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[hyvneluv]

Bangchan: He is a gentleman. He pulls out chairs for you, opens car doors for you, brings you flowers for no reason. An absolute sweetheart.

But the moment he lays eyes on your cunt that all goes out the window. He can feel some side of him coming out that he has never felt with anyone else. There’s an urge to just devour you without a second thought of anyone or anything else. You’re blushing as he stares at you. You’re not a virgin but no one has ever looked at your pussy so intently. Never have you seen such a hunger in anyone’s eyes. It makes you clench and he can see it. He about cums from the sight of it. His cock is so hard.

“Chan.” You pant, “Say something.”

“Fuck, sweetheart. I’m speechless. There are no words to describe how beautiful your cunt is.”

You blush fiercely at his words. You never expected him to be a filth mouth and you never expected to like it. Your clit throbbed at his words and you ached for any part of him to be on or in your cunt.

“Show me.” You beg, “Want you so bad.”

“You have no idea how bad I want you, darling. I’m holding myself back right now when all I want to do is bury my face and cock in your cunt.”

You whine and grab at the blankets. You spread your legs even further trying to entice him.

It works.

He dives into your pussy and eats you out like a man possessed. You can only moan his name and arch off the bed at the pleasure he’s giving you. He eats your pussy furiously, hungrily, and desperately. It’s as if he will perish if he doesn’t lick every inch of your cunt.

Your eyes are rolling back in your head, hips grinding up so your cunt grinds against his face, his nose hitting your clit.

“Fuck.” You gasp.

That’s how he feels. He is obsessed. Addicted. Your pussy belongs in his mouth. He couldn’t wait to bury his cock inside you and fuck you so good that your pussy grows to know his cock and sucks him in easily.

But for now he’s perfectly happy sucking your clit, licking your wet lips, and teasing your hole with his tongue. He feels like the universe couldn’t pull him away from you right now. Your scent is intoxicating. Your taste is seeping into every taste bud on his tongue and he knows he will never taste anything better than you.

He wants to get your name tattooed on him along with the words, “best pussy I’ve ever tasted.” He wanted to show off to the world that his lover had the greatest treasure between their legs.

Your legs are shaking with each flick of his tongue on you. Your orgasm is barreling towards you but you can’t find it in you to stop him. He wants you to cum on his face, in his mouth. You are ready to give him what he wants so you can get what you want: his cock in your mouth and pussy.

You tug at his hair but there’s no moving him. He’s determined to stay between your legs until you cum all over his face so you let him continue his magical mouth and lay there letting the pleasure consume you.

When you finally do cum all over his face he can only moan and grip your thighs tightly. Your cunt is oversensitive but you don’t care because he’s dragging his tongue slowly through the mess you made while staring up at you. When he pulls away and licks his lips you just know you’re in for it.

“You have the sweetest tasting pussy.” He speaks, voice low, “I’m going to eat it every fucking day and that’s a promise.”

“Chan.” You whine, “You’re exaggerating.”

He grins and moves up over you so he can peer down at you, “I’m not. I want to live with my head between your legs. Tomorrow I think I’ll spend all day between them.”

He kisses you before you can reply. Your fun is far from over and your cunt is throbbing at the realization his cock will finally be in you soon.

But the way his tongue felt against your cunt for the first time would never leave your mind.

Judging by the way he was pushing your legs up to your chest you knew he’d never forget it either.

Apparently once wasn’t enough and he was eager to make you cum on his tongue again because he buries his tongue inside you and everything else is forgotten.

Changbin: The moment he lays eyes on your cunt for the first time he feels like an animal. His nails digging into your thighs, his cock heavy and hard, his breathing heavy as his eyes stay locked on you, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he notices your arousal glistening on your skin.

“Binne,” You groan, “please do something.”

He licks his lips and looks at you, “I’m going to, sweetheart. I can’t decide if I want to bury my face against your cunt first or just push my cock inside and eat your cunt afterwards. You’re certainly wet enough already without my tongue.”

You gasp as you feel two of his fingers press against your clit and grab at the sheets. You’re aching for him no matter what he chooses to do. You’ve waited for him long enough and you were past desperate at this point so you felt no shame in begging if you had to.

“Want your mouth, darling.” You whine, spreading your legs further, “Please.”

He groans, “How can I say no when you beg so beautifully?”

He moves his fingers away and settles down so he can finally give in to his desires and make you feel good all while licking up every drop of your essence. Just from l inhaling your scent he was already addicted to it and now wanted it on his tongue.

He slid his tongue between your wet lips and over your clit groaning at the taste of you. He holds your thighs open so he can lick every inch of your cunt and in the crease where your legs meet your pussy. His tongue is making your body tremble with pleasure and you didn’t know how you both went this long without giving it.

His idea to wait until as long as possible just for the anticipation had been stupid as hell but he was right about it being worth it. His tongue was absolutely worth the wait and feeling his mouth work against you was the best thing you’ve ever felt.

“You taste so fucking good.” He moans, tongue flicking over your clit.

You whine his name and arch off the bed. His tongue was perfect and you didn’t want him to stop, “Make me cum on your tongue, Binnie.”

When he looks up at you the look on his face takes you by surprise. His eyes were dark and face was flushed. It was as if eating your cunt was really getting to him and it make you clench.

“If I make your pretty pussy cum on my face are you going to be able to handle my cock, pretty girl?”

You nod vigorously, “I will! I want them both. I want to cum on both.”

He cusses and pressed the tip of his tongue against your hole, running light circles around it to feel your legs shake and listens to your soft moans. His head was spinning and he was overwhelmed with pleasure.

In the best way of course.

He sucks on your clit to feel you squirm and listen to the moans of his name. You’re arching off the bed and pressing against his face and he is drunk off your taste and scent.

He growls against you and you gasp. You two have made out, dry humped and he acted perfectly normal. Whatever normal was for two people humping each other.

You’ve jerked him off without taking off his pants and he has fingered you without removing his your pants, but he had never let out the sounds he was making now and they were making you so wet. You craved him in every way. If you could catch your breath you would tell him.

“Cl-Close.” You pant, “Binnie!”

“Cum on my face, sweetheart. Let me lick up every drop and then I’ll fuck you.” He promises, voice strained.

You tug at his hair and arch off the bed as the pleasure races through you. Your toes are curling and thighs are shaking as your orgasm starts approaching. Your core is throbbing and wet as he continues working his mouth on you.

You moan his name loudly when your orgasm hits. Your hips jerking rapidly as it shoots through you but he holds your thighs so he can taste every drop of you, moaning at the taste of your cum. Your cunt was sensitive but you couldn’t pull him away.

You’d be stupid to try.

“Fuck.” He groans, “I can’t wait bury my cock in your sweet cunt.”

Your eyes close at his words but they shoot back open when you feel his cock pressed against your cunt. You lick your lips as he runs the head through your wet folds, “Do you want me to suck you off? I want to make you feel good too.”

He smiles at you, “Later, sweetheart. I’ve waited long enough to put my cock in you.”

All the waiting causes you two to go round after round. Until you cum on his cock, suck his cock and he fucks you again to make you squirt.

The waiting was definitely worth it.

Hyunjin: He doesn’t hesitate to bury his face against your cunt. You cry out and tug at his hair at the pleasure and it only encourages him to really focus on making you cum as well as making sure he licks every inch of you, leaving no part of you untasted.

“Fucking delicious.” He moans, licking over your clit.

You whine, “Jin, please. Don’t stop.”

Like he’d ever stop.

It would take the strength of ten men to pull him away from your cunt. Now that he has tasted you he knew he wouldn’t be able to live without it. Your taste and scent have been engraved into his very being and he wouldn’t want to go one day without it.

“I’m going to eat this pussy everyday.” He promises.

“Please.” You pant, “Want it.”

“And you’ll get it, baby.” He assures, “You’ll get anything you want.”

He flattens his tongue against your cunt and licks between your lips and presses his tongue against your hole, groaning when you moan his name. He wanted nothing more than to keep hearing it.

He spits on your clit and uses his tongue to move it in circles making you breathe heavily. He didn’t want to ever pull his mouth away from you. His mouth was meant to be on your cunt and that’s how he wanted to spend the rest of his days.

“So fucking pretty.” He sighs, “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Tastiest too.”

“Jin.” You gasp, blushing.

He chuckles, “My shy baby.”

He licks the crease of your thigh before spreading your pussy open. The sight of you spread out for him had his cock aching and balls throbbing. He wanted nothing more than to empty them inside of you.

“I can’t wait to fuck you, princess.” He says, sliding two fingers inside you.

You clench around them and moan his name. They’re so long and stretch you so well. You could only imagine how his much thicker cock would stretch you.

“Want it.” You beg, “Fill me up.”

He cusses and fucks his fingers in and out of you faster watching the way your body moves and how you react to him fucking into your gspot. He wanted to record every move your body made so he could watch it when you’re apart, even if you’re both just at work for a few hours.

He spits on you, watching it disappear where his fingers are stretching you out. His cock hurts by this point and is desperate to fuck into you but he needs you to cum first. He needs to taste it and he was determined to make it happen within the next few minutes.

You groan and clench tightly, “Baby, you’re going to make me cum.”

“I want it in my mouth.”

He removes his fingers and replaces them with his mouth again which has your body shaking. His fingers were incredible and you’d want them again but his mouth was truly something else and you couldn’t get enough of it. Your legs were shaking and you knew it wouldn’t be much longer before you came all over his face.

“Close.” You gasp, “Jin!”

You squirm and grind against his face as he holds himself against you. He doesn’t want a single drop going to waste.

When you finally cum his cock is leaking profusely but he ignores it to catch every drop of your cum on his tongue. He cleans you throughly until your body is shaking from over sensitivity. When he pulls back his face is wet but he’s just grinning at you with a sparkle in his eye, “Truly the best tasting pussy.”

You blush, “Shut up.”

He laughs and leans up so he can kiss you softly, “Need a break, sweetheart?”

“I need you to fuck me.” You say, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“My girl gets whatever she wants.” He smiles, sliding the head of his cock through your wet lips.

Felix: He wouldn’t say a word honestly. His lips and tongue would be on your cunt before you could say anything. He’d eat you slowly at first just to enjoy the taste of you and to make you feel good. He wouldn’t start devouring you until you begged for him to and he would absolutely make sure you begged.

Once you start getting needy and noise he wouldn’t waste a single second to catch a breath. He’d suck on your clit until your thighs are shaking then move his tongue slowly between your wet lips to taste you better, teasing your hole with the tip of his tongue. He’d groan at the taste of you and would press his face closer against you until he can’t breathe in anything but you.

You whine and tangle your fingers in his hair so you can slowly grind against his face, his nose bumping against your clit causing you to gasp at the sensation, “Oh, Felix.”

The sound of his name sounding so whiny on your lips has him struggling to be rational. All he wants to do is make you feel good, to make you cum over and over until you can’t remember anyone else’s name but his.

He slides the tip of his tongue inside you causing you to let out a sob, toes curling into the mattress. You’re so wet and that’s without his mouth but with his mouth you feel so drenched and it turns you on. Knowing that he loves being so close to you this way not caring about how wet his face gets makes your head spin.

He licks his lips and pulls back so he can press his fingers against you completely obsessed with how your arousal and spit both stick to his fingers. Your pussy lips are puffy from arousal and your clit is swollen peaking out and the sight really has him wanting to just put grind his cock against your cunt until you're begging him to fuck you but he won't do that until you cum in his mouth and on his face.

He's absolutely desperate for it and it makes him feel unhinged but he can't bring himself to care because you bring it out in him and he's told you that before when he had to control himself from just taking you multiple times.

You'd never admit it but you loved knowing that it was hard for him to control himself with you. Knowing that you got to him that much pumped up your ego and you loved teasing him but now you were on your back with your legs spread and his face buried against your cunt.

The teasing was over and from here on out you knew he'd have the upper hand most of the time.

You had no complaints about it because you knew he'd never pressure you or force you into anything. He'd just tease you like crazy until you begged him to fuck you and it would go to his head while you just turned into a needy girl who wanted her boyfriend to fuck her all the time. Though you knew he'd have no complaints about that.

Felix continues eating your pussy as if he's meant to do it. It's as if all the time he never got to is catching up and he's making up for all the lost time. Your inner thighs are wet from arousal and his spit and you're so fucking turned on. Your clit is throbbing and you wonder if he can feel it.

When he sucks it into his mouth he holds your hips down so you can't move. All you can do is moan, arch off the bed and grab at your blankets so tight it hurts.

His saliva is spilling down between your wet lips and you can feel his fingers spreading you open. He spits on your hole and your eyes roll back into your head. You were going to be melting into the mattress before he could get his cock inside you and with the way he was eating you out it was as if that's what he wanted.

"Taste so fucking good, sweetheart." He groaned, "I can't get enough."

His fingers are moving in and out of you and you can't stop clenching around them every time he goes to pull them out. He pushes them back in hard and curls them against that spot that has your eyes seeing stars. The sight of you squirming under him just from his fingers makes him want to replace them with his cock and fuck you stupid but he's a patient man.

Kind of.

He feels like he's about to lose control but he'd never admit it. He'd never want you to think that he doesn't care about your wants or needs. You come first. Figuratively and in this case literally.

You're breathing heavily as your orgasm approaches and you know it won't be long before you're cumming. He can sense it by the way your thighs are trembling and the way your breathing has changed. He's seen this before in the times you two have humped each other like teenagers on your couch through your clothes and he couldn't wait to see you fall apart on his fingers stark naked.

"Cum for me, sweetheart."

He leaned down and slid his tongue between his fingers for a few minutes to taste you again before sucking your clit back into his mouth. Your vision was blurry and the pleasure was almost overwhelming. This man knew how to work his mouth and you felt blessed to have him as yours.

You let go and let your body take over and in seconds your orgasm hits and you're cumming. It's intense and when you finally come to you realize that you fucking squirted and he was licking at you as if he was dehydrated, every drop going into his mouth, the taste melting into his tongue.

"Oh my god." You gasped, "I've never done that before."

He hums and looks up at you but never removes his mouth. He just winks at you and it makes you blush. This man knew how to get to you and used it to his advantage because he loved making you all needy and seeing the blush on your face.

When he finally pulls back he's licking his lips as if he didn't get enough, "That was so fucking sexy. Seeing you squirt like that was heaven."

"Felix, don't say that." You whined.

He grinned, "It's true. I'm going to make you squirt on my cock soon."

You rolled your eyes, "Get up here and kiss me so you can get your cock in me."

He does as you say and kisses you softly. You can feel his hard cock on the inside of your thigh and his precum adds to the mess that resides there. You want to taste his cum too as he shoots in your mouth but it would have to wait because the head of his cock was pressed against your cunt and you were already clenching and eager to have him inside.

"You better let me suck your cock later."

He laughed and his eyes sparkled with amusement, "I will never turn that down. I can't wait to cum down your throat."

Before you can get embarrassed you just wrap your legs around his waist and order him to fuck you stupid.

You don't have to tell him twice.

Minho: He's out of his mind as he stares at your cunt. You're so wet and your clit is swollen. His mouth is aching to be on you. He has your legs pushed open wide so he has room to settle between them. He licks his lips and uses two fingers to spread you open letting a string of saliva from his mouth drop down to your cunt and drip down to your hole.

You whine at the feeling and he smirks at you. He runs a finger over your clit then down between your wet lips before he pushes it inside of you. You whine at the intrusion and you're already craving his cock in you but you know he wants to take his time with you and honestly you wanted him to go slow so you could feel his mouth and fingers take you apart.

'I can't wait to taste you, angel." He speaks, voice low, "I've been dreaming about eating your cunt from the day Jeongin introduced us."

You gulp, "Then eat it, Minho. I want to feel your mouth so bad. I'm so wet for you."

"Mhm, I can tell. Your pussy is glistening."

He pulls his finger out slowly before replacing it with his mouth. His tongue goes straight to licking between your folds causing you to gasp. He chuckles and moves up to your clit and sucks it into his mouth.

You let out a pleasured sob and close your eyes as he continues his magical mouth against your pussy. Your toes are curling and your fingers are tangled into the blankets. You knew his mouth was magical just by how he kissed you and how he worked his tongue on your neck but feeling it on your pussy was a whole new kind of magic.

