when an elusive man known as âthe curatorâ hires you under his organization of con artists, you know itâs for more than just your skill set. you accept his offer with motives on your ownâfind out just what his name is and expose it to his enemies to put yourself on top of the chain. but, as the two of you play a game of cat and mouse, you realize that thatâs much easier said than done.
( đˇ )ă HAPPY SUNGHOON DAY EVERYONE AAAA!!!! hehe my baby i love him so so much~~ (> <ă)⥠guys i literally wrote this all in one day, all in one sitting. i barely remember what happens in this fic because i blacked out ackkk,, i hope you enjoy my loves!! âĄ
Â Í Í ÍÍ Í ÍÍ ÍÂ Â Í ÍÍ Í ÍÍ  ÍÂ Í ÍÍ ÍÂ Â Í Í  ÍÍ REBLOGS ââĄâ ASKS APPRECIATED!
They call him The Curator.
Nobody has every been able to figure out his nameânot even you, and you had tried for the better part of half a year before giving up when all you got were cold leads after cold leads. It was like he was a ghost, or maybe air would be more fitting. He was nowhere and everywhere all at once. He ran the organization that had taken you in under its wing and he was the overseer of everything that happened within it. Nothing escaped past his watchful eye.
Well, nothing except for you. With a twenty million dollar ring on your finger and one of his jackets that you stole out of his closet. It was a nice, leather jacket too that kept you somewhat warm as you walked out into the night in nothing but it and a lacy pair of black panties that still had your arousal pooling in them. You've heard that he's been looking for you ever since, but you know a thing or two about slipping between shadows.
It's how you got your own name, after allâThe Silhouette.
When you first got to the organization, the first thing they did with you was take you up to The Curator. He went over what your place in his whole dreamhouse was going to be, what part you would play to help him get what he wants, andâof courseâa reminder that if you were to ever betray or try to double-cross the organization that you'd be dead quicker that you could apologize for it. It all went in one ear and out of the other as you leaned forward, plucked one of the lollipops out of the bowl on his desk, and unwrapped the wrapper that labeled it as strawberry. You crumpled the wrapper up in your hand and flicked it back at him as you stuck the lollipop in your mouth and got a good look at him.
He wasn't what you were expecting someone as elusive as his title and position suggested to look like. In fact, you were honestly surprised that you were seeing his face at all. You would've expected that they would've brought you in with a bag over your head and he would've been speaking through a voice modifier on a screen or something, but no. Here The Curator was in front of you, in the flesh and real. It didn't quite shake you, but it did make you wary on why he was so forthcoming.
The Curator was young, around the same age as you wereâwhich lead you to believe that he wasn't the first "Curator" in his family line; perhaps his father or grandfather went by a different name, which you made a mental note of to look into further laterâand you could tell that he took his work seriously and held himself with high regard. He wasn't dressed in a suit and tie, but he was still dressed rather formally with black, sleek dress pants, a white long-sleeved button down tucked into them with a dark red tie around his throat, and a navy blue sweater covering it all.
His black hair was styled enough that the long strands were out of his face but not slicked back and away from it. Your tongue moved around the lollipop, taking in the flavor before you swallowed it down, and his eyes dropped briefly to the way your lips parted and the lollipop slid tightly out of the constraint of your mouth as he waited calmly for you to speak. Eyes running along his features, you forced your brain to commit them to memory incase you needed the information of his appearance later.
Plump, pinked lips were almost pressed together, giving you an indication of the way he was feeling through the purposefully neutral expression he instead offered you. He had a slender nose with nostrils that flared at your unprofessionalism the slightest bit. A smile grew on your face as your eyes raised higher along his face and he watched you, There were two moles that contrasted against his skin prettily, one that sat on the side along the bridge of his nose and another on his cheek right below the center of his eye. When he turned narrowly to nod at the other guy who brought you to him, you noticed he had another by his ear. He turned back to you and his dark eyes met your analytical stare. You looked away from his gaze and finished your sweep of his faceâthick brows the same black color of his hair that twitched as if he wanted to furrow them when your eyes left his.
You leaned forward towards his desk and let your elbows rest on the edge of it as you moved to the edge of your seat. The thin jacket you're wearing falls open and slips off your shoulder, giving him a perfect view of your cleavage on full display for him, but his eyes don't leave yours to look. Pointing the lollipop in your hand at him, you ask, "Now, do you do the dirty work when killing people? Or do you have guys for that?" Your head nods in the direction of the burly guy manning the door of The Curator's office, his hands pressed behind his back in perfect form. You sweeten your ask with a strawberry-flavored smile. "Y'know, con artist to con artistâŚ" You stick the red lollipop back in your mouth and suck on it.
The Curator's thick eyebrow raises just a bit before he smiles back at you. It's a closed-mouth smile and it doesn't reach his eyes. You still can't decipher what the subtle look in his eyes is. "Well⌠con artist to con artist, lets hope that you never find out," is all he says to you. His voice is smooth, not too deep but deep enough that it would be easily recognizable. The smile falls quickly from his face.
The two of you stare at each other for a moment in complete silence and it was this moment when you knew that a challenge had just been enacted. You didn't know for what yet, but you'd know soon enough. Without looking away from you, The Curator says, "Big Man, take her to where she'll be saying." You don't make any motion that you were planning on moving. "Be mindful of the cameras," he adds to you, "my eyes are everywhere."
"Are you going to watch me?" you ask, voice low and sultry as the smile on your lips grows more around the lollipop in your mouth.
He tilts his head slightly and you finally figure out the look in his eyes. Behind his stony appearance he was analyzing you too. "I watch everyone," The Curator says, and his voice comes out the tiniest bit deeper. You hum, and take the lollipop out of your mouth again. You hold it out until it's just centimeters from his lips. Behind you, you can feel the weighted stare of "Big Man" on your back.
For the first time since walking into his office, you watch as the neutral demeanor of The Curator crumbles around the edges as he hesitates. You're still staring into each other's eyes, daring the other to look away first, and you refuse to move until he gives in to you. The first, hairline crack shoots through The Curator as he opens his mouth and leans towards your hand a little to wrap his lips around your lollipop. You stare at each other for a few seconds longer before he grabs your hand that's still around the soggy stick of the lollipop with his own. The smile slips from your face as you pull your hand from his and stand up from his desk, quickly turning your back to him now that you've gotten what you wanted out of this meeting.
"Come on, 'Big Man.' Lets go," you speak without looking back and Big Man opens the door for you. "Enjoy the show!" you throw behind you as you walk through it.
The door closes behind you and you start piecing together your plan as Big Man starts to take you up to the rooms. He's explaining how the room is temporary as they get your apartment together for youâwhich you know is easily code for bugging your apartmentâbut you don't listen to his words much. Instead, your mind races as you come up with a way to get what you want out of this and how everyone here factors into that.
Before you round the corner, you look over your shoulder finally. The Curator leans against the door frame of his office, watching you and Big Man walk away as he swirls your lollipop around his mouth. For the briefest of seconds, your eyes meet his again before the wall cuts the two of you off from each other and you see him with his walls down. The once subtle look that was swirling around his eyes like your lollipop in his mouth is now intensified without the barriers around it and, despite your better judgment, your heart picks up with it as you realize what it really was now that you know it wasn't wholly analyticalâdesire.
Your fingers run through The Curator's black hair before you grab onto some strands at his scalp to pull his head away from yours. His lips are pried off of yours, but the two of you are still connected by the string of saliva that refuses to give. His mouth tastes like the lollipops he's always sucking on from his desk, this time tasting of cotton candy. With his head still pulled back, The Curator looks at you through hooded, lust-filled clouded eyes. "Tell me to stop and I will," he murmurs, his lips reaching for yours again but you keep a firm hold on him. You didn't want him to, but you kept your traitorous mouth closed so you wouldn't speak the words.
His words were a repeat of the ones you breathed to him just months ago. It was during your search of trying to get any information about him, but of course you didn't. He was nowhere, nothingâhe said so himself, but you couldn't accept that fact. So you did what you knew how to do best, you tried your hardest to seduce the information out of him.
The door to his office wasn't guarded, but through the frosted glass door you could see his shadow moving around. You got the tiny microphone ready in your palm as you walked towards it. When you pushed the door open and stepped in front of his desk, he didn't even look up from his paperwork. It was silent for a couple moments before he even addressed you. "Is there something you need, Silhouette?" he asks you as his pen runs across the paper. You watch as his quick handwriting appears until he flips to another page.
You quirk a brow at him at the lack of him using your actual name. You knew that he knew itâof course he knew itâso what was the point of him using your alias? It was probably the first thing that he found out about you, besides your skill set. It felt like another part of the unspoken game the two of you were playingâanother challenge. It made you wonder if he knew just what you were up to, but the thought was pulled from your mind as quickly as you thought it. There was high probability that he did. After all, he has eyes everywhere.
It made you question the lack of a bodyguard at his office door now and the only logical reason that you could think of as to why was that he already knew you were going to come to him. You licked the top row of your teeth as you crossed your arms against your chest and looked at him. It was another challenge that he wonâanother part of the game.
You rounded his desk, startling him a little. The Curator pushed his lavish, wooden velvet chair back that resembled more of a throne than an office chair. It's wooden legs scratched loudly against the floor as he looked up at you finally. You sat down onto his desk in front of him, your body between his legs, not caring if you messed up his paperwork. You grabbed onto the edge of it and stuck on the microphone onto the underside of his desk, far enough that he wouldn't be able to feel it with a quick swipe. Tilting your head, you smiled big at him.
"What are you doing?!" he hissed at you, grabbing hold of the arms of his chair tightly. "Can't you see that I'm working?" You had to admit, he plays his part well.
You looked to the side to his monitor that was still on. On it was live feeds of places around the building. Every few seconds the feeds would change to different ones before they looped back to the beginning. Just as you looked over, the feeds flipped over to a very familiar roomâthe room that you were staying in. There were cameras pointed at every inch of your room, some hidden and some obvious like by the door. The feeds changed again until it was various angles of your closet, then the living space, until they flipped to your bathroom.
You hum as they changed to the hallway outside of your room where someone was walking down it. They stopped at a door a few doors down from yours and unlocked it with their keycard to go in. After there was no more motion detected, the camera feed looped back to the angle of your room that showed your bed. Your eyes flicked back over to The Curator. He didn't even look the slightest bit ashamed, he just continued to glare at you for disrupting him working. You realized he was waiting for you to say what you were doing in his office.
"Are these your eyes?" you ask him, leaning away from the monitor to face him fully again as the smile remained on your face. You weren't at all shocked that there were cameras in your roomânot even in the bathroomâbut you were a little shocked that he was watching them so openly while working. The Curator said nothing, just continued to silently seethe at you. You leaned back on his desk a little and crossed your legs, one of the heels that you wore hovering above his crotch. "You should've let me know you were watching, I would've gave you a little striptease or something," you say arching your back as you let your eyes flutter closed. Opening them again, the smile grew on your face as his tense jaw worked, you continue through a soft moan, "Do I ease your stress, Curator?"
"I did tell you I was watching," is all he responds. Your mind flashes back to the time you first met in this very office. "Be mindful of the cameras." He wanted you to find them, wanted you to know he was watching every angle of you. That no matter what you try to do, you couldn't hide it from him and his looming presence. He was at the top of this organization and you were beneath him. A pawn to be placed wherever he pleased.
The knowledge of it all did send pleasureful tingles up your spine, you couldn't lie. It made your legs tighten together more and turned you on. You took his white-knuckled hand and trailed it slowly up your thigh, your hand above his. Goosebumps flared up around where his hand touched your skin and his eyes moved up your body with your hands. When you edged closer to the bottom hem of your short black dress, you moved his hand closer to the inside of your thigh. "I can still give you that striptease if you want," you tell him lowly, bringing his hand further in with yours. The Curator pulls his eyes away from your hands and looks at you with that same dark glare. He desperately tries to hold on to his anger and annoyance, but you can see it slipping away from him the closer his hand gets to where your arousal lies. "Relieve you of all your stressâŚ"
The Curator scoffs and pulls his hand away from yours like you're on fire when the tips of his fingers dip beneath the hem of your dress. You know you got to him with the way his Adam's apple bobs at his throat. "I want you to leave so I can finish this paperwork," he says sharply, his eyes still on yours. You giggle at him. He goes to move forward, bringing his chair with him, but you press a shiny black heel to his chest to stop him. The Curator freezes and you watch as his eyes move up your heel to your leg until they reach a view that is just out of sight for him. His eyes linger on the way your dress rides up from your outstretched leg before they then move up from it agonizingly slow until they meet yours again. If the two of you were wilder animals, the way that he looked at you would've let you know that he was the predator and you were the prey.
You tsked at him. "Only if you ask me nicely."
His brows draw together as you drop your heel from his chest and uncross your legs fully. You lean forward again so your faces are just mere feet away, waiting for one of you to close the gap, and you relish in the internal battle that he's having with himself that he's trying to hide from you. "Tell me, Curator, I'm so curious⌠What's your name?" you ask with a saccharine smile, honey dripping from your voice. You look below you at the papers on the deskâat least, at the information that your ass isn't covering. "Is it on these documents?"
You were toying with him, but you did want to know. Annoyingly, it wasn't. He signed the bottom of them with The Curator, much to your dismay. There was some information about some ring, though. You figured it was another heist for someone.
There was no use in hiding what you were in his office for anymore, what you were doing in this organization anymore. You didn't need him or his contacts, you could con people easily on your own. Besides, working with others was messy and you loved having the glory of the things you steal all to yourself. When you worked under someone it always got boringâyou liked to be on top of them. Why would you do something that didn't get you what you wanted?
When he found you, he should've known this. There was no doubt that he looked into your past. The Curator probably knows you better than you know yourself. It was time you cut to the chase.
"Leave," he gritted out. His breathing was starting to become labored, more and more so the more he tried to resist himself.
"Why?" you pouted. "I thought we were talking. What, you don't want me anymore, baby?" You shifted on his desk. "You didn't say that when you were watching me." You nodded over to his monitor again as you glanced over to it. When you had first looked at it, all you focused on what the camera feeds flipping between different angles of your room. You hadn't even realized that the feeds of your room were all on a specialized channel with your actual name on it. The rest of the channels were common areas around the building, but yours was at the top.
"Does my channel mean nothing to you?" you ask teasingly as you slide off of his desk and further between his open legs. When you do, his legs spread open more, his body inviting you in despite his mind trying not to. You run your hands up the black long-sleeved button up he wore and stop at his collarbones as you lean into him more. "Are you annoyed with me? You can take it out on me, you know."
The Curator inhales sharply and you smile at him. Slowly, you climb on top of him until you're straddling him. You wrap your arms around his neck and move closer to him until your body is pressed against his. His hands fly off the arms of the chair and linger in the air where your hips are, a slight tremble to them. You look into his eyes as you grind your hips towards his, pressing yourself down hard into his lap. "Tell me to stop and I will," you breathe in a sultry low tone, only for his ears to hear.
There are people passing by his door, you can see the faint shadows of them as they do. The Curator's office isn't soundproof, at least, not that you can tell with a quick look around. Maybe you'll test that theory. If he realizes that it's still the middle of the day and anyone can come knocking, he doesn't mention it to you.
Instead, his eyes flutter closed for a brief second and he swallows down the sound he almost makes. Through his teeth, he asks, "What's your endgame?" His eyes open and your name falls from his lips after, his voice smooth. You lips part at the sound of it. The Curator's hands grab your hips and he inhales sharply again, this time knowing that there's no sense in hiding it from you when you're so close.
You move to the side of his face, your lips hovering over his skin as your smile spreads across your face. He tries to turn to you, but you grab his chin. Your breath fans along his cheeks as you face him again. You let your lips brush against his feather-light. It was your turn to ignore questions. "Yes or no?" you ask him in a whisper, and you speak the words as close to his lips as you can without kissing him.
The Curator hesitates. You think that he would've let you continue teasing him until he came back to his senses or until someone interrupted the two of you. Your taken aback when he slams his lips against yours, his hand sliding up from your hip to the back of your neck so you can't tease him anymore. You moan against his lips when you try to pull away and he doesn't let you, letting his actions speak his "Yes" for him. It was a shocking reminder of who The Curator is. How silly of you to forget about that in this bubble that you pulled him in to. If he wanted something, he takes it.
Its why you were hereâhe wanted you. You may have a part of him wrapped around your finger, but you could never forget that he had you clutched tightly in his hand.
You move your lips with his as he pulls your head back so your lips part at the pain of him pulling at your hair. He slips his tongue in your mouth and steals your breath as he kisses you harder. Only when your holding his shirt tight in your hand and moving your hips against his growing erection with fervor does he pull away from you. You gasp in a breath, but his mouth is against yours again before the oxygen can reach your lungs.
Hips staggering, your head spins as the lack of air hits you full force. The Curator digs his hand into your hip hard before he lets go of you fully and pulls his lips away from yours. The two of you breathe heavily together as you catch your breaths and stare at each other. The Curator leans back in his chair and rests his arms on the arms of the chair. His look darkens and you realize that you lost the challenge again. Your stare hardens, but both of you say nothing.
He had you right where he wanted you, on his lap, panting as you tried to catch your breath for more of him, and soaking his fancy dress pants as your arousal pooled in your panties and onto his lap with the way your hips moved. The Curator had tricked you. How foolish of you to think that you could come waltzing in his office and seduce information out of him. A smile grew on his face as he watched the realization spread across your features. He was called The Curator for a reasonâwhy nobody knew who he actually was.
Three quick knocks sounded on the door of his office and bounced off the quiet walls. From the shadow, you could tell it was Big Man. You scoffed at him as you pulled yourself up off his lap. This was a set-up.
He stood with you and caged you against his desk. The Curator's lips brushed against yours and despite your better judgment you leaned forward more and pressed your lips against his. You tried to look away from him, but he brought his hand to your throat and let it linger there before smoothing it up to your chin to make you face him. It was a reminder that you weren't off the hook. "I'll call for you if I want reprieve," he says lowly. You push him away from you.
The seductive persona falls off of you like a second skin and you glare at him as you push off his desk. Your too-high heels dig into your feet when you stand fully and it makes you angrier. You stalk over to his office door, not bothering to give him any more of your time. "Silhouette," he calls after you as you open the door and come face to face with Big Man. Big Man's face is blank, but it's like you can feel the sympathy radiating off of him. The pity. You glare at him too, but he just moves to the side so you're able to step out of the office. You turn back to The Curator, furious. "Don't try to find out what my name is againâyou never will. I'll have you killed for trying to look again. Treat this as your warning."
You smile at him, but it's more like baring your teeth. The Curator's demeanor is calm and neutral again as he works on his paperwork, his eyes focused on them as a lollipop stick pokes out from his lips. Next to him, your room flashes between feeds. "Make sure you keep a keen eye on those cameras," you spit out as you hold on to the door of the office tightly. "I want you to watch me."
He doesn't bother to look up. You spin back around to the entrance of his office and stalk out of it.
The Curator pulls you back to him as his trails wet kisses down your neck. He moves them southbound, kissing along your breasts as he makes he way down your stomach. When he reaches your soaked pussy, kissing your clit softly, his breath fans on your dripping arousal as he looks up at you through his dark lashes. "Yes or no?" he asks you, his voice coated in lust and desire. You could see it in his eyes tooâhe wanted to devour you. And you didn't think that you'd really be able to stop him as a soft moan pushes through your lips and he places feather-light kisses to your wet folds, skirting around where you needed him the most.
"Yes," you breathe out, surrendering yourself to him.
You and The Curator don't cross paths for about a month after he told you to stop looking into him or you'd be killed. The only contact the two of you had was the day after when you came up to your room to find an envelope taped to the outside of your door. Inside of it was a thin strip of paper with his handwriting on it of the words "Nice try." With that, the microphone you stuck on his desk was inside the envelope too. You flipped the piece of paper over to see if he wrote anything else, but of course it was blank. You stepped into your room that day with your middle finger in the air.
The day your paths did cross in person, you were lounging in your room on your bed bored out of your mind. Your mind lazily worked out your plan to figure out more about The Curator as your fingers itched to steal something. You were staring up at one of the camera, lost in your own thoughts. There was a knock at your door and you slid from your bed to see who it was.
Big Man stood on the other side and he didn't have to say anything for you to know that The Curator was calling for you. You sigh, "Give me a second to change." Big Man turns his back to your door as you close it.
You walk back into your room as you glare at one of the cameras. You know he's watching you, you can feel his eyes through the camera lens. He's probably leaned into his monitor, whatever paperwork he was working on abandoned on his desk as his cock gets heavy and starts to leak through his pants like the pervert he is. Well, you were going to give him a show.
You try to remember the hidden camera positions and turn your back to one of them as you face the big camera attached to one of the walls. You watch as what you were told was a stationary camera move to focus on you and you smirk. Grabbing the bottom of your silk, lacy slip dress, you slowly pull it up your thighs as you keep eye contact with the camera. You reveal your lacy black panties, making sure to look behind you towards the direction of the hidden camera, before you pull the dress off excruciatingly slow. You're braless, breasts on full display for himâwhich you were sure he's already seen by nowâas you cup them and run your fingers along your perked nipples.
Looking behind you again, you hook your thumbs under the hem of your panties. You bend over so your ass points towards the camera as you start pulling them down slow too. The arousal of being watched drips out of you as you drag your panties down. You pull them halfway down your thighs before you let them fall to the floor. With a giggle, you grab your asscheeks and spread yourself open so he can see how wet you are at his stare. You weren't sure if there was sound connected to the cameras, so you refrained from going any further.
"Perverted asshole," you speak loud enough just incase he could hear you, as you walk over to your closet to get dressed.
Opening your door, you step out of your room to meet with Big Man and the two of you walk down to where The Curator's office was. The entire way there you could feel his eyes on you, watching you from all angles. The feeling only stopped when Big Man knocked on his office door and let you in.
You smiled when you looked over and saw his monitor shut off and held back your laugh. He was lucky he was wearing black dress pants today.
Sitting down in the chair at his desk, you raised your brows at him. The Curator was leaned back in his own chair, papers stacked in neat little piles in front of him on his desk. He moved his lollipop from one cheek to the other as he grabbed one of the pages without looking away from you and handed it to you. You snatched it out of his hand and scanned over it.
It was a heist. He wanted you to rob a jewelry store, basically. It was a beginner's job. Child's play. Did he really think this was all you were capable of, robbing some measly jewelry store for a cheap necklace and ring? You looked back up at him as you crumpled the paper in your hands and threw it at his face, scoffing. Annoyingly, he ducked, but there was a hint of a smile on his face as he looked down at the stacks of paper on his desk before plucking one from a stack and handing it to you.
"It's an upper echelon event. The host, Chou Tzuyu, is having a housewarming party for her recent purchase of a multimillion dollar mansion." You look up from the paper to The Curator with a raised brow. "I want you to be there," he says and his voice is almost soft. "In a room, Tzuyu has her jewelry on display. Each piece cost millions. Take whatever you want, but you must grab these two pieces."
He slides another piece of paper to you on his desk. It has two pictures printed out onto it, one of a beautiful diamond covered necklace with dots of rubies in it and the other of a radiant-cut diamond ring that had more diamonds glittering along it's intricately carved band. Your eyes widened at the pieces and a smile spread across your face. "What could you possibly need with these pieces?" you laugh in shock as you look at the images again.
"I'm going to sell them, of course," The Curator says simply.
You just shake your head, but read over the other piece of paper again. You weren't going to pass this up just because you were annoyed with The Curator. The half-baked plan forming in your mind could wait, you were going shopping. Not that he would let you pass it up, anyway.
"When?" you ask him, instead.
The Curator goes back to his paperwork as you joyfully daydream about all the new jewelry you're going to have soon. He talks around his lollipop, "Tomorrow night. I secured you an invite an hour ago."
You wanted to climb into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck as you kissed him, but you knew that was irrational. You pushed the want out of your mind. All he did was give you a job. Besides, you didn't want to give him what he wanted anymoreâand you knew that he wanted you to embarrass yourself again. You kicked yourself for wanting to kiss him again. What was wrong with you? He wasn't any different from the other men that you seduced. So why couldn't you stop thinking about the way his lips felt on yours? Why did you want him to steal your breath away again? What made him stand out from the rest?
Instead of going through your own psyche on the matter, you chalked it up to his elusiveness. His mysteriousness lured you in to him. You wanted to break him open and see how he worked. You wanted to know his name. That was all.
"I'll get my outfit ready," you say evenly, trying to not seem too over the moon about the job you were offered.
You get up to leave, but The Curator stops you. "Oh, and Silhouette?" he calls. You turn in his direction and he waves you back over to his desk. You don't even think as you walk back over to him, your mind swirling with the event happening tomorrow. When you stand next to him, he looks up from paperwork and turns to you. You can't lie and say your heart doesn't pick up at his stare. "I told you I'd call for you if I wanted a show. Don't do that again."
You smile at him as his words go in one ear and out the other. You had just finally won one of the challenges. "Or what?" you ask, stepping close to him. This time, he doesn't feign being all flustered. "You'll punish me? Bend me over your desk?"
Before you even get to think about gloating over knowing he was watching you through his cameras, your face is being pushed down into the papers on his desk. He pulls your arms tight behind your back as he presses himself against your ass. Leaning down, he moves his lips to the shell of your ear. "I'll do more than that to you," he warns you in a whisper. You bite your lip as you turn to look at him.
He pulls you back up from his desk, your arms still tight behind your back as he holds you with one of his hands. "Do you promise?" you tease as his chest comes flush with your back. The Curator places his other hand down onto your stomach, right below where your belly button sat. He presses down hard onto the spot, and you don't need him to speak it to know what he's implying. Almost instantly, you can feel yourself soaking through your panties and you're sure that The Curator is aware of it with the way your dress bunches up around your hips.
His hand inches down further, but stops right above where you're throbbing for him. You can feel his breath on the back of your neck and the way his expression remains neutral. His hold on your arms tighten and you moan a little as your shoulders start to ache. "I promise," he says at your ear.
The Curator lets you go and sits back down at his chair as he looks at you up and down. There's intense heat radiating off of your body and your chest heaves as you smooth down your dress. He watches as you pull your dress down over the peek of your panties and the wet spot growing on it. You sit down in his lap, but he just moves his arms around you as he continues to work on the stacks of paperwork on his desk. You lean over, making sure to rub your ass on his lap, and grab the papers he gave you. Twisting in his lap, you look at him and the lollipop sticking out of his mouth, but he just stares past you as he writes on the page in front of the two of you.
You take the lollipop from his mouth and his eyes flick over to yours. Coming closer, you brush your lips against his, not wanting to be the first one to kiss him again. He pulls away from you a little as another challenge, but you don't move closer again. The Curator waits for a moment and you can see the ghost of a smile on his lips as he closes the distance between the two of you and presses them against yours. You kiss him slowly, not yet wanting to let him take so much from you again. He obliges and you smile against his lips at the way his arms remain around you and on his desk.
Pulling away, you raise your brows at him smugly. Two victories in one day, what does he have to claim for himself? He captures your lips in a quick kiss again before turning away and working again. "Jay will be your plus one to the event," The Curator nods to the papers clutched in your hand. "He'll be talking to you tomorrow to go over all of the details you both need to make sure the night goes smoothly."
You had met some of the others, Jay included, the day you first got to the building. It was at lunch and after Big Man had showed you around your room. Jay went by Nightstalker, so you were told by the paper in your hand. A part of you was bothered by the fact that it was Jay going with you instead of The Curator himself. You didn't even know why. You knew that he rarely went on his own heists these days, instead opting to set them up for his clients. He only showed out when it was a particularly big heist and he wanted to be there to make sure everything went the way he wanted it to himself. Still, a part of you deflated at it and no matter how hard you tried to push the feelings away, they just kept coming back. Maybe it was the fact that you were sitting in his lap while he was working, maybe it was the cat and mouse game the two of you kept playing, or maybe it was the way he kissed you, but you knew you had to start pulling yourself away soon before you got too caught up in it all.
That was a mistake you were never going to make again.
"You taste like blue-raspberry," is all you replied to him as you stuck his lollipop in your mouth. You stood from his lap and moved towards the door, but he grabbed your wrist. You looked back at him, stupid for letting the hope swell in your chest.
The Curator's hand trailed down your wrist, his hand lingering in yours for a brief moment before he let you go. His eyes focused on the way you sucked on his lollipop for a second, his throat bobbing, before he turned away. You lingered next to him for a second, the hope crashing down into your chest, before turning and walking out of his office.
When you got back up to your room, there was a large box wrapped with a silk red ribbon sitting on your bed. You looked up to the camera, confused, before you pulled at the bow. You opened the box and inside laid a black dress with a note on top of it. Picking up the note, you recognized The Curator's handwriting. The note read: Try it on for me. You couldn't help the smile that grew on your face as you pulled the dress out of its box. You could tell that it was fitted and long, with a slit up the side and backless. Smiling up at the camera, you held the dress close to your chest as you read the note again, this time flipping it over to see if there was anything on the back. You were surprised when there was. I want to see how beautiful you look in it.
You stripped your clothes off again until you were only dressed in your black bra and panties. You grabbed the dress and brought it with you as you walked over to the bathroom. Before you did, you looked up to one of the cameras and mouthed "No peeking!"
When you got the dress on, you came out and walked to the full length mirror that was by your closet. You turned and looked at the backless feature as your hands smoothed down your body. You'd have to figure out a bra situation, but it was gorgeous. Your hands ran down to the slit down the skirt. It wasn't too long nor was the skirt too fitted. It looked absolutely perfect on you, and you knew that it was The Curator's doing. Turning towards the camera on the wallâeven though you were sure you remember one in the mirrorâyou posed for him, silently asking him what he thought of it on you.
You heard a low whirring sound, almost imperceptible if the room wasn't dead silent, before his voice filled your ears. "I told you you'd look beautiful in it," he says, and there's something in the way his smooth voice glides over you that you can't quite catch. You turn back to the mirror and smile, not even worrying that he can see and hear you. Turning so you can see the open back again, you smile more as the fabric dips low on your hips, almost low enough to be scandalous.
"You just want to see me naked again basically," you murmur aloud. "But the fantasy is way more fun, isn't it. All eyes will be on me." He doesn't respond, but you can tell he has that ghost of a smile on his face right now. That's the point, you can almost hear him say. He never said getting the jewelry out of this event was going to be easy for you.
Turning to face the mirror again, your eyes catch on the new set of clothes in your closet. You run your fingers along them as you go to pull one of them out. Of course, they're all in your size. You smile more, moving back to the mirror as you held one of the dresses up to your body. "I didn't ask for these," you say to him, not sure if he's still listening. You weren't complaining though.
It takes a moment before you hear his voice again. You're looking over the way the black dress looks on you again when he voice rings out into the room. Somehow, it feels closer. Like he's actually in the room, standing behind you as he admires you in the dress he got for you to wear. "Take it off," he says lowly. You ignore him as you debate on how to wear your hair. The Curator speaks again, this time more firmly as his low voice gets gravelly. "Take it off."
You hide your smile as you twist in the mirror so you can see where the zipper is on the dress. You take it and pull it down the silky material slowly, the intricate black flower designs glittering in the light. He must've either forgot to turn the microphone back off, or he wanted to let you hear him, as you listen to the distinct sound of his belt coming undone. You hear his heavy breath as you let the dress slip off your body and onto the floor. "It's going to get wrinkled," you say, but you already know he doesn't care. He'd get someone to fix it later. You stand in front of the mirror in nothing but your lacy black bra and panties.
"The rest," he breathes out a single command. And you take them off too.
The sounds are low now, but you can distantly hear the wet sound of him spreading his precum down his cock as he curses under his breath. "Now go lay on the bed. Don't move from it."
You leave the large closet, giggling as you strut over to your king-sized bed. You slowly climb onto it, making sure your ass is in the air for him, as you crawl to the center of it and lay down on your back and pose for him. You don't give him all of the satisfaction, though. You keep your feet apart, but press your thighs and knees together so if he wanted to see a full view of you he would have to flip between different camera angles. You push your breasts together with one of your arms as your other hand rests beneath your belly button where his hand pressed into you earlier. It was clear what you wanted from him.
Through the microphone, you hear the way he groans at you and the smile on your face grows until you're beaming. "You're such a fucking tease," he tells you in that same low and dark voice. You just giggle, arching your back for him when you hear his mouse clicking and his hand moving faster.
"Says the pervert getting off by watching me," you shoot back. He moans under his breath at your words, the wet sounds from him growing. Neither of you care that your coworkers could potentially hear the two of you. In fact, you think it turns the both of you on more at how wrong it all is. You push you hand down further as you ask him flat out. "Do I turn you on?" He doesn't answer, but you hear his breathing pick up. Your back arches again as you eyes flutter shut and you moan his name. All you could think about in the moment is how much better this would be if you knew his actual name. If you were moaning that instead of The Curator.
It's almost like he can hear your thoughts, can physically see that half-baked plan get more and more solid as you moan for him more. "Open you legs for me and touch yourself," he breathes out in another command. You almost ignored him before he added: "And I'll give you a hint."
Your eyes open and you look up at the camera. Slowly, you spread open your legs for him and the light catches on your wetness. Your hand reaches between your thighs as you drag your middle finger through your folds and spread your arousal around. Your breath hitches as your finger rubs against your clit and your arm squeezes your breasts together tighter. You keep your stare on the camera as you add your ring finger into your toying before plunging them into your entrance, slow and deliberate. Over the microphone, you hear The Curator let out a low moan.
You fuck yourself with your fingers slow, moaning out about how good it feels. The sound of his hand jerks his cock faster and you wonder if he's still in his office in the presence of everyone or if he crept off to the security of his own penthouse apartment on the top floor. Your hips lift towards your hand and your fingers plunge into your wetness deeper as you moan his name again. "Come to me," you moan out. "Your fingers would feel so much better⌠Can reach so much deeperâŚ" Your hips roll against your palm. "You would fuck me so good," you breathe out as you get yourself off more on the possibility.
Brows furrowing, your thighs snap shut as you moan out his name more, begging him to come to youâcum with you. You legs open again as your arms fall limp at your sides and your release drips out of you. The Curator's voice surrounds you your chest rises and falls heavily. "Stay just like that. Don't move a fucking inch." His moans pick up and grow louder, and you hear him fuck his wet hard cock into his hand faster, until the microphone suddenly cuts out.
You lay disappointed in the bed as you press you thighs together and sit up. Sliding from the bed, you move to the bathroom to go and take a shower as what you just did settles on you. The Curator wonâagain. He was never going to give you that hint. You let the shower water run as you grabbed a fresh towel and wash cloth.
"What are you doing?" he asks you, his voice breathy and staggered. It just makes you more annoyed with him at cutting you off from the best part. You ignore him and step into the hot water instead and harshly flick the curtains closed. You knew that there was a camera inside of the shower, but you just pretended that it wasn't thereâthat he wasn't there. Instead you let the water wash over you and rinsed the cum off the insides of your thighs as you lathered soap on your wash cloth and began washing your arms.
A few moments passed before you swear you heard the bathroom door open. You ignored the sound until you were jolting at the shower curtain being pulled back. You whipped around to see The Curator, your fearful eyes meeting his, as your mouth parted in shock. He stepped inside the shower with you, completely naked. "What the fuck?!" you shout, your eyes scanning him, but he turns you around before you can get a good look of anything besides his chest.
"Don't turn around," he tells you and his hands move to your hips as he moves closer to you. His lips kiss along the wet skin of your shoulders as he wraps an arm around you and takes the wash cloth from you hand. You try to get a look at him through your peripheral vision, but all you can see is his black hair. He runs the cloth down your back slow as he starts to wash you in silence.
Your mouth parts to open to ask him how he got inside your apartment, but it quickly clamps shut. He owns the building, it's not like it would've been difficult. He already had a copy of your keycard if his gifts were anything to go by. His thumb rubs circles at your hip, spreading around the soap that his other hand is washing you with. "Why?" you ask him instead.
It was such a general question. A Catch-22. You could be referring to anything, and you didn't elaborate as the question hung in the steamy air between the two of you. You were wary of giving too much of yourself to him too soon. But, it was like he was inside of your head. He spoke your own sentence back to you. "Tell me to stop and I will."
Despite what he told you earlier, you turned to face him. Your brows furrowed as you looked at him and tried to stop the emotions flowing through you from showing through your eyes. You wanted to sink down into the drain. You had rules that you had set in place and you were breaking every single one of them right now. You didn't even know his actual name. Yet, here the two of you were. With your eyes, you let yourself be vulnerable with him just this once.
The Curator pulled you close to him. "Eight letters," he says softly.
At first, you didn't understand what he was talking about. That was, until you remembered he said he was going to give you a hint about his name. He runs his wet thumb along your cheek. "My first name," he adds.
He looks into your eyes and whatever you find in his you're content with, for now at the very least. You think about leaning up to kiss him, but before you can even move he's pulling your body into his even more and catching your lips with his. The Curators lips are soft and slow against yours and he lets you set the pace the two of you go at. Your arms wrap around him.
When the two of you pull away, you realize that he gave you two hints instead of only one. You turn around and the two of you shower together as you think over it over and over again. Two hints instead of one. Instead of your usual cat and mouse game, in the confines of your shower the two of you play a different oneâhold and share. And when you turn to look at him, motioning in silence for him to turn around so you could wash his back, a quiet thought grows in volume the slightest bit. You'd tell him anything he wants to know, do anything he wanted you to do.
You walk through the event on Jay's arm as you mingle with more guests of the night. You let Jay do most of the talking as you make a mental map of the mansion. And when you finally complete it, you excuse yourself to go "powder your nose". Thankfully, the event was nearly over when you slip upstairs past wine-drunk people in lavish clothing and open the door to where Chou Tzuyu displayed her jewelry. You mind runs quick as you think of how you were going to get the pieces out of this mansion, and your first thought goes to how you're going to have to change your dress.
Or, at the very least, layer something on top of it. Tzuyu's jewelry display was in the same room as her huge walk in closet, so you hurry into there as you glance over the sparkling pieces. You run your fingers through her fine fabrics until you land on a black sparkly cover up. It's sheer enough that your dress will still show through, but thick enough that it will hide the lumps of stolen jewelry in it. You snatch it off of its hanger.
Scurrying back out to the jewelry display, you ponder for a quick second on whether it would be worth it to lock the door, but you just full-send it. You walk about leisurely, making sure you eye each and every piece. Some of them were too garish for your personal taste, but others you plucked right up. You slid the daintier rings on your fingers and clasped some of the necklaces around your neck so they were hidden by the the high neckline of your dress. With the longer ones, you let them hang down your back as an accessory.
You rounded each and every glass case, choosing what you liked and scoffing at what you didn't. You remembered that you weren't here just for you, but that you needed to get the pieces The Curator told you to get. Stopping in front of one of the cases, your eyes landed on the necklace.
It was even more beautiful in person and you raised it up in the air with your fingers gently. A small gasp left your mouth as the diamonds glittered and the rubies sparkled. You clasped it around your neck so it was hidden by your dress, too. You found the ring next and the radiant-cut diamond was even bigger in person. You held it up to the light as you looked at the vines carved into the metal of the band, tiny diamonds pressed into it like leaves and flowers. You slid the ring on your ring finger and giggled as you held your hand out. This piece must've been a special one. It's a shame that Tzuyu wouldn't have it anymore. Instead of keeping it on your finger, you looped it around one of the necklaces you picked up next and hid it within your dress with everything else.
You pushed some bracelets onto your wrists and looped others around your necklaces too. With the earrings, you shoved them into your dress and tried to not move much. Only went you felt like you could barely move your neck did you leave the rest of the room alone. You moved to the mirror and made sure everything was mostly well hidden, and you let out a thank you to Tzuyu herself as your dress looked smooth and her cover up hid any unevenness. Stepping to the door, you peeked outside of it to make sure the coast was clear before slipping out of the room.
When Tzuyu came into her jewelry room in the morning, she was going to be in for quite the surprise. You had picked the place clean.
You walked downstairs and looked around at the guests before your eyes landed on Jay. You went to step towards him before an arm wrapped around yours. Looking over, Tzuyu stumbled into you as just gave you a slightly confused smile. "Sorry if this is a little straightforward, but⌠I feel like I've never seen you before." Her words slurred together a little and you forced yourself to keep cool. She laughed a little, taking another sip from her glass. "You're very beautiful," she complimented.
Thanking her awkwardly, you reply, "Oh, I'm just a plus one⌠It's a very lovely home you have!"
Laughing more, Tzuyu looked around before waving her hand in the air. "Oh, this placeâŚ" she didn't continue her sentence as her mind veered off into something else. "I hope I see you around again! We have to meet up for brunch tomorrow when everyone's not drunk." She laughs some more and you laugh with her as she calls out someone's name and stumbles towards them. You make a beeline to Jay and wrap your arm around his again.
"I'm feel quite weary," you say the code words as you look up at him and furrow your brows. "Are you ready to go, honey?"
With that, you and Jay slip out the door to the car that is waiting for you just a little down the large driveway. The driver takes off once the two of you are in, and you pat yourself down to make sure that you still had everything, especially The Curator's necklace and ring. You breathed a sigh of relief when you did.
"How much did you take?" Jay asks you in the light of the streetlamps. You look over and just smile at him. A smile blossoms on his own face and he just shakes his head and looks out of the window.
"But look at the way it sparkles in the light!" you say as you hold your hand out towards The Curator. "How could you sell something as pretty as this?"
He gives you a deadpan look as you marvel over the stolen ring on your finger. News about Tzuyu's stolen jewelry broke out a couple days ago and she was in shambles about it. Poor girl. The Curator sighs as he repeats the conversation with you again. "Why do you think I'm selling it."
The Curator was leaned against your headboard as you showed himâonce againâall of the jewelry you acquired. You kept styling them in different ways and with different outfits, making him look at each and every one and tell you how beautiful you looked with it all on. And he did. Every single time. Only, now you didn't want to give him the ring you stole for him. It was too pretty and it fit on your finger too well. It would be a shame if it was picked apart and melted down for profit.
"Come on!" you pouted as you crawled onto the bed towards him, your jewelry making you glitter in the lighting. You straddled his lap and wrapped your hands around his neck. "Just look at it on me," you held up for hand for him to see the ring that he was oh-so-familiar with now. "It's perfect!"
He slid the ring off of your finger, sighing. You smile grew. "I'll think about it," The Curator tells you, but with his defeated demeanor you know that you've won him over. You kiss him so hard that the two of you nearly roll off of your bed. He tries to speak again, to tell you that it's not a definitive yes, but you keep pressing your lips against his until he finally takes the hint and shuts up. Instead, he pushes you down onto the bed and spreads your legs open with one of his knees as he roughly pulls the dress that was a gift from him off of you. You sparkle for him and he marks your body with his lips so you remember just who you sparkle for.
The Curator's yes or no question hangs in the air between you for a moment as his breath fans across your wet pussy. His hands grip your thighs hard and his fingers dig into your plush skin, but it only makes you breathe harder. This was the last step for you past the point of no return, and you wanted so desperately wanted to pull back from him and say you weren't ready to give in, but you knew you already have given in. You gave him all of you the moment the two of you started your game and tried to catch the other stumble. You stepped past the point of no return when you had let him shower with you and exchange secrets. There already wasn't any chance of coming back from this.
Complete devotion lied in his eyes, and the longer the silence grew, the more he just wanted to devour you and say your answer for you. Because he already knew what it was without you having to say it. He read it within the lines of your body that were becoming less blurred for him and felt it in the way your body reacted to his touch. It was obvious. So why did you keep fighting against it? Why did you keep hesitating to let him take you into his arms?
It was terrifying for you cause you knew that for The Curator you weren't only The Silhouette anymore. You were something more. Something he could grab on to. You didn't know how to handle it. Inhaling sharply, you dived in head first into the unknown with him and let him guide you to wherever he wanted to take you.
"Yes," you breathe out, surrendering yourself to him.
It had been months since that upper echelon event that you gained so much jewelry from. The Curator had sent you on a few more heists since then, and each one you went on was successful. As a reward, he would give you another piece of him, and in return the two of you would go a step farther as you opened up petal by petal.
This time, he had shown you who was outside of his title and position as The Curator and brought you up to the top floor of the building where he lived. He had his whole private entrance and everything. It was a wonder just how big the building was. The Curator has let you examine every inch of his penthouse apartment and smiled at you when you came up empty on clues that weren't the ones he had already given you. He trailed behind you as you searched like he wanted you to find something, like he was anticipating it. It only made you search harder as his words ran through your mind. Eight letters. My first name. You must've come up with a million different combinations of letters now and each of them were wrong.
In return for him letting you into more of him, for letting you nearly tear his home apart for the one answer that could have the whole building come crumbling down, you stripped yourself naked and laid on his bed to let him do anything he pleased to you. Your body was wholly his, and he treated you like a delicacy as his hands gently roamed every inch of your body.
The Curator kisses your clit again before he's taking the tip of his tongue and licking a stipe up your slit. You try to squeeze your legs together, but his buff arms hold you apart for the taking. He licks another stipe and collects your arousal on his tongue as he glances up and watches you. You're leaned up on your elbows, your face twisted into pleasure as he teasingly licks stripes up to your swollen clit. You grab at his duvet and take the fabric into your balled-up fists as your knuckles turn white. "Please," the plead slips out of your mouth and shocks you. Once it comes out, its like the whole dam you've been trying to hold back cracks open.
He smiles against your pussy as he latches onto itâanother challenge won, and your back arches as he sucks your clit into his mouth and rounds his tongue around the sensitive bundle on nerves. The Curator's cotton candy taste still lingers in your mouth and it just makes you wetter as he loudly and unabashedly eats you out.
His tongue prods at your entrance until he's pushing it inside of you to taste you more. He moans against your pussy as he fucks his tongue into you, occasionally flicking it up to show your clit more attention. The Curator spreads you legs apart more and he pushes his face further into you. His tongue explores your folds as his nose rubs against your clit and sends shockwaves through your body. His moans reverberate through you and you can't help the way your hips try to buck up to meet his face.
He pulls away from your core, his mouth covered in spit and his chin dripping your arousal. The Curator looks at you that same predator versus prey look he once gave you so many months ago. You whined out his name, but he digs his fingers into your thighs harder until you looked at him. "Who do you belong to?" he asks you in a low and breathy voice.
Your heart hammers in your chest when your eyes meet his. He looked even more beautiful than the day you first met him. Your hips shift and try to reach his mouth again as you answer him. "You. I belong to you. Eight letters. Your first name."
As soon as the last sentence leave your lips, he's letting spit pour out from his mouth and trail down to your pussy. When it lands just beneath your clit, the warmness flooding you like cold water, you feel your brain turn to mush. The Curator rubs his thumb along your folds and spreads his spit around, before he's spreading you open more and letting his spit drip directly into your entrance. You moan loud at the feeling at your hands try to push down to offer yourself a bit of reprieve, but he pushes your hands away. He rubs circles into your clit again instead, making your breath hitch louder, before he pushes his thumb down into your entrance. You gasp as he moans out at the way your pussy wraps around just his thumb alone. "No matter how many times I fuck you, you're still so damn tight." The Curator repeatedly pushes his thumb into you and you let out a string of moans. "Do I have to keep you on my cock so your body finally recognizes what its made for?"
You nod desperately, more pleads falling from your lips as he pulls his thumb out of you. The Curator bends down and kisses your pussy again before he spreads it open. He wants to take a picture of it, of the way it flutters around nothing from just his touch alone, and frame it so he can plaster it all over his walls. He spits down on it again and smiles at the way your body shudders from the feeling and the way you arch your back more. "Use your words, baby," The Curator tells you. "Or else we can just stop here."
"No!" you beg him, your eyes flying open. He lets another trail of his spit trail down into your entrance and watches the way your eyes rolls back. "Please fuck me. Mould my body to your cock and never let me off of it. I want you so bad, please do whatever you want to me." You words come out scrambled and in a hurry. The Curator rubs his spit into you more as he smiles. You tasted just as sweet as his lollipops.
That gives him an idea as he pulls away from you, much to your dismay and whining. He grabs a strawberry lollipop from his table and takes the wrapper off. He sticks it in his mouth as he walks to you and traps your body beneath his again, then he takes it out and holds it against your lips. You open your mouth for him and suck on the lollipop gingerly, and The Curator is pulling it out of your mouth with a smirk. You lean up on your elbows as you watch him spread you open again and drag the lollipop through your wet folds. He licks his lips before he pushes it inside you slowly and lets out a small groan when it disappears. He does that a few times, teasing you, before he circles the lollipop inside of you and makes you see stars.
You gasp, shocked moans flying from your lips as you try to lift your hips but he holds you down by a hand on your lower stomach. You pressed your lips together tight as you swallow a whine. The Curator moves the lollipop inside of you faster until your pussy flutters wildly around it. You try to push his hand away, try shut your legs, but he has you exactly where he wants you and he's not letting you slip through his fingers.
Before you can even speak, a whimper pulls from your throat and your legs are trembling as you cum hard. The red lollipop still inside of you gets covered in it. Slowly, The Curator pulls it out of you as he sucks in a breath. "Look at how sweet," he says as he takes the lollipop and scoops up some of your cum with it. You can hear the smile in his voice, but you're too busy trying to catch your breath. "I bet you taste even sweeter now."
You look up just in time to watch him put the lollipop dripping with your cum back in his mouth, his eyes fluttering closed. Letting out a small whine, you grab onto his arm. His eyes open to give you a pointed look as he swirls the lollipop around in his mouth. Looking down, The Curator takes the rest of your strawberry-flavored cum on his fingertips and brings that to his tongue too. "I need to feel you," you breathe out. You hand moves over to where he erection was struggling against his jeans and you palm it needily.
Today was the first time you had seen The Curator in something other than fancy formal clothes. He wore medium-washed jeans with a simple t-shirt and a brown leather jacket over it when he had brought you upstairs. The jacket was abandoned somewhere now, but he still had the rest of his clothes on. He hovers over you as he smiles. "Where do you need to feel me?" he asks you, his fingers running through your folds and teasing your entrance. You grabbed onto his shirt tight. You knew that he wasn't going to go any farther until you let him win again.
Moaning against his lips that brushed against yours, you palmed more at his erection. "Inside, I need to feel you inside of me." You breathed the words for kissing him. He smiled against your lips as you started to unbutton his jeans and pull them down for him as his fingers sunk into you. You arched into his chest as his fingers pressed against your walls and spread the inside of your pussy open. He picked up his pace as he moved his fingers quick, the sound of your wetness bouncing off the walls of the room and splattering across his hand. You clutched onto The Curator tightly as your body tensed. "Please," you begged against his lips before kissing him lightly. Your breath was ragged, but you kept placing kisses on his lips until he was finally satisfied.
With one hand, he pulled his shirt off and tossed it off the the side. You watched him with your bottom lip between your teeth and blown out pupils. It must've been something about the way you looked at him, because once he got his jeans and boxers off he was flipping you over and pulling back your arms. You used the mattress to muffle your moan as he fully pushed his big cock inside of you with no restraint. He filled you up so much that you were almost scared he wouldn't be able to pull back out. The Curator pulled you up from the mattress by your arms and you lurched forward as he thrusted into you hard. "I thought we had a deal that you wouldn't hide those pretty sounds from me, baby."
It was less of a question and more of a warning as he pulled your arms behind you tighter. His hips slammed against your ass and your senses blurred. The sounds your bodies made and the way he made you feel was the only thing that you could focus on as you cried out his name. You could tell The Curator's actual name was on the tip of his tongue. You could feel the mystique of it hanging in the air between your moans as his grunts. Tears ran down your cheeks as each harsh thrust felt like heaven again and again. Your eyes rolled back to your skull and if it wasn't for him having a tight hold on your arms you would've fell face-forward into the mattress already.
He suddenly slowed he pace as your pussy fluttered around him and you cried out his name again through tears. The Curator chuckled behind you before using your arms to pulls to closer to his chest. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, teasing you and letting you know that at any time his arm can move up to your throat, and used his other hand to press hard onto your lower stomach. He fucked into you hard, one quick thrust after the other as he moaned into your neck. The staggered sound of his skin slapping against yours made you wet his cock more. "Can you feel me, baby? Is this what you wanted? Yes or no?" he breathes the last question in your ear almost sharply and you don't know how to tell him that it was forever going to be a yes with him.
"Yes, please," you moan out pleadingly. Before your words even fully got out of your mouth he had his big bicep wrapped around your throat and was cutting off your air supply. He pulled you closer to his chest and made you look up into his eyes as he brought back his brutal pace.
You were too fucked out to realize that his sudden change in softness was a warning in it of itself. Your brain was too hazy to see the fear around the edges of his dominating demeanor and in the way he held you close to him like you would leave now that you knew so much. Instead, The Curator told you to open your mouth and immediately you stuck out your tongue for him. He let his strawberry-flavored spit drip off of his tongue and onto yoursâand you swallowed it all down eagerly. The lack of oxygen made your eyes squeeze shut as you tried your hardest to catch your breath around his tightening headlock. The whole exchange made you cum again as tears slid down your wet cheeks and your whole body went limp in his arms.
The Curator fucks it back into you, slow and deliberate as he pushes his own cum deeper inside of you with a moan against your lips. Lazily, you chase after his lips despite needing to breathe and he lets go of your throat so you can. Your inhale is raspy, but you don't care. The Curator lets you fall forward onto the mattress as he keeps your ass in the air for him. He pulls his cock out of you agonizingly slow and watches the tight stretch of your pussy around him and the way your body begs his to keep his cock inside of you. You clench down around him hard and The Curator is cursing under his breath as he pulls himself out of you fully and your mixed cum spills down your thighs and drips off your pussy. He watches it all and after he spreads you open more and he licks a stripe up your slit, the lollipop stick dragging along your skin teasingly.
After the two of you catch your breath, The Curator lays against his headboard and pulls you up and on top of him. Your back presses to his chest as he kisses softly against your neck. You lean into his touch as he grabs one of your thighs and spreads your legs open again. "The mirror on the wall," he whispers in your ear and together the two of you stare into the mirror at each other on the wall across from the bed. "I want you to watch yourself bounce on my cock."
The Curator takes his cock in his hand and rubs it through your folds until you're lifting your hips to help him slide into you. Your lips part at the way he disappears inside of you as a soft moan gives way. Placing your feet flat on the bed, you open your legs more and anchor your hands on his chest. He holds your hips as you roll them forward and watch the slow drag of his cock pulling out of you. But, more so, you watch his expression. All of his walls are down as he digs his head into his wooden headboard and squeezes his eyes shut. You roll your hips again, slower this time as you bring them in a circle. You pull a moan from his lips as he opens his eyes to look at you through the mirror. One of his hands inch closer to your sensitive clit. "Stop teasing," The Curator says, but you continue to rolls your hips slowly a couple more times just to spite him.
You lift your hips up and away from his as your pussy drags along his cock until just his tip is inside of you before you slam back down onto him. Your tits bounce in your face as his hold on you tightens and you both let out a moan. You smile at him through the mirror as you continue the same motions, this time faster in combination of the way you rolled your hips at the start.
You smile smugly at the way he breathed heavily beneath you and his hips rose to meet yours quicker. You tsked at him and told him to watch and be glad he was able to touch. The Curator just ignored your brattiness as he used your hips to make you bounce faster on his cock, his eyes never leaving yours.
Just before the two of you came again together, you pulled yourself off of him just as you came. Your release spilled down the tip of his cock and he cursed loudly in your ear. You brought one of your hands to his cock and pressed it against your folds as you rubbed your pussy against the tip of it. The Curator brought you back to his chest as his cock jerked in your hand. Ropes of his cum messed your pussy up even more and some of it splattered up your stomach. He moaned low against the shell of your ear and held you tight as more of his release dripped down his cock.
You giggled as you pushed his cockhead back inside of you and his cock slid into you so easily it was like the two of you were made to never part. You twisted around to captured his lips with yours, the kiss sloppy as he kissed any part of you that he could, and you giggled more against his lips when you tried to pull away from him but he pushed off the headboard to chase you.
His hands slid off your body as you leaned forward onto your elbows and met his stare through the mirror. Slowly, you pulled yourself off of his cock and his eyes latched onto the way your body tried to suck him in. Once he wasn't inside of you anymore, you spread your legs apart and arched your back so he could watch his cum drip down your thighs more. "Have I told you how much of a tease you are?" he asks you as his eyes take in every inch of your messy pussy. You laugh at him as you watch him through the mirror.
"Come on," you say as you crawl off the bed. He gets up and follows you to the bathroom.
That night, you manage to slip from The Curator's tight grasp on you and out of the bed. You're still naked, so you find wherever your black lacy panties escaped to and pull them up your thighs. You look back at The Curator in the bed to see that he's still fast asleep. Silently, you walk around his apartment for any more hidden clues.
You're deadly quiet in your endeavors as you look in more unconventional placesâunder sinks, on the inside of cabinets, underneath tables and chairs, and under some of the pretty rugs he had. You thought you found nothing and was ready to go back to bed with him, but you froze when you saw slight scratches on one of the wooden floorboards beneath one of the rugs you flipped up. A part of you just wanted to let sleeping dogs lie. None of it mattered to you anymore, not when the two of you were together. The Curator would tell you his name on his own time.
But, another part of youâa bigger part of youâdesperately wanted to know what his name was. Not out of malice like you originally intended, but because there wasn't anything more intimate than speaking someone's name. It was the last step the two of you had to take togetherâthe last step you needed to know him completely like he knew you. Your hand reached for it, but you hesitated again and it instead hovered in the air. You were torn.
In the quiet of the room, you whisper, "Tell me to stop and I will." Of course there was no answer, he was fast asleep. But, you still waited anyway. Before you could make up your own mind, your body was moving for you. You delicately pulled up the floorboard so it didn't make any excessive noise and you sat it down gently next to the opening. Inside of it was a small velvet box that sat alone. You reached down and pulled it out. When you opened it, the ring you stole months ago gleamed at you. You noticed that it looked a little different now. The Curator had gotten it engraved so it was more custom to your liking after to told him about the small, minute details that you didn't like. The set of the radiant-cut diamond was a little different and more intricate with the addition of two more tiny diamonds on the side of the main one cut in a trillion style.
It was absolutely gorgeous and a small gasp left your lips when you were suddenly putting it on your ring finger. Of course, it was a perfect fit. You held your left hand up in the air as your right hand covered your mouth. You looked behind you towards the hallway as tears formed on your lashline. Turning back to the box, there was a small note inside written with his handwriting in silver ink. It read: "Yes or no?"
It was obvious that he hadn't meant for you to find this. This was clearly a gift for you a little later down the lineâa very special gift. Your heart thumped hard against your chest and sudden fear started to creep into your bones. The moonlight poured in through his glass windows and you noticed how the inside of the floorboard looked a little off. You stuck your hand inside of it again and moved aside the piece of matching wood that hid another secret compartment. Inside of it was a box of files that you pulled out.
As you flipped through the labels on them, you could feel your anxious heart in your throat as you began to regret your actions. What if The Curator never forgave you for this? What if this wasn't part of your cat and mouse game? What if he actually had you killed for this? Your mind raced back to the two of you in bed, his buff arm around your throat in warning. Fear settled into you deep as you realized you fucked up big time. But, it was already too late to go back now. Your fingertips stopped on the folder that read "Personal Documents." You pulled it out of the box and gingerly opened it with a trembling hand.
Everything was all thereâhis name, his birthday, his place of birth. Even how many pounds and ounces he weighed as a baby with hand and feet prints to match. The folder dropped from your hands and slapped loudly against the floor. You gasped, but quickly cut the sound off as you held both hands over your mouth. You went eerily still as you listened. There was no other sound but your breathing and after a few tense moments you let your shoulders relax a little. Carefully, you picked up the folder again and tested his name out on your tongue.
"Park Sunghoon," you whisper out into the darkness. It sounds unfamiliar at first, but the smile still eases it way onto your lips when your finished. "Sunghoon," you say again. Eight letters. My first name. You say it over and over, your voice getting quieter each time until you're unsure if the sound is coming out of your mouth or if it's just in your head. You giggle a little as you look down at the folder again. His birthday was soon.
Fear slams into you again and you let the happiness fall off of you as you close the folder and carefully place it back into its spot in the box. You place the box back into the floorboard and cover it with the piece of wood again like you never even notice that it was there. Instead, you keep the velvet ring box out as you move the floorboard back in place and flipped the rug back into position. You sat the box on the table, opened, as you looked around for a piece of paper and a pen. When you did, you wrote on it: Yes, always. Come and find me. You moved the velvet ring box a little so he held the paper down and took a step back from it.
The ring sparkled on your finger as you held your hand to your chest. You knew there was a chance that Sunghoon would never forgive you, that he would kill you, but that was a risk you were willing to take. All you knew was that you had to leave now if you wanted him to find you. A new game. But, you couldn't bear to leave without saying something to him. So you tiptoed back to his bedroom and slipped under his covers one more time.
Sunghoon's hands immediately found your body and in his sleep and he pulled you close to him again. You kissed his lips, seeing if he would stir but he barely did. You did it again and again until the hint of a smile pulled at his mouth and he hummed groggily at you, his arms wrapping around you tighter. Lower than a whisper, but just loud enough for him to hear, you ask, "Do you love me? Yes or no?"
"Yes," Sunghoon immediately responds in a sleep-filled voice. You can see him starting to doze off again, but he fights his sleep. Groggily, he asks you the same. "Do you love me?" He hesitates before he speaks the next words, almost like he's scared to know what your answer is. "Yes or no?"
Just as quick, if not quicker than him, you respond with a resounding, "Yes."
A sleepy smile breaks out across his face and his eyes barely crack open to meet yours in the dark. He kisses your lips before nudging your nose with his and falling right back asleep with the smile still on his face. You look at the ring glowing between the two of you on your finger. You knew that you had to leave now, but it ripped you apart to even think of leaving his embrace.
Once you knew he was back in a deep sleep, you gently kissed him again, this time making sure that he didn't stir. In that same hushed voice, you say against his lips, "I'll always love you, Sunghoon." His name brings a smile to your lips and its like his body unconsciously reacted to your voice saying it. You felt goosebumps raise on his arms like he hasn't heard his own name in a long, long time. You hoped that you got to speak it to him again, this time conscious.
Like the silhouette that you are, you slipped out of his bed again and morphed into the shadows. You lingered at his closet before you decided to take one of his leather jacked, a black one this time. Sliding it on, it covered your breasts and provided you just enough warmth to brace the cold. Your eyes caught the ring on your finger again, but you looked away. You picked up your boots and slid them on as you quietly walked out of Sunghoon's door, leaving everything behind.
When you walked out of his private entrance and into the cold with nothing but his jacket, your lacy black panties, and his ring on your finger you finally let yourself feel happiness. The smile broke out on your face and you laughed a little as you looked up the falling snow. You were the only one, besides himself, who knew Sunghoon's nameâwho knew everything about him. That was very special to you and you held it close as the snow covered your footprints.
Looking over your shoulder to the door, you waved at Big Manâthe ring catching the moonlight as you didâas he guarded the door and let you walk out into the darkness.
A month passes and through the grapevine you heard of Sunghoon losing his goddamn mind when he woke up and didn't find you in the building at all, let alone his apartment. Your contacts say that he completely tore the place apart and gutted it looking for you. Went batshit crazy on everyone there and reminded them all just how dangerous he is. You heard that he told told them that they better find you before he did and you laughed at that knowing that no matter where you went, he was already halfway there to you. So you moved around from place to place in that month just to make him a little angrier. And you knew he knew it too.
For his birthday, you mailed Sunghoon a singular Polaroid. In the picture, you were naked. You could just barely see your teasing smile in it, but it was mostly of your ringed hand spreading your pussy apart for him. At the bottom, you wrote: Waiting for you⌠You didn't even think he realized it was for his birthday and not to mess with him. You think that he thought that you were toying with him more and making him go crazier. When you finally got in brief contact with Big Man, he told you how much of a bad idea sending that Polaroid was. But, you just laughed at him. Big Man told you that Sunghoon was on his way to you now, something about finding where the hotel you were staying at was. It didn't matter because by the time he got there you were gone anyway. Though, the thought of him always a few steps behind you turned you on.
You did leave a note for him with your kiss mark next to it. Are you having fun? You don't think Sunghoon was pleased to read it, but you know that his perverted self tucked it into his pocket regardless.
At the end of the month away from Sunghoon, your feelings only burned brighter. You only got more and more excited each time you looked over your shoulder and expected him to be behind you. The thrill of it all, and the thought of just how angry he truly was with you, made your thighs squeeze together. You debated on just staying in one place, but you liked the way he chased you around the world too much. Whether it was because Sunghoon loved you or wanted to kill you, you didn't care anymore. You just want to be in his arms again.
You let yourself admit that you really missed him. So you did what would anyone would do in your situation, you swiped a phone from someone off the street. You held it up and you took a video of you in nothing but his black leather jacket at you held it closed at your breasts so you flaunted your ring again. You moaned his alias, making sure that he didn't know you knew his name yet, as your hand dipped down to your thighs slow. "I miss you so much," you moaned more for the video as your hand stopped its descent and pressed down on your lower stomach. You captured it all. You chest rose and fell hard as you arched your back and moaned his alias more. "I want you here with me."
Cutting the first video off there, you pressed record again as you continued, this time not bothering to keep your secret. You angled the phone down and captured your fingers sliding through your folds as you breathed hard, the ring on your finger glittering on the insides of your thighs. Moaning his name, you pushed your fingers inside of you slowly over and over. "I can't hit the spot like you can," you breath out as your hips roll up towards your hand. "I need you to come here and reach it for me."
You fuck your fingers into your pussy faster and faster until you're crying out his name. "Please," you beg and you let out a string of moans as your legs shake. "Come and find me," you whine out before you suddenly gasp. A shockwave pulses through you and your body shakes as you squirt all over your hand. You shakily laugh a little as you pull your cum-covered fingers out of your dripping pussy and rub at your clit with them. You moan his name more as you help yourself come back down from your high, you legs squeezed together. "I can feel your hands on me still," you whimper out as you catch you breath.
Lowering the phone you record how messy you got yourself for him, spreading open your folds so he could watch your cum drip out of you. "I'm waiting for you," you breathe out, teasing him again as you get closer to your body and the ring.
You clean yourself up before you send the first video to him. He doesn't bother to ask who's phone you have or demand to come back to the organization. No, instead, Sunghoon sends you two simple text messages almost immediately when you know he sees the thumbnail of the video. I know where you are, followed by, Don't fucking move. And, of course, you pack up your things and get ready to leave.
Now, this is where you made a mistake and jeopardized your game of hide and seek. Instead of getting the hell out of Dodge, you lingered around the hotel in the shadows. Almost as soon as you slid into them he was pulling up in a luxury car. You didn't realize he was really just a few steps behind youâthat he actually knew exactly where you were no matter where you were. It was just by pure luck that he kept on missing you. You knew it drove him crazy, being so close yet so far away.
Sunghoon steps out of the car and he was in a full tailored suit. His eyes scanned the shadows looking for you, but you were too good at what you did for him to notice you watching him. You watched as his jaw worked, and you know he felt your stare. He stepped inside of the hotel for a couple moments and you slid out of the shadows and watched him move inside from across the street. You could tell that Sunghoon was angry. He could barely hide it beneath his usual calm and neutral demeanor.
When Sunghoon stepped out of the hotel, his eyes immediately locked onto you. Despite him keeping his expression purposefully blankâbesides the anger that radiated off of himâyou watched as his tense shoulders sagged in relief and he inhaled sharply. You smiled at him, and he just angrily worked his jaw more. His eyes focused on the ring on your finger when you gave him a little wave and the way his leather jacket wrapped around you.
Sunghoon didn't say anything, didn't move. He instead stuck his hands into his pockets and stared at you blankly, waiting for you to cross the street and come to him after he spent all this time chasing after you. Another challenge. But, you didn't move either. Instead you fished out the phone from your pocket as he watched you across the street and sent him the second video. When you looked back up to him after it sent, Sunghoon still didn't move an inch.
You pointed to the phone and mouthed, "Watch it." You watched as he furrowed his brows at you, sighing, before pulling his phone out. You watched as Sunghoon immediately turned his volume down before pressing play and it made the smug smile on your face grow. He was going to be in for a shock when he listened to the audio when he was alone. You laughed a little and the sound carried with the wind as his eyes briefly looked up to you before immediately focusing back on his phone. His possessiveness made him miss a crucial detail and you couldn't stop how triumphant you felt.
You watched as Sunghoon's hand tightened around his phone until his knuckles were white and you were sure he was putting cracks into it. He looked up at you through his lashes before he angrily shoved the phone back into his pocket and you could tell he couldn't take it anymore. "Come here," he demands, his hard voice carrying. Your smile grows.
Wiggling the phone you stole in the air, you toss it in the street just as a car passes between you two. Sunghoon's collected demeanor finally breaks as he glares at you. He takes a second to look down at the destroyed phone before he's suddenly crossing the street towards you. You wait for Sunghoon to pick the phone up, already knowing that he's going to wipe everything it has on it onto a hard drive, before you turn around and scurry away from him giggling.
You hear him angrily call your name again and again, his voice rising when you don't turn around. Looking over your shoulder, butterflies explode in your stomach when he's just a few feet away from you. Quickly, you cross the street in front of a bus and leave him to yell your name from the other side. You don't look back again as you slip back into the shadows.
Your second mistake was thinking that Sunghoon was a few steps behind you when, in actuality, he was three steps ahead of you. You should've know that after your encounter he would've known where you were headed next. After all, he knew you like the back of his hand.
But, you were cocky. You thought you had slipped between his fingers and escaped once again. You thought the game was still on, not knowing that it ended as soon as he crossed the street to come after you.
You opened the door to your penthouse suite and threw the bags of stuff you bought down at the door. You stepped into the living room, the sunlight shining on your skin, as your mind raced with more ways to get Sunghoon mad. It was laughable how you didn't even make it two steps towards the floor to ceiling windows before a hand wrapped around your throat and pushed you up against the wall.
Sunghoon brought his hand further up your throat as he squeezed down onto it tighter. With other arm, he caged you against him against the wall. "A whole month," he says, eerily calm. "That's how long I've been chasing you around the world. A month."
Your brows furrow up at him as you struggled to breathe around his tight hold. If you were being honest, you didn't feel any remorse. The way his hand wrapped around your throat and stole the air right out of your lungs turned you on. You squeezed your thighs together as you soaked through your panties. Sunghoon was angry. Angrier than you have ever seen himâangrier than you think anyone has ever seen him. But his face was a mask of calm that had it all boiling under the surface. You smiled a little as you noted how he said chasing and not searching. It didn't help your case.
Sunghoon pushed one of his legs between yours. He was dressed in another tailored suit and it felt weird to see him in it when he's never worn anything this formal before. Especially not around you. His mouth brushes along the shell of your ear as he chokes you harder and listens to the way you wheeze around his hand in a broken moan. "And you're such a fucking tease, too. What did you think you were doing by sending me those videos?" he asks against your ear low, his voice still calm. You heard the tail end of his sentence that he kept quiet, and from someone else's phone. "What did you think I was going to do to you once I got my hands on you again?"
His knee spreads your legs apart more as you feel the fabric of his suit pants against your core. Sunghoon chuckles at you, but its humorless. He kisses along your jaw until he gets to your mouth and stops. He looks into your eyes as he raises his thick brows at you in question. You croak out another soft moan from his touch and your hands press against his abdomen before they drag down weakly to latch onto his belt. You struggled to breathe as your back arches off of the wall and towards him like a magnet. You look at him with big, watery eyes.
"A-Are you going to kill me⌠Sunghoon?" you manage to push out. His eyes widen the fraction of an inch as his hand around your throat loosens considerably. You breathe in deeply, your chest heaving, as the two of you stare at each other. You wanted to laugh so bad but you held it in. He didn't even listen to the audio, too consumed by his anger and his need to capture you that he probably forgot that audio was even connected to it when he watched it back. You watch as the goosebumps raise along his skin and his mask of calmness fall off. A flurry of emotions flash across his face faster that you can name them, all of them mixed with his anger. You raise your left hand and hold on to his arm that had his hand around your throat. Sunghoon's eyes drop to it.
You didn't notice it until the other day when you were drying your hands, but on the inside of the band he had your names engraved into itâyour actual names. Sunghoon's hand moved from your throat to the back of your neck as he surged forward and kissed you hard. You felt him put all of his anger into the kiss, all of his frustrations.
It was less of a kiss and more of a final showdown between a wolf and a lamb. He devoured and chewed on you how he liked and you bore your soft underbelly for him to bite into next. Your teeth clashed against each other's and held your chin with this other hand so he could pry your mouth open and let his tongue explore it. You gave yourself to him willingly, and when you nearly passed out from the cut of air to your brain, he held you close in his loving arms. For the wolf always loves the sacrificial lamb.
"Are you?" you asked him softly as your eyes closed and you focused on breathing. When you opened your eyes again, Sunghoon looked at you like you were the famous piece he's been searching to steal for his entire life. You were the one thing that led him down this journey and he can end it happily now that he finally has you in his possession. You clutched onto his suit as you regained your balance.
Sunghoon brushed his lips against yours, wanting to kiss you again but wanting more for you to not pass out in his arms. He whispered against your lips, "I love you too much to ever kill you, baby. You know that." You giggled a little.
Of course you did. Why else would he chase you?
You slipped his phone of out of his pocket and held it up as you opened the video. You turned the volume all the way up and pressed play. Sunghoon's eyes snapped to it, his brows furrowing, and the first thing he heard was you moaning his name. You giggled more as his fingers dug into you and realization crossed his features. "You were too angry to even notice there was sound."
The sound of you fingering yourself plays between you until you hear yourself gasp in the video. Sunghoon watches it all, his eyes never leaving the screen as you show your body off. When the video ends and his dark eyes flick back over to you and your smug smile, and our smile grows more as you see that not all of the anger was suddenly gone.
Sunghoon turns you around so fast you nearly get whiplash. His hands hike up your dress with nimble fingers until they graze against your lace panties. Sunghoon doesn't even think as he rips them off of you and runs his fingers through your wetness. He moans against your cheek as he holds you tighter against his chest. Before you can even moan out his name he's fucking two fingers into you with quick precision.
You gasp as you try to move from him, but his arm just wraps around your waist tighter. Knees buckling, Sunghoon holds you up on your shaky legs as his fingers pushed deeper into your wet warmth. "Sunghoon," you moan out his name in exclamation as your head leans back against his shoulder. Short gasps escape from your throat as the two of you stumble backwards. Your hips move towards his hand on its own and soon you're writhing in his arms as you squirt all over the both of your legs and soak his hand.
You're dripping on the floor when he kicks your legs apart and keeps fingering you. All you can let out is echoey sobs as Sunghoon brings you to climax in the span of just over a minute. You cum all over his wet fingers and that's when he finally lets you stabilize yourself. You breathe out hard, looking up at him against his chest, as he breathes just as heavily as you do. Too late did you see that he was proving a point. Nobody can fuck you as good as he doesânot even you. He was going to give you everything single little thing that you begged for in the month he chased you around. Sunghoon brought his cum-covered fingers up to your mouth and tapped them against your lips. "Taste how sweet you are," he whispered in your ear. You opened your mouth and let him place his fingers flat against your tongue and you swirled it around his fingers. Sunghoon pulled them out of your mouth slow.
He pulled your dress off in one quick motion and left you only in your heels as he pushed you over to the big windows. Your body pressed hard against the glass as he held your neck in place. With one hand, Sunghoon unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of his belt loops completely. He unbuttoned his suit pants and scooped out his leaking, hard cock and rubbed the tip of it through your arousal. "You drive me fucking crazy," he says as he watches your wetness spread along his cock.
"I know," you breathe out as you look down at the street below. You were too high up for anyone to really see you, but someone could if they truly wanted to. Sunghoon spread your legs open with his own. "I wanted to see how angry I could get you."
Sunghoon laughs humorlessly again as he lines his cock up to your entrance. "Really?" he asks, but there isn't any sarcasm like there should be. He thrusts hard into you and your breath fogs up the glass as you get pressed against it more. Sunghoon keeps a hand on the back of your neck as he lifts up one of your legs high in the air so his cock can fuck into you deeper. "And how angry do you think I am?"
He doesn't give you time to answer as his long cock fucks up into your sweet spot relentlessly. You moan in shock against the glass as you press your hands against it for support. You can just barely see his reflection, but you can tell he's watching the way your pussy sucks him in. Your body thrusting against the glass fills your ears along with the wet and quick drag of his cock along your walls and his hips hitting hard against your ass.
Your arousal splatters against the glass with how fast Sunghoon is fucking you, and you moan out his name and ball your hands up on the glass as you struggle to keep your head clear. He just presses his hand against your throat harder and hikes your leg up higher. Sunghoon presses himself against your back as his voice floats into your ear. "If only we were back at the organization. I'd have a million different angles of how you're falling apart on my cock right now." He chuckles again, but it lacks the warmth. He takes his hand off your neck and you press your cheek to the glass as you watch him pull out his phone and hit record.
Sunghoon hands the phone to you and his hand returns to your neck, his fingers squeezing it as the next words come out of his mouth gravelly. "Record yourself."
You barely heard him through your loud and unashamed moans, but your body obeyed his command instantly. You held the phone away from your face as you angled it down to catch the way Sunghoon roughly fucked into you. Your body and hand shook hard as your cum splattered down to the floor from his quick thrusts and you cried out his name into the glass. Sunghoon looked over at the phone screen and moaned into your hair as he presses against you more and fucks into you harder. You arch your ass towards him as your legs felt weak. "I-I can'tâŚ" you whined as the camera angled lower and the tears blurred your vision. It all felt too good, you couldn't take it anymore and you knew he was just getting started with you.
"Keep recording," Sunghoon hissed in your ear as he pulled your body off the glass and turned it more to his phone. You whimpered his name as you got both of your bodies in full view of his phone camera. He smiled at you through it, all teeth and fangs, and he spoke lowly, "Don't you ever dare try to run from me again. I will always find you."
Â Í Í ÍÍ Í ÍÍ ÍÂ Â Í ÍÍ Í ÍÍ  ÍÂ Í ÍÍ ÍÂ Â Í Í  ÍÍ REBLOGS ââĄâ ASKS APPRECIATED!
âď¸Â   âŚÂ   iâm so fucking tired and exhausted i wrote this fic for no joke 20 hours straight. no sleeping, no eating, nothing just locked in unbelievably and somehow made it through⌠goodNIGHT. sunghoon better not ever question my love for himâŚ
Warnings: Voyeurism?, Obsession, Somnophilia, Use of Drugs, Manipulation, Minor Jealousy, Noncon/Dubcon, Masturbation (he jerks off to ur underwear,) Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Degradation, Needy!Heeseung, Power Imbalance, BDSM Tones, Nipple Play, Manhandling, Minor Impact Play, Creampie
Synopsis: Heeseung is the loud, late-night gamer type â always behind his door, headset on, cursing at his screen until dawn. Annoying, but harmless. At least, thatâs what you believed. When a file on his computer reveals that heâs been watching â listening â far more closely than you ever imagined, the image of your easygoing roommate shatters.
Wordcount: 12,7k
a/n: welcome to the next part of the Eternal Hunger series for kinktober!! :D reblogs and commentary are appreciated!!
Youâd always thought moving in with Heeseung would be easy. He was polite and the kind of roommate who smiled too much and never left dishes in the sink. On the surface, he was perfect. Almost too perfect.
The one drawback was that he was always home.
Well, at least during the hours you were. It was almost like you lived on opposite schedules: mornings, heâd still be dead to the world while you rushed around the apartment, half-dressed and scrambling for coffee before your first lecture. Evenings, just as you came back tired from classes or work, heâd be heading out the door for his shift, waving you a lazy goodbye over his shoulder. But at night?
At night, he came alive.
Without fail, Heeseung would plant himself in front of his glowing monitor, headset clamped over his messy hair, hunched forward with laser focus. His fingers flew over his keyboard with an intensity that made you wonder if he ever blinked, his voice raised and sharp as he shouted into his mic. âNo shot, no shotâ!â âBro, thatâs rigged, I swearââÂ
And sometimes, he streamed.
Those nights were the worst. His voice took on a different edge then, pitched higher, more animated as he bantered with his faceless chat. You could hear him narrating plays, joking, even singing along to clips they sent him â all of it bleeding through the thin walls like he was performing from inside your room instead of his.
Because the walls werenât soundproof.
So instead of peace, instead of rest, you ended your days with his voice echoing around the apartment.
âWhat theâ no way! No way!â heâd yell, chair scraping back against the floor.
âBro, youâre throwing, youâre actually throwingââ followed by his own laugh, rough and breathless.
Sometimes you could even hear the voices of Ni-ki or Jay bleeding through his headset when he shouted back at them. It was like sharing a room with all three of them, like theyâd set up their game in the middle of your walls.
So while you were curled in bed, staring at the ceiling and begging your brain to shut down before morning classes, you had to fall asleep to the sound of him cussing, groaning, and laughing. Sometimes it was so loud you pressed a pillow over your head, groaning into the cotton until your ears rang. Sometimes you muttered threats under your breath, âIf he screams one more time, I swearââ But eventually, exhaustion always won, and you drifted off with his voice buzzing faintly in your dreams like static on a radio.
It was annoying. Maddening, even.
Youâd tried to get him to calm down before, leaning against his doorway one night with arms crossed, asking if he could please keep his voice down after midnight. Heeseung had looked up from his glowing screens, eyes big and apologetic, nodding quickly like he understood. âYeah, yeah, my bad. Iâll be quieter.â
And for maybe ten minutes, he was.
Then the next round started, and it was right back to him shouting at his teammates, voice carrying through the thin walls like he was right next to you. It was like your words had gone in one ear and out the other.
So you tried other solutions.
Melatonin that only made you groggy in the mornings. Earplugs that fell out halfway through the night. A playlist of soothing whale sounds you found on YouTube â which honestly only made it worse, because now you had both orcas and Heeseung in your ears. And none of them were good solutions, not when you needed to actually hear your alarm.
So you bit through it.
You overloaded on caffeine during lessons, clutched your energy drinks like lifelines, and half the time you were fighting sleep before your professors had even started the lecture. Then youâd drag yourself home, collapse face-first onto your bed, and barely lift your head when Heeseung passed by your door on his way to his shift.
âLater,â heâd call softly.
And youâd grunt something back that wasnât really a word, too tired to bother.
Bastard.
You remembered you had once actually tried to find other cheap apartment listings. Youâd been fed up one night, eyes gritty from exhaustion, heart pounding from too much caffeine, and you thought â there has to be something better than this. Even if it was smaller, even if it meant sharing a bathroom, even if it was farther from campus.
Youâd pulled up the rental sites, scrolling through dingy photos of half-basements and barely furnished rooms. None of them looked great, but at least they promised quiet.
That was when Heeseung came out of his room. Youâd heard his door creak open, then the shuffle of his socks down the hall, but you figured he was on autopilot, grabbing snacks.
You hadnât expected him to stop.
To lean over your chair.
To spot your open tab.
âWhatâs this?â His voice was light, curious, but you could feel the weight behind it as he tilted his head to read the page. Before you could even answer, he let out a nervous laugh, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. âDonât tell me youâre thinking of moving out already. You canât. Youâre, like, the best roommate I could ever ask for.â
Youâd blinked up at him, startled, muttering something about just looking. But he didnât let it go.
He crouched down beside your chair, eyes big and pleading, rattling off reasons so fast you didnât know how to respond. âSeriously, Iâm clean, Iâm chill, we get along, right? I donât bring random people home. I donât eat your foodâokay, except that one time, but I replaced it! And honestly, do you know how hard it is to find someone you can live with without going insane? I canât just⌠I donât want to start over with someone else.â
Youâd hesitated. Youâd opened your mouth to tell him it wasnât about him, not really, it was about the noise, the sleepless nights, the way you were slowly burning yourself out.
But then heâd looked at you like that â so sincere, so desperate, like losing you would mean losing something bigger than just a roommate.
And you folded.
Youâd clicked out of the site, shutting your laptop with a sigh. You told yourself it wasnât worth hurting his feelings. That it wasnât worth starting over somewhere worse.
So you tried other solutions, and most of them involved sleeping over at friendsâ places, anywhere that meant at least one night of uninterrupted sleep. But every time you did, Heeseung seemed to notice immediately.
The first night you were gone, he texted to ask if you were okay. The second time, there were half a dozen messages waiting for you before youâd even finished brushing your teeth at your friendâs.
âWhere are you?ââYou didnât say you were leaving.ââDid something happen? Did I do something?ââPlease answer.â
By the third attempt, your notifications were nothing short of a flood: messages stacked on top of each other, calls coming in one after another until your phone felt hot in your hand. It got to the point where you had to put it on silent, shoving it face-down and pretending it wasnât that bad.
You told yourself he was just worried. Maybe he had separation anxiety, maybe he just didnât have many people around. Still, it felt off â the intensity, the way he wouldnât give you room to breathe.
When you got back, of course, he was all apologies. He stood in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck, mumbling about how he hadnât meant to freak out, how he just panicked when he didnât hear from you.
You brushed it off, saying it was fine.
Personally, it was not fine. But okay â he was clingy. That was just Heeseung. He worried too much, texted too often, hovered a little closer than he needed to. None of it was enough to call him out over. It was just one of those things you told yourself youâd get used to.
Except the more you tried to spend nights somewhere else, the harder it became.
At first it was small things. Youâd mention plans with friends and find him asking for details that felt too specific â âWhere exactly are you staying?â or âWhat time do you think youâll be back?â Then, when you got home the next day, he would already know. Heâd mention how late your bus had been or that it had rained near your friendâs place. Little comments that made you wonder how he even knew.
Soon, he didnât need to ask. Heâd already have the answers.
Your phone would light up with messages before youâd even left campus: âYouâre not staying out again, right?â or âI can come pick you up.â The one time you didnât reply, he showed up outside campus, claiming heâd been nearby anyway.
When you confronted him about it, trying to laugh it off, he only smiled that same sheepish, boyish smile and said he just worried. That he liked knowing you were safe.
You wanted to believe that. You wanted it to be simple.But when you went to stay with a friend again and came back the next morning to find him waiting by the door â eyes tired, voice soft as he said, âYou didnât tell me you were leaving,â â the reassurance felt thinner than ever.
You hadnât meant to stay away that long. Three nights at Wonyoungâs had just sort of⌠happened. Youâd lost track of time between studying and catching up, and when she offered for you to stay another night, it felt like a small piece of normal life you didnât want to give up. Youâd turned your phone off halfway through the second morning; the constant buzzing had started to make your chest ache.
By the time you came home, the hallway outside your apartment felt strangely still. You had your key in hand when the door swung open before youâd even touched the lock.
For a second you didnât recognise Heeseung. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin beneath them dark and puffy; his hair stuck up in flattened clumps, and his bottom lip looked raw, bitten open. The expression on his faceâwide-eyed and desperateâmade your pulse stumble.
Before you could say a word, he was already closing the distance, arms wrapping around you so tightly that your phone slipped from your hand.
âYou canât do that again,â he said into your shoulder, his voice cracking halfway through. âYou canât just disappear like that. I thought something happened to you, Iââ He pulled back just enough to look at you, words spilling over themselves in a rush. âI couldnât sleep, I couldnât even eat, I just kept thinkingâwhat if you werenât safe? You didnât answer any of my calls, or my texts, Iââ
âHeeseungââ
But he was already sinking down in front of you, his knees hitting the floor with a dull, heavy sound. His hands came together like he was praying â fingers laced tight, knuckles whitening under the strain â and when he looked up at you, his eyes were wide, rimmed red, shining in a way that made your breath hitch.
âIâll stop,â he said, the words tumbling over themselves. âIâll stop, I swear. Iâll be quiet, I wonât shout at night anymoreâjust, please, please donât do that again. Donât leave me here wondering where you are.â His voice cracked on the last word, raw and uneven.
You froze, staring down at him, at the way his shoulders shook slightly with every breath.
âHeeseung,â you began, trying to sound calm, but the sight of him â on the floor, trembling, his face twisted with something between guilt and panic â knocked the words right out of you.
âI thought something happened to you,â he went on, voice breaking. âYou didnât answer, you didnât text, you justâdisappeared. Do you have any idea what that feels like?â His laugh was short and breathless, half a sob. âI couldnât sleep. I sat here the whole night just⌠waiting. Listening to the door. Every little sound, I thought it was you coming back.â
You swallowed, guilt prickling at the back of your throat. âHeeseung, I was just staying with friends. Youâre overreactingââ
He shook his head violently. âNo. You donât understand.â His hands came up, clutching at his hair for a moment before falling limp at his sides. âItâs too quiet when youâre gone. I canât think straight. The silenceââ He looked up at you again, eyes wild, voice hoarse. âItâs torture not hearing you around the apartment. Not knowing youâre here.â
For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
You stared down at him, still kneeling there, his breathing uneven like heâd just run for miles. The sight of him â usually so put-together, so casual â now reduced to this frantic, pleading mess twisted something sharp in your chest.
You told yourself it was pity. That it was guilt for ignoring his messages, for not realizing how lonely he mustâve been. But there was something else underneath it too, something that felt a lot like fear.
Heeseung reached out slightly, not touching you, just holding his hand in the space between you as if the distance itself hurt. âPlease,â he whispered. âJust stay. Iâll be good. Iâll fix it. You wonât even know Iâm here if thatâs what you want.â
You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face. âHeeseung, why are you making such a big deal out of this? Itâs not like I vanished. I was just staying with friends.â
He gave a small, almost disbelieving laugh â a sound that wasnât quite right. âYou did vanish,â he said softly. âYou were gone...â
Your stomach tightened.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you sighed. âIf you can actually keep your promise tonight,â you said quietly, âIâll stop sleeping over at other peopleâs places.â
He went completely still for a heartbeat, and then his whole body seemed to exhale. His shoulders slumped, and a shaky, almost disbelieving laugh slipped from him as he nodded. âI will. I promise,â he said quickly, too quickly. âYouâll see. Iâll be good. Iâll be so good.â
You stepped past him into the apartment, trying not to look back. Behind you, the door clicked shut, and the lock turned softly in the quiet.
Dinner that night had been strangely calm.Â
Heeseung had already set the table by the time you came out of your room, a couple of dishes still steaming. He smiled at you like nothing had happened earlier in the hallway, the same easy curve of his mouth you were used to.
âI made too much,â he said, scratching the back of his neck. âDidnât want it to go to waste.â
Youâd hesitated, but the food actually smelled good, and you were too tired to start another argument. So you ate. He told you about work, about some glitch in a game he was playing, about how heâd started watching a new series. For once, the apartment felt normal.
Afterward, youâd taken a shower, letting the hot water wash away the stiffness in your shoulders. By the time you pulled on a shirt and climbed into bed, you could barely keep your eyes open. You didnât even remember turning off the light.
For the first time in weeks, you slept. Deep, uninterrupted sleep that swallowed you whole. No voices through the wall, no faint laughter, no half-dreamed footsteps in the hall. Just warmth, darkness, and quiet.
When you woke up the next morning, sunlight was spilling across the floor. Your body felt light, your head clear. You couldnât remember the last time youâd felt that rested.
Maybe things were finally settling. Maybe the promise heâd made the night before had actually meant something.
On your way out, you passed his door. It was closed, the light underneath it still off. The apartment was completely silent.
You smiled to yourself, thinking he was probably asleep as you locked the door behind you and headed out.Â
Inside, the apartment stayed still for a moment. Then Heeseungâs door opened. He stepped out quietly, barefoot, moving like someone afraid to disturb the air. The light from the hallway spilled across his face, washing out the shadows under his eyes..
Your door wasnât locked. You never locked it in the mornings; why would you, when it was only the two of you? The thought made something small and feverish flicker in his chest. He turned the handle slowly, easing the door open.
Your room was still filled with the faint scent of your perfume, the warmth of sleep lingering in the sheets. The curtains let in a line of sunlight that cut across the bed, catching on the edge of the blanket youâd kicked off in the night.
He didnât speak. He didnât touch much at first â just looked. The details fascinated him: the indentation where your head had rested, the half-closed notebook on the desk, the cup of coffee you hadnât finished.Â
He walked to the dresser, fingers hovering over the handle before stopping himself. His fingers twitched, itching to cross the line heâd been toeing for weeks. The silence of the apartment pressed against him, urging him forward, and he gave in. His hand found the top drawer, the one heâd seen you open countless times in passing glances, always so casual, so unaware. The handle was cool under his fingers, and he pulled it open slowly, as if savoring the act. Inside, neatly folded, were your things â soft fabrics in muted colors, lace edges peeking out from the stacks. His breath hitched.
He reached in, fingers brushing against the delicate material, and pulled out a pair of panties â simple, white, with a faint floral pattern. He held them up and brought them to his face. The scent was faint but unmistakable, a mix of your laundry detergent and something distinctly you. His eyes fluttered shut as he inhaled deeply, a low groan rumbling in his throat. The sound was primal, unchecked, and it sent a jolt straight through him.
His free hand moved almost on instinct, tugging the waistband down just enough to free himself. His cock was already hard, straining against the fabric, and the relief of releasing it made him shudder. He wrapped his fingers around himself, slow at first, the panties still pressed to his nose as his mind spiraled back to the night before.
Youâd been so still, so perfect, sprawled across your bed in the deep sleep heâd orchestrated. The dose heâd slipped into your dinner â subtle, tasteless, just enough to keep you under â had worked like a charm. Heâd stood over you, heart pounding, watching the rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted with soft, unaware breaths. He hadnât planned to touch you, not at first. But then his fingers had grazed your skin, and youâd reacted â a small, sleepy moan, your body arching ever so slightly into his touch.
It had undone him.
Heâd knelt beside you, careful not to wake you, his fingers exploring, teasing, drawing out those delicious little sounds. Youâd whimpered for him, even in your haze, and it had taken every ounce of restraint not to cross that final line. The dose wasnât strong enough for that, heâd told himself, though the thought of it â of sinking into you right then, claiming you completely â had nearly broken him.
Now, in your empty room, his strokes quickened, the memory of your moans looping in his mind. The panties in his hand were a poor substitute, but they were enough to fuel the fantasy. He imagined you waking up just enough to know it was him, to want it, to beg for it. His breath came in sharp gasps, his grip tightening as he leaned against the dresser for support. The room spun, the sunlight blurring into a haze, and he whispered your name under his breath.
He pictured you stirring just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes heavy with want, your voice pleading for him. The fantasy was vivid, almost real, and it pushed him to the edge. With a low, guttural moan, he threw his head back, the release hitting him hard. His cum spilled over the panties still in the drawer, coating the delicate fabric in a way that felt both wrong and electrifying. He stood there for a moment, chest heaving, the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through him. A slow, shaky inhale, then an exhale, and a low giggle slipped from his lips â a sound that was equal parts relief and something darker.
He glanced down at the mess heâd made, the ruined panties now tangled with his release. His lips curved into a small smile as he used the pair still in his hand to wipe himself off, the act almost ritualistic. He tugged his sweatpants back up, the waistband snapping softly against his skin, and took a moment to steady himself against the dresser. The mirror caught his reflection â flushed cheeks, wild eyes, a flicker of satisfaction that made him look alive in a way he hadnât in weeks.
He couldnât leave the evidence behind. Not when you were still blissfully unaware, moving through your days with that easy smile, oblivious to the way he watched you, wanted you. He gathered the soiled panties from the drawer, careful not to disturb the others, as he moved quietly out of your room, closing the door with a soft click.
In the bathroom, he ran the tap, the sound of water masking the faint hum of his own thoughts. He washed the panties carefully, his fingers working the fabric under the stream, the soap erasing his traces. It was methodical, almost tender, the way he cleaned them, as if preserving something sacred. Once they were spotless, he wrung them out and tucked them away to dry later, somewhere youâd never think to look.
He couldnât afford to be careless. Not yet. Not when you were still his unsuspecting piece.
The day had dragged by in that mid-week haze of lectures and half-finished coffee. By the time you made it back to the apartment building, the sun was already low enough to paint the hall windows orange. You texted a classmateâMinhoâabout coming up for a quick study session before your next exam.
Heeseungâs schedule was predictable: asleep in the mornings, gone by the time you came home. You hadnât heard him all day, so you assumed he was already at work. The idea of a quiet apartment felt like a small relief.
When you pushed the door open, the lights were off and the air still. âSee? Empty,â you said over your shoulder, stepping inside first. You dropped your bag by the couch, flipped on a lamp, and started gathering your notes from the coffee table.
You were halfway through explaining a problem set when you heard the door to Heeseungâs room creak.
The sound was small but sharp enough to freeze you mid-sentence. You turned, heart skipping.
Heeseung stood there in the doorway. His hair was tousled, a hoodie thrown on like heâd just woken up. His expression wasnât angry exactlyâjust unreadable, like he was trying to work out why someone else was standing in his living room.
âOhâhey,â you started, forcing a smile. âI thought you were at work.â
âI called in,â he said. His voice was low, flat in a way that made the air feel heavier. Then he looked at Minho, gaze flicking from his face to the open notebook on the table. âDidnât know we had company.â
You laughed, the sound a little too high. âWeâre just going over notes. Heâs in my class.â
Heeseung nodded slowly. âRight. Notes.â He stepped further into the room, past you, and opened the fridge. The sound of the door popping open was louder than it should have been. âDo you guys want something to drink?â
âNo, weâre good,â you said quickly.
Minho smiled, oblivious. âIâll probably head out soon anyway. Donât want to interrupt.âÂ
He gathered his papers, muttered a polite goodbye, and left.
When the door clicked shut behind him, the apartment fell silent again. Heeseung leaned back against the counter, arms folded loosely across his chest. For a moment neither of you spoke.
âI didnât know you were staying home,â you said finally.
âGuess I forgot to mention it.â He smiled thenâsmall, thin, and not quite reaching his eyes. âNext time, maybe just let me know if someoneâs coming over. Yeah?â There was nothing in his tone you could call threatening, but something about it made your pulse quicken anyway. You nodded, murmuring a quiet âyeah, sure.â
Heeseungâs smile widened a fraction. âGood.â He turned back toward his room, door closing behind him with a soft click.
You stood there for a long second, staring at the wood grain of the door, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Heeseung could be quiet, yes â reserved, awkward sometimes â but that look heâd given you? That wasnât the usual shy, apologetic Heeseung. That was something colder, distant in a way that didnât fit.
You waited for a sound, for the creak of his chair or the hum of his computer to come through the wall, but nothing came. The apartment stayed utterly still.
You shook your head, muttering to yourself, âHeâs just tired.â
Shrugging it off, you gathered your things and headed to your room. The guilt crept in anyway, a thin whisper in the back of your mind as you changed and started the shower. You hadnât done anything wrong, you reminded yourself. You hadnât. It was just a study session. You were allowed to have friends.
The water was hot enough to sting, helping the thoughts slide off. By the time you stepped out, wrapped in a towel and blinking at the steam, you felt lighter.
That was when you noticed the bottle.
It sat neatly on your nightstand, half-full, the plastic still beaded with condensation. You didnât remember leaving it there, but youâd been so rushed that morning it couldâve been from then. Without thinking, you picked it up and took a long drink. The water was cool, faintly metallic, but it didnât register as strange.
You changed into pajamas, flipped open your notebook, and tried to focus. The words swam after a few pages, blurring as your eyelids grew heavy. The dayâs exhaustion caught up to you all at once, and you yawned so hard your eyes watered.
You told yourself youâd read one more chapter. Then maybe another.
You didnât make it that far.
By the time your head hit the pillow, you were already halfway gone, the room fading into soft, hazy darkness. You barely managed to pull the blanket over your shoulder before sleep took you completely.
Hours slipped past in silence, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the wall clock. The shadows stretched long as the night deepened, until the numbers glowed 2:03 a.m. on the display.
Your door opened with the slow, careful turn of a handle.
Heeseung stepped through the narrow gap, bare feet making no sound against the floor. He paused just inside the room, watching you for a moment, waiting for any sign that you might stir. But you didnât. Your breathing stayed slow, steady â the deep rhythm of someone completely asleep.
He moved closer. The dim light from the hall touched your face, softening the edges of your features. Heeseungâs eyes lingered there, unreadable.
After a long minute, he reached for the half-empty water bottle on your nightstand. His fingers closed around it, and a faint smile tugged at his lips â small, tired, but oddly satisfied. He turned it once in his hand as if it were proof of something only he understood.
Then his attention shifted back to you.
He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, testing the weight of your unconsciousness. You didnât stir, your breathing steady, deep, utterly unaware.
Satisfied, he let his hand linger, trailing down the curve of your jaw, the pad of his thumb grazing your lower lip. His touch was soft, almost tender, but there was a tremor in his fingers, a barely contained need. He shifted closer, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight, and reached for the edge of your blanket. Slowly, carefully, he pulled it down, the fabric sliding past your hips, your legs, until it pooled at your feet.Â
His gaze darkened as he moved to your shirt, his fingers hooking under the hem. He tugged it upward, inch by inch, exposing the soft plane of your stomach, then higher, until your breast was bared to the dim light. A low groan rumbled in his throat, the sound raw, almost pained, as he stared. Your nipple, soft and untouched, drew his focus, and his breath hitched. He glanced up at your face, searching for any sign of waking, but your expression remained serene, oblivious.
His hand moved again, bolder now, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. His fingers found you, warm and soft, and he began to touch you, his movements careful but insistent. The slickness came quickly, your body responding even in sleep, and he bit his lip to stifle another groan. The sight of you, so vulnerable, so pliant, sent a rush through him, his pulse pounding in his ears.
Leaning forward, he brought his mouth to your exposed nipple, his lips closing around it gently at first, then with a slow, hungry pull. The sensation drew a soft moan from you, a sound that made his heart stutter. You shifted slightly, your body arching just enough to press closer to his touch, but your eyes stayed closed, your mind still submerged in the haze heâd ensured. The moans turned to faint whimpers, sweet and unfiltered, as his fingers worked you with a steady rhythm, coaxing more wetness, more of those sounds that drove him wild.
Heeseungâs breath was ragged now, his lips lingering against your skin as he sucked harder, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. His fingers, slick with your arousal, paused for a moment as he studied your face. No flicker of awareness, no hint of waking. Heâd been careful tonight. Knowing you had no plans tomorrow, heâd upped the dosage in your water bottle, just enough to keep you under, to give him this window to indulge. The thought made his pulse quicken, a dark thrill curling in his chest.Â
You wouldnât wake up.Â
He shifted his hand, his touch growing bolder, and slowly eased one finger inside you. The warmth, the tightness, made him bite back a groan, his lips faltering against your skin for just a moment before he resumed, sucking harder, his tongue pressing against your nipple with renewed intensity. He thrust his finger slowly in and out, savoring the way your body seemed to pull him in, even in sleep. Your soft, desperate whines grew just a fraction louder, a sound that sent heat pooling in his gut.
Heeseungâs eyes fluttered shut, his world narrowing to the feel of you â the slick heat around his finger, the taste of your skin, the faint tremors of your body responding to him. He moved faster now, his thrusts steady but careful, not wanting to disturb the delicate balance of your slumber. His mouth worked relentlessly, teeth grazing lightly as he sucked, drawing out more of those sweet, unconscious moans that made his head swim.
He was lost in it, in you, in the forbidden rush of having you like this.
He eased another finger inside you, stretching you slightly, and the slick warmth pulled a shudder from him. He thrust slowly, his fingers curling just enough to coax more of those sweet, unconscious moans from your lips. They came louder now, still soft but unmistakably desperate, each sound like a spark to the fire building in his chest.Â
His hips twitched, thrusting into the empty air, mirroring the rhythm of his fingers inside you. The motion was involuntary, driven by the ache pooling in his core, the need that gripped him tighter with every moan you let slip.Â
Your body trembled beneath Heeseungâs touch, the rhythm of his fingers relentless as your moans grew sharper, more desperate. Then, in a breathless, broken sound, you moaned his name â Heeseung â soft but unmistakable, spilling from your lips as your body clenched around his fingers, your release coating them in a rush of warmth. The sound hit him like a shockwave, his mouth detaching from your nipple with a wet, obscene pop. Drool glistened on his chin, trailing down as he stared up at your face, his breath catching.
You were still asleep, your expression serene, lips parted slightly, utterly unaware of the name youâd just sighed or the way your body had shuddered through your climax. His name. In your sleep. As you came on his fingers. The realization sent a dark thrill through him, twisting something deep in his chest.Â
Oh fuck.
A grin spread across his face, slow and dangerous, his eyes glinting with something feral, unhinged. You knew, somewhere in the haze of your subconscious, that it was him. The thought made his blood burn. He didnât hesitate, didnât pause to question it. His fingers moved again, pushing deeper, stretching you further. Your body reacted instantly, arching off the bed, your thighs clenching together as if to trap his hand. He didnât care. He forced them apart, his gaze fixed on your face, drinking in every twitch, every flutter of your lashes.
His other hand fumbled at his waistband, yanking it down to free himself. His cock was painfully hard, already leaking, and he wrapped his fingers around it, stroking in time with the thrusts inside you.Â
A breathless whimper escaped your lips, louder than before, and it sent a jolt through him.
He slowed his thrusts immediately, his fingers pausing before moving deeper, curling inside you, pressing against the spot that made your breath hitch. Your legs, once tense, flopped limply against the mattress, parting wider, giving him full access. The sight of you so open, so vulnerable, made his chest tighten. He could move his wrist freely now, his fingers working you with slow, deep strokes, coaxing more of those breathless moans from your lips.
Heeseung leaned forward, his gaze never leaving your face as he brought his mouth back to your nipple, latching on softly at first, his tongue swirling gently before he sucked harder. His teeth grazed the sensitive peak, biting just enough to draw a reaction, then tugging lightly, testing how much you could take. Your body arched again, a low whine spilling from your throat as your walls clenched around his fingers, your second release shuddering through you.
The pulse of your climax around his fingers sent a shiver through Heeseung, his lips lingering on your nipple, sucking softly as your body trembled beneath him. The intensity of it made his head spin, his own hand faltering on his cock as he fought to stay present, to savor every second. Slowly, he pressed his fingers deeper, letting you clench around him, before he eased them out, his eyes fixed on the slick coating his skin. The sight of it, glistening in the dim light, made his breath catch, a dark delight curling in his chest.
He brought his fingers to his mouth, sliding them past his lips, and his eyes rolled back as he moaned low, the taste of you flooding his senses. It was sweet, heady, better than heâd imagined, and he licked every bit of it off, his tongue chasing the remnants. When he pulled his fingers out, they were clean, and he exhaled heavily, his breath shaky, his body thrumming with need.
He couldnât resist. His hand dipped back to you, fingers slipping inside again, coating themselves in your wetness, gathering as much as he could before pulling out, his hand once again slick and shining. He wrapped it around his cock, the warmth and slipperiness driving a groan from his throat as he began to stroke himself, his gaze locked on your sleeping form. Your parted lips, the faint flush on your cheeks, the exposed curve of your breast â it was all too much.Â
The tension coiled tight in his core, and with a choked, âFuuuuuuuuckâŚâ he came hard, his release spilling in thick spurts, some landing on your face. He shuddered, his breath heavy and uneven, as he rode out the high, his hand slowing but still gripping himself. For a moment, he just stared, the sight of you marked by him sending a twisted thrill through his veins.
Carefully, he tucked himself back into his sweatpants as if afraid to disturb the scene. He slipped into your bathroom, grabbing a damp cloth from the sink, and returned to your side. With gentle care, he wiped the evidence from your face, his touch soft against your skin, then with careful hands, he straightened your shirt, pulling it back down to cover you, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin. He then adjusted the blanket that had slipped to the end of the bed, pulling it back up to your shoulders. The small, domestic motion looked almost gentle, almost caring.
He stood there a few more seconds, taking in the stillness of the room, the steady rhythm of your breathing. Then he stepped back, moving silently toward the door. The latch clicked softly behind him as he slipped out.
The apartment was quiet againâthe hum of the refrigerator, the faint tick of the clockâordinary sounds that made the moment feel unreal. Heeseung crossed the hall to his own room and shut the door. The lock turned with a tight snap.
At his desk, he exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small digital recorder, its indicator light blinking. For a moment he just looked at it, then he pressed a button, the light fading to dark, and placed it carefully on the desk beside his keyboard.
The computerâs glow filled the room as he sat down, the chair creaking quietly under his weight. His hand hovered over the mouse, eyes fixed on the screen. Folders lined the displayâeach one neatly labeled. He clicked open the newest one and watched the progress bar crawl across the screen. When it finished, he leaned back, staring at the list of files that bore your name.
A small, satisfied breath slipped from his lips, his fingers twitching with anticipation as he scrolled through the older files.He selected one from a few weeks ago, the date pulling a faint memory of that night to the surface. The audio began, soft at first, then your voice â a low, breathy moan, caught in the haze of sleep. His head tilted back against the chair, eyes fluttering shut as the sound washed over him, pulling him back to that moment. Your whimpers, the faint rustle of sheets, the way youâd sighed so sweetly, unaware of his presence, his touch.Â
He leaned further back, the chair creaking under his weight, his hand moving instinctively to palm himself through the fabric. Each sound from the recording â every hitch in your breath, every soft whine â felt like it was pulling him under, drowning him in the memory of you. He let the audio play, his fingers tightening slightly as he listened, his mind painting vivid images of your sleeping form, the way your body had responded to him, the way youâd been his without ever knowing.
His eyes fluttered open briefly, glancing down, and he cursed under his breath, low and rough, at the sight of himself, fully hard again, straining against his sweatpants.Â
His hand slipped beneath the waistband, fingers wrapping around his cock, already slick with precum. A sharp hiss escaped him as he touched himself, the sensitivity making his breath catch. He began to stroke, slow at first, his grip tight, the wet sounds of his movements blending with your moans in his ears. The headphones amplified every hitch in your breath, every soft whine, and he let himself sink into the fantasy of finally sinking into your pussy, feeling you clench around him, warm and tight, just as you had around his fingers. The idea sent a jolt through him, his strokes quickening, his hips twitching upward into his hand.
âFuck,â he muttered, voice barely audible, his head tilting back as his eyes squeezed shut. The audio looped in his ears, your voice a sirenâs call, and he imagined you beneath him, awake or not, giving yourself to him completely.Â
Heeseungâs head tilted further back, a soft whine slipping from his lips as he teased himself, slowing his strokes to a torturous pace. His fingers dragged along his length, deliberate and agonizing, drawing out the sensation until his eyes rolled back, a shudder rippling through him. Your name fell from his lips in a hushed whisper, as if saying it could summon you into the room. The audio in his headphones â your moans, your breathless sighs â looped relentlessly, each sound tightening the coil of need in his core.
His fingers twitched, hovering over the mouse, then clutching it tightly, as if anchoring himself to something solid. But his mind was elsewhere, lost in the memory of your body under his hands, the way youâd arched into his touch, unaware and perfect.Â
Your moans echoed through the headphones, each one stoking the fire in his chest, pushing him closer to the edge. His body tensed, muscles coiling tight, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as he came, his release spilling over his hand, his body shuddering with the intensity. He slumped back in the chair, his chest heaving as he took deep, ragged breaths, trying to steady himself.Â
Reaching for a handful of tissues from the table, he wiped the cum from his hand, his movements slow, almost mechanical, as he came down from the high.
He tugged the headphones off, your moans cutting off abruptly, leaving the room in near silence, save for the faint hum of the computer. With a tired flick of his wrist, he powered it down, the screen fading to black. He sat there for a moment, staring at the reflection of his dimly lit room in the blank monitor. Then, with a quiet exhale, he pushed himself up, his legs unsteady. He crossed to his bed and let himself fall back onto the mattress, the springs creaking softly beneath him.
For a while, he just stared at the ceiling. The apartment felt too quiet now; every tick of the clock in the kitchen felt like a shout. Heeseung turned onto his side, eyes unfocused, watching the strip of light shift along the wall.
Sleep didnât come easily. His body was still, but his mind kept circling back to the same thought: you, asleep in the next room, unaware of how closely your lives were starting to overlap. It wasnât guilt, not exactlyâjust a strange, restless need to keep things the way they were.
He shut his eyes finally, exhaling a slow breath that blurred into the dark. Tomorrow would look the same as every other day: breakfast, classes, the small talk youâd exchange in passing. Youâd smile, and heâd smile back. Nothing out of place.
By the time his breathing evened out, the clock read a little past four. The apartment, once again, was still.
The next morning, you woke up later than usual. The sun had already climbed high, slipping through the blinds in soft, golden lines that stretched across the floor. You blinked blearily at the clock on your nightstand â almost one. You couldnât remember the last time youâd slept that long.
Your body felt heavy, but your mind was oddly clear. The sleep had been deep, dreamless, and a little too perfect. You stretched lazily before sitting up, rubbing your eyes. Something about the air felt different, though. Still. Too still.
Pushing your bedroom door open, you were greeted by silence.
âHeeseung?â you called softly, half-expecting him to answer from behind his usual closed door.Â
Nothing.
You tried again, louder this time. âHeeseung, you up?â
No reply.
That wasnât too unusual; he wasnât a morning person. But even then, you usually heard somethingâthe faint creak of his chair, the hum of his computer fans, the soft clatter of him rummaging through the kitchen. Today, there was nothing.
The apartment felt⌠hollow.
You moved around quietly, fixing a simple breakfast and eating at the counter while the faint hum of the refrigerator filled the silence. You scrolled through your phone, checking messages, half-expecting one from him. There were none.
After breakfast, you curled up on the couch and played an episode of an anime youâd been meaning to finish. The familiar voices and bright colors helped fill the emptiness, but you kept glancing toward the hallway between episodes, waiting for his door to open.Â
It didnât.
By noon, you decided to get ready and head out to run some errands â groceries, maybe the bookstore. Something normal. You stood in front of your closet, already planning your outfit.
You reached for a specific shirt â the one youâd worn just last week â but your hand hit an empty hanger. You frowned.
Weird. You couldâve sworn youâd hung it there. You searched the other hangers, then the drawers, then the laundry basket. Nothing.
You started pulling clothes out one by one, tossing them onto the bed as your irritation grew. âWhere the hellââ You stopped mid-sentence, staring at the half-emptied closet. No sign of it.
It couldnât have just vanished.
Maybe youâd misplaced it? Maybe it had fallen somewhere, or maybe youâd loaned it out and forgotten? But even as you tried to reason it out, the explanation didnât sit right. You exhaled sharply, stepping over the pile of clothes. âHeeseung mightâve seen it,â you muttered to yourself.Â
You crossed the hallway and stopped in front of his room. The door was closed, same as always. You knocked once.
âHeeseung? You in there?â
Silence.
You waited a few seconds, then tried again, louder this time. âHeeseung?â
Still nothing.
You hesitated before reaching for the handle, expecting resistance. But it turned easily. Oh?
You peeked your head in first, cautious. âHeeseung? Hello?â
No one.
The room was empty, but it didnât look like heâd been gone long. The curtains were still drawn, the chair pushed slightly away from the desk, the bed unmade with the blanket twisted halfway off. His headset sat on the desk beside his keyboard.
You stepped inside, frowning. He didnât have work todayâ it wasnât like him to go anywhere this early. Maybe heâd stepped out for groceries? Coffee? Your eyes drifted over his desk, to the shelves above it lined with his figurine collection. One caught your attention â a new one you hadnât seen before. You stepped closer to take a look. As you leaned in, your hand brushed against his mouse, and the computer screen flickered to life.
âOhâhe left it on,â you murmured, surprised. The glow from the monitor bathed the desk in cold light. You reached for the keyboard to put it to sleep before he came back and noticed.
But then you froze.
There, in the upper right corner of the screen, sat a folder. Your gaze snagged on the name before you could look away.
It was your name.
You blinked, sure you were imagining it. But there it wasâclear, typed neatly in the list of files on his desktop. No last name, no embellishment. Just you.
Your fingers hovered above the mouse. For a moment, you considered just turning the monitor off, pretending you hadnât seen anything. Pretending everything was still normal.
But curiosityâand something sharper, colderâtightened inside you.
You swallowed hard.
And then your hand started to move.
The cursor slid across the screen, the small arrow trembling faintly as if your own unease had travelled down through your hand.
You double-clicked.
The folder opened.
Inside, another set of folders appearedâeach one neatly dated, stacked in order from months ago to last night. Every one of them had your name.
You felt your stomach twist.
At first you thought it might be screenshots, maybe something from a game. But when you scrolled down, the icons were all the same shape, same size: small audio waveforms. Dozens of them.
You clicked on one before you could stop yourself.
Your heart pounded in your chest as the audio file loaded, the cursor hovering over the play button for a split second before you clicked. At first, there was nothingâjust silence. You frowned, leaning closer to the screen, wondering if the file was corrupted or empty. Your fingers brushed the headphones on the desk, and without thinking, you unplugged them.
The sound hit you like a shockwave.
Your own voice spilled from the speakers, a low moan followed by a faint whimper. The noises were intimate, vulnerable, sounds you didnât recognize as your own at first, but the realization crashed over you like ice water. Your breath caught, your hand freezing over the mouse as the audio continued: soft gasps, a quiet whine, the rustle of fabric. It was you but in a context that made your stomach lurch.
You stood there, rooted to the spot, as the sounds played on, each one more damning than the last. Your moans grew louder, more desperate, and thenâyour name, whispered in Heeseungâs voice, barely audible but unmistakable. The room spun, the glow of the screen blurring as your mind raced to make sense of it. When had this happened? How? You didnât remember this, didnât remember any of this.
Your hand shot to the keyboard, fumbling to pause the audio, but your fingers trembled, and the sounds kept playing, filling the room with the echo of your own voice, trapped in some moment you couldnât recall. The dates on the files flashed in your mindâmonths ago, weeks ago, last night.Â
Your hands flew to your head, fingers clutching at your hair as confusion and horror twisted through you like a vice. The sounds of your own moans, raw and unguarded, continued to spill from the speakers, each one a violation you couldnât comprehend. You had never done this openly, never given Heeseungâor anyoneâaccess to such intimate moments. How had he gotten these? How? For how long had he been collecting them?Â
Your breath came in short, panicked gasps, your heart hammering as you fumbled again for the keyboard, desperate to stop the audio. Your fingers slipped, hitting the wrong key, and the volume spiked for a moment, your own voice echoing louder, mocking you. Nausea churned in your stomach, and you finally managed to slam the spacebar, silencing the room.Â
But the quiet was worse â thick and heavy, pressing on your ears until you could hear your own heartbeat.
Then a sudden sound split the silence.
The sharp crack of a door slamming.
You spun around so fast the chair scraped against the floor. Heeseung was standing in the doorway. His hair was mussed, his clothes wrinkled like heâd just come in from outside.Â
He didnât say anything at first. Just stared at you. His eyes were dark and wide, the expression on his face flickering between shock and something else you couldnât name.
Then, slowly, he reached behind him and turned the lock. The click echoed in the stillness of the room.Â
âWhat are you doing in here?â His voice was low, even, but the calmness in it made your stomach twist. âYou shouldnât be here.â
You opened your mouth, words tripping over themselves. âIâ I was justâ your door wasnât locked, and Iââ
âYou shouldnât have snooped.â The tone sharpened suddenly, cutting through your attempt at an explanation. His expression shifted â not angry in the usual way, but off, like a smile forced onto the wrong face. âYou donât just go into someoneâs room. You know that, right?â
âHeeseungââ you started, stepping back, bumping into the desk.
âI trusted you,â he said quietly. âAnd this is what you do?â
Your pulse thundered in your ears. You turned slightly, pointing toward the computer. âTrusted me? You were recording me!â The words burst out before you could stop them. âYouâ You had files of me, Heeseung! My voice, myââ
He didnât flinch. Instead, a slow, eerie smile crept across his face. It wasnât amusement exactly â more like satisfaction, like someone whoâd stopped pretending.Â
âYou shouldnât have looked,â he said simply.
You felt the air leave your lungs. âWhatâ what is wrong with you?â
Heeseung tilted his head, that faint smile still there. âI could ask you the same thing,â he murmured. âWhy canât you ever just leave things the way they are?â
Something in you snapped.
âLeave things the way they are?â Your voice cracked, rising before you could stop it. âYouâve been spying on me! Do you even hear yourself? You think this is normal? You think recording meâwatching meâis okay?â The words came fast, tumbling out over one another, the fear in your chest burning into anger. âYouâre insane, Heeseung! Do you have any idea how sick this is?â
For a moment he just stared at you, that same unreadable expression frozen in place. Then he let out a quiet, tired sigh.
âGuess the jigâs upâŚâ he said softly, setting his bag down on the floor beside the door.
You blinked, caught off guard by how calm he sounded.
He slipped off his jacket slowly, folding it like nothing about this was strange. âYou werenât supposed to find that,â he continued, his tone almost conversational now. âNot yet, anyway.â
âYouâwhat?â
Heeseung shrugged lightly, as though this were just another small inconvenience. âI shouldâve locked the folder. I usually do.â He glanced at you then, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. âYouâre a lot nosier than I thought.â
You stared at him, unable to form words. The calmness, the way he spoke as if this was a minor mistakeâit was more unsettling than if heâd yelled.
Heeseungâs smile snapped like a brittle thing. For a second he just stood there, face slack, and then something in him broke.
Without warning he lunged.
You barely had time to react. Instinct shoved you into motion â a shout ripped from your throat as you twisted, jerking away from his grasp. Your hand knocked the edge of the desk; papers fluttered to the floor. He swore, a rough, animal sound, and reached again, fingers clawing for you.
Adrenaline turned everything bright and loud. You shoved him hard across the chest. He stumbled, face contorted with surprise and anger, and reached for you faster this time. Your breath came hot and raw as you dodged him, your heart hammering against your ribs.
âStop fighting me!â he snapped, voice tight and strangled.
âYouâre insane!â you spat, adrenaline sharpening every word. âYou think Iâm just going to let youâlet you do this?â
Heeseungâs face went hard, eyes glassy with something else â frustration, need, something you didnât want to name. He advanced again, faster this time. âCome on, just be still,â he hissed, every syllable a command. âJust be good, okay? You donât have to make this hard.â
Well, fuck that!
You werenât going to be still. Not after finding the files, not after every lie and late-night listen. Your hands scrabbled at whatever was in reach.
âGet the fuck away from me you creep!â you screamed, shoving a textbook at his chest. It barely slowed him down. Heeseung was stronger, faster, and as you twisted to dodge him, his hand caught your arm, yanking you off balance. You stumbled, and in a blur of motion, you hit the floor, the breath knocked out of you. Before you could scramble up, he was on you, pinning you down, his hands like iron around your wrists.
You thrashed, kicking wildly, but his weight held you in place. His face hovered inches above yours, his breath hot and uneven. âWhy canât you justââ His hand suddenly cracked across your face, the sharp sting of the slap stealing your breath. Your head snapped to the side, shock and pain blooming in your cheek as you gasped. His fingers found your throat, gripping just tight enough to make your pulse pound against his hold. âYouâre being bad,â he hissed, his voice low, venomous. âYou think you can just ruin everything just like that? No.. I think I need to teach you a lesson.â
Your heart raced, panic surging as you struggled beneath him, but he was too strong. With a rough yank, he pulled you to your feet, your wrists still trapped in his grip, and threw you onto the bed. The mattress creaked under your weight, and before you could roll away, he was on you again, moving with a speed that left you dizzy. You heard a metallic clink, and thenâcold steel snapped around your wrists. Handcuffs? Your eyes widened in disbelief as you tugged against them, the metal biting into your skin, secured to the bedframe. He had handcuffs attached to his bed? The realization hit you like a punch, your mind reeling with shock and terror.
âHeeseung, what the fuck?â you screamed, pulling harder against the cuffs, but they held firm. Your voice trembled, caught between rage and fear, as you twisted beneath him. He didnât answer, his expression hard, focused, as he grabbed the waistband of your pants and yanked them down in one swift motion. The air hit your skin, and before you could react, his hand came down hard on your ass, the sharp crack of the slap echoing in the room. Pain seared through you, and you cried out, your body arching instinctively, your back bowing as you gasped.
âKeep moving,â he taunted, his voice dripping with a manic edge as he struck you again, harder this time. âIt just makes this better.â His hand lingered after each hit, the heat of his palm searing against your reddened skin. You thrashed, tears burning in your eyes, but the cuffs held you firm, and his strength was overwhelming. By the time he stopped, your ass was raw, throbbing with pain, and tears streamed down your face, your breaths coming in broken sobs.
Without warning, he gripped your hips and flipped you onto your back, the cuffs twisting your arms uncomfortably as you landed. You gasped, still crying, as he forced your legs apart with a rough tug, his hands unyielding. He peeled off his shirt, tossing it aside, and unzipped his pants halfway, the sound of the zipper loud in the tense silence. His eyes raked over you, empty and cold, yet burning with something feverish. âFinally⌠the real dealâŚâ he muttered, his voice low and dazed, like he was speaking to himself.
âPlease, Heeseung,â you begged, your voice trembling as tears spilled down your cheeks. âStop. Justâjust talk to me. We can figure this out, please!â Your words were desperate, grasping for any shred of the person you thought youâd known.
He tilted his head, a faint, mocking smile curling his lips. âTalk? No, no, honey,â he murmured, his tone almost soothing, but laced with something dark and final. âItâs time for actionâŚâ His hands moved to your shirt, yanking it up to expose your breasts. He grabbed them roughly, his fingers digging in before he delivered a sharp slap, the sting making you cry out.Â
He surged forward, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking hard with a hunger that made your breath hitch, tears streaming faster as you pulled uselessly against the cuffs. His tongue swirled, his teeth grazing, and his grip on your other breast tightened, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pressed himself closer, his hardening bulge grinding against you through his half-unzipped pants. The friction was rhythmic, each movement sending a jolt through your body that you fought to ignore. Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you bit your lip, swallowing your sobs, forcing yourself into silence. You wouldnât give him the satisfaction of hearing you.
His lips stilled for a moment, his breath hot against your skin as he pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing. The absence of your sounds, your refusal to give him what he craved, made something shift in his expressionâsomething darker, more insistent. âNo, no,â he muttered, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. âI want to hear you.â His tone was sharp, demanding, as if your silence was a personal betrayal.
His mouth returned to your nipple, sucking harder, his teeth biting just enough to sting, trying to coax a sound from you. His other hand slid down, gripping your hip to pull you closer, amplifying the pressure of his grinding. âCome on, baby,â he murmured against your skin, his voice dripping with frustration. âLet me hear you. You know you want this.â
You clenched your jaw, your body trembling from the effort to stay quiet, to deny him the moans he was so desperate to pull from you.
But Heeseungâs eyes burned with a relentless hunger. He wasnât going to let you win this.
âYou think you can stay quiet?â he growled, his voice low and dangerous, dripping with challenge. âYouâre gonna give me what I want.â He shifted, his weight pinning you harder against the bed, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, his tongue flicking against your skin, teasing, taunting. His hands were everywhereâgripping your thighs, spreading them wider, digging into your flesh. âLetâs see how long you can hold out,â he muttered, his lips curling into a cruel smirk.
His fingers found you, and he didnât hesitate, plunging two inside with a rough thrust. You gasped, the sound escaping before you could stop it, and his eyes lit up, triumphant. âThere it is,â he purred, his voice dark and mocking as he curled his fingers, hitting that spot that made your body betray you. âThatâs it, baby,â he murmured against your skin, his voice a low growl. âMoan for me. Let me hear how much you want this.â
You tried to fight it, biting your lip until it hurt, but he was merciless. His free hand slid up, grabbing your breast, squeezing hard before delivering a sharp slap that made you cry out, a desperate, broken moan spilling from your throat. Tears pricked your eyes, but your body was no longer yours to controlâit arched into his touch, chasing the sensations despite your mind screaming to resist. He added a third finger, stretching you, his thumb circling your clit with ruthless precision, and you whined, high and needy, the sound echoing in the room.
Heeseungâs grin was feral, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he leaned back to watch you unravel. âThatâs my girl.âÂ
With a sudden, rough motion, he grabbed the waistband of your panties and ripped them off, the fabric tearing with a sharp sound that made you flinch. The cool air hit your exposed pussy, and you gasped, the vulnerability sending a wave of shame through you. Heeseungâs eyes locked onto you, drinking in the sight with a hunger that made your stomach twist. âFuck, look at you,â he muttered, as he spread your legs wider, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you still.
Heâd studied you, memorized you, those late nights spent in the shadows of your room giving him a map of every sensitive spot, every reaction. Now, he wielded that knowledge like a weapon. His fingers thrusted into you with a mean rhythm, curling just right to hit that spot that made your hips buck and a broken whine tear from your throat. âDonât hold back now,â he taunted, his tone sharp and cruel. âI know you canât⌠So why don't you just scream for me, baby. Let me hear it all.â
Your body trembled, betrayed by the slick heat pooling between your legs, whimpers spilling out despite your efforts to hold them back. He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. âLook at you, such a mess,â he sneered, his words cutting sharp. âCrying and whining, and for what? My fingers? Youâre so fucking desperate.â
He could feel the way you clenched around his fingers, the way your breaths turned shallow and desperate, and he smirked, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. âNot yet,â he growled, slowing his thrusts just as you neared the brink, denying you the release you craved. âYou donât get to cum until I say so.â
Your whimpers turned into a choked sob, your body trembling with the agony of being so close, only to be pulled back. âPlease,â you gasped, the word slipping out before you could stop it, your pride crumbling under the overwhelming need. Heeseungâs grin widened, dark and wicked, as he leaned down, his breath hot against your skin. âBegging already?â he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.
Before you could respond, he surged forward, his mouth attacking your pussy, lips closed around your clit, sucking hard.
Your thighs clenched around his head, instinctively trying to push him away, but he only growled, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place. âFuck, you taste so good,â he mumbled against you, his voice thick with lust, his tongue diving deeper, lapping at you like he couldnât get enough.Â
âPlease, Heeseung, let me cum,â you begged, your voice breaking, tears streaming down your cheeks as the pleasure became unbearable. The desperation in your voice only spurred him on, his moans vibrating against your clit as he sucked harder, his fingers pushing you right to the edge again.Â
But he didnât make you wait this time. His tongue and fingers working in tandem, driving you higher, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped. You screamed, your body convulsing as you came hard, your thighs tightening around his head, your hips bucking against his mouth. Heeseung moaned against you, lapping up every bit of your release, his eyes fluttering shut as he lost himself in the taste.
Your body trembled, oversensitive and shaking from the intensity of your climax, your scream still echoing in your ears as you gasped for breath. Heeseungâs mouth stayed on you, lapping at your oversensitive clit with no sign of stopping. You wiggled beneath him, your hips jerking as you tried to pull away, the sensation too much, too overwhelming. âHeeseung, pleaseâstop,â you gasped, your voice raw and pleading, your thighs clenching in a futile attempt to close against his head.
But he didnât stop. If anything, your pleas only spurred him on. He moaned into you, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh, his eyes half-lidded and glazed as he buried his face deeper. âCant stop⌠need more,â he mumbled, his voice muffled but thick with lust.Â
He shifted slightly, one hand leaving your hip to fumble with his pants, yanking them down just enough to free his cock as he wrapped his fingers around it, stroking himself.Â
âHeeseung, please,â you begged, your voice raw, tears streaming down your face. âItâs too muchâstop!â
âShut up,â he snapped, his voice low, his lips barely lifting from your skin. âYou donât get to tell me to stop.â His tongue pressed harder, circling your clit, his teeth grazing just enough to make you cry out in pain.
âThatâs it,â he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. âKeep crying, keep begging. It just makes you wetter, doesnât it?â
You couldnât fight it anymoreâthe pleasure, the pain, the humiliation all crashing together. With a scream that tore from your throat, you came again, your eyes rolling back as your body convulsed, his name spilling from your lips in a broken, unwilling cry. âHeeseung!â The sound was raw, desperate, and it sent a shudder through him, his eyes glinting with triumph.
Finally, he pulled back, his lips glistening, his gaze dark as he sat up, positioning himself between your legs, his pants already halfway down. His cock, hard and leaking, pressed against you, and before you could process it, he sank into you with one deep, forceful thrust. You cried out, the stretch overwhelming, your walls forced to open around him, the intrusion sharp and intense. Tears streamed down your face, your body still reeling from the last climax, now pushed further by the relentless pressure of him filling you completely.
Heeseung whined, his hands gripping your hips as he started moving. âSo fucking tight,â he growled, his voice strained, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he savored the way you clenched around him.
Your voice was gone, stolen by the overwhelming sensation of Heeseungâs cock thrusting into you, each movement stripping away your ability to form words. All you could manage were choked, broken whines, spilling from your lips as your body trembled beneath him. His thrusts were unpredictableâsometimes rough and fast, slamming into you with a force that made your whole body jolt, the bedframe crashing into the wall; other times slow and deep, dragging out every sensation as he filled you completely, making you feel every inch of him.
âLook at you,â he sneered, his voice dripping with fake kindness. âCanât even talk, huh? Just a whining little mess, taking my cock like you were made for it.â His hands tightened on your hips, fingers digging into your skin, his eyes locked on where he disappeared inside you. âFuck, your pussyâs so greedy for me.. sucking me in like you canât get enough. You love this, donât you?â
Tears streamed down your face, but he only laughed, a dark, mocking sound, as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. âIâm gonna cum so deep in you,â he muttered, his tone possessive. âFill you up so good, not a single dropâs gonna leave. No other guyâs ever gonna have you like this. No one else could make you fall apart like I do.â
His thrusts shifted again, rough and punishing, each one pulling a choked whimper from your throat as he drove into you with relentless force. âIâve craved you for so fucking long,â he confessed, his voice raw, almost unhinged, his eyes wild as they met yours.
âThis pussyâshit, itâs mine, always been mine, hasnât it? Sucking me in like you were made for me...â His words spilled out in a chaotic rush, as he leaned closer, his breath hot and erratic against your skin. âYou donât even know, do you?â he rambled, his voice low, almost feverish. âAll those nights, watching you, touching you, listening to you moan in your sleepâfuck, it drove me crazy, knowing you were right there, so close, so fucking perfect. And now, now Iâve got you, and youâre not going anywhere.â His hand gripped your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his, his eyes burning with a manic intensity. âGonna fuck you until you canât think straight, until youâre screaming my name so loud the whole building knows who you belong to.â
His mouth was hot on your neck, biting and sucking, leaving a trail of marks that burned under his lips. âFuck, youâre everything to me,â he rambled, his words spilling out in a frenzied, desperate rush, his breath ragged against your skin. âEvery single day, every fucking night, Iâve been obsessed, consumed by youâthinking about this, about you under me, taking me so perfectly. You donât even know how long Iâve waited, how much Iâve needed this, needed you. Shit, you feel so fucking good, so tight, gripping me like you were made for me..â
His free hand slid up from your hip, grabbing your breast, his fingers kneading the soft flesh as his thumb flicked over your nipple, sending a jolt through you. You gasped, your body arching despite your efforts to resist, and he groaned, low and needy, his mouth moving to your chest. âGod, these tits,â he muttered, his voice breaking with a whine, his lips barely lifting from your skin. âSo fucking perfect, so mine. You have no idea what it does to me.. Walking around, teasing me without even trying, making me lose my mind just watching you.â
His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, each one pulling a choked whimper from your throat as he drove into you with a ferocity that left you breathless. âHeeseung,â spilled from your lips before you could stop it. His eyes widened, a wild glint flashing in them, and he groaned, his control snapping completely. âFuck, fuck, fuck,â he cursed repeatedly, his voice strained as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep.
He came hard, his release flooding you, hot and overwhelming, his hips twitching as he emptied himself inside you. âShiiiiit,â he whimpered, his voice breaking into a drawn-out moan, his body shuddering as he gripped your ass cheeks tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh with bruising force. Drool slipped from his lips, glistening as it dripped onto your tits, his mouth still hovering over your nipple, sucking weakly as he rode out the high. âSo fucking good,â he mumbled, his words slurred, almost incoherent, his breath ragged as he pressed himself deeper, ensuring every drop stayed inside you.
Your body was numb, trembling under his weight, the cuffs biting into your wrists as you lay there, tears drying on your cheeks. Heeseungâs eyes flicked up to yours, dark and possessive, a faint smirk curling his lips as he saw the state you were in. âLook at you,â he said, his voice dripping with a cruel satisfaction. âAll fucked out, just for me. Bet you didnât even know you could feel this good, huh?â
He shifted slightly, his cock still buried inside you, and leaned down, his tongue flicking over your other nipple, teasing it with slow licks. The sensation made you whimper, your oversensitive body jerking involuntarily.Â
âCanât get enough of you,â he muttered, his voice needy but still laced with that mean edge. âEvery inch of you, every sound you makeâitâs all mine. Youâre gonna remember this, baby, every fucking second of it.â He pulled back slightly, his gaze roaming over your body, taking in the marks heâd leftâbruises on your hips, redness on your breasts, the faint bite marks on your neck. His smirk widened, a twisted pride in his eyes as he reached down, brushing his fingers lightly over your clit, making you flinch and whine. âStill so sensitive,â he taunted, his touch gentle to torment you further. âI could do this all day, you know. Keep you here, make you cum again and again until you canât even think straight, until all you know is me.â
His words sent a fresh wave of dread through you, but your body was too exhausted to fight, your breaths shallow as you lay there, pinned beneath him.Â
He leaned down, his face hovering inches from yours, his breath hot against your lips. âMy perfect girl,â he murmured, his voice low and deceptively soft. It caused your skin to crawl. Then, he closed the distance, his lips pressing against yours in a slow, claiming kiss.
At first, it was gentle, his mouth moving softly, savoring the feel of you. But then he deepened it, his tongue forcing its way past your lips, invading your mouth with a hungry edge. You whimpered, the sound muffled against him, your body tensing as he claimed even this part of you. His hand slid to your jaw, holding you in place, his fingers digging in just enough to keep you still as he explored your mouth, tasting you like he owned every inch.
âFuck, even your mouth is perfect,â he mumbled against your lips, his voice rough, breaking with a craving. âAll of you, every fucking part, itâs all mine.â He deepened the kiss again, his teeth grazing your lower lip, biting just hard enough to make you gasp, your body jerking involuntarily.
Your mind screamed to resist, but your body was too weak, too overwhelmed, and the cuffs held you fast. His kiss swallowed your protests, claiming you in a way that felt as invasive as everything else heâd done. He pulled back slightly, just enough to let you catch a ragged breath, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he watched you tremble beneath him. âThatâs it,â he whispered, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips, his voice dripping with possession. âEven your kisses belong to me now.â
{S} Youâre a prolific photographer, renowned for your unconventional devotion to your craft. Enter Lee Heeseungâtop model, golden boy, and muse extraordinaire. When you discover a leaked tabloid photo of him in bondage, you arrange a meeting and make your offer: become your muse, and in return, youâll pave the way for his redemption after a career-shattering scandal. The unexpected followsâan intense entanglement and obsession to photograph your muse who serves every whim of yours, offering his unrelenting submission. Yet beneath Heeseungâs charismatic persona and dangerously alluring beauty lurks an unsettling darkness: a possessiveness with a taste for murder and destruction.
GENRE: psychological-horror, obsession, model au, yandere, dark smut, oneshot.
model! heeseung x photographer! reader,
WARNINGS: death, murder, violence, dark smut, power imbalance, blood, self-harm. switch! heeseung, switch!reader, mutual masterbation, manipulation, oral ( f receiving), some mentions of bondage, elements of dubcon, mentions of animal death. read at your own risk. wc: around 14k (currently unedited)
You canât look away. His back curves like an offering, shadow carving over muscle and bound arms. Silk cuts into flushed skin, a body wrapped and gagged, eyes glassy with something raw, something indecent.
The supermarket hums around youâwheels squeak, children whineâbut none of it exists. Aisle seven has narrowed into a single frame: him.
Your fingers smear saliva on the glossy page as you turn it, still staring. The headline screams in cheap, tabloid font:
THE DOWNFALL OF LEE HEESEUNG? HIS AGENCY STAYS SILENT.
Silent. You almost laugh. The picture says everything.
Someone mutters for you to move. You donât. Their cart wheels swerve, the sound grating like staticâbut all you hear is the click of a shutter that hasnât been pressed yet.
Your hand trails down the laminated page, ripping it clean off of the magazine before placing it back onto the rack. Heads turn at the sound of your heels clicking against the linoleum floors, eyes cascading over the long leather trench you donned. Powerful. Moderately eccentric. The workers don't stop you from sipping the last of your iced coffee obnoxiously before you slide a bottle of wine forward onto the register.
You'd been pacing around the aisle for the last hour and a half, blankly staring at each bottle. None of them were perfect-nothing you really wanted but didn't want to leave empty handed.
But you know what you did want? Lee Heeseungâ and his botched reputation arrived just on time.
You leave a wad of cash on the counter, three times worth the original amount while mumbling something along the lines of not wanting to count right now and telling the cashier to keep the rest of the cash for themselves.
The dial rings for half a beat before your manager picks up.
"Helloââyou interrupt Sunghoon.
"I want Lee Heeseung."
"Get in line." You imagine Sunghoon's perfectly plucked, raised eyebrow. Dry, to the point-busy. "No. I want Lee Heeseung. I refuse to photograph anyone or anything else until I get him." He hears the popping of a wine bottle from your end of the call.
Sunghoon pinches his nose bridge and sighs. "It's not good publicity. He's more than likely done for in the industry-what about Park Jongseong? Sim Jaehyun? You're supposed to be curating that collectionââ
"I'm stuck. Haven't slept in three days since the photo was leaked. He's perfect and I want to photograph him. Sunghoon, pull some strings. Please?"
A quick swig, brown paper bag obscuring the bottle as you sat on a random park bench before lighting a slim cigarette. If Sunghoon were in front of you, the bags under your eyes would've sealed the deal.
"Fuckin' hell...'ll see what I can do. No promises." He's resigned in the wake of your stubbornness. You were his first big break as a manager, albeit the biggest pain in his ass thus far.
"I'll take you out to eat at that super pretentious restaurant you enjoy going to for whatever reason." You offer half heartedly, spacing out already, waiting for the call to end.
He snorts. "Fine." And the line goes dead.
You don't blink-hand curling around the ripped photo, tracing around his silhouette.
You want him, heâs perfect.
Heeseung digs his head into his pillow face first, hissing when Jungwon slides open his curtains with a loud clap-hollering. "Get up, asshole." Heeseung groans, shaking his head. "For the love of godâclose the curtains."
"If you want to maintain your status as the Adonis of this industry, you'll get your perky ass up and take a shower. You reek of champagne and day-old strawberries." Heeseung blinks, squinting one eye as the other adjusts to the brightness of the room.
"And why would I need to do that, my dearest Jungwon?" All of his schedules should've been cleared off by now. He doesn't want to be sober or awake to see the messages about who else doesn't want to work with him now.
Jungwon rolls his eyes at the sweet sarcasm. "One of the most highly sought out and selective photographers of our generation's managers reached out. She wants to meet you."
Only now does Heeseung rise from bed, nonchalant and naked as he pulls the sheets off his body.
"Who?" Strange. Why would someone want to work with him at the height of his scandal?
"They work under the pseudonym, obscura. Their work is... interesting to say the least. Not much about them is known, but they're insanely gifted. Obsessive, l've heardâbut every project they've done has done astronomically well." Jungwon twines his hands together, taking a seat on the plush velvet cream couchâresting his elbows on his knees as he stares into Heeseung's doe eyes. "You've got one shot. Get up. Get ready and don't fuck this up."
"Sure thing, Won." And all Jungwon sees is Heeseung's ass strutting to the bathroomânot a care in sight.
Heeseung's eyes drift across the room. Rolling over intricate photos all varying stylistically, all strikingâprofound. Some are even unsettling. Jungwon left him after saying he needed to meet with Obscura's manager, Sunghoon, to talk about the "boring stuff."
An array of nude photographs are arranged messily on the floor, piles of notes-unreadable because of all the strikes ripping through sentences of half formed thoughts immediately being rejected upon birth. He stops at a particular photograph of a womanâVenusian in form. Beautiful in the sort of way that can leave a life long imprint.
A pleasantly pitched voice interrupts him the moment he reaches down to pick up the photo curiously, interest peaking. "Glad to see you have an eye for these things too."
Slow clicks approach him as the woman from the photo breathes into life before himâonly clothed this time, draped in a sleek black fabric. Long earrings compliment the length of your neck and he smells the allure of your perfume from where he stood. Before he catches the words, he breathes out an almost fascinated whisper of surprise. Beautiful.
You pause in front of him, eyes dragging from his polished shoes to the top of his head. Reaching a delicate hand out, you greet him. "Obscura on paper and to the public. But you have the option of calling me by my name." You pull your knees together and bend elegantly to pick up the photo. "âah. I was wine drunk when I decided I wanted in on the project and took a half hearted self portrait. This is the only one I kept. The other fiftyâ I burned."
"Why did you burn them?" Heeseung tilts his head, silken hair lying over his eyes.
"Because they weren't perfect." You didn't miss a beat, eyes unwavering as you stare at him through your lashes, observing unabashedly.
You weren't trying to seduce himânot intentionally, however it may have looked. But your eyes draped over his form, imagining all the ways you wanted to contort it to your vision.
"Is imperfection so unsavory?" He asks. There was no judgement. Only professional intrigue with a dash of sexual attraction.
"Not alwaysâbut from the things I want? Yes." You admit.
"Why did you ask to meet me?" He takes a step closer. Not close enough to warrant a response or a step back, but enough for your head to tilt at the action.
You say it like it's simple. Obvious.
"Because I want you, Heeseung. And I want you to be mine."
His expression stays the same, doe eyes running over your eyesâsomething calculated under the surface of his saccharine features before it clicks back into place.
"And why would you want that?" For a moment, he thought you were another affluent woman inviting him into your bedâbold because you'd never been told no before in your life. But your gaze told him otherwise-that wanting to you was different from what wanting meant for others.
"You're striking and filthy. To be frank with you, I have no interest in your daytime persona: the one you've crafted into perfection with your company." Stepping forward, you smooth a small wrinkle forming near the collar of his suit. "I want to make you an offerâbecome my muse. My honest muse, the one I saw on that photo that you'd never intended on letting the outside world see, and I will make you a god."
Heeseung quickly learnt that he didn't have it in him to say no to you, godhood or not.
â
âAre you sure about this?â Heeseung catches the worry in Jungwonâs voice. Snorting, he tips his head, eyes sliding toward his manager at the wheel. âFunny. Thought you were the one who saidâwhat was it?ââdonât fuck this up.ââ
âYeah, but that was before I found out Obscura drives her muses past their limitsâwith no plan, no schedule, nothing.â Jungwonâs fists tighten around the wheel, eyes trained on the road.
Heeseung says nothing. He didnât need to.
Jungwon doesnât know the full weight of what this meant for him. Doesnât know the candidness of conversation he found himself having with you.
Everything he wanted had landed in his lapâand he had no intention of letting it go. Not by a long shot.
The bathroom hums with the steady hiss of the shower, steam clinging to the checkered tiles that stretch in sharp black-and-white beneath his legs. Water runs lukewarm now, the heat bled out, but Heeseung doesnât move to adjust it. He never does. Hotels blur togetherâunnamed, forgettableârooms he slips into and out of as instructed, hiding from the weight of cameras and curious eyes. Itâs a cycle as familiar as breathing, one he no longer bothers to resent.
Heeseung sits slumped on the marble floor of the stall, eyes glazed, expression unreadable. Blank. Bored. Empty. Droplets stream down the bridge of his nose, clinging until each slow blink lets them fall. His nails wander idly across his chest and down his ribs, scratching shallow lines at first, then deeper, until the skin blossoms in thin, stinging trails. Pink threads of blood dilute into the runoff, carried down the drain where it spirals and disappearsâone more secret rinsed clean.
The shallow tears around his hipbone multiply, his scratching methodical now, as if testing how much of himself he can peel away. It feels liberating in its own quiet wayâthis freedom to ruin his own surface without correction, without polish. Once, he was alabaster. Porcelain. A body designed for admiration. Never permitted to scar under the limelight demanded from the nature of his existence. But he shattered that himself, the instant he left the door unlocked, the instant he let the lens catch him.
The scandal wasnât an accident. It was the only time the world saw him as filthâand he liked it.
Good.
A flash of dark hair pulses through his memory, breaking through the bleakness like slips of sunlight peeling through clouds. You.
Heeseung drags his tongue across the ridges of his teeth, slow and deliberate, like heâs already tasting the ruin. You looked at him as if you wanted to dismantle him, to break him down just to see how heâd look rebuilt in your hands. And you wanted him. Not the Adonis. Not the golden boy. Just him.
No one ever did. Not where the lights could reach. They only wanted him in shadowâhidden behind locks, passwords, and neat little NDAs. But he was the one whoâd started leaving the doors cracked open. The one who forgot to demand silence. The one who fed his lovers the chance to slip. Heâd wanted the photo out thereâwanted to watch his pristine image rot in public. There was nothing sweeter than the thought of being dragged into daylight, stripped and named for what he really was. In short, Heeseung wanted that photo to get leaked. Plannedâfully intended, even. But you? You werenât part of the original plan. And now, itâs even better.
To be fair, there was little thought that went into the processâno real plan. Just an expoĹe that cupped its hands full of public degradation on the walls for his enjoyment. Life had gotten too monotonous in cyclical praise. He was perfectionâgolden, god-like.
The slope of your waistâthe supple texture of your skin that he could almost feel through the photographsâ sleek film. Your hair that cascaded along your form like water, the swell of your breasts, and the slightly visible puffiness of your cunt. His heart throbbed. And before he realizes it, Heeseung trails a porcelain hand down his abdomen, gripping a hand tightly over the pulsing girth lifting towards his navel. His head bangs lightly on the marbled tile as he sits back, eyes pointed towards heaven.
Heeseung knew he was disgusting. And maybe you were the one person whoâd like him for it. You were two sides of a coinâhe could feel it. He believed it.
Hips rocked against his handâpushing, pulling at flesh like it was your wetness that enveloped him. Water fills his open mouth, pouring out and then inâchoked groans sputtering out of him like liquid guilt. He twists his hand, raising it up to the tip of his cock, and jerks to what his memory could recollect of your nude shapeâbuilding up an unsettling tempo, as he descended slowly into a terrifyingly real illusion of you.
âP-please.â He begs and he doesnât know to who or what heâa pleading to. To you. Maybe the universe. Youâd probably photograph this momentâthe arch of his back, the rapid thrusting into his handâthe sacred beauty of his distorted and invasive desire. It was primal, instinctual. There was no logical basis of his fascination towards you other than the level of obsession he knew you were capable of. But it wasnât for him. It was for the world around you. He was just an extension of that.
And Heeseung already didnât like that. Though he didnât say it, he agreed to be yours with an unspoken expectationâheâd be the ultimate, singular objectâthe golden apple of your eye. He craved possessionâMutual possession, that is. Heeseung was a little moreâŚunder the table about it. And no one really needed to know that. No one wanted to, at least.
His hips roll, twitch, body keening overâthe veins on his pelvis pronounced and throbbingâfucking into his hand like you were there to take it. Heeseung liked ruining pretty girls, but he could tell you werenât the kind to lie on your back and take it.
You liked power. Control. Perfection.
And because Heeseung was intrigued by you, heâll hand you a leash to see what youâd do with it.
Liquid heat pulses through him and he gaspsâstreaks of white painting his belly, gazing at the wall. Dazed. Feverish.
There was something dangerous about you
and Heeseung was never the type to turn away from a dark roomâstepping into the shadows like it was destined to begin with.
â
âHold still. There it isââ Dainty hands squeeze the shutter, one eye squints while the other focuses on Heeseungâs form. You get it nowâwhy he was deemed golden boy of the decade.
A subdued, yellow bellied light, painted by the afterglow of a flickering red bulb stood at the backdrop of your photo studio. You squint, tightening your fists, and focus on the lensâaiming towards Heeseung.
He was beautifulâfluid like water. Mysteriously alluring and full of silent charm. Heeseung didnât say much but when he did, a crowd would crawl to hear the cadence of his voiceâlaugh when he wanted them to like it was a live audience.
Heeseungâalmost languidlyârolls his head to look at you from where he rests on the arm of a maroon velvet couch. Eyes glossy, nearly unreadable were it not for his quirked lips. âAm I perfect yet?â
âAhâbut didnât you want perfection?â Itâs a small inquiry, light in tone. The air between you is amiable. Smooth. Like old friends meeting again after years of living separate lives.
âI wanted honesty. I liked your filth, Heeseung. As nice as it is to see you smile so insincerely.â You laugh lightly.
âAnd what if it isnât insincereâhow would you know?â His smile only stretches, but his eyesâthey firm. Prod like knives. Dark. Curious.
âYour eyesâtheyâre dead. I canât feel any light from you. Itâs practiced. Beautiful? Yes. But it doesnât reach me.â You say it like it didnât bother you. His fabricated character and the unsettling underbelly of who he truly was. Even you didnât know the extent of itâjust the epidermis of his filth, sensed by your intuition alone.
For a moment, Heeseungâs eyes widen. The initial lightness of his face fading into an almost boyish surprise. He finally blinks, turning his face away to stare at the ceiling, only humming in acknowledgement before a comfortable silence weighs the room.
You step towards him, placing a cold hand on his wrist to position it over his head. The tip of your index finger tilts his chin upward. âEyes on the camera. Do me a favorâremember the last time you came. Every detail. Donât say a word. I need that heat for this shot.â You knew the root of his scandal was his hunger, and you wanted to catch itâsee if desire could fracture the shell of media-trained perfection.
Goosebumps form on his skin, though his calm facade didnât betray him. The couch dipped beneath your weight as you rose onto the cushions, leaning over him, camera angled down the length of his body.
His eyes slowly drift over your shapeâstationing themselves where your v neck sweater dipped and exposed the swell of your breasts. He smiles. Serpentine. Calculatingâprobing.
âI touched myself.â He starts with, casual. You hum lightly. Discussions of intimacy never shook you as an artist. It came up in conversations over cups of coffeeâintensely indulgent details and photographic evidence of exhibitionistic escapades shared between friends and strangers when permitted.
âI thought of you.â His eyes peer into the camera as if the lens did nothing to obscure your eyes from him. Stilling, your finger pauses mid pressâthe sound of the incoming shutter growing dull. Your hands slowly pull your camera from your face as you stare at Heeseung.
He observes you, quietly sweet in a way that didnât seem pressingâthe kind of polite look youâd see from boys at church, a next door neighbor, or a mutual youâd run into at the grocery store.
It suddenly clicked. Heeseung played his part wellâand it would take time to see him unravel. You were used to getting what you wanted nowadays, never expecting to have to work for it. And you certainly hadnât planned on the golden boy carrying much depth beyond his deviant sex life. So youâll let him play sweet even if you could sense his acrid nature.
You hum neutrally, feigning interest. âWhat did you imagine?â
Whatever got the heat out of him. Youâd crack him open if need be.
His eyes scan your face, tracing the lines of your lips as they form words.
And he lies.
âI thought of you suffocating me.â You huff a breath. A half laughâinterrupted by your focus on the world you were trying to encapsulate through your lens, distracted. ââyeah? Did I kill you?â
Heeseung still doesnât blink. âNoâbut I think I wanted you to.â He slipped the truth in slowly, darkening the energy of the room like ink in water.
âYou like getting off to murder or something?â You quirk a brow, intrigued. You had no horse high enough to look down on him. Not when it came to the nature of desire.
âNo, but Iâd kill for the things I want.â He confesses.
âAnd how would that apply to me strangling you?â Without a beat. The air around you falls stillâhot like magma. Like every time you spoke, ash found its way to clutter and stick to your mouth like cotton candy. It didnât quite fitâtones that belonged in conversations about the weather found themselves weaved into Heeseungâs sudden confession of morbid desire. All the more, it was pointed at you.
âIâd also die for the things I want.â
Your finger flicks against the shutter. There. In that moment alone, you were able to get the shot you wanted. An unaffected smile breathes through your face before you ask with half a mind. âThatâs all that did it for you? My hands around your neck?â The tension brewed. A sudden dawning and self reminder that you were the subject of his fantasyâ began weighing on you.
âIt wasnât your hands that I imagined suffocating me.â
The air thickened impossibly, couch cushions creaking as you adjust your weight.
âThen what didââ
Before the question could fully leave your mouth, Heeseung clasps a hand behind the back of your left knee and pulls down. You tumble, a sharp gasp leaving your lips once you go off kilter. Youâre only halfway down when he tugs again. Harder. Then slides the palms of his hands under your shirt until they rested above your womb.
Wide eyes blink up at you. Curiousâalmost innocent, though you knew better.
He shifts lower, settling into his fantasyâchin pressed to the soft curve of your inner thigh, head angled beneath you as you straddle his neck. His breath heats the fabric of your jeans, each exhale licking at the seam.
âYou strangled me. Just like this.â
Click.
Your finger moves on instinctârecognizing the vision youâre chasing. His soft brown hair rustles, fanning on top of the maroon fabric of the couch like silk. A strand prods his left eye.
So much for salvaging his reputation. If every session unraveled like this, you wouldnât erase his scandalâyouâd only make it look tame compared to the collection you were about to curate.
And if Heeseung is only honest in bed, you wouldnât oppose to sleeping with him. Youâve done worse in the haze of chasing photographic perfection: hanging off cliffs without proper gear just to catch the right angle back when you were still an intern. You were let go shortly afterâbut the shot you took drew enough recognition for Sunghoon to find you. (The company, meanwhile, wrote you off as too much of a liability.) Youâve snuck onto government property because you swore youâd glimpsed a rare bird, and vanished without a word to trek through a Mongolian winter after a dream you couldnât shake.
Heeseung waited patiently. If anyone else peered inside of the small studio, they may have mistaken his gait as obedienceâlike Heeseung wasnât the one who tied your thighs around his neck. But he was.
Thatâs the kick.
Your body shivers lightly when his thumb massages small circles onto your stomach.
âWhat else did I do to you?â Your eyes meet his, unwavering. Voice lowâConfident. Controlled.
His only response is his hands trailing down your stomach, unbuttoning your jeans slowly, before pulling down the zipper with his teeth.
Click.
He doesnât break your gaze as he grips on the sides of your jeans, tugging them down with a patient pace until they hit the barrier of his throat. He touched you with a certain feigned reverenceâa lightness to his hands like a predator trying to fit into the mold of something small. Soft. Careful. Slowâcautionary.
The softness of his lips drag up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, warm breath brushing the fabric of your cotton underwear.
And then his head tilts up, finally whispering a reply:
âI can show you.â
Despite the calculation written on your face, your hands tremble slightly. Nonetheless, you point the viewfinder to his lipsâobscuring his eyes, his gazeâcentering it on the damp trace of saliva on his lips, its textures detailed under the clarity of film.
He flattens his tongue on the cloth, sliding upwards to catch the fabric of your underwear between his teethâpulling to his left before kissing the soft puffiness of your cunt.
âThere you are.â He whispers, deceivingly reverent. Sweet.
And then his eyes steel. Gazing at you from his lashes, calculatedâobserving. Your back arches, hips pushing towards his mouth when he slides the muscle between your folds slowly and sucks. His grip on your hips tighten before he pushes you to sit completely on his face, weight pressing against his mouth, jaw working.
He circles around your entrance and pushes in with a groan. Dipping, tasting. Pulling out, flicking lightly.
Heated kisses press against your flushed fleshâopen mouthed and hungry. You see red and think that the color suits Heeseung. A little too well but true to character.
A filmy heat glazes over his expression, eyes rolling back at the taste of you on his tongue.
He canât breathe.
He doesnât want to.
And though you know you should probably get offâyou donât. Not before taking a photo of his eyes, hot and heavy as they fight to stay open and not roll back to watch your expression. Your thighs border the photoâslick apparent on his cheekbones from the rolling of your hips.
Click, click, clickâ
Heeseung gasps when you slide off of him before you could orgasm. His eyebrows furrow and arms reach to wrap around your waist in defiance.
He looks a mess. A sheen of white, almost translucent liquid drips lightly from the corner of his mouth, and smears itself around his jaw. âW-waitââ
Click.
Even his desperation is beautiful.
âMy beautiful museâbehave. Stay still.â Your voice is soft, but edged with command. Heeseung doesnât loosen his grip, yet his body remains frozen, his gaze locked exactly where it was the instant you spoke.
He wonât speak unless you tell him to.
Shutter sounds fill the room and he fights the urge to move and taste the remnants of you off his lipsâletting you move his limbs to your liking, like a doll.
And this particular instance began the long, winding road you and Heeseung would walk in the years to comeâa single moment that quietly laid the foundation for something far darker than either of you had originally intended.
â
Even after you published the first few photos youâd taken of Heeseung in an exhibition titled, Adonis in fragments, the spectacle of a bodyâ there was no unwriting the workforce duo youâd become. From then on, Heeseung would take no offers, would refuse to be photographed by anyone else. Refused to allow anyone else take his place and title as your muse.
By photographing him, Heeseung was rebornâhis scandal no longer weighed him. It amplified his image.
Just as youâd expected, the photographs youâd taken of Heeseung during that era overshadowed the initial leak. Made it look like light work. A fine work of enthralling exhibitionism, of Heeseungâs immorality taken in splices and vignettes.
You had made art of his anatomy, his submission, and his seemingly endless appetite for hedonism and excess. Heeseung wasnât merely goldenâhe was a sex symbol, an infamous libertine whose body was both idolized and consumed: laminated on storefronts, archived in hidden digital albums, desired and acknowledged from every corner of the world.
And Heeseung was yours. Not in the traditional way. Somewhere between quiet boundariesâa sort of purgatory between the metaphorical state lines of lovers, yet not quite friends. Closer to being strangers despite the years that stitched the two of you together.
To you, he was a dollâprogrammed to drop to his knees at the slightest beckon. Heâd abandon tasks midstream just to answer your call on the first ring, to appear at your side the instant a vague idea crossed your mind.
It was cold, cutâdirect. Unfair, probably.
The gala was an opulent masqueradeâhigh society draped in rare textiles, jewels that scattered light like kaleidoscopes when strands of light flickered against pearlescent surfaces. You sat at the edge of the room, eyes wandering around, mildly interested in the theatrics of the rich, famous, and pretentious.
Wine, champagne, and caviar whisks by on silver platters held by handsome waitersâplastic laughter reverberating off the hollow edges of the grandiose, Parisian venue.
Ignoring fire safety, you slip a hand into the brown leather purse at your side and draw out a bronzed cigarette case. Beside you, Heeseung sits motionless, waiting for the rare moments you choose to acknowledge him. A pale hand reaches forward, zippo lighter flicking open to slowly burn at the end of your cigarette. Music plays faintly in the background, a dull lull and orchestration.
Heeseung pulls his arm away, smoothly tucking away the metallic canister.
Inhaling, you finally break your casual silenceâeyes still trained on the scenes playing before you.
âMy adonisâhave you been well?â
His tone is saccharine, but edged with something mildly frustrated. Dampened, despite his politeness. âNo. I havenât heard a single word from you in the last month. Surprised to hear that Iâm still your adonis.â
âWhether or not youâre an Adonisâyouâll always be mine.â You smile at his boyishness.
His suit rustledâcharmingly wrinkled, carelessly thrown on. Heeseung unfastened the cuffs of his white shirt and rolled the fabric slowly up his forearms. You feel his eyes on you, probing and dark.
You jolt when a cold hand slips up slowlyâas if memorizing the texture of your skinâfrom your elbow to lace around your fingers, tugging them toward his mouth. His lips close deliberately over the spot where your lipstick stains the soft filter. His lashes flicker in the emberâs glow, shadows dancing as smoke curls between you, thickening the air and marking you both with the same scent.
Heeseung liked smelling like you by the end of the nightâthe familiar and intoxicating air of your perfume and expensive tobacco.
âI didnât mean to abandon my puppy.â You smile at him, watching him close his eyes once your palm cusps his cheekâdigesting the feeling of your occasional softness.
ââŚWhatâs kept you occupied?â He had a gut feeling. And it sickened him.
You knew he wouldnât take it well, but you didnât hesitate to rip the bandage off. âI met a boy in Busanâthe son of a fishermanâs family. He caught my eye.â
You take another drag, turning away with furrowed browsâvacant. The air around you seemed to freeze, sharp and crackling like ice.
Heeseungâs eyes visibly darken. âAnd do you treat him the same?â
You sigh, exasperated. âWhat do you mean by that, Heeseung?â
He doesnât answer right away, jaw ticking with all the right words lodging themselves in his throatâstiff. Anxious.
You rarely called him by his name. That means heâs annoying you. And Heeseung hated annoying you.
Because that meant he was even more liable to lose you. But he couldnât shake off the anxiety, the disturbanceâthe darkness thatâs long been rooted and festering inside of him like an infection.
His palms dampen with sweat, dragging them against the fabric of his pants before gripping his knees. The silence is thickâbarbed with something too fleshed out for Heeseung. He couldnât do this out in public. The words. The violence he carried towards you. The hefty weight heâs always carriedâthat he kept under deadbolts, lock and key.
âDoes he do everything you want?â The question slips out low, bitter.
âDoes he sleep beside you? Has he tasted you? Has he been inside youâthe way I have, for as long as Iâve known you?â His voice breaks uncharacteristically, a sudden fragility that stuns even you. Gone was the poster boy and beside you, sat a man horribly in love.
You snuff out the cigarette, digging the edge until it bent on the exterior of your bronzed case. âHeâs a boy.â You hiss, body turning towards himâoffended, continuing.
âI donât do thisââyou gesture between you two. âThis isnât the usual process of my work, Hee. And even I have enough morality to not even dream of looking at a fifteen-year-old boy like thatâare you insane?â The words stretch out, pushing through gritted teeth.
âWhatever his ageâis he more beautiful than I am?â His eyes are wide and anxious, steadily breaking open at the seams. You rise to tug him off his seatâleading the way to an empty balcony that hung above the garden. The night air bites you as you try to find a middle groundâsoftness enough to placate him, needle-sharp defense for your own sakeâwhile shadows of branches bleed across his form, the looming willow tree obscuring his expression.
âHeeseung, youâre the crowned Adonisâeyes follow you wherever you go. You can have anything you want at the palm of your hand if you so much asked for itââ
âDamn the rest of the world. Do you think Iâm the most beautiful? I want you â I want you so much it aches.â It almost sounds like a plea: for help, for relief, for answers â for you.
âIt keeps me awake at night. I havenât slept, I barely eat, and even in dreams you haunt me. But I canât have youânot the way you have me. I donât have a hold on you.â
His eyes hollow with anguish, beauty breaking open as desires he buried for ages finally surge to the surface.
It was cyclicalâhis tendency to unravel the moment your gaze shifted to anyone else. But this was the most outwardly turbulent he had ever become. His desperation always hit at a small soft spot on you no one else knew about. And it resulted in a lack of taking on any other projects with the exemption of his.
Heeseung only ever cried during sexâsometimes as reprieve, other times overstimulation. But never out in the real world. Never beyond that closed door he adored locking you both inside.
To this day, you still donât know what you feel for him.
It was a delicate dance between almost being in loveâbut you didnât know if it was with him or the power you had over him.
But then moments like this were a sharp reminder of how much power he had over your life. Itâs one of the many things Heeseungâs good atâfooling someone into thinking they had all of the power, only for them to realize this was the exact position he planned to be.
âHeeseungââ you step towards him, holding his face in your hands. ââŚWhat can I do? We canât keep doing this. You are my greatest museâbut I canât ignore the outside world either. So what can I do for you?â
He doesnât blink, gaze fading into something unreadable as he stares down at youâless soft, less vulnerable. He pulls you closer by the slim of your waist, fingers splaying where the curve of your spine dipped.
âLet me have you.â
âWhat does that mean?â He tilts down to look at you, swallowing and contemplating what words should leave him. But you couldnât read him. And whenever that happenedâŚyou were scared of him. Of something that lingered under the surface you tried to shove away from you so that it was far away enough to not acknowledge.
It reminded you of the first time youâd fallen for Heeseungâs seductionâhow he sank slowly to his knees, sharp gaze fixed on you, unblinking, as if he refused to miss even the slightest flicker of emotion across your face.
Kneeling, he buries his face against your stomach, inhaling deeply as his arms tighten around you.
âYou have me. Entirely. Whenever you call, Iâll be there. Iâll bend into whatever shape you want me to takeâstrip myself nude and make a spectacle of myself for you and your art.â He breathes out a promise. Silken and velvet voice, maroon and reddened at its edges. âIâm a fool for you. Powerless. Pathetic. But what are you willing to do for me? Or am I nothing to you? Even when I hold you close enough to be an extension of your heartbeat, I feel lonely.â
Itâs a somber confession. One that left his lips. One that he wouldnât changeâa certain resignation that even if it continued down that path, he wouldnât leave. He couldnât.
At last, he lifts his head from your stomach to look up at you. You meet his gaze with calm composure, weighing his words, before gently tugging him to his feet.
He doesnât question youâdoesnât ask where youâre taking him to, and only watches. Still, as always, resting his eyes on you like he made a promise to God to never look away.
The room is dim, curtains half-drawn, the air stale with old perfume and cigarettes. Youâve barely stepped inside before his body betrays him, tightening in anticipationâlike heâd been waiting for you in the dark all along.
Like muscle memory, he moves to sink onto his knees again before you stop him with a hand on his waist. He stills, tracking your movements as you kneel in front of himâeying him like youâd allow him to do anything he wanted to you. And he feels like his heartâs gonna fall out from his throat. In all the years heâs known youânot once have you given up that cool and composed control.
Youâre differentâsubdued, quiet, almost willing. Shy, as if offering him a rare glimpse of sweetness he was never meant to see. And when you finally speakâlight, submissive, gentleâhe draws in a sharp breath.
âDo what you want.â
The crackle tears through the air, the shift so brutal it snaps you back with whiplash. He looms over you, body caging yours as his hand clamps hard around your throat, jerking you upward with no mercy. The force slams you into a kissâviolent, starved, and depraved. A tumultuous hunger pouring out from where his hands touch you.
You gasp, his tongue sliding in like venomâthe kind that numbs prey before itâs devoured. A cruel mercy, born of instinctâs brutality.
âAnd what if I want something horrible?â His chest heaves, searching for breath.
You donât have an answer to that.
And so he unravels.
â
You shouldnât be surprised. Not when Heeseungâs had a metaphoric collar around his neck for years under you. Your chest heaves, nails clawing at Heeseungâs damp backâflexing against the curved muscle of his shoulder blades, too prideful to tell him to stop.
Your body jolts under the force of his hips pounding into you, arching into his mouthâsweat ridden body reddened and sticky from post orgasm sensitivity.
âH-Heeseung, slow down.â You grit out finally, but he doesnât register it. The sheets are soaked and clinging onto your skin, breathing out sharply when he presses your thighs against your chest.
âSo good. You feel so good.â He whispers this again and again, humming it into your hair like a mantra. Licking over your pulse lineâyour body a live wire.
Your bodyâs memorized him: the rhythmic stretching, the pushing and pulling of your bodies against each other. The taste of his release still lays heavy on your tongueâsweet and tart, slowly being masked by the salty dampness you lick from his body.
Another orgasm.
Youâve lost count.
But Heeseungâs gone blind, lost himself to a space where he only registers the feeling of your heat and breath. And he canât stop. Even if you beg him to.
Your eyes roll to the back of your head, legs shaking and pushing against his chest
He trails his lips over your collarbone before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, deep enough to leave purple indentations
âYouâre mine.â He whines into your ear, rolling his hips and stuffing you to the hilt. The sensation of him throbbing inside of you is vividâvulgar. Every inch of him, each vein, and curve dizzied you.
The meat of your thighs ricochet once he picks up the pace again, wetness tacking your skin together, and your moans muted as his fingers crawl into your mouth. You lather your tongue against the cold skin, sucking lightlyâdazed.
His mouth wraps around your breast, pulling the skin in and tugging with his teeth. A small yelp leaves you and he grins at the sound. He pushes to fold your body even further,
The headboard slams rhythmically against the wall, bed going slightly off kilter once Heeseung digs your face into the mattress with a hand around your throat.
You were the only one whoâs seen him. Really seen him.
And youâre his.
âSay it. Say that youâre mine.â
Your eyes glaze over, face red as you claw at his forearms, deliciously overwhelmedâand push the words from your gaping mouth.
âIâm yours. Iâm yours, Hee.â
You look helpless. Small. Powerless
He refuses to close his eyes when he cums inside of you, plugging himself in with his temple against yours, and commits it to memory. He folds himself over you, lowering his frame until his head rests in the nook of your neck with heaving breaths.
He repeats back to you. âIâm yours, Iâm yours.â
â
Heeseungâs gone AWOL. No text, no callâno notice.
Itâs been five days and on any other occasion, you wouldnt have thought hard about it.
You stare blankly at the headlines stretching across your television screen and tighten the grip on your phone. The empty ring thrums in your ears, your heartbeat loud enough to drown it out. The lights flicker, catching your reflectionâa gaunt face, pale and withered, fear pressed down but leaking through all the same.
âFifteen-year-old boy found dead in the water. Cause of death remains undetermined, though the body shows clear signs of strangulationââ
Sunghoonâs messages lays staleâcold and open on your Lock Screen.
âDonât read the news and keep the TV off. Call me when you wake up.â
You knew the moment his message appearedâyou werenât going to listen. Still, Sunghoon tried. Your hand trembles, hovering over the call button beneath the contact: Adonis.
You donât press it.
Youâre not ready to know.
â
Heeseung doesnât announce his arrival, only slips his slim fingers under the small bamboo plant next to your front door before grabbing your extra house key.
He kicks off his shoes with a haphazard tug, exhaling as he works the laces free. The lights are off, and a half-finished cup of coffee sits abandoned on the tableâroom washed in the soft melancholy of blue hour. Itâs deceivingly quiet, even though he feels the tension radiating from your bedroom.
You stay silent as he strips off his clothes, slips beneath your blankets, and presses his cold body against your warmthâadoration and parasitic yearning seeping into your space like smoke.
A cold kiss softens over the skin where he bit your shoulder the other night. The clock on your nightstand ticks softly as he hums a nameless song low into your ear, rubbing slow circles on your hip bone.
He knows youâre not sleeping. But Heeseung waits for you to speak, just as heâs always done.
âDid you do it?â The words fall empty, blank shells clattering on the uncharted emotional space between you.
His humming stops, eyes fixated onto the back of your head. âDo you really want to know the answer?âHis voice is sweet, calm, and casual. Light in the ways that felt like he knew you didnât want to actually acknowledge his crimes. The bedsheets twist around your legs like snakesâlike a pit you couldnât crawl your way out of and you canât will yourself to move.
You couldnât runaway from the truth anymore.
You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling a shuddered breath. âWhy?â
âHard to say, really. Equally as hard to stop myself from doing itâso here we are.â He sounds tiredâflippant. Alarmingly dry like there was nothing else to say about itâlike there wasnât a body of fifteen year old boy littered between you two, lying still as graves.
âHe was fifteen.â You say it out loudâthe tragedy of fleeting beauty fighting to overtake your need to put on a strong front.
âAnd youâre mine.â Is all he says.
You canât bring yourself to tug his arms off
and the only reprieve comes in the momentary hollowness of sleep.
â
That night, you dream of a beautiful boy drifting on dark blue water, his finger pointed at you, lips moving in silence. In the distance, a boat horn echoes as the sweep of a lighthouse beam cuts across his silhouette.
You jolt awake the moment you register the word that fell from his lips like a mantra: Murderer.
â
Heeseung makes love to you again and again: an amalgamation of dizzying heat, bodily fluids, and wordless escapades. You canât speak to him, but your hands still clutch him with a vice grip. Your camera sits alone on the dining room tableârotting under the humid heat permeating the stale apartment air.
The outside world blurs out from your viewfinder, not having left your apartment in days. He clings to you in the shower, washes himself off and out of you, just to douse you with him all over again.
On the days you want to bathe alone, he sits outside of the door. Waiting patientlyâsilently.
Like clockwork, you eventually open the door without fail, scooting towards the faucet so he can curl around you. Heeseung doesnât like leaving you aloneâdoesnât like the sensation of your skin not sticking to his like Velcro.
He leaves more marks nowâuntil your body is no longer your own, every bruise a claim, every ache a reminder that you belong to him.
The sound of water softly pouring from the edges of your bathtub at your combined weight echoes. The silence is numbing and achingly intimate as Heeseung cups water into the palm of his hands and strokes away soap suds from your right arm.
You finally break the silenceâyour first words to him since his confession, not the unwilling sounds he dragged out of you when his hands slipped inside.
âHeeseung.â
He loves your voice but doesnât want to hear it. So he does what heâs been doing the last few daysâdistracting you with hands that know your body well enough to navigate it blind.
You shiver once his arms slips around your waist from behind before reaching upward to cup your breast into his wide palms.
âWe canât keep doing this.â You plead tiredly. Gone are the hours youâve tried to bury his crime under the bliss of his body hovering over yours.
He hums. âKeep doing what?â His chin slots into the space above your collarbone and hugs you a little tighter. ââthis?â
You push at his wrists, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. âStop it.â
He flinches a bit at your frigid tone and leans to curl into your body, as if trying to soften the incoming blows of your anger. âPlease donât be mad.â
âDonât give me that. You killed someone.â You exasperate, mouth hanging openâaghast.
âBecause you looked elsewhere.â He groans before grabbing your hips and shifting you around to face him. He cups your face, leaning to press his nose against yours, breath fanning against the small hairs on your cheek. âDonât you get it?â
You donât.
Possession? Yes. Obsession, even. But this? This isâŚhorrible. Is this what youâd unknowingly asked for when you asked for Heeseungâs truth the day you met him?
âThat doesnât excuse anything.â You hear the weakness in your voice and hate yourself for it. Hate yourself for the soft spot you let him dig into you without even knowing it.
