sillylilsquid

[sillylilsquid]

you're not alone pt. 3

pairing - hyun-ju x reader summary - studying abroad in korea felt like a great idea, until you realized how hard being by yourself in a new country was. that is, until you meet the tall, beautiful woman who happens to speak perfect english. and maybe things start to feel not so lonely warnings - afab!reader, post-tranistion!hyun-ju, some brief homophobia, explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni!! reader's messages are pink, hyun-ju's are purple, and others are black!

When you reached your group of friends, everyone was crowded around a too small couch, drinks in hand. Laughter burst from them in waves, Korean overlapping in fast, bubbly fragments.

Hyun-ju slipped back into the rhythm with barely a pause–grinning as she was handed a new drink, tossing out a few fast lines that had the girl with the bob howling with laughter. You tried to piece together what was being said, catching only stray words here and there.

Then she glanced over her shoulder at you, soft and a little teasing. “She’s saying my lipstick is gone,” she translated. “Wonder why.”

You felt your whole body go warm. You swatted her arm. “Shut up.”

Hyun-ju laughed, all teeth and dimples, then gestured to the couch. “No seats left.”

You were about to say it was fine, you’d stand–but she reached back, caught your hand, and plopped herself down in the nearest chair. It creaked beneath her, and then she was tugging you into her lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Here,” she murmured, arms already winding around your waist.

Your breath caught, but your body responded before your brain could object. You sank into her, warm and embarrassed and content all at once. Her hands settled low on your stomach, hugging you close, her thighs steady beneath you.

You felt every inch of her–her breath against your shoulder, her cheek brushing your hair when she leaned forward to translate more of the conversation. “They’re arguing about whether mixing soju and beer is smart or tragic,” she said, her lips close to your ear.

You let out a soft laugh, turning your head just slightly to look at her. “What’s your stance?”

She pretended to consider. “Depeneds on how cute the girl is I’m trying to impress.”

You nudged her with your elbow and she grinned. Her friends didn’t seem to mind your presence at all. The bob-haired girl, who you learned was named Nari, gave you a cheeky wink, holding up her cup as if to toast you. Someone else passed you a snack, and you nibbled on it politely, trying not to look too wide-eyed.

Hyun-ju was good at translating just enough to keep you in the loop, explaining inside jokes with a few whispered words in your ear or nudging you to say something when they asked questions in broken English.

You still felt flustered. You still felt shy. But sitting in her lap like this–held tight, surrounded by warmth and laughter and the sound of her voice so close–it wasn’t so hard to pretend, just for a little while, that you belonged here too.

And when you shifted a little, her hands tightened gently at your waist, grounding you with one small squeeze. “Stay put,” she murmured softly, low enough that only you could hear.

And you did.

You didn’t know how much time had passed–not exactly. The party had blurred around the edges, noisy and warm, and yet somehow distant. The thumping bass was softer in this corner of the living room, muffled behind conversations and laughter and Hyun-ju’s steady arms curled around your middle.

At some point, without really thinking about it, you let your body relax fully into hers. Your back pressed gently to her chest, your head tilted until it found the side of her face. Her cheek was warm against your temple. She shifted just enough to tuck her chin against your shoulder, and her hands–lazy, loose–rested on your thighs on, thumbs brushing absentminded shapes into your skin just below your skirt hem.

You could’ve melted right there.

“Tired?” a voice piped up, pulling you slightly back to earth.

You blinked and glanced over at Nira grinning at you from the arm of the couch, her sparkly earrings catching the light as she swayed a little with her drink.

You gave a sheepish little laugh. “I’m not usually a party person.”

Hyun-ju chuckled behind you and translated quickly. Nira squealed in response, dramatically clutching her chest and mumbling something rapid-fire in Korean.

“She says that makes you even cuter,” Hyun-ju murmured beside your ear, low enough that her breath made your skin prickle. “Like a little stray cat we’ve all adopted for the night.”

You made a face, laughing softly. “Not sure how I feel about that.”

“You don’t like being a kitten?”

You swatted at her arm without turning around, but the smile on your face gave you away. A quiet lull settled over your little corner of the party–not silence, but something peaceful beneath the noise. Hyun-ju’s fingers slowed their motion on your thighs, just holding you now, steady and still.

She shifted slightly, her voice softer this time. “You wanna head out?”

You glanced back, meeting her eyes briefly. “Oh–no rush,” you said, gently shaking your head. “I’m fine just…sitting here with you.”

Her eyes crinkled, something warm and private flickering there. Then, casually, she asked, “If you leave…are you going to bed?”

The question shouldn’t have made your heart skip, but it did. “I…don’t know,” you replied slowly, tilting your head just a little to look at her. “Maybe.”

She leaned forward, her lips brushing just barely over the shell of your ear. “If not…could I come over for a bit?”

You turned fully to face her then, just enough to see the spark of mischief in her eyes. She wasn’t teasing. Not really. Her voice was gentle. Careful.

Still, your mouth moved before your brain could stop it. “Yes. Yeah. I mean–sure. That’d be…nice.”

Hyun-ju smiled, slow and satisfied, and gave your waist a little squeeze. “I was hoping you’d say that.” She gave your thigh a light pat, her voice low and warm in your ear. “Hop up.”

You hesitated, just for a second—still reluctant to leave the comfort of her lap—but obeyed. Her hands slipped away from your waist as you stood, quickly smoothing your skirt and tugging your jacket back into place. Hyun-Ju stood a beat after, stretching her arms once before stepping into your space again. Her arm slid naturally around your shoulders like it belonged there, like it always had.

“We’re gonna head out,” she called to the group, her tone casual.

You gave everyone a small, sheepish wave. The chorus of reactions came immediately. “Ooooooh!!” Nira gasped, dramatically clutching her chest like she was scandalized. Another friend whistled. Someone muttered something teasing in Korean and cackled before they even finished their sentence.

You squeaked, cheeks burning, and instinctively ducked into Hyun-Ju’s side, hiding your face against her leather jacket. She just laughed, soft and fond, her hand squeezing your shoulder.

Outside, the air hit like a slap of cold. You hissed through your teeth, wrapping your arms around yourself. Hyun-Ju didn’t let her arm leave you—she just pulled you tighter against her side, her warmth a steady contrast to the chill.

The cab arrived quickly, headlights slicing through the night. You slid in first, shivering a little as you scooted toward the window. Hyun-Ju slipped in beside you, but instead of pressing close, she settled on the opposite end of the seat.

It should’ve felt distant. Except–her hand reached across the space and rested on your thigh. Just… settled there. Casual. Confident. As if that was simply where it belonged. 

Your entire body lit up like a fire alarm. She wasn’t even looking at you—she was watching the city blur past outside the window, thumb moving in lazy, unconscious circles over your skin.

Meanwhile, you were melting. Your hands were sweaty, your heart was doing somersaults, and your eyes kept flicking toward her in secret, hungry glances that never lasted more than a second.

But of course, she noticed. She turned her head just slightly, catching you mid-peek. Her lips curved slowly, wicked. “See something you like?”

You wanted to dissolve. “I—” you sputtered, voice cracking. “Shut up.” She laughed—low and quiet and ridiculously pretty—and didn’t move her hand.

When the cab finally pulled to a stop in front of your apartment building, you were halfway to combusting. You thanked the driver in a daze, then climbed out, digging frantically in your bag for your keys.

They were nowhere. Or maybe they were, but your fingers couldn’t feel anything through the panic. Behind you, Hyun-Ju hummed softly. “Calm down, baby,” she said, not unkindly. “Take a breath.”

You huffed out a laugh, your face burning. “Sorry—I just—um—okay, wait—got them—”

Your keys finally emerged, rattling in your hand, and you turned toward the door, unlocking it as quickly as your shaking fingers would allow.

“I didn’t clean,” you blurted as you stepped inside, still a little breathless. “I didn’t know you’d be coming over.”

