tulip ✧ @starberryhwa - Tumblr Blog

Borrowed Time - Seonghwa x Reader (Part 3)

Summary: You try to be honest and tell your husband about your relationship with Seonghwa, but it doesn't quite go after plan. But you've had enough of playing nice, so you break the rules and give in to your hunger for Seonghwa. But what happens when it all comes crashing down when it's all perfect, and your husband gives you an ultimatum?

Word count: 9.8K

Genre: Fluff, Rich Seonghwa, angst, DRAMA (u might cry), slow burn, smut (YAAAALLLL THIS IS FILTHYYYYY IM SO SORRY MOM AND DAD)

warnings: Seonghwa with reader (fem pronouns), TEASINGGG omg, DOM Seonghwa, fingering, oral (fem receiving), choking, spitting, LOTS of dirtytalk, creampie, aftercare (<3), heartbreak (?), lmk if I missed anything!

PART2

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Seonghwa in any way.

The day after the annual company dinner, you're home alone again, waiting for your husband to be home. The quiet pressing in like a weighted blanket. You’ve opened the same text thread with your husband three times, thumb hovering over a message you never send. The words feel too heavy for a screen. Too fragile to survive being read without your voice wrapped around them.

So you wait. He said he’d be home all Sunday, but there’s no sight of him.

You sit on the edge of the couch, elbows on your knees, hands twisted together in your lap. You’re picking at a hangnail, teeth digging into your bottom lip, while the clock on the wall ticks out its judgment in slow, steady seconds. Every imagined version of the conversation plays through your head, ten different openings, twelve different ways to admit you’ve been falling into something deep and real with someone else. With Seonghwa. With his boss.

But every sentence feels like a betrayal. Too guilty. Too selfish. Too bold. And too late to take back.

You don’t even hear the front door open until it bangs shut behind him with the kind of energy that says he’s already somewhere else in his head.

“Babe! Babe, I’m just grabbing a charger, and have you seen my blue striped shirt?” His voice echoes down the hallway, fast and distracted. You hear his shoes hit the floor one after the other, the thud of his bag against the wall.

You blink, your body lurching upright from the couch. “You’re home late.”

“Yeah, had to grab some things, heading over to her place,” he calls back casually, like it’s not a blade between your ribs.

You follow the sound of his voice, your bare feet quiet against the floor. Your pulse is already climbing, fast and hot in your neck. He’s in the bedroom, already yanking open drawers like it’s a routine he’s done a hundred times. Maybe he has.

His shirt’s only half buttoned, hair still damp from a rushed shower, a duffel bag hanging off one shoulder. He doesn’t even glance at you as he moves.

You stop in the doorway. Hover. “I-, can we talk for a second?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, talk while I pack,” he says, like it’s all so simple. “You always catch me at the last minute, you know that? It’s like your special skill or something.”

You watch him toss a pair of jeans into the bag, roll up a hoodie, cram it in too tight. The sleeves are sticking out. He doesn’t care.

“I have something important to say.”

“Hit me,” he says, not even looking up. “As long as it’s not about the gas bill, I paid it. And hey, guess what? Jen and Caleb broke up. You totally called that, didn’t you?”

You open your mouth, close it. “I-”

“Also,” he goes on, now moving around the room with a momentum you can’t stop, “We’re going to this wine cabin thing next weekend with her friends. Fancy place, hot tub, the works. Kinda insane. You’d hate it.” He laughs, like he hasn’t left you alone for months while you tried to convince yourself this arrangement wasn’t breaking you.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” you say, loud enough that it forces him to pause.

Only for a second. Then he zips the side pocket of his bag and straightens. “Really?” He flashes you a grin over his shoulder. “Finally! Thank God. I was starting to think you were gonna fossilize in front of that dumb dating show you like.”

Your stomach turns. “I-”

“No, seriously, I’m glad,” he says, swinging the bag onto both shoulders like the conversation is a warm-up for something more interesting. “This is the whole point, right? Open and honest. No secrets. No drama. This is growth. Proud of you.” He gives you a joking little salute. “So? Who is he? Mystery man from the supermarket? Did you fall for a barista? Actually-, don’t tell me. Keep it spicy.”

You try again. Your voice is trembling now, no matter how hard you try to sound steady. “I think you should know. It’s-”

He cuts you off, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Babe, I’m happy for you. Really. You needed this. You’ve been so... closed off. Like you forgot how to flirt. It’s good for you to feel wanted again.”

The words land like a slap. He’s still talking, but all you hear is the echo of that condescending tone. Like you’re broken. Like you’re someone he’s left behind without ever saying goodbye.

“It’s Seonghwa,” you say.

But he’s already back to packing, muttering, “Shit, where’s my charger?” as he digs through the mess on the desk. He doesn’t hear you. Or maybe he does and chooses not to react.

Your heart is pounding so loudly you can barely hear yourself breathe.

He finds the charger, tucks it into his bag, and strides over to you. Kiss your cheek like everything’s fine. Like you’re still just his wife waiting around for him to come and go.

“Maybe this means we should keep the open thing going, huh?” he says with a grin. “Not just a year. Could be a lifestyle. You know, modern love and all that.”

You can’t even speak. Your throat’s too tight, your mouth too dry. Everything inside you is screaming, but all you do is stare.

“I gotta go,” he says. “She’s waiting. I’ll be back tomorrow or the day after.”

And then he’s gone. The door closes with a click.

You don’t move.

Not right away.

You just stand there in the hallway, trembling, your chest tight with something worse than hurt, disbelief. He didn’t care. Not even a little. You gave him the opening. You handed him your honesty. And he brushed right past it like it was a grocery list.

You had waited to be fair. Waited to be honest. Made yourself wait. Made Seonghwa wait. Waited until your heart couldn’t hold back anymore. Let the tension simmer, even when it hurt. You held Seonghwa at arm’s length for this?