âIâm not trying to excuse anything. Itâs just the way it is.â He hums softly, neck dipping so his doe eyes can search yours. âIâll be good. But will you help me be good?â Tilting his head with a smile, he presses against your left cheek.
âHow?â Your gaze drifts up to meet his, and Heeseung bites back a groanâgoosebumps rising as he fights the shiver threatening to course through him.
You looked so sweet. So confused.
âBy rewarding me.â Is all he replies before laying a chaste kiss on your lips. Your back straightens when his hand rolls down and cups around your warmth.
âLet me know when Iâm being good. Show me when Iâm being good.â He massages over your cunt, progressively applying pressure the more your body begins to respond. His other hand grabs yours before guiding your fingers to station themselves right by your entrance. âLike this.â
Your face flushes, a fever blooming in your body. The faint remnants of Heeseungâs cologne warms the room, in combination with the lukewarm bathwater, was the achingly perfect recipe for deviating the conversation.
âand your body always listens to Heeseung.
He almost laughs when you slip your fingers inside yourself, stroking around the reddened fleshâbut the sound stutters in his throat when your other hand closes over his, guiding it to the thickest part of his cock.
ââah!â He flinches and unconsciously fucks into your hand, hips stuttering at the tightness of your grip.
âSuch a pretty body shouldnât be left untouched, Adonis. Not in here.â You look at him through half-lidded eyes, frustration simmering beneath your gazeâanother attempt to dodge the conversation.
The water ripples around your rhythmic movements, Heeseungâs fingers replacing yours once your hand moves to focus on stroking him. He throbs in your hand: sensitive and hungry, as he watches your right hand roll over his cock.
Heeseung let out a low groan, his hips bucking slightly as you began to move your hand up and down, mimicking the rhythm of his own strokes on you. The water sloshed gently around you, itâs swaying spilling over the edges of the tub.
The sound of your breathing filled the room, mingling with the soft, wet sounds of your hands moving against each other.
âYouâre the most beautiful woman in the world.â He leans closer to drag his lips down your neckline, tugging the skin lightly with his teethâveins pushing against his forearm at the force heâs using against you. âYou own me.â
You unconsciously tighten around him at his words, arching your back and pushing your hips towards his handsâtugging his cock with more urgency.
âIâd kill for you. I haveâand Iâd do it again. Whatever it takes to keep whatâs mine.â
Itâs filthy. The whisperingâthe psychology of it all. But Heeseung was a person fueled by want. Always by want.
So were you.
And thus, the orgasm that followed after a cacophony of groans and whimpers, accompanied by quaking bodies and weak musclesâshouldnât have been much of a surprise. Not when Heeseungâs palm flattened and pressed against your clit deliberately. Not when his fingers stretched you a devious amount by the third finger, and surely not when he looked that good when orgasming onto his own stomach.
Maybe disconnecting from the world made you feelâŚdifferently.
Less urgent about the monstrosity of it all.
Youâll get him next time.
Hopefully.
â
Heeseung hums and strips himself under the warm yellow-bellied lights. âItâs be a while, hasnât it?â
He haphazardly plops his white cropped Heineken T-shirt next to a stray tripod, before settling onto the rough motel carpet with nothing else on but his blue jeans.
The vacancy sign outside buzzes and echoes through the otherwise empty parking lot. Thick wooded areas, damp from midnight fog dredges the hour in true New Americana fashion.
It was an impulse decision: buying a one way ticket overseas and dragging Heeseung along. You werenât running awayâyou were buying time.
Time to think.
Time to navigate Heeseungâs crime and your wretched soft spot.
You wouldnât call yourself a morally upright person. Not definitely. There were definitely a couple (or a lot) of screws loose and rattling in your brain. The only thing youâd ever fixated on and found sanctuary in was photography.
And even now, dead in the middle of something far larger and atrocious than your creative obsessionsâall you want is to press the shutter.
Heeseung lights a Newport 100, having already taken note of the faulty smoke sensor. He looks tired, even as a fox-like grin stretches the skin of his features. Lean muscles and a veiny abdomen shine under the throbbing heat of your photo light set up, stomach caving in as he takes a hefty drag.
You drop the bomb casually.
âWhen we get back, IâŚhave to photograph other people. I pushed it off for too long and Iâm on contract. For the love of God, please donât kill anyone.â
His eyes flick over to you quietly, observing. âWho is it?â
âSim Jaeyun,â you begin. âHe was one of the first nude models I worked with as a student. I had an ongoing project with him and Park Jongseongâuntil I met you. Then⌠well, the rest is history.â
You mumble the words, fumbling with the aperture as the squint in your eye deepens once it aligns with the viewfinder. While you focus the lens on the honeyed embers of his cigarette, Heeseungâs eyes still fall on you. He mumbles the name, rolling it around his tongue indecisively. A faint smile traces his lips
âI make no promises.â
You couldnât help it.
Click.
â
Sim Jaeyun was found gutted in his penthouse bathtub two weeks after your return. Young. Beautiful. Still as timeâa god gone too soon.
A lone Polaroid floated on the now frigid water, taken from an opening in his bathroom doorâunaware of another presence in his home.
Heeseung didnât bother to wiping his body upon letting himself into your apartment, pulling off his zip-up to reveal bloodied handprints on his forearms.
You pause mid chew, the tip of your pen creaking under the weight of your incisors.
âYou fucking didnât.â You deadpan, glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose, eyebrows furrowing in exhaustion.
But then your eyes catch on his blood-matted hair and the hollowness of his eyesâand you move towards your camera without thinking.
Click.
â
You think taste Jaeyunâs blood in your mouth when Heeseung kisses you. The metallic aftertaste never seems to wash away.
â
Jongseong goes missing, but you already know heâs gone for good.
It wonât be long before they trace it all back to youâto Heeseung.
Heâs been more quiet lately. Contemplativeâattached. The apartmentâs become a dark abyss, an expansive void the two of you would drift to and from one another.
You donât know how to explain it: how to explain that Heeseungâs obsession only softened youâonly made your own obsessions feel seen by someone who finally understood what it meant to do anything for the things you wanted.
So you wait, cradling Heeseungâs head to your chest and only then does his body finally relax. Your camera sits alert on your nightstand.
Youâve never told him you loved him.
You almost do.
â
The cameraâs rolling when Heeseung takes his seat on the stool, a lit cigarette burning low between his fingers. Smoke curls up, soft against the stark black backdrop that swallows him whole. Youâd used a different one todayâan old favorite from before you could afford the luxury of something better.
His eyes rest on you, waiting.
The grip on his hands tightenâhe wants to hold you. Standing away from you made him anxious.
âAdonis. NoâHeeseung. Why did you do it?â Your voice echoes off the walls of your apartment, furniture mixed around the expanse of the roomâcollaged and pushed away from their original place to make room for your impromptu set up.
He straightens his shoulders after a long drag.
âHard to say. I donât like the world around you.â He confesses. Even now, the lilt in his voice is melodicâcharming. Charismatic.
âHave you ever murdered someone before?â Your eyes train on to him. He recognizes that lookâthe one you get whenever you found a vision to chase.
âNot a person. Before I made it big, my pops used to beat me. There was no one else in the house except for me, him, and a dog.â He begins. You take a sharp breath.
This.
This is what youâve waited years to see on camera.
Heeseung unfiltered.
You wait for him to continue. He nods lightly, as if agreeing with himself that the memoryâs allowed to leave him.
âI skipped school one day. A couple of friends wanted to go to the arcade and⌠I followed them. He found out and said he was gonna kill my dog as punishment when he got home.â His eyes grow dark as he twists in his seat, voice bordering on mechanical. âI knew his violence more than anyone. So I killed the dog myself. Quickly.â
Your palms sweat, heart banging in your chest like ricocheting metal. Heeseung.
ââI was a kid. If he found out that Iâd let the dog out, he wouldâve beaten me bad. So I did it and I donât know if I regret it.â He simplifies and exhales, smoke waftingâembers almost hitting the filter. âI havenât seen pops in over a decade. Once I was scouted, my face and body became my saving grace. It put food on the table in ways he never supplied, and he stopped bothering me. Never asked if or when I was coming home.â
Heeseungâs voice is metallicâlike blood. Like iron. He tells the story like itâs a mundane thing.
But when he feels your stare, he softensâmelts in front of the camera like heâd always been something fragile.
Maybe he was.
âI just wish I killed him and not the one thing that was mine. The one thing I wanted and got to have.â He admits after a moment. Contemplating and accepting whatever clicked into place within him. âI donât need to read into why I did what I did. Itâs already done. But we both know this, right?â
You stop the camera from rolling, but take one final shot of Heeseung. Simple, unmasked, and dark.
The night is spent developing and handpicking a series of photos from the last five years. Scrawled onto a small slip of paper are the words: The Genesis of Adonis: A tale born from blood. To the side, you lay out a singular dated cassette tape.
Before bed, Heeseung quietly takes your cameraâeying the minuscule scrapes dancing around its bodice. A shutter blooms in the air as he takes photos of you brushing your hair in front of your old vanity, and another one of you under himâlaughing at something he couldnât quite pin down anymore.
And you make love for one final night,
bodies sweating away the morning you felt coming.
â
Sometime, just before dawnâwhen the sky is still indigo.
âI wish we were born in the same body.â
The two of you face each other, skin cold and bare, curling on top of the muted sheets. You play with the tips of Heeseungâs fingers as he brushes away damp strands of hair from your temple. Lips quirking, you close your eyes and respond tiredly.
âWeâd be one fucked up person. Maybe itâs best that weâre split in two.â
He laughs quietly, eyes curling into half moons. âSo be it.â He stares at you for a couple of moments, digesting the softness of the pads of your fingers. âYouâre the only one I think understands. Itâs not rational. None of this is. It never was.â
He takes your hand, lifting it to his lips. One by one, he kisses the tips of your fingers, then turns your palm over and presses his mouth to its center.
âHeeseung, I love you.â The words feel heavy, weighing the day with a late confession. It almost feels too late. It probably is.
He doesnât reply,
And only breaks into the palm of your handâshaking and crying into the quiet of the room.
He holds you close.
You know without a doubt he loves you too.
â
The mirror stares back at you defiantly. Elegant, poised, deceivingly acceptant and unshaken. Your favorite perfume permeates the air, earrings dancing as your neck turns to gaze at Heeseung dabbing your perfume onto his wrist. You donned your best dress, all red velvet and beaded glamour. Heeseung wears the suit he told you he planned to wear to the apocalypse if it ever happened. Ironed, sharp, still devilishly handsome as ever.
He shivers when you pad over and press a kiss to his pulse, eyes filled with an emotion neither of you have words to explain. Fear. Want. Regret that felt pointless to feel with the blunt knowledge that whatâs done is done.
And he kisses you like he already misses you. Like heâd crawl out of the ground as a dead man just to be able to stand next to you like this for another day.
Itâs electric, full of life sentences and damnationâa willing fall from grace that Heeseungâs always wanted but never quite like the way itâs come. He licks at your tongue and pushes you closer by the nape of your neckâturning his head to take you in deeper.
The dayâs here. Neither of you know how you know. You just do.
When the banging on your door comes, you donât answer. You sit curled onto his lap, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, as you brush his hair to soothe him. You donât register the wordsâthe yelling, the warnings.
Heeseung squeezes his eyes shut and tightens his grip around your waist, trying to memorize the texture of your skin and how your muscles felt whenever you moved. His lips move through a mantra and you finally hear the words: Iâm yours, Iâm yours.
The world stills when you cup his face, lifting it until heâs forced to meet your eyes. You know what happens to beautiful things in captivityâthey either rot on their own or are deliberately ruined. And somehow, he knows what youâre saying.
What youâre planning.
What youâre accepting.
None of this was planned. This sort of oncoming tragedy couldâve easily been avoided, but youâre at the point of no return. He nods shakily, eyes watering as if to sayâIâm going with you.
The door slams open, splintering against the wallâan explosion of sound swallowed by the sharp click of safeties disengaging. Guns rise, black barrels catching the light as they fix on you both. You turn anyway, slow and deliberate, defying the command that still hangs in the air, purposefully. You donât intend on walking out of this room alive.
Maybe this is as close to repentance as youâd get.
You look at Heeseung one last time, mouthing his mantra back to himâa quiet echo meant only for him. Then you lean in, pressing your mouth to his, warm and unhurried, as if the world might grant you both another minute. Heeseung sighs into the kiss, his arm sliding around your waist to pull you closer, holding you there like he could stop whatâs coming. His other hand drifts toward his empty pocketâslow, deliberate, almost tender in its finality. A death sentence.
The last thing you feel is the shared grin curling across both your facesâthen the metal tears through you, through him, until the monstrous ache of wanting fades with you both.
â
The burnt rubber of tires skidding onto the apartment lot squeal as both Jungwon and Sunghoon arrive at the scene. Sunghoonâs handsome face is distorted under the sudden calamityâhair tousled and worn from his own hands tugging. Jungwonâs ties is loosened, eyes bloodshot as he raises his hands to cradle his head.
Neither you nor Heeseung had relatives to call to properly âidentifyâ or notify of your bodies. The pair both fight the urge to vomit at the sight of two bodies intermingled on your bedroom floor, covered in stark white sheets.
Jungwon curses, choking through his words. âWhat the fuck happened?â Tears fall without his permission, and he smudges away the moisture gruffly.
Sunghoon stands stillâfrozen at the epicenter, not allowed to come too close. He shuts his eyes at the faint slip of your dress bleeding out from under the sheet. You were wearing your favorite dress.
He turns away from the scene, moving into the hallway until he greets a familiar room: your photo studioâyour beloved dark room.
On instinct, he slowly turns the knobâclicking open the door and unconsciously waits to hear your voice hiss at him for letting the light in and ruining the photo developing process. He shakily exhales at the photos that greeted him.
Heeseung, with blood clotted in his hair and drying across his handsâan image both intimate and horrific. Others are quieter but no less haunting: Heeseung staring straight into the camera, an unfamiliar expression caught between revelation and ruin.
He find the cassette tape and the words you scrawled onto paper. The Genesis of Adonis: A tale born from blood.
âŚyou made this your last project.
He almost scoffs, even in the middle of his struggle to keep upright.
And then three othersâphotos he knew you didnât lay there at the endâwere of you: grinning like a girl in love, beautiful and unraveling in front of your old vanity the way you always did at the end of the night.
Heeseung took these.
Sunghoon stood there, caught in the aftermath of something that defied explanation.
He couldnât understand you.
He couldnât understand Heeseung.
He supposes, maybe you only ever understood each other.
So he lingers for a few measured breaths before turning away, closing the door behind himâslowly, deliberatelyâsealing something sacred and unspeakable inside.
fin.
â
sirenâs note:
aaaaand thatâs a wrap! I wanted to write a story that played on the irrationality of some connectionsâlike itâs intense in ways that can never really be communicated to other parties. itâs impulsive, life alteringâelectric. and sometimes, fatal.
Heeseungâs character is super layered. But I also didnât want to necessarily justify his murders⌠yes, heâs traumatized but heâs not saying he murdered everyone because he has a backstory. He did it willinglyâimpulsively. And was willing to do it again.
Sometimes itâs that simple. Sometimes itâs instinct.
if it feels a little rushed, Iâm sorry! life has been super hectic and iâve been wanting to post this so this is what I have.
nonetheless, I hope whoever reads this enjoyed it! I might end up writing some little blips for this pair, especially since I didnât write as much erotica for them as planned with my scheduleâŚ. But weâll see.
SUMMARY: Sunghoon was an up-and-coming figure skater with a bright future, but he threw it all away to marry you. Thirteen years later, your marriage has failed, the kids donât respect him one bit, and all his friends are wildly successful in life except him. He gets a chance to correct the mistakes of his past and change his life when he is miraculously transported back in time, before he even met you. But changing the past might cost him everything.
A/N: This took me so long to finish y'all I started considering actually taking ice skating lessons. PLEASE read for my sake.Â
-
thirteen years ago.
Sunghoon took a deep breath as the chill air of the rink, even from where he sat in the locker room, sent shivers down his spine. His thin black blouse with rhinestoned sleeves did nothing to shield him from the cold.Â
He should have been used to it by now. But today would be the most important skate of his life.Â
The World Championships. The event that would decide his place at the next Olympics.Â
Just a few years ago, he had missed out on competing completely due to a knee injury. Sunghoon was determined this time to make his dreams come true. His seniors always said that Olympic ice felt different, more real. This would be it. His last chance before the younger, more talented skaters took his spot later down the line.
He was picking at his nails with his teeth, a habit he so desperately needed to let go of. Even with ten competitors ahead of him, Sunghoon was already on edge. You, his good luck charm, had not arrived yet. It wasn't typical of you. In your three years of dating, you never missed the opening skate of any competition he'd been in.Â
Itâs where you first met. You had been in the stands, taping your phone number onto a penguin plushie heâd caught after his award-winning skate. Since then, it's been tradition for you to sit in the same exact seat during local competitions.
His left leg bounced impatiently as he sat on the locker room bench. Sunghoon has sent about 16 texts to your phone already. He shook his head, unlocking his phone for the umpteenth time. Crickets. His phone screen photo of you blowing a kiss into the camera was taunting him now.
Where the hell were you?
Coach Jung patted him on the shoulder. âDonât think too much. You're gonna psych yourself out.â
âI'm not nervous,â Sunghoon replied, unconvincingly. âIt's just cold.â
Coach Jung rolled his eyes.
âYou're not new to this, kid,â he doubted the young man. âYou're gonna do great out there. This is what you've been dreaming of. Just don't mess it up.â
Sunghoon didn't know if that was meant to be motivating or not, but when Coach Jung left, he felt a pit in his stomach start to form. It's been years in the making. Blood, sweat, and tears were poured into this. The time he could've spent going on longer dates with you all went to extra hours practicing quads in the rink. He couldn't let his sacrifices go to waste. It would be a disservice to both of you.
He put his hands to his face and repeated a mantra of self-affirmations.
âYou got this, you got this, you-ââ
âHoon?â He heard your sweet voice call out. Your head poked through the locker room door before entering cautiously. Audience members werenât typically allowed in here, but you always managed to sneak your way in.
He dropped his hands immediately, a wave of relief washing over him.
âThere you are,â Sunghoon whispered to himself, rushing to you as fast as he could with skates on the carpet. You let out a small sound as he picked you up by the waist, spinning you around like a princess.
âWhere have you been?â Sunghoon sighed happily, setting you down with a kiss to your temple. âI was blowing up your phone! I thought you died.â
You smiled, but he noticed how tight it looked. The light didn't quite reach your eyes, and your lips twitched as if it was almost painful to maintain. He brushed a stray hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.
âEverything okay?â
You nodded, resting your hand on his as his thumb drew small circles on your cheek.
âIâŚâ you trailed off. You were looking at the ground, at the ceiling, and even at the trash cans. Anywhere but him. âI want to talk to you about something.â
He raised a brow. Your fingers were quivering, and he noticed redness in the whites of your eyes. Were you crying?
âOf course, baby. You can tell me anything.âÂ
Sunghoon is worried now as he took both of your hands into his. He felt how cold they were, even more so than his.
âCan the remaining five acts please be on stand-by?â the overhead speaker blared into the locker room. That was him. He was one of the last five.Â
He pursed his lips as he looked towards the door and back at you. Your mouth opened, just as flustered by the announcement.
âLet's wait,â you said in a rush, noticing the sweatiness of his palms. âIt can wait.â
Sunghoon shook his head. Your voice faltered. He knew better now not to let these things linger.
âNo, [Y/N]. Tell me what's wrong.â He stood his ground. Your eyes were watering, his gaze unmoving from yours. As you spoke, it was like the world around him went still. His chest felt heavy, throat so constricted he thought he would choke.
âI'm pregnant.â
No, he thought. It canât be.
âH-how? We neverâ Thatâs impossibleâ We always use-â
His voice trailed off, afraid that if he said anything out loud, it would become more real. You pursed your lips, biting your top lip so hard that it drew blood.Â
âDonât you remember?â
â
two months ago.
You were laughing, he was laughing. You both looked insane, obnoxiously cackling at nothing, in the dimly lit streets that led to his apartment. You were drinking with the guys at a new bar, underestimating the power of tequila compared to the usual shots of soju.
Sunghoon's arm was wrapped around your waist, putting his weight on you to prevent himself from faceplanting on the ground. He had lost too many hands in poker with Jay and Jake, and instead of betting money, he took an extra four shots as punishment. It was a big mistake.
âThey got lucky,â he blabbered, âIf we played Go Fish, I would have wiped the floor with them.â
He was hiccuping, and that sent you into a further spiral of giggles. Sunghoon was always so darn cute when drunk, so different from his icy exterior. His cheeks were tinged with red, and his pupils dilated. You weren't doing all that well either, with your body so warm from the alcohol that you had shed your jacket on the ground just a few minutes earlier. Where that jacket was now is lost on you.
âHoon!â you exclaimed, pointing at his apartment gate. âWe did it!â
Sunghoon stumbled to get his keys from his pocket. Opening the gate and then going up the steps felt like an hour-long operation with how you two struggled. When he slid down the wall by the entrance of his apartment, you collapsed with him.Â
The two of you, by his coat rank, staring into each other with heavy-lidded gazes and too far gone to even turn the lights on. By then, your movements were already out of your control.Â
You traced the moles on his face like divine art, cradling his jaw with such care. Even in the drunkest of states, he looked so heavenly. He was so pretty in the moonlight.Â
You pressed your lips against his, slowly at first, tugging at the rolled-up sleeves of his button-up shirt. Sunghoon made a noise of shock before deepening the kiss, hands roaming everywhere until they met your waist. His lips were so plush against yours, hungry to taste every inch of you. Your tongues danced with an urgency you've never felt before. Nipping at your bottom lip, he coaxed small sounds out of you.Â
Sunghoon lifted you, firm hands on your bum to sit you atop him.Â
He broke the kiss to bury himself in the junction between your neck and shoulder. Sunghoon's lips found your pulse point, suctioning around it like he was drawing your heartbeat out of your body. You gripped his soft hair and tilted your head back to give him better access. He lapped at your neck, your collar bone, anywhere his tongue could access. He was addicted to the taste of your skin, to the taste of you. You always smelled so good, had him so riled up even in the most unassuming of moments. He remembered how you looked in the bar with this sparkly red dress. Remembered how it rode up every time you sat down next to him. Fuck.Â
You felt him then. The tent of his pants and the friction of his hips as they hopelessly jut up to meet yours.
You whined at the contact. He was palming your ass now with both hands, massaging as he moved you up and down on the tightness of his jeans.
âHoon,â you gasp. âNot here-â
He lifted his head to look at you, eyes so dark and full of lust. He wasnât having it; you could see it in his face. His deliciously tense jawline. The bead of sweat running down his temple. You felt yourself clench around nothing just at the sight. How could a man be so gorgeous?
âCan't wait,â he hummed. âNeed you now.â
He pushed your dress up your body, the material bunched at your waist.
You purse your lips in anticipation. Heâs rock hard by now, and you canât help but take it as an invitation to feel him. Your hands find his bulge, ghosting over his form. It jumped in response when you finally took hold, squeezing cautiously. Your cheeks warmed at the sight of the front of his jeans already damp with your fluids. Sunghoon enjoyed the view just as much as you did, his head tilted back to relish in your ministrations. He couldnât hold back any longer.
Sunghoonâs hand, large and veiny, moved your panties to the side impatiently.Â
"Hoon-" you gasped at the skin-to-skin contact.
His fingers traced the slit of your folds up and down, covering his digits with your slick. You found his swollen lips again to suppress your whimpers, saliva running down your joined mouths as you unzipped his painful-looking jeans. He was already prepping you for him, index finger cautiously pushing its way inside your plush walls. He groaned at the feeling of your fluttering warmth. Already, you were sucking him in.
âAlways so fucking wet,â he muttered on your lips. You couldnât help but grind down on him, a roundabout way of telling him to apply more pressure. To go harder. Rougher. To ruin you. He chuckled at your frustration. Needed to see more of it, more of you begging.
Sunghoon tested the waters and pushed in a second. Your moans were drowned out again by his merciless mouth. Tongues shoved so far down each other's throats, you swore you could feel him at the back of your neck.
He was fucking you onto his hand now, his palm making contact with your clit after every thrust. His forearm was tense, pace so relentless. Animalistic. You were practically bouncing on him, hands digging into his shoulder blades to chase your release. He loved the sight, wanting to hear you come undone just from his measly fingers in your dripping pussy.
âSo desperate,â he hummed into your mouth. âWho's making you like this?â
Sunghoon was never this mouthy during sex, usually because he didnât want the apartment next door to hear through the thin walls. But he had let go of all his inhibitions, the tequila still sitting fresh in his stomach.
âYou, Hoon,â you cried out, legs shaking from the harsh pace of his fingers and your incessant grinding. âPlease-â
You didn't know exactly what you were begging for, but you knew he could give it to you. Knew he was the only one who could. Your mind was filled with Sunghoon and Sunghoon only. The effects of the alcohol had made you a bumbling mess, pleading and begging for more. Your back arches to meet his fingers better, but it wasnât not enough.
He added a third to relieve you, watching as your mouth opened into a silent scream.
âHoonâ Need itâ Pleaseâ I needââ
You couldn't find the right words, couldnât even keep yourself upright without his support. Sunghoonâs hands roamed up your body as one made its way to the back of your neck. With his thumb, he pressed down gently on the pulse point he was nipping at just earlier. His eyes were heavy on you, watching you so intently. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as your airways slowly constricted, as his thumb pushed against you. God, you loved the feeling.
âEnjoying yourself, baby?âÂ
Lightheaded, you were practically gripping his bulge at this point. The sounds between your legs were borderline pornographic, his fingers drawing out every wet squelch as they sank and twisted in and out of you. You felt so full of him, three fingers so deep inside you. But you could take more; you wanted to take more.
âSpeak up,â he drawled, his voice slurring from the tequila. âTell me what you want, or I'll stop.â
You sobbed, clawing at his clothed chest as he let go of your neck to let you talk. You gasped for air as you let yourself fall onto him.
âNeed you inside me,â you cried as he pistoned his fingers into you harder. You wished he could just rip your underwear so you could feel his rough palm grind onto your bare clit. âPlease, please, pl-â
"I am inside you," he teased. And all you could do was wail, shaking your head out of distress.
"Hoon-"
Your movements were forced to stop as Sunghoon's free hand gripped your thigh. His fingers were curved into you, stroking that spongy spot that he always managed to find. He massaged your G-spot at a steady pace, anticipating your climax. You wanted to move, but he held you down roughly. Your eyes were forced to look into his, and you felt the floodgates of your release start to open.Â
âNo-,â you whined.Â
You were close, so close. But your mind was made up. Well, at least what was left of it.
âWanna cum with you. Can I, Hoonie? Please?â you beg.
âFuck-â
His grip on you loosened. His hand slowly left your tight folds, and he admired the slick that coated his long fingers. He brought them to your mouth, motioning you to taste the juices he coaxed out of you. With your doe eyes looking straight at him, you swallowed around him. Tongue flattened and bringing him in deeper.
His other hand reached into the back of his pocket, fiddling around to find his emergency condom. The one that became a necessity to bring around you.Â
Sunghoon's mind was all over the place. Your tongue lapped at his fingers, sucking them so harshly. He'd have given anything right now to see your lips wrapped around his cock instead.
He'd almost grabbed the condom until you pulled his boxers down. Your mouth released his fingers with a small âpopâ as his painfully hard member slapped his stomach. You positioned yourself closer, adjusting so that his thickness slid against your soiled, clothed pussy. You cursed your stupid underwear for getting in the way again.
âB-baby-â Sunghoon stuttered out as you moved your panties to the side once more, his raw cock lined up to your aching hole. âJust give me a second-â
His hand tried to reach for his wallet again, but you interlocked them with yours instead. You shook your head, grinding against him cautiously. You don't know what's gotten into you. It's like the tequila was letting you act out your deepest, darkest dreams â ones of him fucking his cum so deeply into you that you were dripping wet with his fluids.
âPlease?â you asked hopelessly. Your breath hitched. His cock met your clit, his precum spread all over your folds. Fuck it. You were too far gone. âI-I wanna feel you.â
Sunghoon would like to think he had self-control. Would like to believe that he was calmer than most. But the way your pleading eyes looked at him, and how your legs trembled in excitement. His intoxicated brain couldn't tell right from wrong. He wanted to give you everything you asked for.Â
âFuck, are you sure?â he groaned as you aligned his cock to your entrance, pushing down slightly to envelop his tip. He lets out a hiss, teeth gritting from the feeling. You were so tight, so fucking perfect for him.
âMhm,â you mustered, wrapping your arms around his neck as his large hands met your ass again. âIt's okayâŚâ
You were sinking onto him now, his head buried into your neck from the sensation. You two had never done it without a condom before, always so careful. But he wondered, as his large cock was slowly sucked into your soaked pussy, why he'd never fucked you raw before. Sunghoon swore under his breath as he felt you clench around him. Fucking you with a condom was ruined for him forever. He could never put one on again.Â
âFuck, baby,â he willed himself not to move too fast. The stinging stretch of him had you withering above him, but you didnât care. Not one bit. You clutched his hair as you impaled yourself on him, so lost in the feeling of him penetrating you so slowly.Â
He was fully sheathed inside you now. Sunghoon needed a second to recuperate, but you were making it so difficult for him.
"Fuck-" he inhaled sharply as you grinded down on his pulsating cock. You were so impatient, already so worked up from his fingers. Â
You were suctioning him, trapping him in your walls like you would never let him go. His grip on your hips tightened as he growled into your collarbone.
âBaby,â he said sternly this time, finding some semblance of sanity. âDon't.â
You whined, your hips stuttering through his tight grip on your ass cheeks. You wanted him to plow into you like you were his personal toy. Was there anything wrong with that?
âWhy?â you drawled out, desperate for movement, for anything. Your eyes met his, and even through your drunken haze, you understood. He was close, already so on edge from feeling your raw pussy. And that made you want him even more.
You swore your hips moved on their own. You lifted yourself, shallowly thrusting yourself against him as he tried to hinder your attempts.
âN-no,â he grunted. âToo soon-â
You giggled as his hands were on your back now. Despite your protests, he did not stop you in any meaningful way.Â
His grip on your ass was replaced with him pulling the straps down of your dress and bra to free your bouncing tits. He cupped them as you raised yourself higher, until just the very tip of him was left inside you. You took a deep breath, pushing yourself down on him without assistance. You moaned, feeling his heaviness in your lower stomach.
âFuck-â he cried through clenched teeth. Sunghoonâs head was against the wall now, hands massaging your breasts so eagerly.Â
He tugged at your nipples, pinching them between his index finger and thumb. Such a sight for sore eyes, seeing him so fucked out underneath you as you bounced on his cock. You wished you could engrave this in your memory. His parted lips and glistening forehead.Â
You grinded your hips so helplessly against him, hands on his knees as you squeezed him through every downward thrust.Â
âBaby, s-slow down.â
You're determined now, even as you start to feel that fluttering ache in your core. You wanted to do good for him, wanted to make him lose control like you would whenever he had you pinned to the bed and crying.
âHoon, speak up,â you teased, mimicking his earlier words. âTell me what you want or I-â
You couldn't finish your sentence as his hand meets the back of your neck, crashing his lips onto yours. His hands traveled down to your thighs, squeezing them roughly.
He thrusted up into you harshly, his grip on you guiding his movements. His pace was even more merciless than yours, not giving you time to catch your breath as you felt your inner walls contract around him.Â
No!Â
He needed to cum first. It was always you who came undone before him. You just needed to hold out, just for a few more seconds-
And in perfect timing, he found it. That part of you that had you practically screaming into his mouth. He smirked against your lips and hoisted you closer, fucking up into you as his fingers pressed firmly into the flesh of your thighs. Your insides churned with a tingling feeling, like something needed to be released. You pulled yourself away from his lips.
"No⌠Hoon-"
"Take it," he grunted. "You want it, right?â
You cried as his thrusts grazed your G-spot over and over again, his tip kissing your cervix at the right angles.Â
âSo fucking take it."
Your eyes roll back, the sensation was stronger and stronger until-
"Oh my god-"
Your climax hit you like a ton of bricks, crashing down on you so unexpectedly that your walls wanted to hold his raw length in place. Sunghoon continued his thrusts, not caring for the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You had your fun. Now, let him have his.Â
His hands spread your ass cheeks apart, guiding you down onto his painfully hard cock with fervor. Sunghoon felt his high inching closer as he pumped in and out of your wetness, ignoring your cries of overstimulation.
âSo fucking tight,â he groaned into your neck. He's there. He felt it. You braced yourself for his sweet release.Â
âNeed to pull out...â
Your eyebrows furrowed, expression laced in devastation. As if on instinct, you clenched around him. You wanted it. Whatever âitâ was.Â
âIn me,â you babbled through strained moans. âPlease, Hoonie?â
He grit his teeth. That damn pet name. You were evil, so fucking evil. With your pretty tits and batting eyelashes. Who was he to deny you? His thrusts were erratic, admiring as your breasts bounced to the rhythm of his thrusts.Â
âFuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-â
His hips stuttered up into you. White, hot spurts met your cervix as you reached another orgasm from the sheer feeling of his release, mouth wide open. Your hips gyrated against his, easing both of you through your releases. His head rolled back, jaw clenched, and eyes wired shut as he felt you milk his cock of everything he was worth.Â
You watched as a white ring formed around his cock was buried deep in you, still a little hard. You rested your body against his. Your eyelids were heavy, so content and warm in ways that only Sunghoon could bring out in you.Â
âI love you,â he sighed into your hair, his own lethargy getting the best of him. âSo fucking much.â
âI love you too.â
And as ridiculous as it sounds, the two of you slept in that position for hours. Two bodies connected at the entrance way of Sunghoon's studio apartment. When the sun came up and you realized what was done in your drunken states, you two panicked for the wrong reason. Did the neighbors hear? What happened to your jacket? Were you gonna get a UTI?
â
Sunghoon's cheeks reddened from the memory. It had to have been that night.
âA-are you sure?â he stuttered.Â
You nodded solemnly. You knew it wouldn't be good news for him. It wasn't for you either.Â
You were almost done with university. Itâs supposed to be the year you figured out what you wanted out of a career. So when your first wave of morning sickness hit you just a week earlier, you knew every plan that you had would be forever ripped from your fingers.Â
To travel the world. To start new hobbies. It would all have to wait. This would be your life now.
When you told your mother, tears streamed down her face. She called you everything underneath the sun. But she knew what it was like to carry a life unexpectedly, so she hugged you through it. Your dadâs reaction was worse. He hadnât spoken to you yet.
âTwo months along,â you whispered. Though he could never regret that night, he realized now how stupid it must have been to ignore the alarm bells in his head. He knew better. You knew better. Why the fuck did it end up like this?Â
âSoâŚâ He gulped. He didnât know what to say. âWhat now?â
âIâŚâ you started. Heaving a deep breath, you felt him tense up.Â
âI want to keep the baby,â you swallowed. Sunghoonâs mouth was parted, and his eyes were blank of emotion.Â
It made you anxious, his lack of response.Â
When he didn't reply, you started again. âWhat should we-â
âSunghoon Park. Sunghoon Park. Please be on stand-by,â the overhead speaker rang out. He didn't mean to, but like muscle memory, his hand let go of yours. Guilt crashed over him, and he couldn't bring himself to look into your wavering eyes as he walked past you.Â
The competition. This was his last chance. Coach Jung's voice resounded in his head. Don't mess it up.
âHoon-âÂ
Your voice fell on deaf ears. His hands covered his face again, trying to refocus. He couldn't throw this away. Years. It took him years to get to this point. He couldn't. He had to skate.Â
Tears spilled over as you watched his back retreat away from you. You should have waited to tell him, but he had asked. He said he wanted to know.Â
Your back slumped against the wall of lockers, clutching your stomach as you cried. You couldn't bring yourself to go to the stands and watch him perform.
You knew it was dumb. You werenât ready, not even close. But still⌠You wanted to try.
But him. Sunghoon.
You leaned your head back against the cold wall, breath faltering through your tears. What did you even expect? That he'd be happy? Excited?
You let out a shaky laugh.
Of course not. It's not like you were either.
You stood up, dusting yourself off.
You'd figure out a way to do this, you convinced yourself. If it meant that you were by yourself, that was fine. He didn't have to be there. He had big dreams, ones that predated you. You understood, even though it hurt.Â
âNext to skate, representing the People's Republic of Korea. Sunghoon Park!âÂ
The cheers that ensued soon after made your chest constrict just a little more. You just couldnât bear to watch him skate now. It was all too much.
You trudged towards the ice rink's exit, arms crossed around you like you were holding yourself. You were proud of him, so proud. He worked so tirelessly for an opportunity like this. Missed sleep and took a gap year from college to pursue this. He wanted it so bad, and though it was heartbreaking to watch him walk away, you knew why. You could talk later, you convinced yourself.
But the thoughts still echoed in your head.
A professional figure skater couldnât be a fatherânot now, not at his age. You knew that. God, you hated that you knew it so well. His life wasnât what most people imagined. There was no glamor in it.Â
It was practices at the crack of dawn in freezing rinks and endless flights to cities he barely saw beyond hotel rooms. He could only fund basic living expenses with what little he earned from winning. He had a part-time job working the graveyard shift at a convenience store to even afford competition fees and dates with you.Â
He gave everything for this dreamâhis body, his sanity, his youth.Â
But he tried. In everything he did, he tried. That was the worst part.
Because even with all that trying, you still knew. That there would be no space in his life for the tiny heartbeat inside you.
You knew he'd have to quit. There was no way around it. Raising a child takes too much time away from the rink.Â
If he stayed, if he chose to be in this child's life, he'd have to give it all up.And it would be because of you.Â
But this was your life too. Your body. Your future. And no matter how tightly you clung to the image of him at your side, holding your hand in the delivery room, learning how to hold a newborn with trembling fingersâyou had to be honest with yourself.
You wanted this baby. Even if it meant letting him go, even if that meant standing alone with a life you never planned for, youâd do it.
Because you knew that if it ever came down to choosing between his dream and you, it would always be-
â[Y/N], wait!â
You stopped in your tracks, stunned to hear his voice so close. Like he was here and not on the ice. You didnât even notice that music stopped permeating the walls of the rink, that the announcer had moved on to the next contestant. He was running to you, socks thumping on the ground like he had taken his skates off only a moment before.Â
No. It couldn't be.Â
He reached you, his arms wrapped around you from behind. You heard his shaky breath against the back of your head. His thumb rubbed your forearms, planting a small kiss on your hair.
âWe'll figure it out,â Sunghoon blurted out when he felt like the silence between you two was suffocating. âTogether.â
You turned around to face him, panicked.
âSunghoon, no,â you tried to push him away, but he pulled you in closer. âYou need to go-â
âNo.â
You looked at him, pain etched in every part of his beautiful face.
âBut that's your future,â you cried out, mustering everything in yourself to not melt in his embrace. He was making a mistake. He'd hate you for the rest of your life if he-
âNo,â he said again, much clearer. More determined. âItâs you.â
His hand drifted to your stomach, and he smiled this time as he looked into your teary eyes.
âYou're my future.â
You shook your head incessantly. âHoon, you're not thinking straight. I should've waited to tell you. You're not in your right mind. You need to go back and-â
He silenced you with his lips, so softâlike it might break you if he were any less gentle. You fell into his touch, unknowingly pulling him closer. He kissed you again and again, hands holding yours until your tremors faded with his touch.
âI love you,â he would say between each peck. âI'm not letting you do this alone.â
And you smiled, a real, genuine smile.
âI love you too.â
â
You moved in with him in that tiny studio apartment, shortly after, sharing a bed that barely even fit his tall frame. The cradle he built took up the majority of the living area.
But it was nice, waking up with him every day. He talked in his sleep, would whisper your name in that sweet voice of his so lovingly. Some days, Sunghoon wouldn't let you lift a finger, would insist that you needed as much rest as possible before your due date. You had to convince him that your job as a receptionist was certainly not so physically taxing that he had to follow you to it every day.
You also got married. It was simple. Just Sunghoon and you in a courthouse with Jake and Jay, trying not to stifle their laughter as witnesses to your marriage ceremony. You wore the white dress your mother wore, and Sunghoon wore his best suit, tie tied by you.
âSay cheese!â Jake chimed as you two posed with your signed certificate. The two of them cooed at your growing belly.
You were showing now, a small bump that Sunghoon admired each time he saw you do your online classes on the kitchen counter. He never got around to buying a desk, even though he was also back in school full-time.Â
He had that dreaded conversation with Coach Jung beneath the dim lights of an empty rink. Sunghoon told him quietly, almost like an apology, that heâd be hanging up his skates until further notice. He wanted to be there for you at every step of the pregnancy. If he was going to stick beside you, he was going to do it right.
Coach didnât yell. He didnât need to. The disappointment on his face said everything.Â
And so Sunghoon hadnât touched the ice since.
He couldnât bear to set foot in that rink anymore. Not when he knew heâd only be watching from the stands.
Not when the sound of blades carving through the ice was coming from someone elseâs skates.
Not when he used to relish in the cold air passing through his body. Now, the only wind on his face came from passing cars as he biked to his second job.
He picked up a shift at a nearby restaurant. Just as a server. The kind of job that reminded him how painfully ordinary he was without his skates. Sometimes, when no oneâs looking, heâll shift his weight just right and practice his landings in the break room, arms out, knees bent.Â
Other times, he scrolls through YouTube during his graveyard shift at the convenience store, searching up his own name with trembling fingers, watching old performances through a phone screen. Reading comments. Trying to remember what it felt like to matter to people he never met.Â
You noticed, probably more than you let on. You just tried not to pry. He would get distant when you mentioned it, like that part of himself needed to be tucked away and out of his sight. You knew he was afraid, terrified to look back and see everything he gave up.Â
But when Sunghee was born, it was like his world started to make sense again. He held her like she was made of glass. Sobbed so loudly the first time he saw her, you thought he was in pain.Â
But no, he was just overwhelmed. Taken by the way her tiny hand curled around his finger, how her cries quieted the moment he held her close.
Heâd protect her, he swore to himself. That thisâherâwrapped up in the pink hospital blanket, was his life now.
And maybe, for a moment, he believed that was enough.
But the thoughts never stopped. His eyes would flicker toward the old duffel bag in the closet, where his skates were still packed away. He gave that up. For you. For her. And heâd never say he regretted it. But you knew.
You understood what he was grieving. Because you grieved too.
That girl who used to dream of making art, she felt like a ghost now. Someone you used to know.
Your passions, the things that once lit a fire in you, now sat gathering dust. All shelved quietly the moment your body became a home for Sunghee.
And your parents. You were still trying to reassemble the broken pieces of your relationship with them. Your mother tried to be there for you in her own way, but her disappointment was loud in the quietest moments between you two. And your father⌠well, he still hadnât really looked you in the eye since the day you told him.Â
And though she was born healthy, Sunghee came into the world screaming. She was a loud baby, inconsolable most nights, and the exhaustion had tested Sunghoon and you.
You took turns because you had to. Heâd rock her until sunrise, then stumble to his classes. He started falling asleep during his breaks at work, cheek pressed against cold metal tables.
He didnât care much for his own health, but the bags beneath your eyes pained him. Your face, once bright and curious, had dimmed under all the sleepless nights and rising costs of diapers. You were both burnt out.
He dropped Sunghee off with his parents for one night and dragged you out to see your friends. It was Jake's going-away dinner.
âItâs so hard to meet nowadays,â you sighed. âFeels like Iâve been nursing a migraine for the past three months.â
Jake laughed.
âSad I wonât get to see her grow up,â he said as he poured himself a beer. âMake sure to bring her to Australia one day. She deserves to see her coolest uncle play football.â
Niki rolled his eyes.
âNo oneâs paying for that long-ass flight to see you benchwarm,â Niki mumbled, chewing on some chips. âHave her come see me dance instead. At least Iâll be in the center.â
Jake smacks his friend on the back of the head.
âNo need for any of that,â Jay chimed in. âShe wonât have time for either of you. Papa bear here probably already has her future all mapped out. Skates on before she can walk.â
An awkward silence filled the room. The joke was lighthearted, but it landed too close to a wound no one had dared to touch in the past year. Sunghoon gave a quiet laugh, a hollow one without warmth. He brought the bottle to his lips and didnât look at anyone when he spoke.
âYeah... sheâll be a star.â
He eyed the ceiling, pondering what she would look like. Maybe just like him. Graceful. Passionate. âOlympic-worthy. Could probably win gold if we find the right coach early enough.â
You pursed your lips and stared at the condensation running down your glass.Â
Sunoo cleared his throat, noticing the tense atmosphere. He raised his glass with forced enthusiasm. âTo our beautiful Sunghee,â he cheered. âAnd to Jakeâs success!â
Sunghoon smiled, but not really. He was happy for his friend, sure. But behind his facade, envy sat heavy on his tongue.
âThis night could have been for you. They could have been congratulating you. And you gave it all up. Now look at you. Youâre a nobody.â
You couldnât help but watch him throughout the night as he grew quieter, his sips of beer more like chugs now. You rubbed circles on his back like you always did when he got like this, hoping to bring him back into the conversation. But his eyes stayed glued to the back corner of the bar.
As you patted him, he pulled your wrist away. Not harshly. Not angrily. Just a simple tug. He set your hand back on your lap, his gaze straight ahead and away from you.
âIâm okay,â he assured you, but you didnât believe him. Not then.Â
Not ever, really.
-
Though time passed, life never got easier. The weight of responsibility pressed harder on your shoulders with each passing year. And while you both smiled through milestones and made do with the small hiccups in your relationship, you were content with this life. Doing laundry on lazy Sundays, Sunghoon singing nursery rhymes to Sunghee before school.
But after the birth of your second child, Sungjae, it had all started to rot.
Sunghoonâs longing for his old life never faded. It stewed in him, creeping into his thoughts at his corporate job after finishing university, haunting him on bus rides home.Â
The bills piled higher. Your patience wore thinner. Conversations turned into quiet disagreements and tired sighs. You no longer fought. You didnât even have the energy for that. Just two ghosts of your former selves moving through the same rooms, sleeping in the same bed, wondering what couldâve been.Â
-
thirteen years later. the present.
Sunghoon adjusts his tie, furrowing his brows as he sees how crooked it is from the reflection of the mirror. He gives up halfway through. Fuck it, it would be a no-tie kind of day. He exits the bedroom, his footsteps making loud echoes on the way down the spiral staircase and towards the all-marble kitchen. He inhales slowly as he smells the fragrance of smoked spices dancing around his nostrils. It was enough to make his mouth water.
âWhat's cooking, good-looking?â he says, entering the kitchen with a wide grin on his face.
âEw,â a voice rang out, soft and disgruntled. Sunghoon turns the corner and almost laughs at the sight.
âShut up,â Sunoo scoffs, clad in an apron and silk pajamas. âDonât say corny shit like that in my house until you get your act together.â
Sunghoon takes a seat on the barstool of the kitchen counter. He watches Sunoo maneuver the wide expanse of the kitchen like an expert.
âI'm a dad,â Sunghoon sighs out. âThatâs kind of our thing.â
âYeah, one going through a divorce,â Sunoo snaps back, monitoring his frittata closely on the stove.
Sunghoon's shoulders slump. Of course, the only friend willing to let him stay for an indefinite amount of time was the one most critical of his life choices. Sunoo insisted, in fact. Said his place was âfeeling emptyâ anyway.
âSo,â Sunoo coughs, acknowledging he might have taken it too far with his earlier comment. âAny word from her about the court date yet?â
Sunghoon shrugs, eyes on his watch as it nears 8:30 a.m. He'd have to leave soon to get to work. His boring, dull job as a fiscal manager at blah blah blah corporation. Even he barely knows what he does for a living.
âCan I borrow your car?â Sunghoon asks, ignoring his friend's question. He doesn't like to talk about it. Doesn't want to speak anything into existence, even if it was already happening.Â
You asked for it two weeks ago. A divorce.
He's been living with (mooching off of) Sunoo since.
âWhich one? The Bugatti or the Ferrari?â
Sunghoon gives Sunoo a side-eye, and the younger fails to stifle a laugh. He never wastes a second to flex on his friend, the only one out of their friend group who worked at a 9-5 job in total and absolute misery.
Heeseung's a streamer, Jay took over as CEO of his father's company, Jake was still playing football in Australia, Jungwon started his own Taekwondo studio, and Niki was traveling the world as a choreographer. And of course, Sunoo wound up in a big old mansion with his modeling career.
Sunghoon thought he'd end up like them. He got the right experience after university to find a stable job that didn't involve slaving away at customer service gigs like he did before.
He thought he'd move up higher in his company by now. Have a team to call his own, like Jungwon had, or make âsmall, high-impact decisionsâ like Jay claims he does. But none of that ever came. His heart was never in it.
Sunghoon sighs.Â
âWhatever gets me from Point A to Point B,â he mutters. Sunoo cuts a piece of frittata from the skillet and plates it. He slides it over to his older friend and tosses a key from his pocket.
âTake the Kia Soul.â
Sunghoon groans. âYou're fucking with me.â
â
âMr. Park,â his coworker chirps into his ear. âI was wondering how your KPIs were this weekâŚâ
Sunghoon lets him drone on as he types on his computer. No private office, just a cubicle by the elevators. He hates how people tend to gravitate towards him for small talk. He's not very good at it. Never has been. It was a common joke within his family that he skated more than he spoke growing up.Â
You dragged him out of his shell when you met, cracked him open with your bright-eyed gazes and addictive laughter. Heâd planned to keep his head down when he was younger. No distractions and no detours. Just figure skating.
But how could he not fall in love with you?
He shakes his head, trying to push the thoughts aside before it settles in too deeply. He reminisces too much.
Itâs like the past is all his mind drifts off to these days.
He leaves work on time. Gets stuck in traffic, like usual. And drives to the home you two once shared. A routine he's used to by now.Â
He sees your car in the driveway and groans. He knew if he sees you, you'd bring up the papers again. Those stupid fucking papers.
âHey, kiddo,â he says as he enters the once-familiar home. You've made changes to it since he's been gone. He squints to get a better look. In just two weeks, the kitchen's completely repainted with a soft green instead of gray. The living room was completely rearranged, and family pictures were taken down from the walls.
Sungjae is sitting on the couch, playing with his iPad. He only looks up for a second before he gets back into whatever is playing on his device. Sunghoon knew he should have hidden that thing before he left. Or, he guesses, before you kicked him out.
âWhere's your sister?â he asks, practically into the void.
As if on cue, Sunghee walks down the stairs. Her eyes are already rolling, and she's still wearing her pink pajamas and bunny slippers.
âGet dressed, princess. We're gonna be late for your practice!â
Sunghee tsks.Â
âC'mon,â Sunghoon adds with a forced smile. âYou missed the last two practices already. You're gonna fall behind-â
âDad, I already told you I want to quit,â she cuts in. âCan't you just take a freaking hint?â
Sunghoon stares blankly at his daughter, trying to hold back the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. Sunghoon doesnât know where she gets the attitude comes from. It's like when Sunghee hit the age of 13, she morphed into a walking stick of dynamite with a terribly short fuse.
âWell,â he begins, voice tight but even. âWhy don't we push through it for today, hm? You know, back in my day, I wasn't always up for the challenge, but-â
âWe get it dad!â she groans. â'Back in my day' this, 'if I were you' that. No one cares!"
It stings him more than he cares to admit.Â
"Sunghee," he says, slower this time, the edge creeping into his voice.Â
She just scoffs at her father's serious expression. She's never been scared of him when he's angry. That was always your role.Â
"Iâm not going," she stands her ground, crossing her arms. "You can't make me. If you wanna go so bad, then go to that stupid ice rink by yourself.â
Sunghoon inhales sharply, planting his hands on his hips to seem more assertive.
From the couch, seven-year-old Sungjae snickers.
âListen here, young lady-â
âListen here, young ladyâŚâ Sungjae mocks, in a tone much like his father's. Sunghoon whips his head to his iPad kid.
âAnd you, young man-â
âSunghoon,â you say sternly as you appear at the staircase. âI already called to cancel. Indefinitely. Even if you take her now, she won't even be able to join the other kids.â
Sunghee sticks her tongue out at her father, prancing to the couch to pinch her younger brother's cheeks.
He blinks, brows knitting together. âWhat? Why would you do that without telling me?â
"Sorry, was that a decision that needed your approval?" you ask sarcastically. "You can't make her do something she doesn't want to do."
Sunghoon scoffs, pointing an accusatory finger at you. But he stops himself. His gaze flickers to the kids, who pretend like they're not watching from the living room.
He swallows down whatever instinct tells him to argue right here, right now. You two never fought in front of them, an unspoken rule. Even if you were technically separated, he would not break that now.Â
âLet's talk in our room,â he whispers closely, and you roll your eyes.
âMy room,â you correct, already turning to head back up. You donât see it, but he tries not to flinch at your harshness.
He closes the door behind you two, the air thick with tension. He starts again.
âWhy are you making decisions without me already?â he asks, trying to keep his tone level. âYou cancel her figure skating classes and repaint the kitchen? Why are you-â
You sigh, already tired.
âWe've been talking about repainting that ugly kitchen for years, Sunghoon,â you sigh. "You never wanted to actually get started on it. Sorry, I actually make time for the things I want."
So this is the direction you wanted the conversation to go in? Fine. He can be passive-aggressive, too.
"And Sunghee? Didn't you think to run that by me when Iâm the one that pays for those lessons?"
You grit your teeth. He sees where Sunghee gets it from now, your hands crossed over your chest in disdain.
"Have you tried listening to her about practices? She gets injured all the time! Coach Jung is horrible to her. Sheâs miserable-â
His jaw tightens. âYou don't think I was too? Half the time, I hated skating! But thatâs what it takes. You think greatness just feels good all the time?! And the kitchen was fine. I donât get whyââ
"She's not trying to be great, Sunghoon!" you cry exasperatedly, your hands thrown up into the air. "She's not trying to be you."
You point your finger at his chest. âAnd you always think everything's fine. Until it's too late.â
Your words hung in the air, his eyes meeting yours.Â
âWhat the fuck is that supposed to mean?â he says finally, quieter this time.Â
You retract your hand, nervous under his gaze. Itâs intense, familiar in a way that still sends sparks throughout your body, even now. Even after everything.
âStop trying to force your dreams onto her,â you finally let out, and you see his eyes waver. "Just because it didn't work out for you doesn't mean you can try again through her."
âThat's not what-â
âLook,â you interrupt him, turning away from him to face the wall. âAll I'm saying is that maybe this is your wake-up call. Things change. Not everything that you want is going to happen. Maybe learn to change with it.â
He scoffs.
You turn back around to face him. He's angry, but his face doesnât give it away. Itâs his trembling hands, how his posture straightens just a little too stiffly.
âA little too late to change when my whole life was already laid out for me,â he says through bated breaths. âItâs not like I ever had a choice where Iâd end up.â
Your heart sinks. âAnd it's all my fault, right?â
Sunghoonâs eyes flicker, his gaze softening at your hurt expression.
âI didn't say that-â
âBut it's what you think, right?â You try to look strong. You think of all the nights he lay awake replaying his old skating clips in the glow of his phone screen. The way he cheered for Sunghee during competitions, like his voice alone could ignite the passion she didnât have. The muffled sniffles from the shower after the last Winter Olympics ended. You saw it all. You always did.
Sunghoon is silent, and you fight the sting in your eyes.
âI never asked you to marry me,â you say as low as a whisper, cutting through the silence.
âBut I did,â Sunghoon says quickly. Desperately. âAnd I wanted to.â
You draw out a laugh, bitterness dripping through.
âI'm so sorry, Sunghoon,â you say, sarcasm spilling over your lips. âI'm sorry this isn't the life you wanted. But newsflash: you're not the only one living with regrets. â
He steps forward, but you move back. The weight of everything presses against your chest now that the words are out. Now that itâs not just his pain taking up space in your relationship.
âYou act like youâre the only one who lost something,â you say, softer now. âBut I gave up things, too. I had dreams too.â
You donât mean it cruelly, and he doesnât take it that way. But it hurts, still.
"And I'm done walking on eggshells around you just because you can't stand the fact that you aren't living the life you wanted.â
You take a deep breath and continue.
âIf I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met-"
His hand hovers over your cheek. His lips, so dangerously close to yours. âStop it.â
His voice is shaky.
âDonât say things you donât mean.â
You don't pull away, but your gaze does not waver. âI mean it. Genuinely.â
You donât see Sunghoonâs heart break at that moment. But he feels it. Feels the tightness in his chest, the way his throat closes up, like your words were enough to kill him.
âWhen did you become so cruel?â Hurt laced his voice.
âAnd when did you start resenting me?â you bite back, but the words barely escape your throat.Â
He doesnât answer, just leans in and kisses you. And you let him.
Because maybe this is the last time youâll feel him like this. Maybe this is the last tender moment you two will share.
His hand lingers at your jaw, thumb brushing gently over your cheek. You feel your own breath catch, and for a second, you almost melt into him.
âI love you,â Sunghoon says, but it sparks nothing in you.
Instead, you hear everything he didnât say. He didnât say no or that you were wrong. So maybe he really does, you thought to yourself.
His kisses almost make you forget. Almost enough to blur out the long winters and how distant he gets. How painfully silent he is at the dinner table, eyes always somewhere else.Â
His lips guide you through it all, each kiss igniting a memory.
How his shoulders sagged the day he started that full-time job. How his smile, once so quick to bring out of him, turned into something you had to search for. How the light in his eyes, so blinding when he was on the ice, dimmed, little by little.Â
His hands trail under your shirt now as he peppers kisses down your throat.Â
âI miss you,â he sighs.Â
How heâll wake up in the middle of the night and leave without a word, how youâll see his location is at the ice rink, probably watching the Zamboni circle around. But he'd never bring his skates with him.
His lips meet yours again, deeper this time. His knee finds its way in between your legs.
You couldnât do this anymore. Itâs been far too many times, letting him wiggle his way back into your good graces. This was it. You would choose yourself this time.
Your fingers close around his wrists, gentle but firm. The warmth of his skin against yours nearly breaks your resolve, but you force yourself to meet his eyes. Even though it hurts.
âI think you should leave.âÂ
You release yourself from his hold. Sunghoon's expression is unreadable, but you know by now it's a facade.Â
You could not carry his pain with you any longer. You needed him to let you go, just as much as you needed to let him go.
âBaby...â he starts, voice fragile.
âDon't,â you say quickly, lips pressed tight. âYou can't call me that anymore, Sunghoon.â
His heart aches. He was supposed to be Hoon to you. Your Hoon. When did that change?
But he doesn't ask. He just watches you, eyes dark and full of all the things he never figured out how to say until it was already too late.
âThe papers...â you pause, swallowing hard. You see a flicker of panic flash across his face.Â
âThey're on the kitchen counter. Take them before you leave.â
â
Sunghoon did not take the papers.Â
In fact, just like Sunghee suggested, he went to the so-called âstupidâ ice rink by himself.Â
He sits in the highest row of the stands, arms crossed, jaw clenched. The kids glide around the ice below. Parents he used to talk to are filming on the sidelines, their laughter echoing faintly off the cold, hard walls.
Envy coats his skin.
Coach Jung is barking commands at the kids. He sneaks glances up at Sunghoon every so often, trying to be subtle. But he knows what that look means. Itâs pity.Â
At one point, Coach Jung had pulled him aside to tell him that Sunghee wasn't built for the sport. Not like Sunghoon was. She was too stiff, too in her own head about spinning in the air. She never cracked a smile when she was on the ice. She always kept her head low and movements small, as if it was still scary for her after years of practicing.
It's not like Sunghoon didn't notice, but he always thought sheâd come around to it. He was pushed into figure skating by his parents, much like he was doing for her. It wasnât like his passions ignited overnight. âIt could be her dream if she let it be,â he thought to himself.
Why couldnât she let it? Why wouldnât she even try?
Sunghoon sits in the stands, even after the kids pour out one by one and the lights start to dim. Coach Jung offers one last, forced smile before disappearing into the locker rooms. Sunghoon stays until heâs the only one left under the lights.
The Zamboni comes in, shaving and washing the ice to be used for the next day. When the machine finishes, the driver climbs out and heads up toward the stands. He's in his early twenties with blonde hair and dark eyes. He's moving towards Sunghoon with a smile.
Sunghoon stands up, a little intimidated by the younger man. His back turns to go up the stairs and to the exit, wanting to avoid a conversation.
âYou're always here at night, sir,â the guy calls out. âDo you have a special connection to this place?â
Sunghoon stops in his tracks. He used to get recognized all the time. On the streets and in this very place. He used to mean something.
He turns around and gives a polite smile to the young man. He points at one of the many banners that hang from the ice rink walls. âPark Sunghoonâ was in bright gold colors on each one.Â
âI used to train here,â he says, with a hint of pride. âNational champion for ten straight years, from when I was 11 up until I was 21.â
The guy whistles softly, impressed.
âWe could use you, you know?" he says. "I think theyâre looking for a new coach. Heard the old one's retiring soon.â
Sunghoon flinches. âCoach Jung? He hasn't told me yet. My daughter trains with him.â
He can't bring himself to use the past tense with her just yet.
The young man just nods. "I think he's planning to announce it after the next competition."
Sunghoon feels his chest constrict. He shakes his head. Another person leaving.
âI guess everythingâs changingâŚâ he whispers, but it did not fall on deaf ears. The stranger moves closer to him. "We're all so old now."
The stranger sighs. âYouth can be so cruel, can't it?â
Sunghoon, in his confusion, scoffs.
âThe opposite, actually,â he argues. âLife's easier when you're young. Anything was possible back then.âÂ
He takes a second to continue.
âAnd it all can be taken from you,â he mutters, more to himself. âBefore you even realize it.â
âThat's the worst, isn't it?â The young man chimes in. He's sitting where Sunghoon was earlier. âWhen you wonder what could've beenâŚâ
Sunghoonâs mouth twists into something like a smile, but it doesnât reach his eyes.
âThat's all I think about,â he said, surprised at himself for opening up to a stranger. And it's true.Â
What if he hadnât stopped skating? What if you hadnât gotten pregnant?
He sits back down, next to the Zamboni driver.
âWe all have regrets,â the young man says, looking ahead, voice soft.
Sunghoon stares up at the ceiling and lets out a breathless laugh through the silence. Flashes of you overcame his vision. Nights of hushed arguments and facing away from each other on the bed. Nothing went his way after the World Championships. He lost it all. His passion. His dreams. You.Â
âWhy does it have to be that way?â he asks no one in particular.
A silence fills the room. The blonde turns his head to face him. âMaybe you could live a life without one, Park Sunghoon.â
He stills for a second.
âHow did you know my na-â And as Sunghoon turns to face the stranger, he is met with nothing. Like the man was never there in the first place.
â
He's driving in that ugly, neon green Kia Soul, making his way back to Sunoo's egregiously large mansion.
Sunghoon's grip on the steering wheel tightens every time he checks the rearview mirror. He canât shake the feeling like heâs being watched. That guy⌠the way he talked, like he knew him. Not just his name, but everything underneath.Â
But screw that guy and whatever cryptic bullshit he was spouting. Screw his perfect friends, rich and successful. Every time they reunite, itâs like a reminder of everything Sunghoonâs not.
And screw the way Sunghee and Sungjae donât even look at him like he matters. He tries. God knows he does. But they donât know him. Don't know who either of you were outside of being their parents.
And you know what? Screw you and those damn papers too-
SCRREEEEE.
In an instant, his world is spinning out of control. Airbags deploy as Sunghoon jostles in a car that tumbles with him. The last thing he remembers is flashing lights and the loud sound of a crash. A sharp pain shoots through the left side of his body, and he feels as if he is coming in and out of consciousness.Â
Sunghoon's eyes blink open, but he's not lying where he thinks he should be. Itâs not the inside of a casket, nor is it a hospital room ceiling. He lies there with a cold and familiar feeling.
Ice.
Instead of the wrinkled suit he threw on that morning, heâs wearing sweatpants and a fitted black top. Not a scratch on him. No blood, no bruises.Â
Was he dead?
âIs just one axel hard for you now, kid?â a voice calls out.Â
He recognizes it almost immediately. Coach Jung. Sunghoon sits up, yanking his gloved hands from the coldness. What the fuck was happening?
âGet your ass back up and do it again,â Coach Jung shouts from the sidelines. The music starts again. Sunghoonâs eyes flutter shut, and he swears it's muscle memory. He knows this routine. The one from that night. The night he met you.
He moves. Instinct takes over. Jumps, spins, the sharp sound of his blades cutting clean into the ice. Every turn and landing exactly where it should be. Heâs smiling from ear to ear now, almost childlike.
And if he were dead and this was the last thing he'd ever experience, then maybe dying wasn't so bad. Heâd stayed off the ice for years, terrified that if he felt this weightless feeling again, that his regrets would consume him.Â
âPerform like that and you'll win no matter what,â Coach Jung calls out as the music fades. Even breathless, Sunghoon felt like he could do ten more spins across the ice. His heart was racing. Everything felt so real. The soreness of his muscles, the cold air against his skin, the echoes of Coach's voice.
âWhat day is it today?â Sunghoon asks abruptly. "And what year?"
Heâs pinching his wrist now, nails digging in and almost drawing blood. He flinched. It hurt like hell. Was this not a dream?
âKid, did you hit your head when you fell?â Coach Jung laughs.Â
And when he says the exact date, Sunghoon's confused. It wasnât like today was anything special. Just a random Tuesday. So why would this moment, 16 years ago, be where he ended up after crashing his car?Â
Looking at the reflection of his younger, more athletic self in the mirror, he just couldn't believe it. No matter how much he slapped his face or banged his head against the locker room door, he was still here. In this younger body.
He's walking home from practice now. His phone buzzes in his pocket of the boysâ group chat, the old one they used to fill with dumb inside jokes before you and the other significant others joined the group. But your name is yet to be in his contacts.Â
And then he remembers. Itâs three days before youâre in the stands of the smaller national competition he won many years ago.Â
Heâs not one to panic, but his thoughts are running in circles. Did he actually go back in time, or is this all in his head?
He sees someone in his periphery. A man around his age, standing near the curb, waving. Casual. Like theyâve met before. And they have.
The Zamboni driver.
He has a sinister smile, one that sends shivers down Sunghoonâs spine. Sunghoon doesnât hesitate. He marches forward and grabs him by the collar. âWho the fuck are you? Is this happening because of you?â
The man smirks, clearly amused.
âYou wanted to try, right? A life without regrets?â
Sunghoon glares at him, confused. âWhat?â
âPark Sunghoon,â the blonde says sternly. âThis is your last chance. Use it wisely.â
Before he can respond, the man shoves him back.
âWhat are you talk-â
And as he blinks, the stranger disappears. His head starts throbbing uncontrollably, and ringing sets in his ears. He hears a voice then, yet he canât recognize it.
âWhat will you choose in this life?â
Even as the reality of everything he left behind starts to settle, he feels a strange sense of calm wash over his grief.
He knows what to do.
-
three days later.
Sunghoon sees you in the corner of his eye as heâs tightening his skates. Youâre sitting with your friends, ones who had encouraged you to come and watch him. Back then, he was all anyone on campus could talk about. The quiet freshman with Olympic dreams who just missed his opportunity last year. He was skating harder than ever, pushing himself to the edge. Skipping classes. Shutting out everything but the rink.Â
Until you came along.
He remembers your first date. He'd asked awkwardly, âHow come you like me?â because he genuinely didnât understand.
Itâs not like the plushie you threw was the first with a phone number taped to it. Not even the tenth. He got plenty of confessions growing up, but he wanted to know why. What made anyone interested in an introverted and one-track-minded guy like him? He had no hobbies outside of figure skating, no real conversation skills that went past awkward greetings.
Yet, you teased him with that Cheshire grin of yours.Â
âHow could I not?" you say so casually as his heart bloomed. "Iâve never seen someone pour so much love into what they do until I met you. You know what you want. I admire that.â
Your words stuck with him. Heâd never forgotten it. And even now, those words echo in his chest as he skates to the center of the ice.
The music starts, and he lets himself get lost in the rhythm. As he glides across the ice, there is nothing on his mind. He just takes it all in. The roar of the audience. The sound of skates hitting ice. Itâs all he ever wanted.
The routine, like in the past, was met with a standing ovation. The screams of those in the stands overwhelm him. He goes to each section of the rink, bowing as tears threaten to spill over. Itâs all too much. And not enough.
Then, he reaches yours. Sunghoon finds you in the sea of people like he did before. Your hair is down, and your face is softer. He chokes back on his tears, so enthralled by your beauty. He couldnât take his eyes off you.Â
He bows, more deeply than to the other sections.
You throw that stuffed penguin through the air at the perfect time as it lands by his feet. And as Sunghoon rises from the bow, your eyes are on him again. Expectant.Â
You donât know him yet. Not really. You aren't aware of the pain to come. The fights. The distance. The way heâll drain all the color from your life.Â
As he turns to move to the final section, he catches a flicker of sadness in your eyes. A frown is present on your beautiful face. He wants to make it go away, but he canât. Not in this life.
And so the penguin sits on the ice, lifeless, as he skates off the rink.
â
That night, he skips the afterparty. He goes straight to his shitty studio apartment, the one with the thin walls and peeling paint, and collapses on the bed.
He buries his face into the sheets, the fabric dampening his sobs. The crowdâs cheers still ring faintly in his ears, but now it all sounds hollow. He screams then, into the mattress, at the thought of Sunghee and Sungjae. His babies. The only pieces outside of you in his old life that made it worth fighting for. Would they ever exist in this version of his life?
He tries to steady himself. Tells himself this was for the best. That your life would be easier without him as your words echoed in his head.
"If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met."
No years wasted, no sacrifices stacked on top of each other until they became resentment. No nights spent worried about bills or appeasing your parents, who never really quite liked him.
He wants to believe heâs doing you a favor.
But the tears donât stop. Not when he thinks about the weight of Sunghee in his arms the first time he held her. Not when he remembers teaching Sungjae how to read with his tiny hands clutching the book, his eyes lighting up at each new word.
Heâs letting it all go. All of it.
This was supposed to be his second chance. To live his dream without regrets. To see what it felt like.Â
And it felt like hell.
â
The next few nights were abysmal. Practice became unbearable. He wasnât eating. He wasnât sleeping. His body hit the ice harder whenever he missed a spin, which was every time at this point. Coach Jung eventually pulled him aside, clearly frustrated.
âGo home, Sunghoon. Straighten yourself out and get the hell off my ice.â
But home didnât feel real. None of this did.
He couldnât do it. He couldnât keep skating like this, not when every turn reminded him of you.
Sunghoon had to see you. Just once. Just enough to know you were okay. He told himself the kids would still exist somehow, even if your love story started differently in this version of life. That thought was the only thing holding him together.
He freshens himself up to go to campus, not having touched his backpack in weeks. He remembers your route like the back of his hand. Morning coffee at the cafe just off campus, right before your 9 AM. He will intercept you here, at this corner of the street.
Sunghoon's in a black turtleneck, wearing the glasses you would always steal off of him. The one that made you squirm under his intense gaze. The air was chilled, and his hands were buried deep in his navy jeans. He sees you coming into view, and he almost extends a hand to wave.Â
But he sees him, too.
Beomgyu. Your ex. The one who would ask your friends how you were doing, knowing full well that you were married with kids. The one who eventually became a guitarist for a band he would pretend not to like. Sunghoon had asked you to block him from everything before, and you complied. It hurt to admit that his insecurities were still present even now, in another life.
Sunghoon hides behind a tree as he watches you two struggle through the cold. Your shoulders are close but not quite touching. He feels his heart rate accelerate, his lips pursed to prevent himself from saying anything that would compromise his hiding spot.Â
âBeomgyu, you donât have to walk me to class,â he overheard you say with a laugh. âIâm okay, really.â
Sunghoonâs hands balled into fists. Why did your voice sound an octave higher than it usually does?Â
Beomgyu had the nerve to laugh, and it took Sunghoon everything in himself not to jump out.
You once told him that Beomgyu was your first love. Your high school boyfriend. You had ended things on good terms at the end of high school to find yourselves in college.
âGood,â Sunghoon once said. âBecause you found me.â
And now here you were, looking happy. Grinning from ear to ear. What was there to smile about?Â
âDoesnât this remind you of old times? You used to stuff your hands in my pockets-âÂ
And though Sunghoon almost wills himself to leave the spot behind the tree, he doesnât. Because he needed to watch this. Needed to watch you live the life you wouldâve had without him. The easier one.Â
He sees it now in the way your nose would scrunch to laugh at Beomgyuâs jokes. How you playfully hit the boyâs shoulder and hide your giggles with the sleeve of your puffer jacket.Â
Maybe thatâs why the stranger had chosen this year. To taunt him.
Look how happy someone else could make her. Was he the only reason why you were miserable? How much did he really hold you back?Â
And so Sunghoon steps aside, shoving his hands back in his jeans. The icy wind cuts through his reddened cheeks. He asked for this. And heâll have to live with it in this life.
Sunghoon turns around to give you one last look. But he also sees Sunghee, in her Elsa costume for Halloween. Sungjae asking for a mountain of kimchi at every restaurant. Your hand reaching for his across the dinner table.
Heâll have to live with it.
â
In the next three years, Sunghoon put his all into skating. He is consumed by it. Throws himself into it like itâs the only thing keeping him alive.
His professors have to send him emails to remind him not to neglect his studies. His mother scolds him for missing holidays at home because he travels so much for competitions. But Sunghoon doesnât care.
He loves figure skating. Loves the endless cheers from the crowd when he lands a clean program. Loves the headlines, the trophies lining his apartment shelves, the constant buzz of being "the nation's pride." Itâs everything he knew he wanted.Â
But, thereâs always that one seat in the stands. The one you used to sit in during his competitions, holding up a handmade banner and shouting his name louder than anyone.Â
Now, the face in that seat changes all the time. Some new fan. Some stranger holding a sign that doesn't mean anything to him.
He tells himself the past doesnât matter. That this version of you, the one who laughs in cafes with Beomgyu, whoâs always posting photos from new cities, new hobbies, new lives, wouldnât even recognize the girl he remembers.
The girl who used to sit cross-legged on his couch, studying while he iced his ankle. Who wept with joy the night he won first at an international competition.
Now youâre in a photography club. A painting class. Pottery? Really?
You travel more now than you two ever did in your 16 years together. He scrolls past your updates with a numb thumb, telling himself heâs glad. He guesses that he did the right thing.Â
And every time he walks past you with Beomgyu, smiling with all your teeth, it lingers. Those damn words are repeating in his head again.
"If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met."
Now he gets it. He guessed that he held you back from so much. Look at you with your wonderful friends and the amazing life you live without him! He scoffs. You deserve it.
You adjusted to him and his demanding training schedule, canceling plans with people so that you could maximize the time you had with him in the rare chance that he was in town. Maybe Beomgyu never wouldâve asked you to sacrifice like that. Maybe he wouldâve waited for you to come home from your clubs, instead of dragging you to cold rinks and rushed meals together in between practice sessions.
Sunghoon's fine. He swears on it.
Wake up. Go to class (if he feels like it). Skate for hours. Push through the pain. Go home. Cry into his pillow. Rinse and repeat.Â
The Olympics are a year away. The World Championships are in two months.
And the night you two conceived Sunghee is tomorrow. Â
â
tomorrow.
He wills himself to stay home, even when the boys suggest he hit up a few bars and clubs. It's the weekend after all.Â
But Sunghoon is used to making excuses by now. Blames it on his training schedule, his diet, Coach Jung. Whatever would get Jake off his back.Â
So when Sunghoon hears a knock at his door, and three boys pull up already reeking of alcohol, heâs surprised that he finds himself in that exact bar where he promised himself he wouldnât be.
Itâs just like before. Same music, same sickening smell of spilled tequila and too much cologne from Heeseung. And, as always, heâs bad at poker. Worse than he remembers. Heâs downing a shot after every loss until his head is spinning and he canât remember the rules anymore.
âIâm gonna⌠go⌠peeâŚâ he tries to say, but his words get lost in mumbles and drooping eyes. He miraculously stumbles towards the restroom and does his business in the urinal. Heâs dousing his face with water after barely washing his hands, and he smiles at his reflection. God, why didnât he want to go out again?Â
Sunghoon exits the restroom, shaking his wrists to expel the water from his hands. And his breath catches. He sees you.
Your backâs to him at first, your sparkly red dress riding up on the stool just like it was that night. Youâre laughing at something the bartender says. And he swears for a second, time stops.
Maybe itâs the alcohol. Or maybe itâs the years of missing you bottled up too tight. But he starts walking over before he can stop himself.Â
âHey,â he says plainly, elbow hitting the bar. You turn towards him, eyebrows raised in curiosity.Â
He'll be different in his first impressions this time. More experienced and confident than the shy fool he was when he met you. He'd match this new version of you, too. Show you what you were missing out on.
Thereâs a confused smile on your face.
âHi.â He looks at you more clearly, his vision impaired from leaving his glasses at home and the tequila shots in his system.
âYou come here often?â Heâs too out of his senses to stop himself from saying it. But he doesnât regret it because you laugh. He does too.
âYou say that to every girl, Park Sunghoon?âÂ
His heart skips a beat. âYou know my name?â
You roll your eyes, taking a sip of the cocktail that the bartender just handed you.
âCall me a fan,â you smile up at him, and he swears he could have melted right then and there. âYour face is everywhere.â
Sunghoon licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.
âI wish I could see more of yours,â he grins. âI think Iâd skate ten times better if I saw you in the crowd.â
You scoff jokingly. âAnd here I thought winning was enough for you.â
It should be. It was supposed to be.
He promised himself he wouldnât do this. That heâd leave you alone. He would let you go about your life, forget him, and be who you wanted to be. Who you should have been before he came to your life.
But here you are, impossibly close, and every part of him is begging not to let you go.
"You... you single?" he asks, trying to be casual. But his voice catches at the end. He wants to know. Needs to hear from your own lips if you actually chose Beomgyu in this life.
Relief washes over him when you shake your head.
"Wouldn't be talking to you if I was," you say with a teasing grin. Electricity shoots through him as he watches you. Too bright, too much. This short conversation, one he never planned on having, could never satisfy him. He could never get enough of you.
âDo you wanna get out of here?â he asks before he could stop himself, arm outstretched for you to take. Your face stiffens, and he almost thinks youâd say no until your fingers wrap around his arm.
âWhere to?âÂ
â
You barely make it past his front door before he has you up against it. His hands hold yours above your head, pinning your body against his. Sunghoonâs lips move against you ferociously, an unending battle between your tongues. You try to match his movements, but he is starved beyond belief.
You have no idea how badly he missed this.
Three years since he last heard you speak to him. Three years since heâs felt your lips. And the last time was when you asked him to pick up some stupid divorce papers from the kitchen counter. He needs this. Needs this more than breathing, more than eating, more than skating.
Sunghoon lifts you to wrap your legs around his middle. His hands find your bottom, giving a gentle squeeze that has you arching into him. He didnât want to scare you, but he couldnât will himself to stop. Your scent was too intoxicating for his mouth to ever leave yours.
You tap at his chest to push him away softly. With bruised lips, you whisper, âCan we go to your bed?â
He could almost moan just from the sound of you. His sweet, beautiful wife. Still so perfect for him.
His grip on your ass tightens as he maneuvers you through the studio apartment you once shared, laying you softly on the bed. Sunghoon wonders why you two just went at it like animals at the entrance way when the bed was only a few steps away back then. This time, he would savor it. Savor you.
He follows you down as he trails kisses on your neck. You crane it for him like you used to, giving him access to your most sensitive spots. His hands trail underneath your dress, teasing the hem of your panties. He looks up at you, silently asking for permission. All you could do was nod, opening your legs wide for him to continue. His dick twitches in his pants. You drive him insane.
Sunghoon peppers a few more kisses on your collarbone as his index finger prods carefully at your clothed pussy.Â
âAlready soaked,â he whispers into your skin, pressing the pads of his fingers onto your underwear. Liquid courage still very much in his system.
He feels bold right now, eager to impress. He doesn't know who you've been with in this life, but he'll make you forget them all. Fuck you so good that you forget those experiences. Remind you that he's your husband for a reason. His fingers hook the side of your ruby red panties, gliding them down your plush thighs.
âI bet Iâd go in so easily, huh?â his drunken voice slurs out. "So fucking wet."
When you nod again, he tsks. So silent, and for what? His fingers find your clit, ghosting over it. You arch to lean into his touch, but his hand retracts.
âUse your words, baby,â he says darkly. âWhatever you want, I can give it to you.â
You groan, eyes shut in frustration. âCanât you just fuck me?â
He laughs. Always so uncharacteristically vulgar when horny. He loves it. He loves you.
âCanât I get a taste first, baby?â he says, his face already inching downwards. He pulls your dress all the way off you, so that your breasts are finally exposed. Your satin red bra matched your panties like they were made to be seen tonight. He didnât know why that fired him up so badly.Â
Would another man have you like this if he didn't make a move?
He dips his head between your thighs, latching his mouth onto your clit. You gasp at the suddenness, not knowing how much youâve angered him just from your underwear choices. His tongue moves downwards, lapping at your folds like a man dying of thirst. His hands pinned your legs to open even wider, and you writhed underneath him.
âPlease-â you beg, hands gripping his hair as his tongue plunges into your wetness. Sunghoonâs eyes roll to the back of his head at the sensation. He could never, ever forget this taste.Â
He pushes his tongue in and out as deeply as he can with his curled tongue, grinding against the mattress for any semblance of stimulation.
He would make love to you tonight. Until you remember who he was. Until you remember the life you built together.
His tongue does one agonizing lick all the way up to your clit, and your back arches just to feel him better. Heâs sucking it harshly, tongue flicking at it in all the right ways.
âSunghoon-â you cry out, your feet digging into the mattress to push your hips up to meet his ravenous lips. He pulls away and glares up at you. Your hips fall.
âWhyâd you stop?â you whine, pushing his hair back down to your core. It takes everything in him not to laugh. He adores you like this. Desperate for him. Needy for him. Shaking in pleasure for whom? Him.
âDonât call me that,â he whispers into your inner thigh, nipping at it slightly. He chuckles at your confused expression. âHoon. If youâre gonna moan my name while I fuck you, I need you to say it properly.â
Your cheeks warmed. Heaving out a groan, you nod your head anyway.Â
âH-hoon,â you test out. âCan you please continue?â
He smiles mischievously. âWith what?â
You huff out in frustration. âI swear if you donât fucking make me cum right now Iâm going to-â
And his lips smash down on yours to shut you up. His hands replace his tongue as his middle finger draws figure-8s on your clit. He pulls your slickness from your folds and up to that sweet spot, relishing in the indecent noises between your legs.
Your moans are muffled by his tongue, body twitching underneath his. You taste yourself, so sweet on his lips as he caresses the most inner parts of your mouth. So dirty and so wet. He knew every part of you. Knew what made you cry, knew what made you scream. And fuck, he will make you scream.Â
He pulls away from you to admire his ruthless pace on your clit.
You are clenching around nothing as your nails dig into his shoulders. He coaxes a gasp out of you as a coil in your stomach starts to form.
âWant me so fucking bad, don't you?â he teases, his other hand on the nape of your neck. Sunghoon tilts your head down to show you the mess you were making.Â
His sheets are stained with your arousal, and his fingers are drawing circles on your bundle of nerves with such fervor. You catch a glimpse of his painfully clothed member.Â
He was right. You wanted him so desperately, wanted to feel him inside you at that very moment. Your breath hitches. Fuck. You felt something building.
Your hips start to rise again, and itâs hard to formulate a sentence.
âHoon! Oh my godâ Fuck itâsâ Itâsââ You cry out as Sunghoonâs pace quickens, motivated by the sound of your moans. His other hand tries to anchor your thighs down. You feel it as you start to lose vision in your eyes. His thumb is rubbing so intensely that it draws a whine right out of you.
The coil inside of you snaps.
âFuuuckâŚNghâŚâ
A wave of pleasure washes over you, and you feel your juices coat your folds, dripping more than before.Â
You're squirming underneath him, thighs twitching from the stimulation. He slows his pace, drawing out your orgasm for as long as possible.
His cock was in pain, desperate for it to make contact with any part of you. In this life, one thing he developed over the past three years of watching you in the shadows was patience. And you had none.
âGod, just put it in,â you groan so casually, resting your forearm to shield your eyes away from him. You were so fucked out. Hair splayed all over the pillow in messy waves. Lips bruised, your cherry gloss staining your chin and his cheek.
So eager to just have him take you. If he were a weaker man (maybe Beomgyu), he would have listened. But like he said earlier. He would savor this.
His fingers travel down to your folds, one dancing at your entrance to tease you. Sunghoon smirks as you whimper. He pushes a finger in and bites his lip at the feeling. He hasnât felt you, or anyone for that matter, in ages. In these past three years, he couldn't bring himself to even talk to another woman who wasn't you. It didn't feel right.
All the lonely, and frankly sad, nights touching himself to thoughts of you. Fucking himself on his wrist as he remembers all the nights youâve shared in your 13 years of marriage. He had plenty of material to work with, with all of your past escapades, but it was nothing like the real thing. Nothing like feeling you again.
âSunghoon, stop teasing me-â
His finger stilled, and you thought about cursing him out. He pulls your forearm away from your eyes, forcing you to look into his.
âWant to try that again?â he says, threateningly slow. The darkness of his gaze was enough to have you pliant and doe-eyed.
âHoon?â He smiles, kissing you on the forehead softly.
âGood girl.â And just like that, he dips another finger in, scissoring them into you with precision. Youâre a mess underneath him, overstimulated beyond belief, but he honestly couldnât give less of a fuck. He needed you to be ready for him. His heaviness was throbbing painfully just thinking about how you'd take him after all this time.
How long would it take you to adjust to his size?
Sunghoonâs fingers squelch with each thrust, finding the soft spot he was so familiar with. Heâs obsessed, drinking in the sight of your eyelashes fluttering, your hands gripping at his shoulders like your life depended on it. You were so wrapped up in your own pleasure, fucking yourself onto his fingers. Grinding up at him without a care in the world.Â
âLook at you,â he laughs. âSo needy.â
Sunghoon pulls his fingers out of you before he brings them to his lips. He hums, relishing the taste. Heâd have to go down on you again later tonight. Taste you after his cock has had its fill.
You watch him in anticipation as he takes his pants off. You follow his lead as you unhook your bra, throwing it across his floor, sighing at the feeling of cool air hitting your nipples. Sunghoon pulls his throbbing member out of his briefs, pumping himself languidly.Â
Sunghoon's eyes meet yours for a second before they go back to your cunt. He's churning something in his mouth, and you almost ask him what he was doing until he positions his mouth just above your folds.Â
With sultry eyes directly gazing up at yours, Sunghoon lets his saliva drip down onto your pussy.Â
You throw your head back on the pillow from the sight. Fuck, that was hot. He moves back up to you, guiding his hand to spread his spit with the tip of his leaking cock.
His dick smears your joined liquid in an up-and-down motion, pushing in ever-so-slightly. You gasp and clutch his chest, nails digging in enough to get his attention. He stops.
âIâm not on birth control,â you mutter, like youâre scared to tell him.Â
âShould I stop?â he asks, even with his tip pulsing so desperately between your folds. You avoid eye contact, though he doesnât know why.Â
âLook at me.â he growls.
Sunghoon tilts your chin to face him, and with glossy eyes, you shake your head. He smiles, and a tinge of sadness hits him. You look so soft underneath him, so fucking beautiful.
Heâs spent three years stuck in this version of his life, crying over you to avoid this very moment. But he just wanted you so bad. Wanted to feel you at least once again. Then, heâll let go, he swears. This will be the first and last.
âUse your w-âÂ
You interrupt him with a kiss, wrapping your legs around him to push him deeper into you. He groans, collapsing onto his elbows. You dig your heels into his back as you pull him in deeper. Sunghoon's lips leave you to lay his forehead against yours. His breathing grows heavy, so lost in how your hole sucks him in.
âSo fucking tight,â he groans, testing the waters with a small thrust after bottoming out. You squeak in response. âFuck, baby.â
He wraps you in a tight hold, propping his knees underneath your thighs into a mating press. He fucks into you at an agonizing pace. It's so slow, you could feel every part of his rigid cock. His large size. His thick veins. The soft pulsing. It's so slow that you almost flip him over to ride him instead. But the desperation in his eyes stops you. His head buries deep in your hair, and you could hear the shakiness of his breath as he pulls out of you and plunges back in.
Sunghoon relishes the way you clench around him, your tight warmth pulling him deeper and deeper with each thrust. He drives himself into you with languid, but strong thrusts. He wants to engrave his place inside you so that you are ruined for anyone who might come after him. And again, he angers himself.
"You only this good for me?" he asks, searching your eyes for reassurance. But you aren't listening. You meet his thrusts, grinding yourself onto him. You want more. More of his touch. More of his length. Just more of him.
âFasterââ you whine, thighs pushing into his sides with each hard thrust. He was reaching the deepest part of you, your cervix kissing his tip ever so deliciously. Sunghoon doesnât abide, so you take what he gives you.
"You this desperate for everyone, baby?" he whispers into your ear darkly. You shake your head, tears forming in your eyes.
"No..." you muster out. "Just you."
And even through all the tequila and the self-restraint not to jackhammer into you, he believes you.Â
His hands are on your tits now, catching them as they bounce with the strength of his slow thrusts. He twists a nipple between his fingers, coaxing a moan out of you. He tugs and pulls, and it's enough to have you moaning underneath him.
You feel that familiar fire build inside of you. An ember that burned in your lower stomach and traveled down to the very tip of your toes.Â
âHoon! Please- Fuck- I need... I need-âÂ
You couldnât form full sentences. His thrusts were so harsh and still so painstakingly slow. His eyes never left your face. He basked in the way your brows furrowed for him. How your lips formed silent screams as he hit that certain spot within you. Again and again.
âTell me what you want,â he whispers hoarsely, his lips so close to yours. âTell me who you need.â
âYou!â you cry out. "Only you!"
He smashes his lips against yours as he finally thrusts into you hard and fast. His hands on your breast travel down to your waist, locking you onto the mattress as he fuck into you.
You feel something pooling, feel the tingling of your toes intensify with his breath against your face. His moans are just as loud as yours, grunting in your hair like a beast.
âYou feel so fucking goodââ his hips piston forward, brushing against that spot with every movement. Your chest is pressed into his as you claw at his back. The sensation builds and builds as your stomach starts to tighten.
âHoon- Oh my god- Iâm-Angh!â
Your second orgasm rips through you, the tension within snapping like a chord. It's so much stronger than your first one. It hits you in waves as you weep through it, your hips grinding up to meet his unending thrusts. You were so sore, so sensitive, but his pace stayed so relentless.Â
âCloseâ So fucking close, babyââ he moans into your hair.
He clutches your hips, driving into you with reckless abandon. Even if you had no idea who he was, he would have your body remember him. Sunghoon, in this life, would be your best one-night stand. He swears on it.
He grunts as he feels you clench around him harder, his hips stuttering against yours.
âIâm gonnaââ He tries to pull out, tries to push you away. Tries not to repeat the same mistakes. But your arms pull him downward as legs wrap sternly around his waist. You push him in deeper.
And he comes. Hard.Â
âFuck-â
Sunghoon plants an open-mouthed kiss on your lips, drowning out his sweet noises as he feels his raw cock twitch deep inside. His hot cum spills deep inside you with thick spurts. Your lips parted at the warm feeling, and he could tell you enjoyed every bit of milking him dry.Â
Sunghoon pulls away from you with a soft groan. He watches as his cum spills out of you. He brings his finger to your folds, pushing his fluids into you.Â
As he meets your eyes, heâs shocked to see how concerned you look. Because unbeknownst to him, there were tears streaking down his face. And before he can fully sober up and stop himself, he says it.
"I love you."
â
Youâre gone before he wakes up.
Sunghoon screams into his pillow, recalling his words like a bad nightmare. Stupid. So stupid. This was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be different.
That stranger, whoever he was, said this was his last chance. And what did he do? He threw away three years of silent pining just to chase you down on the very night the troubles in your relationship had begun.
Was he a fucking idiot?Â
You never even said goodbye, never even replied to his confession last night. Didnât even leave a trace of what last night meant to youâif it meant anything at all. He mustâve looked insane.
Sunghoon grips the back of his neck, exhaling hard. You donât know him. You arenât the same girl from his past life. You're different now. Three years. Thatâs how long youâve had to become someone else.
And him? He hasnât changed at all. Heâs still chasing ghosts. If it wasn't figure skating in his past life, it would be you in this one.
He sighs and sits up. Practice. He should go to practice.
â
two months later.
âAre you messing around, kid, or do you actually want to win this thing?!â Coach Jung shouts after Sunghoon falls on his ass for the umpteenth time. His palms sting from the fall, but he barely feels it.Â
The World Championships are in a week, and he hasnât heard a single peep from you since you left his apartment. Hasnât seen you on campus in his usual routes to watch you from afar. He knew he had reached a new level of patheticness when he actually went up to Beomgyu to ask how you were.
Turns out, you two weren't even as close as he thought you were. He smiled to himself after that, but frowned when he realized that it truly was as if you had disappeared.
âSorry,â he huffs, out of breath from the demanding routine. âOne more time?â
Coach Jung pinches the bridge of his nose. âHow about ten more, you punk? Get your act together.â
Coach mutters something under his breath and storms off, leaving Sunghoon alone with the cold silence of the rink. He tries again. Falls again. He smacks his gloved hand against the ice, hard enough that the sharp sting shoots up his arm. He shouldâve known. The moment he got a taste of you, he knew this would happen.Â
No matter when or how, he would always bother you. He would always lose himself. He would always manage to ruin everything.
âAre you living the life you wanted, Park Sunghoon?â a voice echoes behind him. He spins on his skates.Â
There he is again. The blonde prick. Somehow, heâs in his sneakers and standing still on the ice. His hands are smug in his coat pockets.
Sunghoon doesnât take the time to question it until heâs skating at breakneck speed towards him.
He swings at him, but the stranger disappears into smoke.Â
âOr do you still have regrets?â the voice is behind him again. Sunghoon turns around to the stranger, giving him that annoying, shiteating grin.Â
âI want out,â Sunghoon says with a strained jaw. âBring me back. To Sunghee. To Sungjae. To her. Now.â
The blonde laughs. âYou havenât even done what you set out to do yet. Wasn't this what you wanted?â
Sunghoon lets out a bitter sigh, chest tight.
âI get it, okay?" he says with wavering breaths. "I was selfish. I asked for too much. I get it now. So just... please. Please, send me back.â
The boy steps forward. His sneakers make no sound on the ice. Inches away from Sunghoon now, just a little taller than him.Â
âYou donât always get what you want in life,â the stranger says with that sick, twisted grin. It sends a rush of dread through Sunghoon's body.
âI thought you would have learned that by now.â
â
the world championships.
Heâs in the locker room. His left leg is bouncing up and down, nail splitting as he gnaws at it incessantly. Only ten contestants ahead of him, but he has the time to panic. Just like he did before.
Coach Jung pats him on the shoulder. âDonât think too much. You're gonna psych yourself out.â
Sunghoon shakes his head, unlocking his phone to check the time. The lockscreen, snow falling past a dark streetlight, holds his gaze longer than it should. He sighs.
âI'm not nervous,â Sunghoon replies, unconvincingly. âIt's just cold.â
Coach Jung rolls his eyes.
âYou're not new to this, kid,â he doubts the young man. âYou're gonna do great out there. This is what you've been dreaming of. Just don't mess it up.â
And when Coach Jung shuts the door behind him, Sunghoon puts his hands to his face. And instead of self-affirmations, he is trembling. Barely breathing, he replays the memory again. Of him spinning you in his arms. Of your kind smile.
Sunghoon told himself not to expect you. In this lifetime, you'd only met once. Only fucked once. But he still thought... maybe the universe would be kind. Maybe youâd show up like you did back then.
âCan the remaining five acts please be on stand-by?â the overhead speaker blares into the locker room. That's him. He's one of the last five.Â
Thereâs no one to hold him back this time. No distractions. Just an aching in his chest.Â
Sunghoon's by the stands now. He watches with shaky hands as the crowd âoohsâ and âahhsâ at his competitorsâ routines. He hates watching before his turn.Â
His eyes naturally fall on a seat in the stands. He blinks, rubbing his eyes to check if he was hallucinating.Â
Someone sits there. Not a stranger. Not this time. It's you. Your brows furrowed like you were forcing yourself not to enjoy his competitorâs performance. Wearing the same outfit. He huffs a laugh under his breath. What are you doing here?
As the routines passed one by one, he could not take his eyes off you. Even from afar, your eyes glisten so beautifully. The same eyes that once glowed, helping the kids with homework. The same eyes that looked at him across the table after long days and short tempers. His wife. The mother of his children. The version of life he gave up for this one.
Now, he would have to settle for this. Longing stares and a heartbeat he could hear in his ears.
âNext to skate, representing the People's Republic of Korea. Sunghoon Park!â
He steps onto the ice with a big smile on his face. He forces it out, forces himself to act fine when you cheer at the sound of his name. He takes his pose at the center of the ice.
The music begins. His edges wobble, nerves bleeding into the blade. He practiced day and night, no distractions. Not even you. So why⌠Why was this happening?Â
He takes in a deep breath as he prepares himself for the first spin. Heâs skating backwards, building up momentum. He pushes off the ice. Toe pick hits.
Sunghoon rose high. He spots himself. One. Two. Three. Almost fourâ but his shoulders tilt, the axis too loose. The rotation slows. A half-second of weightlessness gives way to gravity, and heâs tumbling onto the ice hard.Â
Gasps echo through the arena, and then applause as he brushes himself back up and onto his skates again.
He gets up. He keeps going. Muscle memory takes over. The rest of the routine is clean. Almost perfect, but not enough.Â
The first quad... He fucked it up. He bows, head down, as if apologizing for even trying.
And when the score is announced while he's sitting on the sidelines, his body is limp. He barely reacts, face blank with emotion.
He could blame you for it. Pretend you were the reason why his routine didn't score high. But the truth is, he stopped believing in excuses a long time ago.
Years of hating himself led here. All this time, resenting the path he took, only to fuck this one up, too.Â
Sunghoon had to laugh. He deserves it. Of course he did. The low score. You leaving him. The heartache.Â
Everything he thought he was capable of, everything he pushed aside to have this moment. None of it mattered without you.Â
As he rises from his seat on the floor, he searches for you in the endless crowd of faces. The other competitors pass by him with pity; he sees it in everyoneâs faces. But they don't matter.Â
Because you're gone. Your seat is empty.Â
"Kid-"Â
He pushes past Coach Jung without looking back. There's nothing left to say.
Sunghoon pulls his skates off skillfully, breaking into a sprint towards the exit. He runs with only socks separating him from the floor.Â
Then he sees you, clutching your stomach and moving toward the exit. His breath catches. Somehow, he knows. He's seen it all play out before.
â[Y/N], wait!â
You stop in your tracks, hands trembling. You turn around, and he is already clutching your face, kissing you so deeply. You would have every right to push him away, to call him a creep and spit every insult at him. But you donât, and he doesnât understand why.
Instead, you lean into his touch, fingers fisting the thin fabric of his blouse. Heâs the first to pull away, forehead resting against yours.
âWhy are you here?â he asks. Itâs not the only question he has, but itâs the first that comes out. Youâre crying now, eyes wide, mouth parted. But why?
âI was justâŚâ You try, but you fail to find the right words. âI just came to support you?â
Sunghoon shakes his head. He doesn't buy it. Not for a second. Your voice faltered. He knew better now not to let things linger.
âYou came to tell me something,â he says knowingly, replaying the scene of the past in his head as it happens right in front of him. He smiles sadly, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. âWhat is it?â
You flinch.
âI canât,â you whisper, the first barrage of tears falling down your face. âIt'll ruin you.â
He laughs then. Quiet. Tired. Even in this life, you were so selfless. He doesnât deserve you. Never did.
âYou always say that. Even now.â
He takes your hands into his.
âAre you pregnant?â he asks, taking the words right out of your lips. Your mouth opens in shock.
âHow did you-?â
âWe'll figure it out,â Sunghoon interrupts softly. He was smiling now. Sunghee was here. She was growing inside you. âTogether.â
For a moment, something shifts. You search his face like youâre looking for confirmation. And just like that, you pull away. What? It stings.Â
This didn't happen before. Why were you-
âYou went back," you say. "Didnât you?â Your voice sounds foreign now, laced with hurt. Itâs his turn to look confused.Â
âWhat do you mean?â he asks, hands reaching for yours again. You avoid them, and he feels a sharp pain in his chest. âWhat are you talking about?â
âYou⌠You went back in time like I did, right?â Sunghoonâs eyes widened. âThatâs how you knew.â
He freezes.
It clicks. Like cold water hitting his skin. He remembers the first time he saw you in this life. How carefully he avoided you. How he left the penguin plushie behind, just like before. How badly youâd looked at him after that. It all makes sense now.
âI didnât want to avoid you,â he musters. âI had every intention of finding you again. I passed by that damn cafe every day just to see you-â
You shake your head, but he keeps going, vomiting out word after word.
âI even tried to talk to you, but you looked so happy. All I could think about was the last time we spoke. How you said you regretted us. Watching you with Beomgyu, or whatever his name is-"
âSunghoon-âÂ
âI was fucking miserable-â His voice cracks.
âSunghoon-â Youâve never heard him talk this much. Never seen him look so broken.
âAnd I couldnât even fight the guy who dragged me into this mess. I was stuck. Thinking about you. About us. About Sunghee. Sungjae. God, I missed you all so fucking much it hurt to breatheââ
âSunghoon, pleaseââ
âAnd I shouldâve just caught that stupid penguin. I should've just relived our memories together. I shouldâve been a better man, a better husband, a better father. But I just keep fucking it up. Every single time, even now-â
âHoon!â you shout, grabbing his face with your hands. His words die off. He finally breathes. You donât look angry, not at him at least.
âI know,â you say quietly. âBecause I didnât put my number on the penguin.â
His mouth parts slightly. "Wha-"
"I thought I was the one who messed it all up," you confess. âWhen you didnât pick up the plush, I thought it was because of me. Because I tried to change things.âÂ
You swallow back your tears as he listens to you intently, your hands sliding to his chest.
âI thought youâd be better off without me, too.â
You let out a bitter laugh.
âI tried to fill the space,â you continue. âTried to pick up things I couldn't before. But all I think about was Sunghee and Sungjae."
Your eyes waver, lips pressed together tightly.
"And you," you breathe out. "I saw you skating, training so hard, and you looked happy. I couldnât bring myself to take it away from you again.â
You pause, lips trembling.
âSo I made a plan. I thoughtâif I could just get Sunghee back, maybe one day Iâd find you again for Sungjae.â
You both let out a shaky laugh.
"So then I went to the bar," you sigh. "I wore that red dress and I just hoped you would find your way to me again-â
âOf course I would,â Sunghoon interrupts, kissing your temple. âI always do.â
âAnd it worked.â You look at the ground like you're ashamed. âThe test was positive. I wasnât planning on telling you.â
Sunghoon takes your hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes assure you.
âAnd then you fell during your routine,â you whisper, a sad laugh slipping out. "I thought⌠I avoided you all this time for nothing.â
He laughs too. âI wasnât even going to win anyway.â
Sunghoon pulls you back into a hug, stroking your hair ever-so-softly.
âIâm sorry,â he whispers. âFor making you ever feel like I regretted choosing you.â
And you didnât know you needed to hear those exact words until you sob into his chest.
Sunghoon soothes you. Heâs had enough crying. All he is now is grateful. The pain, the mourning. It all led him here.Â
âThis time weâll do it right,â he assures you. âI love you. Iâm not letting you do this alone.â
You pull away from him, eyes wet but smiling.
âI love you too.â
And you tilt your head as he reaches down to kiss you. With your eyes both closed, the world around you spins. Just you and him. In each otherâs arms. His lips are soft against yours.
And a voice unfamiliar to both of you echoes in the air.
âI hope you can live a life without regrets.â
â
Sunghoonâs eyes open groggily, pain shooting through his spine almost immediately. All he sees are sterile hospital walls and Jay and Sunooâs concerned faces.
They hover over the foot of his bed, their faces a mix of worry and irritation.
He blinks, scanning the room. Wires. A blood pressure cuff. An IV drip. Another bed. Then your eyes flutter open too.
âYou know, with how the divorce is going, we thought you two crashed into each other on purpose,â Sunoo chirps, unempathetic to the dazed state of his friends. Jay smacks him on the shoulder.
âYouâre lucky I managed to get you both a private room,â Jay mutters. âThe nurses kept whispering about you two in the ICU.â
Sunghoon turns his head slowly, wincing. Youâre awake now, alert, your expression matching his. His chest tightens. And almost in a panicked daze, his head snaps back to his friends.
âSunghee and Sungjaeââ he strains out, pain shooting through his lungs. âWhere are they?â
Jay furrows his brows.
âThey werenât in the car with [Y/N], if thatâs what youâre worried about,â he starts. âTheyâre looking for a vending machine with Heeseung and Jungwon-â
You both let out a shaky breath. For a second, relief replaces pain. Your eyes meet his for just a second before the door bursts open.
âMom! Dad!â Sunghee's voice cries out. Sheâs running towards you two now, but Heeseung stops them.
âWhoa there, princess. Theyâre fragile.â
Her eyes are red, as if she had just finished crying. Sungjae's behind Heeseung, tugging at his jacket, worry etched across his little face.
âYou didnât do it on purpose, did you?â Sunghee blurts in your direction. Sunghoon has to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh. âThey donât have it on camera, but they said your car hit Daddyâs!â
He feels something warm bloom in his chest. Itâs been a while since Sunghee sounded so protective of him.
You shake your head frantically. âNo, darling. My brakes stopped working! I could never hurt your dad. He and I love each other very much-â
You stop yourself, but it's too lateâcheeks already warming at the shifting gazes of the four grown men in the room. Jungwon fakes a cough.
âLove? As in, present tense?â he teases.
Sunghoon has the biggest grin on his face, and Sunoo scoffs as his eyes pivot between the two of you.
âDid you both hit your head in the accident?â
Heeseung clears his throat. âSo, why donât we take the kiddos to dinner, hm? Looks like Mom and Dad have some catching up to do.â
Sungjae nods excitedly. âPlease! They're so icky.â
The adults usher the kids out, and Jay gives one last wink to the two of you before the doors close. The room falls quiet except for the not-so-steady beeping of the monitors. Sunghoon is the first to speak.
âSo... when do you want me to pick up the papers again?âÂ
You laugh softly.Â
âOh! I guess if you want to go through with itâŚâ
âNo!â Sunghoon shouts, eyes huge. 'Heâs so cute when he doesnât mean to be,' you think to yourself.
You tilt your head, smiling. âThen donât even think about getting them.âÂ
Your bed is near enough for you to inch your hand towards his forearm. Your touch is featherlight against his skin. It takes all of his strength to intertwine your fingers with his.
âSo what does this mean for us?â you say through bated breath. He ponders for a second.
âIt means⌠maybe I can build you an art studio in our garage?â he says cautiously. âAnd maybe I quit my job? Become a figure skating coach? How does that sound?âÂ
You let out a stronger laugh this time, one that aches in your ribs but still feels good. And in this version of you, older and wiser. He still thinks youâre so beautiful.
âI donât resent you,â he whispers. And your heart skips a beat, in a way that it hadnât in a long time. You smile at him. And finally, you find the courage to say it in this life too.
âI love you.â
He brings your fingers to his lips and plants gentle kisses on your knuckles.
In every lifetime, Sunghoon knows. He could be standing on the Olympic stage, the roar of thousands echoing in his ears. He could have everything he ever thought he wanted. But none of it would matter. Not if you werenât there.
âI love you too," he replies, quietly.
And in every lifetime, he will always find his way back to you. And he will choose you. Over and over again.
â
epilogue.
Sungjae is on the garage floor, legs crisscrossed as he watches something on his iPad. Sunghoon is installing shelves for your future artist corner while Sungjae's video is strangely on mute.
âWhat you watching, son?â he asks, trying to distract himself from the tight pull in his lower back.
Sunghoon nearly drops the shelf on his eye. âW-what?â
Sungjae shrugs.Â
âLooks interesting,â he mutters. âWish I could fly like that.â
Sunghoon sets the shelf down carefully, then crosses the room to crouch beside Sungjaee. On the screen, a much younger version of himself soars across the ice. He remembers that routine. His first national win.
âDidn't think you'd be into it,â he ruffles his sonâs hair.
Sungjae shrugs again, but pink tinges his cheeks.
âYou never asked.â
The words hit him. He never really did. Not even with Sunghee.
âDo you want to try?â Sunghoon asks slowly. âFigure skating?â
Sungjae finally looks up, eyes wide. âCan I?â
Sunghoon feels tears well up in his eyes, and he coughs them away. What was up with him and crying these days?
âOf course, son,â he says, pulling him into a gentle side hug. âYou'll be my first student.â
âArenât you a pretty picture?â - Byun Euijoo (ëłě죟) x f!reader
After fleeing a violent, controlling relationship with wealthy optics tycoon Byun Eui Joo, you believe you've finally escaped until news arrives that heâs died by suicide and left you a large inheritance. At first the fortune seems like freedom, but your life quickly unravels
content warming - drugging, physical violence, paranoia, gaslighting, PTSD, therapy, panic attacks, anxiety, fear of open spaces (agoraphobia), suicide, and exhibitionism, non-consensual sexual content, explicit dirty talk, use of restraints (tie as gag), slow-burn dynamics and creampie.
word count : 9.7k
This is the first installment of The Silver Screen Haunting Series.
You may think youâre only watching a story but the story may be watching you back.
Enter at your own risk. The first showing is about to begin.
Everything was ready. The pills you slipped into his drink would keep him under for hours, maybe longer if you were lucky. The duffel bag was shoved into the back of the closet, the one place you knew Euijoo would never bother looking. It was packed tight with clothes, cash, the scraps of yourself you had managed to keep hidden in this marriage. Which wasnât much because Euijoo had always insisted on control. Always...
At first, heâd been perfect. Sweet, disarming, the kind of boy who could make you laugh just by flashing that smile. You met him your freshman year of college. Both of you were lost on campus, fumbling with maps and schedules. Youâd been rushing to find your class when you slammed into him so hard you almost dropped your books.
âOh my God, Iâm so sorry,â you blurted. âNo, that was me,â he said, and then he smiled. That smile, that bright, boyish, so easy to fall for. It was the first thing you noticed about him. Back then it was your favorite part of him. Now it was the reason you woke up screaming. You tried to edge past him, but his hand clamped around your upper arm. Tight. You froze. He laughed, nervous, like he knew he was being too forward. âI know this is weird,â he said. âBut⌠would you like to go out with me sometime?â
The question knocked the breath out of you. You stammered, cheeks burning, âYes. Iâd love to.â You exchanged numbers. You walked away smiling. And if youâd known, if youâd had even the slightest glimpse of what that moment would grow into. The suffocating nights, the panic attacks, the bruises hidden under sleeves. You would have run. But you didnât. And now the pills are working, and the bag is waiting, and the clock is ticking down to the moment when youâll finally risk everything to claw your way out.
You turned, your eyes darting to the bed. He was still out. His chest rising, falling. A monster made harmless for once. Every step had to be silent. You pressed your weight onto the balls of your feet, tiptoeing toward the closet. The duffel was right where youâd hidden it. You wrapped your fingers around the strap, eased the bag out. You exhaled through your teeth and crept out of the closet and into the hall. One hurdle down. The worst still ahead.
Euijoo lived to control you. Every move, every word, every thought. He owned them all. He had the money for it, the power. A brilliant optics engineer. A ruthless businessman. And when you disobeyed, your body paid the price. Slaps. Hair yanked hard enough to burn your scalp. Bruises that bloomed under your clothes like poisonous flowers. The bedroom door clicked shut behind you. You hurried to the garage. Fingers shaking, you pressed the button. The heavy door groaned, rattling, every sound a blade against your nerves.
The cars gleamed under the harsh lights. You wove between them, careful not to touch the paint, careful not to breathe too loud. The alarms were hair triggers, and one shriek would bring him running. You were almost clear. Then a scrape. The duffel brushing against polished metal. The car alarm detonated, a scream that split your ears. From somewhere deep inside the house, you heard your name screamed with a fury so thick it echoed through the walls, vibrating with rageÂ
Panic slammed into you. You bolted, feet pounding concrete, bag bouncing against your hip. The gate loomed ahead, the metal bars trembling in the night air. You hurled the bag over. It hit the ground with a heavy thud. You grabbed the bars, climbed, fingers slipping. Behind you, Euijoo stepped out of the garage door. His eyes found you. Locked on. That was all it took, the adrenaline burned through your veins. You clawed your way up, threw yourself over, dropped to the other side. Pain shot through your knees but you kept moving.
Down the hill, down to where Nayeonâs headlights burned through the dark. You flung yourself into the car, slammed the lock down, screamed, âGo! Go!â your eyes caught hers instead. Her face, pale, confused and fumbling with the wheel. You were staring at her, begging, when the world cracked apart. Euijoo. Right there. His face against your window, his fist pounding the glass. You shrieked, jerking away, and the look in his eyes filled with hatred, pure and blinding freezing the air in your lungs.
âGet the fuck out of the car!â he roared pulling at the doorâs handle, his throat corded, a vein straining along his neck. He bent down, snatched up a rock, smashed it against the window. Glass exploded, showering your lap. His hand darted inside, fast, brutal, closing around your throat. Air cut off. Pressure. His face inches from yours. Hate searing in his eyes. You bit down. Hard. Copper flooded your tongue. He howled, grip loosening. You shoved him back, Nayeon slamming the car into drive. Tires screamed, the car lurched forward, leaving him in the middle of the street, bellowing your name into the dark.
âWhat the fuck was that?â Nayeon shouted, her voice breaking. You couldnât answer. Your chest heaved. Your throat throbbed where his fingers had been. You just stared straight ahead, the road blurring into darkness. You didnât realize youâd made it to Nayeonâs house until her hand touched your shoulder. The sudden pressure jolted you out of the trance, your body flinching like sheâd burned you. Somehow, impossibly, youâd gotten away.
Months of planning, getting the pills, rehearsing the lies, convincing your friend to pick you up in the dead of night without a single explanation. You couldnât tell her why. Couldnât risk dragging her into the orbit of a man like Euijoo. The less she knew, the safer she was. At least, thatâs what you told yourself as you packed your bag in secret, as you practiced how to breathe without making a sound. But the truth was a knot in your stomach, safety was a lie. Because Euijoo never lost. He didnât know how. Heâd always been the one with the money, the power, the control. And men like that didnât just sit back and watch you leave. They come after you.Â
The months blurred, stitched together by sleepless nights and Nayeonâs steady hand pulling you through the wreckage. Therapy had become a lifeline, even on the days when stepping outside felt like stepping into a trap. Some mornings, you couldnât even step outside to get the mail. The thought of open air, of being exposed, left you shaking. Certain heâd be there. Waiting. Lurking. Ready to drag you back into the nightmare youâd barely escaped. Luna was the kind of therapist you hadnât believed existed. Patient. Sharp. Unyielding in a way that didnât scare you. She chipped away at the rubble heâd left behind, laying the foundation for something stronger. Something that felt dangerously close to hope.
âTodayâs session was really good,â Luna said, walking you to the door. Her smile was kind, but not pitying. âCall me if you need anything.â âThank you,â you managed, though the word felt too small. Nayeon was in the waiting room, like always. She stood when she saw you, wrapping you in a side hug that smelled like her shampoo, warm and safe. For a heartbeat, it was like you were both back in high school, careless and safe. âWhat should we get for dinner?â she asked, easy and casual, as though you hadnât just spent an hour scraping open old wounds. âPizza,â you said, a small laugh catching in your throat. âAlways pizza.â âYes,â she grinned, steering you toward the exit. Her car was parked close, right by the entrance because she knew. Because she understood that wide-open spaces still made your skin crawl.
You slid into the passenger seat. The door clicked shut. And just like that, the night of your escape came roaring back, his hand on your throat, the window shattering, the sound of your own scream. Your chest clenched, vision tunneling. The burn of his breath in your ear, the slam of Nayeonâs door closed jolting you back. The car was warm, safe, her presence steady beside you. You forced a smile, buckled your seatbelt. âOkay,â you said, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. âLetâs head home.â
She looked at you and smiled back. Not the kind of smile that said everything was fine. But the kind that told you sheâd be right there, no matter how many times you broke. For the first time in months, you believed her.
You pushed through the front door, shoulders heavy, ready to collapse into the comfort of the night. Every step carried you toward your room, each one echoing too loudly in the quiet house, like the walls were watching as you tried to settle in.Â
âShower time,â you muttered to no one, you stripped, skin prickling with the cool air, and twisted the shower handle until steam began to roll across the glass. Before stepping in, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. For a second, you didnât recognize the face looking back. Not the hollow-eyed shell Euijoo had carved out of you. This version of yourself looked different eyes brighter, a spark there, something stubborn and raw. Hope. The will to fight.
Then crash. A sharp noise from the bedroom. You jumped so violently your elbow clipped a bottle, knocking it to the floor. The sound ricocheted off the tiles, yanking you backward in time. A plate slipping from wet hands. Shattering on the tile. His shadow stretching long behind you. Euijooâs hand wrapping around your waist, grip vice-tight, breath hot against your neck. His laugh low and cruel. The yank as he dragged you from the sink, bending you over the counter. The fabric of your dress tearing upward. Pants never allowed. âEasy access,â heâd said once, smiling as he reached for his belt.Â
âHey!â Nayeonâs voice snapped through the fog of memory. âYou want pineapple on the pizza?â she called from the kitchen. Your chest heaved, lungs dragging in air that didnât want to come. You forced your voice out, high and too quick: âYes, please!â Silence returned. Just the hiss of water heating behind you. You turned back to the mirror. Your reflection stared, pale and shaking. You braced the counter, met your own gaze, and said it out loud, voice trembling but firm, âHe canât hurt you anymore.â The words cracked something loose inside you. You exhaled, long and shaky, then stepped into the shower. The hot water hit your skin, and for the first time in years, it felt like you might finally be washing him off.
You stepped out of your room, skin still damp from the shower, hair clinging in strands to your neck. The steam clung to you like a second skin. For a moment, you felt clean. Safe. Nayeon was already in the kitchen, a box of pizza in her hands, smiling like it was just another night. âTable or TV?â she asked, tilting her head. âTV,â you muttered, your voice low, already moving, your body heavier than you realized. The floor seemed to pull at your feet as you dropped down onto the carpet, sinking in, ready for nothing. An uneventful evening. Quiet. Normal or you wished it was. The screen flickered alive, bathing the room in a pale glow. Static. A news anchorâs voice droned in the background, the sharp edge of the broadcast cutting through the smell of pizza. Nayeon reached for the remote, already about to change the channel until his name stopped her cold. âByun Euijoo, the wealthy optics engineer and businessman, was found dead in his home tonight. Authorities are calling it a suicideââ The screen went black. Nayeonâs thumb jammed the button hard enough to crack plastic.
Heâs dead. Heâs dead. The thought pulsed in your skull like a hammer, drowning out the world. Your stomach pitched. The air thickened. You couldnât swallow. Couldnât breathe. Nayeon glanced at you, her mouth opening like she wanted to speak, to explain, to soften the news. The phone rang. Your body went rigid. The sound filled every corner of the room, every nerve in your skin.Â
When Nayeon lifted the phone to her ear, the room seemed to still, every sound swallowed whole. Her eyes flicked to you as she listened, her knuckles tightening white around the receiver. Her voice was steady when she finally said, âOkay.â Click and the line went dead. Nayeon set the phone down too carefully, like it might explode. âThat was Euijooâs lawyer,â she said quietly. âHe⌠left you money in his will. Since you were technically his wife, you have a claim to his estate. He didnât have family. You were the closest thing he had.â Her words landed like blows you couldnât block. âHis lawyerâs name is Koga Yudai,â she added. You knew exactly who it was. The one person Euijoo had never bothered to hide his true self from. The memory clawed at you, sharp and unrelenting the night he had forced himself on you in front of Yudai, a so-called lesson in âmanners,â as heâd cruelly put it.
And all you could remember, burned into your mind like acid, was Yudaiâs smile. The way he had watched you break, watched you be wrecked, as if it were entertainment. Your chest tightened, stomach dropping into a pit that never seemed to end.
The next day, you walked into the building with Nayeon beside you. A shadow at your shoulder. A body to hold you upright when you werenât sure your legs would carry you. The elevator hummed too loud. The hallway too long. Yudaiâs office door gleamed, polished and cold. Inside, the air reeked of coffee gone bitter and papers stacked too neatly, the kind of order that dared you to disturb it.
Yudai stood behind his desk, tall, severe. His suit was pressed sharp, but his eyes dark and flat that cut deeper than knife ever could. He didnât offer condolences. He didnât even sit before dropping a thick folder onto the desk. âEuijoo always knew where you were,â Yudai said. His tone wasnât soft. It wasnât kind. It was a blade, honed and deliberate. âHe thought, foolishly, that youâd come back to him. He waited. Hoped. And when you didnâtâŚâ Yudaiâs lips tightened. âHe blamed himself. He let it eat him alive.â
You flinched at the words, but he didnât slow. He shoved the papers toward you, the folder sliding across the desk like a shove to the chest. âHe left everything to you. Everything. His estate. His wealth. His name. Itâs yours now.â His eyes never left your face, the weight of his gaze pressing down harder than his words. âDo as you please with it. Burn it. Spend it. Waste it. Doesnât matter.â The pen rolled toward you.
Your hand trembled when you signed. Each stroke of the pen felt like an accusation. The room was suffocating, Yudaiâs silence louder than his voice had been. The second your signature hit the page, Yudai snatched the folder back. He closed it with a snap that echoed like a door slamming shut. âGet out.â The words hit harder than the pen, harder than the papers. Spat like venom. No courtesy. Just dismissal. You stumbled back, Nayeonâs hand on your arm, steering you toward the door. The air in the office clung to you, heavy, choking, as though Euijooâs ghost lingered in the walls and Yudai had made sure it followed you out.Â
It had been weeks since you signed the papers. Since Yudai slammed the folder shut and spat you out of that office. Weeks since the words heâs dead had settled into your bones like ice. But the uneasiness never left. It grew. It crawled across your skin at night, in the silence, when you swore you were alone. A prickle at the back of your neck. The shadows that seemed to move in ways shadows shouldnât. Euijoo was a genius. Everyone knew that. A mind that bent light and glass and truth itself. Dangerous in ways you only half understood. You wouldnât put it past him to cheat death, to build something that could crawl its way back from the grave.
The first time it happened, Nayeon was gone, her backpack slung over her shoulder, off to her night class. The apartment was yours alone. You were in the kitchen, barefoot, the hum of the refrigerator filling the quiet. Dinner was nothing complicated. Just grilled cheese. You pulled bread from the cabinet and set it on the counter, reached for cheese in the fridge. The light from the fridge spilled across the kitchen floor. When you turned back, the bread was gone.
Your chest seized. You froze, cheese clutched in your hand, staring at the empty counter-top. You knew youâd set it there. You remembered the weight of it, the plastic crinkle. You scanned the counter, the floor, the sink. Nothing. Heart pounding, the cheese slipped from your fingers and landed on the counter with a soft slap. You opened the cabinet again, hands shaking, and there it was, the bread. Sitting in the same place youâd taken it from. Sitting exactly where it had been before. Slowly, carefully, you pulled it out again, your eyes darting around the kitchen, every shadow suddenly too deep, every corner too dark. The silence was crushing. You werenât alone. You knew you werenât. The certainty rooted in your gut, cold and absolute.Â
The next morning, you told Nayeon. Your voice was low, half-expecting her to flinch the way you had. Instead, she laughed it off, sliding her coffee mug across the table. âYou probably just forgot to take it out. Happens to me all the time,â she said lightly, easy and unconcerned. You nodded. Forced a smile and let her have the last word. But you hadnât forgotten. You knew. And the feeling didnât go away.Â
After seeing Luna, your nerves finally eased. She had a way of doing that pulling you down out of the storm in your head and planting your feet back on the ground. Her voice was sharp, logical. âEuijoo was just a man,â she reminded you. âHe canât come back from the dead.â Simple. Final. And you believed her, at least for a while. The panic dulled. The shadows stopped looking like claws. For the first time in weeks, you felt something almost alien in your chest. Relief. You started living again.
First you sorted through his accounts, his cold strings of numbers on screens that still carried his name. Two of them, both heavy with money. You didnât want it. Not really. It burned just to look at it. So you decided to send it somewhere good, to childrenâs charities, to animal shelters. A chance to scrub something clean out of all the filth. The transfer would take a week to verify. You told yourself you could wait. Next came the house.
That house was a wound. His house. Your prison. A scar carved into your nightmares. You couldnât stand the thought of walking through those rooms, of sleeping under that roof, his absence heavier than his presence ever was. You didnât hesitate. You put it up for sale and didnât give a fuck what it sold for. You just wanted it gone. There was freedom in that. Sharp, bright, intoxicating. You even offered to pay for Nayeonâs college, to shoulder some of her weight after all the ways she had steadied you. She smiled, shook her head, stubborn as always. In the end, you compromised, half. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you were happy. Actually happy. You laughed without hearing an echo. You slept without waking up in the dark screaming, listening for footsteps that werenât there.
âHey, we should go watch that new demon slayer movie that just came out,â Nayeon says as she bursts into your room, not even pretending to knock. Her voice bright, like a burst of sunlight through storm clouds. You look up, startled, and the yes leaves your mouth before you can second-guess it. Her eyebrows lift, surprise flashing across her face, then she grins like sheâs won something. Minutes later, youâre buckled into her car, the seatbelt biting into your chest as she guns the engine. She drives like sheâs racing an invisible clock, like somethingâs chasing her down. Five minutes, maybe less, and youâre skidding into the mall parking lot. Your stomach is still climbing up your throat. âThatâs a new record,â you laugh, stepping out with wobbly legs. âShut up,â she snaps, laughing. It feels good. Normal. Ordinary. Maybe even happy. The kind of night that tastes like freedom. You walk side by side into the theaterâs neon glow, buy the tickets, balance greasy popcorn and syrupy sodas, and slip into your seats. The lights dim. The previews roll. The movie begins.
For the first time all week, you breathe. Nayeon leans in with whispered commentary that tickles your ear, and you almost forget yourself. Almost. Then the seat beside you shifts. Your stomach knots. You know itâs empty. You saw it empty. Every row has gaps, people scattered, nowhere near you. Still, the cushion sinks under invisible weight, pressing down like someone just sat next to you. A breath touches the side of your neck. Your head jerks to the right, so fast your spine cracks. Nothing. Just shadows, air, and that screen flashing bright against the dark. You rub at your neck, skin tingling, your pulse screaming. The breath is gone, but you feel it anyway, ghosting along your skin. The movie goes on. Pretend. Pretend itâs the AC. A faulty seat. Anything that makes sense.Â
When the credits finally roll and the lights snap back, you stand, forcing your legs to move. But then you see it, the seat beside you is upright again. Empty. As if someone just stood and left. You canât move. Your blood has gone to ice, your chest locked. Nayeon collides into your back, laughing. âYou okay?â she asks, voice light, unaware. You nod too fast. âYeah. Iâm fine. Letâs get out of here.â But your skin still burns with the memory of breath that doesnât belong to anyone you can see.
A job interview, thatâs the next step. You came in ready. For once, your hands didnât shake when you smoothed your jacket. The elevator ride hadnât felt like a march to the gallows but a climb toward something that could finally be yours. Independence. Your portfolio sat heavy in your hands, organized to the point of obsession. This was it. The interviewerâs smile was professional, clipped, but you matched it with one of your own. You shook her hand, steady, firm. When she gestured to the chair, you sat tall. âSo,â she said, uncapping her pen, âtell me about your design process.â Easy. You leaned in, voice steady, like youâd rehearsed. âI usually begin with sketches to unlock concepts, then expand into digital drafts. Once I have three strong directions, I refine them to match the client brief.â She nodded. She was listening. You were good. You had this. âAnd youâve brought samples?â
âYes.â You smiled and opened the folder with a small flourish, already picturing the polished case studies, the neat tabs, the proof of your competence. Empty. The breath stopped in your throat. Pages missing. The entire section gone. Blank sleeves where your work should have been. You blinked hard, once, twice, as if that would conjure them back. âIâI had them,â you stammered, throat tightening. Your fingers scrambled through the folder, too loud, too desperate. The room magnified the sound. The pages flapping, plastic crackling, your pulse pounding. The interviewerâs face changed. The patience drained, leaving something thinner, sharper. âYou donât have your samples?â Her voice was even, but the pen tapping against her notepad snapped like a whip. Your tongue felt swollen. âIâI mustâveâI checked before I left, Iââ The words stumbled, tripped, turned to gravel in your mouth. âAlright,â she said flatly, closing her notebook. âLetâs move on.â
But you couldnât move on. Your confidence leaked out with every second of silence, every glance she gave that folder that now mocked you, gutted and useless. She asked another question, sharp, simple, something you couldâve handled blind. But your answers twisted, fell apart, broken phrases that made you sound small, unprepared, stupid. Her smile thinned into dismissal. âThatâs all I need.â The interview was over. You stood, the chair shrieking across the floor, a graceless noise that branded you. Your apology came out strangled. She didnât bother to reply. Outside, the street air felt like punishment. You clutched the empty folder to your chest, as if it might still save you. But it was gutted, sabotaged, wrong. Youâd checked those papers. You knew they were there.Â
Home should have been safe. The one place where your humiliation couldnât follow. But the moment you opened your bedroom door, the air tilted. Your papers were there. On the bed. Stretched out neat as corpses, waiting. You froze. They werenât just lying there, they were staring at you. You tore through the room, hands shaking, searching every corner, every drawer, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But nothing else was wrong. Nothing else was touched. Just the papers. You picked them up. The pages were smooth, organized, unmarred.
By the time Nayeon came home, your stomach was already a knot. You told her. Every word spilled out in a rush, raw, desperate about the missing files, about how theyâd appeared on the bed, how you werenât crazy, how you knew you had put them in your folder. She listened. Her eyes soft, her hand grazing yours like she was smoothing the panic out of you. âBabe,â she said gently, âyouâve been under so much stress. Maybe you misplaced them. You probably just overlooked it.â
You wanted to scream. But her voice slid under your skin, and the certainty began to crumble. Had you really checked? Had you really seen? Maybe youâd been too nervous, too careless, too desperate. Maybe the shame was your own fault. You sat down hard on the bed, the papers clenched in your fist, your heart thrashing. The room felt smaller, closer, as though the walls were bending toward you. The cycle was back. Doubt tightening its leash. Because what was worse that you were losing your mind? Or that something else was moving your world around, piece by piece, just to watch you break? After that, you started to doubt yourself. You thought death would fix everything. His death. You thought the moment he was gone from the world, the air would feel lighter, your body would unclench, your mind would stop replaying every bruise, every threat, every whispered promise of what heâd do if you ever left. You believed like some idiot child, that freedom would heal you like magic, like flipping a switch. But you know better now.
He still had you in a chokehold. A grip you canât break. Every time you think youâre clawing your way up for air, it drags you under again, hand on the back of your skull, shoving your face into the past. All the progress youâd made with Luna dissolved the day you stopped answering her calls. The day you let her voice go to voicemail. She had been the only one who could pull you out, the one who sat with you through the panic attacks and made you eat when food felt like ash. But then the shame crept in the fear of being too much, of bleeding on someone who had already patched you up too many times. So you stopped. You told yourself sheâd be better off without your chaos soaking through her days. When Nayeon asked if you were still talking to Luna, you lied. You smiled, the kind of smile that stretches too wide and makes your cheeks ache, and you said yes. The lie hung in the air between you, sour and heavy. First it had been the bread. You told yourself you had forgotten, but you remembered the exact way youâd left it. Gone, as if someone had been standing over your shoulder waiting for you to turn away.
Second, it was the incident in the movies, the seat shifting on its own, leaving you raw and unsettled. Lastly, it was the papers. The ones you needed. The ones youâd checked and rechecked before the interview. Gone. A blank space in your folder, not just absence but erasure. Like someone had reached in and stripped them out, wanted you to fail. You tried to be reasonable. Told yourself it was stress. Forgetfulness. Madness creeping in at the edges. But the whispers wouldnât stop. Itâs him.Â
âAre you sure you are going to be fine?â Nayeon asked worried, standing by the door. She was late, her mother was sick and you could feel her guilt dripping through every movement, the way she fussed with her coat, her bag, her keys. âI will,â you lied, the words scratching down your throat. You wanted to tell her the truth. That you werenât fine. That something was wrong in the house. That you hadnât misplaced the bread or the papers, that theyâd been taken, moved, stolen by a presence you couldnât see. But you swallowed it. You wouldnât put that weight on her shoulders. Nayeon lingered with her hand on the knob. âI left my home number on the counter. If you need anythingââ The rest trailed off into silence. She didnât believe you would call. She knew you too well. And then she was gone. The door clicked shut, the echo reverberating like the lid of a coffin slamming closed. You were alone. Except you werenât. The silence spread through the house, thick and oppressive. The lights hummed overhead. The refrigerator ticked. Pipes groaned deep in the walls. Normal noises. Harmless noises. But to you it felt uneasy.
You felt it watching. Like a set waiting for the actor to walk back on. The walls leaned too close. Even the shadows looked rehearsed, their angles sharp and deliberate. You wrapped your arms around yourself and walked into the kitchen, listening. The ticking of the clock grew louder, magnified until every second thudded in your skull. The house was too big with only you inside. The ceilings vaulted high, the windows yawning wide, the air stretching out into emptiness. Every sound you made came back to you, mocking. Footsteps echoed too long. Breathing bounced off the walls. Even the scrape of your nails against your palm sounded alien.
You told yourself you were safe. Nayeon had locked the door behind her. The windows were closed, the security system blinking its tiny red eye. You repeated the words like a prayer safe, safe, safe. But your body didnât believe it. The hair on your arms prickled. Your pulse throbbed too fast, too loud. You could feel it that pressure at the back of your neck, the sensation of breath just barely brushing the shell of your ear. You spun. The kitchen was empty. Of course it was. But when you turned back, the knife block sat crooked on the counter. You didnât remember leaving it like that. Your stomach clenched. You took a step toward it. The wood base gleamed under the light, every knife in its slot. ExceptâŚno. One sat out of place on the counter, impossibly precise, as if it had been placed there just for you. Every instinct screamed that it wasnât supposed to be there.
You forced yourself to look away, to walk to the table, to sit down as if nothing had shifted. But the chair across from you seemed different. Pulled back a fraction too far from the table, angled like someone had been sitting there. You stared at the indentation in the cushion. Swore it hadnât been there before. The silence pulsed. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself and whispered, âYouâre going to be fine.â But the walls listened. The air listened. And you knew that you werenât fine at all. You decided to keep busy. Better that than thinking. The house looked like it had been torn apart by raccoons and you were the raccoon. By noon, you were elbow-deep in gloves, scrubbing plates like theyâd personally wronged you. The radio murmured in the background, a too-cheerful voice that made the silence between songs feel nauseating. By three, you were dragging damp clothes from the washer, scolding yourself for letting the pile grow this high, the wet fabric heavy as guilt in your arms.
Time slipped away in pieces. Windows rattled when the wind picked up. A floorboard creaked, but you told yourself it was settling wood, nothing more. By the time you noticed the clock, it was nine. Your body ached from the chores, muscles leaden. You dragged yourself down the hallway, flicking off lights one by one. Darkness pooled behind you with every click, swallowing the house whole. Your bed looked impossibly soft, a sirenâs call. You didnât bother with your phone. Didnât bother double-checking the locks again. You slipped under the blanket, eyelids heavy, breath slowing. And just before sleep pulled you under, you swore you heard movement at the end of the hall. A shift. A pause. Like someone had stopped the moment you started listening. But exhaustion won. You told yourself the house was empty. And let go.Â
Youâre asleep. At least, your body is. Heavy, sunk deep into the mattress, breath dragging slow and even. But somewhere beneath the surface of the dream, something is stirring. The room is still as if someone pressed pause on the world while you drifted. Somethingâs wrong. Even inside the dream, you can feel it. The air isnât empty. It has weight. The sheet slips, a whisper against your skin. At first, you tell yourself itâs nothing. A twitch. Gravity dragging fabric. But it doesnât stop. It keeps sliding, peeling down your legs until cool air licks at your ankle. Your eyes snap open at the touch of cold. You grab for the blanket, yanking it back. It resists. Not caught, not tangled. It was like it was fighting you, like another hand grips the far end. Your pulse pounds in your ears. Then, suddenly, the sheet lets go.
You sit up, every muscle locking in place, your body a trap sprung too late. The dark presses in. You donât dare call out. You know if you speak, it will answer. The corner across the room isnât empty anymore. Or maybe it never was. Something swells there a density of shadow, black folding over black until itâs heavier than the others. Your gaze slides to the chair. That chair. That goddamn chair. Angled like someoneâs only just left it. Or worse like someone never did. The longer you look, the more it breathes.
Your bare feet find the cold floor. You clutch the blanket like a weapon, ridiculous as that is. Your chest squeezes tight, breath scraping like sandpaper in your throat. You feel the weight of eyes. Not imagined, not paranoia. Eyes pressing down on your pulse, flattening the beat into panic. You creep forward, slow, cautious, calculating every inch, like the floorboards themselves might scream. You keep the space between you and the chair wide enough so it canât reach. Wide enough that if it moves, youâll have time. The sheet trembles in your hands. You fling it. A desperate reveal. The fabric flutters, folds. Collapses. Empty.
A laugh bursts from your chest, strangled and broken, relief jagged as glass. Too sharp, too sudden. Wrong. You stoop, gather the sheet again, but freeze when you hear it a soft, low, a chuckle curling up from behind you. Your head whips around. The dark is blank, empty. Your eyes insist on nothing. But your skin⌠your skin screams something. You held the blanket tight, ridiculous though it was, a flimsy barrier between yourself and the unseen terror. Your hand shakes as you toss it forward into that space where your eyes keep snagging. For a heartbeat, the fabric clings to something solid. A shoulder. A chest. The outline of a man. And then it falls. Flat. As if nothing was ever there at all.
You barely registered the floor beneath your feet as you bolted down the hallway, heart hammering like a war drum in your chest. Every shadow flickered, stretched, and leaned toward you, alive with intent. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed low, a sound too precise, too sharp, like static in your skull. Then it struck. Not a shadow, not a shape but a force. Your body lifted clean off the ground, slammed against the wall, pain flaring in your neck and back. Stars erupted behind your eyes, a halo of white agony. You spun, eyes wild, looking for the culprit. Nothing. Just walls. Just silence. The room mocked you.
Your hands pressed against the wall, knees trembling, searching for a grip. And then cold, invisible fingers tightened around your throat. Air vanished. Panic wrapped around your ribs like iron. You clawed at the empty space, desperate to breathe, as the force dragged you up the wall. Your feet scraped against drywall, your nails breaking, but it didnât matter. You were weightless. Helpless. A slam. Your back collided with the kitchen counter. Pain exploded across your skull your vision gone for a second. The knife, gleaming under the half-light. Shaking, you snatched it up, brandishing it into nothing.
You hit something. Solid. Real. The figure flickered into existence, glitching like a broken hologram, hovering just beyond comprehension. Your stomach plummeted. Your mind screamed. This wasnât real. Couldnât be. Its hands wrapped around your head, fingers like iron. Pain lanced through your skull as it slammed you down again. You saw stars, shapes, glimpses of yourself in the knifeâs reflection.
You scrambled back, but the kitchen wasnât safe. Cabinets slammed open and shut, the air growing thick, suffocating, alive. Every movement you made was anticipated, every breath stolen before it reached your lungs. You tried to steady yourself against the counter, but the invisible hands were everywhere on your arms, your shoulders, your legs pushing, pulling, taunting. You swung the knife blindly, slashing at air, and each time you felt it something solid, something wrong. It moved, danced just beyond the edge of sight, a shape in the corner, gone when you blinked. Your confidence, your courage, all dissolved into trembling fear.
The house had grown smaller, darker. Corners stretched. Hallways twisted. Each room seemed like a death sentence. You ran toward the living room, knife in hand, but the floor beneath you shifted, your foot catching on nothing. You fell, scraping your palms, but before you could recover, a grip locked around your ankle. A pull, hard, and you tumbled into the sofa, lungs burning, heart hammering, knife clattering from your hand. The air thickened. Your pulse throbbed in your ears. You canât hide.
You dove for the knife, hands shaking, and swung. It caught something again. The figure flickered again, closer this time, glitching in and out, and a cold laugh or was it your own fear it shook the walls. It grabbed you again, lifting you like a ragdoll, and slammed you against the floor. Pain cracked your skull open, vision spiraling into white. You tried to scream, to fight, but everything was wrong, everything slipping. You were weightless, helpless, and the figure controlled every inch of the room. You dared to breathe. You were suffocating in disbelief, and the last thing you registered before darkness claimed you was the soft, impossible sound of something laughing.
You came to with your vision gone, the world reduced to darkness. Something black and heavy covered your eyes, pressing against your skin, sealing you off from everything. Panic clawed through you like fire and ice. You thrashed, pulling, trying to tug at the blindfold but your hands were trapped, tied to the chair as if the world itself had locked you in place and with every failed move it was reminded you that you were utterly, irreversibly powerless. It was like your own body had betrayed you. You were desperate, trying to find even a shred of freedom, when a pair of hands settled on your shoulders. Firm, insistent, and terrifyingly familiar. âShhhh,â a voice hissed into your ear. âCalm down. Youâre safe.â The sound made your stomach drop. You knew that voice. It haunted your dreams, your nightmares, whispered in the corners of your mind even when you thought you were alone. The name slipped out of your lips before you could stop it. âEuijooâŚâ A low chuckle, warm and impossibly close, pressed into your skin. âAww, I love it when you say my name,â the voice said, and suddenly all the shadows became solid, all the whispers real.
Hands moved along your arms, unsettlingly intimate, leaving heat and panic in their wake. Lips brushed against your neck. Every kiss, every whispered word, made your blood freeze in terror. âI missed you,â he murmured between kisses, and the words were a weight in your chest, impossible to ignore. You were trapped, helpless in the darkness. Every nerve screamed, every instinct shouted escape, but the hands, they knew exactly how to hold you, exactly how to make fear feel like inevitability. The room was alive with him, and there was no way out. The blindfold lifted, and light stabbed your eyes, searing the last traces of darkness from your vision. You blinked, struggling to adjust, and your stomach plummeted. You were back. Back in the dining room where you had tried to escape, the one place you thought could never hold you again. The polished table stretched before you like a trap, every chair empty, every candle flickering with sinister patience. And there he was. Euijoo. Standing at the far end, black suit sharp as a blade, every movement controlled, every shadow bending toward him. A demon masquerading in human skin, and somehow, impossibly, more terrifying because it was him.
He stepped forward, and before you could think, his hand shot out for your chin. Reflex screamed at you to pull away, and you did but he was faster. Fingers closed around your jaw, unyielding. âOh,â he purred, voice low and lethal. âI missed when you were my submissive little bitch.â Your chest tightened. Your pulse hammered, and your hands flailed uselessly. His grip pulled you closer, so close you could smell him minty, sharp and inhumanly intimate. His eyes bored into yours, black and endless, and his words crawled inside your skull. You look down and the breath leaves your body. The clothes you put on this morning are gone. In their place is red satin, an elegant dress that clings to you like skin. The fabric gleams in the low light, catching every line of your body, sculpting you into something you never agreed to be. You donât remember changing. You donât remember being touched. But you know he did. The realization settles like ice water poured down your spine.
A laugh slices through the silence, low and amused, curling into the room like smoke. âOh, donât worry, babe,â he says, his voice too close, far too close. âItâs nothing I havenât seen before.â The sound makes you wince, your shoulders hunching as if you could fold yourself smaller, vanish inside your own skin. You clutch your sides, fingers digging into the chair. It feels wrong like itâs mocking you. You wonder how long he stood over you while you slept, how long he watched, how long his invisible hands arranged every detail. The thought turns your stomach, but you canât escape the image. You try to speak, but your throat clamps shut. Any words would crack, betray the panic thatâs already crawling out of you. He moves around you, the air shifts with him, brushing against your cheek, rustling your hair, pressing at your shoulder. Heâs circling, admiring. âRed suits you,â he murmurs. âI always knew it would. Soft. Dangerous. Perfect for a dirty little whore like youâ His tone curls with satisfaction, like youâve proven him right simply by sitting here, trembling in the costume he forced on you.
The satin clings tighter as if it hears him, as if it wants to please. Your pulse hammers, loud enough youâre afraid he can hear it, too. He laughs again. Like this is nothing. Like you are nothing. âDonât be shy,â he says, the words dripping warmth that burns like acid. âYou donât think I know every inch of you by now?â You flinch so hard your teeth clack. His breath grazes your ear, his lips brushing the air. âYouâre mine in this. Always mine.â You squeeze your eyes shut. âI canât wait to break you down again,â he whispered, brushing your cheek lightly, mock tenderness laced with threat. Then he released you, stepping back to the head of the table. He sat like a king surveying his dominion, the flickering candlelight outlining him as if the room itself bowed in deference. The table was set for a dinner that should have been romantic plates, glasses, silver but the elegance only twisted in your stomach, a trap dressed as civility.
You wanted to run. Wanted to vanish into the shadows, wanted to scream until your voice shredded. But the air itself pressed down, heavy and thick, charged with his presence. The room wasnât just a room anymore it was a cage. He leaned forward slightly, gaze locked on yours. âSo quiet,â he murmured. âSo cute thinking you could get away from me.â The room seemed to pulse with him, every candle flicker a heartbeat in time with yours, every shadow bending to watch. You swallowed hard, the taste of fear rising in your mouth, and realized you were utterly, completely trapped. You stared at him, words scraping up your throat like broken glass. âSo that was it? You decided to fake your death just to torture me some more by becoming invisible?â He laughed. The sound was low, cruel, too casual for the weight it carried. âNo, love. I decided to kill two birds with one stone.â He reached for the wine glass at his side, swirling the deep red liquid before taking a slow sip, eyes never leaving yours. The motion was so elegant, so deliberate, that it felt obscene like you were watching a man toast to your suffering.
He set the glass down with a soft click that echoed far too loud in the room. âTo test out the new optics experiment I was working on before your little getaway plans⌠and see what my darling was up to.â Your stomach twisted, bile rising hot. He tilted his head, the smile sharp enough to cut. âBut Iâll admit, it was fun watching you try so hard to erase me from your mind. To pretend I was gone. But I bet your body remembers me quite well.â The wink he shot you felt like a violation in itself, a finger pressing against an old wound. Then his expression shifted, the smile thinning into something harder, crueler. âOf course, since you stabbed into the suit, Iâll have to make a new one.â His voice dropped almost bored. But the frown that pulled at his mouth was worse than rage, it was disappointment. And disappointment was always more dangerous.Â
The silence dragged, stretching your nerves to the breaking point. And then, without warning, he smiled. That fucking smile. It was a slash of white in the dim light, a carefully constructed mask of innocence meant for anyone else, anyone who wasnât tied to this chair, staring into his abyss. But you knew. You knew the real him lived in the cold, flat emptiness behind it. The smile never reached his eyes. Thatâs where he kept his demons, churning in the soulless black of his pupils, and right now, they were staring right at you. His gaze was a physical violation, a slow, deliberate crawl from your terrified eyes down to the frantic pulse hammering at the base of your throat, then lower, over the thin fabric of the dress he put you in. You could feel it like a brand. âSo,â he said, the word a soft, lethal whisper that scraped against your nerves. âWhat should I do with you⌠hmm?â
The options were a study in terror. He leaned in, his voice dropping to an intimate, horrible murmur. âShould I fuck you on this table? Remind you who you belong to?â The image was immediate, brutal, degrading. Your stomach lurched. âOrâŚâ he drawled, drawing out the syllable, savoring your panic. âShould I take Nayeon? Show her what happens when she helps you?â Nayeon. The name was a jolt of pure lightning. You jerked against the ropes, the coarse fibers biting deep into your wrists, a fresh bloom of pain you barely registered. âNo. No, no, please, Euijoo. Donât. Sheâs innocent!â
âYudai is watching her right now,â he began, his voice slow, savoring each syllable like it was some private joke. âAnd he thinks sheâd look so damn pretty with tears running down her face.â âNoâEuijoo, donât,â you begged, your words tumbling out in desperation. âShe doesnât deserve thatââ A smirk cut across his face, sharp and merciless. âYou know how Yudai gets when he sees something pretty.â His eyes locked on yours, gleaming with mockery. âI could barely hold him back when he saw those sweet little tears on your face when I fucked you like a slut in front of him.â He laughed and the sound of it made your chest seize. You cried harder, the memory digging in deeper. âAlright, fine. Fine.â He waved a hand, dismissive, as though you were nothing more than noise. âIâll call him off.â Then he leaned back, his voice dropping, almost playful in its cruelty. âBut you know you might have to give him something in return.â He ended it with a shrug, like he was talking about the weather. Like it was the most casual fucking thing in the fucking world.Â
The laugh that escaped him was a dry, rustling sound, like bones in a bag. He stood up, his shadow engulfing you. His hands went to the knot of his tie, pulling it loose with a slow, deliberate tug. Each step he took toward you was a lifetime of dread. âSo if you want Nayeon to be safe and sound,â he whispered, the word slithering into your ear as he walked behind you, his presence a dark heat at your back, âyou better be a good little whore for meâ
âIâll be your whore Euijooâ The plea was ripped from you, a soft, desperate sound. You leaned forward, a useless, thrashing movement against the unyielding binds. You were offering submission, anything, everything. He halted at your side, not touching, not speaking just leaning in until the heat of his breath grazed your cheek like a threat you couldnât see his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot. âI canât wait to be inside you again.â The promise was a violation in itself. A sob broke free from your chest, the only weapon you had left. Hot, helpless tears carved paths through the grime on your cheeks. You felt the soft silk. He brought the tie over your shoulder, the fabric slithering against your skin like a threat made real. He drew it across your mouth, pulling it tight between your lips, muffling your cries, your promises, your very breath. He tied it at the back of your head, a brutal, efficient knot. Then he bent close and kissed the back of your neck, soft and impossibly intimate, and the tenderness was the worst kind of threat.Â
He untied your hands with a swift, practiced tug, then kicked the chair out from under you. The sound of the chair clattering against the floor was so loud in the silent, expensive room. Before the echo could die, his hands were on you, a brutal, familiar ownership that turned your bones to water. He bent you over the cold, polished wood of the dining table, your cheek pressed against the grain heâd so carefully chosen. His palms rubbed down your sides, a mockery of a caress, settling on your hips with a grip that meant to leave bruises. âThere now,â he murmured, his voice a low, condescending purr right against your ear. The heat of his breath was a violation. âLook at that. Gosh, I almost forgot how perfectly you fit right here. Like you were made for it. For me.â
He didnât wait for a response you couldnât give. The fabric of your dress was flipped up, a sudden rush of air, then the sharp, stinging crack of his palm against your ass. You jumped with a choked squeal, the sound strangled by the makeshift gag. Tears of shock and humiliation instantly welled in your eyes, blurring the room. Spit dribbled from your stretched lips, a hot, shameful trickle down your chin. Your vision swam, desperately seeking an anchor, anything to pull you out of this moment. It found the chair at the end of the table. You focused on the intricate carving on it, a spiral, a vortex. You could fall into it. You could just⌠go away. You were so close to disappearing, the edges of the room dissolving into static, when you felt him. The blunt, insistent pressure of him at your entrance, a slick, terrible promise. âOh, God,â he groaned, feeling the way your body was reacting to him. His laugh was a dark, filthy thing. âStill trying to play, darling? Still think you have any control here? Cute.â
He pushed in. This was his style. Hard. And rough. A single, devastating thrust that stole the air from your lungs and drove you into the unforgiving table. Your hips hit the edge with every piston-like drive of his body into yours, a painful, rhythmic punctuation to his fucking. âThis is what you needed, wasnât it?â he grunted, the words labored but dripping with contempt. âAll that pretending. acting like you could leave me behind. This is where you belong. Right here. Youâre just a pussy for me to use.â He moved, his grip shifting. He grabbed your thigh, wrenching your leg up and planting your thigh flat on the table. The angle changed, became obscene, deeper than you thought possible. He plunged into you, and the sensation was a white-hot spike of pain-pleasure that shattered your fragile escape. You felt him hit your cervix, a deep, internal collision that made you see stars behind your eyelids. âFuck,â he snarled, the curse a raw, guttural sound of triumph. âThere it is. Right there. Thatâs mine. You feel that? Thatâs all me. Remember it.â
The world narrowed to the splintered grain of the wood beneath your cheek, the cold press of the table against your rising and falling ribs. His arm wasnât an embrace; it was a bar of iron pressing across your neck, brutal, unyielding, stealing every ragged breath. Your back arched against him, helpless, presented like prey. The memory hit you like a blade, the night you thought you could escape, the night you almost tasted freedom. And now⌠now you were back at the starting line, trapped in the same cruel cycle, every instinct screaming that there was no way out.  A puppet master yanking his favorite dollâs strings. âThatâs it,â his voice was a condescending rasp, a foul secret breathed directly into your ear. âLet me see what a desperate little thing you are. Chest all puffed up, begging for it. Youâre not even a person right now, are you? Youâre just a warm, tight hole for me to use.â
Each thrust was a punctuation mark on his ownership, a brutal, piston-like drive that slammed the breath from your lungs. Spit dribbled in a shameful thread from your gagged mouth, pooling on the wood. You could hear him, a raw, animal groaning that seemed to vibrate through your very bones, a sound that had nothing to do with you and everything to do with his own base, grinding pleasure. âShit. You feel that?â he grunted, his voice thick and straining. âYou feel how deep that is? Iâm coming.â Your eyes flew wide. A silent, frantic plea. No. No. Not that. Your head managed a weak, jerking shake against the oppressive weight of his arm. The sound he made was a low, dark chuckle that curdled into a moan. âAwww, baby,â he crooned, the false sweetness laced with venom. He drove into you, a final, devastating plunge that stole the world. âIf I want to put a baby in you, I will put one in you. This body? It belongs to me. Not to you. To me.â He moaned then, a guttural, broken sound against the shell of your ear. âOh God⌠Iâm seeing starsâŚâ
And you felt it. A hard, final series of jerks, a hot, claiming spill deep inside you that felt like a brand. He came to a shuddering halt, emptying himself, marking his territory with a violence that left you hollowed out. As suddenly as it began, the pressure was gone. The arm left your neck. You heard the soft rustle of clothing, the definitive click of a belt buckle. The mundane sounds were almost more terrifying than the violence. Your vision swam, focusing on the chair at the end of the table. His figure came back into view. Calm. Composed. He sat down in that very chair, the one heâd been sitting in before this started. He picked up his wine glass, swirled the blood-dark liquid, and took a slow, contemplative sip. His eyes never left you. He watched the mess heâd made of you the trembling limbs, the tear-streaked face, the slow, shameful trickle already starting to slide down your inner thigh. A slow, possessive smile spread across his face. âWell, now,â he said, his voice smooth and horrifyingly conversational. âArenât you a pretty picture?â
ęąá´á´á´á´ĘĘ:Â Youâve spent too long being dragged through clubs as nothing more than a showpiece for your toxic boyfriend. He humiliates you, neglects you, and finally leaves you broken in front of everyone. Lucky for you, the bouncer on the door has been watching, and tonight, he steps in.
á´á´ÉŞĘɪɴɢ: Bouncer!heeseung x reader, toxic!bf!hoon x reader (then they break up. LOL)
ę°ÉŞá´á´ÉŞá´É´á´ĘÉŞęąá´á´ÉŞá´É´: All characters and situations are purely fictional. In no way or form is this the real depiction of idols IRL.
ęąá´á´: the way yâall are about to clock me instantly because iâve clearly never had a sip of alcohol nor stepped foot inside a club đ goodbye pls take this purely fictional mess as is
For: @saccharinezennie <3 Thank you for your prompt. I loved it!
The line outside the club curled like smoke into the night, a restless serpent of impatient chatter, high heels clicking against cracked pavement, the faint tang of cigarette smoke curling under the neon glow of the sign overhead. The bass from inside was a living thing, pulsing through the walls, leaking into the air, a steady thump-thump that promised escape and chaos in equal measure.
You didnât feel like chaos tonight. You felt like breaking.
âGod, you take forever,â Sunghoon muttered as he strode half a step ahead of you, his hand brushing yours not out of affection but to tug you along faster. His voice had that cutting edge, the kind that slid under your skin and lingered like a bruise.
âDo you have to look in the mirror a thousand times before we leave? Youâre lucky I even brought you tonight.â
The words fell sharp in the cool night air, loud enough that the man guarding the velvet rope glanced up.
Heeseung had been leaning in his usual spot, one hand on the thick rope, the other folded over his chest, black T-shirt stretched tight across his shoulders. His presence was commanding without trying: tall frame, calm eyes that missed nothing, the faint buzz of his earpiece catching the whispers of his coworkers. To most patrons, he was just a wall of muscle between them and their fun. To you, he was barely a flicker of acknowledgment, a steady fixture at the door. But heâd seen you.
Every week. Sometimes twice. Always on Sunghoonâs arm. Always arguing.
You dug through your bag for your ID with your jaw tight, your lips pressed together to hold in whatever retort wanted to climb up your throat. Heeseungâs gaze flicked from the card in his hand back to your face, and the sight tightened something in his chest. Downcast eyes, shoulders slightly hunched like you were bracing for impact. Heâd seen the look before, dozens of times, on countless women dragged here by men who wanted to peacock for their friends. But somehow, when it was you, it burned hotter.
âEnjoy your night,â Heeseung said, his tone flat, professional, as he lifted the rope.
He didnât let his expression shift, not even when Sunghoon leaned closer to hiss in your ear, âDonât embarrass me inside, alright? Just stay put. Try not to act pathetic for once.â
The words werenât for him, but they landed anyway. Heeseungâs jaw clenched, the corner of his mouth ticking as he forced himself to stay rooted where he was. His fists curled at his sides, tendons flexing, but he said nothing.
Because that wasnât his job. The paycheck didnât cover meddling in strangersâ relationships, no matter how badly he wanted to.
Still, the image was carved in his mind: you, slipping past him with your head ducked while Sunghoon swaggered like he owned the world. Heeseung watched your figure disappear into the crush of bodies, into the swirling neon and the fog of alcohol and sweat, and the bitter taste in his mouth deepened. This wasnât the first time.
He remembered the night you stormed out not even an hour into your stay, tears threatening to spill as you pushed through the crowd. Heâd opened the rope for you silently, watching the way you rushed to the curb, fumbling for your phone. Ten minutes later, Sunghoon had been inside, tongue down the throat of some half-dressed girl who looked barely legal.
It had made Heeseungâs blood boil, though he never showed it. And yet, every week, you returned. Every week, you argued at the door. Every week, you sat alone at the bar while Sunghoon disappeared into the back or pressed himself against another body. Every week, Heeseung told himself it wasnât his place, that he wasnât here to save anyone, just to make sure drunk assholes didnât start fights and that no one slipped past the line without paying cover.
But every week, he caught himself staring just a little too long when you passed, thinking how absurd it was that someone like you was still clinging to someone like him.
And tonight, as the rope fell back into place behind you, Heeseung already had the sense, heavy in his gut, coiled in the set of his shoulders, that it wouldnât just be another night.
Not with the way Sunghoonâs words had cut into the dark, sharp enough to bleed.
Not with the way you looked like you were already unraveling before you even stepped inside.
The air inside the club was thick the moment you stepped through the doors, humid with sweat and perfume, the bass so heavy it rattled through your ribs like a second heartbeat. Strobe lights cut across the haze, washing everything in blue and red, shadows stuttering across the crowd like ghosts. People pressed in on all sides, laughing, shouting, drinks sloshing dangerously close to sequined dresses and white sneakers.
Sunghoon didnât wait for you to catch your breath. He didnât even glance back as he cut straight through the bodies, weaving toward the VIP section where his friends were already raising their glasses, hollering over the music.
You trailed after him, weaving carefully, clutching your small bag like a lifeline. When you finally reached the low table tucked into the corner, he didnât offer you a seat. He didnât drape an arm over your shoulders or pull you close. He barely acknowledged you, sliding in next to one of his buddies with a grin so wide you almost believed it yourself.
âAbout time,â one of them drawled, already half-drunk, smacking Sunghoonâs shoulder. âThought youâd ditched us for your girl.â
Sunghoon laughed, sharp and cocky. âPlease. You know me better than that.â His eyes flicked toward you for the briefest second, lips quirking in something that mightâve passed for a smirk if it wasnât laced with disdain. âShe takes forever. Always fussing.â
The group erupted into laughter, too loud, too corny. It was the kind of performative humor that made you feel like the punchline even when no one was looking directly at you. Heat crawled up your neck. You slid into the empty spot at the end of the booth, clutching your hands together in your lap, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow you whole.
He didnât stop there. He never did.
âShe should be grateful I brought her at all,â Sunghoon added, lifting his glass in a mock toast. âSomebody has to keep her entertained.â
Another round of rowdy laughter. Someone slapped the table so hard the glasses rattled. You stared down at the sticky surface, vision blurring.
You told yourself you wouldnât cry. Not here. Not in front of them.
So you excused yourself. Quietly, timidly, you slid out of the booth and slipped away, hoping no one noticed, hoping no one cared.
At the bar, the music was louder. The air smelled of citrus and vodka, and the bartenders moved like clockwork, shaking tins, pouring streams of liquor, garnishing glasses with quick twists of lime. You sank into a stool, forcing your voice steady as you ordered a cosmopolitan. Just one.
The bartender gave you a look, quick, assessing, maybe even pitying, before nodding and sliding the drink toward you.
Your fingers curled around the glass, knuckles pale. You twirled the lime wedge absently, tracing it along the rim, pretending you were absorbed in the movement. Pretending you werenât alone. Pretending you werenât waiting for someone who wouldnât even think to check on you.
And still, your throat ached with the weight of unshed tears.
From across the room, men noticed. They always did.
Their eyes lingered, shameless. The slow drag of pupils down your dress, across the slope of your shoulders, the length of your legs. Hungry stares, some bold enough to lean toward their friends and mutter something with a grin, others subtle but no less invasive. You felt it all, the heat of their gaze, the judgment, the want. Not one of them saw you as anything more than bait left unattended.
Because thatâs what you were tonight. Again. A showpiece Sunghoon dragged along to prove he could, only to abandon you as soon as the drinks started flowing and the laughter got too loud.
You forced the glass to your lips, took a sip that tasted too sharp, too bitter. Your small voice had barely carried above the music when you ordered, but the burn of vodka was immediate, searing down your throat. You told yourself it was fine. That you were fine. But Heeseung knew better.
From his post at the door, he had a clear view of the bar. He always did, a habit drilled into him from months of watching for fake IDs, unruly patrons, hands slipping where they shouldnât. His gaze swept the room every few seconds, cataloguing faces, movements, the energy of the crowd.
And every time his eyes landed on you, sitting alone with your half-finished drink, his chest pulled tight.
Heâd seen it too many times. You arriving with Sunghoon on your arm, already mid-argument. You disappearing into the booth, plastering on a smile that never reached your eyes. You slipping away to the bar, nursing a single drink, shoulders hunched while your boyfriend played charmer with someone else.
And tonight was no different.
From his vantage point, Heeseung saw Sunghoonâs grin widen as he leaned closer to a girl in a glittering dress. She was laughing too loud, her hand grazing his arm, her body angled toward him in a way that made Heeseungâs stomach knot. He watched Sunghoon disappear into the throng with her, leaving his friends behind, leaving you behind.
Heeseung didnât let his expression change. Not outwardly. He stayed stone-faced, collected, one hand resting on the rope as another group filtered in, IDs flashing under the dim light.
But inside, the anger curled hot.
Because heâd seen you before. Heâd seen the way your pretty face your boyfriend didnât deserve tried to stay composed, how your fingers picked nervously at napkins, how youâd force yourself to sip slowly so you wouldnât look desperate. Heâd seen the way you bolted out once, eyes red, only for Sunghoon to press his mouth against another girlâs throat ten minutes later like you were nothing.
He thought about that often, more than he should. The image of you retreating, breaking apart in silence, while Sunghoon celebrated his freedom like it was a game. And he thought about how absurd it was.
How absurd that someone like you, so striking it hurt, so clearly aching for the smallest bit of kindness, kept coming back. Kept clinging to someone who didnât even notice when you left the table.
Heeseungâs chest tightened as his gaze slid back to you. You were twirling the lime slice again, eyes low, drink nearly untouched. Men stared openly, some shifting like they might approach, only to hesitate at the last second. Maybe it was the set of your shoulders, maybe it was the ghost of Sunghoon still hovering around you.
But Heeseung noticed all of it. Every tilt of your head, every shaky inhale, every second you sat waiting for someone who wasnât coming back. And every second, his fists curled tighter at his sides.
Because it wasnât his job. Because the paycheck didnât cover this. Because he wasnât supposed to care. But he did. God help him, he did.
And as the bass pounded and the lights flashed, Heeseung knew he wouldnât be able to watch much longer. Not tonight.
The cosmopolitan was watered down by the time Sunghoon came back. Youâd stirred the ice into slush, watching the last wedge of lime float aimlessly at the top, your thoughts heavy enough to drown in. The club moved around you, laughter, shrieks, the sticky press of strangersâ bodies, but you sat still, a lone island in a storm you never asked for.
And then you felt it.
That familiar drop in your stomach, the shift in the air when his shadow fell over you.
âAre you kidding me right now?â Sunghoonâs voice cut through the music, sharp enough to make you flinch. He leaned on the bar beside you, posture aggressive, his chest rising and falling like heâd just sprinted across the room. His hair was mussed, strands sticking to his sweaty forehead, shirt collar tugged down too far, and the faint smudge of lipstick that wasnât yours clung to the edge of his jaw.
Heat climbed your neck, shame curling its claws into your skin.
âWhere the fuck have you been?â you asked before you could stop yourself. It came out too quiet, too fragile, but he heard it.
He scoffed, tossing his head back with a humorless laugh. âWhere have I been? Jesus. Youâre pathetic.â
The words were loud, deliberate, meant to land. Meant to draw eyes. And they did.
The couple on the stools nearby shifted, glancing your way, briefly holding their hands tighter. One of the bartenders stilled in the middle of pouring vodka in a salt rimmed glass, gaze flicking up warily. Even the cluster of guys by the jukebox turned, pretending not to eavesdrop but failing miserably. You felt the heat of every pair of eyes. Sunghoon didnât care. He never had.
He planted a hand against the bar, leaning close, his words a venomous hiss that still carried over the bass. âWhy do you always look so fucking miserable? Huh? You should be grateful I even brought you.â
Your throat locked, the breath stolen from your chest. You opened your mouth, tried to form some kind of reply, but all that came out was a strangled whisper. âGrateful?â
âYes, grateful,â he snapped, straightening. âYou think anyone else would put up with this shit? With you dragging your face like the world owes you something? God.â He scrubbed a hand down his face, as if your very existence was exhausting him. âHonestly, youâre embarrassing. You know that?â
The words hung in the air like a slap. And then he said it.
âHonestly? Weâre done.â
The sound of your glass hitting the counter was lost in the swell of the music, but you swore the whole world stopped. He didnât hesitate, didnât soften. He just tossed back the last of his drink in one smooth motion, the amber liquid catching in the lights, and slammed the empty glass down with a clink that echoed louder in your ears than the bass ever could.
âFind your own way home,â he said, dismissive, already tugging at the collar of his shirt.
You watched, frozen, as another girl materialized at his side, the same one youâd seen him vanish with earlier. Her hair was messy, lips swollen, her laugh shrill and satisfied as she clung to his arm. Her dress was hitched indecently high, and she didnât even spare you a glance.
And just like that, he was gone. He didnât look back. Not once. The crowd swallowed him whole, the glitter of sequins and strobing lights masking the knife heâd left buried in your chest.
You sat there, mascara smudging, hands trembling as you clutched your bag like it might keep you from shattering into pieces. The tears burned hot, threatening to spill, but you held them back, desperate not to give him, or anyone, the satisfaction. Still, the whispers came.
âDid you hear that?âÂ
âGod, poor thing.â
âHonestly, she shouldâve left him ages ago.â
âCan you believe he justââ
Their voices buzzed around you, too loud, too sharp, slicing deeper than Sunghoonâs words. The pity was worse than the cruelty. You wanted to vanish. You wanted the floor to open up and drag you under. You pushed off the stool, stumbling slightly as your legs threatened to give out. The lime wedge slid off the rim of your glass, plopping into the watered-down mess you left behind.
Your heart was a war drum in your chest, pounding so violently you thought it might crack through your ribs. Somewhere across the room, Heeseung had gone rigid. From the doorway, heâd seen everything.
The stormclouds on Sunghoonâs face as he barreled toward the bar. The cruel twist of his mouth as he spat venom at you loud enough for half the club to hear. The way your expression crumpled, even as you tried to hold it together. And then heâd watched Sunghoon walk away, not just walk, but saunter, his arm wrapped around another girl who looked like she was one tug away from being half-naked.
Heeseungâs fists were already clenched so tight his knuckles ached. Heâd been angry before. Furious, even, when heâd seen Sunghoon neglect you. But this? This was a different kind of rage. A white-hot boil that burned in his chest, demanding he throw off the rope and drag Sunghoon back by his collar, demanding he put his fist into that smug face until it caved.
But he couldnât. Not here. Not now. So he watched instead, every muscle in his body taut, jaw locked so hard it hurt. He watched you stand, shoulders shaking, bag clutched like a shield, and he knew, knew, this was it.
The final straw. Because even from across the room, even under the blinding strobe lights, Heeseung could see it in your eyes. The devastation. The humiliation. The way you were holding yourself together with fraying thread, mascara streaking down your cheeks, and still somehow trying to walk with your head high as you pushed through the crowd.
He saw it. And he swore to himself, it would be the last time. Not if he had anything to do with it.
The air outside the club was colder than you expected, a biting kind of chill that made your bare arms break out in goosebumps the moment the door closed behind you. Bass still pounded through the walls, each thump rattling your ribs as if to mock you for being on the wrong side of the velvet rope.
Neon bled down the brick wall, sickly pinks and blues pooling in puddles at your feet. Cigarette smoke curled lazily in the air, and a couple half-drunk partygoers laughed too loudly as they stumbled past, heels clattering, perfume and beer trailing behind them. They didnât even glance at you, the girl hugging herself tight on the curb, mascara clumping in streaks down her cheeks.
You pressed your fingers harder into your arms, as though holding yourself together physically might keep you from shattering completely. It didnât work. The words still looped in your head like a cruel recording:
You should be grateful I even brought you. Honestly? Weâre done. Find your own way home.
Each one sliced deeper than the last, the finality of his voice leaving nothing to cling to. He hadnât even hesitated. Heâd left you stranded like garbage tossed to the sidewalk.
You tried to breathe evenly, but your throat was thick, each inhale jagged. People were still streaming in and out of the club, some glancing your way, others ignoring you altogether. Their whispers felt loud enough to pierce your skin, maybe they were laughing at you, maybe they werenât, but humiliation burned all the same.
And then, beneath it all, you felt watched. Not in the mocking way Sunghoonâs friends had always stared when he barked at you, but something steadier. A weight.
Your head lifted, eyes glassy, and through the blur you caught sight of him: The bouncer.
He was still at the rope, towering over the group of giggling girls showing their IDs, some of them were outright flirting and throwing themselves at him, posture as solid as stone. But his gaze wasnât on the IDs. It was on you.
Youâd noticed him before, of course you had. Hard not to, when he was always the first thing you saw on nights like this. Broad shoulders filling out a black shirt, sleeves hugging thick forearms, expression unreadable as his eyes flicked from one patron to the next. A sculpted face that would have been way better on camera than checking IDs at some cheap club dealing with assholes. Heâd always been silent when you and Sunghoon handed over your IDs, offering only a clipped âEnjoy your nightâ while Sunghoon muttered something sharp at you under his breath.
But tonight⌠tonight, his jaw was tight. You could see it even from across the space, the way his lips pressed flat, his fists curled faintly at his sides as though he were holding himself back.
And then, to your shock, he moved. His coworker caught the next round of IDs, sliding seamlessly into his place, and the bouncer peeled away from the rope. The crowd parted around him instinctively, as though his size alone commanded a wide berth. His boots crunched over gravel as he crossed the short stretch toward you, each step impossibly deliberate.
You shouldâve wiped your eyes. Straightened your spine. But you couldnât. Not when humiliation clung like a second skin. The shadow fell over you, blotting out neon. You stiffened, breath hitching. And then, you felt a touch. Gentle. Just the faintest tap of two calloused fingers against your shoulder, careful, as if he knew anything heavier would make you flinch.
âHey.â His voice was softer than you expected, a low rumble that carried none of the bark he used when checking rowdy drunks. âYou alright?â
It broke you. Your lips trembled, tears spilling fresh before you could choke them back. Youâd been holding it in for so long, all night, all month, maybe the whole relationship, and those two words cracked something wide open.
A small sound escaped you, not quite a sob, not quite a word. Your body moved before your brain could stop it, collapsing forward into the solid warmth of his chest.
He went rigid for a second, startled. Then his arms shifted, one hesitating in the air before lowering, heavy and steady across your back. The other rose to cradle the back of your head, palm broad and rough but shockingly gentle as his thumb brushed a wet track from your cheek.
âItâs alright,â he murmured, low enough that only you could hear over the muffled thump of bass. âDonât hold it in now.â
And you didnât. Couldnât.
You shook against him, sobs muffled against the black cotton of his shirt, fists curling weakly into the fabric. He didnât shush you. Didnât rush. He just stood there, unmovable, solid, like a wall you could finally collapse against without fear of crumbling through.
The world spun on around you, girls shrieking as they hailed a cab, a couple making out messily against the brick, a group of guys arguing with the other bouncer about cover charge, but none of it touched you here, in the circle of his arms.
Just the warmth of his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing. The faint smell of laundry powder clinging to his shirt, mixed with a trace of cigarette smoke from the crowd. You cried until your throat hurt, until your lungs ached, until the sharp edge of humiliation dulled into exhaustion.
Only then did he shift, lowering his voice again, gentler still: âI can take you home. Or⌠if you donât want to be alone tonight, Iâve got a couch. Somewhere safe. No strings.â
The words caught in your ears, heavy with sincerity. He didnât look away as he said them. He didnât look like a man angling for anything. Just a man offering something you hadnât felt in so long. Safety.
Your lip trembled again. Your voice was small, raw: âI donât⌠I donât have anywhere to go. He drove.â
His jaw flexed at that. You saw it in the corner of your vision, the way his teeth clenched, something dangerous flashing behind his otherwise calm eyes. But when he spoke, his tone stayed level, gentle: âThen itâs settled.â His thumb brushed away one last tear. âIâll get you out of here.â
The walk to his car was quiet. Not silent, exactly, your heels clicked against the uneven pavement, a stray breeze carried the laughter of people still spilling out of the club, and the hum of neon buzzed faintly overhead. But between the two of you, there was no need to fill the space.
He didnât hover. Didnât grip your arm like Sunghoon always did when dragging you through a crowd. He just walked a step behind and slightly to the side, his long stride shortening to match yours. Every so often, his hand would hover near the small of your back, not touching, just close enough to guide you safely past a crack in the curb or the swing of a drunkâs elbow.
His car was parked a little down the block, tucked beneath a flickering streetlamp. Not flashy, not loud. A simple black sedan, spotless on the outside, like it had been carefully cared for. He unlocked it with a soft chirp and opened the passenger door for you.
That alone nearly undid you all over again. You slid into the seat, the faint scent of cedar and something warmer, his cologne, maybe, enveloping you immediately. He closed the door softly behind you, circling around to the driverâs side with unhurried movements. When the engine turned over, the cabin filled with low hum. Not the heavy bass of the club, but a steady, soothing rhythm, like the world finally slowing down after hours of spinning too fast.
You stared down at your hands in your lap, fingers knotted tight together, knuckles white. The night replayed in ugly flashes: Sunghoonâs voice raised above the music, the cruel bite of his words, the way his friends smirked and whispered, the sharp sting of humiliation when you realized heâd meant every syllable. Weâre done. A lump lodged in your throat again.
âGlovebox,â Heeseung said quietly, eyes still on the road as he pulled out of the parking spot. His voice was low but steady, cutting through the tangle in your chest. âThereâs napkins. Take a few.â
You blinked, startled, before fumbling open the compartment. A neatly folded stack of white napkins sat tucked inside, clearly placed there intentionally. Your fingers shook as you pulled one free, dabbing carefully beneath your eyes.
âDonât worry about the makeup,â he added after a beat, his tone softer now. âItâs fine.â
Fine. The word landed heavier than it should have. No one ever told you that. Sunghoon always noticed, always sneered if your lipstick smudged or if your mascara ran. And here was this man, hands steady on the wheel, telling you it didnât matter. Your chest tightened again, but not with shame this time. Something else. Something unfamiliar.
You turned your head slightly, studying him in the glow of the dashboard. His profile was sharp, jawline set in a line of quiet strength. His lashes cast faint shadows against his cheeks when he blinked, and his mouth was pressed into a firm, unreadable line. But his eyesâŚ
Every time he glanced at you, quick, subtle, there was no judgment. No irritation. Only something steady, grounding, like he was checking every few seconds to make sure you were still holding together.
The heater hummed low, blowing warm air across your legs. The radio played faintly, some late-night track you couldnât place, the singerâs voice slow and low like molasses. For once, silence wasnât suffocating. You pressed the napkin harder against your eyes, breathing carefully, as though any louder sound would shatter the fragile calm inside the car.
