such a good boy so far. If she didn’t cum by the time you were done with her, tough—that would simply mean two major Ls for her in one night.
Luckily for her, she found it a little too hot to handle to watch a beautiful woman eat her pussy and her man cumming inside her. Even if she didn’t finish by then, Jake’s next insane move would probably end her anyway.
“Share with me,” he held your chin and turned you around, kissing you deep enough to taste the man he secretly hated just a little bit.
“Now you can leave,” you giggled at the blue dress girl. “We’ll be calling it a night now.”
Ever the graceful hosts, you and Jake saw her off as if you were the ones inviting her back here. As she was about to leave, she pulled a card from her clutch and handed it to you.
“If you ever wanna repeat this,” she knowingly smiled, “call me.”
As soon as the door closed, however, Jake snatched the card from your hand and ripped it into unglueably small pieces.
“No one’s calling anyone,” he grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you to his room. “You give your undivided attention to me.”
You stripped and got into bed together, but all he wanted to do was kiss. You kissed for a long while until your lips were raw. Maybe he actually thought he was your boyfriend then, but you decided to give him this. If he wanted to be delusional for a little while, so be it. That was the least you could do after everything he’d done for you tonight.
By then, he was so hard that you could trace the veins on his leaking cock. He was the one about to die of anticipation now, just waiting for you to take him down yout throat already, and a part of you just wanted to drag him to hell and back for what he put you through. As you were having the time of your life teasing him, you felt cold kisses on your back out of nowhere, and the room suddenly smelled like the ocean.
“That was one hell of a production just to eat my cum. Couldn’t you just suck my cock?”
The whisper in your ear gave you goosebumps. You just knew he felt you clench from the way he softly laughed immediately after.
“Shut up and get down there,” you ordered Chris.
“Anything you want, baby,” he kissed your waist.
As you were busy changing Jake’s life in your mouth, Chris lay under you, licking the white drops dripping down your thighs first. Then he started munching on your clit, and the volume of your moans immediately tripled, growing even louder as he lazily dragged his tongue all over your pussy. When you least expected it, his fingers slid inside you, fucking Jake’s cum back into you while letting out content sighs. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but you could feel the words within your body.
“Cum for me. Like you always do.”
Your body convulsed so hard that you almost crushed him between your legs. Unfortunately for Jake, your stamina hit subzero before he could finish, and even though Chris making you suck on his cum-covered fingers almost did the trick, it still wasn’t enough.
“Delicious, right? Can’t hold a candle to your taste, though,” he took a gentle bite from your ear, then addressed Jake firmly. “Switch with me.”
He got comfortable against the headboard and pulled you on his lap, spreading your legs wide so Jake could see how he disappeared into you.
“Eat her pussy,” Chris ordered him.
A diabolical smile appeared on Jake’s face when he saw you flinch. He could see you still pulsating with aftershocks, which meant you were still sensitive, which meant if he licked your clit right now…
“Too much. Too much!!!”
“It’s only too much if I say it’s too much,” Jake loudly slurped. “You’re a big girl, you can take it.”
You were thrashing on Chris’ lap, trying to escape the overly ticklish sensation, but to no avail. All you could do was listen to him sweetly laugh in your ear as he stretched you more, while his worse half was decimating you on his tongue.
You had zero complaining rights because if it was too much to take, then you shouldn’t have wished for exactly this.
“You’re fucking perfect,” Chris drowned you in kisses. You weren’t sure if you heard it right when he spoke to Jake again. “Come up. She’s ready.”
As Chris slowly pulled out of you, Jake finally gave you some respite and got on his knees. He stroked himself to full hardness, then offered his cock to you to devour, letting the pleasure run a few laps in his veins before he got to the closer of the show. You let him go with a loud pop, and what you felt next was…
Both of them.
Pressing.
Against your entrance.
“You can take it, baby,” Chris encouraged you. “She can, right?”
“Of course she can. This is the home stretch now,” Jake concurred. “Deep breaths. Hold my hands.”
They kissed you everywhere they could, your neck, your shoulders, your lips, as if this was wholesome lovemaking and not the pinnacle of debauchery. They were moving slow and deep, gradually making their way in, and you let them. You let them devour you. You let them swallow you whole. You let them meet inside you to maybe put an end to their petty fight.
And at long last, they were fucking you in tandem, scarily reminiscent of a well-oiled machine, almost in a rehearsed rhythm like they had done this before.
And not just once.
“See? Perfect. You’re perfect.”
“God, you’re so fucking tight… I love it.”
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
“Don’t you fucking dare. I can’t blow yet.”
“Oh, fuck…”
“I said don’t—”
“FUCK!!!”
It reminded you of the blue dress girl a little. Granted, these two paid so much mind to your pleasure at first, but by the end, this wasn’t about you. This was about them hitting rock bottom of pleasure together, and just having you along for the ride. And you let them. You let them devour you. You let them swallow you whole.
Just like you wished.
After the dust cleared, the only sound in the room was heavy breathing and hums of satisfaction. Arms and legs tangled with each other, you were floating on cloud nine, high on the filthiest kind of bliss you had ever experienced in your life.
“You know I’m not gonna pay you for this, right?” you spoke once you deemed their wits were back enough to process your words.
“We wouldn’t take your money,” Chris snuggled up to you, “but we will take your pussy.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means if you think you’re getting out of this debt, you got another thing coming,” Jake buried his head in the crook of your neck. “I know what your cumface looks like now.”
✉ Enjoyed this? Your feedback & reblogs free my stories from the draft prison.
Y’all say this but don’t support fluff nor angsty fics if it doesn’t have smut attached to it. You can’t have both. And then y’all don’t reblog or comment on your favs works so they go back to the smut. In the words of Kendrick Lamar, it’s not enough.
on top of this, the month/year just started, let ppl breath
updated as my works come out, with that in mind, do not plagiarize! all content is fiction and should be treated as such. warnings will be marked under 'tags' and ‘etc’ so please be sure to read those before the actual content itself.
Hello☺️ The weather is getting colder and it is reminding me of this beautiful piece you have written. It is such a sweet story and look forward to find out what will happen in the end if you plan to continue writing :) Anyways thank you and I hope this new year treats you well🫶🏽
this work is a direct sequel to my one-shot just stay with me, released a couple of years ago~
“Can I ask you something else?” You bravely found Hyunjin’s eyes—he tilted his head to the side, nodding as an invitation for you to go on. “What was it, then? Is it something I said, something I did? Something I didn’t do? What is it that made you fall out of love with me?”
chapter one: maraschino cherries
chapter two: december sunsets
Hello everyone! 🤍 I hope you guys have been having a good December so far. I've been working very hard to bring back bartender Hyunjin! My schedule has been incredibly busy and due to issues at work, I'll have to pick up a few additional shifts.
With that and the holiday chaos, I wasn't sure I'd be able to release all of the story in time for Christmas, so I figured it could be a two-part lil thing instead a one-shot! I'd love to promise everything will be out by Christmas but I'm not sure.
I'll be releasing the first part on December 21st! See you soon x
I just want to say thank you so much for creating this sequel. I really appreciate and admire how you are able to add so much depth to your stories. You are an amazing writer and I hope you can continue to feel passionate and capable in your skills! This tale is so sweet and sad and romantic and just well written. Coming back to it a year later still has the same warming effect on me and I hope to revisit it again next year :)
P.S. I decided to use the matcha cheesecake as inspo for my holiday baking and made matcha & earl grey tiramisu (cheesecake was a bit daunting so I stuck to something a little more simple)😋
pairing: hyunjin x afab reader | wordcount: 17k | genre: coworkers to friends to lovers, romance, smut | general warnings: multiple povs, mentions of a breakup (not hj x reader), angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, only one bed trope, mutual pining/fantasizing, food/drinking, explicit sexual content. more warnings under the cut. Just a chill, uneventful little one-shot for winter vibes ♡ 18+ only.
It's time for the yearly winter getaway organized by your boss. You haven't participated in a little while, but this year you're determined to spend some quality time with your coworkers.
Smut warnings: Hyunjin has explicit fantasies about reader (oral sex, fingering + daydreaming about her body) and masturbates to the thought of her, foot massage/appreciation of feet, very low key exhibitionism but I'm adding it just in case, tipsy sex, oral sex (m + f receiving), handjob/vaginal fingering, unprotected & fully consensual sex. Vanilla for the most part, just on the rough side (a few slaps of reader's ass, hair grabbing, etc), creampie (not accidental) / some cumplay.
Terms of endearment used: baby, slut (affectionate)
You had thought there would be something cathartic to crying outside in the cold with the crisp breeze blowing over your face. But there was nothing liberating about it and it did not feel like an epiphany. The tears did not freeze at the corner of your eyes, the blizzard had no impact on your sorrow. It just felt like you were crying, and that also it was cold.
Quite an underwhelming experience, actually. If you were to give it a rating, it would go a little like this:
“ ★☆☆☆☆ — Better than crying in front of everybody, I guess, but not by much. ”
You walked around the cabin, the snow crunching under the soles of your boots. You hadn’t even bothered with zipping them up before rushing outside, away from your friends.
Another gust of wind blasted over you and you wrapped your cardigan closer around your body, but it did not do much against the strong squall. Still, you welcomed it, welcomed the cold, you let that occupy your mind instead of the thoughts that were troubling you.
You passed a window as you walked and couldn’t resist peeking inside the cabin that your boss had rented for this year’s winter getaway. The place was lost in the mountains, and from here in the dark you couldn’t see much except some trees and the lights from other cabins a little farther away.
The game was still going strong inside, with Jisung currently standing in the middle of the living room, doing his best to act out whatever charade the others had to guess. You watched for an instant, wiping off your tears to see better. Still, you couldn’t guess the riddle for the life of you, and it seemed the same was happening to the rest of the group—even from here, you could see Jisung growing more impatient by the second.
From out here, it looked cozy in there. A fireplace with a little fire in it, string lights all over the place, mugs of mulled wine warming up fingers or cooling off on coffee tables. Cushions and pillows and fleece blankets. Remnants of dessert all over the place, crumbs of cake on empty plates. The cake that you baked, your favorite winter dessert—chocolate-cinnamon cake with mandarin cream cheese frosting and candied cranberries to decorate it. You made it every year.
Friends laughing, phones out filming Jisung’s tantrum. Some of these friends were more entangled together than others—hands holding other hands or arms passed over shoulders, quick pecks here and there, eyes full of bliss, of wine, of love.
The voice coming from the hidden corner of the cabin startled you, but at least it was soft. “Hey, I know you’re out there, come back inside, you’ll catch the flu! Where are you? It’s so fucking cold!”
“You can’t get the flu from the cold, Hyunjin,” you pointed out. “It’s a virus.”
Hyunjin appeared after turning the corner of the large wooden cabin. Your coworker, your friend. Not necessarily a close friend, but you weren’t sure you had one of those anyway. So much for keeping your circle small. He had quickly put on his coat around his broad shoulders and was holding something as he walked towards you.
He stopped when he made it to you and stood with you by the window. “Let’s not argue over semantics, shall we?”
“Semantics? That’s biology, man. Not the same. You just can’t catch a virus because of the cold—”
“I brought a blanket.” Hyunjin cut you off in the middle of your counter-argument as if you hadn’t been talking at all, but the warm lighting from the window revealed a soft expression on his face. And concern, too. “Here. Flu or not, you shouldn’t be out in the cold dressed like that.”
He wrapped the fuzzy blanket around you, making sure to tuck you in tightly. You observed him as he did so, the dark pools of his eyes, his soft cheekbones turned pink with the second mug of mulled wine, which had also stained his full lips a little.
Hyunjin wasn’t like the others. Not that there was anything wrong with the others, of course not—but he was different. His aura had not only a unique color to it, but it also had a very distinct texture. As if Hyunjin was surrounded by soft, satiny, petal-like material. As if he brought tranquility wherever he went.
“Will you come back inside?” he asked gently, rubbing your arms over the blanket with his big hands to help warm you up sooner.
“You go.” You breathed deeply. “I’ll go in a minute or two.”
“Fine. I’ll stay for a minute or two, then. Won’t say a word.” He let go of you and returned to his observation of the charade game going on inside.
Hyunjin, with his striking beauty, his dorky laugh, his wisdom, his insight, his politeness. His sense of humor. His profound kindness. His sensitive heart, which he tried to conceal under his mysterious demeanor. A handsome man with a delicate soul, who moved with grace, elegance, and purpose no matter what he did. When he wrapped you in the blanket just then, when he got out of his car as he arrived for his shift at the restaurant, or when he mixed the drinks at the bar section. Nobody did anything like him, which you knew explained the fuzzy feelings that you had when he was around you or when you thought about him. Because, maybe, you hadn’t felt for anybody this way before, and it was strange.
Still. Hyunjin was your friend, and you felt safe around him. “I shouldn’t have come, Hyun. I knew it was a bad idea.”
He clicked his tongue and leaned against the wood exterior of the cabin. He was away from the light then and you couldn’t make out his facial expression, but you could see that he had cocked his head to the side. “Or not,” he offered. “Maybe this is how you move on, you know?”
Moving on. Fucking moving on.
One of the many things in life you seem to consistently fail at.
You did not love him anymore. Minho. Your boss, the owner of the restaurant where you worked at.
Your ex.
You were there from the beginning, along with Chan, Jisung, and Si-yeon. Si-yeon had found a promising position at a company soon after and hadn’t stayed at God’s Menu. Still, the restaurant had gained popularity quite quickly. One night, after closing time, Minho had kissed you as you two were looking at color swatches to repaint the main room. Then he had fucked you on his desk, and again against the wall of his office.
You had dated Minho for some time—nine months to be more exact. Towards the end of the relationship, he was closed off, distant, often choosing to come in specifically when you weren’t scheduled to work. When confronted about it, he admitted that he had been struggling with the fact that he was dating one of his employees, that it had affected his feelings for you.
He had fallen out of love with you, despite him trying not to. You believed him—Minho did not tell lies. Besides, you could see it on his face. The shame, the disappointment in himself. You knew he had a strong work ethic, you liked that about him. But neither you nor he had expected it would cause the end of your relationship.
But that was a while ago now. The breakup had occurred almost two years ago. You had taken the painful decision to stay at the restaurant. You liked the atmosphere there and were friends with most of the staff. You liked that you had seen it become something so grand when it started from basically nothing. You had painted those walls, you had typed the damn words on the menu before sending it to the print shop. You had tasted Chan’s million versions of his dishes to help him select the ultimate ones. Your blood, sweat, and tears were in there, and it felt wrong to leave it just because of a breakup.
It also felt wrong to stay. Still, you stayed, like the stubborn motherfucker you were.
Minho started dating Si-yeon. After all, she was not one of his employees. So it was okay.
And this is when Hyunjin had started working there. Changbin was the manager of the bar section as well as the only bartender at the time. But when business had picked up, they needed to hire somebody, and quickly. Jisung and Chan knew a guy who knew a guy, and that guy had just closed his bar due to unfortunate circumstances, and his best bartender needed a job. That was Hyunjin, and he had been hired on the spot after mixing one of his signature drinks for Minho. It was called Red Lights. Campari, prosecco rosé and cranberry juice mixed with some honey, served on ice.
That drink was now on the bar section’s menu, as well as many other of Hyunjin’s creations.
And maybe this was why your feelings for Hyunjin didn’t have any clear boundaries. He had entered your life when you were at a very vulnerable place, so maybe your heart had wanted to find wonder again in this too-pretty-to-be-real boy, the one who mixed ‘special’ drinks for you after closing time if he thought you seemed in a bad mood. He would never say that, of course, he’d just hand you a glass and tell you what ingredients were in it and tell you it was a magic potion for serotonin. Often, it was just fruit juice with a dash of smoky tea in an extravagantly decorated glass.
But hey, it kind of worked.
You did not miss him, did not love Minho anymore—maybe you hadn’t even loved him anymore when you confronted him about his lack of response in your relationship, all this time ago. But still, it had hit you like a train when, just now, he had told you that he and Si-yeon were engaged. He had told you first, which you thought was admirable and adult and respectful, before telling the rest of the group between two charades.
And now you were outside, hoping that crying in the cold would be better than locking yourself in a bathroom to sob and it wasn’t. It just wasn’t.
You did not love him anymore, but you hadn’t been able to move on like Minho had. He had started dating Si-yeon not long after the breakup while you had developed a stupid crush on a bartender who gave you fruit juice and was way out of your fucking league. Minho had moved in with his new girlfriend, a thing he had never voiced he even wanted to do with you, and they were living a good life. You were happy for them, truly. You weren’t jealous in the sense that you wanted Minho back, no, it wasn’t that.
You stayed in your small but cozy apartment, you did not do much. You watched TV series or movies, you read books. You baked for fun, to share the sweet treats with your friends, coworkers and family. You went on a handful of dates but did not care much for that. You had ended up in the bed of two of those dates, and you hadn’t cared much for that either.
Minho had moved on and you were stagnating, unable to figure out what you were supposed to do next. Your mother had suggested moving. Maybe a new environment would help you see beyond your routine. She had also suggested—many times—getting a new job. Your friends all said the same. Still, you stayed at God’s Menu. Like the stubborn motherfucker you were.
“I think it was a good idea that you did come,” Hyunjin said. You had avoided the yearly winter getaways since the breakup, figuring it was best not to end up stuck with Minho and your coworkers in a cabin up north for a couple of days. “It was brave, don’t you think? You couldn’t have known he was gonna drop the bomb on us—on you—like that.”
Hyunjin’s hair fell over his eyes when he straightened up his neck and his back, pushing himself away from the wall he leaned on. The blue shade of it was invisible to the eye in the darkness. He walked a few steps away from you, motioning you to follow him, but you didn’t. You stayed there, at the window, shivering in the cold, watching Minho’s charade. You knew he was trying to act out ‘pickpocketing’, but nobody, not even Si-yeon, seemed to pick up on that. Just like Jisung, he was becoming frustrated. It was funny. You smiled a little as you wiped what you hoped was the last of your tears for tonight.
“I’m happy for them, you know.” There was a lump in your throat and it didn’t seem to budge one bit. “I don’t even love him anymore. Why am I crying then?”
Hyunjin closed in the distance between the two of you and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you in for a one-armed hug. “It’s a lot to process.” Hyunjin’s voice was low, but you still heard him clearly over the gusts of wind. “You have to give yourself some time. He…” Hyunjin sighed, hesitating. “I think Minho was a bit of a coward to just break up with you instead of trying to work it out. Maybe your subconscious thinks like that, too. Unresolved frustration and shit. You’ll be alright, just be patient with yourself.”