You don’t even realize you’ve stood there for ten whole minutes until your legs start to ache. The door’s been shut. The apartment is silent. He’s gone. Again. And you’re still holding words that no one wanted to hear.

Something in you snaps.

You tried. You tried to do this the right way. You held yourself back for months, swallowed every urge, every look, every breathless pause between you and Seonghwa. You gave your husband time. Honesty. Respect. And it meant nothing.

Your hands shake as you grab your phone. No texts. No calls. No warning.

You just type in the address and call the cab.

The ride there is a blur. The driver makes small talk; you barely nod. Your knee bounces the whole way, fingers clenching in your lap like you can hold yourself together for just a few more minutes. Your heart is loud. Your mouth dry. Your body humming like it already knows.

You need him.

You need Seonghwa.

The second the cab pulls up to his building, you’re out. You don’t even wait for the receipt. You take the stairs because the elevator’s too slow. Every step feels like shedding.

Guilt, fear, hesitation. Gone. Gone. Gone.

You’re done waiting.

You knock, hard. Then again. You don’t even know if he’s home, don’t care what time it is, don’t care if you’re supposed to be polite.

When the door swings open, he’s there.

Soft shirt, loose belted pants, hair a little messy, like you caught him mid-evening routine. There’s music playing low in the background, some warm jazz tune, and the apartment smells like ginger and something sweet.

He blinks at first, surprised, but the second he sees your face, his expression shifts.

Gentle. Open.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and careful. “Are you-?”

You don’t let him finish.

You grab the collar of his shirt, pull him down, and kiss him like you’ve been drowning for weeks. It’s messy. Desperate. His lips part with a soft sound of surprise, and then he’s kissing you back just as hard.

Your fingers thread into his hair. His hands find your waist, steadying you, grounding you, but you don’t want to be steady. You want to fall. Into him. Onto him. Through him.

His hands find your waist, but you’re already pressing forward, and your back hits the door with a quiet thud. Your hands slide beneath his sweatshirt, nails dragging across the bare skin of his stomach. His breath shudders.

“Wait,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “Did you-, how did it-”

“Shut up,” you whisper, breathless, half-wild. You drag your mouth along his jaw, nip at his skin until he swallows hard. “Just fuck me. Now.”

His hands tighten at your waist. There’s a beat of stunned silence, like you just shattered whatever calm he had left.

Seonghwa’s smirk is all heat and mischief, but behind it, fire. “Yes ma’am.”

He lifts you in one fluid motion, arms firm beneath your thighs, and your breath catches as your back leaves the door. You wrap your legs around him instantly, clinging to the only thing that feels steady right now, him. His lips find yours again, hungry and claiming, as he carries you down the hall like he’s memorized the way blind.

You’re both breathing hard when the door swings open, when he walks you inside like he can’t afford to stop. And he can’t. He places you on the edge of the bed like you’re breakable, his last moment of gentleness, and your back hits the bed. He hovers over you, eyes devouring every inch of your face, your body, like he doesn’t know where to start because he wants everything at once.

Seonghwa doesn’t speak right away. His fingers trail up your thighs, slow and rough, like he’s making up for every second he couldn’t have you like this.

You open your mouth, but all that comes out is a soft whimper when his fingers curl around your hips, tugging you closer so your thighs frame his waist. He leans in, mouth brushing your jaw as his hand slides up, fingers splaying over your throat, not squeezing, not yet, but letting you feel the pressure. The control.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “You have no idea what you just started.” his fingers wrap around your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his. He leans in closer until his mouth brushes your cheek, your jaw, your lips, but doesn’t kiss you.

Not yet.

“Tell me,” he growls. “Tell me I can have you. Tell me you’re mine tonight.”

You whisper, trembling, “I’m yours. All of me.”

He lets out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, but there’s nothing soft about it. It’s dark and aching. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and there’s nothing sweet there now. Just heat. Possession.

His hand slides down your stomach, slow and firm, and your hips arch before he even reaches the edge of your pants.

Your thighs press tighter around him. “Please,” you whisper, already breathless.

He laughs softly, low and cruel and utterly delighted. "That’s cute. But I haven’t even started." He tilts your head back by your throat and presses his mouth to yours, hot and slow, tongue sliding in with a groan like he’s starving.

He doesn’t take you right away.

Not like you expected. Not like you begged for.

He could. God, he wants to. He’s hard already, pulsing against you through his clothes, and every brush of your thighs makes him twitch with the effort it takes to hold back. But he doesn’t move fast. He just watches you for a long moment, thumb brushing the corner of your lips.

“I should make you wait,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “After all the things you’ve done.”

You’re panting, your chest rising with every breath, but you still manage a small, confused sound. “What things?”

He smiles, slow and dark. “Coming to my home in your little dresses, teasing me when you knew I couldn’t do anything. Sitting across from me at dinner like you weren’t soaking wet under the table. You think I didn’t notice?”

You whimper.

He dips his head lower, nose trailing your throat, and inhales. “You wanted me to lose control.”

You try to speak, but his hand slides up your inner thigh and all you can do is gasp.

“You wanted me to break. To forget I’m your husband’s boss. To drag you into a room and fuck you like you were mine already.” His lips brush your ear. “Isn’t that right, my love?”

“Yes,” you whisper, almost ashamed, but you shouldn’t be. Not with the way he growls low in his throat at your answer, like your honesty just made him hungrier.

“But I didn’t,” he says. “I was good.” His eyes roam your body, and there’s heat, awe, and vengeance all at once. “Now?” His hands slide to your hips, fingers curling tight. “Now I’m not going to be good.”

His shirt is unbuttoned now, but still on. His belt is still tight around his waist. Your breath catches, lips swollen, thighs pressed together as you chase after his mouth. He chuckles darkly, dragging his eyes over you as if deciding what he’s going to do to you first.

“You’re shaking already,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles slowly along your jaw. “What happened to the girl who liked to tease me until I couldn’t speak?”