At a red light, he finally spoke again, voice pitched softer than youâd ever heard it.
âYou donât have to explain anything to me. ButâŚâ His hand tightened briefly on the wheel before relaxing again. âI need you to know something.â
You swallowed, turning toward him despite the tremor in your chest. âWhat?â
His eyes flicked to yours, dark and steady under the glow of the traffic light. âYou didnât deserve that. Any of it.â
The words landed like a weight and a release all at once. No one had said them to you before. Not friends whoâd watched you argue with Sunghoon, not the strangers who always looked away, not even yourself in the mirror when you tried to justify why you stayed.
Something in your chest cracked.
You pressed the napkin to your mouth, biting down hard to stifle the sound that wanted to escape, a sob, a laugh, you werenât sure which. Tears blurred your vision again, hot and stinging. His hand lifted briefly from the gearshift, hovering for a second before brushing against the back of your wrist. Just once. Just enough to ground you again.
The light turned green. The car rolled forward.
You let out a shaky breath, leaning your head back against the seat, eyes slipping shut. For the first time all night, your body stopped trembling.
The city lights blurred past the windows as he steered the car through quiet streets. Even the low hum of the engine felt soothing compared to the pounding bass of the club. Every so often, you caught your reflection in the dark glass, streaked mascara, cheeks flushed from crying, shoulders hunched as if you could fold yourself small enough to vanish entirely.
Heeseung glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. Not a stare, just a careful check, like a lighthouse sweeping a harbor. His jaw flexed faintly, tension visible even when he tried to mask it. He didnât comment on the tears, didnât ask why you cried. He didnât offer platitudes or awkward small talk. He just drove, hands steady on the wheel, keeping you safe in a way that was quiet but absolute.
When the building came into view, modest, brick-lined, a faint hum of neon from the corner store spilling onto the sidewalk, your stomach knotted with anxiety. Not just from the night, not just from Sunghoon, but from the unfamiliarity, accepting help from someone you barely knew felt like stepping into a fragile dream.
The car rolled to a stop. Heeseung cut the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening after the muffled chaos of the club and the constant low vibration of the city streets.
He reached across, unlocking your door before you could even think to fumble with the handle. âCâmon,â he said softly, voice steady and calm. âLetâs get you inside.â
You obeyed, stepping out into the cool night. The walk to his apartment was short, but each step felt heavy, weighted with exhaustion and relief. He moved close enough that his shoulder brushed yours occasionally, a subtle shield against the world outside, but never intrusive. Inside, the apartment was⌠a sanctuary.
It smelled faintly of cedar and coffee, neutral and warm. The walls were gray, soft light spilling from a single lamp in the corner. A blanket lay draped across a black couch as if it had been waiting for exactly this moment.
Heeseung guided you to the couch without a word, gesturing toward the blanket. âSit. Iâve got water too,â he added, gesturing to a small glass already on the coffee table.
You sank onto the couch, legs tucked close, body still trembling. He handed you the water with a faint smile, careful and deliberate. âDrink. Take your time.â
You raised the glass with shaking hands, lips pressed tightly together. The water was cool against your tongue, grounding you in the present, anchoring you away from the nightâs storm of humiliation and the faint bitter taste of the Cosmopolitan.Â
Heeseung settled into a chair nearby, just within reach but not crowding you. His eyes stayed on you, calm, patient, like he was willing to wait hours if thatâs what it took for you to find your footing.
The tears came again, unbidden, and this time you didnât try to hide them. You let them fall, hot and stinging, and when your chest heaved in silent sobs, he didnât flinch. He didnât reach for tissues. He didnât urge you to stop. He just stayed.
Finally, when your hiccups slowed, he shifted slightly, leaning forward. One large, warm hand rose to rest lightly on the small of your back, thumb brushing in small, soothing circles. The other reached out tentatively to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
âYouâre not a burden,â he said softly. âNot to me. Not tonight. Not ever.â
You swallowed, throat raw. The words felt strange and new, no one had ever said anything like them after a night like this. No one had ever offered you safety without strings, without judgment, without expectation.
âI⌠I donât want to intrude,â you murmured, voice barely audible.
âYouâre not intruding,â he assured you. âThis⌠this is what anyone would do for someone in your situation. I just happen to be the one here tonight.â
You closed your eyes, pressing your temple against his shoulder. For the first time since Sunghoonâs words rang in your ears, you allowed yourself to crumble completely. The sobs were smaller now, shaking out the last fragments of tension and fear.
Heeseung didnât move. Didnât speak beyond a quiet murmur of reassurance here and there. He let you lean on him, let you breathe against him, let you exist in your rawest, most fragile form without judgment.
The apartment felt impossibly still, warm, safe. The soft glow of the lamp caught the dust in the air, the faint curl of steam from the water on the table, the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he sat patiently near you.
Somewhere deep inside, you realized you hadnât felt this safe in years. Not in your own apartment. Not in Sunghoonâs arms, which had always carried the sharp tang of cruelty alongside brief, fleeting affection. But here, pressed to his shoulder, his hand brushing your back with steady warmth, the word âsafeâ wasnât just a concept. It was tangible.
And for the first time in a long, long time, you didnât want to disappear.
The apartment was quiet, but it wasnât empty. The soft hum of the heater, the faint ticking of a clock somewhere, the occasional shuffle of Heeseung in his chair, it was all a low, grounding rhythm, like the world had slowed just for you.
You let out a shuddering breath and pressed further into the couch cushions, curling your knees to your chest. Tears still ran freely, streaking your cheeks, but the panic that had lodged in your chest all night had softened into a hollow ache. Your body was heavy with exhaustion, the kind that comes from running a marathon you never signed up for.
Heeseung leaned closer, subtly shifting so that his shoulder was just behind your head. His palm rested lightly at the small of your back again, thumb tracing slow, comforting circles. It wasnât a gesture meant to demand anything, just there to anchor you, to remind you that you werenât alone.
âIâve⌠never felt that small,â you admitted in a broken whisper, voice trembling. âLike⌠like I didnât matter at all.â
His hand tightened ever so slightly, but his voice stayed soft. âYou do matter. More than you know. And tonight? None of that⌠what he said, what he did⌠itâs not real. Not the way he wants you to think it is. He doesnât get to decide your worth.â
You let your head tilt back slightly, resting against his shoulder fully now. The simple proximity, the safety in the warmth of him, made the last defenses inside you crumble. The sobs came harder this time, but there was no shame in them here. Heeseung didnât flinch, didnât move away. He just let you unravel, letting the storm inside you pour itself out on him.
âShh,â he murmured. âIâve got you.â
And in that simple promise, something inside you unclenched. Years of being belittled, of standing small for someone else, of being dismissed and humiliated, it all felt like it could finally breathe again.
You slid slightly against him, tangling your fingers loosely in his shirt. His thumb continued its slow, comforting motion, tracing circles that somehow erased the sting of every cruel word Sunghoon had thrown at you. The tears didnât stop, but the edge of panic and anger dulled into a softer, purifying ache.
âYouâre safe,â he said, quiet but firm. âIâll make sure youâre safe. No oneâs going to touch you, not tonight. Not anyone. Youâre okay here.â
The words felt like a shield wrapping around you. You pressed your cheek further against his shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of soap and cedar, letting your body relax into the strength of him. It was intoxicating in a way you hadnât expected, not lustful, not urgent, just⌠grounding. Like finding an anchor in a sea that had tossed you for too long.
âI donât⌠I donât even know how toââ your voice faltered, choked off.
Heeseung shook his head softly. âYou donât have to do anything. Just⌠be here. Let me take care of you. Thatâs enough for now.â
His words, simple and patient, allowed you to finally exhale fully. Your body quaked against him, and he didnât flinch. His arms were steady, firm, reassuring. He didnât try to push you away or force distance. He let you cry, let you be messy, let you exist in the aftermath of humiliation and heartbreak without judgement.
Minutes stretched like hours. The city outside buzzed faintly, but inside, it was still. Quiet. Safe. Warm.
Finally, when your tears slowed to occasional shuddering breaths, you peeked up at him. His eyes were soft, dark, and unreadable in the lamp light. He wasnât looking at you like a stranger whoâd rescued a damsel â he was looking at you like you mattered. Like you were precious.
âYouâre going to be okay,â he said again. And this time, there was something more in the way his hand lingered at your back, guiding you just slightly closer. âYou donât have to go through that ever again. Not him, not anyone. Ever.â
Your heart thumped against your ribs, a mixture of relief, lingering hurt, and something you hadnât dared to feel in a long time. Safety. Warmth. Desire, subtle and growing, curling gently beneath the surface like an ember waiting for permission to burn.
You let your head fall back against him, letting yourself fully relax for the first time in hours, in months, maybe even years. And he didnât let go. Not of your shoulder. Not of your hand when it brushed his shirt. Not of the quiet promise in his gaze: that tonight, at least, someone would finally treat you right.
And for the first time since Sunghoonâs betrayal, your tears didnât feel like shame. They felt like release.
You didnât have to be embarrassed anymore.
You didnât have to apologize anymore.
You didnât have to be small anymore.
Heeseungâs hand rested heavy but gentle against you. His shoulder was solid beneath your temple. And somehow, in that stillness, in that quiet safety, you found yourself letting go of the night entirely, letting go of Sunghoon, letting go of the fear, letting yourself feel anything at all.
And even if you didnât say it aloud, even if you didnât even realize it yet⌠you trusted him.
Completely.
You had settled against him, soft and exhausted, the sobs finally reduced to quiet shudders. The apartment was still, but the quiet no longer felt like emptiness, it felt like a shield, a space just for the two of you.
Heeseungâs hand rested at the small of your back, brushing gentle circles, and after a long moment, his voice came, low, hesitant:
âIâve⌠Iâve seen the way he treats you,â he said, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor, as if choosing his words carefully. âItâs⌠itâs not right.â
You swallowed, throat raw from crying and speaking. Your voice was small, uncertain. âI⌠I donât know why I stayed.â
Heeseungâs fingers moved up, tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear, brushing across your temple. His thumb lingered at the curve of your cheek, and his voice dropped even lower, soft enough that it felt like it was just for you:
âBecause no one ever showed you different. Let me.â
The words werenât just an offer, they were a promise. A gentle, steady promise that he would be different, that he would treat you with the care youâd never received. And something inside you, raw from hurt and desperate for kindness, tilted forward.
Heeseung leaned closer, his breath warm against your temple. Tentatively, he pressed his lips to yours. Just a light touch at first, testing, gentle, almost reverent.
Your lips parted slightly, and then the kiss deepened, hunger threading through it, pulling both of you forward. It was slow at first, explorative, a question of trust and desire. But the tension youâd carried all night, the frustration, the humiliation, the ache of abandonment, seeped into the kiss, and suddenly it was no longer tentative.
Heeseungâs hands moved subtly, framing your face, thumb brushing along your jaw, pulling you closer. Your fingers tangled lightly in his shirt, seeking more, needing more. The kiss deepened, fast and urgent now, the restraint breaking as the pent-up emotion of the evening exploded into something tangible, something hungry.
When you finally pulled back for breath, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, hearts thundering in sync. Heeseungâs eyes were dark, molten, holding a fierce protectiveness softened by undeniable desire.
âYouâre safe,â he murmured again, lips brushing against yours, just enough to make your stomach twist. âHere, with me⌠youâre safe.â
And in that small apartment, in the warmth of his arms and the quiet promise in his eyes, you realized something: the humiliation, the heartbreak, the nightâs terror, it had brought you somewhere else entirely. Somewhere you never expected. Somewhere better.
And now, even your body was saying yes, responding to the careful, hungry devotion of this man whoâd rescued you from the night, from him, from yourself.
You had settled against him, soft and exhausted, the sobs finally reduced to quiet shudders. The apartment was still, but the quiet no longer felt like emptiness, it felt like a shield, a space just for the two of you.
Heeseungâs hand rested at the small of your back, brushing gentle circles, and after a long moment, his voice came, low, hesitant:
âIâve⌠Iâve seen the way he treats you,â he said, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor, as if choosing his words carefully. âItâs⌠itâs not right.â
You swallowed, throat raw from crying and speaking. Your voice was small, uncertain. âI⌠I donât know why I stayed.â
Heeseungâs fingers moved up, tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear, brushing across your temple. His thumb lingered at the curve of your cheek, and his voice dropped even lower, soft enough that it felt like it was just for you:
âBecause no one ever showed you different. Let me.â
The words werenât just an offer, they were a promise. A gentle, steady promise that he would be different, that he would treat you with the care youâd never received. And something inside you, raw from hurt and desperate for kindness, tilted forward.
Heeseung leaned closer, his breath warm against your temple. Tentatively, he pressed his lips to yours. Just a light touch at first, testing, gentle, almost reverent.
Your lips parted slightly, and then the kiss deepened, hunger threading through it, pulling both of you forward. It was slow at first, explorative, a question of trust and desire. But the tension youâd carried all night, the frustration, the humiliation, the ache of abandonment, seeped into the kiss, and suddenly it was no longer tentative.
Heeseungâs hands moved subtly, framing your face, thumb brushing along your jaw, pulling you closer. Your fingers tangled lightly in his shirt, seeking more, needing more. The kiss deepened, fast and urgent now, the restraint breaking as the pent-up emotion of the evening exploded into something tangible, something hungry.
When you finally pulled back for breath, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, hearts thundering in sync. Heeseungâs eyes were dark, molten, holding a fierce protectiveness softened by undeniable desire.
âYouâre safe,â he murmured again, lips brushing against yours, just enough to make your stomach twist. âHere, with me⌠youâre safe.â
And in that small apartment, in the warmth of his arms and the quiet promise in his eyes, you realized something: the humiliation, the heartbreak, the nightâs terror, it had brought you somewhere else entirely. Somewhere you never expected. Somewhere better.
And now, even your body was saying yes, responding to the careful, hungry devotion of this man whoâd rescued you from the night, from him, from yourself.
 the air between you was thick and charged. His hands lingered on your waist, gentle at first, as if letting you set the pace. Heeseungâs eyes searched yours, dark and intense under the soft lamp light, reading every flicker of hesitation and desire.
âDo you⌠want this?â His voice was low, almost reverent, each word deliberate, giving you the power to say yes or no.
You nodded, breath trembling, the small, silent confirmation enough to send something primal sparking through him. His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile, but something that promised both care and possession.
He guided you onto his lap, slow, deliberate. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers pressing firmly yet carefully, as if claiming you without breaking you. You gasped softly when the thin fabric of your clothing pressed against his hardness, a friction that left your body trembling.
He groaned low in his throat, the sound rough, raw, vibrating through you. His eyes darkened as he leaned closer, hot breath fanning over your ear. âSunghoon⌠ever make you feel like this?â he murmured, hand tightening on your thigh, pressing you more firmly against him.
You didnât answer. You let the silence speak instead. Your hips rolled forward, pressing harder against him, giving him the friction he craved. Heeseung groaned again, louder this time, the sound almost urgent, reverent, filthy all at once.
âYouâre so perfect,â he whispered, voice thick with need. âSo goddamn perfect⌠feel me against you like this, do you even realize?â
Your hands tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him without words. Heeseungâs grip on your thighs was possessive now, claiming every inch, grounding you even as your body melted into the sensations.
âDo you want me?â His voice was both a question and a demand, low and husky. The heat of his eyes pinned you in place, and all you could do was nod, hips pressing forward again, feeling him hard and huge beneath you.
Heeseung groaned, lips brushing your temple as he adjusted you, pressing you tighter, claiming every movement. âGood girl,â he murmured. âSo wet for me⌠I could feel how much you want it, donât hold back now.â
Your breathing quickened, matching his rhythm. Every brush, every press, every possessive grip was both reverent, as if he worshiped you, and filthy, marking you as his in a way that left your body alight.
Heeseungâs hands lingered at your waist, thumbs brushing over the curve of your hips as he leaned in, chest pressing against yours. The heat radiating off him made your skin ache, every nerve ending alert and craving.
Slowly, reverently, he began to peel your top upward, pausing just long enough to let you arch instinctively into him, lips parting in a soft gasp. The fabric slid over your shoulders and down your arms, leaving you bare to his gaze.
His eyes darkened, low growl rumbling in his chest when he glimpsed the matching soft pink bra and panties youâd worn underneath. âHmmâŚâ he murmured, brushing a finger lightly along the lace that framed your chest. âThese⌠who were they for?â
You shivered at the sound of his voice, breath hitching. You didnât answer with words. Instead, a soft, shameless moan slipped past your lips, head tilting back, eyes fluttering closed. Your body arched into his touch, craving more.
Heeseung smiled against your skin, lips brushing your collarbone as his hands roamed lower, tracing patterns over your folds through the thin fabric. Every movement was calculated, teasing, worshipful, driving you insane.
With deliberate slowness, he slipped a finger under the waistband of your panties, tracing the curve of your hips, dipping slightly along the folds of your wetness. His thumb found your nub, flicking it softly at first, then with more confidence as your moans grew louder, breath coming in ragged gasps.
âYouâre so beautiful,â he whispered, voice husky. âSo fucking perfect⌠look at you, trembling for me already.â
His finger dipped slightly inside you, testing, drawing a low groan from deep in your chest. You pressed into his touch, hips rolling forward, begging silently for more, moaning his name with abandon.
âFuck⌠youâve been soaked for me this whole time, havenât you?â His voice carried both reverence and raw need. âYou donât even need to say it⌠I can feel it.â
Your head fell back fully now, eyes closed, lips parted, moans spilling freely as his fingers continued to tease, flick, and dip. Every brush over your clit and entrance sent jolts of pleasure through your body, every calculated stroke making you arch against him, completely his.
The apartment, the quiet, the city outside, it all disappeared. There was only the heat between you, the friction, the worshipful intensity in his gaze as he claimed every inch of you with fingers, words, and hands.
Heeseung didnât rush. Not now, not ever. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, lifting you fully onto his lap so your core was flush against his thick, hard cock. You gasped at the sudden friction, heat and pressure igniting every nerve. He groaned low, a sound that rumbled through you, possessive and hungry all at once.
âSunghoon⌠never made you feel like this, did he?â he murmured, lips brushing the side of your neck. You didnât answer. You just rolled your hips forward, grinding lightly, teasing him as much as he teased you.
âFuckâŚâ His hand pressed harder at your waist, tilting your hips just so. âYouâre so wet for me, itâs⌠unbelievable.â He began to move you slowly, hips rocking against him, every inch deliberate. Each press of your clothed folds against his cock sent sparks of heat racing through both of you.
His fingers traced over your soft pink lace, dipping slightly beneath the waistband to flick and trace your clit, occasionally slipping one finger inside you. Your moans spilled freely now, head thrown back, eyes fluttering closed as his thumb rubbed your nub in perfect rhythm.
âYou feel so good,â he groaned, voice husky. âSo perfect⌠all mine tonight.â
You pressed into him instinctively, rolling your hips, teasing him further. Heeseung groaned again, lifting you slightly, rocking you down with a sharper motion, fingers still buried inside you, flicking that sensitive spot relentlessly.
âGod, youâre so needyâŚâ he whispered, brushing your hair back from your face. âSo perfect and wet and desperate just for me. You havenât been touched like this before, have you?â
You whimpered, grinding harder, rocking against him shamelessly. Heeseungâs hands tightened on your thighs, holding you close, claiming you completely as your moans filled the apartment.
âYouâre mine tonight,â he murmured, voice low and thick with need. âMine to touch, mine to fuck, mine to make feel like thisâŚâ
He began moving you with him in slow, grinding thrusts, each movement driving you higher, pushing your body toward a fevered edge. Fingers inside you, cock pressed to your folds, mouth hot on your neck, everything he did was reverent and filthy at once. He worshiped you with every motion while marking you as his.
Your moans grew louder, ragged, breaths quickening as he whispered filthy praise into your ear, asking you to roll with him, move with him, moan his name for him. Every flick of his fingers, every press of his cock against you, drove you closer to the edge.
âIâm gonna make you come for me,â he groaned, voice thick. âSo wet, so perfect⌠come for me, yeah?â
You couldnât hold back. With a shuddering cry, you tumbled over the edge, fingers gripping his shoulders, hips rocking uncontrollably against him as your body quaked. Heeseung groaned deep, holding you through it, riding out the friction, keeping you pinned safely against him even as your release rocked through you.
When you finally collapsed against him, breath ragged, trembling, he lowered his forehead to yours, pressing gentle kisses along your temple and cheek. âYouâre incredible,â he murmured, voice soft but low. âSo beautiful. So perfect⌠all mine.â
You melted against him, heart still racing, chest heaving. For the first time that night, the humiliation, the fear, the cruelty of Sunghoon, it all seemed impossibly far away. There was only warmth, only him, only the reverent, filthy, perfect intensity of being wanted and worshiped in every way.
Heeseungâs lips lingered at your jaw as his hands gripped your thighs, steadying you. He didnât rush, not at first. He pressed slowly, testing, letting your body adjust to the overwhelming size beneath you. Every inch of him felt impossibly thick, impossibly full, and your breath hitched, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes from the mix of pressure, pleasure, and leftover raw emotion from the night.
He paused just inside you, warm and commanding, thumb brushing softly against your cheek. âShh⌠Iâve got you,â he murmured, pressing gentle kisses against your temple and along the tears streaking your face. His lips trailed down your jaw, brushing your neck with every whispered murmur.
When he finally bottomed out, you let out a shuddering cry, rolling your hips forward slightly to accommodate him, the simultaneous sting and stretch shooting waves of pain and pleasure through you. Every nerve in your body screamed with the overwhelming fullness, and Heeseung groaned low in response, tightening his hands at your thighs as if anchoring both of you in the moment.
âFuck⌠you feel so perfect,â he rasped, voice thick with need. âEvery inch⌠all mine.â
He began moving you up and down, slow at first, letting you adjust to the massive stretch. Every glide sent shivers through your spine, a delicious mixture of ache and heat. Your moans came out ragged, uneven, desperate as he gradually increased the pace, driving deeper, gathering momentum.
The reverence in his eyes never left him, even as he began to lose control, groaning and hissing your name. âGod⌠youâre so tight⌠so wet⌠so fucking perfect for me.â
When he threw you back on the couch, you barely had time to adjust before he was pressing his chest to yours, face buried in your neck, teeth grazing the skin as he thrust harder and faster. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, giving him every inch he wanted.
His kisses trailed down your shoulders, over the curve of your collarbone, and even along the tops of your arms, every motion alternating between worshipful and possessive. Each thrust hit deeper than the last, every movement precise yet ravenous, overwhelming your senses.
âDo you feel that?â he groaned, voice ragged. âFeel me filling you up, fucking you like this⌠just for me?â
You could barely answer, only moans and breathless whines escaping as he drove into you, slow and deliberate one second, fast and punishing the next. Pain and pleasure collided in your chest, in your hips, in your core, wrapping around every inch of him and every nerve ending he touched.
His hands slid over your back, gripping, guiding, pressing you flush against him as he buried himself deeper, pressing kisses along your neck, whispering your name, your moans, telling you how perfect you were.
You couldnât hold back, rolling your hips with his, letting every thrust pull gasps and cries from your throat, every flick of his fingers over your clit, every press of his cock into your depths sending waves of fire and ecstasy through your body.
âGod⌠yes⌠just like that,â he growled, voice low, urgent, filthy. âSo good for me⌠mine⌠all mineâŚâ
You gasped, clinging to him, your body shivering with the sheer intensity, every thrust, every kiss, every press of his hands driving you closer to a release that threatened to pull you under completely. His own groans, low and guttural, vibrated through you, mixing with yours in a symphony of need, worship, and raw lust.
Every roll of your hips, every gasp, every soft cry was a declaration, this wasnât humiliation, this wasnât being used, this was being claimed, adored, and consumed in the most intense way imaginable. Heeseungâs control, even as he lost it, was a tether that kept you from drifting too far into sensation alone.
By the time you both hit the tipping point, it was a storm: him buried fully inside, hips pistoning with desperate, reverent need, lips pressing into your skin, hands claiming every curve, every shiver, every gasp. You trembled, rolled, pressed, moaned, your release crashing over you in tidal waves, and he followed moments later, groaning deep, claiming every inch of you as you rode it out together, bodies slick and trembling.
When it finally slowed, his chest pressed against yours, foreheads touching, every movement a whisper of aftershocks, you could feel his steadying warmth, his hand rubbing slow, soothing patterns over your soaked, quivering body.
âYouâre mine,â he murmured, voice low and reverent. âSo perfect⌠all mineâŚâ
You let out a shaky laugh, leaning into him, letting the weight of him, the heat, the worship, and the filthy intensity wash over you completely. For the first time in a long time, you felt wanted, safe, and utterly claimed all at once.
The apartment was quiet now, the soft hum of the heater the only sound accompanying your ragged breaths and the faint scent of sex and sweat in the air. You lay against the couch, chest rising and falling, trembling slightly from the storm of pleasure and release, and Heeseung watched you for a long moment. His chest rose and fell as well, voice low, steady, as he murmured your name softly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face.
âYouâre perfect,â he whispered, thumb tracing small, gentle circles along your temple. âSo beautiful⌠so good for me.â
You shivered at the touch, cheeks flushed, heart still racing. Your body still tingled from the relentless intensity of your shared release. Your limbs felt heavy, your muscles soft and spent, and the ache between your thighs reminded you of every thrust, every touch, every kiss.
Heeseung leaned closer, lips pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. âCome on,â he murmured gently, hands sliding under your shoulders. âLetâs get you to bed.â
Your arms wrapped weakly around his neck as he lifted you carefully, cradling your trembling body against his chest. The sensation of being held so completely, so securely, sent another shiver down your spine. Your head rested against his shoulder, breath hitching, body relaxing into the solid warmth of him.
Heeseung carried you through the dimly lit apartment, past the coffee table and couch, over the small rug, and into the bedroom. The bed was soft, blankets neatly draped, light spilling from the corner lamp. He lowered you gently onto the mattress, adjusting you so you were comfortable, knees bent slightly, shoulders pressed into the soft sheets.
âHere,â he murmured, draping the blanket over your bare body, tucking it around your shoulders, letting it cocoon you. His hands lingered briefly, brushing against your arm, your side, before settling by your own.
You reached out instinctively, curling slightly against him as he lay down beside you, chest pressing gently to yours. His arms wrapped around you, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other threading softly through your hair. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the warmth of him anchoring you in a way youâd never known.
âSafe now,â he whispered, voice low and steady. âYou donât have to be afraid of anything. Not tonight⌠not ever with me.â
Your eyelids fluttered shut, body still tingling from everything that had happened. His lips pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, then another along your temple, before finally resting his forehead against yours. The quiet intimacy, the gentle pressure, the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours made every trace of humiliation and fear from the night dissipate.
âI could stay like this forever,â he murmured sleepily, hand rubbing slow, soothing circles across your back.
You hummed softly in response, relaxing fully for the first time in hours, letting go of all tension. Heeseungâs warmth, his presence, and the gentle embrace of the blanket wrapped around you both like a shield, a safe space where nothing could touch you.
Eventually, your breathing slowed, limbs heavy, head resting perfectly against his shoulder. Heeseungâs voice grew quieter, softer, until it was only the rhythm of his breath against yours.
âGood night,â he whispered, lips brushing the crown of your head one last time before sleep claimed him.
And there, cradled in his arms, you finally let yourself fall asleep. Safe, wanted, worshiped, and utterly, completely his, no fear, no shame, just the quiet, blissful closeness of someone who had finally found a place to rest.
Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and lazy, dust motes dancing in the golden rays. You stirred, eyelashes fluttering, and realized immediately that you werenât in your own bed. You were warm, cocooned under a blanket that smelled faintly of him, the familiar scent of soap and cedar grounding you even more than the gentle pressure of his arm draped heavy across your waist.
Heeseung stirred slightly, pressing a feather-light kiss to the top of your head. âMorning,â he murmured, voice husky, low from sleep. âYouâre not going back to that club⌠unless itâs with me.â
A small, soft smile tugged at your lips. The memory of last night was still there, but it no longer burned you. Instead, it was replaced with warmth, safety, and a thrilling, possessive excitement.
Your fingers reached for your phone and froze. Several missed calls and messages from Sunghoon were staring back at you, the first frantic and desperate, the next cruel: âDonât be a bitch. You know I didnât mean it.â Your stomach twisted at the absurdity, your thumb hovering over the screen as you glanced at Heeseung.
He was leaning against the headboard, arms crossed casually, watching you over the rim of the bed with that faint, unreadable smirk youâd come to know so well. His dark eyes held a mixture of amusement and something far more possessive. He nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, giving you silent permission.
You dialed Sunghoonâs number, phone trembling in your hand. As it rang, Heeseung leaned close, his breath warm against your ear. âGive me the phone,â he whispered, lips brushing your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand slid over your hip, fingers brushing dangerously close to your still-sensitive core, already nudging against your clit.
Sunghoonâs voice came on the line immediately, frantic, stumbling over his words. âHey! Baby, wait, Iââ
Heeseungâs smirk widened as he tilted the phone slightly so it was pressed between your ear and his shoulder. His other hand teased your folds, flicking and pressing while his cock hardened under the blankets, brushing insistently against you. You let out a soft, helpless moan. âMhmm⌠ohâŚâ
âUh⌠hello? Babe? Are you there?â Sunghoon stammered. âI didnât meanâwait⌠whatââ
âOh,â Heeseung murmured in your ear, voice low and teasing, âsheâs busy.â His teeth grazed the soft spot just above your collarbone, making you arch into him involuntarily. His fingers slid between your folds, pressing and flicking, making your hips buck against him even as your phone vibrated uselessly between ear and shoulder.
âMmm! Hee⌠oh fuck!â you moaned, squirming, completely lost to the sensations.
Sunghoonâs frantic voice exploded again. âWHAT?! IS- IS THAT HEESEUNG?! WHAT THE FUCK?! BABE, TELL ME THIS IS A JOKE! NO, Iâwait, what are you doing?!â
Heeseung didnât answer. He just cut the call with a swift motion, tossing the phone onto the nightstand. His smirk was all teeth, all heat, as he leaned over you again, pressing the flat of his chest against yours, one hand tangled in your hair, the other already ghosting over your sensitive folds.
âYou donât need him,â he murmured, lips brushing over yours. âYou never will again.â
Your fingers threaded into his hair instinctively, pulling him closer as his cock nudged and teased, brushing against your wet folds insistently. Every flick of his fingers, every press of his lips, every possessive groan was a reminde.
The bed dipped slightly as he shifted, straddling you fully now, heat radiating through every inch of his body. His hands gripped your thighs possessively, thumbs brushing and teasing, while his lips found yours in a kiss that was demanding, reverent, and filthy all at once.
Sunghoonâs messages and calls could wait. They didnât matter. All that mattered was the man hovering above you, claiming every part of you, âMine,â he whispered against your lips, voice husky and commanding. âAll mine. And youâre never going back to anyone else.â
cast:Â drummer!jake â videographer!fem.reader (ft. enhypen and &teamâs 02 liners, katseye's sophia, and other idols)
synopsis:Â all jaeyun felt behind his drum kit is pride as his band ends another concert of the tour. then, his mind trails back towards you once again, the videographer recording their performance from the sidelines: the one he always ends his nights with. but when a short break before the last tour stop results in you trembling in his arms; your presence slowly dwindles away from him, making him wrestle with his feelings for you.
genre: coming of age, drama, romance, rock band au, musician on tour au, friends with benefits au, very angsty, fluff, mature content (explicit smut, traumatic experience), set in the same universe as my txt's soobin fic subterranean homesick alien
based on: music my bloody valentine's "come in alone" (1991)
word count: 30516 (30.5k)
warning(s): mental health discussion (survivor's guilt, ptsd, depression, anxiety attacks, suicidal thoughts), minor character(s) deaths, mention of a major car accident, medication (pills for depression, motion sickness, and birth control), self-harm, description of scars and wounds, blood, drug consumption (alcohol), piercings and tattoos (jake has a labret piercing and a full sleeve tattoo on his left arm. mc has septum and belly button piercings), sex used as coping mechanism, explicit sex (three scenes; from borderline pornographic to love making), unprotected sex, yun's dick is BIG, manhandling, hand job (m&f received), oral job (m&f received), dacryphilia, bulging, sub space, squirting, creampie, cockwarming, (if there is something i forgot, let me know)
message of the moon: remember that this story is fiction and do be careful and read the warnings at the top. all the idols mentioned here are not what they are in real life. jaeyun will be used more, but jake is also referred!
welcome! this fic tackles heavy topics, espeically regarding mental health after a traumatic event. i also want to suggest to listening to the fic whilst reading because it helps with the many inclusions of songs written hereâboth openly referenced to just implications. hope you enjoy!
playlist | visualizer
part of the loveless anthology
musician that inspired the sound of amperhyphen:
american football / car seat headrest
the air is electric as the spotlight shines on him. the sweat sticking onto his body frames his arm muscles as they move in front of him. the click track in one side of his ear as he gazes at the front. his friends were all in the zone as they all stood at the front of the stageâstanding on top of them. his left arm was shining and showing his full sleeve tattoo while playing the snare drum. his right hand was counting on the hi-hats as he had to adjust his rhythm. nicholas, who is standing closest to him, moves his bass melody around his rhythm, following the down beat from his kick bass. while euijoo and jongseong play their guitar melodies interchangeably, making the sound of his crashes and tom-toms an anchor for them to follow.
behind the drum kit, jaeyun feels at home.
his hands drumming the snare so hard as he bit on his bottom lip, feeling the ring of his piercing cool against his skin, as the beat became faster. the end of the show is so near that he had to eye the bucket of drumsticks near his legsâfinding one less of them after he broke one tonight. sweat on his dyed blond hair falling down as he felt the music all come together and enter his blood veins, like drugs that he consumes through a syringe so that he could directly feel seep into his cells. his vision continues looking at the crowd, their hands in the air. some are holding their phones; but in his band's genre of music, the audience doesn't need a phone recording to feel the euphoria of the night that will be imprinted in their memory. the spotlights shining on their faces as he could see himself in that crowd, watching his favourite band as they create music live that sounds even better than their studio counterpart. then, he trails his eyes towards the front of the barricade where security guards stood. and, there is also someone holding a camera, recording their audience having fun as the figure walks in front of the stage.
the people who noticed smiles and sing towards the camera as the figure walks to the other end of the stage before turning around, letting the lens capture the band's performance as the light shines perfectly on the face behind it. you.
you hold the camera still with your hands, eyeing from the viewfinder to capture the right scene before you of the band performing their hearts out, to then the stage where his eyes find yours; a smile forming on your face when he can also feel the electricity of the music combine with the one coming from you.
his hands move to the crash cymbals as the song nears the end. nicholas, euijoo, and jongseong all sang into their microphones as he mouthed the lyrics by his mic, head lulling following the rhythm, counting the bars of music in his mind to then stop! the spotlight shines on jongseong, who continues playing his melody meticulously on his trusty guitar as the music fades away. jaeyun hears the screams and cheers from the audience as the final song ends, wiping away his nose bridge, yet his eyes still stay on your figure who is shooting jongseong's solo for the recording, ending the song like it is written.
claps and cheers fill his ears as he can feel the jitters coursing through his body. jaeyun leans back on his stool as he takes a breath after playing for two hours by now. he could already feel the scratches on the thick blisters on his fingersâcourtesy of gripping the drumstickâas he felt the outermost skin peeling off. the boy stands up from his chair, eyeing the audience, you, and then the spotlight that shines on him; blinking as he captures the moment.
"this is amperhyphen! thank you and good night!" euijoo's voice rings through the microphone as the spotlight shuts down on the stage. finally, he could take a fucking breath.
jaeyun picks up his water bottle as he leaps off the foundation of his drum kit, walking behind the speakers to the wing of the stage when he sees sunghoon clapping his hands, ruffling his hair when he arrived before him, to then move and greet nicholas, who was walking behind the boy. on his side, sophia is already pushing out their small towels for them to grab and wipe up their sweats. but, jaeyun's attention is somewhere else as he eyes the moving crews that are tidying up the venue and their instruments: to bring them to the next stop of their tour.
"the fuck, jake?" jongseong comes to stand beside him. his long black hair framing his face as he felt the brush of his guitar neck by his back. "you broke another stick when playing letters. i saw it flung near me."
"that means that he was fucking enjoying it, of course. i'm surprised that my guitar string hasn't snap yet." euijoo added as he leans into sunghoon'sâtheir band's managerâside who replied with "don't fucking jinx it.". sophia stood in the circle too as she nods at jaeyun who had already use the towel to wipe his face, looking down to see the dark eyeshadow around his eyes melting onto the material.
"oh yeah, jay. i think your d string was a bit off-tune between silhouettes and twin fantasy," nicholas added after swallowing his drink from the water bottle.
"fuck! thanks nicho. didn't fucking caught it there. thanks again, dude," jongseong answers as he pulls off his guitar and places it inside the case full of stickers of band logosâfrom their own amperhyphen, and to their other favourite bands such as green day and radiohead.
"we gotta fucking celebrate the night. one more stop of the tour!" sunghoon said, wiping his own sweat as jaeyun recognised his hard work behind the stage. from handling the logistics of the instruments to the audio engineering and all others that. he could only nod his head as he looked at the stairs leading to the front of the stage, and instantly, he could feel his breath hitch when the final member of the core amperhyphen team finally approached the rest. his body continues to jitter as his eyes gaze at the figure.
you are wearing a red flannel shirt outside of your white t-shirt that is short enough so he could catch the glint of your belly button piercing because of the shine of the light. the camera is in a grip between your hands as you close your distance, hearing the greetings from the other boys as sophia wraps her arm behind your shoulders.
"the crowd is genuinely so fun tonight. i was fucking scared that they could pick up the camera and shit," you said as the others giggle. your nose scrunches as he gazes at the septum piercing while the others continue to converse. only some unintelligible noise comes into his ears as he pulls off his in-ear monitors and device of his body to be packed up along with the rest of the concert equipment. then, jaeyun's eyes meet yours once again. the wide smile on your face fades away as you read his expression, from the way he licks his bottom lip to slightly biting it, his stare hot and burning against your skin as he disregards the impromptu planning for the night.
you already guessed what he was going to do to celebrate the night.
"you're coming, jake?" euijoo's voice pierces through the wall of indecipherable noise as he finally glances around at the others. and by the knowing looks on some of them, such as jongseong and sophia, they already know that he has a plan going on for tonight: a plan that involves him and you.
jaeyun shakes his head before glancing back at you who is standing still, already eyeing him and waiting for his signal. his body moves quick as he breaks away from the circle and grabs onto your wrist, hearing you yelp as he feels the chuckles bubbling when hearing the others reacting to the two of you.
"don't forget your fucking bags, you two." sunghoon shouted as you replied with a "okay, hoon" and let the darkness of the hallway consumes you both from their eyesights.
the air is crisp as you feel your bag hanging by your shoulders, jaeyun dragging you with his letterman bag that is draped with his sweater hanging and tied across his chest. his fingers already signing for hailing on the road as a taxi came by the pavement and you both step into the backseats. as you leaned back against the soft seat while jaeyun tells the hotel name, you take in the view of the town you visted even if it is just for three days, taking in the scenery of it that looks more or less like a growing city. the skyline is still full of high-rises and office towers as the car drives into the dead of the night filled with glowing signs that captures the eye.
a warm touch rests on your ripped-jeans-covered thighs, turning to the side as you see jaeyun with his hot gaze on you. his smudgy eyeliner and eyeshadow frames his eyes that pierce into you even more, biting one side of his bottom lip that you know is already swollenâbecause he always bites his bottom lip when focusing on something and especially behind the drum kit. the streetlights let you see his simple silver labret piercings that cool down your lips whenever you feel it-
reality kicks in as you pick his hand up and curl it with your own, giving him a look that says, "please wait just for a bit." many times, he couldn't handle it. sometimes, he had already had you wrapped around his fingers and thrust you against the vanity table in the backstage area where sophia put on his and his members' make-up. sometimes, he had already using the bottom of his palm to make you dry hump for him, lips already marking your neck as you cover your mouth to not let a sudden pant came out. jaeyun had become more behaved since the first time you both hooked up at the start of the tour three months ago. he had access to groupies and fansâmuch of what euijoo and jay hook up with as, usually, nicho hooks up with sophâbut jaeyun: he always picks you to end his night.
as the taxi stops by the lobby area of the hotel, a bell boy opens the door for the backseat as jaeyun puts a pile of cash on the tray by the driver.
"thank you!" you shouted as the boy helped you out of the taxi.
"big bucks over here. you're welcome!" the driver shouted back as you both giggle, leaving behind the bell boy who opened the door for you and the taxi as jaeyun and you jog towards the elevator as quick as possible. because it is nearly midnight, the elevator door opens quickly as you press the floor number where all seven of you have settled. leaning back against the back wall of the small space, you looked down to see his foot moving in rhythm like it was still on the kick drum's pedal. your interlocked hands holding on tight as you trail your look up towards his armsâhis left arm full of black and red-inked tattoos that create contrast with his bare skin right arm. you let out a huge sigh when the screen above the door shows your floor, and the doors slide open.
"your keycard," you whispered-screamed to him when you bumped into his back by his room. his hand instantly moved to pull out the keycard from his bag's front pocket as he pressed and saw the unlocked green light on top of the handle. jaeyun twists it and pushes the door open hard as the closed curtain greets you on the other side of the room. you haven't even taken in everything when he closed the door and pushed you to it. one palm resting beside your head as he finally kisses you hungrily.
closing your eyes, you let your hands trail around his toned and sweaty body, feeling his wet locks clumped together as his piercing's cool texture presses down your lips. your hand grips his nape when you sense his lips biting yours. you kick off your sneakers away towards the door as he does the same before pulling deeper into the hotel room.
the warm bedside lamps are turned on and placed on each side of his double bed. jaeyun pulls away as he sees you put your bag beside his bed, pulling off his own letterman bag and placing it on his desk. adrenaline courses through him as he pulls away his white compressed tank top and feels the cool air brushing against his sticky skin. turning around, you are already perched on the front edge of the mattress, outer shirt strewn away as he realises that you both were wearing nearly matching outfits for the night. your palms are pressed on the mattress behind as you push your upper body upright. darkness clouded your eyes as he felt the same aura exuding from you as he also exudes.
the boy let out a groan as he stepped before you, grabbing onto one side of your face and leaning down to kiss you hard. jaeyun felt how your clean and short nails trailed down his shoulder muscles as he pushed his tongue into your mouth's cavern. your other hand cradling his face, brushing his angular cheekbone and gripping his jaw. his hands brush down onto the end of your tee as he pulls it away, letting him see the black bra that you adorned when he pulls it off of you. his lips trail to the button of your nose, licking against your septum piercing before trailing down towards your jaw and then neck.
"jaeyunâŚ." you moaned out when he bites another mark on your collarbone. the only people in this world who fully refer to him as jaeyun are his parents, his brother, and himself. his best friends and bandmates all call him interchangeably with jakeâbecause of the use of his english name as his stage nameâand the crowd only knows him as jake. but when he heard you moan jaeyun after he told you his birth name for the first time months ago, he felt his world turn upside down and the blood flows more into his hardened cock that makes his jeans tighterâeven until now.
he licks up the trail of your skin on a path, feeling the loose band of the bra by his upper lip after you unhook it, making his hands move it away and throw it somewhere in the room. your perky nipples stand tall as his trail runs down and licks one up while gripping the other boob with the amount of force you liked. your hands burshes his fringes to look down at his head by your chestâworshipping your body as he continue to learn every time you both fuck. your favourite places to be kissed, to be touched, to be gripped, and to be marked.
a chuckle bubbles out from you as he continues downward and licks around your belly button that adorns your piercing, his hands unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans as he brushes his lip ring on your lower tummy, feeling him getting closer to where you want him. pulling the jeans away, he sees your matching black underwear sticking onto your hips as he trails kisses from your knee to your inner thigh. you lean up with one arm pushing your upright, the other hand raking on his back as you could feel the healing scars that you inflicted on him the last timeâmarking him the way you like it.
his breath brushes the wet spot on your underwear as your body squirms, reacting right to his touches as he licks a strip around your slit and finding your clit at the same time. you muffled your moans by biting your lip as he continues before brushing the fabric aside. jaeyun could see your libia already opening for him, letting him see your hole that is only reserved for him. your slick is already coming out as he felt how you were already wet for him, even without foreplay. like it started when you see him on stage. like he also felt the bulge grazing his thighs when he sees you below the stage whilst drumming.
"jaeyun- fuck!" you gasp at the sensation when he pushes his tongue into the hole, the cool lip ring surface touches your warm skin as he finally looked up to your face. the boys' eyes continue to pierce into you as you try your best to hold on the eye contact and not roll your eyeballs back into your skull from how fucking good he is fucking your walls orally. your hips continue to squirm as he pulls away and suck your clit, pushing two of his fingers into the entrance as they scissor you openedâwidening the opening for him.
"prepping you to take me in deep until my balls hit your hips," jaeyun mumbled against your skin as he watched your knitted eyebrows from pleasure, pushing the hole wide as he thrusts up his fingers into you.
"always⌠prepared⌠for you," you mumbled back as he pulls his face away, letting you see the sheen around his lips from his saliva and your slick as you presses down your thumb to the middle of his bottom lip with his piercing, making him lick the fingertip as he continues opening you up for him. jaeyun stands up on his feet and leans forward to you once again, making you let out a free flow of moans as he continues to open you up with his fingers as both of your lips press against each other. your hands grasping his hair and neck as your toes curled up under your socks, feeling your pulsating wall after he pulls out, then giggles when your whines travel to his ears.
with him pulling away from the front of bed, you drag yourself up to the end when you felt the headboard and the pillows behind you, eyes gazing at him who is taking his jeans off as you spread your legs beside you, folding your knees before you push the area behind your kneecaps towards your chestâshowing his reward to him by opening so much for him. jaeyun chuckles as he could see how desperate you by the way you are spreading your legs like he is yours, finally pushing down his boxers as his long and thick cock stands upright and taps against his abs. you eyed his member with a lick on your bottom lip as he crawls over, already prepared as ever to wrap your walls around him.
jaeyun crawls his body on the mattress and kneels by your spread hips. he brushes his sensitive part as he puts his palm before his mouth. you hear him spit then he pushes his open palm down towards your mouth, letting you spit on it as well, before he uses the palm and stroke his cock. the boy hissed at the coolness of the liquid as he already felt his pre-cum flowing out out of his slit. leaning closer, you eyed him playfully, pushing yourself to brush his tip on your lower lips.
"hmmâŚ" you reacted with a high-pitched whimper.
"look at you. so hot and bothered for me," he spoke above you as you nodded your head. when his tip catches onto your opening, his sight focuses on you as he plunges deep. you can feel yourself getting so fullâyour eyes rolling back into your skull.
"fuck yes!"
"fuck yes, (y/n)." jaeyun echoes your word as he pushes himself deeper until his balls touches your hip. his tip meets your cervix as your walls clamp and adjust around him. you roll your eyes back as you gaze at his intoxicating face, his sight focusing on your rising and falling chest before he zones out. you let go of one of your legs and bring it to lean against his shoulder, breaking his trance as your free hand finds his that is gripping onto your waist.
"you can move," you whisper only to him as he gets your command, pulling back until more than halfway before plunging back in. his vision now focuses on your face as you nod even more, urging him to continue before you mouth "faster" to him. the leftover adrenaline from the concert comes back as he adjust his pace, faster like you want him.
your jaw is unhinged as you let out strangled moans that feeds into his ego, knowing that when you lose your push to voice out a moan means that you are already deep in pleasure from his cock. he groans out. sounds like skin slapping against skin and the light thumps from the mattress against the wall fill the room as you stretch yourself open for him. when he leaned down closer to your torso, you shrieked as you folded your knee towards his frame.
"s-so deep-" you moaned out, letting go of both of your knees as you folded them at the back of his upper body, letting him press you down underneath his body as his hips falter in the pace but he replaces it with how full he is filling you up. from the tip that your lips are gripping on, to then plunge deep until you feel him by your cervix. you feel the familiar burning stretch as his torso moves forwardâfolding yourself more than half for him. sweat continues to trail down his hairline until it reaches the outside corner of his eyes, mixing it with his black eyeshadow before it trails down and thins out on his cheek.
the bottom lip of yours is bitten as you try your best to gaze at his face. his adam's apple bopping as he swallows every breath whilst thrusting into you and you following himânot making him go fully out of you. one of your hands reaches for his inked tricep before moving to his shoulder, making him lean more as he finally smashes his lips on yours once again. your tits moving against his chest as you moaned into his lips. your hand, that is behind his left shoulder, is already curling into his skin as his hands hold himself on each side of your head, tangling it with your spread legs so he can push deeper into you than ever before.
trembles came from you as you let out a shaky breath, mouthing your impending release as he felt it on his lips before your jaw was widely agape and you sank your head into the pillow as deeply as possible. your fingernails digging into his back muscles as he continues to thrust yet slowly, letting him take in your euphoric expression with your folded legs holding onto his shoulders that continue to shake. you sense how your walls are fastening on his cock, yet still feel the moisture that is produced from your cum as he is getting even harder than ever inside you.
pushing with all your might, his body now lies on the mattress with you at the top. after fixing your position in a more comfortable one, you sink yourself down until you are practically sitting on his lap with his member inside you. your upper teeth biting onto the centre of your bottom lip as he is doing the same. eyes dark and warm gazing at you like something he is so proud to attain. in your mind, you shake your head as you wet your lips and press your hands against his abs, pushing yourself upwards before falling onto him.
you continue doing so, perceiving every muscle of your walls clenching onto him as the moist sound continues to get even louder. sneaking to look at the area where you both are connecting, you stare at how your arousal mixes together to create an opaque ring around the base of his cock: of your cum and his pre-cum. with a knowing look from you, you continue your flury of moves as you bounce on him, feeling the oversensitivity coming to you as his groan is a signal of how tight you are sucking him in.
"come here," jaeyun said as he pushed himself upwards. back now leaning against the headboard as he brought your upper body to him. you felt his knees folding behind you as you can't help but let your tongue meet his as he guides your hips while moving his ownâpushing his hips up into yours. your hand is clenching onto his tense muscles as you moan back into his mouth, finding his back as you pull him into you, just like he does to you.
"y-yun." you curled yourself into his embrace and moaned into his ears. his energy pushing through to get you to come one last time.
"close?"
"yes! mpmh-" your lips meeting his again to muffle the noise that he is also letting out from the neighbours close to his hotel room. hips meeting his as he held onto your waist, feeling how your figure trembled as he moaned into your parted lips. eyes open wide, you met them with his that is frowning from how tight you are holding onto himâcumming for the second time of the night.
leaning in, the tip of your nose presses against his before you move your head to his forehead meeting yours as well. one of your hands trails to his face as you feel his thrusts getting sloppier, pressing your thumb down against his hoop lip piercing as he licks the fingertip.
"fucking cum in me," you say, full of frustration but also coated in lust as your lips brush against his when you speak. his thrust suddenly becomes quicker as he chases after his high like so many times you and he have done before. forehead pressing hard against each other's as his moan fell out between his open lips. jaeyun tilts his head to finally meet his lips against yours as you can feel his semen squirt out inside youâwarming you up from the inside.
you both breathe so heavily as you sit upright. his cock inside you plugging his cum so that it doesn't slip out as you both stare at each other. with another tick, the tension melts away, and you both giggle.
"i still can't believe that you have that much energy after every gig," says you who lets both of your forearms rest on each of his shoulders.
"i got more kick of adrenaline when i know that every night, i will be here inside of you."
"oh, shush." you put a pointer finger in front of his lips as he playfully opens them to nibble on it. the cycle of breathing came from both of you as he continued to warm you from your nether region. you gazed at his dyed hair, noticing his natural black hair growing from the roots, showing just how much time has passed as you still remember his fully dyed blond hair when you first saw him. his eyeliner still sticks on his waterline with a few smudges from the sweat of performing and the tears of pleasure creating a shadow around it.
"can you help grab my bag?" you said as jaeyun's hold on you continued, moving both of you slightly nearer to the side of the bed. the movement makes your body bounce as you continue to clamp onto him, eyes already rolling at his method of doing so as he cock brushes against your walls. his muscles tensed up as he picked up your bag before placing it on the space beside you.
"you're sleepy, i know. but you gotta clean your makeup first," you muttered as you brush around in your bagâfrom feeling your notebook to your wallet and phoneâto pick up the bottle of makeup cleanser and cotton pads. jaeyun finally leaned back on the headboard, sturdy enough to hold him upright as his hands were still splayed on your waist. after pouring the right amount of it on the pad, you exhale as he closes his eyes, letting you clean out his eye area as he reacts to the cool sensation, continuing to hold onto you.
wiping away his makeup, you let his skin breathe as you find one of his eyelids void of obvious signs of eyeshadow and eyeliner. looking from afar, you could see the inner youth jaeyun still has within himâeven with some creases around his eyebag area from maturing into the fully fledge young adult. your hand rested on his jaw to help clean the canvas that is his face more easily. then, you felt him pushing his head forward with a little pout forming, making you giggle as you continued to clean his makeup.
with three pads used, you lean back a bit to take in his beautiful face before you. a few blemishes rest on his face including an unsmooth texture to a scar that blends in with the rest of his skin tone. yet this softer jaeyun is the same as the one you recorded on stage on your camcorder, banging the drums as the metronome of the songs with his best friends in a small, albeit sold-out, performance.
when jaeyun opens his eyelids, your breath catches off guard as he peers at you. his pupils looking around your face as you felt the familiar surge of post-sex sensation faltering away in an instantâmaking you question why you are here in the first place. looking down at the bottle and the rest of the cotton pads, you packed them into your bag as the boy's breath settled down before you. after that, you push yourself up as his cock lays on his body, feeling the breeze that comes through you as you felt his cum already near dripping outâlanding more on the base of his cock as you can already imagine just how slimy your core is.
"i have to go," you said to him as you move away from his lap and stand on the edge of the bed, eyes set on your black underwear as you rush to get them and tuck it on, stopping more of his cum leaking out of you while also making the cloth now stained. and when you approached him to get your bag by the bed after tugging on your jeans and t-shirt with the flannel shirt and black bra on your hold, you felt the familiar warmth grip your wrist.
"stay," he had said, his ruffled bangs that is now covering most of his forehead making him look much more innocent even before people notice that he doesn't wear anything under it. his confident body still exposed against the cool air as you strain yourself to not trail your gaze down. but you shake your head as you pull his hand off yourself and feel its searing grip creating an imprint.
"i have to go. i still have to pack my stuff."
such an easy lie to say, knowing it is half true. because you have packed your luggage a day ago with only the clothes you'll be wearing for the next two days in the wardrobe.
a smile adorns your face as you put the rest of your clothing items haphazardly into your bag. you pivot one last time at him, seeing his familiar unreadable expression that he will always show when you have to get back and leave him behind. maybe he had felt something more than what this is. because you both had set up this situation as full of benefits that are only fulfilled sexually. no underlying emotion should seep out other than lust and how it helps relieve, or in the case of jaeyun, how it helps relax.
"good night, jaeyun," you uttered, tucking the strap of your bag on your shoulder with your hand gripping onto it.
"good night, (y/n)," he echoed, still leaning against the headboard as his piercing gaze stayed on you until you weren't seen from his spot on the bed.
hanging the pair of shoes with your fingers, you rummaged your bag's small pocket to find your own keycard as you stepped in front of your hotel room. entering it, the lights that greet you are dimmer than what jaeyun has, as only the lights from the desk and on the bedside table in between the two twin beds are lit up. you walked towards your bed and placed down your belongings before pulling out your skincare pouch from the bag.
the familiar cotton pad that once cleaned jaeyun's makeup is now cleaning yours. the liquid smooth cleansing milk moves along with your movement as you eyed yourself in the mirror. dust and makeup staining the white pad as you felt his remains still leaking out of you and nearly dripping onto the jean material you're wearing. finding your bare face from the reflectionâyour concept of time is fleeting out as you don't know how long it took for you to actually clean your face, you rush up and grab onto your sleeping clothes before stepping into the bathroom.
underneath the cold water shower, you feel his warm touch dispersing as you try to not think about anything further from what you have with jaeyun. 'maybe he got emotional because it is nearing the end of the tour,' you were thinking as you brush the bubbles from the soap against your marked skin, sensing the pain when you accidentally push on the skin with too much force. his cum now falling and mixing into the water as you clean your lower region while leaning against the nearest surfaceânumbness finally caught up to you on your hip area from the ways he fucked and manhandled you.
with your sleeping clothes on as you dry your hair as best as you could with the towel before letting it air dry, you went back to the desk again as you pulled out your nightly skincare products that involve acne care and for your dark circles. then, you hear the click of the door unlock as you turn and see sophia, your roommate for the past three months of the tour, coming in still giggling as her sway shows just how tipsy she was, even if it is only the leftovers.
"hey (y/n)," yet she said so casually.
"hi soph," you reply.
she steps deeper into the room as her hands find the backrest of the sturdy chair you are sitting on. her eyes nearly threatening to close before focusing on yours as you put the acne solution on the place where the area with remaining acne scars is. a pouty smile comes out from her as you could already tell that she can see the sex glow on you, like the many times she had mentioned ever since you came forward and told her your very active sexual rendezvous with jaeyun.
"did you clean jake's makeup? i really don't wanna make him get that big batch of the little pimples along his face that i had to cover up."
"yeah, i did," you answered. sophia is always meticulous as ever when it comes to the band's appearance. she will find solutions to make the boys' skin much healthier. you have heard her mad when she notices jaeyun has some pimples on his cheek and the many speeches she talks with all of them about them not taking care of themselves. it's the reason why she is always prepared with fresh, clean towels after every showâto wipe away any sweat and grime on their faces to clean themselves up. the appearance of a band that plays alternative rock and midwest emo songs is meant to be grungy, but when the stake of popularity of the band rests on their members' visuals as well as their music, especially in this economy; it becomes a great asset to upkeep.
your eyes followed sophia's as she turned her head to the side of the desk where you had another pouch open. her mind is sober enough to process a lot of things as you let the acne solution dry out on your face, creating inconsistent dots of chemical white before she then also reminds you.
"don't forget the pills, yep?" she said so nonchalantly as you glance to find your new strip of birth control pills peeking out. one pill out for today because you finished your menstrual cycle yesterday. a pout shows from you, even if it is not so prominent. you nodded your head, mind returning to the reason why you use birth control in the first place: because of jaeyun.
you have not been sexually active before you meet jaeyun. the tightness of your wall clamping onto his condom-covered cock the first time he insert himself into you is the pain you are never forgettingâbecause you also feel it for the first time in your life with him. he doesn't know it that way and you don't really want to announce it to the boy as of recently, but being with jaeyun made you feel wanted differently in your whole life. a life that is full of expectations, memories that some you want to leave behind yet still stick with you, and ever ever-changing job to hustle in your life. jaeyun's searing touch against your skin feels different than the romantic partners you had in your lifeâthose that only saw you as this cool kid they would like to date because of how alternative you areâyet when you meet someone as alternative, then you can actually feel the numerous substances combining into a chemistry miracle.
and yet, you both only defined your relationship as pleasure-seeking: to end the day with calm and relaxed selves. your arrangement with each other only happens because sunghoon hired you from your personal collection of concert pictures and videos you watched since you were a freshman and sophia vouching for you since you both went to the same college. in the end, it will only be temporary. jaeyun will go on his merry way, banging his way into people's hearts with amperhyphen. while you? you don't know what to do. maybe finish your degree that's going to accumulate in cost. but you know that you want to stay close to music: you don't know if it's off stage like right now, or on stage like you used to do.
sophia quickly pecks your wet hair before approaching her side of the wardrobe full of her fashionable clothesâyou know that you will have to help her pack tomorrow morning before check out. her face is flushed as the alcohol continues to seep into her cells as she picks up her sleeping clothes to end her day and start tomorrow in.
"oh yeah! where's the last stop going to be again?" you watched her from the mirror across from you, moving behind your chair towards the bathroom before facing back to you at the front of the open doorframe.
"haeyang," she answered in a beat. just like the thumping of your heart that quickens when you hear the town name.
inside you, it all comes crashing down. tinnitus showing up in your ears as you sense your head spinning. headache forming as your eyesight becomes blurry, unable to see your reflection on the hotel room mirror again. but you see something else: your reflection on that day, marred with scars and blood dripping down your face on the reflective surface as the orange sky shines upon yourself in that very moment. your trembling, bloodied hand holding your phone after calling the emergency hotline before adrenaline kicks in and makes you move.
the water runs inside the bathroom as sophia cleans away her worries, while yours come back to haunt you. every inhale feels so heavy as you shake your head to bring you back to sanity once again. but those flashbacksânightmaresâreturns and will not be going away as they stake their claim in your mind for the time being. until this attack stops.
your hands reach into the pouch full of pills that you rely on for these past three months, eyes frantically scanning every brand and medicine name as you find the pill bottle that is inscribed with your name. you just hoped it hadn't expired from the last time you consumed it as you pop open the cap and take open pill out. the pill goes down along with the water as you read again what your prescribed antidepressant pills have in them before tucking the bottle away so sophia doesn't see it.
resting your head on the pillow, you turn your head towards the window covered by the sheer curtainâstill letting the moonlight shine inside the room. you can feel the placebo effect of the pill kicking in as you reassure your heartbeat's rhythm is back to normal and stable, knowing that the pill's chemical will only take effect when you are sleeping. the tiredness in your muscles and your mind finally makes you close your eyes, hoping to not think of whatever tension you and jaeyun have when you clean his makeup, and especially hoping that the flashback doesn't come back to haunt you for the rest of your sleep.
because you will need this deep sleep to face the next few days.
-
the drumming engine of the 7-seater SUV trembles as jaeyun is reminded of the ghost sound of snare drum, kick drum, and hi-hat playing in the same rhythm all the time. the sound that rings every time he goes to the venue for his rehearsal. the sound that permeates when he enters the venue and goes to the stage to find his drum kit emptyâonly finding you, who is taking in b-roll footage to add to the videos you will then upload to social media to excite people about their last stop in the national tour.
his vision gazes at the moving scenery of the highway whilst he continues to rub against your back, your head leaning onto his shoulder as you let out little snores. even if he wanted you to stay the night and sleep with him and you reply with rejection, he is still the one who will let you sleep in the car. you always had your water bottle and a pill ready before entering the back of the vehicle with the many duffle bags resting beside jaeyun as they don't have any more space in the trunk. jay already asking what the pill is when you first do it in front of him.
"it's for motion sickness. i get car sick if i stay in a car too long."
and so, when sophia was the one who sat in the very back with you, she became your pillow as you slept your pain away until she woke you up when you arrived at the next town. but ever since jaeyun's growing relationship with you and sophia's relationship with nicho, he moves to the back and lets himself hold you upright so he could see his best friend getting it on with the girl that he likes. it is what friends are for, right?
your hair covered nearly half of your face as you slept as soundly as ever. he did notice how tired you seemed when they had to pack up, so he hoped that the pill would help to let you rest so you could be more energised when the vehicle arrived. because out of all the towns he went to, haeyang is the one he anticipated the most.
haeyang itself is a townâthe marketing statistics showâwhere most amperhyphen fans come from. its growing hipster scene as a campus town also helps with the beautiful scenery of a mountain, hills, and the sea. he couldn't wait to explore haeyang with you because he thinks you would love the town, especially with the similarities you share with him from your relationship.
"hey, jake!" jongseong asked from the seat in front of him, turning his head so he could look at the figure seated behind him as he spoke, "when are you available for those drum lessons? jungwon is already asking me for dates after we are back home."
said boy chuckles as he replies with, "didn't your brother say that he had a college orientation? maybe before that is good."
"next week, then. let me text him back," jay types away into the chat message between him and his brother, jungwon. the little brother of two has always wanted to play drums ever since jongseong allows the band to practice in his house's garage, finding his older brother and his bandmate jamming away from covering their favourite songs to practice their own written songs every time the younger arrived home from high school. jungwon has an affinity for jaeyun's drumming, reacting in focus to how jaeyun plays the beats perfectly so that it wouldn't be too fast or slow. he feels honoured in inspiring his best friend's younger brother to play the instrument he truly loves.
the outside view continued to go past as the plains of the barricaded highway slowly were being overwhelmed by hills full of trees. the SUV goes through tunnel after tunnel and when the highway continues after the last tunnel has gone by, he could actually hear euijoo's gasp from the shotgun seat. from the view of the small window beside him, the hills are now replaced by the vast sea. islands are freckling upon the waters farther out from the shore as he felt you stirring in your sleepâsomehow knowing that all of you have reached haeyang. looking through the window on the other side where you are sleeping, he found buildings on the forefront of hillsâa little barricade to cover up the town's nature.
jaeyun's hand gently holds your waist as he looks to the front to see that all of his friends are staring outside of the car windows in wonder. sizzling noise of the fm radio dissipates when the frequency finds a local radio station that plays the sound of an indie folk act as the acoustic guitar fills in the spaceâintroducing the town as this familiar and authentic place, where it is not been fully replaced by large gentrification projects unlike the towns he had performed in.
"hmmâŚ" you hummed beside him, making the boy pivot his head to look down at your head on his shoulder, watching as your eyelids fluttered open, your sight meeting his neck before peering upwards to meet his.
"have we arrived?" your mumble reaches his ear as he nods. slowly, you push yourself against jaeyun to sit up, blinking the sleepiness away as you look around at the windows showing the scenery outside of the vehicle. he watches as you take in the view, a slow yet huge inhale and exhale coming from your body as you continue to stare outside. the sunlight captures your face perfectly as his eyes flicker on your side profile. the light shines on the surface and makes your iris colour much more pronounced. yet, your face remains still as you watch along the moving sceneryâhe focuses back on your eyes to see that there is something sort of blue in them.
when sunghoon mentioned that they would be in haeyang for six days as the last stop of the tour, the boys were already trying to set up things to do since day 1. catching onto the talks that they had of their last night celebrationâwhich jaeyun and you only got to know this morning after what you were doing the previous nightâthey already had an idea of something to do today. and as they all check into their motel rooms at the establishment near the haeyang beach, his eyes looks back towards you who is waiting for sophia to unlock the door a few doors from him. and how your hand are clenching then unclenching before meeting sophia's sight as you give her a smile and entering the door.
as the sun sets on your first day in haeyang, all seven of you gather at a karaoke place where sunghoon booked a large room that you all can fit into and prance around. finger foods to full-on meals sit on the tables alongside bottles of flavoured soju and a bottle of tequila as jaeyun sits on the cushioned sofa, his arms resting on top of the backrest, curling it behind your figure who is sipping from the shot glass of the peach-flavoured soju. jongseong and euijoo rock out on the space in front of the tv to the green day song they're singing, both of them taking turns as they play air guitars with their hands forming the chord on their imaginary fretboard. sophia is recording them with her phone as jaeyun caught your giggles from watching the two's shenanigansâseemingly much better emotionally from when he saw you in the morning.
"oh, fuck me! we should actually cover this song next time," euijoo says as he twirls his body before collapsing on the sofa and jongseong collapsing on top of him, playfully crushing the boy as they both battle it out with their hands.
"we fucking should. i would definitely love learning that bass solo at the bridge. it's fucking rare to get bass solos in songs." nicho fans himself, jaeyun turning to see his face a bit flushing from the alcohol as he sways to lean against sunghoon, who is just looking at his friends very perplexed.
"who's turn is it?"
"my turn!" sophia exclaims as she picks up the tablet that controls the karaoke machine. the letters filling in the query box one by one as jaeyun recognises the word and the famous song it is related to.
as the percussion plays into the speaker, the familiar synth of toto's africa rings out into the room as the boys are all cheering with sophia as they all stand up, hand in hand and sway from side to side. jaeyun chuckles at what his friends are doing as he hears her sing the lyrics, trying as best to match up with the key. then, sophia reaches for the other abandoned mic on the table and pushes it towards you.
"come on, (y/n)!" she eggs you on. eyes all turn towards you as you let out a small shake of your head. in the numerous times all seven of you have done karaoke, you never sing. you've never picked up the mic and led a round of singing like everybody does. you are usually sitting there, gazing at everyone who sings their hearts out whilst giggling with a glass or a spoon in your hand, enjoying the cuisine served instead before clapping your hands when they finish performing. everyone in the room knows this, but with the boy's eyes looking at the girl's expression: sophia knows you more even than jaeyun.
"i know you can sing. i always hear you sing this song in the shower," she slips the mic into your grasp as you sit up with your back straight on the edge of the cushion, holding the mic up against your lips before downing the rest of your soju as you blinked the bitterness away. when he looks at your face, he doesn't see denial anymoreâhe sees determination.
"'hurry boy, it's waiting there for you~'," sophia sings before turning around, eyes on you as she signals "the chorus is yours." with a deep breath, jaeyun watches you let out a smile and lift the microphone in front of you.
"'it's gonna take a lot to take me away from you~'," you sing the first line of the chorus before the boys' cheers muffled your voice as you continue on. jaeyun's sight focuses back on sophia, whose smile is so wide as your voice rings from the speakers. your body leaning forward as you gave your might to sing the lyrics out loud.
sophia is right. you can sing, and you sing well. and so, only the presence of your body lingers beside him as sophia drags you to stand up beside her. the mic is held in both of your hands as she wrapped her arms around your shoulder, swaying you along with the song as even sunghoon can't help but to smile seeing you finally be courageous enough to sing. jaeyun leans back on the sofa, staring at your singing figure and his friends who are singing along. the timidness that he recognises thaws away as you continue to singâeven filling in on the notes sophia couldn't reach with such a perfect pitch. he knows that, if he had a voice timbre like yours, he wouldn't even stop singing. and as you continue, hearing the way your voice stabilises with confidence, even allowing you to startle sophia where you take the lead: he realises that you are in your element. jaeyun doesn't even know where it comes from, but you have only known each other for three months now. there are many aspects in your life he hasn't fully explored. and if singing is one of them and you are good at it, he is determined to know more, even with the short time he has left.
as the song's instrumental bridge plays and he looks at you and sophia dancing hand in hand, he can feel warmth spreading from your smiling face. and as you sang the first line of the chorus for the last time with enthusiasm in your voice, sophia continued along with you as the boys followed in, singing the iconic lyrics to africa and how it repeats and repeats. with his mouth following alongâjaeyun's eyes are still on you as he notices how your voice is losing volume compared to the others in harmony. but then, your smile fades away in a moment. the fluidity of your movement suddenly becomes stiff as your lips, which were mouthing the lyrics perfectly, began to stagger. the lights from the screen reflected in your eyes as he notices more and more glimmering in themâlooking downwards as your chest starts to heave openly before closing your eyes.
the last of the chorus fades as the boys and sophia are singing the lyrics along with the synth melody that is now stuck in their heads. however, jaeyun is the one who notices you sobbing in sophia's arms with your head tilted down.
immediately, jaeyun stands up, startling everyone, as he steps and gathers you into his embrace. your small sob grows bigger when you feel his heat enveloping you, muffled your sobs as your head rested on his shoulder while he reassures your trembling figure with a smooth rub down your back. the room turns quiet as only the last instrumental of the track is playing, and the joy slowly dissipates as they all stare at you. jaeyun's eyes were still on you, not knowing how to react to the suddenness of it all.
"you're okay. i am here," he whispers into your ear of words that just show up in his mind. a phrase so neutrally positive that he hopes they don't undermine what you are feeling. because he doesn't know why you reacted this way in the first place.
your head is droning with the numerous hits as you feel jaeyun's voice pierce through the buzz, reacting in an instant as you put your hands on his chest to push him away. but he doesn't budge as he still holds you close, the shakiness of your body makes him want to hold you tighter. yet, he gave you space as you wipe away the tears, a groan came out from deep within you as your eyes find your friends', which are full of concern.
"i, i'm okay. just-" you swallow down your saliva, "all of you can continue. it's nicho's turn, right?"
they all look around and at you awkwardly. you felt jaeyun's hand giving a pat on your back as you darted towards him, towards his eyes as you pushed out the first thing in your mind that could calm everything down. your swollen eyes widened as you looked up and down at his figure. jaeyun's face changes from worry to curiosityâknowing what your gaze is telling. then, he felt your hands reaching for him. nay, reaching for his waist underneath his baggy graphic tee.
nicholas had moved to the tablet as you still stare at him with your knowing gaze. slowly, you bite down on your bottom lipâknowing that he will take the bait as his hands curl on your back. the only coping mechanism you know that will get you away from that mindset you wanted to not even think about in the first place.
"we'll be going first, okay?" jaeyun spoke up, aiming his words for the others. your eyes still stay on him as he watches how everybody nods. nicholas is already pulling sunghoon with him when jaeyun hears a nirvana song playing in the back. as the first notes of come as you are ring around the room, the door has already been slammed open, and you pull him with you into the dark hallway.
the evening outside is decorated with a purple hue as you walk down the pavement. your eyes are looking both ways to know when to cross the street when it is clear. whilst jaeyun is just letting you pull him awayâknowing the end result of it all anyway.
this is the first time you had ever been so open to fuck. usually, he is the one who signals first.
both of your feet rush down the sidewalk when you see the motel getting closerâsunghoon's SUV parked in the parking lot indicates it as you both quickly climb up the stairs to the second floor of the accommodation. jaeyun fetches his key from his bag's pocket as you wait beside him, urging him on by how tightly you are holding his hand. and as the door opens and you both clamber in, jaeyun quickly closes the door before pushing you to it, trapping you as you wrap your arms around him and pull him into a hot clash of kisses. he keeps up with you, with how pushy and clingy you become as you even bite on his bottom lip near his lip ring, making him groan as he moves his hands around your body, feeling every part of you with his palm.
after both of you have kicked off your shoes, jaeyun crawls his hands down to your thighs as you accepted his signal; raising one of them before he lifts you up, holding you as he turns you both around towards his bedâlips still connected as he feels the saliva spreading around his lips from the fighting tongues. when he drops you down, he quickly removes your bag as you take off your top as fast as possible, making him have to keep up with your pace as you stand bare before him. instead of waiting for him, you kneel down quickly and help him with his bottom layers as you are met with his growing cock after tugging his pants down.
licking the underside of it, jaeyun peers down on you as you use one hand to stroke his shaft and the other hand moves to play with his balls, fondling the two as his hand moves strands of your hair to clearly gaze at you. your lips move towards his tip, kitten licking his slit before taking the head in your mouth with a pucker. a hum comes from you as he let out a trembling breath, biting his lip so hard he can feel his skin breaking when he tasted the iron. your eyes are glimmering under the minimal light, shining from taking on his member as you take more and more of him before closing your eyes when your nose ring trailing up his shaft until he felt the wall behind your mouth before you pull your head. yet when you open your eyes, you look back up at himâsticking your gaze on him.
"give it to me," you mouthed, your lips brushes against the head of his cock when you say the words as he felt the jitters from how it is getting more and more sensitive as you take him in. jaeyun watches how your free hand shifts from his balls to play with your pussy. his hands then hold onto each side of your head as you nodded as you continue to bob and take him in, making him picks up the pace as you kneel there pliantly, accepting what he is giving you as you continue to rub yourself and move your hand to his balls, edging him more and more with how much he can push himself into your cavern.
"gosh, you want me to ruin?" jaeyun asks as you let out hum with his cock in your mouth, eyes blinking towards him as he pulls away after a few fast thrust, looking at the strings of saliva connecting his member with your lips as your mouth is left agape to take in every oxygen you can.
the boy then stands you up as you let him, pushing you on the bed as he climbs on top of you, kissing your lips before going down to your neck as he gives a huge suckâknowing the hickey that will show up there when you gaze at your refelctionâbefore he inserts two of his fingers into your moist hole covered with your arousal, earning a gasp from you as your hand reach down for his to do whatever he is doing. but he has something in mind for the girl who is craving for him.
you let out a whine that gets cut as he moves your body to rest on the side. jaeyun rested behind you before he stretched his inked left arm so you could rest on it, and he could move his hand to hold your shoulder down. his other hand lifted your leg so he could slot himself between you, resting it on top of his hip. your hand reachs down for his cock that is brushing against your lower lips, tapping against the sensitive clitoris you were rubbing before you push his tip between the rim of your hole as he pushes in, hand on your thigh as he moves his hips so he can enter more of himself in you.
a moan came out from you deliciously, making him turn his head to look at you with a squint in his eyes and a smirk forming on his face. pulling back until the bulb of his head is left, jaeyun pushes back in deeper as you let out another loud moan full of yearning. you had never moaned so loud before. even with the many times he had fucked you, you were always the silent type: gasps, small-volumed moans, trembling breaths, and unhinged jaw. but when he heard the pornographic moan you let out from this position, your body all stretched out in his liking, he knew he had to get more of them out of you.
with your body brushing against the mattress and his arm, the boy picks up the pace as he watches your facial expression full of bliss. eyes shut and jaw opens as moans came out of you following every thrust you both are receiving. his left hand that holds onto your shoulder felt your hand gripping onto it as you turned to look at him beside you, reaching with your hand to settle behind his head and get a hold of his lock as he caught the signal to press slight kisses on your lips and the corner of them. jaeyun also lets out moans as he watches you, blubbers coming out from you as your walls mold to his shape as he feels all the sensations in the right place.
jaeyun pulls your head closer, bringing him nearer to your skin as his lips touch your side of the face. whispers of dirty talk flow out of him as you opened your eyes with a hooded gaze, glancing down and watch how his cock is filling you up deliciously with how it dissapears inside of you so easily. his eyes are closed as he fully felt every nerves of him waking up from the pleasure, not realising the sniffles coming out of you as another liquid hits the bridge of his nose. pulling away slightly, he watches the tear falls from the corner of your swollen eyeâthe one that had cry before this and the one that had endured his cock baraging into your mouth until you almost couldn't breathe.
"are you okay?" he had asked as he slowed his pace down when he couldn't help but remember what happened at karaoke. however, he felt your hand on top of his that is resting on your tummy, pushing down on the bulge you felt so he could feel himself inside of you.
you nodded your head and replied, "letting go."
he returns his sight from your tummy to your eyes to find them all dark, goggling at him as you push your hand against the bulge he made inside of you once again, rubbing your hips against his. jaeyun can't help but force you to meet his lips, leaning down as best as he can as he continues to thrust. with every increase of the pace, more of your moans fell out as it blends well with the sticky noise coming from the skin-to-skin action as he puts a grip to hold your body still as he chases after your high, feeling how your walls are gripping his shaft like your fingers are to the pillow on his bed. then, when he pushes his fingertips and rubs them against your clitoris, he lets out a growl when your walls become tighter and eventually pushes him out as you actually scream.
squirts come out of your opening as he watches them spray across the mattress and felt them running down his thighs, leftover moans come out of your whilst jaeyun slap his hard cock against your lips as he gives a searing kiss to your temple when you peek towards him, still nodding as you continue to want more. and so, he moves you again so you now can fully clutch the pillow with both your kneecaps resting on the mattress, face against the bed as he brushes his cockhead between your buttcheeks before the tip caughts onto your hole as he thrusts in deep, feeling your cervix hitting the tip as your moans are muffled with your face burying itself into the pillow you are hugging. the boy's pace quickens as he presses kisses down your arched spine. your walls continue to clamp onto his shaft as he felt how trembling your body is, slamming his hips against your butt as he grips onto your hair and pulled the head up, letting him sniffs your scenr and sucks more hickeys onto the crook of your neck and collarbones. one of your hand grabs onto his as you guide it to grope your breast, squeezing the skin of it as he groans in your ear when felt more of your arousal flowing down as he fills you up with his semen.
breaths blow out of you both unorderly as you twist your head and find his lips, kissing them while jaeyun felt how your hips are moving against him once again. pulling out, he hastily flips you onto your back as he watches how both of your cum is flowing out of you before he stops it with the head of his dick as he pushes in. your legs are spread wide unconsciouly, watching him with a pleasure-fulled face of open mouth and tears of delight coming out of your hooded lids. with his stamina, the boy increases his speed as he leans in close to you, feeling how your belly button piercing presses against his skin as he folds you in half. your eyes then open, noticing how they are darker than before as you nod your head instinctivelyânot fully in control of your own body as he is the one taking charge, but also because you are slowly not feeling fully there.
"don't stopâŚ" you mumbled out, holding your legs open for him as your eyes rolled back into your skull with every deep thrust you get. edging jaeyun even more from your actions, he makes his thrust faster and thorough as his fingers also rub your clitoris, feeling how your walls are pressing around him once again as he chases after it with his own high. when he spurt more of his cum into you, you let out a cry as another squirt of cum comes out of you, making his release flow out of your slit as you opened your eyes wide and skim to his faceâhis eyes also darkens like yours.
nevertheless, the only words that are is coming out of your mouth scramble his mind once again: "don't stop."
and so, he didn't stop until you both fell into exhaustion. jaeyun manhandles you into another position, thrusting upwards into you as your hands rest on his chest. your body is limping as he realises how gone you are from the pleasureâentering another space of existence. it makes him pull you down into a hug as he chases more of your release alongside his own. yet, when he fills you with another set of cum, your lips still utter "don't stop."
he fucked you in more ways that you both had actually done before. jaeyun moves you more into various positions: one with his hand pushing your head on the mattress as he kneels with your flat figure beneath, your front facing away from him as you bounce above him, and another previous position when you ride and face him as you finally crash down on his figure. your body is quivering with broken giggles coming out of your mouth as you lean down your head on his chestâfeeling every cum that both of your bodies make blends in and staining the mattress. jaeyun gives you many kisses all across your face as your hooded eyes blink, feeling the muscles spasm all around your body as he feels your arms wrapped around him, making him hold you close as best as he could.
"i'm not letting you go this time," he whispers into your ear, earning a nod from you as he spreads his palm over your shoulder blades to hold you tight against him. your walls snuggling him as he glances at how your face relaxes and lets exhaustion take over in making you rest. however, when jaeyun looks at the ceiling of the motel room; he couldn't help but feel like a total shit.
'what is this feeling?' he asked himself when he unconsciously soothed down the back of your head as your breathing became much stable than before at the crook of his neck.
'it is only sex, right?' jaeyun asks again as he looks back toward your figure lying on top of him.
in this arrangement you have made, all actions are mutual. many times, he is the one who initiates sex. and if he can show his want to have sex with you, then you can also do the same with him. he will do what he was doing from the last few minutes numerous times more if you had asked for it. yet, you said you are "letting go", you indeed "let go" when he can assume how clouded your mind is. when you had said that, every vigorous thrust of his going inside you felt differentâlike it was coated with a different coating than what happened last time.
when he thinks about it, every caress on your body become so fucking different in an instant. he looks at how your eyes are tightly shut. tiredness taking you away into the dream state as he gives a one slow caress from your neck and following your spine until nearing your bottom. that the way he was fucking you moments agoâeven if it does looks so dominant and toughâfelt more in benefit for your pleasure than his, an ulterior motive you haven't been able to speak to him until now.
"i got too fucking romantic. apologies," jaeyun mumbles to himself, but it is actually for you, even if you are not awake.
the boy recalls moments of how it came to be: your trembling body against his as he soothes you down for the first time; your head resting against his shoulder as you sleep beside him in the vehicle; how he sometimes gave more of his food to you because what you order is not exactly in size from the menu; how he helps you with aiming for your pool game against on of the boys; how he lets out a small smile when he notices your camera lens recording him but he is looking straight at you instead. how soft his touch became when you said "let go," before it was replaced with "don't stop."
gosh, jaeyun's having feelings for you. but he knows you may not feel the same.
that is the nature of this established relationship you two haveâhow you help him relax after a night full of adrenalineâand how little you also reciprocate about it from the numerous times you have denied being with him after every intercourse. shaking his head, chuckles of bafflement come out of him. because even if you are in his arms like right now, he couldn't fucking read you. and so, the only way for him to show it is by comforting you, being your shoulder to lean on like a friend would. jaeyun does just that: his eyes looking down at you as he soothes his hand down your back in a stable rhythmâforcing his eyes to be wide open as he doesn't want you gone when they finally close.
however, his body was also exhausted as sleep beckoned him to succumb. his eyelids were already drooping and almost covered his eyes as his hands found a part of your body he wanted to hold, pushing you down onto him so he could feel your warmth pressing against his cold skin. and so, jaeyun lets sleep take him into the dream state, hoping to find you there as well.
he did find you there. you were smiling as you sat beside him. your hands interlocked with each other as you stared at the void of a view in front of you. yet he doesn't care about whatever the view before him is unless it is you there in his vision. but a brush of coolness startles him awake and he looks down to find the warmth he senses is his body covered by the bed's duvet. then, he glances to the other side of the bed, finding it still so tidy.
you were gone. just like you usually do.
a frown decorates jaeyun's face as he gulps his saliva down. shaking his head and straining his face to not let his burning eyes let out something full of disappointment, but also leftover guilt.
he sits up and rested his bare and hurting back against the headboard, feeling his flaccid cock brushing against the material as the cold hits his torso, making him snuggle more into the cover. his eyesight skims around the roomâfinding evidence of his rendezvous with you still there as he formulates memories to hold onto the remnants of them. jaeyun found his clothing pieces and bag scattered on the rugged floor. but he doesn't recognise the book that is lying there as well.
jaeyun's legs almost fall out as he stands up, feeling how his muscles are tired from the intercourse, meeting the sensation of being half awake as he steps onto the rug-textured floor. eyes on the book's silhouette as he steps forward and picks it upâeven with his joints hurting from holding his body up to not crush you. he recognised the distinct texture of the book as a moleskine notebook when he brushed against a protruding sticky note on the top of the book. opening the page where it is sticking, his eyes widen when he looks at what is written.
five makeshift lines stretch from one edge of the page to the other horizontally. filled in circles and x symbols scattered and placed on the lines, and he also sees the flags on the right side of the circle of x. jaeyun can read these symbols, already hearing the parts playing in his head with what each of them associates with. he looks to the top of the page, finding the words "rosanna shuffle" with lots of underlines. then it clicks in his head as he recognises the sound. how the beat sound with the stops and ghost notes as it continues to the keyboard part playing in his head when he recalls the song that this very shuffle drum part comes from: rosanna by toto.
it's a drum notation. but it is not his. and there is only one other person who came into the room hours ago with him.
it must be yours.
with his mind expanding about the knowledge, he flips open the rest of the pages as he finds more drum notations with notes scribbled on the space around the main musical staves. drum notations from songs he identifies like easy lover by philip bailey and phil collins, head over heels by tears for fears, in bloom by nirvana, and even reckoner by radiohead. but when the pages he flips come nearer and nearer to the front of the notebook, he finds notations that have more scribbles to them, like they are so regularly revised. looking at the top of the page, jaeyun scans the names of songs he doesn't know. utopia? animal noises? voyager? he questioned the words as he arrived at the very first page of the notebook.
thumbing it around, he found the same phrase that shows up on the top of the page alongside those words he had questionedâthe words he realises are song titles. and so, he reads the phrase he found beside each title; the name of the band that he voiced out.
"dawndreamer."
-
as the door clicks behind you, feet dragging against the rugged floor with your shoes and undergarments held within your hands, you eye the dark room with a lone small lamp lit up on the desk as you hear the sniffles coming from the sleeping sophia tucked in her bed. the sweat is sticking onto your skin along with yours and jaeyun's cum trailing down your thighs and drying there.
honestly, you feel like shit and you look like it too when you step into bathroom after dropping your items by your bed. the lights on the ceiling shine down on you as you see your reflection. marks and hickeys marred your skin from your neck to your wrists. swollen lips and eyes staring back from the mirror as you scan yourself until they dart lowly at the porcelain sink. your hands holding onto the edge of it with your fingers curling into the materialâgiving a small pressure on them before turning towards the shower.
in the past three months of your situation with jaeyun, never had you outwardly used him like that. yes, most of the times when you both fuck each other is when he wants to let out pent up adrenaline so he can go to sleep easilyâthe others are where you both are hornyâbut being that rough has never occured in every session you have held before the last. your mind was blanking on some memories there that look more and more like vignettes instead. the euphoric state captures you as you witness yourself from a helicopter view; how elevated the sensation is as you enter a domain filled with absolute pleasure. but when it dies down as you regain consciousness, sensing him still inside you as you didn't stick to your own bargain of the deal, which is to return to your room right after, you realise that it has consequences.
the cold water washes down your skin as you lather it with bubbles from the shower gel. hisses coming out of you when you felt a slight tinge of hurt as some part of the skin that was scraped open from that sensation. but you deserve that when you push him to do so and he also says no to it, because the memories of why you did that don't erase fully; especially now with the added weight of this whole ordeal alongside it. and so, you start to rub down your skin a bit harder, feeling the numbness of your muscles from the stretch and bruises coming from that session as well.
guilt climbs into your veins as you can taste its bitterness in your mouth, not even knowing how long you had stayed in the shower in the dead of night until you notice your fingertips getting wrinkly. when you finally wear only a simple, oversized t-shirt over your underwear and gulp down your birth control pill, you don't hesitate to quickly grab and consume your antidepressant pill as well. primarily because of what happened today and the emotions you felt when you heard the very song playing in that karaoke room's speakers. it is true. sophia knows you can singâthere are numerous times you had unconsciously sung the song you play in the shower and she has complimented you for itâbut because it is the final stop of the tour and knowing it may be the last time you will have fun with the core team, you can't help but to say yes. you just didn't know that this song would hit you with that pain once again.
it has been two years since you last came to haeyang. two years since the day that changed your trajectory forever. you gaze at the lit-up path on the side of the beach from your room's window, looking at the dark waves coming closer to the ground like it is crawling back into your heart. that is when you see the shining beacon from the lighthouse, adding more to the overwhelming sensation of the muffled crashes of waves as you turn around to go and tidy up your items. all the memories that are flowing in make you push to suppress them as best as possible by doing anything else other than wallowing in those emotions invoked while waiting for the pill to kick in and make you sleepy.
placing your bag on the bed, you rummage through it as you feel everything there, your wallet, your camcorder, your phone; except one item.
quickly, you pour your belongings on top of your mattress as you scan each item. dread slowly but surely shows up prominently and filters your sight. because you couldn't find the rectangle silhouette as it is separated by its pen, now lonely between your phone and your wallet.
your notebook is gone.
fingers twitching, you recall every trace of the steps you have taken with that bag of yours. that includes when you wake up in the vehicle that is nearing the motel and when you carry it along with your luggage into the room right after it. the bag is with you when all seven of you go to the karaoke place and you never pull out anything out of it once through out that partâincluding when you cry at that fucking song. then, you remember your strap slipping down your body as the bag follows with jaeyun's lips on yours, brushing those thoughts away with his touches.
jaeyun might have your book.
with a palm slap on your forehead, you rub it down your face before massaging your creases as best as you could with the frown showing on your face full of embarrassment. he might've read it. he might've caught onto something that you have been hiding when you moved on. but you never truly move on, don't you? jaeyun could put all the points together with the way you can sing, especially in how shocked his expression looks when you start to sing after so long in such a loud volume amplified by the microphone.
you gazed down at your palm, seeing the calluses in creases of each of your digits as you felt them burn with the sensation. folding them into a fist all balled up, the sensation is gone as you pack up your things and put your bag on the desk before turning off the desk lamp. your figure, shrouded in darkness, walks to lie down on your designated bed. the only source of light is from the moonlight coming into the window that you haven't fully covered with the curtain as you hide your whole body under the duvet, hiding from everything, as you know that you have to confront him in the daytime. preferably today before he spreads it to his friends.
when you wake as the moonlight is replaced by the sunlight coming in from the window, you pivot back to find sophia still asleep deeply after the effect of the alcohol she has probably taken more after you and jaeyun left the place. you tug on the hoodie and sweatpants you had owned since high school as you eyed the clock that is telling you to get brunch, your rumbling tummy reminding you as well. eyeing your phone screen with notifications from the group chat that includes all seven of the main amperhyphen crew, sunghoon and euijoo are already at the american-style diner that you had remembered seeing when you walked down the sidewalk with jaeyun. knowing that if someone has already staked their position to eat, the rest will follow, including jaeyun.
your footsteps feel heavy as you walk towards the stairs to the ground floor of the motel, striding towards the pavement when you turn your head and find the diner building so near to the motel. biting your lip, you brace yourself and rush there as fast as possible.
eyes gaze at the exposed clear window where people are eating their meals, you barge in with a dingling bell sounding at the top of the doorframe. but your sight is set on the five boys with differing hair colours sitting down on the booth table whilst waiting for their meals to come, with the appearance of the boy with dusty blond hair making your nostrils flare.
when you arrived at the table, the four boys were talking amongst each other as the last oneâthe blond oneâlistened in on the conversation. but his hand was rubbing against the front cover of a notebook and gently touching the pages on the side like he owns it: your notebook.
"there she is." jay had spoken when he was the first one to find you approached. but, quickly with an eye on a gap in his hold on your book, you quickly snatched and held it close to your chest and heart. a deep frown forms on your facial expression as you look at the blond boy.
"for fuck sake, don't you know not to read what other people owns?" your statement startled the boys and also the waittress tending to the counter after the last customer other than the people you are working with steps away and go do their activities outside. your words are aimed at one person who is looking at you with wide eyes.
"(y/n)! i didn't know you are also a-"
"so what?!" you retorted, making jaeyun flinch as you glance at the faces that the others have. nicholas, who sat next to him, looks at you before looking away. euijoo, who moves his eyes to look at him mixing his milkshake with a paper straw, and jay, who has a look of curiosity in his pair. every gaze that you capture with your eyes of their eye contact goes away when you catch and decipher the look coming from themâincluding sunghoon, who you believe is the one most logical about this situation, still looks away from your fiery stare. because combined with the way they act, their eyes are telling everything.
they know. jaeyun told them.
your foot reacted immediately, retreating your body away from their booth as you shook your head with an even bigger swing. punishing them for their inner cats chasing into their curiosity about something so personal to you, not minding that they will get killed even with a swipe of your movement. hugging the book tight against your chest, you secure it as you run as quickly to the doorâhearing the shout of your name in jaeyun's recognisable voice as you don't stop.
leaping down the small flight of stairs of the diner's entrance, your shoulder was hit as you looked back and found sophia's surprised expression quickly turning into one that was full of concern.
"are you okay?" she askedânot like you aren't the one who slammed her and you have to be the one asking it instead. but you couldn't refute like you usually do. hiding it will make it worse. the city itself, the memories you have of this city, and the love you lost in this city all come back as you stare into her soft, worry eyes. for the first time in a while in this situation, you shake your head in disagreement with sophia's question as a tear fell down your cheek. you are not okay.
you push yourself away from the diner and the parking lot as you run on the pavement. your mind is set on one place as everything you tried by coping against itâfrom drugs like the antidepressant to the sex like you had last nightâdoesn't work to get rid of it. it doesn't work when you are outnumbered by the nightmares as you let your feet carry you away, knowing where they will make you go as you turn the corner on the edge of the street, running to the one with a name that you recognise.
each steps feel so heavy, reminiscent of last night when you walked out of jaeyun's room. but you still let the aesthetic of the town sink into you as you gaze at the building no taller than five stories high. chipped painted walls of some building exteriors scattered in the view, letting you see the mostly mom-and-pop shops' signage. views of cafes with their sitting area bleeding out towards the sidewalk to some places with a small patch of soil to accommodate the growing tree rooted there. but, your eyes are focused on the signs with the street names, combing through to find what you are looking for: the intersection.
the four-way intersection is mostly clear as you can see the clear markings of newly painted crossroads on all sides and the warning yellow cross at the square between the four streets. yet, all you could see at that intersection is yourself, all tussled as you gaze down one of the streets to the truck that scurries away down the road. the corner shop staff at the intersection go out to look at the wreckage with a few other bystanders helping the other passengersâyour friendsâas you turn to face the reflective surface of the metal. hand on your phone from calling emergency services as you just know, you just know that you might be the only one that survived.
at the corner of the four-way intersection, alone under the sky nearing noon, you crumbled.
your figure falls onto your knees as you hug the notebook so tightly against your chest. body trembling as you let the tears fall out of you in a free fall, reaching your neck and staining your hoodie as you sobbed hard. and, with your body leaning down against the concrete into a bow, you prayed. you prayed for your friends who didn't survive that day, prayed for any higher power out there to elevate you from the memory of this place. but, even after two years, you can only sense the underlying guilt and grief remain in dormant until it all comes out at this moment.
you gaze at your wrist as you decide to bow down before placing the palm against the textured concrete surface, seeing faint slit marks of self-harm that even goes deeper and breaks a veinâmany times of contemplating suicide as you just want the pain to go away. you don't deserve to be the only one living. you should've died with your friends that day. and as you remembered how pale their faces have become when you acknowledge that there is no oxygen flowing through their veins anymore, you wail into the morning space as everything that you have been suppressing all arrives back to you.
the way that you could've fucking avoid their deaths on your hands as the one on the steering wheel, to swerve or even press on the brake even if you are supposed to move because the light is green. the following court case on the truck driver as you are brought into the town's courthouse as a victim and witness. the faces of your friends' pictures as you attended their funerals, which all of your families agreed to be buried side by side with each other. their families treat you like their daughter because their own daughters are all deep under the soil. how you had lost your dream forever as it goes along with them.
your palm pushes you back to a kneeling position, feeling every tear and snot all come out of you as you don't even mind rubbing the palm dirtied by pavement onto your face. that is when you felt a warm hug around your shoulders when you heard the familiar feminine voice you've found comfort in in the last three months.
"the boys are so fucking shitty. they were only just standing there, but i can't stay still and i had to run after you," she said into your ear, humouring you with her usual cadence in talking as you let her move your torso upright, still sobbing out as you let your head hang in her embrace.
even if sophia is just a friend that you know from attending college, she has been there since day one. she knows you had some depressive thoughts and she has seen your wrist bandaged when you went into the class you share with her. but, she doesn't know that this is the thing that triggers all of it and how severe it is with how you have to be prescribed pills to help function yourself if it gets too much. because all you wanted was to move on, to move on from those broken dreams you shared with your friends, from the fame you receive even momentarily, to live your life while able to balance your love for musicâto be able to play the drums openly again. and as you kneeled there, continue with praying with your inner voice at the makeshift shrine you imagine in that corner of the intersection, you let out a huge breath that is still as shaky as ever as you turn your head, facing sophia who is looking down at your kneeling body with huge frown on her face.
"i, i have to tell you something."
jaeyun is still in a daze as he watches you running away, his feet following your path when he catches sophia's glare through the window before she chases after you onto the sidewalk you were running on. his eyes trail her figure as she disappears, feeling his heartbeat also jogging as he turns his head towards his friends. call him naive, but jaeyun doesn't know why you reacted that way. he wants to embrace you into his arms when he finds out you can play drums, proudly telling his boys that you have been playing drums by showing them the drum parts you are learning or able to play. some of the songs even shocked them as they teased him that he couldn't even play itâalready set up a jamming session so you could play with them as well after the tour ended.
with your explosive reaction that startles him, he knows that there is something deeper as to why you didn't tell him or the others you used to play drums. for that reason, it left him in intrigue as his mind is echoing the name of your band.
so, jaeyun walks to the counter all by himself, sitting on one of the stools that overlooks the preparation area as he gazes at an older woman preparing the food and an androgynous-looking girl cleaning up the place. the girl hears the bell from the window in the kitchen area as she turns and picks up the orders from the table and brings them towards their booth. while the old lady picks up the plate of jaeyun's order and places it on the counter before him. her salt and pepper hair makes jaeyun let out a small smile as he peeks down to see that there is a strawberry donut he didn't order on the small plate beside his brunch.
"on the house," the old lady says, seemingly able to read his expression full of conflicting emotions.
"thank you, ma'am." jaeyun replies curtly as he gazed at the food and then at his trembling hands. one of them slowly picks up the heavy weight of his phone from his sweatpants pocket when he remembers what the guys also said when he shows your notebook to them.
"i also don't know who dawndreamer is," sunghoon said.
"wait, so (y/n) used to be in a band?" jongseong questioned, and the boys continued to discuss as jaeyun quickly grabs the open book that is placed in the middle of the table into his grasp.
his fingers itch as he finally opens his browser and types "dawndreamer" into the search inquiry. pressing enter, the first thing that shows up is the name and the subtitle underneath it: "rock band." in the picture section, he finds a monochrome photo of what looks to be a picture of four teenage girls. their faces are pretty blurry as jaeyun scrolled down to find the first two links of the band for their instagram and bandcamp.
the instagram account opens as he presses on it, letting him see the pictures that are mostly abstract arts and the band members doing something, with the recent one being a post of black background and white text: an announcement post. so, jaeyun presses the last post before it, seeing the date to see that it was last posted two years ago. most of the posts are the usual posts he sees posted in amperhyphen's own instagram account, showing their artistry and authenticity as emerging indie musicians. he scrolls through a post full of photos of the girls in high school uniform showcasing their favourite vinyl LPs they own, such as sufjan stevens to vampire weekend, like it is a showcase of who they are as musicians and their inspiration as they cultivate their own flavour. but one post captures his attention. the recognisable face he admires.
it was a picture of you behind a drum kit, the stick you are holding is blurry as the photo was captured mid-action when you are twirling it. it is a candid picture as you are looking another way towards the ride cymbal. the background is dark so as to make you the focal point. you haven't had your septum piercing as he couldn't see a glint of light under your nose even with the flash photography. staring at that image, you look so comfortable behind the kit, like he also feels as scans and recognises that your kit is pretty similar to his.
scrolling upwards, he finds the pixelated post he had scrolled past to notice that it is a video. jaeyun watches as the video starts, a bandâdawndreamerâthat is playing their instruments in the small venue as he presses the volume button on the side of his phone to hear it louder. the frame was so pixelated he could only focus on the sound, hearing your drum part playing tightly with the strumming guitar chords as the bass comes in, adding the harmonies alongside another voice that sings along. jaeyun's eyes focused on the drums as he could see the pixelated image of you playing the drum full of intensity, seeing the movement matching to the sound that he is hearing as jaeyun's eyebrows furrows whilst looking at your pixelated selfâholding the song on as the glue between every other members instrumental parts before the video loop in back to the start.
jaeyun's breath was taken away from him as he scrolled back up to the recent post, finally meeting the announcement post he dreaded to read as he also looked at the date it was posted. two years ago. the last update of the band that he just got to know. the last update of the band you played inâa part of you you never told him before. and so, he reads what the white text says.
eyes_on_dawndreamer: thank you for everything.
for all the support, the prayers, and the words of encouragement. we won the suit in haeyang's courthouse and that is all because of your support too. we were four girls with a big dream in revolutionising alternative rock musicâa dream we had shared with each other since we created this band during our second year of high school, to then releasing singles and EPs on bandcamp, to even going on tours as we have all graduated. and now, all that remains is one girl. i would like to thank gaeul, tsuki, and ningning for being there for me. they are the bestest friends a girl could have wished for. and i hope that all three of them could be happy wherever they are in the skies.
as for the band, it doesn't feel right to continue without themâas a one-woman band or even adding new members. dawndreamer is as much their band as it is mine. it is not complete without them when i can only do so much because they all complete me. and with all the respect i have for that name and that dream of ours, i decide that this is the end of dawndreamer. i would love to thank every person who helped us to reach these heights, from the crewhands to you: the fans, who have been patient with all of this process. i am saddened that this cuts away the chance for us to greet you. to perform before you.
the dawn will always rise
-(y/n), your fellow dawndreamer.
as the sombre tone of the post hums in his head, he pulls out his headphones from his bag and puts them on before opening the bandcamp website that links to dawndreamer. inside it, he sees numerous cover art of your band's releases as he presses on one of them randomly, finding out that it is one of the EPs you were talking about in the post. he doesn't hesitate to press play on streaming the digital track at the top as he scrolls down to read the comments, praises singing towards the EP as he couldn't help but smile at the comments. then, your voice pierces through the song with the strumming guitar playing underneath. the voice that hints at certain emotions as you sing the lyrics while the drum plays with the rhythm of open hi-hats and kick bass. he can already see how you will play this live and how beautiful it will be as you open the song and the show with your voice and drum playing.
jaeyun felt his eyes were burning with tears as he let the bandcamp stream play the EP when he opened another tab to continue his research of your band, finally able to scroll down the search result when the third result showed him a news headline. a headline that makes him feel a heavy thump in his heart:
dawndreamer's gaeul, ningning, and tsuki pass away in a car accident, (y/n) survives.
-
for the rest of the day, jaeyun hadn't heard back from you directly. the last information about you came from sophia who told the group that you would be joining back tomorrow, as they are setting up the stage to continue your job in recording the behind-the-stage b-roll footages. yet, he knows more about you than ever, especially concerning the car accident you experienced in this very town.
the numerous articles he had read created multiple tabs in his browser that even made him stay up at nightâhe can't even comprehend what you are feeling even with all the information the internet has shown him about this. about you. about your band. about the case. how you were the only survivor of the car crash, and how you were in the driver's seat that day. how you, as the only surviving band member, decided to put your effort into getting the driver jail time and pay for the damages, especially to your bandmates' familyâeven if you are still 18 years old. how you were on tour at that time, the day after the crash was supposed to be your concert day at haeyang. how you were a prolific drummer that even many articles have mentioned your playing, dawndreamer being highlighted as bands to follow not knowing that it will only be so short of a career. how you are technically his senior in the music industry, becoming a performing drummer at 16 while jaeyun just started making songs with his amperhyphen bandmates during college freshman year.
words are being ingrained in his head as he realises a lot of things about you that click in his mind. how you sometimes fidget in a rhythm that you caught from anywhere you can hear them, like the drop of water to tapping on a laptop's keyboard. how as you watched them rehearse whilst sitting in one of the seats by the FOH, you tapped your thighs in rhythm with his drumming; your camera on your lap as you had gotten enough behind-the-stage footage to edit for the next set of posts to publish at the band's social media. the way he could feel faint bumps between the folds of your fingersâsmoothed-out calluses that he also got from playing the drums that you have also helped bandage around his fingers, eyes focusing down as he looked at you attentively, like you are reminiscing about something as you seemed to familiar in fixing up these types of injuries.
when sleep came to him, the last thing on his mind was your peaceful face when you are asleep on top of him. too tired out from your sexy time with him but full of blissfulness when jaeyun's thumb smoothed out the creases on your face.
that nagging feeling continued to last inside his mind when he came to the diner once again to order breakfast, finding sunghoon talking to the phone with the corner of his lips turned upwards. as the manager's eyes found his friend, the call ended as he turned towards jaeyun.
"the instruments arrived last night. the stage crew are setting them up as we're having the rehearsal tomorrow morning. i'll be going there after finishing up breakfast," his friend uttered with a stern voice and a slight brush of relief. the boy nods before thinking back to those ghost notes he had caught onto and seared into his memory. the ghost drumming sound that always comes up right when he arrives at the venue to do his rehearsal. if his assumption is correct, he had to go there to witness it with his own two eyesâbecause he has his guesses and one of them is the certainty of who is the one making those notes.
"can i go earlier with you? right after i'm done with my breakfast?" jaeyun tugs in his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, making sunghoon gaze at his body to see how truthful his friend is asking of him with raised eyebrows.
"sure. right after your breakfast." the boy looks down at the empty booth as they both sit across from each other, letting the girl from the diner last time take in both of their orders.
with his stomach full, jaeyun gazes out the window of the shotgun seat beside sunghoon, watching as the town buildings slowly morph into tall and lush forests that shade the scenery as the car continues to drive on the road. his head leaned against the glass overlooking the outside as he also found what looked to be a bus stop littering the side of the streets meters between each other. as he continued to gaze outside, the vehicle drove up onto the hilly road as it climbed up to the venue. then, a few hundred meters from the last bus stop, his sight came across slivers of a large land behind the trees as jaeyun heard the clicks of the turn signal and sunghoon moved the steering wheel to let the car go inside the lot.
it is mostly empty except for trucks and other vehicles that are parked, as he recalls that those are the vehicles bringing the stuff for the concert tomorrow. leaning forward against the dashboard, he gazes at the venue, which looks to be a lone abandoned convenience store that supposedly has everything. it is large enough to be a concert venue as he finds various posters stuck on the wall and the boarded windows with wooden planks. a concert venue that is so his style and where his band can see them perform at.
when he stepped out of the open car door, sunghoon was already walking first as he greeted one of the moving crews and the ones with the concert staff. they all gave a handshake towards jaeyun as the group moved toward the side of the buildings for the backstage entrance. behind the doorframe was a dark space that looked so faint until he stepped closer to find the silhouette getting more vividâgazing at the lights that line up the hallways.
"are all of the instruments inside?" sunghoon had asked.
"yes, we have finished assembling the drums and speaker while the other stagehands are testing the lights. one of your crews is also checking in," the head crew said to sunghoon as jaeyun let out a slight pout. then, he heard it. the faint drumming voice from inside the venue. he had a guess who this crew member is because one of the three main crewâsunghoon, sophia, and youâonly one can play the drums. jaeyun's heart is beating hastily as he peers into the darkness where the sound comes from, hoping that all of his predictions are right.
his footsteps follow the hallways lit up with the minimal lighting to test out the stagelights, arriving at the larger backstage area where he recognises the crates of his drums and cymbals. the sound gets louder and louder before the rhythm falters. then it starts again, the snare, kick drum, and hi hats moving in a mixture of a half time and a shuffle. the hesitation from the first round of playing becomes more confident as it continues. he walks down the path to the wing of the stage, noticing the beam of the light shining down on the stage as he pushes past to get to a clearer view; the sound dimmers as he stands by the wing overlooking the exposed part of the stage.
underneath that beam of light is you, sitting on the throne behind his drum kit, holding onto his drumsticks as he steps closer to the edge of the wing, one step away from the stage. jaeyun watches as you sit there, holding the sticks upright as your eyes are closed, mouths moving slowly like you are meditating. you look ethereal behind the drum kit. your posture signals that you are so comfortable there that he can relegate his space to you, too. deep down in his heart, he regretted not knowing it sooner, and you had to actually hide it because of what happenedâplaying behind the backs of people who are helping to succeed his band.
your head leans down and looks at the open notebook on the stand, your phone leaning against the page as he watch your finger presses on what looks to be an audio folder. after the press, your voice speaks out, but it is coming from the speaker of the phone as you count down like a metronome. then you started drumming, hitting the parts of the shuffle with your hi-hats and kick drum playing in a steady and fast rhythm as the other stick plays the ghost notes on the snare. the rhythm plays like the notations he reads from your notebook.
as piano and guitar enter, his eyebrows are lifted as he witnesses how you are doing the rosanna shuffle so well. even if he likes progressive rock music like toto and yes, he has always thought of playing their drum parts later in his career because he is not prepared enough. even with the mix meters he recognises from playing a lot of math rock, many of prog rock songs are longer to play and complicated. but you play it flawlessly, a shuffle so tight he could see your written notation floating above your head as he remembered.
the way you drum has a level of tenacity that makes him more mesmerised by you. but that constant cycle of awe cuts short as he also heard the sound of you talking back in the songâlike you made the edit layered with your voice for a reason.
"here comes the slow part, one, two." your voice talks from the recording as the song enters the prechorus that stops the shuffle altogether before it ends with a few crashes and you counting down back to the shuffle as the chorus plays. jaeyun couldn't help but mouth the lyrics as he saw that you were doing the same. then, your voice gets louder as you enter the second verse, singing along with the song. a smile grows on the boy's voice on how your singing doesn't break the rhythm of the shuffle and the timing for the crash that transition to verse section b. he watches as your eyelids are nearly shut, slowly getting into the space: the space he is always so addicted to when he gets inâa flow state that he got when he is drumming. no other thing can distract him from that flow state as the world melts away.
jaeyun's head bops as he gazes at the way you smile unconsciously; the spotlight shining on you as he can see the way your lips are now grinning so widely. the realisation hits him as the numerous ghost notes he had caught listening to before his rehearsal are you practising the drum part of the song, from the half-time shuffle to the part where you move to the ride cymbal. and this is the time you are truly nailing it. every single hit of the drums, every single beat that you feel running through your body, you have done so by following the recording of your voice guiding you through the song. like a rally driver with her navigator marking each turn and each gear shift changes, cruising through the race track that is rosanna by toto. jaeyun thinks that this idea is ingenious, especially combined with the notation notes he had seen you writeâmaybe there's the reason why you are so brave enough to learn hard drum parts by prolific drummers of history, such as the likes of neil peart in rush and john bonham in led zeppelin.
but then he saw your eyebrows creased as the song landed in the last pre-chorus, your eyes were still closed as he noticed the wrinkles around your face's t-zone before you shook your head and continued drumming. jaeyun felt his breath hitch as he heard your sob that echoed towards him. the spotlight allows him to catch the sheen of liquid coming from your eyes as you try not to stagger with your hands that are playing the last crash transition. you mouthed the lyrics with your heart as you entered the last chorus. the boy finally noticed your tears coming down in a free-fall down your cheeks. a long exhaled breath coming out of him as he watches with raised eyebrows and squinted eyes.
he understands it now. he felt it. how cathartic it seems for you to do this, nearing the end and nearly failed but you persist. the frown of your face forming as you're realising something and he can only assume it, but you might be doing this whole thing for your bandmates who died here in haeyang. to know that you are still capable of drumming. a swan song that tells the universe that even without them, you can still drum.
as the main song ended with the fading piano solo, your drumming still continues as you play a solo section that he is also witnessing. playing the tom-toms still in the beat as you improvise with the ending, adding crashes as you interplay the half-time shuffle with your own pizzazz. with the hot spotlight beaming down on you as he could see your face wet by tears and sweat, his breath was carried away. how he could see how you pour every strand of your drumming skill into your muscles when he also got a flicker of what looks to be blood flying from the hands gripping onto the sticks. your eyes now open widen as you heave, creating the most satisfactory ending when you realized that the song and your voice that is navigating your playing has stopped, ending with cymbals crashing before the last cymbal crash, kick drum, and snare hits altogether, making you actualy jump from the stool as the sound echoes in the empty venue. his breathing noise becomes loud as the sound frequency travels from the drum kit, echoing all over the venue. then, jaeyun heard it; the sobs kicking in as you lean your head down, back hunch, and shoulders shaking.
you couldn't stop shaking, pain flowing through your body from muscles strains to heartache as you looked at your hands, opening the folded fingers while slowly holdng onto the drumsticks to witness your bloodied hands, two cuts form at the fold between your forefinger and middle of the palm on each hands as blood continue to pour and gather at the opening. your eyes looked beyond the drum kit to the space where the audience should be standing, to find no one there. to find out that your friends aren't there watching you. doubts that have haunted you numerous times during practice sessions for this drum part come in like a flood, that whatever you practice and what comes after is all a failure. that they will not come back.
they did not come back.
in the empty venue with a lone stage and a spotlight on you, your cry rings against the walls. the acoustics of the room make it even louder as you curl up to yourself as best as you can, swiftly bringing your bloodied hands to yourself so that it doesn't stain jaeyun's snare drumânot minding at all if it will stain your clothes instead. though as your heart continue to hurt, you just can't help yourself to put the your bloody palm agaisnt the left side of your chest; feeling the ache inside you squeezing in both catharticness of finally able to play the drum part until you are satisfy and the onslaught of hopelessness replacing it instead. the aftermath hurts like a drug redrawal, particularly as the realization hits that even with playing the drum part perfectly, your friends, your bandmares; they're not coming back.
that's when you heard the sound of a few sniffles coming from the stage wing. turning your head, you find jaeyun and his frowning face, looking back towards you.
you carefully wipe your tears away from your eyes, feeling the warm blood staining a little bit on your face as you say, "i'm sorry for staining your drumsticks. i can replace it if you want."
"no, no." jaeyun exclaims as he steps out to the stage, jogging towards you as he treks on to the foundation of where his drum kit sits and kneels on the floor, facing his body towards you. your fingers continue to shake as more of your grip on his stick loosens. his eyes look at them before you when he watched you close your eyes and let another onslaught of tears fall once again.
"i, i hope," you hiccuped, "that if i could play the rosanna drum part perfectly, then my bandmates can come back to me." you bit your lip even for a few moments after mumbling out, head shaking once again, "but it doesn't change anything. they're gone. they left me behind. iâŚ" you looked down at your palm to watch the streaks of blood and it staining the wooden sticks, "i should've gone with them."
"i'm here," jaeyun could only utter. you open your eyes and meet his, feeling the sincerity exuding out of him as you continue to your jittering to get rid of it all; knowing that it is not as simple as that.
"you've must have known i'm a drummer when you found my notebook." your gaze is still on the floor before turning to face his drums for a few seconds, "i, i also want to apologise for playing your drums. i shouldn't have done that without asking for your permission."
"i forgive you, (y/n)," the boy carefully handpicked his words, knowing that you are in such a fragile state. he should've never even taken advantage of you that night, even if you pushed him on to continue, now understanding how much pain you are feeling even if he now knows you are using sex to cope with them. he doesn't mind kneeling for so long right there in front of you as you take your time to process everything. he watches over you and the way your fingers still twisted up against the drumsticksânot wanting to let go. when you hiss as the surge of pain comes from the open wound on your palm, your eyes look down at how jaeyun is holding on to your wrists so gently. the weight of his touch on your limbs lets you know that you aren't fully alone now.
your eyes blinked as you felt the warmth inside you thawing whatever rigidness you had built as a shield, knowing that yes, you have to talk about this sooner or later. all of this because he is also involved.
"can you stay by my side today?" your request had made him lift his eyebrows which you then follow with, "i feel safe with you." jaeyun nodded instantly, letting him pull the sticks of out your hands and places it in his bag as he helps you stand up, gathering your belongings into your bag before giving it back to youânot even letting go of his hold on you.
the boy stayed beside you as he watched the water turning a tint of red as you washed the dried blood on your hands, not even caring to clean up the stains of blood on your clothes, as you looked up at the mirror to find your swollen face and you exhaled with tremors. gently tapping on the hand with tissue so lightly, you met his gaze in the mirror's reflection as he watched you with a certain level of sadness. when you lean into him, he accepts you with his arm wrap around your waist as he gives a small kiss on your temple, holding you close as he follows you to whatever place you want to go.
your eyes met with sunghoon'sâwhose face is surprised but changes into a slight frown when he sees youâand he gives you a curt nod as jaeyun brings you away. you both left the venue's lot and stepped onto the bus. your head rested against the wide window as jaeyun still has his eyes on you, carefully holding your wrist even if he wants to interlock your fingers, because pressure on your wounds will just hurt you more. the bus drives down the hilly forest into the downtown area as you both step down at the bus stop by the beach that is overlooking the orange sky and the sun going nearer to the horizon.
you both sit down on the bench by the beach. the view of the lighthouse on top of the cliff paints more to the ambience that is the town of haeyang as you hold your hands to your lap. jaeyun is sitting beside you with his back leaning against the bench's backrest as he gazes at the beautiful view of sparkling water by the setting sun. then you started talking, reiterating what he might have known by the time he had found your book to this current moment. how you have your own band like his amperhyphen called dawndreamer, but your bandmates died in this particular town from a car accident against a truck.
"i was there, driving the car, and i can't help but be responsible for that event in my life." you let out a short chuckle as you continue to look at the glimmering water from the shining sun, knowing that jaeyun will listen. "we were listening to our shared rock playlist when we arrived in haeyang for our concert. rosanna by toto was playing as we all are basically continuing our carpool karaoke session. i also can't help but drum along by tapping against the steering wheel. as we drive to a green light four-way intersection when a truck comes through and slams into us from the passenger side of the car. we tumbled as the truck doesn't even fucking brake, continue to drive on and even slamming onto a lamp post before driving away. rosanna was the last song my friends heard as their pale skin just tells me that they're gone. the song that i will always cherish now." you can't help but blink away a little burn from the tears that are starting to form.
"you were driving in the intersection at a green light. you did the best you could."
"i should'veâŚ" you cut jaeyun off instantly before shaking your head, "i don't know why i'm telling you this. we're fucking friends after all." hearing the words that define your relationship nudges a little pain that blossoms in his heart, "but maybe, me talking about this could make you help me navigate all of this, especially because i've been using your drums too. without a verbal permission."
jaeyun moves his body and fully faces you as your fingers continue to curl and uncurl, knowing that rubbing the sweat off your palm would make the pain worse. the sunlight shines into your eyes, your side profile is mesmerising as ever, as he recalls back that your words say that you don't see him the way he sees you, especially in the ever-growing relationship you have.
"for the past three months, it has been such a wonderful time touring with you. with all of amperhyphen and sunghoon, and, and sophia too. seeing you on stage makes me feel like i live vicariously through you. we had similar genres going on with our music, so i can already imagine playing your drum parts on the stage. i was determined to be your friend, but we became something more⌠physical." you peek towards his side, making you tilt your head even a bit so he knows he is getting your attention, "but there is something more there as well."
you lightly bite your lip as a small scoff bubbles out from you, "you were holding me so warmly, especially in our last two stops. you always sat beside me when you first realised that i drink pills for motion sickness when we are doing long intercity trips, because that's one of the side effects from the car accident. you're trying to make me stay in your room when we agree that we will go back to each of our rooms after each fuck. but i always felt like you were stringing me along as i tried my best to stay down and deep on the ground, where i lay out myself so that i don't have to be swayed by you."
as jaeyun takes in all your words in his mind, from the denial to the bargaining, he is struggling to find the right words because he remembers all the times you left his room at night, all the times he had felt right after you went away from every fuck session you both hadâincluding quickies and what notâand how he realizes that you're always cool at the receiving end of it all. that certain coolness also allowed him to be clingy when you reacted so naturally, but much of what you mentioned, he is doing them unconsciously. the last time you went to sleep with him was the first time you demanded him to do something, realising just how awful the power dynamic has been with knowing his situation as a musician and you are his staff. he can understand now what you meant by "stringing you around" because every time you both interact for intercourse, it is at his behest. and then he treats you more outside of it, tooâknowing that that is not what you two agreed on.
jaeyun had wanted to give you a signal that yes, he does that because he cares for you. that what he is doing outside of the bedroom is his way to repay you for what you both have done. that he felt worried when you said that you were too tired or too sickly. that he discerned how his lips twitched when he heard you laugh at whatever his friends were saying. that he can't help but still be so mezmerized when watching you under the spotlight and even under the setting sun right now. he wants so much to repay you, to let him treat you like you treat him.
"every time you left after we fuck, i am always awake when i supposed to go to sleep." your eyes glance to the corner as he started speaking. your eyebrows starting to fold. "at the beginning, it was quick, five minutes to 10 minutes, when i just think about how you felt against me before that. but as we got into more of them, it gets longer, 30 minutes to one hour to then more." he lets his eyes meet yours.
"it was just me trying to take you in deeper than just surface-level memory: into my heart. when at first i was thinking about your body, then i started thinking about you in general. how in that time that feels so long before going to sleep, i was craving your warmth." jaeyun moved his hands, making you look down at how he is clenching them on his lap. "the last stop before haeyang, when you went away, i had contemplate to come and get you back, to let you sleep with me."
the boy let out a small chuckle before pursing his lips. "i did that actually. i stand in front of your door for 5 minutes, contemplating if i should get you back in my arms again for the night. but i can't, it breaks both of our boundaries that are going to be more bent beyond repair. and what happened two nights ago, when you were pushing me to fuck you so hardâŚ" one of his hand move so he could feel yours, letting it graze your skin ever so slowly. "i'm so concerned for you, but you were having a bliss and you were pushing me to do so. so it's my turn to fulfil your wants that night. and then you stayed in my bed, exhausted. i stayed awake that night for a long time as i wrapped my arms around you and wish that i would still stay awake until you wake up, taking in that you're beside me." you peer down towards the hand that brushes against his, feeling the pain from the wound that are still there as you stretched the skin surface with your movement.
"what i want to say, in all of that rambling nonsense, is that i like you, (y/n). you playing the drums is a plus bonus because i already like you before that." his hand moved so he could touch your palm so gently, not wanting to press down on your hand as he continued. your eyes returning back to his face, who is now looking at the setting sun before glancing back to you. "i am addicted to your warmth and knowing how distant you've become the past few days makes me realize that i can't let you go like that. for the past three months, you're the one that has been there with me. understanding me when i sometimes rant out to you even if we didn't fuck that night. you were taking care of me, cleaning my makeup and patching me up when my drumstick broke and scratching my skin until it bled," he eyes your palm that is nearing to touch his, curling his fingers just for a little, but not adding pressure for a skin-to-skin contact.
"let me do that back to you. i want you to know that i'm here for you too, your beck and call, just like you are to me."
you take in his words, curving your fingers gently between his as you let out a huge sigh. you gaze back at the setting sun and the orange light filling up the sky around you. the sound of the crashing waves becomes the background noise for your process each and every phrase he had uttered about you. from the night after you left, to standing in front of the door, and his confession. you felt absolutely weird after saying what you said before him, but the lens you are seeing it through is changing from neutrality to a positive view.
after a slight squeeze coming from you in your connected hand, jaeyun lets out a silent exhale when you slip your hand from his touch, making him turn his head towards you as you still sense his light touch lingering on your skin. you finally spoke with a question.
"can you let me take it in first? let me process all of it?"
"absolutely." jaeyun immediately answered, "you're doing such a good job." he continued, leaving it so vague that it encompasses every worry you have of everything. you slowly stand up as you let your palm be grazed by the cool wind, taking a step backwards slowly towards the direction of your motel, which is so close to where the bench you both sat.
"good luck with the performance tomorrow, jaeyun."
he lets out a smile as you turn yourself around, glancing down at your swaying hands to see the blood staining your hand, then at his that was connected to your palmâseeing the little speck of your maroon blood on his skin. hollowness lets the air float inside him as he knew that that is what would happen anyway. that he does have feelings for you, he likes you and is very much interested in you, and the guilt is filling up because he was so fluctuating in his actions that he gives you mixed messages. jaeyun felt how his shoulders sag into himself. he will have to wait for you until you are ready with your answer, but for now, that worry also transfers to the state of tomorrow's performance.
the very last one. and he will have to pour it in with all of his might.
-
jaeyun's body jitters as he peeks out from the left wing of the stage, watching as more and more of the crowd enters the venue before turning around to face the backstage. he walked towards the vanity table where sophia had put makeup on him and the rest of his bandmates, lightly biting his lip ring as he gazed at the ruffled blond hair and his black and red tattoo on his left arm with the black tank top on through the mirror. he catches the sound of claps as he sees sunghoon standing nearby the stage, making him turn and walk towards him as he tucks in one side of his in-ear monitor. jongseong, euijoo, and nicholas all gather by their manager along with sophia who stands back. their faces are all full of smiles as he looks around and can't help for the smile to grow on his face too,
"come on! this is THE last stop. let's end it with a fucking banger." sunghoon had said as the other yells in excitement. he could see sophia taking the video of the band as they do their group cheer. hands on top of each other as jongseongâthe designated frontmanâstarts the yell and they all move with their arms up high in synchrony. jaeyun's hands have bandages wrapped around the area he is most prone to cuts as he glances at the hand that taps on nicho's back and the other holding onto the set of drumsticks whilst they stay by the wing. when the lights from the building turned off, he could hear the crowd enrapturing in the darkness and he looked one last time at the wing to find no presence of you.
shaking the shivers off of him, he then steps onto the stage as more cheers come from the audience who are watching their moving silhouettes. jaeyun climbs on the foundation where his drum kit stands and sits on the stool, placing the drumsticks in each hand as he can't help to glance down, gripping onto the sticks that have your blood stainsâthe pair you were playing with yesterday. in this very moment, he remembered your words perfectly.
"seeing you on stage makes me feel like i live vicariously through youâŚ"
and with the sticks you marked within his grip, you are now playing with him on the stage. he sure hoped that you were still watching him, even if he didn't see you before the concert starts.
he looks at the rest of his bandmates who are setting up their instruments, straps across their chest as jaeyun hears the familiar guitar tuning sound from the speaker. the pressure comes suddenly, digging onto his shoulders as he caught the eyes of each of his friends, all are assuring each other that they are ready as euijoo nods towards the stagehand at the side.
when he heard the click track in his ear, the spotlight lights up on jaeyun as he starts the song, knocking the drumsticks with each other as the rest of the band plays their first song, which starts with an instrumental. his head starts to buzz, focusing on the click track and also on nicho's bass as he plays the lines along with the drums. his eyebrows start to furrow, jaw tense as he plays the part and the transitions between each section of the song, like the many times he had practised and the few times he had to revise and improvised. yet, under that spotlight, he is reminded of you. you who had played his drum kit full of vigour, focusing on stabilising the rhythm and supporting the song as best as you could. jaeyun can see himself in third person, watching himself like he had watched you yesterday, drumming away under the stagelights and the vision from the audience watching them.
his hooded eyelids, a tell for him that is slowly going into the flow state, become wide open full of awareness when he gets into the right dosage, looking at every cymbal and tom before on euijoo's and jongseong's backs who are singing into their mic stand. then, he let himself view beyond his kit. his sight is looking at the fans who are watching them in awe, some are singing along, some are nodding their heads as he glimpses from one corner and trails down the barricade area. when he arrived at the other corner, he also saw a crew who had their hands wrapped with pristine white bandages that stand out from the darkness, a few bandages on the fingers and a bandage on the fold between the forefinger and middle finger on each sideâsimilar to what he has on his hands.
jaeyun continues to look that certain way as he watches he reflecting camera lens moving downwards even for a bit, looking at the owner who doesn't focus on the viewfinder but instead on him: you. you with a smile on your face that makes him tug his own lips to mimic it as he heard jongseong yelling "hello, haeyang," whose audience cheers for the greeting before he goes to the guitar solo as the boy stabilises his rhythm to support the guitarist.
the concert continues on and jaeyun couldn't keep his eyes off of you for most of it. you're moving from one side of the room to the other as he lets muscle memory kick in after the tens of performances he had done for the tour. jaeyun had to look at the others too when they turned towards him as the band played their instrumental parts, hearing screams of his bandmates' stage name and his own "jake!" bursting into the space as they seemed, more or less, feels like jamming for themselves instead of perfoming for an audience. but that is what is desired for the crowd who continues to urge the band, as he could feel the familiar growing chemistry that combines in their performances. yet, the others didn't notice when they turned back as he continued to glance at your way.
he continues to glance at you as you record them playing on the stage, running around with your camcorder as you zoom in on the way euijoo is picking his guitar strings before turning towards its fretboard to capture his hands moving in chords as the sound continues. jaeyun can't help but peek at your face now with a new contextâhow you looked at euijoo with a sense of pride in them, like you are seeing your own bandmate performing on the stage and playing the guitar. when you moved to record him on stage, he turns his head in a suave way as he focuses on the drums, earning giggles from you, and he smirks as a reaction because he knows that it is only for him to notice.
jaeyun continues to play for the next hour or so, taking a bit of rest that includes the drink break as the members are all speaking into the mic and interacting with the audience for a few bits. sweat trailing down from his head to his torso to even on his exposed kneecaps of his ripped jeans as he continues. returning back into the flow state that makes his body move on autopilot as the adrenaline kicks in and produces once again. his tongue is licking his bottom lip ring unconsciously as he can feel the beat entering him, and yet, he is still holding onto the consciousness that is the unanswered confession of his to you. an anchor that makes him more aware, which in return makes him able to gauge the force he had to use to drum awayâcontrolling his stamina as best as possible until the end of the show.
his hands move to the crashes as the last song nears the end. nicholas, euijoo, and jongseong all sang into their microphones as he mouthed the lyrics near his mic stand, head lulling following the rhythm for the last time, to then let the music stop and the spotlight shining on jongseong, who continued playing his melody as the music faded away. yet, jaeyun's eyes landed on yours when he could feel the fulfilment in him that is making him want to let out every emotion he is feeling through his tears. and he did so.
the boy smiles when he feels his eyes are burning, turning back towards the stage as euijoo says his final, final goodbye to represent the band.
"this is amperhyphen signing off from the tour! thank you so fucking much."
he heard the cheers and claps that is making his ears numb, causing him to pull out the in-ear monitor as he takes in the reaction that hits him hard. a sole tear fell down from the corner of his eye as the spotlight shines once again on the stage, seeing nicho opening his arm that is making him step out from his stool and jogs to the front of the stage. jaeyun never lets go of the drumsticks when he and his friends all gather in a group hug. finally. finally letting go of the big pressure of the touring in this last performance that has gone through without any clear hiccups. he can't help but lean his head against jongseong's shoulder, hearing euijoo whispering just between the four about how proud he is.
as he steps onto the wings when the audience all go out from the venue, his breath is knocked out of him when he feels arms wrapped around his sweaty body. arms tangles and pressed against his back as he felt the familiar warmthâmaking him wrap his arm around the figure as they pulled away, finding your face that was hidden in the crook of his neck when you hugged him. then, he felt one of your bandaged hands cup his cheek and make him lean into you, crashing your lips on his as his splayed hand rested to hold onto your back.
at first, he was in a daze before he could reciprocate, feeling your warm breath on his face as you let him push his tongue into your mouth, earning a muffled moan from you that made you both pull away. both of you are taking deep breaths as you lean in closer to his face.
"i like you too," you spoke to him, to answer what he asked yesterday.
"r-really?" he felt how his heart beat kick-started into a fast pace so suddenly.
"yeah, sim jaeyun. i like you too," head producing nods as you say it. then he wrapped his arms around you as you squealed, hugging you so tight as he peppered kisses all over your face. you pushed him away, making him look back at you with an overwhelmed face.
"are you alright?" jaeyun questioned so suddenly as you wiped a little drop of tears from the corner of his eyes. you lean your nose as it brushes against his.
"never been better."
the others come in as they all gather around you, feeling all the stickiness of their sweat as you roll your head to look around when you feel them hugging around your figureâeven with sophia's little squeeks as she is brought into the hug as well. a group that you called family for the last three months. then, you pushed your head to rest against the exposed skin of jaeyun's shoulder.
"we're going to celebrate tomorrow, yes?" jongseong asked the group after they created their distance to look clearly at each other. all eyes are on sunghoon who looks at them with a small smile.
"yeah, one more day for us to relax here. then, the next day, we can go home."
"alright!" nicholas exclaimed as he already had sophia in his arms as all of you turned towards the backstage area. you quickly pack up your items, checking for the last time all the belongings in your bag to find them all there before you turn around to find jaeyun leaning against the wall with his arm crossed in front of his chest. his muscles are flexing as he found your eyes and lifted one of his eyebrows. walking towards him, he pushes his arm towards you as you grasp his hand, feeling his bandaged fingers meeting yours as you take a low, sharp breath when you feel the pressure that remains there.
stepping out of the back door, you and jaeyun expresses your gratitude to the stage crew who has worked hard on the concert tonight, hands not letting go as you small talk with a few of the stagehands that helped you with the recording, telling them to send the clips they have to the cloud folder you had mentioned yesterday so you can make the edit to put on the band's social media. you return to face jaeyun, who only has a warm smile as he was staring at you before turning his head towards the car that is starting its engine. you wave the crew goodbye as you both quickly go to the vehicle, the passengers are waiting for you two outside as the ones with the designated seats at the very back.
the car drives down the road that is full of trees on either side, making you lean your head against the glass window as you can see your own breath fogging it, your sight focusing on the moon's shine behind the branches and leaves of trees. then, you felt something on your shoulder as you peeked to find jaeyun's nose and mouth in your peripheral vision, letting him gaze at what you were seeing. the trees starts to thin out and more buildings start to show as you eye the downtown area of haeyang. finding that most of the businesses are all closed except for the nighttime ones, like bars and fast food restaurants. the view also includes the beach as the vehicle approaches the motel, seeing how the streetlight by the path before the sands highlights the shore area before it is being covered by the buildings and the now familiar parking lot.
"you have a key copy on you, right?" sophia turns to you as you finish stepping on the flight of stairs, still connected by hand with jaeyun as you turn to find nicholas' arm is wrapped around her shoulders, and the view of the other boys retreating towards their rooms.
"yeah!"
"nice!" she replied with the same enthusiam as you before a smirk came out on with an expression, "though i don't think that we will be needing them anyways." nicho giggles at her saying when she turns towards him, making you raise your eyebrows before turning to the boy beside you to see him wiggling his own, which you reply with eye roll.
"well, have fun, you two. just like we will have fun." nicholas gave a wink to both of you as he guided sophia, who gave you both a small wave, to his motel roomâleaving you behind in the corridor with jaeyun.
"let's go?" he voices out, returning his eyes from his friends' figures to you as you meet them with yours.
"let's."
the walk towards his room feels different from the last time two nights ago. when the previous one has more energy to itâboth of you are necessarily tipsy and full of lust; this time is much more comfort-based, where you both are just happy being in each other's company. you had a restless night the last two nights and you don't want to make it worse with your overreliance on antidepressant pills. that the night before the concert, when you told jaeyun everything, you had watched sophia's breath whilst sleeping as you thought about your feelings for him, not being able to sleep yourself. how you used him for yourself at firstâjoining the crew just so that you could relive those concerts again whilst memorising it digitallyâbut also for your closure and how it affects him and you.
leaning back on the cold pillow last night whilst you stare at the ceiling, you realised that you do like jaeyun. his sizzling touches turning soft as he guides you to the car, or when you're hanging out with the others with him. the conversations still felt normal, like what friends should have, but his warmth felt different whenever he sits beside you or tells you to sit beside him. having the same position in a bandâthe same job if you squint at itâmakes you more open with him, even if you didn't tell your other side to him at first. but the chemistry is already there. you have a lot of things in common that you can now voice out after acting so nonchalantly about the band that creates music you actually listened to. trying to create this image of yourself that just doesn't feel authentic when you are more similar to the boys than the image of a typical social media personâwhere sophia's attentiveness to the cracks makes you open it fully, especially in this very town.
you tugged your sneakers off after loosening the laces. jaeyun is already a few steps away as you view his room. his suitcase is closed so tidily with his other belongings on the desk. placing his stuff by his bedside table, including the drumsticks he used today that he hasn't let go, he turns towards you and helps you pick up and place your bag.
"you wanna join me?" jaeyun asks, his head turning to the open bathroom door beside you already with its lights on. facing him once again, you looked back at his eye-shadowed and eye-lined eyelids as you just knew what you were doing next and nodded. you walked towards him as you pulled out a pouch from your bag and the makeup cleanser and cotton pads before walking into the bathroom. there, you find items strewn across the sink counter. but the one that caught your eye is the box with the photo of the bandages that are wrapped around his fingers.
scooting a bit more, jaeyun stands beside you as you catch his reflection on the mirror across from you both. his fringe was all floppy from the sweat accumulated from performing. his eye makeup was melting to the side of his cheeks as he caught your eyeline. giving a thin smile, you put the items on the counter between both of you. and as you grab onto your cotton pad, jaeyun follows as he spreads the cleanser flat on the pad he is holding before letting the coolness touch his skin. he watches you as his hand mimics yours that is moving around your face, wiping away the eye area as he can see the dark colour smudge there.
you also wipe your lips and cheeks, letting your cream blush and most of the colour of your lipstick all gone as you chuckle when you turn your head to him, making you point at the upper lid of your own eye as jaeyun wipes there. serenity washes both of you as you wait for him to finish, looking at your covered hands as you slowly curl your fingers, feeling the strain of the muscles thereâbut also the leftover pain of the wounds.
a hand reaches for yours as it wraps around your wrist and pulls you towards the closed-lid toilet. jaeyun brought you to sit on his lap, your breath knocked out as you pulled back to look at him below you. but his attention is on your bandaged hands.
"let me help," he mumbles before peering up at you, making you nod as he brings one of your hands before him. with his left hand holding it still, you watched him slowly pulling away the bandage on the space between the two fingers, the slight pressure dissipating from your hand. the cool air graces your scar as he flips the hand with the palm now facing upwards. his hand then continued to remove the other bandages sticking onto your skin, now letting you see the scabbed scar as he could see the little blisters around from the broken skin surface that is healing up.
"we need to get another layer of antiseptic after showering on these two wounds." jaeyun uttered as you watched him, not expecting for him to actually kiss the skin around scar as he hold it so carefully. that action makes you cup onto his jaw and pivot his head for you to easily kiss his lips. jaeyun instantly reciprocates, moving his pair in tandem with your other bandaged hand resting on his face until you move away and your forehead rubs against his.
gently, you helped him open his bandages as he continued with yours. he reacts with a hiss when he sees the blisters on your fingers that the first layer of skin couldn't keep safe, waiting for the cells to regenerate. while you admired his fingers and felt the hardened calluses on them and how they're more spread than the ones on your hands. both of them have proof of drumming as you both adjust on how to grip the sticks in your own ways, creating friction against the skin that rubs too much and creates chaffing you both have to endure. and as the last of the bandages is placed on the counter, both of your hands then peel off each other's clothes.
skin-to-skin contact makes shivers run down your spine as you breathe out so shakily. your body already recognises his touch as you feel his muscles on his chest and toned arms. the black and red tattoos gracing his skin as you felt his lip ring adding coolness to his warm kiss on your neckâfeeling your nipples hardening against his skin as jaeyun stands in front of you. helping you to stand up, you both then tugged down your bottoms as you stood bare before him as he to you. usually, when you both are fully naked, one of you will jump on the other and initiate that habit you had created with him. however, as you stand before him now, those acts were being pushed back as you eyed each other before he leads you to the shower area behind the glass.
the shower head pours out water as you stand at the back, letting him test the water out before asking "is this alright for you?" as you place your hand against the falling droplets.
"yes, it is," you answered as jaeyun steps first and you could feel how your breath hitches. as you stand across from him, you watch as he lets the downpour hit him with his eyes closed and head tilting back, letting the water glisten down his body. from his nose, down to his adam's apple. from the chest and it trails down following his abdominal lines before going to his v line as they drop from his big hanging cock. you lightly bit the inside of your cheek before returning to his face, finding him already watching you as he moved to the side to let you stand under the pouring water.
you let it flow down your skin, feeling the grime washing away down the drain as you stood in front of him. the water wetting your hair as the strands get heavy, brushing against your skin as it flows down until your nether region and dripping down the side of your thighs. your hand brushes against the skin, making you wince even a bit as the water grazes the blisters across your hands. jaeyun moves to the side as he squeezes the soap that the motel gives in the bathroom before turning towards you.
"i can't imagine how much you're struggling in soaping yourself," jaeyun mentioned as you chuckle, letting bubbles show up between his palms after rubbing them.
"i'll help," he mumbled and you nodded, making your turn around from him as he lathers the soap across your back. you let out a huge sigh, feeling the pressure of his movement massaging your muscles, especiallly your shoulders. as it continues to go to your waist, you then turn around to let him pour some soap on your palm before, as careful as ever, spread them against your palms without hurting yourself as you help him too. his hand brushes against your belly button piercing as you spread against his upper chest.
as you both continue to spread soap on each other's bodies, the air feels different. gone was the lustful atmosphere around you when you two are doing something so domestic, so calm and careful, as you also reciprocate his impromptu massages with you doing it to his back muscles as well.
you both stood by each other, his hand that was spreading soap to pull the dirt off of you now rested against your waist. your head is tilting forward as you brush the shampoo away from your hair. jaeyun is also doing so until there is no slippery surface you can feel. his warmth combined with the relaxing warm shower, but then he starts to do more.
tilting your head to face the tiled walls, you sense his hand moving down to your hip before moving closer to the middle. you stepped back and felt him behind you. his skin touching yours as you felt a gush of your arousal that was threaten to show as you kiss him backstage finally showing upâand you also feel his cock becoming harder, felt it sliding between your buttcheeks.
"you're gorgeous," he whispers into your ear, making you lean your head back to graze against him as his hand moves now to your middle. his fingertips brushing against your lower lip before finding your clit.
"hah!" you gasp as he rubs his fingers against your sensitive bud, which you like. and with his haggard breaths against your skin and the pelting water flowing down between you two, you reached out behind your figure until you felt his cock and wrapped your hand around it.
in all that time of jaeyun brushing his thick lips against your skin, you could feel yourself getting warmer against even the warm water. shivers continue to spread across your body when you feel his other hand moving closer to your core. the moisture you are excreting is evident in his touch as his breath gently caresses the leaf of your ear. eyes now closed, the eyelids only letting a small amount of light seep inside your vision as jaeyun continues to trail kisses from below your neck and to your shoulder. your hand continues stroking him, feeling how his blood runs in his veins and makes his member harder.
opening your eyes even with droplets sticking onto your eyelashes, you turn your head to the side and bring your free hand to cup his cheek, guiding his lips to yours as they crash against each otherâboth of your breaths are taken away. your lips pursed as you felt two of his fingers plunge inside you, combining with the one caressing your clitoris as you adjusted your stroke to his pace as you also mind about your wound. water runs down between your faces as your hooded eyes meet his, breathing against each other's lips where every brush of movement makes them meet.
you could feel him pushing you towards your edge as jaeyun groans, his jaw unhinged as you also have your mouth agape. shaking your head, you know you can't take much longer after all the sud have been down the drain.
letting his cock go, you turned yourself around in his embrace as your force push him towards the tiled wall. hands on his nape as his naturally moved to your hips when jaeyun lets you kiss him hard. his head knocked against the wall softly as he sense how you are rubbing yourself on him. a leg slowly lifts up against his and that makes him cup both of your cheeks, pulling you back to face him. jaeyun nudges forward, letting his nose brush against yours as he says, "let me love you on the bed."
nods came from him as you follow, blinking slowly at the boy as one of your hands grabs his and he turns off the shower. the soft towels dried most of the liquid from your skin as he brought you to him and helped dry yourself as best as he could. your hair is still full of water as you brush your lips against hisâearning giggles as you try to squeeze as much out as possible.
as the bathroom door opens and jaeyun throws the towels somewhere near it, you throw yourself on his bed before scooting up to feel the soft pillows under you. his wet blond hair sticks onto his forehead as he crawls above you, pressing and trailing his lips from your ankle towards your leg and arriving at your coreâgiving a long lick that makes him hum and you gasp because of his lip ring. and it trails upwards. licking your belly button and its piercing, to your sternum and giving sucks to both of your nipples, to your neck and sucking eac side to give you little lovebites, to your jaw, your cheek, the button of your nose, and then your lips as you open your mouth to let his tongue in; hands bracing him as it settle between you.
his hard and red cock presses up against your lower lips as your hand moves to grab it, making him move back a little as he watches you guiding his tip to your slit. finding the hole where it catches, you use your other hand's fingers and spread it open, creating a perfect target for him to push in as you both fleet your eyes back to each other. the sensation is all so familiar, but something you both aren't tired ofâespecially now when many more emotions are flowing between the two of you. stakes much higher than ever before as this is the first time you lay beneath him bareâboth physically and psychologically.
small moans came out of you as you held eye contact with him, sensing the delicious push as your walls formed around him once again, gripping onto him as something so familiar. jaeyun's look on you has something different other than lust, evident with him brushing the baby hairs sticking onto your forehead as he brought his lips closer to yours. your eyebrows folded as he pushed himself until he reached the hilt, caressing his tip against your cervix as you bite your bottom lip before raising your head slightly to give him a small kiss. your hand curling against his wet locks of hair as you nodded at him, folding your legs near his hips as he rolls into you.
jaeyun watches how your face contorts, the silent moans combine with the loud ones from before, creating a perfect balance for you. a stable balance to receive his passion as he felt your fingernails moving against the skin on his back. eyes continue watching hisânever letting go.
"you're mineâŚ" you mumbled out as one of his hands rested on the pillow beside you move to brush against your lips. his thumb is dragging your bottom lip as jaeyun continues to thrust into you slowly, feeling your arousal coating him to create smoother movements.
"i'm yours and you're mine," jaeyun echoes, forehead leaning against yours as you gaze into his beautiful irises.
"always has been yours," you trail your hand across his back and cup his cheek, making him lean into the touch with his now enlarged eyesâasking an unsaid question about what you said.
a small chuckle comes from you as you reply, "you're the very first that claims me." and the corner of his lips lifted as he reads into every word you said. and as you move down your hand to his back, pushing him deep as you both let out gasps, you make it clearer to him. because you have nothing to lose anymore when he knows everythingâhe wants to know everything about you and you want to know about him too.
"the very, very first and forever."
jaeyun let out such a delicious moan as he pressed his lips on yours, making you brace yourself against him as you sense how his thrusts become faster. your heels digging into his skin as you give your control to him. moans bounce against each other as you can't help but grip onto him so tightly. his wet hair forms in clumps as it dries when you touch them. your eyes flipping back into your skull as you nodded to him, eyes speaking to him with whatever you want to convey.
"yeah?" you nodded to his reply.
"pleaseâŚ" his mouth caught onto your whispers.
"voice it out for me," jaeyun follows with a groan, baring his teeth that are gritting against each other. "let me hear what you say to me out loud."
"please⌠fill me up with you. i'm all yours- fuck- yun!" your head continues to move as he slams his forehead against you, rooting his body on you there as his hips moves against yoursâyour own also moving in rhythm to chase that high. the moist sound fills the room as the skin-to-skin contact is proof of the passion you have for each other. your thumb traces his bottom lip that he is biting before letting it and the coolness of his piercing meets your swollen pair. eyebrows furrowed as you felt your muscles spasming as he didn't let go, making your warnings swallow by him as you felt yourself shaking against him.
jaeyun moans into your mouth as he continues moving, your walls clamping down as his sound vibrates against you when your hands cup his cheeks to hold him tight. a warm liquid spurting inside your walls as he holds you close and tighter than ever before. pulling away, your saliva is sticking to each other as the lamp beside you shines on the glistening skin around his thick lips. giggles bubbling out of you as he follows, pecking your kiss before flipping his positionâmaking you straddle onto him with your hand bracing against his tattooed arm.
you teasingly wiggle above him, feeling his cum and yours trickling down and pool against the base of his groin. leaning down, your chin rested against his chest as he fixed his pillow's position. his hand moves to your back, caressing from your pubic bone and up your spine as you smile at himâknowing that you both aren't going to have much sleep with the leftover lust in his eyes full of love. turning your head towards the bedside lamp, you caught onto the wooden texture of his drumsticks when you actually had to do a double-take. mouth slightly open at seeing the realisation of the crimson spots on the grip side.
the pair of drumsticks was littered with blood stains. the drumstick you played with yesterdayâthe drumsticks he was playing with tonight.
your hand reaches for one of the sticks as jaeyun watches, feeling the wooden material grazing your skin as you fixed your gripâthe stains are mostly covered up with the way you are holding it as you eye your numb wound that is very much alright with the contact. eyeing back to the boy, he only tilts his head at you: confirming every thing you are thinking about as he gets his reward by a small kiss under his eye.
pushing yourself to sit upright, you fix your position as if you are sitting on the stool behind the drum kitâfeeling how his cock is still snuggled inside you and how messy this will be. but you were too tired and tangled to even be thinking of going away from him, and then, jaeyun watches you as you twirl your drumstick in your hand. the wooden stick glides across your fingers as the momentum of the swing feels so familiar for both you and him. you lightly bit your bottom lip to see how you are doing the twirls you do when you are so in the zone when playing.
"since when did you play drums?" jaeyun asks a crystal clear question between the two of you that he didn't ask yesterday. but you already had an answer in mind about it.
"since i was seven years old," his eyebrows widen and jaw agape with your answer.
"seven?! i thought i was early when i started playing at nine." his reply earns chuckles from you before you purse your lips, eyes looking away from him for a bit as you gather your childhood memories with drums from your mind's filing cabinet.
"in a way, it's earlier than that." your hands rested on his chest, the stick between his skin and your palm as you leaned a bit closer to him.
"i joined a marching band corps when i was in kindergarten. i wanted to do the xylophone, but the slots are all filled. so they move me to the colour guard position. you know, those who twirl the coloured flags," both of your hands move to hold the drumstick in them, twirling it around like you are holding the flag pole. "after training with it for two weeks, the instructor suddenly tells the team that they are one short in snare drum. so i volunteered and played a snare drum in the marching band. we actually won a few regional championshipsâwhenever there's a kindergarten level for them, of course."
jaeyun watches as your hand holding the stick moves once again into a grip he recognises as the traditional grip. the palm facing upwards instead of down as you play with it, feeling the tip of the stick brush his skin as you mimic how you drum back then.
"i took a liking in playing it. then i had to graduate kindergarten and my parents notice me liking it so much. so on my seventh birthday, they give me this mini drum kit for that is child-size in our living room and i swear, they regret the day after because the only thing i wanna do after school is banging some toms and crashes." laughter flies between the two of you as you then continue, "then dad starts to introduce me to the music he listens to. typical dad rock music like rolling stones, ac/dc, and toto. but i got addicted. and yeah, that's how i became a full-fledged drummer."
"you have more flight hours than me in drumming," he startes as you felt him holding onto your waist, "that you are so confident in playing prog rock that when i saw that fucking rush's tom sawyer notation, i swear i was baffled." jaeyun's hands pulls you into his embrace once again, making your chest rest against each other as you felt how his touch turns to tickles.
"i have to hear you play it. better yet, can you teach me?" you lightly tapped against his chest, licking your lips while holding in from showing a wide smileâwhich you fail to do.
"hey! you're also familiar with odd time signatures, baby," the nickname came out unexpectedly. but then you felt him wrap his arms behind you, to bring you closer. now chin to chin, you still held your head up to look into his eyes, feeling him shaking his head side to side.
"tom sawyer and fucking rosanna are a different beast than what i play, baby," he echoes the nickname to you as you roll your eyes playfully. a pout forming on your face as you look back at him. then all of the muscles on your face relax as you take a huge breath with a long exhale.
leaning down, you rested your head against the crook of his neck. the free hand moved behind him as the other grips onto the drumstick that now rested on the pillow beside his head. jaeyun heard the little sobs coming from you, making him move his hand to your shoulder blades. you tugged him closer, bridging the gaps between the two of you as you let the night bring you anywhere you both want. any conversation opened for both of you, and you both know that you won't let this moment down, even if sleep reminds you multiple times.
-
"you two are lucky i have made several sketches for drums." those are the first words uttered as jaeyun spoke to soobin, the tattoo artist you both got assigned to for your walk-in session.
your hisses continue as you watch the blond-haired tattoo artist finish the stencil pressed on your right inner forearm. the ink colour blooming against your skin as your left hand grips onto jaeyun's right hand that already has his matching tattoos inked in the same position. the tattoo of the drum kit with smooth lines as jaeyun has his kick drum area to be tattooed with the ampersand symbol that strikes through with a hyphen symbol that he had drawn: ampherhyphen's logo. while your kick bass drum has a cursive writing of dawndreamer on it, exactly as the one you have of the kick drum back in your childhood home.
eyes gazing back at jaeyun, his eyes met yours as soobin prepares to wrap your arm with plastic as aftercare. the older boy glances towards jaeyun as he nods, "all done. you know your tattoo aftercare." he tilts his hand towards the full-sleeve tattoo that he asks jaeyun about and how great it looks. "show your girl what to do with it too."
"got it, mate," he replied as you both stood up from the seat. your eyes look at the fresh tattoo etched on your skin that is so vivid as you glance back at the tattoo artist, giving a curt nod as a thank you, as he also nods his head.
with your tattooed right arm connecting its fingers with his tattooed left arm, you both walked down downtown haeyang for the last time. both of you are on standby for sunghoon's chat when you are ready to go and celebrate the ending of the tour. but you also need your closure, and when you found the familiar street, you let out a sigh as you took every step forward with confidence.
standing at the corner of the four-way intersection, your eyes are burning with tears as jaeyun noticesâhis fingers wrapping tighter around you to let you remember that you are not alone. that he sees you. that he understands you.
"hi gaeul, ningning, tsukiâŚ" you started, eyes focused on the very middle of the intersection where all of the streets come together. a tear slipped out from the corner of your eyes as you remembered your crashed car, but in front of it, you see three apparitions appear before you. all are wearing the clothes you remember, all wearing their guitars and bass across their chest like you always see them when you all jam out.
"i hope you're proud of meâŚ" you nodded your head as you spoke, holding still on the confirmation as you felt the heavy weight you were carrying on your shoulders tumbling down. turning your head to face jaeyun, he had already watched you with a reassuring smile. you reciprocate as you press your forehead on his.
"i, i don't know what to do after this," you said to him, truly. after the conversation you had last night, opening up about everything to the last thing about the impromptu matching drum kit tattoos with your respective bands, the aftermath of this tour lingers in your head because of sudden separation after being with himâbeing with themâfor so long.
"you still have college to do, right?" jaeyun speaks slowly before as he feels you move your head in nods. "i also have mine to finish," he lightly bites his lip before continuing, "but i will get back to you all the time. i will drive to pick you up and bring you with me. therapy, gigs, concerts to watch, i will be with you in the entire journey."
a small gasp comes from you as you brought your arms behind his figure and presses him against you in a tight and warm hug, letting his shoulder become a place to cry on as you let out such many sobsâpushing all those feelings out as your eyes gaze back at the intersection, seeing the ghosts of your best friends all smiling at you. your lips brush against his ear.
"thank you, jaeyun, for making me realise i am not fully alone"
you lean back as the boy looks at you with such an endearing smile, his thumb brushing the fallen tear trailing down the apple of your cheek as he nodded and mouthed back a "thank you to you too." he brought his hand to connect back with yours when your ringtone rings at the same time, the sound coming from the group chat as jaeyun lifted his phone and show you the notification of sunghoon telling you all to gather around so you all can go to where you will be celebrating.
nodding in agreement, you let him take the lead to bring you back to your friends. yet, you still turn your head back to look at the intersection, finding the hazy apparition of your friends smiling back at you before they fade away as they move onâand you have to do so too. pivoting back to see jaeyun looking back at you, you let out such a wide smile as you take steps to stand beside him so you could walk together. leaving haeyang and this chapter of your life as you walk on to a healing path with jaeyun beside youâcelebrating his band, all of the work, and your relationship that is getting richer and richer than the sound of drums playing in a crescendo.
ŕ Ë. áľáľ SYNOPSIS Âť heeseung moved to los angeles to become a famous comedian, and you moved there chasing an acting career. when you land an audition to play a comedian, you start studying him for the role, turning his awkward sets into practice material. you say thereâs nothing here, but in a city full of fools who dream, the two of you stumble into each otherâs lives and realize maybe someone in the crowd could take you where you wanna go, if youâre the someone ready to be found.
⥠pairing: comedian!heeseung x actress!fem!reader ⥠genre: romcom, strangers to lovers, la la land au, crack, smut (mdni), enemies to lovers-ish, bit angsty #nowplaying >> a lovely night - la la land | pink pony club - chappell roan | lost - frank ocean | everybody wants to rule the world â tears for fears | girl almighty - one direction // â° word count: 33k
â° warnings: smut, unprotected sex (do not do it!!), a little bit angsty, weed and alcohol consumption, the smut scene is long af but it's not important to the main plot, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, squirting, degradation / dirty talk, light rough sex (hair pulling, spanking implied), anal play, unresolved feelings, bittersweet / open ending
HEESEUNG WAS STANDING ON A STAGE THAT WAS BARELY A STAGE. it was more like a piece of wood raised six inches above the bar floor, with a microphone that cracked every time he cleared his throat. there were seven people in the audience, but only two of them looked awake, and one of those was clearly scrolling on her phone. âso⌠dating in l.a.,â he started, gripping the mic. âitâs great, because nothing screams romance like splitting a twenty-five dollar salad while pretending youâre not both broke.â
no reaction. someone coughed near the back. âand, uh, i went on a date last week,â he continued, ignoring the void in front of him. âshe said she loved comedians. then she ghosted me. so technically she does love comedians, she just mightâve thought i was a clown!â
a few heads stayed down, still no laughs. except jake. jake was sitting in the middle row, clapping like he was at a broadway show, his laugh way too loud for the size of the room. heeseung shot him a glare that said please shut up, but jake only leaned forward and shouted, âthatâs my boy!â which made it worse, because now everyone knew they were friends. the bartender was drying glasses with the kind of disinterest only a man paid minimum wage could master. one guy near the corner ordered wings in the middle of the set and the waitress carried them in front of the stage like heeseung wasnât even there. âokay, tough crowd,â he muttered, but he kept going, because quitting halfway through would mean admitting this was a mistake. and maybe it was, but at least jake was still laughing, doubled over now like heâd just heard the best joke of his life.
heeseung had been trying these open mics for a while, long enough to know the bartenders by name. he wasnât the kind of guy who spent hours writing careful setups and punchlines. he was funny, sure, but more in the way he told stories and stumbled through them until something ridiculous slipped out. it didnât always land on stage, though. usually it didnât. but he kept going because all of his friends, for some reason, thought he had something. maybe not a clear plan, maybe not a career path, but something. at home, things werenât much more glamorous. he shared a cramped apartment with jake and jay, both of them musicians. jay was a producer, and jake called himself a songwriter, though most of the time he was just mumbling melodies that sounded suspiciously like songs that already existed. they were convinced heeseung was destined for a break. he didnât see it that way, but he appreciated that someone did.
most mornings, heeseung worked the early shift at dunkinâ donuts, handing out coffee to people who didnât make eye contact. by the afternoon, he was driving uber, driving strangers around in his beat-up car. at night, he found himself on those tiny stages, trying to make people laugh while wondering if it would ever stop feeling like humiliation dressed up as ambition. he wasnât bitter, though, not really. he laughed about it with the guys, he teased jake for being his only fan, and he told himself that maybe all this was just practice. it was tiring, yes, but it was also the only thing that made him feel like he was moving toward something, even if he couldnât name what that something was. and well, maybe that something was you, but weâre getting ahead of ourselves.
heeseung kept going with the set, even though the silence in the room was louder than his own voice. he decided to stay on the dating-in-la theme because at least it gave him material, and material was better than staring at seven people who all looked like they regretted coming. âyou know dating apps are a scam, right?â he said, adjusting the mic stand even though it didnât need adjusting. âlike, you match with someone, they say they love dogs, you say you love dogs, and then three messages later they disappear. did the dog die? did they die? or did they just realize i also drive uber?â still no laughs. except for jake, of course. he was clapping again, laughing so hard the guy next to him physically leaned away. âthanks, jake,â heeseung muttered, not even bothering to cover the mic. âevery comedian dreams of their roommate being the only person laughing.â
that got a tiny chuckle from someone in the back, but it was more of an exhale than a laugh. still, it counted. heeseung carried on, making fun of how half his dates ended in venmo requests and how no one in l.a. seemed to eat anything besides salads that looked like lawn clippings. it wasnât killing, not even close, but heâd done worse. and thatâs when he noticed you. not because you were laughing, you werenât, you hadnât cracked a smile since he started. but you were really watching him, like you were trying to figure him out. and every so often, you pulled out a pen and scribbled something down on the back of a receipt or a folded napkin. it threw him off for a second. most people in the audience werenât even looking at him, and here you were, taking notes like this was homework. he couldnât tell if you were judging him or studying him, but either way, it was weird enough to make him stumble on his next line.
âuh, yeah, so⌠first dates in l.a.,â he continued, trying to shake it off, âsometimes theyâre so short you donât even finish the appetizer. like, iâve had breadsticks last longer than a date.â jake howled, slapping the table like heâd never heard anything funnier in his life. heeseung gave him a look, but his attention slid back to you almost immediately. you werenât laughing. you were still just watching, pen tapping lightly against the paper. and for reasons he couldnât explain, that made him more nervous than the silence from everyone else.
when the set was finally over, heeseung stepped off the stage with the kind of relief you feel when a dentist appointment ends. jake was already on his feet, clapping like heâd just witnessed the next big netflix special. âthat was hilarious, man,â jake said, grabbing his shoulder. âthe breadstick line? genius.â
heeseung gave him a look. âyeah. seven people in the room and i managed to make one of them laugh, and he happens to pay half my rent.â
jake just grinned, totally unaffected. âa third!â he corrected. âbut it doesnât matter. iâm telling you, youâre getting better.â
heeseung wasnât convinced. he felt like he was one bad set away from shaving his head and rehearsing joker monologues in front of the bathroom mirror. the joaquim phoenix one, just to be clear. not that he would admit that out loud, instead he just nodded, letting jakeâs enthusiasm do the work. but then he remembered you. the girl in the back who hadnât laughed, hadnât clapped, hadnât done anything except watch him. heeseung scanned the room again, but you were gone. no trace, no napkin on the table, nothing. âthere was this girl,â he said suddenly, turning to jake. âback row. she was taking notes. didnât laugh once. just⌠wrote stuff down.â
jake frowned. ânotes? on what?â
âi donât know,â heeseung said. âme, i guess? the set. it was weird. she didnât look bored, though. more like⌠i donât know, like she was studying me.â
jake smirked, already finding a way to make it sound less serious. âmaybe sheâs a critic. maybe youâre famous now.â
heeseung rolled his eyes. âyeah, or maybe she just needed a surface to write her grocery list. either way, sheâs gone.â
still, he couldnât shake it. the silence from six people didnât matter, the loud laugh from jake didnât matter, but the fact that you sat there scribbling something down and then disappeared before he could figure it out, oh, that stuck. but he had to keep going, because his life was not moving the way he thought it would be. most days felt the same and he caught himself wondering if that was good or bad. he told himself routine was better than chaos, that at least he knew where he had to be every morning and how much money would be in his account by the end of the week. but underneath that, he knew he wasnât happy with how small things felt.
back at the apartment, he tried not to think too hard about it. jake and jay made the place noisy in a way that distracted him, guitars and half-not-so-half-finished songs everywhere, jay chasing some new beat while jake claimed it was going to be the one that finally made them money. they were confident in him too, always telling him he was getting closer, that he was funnier than he thought. sometimes heeseung believed them, other times he just nodded along, a little bit comforted and also a bit annoyed that they seemed to have more faith in him than he could find for himself.
the days kept stacking up. he wasnât miserable, but he wasnât exactly thriving either. but then one afternoon, in between rides, his phone buzzed with a message from a guy he knew on the comedy circuit, beomgyu, and it was an invitation to do a set at a club that was actually known, the kind of place where real comics tried out material and audiences showed up on purpose. it wasnât huge, but it wasnât nothing. when he told jake and jay, they reacted like heâd open for chris rock or something. jay asked if he had a plan for his set, and yeah, heeseung didnât, not yet, but he said yes anyway, because it felt better than admitting he was nervous.Â
heeseung never really enjoyed the comedy scene in l.a., he thought most of the people in it were arrogant, the kind who laughed at their own material louder than the audience ever could. he hated those bigger shows because they felt more like networking events than comedy, but he also knew he had to be seen. so this time, he tried something different. instead of forcing punchlines, he wrote out a story. âyou know how everyone has that one friend whoâs constantly in a side quest?â he said into the mic, glancing at the crowd. âlike, the main plot of life is just⌠not enough for them. they always need to be doing something that makes no sense.â
a few people nodded, and he felt encouraged enough to go on. âfor me, that friend is niki. funny guy, terrible influence. he used to go around changing everyoneâs phone language to something random, just because he thought it was hilarious. one time i finally got him back and switched his phone into the cyrillic alphabet. the man doesnât read russian, so he spent two days trying to figure it out. you know who fixed it for him? nikola jokic. yeah, the nba player. i donât know how they even met, but apparently jokic was just like, âyeah, no big problem,â and honestly, easy thing for him to say because heâs six foot ten, nothing is big enough for him.â
there was a ripple of laughter, the kind that made heeseung loosen his grip on the mic. âand that wasnât even the weirdest part. niki also swears he once went to budapest with john cena. i still donât know what the hell that means. what do you even do with john cena in budapest? iâm just saying, if john cena orders goulash, does the waiter even bring it out?â the audience actually laughed hard at that one, and heeseung felt the first real wave of confidence. âbut my favorite one? niki once got called in to audition for travis kelce. i donât know how that happened. heâs five foot ten, skinny, japanese, twenty years old. someone made a mistake. i hope they got fired, and i really hope it wasnât taylor swift.â
the room broke into proper laughs now, people clapping and nudging each other like theyâd just heard something worth repeating later. heeseung felt it, that tiny lift that came with knowing heâd actually landed something. and then he saw you. you were there in the crowd, not scribbling this time, not taking notes, just watching him again with that same steady focus. for a second, he almost lost his rhythm, but he kept going, because now he wanted to see how long youâd stay.
heeseung wrapped it up with one more callback that tied his little niki saga together, and when the crowd laughed and clapped this time, it didnât feel polite, it felt real. a couple people even whistled, and he let out this small laugh into the mic before muttering a quick âthanks, thatâs my time.â he stepped off with his shoulders lighter than usual, like for once he wasnât walking straight into that pit of self criticism he usually carried after every set. and as he came down from the stage, his eyes swept the room, and thatâs when he noticed you again. you werenât laughing or clapping, but you were there, notebook open this time, pen moving quickly across the page. the second he was fully off stage you closed it, almost like a switch flipped, and tucked it away. it hit him for a moment that you werenât studying comedy at all, you were studying him.
before he could linger on that thought, sunghoon, one of his friends that were trying to make it in comedy scene in l.a., was waiting by the side, arms crossed. he gave him a nod and a pat on the back. âfinally,â he said, voice steady. âthatâs what youâre good at, just telling shit the way you actually see it.â it was the closest thing to a compliment heâd ever gotten from sunghoon, and it stuck heavier than the applause had. then he dragged heeseung off to meet other people, conversations he wasnât fully in the mood for.Â
after a while he slipped away toward the kitchen, grabbed a soda, and leaned against the counter. the chatter was loud, plates clattering, but somehow it felt like the quietest part of the whole place, because thatâs when he saw you again. you were crouched down near the snack table, your hair fell forward a little as you reached for snacks, and he hesitated, wondering if he should say something or just keep watching. the notebook was tucked under your arm now, pen still clipped to it, resting instead of racing.
you left the area and started walking toward the balcony, and heeseung didnât think twice, he just followed. he grabbed another soda on the way out, and by the time he got outside, you were leaning against the railing, scrolling your phone. he stepped up a little closer, cleared his throat, and said, âhey.â
you looked up at him, one eyebrow raised, a little sharp, a little sassy. âhey,â you said back.
heeseung didnât move for a second, just watched you, with a look that clearly said youâre not going to tell me why you were writing my stuff down? and you didnât, instead, you blinked at him, calm, and he said a little more directly, âi remember you. i saw you at the open mic bar the other night.â you raised both eyebrows, with a look that said back, yeah, and? so heeseung leaned against the railing, a little frustrated. âlook. i know you were taking notes on my jokes. what are you gonna do with it?â
you let out a short, sharp laugh. âyour jokes? why would i take notes on your jokes?â
heeseung narrowed his eyes. âso what were you writing down, then?â
you looked at him, straight faced for a second, then said, âi have an audition next week. iâm applying for a role as a stand-up comedian who⌠doesnât really make it.â
heeseung paused, squinting. âoh. youâre an actress. okay. have i seen you anywhere before?â
you hesitated a little, a little awkward. âi work at a coffee shop on the warner brothers lot.â
heeseung tilted his head, a little dry. âoh. youâre a barista. well now i see how you can look down on me from all the way up there.â he said that even though heeseung was a barista himself, but he thought it wasnât really necessary to bring that up right now.Â
before either of you could react further, beomgyu came around the corner, slapped heeseung on the shoulder. âheeseung, second set.â
he turned to look at you, more serious this time, and you smirked. heeseung shrugged, like he had no choice. âhe doesnât tell me what to do.â
you arched an eyebrow. âhe just told you what to do.â
heeseung let it slide. âi let him.â he paused, you paused, and after a beat, he looked back at you. âwhatâs your name?â
ây/n.â
heeseung nodded once, slow, deliberate. âwell, y/n, guess iâll see you in the movies.â
so he went back up on stage, and he tried to focus on the story he had written, the one he thought might finally land properly. but then he caught sight of you again, across the crowd, tucked in a little corner near the balcony doors, you had the notebook open again. heeseung froze for a second before shaking it off, trying to get back into the text, but his eyes kept flicking back. he could see you writing, like you were copying his brain word for word onto that stupid fucking notebook. it made him annoyed, and he didnât know why he cared, didnât know why he wanted to see what you were writing so badly, but he did. and fuck, it threw him off every time he tried to nail a punchline.
the whole set felt both like the best thing heâd ever done and the most distracting thing heâd ever done. when he finally wrapped it up, the claps were real this time, he stepped off the stage, nodding and muttering a quiet thanks to whoever made eye contact, but all he could think about was you. but when the crowd started shifting, laughing and mingling, you were gone, disappeared into the mass of people like you had never been there at all. heeseung walked straight home after that, uber silent, replaying the set in his head but mostly thinking about how you had been sitting there, how he couldnât stop imagining what the hell youâd written. he lost you to the crowd that night, and for some reason, that annoyed him more than bombing on stage ever had.
heeseung had been keeping himself busy, mostly to keep his brain from obsessing too much about that night at the party. jay had dragged him to an open mic one night, insisting he needed to watch jungwon perform. heeseung didnât hate it, actually, jungwon had this weird timing that made everything land in a way heeseung kinda envied. after that, he met sunghoon for coffee, and they spent an hour talking about scripts, story structure, and how networking was more about awkward dinners than talent. sunghoon gave him some pointers, told him to focus more on the story than the punchlines, which made sense, even if heeseung hated thinking that way. and well, he thought about inviting sunghoon to grab something at the coffee shop on the warner brothers lot, because curiosity got the better of him like a total idiot, just to see if you were there. he didnât, though.
the uber shifts were something else, because afternoons spent driving strangers across l.a. gave him material for days. there was the guy who insisted he was a secret agent, the girl who ranted about her cat like it was running for president, and the old man who told stories about losing his toupee in a windstorm. heeseung memorized everything, laughing to himself while steering, thinking, okay, this is gold, iâll use this someday.
and then, one day, while he was working the morning shift at dunkinâ donuts, he saw you. he was behind the register, handing a bag of donuts to some random customer, and the bell above the door jingled. he looked up, and there you were, walking in, scanning the counters and displays when you looked at him. he froze. you froze. then you raised an eyebrow, smirked, and said, âoh! a barista.â
heeseung blinked at you, because yeah, he probably deserved that, thinking back to that night when heâd made that comment about you being a barista yourself. sure, heâd been joking, but still, he was trying to make it in l.a. too, probably the same way as you. and here you were, leaning over the counter, smirk on your face, and he couldnât stop looking at you even as he swiped the register screen. he coughed a little and said, âok, i admit i was a little curt that night.â
you raised an eyebrow, âcurt?â
âok, i was an asshole,â he said, trying to sound casual but failing. heeseung then muttered, âbut making fun of a serious comedian like me, thatâs a little much.â
âoh my god,â you said, smirk still there, âdid you just call yourself a serious comedian?â to which he nodded and mumbled a small yeah, shrugging like it was obvious. you stared at each other for a moment. you tilted your head, voice playful, âok, serious comedian, iâd like to order a chocolate glazed donut and a medium iced coffee.â
heeseung sighed quietly to himself. he didnât want this to be happening, didnât want to feel flustered over a coffee order, but he jotted it down anyway, trying to stay professional. âanything else?â he asked. you shook your head once. heeseung typed it in, glanced at the screen, and said, âthatâll be five and eleven.â you handed him the cash, and then waited, leaning slightly on the counter, eyes on him, silent like you were studying how he moved even now.
he tried to focus, but his brain kept skipping tracks. he was thinking about the way your smirk had this ridiculous effect on him, how calm you looked, how unfair it was that you could walk into a dunkinâ donuts and completely ruin the rhythm of his morning shift without even trying. he cursed himself quietly, telling himself to stay chill, stay professional, but it was impossible. he was halfway through punching in the order, trying to act like a guy who had his life together, but all he could think was, damn, sheâs still paying attention, and he didnât know if that scared him or made him stupidly happy. and then heeseung makes your drink, puts the bag with the donut on the counter, and while heâs sliding it across he says, âi didnât see you at the bar again, you know, studying me.â he says it pretty casual but inside heâs kind of waiting for your reaction.
you picked up the cup and looked at him, not smiling, âyeah, you actually improved your set. youâre no longer useful as my research subject.â
he blinked at you, not sure if heâd heard right. âresearch subject?â
you shrugged like it was obvious. âyeah, i was gonna use you as an example of a bad comedian.â
he kept staring, trying to figure out if you were joking, because it sounded way too straight-faced to be a joke. âso⌠thatâs your way of admitting iâm funny now?â
you shook your head, still calm. âi didnât say i think youâre funny.â
âoh yeah?â he asked, leaning back a little, curious now. âwhat am i then?â
you grabbed the bag, met his eyes for a second, and said, âjust a serious comedian.â then you turned and started walking to the door like the conversation was already done. he stood there watching you leave, the bell on the door ringing as it shut, and just before you were gone, you tossed back, âsee you around, funny guy.â
heeseung stayed behind the counter, not moving, trying to figure out what just happened. he had no idea if you meant it as an insult, or if that was supposed to be a compliment, and the way you said it left him standing there like an idiot, wondering why he even cared that much. so after that day, he was kinda expecting you to show up again. he wouldnât call it waiting, but it was in the back of his head whenever he was working or even when he was driving around doing uber runs. los angeles was too big for coincidences to keep happening, or at least thatâs what he told himself, but then again, hadnât he already seen you like three times in the past month? and he saw plenty of random faces all the time in his car, at dunkin, on the street, people came and went so quickly they blurred together. but you didnât.
he didnât think it was fate, though. he wasnât that type of guy. heâd been in enough relationships to know better than to think some stranger bumping into him more than once meant something cosmic. still, he couldnât figure out why he kept going over the last time he saw you, replaying the way youâd called him a âserious comedianâ like you were poking fun but also not entirely wrong. it bugged him, but it also kind of amused him, and that combination stuck around longer than he wanted to admit.
then came saturday night. jake and jay had begged him to come out because their band with niki and sunoo had somehow booked a pool party gig. it was this random house in the hills, full of neon decorations, retro posters taped to the walls, and people who were way too into the theme. the whole thing was 80s/90s throwback, and the boys were leaning into it hard, blasting through covers like âi ranâ and âtake on me.â the crowd thought it was hilarious, which was the point, and heeseung was just there to support them because they always supported him when he did open mics.
by the time the set wrapped and people went back to swimming, drinking, or making out in random corners, heeseung figured it was time to leave. he made his way up to the front to grab his car keys from the little plastic tray where everyone had dumped them on the way in. and then he heard someone calling him. well, not by his real name, but something else, loud enough that he knew it was aimed at him. âhey, bo burnham!â
of course, bo burnham, a serious comedian. he froze mid step, keys halfway out of the tray, and slowly turned his head like he already knew who it was. you were standing up the steps near the patio, talking to some guy in a bucket hat. the second your eyes met, you grinned like youâd been waiting for this moment all night. heeseung let out the smallest sigh, then turned fully around, his expression somewhere between annoyed and tiredly amused. of course it was you. of course youâd pop up here, at this random retro pool party. los angeles was supposed to be huge, and somehow he was stuck in a loop where you kept finding him anyway. âwhat?â heeseung said back, kind of flat.