You can feel your arousal leaking off you and you know he's getting wet but judging by the way he's burying his face even closer and moving his head he doesn't care. In fact, he desires it and wants you as wet as you can possibly get before he fucks you. He works his mouth and tongue against you as if it's the only thing in this life that he's meant to do.

He moans at your taste and you can hear him inhaling which makes you blush.

"Minho, don't do that."

He looks up at you and grins, "Not my fault you smell delicious."

"You're insane."

He chuckles and kisses your clit causing you to gasp. He licks your cunt again and from then on the only noises you can make are moans and pants of his name.

He rubs your clit fast and watches with dark eyes as arousal squirts out of you and he catches it in his mouth as his fingers run through your wet lips so it clings to them. You're intoxicating and he finds himself falling deeper into his newest obsession: the way you taste.

"Minho." You moan, "Please."

"Use your words, sweetheart. What do you need?"

"I need to cum. I'm so close."

The words make his balls ache. He can't wait to see you fall apart. Can't wait for you to cum so he can slide his cock into your wet pussy.

"You can cum whenever you want, princess."

He sucks your clit into his mouth as he fucks his fingers in and out of you. The sounds of your wet pussy and moans echo in the room and makes his cock throb. It hurts if he's being honest but you're what matters at the moment. He knows it will be worth the wait when he finally gets his cock inside you.

You cry out loudly and tug at his hair as you arch off the bed. Your thighs are shaking as your orgasm hits and your body can't stop jerking as the pleasure races through you.

You're out of your mind with pleasure and you're unsure of what's actually happening for a few minutes but when you come to you see him licking his lips and wiping his face with a huge grin on his face. Your thighs feel drenched and you can feel your cum leaking down towards your ass.

"That was so fucking sexy." He says, "You came all over my face. Your pussy is fucking drenched."

You throw your hands over your face but he moves up over you so he can remove them and look down at your flush faced, "That's embarrassing, Minho."

"Nothing embarrassing about your pretty pussy cumming all over me."

He laughs as you groan and close your eyes and leans down to kiss your forehead, "Do you need some water?"

"A glass would be nice. I need to rehydrate before you fuck me."

He ends up fucking you so good that you squirt all over his cock and he cums without being aware of it, filling you up so good that it mingles with the mess that you already made on your thighs and the bed.

Han: He has you sit on his face so he can have all over you against him. He wastes no time burying his face into your cunt because the sight of it is everything he dreamed of and more. It's perfect and he wants to prove to you how perfect it is by eating you out and making you cum all over his face.

You have to hold the headboard as you grind against his face. His hands are gripping your hips as he helps you move against him and his tongue is moving up and down between your wet lips. His nose presses against your clit and it takes all your strength not to cum each time it does.

He spanks your ass before making you stay still. He focuses on your clit for a few minutes before moving down to your hole. His tongue teases you and you can't help but whine and clench. You want nothing more than for him to go inside of you and he can sense it. Your desperation is only making him harder.

"Such a needy girl." He groans against you, "Needy girl with the prettiest pussy I've ever seen."

"Don't say that." You groan, covering your face.

He chuckles against you as he looks up at you. He can't see much but he can see that you covered your face in embarrassment, "I mean it. No one has a prettier pussy than you."

You cuss and squirm making him push his tongue inside you. You cry out and grab the headboard again. You cuss under your breath as he eats you out like a starving man. No one has ever eaten you out with such intensity and hunger and it's making your clit throb and ache.

"Han." You moan, "Oh fuck your tongue feels so good."

He moans against you and continues licking at you. You can't get over how intense he is and how hungry he is for you. You've never experienced anything like it and you love it. You love how much he wants you just as much as you want him. You'd never be able to love anyone the way you love this man.

"I could live between your thighs, sweetheart." He pants, "Love having you sit on my face like this. If I die suffocating on your pussy please put it on my tombstone."

He laughs as you scold him and goes back to sucking on your clit to feel your legs tremble around his head. The rest of your body is jerking with pleasure and if you weren't holding on to the headboard you probably would have fallen apart by now. It was the only thing keeping you steady.

"I want you to cum on my face, angel." Han speaks, "I need to taste every drop of you."

You whine and can only nod your head as you slowly start grinding against his face again. His nails are digging into your ass as he helps you move faster. His tongue moving at a pace that should have been illegal.

With each flick of his tongue over your clit your orgasm raced closer. You knew you weren't going to last much longer and you wanted to warn him but you couldn't get your mouth to say the words. You were too busy moaning his name and letting out embarrassing sounds.

"Fuck. Sweetheart, I want to bottle every bit of you and drink it. You taste so fucking good."

You throw your head back and dig your nails into the headboard as you continue riding his face. There was no way you could get a word out with the intense pleasure you were feeling.

He knew it too.

He made sure to work his tongue in a way that he hoped would keep you speechless and it worked. You could only let out sounds that were making his cock throb. You would occasionally moan his name but that was all you could muster. Your strength was leaving you and he was taking advantage of it in order to make you cum all over his face.

"Cum whenever you want, baby." He says, "I'll take every drop you give me."

Your legs shake as your orgasm barrels towards you. You cry out his name and tighten your legs around your head as your orgasm hits. You can't stop grinding your hips and you can feel your cum pouring out of you. You know you're drenching his face but you can feel his tongue moving against you and it only encourages you to keep going.

When you're finally able to stop and sit up off his face you look down and your eyes widen at the sight. His face is drenched from his forehead to his chin but he looks like he's having the best time of his life. He's looking up at you and breathing heavily as he licks his lips and the sight has you wanting to bounce on his cock so bad.

"Let me go get you a towel to clean up."

Your words come out shaky and you know you won't be able to walk properly because your legs are shaky but you had to offer it. You wanted to do something for him.

He shakes his head and smiles at you, "Don't even worry about it. It can stay there while you ride my cock."

You gulp as he helps move you down so his cock presses against your ass. You gasp and push back against it, "Han, you need me to take care of you first. I want to make you feel good."

"Later." He promises, "I need that soft pussy on my cock right now so I can fill it up."

You blush at his words, "You're filthy."

He grins, "You love it."

You lean down and kiss him softly not caring that you could taste yourself, "And I love you."

He returns the kiss before you pull back and grab his cock to press it against your wet pussy. He bites his lip and goes to say something but you just grin and press it inside of you.

It was your turn to make him feel good.

Seungmin: The first time he lays eyes on your cunt is when you two decide to shower together and he really can’t help it when he gets to his knees on the tiles. You gasp as he pins you against the wall, the hot water streaming down his back. He looks up at you and you nod at him so he picks one of your legs up and throws it over his shoulder.

You bite your lip as he runs his finger over your pussy lips. You’re eager to feel his mouth against you but you don’t plan on rushing him. You want this to be good for him too.

He devours your cunt and has your entire body shaking as he keeps you pressed against the shower wall. His hands hold your hips and he shuffles closer that way incase you fell he'd be able to catch you.

His tongue licks over your clit repeatedly and he stares up at you to watch your reactions. He's obsessed already with how you look and wants to keep watching so he sucks your clit into his mouth hard and when you cry out his name he has to squeeze his cock to keep himself from cumming.

"Minnie." You moan, "Oh god."

He grins against you and moves his tongue between your wet folds so he can circle the tip of his tongue against your hole. He can feel you clench and he groans against your cunt. The sound goes straight up your spine and has your head spinning.

You don't know why you two decided to wait a while before being intimate but you had a feeling that he'd be making up for lost time when you got out of the shower. For now he was perfectly happy on his knees with his face pressed against your pussy and you were perfectly happy to have him pressed against you.

He hums against your cunt as he eats you out. His tongue flat against your core as he licks you over and over. Your clit throbs with each flick of his tongue and you wish you had the energy to beg him but you were using the energy you did have to keep yourself from falling. His mouth was too fucking good and your body was reacting strongly to it.

"Your clit is so swollen, sweetheart. You're so wet." He groans, "If I would have known you get this wet so easily I would have fucked you the day we met."

His words have your pussy aching. You desire his cock in you, stretching you out as he fucks you then filling you up. You wanted it so bad but you couldn't find the energy to tell him that. You could only focus on the way his words made your cunt pulse and how his tongue felt against you.

You tugged at his hair and it had him moaning against your cunt. He looked up at you as he continued eating you out to watch every reaction and to learn everything you like. He'd remember it for the future when he ate your pussy so good that you couldn't help but beg him to fuck you. But he'd always make sure you came on his face before he slid his cock inside you.

"Tasty pussy." He grunted, "Want to eat you forever."

You close your eyes because you can't look at him anymore. Not with how he was looking up at you as his tongue moved against you otherwise you'd be cumming early.

He spread your pussy open and pressed his tongue flat against your hole causing you to cry out. You tugged at his hair and let your head fall against the shower wall as your body jerked at the sensation. His tongue didn't slow down and it had your orgasm racing that much closer at a faster rate. You weren't ready to cum yet but he was determined to make you cum all over his face as fast as he possibly could.

You figured it was because it was your first time and he was just hungry and desperate for it. The thought of it had your cunt clenching around the tip of his tongue. You could hear his hand jerking off his cock even through the shower water and you wished more than anything you could watch but you couldn't lift your head. Your body was so close to an orgasm that it was all you could focus on.

He pulled back only to spit on your clit before wrapping his lips around it sucking on it hard. You let out a sob of pleasure and pressed his face against you harder and he allowed you to happily. Being pressed against your cunt was his new favorite thing and he would never complain about it.

He'd never complain how needy you seemed to be or how sensitive your cunt was. He'd use it to his advantage to make sure you always had orgasms that left you breathless and shaky. It was his new main goal in life whether he did it with his mouth, fingers or cock. As long as you came that was all he wanted.

You moaned his name softly as you grinded against his face. His tongue was against you just letting you move your pussy across it and each time you moved your clit across the wet muscle you felt your cunt clench and your lower stomach tighten. You knew your orgasm was only a mere few minutes away.

"I want you to cum on my face, sweetheart." He says, staring up at you. His eyes are dark and he looks completely out of it just by eating you out. You've never eaten a pussy so you didn't get the addiction, but you knew you'd probably feel the same way the first time you got to suck his cock.

Which you planned on being after you got out of the shower. You were desperate to make him feel as good as he was making you feel.

You nod your head and focused on the way his tongue moved against you. You moaned his name again and your hand slapped against the shower wall as you arched off against it. He held your hips tightly as your orgasm suddenly hit and you were cumming all over his mouth.

The taste of you had him cussing and pressing his mouth all over your pussy so he could get every drop of your release. Your body was shaking and your legs were wobbly but he held you as he continued to eat you out. Your clit was sensitive already but you didn't have any complaints as he moved his tongue over it again.

You could only breathe heavily as he finished cleaning you up. He finally pulled away and licked his lips before slowly standing to his feet. The water was starting to get cold so he kissed you quickly with a smile on his face before helping you out of the shower. He cut the water off and grabbed a towel to wrap around your naked body.

"You really have the tastiest cunt."

You gasp at his words and turn to stare at him, "You can't just say that now!"

He grinned, "I speak the truth and I want you to know that everytime I get the chance to bury my tongue inside you I'm going to."

You gulp and grab the side of the sink, "Just you wait. I'm going to suck your cock so good that you won't be able to think of anything else."

His eyes darken as he moves closer to you, "Yeah? You want to suck it now?"

You stare down at his hard cock. It's leaking pre cum and the tip looks as if it's swollen from how hard he was. You didn't want him to think that you were too good for spontaneous fun so you grin at him before getting to your knees. His eyes widen and he goes to say something but you take his cock into your mouth without warning.

He ends up having to hold the sink because you suck him so good that his legs start getting hard to stand on.

He fucks you on that same sink right after.

Jeongin: He instantly tells you that he wants to take photos of your pussy after he cums in it for the first time which makes you blush but you don’t say no. You’re just not used to him having such a filthy mouth. Though the thought of him using it as you get more into sexual activities together make your pussy wet if you were being honest.

He drags two fingers down your soft lips completely avoiding your swollen clit. He was nothing if not a tease because working you up through your clothes was one thing but going slow against your bare cunt was torture.

He wanted to make you beg.

“What a soft pussy.” He sighs happily, “I can’t wait to bury my cock in it but first I want to eat you so good that squirt in my mouth.”

You knew you were in for it but you looked forward to everything he was going to do to you.

He spreads your cunt open and spits right on your hole and groans at how your hole seems to clench. He leans down and presses his tongue hard against your hole and cusses mentally when you thrust against his face.

He grips your thighs hard as he works his tongue on you. He slides it up to your cunt and traces the alphabet on it slowly just to feel your thighs tremble and to hear the sounds that tumble out of your mouth. Already he's addicted to the taste of your pussy and regrets all the time he let go by without doing this to you. He always knew your cunt would be pretty but it was far beyond his imagination.

It was beautiful and he wanted to spend every damn day of his life worshipping you by eating your cunt until you cried.

You let out soft pants as your pleasure picked up. He was eating you out so intensely that your toes kept curling. You tugged at his hair but it only encouraged him on. He would shake his head against your cunt just to hear you moan and feel you press against his face harder. He was as desperate to eat you out as you were to cum. No one had ever loved eating you like this.

Then again, no one had ever loved you like Jeongin. It really was true that love makes everything better.

The sappy thoughts left your head the moment his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked.

You arched off the bed and tightened your grip on his hair. You moaned his name and started letting out soft pleads which had his cock throbbing. Hearing you beg was so fucking sexy and he was going to lose his mind with how hard it was making him. He could feel his pre cum leaking out down on to the bed.

He wanted to see your cunt make a mess on the bed too before he fucked you so good that you just added to it and had to wash your entire bedset.

He added two fingers to the mix and fucked them in and out of your pussy so fast that the sound of your arousal echoed louder than your moans. You were so wet and it sounded so filthy but he absorbed every sound, memorizing it so he could think about them on nights when you couldn't be with him. God, his cock was so hard it hurt.

His fingers pressed against your gspot as he continued working on your clit and your lower stomach was starting to heat up. You could feel your insides tightening as he continued and you knew it probably wouldn't be much longer before your orgasm hit. You didn't know if you'd be able to squirt but you knew it would be intense anyway.

"Your pussy is clenching me so tight." He groans, "Can't wait to feel you clench around my cock."

Your eyes roll back in your head and you arch off the bed. You're so, so, so, so close to an orgasm and you want nothing more than to cum. Your body felt like a string coming unraveled and you just needed a little more before you could finally let go.

He sensed it so he worked his tongue faster on your clit as his fingers pressed against your gspot over and over. You've squirted a couple times with previous partners but the build up had never felt so intense with them. Jeongin was making it so intense that you felt like you wouldn't be able to move afterwards. You really couldn't wait to cum because not only would it make you feel good, but he'd feel good about making you do it and you wanted that for him.

"I want you to squirt for me, sweetheart." He groaned, "Need this pussy to squirt all over my face so I can drink everything you give me."

Fucking filth mouth, you thought. It was such a turn on and only made your stomach tighten more.

Just a little bit more.

You were so fucking close.

With a few more jabs against your gspot and his mouth sucking your clit hard you arched off the bed with a cry of his name. You felt liquid shooting out of you, legs shaking hard. You lifted your head to see his mouth open as you continued squirting. He really was swallowing every drop.

The sight had your pussy throbbing so you reached down and rubbed your clit fast so you could squirt out as much as you could. He groaned but it sounded like a sob as he kept his mouth open. When you finally did stop squirting he licked up your wet cunt before sliding his tongue inside you to lick up everything.

You let your hand fall off your clit and tried to catch your breath as his movements slowed. He finally pulled away with a drenched face and crawled up over your body so he could kiss you. You kept his face pressed against yours so your tongues could move together. You weren't in a rush to do anything else today.

"You feeling okay?" He asks.

You smile at him, "That was amazing, baby. It's your turn now though. I'm going to suck your cock until you cum down my throat."

He fell off the bed trying to get in a better position and it made you laugh which broke away any lingering nerves. You sucked his cock with a fierceness that matched him and when he did cum down your throat you swallowed every drop.

He ended up filling your pussy less than an hour later.

[hyvneluv]

The open chest and choker oh my god I feel insane….

[hyvneluv]

This was sooo cute omg my heart melted 🥹

Always Enough

Hyunjin x Gn!Reader

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡

The soft hum of conversation filled the room, a mixture of laughter and playful teasing bouncing off the walls of the dorm. You sat comfortably beside Hyunjin on the couch, your body relaxed as his arm rested lazily around your shoulders, pulling you close. His fingers traced delicate patterns on the hem of your shirt, a subconscious habit of his, and the warmth from his touch grounded you in the moment.