Hyun-Ju’s voice followed you in, warm and easy. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

The door clicked shut behind her. You kicked off your shoes and set your bag down, trying not to look like you were internally spiraling. Then you felt her hands at your sides again—gentle, certain—and she tugged you close.

Her arms wrapped around you fully this time, no crowd, no noise, no teasing friends. Just the two of you in the quiet of your living room. You didn’t speak. You just leaned into her and let your arms wind around her waist. 

She smelled like cold air and peach soju and something familiar—something that made your ribs ache. You swayed there together, slow and aimless, your cheek resting against her collarbone, her chin tucked atop your head.

She didn’t let go. Neither did you. Not for a long while.

You stayed like that—tucked into Hyun-Ju’s warmth, swaying slowly in the center of your living room—until your heart started to calm down, until the world felt quiet again.

And then you felt her voice hum softly against your temple. “Do I make you nervous?”

Your breath caught. You pulled back just slightly, enough to glance up at her, eyes wide and blinking. “I—what?”

She didn’t tease. Her face was open, curious. Gentle.

You felt your tongue trip over itself. “I mean—no! Not like, um, in a bad way. It’s just—” You sighed. “You’re really… pretty. And nice. And you smell good. And you kissed me in the bathroom.”

She laughed, not mockingly, just with affection. “So… yes,” you admitted, cheeks pink. “You kinda do.”

Her hands stayed at your waist as she leaned back a little to take a better look at you. There was something in her eyes—something soft, steady. Like she was trying to memorize you. “I had fun tonight,” she said quietly.

You smiled, still a little dazed. “Me too.”

Hyun-Ju flashed you one of those grins that made your stomach flip, but didn’t say anything else. You surged forward for one more hug—brief but squeezing, like you couldn’t help it—and then pulled back, brushing your hair behind your ears.

“Um, do you mind if I take off my makeup real quick?” you asked, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway. “I’m still in full glitter mode.”

Hyun-Ju shook her head. “You can shower if you want. I don’t wanna interrupt your nighttime routine.”

“Ohh no,” you said quickly. “It’s okay, I don’t—”

“No,” she cut in, and her voice was so sweet it made your chest ache. “I insist. Go do whatever you need. I’ll sit with you. Keep you company.”

Your mouth opened, then shut. You swallowed. “Okay,” you managed, voice suddenly very small.

You couldn’t help the grin that crept onto your face as you turned toward the bathroom, your heart going wild all over again.

Hyun-Ju was coming with you. Sitting beside you while you took your makeup off. She wasn’t teasing, she wasn’t flirting to get something out of you. She just wanted to be near you. And you were kind of losing your mind about it.

Hyun-Ju shrugged off her jacket, draping it neatly over the back of the toilet. You didn’t mean to look—but it was hard not to when the sleeves of her black tank top clung to her shoulders and her arms looked way too good under the bathroom lights. Defined. Strong. Kind of dangerous-looking. And she just… sat on the counter like she belonged there, watching you.

You kept your gaze fixed on the sink as you wet your hands and lathered your cleanser, trying very hard to ignore the fluttery feeling building in your chest.

Hyun-ju watched as you bent over, ever so slightly revealing the bottom hem of your lace panties. Her breath hitched, not enough for you to notice, but enough that she felt her heart speed up.

After rinsing off your face and patting it dry with a towel, you turned around and mumbled, “I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick.”

Hyun-Ju nodded, but didn’t move from her perch. You hesitated. Glanced at her, then at the shower. Then back again. She just blinked at you, like she didn’t understand why you were frozen in place.

Then: “Oh,” she said. “Did you want me to step out?” Your mouth opened but no words came. You just blushed, eyes dropping to the tile. Hyun-Ju tilted her head, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. “I’ll close my eyes,” she offered lightly. “As if we’re not both girls.”

That made your face burn even more, but you didn’t stop her. You quickly reached for the hem of your shirt, shimmying out of it before pulling off your skirt and underwear, all in a blur. You yanked the shower curtain closed behind you and ducked under the spray.

“You can open your eyes now,” you called over the running water.

“Okay,” came her easy reply.

There was a pause, then your voice floated out again—soft, a little hesitant. “You can go look through my dresser for something to sleep in, if you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Just… it might all be a little short on you.”

You could hear the grin in her voice. “I’m sure I’ll find something.” Then a second later, “How did I get so lucky that I get to spend the night?”

You tried not to picture her walking around your room, tried not to think too hard about what she might see.

But in your dresser—third drawer down, right-hand side—you had a few things you definitely didn’t intend for her to see. Cotton panties. A few matching lingerie sets. A stuffed bunny-print bralette. A tiny little pink thong you’d bought on impulse. And of course, tucked behind all that—a vibrator.

Hyun-Ju was quiet the whole time she changed, but you were pretty sure that was because she was trying not to laugh.

When you peeked your head out from behind the curtain a few minutes later, freshly shampooed and still dripping, you nearly jumped. She was right there again. Back on the counter. Sitting like a statue.

“Hey,” she said, looking up from her phone like she’d been there the whole time.

You flinched slightly. “Oh! Hi.”

Your voice came out small and breathy, and she smiled again. Soft. Like she could see right through you.

She was wearing your biggest shirt—one that hung oversized on you, but looked just barely relaxed on her tall frame—and a pair of black sweatpants that she’d rolled at the waist to fit right. Her hair was down now, a little mussed from changing, and she looked warm. Settled.

Like she’d always been here.

“You look cozy,” you said, wiping steam from your brow.

“I am,” she replied easily. “You take long showers.”

You squeaked a little at that. “Sorry…”

“No, I like it. Gives me more time to sit in your bathroom and spy on your makeup and skincare.”

You made a face, rolling your eyes as you turned off the shower. You wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel, tucking tightly beneath your arms before stepping out of the shower. The bathroom was still thick with steam, the mirror completely fogged over, but Hyun-ju didn’t seem to mind. She was still there, legs swinging gently where she sat, her eyes following you in a way that made your pulse flutter.

You crossed to the sink and began patting your face dry, suddenly hyper aware of the way the towel clung to your chest. You kept your eyes down, but you could feel her looking.

“Don’t stare,” you mumbled, only half joking.

“I’m not,” she said, not bothering to hide her smile. “I’m admiring.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Gross.”

“You like it.”

You didn’t respond. Just reached for your moisturizer and dabbed it onto your cheeks, then your forehead, your chin. Hyun-ju didn’t say anything else–just sat next to you, letting the silence settle again. It was somehow louder than before.

When you finally turned to face her again, she was watching you so openly it made you feel dizzy. “Can I…get dressed real quick?” you asked, fiddling with the edge of your towel. “In here, I mean. If you don’t mind.”

“I’ll close my eyes,” she said again, but there was a quietness in her voice this time. A softness. “Unless you want me to keep them open.”

Your breath caught, fingers stilling against the towel’s knot. “I don’t–” you stammered, blushing fiercely. “I mean–it’s not like–I just–”

“It’s okay,” she murmured, sliding off the counter. “I’ll step out. Take your time.”

But then you did the stupidest thing imaginable. You reached for her wrist. “Wait–” Hyun-ju stilled. You swallowed. “I just…you don’t have to go.”

She turned to you fully. And when you didn’t let go, when your fingers stayed curled around her wrist, something shifted between you. The steam still lingered in the air, warm and damp and intimate, and her shirt smelled faintly like your detergent now. Her hand turned in yours, fingers lacing with yours for just a second before she pulled you gently in by the towel.

“I can help,” she whispered.

You blinked. “Help with what?”

She misled, brushing your damp hair back behind your hair. “Getting you dressed.”

The words made you shiver. Not because of what they implied–but because of how careful her voice was when she said them. She wasn’t teasing. She wasn’t pushing. She was offering.

You gave the faintest nod. Then another. 