âcan you grab my keys?â you asked, pointing lazily toward the table with a pile of car keys.
he looked at the table, squinting a little. âwhich one?â
âthe prius.â
he turned his head back at you, then back at the table. it was basically all prius keys. âthat does not help me at all.â
âthe one with the green ribbon,â you said like it was obvious.
he spotted it, picked it up, and held it in his hand for a second before you made your way down, saying a quick half hearted goodbye to the guy youâd been talking to. you didnât really wait for a reaction, just walked straight up to heeseung, took the keys from his hand, and kept walking like you assumed heâd follow. he didnât even know why, but he did. after a few steps he finally asked, âwhyâd you leave that guy standing there like that?â
you shrugged, not even looking back. âhe was talking for twenty minutes about the stock market and how los angeles is full of beautiful women. also he was shorter than me and wearing a bucket hat.â
heeseung laughed at that, shaking his head. âwow, now i get why you ditched him for me.â
âsee?â you said, smiling, and heeseung looked away because you looked way too good for his own liking. you both kept walking down the street, the noise from the party fading behind you. at some point you slowed down and mumbled, âi donât really remember where i parked my car.â
heeseung let out a small groan, somewhere between frustration and amusement, and glanced at you. you were unpredictable, and kind of reckless, but there was something about the way you pulled him into things that made him curious enough to stick around instead of just handing over the keys and leaving. so he kept walking next to you, not really sure why. he kept glancing at you while you looked around, clearly trying to remember where you parked, and he noticed how you didnât really seem embarrassed about forgetting. you just kept scanning the street like it was no big deal, and he realized he kind of liked that about you, how you didnât try too hard to look put together. it made him want to keep watching, like maybe youâd do something else unexpected.
eventually, after you gave up on actually remembering what street you parked on, you both ended up by this overlook, and the timing was just right because the sun was dipping and the sky had this weird mix of purple and orange. you stopped walking and leaned on the railing, pointing out how nice it looked. âthe sky looks really pretty,â you said, squinting at it.
heeseung nodded and looked at it too, but he wasnât really paying attention to the sky. âyeah, very pretty,â he said, then added without really thinking, âsome other girl and guy would love this view.â
you turned to him, frowning a little. âwhat do you mean by that?â
he scratched the back of his neck, realizing how that sounded but deciding not to take it back. âitâs a perfect view for two and weâve got no shot.â
you raised your eyebrows, kind of surprised at his honesty, and smirked just a little. âoh, well, letâs make something clear,â you said, looking straight at him now. âi think iâll be the one to make that call.â heeseung didnât really know what to say back, so he just stared at you for a moment, and looked at you with that kind of expression where he wasnât saying anything but his face was basically asking so whatâs your call?, and he let you keep going because you clearly wanted to. then you went, âlook, i know you look so cute in your polyester suitââ
he immediately cut in, âitâs wool.âÂ
you barely even blinked, just kept talking, âbut youâre right, iâd never fall for you at all.âÂ
the sky was this weird purple orange mess behind you, and he was half watching that and half watching you, not sure if you were messing with him or if you actually meant what you said. he tilted his head a little, smirking, and went, âyeah, what a waste of a lovely night.âÂ
you caught the tone and laughed because you knew he was joking, so you shot back, âyeah, iâm frankly feeling nothing about that view.â
he raised his eyebrows, playing along, âis that so?âÂ
and you went even further, âor it could be less than nothing.âÂ
he let out a short laugh, âgood to know, so you agree.â and just like that, in the middle of all this bickering, the two of you finally spotted your car down the street. you unlocked it and were about to climb in when he leaned on the door frame for a second and asked, âby the way, did you get the role?â you shook your head and said you hadnât gotten a callback yet but the audition had been on thursday. he straightened up a little, nodding, then said, âwell, now iâm curious to see if it was worth studying a serious comedian like me.âÂ
you got in the car with a smirk, rolled down the window, and tossed out, âletâs see about that, funny guy,â before driving off, leaving him standing in the middle of the street watching your car disappear.
after that night heeseung didnât really see you around. he was busy anyway, heâd started working on some bigger things, writing comedy bits for shows here and there, and his stand up sets were slowly pulling in more people than before. he figured out people liked it most when he told stories from when he used to drive uber, because the stuff that happened there was just naturally funny, and he had a ton of it. but even with all that going on, he couldnât stop thinking about you. it wasnât like he was sitting around miserable or anything, it was just that every time something reminded him of that night, like seeing a prius blocking him on the street, youâd pop back into his head.
then one night after a set, he was sitting at a table in the bar with jake and jay, just hanging out, when this girl walked up. her name was chaewon, and she was definitely into him, like leaning closer, smiling a lot, clearly giving him an opening. but heeseung didnât really take it anywhere, he was polite but he didnât follow up, and eventually she wandered off. jake and jay were both kind of stunned. jake looked at him like, âdude, what was that? she was seriously hot.âÂ
heeseung just shrugged, like, âi donât know, iâm not in the headspace for that right now.â
thatâs when jake leaned back with that face like he figured something out. âah, i get it. youâre upset that your little friend hasnât shown up to see your sets anymore.â
jay blinked. âwhat little friend?â
and jake grinned. âsome time ago this girl was hanging around, studying heeseung for a role, apparently she was auditioning to play a failed comedian.â
jay just laughed. âthatâs the worst pickup line iâve ever heard.â
heeseung rolled his eyes. âme and her donât have anything. i barely know her. i just know sheâs a barista, works at some cafĂŠ, drives a prius, and has big eyes.â
jake smirked, totally sarcastic. âwow, you know so little about her, like you definitely havenât been paying attention or anything.â
they all laughed, but heeseung didnât say much after that. he kept thinking how, honestly, he did want to see you again. it just sat there in the back of his mind, even while he pretended he didnât care that much. so later that week heeseung just decided to drive over to the warner bros lot for no real reason other than he felt like it. he didnât even have a plan, he just thought about the coffee shop there and ended up turning into the street. somehow he talked his way past the guard, and the excuse he used was that his car was part of some production. the guard didnât seem too bothered, waved him through, and suddenly he was actually parked outside the same place you worked at. he walked in like it was nothing, and you froze when you saw him.
he immediately noticed the look on your face, that mix of shock and amusement, and you looked at him and said, âhow the hell did you even get in here?âÂ
he just smiled like it was the most normal thing in the world and said, âi told them my car was a prop.âÂ
you raised an eyebrow and asked, âand it actually was?âÂ
he shook his head right away, âno, of course not, i just said that so theyâd let me in.â you couldnât help but laugh at how ridiculous it was, shaking your head while he leaned a little closer to the counter like he was actually here just for coffee.Â
âso, what would you like to order?â you smiled softly and pretended to act polite while you leaned against the counter to type his order.
he said, âi want an espresso. and also, i want to know what time do you get off?â you went wide-eyed for a second, like you werenât expecting him to just ask that straight up, and before you could even answer, he added, âfor research purposes, of course. i want to write a set about a barista trying to be an actress.âÂ
you smirked and laughed again, clearly knowing he was teasing, and said, âi get off in thirty minutes.â
he nodded like that was enough, then added, âso get me an espresso and a sandwich or something to eat while i wait for you then.âÂ
you grabbed the tablet and typed it down, still smiling a little, and just as you were turning to get his order, you asked, âanything else?â in the exact same tone he had used when he saw you at the dunkinâ donuts a while back. heeseung replied a quick no, smiling softly and cheeky, while he noticed the way your eyebrows lifted for a second, like a little quirk in your face that didnât go unnoticed, and he saw how your lips curved in a tiny, controlled smile while you typed. he grabbed his order, smiled a little to himself, leaned back at his corner table, and waited. thirty minutes later you finally walked out, pulling your bag over your shoulder. heeseung was leaning against the wall near the side door like heâd been waiting there his whole life, though he tried to play it cool the second you spotted him. you raised an eyebrow like you werenât sure if you should laugh or ask why he hadnât just left, but you didnât say anything, and he just fell into step with you as you both started walking across the lot.
he let the silence hang for a bit, then asked, âso whatâs it actually like? being an actress.â
you shrugged like youâd been asked that too many times already. âi mean, i havenât gotten many roles yet, but iâm trying. auditions, workshops, all that stuff. itâs not glamorous.â
he nodded slowly, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. âstill sounds ambitious to me. you sat through my terrible open mics just to study for a part. thatâs dedication.â
you laughed, shaking your head. âthey werenât that bad. youâre funny.â
he stopped walking for half a second, turning to stare at you. âwait, finally. you admitted you think iâm funny.â
you shot back, grinning now. âi said youâre not that bad.â
he pointed at you like he was keeping score. âno, you said the f word. i win.â
you rolled your eyes but laughed anyway, you didnât argue further, and the two of you kept walking until you passed by a live set. a couple crew members waved at you both to keep quiet, and you stopped near the barricade. âwe need to wait here,â you whispered.
âi know,â he whispered back, trying not to smile. âthey shoot movies on my street.â then, like he was proving a point, he added, âc-stands. apple box. donât forget to sign out.â
you laughed under your breath, shaking your head, but then the camera rolled and everyone went quiet. you turned your attention to the scene unfolding, the fake living room lights, the actors hitting their marks, the director crouched behind the monitor. heeseung didnât watch the scene as much as he watched you watching it, noticing how your whole expression shifted into something brighter, like this was the part you really loved. when the director finally called cut, you let out a small sigh. âi love this stuff. makes coming to work easier.â
heeseung looked at you, then nodded. âyeah. i know what you mean. i used to work at this bar that did stand-up nights. every week some big names would roll through. iâd be bussing tables while chappelle or ali wong or whoever was testing new material right in front of me. it was kind of crazy, like being backstage without actually belonging there.â he paused, scratching the back of his neck. âanyway, itâs a samba-tapas place now.â
you turned to him, confused. âa what?â
âsamba-tapas,â he repeated with a shrug. âitâs⌠exactly. the jokeâs on history.â you laughed, shaking your head again, and he let the corner of his mouth tug up like he was proud of himself. âanyway, thatâs l.a.,â he said. âthey worship everything and they value nothing.â you laughed again, but this time it was smaller, kind of embarrassed, like you knew he was right but didnât want to admit it too fast. he didnât say anything right away, just watched you for a second while you both started walking again. after a few steps he asked, âhowâd you get into all this?â
you looked over at him like you were about to brush it off, but then you didnât. you just started talking. âoh â i â my aunt was an actress. she was in this traveling theater company. and there was this little library across the street from my house when i was growing up. and one day, my aunt flew into town, and she showed me the libraryâs old-movie section. we spent a whole day watching one after the other. bringing up baby. notorious. casablanca. i started putting on plays in my garage. iâd write the scripts and print up programs, and sheâd give me props to use from wherever sheâd just been â new york, london, paris. and then sheâd jet off again and i wouldnât hear from her for another year.â
heeseung kept quiet while you talked, not because he didnât know what to say but because he was actually just interested, like, genuinely interested. the way you told the story didnât sound rehearsed, it just sounded like someone remembering something that actually mattered to them. and for some reason, he liked hearing you talk like that. it was the kind of thing that made him want to ask more questions just so youâd keep going. âwho would you invite to watch?â he asked after a moment. âyour parents?â
âgod no â i didnât invite anyone. that would have been terrifying.â you let out a small laugh at yourself. âhonestly, i wish i loved something else. iâve tried so hard to want other things.â heeseung kept looking at you while you said it, and he didnât interrupt. he was thinking about how most people donât admit stuff like that out loud, especially not to someone they barely know. and he liked that you did. you kept going, not even pausing to check if he was still listening. âi left school after two years to come here, my fourth manager just dropped me, and my last audition was for a teen soap pitched as stranger things meets gossip girl.â you paused for a second, then added, completely deadpan, âshouldâve been a lawyer.â
heeseung let out a short laugh, shaking his head. âyeah, because the world needs more lawyers.â
you looked at him, still a little serious, and said, âit doesnât need more actresses.â
and he didnât have a comeback for that right away, but then glanced at you, a little amused, a little serious. âyouâre not just an actress.â
you frowned at him. âwhat do you mean, âjust an actressâ?â
âyou said it yourself,â he went on, hands in his pockets. âyou were writing plays in your garage when you were ten. you basically called yourself a child-prodigy playwright.â
you laughed. âthat is not what i said.â
âyouâre too modest to say it but itâs true,â he said, nodding like he had proof. âso you could write your own roles. write something thatâs actually as interesting as you are.â you made a face, half smiling, half annoyed. heeseung continued, shaking his head. âall iâm saying is, richard pryor couldâve just told safe little knock knock jokes. what did he do instead? he made history.â
âok,â you said, dry, âiâll stop auditioning and make history instead.â he laughed again, and for a second it felt like that was enough. but then you glanced at him with this tiny grin, like you were holding something back. âanyway â iâm getting a feeling thereâs something i should tell youâŚâ
he looked over, curious. âyeah?â
you shrugged. âi hate stand-up comedy.â
heeseung stopped walking like youâd just said the most offensive thing possible. âwhat does that mean, you hate stand-up comedy?â
âit means when i watch one i donât like it,â you said, completely straight.
he turned to face you, eyebrows raised. âthatâs such a blanket statement. itâs like saying âi hate animals.ââ
you didnât flinch. âi do hate some animals.â
he stared at you for a beat, then let out this short laugh, rubbing his face like he couldnât believe it. after a moment, he dropped his hand and asked, âdo you need to be anywhere right now?â
you shook your head, your smile disappearing for a bit, your tummy getting anxious, but that was all it took. heeseung led you out of the lot, and eventually into this old spot in l.a. that looked like nothing special from the outside, but he started talking about it like it was a museum. he said it was one of those places that had hosted open mics for years, and big names used to come through when they were still nobodies. he opened the door and the place was half empty, just a few people scattered around, but he gestured to the stage like it was church. âmost people say they hate stand-up comedy because they donât have context. they donât get where it came from.â
you tilted your head, sitting down at a booth with him. âi thought stand-up was just, i donât know, chris rock.â heeseung stared at you with a look that said what?, still he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. you smirked, realizing instantly youâd hit a nerve. âi mean, i associate him with stand-up. itâs dork and easy.â
he leaned forward, gesturing at you like you were out of your mind. âitâs not easy! you know joe rogan once almost got into a fistfight with carlos mencia because he accused him of stealing jokes? that shit went down on stage, in front of a live crowd.â
you blinked, amused. âok, fine, but chris rock is still the most famous one, right?â
he dropped his head into his hand, groaning. ây/n. these are things you canât unsay.â you started laughing, louder than you expected, and the way he looked at you only made you laugh harder. he shook his head again, but then he slipped into one of his comedy-nerd rants. he told you about mitch hedberg, how he blew up with his deadpan one-liners but was also one of the most depressed people in the business, and how that mix of funny and broken was basically the soul of stand-up. you didnât interrupt, you just watched him go off, and you thought it was kind of cute how he lit up when he talked about it, even though he pretended he didnât care most of the time.
after a while he sat back, the edge of his smile fading into something smaller. âstand-up comedy is dying,â he said quietly. âeverybody just wants to go viral on tiktok. you see comedians chasing clips, not sets. no one wants to bomb anymore, no one wants to actually get better. itâs all about what gets likes. the world tells everyone to move on, says stand-up had its moment. but i love it too much. iâm not moving on.â
you didnât tell him, but in your head you thought it was kind of sweet, the way he cared so much about something that everyone else treated like a throwaway. it was nerdy, yeah, but it was the good kind of nerdy. and maybe that was the first time you admitted to yourself you liked listening to him talk, even if half of what he said sounded like an argument only he could win. the conversation drifted for a while after that, both of you just sitting in the booth like youâd known each other longer than you actually had. you were about to ask him something else when someone showed up at the edge of the table. âheeseung,â the guy said, leaning in a little.
heeseung looked up, surprised, then stood to give him a quick handshake. âsoobin. hey, man.â
you watched while they greeted each other, and then heeseung gestured in your direction. âthis is y/n,â he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world to introduce you. ây/n, soobin. heâs a comedian too.â
soobin smiled politely at you before turning back to heeseung. âi saw your set the other night,â he said. âthe stuff about your uber rides? that was good. crowd loved it.â
heeseung gave a small shrug, trying not to look too affected. âthanks.â
soobin kept going. âseriously. youâve been getting sharper. listenâshoot me a text sometime, alright? i might have something for you. like, a spot. could be good exposure.â he pulled out his phone like he was ready to type in a number right there.
heeseung nodded slowly. âyeah, sure. thanks, man. iâll hit you up.â his voice was polite but not overly enthusiastic, and you could tell he wasnât putting much weight on it.
soobin clapped him on the shoulder. âdo that. anyway, good to see you.â he gave you another polite smile before heading back toward the bar.
the moment he walked away, you turned back to heeseung, eyebrows raised. âwhat was that?â
heeseung sat down again, opening his soda like nothing had happened. âthat was soobin.â
âi gathered that,â you said. âyou didnât look that interested.â
heeseung laughed, shaking his head. âheâs just⌠one of those guys. he used to do stand-up for real, but now he chops up clips for tiktok, and the industry loves him because heâs marketable.â he took a sip, then added, âheâs fine, but itâs not my thing.â
you studied him for a second, still curious. âso are you actually gonna text him?â
heeseung shrugged again, leaning back in the booth. âprobably not. guys like him want you to play the game their way, and i donât feel like being someone elseâs content machine.â
you tilted your head. âhe sounded like he was offering you something.â
âyeah,â he said. âbut not the kind of something i want.â
and you didnât push further, but you couldnât help thinking it was strange. here was this guy who kept saying he wanted a break, and the second someone dangled one in front of him, he brushed it off like it was nothing. then your phone buzzed on the table, cutting through the low hum of the bar and making you flinch a little. you picked it up, saw the missed call, and your face shifted without you realizing. âshit, i missed it,â you muttered under your breath, already standing and excusing yourself as you hurried toward the door.
heeseung watched you leave, leaning back in the booth with his soda in hand, curious but trying not to look like he was eavesdropping even from across the room. he saw the way you held the phone tight against your ear just outside the window, pacing a little as you spoke. he couldnât hear a word, but he could tell it wasnât just a casual call. a minute later you walked back in, still holding your phone. you slid into the booth again, and for a second you didnât say anything. you just stared at the screen before setting it face down on the table. heeseung raised an eyebrow, waiting. you looked at him, hesitated, then finally said it. âi got a callback.â
heeseung straightened up. âreally? for what?â
âthat show i told you about,â you said.
âthe failed comedian one? stranger things meets gossip girl?â
âyeah. well⌠theyâre saying itâs more like rebel without a cause.â
heeseungâs eyebrows shot up, and he leaned forward with this grin you hadnât seen yet. âthatâs huge! âi got the bulletssss!ââ he dragged out the line in a dramatic voice. you laughed, shaking your head, but he caught something in the way you did it. âwait,â he said, narrowing his eyes. âyouâve seen it, right?â
âobviously,â you said too quickly, then paused. â...no.â
âwhat? youâre the movie person.â
âitâs the one i lie about,â you admitted, half embarrassed, half daring him to make fun of you.
he just stared at you, looking almost offended. âyou canât do this audition and never see rebel. come on. the rialtoâs showing it. i can take you. for research.â
you hesitated, leaning back in the booth. âfor research?â
âyeah,â he said, nodding like it was settled. â10pm monday. the rialto. cool?â
you thought for a second, then smiled. âok.â you repeated it, slower this time, like you wanted to make sure it was locked in. âfor research.â you looked at him, and he looked right back, both of you trying not to show how much that tiny plan suddenly felt like something more.
monday night came quicker than you expected. you had promised him youâd be there at ten, but the day completely slipped away from you. you picked up an extra shift because one of your coworkers called out, and then traffic leaving the lot was worse than usual, and by the time you finally got home you realized you still had to change. you told yourself you had time, but then you got caught up looking for your jacket, and suddenly it was ten already and you were still standing in front of the mirror, annoyed at yourself for running late. you grabbed your keys, rushed out the door, and texted him a quick âon my wayâ that you werenât sure he even saw before you shoved your phone back in your pocket.
heeseung, meanwhile, was already inside the rialto. he got there on time, of course, because he thought it would be stupid to be late when he was the one who suggested it. he didnât know if youâd actually show. he sat down in one of the middle rows, hands in his lap, and tried to look casual, but the truth was he was disappointed when the minutes kept ticking by and you didnât appear. inside the theater the lights started to dim, the usual hush falling over the crowd as people settled into their seats. heeseung sighed quietly, leaning back, telling himself he shouldâve expected this. maybe you got busy, maybe you forgot, maybe you just didnât want to come after all. the projector flickered on, the opening credits started, and for a moment he was sure heâd be watching the whole thing alone.
then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the aisle. he turned his head, and there you were, walking carefully in the dark, scanning the row numbers. when you finally spotted him, you looked straight at him and gave the smallest smile, like you were half apologizing, half relieved youâd made it. heeseung blinked, then sat up straighter, making sure you could slip into the seat next to him. you leaned in, whispered, âsorry, iâm late,â a little out of breath, and he just shook his head like he wanted to act annoyed but couldnât actually hide the fact that he was glad you came.
the movie kept rolling, the screen lighting up both your faces, and for a second he didnât even look at it. he just glanced at you, still catching your breath, your jacket half slipping off your shoulder, and he thought maybe being a little disappointed before made sense now, because it only made this part feel better.
half an hour went by and the two of you had barely spoken since the movie started. heeseung had his arm resting on the armrest, casual at first, but you felt it there and hesitated, your hand hovering like you were debating whether to move closer or stay put. then he shifted slightly to his right, enough that you caught it. you moved back a little too, like it was instinct, the two of you awkwardly negotiating this invisible line between your seats. a few minutes passed, and you edged your elbow onto the armrest. he caught that, the space between you kept shrinking little by little, just small movements that added up. your hands were close enough now that you noticed every twitch of his fingers, and you werenât sure if it was on purpose when yours inched toward his, but either way they were almost touching. your breath quickened just slightly, and you could feel his attention shift in your direction even if he kept his eyes on the screen. then finally, finally, your hands touched.
then you turned your head, and for the first time that night, you caught each otherâs eyes in the dark. the flicker of the screen lit up your face just enough, and suddenly it felt too deliberate, like you were both aware of how close you actually were. heeseungâs chest tightened a little in that kind of way that happens when you realize this might actually go somewhere. so he leaned in, just slightly, waiting to see if youâd do the same. and you did, not all the way, but enough that it was clear neither of you were pulling away.
and right in that exact moment â just as james dean and natalie wood arrived at griffith observatory â the screen burned out. a white flash cut across the film, the sound warped, and then the projector shut down completely. the screen went blank, the theater lights snapped on too quickly, way too bright, and the entire room filled with groans and complaints. people started murmuring, standing up, looking around for answers. heeseung leaned back, blinking like he needed a second to process it. he couldnât believe his luck. out of all the times for this to happen, it had to be now.
you let out a laugh, not that you thought it was actually funny, but the situation itself was so ridiculous you didnât know what else to do. he turned his head toward you, annoyed but amused, while you kept shaking your head like you couldnât believe it either. then you looked at him, eyes brighter now, and said, âi have an idea.â
you left the theater before anyone else, both of you laughing a little at how abrupt it all ended. heeseung followed you out to the parking lot, and by the time you climbed into his car, you were already telling him to just drive. he gave you a look, but then he turned the key anyway. the road up to the griffith observatory was long and curved, the windows were down, the night air cool against your face, and every time the road bent, you caught glimpses of los angeles below, lit up like it was trying too hard to impress someone. heeseung didnât say much while driving, but you could tell he was focused, maybe even nervous.
when he finally pulled up near the observatory, the place looked mostly quiet, a few cars scattered around, no big crowds. you got out together, walking slow, checking if there was a way in. after circling for a bit, you found an unlocked side door and slipped through like you werenât sure if you were allowed, but neither of you stopped. inside it was quiet except for the hum of the building, and you wandered past the exhibits like youâd just stumbled into a school trip after hours. the tesla coil sat in the corner, buzzing faintly, sparks jumping every few seconds, and you both stopped to watch it for a moment before continuing up the stairs. when you reached the top floor, the air felt different, the quiet heavier, and heeseung finally broke it. âyou know, i always wanted to come here,â he said, looking around like he was trying to take it all in. âjust never had anyone to go with.â
you glanced at him, grinning. âso am i good enough company?â
he gave you a look, half smug, half sincere. âyouâre the best.â
before you could answer, he reached out and took your hand, like heâd been thinking about it for a while. he didnât let go as he led you into the planetarium, where the dome ceiling stretched above, filled with stars projected in perfect stillness. you both stood there for a moment, just watching, his hand still in yours, and for once neither of you felt the need to fill the silence. it was just the hum of the projector throwing stars across the dome. you were still holding his hand, both of you looking up, when heeseung suddenly cleared his throat. at first you thought he was about to say something serious, but then you realized he was humming. it was soft, almost like he didnât want you to notice at first, but after a second the melody was clear. he was mumbling the words under his breath, barely singing, âyou must remember this, a kiss is just a kissâŚâ the tune from casablanca.
you looked at him, eyebrows raised, and laughed. âare you seriously singing right now?â
he shrugged, still smiling and humming. âwhat? youâre the one who said you love old movies. iâm just trying to set the mood.â before you could roll your eyes at him, he squeezed your hand and gave a small tug, stepping back and turning his wrist so you spun lightly in place. you stumbled into the movement, laughing as he guided you into it, and when you stopped, he was already gesturing for you to keep going, like he was trying to make a dance out of nothing. you were giggling the whole time, trying to whisper âstopâ even though you clearly didnât mean it. heeseung had that serious but playful look on his face, like he was committing to the bit now that heâd started, and he kept his hand firm on yours as the two of you circled the floor slowly.
the âmusicâ was just his voice, still humming the same old tune, slightly off-key but not enough to ruin it. you were shaking your head, laughing at how ridiculous it was, and he was grinning like he couldnât believe you were actually going along with it. the two of you moved around the empty planetarium, your shoes squeaking lightly against the floor, your free hand clutching at your jacket so it wouldnât fall off while he tried to spin you again. you almost tripped, caught yourself, and the both of you burst into louder laughter that echoed in the empty dome. heeseung didnât let go this time. instead of spinning you out, he pulled you in, his hand slipping naturally to your waist like heâd been thinking about it for a while but only just got brave enough to do it. you froze for a second, surprised, but you didnât move away. so the dancing slowed. no more silly turns, no stumbling. just the two of you standing close, swaying a little to the quiet rhythm of his off-key humming. your hands found their place, one resting lightly on his shoulder, the other still in his.
he looked down at you then, studying your face like he was trying to figure out if you were really okay with this. his voice came low, almost hesitant. âyou know, i didnât actually think youâd come tonight.â
you tilted your head, smiling. âwhy?â
he shrugged, still holding your waist, his thumb brushing against the side of your jacket. âi donât know. you just⌠you have this way of keeping me guessing. i never know if youâre going to show up, or laugh at me, or tell me iâm an idiot.â
you laughed softly. âi can do all three.â
âyeah,â he said, nodding, smiling at that. âand i like it more than i should.â you looked at him, really looked, and he didnât look away. there wasnât a punchline waiting this time, no joke to break the silence. you were both standing there, too close to pretend it was still just dancing. his hand stayed steady on your waist, yours hovered on his shoulder like you werenât sure whether to pull back or hold on tighter. the stars projected above flickered quietly, but neither of you were really paying attention to them anymore.
heeseung was looking at you in this way that made it obvious he was deciding whether to take the step or wait for you to do it. you could feel it in the way his breathing slowed a little, in the way he didnât crack a joke to cut the tension like he usually did. he leaned in just a bit, careful, and when you didnât move away, his eyes flicked down toward your lips before going back up to meet your gaze. you leaned in too, just slightly, enough to close the gap between you both. when your lips met his, it was soft and hesitant at first. heeseung let out a small breath he didnât realize heâd been holding, his grip on your waist tightening just a little as if to keep you close.
you kissed him back, steady and unhurried, and even though it was quiet in the planetarium, it felt like the whole room shifted around that moment. there wasnât any orchestra, no audience, no big finish â just the two of you finally giving in to something that had been building for weeks. he pulled back slowly, just enough to look at you again, his forehead almost touching yours. he didnât say anything right away, but the look on his face was enough, like he was still surprised you hadnât pushed him away. you were smiling, though, and that was all the confirmation he needed before leaning in for another kiss.
you kissed him again, slower this time, and when you pulled back, you were both smiling in that way that wasnât polished or practiced, just uneven and real. heeseung didnât let go of your hand, and instead of saying anything, he tugged lightly, pulling you a step forward. you looked at him like you were waiting for him to explain, but he just gave you this little grin and moved his hand back to your waist, guiding you into another dance even though there was still no music. so you went along with it. the two of you circled the empty planetarium floor again, not fast, not in sync, but close enough that it didnât matter. your shoes scraped quietly, his shoulder brushed against yours every time you shifted, and he kept humming that same half-forgotten tune under his breath, off-key and casual like he didnât care how it sounded. you laughed a couple times, mostly at how ridiculous it was to keep dancing after everything, but you didnât pull away. he held on like he didnât want to let the night end yet, and you didnât either. it felt like the kind of thing youâd both always remember. and you did.
more than a month went by, and somewhere in between you and heeseung had accidentally built a routine. it wasnât official, no one said anything about it, but it was there. heeseung would pick you up after shifts and drive aimlessly just to end up at the same diner you both started going to, the one with fries that werenât even that good but somehow tasted better at two in the morning. you sat through a couple of his sets, some good, some rough, and every time he came off stage, you were there with the same half-smile that made him feel like it didnât matter which way it went. one weekend you dragged him to a thrift shop near your place, and he spent an hour trying on the most ridiculous jackets he could find until you were crying laughing. he claimed one of them was âfor stage presenceâ and actually bought it. coffee runs, walks that went on too long because neither of you wanted to go home yet, him showing up at your apartment just to play you clips of old stand-ups you âneeded to know.â it was enough that a month later it felt weird to think about not seeing him almost every day.
one night you were at your desk, notebook open, pen moving fast. youâd been scribbling dialogue for the past hour, trying to shape it into something solid. it wasnât an audition monologue or someone elseâs lines this time, it was yours. character headings, scene headings, bits of dialogue stacked on top of each other in your messy handwriting. yunjin, your roommate, wandered in, pajamas on, a bowl of cereal in her hand. she stopped at your door, tilting her head. âwhatâs that?â
you looked up quickly, almost defensive. âitâs a play. iâm going to put it on myself.â
from her room, you heard sakura, your other roommateâs voice call out, muffled but clear. âa play? you better give us roles!â
you sighed, laughing. âactually⌠itâs a one-woman show.â
there was a beat of silence and then, from both sides of the apartment, loud groans and mock screams like youâd just committed some crime against theater itself. you rolled your eyes and tried to focus again, but thatâs when it came the sound of a the honk. long, sharp, echoing up through your window. yunjin froze mid-bite, spoon still in her mouth. â...is that gonna happen every time?â
you smiled instantly, not even bothering to hide it. âi think so.â
outside, parked at the curb, was heeseungâs car. he was leaning forward over the steering wheel like he always did when he laid on the horn, probably grinning to himself at how annoyed your neighbors mustâve been by now. you rushed out of your building, running down the steps when you saw his car already waiting. heeseung leaned over from the driverâs seat, window rolled down, grinning at you like heâd been planning this moment all afternoon. you didnât slow down, you yanked the passenger door open and slid right in, throwing your arms around his neck before he could even say anything. he laughed against your lips when you kissed him, the kind of laugh that comes out because he wasnât expecting it but liked it too much to stop.
when you pulled back, still close enough to feel his breath, he tilted his head and said quietly, âso, where do you wanna go tonight, pretty?â
the word hit you before the question did, and you blinked, caught off guard, smiling because you didnât know how else to react. âuh⌠surprise me.â
he smirked at your answer, hand sliding to the gearshift like he was already one step ahead. âgood. i was planning on it anyway.â
and for once he wasnât bluffing. an hour later you were both stepping into a small restaurant tucked away in a quieter part of the city, the kind of place that wasnât trying too hard but still felt like you shouldâve dressed up for it. heeseung had ditched his usual hoodie for a button-up that still didnât sit right on him, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair pushed back just enough to make it look like heâd actually tried. you wore something simple but nicer than usual, and the second he saw you step out of the car, he stared for a moment longer than he should have before catching himself. inside, you sat across from each other in a booth, menus open but completely ignored. heeseung leaned his chin against his hand, eyes on you instead of the page. âso if i order something really boring, like grilled chicken, are you gonna judge me?â
you shook your head, laughing. âno, but iâll tell everyone about it.â
he grinned, leaning closer across the table. âwhat if i order the most expensive thing just to impress you?â
you raised an eyebrow, biting back a smile. âthen iâll know youâre full of shit.â
he chuckled, shaking his head. âokay, fine, maybe i just wanna impress you without going broke. is that allowed?â
the way he said it caught you off guard again, you looked down at the menu to avoid giving him the satisfaction of your reaction, but he noticed anyway. heeseung leaned back, smug in the most harmless way, like making you flustered was the highlight of his night. and honestly, it kind of was. the food came and went, heeseung had been telling you about this one guy who bombed so badly at an open mic last week that he forgot his own punchline and just walked off stage without saying goodbye, and you were still laughing when the conversation shifted.
âyou know what i actually want?â he said, pushing his plate away. âlike, long term? i wanna open my own bar. but not just a bar â a place where people can come do open mics without it feeling like theyâre begging for five minutes.â
you raised your eyebrows, smiling. âso like a safe space for bad jokes?â
he smirked at you. âfor bad jokes that turn into good ones. youâd be surprised how much people can do if theyâre not terrified of being judged.â
you nodded, playing with your glass. âhonestly, that doesnât sound bad. iâd probably end up writing a whole play about it. iâm working on one now, actually.â
his face lit up, genuine curiosity replacing the usual teasing. âthe one-woman show you mentioned?â
âyeah,â you admitted. âiâm trying to finish a draft. it feels stupid half the time, but i canât get it out of my head.â
he leaned forward, elbows on the table, like he was trying to catch every word. âit doesnât sound stupid. it sounds like something people would actually show up for. especially if youâre in it.â
you rolled your eyes, heat creeping into your cheeks. âyouâre just saying that.â
âno, iâm not,â he said quickly, grinning. âi mean, iâd heckle you a little, just to keep you on your toes. but iâd still buy a ticket.â
you shook your head, laughing. âthanks, that means so much.â
he chuckled, then hesitated. âsoobin asked me to do something for him. like, for his youtube channel. clips, sketches, whatever. he said it could get me more traction, butâŚâ he trailed off, fiddling with his napkin.
âbut you donât know if you want to?â
âyeah. itâs like⌠i donât want to just be another guy chasing clicks. i want to actually get better at stand-up, you know? like, really work at it. not just throw out for the algorithm.â
you tilted your head, studying him. âthen think about what gets you closer to that bar you wanna open. whatâs actually going to help you get there. not just what looks good right now.â
heeseung blinked at you, then smiled slowly, almost like he was impressed. âthatâs⌠actually good advice. i thought youâd just make fun of me.â
you leaned back, smirking. âi mean, i can still do that if you want.â
he laughed, shaking his head. ânah, i like this version better. supportive, smart, and still kind of scary.â
âscary?â you raised an eyebrow.
âyeah,â he said, leaning closer again, voice low enough that it sent a tiny shiver down your spine. âbecause you actually make me think about stuff iâve been avoiding. thatâs dangerous.â you tried to come up with something clever to throw back at him, but the way he was looking at you made your words catch. you just shook your head, smiling into your glass, and heeseung leaned back in his seat like he knew exactly what heâd just done.
the drive back was nothing like the quiet rides youâd had before. heeseung had the windows cracked just enough for the breeze to slip in, and he was messing with the radio like it was some kind of game. every time a song came on, heâd either sing it badly on purpose or change it within the first five seconds, waiting to see your reaction. when you finally told him to just pick one and stick with it, he stopped on some old r&b track and immediately started drumming on the steering wheel, shooting you a grin. âyou like this one, right?â he asked, already singing along before you even answered.
you laughed, shaking your head. âyou donât even know the lyrics.â
âdoesnât matter,â he said, leaning toward you a little, his voice dropping into something exaggerated and silly. âiâm making them up as i go. itâs my version.â
you tried to hide your smile, but he noticed anyway, and it only made him sing louder, just off-key enough to make you cover your face with your hand. by the time you pulled into his street, the music was still low in the background, and you were still shaking your head at how ridiculous he was. he parked, turned the engine off, and glanced at you for a moment longer than necessary before hopping out and jogging around the front like he was going to open your door for you. you rolled your eyes but let him do it, and he bowed dramatically when you stepped out, which made you laugh all over again.
inside, the place was dark and quiet. he flicked on the light and set his keys down on the counter. âjake and jay are out tonight,â he said casually, kicking his shoes off, then glanced at you with this little grin. âwhich means i actually get you all to myself.â
you laughed, trying not to look as flustered as you felt. âis that a good thing?â
âitâs the best thing,â he shot back immediately, closing the door behind you. heeseung didnât even wait for you to put your bag down. his hand was sliding around your waist, pulling you closer until your chest bumped into his. before you could say anything, he kissed you deeper. your hand grabbed at his shirt automatically, keeping yourself steady while his arm tightened around you. when he finally pulled back, just slightly, his lips still brushing against yours, he was smiling in that way that made your stomach turn over. âsee?â he murmured, voice low, almost smug. âtold you it was the best thing.â you blinked up at him, catching your breath, and he grinned wider, leaning in just enough to kiss you again, shorter this time, playful. then he tilted his head like he was really thinking about it. âyou know, you couldâve just admitted youâve been waiting for me to kiss you like that.â
you shoved his shoulder lightly, trying not to laugh, but he caught your hand before you could move it away, still holding you close like he had no intention of letting go. ââhis lips brushed your jaw before finding your mouth again, and you let out this small sound you hadnât planned to, which only made him tighten his grip on your waist. he walked you back a few steps until the back of your legs hit the couch, and you ended up sitting down without even realizing thatâs where he was steering you. he leaned over, bracing one hand on the armrest beside your head, and the other trailed along your thigh before tugging gently at your knee so youâd pull him closer. âyouâre really not gonna admit it, huh?â he teased between kisses, his voice low, rougher now, but still carrying that smug tone that made you want to roll your eyes and kiss him harder at the same time.
âadmit what?â you shot back, even though your hands were already under his shirt, fingers brushing against his skin like youâd been waiting for this moment longer than you wanted to confess.
he let out a soft laugh, kissing down your neck as he murmured, âthat you wanted this just as much as i did.â his mouth lingered there, making it harder for you to argue when your breath kept catching. ââyou tugged at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons until he finally leaned back just enough to let you finish, and the second it was undone he shrugged it off, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. your eyes dragged over him before you could stop yourself. his chest defined, his shoulders were broad, his stomach flat with just enough muscle lining the sides, and the light from the room caught on his skin in a way that made you pause longer than you meant to. he caught the look, of course he did, and grinned like heâd been waiting for it. âyouâre staring,â he teased, voice low, almost amused.
you smirked back, not even pretending to deny it. âthe viewâs nice.â
he raised a brow, leaning down again until his face was close enough that you could feel his breath. âoh, yeah?â he murmured, like he wanted you to repeat it. before you could fire back, he kissed you again, one hand braced on the couch beside you, the other sliding along your waist like he was reminding you he was still the one pulling you closer. his hand moved lower, finding the hem of your dress and tugging it up slowly. in one motion he pulled it over your head, tossing it aside with the same ease heâd dropped his own shirt earlier.
he looked down at you then, eyes dragging over every inch of skin heâd just uncovered before settling back on yours. âso fucking pretty,â he muttered, not bothering to hide it, the words half soft and half smug. he bent down again, kissing you harder for a moment, teeth catching your bottom lip, then pulling back just enough to kiss you softer, almost playful. his mouth trailed away from yours, finding your jawline, kissing slow along the curve of it before moving down your neck. his lips lingered there, pressing at the spot just below your ear before working lower, mouth brushing across your collarbone. heeseungâs hand tightened at your side as he kissed down, pressing slow, unhurried kisses across your chest until he reached the line of your bra. he paused there just for a second, his breath warm against your skin, before dipping down and kissing right between your breasts, like he was claiming every bit of space he could get.
âfuck, youâre gorgeous,â he murmured against your skin. he kissed you again there, softer this time, then dragged his lips up the curve of one breast, his hand sliding higher to brush over your shoulder. he caught the thin strap of your bra with his fingers, tugging it down slowly, eyes flicking up to yours with that smug little grin. âso fucking pretty,â he repeated. his mouth followed the path his hand made, kissing over your bare shoulder, then moving back down to press another kiss right at the edge of your bra. he slid the strap the rest of the way down your arm, fingers steady but slow, like he wasnât in any rush. the other strap followed, and before you could even think about it he had the clasp undone, letting the bra fall away completely. his eyes dragged over you for a second, his grin curving wider as he settled between your legs, letting your thighs wrap tight around his hips like it was the most natural place for him to be.
âjesus,â he breathed out, his hand brushed up your side, pausing just under your breast before he leaned down and kissed over the curve of it, then lower, his mouth closing around your nipple. his tongue dragged slow, teasing, and when he pulled back just enough to suck again, his other hand was already cupping the other side of your chest. he glanced up at you when you let out a small moan, his lips shiny, his voice low. âbeen trying not to think about this since the first night i saw you.â another kiss, slower, then a small bite before he soothed it with his tongue.
he moved to your other breast, kissing all over before finally closing his mouth around your nipple, sucking gently like he wanted to draw out every sound you were holding back. âlook at you,â he muttered, more to himself than to you, his words spilling between kisses. âyouâre unreal⌠fuck.â your legs tightened around his waist when he pressed closer, and he let out a quiet laugh against your skin, squeezing your hip with one hand. âyeah, thatâs it⌠i knew youâd feel this good.â he kissed across your chest again, then went back to your nipple, sucking a little harder this time, groaning softly like he was the one losing control.
his hands slid down your sides until they settled on your hips, fingers pressing in a little firmer this time. before you even realized what he was doing, he shifted and pulled you up with him, making you gasp as your legs automatically wrapped tighter around his waist. âgot you,â he muttered, grinning like it was no big deal that heâd just lifted you off the couch. you clung to his shoulders, laughing a little under your breath, but he only tightened his grip, carrying you like heâd done it a hundred times before.
he nudged the door to his room open with his foot, and leaned down just enough to kiss you again as he walked, dropping you carefully on the bed, his body following right after so he was hovering above you. he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands sliding up your bare thighs. he trailed his mouth down your neck, slow and unhurried, nipping lightly before moving lower, across your collarbone, over the top of your chest, and further down until he was at your stomach. his palms pressed to your hips as he kissed along the soft skin there, his grin brushing against you every time he glanced up.
by the time his lips reached your hipbone, he tugged at the hem of your panties just slightly, enough to make you twitch. he mouthed over the thin fabric, kissing right where you were already sensitive, his tongue brushing against the cloth in the laziest, most teasing way. âyou like this?â he asked, voice muffled against you, kissing again just a little harder through the fabric. his hands squeezed your hips, holding you steady when you shifted under him. âyeah, you do,â he said with that same smug softness, kissing you once more, slower this time, his nose brushing against your skin.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hair falling into his eyes a little, his fingers still firm on your hips. âyouâre already fucking soaked through,â he said, not even trying to hide the smug edge in his voice. his thumb dragged across the wet spot on the fabric like he wanted to make a point of it, and then he looked back up at you with that smirk that made your stomach twist. he hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged the fabric down slowly, dragging it past your thighs, tossing it off the side of the bed without bothering to look. he spread your legs wider with his hands, his thumbs brushing over the inside of your thighs as he lowered his head again.
the first drag of his tongue was slow, deliberate, from the bottom up, and he hummed low in his throat like he was tasting something he liked. he kissed right against your clit, soft at first, then sucked lightly, just enough to make you gasp, and when you did, he pulled back with a grin. âyeah, thatâs it,â he muttered, lips brushing against you as he spoke. âdonât hold back. i wanna hear it.â
he went back down without giving you space to answer, tongue flicking against you faster, then slowing down just to tease, like he was pacing himself on purpose. every now and then, he glanced up at you through his hair, eyes half lidded, like he was checking to see exactly how wrecked you were getting from just his mouth. âyou taste fucking amazing,â he said against you, then sucked on your clit harder this time, one hand sliding up to press your stomach down lightly when you tried to jerk up. your head tilted back against the pillow, your breaths getting shorter, messier, and he noticed, he pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, his lips shiny, his voice low and amused. âyouâre close, huh? i can feel it,â he said, his fingers digging in slightly as he pushed your legs wider. then his mouth was back on you, sucking at your clit harder, tongue pressing and flicking until the noises spilling out of you got sharper.
âheeseungââ you moaned, his name breaking out of you half breathless.
he groaned against you at the sound, like it turned him on just hearing you say his name like that, and doubled down, his pace quickening, more focused now, like he wasnât letting you out of this until you gave in completely. your hand flew to his hair, pulling a little, trying to ground yourself, but it only made him grin against you, his muffled laugh vibrating straight through you. âlet go, baby,â he muttered, sucking harder, tongue flicking in perfect rhythm until your whole body clenched and your cry broke out sharp. you came hard, thighs trembling around his head, hips lifting despite his hand holding you down, your fingers clutching his hair. he didnât stop until you were gasping, only then easing his mouth off, slowing down, kissing you soft through the aftershocks like he was savoring every second of it.
when he finally pulled away, his lips and chin wet, he climbed up your body slowly, pressing light kisses along your stomach, your chest, up your collarbone, until he was hovering over you again. you were still catching your breath, skin flushed, and he leaned down, brushing his lips over your jaw, then your cheek, soft kisses that contrasted how wrecked you felt. âyouâre unreal,â he whispered against your ear, his voice low, almost hoarse, and then his tone shifted, smug and obscene all at once. âyou just came so hard on my tongue i could fucking drown in you.â
you groaned at his words, your hands immediately moving down, slipping under the waistband of his jeans without even thinking. he didnât stop you, he let you, his bulge pressing against the fabric obvious now, and the second your fingers brushed him, he smirked, leaning back just enough to watch you. âcanât wait, huh?â he teased, one hand still stroking your side gently while the other braced on the bed. ââyou surprised him when you suddenly pushed at his chest, urging him back until his shoulders hit the mattress. he just let you, smirking like heâd been waiting for this, one arm sliding lazily behind his head like he was comfortable letting you take control, at least for now.
you straddled his hips, fingers already tugging at the button of his jeans, and he raised an eyebrow at you, smug as hell, like he wasnât going to lift a single finger to help. âgo on then,â he murmured, watching you struggle with the zipper. you shot him a look, bratty, but you still tugged his jeans down, peeling them off along with his underwear. he was already hard, his dick was huge, thick and heavy against his stomach, and you paused for a second, eyes flicking up to meet his, and he smirked even wider like he knew exactly what you were thinking. âdonât stare too long, princess,â he drawled, his tone soft but taunting. âyou can handle it, right?â
you rolled your eyes, pretending like you werenât affected, but he caught the way your thighs squeezed tighter around his waist. you leaned down anyway, your lips brushing against his length in the lightest kiss, testing, and he hummed low in his throat, smug and approving at once. âthatâs cute,â he said, his voice rougher now, though his arm was still lazily tucked behind his head. âbut youâre gonna have to do better than that.â you smirked up at him, deliberately licking along the side of his cock, slow and teasing, ignoring the way he exhaled sharply. then you wrapped your hand around him, stroking once before leaning down to take him into your mouth, slow, not giving him all at once. he groaned, finally moving his free hand to your hair, his fingers curling in loosely like a reminder of who really had the control. âfuck, just like that,â he muttered, his tone both encouraging and commanding. âopen wider, donât be shy.â
you pulled back enough to glare up at him, your lips shiny, and he smirked again, smug and relaxed, still with that arm behind his head like he was enjoying a show. you sank down lower this time, taking more of him in until he hissed through his teeth, his hand tightening briefly in your hair. he laughed, low and breathless, his voice strained but still cocky. âfuck, yeah, take it.â you hummed around him, his hips twitching up slightly before he forced himself to stay still. his voice was ragged now, but he still kept that smug edge. âfuck, you look good like this. keep going, donât stop.â he let you take your time, but every word out of his mouth, every little tug on your hair, made it clear he was only letting you think you were in charge.
your pace picked up, your hand stroking what you couldnât fit in your mouth, and heeseung finally lost that perfectly relaxed posture heâd been keeping. his head tipped back into the pillow, his lips parted, and his hips started twitching just a little, betraying how close he was. his breathing got rougher, groans breaking out every time you slid down deeper, and then his hand suddenly tightened in your hair, tugging just enough to pull you back. âfuck,â he hissed, his chest rising and falling hard now, his cock shiny and wet from your mouth. âi have to be inside you when i cum.â
he tugged harder, pulling you up, and before you could protest he was rolling the two of you over, his weight pressing you into the mattress. you looked up at him, a little dazed but still smirking, and said, âcouldnât handle me?â
he barked out a laugh, smug even while catching his breath, his hand pushing your thighs apart. âcute,â he muttered, leaning down to kiss you rough, messy, like he didnât even care you could still taste him on your tongue. âbut youâre mine now.â
he shifted down, the head of his cock sliding against your clit, teasing, making you jolt under him. his grin widened immediately at your reaction, and he did it again, slower, just to watch your face. you grabbed at his shoulder, glaring. âstop fucking around. just do it.â
he raised his eyebrows, his tip circling you again, the pressure maddening. âyouâre really still gonna act bratty when youâre literally begging for me?â
your hips bucked against him involuntarily, and you tried to cover it up with attitude. âi donât know if i can take it,â you shot back, your voice shaking but sharp.
heeseungâs smirk softened into something darker, more certain, and he leaned down, his mouth brushing against your ear as he whispered, âoh, i know you can.â his tone was so confident it made you clench around nothing. but instead of pushing into you right away, he pulled back and slipped his hand between your thighs. his fingers pressed against you, slow at first, rubbing along your slick folds like he was testing how ready you were. he slid one inside, then two, curling them just right, his thumb brushing over your clit as he worked you open.
you moaned loudly, your legs tightening around his hips, your nails digging into his arm. âheeseungââ
he groaned at the way you said his name, his mouth dropping to your neck again, kissing and sucking like he couldnât help himself. âthatâs it. fuck, youâre so wet for me. you were made to take it.â he kept fingering you, faster now, his wrist twisting slightly to hit deeper, his thumb relentless on your clit. your hips were rocking against his hand, chasing it, and he was watching you the whole time. his fingers worked deeper, rougher, curling just right, and you couldnât stop the way your body arched into him. his lips brushed your jaw, then your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, âyeah, thatâs it. i can feel you fucking squeezing me so tight. youâre so desperate for my cock but look at you, already falling apart on my fingers.â your moans came louder, he laughed under his breath, smug as ever, and pushed his fingers harder into you, fucking you fast, messy, relentless. his thumb rubbed rough circles over your clit, and you whined his name again, broken. âmoan for me,â he demanded, his pace quickening. âlouder, come on.â
âheeseungâplease,â you gasped, voice cracking, and his grin widened against your skin.
âfuck, hearing you moan my name like that,â he muttered, low and filthy right into your ear, âyou love this, donât you? letting me wreck you like this.â his teeth grazed your earlobe, and his fingers pumped harder, faster, until the sound of how wet you were was obscene, filling the room. you clenched hard around him, your whole body trembling, and he groaned, smug as ever. âgonna cum for me, huh? be a good girl and cum all over my fingers.â your back arched off the mattress, your cries sharp as the pressure built and snapped. your release hit so hard your legs shook, your thighs pressing desperately against his arm, but he didnât stop, he kept fucking you with his fingers, driving you higher until you gasped and choked out sounds you couldnât control. and then it happened â wet, messy, your body giving out as you squirted all over his hand, the sheets, your own skin.
heeseung let out a low groan, smug and thrilled, his fingers still moving through it. âfuck, look at you. youâre soaking everything. i knew you had that in you.â he pulled his hand back just enough to see the mess glistening on his skin, smirking as he wiped his fingers over your inner thigh, teasing, spreading it back on you. âso fucking good for me. youâre mine, oh my god.â you were still trembling, your chest heaving, eyes fluttering half shut, and he kissed your cheek, your jaw, your temple, like he couldnât get enough of you even while you were wrecked under him. âaw, babyâ he whispered against your skin, smug but softer now, âyou just made a mess all over me. you know how fucking hot that is? i could watch you do that over and over.â heeseung pulled his hand away slowly, his fingers glistening as he looked down at you wrecked on the bed, your thighs still twitching, your chest rising and falling fast. he leaned over you, brushing his lips against your jawline, soft for just a moment, and murmured, âare you okay?â
you nodded quickly, still catching your breath, but the desperation in your eyes said more than anything. âplease,â you whispered, your voice hoarse, âi need youââ
his mouth curved into that smug grin, the one that made your stomach flip, and he pressed a kiss against your cheek, dragging it down to your lips, slow and teasing. âso needy,â he muttered, his voice low and amused, âyouâre shaking and youâre still begging for me.â
he shifted, his cock heavy and hard against your thigh. you looked down for a second, your lips parting, and he caught it immediately, chuckling against your skin. âyeah, i know,â he teased, brushing the tip against your entrance, dragging it slowly up and down your folds just to watch you squirm. âyou can take it, baby. i know you can.â you let out this desperate little whine, your hands gripping at his shoulders like you couldnât stand him dragging it out anymore. he groaned low, finally lining up, pressing in slowly, stretching you inch by inch. his head dropped forward, his breath catching, and he cursed, âfuck. that pussy feels so good, baby. so fucking tight for me.â you gasped, your back arching as he slid deeper, the stretch making your nails dig into his skin. he didnât stop, pushing all the way in until his hips were flush with yours, and he stayed there for a second, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours. âshit,â he groaned again, smugness bleeding into the roughness of his voice, âyouâre fucking perfect. i could stay inside you all night.â he gave a small thrust, just enough to make you cry out, and his grin widened.Â
he pulled out halfway and pushed back in harder, the sound of your body taking him filling the room. his hand slid down your thigh, lifting it higher around his waist, giving him more room to drive deeper, and you whimpered against his mouth, moaning his name. âfuck, heeseungââ
he laughed, breathless but smug, kissing the corner of your lips. âthatâs it, baby. say my name just like that. let everyone fucking know whoâs inside you right now.â he started moving faster, harder, his cock hitting deeper every time, and each thrust had you clinging tighter, your moans spilling against his mouth. his hand gripped your hip tight, holding you steady, making sure you felt every inch of him. âthis pussyâs mine,â he muttered against your neck, kissing, sucking, biting softly between thrusts, âso wet for me, squeezing the fuck out of me. god, iâm never letting you go.â
heeseung slowed down suddenly, pulling out almost all the way and leaving you clenching around nothing. you let out a frustrated sound, half whine and half moan, your hands clawing. he smirked, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth, his voice a low murmur against your ear. âturn over for me, baby,â he said, his tone calm but expectant, like he already knew youâd listen. âon your stomach. i wanna see that perfect ass while i fuck you.â you hesitated only long enough to catch your breath, then you rolled over, pressing your cheek into the pillow as he helped move your hips, lifting you just the way he wanted, your knees digging into the mattress. his hands gripped your waist, holding you steady, and he groaned under his breath at the sight of you spread out in front of him. âfuck, look at you,â he muttered, dragging the tip of his cock slowly along your slit, teasing you without giving in yet. âdripping for me. you want it this bad, huh?â
âyesâplease,â you gasped, trying to push back against him, desperate for more friction.
he laughed quietly, his grip on your hips tightening as he pulled you back just enough to stop you. âso impatient,â he teased, leaning forward to kiss along your shoulder blade, his breath hot against your skin. âdonât worry baby, iâm gonna give you everything. but iâm doing it my way.â
he pressed forward finally, sliding into you from behind, inch by inch until he was buried deep. the stretch had you moaning into the pillow, your fingers curling tight into the sheets. âfuck yes,â he groaned, his hands spreading over your lower back as if he was steadying himself. âso fucking tight around me, taking all of it like you were made for me.â he pulled back and snapped his hips forward again, the sound sharp in the quiet room, and before you could catch your breath he lifted one hand and smacked your ass, the sting making you jolt. âyou like that, baby? you like me fucking you like this?â he muttered, watching the way your skin flushed under his palm.Â
you whimpered, your voice muffled against the pillow, âfuck, yes, heeseungââ
he grinned, leaning over your back, his mouth against your ear now, his hips moving in slow, deliberate thrusts that had you gasping with every push. âtell me how good my cock feels inside you.â
âso goodââ you moaned, your voice breaking as he thrust deeper, his cock hitting the spot that made your whole body shake.
âthatâs right,â he groaned, kissing along your jawline while still driving into you. âno oneâs ever gonna fuck you like i do.â his rhythm picked up, his thrusts harder now, his hand on your ass again, another smack echoing in the room before he grabbed you tighter and pulled you back onto him. âfuck, baby,â he gritted out, his breath hot against your skin, âyou feel unreal. keep clenching around me like that and iâm gonna lose it.â
heeseungâs thrusts were getting rougher, his hips snapping into you harder, and you could feel the way his rhythm started to falter just slightly, like he was getting close. his groans were deeper now, his grip almost bruising on your waist as he buried himself inside you again and again, and for a second you thought he was going to let himself go. but then he stilled, pulling out all the way, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. you whined immediately, your body arching back, desperate for him, your face pressed into the pillow as you protested with little sounds. ânoâdonât stopââ
heeseung smirked, catching his breath as he ran a hand slowly down your back, his voice low. ârelax, baby. iâm not done with you yet. iâm not wasting it this fast.â before you could respond, he leaned forward, kissing along your spine, his mouth trailing lower, down the curve of your back until he reached the swell of your ass. you tensed in surprise when he pressed his lips there, first a light kiss, then another, slower, more deliberate, his hands spreading across your hips to hold you steady. âfuck,â he muttered against your skin, kissing one cheek and then the other, his lips hot and wet as he took his time. âyou look so fucking hot like this, laid out for me.â
his hands slid further down, gripping and spreading you open, and he looked at the sight of you with that smug little grin that always made you want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. he lowered his mouth again, this time pressing a slower kiss right between your cheeks, then dragging his tongue across your folds, giving you one long lick that made you jolt. you gasped, your breath catching in your throat, and heeseung chuckled against you, his tongue moving again, this time teasing lower, circling your other hole in one quick swipe. your whole body shuddered, your fists tightening in the sheets, a shocked moan falling from your lips. he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice dripping with that smug amusement that only he could pull off. âoh, you like that, baby? you like my tongue on your ass?â
your only answer was another broken moan, your hips jerking against his face like you couldnât help yourself. heeseung laughed quietly, shaking his head before diving back in, his tongue alternating between licking over your pussy and circling your ass again, slower this time, more deliberate, watching the way your body reacted to every movement. âfuck, youâre losing it already. didnât think youâd like this so much,â he muttered, his voice rough and teasing before going back to licking you, his grip on your hips keeping you spread wide so he could get everywhere he wanted.
finally he pulled back, lips wet, his hands sliding back up your waist as he pressed himself flush against you. he lined himself up carefully, the head of his cock nudging your entrance before he slid all the way in with one slow push, burying himself inside you again. your walls clenched tight around him and he let out a deep groan, his mouth brushing against your ear as he leaned down close. âfuck, that pussy feels so good around me, baby.â his thrusts started slow, steady, each movement deliberate, grinding into you deep enough to make you lose your breath. as he set the rhythm, his lips brushed your ear again, his voice lower, almost a growl. âare you gonna let me fuck your ass one day, baby?â
you gasped, your face heating instantly, your words shaky but desperate as they spilled out. âyesâplease.â
heeseung smirked against your skin, the answer making him groan as his hand slid down your back, his thumb spreading over your ass until he pressed lightly against your hole, just teasing it while still fucking into you. âsuch a good girl, so dirty,â he muttered, smug and approving at the same time, pushing his thumb in gentle circles over you while he thrust harder, making you take every inch of him. the combination made you lose it, your body twitching under his grip, your moans breaking into needy cries as he worked you open with his cock and thumb at once. he kept whispering filth in your ear, every word more obscene than the last, telling you how tight you were, how good you sounded, how perfect your ass was. his thrusts got deeper, rougher, his pace building as he pressed his thumb firmer against you, teasing like he was imagining what it would feel like to be inside you there too, and the thought alone made his voice raspier every time he praised you.
heeseung was already fucking you deep, his thumb pressing and teasing at your ass while his cock filled you completely, and he felt every squeeze of your body pulling him closer to the edge. his thrusts were steady but rough now, his breath ragged against your neck as he groaned right into your ear. he couldnât hold back anymore, his voice breaking through in a low desperate rasp, âplease let me cum inside you, baby⌠i need to feel you take it.â the second the words left his mouth you moaned loud, louder than before, your whole body tightening around him as if the sound alone was your answer. he grinned against your shoulder, smug as ever, loving how your voice cracked on his name when you tried to say it. âfuck, you like that, donât you? you like me begging to cum in your tight little pussy,â he muttered, pushing deeper, grinding his hips until you cried out again.
he pulled back just enough to slam in harder, his hand still gripping your hip tight, and with the other he brought a sharp smack down on your ass, the sound echoing through the room. your moan broke into a scream, your whole body jerking forward, and he laughed breathlessly, fucking you through it. âthatâs it, baby, scream for me, let everyone know how good iâm making you feel.â you were completely gone by then, clenching down so hard around him that he could barely keep control. heeseung groaned low, fucking into you harder, chasing the high right along with you. âcum with me, baby,â he growled, biting at your shoulder, his thrusts deep and relentless. âcum all over my cock while i fill you up.â
and you did, your orgasm hitting you sharp and overwhelming, your voice breaking into loud desperate moans as your body shook under his grip. he cursed, almost losing it from the way you squeezed him, and then he buried himself deep one last time, his own release hitting hard as he spilled inside you. his groans mixed with your cries, both of you caught up in it together, his hips jerking until every drop was inside you. he held you tight through it, still grinding shallowly, still muttering filth against your skin even as he kissed the back of your neck and shoulder. âfuck, baby⌠taking me so good⌠i could stay buried in this pussy forever,â he said, his voice still smug even as it cracked with how hard he was breathing. his hand smoothed over your ass where heâd smacked it, soothing while still gripping you possessively, his cock still deep inside you while you both tried to catch your breath.
the room was quiet except for the sound of both of you trying to breathe normally again. heeseung rolled onto his back but pulled you with him, one arm still tight around your waist like he wasnât ready to let you move yet. you were sprawled half across his chest, skin still damp, hair sticking to your face a little, and when you tried to brush it away he caught your wrist, grinning even though he looked just as wrecked as you felt. âdonât even,â he muttered, eyes half closed but his smile smug. âyou look way too good like this.â
you snorted, raising your head just enough to look at him. âyeah, youâre really getting the best version of me right now.â
âperfect combo,â he shot back immediately, squeezing your waist just to make sure you didnât try to roll off. you laughed quietly, settling back down, and for a moment neither of you said much. his breathing slowed, and when he spoke again his voice was softer, almost hesitant. âi like you, you know. like⌠properly.â you shifted a little against him, not answering straight away, but your hand tightened slightly where it rested on his chest. heeseung didnât push. he stayed quiet for a beat, his fingers drawing lazy shapes against your back. then, because he couldnât resist, he added, âand, by the way, youâre never beating that. what you just pulled off? easily the best show iâve ever been part of. crowd went wild. ten out of ten, no notes.â
you groaned, smacking his chest lightly. âyouâre unbelievable.â
âyeah, but you like it,â he grinned, you shook your head, but the smile on your face gave you away, and heeseung noticed, which only made him look even more pleased with himself.
âyou really donât get tired of talking, do you?â you mumbled after a bit, your voice muffled against his skin.
heeseung laughed quietly, his chest shaking under you. ânot when itâs you. i could listen all night. though, to be fair, i think iâm carrying most of the material.â
you tilted your head up just enough to give him a look. âmaterial? like youâre workshopping this for your next set?â
âobviously,â he said, grinning. âcrowdâs a bit small tonight, but the feedbackâs solid.â you groaned, shoving lightly at his chest, but he caught your hand and pressed a quick kiss to your knuckles before you could pull it back. the room was calm again, quieter than before, and after a long pause he murmured, âyouâre good company, y/n.â his tone was casual, but you felt the weight behind it, and it made you smile into his chest.
âso are you,â you said softly.
he shifted just enough to kiss the top of your head, then let out a content sigh. âalright. donât move. iâm staying like this forever.â you rolled your eyes but didnât argue, letting your body sink into his as the quiet stretched. eventually your breathing matched his, steady and slow, and that was how the night closed â the two of you tangled up, laughing less now but still smiling, comfortable enough that neither of you needed to say another word.
you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, the notebook open on your lap, pages covered in your messy handwriting. heeseung was leaning back against the headboard, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours, listening as you finished reading the last bit of dialogue out loud. your voice trailed off at the end, quieter than before, and you glanced at him nervously like you were already bracing yourself for his reaction. he was quiet for a second, then let out a small laugh through his nose, shaking his head. âitâs beautiful.â
you frowned immediately, closing the notebook halfway. âyouâre just saying that.â
âno, iâm not,â he said quickly, and the way he looked at you made it obvious he wasnât joking.
you let out a breath, chewing on the inside of your cheek. âi donât know⌠is the whole thing too nostalgic? like, maybe itâs too much.â
âthatâs the point,â he said without hesitation, shifting so he could face you more directly.
you picked at the edge of the page, not convinced. âbut do you think people will actually like it?â
heeseung leaned back, smirk tugging at his mouth. âfuck âem.â
you laughed, shaking your head. âyou always say that.â
âyeah, because i believe it. seriously, who cares if they like it? itâs yours. thatâs the only thing that matters.â
you looked at him, smiling despite yourself, and then said softly, âfine. but only if you sit front row, because iâll probably throw up in the middle of the stage otherwise.â
he grinned, reaching over to squeeze your knee lightly. âiâll be front row. always.â
you stared at him for a moment longer, the words sinking in, and you realized how much it actually meant to you to hear him say it like that, casual, but also completely sincere. you smiled wider, closing the notebook fully this time, feeling lighter than when youâd opened it. âi made something for you,â you said suddenly, hopping off the bed before heeseung could ask what you were doing. you dug through your tote bag in the corner until you pulled out a folded piece of paper.
heeseung raised an eyebrow, watching you climb back onto the bed with it in your hand. âwhatâs that?â
âit could be the name design,â you said, unfolding it and holding it out for him. âlike, on the door of your bar.â
he took it, eyes narrowing as he read. ââheeâsâ?â
âthatâs what you should name it,â you said, trying not to laugh.
ânever,â he shot back immediately, shaking his head.
âheeseung, no oneâs gonna go to a place called âthe comedy closet,ââ you argued, grabbing the paper back before he could crumple it.
âyou donât get it,â he said, leaning forward like he was about to deliver some lecture. âthere used to be this basement spot where every comic in l.a. passed through. it was tiny, damp, smelled like stale beer, but it was history. i want my place to have that same kind of energy. the comedy closet makes sense.â
âno,â you said, laughing. âdrop the closet. just drinks and comedy. people donât wanna feel like theyâre cramming themselves into someoneâs wardrobe to hear jokes.â he rolled his eyes at you, but you could see the smile tugging at his mouth. âand,â you added, âitâs time to start looking at other spots anyway. you canât just sit around wishing for the perfect place. make your own perfect place.â heeseung looked at you then, like the words hit harder than you meant them to. he didnât say anything for a second, just sat there holding the paper youâd drawn on. finally, he let out a quiet laugh. âyou know,â you said carefully after a beat, âyou could always call soobin. he did offer you a gig.â
heeseung groaned immediately, dropping his head back against the wall. âno way. not happening.â
âwhy not?â you pressed, nudging his leg with yours. âlook, maybe itâs not your dream job, but it could give you something. some money, some connections, whatever you need to actually open your bar one day. better that than bouncing between dunkin donuts shifts, driving uber in the afternoons, and open mics every night. youâre gonna burn yourself out.â
he turned his head toward you, lips quirking into a smile. âyou rehearsed that, didnât you? sounds like a proper intervention.â you shot him a look, but he only grinned wider. âno, seriously,â he added, softer this time, âi know youâre right. i just⌠hate the idea of being one of those guys chasing clicks. it feels cheap. like iâm selling the bit before iâve even worked it out.â
âitâs not selling out if it helps you get to where you actually want to be,â you said. âitâs just⌠picking your battles.â
heeseung let that sit for a moment, then sighed and ruffled his hair, still holding the paper with your doodled name design. âalright, alright. maybe iâll think about it. just because you said it in your scary-serious voice. otherwise, iâd never cave.â
you rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched up. âyouâre impossible.â
âyeah,â he said, leaning closer with that smug little smile that was becoming way too familiar. âbut iâm your impossible.â before you could even come up with a comeback, he pressed a quick kiss to your lips, like he was sealing the statement right there. you smacked his arm lightly in protest, but you were laughing against his mouth anyway, and heeseung only leaned back with that same grin, way too pleased with himself for winning the last word.
but after you said that, he decided to give soobin a chance, so he called him. the two of them set up a time to meet, and a couple of days later heeseung found himself standing outside this office-slash-studio space, the kind that looked like it used to be a warehouse before someone threw in a coffee machine, a few couches, and way too many ring lights. inside, it felt both messy and professional at the same time. there were stacks of half-finished props in one corner, camera equipment on tripods everywhere, and a big whiteboard covered with scribbles â lists of sketch ideas, casting notes, dumb inside jokes that only made sense if youâd been there when someone wrote them down.
soobin was waiting for him near the couches. âyou actually showed,â he said, grinning.
âyou sound surprised,â heeseung muttered, dropping into the couch across from him.
âi am,â soobin admitted, leaning back. âyouâve been brushing me off for weeks. but i get it. stand-up guys donât usually wanna touch this kind of thing.â
heeseung shrugged, picking at the sleeve of his hoodie. âi mean⌠iâve never acted in my life. i donât even know if i could.â
âthatâs fine,â soobin said quickly. âyou wouldnât have to act-act. this isnât shakespeare. itâs sketches. itâs like stand-up but broken into pieces. youâd help with writing too, which i know you can do, because i saw your set the other night. youâre good at taking the dumbest shit and making it work.â
heeseung narrowed his eyes. âis that supposed to be a compliment?â
âyes,â soobin said firmly. âlisten, the channelâs been growing, but we need new voices. new blood. people who donât just repeat the same tired formats. youâve got the perspective, you just need a platform. thatâs what this is.â heeseung stayed quiet, so soobin leaned in a little, like he was trying to make his point land harder. he didnât want to admit it, but he felt the words land. soobin sighed, running a hand through his hair. âlook, maybe itâs not exactly what you pictured. iâm not saying this is the dream. but itâs a step. and you donât have to change who you are to do it. iâm not asking you to turn into some corny influencer. iâm asking you to bring your voice to a bigger room. if itâs not your thing, tell me now, and iâll stop bothering you. but if you want it, the spotâs yours.â
heeseung leaned back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment. he hated the idea of admitting soobin had a point, but he couldnât shake the thought that maybe youâd been right too, maybe this was a way to move forward without giving up. so in the weeks that followed felt different, like everything finally started moving instead of stalling. heeseung decided to take soobinâs offer, and before long he was spending his afternoons in that chaotic office-slash-studio, brainstorming dumb sketches with the team, rehearsing lines, or sometimes just sitting in front of the camera while someone handed him a wig and told him to improvise. he quit driving uber, and the relief of not checking his phone every two minutes for another ride was written all over his face. heâd come home actually smiling, telling you about whatever ridiculous bit theyâd filmed that day, and sometimes showing you the raw clips before they even went online. you, on the other hand, hit a breaking point at the warner bros cafĂŠ. one day you were wiping down tables when you realized youâd rather put all that energy into your script instead of refilling iced lattes for celebrities. so you quit. it was terrifying, but also freeing, and the second you told heeseung he practically picked you up off the ground in excitement. from then on, you gave yourself fully to the play, mornings spent scribbling in your notebook, afternoons rehearsing lines alone in your room, sometimes dragging yunjin in to test out bits even though she laughed through most of them.
the two of you fell into a rhythm together. when you got stuck, youâd text him to come over, and heâd sit cross-legged on the floor of your living room, reading your lines out loud in over-the-top voices until you were crying with laughter. when he had new material, heâd drag you to the studio to watch him stumble through it, looking at you after every punchline to see if it landed. you became each otherâs first audience, the safe one, the one that could say âthat was awfulâ without it hurting too much, because you knew the other person would always try again. and then there were the dates. they werenât fancy, at least not most of them. sometimes it was just walking around griffith park with a bag of chips between you, sometimes it was cheap sushi where he insisted on trying to eat the biggest roll in one bite just to make you laugh. once he surprised you by taking you to a tiny comedy club neither of you had been to before, and halfway through he leaned in and whispered, âi could do better than this guy,â making you snort loud enough that people turned around.
but there were also softer nights, the ones where he showed up outside your apartment honking until yunjin threatened to throw something at him, and youâd climb into his car, both of you a little dressed up, heading to some tucked-away restaurant heâd found online. those nights, he was shamelessly flirty, calling you pretty like it was the most natural word in the world, making you blush even though you tried to play it cool. at home, when it was quieter, youâd show him new pages of your play. heâd listen, really listen, eyes fixed on you the whole time, and then heâd give feedback that actually made you rethink entire scenes. and when he pulled out his notebook, the one where he jotted half-finished jokes, youâd lean over his shoulder and help him stretch them into full bits, tossing lines back and forth until it turned into something solid.
at first it didnât feel like much had changed, because even when heeseung got busier you still found ways to see each other, but slowly the rhythm youâd built together started slipping. his days at the studio stretched longer, sometimes heâd text that he was still editing a sketch at midnight or that he had to wake up early for some dumb promo shoot, and youâd roll over in bed already knowing he wouldnât make it back that night. when he did come home, he was usually wired from work, talking fast about whatever chaos happened that day, and then crashing hard like someone had pulled the plug. you split your time between his apartment and yours, never really planning it, just ending up wherever felt easier that week. sometimes youâd wake up at jay and jakeâs place, making coffee in the kitchen while heeseung was already gone, his side of the bed cold. other times heâd stay at your place, slipping into your room after a long shoot, trying not to wake yunjin and sakura, but still tripping over the shoes by the door and making you laugh even when you were half-asleep. it wasnât bad, exactly, just messy, like you were both living out of two apartments without ever fully belonging to either.
the weirdest part was how much free time you suddenly had compared to him. you were still writing your play, filling notebooks with dialogue and scene directions, but there were whole afternoons where you just sat at your desk staring at the page, the silence in the apartment stretching out while sakura binged dramas in the living room and yunjin practiced lines for her own auditions. youâd check your phone, see no new messages from him, and go back to scribbling something down, crossing it out five minutes later. heeseung didnât mean to be absent, you knew that, but there were nights he showed up late, dropped onto your couch with fast food, and fell asleep halfway through telling you a story. other times heâd cancel plans last minute, calling from some airport to say the team needed him in vegas or san francisco for a shoot. he always promised it wouldnât be long, that heâd be back before you even noticed, and technically he was right, but it still left you in this strange space where your life felt paused while his was on fast-forward.
and yet, you stuck around each other anyway. even if it meant you sitting on the floor of his room while jay worked on a beat in the corner and heeseung typed half a sketch into his laptop, or him lying on your bed scrolling through emails while you tried to read him a new scene. the energy wasnât always balanced, but you kept showing up, and so did he, even if sometimes he was too tired to do much more than fall asleep next to you. heeseung called you one night while you were half asleep on the couch. his voice came through the speaker, a little rushed, like he was walking somewhere. âhey, you busy friday?â
you rubbed your eyes, sat up, and mumbled, âprobably not, why?â
âweâre doing a live show,â he said, and there was this small pause before he added, âlike, with the whole cast. not just filming sketches. real stage, real crowd. you should come.â
you blinked, suddenly awake. âa live show? like a stand up?â
âkind of,â he explained. âitâs improv and bits and some of the stuff we do on camera, but bigger. people actually bought tickets.â then, quieter, âi want you there.â
you smiled into the phone even though he couldnât see it. âokay. send me the details.â
friday came and you found yourself standing outside this mid size theater downtown. the line stretched around the block, people holding tickets and laughing like theyâd been waiting for this all week. you hadnât expected that many, honestly. you found your seat and before long the lights went down, the host came out, and the cast started doing what they did best â throwing themselves into dumb sketches, playing characters that fell apart halfway through, and somehow making it funnier that way. when heeseung finally walked on stage, the reaction was immediate. the crowd started cheering louder, people stood up, a few rushed closer to the stage like they needed to be right in front of him. he looked different there, not because he was acting, but because everyone else in the room knew who he was too. youâd gotten used to seeing him in messy apartments or asleep on your couch, and now you were watching hundreds of people clap and laugh just because he stepped into the light.
you were proud, really proud, but the more the show went on, the more the crowd pressed forward. the people around you stood up, blocking your view, and you found yourself edged further back without even meaning to move. everyone was craning their necks, shouting, phones out trying to get pictures, and you were the one person who felt like you were sliding out of place. on stage, heeseung was in his element. he was riffing with soobin, stealing the bit halfway through and getting the loudest laughs of the night. the improv moved fast, one game into the next, the kind of rhythm that made the whole room feel electric. but from where you stood now, pushed near the back wall, it almost felt like you were watching from the outside, like you were just another person in the audience.
he didnât notice, not because he didnât care, but because he was too busy keeping up with the chaos on stage. you stayed there, watching, your chest tight with this mix of pride and something else you couldnât quite name. you clapped along when the crowd clapped, laughed when they laughed, but you also kept thinking about how much bigger he looked up there than he ever did sitting across from you on your living room floor. when the show finally hit its closing bit, the whole theater was on their feet. people were shouting, stomping, filming, and the energy was insane. you stood there at the back, eyes on him the whole time, trying to take in the fact that this was really happening, that he was really becoming someone people knew. and even if it stung a little to feel out of place in the middle of all that noise, you couldnât help smiling, because you knew how hard heâd worked to get here.
so after that week, you were at heeseungâs apartment one night, even though he wasnât there, sitting at their kitchen table with a half eaten pizza between you and jay, who was scrolling on his laptop with cables stretched across the counter, and jake was leaning back in his chair, strumming his guitar. âwhereâs heeseung now?â jake asked, plucking at a string.
you shrugged. âi think san diego today. iâm not sure.â
there was a pause. jay looked up from his screen and said, âyou should come over more often. we make dinner sometimes, but donât let that stop you.â he smirked, and you laughed a little, shaking your head. jay studied you for a second before saying, âyou miss him,â jay said, not as a question but like he already knew.
you shifted in your chair. âi guess. iâm adapting.â you didnât smile back right away. âdo you think heâs happy?â jay tilted his head. âi mean with all of it,â you said. âthe show, the travel, the work.â
jake shrugged. âhe worked his whole life in a job he didnât care about, and every night heâd pull out his jokes like that was the only thing that actually made him feel alive. so when i look at heeseung now, doing comedy and actually getting paid for it, i think heâs lucky. i think weâre happy for him.â you glanced out the window when someone walked by on the street, your thoughts drifting for a second before he turned back to you. âdreams change,â he said simply. then, seeing your face, he added, âdonât think too hard about it. heâll be back soon.â
you knew that. but that didnât mean you werenât going to miss him anyway. so three days later you were sitting at your desk with a plate of leftover takeout next to your laptop. you typed between bites, scrolling back up every two minutes to change a sentence. on the screen was a draft, half finished, where the words âone-woman play,â âone night only,â and â7pmâ stood out in the middle of the mess. you paused, read it back, then sighed and reached for your phone. you dialed heeseung. it rang and rang, then went to voicemail.
âhey, itâs me,â you said quietly. ânot sure where you are⌠maybe san francisco? or seattle? i havenât heard from you in a while. i miss you.â you hesitated, then added, âok⌠bye.â you hung up and set the phone face down before going back to typing.
you decided to walk around downtown that day, just to clear your head. when you came back home later that night, yunjin and sakura werenât home, you walked through the courtyard toward your apartment, juggling your bag and a stack of notebooks. when you opened the door, the first thing that hit you was noise â not the usual quiet of your place but loud music blasting from the living room, some chaotic playlist heeseung had probably put on shuffle. you jiggled the handle, finally got the door open, and froze. heeseung was in the middle of the room, moving around a table that was actually set, with plates and candles. he was rushing back and forth, lighting one candle, adjusting another, and when he spotted you standing in the doorway, he grinned. âsurprise,â he said, holding the lighter in one hand like he was proud of himself.
you couldnât help laughing a little as you stepped inside. âwhat is this?â
he moved quickly to the table and lifted one of the trays heâd set down earlier. âdinner.â under the cover was roast chicken, and next to it pasta that smelled way better than anything he usually made. then he darted back to the kitchen, pulled something out, and held it up with both hands. âand⌠apple pie. twenty-five pounds of apples went into this. probably ruined a farm somewhere, but it tastes good.â
you covered your mouth, laughing harder now. âyou baked a pie?â
âwell, technically i bought it half-baked and then pretended it was mine, but yes,â he said, completely straight faced.
you dropped your bag by the door, still shaking your head in disbelief. âi canât believe you did all this.â
he set the pie down and looked at you, more serious now. âiâve been gone a lot. i know. so i wanted to make up for it. at least tonight.â the music was still playing way too loud in the background, but for a moment it felt like the room went quieter. âi have to head back in the morning, but i needed to see you tonight.â you looked at him, your throat tight for a second, and before you could stop yourself you walked and wrapped your arms around him. he hugged you back, and when you kissed him it wasnât rushed or casual, it was the kind where you both stayed there for a long time. later you sat across from each other at the table, your glasses half full, music still playing low in the background. âfeels so good to be home,â he said, exhaling like the thought alone calmed him down. then he looked at you, more curious. âhowâs the play going?â
you hesitated, then admitted, âiâm nervous. iâm nervous about being on stage at all,â you said honestly. âiâm terrified.â
he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. âthey should be lucky to even see it. itâs going to be incredible. i canât wait.â
you tried to smile but it came out a little strained. âi can.â a pause hung between you. you broke it with, âwhat time do you leave in the morning?â
â6:45.â
âugh.â
âyep,â he said, popping the p. âboise.â
you blinked. âboise?â
he nodded. âyou should come.â
âto boise?â you asked, almost laughing.
âyeah. you could knock it off your bucket list.â
you laughed for real this time. âwish i could.â
he looked at you for a second before asking, âwhy canât you?â
âbecause i have to rehearse.â
âcanât you rehearse anywhere?â
you frowned at him. âyou mean anywhere you are?â he hesitated. âall my stuff is here, and the showâs in a few weeks, and i donât know⌠it doesnât seem practical.â
âright,â he said, leaning back, the edge in his voice sharper now. âi justâ weâre going to have to figure something out, otherwise weâll never see each other.â
you nodded slowly. âi know, but⌠when are you done?â
his brows furrowed. âwhat do you mean?â
âwhen are you done with all this? the shows, the traveling, everything?â
heeseung didnât answer right away, just stared at you like he didnât even know what to say. he rubbed his hands together, frustrated. âbut as soon as weâre done with this round of shows, weâre back filming for the channel, and then we go straight into another run. thatâs how it works.â you stared at him, not sure you understood. âwe do live shows so people find the channel,â he continued, âand then we do more shows to keep it growing.â
you let that sink in before saying quietly, âso itâs⌠the long haul? youâre going to be with this group for a long time. traveling, filming, all of it.â
heeseung frowned. âwhat did you think was going to happen?â
âi donât know,â you admitted.
âyou didnât think weâd be successful,â he said flatly.
âno, thatâs not what i meant. i just didnât think it would mean you being on the road for years.â
he leaned back. âyeah. feasibly, i could be doing this for years with just this run of shows.â
you looked at him for a moment, then asked, âdo you even like the material youâre doing?â
âi donât know why that matters,â he shot back.
âit matters if youâre giving up your own dream for this,â you said. âit matters if youâre burning yourself out on sketches you donât care about.â
he stared at you. âdo you like the stuff iâm doing?â
âyes,â you said honestly. âi do. i just⌠didnât think you did.â he opened his mouth, then closed it again, shaking his head. âand now i hear you could be stuck in this loop for years, and iâmââ
âwhat are you doing right now?â he interrupted, voice sharper. âwhy are you starting this? this is what you wanted,â he said, almost accusing.
âwhat, you to be in this group?â
âto have a steady job.â
you hesitated, then said, âyes, i wanted you to be stable, to take care of yourself. so you could work toward your own stuff.â
âand iâm doing that. so why arenât we celebrating?â
âwhy arenât you working on your bar?â you asked, your voice rising.
heeseung laughed bitterly. âno one cares about that kind of bar! no one wants to sit through an hour of story-based stand-upâno one cares about stand-up. not even you,â he cut in, not even letting you finish.
âi do care now. because of you.â
but he wasnât listening. âwhat am i supposed to do? go back to open mics in half-empty bars, telling jokes about salad prices just so i can save up for some dream no one actually believes in?â
âpeople will want to see it,â you argued. âpeople love when someone does what they actually care about.â
heeseung shook his head. ânot in my experience.â and silence stretched for a moment. then he muttered, âanyway, itâs time to be realistic. this is what iâm doing. if you had a problem with it, you shouldâve said something before i signed the contract.â
you tried again, softer this time. âyou had a dream. you were sticking to it. that meant something.â
âthis is the dream,â he said firmly.
âbut,â you whispered. âthis isnât your dream.â
he exhaled hard, frustrated. âguys like me go their whole lives and never do anything people actually like. iâm finally doing something that works. whatâs so wrong with that?â
you looked at him, your voice almost shaking now. âsince when you care so much about being liked?â
heeseungâs voice cracked as he finally snapped, louder than before. âyouâre an actress! what are you talking about?â the room went dead quiet. the playlist that had been humming in the background had stopped, leaving only the faint hum of the speaker. you could hear your own heartbeat in the silence, and for a second you just stared at him, waiting for him to take it back. he didnât. instead, he looked straight at you, jaw tight. âmaybe you liked me better when i was on my ass because it made you feel better about yourself.â
your chest tightened instantly. you felt your eyes burn, and you tried to swallow it down, blinking fast like you could push the tears back, but it was useless. âare you kidding?â you asked, your voice low but shaking.
âno,â he said, flat.
you couldnât believe he actually meant it. after all the nights you stayed up listening to him rehearse, after all the hours you spent watching him bomb at open mics and telling him to keep going anyway, after the times you cheered him up when he swore he was wasting his life â and now he was throwing it back at you like you only cared about him when he was failing. it made you feel small, like everything youâd given him didnât count anymore. you stared at him, and he stared right back. the tension was thick, nothing moving except the sound of your own uneven breathing. and then, suddenly, the fire alarm went off, shrill and piercing, snapping you both out of it. heeseung whipped around toward the kitchen and saw smoke pouring out of the oven. the pie heâd bragged about earlier was burning. he jumped up to open the oven, coughing as the smoke hit him, and when he turned back you were already on your feet, grabbing your bag with shaking hands. âwaitââ he started, reaching out.
but you were already at the door. you didnât want to hear another word, not when your throat felt tight and your stomach was heavy with everything heâd just said. you opened the door, stepped out, and slammed it shut behind you. inside, heeseung pulled the ruined pie from the oven, the alarm still blaring, the smoke clouding the room.
the week after the fight, you kept yourself busy. you told yunjin and sakura you were fine, and for the most part you meant it, but every time your phone buzzed you felt that sting in your chest when it wasnât him. still, you didnât want to lose focus, not now, because thursday was the premiere of your play, and youâd worked too long to let the fight swallow all of your energy. you threw yourself into rehearsals. mornings were spent in the theater, running through lines with no one watching, afternoons tweaking small things in the script, evenings talking with the stage manager about props. you were anxious, of course, but underneath that was a strange kind of confidence. you knew the play was good, or at least that it was honest, and you believed in it enough to put your name on the poster outside the building.
the day of the show, you walked up to the theater carrying a box of props. taped to the glass door was the poster with your name on it â ây/nâ in bold letters, âone night only.â you stood there for a second, the street quiet around you, and then pushed the door open. inside, the theater was dark and empty, rows of seats disappearing into the shadows. you put the box down and stood still, taking in the silence. it was intimidating, but it was also yours. you breathed in, nodded to yourself, and started setting everything up.
meanwhile, across town, heeseung was finishing a run-through with the rest of the cast. the energy was high, people cracking jokes even after the practice ended, but he wasnât all there. he stuffed his notebook into his backpack and was halfway out the door when soobin called after him. âyouâre good for tonight, right?â
heeseung stopped, frowning. âtonight?â
âthe shoot,â soobin said, not looking up from his phone. âseven oâclock. hybe magazine.â
heeseung blinked, confused. âi thought that was next thursday.â
âno, itâs tonight.â soobin finally looked at him, reading his hesitation. âis that a problem?â
heeseung didnât answer right away. he checked the time on his phone, his jaw tightening, but eventually he just nodded. âyeah. itâs fine.â
that night, people started filing into the theater where your play was set to open. you were backstage, dressed in costume, pacing with your phone in hand. it was 7:04. no texts from him. you set the phone down, rubbed your palms against your pants, and took a breath. on the other side of the curtain, the murmur of the audience grew louder, people settling into their seats, waiting. the house lights dimmed, the hush came, and you closed your eyes for one last second. you could do this. then you stepped out into the light.
meanwhile, heeseung was still at the photoshoot, that was supposed to take an hour, two at most, but it dragged on forever. the photographer kept adjusting lights, telling him to try a different pose, making heeseung swap jackets three times just to decide the first one was better. the rest of the cast was laughing through it, but heeseung kept checking the clock on his phone, doing the math in his head, realizing how late it was getting. he shifted from one background to another, holding a fake microphone, then pretending to laugh mid-shot like he was in the middle of a punchline. every click of the camera felt longer than it should. by the time they wrapped, it was already way past seven. he grabbed his bag, muttered something about needing to go, and bolted out the door, heart pounding.
and you were still on stage, not in costume anymore, just yourself in ordinary clothes. behind you was the small set youâd built: a wallpapered wall, a little window with a projection of a starry night, your props carefully placed, like the globe from your room, an old suitcase, a roll of maps, little things that made the space feel real. the scene ended quietly. you reached for the lamp, switched it off, and the stage went black. then the house lights came up. the silence broke into thin, scattered applause. you forced a smile, bowed, and when you looked out, the sight hit harder than you expected. less than a quarter of the seats were filled. and the one in the front row with the âreservedâ sign â the one youâd saved for heeseung â was empty.
you bowed again quickly and left the stage. in the dressing room, you started pulling your things together, not wanting to linger, when voices carried in from the hallway. âif i have to sit through one more wannabe writer talking about nostalgia iâm gonna lose my mind,â someone said. âseriously,â another voice agreed. âsheâs not even good. that window bit? awful.â their laughter echoed. you froze where you stood, your hands gripping the costume bag tighter. you couldnât move, couldnât even breathe right. the words sat heavy in your chest, louder than the applause had ever been. by the time their voices faded down the hall, you sank into a chair, staring at the floor.
later that night, heeseungâs car screeched to a stop outside the theater. he ran to the door, tugging at it, but it was locked. the building was dark now. he spun around, panicked, until he saw you. you were coming out of a side door, carrying the box of props back to your car. ây/n!â he shouted, sprinting toward you.
you turned, your face tired but unreadable. he ran straight to you, wrapped his arms around you, and kissed you like he could erase the distance of the past week in one move. âstop,â you said, pulling back, firm.
he froze, staring at you like he didnât know what to do with his hands now. âiâm sorry i missed it. iâm sorry for what i said, and for being an asshole. i swear iâll make it up to you.â
âitâs over,â you said simply.
there was no anger in your voice, just a kind of finality that left him stuck in place. he blinked. â...what do you mean?â
âiâm done embarrassing myself,â you said. your voice cracked a little, but you kept going. âno one came. i canât even pay the theater back.â his mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out. âiâm going home for a while,â you added.
he swallowed hard. âthis is home.â
you shook your head. ânot anymore.â
he stood there silent, his jaw tight, his eyes glassy. you didnât say anything else. you put the box in the car, got in, and drove off, leaving him standing outside the theater alone.
and after you left, heeseungâs life didnât suddenly crash or fall apart, but it also didnât really feel right anymore. he still had the shows, the shoots, the group laughing around him like nothing was wrong, but the quiet parts of the day started to stretch out in weird ways. heâd wake up in the apartment and for a second expect your shoes by the door or your notebook on the counter, and when they werenât there, heâd just stand still for too long before getting dressed. mornings turned into coffee in a rush, a bagel he barely touched, then heading out for whatever meeting or rehearsal was scheduled. he didnât miss calls because he couldnât afford to, but he started spacing out in the middle of them, nodding at soobin or the director while his head was somewhere else.
on stage, he looked the same. if anything, he was sharper, because throwing himself into the bits meant he didnât have to think. the crowd didnât know the difference. they screamed and clapped, and he smiled back, timing the punchlines perfectly, but backstage he barely lingered anymore. the others would want to celebrate, maybe grab food after a show, and heâd come up with an excuse, say he was tired, and head home. but home wasnât quiet either. jay and jake tried to pull him out of whatever mood he was in â jay making jokes about how heâd turned into the âbrooding guy in the corner,â jake offering to play guitar while he wrote new material. sometimes it worked, but most nights it didnât. heâd sit at the kitchen table, open his notebook, write a line, cross it out, and just stare at the page until he shut it again.
he didnât call you. not because he didnât want to, but because every time he pulled up your name, his chest tightened and he thought about that night at the theater, the way youâd looked at him before leaving. instead, he just kept your contact pinned at the top of his screen, scrolling past it every day like some kind of punishment. the routine became predictable â wake up, work, stage, home, notebook, sleep. except the âsleepâ part was usually just lying awake until three, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were actually better off without him.
heeseung was half-asleep on the couch when his phone started buzzing. he almost didnât answer, figuring it was jay or jake asking if he wanted food, but the number was unknown, so he picked up anyway. âhello?â
âhi, iâm trying to reach y/n.â the voice was polite, a womanâs voice, not familiar at all.
heeseung blinked, sat up straighter. âwrong number,â he muttered, already pulling the phone from his ear to hang up.
âsheâs not answering her cell and i was told i might find her here,â the woman cut in before the line went dead.
he froze, phone still to his ear, pulse quickening. âyeah, well⌠not anymore,â he said, his voice flat but betraying the way his chest tightened just hearing your name out loud.
âok. if you do talk to herââ
âi wonât,â he cut in quickly.
ââplease tell her wonhee at big lift casting is trying to reach her.â
and just like that he was on his feet, grabbing his keys from the counter, not even bothering to put shoes on properly before he was out the door. the drive felt like a blur. he pulled up in front of your place, laying on the horn the way he always did, except this time it wasnât playful. after a minute, the door flew open and yunjin stormed out, arms crossed, her face unimpressed. âjesus christ, can you not?â she snapped, glaring at him from the top of the steps.
he leaned across the passenger seat and rolled the window down. âwhere is she?â
yunjinâs eyes narrowed. âsheâs not here.â
âthen where?â
she took a few steps closer, still glaring. âyou really hurt her, you know.â
heeseung exhaled, leaning his head back for a second before looking at her again. âi know i was a dick, okay? you donât have to tell me twice.â his tone was smug but still admitting defeat, like he didnât know how else to defend himself. âbut iâm trying to fix it. i just need to talk to her.â
âfix it?â yunjin scoffed. âyou think you can just show up, honk like a maniac, and fix it?â
âno,â he said quickly, shaking his head. âbut she got a call, some casting thing, and theyâre trying to reach her. i donât know the details, but it sounded big. iâm not just gonna sit here while she misses out on that because of me.â
yunjin studied him for a moment, her expression softening just a little, though she still looked pissed. âshe went home,â she finally said. âback to her parents. she said she needed time.â
heeseungâs grip tightened on the steering wheel. âhome,â he repeated quietly, then nodded once. âok.â
yunjin sighed, arms dropping to her sides. âdonât make it worse.â
âi wonât,â he said, his voice more serious now. he gave her a quick nod, rolled the window up, and pulled away from the curb, already turning the car in the direction of the freeway. the drive was long, longer than he expected, but he didnât care. heeseung barely stopped, just filled the tank when he had to and grabbed whatever snacks he could from the gas station. the whole way, his head was buzzing with what heâd say when he saw you. half of him was rehearsing lines like he was on stage, the other half was panicking that maybe you wouldnât even listen. he thought about the fight, about the way your face looked before you left, and every mile he drove he felt that pit in his stomach get heavier, but he kept going anyway.
at your parentsâ house, things were quieter. you were sitting at the kitchen table with your mom and dad, a plate of cut fruit between you, trying to convince yourself you felt calmer there. your dad was asking you about the play, your mom asking if youâd thought about grad school, and you were answering half-heartedly, because you didnât really want to get into it. and then came the sound. a car horn, loud, drawn-out, echoing down your street. your dad nearly dropped his fork. âwhat the hellâŚ?â he muttered, already standing to look out the window. you froze. it couldnât be. but when you walked to the front room and pulled the curtain back, there he was â heeseungâs car parked right in front of your house, him leaning across the wheel like he wasnât disturbing the entire block. a neighbor shouted at him to cut it out, but he didnât care, his eyes already finding yours through the glass. you blinked, disbelief written all over your face.
a moment later you were outside, standing next to his car. your arms were crossed, your stomach twisted. âwhy did you come here?â
heeseung was out of the car now, looking at you like he hadnât slept in days but still managing that smug little smile, like he needed it as armor. âbecause i have good news.â
you raised a brow, unimpressed. âokâŚâ
âwonhee,â he said quickly, almost tripping over the name. âthe casting director.â
your face tightened. âi know who she is.â
âshe was at your play,â he said, eyes lighting up for the first time. âand she loved it. she loved it so much that she wants you to audition for this big movie sheâs working on.â he looked genuinely excited, like heâd been holding this in the whole drive.
but you just shook your head. âiâm not going.â
heeseung blinked. â...excuse me?â
âiâm not going,â you repeated, more certain now. âthat will kill me.â
âthatâs it? thatâs your answer?â you nodded. he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. âwhy wonât you come?â
and finally you snapped, all the weight youâd been holding in spilling out. âbecause itâs another audition!â your voice cracked, louder than you meant it. âiâve been to hundreds of auditions, heeseung. do you know what happens? they cut me off after two seconds, or they laugh at me while iâm crying, or iâm one of a hundred girls in the waiting room who all look exactly like me. thereâs always someone else, always someone better. and maybeââ you hesitated, then said it anyway, ââmaybe iâm just not good enough.â
he shook his head immediately. âyes you are.â
âno. maybe iâm not,â you said, softer now, but honest. âmaybe iâm one of those people who wants it but never gets there. maybe itâs like you said â maybe i need to grow up. i can go back to school, figure something else out. i tried, it didnât work, and i donât want to keep hurting myself over it.â
he shook his head, stubborn as ever. âno. i told them youâd be there tomorrow at five-thirty. iâll swing by before i head back at eight. either youâll be outside or you wonât.â
he walked back to his car, and you just stood there, silent, the words still hanging between you. before getting in, you called after him, âhow did you even find me?â
he turned, a little bit grumpy and serious, but softer this time. âthe house across from the library.â
and sure enough, when you looked up, there it was the same library that had been across from your childhood home, the one that had introduced you to old movies in the first place. you froze, your throat tight, because of course he would notice that. he got into the car and drove off, leaving you staring at the library, your thoughts louder than you wanted them to be.
the next morning, heeseungâs car pulled up in front of your parentsâ house right on time. the clock on the dash read 8:02. he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the front door like he could will it to open. nothing. a couple more minutes passed. he shifted in his seat, leaned back, and shut his eyes. 8:10. he looked again. the door was still closed. he sighed, already feeling that weight in his chest, and reached for the keys to start the car. he put it in gear, ready to pull away, when he heard a loud knock on the passenger window. he jumped, and whipped his head around. there you were, standing outside the car with two fresh cups of coffee balanced in a tray and a little paper bag of pastries in your hand. your hair was a little messy from the morning wind, your cheeks flushed, and you looked at him like you werenât sure if heâd be annoyed or relieved.
heeseung broke into a grin immediately. he leaned over, popped the door open for you, and said, âtook you long enough. i was about to leave.â but the smile on his face made it clear he wasnât serious.
you slid into the seat, setting the coffees down in the holder. âfigured if weâre gonna do this, we should at least have decent breakfast.â
âso youâre coming,â he said, more like a statement than a question.
you didnât answer right away, just handed him the bag. âeat before you get cocky.â
a couple of hours later, the two of you were walking side by side through the studio lot. the sky was overcast, a gray kind of afternoon, but the place still buzzed with people moving around, golf carts zipping past, crew carrying gear across fake city streets. you passed a set that looked like new york, brick facades with fire escapes that went nowhere, and another corner painted with old hollywood posters that looked like theyâd been there for decades. neither of you said much. heeseung kept stealing glances at you, like he was waiting to make sure you wouldnât bolt. eventually you ended up in the waiting lobby. the place was plain, white walls, a couple of framed posters from past films, a long row of chairs against the wall. you sat down, your leg bouncing nervously, and heeseung dropped into the chair beside you. the door to the audition room opened, and an actress walked out, brushing past quickly without looking at anyone. a moment later an assistant leaned out with a clipboard in hand. ây/n?â
you froze, your throat tight, then stood. you glanced at heeseung once, your eyes flickering with panic and gratitude all at once. he gave you the smallest nod, like he was saying, go. you took a breath, squared your shoulders, and stepped inside. inside the room, wonhee sat behind a desk, seated just behind her was taehyun, the director, watching quietly. âhi, y/n,â wonhee said. you answered, your voice careful, polite. âiâm wonhee, this is taehyun. weâre glad we found you.â you nodded, gave a small smile, and sat down. âthe movie shoots in paris,â wonhee explained. âthereâs no script yet.â
taehyun leaned forward, his hands folded. âwe want to build the character with you. itâs a process. three months of rehearsal, four months of shooting.â
you hesitated, nodded slowly. â...ok.â
âso why donât you just tell us a story?â wonhee asked.
â...about?â you shifted in your seat, unsure.
âabout anything,â she said simply. you nodded again, your throat tight. there was a pause. the silence stretched, and for a moment it looked like you werenât going to find the words at all. âwhenever youâre ready,â wonhee added. you sat there in the silence for a moment, eyes flicking between wonhee and taehyun, both of them waiting without saying a word. for a second you thought about telling them the realest story you had, how you once met this frustrated comedian who swore the world didnât care about him, and how somehow he ended up becoming someone people actually stopped to listen to. it was tempting, almost natural to bring him into the room with you. but then you caught yourself. the film was set in paris. this was supposed to be about a place and a feeling, not him. so you let that thought pass, swallowed it down, and reached for something else you carried with you. you took a breath, let it sit in your chest for a second, and then started.Â
âmy aunt lived in paris for a while,â you started, your voice careful but carrying. âshe used to come home with these stories about what it was like to live abroad. i grew up listening to her talk about it like it was this other universe, one that was messy and beautiful at the same time. i remember once she told me she jumped into the seine, barefoot. no planning, no thinking, she just went for it. she said the water was freezing, that she spent a month coughing and sneezing after, but if she had the chance, sheâd do it again. that was who she was. she didnât wait for the safe choice. she believed in doing things that scared her, even if she looked foolish. she said thatâs what gives life its color. that a little bit of madness is what pushes us forward, because without it weâd all just repeat what came before. she used to say, âthey need people like us â the ones who make a mess of things, who fall apart and still try again. because thatâs where new things come from.â so when i think of her, i donât think of the mistakes or the bad days. i think of that moment she described, smiling with her hair dripping wet, saying sheâd do it all again even if it hurt. because she believed that was the point. so hereâs to the people who jump without looking, to the ones who try even when it breaks their hearts, to the ones who get it wrong a hundred times but keep going anyway. because maybe theyâre the only reason anything changes at all.â
you felt like you were floating on stage. they smiled. you sighed in relief. maybe coming here was worth it after all.
after the audition, you and heeseung ended up at griffith park. the sun was low but not gone yet, the sky breaking open with streaks of orange and pink, the observatory standing behind you like something pulled out of every postcard of los angeles. you both sat on a bench, shoulders close, not really talking at first. it was one of those pauses that wasnât awkward, just heavy, like the moment needed space to breathe. heeseung finally looked at you, his voice soft. âwhen do you find out?â
âthey said the next couple of days,â you answered, eyes fixed on the view instead of him. âbut iâm not expecting anything.â
he shook his head immediately, leaning closer like he couldnât let you get away with that. âyouâre going to get it.â
you let out a small laugh, not really believing it. âno, iâm not.â
âyou are. i know these things,â he said, smug as always, but there was no joke in his tone.
there was a pause, and then you asked quietly, âwhere are we?â
he glanced around, confused for a second. âgriffith park.â
you shook your head, pressing. âi mean⌠where are we?â
heeseung went still, his smile faltering. âiâŚâ he admitted after a beat, rubbing the back of his neck. âi donât know.â
âwhat do we do?â you asked, and for the first time your voice cracked a little.
he sat back, exhaling. âi donât think we can do anything. because when you get thisââ
âif i get this,â you cut in quickly.
âwhen you get this,â he corrected, firm. âyouâve got to give it everything youâve got.â he held your gaze, no grin now, no flirty remark to hide behind. âitâs your dream.â
you looked down at your hands for a moment, then back at him. âwhat are you going to do?â
he shrugged, but it wasnât careless. âiâve got to stick with my plan. stay here. keep building something for myself. you knowâŚâ his voice trailed off. you nodded slowly. he looked at you again, trying for a lighter tone. âyouâll be in paris. good comedy there. and you love comedy now.â
that got a small smile out of you. âright.â
another silence passed, and it wasnât the same as the ones before. it felt heavier now, almost like if either of you spoke too quickly, the whole thing would snap. heeseung shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, and finally said, âi guess weâre just going to have to wait and see.â his voice was steady, but underneath it was this quiet resignation, like he already knew what wait and see really meant.
your chest tightened at his words. there was something final in the way he said it, even though he hadnât admitted it out loud. your eyes stung, and you hated that you couldnât hide it from him. you nodded, but your voice was small when you managed, âyou know iâm always going to love you.â it came out almost like you werenât sure you had the right to say it anymore, but you needed him to hear it.
he looked at you instantly, like the words had hit harder than he expected. he swallowed, his jaw tight, and for a second he didnât say anything, just blinked like he was trying to hold back too. when he finally answered, his voice was quiet but firm, no hesitation at all. âiâm always going to love you too.â it was simple, but you could feel how much weight it carried, how much he meant it. he smiled then, not wide, not flirty, just soft a smile that was more sad than happy, but still real. he didnât add anything else because there wasnât anything left to say. from a distance, you looked like two people just sitting side by side on a bench, the city stretching out below you. but up close, it was clear you were both holding on to every second, trying to memorize it, because you knew the second you stood up, things would never feel the same again.
five years laterâŚ
you were back in los angeles. paris hadnât been forever, but it had been the start of everything. the movie that came out of it wasnât just good, it was huge. critics called it brave, audiences loved it, and suddenly your face was on billboards you never thought youâd see. after that came more scripts, more roles, and slowly you built a career that didnât feel like a gamble anymore. now, walking down the familiar side streets near the warner brotherâs lot, you moved differently. there was a calmness in you that hadnât been there before, like you werenât second guessing every step. you passed façades that looked almost parisian, fake ones from the studio backlot, the kind you used to only dream of walking through, and pushed open the door to a coffee shop you recognized instantly. inside, heads turned for a second â people always noticed now â but you kept moving to the counter with an ease that showed youâd gotten used to it. âhi, iced coffee, please,â you said, your voice steady, polite.
the barista nodded quickly, a little flustered, while the new manager brought your drink over himself. âon us,â she said with a smile.
âno, no, thatâs fine,â you replied, handing over a few bills anyway. you dropped another into the tip jar, the barista smiling at you in return, maybe remembering this was once your spot behind the counter, not in front of it. a few minutes later, you stepped back out into the california sun, cup in hand. waiting for you was a studio golf cart, the kind reserved for talent and execs. a crew member waved, you climbed in, and the cart zipped you away down the lot, past sets and murals, like it was all just part of an ordinary day now.
later that evening, you pulled into your driveway. when you opened the door, the first thing you heard was laughter from the living room. your husband was sitting on the couch, your daughter bouncing in his lap, both of them looking up the second you walked in. âmommy!â she shouted, reaching her arms out to you, and you felt your whole body relax as you set your bag down and crossed the room. you scooped her up, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck, and for a second all the noise of the outside world fell away. your husband stood, smiling, and leaned in to kiss you hello. this was your life now. stable, full, grounded. no rushing from audition to audition, no wondering if youâd make rent that month. you had the work you always wanted, but you also had this: a family, a home, and a sense of certainty that had once felt impossible.
that night you and your husband were supposed to go to some dinner. the babysitter was already at your place, your daughter happily distracted with cartoons on the couch, so you left the house dressed up but not exactly excited. within twenty minutes you were stuck in traffic, cars barely moving, your husband drumming his fingers on the steering wheel while you scrolled on your phone. after a while he glanced at you and said, âdo you really want to do this dinner?â you shook your head almost instantly, and he laughed. âhow about we skip it and just find something to eat?â the idea hit you as relief, so you both agreed, pulled off the main road, and ended up wandering down a quieter street. it was cool out, and walking felt better than sitting in the car. you passed a row of restaurants, most of them crowded, until you heard laughter spilling out of a place on the corner. it wasnât just a couple of laughs either, it was loud, the kind that carried onto the street and made you curious. your husband slowed down, looking at the entrance. âletâs try here,â he said casually.
you nodded, but when you stepped closer you froze. on the door there was a logo, a simple design, but one you knew immediately. it was the same sketch youâd drawn years ago for heeseung when heâd talked about opening his own bar. the same lines, the same shape, only now printed onto glass and lit up like it had always belonged there: heeâs.
you stood staring at it, your stomach twisting, your husband already reaching for the door. âthis looks fun,â he said, oblivious, and pushed it open. then he looked back at you, smiling like he was inviting you to come on, so you followed, still stuck in that weird haze. inside, the place was full, people of all kinds filled the tables, some groups crowded near the stage, others at the bar. laughter rolled through the room in waves, and you realized this wasnât just some bar, it was a comedy club. your eyes darted around as you followed your husband toward the bar, recognizing little details. photos on the wall of comedians you knew had worked with him, a stool near the side of the stage youâd seen in countless rehearsal rooms. it was his space.
ây/n?â your husband said, snapping you out of it. you nodded quickly and sat beside him as he found two seats near the stage. the set on stage wrapped up, applause breaking out. a young comic waved, thanked the crowd, and left. then another figure stepped up to the mic. heeseung.
the crowd cheered before he even said anything. he adjusted the stand, smiled, and said, âgive it up one more time for yang jungwon, everyone.â the audience clapped harder, a few whistles in the mix. he waited, then grinned wider. âi told him to do knock knock jokes, but he didnât listen.â the room laughed, and as the noise settled heeseung let his eyes sweep over the crowd. it was casual at first, the way performers always do, making contact, checking the energy of the room. then his gaze landed on you. he froze mid-breath. his smile stayed, but something behind it cracked for a split second. it was the first time he had seen you in years, and the weight of that hit him harder than the spotlight. there was a long pause, so long people started shifting in their seats. finally, he forced himself to keep the grin in place and said, âwelcome to heeâs.â the audience clapped again, not noticing the way his voice dipped slightly on the words.
he gripped the mic stand like he needed the anchor, cleared his throat, and launched into his set. âso⌠a few years back, i was really bad at comedy. like, not just unfunny â like, embarrassingly unfunny. i was bombing so hard that people werenât even booing anymore, they were just politely checking their phones.â the crowd laughed. he let them. âit was so bad that one girl â one actual actress, real famous now â decided to start studying me. iâm not making this up. she told me she was preparing for a role as a failed stand-up. like, joker-level failed. joaquin phoenix without the oscar. and she looked at me and went, âyeah, youâll do.ââ people cracked up, a ripple of laughter rolling through the room. your husband laughed too, clapping his hands once. you didnât laugh. you sat still, your eyes locked on him, because you knew exactly who he was talking about. heeseung went on, pacing a little now, warming into the rhythm. âand the worst part is â she wasnât wrong. i was the definition of pathetic. iâd get up there, sweat through my shirt, tell a joke about driving uber and the audience would just blink at me.â
the crowd howled again. âbut hereâs the thing,â he continued, leaning into the mic. âthat girl â she stuck around. she told me when my jokes sucked. which was⌠always. she laughed when i was trying too hard, and somehow that made me want to keep going. and i swear, the first time i got a laugh from her that wasnât pity, i thought, âok, maybe iâm not completely hopeless.ââ a softer laugh moved through the room. he let it breathe, then smiled at the crowd. âso i guess what iâm saying is, if you ever want to be good at something, find someone who believes in you just enough to tell you the truth. or, if youâre me, find an actress who literally thought you were audition material for the role of worldâs saddest clown.âÂ
the audience cracked up again, clapping and cheering, the energy lifting with him. you clapped along too, but inside your head something snapped open. it was like watching him there pulled you back to the beginning, and suddenly a reel of every possible version of your life with him started running all at once. you saw the first night again. the open mic party, the smell of cheap beer, the way heeseung leaned against the railing trying to look casual but mostly looking annoyed. âi remember you. i saw you at the open mic the other night,â he said, then he pressed, âlook. i know you were taking notes on my jokes. what are you gonna do with it?â
you laughed in his face, sharp and quick. âyour jokes? why would i take notes on your jokes?â
but this time, in the version in your head, he didnât just stand there with his arms crossed. this time he kissed you right there, and you kissed him back, no hesitation. then the reel kept rolling. you saw nights of him showing up at your place, not tired or distracted, but ready, carrying takeout and scripts, both of you sitting on the floor until sunrise, your heads pressed together while you read lines and wrote bits and actually finished things instead of letting them trail off. you saw the premiere of your play, but the seats were full this time, packed with people laughing and clapping at the right moments, and in the front row he was there, smiling so big it almost embarrassed you. afterwards he pulled you into the hallway and kissed you against the poster with your name on it, telling you that you killed it, that heâd never been more proud. you saw his shows too. the same club you were sitting in now, but different. back then, in this version, you were the one rushing to grab the best seat, waiting for him to step out, and when the crowd roared you were the loudest one cheering. afterwards you met him by the bar, and instead of leaving with other people, he left with you.
the reel sped up, mixing real memories with imagined ones. the sushi dinners where he didnât fall asleep in the car on the way home, the late nights where he didnât choose rehearsal over you, the mornings you both actually woke up together instead of alone in separate apartments. you saw him meeting your parents, awkward but trying, and you saw yourself with jay and jake, laughing at how messy their apartment was while he tried to cook something edible. it all kept blending, flipping through versions of the same story until you didnât know which ones were the past and which ones were just the fantasy. you saw a life where you stayed, or that he went to paris with you, where the fight never happened, where instead of walking away that night outside the theater, you listened, he listened, and you figured it out. in every version, you and heeseung ended up together. maybe not perfect, maybe still messy, but together.
the noise of the audience snapped you back. the applause had died down, and heeseung was back on stage, shifting into his next bit, his voice steady, his timing perfect. your husband leaned in, laughing, nudging your arm like this was the funniest thing heâd ever heard. you smiled faintly, but your eyes stayed on heeseung. you werenât sure if you were watching him now or watching the reel still playing in your head. all you knew was that for a few minutes, you let yourself believe in every version of the story, even the ones that never happened.
the crowd was still buzzing when the lights shifted again. waiters moved between tables, glasses clinking, and the chatter grew as another comic prepared to step on stage. your husband leaned closer, his hand brushing your arm. âdo you want to stay for the next set?â he asked, his voice casual, warm.
you shook your head, quiet but certain. âno,â you said softly. âletâs go.â
he nodded, smiling, and stood, reaching for his jacket. you followed, but before stepping away, your eyes drifted back to the stage. heeseung was there, still under the lights, laughing at something one of the other comics whispered, like years hadnât just folded in on themselves the second your eyes met his. and then, as if he felt you looking, he glanced up. the room was loud, the crowd restless, but for a moment it was silent between you two. heeseung didnât move, didnât say anything, just held your gaze. you smiled first, small and certain. he smiled back, not the stage smile, but the one you remembered. the truth was, the two of you had already done what you were meant to do. youâd shown up in each otherâs lives at the right time. he had pushed you toward the stage, and you had pushed him toward the mic. the dreams that once felt impossible were now real, solid, standing right in front of you both.
the love had been real too, even if it didnât last. and maybe that was the point all along. because sometimes it isnât about staying. sometimes itâs about appearing, about being the person who changes the course, even if only for a while, because someone in the crowd could be the one you need to know, the one to finally lift you off the ground. someone in the crowd could take you where you wanna go, if youâre the someone ready to be found.
Âť RONNIE'S NOTES: hiiiiii guyssssss i seriously loved writing this fic BRUHHH itâs honestly the longest one iâve ever written and i had so much fun with it even though the ending is kinda sad lmao i really love how it turned out especially cause i feel like it really fits the la la land vibe which is MY FAV MOVIE BTW if you havenât watched the movie you might not get it, but if you have, youâll see the plot is pretty similar. ps in my head the channel soobin is part of that heeseung group is smosh LLMAOOO and honestly yk sometimes life is just like thatâpeople come into your life not to be a romantic thing but to put you exactly where youâre supposed to be and thatâs kind of what this story is about (also sorry for totally losing it on the smut scene, i got kinda carried away lol) anyway HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT BYYYYYEEEEE!!!! <3 <3
heejamas masterlist <3 // Š all rights reserved @/heejamas â do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures
STOP......I already know how it was gonna end but it still made me so emotional and actually made me tear up.....I was genuinely hoping for a happy ending that was not gonna happen
This fic is way too good, like it catches the essence of la la land so well with your own twist đđĽ
best friend's boyfriend đđşđđž & đż đđžđşđ˝đžđ âş 37k đđđ˝ đźđđ ďšâśďš đđđđ đđ˝đđ, multiple sex scenes, đđđşđ (đ. đđžđź & f. rec), đ đđ đ, đđđđđđđžđźđđžđ˝ đđžđ, đźđđđđđđ, đ˝đşđźđđđđđđ đđş, ass slapping, mean jake (he calls her a whore), dom!jake, creampies, somnophilia, semi-public sex, car sex, jake is the textbook definition of a man, ft heeseung, sunghoon, jay, đşđđđđ, đťđžđđđşđđşđ , đ đđžđ, đ˝đşđđ đđđžđđžđ, đ˝đđđ đşđđ˝ đşđ đźđđđđ đđđž, đźđđžđşđđđđ (DON'T LIKE? DON'T READ.), đđşđđž đşđđ˝ đđžđşđ˝đžđ đşđđž đđđ đđđđ˝ đđžđđđ đž, đžđđđđđđđşđ đđşđđđđđ đşđđđđ, đđşđ đ đđż đđđđđđđžđ, đđşđ đ đđż death, this will NOT have a part 2, đžđđź. ďš m.list ă
rain's mic is on : please please please read the warnings before you read this, i don't condone any actions taken place in this and it is purely fiction. Jake i love you so much okay, nothing he does in this fic resembles the idol irl.
1 year agoÂ
The memory lives in you like a scar, faint around the edges but aching when pressed, the kind of thing time dulls but never erases. You remember the stadium lights first, how they glared too brightly against the darkening sky, flooding the pitch with an almost holy brilliance. Mimi was down there, lacing herself through defenders with the stubborn grace she always carried, legs flying, ponytail whipping like a banner of defiance. It was magical, a sight you had grown to love and adore. Something you knew your best friend loved to do more than anything else in the world.Â
You were on your feet, screaming yourself hoarse, Jake beside you with his fists cupped around his mouth, and her parents clapping with the ferocity of people who had only ever dreamed of this moment for their daughter. She was passion distilled into motion, chasing after the ball as if it were oxygen, and you believed she could outrun anything: doubt, failure, even fate. But thenâ like a whisper â something happened. Not in a grand, cinematic collapse, but in a wrong turn of bone and tendon, a sound you didnât hear but somehow felt, sharp and terrible. Mimi crumpled mid-stride, her scream slicing the air so cleanly it silenced the entire stadium. You felt the world tilt. For a second you didnât breathe. The game froze. She was on the ground, clutching her knee as if trying to hold her whole life together through that one fragile joint. Almost like her life had shattered the same way the bone did and you guess in some way, it did.Â
Instead of thinking, you ran. The barrier between the stands and the field might as well have vanished. Your sneakers pounded against the turf as you reached her, Jake a heartbeat behind you, Mimiâs family rushing in a blur. She was sobbing, choking on air, saying only, my knee, my knee, itâs gone, like she knew before the doctors did. You knelt beside her, grasping her hand, but her eyes were wild with pain and already searching for Jake. The chaos that followed hardly belongs to you. The stretcher, the flashing lights, the sirenâs wail, all of it smeared together in a streak of red and panic. You remember gripping the side rail of the ambulance as if the metal might steady you, Mimi thrashing as she begged them not to touch her leg. You whispered her name like a prayer, but the only voice that calmed her was Jakeâs, low and steady in the back as he promised her it would be okay.Â
The waiting room was a purgatory of fluorescent lights and linoleum floors, time dripping like molasses from the clock. Her parents clutched each other, her siblings sat hollow-eyed, Jake paced until you thought his shoes might burn tracks into the tiles. You sat with your hands clenched in your lap, imagining all the ways life could split in two from a single wrong step. When the doctor finally emerged, white coat and grave eyes, the words fell like a verdict: Sheâll never play again. Just like that, an entire future vanished, and the air seemed to leave the room. Walking into Mimiâs hospital room was like stepping into the ruins of something holy. She was pale and trembling, her face wet, her voice hoarse from screaming. You hovered at the doorway, your throat burning with all the things you wanted to say. But when she lifted her eyes, she didnât call for you. She called for Jake. Her anchor, the only thing to keep her afloat when it was clear she was drowning in the aftermath of the doctor's diagnosis.Â
So you nodded: a small, invisible gesture and slipped back into the hall. The door clicked shut behind you, and you sank down against it, knees pulled to your chest. Through the thin wood, you heard her sobs breaking into pieces, and beneath them, Jakeâs voice, soft as water, whispering lies both of you wished were true: that it would be okay, that she was more than soccer, that nothing was ending here. And you sat outside, listening, feeling the faint throb of a fracture not in bone but in friendship, in love, in something unnamed that would only grow sharper with time.Â
1 year laterÂ
This apartment feels like a tomb.Â
Youâre sitting on the edge of Jakeâs couch, the cushions stiff beneath you as though they too are holding their breath. Mimiâs family is gathered in fragments, her mother perched upright in the armchair like if she loosens her spine sheâll fall apart, her father pacing the kitchen tile, her younger brother staring into the glow of his phone though the screen has long since gone dark. And Jake: Jake is next to you, his knee bouncing against yours in restless rhythm, a tremor he canât contain. His hands twist together in his lap, cracking knuckles, dragging at the thin skin over bone. You want to reach for him, still him, but you donât.Â
Youâre all waiting. Waiting for the sound of her key in the door. Waiting for Mimi to stumble into this intervention youâve dressed up as an ordinary evening, waiting for the confrontation that feels like an ambush no matter how many times you rehearse it in your head. Your throat is already sore from all the things you know youâll have to say. When the lock clicks, the room stills. Jake goes rigid, his breath snagging in his chest. Her mother clasps her hands so tightly you hear the bones shift. Then sheâs there, Mimi, wearing the same soccer hoodie sheâs worn for years, threadbare at the cuffs, but her eyes are too wide, too bright. Thereâs a slackness to her smile, a gleam that doesnât belong to her. She stumbles a little on the threshold, giggling under her breath as if sheâs walked into the wrong apartment. And then she sees you all.Â
Itâs like a shadow passes over her face, dimming that unnatural joy in an instant. Her body stiffens, a marionette with its strings yanked taut. âWhat is this?â she spits, her voice already climbing, already sharpening. She drops her bag by the door, the thud echoing through the silence. âSeriously? What the fuck is this?â She knew immediately, there was no hiding the staunch of emotion, the height of what was to come next. She wasnât dumb.Â
âMimiââ Jake starts, his tone soft, pleading, but she cuts him off with a laugh that isnât really a laugh at all.
âNo. No, no, no. Donât you dare,â she snarls, pointing at him, then sweeping her gaze across her family, finally landing on you. âThis is, God, this is pathetic. What? You all sitting here, waiting for me like Iâm the problem? Like Iâm sick? You donât know anything.â Her motherâs voice cracks as she whispers, âWeâre just worried, sweetheartââÂ
âWorried?â Mimiâs laugh is a razor blade, sharp and bright and dangerous. âYou think I donât know what Iâve lost? You think I donât wake up every day remembering that my knee is ruined, that my life, my future is over? Soccer was everything. Do you hear me? Everything. And none of you will ever understand what itâs like to lose it all. Not youââ she jabs a finger at her father, ânot youââ her voice wavers at her mother, then hardens, âand especially not you.â
Her eyes cut to Jake, and he flinches, but before he can speak she wheels toward you. The fury in her gaze is molten, but beneath it you see something else, fear, shame, grief. Still, her words burn. âAnd you,â she seethes, the syllables drenched in venom. âDonât think I donât know. You were always jealous of me. Always in my shadow. You wanted my place, my team, my friends, my boyfriendââÂ
âStop.â Your voice breaks, hoarse and useless. You want to reach her, but the distance between you feels like miles. âMimi, please, itâs not like thatââ
âShut up!â she screams, the sound shattering whatever fragile restraint was holding her together. Tears streak down her face now, hot and furious. âYou think youâre helping me? This is betrayal. Youâre all against me. Youâd rather lock me up than let me breathe. Iâd rather die than go to rehab!â
The words hang in the air like smoke, suffocating. Her mother sobs into her hands. Her father mutters something under his breath, voice thick with helpless rage. Jake looks like heâs about to fall apart, his hand twitching as if he wants to reach her but doesnât know if he should. You, your body feels hollow, as though her accusation has scooped you clean out. You know itâs the drugs talking, the pain and the desperation twisting her love into barbed wire, but it doesnât make it hurt any less. Your vision blurs, your throat aches with unshed tears. Her brother finally speaks, quiet but firm. âWe already signed the papers,â he says, barely above a whisper. âTheyâre coming for you right now. You donât have a choice.â
Mimiâs scream rips through the room, raw and feral, like something being torn from the inside out. She hurls a picture frame off the wall, glass shattering against the floor, and then she collapses onto the couch, sobbing so hard her body shakes with it. You canât look at her. You canât look at Jake either, not with his eyes glossed with tears he wonât let fall. Instead, you stare at your hands in your lap, trembling, and tell yourself this is for the better. This is mercy, even if it feels like murder. Even if your insides feel like jello and a collapse in your chest. This was for the better, she needed this, no matter how much it hurt.Â
The night air is damp when you step out of Mimiâs apartment, the echo of her screaming still stitched into your skin. It clings, loud in your ears even as the hallway goes silent behind you, like the ringing after a gunshot. Jake jingles his keys in his hand as if the sound could fill the hollow between you, but it doesnât. You follow him to his car, both of you moving like ghosts, the kind that know they shouldnât exist anymore but linger anyway. The ride starts in silence. The engine hums low, headlights cutting tunnels through the darkness. You watch the streetlights flicker past, each one carving Mimiâs face into your memory again and again, her eyes wild, her mouth spitting poison, her body collapsing in on itself. You blink hard, but the image burns against the backs of your eyelids. Beside you, Jake grips the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles whiten, his jaw clenched as if holding something back. Â
The quiet is unbearable. Itâs thick, oppressive, the kind that presses on your chest until you can hardly breathe. You open your mouth once, then shut it again, the words dissolving before they can form. Youâre too afraid to break the silence, too afraid that if you do, youâll both shatter. Itâs Jake who finally speaks. His voice is cracked, rough with something youâve never heard from him before: helplessness.
âI donât know what to do anymore,â he says, eyes fixed on the road though you can see the shine of tears building. âI feel like Iâm losing her. Like sheâs slipping through my hands no matter how hard I hold on. And Iâm terrified.â
Your chest aches, your throat tightens. You whisper, âTerrified of what?â
He swallows, his breath trembling. âOf both things. That she wonât come back. Or that she will, but she wonât be Mimi anymore. Not the Mimi we grew up with. Not the girl who would drag me to the field at six in the morning, barefoot and laughing. Not the girl who believed in me when no one else did.â His voice cracks. âWhat if I lose her either way?âÂ
The question is a blade, and it cuts you too, because you feel it, youâve felt it for months. The slow death of someone still breathing. The grief of watching her become someone you donât recognize. But hearing Jake put it into words makes the grief heavier, unbearable. You want to reach for him, to put your hand over his on the wheel, to tell him you understand, that youâre just as scared, that youâd do anything to rewind time to before everything broke. But your body stays still, weighed down by guilt. How can you comfort him when youâre complicit in this? When you signed the paper that will lock her away in a sterile place sheâs never seen before, among strangers who will dissect her pain clinically? The word friend feels rotten in your mouth. How could you call yourself a friend when youâve done all that?Â
âI feel like a terrible person,â you say finally, your voice low, almost drowned out by the hum of the car. âWeâre supposed to help her. Thatâs what friends do. But all I can think about is how much she hates us right now. How much she hates me. Weâre sticking her somewhere she doesnât want to be, somewhere sheâs scared of. How can that be love? How can that be right?â
Jake exhales shakily, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. âYouâre not a terrible person,â he murmurs, but his voice lacks conviction, as if heâs trying to convince himself too. âWeâre trying to save her.â He pauses, his eyes glinting in the blur of passing lights. âBut I donât know if sheâll ever forgive us for it.âÂ
The car fills with the weight of that truth, heavier than the silence that came before. You glance at him, his profile lit by the glow of streetlamps, his lips pressed thin, his lashes wet. He looks wrecked, unmoored, like a boy lost at sea. You ache with the urge to pull him close, to promise him he wonât drown. But you keep your hands in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Because that would be wrong, it would be wrong to offer anything more than encouraging words, and a gentle pat on the back. So you keep your hands and your feelings to yourself and you let it swallow you whole in the process.Â
That night, your bed feels like both a sanctuary and a coffin. The sheets are cool against your skin, the silence of your room pressing down until you almost canât stand it. You lie on your back, staring into the dark, and the ceiling becomes a movie reel of the past. Memories that cruel archivist, dredges up scenes youâd give anything to step into again. You see Mimi at twelve years old, all legs and fire, sprinting down the grass field. The ball is at her feet, clumsy but determined, her ponytail flying behind her like a banner. You hear Jakeâs voice, cracked with adolescence, bellowing from the sidelines âGo, Mimi! You got this!â and your own laugh tumbling out when the ball actually slides into the net. Â
Mimi throws her arms in the air, a warrior in shin guards, and the three of you collapse together afterward on the grass, the sky a bruised blue overhead, your stomach aching from laughter. That was the first time you thought maybe youâd never need anything else but them. Just the three of you, forever.Â
The memory sharpens, shifts. Youâre thirteen now, sitting on Mimiâs bedroom floor surrounded by magazines and nail polish bottles, the air sharp with acetone. You had confessed it clumsily, cheeks hot, words stammering out before you could stop them: I think I like Jake. The confession hanging in the air like sin in a church on sunday.Â
Mimi had looked at you, mascara wand frozen mid-air, and then she had laughed, warm, easy, unbothered. âOh, thatâs cute,â sheâd said, like it was nothing more than a passing fancy. âBut I kinda like Sunghoon.â Sheâd grinned then, whispering about Jakeâs best friend, the boy with the dark eyes and sharper smile, and you had laughed along, hiding the way your heart folded in on itself. You told yourself it didnât matter. You told yourself it would pass. But it never did.Â
Back in the present, you roll onto your side, clutching your pillow to your chest as though it might anchor you to something solid. Your throat tightens, and the tears come before you can stop them. They slip hot down your cheeks, soaking into the cotton, carrying with them the ache of everything youâve lost, not just Mimi, but the version of her who used to light up the field, who used to laugh until she wheezed, who used to be yours in a way she isnât anymore. And Jake, the boy who once felt like a safe place, who you loved silently for years, quietly building your own ruin.Â
The ache isnât only about losing them. Itâs about losing you. The version of yourself who still believed life was simple, who thought the hardest choice was which shirt to wear on picture day, or whether to braid your hair or leave it loose. That child is gone, and in her place is someone who signs papers that feel like betrayal, someone who sits in cars with her best friendâs boyfriend, someone who lies awake at night drowning in guilt and longing. You bury your face in the pillow and sob, soundless and raw. If you could, youâd crawl backward through time, claw your way into those grass-stained afternoons and acetone-scented nights, back when everything was still whole. But the past is merciless. It doesnât bend, it doesnât break, it only haunts. You fall asleep like that, with your chest aching and your eyes swollen, tears drying salt-heavy on your skin. Sleep takes you not because you are ready for it, but because grief wrings you dry until there is nothing left.Â
Itâs a week later when the phone rings, cutting through the hollow stillness of your room. Jakeâs name glows across the screen, and for a second you hesitate, because you already know. You know from the way your stomach drops, from the way the silence beforehand felt charged, waiting for this very thing. You answer anyway, because of course you do. His voice comes through fractured, jagged around the edges, slurred with alcohol and grief. âI found her jersey,â he chokes out, no greeting, no preamble. Just pain, naked and immediate. âIt was stuffed in the back of the drawer. God, it still smells like her. Like grass and sweat andââ His breath hitches, a sharp inhale like heâs been punched in the ribs. âI donât know how to do this without her. I donât know how to exist when sheâs not here.âÂ
You close your eyes, pressing the phone tighter against your ear as if that could steady him, as if your silence could soak up his breaking. You want to tell him heâs not alone, that youâre still here, but the words feel dangerous, too heavy with everything youâve buried. Instead, you whisper, âJakeâŚâ softly, as though saying his name could keep him tethered. âSheâs not dead ââÂ
âI hate it here,â he blurts, voice ragged. âThe apartment, itâs all her. Her shoes by the door, her books on the nightstand, that stupid chipped mug she loves. Itâs like sheâs everywhere, but sheâs not, and itâs, fuck itâs driving me insane. Please⌠please come over. I canâtââ His voice cracks again, collapsing into silence that vibrates with his uneven breathing. And of course you agree. How could you not? Even if itâs reckless, even if your chest is a knot of guilt, you canât leave him drowning alone. âOkay,â you breathe, almost too quickly, your answer stitched together with both desperation and inevitability. âIâll come.â When you hang up, your reflection in the darkened window looks like a stranger, eyes too wide, lips trembling, a girl who doesnât know if sheâs running to save him or herself. You pull on a jacket, slipping out into the night. The air is sharp, biting, the kind that makes your lungs ache, and every step toward Jakeâs apartment feels like walking deeper into a labyrinth you may never escape.Â
The fresh air feels like a christening on your skin, you needed it before you walked into what you know or certain was going to be a disaster, Jake was grieving someone who wasnât even dead, you as well. You needed this time to comfort one another, you were friends and that's what friends did for each other. Thatâs what you kept telling yourself the entire way to the apartment. By the time you knock on his door, your pulse is loud in your ears. The hallway smells faintly of dust and someoneâs leftover takeout, but when Jake opens the door, the world narrows to him. His hair is a mess, his eyes swollen and red, his shirt wrinkled and damp where he must have wiped at his face. In his hand, crumpled like something holy and ruined, is Mimiâs jersey.Â
âYou came,â he whispers, like he didnât believe you would, like youâre some kind of salvation. And you step inside, into the apartment that still hums with her absence, into the gravity of his grief, knowing this night will mark you both in ways you canât undo. Although sheâs not dead, a part of her feels like it is. The apartment feels like a mausoleum when you walk in. The lights are dim, the air heavy with the faint musk of stale beer and laundry left too long in the basket. But it isnât the mess that gets to you, itâs the ghosts. Her sneakers by the door, scuffed from practices sheâll never go to again. Her handwriting on a crumpled grocery list still taped to the fridge. A lipstick tube on the counter, the cap missing, as if she might walk in and swipe it on before a night out. Sheâs everywhere, but not here, and the absence presses down like a weight.Â
Jake drops the jersey onto the couch as though it burns him, and collapses beside it, his shoulders hunched, his hands trembling. He looks at you like he doesnât know what to do with himself, like heâs afraid if he breathes too hard the whole place will collapse. You sit beside him, close enough that you can hear the unevenness of his breathing, but not close enough to touch. Youâre both careful with the space between you, though the air hums with the temptation to close it. He doesnât last long sitting upright. Eventually, with a sigh that sounds more like surrender, he folds sideways, resting his head in your lap like itâs the most natural thing in the world. The weight of him there nearly undoes you, his hair brushing against your arm, his cheek pressed into your thigh, the tremble of his breath against you. You should stop this. You should push him upright. But you donât.Â
âIâm so scared,â he murmurs, his voice muffled by the fabric of your jeans. The words are soft, broken, like a childâs confession. âI call the facility every day, you know? Every day. Just to try to hear her voice. But she wonât talk to me.â His throat tightens around the last word, and your chest aches with the sound of it.
âJakeâŚâ You whisper his name like it might steady him, though your own voice shakes.
âShe hates me,â he continues, voice rising with desperation. âShe wonât take the phone. She wonât even let them put me on hold for a second. I thoughtââ He breaks off, pressing his face harder into your lap. âI thought I was the one person she wouldnât shut out.â Your hand hovers uncertainly in the air before it lowers, almost against your will, to stroke through his hair. The strands are soft beneath your fingers, and the intimacy of it stings, too tender, too dangerous. He exhales at the touch, a shudder running through him like itâs the only thing keeping him tethered.
âI want to write to her,â he admits after a long silence, voice muffled, raw. âA letter. Something she canât hang up on. Something she can hold. But I knowââ His laugh is bitter, jagged. âI know sheâll just tear it to shreds. Thatâs who she is now. Angry. Tired. Gone.â His voice cracks, splintering into silence.
The apartment is so quiet you can hear the hum of the refrigerator, the tick of the clock on the wall, his breath uneven against your leg. You keep stroking his hair, each pass of your hand a balm and a wound at once, until the intimacy becomes unbearable. You realize what youâre doing, what this is, and panic floods your chest. You yank your hand back as though burned, clasping it tight in your lap. The absence of your touch makes him stir, lifting his head just enough to glance up at you with wet eyes and a frown that twists your heart. He doesnât ask why you pulled away. He doesnât have to. The unspoken hangs between you, dense and dangerous.Â
You want to tell him youâre sorry. You want to tell him you canât be what heâs reaching for, not like this, not when Mimi is still out there, still alive, still his. But the words stick, caught in your throat with the taste of longing and guilt. So you say nothing, sitting in the silence and filling the void that was Mimiâs absence. The night you left with a heavy heart, seeing your friend so broken, it wilted you.Â
The next day the coffee shop smells of cinnamon and burnt espresso, the kind of scent that clings to your clothes long after you leave, the kind of scent that makes you think of winter afternoons in college, back when life was simpler, when your biggest worry was a term paper or whether you should skip a lecture just to watch the leaves fall outside the library window. Heeseung is already there, leaning against the back of a booth, his familiar lopsided grin softening the sharpness of the morning. He waves when he sees you, and for a moment, you feel like youâve stepped into another version of yourself, the one who once laughed too loudly at his jokes, who once kissed him under the haze of fairy lights in a dorm room too small to hold the both of you.Â
âHey,â he says as you slide into the booth across from him. His voice hasnât changed, it still carries that lazy warmth, the one that made everything feel less heavy back when you were nineteen. In college Heeseung was the closest thing you had to your everything. He was the one man who had pulled your feelings away from Jake, until he couldnât. Until the honeymoon phase ended and you realized Heeseung wasnât enough to quench your thirst for your best friend's boyfriend. And Heeseung knew it too, or suspected it. So, your relationship ended mutually, vowing to stay friends and unlike many other people you kept true to that word. For you two, it was the best outcome.Â
âHey yourself,â you answer, forcing a smile that feels like it doesnât quite fit your face. The conversation starts light, complaints about the bitter coffee, the weather, how the barista spelled his name wrong again, but eventually it drifts, as conversations always do, into the territory youâve been dreading. So⌠howâs Mimi?â he asks, his tone careful, as if the word itself is fragile enough to break in his mouth.
Your throat tightens. You wrap your hands around the warm mug in front of you, holding on as though it might anchor you. âWe uh we had an intervention. It didnât go well.â The words fall flat, insufficient, as though they could ever capture the chaos of that night. âShe didnât want to go. We forced her.â
Heeseung flinches, a soft grimace flashing across his face before he hides it behind a sip of coffee. âThatâs⌠rough. I canât even imagine.â
âNeither could I,â you admit. Your laugh is hollow, a brittle thing. âIt was the worst thing Iâve ever done. She looked at me like Iâd betrayed her.â Heeseung sets his cup down, the ceramic clicking against the table, his gaze fixed on you in a way that feels both grounding and exposing. âAnd Jake? Howâs he holding up?â
The mention of his name sends a ripple through you. You shrug, eyes darting to the rain-streaked window, unwilling to be pinned beneath Heeseungâs steady stare. âI had to go over to his place last night. He⌠he wasnât doing great.âÂ
Something flickers in Heeseungâs eyes, something like understanding but also suspicion. Heâs always been perceptive, always able to read the subtle tremors beneath your words. That suspicion had once been one of the many invisible strings tugging your relationship apart. He doesnât voice it now, but you can feel it lingering, like smoke that refuses to leave a room. You force yourself to change the subject, desperate to escape the weight pressing down on you. âWhat about you? Howâve you been?â
His expression softens, his lips quirking in a half-smile. âActually⌠thereâs someone.â
Your brows lift, curiosity cutting through the heaviness for the first time that day. âOh?â You lean forward, tilting your head. âDo tell.â
Heeseung chuckles, a low sound that feels almost nostalgic. âMet her at work. Sheâs⌠different. I donât know. I canât get her out of my head.â
You grin despite yourself, warmth sparking in your chest that isnât tangled up in guilt or grief. âHeeseung, thatâs great. She must be special if sheâs got you like this.â
âShe is,â he says simply, and thereâs a quiet conviction in his voice that makes you believe him. You let yourself bask in his happiness, in the relief of knowing that someone you care about is moving forward, finding light where you canât seem to. You smile at him, genuinely this time, because Heeseung deserves it, deserves someone good, someone who wonât carry their heart in the shadow of someone elseâs name. Heeseung is moving forward, while you are suspended, caught in the purgatory of old memories, torn between guilt and the dangerous comfort of Jakeâs presence. And though you donât say it out loud, you know Heeseung sees it in you anyway. Like you said, he always did.Â
Your phone buzzes against the nightstand, its glow cutting through the dim quiet of your room. Jakeâs name lights the screen, and for a heartbeat you consider letting it ring out, afraid of what version of him you might find on the other end. But you answer anyway, because you always do. His voice comes through soft, frayed at the edges, like fabric thatâs been worn down to threads. âHey,â he says, and thereâs a pause, one of those pauses that hums with the weight of unspoken things. âI⌠I wanted to say sorry. For the other night. For calling you like that. For beingââ His breath hitches. âWeak.â
You close your eyes, clutching the phone tighter. âJake. Donât. You donât have to apologize. I get it. Really, I do.â
He lets out a shaky laugh, the kind that isnât laughter at all. âSometimes I feel like youâre the only one who does.â
Thereâs silence, long and heavy, and then he clears his throat, shifting into something else. âI was thinking⌠maybe you could come by. To the apartment. I need toââ His words falter. âI need to pack up Mimiâs stuff. Not everything, just⌠the trophies, the medals, the posters. All the soccer things. I keep looking at them and all I can think about is how much itâll crush her when she comes home. I donât want her to see it, not like that. Not reminders of what she lost.â
Your heart pulls tight. The thought of dismantling Mimiâs shrine of victories feels sacrilegious, like erasing her in the name of protecting her. But you hear the desperation in Jakeâs voice, the plea tangled between each word, and you canât say no. âOf course,â you whisper. âWhatever you need.â
âIâll order food,â he adds quickly, as though the promise of takeout might soften the gravity of what heâs asking. âMake it more like⌠a hang out. Less depressing.â You almost smile, though it comes out fractured. âAlright. Iâll come.â
You leave quicker than youâd like to admit but you truthfully had nothing else to do. you stand outside the apartment you once thought of as half-home. The key you donât have dangles in your imagination, and you hesitate before Jake opens the door. His face looks tired, like he hasnât been sleeping, like grief has become the new skin he wears. Still, he tries to smile when he sees you. âHey. Thanks for coming.â
âAlways,â you murmur, stepping inside.
The apartment smells faintly of dust and takeout grease, and the air feels wrong without Mimiâs voice echoing through it. On the coffee table sits a half-eaten box of pizza and two cans of soda sweating condensation, but your eyes are drawn to the stack of cardboard boxes by the couch. Open, waiting. Jake gestures toward Mimiâs room, his movements stiff, reluctant. âMost of itâs in there.â
Jake runs a hand through his hair, his voice low. âI thought I could do it alone, but⌠every time I touch something, it feels like Iâm betraying her.â You kneel by the nearest shelf, picking up a small trophy, her first, from when she was ten, the base chipped from being dropped on the pavement after she ran to show you. The memory tightens in your chest. âItâs not betrayal,â you whisper, more to yourself than to him. âItâs⌠making room. For when she comes back.â He nods, but his jaw clenches, like he doesnât believe himself either.
The cardboard box yawns open at your knees, swallowing the weight of years one relic at a time. Each trophy you lower into it feels like lowering a body into the ground, a burial for a version of Mimi who might never exist again. The air tastes like dust and nostalgia, thick enough to choke you. Every poster you peel from the wall leaves behind faint squares of brighter paint, shadows of what once was, absences that mark the walls as permanently as scars. Jake is quiet beside you, methodical in his movements. He wraps medals around his fingers before placing them gently into a box, his head bent, his shoulders slouched. The silence between you isnât empty; it thrums with memory, with all the words neither of you dare say aloud.Â
You reach for a stack of photo albums on the bottom shelf, the spines faded, the corners bent with love. One slips free, tumbling open in your lap. And there it is: a photograph from senior prom. Mimi stands in the middle, radiant in a shimmering gown that caught the light like it was made of stars. Jake stands tall on her right, hand draped around her waist, a boy on the cusp of becoming something more. And there you are on her other side, his arm slung casually over your shoulder, as though you were just another part of the scenery. Your breath stills. That night blooms in your mind in fractured flashes: the thrum of bass through the gymnasium floor, the sweat on your palms, the ache in your chest when you watched Mimi laugh at something Jake whispered in her ear. Youâd loved him even then, loved him with the reckless clarity only seventeen can hold. But it didnât matter, because that was the night they kissed under streamers and disco lights, the night they became âJake and Mimi,â and you learned what it meant to lose quietly, to swallow your own heart in silence.
The photograph trembles faintly in your hands, and then Jake is leaning over, his eyes falling on the same memory. His lips curve in the smallest smile, soft and wistful. âThat was a good night, huh?â he murmurs, his voice so low it feels meant only for you. You force a smile, the edges brittle. âYeah,â you whisper, though the word tastes like glass. Your throat tightens, tears pressing hot behind your eyes, but you blink them back, unwilling to let them fall here, now, in front of him.
Jake doesnât notice. His thumb brushes lightly against the edge of the photograph, tracing Mimiâs smile, and for a moment you envy the paper, envy the way he can touch the memory without consequence. You want to tell him everything, that you remember the way your stomach dropped when you saw them together, that you wanted to be the girl he kissed that night, not the one who smiled through the pain of losing him before you ever had him. But instead, you tuck the photo carefully into the box, your hands steady even as your heart trembles. âWe should keep going,â you say, your voice a fragile thread.
Jake nods, but his eyes linger on you a moment longer than they should, like heâs searching for something in your face. Then he looks away, busying himself with another stack of medals, and the moment passes, slipping into the silence that swells around you again. By the time the last of Mimiâs trophies are packed and stacked the room feels emptied, hollow, as though youâve boxed away not just her triumphs but her presence itself. The ache sits heavy in your chest, but Jake, maybe sensing the air has become too brittle, orders dinner. He insists on paying, though you offer, and the ritual of waiting for greasy paper bags to arrive at the door feels almost normal, almost like college nights spent cramming for exams with Mimi sprawled on the couch between you. Almost.
When the food comes, you eat side by side on the couch, cartons balanced precariously on your laps, a movie flickering across the screen in colors that wash the room in pale, ghostly light. Neither of you are paying much attention to the film. Instead, conversation winds between you like smoke, fragile but lingering. âRemember that time Mimi tried to teach us soccer in the backyard?â you say around a bite of lo mein, laughing softly. âYou kicked the ball into Mrs.Chenâs rose bushes, and she threatened to call the police.â
Jake chuckles, his head tipping back against the cushion. The sound is tired, but genuine. âWe were, what, twelve? I was convinced Iâd get arrested for murder-by-soccer-ball.â
You grin despite yourself, warmth curling at the edges of your chest. âMimi was so mad at you. She wouldnât pass to you for, like, a week.â
âShe never let me live it down,â Jake admits, shaking his head. His eyes flick toward you then, softer, almost vulnerable. âGod, we used to laugh so much. Everything felt lighter back then.â
Silence slips between you for a beat, comfortable but charged, like a string pulled too tight. Jake exhales, his voice dropping quieter, almost hesitant. âYou know⌠I had a tiny crush on you back then.â
The words land like a spark in your chest, unexpected and electric. You blink at him, startled. âReally?â
He nods, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. âYeah. Always did, when we were kids. I mean, donât tell Mimi I said that, obviously.â He lets out a short laugh, the sound embarrassed but honest.
You stare at him, caught between disbelief and something deeper, something dangerous. âFunny,â you murmur, your lips quirking into the smallest smile. âI had a crush on you too. Back then.â Jakeâs head turns toward you fully now, his eyes catching yours. For a moment, you both laugh, soft, awkward, like two kids confessing secrets in the dark. But the laughter dies quickly, replaced by something heavier. His gaze lingers, searching, and you feel it like a touch on your skin.
The room narrows, the movie forgotten, the food cooling in your hands. The silence is loud, beating against your ribs. You donât know what possesses you, recklessness, longing, the cruel ache of nostalgia, but you hear yourself ask, your voice quiet, trembling: âDo you⌠still feel that way?â
The question hangs in the air, fragile and irretrievable. Jakeâs smile fades, replaced by something raw in his expression. He sighs, his chest rising and falling as though heâs fighting with himself. Slowly, unbearably, he leans closer, his face inches from yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath, the weight of his hesitation. Your whole body stills, frozen, waiting, terrified and wanting all at once. The moment teeters, lips nearly brushing, and for a heartbeat you think itâs going to happen, that the dam is going to break. But then he pulls back sharply, eyes shutting as though the act itself hurts him. His voice cracks on a whisper. âIâm sorry. I shouldnât.âÂ
The space between you yawns wide, cold rushing in where warmth once lingered. You swallow hard, forcing your face into something that resembles composure though humiliation burns hot under your skin. âRight. Yeah, of course,â you murmur, your voice brittle. You gather your things too quickly, fumbling for your bag, your jacket, desperate for escape. âI should go. Itâs late.â The words tumble out fast, clumsy, your throat tight.
Jake doesnât stop you, doesnât argue. He only nods, his eyes shadowed with something unreadable. âGoodnight,â he whispers, as though the word itself aches. You force a quiet âGoodnightâ back, but it splinters in your mouth. Then youâre at the door, slipping into the hallway, the air outside the apartment pressing cool against your burning skin. As you walk away, the weight of what almost happened presses down, heavier than any box you packed that night. The embarrassment floods you like a broken dam, the night air is crisp against your heated skin and you welcome it. Though it did little to slow your rapidly beating heart.Â
The next day dawns gray, as though the sky itself had grown tired of pretending to be bright. Your room feels smaller than usual, the walls leaning closer, crowding in on you as you sit at your desk. The wood beneath your palms is scarred with faint scratches from years past, remnants of pens pressed too hard, of coffee mugs set down carelessly, of long nights where you sought refuge in words because you couldnât find it anywhere else. You open your journal, its spine cracked and pliant from being confided in too often, the pages already soaked with memories you half-regret writing down. Your pen hovers over the paper like a held breath, and then, ink bleeds out, hesitant at first, then steady, like a wound reopening. You write to her, to Mimi.
Iâm sorry. Iâm so sorry. I wish it didnât have to be this way, I wish I could have been there for you more. Helped you through the pain you were feeling. I hope through your healing that you can forgive me and we can be best friends just like weâve always been. Me youâŚ.and jake. Together.Â
The words come simple, almost childlike, but the ache behind them is heavier than you can carry. You tell her that you hope one day sheâll understand why you did what you did, that it wasnât betrayal but love, even if it felt like a knife in her back. You tell her that she needed help, that she wasnât herself anymore after the accident, that she had been unraveling thread by thread, and none of you knew how to stop it. You write that you couldnât just stand by and watch her dissolve, that the thought of losing her forever was unbearable, that maybe sheâd hate you now but perhaps, one day, she might thank you.
The words tremble as you carve them into the paper. You try to tell her about the nights you lay awake, wondering if sheâd pick up the phone if you called. About the way you saw the light in her eyes flicker, gutter like a dying candle. About how much it broke you to watch her slip further and further from the girl you grew up with, the girl who once laughed so loudly in hallways that everyone else couldnât help but smile. But halfway through, the sentences blur. Ink bleeds into tears that spill silently, dampening the paper until your words look like theyâre drowning. Your chest is tight, your throat raw. You whisper her name under your breath like a prayer, like a plea, like something you could chant until she comes back to you whole.
By the time you finish, you feel emptied out, like the letter has siphoned something essential from you. You fold the pages with trembling hands, slide them into an envelope. The sound of the flap sealing is sharp in the quiet, like a finality youâre not ready for. You set it gently on your desk, next to the lamp, where it waits like a secret. You donât know if youâll ever send it. Maybe it will stay there forever, yellowing under layers of dust, a monument to the words you never had the courage to share.
Exhaustion swells heavy in your limbs, grief pulling you down like an undertow. You crawl into bed without brushing your teeth, without even changing. The room is dark now, only the faint glow of the streetlight filtering through the blinds. You pull the blanket up to your chin, curling around the ache in your chest. Your eyes close, though your mind wonât stop spinning. The letter waits on your desk in the dark, like a ghost with its hand outstretched. You let sleep take you anyway, because thereâs nothing else left to do.Â
Your sleep is torn open by the shrill cry of your phone. It doesnât sound like a ringtone but like something breaking, a glass dropped, a nerve cut raw. You lurch toward consciousness, hand fumbling beneath your pillow until your fingers find the smooth rectangle of your phone. The glow sears through the darkness, a ghost-light that makes your pupils ache. On the screen: Jake. The letters swim in the fog of sleep, steady and undeniable, with the time blaring beneath, 3:18 AM.
Your breath catches. Why would he call now, at this hour where even the city holds its breath? Outside, thunder snarls against your windowpane, making the glass shudder in its frame. Lightning follows, a blade of white slicing across your room, illuminating every corner in a violent flash. The familiar shadows rearrange themselves into monstrous shapes, stretching tall, stretching wrong. You swipe to answer before you can think better of it, pressing the phone to your ear. âH-Hello?â Your voice is rough, scraped thin by sleep.
On the other end, his voice comes through, shaking, small, not the voice you know. âCan you come over? Please.â A cold pulse threads through your veins. Surely he knew what time it was. You rub at your temple, trying to fight the weight pressing down behind your eyes. Before you can respond, his voice softens, almost breaking apart. âItâs storming.â
Those two words undo you. The thunder outside is no longer tonightâs storm, itâs another one, long ago. You are pulled under, swallowed whole by memory. It was storming then, too. The sky an endless bruise, purple-black and angry, the rain beating the roof like fists demanding entry. Lightning cleaved the heavens open, and thunder came right after, loud enough to shake the walls of Mimiâs room. At thirteen, the sound had felt apocalyptic, like the world might split in two if it kept on. You lay awake, eyes wide in the dark, fists balled tight under your chin, heart pounding like a trapped bird.
Beside you, Mimi had slept through it all. She always did. Even as a child she could sleep through earthquakes, through slammed doors, through chaos. A heavy, unshakable sleeper. She dreamed while you drowned. But Jake hadnât been sleeping either. He reached over, tapping your shoulder, whispering your name. You turned, already wide-eyed, and found his face outlined in the faint glow of lightning sneaking through the curtains. His hair was mussed, sticking up, his mouth pressed thin. He looked scared too, though he tried to mask it.
Minutes later, you both ended up huddled in Mimiâs closet, a cocoon of safety carved into the dark. The air was cramped, smelling faintly of old wood and fabric softener. A blanket covered you both, shoulders pressed together, and you pulled your knees to your chest. Your pajama pants, too long for you, pooled at your ankles in soft folds, the fabric warm against your bare skin. The storm outside raged like a monster rattling its cage, but in there, you could almost pretend you were safe. âLetâs play a game,â Jake said suddenly, voice pitched low but steady, like he wanted to tether both of you to something other than the storm.
Your head tipped toward him, curiosity flickering in the dimness. âWhat kind?â
âNever Have I Ever.â You gave a small shrug and nodded. Anything was better than listening to thunder crash around you. It started light. Innocent confessions. Never have I ever cheated on a test. Finger down. Never have I ever faked sick. Another finger down. Never have I ever eaten something expired. Laughter followed groans as more fingers fell. For a while, the storm felt like background noise, thunder clapping but distant, muted by the sound of your laughter.
And then Jake tilted his head against the wall, eyes half-hidden in the dark, and said, âNever have I ever kissed anyone.â Silence bloomed, thick as the air before lightning.
Your hands stayed whole. So did his.
âBut you dated Wonyoung?â You exasperated, shocked. Jake just shrugged, a sly shrug that you hated at that moment. You hated that the revelation that Jake had never kissed Wonyoung had felt relieving, like a weight that you didn't even know was on you was lifted. You had always been jealous of Wonyoung, for many reasons. She was gorgeous, popular, and smart. Every guy in school wanted to date her, every girl wanted to be her friend but when Jake and her started dating in the beginning of year seven that jealousy turned to hatred. She had what you wanted, she was confident enough to get him â unlike you. You had dwindled in the background whenever she was around. And sure she was niceâŚenough but you knew it was all an act. Jake was her only priority and she only tolerated you and Mimi because the three of you were some kind of package deal. So finding out that they had never kissed was like winning a lottery you had never even entered in the first place. Like getting a trophy you didn't even earn.Â
âNever kissed her,â he said eventually, voice calm, almost dismissive.And then his gaze caught yours. âWhat about you? Why havenât you kissed anyone?â
Your throat tightened. âI donât know.â And it was true. No one else mattered enough. No one else had ever been worth it. Only him.
He leaned forward, curious. âDo youâŚnot have a crush on anyone?â Lightning flashed, thunder cracked, and for a moment you thought the world itself would expose you. Of course you did. Of course it was him. But you were thirteen, terrified of being seen. So you lied.
âIâuhâI like Sunghoon,â you stammered.
Jake made a face, nose wrinkling, tongue sticking out. âYuck.â
The sound of your giggle surprised you. It burst out, light and raw, and for a moment it felt like the storm cracked open not outside, but inside you. âWhat? Itâs not funny!â
âIt is!â he insisted, grinning wide now. âPark Sunghoon? Seriously?â You shook your head, shoulders trembling with laughter you couldnât hold in. You knew how flimsy your lie was, how paper-thin. But he didnât press it, didnât tear it apart.
Instead, the laughter faded, and in its place you found yourself asking, voice brittle: âDo youâŚlike anyone?â He hesitated. You could see thought flicker across his face, his lip caught between his teeth. Then he said, almost softly, âI think I do.â
The words sliced you open. They were said like a secret half-kept, like something he was afraid to make real. They carried curiosity, hesitation, hope. But for you, they carried weight. You wanted to ask who. You wanted to shake the answer out of him. But all you could say was, âOh.â And then he leaned forward again, eyes flickering with something reckless. âI have an idea.â
Your breath snagged. âWhat?â
âWhat ifâŚâ He paused, wet his lips. âWhat if we give each other our first kiss? So when we kiss our crushes, we wonât be soâŚinexperienced.â The words detonated in you. Not a suggestion, but an earthquake. Not a game, but a dare from the universe itself. Jake wanted to kiss you. Jake, whose name had already built a nest in your chest, whose smile you carried like a secret. The storm outside didnât matter anymore. The real storm was here, in the dark, between his mouth and yours.
Your heartbeat was thunder. The kind that rattled windows, that made the world feel like it might break apart. You nodded before you even realized you were moving, your body betraying the yes that your lips couldnât form. Jake shifted, turning toward you fully, his knee brushing against yours beneath the blanket. His hand hovered awkwardly, like he wasnât sure if he should touch you, like the simple act might ignite something neither of you could control. And then, slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in. The first brush of his lips was so light it could have been mistaken for an accident, the fleeting ghost of touch. But the moment it happened, the storm outside disappeared. The thunder faded to a faraway hum, the lightning nothing but background light. The only thing real was the warmth of Jakeâs mouth, the awkward tilt of his head, the way his breath hitched like he couldnât believe it was happening either.Â
It wasnât perfect; not smooth, not practiced. Your noses bumped, and the kiss was clumsy, soft, almost laughable. But to you, it felt monumental, the kind of moment that rewrote everything you thought you knew about love. His lips were slightly chapped, tasting faintly of the soda heâd sipped earlier, and still it felt holy. Like the world had narrowed to just this small space in the closet, the storm both inside and out. When he pulled back, it was only by an inch, his breath warm against your skin. His eyes were wide, startled, as if he hadnât expected it to feel like this. Neither had you. âThat wasâŚâ He stopped, searching for a word, but none seemed big enough. His hand lifted halfway between you, then fell back into his lap. âWe donât⌠have to tell anyone, right?â
You shook your head quickly, though part of you wanted to shout it from the rooftops, to let the storm carry it into the sky: Jake kissed me. But instead, you whispered, âJust ours.â And he smiled at that, small and secret, before leaning back against the wall, closing his eyes like he could hide inside the memory.Â
The memory was sweet, something you hadnât thought about in such a long time. âOf course iâll come.â You say to Jake, the phone still pressed firmly to your ear, sleep gnawing at you but still you rise out of bed and get yourself ready to leave.Â
The rain hadnât let up by the time you reached his building. It poured in sheets that shimmered silver beneath the streetlamps, the world outside blurred into watercolor. You climbed the stairs two at a time, shoes squeaking, hair plastered to your cheeks, the storm still drumming against your skin even as you stepped into the warmth of his apartment. Jake was waiting for you in the doorway, one hand on the frame, his shoulders hunched like the storm had seeped into his bones. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, but when he saw you, the lines of tension in his face softened. âHey,â he murmured, voice low, almost sheepish, as though he couldnât quite believe you had actually come.
Inside, the apartment was dark save for the dim glow of a lamp in the corner. It smelled faintly of rain-damp clothes and takeout boxes. And then you saw it, the mattress pulled clumsily into the middle of the living room, blankets tangled, pillows stacked carelessly at one end. It looked almost childlike, a fort built against the chaos outside. Jake rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze darting away in embarrassment. âI, uh⌠I couldnâtââ He cleared his throat. âI couldnât sleep in there without her. The room feels⌠wrong. Too empty. So I dragged this out here.â His laugh was small, humorless, the sound of someone trying to make light of something too heavy.
You blinked at him, at this boy who was once a storm himself and was now building fragile shelters just to weather it. A laugh tumbled out of you, softer than you expected, breaking the tension. âYouâre ridiculous,â you said, stepping forward, the words warm rather than cruel. âButâŚâ You glanced at the mattress, at the absurdity and sweetness of it all, then lowered yourself down onto its plush surface. The blankets gave way beneath your weight, swallowing you in their warmth. âI get it.â Jakeâs relief was subtle, but it was there, the way his shoulders dropped, the way his lips tugged into the ghost of a smile. He followed suit, settling onto the mattress beside you, close enough that you could feel the dip of his weight, the faint brush of his sleeve against your arm.Â
Outside, thunder cracked, a great drumroll across the sky. Lightning flooded the room for a moment, bleaching everything in sharp, unnatural white. But here, inside this makeshift refuge, it felt less like a threat and more like a heartbeat, steady and relentless, something you could weather so long as you werenât alone. Jake exhaled, long and tired, as though the storm outside was mirroring the one inside him. âItâs easier,â he admitted, his voice barely above the hum of rain against the windows. âWith you here. The quiet doesnât feel so loud.â
Your throat tightened, and you turned your head just enough to see his profile, the dark curl of his lashes, the furrow in his brow, the way his lips pressed together like he was swallowing back everything he couldnât say. You wanted to reach for him, to smooth the storm from his features, but instead you curled your hands into the blanket. âYeah,â you said softly, because it was all you could manage. âItâs easier for me too.â
The two of you lay there in silence for a while, the mattress dipping beneath the shared weight of memory and unspoken things. The thunder continued its ancient song, but in that dim room, with Jake only inches away, it no longer felt like the sky was trying to break you apart. Instead, it felt like an echo of something long ago, another storm, another night, another time you had found refuge in each other. It started innocently enough, as so many things between you always had. A nervous chuckle, a shared memory, Jakeâs elbow nudging into your side until you finally cracked a smile. He glanced at you like he couldnât quite believe he had coaxed joy from you, like he was holding a fragile treasure in his palm.
âLetâs play something,â he said suddenly, his voice low but threaded with that boyish spark you hadnât seen in him since before the accident. âLike⌠those stupid games we used to play. You know. Back when storms felt like the end of the world.â
You blinked at him, startled, then laughed into the blanket. âWhat, like Never Have I Ever?â
âExactly.â His grin spread slowly, crooked at the edges, and it was like looking at a version of Jake you thought had been buried forever. âCome on. Donât tell me youâre too mature for it now.â You rolled your eyes but gave in, because how could you not? The storm could rage on outside, Mimi could haunt the walls of this apartment with her absence, but for a fleeting hour, you wanted to remember what it felt like to be thirteen, to be scared of thunder and unscarred by grief.
The game started light, harmless. Never have I ever snuck out of class to nap in the library. Never have I ever eaten an entire pizza by myself. The kind of things you laughed about because they were so pathetically true. Jake kept score on his fingers, exaggeratedly accusing you of being the bigger delinquent, and you couldnât remember the last time your stomach hurt from laughing like this. Then he asked one that sent you both into a ridiculous fit, laughter bubbling up so hard you could barely breathe. You doubled over, holding your stomach, tears springing to your eyes from how much it hurt, and Jakeâs laugh, God, his laugh was a balm, echoing against the dim walls like the apartment itself was remembering joy.Â
âYeah! Yeah!â you gasped between breaths, trying to catch yourself. âRemember that was when Mimi was trying out for that big soccer team andââ You didnât even finish. The words lodged in your throat like broken glass. Because you both remembered. The laughter died as abruptly as if someone had shut a door. The silence pressed in heavy, suffocating, every detail of reality rushing back, the trophies you had packed in boxes, the bedroom stripped of posters, the hollow in the center of Jakeâs life where Mimi used to stand. Jakeâs eyes dropped, his jaw tightening. You swallowed hard, your chest heaving, the storm outside thundering its agreement.
âIâm so stupid,â you blurted, your voice cracking under the weight of it. âFor even thinking, just for a second, that we could forget. That we could pretend like everything wasnât⌠falling apart.â Your words tumbled out, a torrent you couldnât stop now that it had started. âItâs not fair, Jake. None of it. She didnât deserve this. You didnât deserve this. And Iââ Your breath hitched, the confession clawing at your ribs. âSometimes I feel like Iâve been handed the shit end of the stick my whole life, and Iâm so tired of pretending it doesnât hurt. Iâm soââÂ
And then, without warning, Jakeâs lips crashed against yours. It was not gentle. It was not careful. It was a storm colliding with another storm, a desperate, bruising thing that stole the air from your lungs. His hand cupped the side of your face, almost clumsy in its urgency, fingers trembling like he wasnât sure if he was holding you too tightly or not tightly enough. Your mind screamed no, screamed Mimi, Mimi, Mimi but your body betrayed you. You kissed him back. Harder, deeper, surrendering to the ache that had lived in you for years. His mouth was hot, demanding, tasting of grief and beer and sleepless nights, and yet it was everything you had wanted since you were old enough to know what wanting meant. Â
The mattress shifted beneath you as you leaned into him, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer as if proximity might make the pain ebb. Jake groaned softly against your lips, the sound ripping something open in you, and you let yourself fall, into him, into the storm, into the recklessness of a moment you had no right to claim. You didnât think. You couldnât. Thought would mean guilt, would mean restraint, would mean remembering whose name was woven into the very walls of this apartment. So you chose the kiss instead, the dizzying, dangerous gravity of it because for once, it was easier than choosing the grief.Â
The kiss does not stop where it should. It deepens, thickens like thunderclouds swelling with rain, growing heavier with every second until youâre not sure if you are kissing Jake or if the storm has simply swallowed you both whole. His mouth is firm against yours, urgent, desperate, as if this one act could rewrite every unfair twist of fate, could silence every loss that gnaws at the marrow of your bones. You donât remember deciding to move, but suddenly youâre leaning back, and Jake follows without hesitation. The mattress beneath you dips with your weight, the thin quilt crumpling like paper, and he hovers above you. For a brief heartbeat, your eyes meet, wide, startled, dark with something unspoken and then he claims your mouth again, harder this time. His hands frame your face, fingers splayed as if trying to memorize the shape of you, trying to hold together something thatâs been splintering for years.
There is no talk of wrong or right. No rules, no names for what you are or what this means. There is only the pulse in your veins, the ache that pulls you toward him, the way your body bows beneath his as if youâve been waiting, unknowingly, for this gravity all along. His breath is hot against your cheek when he breaks away for half a second, his forehead pressed to yours, and he whispers your name like itâs both a question and an answer. âJakeââ you start, though you donât know what you mean to say. He silences you with another kiss, rougher, and your protest dissolves on his tongue.Â
Every thought is too heavy, too sharp, and right now you want only the softness of his mouth, the pressure of his body, the illusion that maybe if you let yourself fall deep enough into him you can forget. Forget the storm raging outside, forget the silence left in Mimiâs absence, forget the sharp edges of grief cutting you open from the inside out. Jake shifts closer, his weight pressing you into the mattress, and it feels like drowning and breathing all at once. Your hands clutch at him, his shirt, his shoulders, the nape of his neck, desperate anchors in this tide youâve let yourself slip into. He tastes like something forbidden and familiar, like the boy who once pulled you laughing through sprinklers in the July heat, now made older, heavier, and more dangerous.
Neither of you speaks. Thereâs no need. The kiss says everything: I need you. Iâm breaking. Donât let me go. And so you donât. You let yourself burn in him, in this reckless, trembling, unspoken thing that feels less like a choice and more like destiny cracking open right under your ribs.Â
Your hands move as though guided by hunger itself, clawing at his shirt like a starving animal tearing through the last barrier between it and sustenance. The fabric bunches in your fists, your movements frantic and unrestrained, and Jake groans into your mouth, a deep, guttural sound, rough with years of want unsaid. His breath comes ragged, heated, slipping between the seam of your lips like smoke, like confession, as he lets you drag the cotton up and over his head. The shirt is discarded somewhere into the shadows of the storm-lit living room, but you hardly notice; all you see is the bare expanse of him above you, the solid strength you had always imagined but never dared touch, the body that has haunted you in the quietest corners of your mind.Â
There is no time to beg, no need for pleading. The plea is already etched in your skin, written in every tremor of your hands and every desperate press of your mouth against his. He knows, and you know, and that knowledge is enough to fuel the fire burning between you. You feel, with startling clarity, that he is ready to give you everything you had secretly yearned for in silence, every fevered dream, every aching what-if.
Jakeâs hands are not tentative, they are rough, claiming, sliding over your breasts through the thin barrier of your shirt, his grip greedy and unrelenting. The pressure makes you gasp into his mouth, your back arching instinctively, urging him closer, urging him deeper. You welcome the drag of his calloused palms, the heat of his touch, the way his thumbs press hard enough to leave echoes in your flesh. And when his hands shift, sliding up beneath your shirt, he doesnât pause, he yanks it over your head in one swift motion, leaving you bare to the stormlight and his ravenous eyes.
You had rushed here in the middle of the night, unthinking, careless, and now you pay the consequence of that recklessness. No bra. No protection from the weight of his stare. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, completely exposed, your skin prickling beneath the intensity of his gaze. He curses under his breath, the sound breaking into a half-groan as he lowers his head and seals his mouth over your nipple, sucking harshly, almost punishingly. âFuck,â you whimper, your voice a high, strangled note as your hips lift against him, desperate for friction, for something more than the molten pull of his tongue. His teeth scrape, just enough to sting, and you shiver as he groans low against your skin.Â
âIâve dreamed about these tits,â Jake admits between kisses, his voice heavy, almost reverent despite the vulgarity. His palms roam freely, kneading, savoring, memorizing. Then his mouth trails lower, hot words spilling across your skin like fire. âI dreamed about this pussy.â His bluntness sends heat coursing through you, shame and thrill mingling into something heady. You donât shrink from it; you open to it, to him.
âYou can have it,â you breathe, your voice broken, urgent. Your fingers fumble at the waistband of your sweatpants, dragging them down your hips in clumsy desperation. Jake mirrors you, pulling his own down with impatient hands, both of you too caught in the storm of each other to care about finesse. âItâs yours.â Jake pulls back just far enough to look at you, his chest heaving, his eyes dark and wide. For a moment, he studies you like he doesnât quite believe what youâre offering, what youâve said. Then his mouth curves into that smirk, sharp, knowing, dangerous, the smirk of someone who has wanted this for far too long.
âItâs mine?â he asks, the words heavy with promise, with possession.
âMhm,â you hum, teasing, the corners of your lips curving in defiance even as your body trembles beneath him. You lower your hand, your fingers slipping past the soft cotton of your panties to press against your clothed clit. His gaze sharpens instantly, drinking in every flick of your wrist, every stutter of your breath. âAll yours, Jakey.â
He groans, a sound that borders on a growl, and you watch his control splinter in real time. âFuck,â he pants, watching as your body arches and spasms beneath your own touch, your moans filling the small room, competing with the storm outside.
âI want you,â you whine, your voice breaking open, a plea slipping free before you can stop it. âPlease, Jakey, I want youââ You donât finish, because Jake moves, fast, decisive, unrelenting. His hands grip your waist, hauling you upward before twisting you around, pressing you down onto your hands and knees. The mattress dips beneath you, the air thick with lightning and want. Your ass lifts instinctively, high, offering. You barely register the cold air as he yanks your panties down and off, leaving you utterly bare. The apartmentâs air does nothing to soothe your pulsing heat; it only makes you ache more, makes you tremble.
Jakeâs hands slide over your ass, kneading, savoring, grounding himself in the reality of your skin. Then, with one sharp, deliberate motion, his palm lands against you, a quick, stinging smack that makes your whole body jolt forward. You yelp, your cheek pressing into the mattress, your body bowing, trembling at the raw intensity of it. And behind you, Jake exhales, rough and shaky, like a man barely holding himself together.Â
âLook at youâŚâ Jake drawls, his voice low and smooth, like silk dragged across the raw edge of your nerves. His palm spreads wide over your ass, the heat of his touch grounding you before the sting comes again. âSo wet and ready for me.â His tone is both mocking and reverent, the kind of worship that sounds like ruin. Another sharp smack lands, making your body jolt forward, your breath catching in your throat as a strangled yelp escapes you. âYouâre like a fucking whore,â he murmurs against the storm, each word deliberate, meant to slice into you and brand you at once.
The shock is immediate, sharp as lightning splitting open the sky. A gasp bursts from your lips, sharp, startled, but it isnât anger that coils through you, isnât shame that rises. Itâs heat. Pure, unrelenting, dizzying heat. The word settles heavy in your chest, and instead of rejecting it, your body thrills at the sound. To be called that, by him, to be seen as something shameless, desperate, his. The power of it rushes through you like electricity. You donât want to fight it. You want to drown in it. âYes,â you cry, your voice breaking as your hips shake, pushing backward, searching, begging. The need is unbearable, clawing up your spine and spilling out of you in gasps and whines. âIâm your whore.âÂ
Jake groans, the sound guttural, dragged out from somewhere deep in his chest. His hand comes down again, hard, biting, leaving your skin hot and stinging. Then another. Each strike burns, each echo cracks through the thunder outside, each one making you sink further into submission. âYeah,â he hisses through clenched teeth, his rhythm cruel and unrelenting. âYeah, you fucking are.â His voice is jagged now, rough with hunger, every word scraped raw. And then, with no warning, no pause, no mercy, heâs inside you.