His fingers trace the hem of your top, moving so slow it’s maddening. He drags it up, inch by inch, until your skin is on display, but he doesn’t touch. He just looks.

“Take it off for me.”

Your hands shake as you pull it over your head. His eyes never leave yours.

“Good girl.”

You shiver.

He pulls your jeans down slowly, deliberately, like every inch of exposed skin is something he needs to memorize. His fingers trail down the insides of your thighs as he goes, mouth following with kisses that are too soft, too slow, because he knows it drives you crazy.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs, almost reverent, almost. Because then he grins. Sharp. Dangerous. “So fucking pretty when you’re desperate.”

You whimper, hips tilting toward him, needing him to do something, anything, and he just tuts like you’re a misbehaving student.

“Nuh-uh.” His palms flatten against your inner thighs, pushing you down, keeping you there. “You don’t get to be greedy. Not tonight. You made me wait, sweetheart. Now it’s your turn.” He leans down slowly, lips ghosting across your skin, from the inside of your knee to your hipbone. Not kissing where you need him, not yet, just tracing. Breathing. Teasing.

And when you try to move your hips again, chasing his mouth, he just pins you harder.

“I said wait.”

The growl in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. He kisses up your stomach instead. Licks between your breasts. Sinks back to press one single kiss just above your underwear. And stops there.

He leans in close, lips barely brushing your soaked heat through the fabric.

“Say please.”

You’re wrecked already, panting, trembling. “Please.”

He smiles. “Not yet.”

Then he spits. A slow trail between your legs that soaks into the thin fabric, and finally drags his tongue up the damp center, just once.

You sob.

He grins and pushes your panties to the side. He slides a single, thick finger between your folds, and yes.

You’re soaked.

He moans softly against your skin, lips trailing lower. “Fuck-, listen to that,” he hisses, dragging his finger up and down slowly, gathering the slick. “You’re dripping for me.”

“Seonghwa,” you gasp, back arching.

He pushes the finger in. Slowly. Torturously. “You think one’s enough for you?” he asks, curling it just so. “Or are you gonna be a greedy little thing and ask for more?”

You’re already moaning his name, eyes wet, hands trembling. He adds a second finger without warning, stretching you open while his thumb circles your clit in lazy, teasing swipes.

“Every time you begged and bit your lip and walked away like a good girl, this is what I imagined,” he growls. Then his fingers leave you completely.

His fingers withdraw slowly from your dripping heat, and he chuckles darkly when your hips lift off the bed, chasing him. “No. No, no,” he tuts, dragging his slick fingers up your stomach, up to your lips. “You don’t get to grind up against my hand like some needy little brat.”

He presses those soaked fingers into your mouth, firm and controlling. “Suck.”

You do. You’re eager, moaning around his fingers as your tongue swirls over the taste of yourself, cheeks hollowing like it’s instinct. And it is. Because you’re hungry. Starved. And he’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“God, sweetheart” he groans, his jaw tight as he watches. “You don’t even know how fucking perfect you are like this. You’re gonna ruin me.”

You know he’s teasing you. You know he’s making you wait for him to fill you up but, gosh. Somehow you never want this to end. Him touching you, tasting you, teasing you. It’s all worth it.

“Get back,” he says lowly, voice a dark command as he stands at the foot of the bed. “Hands above your head. Keep them there.”

You obey instantly. He watches you for a moment, clothed from the waist down while you're half-naked and trembling beneath his gaze.

He tosses the belt to the side with a quiet thud, then removes his shirt completely. His chest rises with each breath, toned and golden under the warm lighting, his veins prominent down his arms, jaw tight from restraint.

“You know how long I’ve wanted this?” he mutters, voice rougher now, his control thinning. “Weeks. Weeks of you crawling into my lap, whispering pretty little things, looking up at me with those eyes like you had no idea what you were doing.” He steps back between your legs. “And I didn’t touch you. Because I respected your rules. I waited.”

“But now look at you,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Finally laid out the way I’ve wanted you. Needy, soaking, begging for me.” He starts undoing his jeans, slow and deliberate, making a show of it.

You whimper his name, thighs instinctively rubbing together for friction.

He sees it. “Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

You freeze. He smirks.

Jeans open, he slides them down his hips, leaving only his black briefs, soaked at the tip, the outline of his cock pressed tight against the fabric. And he takes his time climbing back onto the bed, crawling over your body until he’s hovering over you.

“You want me inside you?” he whispers, voice low like a secret. “You think you’ve earned that?”

You nod quickly, lips parted. “Yes-, yes, please-”

His hand shoots out, wrapping firmly around your throat again, thumb pressing just enough to make your breath catch.

“You ready?” he asks, voice deeper, ruined. “You ready for me to fuck you like I should’ve the first night?”

“Yes, please Seonghwa-”

He cuts you off with a hard kiss, tongue claiming your mouth again. But when he pulls back, he goes to place kisses everywhere he can. Your cheeks, your jaw, your forehead, below your ear, your neck. In the midst of his dominance, he still takes time to worship you, make you feel safe. Feel loved.

“Holy fuck,” he growls. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

He kisses you all the way down your stomach. And then, finally, he slides one hand between your legs again, pushing your panties aside, and spits down on your cunt, slow and filthy, fingers immediately spreading the mess over your clit in deep, slow circles.

You cry out, body jerking, but his free hand slams down on your hip to hold you in place.

You’re a wreck. Sweat slicking your skin. Lips parted. Nails digging into the sheets as if that’s the only thing keeping you on this plane of existence.

“You want me to ruin you, my love?” he whispers, finally dragging his tongue over your clit, once, slow, cruelly gentle. “Want me to fuck you like you’ve always belonged to me?”

“Yes,” you cry, high and broken and wrecked. “Please, Seonghwa-, I’m yours, I’m yours, I swear-, just take me, take me-”

He watches you squirm beneath him, the heel of his palm rolling slow, relentless circles over your clit while his fingers just barely dip between your folds.

“You like this?” he whispers, voice like silk over gravel.