She bent down to the little pile of folded clothes you’d left on the counter. Cotton underwear, a soft tank top, a pair of old sleep shorts. Not sexy. Not intentional. Just your usual–comoftable and a little worn. She didn’t say a word as she picked up the tank top, holding it lightly in one hand.

“Arms up,” she said simply.

You obeyed without speaking. The towel slipped off and hit the floor, and Hyun-ju didn’t so much as blink. Or maybe she did, but she covered it well. Her hands stayed gentle as she helped you into the tank top first, tugging it carefully down over your damp shoulders, smoothing it at the sides like she’d done this a hundred times.

Then she knelt, fingers brushing your ankle as she guided your feet into your underwear. She pulled them up slowly, with quiet precision, knuckles grazing the backs of your thighs as she stood again. The air between you had thickened somehow–charged and hot–but she didn’t flinch.

“Shorts?” she asked, voice steady.

You nodded again, lips parted, barely breathing. She tugged those on too, thumbs gliding up your hips to adjust the waistband. Her hands lingered a moment too long.

  But her face never gave her away. She straightened at last, brushing invisible lint from the hem of your tank like it was no big deal. “There,” she murmured, like she’d just zipped up your jacket for you. “All dressed.”

Your heart was doing something borderline catastrophic inside your chest. Then her voice dropped. Soft. Sure. “Come on.”

She took your hand and gently tugged you out of the bathroom, her palm warm against yours. Your bare feet padded after hers through the short hallway, your breath caught somewhere in your throat.

You let her lead you into your bedroom. And suddenly you weren’t sure if she’d helped you get dressed…or if she’d just taken the scenic route to undressing you.

Your bedroom was dark except for the amber spill of light from the hallway, and Hyun-ju didn’t reach for the switch. She moved toward the bed like she’d done it before, like this was already something familiar. You followed without thinking, your hand still tucked in hers, your heart climbing higher in your throat with every step.

When she sat on the edge of your mattress, you hovered–unsure where to go, what to say. But Hyun-ju just smiled, soft and unbothered, and reached for you again. “Come here.”

You stepped between her knees and she wrapped her arms loosely around your waist, her cheek resting against your stomach like it was the most natural thing in the world. You felt her breathe you in–slow and deliberate–and it made your thighs tremble, just slightly.

“You smell like honey,” she murmured. “And soap. And you.”

You swallowed thickly. “Is that a good thing?”

“The best.”

She looked up, her chin now pressing lightly into your belly, and your hand found its way into her hair. It was damp from the shower steam, soft between your fingers, and the sigh of her kneeling slightly at the end of your bed looking up at you like that–God. You weren’t surviving this.

Her fingers found your hips again. “Lie down,” she whispered. “Just for a minute.”

You blanked. “Like–together?”

She tilted her head. “You don’t have to ask like I’m gonna bite you.”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, cheeks heating, “you’ve got that look.”

Hyun-ju laughed, low and warm, but she didn’t argue. She just scooted back and patted the space beside her.

You crawled in slowly, heart thundering. She lay down beside you, her head propped on one arm, the other arresting against the blanket between you like it wasn’t desperate to touch you. Your eyes adjusted to the dark, and you could make out the shape of her lashes, the faint curve of her smile, the rise and fall of her chest.

Neither of you said anything for a long moment. And then, softly, like a question: “Can I kiss you?”

You turned toward her so fast your head bumped hers lightly. “Ow–shit–sorry–”

But she was already laughing, pulling you closer with a hand at your waist. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The kiss started sweet. A brush of lips. A warm exhale. Her hand slid slowly up your back, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades as your bodies pressed closer beneath the sheets. Her mouth moved with yours–unhurried, gentle–but the warmth of it burned all the way through you.

She kissed like she wanted to savor. Like she’d been thinking about this for a long time. You whimpered a little without meaning to, and Hyun-ju smiled against your lips. “Yeah?” she whispered. “You like that?”

You nodded, already dizzy. Her hands moved again–one up to cradle your jaw, the other gliding down the curve of your waist. She didn’t grope, didn’t rush. She just held you there, fingertips brushing bare skin where your tank had ridden up.

When her thigh slid between yours, your hips twitched instinctively. Her breath caught–but still, she didn’t move fast.

She kissed your neck. Your collarbone. The corner of your mouth. She hovered, teased, breathed you in like she could live off your little gasps.

Her hand skimmed up under your tank and landed gently beneath your breast, and this time her mouth didn’t stop moving. She kissed you deeper, fingers curling slightly, her thumb brushing along the underside until you whined into her mouth.

Still no rush. Still so, so soft. 

“You feel good,” she whispered, lips dragging along your jaw.

You squirmed, your hips rocking slightly against her thigh where it pressed between yours. Your breath came faster, but you didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

“You want more?” she murmured.

Your eyes fluttered shut. “I–don’t know,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I want something, I just–”

“Hey.” She kissed the edge of your lips again. “It’s okay.”

You nodded, pressing your forehead to hers. Her fingers traced idle circles over your ribs, the pads of them light enough to tickle. Her other hand held your face steady as she kissed you again–deeper, but still slow. Still asking.

You tugged her closer. Closer until your bodies were flush, until you could feel the way her breath hitched when your thighs parted a little wider around hers.

But even then, she didn’t move faster. She just touched you like she was learning you. Kissing you like you were the only thing she wanted to taste tonight.

And when she finally broke away, both of you a little wrecked and breathless, she smiled at the way your lips chased hers. “We can stop whenever you want,” she whispered.

“I don’t wanna stop,” you murumured. “I just don’t wanna go too fast.”

Her thumb brushed your cheek. “I can work with that.”

And with that, she wrapped her arms around you and pulled you tight against her chest, letting you settle into the curve of her body, her heartbeat thudding gently beneath your ear.

No pressure. No teasing. Just warmth. And want. And the kind of intimacy that buzzed so loud in your skin you knew you wouldn’t sleep a minute that night.

You woke slowly. Warm. Content.

The air in your room was still, quiet except for the faint hum of traffic outside and the birds that never shut up on the power line near your window. You stretched under your sheets, muscles pleasantly sore, your brain foggy from sleep and something sweeter.

Then you blinked. The space next to you was cold. Hyun-ju was gone.

You sat up, heart stuttering, hair a mess and mouth dry. The blanket fell from your chest, skin warm from where her hands had been all over you hours ago.

Your eyes flicked around the room like she might still be here, just out of sight. But no. Nothing. No sound from the kitchen. No quiet humming. No Hyun-ju.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, heart still thudding. Lit screen. One unread message.

sorry i had to leave, had an early shift at the cafe. xo

You sagged back into your pillows, exhaling hard. Relief. A tiny ache of disappointment. Most just the fluttering, barely contained joy that she had texted at all. That she’d left a little xo.

After a few minutes of scrolling on your phone, mostly admiring pictures of you and Hyun-ju from the past few weeks, you crawled out of bed. It didn’t take you long to get ready; you kept it simple, hair up, no makeup. Comfy outfit.

The city was brisk but bright when you left your apartment, layers zipped up over your outfit–something casual but still cute. Just in case. You tucked your laptop under your arm and caught the next bus to campus.

It was your last day before the break. The halls were quieter than usual, a few students still scrambling to print their essays, the energy in the air a weird mix of burnout and relief. You turned in your final project, thanked your professor with a polite bow, and stepped outside into the late afternoon chill. The air felt thin. Everything was winding down–classmates heading off to pack for vacations, weekend trips, homecomings.

You checked your phone. Your mom had texted earlier.

I wish I could fly you home, honey. I checked all the flights but they’re so expensive right now. Next break, I promise. I miss you. Berry misses you too

You’d responded with:

it’s okay mom🩷 i’ll call a lot!! give berry a big kiss for me

But the ache hadn’t left your chest since. It followed you through the bus ride home, the quiet apartment, the way the sunset bled soft gold across the hardwood floor.