The boys were in high spirits, the rare night off giving them a chance to unwind. You enjoyed evenings like this- watching them be themselves, without the weight of cameras or expectations hanging over them. Hyunjin’s laughter vibrated softly against your side as he joked with Changbin and Seungmin, and you found yourself smiling, simply happy to be in his presence.

You shifted slightly, settling more into his side, and Hyunjin glanced down at you with a soft smile, his lips curving up in that way that always made your heart flutter. His gaze was warm, affectionate, as if you were the only person in the room, despite the chaos of the other seven boys around you.

"Hey, you good?" he murmured softly, his voice for your ears only.

You nodded, leaning your head against his shoulder. "I’m good," you replied, your voice just as quiet, content to be close to him like this. You took a breath, inhaling his fresh scent.

But as the night wore on, the playful energy shifted into something more personal. The guys’ conversation became more boisterous, jokes flying back and forth, and you couldn’t help but zone out a little, your mind wandering as you watched them.

That’s when you caught it.

"Man, Hyunjin could have anyone he wanted," Changbin said with a laugh, his voice carrying just enough that you couldn’t miss it. "The way idols are always talking about him? He’d have a line of people waiting if he was single."

Your stomach twisted, the lightness in your chest suddenly vanishing.

You knew Changbin was just joking so you tried to let it slide.

Then Felix snickered, adding in, "Yeah, seriously, Hyung is pretty. And all those pretty idols crushing on him all the time- and even American celebrities…Hyunjin wouldn’t even need to try."

You blinked, your heart sinking further with each word. It wasn’t meant to be cruel; you knew that. The boys were just teasing, like they always did. But something about hearing it made the room feel smaller, the air heavier. Maybe because they were joking about it right in front of you.

Hyunjin chuckled softly beside you, seemingly unbothered by the conversation. But you weren’t Hyunjin. You were the one sitting next to him, the one who wasn’t an idol, wasn’t glamorous, wasn’t part of that world.

You weren’t like them.

You tried to keep your expression neutral, forcing a smile to stay on your lips even though your heart felt like it was sinking deeper with every passing second. But the doubts were already creeping in, their voices loud and insistent.

Could Hyunjin do better? The thought snaked its way into your mind, uninvited. Was he settling by being with you?

He could do better. Way better. It definitely feels like he was just settling with you. But...he treats you so well. Better than anyone else.

So, you knew it was silly- Hyunjin chose to be with you, he was the one who asked you out when he had first seen you working at the pet store where he picked up Kkami's food; he was the one who held you close like you were his whole world; even when you didn't initiate the contact. He was the one who was constantly making sure that you knew how he loved you more than anything.

But that voice in your head wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t let you push those thoughts away. What if the boys were right? What if Hyunjin could be happier, better off with someone who fit his life more seamlessly? Someone who understood the pressures of being in the public eye, someone who didn’t stand out in the wrong ways?

A knot formed in your throat as you shifted slightly in your seat, your body suddenly feeling too heavy, too present. You tugged at the sleeve of your shirt absentmindedly, trying to focus on anything but the sinking feeling in your chest.

Hyunjin’s hand on your shoulder tightened gently, a small, grounding squeeze. He glanced down at you again, sensing the shift in your mood. "You sure you’re okay?" he asked quietly, concern flickering in his eyes.

You managed a smile, nodding quickly. "Yeah," you replied, your voice soft and a little too tight. "Just tired...zoning out a bit..."

He frowned, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he pulled you closer, his arm around you feeling more like a lifeline now. You leaned into him, trying to let the warmth of his body ease the growing tension inside you. But the doubts wouldn’t let go.

The conversation around you continued, but you couldn’t focus. All you could think about was how out of place you felt. The boys were like family to you, and Hyunjin always made sure you felt included. But suddenly, the gap between their world and yours seemed so vast, so unbridgeable.

You weren’t an idol. You didn’t have perfect skin, flawless features, or the confidence that seemed to come so naturally to the people Hyunjin worked with. You weren’t constantly surrounded by stylists and makeup artists, weren’t trained to be effortlessly beautiful like the idols they were talking about.

What if you were holding him back?

The thought hit you like a punch to the gut, and you swallowed hard, trying to push it down. But it lingered, persistent and sharp. What if Hyunjin was only with you because he felt comfortable? What if you were a burden he didn’t even realize he was carrying?

Your hand clenched around the fabric of your shirt, the texture rough under your fingertips as you fought to keep your emotions in check. The last thing you wanted was for Hyunjin to notice something was wrong- especially not now, not here, surrounded by his friends.

But Hyunjin knew you too well.

A blessing and a curse.

"You seem quiet tonight," he murmured, leaning down slightly so only you could hear him. His voice was soft, gentle, the way it always was when he could tell something was bothering you. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear accidentally, and you held back a shiver.

You forced another smile, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt. "I’m fine," you whispered back, once more, not trusting yourself to say more.

He studied your face for a moment, his brow furrowing in concern, but yet again he didn’t press further. He simply held you closer, his hand moving in slow circles against your arm as if he could sense the storm brewing inside you.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. You tried to engage in conversation, to laugh at the jokes and pretend everything was fine. But your mind was elsewhere, tangled in a web of insecurities that wouldn’t let go.

By the time you left the dorm, Hyunjin walking you home, your thoughts were spiraling out of control. You walked in silence, Hyunjin’s hand holding yours, but the usual comfort you felt in his touch was overshadowed by the nagging voice in your head.

As you reached your apartment, Hyunjin paused at the door, turning to face you with that same concerned look in his eyes. "Are you sure everything’s okay?" he asked, his voice low and careful. "And please, tell the truth baby."

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. You wanted to tell him. You wanted to spill everything, to let him know how scared you were that you weren’t enough for him, that he could do so much better. But the words stuck in your throat.

“I’m good” you said again, forcing a smile as you unlocked the door.

But even as you said it, you knew it was a lie.

The door clicked shut softly behind you as you stepped into your apartment, Hyunjin following closely behind. The familiar space felt suffocating. You couldn’t shake the heavy feeling pressing down on your chest, the doubts lingering like an unwelcome guest.

Hyunjin was still watching you closely, his brows furrowed in that concerned way he always had when he knew something was off but didn’t want to push too hard. His presence, usually so comforting, made your heart ache now. You didn’t want to burden him with your insecurities, but the weight of them was starting to crush you from the inside.

He kicked off his shoes, the soft thud of them hitting the floor breaking the silence. You stood there for a moment, your arms hanging limply at your sides, unsure of what to do next. Your boyfriend came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as he often did when he wanted to feel close.

"You’ve been quiet all night," he murmured, his voice warm against your ear, but there was an underlying concern in his tone. His fingers traced light patterns along your stomach as he held you close, his body pressed gently against yours. "That's not like you, usually you blab with Jeongin or Lee Know. What’s going on?"

You swallowed hard, feeling the tears prickling at the back of your eyes. The words felt stuck in your throat, tangled up with fear and insecurity. How could you explain that you felt like you weren’t enough for him? That you worried you’d never fit into his world, that you’d always be just a step behind?

Hyunjin sighed softly, his arms tightening around you for a moment before he loosened his grip. "You know you don’t have to pretend with me, right?" he whispered, his voice gentle. "If something’s bothering you, just tell me."

Your chest tightened at his words. He was always like this- so patient, so understanding. It only made you feel worse. You couldn’t bear the thought of him feeling like he had to reassure you all the time, like you were this fragile thing that constantly needed fixing.

But despite the urge to hide it all, your emotions had built up too much to keep locked away any longer. You could feel them bubbling to the surface, the doubts, the insecurities, the fear of losing him to someone better.

"I overheard something earlier," you said quietly, your voice trembling slightly. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, afraid of what you might see in his eyes. "What Changbin and Felix said… about how you could have anyone… especially an idol. And...you're always around them and..."

Hyunjin’s body stiffened behind you, his hold on you becoming still. "What about it?" he asked, his voice cautious, like he wasn’t sure where this was going.

You bit your lip, trying to keep the tears from falling, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. "It just… it made me think," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "What if they’re right? What if I’m holding you back? You could be with someone better, someone who fits your world. Someone who’s… prettier, more confident, more-"

You couldn’t finish the sentence, your voice breaking as the tears finally spilled over. You hated how weak you sounded, hated that you were even saying this to him. But it was the truth, the ugly truth that had been gnawing at you ever since you overheard those words.

Hyunjin turned you around slowly, his hands gentle as they found your arms. His expression was unreadable, his brows furrowed, but his eyes held a softness that made your heart ache even more. He brought a hand to your face, gently brushing away the tears that had escaped.

"Y/N-ah." he said softly, his voice filled with something you couldn’t quite place. He didn’t look angry, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes, like it hurt him to hear you say those things.

You stared at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking, but he just pulled you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, and for a moment, it grounded you. His hand moved up to the back of your head, stroking your hair softly.

"Why would you think that?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Why would you ever think you’re not enough?"

Your breath hitched as you buried your face into his chest, his words sinking deep into your heart. You didn’t know how to explain it, didn’t know how to put into words the fear that had been gnawing at you for so long. "Because it’s true," you managed to say, your voice muffled against his shirt. "You could be with someone who fits into your life better. Someone who wouldn’t stand out or…or make you feel like you have to protect them or reassure them all the time."

Hyunjin pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look at him. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, there was only silence between you. His thumb traced your jawline, his gaze soft but intense.

"I don’t want someone else," he said firmly, his voice steady. "I don’t want someone who ‘fits’ into this crazy world of mine. I want you. You’re not holding me back. You’re not a burden. You’re…everything to me."

His words hit you like a wave, and you blinked, trying to process what he was saying. He looked at you like he couldn’t understand how you didn’t see it, how you didn’t realize how much you meant to him.

"You think I care about idols, about people who don’t even know me?" he asked, shaking his head slightly, almost as if the idea baffled him. "You’re the one who sees me for who I am. Not Hyunjin the idol, not Hyunjin from Stray Kids. Just me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. You're giving all I've ever wanted."

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest, but the doubts still lingered. "But they’re right. I’m not-"

"They’re not right," he cut you off gently but firmly. "And it doesn’t matter what anyone else says. I love you. I love you because you’re you, not because you’re perfect or because you fit some image."

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, warm and reassuring, but you still felt a tremor of doubt. "But what if I’m not enough?"

Hyunjin sighed softly, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "You’re more than enough, Y/N," he whispered, his voice almost breaking. "I don’t want anyone else. I never have. And I never will. I need you to believe that."

For a long moment, you just stood there, staring up at him as his words sank in. The warmth of his hand against your skin, the softness in his eyes- it all made you feel so loved, so wanted, even if the insecurities still lingered at the edges of your mind.

Finally, you nodded, though the doubts didn’t fully disappear. But you could feel them start to fade, just a little, as Hyunjin pulled you close again, holding you like he was afraid to let go.

"I’m sorry," you whispered into his chest, your arms wrapping around his waist. "I didn’t mean to doubt you…I just…"

"Don’t apologize," he murmured, resting his chin on top of your head. "Just… trust me, okay? I’m not going anywhere. Ever. I promise."

You closed your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent, letting the steady beat of his heart calm the storm inside you. For now, that was enough.

It would always be enough.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡

Sometime later...

Hyunjin stormed into the kitchen, his face set in a determined scowl. Lee Know, who had been lazily scrolling on his phone at the counter, glanced up, one eyebrow raised.

"Hyunjin?" Lee Know asked, barely glancing away from his phone. "What’s up?"

"Where’s the air fryer?" Hyunjin demanded, his voice tight but oddly calm.

Lee Know blinked, still scrolling. "The…air fryer? Why do you need that?"

Hyunjin ignored the question, eyes darting around. "And tissues. Where are the tissues?"

This caught Lee Know’s full attention. He finally put his phone down, smirking as he crossed his arms. "Ah, taking after your hyung now, huh? Makes sense. I am the best."

Hyunjin gave him a flat look but didn't miss a beat. "Eight is no longer fate, Minho. The kids are losing a chicken and a dwaekki today."

Lee Know's smirk grew wider as he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Ah, I see. A Hyunjin-style tantrum then?" He chuckled, totally unbothered. "Well, at least you’ve learned from the best."

Before Hyunjin could respond, Jeongin’s voice rang out from the living room.

"Channie Hyungggg!" Jeongin called, peeking his head into the kitchen with wide, playful eyes. "You might want to come here…Hyunjin’s about to air-fry Felix Hyung and Changbin Hyung!"

Seconds later, Chan appeared, with wide eyes. "Hyunjin, what now?"

Hyunjin sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to teach them a lesson. Can I at least air fry something of theirs? Changbin Hyungs protein powder or Felix's Louis Vuitton satchel?"

Chan frowned. "Hyunjin now why would you want to do that?"

"They hurt Y/N's feelings. Unintentionally but still."

At that Lee Know and Jeongin both perked up.

"Fry them both. Now." They said in straight-faced unison.

Chan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't get paid enough to raise these kids."

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg

@leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon

[hyvneluv]

been thinking abt hyune's hands a lil too often imagine him mindlessly playing w ur tits sjhdhjskajakaj😵‍💫

ohhhhh. 😵‍💫 nonnie baby your mind... 🧎‍♀️

i whole-heartedly believe that hyune cannot keep his hands to himself. he loves touching you — needs to have his hands on your skin at all times. his favourite spot to place his hands on just happens to be your tits. <3

he just loves to play with your tits, uses "they're warm," as an excuse all the time. it becomes a habit, so much so that he'd mindlessly do it. you'd be curled up in bed, watching a show and he'd slip his cold hands under your shirt and play with your tits, starting with soft touches to full on circling his thumb around your nipple and lightly pinching. at one point, when he could hear your heavy breaths, that's when he'd have his mouth all over your tits — won't stop playing with them until they're all sore & his mouth's all swollen. <3

[hyvneluv]

If no writer writes this I’ll write it myself..

Hear me out.

Biker boy Hyunjin PLEASEEEE enemy to lover trope type? You challenge him in some way and he goes like ‘bring it on baby’ WHILE WEARING THAT FULL LEATHER SUIT LOOKING AT YOU LIKE HE WANTS TO DEVOUR YOU 😭

That necklace pull omg im so weak for this man I swear

Maybe im just ovulating guys idk

[hyvneluv]

Hear me out.

Biker boy Hyunjin PLEASEEEE enemy to lover trope type? You challenge him in some way and he goes like ‘bring it on baby’ WHILE WEARING THAT FULL LEATHER SUIT LOOKING AT YOU LIKE HE WANTS TO DEVOUR YOU 😭

That necklace pull omg im so weak for this man I swear

Maybe im just ovulating guys idk

[hyvneluv]

He’s so fucking fine omg don’t even

[hyvneluv]

GOOD MORNING??? A new batch of photos HELLO???

Have mercy Hwang Hyunjin

[hyvneluv]

「22 Strokes」 · [淫欲]

➥ Hyunjin x Reader (f) — 1.4k (~6 min. read)

➥ The author chooses not to issue tags for everything that takes place in this work to preserve some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to proceed at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.

⚠ — Explicit sexual content.

The heavy emergency door feels like a dead leaf when you hastily pull on the handle. The rumble of barging into the stairwell quickly recedes and turns into pornographically wet sounds and heavy breathing. 

“Off,” you hiss through your clenched teeth, almost ripping the buttons on his useless cardigan that barely covers anything.

Keep reading

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Cartier pictures dropped when I was having my morning coffee. That's it.

*This is a one shot. There is no part two.

「© 2024, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

[hyvneluv]

The sun to me

Chapter I: The Seed. Part I.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 1.8k

chapter summary: a glimpse into the world of hwang hyunjin, the artist and the celebrity.

warnings: swearing, smoking, drugs, one night stand, brief sex scene, hyunjin is an asshole for a few moments

~ Masterlist for the series

Click. Click. Click.

The flash of the camera illuminates the room and the almost expressionless face, the owner of said face leaning his body towards one of the canvases hanging on the wall.

One of his many pieces that once only existed in the depths of his mind and heart, spilled onto the canvas adorned with a stylish bronze frame.