You whimper. It’s not even a yes, it’s just sound now, your body too wound up to form words.

And he knows it. His fingers are relentless but never fast, just deep, slow pressure, teasing you right up to the edge.

And then stopping.

Again.

“Seonghwa-, please-” You’re full-on begging now, thighs shaking.

He grinds his cock slowly against your skin, still clothed, letting you feel how hard he is.

Your moan cracks into a sob as his fingers slip away again, leaving you soaked, trembling, and painfully empty. And Seonghwa just smiles.

“That’s it,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “Beg like that. You’ve been making me suffer for so long, baby. Do you know how many nights I lay in bed with your taste still on my lips and my cock in my hand?”

He drags two fingers along your thigh, smearing spit and slick in slow, idle patterns.

“You'd text me goodnight like nothing happened,” he growls, eyes flicking to yours. “Pretending you didn’t grind on me till you came. Acting like I wouldn’t have ripped those panties off if I had half a chance.”

His voice is slipping now. Rougher, lower, needier.

“Look at me.”

You do. Wide-eyed. Drenched.

“Open your legs.”

You obey without thinking, and he grins.

“Good fucking girl.”

He rises to his knees, finally shoving his briefs down and off. His cock springs free, hard, heavy, flushed at the tip. And your body arches before you even realize it, your thighs shaking at the sheer sight of him.

But still, he pauses.

Gripping his cock at the base, he strokes it slow, dragging his palm up and letting his spit drip onto the head before working it down again.

“You want this?” he says through gritted teeth. “Want me to fuck you till you forget your own name?”

You nod, breathless. “Yes-, God, yes, Seonghwa, please-”

He grabs your hips, drags you down the bed toward him. You feel the head of his cock press between your folds, finally, finally there. He rocks forward, just enough to sink in a little—

And then stops. Not even halfway.

You scream. “Seonghwa-!”

He leans down, mouth by your ear. “You’re mine.”

And then, without warning, he slams the rest of the way in.

Your cry breaks into a choked gasp, back arching hard off the bed. He’s deep, impossibly deep, and already moving, dragging out slowly, then slamming back in, harder. Again. And again.

“Is this what you’ve been teasing me for? Driving me crazy, wearing those tight little jeans, grinding on my lap, acting like you didn’t know what you were doing?”

Your words come out in broken moans. “Yes, yes-please, don’t stop-”

“Oh, baby.” His hand wraps around your throat again. “I’m not stopping.”

And he doesn’t. He fucks you like he owns you, filthy, hard, punishingly slow at times just to make you sob.

But the whole time, he’s in control.

Grinning when you beg.

Groaning when your body clenches down.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of reverence, as if he’s worshipping you even in this moment. He pulls out just enough to make you whine, only to slam back in with a force that makes you see stars.

“Seonghwa, please… please…” you cry out, desperate for release, your voice breaking with need. “I need you-, please, don’t stop…”

Seonghwa doesn't waste another second. He moves with a kind of urgency, yet his every action is precise, deliberate. He pulls you into him again, lips crashing against yours in a deep, desperate kiss. His hands are everywhere, tracing every curve of your body like he's memorizing it, every touch stoking the flames of your need.

His hand doesn’t leave your throat as he shifts you, rough but careful, guiding you down with an edge of possessiveness that leaves you dizzy. "Turn over," he growls against your ear, voice dark, ragged. “Face down. Now.”

You obey, breath catching, and he helps you onto your stomach. His hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, dragging your body back to him, not even giving you a second to fully settle before he’s inside you again, thick, hot and unrelenting.

“He might be your husband on paper” Seonghwa murmurs, dragging his palm up your back, nails grazing your skin. “But you’re mine in every other way.”

He grinds his hips slow, purposefully, just to feel your reaction. You let out a needy sound and he chuckles darkly. His hand grabs your wrist and pins it to the mattress. Then the other. His palm presses down between your shoulder blades, holding you there as he places kisses on your back. “You don’t have to do anything. Just lie back and let me worship you like you deserve.”

He pulls out so slowly you want to scream, the stretch of him leaving you hollow, empty, until he slams back in.

“Fuck, Seonghwa-, you’re so good-”

“You like when I fuck you like this, huh? When I can't get enough of you?” he pants, voice right at your ear now, body flush to yours, pinning you down completely. Then his free hand snakes around your throat again, tight and possessive. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, the words ragged, broken, desperate.

“That’s right,” he snarls, pace shifting again, slow, torturous, dragging every inch of himself out before slamming back in. “You fucking are.”

And god, he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let up. The sound of skin meeting skin, the slick, messy wetness of it all, it’s obscene. He’s filthy, ruthless, a man starved, and finally allowed to feast. And yet… through all the roughness, there’s something deeper, rawer.

His pace becomes more erratic, more frantic, as though he can’t hold back any longer. His hands are everywhere now, gripping, squeezing, marking. Each movement is purposeful, designed to make you feel owned, cherished, in the most deliciously painful way.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he grinds out, his voice a low rasp. Your body is trembling beneath him, your breath coming in desperate gasps, and he watches, enraptured by the way you fall apart for him, piece by piece.

You can feel your release building, so close. “Please,” you gasp, barely able to keep your eyes open. “Seonghwa… please… I’m so close.”

He chuckles, dark and low, as if he’s savoring every second of your desperation. “That’s it, that’s my girl. So good for me. Always so good for me.”

He drives into you again, deeper than before, the words setting you off completely. Your body goes rigid with the force of it, your back arching into him, every inch of you trembling.

And that’s when he finally, finally, lets go.

He pulls you into him, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his hand back on your throat, guiding you through your release as his own crashes over him. His grip tightens on your skin, marking you, holding you there, as if he never wants to let you go.

Your body trembles beneath him, legs weak, breath coming in stuttering waves as the final crash of pleasure still echoes through you. Seonghwa is barely holding himself together, buried deep, groaning low and broken against your skin as he spills inside you, gripping your hips like he’s anchoring himself to reality. His whole body is tense, desperate, surrendering.