You lay on your bed, phone balanced on your chest, scrolling through old pictures–your mom holding Berry like a baby, blurry photos of your kitchen back home, the little heart sticker you’d left on the fridge last spring.

You texted Hyun-ju without thinking.

how do you say “i’m sad” in korean??

Her reply came quickly:

나 슬퍼 (na seul-peo) are you okay?

You didn’t answer right away. You stared at her message, then locked your phone and just laid there, breathing.

There were no sounds in your apartment except for the heater and the quiet hum of your refrigerator. Something about it was comforting to you. And to be honest, the silence made you feel better than crowding your mind with a lot of noise.

About half an hour later, your phone buzzed again. A call this time. You answered with a tiny voice. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Hyun-ju said, soft and careful. “Wanna practice your Korean?”

You smiled, but it hurt. “나 슬퍼…”

She didn’t tease. Didn’t joke. Just let that hang in the air. You rolled to your side, curling up a little. 

“I really wanted to go home. But my mom couldn’t afford the ticket. And I totally understand, I really do. It’s just–I miss her. And I miss Berry. And everything’s so quiet without school and I feel dumb for being sad over it but–”

“Hey,” Hyun-ju cut in gently. “Don’t say that. You’re allowed to be sad.”

You swallowed, blinking hard. There was a little pause, then the sound of her shifting on her end of the line.

“Okay,” she said. “If you’re staying here for break, then I’m making it my job to make sure it’s not awful. Like–it might even be fun. That’s a threat.”

You laughed, choked and watery. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ve been warned. Starting tomorrow, we’re doing something fun. And tonight, you’re coming over. I’ll even feed you.”

“Are you trying to bribe me with food?”

“Would it work?”

“...Yes.”

“Perfect.”

And just like that the ache in your chest loosened a little.

Hyun-ju had texted you before you even left your apartment.

bring a bag. you’re staying with me for a few days. i won’t take no for an answer! pack your comifest stuff. knitting, fuzzy socks, emotional support plushie. i’ll handle the snacks.

You’d hesitated at first–her tone was playful, but she meant it. You could tell. And honestly, the thought of spending the first days of break at your empty apartment had been weighing heavier than you’d admitted.

So you packed the essentials. Your favorite hoodie, the soft sweats you only wore when you wanted to feel safe, your half finished knitting project. Toothbrush. Moisturizer. One of Hyun-ju’s hoodies you’d somehow ended up with and never returned. And of course, your stuffed bear your mom bought you before you left.

Your heart picked up a little as you reached her building, bag slung over your shoulder. You barely had time to knock before the door swung open.

Hyun-ju stood there in soft gray joggers and a black tee, her hair damp and curled slightly at the ends. Her skin was still flushed from the shower, and she looked so comfortable, so warm, like something you’d dream about and miss even before waking.

“There she is,” she said, beaming.

Before you could speak, she reached forward and pulled you into a hug, arms firm and grounding around your shoulders, the scent of her clean soap and laundry softener all around you.

“You made it,” she murmured.

You nodded into her chest. “I couldn’t bring Berry, but I brought everything else.”

Hyun-ju chuckled and loosened the hug just enough to look at you. “I’ll accept that trade. C’mon in, baby.”

Her apartment was glowing softly, fairy lights strung along the shelves, a candle flickering the windowsill. There were already extra blankets folded on the couch and a warm mug on the table.

You dropped your bag near the door and toed off your shoes.

Hyun-ju reached for your hand and tugged you toward the kitchen. “I made curry. And I got those little jellies you like for dessert. Oh–and look.”

She opened the fridge proudly. “I bought strawberry milk.”

You laughed, pressing a hand to your mouth. “You did not.”

“I did. You’re spoiled now. Get used to it.”

Something swelled up in your chest–gratitude, comfort, that fluttery nervous thing that always settled in your belly when you looked at her for too long.

You helped her plate up two bowls, and the two of you sat cross legged on the couch, legs brushing. You talked about everything and nothing. Laughed. Ate seconds. She leaned her head on your shoulder for a little while. Her fingers traced absentminded circles on your thigh as you showed her your latest knitting project.

And when the night got quieter, the dishes rinsed and your eyes starting to grow heavy, Hyun-ju pulled out a bundle of blankets and patted the space beside her on the couch.

“You staying out here with me or do you wanna go curl up in my bed?”

You blinked. “Your bed?”

“I mean. It’s warmer. Bigger. And I don’t snore…much.”

You gave her a mock suspicious look, but your heart was thudding. She grinned. “C’mon. You look like you could fall asleep standing.”

You let her tug you to your feet. She led you down the short hallway, flipping the light on low in her room. The bedding was fresh. Her space was clean, minimal, a little cluttered with notebooks and a stack of unread novels on the nightstand.

You sat on the edge of her bed, kicking off your socks and hoodie, when you noticed Hyun-ju tugging her sweatpants down, revealing soft boxer briefs that clung to the curve of her thighs. She caught you looking and shrugged one shoulder, her voice casual, “Sorry–I never sleep in pants. I run warm.”

Then she paused, glancing at you as she folded the joggers and set them aside. “But if that’s weird, I can manage while you’re here.”

Your face felt a little hot, but you shook your head quickly. “No, it’s fine. Whatever you’re comfortable in.”

A little smile tugged at her lips. “You sure?”

You nodded. “I promise.”

She crossed the room and opened a drawer, tugging off her shirt to put on one of her big sleep tees. Though you couldn’t help but stare when she stripped out of her shirt–her back was to you, but the way her muscles flexed made your knees feel weak. She ruffled her hair then padded around her bedroom barefoot.

When she turned off the light, she slipped under the blanket beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her arm brushed yours. Her thigh pressed softly to your leg.

And then, under the hush of low city sounds and the quiet hum of her heater, she reached for your hand beneath the covers and laced your fingers together.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

You nodded in the dark. “I’m really glad I’m here.”

Her thumb traced gently over the back of your hand. “Me too,” she said. “We’re gonna make this a good break, yeah?”

You gave her fingers a light squeeze. “Yeah. A really good one.”

Hyun-ju had fallen asleep before you.

Not long after the lights were out, her breathing had evened out, her fingers still loosely tangled with yours beneath the blanket. Her body was warm, radiating heat beside you, the shape of her just barely brushing yours in the dark.

But no matter how many times you adjusted your pillow or rolled from side to side, sleep wouldn’t come. Your thoughts wouldn’t still. Maybe it was being in a new bed. Maybe it was the way you could still feel the ghost of her touch where your hands had been linked. Maybe it was just…her. All of her. So close, but not quite touching.

You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling. Tried counting. Tried deep breathing. Nothing worked.

Eventually, carefully, you shifted to your side and poked gently at her shoulder with one finger. Nothing.

You whispered, “Hyun-ju?”

Still nothing.

A little braver this time,  you shook her shoulder lightly. “Hyun-ju…”

She stirred with a soft grunt, eyes fluttering open. Her voice was raspy with sleep. “Mm…what? What is it, baby?”

You felt embarrassed. “Sorry. I just…I can’t sleep.”

She rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times before rolling onto her side to face you. Her voice was gentler now, softer. “What can I do to help?”

You shrugged, suddenly shy under her gaze. “I don’t know. I just…can’t get comfy, I guess.”

There was a pause, and then she murmured, “Wanna try back scratches?”

You blinked. “Like…like when I was little?”

A sleepy smile curled at her lips. “It works. I’ve got good nails. Five stars on Yelp.”

You laughed under your breath and nodded. “Okay. Yeah.”

You rolled onto your stomach, tucking your arms under your pillow. The blanket shifted as Hyun-ju sat up just enough to reach for the hem of your t-shirt, pausing. “Can I?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, breath catching slowly.

She pushed the fabric up slowly, baring your back to the cool air of the room. Then her fingers landed on your skin–light, careful. She started with slow, lazy scratches, trailing from your shoulders to the small of your back and up again. The rhythm was soothing, but her touch made you shiver.