“At this rate, you’ll have to start charging me for therapy fees.” Hyunjin chuckled with you, but you went on. “Is it extra for all of the serotonin potions, or were these part of the bundle?”
“No, they’re actually free because they’re experimental. You were the first and only patient of our very important clinical study.” Hyunjin pulled away then so that he could look into your eyes. He was warm against you, though, and it felt nice. He smelled good, too, as usual. “Unfortunately, it seems that our product did not meet our expectations.”
He brought the back of his fingers to your face, gently wiping away the few tears that were still rolling on your cheek. You shivered at the contact, blaming the cold despite knowing very well it was something else causing your sudden emotion and state of high alert. It happened every time Hyunjin touched you like that.
“Did you mean it?” You held onto the blanket around you, doing your best to calm both your fluttering heart and your rapid breathing. “That I’ll be alright?”
Hyunjin smiled at you. His arm returned around your waist, no longer giving you the choice—he dragged you away with him as he made his way back towards the front door. “I meant it, yeah, but it’ll only work if you actually don’t die of hypothermia. So let’s go.”
When you got in the cabin again, the conversation and laughter were still going on just like before you had gone outside. From the small entrance, you couldn’t see anyone though, and turned to Hyunjin as he was hanging his coat on the wall. “Is it obvious that I cried?” you asked him. “Are my eyes red and puffy?”
Hyunjin squinted a little, observing you carefully. Then, he shook his head. “Actually, not that bad.” He pulled on the sleeve of his sweater and finished drying your cheeks, dabbing your skin carefully so as not to leave any marks. “Maybe the cold prevented the inflammation.”
Then you ought to change your rating on the whole crying outside experience.
“ ★★★☆☆ — Better than crying in front of everybody and served as a free, complimentary eye mask at the same time. Will go back for sure! ”
Hyunjin took your hand in his and led you not to the living room where the game was still happening—although you could hear Changbin voicing his complaints that he was tired of it—but to the kitchen. Most of the dishes had been cleaned.
“You didn’t eat dessert,” Hyunjin pointed out, opening the fridge. “And you made it! So we’re gonna eat some cake and finish the mulled wine, how about that for serotonin?”
“Cake?” you raised your eyebrows, surprised at how easily a smile painted itself on your lips. “Is this the second phase of the clinical trial, by any chance?”
“Guilty.” Hyunjin let the fridge door close itself as he brought what was left of your cake to the counter. You sat at one of the stools near him, watching his agile fingers hold the knife carefully as he sliced the dessert. “But I’m more than confident that we will see some improvement this time. The person who made the cake is one hell of a baker.”
“Ah, are they really that good or is this just a rumor?” You giggled as Hyunjin’s soothing aura was piercing its way through the gloomy mist around you.
Hyunjin placed the slices of cake on two small plates. He had icing on two of his fingers, and you found yourself wishing you’d lick it off him. Before your brain could even process that thought, Hyunjin had brought the fingers to his mouth to get the job done himself—of course. That was the normal thing to do anyway—it’s not like he was going to push his fingers into your mouth and—
“They’re really good, yeah,” he went on, pulling his fingers from between his plush lips, leaving a small speck of icing on them. “That person baked me a cake for my birthday last year actually, and it was the best cake I ever had.”
What if I kissed him. What if I kissed the icing off his lips?
No, no, no. Fucking hell. How was it possible that, five minutes ago, you were crying because your ex is getting engaged, and now you wanted to kiss your friend because he had icing on his pretty mouth?
You ate a bite of cake, remembering the one you had baked for Hyunjin’s birthday—a matcha cheesecake with raspberry coulis. He had talked about that cake for months, and you had promised yourself you’d make another one for his next birthday too.
“Thanks, Hyunjin.” He ate a little too before leaving you to pour the last of the mulled wine into two mugs, which you clinked together before emptying their content.
“I think I’ve had a little too much of that,” he admitted with a laugh. In the other room, the volume of the conversations seemed to have dialed down a little. Changbin had apparently won his battle to end the game—and it was most likely because he and his girlfriend were the losing team. In fact, you could hear her call him out on it gently, her voice dripping with love. “I think you’ve had too much too, your cheeks are all rosy. Are you feeling a little warmer?” Hyunjin inquired, returning to his seat next to you.
“Yes, I’m alright.” You touched your cheek, not surprised to find it so warm. It made you blush even more to think that Hyunjin was seeing you like that.
“Don’t worry, it looks pretty,” Hyunjin commented in between bites of cake. “Sounds like they’re gonna watch a movie. Do you want to join?”
You stared at the half-eaten slice of cake on your plate before turning to Hyunjin. He looked especially handsome tonight in a simple hoodie and jeans outfit. His desaturated dark blue hair looked soft to the touch, silky smooth, and you had to resist the urge to run your fingers through it. You couldn’t help but notice that it had grown a little longer since he had gotten this haircut. You liked it, though. You didn’t think this man had it in him to look anything but gorgeous.
“Oh, yeah, why not?” You actually felt like it, too. Hopefully the movie would be fun…
Changbin, Jisung and Si-yeon entered the kitchen as you were finishing your slice of cake. Hyunjin was already done and was rinsing his plate in the sink.
“That’s where you guys were!” Jisung exclaimed, taking the seat that Hyunjin had occupied just a few seconds ago. “Hiding to stuff your face with cake, keeping it all to yourself!”
“Hey, you had two slices,” you pointed out, “and I made the damn cake! Think that entitles me to some…”
“She’s right, Ji,” Si-yeon said as she grabbed a clean glass from the cupboard next to the sink. “You stuffed your round little cheeks more than anyone in this cabin!”
“You all can go to hell, whatever!” Jisung scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m hungrier than all of you because I had to be the one starting the fire in the fireplace.”
Changbin leaned against the counter right across from you and smiled playfully. “You tried to start the fire, Han Jisung. But you couldn’t. Minho actually lit it up, remember?”
“No, I have no recollection of that. Hyunjin, what the hell did you put in that mulled wine to make me black out like this?”
The whole room burst into laughter. Yours was a little shy, a little quieter, but you found it comforting to know that you could find things funny even when Si-yeon was around. She was a lovely person anyway.
She had actually turned Minho down initially, feeling like going on a date with him would be crossing a line. You respected that, some kind of unspoken rule had been observed there. But when your group of college friends had met a couple of weeks later for drinks, Si-yeon had told you about it, and you had immediately assured her that it would be totally okay if she went out with Minho. So really, you could not understand what troubled you so much tonight. This had all happened so long ago.
Was your mother right? Did you need to put space between the past and you?
“Are you guys gonna watch the movie with us?” Si-yeon asked, but she really was staring at you. She could probably tell that you had cried, and was testing the waters with you.
“What kind of movie?” you replied. “I’d be in the mood for some mindless sci-fi, you know?”
“Actually sounds lovely, I’ll go start up the TV.” She disappeared from the kitchen without using the clean glass she had taken out of the cabinet.
You filled it for her with water from the fridge while Hyunjin was making a late-night round of drinks for everyone—sweet vermouth with maraschino and chartreuse liqueur. He diluted it with ice, claiming he did not want to be responsible for everyone’s liver to fail as he had stirred up several rounds of drinks tonight for the group as well as the mulled wine.
Soon later, as everyone was getting settled in the living room to watch a superhero movie, Minho smiled worriedly at you over his glass. You tasted the drink too, finding it refreshing after a few mugs of spiced wine. Si-yeon sat beside him, but she was having a deep conversation about the looks of two of the actors from the movie with Changbin and Ha-ri, his girlfriend.
You smiled back at him, at Minho, and raised your glass just slightly at him. He had hurt you and you had hurt him, too, but you couldn’t hold it against him that he had moved on. That he had allowed himself to fall in love again while you so obstinately refused to. Like the stubborn motherfucker you were.
Minho stared at you for a few seconds, his expression softening, and he raised his glass back, then you both drank to the unspoken peace treaty. Minho wrapped his arm around his fiancée’s shoulders and she rested her head against his.
Hyunjin took the seat next to you on one of the many couches in the big living room. He had brought with him the blanket he had given you earlier, outside, and laid it on both of you. You wanted to rest your head against him, too. You wanted to touch his blue hair, look into his espresso eyes.
Instead, you sipped your drink, complimenting him on it as it was genuinely delicious, and watched the movie by his side. And it felt good. Like something in your chest had evaporated, and instead of a thick storm, you only felt a gentle mist.
Nineteen months ago, Hyunjin had met Lee Minho in his restaurant which he had boldly named God’s Menu. Hyunjin admired that about Minho—his confidence that he was always doing his best, and that his best was enough, yet that he still could and should improve. Few people in life displayed such reason and determination, so Hyunjin wasn’t surprised that Minho was successful. That night, Minho sat with him after closing time and they chatted. Chan was also there—he had made them a delicious pasta meal and they were eating together. Minho seemed rather inclined to at least give Hyunjin a chance. Still, he asked him if he had a few signature drinks and if he would be willing to mix one for them tonight.
Hyunjin had a few drinks of the sort, but his true specialty was to ‘remix’ cocktail recipes to elevate them. As Minho was requesting a signature drink from him, Hyunjin’s eyes had fallen upon the bottle of Campari behind the bar, and the inspiration for Red Lights had come to him instantly. That night was the first night he mixed that drink, inventing it on the spot and improvising the whole time. But it had been the drink that had gotten him the job, in the end, and now Hyunjin had a reputation in town—he was known for his mixology skills, which was still surreal for him.
Nobody knew. That he had never made the drink before that.
Two days later, he met you. The restaurant assistant-manager who liked to do some waiting at the tables even though she did not have to. A soft smile on softer lips, big eyes, kindness in every word you spoke. After closing time, you always sent the waiters home early and took on some of their chores. ‘Keeps my mind busy,’ you had told Hyunjin, one night after he asked why. You had music playing in your section of the restaurant for your ears only, and liked to hum along to the songs. The volume was low but Hyunjin could hear you as he took inventory of the bar section, as he wiped down tables and surfaces. If he had to describe you at that point, he would have said that you were interesting.
Sixteen months ago, he noticed that the melancholy in your eyes did not dissipate. Still, you regularly brought baked goods for the employees, bought fresh flowers for the staff room, you sported a smile on your face, no matter how painful it was to do it.
‘If I were you, I’d forget her,’ Seungmin had told him one night when, after closing time, Hyunjin was doing some prep for the next day. You were in the other section singing along to a pop song and sweeping the floor. In your own little world. Seungmin had noticed him staring at you. ‘She’s the boss’ ex and she still loves him, everyone knows that.’
‘Isn’t Minho seeing someone?’ Hyunjin had asked the restaurant’s accountant. ‘I’m pretty sure he mentioned a girl.’
‘Oh, Si-yeon? Yeah, they’re seeing each other.’ Hyunjin would never forget Seungmin’s shrug, how perfectly synchronized it had been with the beat of the song you were listening to. Coincidences like that were like life’s way of reminding one about its intricacies. ‘Doesn’t change the fact that it would be a bad idea to fuck your boss’ ex, doesn’t it? Besides, she’s really hung up on him, not sure you even stand a chance.’
If he had to describe you at that point, he would have said that you were interesting, sad, pretty. That you were a skilled baker.
Ten months ago, Hyunjin caught the flu. He was very sick and stayed at home for over a week being miserable in his bed. One evening, he received a text message from you. ‘I’m coming over, please unlock your door.’ He objected—the last thing he wanted was to make you sick too, but you insisted. He unlocked his door and you came in with paperwork for him to sign for the restaurant and two large bags of groceries. You made him sit on his couch with peppermint tea, a blanket, and a light-hearted drama while you cooked chicken noodle soup and black bean sauce for him, chatting with him while you did so. You left as soon as you had split the food in small containers and put them in his fridge, making him promise to get plenty of rest and eat three meals a day. Making him promise to call you if he needed something.
The whole rest of the week, Hyunjin was waiting for a good reason to make that call, but he didn’t run out of medicine or food, or anything. Unfortunately.
If he had to describe you at that point, he would have said that you were kind, generous, interesting, beautiful. Sweet. That your heart was heavy but you made sure that others felt joy every day.
Nine months ago, Hyunjin was working and it was his birthday. He did not mind that—his parents would have him for dinner the next day and he had another dinner planned with friends from work and from outside work, too. Halfway through his busy shift, the music playing in the restaurant stopped, immediately replaced by his coworkers’ voices singing him ‘Happy Birthday’. He had been moved by that, as all of them surrounded him and hugged him. Changbin was holding a plate with a cheesecake on it. The cake had a satiny raspberry coulis on top and was a pretty soft-green color on the inside.
‘Make a wish, quick! Or else the candle will melt and ruin y/n decorations on the cake!’ Chan had pointed out. Hyunjin hadn’t known what to wish for, he didn’t like to wish for things. But he had wished that you would bake him another cake for his birthday next year, too.
He hoped that wish would come true because it was the best cake he had ever tasted. The crust was crispy, not too sweet, and the coulis was divine. You had made it yourself, for him. Later that night, there had been a little gathering after the restaurant had closed. Everybody indulged in the cake and some drinks. He found you outside in the cold, shivering but determined to stay away from the others. He had given you his jacket, pretending he wasn’t cold at all. ‘I just wanted some quiet, Hyunjin. Sorry. Happy birthday, though.’
Hyunjin had wanted to kiss you then but did not have the balls to do it. You were Minho’s ex, and your eyes were still veiled by your heartbreak. Part of him knew he was just looking for excuses to stay in his comfort zone but still, he did not insist. He stood with you at the back of the restaurant until you decided to go back with the others.
If he had to describe you at that point, he would have said that you were hurt, but that you had found a way to make beauty out of that hurt. He would have said that you were beautiful, charming, alluring. That he thought of you, often, of the way your mouth looked when you sucked on a maraschino cherry, the sound of your laugh, the outline of your tits in your white shirts, the way your skirts hugged your legs. He would have said that you were smart, interesting, kind, that he made sure to be very slow at his closing routine so that you’d offer to help him once you were done with yours, and he’d just chat with you for a while.
He always put maraschino cherries in your drinks. Thank you drinks, serotonin boost drinks, I’m sorry I fucked up the liquor order shipment and we’re definitely running out of vodka before the end of the month drinks…
He always stared at you when you ate the cherries, too, imagining that you were playing with his tongue instead of fruit. How wrong it felt when he closed his eyes at night, fist closed around his cock in his bed or the shower, thinking of bending you over and fucking you against the large counter of the bar section, or on his couch, in his car, anywhere. How good it felt when he came thinking of you.
One month ago, Minho had come in just before dinner service, telling the staff currently working that the yearly winter getaway would indeed take place. He had rented a bigger cabin this year, and everybody was welcome to have a plus one with them, something that hadn’t been the case before—to keep things simple, he always said. Minho always needed to make sure things were running smoothly. He had asked everyone to confirm their attendance within two days. If too few people were interested, he’d rent something smaller.
Hyunjin's heart had jumped when he saw your name in the group chat for the getaway. You were working that day, so he had told you about it later. ‘It’s cool that you’re going this year.’
‘I think it’s a bad idea, Hyunjin,’ you had admitted. That night, Hyunjin could make out the lace of your bra under your shirt and it had made his cock twitch in his pants. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t go. Because of Minho.’
By then, the two of you had grown close enough that you had trusted him with the whole story behind the breakup. To this day, Hyunjin thought Minho had been a coward not to try harder. If you were his girlfriend, he would try to keep you. ‘I’m glad you’re going,’ was all Hyunjin had managed to tell you. He understood how you felt, but he was happy with the perspective of spending some time with you, away from work, away from the city. ‘I’ll make you plenty of serotonin drinks, promise.’
You had hugged him after that, thanking him. Later that night, Hyunjin had watched his cum disappear down the drain of his shower, forehead against the ceramic tile. It was wrong. He had to do something about it.
If he couldn’t have you, then maybe he should find another job. Go somewhere else where he would not see you so often. Go somewhere else, so that you didn’t hug him so tight, your body flush with him, your tits pressed against his chest.
If he had to describe you at that point, he wouldn’t have known which words to use. A friend, a crush, the girl he liked. Something else, something stronger. Something he was afraid to admit even to himself.
Something he couldn’t have.
Tonight, at the cabin, Hyunjin watched the movie by your side. He had seen it twice already, mostly because it was one of the default movies his roommate would put on when he didn’t know what to watch. He liked it, but he liked watching you more.
The way you would close your eyes sometimes, to rest them maybe, or because you were sleepy. The little glances and smiles you had for him after you laughed at a joke. How you tried to conceal your tears at the sad scene in the middle of the film.
How your thigh brushed against him when you shifted your weight on the couch. Hyunjin was hoping you would fall asleep and lay against him, but you didn’t. You watched the whole movie.
A few people announced they were going to sleep—Jisung, Si-yeon, Jeongin and his girlfriend Hye-ja as well as Min-seo. They immediately earned themselves playful complaints from the ones who said they would finish the dishes and clean up the kitchen. You were among those, and Hyunjin wanted to go with you, but Minho and Seungmin had other plans for him—they asked him to join them in a discussion that had started before the movie, when Seungmin was telling the story about the time he visited a whiskey distillery with his friends. Minho wanted to know Hyunjin’s opinion on whiskeys, as he considered investing in a few exclusive bottles but wanted to make the right choice.
But Hyunjin indulged them. He liked whiskey, liked to see the light filter through a good whiskey as he poured it into a Glencairn glass. Minho promised him a brand new set of those, as well as to bring him on his shopping quest for some fancy whiskey.
From where he sat in the living room, Hyunjin could see a little of the kitchen. He saw Changbin and Ha-ri leave for the basement where their room was located—Changbin looked so tired that his poor girlfriend almost had to carry him down there. He, of course, blamed it on washing the dishes by hand.
The smell of coffee was spreading all the way here, and Hyunjin observed you. You were grabbing a handful of small mugs from a cupboard while Chan sat on the counter. You two were having a lively conversation about something Hyunjin couldn’t quite understand, as you were speaking in low voices, most likely out of respect for those who had gone to sleep.
“I would like a coffee,” Seungmin pointed out while Minho was scrolling something on his phone. Hyunjin was still staring at you, trying to decide if Chan was openly flirting with you or if he was being subtle about it. “Should we go with the others?”
“I better get upstairs,” Minho commented with a self-deprecating laugh. “If I don’t go to sleep soon after Si-yeon, she’ll turn into an actual human-sized ice cube and try to steal all of my warmth.”