But the second it’s over, the shift is immediate.

He exhales shakily and gently lowers himself down, his weight easing over you like a warm blanket. His arms come around you instantly, protective, careful, not a single trace of that merciless dominance left in his touch now. He kisses your shoulder, your back, your spine, all soft, slow, reverent. Like you're something sacred.

He eases out of you with utmost care, kissing the center of your spine before whispering, “Don’t move. I’ll be right back, my love.”

The bed shifts as he leaves, and you lie there, boneless, dazed, heart thudding against your ribs, not just from the intensity, but from the weight of the moment. This meant something. It always did.

When Seonghwa returns, his touch is impossibly tender. He kneels beside you and gently rolls you onto your back, using a warm cloth to clean you, every movement slow, soothing, reverent. Not a word is spoken, but his eyes never leave yours, and they say everything.

You reach up to touch his face, but he catches your wrist and presses a kiss to the inside of it, then your palm, then each fingertip.

“I’m sorry I was rough,” he whispers, like the thought alone tortures him.

You shake your head. “You weren’t… not in a bad way. You knew what I needed.”

His arms tighten. “Still… I want to take care of you. Let me take care of you now.”

He finishes cleaning you up and disappears for a moment again. When he returns, he climbs under the covers and pulls you into his arms, your head tucked beneath his chin, your body cradled tight against his chest. He wraps himself around you like he’s trying to protect you from the rest of the world. Like maybe if he holds you tight enough, time will stop.

“I’ll remember this,” he whispers. “All of it. Every second.”

“I will too.”

There’s silence. Soft, heavy, laced with emotion too big for words. His hands roam your back in slow, calming motions. He kisses your hair, your forehead, your cheek.

“I wanted to be good,” he says. “Wanted to respect your boundaries. Your marriage. But every time you looked at me like that... I knew I’d never be the same.”

Your chest aches. You can’t help it, you curl closer.

“I don’t know how to be without you anymore,” you confess.

His arms tighten. “Then don’t be. Even if it’s just like this. Even if we’re pretending the world doesn’t exist.”

You nod, tears stinging your eyes. You don’t let them fall. Not tonight.

Because tonight isn’t for sorrow.

It’s for his hands, gentle as they explore your skin like a prayer. It’s for his voice, low and warm, humming soft nothings into your ear. It’s for his heart, beating steady beneath your cheek, a rhythm you’ll remember long after this ends.

It’s for the way he kisses you like you’re his whole world, even if he can’t keep you.

Even if he never could.

***

It had been a month since you finally caved. A month of living in the quiet space between reality and fantasy. Of pretending that time didn’t matter, that hearts couldn’t break if you just held each other tightly enough.

You and Seonghwa had taken that idea and run with it.

You’d spent almost every free moment in his orbit—lazy mornings tangled in sheets, late-night drives just to hold hands in silence, dinners you cooked together with music playing in the background and wine glasses left forgotten. You found parts of yourself again in his arms. Laughed like you used to. Kissed like you were starving. And Seonghwa, he loved you with the patience of a man who knew he might not get to love you forever.

Neither of you said it out loud. But you both knew.

You were still married, after all. Technically. Legally. Logistically.

And you found yourself, for the first time in a long time, wanting to go somewhere just to see someone’s face light up when you walked through the door.

That’s what led you here.

Late afternoon, just cool enough to wear a sweater, coffee cups warm in your hands as you step into Seonghwa’s office building. You haven’t told him you’re coming. You don’t want to give him a chance to say no. You just want to see him. To remind him that, even in the middle of his workday, he’s wanted. Missed. Thought about.

Of course you know the risk of seeing your husband here, but he usually leaves work before this time. The messages from your husband has grown sparse. Short check-ins about rent, reminders about trash day or Wi-Fi bills. He doesn’t ask where you were. Doesn’t seem to care. He’s always at her place, anyway.

So you stopped telling him where you were going.

You step into the elevator, heart thudding, watching the floors tick up one by one. You know which office is his.

You reach his office door and hesitate for a second, the smell of roasted beans curling up with the nerves in your chest. In one hand, the folder he forgot, left on the nightstand in the rush of morning kisses and whispered promises not to be late. In the other, two coffees from the little place you always stop at together. His favorite, made just the way he likes it.

The door to his office is cracked just slightly open. You push it gently, peeking your head inside.

He’s standing near the window, phone to his ear, one hand in his pocket as he speaks with that low, composed voice he uses when he is working. His jacket is gone, his tie loose, a few buttons undone. You watch him a second too long, how could you not?

He glances up mid-sentence and freezes when he sees you.

His eyes widen, then softens in that familiar way that always makes your stomach flip. A little stunned, then flooded with something warm and unspoken. He gives a quick, murmured goodbye into the phone, hanging up fast before taking a step toward you.

“You’re here,” he says, surprised, voice breaking into a grin. “What-”

“You forgot these,” you lift the folder. “Found them on the dresser. Figured you’d need them.”

“And I couldn’t resist bringing this,” you add, offering one of the coffees. “Because I’m incredibly generous. And also maybe I missed you.”

His laugh is soft, delighted, boyish. “You spoil me.”

“Only a little.”

Seonghwa steps forward, takes the coffee from your hand, but it’s your wrist he holds onto just a second longer than necessary, eyes lingering on your face like he can’t decide whether to speak or kiss you.

“I thought about you all day,” he murmurs, voice quieter now. “Kept thinking about this morning.”

“Me too,” you say, your tone just as soft.

His thumb strokes your wrist gently. “Close the door for me?”

The moment it clicks shut behind you, it’s like gravity pulls you straight into him. You don’t even think, your body moves on instinct, reaching for him just as he steps into you, one hand sliding to the small of your back, the other cradling your cheek as his lips find yours.