The flash once hurt his eyes, but as the time went on and the flashes got more frequent, his eyes adjusted and he became desensitized to the attention.

It was all just a familiar cycle. Sit in front of a blank canvas, prepare your paints, prepare your paintbrushes, prepare your fucking inspiration or at least find it somewhere hidden under a carpet, shoved into a metaphorical hole, sucked into the endless void.

Put it on the wall of your gallery, say some pretentious shit, strike a few poses and act like you're happy and motivated to even live.

Rinse and repeat.

As your admirers scream and throw wads of cash at your feet, be happy, you're living your dream, be happy, you got what you wanted, be happy, your life is perfect.

What was the inspiration for this piece?

Just say some poetic shit and everyone will eat it up, thinking how deep you are, admire the artist, admire the art, admire the lie.

Life is perfect.

Hyunjin looks for a moment of peace. He finds just that, one moment, as he manages to slip away to the balcony. He presses his elbows on the cold, hard stone, leans on his open palms and looks down.

The suit he's wearing makes it hard to move, his body is restricted, tied and held in place, the tie around his neck is secured tightly, almost taking his breath away and suffocating him.

He runs a hand through his styled hair, trying to take in a deep breath, his eyes are fixed on the road, everything looks so tiny from up where he's standing, so insignificant and temporary in time. All the people walking around look like ants, cars look like toys he played with when he was a child, it's a hazy cloud of everything and nothing, moving too fast to make sense of it.

Melancholy lingers in the air, together with the smell of a thunderstorm brewing in the distant dark sky, and he lifts his head up, his hand in his pocket.

Hyunjin fishes out a pack of cigarettes, a damned habit he picked up on after hanging out in many fancy clubs with many fancy people whose noses are white, whose smiles are crooked, whose eyes are dull and hearts tainted.

He curses under his breath, realizing that he had no lighter with him, after all, he didn't smoke daily, it was just a rare occurrence to blow off steam, just an excuse to disappear from the stifling crowd, the loud voices and the unnecessary questions he answered a hundred times before.

Footsteps approach him, the moment is broken and his manager appears by his side.

"Looking for this?"- Charlie reaches his zippo to Hyunjin.

"Sure."- Hyunjin's voice is almost inaudible.

"Those'll kill you, you know."- Charlie says, a sympathetic smile on his face.

Hyunjin lights up the cigarette, the quiet crackling sound loud in the space between them as he inhales, his lungs filling with the poison, and his brain filling with fake relief.

"You smoke more than me."- the smoke puffs out like a cloud as Hyunjin talks, eyeing the zippo in his hand, an airplane engraved into it.

"You look ugly when you smoke."- Charlie teases and Hyunjin lets out a chuckle as his manager takes out a cig.

He reaches his hand towards Hyunjin's and he rests the old zippo in his open palm, the thought of teasing his manager only shortly passing through his mind.

Charlie has always had an unhealthy obsession with airplanes and collecting old things, so Hyunjin knew that if he even tried to joke with the lighter, his manager would freak out.

"Why so gloomy? This is the biggest show you've ever hosted. Specifically in your own gallery."- Charlie lets the smoke fizz out as Hyunjin stares off into the distance, the quiet breeze swirling the smoke around, drawing patterns in the dark that surrounds them.

"It is, isn't it?"- Hyunjin nods, watching the ashes flicker around as he taps his cigarette, some of it ending on his perfect suit, staining the expensive material.

"Yeah, we made a lot of money. There are so many interested buyers too, so we're bound to make even more."- Charlie smirks before taking a drag.

Money. It all comes back to the stupid paper that holds more significance than anything else in this world. It's the ruler of everything and everyone, and the more you have it, the more you want.

You become insatiable, one more expensive suit, one more pair of leather shoes, a new couch because why not, a new car that's not even on the market yet because you get exclusive everything.

Complete emptiness. That's all that it is, a void that keeps growing with more stuff you get.

Nothing you buy will ever be enough to fill up the ever growing black hole, everything just gets sucked into it and you're left feeling like you have nothing at all.

That's all Charlie ever talks about, except airplaines. It's all Hyunjin has come to know.

He drowns in so many rare and expensive things, but still what he wants to grasp onto isn't tangible to him.

"Sounds perfect."- Hyunjin's voice comes out flat.

"It is perfect! So, lighten up! We made so. much. cash."- Charlie emphasizes. "We need to celebrate."- he adds, smirking as he sticks his hand into the pocket of his jacket and brings out a little baggy of white powder, waving it in front of Hyunjin's face.

"I'll pass."- he says shortly and Charlie scoffs incredulously.

"What is with the sour attitude, my friend?"- he runs his hand through his curly hair. "You're being ungrateful. There are people who have so much influence here tonight and they're gonna want to meet the star of the show, the one and only Hwang Hyunjin. So you better get your fucking shit together."- Charlie flicks his cigarette as his voice gets deeper and the look in his eyes becomes menacing, before he leaves Hyunjin standing on the balcony.

The storm moves closer, Hyunjin looks down, a flicker of something lights up deep inside him, he stares down as his heart races, he wants to scream and fly. Intrusive thoughts fill his head up and he turns on his heel abruptly, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking back into the gallery.

It's already 4 am when Hyunjin stumbles into his apartment, some nameless girl giggling behind him. She probably thinks she knows everything about Hyunjin, which academy he went to, what he loved to paint the most, what was his biggest inspiration, when he had his first show.

This was the night of her life.

To Hyunjin, she was just another instrument to play with, something to pass the time and fill the empty space of his king sized bed, at least for one night.

To feel something. He wishes he could feel something.

She will never forget this but he already forgot her name.

Another baggy is opened, white powder spread on the glass table, Hyunjin's credit card used to make four perfect little lines, two for each of them.

The girl giggles and leans over, snorting two lines in as she moans in delight, her eyes rolling back.

Hyunjin mirrors her actions, scrunching up his nose, despise written on his face at the burning feeling in his nostrils and the dull ache behind his eyes.

How did he get to this?

He doesn't care right now, thoughts erased in his high mind as the girl starts touching on him, nimble fingers coming up to untie his tie.

He doesn't resist, lets her undress him as she kisses his neck, his hands are splayed on her tiny waist, she must be a model.

She's probably beautiful but even that doesn't mean anything to Hyunjin, not when he looks at her, kisses her or lays her under him.

He doesn't see her, he looks through her, chasing his high as quickly as he can, his fingers working on her sensitive bundle of nerves just so she doesn't talk shit later that he didn't know how to please her.

With a loud moan of his name that makes his stomach recoil, she cums around him and he spills into the condom, his hand gripping at the sheet next to her head.

Here comes the worst part. She'll want to cuddle. She'll stay the night. She'll probably yell and slap him in the morning when he tells her to get lost.

He'll say something douchy like 'you should feel honored I fucked you' just to get her off his case.

And he won't feel a thing.

"What the hell do you mean, you're leaving?!"- Charlie yells desperately, as Hyunjin sits, tapping his foot against the carpeted floor of his manager's office.

Charlie stands up angrily, the leather chair he was sitting in, creaking and spinning a little.

"I'm leaving, Charlie. I need to leave. I need a break. I can't do this anymore. I don't even know who I am and why I'm doing this anymore. I don't know what to paint anymore and I don't even fucking care right now. I despise painting and art! I fucking despise all of this!"- Hyunjin's suppressed anger and despair starts bubbling up as he stands up.

"Save your sob story, Hyunjin. This isn't just about you. Other people depend on how much you sell and how much your produce. You can't just up and leave everything when you feel like it. People will-"

"I don't fucking care about people! And I'm making it about me. It's about me, for once. If you want me to be fruitful and bring you money so badly, you need to let me take a fucking break."- Hyunjin seethes.

Charlie pinches the bridge of his nose.

"How long?"

"However long I need."

"Fine. Whatever, Hyunjin. I will keep selling the pieces from the last show. They will sell out quickly, just a reminder. You'll need to do something new by then."

"Fine."

Hyunjin leaves the office, his heart beating fast inside his chest as he speeds off faster and faster, away from the gray buildings, away from the tainted hearts, away from the empty fucking void, threatening to suck in his entire existence.

Returning to his cold apartment, Hyunjin packs a suitcase, leaves a note for the cleaning lady, and throws one last look around his modern apartment, his eyes stop on the looming city skyscrapers outside.

No colors could ever illuminate the deep-seated depression of the big city.

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @nchhuhi @1810cl

[hyvneluv]

I’m so normal about this

[hyvneluv]

THE VEIN WHAT THE FUCKKKK Hwang HYUNJIN(?(?

[hyvneluv]

Just imagine blowjob angle… oh I’m unwell

[hyvneluv]

aloneness | by design chapter one

pairing: chan x reader ; hyunjin x reader | wc: 16.2k | genre: adult romance, angst | warnings: childhood best friends to lovers ; heavy angst ; death and grieving ; complicated feelings ; failed relationships ; explicit sexual content. the chapter contains heavy themes that could be upsetting to some. if you're concerned it might be an issue for you, please read the unabridged list of warnings, which also contains nsfw warnings. reader discretion is advised. this work is for adult audiences since it contains mature themes and explicit sexual content.

It had been such a long while, it seemed, since Chris had truly loved you. And you loved him in a desperate way, like trying to hold onto a knife not by its handle, but by its blade.

To be intimate with love, the true kind, also means being intimate with loss.

You grew up in a small enough town that most faces you saw, every day, were familiar ones. The employees at the grocery store saw you become a teenager and later, an adult. You were greeted by your first name if you stepped into the post office. You had become acquainted with specific trees, the twists of certain roads, or the lines of the mountains on the horizon. By no means did that make your life dull, not by your standards anyway. The town’s name is Stormhaven—named so by its founders because of the violent storm that raged the first night they established camp on this land. As grand and frightening as the storm was, it was equally beautiful. Something about the geolocation of the city or perhaps the fact that it’s located where the river melts into the sea makes it prone to storms, and they are, indeed, reputed to be gorgeous.

You did leave momentarily though,  to pursue some major you had no great interest in, but it felt right to try and do something. You were the first of your family to go to college. You thought, foolishly perhaps, that you could teach English—you had always been one to read books and enjoy the intricacies of the language in them. To you, words were no different than pigment, sentences were the oil that made the paint, and books were the finished product, the saturated canvas. Now, here’s the thing—you liked English and you liked art, too, thanks to a book you found at the age of 9 on your uncle’s bookshelf. It was your first introduction to the Italian masters and their masterpieces, and you were a little too young to fully comprehend it, but that did not stop you from appreciating it. 

You were the first of your family to go to college. Your parents owned a small general store on the north side of the city, where there’s more forest than city. It’s perfectly situated though—directly on the one road that leads to the good fishing spots. 

The river is at its narrowest there, narrow enough that if one spoke out loud, they could be heard on the other side when people stood on the shore. There was another camping ground there, and cabins, and if the river was gentle enough, it wasn’t uncommon for people to go across it to make new acquaintances. 

You grew up there, in this place loved by locals and tourists alike. Your family was friends with the family that owned the camping ground down the hill, and it helped make business good for everybody involved. 

It also made your summers a lot less boring—you were an only child, with aloneness often forced on you. And it could have been awful if the owners of the camping ground didn’t have a son who happened to be the same age as you.

Chris was always ‘the good guy’, which, at times, rendered being his friend difficult. Because you had to live up to the standard. You had to deserve it somehow. Chris himself never made you feel this way, of course not, it was only fueled by your own compulsion to compare yourself to him at all times. Chris was a good kid, smart, funny, and nice, and he looked good. It made him very popular with the girls on the camping ground. You weren’t particularly popular with the boys. Or with the girls.

Aloneness forced on you. Defining you, almost. 

Except Chris made sure you were never left out. He always introduced you as his best friend and brought you along even though his fangirls clearly didn’t appreciate you being around. Either Chris was oblivious to it or he just didn’t care—in any case, you spent all of your summers with him, from sunrise to sunset and sometimes after. Chris attended the private school in the next town over, so you didn’t see him a whole lot during the year. Still, your family visited his once in a while for dinner, and you and Chris would hang out in the basement to watch movies and eat potato chips. Life had been easy, once.

It would be a lie to say that everything went smoothly all the time with him. When both of you reached an age where hormones are raging, things got a little complicated. Chris got in a fight—a physical fight—with his best friend during a party. It was just before tourist season. Your parents had gone for a couple weeks for a long overdue vacation—they trusted you and Mrs. Bahng with the store, knowing you could handle it, especially since it wasn’t very busy yet. Of course, you threw a party—a low-key one, just a few people. Some guys from Chris’ school also came along. 

By then, Chris was a handsome young man, charming without trying to be, with a dorkish laugh and a good heart. If somebody had asked you if you had a crush on him then, you would have said no, but you would have been lying to them and to yourself. 

The party quickly took a turn when some of Chris’ friends pulled out the liquor they’d brought. It made you nervous. This was your house after all, and if something happened, your parents would never trust you again. You tasted vodka for the first time that night. First in a red plastic cup, mixed with some cheap lemonade, and after that, on the lips of Chris’ friend when he pulled you to a quiet corner to make out with you. His name was Liam. You saw him once in a while when he spent the night at Chris’ place or something. He wasn’t as popular with girls as Chris was and you suspected he was jealous of him, but then, who wouldn’t be? 

However, Liam turned out to be a little too insistent, touching you in places, and whispering things to your ear. You made up some excuse and fled to your backyard where most people had come to enjoy a small bonfire. You sat with them but your mind was elsewhere, wondering if you ought to let Liam do to you whatever it was he wanted. After all, you weren’t popular, and nobody wanted to date you. Liam was the first guy who kissed you for more than three seconds and who touched you. There might not be one after, so perhaps you shouldn’t pass on that opportunity. 

He did join you by the fire. Liam. He sat not next to you but behind you, his legs locking you in his embrace. It wasn’t even the worst PDA taking place in the group as one of your friends was heavily making out with one of the boys while the others talked. You participated in the conversation, not unaware of the glances Chris shot you a little too often. Maybe, after all, it wouldn’t be a good idea to have sex with his friend. Maybe that made him upset, and you could understand that—he had never pursued any of your friends and had always made it very clear he wasn’t interested in them. You figured he expected the same of you.

But Liam kissed the back of your neck. And then he touched you again and again—your waist, your back, your thighs. He held you in his arms and it birthed a distracting tingling sensation between your legs that you couldn’t blame on the vodka. “Come with me upstairs,” he said into your ear. And you did. You went. 

He kissed you even more in your bedroom, his hands underneath your shirt, his mouth sloppy and wet, too wet. It all happened very fast—you were on your bed and then he was on top of you and he was very hard. It happened so fast, too fast for you to fully process it. It only lasted a few seconds—two thrusts, no more. In between the first and the second, it occurred to you that you hadn't used a condom. And then Liam whimpered pathetically and it was over.

It made you want to throw up, or maybe it was the vodka. Or, maybe, it was just the smell of him—sweat and cheap cigarettes and his musk, which was rather unpleasant in your nose. 

You slid from underneath him, visibly dazed, and it made him upset. Years later, you realized he was mostly upset at himself and ashamed of his premature... conclusion. Still, it was at you he lashed out, maybe for not looking like you had just gotten the dick of the century.

“Don’t be like that,” he told you, shoving his small, softening cock back into his pants.

His sour tone, paired with the soreness between your legs, brought tears to your eyes. It made him more upset even. "What's EVEN the problem anyway?" He raised his voice at you, and whenever someone did that, it always made you cry.

Unfortunately for him, Chris had made his way upstairs, suspecting something wasn’t quite right. He tried to open the door but it was locked. “Let me in.” His voice was unrecognizable, to the point that it frightened you almost. You still felt weird between your legs, sore and empty and full all at once. And above all, unclean. Dirty. You wanted nothing more than showering and washing Liam off you.

“Fucking let me in.”

Liam was very drunk. Instead of post-nut clarity, he had been hit by a strong dose of dopamine that rendered him even less coherent than he had been before. “What is it, Bang? You upset I jumped your virgin friend before you could?”

It occurred to you at that moment that you had never seen Chris angry before, except for fun like when he was playing video games. But something in his voice let you know that the situation was very serious. 