Seungmin laughed about that on his way to the kitchen, but Hyunjin stayed on the couch. He had a nice view of you here, and he saw how you responded to Chan’s compliments. He could tell that Chan was asking about your baking. He heard him complain that baking had never been his strength, that it was why the dessert menu wasn’t particularly elaborate.
“Would you teach me sometime?” Chan asked you. You were leaning on the counter in front of him, hands crossed over your chest, watching him carefully. “The éclairs… or that matcha cheesecake, you know?”
As if he had known you would glance at him, Hyunjin looked away just in time but still saw from the corner of his eyes that you were now the one observing him. He simply stared at the TV where some boring infomercial was on. He did not hear your response, but he heard Seungmin making a comment about the cheesecake.
Seungmin left soon after, telling everyone he was going to watch a drama with his coffee, as his room was equipped with a TV. He politely invited him, but Hyunjin refused, pretending he was too tired for it.
But he just wanted to keep watching you.
You, snacking on a sugar cookie as you listened to Chan. The way you held the mug, not by its handle, to warm up your hands. The way your tits bounced a little when you laughed, or when you pushed your hair behind to come see something that Chan was showing you on his phone, revealing your neck and some of your shoulder. Hyunjin could not describe you, but he knew he would miss you if he left God’s Menu. When he left it.
He didn’t know what he wanted anymore.
But he knew that your bare neck made him hard. He knew that the sight of your tongue licking off powdered sugar on your velvety lips made his cock twitch. Maybe it was all the wine, but Hyunjin was certain that if he stayed here in your vicinity, he would make a mess in his pants.
He got up and, without a word, made his way to his room. So what if you fucked Chan? He was a nice guy, after all. Maybe tonight had been eye-opening for you. Maybe Minho and Si-yeon’s engagement had helped you find some peace, finally. And if that was the case, Hyunjin was glad.
But he also wanted to be the one in the kitchen with you, wanted you to teach him how to make sugar cookies. He wanted to taste them in your mouth, wanted to kiss your lips, your neck, your pussy.
Hyunjin painfully made it to his room. He had lucked out—he did not have to share it, but his room wasn’t particularly big, it was on the highest floor and had a large window that showed the beautiful scenery around. It was also equipped with a private bathroom, which would come in handy right about now because he needed to relieve his aching cock and also needed to wash himself off—he always felt so fucking filthy when you made him hard like that.
He couldn’t help it. And it was why he figured it might be best if he just left.
Hyunjin unzipped his pants and left them on the floor by the door with his boxer briefs. Spitting into his palm as he let the shower warm up, Hyunjin took himself in his hand, not even glancing down at his shame. He knew what he’d see anyway, and if he stared too much at his flushed, leaking cock, he would imagine it between your legs or in your mouth. Your tongue swirling around his tip…
Hyunjin whimpered at that thought as he squeezed himself tighter before leaving his cock to fondle his balls gently. He twitched at that and entered the shower stall, letting the warm water calm him down for a while as he rubbed his now fully hard cock.
He didn’t want this to be elaborate or anything—he couldn’t wait to cum anyway. Maybe he should sleep with his noise-canceling headphones in case you did fuck Chan. If he heard, even faintly, a moan from you, it might be enough to make him lose his mind.
Hyunjin fucked his hand, legs going weaker and weaker the more he went, hoping the sound of running water would muffle his whines. You were so fucking pretty. He had a semi during the movie just from sitting next to you and smelling you, feeling the warmth of your body against his. He wondered how your tits would feel in his hands, wondered how they would look if he sucked on them while fucking your cunt with his fingers.
Most of the time, he was able to suppress those thoughts, especially in public settings. But not tonight—that was just too much. Earlier, when you were crying outside, he wanted to kiss you and take you away from this place, make you see how you deserved to be loved. Make you see that you were worth fighting for.
If only you’d let him.
If only it were your hand around him, working him to build up his release. Would you let him flood your mouth with his cum? He always came so much if it was to the thought of you…
And that’s what made him cum tonight—the thought of filling your cute little mouth with his cum, so much that your eyes would water. So much that it would spill from your lips and roll down your chin, all the way to your tits. Hyunjin felt a strong throb, almost losing his balance, and fucked his hand hard as he came, spurting white ropes that landed on the ceramic wall in front of him.
He continued to stroke himself gently as he came down from his high and used the showerhead to clean up his mess.
But even the shower gel didn’t wash off the shame. He felt bad. He was your friend, and he shouldn’t think things like that. It wasn’t his fault that he had fallen for you like that… But it wasn’t yours either.
He really, really didn’t want to leave. But he also didn’t really have a choice, did he?
Hyunjin did put on his noise-canceling headphones after his shower. He listened to some music while he relaxed on his bed, staring at the snow lazily falling outside. He almost wanted to go out there. After all, that’s what you had done earlier—fleeing outside to escape the overwhelming feelings of the moment. Yeah, maybe he should do that. Might just clear his mind a little and allow him to get some rest.
Hyunjin put on a pair of sweatpants to go along with his t-shirt and found woolen socks too. He made his way downstairs, where all the lights had been turned off. You were supposed to share a room with Min-seo, but something told him you weren’t with your friend. You were probably with Ch—
Hyunjin nearly died of a heart attack when he saw a shadow move on the couch. In the dark like that, it might have been a ghoul, a spirit, or something worse. But it turned out to be you.
He turned off his music and left the headphones hanging around his neck.
“Oh, sorry Hyun… Did I scare you?” You asked him, your voice full of concern. “I thought everyone had gone to bed.”
You had scared him but Hyunjin pretended he was completely calm. “I thought so too.” He chuckled nervously. His eyes were getting accustomed to the dark, so he was able to see that you were on the couch, which you had turned into a makeshift bed with the help of cushions and throw blankets. “What are you doing here anyway?”
You sighed. A sound so delightful it made Hyunjin forget why he was downstairs in the first place. He went to sit with you, on the space of the couch that you didn’t occupy. Your toes brushed against his thigh, and he couldn’t help but notice that they were a little cool. He pulled on the blanket covering you to make sure it could warm up your feet well and placed his hands on top to provide some kind of heat. You sighed again, and it made Hyunjin want to punch the wall.
“You’re so warm,” you commented, snuggling with the blanket. “Thanks, Hyunjin. Without the fire, it got cool pretty quickly in here.”
“Did Min-seo throw you out?” Hyunjin squeezed your feet a little, massaging them gently. He liked physical contact with you and there was no denying that, but more importantly he liked that it never felt forced or strange—something that was quite new to him who didn’t particularly enjoy any sort of skinship. “Were you perhaps snoring?”
“No!” You gave him a soft kick in his side. It didn’t hurt. It felt like a hug more than an attack. “God, I’m almost embarrassed to say it but… The door is locked, and… I think she’s in there with Jisung. If you know what I mean.”
Hyunjin laughed and you attempted another playful kick again, except this time he held your feet down, pressing his thumbs onto them and kneading carefully. He knew this wasn’t exactly the sort of thing that normal friends did, but he had pretty much made up his mind about leaving. And if tonight was the only chance he got at giving you a foot massage, then he would fucking grasp it.
“Oh, Hyunjin, fuck—” You moaned when his massaging reached the exact center of your feet. His brain heard the moan and sent a truckload of blood to his crotch, but Hyunjin took a deep breath to try and calm down. How fucking pathetic was it—you did a thing, he got hard, he jerked off. Rinse, repeat. You were his friend. He liked you for more than… this. He hated that his body seemed to disagree with that. “Oh, that’s really nice, hmm…”
He remembered catching a peek of the lavender nail polish on your toes earlier. “We do get sore feet from our jobs, don’t we?” he whispered, watching you get comfortable in the cushions. “I like your nail polish, it’s pretty.” You had pretty feet. Hyunjin liked it when you wore heeled sandals in the summer.
“You really don’t have to give me a foot massage, Hyunjin.” But you let him do it and he kept doing it. “Or is this part of the clinical study along with the magic potions and cake?”
“Absolutely it is.” Hyunjin was relieved for the touch of humor—it helped diffuse the tension he felt in his chest. However, it did not do much for the pressure he felt in his loins. “On the house!”
You didn’t laugh, but you hummed your appreciation again at his handling of your feet. Hyunjin decided to push the blanket a little so he could massage you directly, his skin touching yours. You were warming up but he did not want to stop, did not want to get up from this couch.
“I’m not really surprised,” he said, “for Ji and Min-seo, I mean.”
“Neither am I,” you grunted. “Just wish they’d have the decency to take my stuff out of the room before locking me out of it! Sleeping on the couch is one thing, but my toothbrush is in there, my clothes, my towel for a shower…”
You got a little more comfortable and put your feet on his thighs instead of next to him, and that concluded Hyunjin’s worst fear—having your feet inches away from his cock was enough to give him a semi.
Hyunjin wasn’t sure if it was his cock or his heart that spoke next, and he was greatly displeased with himself for that. “There’s a bathroom in my bedroom,” he reminded you. “I have extra towels and extra clothes… And I’m willing to bet Chan has an extra toothbrush somewhere.”
You thought about it. “Chan is the mom of the group.” You giggled. “Really? I’d just need a t-shirt and some shorts I guess… I hate going to sleep without a shower.”
“Let’s go.” Hyunjin didn’t like the idea of not touching your feet anymore, but he released them and you sat upright on the couch to gather your phone and phone charger. While you weren’t looking, he adjusted his cock in his pants, pretty confident that his loose t-shirt would hide the worst of it. “There are fees for the shower, though.”
“Oh really?” You followed him into the staircase, your footsteps as quiet as a cat’s. He liked to think that he had helped your sore feet a little. “A foot massage was free, but not a shower? What would warrant you charging for it? Are you gonna get in there and lather me?”
“That would be way out of your budget, no offense.” But Hyunjin’s cock twitched painfully in his underwear. God, that’s what he wanted to do, slide his hands all over you, foam dripping on your tits. He wanted to make you moan again. Still, he kept his friendly, lighthearted tone. “Unless you want to send the bill to Minho. One shower, one lathering, one rinse, one hair lathering, one hair rinsing… Fees would be piling up. He’d be broke, you’d ruin his wedding… Is that what you want?”
Instead of responding, you simply shoved Hyunjin against the wall and walked past him to get into his room before he did. But you laughed at his joke. You laughed. Could you really be over him, over Minho? What had happened between earlier tonight and now?
Hyunjin didn’t want to cultivate false hopes, and he was certain he would be more rational about it if there was more blood going through his brain. Instead, he went to his suitcase while you sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window.
“You do have the best view,” you commented. “Look at the mountains…”
“After your shower, you can take the bed.” Hyunjin had found what he was looking for in this stuff—just a plain white t-shirt, but it was the softest he owned. “I’ll take the couch.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that, I’ll be just fine downstairs.” You took the shirt from him as well as the pair of black sweat shorts he handed you. “Don’t worry, Hyun.”
He figured he could just leave the room while you were in the shower and saw no point in arguing. Instead, he showed you the bathroom and gave you clean towels, assuring you he’d find a toothbrush for you somewhere. You stood in the bathroom for a while, staring up at him. A strand of your hair fell over your face and Hyunjin gently pushed it away. “Clean up,” he murmured. “Take all the time you need.”
He could not find the exact words to describe you, but he knew it felt like a soft summer day when he looked at you. Like a glass of ice-cold lemonade on a hot day. Like listening to his favorite song for the first time. Like listening to his favorite song for the thousandth time.
He was almost glad to exit the room but made sure to text Chan before knocking at his door to see if he was asleep. What a foolish that was though—to think that Chan would sleep. Not only was he awake, but he also had a few toothbrushes still in their packaging—he had bought a few extras for the group.
Of course.
“Jisung and Min-seo, eh?” Chan snorted after Hyunjin explained the situation. “We all saw that coming I guess.”
“We sure did.” Hyunjin took the toothbrush that Chan gave him and looked around the room. It was the smallest in the cabin, but it was cozy enough and had a TV. Chan had been watching a movie by the looks of it. “Better get going then, thanks Chan.”
“No problem.” Chan walked him to the door which, considering the size of the room, took about 0.02 seconds. “She’s in your room now, then?” Chan’s voice was full of acknowledgment.
Hyunjin froze for a second, barely daring to face Chan. In the end, he did turn to him, thankful for the darkness that concealed the color on his cheeks and whatever the hell was going on in his pants. “Yeah, she is.”
Chan’s face lit up with a warm smile. “Are you gonna shoot your shot then, or are you gonna keep staring at her from afar?”
Hyunjin’s fist closed around the cardboard packaging of the toothbrush, crumpling it a little. “What? I—”
“Oh come on, Hwang.” Chan gave him a gentle bump on the shoulder. “It’s pretty obvious. I don’t know if you thought you were being low key… But you were not.”
Hyunjin gulped. There was no point in denying anything, then. “I don’t think she… feels that way, Chan.”
Chan squinted, observing him carefully. “You’ll never know if you don’t give it a shot, will you?”
Hyunjin had never even considered it—confessing his feelings to you. You were too precious to him, you were a friend he did not want to lose. But Chan was right. Hyunjin was struggling to live a normal life because of how strongly he felt for you, and he knew that even if he left the restaurant, those feelings wouldn’t magically disappear.
“Weren’t you hitting on her earlier?” Hyunjin pointed out.
“Not really.” Chan shrugged. “She doesn’t see me like that. She wouldn’t even give me the recipe for the cake she baked for your birthday. She said it was a special creation for you.” Again, Chan gave him a bump on the shoulder but also shoved him farther into the hallway. “Get the girl, man. Or else you’ll regret it for a long time I think.”
Hyunjin stared at the door long after Chan had closed it. He trusted his friend, trusted that he wouldn’t give it this advice if it was a bad idea… But if Hyunjin’s crush on you was so obvious, you must have noticed it, too. And Minho and the others…
But you. You hadn’t changed anything in the way you treated him, had you? Which, to Hyunjin, made it obvious that you did not reciprocate his feelings.
But Chan was right. Those feelings had a right to be spoken out loud. Hyunjin feared that if he kept them all to him, they would drown him someday.
So he returned to his room and left the toothbrush on a desk near the bathroom door. He sat on his bed, eyes fixated on the wall in front of him. He tried turning on the TV but nothing was interesting. The sound of his heartbeat became deafening when the shower stopped running and he heard you move around in the bathroom. He cleared his throat and told you that he left a toothbrush by the door for you and that you were welcome to use his toothpaste. He still had its minty aftertaste in his mouth.
When you came out of the bathroom for good, Hyunjin noticed many things at once. Your hair looked so pretty when it was damp and messy. It had dripped a little on the white shirt and it made the fabric wet a little. The clothes he had given you looked good on you, and you looked comfortable in them—it suited you. You were not wearing a bra under the shirt. You were also not wearing socks, and Hyunjin’s brain jumped to the conclusion that you must not be wearing underwear either since all of your stuff was locked in your room.
Maybe that was it. Maybe the reason behind his insatiable lust for you was that he had kept all of these feelings bottled up for too long.
“Thanks for the shower, the shirt…” You were holding your neatly folded clothes. “I bet I’ll sleep much better now.”
“You can leave your clothes here if you want,” Hyunjin offered. “Actually… I was thinking this bed is big enough for the two of us. If you want. I can go downstairs and sleep on the couch too, it’s totally fine—”
“No, it’s okay.” For a second there, Hyunjin thought you were going to say no. He couldn’t read the expression on your face. It looked as if you were trying to understand a language you did not speak. “You’re right, the bed is kind of big. How come you got that room anyway? It’s the nicest in the whole place!”
“Just sheer luck.” Hyunjin shrugged, feeling a burst of relief.
“More like ass-kisser shit, you mean.” You laughed at that, making your way to the other side of the bed. Hyunjin had made sure you had the side that was closest to the window. “Minho this, Minho that…”
“You could try not to sound so jealous, you know?” Hyunjin wondered how far he should go with the joke, but the spiced wine and sweet vermouth had softened his edges. “Some time ago you would have been the one to Minho this, Minho that, and most likely did kiss his ass in the very literal sense of the term, so—”
“Shut the fuck up, Hwang!” The sound of your laughter at that moment reminded Hyunjin of an upbeat violin melody. “Maybe you’re jealous because you never sucked his dick!”
There was a silence after that but, as if on cue, Hyunjin and you laughed entirely too loudly for the hour of the night. You tried to muffle the sound of your voice by essentially burying your face into a pillow while Hyunjin pressed his fist to his mouth.
“You’re the worst,” Hyunjin concluded after the laughter episode had died down, which took several minutes. “I offer you shelter and this is how you thank me…”
“Oh, please.” You threw the pillow at him and gave him a shove for good measure. “Fucking drama queen.”
Hyunjin threw the pillow back at you and you simply put it back where you took it. Instead of sitting against it again, you lay down. You really did not have a bra on and Hyunjin could see your nipples. Fuck, he could almost feel them with his eyes, could only imagine how nice it must feel to rub them through the soft fabric of the white shirt.
After turning off the only source of lighting in the room, his bedside lamp, Hyunjin pulled the blankets over you gently before laying next to you and getting under the covers himself. There was still some light coming from outside, but just a little.
You looked so beautiful in the moonlight. Hyunjin wanted to kiss you. Wanted to hear all the stories from your childhood. Wanted to play with your hair and give you a million foot massages. He thought about what Chan had told him. He thought about the words he wanted to tell you, but they got stuck in his throat as if they were trying to choke him. Instead of trying to say anything, Hyunjin respectfully turned away from you and pushed himself a little farther on the bed.
It was quiet except for the ventilation system, his heartbeat, and your breathing. Steady, pretty. He wished he was still facing you. He wished he would smell mint in your mouth. His toothpaste. It was his toothpaste on your lips, his shirt hugging your enticing body.
Why did it mess with his head so much? Why did it make a difference that your nipples poked against the fabric of his shirt? Why did it make a difference that your hair smelled like his shampoo, that you were in his bed right now? Why did it make a difference that it was his shorts that hugged your ass, your hips, your pussy?
Because he had wanted this for so long. He had wished for this—something like this—for a long time. Something disgustingly domestic, like waking up next to you in the morning and making you breakfast or fucking you or offering to go take a walk with you. Doing your laundry with his laundry. Picking up dinner and eating it quietly with a glass of wine before making love to you in your living room, and then again in the bed he shared with you.