The kiss is slow, but only for a second. Then it grows deeper. Needy, familiar, warm. His mouth opens against yours like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you all over again, his hand tightening at your waist as you lean into him, letting your coffee press into his chest so your other arm could wrap around his neck.

“You should get back to work.” you whisper against his lips, breathless.

“You know how I feel when you’re playing the boss-card,” he murmurs, chasing your mouth again, lips brushing yours between words. “It’s dangerous territory.”

You giggle softly, tilting your head as he nuzzles into your neck, kissing the skin there like it was his favorite secret. His hands roam gently, still careful even as his mouth betrays just how much he has missed you.

“I shouldn’t stay long,” you whisper, not meaning a word of it.

“Then let me be quick,” he teases, breath hot against your jaw.

“You never are,” you whisper, tugging him closer.

But when he finally pulls back, there’s something lingering in his gaze. A shift. A decision.

“I’m leaving,” Seonghwa says softly.

You blink. “What?”

“I’m done for the day.” He sets his coffee aside, already reaching for his suit jacket. “I’ve been working non-stop. I miss you. Let’s get early dinner.”

Your heart flutters. “Are you sure?”

He shoots you a smile over his shoulder. “I’m the boss, remember?”

You laugh, watching him tidy a few files with one hand while he slips his watch back on with the other. Within minutes, he has everything locked down. Then he comes to you, lacing his fingers through yours like it’s second nature.

“Ready, my love?”

You nod, warmth blooming in your chest as he opens the office door.

You walk down the hall together, hand in hand, every step light and quiet like the world belongs to you both for just a little longer. But when the elevator dings, and you stand waiting for it to arrive, Seonghwa turns toward you again.

His hand slips to your waist, the other brushing your cheek as he leans in. This kiss is different. Slower, deeper, something molten in the way his mouth lingers on yours. It curls your toes, sends a hum through your chest, and leaves you dizzy.

And then…

“Y/N?”

The voice cuts through the air like glass.

You freeze.

Seonghwa’s lips are still brushing yours when your eyes fly open and see your husband standing several feet away.

He’s alone. No colleagues in sight, no buffer. Just him… and the truth he had clearly just walked in on. His gaze flickers between your face and Seonghwa’s. Down to your hands. Back to your lips. His mouth opens, but no words come out.

He clearly didn't expect this.

You step back instinctively, like space might soften the blow. “I-”

“That’s him?” he cuts in, voice sharp. “That’s who you’re seeing?”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes. You can’t find your voice. You haven’t prepared for this, this collision of both your lives, here, now, in the open.

His eyes widens, expression laced with disbelief. “You’re dating him?” He asks again. “Jesus Christ, Y/N. My boss? You’re screwing my boss?”

“Watch your tone.” Seonghwa’s voice cut through the tension like steel. He steps forward slightly. Not aggressive, but protective. Firm.

Your husband’s eyes snap to him. “You know she’s married.”

“I do.” Seonghwa’s expression didn’t waver. “I also know she’s in an open marriage. A situation you created.”

You take a shaky breath, trying to speak, but no words come. You can’t do this here, not like this.

Seonghwa turns and sees the way you’re frozen. Hands shaking, eyes glossy, lips parted like they wants to move but can’t.

“We’re leaving,” he says simply, gently tugging your hand.

Your husband looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn't. Not as Seonghwa leads you into the elevator, wraps you under his arm protectively, and hits the button.

The doors slide shut, and just like that, you’re gone.

The door shuts behind you both with a soft click, muffled by the sheer stillness of the apartment. It should feel safe, it usually does, but now the silence only makes your thoughts louder.

You step in a few paces, drop your bag on the floor, and turn around like you don't know where to go next.

“I messed everything up,” you say in a breath, voice shaky. “I didn’t even say a word, I just stood there,- God, his face, Seonghwa, he knows.”

Your fingers tremble at your sides. You can’t stand still. The panic keeps bubbling up, sharp and sudden, and you drag a hand through your hair like that would slow your racing mind.

Seonghwa says nothing at first. He simply watches you for a moment, letting you unravel, but stays close.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” you whisper. “We were careful. We-, he wasn’t even supposed to be there. What if-, what if he tells someone? What if it-”

He reaches for you before you can spiral further, large hands settling on your shoulders with calm, grounding weight. “Hey,” he says gently. “Look at me.”

You do. Barely. Your eyes are glossy, your chest rising and falling in quick bursts.

“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling you into him.

Your hands curl into the fabric of his coat without thinking. His warmth surrounds you, steady and quiet. His touch isn’t desperate, it’s reassuring. Calm.

“I know it’s a lot,” he says into your hair, rubbing a hand down your back. “But you didn’t do anything wrong. We didn’t do anything wrong. Okay?”

You say nothing, only shake your head into his chest.

“What if he doesn’t approve of this?” you whisper. “Of you. Of you being the one I’m seeing.”

His hand pauses for half a second, then resumes its slow strokes down your spine. “I don’t know.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You pull back enough to check the screen.

Husband: Can we please talk?

Seonghwa doesn’t ask questions when you read the text aloud to him, voice barely above a whisper.

“I have to go,” you say, voice cracking slightly. “I need to talk to him.”

He nods once, the motion slow. Measured. “I know.”

You shift your weight, swallowing thickly. “I’m,-” The words tangle in your throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Seonghwa says gently. “This was always something you had to do.”

You step closer, eyes searching his face. “I hate that this is how it’s happening.”

“I know,” he says again, quieter this time. “But you’re not alone.”

He brushes your hair behind your ear with the softest touch, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. His thumb grazes your cheek like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you before he lets you go.

“Do you want me to take you?” he asks, voice low and warm.

You hesitate, then nod.

You want to tell him he’s done enough, that you shouldn’t drag him deeper into this, but you can’t. Because a part of you wants that last moment. Wants to feel him close before you walk back into the house you’ve been slowly drifting away from.