After a while, her scratches softened into gentle brushstrokes, her fingertips gliding up and down, tracing invisible patterns into your skin.

“Better?” she asked gently.

“Mhm,” you mumbled. “You’re really good at that.” You sighed into the pillow, eyelids heavy now.

There was a pause, and then you heard her murmur, “If you were an animal, what would you be?”

You snorted. “That’s so random.”

“I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about it.”

You thought for a second. “Maybe…a bunny?”

“Oh my god,” she said, like it was obvious. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I was gonna say.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re cute. And fidgety. And you make those little nose scrunches when you concentrate.”

You rolled your face further into the pillow to hide the grin spreading across your cheeks. “Okay, then what would you be?”

“Hm.” Her fingers paused briefly on your spine, then resumed their path. “I think I’m a cat. Like… I’ll stare at you from across the room for an hour, but then crawl into your lap the second you stop looking at me.”

You giggled.

She leaned in closer. “Okay, your turn. What color am I?”

You hummed. “Like… a deep reddish brown. Like cinnamon. Or chai.”

Hyun-ju let out a soft breath. “That’s such a good answer. I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

“What did you think I’d say?”

“Charcoal,” she said dramatically. “Or off-black.”

You snorted again, body relaxing into the mattress beneath you.

She traced one more long, gentle line down your back. “And what color are you?”

“I don’t know…something soft. Maybe cream? Or lavender.”

“Lavender,” she repeated softly, like she was testing the word against her tongue. “That’s nice. That’s really nice.”

You turned your face to the side, eyes finally beginning to close, your body warm and buzzing under her touch.

“You’re making me sleepy now,” you mumbled.

“That was the goal, baby.”

She leaned down, her breath brushing your ear. “Sleep. I’m right here.”

And with her hand still resting lightly between your shoulder blades, you finally did.

The light spilling through the curtains was pale gold, filtering lazy across the bed, and Hyun-ju stirred first.

She blinked slowly, her mind hazy and warm, breath shallow as she became aware of the weight of you beside her–still asleep, your body soft and curled toward her.

Her heart kicked a little harder when she realized your hand had slipped beneath the blanket in the night. Resting on her lower stomach. Right above the waistband of her boxers.

Your fingertips were barely brushing the skin there, just the faintest warmth lingering where they’d settled, and yet it felt like a brand. She stayed still, utterly still, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. She didn’t dare breathe too deep, didn’t dare shift her hips even slightly for fear of drawing your attention. You didn’t mean it–she knew you didn’t–but her body had already begun reacting. Her thighs pressed together, lips parting just a little.

She closed her eyes, swallowed.

Calm down.

But your fingers twitched. And her breath caught

Nope. Absolutely not.

With painful slowness, Hyun-ju slid herself back from your touch, legs moving one at a time as she peeled herself from the mattress. She sat up quietly, bare feet touching the cool floor, and gleaned over her shoulder to make sure you were still out.

You were. Chest rising and falling with the deepest kind of sleep, hair mussed, your lips slack.

She took one long look at you before slipping out of the room. The bathroom door closed part way behind her.

You didn’t wake up at the sound. You woke up at the absence. You stirred, hand searching the empty space beside you. When you opened your eyes, all you could see was rumpled blankets and the imprint of Hyun-ju’s head in the pillow.

Then you heard it. The low, steady sound of running water from the bathroom down the hall. She was in the shower.

Padding softly into the hallway, you paused just outside the bathroom door. It was barely ajar.

Steam curled out from the crack, warm and damp. You reached for the handle, intending to knock, to say good morning–but you froze.

You heard it.

Barely audible over the rush of the water…a sound that made your breath catch. A soft, strangled whimper. A sigh that turned into something closer to a moan. And then, her voice–just a breathy curse, bitten back, low and desperate.

You stood there, heart in your throat, absolutely still. Your palm rested flat against the door, and you leaned in the tiniest bit, pressing your ear close.

She was trying to be quiet. You could tell. But the way her breathing hitched, the wet sound of her palm against skin, the tiny gasps she couldn’t swallow down–it all painted a vivid picture in your mind. One that made your thighs squeeze together helplessly.

She groaned again, and it was the softest thing you’d ever heard her say–“shibal…”–  as though she didn’t even mean to say it aloud.

You closed your eyes, your skin tingling with heat. And then there was silence. Just the sound of water.

You backed away quickly, breath shallow. Slipped down the hall and into the bedroom like nothing happened. You pulled the blanket back over yourself and tried to school your face into something innocent.

By the time she stepped into the room a few minutes later, towel wrapped around her body and wet hair sticking to her neck, you were pretending to scroll through your phone, pretending you hadn't just heard her fall apart on the other side of the door.

She smiled, eyes warm, and said, “Morning, sleepyhead.”

You smiled right back–too sweet, too calm. “Morning.”

taglist - @shesruinqtion, @diouna, @jeongteen, @natwendigo, @lesmiix, @sukunasthighmarkings101, @danitzastolfo, @coreyfics, @deftonism, @kikibunnyy, @seungyug, @chattersstuff, @daydreamerstars, @littleblindchannelfan, @tteokbunni

[sillylilsquid]

THANK YOU FOR 600!!🥹🧁🩷

i am so happy that you all enjoy my writing enough to follow. writing is something so special to me, so it’s nice to be able to share it and it be well received

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xoxo, a very happy squid😮‍💨

[sillylilsquid]

you're not alone pt. 2

pairing - hyun-ju x reader summary - studying abroad in korea felt like a great idea, until you realized how hard being by yourself in a new country was. that is, until you meet the tall, beautiful woman who happens to speak perfect english. and maybe things start to feel not so lonely warnings - afab!reader, post-tranistion!hyun-ju, some brief homophobia, explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni!! reader's messages are pink, hyun-ju's are purple, and others are black!

A few days passed in a blur of textbooks and exhaustion. Exams were looming, and your brain felt like it was constantly swimming through molasses. But Hyun-ju had texted you earlier, asking if you wanted to go to a festival with her. “To get your mind off everything,” she’d said.

Of course you agreed.

The festival was bustling–vibrant fabric banners swinging overhead, the smell of sweet rice cakes and roasting chestnuts curling through the air. You could hear a guitarist playing somewhere near the plaza, kids running by their hands sticky from cotton candy, and the clatter of handmade jewelry and trinkets at every stall.

Hyun-ju was holding your hand. It had happened so casually. One moment you were both trying to dodge a particularly rowdy group of tourists, and the next her fingers had closed gently around yours, warm and firm. You hadn’t let go.

She was in her dark fitted jeans, a black turtleneck sweater that clung to her in all the ways that made your stomach flip, and the moss green scarf you’d knitted just last week. She’d unwrapped it in front of you with that slow, pleased smile–had looped it around her neck that same night. Now, she wore it like she’d never taken it off.

You, meanwhile, were cozy in your college sweatshirt, oversized and soft from years of washes, baggy jeans, and your platform Converse that still couldn’t quite close the gap between you. She had to bend a little to hear you when you talked. You liked that. You like how she always listened.

You’d been walking together for a while now, passing from booth to booth, sharing a hot drink in a paper cup–some kind of sweet milk tea you’d begged to try. She even let you have the last sip.

The crowd had thinned now, the market trial weaving into a quieter area with lanterns strung along the path. A river nearby shimmered under the glow, and wind tugged gently at Hyun-ju’s  scarf. Her arm was looped around your shoulder, tucking you close against her side as you strolled. She smelled like clean laundry and cinnamon from one of the food stalls.

You’d been leaning into her without thinking, cheek brushing against her shoulder as you walked. You could feel her thumb tracing soft, slow circles across the back of your hand.

You looked down at her hand holding yours, heart fluttering at the gentle motion of her thumb. The noise of the market had faded a little, like the two of you had stepped into a pocket of quiet just for yourselves.