The problem with unspoken feelings is they grow and grow and grow. Much like any type of flora would—every smile, every word, every whiff of your perfume, every bite of a dessert you made, every time he thought of you, it just fed them, those feelings. And so they grew. You were the sunshine and the rainfall. Hyunjin wanted to mix drinks and name them after you, or after the small pink scar behind your ear.
He never knew how you got it. That scar. He’d never know, right? Why would he ask about a half-centimeter long scar that he definitely should not have noticed?
Torture. The sweetest kind of it.
Hyunjin heard the brushing of your body against the sheets. He expected you to turn your back to him as well, so his heart jumped hard in his chest when he felt your hand reach for him under the covers. You squeezed his arm. “Hyunjin,” you whispered, “goodnight. Thank you for everything.”
You didn’t move, so Hyunjin did—he brought his other hand to rest it on top of yours. “You don’t have to thank me. Goodnight, and don’t hesitate to pull the blankets back your way if I steal them.”
You giggled softly. God, you were so fucking beautiful, even your giggles were beautiful, and you were right there, your hand on him. His cock twitched, reminding him that he was pretty much living his fantasy right now—so why was he stunned like that?
“No, thank you for everything.” There was more brushing of fabric and Hyunjin felt the warmth from your body closer to his. You pulled your hand away from him but rested your head on his side. He suppressed a whimper, and couldn’t help but cup his crotch under the blankets—his underwear was starting to feel a little tight. “You’re always so kind to me. You always come find me when I think I want to be alone. And I do, but it’s better with you. I don’t know how I’d do it without you. So, yeah. Thanks. For being my friend. For the drinks with the maraschino cherries. For everything.”
The delightful weight of your head disappeared from him, but you stayed close anyway, close enough that he felt your breath against the nape of his neck. Faintly. But it was there. “You don’t have to thank me for that. You’re… important to me.”
In the silence of the room, Hyunjin heard you gulp. Your fingers found him again as you traced a heart on his back. “You’re important to me too, you know. I meant what I said. I don’t think I would still be working at the restaurant if it weren’t for you.”
Hyunjin could have jumped out the window and landed in a pile of snow and it would have had about the same effect as you saying this to him, today, tonight. Your warmth embracing him. The smell of his shampoo on your hair.
He took a deep breath, thinking about the text message he had gotten from Felix earlier this afternoon. The text message that, seemingly, Hyunjin had been hoping to get for weeks.
Felix, his friend, his roommate, worked at a big real estate office. He was the main assistant of an agent who specialized in small businesses.
One month ago, Hyunjin had realized that he was in love with you.
He wanted to know about the scar. He wanted to hold your hand. He wanted to whisper things into your ear that would make you blush, that would make you wet. He wanted to introduce you to his parents.
One month ago, you told Hyunjin that you didn’t think it would be a good idea to come here, with the rest of them, with Minho. One month ago, you told Hyunjin, ‘I don’t love him anymore. Minho. I really don’t. I don’t think it’s for me. Love.’
This afternoon, Felix texted him this: ‘We found a nice location. In a hip neighborhood, good market value, would be worth checking out absolutely, it might sell fast. I see it there, Hyunjin. Your bar. It’s perfect for it.’
“What if I didn’t work there?” Hyunjin asked you, his voice barely a whisper at all. “What if I left?”
You remained quiet for such a long time that Hyunjin thought maybe you hadn’t heard him, or had fallen asleep. He wished your hand was still on his arm, your cool fingers reminding him of the first day of spring. “Why are you saying that? Are you… are you leaving the restaurant?”
Hyunjin bit his lip and rolled into the bed until he faced you again. God. If he had to describe you now, he would say you looked like the love of his life. Hyunjin had never been particularly good at restraining his feelings.
“I… I thought… Maybe I should pursue something else,” Hyunjin admitted, and he did not mean his own business versus the restaurant, he meant to keep going on in his life versus… you. “I—Felix found a small place, where I could have my own bar. You know?”
A long sequence of discernable emotions went through your eyes. Shock, pride, disappointment. Happiness, sadness.
Sadness. Sadness.
Melancholy. Sorrow. Sorrow.
“Your own bar…” Your voice was strangled and Hyunjin was almost sure it was tears he was seeing in your eyes. Understandable—he did spend a lot of time with you at and outside work, and it was normal to fear a change in your routine. “I mean, that’s… that’s amazing, Hyunjin—you’ll do amazing, you’ll be so great, I—”
He saw the tear roll down your cheek and he wasn’t fast enough to reach it, but he managed to stop the second one before it made it to your chin. Your hair was spread around your head on the pillow and you stared at him, trying so hard to conceal your disappointment. “Hey there, why the tears?” he asked, sliding his face closer to yours.
You shook your head. “No, don’t mind me, I’m… I’m really happy for you, Hyunjin, I mean it, I just… I’ll miss you. I’ll miss you a lot.” You cupped his face, sending a shockwave through Hyunjin’s whole body. “But you should absolutely do what makes you happy.”
“I haven’t decided for sure,” Hyunjin revealed, wishing you would brush your thumb over his mouth. He would take it in between his lips and suck on it, twirl his tongue around it. “I’m… I like the restaurant too.”
“But it’s okay to want more,” you insisted, letting go of his face. “You make the best drinks. Why would you want to stay when you could have your own bar?”
Why would Hyunjin want to stay?
And when the words he wanted to say took too much space in his heart, in his throat, they became sick. Much like planting flowers in a pot that was too small for them. They would die, no matter how much sunshine and rain they get. Or maybe the flowers find a way to survive—maybe their roots find their way out, thriving in harsh conditions but staying.
So Hyunjin just told the truth. “I don’t want to leave you.”
You stared at him, stared at his eyes, your mouth parted open. “Me?” You licked your lips, a small frown appearing between your brows. “But… we’d still be friends even if you worked some other place, right?”
The problem with the truth is you can’t just say a little of it. Once it started coming out, the spill couldn’t be stopped. It just kept going. “Maybe, but you deserve better friends than me.”
“That’s ridiculous, Hyunjin, I—”
“You said love wasn’t for you.” Finally. Finally, he was reaching the focal point of it, of the strings that tugged at his heart. “And it’s okay. But that means I can’t stay.”
You opened your mouth to say something but closed it back immediately. You pulled away from him, just slightly, your eyes trailing down somewhere, but all that Hyunjin could feel was the weight lifting off his heart, his mind.
You opened your mouth again so he looked at it. He wanted to see the shape of your lips when you would speak to him again, wanted to see your tongue dance the words into existence. He had dreamt about that mouth, about the feeling of it on his skin. But if those lips said his name and called him your friend, that was okay. Hyunjin should have known. That your maraschino cherry mouth would remain a place he would only visit in his mind.
“Hyunjin.” He had never noticed the shape of your lips when you spoke his name, the way they barely moved, the way his name rolled off them like an accident.
“How did you get the scar?” Hyunjin asked. “The scar behind your ear.”
You took a deep breath, and Hyunjin noticed there were still a few rogue tears staining your cheeks. He thumbed them off slowly, and he thought you were going to pull his hand away from you, but you didn’t. “The scar?”
He let go of your face so that the tip of his fingers touched the exact spot where he knew the scar was. You breathed in again, your eyes wide, full of tears, like lakes under the moonlight. “The scar?” Your voice was trembling. “I… fell off my bike, when I was twelve… and the pendant of my necklace…”
Your lips moved like trees in the wind, and Hyunjin couldn’t look away from them. You brought your hand to rest on top of his. It felt good. He liked it when you touched him.
“Did it hurt? When you fell?” He knew it was a stupid question, but the scar had bothered his curious nature for a while.
“I scraped my knees, and… yes, it hurt, but not too much.” You sighed, biting your lip gently. “Are you really leaving because of me?”
Hyunjin sighed. “It’s ok,” he said under his breath. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ll go sleep downstairs, yeah?”
“But—” You slid closer to him on the bed, so close that he smelled mint on your breath. “Hyunjin, no… stay with me. Don’t go.”
Hyunjin couldn’t help it. He ran his hand through your damp hair. “You’re so beautiful.”
Your hands made their way to him, clinging to his shirt, tugging gently as if you were afraid of falling. “Why did you say that?” you questioned, and your eyes were on his mouth, and his on yours. “About me, about love?”
“You know why, don’t you?” He trailed his hand down from your hair to the side of your neck. You raised your chin, exposing your skin further to him. An invitation or an act of defiance, he couldn’t tell. “You know why I always put the maraschino cherries in your drinks.”
“Say it.” Hyunjin wasn’t sure if he heard you speak the words or if he read them on your lips, but he understood anyway. “Say it, Hyun.”
Hyunjin’s heart threatened to spill out from his mouth, but he managed to keep his breathing steady. There was still some truth to be spoken, so he obliged. “I don’t like you the way you like me,” he said. But what he wanted to say was that he loved you.
“You don’t know that,” you pointed out, pressing yourself closer to him. “You don’t know.”
Hyunjin settled his hand right where your neck met your face, holding you there. Half of your face basked in the moonlight and the other half of it was in the dark. You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Your lips were calling for him. Your beauty begging to be witnessed, your tongue demanding freedom.
So, Hyunjin pulled you close, and he kissed you. Gently at first, just pressing his lips against your mouth, but it was enough to make him reach another plane of existence. The smell of you was stronger from so close, your lips so soft against him.
But it wasn’t enough.
Your lips were warm, wet, smooth. Hyunjin deepened the kiss, opening his mouth to devour yours. You moaned into his mouth, just a low hum, but it almost made him cum in his pants. He pressed you against his chest, your tits flush with him as you kissed him more and more and more, enough to make him dizzy. That sweet mouth of yours, that pretty mouth of yours.
Your tongue teased his, just the way you played with the maraschino cherries. Hyunjin lapped at your mouth, desperate, tasting you, breathing your air, his fingers sinking into your waist. You moaned again, louder, responding to the kiss with your whole body.
Your hands ran under his shirt, gliding on his skin. You lifted your leg just enough to pass it over his, deepening the kiss even further, exploring his mouth, his chest, him.
You dug your nails into his back when you felt him against your crotch.
“Fuck—” you managed, your mouth still on his. The sounds of the kiss were enough to drive him crazy. Soft, wet sounds, as if each twirl of your tongue was a symphony, each sigh a crescendo that would surely lead to his demise.
Painfully, Hyunjin pulled away from you but kept your face in his hand. You leaned into it, the tears in your eyes all gone, replaced by something darker, something purple and deep. “Hold on—are you… are you sure about this? We…” He sighed. It was hard to think with your body so close to his, but he didn’t want you to wake up with regret tomorrow. Not for any reason, but certainly not because of him.
“I’m sure.” You kissed him again, but not for long—your mouth trailed down from his to settle in his neck, kissing him there, sucking his skin between your lips while your hands ran marathons on his body, teasing the waistband of his pants. “Do you want this, Hyunjin?”
He did not hesitate. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”
You left his neck to look him in the eyes. He could feel you growing warmer by the second, as you rubbed yourself onto him, softly, barely. “Then take me.” You kissed him once, twice, as if testing the waters of him.
He kissed you back, holding your head in both of his hands. If you needed to breathe, it would wait—he had been waiting a long time for this, not daring to even hope he would ever be the reason you sighed, the reason your skin flushed with heat.
Without breaking the kiss, Hyunjin rolled until he lay on his back and pulled you along with him. You bit into his lower lip as you settled onto him, straddling him with your knees on either side of his thighs. Your weight rested all onto his aching cock. He bucked his hips into you and you moaned again. God, he would never fucking get tired of that sound. Just you, your voice. Needy.
“I don’t have protection.” In hindsight, that was stupid, but at least he was honest about his stupid decision. He slid his hands under your shirt to feel up your tits. They occupied a nice space in his palms, your nipples hard and nice, tickling him.
“I don’t want it,” you replied, diving down to kiss him. “Do you? It’s okay. I’ll suck you off, Hyun…”
“N—no, no I want it. I want you.” It was true. He vaguely knew from overheard conversations that you were on contraceptives. He also knew that neither of you had an actual sex life… “You’re sure?”
“Yes. Please fuck me. Please fill me.” It was Hyunjin’s turn to moan then, his eyelids fluttering at your words. “I feel you, so hard, Hyun.”
He nodded with a hum. “Feel me with your hands if you want,” he invited. He pleaded. He begged. So that it would feel real. Because it did not now. It did not feel real.
Your hands left his abdomen and disappeared somewhere between your legs. You cupped him at first, then squeezed him. Hyunjin whimpered, squeezing your tits in return, but you squeezed him harder, and harder, and harder. Not too hard. Hard enough to make him throb and groan and rut against you quicker. You let him, you let him fuck your hand through the fabric.
“Let me see you.” You slid down a little, exposing his very noticeable hard on. You took in the sight of his bulge before pulling down on his waistband to free his cock. He wasn’t just hard, he was about to cum. He stared with you at his flushed length. “Hyun…”
You leaned down a little, just a little, and pulled his chin back up to make him look at you. You made eye contact with him as you released a large amount of spit that landed directly on his cock.
“So big,” you commented, closing your hand around his base, squeezing him a little, feeling him. “You’re so fucking big.” You gave him a gentle stroke to smear your saliva around. “Your cock is so pretty, Hyun.”
He twitched in your hand and he could tell that you felt it. While you rubbed him, Hyunjin pulled your shirt off, exposing you. Finally, he saw you. Your tits, so pretty, round, perfect. They moved with you as you kept jerking him off slowly, observing him to find his favorite spots. Your other hand played with his balls, cupping them, palming them.
“I… I won’t…”
“Close already?” You cocked your head to the side, not stopping one bit from what you were doing. If anything, you only got faster, spitting disrespectfully on his cock again to facilitate your job further. “You want to show me your load, Hyun? Want me to see how much you cum for me?”
No, no, he wanted to fuck you all night. Until you were a mess, a sloppy mess of his cum and yours, and until the both of you were reduced to nothing. But his cock had other plans. He twitched in your palm again, harder, painfully, with a moan. “I won’t last,” he whined, going back to feel up your tits again.
“You feel me too, Hyun.” You thumbed precum off his tip in a slow, meaningful swipe. “Feel how wet you made me already.”
Hyunjin reached between your legs, brushing the fabric there only to find it soaked. He slid his hand through the leg opening to feel you directly, skin to skin. Your bare pussy felt like the softest velvet. He touched you, again and again, gentle caresses that made you flinch. That made you squeeze his cock.
You brought your head closer to his navel, kissing him there first before kissing the base of his cock. You opened your mouth wide to suck on his skin there, your hand working on the upper half of his length.
Hyunjin wouldn’t be able to take it for much longer, but he let go. The pressure between his legs was too grand, the ache only getting worse, the pleasure only getting bigger and better. Uncontrollable. He left his three fingers pressed on your pussy so that you could grind against them—and you did. You rolled your hips to the same rhythm of your handjob, seeking something out of it too.
Time slowed down when you went back up to take him in your mouth. Hyunjin felt you clench when you swiped your tongue on him, tasting him. You bobbed your head around him, swallowing as much of him as you could. Hyunjin’s free hand closed into a fist in your hair as he rolled his hips just a little, helping you.
Your mouth was warm, so wet. He watched his cock disappear between your swollen lips, and that was enough for him. He felt the throb, felt his whole soul shatter—but when he tried to pull out, you didn’t let him, so he fucked your mouth erratically. He never wanted this to stop, but his balls were so tight that they hurt him.
“So—fucking—pretty—” he grunted in between thrusts. At that, you raised your eyes to stare at him, opening your mouth wider, spreading your legs wider, too, allowing him better access to your hole, to your clit. You were dripping wet though, and you clenched again when he rubbed circles on your clit, moaning around his cock.
He came—of course. The vibrations of your voice sent him to the stratosphere, and Hyunjin thrust into you, the roof of your mouth hitting his tip. Soft, wet. Your tongue was twirling on the underside of his cock, your hand squeezing him at the base. Milking him. You were fucking milking him, and looking like a slut doing so. On your knees, ass up in the air, tits exposed—a mouth meant to be filled with his thick cum.
He throbbed again and cried out when he released the first spurt of it, then there was another, and another. It was coming out from the corner of your lips, dripping on your chin. You gagged a few times and there were tears in your eyes, but you kept him in your mouth until he descended from his high.
When you were sure he was done, you released his cock, coughing a little, and waited until he was staring at you before swallowing his load. He didn’t let you wipe the rest of it from your lips—he kissed you instead, hard, your mouth full with the taste of him, lips raw and swollen.
“I taste nasty,” he whispered against your mouth, his fingers still teasing your dripping cunt.
“Sort of, but I like it.” You pressed your forehead against him, almost collapsing when he changed the angle at which he was touching you. He needed more than that. Than just touching you like that—if post-nut clarity was real, it had hit him, but not in the usual meaning of it.
He removed his hand from you and kissed you before making you lay on your back. He got rid of his clothes and pulled his shorts off you too. His cock hadn’t even had time to soften and he felt it becoming hard again at the sight of your pussy.
“Fucking perfect,” he whispered. “Open your legs will you, baby? Show me how wet you are.” He could smell you from here, and even your scent was unreal. “So pretty.”
Even in this little light, there was no denying that you were aroused. Hyunjin pushed your legs open a little more, brushing his thumb over your pussy. It made a wet sound when he touched you, even barely. You rolled your hips to get more contact, your back arching already.
Unreal. It’s all that Hyunjin could think as he watched you writhe in this bed, tits moving lazily with you, face twisted in anticipation. He had thought about this moment a lot and he was afraid it was slipping through his fingers. He was afraid it wasn’t real, he was afraid he was dreaming it. That he would wake up tomorrow in an empty bed, without the sweet scent of your cunt on his fingers.
He straddled you much like you had straddled him earlier, bending down to kiss you while he parted your pussy open, allowing him better access to it, and watched carefully as he coated his fingers with your cream. Even that was pretty about you, creamy, nice.
Hyunjin observed your face at the very moment he slid two fingers in your dripping cunt. The way it made more of your arousal gush around his digits was lewd, but the look on your face was better—how you were trying to hold back, to keep it together, but you were already clenching, your hips bucking to meet him halfway.
“So tight, baby, can you feel that?” Hyunjin sank his fingers deeper, twirling them carefully, stretching you. “Open your legs wider, I wanna see.”
Yes, much better. He watched his fingers as he fucked you with them before pressing his thumb on your clit, rubbing it delicately. You let out a few more moans and Hyunjin wondered if anyone could hear you from up here.
They probably could.
Maybe some perverted part of him hoped Minho would hear him ruin his ex’s pretty little cunt. What a fool he was for letting you go. If that pussy had been his, Hyunjin would have tried harder to make it work.