And then he smashed the door open using his shoulder. What happened next would always remain a bit blurry in your memory, but it never left either. Chris grabbed Liam by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. And then they fought. It was nasty. Liam was taller and bigger than Chris, but he was also drunker—Chris, on the other hand, was quick and properly pissed off. Before you knew it, Liam was pinned to the ground under Chris’ weight, being punched repeatedly in the face. Years later, you would admit this to Christopher—that it felt good to see his fist sink into Liam’s face, to see his lip split open, to hear his whining. Still, you knew it was wrong. Something within you, that night, knew that Chris could seriously injure Liam if he didn’t stop, so you stopped him. 

You stopped Chris, too, when he threatened to reprise his attack as Liam was stirring up. You just wanted everyone gone so he made them leave. You heard more shouting from outside but paid it no mind and just went into the bathroom and turned the shower on.

You stood underneath the water, keeping it as hot as you could, scalding your skin, rubbing soap all over yourself as hard as you could using various tools—a washcloth didn’t really cut it, and neither did your loofah or even your nails. In the end, it was your exfoliating cloth that you used to cleanse your body, emptying your bottle of shower gel, steaming up the entire bathroom. But you washed and washed and washed and rinsed and rinsed and rinsed. You did so until you could no longer feel Liam between your legs, only your skin made sensitive from all the scrubbing. 

Chris was waiting for you, sitting on the floor in the hallway. You had wrapped a towel around your body but it was dark and you didn’t care. You could walk naked outside for all you cared. 

That night, Chris took your face in his bloody, shaking hands and asked you if you were okay. You felt strangely okay, like you should have been sobbing or afraid but you were neither of these things. He, on the other hand, didn’t look too good with bruises and cuts on his face and even more on his knuckles. “Your mom will kill you,” you pointed out. The Bahngs preached pacifism. They were some of the nicest people you had ever met.

That night, you put on some comfortable clothes and made Chris sit in the bathroom while you cleaned his wounds. He insisted he could do it and you knew he could but you wanted to. You needed to do something, something useful if at all possible, and he let you, apologizing the whole time for letting Liam come here, and for being his friend in the first place. “He wasn’t like that before,” he assured you.

People change. You didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to say.

That night, Chris tucked you in bed but you asked him to stay, so he stayed, holding you in his arms. 

You spent that summer working both at the general store and at the campground. You worked a lot and when it raised suspicions in your parents, you simply said you were saving up for college so they didn’t question it. Chris knew, however, that you just needed to keep your mind, and body, busy. So, when there was no work for you to do, he took you on hikes. Hours-long hikes where neither of you really spoke. You just walked side by side. The more summer advanced, the farther you went. 

You started talking again at one point, for no reason at all. It just happened. Chris told you about his upcoming school year and how he still wasn’t exactly sure what he should be doing with his life. That he felt bad he wanted to leave Stormhaven, that he knew his father expected him to take over the business. You felt the same way. You were scared of the future because you didn’t know what you were supposed to do with your life. When you mentioned it, Chris assured you he thought you’d be a great teacher. You returned the compliment, telling him he would be at home in business school, and that it didn’t mean he had to take over the camping ground. He could do something else. 

It’d be great if we went to the same college, he said, and you agreed. It would, indeed, be great. By now, Chris had become something to you that couldn’t quite be defined by words—a best friend? Yes, perhaps. But it was more than that. He took care of you in a way that was so beautiful and so deep, you knew you could never repay him, that you would always be in his debt.

You loved him. And maybe you knew he loved you, too. 

You worked a lot that summer, even picking up shifts at a gardening center in town, owned by one of your friends’ dad. You didn’t think your absolute need to remain busy had anything to do with Liam. You were over it in the sense that few girls get to experience a wonderful and romantic ‘first time’ and that it hadn’t lasted very long anyway. You were over it, too, because Chris was there for you. 

You were over it because both you and Liam were drunk and stupid and young. 

It wasn’t what troubled you really. The problem was that it felt good to be desired for once. You had wanted Liam to touch you, and you had been flattered to feel him through his pants when you sat between his legs. It had even aroused you. The problem was that you didn’t really want to fuck Liam but you let him do it even though you knew deep down that it was a stupid thing to do. Because it was still better than being unwanted, than having aloneness forced on you.

And you felt disgusting for thinking that way. 

You worked so much it made you ill—one day, when you were helping Mr. Bahng and Chris clean up a few campsites, you had a dizzy spell so intense you momentarily passed out, waking up a few seconds later, laying on your back on the soft soil. It was particularly hot that day, especially considering the summer was ending and you were returning to school the week after. Mr. Bahng made you drink water while Chris cooled you down, pouring water into his hands and pressing them on your neck and face. When you regained some color, he was instructed by his dad to take you home—not on foot, of course, on the company’s ATV. It was almost like a walk of shame when Chris dropped you at your place. You kept telling him you were fine but it didn’t exactly feel like it. You just didn’t want him to go out of his way for you. 

Your mother was home and she already knew everything because Christopher’s dad called her. She made you go to bed, saying she would make you a good meal with broth. But you couldn’t stomach the sandwich she made. Or the broth. 

There was a storm that night, quite strong. Chris stayed with you even though you asked him not to. He said he liked you even though he saw you throw up, and tried to make jokes about it. He made you laugh that night, and it was your most heartfelt laugh in a while. You weren’t scared when the power went out because he was there. 

By then, you knew that you loved him in a special way. It made you feel a lot of things when he held you in his arms or when he kissed the top of your head. 

You kept a small battery-powered light in your bathroom, especially for nights like these. You reached for it in the drawer it had always been, and instead of the light, your fingers wrapped themselves around something else, something innocuous, an everyday item. An unopened box of tampons. 

Your whole world collapsed around you, except it was you who fell to your knees, suddenly completely unable to carry your own weight. Your heart ran marathons in your chest and you froze. It was how Chris found you. He looked at you, then at the tampons, and at you again. 

Then he was on his knees too, wrapping his arms around you. The storm outside matched the one in your heart. You had never been as scared as this in your whole life. You didn’t even cry—you just sat in bed, all night, watching the lightning over the river, staring at the stormy sky, thinking, thinking, thinking. You went through every possible scenario you could think of, and in none of them did it make sense to remain pregnant. 

Chris, once again, was there the whole time, not leaving your side that night and taking responsibility for you the next morning. With his brand new driver’s license—not his learner’s—he took his dad’s car and drove both of you two towns away so you could purchase a pregnancy test. He was the one to go into a store and buy three of three different brands. “To make sure,” he told you. You did the first test and it came out positive. 

The second also. You didn’t need to do the third, so you discarded it. You did cry then, in the not-so-clean bathroom stall of a mall you weren’t familiar with. Just a few tears. What went through your mind was this—that just because you had been greedy, just because you wanted to feel desired for one night, you were going to destroy something beautiful.  

Chris was there for you. He held your hands while you made appointments. He drove you two hours away from home just to make sure nobody would know where you went, telling his parents he was taking you to some event you had never heard of. A two-day event, so it would require the trip to be an overnight one. They bought it. They didn’t even care that you would share a hotel room. Your parents trusted Chris. On the first day, you had a lot of tests done. On the morning of the second day, they proceeded to the abortion. It took about five minutes, then it was over. You stared at the ceiling as the doctor was ridding your body of the consequence of your impure greed. During those five minutes, you reflected on how selfish you were. 

Chris stayed with you while you rested at the clinic. You shared some juice with him. Sometimes the cramps hurt you so bad you couldn’t talk, but it only lasted a few seconds. He held your hand. When you were free to go, he drove you two back to the hotel and you took a nap after having a small dose of the painkillers they gave you. It was over but it had never truly begun, and it felt strange. You felt empty. While you were sleeping, Chris went to the nearest drug store and bought just about every type of maxi pad he found. You bled a lot, and it hurt a lot, too.

Chris ordered pizza but you weren’t hungry. You made yourself eat a few bites and showered in very hot water. That night, he tucked you into bed but you asked him to stay, which meant you wanted him by your side and not on the other bed. He looked at you like he was hoping you would say that.

Christopher kissed you on the lips. Just a kiss, lips on lips, almost chaste, and you knew then that you would marry him someday. He kissed you again on your forehead and you buried your face into his neck. 

“I never thought I wanted children before,” you admitted to him. “What if it was wrong to get the abortion?”

“There’s still time,” he promised you. There was a long silence after that, but he added, “You made the right decision for your future. We’ll have a baby someday, okay? You and I.”

You believed him. And you were happy that year, when you realized, finally, that you had let Liam do this to you because you wanted Chris to do it, and you did not think he could ever feel the same way. 

You weren’t accepted into the very renowned university Chris was going to, but your college was just an hour-long drive away so it wasn’t too bad. You saw each other as often as you could during the first semester, but things got complicated as time went on. He was more and more busy and you were less and less enthusiastic about your studies. It turned out, English and teaching English were two very different worlds, and you did not belong in the latter. You couldn’t believe you were being tested on some supposed ‘ways’ to teach certain things to students. There was no such thing for you—every person is different, so how could one even explain another’s learning process? 

You dropped out on your second semester, leaving in the middle of a particularly boring and arduous English Grammar class, heading directly to the parking lot where you had left your car. You drove all the way to Chris’ apartment, which he shared with two other students. He wasn’t home, but one of his roommates, Changbin, informed you he should be back soon and let you in. 

Chris was there for you. It made you feel inadequate. You were always somehow in need of him or of something, but him most often. You were constantly in his debt.

He soothed your tears and promised you that your parents wouldn’t hate you if you dropped out, but he suggested thinking about another major. “There’s still time,” he said. He often said that.

You got a job at a coffee shop and worked there the rest of the year while weighing your options. You visited a lot of places—parks, various attractions, art museums. The museums were your favorites—there was no museum in Stormhaven, obviously, so to have several options to choose from now was quite the upgrade. You spent countless hours wandering in galleries, observing, learning, feeding your soul, after which you went to the library and gathered some books related to whatever you had just seen. Chris joined you sometimes, but it was really just to be with you and you knew it. He didn’t hate art, it just wasn’t for him. It didn't reach his soul like it did yours. You went to concerts with him too, which he liked a lot more. 

He suggested you try applying into art history for next year, and of course you would love that. Only, you were the first of your family to go to college, and you knew that your very practical parents, aunts and uncles would find an art history major rather pointless. An absolute waste of time. Chris insisted though—he went as far as mentioning it during winter break when both of your families sat to share a generous Christmas dinner. As expected, the response was underwhelming.

But what are you gonna do after? There can’t be enough jobs. 

Can’t you read and learn all that stuff in books or on the internet? What’s the point?

Are you sure? Or are you going to drop out again because it turned out it wasn’t for you?

You couldn’t hold it against them. Your family. They weren’t even wrong. 

You took more shifts at the coffee shop, and in the summer you returned home to work at your parents’ general shop. Chris came to spend some time home too, and it was good to be back there together. He was doing great in business school and you were going nowhere though, so as days passed, your mood darkened. He didn’t let you close yourself off, making you tell him the things that were on your mind just to prove you wrong.

“What do you mean, not enough? I loved you before you went to university, so I’ll love you regardless. So don’t say that. I forbid you.”

You stopped saying it, you just didn’t stop thinking it.

The year after, you moved in with Chris and his two roommates. The plan was to find a place for you two but to be together in the meantime. You didn’t mind, really—Jisung and Changbin were good guys, and Jisung told you about a job opening at the bookstore he worked at. You liked this job a lot. You visited all the museums in this new city, too. 

For your birthday, Ji and Changbin even got you an art book. It was a long essay on one painting in particular, an oil painting titled Loss. The painting depicts a lone woman sitting on a wooden chair in a neutral-colored room, almost reminiscent of a Vermeer, but with bolder colors. The room appears empty except for the corner of a bed on the right, and a window on the wall near which the woman sits. She is looking at the ground, but others say she is looking at her hands which are intertwined, holding nothing. The true direction of her gaze is disputed, but her expression is intricate, complex, unreadable. Depending on the viewer’s mood, she sometimes looks simply pensive. Most of the time she appears deeply sorrowful, almost desperate. To some, she shows no emotion. Thing is—art historians cannot agree. Everyone is right. Everyone is wrong.

The true magic of the painting resides in the sunset filtering through the window—it illuminates the room intricately, the shadows created by it adding to the mystery around the woman's expression. The light is accurate in a way that makes it look so real, yet more beautiful than reality. Its painter produced less than fifteen paintings and is yet considered a pioneer solely based on Loss. 

One of the most fascinating things about Loss is that it is… lost. It was stolen in the 90s while it was transported to a museum in New York, where it was meant to be temporarily exposed for a special exhibition. Nobody knows who did it or where it went, or if it still exists even. 

The book mentioned this and so much more, like how the descendants of the painter had been the primary suspects in the case, based on the fact that they had requested a few times that the painting be given back to them. There had been lawful contracts signed though, yielding it to an art society, binding Loss to museum collections for yet another hundred years at least. Since it was an ongoing case, however, details couldn’t be made public. 

You had never seen it in person—and you never would, obviously—but Loss had become your favorite painting. You didn’t need to describe with words the emotions inhabiting her, the woman on it, you just knew you shared them. What you didn’t know, however, was that you would share them even more someday.

Seeing how interested in it you were, Chris took you on a trip for your two-year anniversary—a museum in Seoul was in possession of three paintings by the same artist and one in Japan had two. You visited both locations and he stayed with you as you stood before the canvases, all of them saturated with light. One of them was a lake, as still as a mirror, on which the sunrise reflected so beautifully you shed a few tears. 

At the very end of the trip, Chris took you on an evening walk around a vast park. That’s when he got on one knee and asked you to marry him. He did it in a way that was so proper, so cliché, that it made you laugh and cry at once. You said yes, of course you said yes. It made sense, didn’t it? Growing up together, growing closer. Falling in love and not even feeling it, just waking up one morning and realizing it’s always been there.

You and Chris made love all night in your hotel room, your bodies close and warm and beautiful. He fucked you hard, desperately, confessing how he had been in love with you since childhood. You had long conversations between rounds as you recovered. “Do you ever regret hurting Liam like that?” you asked him, your head resting on his stomach. Many years had gone by since the event, yet neither of you had forgotten it. 

Chris pulled you up so he could look into your eyes. “No,” he said. “I only regret not going after you earlier. I guess I was hurt that you wanted to be with him and not with me. In retrospect, it was stupid. I should have confessed my feelings as soon as I became aware of them. I should have followed you upstairs.”

You kissed him then, deeply, slowly, your heart feeling like it might burst. You found something rather poetic about all of it, and also fair. It was your hidden love that had pushed you in Liam’s arms, and Chris’ repressed feelings also had played their part. You wanted to forget that night and yet you could not, as though something deeply important had happened, important enough that it was still on your mind tonight, merely a few hours after your boyfriend proposed to you, as you climbed onto him to straddle him, never breaking the kiss, his cock growing hard under you, for you. 

It was as though that night had sealed something, putting both Chris and you on a path, and neither of you knew what the destination was. You didn’t mind going in blindly, not if he was by your side. He had always been by your side anyway, and you couldn’t imagine your life without him.

It felt easy. 

Too easy. 

The wedding took place the summer after Chris graduated. Half of the campground had been reserved for it. Friends and family alike came together to celebrate this union that apparently more than half the town had seen coming anyway. It was a beautiful wedding, underneath a blue sky and then the stars. The air smelled like the freshly grown leafage and the soft breeze carried the scent of the ocean, too. You danced and laughed all night, catching up with former high school friends, people you hadn’t seen in so long, introducing them to your and Chris’ new friends. Jisung’s speech was particularly popular—both very funny and moving, it was clear he had spent a lot of time writing it.

Some time between very late and early morning, you made your way with Chris to the small but cozy cabin you had rented for the occasion. Both of you sat in silence at the kitchen table in your wedding attire to drink some water and eat a few snacks. Chris glanced at you with a knowing smile, reaching for your hand over the table. You smiled at him, too. 

You showered together after slowly undressing each other, and you knew that you would never forget your wedding night. You sucked his cock in the shower and he gently played with your clit, kissing and nibbling at your neck, calling you sweet things. You started fucking on the bathroom counter then moved onto the bed where Chris ate your pussy until you came, and then he fucked you. And when he came, you kept fucking him until he got hard again. You would never forget this and you knew it. That night, you felt loved and desired. You knew it was much like a drug—those were feelings one gets easily addicted to. But you didn’t care. You felt more beautiful, more important then than you ever had. 