Then–like a sudden idea struck–you pulled your phone from your pocket. “Wait,” you said, tugging her to a nearby bench. “Let’s take a picture before we leave.”

Hyun-ju titled her head, already smiling. “Yeah?”

“I wanna remember today,” you said, unlocking your phone and flipping to the camera app. “Actually, let’s do a video. That way we can get a bunch of screenshots.”

She laughed softly as you propped your phone up on the bench using a makeshift tripod out of your water bottle and bag.

You hit record and ran back to her, bumping her with your shoulder before slipping an arm around her waist. She pulled you in easily, both of you smiling wide for the first shot.

Then you said, “Okay–silly one,” and before you could even pose, Hyun-ju crouched down and scooped you up onto her back, laughing as you squealed.

“Hyun-ju!!”

“You said silly!” she said through her giggles, and you wrapped your arms tight around her shoulders to keep from falling.

Hyun-ju spun once, your laughter mingling in the air, then gently let you down again, hands steady on your waist as your feet hit the ground.

Neither of you stepped back.

You were still in each other’s space, hands lingering, breaths close. The video kept recording, forgotten.

Hyun-ju looked down at you, eyes soft and serious. The buzz of the crowd seemed far away again. You blinked up at her, heart stammering. She looked at your lips once, then back to your eyes. 

“너무 예뻐…” she murmured, barely audible. So pretty.

Your breath hitched. “W-what?” you said, your voice clumsy and small.

“I said,” she repeated, lips quirking into a shy little smile, “you’re so pretty.”

You didn’t know what to say, only that your body swayed closer to her on instinct. And she leaned in, too, just a little, the space between you humming like a held breath.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” she whispered.

Your lips parted. “I–I really want you to kiss me,” you said, barely getting the words out before she bridged the last bit of space between you.

She kissed you so gently, her lips brushing over yours like a question and an answer all at once. The camera kept rolling in the background, recording the quiet tremble of your first kiss, the way your fingers curled into the sleeves of her sweater, the soft gasp you let out when she tilted her head and kissed you deeper.

It was the kind of kiss you’d dreamt about–slow, tender, inevitable.

When you finally pulled back, dazed and breathless, you blinked up at her and whispered, “I think I’m gonna need to watch this every day.”

She chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think I’m gonna need that video.”

Then, unsure what to do with yourself, you leaned in for a clumsy little hug–arms looping loosely around her shoulders as your face tucked into her scarf.

Hyun-ju laughed, hugging you tighter. “That was so awkward,” she teased, voice all low and amused.

“I know,” you mumbled into her shoulder. “Shut up.”

She pulled back just a little to look at you, her nose red from the cold, smile still soft. You let go of her completely, retreating to grab your things off the bench where it still recorded. You stopped the video with trembling fingers and shoved everything into your tote.

“It’s getting dark,” Hyun-ju said, reaching for your hand again like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Let me walk you home.”

You glanced up at her, heart leaping. “Okay.”

The walk was quiet and sweet–shoulders brushing every other step, your arms occasionally swaying into each other. You talked a little about the food you tried, the funny dog in a hoodie you saw at one of the vendor booths. But mostly, it was just soft silence and the warmth of your joined hands.

When you reached your apartment, you turned toward her, suddenly reluctant to go inside.

Hyun-ju cupped your cheek with one hand, brushing her thumb along your jaw. “Goodnight,” she said, and leaned in to kiss you again–just once, gently.

It still made your knees wobble.

“Goodnight,” you whispered when you pulled back, cheeks flaming. “Text me when you’re home.”

She lingered a moment longer, then finally stepped away, walking backward for a few steps just to grin at you. “I will.”

You were still in a gaze as you got inside, dropped your bag, and peeled off your shoes. You stripped out of your clothes and jumped into the shower, trying to calm your nerves. And once you were out and dried off, your phone buzzed with a text from Hyun-ju.

made it home safe good <3

You smiled as you watched the typing bubble pop up. And when her next message popped up your heart skipped a beat. You had to read it twice just to be sure.

dinner date tomorrow night? date?? or just dinner. whatever you want to call it. of course.

Still giddy, you covered your face with your hands, grinning into your palms. You crawled into bed and the memories of tonight all came rushing back again. You pulled up the video, and scrubbed through it frame by frame.

There you were, laughing on her back.

There you were, arms around her waist.

There she was, brushing your hair from your face.

There you were, kissing.

You saved five screenshots and sent them all to Hyun-ju.

here’s some of my favorites. the one where you picked me up is going to be my phone background forever.

Then, hesitating for only a moment, you pulled up your mom’s chat.

hyun-ju asked me to dinner tomorrow night. (attached: three pictures–none of the kiss)

Her reply came in under a minute.

you two are beautiful. 😀 …for a date!? she called it that but i don’t really know. doesn’t matter what you call it. it’s clearly special. enjoy your time.

You set your phone down on your chest, heart doing full flips. And maybe–just maybe–you let yourself replay the kiss in your head a few more times before falling asleep with a smile on your face.

The next morning you woke to the soft buzz of your phone on the nightstand and a sleepy smile already tugging at your lips. You reached for it, still half tangled in your comforter.

good morning pretty girl☀️ can’t stop thinking about last night.

You buried your face into the pillow for a second, heart threatening to melt right through the mattress. Then, with one eye open:

good morning🌝 i’ve been smiling since i woke up do you still wanna do dinner tonight? yes.  i made a reservation already. 7:30. wear something nice how nice is nice? like…a dress nice? like expensive tablecloths and wine nice. hyun-ju! that’s too much!! come on, it’ll be fun. i want an excuse to dress up and eat good food with you. please? 

You bite your lip, staring at her text. Your stomach was already doing anxious little flips.

fine. but only because you asked like that

That afternoon you found yourself in a dressing room stall under the worst possible lighting, staring at yourself in the mirror.

The dress was simple but elegant–soft and black and fitted just right around your waist. You couldn’t afford anything flashy, but it felt pretty. And paired with your favorite platforms, it was still you.

You stood on your toes to get a better look, then dropped down with a huff. “I’m not buying heels,” you muttered to no one. “My bank account would burst into flames.”

When you got home, you smoothed the dress out again and sent a mirror selfie to your mom.

do i look okay??

She replied almost instantly.

you look BEAUTIFUL!!! is this for the date!?

yes. hyun-ju made a reservation at a fancy place. i didn’t even have anything nice to wear. but i’m still wearing my converse lol

that’s my girl. if she can’t appreciate the full look, she’s not worth it!

You laughed, heart thudding widely as you checked the time. 7:17. Time to go.

When you stepped into the restaurant, your eyes had to adjust to the warm gold lighting. The clink of cutlery, soft music playing. Waiters in black vests and clean white shirts.

Then you spotted her.

Hyun-ju sat at a table near the back, scrolling idly on her phone. She was in tailored black trousers and a silky gray blouse that clung to her arms just right. A single gold chain around her neck, small gold hoops, and light makeup dusted across her face. Her scarf was folded neatly beside her.

She looked up–and when her eyes found yours, she stood with a slow smile.

You crossed the floor quickly, heart pounding in your ears. As soon as you reached her, she wrapped you in a hug that smelled like vanilla and warm skin and fabric softener.

“You look really nice,” she said softly into your ear.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, pulling back. “So do you.”

She glanced down with a small smirk. “Nice shoes.”

You groaned immediately, covering your face. “Stop! They’re my favorite! I didn’t have enough money to buy heels too, okay?”

Hyun-ju laughed, the sound warm and light. “No, they’re cute. I’m not judging.”

You gave her a mock glare. “Plus…they make me taller.”

She grinned as she led you to your seat. “You’re still short though.”

You shoved her shoulder as you both sat down, cheeks burning. “Rude.”

She just winked and picked up the wine menu. “Red or white?”

“Uhh…surprise me?”

She ended up ordering a bottle of red wine to share, and when the waiter poured two glasses and stepped away, Hyun-ju raised hers toward you. “To our first…whatever this is.”