Hyunjin kissed you, fucking you diligently with his fingers as your hands ventured on his body. Your touches were slow, meaningful, electric, made him moan or hiss if you touched him in a sensitive place.
He left your lips to kiss your neck but moved onto your tits quickly, leaving wet kisses and a trail of spit behind him. He took your nipple in his lips, twirling his tongue around it, loving the way you reacted to him. You grabbed a fistful of his hair, fucking his hand from below. Your arousal pooled beneath you, smeared all over your inner thighs and his hand, all the way to his wrist.
You moaned when Hyunjin sucked on your nipple hard enough to leave a bruise. He thought about the scar, how a fall from your bike had marked you forever. Maybe he wanted that his falling in love with you left a scar, too, in the most delightful way. So that you would wear his love on your body, like perfume, a reminder, a warning.
When he left your tits it was to settle comfortably with his face between your legs. He kissed your inner thighs, inhaling you. “How come you smell so fucking good baby?” He kissed all over your thighs and mons, finally pulling his fingers out of your hole. “Bet you taste even better.”
“Please, I need you now…” But Hyunjin took his time, still using his thumb and index finger to open up your pussy for him.
You glistened under the moonlight, inviting, beautiful. Swollen clit, a pussy meant to be licked, tasted, experienced. He brought his face closer to your core, giving your clit a quick kiss before going tongue first, dragging it along your slit in one swipe, filling his mouth with you. Fuck, you tasted good. Sweet, with just enough of a tang to make him want more.
He pressed his face flush into your cunt, slurping you clean, swallowing you whole. “Fucking hell…” but he said it into your pussy, because he didn’t want to get out of there, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with his face coated with your sweet cream.
Hyunjin lapped at you, listening to the sounds of his mouth against you, your sighs, your moans. When he cocked his head to the side, delving deeper into you, pushing his tongue into your hole, he felt your walls flutter against him, around his tongue, felt your legs tense up. “Close, baby?” he muttered into your cunt, and you responded by bringing your knees together, trapping him between your legs. Fine. Perfect, even. There was not a place on earth where Hyunjin wanted to be more than the heaven that your cunt was.
Hyunjin coated two of his fingers again—it wasn’t hard, considering the amount you were soaking, considering that he was literally drooling all over your pussy—and pushed them into you before closing his lips around your clit, carefully, as if you were made of the finest porcelain. The calm before the storm—Hyunjin intended on making you scream.
You hugged his fingers so nicely that he almost forgot to suck on your clit. He flicked his tongue on it first, gently with small licks, his eyes on you. On how beautiful you looked with your mouth parted open, eyes closed. He was used to the sound of your voice but not like this, not hurried whispers, not soft-spoken pleas. It messed with his mind, as in, he liked it a little too much.
But he sucked on your clit, unbothered by your increasingly loud moans, your squirming, and his own heart racing in his chest. Or by how tightly your thighs kept him there, making him a prisoner of the loveliest prison. It almost made him blow on the spot when you pulled harder on his hair to grind against his face and impaled yourself onto his hand at a quicker pace.
Hyunjin knew you were close so he rotated his fingers upwards and bent them just enough, searching for your most sensitive spot. He couldn’t help releasing your clit for one second, just the time it took for him to press his tongue flat against your pussy to collect as much of your arousal as he could. Just to swallow more of it, in the hopes that it would coat his throat, that his body would absorb some of it somehow, and that you would become a part of him, just like he had become a part of you.
“Cum for me,” he said, looking into your eyes, although you couldn’t keep yours open for very long. “Let me feel you, baby. Please.”
You dug your nails into his scalp when Hyunjin’s lips returned to your clit and he tenderly sucked on it, teasing it with the tip of his tongue, too. Your head hit the pillow behind you and you cried out, your whole body coming alive. “Yes yes yes don’t stop don’t stop—”
Hyunjin savored you, savored the way your back arched for him, savored every drop that you gave him and the scratches you were undoubtedly leaving on his scalp. He moaned with you as your climax came, as he rubbed his fingers on the spot of your cunt that made you react the most, his free hand holding you down to make sure that you weren’t escaping his hungry mouth.
“I’m—” You couldn’t say it but you didn’t need to—Hyunjin felt the throb, somewhere deep within your body, felt it like a wave, then like a tsunami. It overtook you, shaking you from the inside out, as your voice filled the room. “Yes, yes… FUCK—Jin—Hy—Jin—” But you were just crying out nonsense, coating Hyunjin’s face with your sweet cream as your walls closed tight around his fingers, fluttering for a good while as he kept your clit enclosed in his mouth.
And he only released you when your high had passed. He licked you gently, selfishly, to drink you. To clean you up. To taste you. He kissed your pussy, admiring how much prettier it was when it was flushed like that and wet, so wet. “You did so good, baby.” He kissed your thigh before climbing back up to kiss you. He felt you search for your own taste in his mouth and shared it with you eagerly, enjoying the way your flavor made his much more palatable.
“Will you fuck me now, Hyun?” Your voice was rough and your face flushed, but Hyunjin had never seen something as beautiful as that in his life.
“How do you like it, baby?” He kissed you gently as your hands reached for his cock, tugging at it. You moaned when you found him fully hard, ready for you.
You kissed him with your mouth open, squeezing his erection. “Hard.” Another kiss. “As hard and as deep as you can. Don’t be afraid to hurt me.”
It would have been enough to send him over the edge, but Hyunjin managed to roll you on your stomach. He wasted no time taking his cock into his hand and guiding it towards your entrance, making sure to coat it with your cream beforehand. Elegant. His cock was flushed dark, and the contrast of your essence on him was that—elegant. Enticing. Addictive.
You were beautiful like that too, even if he missed the sight of your face and your tits. Your back was nice, smooth, your ass just perfect for him to grab at.
He gave your ass a gentle slap, eliciting a moan out of you. “Higher, baby.” He watched you adjust your position, arching your back in a way that allowed him the perfect angle. “Yes, just like that.” He put one hand on your waist, squeezing your skin, aligning himself with your hole.
Hyunjin sank into you, losing more of his sanity the more of him you took. The deeper he buried himself in your intimacy, the more of himself he lost, the more of himself he found again. Maybe Hyunjin found god then, as he stretched your pretty little cunt with his cock.
“Fucking hell, you’re tight—” He stayed there for a few seconds as you got adjusted to him. The sight of him disappearing with you had been a little too good.
“Fuck me, Hyun.” Your voice was muffled by the pillow your face rested upon. Hyunjin slapped your ass again, a little harder.
You clenched around him, your walls responding to his touch.
So Hyunjin gave one thrust, then another, and another, fucking you steadily, his cock twitching menacingly. You were wet, gushing around him, and he couldn’t stop staring at his length pounding into you, making a wet mess out of you. You whimpered every time he bottomed out, holding onto the wooden headboard with one hand, your other hand trying to reach for him behind you.
Hyunjin rolled his hips with broad and confident movements, making sure to hit that one spot that you had seemed to like earlier. You mewled, face twisted with pleasure. So vocal, so pretty.
“Such a beautiful slut you are, baby.” Hyunjin’s hand left your waist to grab your hair, raising your face up. He wasn’t going to let you muffle your voice when you creamed his cock. “Close, aren’t you?”
The room smelled like sex and it made Hyunjin dizzy, or maybe it was just from the ache in his loins. Except not—he was sure he was drunk on the scent of your cunt. Such a smooth pussy, perfect for his cock.
“Hyunjin…” Your voice was just a breath. Hyunjin kept fucking you as deep as he could, hand in your hair. He was where he had wanted to be for so long—balls deep in your pussy. And it was good, so good.
He let out a cry when he felt the telltale throb of his orgasm, his pounding becoming erratic. He would have tried to last longer but the second he glanced at your face and noticed how fucked out you looked—swollen mouth, flushed cheeks, eyes rolling far at the back of your head—Hyunjin just couldn’t prevent it.
He pushed himself at your deepest point when he came just so he could empty his balls there, painting you white, fucking his cum deeper into you as you clenched, then came around him. He blacked out. All that he could feel what his cock and you, the squelching sounds of your filled cunt lewd enough to corrupt a monk. You pulsed for a long time, moaning his name, milking him for the second time tonight, until he was empty.
When Hyunjin let go of your hair, you collapsed onto the bed and he followed you, his spent cock sliding out of your sloppy cunt. It rested on his thigh as he lay on his side, facing you, watching you with a smile as you tried to even your breathing.
You smiled too and pulled him in for a kiss that tasted like sweat and like sex. He kissed you back with his mouth wide open. “Am I dreaming?” he asked against your mouth.
“No, silly.” You clicked your tongue and gave him a playful shove.
“God, you’re pretty. You’re perfect.” He kissed you again and again before reaching the nightstand for a box of tissues.
You didn’t let him clean you up. Instead, you rested your head in the crook of his neck, kissing him gently there. He shivered, his body covered in chills. “I like the feeling of it inside me, Hyun.” You giggled nervously. “Just leave it there for a while, yeah?”
“You’re filthy.” But he laughed too. “I love it.” He kissed the top of your head and brought his hand between your legs, feeling his cum dripping from your swollen cunt.
Gently, he swiped the excess of it and pushed it back into your still sensitive hole using his fingers, making you hiss and moan against the supple skin of his neck. “No waste,” he assured.
“No waste,” you echoed, your voice sleepy. Still, you insisted on licking his fingers clean after he was done putting his cum back where it belonged. “Can I stay for the night? I’m tired.”
“Stay for the night, baby,” Hyunjin whispered into your hair, pulling the covers over your body. “Stay for every night after today too, if you want.”
You settled comfortably in his arms, tracing circles on his abdomen. “Really?” You looked up at him, your tired eyes big and hopeful.
“Really.” He kissed you, a gentle kiss. “Sleep a little.” He could feel your heartbeat. Steady, strong. Like a song.
You nodded but didn’t even have time to say goodnight before you drifted to sleep. Your body was warm against him and he could smell your pussy and his cum on both of you. He felt your gentle breathing on his skin. You would be in his bed when he would wake up later.
Maybe it was starting to feel real. Just maybe.
Three months later, Hyunjin left his car in the employee parking lot at God's Menu. It hit him then. It would be the last time he ever did that. He sat in the car, watching the spring sunset over him. He could hear the music playing in the restaurant from here, could see the clients through the window. He knew it wasn’t the last time he ever set foot in this establishment, but Hyunjin couldn’t help feeling emotional today.
His last day as an employee of this restaurant.
He entered through the staff door, immediately tackled violently by Chan who hugged him tightly, shaking him hard enough to cause brain damage. But Hyunjin hugged him back, and let Jisung and the rest of the kitchen staff hug him too.
Changbin’s welcome was unsurprisingly loud and over the top, but Hyunjin also let him go at it, laughing with him as Seungmin filmed the scene.
Felix was there too, amongst the clients, sitting at a table not too far, and he waved at Hyunjin excitedly when they made eye contact. He wasn’t alone—he was drinking a red cocktail with someone who had ordered extra maraschino cherries in hers.
You got up from your chair and made your way to him, forcing Changbin to release him from his embrace.
“Hey,” you said with a smile. You looked ravishing tonight in a black cocktail dress, your hair held in a messy bun. Maybe you hadn’t had time to smooth it out after he had blown your back this morning, just before he left for his meetings. “Happy birthday, Hyun.”
“Hey baby.” Hyunjin pulled you close and kissed you as if you two had been alone in the restaurant or on this planet. You kissed him back, cocking your head to the side, mindfully taking his lips in yours. “You look gorgeous.” He kissed you again.
“How did the meetings go?” you asked, ignoring his compliment but taking his hand in yours. “Are we good?”
He noticed that the others had gathered around the two of you, all of the employees. Minho was there, too. “We’re all set.” Hyunjin smiled at you, just you. “We’ll open in two months.”
His bar. His little corner of the city where people would be welcome to sit down and unwind by having a drink while playing board games, or drawing, or hosting work meetings, even. His dream come true… well. Kind of.
How sappy would it make him if he ever admitted to you—or to himself—that you were the dream come true and that the bar came in second place?
The applause and loud, obnoxious congratulatory screams from his friends after his announcement soon switched into a familiar melody.
“Happy birthday Hyunjin…”
It may have been Min-seo that carried the plate, but Hyunjin recognized your matcha cheesecake with the raspberry coulis and a fancy candle. It was set in front of him at the counter of the bar section, and Hyunjin could feel warmth on his face as the whole restaurant—as in, the clients—joined the others to sing him Happy Birthday.
“Make a wish, Hyun,” you reminded him, your hand pressed on his lower back.
Hyunjin stared at the flame on the candle, thinking.
Last year’s wish had been granted, after all. You had baked him this matcha cheesecake once again for his birthday. So maybe he ought to wish for something a little bolder.
He kissed you before blowing the candle out, hoping that it would bring him good luck.
The End
author's note:
Big thank you to my lovely friend Mari, @staytheword, for letting me find inspiration for this story in her bartender!hyunjin from her fic The Smell of Roses. He made a very strong impression on me and inspired this character ♡
Thank you for reading this story! To those who choose to interact with it through a reblog, I am sending you a special thank you and extra love! ♡ As always, I am very grateful for my readers, and I hope everyone has been well and staying warm and healthy this December.
🪧 I do not allow the translation, reposting, rewriting or copying of any of my works of any kind, for any reason or on any platform. Thank you!
First of all I want to say CONGRATS for the amazing story you put out! I am so glad to see you work towards sparking your old passion🫶🏽
After reading Those Who Remember I couldn’t get the description of Chris’ perfume out of my head. I was wondering if you had a specific perfume in mind when writing it. For some reason what comes to mind for me is dolce & gabbana light blue summer vibes.
I love the way you describe scent in your works especially when you narrate Hyunjin’s scent in A Lullaby on His Throat. Ughhhh I think about it ALL THE TIME! I like wearing gris charnel by bdk and ghost wants birthday cake by sorce together because it reminds me of your precious Hyathos :)
Hi!! Thank you so much for reading and for noticing this detail!! It means a lot to me 🥹
Tbh, I didn’t have a specific fragrance in mind when I wrote the chapter, but soon after I went perfume shopping because my usual fragrance had become too expensive… (I miss you Rose 31……) but I found something that’s actually similar to Chris’ scent in TWR! And… I bought it. It’s my new perfume 😭 Later, I found out that the real Chris uses/used something from the same line…
I think he used Versace Eros EDT and I bought Versace Eros Parfum. It smells SOOOO good, and it’s similar to the fragrance I described in the chapter! (Feel free to correct me I have no idea which version of Eros he used)
All the fragrances you mentioned are so interesting and smell so good—I have to say, Hyathos’ perfume is 100% inspired by Rose 31. Together, the ones you mentioned would be similar to this!!! I’m honored you’d want to wear scents that remind you of my Hyathos 🥹
Thank you so much for reading and for your support!! It means so much to me. You have been nothing but so kind and I appreciate you very much. 🤍 take care ok!!
This is angst with comfort (?). Major character death
Time heals everything. Life goes on.
That's what everyone teaches Hyunjin. No matter how big your pain feels right now, one day, life will grow around it and that hurt just becomes a memory. A memory that will stay in the back of your mind and sting from time to time, but it'll never be that big again. Never big enough so it feels like the world is falling once more.
Hyunjin is aware that one day, all the pain he's feeling will subside. All his tears will dry and different ones will come for different reasons, either it be because of new wounds or laughter. He hopes it's because of laughter. Either way, he knows that no pain is ever gonna feel this excruciating again. And even if it all hurts a bit too much now, and even if he doesn't believe in a single word people say to comfort him, he knows they are right.
The pain will get tolerable. He will smile once again. He will forget this ache in his chest at some moment. He'll be okay.
And maybe he ends up forgetting a bit too much. He's scared that maybe he'll forget your smile too. The way you seemed to sleep better when he was around, how your touch was so gentle with him and how painfully good your hug felt. The more the time passes, the more he'll forget. That's a truth that he knows will happen, even if he's so scared of it.
But no matter if the pain goes away or if the memories lose themselves too, he knows that, until the day he leaves this earth to meet you again and even after that, he will remember how much he loves you.
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Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!
pairing: hyunjin x f!reader ┇wordcount: 11.6k ┇ genre: romance, contemporary fiction ┇ chapter warnings & content: angst ; new beginnings ; grief & loss ; failed relationships ; neurodegenerative diseases ; struggles with mental health ; emotionally heavy and mature themes ┇ this work contains adult themes and is not suitable for people under the age of 18.
But what happens when it is all that one has?
Guilt, shame? Loneliness?
A wedding dress?
“Switzerland?” You stared at your boss as though he had just insulted you and not at all like he was offering you the chance of a lifetime.
“The French-speaking part of it, to be more precise. The job’s yours if you want it.” Changbin swiveled his computer screen until it faced you completely. “You do speak French, right?”
Your resume—the one you applied with for this very job that you had—certainly claimed that you did speak French very much. Oui, très bien, merci. Un français excellent. The story behind it all was that after your parents’ divorce, your mother had fallen in love with a man from Paris. Well, he wasn’t from Paris. He just lived there because of his work, and your mother was there on a trip with her friends to get drunk and shit talk about your father. In fact, Antoine was from Dijon. Yes, like the mustard.
Maybe it was the romantic Paris air, maybe it was all the drinks she had when she met him, or perhaps it was just because she had finally figured out how to be happy, but Antoine had been your stepfather for sixteen years, and you had to admit he was a good guy. He really wasn’t all that bad considering he was French. Hell, he was even pleasant. Your mother had just felt as if she was getting too old for love, so they were more friends than lovers now, and lived in different apartments. You always questioned her about that, but she would never give you any details.
In any case—Antoine was the reason you could technically claim to have, allegedly, maybe, some sort of knowledge of the French language.
“Yeah, I do speak French. A bit.” You turned to the screen only to find that your boss had pulled up an informative page about a town in Switzerland called Pic-des-Mélèzes. Just one glance was enough to learn that it was a small town in the Swiss Alps. It had a lake and was surrounded by a forest of larch trees, hence its name. “But you know I can’t just drop everything and fuck off to Switzerland.”
“I knew you would say that,” Changbin retorted, not missing a beat. “Just pretend for a second that you can drop everything. Wouldn’t you want to live and work in a place like this?” He gestured vaguely at his computer screen with what he must hope was a convincing expression on his face.
“But why me?” you insisted, squinting at him as you were trying very hard to read him. However, you found it impossible to get past his enthusiasm—his true motivations remained unclear. “And what’s the job anyway?” You couldn’t help but be suspicious.