When both of you collapsed, spent, satiated, panting, Chris held you in his arms as he so often did, and yet you never grew tired of it. He kissed the top of your head. “Let’s stay here,” he told you.

“Good news then, we rented it for a week, you pointed out with a chuckle.

“No, I mean Stormhaven.” He shook his head. “We don’t have to if you’d rather go back to the city, but it feels at home here, with you.”

You felt the same. So you stayed.

You bought a house in the northern part of town, in the same neighborhood you two had been raised in. As the procedures took place, Chris and you also pondered over the careers you may or may not want. The city’s hardware store was for sale—you could take up a bigger loan and make it yours, you and him. Then Chris’ parents mentioned they were thinking about retiring, and now that their son was back in town, they would be more at peace to do so. 

So, instead, they gave the campground to both of you. That year, your parents decided to sell you the general store too, and for a very low price. They even sold their house and bought an RV with the objective of being on the road and seeing as many things as they could. 

Those years were good ones. Even though you feared things would slow down with Chris, they didn’t. Business was good, life was even better. One night, as you two were getting into bed, Chris watched you as you opened a new box of birth control pills. He took it out of your hands, looked at you, and asked, “Do you still want to have a baby with me someday?”

You thought about it for a few seconds. You had discussed this prior to the wedding, of course. The conclusion had been that you weren’t sure you could be a good mother, so you couldn’t be sure you wanted to be one. Chris understood, but couldn’t see how you would be a bad parent. He wanted kids, and this was something you knew before even dating him. 

Here’s one of the ugliest truths in life—sometimes, you want something. Other times, you want to want something. The two are very different concepts except the human mind, when driven by the heart, is completely unable to distinguish them. It is an excessively shameful thing to admit to it.

You didn’t know at the time. What you wanted and what you didn’t want. It sounded nice, idyllic even, the idea of it—raising a child with Chris, your high school sweetheart, in this house that you made your home in, in the town that saw both of you grow up. It felt right, like life coming full circle, except grander than before.

You didn’t know at the time. You only knew that you loved Christopher more than anything, and that if you were going to have a baby with somebody, it would be him. 

You didn’t take your birth control that night. 

A poet might say that one can only see light if there is darkness. And he would be right, but you would also tell him to fuck right off.

Your mother died when you were six months pregnant. A hidden heart condition. She died in her sleep—your father found her in the morning when he woke up. It traumatized him. 

One day many months prior to that, you found out you couldn’t stomach onions anymore. In fact, the scent of them gave you nausea. It was then that you realized you hadn’t had a proper period in a while. When you mentioned it to Chris, he took your hand and guided you toward the car. “Do you want to buy the test here or in Blue Harbor, like the good old times?” His smile was playful, but a little nervous. Truth be told, if you were indeed pregnant, you didn’t want anyone to know yet, so you made your way to Blue Harbor’s mall, just like you had years ago.

The mall had changed a little but you found a drug store, and Chris insisted he would go get the tests. But you needed other items so you went in anyway. 

You saw Liam as you were shopping for shampoo. He was wearing the store’s uniform. It looked like he was a manager of some sort, by the way he was talking to the girl behind the cash register. You froze, your breath and heartbeat coming to a halt. For some reason, you remembered him with a bloody face. He looked very normal that day. A little thicker than he used to be, just like the rest of you. 

He saw you, too, and color drained from his face. He seemed stuck between wanting to go see you and running away. 

You waited for the pain to hit. You waited for tears, even—you had cried so much after the abortion that you assumed you were scarred for life. But you felt nothing, which almost frightened you. You ought to feel something, right?

You took one step toward the cash register, then another. It wasn’t to go speak to Liam. It was to be there when Chris would go and pay for his purchases. 

Liam saw Chris and actually recoiled. Chris stopped in his tracks, speechless, getting visibly pissed off. But you didn’t want him to be angry. You didn’t want a scene to take place. You wanted the memory of Liam to have as little weight as possible in your life.

You took a deep breath. “Let’s hurry,” you said to Chris. “I’m getting tired.” It wasn’t even true.

Chris blinked, staring at you for a few seconds before putting three pregnancy tests on the counter. You added some toothpaste and shampoo, pretending Liam wasn’t there while the other employee rang your items. 

You made sure to flash your wedding ring and took Chris’ hand in yours. It felt good to make sure Liam saw it. So he would know you carried no parts of him with you. So he would know he didn’t really matter, not in your life, and not in Chris’. 

You spoke very little on the way home. You kept your gaze on the horizon, processing everything. You knew the tests would come out positive. You could feel it within you, this life that was growing. It had a weight to it, light for now, but still very much there. You just knew it. 

You peed on a stick. Then another, and both were positive. You discarded the third test, and Chris cried with you. Before that day, you thought you knew what unconditional love was, but you had been wrong. This—this beautiful burden, this miracle inside you, that was as unconditional as anything could be. 

The shock of losing your mother was so great that it sent you to the hospital, and you were scared to lose your baby, too. Your little girl, who you loved so much already, who already meant the world to you. Chris and you hadn’t been able to find a good enough name yet but that wasn’t important. She was healthy, the doctors assured you of it—it was you who was in distress, and you needed to get a grip before it affected your unborn child. 

None of it was easy. The funeral, then the burial. Supporting your father through it was the worst, though.

But Chris was there for you. He always was. 

He was the perfect husband, the perfect friend, and he would be the perfect father. You could feel it in your bones. There was no way in hell you deserved him and yet he remained by your side. He moved his home office to the basement and painted the upstairs room in pretty shades of green, applying a leaf-patterned wallpaper on one of the walls, turning the room into the loveliest of nurseries. Jisung and Changbin came to help with it, and having them in the house helped you a lot. Your father was there too. The house was too full but sometimes it’s how things have to be. Or else, aloneness would be forced upon you. 

You woke up in the middle of one night with your whole lower body feeling like it was being split in two—it was then that you realized you were just about to give birth. You panicked and yet Chris remained calm. He grabbed the bag he had packed for you and he drove you to the hospital, talking you through the few contractions that overtook you, not blinking an eye at your nails digging into his skin as you held onto him. When it got a little worse, he realized that none of what he was saying helped, so he made you talk. 

He asked you about art. 

You hadn’t been in a museum in entirely too long, but you kept your books and the memories of all of it in your heart. Chris asked if you picked up an interest in a particular art movement these days. He asked you if you had discovered a piece of art that you especially liked recently. You told him that while you hadn’t discovered anything, you had read an interesting article about Artemisia Gentileschi’s most iconic work—Judith Slaying Holofernes. Explaining to Chris the analysis of the art historian you had read helped you get through the worst of the contractions so far.

It also led both of you to agree that your baby’s name would be Judith. 

As you got into Blue Harbor, it felt, a little, like a fire was catching inside you and like it was trying to exit between your legs. 

You begged Chris to drive faster, but it was winter and he didn’t want to risk anything on the slippery road. 

So he asked you to talk to him about your favorite painting. 

Loss. 

Few things were known about this painting. It had been painted in Italy by a man who came from Asia to study Venetian art, but also visited France, the Netherlands, England, and more. He brought with him his wife—the woman in the painting, or so the stories said. They had a son, and soon after, a daughter. 

The daughter became ill, and she died. 

Maybe it was fate, or something much darker, but it was as you remembered the woman’s sorrowful gaze that you realized something was wrong. Chris assured you it was just the contractions but you knew it wasn’t. You could feel it in your bones.

You could feel it creep in, approaching, lurking—aloneness. 

They proceeded to an emergency C-section but it wasn’t enough to save Judith. She had been dead inside you already, they said. They said it wasn’t your fault. 

Forced upon you. Aloneness. 

Loss.

You never really get over it. Loss.

Some voids cannot be filled, they are meant to remain wastelands, barren, contaminated. 

Judith was that to you. And to Christopher. 

You’d swear he fell out of love for you the moment he saw his daughter’s tiny lifeless body being pulled from inside you. For the first time in your whole entire life, he couldn’t be there for you. You couldn’t even be there for him either. It was the beginning of the end, only, you didn’t want to let go.

You had dreams, terrible ones. In some, Judith was alive and well, in which case it made waking up the most difficult thing. In other nightmares, though, you were giving birth to her and she wasn’t much more than blood and flesh pouring from between your legs, yet you loved her nonetheless. 

One night, you dreamt that Liam came into the general store while you worked and stabbed your pregnant belly.

You went to therapy—separately, then together. It did nothing. Some voids cannot be filled. You both made efforts to appear happy, maybe in the hopes of faking it until you made it. Chris took you on dates, and you took him on dates. You hired a handful of employees for the store and the campground so that you’d have more time, but in the end, that also did nothing. All it did was give you more time to be sad at home instead of being sad at work.

Chris had it worse than you, or maybe he just couldn’t hide it as well as you. He ate very little and slept even less. He went on long hikes and usually came back after dusk smelling like sweat and like the forest. You’d ask where he went, if he had a good hike. He’d give you responses but nothing else. 

One day he didn’t come home at all, and his phone went straight to voicemail. You tried to rationalize it, to remind yourself that most trails didn’t have great coverage anyway, and that he knew his way around the forest. You didn’t sleep that night. You couldn’t sleep. When you heard the front door at four in the morning, you flipped your pillow so that he wouldn’t be able to feel how damp it was. You wiped the tears off your cheeks and buried your face under the covers. Chris didn’t stop by the bedroom—just a minute later, he was in the shower.

You missed him. And it felt wrong to miss someone whose scent permeated the bedsheets you lay on. You were losing him, too, and you knew it because aloneness was drowning you even when he was standing right next to you.

That night, you joined Chris in the bathroom. You sat on the counter, observing him. Condensation was gradually covering the glass of the shower but you saw him in a different light—skinnier, with bruises here and there, acquired on his long hikes, no doubt. He saw you but he didn’t acknowledge you.

There were thoughts weighing you down, and you knew that speaking them out loud wouldn’t help, but you had to anyway.

“Chris, I think it would be easier for you if you admitted to yourself, and maybe even to me, that you hate me.”

He turned to you then, water rolling down his shoulders. “I don’t hate you. I’m just sad. My baby is dead. Can’t I be sad?”

“You can be sad, of course.”  You stood, making your way toward the shower, sliding the door open. You would never not be moved by him, his naked body. You felt a tumble in your belly. “But you also resent me.” 

He had the grace not to deny it this time. He averted his gaze. “I don’t want to. I know it’s not your fault. I’m sick in the head.” 

You thought it must feel somewhat the same to be stabbed in the chest. Not even in the heart, no—immediate death would be merciful compared to this. Instead, Chris had pushed a serrated blade just two inches away from the organ, sparing you, hurting you more. 

“Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe it is.” Some truths are meant to remain unspoken, but you loved Chris enough to believe he deserved to know it anyway. “I wasn’t sure at first. That I wanted a baby. Up until the moment I saw the little + sign on the first pregnancy test, I wasn't really sure I wanted to be a mother. I just wanted to be with you.” You gulped, swallowing your tears. “All these years, I felt like I should have kept that first baby. I don’t know why, it just felt like it. Mind you, I didn’t feel that before the abortion, only sometime after. Almost like I knew it would come back and haunt me somehow. Well, it did. Life punished me.”

Chris took a step toward you, cupping your face in his warm, damp hand. Water rolled down your neck and onto the t-shirt you slept in. “That’s not how it works. You didn’t manifest Judith into a stillborn.” He lowered his face close to yours, kissing you, kissing you like he meant it. 

He pulled you into the shower, kissing you deeper, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love you,” Chris said, pulling your shirt off you. And you knew he did. But he also resented you. The two weren’t mutually exclusive. 

He pinned you to the wall and kissed you, guiding himself at your entrance. You felt him grow hard inside your cunt as he fucked his despair into you. “Fuck me like you hate me,” you begged him. “I deserve it.” 

He pulled away at that, only to wrap your legs around his waist, picking you up. He carried you to your bed, leaving a trail of soapy water behind. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, burying himself inside you again. 

He fucked you hard, harder than he ever had, holding you by your throat or sometimes by a fist in your hair. He fucked you from behind, then flipped you over to look into your eyes as he pounded into your soaked pussy. You hadn’t known a life without Christopher and without his love and his comfort. You wondered how you would keep existing without it. You wondered if you would be able to live without managing to pay off your debt to him. Even as he spilled himself into you, filling you with his sorrow, you wondered how you would cope. 

Even with Chris toppling over you, his weight on your body, his cock softening in your cunt, you felt alone.

Jisung turned to the rest of the room. “Does anyone want more cake?” 

A few hands shot upright, accompanied by enthusiastic statements. The ghost of a smile appeared on your lips as Jisung began his distribution of dessert. This was how you liked your house best—when it was crowded with people you loved. On other days, it felt empty, bleak, too quiet. 

Next to you, Chris shifted his weight on his seat, glancing at you. You stared back at your husband as he forced a smile on his lips. 

You leaned toward him, a frown on your brow. “Are you tired?”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, almost out of habit, and pulled you closer. “I’m just drunk,” he whispered into your ear, eliciting a faint chuckle from you. “Are you tired?”

You were tired, but then you had been tired for years, it felt like. You simply shook your head, knowing it was good for Chris to see people—you didn’t want him to put an end to the festivities on your behalf. Besides, they were celebrating your birthday, so you would feel bad to throw people out.

You watched as Jisung went around the room with the cheesecake leftovers. Chris kept his arm around your shoulders and you let it comfort you a little, even though he didn’t really mean it. It was muscle memory. 

Those who didn’t grab cheesecake were now pouring more wine into their glasses—you handed yours to Arina—Jisung’s fiancée—and she filled it again, and Chris’ too. 

“I heard on the radio that they forecast a particularly sunny summer,” Felix said, speaking to you and Chris specifically, although most guests were also paying attention. “I reckon business will be good for you guys this year.”

“I hope so,” Chris responded, squeezing your shoulder as a public testimony that he still gave somewhat of a shit about you. Maybe this was why you liked your house best when your friends were here—because your husband had to pretend he still loved you when people were around. “We’re thinking of hiring a couple more people, actually.”

“That’s awesome!” Felix flashed a bright smile at you. “I’ll have to try and make time to come visit. It’s been so long since I actually walked around the campground.” 

You knew he meant well, and you knew Felix wasn’t even lying—he had been friends with Chris in high school and he knew the area well despite having moved away a while ago. You knew that at this moment, Felix genuinely wanted to come again later, during the peak of summer season, to see the area at its most beautiful and lively, but you also knew he wouldn’t. Because that’s just how life was. Difficult. He would be busy somehow. And when he wouldn’t be busy, he would want to relax. Or go on a date. Or watch a movie. And you didn’t hold it against him. It had been at least a year since you went over to his place anyway.

“Man, you really should!” Chris nodded, raising his glass at Felix. We expanded a little, to accommodate for trout season. It was too crowded last year.” 

You were about to comment how it was a good problem to have, only you saw at the other end of the table Changbin and his girlfriend, Naomi, exchange a long, quiet stare, then turning to Arina and looking at her wine glass, which was still full. 

Something stirred within you. You knew what was about to happen, and you knew it was probably within your power to stop it. Only, you lacked the strength to do so, and words eluded you anyway. Or will, perhaps.

“Say, Ari,” Naomi told her friend with a mischievous smile on her face. She spoke at low volume, not trying to overpower the main conversation, in which Chris was telling Felix about the sudden and unexpected rise in trout population in the area. “I don’t think I saw you take a single sip of that wine.”

You knew for sure then, by the way color drained from Arina’s face before she turned crimson in half a second, and from the way Jisung almost dropped the cake as he went to put it back on the countertop. 

You couldn’t tell what hurt most—the way Arina’s gaze looked for you but how she dared not look you in the eyes in your own home, or the fact that she was pregnant at all.

Naomi reached over her boyfriend to give Arina the gentlest nudge. “Girl!” 

Changbin took Naomi’s hand in his, pulling it under the table quickly, pushing his own plate of cheesecake in front of her. “Want some? I don’t think I can eat all of it after all.” 

Not saying it was worse. Jisung stared at Arina, then at Changbin, avoiding your eyes at all costs. Meanwhile, the discussion between Chris and Felix was coming to an end as they realized that something was happening around the table. 

You couldn’t hold it against Naomi—she was the latest addition to your friend group, after all, and she didn’t know. Or didn’t know a lot about it all anyway. And even if she did know... You still couldn’t hold it against her. There was no reason for the rest of the world to remain stuck in the past the way you and Chris were. There was no reason for the rest of the world not to be happy at such a joyful prospect. 