You giggled and clinked your glass with hers. “To our whatever this is.”

Hyun-ju smiled behind her wine glass as she took a sip. Then, she tilted her head slightly, eyes warm and curious. “Can I ask you something?”

You blinked, your fork halfway to your mouth. “Yeah, of course.”

“What’s your major again?” she asked, resting her chin in her hand. “I feel like you told me before, but I wanna hear more about it.”

“Oh,” you said, a little shy. “It’s, um…creative writing. Well, technically English literature with a writing concentration.”

Hyun-ju’s eyes lit up like that genuinely delighted her. “That’s so cool. So you write stories?"

You nodded, smiling bashfully. “I mean, I try to.”

“I bet they’re good.”

“They’re okay,” you said, laughing under your breath. “Mostly fiction. Some essays. I’m kind of all over the place right now.”

Hyun-ju nodded like she understood completely. “Do you want to write books one day?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. Or work in publishing. Or teach. I don’t know yet.”

She didn’t pressure you for a definite answer. Just smiled gently. “Well, I hope you do. Whatever you chose. I think you’d be amazing at it.”

Your face burned again, but this time from something deeper than just embarrassment. You took a sip of wine to hide the way your mouth couldn't quite find the right words.

“Do you have any siblings?” she asked a moment later, lightly swirling the wine in her glass.

“Nope. Only child.” You grinned. “Can’t you tell?”

She laughed at that. “A little. In a good way.”

You grinned again, leaning forward slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’re very…independent. But also like…easy to want to take care of.” She smirked, and you had to cover your face for a second.

“That’s not fair,” you mumbled through your hands.

Hyun-ju laughed again, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “Bet it’s hard on your mom, you being out here alone.”

You lowered your hands. “Yeah. It was, at first. But we talk a lot. I send her updates about everything. I literally sent her a picture of my outfit before this.”

She beamed. “That’s adorable.”

“I sent her a picture of us from last night. She said we’re both beautiful,” you said, cheeks warming again. “And then immediately followed it with: wait, for a date!?”

Hyun-ju tilted her head with a small, knowing smile. “And is this a date?”

You bit your lip. “It feels like one.”

“Good,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “It is.”

Something fluttered in your chest–soft and deep and warm like velvet. You looked won at your plate for a moment, suddenly shy again.

She didn’t rush you. Just picked up her fork and reached across the table again, gently pushing her half of the dessert toward you.

“Here,” she said, voice still soft. “Try this one too. You’ll like it.”

You took another slow bite of the dessert she’d slid across the table toward you–some creamy, fancy thing with berries you couldn’t pronounce. She watched you like she was waiting for a verdict.

You licked a bit of whipped topping from your spoon and smiled. “Okay, that’s dangerously good.”

“I told you,”  Hyun-ju said, all smug satisfaction. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You really do,” you muttered, letting the spoon clink into the plate. You leaned forward just slightly, chin resting in your palm. “Hey…how are you so fluent in English? Like, even with your accent you’re really easy to understand. And you never pause to think or anything.”

Hyun-ju’s lips curled into a soft, pleased smile, and she leaned back a little in her chair. “I lived abroad for a while. Four years after college. London first. Then a few in Toronto.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Wait, really? That’s so cool. What made you come back?”

“Family,” she said with a little shrug, the candlelight catching in the curve of her jaw. “And I missed the food. The weather. The…quiet.”

“That’s fair,” you said. “The quiet’s nice.”

She smiled again, then tilted her head just slightly. “Will this be your only year abroad?”

The question caught you off guard–not in a bad way. Just…it made something in your chest flutter weirdly. You hesitated, lowering your gaze to the base of your wine glass as you rolled the stem between your fingers.

“I…I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “I guess I’m kind of waiting to see what happens.”

Hyun-ju didn’t push. Just hummed, like she was letting the answer settle in her chest. Then, after a moment, she gave you a playful little smile. “Well. I hope something good happens.”

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Mm…” Her eyes danced a little. “Like maybe you fall in love with the city. Or the food. Or–” she paused, sipping her wine, then winked, “���something else.”

You laughed, a short, helpless sound. “Oh my god.”

“What?” she asked innocently, setting her glass down.

“You are so full of it,” you said, still grinning.

Hyun-ju leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. “You didn’t deny it, though.”

“Deny what?”

“That there might be something,” she said simply. “Worth staying for.”

You picked up your glass to hide your face and immediately regretted it when you felt your cheeks warming from the wine–and the way she was looking at you.

You mumbled into your glass, “You’re not very subtle, you know that?”

“And you’re not very sneaky. I saw your face turn red.”

You practically whined. “Stop it.”

Hyun-ju laughed, low and smooth. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

You tried to glare at her, but you could barely keep the smile off your lips. “You’re such a menace.”

She titled her head. “Only for you.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to shake off the butterflies. “Okay, wait–serious question.”

“Mm?”

“How are you so good at flirting? Is that a barista skill?”

Hyun-ju grinned wide. “Oh no, I save this level of effort for special occasions.”

“Like tonight?”

Her eyes didn’t leave yours. “Exactly like tonight.” You swore your heart skipped a beat.

She reached for her wine again, swirling it slowly before taking a sip. “Okay, now my turn,” she said. “Have you always been this easy to fluster?”

You froze. “Excuse me!?”

Hyun-ju was already laughing. “I’m just asking.”

“Rude.”

“You walked into it.”

You dramatically dropped your face into your hands. “I should’ve known better.”

“You really should have.” She paused, and her tone softened a little. “But honestly…it’s really charming.”

You peeked at her through your fingers, your cheeks fully on fire now. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re adorable.”

You groaned. “I swear I’m usually cooler than this.”

“No, you’re not,” she teased. “And that’s the best part.”

You were giggling now, hiding your smile behind your hands, completely undone by the wine and the candlelight and her eyes, the way she looked at you like you were made of gold.

She leaned forward again, voice lower now. “Want to know what else I like?”

You hesitated, then nodded, eyes wide.

Hyun-ju grinned slowly. “Those shoes.”

You blinked. “Wha–my Converse?”

“Yup. With the dress? It’s very you. Like… ‘don’t mess with me but also I might cry during a movie.’”

You burst out laughing. “That is exactly my brand.”

“I know.” She gave you a warm look. “And you wear it perfectly.”

You covered your face again with a whimper. “I cannot handle you tonight.”

“You better start trying,” she said with a wink, “because the night’s not over.” And suddenly that candlelight felt warmer. And your heart beats a little faster.

You excused yourself to the bathroom the moment you felt like your chest might explode from how much you liked her.

The second the door closed behind you, you leaned your hands against the counter and stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes a little glassy from the wine—and the way Hyun-Ju had been looking at you all night. The flirting, the way her voice dipped, the way she called you cute and wore that smile like she knew what she was doing.

You pulled your phone out and opened your messages to your mom.

omg  MOM this girl is trying to kill me. like in the best way she’s so hot and sweet and charming and she keeps flirting and i can’t breathe send help

Your mom replied almost instantly.

lol sounds like ur already dead 😇 but in love maybe??

You stared at the screen, biting your lip.

idk. but i really really like her

You didn’t wait for a reply this time. Just tucked your phone back in your bag, gave yourself one last look in the mirror—then headed back to the table.

Hyun-Ju looked up as you returned, and she smiled like she'd been waiting just for you. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, tucking some hair behind your ear. “Just needed a minute.”

“I figured,” she said. “So I ordered reinforcements.”

You blinked, then noticed both wine glasses had been topped off. You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

Hyun-Ju raised a brow. “Please. You’ve had, like, a glass and a half. You’re just a lightweight.”

You let out a little giggle, flopping dramatically into your seat. “I am not!”

She smirked. “You are. But it’s okay. It’s cute.”

You took a slow sip of the wine, trying to hide your flustered smile behind the rim of your glass. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to compliment me or tease me.”