The stretch rips a cry from your throat, your moan spilling into the mattress, muffled and broken. He fills you all at once, like a man who couldnât hold back even if his life depended on it. His hips slam against yours in one sharp, desperate thrust, the air rushing from your lungs as your body tries to take him in. âOh, fuck,â you gasp, the sound dissolving into shuddered breaths as your fingers clutch at the sheets, your nails digging into the fabric like youâll fall apart if you donât hold on. Jake groans behind you, deep and harsh, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. His thrusts are relentless from the start, fast and hard, each one hitting deeper, sharper, as though he wants to leave his mark on every inch of you. His grip never falters; he holds you still, refusing to let you escape the intensity of him, the way he carves himself into you with every snap of his hips.
âThis pussyâs so fucking tight,â he growls, his voice ragged, laced with disbelief and hunger. The words strike hot against your skin, filth dripping from his lips like a confession. His thrusts grow harder, sharper, the sound of skin against skin filling the small apartment, drowning out even the thunder outside. You cry out into the mattress, your voice muffled, desperate. âFuck me!â The words fall from your mouth raw and unrestrained, like prayer, like surrender. âOh godââ And still he moves, unrelenting, giving you exactly what you asked for, exactly what you didnât know you needed until now.
Your body betrays you before your mind can even catch up, your hips moving of their own accord, slamming back against Jakeâs with a frantic rhythm, desperate for more. Each thrust of your own making sends a jolt through you, your body alive with the unbearable sweetness of being filled so completely. You move without hesitation, without shame, grinding and rocking back against him like youâve been waiting years for this, like every beat of your life had been counting down to this moment.
Jake groans behind you, low and raw, the sound dragging out of his throat like itâs pulled from somewhere deeper than his lungs. He stills, letting you take control, his hands locked tight around your hips to steady you as he pants raggedly against the storm. âThatâs it, sweet girl,â he growls, voice cracking at the edges. âFuck yourself on my cock. Just like that. Show me how bad you need it.â His words slither down your spine, filth and praise wrapped together, and they only make you want to move harder, faster, more desperately.
âItâs soâbig,â you gasp, the syllables falling out in broken fragments as your body grinds back with abandon. âSo fuckingâbig.â Each word splinters into a moan, your breath hitching with every shift of your hips. Your thighs tremble with the effort, with the sheer overwhelming force of sensation, as though your body is on the verge of collapsing and yet canât stop seeking more. Every thought youâve ever had, every rule, every piece of restraint is gone, burned out of you in the heat of him. All thatâs left is this moment, this rhythm, this desperation. You give yourself over completely, letting him take and take, letting yourself be used in the way youâve always secretly craved. Jakeâs voice comes again, dark and reverent, a tether against the chaos unraveling inside you. âYouâre shaking,â he observes, his tone nearly breaking with the sound of it, his chest heaving in jagged pants. âDoes it feel that good?âÂ
You try to answer, but the words tangle in your throat, breaking apart into moans you canât control. He doesnât wait. His hand cracks down against your ass again, the sting blooming across your skin in a wave of heat that only makes you push back harder. The sharp sound echoes in the room, blending with the slap of skin against skin, the storm pounding outside like a chorus to your ruin. âYes,â you finally manage to gasp, your voice muffled into the sheets, thin and trembling, as if every letter is dragged from your lungs. Your nod is frantic, small, desperate, your cheek pressed against the mattress, hair damp with sweat clinging to your face. Your body feels like itâs being torn apart and remade all at once, the intensity so sharp it borders on unbearable, and still you want more.
Jake hisses behind you, his breath harsh and heavy, his control fraying at the edges as he watches you unravel for him. His grip tightens on your hips, his nails biting into your skin as though he needs proof that youâre really there, that youâre really his. âKeep making those sounds, I'm addicted.â he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you, though the words still scorch against your skin.Â
Suddenly, without warning, he pulls out of you, leaving you empty and gasping, the sudden absence stealing the breath straight from your lungs. A whine tumbles from your lips, sharp and involuntary, your body twitching in protest at the loss. âJakeââ you start, but the syllable barely has time to leave your mouth before his voice cuts through, ragged and sharp.
âShut up.â The command slices the air, dark and undeniable, sending a shiver racing down your spine. His hands are on you immediately, rough and unrelenting, dragging you onto your back. You land against the mattress with a soft thud, wide-eyed and breathless, staring up at him as he looms above you. His fingers hook beneath your thighs, hauling them up until your knees are pressed against your chest, your body bent and folded beneath his control. Youâre spread wide open, utterly vulnerable, utterly his.Â
And heâs back inside you. With one brutal thrust, he buries himself deep, deeper than you thought possible, the sheer force of it tearing a cry from your throat. It feels like heâs splitting you apart, carving into the very core of you, and yet you canât get enough. He leans over you, his chest brushing yours, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that could burn through flesh. âI want you to look at me when you fall apart,â he grits out, his voice low and rough with need. His hips move with unrelenting precision, each thrust sharp and devastating, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, the rhythm enough to shake the air from your lungs. The mattress creaks beneath you, the storm outside crashing like a mirror to the storm inside you, every clap of thunder swallowed by the sound of his body against yours. He holds you there, locked tight beneath him, caging you in so you canât move, canât run, canât do anything but take him.
Your hand scrambles between your bodies, frantic and searching, until your fingers find your clit. The moment you press down on the sensitive nub, your back arches off the mattress, your cry breaking in your throat. You rub in desperate circles, the added stimulation catapulting you closer, pulling you headlong toward that sharp edge where pleasure begins to blur into pain. âYou feel so good,â you choke out, the words torn and trembling, your voice thick with tears. Hot streams streak down your cheeks, mingling with sweat, your face damp and shining in the dim light. âSo fucking goodâŚâ Jake growls low in his chest, and then his hand slides up your body, fingers wrapping tight around your throat. The sudden pressure steals the sound from you, chokes your words before they can form, forces your mouth open in a silent gasp. He squeezes at the base of your throat, just enough to make your pulse hammer against his palm, his thumb pressing into the hollow beneath your jaw as his hips piston into you with savage fervor. Each thrust rattles through your bones, each motion a brutal reminder of his strength, his power, the fact that you are entirely at his mercy.
The world narrows to this: his hand at your throat, his body driving into yours, your own fingers frantic between your legs. Every nerve is alight, every breath a struggle, and still you canât get enough. Youâre unraveling, fraying at the edges, falling apart beneath him exactly the way he demanded. And he watches it all, eyes burning into yours, making sure you never look away. Your vision begins to blur at the edges, everything sharpening down to the single overwhelming point of him, inside you, above you, around you. His grip tightens around your throat, not enough to steal your air entirely but enough to make every breath hitch and stutter, every sound break apart in your chest. His thrusts grow reckless, deeper, faster, as though heâs chasing something he knows heâs about to lose if he doesnât reach it now.Â
The slick sounds of your bodies meeting fill the room, drowning out even the thunder outside, drowning out your thoughts until you are nothing but sensation. Your fingers tremble against your clit, the rhythm uneven, desperate, but itâs enough, itâs too much. The tension in your stomach coils so tight itâs painful, and when his hips slam home again, your body breaks. You come undone beneath him, mouth falling open in a silent scream as your orgasm rips through you. Your thighs shake violently against his chest, tears spilling down your temples and into your hair. The pleasure is blinding, your walls pulsing around him, dragging him deeper into the inferno of your release.
âFuckââ Jake hisses between clenched teeth, his eyes locked on your face, drinking in every detail of your unraveling. His thrusts turn punishing, almost frantic, until his own rhythm falters. He buries himself to the hilt and stills, his whole body shuddering as he comes inside you, the heat of it spilling deep, filling, overwhelming. For a moment neither of you move. Your chest heaves as you suck in air, his hand finally slipping from your throat to brace against the mattress beside your head. His forehead drops against yours, damp strands of his hair clinging to his skin, his breath ragged and hot.Â
The storm outside crashes against the roof, but in here, itâs just the two of you, sweat-slicked, trembling, bodies tangled in the aftershocks of something you donât dare put a name to. Slowly, his weight sinks onto you, less force, more collapse. His chest presses against yours, his heartbeat hammering wild and frantic against your sternum as though itâs trying to match your own. And you let him, let him cage you in, let yourself drown in the dizzy haze of release, knowing the silence that follows is heavier than the storm ever was. Then he rolls over and right onto the mattress, breathing still lightly heavy.Â
The room is quieter than it should be after something like that. No voices. No laughter. Just the storm groaning outside, the walls creaking, the rhythm of rain against the roof. And in the middle of it, him, you, and the silence stretching between like a chasm. Your chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, but you donât speak. You canât. All you can do is look at him, the boy who isnât yours, the boy who should never have touched you like that. Jakeâs eyes are already on you, sharp in the dim light, unreadable in a way that makes your heart ache. You expect anger, shame, maybe even guilt flickering across his face, but thereâs nothing. Just the blank weight of him, watching. The longer he looks at you, the heavier it becomes, until the tears sting behind your lashes and spill freely down your cheeks. You try to turn your head away, try to hide the evidence, but his gaze doesnât let you escape.
His lips press together, jaw shifting as if heâs holding something back, some truth that canât be spoken aloud. You wait, trembling, hoping, but nothing comes. Instead, after what feels like a lifetime, his hand lifts. His fingers brush the side of your face, calloused pads catching the wet trails of your tears. He wipes one away, then another, his thumb ghosting across your cheekbone. But the touch isnât tender. It isnât gentle. Itâs mechanical, thoughtless, like a reflex, a gesture done simply because itâs what one is supposed to do when someone is crying. Not because he wants to. Not because he feels anything at all. âJakeâŚâ Your voice breaks around his name, heavy and fragile all at once, but he still doesnât respond. His hand lingers for a second more, then falls away.Â
And just like that, he turns from you. No explanation. No comfort. He shifts his body onto his side, his bare back stretching across your vision like a wall built in an instant, shutting you out. The muscles of his shoulders tense, then slacken, his breath evening out as if heâs already surrendering himself to sleep. The silence grows unbearable. You stare at the line of his spine, the way it rises and falls with each inhale, the faint sheen of sweat cooling on his skin. You wonder if he feels anything at all, guilt, regret, even shame, or if this, too, will be something he can just fold into the background of his life, like shadows swallowed by night.Â
Your own body doesnât grant you the same mercy. You lie there, naked and raw, every nerve ending still trembling with the ghost of what you did, what you shouldnât have done. The mattress smells like him, like you both, like something ruined. And though exhaustion drags at your limbs, though the storm outside could lull even the restless into sleep, you remain awake. Your eyes sting, wet lines carving paths down your cheeks until your hair dampens beneath them. You try to be quiet, careful not to let the small, hiccuping sobs shake the space between you. Because thatâs the cruelest part: the boy who held your body, who knew the shape of your breath and the tremor of your pulse, is now no more than a stranger lying inches away. A stranger who turns his back, closes his eyes, and leaves you alone with what the two of you destroyed.
 Eventually, even grief finds its way into slumber. The weight of your tears, the ache in your chest, the stormâs lullaby, they drag you under, slow and unwilling. You fall asleep naked, tear-streaked, curled into yourself beside your best friendâs boyfriend. And in that fragile sleep, the guilt is quiet, but it waits, like a storm that never really passes, only pauses, ready to break again come morning.
You wake with a start, though it isnât the thunder or the hiss of rain that pulls you from the shallow grip of sleep, itâs warmth. The press of lips against skin, soft but deliberate, a trail of heat weaving itself up your inner thigh. At first, you think youâre dreaming; the sensation is too intimate, too dangerous to belong to reality. But then another kiss, closer this time, and another, the air shivering around each one, drags you fully awake. Your breath stutters in your throat, a gasp breaking free before you can stop it. âJake!â The name spills out of you, half warning, half plea, trembling like a secret torn from its hiding place.Â
His head lifts at the sound, slow and sure, and when his eyes meet yours, the world tilts again. He smirks, that crooked, dangerous curve of his lips, the kind that feels like it knows too much about you already. His hair is messy, shadowing his forehead, and his mouth is still glistening from where heâs been kissing you. Thereâs nothing apologetic in his gaze, nothing uncertain, itâs bold, defiant, as if heâs daring you to stop him. Your hand, traitorous and desperate, falls into his hair before you can think better of it. The strands are damp with sweat, soft and unruly between your fingers. You fist them lightly, a whine breaking from you as he presses his mouth back to your thigh, closer, closer, until the sound of your own pulse fills your ears.
This wasnât how you thought the morning would go. You thought, hoped, maybe that there would be words, however sharp, however painful. That the two of you would name the thing that happened in the stormâs dark, dissect it, tear it apart until it was just a mistake you could both bury. But Jake, Jake seems intent on something else entirely. He chooses silence, chooses the heat of your body over the heaviness of words, his mouth a language far more dangerous than anything spoken. And to your own shame, to your own ruin, youâre okay with that. The thought of speaking terrifies you more than this does. Talking would mean facing it, facing him, facing yourself. This way, with his hands gripping your thighs and his mouth worshipping the soft parts of you, you can almost convince yourself the world outside doesnât exist. That thereâs no betrayal laced into every breath, no guilt threading itself into your bones.Â
âJake,â you whisper again, softer this time, like a prayer and a surrender all at once. He looks up from between your legs, that smirk still painted across his mouth, and you know, you know, that this silence heâs chosen isnât empty. Itâs deliberate, sharp-edged. Itâs him telling you without words that last night wasnât an accident, and this morning wonât be the end.
His mouth lingered at the very edge of you, tongue tracing maddening patterns over your inner thigh, the heat of his breath skimming against skin already hypersensitive from want. Each kiss felt like a promise left unfulfilled, each pause like a cruel delay. You fisted the sheets, your chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. âPlease,â you whispered, voice thin and aching, your fingers sinking into his hair like it was the only anchor you had. He tilted his head, the curve of his lips caught in a smile that was equal parts sin and satisfaction.Â
âIf you want something,â Jake murmured, his voice low, velvet edged with steel, âthen ask for it.â His hands tightened at your thighs, thumbs pressing into your flesh hard enough to leave ghosts of bruises, holding you wide open for him. He leaned close, exhaling one soft, deliberate breath across your soaked core. The sensation was devastating in its simplicity, sending shivers rippling down your spine. Your hips jerked upward of their own accord, chasing him, a broken whine tearing from your throat before you could stop it.Â
âI want your tongue,â you moaned, the words raw, stripped of pride, as your hands shoved at the back of his head with unrestrained desperation. The need bled through you, dissolving every other thought you mightâve had about restraint, about reason, about the lines youâd already crossed. âPlease, Jakey,â you begged, the nickname tumbling from your lips like a prayer and a curse all at once. A harsh sound left him, half-growl, half-groan, and his palm pressed flat against your hip, pinning you to the mattress with a force that warned you who was in control. And then, finally, his tongue was on you. Hot, wet, unrelenting. He licked into you like a man undone, like someone who had been imagining this taste for years, and now that he had it, he was never going to stop.
Your head fell back, a choked cry escaping you, your fingers clawing at the sheets until your knuckles burned white. âHolyââ The curse split off into a gasp, shuddering from deep in your chest as he moved faster, hungrier, his mouth sealed around your clit with devastating precision. He sucked, adding pressure that sent fire cracking through your veins, making your thighs twitch and close instinctively around his head, but he only growled against you, prying them apart again with brutal strength. âFuck, Jake,â you sobbed, body writhing beneath him, untamed, ungovernable, like an animal finally loosed from its cage. You were incoherent, nothing but need, and he devoured you like that was exactly how he wanted you, messy, ruined, desperate. His hands abandoned your hips for your chest, greedy palms closing over your breasts, kneading rough circles into the supple flesh before his thumbs flicked against your nipples. The dual sensation had you arching up, back bowed, a cry tearing from you so raw it felt like surrender.
Every stroke of his tongue was measured destruction, every groan vibrating through your body like a second heartbeat. He relished you, consumed you, not with patience but with urgency, with a hunger that mirrored your own. You could feel him smiling against you, feel his satisfaction in the way your body buckled, your legs trembling as you lost all sense of yourself in his mouth, in his hands, in the way Jake knew exactly how to ruin you. Your body was trembling now, every nerve raw and aching, each stroke of his tongue pulling you higher and higher into a place you werenât sure youâd ever come back from. His mouth worked at you with a rhythm both relentless and deliberate, like he was crafting the moment of your undoing with the precision of someone who wanted to memorize exactly how you broke. Your thighs shook uncontrollably, your heels dragging against the mattress, desperate for purchase, desperate for anything to ground you while he took you apart.
âJake,â you gasped, his name a broken plea, falling from your lips over and over, each repetition more fragile than the last. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling, tugging, grounding yourself in the rough strands while your other hand reached blindly across the sheets, clutching at nothing, at everything. You couldnât stop moving, couldnât stop arching into his mouth like your body had decided for you, like it was no longer yours to control but his.
His groans rumbled against you, deep vibrations that spread through your core, amplifying every flick of his tongue, every calculated swirl, every sharp suck at your clit. He was devouring you with such intensity it felt dangerous, like he meant to ruin you in a way youâd never recover from. His hands held your thighs open like iron bands, his grip bruising, refusing to let you twist away even as the pleasure became unbearable. You felt it building fast, violent, a tidal wave rising from the pit of your stomach and curling through every inch of your body. You tried to warn him, words tumbling out half-formed, incoherent, âIâm close, Jake, Iâm gonna, fuck, I canâtââ but your warning broke into a sob, your chest heaving as the tension coiled impossibly tight.
âCum for me,â he growled into you, pulling his mouth away for only a split second before returning with even more hunger, his tongue pressing harder, faster, dragging you straight to the edge. âFall apart for me, sweet girl. Let me taste it.â That was all it took. The wave crashed, sharp and unforgiving, and your world detonated. Your orgasm tore through you in violent shudders, hips jerking wildly against his mouth as he held you down, devouring every ounce of your release. You cried out, a broken, guttural sound you couldnât contain, your fingers pulling his hair so hard you thought you might tear it from his scalp. Your vision blurred, white-hot sparks dancing behind your eyes as your body convulsed, every muscle locking tight before dissolving into nothing but tremors.Â
He didnât stop. His tongue kept working you through it, drawing out every spasm, every gasp, until you were shaking uncontrollably, until tears slipped down the sides of your face and your chest rose and fell in frantic, uneven bursts. Only then did he slow, his mouth pulling back, lips glistening, a satisfied smirk curling at his face as he looked up at you, ruined, breathless, undone.
âYou taste like fucking heaven,â Jake rasped, his voice wrecked, his eyes dark with something unreadable. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then licked his lips anyway, like he couldnât bear to waste a drop of you. You lay sprawled out before him, chest heaving, limbs trembling, the echo of your orgasm still sparking faintly through your veins. Your voice was gone, your body spent, but your eyes found his, wide and vulnerable, as if you werenât sure whether to thank him or hate him for what heâd just done to you.
The air in the room was still heavy with your release, the remnants of it clinging to your skin like dew on glass. Jake leaned back on his elbows, chest rising and falling with a languid calm, as if what had just happened were the most natural thing in the world. His lips glistened faintly, the ghost of you still on him, and he looked at you with a crooked smirk, a spark of satisfaction dancing in his eyes. âWould you like breakfast?â he asked, his voice unhurried, almost casual, as though he were offering something simple, like a glass of water, instead of dangling the weight of normalcy in the space between you.Â
Your head turned sharply toward him, your body still trembling, your chest heaving with the echoes of pleasure that hadnât yet settled. For a moment, the words didnât even make sense, breakfast, food, morning, how could such ordinary things exist in the wake of what had just unfolded? You could only nod, dumbly, slowly, like a puppet whose strings had been cut and poorly tied back together. The nod came too late, awkward, and you hated yourself for it. You stood, legs unsteady beneath you, and reached for the nearest fabric, a blanket tossed carelessly at the side of the mattress. It did little to cover you, slipping off one bare shoulder as you stumbled toward the bathroom. Jakeâs eyes followed you, though he said nothing more, and the silence felt both relieving and suffocating, pressing in on you with each hesitant step.Â
Inside the bathroom, the air was cooler, quieter. The mirror stared back at you, cruel and unflinching. You hadnât expected to look different, yet somehow you had, your hair was disheveled, your lips swollen, your skin blotched with the warmth of touch that didnât belong to you. You were still naked, exposed, and the sight of yourself made your stomach turn. It wasnât just your reflection, it was the knowledge behind it. Mimiâs apartment. Mimiâs walls. Mimiâs toothbrush still propped neatly by the sink. And Jake, Mimiâs boyfriend, lying just outside the door, his smell clinging to you, his touch still burned into your skin.Â
The weight of it broke something open inside you. A sob rose before you could stop it, and you slapped your hand to your mouth, desperate to keep the sound trapped in your throat. Your body shook as the tears spilled anyway, hot rivers streaking down your cheeks. The ache wasnât just guilt, it was disgust, a hollowing sense that you had stepped outside of yourself, that you had become something you swore you never would. For a moment, you pressed your forehead to the cool glass, trembling, trying to steady your breathing. You hated how small you felt, how fractured. You hated how badly you wanted to crawl back into the warmth of that mattress, into Jakeâs arms, even as you drowned in the knowledge of what it meant.
Eventually, you wiped at your cheeks with trembling hands, collecting yourself piece by piece. You straightened, adjusted the blanket over your body, forced your expression back into something neutral, something less raw. You practiced a smile, though it quivered and fell apart the moment it touched your lips.
When you finally opened the door, stepping back into the quiet of the apartment, Jake was still there. Still waiting. His gaze flickered to you, unreadable, as though heâd known all along what youâd done in the bathroom but chose not to acknowledge it. And so you walked forward, each step deliberate, a performance of composure while inside you carried the wreckage of what had just begun.
Steam from the running water was already beginning to whisper against the walls of the bathroom when you padded back into the living room, blanket draped loosely around your shoulders, skin still marked with what had happened between you. Jake was in the kitchen now, moving with a calm domesticity that made your chest ache, spatula in hand as though the smell of eggs and sizzling butter could disguise the fact that your world had just caved in. His hair was mussed, his body wrapped in the soft ordinariness of gray sweats and a t-shirt, a look so familiar it hurt. You lingered in the doorway, words caught like fish bones in your throat. Finally, you forced them out, fragile, trembling. âIâm going to shower,â you murmured, as if confessing something dangerous. âBut Iâll need to go home to grab some clothes first.âÂ
Jake didnât look up immediately. He tapped the spatula against the pan, as if the rhythm could steady him. Only when he turned did you see the faint tug at his lips, not a smile, not quite mockery, just something resigned, casual. âYou can borrow some of Mimiâs clothing,â he said, like it was nothing at all, like it wasnât the cruelest suggestion youâd ever heard. The air left your lungs in a sharp inhale. Borrow Mimiâs clothing. As if the act of draping her fabric across your body could ever disguise the stain of what you had done. As if wearing her t-shirt, her shorts, could make you less naked in your betrayal. The words you wanted to speak, sharp, jagged, furious, stayed buried. Instead, you nodded, a tiny motion that felt like swallowing glass. âOkay,â you said, though the syllables tasted bitter on your tongue.Â
You turned before he could see the storm in your face, feet carrying you down the hall you knew too well. Each step was a trespass. Mimiâs door creaked softly as you pushed it open, the room unchanged, except the mattress from their bed, it was the same from all the nights youâd sat cross-legged on her bed, whispering secrets, laughing until your stomach ached. The air was still scented faintly with her perfume, sweet and floral, clinging to the curtains, to the quilt, to the very walls themselves. It made your eyes sting. You went to her closet with heavy hands, fingers brushing over fabric that wasnât yours. The cotton of her shirts, soft from too many washes. The shorts she wore on lazy Sunday mornings. Each hanger rattled with the echo of her presence, each garment a reminder that this was her space, her life, her love, and you were the intruder. Still, you reached in, because what else could you do?
You pulled a shirt free, pale and unassuming, and a pair of shorts that felt too intimate, too hers. Standing there, holding them, you thought of how they would look on you, how Jake would see them on you, and the thought carved you open. You were a thief wearing another girlâs skin, draping her innocence over your guilt. Clutching the clothes to your chest, you slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind you. The shower roared louder now, steam fogging the mirror, curling the air around your naked form. You leaned against the sink, staring at the reflection you could barely face. Mimiâs clothes rested on the counter, folded neatly like offerings, like confessions. And as the water beat against porcelain, you realized that no amount of steam could wash away what you had done, and no borrowed cotton could disguise the truth that clung to your skin.Â
The steam still clung to your skin when you emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and curling against your shoulders, Mimiâs borrowed shirt hanging loose on your frame. It smelled faintly of her fabric softener, that sweet floral note that made your stomach twist, but you forced yourself to keep moving, to pretend the cotton didnât burn against your skin like an accusation.
The apartment was filled with the warm, homey scent of butter and eggs, the faint crackle of bacon cooling on a plate. Jake was setting the table, his movements calm, almost domestic, as though he hadnât just broken you open hours ago in a storm of desperation and want. His t-shirt clung to his shoulders in ways youâd memorized a hundred times but had never been meant to see like this. He looked up when he heard your steps, and a smile touched his mouth, easy, practiced, like it cost him nothing.
âFoodâs done,â he said simply, gesturing to the plates. His voice was warm but not intimate, the kind of tone a friend might use on a lazy Sunday morning. That casualness made your chest ache more than if heâd looked guilty. You nodded, unable to summon words, and moved to sit down at the table. He sat across from you, the distance between you somehow both too close and unbearably far. The clinking of forks and knives was the only sound, the silence swallowing the air whole, pressing against your ribs like a weight. You chewed without tasting, each bite heavy in your mouth.
Finally, you couldnât bear it. The quiet was louder than any scream, more damning than any confession. Your fork paused midair, trembling slightly, and you forced the words out. âJake, can weââ
But he cut you off before you could finish, his voice sharp, decisive. âCan we not talk about it?â The words landed like a slap, stealing the air from your lungs. You blinked at him, stunned. Not talk about it? How could he suggest silence when every inch of your body still remembered him, when the sheets in the other room still smelled of betrayal? He must have seen the shock flash across your face, because he softened slightly, running a hand through his hair as if searching for the right defense. âI justââ he exhaled, eyes darting away from yours. âI just want to have fun, okay? Can we just⌠do that? No guilt, no heavy talks. Just⌠fun.âÂ
Your throat tightened, questions clawing their way up, desperate to be spoken. What did âfunâ mean to him? Was it stolen mornings like this, where you played at normalcy while your heart crumbled? Was it pretending Mimi didnât exist, pretending you werenât both betraying someone who trusted you? You wanted to ask, to demand answers, to scream. But instead, you sat there, studying the boy across from you, the boy who was both comfort and ruin, who had pulled you into the fire and now asked you to dance in the flames. And somehow, impossibly, you found yourself nodding.
âOkay,â you whispered, though the word tasted like ash. You managed a small, broken smile. âYeah⌠we deserve to have fun.â The table fell silent again, but it was a silence remade, filled with unsaid truths and the weight of everything youâd agreed to bury. The eggs cooled on your plate, untouched, as you wondered just how long you could survive pretending âfunâ was enough.
The walk back home after breakfast was quiet, almost too quiet. The streets hummed with the ordinary life of a city morning, neighbors watering their small front gardens, a child skipping rope on the sidewalk, the hiss of a bus braking at the corner. Everything looked painfully normal, and you carried the weight of your sin like an invisible shroud, heavy and suffocating. The taste of bacon and eggs lingered on your tongue, but it wasnât breakfast you remembered, it was Jakeâs voice, Jakeâs request, Jakeâs silence. It was the word fun echoing like a curse, a fragile bandage stretched across a wound too deep to heal. And then you saw it.
Your mailbox hung crooked against the gate, the metal squeaking as you pulled it open. Inside, among the useless flyers and bills, lay one envelope. White. Sealed. Your name scrawled in handwriting you knew as well as your own. At the top corner, stamped clear as day: Seoul Rehabilitation Facility. You froze, blood draining from your face, the world tilting beneath your feet. Your heart plummeted to your stomach, and suddenly you were trembling. Mimi. She had written back. She had actually written you back.
The air left your lungs in a sharp, broken gasp. For a moment, you couldnât move, couldnât think, only stare at the black letters that spelled her absence, her distance, her exile. That envelope might as well have been a stone tied around your neck, dragging you under. Then you snapped back, fumbling with clumsy fingers, nearly ripping the paper in half as you tore it open. You didnât care about delicacy, this wasnât a relic, this was salvation, or condemnation, and you had to know which. The folded sheet slipped out, and there it was: her name, the first line like a knife slipped beneath your ribs.
Hi. I have a few things to say and I hope you take these words and let them really sink in. I mean them with my whole heart.
Your heart stuttered, your throat constricted. You had missed her, missed her voice, her laughter, the steady way she anchored you when everything else spun out of control. You had prayed for forgiveness, or at least for words that werenât soaked in venom. And now, here they were, spilling across the page like blood. You read further, even though each word felt like barbed wire cutting into your palms.
I hate you. I hate you for putting me here. I hate that you think I was so pathetic that I needed to be locked away. Go to hell.
That was it. That was all. Short. Brutal. Final.
Your knees buckled, and you stumbled inside, slamming the door behind you as if shutting out the world would make the words go away. The letter shook in your grip, your eyes burning. Mimi had been gone for two weeks, two long weeks of silence, and youâd let yourself hope, stupidly, naively, that maybe sheâd softened, maybe sheâd begun to understand. That maybe you werenât the villain she saw in her dreams. But her voice, etched in ink, left no doubt. She still hated you.
A rational part of you whispered that these were angerâs words, sharp and fleeting, that she was lashing out because she hurt. That maybe, in time, she would forgive. But that voice was drowned out by the jagged truth: the words cut anyway. They sliced you clean, leaving nothing but emptiness in their wake.
You slammed the letter down on the table, the paper fluttering like it wanted to escape your shaking hands. And then you grabbed your phone, her phone, his number already glowing on the screen like it was meant for this moment. Your thumb hovered for only a heartbeat before you pressed call. âJake,â you whispered when the line clicked, your voice breaking, more plea than greeting.
âDid you get a letter too?â
No greeting, no hesitation. Straight to the marrow of it. You closed your eyes, pressing the phone tighter to your ear as though the plastic could anchor you in the storm. âYes,â you whispered, your throat raw, the single syllable shuddering out of you like a confession. Silence stretched on the other end, thick and suffocating. You could almost hear his breathing, the heavy exhale of someone who already knew the answer but needed you to confirm it anyway.
âWas it bad?â His voice cracked on the word bad, as if it was too small a container for what you both were carrying.
âYes,â you said again, sharper this time, the truth scraping up your throat like broken glass. âBad doesnât evenââ Your words faltered, choked down by the swell of emotion you couldnât seem to stem. He let out a bitter laugh, humorless and dry, like sand slipping through fingers. âYeah,â he muttered, âfigured as much.â Another pause, his silence filled with unspoken words, regret, anger, grief, things you couldnât reach through the thin wire between you. And then, suddenly, his voice shifted, rough but deliberate. âDo you want to get a drink?â
The question hung there, absurd and yet not absurd at all. What else was there to do with this kind of pain but drown it, numb it, pretend for a few hours that it didnât exist? Your lips parted, a protest caught somewhere between your teeth. You should have said no. You should have told him this was a bad idea, that you had already crossed lines you could never uncross, and liquor would only blur them further until there was no map back to who you used to be. But the words died in your throat, smothered by the aching want, for him, for release, for forgetting. âYes,â you said instead, your voice quiet but firm, carrying a weight you didnât want to examine.
There was a beat, and then you heard him exhale, a long drag of air as though your answer both relieved and condemned him. âOkay,â he said simply. No more, no less. You pulled the phone from your ear, staring at the black screen after the call ended, your reflection warped in its glassy surface. Your hands trembled, your chest heaved, but beneath all of it was that same bone-deep ache you couldnât seem to shake. A drink. That was what heâd offered. A drink was simple, a drink was easy. But you both knew it was never going to just be that.
The bar was dimly lit, its walls bruised with amber shadows, its air heavy with the perfume of whiskey and fried food. The hum of voices bled together like a half-forgotten lullaby, and every now and then the sharp clink of glass against glass rose above it. When you pushed through the door, the chill of the night still clinging to your skin, you didnât expect to see more than Jake waiting with that half-smile that could always undo you. But there they were, Heeseung, Jay, Sunghoon, sprawled around a table by the window, laughing at something one of them had said. For a moment you stood in the doorway, caught between surprise and something softer, almost fragile: the sudden awareness of belonging and of distance all at once.Â
Jake looked up first, catching sight of you, and his expression shifted, warmth curling across his face. âHey,â he said, his voice low, just for you even though the others could hear. You offered him a small smile in return, a threadbare gesture that couldnât quite disguise the heaviness still lodged in your chest. Then Heeseung waved you over, a lazy sweep of his hand. âAbout time,â he said with a grin, his dark eyes glinting under the low light.
Sliding into the empty chair, you greeted them all. âHi,â you said, the syllable barely more than breath, though you tried to coat it with brightness. Jakeâs eyes flicked toward you, studying, as if to check whether your smile was real or borrowed. You didnât touch him, didnât lean closer, didnât cross the invisible thread stretched between you, but still his presence seemed to hum against your skin like static. Drinks arrived quickly, cold condensation slipping down the glass. You let the sharpness of the first swallow burn its way down, something to distract from the raw echo of Mimiâs words still carved into your chest. Sunghoon leaned back in his seat, his voice easy, casual, but edged with curiosity. âSo,â he asked, âhowâs Mimi doing?â
The question landed like a stone dropped in water. The ripple reached you before you could prepare for it, and you froze, eyes darting to Jake. He looked at you, his jaw tightening for just a breath before he answered. âIâm not sure,â he said finally, voice flat but not unkind. âShe wonât answer us.â
Silence lingered, fragile as glass, until Jay reached across the table, his hand brushing against the rim of his glass as if uncertain what to do with the weight of sympathy. âIâm sorry,â he said, his words soft, steady, carrying more sincerity than anything else youâd heard tonight. âI canât imagine how difficult that must be, for both of you.â
Jake nodded, his fingers drumming against the table in a restless rhythm. âThanks,â he said, the word clipped but genuine. You felt your throat tighten, your lips parting as though you might add something, but the ache in your chest made it impossible, so you swallowed the words down with another sip of liquor. And just like that, as if the subject had been a wound theyâd touched too closely, the conversation shifted, skipping to safer shores, sports, music, some half-hearted debate about the best late-night food spots in town.
The hours bent and stretched around you, and soon the glasses began to pile, the weight of alcohol softening your edges. Laughter grew louder, looser. Heeseung told a story about running into an old teacher, his animated gestures spilling beer across the table, and Sunghoon leaned in, teasing him mercilessly until Jay was nearly crying from laughter. Jake sat beside them, smiling, though his smile always seemed to linger a little too long when he looked at you. You drank more than you intended, each swallow another small rebellion against the gnawing voice inside you that whispered Mimiâs words again and again. The burn in your throat blurred into warmth, until soon your head felt light, the room wrapped in the cotton-soft haze of tipsiness. At one point, Sunghoon slid his glass toward you, eyebrows raised. âYou can handle one more, right?â he teased.Â
âDonât encourage her,â Jake said quickly, though there was laughter in his voice, the sound curving around the sharpness of his earlier restraint.
âIâm fine,â you said, though your laugh cracked in the middle. You lifted the glass anyway, the weight of Jakeâs gaze pressing against your hand as you drank. âIâm just going to use the bathroom.â You excused yourself away, stumbling to the bathroom through the dark of the bar, mounds of drunken people in your way. You push the door open with a huff. The bathroom was small, lit by a flickering bulb that cast shadows like trembling ghosts against the tiled walls. You leaned over the sink, your palms pressed flat to the porcelain, your reflection fractured in the mottled mirror. The alcohol hummed in your bloodstream, not enough to make you dizzy, but enough to soften the edges of the letter still etched into your chest. You had come here to breathe, to steal back a moment of quiet from the noise of the bar, from the constant weight of laughter and voices you couldnât quite match.Â
But then, a knock, a soft and insistent sound rattled the hollow door. For a moment your stomach turned, wondering if youâd taken too long, if some stranger was waiting. But then the voice came, low, familiar, unmistakable. âItâs me,â Jake said. His words slipped through the door like smoke, and you froze, caught between instinct and want.
You opened the door, the hinge creaking in protest, and there was Jake, framed by the hallwayâs dim light, his face flushed with drink and something darker, deeper, burning in the set of his jaw. He stepped inside without asking, and before you could form a word, before your thoughts could catch up, his mouth was on yours. It wasnât tentative. It wasnât careful. It was fire meeting dry kindling, sudden and consuming, the press of his lips sparking against every nerve you had kept buried beneath grief and silence. His hands moved with a desperate certainty, sliding over your arms, down your sides, gripping your waist like he was terrified you might vanish if he let go. You gasped against him, the sound caught between protest and surrender, but he swallowed it whole, pulling you closer until your back met the cold tile wall.
âJakeââ you managed, breathless, breaking the kiss for just a heartbeat. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot, uneven.
âDonât,â he whispered, voice roughened by urgency. âDonât talk. Just⌠let meâplease.â The plea in his tone unraveled you more than the kiss had. You felt the world tilt, your body betraying your mind, because some part of you, lonely, aching, wanted this too, had wanted it longer than you could bear to admit. His mouth found yours again, softer this time, though no less hungry, and his hands roamed like he was trying to memorize you by touch alone, the dip of your waist, the line of your hip, the trembling shiver of your ribs under his palm.Â
âJake,â you said again, your voice catching as his fingers brushed the hem of Mimiâs borrowed shirt, the irony slicing you even as heat coiled in your belly. His name left your lips like confession, like a prayer you shouldnât be uttering, and still you didnât push him away.
âI canât stop,â he murmured against your mouth, every word a kiss in itself. âI donât want to stop. Not with you. Not anymore.âÂ
The bathroom seemed to shrink around you, the walls pressing closer, the air thickening with the scent of him, soap, whiskey, something distinctly Jake. You felt trapped and freed all at once, as though the cage of grief youâd been carrying had finally cracked open, only to release something more dangerous. His hands kept moving, frantic and reverent all at once, and you let yourself dissolve under them, the taste of him erasing the bitterness that had lived on your tongue since Mimiâs letter.Â
It was reckless, it was cruel, it was inevitable. But you didn't want it to stop. His lips found yours, frantic as his hands skimmed your body up and down. His hand found the base of your hair, pulling you to him deepening the kiss like he was trying to consume you, and youâd let him. Youâd let him take every piece of you if that's what he wanted. Youâd let him turn you inside out because heâs been doing it for years. This was Jake, your Jake. Before he was Mimiâs Jake he was your Jake. You had dreamed about feeling him this way and ever since the sex in his apartment and waking up to him between your thighs you could rarely think of anything else.Â
He was all-consuming, his taste still burning on your lips, the press of him seared into your lungs like smoke. You broke from his mouth, chest heaving, sliding downward until your knees kissed the cold tile. If you werenât so drunk on him, on whiskey and want, on the way his hands had mapped your body as though you were something sacred, you might have recoiled at the thought of kneeling on a bathroom floor sticky with spilled beer and bleach. But none of it mattered now. The filth of the bar seemed distant, muted, compared to the fever coursing through your veins. âHoly shitââ Jakeâs voice came ragged, cracked open by disbelief, his wide eyes locked onto you like he couldnât quite process that you were really there, sinking lower for him, undoing him piece by piece. His hand hovered at his side as if he didnât trust himself to touch you, until instinct won out and his fingers tangled in your hair, trembling.
Your own hands worked quickly, clumsy in your eagerness, tugging at his belt with more force than grace. The metal clinked against itself, harsh and sharp, before finally loosening under your grip. You tugged his pants down just enough to free him, his cock heavy and thick in your hand, flushed at the tip. A rush of heat climbed your throat at the sight of it, the sheer weight of him in your palm. You leaned in, dragging your tongue slowly up his length, savoring the sharp intake of breath that tore from his lungs.
âItâs so big,â you whined softly, not even meaning to say it, the words spilling like a confession against the humid air. Your lips painted a trail of kisses along his shaft, each one deliberate, reverent, tasting salt and heat and the heady pulse of his arousal.
Jakeâs answer was a sound that gutted you, a low, guttural moan that seemed to come from someplace deeper than his chest. His fist clenched tighter in your hair, pulling but not cruelly, begging rather than commanding. âCome on, sweet girl,â he rasped, his voice hoarse, cracked around the edges of desperation. âPlease⌠justâplease.â You tilted your head, smiling up at him, a soft, almost innocent curve of your lips that contrasted wickedly with the filth of what you were about to do. He looked ruined already, his face flushed, his jaw tight, his pupils blown wide. You lingered there, letting him feel the anticipation claw at him, before finally giving him what he wanted.
Your lips wrapped around his tip, sucking gently at first, teasing him, tasting the faint salt that clung to his skin. His breath hitched, sharp and loud, echoing off the cramped walls, and you felt the shudder ripple through him. You lowered yourself slowly, inch by inch, your throat tightening as you took him deeper, stretching yourself around him until you could feel the heat of him flood every corner of your mouth. âJust a little more,â Jake panted above you, his voice breaking apart, a rough prayer caught between his teeth. His hips twitched forward, restrained but barely, as though every part of him warred against the urge to lose control. His eyes shut tight for a moment, head tipping back against the door, the tendons in his neck straining. âGood girl,â he groaned, his hand fisting tighter in your hair, grounding himself in you. âYou can take a little more, canât you? Just, fuck, just a little more.â
The praise, the way it spilled from his lips like broken glass and honey, only pushed you further. You hollowed your cheeks, sliding down until he hit the back of your throat, gagging faintly around him but refusing to pull away. His hips jerked despite himself, a curse spilling from his lips, raw and unfiltered. He looked down at you then, eyes wide, dark, worshipping and sinful all at once, as though he couldnât believe you were real, kneeling there, ruining yourself just for him.Â
He was trembling above you, his whole body drawn taut like a bowstring. You could see the veins in his forearm flex with every twitch of his grip in your hair, could hear the uneven stutter of his breath as it fell ragged against the bathroomâs tiled walls. The barâs muffled laughter and clinking glasses beyond the door barely reached you; all you knew was the small, enclosed world of Jake, his scent, his sounds, the taste of him filling your mouth until there was nothing else. Your tongue dragged slowly along the underside of his shaft as you pulled back, tracing every ridge, savoring the heavy throb against your lips. You let him slip free with a wet pop, the sound obscene in the hush of the bathroom. A thin strand of saliva stretched between your mouth and his tip, glistening before it snapped, and you licked it away with a smirk that made his jaw clench.Â
âFuckââ he groaned, his voice breaking, as if the sight of you undone yet grinning at his expense carved him open. His hips jerked forward like his body was trying to close the distance his restraint fought to keep. âYouâre gonna kill me.â
You tilted your head, lips brushing over him again in a feather-light tease, leaving kisses along his length as though you were worshipping something divine. âIsnât that what you wanted?â you murmured against his skin, your words muffled but heavy with intent. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, watching the way his stare darkened, torn between tenderness and hunger.
Jakeâs hand tightened in your hair, urging but not forcing, guiding you with a desperate restraint. âPlease,â he whispered again, the word trembling, as though pride itself had left him. âDonâtâdonât tease me like this.â Your smirk widened, a flicker of power rushing through you at the sight of him like this, Jake, who always carried himself with such easy charm, now unraveling, begging, coming apart because of you. You swirled your tongue around his tip before sinking your mouth back down, slower this time, dragging it out until his head fell back against the door with a dull thud.
âJesus Christ,â he hissed, his chest heaving, his free hand slamming against the wall as though he needed something to steady him. His thighs trembled beneath your touch, his muscles twitching as you worked him deeper, your throat tight around him. You hollowed your cheeks, pulling a moan out of him that rattled from somewhere low in his chest, primal and raw. He tugged at your hair again, his body caught in the push and pull of need, his hips jerking forward only to stop himself, shaking with the effort of holding back. âGod, you feel so fucking good,â he breathed, the words cracked and reverent, like a prayer.
Your nails grazed the backs of his thighs, grounding him, urging him, and the way his legs nearly buckled made something coil tight in your stomach. You pulled back again, slowly, your lips glistening as you licked a broad stripe up his cock, eyes locked on his. The sound of your breathing mingled with his own, the bathroom thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and need. âSay it,â you whispered, your voice breaking the silence with a soft command, one that made his eyes snap open to you. âSay you want me to make you cum.â
He swallowed hard, his Adamâs apple bobbing, his lips parting like he wanted to resist. But he couldnât, not with you kneeling there, mouth wet and wanting, the weight of your stare pinning him down. His voice came low, broken, surrendering. âMake me cum, sweet girl. Please. Ruin me.â Your lips parted wider, sliding back down him, deeper this time, until your throat tightened around his length. His breath shattered into fragments above you, curses and half-formed prayers breaking in his mouth. His hand fisted harder in your hair, not rough enough to hurt but enough to anchor himself, because without you grounding him he wouldâve floated straight out of his body.
He gasped your name like it was the only word he knew, his voice hoarse and cracking. âFuck, god, youâre perfect. Youâreââ His head tipped back again, his throat exposed, the line of his jaw cut sharp beneath the dim bathroom light. He looked like he was burning alive and begging for the fire not to stop. You set your rhythm slow at first, dragging him out, then swallowing him down again, letting your tongue swirl around him in a way that made his knees buckle. The bathroom floor pressed cold against your knees, but the heat radiating from Jakeâs body drowned everything else out. He was trembling, unraveling, each moan deeper than the last.
Your hands pressed against his thighs, holding him steady as your mouth worked him, your tongue teasing the sensitive ridge until his hips betrayed him, jerking forward against your lips. âShit, donât stop, donât stopââ he panted, the plea ripped from his lungs like he couldnât control it. His fingers dug into your hair. You pulled back just enough to let your tongue drag across his tip, savoring the salty taste, then dove down again, taking more of him, pushing yourself until your eyes watered and his moan echoed off the tile. The sound was raw, guttural, something pulled out of the depths of him. You could feel him trembling beneath your hands, could hear the strain in his voice as he fought for control that was slipping through his fingers like sand.
His breathing grew ragged, shallow, each gasp catching like he couldnât get enough air. âIâmâIâm so close,â he groaned, voice shaking, his hips stuttering despite the way he tried to hold them back. âDonât stop, please, donâtââ And you didnât. You worked him harder, your mouth and hands moving in tandem, your tongue flicking against him in ways that made his entire body twitch. The sounds spilling from him were unrestrained now, broken gasps and guttural moans, the kind of noise that wouldâve had anyone on the other side of the door knowing exactly what was happening.
He pulled at your hair once more, his body convulsing as the wave finally broke. With a strangled moan he came undone, spilling into your mouth with a shudder that shook through his entire frame. His head thudded against the door, his throat baring a sound between a groan and your name. His free hand covered his mouth like he could muffle the force of it, but it was useless, he was too far gone. You swallowed him down, slow and deliberate, never looking away from the wreck he became above you. His body buckled, trembling as though he had been split apart, and when you finally pulled back his cock twitched against your lips, still sensitive, glistening. You licked him clean with the patience of someone who wanted to prolong his torment, drawing another broken curse from his lips.
When you finally sat back on your knees, breathless and flushed, Jake looked down at you with eyes blown wide and glassy. His chest heaved like heâd run miles, his skin damp with sweat, and for a moment he could only stare, lips parted, utterly ruined. âHoly fuck,â he whispered hoarsely, almost like he couldnât believe what just happened. His hand reached for you then, not in command but in surrender, brushing your cheek as though you were the only thing tethering him back to earth.Â
You lift from your spot on the floor as Jake breathes heavily beside you, working on putting himself back into his pants and fixing himself back up. After cleaning yourself up a bit you reach for the door. The door to the barâs bathroom creaked open as if protesting your exit, the dim hallway yawning before you in neon-lit shadow. Jakeâs hand was still warm on your wrist, his grip a tether that pulled you forward, stumbling, your bodies brushing as though you hadnât yet disentangled from the fever you left behind on that tiled floor.Â
But in the haze of the bar, the dark lights casting shadows over his face was Heeseung. He stood there waiting, as if fate had staged him just outside, his tall frame catching the dim light from a buzzing overhead bulb. His eyes widened, locking onto yours, then flicking to Jakeâs hand still on you. His face was an open wound of realization, shock painted in strokes too sharp to be missed. The air around the three of you thickened, oppressive, like smoke choking the throat. You froze, pulse thundering in your ears. The laughter and chatter from the bar carried faintly down the hall, but here it felt as if the whole world had narrowed to this silent collision.Â
Heeseungâs lips parted, but no words came. Instead, his gaze faltered, sliding away with an awkwardness that said more than accusation ever could. His jaw tightened, shoulders squaring, and then he simply moved, brushing past with a stiffness that was almost painful to watch. His shoulder brushed yours, fleeting and electric, before he disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. Jake cursed under his breath, a quiet, rough âfuckâ that scraped out of his throat. His jaw worked, tension flashing in his features, but instead of lingering in the silence Heeseung left behind, he tugged at your hand. âCome on,â he murmured, pulling you back toward the main room, as though forward motion alone could erase what had just happened.
The bar swallowed you whole again, neon signs glowing against walls stained with time, glasses clinking in every direction, the low thrum of bass vibrating through the floorboards. The scent of beer, sweat, and cheap perfume hung heavy. Jay and Sunghoon were still at their table, two girls now draped over their sides, laughter spilling from their lips like champagne. You smoothed your hair, pasted on a smile, and leaned toward them. âWeâre heading out,â you announced, pitching your voice steady, though the edges trembled with leftover adrenaline.Â
Jay didnât even lift his head, too occupied with the girl whispering into his ear. Sunghoon, lazier, tilted his chin up just enough to grin at you. âYeah, yeah,â he drawled, his words softened by liquor. He flapped a dismissive hand, attention drifting back to the girl twirling her hair at his shoulder. You and Jake exchanged a glance, half relieved, half absurd and then turned away. The night air outside was a balm, cool and bracing after the heavy press of the barâs atmosphere. You gasped softly at the shock of it, your breath rising like smoke into the crisp dark. Jakeâs laugh cracked beside you, low and unsteady, and then your own giggle spilled free, the absurdity of what had just happened unraveling in shared hysteria.
âHeeseungâs face,â you whispered, covering your mouth with your hand, though laughter still burst through your fingers.Â
Jake shook his head, his own grin crooked, half-embarrassed. âGod, he didnât even say anything. Just, just looked at us likeâŚâ He trailed off into another laugh, rough around the edges. Then quieter, almost to himself: âShit.â The two of you stumbled across the lot, your laughter tapering into quiet giggles, then into silence, until the only sounds were the distant music leaking from the barâs open doors and the crunch of gravel under your shoes. Jake unlocked the car, and you slid into the passenger seat, the leather cool against your legs. He climbed in beside you, his hands gripping the wheel though he didnât start the engine.
You studied his profile, the sharp cut of cheekbone in the glow of the streetlight, the way his brows knit together in concentration. âAre you okay to drive?â you asked softly, the words heavy in the close air of the car. He stayed still for a moment, then glanced at you, his eyes shadowed and unreadable. âMaybe not,â he admitted, his voice low, almost sheepish. His fingers flexed against the steering wheel before loosening their grip. âMaybe we should just⌠park for a while. Wait it out.â
The suggestion settled between you, thick with implication. You nodded slowly, the motion small, deliberate. âYeah,â you murmured. âThatâs smart.â Jake shifted the car into gear, easing it across the lot, past the noise and bustle of the entrance. Streetlamps arched above, casting fleeting pools of light through the windshield, cutting his face into flickering slices of brightness and shadow. With every turn, the sound of music and laughter behind you grew fainter, until it was only a dull echo swallowed by the night.
Finally, he pulled into a darker corner of the lot, where trees leaned heavy over cracked pavement and the hum of the highway was a distant ghost. He killed the engine, leaving only the ticking of cooling metal and the uneven rhythm of your breath. The silence felt alive, brimming with unsaid words, with the weight of what had happened and what might happen still. The car became its own small world, sealed tight, the rest of the night locked outside.
The car became a coffin of silence, sealed tight and suffocating. The night outside was heavy with shadows, the rain tapering off to a faint mist, streetlights casting pale, fractured halos against the windshield. You sat still in the passenger seat, your hands clenched in your lap, and Jake sat next to you like a statue, his knuckles white against the steering wheel, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. The silence was not peaceful. It was loud, a scream disguised as quiet, each unspoken word stretching the air until it throbbed between you.
You found yourself the first to break. The words tumbled out, shaky, but true. âWhat are we doing?â
The question hung there, heavy as smoke, heavier still when Jake let out a sigh so deep it sounded like it had been stored inside him for years. He tilted his head back against the seat, eyes shut as if he couldnât bear to look at you when he answered. âI donât know.âAnd you did know what he meant. You knew without further explanation. This, whatever this was, was wrong, dangerously wrong. It was betrayal wrapped in desire, grief woven into longing. But why did it feel so devastatingly right? Why, when his voice cracked with uncertainty, did your heart still lurch toward him, a moth to a flame that promised only to burn?
Another silence followed, thicker this time, pressing down on your chest. You could almost feel your pulse in your throat as you turned your head, watching him. He looked tired, shadows carved under his eyes, but beneath that exhaustion was something more, something alive, restless, and clawing at the edges of his composure. And for a moment, a wild moment, you thought you could tell him. You thought you could unravel it all, lay it bare, tell him the words youâd swallowed for years: I love you. Iâve loved you for as long as Iâve known you, and I donât think Iâll ever stop.
So you leaned toward him, mouth parting with a trembling inhale. âJake, Iââ But you never finished. Because his mouth crashed against yours before the confession could take shape, stealing it from your tongue. It wasnât gentle, it wasnât measured, it was desperate, clumsy, the kind of kiss that scraped teeth and gasped for air. His hand cupped the side of your face with a fevered urgency, pulling you closer, closer, until the line between where you ended and he began no longer seemed to exist.
You gasped into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, the world outside vanishing until there was only the humid fog of the car, the taste of him, alcohol and salt and sorrow, and the feral way his lips moved against yours. The kiss turned quickly, dangerously, into heat: your mouths devouring, teeth catching, breath spilling into one anotherâs lungs. His hands slid down, over your jaw, your neck, your sides, grasping as though he feared youâd vanish if he didnât hold you tight enough. âGod,â Jake breathed against your lips, pulling back only for the smallest fraction of a second before surging forward again, hungrier now, his voice ragged. âI canât stop.â
And neither could you.
The kiss deepened, every second heavier, hotter, until the air inside the car felt suffocating. His hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back so his mouth could roam lower, your jaw, your throat, the tender hollow beneath your ear, each kiss searing, each touch unraveling the thin thread of restraint holding the both of you together. Your breath stuttered, a plea escaping before you could even think. âJakeâŚâ
But he swallowed it with another kiss, this one rough, like he wanted to erase the space between you entirely, as though he believed he could crawl inside your skin and stay there. The car was no longer a car, it was a confessional, a battlefield, a sanctuary, a prison. And you were trapped inside it with him, your hearts pounding against the wrongness of it all, but still, you clung to it, clung to him, because it felt too good to let go. Your hands fumble in the dimness, clumsy with urgency, with the clatter of need ringing through your chest. The fabric of his shirt catches on your fingers, your knuckles scraping against the warmth of his skin as you tug it upward. He helps you, impatient, peeling it off in one swift motion, the cotton whispering across his shoulders before itâs discarded somewhere in the darkness of the car.Â
His chest gleams faintly in the low light, smooth planes of skin stretched over muscle, and you canât help but fall into him, mouth greedy, leaving wet kisses along the sharp edge of his jaw, the column of his throat, the pounding pulse beneath it. You map him with lips and teeth, as though claiming every inch could keep him tethered to you, as though this frantic devotion could be enough to explain the storm inside you. âWant youâŚâ The words spill out between kisses, a whimper more than a confession, your voice high and airy, trembling with need. Your hands explore him blindly, skimming the ridges of his torso, desperate to touch more, desperate to erase every inch of distance.
Jake groans, low and ragged, the sound vibrating through his chest as his hands close around your breasts, kneading through the thin barrier of your top. His touch makes your back arch, your breath catch, as if heâs discovered the strings that hold you together and begun tugging them loose. His thumbs sweep across your peaks, and the sensitivity has you gasping, clutching harder at him. âYeah?â he teases, though his own voice is frayed at the edges, thick with arousal. You can feel the tremor in his restraint, the coil wound tight inside him as his free hand drags at the waistband of his jeans. He yanks them down just far enough, fumbling with urgency, until his cock springs free, thick and heavy, flushed with heat. The sight alone knocks the air from your lungs. He fists himself once, slowly, deliberately, before looking back up at you with hooded eyes that burn. âHow bad do you want it, baby?âÂ
âSo bad,â you cry, the words broken, unpolished, raw with hunger. You reach for your own pants, shoving them down with frantic fingers, clumsy from the alcohol still fogging your body, but sharp enough in your desire to ache. The denim tangles at your ankles before you kick it away, your hands shaking as you bare yourself for him. âPlease, Jake. Please.â
His teeth catch on his bottom lip, eyes dark, fixed on you like youâre the only thing left in the world worth wanting. His hand finds your wrist, then the other, guiding you with firm control. âRide me,â he orders, his tone deep and rough, no hesitation in it, just hunger. The command strikes through you, a jolt straight to your core, and you obey without thought. You swing one leg over his lap, straddling him in the cramped space of the car, the closeness suffocating in the best possible way. The steering wheel looms inches behind you, but all you can focus on is the way Jakeâs body feels beneath yours, solid and hot, the anticipation thrumming like a second heartbeat. You hover over him, your thighs quivering with restraint, his cock pressed against your folds, slickness coating him as you tease yourself, dragging his tip up and down your entrance.Â
âFuck,â Jake hisses, head tipping back against the headrest, his Adamâs apple bobbing as he swallows hard. His hands grip your hips tight, fingers digging crescents into your skin, grounding himself in the feel of you. His eyes flutter shut, but his body arches upward, chasing the friction you give him, waiting for the inevitable. And then you sink down. A sharp breath catches in your throat, your nails clawing into his bare shoulders as he fills you, inch by inch, stretching you wide until the air leaves your lungs entirely. Itâs too much and not enough all at once, the kind of overwhelming pleasure that borders on pain, that makes your body tremble as it accommodates him. Jake groans, guttural, his hands tightening on your waist as though to steady you, or himself, as you take him to the hilt.
The world outside the fogged-up windows vanishes, blurred into nothing, as you clutch him close and let him consume you whole. The moment you begin to move, itâs reckless, frantic, a pace born out of desperation rather than patience. Your thighs burn with the effort, the confined space of the car making every movement feel clumsy and chaotic, but none of that matters. What matters is the way he feels inside you, thick, overwhelming, stretching you open again and again with every sharp rise and fall of your hips. You cling to his shoulders for balance, nails digging into the taut muscle, using his body as leverage as you bounce along his length. Each downward push knocks the breath from your lungs, each upward drag leaves you aching for the plunge again.
Jakeâs breath comes out ragged, torn from his throat as though itâs costing him something to even keep up. His head tips back against the headrest, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched, but his hands are everywhere, clutching at your waist, dragging over your thighs, finding their way down to fist at the flesh of your ass. His grip is bruising, anchoring you to him as though heâs terrified you might slip away. âIâm notââ his words cut off into a groan, his chest heaving beneath you, âIâm not gonna last long if you keep tightening around me like that, sweet girl.âÂ
The pet name, hushed and hoarse, makes your heart trip over itself even in the midst of the chaos. Heâs panting now, broken sounds spilling from his lips as his large palm spreads across the curve of your ass, guiding you, forcing you down harder, deeper, as though he canât bear to let you set the pace. Then, suddenly, the sting of his hand lands sharp against your skin, a smack that echoes in the tight space of the car, making you jolt and moan all at once. The sound only fuels him. He groans, low and guttural, and kneads the tender spot he just struck, molding you back into his grasp. âTight fucking pussy,â he growls, voice frayed and dangerous, âsucking me in like you donât ever want to let me go.â
âJakeyââ the nickname tumbles from your lips, a whimper, high and needy, as your rhythm falters for a moment, your body trembling from the mixture of pain and bliss. Your hand slips from his shoulder, falling flat against his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart hammering against your palm. You canât find words big enough, eloquent enough, to describe what heâs doing to you, what youâre doing together. All you can manage are half-formed pleas and broken praises, spilling from you in a haze. âSo good,â you cry, breath shuddering, âso, so goodââÂ
The alcohol still buzzing in your system strips away any hesitation, any lingering shame. You let yourself go completely, surrendering to the heat, to the rhythm of your body moving against his, to the raw animalistic need that drives you. You chase your own ruin like itâs the only thing left that matters, fucking yourself dumb on his cock, your hips finding their own punishing tempo. The car rocks faintly with the force of it, windows fogging deeper, the scent of sweat and sex clinging to the air like smoke. And through it all, Jake is beneath you, undone, unraveling, his voice rough with curses and praise, his hands dragging you back down onto him over and over again, like he never wants this moment to end.
Your body keeps moving, reckless, breathless, every drop of restraint bled out of you in the fogged-up cocoon of the car. The rhythm youâve fallen into is brutal, hips rising and falling, muscles straining, each slam of your body against his rattling the seat beneath you. Every nerve in your body feels alive, lit like a fuse, chasing the fire you know is coming. Your thighs quake, trembling with the effort, but still you donât stop, you canât. You ride him harder, faster, as though the heat itself is keeping you alive.
Jakeâs hands are everywhere at once, clawing at your hips, dragging you down deeper onto him until youâre certain thereâs no part of you left untouched by him. His voice cracks, a strangled sound thatâs half groan, half plea. âFuckâbaby, slow down or Iââ His sentence splinters into a sharp moan, his head falling forward, forehead pressed to your collarbone, sweat dripping hot against your skin. His hands clench, bruising you with their insistence, trying to ground himself in the madness of it. âYouâre so tightâso fucking perfectâI canâtââ
But youâre beyond hearing, beyond logic. All you can do is whine his name, over and over again, your voice cracking each time you hit the bottom of him. âJakeâJakeyââ Itâs a chant, a prayer, your entire world narrowed down to the drag of him inside you, the way he splits you apart only to put you back together in the same breath. You collapse forward, pressing your mouth to his shoulder, biting at the skin just to muffle your cries. The taste of him, salt, sweat, desperation, burns on your tongue.Â
He lifts his head suddenly, lips crashing against yours, messy and desperate. The kiss is teeth and tongue, clumsy from the way youâre both gasping for air, but it only makes it more real, more consuming. He groans into your mouth when you clench around him, his hand sliding between your bodies, fingers finding that aching bundle of nerves at your core. The touch is too much, too sharp, too sudden and your whole body jerks like youâve been shocked. âCum for me, sweet girl,â he rasps, his voice breaking apart under the weight of his own desire. âWant to feel youâwant to feel you lose it on me.â
The demand tears through the haze, and youâre powerless against it. You ride him faster, chasing that jagged edge, your body tightening like a bowstring drawn too far. Heat coils low in your belly, sharp and relentless, winding tighter and tighter until it finally snaps. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, violent and all-consuming. You cry out his name, broken and raw, nails clawing down his chest as your body spasms around him. The world blurs, the car vanishes, and thereâs only the shattering relief of release, every nerve alight, every inch of you burning.Â
Jake is right there with you, undone by the way you convulse around him, the sound of your voice unraveling into gasps. He thrusts up into you hard, once, twice, before he breaks completely. His groan is guttural, dragged from the depths of him as his release spills into you, hot and overwhelming. His grip on your hips is bruising, holding you down against him as though he canât bear to let you go, as though he wants to be buried inside you forever.
For a long moment, neither of you move. You sit slumped against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around you, his breath ragged in your ear. The only sound is the pounding of your hearts, the ticking of the cooling engine, the faint hum of nightlife still buzzing somewhere beyond the fogged-up windows. He presses a kiss to your temple, tender and trembling, almost reverent. And for that brief heartbeat of silence, it feels like the world is holding its breath with you, like nothing exists outside this tiny space where you and Jake have come undone together.
The ride back to Jakeâs place is a silence all its own. Not awkward, not strained, but weighted, the kind of silence that feels like it could shatter if you breathe too hard. The car still smells of sweat and heat and the sharp bite of alcohol, a mix that clings to the both of you like evidence, like sin. You donât speak, and neither does he, though his hand remains steady on the wheel and the streetlights flicker across his face in broken gold. For a moment, you think about saying something, anything, that might give shape to what happened between you. But the words wonât form. They live at the back of your throat, heavy and unspeakable, so you simply stare out the window, pretending the blur of neon and the smudge of the city is enough to occupy you.
When you finally reach his apartment, the door clicks open and you both step inside like thieves sneaking into someplace sacred. The quiet of the space feels different tonight, less suffocating than before, almost welcoming in its emptiness. Jake tosses his keys onto the counter and lets out a long exhale, like heâs been holding his breath the entire way here. He doesnât say anything, doesnât need to, and you donât ask for words he isnât ready to give. Instead, the two of you move through the familiar space in sync, an unspoken rhythm guiding you. You toe off your shoes, and he shrugs out of his jacket, and itâs as though youâve both rehearsed this moment.Â
He pulls his shirt over his head and drops it carelessly onto the floor, and you follow suit, slipping into the blankets as though theyâve been waiting just for you. He joins you a moment later, the heat of his body seeping into yours as he settles beside you. Thereâs no hesitation this time, no sharp edges of guilt slicing at your ribs. Just the soft warmth of his skin brushing yours, the steady sound of his breathing evening out as he lies back, arm thrown lazily across his face like heâs too tired to carry the weight of the world tonight.Â
For a long time, you stare at him in the dim light spilling in from the window. You trace the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. He looks almost peaceful here, stripped of the tension that usually knots his shoulders, stripped of the sharpness he wears like armor. And maybe itâs the exhaustion, or maybe itâs the alcohol still buzzing faintly in your blood, but for once, the guilt doesnât come crashing in. For once, you donât curl into yourself and cry.
Instead, you let yourself breathe. You let yourself stretch out beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushes his chest. And when your eyes slip shut, the corners of your lips curve upward without your permission, a smile settling there like it belongs. A small, secret smile, the kind born from the reckless knowledge that youâve done something unforgivable, and yet it feels so devastatingly good. You fall asleep that way, smile pressed into the pillow, body curled against Jakeâs warmth. And in that fragile pocket of night, before dreams take you under, it almost feels like love.
The shrill cry of Jakeâs phone shattered the stillness of the morning, an ugly sound tearing you from sleep like a knife dragged across silk. Your eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion, and you rolled toward him, hand brushing his shoulder, voice soft but urgent. âJake, your phone,â you murmured, the device rattling against the nightstand as if it were alive, desperate to be answered.Â
Jake stirred with a groggy groan, rubbing his eyes, and reached for it. His gaze, clouded with sleep, cleared in an instant when he saw the name flashing on the screen. He sat up so fast it startled you. âItâs Mimi,â he said, his voice both stunned and sharp, like heâd been stabbed awake. Your stomach turned to stone. You froze, the name burning through you like fire on an open wound. Mimi. The woman whose absence had left a void so vast it had driven you and Jake into each otherâs arms. The woman whose ghost had haunted every kiss, every touch, every fleeting second of your stolen closeness.Â
Jake pressed a finger to his lips, wide eyes demanding your silence. His thumb trembled as it slid across the screen, pressing accept. He put it on speaker, perhaps out of instinct, perhaps because he didnât want to hide anythingâbut that choice made every word that followed fall like a dagger directly into you.
âHello?â His voice was hesitant, almost boyish, stripped raw of its usual certainty.
On the other end, Mimiâs voice quivered, fragile as glass. âHi.â
Just one syllable, but it cracked open the room like thunder splitting the sky. Jake swallowed, his Adamâs apple bobbing, fingers curling into the sheets. âHey⌠how are you?â
âIâm⌠better,â she whispered, though the tremor in her tone betrayed her. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, she said words that made your chest constrict, that pulled the floor out from under you. âJake, I owe you an apology.â
The guilt in you sharpened to a blade. You could feel it twist in your ribs, merciless. Your hands clenched in the sheets, nails digging into the fabric, as though anchoring yourself to something, anything, to keep from floating away into the storm of shame. Jakeâs face collapsed into devastation, his features written with the same guilt carved into your bones. You knew he felt it too. Knew the weight of what youâd both done was now heavy enough to crush the room.
âMimi,â he said gently, âyou donât owe me anything. It wasnât your fault. You had every right to be angry, every right to⌠to shut down. I shouldâveââ
âNo,â she cut in, her voice breaking, and then the sound of her sobbing filled the room. Raw, messy, real. âNo, Jake. You guys were just trying to help me. And I pushed you away. I hurt you. I hurt us.â You closed your eyes, but it was no use. Her grief poured through the phone like floodwater, and every drop of it drowned you. You bit your lip so hard it bled, because how dare you listen to her heartbreak when you were part of the reason for it.
Jakeâs jaw clenched, tears pricking his own eyes. He whispered her name again, helpless, useless, while she wept. And then she said it, words that cracked you open like a fault line splitting the earth. âI love you, Jake. I donât want to lose you. Iâm so sorry for treating you so badly. I shouldâve talked to you instead of shutting you out. Youâve been nothing but good to me, protecting me, loving me, and Iâve been the worst girlfriend. You deserve so much better than me.â
The sob in her voice fractured into something soft, pleading, desperate. You thought maybe Jake would stay silent. Maybe he would let her words fall unanswered into the chasm. Maybe fate, just this once, would spare you. But no. His voice, gentle and trembling, killed you. âStop crying, baby. I love you too. More than anything. Itâs okay.â The sentence hit you harder than any blow. You couldnât breathe. The words werenât meant for you, had never been meant for you, and yet hearing them now, from lips that had kissed you only hours ago, tore you apart in ways you didnât know you could break.
Your jealousy burned green and hot, twining with guilt until it was unbearable, a sickness rising in your chest. You tried to mask it, your face still, your body frozen in the bed. You told yourself you were invisible, a ghost in the room, while Jake whispered love into someone elseâs ears. When the call finally ended, silence filled the air like smoke. Dense, suffocating, impossible to breathe through. Unspoken words crowded the space between you, truth settling heavy on your shoulders. You swung your legs off the bed, every movement mechanical, like a puppet pulled by strings. You gathered your clothes, your bag, your everything, tears falling silent and merciless. âWaitââ Jakeâs voice cracked as he reached for you, panic breaking through his exhaustion.
But you shook your head, the tears sliding down your cheeks faster now. âNo. Please. I have to go.â You didnât dare look at him, because if you did, you might unravel completely.
And so you left. You opened the door, stepped into the hallway, and the moment it closed behind you, the dam broke. You crumpled, pressing your hands to your face, sobs tearing free of you with a violence you couldnât stop. You stumbled down the hall, each step heavy, each breath a wound. You hated yourself. For every moment of weakness, for every kiss youâd stolen, for every line crossed that could never be uncrossed. The guilt clung to you like oil, thick and inescapable, and no amount of crying could wash it away. By the time you reached home, you were nothing but a hollow shell of grief and shame, the echo of Jakeâs voice, I love you too. More than anything, still lodged like glass in your heart.
It had been days since youâd last seen Jake, days since that night in his apartment when his voice had broken your heart in two with the simplest words, words meant for someone else. Days since youâd walked away with your chest hollowed out, a ghost of yourself carrying a body that no longer felt like home. And in those days, silence had become your tormentor. Mimi had not called. Not once. Not even a message. Just that letter from before but now the stillness from her side of the world pressed down on you like a storm cloud, thick and suffocating, promising lightning. You were sure she knew. She had to know. Why else would she remain so quiet?
The thought was a shadow that stalked you from the moment you woke to the moment your eyes finally slid shut. It gnawed at you, chewed through your insides, left your stomach raw and empty. Food no longer held shape or taste; it turned to ash in your mouth. Sleep, too, abandoned you. Your mind was a cruel stage that replayed the same scene again and again, Jake whispering baby, I love you too, more than anything, while your heart bled out quietly in the wings. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw it, heard it, felt it split you open. And when you opened them, the silence from Mimi was worse, because silence felt like accusation, like proof.
Jake had tried. You saw his name light up your phone more than once, his voice breaking into your voicemail with soft words, hesitant words, please, can we talk? and I just want to explain. But you ignored every single one. Let them pile up like unopened letters from a past life. Because to answer him would be to look in the mirror, to face what youâd done, to face the feelings you had no right to carry. And you couldnât. You werenât strong enough. When your phone buzzed again one evening, you didnât even glance at the screen. You silenced it, placed it face-down on your nightstand, as if turning it over could bury the truth. You sat on the edge of your bed, body curled inward, hands trembling in your lap. Anxiety had grown teeth by now; it bit and tore at you from the inside.
Finally, the words broke free from you, though no one was there to hear. âShe knows,â you whispered into the empty room. âShe has to know.â The sound of your own voice startled you, hoarse and cracked from disuse. You hadnât spoken much these last few days. What was there to say? To whom? The walls kept your secrets, and you hated them for it. Your phone buzzed again. You almost threw it across the room, but something inside you stopped you. Instead, you picked it up and stared at the name on the screen. Jake. Always Jake. His persistence was both a balm and a wound. You didnât answer.
Instead, you whispered to yourself again, softer this time, as though saying it aloud might exorcise it from your chest. âI canât. I canât see him. I canât hear him.â And yet, beneath the anxiety, beneath the gnawing guilt and the exhaustion, a different ache throbbed. The ache of longing. Because as much as you told yourself you didnât need him, as much as you reminded yourself that what you felt was wrong, your heart still reached for him in the quiet hours, when you were most alone. That was the cruelest part of it all, you werenât only running from guilt, but from the truth of your own desire.
The days without Jake carved into you like a dull blade, dragging slow and merciless. Time had a way of mocking you, each morning stretching endlessly, each night hollowing out your chest until you felt like you were nothing more than a shell filled with restless longing and guilt. His name appeared on your phone again and again, a bright flare you couldnât bear to look at. You let it ring out each time, telling yourself it was self-preservation, though really it was cowardice, you couldnât risk hearing his voice, that familiar warmth that would unravel every fragile barrier youâd tried to build. Sleep eluded you, food turned to ash in your mouth; anxiety gnawed at your ribs, whispering over and over the same fear: Mimi must know. She must know what you did, what you and Jake had become in the dark. Why else would she stay silent? Why else would she not call?
And then, on a night when you thought youâd finally made peace with solitude, the knock came. It was sharp, steady, three raps that rattled not only the door but your very bones. You froze where you stood, the crinkle of the ramyeon packet in your hands loud as thunder in the stillness. Nobody ever came unannounced. You opened the door. Jake.
He stood there like a vision conjured straight out of your aching heart, disheveled hair that had clearly been tugged at by restless hands, dark circles bruised beneath his eyes, his lips pressed thin in that way they did when he was trying to hold too much inside. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence felt like the space between lightning and thunder, heavy with everything unspoken. âCan I come in?â His voice was quiet, uncertain, almost apologetic. You couldnât find words, so you simply stepped aside. He passed you, and the faint scent of him, familiar, devastating, swept in with him. You closed the door behind him, turning your back quickly before you betrayed too much.Â
âIâm making ramyeon,â you murmured, focusing on the pot of water that was just beginning to quiver with heat. Your voice sounded foreign, brittle in your own ears.
But Jake didnât accept the distance you were trying to create. He moved closer, his presence warm and insistent at your back. âWhy have you been ignoring me?â His voice cracked, a thin thread of hurt woven through the question.
You shrugged, your shoulders rigid as stone. âI donât know.â
âDonât do that,â he said, closer now, and then his hand was on your wrist. It wasnât forceful, just enough pressure to turn you toward him. The world narrowed to the heat of his skin against yours, to the plea in his eyes as they locked onto yours. âWhatâs wrong? Iâm sorry Mimi hasnât called you yetââ The words lit a fuse inside you. Anger rose sharp and fast, burning away every ounce of restraint you had left. You yanked your wrist back, your voice trembling with rage and heartbreak. âAre you serious, Jake? Thatâs what you think this is about?â
His brows drew together, confusion etched into every line of his face. âWhat do you mean?â
And that was when the dam broke. Years of silence, years of restraint, years of swallowing your truth until it poisoned you, everything came spilling out in one wild, unstoppable torrent. âIâm in love with you.â The confession tumbled from your lips before you could second-guess it, raw and bare. Your chest heaved with the weight of it. âIâve been in love with you since we were kids. I never stopped. I donât think I ever will. Do you understand what itâs been like? Torture. Watching you with Mimi, watching you give her everything Iâve dreamed ofâitâs been killing me, Jake. Slowly. And I canâtââ Your voice broke, thick with tears, ââI canât take it anymore.â
The room stilled. The only sound was the angry bubbling of the pot on the stove. Jake stared at you like youâd struck him, like the ground had given way beneath his feet. His mouth opened, but nothing came at first, and then, finally, two small words, fragile as glass: âI⌠Iâm sorry.â
The words gutted you. You shook your head violently, tears spilling down your cheeks as if you could shake the sound from your ears. But Jake stepped forward, anguish carved across his face. âIâm sorry,â he whispered again, voice trembling. His hands rose slowly, hesitantly, before cupping your face as though you were something fragile he feared might shatter. His thumbs brushed your tears away, though his own eyes were rimmed red, glistening. âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry,â he repeated like a prayer, a mantra, the only words he could reach for in the wreckage between you. And then his lips were on yours.
It was nothing like the fevered, desperate kisses in the dark of a bar bathroom or the backseat of his car. This was trembling, reverent, fragile. A kiss that carried the weight of years unsaid, years unlived, years buried under silence. He kissed you like he wasnât sure he had the right but couldnât stop himself anyway. His lips lingered, pressed to yours like an apology, a confession, a plea. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of your breaths uneven, mingling in the charged silence. âIâm sorry,â he whispered again, softer this time, as though it was both a wound and a vow. And then he kissed you once more, deeper, less tentative, like he was surrendering to something he could no longer deny.Â
You reached for him, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. The years of restraint crumbled to dust around you as you guided him down the hallway, every step heavy with the weight of inevitability. Neither of you spoke, but the silence between you was deafening with meaning. Every brush of lips, every trembling touch was a word unsaid, a truth shouted without sound. You fell back onto your bed, the sheets cool against your skin, Jakeâs body hovering above yours. His hands roamed your sides, tentative still, as though he wasnât sure if this was allowed, if this was real. The air between you grew heated, desire sparking alive, but there was a softness woven through it, a tenderness that anchored the fire.Â
Your clothes seemed to scatter like autumn leaves caught in a sudden storm, drifting from your body before you could even process the moment. In a breath, you were bare, every secret, every soft curve exposed to him, as Jake hovered above you, his body both a shield and a burden. But this time, it was different. This wasnât the frantic collision youâd shared before, driven by desperation and the frantic need to smother feelings beneath heat. No, this was something slower, heavier, more dangerous. His touch was reverent now, almost worshipful, his palms gliding over your skin as though he was memorizing the topography of your body, pressing his fingerprints into you like scripture. Every brush of his hands ached with meaning, and you felt yourself unravel under it, undone not by the force of him, but by the unbearable tenderness.
You were so in love with him it felt like ruin. The ache was sharp, lodged between your ribs, a shard of glass you could neither swallow nor spit out. And yet you clung to him, let him hold you, because pulling away would have been like stepping off a cliff without wings. It was self-destruction, and still, you surrendered. Love had always been a kind of car crash, and you were already tangled in the wreckage, except the twisted metal, the burning gasoline, was your own heart torn apart by wanting him.Â
His lips trailed across your skin, scattered kisses like embers catching on dry grass. Along your collarbone, the side of your throat, each kiss was a promise, each drag of his mouth a tether binding you closer. When his hand slid down, guiding your thigh upward, you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, locking him to you. He slid inside you with the kind of precision that comes only from knowing another body deeply, intimately. He knew you now, knew the map of your shivers, the exact point where sighs turned into sobs, and he wielded that knowledge like a weapon cloaked in velvet.Â
His hips met yours in slow, deliberate rhythm, the sound of your bodies colliding a quiet symphony. He wasnât chasing release; he was savoring it, as though every thrust was another chance to hold on to you, to steep himself in the feeling of your walls pulling him deeper. You gasped, nails scratching down his back in delicate trails, your voice breaking as his name fell from your lips like a prayer. âJakeâŚâ It was half-moan, half-plea, a surrender you couldnât take back. You tipped your face into his shoulder, breath ragged, eyes damp. âI love you.â The words cracked open inside you, hoarse and trembling, an offering torn straight from the hollow of your chest.
Jakeâs eyes fluttered shut as though the sound of it undid him, as though your love was too heavy to bear. His head tipped back, throat exposed, and a shaky exhale escaped him, caught between agony and bliss. His pace quickened only slightly, just enough to blur the line between gentleness and need, his brows knitting together as if the pleasure were almost painful. âFeels so good,â you whispered, your moans breaking higher, your body clinging to his as if you could fuse yourselves together and vanish into the sweetness of it all.
And then, like lightning striking a house already ablaze, it happened. His voice, rough and ragged, cracked into the air between you. âFuckâMimiââ
The world splintered. Your body froze beneath him, still as a porcelain doll dropped carelessly to the floor, unplayed with and forgotten. The name, her name, hung there like smoke you couldnât breathe through. Mimi. He had said Mimi. Jakeâs eyes shot open, wide with dawning horror, but his body didnât stop. His hips still pressed into yours, the betrayal still carved deeper with every thrust. Your tears slipped soundlessly, hot rivers that burned tracks down your face as you looked at him, saying nothing, your silence heavier than a scream.
And though your heart lay shattered in your chest, You let him keep moving inside you. You let the ruin continue, even as it consumed you, because wanting him â even in betrayal â was stronger than the will to save yourself. You still wanted him, and that was the cruelest truth of all.
Your head turned to the side, unable to bear the sight of him, as though his face itself had become a blade pressed to your skin. The tears still fell unchecked, a quiet cascade slipping down your cheeks, each one burning as it slid into your hairline, into the pillow beneath you. Your thighs trembled with the pleasure he was still wringing from your body, traitorous muscles quivering even as your heart fractured. It was unbearable, this contradiction, pain and ecstasy braided together so tightly you could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. It hurt. God, it hurt so badly, this love that had become a wound you kept pressing your fingers into, knowing it would never heal. How much longer could you do this to yourself? How much longer could you keep loving him with this kind of devastation stitched into every kiss, every touch, every thrust? When would you finally choose yourself? When would you stop letting him destroy you in ways he didnât even seem to understand?
âIâm close,â you sobbed, voice cracking under the weight of it, your head still turned away, eyes clamped shut as though that could spare you from the truth unraveling between you. Your words werenât joy or relief, they were confession, the final collapse of something fragile you had tried so desperately to hold together.
Jakeâs pace faltered, his breath shuddering against your ear. âLook at me,â he whispered, his voice jagged, shredded by the very desperation that bled out of him with every word. âPlease, look at me.â
It was a plea, not a command, and that desperation broke you in new ways. Slowly, with your body still trembling around him, you turned your head. And there he was. His eyes found yours instantly, as though heâd been waiting, praying for it, and what you saw there cut deeper than the sharpest betrayal. His own tears had gathered, glassy and trembling at the edges, before spilling freely down his cheeks. He was breaking too, though it felt crueler somehow, because his cracks had been carved by his own hands. Your gazes locked, the room falling utterly silent except for the ragged sound of your breaths and the rhythm of his body inside yours. It was a mirror of devastation, your anguish reflected in his sorrow, your love reflected in his regret, and yet neither of you stopped. You couldnât. You were caught in it, in the terrible beauty of ruin, two people clinging desperately to the wreckage even as it dragged you both under.
The sight of his tears undid you. They mingled with yours in the silence, an invisible river between your bodies, flowing with everything unsaid and unfixable. And still, neither of you stopped. His hips moved with that same careful rhythm, as if he wanted to memorize the exact shape of you, the way you fit around him, the way your body trembled beneath his. Every thrust felt like a confession he couldnât put into words, a prayer murmured into your skin that he didnât know how to make whole.Â
Your nails dug into his back, clinging as if he might vanish if you let go. Each drag of his body inside you made your chest tighten, your lungs collapse, your heart split wider. The pleasure was unbearable in its sweetness, tangled so tightly with grief that you could hardly tell if you were crying from pain or from ecstasy. Perhaps it was both. Perhaps there was no difference anymore. âI love you,â you whispered again, though your voice was barely a breath, cracked and trembling. You werenât sure if you said it for him or for yourself, to remind yourself that this was real, that the devastation blooming in your chest came from something that had once been pure.
Jakeâs lips found yours in that moment, soft and frantic all at once. The kiss was wet with tears, with salt and sorrow, his mouth moving against yours as though he could apologize without words, as though he could stitch the wound shut simply by refusing to let you go. His thrusts deepened, desperation leaking through the careful pace, his body trembling above you. You clutched at him, your body betraying your heart as heat coiled tight in your belly, every nerve ending strung taut. The tears blurred your vision but you never looked away from him, not once, not when his jaw clenched in pleasure, not when his eyes squeezed shut before finding yours again, not when his whisper broke into the air like a confession.Â
You cried out his name, your back arching, your legs locking around his waist as your release tore through you like a tidal wave. It was overwhelming, the pleasure crashing into your pain, the devastation magnified by the way he held you through it, his forehead pressed to yours, his tears falling onto your cheeks as though they belonged there. He followed you over that edge a moment later, his body shuddering, his breath catching in broken sobs as he spilled inside you. The sound he made, half moan, half cry, was something you knew you would never forget, because it wasnât just pleasure. It was grief, and regret, and love twisted into something so unrecognizable it hurt to witness.
When the waves finally subsided, the room was filled with silence so heavy it seemed to press against your ribs. Jake collapsed gently onto you, careful not to crush you, his face buried in your neck as his breath shivered out against your skin. His arms wrapped around you as if holding you tighter could erase the cracks that had already split you apart. You could still feel him inside you, still feel the warmth of him, but the intimacy was hollow now, like clutching ashes in your palms.
Neither of you spoke. Words would have shattered whatever fragile thread still bound you together in that moment. Instead, you lay there in silence, his heartbeat slowing against your chest, your tears drying sticky against your cheeks. Exhaustion dragged at your limbs, at your eyes, until finally you let yourself sink into the darkness, not because you wanted to, but because it was easier than facing what waited for you in the light. You both fell asleep like that, twined together in the wreckage, holding on as though it might stop the pieces of your hearts from scattering too far apart.Â
You woke to silence. The kind of silence that feels like abandonment, like the ringing of a church bell that never truly fades from your ears. Your hand reached out instinctively, still drowsy with sleep, searching for the warmth you had clung to in the night. But the mattress was cold, untouched since his weight had left it. The emptiness on the other side of the bed was louder than any alarm, louder than his phone had been the morning Mimiâs voice cut through your world. It was absence that screamed, the void of him beside you that spoke more clearly than words ever could.Â
For a moment you lay still, staring at the faint cracks in the ceiling as if they might spell out a reason. The sheets smelled like him, salt, skin, and something almost floral, a scent youâd come to memorize over the years without ever realizing it. That scent was both comfort and cruelty now, a reminder that he had been here, that he had held you through the night, that he had made love to you with tears in his eyes, and that he had left without a word. The ache that bloomed in your chest felt unbearable, sharp, tearing through you as though your heart were glass dropped on a concrete floor.Â
The sob came before you could stop it. Then another. And another. Soon you were curled into yourself on the mattress, hands covering your face as if they could shield you from the truth. But there was no protection from this. You cried until your throat was raw, until your stomach clenched, until you thought there couldnât possibly be any tears left in you, and still they came, spilling over and soaking into the pillow he had slept on. When the storm of it finally ebbed just enough for you to breathe, your trembling hands reached for your phone on the floor beside the bed. The screen glared back at you, his name sitting at the top of your call list, his number already etched into your fingers before you could think twice. You pressed it. You pressed it because you had to, because you couldnât live with not knowing why he had gone, why he hadnât said goodbye, why he hadnât woken you.Â
The line rang. Once. Twice. A third time. Hope flared and dimmed with each hollow chime, like a match catching then dying in the dark. And then it went to voicemail. You tried again. And again. Each time, the same result. The calls disappeared into the void, swallowed by a silence more punishing than words. He wasnât answering. He wasnât there. And that absence carved into you more deeply than any rejection ever could. Your phone slipped from your hands, landing somewhere in the tangle of sheets, and you buried your face into the mattress, into the place where his warmth should have been. You let yourself break open again, sobbing until the morning blurred into afternoon, until the sound of your grief became the only rhythm in the empty room.
Later that day, when the weight of the morning had already hollowed you out, the sound of a knock rattled through your apartment again. It was gentle, hesitant almost, like the sound of someone afraid of not being let in. Your heart jumped, wild and reckless, already preparing itself for Jake, his figure leaning against the doorframe, his face apologetic, his voice soft as he tried to make sense of what had broken between you. But when you pulled the door open, bracing yourself for him, it was not Jake you found standing there. It was Mimi.
For a moment, time fractured. The girl you had loved for so long, your best friend, your sister in everything but blood, stood there, her eyes wide and glistening, her hair falling like a curtain around her face. And before you could even summon a word, before your throat could open, she was in your arms. She collapsed against you like she had been waiting for this moment for months, her body trembling, her grip on you so tight it almost hurt. The sob caught in your throat immediately, and then it spilled out, unbidden, as your arms closed around her. You pressed your face into her shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of her, different now, faintly sterile as if the air of treatment facilities still clung to her.
You both stood there, two broken halves clinging to each other, and the silence was full of the sound of your shared crying. It felt endless. It felt like home and grief and forgiveness all tangled into one knot of an embrace. When she finally pulled back, her hands still clutching at your arms as if afraid you might disappear, her words came out in a rush, like a dam broken. âIâm so sorry,â she whispered, and then said it again, and again, the words spilling over each other until they lost shape. âIâm so sorry for everything, for this past year, for shutting you out, for letting it get so bad. For letting the drugs take me. For letting them consume me until there was nothing left but the shell you couldnât reach anymore. Iâm sorry for sending you that letter. God, that letter, I didnât mean it, I swear I didnât. I didnât mean any of it. You were only ever trying to help me. You were being the friend I didnât deserve and I punished you for it. I hated you because I hated myself. And I love you, I love you so much for never walking away from me, even when I gave you every reason to.â
The sobbing started again in your chest, jagged and raw, but you let her words wash over you, let them soak into the parts of you that had been waiting, aching, for her to come back. You brought her inside and the two of you sat together, side by side, on the worn couch that had witnessed more of your tears than any person had. Her hand never left yours, her grip tight as though she feared sheâd lose you if she let go. You wiped at your eyes, finally finding your voice, though it was fragile and threadbare. âHow are you, Mimi? Really?â
Her face softened into something weary, but lit from within by a tiny ember of hope. âItâs been hard,â she admitted, her voice carrying the weight of every sleepless night, every withdrawal, every battle fought in silence. âHarder than I thought it would be. But Iâm better. I feel⌠lighter. Like I finally see the world again instead of just the haze. Iâm happy to be home.â Her smile trembled but stayed. âHappy to see you.â You tried to hold onto that, to let her words sink in without cracking you further. But then she said his name, the one that lived like fire in your chest. âAnd happy to see Jake.â
It was all you could do not to flinch, not to let the memory of his body over yours last night, his mouth whispering Mimi while you gave him everything, claw its way onto your face. The syllables of her name spoken in that moment rang in your head like a curse. You forced your lips into something that looked like a smile, nodding faintly, and asked instead, âHave you⌠seen him yet?â She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. âYeah. As soon as my parents brought me back, I wanted to see him. I went over, but he wasnât home yet. I waited, and when he finally came back he told me he was out on a jog. He said heâs been doing that lately.â She laughed softly, as if the thought of Jake running at dawn or dusk pleased her. âSaid it clears his head.â
Your stomach twisted. You knew where he had been. Not on a jog. Not on some quiet, cleansing run through the streets. He had been leaving your apartment, your bed still warm with his body, your lips still tasting of him. But you swallowed the truth like a blade, letting it cut you from the inside out, and said nothing. Instead, Mimi brightened suddenly, her eyes shining with that familiar spark of mischief and warmth you hadnât seen in months. âI was thinking, we should celebrate. All of us. Tonight. At my place. Iâll cook dinner.â
You blinked at her, caught off guard. âDinner?â
She nodded eagerly, her hands tightening around yours. âYes. A proper homecoming. Iâll invite Heeseung, Jay, Sunghoon, you, of course. Weâll all be together again. Like old times.â The mention of Heeseung made your stomach clench further, the memory of his eyes burning into yours that night outside the bar bathroom still vivid, the silent judgment, the knowledge of what he had seen. But you kept your face even, your voice steady, as if you hadnât already been unraveling all morning.
âYeah,â you murmured, almost robotically, the word flat and hollow. âOf course. Iâll be there.â And Mimi smiled, relieved, like you had just given her the greatest gift she could ask for.
Later that night, you stood outside Mimi and Jakeâs apartment with your hand lingering on the doorknob longer than it should have. The hall was dim, washed in the weak glow of a single overhead light that buzzed faintly, and you could hear muffled laughter and the faint hum of a record player from inside. Your heart clenched at the thought that everything could somehow feel so normal when you felt anything but. With a breath that trembled more than you wanted to admit, you let yourself in.Â
The first thing you noticed was the absence of the mattress in the living room. The bed that once lay sprawled across the floor, messy sheets tangled like evidence of something you wished you could scrub from your memory, was gone. It had been tucked away back in their bedroom, back in its rightful place. The room looked ordinary again, but the ghost of that night clung to the walls, and to you most of all.
Only Mimi and Jake were there when you stepped in. Mimiâs face lit up as soon as she saw you, a spark of unguarded joy that made your chest ache with guilt. She bounded toward you, her arms open wide, and pulled you into a hug so tight it knocked the breath out of you. You let yourself sink into it, because this was Mimi, because she was here and warm and alive, and you owed her that. Her hair tickled your cheek as she murmured, âIâm so glad you came. The boys should be here soon.â
You forced a smile, shaky but serviceable, as she pulled away. Jake was a different story. He looked up from where he leaned against the kitchen counter, his eyes finding yours instantly like they always did. The moment was sharp, electric, unbearable. You looked away so fast it was almost a flinch, your body betraying how much you couldnât bear the weight of his gaze. Just one glance at him and the memory of his hands, his voice, his body over yours came rushing back, tangled with the sound of Mimiâs name falling from his lips.
Mimi tugged you toward the kitchen, chattering brightly, oblivious to the storm raging just beneath the surface. She asked you what youâd been up to while she was gone, her voice light, teasing almost, as though she were trying to stitch the missing months back together with ordinary conversation. You gave her a small smile, your voice steady even though your pulse thundered. âJust⌠working out a little more. Writing in my journal. Trying to keep busy.â
Her head tilted thoughtfully, her smile warm. âThatâs good. Thatâs really good.â
But in that moment your eyes betrayed you. They flickered, quick as lightning, to where Jake still stood. Just the briefest glance, as if some part of you couldnât resist checking, couldnât resist seeking him out like a compass that no matter how broken still spun north. You prayed Mimi hadnât noticed. From the way her grin stayed, from the way her gaze remained innocent, it seemed she hadnât. But Jake had. You could feel it in the way his posture shifted, his shoulders stiffening almost imperceptibly. A knock at the door broke the moment apart, sharp and sudden. Jake was the one who went to open it. He pulled it wide to reveal Heeseung standing there alone, his tall frame filling the doorway. His eyes swept the room quickly, pausing on you, on Jake, before softening slightly when they landed on Mimi.
âTheyâll be here soon,â Heeseung said, his voice calm but carrying that unreadable weight youâd grown to expect from him. âJay and Sunghoon wanted to stop at the store, grab some wine.â
Mimiâs whole face brightened. She wrapped her arms around Heeseung in a hug that lingered a moment too long, full of relief and gratitude. âIâm so glad youâre here,â she murmured against his shoulder, her voice small but genuine. He patted her back once before pulling away, offering her one of his rare smiles.
But then Mimiâs gaze dropped to her clothes, her pajama bottoms and loose shirt, and she gasped softly, almost laughing at herself. âOh no! I canât believe Iâm still in these.â She shook her head, embarrassed but playful. âI need to get changed. Iâll be right back.â And just like that, she disappeared down the hallway toward the bedroom, leaving the three of you, Jake, Heeseung, and you, alone in the kitchen.
The silence that followed was thick, nearly unbearable. You stood there, your palms pressed against the countertop for grounding, your chest tightening under the weight of it. The air felt charged, heavy with everything unspoken. Heeseungâs presence was steady but piercing, and Jakeâs was restless, shifting slightly as though the walls themselves were closing in. You stand there, stiff, barely breathing, trying not to let your eyes stray toward Jake even as you feel the weight of his presence pull at you like a tide. But itâs Heeseung who breaks the silence, his voice a knife cutting through the stillness.
âDo you plan on telling her,â he says, his tone calm but laced with venom, âthat the entire time she was away getting better, the two of you were fucking?â The word fucking hangs heavy in the air, thick and crude, impossible to ignore. Your breath catches. The floor beneath you feels suddenly unstable, like the ground might crumble and swallow you whole.
âW-What?â you stammer, your voice cracking under the pressure. The blood drains from your face, and you feel your body seize, frozen in the spotlight of his accusation. Heeseung shakes his head, a bitter laugh pulling from his chest. âCome on. Donât play dumb. We all know what I saw. You two stumbling out of that bathroom at the bar, it doesnât take a genius.â His eyes are fire, unwavering, and you canât look away. âThis is fucked up, and you both know it.â
Jake steps forward, his jaw clenched so tight you can hear the grind of his teeth. âHeeseung, you need to mind your business.â His tone is sharp, defensive, but thereâs a tremor underneath that betrays him. But Heeseung only laughs again, darker this time, humorless. âMy business? Donât make me laugh, Jake. Sheâs your best friendââ his finger jabs toward you like a spear, ââand sheâs your girlfriend.â His hand slams against Jakeâs chest in accusation. âYouâre both fucked in the head. Do you even realize what youâve done?âÂ
The words hit you harder than a physical blow, and tears brim at your eyes before you can stop them. You shake your head weakly, mouth trembling. âYou donât underââ But then, before you can finish, a voice slices into the room. A voice you dread more than any storm, more than any nightmare.
âYou guys what?â
Mimi.
The world stills. The clatter of your heart feels deafening in your chest. Sheâs there, just around the corner, standing rigid in the doorway, her eyes wide and unblinking, her expression fractured into something youâll never forget. She heard. She heard everything. âMimiâŚâ Jake whispers, reaching a hand toward her like he can undo this, like he can pull her back into ignorance.
But she stumbles backward, her face crumpling in disbelief. âNo,â she breathes, and then louder, harsher, her voice breaking into shards, âNo! Youâyouââ Her words fracture, tripping over one another as her gaze darts between you and Jake, searching desperately for some thread of denial, some lifeline that doesnât exist.
Your silence condemns you. The tears falling down your face condemn you. To the deepest pits of hell.
âIâve been awayâŚâ she says, her voice splintering, her hands trembling at her sides. âIâve been away getting better, fighting for my lifeâand you, the two of youââ She chokes, gagging on the words. âOh god.â She looks sick, like the truth has poisoned her, like bile is rising in her throat.
âPleaseââ you whisper, stepping forward, but youâre cut off by the sound of her rage, sudden and violent. Her hand whips across your face, the slap so sharp it echoes through the room. Your ears ring, your cheek burns, and a sob tears itself out of your chest before you can swallow it down.
âYou fucking whore!â Mimi screams, her voice shattering, raw. âThatâs why Jake came home early this morning. Thatâs whyâhe was with you, wasnât he?â Her face is streaked with tears now, wet trails down her skin. âWas he with you!?â You canât lie anymore. You nod, once, broken, because the truth is the only thing left. Her body lunges forward, fury consuming her, but Jake and Heeseung catch her before she can reach you. She thrashes in their grip, her sobs morphing into screams. âHow dare you!â she spits, her body shaking with the force of her rage.
âMimi, stopââ Jake pleads, holding her back, but she jerks away from him with violent disgust.
âDonât fucking touch me!â she screams, her voice hoarse. âYou disgust me. Both of you. Youâre fucking sick.â
Youâre sobbing now, clutching your arms around yourself like theyâre the only thing holding you together. âMimi, I love himââ you blurt out, the words spilling raw and desperate.
But she only laughs, a laugh so cold, so broken, it curdles your blood. âYouâre fucking pathetic,â she spits, her lip curling. âDo you really think he loves you? Youâre nothing. Just a replacement pussy while I was gone. Heâll never love you.â The words cleave through you, sharper than the slap, sharper than anything youâve ever felt. And suddenly, you canât breathe. You canât stay. You stumble toward the door, the sobs tearing out of you too violently to suppress. You just need to get out, to escape before you dissolve completely.
But before you can slip through, her voice catches you one last time. âYouâre dead to me.â The words are ice. Final. âI never want to see you again.â And then the door slams, the sound reverberating like a gunshot, like the end of something sacred, and youâre gone, thrown into the night, your heart in pieces, your soul shredded by the very person you thought you could never lose.Â
You donât remember how you got home. Only that the night seemed to swallow you whole, the streetlights blurring into halos through your tears, the air cutting sharp against your skin like glass. You stumble into your apartment and slam the door behind you, the sound too loud, too final, but you donât stop. You barely manage to kick your shoes off before you collapse face-first onto your bed, your body shaking with sobs so violent you canât catch your breath. The pillow muffles your cries, but it doesnât stop them; it only soaks up the grief like itâs been waiting for this moment, waiting to hold everything youâve been carrying.
You pound your fists against it, over and over, each strike fueled by a different kind of rage, at Mimi for calling you names, for cutting you out of her life with words sharp enough to kill; at Jake for lying, for breaking something inside you that will never heal the same; but most of all, at yourself. For still loving him. For loving him so deeply it feels like rot spreading through your veins. For never having the courage to tell him first, never daring to whisper the truth when your heart begged you to. Mimi had. Mimi was brave enough to speak her love out loud, to place it in his hands no matter what he did with it. And what did you do? You sank your knife into the one place she was weakest, and you twisted. You chose silence until it was too late, until it ruined you both.
You stagger to your feet, the room spinning around you, and stumble into the bathroom. With trembling fingers you wrench the shower knob on, steam rushing up like it wants to suffocate you. You strip your clothes off in frantic jerks, every seam tearing at your skin, until youâre bare and trembling, your sobs breaking into hiccups. You step under the spray, the water scalding, biting at your body until you gasp, but you donât step away.
Instead you scrub. Hard. Your nails scrape your skin raw as you drag the soap up and down your arms, across your chest, down your legs, again and again until angry red marks bloom everywhere you touch. You want to peel yourself away, to scrape off every layer until thereâs nothing left, until youâre pure again, until youâre no longer this person who betrayed her best friend and ruined herself. But the dirt isnât on your skin. Itâs deeper, lodged in your soul, and no matter how much you scrub, it wonât come off.
Your legs buckle, and you sink down against the cold tile, sliding until youâre curled in the corner, your knees pulled tightly to your chest. The water cascades over you, flattening your hair against your face, mingling with the tears that still fall and fall and fall. You sob until your throat aches, until your chest feels like it might cave in. The sound is ugly, broken, like something wild caught in a trap.
âI hate you,â you whisper, your voice barely audible beneath the roar of the water. But youâre not even sure who youâre talking to. Mimi. Jake. Yourself. All of you. None of you.
Minutes blur into hours, time dissolves with the steam until youâre emptied out, wrung dry of every tear. You sit in silence, your skin raw and stinging, your heart hollow. Eventually, your body forces you to move. Slowly, with the heaviness of the dead, you push yourself up off the tiles. Your movements are sluggish, mechanical. You step out of the shower, but you donât reach for a towel. You donât bother to dry off.
You walk straight to your bed, water still streaming down your body, dripping onto the floor, soaking into the sheets. You collapse against the mattress, hair plastered to your face, skin clammy and cold. The wet fabric clings to you, but you donât care. You curl on your side, your chest still heaving, and finally, exhaustion wins. You fall asleep like that, naked, wet, and hollow. As if the water has drowned everything inside you, leaving only silence.
The morning does not greet you gently. It rips you from the shallow, dreamless sleep you had collapsed into, the echo of knuckles against wood reverberating through your apartment like thunder. At first you donât move, your body aches too much, your heart feels too heavy, but the sound comes again, louder this time, insistent. With a groan, you drag yourself upright, pulling on the first clothes you can find, fabric clinging to your still-damp skin from the night before. Every movement feels stiff, like youâve been stitched together with grief instead of sinew.
You shuffle to the door, hair unkempt, eyes swollen, the ghost of last night still heavy on your shoulders. When you open it, you nearly choke on the air in your lungs. There they are. Jake and Mimi. Side by side. Two ghosts you conjured from your nightmares, now standing on your threshold as if summoned by your sins. Jakeâs eyes are rimmed in red, exhaustion etched into his face like bruises. He looks hollow, a man who hasnât slept, a boy who has carried too much. And beside him, Mimi. Her face is pale, her eyes swollen too, but not from sleeplessness alone. She looks like sheâs been crying. You donât doubt it.
Before you can even form words, Mimi pushes past you, slipping into your apartment with a force that doesnât match her small frame. Sheâs trembling, but sheâs steel. You stumble after her, your throat already tightening, and manage a broken, âWhatââ before she cuts you off.
âHow many times?â Her voice is sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade.
You blink, disoriented, your lips parting with no answer ready. âW-What?â you stammer.
Her eyes, wet but blazing, lock onto yours. âHow many times did you fuck my boyfriend?â
The air leaves your lungs in a rush. You glance down at your trembling hands, twisting them together as if they might produce the right answer. But there is no right answer. âI donât knowââ you manage, your voice small, ragged.
âSo more than once,â she says, flat, almost calm. A calm thatâs far more terrifying than her rage.
You nod, slow and heavy, shame dripping from the motion. Her lips press together, trembling, her face carrying the expression of someone who has just confirmed what they already knew. She doesnât stop. âDid he cum?â
Your head snaps up, startled by the vulgarity of the question, the intimacy of it. âWhyââ
âJust fucking answer,â she snaps, her voice cracking, âbecause he wonât.â
You swallow hard, your throat tight, and drop your gaze again. Shame scorches you. You nod. Barely. âYes.â
Her jaw clenches, and she takes a shaky breath, her hand pressing against her stomach like she might be sick. âDid you use a condom?â
Your silence is damning. You shake your head. âNo.â For a moment she looks like sheâs about to collapse, her face twisting with nausea, with heartbreak so vivid it hurts to look at. She stares at you as though she doesnât even recognize you anymore, as if youâve become a stranger carved from betrayal. Finally, her voice drops into something cold and final, every word a nail in the coffin of your friendship.
âIâll never forgive you for this. Ever. Donât call me, donât text me. I never want anything to do with you again. Consider me dead, because thatâs what you are to me.â The words rip through you like claws. You stagger back a step, your tears falling fast and silent, but before you can even find your breath to respond, sheâs already turning, already walking out of your apartment, her body trembling but unyielding. The door slams shut behind her with a sound that echoes like a gunshot. And then thereâs only Jake.
He stands there in the wreckage of the silence, his hands useless at his sides, his lips pressed together in something that might be grief or might be shame. You canât look at him without remembering the way his body pressed into yours, the way his mouth had whispered lies into your skin. Tears blur your vision. âIâm sorry,â he says softly, finally, his voice hoarse and quiet.
You let out a laugh, bitter and broken, the sound foreign to your own ears. You shake your head, wiping furiously at your cheeks though the tears only keep coming. âAre you?â
His eyes flicker to yours, raw and red, and he nods. âI love Mimi,â he says, each word deliberate, like stones laid down to form a wall between you. âAnd weâre going to try and make it work. She and I both made mistakes.â Mistake. The word hits you harder than Mimiâs slap ever could. Your breath catches in your throat, because thatâs what you are to him. A mistake. âBut I love her, okay?â he continues, his voice breaking as he looks down at his hands.
Your body shakes with something between a sob and a laugh. âHow could you love someone and do what we did to her?â Your voice cracks, high and jagged.
He doesnât answer at first. His shoulders slump, his gaze fixed on the ground as if the floor might give him an answer. Finally, he whispers, âI donât know. But sheâs giving me an ultimatum. Her or you.â
The world tilts. Everything inside you breaks, splintering into shards so sharp you feel them cutting into every part of you. You stare at him, your heart hollowed out. âSo you pick her.â
His eyes close, and when they open again, the finality in them is unbearable. âI always would have picked her.â
The silence that follows is suffocating. He steps forward, reaching for your hand like muscle memory, like instinct, but you rip it back, your face twisting in pain. You wipe at your eyes again, furious at the tears that wonât stop, and spit the only words you can manage. âJust get out.â
He flinches, but nods. His voice is barely more than a whisper. âIâm sorry.â Then heâs gone. The door clicks shut, softer this time, but it feels just as brutal.
And you are alone. Again.
The hours stretch, slow and merciless, as if the world has conspired to elongate your suffering. You sit there, motionless, your body a monument carved from grief. The sheets cling to your skin where dampness has not yet dried, a reminder of the shower you abandoned yourself in, a reminder that you are still flesh, still living, though you wish you werenât. The room smells faintly of mildew, salt, and despair, like a sea storm that never breaks. Your hair sticks in strands across your face, but you cannot summon the will to brush it away. You are a ghost trapped in your own body, staring at the cracked ceiling as if it might reveal answers, or at least a reason for why love has been so cruel to you.Â
Outside, the sun has slipped quietly from the sky, leaving behind a velvet bruise of indigo. Darkness folds itself across the room like a heavy blanket, smothering the edges of everything until you are left in a silence so profound it feels alive. The world carries on without you, cars hum distantly, someone laughs in the street below, a dog barks against the night, but none of it breaches the cocoon of stillness around you. You are alone, abandoned in the cavern of your own heart, a hollow place where Jakeâs voice once echoed and Mimiâs shadow now lingers. Your hands remain limp at your sides, fingers curled like wilted petals. Not even the strength to weep remains in you; the well of your tears has finally run dry, leaving only the aching residue of salt on your cheeks. Anger has burned itself to embers. Shame has quieted into a low hum. What is left is nothing. A vast emptiness. The kind of silence that makes you question whether you still exist at all.Â
You do not move. You cannot move. Hours bleed into one another, the clock on the wall ticking with cruel insistence, marking time as if it means anything. The world outside may turn, but you remain a still point in a storm, collapsed under the weight of all the words you never said, all the love you never confessed, all the mistakes you cannot take back. Eventually, night claims everything. Shadows swallow the room whole until you can no longer tell where your body ends and the dark begins. You are nothing but a breath in the silence, a hollow shell with a heart that refuses to stop beating despite everything it has endured.
I really recommend this story guys....the way @heesmiles showed and displayed raw emotions and flawed characters that we can relate is just so impressive and truee
SUMMARY: Two assassins forced into a joint mission were never supposed to want each other. Youâve built your life on precision, control, and silence. Jake thrives on chaos, recklessness, and infuriating smirks. But when a mission turns sideways and one of you is taken, the line between survival and obsession blurs. Every fight, every kiss, every near-death escape pulls you deeper into a love you swore would ruin you, and maybe already has.
WORDÂ COUNT: 14,272 words (ACTUALLY TAKE AWAY MY INTERNET)
For: @rosepetals09, your request was so enjoyable to write, I hope you like it
Youâd been in this life long enough that you stopped counting the years. Long enough that the blood on your hands didnât always scrub off, no matter how hard you dug your nails into your skin. Long enough that you forgot what a normal life was supposed to look like.
Wake. Train. Kill. Repeat. That was it. That was all you had.
There was a strange peace in it sometimes, the order of things, the efficiency. You had been sharpened into a weapon, honed and perfected, and the agency was more than happy to keep using you until there was nothing left. Fine. Thatâs what you were good at. Thatâs all you were good at.
You didnât complain. Not really. Except maybe when the higher-ups got smug about it, like they were the ones who had to pull the trigger, like they were the ones who had to go to bed with the image of someoneâs face still in their scope. But youâd gotten used to swallowing that down, too.
What you hadnât gotten used to was him. Sim Jaeyun. Your partner in hell, if hell had a leather jacket and a smile sharp enough to slit throats. The spy with the perfect hair, the irritatingly charming grin, and the goddamn audacity to think he was better than you.
Jake. The bane of your existence.
From the moment he was transferred into your unit, heâd been nothing but a pain in your ass. Always one step ahead, always finding a way to turn your clean, efficient plans into a spectacle just so he could take the credit. Always smirking when he caught you glaring at him across the room, like he lived to get under your skin.
And he did. God, did he.
The worst part wasnât that he was good, he was. Too good, maybe. Too clever by half, slipping in and out of roles like second skins, talking his way through checkpoints you wouldâve just eliminated. It wasnât even that he was reckless, though he was that, too, grinning when the bullets flew, improvising when you wanted precision, never, ever doing things your way. No, the worst part was that he was hot. Infuriatingly, gut-twistingly hot.
The kind of hot that made you clench your jaw when he leaned over your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear. The kind of hot that made your stomach drop when he smiled at a target like he was in love with them, just to get what he wanted. The kind of hot that made you hate yourself for noticing the cut of his jaw, the way his shirt stretched across his chest, the veins that flexed when he gripped his gun.
You hated him. You hated how much you wanted him. And maybe that was the real problem.
History had a way of repeating itself, and with Sim Jaeyun, history always ended with bloodâor with clothes torn off in the dark.
Youâd lost track of how many times youâd crossed paths on the field. Different assignments, different cities, same outcome: him standing in your way, smirk plastered across his face like heâd been waiting for you all along. Heâd stolen targets right out from under your scope. Youâd almost slit his throat once, only to have him grin as if youâd just kissed him. The two of you had danced on the edge of killing each other more times than you could count.
And then there was the night neither of you ever spoke about.
It was supposed to be a truce, temporary, uneasy, a survival necessity when you were both cornered. Instead it turned into something else. Into hands gripping too tight, nails dragging across skin, teeth sinking into shoulders. Into his mouth against yours like you hated each other enough to bruise, like you needed to spit every curse into each otherâs lungs just to breathe.
The sex had been nothing short of war. A different kind of violence. You hated him then, you hated him after, and you hated how vividly you remembered the way heâd sounded when he came. Neither of you ever mentioned it again. But you both remembered. Which was why the announcement hit like a bullet to the gut.
âEffective immediately, Assassin Y/N and Agent Sim Jaeyun will be assigned as partners for the duration of Operation Ghost Orchid.â
The briefing room was cold, sterile, filled with the quiet scratch of pens and the hum of the projector. But you didnât hear any of it. Your focus zeroed in on the smug bastard sitting across the table, leaning back in his chair like heâd just won the lottery.
You shot up instantly. âAbsolutely not.â
He echoed you in perfect unison. âNo fucking way.â
The room went silent. The handler didnât even flinch. âThis is not a request. Itâs an order.â
You felt heat crawl up your spine, a bitter taste in your mouth. A long-term operation. Deep cover. You and him, side by side, living as a pair for weeks, months, maybe. Pretending to be something you werenât, while fighting the urge to kill him every time he opened his mouth.
Jake tilted his head, lips curling in that infuriating smirk. âGuess youâre stuck with me, sweetheart.â You wanted to strangle him. You wanted to fuck him. He was the problem.
The safehouse was quiet except for the low hum of the single lamp on the desk. You sat across from him, dossiers and surveillance photos spread between you like the board of a twisted game neither of you wanted to play.
âOperation Ghost Orchid,â Jake muttered, tapping the edge of a photo with his pen. âThe cover is clean, but the trafficking ring is deeper than the agency thinks. Theyâre not just importing weapons, theyâre importing people.â
You didnât even blink. Youâd seen worse. You were worse. Instead, you leaned forward, scanning the blueprint he was so casually scribbling over. âYour entry point is suicide.â
His brows shot up. âMy entry point?â
âClimbing the east wall?â You jabbed the map with your finger. âTheyâve got motion sensors up the side. Youâll set off every alarm in a two-block radius before you even get your foot on the ledge.â
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, lips tugging into that smug little smirk that made your blood boil. âThatâs why you disable them before I get there.â
Your laugh came out sharp, humorless. âYou assume Iâll risk my cover just to babysit your sorry ass?â
âNo,â he said easily, eyes glittering. âI assume youâll do it because you want the mission to succeed. Unless youâd rather watch the whole thing go up in flames. Again.â
The word again hit like a gunshot. You clenched your jaw, refusing to rise to it, but the memory burned fresh anyway, one of your last missions colliding, both of you chasing the same intel, both refusing to back down. The job had turned into a bloodbath. You still had the scar.
Jake leaned forward, elbows on the table, and for one stupid second your eyes dragged down to the veins flexing along his forearms, the way his shirt clung to his shoulders. Heat licked low in your belly. You forced it down, gritting your teeth.
âWeâre not doing it your way,â you bit out. âWe go in from the ground. Blend in. The less attention, the better. We need to watch, gather, think before we charge in guns blazing.â
He gave you a long, slow look, like he was trying to peel back your skin and see what made you tick. Then he laughed, soft and disbelieving. âBlend in? Sweetheart, you stand out like a knife in a kindergarten class.â
Your chair screeched against the floor as you shoved it back, fury boiling over. âSay that again.â
Jake tilted his head, unconcerned. âTell me Iâm wrong.â
You hated how calm he was, how steady his voice stayed even when yours cracked with venom. You hated the way his lips curved around every insult, how the sound of his voice curled down your spine like smoke. And God help you, you hated how hot he was when he did it.
You crossed your arms, spine stiff. âAt least I donât rely on cheap tricks and dumb luck.â
âCheap tricks?â His grin sharpened. âYou mean strategy. Charisma. Adaptability. Things you wouldnât recognize if they stared you in the face.â
âStrategy doesnât involve blowing your cover to flirt with every contact that has a pulse.â
âIt works, doesnât it?â
The worst part was that it did. Youâd watched him slip through checkpoints, sweet-talk guards, charm his way into places youâd only get into by breaking bones. He could be anyone, wear anyoneâs skin, and no one questioned it. That was what scared you.
âYour arrogance is going to get us both killed,â you snapped.
âAnd your control issues are going to keep us from ever finishing the job.â His gaze dropped to your mouth for one infinitesimal second, so quick you almost thought you imagined it. âWe both know it.â
The silence that followed was suffocating. The hum of the lamp. The tick of the clock on the wall. His eyes locked on yours, steady, unreadable, and suddenly the space between you felt too small. You remembered the truce. The heat of his mouth, the way heâd shoved you against a wall with the same fire burning in his eyes now. The way youâd clawed down his back, hating him, needing him, both of you using each other like weapons.
Your thighs pressed together under the table before you realized what you were doing. You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady. âWeâll do it my way.â
You slammed the file shut, shoving it toward him. âYou canât keep treating this like some game.â
âItâs not a game,â he said softly. His tone dropped, almost too low, and you hated the way it curled around your ribs. âItâs survival. And survival means doing whatever it takes. Even if it means working with you.â
The way he said you, low, rough, like it was both a curse and something he couldnât stop tasting, made your chest tighten. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to do anything that would wipe that smug, dangerous look off his face.
Instead, you pushed away from the table, pacing to the window, needing distance. The city lights burned cold in the dark. âThis partnership is going to fail.â
Behind you, his chair creaked as he leaned back. âNot if you learn how to play nice.â
You turned, eyes narrowing. âI donât play.â
Jakeâs grin widened, slow and lethal. âNo. You donât. But you break real pretty.â
Heat flooded your cheeks before you could stop it. You hated him more than youâd ever hated anyone. You hated the way he got under your skin. You hated the way your body betrayed you, remembering too much, wanting too much.
âWe set out at five tomorrow, donât be late,â Jake whistled, grabbing his jacket as he got up to leave. âThe agency issued a car.â
Your jaw ticked, âIâm never late, Sim Jaeyun.â
He smirked, the corner of his mouth twisting upwards into a wicked curve, âWeâll see.â
And the worst part? You knew this was only the beginning.
The morning was cruel.
Gray skies pressed low against the horizon, and the streets were slick with last nightâs rain when you dragged your duffel out to the curb. The agency-issued sedan sat idling, exhaust curling white in the cold air, and leaning against the hood like he owned it, like he owned everything, was Sim Jaeyun.
Of course he looked good. Even at five in the goddamn morning. Black jeans, plain white tee under his leather jacket, hair pushed back like heâd just run a hand through it and called it a day. He looked casual, like he wasnât about to embark on a three-day drive into enemy territory. Like this was just a road trip with an old friend.
You hated him. âYouâre late,â he said, smirk curling lazy across his mouth.
You glanced at your watch. âItâs five-oh-three.â
âWhich is three minutes late.â He pushed off the hood, circling around to the driverâs side. âBut donât worry, sweetheart. I forgive you.â
You clenched your jaw, throwing your bag into the backseat with more force than necessary before sliding into the passenger seat. âDonât call me that.â
The car smelled faintly of leather and his cologne, clean, sharp, a hint of wood, irritatingly good, and you already knew this was going to be hell.
Jake slid behind the wheel, one hand draped casually over it, the other adjusting the radio before you could even protest. Some easy, low-tempo playlist filled the silence as he pulled onto the empty road.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The world outside was still half-asleep, gas stations dark, fields slick with dew. You watched it pass by, the hum of the tires beneath you, and told yourself you could survive this. Three days. That was it. Youâd survived worse.
Then he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, and his mouth curved again.
âWhat?â you snapped.
âNothing.â He kept his gaze on the road, but you could see the amusement twitching at the corners of his lips. âJust⌠didnât peg you as the type to put in this much effort for a road trip.â
Your brows knit. âEffort?â
He gestured loosely at you. âHair, makeup. That shirt. You look like youâre about to walk into a magazine shoot, not an op briefing.â
Heat prickled under your skin, though you shoved it down. Of course you looked put together, discipline was everything, and you werenât about to let him see you sweat. Not even on a three-day stakeout drive. âItâs called professionalism. Something you wouldnât understand.â
He huffed a laugh. âProfessionalism, huh? That why your lipstickâs smudged? Or is that for my benefit?â
You whipped toward him. âYouâre insufferable.â
âMaybe. But Iâm observant.â
You crossed your arms, nails digging into your sleeves, and focused hard on the blurred lines of the highway instead of the man beside you. But he made it impossible, fingers drumming against the steering wheel in rhythm with the music, jaw tight as he chewed on a stick of gum, veins flexing under the sleeve of his jacket. You hated how pretty he looked in profile. You hated that he knew you were looking.
âSo whatâs the plan, oh great professional?â he asked eventually, breaking the silence again.
You shot him a glare. âWe already went over this last night.â
âYeah, but I want to hear it again. In case youâve changed your mind about doing it the wrong way.â
âWrong way?â you scoffed. âIâm not the one who thinks climbing walls lined with sensors is smart.â
âItâs called improvising.â
âItâs called reckless.â
He shot you a grin, eyes flicking from the road to you for just a second too long. âAdmit it, you like when Iâm reckless.â
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. âIâd like it better if you drove into the nearest ditch.â
âHarsh,â he said, feigning a wince. âI thought we were bonding.â
You barked a laugh. âWe are not bonding. Weâre tolerating.â
Jake leaned back in his seat, clearly enjoying himself. âYou keep telling yourself that.â
The miles stretched on. By midday, youâd stopped at a gas station, the kind with flickering fluorescent lights and stale coffee, and he had the nerve to buy you one without asking. Just slid it across the counter toward you with that same infuriating grin.
âDonât read into it,â he said when you narrowed your eyes. âIf youâre cranky, the driveâs going to be hell for me.â
You took it anyway. Out of spite. Out of need. Out of the fact that you couldnât stop your pulse from jumping every time his fingers brushed too close to yours.
Back on the road, the tension didnât ease. If anything, it thickened, stretched, pulled taut. You argued over the route. Over the cover story. Over whether the radio should stay on.
âYouâre the worst person Iâve ever worked with,â you muttered after the third disagreement.
âFunny,â he said easily, glancing at you with that damnable smile. âYouâre the best Iâve ever worked with. Keeps me on my toes.â
You stared at him, thrown for just a second, and in that beat of silence the world outside seemed to slow. His eyes caught yours, steady, unreadable, and your chest tightened in a way you didnât want to name. You broke the gaze first, turning back to the window, biting down hard on your lip.
Three days. You could survive three days. Couldnât you?
By the time you pulled into the motel lot, you were ready to kill him.
Four hours of endless highway, cheap coffee, and his voice filling every possible silence with arguments and smug little quips. Youâd fought over navigation, over music, over the definition of âshortest route.â Heâd made snide comments about your driving. Youâd threatened to dump him on the side of the road. At one point, he even had the audacity to sing along to the radio, loudly, off-key, just to see the vein in your temple twitch. Youâd never hated anyone more in your life.
The motel itself wasnât much to look at, neon sign buzzing faintly in the dusk, paint peeling from the siding, a row of doors lined up like soldiers waiting to collapse. But to you, it looked like salvation. A chance to put a wall between you and him.
You shoved the car door open, slinging your duffel over your shoulder, muttering under your breath, âFinally. Peace.â
Jake trailed after you into the lobby, whistling low, hands shoved in his pockets. The woman behind the desk barely looked up as you gave your names, sliding an envelope across the counter with a keycard inside.
âReservation for Mr. and Mrs. Park,â she said with a polite smile.
You froze. âExcuse me?â
Jake leaned in, plucking the envelope from the counter before you could react. His grin was devastating. âThatâs us, darling.â
You turned on him, heat rushing up your neck. âYouâve got to be kidding.â
He held up the keycard like a magician revealing a trick. âI wish I were.â He waggled his eyebrows. âHoneymoon suite.â
Your stomach dropped. âNo.â
âYes.â
âNo.â
âSweetheart,â he drawled, already heading toward the stairs. âItâs on the agencyâs dime. Take it up with them if you want, but something tells me theyâre not gonna spring for a second room.â
You stormed after him, heart pounding with fury, or maybe panic, maybe both. âIâm not sharing a bed with you.â
He shot you a look over his shoulder, smirk sharp enough to cut glass. âWho said anything about sharing? I can take the couch. UnlessâŚâ His eyes flicked down, slow, deliberate, and the air between you sparked. ââŚyou want to share.â
Your fists clenched at your sides. âYouâre insufferable.â
âAnd youâre beautiful when youâre mad,â he said without missing a beat, pushing open the door to your âsuite.â The room hit you like a punchline.
Pink walls. Heart-shaped mirror. A bed big enough to fit four people, covered in silky red sheets. There were rose petals scattered across the comforter, for Godâs sake. A bottle of cheap champagne sweating in an ice bucket by the nightstand.
You stared. Jake laughed.
âThis is a joke,â you muttered.
âBest one the agencyâs ever pulled.â He tossed his bag onto the bed, flopping back onto it with a groan of exaggerated satisfaction. âAhhh, finally. Home sweet home.â
You resisted the urge to lob your duffel at his head. âGet off.â
âMake me.â
You swore under your breath, pacing toward the window, shoving the curtains open just to give your hands something to do. Outside, the neon motel sign blinked lazily, casting pink light across the room. You caught your reflection in the glass, flushed, tense, eyes too bright. You looked⌠dangerous.
And behind you, sprawled across red silk like he belonged there, Jake looked even worse.
You squeezed your eyes shut. âThis is hell.â
âYou say that like itâs a bad thing,â he said, voice low, lazy, curling around you like smoke.
You hated him. You hated him more than ever. And you hated how badly you wanted to strangle him, or climb on top of him, both at once.
The argument lasted forty minutes. Forty minutes of raised voices, threats to call the agency, Jake sprawled smugly across the mattress like he owned it, you pacing like a caged animal.
âCouch,â you said firmly, pointing.
âNope.â He tucked his hands behind his head. âMy backâs worth more than a busted spring.â
âThen sleep on the floor.â
âPrincess, this is a honeymoon suite. The floorâs for rose petals, not my spine.â
You wanted to strangle him. You really, really did. But the motel clerk had already given you that knowing, oh, newlyweds look when youâd passed by with Jakeâs arm draped across your shoulders in mock affection. Raising hell now would only draw more attention.
So, with the kind of reluctant defeat that tasted like acid, you grabbed every extra useless pillow the room had to offer, six in total, and stacked them in a fortress down the middle of the bed.
âThere,â you declared, climbing onto your side. âCross this wall and you die.â
Jake whistled low. âRomantic.â
âShut up.â
The sheets were slippery under your skin, satin clinging to the heat of your body. You turned onto your side, facing him out of sheer defiance. He was doing the same, propped up on an elbow, hair messy from travel, still wearing that stupid grin. Between you, the pillow wall loomed like a monument to your mutual stubbornness.
âFine,â he said after a beat, voice softer. âLetâs go over the plan, then.â
You blinked. ââŚNow?â
He shrugged. âMight as well. Youâll sleep better once you stop worrying about it.â
So you did. Half-whispered strategy across a barricade of pillows, trading intel and contingencies in the dim pink glow bleeding through the curtains. His tone shifted, less cocky, more clipped, professional, but now and then, the real Jake slipped through. A dry joke about your handwriting. A quiet snort when you mimicked the agency directorâs voice. The little things that made your chest tighten in ways you didnât want to examine.
By the time the plan was ironclad, you were both sinking into your respective halves of the mattress, words slurring at the edges.
âTomorrowâs gonna be hell,â you murmured.
Jakeâs eyes were half-lidded, lashes brushing his cheeks. âMm. At least weâll look well-rested for our honeymoon photos.â
You groaned, grabbing a pillow and lobbing it at him. It bounced off his shoulder, collapsing the âwallâ youâd built.
He smirked. âGuess the barrierâs down.â
You shoved the pillow back into place, cheeks warm. âSleep, Mr. Park.â
His gaze lingered on you, softer than it had any right to be. âGoodnight, darling.â And despite every ounce of resentment simmering in your veins, you almost smiled before you closed your eyes.
Hours later, the world outside had quieted into near-perfect silence. The neon glow had dimmed, replaced by the steady hum of the air conditioner, and the motel room smelled faintly of fabric softener and him.
Youâd long since accepted that you werenât moving the pillows again. They were flattened under the weight of your tired limbs, no longer a proper barricade, more of a symbolic wall at this point.
Half-asleep, you felt the edge of the blanket shift. You frowned, lifting your head slightly. Jake had pulled it over you, careful, almost imperceptibly, but still. You froze, chest tightening, because the gesture had a softness that he didnât usually allow.
âHey,â you mumbled, voice rough with sleep and irritation. âDonât⌠donât do that.â
âIâm not doing anything,â he murmured back, eyes closed, but the corner of his lips tugged up anyway. âJust⌠making sure youâre not freezing.â
You huffed quietly, flopping back onto your side, arms crossed. âI donât need your help.â
âNo,â he said softly. âYou just⌠look cold.â
And God, he had a point. You were half-shivering under the silk, heart beating a little faster than it should. You glared at him, knowing he couldnât see it. âYouâre insufferable,â you muttered.
He chuckled quietly, low, warm, and something about the sound made your body tighten in a way you refused to acknowledge. âMm. Yeah. But apparently, Iâm also nice in my sleep.â
You froze, blinked, then rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. âYouâre ridiculous.â
He made a soft noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. âI just⌠like this. Being near you. Even like this. Doesnât happen often.â
Your heart thudded and you wished it didnât. âMm-hmm.â You turned back toward the wall of pillows, hoping he wouldnât notice how tense your fingers had gotten, how hot your cheeks felt.
Minutes stretched into the quiet rhythm of breathing, his even, yours shallow and uneven. Every now and then, your hand brushed against the edge of a pillow he was holding too close to the âwall,â and your chest jumped. He never moved his hand away.
Eventually, your half-lidded eyes met his. He was staring, not with the smugness that usually made your blood boil, but softly, almost tenderly. You looked away, heart thudding.
âYouâre going to hate me if I say this,â he whispered, âbut⌠I could get used to this.â
You swallowed, chest tight, because part of you wanted to argue, part of you wanted to tell him to shut up, and part of you wanted to lean closer, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his arm against the pillow wall.
âI wonât,â you said instead, flat, stubborn.
He smirked just a little, one corner of his mouth twitching. âGood. Neither will I.â
The rest of the night passed in near silence, words reduced to murmurs over mission details, each of you half-asleep, half-alert. Occasionally, your fingers brushed when adjusting pillows or blankets, and neither of you moved away.
By the time sleep fully claimed you, the room felt less like a trap and more like⌠this could be tolerable. Almost domestic. Almost safe. Almost⌠something dangerously close to⌠peace.
Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold. You stirred first, groaning as your body stretched, muscles still tight from travel and the mental exhaustion of yesterdayâs arguments. The pillows between you and him were flattened remnants of a fortress, barely a barrier now, but you didnât care, yet.
Quietly, carefully, you eased yourself from the bed. Jake was still, seemingly asleep, one arm draped lazily across the pillows, phone tucked in the other hand. You thought you were safe. Thought you could slip out, grab your clothes, and disappear into the bathroom without incident.
The shower was warm, steam curling around you, washing away the stiffness and tension. For a moment, you almost relaxed, letting the sound of running water fill the room. But when you stepped out and reached for your clothes, you froze. They werenât there.
âOh, fuck,â you muttered, realizing youâd left them by the bed, where he was⌠supposedly asleep.
Assuming he was still knocked out, you wrapped the towel tight around your chest and tiptoed out, ignoring the way the silk sheet pooled around his side of the bed. Just a few steps, grab the clothes, and back to the shower. Easy. Except⌠he wasnât asleep.
Jakeâs eyes snapped up from his phone, dark and wide and entirely shameless. And suddenly, it wasnât just your towel you were acutely aware of, it was your entire body. He was raking his gaze down you slowly, deliberately, taking in every curve, every inch that wasnât hidden by the thin fabric of your towel.
Heat flooded your cheeks, gut twisting in a mix of fury, embarrassment, and something far worse. âIâuhâIââ
âForgot something?â he drawled, voice low and teasing, without even looking away from the screen for a second. His eyes flicked up, smirk curling, then back down, slow and deliberate.
You yanked the towel tighter around you, cheeks burning hotter than the shower youâd just left. âYes. Iâget out of my way.â
He laughed softly, the sound smooth and dangerous, and leaned back against the headboard like he owned the moment. âOr what?â
âOr IâjustâŚâ You grabbed your clothes as quickly as you could, fumbling them in your hands, avoiding eye contact like a good little assassin. Every step toward the bathroom was torture; you could feel his stare burning holes into your back.
âCareful,â he said suddenly, mock-serious, âdonât trip. Wouldnât want me to see⌠anything more than I already have.â
You spun, threw him a glare sharp enough to pierce steel, and bolted for the bathroom, slamming the door behind you with a final, muttered, asshole.
Inside, you sank against the door, letting the heat from the shower mix with the heat rising in your chest. Heart hammering, pulse racing. He hadnât even touched you, hadnât said a word about moving the towel, but the way he looked⌠the way he had seen you⌠left a mark deeper than any bruise could.
And the worst part? You knew this was just the beginning of your three-day hell with him.
The road stretched ahead like a promise of trouble. Youâd barely eaten, barely slept, and the air in the car was thick with the kind of tension that made your stomach tighten in ways unrelated to fear.
Jake was behind the wheel, hair falling slightly over his forehead, eyes sharp and scanning every turn. You sat in the passenger seat, rifle across your lap, heart hammering, mind calculating exits and angles with cold precision.
âCover that window,â you snapped, catching movement on the side of the road. âWeâve got company.â
He smirked without taking his eyes off the road. âRelax, darling. Iâve got this.â
You growled. âYou never just âgot it.â You improvise. You ruin the mission.â
âAnd you always overthink. Too clean. Too careful. Too boring.â
You turned, ready to argue, when the shadow of a black SUV appeared in the rearview mirror. Heart leaping, you felt the old familiar surge of fear, and something worse: the fear that this time, your strategy would collide violently with his.
âTheyâre on us,â you hissed, voice tight. âTheyâre tailing us, definitely trying to copy our route.â
Jakeâs smirk faded. His eyes darkened, calculating. Then, just as you were about to object, the car swerved, sharp, almost violent, hugging a curve at impossible speed.
âJake! Slow down!â you shouted, gripping the edge of the seat.
He glanced at you, one eyebrow quirked, and something in his eyes softened, not mocking, not teasing, but real. He reached across, fingers lacing with yours. The grip was firm, grounding. You stiffened, chest tight, the adrenaline spiking.
âShhh,â he murmured, voice low, calm, almost intimate. âIâve got you. Donât look at them. Donât think about them. Just hold on.â
Your heart thudded, rapid and uneven, but you let yourself be guided, even as the tires screamed over asphalt and the SUV struggled to follow. The wind whipped past the windows, the world a blur of motion and danger.
Every instinct in your body screamed to act alone, to take the perfect shot, to plan the perfect kill, but the warmth of his hand, the certainty in his grip, grounded you in a way nothing else ever had.
âYouâre insane,â you muttered, voice tight, partly from fear, partly from disbelief.
âAnd you love it,â he said, glance flicking to you for the briefest second, smile teasing but tinged with something unspoken.
Your jaw tightened. âI hate you.â
He only laughed, low and dark, fingers squeezing yours harder, thumb brushing over your knuckles. âAnd yet, here you are.â
The chase twisted through narrow streets, alleys, and open highways. He swerved, ducked, pressed the accelerator past limits youâd thought impossible. The SUV in your rearview mirror faltered, unable to match his audacity.
Somewhere between the adrenaline and the terror, you realized you werenât just scared of the tail, theyâd forced you and Jake together in a way that made you hyperaware of every inch of him. The curve of his jaw, the flex of his fingers around yours, the way his shoulder brushed against yours when he leaned into a turn.
He glanced at you, eyes sharp but warm. âSee? Weâre fine. You and me.â
You wanted to argue. Wanted to remind him that he was reckless, that he couldâve killed both of you a dozen times already. But the words stuck in your throat. You let him pull you along for the ride, hand in his, gripping tight.
And for the first time in a long time, you didnât feel alone.
The safehouse, or whatever you were calling this crumbling cabin in the woods, was small, dark, and reeked faintly of mildew and old pine. Perfect for lying low. Or so you thought. The second the door slammed behind you, adrenaline still crackling from the drive, neither of you had the patience to breathe, let alone speak politely.
You spun on him, chest heaving, fingers trembling with rage, and maybe a little need, and he caught your glare with a smirk so sharp it could cut glass. âYou really pushed me today,â he growled, stepping forward, hips brushing yours.
âYeah? Well, maybe if youâd followed the damn plan instead of racing like a lunatic, we wouldnât be in this mess!â you snapped.
âMess?â His laugh was low, dark, vibrating in your chest. âI call it fun.â
You whirled on him, chest heaving, adrenaline still burning through your veins. âFun? You call nearly getting us killed fun?â
He shrugged, smirk unwavering. âYou were gripping my hand like your life depended on it.â
âYou shouldnât have been driving like a maniac!â You jabbed a finger at him, every syllable laced with fury. âImprovising at every turn, ignoring the plan, almost hitting that SUV three times, andââ
âAnd you were taking shots from the car! Half my plan shot to hell because you refused to let me handle the extraction silently!â His voice was sharp, harsh, dangerous.
You froze for a second, chest tightening, because⌠he was right. Half the plan was ruined, yes, but it had been because he couldnât just follow protocol. And yet, staring at him now, flushed, chest heaving, the way his hair fell over his forehead, the wildness in his dark eyes⌠every ounce of anger you felt twisted into something else. Something hotter.
âDo you ever listen?â you spat, stepping closer, fists clenched at your sides.
âI do listen!â His voice was rising now, matching yours, but every time his gaze flicked to your mouth, every time his hand twitched like he wanted to touch you, it was chaos. Pure chaos.
Before you could reply, his mouth crashed onto yours, teeth clashing, lips bruising. You shoved at him, nails scraping down his shoulders, back, clawing, desperate, hot, trembling. He kissed like a war, teeth, tongue, teeth again, rough and demanding, and your own response was pure instinct: hands tangled in his hair, ripping at the collar of his jacket, dragging him impossibly close.
âFuck, I hate you,â you hissed, pushing at him, but your body pressed against his anyway, trembling with want.
âI hate how good this feels,â he growled back, sliding a hand down your side, gripping your ass hard, thumbs digging into muscle. âHate it. Fuck, hate it so much I could drown in it.â
You gasped, nails digging into the leather of his jacket as he pushed you backward, pressing you against the wall. âYou think Iâm gonna make it easy for you?â you spat, panting, hips grinding on instinct against him.
âOh, no, darling,â he said, voice low, guttural, dripping with heat. âI donât want easy. I want messy. I want you screaming my name while Iââ His fingers slipped under the waistband of your pants, dragging you flush against him, teasing, probing, and your breath hitched instantly.
âJakeâfuck!â You clawed at his shoulders as his tongue found yours again, teeth nipping, dragging, dominating. He kissed like he owned you, every greedy bite, every press of his body against yours, a claim, a war, and you responded in kind, arching against him, grinding, shoving, biting, scratching, everything feral and desperate inside you screaming for release.
He pressed against you harder, fingers sliding deeper, and the combination of him, the heat, the anger, made your knees buckle. âF-Fuck! Youâreâso⌠so⌠impossible!â you gasped, nails digging into his back as he gripped your ass and slammed into you, hard.
âI know, darling,â he snarled, voice low, filthy, and then, he plunged his fingers deep, curling, dragging you closer to the edge. âYou feel so good, God, I hate it, hate it, hate it, but I canât stop.â
Your back arched, moans ripped out of you, and every curse you spat felt like fuel to the fire between you. âJake! Fuck! Donât stop!â
âOh, I wonât stop,â he growled, pressing you harder against the wall, tongue in your mouth, teeth biting your lip, hands dragging over every inch of you. âIâll ruin you, yeah⌠right here, right now⌠hate it, love it, all of it, every damn inch of you belongs to me while I make you scream.â
Your fingers fisted in his hair, tugging, scratching, desperate for more, as his hand slid inside your slick folds, curling, thrusting, dragging heat and fire out of you in ragged, feral waves. Every groan, every cry, every curse he dragged out of you made his grin widen, filthy, triumphant, possessive.
âI hate how wet you are for me,â he growled, voice rough, teeth scraping your shoulder, âhate it so much I want to fuck you stupid right here against this wall, and youâre gonna love it. Youâre gonna take me, take it all, scream my name while you beg me to stop, and I wonât. Not until you canât anymore.â
You shivered, knees weak, breath stuttering, body trembling. âYes, fuck, yes, Jake! Please, God! donât stop!â
He pressed harder, nails raking down your sides, his fingers thrusting into you, hitting that one spot that made you see stars, hips grinding against yours, teeth, tongue, voice, and hands all claiming you like a battlefield. âThatâs it, thatâs it, youâre mine, every inch, every whimper, every moan. You feel so damn good IâGod, I hate it! Hate it so much I could, fuck!â
The world shrank to you, him, the fire in your veins, the heat, the hunger. Every touch, every thrust, every bite, every growl was war, was lust, was fire and need and domination all at once. You screamed, arching, pulling him impossibly close, dragging him down into the chaos of your rage and want.
And when it finally broke over you, every shred of control, every ounce of hate-lust, every inch of feral, raw need spilling into delirious, screaming release, you clung to him, teeth bared, nails digging, body shaking, and he held you through it, still groaning filthy, hands claiming you, lips biting, teeth scraping, voice low and ragged:
âGod, I love ruining you like this,â he whispered, chest heaving against yours.
You gasped, chest heaving, body trembling, nails still digging into him. âI⌠hate you⌠but IâŚâ
He pressed a kiss to your temple, low, hard, messy, and you didnât finish the sentence, because you didnât need to. The war of want and hate had claimed you both completely.Â
You barely had time to catch your breath before he was pressing you back against the wall again, chest flush to yours, teeth bared in that impossible, feral grin.
âYouâre mine,â he growled, voice low, rough, dangerous. âEvery inch, every sound, every whimper, you donât get a say anymore.â
Your nails dug into his shoulders as he backed you up, hips grinding hard against you, teasing, desperate, feral. âJakeâplease!â you gasped, voice breaking, body on fire.
âPlease? You think Iâm gonna stop because you say please?â he hissed, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding down, dragging you flush against him. âNo. Youâre gonna take me, all of me, and youâre gonna scream, you little brat.â
He unfastened his belt at an animalistic pace, pulling down his briefs just enough to free himself. His cock was flushed red, dripping at the tip, a prominent vein running down his shaft. He caged you against the wall, hooking one leg over his waist. The blunt tip teased your folds as you bit back a moan.
Then, impossibly, he was inside you, slow at first, teasing, filling you completely, and you moaned, nails raking down his back, arching into him, shoving your body against his.
âFuck, shit, youâre so tight,â he groaned, eyes dark, teeth nipping your shoulder as he pressed harder. âSo fucking wet for me, even though you hate me. You hate me, and you take me like this anyway, God, I love it.â
You couldnât form words, only screams and curses spilling out as he thrust, slow, deliberate, every movement dragging you closer to the edge, every thrust igniting fire down to your core.
âMine. All mine,â he growled, hand sliding down your thigh, pressing impossibly close, dragging you against him with each stroke. âYou feel too good, you hear me? Too good, and Iâm gonna ruin you. Fuck, I love this, I hate this, and I donât give a fuck, take it, take it, take me!â
You grabbed his shoulders, shoving, clawing, dragging him impossibly closer, hips meeting, grinding, desperate for every inch. âJake, fuck! Iâm gonnaââ
âYes!â he snapped, teeth grazing your neck, lips biting, voice low, guttural, filthy. âYes, scream for me! Beg for me! Take it all, take me like the brat you are!â
Every thrust was a war, teeth, nails, lips, hands, bodies colliding, and you didnât care about anything but the fire in your veins, the way he filled you, the raw, obscene heat. âGod, harder! Faster!â you shrieked, arching, nails digging into him, moans breaking into screams.
âFuck! Youâre so tight, so hot for me, even when you hate me!â he growled, slamming into you with feral force, hands gripping your hips, dragging you flush against him. âIâm gonna make you scream my name until itâs all you can do to breathe, yeah? You hear me? All you can do is take me!â
You screamed, body shuddering, nails raking down his back, toes curling, chest heaving, voice raw, every nerve ending on fire as he drove into you with relentless, feral precision.
âGod, I hate how good this is!â he hissed, low, guttural, voice rough with need. âHate it, love it, fucking take it, take me, come for me, now!â
And with one final, impossible thrust, your world exploded. Screams tore from your chest, body trembling, shaking, quaking under the feral, filthy rhythm of him filling you, taking you, claiming you completely.
He groaned low, voice ragged, lips brushing yours as he followed, body shuddering, thrusting through his own release, holding you tight against him, teeth grazing your shoulder, murmuring filth and claims in between harsh, ragged breaths.
âMine,â he whispered, voice low, hoarse. âAll mine. You can scream, you can curse, you can hate me all you want, youâre mine.â
You clung to him, shaking, nails dug into his back, chest heaving, mind melting into the feral heat of what had just happened, hate, lust, need, and fire all colliding in one messy, obscene, perfect storm.
The sun had barely risen when you were back on the road, the safehouse already a distant memory, but its lingering heat still clung to your skin, to your thoughts. You and Jake had been partnered officially for less than twenty-four hours, and already the cracks were showing.
He insisted on improvising the approach to the target, weaving through side streets, taking risks that made your stomach knot. âYouâll thank me later,â he said, voice low, smug, eyes glinting with that dangerous certainty.
âYouâre insane,â you spat, adjusting your grip on the scoped rifle across your lap. âDo you see the cameras? Do you see the guards? Your way is reckless. We do this clean, or we donât do it at all.â
âAnd whereâs the fun in that?â He swerved sharply, narrowly missing a parked truck, and you yelped, slamming your hands against the dashboard.
âI swear to god, if you do anything stupid, weâll be dead before we even reach the building!â
Jakeâs laugh was low, dangerous, vibrating in your chest. âRelax, darling. Iâve got this.â
No. No you didnât. He never did. And yet every reckless word, every sharp retort, scraped against your nerves like steel, sparking heat in places you refused to acknowledge. Your mind screamed for focus, for clean kills, precision, control, but your body⌠your body remembered the night before. Remembered the weight of him, the way he filled you, the fire, and it betrayed you at every turn.
By the time you reached the outskirts of the target area, silence pressed down like a physical weight. Not peace, silence before a storm. The ground was wrong, too still, too neat. And then you saw it.
âTrap,â you muttered, stopping him with a hand on his chest.
Jakeâs gaze flicked down to where your palm pressed against him, then back to the faint wire glinting in the dirt. The smirk that usually followed, the one that always made you want to punch him square in the jaw, was absent. His expression was all sharp edges, eyes narrowing as he crouched low.
âGood eye,â he murmured, defusing the line with quick, steady hands. His voice was low, a whisper meant only for you, and it sent shivers down your spine despite yourself.
You shouldâve pulled back. Shouldâve kept distance. But your hand stayed there, lingering against the heat of his chest even after he shifted closer, closer, until you felt his breath ghost against your cheek.
âDonât freeze up on me now,â he whispered.
âI donât freeze,â you shot back, jaw tight, forcing your hand away as if his touch burned.
He straightened, towering just slightly, close enough to make your pulse hammer. Close enough that if you leaned a fraction forward, if you gave in, youâd be kissing him. Biting him. Losing yourself again.
âGood,â Jake said finally, brushing past you, his arm deliberately grazing yours as he moved ahead, voice laced with something darker than simple approval. âBecause I need you sharp. Not distracted.â
But as you followed, you couldnât shake the weight of his words. Not when you were the one fighting distraction hardest. Not when the memory of him, skin, heat, teeth, throbbed like another trap lying in wait.
âI hate how⌠calm you are,â you muttered, voice rough, fingernails still digging into your palms from gripping the dash.
âI hate how your body reacts to me when you think Iâm reckless,â he countered, eyes dark, sharp, unreadable, but you knew he meant every filthy, dangerous word.
You didnât reply. Couldnât. Instead, you checked the mission parameters again, rifle in hand, strategy racing through your mind, but underneath it all, you felt it: the heat of him, the tension, the chaos that always followed when it was just the two of you.
And deep down, you knew that no matter how much you fought it, no matter how many times you argued, the chaos wasnât just in the mission, it was in both of you, and it was only getting worse.
The car was supposed to be safe. Supposed to be just a way to get closer to the next point in the mission. But the moment Jakeâs fingers brushed yours while reaching for the gear shift, the tension, thick, simmering, impossible, snapped.
âDonât even think about it,â you spat, gripping the wheel tightly, pretending you didnât feel the pull of him, the way his thigh pressed against yours under the seat.
âOh, Iâm thinking about it,â he murmured, low and dangerous, eyes dark, smirk curling like he knew he had you. âAnd I know you are, too.â
Your glare was sharp, teeth bared. âYouâre insane.â
âAnd you love it,â he countered instantly, shifting closer, hand brushing the inside of your thigh. âGod, youâre so wet for me even when you hate me.â
Something snapped in you. One second you were fuming, the next you had crossed over your seat and were straddling him, nails raking down his chest, hair tangling in your fists, lips crashing onto his in a kiss that was pure fire. Teeth clashed, tongues battled, growls mixing with curses as your bodies collided, hands exploring, dragging, claiming.
âFuck, youâre impossible!â you hissed, grinding against him with every ounce of frustration and need youâd been holding back.
âAnd youâre irresistible,â he groaned, one hand gripping your hip, pulling you flush against him, the other sliding under your jacket, fingertips brushing over the swell of your breast. âGod, I hate you⌠I love this⌠hate it, love it, all of it, and youâre mine.â
Your nails dug into his back as he thrust upward beneath you, hard, deliberate, and the car groaned in protest beneath the weight of your frantic, heated motions. You gasped, arching, breath ragged, and he pressed even harder, hips snapping against yours.
âYou think Iâm gonna make it easy for you?â he snarled, teeth grazing your shoulder, pulling a gasp from your chest. âIâm gonna fuck you right here, take you like youâve been begging for all day, and youâre not gonna get a choice but to scream.â
âJakeâfuck!â you shrieked, grinding against him, nails clawing at his arms, teeth biting his shoulder, breathless, desperate. âIâm not⌠Iâshit!â
âYouâre mine,â he growled, thrusting again, every motion sharp, feral, punishing, and pleasurable at once. âEvery moan, every curse, every whimper, mine! You take it. Take me.â
The car rocked beneath the rhythm of your bodies, fast, rough, messy. Every motion, every gasp, every moan was a battle and a surrender at the same time. Teeth clashed against lips, nails raked down backs, hands gripped, tugged, pulled. You screamed curses, shouted his name, begged, spat insults, all tangled in a storm of raw need and furious lust.
âFuck! You feel so good!â he growled, fingers clutching your hips, dragging you against him with each thrust, lips pressing against yours, teeth nipping, claiming, marking. âGod, I hate this⌠hate you⌠love it⌠love you! Take me, brat! Take me like you mean it!â
Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, hips snapping back in time with his, grinding, clinging, moaning, screaming, lost in a tangle of heat, anger, and desire. âYes! Fuck, yes, Jake!â
The world outside the car didnât exist. The mission didnât exist. Only the sharp, feral pleasure, the biting, the scratches, the heat of him, the fire, the lust that neither of you could deny.
By the time the climax hit, it was explosive, raw, messy, utterly consuming. He groaned your name into your mouth, hips snapping hard, hands gripping, dragging, claiming, while you screamed, shivered, and collapsed against him, nails still dug into his back, teeth bared, trembling from every angle.
And when it was over, panting, sweat-slicked, messy, you both froze for a moment, breathless, stubborn, unwilling to admit what had just happened. Eyes met, and all that was said was a silent, dangerous acknowledgment: this was just how it was between you, hate, fury, lust, domination, and fire.
You were still straddling him, chest flush against his, skin slick with sweat, breaths ragged, hearts hammering like war drums. His hands were still pressed against your hips, thumbs tracing lazy, possessive circles, and even though the car smelled of sex and heat, the world outside was calling.
âWe⌠we need to scout the perimeter,â you muttered between ragged breaths, trying to steady your voice, trying not to let the tremor in your limbs betray how badly the night, or morning, had burned through you both.
Jake groaned, head tilting back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, still smirking that feral grin. âDo we have to? We could⌠you knowâŚâ
âNo,â you said firmly, though your fingers clutched his shoulders for support. âWe have to. Missionâs live. And you, donât even think about arguing.â
He let out a low, resigned growl, finally sliding you off his lap, though not without a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. âFine, fine,â he muttered, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your face, thumb lingering just long enough to make your stomach twist. âBut youâre already mine, remember?â
âNot the point,â you snapped, rolling your eyes, even as the fire lingering between you made your pulse race.
Clothes were hastily pulled on, shirts wrinkled, pants half-zipped, laces tangling, but efficiency won over appearance. You both knew stealth came first, pride and propriety second, even if the ache of desire still clung to your bodies like a second skin.
You moved toward the door first, Jake following the movement right behind you, still brushing against you in ways that were maddening, subtle, but impossible to ignore.Â
The forest greeted you like a quiet, waiting predator. Cool morning air brushed over your skin, doing little to cool the fire that still radiated from every nerve ending. You crouched low, rifle ready, senses heightened, the sexual tension simmering underneath every movement, silent but palpable. Every step was charged with the heat of what had just happened, sweaty skin, ragged breaths, lips still tingling from bruising kisses, and the memory of him buried inside you making your pulse spike again.
Jake mirrored your movements, shadowed you perfectly, eyes sharp, muscles tense, but you caught him glancing at you more than once, dark, heated looks that made your chest flutter with both irritation and desire. You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus. âPerimeter first,â you muttered. âFocus.â
âMm,â he replied, voice low, rough, a growl of agreement, or maybe amusement. Either way, the air between you crackled, a dangerous blend of heat and vigilance.
You and Jake slipped back into the woods, the shadows wrapping around you like a protective shroud. The forest was alive with the muted sounds of nocturnal life, but it felt almost sacred compared to the chaos that followed you both all day. Every snap of a twig, every distant rustle, made your senses twitch, alert and hungry, ready for the fight, but also for each other. The forest around you was quiet, deceptively peaceful.Â
âI donât like this,â you muttered under your breath, voice low. âSomethingâs⌠off. Too quiet.â
Jake smirked, eyes glinting in the dappled sunlight. âYou always say that. Usually, itâs fine. Calm down, darling.â
You rolled your eyes, tightening your grip on the rifle. âNot this time. I feel it.â
And then, there was the trap.
A faint click, too subtle to catch unless you were already keyed in to danger, and a sharp sting in Jakeâs shoulder. He staggered, curse ripping from his throat, hand flying to the wound. Blood welled almost immediately, dark and alarming against his skin.
âShit!â he hissed, teeth gritted, trying to stay upright.
âJake!â you barked, dropping to your knees beside him. Heart racing, hands already moving as you shoved the rifle aside. âShow me! Show me where it is!â
He winced, jaw tight, then lifted his arm just enough for you to see the bullet grazing his shoulder, dark blood blooming across his jacket. Your fingers worked fast, peeling back fabric, assessing the wound, adrenaline surging.
âYouâre bleeding too much for a damn smirk,â you snapped, voice low, sharp, but your hands were steady, precise. âSit still.â
He obeyed, almost grudgingly, gritting his teeth as you ripped open the first aid kit from the car pack. Bandages, antiseptic, gauze, your fingers moved with trained efficiency, cleaning the wound, pressing, wrapping, immobilizing as best you could in the field.
âYouâre⌠really good at this,â he murmured, a low, rough note in his voice. Pain laced through it, but so did something else, something softer, vulnerable, rare.
âYeah? Well, someone has to keep you alive when youâre being reckless,â you shot back, tone sharp, fingers working without hesitation. âHold still, Jake. Donât move.â
His arm twitched against you, muscle clenching, but your grip on him kept him steady. The smell of pine and sweat and blood mixed around you, tight space, hearts hammering. His eyes met yours, dark, intense, a flicker of something unspoken, admiration? Gratitude? Desire? You werenât sure, and you didnât want to think about it.
âAlmost done,â you muttered, wrapping the last layer of gauze, pressing gently, securing it. âThere. Youâll live, but if you ever pull a stunt like that againâŚâ
He caught your wrist before you could pull away, thumb brushing the back of your hand. âDonât lecture me,â he growled, voice low, but there was something in his gaze that made your chest tighten. âJust⌠keep doing that. Keep patching me up.â
You swallowed hard, mind racing, heart hammering, not just from the adrenaline, but from the heat lingering under the surface of every glance, every touch, every small, intimate movement youâd shared. âDonât get used to it,â you snapped, voice tight.
He smirked, lips brushing near yours, almost teasing, almost dangerous. âToo late, darling. Too late.â
And even as you stood, checking the perimeter again, heart still hammering, nerves on edge, you couldnât shake the memory of his weight against your hands, the pulse beneath your fingers, the heat of his body, reminding you that danger wasnât just in the mission anymore.
The warehouse was close. Too close for comfort. Every trap youâd tripped, every misstep, had only confirmed it: the operation was a heartbeat away, and the enemies you were hunting were careful, cruel, and clever. Youâd scouted what you could for now. Morning would bring action. Tonight was waiting. Watching. Planning.
You found a small clearing near a stream and started setting up a makeshift camp. Jake moved with silent precision, every motion sharp, measured, his presence behind you warm and watchful. He didnât speak much, but the air between you was heavy, alive, and dangerous.
You kicked off your boots first, then peeled off the rest of your gear slowly, deliberately, though your hands trembled with exhaustion and lingering adrenaline. Every muscle still hummed from the drive, the scouting, and the tension between you, the ache from earlier in the day refusing to let go.
Jake sat close, not touching, but close enough that the heat radiating off him made your skin prickle. You wanted to curse him, push him away, tell him to stop looking at you like that, but he didnât even have to. Just the way he shifted, dark eyes glinting in the firelight, shoulders relaxed but ready to spring at a momentâs notice, made your pulse race all over again.
âStay awake,â he muttered low, voice rough, just above the rustle of the leaves. âWe need to be ready in caseââ
âI know,â you cut him off sharply, though your voice was softer than you intended. You didnât need to hear his worry. You didnât need to admit it, but the tension of being near him, that heat lingering from your earlier encounter, made it impossible to be completely focused.
The night stretched on, slow and deliberate. You huddled close to the fire heâd helped you start, the warmth doing little to temper the heat still simmering under your skin. You watched him check the perimeter from time to time, every motion precise, calculated, impossibly beautiful, and your chest tightened as your hands itched to reach out.
You didnât. Not yet. Not while your mind was still trying to separate the mission from the chaos between you. But your body remembered. Your body remembered every touch, every thrust, every groan, every argument turned moan. And as Jake leaned back against a tree, gaze scanning the shadows, you couldnât help but shift closer, almost instinctively, the brush of his shoulder enough to make your stomach twist.
âDonât even think about it,â you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to him.
He smirked, just a twitch of the lips, low and dark, like he knew exactly what you were thinking. âMm,â he murmured, voice rough, teasing. âDoesnât stop me from thinking about it either.â
You rolled your eyes, sighing, though you couldnât help the shiver that ran down your spine. Mission first. Always mission first.
But as the fire flickered, shadows dancing across his face, and the forest whispered around you, you couldnât ignore it: waiting for morning wasnât just about the operation. It was about the tension, the heat, the unspoken, untamed chemistry that neither of you would ever admit, but that both of you knew was far from over.
The fire had finally died down to embers, the forest quiet except for the occasional whisper of wind and the soft murmur of the stream. You and Jake had somehow, impossibly, fallen asleep against each other, his arm slung over your torso, yours curled around his waist, bodies still warm, sweat-slick from earlier chaos.
You were drifting, mind half-lost in the haze of exhaustion and lingering heat, heart still racing from the night before, when something in the shadows shifted. At first, you thought it was a dream, a fragment of adrenaline still thrumming through your veins. But then your eyes flicked open, and panic coiled in your stomach like a live thing.
The clearing was no longer empty. Figures moved too quickly, too deliberately, glinting in the moonlight. Before you could even call out, before your breath could escape in a scream, a sharp strike hit the back of your head. Pain blossomed instantly, cold, jagged, radiating through your skull.
âJake!â you tried to scream, but it caught in your throat, strangled, swallowed by darkness creeping into the edges of your vision.
You kicked, flailed, but strong hands gripped you, fingers digging into your arms, waist, legs, with an efficiency born of training. You struggled, heart hammering, claws of fear raking through your chest, but it was no use. The world tilted violently, your body lifted from the ground, weightless and suspended as the cold fire of adrenaline surged through you.
Pain spread, sharp at first, then dull, insidious, creeping from your head down through your neck, shoulders, spine, limbs. It was disorienting, paralyzing, and you couldnât form coherent thoughts, couldnât focus on anything except the terror that gripped you, the knowledge that Jake was behind you, or should have been.
âJake!â you tried again, voice hoarse, panicked, raw. But a cloth pressed against your mouth, stifling the scream before it even left your lips. Struggling only made the pressure tighter, the hands stronger, and a dizzying darkness began to blur your vision.
All you could remember was the cold, relentless ache crawling through your body, the sickening tilt of being lifted off the ground, and the pounding of your own heartbeat echoing in your ears. Panic and frustration warred with helplessness, every fiber of your body screaming to fight, to resist, to survive.
And then the last thing that touched you before oblivion claimed you completely was a fleeting, impossible thought: Jake.
Your fingers itched to reach out, to feel his strength, to find him. But there was nothing, just the creeping darkness, the cold, the pain, and the sensation of being carried into the unknown, powerless and terrified.
The sun had barely broken through the canopy when Jake stirred, muscles stiff, senses still buzzing from the nightâs tension. His eyes blinked open, landing on the remnants of your shared warmth beside him, and then⌠nothing.
You werenât there.
A slow, creeping panic clawed up his spine. âY/N?â he called softly at first, throat tight, voice raw from sleep, but even that small whisper made his chest tighten. âHey⌠you awake?â
No response.
His pulse accelerated. Fingers clenched into fists as he scrambled upright, scanning the clearing with sharp, precise movements, trained instincts screaming. The firelight cast shadows, but there was nothing. You werenât behind a tree, you werenât crouched by the stream, there was nothing except the eerie quiet of the forest.
âY/N!â His voice rose, rough, hoarse, cracking with panic he refused to acknowledge. âThis isnât funny! Stop it! Stop hiding!â
Still nothing. Jakeâs jaw clenched, hands running through his hair, nails digging into his scalp. He sprinted through the underbrush, every muscle coiled, every sense on edge. Branches tore at his jacket, thorns scratched his skin, but he didnât care. He didnât think. His only thought, the only thing anchoring him to some semblance of reason, was finding you.
âY/N!â He screamed again, voice raw, breaking, echoing through the trees, bouncing off rocks and trunks like some desperate, jagged prayer. âI swear, if this is some stupid game, I willâI will find you, I swear!â
He stumbled, cursed, breath ragged, heart hammering like a war drum. Every second that passed without you made his chest ache, made his stomach twist into knots of fear and anger he couldnât contain. His voice went hoarse, throat raw from screaming your name, and still, no answer. Then it hit him. It wasnât a joke. You werenât here.
The reality struck like a blade, you were gone. Panic twisted into pure, jagged terror. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. The familiar smirk, the teasing arrogance, it was gone, replaced by a raw, almost feral desperation.
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Not here. Not when he needed every ounce of him to track you down. He ran, harder now, senses sharp, mind racing through possibilities, traps, every route you could have been taken. He felt every heartbeat of the forest as though it were a drum signaling danger.
âY/N!â he screamed again, voice breaking, raw, shaking. âI know you can hear me! Stop this! Stop hiding! This isnât funny!â
Branches tore at him. Roots snagged his boots. He didnât care. Every instinct, every cell in his body, screamed for you. Fear, rage, need, blended into one jagged, unbearable, all-consuming force.
He stopped only briefly to scan for tracks, to notice small disturbances in the soil, the way the leaves were trampled. And then he followed them, relentless, single-minded. His mind shut out everything else, he couldnât process hunger, exhaustion, pain. Only you. Only finding you. Only making sure you were safe.
Tears finally threatened to spill over as he traced the path deeper into the forest, each step frantic, breath ragged, voice breaking as he called your name over and over. Rage mixed with desperation. Panic laced with fear. âY/N⌠please⌠come back⌠pleaseâŚâ
Every muscle in him screamed, but he didnât stop. He wouldnât stop. Not until he found you. Not until you were back in his arms. Not until you were safe. The feral, obsessive fire that burned between you in bed now consumed him in an entirely different way, protective, desperate, dangerous.
And somewhere, deep in his gut, he knew that whoever had taken you was about to find out exactly what happened when they crossed him.
The world had narrowed to a single, maddening point: you were missing. Every breath Jake drew over the past few days had been shallow, jagged, tinged with panic and rage. Sleep had become a luxury he couldnât afford; food a mechanical afterthought. The world outside the hunt, everything, everyone, ceased to exist.
From sunrise to deep into the night, he drove, patrolled, interrogated, and tracked. Every lead, every whisper, every scrap of evidence became his lifeline. His knuckles were perpetually white on the steering wheel, nails digging into leather, muscles coiled like springs ready to snap. Every road, alley, and back street blurred together into one endless, frantic pursuit.
âY/N,â he muttered to himself constantly, voice low and rough from yelling into the wind on forested roads and empty streets. âWhere the fuck are you?â
Maps, satellite feeds, phone intercepts, all became part of a single obsession. He didnât eat properly. Didnât sleep properly. Didnât care about anything but you. Every thought was you. Every heartbeat screamed your name.
Hours turned into days. The forest, the city, the country roads, they all bled together. His voice was hoarse from screaming into the night air, calling your name, the desperation in it raw, jagged, almost unbearable.
He had thought he knew patience. He had thought he could control his rage. But that was before you were ripped away from him. Before he realized how fragile life could be. Before he understood how terrifyingly alone he felt without you.
Every failed lead, every shadow he chased, was another spike of panic in his chest. Every time he thought he might be too late, adrenaline surged, and he pushed harder. Faster. Further. Nothing mattered but tracking you, finding you, bringing you back.
The third night, driving along a desolate backroad, Jake paused for the first time. Sweat slicked his hair, eyes bloodshot, jaw tight. He had been chasing ghosts and hunches for two days straight, but something in the signals, in the subtle digital traces he had painstakingly pieced together, finally clicked.
The warehouse. The warehouse. The same one you had been planning to infiltrate with him. The one youâd scoped days ago. His mind exploded with relief, fear, and a feral, protective rage so hot it felt like fire in his chest.
âYou son of aââ he muttered, voice low and vicious. âThey didnât⌠they couldnâtâŚâ
The car roared back to life beneath him as he slammed the accelerator, tires screaming, engine growling in tandem with the storm of adrenaline in his veins. Every red light, every sharp turn, every curve was a blur. He didnât care about caution, rules, or consequences. He only cared about you. The forest, the roads, and the city outskirts, they all dissolved around him. Nothing existed except the warehouse, the knowledge of where you were, and the feral, burning need to tear the world apart if it meant getting to you.
By the time he reached the perimeter of the warehouse, night had fully descended, thick and suffocating, a velvet darkness that mirrored his mood. Every instinct screamed at him: there would be traps, guards, surveillance. He didnât care.
âYou donât get to hurt her,â he muttered under his breath, fingers tightening on the steering wheel until the leather creaked. âYou donât get to touch her. Not a scratch. Not a word. Not a breath. You touch her, I swearââ
He didnât finish the sentence, didnât have to. The rage was enough to fuel the impossible, to make him move with inhuman speed and precision. Climbing out of the car, he moved with a predatorâs grace, dark eyes scanning, every sense hyper-alert. The air smelled of oil, concrete, and something fouler beneath it, fear, threat, human malevolence. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, not from exertion, but from pure, frantic terror that someone had hurt you. Or worse.
Every step toward the warehouse ramped the intensity, muscles coiled, ready to strike. Every shadow could be a trap, every sound a threat. And yet, there was nothing else on his mind except finding you, holding you, making sure you were alive.
Inside the warehouse perimeter, his training kicked in automatically. He knew how to move silently, how to read patterns, how to bypass cameras, how to anticipate human behavior, but every decision was sharpened to a razor by panic.
He paused near a vantage point overlooking the main compound. Guards patrolled with methodical precision, unaware of the storm that was about to descend. His eyes scanned for any sign of you, and then, there.
A small, restrained figure, tied and bruised, shifting slightly, hair falling across a familiar face.
âY/NâŚâ The sound escaped his throat before he could stop it, low, ragged, and laced with every emotion he refused to admit. Rage. Terror. Love. Desire. Protection. Everything.
You flinched at the sound, looking up toward the source, eyes wide, fear-stricken. And then, recognition. Relief. Confusion.
âJake?â Your voice trembled.
He didnât answer immediately. He didnât need to. His whole body screamed, vibrating with feral energy. Every step he took was predatory, calculated, but with the overwhelming singular goal of reaching you.
He vaulted barriers, neutralized a single guard with precise, silent fury, moving faster than the human eye could track. By the time he reached you, his chest heaving, sweat-slick, dark eyes wild with emotion, he dropped to his knees in front of you, hands gripping the restraints around your wrists. âDonât. Ever. Get taken from me again,â he growled, voice low, dangerous, vibrating with barely-contained rage. âDo you hear me?â
Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he didnât lower his guard, didnât allow himself the relief just yet. Not while you were still restrained, not while he still needed to ensure you were safe. His fingers dug into the chain until the metal creaked, precise and controlled despite the feral energy radiating off him.
You shivered, partially from cold, partially from the ferocity of his presence. âIâIâm fine,â you whispered, voice shaky. âJake⌠itâs okay.â
âNot okay!â His hands tightened, enough to make you flinch. âNot okay doesnât even begin to cover it! You couldâve died! You couldâve! Do you understand how insane I went trying to track you down? How every second without you felt likeâlike the world was ending?!â
You flinched at the raw intensity, chest tight, breath caught in your throat. And yet, a shiver of something else, a mixture of fear, awe, and the residual fire between you, spiked through you.
One arm wrapped around your back, the other cradling your head, holding you close. His face buried in your hair, hot, desperate, trembling, but still impossibly controlled.
âYouâre not going anywhere,â he muttered, low, each word a growl, a promise, a threat. âNot ever. You hear me? Not ever.â
Your fingers clutched at his jacket, heart pounding, still shaking from adrenaline, fear, and relief. âIâIâm here,â you whispered, voice barely audible over the storm of his heartbeat against yours.
He lifted his head slightly, eyes dark, wild, glinting like a predator about to strike, but not at you. At anyone who would dare harm you. And yet⌠there was another fire burning in his gaze too. That familiar, messy, feral heat that had always existed between you, igniting instantly at skin-on-skin contact.
âDo you understand what I wouldâve done if I hadnât found you?â he growled, lips brushing your temple, teeth gritted, arms still tight around you. âDo you understand?â
âYes,â you breathed, voice trembling, chest tight, mind spinning from the sheer intensity of his proximity, his desperation, and the fire radiating off him.
He exhaled sharply, pressing a rough kiss to your temple, then against your lips, one hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer. âGood,â he muttered, voice low, dark, but soft for just a heartbeat before the edge of his feral intensity returned. âBecause if anyone ever tries to take you from me again⌠I swearâŚâ
He didnât finish. He didnât need to. The promise, the threat, the fire, and the possessive, consuming obsession were all in the way he held you. Breathless, shivering, adrenaline still surging, you realized the hunt wasnât just over. It would never be over, not for him, not for you, not while the fire between you burned this hot, this messy, this uncontrollable.
And as he finally allowed himself a heartbeat to exhale, still wild, still feral, still impossibly, achingly protective, you knew, nothing in the world could separate you two again.
You didnât get a chance to catch your breath. The chains bit into your wrists, cold and heavy, and panic surged through you again as the warehouseâs shadows pressed in. Jake crouched beside you, eyes blazing, dark and feral, every muscle coiled like a predator.
âYouâre not staying here,â he growled, voice low, dangerous, trembling with rage. âNot for a second. Not ever.â
Before you could protest, he pulled a small saw from the side of his belt, eyes never leaving yours, jaw tight. âStay still,â he ordered, voice clipped, though every word vibrated with barely-contained fury. âIâm getting you out.â
You could barely keep your heart from hammering in your throat, the mix of fear, relief, and the overwhelming presence of him too much to process. The sound of metal grinding against metal echoed in the cavernous warehouse, sparks flying as he worked. Every motion was precise, controlled, yet fueled by the storm of emotions surging through him.
âAlmost there,â he muttered, voice rough, eyes dark with fire. One last scrape, one last flex of the saw, and the chains clattered to the floor.
Free.
Without a word, he lifted you in his arms, brutal, yet tender in a way that made your chest ache, and cradled you bridal style. Your head rested against his shoulder, and the lingering scent of sweat, wood, and his skin enveloped you. You could feel the pulse of his rage, the fire in his veins, the desperate protective need that made his grip firm, unyielding, impossible to escape from.
âDonât even think about moving,â he muttered, voice low, dangerous. âIâll carry you out of here whether you like it or not, and if anyone tries to stop me⌠I swearââ
His words trailed off into a growl as he stormed through the warehouse, each step pounding against the concrete floor, his boots echoing in the cavernous space. You clutched at him instinctively, arms around his neck, legs lightly wrapped for balance, adrenaline making every nerve scream.
Outside, the cold night air hit you like a shock, but Jake didnât slow. He moved with a terrifying, almost supernatural speed, muscles taut, every sense alert, every glance sweeping the perimeter for threats. His lips brushed the top of your head briefly, a silent promise, a reminder that he was here, and no one would take you from him again.
âAlmost there,â he growled, voice tight, raw. âHold on, Y/N. Youâre safe now. Iâve got you.â
And in that moment, carried against him, adrenaline and exhaustion crashing over you both, you realized something terrifying and undeniable: the feral, obsessive, dangerous heat between you two was far from over.
The drive to the targetâs compound was silent, but the air between you was taut, like a drawn bow ready to snap. Jakeâs jaw was tight, knuckles white on the wheel, dark eyes fixed on the road ahead. You sat beside him, gear strapped in, weapon in hand, nerves coiled so tight you could feel them in your teeth. Every inch of your body still hummed with the memory of the last few days, kidnapping, fear, his feral desperation, the weight of him carrying you out like you were the most precious thing in the world.
âY/N,â he muttered, voice low, rough, dangerous, as though speaking aloud would keep the tension at bay. âWhen we go in⌠donât hesitate. Donât stop. Nothing. Nothing in there matters except getting him.â
âI wonât,â you replied, voice steady, but adrenaline prickling your skin like fire. âYou focus on the exit. Iâll handle the target.â
He glanced at you, and that familiar, messy heat flickered in his dark gaze, the mix of professional respect, raw desire, and feral need. âDonât get hurt,â he growled, almost a whisper, but your chest tightened because you knew he wasnât just talking about the mission.
The compound loomed ahead, a fortress of concrete, steel, and shadows. You could see guards patrolling, lights swinging in mechanical arcs. Every step, every motion, every breath had to be perfect. One slip could mean failure, or worse.
Jake slipped out first, silent as a shadow, crouching low as he scouted the perimeter. You followed, muscles coiled, senses screaming, heart hammering. Every instinct, honed over years of missions, screamed alert. Yet beneath it all, there was that lingering tension, that edge of heat and rage between you that had never left.
Inside, chaos unfolded in slow, controlled bursts. Guards moved too close, unaware of the predator duo in their midst. Jake neutralized threats with precise strikes, silent, lethal, muscles tensed and efficient. You moved like a ghost, blade glinting, every motion precise, eyes locked on the target.