The ride is quiet, headlights casting golden stripes across your face as the city rolls by. You feel like your heart is caged behind your ribs, thrashing to get out.

Seonghwa’s hand rests near the gearshift, close enough to touch. And for a moment, it brushes yours. Not by accident. His pinky hooks lightly with yours, just enough to say I’m here.

You don’t speak the rest of the way. But somehow, you feel everything. When the house comes into view, your breath catches. The porch light is on. His car is in the driveway.

Seonghwa pulls up without a word, letting the engine hum quietly as you sit frozen in place.

“You want me to stay here?” he asks gently, breaking the silence.

You look at him, hesitating for a moment. “I think I’m okay.”

“Good” he says, offering you the faintest smile, soft and sad and full of love he won’t say out loud. “But if you need me, I’ll be back before you can even unlock your phone. Okay?”

Your throat tightens. You can only nod.

Then, without thinking, you lean across the console and press your lips to his. Brief, but full of every unspoken thing between you. It’s not goodbye. It can’t be. Not yet.

You pull back, and he’s still looking at you like you’re the only reason he knows how to breathe.

“Go,” he murmurs, voice tender. “Do what you have to do.”

You step out into the fading light, the front door looming ahead, your heart thudding with every step. As you reach the front door, you look back as Seonghwa one last time before entering your home. The home you’ve shared with your husband of 8 years. The door closes behind you and there he is.

Your husband is standing there. Hands in his pockets. Face unreadable.

But his eyes, his eyes were full of questions.

You stand in the hallway, your fingers still curled around the handle, your heart pounding so hard it almost drowns out the silence.

You don’t know what to expect. An argument, questions, maybe even cold indifference. But what you don’t expect is him suddenly kneeling to the ground, helpless, in the middle of the floor, shoulders slumped, hands clasped like he doesn’t even know how else to hold himself. It’s like he’s unraveling right there, like pride means nothing anymore.

You stare, stunned.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, more breath than sound. “For everything.”

Your throat tightens. You don’t know if it’s anger or sadness, or the crushing weight of what this moment might mean.

“I never should’ve asked for an open marriage,” he continues. “It was stupid. So fucking stupid. I-, I thought I wanted space. I thought maybe we could be happier that way, that I was giving us a better chance by letting things feel… open.”

His voice cracks. He lifts his gaze and it guts you.

“When I saw you with him today and I-” His breath shudders. “I didn’t know it would be him,”

He shifts forward slightly on his knees, reaching out like he wants to touch your hand but doesn’t dare.

“Please,” he whispers. “Let me try again. I’ll end things with her. I’ll be the husband I should’ve been. I’ll do anything. Just don’t walk away from me.”

And god, part of you wants to fall into his arms. He’s your husband. The man you’ve loved for 8 years. The one who now looks more broken than you’ve ever seen him.

But another part of you aches for what this means.

Because Seonghwa’s face flashes in your mind. His voice. His touch. The way he looks at you like you hung the stars, like he’s trying to memorize every second you give him because he knows you were never his to keep.

Your husband is still kneeling. Still waiting. Desperate. Tear-streaked.

You bite your lip so hard it hurts.

“I…” you begin, voice trembling. “I need time. Time to think”

A pause. Then a small nod from him, like he’s afraid to ask for anything more.

But in your chest, something stirs. Something terrifying.

Because no matter what you choose… someone’s heart is going to break.

And maybe it’ll be your own.

***

The house feels hollow. The evening's darkness is casting over your house like the feelings inside of you.

Your husband is still asleep on the couch. Or maybe he’s just pretending. You don’t ask.

You didn’t sleep. Not really. Just laid there in your bed, the one that used to be yours and his, but also once, without your permission, became hers too. The silence between you and him was unbearable. He offered the bedroom like it was a gesture of goodwill.

Your chest still feels tight as you stand in the hallway now, jacket in hand, shoes barely laced. You write a note. Nothing dramatic. Just I need some air. I’ll be back later.

You don’t know when “later” is. You just know where you need to be.

Seonghwa opens the door before you even knock. It’s like he knew.

You’re met with the smell of tea, the warmth of his apartment, and his eyes, dark with concern.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice like a balm. “You okay?”

You nod once.

Then your lip trembles.

And he knows.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he murmurs, stepping forward just as your breath hitches.

You try to stay composed. You really do. But then his arms are around you, pulling you into his chest, and the weight of everything presses down so hard it feels like your knees might give out.

You collapse into him, arms locked around his waist, fingers fisting into the back of his shirt. His hand cups the back of your head, the other smoothing down your spine.

“I-I tried to be strong,” you manage, voice thick. “I wanted to be okay, but he-, he was on his knees, Seonghwa. He begged me.”

You feel him tense slightly, but he says nothing. Just holds you tighter.

“He said he’d end things with her. That he made a mistake. That I’m still his wife and he wants me back and-” You pull back just enough to look at Seonghwa, eyes glassy, voice cracking. “And I wanted to feel good hearing it. I did. But all I could think about was you.”

Something flickers in his gaze. Hope, maybe. Pain too. But he doesn’t speak. He just listens.

You sniff, trying to hold yourself together. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair to you. I know I’m hurting you by not knowing what I want and I hate it-”

“Hey,” he cuts in gently, thumb brushing beneath your eye. “Stop. I told you, I don’t want anything from you that hurts you to give.”

“But you-”

“I want you,” he says simply. “In whatever way you can give me. Even if that means just this. Being here, telling me what you’re feeling.”

Your throat tightens again, but this time it’s not just from sadness. It’s because of how safe you feel with him. How seen. How loved, even if he’s never said the words. You press your forehead to his chest and he just sways you gently in his arms, fingers tracing slow patterns along your back.

“I’m so lost, Seonghwa.” you whisper.

He exhales against your hair. “Then stay here. Just for a little while.”

And god, you’re tired of choosing. Tired of being torn.

But as his hand slips into yours and he leads you to the couch, pulling a blanket over your legs, tucking you in close like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held, you know this much:

This man… this love… is real.