Your question triggered Changbin into returning to his boss mode. His smile did not completely vanish from his face, but it faded weakly as he pulled the screen back to him and began typing something into his computer. You let the sound of his fingers hitting the keys fill the space between you two.
“I submitted your name for a promotion because I thought you were deserving of one.” Sitting across from you at his desk, he paused his typing to take a sip of his energy drink. He adjusted the sleek, black, square-shaped glasses on his nose, and put the can back on its coaster. An inscription on it said Go Ahead, Put Your Bottom On Me. “Upper management seemed to believe you did too.”
So, you appreciated Changbin and he appreciated you too. For someone in a management position at a rather prominent publishing house, he was quite pragmatic and down-to-earth. You had gotten along together since the very first day you were hired as an assistant of an assistant of an intern, and you knew the reason you had gotten a few promotions since then was largely thanks to him.
Not that you were worthless without him, no—the market was like that, and millions of people just like you dreamt of working at this publishing house to be an editor. Or an author. Or anything—sweeping the floors might be enough if it got them past the front door. You had never been particularly career-oriented, but you never said no to a bigger paycheck. That’s where being friends with your boss became an advantage.
“Our European division is looking for an editor,” Changbin went on, explaining to you carefully. And by the tone he used, you knew he was being careful. Not too eager, not too nonchalant either, somewhere in between. “Not a copy editor or a proofreader, not an assistant. An actual senior editor.”
The joy that sparked in your chest only remained for a second. It had more than one reason to falter, and you were getting used to it, to the darkness it entailed, but it was still gut-wrenching.
“Senior editor,” you repeated slowly. “For French works, I assume?” You had to fight the urge to stand up and leave his office right then and there. “I said I speak some French, not that I’m ready for that kind of work. I can’t Google Translate myself out of this one, Bin. You knew that. Why would you even submit my name?”
Changbin raised an eyebrow as though he was genuinely confused by your response. “Well, you’re not the translator, are you?” he replied. “The European division works with authors of many cultural backgrounds. They hire editors from many cultural backgrounds, too. You’ll be working with other people. They’ll oversee the content for the other version and you, the English-translated one. Are you seriously passing on a senior editor job? I put in a good word for you!”
You leaned into your chair, staring at the large window behind Changbin. It was a bright, sunny day, but you found yourself wishing the weather would be gray.
“Let’s rewind a bit,” you uttered, your gaze not leaving the blue rectangle behind your boss’ head, “and go over something again.”
Changbin mirrored your position, sitting with his back comfortably in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sure.”
“You asked me to pretend for a second that I could, in fact, drop everything.” When you tried to swallow your saliva, you realized that your mouth was too dry to do so. “I’ve been pretending for a whole lot more than one second, Bin. You know damn well I’m not going to Switzerland, or anywhere else for that matter. So, what the hell am I doing here?”
You took a second to acknowledge that you would have expected the weather to be gray today, despite the wonderful news.
Because it was great news. Becoming a senior editor was a personal dream of yours, and so was traveling and seeing anything other than this city. But the problem with good news is that they become very bad news when they remain true but are behind a wall. As in, yes, the job offer was real, and it sounded perfect in theory.
But you couldn’t.
“Because a permanent position as Senior Editor just opened at our offices in… uh…” Changbin glanced at his screen, scanning the page for help. “Peek-diss-molasses, or however the hell you’re supposed to pronounce that. They’re a subsidiary and just acquired another smaller publishing house, so they’re panicking from what I’ve heard. Didn’t expect to need new hires. It’s the kind of job where you come in and become everybody’s hero because you put out fires, but they had zero expectations.”
You let out a playful snort. “So, sorta like the job I first landed here, except I wasn’t anybody’s hero back then?”
He could only admit that it was true—his gentle smile was doing very little to hide it. “It looks like a nice city, too. It’s pretty.” Changbin—your friend, not your boss—stared at you with his head tilted to the side, his smile wavering on his handsome, pleasant face. He took his glasses off. “Look. If you really don’t like it over there, you can always come back. I’ll let you take back the same job you have now.” He let out a sigh. “Maybe it’ll do you some good, you know? Going away for some time, trying out new things. A change of scenery.”
Of course. Of course it had to be about that. Of course it had to be about the wounds people saw on you, the bruises of your past, the scars that wouldn’t heal. Every fucking day you woke up, put a smile on your face, texted people back, and made yourself one or two meals. Sometimes you even went out with people you knew, to restaurants or bars, or even on hikes.
Every goddamn day you tried to be a decent friend, colleague, and neighbor. A good daughter, too. But it seemed like your best efforts would always be wasted on all of them and you would forever remain the Woman Who Had Been Cheated On, or The Divorced One. Or maybe The One Whose Mother Is Ill. Woman Who Kept the Wedding Dress from Her Failed Marriage for Some Reason. Woman Who Had Enough of Everything.
In other people’s eyes, you would always be the unloved one.
You would always be the sad, sad girl who should be treated like porcelain because she had been broken into pieces—more than once—and put back together—also more than once. And not even you were certain how sturdy the mending on your soul was. Besides, a few pieces went missing every time, shattered into dust. Gone forever. Crushed. Disappeared. Undone.
But what happens to porcelain?
People will pour water into their kettle for tea and open a cupboard to grab a mug, wondering which one they should reach for.
And they’ll never go for the porcelain. Not if they can help it.
Maybe the pretty porcelain cup was a gift from a loved one, maybe they bought it for a special occasion or at a fancy shop. And just a cup of tea on a Thursday evening is never special enough to warrant using porcelain because what if they break it? So, a regular ceramic mug will do. And the porcelain just stays in the cupboard, slowly being retreated to the very back of it where it becomes forgotten.
You almost asked him, Are you pushing me at the back of the cupboard? but swallowed your words at the last second. There was no point in saying something true but adding a question mark at the end—there was something hypocritical about it that you didn’t like.
Instead, you told another truth. “Changbin, I really appreciate that you want my career to advance, but I can’t leave my mother, and you know that.”
Your mother. She may not have been here, yet she occupied the space between each word that was uttered. She wasn’t just the elephant in the room that needed to be addressed—she was one of the reasons you had been broken into so many pieces.
It started when a police officer showed up to your door in the middle of the night, and next to him was your mother.
Well, no. It did not start that night; it was only that you realized it then. That something was wrong. Very wrong. It was raining like hell. You opened the door in your nightgown, completely speechless at the scene before you. It took you several seconds before you finally moved, letting them in so they could hide from the rain. The police officer hadn’t stopped talking since you opened the door, but you hadn’t heard, or listened to, a single word he said.
You could not look away from your mother.
It was her. You recognized her. Her hair, even wet, her favorite jacket, her eyes. But you didn’t recognize her gaze. What came into your mind at that moment was that she looked like a little girl who had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. You pitied her, and it broke you.
Have you ever pitied your mother? There are not many things worse one can experience in the course of their life. Something dark and cold stained you from within as you stared at the woman dripping rainwater on your living room floor.
“Mom?” you said, your voice trembling, reaching out to her with a hand that trembled even more. “Mom, are you alright? What happened?”
The way she looked at you then—you’d never forget it. It wasn’t that she looked at you as though she didn’t know you. That would have been better. No, she turned to you and gave you an appraising look, and you sensed that she recognized you. That she knew you were someone to her.
But it took exactly six seconds for her to remember who you were. Six seconds before she recalled that the woman standing before her was her own daughter. As though somebody had flipped the light on, a spark, faint but undeniable, had appeared behind her eyes. She had spoken your name.
But. Six seconds.
“I don’t know,” she muttered, turning to the police officer who was observing the scene quietly. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Because you were lost, ma’am,” the officer replied politely. “You were found alone after dark walking on the side of Elm Boulevard. It was very dangerous.”
Your heart tightened at that. For six seconds or more. Maybe it has never really relaxed since. Elm Boulevard did not have sidewalks or a pedestrian lane, and nobody had any business walking there, especially not at night, especially not in the cold rain. Your mother liked to walk, but this was unlike her.
“I found your address in her purse,” the officer went on, speaking to you directly now. “She didn’t have her wallet, but she had a birthday card you’d sent her. So I came here.”
You thanked the man. As you walked him back to the door, he strongly advised you to take your mother to the hospital right now, as he thought she could have had a stroke or something of the sort. That scared you, but it made the most sense—what else could it have been?
A voice inside your head was whispering ugly, brutal truths and they echoed so loud it made you dizzy, but it was as though you refused to hear them. To process them. Some things are just so awful that the human mind cannot make sense of it on the first encounter. Those thoughts are like wild animals. They need to be tamed. They need to be domesticated, even, sometimes.
You got your mom dry and warm. You got dressed. Your mom was herself in no time, getting angry because you were getting ready to take her to the hospital. “It’s too late, you have work in the morning!” As if you cared. But she must have been scared at least a little because she let you take her.
She did not have a stroke. Everything was fine, her heart, too. They referred her to a psychiatrist instead, and that made her furious. “I’m not crazy!” she spat at the doctor’s face. It was three in the morning by the time you got the results. You were exhausted. You wanted to cry. You were relieved that they hadn’t found signs of a stroke but not knowing was so much more distressing.
“Mom, nobody said you’re crazy,” you shushed her, taking her hand in yours. She was cold, still. The waiting room wasn’t very warm or comfortable. “But since they couldn’t find a physical reason, they’re just making sure it’s not something else.”
It only got worse from that point.
You visited the hospital often. Your mother would injure herself—a burn here and there as she cooked her meals, bruises because she tripped and fell frequently, or just twisting her ankles because she skipped the last step on a flight of stairs. The worst ones, though, were the ones she forgot. You would call her or visit her and she’d show you a gash or a bruise, a substantial one, and when you’d ask how she hurt herself, she would say she had no idea. And you knew she wasn’t lying.
Your mother had stopped lying to you. Not that she did it so often before, but a regular amount of lying a mother does to her daughter. And after the rainy night, not at all. All that you’d see in her eyes was truthfulness. Whatever she said, she was persuaded it was true.
Sometimes, though, it just was not true. But that wasn’t her fault.
It did not take very long before they figured it out. They looked at the results from the scan they took on the rainy night and compared to recent ones her doctor requested after a routine visit. You went with her and exchanged a few knowing stares with the doctor when your mother failed to answer very basic questions, and when she could not name a chair as a chair, calling it a stair.
You hadn’t known what to expect exactly. Terminal brain cancer, maybe, or some other illness. Something tangible. But the doctor sat at his desk, across from you and your mother, and explained to both of you what was early-onset Alzheimer’s, saying he was just about certain it was that condition that affected your mother.
And it felt as though a storm had hit you, traversing you, coating each of your atoms, its cold rain drenching you from the inside out. Only later would you realize that this appointment, that day, wasn’t the actual storm—it was the eye of the hurricane. It was quiet on the way back from the hospital. You didn’t even ask your mom if she wanted to go to her place or yours. You just brought her to your place. You made dinner. She showered. You thought you might have heard her cry in the shower. You held your tears as you seared the salmon.
She barely ate. She sat, staring at the contents of her plate, but you weren’t eating much either.
“Mom…” you started, but there were no words.
And it has only gone downhill since, as expected. At least it went fast enough that your mother didn’t stay too aware of her own decline. But that meant it went so fast that you could not say proper goodbyes to your mother. The one that you knew. Your mother, the one that was still alive, had nothing to do with the woman who raised you.
It was, obviously, all of this you had in mind when Changbin offered you the job. You stared at him quietly for a long time as the events replayed in your head, as they often did in moments like these.
“I won’t leave my mother alone here,” you managed, your throat shutting tight. It pained you to say it. Not because you regretted having to be there for your mom. But because it was a lot. And because this was your dream job.
Changbin gave you a puzzled look, shaking his head. “No, you won’t leave your mother here,” he repeated in the same statement-like tone you just used. “Who ever talked about that?”
“Well, I don’t see how I can… It would be so much work to move just myself. Imagine if I take her with me! I’m just being realistic! Besides, it’s better if she doesn’t change her routine too much. She might… get worse.”
Your boss took a deep breath, letting it exhale in a sigh. He didn’t sound annoyed; he just sounded tired.
“Look,” he started. “What if I told you that, on the outskirts of this little Swiss town, there is a medical facility with a wing for neurodegenerative diseases, and that they have a room for your mother? They are the best in the country. I checked.”
You could tell he rehearsed his sentence. You never heard him say the word neurodegenerative before.
“I’d tell you this is still fucking Switzerland,” you replied. “And that there’s no way I, or my mother, can afford this facility, especially not if they’re the best in the country.”
“They’re part of the university of…” Changbin seemed reluctant to mispronounce another city name, so he just skipped it this time. “I made calls. They’re doing studies on early-onset Alzheimer’s, so there’s no rent to pay. Just some other fees.” He slid a printed page across the desk to you. “Here. All the info you need. They said they could wait a couple days for your decision.”
“But—”
Changbin raised his hand, shaking his head. “No. Sorry. You’re running out of excuses to say no. This care facility is a hundred times better for your mom than the one she’s in now. If you don’t want to go, don’t. Just take a day to think about it and come see me after, okay? “I’m not going to discuss this any further today,” he added, cutting you off when you started to speak.
There was nothing harsh in his voice, yet you had to look away so he wouldn’t see the tears in your eyes. Maybe it was because you really wanted this job and you were now imagining packing up all your belongings and bringing them with you to Switzerland.
Would you take it with you? The wedding dress? Or would you leave it behind, finally? Would it even make a difference?
The Institut de Recherche Montandon en Neuroscience et en Psychiatrie was nestled in between two hills, in the small city of Pic-des-Mélèzes, Switzerland. Located at the foot of the Swiss Alps, the city had felt foreign at first. Worse than that. It was as though you had forgotten what it was like to have ever felt at home, and the fact that it was stunning and right by a large, blue lake had not soothed that ache. In fact, you were still looking for something that would do precisely that. Soothe the ache or make you think about something other than it.
Thank God you were busy out of your mind. You couldn’t imagine rawdogging all this novelty without having so much to do. You hadn’t even finished unpacking, not after close to a month since you moved here, but it had reached a point where you kept it for the special nights. The nights you couldn’t sleep because of anxiety attacks or because your fear of the future weighed too heavily on your mind. The latter usually led to the former anyway.
Thank God it was no problem for you to drown yourself in your work.
You liked it. The new job. The new office. The new coworkers. You liked it all. For the first time in your life, you understood what it was like to love your job. It meant you weren’t exhausted after one hour of doing it. It meant you were happy to get into the office in the morning. You had never thought something like that would happen to you.
But everything else was also happening to you.
“Please sign here,” the lady at the front desk of the Montandon Research Institute told you, handing out a tablet and the electronic pen that went with it. “I heard the residents really liked lunch today. It was sausage with potatoes, and they roasted the vegetables.”
They had come to know you. The people in the facility. So they did their best to converse with you, avoiding complicated French words whenever they could. You were grateful for it, but it also made you feel even more like an outsider.
“Sounds delicious,” you replied absentmindedly, signing your name under the ‘Visitor’ list and selecting your mother’s room number next. The software took care of logging in you and your time of entry. It was 4:30 p.m.—you hadn’t seen today go by at all.
“I heard Mrs. Donovan was sleeping earlier,” the lady went on, and it took you a few seconds to realize she was talking about your mother. Your mother had renamed herself just before she lost her faculties—like a final act to get rid of your father’s name. She refused to do it before, not even after the divorce, claiming that she liked having the same name as you. Afterwards, she just used her maiden name again. It was still too fresh in your memory that Mrs. Donovan was your mother. “You may use the visitors’ room or sit in the garden if you’d rather not sit and watch her sleep all afternoon.”
“Thanks.” You forced a smile on your face. Truth be told, everybody here was exceptionally professional and kind, and Changbin had been right to say this facility was the best place your mother could be.
It just felt wrong. Not this place. Not necessarily Pic-des-Mélèzes either. Just. All of it. At the same time. Could it be possible for something to feel both very wrong and very right at the same time? How would that even work?
Your mother wasn’t sleeping when you made it to her room. It was spacious, with green walls reminiscent of the view through the two large windows of the main room. The other walls were painted in a creamy, off-white shade that created a pleasant contrast. Like a snowy morning. One could tell the room had been designed with the intention of being soothing—and it had been successful.
Most of the time anyway. Today, your mother didn’t acknowledge you when you came into the room after knocking. She was standing by one of the windows, her arms crossed over her chest, staring at the scenery but not seeing it. And when that happened, you knew she was having a bad day.
“Hey Mom,” you said nonetheless, doing your best to make your voice as cheery as you could. “I brought your favorite cake.” It was raspberry cake that you bought in the first bakery you found after landing here and she expressed, vaguely, wanting something sweet. She had declared it to be her favorite cake. It was her fourth favorite cake this year alone.
Your big announcement got you no response. Still, you let yourself in, closing the door behind you, immediately going for the cupboards where you had left a couple of plates for your mom. They served her meals in the dining room here, but you liked to come have snacks with her, and you were hoping you would be able to keep doing that for as long as you’d live here.
It dawned on you then. Or perhaps you had known all along. It was the kind of thing one cannot ignore but ignores regardless. The kind of ignoring that looms over you, that keeps a foot on your throat.
When your mother received her diagnosis, the doctor insisted on the violence of her disease. Some people, he said, could live well over ten years after their diagnosis. Others as few as two or three. In your mother’s case, he predicted she’d have a rapid decline and that it would be over after that. Four years or so, he said.
Only your mother had died a while ago already.
And there was no other way to say that. It was unfair. It was one of the realest, ugliest things about the disease. The woman who had raised you was long gone and nothing could bring her back. Sometimes you thought you saw pieces of her, remnants, just a flash of her at the back of her eyes, and it sent you back to that night. The one where the police officer brought her to your place after she had gotten lost.
Six seconds. The night it took her six seconds before that light came back in her eyes. And now, you were lucky if it lit up for more than two or three continuous seconds. You had to swallow your tears if the woman standing by the window spoke your name out loud. If she remembered you as her daughter. If she remembered herself as your mother. If she recalled, truly, what it meant to be a mother.
You cleared your throat—you didn’t want to cry. You didn’t feel like crying. You had cried for two days when you moved here. Out of fear, out of relief, out of excitement. Just because nothing was the same. Three weeks had passed already, but you knew your heart was still fragile. The dam could be easily breached. It held with barely anything—a few pieces of wood that had rotten with time and rusted nails.