And then you saw him, the man behind everything. The kidnapping. The illegal operation. The oppression. Sitting smugly in his office, unaware that the storm had arrived.
Jakeâs voice, low and feral, hissed into your ear. âGet him. Donât hesitate.â
You didnât. The blade in your hand moved fast, clean, controlled. Heart hammering, adrenaline roaring, you struck with lethal precision. Every second stretched into eternity as the man fell, and a dark satisfaction, mixed with the lingering fire of what youâd endured together, surged through you.
Jake moved to your side immediately, eyes scanning the room, muscles taut, hand brushing yours in a fleeting, feral reassurance. You didnât need to speak. He knew. You both knew.
But as the adrenaline ebbed, the tension between you flared again, familiar, dangerous, untamed. Every touch, every glance, every breath between you was electric. He pressed close as you made your exit, a low growl escaping him. âYouâre mine,â he murmured, voice rough, dark, carrying the weight of everything, the fear, the desperation, the heat that had never cooled.
You shivered, heart racing, pulse hammering in sync with his. âI know,â you whispered back, knowing the war between you, the mission, the obsession, the fire, was far from over.
The night outside the compound was cold, dark, and alive with tension. And as you both vanished into the shadows, side by side, weapons still ready, hearts still racing, it was clear: the world could throw anything at you, but together, feral, unstoppable, you were a storm.
The ride back to the agency was quiet, but nothing about the air between you two was calm. The mission was done, the target was dead, the operation dismantled, the threat erased, but the adrenaline still coursed through your veins, hot and electric, leaving your skin buzzing and your nerves raw.
Jake drove with a grim focus, eyes on the road, jaw tight. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready to spring at a momentâs notice, and the faint sheen of sweat on his skin caught the dim light in a way that made your stomach twist. You sat beside him, gear still strapped in, weapon resting across your lap, shoulders stiff, chest heaving, mind racing with everything that had happened, the kidnapping, the hunt, the adrenaline, the fire that had never cooled between you.
âYou okay?â he finally muttered, voice low, rough, almost hesitant, though his eyes flicked to you like he couldnât help it.
âIâm fine,â you replied, voice steady, though your pulse was still racing. âWe got him. Thatâs what matters.â
He grunted, not convinced, but didnât press. Instead, he flexed his fingers over the wheel, tension coiling through him, and the silence stretched, heavy, charged, dangerous. You could feel him, the heat of his body, the residual feral energy, lingering just beneath the surface, waiting to erupt again.
By the time the agency building came into view, the world had shifted back into its clinical, structured reality, the harsh fluorescent lights, the sterile hallways, the hum of computers. Everything was back to normal, and yet nothing was the same. Not for you. Not for him.
As you stepped inside, the agents glanced briefly, nodding, unaware of the storm that had passed through, unaware of the tension crackling between you like live wire. Jake moved beside you, silent, protective, every movement still sharp, precise, and impossibly tense.
You both knew you should debrief, should report, should return to protocol. But neither of you could ignore the heat, the feral connection, the raw, simmering energy between you. Every glance, every brush of skin, every shared breath was a reminder that the mission wasnât over. Not really.
Jakeâs hand brushed yours as you passed the elevator. Just a touch, light, fleeting, but enough to make your chest twist, to make every nerve flare. He didnât comment. He didnât have to. You felt it. You knew it.
The debriefing room was cold, sterile, and quiet, agents around you typing, reviewing, moving. You and Jake sat side by side, weapons down but eyes locked, the silence between you screaming louder than any words could.
âYou handled him well,â he finally muttered, low, just for you. Not praise, not flirtation. But something sharper, acknowledgment, heat, warning.
âSame goes for you,â you shot back, voice smooth, but your pulse thrummed with the memory of him, the feral need that had carried him through the hunt, the way he had gone absolutely feral to save you.
He didnât respond. Just a flicker of a smirk, dark and dangerous, brushing across his lips before he turned back to the debrief. But you saw it, the fire behind his eyes, the tension coiling, ready to ignite again the moment the rules allowed.
And in that moment, in the sterile halls of the agency, after bullets, chains, and hunts through forests and warehouses, one truth was clear: you were both unstoppable, feral, and chaotic, and no protocol, no mission, no walls of the agency could ever contain what burned between you.
The mission was over. The threat was gone. But the fire between you? That was far from extinguished.
Iâm so happy you loved it, esp since you asked for it!! Writing Jake like this was dangerously fun tbh <3 you made me sit down and unleash unhinged Jake and now look what happened đ weâre both suffering
SUMMARY: Two assassins forced into a joint mission were never supposed to want each other. Youâve built your life on precision, control, and silence. Jake thrives on chaos, recklessness, and infuriating smirks. But when a mission turns sideways and one of you is taken, the line between survival and obsession blurs. Every fight, every kiss, every near-death escape pulls you deeper into a love you swore would ruin you, and maybe already has.
WORDÂ COUNT: 14,272 words (ACTUALLY TAKE AWAY MY INTERNET)
For: @rosepetals09, your request was so enjoyable to write, I hope you like it
Youâd been in this life long enough that you stopped counting the years. Long enough that the blood on your hands didnât always scrub off, no matter how hard you dug your nails into your skin. Long enough that you forgot what a normal life was supposed to look like.
Wake. Train. Kill. Repeat. That was it. That was all you had.
There was a strange peace in it sometimes, the order of things, the efficiency. You had been sharpened into a weapon, honed and perfected, and the agency was more than happy to keep using you until there was nothing left. Fine. Thatâs what you were good at. Thatâs all you were good at.
You didnât complain. Not really. Except maybe when the higher-ups got smug about it, like they were the ones who had to pull the trigger, like they were the ones who had to go to bed with the image of someoneâs face still in their scope. But youâd gotten used to swallowing that down, too.
What you hadnât gotten used to was him. Sim Jaeyun. Your partner in hell, if hell had a leather jacket and a smile sharp enough to slit throats. The spy with the perfect hair, the irritatingly charming grin, and the goddamn audacity to think he was better than you.
Jake. The bane of your existence.
From the moment he was transferred into your unit, heâd been nothing but a pain in your ass. Always one step ahead, always finding a way to turn your clean, efficient plans into a spectacle just so he could take the credit. Always smirking when he caught you glaring at him across the room, like he lived to get under your skin.
And he did. God, did he.
The worst part wasnât that he was good, he was. Too good, maybe. Too clever by half, slipping in and out of roles like second skins, talking his way through checkpoints you wouldâve just eliminated. It wasnât even that he was reckless, though he was that, too, grinning when the bullets flew, improvising when you wanted precision, never, ever doing things your way. No, the worst part was that he was hot. Infuriatingly, gut-twistingly hot.
The kind of hot that made you clench your jaw when he leaned over your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear. The kind of hot that made your stomach drop when he smiled at a target like he was in love with them, just to get what he wanted. The kind of hot that made you hate yourself for noticing the cut of his jaw, the way his shirt stretched across his chest, the veins that flexed when he gripped his gun.
You hated him. You hated how much you wanted him. And maybe that was the real problem.
History had a way of repeating itself, and with Sim Jaeyun, history always ended with bloodâor with clothes torn off in the dark.
Youâd lost track of how many times youâd crossed paths on the field. Different assignments, different cities, same outcome: him standing in your way, smirk plastered across his face like heâd been waiting for you all along. Heâd stolen targets right out from under your scope. Youâd almost slit his throat once, only to have him grin as if youâd just kissed him. The two of you had danced on the edge of killing each other more times than you could count.
And then there was the night neither of you ever spoke about.
It was supposed to be a truce, temporary, uneasy, a survival necessity when you were both cornered. Instead it turned into something else. Into hands gripping too tight, nails dragging across skin, teeth sinking into shoulders. Into his mouth against yours like you hated each other enough to bruise, like you needed to spit every curse into each otherâs lungs just to breathe.
The sex had been nothing short of war. A different kind of violence. You hated him then, you hated him after, and you hated how vividly you remembered the way heâd sounded when he came. Neither of you ever mentioned it again. But you both remembered. Which was why the announcement hit like a bullet to the gut.
âEffective immediately, Assassin Y/N and Agent Sim Jaeyun will be assigned as partners for the duration of Operation Ghost Orchid.â
The briefing room was cold, sterile, filled with the quiet scratch of pens and the hum of the projector. But you didnât hear any of it. Your focus zeroed in on the smug bastard sitting across the table, leaning back in his chair like heâd just won the lottery.
You shot up instantly. âAbsolutely not.â
He echoed you in perfect unison. âNo fucking way.â
The room went silent. The handler didnât even flinch. âThis is not a request. Itâs an order.â
You felt heat crawl up your spine, a bitter taste in your mouth. A long-term operation. Deep cover. You and him, side by side, living as a pair for weeks, months, maybe. Pretending to be something you werenât, while fighting the urge to kill him every time he opened his mouth.
Jake tilted his head, lips curling in that infuriating smirk. âGuess youâre stuck with me, sweetheart.â You wanted to strangle him. You wanted to fuck him. He was the problem.
The safehouse was quiet except for the low hum of the single lamp on the desk. You sat across from him, dossiers and surveillance photos spread between you like the board of a twisted game neither of you wanted to play.
âOperation Ghost Orchid,â Jake muttered, tapping the edge of a photo with his pen. âThe cover is clean, but the trafficking ring is deeper than the agency thinks. Theyâre not just importing weapons, theyâre importing people.â
You didnât even blink. Youâd seen worse. You were worse. Instead, you leaned forward, scanning the blueprint he was so casually scribbling over. âYour entry point is suicide.â
His brows shot up. âMy entry point?â
âClimbing the east wall?â You jabbed the map with your finger. âTheyâve got motion sensors up the side. Youâll set off every alarm in a two-block radius before you even get your foot on the ledge.â
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, lips tugging into that smug little smirk that made your blood boil. âThatâs why you disable them before I get there.â
Your laugh came out sharp, humorless. âYou assume Iâll risk my cover just to babysit your sorry ass?â
âNo,â he said easily, eyes glittering. âI assume youâll do it because you want the mission to succeed. Unless youâd rather watch the whole thing go up in flames. Again.â
The word again hit like a gunshot. You clenched your jaw, refusing to rise to it, but the memory burned fresh anyway, one of your last missions colliding, both of you chasing the same intel, both refusing to back down. The job had turned into a bloodbath. You still had the scar.
Jake leaned forward, elbows on the table, and for one stupid second your eyes dragged down to the veins flexing along his forearms, the way his shirt clung to his shoulders. Heat licked low in your belly. You forced it down, gritting your teeth.
âWeâre not doing it your way,â you bit out. âWe go in from the ground. Blend in. The less attention, the better. We need to watch, gather, think before we charge in guns blazing.â
He gave you a long, slow look, like he was trying to peel back your skin and see what made you tick. Then he laughed, soft and disbelieving. âBlend in? Sweetheart, you stand out like a knife in a kindergarten class.â
Your chair screeched against the floor as you shoved it back, fury boiling over. âSay that again.â
Jake tilted his head, unconcerned. âTell me Iâm wrong.â
You hated how calm he was, how steady his voice stayed even when yours cracked with venom. You hated the way his lips curved around every insult, how the sound of his voice curled down your spine like smoke. And God help you, you hated how hot he was when he did it.
You crossed your arms, spine stiff. âAt least I donât rely on cheap tricks and dumb luck.â
âCheap tricks?â His grin sharpened. âYou mean strategy. Charisma. Adaptability. Things you wouldnât recognize if they stared you in the face.â
âStrategy doesnât involve blowing your cover to flirt with every contact that has a pulse.â
âIt works, doesnât it?â
The worst part was that it did. Youâd watched him slip through checkpoints, sweet-talk guards, charm his way into places youâd only get into by breaking bones. He could be anyone, wear anyoneâs skin, and no one questioned it. That was what scared you.
âYour arrogance is going to get us both killed,â you snapped.
âAnd your control issues are going to keep us from ever finishing the job.â His gaze dropped to your mouth for one infinitesimal second, so quick you almost thought you imagined it. âWe both know it.â
The silence that followed was suffocating. The hum of the lamp. The tick of the clock on the wall. His eyes locked on yours, steady, unreadable, and suddenly the space between you felt too small. You remembered the truce. The heat of his mouth, the way heâd shoved you against a wall with the same fire burning in his eyes now. The way youâd clawed down his back, hating him, needing him, both of you using each other like weapons.
Your thighs pressed together under the table before you realized what you were doing. You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady. âWeâll do it my way.â
You slammed the file shut, shoving it toward him. âYou canât keep treating this like some game.â
âItâs not a game,â he said softly. His tone dropped, almost too low, and you hated the way it curled around your ribs. âItâs survival. And survival means doing whatever it takes. Even if it means working with you.â
The way he said you, low, rough, like it was both a curse and something he couldnât stop tasting, made your chest tighten. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to do anything that would wipe that smug, dangerous look off his face.
Instead, you pushed away from the table, pacing to the window, needing distance. The city lights burned cold in the dark. âThis partnership is going to fail.â
Behind you, his chair creaked as he leaned back. âNot if you learn how to play nice.â
You turned, eyes narrowing. âI donât play.â
Jakeâs grin widened, slow and lethal. âNo. You donât. But you break real pretty.â
Heat flooded your cheeks before you could stop it. You hated him more than youâd ever hated anyone. You hated the way he got under your skin. You hated the way your body betrayed you, remembering too much, wanting too much.
âWe set out at five tomorrow, donât be late,â Jake whistled, grabbing his jacket as he got up to leave. âThe agency issued a car.â
Your jaw ticked, âIâm never late, Sim Jaeyun.â
He smirked, the corner of his mouth twisting upwards into a wicked curve, âWeâll see.â
And the worst part? You knew this was only the beginning.
The morning was cruel.
Gray skies pressed low against the horizon, and the streets were slick with last nightâs rain when you dragged your duffel out to the curb. The agency-issued sedan sat idling, exhaust curling white in the cold air, and leaning against the hood like he owned it, like he owned everything, was Sim Jaeyun.
Of course he looked good. Even at five in the goddamn morning. Black jeans, plain white tee under his leather jacket, hair pushed back like heâd just run a hand through it and called it a day. He looked casual, like he wasnât about to embark on a three-day drive into enemy territory. Like this was just a road trip with an old friend.
You hated him. âYouâre late,â he said, smirk curling lazy across his mouth.
You glanced at your watch. âItâs five-oh-three.â
âWhich is three minutes late.â He pushed off the hood, circling around to the driverâs side. âBut donât worry, sweetheart. I forgive you.â
You clenched your jaw, throwing your bag into the backseat with more force than necessary before sliding into the passenger seat. âDonât call me that.â
The car smelled faintly of leather and his cologne, clean, sharp, a hint of wood, irritatingly good, and you already knew this was going to be hell.
Jake slid behind the wheel, one hand draped casually over it, the other adjusting the radio before you could even protest. Some easy, low-tempo playlist filled the silence as he pulled onto the empty road.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The world outside was still half-asleep, gas stations dark, fields slick with dew. You watched it pass by, the hum of the tires beneath you, and told yourself you could survive this. Three days. That was it. Youâd survived worse.
Then he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, and his mouth curved again.
âWhat?â you snapped.
âNothing.â He kept his gaze on the road, but you could see the amusement twitching at the corners of his lips. âJust⌠didnât peg you as the type to put in this much effort for a road trip.â
Your brows knit. âEffort?â
He gestured loosely at you. âHair, makeup. That shirt. You look like youâre about to walk into a magazine shoot, not an op briefing.â
Heat prickled under your skin, though you shoved it down. Of course you looked put together, discipline was everything, and you werenât about to let him see you sweat. Not even on a three-day stakeout drive. âItâs called professionalism. Something you wouldnât understand.â
He huffed a laugh. âProfessionalism, huh? That why your lipstickâs smudged? Or is that for my benefit?â
You whipped toward him. âYouâre insufferable.â
âMaybe. But Iâm observant.â
You crossed your arms, nails digging into your sleeves, and focused hard on the blurred lines of the highway instead of the man beside you. But he made it impossible, fingers drumming against the steering wheel in rhythm with the music, jaw tight as he chewed on a stick of gum, veins flexing under the sleeve of his jacket. You hated how pretty he looked in profile. You hated that he knew you were looking.
âSo whatâs the plan, oh great professional?â he asked eventually, breaking the silence again.
You shot him a glare. âWe already went over this last night.â
âYeah, but I want to hear it again. In case youâve changed your mind about doing it the wrong way.â
âWrong way?â you scoffed. âIâm not the one who thinks climbing walls lined with sensors is smart.â
âItâs called improvising.â
âItâs called reckless.â
He shot you a grin, eyes flicking from the road to you for just a second too long. âAdmit it, you like when Iâm reckless.â
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. âIâd like it better if you drove into the nearest ditch.â
âHarsh,â he said, feigning a wince. âI thought we were bonding.â
You barked a laugh. âWe are not bonding. Weâre tolerating.â
Jake leaned back in his seat, clearly enjoying himself. âYou keep telling yourself that.â
The miles stretched on. By midday, youâd stopped at a gas station, the kind with flickering fluorescent lights and stale coffee, and he had the nerve to buy you one without asking. Just slid it across the counter toward you with that same infuriating grin.
âDonât read into it,â he said when you narrowed your eyes. âIf youâre cranky, the driveâs going to be hell for me.â
You took it anyway. Out of spite. Out of need. Out of the fact that you couldnât stop your pulse from jumping every time his fingers brushed too close to yours.
Back on the road, the tension didnât ease. If anything, it thickened, stretched, pulled taut. You argued over the route. Over the cover story. Over whether the radio should stay on.
âYouâre the worst person Iâve ever worked with,â you muttered after the third disagreement.
âFunny,â he said easily, glancing at you with that damnable smile. âYouâre the best Iâve ever worked with. Keeps me on my toes.â
You stared at him, thrown for just a second, and in that beat of silence the world outside seemed to slow. His eyes caught yours, steady, unreadable, and your chest tightened in a way you didnât want to name. You broke the gaze first, turning back to the window, biting down hard on your lip.
Three days. You could survive three days. Couldnât you?
By the time you pulled into the motel lot, you were ready to kill him.
Four hours of endless highway, cheap coffee, and his voice filling every possible silence with arguments and smug little quips. Youâd fought over navigation, over music, over the definition of âshortest route.â Heâd made snide comments about your driving. Youâd threatened to dump him on the side of the road. At one point, he even had the audacity to sing along to the radio, loudly, off-key, just to see the vein in your temple twitch. Youâd never hated anyone more in your life.
The motel itself wasnât much to look at, neon sign buzzing faintly in the dusk, paint peeling from the siding, a row of doors lined up like soldiers waiting to collapse. But to you, it looked like salvation. A chance to put a wall between you and him.
You shoved the car door open, slinging your duffel over your shoulder, muttering under your breath, âFinally. Peace.â
Jake trailed after you into the lobby, whistling low, hands shoved in his pockets. The woman behind the desk barely looked up as you gave your names, sliding an envelope across the counter with a keycard inside.
âReservation for Mr. and Mrs. Park,â she said with a polite smile.
You froze. âExcuse me?â
Jake leaned in, plucking the envelope from the counter before you could react. His grin was devastating. âThatâs us, darling.â
You turned on him, heat rushing up your neck. âYouâve got to be kidding.â
He held up the keycard like a magician revealing a trick. âI wish I were.â He waggled his eyebrows. âHoneymoon suite.â
Your stomach dropped. âNo.â
âYes.â
âNo.â
âSweetheart,â he drawled, already heading toward the stairs. âItâs on the agencyâs dime. Take it up with them if you want, but something tells me theyâre not gonna spring for a second room.â
You stormed after him, heart pounding with fury, or maybe panic, maybe both. âIâm not sharing a bed with you.â
He shot you a look over his shoulder, smirk sharp enough to cut glass. âWho said anything about sharing? I can take the couch. UnlessâŚâ His eyes flicked down, slow, deliberate, and the air between you sparked. ââŚyou want to share.â
Your fists clenched at your sides. âYouâre insufferable.â
âAnd youâre beautiful when youâre mad,â he said without missing a beat, pushing open the door to your âsuite.â The room hit you like a punchline.
Pink walls. Heart-shaped mirror. A bed big enough to fit four people, covered in silky red sheets. There were rose petals scattered across the comforter, for Godâs sake. A bottle of cheap champagne sweating in an ice bucket by the nightstand.
You stared. Jake laughed.
âThis is a joke,â you muttered.
âBest one the agencyâs ever pulled.â He tossed his bag onto the bed, flopping back onto it with a groan of exaggerated satisfaction. âAhhh, finally. Home sweet home.â
You resisted the urge to lob your duffel at his head. âGet off.â
âMake me.â
You swore under your breath, pacing toward the window, shoving the curtains open just to give your hands something to do. Outside, the neon motel sign blinked lazily, casting pink light across the room. You caught your reflection in the glass, flushed, tense, eyes too bright. You looked⌠dangerous.
And behind you, sprawled across red silk like he belonged there, Jake looked even worse.
You squeezed your eyes shut. âThis is hell.â
âYou say that like itâs a bad thing,â he said, voice low, lazy, curling around you like smoke.
You hated him. You hated him more than ever. And you hated how badly you wanted to strangle him, or climb on top of him, both at once.
The argument lasted forty minutes. Forty minutes of raised voices, threats to call the agency, Jake sprawled smugly across the mattress like he owned it, you pacing like a caged animal.
âCouch,â you said firmly, pointing.
âNope.â He tucked his hands behind his head. âMy backâs worth more than a busted spring.â
âThen sleep on the floor.â
âPrincess, this is a honeymoon suite. The floorâs for rose petals, not my spine.â
You wanted to strangle him. You really, really did. But the motel clerk had already given you that knowing, oh, newlyweds look when youâd passed by with Jakeâs arm draped across your shoulders in mock affection. Raising hell now would only draw more attention.
So, with the kind of reluctant defeat that tasted like acid, you grabbed every extra useless pillow the room had to offer, six in total, and stacked them in a fortress down the middle of the bed.
âThere,â you declared, climbing onto your side. âCross this wall and you die.â
Jake whistled low. âRomantic.â
âShut up.â
The sheets were slippery under your skin, satin clinging to the heat of your body. You turned onto your side, facing him out of sheer defiance. He was doing the same, propped up on an elbow, hair messy from travel, still wearing that stupid grin. Between you, the pillow wall loomed like a monument to your mutual stubbornness.
âFine,â he said after a beat, voice softer. âLetâs go over the plan, then.â
You blinked. ââŚNow?â
He shrugged. âMight as well. Youâll sleep better once you stop worrying about it.â
So you did. Half-whispered strategy across a barricade of pillows, trading intel and contingencies in the dim pink glow bleeding through the curtains. His tone shifted, less cocky, more clipped, professional, but now and then, the real Jake slipped through. A dry joke about your handwriting. A quiet snort when you mimicked the agency directorâs voice. The little things that made your chest tighten in ways you didnât want to examine.
By the time the plan was ironclad, you were both sinking into your respective halves of the mattress, words slurring at the edges.
âTomorrowâs gonna be hell,â you murmured.
Jakeâs eyes were half-lidded, lashes brushing his cheeks. âMm. At least weâll look well-rested for our honeymoon photos.â
You groaned, grabbing a pillow and lobbing it at him. It bounced off his shoulder, collapsing the âwallâ youâd built.
He smirked. âGuess the barrierâs down.â
You shoved the pillow back into place, cheeks warm. âSleep, Mr. Park.â
His gaze lingered on you, softer than it had any right to be. âGoodnight, darling.â And despite every ounce of resentment simmering in your veins, you almost smiled before you closed your eyes.
Hours later, the world outside had quieted into near-perfect silence. The neon glow had dimmed, replaced by the steady hum of the air conditioner, and the motel room smelled faintly of fabric softener and him.
Youâd long since accepted that you werenât moving the pillows again. They were flattened under the weight of your tired limbs, no longer a proper barricade, more of a symbolic wall at this point.
Half-asleep, you felt the edge of the blanket shift. You frowned, lifting your head slightly. Jake had pulled it over you, careful, almost imperceptibly, but still. You froze, chest tightening, because the gesture had a softness that he didnât usually allow.
âHey,â you mumbled, voice rough with sleep and irritation. âDonât⌠donât do that.â
âIâm not doing anything,â he murmured back, eyes closed, but the corner of his lips tugged up anyway. âJust⌠making sure youâre not freezing.â
You huffed quietly, flopping back onto your side, arms crossed. âI donât need your help.â
âNo,â he said softly. âYou just⌠look cold.â
And God, he had a point. You were half-shivering under the silk, heart beating a little faster than it should. You glared at him, knowing he couldnât see it. âYouâre insufferable,â you muttered.
He chuckled quietly, low, warm, and something about the sound made your body tighten in a way you refused to acknowledge. âMm. Yeah. But apparently, Iâm also nice in my sleep.â
You froze, blinked, then rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. âYouâre ridiculous.â
He made a soft noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. âI just⌠like this. Being near you. Even like this. Doesnât happen often.â
Your heart thudded and you wished it didnât. âMm-hmm.â You turned back toward the wall of pillows, hoping he wouldnât notice how tense your fingers had gotten, how hot your cheeks felt.
Minutes stretched into the quiet rhythm of breathing, his even, yours shallow and uneven. Every now and then, your hand brushed against the edge of a pillow he was holding too close to the âwall,â and your chest jumped. He never moved his hand away.
Eventually, your half-lidded eyes met his. He was staring, not with the smugness that usually made your blood boil, but softly, almost tenderly. You looked away, heart thudding.
âYouâre going to hate me if I say this,â he whispered, âbut⌠I could get used to this.â
You swallowed, chest tight, because part of you wanted to argue, part of you wanted to tell him to shut up, and part of you wanted to lean closer, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his arm against the pillow wall.
âI wonât,â you said instead, flat, stubborn.
He smirked just a little, one corner of his mouth twitching. âGood. Neither will I.â
The rest of the night passed in near silence, words reduced to murmurs over mission details, each of you half-asleep, half-alert. Occasionally, your fingers brushed when adjusting pillows or blankets, and neither of you moved away.
By the time sleep fully claimed you, the room felt less like a trap and more like⌠this could be tolerable. Almost domestic. Almost safe. Almost⌠something dangerously close to⌠peace.
Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold. You stirred first, groaning as your body stretched, muscles still tight from travel and the mental exhaustion of yesterdayâs arguments. The pillows between you and him were flattened remnants of a fortress, barely a barrier now, but you didnât care, yet.
Quietly, carefully, you eased yourself from the bed. Jake was still, seemingly asleep, one arm draped lazily across the pillows, phone tucked in the other hand. You thought you were safe. Thought you could slip out, grab your clothes, and disappear into the bathroom without incident.
The shower was warm, steam curling around you, washing away the stiffness and tension. For a moment, you almost relaxed, letting the sound of running water fill the room. But when you stepped out and reached for your clothes, you froze. They werenât there.
âOh, fuck,â you muttered, realizing youâd left them by the bed, where he was⌠supposedly asleep.
Assuming he was still knocked out, you wrapped the towel tight around your chest and tiptoed out, ignoring the way the silk sheet pooled around his side of the bed. Just a few steps, grab the clothes, and back to the shower. Easy. Except⌠he wasnât asleep.
Jakeâs eyes snapped up from his phone, dark and wide and entirely shameless. And suddenly, it wasnât just your towel you were acutely aware of, it was your entire body. He was raking his gaze down you slowly, deliberately, taking in every curve, every inch that wasnât hidden by the thin fabric of your towel.
Heat flooded your cheeks, gut twisting in a mix of fury, embarrassment, and something far worse. âIâuhâIââ
âForgot something?â he drawled, voice low and teasing, without even looking away from the screen for a second. His eyes flicked up, smirk curling, then back down, slow and deliberate.
You yanked the towel tighter around you, cheeks burning hotter than the shower youâd just left. âYes. Iâget out of my way.â
He laughed softly, the sound smooth and dangerous, and leaned back against the headboard like he owned the moment. âOr what?â
âOr IâjustâŚâ You grabbed your clothes as quickly as you could, fumbling them in your hands, avoiding eye contact like a good little assassin. Every step toward the bathroom was torture; you could feel his stare burning holes into your back.
âCareful,â he said suddenly, mock-serious, âdonât trip. Wouldnât want me to see⌠anything more than I already have.â
You spun, threw him a glare sharp enough to pierce steel, and bolted for the bathroom, slamming the door behind you with a final, muttered, asshole.
Inside, you sank against the door, letting the heat from the shower mix with the heat rising in your chest. Heart hammering, pulse racing. He hadnât even touched you, hadnât said a word about moving the towel, but the way he looked⌠the way he had seen you⌠left a mark deeper than any bruise could.
And the worst part? You knew this was just the beginning of your three-day hell with him.
The road stretched ahead like a promise of trouble. Youâd barely eaten, barely slept, and the air in the car was thick with the kind of tension that made your stomach tighten in ways unrelated to fear.
Jake was behind the wheel, hair falling slightly over his forehead, eyes sharp and scanning every turn. You sat in the passenger seat, rifle across your lap, heart hammering, mind calculating exits and angles with cold precision.
âCover that window,â you snapped, catching movement on the side of the road. âWeâve got company.â
He smirked without taking his eyes off the road. âRelax, darling. Iâve got this.â
You growled. âYou never just âgot it.â You improvise. You ruin the mission.â
âAnd you always overthink. Too clean. Too careful. Too boring.â
You turned, ready to argue, when the shadow of a black SUV appeared in the rearview mirror. Heart leaping, you felt the old familiar surge of fear, and something worse: the fear that this time, your strategy would collide violently with his.
âTheyâre on us,â you hissed, voice tight. âTheyâre tailing us, definitely trying to copy our route.â
Jakeâs smirk faded. His eyes darkened, calculating. Then, just as you were about to object, the car swerved, sharp, almost violent, hugging a curve at impossible speed.
âJake! Slow down!â you shouted, gripping the edge of the seat.
He glanced at you, one eyebrow quirked, and something in his eyes softened, not mocking, not teasing, but real. He reached across, fingers lacing with yours. The grip was firm, grounding. You stiffened, chest tight, the adrenaline spiking.
âShhh,â he murmured, voice low, calm, almost intimate. âIâve got you. Donât look at them. Donât think about them. Just hold on.â
Your heart thudded, rapid and uneven, but you let yourself be guided, even as the tires screamed over asphalt and the SUV struggled to follow. The wind whipped past the windows, the world a blur of motion and danger.
Every instinct in your body screamed to act alone, to take the perfect shot, to plan the perfect kill, but the warmth of his hand, the certainty in his grip, grounded you in a way nothing else ever had.
âYouâre insane,â you muttered, voice tight, partly from fear, partly from disbelief.
âAnd you love it,â he said, glance flicking to you for the briefest second, smile teasing but tinged with something unspoken.
Your jaw tightened. âI hate you.â
He only laughed, low and dark, fingers squeezing yours harder, thumb brushing over your knuckles. âAnd yet, here you are.â
The chase twisted through narrow streets, alleys, and open highways. He swerved, ducked, pressed the accelerator past limits youâd thought impossible. The SUV in your rearview mirror faltered, unable to match his audacity.
Somewhere between the adrenaline and the terror, you realized you werenât just scared of the tail, theyâd forced you and Jake together in a way that made you hyperaware of every inch of him. The curve of his jaw, the flex of his fingers around yours, the way his shoulder brushed against yours when he leaned into a turn.
He glanced at you, eyes sharp but warm. âSee? Weâre fine. You and me.â
You wanted to argue. Wanted to remind him that he was reckless, that he couldâve killed both of you a dozen times already. But the words stuck in your throat. You let him pull you along for the ride, hand in his, gripping tight.
And for the first time in a long time, you didnât feel alone.
The safehouse, or whatever you were calling this crumbling cabin in the woods, was small, dark, and reeked faintly of mildew and old pine. Perfect for lying low. Or so you thought. The second the door slammed behind you, adrenaline still crackling from the drive, neither of you had the patience to breathe, let alone speak politely.
You spun on him, chest heaving, fingers trembling with rage, and maybe a little need, and he caught your glare with a smirk so sharp it could cut glass. âYou really pushed me today,â he growled, stepping forward, hips brushing yours.
âYeah? Well, maybe if youâd followed the damn plan instead of racing like a lunatic, we wouldnât be in this mess!â you snapped.
âMess?â His laugh was low, dark, vibrating in your chest. âI call it fun.â
You whirled on him, chest heaving, adrenaline still burning through your veins. âFun? You call nearly getting us killed fun?â
He shrugged, smirk unwavering. âYou were gripping my hand like your life depended on it.â
âYou shouldnât have been driving like a maniac!â You jabbed a finger at him, every syllable laced with fury. âImprovising at every turn, ignoring the plan, almost hitting that SUV three times, andââ
âAnd you were taking shots from the car! Half my plan shot to hell because you refused to let me handle the extraction silently!â His voice was sharp, harsh, dangerous.
You froze for a second, chest tightening, because⌠he was right. Half the plan was ruined, yes, but it had been because he couldnât just follow protocol. And yet, staring at him now, flushed, chest heaving, the way his hair fell over his forehead, the wildness in his dark eyes⌠every ounce of anger you felt twisted into something else. Something hotter.
âDo you ever listen?â you spat, stepping closer, fists clenched at your sides.
âI do listen!â His voice was rising now, matching yours, but every time his gaze flicked to your mouth, every time his hand twitched like he wanted to touch you, it was chaos. Pure chaos.
Before you could reply, his mouth crashed onto yours, teeth clashing, lips bruising. You shoved at him, nails scraping down his shoulders, back, clawing, desperate, hot, trembling. He kissed like a war, teeth, tongue, teeth again, rough and demanding, and your own response was pure instinct: hands tangled in his hair, ripping at the collar of his jacket, dragging him impossibly close.
âFuck, I hate you,â you hissed, pushing at him, but your body pressed against his anyway, trembling with want.
âI hate how good this feels,â he growled back, sliding a hand down your side, gripping your ass hard, thumbs digging into muscle. âHate it. Fuck, hate it so much I could drown in it.â
You gasped, nails digging into the leather of his jacket as he pushed you backward, pressing you against the wall. âYou think Iâm gonna make it easy for you?â you spat, panting, hips grinding on instinct against him.
âOh, no, darling,â he said, voice low, guttural, dripping with heat. âI donât want easy. I want messy. I want you screaming my name while Iââ His fingers slipped under the waistband of your pants, dragging you flush against him, teasing, probing, and your breath hitched instantly.
âJakeâfuck!â You clawed at his shoulders as his tongue found yours again, teeth nipping, dragging, dominating. He kissed like he owned you, every greedy bite, every press of his body against yours, a claim, a war, and you responded in kind, arching against him, grinding, shoving, biting, scratching, everything feral and desperate inside you screaming for release.
He pressed against you harder, fingers sliding deeper, and the combination of him, the heat, the anger, made your knees buckle. âF-Fuck! Youâreâso⌠so⌠impossible!â you gasped, nails digging into his back as he gripped your ass and slammed into you, hard.
âI know, darling,â he snarled, voice low, filthy, and then, he plunged his fingers deep, curling, dragging you closer to the edge. âYou feel so good, God, I hate it, hate it, hate it, but I canât stop.â
Your back arched, moans ripped out of you, and every curse you spat felt like fuel to the fire between you. âJake! Fuck! Donât stop!â
âOh, I wonât stop,â he growled, pressing you harder against the wall, tongue in your mouth, teeth biting your lip, hands dragging over every inch of you. âIâll ruin you, yeah⌠right here, right now⌠hate it, love it, all of it, every damn inch of you belongs to me while I make you scream.â
Your fingers fisted in his hair, tugging, scratching, desperate for more, as his hand slid inside your slick folds, curling, thrusting, dragging heat and fire out of you in ragged, feral waves. Every groan, every cry, every curse he dragged out of you made his grin widen, filthy, triumphant, possessive.
âI hate how wet you are for me,â he growled, voice rough, teeth scraping your shoulder, âhate it so much I want to fuck you stupid right here against this wall, and youâre gonna love it. Youâre gonna take me, take it all, scream my name while you beg me to stop, and I wonât. Not until you canât anymore.â
You shivered, knees weak, breath stuttering, body trembling. âYes, fuck, yes, Jake! Please, God! donât stop!â
He pressed harder, nails raking down your sides, his fingers thrusting into you, hitting that one spot that made you see stars, hips grinding against yours, teeth, tongue, voice, and hands all claiming you like a battlefield. âThatâs it, thatâs it, youâre mine, every inch, every whimper, every moan. You feel so damn good IâGod, I hate it! Hate it so much I could, fuck!â
The world shrank to you, him, the fire in your veins, the heat, the hunger. Every touch, every thrust, every bite, every growl was war, was lust, was fire and need and domination all at once. You screamed, arching, pulling him impossibly close, dragging him down into the chaos of your rage and want.
And when it finally broke over you, every shred of control, every ounce of hate-lust, every inch of feral, raw need spilling into delirious, screaming release, you clung to him, teeth bared, nails digging, body shaking, and he held you through it, still groaning filthy, hands claiming you, lips biting, teeth scraping, voice low and ragged:
âGod, I love ruining you like this,â he whispered, chest heaving against yours.
You gasped, chest heaving, body trembling, nails still digging into him. âI⌠hate you⌠but IâŚâ
He pressed a kiss to your temple, low, hard, messy, and you didnât finish the sentence, because you didnât need to. The war of want and hate had claimed you both completely.Â
You barely had time to catch your breath before he was pressing you back against the wall again, chest flush to yours, teeth bared in that impossible, feral grin.
âYouâre mine,â he growled, voice low, rough, dangerous. âEvery inch, every sound, every whimper, you donât get a say anymore.â
Your nails dug into his shoulders as he backed you up, hips grinding hard against you, teasing, desperate, feral. âJakeâplease!â you gasped, voice breaking, body on fire.
âPlease? You think Iâm gonna stop because you say please?â he hissed, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding down, dragging you flush against him. âNo. Youâre gonna take me, all of me, and youâre gonna scream, you little brat.â
He unfastened his belt at an animalistic pace, pulling down his briefs just enough to free himself. His cock was flushed red, dripping at the tip, a prominent vein running down his shaft. He caged you against the wall, hooking one leg over his waist. The blunt tip teased your folds as you bit back a moan.
Then, impossibly, he was inside you, slow at first, teasing, filling you completely, and you moaned, nails raking down his back, arching into him, shoving your body against his.
âFuck, shit, youâre so tight,â he groaned, eyes dark, teeth nipping your shoulder as he pressed harder. âSo fucking wet for me, even though you hate me. You hate me, and you take me like this anyway, God, I love it.â
You couldnât form words, only screams and curses spilling out as he thrust, slow, deliberate, every movement dragging you closer to the edge, every thrust igniting fire down to your core.
âMine. All mine,â he growled, hand sliding down your thigh, pressing impossibly close, dragging you against him with each stroke. âYou feel too good, you hear me? Too good, and Iâm gonna ruin you. Fuck, I love this, I hate this, and I donât give a fuck, take it, take it, take me!â
You grabbed his shoulders, shoving, clawing, dragging him impossibly closer, hips meeting, grinding, desperate for every inch. âJake, fuck! Iâm gonnaââ
âYes!â he snapped, teeth grazing your neck, lips biting, voice low, guttural, filthy. âYes, scream for me! Beg for me! Take it all, take me like the brat you are!â
Every thrust was a war, teeth, nails, lips, hands, bodies colliding, and you didnât care about anything but the fire in your veins, the way he filled you, the raw, obscene heat. âGod, harder! Faster!â you shrieked, arching, nails digging into him, moans breaking into screams.
âFuck! Youâre so tight, so hot for me, even when you hate me!â he growled, slamming into you with feral force, hands gripping your hips, dragging you flush against him. âIâm gonna make you scream my name until itâs all you can do to breathe, yeah? You hear me? All you can do is take me!â
You screamed, body shuddering, nails raking down his back, toes curling, chest heaving, voice raw, every nerve ending on fire as he drove into you with relentless, feral precision.
âGod, I hate how good this is!â he hissed, low, guttural, voice rough with need. âHate it, love it, fucking take it, take me, come for me, now!â
And with one final, impossible thrust, your world exploded. Screams tore from your chest, body trembling, shaking, quaking under the feral, filthy rhythm of him filling you, taking you, claiming you completely.
He groaned low, voice ragged, lips brushing yours as he followed, body shuddering, thrusting through his own release, holding you tight against him, teeth grazing your shoulder, murmuring filth and claims in between harsh, ragged breaths.
âMine,â he whispered, voice low, hoarse. âAll mine. You can scream, you can curse, you can hate me all you want, youâre mine.â
You clung to him, shaking, nails dug into his back, chest heaving, mind melting into the feral heat of what had just happened, hate, lust, need, and fire all colliding in one messy, obscene, perfect storm.
The sun had barely risen when you were back on the road, the safehouse already a distant memory, but its lingering heat still clung to your skin, to your thoughts. You and Jake had been partnered officially for less than twenty-four hours, and already the cracks were showing.
He insisted on improvising the approach to the target, weaving through side streets, taking risks that made your stomach knot. âYouâll thank me later,â he said, voice low, smug, eyes glinting with that dangerous certainty.
âYouâre insane,â you spat, adjusting your grip on the scoped rifle across your lap. âDo you see the cameras? Do you see the guards? Your way is reckless. We do this clean, or we donât do it at all.â
âAnd whereâs the fun in that?â He swerved sharply, narrowly missing a parked truck, and you yelped, slamming your hands against the dashboard.
âI swear to god, if you do anything stupid, weâll be dead before we even reach the building!â
Jakeâs laugh was low, dangerous, vibrating in your chest. âRelax, darling. Iâve got this.â
No. No you didnât. He never did. And yet every reckless word, every sharp retort, scraped against your nerves like steel, sparking heat in places you refused to acknowledge. Your mind screamed for focus, for clean kills, precision, control, but your body⌠your body remembered the night before. Remembered the weight of him, the way he filled you, the fire, and it betrayed you at every turn.
By the time you reached the outskirts of the target area, silence pressed down like a physical weight. Not peace, silence before a storm. The ground was wrong, too still, too neat. And then you saw it.
âTrap,â you muttered, stopping him with a hand on his chest.
Jakeâs gaze flicked down to where your palm pressed against him, then back to the faint wire glinting in the dirt. The smirk that usually followed, the one that always made you want to punch him square in the jaw, was absent. His expression was all sharp edges, eyes narrowing as he crouched low.
âGood eye,â he murmured, defusing the line with quick, steady hands. His voice was low, a whisper meant only for you, and it sent shivers down your spine despite yourself.
You shouldâve pulled back. Shouldâve kept distance. But your hand stayed there, lingering against the heat of his chest even after he shifted closer, closer, until you felt his breath ghost against your cheek.
âDonât freeze up on me now,â he whispered.
âI donât freeze,â you shot back, jaw tight, forcing your hand away as if his touch burned.
He straightened, towering just slightly, close enough to make your pulse hammer. Close enough that if you leaned a fraction forward, if you gave in, youâd be kissing him. Biting him. Losing yourself again.
âGood,â Jake said finally, brushing past you, his arm deliberately grazing yours as he moved ahead, voice laced with something darker than simple approval. âBecause I need you sharp. Not distracted.â
But as you followed, you couldnât shake the weight of his words. Not when you were the one fighting distraction hardest. Not when the memory of him, skin, heat, teeth, throbbed like another trap lying in wait.
âI hate how⌠calm you are,â you muttered, voice rough, fingernails still digging into your palms from gripping the dash.
âI hate how your body reacts to me when you think Iâm reckless,â he countered, eyes dark, sharp, unreadable, but you knew he meant every filthy, dangerous word.
You didnât reply. Couldnât. Instead, you checked the mission parameters again, rifle in hand, strategy racing through your mind, but underneath it all, you felt it: the heat of him, the tension, the chaos that always followed when it was just the two of you.
And deep down, you knew that no matter how much you fought it, no matter how many times you argued, the chaos wasnât just in the mission, it was in both of you, and it was only getting worse.
The car was supposed to be safe. Supposed to be just a way to get closer to the next point in the mission. But the moment Jakeâs fingers brushed yours while reaching for the gear shift, the tension, thick, simmering, impossible, snapped.
âDonât even think about it,â you spat, gripping the wheel tightly, pretending you didnât feel the pull of him, the way his thigh pressed against yours under the seat.
âOh, Iâm thinking about it,â he murmured, low and dangerous, eyes dark, smirk curling like he knew he had you. âAnd I know you are, too.â
Your glare was sharp, teeth bared. âYouâre insane.â
âAnd you love it,â he countered instantly, shifting closer, hand brushing the inside of your thigh. âGod, youâre so wet for me even when you hate me.â
Something snapped in you. One second you were fuming, the next you had crossed over your seat and were straddling him, nails raking down his chest, hair tangling in your fists, lips crashing onto his in a kiss that was pure fire. Teeth clashed, tongues battled, growls mixing with curses as your bodies collided, hands exploring, dragging, claiming.
âFuck, youâre impossible!â you hissed, grinding against him with every ounce of frustration and need youâd been holding back.
âAnd youâre irresistible,â he groaned, one hand gripping your hip, pulling you flush against him, the other sliding under your jacket, fingertips brushing over the swell of your breast. âGod, I hate you⌠I love this⌠hate it, love it, all of it, and youâre mine.â
Your nails dug into his back as he thrust upward beneath you, hard, deliberate, and the car groaned in protest beneath the weight of your frantic, heated motions. You gasped, arching, breath ragged, and he pressed even harder, hips snapping against yours.
âYou think Iâm gonna make it easy for you?â he snarled, teeth grazing your shoulder, pulling a gasp from your chest. âIâm gonna fuck you right here, take you like youâve been begging for all day, and youâre not gonna get a choice but to scream.â
âJakeâfuck!â you shrieked, grinding against him, nails clawing at his arms, teeth biting his shoulder, breathless, desperate. âIâm not⌠Iâshit!â
âYouâre mine,â he growled, thrusting again, every motion sharp, feral, punishing, and pleasurable at once. âEvery moan, every curse, every whimper, mine! You take it. Take me.â
The car rocked beneath the rhythm of your bodies, fast, rough, messy. Every motion, every gasp, every moan was a battle and a surrender at the same time. Teeth clashed against lips, nails raked down backs, hands gripped, tugged, pulled. You screamed curses, shouted his name, begged, spat insults, all tangled in a storm of raw need and furious lust.
âFuck! You feel so good!â he growled, fingers clutching your hips, dragging you against him with each thrust, lips pressing against yours, teeth nipping, claiming, marking. âGod, I hate this⌠hate you⌠love it⌠love you! Take me, brat! Take me like you mean it!â
Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, hips snapping back in time with his, grinding, clinging, moaning, screaming, lost in a tangle of heat, anger, and desire. âYes! Fuck, yes, Jake!â
The world outside the car didnât exist. The mission didnât exist. Only the sharp, feral pleasure, the biting, the scratches, the heat of him, the fire, the lust that neither of you could deny.
By the time the climax hit, it was explosive, raw, messy, utterly consuming. He groaned your name into your mouth, hips snapping hard, hands gripping, dragging, claiming, while you screamed, shivered, and collapsed against him, nails still dug into his back, teeth bared, trembling from every angle.
And when it was over, panting, sweat-slicked, messy, you both froze for a moment, breathless, stubborn, unwilling to admit what had just happened. Eyes met, and all that was said was a silent, dangerous acknowledgment: this was just how it was between you, hate, fury, lust, domination, and fire.
You were still straddling him, chest flush against his, skin slick with sweat, breaths ragged, hearts hammering like war drums. His hands were still pressed against your hips, thumbs tracing lazy, possessive circles, and even though the car smelled of sex and heat, the world outside was calling.
âWe⌠we need to scout the perimeter,â you muttered between ragged breaths, trying to steady your voice, trying not to let the tremor in your limbs betray how badly the night, or morning, had burned through you both.
Jake groaned, head tilting back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, still smirking that feral grin. âDo we have to? We could⌠you knowâŚâ
âNo,â you said firmly, though your fingers clutched his shoulders for support. âWe have to. Missionâs live. And you, donât even think about arguing.â
He let out a low, resigned growl, finally sliding you off his lap, though not without a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. âFine, fine,â he muttered, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your face, thumb lingering just long enough to make your stomach twist. âBut youâre already mine, remember?â
âNot the point,â you snapped, rolling your eyes, even as the fire lingering between you made your pulse race.
Clothes were hastily pulled on, shirts wrinkled, pants half-zipped, laces tangling, but efficiency won over appearance. You both knew stealth came first, pride and propriety second, even if the ache of desire still clung to your bodies like a second skin.
You moved toward the door first, Jake following the movement right behind you, still brushing against you in ways that were maddening, subtle, but impossible to ignore.Â
The forest greeted you like a quiet, waiting predator. Cool morning air brushed over your skin, doing little to cool the fire that still radiated from every nerve ending. You crouched low, rifle ready, senses heightened, the sexual tension simmering underneath every movement, silent but palpable. Every step was charged with the heat of what had just happened, sweaty skin, ragged breaths, lips still tingling from bruising kisses, and the memory of him buried inside you making your pulse spike again.
Jake mirrored your movements, shadowed you perfectly, eyes sharp, muscles tense, but you caught him glancing at you more than once, dark, heated looks that made your chest flutter with both irritation and desire. You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus. âPerimeter first,â you muttered. âFocus.â
âMm,â he replied, voice low, rough, a growl of agreement, or maybe amusement. Either way, the air between you crackled, a dangerous blend of heat and vigilance.
You and Jake slipped back into the woods, the shadows wrapping around you like a protective shroud. The forest was alive with the muted sounds of nocturnal life, but it felt almost sacred compared to the chaos that followed you both all day. Every snap of a twig, every distant rustle, made your senses twitch, alert and hungry, ready for the fight, but also for each other. The forest around you was quiet, deceptively peaceful.Â
âI donât like this,â you muttered under your breath, voice low. âSomethingâs⌠off. Too quiet.â
Jake smirked, eyes glinting in the dappled sunlight. âYou always say that. Usually, itâs fine. Calm down, darling.â
You rolled your eyes, tightening your grip on the rifle. âNot this time. I feel it.â
And then, there was the trap.
A faint click, too subtle to catch unless you were already keyed in to danger, and a sharp sting in Jakeâs shoulder. He staggered, curse ripping from his throat, hand flying to the wound. Blood welled almost immediately, dark and alarming against his skin.
âShit!â he hissed, teeth gritted, trying to stay upright.
âJake!â you barked, dropping to your knees beside him. Heart racing, hands already moving as you shoved the rifle aside. âShow me! Show me where it is!â
He winced, jaw tight, then lifted his arm just enough for you to see the bullet grazing his shoulder, dark blood blooming across his jacket. Your fingers worked fast, peeling back fabric, assessing the wound, adrenaline surging.
âYouâre bleeding too much for a damn smirk,â you snapped, voice low, sharp, but your hands were steady, precise. âSit still.â
He obeyed, almost grudgingly, gritting his teeth as you ripped open the first aid kit from the car pack. Bandages, antiseptic, gauze, your fingers moved with trained efficiency, cleaning the wound, pressing, wrapping, immobilizing as best you could in the field.
âYouâre⌠really good at this,â he murmured, a low, rough note in his voice. Pain laced through it, but so did something else, something softer, vulnerable, rare.
âYeah? Well, someone has to keep you alive when youâre being reckless,â you shot back, tone sharp, fingers working without hesitation. âHold still, Jake. Donât move.â
His arm twitched against you, muscle clenching, but your grip on him kept him steady. The smell of pine and sweat and blood mixed around you, tight space, hearts hammering. His eyes met yours, dark, intense, a flicker of something unspoken, admiration? Gratitude? Desire? You werenât sure, and you didnât want to think about it.
âAlmost done,â you muttered, wrapping the last layer of gauze, pressing gently, securing it. âThere. Youâll live, but if you ever pull a stunt like that againâŚâ
He caught your wrist before you could pull away, thumb brushing the back of your hand. âDonât lecture me,â he growled, voice low, but there was something in his gaze that made your chest tighten. âJust⌠keep doing that. Keep patching me up.â
You swallowed hard, mind racing, heart hammering, not just from the adrenaline, but from the heat lingering under the surface of every glance, every touch, every small, intimate movement youâd shared. âDonât get used to it,â you snapped, voice tight.
He smirked, lips brushing near yours, almost teasing, almost dangerous. âToo late, darling. Too late.â
And even as you stood, checking the perimeter again, heart still hammering, nerves on edge, you couldnât shake the memory of his weight against your hands, the pulse beneath your fingers, the heat of his body, reminding you that danger wasnât just in the mission anymore.
The warehouse was close. Too close for comfort. Every trap youâd tripped, every misstep, had only confirmed it: the operation was a heartbeat away, and the enemies you were hunting were careful, cruel, and clever. Youâd scouted what you could for now. Morning would bring action. Tonight was waiting. Watching. Planning.
You found a small clearing near a stream and started setting up a makeshift camp. Jake moved with silent precision, every motion sharp, measured, his presence behind you warm and watchful. He didnât speak much, but the air between you was heavy, alive, and dangerous.
You kicked off your boots first, then peeled off the rest of your gear slowly, deliberately, though your hands trembled with exhaustion and lingering adrenaline. Every muscle still hummed from the drive, the scouting, and the tension between you, the ache from earlier in the day refusing to let go.
Jake sat close, not touching, but close enough that the heat radiating off him made your skin prickle. You wanted to curse him, push him away, tell him to stop looking at you like that, but he didnât even have to. Just the way he shifted, dark eyes glinting in the firelight, shoulders relaxed but ready to spring at a momentâs notice, made your pulse race all over again.
âStay awake,â he muttered low, voice rough, just above the rustle of the leaves. âWe need to be ready in caseââ
âI know,â you cut him off sharply, though your voice was softer than you intended. You didnât need to hear his worry. You didnât need to admit it, but the tension of being near him, that heat lingering from your earlier encounter, made it impossible to be completely focused.
The night stretched on, slow and deliberate. You huddled close to the fire heâd helped you start, the warmth doing little to temper the heat still simmering under your skin. You watched him check the perimeter from time to time, every motion precise, calculated, impossibly beautiful, and your chest tightened as your hands itched to reach out.
You didnât. Not yet. Not while your mind was still trying to separate the mission from the chaos between you. But your body remembered. Your body remembered every touch, every thrust, every groan, every argument turned moan. And as Jake leaned back against a tree, gaze scanning the shadows, you couldnât help but shift closer, almost instinctively, the brush of his shoulder enough to make your stomach twist.
âDonât even think about it,â you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to him.
He smirked, just a twitch of the lips, low and dark, like he knew exactly what you were thinking. âMm,â he murmured, voice rough, teasing. âDoesnât stop me from thinking about it either.â
You rolled your eyes, sighing, though you couldnât help the shiver that ran down your spine. Mission first. Always mission first.
But as the fire flickered, shadows dancing across his face, and the forest whispered around you, you couldnât ignore it: waiting for morning wasnât just about the operation. It was about the tension, the heat, the unspoken, untamed chemistry that neither of you would ever admit, but that both of you knew was far from over.
The fire had finally died down to embers, the forest quiet except for the occasional whisper of wind and the soft murmur of the stream. You and Jake had somehow, impossibly, fallen asleep against each other, his arm slung over your torso, yours curled around his waist, bodies still warm, sweat-slick from earlier chaos.
You were drifting, mind half-lost in the haze of exhaustion and lingering heat, heart still racing from the night before, when something in the shadows shifted. At first, you thought it was a dream, a fragment of adrenaline still thrumming through your veins. But then your eyes flicked open, and panic coiled in your stomach like a live thing.
The clearing was no longer empty. Figures moved too quickly, too deliberately, glinting in the moonlight. Before you could even call out, before your breath could escape in a scream, a sharp strike hit the back of your head. Pain blossomed instantly, cold, jagged, radiating through your skull.
âJake!â you tried to scream, but it caught in your throat, strangled, swallowed by darkness creeping into the edges of your vision.
You kicked, flailed, but strong hands gripped you, fingers digging into your arms, waist, legs, with an efficiency born of training. You struggled, heart hammering, claws of fear raking through your chest, but it was no use. The world tilted violently, your body lifted from the ground, weightless and suspended as the cold fire of adrenaline surged through you.
Pain spread, sharp at first, then dull, insidious, creeping from your head down through your neck, shoulders, spine, limbs. It was disorienting, paralyzing, and you couldnât form coherent thoughts, couldnât focus on anything except the terror that gripped you, the knowledge that Jake was behind you, or should have been.
âJake!â you tried again, voice hoarse, panicked, raw. But a cloth pressed against your mouth, stifling the scream before it even left your lips. Struggling only made the pressure tighter, the hands stronger, and a dizzying darkness began to blur your vision.
All you could remember was the cold, relentless ache crawling through your body, the sickening tilt of being lifted off the ground, and the pounding of your own heartbeat echoing in your ears. Panic and frustration warred with helplessness, every fiber of your body screaming to fight, to resist, to survive.
And then the last thing that touched you before oblivion claimed you completely was a fleeting, impossible thought: Jake.
Your fingers itched to reach out, to feel his strength, to find him. But there was nothing, just the creeping darkness, the cold, the pain, and the sensation of being carried into the unknown, powerless and terrified.
The sun had barely broken through the canopy when Jake stirred, muscles stiff, senses still buzzing from the nightâs tension. His eyes blinked open, landing on the remnants of your shared warmth beside him, and then⌠nothing.
You werenât there.
A slow, creeping panic clawed up his spine. âY/N?â he called softly at first, throat tight, voice raw from sleep, but even that small whisper made his chest tighten. âHey⌠you awake?â
No response.
His pulse accelerated. Fingers clenched into fists as he scrambled upright, scanning the clearing with sharp, precise movements, trained instincts screaming. The firelight cast shadows, but there was nothing. You werenât behind a tree, you werenât crouched by the stream, there was nothing except the eerie quiet of the forest.
âY/N!â His voice rose, rough, hoarse, cracking with panic he refused to acknowledge. âThis isnât funny! Stop it! Stop hiding!â
Still nothing. Jakeâs jaw clenched, hands running through his hair, nails digging into his scalp. He sprinted through the underbrush, every muscle coiled, every sense on edge. Branches tore at his jacket, thorns scratched his skin, but he didnât care. He didnât think. His only thought, the only thing anchoring him to some semblance of reason, was finding you.
âY/N!â He screamed again, voice raw, breaking, echoing through the trees, bouncing off rocks and trunks like some desperate, jagged prayer. âI swear, if this is some stupid game, I willâI will find you, I swear!â
He stumbled, cursed, breath ragged, heart hammering like a war drum. Every second that passed without you made his chest ache, made his stomach twist into knots of fear and anger he couldnât contain. His voice went hoarse, throat raw from screaming your name, and still, no answer. Then it hit him. It wasnât a joke. You werenât here.
The reality struck like a blade, you were gone. Panic twisted into pure, jagged terror. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. The familiar smirk, the teasing arrogance, it was gone, replaced by a raw, almost feral desperation.
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Not here. Not when he needed every ounce of him to track you down. He ran, harder now, senses sharp, mind racing through possibilities, traps, every route you could have been taken. He felt every heartbeat of the forest as though it were a drum signaling danger.
âY/N!â he screamed again, voice breaking, raw, shaking. âI know you can hear me! Stop this! Stop hiding! This isnât funny!â
Branches tore at him. Roots snagged his boots. He didnât care. Every instinct, every cell in his body, screamed for you. Fear, rage, need, blended into one jagged, unbearable, all-consuming force.
He stopped only briefly to scan for tracks, to notice small disturbances in the soil, the way the leaves were trampled. And then he followed them, relentless, single-minded. His mind shut out everything else, he couldnât process hunger, exhaustion, pain. Only you. Only finding you. Only making sure you were safe.
Tears finally threatened to spill over as he traced the path deeper into the forest, each step frantic, breath ragged, voice breaking as he called your name over and over. Rage mixed with desperation. Panic laced with fear. âY/N⌠please⌠come back⌠pleaseâŚâ
Every muscle in him screamed, but he didnât stop. He wouldnât stop. Not until he found you. Not until you were back in his arms. Not until you were safe. The feral, obsessive fire that burned between you in bed now consumed him in an entirely different way, protective, desperate, dangerous.
And somewhere, deep in his gut, he knew that whoever had taken you was about to find out exactly what happened when they crossed him.
The world had narrowed to a single, maddening point: you were missing. Every breath Jake drew over the past few days had been shallow, jagged, tinged with panic and rage. Sleep had become a luxury he couldnât afford; food a mechanical afterthought. The world outside the hunt, everything, everyone, ceased to exist.
From sunrise to deep into the night, he drove, patrolled, interrogated, and tracked. Every lead, every whisper, every scrap of evidence became his lifeline. His knuckles were perpetually white on the steering wheel, nails digging into leather, muscles coiled like springs ready to snap. Every road, alley, and back street blurred together into one endless, frantic pursuit.
âY/N,â he muttered to himself constantly, voice low and rough from yelling into the wind on forested roads and empty streets. âWhere the fuck are you?â
Maps, satellite feeds, phone intercepts, all became part of a single obsession. He didnât eat properly. Didnât sleep properly. Didnât care about anything but you. Every thought was you. Every heartbeat screamed your name.
Hours turned into days. The forest, the city, the country roads, they all bled together. His voice was hoarse from screaming into the night air, calling your name, the desperation in it raw, jagged, almost unbearable.
He had thought he knew patience. He had thought he could control his rage. But that was before you were ripped away from him. Before he realized how fragile life could be. Before he understood how terrifyingly alone he felt without you.
Every failed lead, every shadow he chased, was another spike of panic in his chest. Every time he thought he might be too late, adrenaline surged, and he pushed harder. Faster. Further. Nothing mattered but tracking you, finding you, bringing you back.
The third night, driving along a desolate backroad, Jake paused for the first time. Sweat slicked his hair, eyes bloodshot, jaw tight. He had been chasing ghosts and hunches for two days straight, but something in the signals, in the subtle digital traces he had painstakingly pieced together, finally clicked.
The warehouse. The warehouse. The same one you had been planning to infiltrate with him. The one youâd scoped days ago. His mind exploded with relief, fear, and a feral, protective rage so hot it felt like fire in his chest.
âYou son of aââ he muttered, voice low and vicious. âThey didnât⌠they couldnâtâŚâ
The car roared back to life beneath him as he slammed the accelerator, tires screaming, engine growling in tandem with the storm of adrenaline in his veins. Every red light, every sharp turn, every curve was a blur. He didnât care about caution, rules, or consequences. He only cared about you. The forest, the roads, and the city outskirts, they all dissolved around him. Nothing existed except the warehouse, the knowledge of where you were, and the feral, burning need to tear the world apart if it meant getting to you.
By the time he reached the perimeter of the warehouse, night had fully descended, thick and suffocating, a velvet darkness that mirrored his mood. Every instinct screamed at him: there would be traps, guards, surveillance. He didnât care.
âYou donât get to hurt her,â he muttered under his breath, fingers tightening on the steering wheel until the leather creaked. âYou donât get to touch her. Not a scratch. Not a word. Not a breath. You touch her, I swearââ
He didnât finish the sentence, didnât have to. The rage was enough to fuel the impossible, to make him move with inhuman speed and precision. Climbing out of the car, he moved with a predatorâs grace, dark eyes scanning, every sense hyper-alert. The air smelled of oil, concrete, and something fouler beneath it, fear, threat, human malevolence. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, not from exertion, but from pure, frantic terror that someone had hurt you. Or worse.
Every step toward the warehouse ramped the intensity, muscles coiled, ready to strike. Every shadow could be a trap, every sound a threat. And yet, there was nothing else on his mind except finding you, holding you, making sure you were alive.
Inside the warehouse perimeter, his training kicked in automatically. He knew how to move silently, how to read patterns, how to bypass cameras, how to anticipate human behavior, but every decision was sharpened to a razor by panic.
He paused near a vantage point overlooking the main compound. Guards patrolled with methodical precision, unaware of the storm that was about to descend. His eyes scanned for any sign of you, and then, there.
A small, restrained figure, tied and bruised, shifting slightly, hair falling across a familiar face.
âY/NâŚâ The sound escaped his throat before he could stop it, low, ragged, and laced with every emotion he refused to admit. Rage. Terror. Love. Desire. Protection. Everything.
You flinched at the sound, looking up toward the source, eyes wide, fear-stricken. And then, recognition. Relief. Confusion.
âJake?â Your voice trembled.
He didnât answer immediately. He didnât need to. His whole body screamed, vibrating with feral energy. Every step he took was predatory, calculated, but with the overwhelming singular goal of reaching you.
He vaulted barriers, neutralized a single guard with precise, silent fury, moving faster than the human eye could track. By the time he reached you, his chest heaving, sweat-slick, dark eyes wild with emotion, he dropped to his knees in front of you, hands gripping the restraints around your wrists. âDonât. Ever. Get taken from me again,â he growled, voice low, dangerous, vibrating with barely-contained rage. âDo you hear me?â
Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he didnât lower his guard, didnât allow himself the relief just yet. Not while you were still restrained, not while he still needed to ensure you were safe. His fingers dug into the chain until the metal creaked, precise and controlled despite the feral energy radiating off him.
You shivered, partially from cold, partially from the ferocity of his presence. âIâIâm fine,â you whispered, voice shaky. âJake⌠itâs okay.â
âNot okay!â His hands tightened, enough to make you flinch. âNot okay doesnât even begin to cover it! You couldâve died! You couldâve! Do you understand how insane I went trying to track you down? How every second without you felt likeâlike the world was ending?!â
You flinched at the raw intensity, chest tight, breath caught in your throat. And yet, a shiver of something else, a mixture of fear, awe, and the residual fire between you, spiked through you.
One arm wrapped around your back, the other cradling your head, holding you close. His face buried in your hair, hot, desperate, trembling, but still impossibly controlled.
âYouâre not going anywhere,â he muttered, low, each word a growl, a promise, a threat. âNot ever. You hear me? Not ever.â
Your fingers clutched at his jacket, heart pounding, still shaking from adrenaline, fear, and relief. âIâIâm here,â you whispered, voice barely audible over the storm of his heartbeat against yours.
He lifted his head slightly, eyes dark, wild, glinting like a predator about to strike, but not at you. At anyone who would dare harm you. And yet⌠there was another fire burning in his gaze too. That familiar, messy, feral heat that had always existed between you, igniting instantly at skin-on-skin contact.
âDo you understand what I wouldâve done if I hadnât found you?â he growled, lips brushing your temple, teeth gritted, arms still tight around you. âDo you understand?â
âYes,â you breathed, voice trembling, chest tight, mind spinning from the sheer intensity of his proximity, his desperation, and the fire radiating off him.
He exhaled sharply, pressing a rough kiss to your temple, then against your lips, one hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer. âGood,â he muttered, voice low, dark, but soft for just a heartbeat before the edge of his feral intensity returned. âBecause if anyone ever tries to take you from me again⌠I swearâŚâ
He didnât finish. He didnât need to. The promise, the threat, the fire, and the possessive, consuming obsession were all in the way he held you. Breathless, shivering, adrenaline still surging, you realized the hunt wasnât just over. It would never be over, not for him, not for you, not while the fire between you burned this hot, this messy, this uncontrollable.
And as he finally allowed himself a heartbeat to exhale, still wild, still feral, still impossibly, achingly protective, you knew, nothing in the world could separate you two again.
You didnât get a chance to catch your breath. The chains bit into your wrists, cold and heavy, and panic surged through you again as the warehouseâs shadows pressed in. Jake crouched beside you, eyes blazing, dark and feral, every muscle coiled like a predator.
âYouâre not staying here,â he growled, voice low, dangerous, trembling with rage. âNot for a second. Not ever.â
Before you could protest, he pulled a small saw from the side of his belt, eyes never leaving yours, jaw tight. âStay still,â he ordered, voice clipped, though every word vibrated with barely-contained fury. âIâm getting you out.â
You could barely keep your heart from hammering in your throat, the mix of fear, relief, and the overwhelming presence of him too much to process. The sound of metal grinding against metal echoed in the cavernous warehouse, sparks flying as he worked. Every motion was precise, controlled, yet fueled by the storm of emotions surging through him.
âAlmost there,â he muttered, voice rough, eyes dark with fire. One last scrape, one last flex of the saw, and the chains clattered to the floor.
Free.
Without a word, he lifted you in his arms, brutal, yet tender in a way that made your chest ache, and cradled you bridal style. Your head rested against his shoulder, and the lingering scent of sweat, wood, and his skin enveloped you. You could feel the pulse of his rage, the fire in his veins, the desperate protective need that made his grip firm, unyielding, impossible to escape from.
âDonât even think about moving,â he muttered, voice low, dangerous. âIâll carry you out of here whether you like it or not, and if anyone tries to stop me⌠I swearââ
His words trailed off into a growl as he stormed through the warehouse, each step pounding against the concrete floor, his boots echoing in the cavernous space. You clutched at him instinctively, arms around his neck, legs lightly wrapped for balance, adrenaline making every nerve scream.
Outside, the cold night air hit you like a shock, but Jake didnât slow. He moved with a terrifying, almost supernatural speed, muscles taut, every sense alert, every glance sweeping the perimeter for threats. His lips brushed the top of your head briefly, a silent promise, a reminder that he was here, and no one would take you from him again.
âAlmost there,â he growled, voice tight, raw. âHold on, Y/N. Youâre safe now. Iâve got you.â
And in that moment, carried against him, adrenaline and exhaustion crashing over you both, you realized something terrifying and undeniable: the feral, obsessive, dangerous heat between you two was far from over.
The drive to the targetâs compound was silent, but the air between you was taut, like a drawn bow ready to snap. Jakeâs jaw was tight, knuckles white on the wheel, dark eyes fixed on the road ahead. You sat beside him, gear strapped in, weapon in hand, nerves coiled so tight you could feel them in your teeth. Every inch of your body still hummed with the memory of the last few days, kidnapping, fear, his feral desperation, the weight of him carrying you out like you were the most precious thing in the world.
âY/N,â he muttered, voice low, rough, dangerous, as though speaking aloud would keep the tension at bay. âWhen we go in⌠donât hesitate. Donât stop. Nothing. Nothing in there matters except getting him.â
âI wonât,â you replied, voice steady, but adrenaline prickling your skin like fire. âYou focus on the exit. Iâll handle the target.â
He glanced at you, and that familiar, messy heat flickered in his dark gaze, the mix of professional respect, raw desire, and feral need. âDonât get hurt,â he growled, almost a whisper, but your chest tightened because you knew he wasnât just talking about the mission.
The compound loomed ahead, a fortress of concrete, steel, and shadows. You could see guards patrolling, lights swinging in mechanical arcs. Every step, every motion, every breath had to be perfect. One slip could mean failure, or worse.
Jake slipped out first, silent as a shadow, crouching low as he scouted the perimeter. You followed, muscles coiled, senses screaming, heart hammering. Every instinct, honed over years of missions, screamed alert. Yet beneath it all, there was that lingering tension, that edge of heat and rage between you that had never left.
Inside, chaos unfolded in slow, controlled bursts. Guards moved too close, unaware of the predator duo in their midst. Jake neutralized threats with precise strikes, silent, lethal, muscles tensed and efficient. You moved like a ghost, blade glinting, every motion precise, eyes locked on the target.
And then you saw him, the man behind everything. The kidnapping. The illegal operation. The oppression. Sitting smugly in his office, unaware that the storm had arrived.
Jakeâs voice, low and feral, hissed into your ear. âGet him. Donât hesitate.â
You didnât. The blade in your hand moved fast, clean, controlled. Heart hammering, adrenaline roaring, you struck with lethal precision. Every second stretched into eternity as the man fell, and a dark satisfaction, mixed with the lingering fire of what youâd endured together, surged through you.
Jake moved to your side immediately, eyes scanning the room, muscles taut, hand brushing yours in a fleeting, feral reassurance. You didnât need to speak. He knew. You both knew.
But as the adrenaline ebbed, the tension between you flared again, familiar, dangerous, untamed. Every touch, every glance, every breath between you was electric. He pressed close as you made your exit, a low growl escaping him. âYouâre mine,â he murmured, voice rough, dark, carrying the weight of everything, the fear, the desperation, the heat that had never cooled.
You shivered, heart racing, pulse hammering in sync with his. âI know,â you whispered back, knowing the war between you, the mission, the obsession, the fire, was far from over.
The night outside the compound was cold, dark, and alive with tension. And as you both vanished into the shadows, side by side, weapons still ready, hearts still racing, it was clear: the world could throw anything at you, but together, feral, unstoppable, you were a storm.
The ride back to the agency was quiet, but nothing about the air between you two was calm. The mission was done, the target was dead, the operation dismantled, the threat erased, but the adrenaline still coursed through your veins, hot and electric, leaving your skin buzzing and your nerves raw.
Jake drove with a grim focus, eyes on the road, jaw tight. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready to spring at a momentâs notice, and the faint sheen of sweat on his skin caught the dim light in a way that made your stomach twist. You sat beside him, gear still strapped in, weapon resting across your lap, shoulders stiff, chest heaving, mind racing with everything that had happened, the kidnapping, the hunt, the adrenaline, the fire that had never cooled between you.
âYou okay?â he finally muttered, voice low, rough, almost hesitant, though his eyes flicked to you like he couldnât help it.
âIâm fine,â you replied, voice steady, though your pulse was still racing. âWe got him. Thatâs what matters.â
He grunted, not convinced, but didnât press. Instead, he flexed his fingers over the wheel, tension coiling through him, and the silence stretched, heavy, charged, dangerous. You could feel him, the heat of his body, the residual feral energy, lingering just beneath the surface, waiting to erupt again.
By the time the agency building came into view, the world had shifted back into its clinical, structured reality, the harsh fluorescent lights, the sterile hallways, the hum of computers. Everything was back to normal, and yet nothing was the same. Not for you. Not for him.
As you stepped inside, the agents glanced briefly, nodding, unaware of the storm that had passed through, unaware of the tension crackling between you like live wire. Jake moved beside you, silent, protective, every movement still sharp, precise, and impossibly tense.
You both knew you should debrief, should report, should return to protocol. But neither of you could ignore the heat, the feral connection, the raw, simmering energy between you. Every glance, every brush of skin, every shared breath was a reminder that the mission wasnât over. Not really.
Jakeâs hand brushed yours as you passed the elevator. Just a touch, light, fleeting, but enough to make your chest twist, to make every nerve flare. He didnât comment. He didnât have to. You felt it. You knew it.
The debriefing room was cold, sterile, and quiet, agents around you typing, reviewing, moving. You and Jake sat side by side, weapons down but eyes locked, the silence between you screaming louder than any words could.
âYou handled him well,â he finally muttered, low, just for you. Not praise, not flirtation. But something sharper, acknowledgment, heat, warning.
âSame goes for you,â you shot back, voice smooth, but your pulse thrummed with the memory of him, the feral need that had carried him through the hunt, the way he had gone absolutely feral to save you.
He didnât respond. Just a flicker of a smirk, dark and dangerous, brushing across his lips before he turned back to the debrief. But you saw it, the fire behind his eyes, the tension coiling, ready to ignite again the moment the rules allowed.
And in that moment, in the sterile halls of the agency, after bullets, chains, and hunts through forests and warehouses, one truth was clear: you were both unstoppable, feral, and chaotic, and no protocol, no mission, no walls of the agency could ever contain what burned between you.
The mission was over. The threat was gone. But the fire between you? That was far from extinguished.
This cutie patootie genre of heeseung is my favourite đ like how can he be so cute, like he could just fit in my pocket𼺠My poor heart can't handle this.....GUYS THIS CUTIE TRIGGERED MY CUTENESS AGGRESSION đâ¤ď¸
Synopsis: When you transfer to a new school, with predatory intent. You set your sights on Lee Heeseung. Drawn to his presence, you find yourself caught between hunger and obsession, questioning whether having a taste will ever be enough, or if youâll need to keep him forever.
Wordcount: 31.6k
a/n: this is just pure tension and dirty smut.. see this is why i shouldnt write during ovulation... anyways i really wanted to implement a push and pull between you and heeseung!! hope the anon who requested it enjoys! reblogs and commentary are appreciated!
Everybody noticed when you transferred mid-semester.
The school wasnât the kind where new faces made waves. It was the kind of place where bullies ruled the hallways, nerds got stepped on like gum, and your worth was decided by how expensive your shoes were, who wanted to fuck you, or who was scared of you.
So when you walked through the front doors, like a lit match dropped in a fireplace soaked in gasoline, the entire building lit up.
Miniskirt barely clinging to your hips. Tight, almost sheer top showing the faint curve of your ribs, with one bra strap deliberately slipping off your shoulder. High stockings held by bows that matched the one tied in your hair.Â
Cute. Perfect. Dangerous.
You looked like the kind of girl who didnât even know how much attention she commanded. Like you werenât doing anything wrong â just being yourself, all dolled up and soft-spoken, smiling politely like no one was choking on their own spit watching you walk past. You looked like every teenage boyâs wet dream as you skipped through the hallways on your way to the counselorâs office â like you hadnât already set the school on fire just by existing. Your skirt swayed with every step, pleats dancing just above mid-thigh, and your socks hugged your legs like they were made to be looked at. You werenât walking fast. You werenât in a rush. You were gliding â like you had all the time in the world to let their eyes follow you.Â
And they did.
Some boys leaned forward as they passed, walking just a little slower, like maybe, maybe theyâd catch the color of your panties peeking out from underneath. You acted like you didnât notice. Like the top of your stocking tugging down your thigh was all accidental.
By the time you reached the counselorâs office, the weight of their stares was behind you like heat rising off pavement. You opened the door with a soft smile and a quiet âHi,â like you hadnât just left chaos in your wake. The counselor barely looked up. Just handed you your schedule with a tired voice and told you someone would be along shortly to show you around campus. So you nodded sweetly, said thank you, and took the nearest chair with a gentle bounce as you sat. You crossed your legs slowly and popped a piece of strawberry gum between your lips. You chewed with just enough sound to be noticed. Just enough to make the secretary glance your way. She was older, the judgment baked into every tight line on her face. Her eyes scanned the hem of your skirt, the bow in your hair, the way your bra strap peeked lazily from under your top.
You didnât look back at her. You just smiled softly and kept chewing, pretending you didnât see the way her mouth thinned like she wanted to throw a jacket over your shoulders and scrub your lips clean.
It was quiet. For a moment. Then the door slammed open.
You blinked, gum slowing between your teeth, as the mood shifted immediately. Someone walked in like he owned the space â tall, lean, a little dangerous. Baggy jeans slung low on his hips. Matching jacket unzipped just enough to show the white tank top beneath it, clinging to his chest in a way that made your head tilt. His hair was messy, jaw sharp, lips set in a scowl like someone had pissed him off the moment he rolled out of bed. And that scent â clean, sharp, sweat and cologne and something that smelled like a bad decision in the best possible way.
Hmm. Bingo.
He didnât look at you, so you watched him instead.
The secretary clicked her tongue, clearly unimpressed. "Heeseung." The way she said it â like it wasnât the first time, and definitely wouldnât be the last â told you everything you needed to know.
So that was his name. Heeseung. Nice.
He grumbled something about how it âwasnât that deepâ and âthe pencil slippedâ, and that he didnât mean to fling it across the room and hit someone in the face.
You smirked behind your gum. Trouble. The fun kind. The kind you liked. You crossed your legs a little tighter, popped your gum with a soft snap, and waited for him to finally look your way.
It took a moment.
Heeseung was too busy brushing the secretary off, muttering something about detention being pointless and how âitâs not like the guy died or anything.â His voice was deep, smooth, a little rough around the edges â the kind that scraped against your spine in just the right way. Then, finally, he looked over his shoulder. His eyes flicked toward you lazily â maybe out of habit, maybe just bored curiosity â but the second they landed on you, something shifted. His brows lifted slightly. Just a tick. His gaze dipped lower, took in the length of your legs, the bow slipping at the top of your stocking, the gloss on your lips. And then he looked back up.
You smiled. Not wide. Just enough to be seen. Just enough to say, I noticed you noticing.
Heeseung held your gaze for a second too long. Like maybe he was waiting for you to get shy, look away, fidget. You didnât. You just blew a slow, lazy bubble with your gum, watching him through your lashes as it popped â sharp and soft at once.
His jaw flexed. He turned back to the secretary like he hadnât just stared at you like he was starving.
The woman sighed. "Youâre already here, Heeseung. You might as well make yourself useful." That caught your attention. The secretary reached for a copy of your schedule, glanced at you like she still thought you were the devil in a miniskirt, then handed it to him with a tight-lipped frown. "Show her around. Sheâs new."
Heeseung blinked. "Me?"
"Yes, you," she snapped. "Unless youâd rather be cleaning gum off the lockers again." He scoffed under his breath but took the paper, turning back toward you. You were already standing, adjusting your skirt with that same innocent air, gum tucked into the side of your cheek. "Guess Iâm your tour guide," he muttered, eyes scanning your figure one more time â slower now, bolder. Like he was trying to figure you out already. You smiled sweetly and tilted your head. "Lucky me." Heeseung grinned back, slow and cocky, the kind of grin that came from getting too much attention and never being told no. He started walking, and you followed beside him, your steps light, your scent even lighter, that faint mix of strawberries, lotion, and something sweeter, something warmer, that didnât come from anything on a shelf.
âSo,â he started, tone casual but dipped in heat, âthis is the west wing. Nothing special unless you count the janitor closet people like to hook up in after lunch.â You blinked at him, all wide-eyed and unbothered. âHow informative.â He chuckled, glancing sideways like he was testing the waters. âHey, I believe in a full tour. Might as well know where people lose their virginity.â You didnât laugh. Just kept walking, that soft click of your heels echoing down the hall. You let him talk. Let him show off. He liked the sound of his voice, especially when he thought it was making you blush. But you didnât blush. You were patient. You were precise. You were picky with your bait â never reeled it in too quickly, never took more than you needed. Just a slow drip. A gentle rot. Enough to get them hooked. Enough to keep them craving.
Heeseung though⌠he was different. He was cocky, yes. Arrogant. But not stupid. Not oblivious. There was something about him, the way his voice dipped when he leaned a little closer, the way he tried not to stare at your chest when you leaned forward just enough to tug your sock up higher. He thought he was in control. And that was what made him fun.
He waved his hand lazily as you approached the cafeteria. âShit food. Donât even bother unless you like soggy fries and government-grade depression.â You hummed in response, pretending to look around. But really, you were watching him. The way his eyes dropped. The way he swallowed. The way his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt like he didnât mean to. And thatâs when you decided: you were going to take him apart. Slowly. Thoroughly. Break him down so deliciously that by the time you were done, there would be nothing left of him but you.
His thoughts? You.
His sleep? Filled with you.
His hands? Shaking when you werenât near.
You wouldnât feed on him all at once. No â you were going to savor him.Â
And God, wasnât he a tasty piece of meat?
Heeseung wasnât the type to chase. Or at least, he thought he wasnât.
It started subtle. A step that landed just a little too near yours. A brush of his arm against your shoulder when he pointed out a hallway. The way his voice got lower when he leaned in to say something that didnât need to be whispered. And every time, heâd catch himself. Blink. Pull back. Laugh like it was nothing. Like you werenât affecting him. Like he wasnât already circling the drain.
You just smiled softly, eyes wide, innocent, and tilted your head like you didnât notice. Like you didnât feel the tension in his shoulders every time your sleeve brushed his skin. Like you didnât see the way his eyes lingered just a second too long on the corner of your lips when you chewed your gum, slow and sweet. But of course you noticed. You noticed everything. You were already slipping into his thoughts, like smoke under a locked door. He didnât even realize he was inviting you in.
One moment heâd be talking about the gym, the broken equipment, the coach who didnât give a shit and the next heâd be trailing off mid-sentence, staring at the bow in your hair like he couldnât remember what he was saying.
Excellent.
You werenât just toying with Heeseung â you were poisoning him. Bit by bit. Smile by smile. Lacing yourself into his mind like a drug. Familiar. Addictive. Dangerous. You loved playing with men. Their hunger, their pride. But what you loved more than anything was playing with their ego â their dominance. Watching the confidence crack. Watching the arrogance flicker as doubt settled in their eyes.
Heeseung was no different. He talked like he was in control. Walked like the school belonged to him. Smirked like he already had you figured out. But his fingers twitched when yours brushed his by âaccident.â His eyes dropped to your lips mid-sentence. His breath hitched when you tugged your skirt down just a little. You said almost nothing. He said everything.
He was starting to feel it â that itch beneath the skin. That heat blooming in his chest. That confusion. Like he couldnât tell if he was turned on, paranoid, or both. He kept catching himself. Wondering why he was getting so close. Why your scent made his throat dry. Why his heart beat faster when you looked at him just a little too long.
Poor boy.
The tour had ended, technically. Heâd shown you every hallway, every bathroom, every busted vending machine and creaking stairwell. Yet, for some reason, neither of you had left.
You stood in the dim hallway by the back stairwell, where the lights flickered and barely anyone passed through after third period. The silence between you was thick now, almost syrupy. It clung to the walls, to your skin, to the air around him like humidity. Like something he couldnât shake. Heeseung leaned a shoulder against the wall, arms crossed, pretending to be relaxed, but his jaw was tight, his fingers twitching like they couldnât decide whether to stay clenched or reach for you. âSo,â he said, licking his lips, âyou always dress like that, or is it just your first day kinda thing?â
You looked up at him, blinking. Slow. Innocent. âI like bows,â you answered, soft as cotton. That wasnât an answer. Not really. But he still smirked, like he won something. Like he hadnât just lost the thread of the conversation entirely. âPeople are gonna talk,â he added, voice a little rougher. âYou show up looking like that, walk around like thatâŚâ He trailed off, eyes flickering down your legs, then snapping back up like he was ashamed he looked. âLike what?â you asked, tilting your head. Heeseung opened his mouth, then closed it. Shrugged. âYou know what I mean.â
You smiled. âNo. I really donât.â
There was that flicker â just for a moment â of uncertainty behind his eyes. You saw it. Tasted it. He was getting tangled. Fast.
âAnyway,â he said, clearing his throat. âYouâll survive. This schoolâs shitty, but itâs not that bad if you know how to play the game.â
You took a step closer. Just one. Not even enough to be inappropriate â just enough to make him flinch ever so slightly. Not from fear. From something else. Like his body reacted before his brain caught up. âIs that what youâre doing, Heeseung?â you asked gently, looking up at him through your lashes. âPlaying a game?â Your voice was low, sweet. So sweet it burned.
He blinked. Then laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to shake something off. âYouâre weird,â he muttered. âCute, but weird.â You popped your gum again. It echoed in the stairwell like a snap of tension breaking. But it didnât break. It thickened.Â
He didnât leave. Didnât walk away. He stood there, still too close, still watching you, still trying to figure out why his chest felt too warm and his thoughts felt like they were being rewritten.
He didnât know, yet, that he was being rewritten.
And you already knew how it would end.
It always started like this â soft tension, lingering glances, their pride still intact, their minds still convinced they were in control. They never saw it coming. Not until they were too deep to claw their way back. Not until the ache in their chest had a name. Your name.
Heeseung was still pretending. Still smirking. Still leaning against the wall like his heart wasnât beating too fast. Like he didnât just glance at your mouth again. And again.
He didnât speak, not for a long moment. Because he couldnât tell if the silence between you was heavy or sweet. If the warmth under his skin was attraction or fever. He only knew one thing: the air felt different with you in it.
He was looking at you like he wanted to say something â anything â but couldnât figure out what wouldnât sound stupid coming out of his mouth. You just looked at him. Smiled. Tilted your head like you were curious. Like he was the one being studied. And then you said, soft and simple, âYou get flustered easily, huh?â His face didnât change, but his body did â a subtle stiffening of his jaw, the way his thumb tapped against his arm. Defensive, but unsure why. He scoffed. âFlustered? You wish.â
You blinked innocently. âDo I?â
He clicked his tongue, looking away â but you saw it. The shift in his expression. The brief twitch in his lips. He was slipping, just a little. And you hadnât even touched him. You could. You wanted to. But no. Not yetâŚ
No one liked a meal that wasnât tender.
So instead, you stepped past him slowly, trailing your fingertips along the cool railing of the stairwell â your hips swaying just enough, your scent wrapping around the space like a ribbon. Sticky sweet. Lingering.
And Heeseung? He leaned forward without even realizing it. Just a slight shift of weight. Barely noticeable â unless you were watching for it. His body moved before his mind could catch up. Muscles reacting to a pull he hadnât yet named. His head turned, his eyes locked on the soft swing of your skirt as you walked away â back toward the noise and bodies of the main hallway.
He stood there for half a second too long.
Then he followed. Not quickly, not with purpose. But his legs carried him anyway, a few steps behind â eyes fixed on the dip of your waist, the rise of your thighs, the curve just below your hemline. Mouth slightly open. Breathing shallow. Like he didnât know whether he wanted to kiss you, taste you, or drop to his knees.Â
He looked like a puppy following after something it couldnât have.
You walked like you didnât know. Like you couldnât feel his stare burning holes into the back of your thighs. Like you werenât already unraveling him with every sway of your hips. You didnât need to see his face to know what expression he wore. You could picture it perfectly: slightly parted lips, pupils just a little too wide, ego starting to fray at the edges.
The hunger was there. The confusion. The first signs of addiction.
And it wasnât just him.
As you stepped back into the hallways â now buzzing with students rushing to class, lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking against tile â you felt it again. That familiar hum beneath your skin.
Eyes everywhere.
Male students who slowed mid-step just to look. Teachers who glanced up from their clipboard and stared too long, jaws clenched tight like they forgot they had jobs to do. Even a few girls â not all curious, not all judging. Some looked at you like they wanted to be you. Others like they wanted you. Same expressions. Same open-mouthed hunger. Same desperation.
Ah. The gift you had â it was ecstatic.
You didn't just walk through spaces. You owned them. Without ever lifting a finger. Without saying a word. And the best part? They all thought it was their fault. Their thoughts. Their weakness. Their guilt. How delicious.
You didnât stop until you reached the door of your next class. Your hand brushed the metal frame gently, almost like a reminder to yourself and then you paused. Turned.
Heeseung nearly walked right into you.
He stopped just in time â but too close, breath catching in his throat. He blinked, like snapping out of a daze, like coming up for air and realizing he didnât know how deep he'd gone. You looked up at him, lashes fluttering. His mouth opened, then shut. He shifted back half a step, like distance would help.Â
It wouldnât.
"You're following me," you said softly. Not accusing. Not smug. Just⌠curious. Heeseung scoffed, but there was no weight behind it. âI was showing you around.â The lie was flimsy. He knew it. So did you.
You leaned just a little closer. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just enough for him to feel the heat of your breath when you said: "Are you always this generous with new girls?" His throat bobbed. He looked like he wanted to say something cocky, wanted to reclaim whatever pride he felt slipping, but nothing came out. Just a half-smirk, shaky at the edges.
Perfect.
You smiled again and stepped inside the classroom. Behind you, Heeseung stayed still. You didnât see it, but you felt it â the way he stared at the spot where you stood, like maybe if he waited long enough, heâd understand what had just happened to him. But he wouldnât.
By the end of the day, you had half the schoolâs male population wrapped around your little finger. Jocks, nerds, theater kids, even a few who claimed to have girlfriends â all of them fell so quickly under your spell it was almost disappointing. Fetching your water, opening doors, stammering compliments. They trailed after you like puppies, eyes wide and glassy, like one smile from you could rewrite their entire sense of self-worth. Weak minds, all of them.
Pathetic, you thought, clicking your tongue as one particularly brave â or particularly stupid â jock reached out a hand to graze your waist in the hallway. Without missing a beat, you slapped your notebook across his chest. Hard enough to make a sound, soft enough to still look cute. âDonât touch,â you said sweetly, tilting your head. âNot unless I touch first.â Your voice never rose. Your smile never faded. And yet he stammered out an apology like youâd drawn blood.
Rules were rules. And they all obeyed.
Except one.
Heeseung.
The only one who hadnât looked at you again since the tour. The only one who didnât fall into orbit. He didnât come near you after that first encounter. Didnât sit beside you in class. Didnât meet your eyes in the halls. Didnât stare. Not obviously, anyway. And it⌠hurt. A little. But more than thatâit exhilarated you. Because his mind wasnât breaking easily. He was fighting it. Heeseung wasnât just strong physically. That much was obvious from the first look. But mentally? Resistant. Aware. The kind of prey that bit back.
Oh, youâd picked a good one this time.
You could feel the pull between you, that invisible threadâtight, electric, humming low in your bones. Your hunger ached for him. It called to him. Whispered to him in the background of his thoughts even if he didnât recognize it yet.
You sat through your last class, eyes on the board, pen lazily twirling between your fingers. On the surface, you looked focused. Attentive. Sweet. But your mind was far, far away.
Daydreaming. About him.
About the way his skin would feel under your fingertips. About the look on his face when he finally gave inâred-cheeked, lips parted, his breath stuttering as he begged for more. You imagined his voiceâhow rough it might sound when it cracked around your name. How his hands, strong and calloused, might grip your hips like he needed you to keep him grounded. How delicious it would be to have him under you, trying so hard to keep his pride while you took it from him one moan at a time. Heâd be stubborn. Of course. Youâd make him cry for it. And youâd kiss the tears right off his cheeks.
Your lips curled slightly. Not enough for anyone to notice. But inside? You were starving. And Heeseung⌠oh, he was going to be a feast.
Noâokayâwhat the fuck. You were going to cry. Not because you were weak. Because you had underestimated Heeseung.
It had been a full week since your transfer. A week of teasing stares, soft smiles, whispered games in crowded hallways. A week where you bled your charm into every inch of this godforsaken school. And yet?
Heeseung was still out of reach.
Not only was he busy â with whatever the hell he did when he wasnât brooding in his oversized jacket and pretending he wasnât born to worship you â but he had the audacity to flirt with other girls.
Other girls.
You watched it happen. Watched the way he leaned just a little too close to that loud blonde near the vending machine. How he laughed at something that clearly wasnât funny just to get a smile. How his arm lingered on the lockers next to someone who wasnât you. It wasnât just avoidance. It was defiance. He was ignoring you.
And you? You were starving. You hated what hunger did to you. Made you sloppy. Desperate. You hadnât gone this long without a proper fix in⌠God, weeks?
You tried to wait. You told yourself he was worth it. That you could hold out until he cracked. But he didnât crack. So you went after the small bait. The ones that followed you like flies. The ones who didnât resist. The placeholders. You batted your lashes. Let them carry your books, offer you gum, trip over their own shoes just to hear you laugh. You let them think they had a chance. Let them think you cared. You leaned into their space and licked the sugar from your lips as they melted in front of you. And when they got close enough, when their breath hitched and their thoughts blurred⌠You fed.
It eased the ache, just enough to breathe. Just enough to walk straight again. But it wasnât satisfying. They didnât make your skin burn. They didnât make your chest twist with frustration and longing and something you couldnât even name. They didnât make your fingers curl in your sleeves with need or your mind go blank in the middle of class just because you thought of their voice.
They were crumbs.
Heeseung was the whole fucking meal.
And now, you were done waiting. He wanted to play this way? Fine.
The next morning, you walked into school like sin dressed up as a schoolgirl fantasy. Your skirt was shorter than regulation by at least three inches â black, pleated, swaying dangerously with every step. No stockings this time. Just bare legs, soft and smooth, and knee-high socks that clung perfectly to your thighs with tiny satin bows at the top. Your top was tighter than it shouldâve been, barely buttoned at the chest, the curve of your cleavage peeking out like it hadnât even occurred to you. A lace-trimmed white bra strap slipped deliberately off your shoulder, just barely hidden by the light cardigan you draped over your arms like an afterthought. Hair up. Gloss thick. Lashes soft. You looked like you belonged in detention before first period even started. And you didnât care.
You hadnât even been at your locker for sixty seconds, pretending to fumble through your lip glosses like you were oblivious to the stares crawling up and down your body when you felt it. That presence. That scent. Heeseung.
You didnât turn right away. You waited. Let his gaze drag up your thighs, over the hem of your skirt, pausing â lingering â on the exposed sliver of stomach between your waistband and top. You felt it, sharp and possessive, like a hand around your waist that hadnât quite dared to touch.
Then you turned. Slowly. Sweetly.
And there he was, leaning lazily against the locker beside you, eyes dark, jaw tight, tongue resting against the inside of his cheek like he was fighting every instinct in his body. âHey, sweetheart,â he said, voice dipped in heat. âNew look?â You blinked up at him. All sugar and softness. âHmm? Oh, this?â You tugged gently at your skirt, like you just noticed it barely covered anything. âIt was warm today. Didnât think itâd be a big deal.â His eyes dropped. Just for a second. And just like that â you won.
Heeseungâs smirk faltered. His hands slid into his pockets like he didnât trust himself. His body leaned closer, just a hair, then pulled back again like being near you physically hurt. âYâknow,â he said, licking his lips like he was testing the waters, âmost girls wouldnât get away with that skirt.â You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted like you didnât understand. âWhy not?â He hesitated. A slow grin curved his lips â back in his element, or at least pretending to be. âBecause itâs barely legal,â he murmured. âAnd youâre walking around like you donât even know it.â
You tilted your head. Let the silence breathe. âIs it really that short?â you asked, glancing down at yourself with faux concern, tugging the hem lower with two delicate fingers, only for it to ride right back up again.
His eyes snapped to the movement as he exhaled sharply through his nose, a quiet curse under his breath. âFucking hellâŚâ
âHm?â
âNothing,â he said too quickly. Then he leaned a little closer, voice dropping lower. âYou always this dangerous, or is this just for me?âÂ
You smiled, soft and sweet like butter wouldnât melt on your tongue. âDangerous? I donât know what you mean.â
âOh, I think you do.â
You chewed your gum slowly, watching him with that unreadable softness that made people stupid. âYouâre acting like I did something wrong, Heeseung.âÂ
He laughed, but it was quieter now. âNo, not wrong,â he muttered. âJust... tempting.â
âTempting?â you echoed, blinking innocently. âIâm just standing here.â
âExactly.â
Your lashes fluttered. âI didnât mean to be.â
He hesitated again, like he couldnât tell if you were lying or just too pretty for him to care. His gaze dropped once more to your thighs, your lips, the flash of skin beneath your cardigan. âYou should be careful,â he said quietly, like it was some kind of warning. âGuys around here donât have a lot of self-control.â
Your heart fluttered from the thrill. You leaned in, just slightly â enough to tilt the balance again. âBut you do,â you whispered, like a secret. âRight?â
He froze. And there it was â the crack in his armor. So small, so perfect. A hitch in his breath, a flash of doubt in his eyes, the barest tremble in the fingers still stuffed into his pockets. You watched him soak in the silence between you, eyes low, throat working around a breath that caught somewhere between restraint and surrender. Then his tongue slid over his bottom lip. Slow. Like he was gearing up for something. Something worse. âPinkâs a good color on you,â he said suddenly. Your lashes fluttered. You blinked, pretending to be confused. âOh?â
He nodded, eyes dipping again, this time deliberately. Right to the curve of your bra peeking from your top, the little lace bow nestled against your skin. âYeah,â he murmured. âWouldnât mind seeing where else youâre wearing it.â The words hung in the air â heavy, filthy, unmistakable.
And youâŚ
You smiled. Not shocked. Not embarrassed. Just⌠sweet. Curious. Like you hadnât fully caught the meaning. Like heâd said something silly, not sinful. âOh,â you said lightly, âyou really like pink, huh?â
Heeseung chuckled and stepped just a little closer. âYeah. Think it might be my new favorite color.â
Your gaze dropped, ever so slightly â to his mouth, then back to his eyes. He looked proud of himself. Like he thought heâd made you flustered.
How cute.
âIâll have to remember that,â you said softly, cocking your head. âIn case I want to impress you.â
He froze for just a beat too long. It hit him harder than he expected â the way your voice curled at the edges, sweet and soft but laced with something heavier. Something that clung. His tongue darted out again, slower this time, like he was trying to collect himself and couldnât quite get there.
You stepped back, not breaking eye contact. âI should go,â you said, the corners of your mouth still gently curved. And he watched you walk away â again â completely unaware of how fast the poison was working. Because you hadnât even touched him yet. And still, he was already hard. Already unraveling. Already yours.
Class was boring. At least, it shouldâve been.
The teacher droned on at the front of the room, chalk scratching against the board, while students scribbled notes half-awake. But you werenât bored. Not with Heeseung two rows over and one seat back â close enough to feel, far enough to make him look.
And he was looking.
God, was he looking.
You shifted in your seat, slowly adjusting your position just enough to let your skirt ride up another inch, the fabric sliding smooth over your thighs, revealing the soft curve leading into the beginning of your underwear. White lace. Tiny bow. Pink, of course.Â
You acted like you didnât notice.
Bent slightly forward as you scribbled in your notebook, the cardigan hanging off your shoulder just enough to expose one bra strap â delicate, lacy, peeking out from beneath your blouse with intentional innocence. You could practically feel his gaze crawling over your skin. And then you glanced over your shoulder, pencil between your lips as you chewed thoughtfully, your lashes fluttering like you were simply lost in thought.
But your eyes met his.
And he looked wrecked. One hand clenched around his pen, the other subtly adjusting under the desk. Legs shifting. Shoulders tense. His jaw was tight, and he was biting the inside of his cheek like he might groan if he didnât. He tried to cover it. Elbow propped on the desk, hand half-curled into a fist near his mouth like he was deep in thought. But the flick of his eyes back down to your legs betrayed him. Every time you shifted, his fingers twitched. Every time your tongue peeked out to wet your lips, his throat bobbed. When you pulled your cardigan off entirely â slow, quiet, innocent â exposing more of your collarbone and the soft swell of cleavage framed perfectly by your blouse, his entire body tensed like someone had punched him in the gut.
He looked embarrassed. Like he knew he shouldnât be staring. Like he couldnât stop.
You twirled a lock of hair around your finger, eyes fixed on the board like you were just trying your best to pay attention. But you didnât need to watch him to know what was happening. You could feel the hunger coming off of him. Could taste it in the air.
His legs were spread wider now, ankles locked, one hand gripping the edge of his desk so tight his knuckles were pale. And every so often, heâd shift in his seat, subtly adjusting himself in his pants and then leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs like he was hiding the evidence. You glanced back again, this time more openly, and caught his eyes. He didnât look away. Didnât even blink. You tilted your head, lips parted like you were going to say somethingâÂ
And Heeseung had to look down. He actually looked away, cheeks flushed, jaw tight, hands digging into his thighs like maybe pain would keep him focused.
You smiled. Slow. Satisfied.
Excellent.
He was back on the right track.
You kept the show going.
Stretching in your seat, letting your back arch just enough to press your chest forward. Crossing and uncrossing your legs with that innocent look of fidgety discomfort â as if you werenât perfectly aware of how your skirt rose an inch higher every time. When your pencil dropped to the floor you bent slowly, legs parted just enough, hips raised ever so slightly from the seat as you leaned forward to pick it up. The lace edge of your panties flashed between your thighs.Â
Of course, you had the attention of every guy in the class. Glazed-over eyes. Twitching knees. Shifting chairs. The teacher didnât dare call on you. The boys didnât dare breathe too loud when you moved. You were the sun in a sky of moths.
But your attention? Fixed on Heeseung. Only Heeseung.
And thatâs when you noticed. He wasnât falling apart anymore. He was⌠performing.
Oh?
Interesting.
He leaned back in his chair, arms stretching behind his head, the fabric of his tank top riding up under his jacket to reveal the sharp lines of his stomach, the dark waistband of his boxers peeking out just enough to make your teeth itch. His legs spread wider. Too wide. One hand draped casually down his leg, fingers tapping steady, drawing your eye right to where he wanted it. You watched him glance at you out of the corner of his eye.
Just once.
And then⌠his tongue ran along the edge of his bottom lip.
Slow. Measured. Purposeful.
Your heart gave the faintest flutter of amusement.
So.
He wanted to play too?
You shifted again, folding one leg beneath you, skirt riding higher than it should as you leaned your elbow on the desk and rested your chin on your palm. You dragged your gaze across the room slowly past the desperate stares of boys who didnât matter and locked eyes with him again.
Heeseung was already looking. No guilt now. No flinching. Just that calm, cocky gleam in his eye like heâd found his footing and liked the way the game was turning.
You smiled. Not sweet this time. Not soft. This one was sharp. Hungry.
If he wanted to play, heâd better keep up. Because you didnât play fair. And you never lost.
Eventually, the bell rang. Like the snap of a spell.
Chairs screeched, papers shuffled, and the classroom burst into motion as students rushed out like bees escaping smoke. But not you. You took your time. Slid your notebook into your bag slowly. Gathered your pens one by one. Adjusted your cardigan over your shoulders, then tugged it off again.Â
Heeseung didnât move. He was still lounging in his chair like the bell had nothing to do with him. Jacket shrugged halfway off, arms resting along the back of the seat, legs spread â as if this was his throne, and the classroom was his.
No one stayed behind. Even the teacher left in a rush, mumbling something about copies and coffee.
And just like that⌠it was quiet.
Just you and him.
Alone.
Your eyes flicked up as you zipped your bag. âNot in a rush?â you asked, voice light.
Heeseung didnât answer right away. Just tilted his head, eyes slow as they scanned your body â unapologetic, bold now, like whatever restraint he had before had been packed up with the rest of the class. âNot really,â he said finally, voice low. âYou?â
You shrugged. âI like the quiet.â
He smirked. âMe too. Especially with company like this.â Your lips twitched â just barely. You didnât give him much. He didnât deserve it. Not yet. You stood, smoothing your skirt down just a little, pretending not to notice how his eyes dropped to your thighs again. You slung your bag over one shoulder and stepped out from behind your desk â walking slowly, hips swaying just a bit more than necessary as you crossed in front of him. You felt the heat of his stare trace every inch of your legs, your waist, the slight bounce in your step. But now that you were close, now that the space between you had collapsed into just a few feet, his knees barely inches from your skirt, you noticed something else.
Oh.
There it was.
The bulge pressing against the front of his jeans. Blatant. Heavy. Unmissable now.
He didnât even try to hide it.
Heeseung sat there like he wanted you to see it. Like this was the price of playing with fire and he was willing to let it burn. Your gaze lingered just a second too long. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to make his jaw flex.Â
Interesting.
He was still pretending to be calm, head slightly tilted, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek like he wasnât seconds away from snapping in half. But his fists were clenched. His thigh twitched once. And his cock⌠yeah, there was no hiding it now. You let your eyes trail back up to his face, lashes fluttering slightly. Still smiling. Still playing the part. Like you hadnât just clocked the physical proof of his unraveling.
You tilted your head, letting your hair fall to one side, just a little. Let your fingers toy with the hem of your skirt. Like you were thinking. Like you were maybe, maybe, about to say something filthy. Something that would break him wide open. But instead, you just said softly: âDonât be late to your next class.â
And then you turned. And walked. Each step slow, intentional, taunting â the sound of your heels echoing down the hallway as the door clicked shut behind you. You didnât need to see his face again to know what it looked like.
Frustrated. Red. A little wrecked.
Perfect.
You knew what you left behind by the sound of his shallow breathing, the tension carved into his jaw, the way his cock throbbed against the zipper of his jeans while he sat in a desk like a good boy whoâd just been ruined without ever being touched.
God, you could still feel his stare between your shoulder blades. Like he was trying to burn holes through your cardigan with his eyes alone. Like he hated you. Like he wanted to worship you.
Your steps were slow, deliberate. Each click of your heels against the tile was a heartbeat counting down toward something deeper, darker, inevitable. And your body? It buzzed. Not with fear, not with nerves â but with power. Electric, hungry power curling low in your stomach, clawing at your ribs like it wanted out. Like it wanted him. You shouldâve been satisfied. You had half the school on a leash. Half the boys â and some of the girls â practically drooling when you passed by. But they werenât him. They didnât fight back. They didnât make you ache like this. And now? Now that youâd seen it? The bulge beneath his jeans, the flush in his cheeks, the unsteady breath through his nose as he tried to pretend he wasnât falling apart?
Now that youâd felt just how far gone he really was?Â
You were starving.
You bit the inside of your cheek as you walked, trying to contain the smile pulling at the corners of your lips. It wasnât sweet anymore. Not coy. This one was darker. Meaner. Wicked. Because this wasnât just teasing anymore. This was a slow descent. A spiral. And he didnât even realize you were dragging him down by the throat.
He thought he was resisting. He thought this was mutual. He thought you were flirting. But you werenât flirting. You were feasting.
The next days passed like honey slipping down a knife, slow and sticky. And with every passing day, you dressed just a little more⌠deliberately. Shorter skirts. Tighter tops. Lower necklines. Sheer fabrics. You were artâsoft, sugary, and sinful. A walking contradiction of innocence and desire that left every hallway you stepped into a little quieter, a little hotter. But all of itâevery moveâwas for him.
He now stopped sitting near you in class. Stopped lingering in the halls.
He tried, oh, he tried, to keep his distance.
But you knew better.
Because every time you passed him, his eyes found you.
Youâd âaccidentallyâ brush past him in the hall, your perfume sticking to the collar of his shirt like glue. Youâd lean a little too close when the teacher paired you up, your voice soft near his ear, your breath warm against his skin. Youâd giggle sweetly with some other boy just close enough for Heeseung to hear the sound and see the way your hand curled around someone else's forearm.
And stillâhis gaze never left you.
You could feel it burning into the curve of your ass as you walked ahead of him. You saw it flicker down your chest when you leaned forward in class. And your scent lingered in his lungs like a drug.Â
You started catching him breathing through his mouth.
His hands fidgeted in class, bouncing his leg, chewing on his pen cap. You caught him staring at your thighs so hard one day he forgot to blink. His face had turned red. His eyes glossy. He shifted in his seat again and again like he couldnât get comfortable in his own skin anymore.
Good.
Because comfort was the first thing you took when you hunted someone like Heeseung. You didnât just tease for the fun of it. You didnât flirt to pass time. No â when you really wanted the bait, when you were craving, you did your homework. So you made sure to know everything. Where he lived. What he liked. His routines, his favorite snacks, the playlist he looped during practice, the games he stayed up too late playing, the friends he barely responded to anymore. You learned how he always wore layered clothes, even when it was hot. Minimalistic style, simple colors. Not because he lacked taste, but because he liked control. Clean lines. Quiet spaces. And you were everything he wasnât supposed to want.
You knew he was the captain of the basketball team, with scouts breathing down his neck and a scholarship lined up if he kept his grades and temper in check. You learned how many points he averaged per game. How many girls had failed to hold his attention for longer than a week. You knew he played games late at night â mostly solo, competitive ones that gave him just enough control to pretend he didnât feel helpless in real life. That heâd rage-quit more than once recently. That his sleep schedule had cracked ever since you showed up. That heâd started skipping out on things. Practices. Meals. Parties.
You werenât just haunting him at school anymore. You were bleeding into his entire world. And he had no idea just how deep youâd gone. You could map out his entire life with frightening accuracy now â not because you needed to. But because you wanted to. Because you only did this when you were starving. And Heeseung was everything you wanted to consume. Not just his attention. Not just his body. You wanted his mind. His will. His pride. His soul. And the more you learned, the deeper your hooks sank in.
You were already inside the places he kept hidden from everyone else. In his bedroom, when he stared at the ceiling wondering why he couldn't get you out of his head. In the locker room, when he clenched his jaw and shook his head to stop himself from imagining your mouth. In his dreams, where your voice was soft, your touch was warm, and your absence woke him up sweating and aching.
The cold shower had done nothing. Not really. It cooled the surface of him, sure â numbed his fingers, made his teeth chatter, left water running down his back like punishment.Â
But inside? He was burning.
Heeseung sat on the edge of his bed, towel wrapped low around his waist, hair dripping onto the clean sheets heâd just changed that morning and all he could think about was you. Your voice. Your thighs. That fucking smirk you tried to hide behind innocent eyes.
His hands were clenched at his sides like he didnât trust them. Like the second they moved, theyâd betray him â reach down again like they had last night. And the night before that. And the one before that. He let out a breath, sharp and broken.
He was tired. Not sleepy. Tired. Exhausted.
From pretending he wasnât losing his mind. From acting like he didnât see you every time he closed his eyes. He tilted his head back, stared at the ceiling. Felt the ache between his legs pulse again.
Itâs just a stupid want, right? Thatâs all this was. He just needed to get it out of his system. That was it. That had to be it. If he could just get you into bed⌠If he could just feel you â fuck you, take you apart the way heâd imagined night after night, with your thighs spread and your voice cracked open around his name â then it would go away.
Right?
Heâd stop thinking about the way you smiled at him like you knew what you were doing. Stop dreaming about how soft your lips would be, how tight youâd feel. Stop aching every time he caught a glimpse of your thighs and wondered how far up that lace went. Heâd fuck you, get off, get over it â like he always did. Like he had with every other girl who tried to crawl under his skin. Heeseung sucked in a breath, fingers twitching.
But why hadnât that worked with anyone else?
Why did it feel like the longer he didnât have you, the deeper you dug into him? Why did it feel like he couldnât even imagine touching someone else anymore?
His cock pulsed where it strained beneath the towel, heavy and full, leaking just from thoughts of you â just from memory of your voice and that little tilt of your head like you were always daring him to say something wrong. He groaned low in his chest, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his damp hair. The towel slipped slightly, barely clinging to his hips as he leaned back against the headboard, his chest rising and falling too fast. His skin felt too tight, too hot, every nerve alight with the ghost of youâyour scent, your laugh, the way your eyes seemed to pierce right through him, like you could see every filthy thought he tried to bury.
His hand moved before he could stop it, fingers brushing over the hard length straining against the damp fabric. A low curse slipped from his lips, half frustration, half surrender. He didnât want to do this again, didnât want to give in to the way youâd taken over his mind, his body, every fucking inch of him. But the ache was unbearable, a pulsing need that had him shoving the towel aside, as his hand wrapped around his cock, already slick with precum, the evidence of how much youâd undone him without even being here. His grip was tight, almost punishing, as if he could force the want out of himself with sheer willpower.Â
âFuck,â he muttered, voice rough, broken. He could see it so clearly: you beneath him, skin flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, your nails digging into his shoulders as you begged for more. He stroked himself slowly at first, dragging it out, letting the fantasy build. Your voice in his head, whispering his name, teasing him like you always did, that playful edge that made his blood burn. His pace quickened, hand moving in long, deliberate strokes, thumb brushing over the tip where he was most sensitive. He imagined your mouth there instead, soft and warm, your tongue tracing him, tasting him, your eyes locked on his like you wanted to ruin him. His hips jerked up, chasing the thought, a groan tearing from his throat. âGoddamn it, why you?â he rasped, hating how much he craved it.
He pictured you straddling him, your thighs gripping his hips, the way youâd move, slow and deliberate, making him feel every second of it. Heâd grab your waist, pull you closer, bury himself so deep neither of you could think straight. His hand moved faster now, desperate, the slick sound filling the room as he chased that image, that feeling. Your gasps, your heat, the way youâd clench around him when you came, dragging him over the edge with you.
His breaths were uneven, stuttering, his free hand fisting the sheets as his strokes grew erratic. âCome on,â he growled to himself, or maybe to you, to the version of you living rent-free in his head. He could almost hear you, that soft, broken moan youâd make when he hit just the right spot, could almost feel your nails raking down his back, marking him as yours.
The thought pushed him over, his body tensing as pleasure crashed through him, hot and overwhelming. He came hard, a low, guttural sound spilling from his lips, his hand working himself through it until he was spent, chest heaving, head spinning. For a moment, he just sat there, eyes closed, the aftershocks buzzing through him, your name still burning on his tongue.
But when he opened his eyes, the room was empty. No you. No trace of the fantasy that had just ripped him apart. Just him, alone, with the same gnawing ache that hadnât gone anywhere. If anything, it was worse now, sharper, like youâd carved yourself deeper into his chest.
The next day at school, you stared. Not subtly. Not softly. Intensely.
You watched Heeseung when he wasnât looking, eyes trailing down the slope of his neck to the veins in his arms. To the way his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve when he thought too hard. To the space between his thighs when he shifted in his seat, adjusting himself like he hoped no one would notice. But you noticed. You always noticed.
You stared from across the classroom as he hunched over his notebook, pen barely moving, eyes blank. You stared from the hallway when he leaned against his locker like he was bored, only for his gaze to snap to you the second you passed. You stared across the cafeteria when he sat down, looking frustrated and tired, only to glance your way and catch your gaze already locked onto him. And every time he caught you looking, you smiled.
Soft. Pretty. Knowing.
Because you knew. You knew what he did last night. You knew how his hands had shaken against his skin. How heâd groaned your name into the dark of his room like a prayer. How heâd fucked his fist with his teeth clenched and eyes squeezed shut because pretending it wasnât you in his head was a lie he couldnât tell anymore.Â
It made your blood warm in your veins, made your lips curl with something darker than satisfaction. Because he was this far gone and you hadnât even touched him properly. You hadnât kissed him. Hadnât whispered in his ear. Hadnât even laid a single hand on his skin with real intent.
So when he finally came up to you â sometime between lunch and your next class, tension hanging off him like fog â you preened.
Heeseung looked like he hadnât slept. His eyes were darker, posture tenser, but his mouth still curled into that cocky smirk like he hadnât been falling apart in his bedroom the night before, whispering your name into the silence. âYou staring at me now?â he asked, stepping too close. You blinked up at him, lashes soft. âI like the view.â
He sucked in a breath through his nose, nostrils flaring slightly. His eyes dipped to your chest, your lips, your skirt. And then right back up. âYouâre dangerous baby,â he murmured. You tilted your head. âAm I?â
His smirk twitched â like it wanted to stay, but his pride was starting to splinter again. âYou want me that bad, baby?â you asked, voice light, just shy of a whisper. He froze for a fraction of a second. And you knew â you knew â that his cock had just twitched in his jeans. âI think you want me more,â he said, trying to sound steady. âIâve seen the way you look at me.â
You stepped closer, so close you could see the pulse in his throat. âGood,â you whispered, smiling up at him. âKeep watching.â
And he did. Wide-eyed. Frozen. Breathing like heâd forgotten how. You reached up, slowly â giving him every chance to back away. He didnât.Â
Your manicured finger brushed his chin. Light. Delicate. Barely there. Then, with the softest pressure, you dragged it downward. Slow, smooth, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, then down the column of his throat. His breath caught. His lashes fluttered. And his eyesâhis beautiful, fucked-up eyesâhalf-rolled back for just a second.
Oh...
Heeseungâs shoulders tensed. He leaned in, nostrils flaring, like your scent had suddenly wrapped around him and dragged him down into it. His lips parted, breath shallow, chest rising and falling like heâd just been punched with heat.
Poor boy.
So sweet, so sinful-looking, like something holy had been corrupted and was begging you to ruin it further. You tilted your head, all soft innocence, eyes dipping once down his body. His oversized shirt hung loose over his frame, but not low enough to hide the growing outline pressing hard against the front of his grey sweatpants. Your lips parted just slightly.
Perfect.
You looked back up at him through your lashes, and Heeseung lookedâwrecked. Not physically. Not obviously. But there was a haze in his eyes now, something soft and dizzying, like he was drunk on you. His lips were parted, chest rising slowly like he was trying to remember how to breathe in your presence. And then, without thinking, or maybe because you were thinking too much, you leaned in so close your breath fanned across his mouth. Your lips hovered just barely apart, not touching, not even grazingâbut there. Present. Pressing against the space between yes and no.
Heeseung didnât move. Didnât even flinch. He just looked at you, wide-eyed and stunned, like youâd just knocked the wind out of him.
And ohâ
There it was.
The look.
Soft. Sweet. Unmistakably hooked.
His pupils dilated. His cheeks flushed a faint pink, and you swore his whole body leaned forward without meaning to, like he was following the gravity of you alone. He looked at you like his heart was thudding against his ribs, like you were the only thing in the world he could see. Like heâd dreamed this moment before and couldnât believe it was real. Like he was seconds away from giving you everything. He opened his mouth â just barely. Maybe to speak. Maybe to breathe. But before he could say anything, you smiled again. That same soft, polite curve of your lips. Innocent. Untouchable.
Then you stepped back. One step. Two. Your fingers brushed the strap of your bag. Calm. Casual. Like nothing had happened at all. âIâll see you in class,â you said lightly, voice lilting, sweet as ever. And then you turned. Walked away. Let the silence wrap around him like a second skin â tighter, heavier, full of everything you didnât say. You didnât have to look over your shoulder to know he was still watching you. Still rooted in place, lips parted, eyes wide, heart thudding behind his ribs like it didnât know what to do with itself.
And you?
You felt satisfied.
But only for now.
Because that look in his eyes â the way he swayed toward you, the way he held his breath like a kiss wouldâve broken him â it was everything you needed to know.
It was lunchtime. The cafeteria buzzed with its usual chaos â chairs scraping floors, trays clattering, the low hum of too many conversations tangled together.
You walked in like always. Slow. Unbothered. A soft sway in your step, your smile light, airy, as you drifted through the room like you belonged to a better place than this. And still, heads turned. Eyes followed. But yours were already fixed on one person.
Heeseung.
He was leaning against the edge of a lunch table, surrounded by people â some basketball teammates, a few girls, all laughing at something he said. You could see the effort in it. The way he sat back casually in his seat, legs spread just enough to appear comfortable. One arm slung along the bench behind the girl closest to him, the other resting lazily against the table.
He didnât look at you.
But the second you walked into the room â he knew.
He shifted slightly, straightened his back just a little, adjusted the collar of his jacket as the girl next to him leaned in closer. She was pretty. Sweet-faced. Laughing too loudly at something heâd barely said. You stopped beside the vending machine just across the room. Didn't go to your usual spot. Just watched. And there it was.Â
Heeseung's eyes flicked to you. Barely a second. Barely a movement.
But you saw it.
Then he looked away â quick, like it didnât mean anything. Like he hadnât just checked to see if you were watching. You tilted your head, smiling faintly.
So⌠He wanted to play now?
How cute.
You didnât move. Just leaned one hand against the cool glass of the vending machine, watching with quiet interest as he let the girl touch his arm, as he leaned in a little too close when she whispered something near his ear.Â
He was being bold now. Flirting. Laughing. Giving out the charm he used to keep tucked away in careful doses and hoping youâd take the bait. Hoping youâd snap. Show your cards. Act like it bothered you.
But you didnât.
You just smiled wider.
Because oh, poor Heeseung.
He thought that if he played hard enough, smiled at enough girls, pretended to forget the way his breath hitched when your lips hovered over his, heâd get the power back. He didnât realize what you already knew: He wasnât doing it to make himself feel better. He was doing it to make you look at him again.
You stepped back from the vending machine, brushed imaginary lint from your sleeve, and turned toward the doors â never once glancing his way again.
But if you had? Youâd have seen the way his smirk slipped the second your back turned. Youâd have seen him watching you walk away, lips parted, expression flickering with something like panic. Like maybe heâd lost something he didnât know how to win back.
You had always been patient. It was in your nature â the waiting, the watching, the careful unraveling of things. You didnât need to rush when the world bent so easily around you. When people handed you their hearts with shaking fingers and no idea what they were doing. So when Heeseung started playing bold, you didnât flinch. You didnât chase. You didnât even blink. You simply turned your attention elsewhere. Briefly. Strategically. And fed.
Not on him â not yet â but on the lesser boys. The ones who followed you with their eyes everywhere you walked. Who flushed red at a single glance. Who tripped over themselves when you spoke their names in a soft voice, as if it meant something. As if they mattered.
They didnât. They were placeholders. Temporary. Just enough to take the edge off your hunger while you waited for something real. You led them into quiet corners. Empty stairwells. Behind bleachers. The shadows of parking lots just before dusk. Just long enough to let them get close. Just long enough to whisper something sweet, to press your fingertips gently against the side of their neck, to watch their eyes glaze over like they were dreaming. Then youâd feed. And leave them there.Â
So it was about time the police started to notice.
Boys found passed out behind dumpsters. Unmoving under bleachers. Eyes wide open like theyâd seen God and the Devil in the same breath. There were questions now. Murmurs in the hallways. Cautionary whispers about something strange, something wrong, something hungry.
But you didnât care. You wouldnât be caught. You couldnât be. And besides â you were busy. Because while you toyed with your distractions, you watched Heeseung. And he watched you.Â
He had grown desperate. Subtle at first â quiet glances, tense shoulders, narrowed eyes whenever you leaned too close to someone else. But then it escalated. He flexed when you passed, like his presence alone shouldâve been enough to pull your eyes back to him. He flirted again, more recklessly this time â leaning close, lowering his voice, touching your arm too casually in crowded halls. He made jokes he didnât mean, just to hear you laugh. He lingered in places he had no reason to be. He filled the air with his scent, his presence, his need.
Like he was trying to win you back. Like he didnât realize heâd never had you to begin with. And still⌠you let him try. You let him get bolder, let him fall deeper, let him think he was regaining ground while you sat high in your quiet little throne, feeding off every glance, every twitch of frustration, every pathetic effort to draw your gaze back to him.
It was adorable.
The way he kept trying, like he didnât realize how obvious it had become, how everyone could see the way his eyes always found you first, how his confidence cracked every time you looked through him instead of at him.
Heeseung, once untouchable, unreadable, now hung on every glance you gave him. And you gave so few.
But today? Today you were feeling generous.
The hallway was mostly empty. Lunchtime. Everyone else had scattered to the cafeteria or the courtyard or crammed around vending machines. But Heeseung⌠heâd lingered. Leaning against the lockers again. Looking casual. Like he wasnât waiting for you. But you knew better. So you walked right past him â same sway in your step, same unreadable smile, and let your shoulder just barely brush his arm.
He stiffened. Didnât move. Didnât speak. Just turned slightly â like a magnet pulled him.
You stopped. Paused like maybe, just maybe, you hadnât noticed he was there. And then you turned. Eyes soft, lips parted like the barest question hovered there.
Heeseung stared at you.
You stepped closer, casually, until the space between you shrank to nothing. Close enough to hear his breath hitch. Close enough to see the faint flush climbing up his neck. Your fingers moved first, slow and deliberate, brushing against the sleeve of his jacket. Just a graze, barely there, but his breath caught like youâd pressed your whole hand against his skin. You let your touch linger, trailing down the fabric until your fingertips found the edge of his sleeve, slipping just beneath to graze the warm skin of his wrist. Heeseung froze, his eyes darting to where your fingers rested, then back to your face, wide and searching, like he wasnât sure this was real. âWhatââ His voice cracked, low and rough, and he swallowed hard, trying to recover. âWhat are you doing?â
You didnât answer. Not with words. Instead, you stepped closer, your body now a breath away from his, close enough that the heat of him seeped into you. Your hand slid up, fingers curling lightly around his wrist, your thumb brushing over the pulse point there. It was racing, hammering under your touch, betraying every ounce of the cool he tried to project. âYouâre shaking,â you murmured, voice soft, teasing, but with an edge that made his lips part like he wanted to argue but couldnât find the words. Your other hand lifted, bold now, pressing against his chest, right over his heart. It thumped hard against your palm, and you couldnât help the small smile that curved your lips. âNervous, Heeseung?â
He let out a shaky breath, his head tipping forward slightly, like he was trying to anchor himself but failing. âYouâre messing with me,â he managed, but there was no bite to it, no conviction. Just a plea, maybe, for you to stop or keep goingâhe didnât seem to know which. Your fingers tightened slightly on his wrist, and your hand on his chest slid upward, until it rested at the base of his throat, feeling the quick bob of his Adamâs apple as he swallowed again. âAm I?â you asked, voice barely above a whisper, your eyes locking onto his. You could see it, the way he was fighting to hold onto whatever control he had left, the way his body leaned into your touch despite himself.
You let your fingers drift higher, brushing along the line of his jaw, your touch featherlight but electric. His eyes fluttered shut for a split second before snapping open again, like he couldnât bear to lose sight of you. Your thumb grazed his lower lip, just barely, and his breath stuttered, warm against your skin. âYouâre killing me,â he whispered, voice raw, and there it wasâthe crack in his armor, the thing heâd been trying to hide for weeks. His hands, which had been clenched at his sides, finally moved, one hovering near your hip, not quite touching, like he was afraid heâd break something if he did.
You didnât pull away. Didnât step back to break the spell youâd woven around him. Instead, you stayed, your body so close that the air between you felt charged. Heeseungâs hand, the one hovering near your hip, trembled for a moment longer before it finally moved, fingers finding the sliver of bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. The contact sent a jolt through him, his entire body shuddering as his grip tightened, skin against skin, warm and electric. A low groan rumbled in his chest, raw and unfiltered, as he pulled you closer, like some primal instinct had taken over, like he needed you pressed against him to keep himself grounded.
Your chest met his, the soft curve of your cleavage drawing his gaze downward, and his breath hitched again, louder this time, a sound that bordered on desperate. You tilted your head, letting one hand slide up to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through the strands of his hair. With a gentle tug, you pulled, just enough to make his head tip back slightly, and the sound that slipped from his lipsâa soft, needy whineâsent a thrill through you. His eyes locked onto yours, a faint pink tint shimmering in them, like he was drowning in you and didnât care to fight it.
His mind was gone, every coherent thought scattered like ash in the wind. You could see it in the way his lips stayed parted, the way his chest heaved with shallow breaths, the way his grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging into your skin like he was afraid youâd vanish if he let go. Nothing else existed for him nowâjust you, your touch, your warmth, the way you smelled faintly of something sweet and maddening.
You grinned, mischievous and knowing, reveling in the power you held over him. Your free hand moved, slow and deliberate, tracing the lines of his chest through his thin shirt, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palm. Your fingers danced lower, exploring the taut muscles of his abdomen, each touch pulling another small, broken sound from himâwhines that he didnât even seem aware of, each one softer, needier than the last. You bit your bottom lip, watching his reaction, the way his eyes followed your every move, wide and glassy, completely entranced. Your hand lingered at the hem of his shirt, teasing the edge before slipping just beneath, your fingertips brushing the warm, bare skin of his stomach. He sucked in a sharp breath, his body tensing under your touch, and another low groan escaped him, his head tipping forward until his forehead nearly rested against yours.
âYouââ he started, voice hoarse, barely a whisper, but it broke off into another whine as your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to send a shiver down his spine. His hand at your waist slid higher, desperate, pulling you so close that there was no space left between you, your bodies pressed flush together, every curve and line molding into him. You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, your voice a low murmur. âWhatâs wrong, Heeseung?â you teased, knowing full well he couldnât answer, not when his mind was this far gone, fogged over by the spell youâd put him under. âCanât handle a little touch?â
His only response was a shaky exhale, his eyes fluttering shut as your hand continued its slow exploration, mapping the planes of his chest, the dip of his collarbone, every inch of him that trembled under your fingers. You paused, your eyes flicked up, scanning the hallway. Empty. The faint hum of distant voices from the cafeteria was the only sound, leaving the two of you in a pocket of stolen silence. Your gaze drifted back to Heeseung, his flushed cheeks, his parted lips, the way his eyesâhalf-lidded and dazedâwere fixed on you, waiting, pleading, entirely at your mercy.
A slow, deliberate smile curled your lips as you tilted your head, studying him. Every ounce of his usual confidence was stripped away, leaving only raw need in its place. Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling just enough to make him lean down, his face closer to yours, his breath warm and unsteady against your skin. Without a word, you closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in an open-mouthed, wet kiss that stole the air from his lungs.
You controlled it, your tongue sliding against his, teasing, claiming. Heeseung melted into you, a low, desperate sound vibrating in his throat as he let you take the lead. He didnât fight itâcouldnât fight it. His hands gripped your waist tighter, fingers digging into your skin, but he didnât dare move them without your say-so. He was yours to command, his body pliant under your touch, his lips yielding to every shift and press of your mouth.
The kiss deepened, slow and messy, your teeth grazing his bottom lip, pulling a soft whimper from him that sent a spark of heat through you. Your hand at his nape tugged again, angling his head just how you wanted, and he followed, helpless, letting you take whatever you pleased. You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your lips hovering over his, still close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the faint taste of him lingering on your tongue. His eyes were still closed, lashes fluttering, his mouth parted like he was waiting for you to decide what happened next. You grinned, wicked and knowing, your thumb brushing over his swollen bottom lip, feeling the way it trembled under your touch. âGood boy,â you murmured, voice low and teasing, and his eyes snapped open, that faint pink tint now a vivid, glowing hue, shimmering in the dim light of the hallway. Your breath caught, a thrill sparking through you at the sight.
So thatâs all it took? One kiss, one taste of you, and Heeseung was fully underâmind, body, everything surrendered to the pull of your spell. You licked your lips, watching his gaze lock onto the movement, his pupils dilating, his breath hitching like he was hanging on your every action. âTake the lead,â you whispered, your voice a soft command, laced with just enough challenge to spark something in him. âShow me what youâve got, Heeseung.â His reaction was instant, like a switch had been flipped. The pink in his eyes flared brighter, and a low, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, his body pressing into yours with a sudden, hungry edge. He tilted his head, capturing your lips in a kiss that was anything but tentativeâhot, open-mouthed, and consuming, like heâd been starving for this and youâd just given him permission to feast.
His kisses trailed, hot and wet, along your jaw, down the side of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver. He was bold now, guided by your command but fueled by something deeper, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. His lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you felt his breath, warm and uneven, as he murmured your name, low and broken, like it was the only word he could remember. You let him, your hands roaming his shoulders, his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch, the way his body reacted to every move you made. His eyes flicked up to meet yours between kisses, searching, like he was worshiping you with every press of his lips. He was yours, yes, but now he was claiming you too, in his own way, pouring himself into every touch, every kiss, as if he could make you feel the depth of what youâd done to him.
Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and he obliged, his kisses growing hungrier, his hands bolder, one slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to graze the bare skin of your lower back. The contact sent a spark through you, and you arched into him, grinning against his lips as you felt him shudder, his control fraying at the edges. âThatâs it,â you whispered, voice breathy but still commanding, your lips brushing his as you spoke. âDonât hold back now.â
Heeseung let out a high, needy whine, the sound unrestrained, his hands, emboldened by your words, slipped lower, finding the hem of your criminally short skirt. With a shaky breath, his fingers slid beneath the fabric, grazing the bare skin of your thighs before gripping your ass firmly, possessively. The contact made him shudder, his hips jerking forward instinctively, his bulge pressing hard against you, unmistakable through the thin layers of clothing. âP-please,â he stammered, his words tumbling out in a messy, desperate rush, barely coherent as drool glistened at the corner of his parted lips. âPlease, IâI needââ He couldnât finish, his voice breaking into another soft whine as his hips moved again, grinding against you in a frantic, almost involuntary rhythm. His grip tightened, fingers digging into your skin, pulling you impossibly closer as if he could merge himself with you.
âLook at you,â you purred, voice dripping with condescension, âso pathetic, humping me like some desperate little puppy.â Your words were sharp, cutting, but they only made his eyes flutter, his breath hitch, a low groan spilling from his throat as he pressed himself harder against you. âCant even talk, can you?â you continued, your hand sliding up to grip his jaw, forcing him to meet your gaze. His lips parted wider, more drool slipping down his chin as he whimpered, his hips stuttering in their rhythm. âJust a needy mess, begging for me without even knowing what you want.â Your thumb brushed over his lower lip, smearing the drool across his skin, and he whined again, his hands kneaded your ass, desperate, almost bruising in their grip, as he kept humping against you, each movement more erratic than the last. âPlease,â he gasped again, voice cracking, âIâll do anythingâanything you want.â His words were slurred, his mind fogged over, every thought consumed by the heat of your body, the way you felt under his hands, the way your voice sliced through him.
You leaned in, your lips grazing his ear, your voice a low, taunting whisper. âOh, youâll do anything?â you mocked, your fingers tightening in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him gasp. âThen keep going, Heeseung. Show me how much you need it.â Your words sent a shiver through him, his hips bucking harder, a choked moan escaping as he chased the friction, the pleasure, the overwhelming pull of you. His movements were frantic now, his face buried in the crook of your neck, hot breaths and soft whimpers muffled against your skin as he clung to you, his hands gripping your ass like a lifeline.
But then, the faint sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, voices growing louder, closer. Your head tilted slightly, senses sharp, and a slow smirk curved your lips. You leaned back just enough to meet his gaze, his eyes wide and pleading. âStop,â you commanded, voice low but firm, cutting through the fog of his desperation. Heeseung froze instantly, a small, broken sob escaping his lips as his hips stilled, his body trembling with the effort of obeying you. His hands didnât let go, but he was shaking, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. Your fingers slid into his hair, patting gently, soothingly, like you were calming a skittish animal. âShh,â you murmured, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice dropping to a whisper. âTake me to the janitorâs closet. Now.â
He didnât hesitate. With a shaky nod, his arms tightened around you, keeping you pressed against him as he moved, guiding you down the hallway without ever breaking contact. His steps were quick, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, that faint sob lingering in his throat. You let him lead, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along his neck, keeping him tethered to you. His eyes darted nervously toward the sound of the approaching voices, but his focus stayed on you, on the command youâd given, on the need to please you.
The janitorâs closet was just around the corner, tucked away in a shadowed alcove. Heeseung fumbled with the handle, his hands trembling as he pushed the door open, pulling you inside with him. The door clicked shut, plunging you both into dim, cramped silence, the air thick with the scent of cleaning supplies. He didnât let go, his hands still on you, his chest heaving as he pressed himself closer, like he couldnât bear even an inch of space between you.Â
You looked up at him, his face barely visible in the faint light filtering through the crack under the door, his pink eyes glowing with that same desperate intensity. His lips were parted, still wet, still trembling, and you could feel the tension rolling off him, the way he was waiting, aching for your next move. Your hand slid up to his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek, wiping away the trace of drool, and he whimpered softly, leaning into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him upright. âGood,â you whispered, voice teasing but edged with control, your lips curling into a smile as you held his gaze. âNow, where were we?â
A grin spread across your face as you held his gaze, savoring the power you held over him. Then, slowly, your hand slid from his jaw, trailing down until your fingers reached the waistband of his pants, brushing over the front of his pants, and you felt himâhard, straining, the heat of him evident even through the fabric. A low hum vibrated in your throat, pleased, teasing, as your fingers pressed lightly against his crotch, feeling the way he twitched under your touch. âOh, Heeseung,â you murmured, voice dripping with mock sweetness, your grin widening as his hips jerked involuntarily, chasing your hand. âSo eager, arenât you?â
He let out a strangled whimper, his hands gripping your waist tighter, fingers digging into your skin as he fought to stay still, to please you, to follow the unspoken rules youâd set. Your fingers pressed a little harder, teasing the outline of him, and he groaned, low and broken, his head tipping forward to rest against your shoulder as his body shuddered. You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear, voice dripping with amusement. âLook at you, Heeseung,â you purred, your tone sharp and mocking, slicing through the haze of his desperation. âSo weak, so needy. Canât even hold yourself together, can you? Just a touch and youâre already a mess, whining like some pathetic little thing.â Your fingers teased him again, a slow, deliberate stroke over the strained fabric, and he let out another broken whine, his hips twitching helplessly under your hand. âPlease,â he mumbled, voice barely audible, thick with need, and you laughed softly, the sound cruel.
âPlease?â you mocked, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes glinting with wicked delight. âYou think beggingâs going to get you anywhere? Youâre lucky Iâm even touching you.â Your words hit him like a whip, and he shuddered again, his grip on your waist faltering as his knees buckled slightly, his body swaying under the weight of your voice. You tilted your head, considering him for a moment, your grin widening as an idea took shape. âOn your knees,â you commanded, voice low and firm, leaving no room for hesitation. Heeseungâs eyes widened for a split second, but he didnât argue, didnât hesitate. He sank to his knees in front of you, the movement fluid, his hands sliding down to rest on his thighs as he stared up at you.Â
You reached down, your fingers threading through his hair, patting his head gently, almost condescendingly, like you were rewarding a pet for good behavior. âThatâs better,â you murmured, your voice soft but laced with control. âLook at you, so obedient. So desperate to please me.â You stepped back slightly, just out of his reach, and his hands twitched on his thighs, fingers flexing like he was fighting the urge to grab for you.
With a slow smile, you tilted your head, letting your fingers trail down your own body, teasing the hem of your skirt. âYou want something to look at, donât you?â you purred, voice dripping with mockery as you lifted the fabric just enough to flash the lacy edge of your panties, delicate and sheer, clinging to your skin in a way that made his breath catch audibly. His eyes widened, zeroing in on the sight, his lips parting as a soft, desperate sound slipped out.
Your hands then moved to your top, tugging it up slightly to reveal the matching bra, the lace intricate and barely containing you, a teasing glimpse of what lay beneath. You let the fabric fall back into place, but not before you saw the way his thighs shook, his knees pressing together as he fought to stay still, to obey. A wet patch had already formed at the front of his sweatpants, and the sight sent a pang through youâpart amusement, part something softer, almost pity. âPathetic,â you said, voice low and taunting, though there was a trace of warmth in it now. âAlready making a mess, are we?â
Heeseung whimpered, his head dipping forward, his face flushed with shame and need, but his eyes never left you, drinking in every move you made. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs, trembling with the effort of restraint, and you could see how badly he was struggling, how much he needed release.
You softened, just a fraction, your grin turning sly but not unkind. âAlright,â you murmured, stepping closer, close enough that he could feel the heat of you but not close enough to touch. âYouâve been good, havenât you? So well-behaved.â Your voice was a velvet caress, and his gaze turned hopeful. âGo ahead, Heeseung. Touch yourself. Show me how much you need it.â
His breath hitched, a shaky exhale as his trembling hands moved instantly, fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants. He didnât break eye contact, his pink eyes locked on you as he slipped his hand inside, a low, broken moan spilling from his lips at the first touch. The sound sent a shiver through you, but you kept your composure, your gaze sharp, watching every twitch of his face, every shudder that ran through him. âShow me,â you commanded, voice low and laced with authority, your lips curling into a teasing smirk. Heeseungâs eyes widened for a split second, a flush creeping up his neck, but he obeyed without hesitation. His hand tugged down the waistband just enough, revealing himselfâhard, leaking, his fingers wrapping around his length as he started to stroke, his gaze never leaving yours.
You leaned back against the wall of the janitorâs closet, crossing your arms casually, letting your eyes rake over him. The sight of him on his knees, sweatpants bunched around his thighs, hand moving in a rhythm that was entirely for you, was almost too perfect. His breath came in short, breathy moans, blending with the faint, wet sounds of his hand, the noises filling the cramped space and making the air feel heavier, thicker. âSlow down,â you said, voice sharp but playful, tilting your head as you watched him. His hand faltered, his strokes slowing immediately, a soft whine slipping from his lips as he adjusted. His eyes stayed locked on you, pleading, desperate for your approval, his chest heaving with the effort of holding back. The wet sounds grew softer, and his moans turned higher, needier, as he fought to please you.Â
âGood,â you purred, letting your voice drip with mock praise, your smile wicked. âSo obedient, Heeseung. Look at you, doing exactly what I say.â He whimpered, his hand trembling as he kept the slower pace, his thighs shaking beneath him. âNow faster,â you ordered, voice firm, leaning forward slightly to watch him closer. His hand sped up instantly, fingers tightening as he stroked himself quicker, the wet noises growing louder, more insistent, mingling with his breathy moans that spilled out uncontrollably. âThatâs it,â you murmured, your voice a low taunt, âkeep going, just like that. Show me how much you want it.â
Heeseung hung on every word, every syllable, his eyes glassy and desperate, drinking you in like your voice was the only thing anchoring him. The sexual energy radiating from him was overwhelming, a raw heat that filled the cramped janitorâs closet and seeped into you, making your skin prickle, your pulse race. It was intoxicating, the way his need for you pulsed in the air, the way his every whimper and shudder seemed to feed something deep inside you. This was the fullest youâd ever felt, a heady rush of power and desire, and he hadnât even touched you, hadnât even fucked you. The thought alone sent a shiver down your spine, your body humming with the intensity of it all.
His moans grew higher, more frantic, his hand moving in a blur now, the slick sounds blending with his ragged breaths. âP-please,â he gasped, voice cracking, barely coherent, âplease, IâI need to cum, please, let meââ His words tumbled out, desperate, broken, his entire body shaking. You leaned forward, close enough that your breath ghosted over his flushed face. âYouâre begging so pretty,â you purred, voice dripping with mock sweetness as you tugged your top down just enough to give him a clear view of your tits, the lacy bra barely containing them. His eyes widened, a choked moan spilling from his lips as his gaze locked onto you, his hand faltering for a moment before picking up speed again, driven by the sight.Â
âCum,â you commanded, voice sharp and final, your eyes boring into his. âNow, Heeseung. Do it for me.â The effect was immediate. His entire body tensed, a low, guttural moan tearing from his throat as his hand worked frantically, his hips bucking into his own touch. His pink eyes stayed locked on you as he came undone, his release spilling over his hand, staining his sweatpants further. The sounds he madeâbreathy, broken, almost sobbingâfilled the closet, mingling with the wet noises as he rode out the pleasure, his body shuddering violently under the weight of it. You watched, your grin softening into something almost fond as he trembled before you, completely spent, his chest heaving. And in that moment, you knew youâd never felt more powerful, more alive, than you did with him kneeling at your feet, utterly yours.
A low groan slipped from your lips, the sound almost primal as you felt the rush coursing through you, like youâd just fed on a marathon of boys all at once. Desire and power thrummed under your skin, a pulse that made you feel invincible, alive in a way that was almost too much. Your eyes locked onto Heeseung, still kneeling before you, a wrecked, beautiful mess. And yet, despite the way youâd drained him, fed off his desperate energy, he didnât look done. Not even close. His chest heaved, his gaze still fixed on you with that same hunger, like he could go again if you so much as whispered the word.
Oh, excellent. His stamina was unreal, holding up even after youâd feasted on him so thoroughly. He was a whole banquet, a rare find, and the thought made your lips curl into a smirk, dark and satisfied. You crouched down, leveling your gaze with his, and reached out to rub his cheek lovingly, your touch gentle but possessive. Heeseung leaned into it instantly, a soft whimper escaping as his eyes fluttered, seeking more of your warmth, your approval, completely under your spell. âSuch a good boy,â you murmured, voice soft but commanding, your thumb brushing over his flushed skin. âNow, listen carefully. Pull your pants up, tie your jacket around your waist, go home, take a shower, and fall asleep.â Each word was sinking into him like a brand, and his pink eyes flickered with obedience, his body already moving to comply before youâd even finished speaking.
You stood back, watching as he rose on shaky legs, his movements slow but precise. He tugged his boxers and sweatpants up, covering the mess heâd made, his hands trembling but never hesitating. Then he grabbed his jacket, tied it around his waist, and without a word, without a single complaint, he turned and opened the door, stepping out into the hallway, his silhouette disappearing into the shadows as he followed your command to the letter.
You leaned against the wall, a slow, wicked grin spreading across your face. Oh, this was the part you loved. When boys were under your spell, they did exactly what you told them to, no questions, no resistance, just pure, unthinking obedience. And the best part? They never remembered. Not a single moment. Whether they were dead or so far gone mentally that their minds couldnât string together a coherent thought, it didnât matter. Heeseung was yours for this moment, and when he woke up tomorrow, it would be like none of this ever happenedâhis mind wiped clean, his body still craving you without knowing why.
The power of it, the control, sent another thrill through you, your skin buzzing with the afterglow of feeding off him. Heeseung had been a feast, a rare delicacy, and you knew youâd be savoring this one for a long time.
The days that followed were quieter. Not around the school â no, the halls still buzzed with rumors, whispers, tension heavy in the air from the boys being found dead, sick, confused. No. The quiet came from Heeseung. He was different now. Still handsome, still sharp around the edges, but that confident tilt to his smile? That natural sway in his step? Gone.
He was paranoid.
Eyes darting. Shoulders tense. Flinching slightly when certain boys coughed near lockers or spoke too loudly about the police patrols. Like the shadows were starting to move differently around him. Like something invisible had already touched him â and might do it again.
And oh⌠he was such a pretty boy when scared.
Youâd always liked him, but now? Now, seeing him like this â shaken, confused, already marked by you â he was irresistible.
Of course, he couldnât remember what had happened. Heâd woken in his bed, body heavy, heartbeat quick without a reason. A slight ache in his bones like something had drained him , left him hollow, warm, and wired.
He didnât know it was you.
But he felt it.
You could see it in his eyes when they met yours in the hallway, that flash of recognition that didnât quite make sense. That subtle fear dressed up like curiosity. Like maybe, just maybe, you were the thing his subconscious whispered about when he was too tired to fight it.
And you?
You simply smiled.
Watched him fall further apart while you stayed pristine and glowing â a little more vibrant now, a little sharper, faster, stronger.Â
Feeding off him had done more than take the edge off. It had powered you. And now⌠now you had to be careful. The police were patrolling more frequently. Teachers whispered. The hallways had eyes. And so for now, you let the hunger settle. Let it curl quietly beneath your skin. Because you had time. And you had a plan. Youâd overheard the party plans from someone two lockers down. A house party at one of Heeseungâs friends â Jay, was it? Loud music, too many people, too few sober. Doors left unlocked. Rooms left dark. A place where things could happen unnoticed.
Perfect.
You already knew what youâd wear. How youâd move through the crowd. Where you'd find Heeseung â alone, tense, drawn straight to you like youâd called him there.
And this time you werenât going to disappear afterward. No more pretending. No more teasing. No more leaving him dizzy with confusion and desire. Because now that you had tasted him â now that you knew how good he was under your spell, how easily he melted, how long he could last â you werenât going to let him go.Â
But first, you needed an address. Where the party was. Where it would happen. Where the music would be too loud and the lights too low and no one would notice if one person disappeared for a while. And really⌠It didnât take much. Just a little hair twirl. A bat of your lashes. A soft-voiced question wrapped in something sweet. You didnât even need to push, most people wanted to help you before you asked.
Jake was no different.
He was standing alone near the vending machine after school, scrolling through his phone like he didnât really want to be there. Backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, hoodie half-zipped, sneakers tapping lightly against the floor. You approached slowly, calmly, with that careful smile that always worked best when you let it feel just a little shy. âHey,â you said gently, just enough brightness in your voice to lift his eyes. Jake blinked up from his screen, slightly startled. Then smiled. âOh. Hey.â
âSorry,â you said with a soft laugh, twirling a strand of hair between your fingers like a nervous habit. âI overheard some people talking about a party this weekend⌠Something about Jayâs house?â
Jake perked up, clearly surprised you were asking him of all people. âUhâyeah. Yeah, thatâs right.âÂ
You tilted your head slightly, widening your eyes just enough. âDo you know where that is? Iâm still kinda⌠bad with directions around here.â That was all it took. Jake laughed once, almost awkwardly, already digging through his phone. âYeah, hold on, Iâll send it to you. Itâs kinda out past the lake, so itâs easy to miss. But itâs a nice place.â You leaned a little closer, pretending to peek at the screen. Close enough for your perfume to reach him, close enough for your presence to make him shift a little where he stood.Â
He cleared his throat. âThere. Sent.â
âThanks, Jake. Youâre a lifesaver.â
He blinked a few times, dazed. âYeah. Anytime.â There was a beat of silence, just long enough for him to gather a little confidence, to lean one shoulder against the vending machine and let his eyes linger just a second too long. âYou know,â he added with a grin, âif you do show up⌠I could give you the real tour. Show you a good time. If you find me.â
Smooth. A little cheeky. A little hopeful.
You let out a soft laugh, the kind that sounded like it belonged to someone harmless, like a secret being shared. Then you tilted your head, blinking up at him through your lashes. âYouâre cheeky, Jake.â
He smirked, clearly pleased with himself.
You waved with two fingers, the shimmer of your perfectly manicured nails catching the light as you turned to leave. And of course â of course â you pretended not to notice him lean slightly down as you walked away, his gaze dipping low to catch the sway of your hips in that little pleated skirt.
Jake was handsome, sure. Sweet, confident, warm. You could feel the energy rolling off him. Heâd be fun, if you let him. Probably even satisfying in his own way. But he wasnât who you wanted. Your attention didnât scatter. It focused. And right now, all of it was on one boy.
You didnât knock. You didnât wait. You simply appeared.
One second the party buzzed like every other â music pulsing through the floors, laughter echoing through the halls, cups sloshing with something far too sweet for its color â and then you stepped through the doorâŚand everything slowed.
Eyes turned. Conversations hitched. A few people stopped mid-sentence. Others simply stared, caught in the gravity of your arrival.
You didnât need to speak. You didnât even look around right away. You knew. You felt it â the way the air shifted, how the room turned with you at the center. Because you werenât just dressed to be seen. You were dressed to be watched.
A tight black miniskirt hugged your hips, just high enough to show the faintest glimpse of sheer lace garters peeking beneath. Your stockings were delicate, nearly translucent, with bows tied just above the knees â pretty enough to pass for sweet, but sheer enough to make hearts stutter. Your top⌠wasnât really a top at all. Thin. Tight. Barely-there straps that sat prettily on your shoulders. Fabric clinging to your curves, dipping in ways that made it impossible to decide where to look. A lace trim at the edge blurred the line between lingerie and fashion. Hair? Perfect. Makeup? Lethal in the kindest way. And your eyes? Still soft. Still innocent. You looked like pure sin wrapped in sugar and satin â all ribbons and perfume and something dangerous humming beneath the sweetness.
Someone spilled their drink. A few boys elbowed each other and immediately started whispering. One of them â maybe a basketball player, maybe someone else you didnât care to remember â openly dropped his jaw and just stared.
And as your heels clicked over the hardwood, you scanned the room slowly â eyes passing over familiar faces, admirers, victims â until you found him.
You didnât have to search for him. Because Heeseung was already watching you. His drink was still in his hand, but forgotten â held loosely, fingers clenched just tight enough to keep it from slipping. His mouth was slightly agape. Eyes locked to you like heâd been waiting without realizing, like some part of him had known youâd come and had been holding its breath the entire night. And now that you were here? He was unraveling. You saw it in the way his legs shifted â thighs tightening, almost trembling, like his body wanted to drop to its knees in pure muscle memory. Like something inside him had already submitted, long before his pride could catch up.
He lookedâŚ
Delicious.
Dark jeans clinging to his legs just right. A tight black button-up, sleeves rolled to his forearms, the collar open just enough to tease the line of his neck. His skin flushed faintly pink under the golden lights, a few beads of sweat clinging to his jawline â from the heat, or the pressure, or you, you couldnât tell. Didnât need to. The hem of his shirt rode just high enough to flash the band of his boxers beneath the denim, a faint glimpse that made your lips twitch, just barely, into a smile.
Well⌠hello there.
You let your gaze drag up from the faint peek of waistband to the curve of his throat, to the tension in his jaw, to the dazed look in his wide, unblinking eyes.
He hadnât moved. Not an inch. Not since you stepped through the door. Like moving might break whatever spell had just wrapped around him and sunk into his skin.
And when he swallowed hard â Adamâs apple bobbing, chest rising just a little too fast â you smiled again and started walking. With every click of your heels against the floor, his fingers clenched tighter around the forgotten drink, his breathing grew shallower, and his posture faltered like heâd already forgotten how to stand on his own.
Perfect.
Exactly where you wanted him. The moment your gaze met his⌠you started to pull. You let it unfurl slowly â that soft, quiet thread of your spell, slipping unseen through the air, like silk dragging across skin. Invisible to everyone else, but to Heeseung? It hit like gravity.Â
And oh, how nicely he received it.
Almost instantly, his body changed. His shoulders, once tense, dropped slightly. His spine slackened just enough to look weightless â like the floor beneath him had faded. His drink slipped further in his grip, barely clutched now, and his lips parted without thought.
Then you saw it.
His eyes.
The shift was subtle. Beautiful.
A soft flush of pink blooming across the whites of them â not unnatural, just tinted. Like a petal had dissolved into his gaze and dyed him from the inside out. Like the spell was wrapping its fingers around the edges of his soul.
You smiled. Soft. Patient.
Then â as calmly as if you were going to get a glass of water â you turned, walking upstairs toward the shadowed hallway where the bedrooms were. No rush. No drama.
And just before you disappeared from sight, you crooked a finger behind your back.
Not looking. Not needing to.Â
And sure enoughâ
He moved. Like something inside him had been unlocked. Like his feet were following something his brain couldnât name. He moved through the crowd without hesitation, bumping shoulders, brushing past people who turned in confusion, but he didnât stop. Didnât say sorry. Didnât look away.His eyes were on you. Only you. Drawn like a tide. Enchanted. Quiet. His soul already leaning forward before his body did. You could feel him behind you now, like a second heartbeat.
The hallway upstairs was dim â quieter than the rest of the house. Just the dull thud of bass echoing beneath the floorboards and the low murmur of party sounds behind closed doors.
Heeseung followed you with slow, steady steps, his breath catching in his throat every few seconds like he didnât know how to calm it. His hands were at his sides, clenching and unclenching, his eyes dazed but fixed. Focused. Tranced.Â
When you reached the door at the end of the hall, you pushed it open without a word. The bedroom was empty. Dimly lit by the soft glow of a small bedside lamp. The bed was untouched. The air was still. You stepped inside first, the scent of you lingering in the space like perfume. Heeseung followed without question. And before he could say a word, your voice cut softly through the air: âClose the door.â
He hesitated â just for a second. His lips parted like he might ask why, but then he saw your eyes. Calm. Expectant. And he obeyed.
The door clicked shut.Â
âLock it.â Quieter now. Even gentler. But still â a command.
He turned slowly, hands shaky, and twisted the lock until it clicked. A soft sound, but in the silence of the room, it echoed. When he turned back to face you, his chest was rising faster than before. A faint pink flush crept across his cheeks and down his throat. His lips were parted, eyes still faintly tinted â and now wide.
Like heâd just realized what heâd done.
One still glowing with that vivid pink tint, the otherâstartlinglyâhis natural hue, a flicker of clarity breaking through the haze of your spell. His hands gripped the edge of a nearby desk, knuckles whitening as he leaned against it, a low groan rumbling from his throat. His body trembled, muscles tensing as if he were physically fighting something invisible, something pulling at him from the inside. âW-what⌠What are you doing to me?â he stammered, his voice hoarse, breaking on every word. His chest heaved, his gaze flickering between you and the floor, as if he could anchor himself to something, anything, to resist the pull.
You only smiled, letting the silence stretch as you watched him struggle, his body betraying the war raging in his mind. Oh, heâs trying to fight me? The thought sent a thrill through you, sharp and intoxicating. Interesting. Most didnât even get this far, didnât have the strength to push back. But Heeseungâhe was different. Stronger. And that only made you want to sink your claws deeper.Â
You sauntered over to the bed, sitting down with a casual grace, leaning back on your hands and crossing your legs, letting the hem of your skirt ride up just enough to draw his attention. His gaze flickered to you, unable to help himself, and you saw the way his throat bobbed, fighting to hold onto clarity. âIâm not doing anything bad, Heeseung,â you purred, voice soft but laced with a teasing edge, your smile widening as you tilted your head. âIâm just⌠pushing you toward what you want.â You let the words linger, watching the way they hit him, the way his breath hitched, his body swaying slightly. âYou⌠you donât know what I want,â he managed, voice trembling, his words more a plea than a defiance.Â
You giggled, the sound light and almost cruel, as you leaned forward slightly, letting your gaze lock onto his. âOh, donât I?â you teased, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. âIâm in your head, Heeseung. In your mind. Iâve got your soul, your heart, all wrapped up in my hands.â You raised a hand, fingers curling as if you were physically holding something delicate, fragile, and his breath hitched again, his normal eye clouding over as the pink in the other flared brighter, overtaking the last shred of resistance.
You strengthened your spell, letting the invisible threads of your power weave tighter around him, sinking deeper into his mind, his desires. His body sagged slightly against the desk, a soft groan escaping his lips as his head dipped forward, his normal eye now fully swallowed by that vivid pink glow. His grip on the desk faltered, his knees buckling slightly as he leaned forward, panting, his face flushed, sweat beading on his forehead. âYouâŚâ he whispered, voice barely audible, trembling with a mix of surrender and need. You uncrossed your legs, leaning back further on the bed, your smile wicked and knowing. âThatâs it,â you murmured, voice a velvet caress. âNo more fighting. You want this. You want me.â His eyes, now fully pink, locked onto you as he nodded shakily, his body trembling with the weight of your spell, his mind completely yours to mold.
âCome here,â you commanded, voice soft but unyielding, your eyes never leaving his. Heeseung moved instantly, his steps unsteady but obedient as he stopped right in front of you. âStrip,â you said, the word sharp, your gaze raking over him. Heeseungâs hands trembled as he reached for the hem of his button-up, fumbling with the cursed buttons, each one revealing more of his toned chest. The shirt fell to the floor, followed by his jeans, the denim sliding down his legs to reveal the boxers beneath. Your eyes lingered, admiring every inch of him as the layers vanished, his body bared before youâlean, flushed, and trembling under your scrutiny. Finally, the boxers dropped, leaving him completely exposed, vulnerable, and yours.
âOn your knees,â you ordered, voice low and commanding, and he obeyed without hesitation, sinking to the floor in front of you, his face level with your stomach. His breath ghosted over your skin, warm and uneven. You reached down, grabbing his cheek gently but firmly, tilting his head up to force him to meet your gaze. His skin was warm under your touch, his eyes locked on yours, completely ensnared. âDo you want to know what I am?â you asked, voice teasing, almost playful, but with an edge that made his breath hitch.
He let out a soft, desperate whine, unable to form words, his body trembling as he leaned into your hand, seeking more of your touch, your approval. Your smirk widened, as you leaned closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. âIâm sin incarnate,â you purred, your fingers tightening slightly on his cheek. âPut on this earth to feed off puny boys who think theyâre something. Boys who think they can resist me.â You paused, letting the words sink in, watching the way his eyes flickered, his lips parting as another whine escaped. âYou thought you could fight me, didnât you?â you continued, voice soft but cutting. âThought you could keep your little walls up, stay in control.â You laughed, low and mocking, leaning closer until your lips were a breath away from his. âBut look at you now. Naked, trembling, begging without even saying a word. Youâre nothing without me, Heeseung.â
He whimpered again, his hands twitching at his sides, desperate to touch you but too obedient to move without your permission. His chest heaved, his skin flushed and glistening with sweat, and you could see the way his body reacted to every word, every taunt, like you were pulling strings he didnât even know he had. You leaned back slightly, letting your gaze roam over him, admiring the way his muscles tensed, the way his thighs shook, the way his arousal was still evident, even after everything. âGet closer,â you commanded, voice firm but laced with a teasing lilt. He shuffled forward on his knees, the movement awkward but eager, his face now so close to your stomach that you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin. You reached down, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging gently to tilt his head back, forcing him to look up at you.Â
âYouâre mine,â you murmured, your voice a low, possessive growl as you held his gaze. âEvery thought, every desire, every pathetic little whimperâit all belongs to me now.â Your fingers tightened in his hair, just enough to make him gasp, his lips parting wider as he leaned into the sensation, craving it. âAnd you love it, donât you? You love being mine.â
He nodded, a small, shaky movement, his eyes never leaving yours, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. âY-yes,â he managed, voice barely a whisper, broken and raw. âYours.â The word was a surrender, a vow, and you felt it settle into you, feeding that insatiable hunger, making you feel more powerful than ever. You smirked, releasing his hair and leaning back on the bed again, crossing your legs with deliberate slowness, letting him feel the distance youâd put between you. âGood,â you said, voice dripping with satisfaction. âNow stay there, on your knees, and donât move until I tell you to.â His eyes flickered with need, but he obeyed.Â
You crawled back on the bed, ignoring the way Heeseungâs body leaned forward slightly, a subconscious twitch, like he was desperate to follow you, to close the gap youâd created. His eyes tracked your every move, wide and glassy, his breath hitching as you moved with a predatorâs grace, slow and deliberate. You didnât say a word, letting the silence stretch, letting the tension build as you reached the far end of the bed, your back pressing against the cool wall. Only then did you settle, sitting fully on the bed, one leg bent, the other stretched out, your gaze locking onto him with a wicked, knowing smile. âEyes on me,â you purred, voice low and teasing, as you began your show.
Your fingers trailed to the hem of your miniskirt, tugging it up slowly, inch by inch, revealing the white lacy underwear beneath. Heeseungâs breath caught, a soft whimper escaping as his eyes followed the motion, transfixed. You slid the skirt down your legs, letting it pool on the bed before kicking it aside, your movements languid, designed to torment. Next came your top, pulled off with the same slow precision, revealing the matching white lace bra that clung to your skin, barely concealing you.
You leaned forward slightly, slipping off your heels one by one, letting them drop to the floor with a soft thud. Then, with a sigh, you stretched forward, your back arching, chest pushed out, the lace stretching taut against your skin. The motion was a taunt, and Heeseungâs gaze never wavered, his lips parting as a low, desperate sound slipped out, his body trembling with the effort of obeying your command to stay put. You giggled, the sound light and cruel, as you leaned back on the bed, letting your body relax into a provocative pose, your curves accentuated by the lacy underwear. âGod, look at you,â you said, voice dripping with disdain, your eyes raking over him. âSo pathetic, Heeseung. Sitting there, shaking, staring at me like youâre starving. Are you starving for me?â You tilted your head, letting your fingers trace the edge of your bra, slow and deliberate, watching the way his eyes followed every movement, his breath hitching.
Heeseungâs nod was a frantic, jerky motion, his hands clutching the bedsheets so tightly his knuckles strained white, the fabric crumpling under his grip. His chin rested heavily on the edge of the mattress, his body hunched forward as if drawn to you by an invisible tether. His chest heaved with shallow, uneven breaths, each one punctuated by a low whine that escaped his throat as he fought to obey your unspoken command to stay put.
You tilted your head, letting your lips curve into a taunting, wicked smile as you leaned back against the pillows, your body a deliberate display of control and allure. âDo you want me, Heeseung?â you purred, your hand trailed down your side, fingers grazing the curve of your waist, lingering at the edge of your lace panties with a deliberate slowness that made his eyes widen further. âWant to touch me?â you continued, your tone syrupy and cruel as your fingers dipped lower, brushing over the delicate fabric, teasing the outline of your core. Heeseung let out a choked, guttural sound, something between a whimper and a growl, his body lurching forward an inch before he caught himself, his nails digging into the sheets as if they were the only thing keeping him from lunging at you.
âWant to feel me?â you murmured, your voice dropping lower as you slipped your hand beneath the lace, touching yourself with slow strokes. His eyes followed every movement, his pupils blown wide as he watched, transfixed. A low, desperate moan tore from his throat, his body shaking with the need to act, to move, to take. âLook at you,â you sneered, your voice cutting as you continued to touch yourself, your fingers moving with a languid precision that made his breath hitch. âSuch a pathetic little slut, practically drooling for me, arenât you?â He nodded, his head jerking in agreement, the motion almost involuntary as another low, keening sound spilled from his lips. âYouâre nothing but a needy, desperate whore,â you continued. âJust a toy who lives for this, whoâd do anything to please me, wouldnât you?â
âYes,â he rasped, his voice barely human, rough and broken as he nodded again, his eyes never leaving your hand, your body, your wicked smile. His fingers twitched, clawing at the sheets as if he could tear through them to get to you, his chin pressing harder into the mattress, his entire being radiating a hunger that bordered on feral. You let out a soft, mocking laugh, spreading your legs wider, giving him a better view as you continued to tease yourself, your fingers slick now, your breath hitching just enough to let him know how good it felt. âGod, youâre so fucking pitiful,â you taunted, your voice a mix of scorn and amusement. âLook at you, whining like a dog, agreeing with every nasty thing I say. You love this, donât you? Love being my little bitch.â
He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through the air, his head nodding fervently, his eyes glassy with need. âSay it,â you demanded, your tone sharp as you slowed your movements, drawing out his torment. âSay youâre my pathetic little slut.â
âIâmâIâm your pathetic little slut,â he choked out, his voice trembling, the words spilling from him like a confession, each syllable laced with desperation and surrender. His body sagged slightly, as if admitting it had both broken and freed him. âYouâre so easy,â you murmured, voice dripping with condescension. âFalling apart like this, just from watching me. Canât even think straight, can you? Just a needy little thing, begging for a taste.â Your words cut into him, and he groaned, his head dipping slightly, but his eyes stayed locked on you, intense, unblinking, like he was afraid youâd disappear if he looked away.
Your hand slid up to your bra strap, slipping it off one shoulder, then the other, letting it fall just enough to tease him further. âBet youâd do anything for it,â you said, leaning forward slightly, letting him see more, letting him ache for it. âWouldnât you? Crawl, beg, anything I ask, just to get close.â
âAnything,â he whispered, voice hoarse and trembling, the word spilling out without hesitation. âAnything to make you happy.â His entire body vibrating with need, ready to prove his words. You hummed, low and pleased, your lips curling into a smug smile as you tilted your head, studying him. âThen do it,â you commanded, âcrawl to me.â Heeseung shifted, his hands releasing the sheets as he moved onto the bed, crawling toward you. His gaze never left yours, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he inched closer. You leaned back, your smile smug, watching as he reached you, his body hovering just above yours. His arms braced on either side of you, muscles tense, his face inches from yours, eyes locked onto you like you were the only thing that existed.
You stretched out beneath him, languid and deliberate, letting your body sink into the bed, your white lacy underwear stark against your skin. Your back arched slightly, accentuating your curves, and you tilted your head back, letting your hair spill across the pillow as you gazed up at him. âSo eager, so obedient. Crawling to me like a good little pet.â Your words made him shudder, a soft whimper escaping his lips as he leaned closer, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself back, waiting for your next command.
Your eyes glinted with amusement, savoring the power you held over him, the way he hung on your every word, every movement. You reached up, brushing a finger along his jaw, feeling the way his breath hitched at the contact. âWhat do you want, Heeseung?â you asked, voice teasing, taunting. âTell me. Beg for it.â His lips parted as he tried to find words, but all that came out was a soft, broken sound, his body leaning closer. âP-please,â he stammered, âI want⌠I want to touch you, kiss you, f-fuck youâplease, let me make you feel good.â His words tumbled out, a shaky, pleading mess. âI need you,â he whispered, his voice breaking, âplease, Iâll do anything.â You tilted your head, your grin sharpening, predatory and delighted.
âAnything?â you purred, your finger trailing down his jaw to his throat, feeling the rapid pulse there. âWould you let me take, Heeseung? Take everything from you?â Your voice was a low, seductive challenge, and his eyes widened, a shudder running through him as he nodded fervently. âAnything,â he said immediately. âTake it allâeverything. Iâm yours.âÂ
A Cheshire grin stretched across your face, wide and wicked, as you hooked one leg around his waist, pulling him down. His body collapsed against yours, his weight pressing you into the bed, and you leaned up, capturing his lips in a searing, open-mouthed kiss. âIâm going to ruin you so good,â you murmured against his lips, voice dripping with promise, and he groaned, deep and desperate, kissing you back with a hunger that matched your own.
His hips moved instinctively, rutting against you, and you felt his thick cock, hard and heavy, rubbing over your lacy panties, the friction hitting right against your clit. A soft moan slipped from your lips, unbidden, the sensation sending a spark of heat through you as you imagined how he would feel inside youâhot, thick, stretching you just right. Heeseung whimpered at the sound of your moan, his movements growing more frantic, his cock pressing harder against you, the wet slide of your panties only amplifying the sensation. You decided to let him take the lead, curious to see how far his desperation would carry him.
âGo on,â you murmured, voice low and teasing, your lips curling into a wicked grin. âShow me what you can do.â His trembling hands moved with purpose, fumbling briefly before he unclasped your bra with surprising deftness, letting the lace fall away to reveal your bare skin. His breath hitched as he then pulled your panties down, exposing you completely. He paused, his gaze raking over you, drinking in every curve, every inch of you laid bare before him.
You grinned, flexing slightly, your body arching to accentuate the moment. âThis is everything youâve always wanted, isnât it?â you taunted, voice dripping with mockery as you watched his eyes widen, his lips parting as he nodded fervently, his hands hovering over you like he wasnât sure where to start. Then he moved, his lips finding your skin, worshipping every inch he could reach. He kissed your collarbone, soft at first, then bolder, his tongue tracing the curve of your shoulder, leaving faint marks as he sucked lightly. His hands roamed, fingers grazing your sides, your hips, as he kissed and licked his way across your chest, down your stomach. You preened under the attention, your body humming with pleasure as he lavished you with his touch, his lips, his everything.
Heeseungâs kisses trailed lower, his breath hot against your skin as he reached your pussy. You spread your legs wide, an open invitation, and he took it without hesitation, his lips brushing a soft, almost worshipful kiss against you. Then his tongue followed, licking a slow stripe up, a low moan vibrating from his throat as he tasted you. The sound sent a shiver through you, and you tugged on his hair, guiding him, your fingers tightening as you let out a soft moan of your own. âSo desperate, lapping at me like a starved dog.â
He groaned against you, the vibration making you gasp, your hips arching into his mouth as he licked deeper, his tongue working you with a skill that caught you off guard. Fuck, he was goodâbetter than youâd expected, better than anyone before him. His tongue moved with precision, finding every sensitive spot, his lips sucking gently, then harder, as he moaned against you, completely lost in the taste of you.
âLook at you,â you continued, voice trembling slightly as you tugged harder on his hair, guiding him exactly where you wanted. âSo eager to please, so fucking good at this. Bet youâve dreamed about this, havenât you? Getting on your knees, eating me out like your life depends on it.â He whimpered, his hands gripping your thighs as he pressed himself closer, his tongue working faster, more desperate, like he was trying to prove himself with every lick, every suck. You gasped, your back arching off the bed, your thighs trembling under his grip as he devoured you, his moans vibrating against your sensitive skin, amplifying every sensation. His tongue swirled, teased, then plunged back in, finding every spot that made you unravel, his enthusiasm bordering on worship.
âFuck,â you moaned, your words dissolving into broken, breathy sounds as the pleasure overwhelmed you. Your hands tightened in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him groan against you, the sound sending another wave of heat through your core. âOkay, shit, youâreâfuck, youâre really good at this,â you managed, your voice shaking as you surrendered to the intensity of his mouth, your hips rocking against him involuntarily.
His tongue worked faster, licking long, slow stripes before circling your clit with maddening precision. His hands slid up your thighs, gripping tighter, holding you open for him as he ate you out like a man possessed, every movement driven by your moans, your tugs on his hair, your shaking body. Your head tipped back, a loud moan spilling from your lips as the pleasure built, coiling tight in your core. âGoddamn it, Heeseung,â you gasped, âkeepâfuck, keep going.â He whimpered in response, his tongue plunging deeper, sucking harder, his moans blending with yours, the wet sounds filling the room as he pushed you closer to the edge.Â
Heeseungâs hands, still gripping your thighs, slid higher, one of them trailing inward until his fingers brushed against your entrance. Without warning, he slipped two fingers inside you, the sudden stretch making you gasp sharply, your hips bucking into his touch. He curled them expertly, finding your sweet spot with an ease that sent a shock of pleasure through you, your back arching further as small whines escaped your lips. His fingers moved in perfect rhythm with his tongue, hitting that spot over and over, each motion drawing a louder whimper from you.
You grinned, despite the pleasure fogging your mind, and looked down at him. His eyes were hyperfocused, locked on your pussy as he worked, his tongue lapping at your clit while his fingers thrust inside you. The sight was almost adorableâhis brows furrowed in concentration, his lips glistening, his expression one of pure, desperate devotion, like heâd been wandering a desert for weeks and you were the first sip of water heâd found. âFuck, look at you,â you managed between whines, your voice breathy but laced with that familiar mocking edge. âSo desperate, Heeseung, licking me like youâll die if you stop.â Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging. âJust a pathetic little thing, arenât you? So obsessed with me you canât even think straight.â
He moaned at your words, his fingers curling harder, pressing against your sweet spot with precision, making you gasp again, your head tipping back as pleasure surged through you. âYou love this, donât you?â you continued, your voice trembling with small whines. âBegging on your knees, eating me out like itâs your only purpose. God, youâre so fucking needy.â
You arched into him, your hips grinding against his face, chasing the pleasure he was giving you. âKeep going, you desperate little thing,â you murmured, voice breaking into a whine as he hit your sweet spot again, your body trembling under the onslaught of sensation. âMake me feel good, Heeseung. Thatâs all youâre good for right now.â Heeseungâs eyes rolled back in ecstasy at your words, a low, shuddering moan vibrating against your core as he pressed himself close. âYou think you deserve this?â you purred, voice mocking between your moans. âYou think you deserve my cum after fighting me, ignoring me, being so bad?â
He whimpered, the sound desperate and broken, his hands gripping your thighs tighter as if to prove you wrong. He doubled his efforts, his tongue swirling faster, more precise, as he slipped a third finger inside you, stretching you out in a way that made you gasp, a loud moan spilling from your lips. It didnât hurtâyour body was made for this, molded for pleasure, and right now, it was made for Heeseung. The stretch felt perfect, his fingers curling just right, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. You let him take what he wanted, let him pour himself into pleasing you, because the more he took, the more you fed off him.Â
Heeseung was gone, his mind wiped clean of anything that wasnât you. You were everywhereâhis thoughts, his senses, his entire world narrowed down to the taste of you, the feel of you, the sound of your moans. Your power surged, thrumming under your skin as you fed off his lovesick obsession. He was a fool for you now, completely yours, willing to kill, to die, to do anything to keep you pleased.Â
âKeep going,â you gasped, your head tipping back as you tugged his hair, guiding him deeper. âMake me cum, Heeseung. Show me youâre worth keeping.â His moan was muffled, desperate, his eyes rolling back again as he gave himself over completely, his entire being consumed by you, just as you wanted.