Chris let his arm fall back, freeing your shoulders. You felt very alone then.

You knew it had to be you. It had to be you who said something or else the situation would get even more embarrassing and awkward. There had been many moments like this in the past few years, so you knew your way around them by now, no matter how unpleasant. It had to be you. It always had to be you.

“Ari, is it true then?” The thing with sorrow is it often turns people into excellent liars. You didn’t like this about you, but you could be very convincing when you had to be. You looked very happy when you needed to. “Is it really true?”

A timid smile reappeared on your friend’s lips. After a quick glance at Jisung, she nodded gently. “Yes, it’s true.”

As the table erupted in congratulations and a full-on interrogation—How long have you known? How far along are you? Oh my god can it really be true?—you plastered a smile on your face and remained in your seat. There was something else about lying—you had to learn not to overdo it. Proper dosage was essential to how believable you were. You couldn’t jump in place and clap and sing because your friend was pregnant, then people would look at you weird. They would know you’re faking it. They might even deduce that you have been faking it for a long time.

The ghost of Chris on the chair next to you disappeared when he pulled away, as expected. You recognized your own rehearsed smile on his face. 

“I really didn’t want…” Arina began, then stopped mid-sentence as she was searching for her words. Or rather, as she was thinking of the least hurtful way to remind you that your baby had died inside you. “We really didn’t want to crash the party with the news. We wanted to wait.” This, she said to you. 

“It’s alright,” you lied. It was not alright. You hadn’t had a happy birthday in a long time but this one had just turned into a genuine nightmare, as you felt yourself fall into a pit of darkness. Or rather like you were becoming one. “I’m very, very happy for you.”

“It’s such great news,” Chris chimed in. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do, yeah?”

But of course, they wouldn’t want you to come near their beloved child, and you understood that. Because you were cursed. 

The news indeed put an end to the party, which you knew was justified by people feeling awkward. Or maybe they just didn’t want to see the color of your grief. Arina was the last to leave—she stood with you in the doorway while Jisung and the other guys were chatting by their cars. She spared you from another apology but she held you in her arms. “It’ll be your turn soon,” she assured. People said those things sometimes, and it was to alleviate their guilt.

Chris joined you in the kitchen as you were putting empty cups in a trash bag. He grabbed some plates and began rinsing them in the sink.

You knew you had to say something. You knew it had to be you, no matter how unpleasant. 

“The cake was really good,” you commented. 

“Right?” Chris put a little too much enthusiasm into his response. “Mrs. Allen makes the best cakes.” Mrs. Allen owned the only bakery in this part of the city, and everybody feared the day she would decide to retire. Most of her income came from locals purchasing her goods for special occasions or simply because they craved something sweet.

“She does,” you agreed. “Thank you for the birthday party, and for my gift.” He had offered you a hydroponic garden system, something you had mentioned being interested in but weren’t quite sure it would fit in your kitchen. 

“No problem.” He spoke at low volume, now loading the dishwasher. It seemed, for a few instants, as though he was about to say something meaningful. But he finished clearing the countertops. “How about I run you a bath?” 

You accepted his offer, half hoping for something that couldn’t be true, which was that he would join you. Except he wouldn’t and you were well aware of that fact. Most nights, he pretended to fall asleep on the couch so he wouldn’t join you in the bed.

Last week, he saw the notification on your phone. According to your calendar, your peak fertility window begins now and will end in twenty-four hours. You still kept the fertility app. Maybe out of habit, but certainly not out of hope—Christopher had never truly said he wanted another child. Maybe it didn’t really matter either. You hadn’t gone back on birth control and there had been absolutely no pregnancy scares. Not that you had been particularly active… Except that now, you were certain Chris wouldn’t touch you for a long time. Because last week, after seeing the notification, Chris kissed you like he hadn’t kissed you in a while. He lay you in bed and undressed you and touched you and you touched him, too. But he couldn’t make love to you. He tried.

He really tried. Until tears were staining his cheeks. You took him in your mouth. You got on top, hoping he would grow hard inside you. But he didn’t. He apologized profusely but he didn’t need to. You had learned to discern the hints life left behind. Some things were meant to be and some weren’t. 

How unfair though. How unfair was it that you and Chris weren’t actually meant to be if you loved him this much? If you had loved him all of your life?

He did run you a bath, with all of your favorite things in it—jasmine oil, candles all around, piano music playing from a small speaker. It didn’t stop you from hearing him locking himself in what had been the nursery. In what still was the nursery—absolutely nothing had changed. Not one thing had been moved. The door just remained closed. Always. 

Could you have been wrong all this time? What if it wasn’t Chris who was meant for you, but aloneness? What if the withering of your heart was your own fault? After all, Judith had been inside you when her heart stopped beating. It had nothing to do with Chris, or with anybody else. Still, it was all he saw in you—the place in which his daughter died.

He was right. It was all that you were. A coffin, a graveyard, a tomb. All at once. And it was all that you would ever be, for as long as you would live.

A crackling sound coming from the walkie-talkie on the counter made you jump. You inhaled sharply, looking away from the laptop screen to offer an apologetic smile to the two clients who were checking into the campground. 

You weren’t supposed to be here today—usually, on Fridays, you operated the general shop, and Chris the campground. Mostly because even though they were now under the same business, you were both more used to those specific establishments, having been raised into them. Only, it was the campground’s big summer opening and Chris was overseeing the event. There would be a concert tonight, by a local band who played covers, and games and other activities were offered during the day. 

Since food was involved, it was less likely for people to stop by the general shop tonight—so you left it in your most trusted employee’s hands, knowing Jeongin would be more than able to handle himself there. He was probably going to sell sunscreen and hats all day—it was stunningly sunny. 

You grabbed the walkie-talkie, walking a few footsteps away to listen carefully. It was Jeongin’s voice that came in.

“Boss,” he said, and you still didn’t know who he was talking to because he called both Chris and you like that. “There’s someone here asking if we sell paint, and I’ve just been looking everywhere and…” 

A faint click followed Jeongin’s question, indicating that Chris had joined the conversation. “Paint?” he repeated. He could barely be heard over the music playing over there. “Paint?” 

You returned to the clients who had finished filling out their security forms while the other two chatted over the radio. You handed them their keycards to unlock the gate and various other spots on the site. You didn’t need to go too in-depth with them—it was the third summer they came here. “Thank you for choosing us again,” you told them with a smile. “If you have issues or an emergency, do call the number at the bottom of the map and someone will come to you.” 

The couple—a man and a woman in their 70s—thanked you warmly and returned to their RV outside. They had rented a space for two weeks. They reminded you a little of your parents. Had they looked this happy when they were on their trips? 

The debate over the walkie-talkie distracted you before you could tear up, even though you missed your mother terribly. 

“Not spray paint, boss,” Jeongin insisted. “Like, just paint.” You heard a voice speaking inaudibly behind him, and then the young man added, “Not wall paint or spray paint. Paint for art. Watercolor?” He said the last word as though he was only repeating it while being wildly unsure about it. 

Everything clicked into place then as you finally understood what they wanted. You grabbed your radio and joined the discussion again. “I didn’t have enough time to stock up the kids’ section,” you explained. It was a mistake on your part, caused by your sleep troubles as of late. After all, it wasn’t uncommon at all for parents to grab a few toys for their children before entering the campground. “Most of the stuff is still in boxes in the back store. I know where it is, I can guide you.”

Jeongin’s line cut abruptly—he had let go of his Talk button. “Jeongin?” Chris asked.

He came back almost immediately. “He says no, boss. He’s asking if we sell real watercolor, not children's stuff.” 

You suppressed a laugh and heard your husband do the same. While nobody in the area understood the importance of art more than you, you couldn’t help but find it humorous that someone would stop at a very rustic-looking general store on the side of the road of a small city to ask for legitimate art supplies. 

You looked at the beautiful landscape out the window—the river, the shore, and behind it all, the mountains. As pretty as a painting. 

“Please apologize on our behalf,” you told Jeongin. “We don’t carry art supplies of the sort. Offer them a discount on their purchase.” 

“Thanks, boss.” And Jeongin tuned out for good, leaving you and Chris alone on the line.

You let a few seconds pass. “How are things over there?” you asked, either to make conversation or because you desperately wanted your husband to speak to you. About anything. Anything at all.

“Pretty good actually. They’re loving the lemonade.” You two had made many batches of it early this morning. Quietly. In your kitchen. Squeezing lemons and then weighing sugar and making raspberry syrup, for the pink lemonade. Alone. “How are you holding up in there?” 

“It’s fine. Every time I’m here, it reminds me of those mornings my mom would have your mom babysit me, and she’d drag me here and put me to work.” The Park Office had been renovated since then, but it smelled the same as it used to. Like cedar and pine, with faint salt undertones. “Should we start carrying art supplies?”

“Man, I don’t know.” Chris laughed and he sounded like he meant it. It made a burst of light appear in your chest, even if it was only temporarily. “Oh, I gotta go. We need ice.”

“Let me know if I can do anything.” But Chris was already gone. 

Your life had reached a point where you doubted that any ice was actually needed. You imagined Chris just wanted to find a good enough reason not to speak to you, just you. He fared well enough—and so did you—in the presence of others, as though they motivated him to pretend better. The first night he didn’t come back home, you thought he was cheating on you. In the end, the sound of his shower woke you up at six in the morning. When you asked him where he’d been, he said he worked on some repairs at the camping ground.

It happened more and more often. Then some of his clothes disappeared from inside his drawers. It happened over weeks, so it gave you time to prepare. To form some sort of shell to brace yourself from the impact of it. By then, he rarely slept in your bed anymore, preferring the guest room or the living room. But when he did, you barely recognized your husband. It did not feel like him, that person under the sheets. 

During your sleepless nights, you pondered over it a lot. You were well aware that Chris hadn’t brought up divorce because it would feel like a failure for him. Like he had failed this marriage and you. You knew there was also the whole issue of the Riverside Campground and Riverside General Store, now become one. The legal problems that would surface during the divorce would be awful, and you knew it. Neither of you had felt the need to get a prenup or anything of the sort. 

Honest to god, you had thought you would be with Chris for the rest of your life. And maybe he had felt the same, and it was why he was so reluctant to leave you. 

Sometimes, you wanted to tell him that it was okay. If he was seeing another woman. He wasn’t going to keep fucking you, was he? Not when you were a graveyard. You couldn’t force him to love you either. He had stopped loving you a long time ago—it just took him a while to come to the realization. You wanted to hate him. To resent him. But all that you could do about Chris was love him, no matter how broken, how misaligned that love had become.

There was this unspoken agreement that at work and around your friends, you made it look like everything was okay. You hadn’t told a soul about your marital problems and you assumed Chris probably hadn’t either. 

Every day you woke up with the clear intention to sit down with Chris and to talk. To make him say that this—all of this—made no fucking sense. That you had to get a divorce, no matter how cumbersome it would be. Nothing could be worse than this anyway. 

And as the coward that you were, every day, you found ways to avoid that conversation. 

A car coming down the road caught your attention, pulling you out of your deep thoughts. The darkness lingered within you, but you appreciated every occasion to be distracted from it. Even work.

The car—a black Jeep Patriot that looked like a rental—stopped at the designated parking space for check-ins. Noticing that, you made sure that none of the tears that had tickled your eyes had messed with your mascara. Unfortunately, it was a little smudged in one place, but you managed to mostly fix it just in time to welcome the customer.

A man that you supposed was in his mid-20s  entered the park office looking a little confused yet resolute. He had hiking attire—dark green cargo pants, a generic t-shirt, and a lightweight jacket. Holding his phone and often looking at it, he made his way to the counter slowly. 

“Hello,” you said before he had even reached you, prompting him to look up. He was, by all standards, pretty, with feline-like eyes and gentle traits. “Will you be checking in with us today, sir?” 

He responded to your smile with a polite one. “Yes. I made the reservation a while ago. Under Lee, Minho.” 

You typed his name into the laptop, quickly pulling up his reservation file. You raised your eyebrows as you looked at it—it was the first time you saw it really, Chris was the one who took care of this stuff usually.

“I have it here,” you told him, double-checking to make sure you had read everything right. “You made an extended stay reservation for two adults in one of our RVs?” 

The campground welcomed RVs on one side and tents on the other, also offering to rent either installation for those who needed them. Renting a fully equipped, luxury RV was by far the most expensive booking option you sold, and he had requested it until the end of the season. From the first day to the very last. 

“Yes, that’s me.” His smile became a little more comfortable, and a little warmer, too. “You seem surprised.”

“Oh, I’m just not used to it—usually, it’s the cabins on the other side of the rivers that get this sort of clientele.” 

You took the credit card—black—that he handed you without you having to ask. You actually had nothing against Pineview Cabins. People who wanted a cabin wanted a cabin, and those who wanted something else came to you. Besides, the owners were a mother and her son, and they were lovely.

“Cabins are for tourists,” Lee Minho said jokingly.

You finished entering his information in the system and gave the card back, finding it a bit easier to smile in his laid-back presence. No matter how long you had spent enduring it, you had never been very good at aloneness. 

“There is a form we require guests to fill—for security purposes,” you explained to him, sliding on the counter the form in question, secured on a clipboard. You shot a glance behind him, looking at his car through the front window, where you could see that there was someone in the passenger seat. “Both of you will have to fill one,” you added, pulling out a second clipboard. “I can go and hand this one to them while you fill yours if you’d like.”

The man shook his head, the corner of his lips curving up. “Nah. Let me call him. He can sulk about paint sometime later.” 

It clicked into place then—this man, and whoever was in his car, had been the ones who, just moments ago, were at the general shop asking for watercolors. 

“It was you!” You bit your lip. “I’m really sorry we couldn’t accommodate you better. I’ll—”

Minho, who had just finished typing a text on his phone, put the device back in his pocket and grabbed one of the pens to start filling out his form. “No need to apologize. I don’t know why he expected to find some legit watercolors here.” 

“Ah, artists.” You spoke in a tone that was clearly sarcastic but not offensive. 

“This one is something, for sure.”

As if on cue, the front door was opened by the man beckoned by Minho through a text and a little voice inside your head said, Yes, this one is something indeed. He was tall, holding himself straight with a perfect posture and yet in a totally nonchalant manner. Still, he was graceful. You saw it in the way he pulled the door open, in the way he took off his fancy designer sunglasses to put them on his head, in the way he adjusted his half ponytail right after. 

If Minho was dressed as though he was heading out for a three-day hike, this one, the artist, was the complete opposite. A loose white graphic tee hung on his broad shoulders. With it, he wore oversized jeans, and he even had another shirt tied around his waist, as though he had expected the weather to be cooler. A multitude of jewelry pieces adorned his body—a few silver necklaces around his dainty neck, many bracelets on his wrists, and rings, too. The ensemble screamed intentional chaos.

The more seconds passed, the closer he was to you and the counter, and you were utterly unable to take your eyes off him. Not just because he had just entered the room and it was a normal thing to look at someone who approached to check-in. But because you had never seen anybody like him before.

He was beautiful, and there was no other way to put it. His face was seemingly perfect—his big, dark eyes were scanning his surroundings as though to evaluate the potential dangers. The rounded tip of his nose complemented his cheekbones well. 

He had a pretty mouth—his lips were obscenely plush. Rosy red. Enticing. With a velvety quality to them. Skin like honey-coated satin. Hair like silk soaked in black ink. 

He was the kind of person who just oozed charisma. Effortlessly. The kind of person whose presence changes the whole vibe of the room. The kind of person everybody notices without them trying. Often, without them wishing for it at all. 

There was a point where you realized you should say something—he was just a few steps away now, close enough that Minho had turned to him. Close enough that you could smell him—he carried with him a strong yet not heavy scent reminiscent of amber and roses with woodsy and musky undertones. You took a deep breath but it wasn’t even to brace yourself to be in his presence. It was to inhale more and more of this alluring smell. It took everything in your power not to immediately ask him what his cologne was. 

“There you are. Here.” It was Minho who spoke first in the end, sliding the second clipboard and another pen toward his friend. Or brother. Or cousin.

Or boyfriend, maybe. 

You had to say something. “Hello.” Simple. Ordinary. A skeleton key of greetings. 