Yes. This is what you were. Now, in this green and white room, putting a slice of raspberry cake onto a plate. The kind of plate that can’t shatter because your mother was prone to dropping things a lot.
Decayed. Decaying still, though you could hardly believe there was even something in there worth festering. Tarnished. Corroded. A bunch of dilapidated pieces of porcelain barely holding together. A ramshackle, sad thing. Something kept at the very back of the cupboard. Remnants of something that had once been beautiful.
“Do you want tea with the cake, Mom?” you asked, your voice trembling a lot more than you expected it to. You cleared your throat again, taking a deep breath. “Or coffee, maybe?”
You finally caught her attention. You sensed it without seeing her, feeling her gaze on the back of your neck. “Yes,” she replied with that new apathetic voice of hers that wasn’t so new anymore, but you’d never get used to it. Because there was nothing alive inside it.
“Yes to which, mom?” you asked again. You had never been particularly patient before.
You had lost your temper a few times. Her doctors said it was normal. Caretaker fatigue. Just being human. Being faced with someone with Alzheimer’s, day after day, can be frustrating. Even if we know they’re ill. There’s only so much one can take. But every time that happened—every time you snapped back, you would end the day tormented by it in your bed, unable to sleep, replaying the scene in your mind over and over. I should have said that. I should have done that. I shouldn’t have said this and that. I should have stayed with her. Rest rarely came on those nights, not when guilt was leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.
But what happens when it is all that one has?
Guilt, shame? Loneliness?
A wedding dress?
Don’t think about that today, you warned yourself, bringing the two plates over to the small table in a corner of the room. But it was like telling somebody not to think about a pink giraffe. Obviously, they would think about a pink giraffe.
Your pink giraffe had a name. Your pink giraffe was a man you had dated for three years before being engaged to him for two more. You had been convinced, absolutely without any doubt, that he would be the person you were meant to be with. Truth be told, you still weren’t sure it wasn’t the case. Just because two people weren’t together did not mean they weren’t supposed to be.
It just meant that something had gone wrong somewhere along the way. And Dr. Minho, your therapist, would not want you to say that it was you. He would want you to say it was the circumstances. He would want to say the decision had not been yours—so why should you blame yourself?
Because. Just. Because.
You met Christopher when he knocked at the door of your hotel room. You were there for work, visiting that city for a conference, and he was there for a friend’s wedding. It was two in the morning when you first heard the knocks, and you’d had a few too many miniature bottles of vodka that you mixed with various fruity beverages, just to test the flavors. You went back to sleep, thinking that you dreamt it.
But the knocks echoed again, louder this time. “Come on man, I really gotta pee.”
If it was a dream, it was the weirdest, most fucked up dream ever. Surely, you had misheard.
You pushed yourself up, wondering if people at work had played a prank on you and paid a male stripper to come and give you a show. There were a few girls who simply could not believe that you weren’t on any dating apps and that you weren’t looking for casual relationships more than you were for serious ones. Now that you were thinking about it, you were almost sure that it had to be the case. These motherfuckers.
You made your way to the door, stubbing your toe on the corner of the large king-size bed of the room, naturally. It almost sent you to your knees—tears welled up at your eyes as you let out a string of curses under your breath. These girls would pay for that. You’d hire a fucking clown to go and dance for them during lunch break one day. In front of everyone.
You opened the door. Later, you realized how stupid that had been. A psychopath could have been standing on the other side of that door and you wouldn’t have known. You hadn’t even looked through the peephole.
Yet you opened the door. And it didn’t make you change your mind—you still believed it was a male stripper who was standing in front of you.
The man flashed a dimpled smile at you, shaking his head. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he scoffed. “He finally got laid.”
You blinked. The words the stranger had just spoken couldn’t quite make it to your brain, as though he had told them in a foreign language. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry, that wasn’t—that was crass,” he immediately added, standing straight, clearing his throat. He gave you an appraising look and it was then that you remembered how you went to sleep exactly: wearing a long, gray sleep shirt. And nothing else. “I, uh—”
You crossed your arms over your chest, not unaware of the cool breeze in the hotel hallway, especially not after noticing where the stranger’s gaze kept returning. “Who sent you?” you couldn’t help but ask. It felt like you were entitled to this information.
He squinted. This time, it was as though you had spoken in a foreign language.
“No one sent me. I’m just here,” he said, enunciating each syllable very clearly. Maybe he thought you were slow. “I was at the venue partying and now I’m here and I want to pee.”
“That’s extremely unprofessional!”
“Unpr—” He chuckled nervously. You noticed then that he was wearing a button-down shirt and black slacks. He was holding a matching jacket. “The fuck you think you are? Look, I don’t care if Jeongin had to pay you. I hope he paid you well. But this is still my room.”
The cogs in your brain were slowly restarting. You stared at the man in front of you. He was handsome. His arms were big, his shoulders were bigger. His face was attractive. He really did look like a male stripper.
But maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t one.
Fuck.
“This is for sure my room,” you replied, your voice suddenly smaller than it had been. You gulped thickly. “I’m sorry, I thought you were… someone else.”
He raised an eyebrow, thinking about it for a few seconds. “You were expecting a prostitute, weren’t you?”
“Oh my god! No! I—”
His laughter interrupted your sentence. You stared at him quietly, warmth spreading on your face. The pain in your toe was distant already. Not quite forgotten, just unimportant. Do you ever just become a little too aware of a moment that the rest—anything that isn’t relevant to it—just stops existing?
The man stared back, his laugh dying on his full lips. You found yourself missing the dimples when they disappeared, too. Their sight had been a rather pleasant one. Some kind of friendly anchor. Or something else that you didn’t have a word for yet.
He only looked away to glance at the room number. It caused a faint frown between his brows and made him reach for his back pocket, from which he produced a small piece of paper. It turned out to have been his hotel keycard, still in its cardboard holder. There was the hotel logo on it and, just below, someone had scribbled a number.
Really scribbled.
He looked at it, the cardboard he held between his thumb and his index finger, then he looked at the room number on your door again.
“Ah, shit,” he muttered, his ears flushing. “Damn…”
You twisted your neck a little in an attempt at catching sight of the number on the cardboard. 824.
Your room was room number 924.
But you could tell that it had been written down quickly. The 8 sort of looked like a 9.
“Was I expecting a prostitute or just someone who doesn’t know their numbers?” you said playfully, a smile appearing on your lips. You noticed that it was easy. Smiling.
“Deserved,” the guy replied, putting the keycard back in his pocket before burying his face in his hands. “Oh my god. I just embarrassed myself so bad. I thought you were my friend’s fling.”
“It wouldn’t be any better if I were,” you noted. “But I am nobody’s fling.” You weren’t sure why you said it like that, or maybe you knew exactly why, but you said it anyway. “Do… Do you need to use the restroom?”
His ears turned crimson, but the man shook his head. “Nah, I should make it one floor above. Thanks though. I appreciate the faith in me that I’m not a sociopath. Or a slob. I wouldn’t just offer my bathroom to a random stranger like that.”
“Sure thing.”
It took a few more seconds before the two of you wished each other ‘good night’ in unison. Then you went to close the door but left just a small crack open, peeking through it at the last second. Just in time to see him take one last glance behind him, in your direction, before turning the corner towards the elevators.
The next morning, someone knocked at your door again. It would have been a lie to say that the entire encounter with the handsome stranger was completely out of your mind, but it still surprised you to get another unexpected knock at your hotel door. For an instant you wondered if you had ordered room service earlier and forgotten about it, maybe calling in a sleepy state. But you were pretty sure you hadn’t. Then you wondered if maybe the room service was included with the room, but if so, someone would have taken your order, right?
Knock knock. Two knocks, not three. This time, though, you did peep to see who it was, in case it would be a serial killer standing on the other side of the door.
But it was that guy again. This time, he wasn’t wearing formal clothes but jeans and a charcoal-colored t-shirt. He was holding a paper bag in one hand and a tray with to-go mugs in it. Your heart skipped a beat, and you backed away from the door as though you had just seen a serial killer on the other side. Or something.
What the fuck is he doing here?
It seemed pretty evident what he was doing here, but your brain couldn’t process it. Some tiny part of it though, a part you didn’t know existed, returned to the door to unlock it even though the rest of you begged it not to. You could pretend you weren’t there. You could pretend you had left already—surely, he hadn’t heard your footsteps on the thick carpet, and you had held your hand over your mouth as you gasped.
You had been broken before. To various degrees. You weren’t certain how far the cracks went, how deep they reached, but you knew what it felt like to be defeated. You knew what it felt like when your heart fluttered in your chest. But the heart, or rather, what made it come alive, you had come to learn, was more like a moth than a bird when it came to lifespan.
You didn’t miss him. The man who made you feel like this. Like loving you was an ephemeral phenomenon. Elusive. Difficult. You never missed him, not even once, after you ended things with him. It was the only thing you could do because he did not care about you. Maybe he was with you because you never said no when he wanted to fuck. Maybe you never said no when he wanted to fuck because you were afraid to lose him if you did. He caught onto that. He made you do and say things you would never have wanted to do or say, and now you were a changed woman. Stained. Tainted.
And now there was a man standing on the other side of your hotel door. And, most likely, all he wanted to do was to apologize for waking you up in the middle of the night and implying you had sex with his friend. But you were thinking about the sound of his voice, and his laugh, and his dimpled smile.
And the way he looked over his shoulder, as though he wanted to come back and say something else to you last night after he left.
So, most of the atoms that constituted you were fighting the little part of you that didn’t care. Maybe you were weak, maybe he just really caught you off-guard—in any case, you did open the door. Immediately, the smell of his cologne hit your nostrils. Something expensive, no doubt. It smelled like he had sprayed a little too much of it, but it was complex, and it reminded you of the color blue. Like a dark Persian blue but with moonlight reflecting on it, creating an iridescent effect onto it in the purest cerulean. Like an ocean in the few minutes following sunset, when the last drops of orange disappeared from the sky.
“Hey,” he said, flashing his charming smile at you, only, he seemed uncomfortable. “I—uh—I just wanted to apologize for last night. I brought you bagels and pastries,” he added, handing you the paper bag. “And coffee, too.”
You could have just said ‘thank you’ and accepted the apology and leave it there. Probably would have saved you a lot of pain, in hindsight. But your heart isn’t something you can control. You never could. Pretending otherwise is foolish.
You never could do that. Prevent catastrophes. So you told him, “Two coffees just for me? Or are you going to come in and have one, too?”
And this is how Christopher and you fell in love. You had coffee with breakfast. He told you about the wedding. You told him about the conference. He was from Australia, which you already knew from his accent. He loved the sea, which you already knew from the energy emanating from him.
He asked if you would still be in town tonight. You would, as the conference was a two-day event. But, probably, you would have said yes anyway. He asked you if you wanted to have dinner with him that night. “I feel really bad I woke you up like that,” he insisted. He was standing by the door then, ready to leave.
“I’d love dinner,” you replied, knowing it would be a mistake in the end, but folding anyway.
He did it again. Looking over his shoulder. Except this time you hadn’t closed the door, you were still there. You waved at him and he waved back.
You left the conference early to go and buy a dress for the evening. You hadn’t really brought any nice clothes. It felt stupid to do that, but you had plenty of excuses, such as, I’ll buy something on sale, or It’s not like I’m going to throw the dress away after, like, I’ll keep it. The best one might have been, I won’t show up wearing just whatever, what if he wants to go to a nice restaurant?
Because this was about not clashing with the restaurant. This wasn’t about you wanting to look nice for this handsome Australian.
He did take you to a nice restaurant. And he did compliment you on the black and gold cocktail dress you wore. He said it made your eyes shine. Maybe you knew then—that he would be taking it off you later that night.
It started like that. Dinner. Really good sex. Exchanging numbers. He visited the week after, pretending he had some event for work but you knew it was bullshit. He asked you on a date and he called it a date this time.
Christopher worked as a publicist for a music label and he loved his job. The job was his first love, you could tell, and he wasn’t ready to give up on that. So you knew from the beginning that it would be you who would move out of your apartment, leave the city you lived in, and move in with him. You couldn’t be sure when exactly, but you knew you wouldn’t put him through that.
What you did not know, however, was that painting yourself invisible was not the right thing to do. It is never the right thing to do. Not in a relationship. Not ever. It becomes this corrosive thing that cannot be undone. No matter the other person, no matter how good their heart might be, there will be times when they believe it. That you are invisible. And you will find yourself wishing they did not.
So you make yourself even more invisible somehow, burying yourself deeper into the relationship. A camouflage of sorts.
And then what happens? Nothing. It just consumes you. It just gnaws at you. And there is less and less of you—until it is no longer about being invisible but about having pieces of you missing completely.
You loved Christopher very much and he loved you too. Your first mistake was assuming that he loved his job more than he loved you. Later, his own mother would tell you this: that maybe he did, but then, wouldn’t that mean you should have been with someone else?
Or did you truly believe it was all you deserved? A man who loved you, but not quite enough? A man who asked you to marry him in the end but only because he could tell you were broken into too many pieces, and he was certain that a ring could staple you back together?
You were so happy. At least you thought you were. You asked your mother if she would come with you when you bought your wedding dress. You’d always liked wedding gowns. There was something sacred about them to you. Maybe because, as a little girl, you’d never thought you’d get married. Or maybe it was just because one Christmas your mom gave you the Rose Bride Barbie Doll—it wasn’t that they wanted to indoctrinate you into marriage at a young age, it was just that your mother knew you would love her dress. And you did.
It was a ball gown type dress, with tulle and, obviously, a rose. You loved that dress. It stayed at the back of your mind, perhaps subconsciously, until the day you entered a bridal store to buy your own. After trying many different styles, you ended up with a ball gown dress, adorned with tulle and gems. It was maybe the first time you really felt beautiful. You cried that day.
But you didn’t cry on the night before your wedding when someone knocked at your hotel door.
Knock knock.
You knew it was Chris, you didn’t need to look through the peephole—by then, you could recognize his knocks among hundreds. But his eyes were red. He took your hand and made you sit on the bed and apologized. He said he loved you, he really did. He said he wasn’t so sure anymore. He said he thought he was going to go through with the wedding because he didn’t want to humiliate you in front of the guests.
He said, “We can still do it if you want. Pretend to get married. But I don’t think we should do it for real. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
You knew he was right. You had moved from your city to his first, but not with him because you wanted to give him space. You never wanted to rush him. Then you moved in with him. You turned down a job in another city because he was working on an important project, but the next year he took a job there. Maybe you knew then. Maybe you had known since the very first time he spoke to you. Maybe you just shouldn’t have made yourself invisible, and he would have seen all of that before the eve of your wedding.
“I just. I’m not sure you’re happy. And I’m not sure I am either,” Chris said in the end.
And he was right.
You did not cry. Even though that was the last time he knocked at your hotel door.
He looked over his shoulder too that night, and you never forgot his eyes.
You were so lost in your thoughts that you had to boil the water again. Behind you, your mother was pacing around her room, uninterested in the raspberry cake. You had come to learn that when she was like that, she was bound to become very agitated—you only had a short period of time during which you could, perhaps, prevent a disaster.
You didn’t wait until the tea had steeped—you put the two plates with the cake on the table and pulled a chair. Blinking to make sure there were no tears in your eyes, you forced a smile onto your face.
“Mom, come on! I’m so hungry. Aren’t you?” You were not hungry. You just wanted to get her attention away from whatever it was that was bothering her. Sometimes, you never found out, even. Because she could not verbalize it.
Your mother looked up, stopping in her tracks. “I’m not hungry,” she replied, yet she approached and sat on the chair you were holding for her. “Maybe Antoine will want it.”
Your heart sank in your chest. It wasn’t the first time since arriving here that your mother had mentioned her ex—perhaps something about being on European soil reminded her of him. Maybe she missed him and couldn’t find the words, or even the thoughts to express that. Maybe her thoughts came to her but evaded her, like trying to hold water in her hands.
You had contacted Antoine after your mother’s diagnosis. They had drifted apart a little and you wanted him to know it was because of her illness, not because she didn’t care. In fact, you went as far as suggesting that her breaking up with him two years prior was among the first signs of the disorder. As though she was becoming someone else. Antoine understood, no matter how heartbroken he was. He made you promise to keep in touch.
“You know, maybe we should call him,” you retorted, knowing better than to argue with her. “It’s been a while since we heard from him, hasn’t it?” You returned to the counter to pour tea into mugs. You did not hear your mother pick up her cutlery.
“I still don’t know why you left him. He was a good man for you.”
This had happened before. Your mother confusing names and people. It happened increasingly often.
It just hurt the most when it was Chris.
“I was talking about An-toi-ne,” you repeated, really enunciating the name to emphasize. “Your friend.” There was no point in reminding her she had been deeply in love once. It was better if she forgot that entirely, you figured.
You took a deep breath, facing your mother again. She was staring at you but her eyes weren’t blank like they usually were. She picked up her fork but she was not eating the cake.
“I’m not stupid, you know. You keep talking to me like I’m stupid,” she spat, and there was so much hatred in her voice that you almost cried. “You lock me up in this place for whatever reason and—”
“Mom,” you cut her off, bringing over the cups of tea, hoping it would calm her. You had used a lot of milk and a touch of honey, just the way she liked it. Not that she would remember, though. “I know you’re not stupid. It’s just that I know you don’t quite remember right now, but I’m talking about a man called Antoine, and you’re confusing him for my ex, whose name is Christopher. It’s okay. I’m not mad.”
“You look mad, why are you lying to me?”
Your mother, before, would have understood. She would have understood everything. Should she have mentioned Christopher’s name by mistake and seen the tears in your eyes, she would have known why they were there. You missed her. That version of her. When she used to be whole.
You loved her still, of course. What was left of her. How could you not?
You were barely more than she was. It felt like it. Like there was not much left of you either.
What your mother did next was terrible, but you did not love her any less for it—it hurt your soul as much as it did your skin, but you made sure not to cry in front of her. She let go of the fork, grabbed her mug instead, and intentionally spilled it onto you. She didn’t throw it per se, her reflexes wouldn’t allow that anymore, but a good amount of it ended up on your forearm and a little on your thigh.
“Now, are you mad at me or not?” she insisted, slamming the empty cup on the table so hard you thought it might shatter.
No, definitely, it hurt your soul more. You could feel the burn, the sting of the scalding tea through your clothes, but what you saw in your mother’s eyes was a million times worse. Because it had nothing to do with your mother. For an instant, you thought of horror movies and of possessed people.
“ARE YOU MAD AT ME?” she said again, louder this time.