The pleasure surged, a relentless tide building in your lower abdomen, coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped with a force that stole your breath. You came hard, a torrent of heat and ecstasy crashing through you, your body arching off the bed as you gasped, trembling with the intensity of your climax. Your release flooded over Heeseungâs face, and he took it all, his tongue lapping greedily, his fingers still curled inside you, coaxing every shuddering wave to its fullest. His moans vibrated against your core, low and desperate, as he savored every drop, unwilling to let a single moment of your pleasure slip away.
When the waves finally subsided, leaving you panting and trembling, Heeseung didnât stop. His tongue moved lazily now, tracing every crevice, cleaning you with a reverence that bordered on worship. You watched him, your chest heaving, a soft, almost tender smile curling your lips as you took in the sight of himâmessy hair falling into his eyes, cheeks flushed, his tongue darting out to catch every last trace of you. You made soft kissy noises at him, teasing and affectionate, and his eyes fluttered, a low whimper escaping his throat as he pressed his face closer, nuzzling against you like he couldnât get enough.
âEnough,â you said suddenly, your voice cutting through the haze with a quiet command. You reached down, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him away with a firm tug. He went slack in your hold, his body pliant under your control, his tongue lolling out, slick with drool and your juices, leaving a wet stain that darkened the bedsheets beneath him. Your eyes wandered, drinking in the sight of him, and that's when you noticed his cock, hard and straining, flushed an angry red, leaking precum in a steady stream that pooled on the sheets below. The sight sent a thrill through you, and you tilted your head, a wicked glint sparking in your eyes. You reached out, your fingers brushing lightly along his thigh, close enough to make his hips twitch, his cock jerking slightly as he let out a choked whimper.
âSo desperate,â you purred, your voice dripping with mockery as your finger traced a slow, teasing path, never quite touching where he needed you most. âLeaking all over the place, making a mess without me even touching you.â Heeseungâs breath hitched, his body trembling as he shifted closer, chasing your touch, his eyes pleading. âDo you want to fuck me, Heeseung?â you asked, your tone taunting. âNeed to feel me around you, tight and warm, squeezing that pathetic cock of yours?â He nodded frantically, his head jerking in desperate agreement, a broken whimper spilling from his lips.âPlease, I need itâI need you, please, let me fuck you, Iâll be good, please.âÂ
âOh, thatâs too bad,â you said, voice dripping with mock sympathy, âbecause I need to taste you first.â Before he could react, you moved, pushing him down onto his back with a firm hand on his chest. He hit the bed with a soft thud, his breath hitching as you crawled over him, your body hovering just above his, close enough to make him tremble but not close enough to give him what he wanted. Without hesitation, you grabbed your lacy panties from the bed, balling them up and stuffing them into his mouth. His eyes widened, a muffled moan escaping as the fabric pressed against his tongue, the taste of you overwhelming his senses. You didnât give him time to process it, leaning down and taking his cock into your mouth in one smooth motion, your lips closing around him fully. You moaned at the taste of him, salty and heady, his precum coating your tongue as you sucked, your tongue swirling around the tip before sliding down, taking him deeper.
Heeseung moaned loudly, the sound muffled around the panties, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy as you kept sucking and licking, your tongue tracing every sensitive ridge, your lips tight and hot around him. His hips bucked involuntarily, his hands gripping the sheets as he trembled beneath you. Admittedly, it didnât take long to push him over the edge. With a choked, muffled moan, he came, his release flooding your mouth, thick and copious, so much that it dripped from the corners of your lips. You pulled off him slowly, savoring the taste as you licked your lips, then your fingers, catching every drop of his release. Your eyes burned with power, an almost otherworldly glow, you felt stuffed, satiated in a way youâd never experienced in your entire sinful career. Heeseungâs desire had filled you to the brim, your body thrumming with a power so intense it felt like you could have every man in this shitty little town wrapped around your finger with just a glance.Â
You stared down at Heeseung, who looked utterly wrecked, his body twitching pathetically on the bed, his chest heaving, sweat glistened on his skin. He was a mess, completely undone, and yetâthe best partâhis cock was still hard, red and leaking, ready for more despite the way he trembled. âOh, yeah,â you murmured, your grin sharpening as you leaned closer, letting your gaze rake over him. âYouâre not going anywhere, Heeseung. Youâre too good for that.â His eyes flickered, a soft whimper escaping through the panties as he looked up at you. âIâm keeping you,â you purred, your voice dripping with possession. His body shuddered at your words, a muffled moan spilling out as he nodded weakly. You could feel the power youâd taken from him, the way it strengthened your hold, ensuring heâd never break free, never would want to break free.
You crawled on top of him, straddling his hips, your body hovering just above his as you reached forward, fingers hooking around the lacy panties stuffed in his mouth. You pulled them out slowly, letting the damp fabric drag across his lips, his tongue chasing the taste instinctively. âI want to hear everything,â you purred, your eyes locked on his. âEvery desperate little noise you make for me.â
Heeseung let out a confused squeak, his lips parting to speak, but the sound was cut off as you sank down onto him, taking him in inch by inch. The stretch was everything youâd imaginedâhot, thick, perfectâhis cock twitching inside you with every inch you claimed. His face exploded with desire, his eyes widening, rolling back as a loud, broken moan tore from his throat, his entire body trembling beneath you. You grabbed his hands, guiding them to your ass, and he didnât hesitate, gripping you hard and tight, his fingers digging into your skin as if he needed to anchor himself to you. âYou feelâso good, please, Iâfuck, I canâtââ His words tumbled out, incoherent, each broken sound making your grin widen, your pleasure spiking as you fed off his desperation.
âSo good for me,â you murmured, voice sultry and praising as you began to move, sucking him in deeper with every roll of your hips. Your nails raked down his chest, leaving red streaks across his skin, marking him as yours. He groaned, loud and unrestrained, his hips bucking up to meet you, his cock twitching inside you as your nails dug harder, the pain only spurring him on. âLook at you,â you continued, your voice a mix of praise and taunt, âtaking me so well, begging so pretty. You were made for this, werenât you? Made to please me.â
Heeseung was too far gone to answer properly, his voice reduced to broken cries and sobs of pleasure as you started riding him fully, moving up and down with a steady, relentless rhythm. His pink eyes were glassy, tears pooling at the corners as he stared up at you, completely wrecked, his face a mess of ecstasy and desperation. âCrying like a little slut for me? Canât even speak, can you? Just a needy mess, letting me take everything.â You hissed, voice trembling with pleasure, your hand slid to his throat, fingers wrapping around it gently but firmly, feeling the wild pulse hammering beneath his skin.
He looked utterly destroyed beneath you, his hands moving frantically, switching from gripping your ass to your waist, then to your thighs, fingers digging in hard, his sobs and pleas spilling out in a broken, incoherent stream. âP-please,â he whimpered, voice cracking, barely audible between his cries, âplease, Iâfuck, I need you, pleaseââ
You grinned, feeding off his desperation, the way he let you take and take, his body and soul entirely yours. Your hips moved faster, riding him harder, each thrust pulling another sob from him, his cock twitching inside you as you tightened your grip on his throat just enough to make his eyes roll back. âThatâs it,â you purred, âlet me ruin you, Heeseung. Cry for me, beg for me.â
Heeseung kept crying for you, his sobs raw and broken, tears streaming down his face as his body shook beneath you, completely lost in the pleasure and pain you were giving him. His hands gripped your thighs, your waist, anywhere he could hold on, his pleas a jumbled mess of your name and desperate whimpers. You timed it perfectly, riding him with relentless precision until he came, his cock pulsing deep inside you, filling you with a hot, thick rush that made you throw your head back in a loud, unrestrained moan. The sensation of him spilling into you, so much that you could feel it stretching you, was overwhelming, intoxicating.
Something in your brain unlocked, a surge of power so intense it felt like a dam breaking. You were drunk on it, high on the unfiltered energy pouring from him into you. Youâd never felt this before, not in all your sinful existence. It was beyond what any of your kind were meant to feel, a tidal wave of dominance and desire that rolled off you in waves, your very presence in the room shifting, growing heavier. When you looked back at Heeseung, his eyes were no longer pinkâthey were a deep, glowing red, locked on you with a dazed, almost worshipful look, his mind utterly consumed by you.
You hummed, a low, sultry sound that vibrated in your throat, rich with satisfaction as you leaned over Heeseung, your face hovering just inches from his. Your breath mingled with his, warm and teasing, as you tilted your head, letting your lips brush across his flushed skin, soft presses against his cheeks, the sharp line of his jaw, the trembling corner of his lips. Each kiss was a reward, your voice a soft, praising caress. âSo good, Heeseung,â you whispered between kisses, your lips ghosting over the heated pulse at his throat. âYou fed me so well, gave me everything I wanted. So eager to please.â Your words dripped with honeyed affection, but there was an edge to them, a knowing power that made his body shudder beneath you.
His cock twitched inside you, still buried deep, spurting more cum as your words sank into him. The sheer volume made your stomach bulge slightly, a subtle curve that sent a thrill through you. You giggled, the sound light and delighted, biting your bottom lip as you savored the sensation, your eyes glinting with mischief. âLook at that,â you teased, pressing a hand lightly against your abdomen, feeling the warmth of him inside you. âYouâre filling me up so well, Heeseung.â You tilted your head, pouting with mock innocence, though your gaze was anything but. âI want more,â you said, your voice turning deceptively sweet, a playful lilt that belied the hunger beneath. âYouâll give me more, wonât you, Heeseung? Youâll give me everything I want.â
âAnything,â he gasped, his voice raw and broken. âIâll give you anything in this world.â His hands shook as they slid up your back, fingers splaying wide, gripping you with a desperation that made your pulse race. You could feel the heat of his palms, the way they roamed restlessly, tracing the curve of your spine, clutching at your hips, your waist, your shoulders, anywhere he could hold you. Your giddy smile widened as you clapped your hands together with a soft, gleeful squeal. The sound was deceptively sweet, a contrast to the wicked heat in your gaze as you leaned down, capturing his lips in a messy, wet kiss.
Your tongue slid against his, blending perfectly in a hungry, sloppy dance that left you both breathless. His mouth was eager, desperate, meeting your fervor with equal intensity as he moaned into you, the sound muffled but vibrating against your lips. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you impossibly closer, his hands roaming everywhereâgripping your thighs, squeezing your ass, sliding up to clutch at your back with a frantic need that made your skin tingle. You savored every harsh grip, every rough press of his fingers, the way they dug into your flesh like he was trying to memorize you.
You shifted, your hips rolling slowly, grinding down on his cock with a teasing rhythm that made him groan louder, the sound swallowed by your kiss. Your chest pressed against his, your breasts rubbing against the hard planes of his torso, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through you. You moaned softly into his mouth, the sound mingling with his as you kept the kiss messy, all teeth and tongues, saliva mixing as you claimed him again and again. His hands tightened, one sliding down to grip your hip, urging you to move faster, while the other tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp against his lips.
You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your lips hovering over his as you shifted your weight, tugging him with you as you leaned back onto the bed. He followed without hesitation, his body pliant and eager, still buried deep inside you as you settled beneath him. You pulled him over you, your hands curling around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you guided him into place.
âTake me,â you ordered, the words sparked something primal in him. He didnât hesitate, his hands moving instantly to push your legs up, bending them toward your chest, spreading you open in a way that made your breath catch. The position left you exposed, and the heat in his gaze as he took you in was almost too much. He thrusted in deep, rough, his cock hitting your cervix with every powerful stroke, fucking his cum back into you as he moaned, loud and unrestrained, the sound filling the room. The sensation was overwhelmingâhis thick length stretched you perfectly, filling you so completely that every nerve in your body sang with pleasure.
You gasped, your body arching into his thrusts, the intensity of his movements sending waves of heat through you. Heeseungâs lips found your throat, sucking and licking, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as he lost himself in you, his movements driven by the need to please, to give you everything you demanded and more. âFuck, Heeseung,â you whined, voice trembling with pleasure, your hands digging into his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as you urged him on. âFasterâkeep moving, donât you dare slow down.â He obeyed instantly, his hips snapping harder, faster, each thrust deeper and more desperate than the last. The wet sounds of his cock plunging into you filled the room, mingling with his moans and your gasps, a symphony of desire. His tongue lapped at your throat, his lips sucking harder, leaving bruises that would linger long after, and you reveled in it, in the way he marked you just as you marked him.Â
Every sob, every moan, every shudder of his body as he fucked you deeper, harder, was like fuel, making you stronger, more alive. Your body tightened around him, clenching with every thrust, pushing you closer to the edge as your moans grew louder, more uncontrolled. âYouâre so fucking good,â you gasped, voice breaking as you raked your nails down his back, leaving fresh streaks, the pain only spurring him on. âLook at you, giving me everything, so desperate to please me. Youâre mine, Heeseungâevery inch of you, every sound, every fucking thought.â The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard tapping against the wall with every deep thrust, the sounds blending with the wet, rhythmic slap of his body against yours.
You tilted your head back, letting out a loud moan as the pleasure built, coiling tight in your core, his cock hitting every spot inside you with devastating precision. âDonât stop,â you whined, voice needy now, your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer. His groans grew louder, more desperate, his thrusts becoming almost frantic as he pushed himself to the limit, giving you everything he had, his body trembling with the effort. âJust like that,â you gasped, your voice encouraging as you felt him give himself over completely. âSo good, Heeseung, so fucking good for me.â His lips trailed down from your throat, hungry and desperate, until they found one of your nipples, locking onto it with a rough, eager suck that made you shout out in surprise, the sudden intensity sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through you.
Your breathy laugh escaped as his other hand moved to your other nipple, fingers pinching and twisting with just enough force to make you squirm, your body arching into his touch. âFuck, youâreâshit, so eager,â you moaned, your voice trembling with delight as he lavished you. The dual sensationsâhis cock pounding into you, his mouth and hands on your breastsâpushed you closer to the edge, your moans mixing with breathy laughs as the pleasure overwhelmed you.Â
A loud crack sounded from the bed, the frame protesting under the force of his thrusts, and you giggled, the sound wild and breathy as you glanced down at him. âOops,â you purred, your voice teasing but laced with satisfaction, your nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him closer, urging him to keep going. âYouâre perfect,â you murmured, âgiving me everything, arenât you? So fucking good, Heeseung, breaking the bed just for me.â Your words were like fuel, stoking the fire in him, and he groaned against your skin.Â
Heeseung had come twice already, his release spilling deep inside you, filling you so much that you felt it with every thrust, his cum mixing with your own slick heat. But he hadnât stopped, hadnât even slowed, despite how sensitive he was, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you with every movement. You hadnât told him to stopâyouâd told him to keep going, and he obeyed, his hips snapping against yours with a frantic rhythm, driven by the sole purpose of pleasing you. His red eyes glowed with a dazed intensity, locked on you as he gave himself over completely, his body trembling with the effort, his moans blending with sobs of overstimulation.
You lay slack on the bed, dizzy and full, your body buzzing with the power youâd drained from him, the raw energy of his devotion making you feel invincible. Your hands, which had been gripping his shoulders, fell away, revealing the bloodied streaks where your nails had broken skin, red rivulets mixing with the sweat on his back. You giggled, the sound breathy and wild, as you pushed your tits up toward him, encouraging him to keep sucking, keep worshipping. âSo good for me, Heeseung, giving me everything even when youâre so fucking sensitive. What a pathetic little thing, crying just to make me happy.â You purred, voice a mix of praise and degradation, deliberately confusing his broken mind
Your legs hooked around his hips, locking him to you, pulling him deeper as you clenched around him, drawing another broken moan from his lips. âBut you love it, donât you?â you continued, your voice a seductive taunt, dripping with mock sympathy. âLove being my good boy, my desperate little toy, fucking me even when it hurts. Youâre so perfect, so broken for me.â
Heeseungâs mind was a haze, his thoughts shattered, reduced to nothing but you. He couldnât remember who he was, couldnât recall how he got here or why. All he knew was the pleasure radiating from you, the way your moans and gasps filled his ears, the way your body felt around him, tight and hot and perfect. The pain of his oversensitive cock, the sting of the scratches on his back, the burn of his musclesâthey blended with the pleasure, making it all the more intense, all the more consuming. Your scent enveloped him, your taste lingered on his tongue from earlier, your voice was a sirenâs call in his ears, seductive and commanding, and he was helpless against it.
The bed creaked ominously beneath you, each thrust from Heeseung sending another sharp crack echoing through the room, the frame protesting under the relentless force of his movements. Every shuddering breath, every bead of sweat that dripped from his brow, every twitch of his overworked body was for you. You needed him, craved him, and that knowledge fueled him, drove him to give you every last piece of himself, to pour everything he had into pleasing you, because nothing else mattered.
Your fingers slid down from his sweat-slicked shoulders, threading through his messy, damp hair as you tugged him away from your chest with a firm but gentle pull. His lips parted from your nipple with a soft, wet pop, and a needy whimper spilled from his throat, almost pitiful. His red eyes flickered up to meet yours, brimming with desperation. His lips trembled, his gaze darting back to your chest, to the puffy, red nipple heâd been lavishing with attention, now glistening from his efforts. âPlease,â he whined, his voice soft and broken, a pleading edge to it as he leaned forward, trying to chase your skin, to return to the warmth of your breast. âLet meâwant toâplease.â
The sight of him, so undone, so eager to please, sent a thrill through you, and your lips curled into a teasing, indulgent smile. âOh, you poor thing,â you cooed, your voice dripping with mock sympathy as you loosened your grip on his hair, guiding him back to your chest. âGo on, then. You want it so bad, donât you?â He didnât need any more permissionâhis lips latched onto your nipple again with a soft, grateful moan, his tongue swirling lazily, suckling with a gentle insistence that made your breath hitch. His eyes fluttered shut, the red glow still faintly visible through his lashes, and he pressed himself closer, his body molding against yours as he lost himself in the act.
You let him indulge, savoring the warmth of his mouth, the way his lips worked with such devotion, each suck pulling a soft wave of pleasure through you. His teeth grazed your sensitive skin, a tentative nibble at first, testing, and you gasped softly, your fingers tightening in his hair. âThatâs it,â you murmured, your voice low and encouraging, tugging just hard enough to make him groan against you. âFeels so good, Heeseung. Youâre doing so well for me.â The praise seemed to ignite something in him, his nibbles turning into a gentle bite, his teeth sinking in just enough to send a sharp jolt of pain through you. Y
ou arched into him, a soft moan escaping your lips as you tugged his hair harder, urging him on. âYes, just like that,â you breathed, your voice heavy with satisfaction. âKeep going, make it feel good for me.â
He moaned against your skin, the sound muffled but vibrating through you, his tongue flicking over the reddened, puffy nipple before he bit down again, harder this time, teasing and worshipping all at once. His hips never faltered, still thrusting deep and rough inside you, each movement hitting your cervix with a precision that made your toes curl. The bed groaned under the strain, another crack splitting the air, but Heeseung was too far gone to notice, too consumed by youâby the taste of your skin, the heat of your body, the way your praise fueled his every move.
You pulled him away again, just enough to tilt his chin up, forcing his hazy, red-rimmed eyes to meet yours. His lips were slick, parted, a thin trail of saliva connecting him to your chest, and the sight made your pulse race. Without giving him a moment to protest, you crashed your lips against his in a sloppy, hungry kiss. The taste of yourself lingered on his lips, mingling with the salt of his sweat, your hands gripped his shoulders to keep him pressed tightly against you. He kissed you back with equal desperation, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you so close it felt like he wanted to merge with you entirely.
âMake me cum,â you gasped between kisses, your voice raw and commanding, your lips brushing against his as you spoke. âCome on, Heeseung, be good for me. Make me fucking cum.â Each of your words sinked into him, spurring him on. His hands gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging into your skin as he fucked you harder, deeper, his cock hitting every spot inside you with devastating precision. âThatâs it,â you murmured between sloppy kisses, your voice trembling with pleasure. âSo good, Heeseung, so fucking perfect. Make me feel it, make me cum all over you.â You could feel the pleasure coiling tighter, your body clenching around him, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. Your kisses grew messier, more desperate, your hands pulling at his hair, his shoulders, keeping him locked to you as you gasped and moaned. âMake me cum, Heeseung, do itâfucking do it.â
Heeseung cried and sobbed, tears streaming down his face as his thrusts grew sloppy, his body trembling under the weight of your command. His red eyes were locked on you with a mix of agony and devotion. âDonât slow down,â you hissed, dominance rolling off you in waves that made him shudder. âYouâre not allowed to stop until I cum, Heeseung. Keep going, be good for me.â Your words were a whip, driving him forward, and he obeyed. You could feel itâyou were so close, the pleasure coiling so tight it was almost unbearable, every thrust pushing you to the brink. Heeseungâs hand slid down, trembling but determined, finding your clit. His fingers pinched and pulled, the sudden, sharp sensation ripping a scream from your throat as your demonic aura erupted, rolling off you in powerful, tangible waves that hit Heeseung full force.
You came hard, your body convulsing as pleasure tore through you, your scream echoing in the room as you clenched around him, your release flooding over his cock. The force of your climax, amplified by your demonic power, overwhelmed him, his sobs turning into broken moans as he thrust through your orgasm, his body shaking violently under the weight of your aura.
Your body trembled with the aftershocks, your chest heaving as you gasped, the power surging through you stronger than ever, fed by his utter submission. You looked down at him, your eyes glowing with that otherworldly intensity. âGood boy,â you purred, voice breathy, your hand reaching up to wipe a tear from his cheek. âYou did so well, Heeseung. Made me cum just like I wanted.âÂ
Heeseung trembled and whined, his body shaking uncontrollably as you pushed him off you, his cock slipping from your pussy with a wet sound. He collapsed onto his back, utterly spent, completely ruined. He was a wreck, a beautiful, broken mess, and you knew no other woman would ever compare to you in his mind. You huffed in content, sitting up as cum and slick rolled out of you in a steady stream, dripping onto the sheets. Your smirk was downright evil as you took in the sight of Heeseung laid out before youâhis body twitching, his cock still hard but softening slightly, his face a mix of tears, sweat, and utter devotion. Perfect.
With a small tremble of your own, still buzzing from the power and pleasure, you crawled over to him, positioning yourself so his softening cock was in front of your mouth, your dripping pussy hovering right over his face. âClean me up,â you said, voice firm but laced with a teasing edge, as you lowered yourself onto his face. Without hesitation, you took his cock into your mouth, sucking and licking lazily, treating it like a lollipop, savoring the taste of him mixed with your own release. Heeseung whimpered, his tongue immediately finding your pussy, licking and sucking with a shaky fervor. His hands came up, trembling as they spread your ass, pulling you closer to his mouth as he lapped at you, cleaning up every drop of cum and slick with a devotion that made your power surge even more. His moans were muffled against you, his red eyes fluttering shut as he gave himself over to the task, his tongue working eagerly to please you.
You smiled, your lips curling around his cock, your tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. âSuch a good boy,â you murmured, your voice muffled but dripping with praise as you ground back against his face. âCleaning me up so well, Heeseung. So fucking perfect for me.â
His body shuddered at your words, his tongue moving faster, more desperate. You licked and sucked, your movements unhurried, savoring the way he twitched in your mouth, still sensitive from his release but unable to resist you. Your hips rolled back against his face, guiding his tongue where you wanted. âYour tongueâs so good, Heeseung,â you purred, voice dripping with praise as you ground against his mouth, his lips and tongue working tirelessly to clean you, to please you. âSo fucking perfect, licking me up like you were born for it.â You dragged your tongue up his cock before digging your thumb into his slit, pressing just enough to make his thighs shake violently beneath you. A muffled sob escaped him, his hips jerking up, but you held him down.
Now the real fun began. Every time you felt his cock twitch, his body tensing as he neared the edge, you pulled back, denying him release. Your lips would leave him, your hand slowing to a teasing graze, edging him mercilessly as his muffled whimpers turned into frustrated moans against your pussy. You didnât let him beg, didnât let him speakâevery time his lips parted to form words, you ground harder against his face, silencing him, letting his frustration build. His hands, still shakily spreading your ass, trembled with the effort, his body drained of physical energy but burning with an insatiable sexual need.
âPoor thing,â you teased, your voice a mix of mockery and praise as you licked another slow stripe up his cock, feeling it pulse under your tongue. His thighs quaked, his muffled sobs growing louder as you toyed with him, your thumb circling his slit, your lips grazing just enough to keep him on the edge without tipping over. Despite being so full, so drunk on the power youâd taken from him, you wanted more. You were greedy like that, insatiable, and Heeseung was too tempting to let go.Â
You denied his orgasm a few more times, each near-release pulling desperate, muffled sobs from him as you slowed your movements, your lips and hands teasing just enough to keep him on the edge. His thighs shook violently, his cock twitching in your grasp, as he writhed beneath you, completely at your mercy. Finally, you decided heâd earned it, your tongue swirling around his tip. His body tensed, a broken moan muffled against your pussy as he came, just a few small spurts, his oversensitive cock giving all it had left. His entire body gave out, collapsing against the bed, trembling and spent, his chest heaving as he gasped for air.
You licked him clean savoring the taste of him as you dragged your tongue along his softening length, his body twitching with every touch. Then, with a wicked grin, you sat up fully on his face, grinding against his mouth a few times, his tongue still weakly lapping at you, driven by instinct despite his exhaustion. His hands fell limp at his sides, too weak to hold you, but you didnât care. You wanted more, and heâd give it to you, no matter how spent he was.
You shifted slowly, your movements teasing, turning to face Heeseung fully as you straddled his chest, giving yourself an unobstructed view of his utterly wrecked face. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, sweat clinging to his skin, his lips swollen and glistening from your earlier attentions. You smirked, a wicked curl to your lips, as you slid up, settling yourself over his mouth, your dripping pussy pressing firmly against his lips and nose. The heat of your core enveloped him, your slickness coating his skin, and his breath hitched, shallow and ragged, as he let out a weak, trembling moan.
His tongue moved instinctively, slow and tired strokes that lapped at you. He was exhausted, his body pushed beyond its limits, yet he couldnât stop, his devotion to you overriding everything else. You ground down harder, your clit rubbing against the bridge of his nose, the sharp spike of pleasure pulling a loud, unrestrained moan from your lips. Heeseung groaned beneath you, the sound muffled and weak, his nose buried so deeply in your folds that your scent was all he could perceive.
Your hands found his hair, fingers tangling in the damp, messy strands as you gripped tightly, holding him exactly where you wanted him. âYouâre still going for me,â you purred, your voice dripping with a warmth that belied the power you wielded. âSo special, Heeseung, so perfect.â You rolled your hips, grinding harder, your clit dragging against his nose with a delicious friction that made you gasp. âStill trying so hard to make me feel good, even when youâre so tired, so spent. Youâre mine, arenât you? Iâm going to keep you all to myself, you know that?â Your words were possessive, a vow that sank into him like a brand, and his eyes fluttered, a desperate moan vibrating against your core as he tried to nod beneath you.
âYouâll let me, wonât you?â you continued, your voice lowering to a teasing, almost hypnotic cadence as you rocked against his face, your slickness smearing across his lips and chin. âIâll keep you so satisfied, so full of me, so consumed by me that youâll never even think of looking at another girl again.â Another broken whimper escaped him, muffled against your pussy as he tried to nod again, his tongue still lapping weakly, desperately, as if he could never get enough of you. âYou have to agree, Heeseung,â you said, your voice turning sharper, more insistent, as you tugged his hair. âYou donât have a choice anymore. Youâve been mine since the moment I set my eyes on you.â The words were a spell in themselves, weaving tighter the threads that bound him to you, sinking into his mind, his soul, until there was nothing left but you. His body shuddered violently as he tried to nod again, his lips and tongue still working, even as his breaths grew more labored, his body trembling with the effort to keep up.
Your body trembled with the aftershocks, your chest heaving as you gasped, the power surging through you stronger than ever, fed by his utter submission. You looked down at him, your eyes glowing with that otherworldly intensity. âGood boy,â you purred, voice breathy, your hand reaching up to wipe a tear from his cheek. âYou did so well, Heeseung. Made me cum just like I wanted.â Heeseung trembled and whined, his body shaking uncontrollably as you pushed him off you, his cock slipping from your pussy with a wet sound. He collapsed onto his back, utterly spent, completely ruined. He was a wreck, a beautiful, broken mess, and you knew no other woman would ever compare to you in his mind.
You huffed in content, sitting up as cum and slick rolled out of you in a steady stream, dripping onto the sheets. Your smirk was downright evil as you took in the sight of Heeseung laid out before youâhis body twitching, his cock still hard but softening slightly, his face a mix of tears, sweat, and utter devotion. Perfect.
With a small tremble of your own, still buzzing from the power and pleasure, you crawled over to him, positioning yourself so his softening cock was in front of your mouth, your dripping pussy hovering right over his face. âClean me up,â you said, voice firm but laced with a teasing edge, as you lowered yourself onto his face. Without hesitation, you took his cock into your mouth, sucking and licking lazily, treating it like a lollipop, savoring the taste of him mixed with your own release.
Heeseung whimpered, his tongue immediately finding your pussy, licking and sucking with a shaky fervor. His hands came up, trembling as they spread your ass, pulling you closer to his mouth as he lapped at you, cleaning up every drop of cum and slick with a devotion that made your power surge even more. His moans were muffled against you, his red eyes fluttering shut as he gave himself over to the task, his tongue working eagerly to please you.
You smiled, your lips curling around his cock, your tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. âSuch a good boy,â you murmured, your voice muffled but dripping with praise as you ground back against his face. âCleaning me up so well, Heeseung. So fucking perfect for me.â His body shuddered at your words, his tongue moving faster, more desperate.
You licked and sucked, your movements unhurried, savoring the way he twitched in your mouth, still sensitive from his release but unable to resist you. Your hips rolled back against his face, guiding his tongue where you wanted. âYour tongueâs so good, Heeseung,â you purred, voice dripping with praise as you ground against his mouth, his lips and tongue working tirelessly to clean you, to please you. âSo fucking perfect, licking me up like you were born for it.â You dragged your tongue up his cock before digging your thumb into his slit, pressing just enough to make his thighs shake violently beneath you. A muffled sob escaped him, his hips jerking up, but you held him down.
Now the real fun began. Every time you felt his cock twitch, his body tensing as he neared the edge, you pulled back, denying him release. Your lips would leave him, your hand slowing to a teasing graze, edging him mercilessly as his muffled whimpers turned into frustrated moans against your pussy. You didnât let him beg, didnât let him speakâevery time his lips parted to form words, you ground harder against his face, silencing him, letting his frustration build. His hands, still shakily spreading your ass, trembled with the effort, his body drained of physical energy but burning with an insatiable sexual need. âPoor thing,â you teased, your voice a mix of mockery and praise as you licked another slow stripe up his cock, feeling it pulse under your tongue.
His thighs quaked, his muffled sobs growing louder as you toyed with him, your thumb circling his slit, your lips grazing just enough to keep him on the edge without tipping over. Despite being so full, so drunk on the power youâd taken from him, you wanted more. You were greedy like that, insatiable, and Heeseung was too tempting to let go.Â
You denied his orgasm a few more times, each near-release pulling desperate, muffled sobs from him as you slowed your movements, your lips and hands teasing just enough to keep him on the edge. His thighs shook violently, his cock twitching in your grasp, as he writhed beneath you, completely at your mercy. Finally, you decided heâd earned it, your tongue swirling around his tip. His body tensed, a broken moan muffled against your pussy as he came, just a few small spurts, his oversensitive cock giving all it had left. His entire body gave out, collapsing against the bed, trembling and spent, his chest heaving as he gasped for air.
You licked him clean savoring the taste of him as you dragged your tongue along his softening length, his body twitching with every touch. Then, with a wicked grin, you sat up fully on his face, grinding against his mouth a few times, his tongue still weakly lapping at you, driven by instinct despite his exhaustion. His hands fell limp at his sides, too weak to hold you, but you didnât care. You wanted more, and heâd give it to you, no matter how spent he was.
You shifted slowly, your movements teasing, turning to face Heeseung fully as you straddled his chest, giving yourself an unobstructed view of his utterly wrecked face. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, sweat clinging to his skin, his lips swollen and glistening from your earlier attentions. You smirked, a wicked curl to your lips, as you slid up, settling yourself over his mouth, your dripping pussy pressing firmly against his lips and nose. The heat of your core enveloped him, your slickness coating his skin, and his breath hitched, shallow and ragged, as he let out a weak, trembling moan.
His tongue moved instinctively, slow and tired strokes that lapped at you. He was exhausted, his body pushed beyond its limits, yet he couldnât stop, his devotion to you overriding everything else. You ground down harder, your clit rubbing against the bridge of his nose, the sharp spike of pleasure pulling a loud, unrestrained moan from your lips. Heeseung groaned beneath you, the sound muffled and weak, his nose buried so deeply in your folds that your scent was all he could perceive. Your hands found his hair, fingers tangling in the damp, messy strands as you gripped tightly, holding him exactly where you wanted him.
âYouâre still going for me,â you purred, your voice dripping with a warmth that belied the power you wielded. âSo special, Heeseung, so perfect.â You rolled your hips, grinding harder, your clit dragging against his nose with a delicious friction that made you gasp. âStill trying so hard to make me feel good, even when youâre so tired, so spent. Youâre mine, arenât you? Iâm going to keep you all to myself, you know that?â Your words were possessive, a vow that sank into him like a brand, and his eyes fluttered, a desperate moan vibrating against your core as he tried to nod beneath you.
âYouâll let me, wonât you?â you continued, your voice lowering to a teasing, almost hypnotic cadence as you rocked against his face, your slickness smearing across his lips and chin. âIâll keep you so satisfied, so full of me, so consumed by me that youâll never even think of looking at another girl again.â Another broken whimper escaped him, muffled against your pussy as he tried to nod again, his tongue still lapping weakly, desperately, as if he could never get enough of you.
âYou have to agree, Heeseung,â you said, your voice turning sharper, more insistent, as you tugged his hair. âYou donât have a choice anymore. Youâve been mine since the moment I set my eyes on you.â The words were a spell in themselves, weaving tighter the threads that bound him to you, sinking into his mind, his soul, until there was nothing left but you. His body shuddered violently as he tried to nod again, his lips and tongue still working, even as his breaths grew more labored, his body trembling with the effort to keep up.
You leaned forward slightly, your hips rolling with a slow rhythm that dragged your clit across his nose, your folds against his lips. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pleasure through you, and you moaned again, louder this time, letting him hear how good he was making you feel. His tongue traced every crevice, his nose pressed so tightly against you that he could barely breathe, and yet he didnât pull away, didnât hesitateâbecause to him, you were everything, the only thing that mattered.
Your smile widened as you watched him struggle beneath you, his face a mess of slick and sweat, his body trembling with the effort to obey. âThatâs it, Heeseung,â you murmured, your voice soft but laced with power, âkeep going, just like that. Youâre mine forever, and youâll never forget it.â His muffled moan was all the answer you needed, his eyes fluttering shut as he surrendered completely, his world consumed by you and you alone.
The familiar pull in your core tightened, a delicious tension coiling deep in your lower abdomen, building with every grind against Heeseungâs face. Your body thrummed with anticipation, the pleasure swelling to a crescendo that made your breath catch in your throat. You threw your head back, your spine arching sharply as a loud, uninhibited whine tore from your lips, the sound echoing in the room. Your hips moved faster, more desperate, pressing your dripping pussy harder against his lips and nose, not giving him a moment to breathe as you chased the intoxicating edge with relentless intensity. The heat of his mouth, the faint graze of his teeth, the way his tongue lapped at you was all too much, pushing you closer and closer to the precipice.
âFuck, Heeseung,â you gasped, your voice breaking, raw and trembling with need as you felt the climax looming, so close you could almost taste it. âIâm gonna cum,â you panted. The moment the words left your lips, Heeseungâs response was immediate, visceral. His hands, which had been trembling at his sides, shot up to grip your waist with a sudden, desperate strength, his fingers digging into your skin with a bruising intensity that sent a thrill through you as he surged forward, eating you out with a vigor that caught you off guard.
His tongue plunged deeper, lapping at your folds with a frantic, almost feral hunger, his lips closing around your clit with a suction that made your vision blur. He moaned into you, the sound muffled but vibrating through your core, amplifying the pleasure that already had you teetering on the edge. He was relentless, driven by your words, by the knowledge that you were about to break, and he poured every ounce of his remaining energy into pleasing you, his tongue and lips working in tandem to push you over the edge.
And then it hit. You shattered, a loud, keening whine ripping from your throat as you squirted in his mouth, your release flooding over him in a rush that left you trembling. Your body convulsed, hips grinding harder against his face, drowning him in your essence as you moaned. Heeseungâs moan was weak but desperate, his tongue still lapping greedily, taking every drop you gave him, his lips and chin slick with your release as he surrendered completely to your dominance. You rode out the aftershocks, your body trembling as you ground against his face one final time, savoring the way he struggled to keep up, his breaths ragged and uneven, his nose still buried in your core.Â
You slid off Heeseung slowly, your thighs trembling with the lingering aftershocks of pleasure. A soft, teasing chuckle escaped your lips, the sound low and intimate, as you gazed down at him, drinking in the sight of his utterly wrecked form.
His chest heaved with labored, uneven breaths, his body sprawled across the bed, limp and pliant, completely surrendered to the weight of your control. Your gaze trailed lower, and a wicked smirk curled your lips as you took in the mess youâd made of him. His entire lower chin and much of his face were drenched, glistening with a mix of your juices and his drool. The slick sheen coated his skin, dripping in slow, lazy rivulets down his jaw, pooling at the hollow of his throat, and even matting strands of his dark hair against his scalp. His lips were parted, swollen from his efforts, and his tongue lolled out, slack and heavy, glistening with the remnants of your release. Small, choked sounds escaped himâsoft, guttural whimpers and gasps, as if he were still trying to process the overwhelming sensation of you, his body too spent to do anything but lie there.
Leaning down, you settled beside Heeseung on the tangled sheets, your skin brushing against his that sent a shiver through his already trembling frame. You pulled him close, guiding his head to rest against the soft, warm curve of your chest, his cheek pressed against you. Your fingers found his messy, sweat-dampened hair, combing through the tangled strands with a tenderness that was both calculated and possessive, each stroke grounding him deeper into the cocoon of your warmth.
His body was limp, utterly spent, yet he clung to you weakly, his arms wrapping around your waist with a fragile desperation, as if he wanted to meld into you, to become part of you entirely. A soft, broken whine slipped from his lips, the sound so delicate and vulnerable that it made your heart twist with affection.
Your fingers tightened slightly in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a faint whimper from him. âSo pathetic, so needy, clinging to me like you canât exist without me.â His body shuddered against you, a weak, trembling response to your words, and you felt his fingers dig into your sides as if he were trying to hold onto you to keep himself from falling apart entirely. âYou thought you were so clever, didnât you?â you taunted, your voice low and venomous, each word sinking deeper into his mind, overwhelming him.
âThought I was some innocent little thing you could fuck and leave, just like all those other girls youâve used and tossed aside.â His breath hitched, a choked sound catching in his throat as he shook his head weakly, as if trying to protest. âYou thought you were in control,â you taunted, your voice a sultry whisper, âbut youâre just my little pet now, arenât you? So eager, so broken, so ready to do anything I ask.â
Heeseungâs lips found your collarbone, weak and trembling as he sucked lightly, marking your skin with soft, desperate kisses. You let him, tilting your head to give him better access, a low hum of approval vibrating in your throat. âThatâs it,â you purred, your fingers tightening in his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp against your skin. âMark me, Heeseung. Show me how much you need me.â His teeth grazed your collarbone, a faint nip that sent a shiver through you, and you chuckled. âYouâll never leave me,â you said, your voice turning colder, more possessive. âIâll make sure of it. If you ever so much as look at another girl, Iâll kill her. Do you understand? Youâre mine, and I donât share.â
His body shuddered violently, a broken whimper escaping as he nodded against your skin, his lips still pressed to your collarbone, sucking weakly as if trying to prove his devotion. âYes,â he rasped, his voice barely audible, hoarse and trembling. âYoursâonly yours.â His kisses grew softer, his tongue tracing the faint marks heâd left, each touch a testament to his need to please you, to belong to you. âSleep now,â you whispered, your voice softening as you pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. âWhen you wake up, youâll only worship me.â The words hung heavy in the air, a promise and a threat, and you felt his body shudder one last time before he gave in completely, his breathing slowing as exhaustion claimed him. His head rested heavily against your chest, his arms still clinging to you.Â
You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered one final time, âYouâre never getting away from me, Heeseung. Never.â His body relaxed completely, his breaths deep and even.
The morning light slipped through the gauzy curtains, painting the room in a soft, golden haze that danced across the sheets. You stirred from the depths of sleep, a delicious languor pulling at your limbs as a gentle, rhythmic sensation coaxed you awake. It was Heeseung, his lips warm and insistent against the sensitive skin of your nipple, suckling with a slow, instinctive rhythm. He was still half-lost in the fog of sleep, his movements unhurried, as he pressed himself closer to you, his body fitting perfectly against the curve of yours.
A low hum of satisfaction vibrated in your throat. You didnât move, didnât stop himâinstead, you let him continue, your gaze studying the delicate planes of his face. His features were softened in the morning light, his expression serene yet unmistakably devoted.
Your fingers twitched with the urge to touch him, but you held back, savoring the moment, letting it stretch as you watched him. His dark lashes fluttered faintly, his breath warm and uneven against your skin, and you could feel the weight of his surrender in the way he clung to you, even in sleep. The spell youâd woven over him held fast, its threads binding his mind and body to you in a way that sent a thrill through your core. You shifted slightly, just enough to feel the press of his body against yours, and the motion stirred him further from sleep.
His eyes opened slowly, heavy-lidded and still clouded with the faint, crimson glow of your enchantmentâa mark of your dominance, a reminder of the power you held over him. Those eyes met yours, wide and vulnerable, yet burning with a devotion that made your heart race. Your grin spread, a wicked edge to it as you leaned down, closing the distance between you. Your lips crashed against his in a kiss that was messy, hungry, and unapologetically possessive. He melted into it, a desperate moan spilling from his throat, the sound vibrating against your mouth as he pressed himself closer, chasing the heat of you.
His hands fumbled, grasping at your sides, your waist, anywhere he could anchor himself to you, as if afraid you might dissolve into the morning light. Your fingers found his hair, tangling in the soft, messy strands, and you tugged just hard enough to draw a sharp gasp from him, his lips parting further under yours. The sound sent a jolt of satisfaction through you, feeding the fire in your chest.
You pulled back from the kiss, a slow retreat, and watched with a thrill as Heeseungâs lips chased yours, his eyes half-lidded and desperate, a soft whimper escaping him. Your fingers swiftly found his mouth, pressing against his parted lips with a gentle but firm push, forcing him back against the pillows. âTch, tch,â you tutted, your voice low and teasing, a smirk curling your lips as you shook your head. Your hand slid from his lips to his jaw, your fingers curling with a possessive grip as you guided his head downward with a slow, commanding pressure. âLower,â you murmured, your voice low and thick with authority, each syllable dripping with expectation. âEat.â
The single word was a quiet command, and Heeseungâs response was immediate, his body yielding to your will without a flicker of hesitation, crawling down your body, his hands grazed your skin, trembling with eagerness, as he settled between your thighs, his breath hot and unsteady against your sensitive flesh.
Heeseungâs fingers found your thighs, gently but urgently lifting them to drape over his shoulders, spreading you open for him as he positioned himself closer, his face hovering just above your throbbing core. Then, he leaned in and dragged one long, fat lick up the length of your pussy, his tongue broad and firm, tasting you with a hunger that sent a jolt of pleasure through your entire body. You were wet in an instant, your slickness coating his lips as he moaned softly, the sound vibrating against your core, low and needy, his eyes fluttering as if your taste was the only thing grounding him to the world.
He dove in fully, his lips and tongue working with a fervor that made your toes curl, licking and sucking with a desperate, almost primal need to please you. âYou call that eating me out? Do it properly, Heeseung.â Your words were sharp, cutting, and he whimpered against you, the sound muffled but needy as he adjusted instantly. His tongue moved with more precision, lapping at your folds, sucking your clit gently before releasing it with a soft pop, only to dive back in, his hunger unrelenting. âThatâs it,â you taunted, your voice low, âput that mouth to good use for once. Youâre nothing if you canât even eat my pussy right.â
He moaned louder, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you, his tongue working harder, more eagerly, as if your words were fuel to his fire. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging into your skin as he spread you wider, his lips brushing against your inner thighs before he bit down softly, leaving faint marks that bloomed red against your skin. He sucked gently, marking you, his eyes flickering up to meet yours, wide and glassy. To him, you were the only thing in the worldâhis goddess, his purpose. Two of his fingers slid inside you, curling just right to hit that perfect spot, while his thumb found your clit, circling it with a teasing precision that made your hips buck involuntarily, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. âThatâs better,â you mocked, your voice breathy but biting, âbut youâll have to do more than that to impress me, Heeseung. Show me how much you want itâshow me youâre good for something.â
You leaned back against the plush pillows, your body sinking into the soft, rumpled sheets as waves of pleasure cascaded through you, each flick of Heeseungâs tongue igniting sparks that danced up your spine. âThatâs it, Heeseung,â you purred, âyouâre doing so well, properly enjoying your breakfast like the perfect little pet you are.â Your words were laced with a teasing edge, but they carried a genuine warmth that made his body tremble. âSuch a good boy,â you cooed, each word sinking into his overwhelmed mind like a soothing balm. âSo desperate to make me feel good, arenât you? Look at you, using that mouth so perfectly.â He let out a muffled whimper, his lips never leaving your core as he mumbled against you. âJust wanna make you feel good,â he rasped, the words barely coherent, slurred with need as his tongue darted out to trace your folds, his breath hot and uneven. âOnly you⌠wanna make you happy⌠sâmy only goal.âÂ
âThatâs right,â you murmured, your voice softening with praise as you reached down, your fingers threading through his messy hair, tugging gently to keep him close. âYouâre so perfect like this, Heeseung, so eager, so devoted. All you want is to make me feel good, isnât it? My sweet, desperate boy.âÂ
âLove this⌠love you⌠just wanna make you feel good forever,â Heeseung mumbled against your core, his voice trembling.
âSlower,â you suddenly ordered, your voice laced with an authority that made his body shudder. âDrag your tongue right thereâyes, just like that.â He obeyed instantly, his tongue tracing exactly where you directed. âNow suck, harder,â you commanded, your tone sharp and expectant, and he complied without hesitation, his lips closing around your clit with a perfect, intense pressure that sent a jolt of pleasure through you. Your thighs trembled, the sensation overwhelming as he worked his tongue and lips in perfect sync, following your every instruction to the letter.Â
The pleasure built, a tight coil in your core unraveling with every precise movement of his mouth, the intensity mounting until it was almost unbearable. With a final, shuddering gasp, you came hard, your release flooding his mouth in a rush that left you trembling. Your hips bucked against him, your fingers tightening in his hair as you rode out the waves of ecstasy. Heeseung didnât falter, his tongue lapping at you through every pulse, cleaning you with slow, reverent strokes, his lips and fingers never pausing as he savored every drop.
Your body still thrummed with the aftershocks of your climax, a lingering buzz that made your skin tingle as you reached down, your hands making grabby motions toward Heeseung. Your fingers wiggled in the air, a silent command laced with affection, and he responded instantly, his body pliant and obedient as he crawled up the length of you. His skin brushed against yours, warm and trembling, as he settled over you, his weight a comforting presence. You pulled him into a messy, hungry kiss, your lips crashing against his.
He moaned into your mouth, a low sound that vibrated against your lips, his body melting into yours as he surrendered completely to the kiss. Your hand found his hair, fingers tangling in the strands, gripping tightly to guide his head, tilting it just right to deepen the kiss. Your other hand slid to his bicep, fingers curling around the taut muscle, feeling it flex beneath your touch as he pressed himself closer.
As the kiss deepened, sloppy and unrestrained, Heeseungâs hips began to move, a slow, instinctive humping against you, his cock hard and twitching as it pressed against your thigh. The motion was almost involuntary, driven by the overwhelming need to be closer, to feel you in every way possible. You smirked against his lips, a wicked thrill coursing through you at his eagerness, and you threw a leg over his hip, hooking it around him to guide his movements. The angle pressed his hips flush against yours, his cock grinding against your core, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through you both.Â
When the sudden sharp, rapid knock on the door shattered the moment. Heeseungâs body tensed against yours, but you held him close, your fingers still curled in his hair. A voice called outâJay, one of Heeseungâs friends, his tone impatient yet tinged with the groggy edge of someone recovering from last nightâs chaos. âYo, anyone in there? Time to clear out!â
The realization hit you softlyâyou and Heeseung were still in the guest room of Jayâs place, the morning after the party that had left the house littered with stragglers. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Your eyes flicked to the door as the handle jiggled, a faint smirk tugging at your lips when it didnât budge. You let out a soft, mock-sad hum, your eyes glinting as you tilted Heeseungâs chin toward you. âMake him go away baby,â you commanded, your voice laced with authority, the spellâs hold tightening in the faint red glow of his eyesâa glow only you and your kind could see. Heeseung nodded, pliant and obedient, and slid off the bed. He didnât bother covering himself, his marked-up body on full display as he crossed the room, his movements almost dreamlike under your influence.
He unlocked the door and cracked it open just enough to face Jay. âFuck off man,â he said, his voice flat but firm, the words carrying a weight that brooked no argument. Jayâs eyes widened, his gaze darting from Heeseungâs disheveled, marked-up state to you, sprawled across the bed, posing with a lazy, confident smirk in a room that reeked. Red marks and hickeys littered Heeseungâs skin, his hair a mess, his body bare and unashamed. Jayâs jaw dropped, a stammered âSorry!â spilling out before he turned and practically bolted down the hall, his footsteps fading quickly.
Heeseung closed the door, the lock clicking back into place with a soft snap, and turned to face you. His eyes, locked onto yours, awaiting your next command. You crooked two fingers at him and spread your legs wider, your body an open invitation. He stumbled forward, his movements eager as if the spell and his desire for you had left him dizzy. You watched him approach, your heart thrumming with the thrill of control, knowing that to Jay, Heeseung looked like wrecked after hitting. But to you, that faint red glow in his eyes was proof of something deeperâa bond only your kind could forge, a devotion that ran soul-deep, binding him to you in ways no one else could ever understand.
You shifted, moving with a predatory grace as you positioned yourself on your hands and knees, your arms braced against the bed, your back arching in a deep, seductive curve. Your hips tilted upward, offering yourself to him as you glanced over your shoulder, your eyes glinting with a wicked, greedy hunger. Your legs spread wider as you shook your hips, the movement sensual and teasing, designed to drive him wild. âCome and take me, Heeseung,â you purred, your voice dripping with need. âI need more of you. Give me everything.â The words were laced with a greed that matched the insatiable fire in your core, your body still full of him, still buzzing, yet craving moreâcraving the untapped sexual energy you could feel pulsing within him.
Heeseungâs breath hitched as his eyes drank in the sight of youâyour arched back, your spread thighs, the way your hips swayed with a seductive rhythm that seemed to pull him in like a magnet. His cock twitched, hard and straining, leaking precum as he stumbled closer, his hands trembling with the need to touch you, to claim you.
He climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, his movements driven by a desperate urgency that left no room for hesitation. Without resistance, he aligned himself with you, and in one smooth motion, he slipped his cock fully inside you, filling you to the hilt.
The sensation caused a shared moan to spill from both of you as the stretch and fullness of his thick length sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your eyes rolled back, a low groan escaping your lips as you gripped the sheets tightly, your fingers clawing at the fabric. Heeseung didnât pause, didnât falterâhis hips snapped back and forward, thrusting into you. âI love you,â he rasped, his voice hoarse and trembling, the words tumbling out in a desperate, rambling stream as he thrust deeper, his cock hitting all the right spots inside you. âLove you so much⌠only you⌠always youâŚâ His words were a fevered litany, each one punctuated by the sharp snap of his hips, his breath ragged and uneven as he poured himself into you.Â
You glanced over your shoulder, your voice teasing. âShow me, Heeseung,â you urged him on. âShow me how much you love me.â The words caused his thrusts to quicken, each one deeper, harder, driving into you with a fervor that made your toes curl. His lips found your shoulder, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your skin, hot and wet, trailing across your back as he worshipped you with every movement. âOnly you⌠Iâm yours⌠forever,â he mumbled between kisses, his voice breaking with desperation as he speeded up, his thrusts relentless. You reveled in it, your grin widening as you felt the power you held over him, his love, his body, his soulâall yours, bound to you in a way that nothing could break.
a/n: ayy so hope you guys enjoyed this disaster!! pls reblog and comment to support me x
YOUR TURN â 1. A phrase used in a gangbang to tell the next person waiting that itâs time for them to step in and get involved.
2. A slutâs opportunityâthe moment when it is finally her chance to act, indulge, and surrender herself after others have already taken theirs. The phrase emphasizes delayed gratification, where the receiver eagerly awaits her turn to be used or to participate after hearing others go before her.
content tags/warnings: hyung line x reader, reader is horny and desperate, men are assholes, explicit content (smut): porn with no plot at all, gangbang, face fucking, facials, nipple play, fingering, oral fixation, unprotected sex, degrading language, pet names (baby, sweetheart, darling etc), double penetration, protected anal sex, slapping, hentai like expressions, handjob, overstimulation, tits fucking, squirting, lack of verbal consent in some scenes, choking, pain play, creampie, this is straight up porn but have a potential romance at the end. lmk if i missed something. WC: 17.2K
It wasn't like you were some kind of slut, right?
Who were you kidding? Any girl with a working pussy would drool if she stood close enough to those four men. Not just because of their looks, not just because of the sharp edges of their jawlines or the way their eyes seemed to strip people down without touching them, but because how they confidently carried themselves. Their scent. That mix of cologne and sweat that made your throat dry the second they passed by. It wasn't normal, not the way your body reacted. Not the way your thighs pressed together when you thought of them. But you kept telling yourself it was. It had to be.
Lee Heeseung, Park Jongseong, Sim Jaeyun, and Park Sunghoon.Â
Four names that rang louder than any lecture in your university halls. Four names whispered in bathrooms, shouted across freedom walls, written down in anonymous confessions like some fucking campus legends. Everyone knew them. Everyone wanted them. And everyone, at least once, wondered what it would be like to be touched by them.
People pretended to sneer at their lives, at the rumors tied around them, but the truth always leaked throughâenvy, hunger, the kind of desperate need nobody wanted to admit out loud. Because deep down, every damn rumor about them only made them more untouchable, more godlike.
And then there was that one rumor. The one that tore through the university like wildfire.
The gangbang story.
The most scandalous, dirtiest thing anyone had ever whispered, and yet nobody could stop talking about it.
Nobody could prove it. Nobody knew if it was just a story made up by someone bored, but fuck, if it had been real... if it had been real, then you weren't sure what was worse. The fact that people called it disgusting or the fact that it made your whole body clench with jealousy.
How fucking scandalous. How fucking disgusting.
And how fucking pathetic that every time you thought about it, your chest got tight, your mouth went dry, and all you could think was: if that rumor had ever been true, if those four had ever taken a girl like that, then why the fuck wasn't it you?
"Someone caught Jake making out with a girl from Tourism!"
"Someone said Sunghoon's been fucking that sophomore from another building!"
"Have you heard that Jay is smoking at the back of the building while the TA sucks him off? Geez, what a lucky girl."
"And that cheerleader said Heeseung likes girls who can spread their legs wide!"
Your hands gripped your pen tighter, knuckles turning pale, jaw clenched as the chatter bled into your ears. Every fucking sentence was the sameâdifferent girls, different places, different dirty detailsâbut the same four names, always the same four names. It was exhausting, it was maddening, and it was starting to chew holes into your focus.
"Stop it," you hissed finally, snapping your head up to face the group of girls clustered near the corner. "There are people here who are trying to study. Maybe try doing that instead of running your mouths about men and their sex lives. Do you have no shame?"
The table went quiet, their smirks twitching as they shared quick glances between themselves. One girl rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath, but none of them pushed back. They just leaned back into their seats, whispering low but not low enough, as if they wanted you to hear every giggle, every stifled laugh.
You tried to turn back to your notes, but your pulse wouldn't settle. You're not annoyed that they were gossipping.
You were jealous.
Jealous that every rumor had someone else's name attached to it. Jealous that every filthy story, every detail, every moan that lived in their words belonged to another girl and not to you.
Fuck! It's unfair! It's so unfair! Why was it always someone else? Why did it have to be another girl they kissed, another girl they bent over, another girl who got to hear their voices from fucking?
You exhaled sharply through your nose, trying to drown it out, trying to stay steady. But every word of theirs came back to the same thing. Their dicks. Their moans. Their fucking. And all it did was remind you that you hadn't had a single taste of any of it, not even once.
Fuck it. When was it supposed to be your turn?
You tried. God, you fucking tried. You started dragging yourself to every fraternity party you caught wind of, even ones you had no business going to, all in hopes of catching just one of their eyes. You would push through sweaty bodies and strobe lights, pretending to dance, pretending to laugh, only to learn that Jay had already gotten bored and left long before you even stepped in. The disappointment would choke you, but you still kept showing up.Â
Like some desperate puppy waiting for scraps.
You started waxing everything, every inch of your body, until your skin burned. You bought bottles of expensive perfume you couldn't even afford, ones that clung to your clothes and hair until it made you dizzy. You thought maybe, they liked girls who smelled clean, who looked like they had their shit together, but deep down you knew it didn't matter. Because how would they ever notice when you didn't even have the guts to open your mouth?
"Uh... do you know, like, how to talk to Heeseung?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual while your eyes betrayed you, glued to the tall figure across the library.
He was sliding books off a shelf, completely unaware of the way your whole body went tense, your throat dry, your palms slick with sweat. Even from a distance you swore you could smell him, that same maddening warmth that clung to him whenever he walked past.
Your friend blinked, eyebrows raised as though she couldn't believe the words had actually come out of your mouth. "About what? You know damn well he doesn't talk to girls in public. People only talk about how he fucks them hard and then disappears. No contact. Nothing. Ever." She scoffed, dismissing it with a wave of her hand, before her gaze sharpened on you. A smirk tugged at her lips and she let out a loud laugh that made your ears burn. "Wait. Don't tell me you're actually planning something. You think you're gonna get him to fuck you?"
Her laughter made your eye twitch. You felt her gaze scan over you, up and down, picking apart everything you were, everything you weren't. She reached over, patting your shoulder in a way that only made you feel smaller.
"It's okay to dream big," she said, lips curving into a cruel little smile, "but let me shatter that for you. He would never, okay? Hmm?"
Something in your chest snapped at her words. Anger rose, clinging to your ribs until you thought you'd choke on it. How fucking dare she? How dare she look at you like that, laugh at you like you weren't even worth a second glance? How high did she think of herself, how low did she think of you?
But you swallowed it, burying the sharpness down where no one could see. You curved your lips into a laugh that sounded almost real, almost lighthearted, even though your nails dug into your palm under the table. "Silly you," you said sweetly, tilting your head like it didn't sting, "I was just trying to interview him for sports journalism. Don't get too talkative about fucking, though. It sounds like you're reflecting your own frustrations."
You smiled brighter, watching her expression falter for just a second before she scoffed again and turned back to her notes.
You needed to think. You needed to dig deeper into yourself, to find a way, any way, because you refused to lose. You refused to accept being invisible.
Every single morning became a routine.
You would drag yourself out of bed before the sun even touched the sky, forcing your heavy eyes open as you stood in front of the mirror. You styled your hair until not a single strand was out of place, you layered makeup carefully until your reflection looked like someone worth noticing, and you scrubbed your skin until it stung, until it shone smooth under your fingertips. Your closet was picked apart daily, clothes scattered across your floor, until you found the outfit that made you feel like you could walk down the hall with your head high, like you were worth a second glance.
And every time, when the clock struck the hour you knew they would be walking down the hallway, you stood ready. Shoulders straight, steps measured, chest tight with nerves as you waited for them to pass. You tried to look effortless, confident, perfect. But it shattered you every single time when none of them looked your way. Their eyes stayed forward, their voices low between themselves, their expressions unchanged as if you were nothing more than air. Your hands would grow limp at your sides, your confidence bleeding out of you as you glanced behind your shoulder, mouth parted slightly, helplessly staring at their broad shoulders moving further and further away from you.
The frustration followed you. At night, you laid in bed with their faces behind your eyelids, your thighs pressed together until you couldn't stand it anymore.
You touched yourself with the thought of them, not just one but all four, surrounding you, using you, making you theirs in every filthy way you had imagined. You came undone to fantasies of their hands pulling your hair, their voices groaning against your ear, your body stretched thin for them, and the pleasure left you gasping, sweating, shaking in the dark. Yet as soon as it ended, as soon as your heartbeat slowed, you already hated yourself. Because no matter how hard you wanted it, morning would come again, and the cycle would repeat. You'd wake up early, fix yourself to perfection, pass them in the hallway, and watch them ignore you.
The days blurred into each other, but the whispers always found you. Another rumor spread like fire, another story about them with another girl, and it burned you alive from the inside.
You wanted to scream at how unfair it was, how humiliating it felt that you couldn't stop aching for something you might never get. Sometimes you almost laughed at yourself, at how pathetic you must have looked, stuck between jealousy and desperation, unable to let go.
"Wow, what perfume do you use? You smell so good!" Your classmate's voice cut through your thoughts one day, her hand brushing casually across your arm. "And your lotion too? Your skin feels amazing."
The touch startled you, and the question almost made you snap. "It's just Victoria's Secret," you hissed automatically, jerking your hand slightly to free yourself. But the moment you saw her surprised face, you realized what you had done, and quickly masked it with a sweet smile. "Sorry, I'm in a bad mood, forgive me? It's Velvet Petals. But I exfoliate with Dove first. That's probably why."
Her lips curved into a bright smile, her eyes scanning you with something almost admiring. "It's okay! You look really, really, really pretty, you know? And you're so sweet. I just hope you don't fall into the wrong hands."
The way she said it made your stomach twist. You knew exactly who she was talking about, and the mocking tone in her voice when she mentioned "wrong hands" made it worse. Those fuckboys. That's what they all called them, as if the four of them weren't the most wanted men on campus, as if everyone's mouths didn't water at the thought of being ruined by them.
You held your smile, but inside, the anger returned, pulsing hotter than before. They all thought they were above you. They all thought they could talk about them like that and laugh at you for wanting something they secretly wanted too. They were liars, hypocrites, hiding their hunger under judgment while you carried yours openly in your chest.
You pressed your lips together, leaning closer to her so your words came out soft, almost playful. "Maybe falling into the wrong hands isn't always such a bad thing."
Her eyes widened slightly, confusion flickering across her face as you sat back again, smiling politely like nothing had happened.
But in your head, the thought echoed, louder, heavier, filthier.
If those hands were theirs, you would fall gladly.
The party was dragging, the music pounding but lifeless, the people are drunk but boring. You wondered for the tenth time why you even bothered showing up.
The whole campus had been buzzing about this night, everyone whispering about how it would be wild because they would be here. But the most boring part of it all was exactly thatâthey weren't.
No sign of the four men everyone was expecting. And for that, you hated yourself a little. You hated that you had wasted another expensive outfit, another spritz of your favorite perfume, another hour in front of the mirror just to sit there and look pretty for nothing.
Your cheek rested lazily against your hand as you swirled the watered-down alcohol in your glass. Your eyes lingered on the girl across the room, perched on the couch, laughing with a group of guys who had crowded her like she was the crown jewel of the night. She looked so damn proud of herself, flipping her hair and soaking up their attention like it was worth something.
You almost felt bad for herâbecause those men? God, they were fucking ugly. The kind of guys who had nothing going for them except being loud and drunk enough to fill her space. And she was pretty, too pretty for the trash sitting beside her, too wasted to notice she could do better.
You sighed, your eyes dropping back down to your glass, watching the last pieces of ice melt into nothing. Maybe you should leave. Maybe you should give up, call it another wasted night, drag yourself back to bed where you could rot under the covers and imagine what it would feel like if the four men ever actually noticed you.
"Hi."
The single word pierced through the noise around you. Your breath caught, and you nearly threw your glass across the table. Your back went ramrod straight as you turned, your heart slamming against your ribs so hard it hurt. When your eyes landed on the figures behind you, everything inside of you went still before spiraling into chaos.
Jake. Sunghoon.
Two of them. Standing there. Talking. To you.
Your throat closed, your tongue heavy, your thoughts shattering into broken pieces as if the universe had finally played its sick joke on you. What the fuck was happening? Jake and Sunghoonâout of everyone in this crowded roomâwere standing in front of you, looking at you, waiting for you.
"H-Hi?" The word slipped out, so small, so shaky you almost cringed at yourself.
Jake's smile spread, his gaze running over you like he was unwrapping you with his eyes. He didn't hide the way he lingered on the pink silk dress clinging to your body or the way his eyes glinted when he caught the gems glittering delicately across your skin. The weight of his stare made your thighs press together without you even thinking about it.
"Where's your friends?" He shifted his hands casually into his pockets, flashing a smile. "I organized this party, you know. I almost felt bad seeing you sitting here alone."
You swallowed hard, the words tangling on your tongue. This was the moment you'd been waiting for, the one you had begged for, dreamed of, touched yourself over. And yet, your body betrayed you, trembling as you almost flinched under the weight of their presence.
"M-My friends a-are... uh... there." Your shaky hand lifted, pointing weakly toward the dance floor, and the second you did it you wanted to melt into the floor and disappear.
Sunghoon's low laugh broke the air. He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes fixed on you as if he could see straight through every flimsy layer of composure you were trying to hold together. "And they exclude you? What bad friends you have."
The closeness of him made your brain dissolve. His perfume, his cologne, the sharp tang of alcohol still lingering on his lipsâGod, you wanted to taste it, to drown in it. He didn't even touch you, but his nearness was enough to make your body tense, your lips parting before you realized it.
"Want to join us?"Â Sunghoon asked smoothly.
"W-Where?" you squeaked.
"Well, we can drink outsideâ" Sunghoon started, but Jake cut him off with a voice that left no room for argument.
"At Heeseung's private room." His tone was steady, certain, his stare locked on you, waiting for your reaction.
For a split second, Sunghoon's eyes widened at Jake's bluntness. You caught the quick glance he shot him, an unspoken message passing between them, before his smirk slid back into place. He didn't need to argue. He didn't need to say a thing. Because the moment the words "Heeseung's private room" left Jake's mouth, your body had already betrayed you.
Your lips trembled, your voice breaking into a whisper. "Yes."
And there it wasâthe one word that sealed everything.
Jake's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he tilted his head ever so slightly, studying you like you had just handed yourself over. Sunghoon's grin widened, his teeth flashing as he straightened up, amusement flickering in his gaze.
"Good girl," Jake murmured under his breath.
Your chest tightened, your breath caught, and every ounce of you screamed that this was it. The moment you had been waiting for, the moment you had dreamed of, the moment you could never come back from.
And you didn't fucking care.
The door creaked open and Heeseung froze at the threshold, his tall frame stiffening instantly as his eyes landed on the scene.
Jake had one hand tangled in your hair, his cock buried between your lips, his head thrown back as he groaned through clenched teeth. Sunghoon was draped across your back, his chest pressing heavily against you, his hand pinching and rolling your nipples mercilessly while his lips brushed your skin, leaving icy trails that made you shiver.
Your body was positioned like some offeringâhands and knees spread like a cat, ass swaying slightly with every thrust of Jake's hips.
"Seriously?" Heeseung's voice was carrying irritation. He shut the door with a sharp click, though he didn't walk away.
The noise made you whimper, muffled around Jake's cock, the vibration of your moan sending shudders up his spine. Jake gritted his teeth and hissed through a laugh, thrusting harder until the blunt head of his dick slammed against the back of your throat. He held you there with one firm grip in your hair, pushing until your nose bumped against the hard plane of his stomach. Your eyes watered, your chest heaved, but the desperation inside you drowned out every thought of resistance.
It hadn't started like this. At first, it was only drinks, games, laughter and teasing, until Jake leaned forward and suggested body shots. You hadn't even hesitated; the heat of their attention had already melted through you, and Jake had almost laughed at how quickly you had fallen into their hands. And now, here you were, drooling and choking on his cock while Sunghoon twisted your nipples until your whole body jerked with every pinch.
"Your favorite member is here," Jake taunted, his gaze dropping down to you, then flicking toward the figure standing silently by the door. His smirk widened as he forced another thrust into your mouth. "Bro, she's been asking where the fuck you were. You took so long, she already came in her panties just from Sunghoon teasing her tits."
Heat shot through your face as the humiliation wrapped around you. Tears streamed freely down your cheeks, staining the gems near your eyes, but none of it stopped you from flattening your tongue against the base of his cock, licking every inch you could reach while your throat spasmed around him. The shame twisted into a darker, sharper, more intoxicating feeling than you ever imagined.
This was it. This was the dream. The one you'd fucked yourself to in silence night after night, the one you had burned for. And now you were living it, choking, moaning, tears streaking your face, every filthy detail of it everything you had ever wanted.
You couldn't see Heeseung clearly from where you knelt, but you felt him. His gaze was heavy, dragging over you, making your pussy clench at nothing. You knew he was watching the way your lips stretched around Jake's cock, the way your chest heaved as Sunghoon tortured your nipples, the way you looked so fucked out and desperate already.
"The rumors about us are already spreading, and you have the guts to do this?" Heeseung's voice finally cut through with restrained anger. He stepped closer, his shoes quiet against the floor until his shadow stretched across you. You could feel his eyes on your crying, messy face, and it only made your cunt throb harder, soaking your panties.
Jake laughed through a groan, his hips grinding against your lips as his cock slid deeper. Sunghoon joined him with a low chuckle, his cold mouth pressing into your nape as his fingers tugged the straps of your dress down your shoulders. The silk slipped easily, baring your chest fully to Heeseung's view, your nipples stiff and swollen as Sunghoon's thumb and finger rolled them until you moaned around Jake's length.
"Come on," Sunghoon murmured against your ear, his voice is taunting. "You know we always love sharing." His lips traced your skin as his hand pushed your dress lower, exposing more, leaving nothing for modesty.
Heeseung's jaw tensed, but his eyes betrayed him. He couldn't look away. His cock stirred against his pants, hardening slowly with every sound that left you, with every pathetic little whimper muffled by Jake's cock. He watched the tears streak down your face, the way your hand lifted shakily from the floor, reaching for him.
Your fingers trembled as they hovered against his thigh, then slid higher until they brushed over the hard bulge in his pants. Your eyes lifted toward him, glassy, half-lidded, drowning in tears and lust, staring directly into his.
Heeseung exhaled sharply, his composure cracking.
And when your palm pressed firmer against him, stroking lightly through the fabric, his cock throbbed violently in response.
Your back arched off when Heeseung's hands moved to his belt. The sight alone was enough to make your chest tighten and your pussy throb, your body reacting with a hunger you couldn't disguise. Sunghoon caught it immediately, his laugh was low against your ear, mocking the way you looked so desperate without shame. He shifted off you, giving Heeseung room.
"Does Jay know about this?" Heeseung asked, his eyes cutting toward Jake and Sunghoon as if demanding an explanation even while his hands were already pulling at his clothes.
Jake's grin widened, still slick with your spit as he slid his cock from your mouth. "It's a surprise," he answered simply, as if that explained everything. His hand squeezed the back of your neck one last time before releasing you, and your body slumped against the mattress, chest heaving, throat raw. But before you could even recover, Heeseung's hands pressed against you, guiding your body flat onto your back, his touch so commanding you followed without question.
The world tilted when the fabric of your dress slipped from your shoulders, your body fully bared under their stares. Sunghoon leaned close again, his nose brushing your cheek as his voice dipped. "Look at those pretty eyes." His words curled into your skin, and you whimpered before turning toward him, your lips crashing into his. The kiss was messy, desperate, your mouth opening wide for him, your tongue tangling with his as though you could pull the heat out of him and swallow it whole.
Jake's fingers hooked your panties and dragged them down your legs, his eyes glued to the slick mess between your thighs. The moment he saw your pussy clenching and unclenching around nothing, a growl broke from his throat.
Heeseung's response was just as guttural, his eyes narrowing as he dropped down onto his knees beside Jake, their shoulders brushing as if they were competing for the same prize. Without hesitation, they lifted your legs, spreading you shamelessly open, one of your thighs resting on each of their broad shoulders.
Sunghoon didn't let you breathe. His mouth consumed yours, his tongue pressing harder, his teeth tugging your bottom lip as his hand cradled your jaw, keeping you locked against him. You barely managed a moan into his mouth when the first hot lick dragged across your clit, the sudden sensation shooting up your spine so violently you tore yourself away from Sunghoon's kiss. Your eyes flew down, wide and dazed, only to meet Heeseung's sharp gaze staring up at you while his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking with deliberate, teasing pulls.
Your mouth fell open, your chest rising and falling rapidly, but you didn't dare blink. You couldn't miss the sight of his face buried between your legs, his tongue flattening against your sensitive bud and flicking so slowly it bordered on torture. Your thighs shook, trying to close, but his grip on your hips was unyielding.
"Hey," Sunghoon muttered, his fingers squeezing your chin until your eyes snapped back to him. His gaze was dark, narrowed, a flicker of jealousy twisting in it. "I was the one who found you. Give me some attention."
Your whimpers came small, but you still obeyed, your hand trembling as he guided it down between his legs. The hard ridge of his cock was burning against the fabric of his pants. The moment your palm pressed against him, your body shivered from the weight of him.
They were massive. You had heard the whispers from other girls, but no rumor had prepared you for the truth. Your fingers wrapped around him, squeezing gently through the fabric, and Sunghoon's lips parted, his breath catching as his hips rocked into your touch.
"Fuck," he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin as if your touch alone was enough to push him toward the edge.
And then Jake bit down on your inner thigh, hard enough to make you cry out, his tongue following the sting with a wet, sucking kiss that left your skin marked. Heeseung's lips abandoned your clit, only to press lower, his tongue flattening against your dripping entrance before slurping noisily at the wetness pooling there. The sound was obscene, messy, and you moaned louder than you ever had, the combination of Jake's teeth marking your thighs and Heeseung's mouth devouring you unraveling every last thread of composure you had.
"Shh."Â Sunghoon's voice was ragged as his hand pressed against your jaw again, his hips grinding into your palm while his other hand fumbled with his belt. His pants dropped down his thighs, and when he freed himself, your eyes widened, your mouth watering instantly at the sight. His cock was flushed and heavy, the tip glistening with pre-cum, so thick it almost made your stomach flutter with fear.
Your legs were trembling uncontrollably, but you couldn't close them, not when Jake and Heeseung had you pinned wide open, their mouths swapping positions greedily between your clit and your entrance.
Jake was hungrier, reckless with the way his tongue plunged into you, his lips sucking against your folds so loudly it drowned out even the bass from the music downstairs. You could feel him moan against you, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, his whole face buried as if he wanted to drown in your pussy.
"Say ah," Sunghoon knelt in front of you, his cock gripped tightly in his hand. You obeyed instantly, your lips falling open, your eyes wide and locked on his face.
The expression he wore was enough to make your stomach twistâhis brows drawn tight, his lips parted as if he were biting back a curse, his gaze focused entirely on your mouth as though nothing else in the world existed.
"So eager," he whispered hoarsely, his cock brushing against your lips as pre-cum smeared across them. "Fuck."
Heeseung rose slowly from between your thighs, his lips and chin slick with your wetness, his chest lifting heavily with each breath. His gaze drifted down over your trembling body, then to Sunghoon's cock hovering dangerously close to your lips, before his large hands moved to your chest. The weight of his touch was deliberate, kneading the softness of your breasts, his thumbs dragging over your nipples until they tightened again under his attention.
The combination was unbearable, your body jerking at every angle, twitching against their hands and mouths as if you no longer had control over it. Sunghoon's sudden pace had your cheeks hollowing, his cock stretching your lips as he thrust with low, restrained groans. At the same time, Heeseung's fingers twisted your nipples mercilessly, sharp flicks that sent heat rushing to your core, and Jake's tongue was buried inside you, fucking your entrance with wet, eager strokes. Each movement pulled you in a different direction, your body caught in the middle of all three of them until you felt yourself unraveling at the seams.
Your head was spinning, dizzy from the sensation. The world tilted and blurred, your muffled moans spilling out against Sunghoon's cock, your tears streaking down your cheeks. It was overwhelming, but in the best way, better than anything you had ever experienced, better than every fumbling encounter that left you aching and unsatisfied.
This was hunger given form, this was desire being fed by three men who knew exactly how to break you. Every flick of Heeseung's fingers, every thrust of Jake's tongue, every push of Sunghoon's cock made your stomach coil tighter and tighter, until the knot inside you threatened to snap.
And then it did.
You came so hard it tore a strangled cry out of your throat, your body convulsing with the force of it. The orgasm crashed into you violently, your back arching off the bed, your legs trembling as Jake's hands clamped down on your thighs to keep you open.
You almost bit down on Sunghoon from the shock of it, your mouth clenching, your throat spasming, and he pulled back with a sharp hiss, his hand replacing himself on your lips to keep you from choking. But Jake didn't stop; he didn't even pause. His tongue twisted deep inside you, lapping greedily at everything you gave him, his head moving side to side as if he wanted to drink you dry. He held you down through every wave, prolonging the orgasm until you thought your body might tear apart from how hard you were shaking.
"Fuck, ahâfuck, shit," Sunghoon cursed above you, his voice breaking into a groan. His grip tightened on your jaw as his release hit suddenly, hot ropes of cum splattering across your face in quick, forceful bursts. Some streaked down your lips, some across your cheeks, and one stray spurt landed in your eye, stinging faintly but drowned out by the overwhelming tide of pleasure still wrecking your body.
You barely processed it, too lost in the pulsing aftershocks of your orgasm and the relentless flicks of Heeseung's thumbs still torturing your nipples. The sensation was too much, every nerve in your body stretched taut as Jake's mouth sealed back over your clit, his tongue circling lazily as he wanted to drag every last drop of climax from you.
Your sobs broke into gasps, your chest rising sharply, your face sticky with Sunghoon's cum, your throat raw from the moans you couldn't stop. And still, Heeseung's eyes stayed locked on you, darkly watching you writhe.
"I need to fuck her already," Heeseung finally muttered, already standing.
Jake stopped what he was doing and glared at him, his jaw clenched. "Who the fuck said you were gonna be first? I was the one who talked to her. I was the one who had her on her knees until now." His hands went to his shirt, ripping it over his head before shoving his pants down impatiently, his irritation burning through every motion.
Sunghoon sighed, throwing his head back, eyes half-lidded as he grabbed your shaky hand and wrapped it around his cock. "You two are always fighting about this shit," he muttered, ignoring the tension and letting you stroke him, his hips lifting slightly into your fist. His lashes fluttered shut as a low groan escaped him. "Fuck, that's it. Don't stop, baby. Just keep going. That's all I need."
"Fuck off,"Â Heeseung snapped as he took a step closer. "You've both had enough time playing with her. I've been waiting, and I'm not standing here any longer."
Your eyes darted between them, your chest rising in short, desperate pulls of breath, before landing on Sunghoon again. He was still focused only on you, his hand over yours, guiding you up and down his thick cock. "Feels so fucking good," he groaned, his voice breaking, his neck exposed as his head fell back.
"That's why I get to be the first to fuck her," Jake shot back, standing tall now, his cock hard and throbbing against his stomach. His smirk was sharp, challenging. "You were late. I've been making her drip for me."
Sunghoon leaned closer to you, his breath hot against your ear, his lips brushing the corner of your jaw. "Ignore them, baby. Just focus on me." His other hand slid around your waist, tugging you closer until his lips pressed firmly against your neck. He kissed you hard, then nipped at your skin, his teeth dragging up to your jaw before biting again. You gasped at the sting, your hand stroking him faster, your wrist straining with the effort.
"Such a good girl," he moaned, his lips vibrating against your throat. His fingers slipped down your belly until they found your soaked pussy again, circling lazily around your entrance. The teasing pressure made you jolt, your moans tumbling out helplessly as he finally pushed one finger inside. Your walls clenched instantly, wrapping tight around him, and his sharp groan against your ear told you exactly how much he liked it. "So tight," he whispered, almost to himself, before sinking another finger inside.
"Sunghoonâ" your voice broke, whimpering, the heat spreading too fast through your core as his hand worked inside you.
"Keep those pretty legs open for me, baby," he murmured, his lips dragging down to your shoulder, his teeth grazing the delicate skin. "Need to stretch this pussy for all of us. You want that, don't you? Want to take us all?"
Your only answer was a frantic nod, your lips trembling as your hand gripped his cock tighter, pumping him faster even as your own body shuddered from his fingers curling deep inside.
"You seem to be enjoying yourself too much, Sunghoon," Jake hissed, stepping forward. His hand shot out, pulling you roughly away from Sunghoon's grip. You whined at the sudden loss, your body immediately protesting the absence of his fingers inside you.
"Shhh, darling," Jake cooed mockingly, wiping at your cum-stained face with his thumb before pressing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss. His mouth was demanding, tasting, his teeth nipping at your lower lip before pulling back with a smirk. "Me and Heeseung will make you feel so fucking good. You want that, don't you?"
"Yes," you whimpered without hesitation, nodding quickly, your desperation spilling through. You turned on your hands and knees before they could even tell you, body moving on instantly because you knew. You'd heard the whispers. You knew this was how Jake liked to fuckârough, from behind, with no mercy. "Please."
Jake's laugh was low, almost breathless as he stared at your ass. "Fuck, you don't even need to be told. So hot like this." His palm cracked against your cheek, the sting making you moan as he spread you open with his hands.
Your eyes flicked up, catching Sunghoon againâhe was watching with his lip caught between his teeth, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, stroking lazily as his gaze devoured you. And then your eyes trailed higher, locking with Heeseung, who was standing in front of you, holding the base of his thick cock as if offering it to you. You opened your mouth instantly, ready to take him, but instead he grabbed your chin, tilting your head until you were forced to look up at him.
You sucked in a sharp breath when Jake's tip pressed against your soaked pussy, your entire body stiffening at the stretch before he even entered. His grip on your waist was bruising, anchoring you in place.
"Shit," Jake groaned under his breath, his voice breaking into a growl as he pushed in deeper. "How long has it been since you've been fucked like this? You're tight as fuck."
Your whimpers filled the air, your eyes locked on Heeseung's as he squished your cheeks between his large hand.
"Talk," Heeseung demanded, his eyes burning down into you. "Don't just sit there like a pretty little toy. Tell us what you want. Say it."
The moment he said it, Jake shoved his cock all the way inside you, the sudden fullness making your head drop forward with a cry.
"Moan louder. Scream our names. Tell us what to do to you," Heeseung ordered, pushing you to the edge as Jake's thrusts started to slam into you from behind.
"Iâ" you stammered through gasps, your body buckling under the rhythm. "I've been dreaming of this since first year." The confession tumbled out without filter, every word dripping with desperation.
Your honesty ripped a sound from both Jake and Sunghoon, low groans that mixed with the slick sound of your body being fucked. Heeseung's gaze hardened, his nostrils flaring as his jaw clenched. Jake's thrusts grew harsher, his hips snapping against you with punishing speed.
"W-want all of you to use meâfuck me, please!" you squealed, your voice cracking as Jake's cock found that spot inside you and hit it mercilessly.
Jake's laugh was cruel, his words spilling out between moans. "Yeah? That's why you gave in so fucking easy? Thought we'd have to drag it out of you, but you just spread those legs like the slut you are." His hand clamped down on your arms, dragging you back onto his cock as he fucked you harder, each thrust shaking your body forward.
Tears pooled again in your eyes as you shook your head weakly, your voice breaking between cries. "N-not a slut! D-don't call me thatâah, f-fuck! Jake!"
But he only thrust faster, slamming into you, groaning at how you clenched so tightly around him the harder he degraded you.
"Yeah?" Jake's voice dropped to a whisper, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Then why the fuck are you here like this? Why are you dripping on me if you're not exactly what I called you?" His thrusts grew erratic, pounding straight into the softest spot inside you, making your knees tremble, making your nails dig into the sheets until your knuckles turned white.
You couldn't even answer him at first, because the way he was fucking you made your thoughts scatter, your mouth falling open as broken sounds spilled out. But then Heeseung was behind you again, his hand fisting in your hair, pulling your head back so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His gaze was sharp, demanding, but underneath it you caught the faintest flicker of restraint, as though he was holding back.
"Come on," Heeseung murmured. His thumb brushed over your trembling bottom lip before tightening his grip on your hair, forcing your mouth open slightly. "Ignore him. Tell us what you need. Use that pretty voice."
Your chest heaved, your lashes fluttering, every nerve in your body screaming for more. "Want youâ" your voice cracked, "want you all to fill m-my pussy up." The words came out broken, but loud enough for all of them to hear. Your body arched as another wave of Jake's thrusts sent shocks of heat through you, and you sobbed through your moan. "G-give me your biggest load, make me your toy for tonightâahhh!"
Your scream broke off when Jake's hand slipped down, his fingers pinching your clit hard before slapping it over and over, sharp little bursts of pain crashing into the overwhelming pleasure. The mix had your eyes rolling back into your skull, your mouth falling open as drool slipped from the corner of your lips.
"Yes! Fuck, yes!"Â you squealed, your voice hoarse, your body jerking helplessly as the coil in your stomach twisted tight, tighter than before. Your thighs shook violently, your legs threatening to give out beneath you if it weren't for Jake's grip anchoring you in place. Every nerve screamed release, but he didn't stop, his cock drilling into you, his fingers punishing your clit until you were certain you'd break.
"Where do you want it?" Jake grunted against your neck, his thrusts almost brutal now, each one stealing the air from your lungs. "Where do you want me to cum, huh? Say it."
Heeseung tugged your hair harder, forcing your eyes to meet his again, his dark gaze pinning you as if daring you to answer wrong. Sunghoon's low groans filled the room behind them, the sound of his fist gliding over his cock only making the moment heavier.
Your lips trembled as you tried to form the words, every part of you shaking, drowning in pleasure, drowning in them.
"Anywhere," you gasped. "In my mouth, in my face, in my body, in my pussyâjust fucking cum anywhere in me!"
"Fuck!" Jake groaned. His palm came down on your clit with a sharp slap that had your legs trembling so violently, your pussy clenching down on him with merciless tightness. The shock sent your body into another wave, your scream cutting through the air as you came hard around his cock, your walls fluttering, soaking him with everything you had.
The way you pulsed around him dragged him over the edge, his hips snapping forward with reckless speed until his cock throbbed and spilled, his hot cum spilling deep inside you in thick spurts that made your stomach twist with satisfaction. The moment you felt him paint your walls, you let out a long, broken moan, almost sobbing at how good it felt, how badly you'd needed it.
Heeseung finally let go of your hair, stepping back just far enough to watch you crumble under Jake. His eyes were locked on the mess between your legs, on the sight of Jake's cock still buried in you while his cum leaked out in slow, obscene drips.
His hand slid down his abdomen until he was stroking himself openly, his jaw tight, his breathing heavy. The look in his eyes told you he was seconds away from joining, and that thought made your clit twitch with aftershocks.
Sunghoon's chest rose and fell sharply as he leaned back, still stroking his cock at a steady rhythm, his gaze locked on you. His lips parted, his breathing uneven, as though just watching you was enough to push him close.
Jake's body eventually stilled, his forehead damp with sweat, his chest heaving with each breath as he looked down at your trembling frame. He pulled back slowly, letting his cock slide free from your swollen pussy. The moment he did, his cum began to spill out in a steady stream, dripping down your thighs and pooling between them.
He had never finished that hard beforeâhe knew it, and from the stunned silence, so did the others. Even Heeseung's brows had furrowed at the sight, as if he couldn't believe how much you were leaking.
Your eyes fluttered half-lidded, your lashes wet with tears and sweat, your breaths shallow and uneven. Your body was heavy, limp from the storm that had wracked you, but somewhere deep inside, you found the strength to move your fingers, twitching weakly against the sheets. You weren't done. You couldn't be. You wanted moreâyou needed more. Your body begged for it, trembling but eager, your pussy clenching around nothing as if calling for another cock to fill you.
You forced your eyes open again, vision blurred with sweat and tears. And thenâ
"You're into this shit again?"
That voice. Deep, familiar voice, it cut through everythingâthe ringing in your ears, the haze in your mind, the pounding of your own heart.
Your pussy clenched instantly, as if your body recognized him before your brain could, a sharp rush of need flooding through you at just the sound.
"Took you long enough, Jay," Sunghoon muttered with a crooked smile, though his hand didn't stop stroking himself.
Jake looked up too, his chest still heaving, his hand dragging across his sweaty forehead, annoyance flickering across his features. Heeseung paused mid-stroke, his gaze narrowing, his jaw flexing as his attention shifted from you to the man at the door.
And youâyour throat went dry, your lips parted, your heart slamming painfully against your ribs. Jay was here. Finally!
A soft, broken whine left your lips as your body shifted toward him. Jay's eyes sharpened, his expression was unreadable as he stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him. The click of the lock sent a shiver down your spine. His gaze swept over the room, over Jake still breathless, Sunghoon stroking himself lazily, Heeseung looming above you, and finally, it landed on youâsweaty, trembling, your face flushed and messy, your eyes wide and glassy as they reached for him.
He didn't move immediately. He just stood there, silent, his jaw tight, demanding the others explain without him saying a word.
But Heeseung didn't give him the chance. He gripped your legs firmly, dragging you down the bed until you were flush beneath him, your body spread and waiting. Jay's eyes narrowed as he caught the sight of your hand twitching toward him, so close yet so far, the longing in your movement almost pathetic in its honesty.
Before you could call out, Heeseung pinned your arms above your head, his fingers curling around your wrists with unrelenting strength. His mouth brushed the shell of your ear, his voice low and taunting. "No more waiting. I've already held back long enough."
And then without warning, he pushed his cock all the way into you in one brutal thrust.
Your scream ripped through the air, your body arching violently as he bottomed out, stretching you so suddenly you could hardly think. The slick of Jake's cum inside you made it easier, made it wetter, but it didn't stop the sharp, overwhelming sting of being filled again so completely, so roughly.
"Fuckâyes," Heeseung groaned, his forehead pressing briefly to your temple as he steadied himself, though his hips didn't slow. "Need to bury my dick inside this pussy before anyone else tries to stop me. If I wait another second, I'll lose my goddamn mind."
He began to pound into you without mercy, each thrust shaking your body, pushing you deeper into the mattress. The sound of it mixed with his growls and your cries until it was all one desperate rhythm. His pace was punishing, desperate, as if he needed to erase the traces Jake left behind, like he needed to make sure you remembered him the most.
Your eyes flickered open through the haze, and there's Jay.
He was still standing where he'd closed the door, but now his chest rose heavily, his lips parted slightly, and his fists were clenched at his sides. He was watching you, not Heeseung, not Jake or Sunghoon, but youâhis gaze locked on your face, on the way your lips trembled around moans, on the way your eyes begged for him even while another man fucked you senseless.
The sight of him like thatâstoic, his stare pinning you harder than Heeseung's grip ever couldâmade your walls spasm tight around Heeseung's cock. You couldn't move forward, couldn't reach Jay the way you wanted, Heeseung's weight pinning you down just as Jake had before. It was maddening, being fucked this hard while Jay stood so close yet untouchable.
"Look at you," Heeseung groaned, his pace ruthless, his cock battering your soaked cunt. "You're dripping, squeezing me like you never want me to leave. You love itâyou fucking love it."
And he wasn't wrong.
Your mind was spiraling, torn between the brutal pleasure flooding your body and the heat of Jay's eyes locked on you.
Heeseung's hand slid up the side of your face, his fingers pressing into your cheek as he tilted your head toward him. The moment your lips brushed against his, you melted, kissing him back feverishly, moaning into his mouth as he swallowed every sound. His thrusts didn't falter, his cock dragging mercilessly against that spot inside you that had you unraveling so quickly, another orgasm barreling through your overstimulated body before you could even brace yourself. Your legs shook violently, your cries muffled by his mouth as you shattered around him again.
Jake, still hard and needy, didn't wait any longer. He stepped closer, ignoring Jay's looming silence, his cock already heavy and dripping. Sunghoon followed, stroking himself lazily, his smirk curling as he looked down at your messy face and trembling body. Heeseung adjusted his body and hold, his hand locking tightly around your waist as he slowed just enough to grind into you deliberately, rolling his hips in a way that pressed cruelly against your swollen clit and that spongy spot inside, teasing you, forcing more whimpers from your lips even as your body tried to recover.
When Jake and Sunghoon moved to either side of your head, you reacted instantly. Both your hands reached out to wrap around them, your fingers straining around their girth. A muffled moan escaped you, your eyes fluttering, as Sunghoon leaned lower, his hand sliding to your breast, kneading it roughly.
The sensation made you gasp, your lips parting, and Jake took the opportunity to rub his cock against your tongue. You sighed in bliss, your throat vibrating as you licked the tip, your saliva mixing with the sticky fluid still clinging to him from earlier. You sucked eagerly, slurping him down before switching, letting Sunghoon feel your tongue glide along the underside of his length, licking from his base to his leaking tip. All the while, Heeseung's thrusts grew sharper, pounding harder, each one jarring your body as he lost the battle with his own restraint.
"Fuck, you really wanted this, huh?" Sunghoon groaned, watching your lips wrap around him before sliding free. His hand tangled in your hair, guiding you lower, feeding himself into your mouth as his hips rolled slowly, deliberately. "Moaning with three cocks on you, and enjoying every second of it."
Your eyes watered as you let him push deeper, your throat tightening, but the messy desperation in your moans proved his words right. You pulled off with a wet gasp, kissing the head of his cock, smearing saliva across it before whispering against him.
"Love your cock... so much,"Â you breathed, your lips brushing the tip, your eyes flicking immediately past himâtoward Jay. That gnawing ache inside you swelled, and before you could stop yourself, your whine tumbled out. "Is Jay not gonna join?"
The room stilled at your words.
Jake chuckled dryly, tugging your wrist tighter around his shaft before thrusting into your hand with rough, impatient strokes. "You've got three cocks already and still not enough for you?" His voice dropped lower, his pace quickening as he fucked into your fist. "Can't even handle us together, but you're begging for more. God, you're insatiable."
Heeseung growled low in his throat, his thrusts growing faster, harsher, punishing you for even speaking Jay's name. Sunghoon hissed through his teeth as your grip on him tightened, his thumb brushing your spit-slicked lips.
"S-sorry!" you squeaked, your back arching violently as the three of them claimed every inch of your body with greedy, unrelenting hands. The sensations collided into each other, overwhelming, making it impossible to tell where one touch ended and another began.
Your skin burned under their palms, every squeeze, every slap, every tug forcing your body to twitch and your chest to heave with broken sobs of pleasure.
"Focus on us, you fucking bitch," Heeseung growled, dangerous enough to make your cunt clench so tight around him that his hips stuttered. He cursed, gripping your waist harder, his cock slamming into you with renewed force, each thrust demanding your full attention, demanding that you forget everything but him, but them.
Your eyes rolled back, your lips trembling, but you couldn't stop glancing toward Jay, couldn't stop feeling that magnetic pull toward his stare.
Jake grunted, his hand tangling roughly in your hair, yanking your head toward him as his cock brushed against your lips again. "Ignore him. You hear me? He's not the one inside you right nowâwe are. So open your fucking mouth and focus," his cockhead smearing across your tongue before pushing in, forcing your throat to stretch around him again. The taste of him mixed with the mess already dripping down your chin, and you moaned around his length, gagging slightly when he pushed deeper, his hips jerking at the sound.
Sunghoon, never content to let the others take more than him, pressed closer, his fingers pinching your nipple until you whined. "That's right. You're ours tonight, baby. All ours."
His hand slid lower, spreading you wider for Heeseung's relentless thrusts, his fingers brushing your clit in circles that made you sob.
Your words came out slurred. "Y-yours! All yours! F-fuckâI can'tâahh, I can't take itâ"
Heeseung cut you off with a growl, thrusting deeper, harder, the bed frame slamming into the wall with each movement. "Yes, you can, slut. You'll take everything I give you." The hot rasp of his breath fanned against your skin, making your entire body shiver. Your walls clenched even tighter around him, milking his cock.
"I'm not a fucking slut!" The protest tore from your throat just as another orgasm ripped through you, your body spasming violently.
Your legs tried to slam shut against the unbearable pleasure, but Jake and Sunghoon caught them instantly, spreading you wider, keeping you open, holding you there as Heeseung continued pounding into you mercilessly. Your moan stretched high, long, broken in its desperation as tears streamed down your face.
Heeseung pulled out abruptly, your cunt fluttering around nothing, before plunging three of his fingers inside you. The sudden stretch made your entire body jolt upward, your scream breaking into sobs as he fucked his fingers into you with a brutal pace. His palm pressed hard against your clit with every thrust, his thumb flicking over the swollen bud, making your vision blur and your mind scatter.
Your body shook violently, your head thrashing from side to side, your voice rising in hysterical sobs that filled the room. "Stop! S-stop! I'm gonnaâI'm go-going to pee! Stop, wait! Please, waitâ!"
Your arms tried to push them off, tried to squirm free, but Jake and Sunghoon pinned you tighter, one hand on each wrist, one grip on each thigh, keeping you spread open for Heeseung's relentless assault.
Heeseung's eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he kept driving into your pussy with his fingers, your slick coating his hand, dripping down his wrist, the sound of it loud and wet. His cock twitched angrily in his other hand as he stroked himself in slow pulls, groaning low in his chest. "Come on, sweetheart. Don't fight it. Let it out for us. Show us how much you need us."
Jake leaned closer, his lip caught between his teeth, his eyes fixed on the mess between your thighs. The obscene squelching filled his ears, making his cock ache again. "Fuckâlisten to her pussy. She's about toâ" His words cut off with a groan as his own hips rutted helplessly into the air.
Your high-pitched scream tore through the room as the dam inside you finally snapped.Â
A gush of hot liquid burst from your pussy, splattering over your stomach, your thighs, the sheets beneath you, drenching Heeseung's hand and face as he ducked lower, moaning against the spray. The force of it made your ears ring, your vision blur, your body convulse helplessly.
It was humiliating, overwhelming, devastatingly good. You sobbed openly, your face slick with tears and spit, Sunghoon's cum already drying against your skin, and now your own release coating everything around you. Your body trembled uncontrollably, your legs twitching and kicking weakly until Jake and Sunghoon finally let them fall open to the side.
You curled inward, your arms wrapping protectively over your chest, your body folding small as though you could hide. But the sheets were soaked beneath you, the air heavy with the scent of sex, the room echoing with your broken cries.
"So good," Heeseung's lips parted against your soaked skin and licked at the mess you left on his face. His eyes fluttered shut, his strokes on his cock tightening, his hand gliding through the mixture of your slick and squirt.
"Get the fuck to the side. I'm going to taste it." Jake's hand already twitched toward you, greedy, impatient.
Sunghoon's laugh came rough and breathless, his chest rising and falling as he lazily stroked himself, his eyes locked on the wet ruin between your thighs. "Bro, shut the fuck up. You already had your turn. It's my turn now."
Sunghoon leaned forward, dragging his tongue over your cheek, licking at the tears that stained your skin before pressing a sloppy kiss to the corner of your mouth.
"Step aside. I'm not done yet." Heeseung shoved Sunghoon out of his way, his hand already on your thigh, forcing your legs apart with a strength that made your body jolt.
"W-waitâ" your voice broke, a weak sniffle escaping as you tried to catch your breath, your chest heaving rapidly, overstimulation already threatening to unravel you further.
The stretch of your thighs, the way Heeseung's fingers pressed into your skin, it all made you flinch with both anticipation and fear. You weren't sure if you could take more, but your body betrayed you, your cunt twitching at the thought of him filling you again.
"Dude, no fun," Sunghoon muttered, irritation coloring his tone as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, still tasting you there. His cock twitched in his fist, but he leaned back with a scowl.
"Three of you step back. You can't even take care of her." Jay's voice cut through the air, commanding, silencing all of them in an instant.
Your head turned instinctively toward him. The sound of his voice sent a violent shiver down your spine, your pussy clenching around nothing as though it had been waiting only for him. Your chest hitched, your lips parting on a desperate little whimper that you couldn't hold back. "J-Jay..."
Jake scoffed from the other side of the bed, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, but the flash of annoyance in his expression didn't hide the way his chest rose faster, as if even he knew Jay's presence shifted everything. "She's fine. Don't act like you're the savior now."
Jay's gaze flicked toward him, before returning to you. He moved closer until he stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at your trembling body. "She's more than fine. She's a mess. Look at her." His jaw tightened as his eyes roamed over youâyour soaked thighs, your trembling legs, your chest that still rose and fell unevenly. His voice softened. "She's mine to take care of."
Heeseung growled low in his throat, clearly unwilling to back off, his body still hovering over you. "We've already broken her in. Don't come here acting like you own her now." His fingers dug into your thigh harder, spreading you wider as if to make his point.
Jay's expression didn't shift, though his eyes burned darker. "Then move. Or I'll make you."
You breathe heavily, looking at the both of them. And youâyour body trembled violently, torn apart by the clash of their voices, but deep down you knew what you wanted. Your lips quivered, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself. "I... I want Jay..."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Heeseung froze above you, his eyes narrowing dangerously, while Jake let out a low laugh, though the jealousy in it was sharp. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, biting his lip as though amused but also curious to see what Jay would do.
Jay leaned closer, his hand reaching out to brush your messy hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle after all the roughness you'd endured. His thumb stroked over your damp cheek, wiping at the dried tears. His gaze softened as he looked at you.
"Here I thought I was your favorite," Heeseung muttered, finally releasing the tight grip he had on your leg. Beneath the teasing, a mix of bitterness and disappointment that made your chest ache even in your haze.
Jake snorted, throwing a smirk in Heeseung's direction as he wiped sweat from his brow. "Don't flatter yourself. She probably still thinks you're her number one. She just wants another cock inside her because that's what sluts do." His words were cruel, but his retreat was obvious, stepping back from you, his chest still heaving.
Heeseung only shrugged at that, but his eyes flicked to you once more, before he turned his head away.
Your lips trembled, guilt and shame mixing with the raw need still burning inside you. You tilted your head toward Jay, your voice coming out as the weakest of whispers. "D-do you want me to clean up first?" The moment the words left your mouth, your chest tightenedâafraid he might flinch, afraid he might see you the same way Jake just called you.
But Jay only smiled softly, shaking his head as though the thought was absurd. "It's alright, angel."
The simple reassurance broke something in you. Your eyes stung all over again, but before the tears could spill, his mouth was already moving lower, pressing a trail of unhurried kisses along your inner thigh. Each press of his lips lingered. By the time his lips hovered just above your swollen core, his pointed nose brushing lightly over your sensitive clit, your back had already arched off the sheets in anticipation.
You gasped softly, when his tongue finally slid against you. Hot, steady, and so focused, his tongue swirled around your folds before slipping inside you, teasing your oversensitive walls with a precision that made your breath catch in your throat. The contrast to the brutal pace you'd been enduring was staggeringâhe wasn't just eating you out, he was savoring you.
Your hands flew instinctively to his hair, trembling fingers tangling into his dark strands as you moaned helplessly, your chest rising and falling with every wave of sensation he drew from you. "J-Jay..." His name slipped from your lips brokenly.
He hummed against your cunt at the sound, the vibration making you twitch as his tongue moved deeper, stroking places inside you that made your toes curl. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you still when your thighs tried to clamp shut around his head from the overwhelming pleasure.
Behind him, you could feel the others watchingâHeeseung's silence heavy, Jake's low scoff, Sunghoon's quiet hum of approvalâbut all of it blurred into the background when Jay moaned against you, drinking you down.
You whimpered, tugging at his hair as your hips bucked weakly into his mouth. "S-so good... I can't, I c-can't hold itâ"
Jay pulled back just enough to glance up at you, his lips glistening with your slick, his eyes dark but soft. "Then don't. Let go for me, angel. Just me."
And with that, he dipped his head again, his tongue flicking against your clit with quick, precise strokes while his fingers slid inside you, curling expertly until you were screaming, until your body was trembling so hard you thought it might break apart.
Jay let go of your trembling body, his lips brushing once more against your temple before he finally shifted back. The bed dipped under his weight as he knelt at the edge, the leather of his belt creaking faintly as his fingers tugged at the buckle.
You knew the night had only just begun, but here in this room it already felt like you had been devoured whole, like there was no way out.
"Have you ever been fucked in the ass?" Jay's voice broke through, deceptively calm, his palm gliding down the curve of your thigh, rubbing in a slow rhythm as if coaxing you into trust.
Your lashes fluttered, your chest seizing as though his words had cut the air straight out of your lungs. "H-Huh?" Your voice cracked, eyes wide, searching his expression for some sign of softness that might match the way he'd just held you.
From your left, Jake let out a muffled laugh, the sound harsh against the fragile silence that followed your confusion.
Jay's hand didn't falter. He pressed a little higher on your thigh, the pads of his fingers stroking, teasing, until finally one circled lower, grazing a place that had never been touched this way before.
His tone was as gentle as before, almost sickeningly so. "I asked," he repeated slowly, "have you ever been fucked in your ass, angel?"
The tip of his finger brushed against your rim and you gasped, the breath caught sharp in your throat as heat and panic flared all at once. Your body jolted, betraying you. You couldn't even find the words, your head turning automatically toward the other three. Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoonâall three watching you intently, not a single one offering you an escape.
You shook your head quickly, shame coloring your cheeks as your voice finally stumbled out. "N-No..."
Jay's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "On your arms and knees, then. I'll be gentle with you."
The smile was soft, but you could already feel the deception in it. You should've known by nowâJay only looked gentle when he wanted you to obey.
Your tears hadn't even dried when you felt his finger pressing more firmly at your rim, the tight, foreign intrusion making your body stiffen. The burn was immediate, sharp, a sensation your body didn't know how to handle. He twisted his finger slowly, deliberately, and the stretch made you whimper, your hands clawing desperately at the sheets.
"C-can't take it," you cried, shaking your head, your vision blurring again. Your body writhed under him, desperate for someoneâanyoneâto stop him.
"Hurts, Sunghoon. It hurts!" Your arm reached blindly for him, searching for comfort.
And Sunghoon leaned in instantly, catching your reaching hand, his lips brushing your temple in mock sympathy. "Shh," he cooed, the sound almost tender if not for the wicked edge beneath it. "I thought you were a good girl? You've been dreaming about us for so long, haven't you? This is what you wanted."
Your sobs shook your chest, but your body betrayed you againâclenching around Jay's finger, trembling from every deliberate twist.
On your other side, Heeseung moved closer, crouching low until his chest brushed against your arm. He caught your free hand and guided it toward him, pressing your palm around his cock. "Come on, baby. Use those hands. Don't just cry. Make yourself useful while Jay breaks you in."
Jay's finger pushed deeper, the slow stretch pulling another ragged sob from your throat. He watched you closely, his jaw tight, his cock already heavy in his hand as he stroked it lazily. His lips curved again, "relax, angel. Breathe. I'll make it hurt less if you beg me properly."
When Jay finally pulled his finger free, your body sagged in reliefâbut it was short-lived. The sharp tear of foil reached your ears, and your stomach flipped as the sound registered. You forced your head to lift, desperate to see him, but Sunghoon's hand kept you locked in place, his grip so firm on your hair that you couldn't move. He angled you down toward Heeseung's cock again, your mouth spreading open around him until you gagged.
You heard the faint snap of latex as Jay rolled the condom down his thick length, the squirt of lube slicking the air before his fist wrapped around himself, stroking with slow, deliberate pumps. You tried to tilt your head to catch a glimpse, but Sunghoon tugged hard, forcing you to choke around Heeseung's cock. Your throat tightened painfully as you coughed against the intrusion.
"Hmpâ!"Â Your cry was muffled, spilling against Heeseung's cock as Jay pressed forward. The blunt head of his cock nudged against your rim, stretching you in ways you weren't prepared for.
Jay's groan vibrated through the room, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he pushed deeper, inch by inch. His hands gripped your ass, spreading you wider, making you tremble as the burn ignited again.
Your throat was stuffed with Heeseung's cock, and every shallow thrust into your mouth came with another humiliating gulp, gulp, gulp. Each noise mingled with Jay's ragged breathing as he sank himself slowly into your ass.
By the time his cock buried itself halfway, your hands had flown to Heeseung's thighs in desperation, nails scratching down his skin as your throat tried to adjust. Heeseung hissed sharply at the sting, then abruptly pulled out, your mouth gasping for air as you coughed and sobbed.
"Bitch,"Â he spat, slapping your cheek with enough force to sting. Your head tilted from the impact, tears spilling harder as you whimpered against the mattress, your body trembling uncontrollably.
The sound of the slap cracked through the roomâand the shift in the air was instant. Jay froze, his dark eyes snapping up, his jaw tight. Slowly, he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his cock still halfway inside your ass as he fixed his glare on Heeseung.
"The fuck do you think you're doing?"
"She fucking scratched meâ" Heeseung started.
Jay's glare sharpened, cutting him off. His hand curled around your hip, steadying you as he leaned closer until his lips brushed your ear, his words meant for both you and Heeseung. "Apologize. To her. Now."
Heeseung's jaw flexed, annoyance flashing in his eyes, but under Jay's burning stare, he finally muttered, "...Sorry."
You sniffled, your face pressed to the sheets, too shaken to respond. Jay's grip on your hip softened just enough for his thumb to caress you. "You okay, hmm?"
You swallowed hard, unable to find your voice, and forced yourself to nod against the sheets. Your chest rose and fell in shuddering waves, but you needed him to believe you could take it.
Jay hummed softly, almost like praise. "That's it. Breathe for me, angel. Let me in. Don't hold back." His hips pressed forward again. The intrusion stretched you open slowly, your body fighting to keep up with his size. The burn sharpened into an unbearable sting, and you screamed into the mattress, toes curling tight against the sheets as you struggled not to collapse.
Sunghoon's hand smoothed over your hair, patting your head with a tenderness, so comforting that make you whimper. "Good girl," he whispered, as though you needed his approval just to keep breathing.
Then Heeseung moved closer, his hand sliding between your thighs to press against your soaked pussy.
"Sorry, baby." His palm cupped you carefully, you flinched at first, but when he leaned in, his lips closing over your nipple, sucking hard, the sharp edge of pain dulled under a rush of pleasure. The shift made your back arch violently, the cry that tore from you high and desperate.
"Ahh! F-fuck!" you screamed, voice cracking, torn between pain and bliss.
Jay grunted at the way your body squeezed around him, his hand wrapping tightly around your arm to pull it back behind you like a lever. His other hand gripped your shoulder firmly, anchoring you while his hips snapped forward with force. Each thrust sent a wet smack echoing through the room, skin colliding with a punishing rhythm.
Heeseung groaned against your chest, his tongue flicking over your nipple as his fingers pressed harder into your clit, rubbing circles that sent shocks of sensation racing through your trembling body. The mixture of Jay's brutal thrusts and Heeseung's eager mouth had you thrashing.
You never thought being filled that way could drag such a storm out of you. The sting that had first made you sob now twisted into something overwhelming, a blend of fire and honey that made your body betray you with every clench. Each thrust blurred the line between pain and euphoria until you couldn't separate one from the other, only the dizzy rush that kept forcing cries from your throat.
At some point, you lost track of who was where.
You were a doll passed between them, shifted and handled, your body too pliant to resist, too consumed by sensation to understand the movement until it was already happening.
When Jay lifted you with an arm hooked under your ribs, carrying your trembling weight as though you were light as air, your limbs hung loose, hair falling forward like a curtain, your head lolling against his chest. The world was hazy, sound muffled except for their voices and the unrelenting rhythm of flesh against flesh.
You moaned uncontrollably, the sound spilling out of you even before Sunghoon pushed inside your swollen pussy. He didn't wait, he didn't teaseâhe slid in deep, and the stretch dragged another cry out of your throat.
Jake positioned himself over you, his hands squeezing your tits roughly, pressing them together around the length of his cock. He thrusted between them with a feral need, groaning at the slick heat as he forced you to keep your trembling arms raised so you couldn't rest, so none of them were ignored.
Your muscles screamed, the burn in your shoulders mixing with the fire between your legs. Yet the harder it became to hold on, the more your moans broke apart into helpless sobs.
"Shit! So fucking good!" Sunghoon moaned, usually he was silent, the one who held back while the others filled the air, but now his restraint had shattered. His moans came rough and guttural, pulled from his chest with every thrust, his expression twisting into something close to pure bliss. Each time his hips met yours, the sound that tore from his throat was louder, rawer, until you realized he was trembling tooâlosing himself in you just as much as you were unraveling under him.
Your vision blurred at the edges, tears clinging to your lashes, the ringing in your ears drowning out everything but their voices and the wet sounds of bodies colliding. Orgasms tore through you one after another, piling so fast you couldn't separate them anymore. You were trapped in the spiral of it, begging without thought, "Y-yes, fuck, yesâI can't stopâI need itâplease, don't stop!"
Your body betrayed you completely, arching up even as you wanted to collapse. The adhesive gems clinging to your eyelids sparkled faintly under the dim light, miraculously still in place as your eyes rolled back, your tongue slipping free from your mouth with no strength left to hold it in. You were a mess, unrecognizable even to yourself, but they devoured every second of it.
Jake groaned low in his chest as his cock pulsed, spilling over your tits, hot ropes covering your skin until you were painted in him. He slapped your chest once more, watching it smear across your breasts before stumbling back, his body giving out as he dropped onto the mattress, panting heavily, drained but satisfied.
The moment you were freed from him, your lips were claimed again. Heeseung and Jay's mouths fought for space against yours, kissing you with different kinds of urgencyâJay deep and consuming, Heeseung sharp and demanding. Their lips pulled moans out of you you didn't even know you had left, your eyes shut tight as your mouth parted helplessly between them.
Meanwhile, Sunghoon's cock dragged deeper inside you, angling until it brushed that spot that made your whole body spasm. The rhythm of his thrusts grew steadier, more desperate, his hips slamming into you with a pace that made your chest heave and your breath hitch against the mouths kissing yours. He was unrelenting, he couldn't stop himself, your body had unlocked something in him he never wanted to let go of.
Sunghoon's control shattered first. His jaw clenched, veins standing out along his neck as he pushed deeper, his movements rough and unsteady, every thrust dragging a desperate sound from him. His eyes squeezed shut and his head tilted back, a moan ripping from his throat as his stomach tightened, the pleasure consuming him faster than he could handle. He bit down on his lip, but it wasn't enough to stifle the way his body shook while his cock throbbed violently inside you.
You felt the hot flood of his release filling you in long, uncontrollable spurts. It spread thick through your core, making your walls clench tighter as though your body wanted to keep him there, to hold every drop.
The sensation was so overwhelming that your back arched high into Jay's chest. He caught you easily, his large hand spreading over your breast and kneading. His lips swallowed your broken moans, his tongue sliding deep until you whimpered against him, unable to keep up.
Your hips jerked when Sunghoon finally spilled the last of his release, the force of it pushing some of his cum to seep out around his cock. He slumped forward, chest heaving, but his grip on your waist betrayed his reluctance to leave you. He wanted to stay buried, to keep claiming youâbut his body gave out, and with a low groan he pulled free, his length glistening as it slid from your swollen cunt.
The loss of him left you trembling, and before you could even breathe, Heeseung was already there. His hand slid between your thighs, fingers parting your slick folds without hesitation. He rubbed over your swollen clit in tight circles, faster, sharper, and your lips tore away from Jay's kiss to scream, your cry echoing through the room as a new wave of sensation tore through you.
Sunghoon's cum was still dripping from your pussy when Heeseung's fingers slapped against your sensitive clit. The sharp sting made your hips spasm, jerking upward uncontrollably, the sound of the wet slap filling the room. Your thighs shook, but Jay's hand on your chest kept you pressed firmly against him, forcing you to take it all.
"So fucking hot," Jay groaned against your skin, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down just enough to leave a mark. He soothed the bite with his tongue before sucking at the spot, leaving his claim branded into your skin while you cried softly beneath him.
"Come on," Heeseung coaxed. He gave your clit another sharp slap that made you gasp, your entire body twitching. "Breathe. Deep. You've still got two cocks waiting for you."
Your body was trembling, the exhaustion in your muscles fighting against the need clawing through your veins. Every part of you screamed for a pause, a moment of stillness, but your lips betrayed you, spilling soft, broken words into the heated air.
"...cock... want more..." you whispered, not even sure if you meant to say it out loud, but the second it left your mouth, they moved.
They shifted you onto Heeseung first, his broad chest rising under your palms as he positioned himself at your entrance. Your thighs burned as you straddled him, but you couldn't stop yourself from lowering down, grinding until his thick tip slid past your folds, the friction making your entire body quiver.
Heeseung's eyes darkened immediately, his hands gripping your waist as he guided you, feeling the way your heat stretched around him.
Jay stood behind you, his movements methodical as he tore open another condom with his teeth. He rolled the latex down over his length with one hand, the other already spreading over your lower back, holding you steady. His touch was careful, deceptively gentle, even as you felt the blunt press of his cock teasing your other entrance.
The stretch made you scream, your head snapping back to his shoulder as his cock slowly pushed inside your ass. Your tits arched forward, bouncing in Heeseung's face, and he groaned like he was seeing heaven itself, his mouth immediately latching onto one nipple. His tongue flicked hard before he began sucking greedily, moaning against your skin, drowning himself in the taste of you might keep him from unraveling completely.
He told himself not to get attached, not to think beyond the raw act of it but as he looked up, catching the sight of your face twisted with both pain and euphoria, your lashes damp with tears, your lips parted, your flushed cheeks glowing, he was gone. So fucking pretty, too pretty for this. His chest tightened, his teeth sinking into his lip, half-lidded eyes watching you lose yourself while he thrust up into you.
"Ahhâfuck! S-so good! Feels so good!" you sobbed, your voice breaking as both of them found their rhythm inside you.
Jay's arm slid tighter around your middle, pulling you back against him, while his other hand anchored hard on your shoulder.
Each drive of his hips made your body lurch forward, and every time he withdrew, Heeseung thrust upward to meet you, their cocks colliding through the thin barrier inside you. The pressure was relentless, unbearable yet addicting. You felt so full, so completely wrecked, yet you didn't want them to stop.
Your head fell back against Jay's shoulder, your throat exposed, your lips trembling as the sounds poured out of you unrestrained. His gaze locked onto you, never wavering, watching every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes, every blissful break in your voice.
His stomach coiled tight when he saw you smile through your moans, blissful grin that said you were floating in a haze beyond reason.
And thenâwhen you let out a delirious laugh, drunk on cock and pleasureâboth he and Heeseung nearly lost control.
"Shit... fuck, look at her," Heeseung moaned against your chest, thrusts erratic as your pussy clenched harder, milking him. His thumb found your clit again, circling with ruthless precision, making your hips twitch violently in their hold.
"Fucking cockdrunk," Jake muttered from the side, his voice strained, his hand already wrapped tight around his cock as he stroked himself, eyes devouring the sight of you stuffed full between Jay and Heeseung.
"Unbelievable..." Sunghoon hissed, though his body betrayed his words as his cock hardened again at the sight. His chest rose sharply, his jaw tightening as his eyes burned into you, unable to look away.
And youâyou were flying. Your entire body trembled, sweat dripping down your back, every nerve set alight as two cocks pounded into you in perfect rhythm, stretching you in ways you never thought you could handle. You weren't just moaning anymoreâyou were laughing, delirious, euphoric, because nothing had ever felt this good. The world outside didn't exist. There was only this. Only them. Only the way your body sang under their hands, under their cocks.
You were living your best fucking life, and in that moment, you knew you never wanted it to end.
"ShitâI'm gonna cum," Heeseung groaned, his head falling back against the pillow as his thrusts grew uneven. You couldn't help yourself, couldn't stop your body from pushing back onto his cock, greedy for every last inch.
"Need itâplease, I need you to cum inside meâdon't hold back," you moaned.
Jay tightened his bicep around your throat, dragging you flush against him as his lips pressed against your temple. "Take it, angel. Take all of him."
The heat in your chest exploded when Heeseung moaned loud and emptied inside you. The sound of his voice made your heart lurch even as your own orgasm tore through you again. Your walls clenched so violently that his cock twitched helplessly, spilling thicker and thicker ropes of cum until you could feel the weight of it stretching your stomach. The mess spilled from the corners of your folds, warm streams dripping down your thighs.
But before the haze could settle, Jay's voice cut through. "Pull out, Heeseung. It's my turnâI want to cum in her too." His arm around your throat tightened, pulling you higher onto him, your back arching as his cock slid free from your ass, still painfully hard.
Heeseung hesitated, his chest heaving, his eyes narrowing like he didn't want to let go of the heat he'd buried himself in. He gave a sharp exhale of frustration but finally withdrew, his cock wet and shining as he let you slip from him.
Jay didn't waste a second. He yanked off the condom, tossing it carelessly aside, then pushed his length inside your pussy still dripping with Heeseung's load. The stretch burned, but the mix of fluids made him slide in effortlessly, and the sensation had your toes curling instantly.
"Fuckâfuck, she's so wet," Jay groaned, his forehead pressing against the side of your head. His pace was punishing, his hips snapping against your ass as his hand gripped your hip to anchor himself.
"Can't hold itâgonna fill youâ"
The moment he buried himself deep, his body stiffened, and he spilled hot inside you. His growl vibrated against your ear, the sound of his release mixing with your own helpless moans. You could feel it, the pulse of his cock as he filled you so completely that the mix of him and Heeseung spilled back out, dripping into a sticky mess beneath you.
It took a long moment before they both released you, your body sagging limp between them. You barely had the strength to move when Jake stepped forward, his hand already pumping his length with urgency, his eyes locked on your face. Sunghoon moved with him, their cocks standing tall, both of them crowding your view as you were laid down on your back.
"Open up, baby," Jake ordered.
Your lips parted, tongue falling out on instinct, the salty taste of precum already smearing across it as they fisted themselves harder. Their groans overlapped as thick spurts painted your cheeks, your forehead, your lips, dripping down your neck and into your hair. You swallowed what you could, eyes rolling back at the sheer dirtiness of it, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each ragged breath.
You stared blankly at the ceiling, vision hazy, ears ringing so loud it felt like you were underwater. Your head was spinning, the room tilting, but your body was already being turned again.
Your limbs flopped uselessly as Jake forced his cock back to hardness, guiding himself to your ass, while Heeseung gripped your legs wide, holding you open as though your exhaustion didn't matter.
One by one, they took their turns again, each of them sliding into your abused body, spilling more inside until it felt like there wasn't any part of you left untouched. Your mind was gone, floating somewhere else, your mouth hanging open without sound, and still, they didn't stop.
The last thing you remembered was Sunghoon's icy hands spreading your folds, his voice low with awe as he stared at the mess dripping from your swollen used pussyâthick white streams still spurting.
And then you passed out, swallowed by the overwhelming haze of pleasure and exhaustion, your body twitching even in unconsciousness, your mind lost in the aftershocks of everything they had done.
You woke with a body that felt heavier than stone, every inch aching. The room was quiet except for the soft snores surrounding you.
You shivered, realizing the air was cold against your damp hair and clammy skin, only to notice the weight of arms draped over youâtwo different hands anchoring you in place. One was around your waist, pulling you back into a solid chest, the other rested lazily on your hip.
You blinked hard, trying to gather yourself, and only then did you notice you were clothed, though barely. Someone had slipped a shirt over you, but it was hiked up high, baring most of your thighs. Heart pounding, you tilted your head, your breath catching when you saw Jay's face so close to yours. His features were peaceful, his brows relaxed, lips parted just slightly as a soft groan escaped him. Even in sleep, he pulled you tighter into his chest.
"What the fuck..." you whispered under your breath, pulse racing as heat rushed to your cheeks.
Your gaze dropped lower and froze. Sunghoon's head rested against your chest, lips slack and still attached to your nipple. His hand was curled around your waist too, fingers twitching. The memory of his face twisted in pleasure, his voice breaking with moans, hit you so hard that your thighs clenched instinctively.
You stifled a sound, your whole face burning.
Carefully, with your fingers trembling, you began to pry their hands off one by one, moving Jay's arm and slipping Sunghoon's hand back over his own body. It felt like sneaking out of something you weren't supposed to survive. But before you could breathe in relief, your eyes darted downwardâand you almost screamed.
At the foot of the bed, sprawled across like he owned the space, was Jake. His cheek was pressed into the mattress, lips parted as he breathed heavily, his bare chest rising and falling. He looked so soft like this, so far from the rough, taunting voice that had wrecked you just hours ago.
Your stomach flipped.
"What the hell..." you whispered again, a little louder this time, biting your lip as panic swirled in your chest. You couldn't stay here. Not with the memories flashing in your head.
Ignoring the deep ache in your thighs and the heaviness weighing down your limbs, you tiptoed around them, snatching your heels and dress from the table. The sound of the zipper sliding into place echoed too loudly in your ears as you tried to dress as quietly as possible.
When you finally slipped out and pulled the door shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, exhaling sharply. Relief barely lasted a second before you froze again.
Someone was sitting in the living room.
Heeseung was perched on the couch, phone in hand, his tall frame hunched slightly forward. The glow of the screen lit his sharp features, but the second the door clicked shut, his head snapped up. His eyes widened as if he hadn't expected you to actually walk out. In a blur, he was standing, pocketing his phone.
"Hey," his voice came out softer than you remembered.
Your whole body stiffened, eyes wide, your pulse hammering in your throat. The room was quiet but the weight of his presence filled it, and you could feel your heart fluttering in panicâor maybe dangerously close to longing.
"It's just five-thirty," he said, glancing briefly at the window where the faintest gray of dawn was creeping in. "We finished at four. Are you... already leaving?"
Your throat was dry. Fuck. He was talking to you. Just standing there, bare-faced and raw from the night before, his voice carrying none of the arrogance it once did. You wanted to respond, but your mouth betrayed you, stuck in silence. You could only stare at him, your gaze trembling before you forced it away, too shy, too ashamed, too overwhelmed.
Heeseung shifted his weight, his Adam's apple bobbing as though he was working up the nerve. Then, in a tone that was almost uncertain, he asked, "Were we too rough?"
You blinked up at him, startled.
"I..." you started, but the words stuck.
His jaw tightened, eyes flickering before he let out a low sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture that didn't fit the man who had held you down hours earlier. His voice dropped lower, rough with regret. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to slap you like that. I just... I got carried away."
The sincerity in his tone, the way his eyes searched yours like he needed you to believe him, made your chest ache. You didn't trust yourself to speak, your throat felt raw, so you simply nodded, awkward and small, hoping it was enough.
He was fumbling, caught off guard by the weight of his own thoughts. For the first time, he seemed unsure.
Heeseung had always respected the girls they brought into this kind of mess, but responsibility was something he usually left to Jay, who carried gentleness. Yet with you, the urge was different. It was tugging at him in a way he couldn't ignore, and it unsettled him more than he'd ever admit.
His tongue darted over his lips, his brows knitting together as he shifted closer, still cautious of your fragile state. "Do you... want to leave? IâuhâI can get my car, or call someone, orâwait." He cut himself off, unsure what offer would make sense, what you even needed from him right now.
You shook your head quickly, your hands clinging to your heels. Your voice came out almost too small to hear, but you forced the words past your lips. "T-thank you. I-I can manage myself. Th-thank you... so much."
It was rushed, shaky, like you needed to get it out before your voice betrayed the truth of how fragile you felt. Without waiting for his response, you turned away, your bare feet carrying you in tiny, stumbling steps toward the door. Each step hurt, your body reminding you of everything from last night, but you pressed forward anyway, desperate to escape the heaviness in the room.
"Waitâwhat's yourâ" Heeseung started, his hand twitching forward as if he could reach you. But the words fell flat, caught in his throat, and he stopped himself before finishing. His lips pressed together in frustration, a quiet curse slipping under his breath. His eyes followed the curve of your back, the fragile sway of your shoulders, the sound of your unsteady footsteps echoing.
"...number."
The word left him softer than a whisper, too late, almost swallowed by the empty space you left behind.
He stood there for a long moment, staring at the door you'd just disappeared through, torn between running after you and letting you go. His jaw clenched, his hand raking through his hair as he sank back down onto the couch.
He couldn't shake the image of youâthe way your eyes had rolled back in bliss, the way you had laughed in the middle of it all, the way you looked at him now as if you wanted to disappear.
And Heeseung felt a kind of defeat that left his chest heavy. First, he was pissed that Jay, of all people, had managed to pull your attention more than once that night. Second, he hadn't even gotten the chance to really enjoy you the way he wanted, not fully, not the way that would have been enough. And thirdâworst of allâhe didn't even know your full name, or what department you were in, or anything beyond that single night where you'd let yourself unravel in his arms and under his hands.
"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand over his face, frustrated at the gnawing ache in his chest. You were too pretty, too delicate, too intoxicating, and it infuriated him that Sunghoon and Jake had gotten their way with you first, splitting you open before he ever had the chance to claim you for himself. The thought of them having your "first" and sharing you so easily left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted you whole, wanted you alone, wanted more than the scraps of a night shared with three others.
Heeseung realized this wasn't just another nameless, faceless memory to throw away. He didn't want this to be the last time. He wanted more of youâyour laugh, your trembling voice, your warmth pressed against him. The only thing he had left was the trace of your scent, still lingering faintly on his skin and in the air, that floral sweetness that he couldn't shake no matter how many showers he took. It drove him mad.
"Hey, I tried your perfume and it doesn't smell nearly as nice on me as it does on you."Â
Your classmate pouted, watching you rub lotion into your arms after swim class. Her tone was playful, but her eyes lingered longer than usual, narrowing slightly at the fading bruises that scattered along your thighs.
"âWait, are you okay? What's with all these marks?" she asked, her voice shifting, curious but edged with concern as her gaze dropped to your legs, then caught on your wrist where faint discoloration still traced your skin.
You forced a small smile, your hands moving carefully as though the weight of her stare could dig deeper into your body. "Anemia," you said lightly. "You know how it gets sometimes."
She frowned, unconvinced, but didn't press further. You focused on squeezing another bit of lotion into your palm, your thoughts drifting elsewhere. The bottle was nearly empty, and you hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should buy another or try something different.
It had been two weeks. Two weeks since your body had been pushed to its limit, since you had let yourself fall apart in the arms, mouths, and cocks of four men who you never should have gotten tangled with.
As much as it thrilled you to remember, you knew it wasn't something you could ever share. Not with your classmates, not with anyone. This was yours alone.
And so, you smiled at your friend, pretending everything was normal, while inside, you cherished the memory of a night you swore you'd never tell.
You tied your damp hair back, the strands clinging to your neck as you tugged on a sweatshirt and shorts. A light mist of perfume lingered as you sprayed your wrists, your throat, the curve of your shoulder, even down your spine as though you could drown yourself in that sweet comfort.
"God, you smell so good again," your friend whined, fanning herself dramatically. You only chuckled and brushed her off, slipping your bag onto your shoulder before following the group.
The conversation turned quickly, as it always seemed to these days.
"How come those fuckboys keep throwing parties and we never hear a word after? It's like magic," one girl scoffed, and the others broke into agreement, voices overlapping with laughter.
"Right? I swear they must be fucking someone every time," another chimed in, clapping her hands for emphasis. "No way they're just drinking. But no one ever talks. Likeâever."
Their voices carried ahead of you while you trailed behind, smiling faintly, shaking your head as if their words were just another baseless rumor. Inside, though, your chest tightened. If only they knew. If only they could imagine half of what had happened that night. But you weren't about to let them. You had no intention of ever telling a single soul.
That night was a secret carved into you, and the four of them had reputations built on silenceâno communication, no strings, no trace.
You sighed, crouching down to fix your shoelace, the chatter of your classmates fading as they moved further down the hall. One of them called your name over their shoulder, urging you to hurry, but before you could respond, the sound of measured steps came closer. A shadow cut across the floor in front of you.
You froze.
Slowly, your gaze lifted from the shoes planted right in front of you. And your heart stopped.
"Found you,"Â a low voice drawled, threaded with satisfaction, almost a taunt.
Gasps erupted behind you, your classmates halting in their tracks.
Your eyes widened. Heeseung was really there, standing over you in broad daylight, surrounded by people, breaking his own rules without hesitation. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
Then, without warning, he crouched down in front of you. The tall, untouchable Heeseungâthe one who ignored every girl who chased after him, who made it clear he wanted nothing to do with messy attentionâwas kneeling, his long fingers brushing over your loose shoelace.
"I had a hard time finding you," he muttered, not loud enough for anyone but you to hear. His tone was casual, but his jaw was tight, his movements sharp with frustration as he tied the knot in one clean motion. "It really pissed me off, you know?"
Your throat went dry. Heat crawled up your neck, spreading across your face until you felt the tips of your ears burn.
Why? Why was he here? Why was he talking to you? This wasn't the Heeseung everyone else knew. He never lowered himself like thisânot in front of everyone, not where people could see. He shut girls down without a glance, his cold indifference the very thing that made them chase harder. Yet here he was, focused on you with an intensity that made your stomach twist.
Around you, your classmates whispered furiously, unable to hide their shock. Some covered their mouths, others exchanged wide-eyed looks, but no one dared step closer.
"Can we talk?" His voice was steady, but softer than you expected, almost coaxing.
When you finally dared to look at him, his eyes caught yours. They weren't the eyes of the cold, untouchable Heeseung everyone claimed to know. No, they were gentle, wide, almost disarming, like he was looking through you and not just at you. He smiledâsmall, sweet, almost shyâand your lips trembled against the sudden wave of nerves.
"H-Huh?" Your voice cracked embarrassingly.
Before you could gather yourself, he reached forward and plucked your bag from your shoulder. His hand found yours in the same motion, his long fingers curling around your palm. The contact made your knees weaken, a sharp rush of heat flooding your chest.
Heeseung was holding your hand. Heeseung, who never even let girls close enough to breathe the same air without brushing them off, was lacing his fingers with yours in front of everyone!
"Let's get out of here first, hmm?" His tone carried a teasing lilt, but his grip on your hand was firm.
You could hardly process as he tugged you gently in the opposite direction, away from your frozen classmates whose whispers grew louder. Each step with him felt surreal, like walking straight into a dream you weren't ready for but couldn't pull away from.
Then, as if to seal the knot of heaviness swirling in your chest, his head tilted close, his breath warm against your ear.
Ok that was something I totally didn't expect but was not disappointed at all, like gurlllll how is sexy brain creates such a masterpiece đâ¨
Guys just read this and you will know meaning the of euphoriađ
(p.s. that scene when the reader is doing her routine of getting ready so the hyung line would notice her but they don't, remind me so much of the scene of Cassie from euphoria)
Just love this work.....you should definitely read this, if you are not, you are missing out so muchđŤ
okay wait this is absolutely horrifying and disgusting, and the amount of engagement they're getting is even worse. I've said it before, and i'll say it again, AI NEEDS TO BE STOPPED! Thank you for bringing this to attention, they've also been called out by multiple people in their comments or asks.
Pls report this, there are minors and young adults on this platform.
Your father talks about people like Taehyun. With venom that laces his tongue, he tells you about the filth of a world you can only imagine â and Taehyun is the worst kind. He is the kind of darkness that clings to your soul as it pulls you down with him; forcing you to join him when the day of doom finally comes.
thief!taehyun x cultist! reader (f)
wc: 50k
genre: psychological horror/dystopian esque wannabe
â ď¸ READER DISCRETION : reader is apart of a cult, manipulation/brainwashing â hence unreliable narrator, morally grey characters, verbal and physical abuse, bruises and injuries, internalised gaslighting, theft/burglary, smoking, set in the 1960s, old social norms, misogyny, blasphemy, attempted suicide, arranged marriage, character death, descriptive death of said character(s), stabbing, choking, arson. smut tags: dub-con, coercion, virginity loss, masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex + pullout.
đă ¤ serene's note hello, bear with me guys I am about to go on a ramble. this fic is literally... a ride, I'm very proud of it and I've worked so hard. it's not proofread, some parts are cringe (?) take it as it is please. the first 7k I wrote in November last year, maybe you'll be able to tell, who knows. I'm attached to this fic but I also want to distance myself from it. if you cry let me know, I cried too, it would be cool not to be alone... read all warnings carefully, some scenes are very uncomfortable, remember that this is all fiction and not real scenarios. big and awkward paragraphs and possible grammar errors... yes that's all, more notes at the end of the post...
IÂ
âCome down for dinner, dear!âÂ
Your motherâs voice echoes through the silent house, the sound scratches the walls, it creeps up the stairs and slithers through the cracks of your closed door. Your tired eyes watch as the imaginary cloud of her voice diminishes into nothing. You had started seeing things like that; the melancholy tone of your mother as she spoke of the weather, or the stern drawl of your fatherâs voice as he scolds you for not doing your daily teachings. You could see the anger seeping out of him, just as you could see the sadness spilling from her.Â
Your gaze drifts back to the open book on your desk, eyes scanning the words youâd read so many times before. Flipping through the pages was routine, you didn't need to read anymore for you had already memorized the old paperâs contents. Your father had made sure of that. â The open page stares back at you, and it looks almost as tired as you feel. Exhausted and worn out from being opened and flipped through twice a day, for as long as it could remember.Â
Still, you handle it with uttermost care, like it was sacred, and it was. You carefully tuck it back onto its place on your sparse shelf. Your father didnât allow any literature besides his own. It didnât matter how nicely you pleaded, how many times you accompanied him in his office, or how often you cleaned the kitchen. A book that wasnât approved by him had no place in his house. Thatâs what heâd said.Â
The old floorboards creak under your weight as you approach the open window. You lean out, catching the handle between two fingers as you prepare to close it once more. But the sudden evening breeze makes you freeze. Itâs a warm July night, the sun has only now begun setting, despite it being well past dinner time.Â
Summer was your favorite season. Because in summer, the days were long, the sun gracing you with its presence from early morning until late night. It was warm, much so that you didnât need a coat when out in the garden. Life seemed to flourish in summer, birds visited at your window, squirrels ran across the slanted rooftop, and sometimes, a single deer would emerge from the thick forest, carefully tiptoeing past the lilies your mother had planted as it grazed your already mowed grass.Â
Summer also meant no lectures, apart from your daily teachings. It meant not being cooped up in your fatherâs study when he read to you and taking notes as you listened. You were never allowed to read the books yourself, father kept them locked away. He told you that they were filled with nonsense, and that he only read the parts he deemed important. â You trusted your father. And so you listened intently to his every word. Because everything your father said had a purpose.Â
It meant something.Â
You hurry down the stairs, already late to dinner. The sounds of your footsteps echo through the grand hallways as you pass the many paintings, all made in oil, portraying various beautiful sceneries. Your father once told you that heâd visited all of them himself, back when he was young. Youâd asked him to take you some day, but he would always tell you, âWhen youâre older, dear.â â Your twentieth birthday had passed just weeks prior, and you planned on asking him soon again.Â
The dining hall is, just like any other room, extravagantly decorated, with porcelain pots and vases filling the shelves pushed up against the walls. An expensive rug, imported all the way from Italy, lays beneath your feet. Father had told you that Italy was a grand country, where the ocean followed you wherever you may go, where fruits grow on trees and where summers were long. You had to pinch yourself when thinking about the fact that such a place actually existed, for it sounded unreal.Â
Youâre pulled from your thoughts when your mother clears her throat, sheâs silently motioning for you to sit down. Hastily following her command, you pull out the chair by the end of the table, taking a seat opposite her. Your father sits by the high end, your mother to his right, and you to his left. It was how it had always been and how it would always remain.Â
Usually, father would scold you for being late. Time was a precious thing, because it was the only matter a human couldnât control. Time was always moving and we were merely trying to keep up with it. Being late and wasting one's time is therefore punishable. But your father remained quiet, that either meant he was in a good mood, or a gravely bad one.Â
He nods, a subtle tilt of his head, but it was a good sign. Your mother grabs your plate, carefully putting freshly cooked potatoes and meat on the fine china. She hands it back to you, and you thank her. When youâre done plating vegetables you reach for the bottle of water. You pour your father a glass first, then your mother, then yourself. Then you wait.Â
Only when your father starts eating does your mother join him. But tonight, he seems to be lost in thought. His gaze is fixated somewhere far ahead, you follow it, but find nothing of interest. The room looks just as usual, spotless, the porcelain shining as your mother polished it almost every day.
It was important that oneâs house was clean, because according to father, when the doomâs day came, only the pure ones would survive. Being pure meant not only doing your daily teachings, and refraining from indulging in any kinds of pleasure, but also treating your home with uttermost respect and care. â You had asked your father what exactly the doomâs day was, and why everyone in your community seemed to fear it so much. But your father would only shake his head, telling you to focus on your faith and that you would never have to even know if you did.Â
âIs something wrong dear?â Your mothers voice pierces the quiet air. You watch as she nervously regards your father, studying his every flicker of expression. Your mother was a rather soft spoken woman, she didnât talk much for she didnât think she had anything of value to say. But you can tell that the prolonged silence is getting to her fragile nerves, and you imagine her fiddling with the ring on her finger beneath the table, away from your fatherâs eyes.Â
Your father remains unspeaking, his gaze narrowing, but on what, you canât tell. â âWhen was the last time the china was polished?â He asks, his voice a low drawl. Your mother flinches at the sudden question, her eyes snapping toward the rows of plates stacked on one of the shelves. âIâŚThe day before yesterdayâ, she says, her voice unsteady.Â
The silence that follows is thick. Youâre certain that your father is displeased with her answer, you can tell by the subtle twitch of his jaw, the way his fingers tapped against the tablecloth. His dark gaze shift from the china and to your mother, who was already anticipating his next words. â âIt was my fault, father.â The words spill before you can even stop them, âI was meant to polish them today, mother had told me, I justâŚI forgot, I apologize.â With your head bowed, and your hands clasped together on your lap, you keep your gaze downcast.Â
You donât know why you lied. Suppose you felt the need to spare your mother at least some of your fatherâs torment. It wasnât like you couldnât take it. But your mother⌠She was so frail, the second he raised his voice you would catch the tears in her eyes, the way her hands shook and you could sometimes hear the rapid beating of her heart. You did not think your mother deserved that.Â
Upon hearing your admission, your father redirects his attention to you. His brows are slightly raised, painting a small and surprised frown onto his otherwise emotionless face. âAnd whatâs made you forget such an important task?â He asks, his voice calculating. You sallow, nails digging into the palm of your sweaty hand as you think of an excuse. âIâŚâ You begin, but your throat suddenly feels dry, âI must have forgotten simply because I⌠I was so fascinated by the birds outside.â As soon as the words leave your lips you brace for impact.Â
The surprise on your fatherâs face is quickly morphed into a bitter look. âYou mean to tell me that something as mundane as wildlife distracts you from the important duties at hand?â Itâs not a question but you nod anyway, biting the inside of your cheek as you do. â Your father scoffs, and you can feel his cold gaze on you. âWhen doomâs day rises upon us, weâre all going to be lostâ, he huffs, âOver a few birds.âÂ
You quickly shake your head. âNo father. Iâm sorry father. Iâll do better.â You donât dare look up, keeping your eyes steadily fixed on your hands as you focus on laboring your breathing. Somewhere to your right, you hear him tsk, and through the corner of your eye, you catch him unfolding his napkin. âYears of teaching, and this is how Iâm repaidâ, he mutters under his breath.Â
His fork makes a scraping sound against the china and you nearly wince. âLet us eatâ, he then says, this time loud enough for his tone to be conversational. â You wait another minute before finally looking up, and when you do, you catch a glimpse of your motherâs expression. She looks sad, but then again, she always did. Thereâs a flicker of guilt, lingering behind her drowsy eyes. Was she not glad you had taken the blame?Â
â¸â¸
The evening passed by in regular fashion. After dinner, you would gather in the living room as your father informed you of any news heâd received from your community during the day. It would often be mundane, like small details about the other families. But sometimes, it would be big, like new members joining. Your father would always be the happiest on those days. The proud look on his face wouldnât leave even after you had come home from the townhouse. It would linger when heâd washed up and had dinner, all the way until nightfall settled.Â
But today was another mundane day, and if your father was still angry with you, he did not show it. Instead he spoke of the weather, and the family across the street, whose son was your age. Father seemed very keen on you getting to know him better. Though you did not know how such a thing was to be possible. You only ever saw each other once a week, when your father spoke in front of the community in the townhouse. And even then, you were unable to speak with one another, as you were forced to listen to your father preach about doomâs day.
But such matters didnât seem to concern your father, and he spoke with much delight as he described the sonâs both strength and faith. You smiled, but only because you knew it would please him. â After nearly thirty minutes of listening to your father, you rose to your feet, bidding them both goodnight. It was already nearing 10 and you rarely stayed up past the hour.Â
As you got ready for bed that night, your mind kept wandering back to your motherâs face. She had always had this melancholic feel around her. And you had always associated it with her, much so that you could not picture her laughing, nor smiling. Part of you wonders if she had always been like that, another part suspects your father might play a big role in the woman she is today.Â
And you canât help but feel sorry for her.Â
â¸â¸
Sleep was, too, a precious thing. It was a state in which your body and mind drifted beyond your control. Time slipping through the cracks of your fingers as you lay motionless in one place for hours upon hours. Perhaps that was why you were such a light sleeper, because your mind kept telling you to stay alert, because even when sleeping, you were still constantly affected by your fatherâs words.Â
Your neighborhood is quiet. Itâs a calm and peaceful place, a place where grand houses line up along the road, a car neatly parked by each and every one. Large gardens stretch behind the homes, and beyond them, a dark and gloomy forest lays, its treetops peeking over the high roofs. â It was therefore most unusual to be woken at night by anything besides the chirping of birds, snapping of trees or the howl of wind.Â
But the shattering of glass was unmistakable, and you shot up from your comfortable slumber. Your heart beats in your chest, your pupils blown wide as you search your dark room. But thereâs nothing. The sound must have come from downstairs. â Was your mother awake? Had she dropped something? Or was it your father?Â
You wait, you wait for a whole minute. But your house remains basked in complete silence. Yet you canât shake the feeling that something was amiss. Pulling the blanket from your sparsely dressed body, you swing your legs over the edge of your bed. The soft padding of your footsteps are barely audible as you tiptoe toward your door. It glides open soundlessly and you peer out into the hallway.Â
Darkness follows both ways, and you stay, listening. Someone was shuffling about downstairs, and as you take a hesitant step forward, the sounds become clearer. Hesitating for a brief moment, you glance toward your father and motherâs bedroom, its door sealed shut.Â
And thus, you creep down the hallway, carefully descending the grand stairs, taking you to the foyer. The marbled floor here is cold against your bare feet, and you push back a small shiver as your head turns toward the archway leading into the living room. â It had to be your father, no? Who else could it be if not him or your mother? What would you tell him? That you went to get a glass of water? Or that the bathroom upstairs wasnât working?Â
You shake your head, pushing the matter aside when the sound of glass being crushed beneath something heavy fills your ears. Without a second thought you make your way toward the living room, fearing that your father might have hurt himself. â But the sight you behold as you enter the room is nothing short of unusual. It was not your father, nor your mother, but an uninvited stranger.Â
The man is no taller than your dad, possibly an inch or two shorter. His hair, as dark as night itself, lays uncombed atop his head, reaching down his neck and the sides of his face. Heâs clad in the most strange attire. The washed out jeans he wore looked far too big, and he had on, not one, but two shirts. The outer one had cigarette marks all over and holes everywhere, it was torn by the seams and draped over his knuckles.Â
You could only make out half his face, the rest shielded by his hair and the dim light provided by the moon as it peeked through the open curtains. He stands by the fireplace, still unaware of your presence as he scours the shelves nearby, his attention undoubtedly lingering by the porcelain vases. â You notice that heâd already broken one, the flower pattern lay scattered all over the floor, a danger to anyone stepping on it.Â
It looked to be an accident for he hadnât broken anything else. â And though you should probably say something, you canât help but find yourself in trance as you watch the strange man move around the living room. He walks with determination, the kind your father did, his eyes set on his target. And when he nears the shelves of vases, he carefully picks one up, turning it in his hands as he studies it closely.Â
Itâs then you notice the bag flung over his shoulder. Just as the rest of his attire, it looked beaten. He shrugs it off, unzipping it as he prepares to stuff the vase in it. â You clear your throat. The man nearly jumps at the sound, his head snapping in your direction, and this time you can see his face clearly. His features are sharp, like he was painted with precision, each stroke of his canvas caused by a quick flick of a brush.Â
You didnât recognize him as a member of your fatherâs community, you had never seen him down by the townhouse. That would mean he was a non believer. Your father had told you that those were the lowest of beings. Those who didnât care for the doomâs day, those who indulged in pleasure and crime, those who let their house get dirty, uncaring for the day that was to come, when your home would be the thing that saved you.Â
For long, you had wondered just how a non believer looked like. Were they as miserable as your father made them out to be? Were they sad and angry, filled with both desire and hatred for the world around them? â This man, he was the first of them you had ever met, and he intrigued you greatly.Â
It didnât occur to you that he might be dangerous, this mere stranger. No, you were too in awe of the fact that he was here, in your fatherâs home, a place no visitors ever were allowed. There was an actual breathing human being in your living room right now. â And this man, he looked nothing like those of your community, the ones who listened to your father preach about doomâs day. He didnât look at all like someone who was meant to follow, but to lead.Â
Your gaze lingers by the porcelain vase he clutches in his hand, then the worn out bag in his other. He looked alarmed, like youâd caught him doing something he certainly wasnât supposed to. His dark eyes are wide, watching you expectantly, like heâs waiting for you to do something. â Tilting your head to the side, you peer at him through the darkness. He swallows. And you smile.Â
âAre you going to steal that?âÂ
The question seems to catch him off guard and he emits a short breath, a warm huff of air. Readjusting the grip on the vase, his eyes drift from the ornament and back to you. âAre you going to dial the police on me?â His voice is a low drawl, nothing like the pompous tone of your father. This man did not speak with elegance or refinement, instead he spits the words out, almost as if using them as a shield of sorts.Â
Your gaze drifts toward the foyer, your mind climbing the stairs and running down the hall, to your fatherâs study. It was where he kept the house telephone. By the time you made it there, this man would be long gone. You did not think you wanted that. â So you shake your head, âNo.âÂ
This answer seems to bewilder him even further, his dark brows rising high on his forehead as he glances around, searching for clues that could explain your abnormal behavior. When he finds none, his eyes return to you. â âHow did you get in here?â Your question comes out light, conversational, as if speaking of the weather. The man frowns, his lips parting before sealing shut again. He then turns his head, just enough for his chin to point in the direction of the open window behind him.Â
You follow his line of sight, nodding to yourself as you rock back and forth on the sole of your feet. âI suppose that makes sense..â You quietly hum to yourself. But the acknowledgement reaches his ears as well and he scoffs. âYou suppose?â He questions, and in the pale moonlight, you thought you saw him smirk, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, if only for a moment.Â
A brief silence falls over the two of you, neither of you moving. The man seems to await your next move, it felt weird, father never waited for you to take the lead. You did not know what to do. Your palms feel sweaty as you rub them together, not because you feared the stranger currently in your living room, but because you felt you were doing something wrong, you just didnât know what.Â
âDo you want some tea?âÂ
It was the first thing that came to mind. The few times your father would ever have guests over, he would treat them to a cup of tea. And you knew how to brew tea, you had been doing so for as long as you could remember, bringing the hot pot to your fatherâs study by early noon almost every day. â The man snorts, the sound rings in your ears, he was quite expressive, you thought.Â
He shakes his head, and this time the curl of his lip is unmistakable as he sets both the bag and the vase down on the coffee table, rubbing his eyes tiredly. âI broke into your houseâ, he finally says without lifting his face from his hands. He says the words slowly, clearly, like when you explain something to a child, making sure every single part of the sentence registered in their tiny little brains.Â
It offended you, but only slightly. You supposed non-believers werenât taught manners like that. Taking a small step forward, you clear your throat. âThen I suppose you donât want any tea?â â The man chuckles, the sound rumbling deep within his chest, he looked to be in disbelief of the entirety of your current situation. You were too, but you werenât so sure it was for the same reasons.Â
You could not understand his laughter, his light-heartedness and his uncaringness for what was transpiring between the two of you. â He was a non-believer, the very first you had ever encountered, this was, if not your biggest, but perhaps only chance at getting a glimpse of their world, even though you know you shouldnât. Because getting involved with a non-believer was the same as being a non-believer yourself, your fatherâs teaching told you that.Â
However it was all too intriguing to back down now. There was so much you wanted to ask him, so much you wanted to know. And perhaps your curiosity should scare you, make you realize what you were doing and back away, confess to your father and immediately beg his forgiveness as you swore to never as much as look in the direction of a non-believer again.Â
âDo you not understand that I am trying to steal from you, at this very moment?â He then says, his sharp words bringing you back from your thoughts. You shift on the spot, a stingy feeling rising in your chest at the statement. âOf course I doâ, you say, wrapping your bare arms around yourself, the thin nightgown you wore did little to fend off the wind blowing through the open window.Â
You nod toward the vase in front of him, âWe have plenty of those, I do not see why you seek to steal them.â You eye the swan painted on the fair porcelain, âAnd my father would hardly notice its absence.â â The man regards you with a wary expression, his gaze flickering down toward the ornament as you speak, though returning to you within seconds.Â
âIs the point of stealing not to leave an impression?â You ask, unable to hide the sheer curiosity in your voice. The stranger huffs, and you barely catch the roll of his eyes. âHave you ever had to steal a day in your life?â He counters, his dark eyes narrowing on you. Had to steal? Was it something one did out of necessity, and not just because one could? You wanted to ask that too, but it didnât feel right. With pursed lips you shake your head, âNo.âÂ
Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the man averts his gaze, now flickering across the large paintings on the wall behind you. Every second that passed felt vital, as if time was slipping through your fingers. Your lips part, another question waiting on your tongue, but the soft creak of footsteps, somewhere in the house, makes you freeze. The man seems to have heard it as well as his eyes snap directly to your own.Â
You listen again, and the sounds of someoneâs approach is evident. âI⌠You have to go!â The statement was hardly needed and before you can half whisper half shout it, heâs already headed for the window. â Your feet move on their own accord, following him, only stopping when you nearly step on a piece of the broken vase. âWait Iââ You glance toward the foyer, and then back toward the window just in time to catch his shadow leaping over the windowsill and disappearing out into the night.Â
âWait⌠Your bag..â Clutching the old and worn out thing in your hands, you glance between the partly torn leather and the open window. Your heart sinks at the realization that he was gone, your only chance diminishing into nothing right before your eyes. With an almost melancholic sigh, you brush your fingers over the bag heâd left behind, a reminder of his existence.Â
The footsteps are closer now, and you hurry to close the open window. As soon as the hatch falls into place, your motherâs voice pierces the air. âDear⌠Whatâs going on?â She speaks as though she was still asleep, a tired rasp overshadowing the usually sweet and timid tone she used. Quickly stuffing the bag behind your back, you glance between her and the mess on the floor, your mouth opening and closing as you seek a believable explanation.Â
âIâŚMother I, you see IâŚâÂ
But your mother merely waves a tired hand, shaking her head as she inspects the broken ornament. âLet us get this cleaned up before your father wakesâ, she says as she kneels before the scattered pieces, âI doubt he will notice its absence.âÂ
Quickly falling to your own knees, you discard the bag behind the sofa, joining your mother as you help cover the traces of the non-believer that had entered your home, and tainted it with his darkness.Â
IIÂ
Stealing from rich people was like taking candy from a child. Mostly because those pompous bastards didnât know half of the fortune they possessed. You could grab at least a yearâs worth of money and it wouldnât even make a dent in their wallet. â They wouldnât even notice it. Not to mention the fact that they hardly kept locks on their own front doors. So idyllically unaware of the starvation of the poor, the greed of those who had nothing.Â
The rich slept comfortably on their soft mattresses, wrapped in layers of silk, warmed by the fact that they would have food in their stomachs the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. â Most took their fortune for granted, too caught up in their own dilemmas of what gown to wear or what brand new car to get, to even notice how the rest suffered.Â
Taehyun did not think it was wrong to steal, at least not from those people. The ones who had it all ought to share with those who had nothing, no? Steal from the rich and give to the poor, however the saying went. âCynical fucking bastardsâ, he grunts, kicking at a few stones as he walks down the empty road.Â
As he passes house after house, the weight on his shoulders only seems to grow heavier. He doesnât bother to look, to regard the grand monstrosities that the rich called âhomeâ. No, he knew this neighbourhood all too well, for heâd spent the last three days here, scouring out the grandest house of all. The one closest to the forest, on the slight hill, a little further from the rest.Â
At first glance, the house looked like any other, tall, slightly intimidating, and oozing of wealth. But as soon as his eyes fell on the man that resided there, Taehyun knew. This would be his next hit. The man in question, had been a tall, lanky, middle aged man. Glasses pushed far up on his slightly crooked nose, clad in dress-pants and a black shirt. The watch around his wrist looked heavy, as did each and every step he took.Â
But this man did not look like the others who lived here, the flimsy and extravagant ones. The ones who downed liquor like it was water on a Tuesday afternoon. The ones who plastered themselves onto whatever topic was currently relevant and those who yearned to be seen. â This man carried himself with something entirely different, self worth. He never once stopped to engage in conversation with his neighbours, all except the ones across the street, that family was similar to him, Taehyun picked up on that much.Â
Naturally, he thought the old man to be a widower. It was perfect. A man saddened by the death of his not-so-late wife, too clouded by his own grief to notice Taehyun slipping a piece of his money's worth. â So he watched him, he watched the old man leave and return to that same large villa for three days straight. He never left for long, a mere half an hour or so, and it was always by noon, in broad daylight. It left a small window for him to get inside, but he decided against it, he couldnât risk being seen by those notorious neighbours down the street.Â
Taehyun decided to strike at night.Â
It would be easier that way, for everyone really. But as he tries the doorknob of the front door, he finds that itâs locked. His brows furrow, and he glances around the dark front yard, partly waiting for someone to come forward, to catch him in the act. Has someone noticed him watching this house? Had they informed the old man?Â
But no one came. Taehyun exhales a small huff. Maybe heâd grown paranoid after the death of his wife. â He tries the window leading to the living room, it glides open almost right away, and Taehyun chuckles, âFucking idiot.âÂ
The grand house looks much like the ones heâd previously robbed. The fine china crowding the shelves was not an unusual sight, however, the lack of anything else was. As he takes a moment to scour his surroundings, he finds that the room lacks any signs of a human being living there. The two couches were made, the pillows neatly tucked and a blanket folded over its armrest. A small coffee table stands between them, it looked as if it had never been used, holding nothing but an empty vase.Â
In fact, the whole room represented that of a museum. Almost as if it had been carefully crafted to please the appeal of someone else, ready to be shown off at any given moment. Taehyun pauses, confusion boring its way onto his forehead, a small feeling of uncertainty blooming in his chest. â But he soon decides against it.Â
He gets to work, as he usually does, by flinging the bag off his shoulder and scouring out the piece of china that seemed most mundane, the one no one would tell to be missing. Spotting his target by the very top, Taehyun rises to his toes as he reaches for the vase, fingers grasping the cool porcelain firmly.Â
An abnormally loud sneeze from upstairs makes him falter, the china slipping from his hands and tumbling down to the floor where it shatters in agonizing volume. He freezes, holding his breath, waiting for something, for someone, to catch him. But the museum-like house remains quiet, and he exhales in relief. The poor son of a bitch must be losing his hearing as well.
Taehyun resumes his work, figuring that he would just scoop the splinters into his bag before he leaves, sweeping his tracks effortlessly, just like he always did. â But thereâs one thing he hadnât counted on, something heâd missed, a small, seemingly unnoticeable detail, yet gravely significant. You.Â
His heart nearly beat out of his chest when he first heard you clear your throat, and heâd spun around on the spot, coming face to face with something even more prized than any of the china in the room. â The man had a daughter. But how could he have missed that? How come Taehyun had never seen you, not once for those three days he watched your house.
You were the most odd thing heâd ever encountered. Yet you linger in his mind for a long time. Taehyun canât seem to stop thinking about you, and he doesnât know why. Whether it be the unhinged and most improper questions you asked, or the way you seemed intrigued rather than frightened. He briefly wondered if you had some sort of medical condition, something that made you slower in terms of basic communication and understanding. â He couldnât wrap his head around why you hadnât called for your old father, why you hadnât threatened him with his life.Â
Taehyun presumes that he shall never know. And as he shakes his head, his attention returning to the present, he finds that the scenery around him has changed vastly. From the grand and rich houses to rundown and crowded apartment buildings, all toppled on one another. His steps echo off the lonesome alleyways, and he makes a sharp turn to his left.Â
He stops in his tracks when he nearly stumbles over a man sprawled out on the ground before him. Catching himself just in time, Taehyunâs brows raise high on his head as he peers down to the figure beneath him. The man is dressed in a long and dark cloak, surely too warm for a summer night such as this. His hat lay discarded a few feet away. â Perhaps he shouldâve called for help. But this man isnât dying.Â
Taehyun follows the steady rise and fall of his chest, and as he leans down, the stinging scent of liquor fills his sensitive nose. His face scrunches in disgust, his dark eyes travelling across the manâs expensive attire. He was wealthy there was no doubt. â Naturally, Taehyunâs hands reach for his pockets, feeling his way around.Â
To his dismay, little of interest is to be found. Not even a wallet. He clicks his tongue, quickly realizing that he hadnât been the first to arrive. Still, his fingers freeze when they come in contact with something firm. Leaning back, he pulls out a nearly full package of cigarettes, and a small smirk tugs at his lips. â He wouldnât be returning completely empty handed.Â
â¸â¸
Tents crowd the narrow alleyway followed by blankets and worn out mattresses. Fires are going, casting the area in a yellow glow, and the shadows of the homeless paint the high brick walls. Most of them are awake despite the late hour. That wasnât unusual, one hardly got any rest in these parts of town, and especially not under such conditions.Â
Summer was do-able, but Taehyun knew that half these people wouldnât last the upcoming winter. It was strange, knowing that others were going to die before they even did themselves. But he had witnessed it far too many times to doubt himself now.Â
He passes a woman, she looks to be in her mid-forties. Dressed in nothing but rags sewn together, she cradles a small child in her arms. The child is crying, shiny droplets rolling down its cheeks, leaving clear streaks on its dirty face. Then it glances over at Taehyun. He jerks backward at the sight, his face twisting into a small scowl. It pained him, not because he loathed the poor infant, but because he pitied it. To bring a child into a world like this... He could not fathom the reasoning behind such.Â
The woman looks at him with frightened eyes, and her arms instinctively shield her childâs face from him. Taehyun resists a scoff. Her worries were placed where they shouldnât be. For Taehyun was the least dangerous thing that roamed these streets. â Still, he quickly moves forward, if not for her sake then for his own. He could not stand to cast his gaze upon her for another second.Â
That child would be the first victim of the cold.Â
After pushing past a crowd of drunk men, just barely managing to slip between them as they waved their half empty bottles his way, Taehyun finally sinks back against the cold brick wall. Letting his head tip back, his eyes fall shut as he inhales the filthy air of the packed alleyway. â He doesnât own much, if anything. Not even a filthy mattress to soothe the flaring pain in his neck and back. There was no point in owning such because he would find it gone when he returned in the evening.Â
No, Taehyun liked to keep as little personal belongings as he could. And the ones he kept were highly undesirable. Things that he could leave behind without someone casting as much as a second glance their way. Like that worn out bag of his. His jaw clenches when heâs reminded of his clumsy mistake of leaving it behind, leaving it with you.Â
With a small groan, he reaches for the pack of cigarettes. It was the only thing he had going for himself, at least for tonight. â Fuck, he couldâve made it out with at least something to pass on, something to feed him and keep him warm.. If only you hadnât⌠God how could he have missed that.Â
Frustration courses through his veins as Taehyun shuffles around his pocket before fishing up the pack heâd acquired. He turns the small box in his hands, fingers flipping the top section open as he slowly surveys its contents. â He wouldâve been able to buy ten folds of these had tonight been successful. But before he can as much as pluck one of the pack, a low and hoarse voice diverts his attention.Â
âIâve got a lighter.âÂ
Itâs an older man, and though the thick layer of dirt on his face made it hard to tell his age, Taehyun would guess that heâd passed his sixties. A large and unkempt beard crowds the lower part of his face, but he thinks he can make out a small grin. â The old man holds out a blue lighter, his fingers trembling slightly as he does, but not because he was nervous. He, too, knew the rules out here. To approach or be approached, and you only had so much control over the situation if you found yourself in the latter.Â
Though Taehyun registers this man as harmless. His gaze flickers between the lighter and the pack of cigarettes in his own hands. He then gives a small nod, offering the man one of the cigarettes. His fingers feel grimy against Taehyunâs when they brush past one another, but he doesnât cringe at the action. Heâs used to things being dirty, to people being dirty. Â
The man thanks him once more as he brings the puff to his lips, lighting it with shaky hands. He struggles for a good minute, then finally lowers his hand as he takes a drag. Taehyun watches him. â Only once he exhales a small cloud of smoke does he give an approving nod and hand over the lighter.Â
Muttering a quiet âthanksâ under his breath, Taehyun does the same, though with far more ease. The rasp and slightly burning sensation that flares down his throat as he inhales is familiar, and he welcomes it as he tips his head back to exhale.Â
âWhat brings you out here, boy?â The man speaks up again, and when Taehyun cracks an eye open, he finds the elder already watching him. His dark eyes have a grey sheen over them, dulled by the years exposed to god knows what. Yet he sits there, expectantly waiting for an answer as he brings the cigarette to his lips once more. â âNot exactly your crowd, eh?â He then adds as he throws a glance over his shoulder. Taehyun follows his gaze.Â
The alley is filled to the brim with people like him, at least thatâs what heâd always thought. All dressed down, wearing whatever they could find, sleeping on whatever kept them warm and somewhat comfortable, eating only when they really had to. Taehyun did not consider himself to be anything but such. â But then he really looks.Â
His attention fixates on the elders, their skin wrinkled and sagging. Some looked like walking corpses. Then he watches the drunks, the wasted ones, the ones who donât even know left to right or where they are. He regards the ones who weep, their sorrowful sobs echoing off the high brick walls. The ones who scream and yell, shoving one another as they argue about trivial matters. â And finally, back to the man beside him.Â
âYoung man like yourself, got your whole life ahead of yer.â The man cracks up into a grin, whether it was one of mockery or just complete irony, Taehyun couldnât tell. But through the old manâs thick accent, he could still decipher a sense of sorrow behind his words.Â
He fiddles with the cigarette between his fingers, watching the lit end as it eats away at the filter. âWhatâs even left for me out there anyway?â He finally mutters, sounding somewhat petulant. Taehyun did not think that there was more to this world, this was all he knew. It always had been and it always would be.Â
But the elder man doesnât give up. â âCome on son, donât ya plan on making something of yourself?â He coughs, and his chest contracts as he slams a wrinkly fist against it. Taehyun thinks the man might have a whole fit at this point, but a mere minute later, he continues with a low drawl. âWhat I mean to say is, this place, itâs not for people like you.âÂ
Taehyunâs brows draw together in a frown, his dark eyes narrowing on the older man. People like him? âYou donât know me.â He states coldly, the cigarette in his hands long forgotten about as he regards the dirty homeless.Â
The man smiles, his yellow teeth on full display as he does. âYouâre rightâ, he hums before bringing the puff to his chapped lips. âBut I know your kindâ, he continues as he inhales slowly, as if savoring the taste of death.Â
What a load of bullshit. Taehyun scoffs, turning away from the older man without another word. The last thing he needed was for someone to tell him what he was and what he wasnât. âNot his crowdâ, then what even was? â Canât even fit in with the homeless, thatâs rich.Â
He shoves the cigarette to the ground, putting it out before even finishing it as he rests his head back against the hard and cold brick wall. Tomorrow he would do better.Â
IIIÂ
Your father held long speeches on Thursdays â sometimes they would drag on for hours, making you fight back yawns and straightening your back as you tried to appear interested. But in truth, it was the same thing over and over. He spoke about doomsday, he spoke about the non believers â warning the rest of your community about them. He spoke of the ways in which one needed to act, how to take care of one's home and to be grateful for the life given.Â
He made promises. Promises of fortune and wealth that would come when doomsday rose upon us. But he always made sure to emphasize the importance of the rules, his rules. It was the very same thing said in his books â the ones you had read again and again, crouched over your desk as your eyes glue to the pages.Â
Yet the commotional hall remained perfectly quiet, everyone listening intently to what your father had to say. As though they did not come here every Thursday for the same exact reasons. You glance to your left, your mom sits beside you â her hair neatly done, not a single strand out of place. The buttons of her blouse are done up nicely, the cotton ironed to perfection and her nails trimmed and filed.Â
She looks put together like this, respectable even. You know that she is anything but. At home things are different, at home your father is different. Still, your mother keeps her head high, a smile on her face as she fixes her gaze ahead. You ought to do the same, but instead your attention wanders to your right.Â
The Choiâs are sitting next to you â they had begun doing that a few months ago. Usually the front row was completely desolate, save for you and your mother. It was reserved for the ones closest to your father, the ones he valued above all. Yet their family now had their own spot alongside you.Â
Your father had made his intentions clear and your eyes stayed by the son of the family. Choi Soobin is sitting next to you, so close that your elbows would occasionally brush together. He wears a checkered t-shirt, the buttons done all the way to just below his chin. His dark hair is combed back and his gaze is fixed on your father when he speaks.Â
In the future, you were going to marry Soobin. Your father had told you as much. â You didnât know if you wanted to marry him. He was cute, with dimples that dented into his cheeks when he smiled, warm and brown eyes that sparkled under the sun and a light laughter. But you knew nothing about him, except for the fact that his and your father got along well.Â
Soobin had never been to your house, but you had been to his. It was just across the street, yet it looked much different from your own. It was neat, tidy and wiped down to perfection â just the way your father would have instructed. But it held an undoubtable warmth, one your own house lacked. Its walls did not feel sterile and the furniture wasnât placed for show. There was something human about the Choiâs, something you couldnât quite place your finger on.Â
You recall the many dinners shared around their table, with you and Soobin across from one another. The shy glances you two exchanged, the awkward clearing of oneâs throat and the silent meal you indulged in. â Your fathers would make conversation, sometimes it was plain and other times it was about the future, your future. You never paid close attention.Â
Soobin was perfect for you, at least thatâs what your father had said. You believed him, even in doubt of your own feelings you would outweigh them to meet those of the man you had been raised under. There was no one that knew as much about doomsday as him, no one that knew about the non believers like he did. Your father knew best, and it would be disgraceful of you not to trust his judgement.Â
You had barely noticed that your fatherâs speech had come to an end, not until the roar of applause filled the commotional hall. Your mother gives your side a subtle nudge and you immediately fall into a practiced script of applauding whilst smiling proudly. By the altar your father takes his bows, his expression remaining just as indifferent and stoic as it always did.Â
Slowly the building empties out as families huddle together and make for the exit. You stay, only moving from your seat when your mother rises to her feet. She approaches your father, and you do the same â but before any of you can compliment him on yet another successful speech given, a voice behind you interrupts.Â
âFantastic today as always!âÂ
Itâs Mr Choi. You turn to see him and his wife approach, Soobin trailing slowly behind them. He keeps his gaze downcast, not meeting your eyes as he instead regards his feet. â Your father glances over to the newcoming party, his unreadable expression not budging one bit, though he sends Mr Choi a tight smile. It was hard to tell if your father actually liked the Choiâs. At first glance it might seem he didnât â but when Mr Choi starts talking, the words of praise rolling off his tongue like practiced silver, your father listens.Â
âWe would be honored to have you accompany us for dinner in the upcoming nightsâ, he says. The proposal was hardly unexpected for Mr Choi would leap at an opportunity to have father close. Mrs Choi gives an affirming nod as she grips her husbandâs arm a little tighter, the smile she sends is nothing short of convincing. From the corner of your eye you watch as Soobin shifts awkwardly in place, his shy eyes darting between the floor and his parents.Â
Your father doesnât respond right away, and you can tell your mother is itching to interfere and break apart the awkward silence that was slowly settling over your small crowd. Father would say yes, you knew that already. Though it seemed he enjoyed prolonging the tension just enough to make Mr Choi doubt his words.Â
Finally he gives a small nod, âWe would be pleased to join you.â His tone is short, not quite matching the enthusiasm of the man before him. If Mr Choi picks up on it, he makes no comment as he instead beams. âWonderful! Then should we say Saturday?â A mere two nights from now, but it wasnât like you were busy, each day followed the same routine, and Saturday was no exception.Â
âThat would be preferableâ, your father hums, his gaze, however, lingers on the son of the family. No matter how well the boy hid himself behind his motherâs soft frame, his tall and lanky figure stood out â and your fatherâs eyes found him anyway.Â
Mr Choi bows in gratitude, the rest of his family following his practiced lead. Then they bid their farewells, though they are brief and well scripted. You watch as they descend down the narrow aisle leading between the rows of wooden benches before emerging out into the morning sun. Soobin doesnât glance over his shoulder once, for all you knew, he might not have even registered your presence at all.Â
You can feel your fatherâs gaze as it follows your line of sight, he too, was watching the youngest of the party. As with the rest of the Choiâs it was impossible to know if your father actually liked Soobin. But you think he must, otherwise he wouldâve not chosen his family like this, he wouldn't have made them as special as they are now.Â
Your motherâs voice is the first to break the silence. âSuch a lovely family, are they not?â She says as she glances toward your father in search of approval. He gives a short nod, something between a grunt and sigh leaving his lips.Â
When you begin your own journey toward the door, she continues: âI must say they raised a lovely son, donât you think dear?â You can merely nod as you give her a small smile, âIndeed.âÂ
It was no surprise that your mother was the most eager about your fatherâs seeming infatuation with the Choiâs. She had already planned for the great things to blossom between you and their son, and her intentions were clear. The only thing still keeping her at bay was your father, he was the one who decided when and where, and if things got to take place.Â
â¸â¸
The remainder of the afternoon was spent in the living room. There you busied yourself with wiping down the vases crowding the shelves pushed against the walls. It would usually take you about an hour to get all of them neatly polished and dust-free, b. But on this particular day you find your thoughts wandering.Â
A mere two nights had passed since you had found the strange non-believer in your home. And though he was long gone, you thought you could still pick up on the faint scent of smoke and something else⌠Something that didnât quite belong.Â
The fabric of the rag in your hand goes over the china, back and forth until your wrist aches. But you never felt you got his handprints off. It was like he was still there, clinging to every aspect of the room â tainting it with his sin. Part of you doesnât want to wipe him away, to clean him from your memory and never look back. That part of you should make you feel shameful â but it doesnât.Â
You long to see his face once more. Telling yourself that it was out of sheer curiosity and nothing else. But in the deepest pits of your chest, you knew that it was more than that.Â
Your father had yet to notice that there was a piece missing from his collection, that the vases now stood unevenly on the shelf. But it was only a matter of time before his eyes would catch the disturbance in his home. Mother too, threw anxious glances in your direction. She would take the blame if your father ever found out, and she would do so thinking she was protecting you.Â
But she wouldnât be.Â
No, she would be protecting someone far more sinister. How could she know? A non-believer in your own home? It was unimaginable. Yet it was the truth. A truth no one could ever know, no one except you. And you would bury it with you if you so had to.Â
The vase feels heavy in your hand, and as you gaze down at the blue paintings scattered across its surface, you think of him. Why would he want this? What value would it hold outside of your home, if not used to protect you from doomsday? He had made it seem like a few pieces of china was meant to salvage him.Â
It would break if you dropped it, scattering into a million pieces. Then it would be worth nothing. You brush the pads of your fingertips along the fine rim, the vase felt insignificant beneath your touch. Why did he want it? Perhaps you should never know.Â
â¸â¸
That night you retired to your bedroom early. Bidding both your father and mother goodnight as you vowed to do some reading before bed. And that was exactly what you did. Hunched over your small wooden desk, you flip through the pages of your fatherâs book. The words no longer spoke to you, the sound of your fatherâs voice had become background noise in your ears as you read.Â
It was a most dull past time and ever so often you would find your gaze drifting from the pages and over to your window. The sun was just beginning to set over the horizon and the birds flew high on the warm sky. You watch as they move gracefully through the air, their wings flapping softly against the summer breeze. Sometimes you dared dream of what it would be like to fly like they did, to look down at the world from above.Â
If you were a bird you would go someplace far away. Where your fatherâs searching eyes couldnât find you and the sound of your motherâs melancholy voice would become nothing but a faint memory.Â
If you were a bird you would probably be small and insignificant. Your wings would not be feathery soft and white. They would be pointy and rough, tousled from the exertion and the rain falling upon you. Nor would you be a pretty bird. You wouldnât be one people stopped to gaze at, or even attempt to draw. But you would be free, and that was all that mattered.Â
The creak of a floorboard makes your attention return to the book before you, slicing your silly dreams in half as reality commands your presence once more. Thankfully your father doesnât bother to peek his head inside your room, and you hear his footsteps descend down the hall. He knew that you did as told, for there was nothing he didnât know â and you had yet a reason to deceive him.Â
Your house has gone quiet when the sound pulls you from your reading. Itâs soft yet sharp, like the pecking of a bird's beak against glass. Puzzled, you tear your gaze from the flat pages and over to the window you had been gazing out of a mere half an hour ago. Expecting to find a small feathery creature on your windowsill, your heart sinks when you, to your surprise, find something much more⌠human shaped. bigger.Â
Crouched on the slant of your roof, just outside the thin glass that enclosed your bedroom from the world outside, is the same strange man from a few days ago. The setting sun is now kissing the horizon, and heâs basked in the warm shades of orange and pink. You recognize him in a heartbeat. From the torn and dirty clothes to the tousled hair on his head. His dark eyes are stuck to yours as he waits for you to approach.Â
Without hesitating, your feet pull you forward, careful to avoid the spots you knew to make the wooden floor groan under your weight. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, your fingers near trembling as you undo the small hatch that kept the window in place. It glides open effortlessly, like it was begging to let him in â or you out.Â
He doesnât speak at first, quietly surveying you for another moment, as if to make sure it was really you he was seeing. Your relieved sigh is almost as powerful as the wind, and a ridiculous smile stretches across your lips.Â
âYou came.âÂ
Itâs a statement, not a question. With your hand still on the window hatch you say,: âI knew you would.â And while it wasnât entirely the truth, it wasnât a lie either. You had been expecting his appearance, in one way or another.Â
The man gives a small, almost unnoticeable nod as he shifts in place. His eyes dart between you and the door behind you, like he was just waiting for someone to enter. You shake your head., âFather is in bed. Hebed., he wonât come by.â You donât exactly know why you felt the need to reassure him, but you knew you longed for him to stay â even if just a moment longer.Â
âPlease, come in.âÂ
He frowns for a moment, the dark and wild brows on his forehead drawing together like he hadnât been expecting the invitation. But he takes it nonetheless. With practiced ease he puts one foot before the other, soundlessly landing on your floor as he glances around. He looked strangely out of place; his dark exterior a stark contrast to the soft hues of your quaint bedroom. Nothing about him fits in, an unwanted presence â an intruder. For some reason you canât bring yourself to will him away, if anything you wish he lingers.Â
His chapped lips part, and it looks as though heâs about to say something â but you beat him to it.Â
âYouâve come for your bag, havenât you?â Without waiting for a response you scurry toward your bed, dropping to your knees in a hasty manner as you pull the dark worn out bag into your hands. The material is rough under your soft palm, battered by the harsh world outside, the one your father had warned you about. But this bag, it had experienced things; seen things you could only imagine.Â
You rise to your feet, taking a tentative step toward him. âDonât worry, I kept it safe for you. I knew you would return for it.âÂ
He raises a brow, dark eyes flickering between you and the bag with a skeptical look plastered on his grimy face. His hands reach for it, fingers barely brushing against the fabric before you yank it toward your chest â pulling it out of reach.Â
âWait.âÂ
If he takes it now, that means the moment is over again. He would leave, disappear through the window like he had all those nights ago â never to be seen again. You donât want that. This is special, sacred. The outside world lingers beneath the tips of your fingers, ready to be explored. You just need to take the first step out.Â
The sound of you swallowing is deafening in the quiet house, your voice a low murmur when you speak. âYour name, I want to know your name.âÂ
The man pauses, his features twisting into brief confusion. It was obvious he had not expected your question. He hesitates for a moment, gaze darting between the bag and you, undoubtedly catching the eager glimmer in your eyes. âTaehyunâ, he gruffly says. Your heart skips a beat. Taehyun. You would be sure to remember that name. It fits his dark complexion, the sharp and almost dagger-like edges of his frame.Â
Whilst giving him your own name, you canât help but notice the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his eyes narrow for a brief second. He doesnât look angry, not the way your father would present when you had forgotten something, when the china wasnât polished to perfection. But Taehyun doesnât look happy either, in fact it looked almost as though he was in pain. Only it wasnât physical.Â
A different kind of pain. A weird one.Â
He reaches for the bag, snatching it from your hands with brute force. It makes you stumble and once youâve regained your bearings heâs already halfway through the window.Â
Your eyes widen, panic blooming in your chest as you lunge forward. Fingers curling around the torn fabric of his shirt, you stop him as heâs got one foot over the windowsill. âNo, please wait!â Thereâs an underlying sense of urgency to the way you plead, like if he left now â you would never be the same.Â
Taehyun pauses, his head turning to send you a small look. âWhat?â Is all he says, the words painfully harsh in the warm summer air. The sun had nearly set now, it was dark outside and his face was now only illuminated by the yellow glow of your desk lamp. His eyes flicker toward your closed door, and they stay there for a beat longer than necessary. It was clear that he wanted to get as far away from here as possible.Â
âPlease I⌠I want to talk to you.â The admission is softly spoken, like you were talking to a frightened animal â your grip on his shirt unwavering as you wordlessly beg of him to stay.Â
He scoffs, averting his gaze as he peers out into the darkness that called him. âWhat is there to talk about?â The finalisation in his tone becomes evident, he has nothing to say to you. But how could he not? What was there not to talk about; you came from two different worlds. This was your only chance at getting to know each other, away from prying ears and eyes.Â
âEverything.â You then say, insistently tugging him toward you by the sleeve of his clothing. It only serves to deepen the frown on Taehyunâs face, though he makes no move to yank his arm free from your grasp.Â
Did he not understand, were you not making yourself clear enough? Pulling your bottom teeth between your lips, you swallow down a noise of frustration. âYou, youâre not like me.âÂ
At that Taehyun musters a small smirk, âYou donât say.â It sounded almost mocking, like he intended to belittle you. Yet he was the nonbeliever, he was the one who was doomed when the day finally rose upon you. What was there for him to laugh about?Â
âDoes it not intrigue you?â You then ask, slightly hesitant as you meet his calculating gaze. But he only shrugs, âI know everything I need to know about your kind.â He states it simply, like it was black and white, two sides of a coin equally dirty. Then he shifts on the windowsill, pulling his leg back inside as he rests his weight on the ledge.Â
âI bet you know all about me tooâ, he huffs. It angers you how ignorant he seemed; frustrated you that he took for granted knowledge you longed to have. You shake your head promptly, arms folding across your chest despite the fact that your father would have normally scolded you for doing just that.Â
âI donât â why should I?â You point an accusing finger toward him, âPeople like you, one day youâre going to end upââÂ
âIn hell?âÂ
He tilts his head to the side, dark eyes glimmering with something you couldnât quite place. Ridicule? Like he was enjoying the rise he was getting out of you.Â
The talk of hell and even heaven, it was something father had strictly forbade. âHell does not existâ, you say, jutting your chin out slightly. To even mention such a thing in front of the man who raised you would be harshly punishable. Your father had told you there was no such thing as heaven, no such thing as hell and no such thing as God. It simply did not exist.Â
Doomsday was the only thing true to this world. It stood above everything, even death.Â
Taehyun huffs out a short breath, it sounds almost like a laugh. Then he shakes his head, like he couldnât believe the words coming out of your mouth. âNo? I didnât peg you for a non-believer.âÂ
That simple sentence, said with such a light and conversational tone â disregarding the weight of the words. It made your stomach clench uncomfortably. You felt light headed, like you could throw up any moment now. You, a non-believer? It was unfathomable. Everyday you read your fatherâs teachings, everyday you cleaned and bathed as you prepared for doomsday.Â
And now⌠Now you were getting accused of a sin so grave, a word you didnât even dare utter aloud had left this manâs mouth like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing. The betrayal sinks deep into your heart and you feel pain twist and tug at your chest.Â
âDonât you ever dare call me that again!â You spit, your voice laced with venom as you take a step back, hand releasing its grip on his shirt like it had stung you. âIâm notâ No. Thatâs you!â Shaking your head fervently, you feel your lungs tighten with pressure.Â
âLeave.âÂ
When he doesnât move right away, you snap. âYou must leave now! And never come back!âÂ
Taehyun frowns, lips parting in an unspoken question before you lunge toward him. He quickly avoids your flailing arms, exiting through the window you had so carelessly opened for him only moments prior and out into the darkness.Â
You watch after his silhouette as it disappears over your rooftop. Hands still trembling when you reach for the window hatch â sealing the outside world off once more. Your father was right. You should have never let him inside, never asked him about things so dark and twisted. Of course he would seize his opportunity.Â
Taehyun was filled with sin â and sinners like him would earn their place on doomsday. Still, you clutch at your beating heart with a closed fist. A single tear rolls down your cheek, the guilt rolling off of you in waves. What if he had infected you with his non-beliefs? What if you⌠No. You were a believer, you had lived your whole life right, abiding by the words and teachings of your father.Â
You were pure. Nothing bad was going to happen. Nothing at all.Â
And yet you sit by your desk that night, eluding sleep as you read over the same books you had been for so many years â praying you had done what it took to keep the evil at bay.Â
 IVÂ
The night is darker and colder than any summer night should be. Taehyun isnât freezing, but thereâs still goosebumps that prickle across the back of his neck. Silently he moves through the neighbourhood, blending in effortlessly with the shadows. Some nights he thinks he might even be a part of them. It feels natural to stay out of sight, comforting. Perhaps thatâs why heâd felt so uncomfortable under the soft light of your bedroom.Â
A shudder runs down his spine as Taehyun recalls the encounter a mere fifteen minutes earlier. He doesn't know what had prompted him to return, why he had sought you out from outside â climbed all the way to your window and tapped on the glass. Curiosity? But Taehyun tells himself that he knows everything about your kind already.Â
What makes you different?Â
Maybe itâs the sweet floral scent that still clings to every fiber of his clothes. He brings the worn out bag to his nose, inhaling the gentle aroma one last time as his eyes flutter. Something about you had pulled him in, even when he knew he should have been on the move, he let you pull him back.Â
Your house, there was something wrong with it. He could sense it on his very first visit, the way everything was organized so neatly in place. Preformative. Like it was meant for show, not for comfort. You, too, moved like there was a script to be followed, every line and every expression you wore was carefully rehearsed.Â
But there had been a crack in your play. Something that didnât quite belong. Him. Heâd felt it too. His presence was unwanted, despised even. And while that wasnât exactly news for someone like him, it still felt different. Because the way your demeanour had so suddenly switched⌠There was more to it than just a blatant accusation to your beliefs. You looked genuinely terrified.Â
Taehyun couldnât understand you.Â
One second you were prodding at him for answers, asking questions he had no idea how to answer. Questions that didnât make any sense. The next youâre throwing a hysterical fit. He wondered if you knew anything at all. Your innocence seemed almost sinister. It wasnât meant to be there. Something, or someone was protecting you like a dragon hogging its fortune.Â
Your room felt like a prison, the warm lights and the soft sheets were not made for comfort. And though Taehyun had slept on pavements and behind dumpsters, he could only imagine what one night in that house must feel like.Â
His footsteps are soundless against the asphalt, and he barely glances around the large houses as he walks; mind occupied by thoughts of you. You had mentioned your father briefly, the subject felt almost taboo as it left your lips. Of course the old man would freak out if he found an intruder in his daughterâs bedroom, as any sane man would.Â
So why didnât you?Â
Why did you expect him, why did you cling to him like he was your last piece of hope. No one had ever clung to him like that â no one had ever expected answers from him. It confuses Taehyun terribly. And yet, as he mentions something as simple as not believing in a place after this â you turn hysterical.Â
He groans, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his tangled hair. Then he freezes mid step, eyes landing on a house just like yours. Large, commanding attention with its shiny windows and mowed lawn. Tidied to perfection, almost uncannily so. Itâs familiar, but not the same. And it intrigues him.Â
The lights are still on, the top floor illuminating the street below. He creeps closer, staying in the comforts of the shadows for as long as they will allow. Thereâs movement in one of the windows, a silhouette gliding carefully through a hallway. Taehyun follows it around the corner of the house.Â
There, in a room not so different from your own, is a boy.Â
His shirt is buttoned all the way to the top, dark hair neatly combed on top of his head â a stark contrast to Taehyunâs wild and unkempt one. His brows furrow as he watches the boy pick up a book, and he recognizes it as the one that had been on your desk.Â
The boy flips through the pages, his gaze trained to the words on the paper â words too far away for Taehyun to make out. Thereâs a small frown on his face, and he chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully as he reads. Whatever it was, it held his attention captive, even at such a late hour. But it wasnât the Bible, Taehyun would have recognized it.Â
This book was foreign, and he recalls the almost handmade-looking bindings of the one on your desk. What had made it so special, and more importantly, why did this boy have his own copy?