You don’t remember when the tears stopped. Or what time it is. Or how long you’ve been sitting here. The two of you sit curled into his couch like you’ve done so many times before. But this time, everything feels sharper. He’s cradling you with a kind of care that’s almost reverent, your legs stretched across his lap, your face tucked beneath his chin. You can hear his heart beneath your ear, slow and steady. He hasn’t moved since you sat down. He doesn't dare to.

His fingers are laced with yours, your thumb tracing a trembling path over the back of his hand. The blanket wrapped around your bodies makes it feel like the world outside has stopped. Like you're suspended in a fragile little moment where time can’t touch you. And yet... you know it will.

It’s you who speaks first. Your voice is hushed, barely more than breath. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Seonghwa sighs gently through his nose, resting his chin on top of your head.

“I know,” he says. Just two words. No judgment. No bitterness. Just a quiet truth, laced with understanding.

You shift slightly so you can see his face, and he’s already looking at you, those dark eyes as warm and soft as ever, even now. You can see it in them: how much he adores you. How much this is killing him.

But you also see something else. A kind of resolve. One that terrifies you.

He brings your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to your knuckles. Then another. Then he just lingers there, lips resting against your skin like he’s memorizing the shape of you. Like he knows this might be the last time.

And then, barely above a whisper, he says it.

“You should go back to him.”

The words slice through the quiet like ice water, and you freeze.

“What?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes at first. He’s staring down at your joined hands like it’s the only way he’ll get through this.

“You’re married.” he says slowly. “And he’s... trying. Maybe it’s too late, maybe it’s not. And I see you struggling to choose. I see it all over you.“

You swallow thickly, your chest cracking open.

His hand tightens just slightly around yours. “I don’t want you to look back one day and wonder if you made the wrong choice. If you left too soon. If I was just an escape.”

Your hearts drops.

“So let me make it for you,” he whispers, finally meeting your eyes. “Let me be the one who walks away. Let me be the bad guy, if that’s what it takes. Because I’d rather be the one who lets go than make you carry the guilt of choosing.”

You pull your hand from his, suddenly feeling cold. “Are you trying to push me away?”

“No.” His voice cracks, and it breaks everything inside you. “I’m trying to let you go before it hurts you more to stay.”

You hate how reasonable he sounds. You hate how selfless he is. You hate that he means it.

You shake your head, desperate. “Seonghwa, please-”

He smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that feels like the beginning of a goodbye.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he murmurs. “I wasn’t supposed to be more than a brief chapter in your life. And I was okay with that. I was. Because even if I couldn’t be forever, I still got you shortly. And I would do it all again, even knowing it would end.”

His voice cracks. But he keeps going.

Your throat burns. Your vision blurs.

“I let myself dream about it, you know,” he says softly, an empty laugh escaping his lips. “About what it would’ve been like if you met me first. If there wasn’t already a ring on your finger. But I know this isn’t about what I want. It never was.”

He brings your hand to his lips again, presses a trembling kiss to your fingers.

“So go back to him,” he murmurs. “You deserve a chance to fix what you had. To see if there’s still love waiting for you there. And if there is… don’t look back. Don’t wonder. Just go.”

You finally whisper, “But why-”

“Because I love you,” he says, cutting through everything.

It’s the first time he’s said it.

The first time you’ve heard it.

His voice wavers, just a little, but he doesn’t look away.

“I love you,” he says again, softer. “And I know I’m being incredibly selfish by saying that to you right now, because I don’t wanna make things harder for you. But I do. I didn't want to confuse you, or make you feel like you owed me anything. But I need you to know.”

His eyes shine, but he’s still holding it together. Just barely.

“I love you,” He leans his forehead gently against yours. “And I would give anything to be the one you stay with. But if I really love you… then I have to do what’s best for you. Even if it breaks me.”

Tears prick at your eyes, sharp and sudden. He gives you a faint smile, and it’s the saddest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Why does this feel like punishment?” your voice cracks.

His eyes soften even more, somehow. “Because loving someone you can’t keep always does.” his thumb drags over your cheek, removing a tear from your eye.

And the silence that follows is unbearable. A crushing, yawning void between your heart and his. You want to scream. You want to run. You want to disappear into his arms and never have to come back to the reality that waits for you outside this room.

You want a world where you don’t have to choose.

But that world doesn’t exist.

Not for you.

Not for him.

“I don’t know if I can say goodbye to you,” you whisper, barely audible.

“Then don’t,” he murmurs. “Not yet.”

His hand lingers on your cheek like it’s memorizing every line. Every softness. Every trace of the life you almost had.

And then, without a word, because words don’t work anymore, you lean in.

And so does he.

Your lips meet in the quietest, saddest kiss of your life.

His lips move like he’s trying to tell you everything one last time. Like he’s writing all his unsaid I love yous into your skin. Like this moment has to hold every second he’ll never get.

You fall into him, legs curled up tighter, arms around his neck like a lifeline. His fingers thread into your hair as if he can anchor you there, just a little longer. Like maybe if he kisses you softly enough, sweetly enough, the universe will change its mind.

But the universe doesn’t.

And he knows it.

And when you finally pull back, just enough to look at him. He’s crying, quietly.

Still holding your face like you’re something precious.

Still loving you as you let him go.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” he says, barely audible. “Even when you forget the sound of my voice. Even when he holds your hand. When he gets to fall asleep next to you. When your life goes on…”

Your breath shatters.

You’re sobbing now, silently. Your chest aches. Your whole body aches.

He presses the softest kiss to your cheek, your jaw, your forehead, like he’s saying goodbye to every part of you, one last time.

“I hope he knows,” Seonghwa whispers, voice broken. “I hope he knows he gets to keep the heart I would’ve spent my whole life protecting.”

He doesn’t say anything else.

He just lets you go.

Because he loves you too much to make you choose.

And that’s what real heartbreak sounds like.

Silence.

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