You pushed your chair back, getting up. The pain was getting worse, settling deeper under your skin. The thought that you had to put something cold onto the burns grazed your mind but only for a second or two. You could hear voices coming from the hallway and prayed your mother could not. It would only make things worse if anyone knocked at the door.
It always made things worse when someone knocked at the door.
“Mom, I’m sorry, you’re right.” Maybe you should have been honest from the beginning. Maybe she was right. Maybe you shouldn’t make yourself invisible, not even to her. “I wasn’t mad. It just makes me sad to think about Chris.”
“You shouldn’t have left him then. Do you have children?”
You gulped, feeling as if you might throw up if this went on for any longer. “No, Mom. I don’t.”
“See? That’s why you’re mad all the time.”
You wondered if, perhaps, your mother was confusing mad with sad. Because you were not mad at her. But you were sad at her. Very much so.
“That’s why I’m mad, too,” she went on. “Because I’m alone all the time.”
There are things in life that hurt more, or just as much, as a blade to the heart. Sometimes, words are among those things. That day, your mother’s words hurt more than any stabbing would have—it made you forget the burning sensation making your skin tingle.
“When are they going to take me home?” she asked. “I don’t think I can afford to pay for this hotel much longer. When are they taking me home?”
Her doctors had always warned you of this—that there might be a day when your mother wouldn’t quite remember she was your mother. She wouldn’t remember having raised you. She would perhaps remember you in some other way. Just not that one.
Today was that day, you supposed.
But you did not want her to see it on your face. That you were sad. And mad. Because you weren’t mad at her—you were mad at the illness eating her brain away.
Knock knock knock.
You jumped. As though you had forgotten the rest of the world existed. As though you were lost in your own sorrow. In your own emptiness. Your mother’s eyes darted towards the door.
“Who the fuck is this?” she asked, and you knew things were bad because your mother only cursed when she was getting agitated.
“Miss Donovan, c’est moi,” a female voice replied from the other side of the door. “I’m here to give you your medicine. Can I come in?”
You didn’t wait—you went to the door to open it, finding yourself face to face with a young woman. She had dark brown hair and smooth, olive skin. She made a face when she saw you, looking you up and down.
“Is everything okay?” she asked under her breath, her voice barely audible. “I heard screaming. Is this…”
“This is just tea,” you replied. “Mom is… uh…”
The nurse nodded, reaching into her pocket and showing you a small plastic container with a single yellowish pill inside. “It’s Seroquel,” she murmured. “For when she… she’s like that. I’ll give it to her if you don’t mind.”
The container bore your mother’s name on its printed label. It even had a picture of her and her room number just underneath. It all felt so clinical.
You minded it a little. That they had to drug her up for her to stay calm. You wished she had the gentler kind of Alzheimer’s, the kind where people don’t shout all the time. Or the kind where they don’t forget who their daughter is. Or that they have one.
Yet, you nodded. “Go ahead, if you even can,” you told the nurse, and stayed back while she went to speak to your mother.
She was nice to her, and your mother was softer to her than she had been to you. That hurt, too, but you remained in the door frame, waiting. At first, your mother refused the medicine, but since you had given your consent, you knew the nurse would insist. It had happened last week, although not as bad as that. Your mother had cried for hours, and another nurse had to be very clever to get your mom to take her meds.
This time, the nurse told your mom it would help her rest and would help her back pain. Your mother hadn’t even complained of back pain today, but she did not argue with that—she accepted the fruit juice and the pill like it was nothing.
You let out a sigh then. It was relief and despair all at once. You knew Seroquel made your mother sleepy—in 15 or 20 minutes, she would be near comatose.
The nurse took you to the nurses’ station with her. She offered you dry, clean clothes—scrubs, but it would do. She helped you wash the tea off you and made sure the burns weren’t too serious. There was just one spot where it was darker, and she applied an ointment. The whole time, she said nothing.
Just before you returned to your mother’s room, though, she stopped you. “Your mom reminds me of my grandmother a lot,” she admitted. “They… behave the same.”
You gave her a knowing nod. “I’m so sorry. Does your grandma live here?”
A cloud of immense sadness passed over the young woman’s face. “She’s not with us anymore. She died last year. I miss her a lot, but… I had been missing her for a long time. I know how you feel, Miss, is what I wanted to say. And if you need someone to talk to, you can ask for me.”
“I’m so sorry,” you said again, only you were speechless. “That’s terrible. T—Thank you though, I really do appreciate it.”
One day, you would be her. Perhaps you would meet someone at a restaurant whose parent was having an episode. And you’d be the one to hold their hand through it because it took fifteen to twenty minutes before the Seroquel kicked in. You’d say, “My mother was like that too. She died not long ago. You will be alright.”
And you will try to look like you mean it, but you will fail—the grief will spill from your eyes instead of tears.
The chirping of crickets reminded Hyunjin of many things.
It reminded him of quietness. Not the peaceful kind, though—the empty kind. The one that’s hollow, the one that eats you from the inside out. The one where you have so much to say, only, words aren’t enough to say it. Or it would require too many words to say all of it. It’s either one of these or it is both. Most likely both.
The chirping of crickets reminded Hyunjin of the night he lost it all. It reminded him of all the nights that followed, but these, he found, did not matter as much.
It wasn’t just any chirping and it wasn’t just any crickets. It was the chirping of crickets here, and the way it echoed in this mountainous forest that surrounded the facility. Larches, for the most part. The trees were a soft green in the summer months and turned a warm yellow in autumn. He hadn’t gotten tired of that sight yet. He wondered if he ever would.
There was a place on the roof of the institute where they had put up fences. People called it ‘the cage’ but the doctors didn’t want people calling it like that. Still, it was made entirely of metal fences, so it was, literally, a cage. It was his favorite place when he used to stay here. In the summer were the crickets. They stayed late into the year, sometimes he still heard them when the trees turned yellow, just not as loud. In the winter, it was the silence.
Not the hollow kind. The one that’s alive. The one that’s thick and tangible, as though the layers of snow absorbed all nearby noise only to let it radiate from within oneself. On the quietest nights, he would lie down in it, in the snow, and listen to it fall onto the ground. The sound of it is almost imperceptible, but it is also undeniable; one just should just listen and pay attention to hear it.
There had been crickets that one night.
Hyunjin had not been whole since. And he would never be whole again. That’s the thing about losing pieces of yourself: they never come back. Even if the wound healed—and in his case, it would never heal either—the loss is permanent. It cannot be undone. One can try to replace it with something else but it will never be the original.
Just like a larch tree loses its needle-like leaves in the winter after they’ve been yellowing all autumn. They might regrow in the spring—green again, strong again, too, with that distinct conifer scent spreading in the air around the tree. But the needles that did fall remain fallen forever, and no amount of wishing, no amount of despair, would change that.
Hyunjin was sitting outside the Montandon Institute when you came out of the main entrance. There was a small building that connected the two halves of the facility—some visitors liked to go through there because it was the newest and nicest part, and it was decorated nicely. It was also where the bathrooms were the cleanest.
The larches were yellow already but he could not see them in the dark. He found himself missing the sight of their color, or maybe it was the warmth of the sunshine that he missed. Perhaps, rather, it was a very different kind of warmth he longed for. But all he had was the chirping of crickets and the memories that haunted him.
He was sitting on a bench outside, listening to the crickets, telling himself he was waiting for his bus, but his bus has passed twice already. So, really, he was just listening to the night. It meant that he heard you clearly when you thanked someone for washing your clothes and drying them so quickly. He didn’t hear the response as well, but the person sounded genuine.
He was alone, so he heard your footsteps as clearly as he had heard your voice. There had been something familiar to it—he did not know you, but he recognized something in your voice. It coated each of your words, thick, sticky, like honey, but rotten. And honey doesn’t even go bad, so that meant something.
You crossed the parking lot. He heard music in your footsteps. Or rather, a rhythm. This, too, was familiar. It was both hurried and slow. Fast and unrushed. He walked like that too—like the present moment was unbearable, like he could not wait until he moved on to the next one. Like the next one was going to be just as unbearable, and maybe even worse, and he was well aware.
Your car was not so far from the bench he was sitting on. Hyunjin thought, at first, that you had noticed him because you stopped in your tracks. Then he reminded himself that he was just a guy on a bench near a bus stop—hardly something remarkable about that.
Yet, the footsteps took a turn towards him, and Hyunjin wasn’t sure if he was terrified or if he was glad someone had noticed him for once. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking like that—Doctor Adler kept reminding him that it was him, Hyunjin, who made himself small, and therefore he could not expect others to make a big space for him in their lives. It made sense. He knew that was all true.
It didn’t make it any easier.
“Excuse me?” Your voice was fragile, not like it was about to break but like it had broken a thousand times, like you had to build it again every time. “I’m sorry. Uh… Do you smoke, by any chance?”
The crickets were still chirping into the night, and Hyunjin wondered if there was anything simple about him. Did he smoke? Well, he had a pack of cigarettes with him. He even had something to light them. Once in a while, he did light one and inhaled the smoke, then exhaled it. But he would not call himself a smoker, no.
The question intrigued him anyway. He could see the bus coming at the far end of the long, narrow road, but he turned to you.
He could not see you well. You were wearing a raincoat with the hood on, but the hair he could see spilling from it looked soft. He saw your eyes when you shifted your weight, and your face was momentarily lit up by the light spilling from the large windows of the main building. You had cried.
He wondered which side of the institute you came from. He wondered if your sadness was yours, or someone else’s.
He wondered if it made any difference. Sorrow is just sorrow. Whether it was yours or not—it was you who had to carry it, in the end, wasn’t it?
“Sure,” he chose to say, reaching into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. He didn’t know if he was supposed to make conversation with you so he stayed quiet as he handed you the cigarettes. The bus was getting closer. It was the last bus of the night, the next one would be tomorrow morning.
He did not want to spend the night here. But your eyes. They were empty. They were full.
“Thanks.” Your hands shook as you reached for a cigarette in the pack and accepted the lighter he offered. It took you several attempts until you could light the cigarette but there was not even a little breeze. You looked like you hadn’t smoked in a long time, if ever.
You coughed when you inhaled the smoke. Hyunjin stood, putting his hands into his pockets after putting the pack of cigarettes away. If it had not been the last bus, he might have smoked with you, standing there in silence. So you wouldn’t be alone with the smoke and the sadness in your voice.
But the bus was here. It slowed down and stopped right by Hyunjin. He turned to you again, wondering if he ought to smile at you or not, wondering if he ever could. He was tired. And the crickets reminded him of many things.
“Bye,” he said instead before climbing into the bus, leaving you alone in the night.
To be continued...
A word from me: I am terrified typing this and with the general idea of sharing any writing again. But as they say—do it scared but do it. So I'm doing it. I would like to thank from the bottom of my heart @cb97percent who supported me through this very dark episode in my life and who believed in me when I didn't, and who knew that one day I would be typing these words again when I was certain I would not. Thank you for being my friend even though I was and still am insufferable. I love you. I'm so scared though, but thank you.
Thank you to my readers who have been waiting patiently for chapters of ongoing WIPs but have been putting up with my mental health shenanigans, too. Thank you to those who have shown me love, support and kindness.
Thank you to the readers who support authors in a meaningful way—by interacting with asks, with reblogs. You guys are what holds this community together.
Thank you to the authors who still write with their souls. I know it's not easy, trust me. But do not let go of your passion, even if it feels like it's dead. It's never dead.
MARI TO THE FRONT PLEASE!!!! BABE YOU REALLY DID THAT!
Thank you for sharing this work with us even though it was a tough decision for you to make. You have done an amazing job at fighting for your passion and it shows. I am so excited for the rest of this story to unfold 🫶🏽
(Revised) Event period: November 2 (1 PM KST) — November 3 (11:59 PM KST) Apologies for the delay 🙇♀️
Several spinebreaking days later, my newest passion project IF is now live! A few things to mention:
➥ This is the first time I'm attempting a project of this scale, and it's only v.1.1.0. @straywrds and I have been relentlessly beta-testing this (thank you SOOOOOO much Mari!), and while I have done my best to code correctly, there may be bugs I haven't been able to foresee. I ask for your understanding.
➥ Make sure to set the game to full screen from the bottom right before you play.
➥ This game is optimized for desktop devices. While it does work on mobile, it's not recommended. (e.g. Android test failed in the audio department, but it may be a device-specific issue.)
➥ If you enjoy this experience, your feedback would mean a lot to me.
WHAT'S INSIDE
⚠ — Master-servant relationship in an alternative history setting, vampirism
➥ Designate your character's name
➥ Choose from 8 available love interests
➥ Complete interactive tasks
➥ Join the Winston bashing club
➥ Unlockable smut scenes
➥ Atmospheric audio
➥ Play here
May the odds be with you 🎲 Share your stats with me!
I can finally go back to writing...
🔖 Signup tags (Non-taglist. Permanent taglist is getting an update, please see below the cut): @angelreblogarchive @augiesha @marigold1107 @mimimoos-stuff @mmoonriseflowerr @sunnyville36 @homelessmeowmeow
🔖 Permanent taglist (form here if you wish to join): LAST CALL — As stated in my form, my taglist is meant for those who are willing to meaningfully engage with me (e.g. asks, comments, reblogs w/ commentary), so I am updating my taglist. Very kindly refill the form if you still have interest as I will no longer be honoring silent/inactive readers. If you've been interacting with me anonymously, you can send in an ask to tell me your URL. I will respect your anonymity and not publicly respond to your ask.
Those who frequently interact, I already know who you are, and I hope you know you are the backbone of this community. You are MUCH appreciated 🫶
I am so glad I was able to participate in this event because WHAT THE HECK ITS SO GOOD?! Every detail is so thought out and intricate from the beginning to the end. I don’t usually play games but this was honestly so much fun that I played it multiple times! Thank you for sharing this project with us because I can really tell you took your time with this. I was a CS major before I decided that kind of life was NOT for me, and I can say that 2500+ lines of code for a project like this isn’t an easy feat! Again thank you so much for sharing your hard work with us and if you end up doing something like this again then I would love to participate 🫶🏽
I am currently catching up on groupie in order to prepare myself for spadetober and may I just say GREAT JOB! There is a point in track 18 that stuck out to me when Chris is talking about how people like the idea of different sexual acts because it’s easy to say things, but once it actually happens they just judge. This is too real during these current times!!!
I feel my generation of younger adults joke a lot about the idea of being sexually open but when someone is actually open about their experiences then they are judged. This rise in conservatism has led to a lots of people shaming other people’s safe spaces. I feel like a good rule of thumb (when it come to things like this) is to try your best not to judge when it isn’t harming others and if you don’t want to partake then you don’t have to.
This behavior has even invaded safe spaces for kinks like with ao3’s kinktober list. I’m not saying I’m into all of the kinks on the list but i try my best not to judge within reason. ANYWAYS fuck conservatism and apologies for my half formed rant🫶🏽
Hello lovely👋
Thank you very very much for enjoying the horny free-for-all ^^ No matter, go as unformed as you wish.
I remember a time when AO3 was chock full of "dead dove do not eat"s, non-con content and what have you, yet nobody batted an eye. There was this understanding about what fiction was, and it was common knowledge that everybody was responsible for their own media consumption. Then came the excessive "trigger warnings", overlisting every sex act, all the way to what names your love interest calls you. People were expecting authors to ruin the entire story right at the gates, otherwise they wouldn't read it. I think they still don't.
I shit you not, this is borderline the expectation:
This is not to say "Why aren't you enjoying it, you prudes? 🔪" but rather, I missed the memo on when it became a flex to shame those who do. I had gone on a rampage about it here earlier this year because of the treatment an anon was being subjected to (the ask wasn't even sent to me). Groupie was partly born out of a similar frustration.
The King is lowkey all of us walking on the knife's edge. There's something wrong with you if you're into that stuff. You're not edgy enough if you aren't. Whereas all we want is to enjoy stories of humans being humans, even if it's in ugly shades sometimes.
In conclusion, all hail The King🙇♀️ He hasn't even properly snapped yet, and I hope you'll enjoy it when he does ^^
I just saw your post about how you appreciate people who interact with your page and i’m scared that I may not be doing it write. I like your posts and share my appreciation through DMs and your mailbox but I don’t post on my account. Do you have any tips on how I can support writers in a mire meaningful way?
p.s. Even though lullaby is your least popular it’s my favorite lol and I’m looking forward to your updates☺️🫶🏽
Hello dear 🤍 I always feel like a proper bitch when I make these posts because it ends up this way—people who genuinely interact wonder if they're doing enough and the silent readers are completely oblivious to the black hole they're causing within the community.
I'll try to make this as concise as I can, while trying to make sense..
Showing appreciation to an author, when you've liked their work, is always "doing it right". The reason authors like it when people reblog their chapters and add the comment underneath is because it sort of quantifies the appreciation it got. Tumblr doesn't have any way to let authors know how much traffic goes onto their page, or clicks, etc. So, metaphorically speaking, I am blind in knowing how many times a certain chapter/story is being read.
The truth is—I don't write and post the chapters because I want to be showered with praise. No. But it does hurt when you feel like you worked so hard and you're not good enough to get a comment out of people. It's like that. A lot of people just strictly hit "Like" on a chapter once they're done reading it, or give it an empty reblog. Meanwhile I spent maybe 50-100 hours working on the chapter from the beginning to the final posting moments. It might be the new norm, but I am used to something else—like it used to be considered normal to drop at the very least a short comment to the author when you liked what they wrote.
So—all of the interaction is good. I get so many asks, it would be hypocritical of me to say it doesn't count. Of course it counts. It always has and continues to. With anons, it's just harder to quantify. I don't know if it's the same 2 people or 200.
To put it simply: I don't know if I'm writing for 10 people or 10 000. I don't know. And it's not that those 10 people don't matter—they do. They really do. But I think you understand what I mean when I say this.
Asks are great. DMs are great. Reblogs are great. Any meaningful interaction with an author of a story you liked is AMAZING. And thank you so much for contributing to this community. But likes don't get us anywhere—that is what I meant when I made the post yesterday.
Thank you for your kind words on Lullaby 🤍 I do intend on posting the finale here, even though I don't feel super welcome anymore. I'm working on it, it's difficult, but I'm trying my hardest. Thank you so so much for your support, and I apologize if I made you feel like you weren't doing enough. I wasn't trying to guilt anybody into anything. Maybe people don't comment on my stories because they're just not good enough to comment on—I am also super aware of that. I'm just speaking, in general, that interaction is important for a community like ours.