Taehyun wants to walk away, wants to forget about this neighbourhood, the houses, the people who lived in them and most importantly; you. But he finds himself rooted in place, silently watching from the shadows as the boy indulges in whatever was being said on the pages. His window is slightly ajar, having come off its hatches, the night breeze caused it to sway back and forth slightly.Â
A voice breaks the silence, a womanâs voice. It appears to be coming from further within the house. Itâs tender and affectionate, soft spoken but demanding, and filled with something Taehyun hadnât felt in years. Love. He canât see her, but he can clearly make out the name coming from her lips.Â
âSoobin. Soobin, dear, itâs time for bed.âÂ
The boy is immediately pulled from the trance the book had momentarily held him under. He pulls away quickly, hands closing it together as he walks over to place it in a sparsely decorated shelf. He walks over to the window, leaning out to catch it and pull it back in place. Taehyun slinks further back into the shadows, desperate not to be seen by the boy.Â
But his presence goes unnoticed, and shortly after the window is sealed shut â he flicks the lights off, and the room gets swallowed in darkness.Â
Taehyun doesnât linger after that, the sight of the house alone was enough to make him queasy as he turned on his heel. There was nothing for him here.Â
â¸â¸Â
He doesnât return to the filthy alley he would call home that night. No, his thoughts are elsewhere, far too distracted by the nightâs events to even consider the idea of sleep. Instead he carries onward, feet moving on their own accord as they lead him through dark and quiet neighbourhoods.Â
The houses here are nothing like the grand estates of your street â but theyâre still far from anything Taehyun would ever get to experience. Some of them have cars, others could only afford the property. He wondered if any of them even had a telephone stationed in their office. If not, he could use that to his advantage.Â
Taehyun hadnât planned on stealing tonight, it wasnât like he did it for the hell of it. But something about his encounter with you had left him on edge. Adrenaline was still pumping through his body â and there was only one way to get rid of it.Â
He picks out a house at the end of the street. Its paint is chipped in multiple places, the roof missing a few tiles here and there. Like the owners had just left it to fend for itself, not caring about the needs of their home. Without pondering its exterior too much, he approaches a window. When peering inside he finds that it leads straight to the kitchen. Perfect.Â
Locks were not really a thing for these people, it was the 60s after all â peace was in, theft was out. People like them didnât believe in people like Taehyun, they hardly ever acknowledged his existence. That was a good thing. It meant their guard was almost permanently lowered.Â
It only takes him two harsh tugs to get the window to obey under his firm grip; it slides open with a quiet groan. He slips inside, landing softly, almost cat-like on the tiled floor. The house is eerily silent, but it reeks of normalcy â typical middle class, he thinks to himself as he glances around.Â
Dishes are scattered around the counter tops and crowding the sink. Bread is left out, torn packages with cereal and half eaten chocolate bars. Nothing like your house, with its uncanny cleanliness and perfection. This felt like an actual home, somewhere real people reside. Pushing the thoughts of you to the back of his mind, Taehyun approaches the fridge.Â
The bright light when he opens the white box makes his eyes sting and he curses silently under his breath. With one hand still on the door he peers inside. It's filled to the brim with foods of all kinds, vegetables, meat, pre-made meals, leftovers. âGluttonous bastardsâ, he mutters as he reaches for a sandwich wrapped in a thin layer of folie.Â
Slamming the fridge shut, he leans against it as he takes a bite â his stomach practically cheering in excitement at the prospect of nutrients. It was something he denied himself far too often. He chews slowly, eyes dragging across the cluttered kitchen with little interest. There was hardly anything of worth to her.Â
Taehyun moves on, silently stepping through the archway leading into the living room. Itâs small, barely fitting the two couches placed opposite one another. A thick and old TV is pushed up on a small desk by a corner. Too heavy for him to take with, otherwise it wouldâve done him good. Instead he opts for something smaller, something more discreet.Â
He approaches a box, placed on a dresser by the entrance heâd just emerged from. Flicking the lid open reveals a multitude of jewelry â shiny pearls and beads that sparkle under the moonlight. Jackpot, he thinks to himself as he shrugs the bag off his shoulder, shoving the necklaces and earrings in the depths of the sack.Â
Taehyun never felt guilty. These people never showed him any sympathy, why should he bother doing the same? Greed consumed them, they had everything, yet they wanted more. Controlled by their emotions, their life is strung on half hearted guesses and unnecessary purchases. Money didnât mean a thing when you had it â only when you craved it.Â
So there was never a reason for him to take pity on the people he stole from â and Taehyun indulged greatly at their expense. He was bold that night, probably the adrenaline still coursing through him. It plays with his mind, makes him think heâs more than he actually is. Staying humble was what had gotten him this far, it was what had kept him alive. Tonight that seems completely out of the window as he approaches the staircase.Â
Rich people liked to keep their most treasured belongings close. Like a pacifier almost. They would hug their expensive watches and favorite garments close â like it was the only thing in their life that held some sort of value.Â
He tip toes up the narrow stairs, watching his every step as he does. Then he descends down the hallway. He stops by an open door, peeking his head inside. Toys are scattered everywhere, clothes mixing with the existing mess. A small bed is occupied by an even smaller toddler, sleeping soundly; unaware of the evil that was watching.Â
Taehyun doesnât care much for kids. He doesnât care if the houses he robs have children or not. It would not stop him from getting what he needed. In the worst case, he would find himself pitying them. When their parents' greed had taken over any sense of humanity. When there was no love left for something so tiny and innocent, so dependent on its motherâs warm embrace. Then Taehyun would for a moment, wish better for those children.Â
In reality though, he thought the world would be a better place if kids stopped being brought into it. All that useless suffering, and itâs not even their fault. He tsks to himself, throwing the small child one last glance before he continues towards the parentâs room. A child was not going to pay for their parentsâ uncontrollable desires.Â
He pauses when he reaches a sealed door, knowing this was where the treasure was buried. His hand wraps around the doorknob, twisting it slowly. The sound seems deafening in the silent house, like it was screaming out for help. Taehyun freezes, hoping, praying for absolutely nothing at all.Â
To his relief, his wishes are heard. The house remains still, nothing at all happened. He pushes the door open, catching it before it creaks as he slides inside with practiced ease. A man and a woman share the large bed placed in the middle of the room. Just as their child, theyâre fast asleep, chests rising and falling in rhythm with one another.Â
No one has noticed Taehyunâs presence. For all they knew, he was just another shadow in an endless sea of darkness.Â
His gaze falls on the nightstand â itâs risky, riskier than he would usually do. But the watch that shines under the moonlight; it pulls him in. His feet move on their own, drawing him closer with quiet strides. He crouches by the small wooden table, eyes now level with the sleeping man. He appears to be lost in a dream, eyes moving rapidly under their closed lids, twitching ever so often.Â
Taehyunâs fingers feel the outline of the watch before picking it up. Itâs heavy in his palm, worth more than any of the mindless jewelry heâd stolen downstairs. He thanks himself for going up here, for striding against his own rules of laying low for once. The adrenaline unlocked a part of him he would be late to forget, and it was all thanks toâŚÂ
His brows furrow, the images of your face occupying his thoughts even now, in a moment such as this. It infuriates him, like he was unable to control his own wandering mind. Biting back a groan of frustration, he tugs the bedside tableâs drawer open. Heâs met with mundane things, paperwork, an old pencil, a book the man probably never bothered to read.Â
He wants to slam the drawer shut, break something â unleash all the pent up feelings running through him. But he does nothing. Slowly sliding the drawer back in place, he rises to his feet with a silent exhale. He pauses for a moment, carefully surveying the sleeping couple. Their bodies are tangled between the sheets, heads resting on fluffy and comfortable pillows. He wonders if they have any idea of what itâs like to lay on cold, hard ground.Â
They have never been woken by anything other than an alarm clock or their childâs cries after a nightmare. Never would they understand what it was like to jostle awake in a cold sweat, chills creeping down your spine as you heard someone take their last breath a few feet away. They would never experience the true cold of winter nights, never have to worry about drying off after it rained.Â
Taehyun isnât envious, just resentful. Heâs not felt anything but rage for people for a long time now, as long as he can remember.Â
He turns his back to the couple, exiting just as quietly as he had come through their bedroom door. On his way out he even makes sure to slide the window shut. In the morning the man would find his watch gone. He would go to blame his wife, they would argue â but the watch would not turn up, and neither would confess to something they hadnât done.Â
V
The Choiâs house is a replica of your own. Bookshelves line the walls, each one of them filled with expensive china; neatly polished to perfection. There are no books, except for the ones your father had given out, each one hand bound and cover-free. The dining room has a large carpet that covers almost the entire floor â and thereâs not as much as a single strand out of place. Inside, the air is still, not too warm, not too cold.Â
The six of you are seated around a large table, the cutlery is placed accordingly and youâre eating in silence. Your father sits at the high end, Mr Choi opposite him. To your right, your mother sits â she hasnât said a word since you sat down, her gaze trained to the food in front of her. You canât tell if she enjoys it or not, even if she didnât, she would never express that.Â
In front of you Soobin sits. He, too, is silent â chewing quietly as he keeps his attention on the plate before him. Occasionally he will lift a hand to push his glasses further up on his nose, or to adjust the collar of his shirt. It looked far too tight, but he made no move at unbuttoning it. When youâre not looking, you sometimes feel his eyes on you, but whenever you glance up â heâs busy eating.Â
This silence wasnât unusual. It was a big part of the play you all followed, and it was not to be questioned â so no one did.Â
Your father clears his throat then, setting his fork and knife down as he glances around the table expectantly. The rest of the party mimics his actions, and even though your stomach still aches for more food, you refrain from taking another bite. Instead you turn your attention toward the man himself, watching as he wipes the corners of his mouth on a napkin.Â
âDinner was lovelyâ, he says whilst giving Mrs Choi a curt nod. She smiles, making the wrinkles across her face all the more prominent as she thanks him. You glance over at Mr Choi who seems relieved at your fatherâs approval.Â
Of course, your father had not stopped eating to compliment the Choiâs on their culinary expertise. Itâs only a matter of seconds before his focus is diverted to Soobin. He was the only one not looking at him, avoiding your fatherâs intense gaze like it might burn him. His shoulders are stiff under the checkered shirt he wears, his jaw clenched as he waits for someone to address him.Â
âSoobin is growing up to be a fine young manâ, your father declares. It makes the younger finally lift his head as he turns to him. His expression remains unreadable as he nods, âThank you, sir.âÂ
Your father hums, his finger idly tracing the edge of the knife placed on the table. âYou see, my daughterâ, he motions toward you with an open palm, as if your presence had just been announced for the first time tonight, âSheâs a dutiful girl. Always does as sheâs told.âÂ
His words make your chest clench with guilt. That was a lie. You were not dutiful, and you certainly did not do as you were told. You had let someone inside, you had let a non-believer inside your home, you had welcomed sin with open arms. Of course, your father did not know this, and you pray he never would. But now he was lying, and he was doing so without even knowing it himself.Â
He continues with the small clearing of his throat, and you know then whatâs coming. âYou see, my daughter means a lot to me. It would be very unwise of me to promise her to someone unworthy of her hand.â The statement is heavy with implication, a silent proposal that you knew the Choiâs would be unable to decline. You could already feel Mr Choi fidgeting in his seat at the idea your father was currently laying out before him.Â
âOf course, our Soobin is a very diligent boy, never strays from his chores or readingsâ, Mr Choi says as he gives his son a proud glance. His mother is quick to nod, âIndeed, heâs been nothing but a blessing to us.âÂ
Your eyes should probably be on your father. But you canât help but regard Soobin as he shifts in his seat, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose with an almost trembling finger. He was cute, you liked the way his eyes seemed to glow with impeccable warmth, the little mole under his right eye and the way his soft brown hair fell around his face.Â
Soobin was your future. You knew that much. One day he and you would be what your father and mother were. You wondered if Soobin would be anything like him, would he be as strict? Would he make you stay silent during dinner, lash out when you forgot to clean the china? No matter how hard you tried you could not picture him as anything like the man you had been raised under. You did not know if that was a bad thing or not.Â
âI think he will do very well with my daughter. She will need someone to rely on when doomsday rises upon us.â The talk of that day, the day he had predicted to come â makes everyone at the table tense. It was not a topic your father ever brought up when he wasnât preaching, and certainly not something he would bring up at the Choiâs.Â
Mr Choi clears his throat, his voice tentative but determined when he speaks. âI understand. You can rest assured that we have raised our son for that exact purpose. He will not disappoint.âÂ
Your fatherâs stern gaze flickers over to Soobin, cold eyes peering into the young boyâs soul as he nods. âI should hope notâ, is all he says before leaning back in his chair. He pushes his plate back, declaring that dinner was now over and it was time for dessert.Â
It didnât matter if anyone else had a disagreeing opinion.Â
â¸â¸Â
After you were done dining, your mother and Mrs Choi cleaned up in the kitchen. They would chatter quietly amongst themselves about mundane topics. Their conversation could never be heard over the sound of porcelain clinking and water running. In the living room, your father and Mr Choi would sit â legs crossed over the other as they discussed matters âtoo difficultâ or âharshâ for any of the women or youth to indulge in.Â
That left you and Soobin.Â
He had quickly excused himself from the table as soon as your fatherâs had taken their leave, whilst you had stayed behind to help your mother carry plates to the kitchen. After that you took the time left to roam their grand house. It was much like your own, scarily so. Each nook and cranny is dust free and desert of any grime; just like it should be.Â
Your footsteps are quiet against the wooden floors as you descend down a long hallway. Family portraits are non-existent. It didnât take a genius to guess what kind of heritage the Choiâs had come from â one of non-believers. Such people had no place in a house like this, bound by blood or not.Â
You come to a stop by a staircase leading to the top floor. Here you had never before ventured, there had never been a reason to. But with both your mother and father busy, you supposed there was little harm in exploring.Â
The steps groan under your weight, making you freeze up as you listen for any sound of interruption. But the voice of your father still echoes down the hall, making it clear that he was still in the midst of his conversation with Mr Choi. Thus you continue.Â
The top floor is much smaller than the bottom one, a single hallway with two doors on each side is presented before you. One of the doors is left ajar and light seeps from the small crack. Curious, you approach â treading forward with light steps as you do.Â
When you peek inside, you find a room not so different from your own. A single bed pushed against its corner, sparsely decorated with a dresser and a desk â a desk meant for one thing alone. Soobin sits in its accompanied chair, hunched over a book you recognized all too well. Even from here you recognize your fatherâs signature, the words calling out to you from a distance; daring you closer.Â
You enter without knocking, shamelessly tip-toeing inside without speaking a word. Soobin doesnât seem to notice you, too engrossed in his readings, glasses sliding down the soft bridge of his nose. His eyes follow along the lines on the pages, even though he knew them by heart already. They were burned into his soul, just like they were yours. That made you and him similar â it made you closer.Â
Soobin was perfect for you. He was everything your father would have wanted. Heâs everything you should want. Safety, comfort, knowing. There was nothing you did not know about Soobin, nothing you feared and nothing that would harm you. Soobin was pure, free of sin. Just like your father would want.Â
For some reason you find yourself comparing him to Taehyun. Soobinâs features are soft, his nose cute and round, lips smooth and pouty â eyes filled with life. His clothes were ironed, clean and neatly in place. He didnât smell like something forbidden, he didnât bark out harsh sentences or speak without purpose. In fact you donât think youâd ever heard him speak more than a single word at once.Â
Most importantly, Soobin was a believer â one of your own. He was just like you, and people like you should stick together. Untainted and avoiding sin, repelling the darkness by following the teachings of your father. Soobin would be there for you when doomsday rose, he would hold your hand and promise that everything was going to be okay. He would not disappear into the darkness, for he was the light.Â
âYou are a good man, arenât you?â Your voice pierces the silence. You had come to a stop just behind his chair, your shadow looming over the light on his desk. The sudden interruption makes him jolt in his seat and he quickly turns to look at you â eyes wide and filled with surprise.Â
He swallows, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. It was clear that he had not expected your presence. But you did not feel guilty for intruding on him.Â
Soobin nods slowly, throat bobbing for a moment. âIâŚâ He hesitates, as if he wasnât sure he was allowed to even utter the words on his tongue.Â
âMy father says you areâ, your gaze drifts to the open book still on his desk. âMy father is always rightâ, you add with a small smile as you rock back and forth on your heels. â Soobin nods, because there was no way he was going to deny the words of your father.Â
You cross his small room, taking a seat on his neatly made bed, feeling the soft mattress beneath your weight. âCome sit with meâ, you pat the space next to you, gazing at the boy expectantly. Doing as told, Soobin rises from his chair as he quietly walks over. The soft cushion dips when he takes place beside you.Â
His shoulders are tense, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor as he avoids looking at you. Pursing your lips, you do the same. It was an awkward silence â for you hardly made conversation with anyone besides your father and mother. There had never been a reason to. Well except⌠The images of Taehyun seem to plague your mind. Each time his face flashes before your eyes, a stabbing pain of guilt flares through your body. A reminder of your sin, even if brief.Â
âSoâŚâÂ
You begin slowly, dragging the words out as you tried them for the first time. âWe are to be husband and wife.â You nod slowly to yourself, confirming what your father had been playing at all along. But the confession feels foreign â especially when said out loud. You tell yourself that this was just another passage of life, that your own mother had probably felt like this once. It was natural, and Soobin was perfect, so you had nothing to worry about.Â
Beside you, he shifts on the spot, blinking once as he swallows again. His fingers fidget by his sides, hands moving to flatten out his already perfectly ironed shirt. âI suppose we areâ, he says as his eyes flicker up to meet yours.Â
You smile, âAre you nervous?âÂ
He shakes his head, âNo.âÂ
You frown, fingers curling around the sheets beneath you. He should be. You were nervous, terrified even. Was he lying right now? But lying was a sin, it made you impure. Your father always found out when you lied â he could smell it on you. Could he smell lies on Soobin? Or was he telling the truth? Were you the only one who felt out of place, the only one who thought things were moving too fast.Â
Time was sacred, you knew that much. It was a miracle your father had waited until your twentieth birthday to introduce the idea of marriage. But now he seemed more eager than ever â and it scared you.Â
Soobin remains silent, his chin jutting out in a small pout as his brows furrow. It looked as though he was deeply lost in thought. You regard him quietly, seeing how his large frame seemed to shrink under the pressure of reality. If your situation bothered him, he didnât let on to it. Your father wouldnât approve of that â it was something you both knew.Â
You shouldnât compare him to the non-beliver you had met. No, you should forget about Taehyun. He appalled you, his very presence was darkness and despair. Look what he had done to you â the guilt, the feelings that refused to go away. Soobin would never make you feel like this, no matter how much he suffered he would never make you suffer with him. Thatâs what made them different.Â
Soobin was safe. Taehyun was not.Â
Your father approved of Soobin, but he would excel Taehyun if he ever found out about his existence. Still, your mind wanders to him more than it should, pushing your truth and your beliefs aside to make room for a darkness so sinister even the books on your shelf would turn away.Â
âI am scared.âÂ
The admission is so quiet, the words leaving your lips in a hushed murmur. At first you werenât even sure Soobin had heard you. But then he turns his head, those same wide and warm eyes meeting yours a third time that night. They are not the wild and untamed ones you had been faced with a few nights ago. No, his eyes are calm, grounding even â but youâre not sure he quite understands. Thereâs something missing, something hollow.Â
âWhy?â He asks, the frown on his face deepening further as he shifts his body toward you. It became clear then, that Soobin was a successful product of your fatherâs teachings. He didnât question, didnât pry â didnât stick his nose where it didnât belong. Of course he wouldnât feel fear over something so natural, if it was your fatherâs wish then it must be true and pure.Â
Soobin doesnât know that thereâs darkness around you, that youâve tampered with something you shouldnât have. He doesnât know that non-believers actually exist, you can tell heâs never met one. Therefore he could never understand.Â
You want to say âwhat if my father is wrongâ but all that comes out is a shaky exhale. Because you could never bring yourself to defy the man who had made you, the man whose essence was the closest thing to salvation any of you would ever come. Instead you sigh, âI donât know⌠I guess I just am.âÂ
His jaw clenches, like your words frustrated him. But Soobin isnât angry â just confused. âYou shouldn't be scared.â His hand finds yours, large palm enveloping your fingers in a gentle caress. âYour father knows whatâs best â this is everything.âÂ
Everything.Â
The word seems heavy in the quiet air; the soft glow of his desk lamp no longer warms against your skin. Was this really everything? Would your life come down to a single person, another house just like your own â a life of cleansing your home, body, mind and soul; praying that when the day comes you wonât fall like the rest.Â
Is this really everything? Your world suddenly seems small, smaller than it ever had before. You think of Taehyun, of the way he had so easily slipped through your window â disappeared into an ocean of shadows. He came and went as he pleased, ruled by nothing but himself. But the price? You scolded yourself for even allowing such a thought.Â
Of course this was everything. This was what your father had prepared you for all along. Why were you suddenly having doubts? There was only one answer. It was him. Taehyun. Heâd darkened your soul with his non-beliefs. Heâd made you question the only thing you had ever stayed true to. He was silently eating away at your soul without even being here.Â
You squeeze Soobinâs hand a little harder, ignoring the way your heart thumps in your chest as you send him a small smile. âOf course, youâre right. This is everything.âÂ
VIÂ
Taehyun doesnât exactly know why he returns. Heâd told himself that he was going to stay away. You were already messing with his thoughts, plaguing his mind in a way most uncomfortable. Returning to the source of his agony would only make things worse. But he canât help it. As soon as the sun begins to set, he finds himself on a path all too familiar.Â
The grand houses stare back at him mockingly, like they know he doesn't belong here. Taehyun does too. He doesnât belong anywhere. It has never stopped him from doing as he pleased. Tonight was no exception.Â
He climbs the tree that looms over the side of your home. The branches snap and break under his weight, making the journey up even harder than last time. But it doesn't deter him, if anything it only spurs him on as he climbs â not caring for the new holes that were being torn into his dirty hoodie.Â
When he finally makes it to the slanted part of your roof, heâs covered in sweat, it slides down the sides of his neck and face, making him feel all the more sticky and filthy. Heâd learned to deal with it though. Hygiene wasnât exactly the top of oneâs priority list when you were homeless, fending for your next meal like it was war.Â
He leaps from the tree top and over to the old roof, cushioning his fall as best as he can. Once heâs got both feet on firm ground, more or less, he begins his journey toward your room. Itâs on the other side of the house, and heâs forced to pass a multitude of windows on his way. It was a hassle, with his heart beating wildly in his chest whenever he heard movement coming from inside as he pressed against the wall.Â
Then he imagines your face, he wonders what you would say to him. Would you be just as angry with him? Perhaps you would call your father on him, have him dial the police. Taehyun grimaces at the thought, getting involved with any authorities was the last thing he needed right now. Which made this all the more risky, and he should be backing out while he still has the chance.Â
But he doesnât.Â
When he reaches your window, he finds that the light is still on. Youâre sitting by your desk, basked in the warm and yellow glow as you read. It was that same book heâd seen last time, the one that boy had been reading. His curiosity was mounting with each glance at the handmade bindings, the cover that lacked both title and drawings.Â
Whatever it was, he longed to know more. And so he knocks, curled fingers tapping gently against the glass as he tries to get your attention.Â
You look up almost immediately, wide and confused eyes landing on him within a matter of seconds. Your expression goes from confusion to anger to⌠something that almost resembles fear. He doesnât quite understand what itâs supposed to mean, then again, perhaps you had finally come to your senses and realized his true nature. A thief.Â
Still you approach the window, much to his surprise your hand reaches for the hatch as you undo it. The glass slides open, and heâs immediately hit with the soft and almost sickeningly sweet scent of your perfume. He inhales it like itâs his last breath, savoring the way it makes his head spin for just a moment longer.Â
When he opens his eyes again, he finds you watching him, still silent. It became clear that you were waiting for him to speak, lacking all the curiosity you had been so filled with on your last encounter. What has changed?Â
He hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering between you and the closed door behind you. The ever pressing matter of your father still loomed in the back of his mind. Heâd studied the man for three days without even realizing heâd not only been married, but had a daughter as well. That was not something one hid like that â unless you had great reason to.Â
Itâs when your gaze on him starts to feel heavy with unspoken words that he finally wills himself to say something. âYouâre upset with me.â Itâs all he can muster, he thinks an apology might be fitting; but then he wouldnât even know what he was apologizing for. Breaking into your house? Calling you a non-believer even when you had clearly stated you didnât think hell existed?Â
The tension on your face eases up at his simple statement, even if just slightly. Taehyun watches as you cross your arms over your chest, throat bobbing when you swallow. âI amâŚâ You say, the sentence is nothing more than a hushed murmur â loud enough only for his ears and the wind to pick up.Â
He shifts awkwardly on the windowsill, keeping his legs outside, like he wasnât sure if he was allowed entry or not. âIâm sorryâ, he blurts. The words spill from his lips quickly, in a rushed breath that he just barely got out. He doesnât know why or what heâs apologizing for but he knows that he canât stand seeing the saddened expression youâre wearing right now. The one that made your eyes drop and your jaw clench.Â
It was torture, and he didnât even know why.Â
You nod slowly, avoiding his gaze as you fixate on the floorboards beneath you. Thereâs another silence that follows, this one less heavy than the last but far from comfortable. Taehyun wonders if he should say something else, or if he should just up and leave again. Maybe you wanted to be left alone.Â
âYou can come in⌠If you want.â The proposal is whispered between shaky breaths as you step aside for him to come through the window.Â
This time Taehyun doesnât hesitate as he puts one foot before the other, landing himself in your room with a soft thud. His eyes fall on the book, still open on your desk â but when you catch his gaze wandering you quickly slam it shut. The sound makes him blink once, taken aback by your sudden display of emotion.Â
âItâs not for youâ, you murmur â gaze still downcast as you approach your bed.Â
He listens to the sound of your body as it sinks down on the mattress, the cushion creaking softly under you. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he watches as you sit there; hands clasped over your knees, appearing to be lost in thought. If his presence unsettled you, you never showed it. The only emotion he could read off of you was pain, one he didnât quite understand â and Taehyun knew everything there was to know about pain.Â
His eyes dart around the small room, drinking in the motionless paintings on your walls. They were landscapes, each and every one of them â of places far away. Snowy mountains, long rivers, endless beaches and thick forests. He wants to ask if youâve painted them yourself, they all lacked signature, which gave them no value if you wished to steal, or sell. But he refrains from uttering the question.Â
The tapestry is a light pink, adorned with flowers here and there. Your dresser is mahogany wood, as is your desk and bookshelf. But aside from the paintings and the strange books, your room was essentially empty. And though the warm light of your desk lamp basked you in soft yellow hues, the space still felt cold.Â
Lonely.Â
He glances at you, eyes lingering on your slumped figure. Were you lonely? He had never really stopped to consider what rich people did, aside from wasting their money on useless stuff. The way you had clung to him, even when he had been in the midst of raiding your living room on that fateful night â a thousand questions sparkling behind your eyes. He started to wonder just how often you actually ventured outside.Â
The mattress dips under his weight when he takes the seat next to you on the bed. Your body becomes stiff beside his, like you hadnât expected the action. Regardless, you donât speak, keeping your gaze averted as you peer outside the open window.Â
Finally, he canât seem to keep the questions in any longer. It felt almost like the roles were reversed, he was itching to know more about you â and it pissed him off. âDid you paint those?â He nods toward the drawings on your walls, eyes lingering for a moment on the fine brush strokes.Â
You hum, following his line of sight as you chew on your bottom lip. âYesâŚâ It was clear they hadnât been created with the intent of being shown off, in fact you seemed almost sheepish under his silent inspection of the art.Â
âTheyâre beautifulâ, he compliments, not knowing why he felt the need to reassure you when you hadnât given him any reason to. But he does anyway, because it feels right in this very moment. â You perk up at the praise, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. âI wasnât sure⌠I have never been beforeâ, you murmur as you motion toward the snowy mountains, the long rivers and endless beaches.Â
Taehyun canât help but frown â wasnât like heâd been either, but you at least looked to have the funds for it. âWhy not?â He asks, unable to hide the curiosity in his voice. At that question you turn silent, the grateful expression on your face falling; replaced by the same pained one from earlier.Â
You give him a small shrug, âFather wouldnât allow it.âÂ
You say it like itâs the most obvious thing in the world. That one manâs word determines your entire being. He doesnât understand, and the confusion is slowly tearing him apart. âBut why do you have to listen to him? Canât you just go anyway?â Heâs pushing it now, he can tell by the way you tense up, eyes darting around the room like you were searching for an escape â anything to end the conversation.Â
The soft huff that slips past your lips feels like a slap in the face. You shake your head, swallowing before your attention finally returns to him. âYou donât understand do you?â Itâs more a statement than a question, and it irks him how aware yet unaware you seem.Â
âSo tell meâ, he presses, closing the distance between the two of you on the bed as he scoots forward. He pauses only when he feels his thigh brush against yours, gaze darting down to the naked skin of your leg. It was then he realized that you werenât wearing more than a simple nightgown, a sheer pink one that hugged your body tight.Â
Your breath hitches in your throat, he can hear it so clearly â the way your heart thumps in your chest at the sudden proximity. Usually it would make him feel a certain type of way when a woman displayed obvious shyness and attraction around him. It would make him feel powerful, in control.Â
But you only make him feel guilty.Â
Like he was intruding on something more than just your property â something that was never meant to be anyoneâs at all. There was something very wrong with you, though he couldnât put his finger on it. At first glance one would think you and your family to be deeply religious; to the point where your crazed father had forbidden you to go outside. Taehyun realizes that thatâs not the case.Â
This house; you. There was no room for God here â he had felt it as soon as heâd stepped foot in your living room that night, the one that seemed so long ago. Whatever it was that lingered within these walls, it was far more sinister than any religious psychosis. It was your life. It was who you were, it defined you â in the most twisted way possible.Â
When you donât reply he speaks again, âI want to know.â His voice is a low breathless drawl, eyes dropping to your lips for a moment longer than they should have â watching the slight tremble in them as they part, your shaky exhales puffing against his face.Â
You shake your head, hands clenching into fists on your lap. âYou would never understand⌠My father heââÂ
âI donât care about your father.âÂ
âWell you should!âÂ
Your chest is heaving now, each ragged breath you take becoming all the closer to hyperventilating. He can tell the topic is affecting you, he just canât understand why. Taehyun doesnât care about that man, he canât wrap his head around what made him so important to you. What made you act so hysterical whenever he was questioned?Â
âYou canât justâ My father he⌠You donât question him, alright?â You jab an accusing finger toward his chest. Any remnants of your previous bashfulness toward his proximity had completely vanished in favor of the strong feelings you held for your father. âThatâs not⌠He knows, he wouldnât say things just because he could. Heâs not a liar!âÂ
Taehyun raises his hands in surrender, brows furrowing into a perplexed frown as he admits defeat. âI hear youâ, he huffs, somewhat appalled by your sudden switch in demeanour.Â
The silence that follows is thick, both of you listening for anything that would indicate movement outside your door. But the house remains basked in an eerie quietness, the only sounds audible are his and your breaths blending with one another. â So your father was a sensitive topic, alright, he would stay away from that. For now at least.Â
Taehyunâs gaze flickers across your face. He could see the guilt etched onto every feature. Your hands tremble in your lap, your body thrumming with tension as you promptly avoid eye contact. Jesus why had he even returned in the first place? You were a complete nutcase, one second you were fine and the other you were hysteric.Â
Your words and actions are hidden behind a false sense of innocence, of safety. But thereâs something much darker lurking beneath the surface, he can feel it â this whole house radiates evil, but it is not the kind you would read about in the Bible. This is something different, something heâd never before encountered. And you, you mightâve been the very source of it all.Â
After that you refrain from speaking. Taehyun does too. The silence stretches on for what feels like an eternity. Then he gets up, walks over to the open window â and climbs out without throwing as much as a glance behind his shoulder. This time you donât stop him.Â
VIIÂ
Your fatherâs office is dark â with shelves that crowd three out of four walls, all stacked with books you were strictly forbidden to even let your gaze fall upon. He would always say they contained a bunch of nonsense, things you shouldnât taint your mind with if you wanted to stay pure. And you did, your only wish was to be the best you could be for him.Â
Thereâs a small window opposite the door, but the curtains are almost always drawn. The only light comes from the lamp on his desk, casting the room in a yellow glow with eerie shadows that crept around the roomâs border.Â
It wasnât often your father would call you to his office during the summers. Which was why this afternoon you had almost had trouble keeping down your lunch when he had called on you. Your mother had given you a nervous glance from her spot on the couch, the shirt she was currently knitting on pause in her hands as her gaze flickered between your terrified expression and the staircase. She had said nothing when you took your leave, but you had felt her eyes on you as you made your way upstairs.Â
The walk to your fatherâs office seemed eternal â the hallway stretching longer than it usually would as you tread lightly on the wooden floors. You pass your own room, then your mother and fatherâs. For each step your heart beats a little louder in your chest.Â
The door is left ajar, but you knock anyway. Three curt taps with your curled fist. Then his voice booms from the other side, âCome in.âÂ
You enter quietly, shutting the door behind you on your way inside. Your father is seated by his desk, glasses low on the crooked bridge of his nose. He doesn't look up to see you when you take the seat opposite him, carefully scooting your chair in as you do. â Heâs busy flipping through a book you cannot recognize, the words upside down from your perspective, which made it impossible to make out what was written.Â
Wordlessly you wait for him to acknowledge you, hands clasped together on your lap â sweaty palms sliding against one another you try to think of a possible reason for him to call on you so suddenly.Â
He licks the pad of his finger, slowly turning the page, the sound of crisp paper being unraveled echoing through his office. Then he closes the book, putting it aside as he reaches for the glasses. He takes them off, placing them down neatly in front of him before he turns his attention to you. His eyes are cold and detached, peering into your own with an intensity that could have made anyone nauseous.Â
âDaughter.âÂ
His voice is a low drawl, one that makes a shiver crawl up your spine as he addresses you. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you give him a subtle nod, nails digging into the back of your hand as you reply: âFather.âÂ
He doesnât speak right away, his eyes lingering for a moment too long to be comfortable. You knew that father could see right through you, that there was never any point in trying to deceive him for he could tell without you even opening your mouth to speak. The sound of his chair creaking rings through your ears when he leans back, gaze trailing over the crowded bookshelves for a moment before coming to a stop.Â
Reaching a hand out, his lean fingers grasp a book you recognized with dread. It was not one you were allowed to keep in your room, but he had still made you read it â over and over, for as long as you had been able to. You vividly remember being perched on his lap as a child, following along his pointed finger as he read aloud. As you grew older you were prompted to do the same, this time following your own finger as you read to him.Â
Its cover was dark, as were the contents written down. The bindings are fragile, carefully tied by your fatherâs own hand, as he had all the books your community read. They were sacred that way, crafted under his touch and created with his knowledge.Â
This book in particular was important. Not because it told you how to live, but because it told you how to not. He never named this book, but he would speak of it with uttermost distaste. It was the book of non-believers of course. The one that explained their foul and impure ways. Sin, filth, sex, theft, lying and lack of devotion, or even worse, devotion to someone who wasnât him.Â
The book has always made you uncomfortable. Its words were harsh as it described the non-believers as nothing but mere animals. If your father had his way, he would have them all put down â in the most cruel of ways possible.Â
Why had he brought this book forward now? Your mind instantly goes to Taehyun, fear slipping onto your otherwise emotionless face. There was no way he could know, was there? But there was nothing your father didnât know, nothing that went past his keen senses. It was only a matter of time until he found out about the darkness that lingered around you.Â
Last night you let Taehyun get close, too close. You had felt his breath on yours, his thigh brushing against you â leaving no escape for the darkness that tainted him. And you had let him, you hadnât pushed him away; in fact you had opened the window for him. Once again you had let him inside your home, the most sacred place in the world. You had tarnished it. It was your fault.Â
Your father knew. You were certain. The way his piercing gaze fixated on your sweaty face, the anxiety rolling off of you in waves the way it always would when you knew you had misstepped, when you had done something wrong.Â
His finger trails the spine of the book, turning it slowly in his hands. âDo you recognize this?â Itâs a trick question, for there was no way you could mistake that book for anything else.Â
You nod, âYes, father.âÂ
He hums, the sound low and deep in his chest. âThen you know why it is importantâ, he drawls, eyeing you with intent that has you refraining from squirming in your seat. Of course you knew its importance. It taught you everything you needed to know about the non-believers. It taught you what their sins were, what was going to happen to them when doomsday rose upon you.Â
That very book was the reason you had begun fearing the non-believers in the first place. But it was also the source of your curiosity. There was so much the pale pages left out, so many unanswered questions. Father says that only the information valuable was written in the books. Your questions were stupid and therefore disregarded. Non-believers didnât feel the way you did, they had no remorse, no conscience.Â
Your father opens the book, flipping through it for a moment, already familiar with its layout. He pauses, eyes stuck to a particular page. Your heart drums in your chest, blood rushing through your body as you await his next move. â Then he places the open book in front of you, finger pointing to the top paragraph of the page.Â
âRead this for me.âÂ
Your gaze zeroes in on the words, your stomach sinking at the familiar lines. The ones he had made you read so many times before. Yet today, on this particular occasion; everything was different. You clear your throat, eyes flitting up to meet his for a brief moment before returning to the page.Â
âHe who sins is not a man, but an animal. Made out of flesh and bone but bleeds not the same blood as us. His sins are punishable, not by law but by truth. Such an animal earns no salvation when doomsday shall rise; and he will suffer a fate worse than death.âÂ
Your voice cracks as your eyes drop to the next paragraph, throat closing up at the familiar words written out before you. But your hesitation only adds to your fatherâs impatience, and you feel his gaze on you â demanding you continue. So you do.Â
âA man who associates himself with a sinner, will tarnish his own purity. The man who confides in an animal like that will, too, suffer the same fate a non-believer would. He becomes the animal he despises by letting their darkness taint him, and is punished the same.âÂ
Your hands are trembling when you finish. Sweat pearls on your forehead, surely glistening under the warm light of his desk lamp. You look up to see your father watching you, lips pressed into a thin line as he listens to you speak. When youâre finished, he gives a curt nod, but does not attempt to take the book from you.Â
âAnd do these words mean anything to you?âÂ
The question makes you freeze, the fervent beating of your heart coming to an abrupt halt as your jaw slacks. He was questioning you â you could feel that now. He could sense the darkness within you, he knew that you were losing yourself to something beyond his grace, something you could never come back from.Â
You blink once, then twice â forcing down the tears that prickled at your eyes. âThey doâ, you whisper, the admission almost silent in his small office. The shadows seemed to draw in closer, licking along your arms and hovering above you, waiting to swallow you whole. They know you would let them; just as you had let Taehyun.Â
Father doesnât reply right away, he seems lost in thought for a moment. He brings his hands up, resting his elbows on the wooden desk as he props his chin across his intertwined fingers. You feel naked under his gaze, dirty and wrong. Like no amount of bathing would ever make you clean again.Â
âPage thirty sevenâ, he says.Â
Your fingers move to turn the pages before your mind has the chance to catch up. You count the numbers, finally landing on number thirty seven. There you pause, waiting for his next instruction. From the corner of your eye, you see your father fiddle idly with his discarded glasses, emitting a deep sigh before putting them back in place.Â
âFrom the third paragraphâ, he commands.Â
Your gaze drops to the page, eyes finding the paragraph in question as you take a deep breath.Â
âThe man who sins abides by no laws, he takes what is not his. His sin is darkness that surrounds him, infecting those around him without effort. He cannot love, not even himself. He does not know empathy, loyalty or trust. He is filth and dirt; anyone grazed by his hand will eventually suffer his fate.âÂ
Once you finish you pause, eyes flickering up to your father whoâs watching you expectantly. He has yet to interrupt you, thus you continue reading â just like you had so many times before. Except this time the words feel like poison on your tongue.Â
âUndeserving of life is he who does not believe in the very pages before you. His ignorance toward something so sacred must have consequences. It is our duty to punish those of his kind; it is our duty to protect what he seeks to tarnish.âÂ
You can barely get the last sentence out, stuttering over your own inability to perform such a simple task. But as soon as youâre finished, the book is slammed shut before you, making you flinch in your seat.Â
Your father leans back in his chair, adjusting his glasses on his nose before he turns to you. He gives the closed book a pointed glance, âI want you to bring this with you. Read it before bed, do not waste your time with anything but this.âÂ
Swallowing thickly, you nod. âFor how long, father?âÂ
His expression remains unreadable, as it always would. He rolls his thumbs over one another, but you know he is not stalling for time. He prepared an answer before you even uttered the question. You knew that he saw through you, you knew that he knew. And the knowing was terrifying. The words written were no longer about the non-believers, it was not why he had made you read. No, they were about you.Â
His eyes find yours, striking and cold, âUntil youâve learned.âÂ
â¸â¸Â
You do not sleep for a long time that night. Hunched over your desk, you fight to keep your eyes open as you go over the pages again and again. You had cried twice, the tears were now dry on your cheeks â and you felt shameful over them. There was no reason for you to cry, for you to wallow in self pity. This was entirely your fault.Â
Your father was trying to help you â this was him trying to offer you salvation. If you just learned, if you just followed his teachings everything would be fine. Things would go back to how they had always been. You would be blessed once more, you would earn his approval and forgiveness. It was all that mattered.Â
Hand clenched into fists on either side of the open book, you mumble the words out to yourself. âFilthy, disgusting, animal, tarnished, sinisterâŚâ You repeat them like a mantra, like saying it aloud would somehow confirm what you had allowed yourself to become; what you had allowed Taehyun to make you.Â
If it would take you days, weeks, you would say it. You would call yourself all these horrible names if it made you clean again â if it washed away your wrongs, if it gave you a second chance.Â
Mother hadnât spoken to you all evening. Neither her or father had as much as glanced your way during dinner. They knew. The house knew, its walls were looming over you; crowding in on you like a cage would a trapped animal. â Animal. Thatâs what you were. Undeserving of life. And as your eyes return to the page, the cycle begins once more, sending you into a pit of self loathing as you continue to read.Â
â¸â¸Â
Your feet are cold, freezing even. When you glance down you realize that you are standing barefoot on soil; toes sinking into the mushy earth. The ground is wet, soaked through by the rain that bats against your naked arms â the ones you pull around yourself in an attempt to warm up. Youâre dressed in nothing but your sheer nightgown, it's drenched from the weather; clinging to your skin like a second layer.Â
Itâs weird, you canât see anything. No matter how many times you blink itâs just as dark, everywhere you turn. Itâs not until a heavy drop falls on your cheek that you finally glance up. The night sky opens above you, the rain seems to fall slower from this angle. You understand then that youâre outside, not the commotional hall nor your house â but actually outside.Â
Submerged below ground level, panic starts to settle in. It is then you see him; your father. He stands by the edge of the pit youâre trapped in, an umbrella clutched tightly in one hand, the other one resting on your motherâs waist. Sheâs weeping, tears streaming down her face as she gives you a pitiful look.Â
âMotherâŚâ Your voice sounds weak even to your own ears; doing little to overpower the hurling winds and your motherâs cries. She buries her face in your fatherâs chest, trembling hands clinging to the black suit he wears. Mother is, too, dressed in all black â her dress reaching all the way to her ankles.Â
You swallow as you take a step forward, but you only find yourself sinking deeper into the ground. âMother, why do you cry? Mother!â She canât hear you, no matter how loud you yell for her â your words are meaningless.Â
Eyes meeting your fatherâs, you find him regarding you with disgust â wearing the same expression he would when he spoke of the nonbelievers, the one which meant nothing but hatred; like you had done something truly unforgiving. Slowly you piece it together; their attire, the pit dug into the ground, your motherâs tears.Â
This was your grave.Â
You were dead and your mother was mourning you, crying in rhythm with the clouds as their tears caressed your shivering body.Â
The scream never makes it past your lips and instead you find yourself lunging forward â fingers clawing at the dirt; soil clogging under your nails as you try to dig your way up. âIâm not dead! Mother, father, Iâm here!â Is what you want to tell them, but your throat is clogged by the sobs that never make it off your tongue.
âDo you get it now?âÂ
Taehyunâs voice pierces the silence and you feel yourself go cold. Whipping around, you find him crouched by the opposite edge of the pit. Heâs dressed in a suit as well, his usually wild and unkempt hair is neatly parted to the side, a single strand hanging loose as it falls across his forehead.Â
He tilts his head to the side, a menacing smirk stretching across his lips â eyes twinkling with gleam as he watches you. âOr did you think you were going to go unpunished, just because youâre his daughter?â He scoffs, hand curling around the soil as he picks it up, throwing it at you with a disgusted grimace.Â
The dirt slaps against your face before falling onto your chest. You shudder, but canât seem to muster a response, trembling under his intense gaze. Instead youâre forced to listen to the sound of Taehyunâs laugh; itâs loud, overpowering your motherâs cries and the screaming wind. âOhâ, he says as he shakes his head, âYou thought things would just be okay? That you could go back to playing Miss Perfect after having your fun with someone like me?âÂ
He sneers, tongue dragging across his bottom lip â eyes reflecting something akin to nausea. âYouâre an animalâ, he spits.Â
Your chest contracts with pain at the harsh implication, heart biting wildly against your ribcage. âNoâŚâ You try to deny his accusations. That was a lie, Taehyun was a liar. You did everything right; you read your fatherâs teachings, listened to him preach, you cleaned everyday, bathed and prepared for doomsday. You were pure. This grave was not yours â but his.Â
Taehyun shifts slightly, and your gaze follows the movement of his hand as he reaches inside his suit to grab something. When your eyes land on the familiar dark book, they widen. You recognized its cover in an instant. â He opens it, unbothered by the heavy rainfall that pours over him as he begins to read; the words harsh and demeaning as they roll off of his tongue.Â
âCondemned to a cruel death is she who treads from light to dark. For her there is no salvation, no redemption. She cannot come back from the monster she has become; she cannot take back the hand of evil that has been laid upon her once untainted skin. Her devotion becomes her sin.âÂ
The smirk on his lips widens, an almost feral look in his eyes as he shifts them from the pages and over to you.Â
âHer punishment shall be from the face of her grave. She will watch as the world reclaims her impure soul; and she will do so in agony.âÂ
His last words echo through the night, leaving you shaking in fear. He shoves the book back inside his suit before standing up. The look he sends you is vicious. His face is the last thing you see â for the ground has already begun to swallow you whole. Your motherâs cries are loud in your ears, your fatherâs judgement heavy on your shoulders, and the image of Taehyun is forever seared into your mind.Â
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You hadnât noticed ever falling asleep â but the tap to your window jostles you from the nightmare you had been caught up in. Your heart is still hammering in your chest and youâre drenched in a cold layer of sweat. Lifting your head from the book before you causes your back to flare up in pain.Â
You glance down, eyes lingering on the words plastered across the pages. The ones from your dream; the one that had felt so real. Your fatherâs cold gaze still lingers in the back of your mind, your motherâs sobs making your head throb. âHis punishment shall be from the face of his grave. He will watch as the world reclaims his impure soul; and he will do so in agony.â You mumble the words, re-reading the paragraph you had fallen asleep to with a heavy heart.Â
The second tap to your window makes you flinch as you recall what had woken you in the first place. Turning in your seat only makes your stomach drop even further, your body twisting with guilt.Â
You hadnât expected Taehyun to return, not after your last conversation â the way you had lashed out, him quietly slipping back into the shadows without as much as a word. Even though he looks like himself now, the dirt painting his face, tangled hair falling messily from his head; you still canât shake the image of him, the one that had watched you die.Â
Thereâs a lump in your throat, one youâre unable to swallow. It hadnât just been a nightmare, it was a prediction â a prophecy of the fate that awaited you. If you let him in now, a third time, there would be no backing out. So you turn back to your book, ignoring him to the best of your abilities as you fix your attention to the lines on the page.Â
He doesnât knock again, but you can feel his presence. The darkness that lingers around him, imposing on your bedroom window as it waits to be let inside.Â
Youâre sure at least ten minutes pass, each one filled with a dreadful silence as you try to focus. Itâs no use, youâve been stuck on the same paragraph this whole time â staring at the words like they might attempt to claw themselves free of the book's confinements and eat you alive, like if you turned your back, there was no saying what might happen.Â
At last you push your chair back, eyes flitting back to the window for a moment. Heâs still there, dark eyes watching you quietly through the thin glass. Taehyun reminds you of a crow, ugly and dirty, frowned upon by the world yet his wings fly just the same as a dove. His taps against the window resembles its black beak, insistently requesting your attention.Â
Without waiting another moment you rise as you on shaky legs approach him. You pause, hand hovering above the hatch that would make everything real â the one that would confirm your sin, make it irreversible. You still open it, welcoming the cold night air as you suppress a shiver.Â
Taehyun doesnât say anything, his expression remaining perfectly unreadable â reminding you of your fatherâs. It was an unwelcome sight, one you wanted to tear out of your mind and burn. But you canât. Thereâs only one thing you can do, one thing you want to do. Talk to him. âYouâre hereâ, the sentence comes out in one exhale.Â
He nods, blinking once as his dark gaze trails over the clothes you were still in â having fallen asleep before getting the chance to change into your night wear. âWhy?â You ask, trying your best to mask the sadness in your voice. Taehyun should terrify you, the prophecy that had shown itself through your dream had been a clear warning, the book on your desk was your guide. So why werenât you following it?Â
His jaw clenches for a moment, like he was debating his next words. Shifting on the windowsill his eyes flit down to your still trembling hand, for a second it looks almost as though he wants to reach out and take it.Â
âCome with meâ, he finally says as his attention returns to you. His eyes hold no doubt, in fact you had never seen him so sure ever. He must have given the matter much thought, immediately sensing your hesitation, the way your legs buckle as you attempt a step back. His hand shoots out, fingers curling around your wrist before you can disappear from him.Â
His voice is hushed, a low drawl of his tongue. âJust for tonight, you will be back before dawn â I promise.âÂ
No. You shouldnât, he was a non-believer, one that had intrigued you greatly until you understood the dangers of his kind. Your foolish curiosity had gotten you in this situation, it had earned you your fatherâs disapproval, his watchful eye now set on you. The last thing you ought to be doing is following evil right through your window, into a world so harsh there would be no return, even if you make it home by dawn.Â
âI canâtâŚâ You whisper as you shake your head, eyes squeezing shut. Shuddering when Taehyunâs hand loosens its grip on your wrist as he instead laces his fingers with yours. He gives you a small squeeze, wordlessly pleading with you to agree. You find his gaze, and as you study his almost hopeful face you repeat the words in your head. âAnimal, undeserving of life, evil, impure.â But Taehyun doesn't look at all like the men your father described.
For a moment you allow yourself to be delusional, to pray for the man before you. Perhaps, just maybe he wasnât what father would want to make him. If there was even the slightest possibility for Taehyun to be something other than the non-believer your books said he was⌠Then maybe, just maybe you could allow yourself a moment of reprieve in his presence.Â
You swallow down the conflicting emotions rising in your throat, glancing down to your intertwined hands. He feels human, warm and alive. Like someone you could follow, even when you know you shouldnât. The truth scared you â but so did the thought of never seeing the snowy mountains, the rivers and the endless beaches.Â
The nod you give him is so subtle, it almost passes him by. But Taehyun's face lights up, a grin tugging at his lips â nothing like the cruel smirk heâd been wearing in your dream. You allow him to pull you closer, hands sliding along your arms as he guides you up on the windowsill.Â
Your legs tremble, not from exertion but from fear â but you do not hesitate as you put one foot before the other. Before you know it, youâre beside him, shoulder brushing against his as you inhale the crisp night air. You had been outside before, but this was different. Your fatherâs looming presence was nowhere to be found, neither were your motherâs tender eyes as she gauged you every step.Â
Birds fly high in the sky, and for a moment you feel just like them â free.Â
Taehyun guides carefully across the roof, quietly moving through the shadows like they were second nature. You follow him, holding onto him tightly; afraid that if you let go, you would be lost.Â
When you pass your father and motherâs bedroom, you stop to glance through the window. Their sleeping forms send a dagger of pain straight through your heart, the knife twisting at a torturous angle as you behold the sight. Safety was a figment of your imagination by now, and you were leaving that small flicker of light behind as you instead follow the darkness.Â
Soon you reach the slanted edge of the roof, the drop makes you hesitate, gaze flitting over to Taehyun in silent question. He only squeezes your hand harder before letting go completely. With wide and bewildered eyes you watch as he takes off, letting himself fall through the air before landing softly on the ground.Â
Dusting himself off, he stands back up to look at you. When he sees your cowering figure crouched by the roofâs edge he grins. Arms stretched to the sky he beckons for you to join him. âTrust meâ, he calls for you â the sound of his voice carrying through the night. It makes something in you flutter, a strange sensation filling your chest.Â
Trust him⌠Trust was sacred, not something you just gave out. Could you really trust Taehyun? You regard his open arms, so close yet so far away. In that moment, you can't think of anywhere else you would rather be. And so with one last glance toward your bedroom window, you vow to leave behind the nightmare, your fatherâs words and the harsh truth â just for tonight, you would allow yourself to be free.Â
Then you jump.Â
The fall lasts forever yet itâs over in a second. It makes your stomach twist and turn, whether it was in fear or excitement, you did not know. But Taehyunâs arms wrap around you, his now familiar scent invading your senses as he pulls your body against his. Your feet havenât even touched the ground yet, bare and exposed they dangle against his legs â afraid to take the final step.Â
Hiding your face in his shoulder, you cling onto the moment a little longer, not quite ready to let go. He chuckles and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your own. Itâs an unfamiliar sound, laughter. Rarely, if ever heard inside the place you called home. You like Taehyunâs laugh, itâs soft â nothing at all like the harsh and jagged edges of his exterior. It comes from within, a place warm.Â
You let him set you down, shivering when your feet touch the grass. Pulling your face from his shoulder, you stand back to peer up at him. Heâs already watching you, eyes sparkling with something you couldnât quite place; something you had never before seen. He takes your hand, the action feeling familiar, you donât know if you should hate or love it.Â
âAre you ready?â He asks, regarding you like he was half expecting you to back out â to demand he returns you to the comforts of your bedroom. Instead you nod, mustering a small smile as your fingers squeeze around his, âYes.âÂ
The walk is silent at first, your attention jumping from every stone, tree and rock as you descend down the road that leads through your neighbourhood. This part of the world you were familiar with. Your eyes would always be glued to the window of your fatherâs car whenever he took you to the commotional hall, watching with fascination as the scenery outside changed. â The asphalt is cold against your bare feet at first, but it soon dwindles into nothingness.Â
Taehyun offers you his shoes, but you decline. You wanted to feel the ground beneath you, it made everything all the more real.Â
Your hands remain interlocked as you move forward, itâs comfortable knowing that he was there. For a moment you feel guilty, guilty for taking comfort in something as dark as him, something you should stay away from. But you quickly manage to push those thoughts aside, burying them in the depths of your worrying mind, letting them stay hidden â if only for tonight.Â
After a while you make it out of the neighbourhood, the familiar houses disappearing behind you and giving way to tall buildings that stretch toward the sky. Father never took you or mother to the city; said it was dangerous, crawling with non-believers and filth. His words send shivers down your spine, your once eager steps faltering as you approach the dim street lights.Â
Taehyun notices your hesitation, his hand around yours gripping you firmer, silently pleading you stay with him. Your gaze meets his, âIâve never been here.âÂ
He nods, like he understands â how could he? Tonight you donât question him. Instead you let him lead you, just the way your father always would. He had taught you everything you knew, everything you thought to be true and right. Yet it feels natural following Taehyun, despite the books and your fatherâs preaching, this doesnât feel sinister.Â
The city is quiet, asleep â resting peacefully, far too peaceful when compared to what fatherâs books had told you. There were no blood baths here, no screams of agony, only the stillness of night and the soft flicker of the lights above.Â
Something runs out in front of you, a small shadow moving quickly across the street. It makes you flinch, a noise of surprise slipping past your lips as you cling to Taehyun a little tighter. He laughs, that same laugh that had made your chest flutter. âItâs just a ratâ, he muses, eyes following the little creature as it disappears behind a dumpster.Â
âOhâŚâ You hum, awkwardly detaching yourself from his arm as you send him a sheepish smile, âI didn't know they were actually real.â At that he frowns, a hint of confusion crossing his features as he stops in his tracks, âYou didnât think rats existed?â He questions whilst eyeing you with disbelief.Â
You shrug, lips pursed into a pout. âI had never seen one beforeâŚâÂ
He shakes his head, hand still laced with yours as he tugs you forward. âYou really are somethingâ, he murmurs under his breath. It was clear that his words werenât meant to be taken seriously, but you did anyway. What was so baffling about that? Rats were dirty, filthy things. Associating with them would not reflect well in your fatherâs eyes. But again, you refrain from questioning him, allowing yourself to be pulled along as you dwell deeper into the city.Â
The large houses are nothing like your own estate. These are tall, windows stacked on top of another, counting at least four times the floors you had. âIs this one manâs house?â You wonder as you point to a particularly large building. Taehyun shakes his head, and without sparing the place a second glance he says: âNo, at least fifty men live there.âÂ
âFifty? But how can they all fit?â You ask, giving the tall house a skeptical one over. Your home only fits three people. It was unimaginable to have any more in such a compromised space. If Taehyun was annoyed by your questions he didnât let on to it as he kept walking, lazily swinging your hands back and forth â the movement was casual at its core, but also unrefined, something your father would reprimand you for doing.Â
âYou have to make do with spaceâ, he finally says after a moment's thinking. You didnât know what that meant, but your guess was that it was each man for himself. The idea seemed intriguing, but all the more depressing.Â
From there a silence falls over the two of you as you descend down the vacant streets. Silently you were thankful for the late hour. The city in itself was a terrifying prospect, but the thought of running into more non-believers, it was one even worse.Â
So you walk, hand in hand, the sounds of your steps echoing around you â filling the comfortable quietness. You pass broken street lights, cracked parts of the pavement and a multitude of overflowing trashcans where birds gathered to search for food. Taehyunâs palm feels warm against your own as he guides you with ease, like he knows the town as well as the back of his own hand. He answers your questions with gentle hums and soft nods, never bringing up the topic that was on both of your minds; your father.Â
For a while you manage to forget about the dream you had had. You realize that the ground has yet to open up and swallow you whole â your bare feet remain steady on the concrete beneath. The clouds seem to hold their breath, the stars above sparkling like they would on any other night. This place is far from the paintings on your bedroom walls, there are no long beaches here, no snowy mountains or large rivers whose stream flows as steadily as the wind. But you donât mind, for tonight this is enough.Â
Taehyun wasnât the cruel non-believer your father had told you he would be. He wasnât like you, far from it. His clothes were torn and his hair unwashed â he was dirty, but he wasnât an animal. Because animals didnât treat you like you were human. And Taehyun did.Â
You halt when passing by a shopping window as your eyes become glued to the glass. It was dark inside the store, but the street light above illuminates the mannequins, all dressed in long flowy dresses with different floral patterns. Your gaze lingers on one with a green dress, the dark flowers painted on with precision, each one blooming on the fabric.
âDo you like it?â Taehyun asks, he stands beside you, so close that your shoulders brush against one another. You nod, not taking your eyes off of the mannequin, âI do.âÂ
Father would never allow you to wear dresses like that. Your skirts reached just below your knees, the shirts you wore had to be buttoned all the way â ironed to perfection in order to stay in place. A dress like that⌠One that moved in the wind, drew attention towards itself⌠It was most improper. You should find it repulsive, but all you can do is sigh as you stand by the window, imagining what it would look like on you instead of the lifeless doll.Â
Catching a glimpse of Taehyun in the reflection, you regard him for a moment. Heâs not looking at the mannequin, instead his gaze is fixed on you. It had become almost normal to feel his eyes resting on your frame whenever you werenât watching; much so that you had almost forgotten about the darkness that surrounded him.Â
From here, through the dirty glass of the storeâs large window, as you stand side by side. He doesnât look much different from you. Not the way you had imagined a non-believer to at least. You squeeze his hand a little harder, as if to make sure that this was actually real. He squeezes your hand back and you catch the small tug of his lips through the corner of your eye.Â
âPeople wear this?â You ask, still regarding the green floral dress. Taehyun hums in acknowledgement. âSome doâ, he shrugs, âTheyâre expensive, not everyone can afford them.âÂ
Money. Your father had taught you the importance of that. Those who were irresponsible with it would, too, fall ill when doomsday rose. Splurging it on things unnecessary was a waste of something so sacred. This dress â it was sinful, he would not allow you to purchase it. âCan you afford it?â You finally tear your gaze from the mannequin as you glance over at Taehyun.Â
He hesitates for a moment, eyes darting toward the window before returning to you. âNoâ, he says. You can only nod. How one obtained money was still a mystery to you. Father said only those deserving of it could access it. Only the ones meant for it. Maybe Taehyun wasnât.Â
With one last longing glance toward the dress you continue walking, and this time youâre tugging him along as you venture down the street.Â
There was no destination, only aimless wandering. Purposeless. Something your father would have hated. But he wasnât here tonight. In fact this was the first time in forever where you had been in his absence. It felt wrong, but not like sin â no, it felt freeing. To be free without a purpose in life was not something you wanted to be punished for, even though you knew you would be.Â
Taehyun hasnât said anything for a long while. His hand in yours and the sounds of your joint footsteps are the only indication he is still there. You donât wish for him to speak â but you donât wish his silence either. It was confusing, leaving you questioning yourself as your feet pulled you forward.Â
You donât stop by any of the other windows, and you keep your gaze ahead â avoiding any temptation that might rise if you pause to let your eyes linger for too long. It would just be another reminder of what you couldnât have; what you shouldnât have.Â
When you reach a street crossing you stop, eyes focused on nothing in particular. Taehyun halts beside you, but he doesnât question you, and you didn't question him either. During your second meeting you had told him that you knew exactly what his kind was. You had read about them your entire life after all. But that was a lie. You know nothing about Taehyun â only that the darkness around him was different from the darkness in your fatherâs books.Â
Exhaling softly, you watch as the condensation of your breath as it carries out into the air before diminishing into nothing. You turn toward him, meeting his gaze that holds at least a thousand silent questions for you â but you have one of your own. âI want to see where you live.â Your voice is a lot steadier than you had anticipated, but the inquiry still hangs heavy in the air for you can clearly see the way Taehyunâs shoulders tense, his hand tightening its grip on yours for a second too long.Â
It was something that had been on your mind for a while. His home. You longed to see it, the house of a non-believer. Was it messy? A reflection of himself? Or maybe it looked just like your own, tidied to perfection â all in preparation for the day that was to come; the day when the world was going to end.Â
Taehyun doesn't answer you, his lips pressed into a thin line and his jaw clenched to the point where it might have even pained him. âNo.â The finalisation in his tone is evident, like he was set on not speaking further about the subject.Â
âWhy not?â You cannot mask the disappointment as your brows draw together in a frown. He had nothing to hide â you already knew that he was a non-believer, a sinner. But he seems firm in his decision and you can barely get another word at as he continues walking, this time he doesnât wait for you as he forcefully pulls you along.Â
Stumbling after him, the questions all come pouring out of you in an inconsistent manner. âIs it far? Will we not make it back in time? Perhaps we can go tomorrow night?â No answer. Taehyun is no longer looking at you, his eyes set on the road ahead as he steers you through the sleeping city, his steps hurried, like he had somewhere to be.Â
âForget itâ, he simply says.Â
âBut why?âÂ
He comes to an abrupt halt, spinning around on the spot â his face inches from yours, teeth bared as he snarls, âBecause I said so, alright?âÂ
You flinch, blinking hastily as your mouth opens and closes. Taehyun had never snapped at you like that â had never raised his voice, even when you were lashing out on him. You had never seen him like this, so filled with anger. It scared you; more than your father ever had â and that was terrifying.Â
His chest is heaving, ragged breaths slipping past his chapped lips. He waits for you to speak, possibly cry, you could already feel the tears that prickled in the corners of your eyes. You had done something wrong, misstepped somehow and you didnât know how to fix it. âI justâŚâ The words are lodged in your throat, your voice on the verge of cracking, âI just donât understandâŚâÂ
Taehyun scoffs, his hand letting go of yours as he runs his fingers through his dirty hair. He averts his gaze, refusing to even look at you. It hurt more than it should have, more than you should allow it to. You reach for him, hesitating when he pulls back. âIâm sorry.â You mean it. âI shouldnât haveââÂ
âI donât have a home.âÂ
He blurts it out, like he was dying to just get it off his chest and be over with. The statement feels as though a brick had been slammed onto your face. What did he mean by that? How could he not have a home? Where did he sleep at night, where did he eat â what was going to happen to him on doomsday? Non-believers were not like you, that wasnât news. But⌠This, this was.Â
Heâs not meeting your eyes. Thereâs an almost unnoticeable tremble to his hands as he keeps them by his sides, balled up into fists; knuckles white. You regard his tense face, the look he wears is shameful, like it took everything to admit what he just had. Father would tell you that this was what his kind deserved, an animal has no place in a house â that he should be thankful if even the streets accepted him.Â
You realized then why he had so easily come and gone. Why heâd been able to slip back into the shadows like they meant nothing; like they didnât frighten him in the slightest. He didnât know his way around the city just because he could â he had to. This was his home, filthy and crawling with rats. He lived like an animal, but he wasnât one.Â
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you reach for his hand; soft fingers silently brushing over the rough surface of his. He doesnât uncurl his fist, but you wrap both hands around him anyway; holding tight. You did not think Taehyun was undeserving of a home. The idea of him sleeping somewhere besides a warm bed at night, it would have made your father gleam with contempt, yet you can only find yourself sympathising with him.Â
Heâs still not looking at you, which feels weird considering he always would. You run your fingers across his knuckles, not caring for how grimy and dirty they were; not when you knew the reason behind it. âAre you cold at night?â He must be, the longer you remain rooted in place, the more biting the chill against your bare feet becomes. You could only imagine what a whole night outside must feel like.Â
âSometimesâ, he mutters. Glancing up, you find him watching the flickering street lights like they intrigued him to no end. You knew that they didnât, that he was just looking for anything that would put distance between the two of you. That distance feels even colder than the night ever could.Â
âIâm sorry.âÂ
You were â and just for tonight, you did not feel guilty for your sorrows to a man so despicable by your fatherâs standards.Â
Taehyunâs fist uncurls under your fingers, his hand relaxing into yours. His gaze returns to you, heavy with something you canât quite place. âI donât need your condolencesâ, he gruffly says, though you can still pick apart the gratitude between the lines. You smile, âI know.âÂ
After that you walk home. This time around the silence is no longer filled with unspoken questions and intrigue â only a sense of knowing, even if it lacked the understanding. There was so much you had yet to wrap your head around, so many things that did not make any sense in your scrambled mind. Normally you would have drowned yourself in your fatherâs books, repeating the words over and over until you finally grasped their meaning. Tonight you allow yourself to not understand, to live with the knowing and accept everything that came with it.Â
The sky has turned from a pitch black to a dark blue by the time you arrive back at the familiar neighbourhood. You know the way home from here, but you still let Taehyun lead you down the street, his steps soft against the asphalt. He doesnât take you to the back of the house, where you had originally descended from. Instead he steers you toward the living room window, the one he had fled through on your first encounter. Father never locked the windows downstairs â you couldnât quite understand why, but as with a lot of things tonight; you didnât question it.Â
Taehyun lets go of your hand to quietly push the glass open. The precision of his every move was fascinating to watch, and you do so with great curiosity. You only freeze when you feel his hands on your waist, the touch scorching hot in the cold night. âTrust meâ, he says with the small twitch of his lip. You do.Â
He hoists you up, effortlessly propping you up on the windowsill whilst he remains outside. The two of you remain silent, listening to the sound of each other's soft breaths. You know that this moment was coming to an end, that soon he would disappear back into the shadows; returning to a mere concept in your head as the sun rises.Â
âWill you come see me again?âÂ
You had never asked him that before. Taehyun pauses, hands resting on the windowsill either side of you. His eyes flicker with something you thought to be hope, your question had surprised him just as much as it had you. âDo you want me to?â He wonders, voice no louder than a whisper.Â
âYes.âÂ
His lips stretch into a grin, one that makes him look much younger than he probably is. You find yourself smiling too; and you resist the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, in any way you could. â He nods, âThen I will.âÂ
It felt good, knowing that he was returning â better than it should. But tonight there was no room for guilt. For a moment it looks as though heâs about to say something else, his breath caught in his throat and his dark eyes searching yours. But then he suddenly lets go of the window, pushing himself back before giving you one last glance. He disappears into the shadows after that, leaving you to watch over his retreating figure.Â
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Father knew. You didnât know how or when heâd found out; but he knew. It was palpable in the way his stern gaze would linger on you whenever you entered the room. He would gauge your every move, the way you clutched the rag between your fingers, gently wiping the china down until it sparkled bright enough to blind. He never addressed you, his silence weighed heavy on your shoulders.Â
You wondered if he knew that you knew. Why wasn't he saying anything? Surely he could feel the darkness that emitted from you, black smoke seeping through the put together act you tried so hard to maintain â you were bound to crack under his watchful eyes. Even when it had become routine to walk on eggshells around him, it somehow felt different this time. Usually you would be afraid of slipping up, making a mistake that would earn you his harsh hand against your cheek. This time the mistake had already been made, now he was waiting for an opportunity to pounce.Â
Mother doesnât seem to notice, or if she does, she refrains from speaking on it. Just the way she always would. Locking herself in their room when your father disciplined you. She was a coward, but you could not fault her. Your father was a terrifying man. But you did not resent him, after all; he was trying to protect you. It was thanks to your father that you had managed to keep the evil at bay. No darkness lingered around his shadow, he was pure â and he would make you pure as well, one way or the other.Â
So it is no surprise when he asks you to stay after dinner that night. The food on your plate had since long gone cold, for you had been unable to stomach more than a bite or two. Neither mother or father questioned it. â You sit perfectly still in your seat, hands clasped over your lap as you keep your gaze down. The sound of porcelain clinking together as your mother clears the table is all that can be heard. Your father waits patiently for her departure.Â
It seems to drag on forever, but soon enough her footsteps echo down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving you and father be. He sits quietly for a while, fingers toying with the white tablecloth before he smooths it out again. âYou look tiredâ, he drawls and your gaze flickers up to meet his as you bring a hand to your face. The bags under your eyes had surely grown over the past nights â there was little you could do to cover them.Â
âHave you not been sleeping well?â He asks, brows furrowing like he was trying to rip the truth from your throat; even though he already had it in his palm. You swallow, there was no point in denying it. You had been sleeping poorly. Whenever Taehyun was not around, you would spend your time thinking about him. Sometimes you would draw his face from memory, imagining what he was doing at that very moment as you did. Though you would always tear the paper when you were done, letting it burn over a lit candle.Â
You slowly nod, âI have been doing my readings at night time, father.â It was a lie, the first you had ever told him. It makes your chest rip with guilt, and you pray he cannot catch the slight tremble to your bottom lip. You hoped your answer would please him, you were devoting yourself to everything that was him; to what was important. The sleepless nights were not wasted, simply they were filled with purpose.Â
But you were wrong. You can hear his anger before you can feel it, the crackling of his chair as he shifts toward you, the sound of his open palm colliding with your cheek. It stings at first, like fire on ice, an imaginary wound slicing across your face. The force of his harsh slap makes your head jerk, but you donât pull away. Instead you bite your tongue, pushing back the involuntary tears that prickle in your eyes.Â
You would like to think that he was doing this out of goodwill. He was reprimanding you for being a liar; for crossing the lines heâd drawn all those years ago. Father was getting you on the right track again, just like he always would.Â
âFoolish girlâ, he mutters under his breath, the words laced with venom. You did not think you were a fool. But father was always right â to go against him⌠The thought makes you shudder as you recall the night you had spent with Taehyun, outside, away from home; just the way father had forbidden you do. Back then you hadnât felt guilt, not the way you did now. But his eyes are impossible to escape, and you felt naked before him â all your sins exposed for him to mock.Â
He rises to his feet, the sound of his chair scraping against the shiny floors ringing in your ears. âYou think you can deceive me?â He barks, his voice loud and commanding, the same one he would use when he spoke of the non-believers to your community. You shake your head ânoâ but you donât dare utter a single word as you keep your gaze down. His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around your wrist with bruising force. You suppress a wince.Â
It was impossible to say what had made him snap, perhaps it had been the stillness of the evening, your unbearing silence or your motherâs confused glances. It doesnât matter, not anymore, not when father was looking down on you like the world had made him a disgrace. âYou are weakâ, he says and you know he is right. The grip on your wrist tightens to a point that makes you want to cry out, then he lets go.Â
You are weak. Tempted by your own curiosity you had let a non-believer close, inside your home; the one your father worked so hard to protect. You had followed darkness through your window, out into the world you had no place in. You had tainted yourself with evil, and you had done so knowingly. There was no excuse, no salvation â your fate had been sealed the moment you had taken Taehyunâs hand, the moment you had left your father behind for another man.Â
The sound of his retreating footsteps is all you hear and for a long while you linger by the table. Tears roll down your cheeks, theyâre silent, like theyâre ashamed to even be there. The guilt is like an animal gnawing away at your bones, biting your flesh and licking your blood as it consumes you whole. You donât know if it will ever go away.Â
The pads of your fingertips are soft against your cheek, itâs still warm, burning with your fatherâs touch. Usually the guilt would go away after he had laid his hand on you, not today. Your punishment had been delivered but the sin was irreversible. No redemption, no salvation. Just like his books had said.Â
â¸â¸
When you finally return to your room, the sun has already set. You pray Taehyun wonât come see you tonight, even when you had asked him to. There was no room for him in your mind, only the self loathing and hatred.Â
You let the door fall shut behind you, gaze falling on your desk in search of the dark book you thought could salvage you. The desire to read over the lines once more was mounting with each ragged breath you took. But to your horror you find it missing, the desk is empty with no sign of it ever being there in the first place. Quickly you rush to your bookshelf, scanning the existing ones there â but you turn up empty handed.Â
Father must have taken it. No one else would have, would they? But why? Did he not want you to learn, to understand your mistakes? It was then it dawned upon you â if father had taken the book it could only mean one thing. He truly deemed you to be unworthy of salvation. His discipline and his preaching had reached its end; he would no longer be fending off the darkness for you, but let you bask in it instead.Â
Falling to your knees, you canât contain the sob that escapes your lips. The prophecy of your dream had come true after all. Your fatherâs look of disgust as he stood by the ledge of your grave, it had all been real. You had been warned and yet you had defied every single sign that tried to lead you back to safety â no, you had followed the darkness, allowing yourself to put the guilt aside, to tarnish a life of devotion to a man who had never even learned said wordâs meaning.Â
This was all your fault â and the worst part was that you did not feel any resentment toward Taehyun. No matter how hard you tried, your heart could never take back what it had given him. âHis punishment shall be from the face of his grave. He will watch as the world reclaims his impure soul; and he will do so in agony.â You mumble the words out, hands trembling as you brace them against the floor. This was your agony, your own torment. The grave was already dug, you had done it yourself; all that was left was for you to lie in it â to let the earth reclaim your impure soul.Â
VIII
The book is heavy in Taehyunâs hands. Heâs been staring at its blank cover for at least fifteen minutes now, unable to bring himself to open it. At first heâd felt bad, stealing from you whilst also deliberately asking you to âtrust himâ â but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. What was it that existed between these pages that seemed to hold you prison? Taehyun wasnât so sure he wanted to find out.Â
Tonight the dark alleyway he calls home is quiet, the crying children have fallen asleep on their dirty mattresses, hugging their mothers tightly. The drunks were all passed out and the rest opted for a silent and still night. That left Taehyun undisturbed as he leans against the cold brick wall, eyes dragging across the book heâd snatched from your table.Â
With one final sigh he wills himself to turn the first page. The bindings are, as he presumed, handmade. He wonders if itâs your fatherâs work â he wouldnât put it past the old man, for he already seemed to control every aspect of your life. His eyes skim the first page, it wasnât a published book, that much he could tell. It opens up strong, ominous even; like a warning.Â
âThose undeserving shall not bestow their filthy hands on this book.â Â
The first line makes him frown, confusion painting his face as he turns the page. He finds no pictures as he begins to flip through it; only paragraphs upon paragraphs of texts. Theyâre split into what he presumes to be chapters, divided by a single blank page and a new subtitle. He reads the first one: âA Non-believer.â Taehyun tries the words on his tongue, theyâre familiar â something heâd called you before, he recalls the evening as if it had been yesterday; your horrified expression, the way you had demanded he leave. Curiosity now piqued, he begins reading.Â
âThe man of no belief is a man lacking discipline. He indulges in pleasure, seeks it out. He justifies his faults in favor of his greed. The non-believer does not know any other way of life, nor does he care for what shall happen to his soul when the day of doom rises upon us all. He is infected, cursed with a sin irreversible.âÂ
He pauses, finger lingering by the end of the paragraph. âThe day of doomâŚâ He murmurs to himself. Taehyun did not know what that meant, but as he continues to flip through the pages he finds that it's a recurring phrase. Doomsday. Something that, according to this book, had yet to happen, and when it did; these people were its first target. He scoffs at the ridicule of it all, deciding to just give it a rest and quietly return the book when suddenly, his eyes catch on a phrase.Â
âAnimal.âÂ
A flicker of recognition flashes in his mind, gaze following the accompanying sentence. âThe non-believer is no different from an animal. Dirty and foul like the rats that crowd their streets, violent and angered like a rabid dog, uncaring and unforgiving like the bite of a poisonous snake. They deserve no place amongst us â treat them accordingly.â Taehyhun could have sworn heâs heard you utter that word under your breath. He can still hear your trembling voice, see your frightened eyes.Â
By now heâs far too engrossed in the book to ever put it down. Instead he navigates the different subtitles. âThe non-believer. His sins. Punishment. Repel it. The way to salvationâ, and lastly, âThe man who treated the non-believer as man.â His eyes linger for a moment longer on that one, a spark of something he canât quite explain igniting somewhere in his chest. His fingers filter through the pages, quickly finding the chapter.Â
âA man who associates himself with a sinner, will tarnish his own purity. The man who confides in an animal like that will, too, suffer the same fate a non-believer would. He becomes the animal he despises by letting their darkness taint him, and is punished the same.âÂ
The paragraph breaks before continuing:Â
âTo defy this book's very essence is a crime just as severe as that of the non-believerâs. By letting himself close to the filth of a non-believer, the devoted man will lose himself along the way. He will become a shell of what he once was; and he will join the non-believer on doomsday as they both face the punishment that awaits them. Joined by the hand, his devotion and faith will not save him from the non-believerâs darkness. It swallows him before he is even aware he is drowning.âÂ
Taehyun slams the book shut, throat tight as he takes an unsteady breath. Slowly the clouds on the sky above him parts, and he realizes the true meaning of what he had just read. He understands now why you had become hysterical when he had mentioned your lack of faith. For you believed, you devoted yourself with all your soul â but there was no God in your heart, only the tainted words of your father.Â
The paper rips under his fingers as Taehyun tears the pages, one by one. Sentences heâd just read flash before his eyes, the phrases ringing in his ears â but he is set on destroying them all. The bookâs handmade bindings breaking under his rough treatment, something you held so sacred coming apart by the touch of his hand. Taehyun doesnât feel any remorse for destroying it, and once there are no pages left to tear, he stands on shaky legs.Â
He approaches the fire set up by a now heap of passed out drunks. Stepping over their unconscious bodies, Taehyun crouches before the flames. Without thinking twice he begins tossing the crumbled papers into the fire, watching as the flames engulf them. The embers sizzle under the disruption, and the walls around him glow under the orange light, making his dark shadow appear multiple times its size on the bricks.Â
Taehyun watches as the book burns before him, his eyes lingering on the simple âAnimalâ as the fire slowly eats away at the word. His face twists into a scowl, hands clenching into fists as he glares at the phrase: âThey deserve no place amongst us â treat them accordingly.â Him? An animal? Anger boils under his skin, clawing its way from his chest, demanding to be released, but he forces it down again.Â
Soon thereâs nothing left of the book, the flames swallowing it without hesitation; like it had never meant anything in the first place. Taehyun however, knows that thatâs the furthest thing from the truth.Â
IXÂ
The rain is ruthless as it bats against your bedroom window. It pounds against the glass, demanding it be let in, but you ignore it. Back pressed against the wall, you sit with your knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around your legs as you try to make yourself as small as possible. If you could disappear, you would do so right now; silently you pray for the ground to open up and swallow you whole â to have the earth reclaim your soul, even if it would do so with force.Â
Your wrist throbs, cheek still burning after your fatherâs hand on your skin. It no longer hurt, but the shame cut deep into your flesh â tearing it apart and taking root there. You tried to wash it off, to rid yourself of the everlasting feeling of guilt, but no matter how hard you scrubbed it wouldnât go away. And when you had regarded your reflection in the mirror, all you could see was the sin written across your face.Â
Hues of purple and blue adorn your wrist like a bracelet, except this one wasnât meant to be worn with pride. You remember his harsh grip on you, the way he had wordlessly condemned you for your faults. Father was right. There was no salvation for someone like you â you should have known better, you should have never gotten tangled up in the mess that was Taehyun.Â
But even as you sit alone in your dark room, you canât help but gaze toward the window. It was particularly cold on this night, the rain merciless as it poured from the sky. Was he cold? Wet? Did the weather bother him â had he found shelter somewhere? The lump in your throat grows in tune with the size of your heart. It aches for him, even when you know it shouldnât. If father could hear its beating, he would tear it out with his own hands.Â
The hours passed in a blur, time was now a concept, something you could no longer grasp. Instead you let it pass you by, what was the point in trying to keep track anymore? There was nothing left for you anyway.Â
When the house has been silent for a good while, your thoughts finally seem to quiet down. The rain sings to you like a lullaby, urging for you to forget â to let your body go limp against the mattress and just fall into a slumber you hopefully would never rise from. But before you can do any of that, a tap to your window pulls you from your daze. Itâs louder than the harsh raindrops that bats against the glass, fervent and familiar.Â
You donât have to turn your head and look to know it was him. By now you were sure you could make even his shadow out in an ocean of darkness. So without thinking, you rise to your feet â your mind doesnât even try to stop you anymore, it's tired of fighting against your heart; tired of losing every single time.Â
Without meeting his dark gaze you reach for the window hatch, undoing it with practiced ease as you open yourself up to him just like you had so many times before. The rain is louder now, the hurling winds striking you across your face â just like your father had. This doesnât hurt half as bad.Â
You step aside, allowing Taehyun to take shelter from the harsh conditions outside as he soundlessly slips inside your room. After that you seal the window shut behind him, leaving the storm to rage outside as you confront the one within you. Heâs wet, soaked from head to toe, dark hair sticking to his forehead and his torn clothes dripping. You should mind the mess, your home was sacred and your father would never let as much as a speck of dust accumulate in any of the corners. But you donât care â not anymore. You were already cursed, sentenced to a fate worse than death. So what was the point in caring if no one else did?Â
Itâs not until Taehyunâs cold fingers slide under your chin that you finally meet his gaze. Heâs tilted your head up, eyes boring into your own as the brows on his forehead furrow. âIÂ cameâ, he simply says, like it was the easiest thing in the world, âJust like you asked me to.â You had asked him to come, your heart had won over your mind countless times and that night had been no different. Deep in your chest you craved his presence, even when your head told you it was dangerous.Â
âI know.â Your voice is hoarse from all your crying, your eyes dry from shedding all their tears. There was no emotion left, nothing but a shell of endless shame. Youâre certain he can see it on your face â the way you canât keep your bottom lip from trembling or the way your jaw clenches under his gentle touch. Even then, he remains silent; like the simple question would break the illusion, that it would make everything real.Â
âAre you okay?â Is what he wants to say, youâre almost sure. But Taehyun already knows the answer, he would be a fool not to. You wonder if he blames himself â why should he? This was your fault, it had been all along, since your very first encounter. The wrongdoing had been yours since the beginning and it would continue that way until the end.Â
You shudder when his hand drops from your face, body tensing as his fingers slide down your arm. The feel of his skin on yours is strangely warm against your otherwise numb body â but it doesnât burn like it usually would. It no longer feels like sin; only a strange sense of acceptance, acceptance that this was all that was left for you now.Â
The bruises on your wrist don't hurt under the pads of his fingertips but the look on Taehyunâs face makes your heart clench. Blue, purple and yellow bloom on your skin like flowers in spring, except theyâre not nearly as beautiful. Your fatherâs touch remains engraved on you, a reminder of who you had become â of what you had made yourself. An animal.Â
âHe did this.â Taehyunâs solemn voice holds no question and your breath hitches at the comment. How did he know? You open your mouth to object, to tell him that you had just gotten into a clumsy accident. But that would only be another lie spilling from your poisoned lips â another betrayal to yourself; you donât know how many more you can take.Â
You donât reply. There are no words that could ever come close to describing the despair in your soul; condemned to the place you had done everything to avoid your entire life. It was all gone now, and there was nothing you could do to reverse it. Now your only reprieve was the darkness you had tried to repel, it was the only thing who still saw you for what you were, for what you had always been.Â
Taehyun lifts your arm, you donât question him â you had stopped doing that a long time ago. The questions would only lead to more curiosity and more curiosity would lead to⌠You freeze when his lips meet the bruised skin of your wrist. Taehyun isnât looking at you, his eyes closed, wet lashes meeting the high of his cheeks as he presses a tender kiss to the source of your shame. Part of you wants to yank yourself free, to rip yourself from his grasp and push him back through the window heâd come from. He should not treat something as sinful as the mark of your father like that⌠Like heâŚÂ
You swallow, hand trembling when his fingers laces with yours. Taehyunâs gaze flickers up to meet yours; it's filled with an unspoken apology, one you didnât deserve. Lips still brushing against your skin, his hot breath fanning across your wrist, he asks: âDoes it hurt?âÂ
What an utterly stupid question. Of course it didnât hurt â even if it did, it wouldnât matter. This was your punishment, your truth. That was something you would have to live with, forever. You shake your head, telling him that no, it didnât. But the frown on his face only deepens. âNoâ, he murmurs, the hand still laced with yours moving to your chest, knuckles brushing against the rapid beating of your heart, âDoes it hurt?âÂ
Your stomach twists into knots. Yes, no â I donât know? Maybe? I donât want it to. Make it go away. Please. The words get caught in your throat, knowing that if you attempt to speak now you might regret it in the next second. But what matter is the regret if you had already sinned past the point of salvation. Maybe the guilt and shame was all you had left, the only piece of yourself that you could fully cling on to before you let the darkness take you completely.Â
âIt wonât stopâ, you admit in a shaky whisper. It was the only truth you knew how to convey, the only thing real in your own pitiful wallowing. Your heart had been aching your whole life, that had never gone away. It had ached for something it had never known. The ocean, the treetops, the sun that set over the horizon and the birds that roamed the skies. Your heart had been longing for something for as long as it had been beating; but you had never known what.Â
Taehyun doesnât say anything for a long while. His silence you were accustomed to, but it feels different tonight. You donât realize how close he is. Not until his warm breath meets yours, the tip of his nose nudging your own. âI canât make it stopâ, he says in a hoarse whisper and you desperately want to believe him. In fact youâre so desperate to feel anything but your own self pity and shame that you donât stop him, even when he leans close, too close.Â
Closer than anyone ever had.Â
His kiss is slow â ghost like, an idea of what could be, rather than what actually is. You had never kissed anyone before, you had not a single clue what a kiss was supposed to even feel like. Probably not like this. It doesnât matter. Taehyun is all you have now â his sin is your salvation, you have come to realize that.Â
Your hands go for his shoulders, short nails sinking into their apex as you pull yourself closer. A small noise rips from the back of your throat as you attempt to kiss him back, you donât know what the noise means. It doesnât matter. Taehyun lets you kiss him, he doesnât care for how uncoordinated your lips move against his, how jagged your breaths are or the pitiful sounds you make. His hands are familiar but not the same when they find your hips, he holds on to you like youâre real, like you mean something. â Do you really?Â
His footsteps and yours drum against the floorboards, feet bumping into one another as he aims for your bed. The back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, your eyes shooting open when you fall backward. Enveloped by the soft and clean sheets, your bodies become a tangled, joint mess amongst the duvet. Taehyun is wet, cold, dirty â the way your father would repel, the way you should too. Yet all you want is to feel him closer.Â
Taehyun gasps against your lips and only when he pulls back for a brief moment do you realize that your lungs are aching for air. Your chest heaves with each breath you take, hands trembling when they slide down his arms â fingers trying to tear their way through his already torn clothes.Â
Propped on his elbows, Taehyunâs face hovers inches from your own. Heâs looking at you, with the same dark and cunning eyes he always used. Thereâs something familiar about them, something sinister that comforts you when it shouldnât. You watch as they flutter when your fingers skim across his chest, your own eyes widening at the revelation.Â
âWe shouldnât.â Taehyunâs voice is a low drawl of his tongue, one that leaves no room for questions. You know what heâs implying. Sex is not a sin, father says so. It is purposeful. To bring life. That is its purpose, you know as much. But not all sex has purpose â too much, or the wrong kind, that is sin. And sex with a non-believer, with someone like Taehyun; that was the gravest of sins.Â
You shake your head, âWe need to.âÂ
He looks confused, dark brows pulled into a frown as he regards you. There is no way for you to explain it, this feeling in your chest; the one that wouldnât go away no matter how much you prayed. You know now that it will never go away, the shame and the guilt is a part of you now. Unless⌠Unless something even darker can replace it. Taehyun is that darkness. This needs to happen, no matter the consequences.Â
You watch as he shifts above you, uncertainty written across his face. His jaw is clenched tightly, lips drawn into a thin line as he meets your pleading expression. âYou said you could make it stopâ, you practically sob â just barely remembering to keep your trembling voice down. âMake it stop, please.â Your fingers dig into his arms with a force that probably pained him. Yet Taehyunâs face remains perfectly unreadable, except for the subtle twitch of his brow.Â
âYou have to make it stop.âÂ
The words hang heavy in the shivering cold air â the storm outside raging against your windows, making the glass tremble under its force. For a long while he doesnât say anything, remaining perfectly still and quiet as he regards you with a look you canât decipher. There was something different about him tonight, a different kind of pain lingering within his dark eyes. For a second you thought yourself to catch something flickering in the depths of his irises. Recognition. Like he knew something, something he shouldnât.Â
But before you have time to question it, his fingers brush along your shoulder. They hook around the strap of your nightgown, testing its elastic slowly. His gaze is fixed on his own movement, watching intently when he pushes the thin piece down your arm. He does the same to the other strap. Slow. Methodical. âYou donât know what youâre askingâ, he says but makes no move to stop as he instead peels your thin nightgown down your chest.Â
You shudder as the cool air washes over your skin just the way you imagine waves caress the shore on windy mornings. Part of you wants to object, tell him that you knew everything you needed to and more. Another part of you knows thatâs a lie. And lies you were sick of. â âIt doesnât matterâ, you choke out, hands shaking as they claw at his shirt, demanding it off. Taehyun obliges with an almost breathless sigh.Â
Never before had you seen another manâs naked body. Your father had always deemed privacy to be part of etiquette. Only when you were young had you caught a glimpse of your mother in the mirror. But even she had quickly shied away and urged you out of the bathroom. The body was a sacred place. Taehyunâs is filled with darkness. So is yours. That made you similar, you think.Â
His skin is damp, the remnants of the rain outside laying as evidence across his bare chest. The muscles rippling across his stomach tense under your reverent touch, a shallow exhale passing his chapped lips as your nails trace every crevice and contour. Deep in your bones you knew that this was wrong, that there was no return from the path you were descending. But your soulâs fate was already sealed off, so why should it matter?Â
Your attention flickers to his face as you try and gauge his reaction, though you find Taehyunâs dark eyes glued to your chest. It is then you realize that there was nothing covering you from him. The one thing your father had urged you to treasure; so easily given away to nothing more than a mere thief. Your nipples harden, but whether that was from the chilly air or Taehyunâs hot stare, you did not know. It feels weird. Not bad. Just weird. Foreign.Â
He doesnât touch you. You wish he would. Does he not want you? Perhaps he doesnât find you beautiful. The possibility makes you shudder. Instead you reach for his hand, fingers sliding along his just like they had before. You guide him slowly, letting his knuckles brush against your stomach, then your ribs. His palm is rough against your smooth skin when it settles against your breast and you exhale a shaky breath.Â
No one has ever touched you like this before â so intimately. It was sacred. Taehyunâs hand against yours doesnât feel wrong, it doesnât feel dark nor tainted; but right. You let go, arm falling limply to your side as you watch the confusion on his face morph into something else; something dangerously close to desire. His thumb brushes against your nipple, pausing when he feels you shiver beneath him, his eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort. When he finds none, he continues.Â
Your eyes flutter as his lips brush along your collarbone, the touch faint on your warm skin â so close yet so far away. He leaves soft almost unnoticeable kisses along your chest, each one more sure than the last. His hand squeezes around your breast, the subtle action making your back arch off the mattress as your head tips back. âMoreâ, you plead, uncaring for the way your voice wavers on the last syllable.Â
Taehyunâs mouth finds the edge of your jaw, his kisses are hotter now â almost feverish. âDonât expect me to stopâŚâ He rasps between pecks, hands leaving your chest as he pulls your nightgown past your legs, tossing it aside to be forgotten just like the rest of the room had been. You only shake your head, thighs parting as you invite him further; to a place where no one else had before ventured.Â
Taehyun doesnât bother to look, he feels you with his fingers â brushing over parts that make you feel euphoric. A silent moan rolls off your tongue, something so ungraceful and wrong but all you can feel is pleasure. He kisses you again, harder this time, not quite matching the slow and gentle caress of his fingers between your legs. It doesn't matter. You kiss him back in a frenzy, mouth parting to let him in just like your window had so many times.Â
Your father hasnât crossed your mind once. His harsh words no longer linger. For every kiss, every touch of Taehyunâs, his darkness covers the one your father had left. Itâs a slow, almost tortuous process; but you would not succumb. Your fingers tangle in his dark and dirty hair, desperately tugging on the messy strands as you pull him impossibly close, closer than anyone had ever come. He would be the first. Your heart hopes he will be the only.Â
âMake it stop.â You barely register the words as they leave your lips in a hushed whisper. But Taehyun does. He stills against you, kiss breaking apart suddenly as he leans back to look you in the eyes. You wonder if he can see the fear lingering within them, if this scares him just as much as it does you; if he wants this just as much as you.Â
The sound of what you assume to be his zipper echoes through the darkness, and Taehyunâs mouth is back on yours. âI will.âÂ
It hurts at first. But itâs not the same kind of pain your father would give you, the one of punishment; the one of sin. This was different, for better or worse you did not know. Taehyunâs forehead is pressed against your own, sweat sliding down the side of his face. He pauses, hand on your waist as he keeps you still. âAre you okay? This usually hurts the first time.âÂ
You swallow as you nod. The burn was good, you had come to that conclusion. The kind that seared into your soul, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. You welcomed it. âYesâ, you breathe, arms wrapping around his neck as you attempt to move him closer, âI like it.âÂ
Taehyun doesnât hesitate after that, his hips snapping against yours with force that makes you wince. The bedframe rattles against the wall, the paintings you had hung up, the ones you had painted on your own, move back and forth in tune with each thrust he gives. The pace he sets is brute and unforgiving, the one that leaves no room for the dark thoughts that had plagued your mind all night.Â
âKiss me again.â The demand slips out before you can think twice, your eyes wide when they meet his. Taehyun wordlessly complies, lips reconnecting with yours in a violent mess of teeth and tongue, the kind where you didn't know where one of you ended and the other started. You think you merged into one at some point, your shared darkness bleeding into a joint pool of nothingness, leaving your bodies untouched; even if just for tonight.Â
For the first time for as long as you could remember you allowed yourself to be everything and nothing at all. This was the closest you had ever come to freedom â your body felt like it was floating, levitating off the mattress, taking you somewhere far away. Except Taehyun is with you, and you donât mind, you want him there, as close as possible, never to let go.Â
âTell me if itâs too muchâ I can slow downââ He exhales against your lips, pulling back enough to let you catch your breath. But you only shake your head, trembling hands reaching for his face. The sharp and jagged edges of his jaw feel soft under your touch, nothing like the Taehyun you thought you knew. âMore, I want moreâ, you manage to gasp, one of your legs weakly lifting to wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, closer.Â
Taehyun groans, his head falling to your shoulder as he lets the kiss go on for what felt like forever. Time lost all concept when you were in his arms, and though you should feel scared, terrified even â you donât. Taehyun is the darkness, the sin and the impurity your father has spent all his life warning you about. So why arenât you screaming? Why does your body burn not from pain but pleasure?Â
Perhaps your father had been wrong⌠Or had you been cursed all along? Doomed from the beginning.Â
Your thoughts short circuit when one of Taehyunâs rough hands reaches between your joint bodies. His touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake, forcing your back to arch off the mattress as you writhe beneath him. His fingers brush against a spot, one that you had no idea would make you see the night sky so clearly. A gasp of surprise rips from your throat, lips stuttering against his when the knot that had been building in your stomach for so long disparates into an explosion of pleasure.Â
Taehyun smiles against you, listening to the way you whine and gasp under him. âDo you feel good?â He murmurs, breath warm against the side of your face. The question isnât mocking, but you know that it is purely rhetorical. Still, you fervently nod your head, hands pawing at his shoulders in a pitiful attempt to ground yourself. âYesâ, you exhale as you pull him in for another kiss, like you couldn't get enough. âYes, more, please more.â
You can only moan in exasperated protest when Taehyun does the very opposite of what youâve asked of him. He pulls away slowly, taking the burn and the heat between your legs with him, making you feel oddly empty. âWhy?â You dumbfoundedly ask, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you try your hardest to prevent him from slipping further. Taehyun doesnât answer right away, instead his lips brush against your tense jaw as he hums.Â
âLike thisâ, he finally exhales, forehead resting against yours. Your breath hitches when he grabs ahold of your hand, guiding you just like you had him only moments prior. Your heart races in your chest when he lets you touch him â trusting you enough to let you⌠He makes the most wonderful noise when your fingers wrap around him, warm and alive in your palm, throbbing with desire for⌠for you.Â
âFuck.â The curse rolls off his lips without intent. Dark brows furrowed together, he bites his bottom lip. âH-ah, keep doing thatâŚâ He grunts, hips jerking forward into your waiting hand. Your eyes widen, pulse hammering loud in your ears as you readjust your hesitant grip on him. â âLike this?â You timidly wonder, searching his gaze but finding that he was far too lost to even look your way.Â
âUh-huhâ, he groans, voice strained as he leans in to press open mouthed kisses along your naked collarbone. After a moment he stills, body going rigid above yours and you feel him twitch in your hand. Something warm, runny and sticky, it clings to your stomach, running down the back of your hand as you hear him moan into the crook of your neck. Itâs⌠âEverythingâ, you quietly murmur, yet loud enough for Taehyun to lift his head and peer at you through hooded eyes. âWhat?â He rasps, the frown on his face has yet to ease up, even like this, with his face flushed and covered in sweat â he looked just like himself.Â
Your fingers run through the mess on your stomach, bringing your shiny and sticky hand to your face. âThisâ, you hum as you flex your fingers out before you, just barely catching the way Taehyun groans beside you. âItâs everythingâŚâ You finally state. Though you werenât sure exactly what that meant, it still felt right. It felt like everything. This, you and him, the way the guilt had washed away, leaving your bones hollow.Â
Taehyunâs arm wraps across your waist, his touch warm and grounding in the darkness. âIt stopped?â He wonders, thumb brushing against your naked hip. You sigh, chest rising and falling slowly. It did not hurt to breathe, the pain in your heart was not gone â far from it, but tonight it was nowhere to be found, chained somewhere far away where it couldnât reach you. Turning your head to the side, you find Taehyunâs eyes in the dim light.Â
âIt stopped.âÂ
X
Fuck, Taehyun should have never done that. Dragging a tired hand across his face, he stifles a groan that begs to be freed from his throat. The air is cold, the silent and dark night pressing in close â something that would normally chill him to his bones, yet tonight heâs warm; burning even. Thereâs a fire staking through his chest, its flames burning big and bright. His entire body simmers with the aftermath of what had taken place in your house, in your room no less. Heâd gone too far, crossed a line he shouldâve stayed far away from.Â
But for every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is you. The way your face scrunched up in pain when he took what no one else had dared claim before. He can still hear the soft and sinful moans that spilled from your lips as he touched you, as he felt you tremble beneath him. Your lips against his, soft hands on his naked chest, gazing up at him with eyes that saw him for something else â like he was worth something, as though he was meant to salvage rather than destroy. His cock throbs at the mere thought of you, a dangerous rush of desire washing over him with each step he takes.Â
The fire, the desire and the longing, it didnât make any of this any more right. âFucking moronâ, he spits to no one but himself. His foot kicks at an overflowing trash can, tipping it over as its contents bleed out onto the street. Taehyun had to force himself to leave your bed, and even then he lingered longer than he should have. You had fallen asleep easily, like nothing else mattered, he guessed you had been exhausted from whatever torment your sick father had put you through. His chest twists at the memory of the bruises layering your skin. The hues of purple heâd so carefully traced with the reverent touch of his fingers as you slept. The bruises you had done nothing to deserve. All because of him, heâs realized that now.Â
Even then, when he knew himself to be the source of your misery, of your pain, had he been unable to tear himself from the comforts of the duvet that smelled like you. Not when you unconsciously clung to him, limp arm falling across his waist as your body curled up against his, something so soft and fragile seeking comfort in a being like him. But Taehyun had stayed, listening to the quiet sounds of your steady breaths. The near permanent frown of worry etched between your brows, nowhere to be seen as you peacefully slept, unaware of the danger that waited for you to come dawn.Â
Then finally his muscleles obeyed him, forcing him to carefully slide out of bed. Tucking the blanket securely over you, breathing in your scent one last time. He had hesitated, but only for a moment before leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. Something to remember him by, even when he was gone in the morning. When the world turned darker than the night.Â
Except, Taehyun did not leave right away. Standing in the middle of your room, he felt like the thief he had been on that first night. His torn and dirty clothes strangely out of place, his ungroomed hair and filthy shoes an intruder in your home. He glances toward the window, the night sky outside beckons him to return, but he doesnât. Instead he heads for your door, opening it with precision, years worth of practice making him soundless as he slips out into the hallway.Â
Heâs unfamiliar with the layout of your houseâs top floor, staying close to the walls, he moves stealthy and sure. Thereâs a particularly menacing door by the end of the hall, he knows what waits behind it, he can feel it â the evil that seeps through the cracks holding this sinister family together. Once he reaches it he doesnât hesitate, grabs the doorknob right away, twists it, pushes the door open.Â
Itâs just as dark as the rest of your house, but darkness has never bothered Taehyun and his eyes immediately fall on the bed in the center of the room. There, the root of all damage rests. A blanket thrown over his tall figure, the flimsy fabric slipping just enough to reveal a pointy shoulder and a face buried in a soft pillow. But the sight of your father is unmistakable. Taehyun strays by the doorway just a moment longer, fingers curled so tightly around the door that it practically shook on its hinges. The book, the one heâd torn apart, flashes before his eyes, its crude words igniting a new and different kind of fire within him. âAnimal. Undeserving of life. Impure. Sinner.â This man had labelled him as such.Â
He moves closer, feet silent on the floor as he approaches the sleeping man. Hovering above him, close enough to where he can clearly make out the raspy breaths passing his lips, Taehyun scowls. Pathetic. That is exactly what the old man looks like. So ridiculously full of himself that he doesnât even realize something far more sinister is standing on his doorstep, watching him slumber. Taehyunâs eyes flicker to the exposed juncture of his neck, such a fragile thing. Reaching a hand out, his fingers pause just above your fatherâs slightly wrinkled skin.Â
The prospect of killing another man had never crossed Taehyunâs mind. But as he watches the man sleep, knowing what kind of a monster he was â what he had done to you⌠He could kill him. If he wanted to. If you wanted him to. Taehyun knows you wonât. Youâre too loyal, a blind dog helplessly following its owner. Even after⌠The scowl on his face deepens, fingers inching closer, he almost thinks he can hear the faint pulse of the sleeping man.Â
He jerks his hand back suddenly, hand curling into a fist as he takes an abrupt step back. Not tonight, not like this. Thereâs too much at stake. You. He canât help but imagine your expression, the way your face would fall when you walked in and realized just what Taehyun had done⌠Even if it had been for you. With a frustrated groan he turns on his heel, slipping out of the bedroom just as quietly as he had come.Â
And thus heâs walking down the vacant street. Ignoring the trash can heâd just kicked to the ground as he ventures past the closed stores. His hands are buried deep within his pockets, still trembling with resentment â hatred for a man whose existence he had been unaware of up until a few weeks ago. It shouldnât bother him, he had seen worse. Children dying of famine, elderly succumbing to the cold out on the streets⌠This should be nothing. Why does it feel like everything?Â
Your scent still lingers on his clothes, the floral smell dancing across his nose, making him inhale deeply as his eyes flutter. Taehyun doesn't even realize where heâs walking, his feet carry him on their own accord, guiding him past broken streetlights and alleyways inhabited by rats. Itâs not until he reaches a particular window.Â
Coming to a slow halt, he finally lifts his gaze only to realize that he has been here before. With you. His eyes fall on the stiff and lifeless mannequins. Theyâre dressed in the same colorful dresses, but his attention is fixed to the one by the center. A bright green dress that flows, even around the unmoving doll, flowers dotting around its entirety, reminding him of life that blooms in spring.Â
His mind drifts to your conversation on that particular night. âDo you like it?â He had asked, watching as you had practically glued yourself to the window. âI doâ, you had replied in breathless awe. Taehyun, unable to understand your fascination for such a flimsy and easily obtainable garment for someone like you, had brushed the matter off once more. But everything is different now and as he regards the dress, something in his chest moves.Â
âCan you afford it?â You had asked the question timidly, like it might offend him. He had hesitated, how was he supposed to explain that he had nothing but his damaged pride and broken bag to his name. You were too different, there was no way for you to ever understand someone like him. âNo.â He remembers finally saying, and after that you had dropped the topic again. But Taehyun still caught your longing glance, the way you had sighed to yourself before you continued walking, as though you were seeing it for the last time.Â
He stands in front of the display window for a long moment, this time without you by his side. The dress stares back at him, taunting him through the glass. His tongue prods against the inside of his mouth as he weighs his options. But the look in your eyes, forever engraved in his mind, is what wins him over in the end as his hand curls up into a fist.Â
XI
The birds rise before you do that next morning. You hear their soft chippering, beaks pecking gently against glass. The sound jostles you awake, a sound so familiar â Taehyun. But when you throw a glance toward the window, thereâs no one there, only small feathery beings hoping for a few spared crumbs. Disappointment fills you and upon glancing around your bed, you find it just as empty as your chest.Â
Your body feels weird. Sore. The first thing you note is your legs, their refusal to cooperate properly when you try and swing them over the mattress, hand shooting between your thighs to soothe the ache there as you wince. Memories of last night dance before your eyes when you squeeze them shut. His lips trailing over your chest, your mouth and jaw, the bruises on your wrist. You remember his hand between your legs, your own fingers pressing harder against the dull ache as you recall the way he had touched you.Â
Inhaling slowly, the scent of him fills your senses. That musky almost earthy scent â like rain in early mornings, grey, cloudy skies and windy nights. He still lingers, even after heâs gone and you cling to the remnants of him. Allowing yourself to fall back down against the sheets you bury your face in the soft pillow. One hand still between your thighs, a small sigh passes your lips when your fingers carefully rub over the place Taehyun had.Â
You force your eyes shut, willing yourself to remember his face â the way his body had felt against yours, the way he had felt inside you. A gasp, loud enough to fluster you, trembling fingers sliding beneath the fabric of your nightgown. Sin pools in your gut, you can feel it on your hands, warm and slick. It should disgust you, make you want to stop, jerk away and wash yourself clean of all impurity. Instead you want to bask in it. You want to remember Taehyun. The way he had kissed you, touched you â the way he had taken away the pain. If you pretend, then you can feel him, still with you, still touching you; still soothing the agony inside you.Â
For a long time you donât move. Time passes in an incoherent manner, you hardly keep track. Everything smells like him, your hand between your legs makes you feel as though he was still there. You know that there is no return now, no salvation, you have taken the final step and allowed yourself to be condemned to sin. Only when the pleasure wears off, when the heat in your stomach bursts and simmers down into nothing â only then do you leave the memory of Taehyun behind in your sheets.Â
You bathe, drowning yourself in warm water, just the way you had drowned in darkness. Hands sliding over your body, but it doesnât look the same anymore, or maybe youâre seeing it for the first time? Parts of you that no one had ever before touched, that you had never before dared even think about â the parts that made you lustful, the ones that led you to sin. Your body looks different under the water, you caress it with newfound intrigue.Â
This is what you look like, this is how you will always look like. You tell yourself the words, gaze trailing over your pointy knees, the bend of your elbow, the dip where your hip meets your thigh, your fingers, spread out before your eyes. For a moment you think about what it would be like to die, if it was as painful as father said. Without thinking twice you lean back. The water swallows you whole, covering your face. Your eyes sting but you keep them open anyway. The surface is so close â close enough for you to just lift your head an inch, then you could breathe again. But you donât.Â
You wait, but for what you donât know. A bubble escapes your lips when you exhale what little air remains in your lungs. You have no idea how much time has passed, but then the pain comes. It starts out a dull ache but quickly grows to something much bigger. Your ribs have gained their own heartbeat, straining and begging wordlessly for reprieve. Your lungs scream for air â muscles tensing under the water as you fight off the urge to save yourself.Â
Salvation was beyond you. There was no reason for you to lift your head, to breathe the air you had taken for granted. But your body wonât give up. It keeps pleading with you, making your face twist in discomfort as you regard the blurry outlines of the ceiling through the surface. The world beyond does not seem real from here, perhaps it had never been. The water makes you feel small, insignificant. It mocks you, you can feel it, hear the menacing laughter as the waves crash against your ears.Â
With a shuddering gasp you emerge once more. Hands clutching the sides of the tub, your chest heaving and your mouth agape as you take jagged breaths. If this was death, then your body did not want it. At least not yet. If you had really been damned, if there was really nothing left â your body would have let you die in that tub, but it didnât. It must mean something.Â
â¸â¸
Once the water turns cold you get up, wrapping a robe around the body you had spent hours caressing. Your feet are light on the floorboards, avoiding the spots that would creak under your weight as you head for your room. But before you can make it, just as your fingers graze the doorknob, there she is, mother. Her solemn eyes are watching you from down the hall, aged hands clasped together in front of her. She looks as though she might speak, her lips slightly parted in a sentence forever unspoken.Â
âMother, IâŚâ You trail off, your words falling short as you glance between her and the door that led to safety. She must be worried, you had not come out to greet her nor father all day. âIâm fine, just feeling a little under the weather⌠Perhaps a cold.â You pull the robe tighter around yourself to suppress an imaginary shiver. Your mother regards you quietly, her saddened expression unreadable.Â
âPerhapsâŚâ She finally hums, giving you a small almost unnoticeable nod. For a while everything is still, the two of you unmoving as you gaze into the otherâs eye. Mother doesnât speak again and when she turns on her heel you realize that she has no intention to. You watch as she disappears down the stairs once more, her shoulders stiff and heavy with the years worth of grace she pretends to carry.Â
When the back of her head is no longer within sight you turn back to the door, twisting the handle as you swing it open. Your bed is still unmade, your room is a mess â impure and dirty. But it is not the tousled sheets or the crooked paintings that your attention falls to, but the window across the room â open and swinging softly in the afternoon breeze. How odd. It would always be sealed shut, suppose you had forgotten last nightâŚÂ
However the open window is not the only anomaly for there is something on the windowsill, something that hadnât been there when you left for your bath. Covered in old newspapers, wrapped messily and imperfectly, a gift? With caution you near the mysterious item, eyes flickering out through the window as you search for anything, for anyone. But the package had come alone. Hesitantly, your fingers stretch for the wrapped bundle.Â
The newspapers are rough against your freshly washed hands, they looked old, dated back to weeks ago. Father never let you read those, he would keep them locked away in his office, saying they were dangerous nonsense, lies the non-believers would feed you. And you had believed him. Though as you turn the peculiar item in your hands, you find that the papers surrounding it were of little importance. You begin unwrapping it, carefully tearing the news articles apart to uncover what was beneath.Â
Your breath catches in your throat at the sight, the familiar fabric staring back at you like an old friend. As the last piece of newspaper crumbles to the floor, the dress in your hands folds out to reveal itself. Green and flowy, bright flowers blooming across the entirety of the garment like a meadow in spring. Your mouth hangs open, hands trembling as they run across the dress in disbelief.Â
Quickly you drop to your knees, pushing around the torn newspapers in search of something, anything that would indicate his presence. There, crumpled up and nearly torn in half amongst the paper you had so carelessly ripped apart, is a note. You pick it up, eyes scanning across the messy and nearly unreadable handwriting:Â
âThought you said you liked it.
Be careful with it, itâs expensive
       â T.âÂ
A smile pulls at your lips without you even realizing it. The dress, the one that had captured you completely after one glance. He remembered. Fingers curling around the soft fabric, you bring it to your nose as you inhale. A small part of you thought you could smell him faintly on it â or perhaps you were just telling yourself that. You glance toward your mirror, longing to know what it would look like on you. But before you can rise to your feet, your fatherâs voice booms through the house. Thatâs right, dinner with the Choiâs, it was tonight.Â
You scramble toward your bed, shoving the dress beneath the mattress where you prayed it would remain hidden. It would have to wait, just a little longer.Â
â¸â¸
The air is different tonight. The Choiâs house is not what it once was. Or perhaps it is just the same. Only you had changed. Thereâs a darkness lingering around you, a curse attached to your very being. It taints the dining room, clinging to the tapestry walls and coating the silverware in its black, thick tar. The house knows you no longer belong there. You can feel it as it tries to repel you. Its roof is closing in, the windows bending into narrow slits â caging you.Â
Your father knows too. He and your mother, they sit stiff at the table. Hands kept to themselves, eyes downcast as they ate in silence. No one dares interrupt. No one wants to shed light on the matter so painstakingly obvious. The Choiâs are quiet, despite being your hosts. They, too, must know. You thought you could feel their eyes on you, heavy with disappointment as they regarded your every move.Â
The food before you is delicious. At least you think it might be. It tastes bland on your tongue, like your body was rejecting it; killing you slowly from the inside out. Still you force yourself to take another bite, then another, washing it down with some water before digging back in. Your throat protests when you swallow, stomach churning in disagreement with every mouthful.Â
Father had brought you here to torture you. To force you to live through the mistakes you had made, to see the world you were leaving behind. It did not hurt in the way you thought it would. It feels like a slow death, where everyone knows youâre drowning but no one reaches into the water to pull you back up. Because they know. They know you have jumped in by yourself. And a man who wished to drown should not be saved.Â
After dinner you slink back into the shadows. A place you had learned to appreciate after your time spent with Taehyun. They no longer scare you, and as you creep down the familiar hallway of the Choiâs house, you remain just as silent as the night outside.Â
Your feet lead you to his room, the one you shouldnât enter. Because Soobin should not want to see you. Yet you knock, hand curled into a fast as it taps against the wood. You wait anxiously, heart drumming in your chest as you wipe the sweat from your palms. â He opens it moments later, tall figure looming over you. His eyes are the same warm brown they had always been, and youâre reminded of why Soobin had been promised to you in the first place. He was everything you needed, everything you should want. Why does your heart betray you?Â
âCan I come in?â An absurd request, one he should deny. But Soobin is too good, too selfless. He nods without second thought, stepping aside as he holds the door open for you to enter. With slow and heavy steps you make your way inside, eyes roaming the familiar books stacked along his shelf, his room a near replica of your own â except Soobin doesnât dream of long beaches, the ocean and the forest. Heâs devoted to your father, through and through; just like you should be.Â
The mattress creaks under your weight when you sit down, the sound awkward in the otherwise silent air. Through the corner of your eye you see his lanky frame, shifting awkwardly by the now closed door. âSit with me.â You softly request of him, your voice sickly sweet, even to your own ears. To your surprise, he complies, hesitant legs carrying him forward until heâs seated right beside you, arm brushing against yours. For a while you sit there, unmoving, listening to each otherâs quiet breaths. He doesnât attempt to speak first, you donât expect him to.Â
You turn to him slowly, eyes finding the side of his face, the soft contour of his cheeks, the gentle slope of his nose and the slow blinking of his soft lashes against flushed cheeks. Soobin reminded you of yourself â a version now long forgotten. What you could have been. Someone pure, someone true. Your fingers curl around the ironed sheets, lips parting as you hesitate to ask the question plaguing your mind.Â
âDo you like me?âÂ
He freezes, shoulders squaring up like he was preparing to fight something. His once relaxed and soft jaw is now clenched tight, brows pulled together in a small frown. Heâs not looking at you, eyes fixed by a spot on the wall before him. You can see him hesitate, the gears turning in his head as he thinks of a proper response. âI doâŚâ He finally says, but itâs as though heâs tasting the words on his tongue for the first time. It was just like how you would reply to your father when he asked a question you did not have the answer to; when you used to pray whatever came out of your mouth was the words he was seeking.Â
Soobin does not like you. He knows he should. He tells himself that he does. Perhaps he isnât even realizing that he is lying right now. But you want to believe him, you want to believe that there was at least one thing left for you in this world. Soobin could be your salvation⌠Maybe, just maybe. You were willing to try.Â
His face is tense when the tips of your fingers brush against his cheek. You can hear his breath hitch in his throat, the air getting lodged halfway before he emits it in a shaky exhale. Thumb against his chin, you turn his head toward you, slow and deliberate. If you could just believe, if you could just make his lie become the truth, maybe there was hope after all.Â
Soobinâs eyes widen tenfold when you lean in, lips awkwardly parted when you press your own against them. A noise of surprise leaves him, but he doesnât attempt to push you off. The kiss is nothing like the ones you had shared with Taehyun. It doesnât set your soul on fire, doesnât take away the pain, shame and the guilt. Instead you think it might just intensify it. Frustrated you kiss him harder, tongue slipping inside his mouth as you ignore the way he yelps.Â
His hands are firm on your arms, gripping onto you awkwardly as he attempts to kiss you back. It feels wrong, forced, but neither of you stop. If you could just recreate that night, if you could just allow yourself to feel what you had felt then⌠Maybe it would all be okay. You let your eyes fall shut, and instead of Soobinâs lips against your own, you imagine Taehyunâs, thinner, chapped and filled with darkness. The warm hands on your arms become rough and dirty, the ones you are accustomed to. For a moment you manage to lose yourself, to feel a small fire settle across your chest, the flames slowly growing bigger.Â
You barely even register that your hands have moved down his body, fingers working the buttons of his shirt open one by one. Soobinâs staggering breaths are mere background noise. All you can see is Taehyun, heâs vivid behind your closed eyes, alive and so close. You think you might even hear him, the low drawl of his tongue; âI canât make it stop.â And he had, for one night he had made it all go away. Now it was all you could think about, the burn that would numb all your pain, the need to feel Soobin even closer, to pretend that it was real.Â
Once his shirt is fully unbuttoned you donât pause, you donât give yourself the time to look at him. It would break the illusion, diminish the flames and put out the fire. You need to burn. So you reach for his pants, trembling hands undoing his belt in a hasty manner as you press messy kisses to his jaw and neck. Soobinâs hands are digging into your arms, so hard it hurts. Itâs not until you fumble with his zipper that he finally says something.Â
âStop.â The word is gasped out, a breathless plea that settles over you like ice. You freeze, eyes opening to meet his, and suddenly Taehyun fades back into the shadows; like he had never even been here in the first place. Soobinâs chest is heaving, his forehead glazed with sweat and his soft brown eyes uncertain and fearful. âWe canâtâŚâ He rasps out, his voice trembling, âWe shouldnâtâŚâÂ
Those exact words, theyâre so familiar. The ones Taehyun had given you, the uncertainty behind his usually dark and cunning eyes. But you had pushed him further, you had demanded he took your pain away. And now Soobin⌠The guilt is back now, stronger than ever, but for all the different reasons. You withdraw your hands from his pants, jerking back on the bed like you might hurt him if you came too close. You probably already had. There was something wrong with you, something dark, sinister. Cursed. But Soobin he wasnât⌠He was not Taehyun, nothing like him. Yet you had⌠You had tainted him with your darkness, just like you had let yourself be tainted.Â
âIâm sorryâŚâ You stand hastily, fingers curling up into fists by your sides as you swallow down the lump in your throat. Soobinâs watching you, still seated on the mattress, confusion and trepidation painting his face. The darkness within you was consuming you slowly, but it was your darkness, yours to bear. It was not meant for Soobin. No matter how much you want him to be your salvation, he can never undo the mistakes you have made. He should not have to pay the price of your burden.Â
You stumble backward, hands blindly searching for the door. Leave, you should leave now; leave while there was still hope left for him, before your darkness took him as well. Your fingers wrap around the doorknob, twisting it firmly. Soobin is still watching you, his face flushed, pants and shirt still halfway undone. The guilt forces your next words from your throat, âForgive me.âÂ
XII
Taehyun returns, just like he knew he would. He always did. In fact heâs been thinking about you all day, even when he tries not to. Itâs almost like a curse, the way you suck up his entirety â clinging to the corners of his mind as you inhabit everything that is him. He wonders if youâve gotten the dress, if you like it, if you were grateful for it. He glances down at his bloodied knuckle, the torn cloth heâd wrapped around it is stained crimson. It was worth it. It all was. Even now, as he shuffles along the slanted roof leading to your window, the ache in his bent knees is worth it.Â
He nears the glass, heart drumming in his chest in a way it usually wouldnât. He should hate it, this foreign feeling. Instead he finds himself leaning into it, following it as though he was pulled along on a leash, legs helplessly carrying him forward. â Itâs dark outside, nightfall settled hours ago and Taehyun had waited patiently as he watched the sunset, his thoughts constantly wandering to you. Right now heâs grateful for the darkness as it shields him from view; thereâs only one person he wants to be seen by.Â
The flicker of green is what catches his eyes, something moving on the other side of the glass as he creeps closer. Youâre standing in the middle of the room, back turned to him. But all he can see is the dress, the one heâd gotten you. The fabric flows around you, its floral pattern glowing softly under the small light by your desk. Heâs imagined you in this dress far more than heâd like to admit, and it looks even better like thisâŚÂ
Bottom lip caught between his teeth, heâs so caught up in the way the garment hugs your body that he doesnât even realize how oddly still youâre standing. Shoulders tense, like you were bracing yourself for something. Nor does he catch the way your hands clench into fists, trembling ever so slightly by your sides. No, heâs far too lost in your beauty, something heâd grown so fond of in such a short period of time.Â
His fingers curl as they tap against the window, once, twice. You donât turn to face him and the look of longing on his face quickly turns to confusion. He regards you a moment longer, wondering why you refused to acknowledge him, there was no way you hadnât heard him. He knocks again, his impatience quickly seeping through the usually tender movement. Itâs then he realizes something is wrong.Â
His gaze drops, the hatch is left undone â the glass would give way with one push, allowing him inside. Before he can stop himself he reaches out. The air inside is warmer than that of the cold night, it caresses his front the way it always would. Taehyun has one foot on the windowsill when your voice stops him.Â
âGo away.âÂ
He freezes, a chill running down your spine. You sound different, colder, detached. There was not the same curiosity that would lace your every other word, the slight pitch to the end of your sentences when you spoke passionately. For a moment he sits perfectly still, the sole of his shoe pressing against the windowsill, fingers curled around the ajar window. You had tried to push him away before. This was different. Something had happened, something had changed.Â
âPlease leave. Iâm⌠Iâm not decent right now.â Your voice cracks, just slightly, just enough for him to catch. It only makes him want to push further. Normally he would never overstep your boundaries, which was ridiculous given what he did for a living. Suppose things were⌠compromised when it came to you. Tonight though, tonight he canât force himself to leave â not even if you screamed for him to.Â
His feet land against the wooden floor with an almost soundless thud, but youâve most definitely heard him. Your shoulders draw up even further, hands trembling almost uncontrollably as you refuse to turn to him. âI donât want to leaveâ, he says, and it is the truth. Taehyun canât think of anywhere else heâd rather be. He takes another step forward, ignoring the way the house groans under his weight when he approaches.Â
He expects you to flinch away from his touch, maybe even yell at him. But when his hand reaches your stiff shoulder you do nothing. Your skin is cold, nothing like the warm fire it had been on that night. He turns you slowly, filled with both dread and anticipation of what he might find. But nothing could have ever prepared him for the sight of you. Destroyed. Shattered to pieces, just as broken as the china heâd tipped over on that fateful night, the one that had started everything, ultimately leading to this.Â
Your skin is dull, cracked. A dried path of blood trickles from your nose, leading all the way to your sealed lips. Your nose looks crooked, in a way that is sure to hurt. Worst of all were the colors spilled across your neck, yellow, blue, purple â the fingerprints of someone else, of someoneâs violent touch still alive on your body. Your lifeless eyes stare back at his, not afraid, not angered, just⌠defeated, like you had already given up.Â
You donât say anything. You donât have to. Taehyun knows exactly who did this, he knows exactly who is to blame. The thought of that man, the man you call father, makes his blood boil. He should have killed him that night, ended him when there was still a chance left â when he had yet toâŚÂ
âIâm sorry.â You choke the words out on a half hearted sob, your body quivering as you heave a breath. Taehyun frowns, what for? He opens his mouth to speak but the question becomes lodged in his throat when you gesture toward the floral dress. Blood stains the once bright fabric, soaked into the flowers and tarnishing something so pure with evil. âI⌠I wanted to look pretty for you but Iââ You shake your head, silent tears rolling down your cheeks as you avoid his gaze.Â
A new emotion surges within his chest, one he had never felt before. It scares him, the way his jaw clenches without his consent, eyes flaring with a rage he did not recognize. Yet his hands are surprisingly tender against your naked arms. The wrath within him is not meant for you, he recognizes that. And so he touches you tenderly, like you might break under as much as a puff of air. He pulls you closer, leaving no space between your bodies, until he can feel each jagged breath you take.Â
âYouâre beautiful, always.â He whispers, lips brushing against your forehead. He doesnât know if he sounds believable, but itâs the truth. Never in his life has he meant something more. But his words canât undo the damage your father has caused, he knows that. You continue to cry, even when he promises to keep you safe. How could he ever keep evil at bay if it existed within every fiber of you? Your father had sunk his claws deep in you, rooted firmly. He would only withdraw them when he was dead. Taehyun knows that.Â
âIâll make it stop.âÂ
The statement hangs heavy in the air, itâs what finally makes you look at him. Your eyes are glassy, filled with unshed tears. âHow?â You shake your head, already giving up, âNo one can.â
He feels you anchor yourself to him, fingers curling around the fabric of his torn shirt â clinging on to something so dirty like it was all that mattered. Taehyun has never mattered before, not to anyone, not even himself. But youâre different. You give him purpose. He knows what he needs to do. âDo you trust me?â He asks, palm resting against your wet cheek, silently begging for you to say âyesâ.Â
Moments pass, moments of painful silence that are filled only by the rapid beating of his heart. Then you nod, so subtle that he almost misses it. You blink once, emitting a shaky exhale as your hold on his clothes loosen a fragment. â âStay here.â Itâs not a request, he doesnât bother masking the intent behind his next move, and you donât bother asking. Silently you let go of him, hands falling to your sides as youâre left alone once more.Â
He hesitates but only for a second, his hands cradle your face gently â his touch ghost like. Pressing his lips to your forehead he tries to savor the feeling of your body against his. âIâll come back for you.â Itâs the last thing he says before pulling back, withdrawing back into the shadows as he heads for your door.Â
The hallway just outside your room is dimly lit â an eternal corridor leading down somewhere dark. Led by a carpet laid out onto the floor, Taehyun follows it as he descends down its path. His steps are heavy on the wooden boards, each thud like thunder against the sky. He doesnât care who hears him, he wants to be seen; needs to be heard. Heâd lingered in the dark long enough, heâd let things play out just the way your father had intended for them to. No more.Â
A single door is left ajar, a thin streak of warm candle light spills out onto the opposite wall. It beckons him closer, and Taehyun obliges. The light doesnât scare him. He knows whatâs waiting for him on the other side, something sinister and evil, the root of everything damned in this house. He burns with rage, burns with desire to uncover and destroy it. Taehyun doesnât knock, he doesnât have to, the door is opened for him. His hand pushes it aside, and he takes the step over the threshold.Â
He finds himself in a study, a small and peculiar room. Itâs different from the rest of the house, forbidden, he can tell. Three out of the four walls are home to bookshelves, each one crowded with literature as the books fight for space â he recognizes some titles, heâd seen them in libraries whenever he took shelter from the rain. Thereâs piles of newspapers that clog the table in the center of the room, spilled ink and a candle burning slowly on the mahogany wood. This place is chaos, a reflection of the man behind it all; his mask was slowly slipping.Â
Slumped against an armchair on the opposite side of the table, elbow propped on the wooden desk, is your father. He looks like shit. The weight is gone from his face, his cheeks hollow and sunken in â as though heâd aged a decade since Taehyun had last seen him, before he knew anything; when he thought that this man was nothing but a simple widower. Now he knows the sinister truth behind the seemingly frail man before him, what lingers behind his cold and sharp gaze. That is the only thing that has yet to change. The icy glare of his soulless eyes.Â
With a begrudging sigh, one that comes from deep in his chest, your father lifts his gaze. His glasses have slid down his nose a considerable amount, yet he doesnât bother to push them back up. He drags his eyes across Taehyunâs figure by the door, slow, lazy. He doesnât look in the least surprised to see him, not threatened, not even angry. In fact it looks almost like he was seeing an old friend, perhaps he even felt inclined to make a remark on his tardiness. There was something seriously wrong with this man.Â
âIâve been expecting youâ, your father finally speaks, his voice a low but powerful drawl, âI knew you would come.â He leans forward in his chair, the furniture creaking under his movements. Then he picks the glasses from his nose, neatly putting them down on the messy table before him with methodical and practiced ease; like he had all the time in the world.Â
For every passing second Taehyunâs confusion mounts. He should be lunging at this man â shove his fist against his already crooked nose, break his jaw, leave him bloodied and bruised; just like he had you. Instead he finds himself rooted in place, unable to move as much as a finger. He swallows thickly when your father makes another request, his voice far too calm, too collected for the situation at hand: âClose the door behind you. Come sit with me.âÂ
He doesnât know why he obliges, why his hand almost instantly reaches for the doorhandle as he brings it shut. The click that follows rings out in the office, sealing the moment between the two of them. He hesitates, but only for a second, then he steps forward on wary feet as he approaches the chair opposite your father. With only a desk separating them, Taehyun sinks down on the soft cushion. His dirty clothes are contrasting against the clean velvet, but he doesnât care â and neither does your father.Â
âTea?â He asks, but heâs already placing a cup before him, pouring hot water with trembling hands. Taehyun blinks once, wondering where the pot had even come from. But your father doesnât give him time to ponder as he stirs the tea with a spoon, once, twice, three times before tapping the cupâs rim. Taehyun eyes the beverage suspiciously, half expecting it to be poison. Then he catches your father pouring his own cup from the same pot, and he relaxes, fingers flexing against the armrests of his chair.Â
Taehyun thinks he looks small like this. Your father. His tall frame is to little avail when heâs sat, his lean arms do not appear strong enough to take anyone down, especially not him. Heâs old, driven to the brink of madness â wrapped in a web of his own lies. He would stand no match to Taehyun. But as your father brings the cup of tea to his lips, silently fighting off the tremors in his hands, Taehyun finds himself unable to look away.Â
âI know what you areâ, he finally rasps upon setting the cup down. Despite his physique weighing him down, the cold chill of his sharp glare remains. It pierces Taehyun in one go, its intensity making his muscles tense and he fights down the shudder that creeps along his spine. He holds his ground, jaw clenching as your father addresses him with a condescending sneer, like he thought he was somehow better, cleaner.Â
He continues in that same, low, drawl-like but demanding voice. âYour kind, I know what you do to people â I know what becomes of those around you.â Then he suddenly leans forward, the movement so sudden that Taehyun is taken aback. The chair squeaks, announcing its unease and filling the momentary silence until he speaks again, âYouâve ruined my daughter.âÂ
The statement feels like a gun has been shoved to his throat and Taehyunâs fingers clench around the armrests. âHow do you know?â He asks, his voice betraying underlying intrigue wrapped in a delicate layer of burning rage. Your father sighs, like heâd expected the question â perhaps the conversation even bored him to some extent. His hands curl against the wooden table, eyes flickering to the flaming candlelight, its yellow glow painting the side of his bitter face. âFilth like you cannot keep its hands away from something as pure as my daughterâ, he pauses, hand trembling slightly on top of the table, âYou become infatuated, you think you owe her something, that she needs your sin.âÂ
His fist slams against the desk, the sound loud and brute in the small office and Taehyun nearly flinches in his seat. Your father heaves a ragged breath, eyes burning with barely concealed fury. âYou are killing her.â He spits the words out like they had personally offended him, lips twisting into a scowl as he allows himself to slump back in his chair. His gaze slowly shifts to a point Taehyun canât see. âYour filth has sunk its claws so deep in her thatâŚâ He trails off, eyes moving subconsciously, like he was seeing something Taehyun couldnât. âAnd then what becomes of her?â He huffs, the sound coming out almost a laugh. âAn animalâ, his dark eyes flicker over to Taehyun, âSomeone like you.âÂ
Taehyun bites his tongue, jaw clenching as he swallows down the words on his lips. Heâs at war with himself. He peers down into the teacup before him, watching as the liquid swirls around in the porcelain. Your father was wrong. He was nothing but a sadist wrapped so deep in his own lies that they were now his only truth â heâd started worshipping them, believing them to be a call from above. âYouâre a liarâ, Taehyun spits, fingers clawing at the chair when he suddenly leans forward. Thereâs a flash of surprise that strikes your fatherâs features, the way he pauses for just a moment, brows furrowing on his forehead.Â
âYour daughter was dead before I even laid my hands on her.â Heâs shaking now, sweat beading on his forehead as the words claw themselves from his throat. âYouâve killed her â slowlyâ, a sly, almost sinister smirk tugs its way across his lips; his next sentence bordering on a crazed laugh: âCanât you see? Youâre all dead. But her? You killed her before she even had a chance to live.âÂ
âLiesâ, your father seethes, his face contorted in rage. Itâs not enough to make Taehyun back down, not now, not when he had him so close â right where he wanted him, on the brink of snapping, just the way he knew he could. Your father raises his voice, hatred spilling from him in forceful waves. âYouâre a liar! An animal!âÂ
That word. That demeaning and belittling phrase. Itâs what makes him snap. The sound of his chair tumbling backward fills the room as Taehyun jumps to his feet. Not even a second later heâs lunging himself across the table, just barely avoiding the teacups as he aims for your father. His chest is heaving, but not from exertion. His hands find your fatherâs neck, curling around him like a vice as he drinks in the gasp the old man emits. âShouldâve thought about that before letting me in your house then, huh?â Fingers digging into his neck, Taehyun can feel his racing pulse beneath his palm. âAn animal like me, you shouldnât let them get so close â shouldnât talk to them like thatâŚâ He says in mock sympathy, brows pulling into a small frown as he squeezes around his neck with all his might.Â
What Taehyun doesnât expect is the sharp and sudden pain that flares up in his side. Itâs sharp, digging through the torn and dirty layers of clothes he wears and piercing his skin. It pulls a sharp hiss from his throat, his grip momentarily faltering on your fatherâs neck as he glances down. There, buried in the side of his stomach, was a knife. That son of a bitch was armed. â âYouâre going to regret thatâ, he snarls but your father is quicker. He twists the knife, making Taehyun go nearly cross eyed as he releases his grip completely.Â
He stumbles backward on shaky legs, back hitting one of the shelves as books pour out in the commotion. His side throbs, the pain pulsating throughout his entire body. Taehyun grips onto the bookshelf, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to gather his bearings. He shouldâve seen that coming. He shouldâve⌠The small âtskâ your father emits pulls his attention toward the old man.Â
Still sitting by his desk, your father leans back in his chair. One hand rubs at his neck gingerly whilst the other one brings his unfinished cup of tea to his lips. His nonchalance is what gets to Taehyun. How could he just sit there, how could he⌠With an infuriated groan, he pulls the knife from his side â biting through the pain that flares as he instead redirects his full attention to the man you had warned him about since the beginning.Â
His feet move before he can stop them, limping across the floor as he aims for the old man so casually sipping his tea. He raises his fast, knife gripped tightly in his hand. Taehyun just manages to catch the glimpse of his face, the brief widening of his eyes, cup still raised to his lips. He strikes hard, arm straining as he slides the knife through his chest, free hand braced on the manâs shoulder as he pushes him back in his chair.Â
He makes a gargled noise in the back of his throat, blood rising rapidly as he chokes on it. The teacup has slipped from his grasp, shattering against the floor â porcelain scattered everywhere. Taehyun doesnât hesitate, twisting the knife as far as he can, he burrows it even deeper. Your father moans out in pain, the fury on his face gradually replaced by dread as death creeps into his every fiber. But the look in his eyes, that icy and indifferent stare, it remains.Â
Taehyun wants to look away, his mind is screaming for him to let go and back up. But he canât. He needs to see this through, all the way to the end. Instead he leans in closer, nose almost brushing against the old manâs, hot breath mixing with his dying one. âYou were rightâ, he huffs, still holding onto the knife with a white-knuckled grip. Your father groans, his lips moving to no avail, the words never make it out. But Taehyun imagines he wants to protest, tell him how he reeks of filth, how much of an animal he is.
He laughs, the sound sinister to his own ears but it doesnât matter. Giving the knife one final push, he watches with gleam in his eyes as your fatherâs body convulses. âYou were rightâŚâ He sighs, âIâm the animal you want me to be.â Â
The flicker of fury on his face, despite life draining from him by the second â itâs satisfactory. Taehyun finds himself watching just a moment longer, and when the last bit of life finally slips from his cold and soulless eyes, thatâs when he knows his purpose has been fulfilled. He huffs once, shaking his head. That had been too easy, far too easy. Everything a single man stood for, brought down by something as simple as a knife â raised by a hand such as Taehyunâs⌠He doesn't have time to ponder it.Â
With a stifled groan he jerks back, leaving the knife in your fatherâs chest, its final resting place, he muses to himself. Then he takes a step back, intent on finding his way back to you. He doesnât know how heâs going to explain himself, what he could possibly say to make it all okay. It doesnât matter. In his haste he bumps into the table, the one heâd been watching your father across for what felt like forever. The force of his hip meeting the wood however, causes the burning candle to topple over. Taehyun reaches for it, but itâs already too late.Â
The flames reach the scattered news articles, then the spilled ink â then itâs alive. Itâs warm, incredibly so, and Taehyun squints against the orange glow, arm coming up to shield him from the embers as he tumbles backward. Everything within this office was made out of paper or wood, the ink only acting as fuel to a fire that had been waiting to happen.Â
With wide and horrified eyes Taehyun watches as the flames swallow your father, the way they crawl along his limp body, eating away at his skin rapidly. Soon there would be nothing left of him, nothing to bury, nothing to remember. â Then, as if he had just woken up from a year long dream, he flinches. You. You were still here, still in your room, waiting for him to come back; just like heâd promised.Â
Taehyun bursts through the door, coughing as the smoke curls around him. The fire chases him down the hall, eating away at his heels. He picks up his pace, running as fast as his limping body would allow him. The gash on his side still throbs, blood oozing out with each breath he takes. Just a little longer, a little further, then he would have you in his arms. Your door is right there, he can see it â it fuels him with the strength he needs to push through the last bit.Â
He barges into your room, your gasp of surprise ringing like clockwork in his ears. He blinks once, then twice, coughing the smoke that somehow had managed to sneak its way to his face. Then he feels your hands, so soft, too soft, and theyâre everywhere â âAre you hurt? What did you do? I heard yellingââÂ
His fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements when you reach for his cheek. âWe have to goâ, he groans, grimacing at how weak he sounded. The wound on his side was not going to ease up, the longer he spent here the worse it would get, the closer the fire would come. Itâs only then, when the dark and cloudy smoke sippers through the cracks of your door that you react. âOh my godâŚâÂ
Taehyun sighs, any other day he wouldâve made a remark of some kind. Not tonight. His eyes fall on the window, still ajar â the one heâd entered and fled from so many times. This would be the last. He pulls you toward it, ignoring the way his side screamed in protest at his every move. You struggle behind him, âWaitâ My mother!âÂ
He shakes his head, âThereâs no time.â If he had to guess, the smoke had gotten to her already. But he couldnât break those news to you, not now, not here. You reach the window, and Taehyun uses what little strength he has left to haul you up on the windowsill. Finally seeming to catch on, youâre quick to crawl out onto the slanted roof, stopping only when you realize that he isnât following you. âWhat are you doing?â You shriek, and Taehyun can feel your gaze on him as he braces himself against the window frame.Â
Your hands are trembling, fingers digging into his shirt and he almost wants to give a chuckle at your attempt to pull him along. âWhy are you just standing there, come on!â Youâre yelling now, your voice louder than heâs ever heard it before. He wants to protest, tell you that he canât, that the pain in his side would just make him double over before he got another step in. But then he remembers the godforsaken drop down the roof. You wouldnât be able to make it on your own.Â
He groans, in both pain and frustration and a moment later heâs hauling himself onto the windowsill. The flames have entered your room by now, swallowing everything you held dear in big hungry mouthfuls. He just barely manages to pull his feet out before the embers catch him. And heâs given no time to rest as you begin fervently tugging him along. âCome on! Come on! Come on!â He can clearly make out the panic in your voice, the one youâre not even bothering to hide.Â
Taehyun lets you pull him along the roof, stumbling and limping awkwardly as he clutches his side. His vision was already beginning to lessen, how much blood had he lost? He shakes his head, a futile attempt at keeping himself on his feet. Your voice keeps floating in and out, he can see you, but not clearly. Then finally, you reach the rooftops ledge.Â
You hesitate, just like he knew you would. Despite the fire roaring behind you, the houseâs top floor is engulfed in flames â you still sway on your feet, biting your bottom lip as you eye the drop. âCome hereâ, his voice is strained, he hopes you wonât notice. He holds his arm out for you to take, and when you do he pulls you to his chest.Â
Youâre in his arms again, at last â it feels better than he likes to admit, scary almost. But you fit so perfectly here. âWhat are you doing?â Your voice is a frightened, high pitched murmur. Your breath sharp and jagged against his chest. âTrust meâ, he says, just like he had on that night, the night that now felt so long ago.Â
He feels you cling on to him tighter, fingers digging into his clothes. Taehyun knows he wonât make the fall, it doesnât matter. You trust him, heâs going to save you â that means something. It means everything. He buries his face against your shoulder, inhaling your scent one last time, his chest swelling with a feeling he canât place.Â
Then he lets himself go boneless, and you fall.Â
XIII
The dress is slightly wrinkled as you pull it from beneath your mattress. It doesnât matter, itâs just as pretty in your eyes. The pads of your fingers caress it softly, running along the smooth fabric with reverent touch. A smile tugs at your lips, the memory of Taehyun fresh in your mind â his dark and wild eyes, the hot caress of his hand on top of your own. â You strip before your mirror, and for once, you do not hesitate to let your eyes linger on the parts of your body you would always hide.Â
The green dress slides on with ease, settling perfectly over your frame, the fabric flowing past your knees when you give a small twirl. With a quiet hum your gaze trails along the multiple flowers that adorn the garment. If you listened hard enough you thought you could hear the quiet chirping of birds in the morning sun, even smell the freshly cut grass. But most importantly you see Taehyun, you imagine him lying next to you on an open field, his face stripped from all pain, yours too.Â
But the serene moment is quickly disrupted. You hear his footsteps before your mind even registers whatâs going on. Theyâre barging up the stairs, aiming for you. Father. But why? He would always keep out of your room unless necessaryâ The pounding to your door jolts you from your position by the mirror, fear settling over your features.Â
âA minute pleaseââ But itâs to no avail, heâs already swung your door open. His chest is heaving, his usually put together frame uncharacteristically disheveled. Worst are his eyes, dark with rage as they zero in on you as you stand, clad in something he had since long forbidden you ever wear. âYou think I wouldnât find out?â He barks, taking an invading step inside your room. The floor creaks and groans under his weight but father pays it no mind.Â
âI⌠Father, I don't know what youâre talking aboutâŚâ You hold your hands out in surrender, stumbling backward on uncertain feet as you avoid his imposing presence. But he only scoffs, a sound so disappointed it makes your heart twist. âI knew you were ruined, filthy even â but I never thoughtâ, he takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he tries and fails to compose himself. âNever did I think you would spread your evil â to that boy no less?âÂ
You canât help it, the way your brows draw together in a frown. What was he talking about? âFather I donâtââÂ
Whack!Â
Itâs harder this time, harder than heâs ever punished you before. The strike across your nose stings, your vision fading for a moment before it comes back. With a shaky hand you reach up to touch where the throb lingers, horrified you find blood smeared across your fingers once you pull them back. But father shows no sign of remorse, no sign of stopping.Â
âYou think Iâm going to sit back and let you poison all of our community?â He grabs your shoulders, jerking you back and forth like you weighed nothing in his grasp. âYou filthy animal!â He snarls, hand coming up to strike you across your face once more. It hurts, but not nearly as much as his words do, and you canât keep the tears from streaming down your cheeks.Â
âAnd thisâŚâ His voice drops an octave, suddenly taking on a much graver form. You shudder when his fingers brush against the dress you wore, tugging on the fabric slightly. âThe clothes of a sinner â is that what you are?â He practically roars, hands balling into fists as he tries to tear your dress apart.Â
Youâre sobbing now, choked gasps escaping your lips as you vehemently shake your head. âFather please donât! Itâ Itâs a gift!â It doesnât matter how much you beg, how much you cry, it would never change his mind. It would never undo the damage youâd caused. âThatâs even worse isnât it?â Your father says, his fingers curling around your neck with a force that terrified you, heâd never done something like that before, ever. âYou look like a prostituteâ, he spits, hands squeezing around your throat as he cuts off your air supply.Â
The scream never makes it past your lips. Trashing and kicking, your nails claw at his hands in an attempt to break free, itâs no use â he would never let you off. This was not like the death you had experienced in the bath tub, nothing like the stillness of the water as it surrounded, this was a muted scream â agonizing and raw.Â
For a moment you think he might actually kill you. Father had always terrified you, for as long as you could remember, but never had you considered that he might⌠This was not how you wanted to die, this was not how you were going to pay for your sins. Could father not see that? Or did he deem your time to be up?Â
Itâs then, when you think you might just succumb to the darkness any moment, that he finally lets go. You fall to the floor, hands clawing at your throat as you gasp and scream for air. Father remains quiet, unmoving as he stands before you. Once youâve finally caught your breath you glance up, meeting his dark and piercing gaze with wide and frightened eyes. He doesnât speak, but you know what heâs thinking.Â
Filthy, dirty, undeserving of life, animal.Â
His shoe meets your stomach in one forceful kick, sending your back against the floor with a loud thud. Then, without waiting for you to get up â without even listening to a word you might have to say, he turns and walks out again. The door is slammed shut behind him, causing the paintings to rattle on your wall.Â
The tears are still rolling down your cheeks, hot and warm â never ending. You peer down at your dress, blinking to see through your own crying. Itâs stained red, your own blood having spilt on the once beautiful fabric. It only makes you cry harder as you wrap your arms around yourself, rocking back and forth slowly.Â
â¸â¸
After a while the pain in your body subsides and you finally rise from the floor. But just as your feet had found their footing, you realized there was nothing for you to do. You turn to the left, then the right, then back toward your door. And then you stand, unmoving, almost unblinking. Time passes slowly but youâre not keeping track anymore, youâre merely; existing.Â
It is therefore impossible to tell how long had passed when you hear a familiar tap to your window. Itâs light, quick and sharp â the way Taehyun would always knock. It sends a jolt of something down your spine, fear? Dread? You donât know. All you know is he needs to leave. He cannot see you like this, it would destroy you. But Taehyun is persistent, as he had always been. He taps the window again. You wonder how long it will take for him to realize that you had left it unhatched, open for him and him alone.Â
Another pause. Then you hear its soft creak as the window is pushed aside. âGo awayâ, you can barely get the words out, your tongue feels lazy and uncooperative. But you feel him pause, hesitation radiating off of him. You can tell heâs not budging and you try again, this time a little louder. âPlease leave. IâmâŚâ A mess? Ugly? Not who I want you to see me as? âIâm not decent right now.â Is what you settle for.Â
He doesnât reply, not outwardly at least. You can barely hear him as he lands on the floor, silent as night â the way he had been when heâd first snuck inside your home all those weeks ago. Of course he wouldnât listen⌠Still, you had been the one to leave the window unlocked. Though you donât turn to face him, you canât, canât face him like this. Your hands are trembling by your sides, you try to calm them down but itâs no use.Â
âI donât want to leaveâ, his voice comes from somewhere behind you, closer than you would want it. The house groans in protest when he takes a step closer and your shoulder nearly jerks when his hand finds it. But you remain still, just as still as you can, breathing slowly through your nose. You donât resist him when he gently grabs hold of you, turning you to face him.Â
The second you meet his eyes you want to hide. Your face is broken, ruined. You donât want him to see this version of you, the ugly and shattered one, the one you had tried so hard to conceal. âIâm sorryâ, you choke on a sob. An apology, it was all you could give him â your eternal remorse and guilt for what you had allowed yourself to become. Your body quivers as you heave a breath, fresh tears brimming at your already bloodshot eyes. âI⌠I wanted to look pretty for you but Iââ You canât finish your sentence, the shame is too much to bear, you avoid his gaze as the tears continue to spill down your cheeks in silence.Â
Taehyun remained quiet for a moment, the only indication of his presence was the slow breath he took and his rough hands against your arms. Then he pulls you, closer than anyone would ever get. His lips brush against your forehead. âYouâre beautiful, always.â He whispers, the words make the hairs on the back of your neck stand, a shudder rippling through your body as another sob wracks through you.Â
âIâll make it stop.âÂ
He says it like itâs the simplest thing in the world. Like he could just take away the sin and the pain. Finally you lift your gaze to meet his, seeing him through bleary eyes, âHow?â you shake your head, âNo one can.â Then you cling to him, harder than you ever had, fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, he was the only thing that could give you some semblance of truth, of belonging.Â
âDo you trust me?â He asks, his voice low and serious. Trust. You had trusted Taehyun since the night you had let him lead you out of your window, when you had jumped and heâd caught you. You trusted him. His hand is warm against your wet cheek and you lean into the soft touch. A small, almost unnoticeable nod, itâs all you can muster. Then you exhale, letting out the air that had been building in your chest as you let go of his shirt.Â
âStay here â Iâll come back for you.âÂ
You trust that he will.Â
â¸â¸
The wait seems to go on forever. You pace your room back and forth, feet padding barefoot on the floors. Anxiously you gnaw at your nails, throwing impatient glances toward the clock. Five minutes, then ten, then fifteen⌠What was taking him so long? What was he doing⌠You had a feeling you already knew, deep down in your chest. Your fatherâs face appears when you close your eyes, the same look of rage burning within his eyes.Â
After what feels like an eternity you hear it, yelling, coming from somewhere in the distance. You canât make out the words, their voices are muffled, but it scares you. You think about your mother, probably hiding in her bedroom right now â just like you were. The shouting stops just as quickly as it had come, an eerie silence settling over the house.Â
Half an hour has passed when you finally pick up on the footsteps that are near your door. Your heart pounds in your chest, fearful of who might burst through your door. If your father came here⌠You would die. He would kill you.Â
But it is not your father that reveals himself on the other side. You almost want to cry at the sight of him. Without thinking you rush forward, hands reaching for his face in an instant. âAre you hurt? What did you do? I heard yellingââ You pause when you feel his fingers curl around your wrist, his grip trembling.Â
âWe have to goâ, he croaks out, the words followed by a strained grimace. Confusion and fear settles in the pits of your stomach. What did he mean by that? But before you can ask the question you smell it. The foul and thick scent of something burning. There, sippering through the cracks of your door is black and heavy smoke â its claws reaching for you.Â
Your mouth falls open, âOh my godâŚâ The flames come second, hot and alive as they eat away at your sealed door. Taehyunâs sigh pierces the air, his gaze fixed on something behind you. Then heâs pulling you along, moving toward the window with urgency. Instinctively you follow him, until the thought of your mother crosses your mind once more. âWaitâ My Mother!â But Taehyun only shakes his head.Â
âThereâs no time.âÂ
The realization sinks in deep, and as you throw one last glance over your shoulder you can see the flames, having eaten their way through the door, attacking your walls next. The paintings you had so carefully hung up, the ones of the beach, the long dwindling rivers and the grand forests⌠They were all rapidly crumbling into nothing right before your very eyes.Â
You donât even register whatâs happening, not until Taehyunâs hands grip your hips and youâre hoisted from the ground. The windowsill is cold against your thighs, but you move quickly â crawling out on the rooftop as you try to escape the burning embers. Time was slipping through your fingers and if you didnât move soonâ Wait, whereâs Taehyun? You pause, turning around only to see him still inside, hands braced against the window and his head bowed.Â
âWhat are you doing?â You asked in a panicked shriek. There was no time for stalling, why was he not following you? When he makes no attempt at moving your fear rises. âWhy are you just standing there, come on!â You donât care for the yelling, your screams were barely overpowering the loud roar of the fire. Reaching out, your hands yank at his clothes, trying and failing to pull him through the window.Â
Finally, as though a switch had been flipped inside of him, he relents, pushing himself up and through the window as the flames brush against the sole of his shoes. âCome on! Come on! Come on!â You desperately plead as you yank him to his feet, already hurrying along the roof. Taehyun stumbles behind you, nearly tripping over his own feet and you fear he might just fall. But then you see it, the familiar edge, the one that would take you away from here.Â
As you reach the ledge you stop, feet planting against the roof, heart thundering in your chest as you peer down to the grass below. The drop wasnât too far, youâd done it once before â you could do it again⌠You had to⌠Taehyunâs voice carries out like a wave against shore, crashing against you in a strained murmur. âCome hereâ, his arm is reaching for you and the second you reach for it he pulls you to his chest.Â
He feels warm, safe. âWhat are you doing?â You quietly ask, unable to hide the frightened edge to your question. You should be jumping by now, fleeing the fire that had swallowed the entire top floor of your house. But Taehyunâs arms only wrap tighter around you, like he was afraid to let go. âTrust meâ, he says, and this time you donât have to doubt him at all. You trust Taehyun with your life.Â
His face is buried against your shoulder, and you cling to him even tighter. Then the roof suddenly disappears from beneath your feet, and you fall.Â
It doesnât hurt. Not in the way you thought it would. Maybe itâs because youâre not on the ground, not yet. Taehyunâs chest is warm under you, moving slowly with each breath he takes. You donât open your eyes â you donât dare to. Behind you the house screams in agony, the hot fire eating away at it rapidly. The warm flames can be felt even here, the bright lights pushing against your closed eyelids.Â
But you were outside, free. Slowly you lift your head, it throbs but only for a moment. Then you turn to glance over your shoulder. Each window has smoke spilling from it, reaching high up in the sky, begging to be released. The flames are violent â but not evil. You watch as they break down the cage you had lived in all your life, piece by piece. Soon there would be nothing left, nothing but ashes to remind you of what had once been, of what you had once been.Â
And you feel⌠relieved. You exhale a breath you hadnât even realized you were holding in. This house⌠The thing you had thought to be the most sacred place in the world. It was all coming to an end, and you would be set free, at last. âYou did itâ, you sigh, hands curling a little tighter around Taehyunâs shirt as you watch the flames a moment longer, eyes lingering on the embers that sparked around the burning wood.Â
âYou made it stop.âÂ
Silence.Â
You turn back to Taehyun, brows pulled into a frown. The warm glow of the fire caresses the side of his face, and you find him already looking at you with those dark eyes; the way he always would. âTaehyun?â Your smile has yet to waver, the feeling blooming in your chest still beats strong.Â
His lips part, a ragged breath escaping them as he answers. âYeah.â His voice is strained and the short response is followed by a pained grimace. You blink, the smile falling from your lips as you stare at him, eyes trailing over his pale face and the way his chest moves in uneven and jagged breaths. âWhatâs wrong?â You sound almost accusing, but you canât help it.Â
He shakes his head, wincing as one of his hands shoots out to press against his side. You sit up then, eyes following his trembling hand to a dark spot on his shirt. Blood. âWhat?â Your voice wavers as you place your hand on top of his, âWhat is this?â What a stupid question of course you knew what it was, part of you just doesnât want to believe it.Â
Taehyun doesnât reply, just stares up at you with those same, annoyingly perfect eyes. The same ones you had told yourself were filled with sin, tainted with darkness. But you had been wrong all along. Taehyun wasnât evil, he wasnât dirty or impure. He was light. The only light you had ever known. And all this time you had thought he had been the very oppositeâŚÂ
âItâs okayâŚâ Your voice cracks, you know itâs not. Still, your hands reach for his, lacing your fingers together to make one. âItâs okay â youâll be okayâ, you nod to yourself. âDoes it hurt terribly?â You ask, looking for something, anything to stop the bleeding with. â âIâm fine.â He says, wincing slightly when you put too much pressure on the gash, âBeen through worse.â You can tell heâs trying to brush it off, act stronger than he is.Â
âItâs okay â just keep still, Iâll fix thisâ, you murmur, fingers reaching for the hem of your dress as you prepare to rip a piece off. Taehyun stops you, his grip on your wrist is weak, hand shaking as he halts your movements. âDonâtâ, he croaks, eyes silently pleading with you, âItâs beautiful on you⌠Donât want you to ruin it.âÂ
A frustrated whine slips from your lips, âHow could you say something like that right now?â The once green and vibrant dress is ruined, stained with both blood and dirt. How could he possibly find someone so grimy⌠beautiful? â You hadnât even noticed the tears spilling down your cheeks, not until Taehyun lifts a trembling hand, fingers carefully swiping away the salty essence of every single emotion you were feeling right now.Â
âCome, lay with me.â The request is so softly spoken, it almost sounds nothing like him. But if you lay down now, if you stop, if you give up⌠You shake your head, stubbornly pressing your hands against the bleeding wound on his stomach. âNo⌠No, Iâm going to make it better. Iâm going to fix it. Just⌠JustâŚâ Your words fall short, tears still sliding down your face and landing on his heaving chest.Â
Taehyunâs hand is warm against your arm, despite the tremors running through him heâs still touching you like you were the most fragile piece of china in the world. âPleaseâ, he says, tugging you closer with little strength, âI want you in my arms, one last time.âÂ
You let yourself be pulled back onto his chest, cheek resting against the beating of his heart. You listen to it, letting your eyes fall shut as your fingers curl in the loose fabric of his shirt. âWeâre just restingâŚâ You murmur, shuddering when his arms wrap around you, âJust resting⌠Then weâre going to make you better. Save your strength.âÂ
Somewhere above you Taehyun hums, he doesn't protest, but he doesn't agree either. It didnât matter. You were going to make it alright. You were going to save him, just like he had saved you. â For a while everything is silent, the house is still burning behind you, the flames dancing across the place you had once called home. The night is cold but Taehyun is warm against you, so is the heat of the fire, smoldering your joint bodies.Â
Beneath you, Taehyun takes a deep, shaky breath. You can clearly hear the effort it takes for him to even do that. It makes your heart hurt. Then he speaks, his voice low and strained. âDo you remember⌠the night we met?â The question catches you off guard, your fingers tightening their grip on his shirt. âOf course I do.âÂ
How could you ever forget? His dark silhouette in your living room, his alarmed expression when youâd caught him in the act. The vase heâd so clumsily broken, the bag heâd left behind. You had replayed your first encounter many times in your mind, mulling over his words, the look in his dark eyes â the same dark eyes you would grow so accustomed to over time.Â
âI think about it a lotâ, Taehyun murmurs, his fingers moving absentmindedly along your arms.Â
âYou do?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
Heâs silent for a minute, like he was basking in the moment just a second longer. Another deep breath, you feel his chest rise and fall under you. âYou havenât left my mind since that night.â He admits, the words so quiet in comparison to the roaring fire. The admission makes your head lift as you peer at his face. Heâs looking up, eyes tracing the stars in the sky when he speaks, âIt was annoying at first⌠Not being able to get you out of my headâ, he muses, a small grin tugging against his chapped lips. His arms tighten around you, his voice strained as he continues. âGot used to it after a whileâ, his eyes flicker to meet yours, âNow I never want you to leave.âÂ
Your heart beats faster at that, fresh tears threatening to spill as you hastily blink them away. âThatâs so sillyâ, you murmur, a half-hearted smile tugging at your lips when you let your head fall back against his chest.Â
âIs it?âÂ
âNo⌠Itâs actually kind of sweet.âÂ
Another silence stretches over the two of you. The fire burns hot and alive, the entire top floor of your house has collapsed in on itself. There had been no screams, no agony â just silent relief, freedom. You glance toward the sky, the night is still, stars twinkling above you, they seem closer now, perhaps they were reaching for you, or you them.Â
You wonder what life would be like now â without your father. Taehyun had not said a word about him. But you knew he was dead. You could feel it in the way the wind moved, how the grass seemed to reach just a little higher, growing a little wilder. Something had been lifted, or perhaps pulled down and buried. Either way it was gone. He was gone. â Mother was gone too. That was different. A quiet sorrow, the one that lingers in endless rivers and calm oceans. One that would be remembered, but not grieved.Â
Taehyun heaves another breath beneath you, the exhale he emits is raspy, strained. He coughs once, blood coating his bottom lip. You try to sit up, a shaky hand reaching for his face. But he stops you, arms tightening their hold on you. âStayâ, he chokes, weakly pulling you against his chest, âStay in my arms.â
You can barely hear the beating of his heart now, itâs faint and slow against the shell of your ear. âYouâre just resting, right?â You quietly ask, your voice cracking on the last syllable, âTaehyun?âÂ
âI amâ, he quietly hums, arms still wrapping around you tight, stubbornly refusing to let go. Itâs okay, heâs going to get better. He just needs to rest, just needs to regain his strength, then the two of you can leave together, go somewhere nice. Perhaps you can even get a home together⌠That would be nice, Taehyunâs first home.Â
Itâs almost like heâs heard your silent monologue, for his arms squeeze around you just a little harder. âYou should go see the long beachesâ, he murmurs, âThe ones in your paintings.â He pauses for a moment, as if gathering strength to even get the next words out. âThey exist, yâknow? Lots of animals thereâŚâ He talks about it like one would an old friend, with quiet longing for someone you hadnât seen in a long time.Â
âWill you come with me?âÂ
You wait anxiously for him to answer, for him to tell you that he would be by your side, holding your hand as you walk barefoot through the sand. But Taehyun doesnât reply. And you can only listen to each strained breath he takes. â Seconds pass, maybe even minutes, you canât tell. All you hear is the constant slowing beating of his heart, doing little to match the fervent beating of your own.Â
âWhat do you think death is like?â He finally asks. The question catches you off guard, it was the last thing you had expected from him, the last thing you wanted to talk about right now. Still, you canât deny him, not when you hear the pained grunts he tries to quiet, the way his arms tremble against your body as he forces himself to hold on to you.Â
Your fingers draw small shapes on his chest, eyes fixed to the way it rises and falls in weak pathetic breaths. âItâs painlessâ, you hum, âIf youâre good. Then itâs just like going to sleep.â Your answer seems to make him think, you can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he adjusts his grip on you.Â
âHow do you know if youâre good?â He wonders, voice low and hesitant, like this had been on his mind for longer than heâd ever admit.Â
âYou are goodâ, you say, palm pressing flat against his chest in an attempt to feel him through the layers of clothes he wears, âYou saved me. You made it stop.âÂ
Through the corner of your eye you think you can see his lip twitch, a small smile tugging across his exhausted face. âYeahâ, he exhales, his body finally relaxing under yours.Â
âI made it stop.âÂ
He doesnât say anything after that and for a moment youâre content with just laying on his chest. The house is still burning not far away â a reminder of what heâd done for you, of what heâd saved you from. You peer at the flames, watching as they move, alive just for you.Â
Thereâs voices on the other side of the house â people. They must have woken up at the sight, possibly the strong smell of smoke. You can hear their worried exchanges, some louder than others, but what theyâre saying remains a mystery. Still⌠You lift your head, trying your hardest to catch a glimpse of them, of anyone.Â
âTaehyun⌠Taehyun, there's people hereâŚâ Your fingers curl around his shirt, tugging on it slightly in an attempt to get his attention. âThey will help you, come on!âÂ
Silence.Â
You swallow, tearing your gaze from the burning house and back to him. His eyes have fallen shut, lips still pulled into a content smile â like he was right where he wanted to be. Your hand presses against his chest, fingers trembling as you listen after his heart. You canât hear anything.Â
âTaehyun⌠You can stop resting now.âÂ
âThereâs people here to help you.âÂ
âTaehyunâŚ?âÂ
Death isnât cruel by nature. Man had made it that way. Your father had made you fear it, heâd made you live by his rules so that one day you would escape the fate handed out to everyone. Father had been wrong all along. For him death was dark â perhaps even painful. He was meant to suffer the way he had made those around him suffer. Death was his punishment.Â
But not Taehyun. Your hand brushes against his cheek, his skin is cold now, his soul somewhere else. Somewhere far away, on a long beach or by a dwindling river, where the sun always shines and the birds fly over the horizon.Â
Taehyun saved you.Â
Death would not be cruel to him.
đă ¤ serene's note hi... did you cry? (say yes) anyway, if you actually read all of this... you're so strong come sit at my table and we can drink cheap wine together. yes anyway, I would love to hear your thoughts or opinions, like I love this fic a lot and I would love to talk to you guys about it :3