He briefly looked away from the clipboard to acknowledge your presence. “Hi.” 

He didn’t seem thrilled about having been called in here and you felt bad about it for some reason, even though you had been asking guests to fill out a security form for years now. 

“Sorry about this. It’s for security purposes,” you explained. 

“It’s no problem at all,” Minho assured. He was already halfway through his form. 

You gave him a quick nod. “And sorry about the watercolors, too,” you added.

At this, the handsome man reacted a bit more. He straightened up from the counter to face you. It felt, a little, like the air had been kicked out of your lungs. Being face to face, so close to him, felt like falling from a high place. 

He spoke to you softly, almost timidly, like he wasn’t sure he ought to speak at all. “The airline lost my art supplies bag and sent it to the wrong destination. I just wanted to have something while they manage to send it to me.” His voice was pleasant. Smokey and warm, it had a strangely comforting tone.

You barely understood the words he said, not because it was a difficult concept to comprehend, but because of the intonation in which he spoke as well as his pronunciation. It was so unique it demanded your whole attention. As if the placement of his lips at any given time, and the movements of his tongue as he spoke, came together as an orchestra that played an elegant symphony. 

“We actually put in the address of the campground,” Minho interrupted as if he had just remembered that detail. “I hope it’s okay? They should be sending the bag here sometime next week.”

“Or the week after,” the artist sighed, rolling his eyes before returning to his form. His handwriting was small and neat. 

“It’s not a problem at all.” It occurred to you then that you had things to get done to check them in, so you returned to your laptop to get to work. “We’ll let you know as soon as it gets here.” You bit your lip, torn over your curiosity and your pulse quickening so fast it frightened you. “Do you exclusively paint in aquarelle?” 

You reported your attention to your screen as soon as you asked the question, regretting it immediately. Like sending a risky text. Warmth spread at the back of your neck, reaching your cheeks and even your ears. Get a fucking grip.

He was handsome, yes. He was the kind of beautiful that nobody could ignore, yes. To blush a little when he looked into your eyes was one thing. But to be entranced by this stranger like this, to have your heart threatening to jump out of your chest, for your breathing to turn shallow in his presence… That was something else. 

At first, you blamed your many sleepless nights—you had a lot of accumulated fatigue, so it would be normal not to be in your right mind. Then you blamed your lingering heartache. The sorrow you carried with you anywhere you went. The wedding ring on your finger that felt like it weighed a ton while meaning so little anymore.

Then shame crept up from somewhere deep within you, tugging at your heart.

No matter how painful the state of your marriage was, you remained married. And there was nothing wrong with finding somebody else attractive, of course, but this felt different. It felt like you ought to take several steps back and internalize that no matter how hot and interesting this guy was, it wasn’t even for you to take notice of it. He painted. So what? He was insanely hot. So what? He wasn’t the first handsome dude you met during your marital life. He smelled good. Okay? He had pretty lips, but who cares?

GET A FUCKING GRIP!

You figured it was your brain trying to save you. You had known for a long time that your marriage was over and that nothing could save it. It had been such a long while, it seemed, since Chris had truly loved you. And you loved him in a desperate way, like trying to hold onto a knife not by its handle, but by its blade.

Your thought process only took about two seconds, but they felt like two very long seconds. In the end, none of this mattered—even if Chris divorced you, and even if this young god had any interest in you, which was impossible, you would still not do anything about it. If you hadn’t even been able to trust in your life-long conviction that you would grow old with Chris, then you were certainly not going to open your heart to anybody else. Ever. 

The man stared at you like he was thinking about his response before saying it. Minho was done with his form and handed it back to you. 

“He does a lot of things,” he said in the artist’s place. “I bought a painting from him. That’s how we met. It’s watercolor and oil, right?” He turned to the handsome man, who nodded.

“Yes, and encaustic paint,” he added, his voice suddenly a little smaller. “It’s made of—”

“Yes, wax. Hot wax.” You cut him off before he could finish his sentence, feeling a little bad that he felt compelled to explain everything, considering how he looked like he didn’t want to talk to you at all. He was most likely an introvert. It used to be difficult for you, too, to talk to strangers. But you became used to it through this place over the years. Or maybe in a desperate attempt not to be alone.

He stared at you with his eyebrows raised just slightly. “Do you paint, too?”

You couldn’t help a nervous laugh from escaping your lips. “God, no. I wish though. I just… appreciate.”

“Then I’ll have to show you his stuff. Brilliant.” Minho gave his companion a not-so-gentle slap on the back. 

“I’d love to,” you replied, taking the signed form from the artist. “We’ve actually been looking into buying a piece for the main lodge, where we hold some events, activities, shows, stuff like that. We did a few renovations last year, and there’s a wall that’s just so empty and bland. Maybe we—”

Two things happened at once then.

Out of habit—and because you had to as it was literally your job—you let your gaze trail down the form you were now holding. You also realized that you were overdoing it with the conversation, talking a little too quickly just to make up for the fact that you were a nervous wreck. The guy had checked in using a black card. There was about no chance for you to be able to afford anything this young god painted, right?

Then your brain processed the words it was reading.

Full name: Hwang, Hyunjin

Hwang, like Hwang Naro, the painter behind Loss, the artwork that had been fascinating you for years. And he just happened to be a painter, too. For some reason. Loss dated back to the 1850s after all, so there was no correlation to be made. Hwang Naro. Hwang Hyunjin.

Immediately, you reminded yourself that many people shared a last name in Korea after all, so it was only a minor coincidence. Painting was a common hobby, wasn’t it?

“Uh, is there a problem, Miss?” Hyunjin inquired, leaning in closer to also look at his form to double-check.

It wouldn’t have felt any different if you had been kicked in the solar plexus. His scent invaded your nostrils and then your lungs, and it was so violent that you had to hold onto the counter. When he looked up again, you noticed more details on his face. The mole under his eyes. The faint lines on his lips. The other mole on his jaw. The shape of his eyes, perfect, intricate, elegant. Their shade deep enough that you could drown in them. 

You remembered the book Jisung and Changbin had given you for your birthday once, the essay about the painting. One of the chapters contained various interviews and letters from people who had known Naro—he signed his paintings without his family name. One of the interviews had been conducted in the late 1880s, by an author who would later publish it in a journal in the early 1900s. He had spoken to Cornelia, a maid who had worked for the Hwangs during her youth while the family resided in Leiden, a small city in South Holland.

Everybody in town knew that Mr. Naro was handsome and kind. He liked to visit the botanical gardens to practice his colors and florals, and some visitors went there to watch him, too. He would sometimes carry with him small pieces of canvas and hand out sketches to children. Mr. Naro was fond of children, and he loved his only son very much, more than I have ever seen a father love anything before. The women envied his wife and the men envied him, for he was a proper gentleman and loved by all. He and his family lived modestly despite the money he made selling his paintings and giving art courses. 

He summoned me to the courtyard of the house one afternoon. He was painting the sky, which was blue and beautiful. Mr. Naro told me he freed me from my employment. When I panicked, he said, “Fret not, Cornelia, it has nothing to do with your abilities. I am most content having you under my roof.” Mr. Naro looked me in the eyes and said I should take some time to visit places and fall in love, either with the world or with a man, or a woman even. He assured me I would be welcome to return after my trip if I wished, and that if he happened to be gone by then, he would ensure the University hired me. 

He gave me money, more than I had ever seen in my life, and a bag for my travels. I refused yet he insisted, no matter how immense the gift, disproportionate to what I thought I deserved. He said my heart’s color was Alizarin Crimson, with a just drop of Naples Yellow and another of Ultramarine, all of those softened in Flemish White. As he spoke, he mixed the colors on his palette, right in front of my eyes. The final result was a gorgeous pink that reminded me of the carnations that used to grow in my grandmother’s garden. He used that pink to paint a stunning bird in the sky, shading it with black and blue, defining the feathers also with white. He gave me the painting and said, “This is your heart. Do you want to keep it caged up here?” 

I heard he had similar interactions with other maids and even students. I traveled to France where I met my husband and became a dancer. I never forgot Mr. Naro. I never forgot Mr. Naro’s eyes, so dark they were more black than brown, yet soft, gentle, and sad. I wanted to be a painter so I could accurately blend paints to recreate that color, just to see it one more time.

The painting, titled Cornelia’s Colors, was now at home at Musée d’Orsay, and you had been lucky enough to see it with your own two eyes a few years ago, during a short European trip with Christopher. It had been given to the museum by the maid-turned-dancer’s descendants. 

But it was not the intricacies of the painting that were on your mind at that moment, not even the expert blending of the colors on it. It was the shade of Hyunjin’s eyes. So dark they were more black than brown, yet soft, gentle, and sad. 

You shook your head faintly, as though chasing away the thoughts invading it.

“Did I miss something?” Hyunjin asked again, glancing at his sheet. 

“N—No, it’s all good.” And yet, by the way they were looking at you, you were very much aware that your reaction must have been noticed. For a split second, you wondered what would be weirder—if you mentioned something or if you just moved on. “It’s just, your name,” you said before you could even really think about it. “You have the same family name as the artist who painted my favorite painting. And you paint too. So I thought it was just a nice coincidence.” 

Something in Hyunjin’s already somber eyes shifted, worsening the darkness in them. His body language changed in a matter of seconds as he stood straight up again, keeping his shoulders straight. He removed the sunglasses from the top of his head, ready to put them on his nose again. 

Minho stared at him, and then at you again. “It’s not really a coincidence, is it?” he told Hyunjin.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes so faintly you almost didn’t catch it. He took a deep breath, the exhale ending with a sigh—in the dictionary, under Bored, a picture of him at that very moment could serve as a definition for the word. You felt so bad you wanted to hide under the counter like you used to when you were little. 

“Guess not,” Hyunjin said with a shrug. “He’s my great-great-grandfather.” 

Too many seconds passed before you reacted—before the information even made it to your brain. 

You were standing in the presence of Hwang Naro’s direct descendant. You were breathing the same air as him, you were looking upon his divinely sculpted face. You were hearing his voice, coated with amber and honey. 

“Oh my god,” was all you managed, whispering under your breath, a frown digging itself between your brows. “I’m so sorry, I—”

Hyunjin waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not important.” 

Not important. Except his great-great-grandfather had been the artist behind the painting that you had always favored. The painting that had turned out to be prophetic, for you at least. 

“What are the odds though?” Minho, contrary to Hyunjin or you, seemed very enthusiastic about all of this. “I knew it was a good idea to drag you here, Hwang.”

By the look on Hyunjin’s face, you could tell he felt very differently. It triggered your brain back into place though, as you became excessively self-conscious. Of yourself. Of your reaction. You could understand why your mind latched onto any good or interesting thing it saw, because your life had become bleak and empty. Yet it was stupid to care about any of that. To this man, the painting meant nothing, and it didn’t appear that his ancestry mattered much more either. He was clearly annoyed with you anyway. 

With trembling hands, you reached for the keycard printer, collecting the two cards you had just printed. You slid them into their protective sleeves, which were attached to lanyards with the campground’s name on them. 

“Here,” you managed, also trying your best to smile. “These will give you access to everything you need—the entry gate, your RV, the laundromat, and the showers. If you lose them, just call this number here.” With that, you handed them maps of the campground, as you did with any new guest. “We’re here. Your site is right there with the other RVs.” You showed them with your index finger, but you felt your insides disintegrating into nothingness. “Just get past the gate and follow Pinecone Lane, you can’t miss it. You have a parking space at your site.”

“This place is huge,” Hyunjin commented—not to you, but to Minho. 

“Bigger than I imagined,” Minho conceded, but he was speaking to you. 

You nodded. “Yes. This is the tent camping site,” you explained. “Here is the main lodge, with the pool. This is the RV site. There’s walkable beach land all around this part too, and you can rent a boat or kayaks here.” 

“Jesus Christ, that’ll be the best summer of my fucking life,” Minho said with a sigh. “I need this vacation. I’m here to fish, I got a permit for it.”

You couldn’t shake the feeling that Minho had picked up on your unease and was trying to distract you from it. It did manage to slow your heartbeat a little. 

“Ah, fishing!” This prompted the smile on your lips to become more genuine. “Of course. Lots of fishing to be done around the estuary. I love striped bass, I haven’t had any in too long.” 

Your father used to love fishing and he would often take you with him. He would cook the bass on a fire with ingredients he gathered in the forest. Those were some of your most precious memories. You’d usually fall asleep by the fire and wake up at the back of the car as he was driving you home. These days, your father’s arthritis was preventing him from enjoying his fishing trips, so he just stopped going. And every year, you told yourself you ought to go fish by yourself, catch a bass, and cook it for him. You never found the time. Or the courage. Or the courage to find the time.

“I’ll make sure to save some for you if I catch any,” Minho promised. 

“Please don’t. Really.” You pressed your lips together, wondering what to say next. Hyunjin’s sunglasses returned before his eyes and they grabbed their card and map. “I hope you have a wonderful stay. Don’t hesitate to call or visit here, the main lodge, or the general store if you need anything.”

“Except paint,” Minho remarked with a clearly sarcastic and humorous tone, sending both you and Hyunjin into a hysterical fit of laughter. 

You laughed so hard you had to lean against the wall behind you with a hand over your mouth while Hyunjin clapped and called Minho a fucking dumbass. You hadn’t laughed this much in a long time. In fact, you couldn’t remember at all when the last time was. You wiped the tears at the corner of your eyes, waving at the two men as they walked out. Minho exited first, and Hyunjin lingered in the door frame, hesitating.

He turned to you. You couldn’t read his expression, not with the sunglasses, but his posture was more relaxed than it had been. “Just curious,” he started. “What is it? Your favorite painting?” 

Your laugh came to a halt the same way a delicate crystal glass would shatter into pieces if someone closed their fist around it. 

“It’s Loss.” You wanted to say more, but your voice remained stuck in your throat. And what would you have said anyway?

He stared at you for a few seconds and nodded slowly before leaving. 

There were still tears on your cheeks, but they no longer tasted like laughter—instead, they had the bitter yet familiar taste of aloneness.

... to be continued.

Note: I feel like I say the same thing over and over—but thank you. I could say it a million times and it wouldn't be enough. Thank you to my readers who not only put up with me, but encourage me as well and motivate me to keep trying to improve and to find my voice.

This story was, once again, extracted from the depths of my heart. It is with the utmost humility that I present it to you—when I started writing it, I did so with the intention, specifically, of not releasing it to the public. It's too personal, I told myself. And then I realized that every story I released contain other parts of my soul, and that this one was no different.

So, here it is. The ramblings of a woman who feels like she graduated at the school of Alone and earned a PhD in Loneliness.

Thank you for your support, and for your love. You guys are the best readers. You know this, right? Love y'all.

Welcome to Stormhaven 🤍

** please note that I will soon be restarting my permanent taglist from scratch as I only wish to keep active readers on them in an effort to put my time in the right places, considering the effort and love i put into what i release. by active readers i mean readers who interact at least a little with my content. i do not expect you to read every single thing i put out or to comment all the time. it's really just that there are many fully inactive/silent readers on the list! if you wish to stay on the list or be added to it, please reach out to me. ask is ideal because I can then tag your ask & return to it, but you can DM me as well! thank you for your understanding. **

taglist:

@abiaswreck ; @accalus ; @aimeexx ; @anylady-fics ; @b4kuho3 ;

@binstitsweat ; @cb97percent ; @chans1aptop ; @chartrucewhore ; @hanjingin ;

@hwan-g ; @hyuneyeon ; @hyunfruits ; @hyunjinswifeee ; @hyunniethepooh

@hyuwunjinie ; @hyyuniverse ; @iam2out ; @imseungminsgf ; @k1ra4a

@leedunno ; @lotus-dly ; @miraworldsstuff ; @mmoonriseflowerr ; @naoristerling

@neosracha ; @palindrome969 ; @shywolfcherryblossom ; @skzfelixlove ; @starseekersworld

@straydhampir ; @suhomylife ; @sunlitwilderness ; @ven-fic-recs ; @yourmercibeaucoupsblog

[hyvneluv]

© hyunjin stray kids. minimalist lockscreens

[hyvneluv]

I feel like posting my own fics here? But I’m shy hahahssjsiissi ㅠ

[hyvneluv]

⭐︎ ━━━ LUST

⭐︎ ━━━ SS: 17

⭐︎ ━━━ CW: PORN

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