“Why not both?”

You groaned into your drink. “Stop.”

Hyun-Ju chuckled, then toyed with her fork for a second before looking up at you again. “Hey, my friends are planning on throwing a house party this weekend. If you’re free... you should come.”

You blinked. “Me? Partying? Remember last time?”

She nodded casually. “If you want to.”

You hesitated. “I’m not really a party girl…”

Hyun-Ju shrugged. “That’s okay.” Then, “I’m not either.”

“…But I want to spend time with you,” you added quickly. “So I’ll come.”

Her smile spread, soft and warm. “Yeah?”

You nodded, chewing your bottom lip. “Just… promise you won’t let me stand awkwardly in the corner all night.”

“I’d never,” she said, voice dipping. “If I’m being honest, I was kinda hoping I’d get to dance with you.” Your breath caught in your throat. “Just a slow one,” she added. “So you don’t run away.”

You giggled, flustered all over again. “I can’t dance.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, tilting her glass toward you. “I’ll lead.”

You clinked your glass with hers before taking another slow sip, hoping she couldn’t hear your heart beating out of your chest.

The two of you stepped out of the restaurant into the warm evening air, laughter still lingering between you like perfume. The sidewalk sparkled faintly beneath the streetlamps, your shoes tapping beside Hyun-Ju’s quiet strides. The wine left you a little floaty, but it wasn’t just that—it was her.

She walked close enough for your arms to brush with every step, your fingers occasionally grazing, and every time it happened, your heart fluttered so hard it felt unfair. “You’re gonna wear something cute tomorrow, right?” Hyun-Ju asked casually, looking ahead.

You blinked. “Huh?”

She smiled without turning. “To the party.”

Your face went warm. “I—I mean, yeah. I guess.”

“Something that’ll make me want to kiss you again.”

Your steps faltered slightly, and she glanced over at you with a tiny smirk, like she knew. “You can’t just say things like that,” you muttered, pressing a hand to your cheek.

“Why not?” she asked, her voice a little lower now. “It’s true.”

You didn’t have a response to that, not one that wouldn’t come out in a squeak. You looked down at the sidewalk instead, your smile stubborn and helpless.

Soon, you were at your apartment building, the soft golden glow from the lobby light spilling onto the sidewalk. “Well,” you said, half-turning to face her. “Thanks for walking me.”

“Of course,” she said, not moving. Her gaze lingered on your face for a beat longer than felt safe. “You gonna let me kiss you goodnight?”

Your breath caught, eyes flicking up to hers. She looked impossibly pretty in the glow of the lamplight, eyes warm and patient and waiting.

But you just… stood there. Frozen. Not because you didn’t want to—god, you did—but because everything in you had gone soft and quiet and too full at once. The wine. The night. Her.

“Sweet girl?” she asked softly, a gentle tease in her voice.

It snapped you out of your trance, eyes going wide as you blinked up at her. “Oh my god—sorry. I—yeah. I mean—goodnight kiss… yeah. That’s okay.”

Hyun-Ju let out the smallest laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. Then she stepped close, one hand curling behind your neck, not pulling—just holding—and leaned in.

The kiss she gave you was soft, slow, and barely there, like she was afraid to overwhelm you. Just a warm press of lips, and then she was pulling back, smiling at the way your eyes fluttered open again.

“Goodnight,” she murmured.

“Goodnight,” you whispered back, barely able to hear your own voice. You stayed there on the steps even after she left, watching the glow of the streetlights catch in her hair as she walked away.

Your phone buzzed a few minutes later.

made it home :) thanks for tonight

And then, a second later:

can’t wait to see what you wear tomorrow

The next morning you dragged yourself out of bed with a slow stretch and made it to class–barely on time, but present. The lectures blurred by, your notes messier than you’d like, but your head was still spinning a little from everything that had happened the night before. Hyun-ju’s lips. Her hand on your neck. That smirk when she told you to wear something cute.

You stopped by the convenience store near campus after class and picked up a triangle kimbap and a bottled ice tea. You didn’t feel like a full meal–not with your nerves buzzing again.

You sat outside on the bench to eat your snack, watching the cars and people pass by. Instead of heading straight back to your apartment, you wandered to the coffee shop. Hyun-ju was working.

You ordered your usual, and when she spotted you, she smiled in that warm, knowing way. “Studying?” she asked, already turning to make your drink.

You nodded. “Trying to be productive.”

“Your favorite booth is free.”

You grinned, heading over to your favorite spot. The spot where you first met her. The spot you sat when you met up with her friends. A moment later, she set your coffee down beside you–extra foam on top, just how you liked it.

You slipped on your headphones, opened your laptop, and started typing out the early draft of your paper. It was coming slowly, but it was coming.

Halfway through your second paragraph, your phone buzzed.

Mom♡ FaceTime

You blinked in surprise, then smiled and picked up.

“Hi, sweetheart!” your mom beamed into the camera. She was in the backyard, phone a little wobbly as she turned it toward your cavalier. “Look at Berry! She’s been out here all morning, digging up the same exact corner of the garden.”

“Berry!” you laughed. “She looks filthy.”

“She is. I gave up trying to stop her. She’s on a mission.”

Berry gave a joyful bark in the background, pawing at something unseen in the dirt. Your mom turned the camera back to her face. “How’s my girl? Are you eating enough?”

You held up your coffee with a sheepish smile. “Lunch of champions. Plus I had a kimbap earlier.”

She gave you that look, the familiar mom one, but before she could say anything else, her eyes flicked to something behind you on the screen.

“That’s her, isn’t it?”

You glanced back. Hyun-ju was walking behind the counter, hair tied up in a messy low pony, wiping her hands on a towel and laughing at something one of her coworkers said.

You flushed a little. “Uh. Yeah. That’s her.”

Your mom’s eyes lit up. “She’s even prettier than in the pictures you sent.”

“Mom,” you mumbled, flustered. “I’m just studying here, okay?”

“I didn’t say anything!” she teased. “I just said she’s pretty.” You buried your face in your hands. She laughed.

“So,” she said, a little more gently, “how’s school going? You look less tired than the last time we talked.”

You dropped your hands and sighed. “It’s okay, I think I’m finally getting a good schedule down. Classes aren’t too bad. Just takes a while to adjust.”

She smiled, a bit softer now. “I miss you a lot, honey.”

Your throat tightened. “I miss you too, Mom.”

There was a pause. Just the sounds of Berry panting and the soft background hum of the cafe.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” your mom said eventually. “But send me more pictures soon, okay? Of your outfits. Or the city. Anything. Or Berry will be mad.”

You laughed. “Okay. Love you.”

“Love you more.”

You hung up and sat there for a moment, the ache of homesickness dull but familiar. Then you glanced up–Hyuun-ju was wiping down the espresso machine, and she looked over just in time to catch your eye.

She smiled. And you did too.

You set your phone face-down beside your laptop and stared at your screen for a moment. The cursor blinked at you, annoyingly patient. You took a slow sip of your coffee. It had gone lukewarm while you talked to your mom, but you didn’t mind.

Homesickness settled over you like a slow, quiet fog. Seeing your mom’s face—Berry’s wagging tail, your yard back home, the way your mom’s voice always softened when she looked at you—left a dull ache in your chest. It wasn’t new, but today it clung harder than usual.

You sniffled softly and rubbed your thumb under your eye, blinking a few times like it would shake the feeling loose. You weren’t going to cry in the middle of the coffee shop. You had a paper to write. You had a date with Hyun-Ju’s friends tonight. You had things to look forward to.

You tapped your fingers against the edge of your laptop, inhaled deep, and let it go slowly. Then you forced your attention back to your paper, rereading your last paragraph and adjusting a sentence or two just to feel like you were moving.

Still, the ache lingered. Gnawed at the back of your mind. Your chest was tight and your throat was scratchy and you wanted to crawl under your blanket and sleep for twelve hours.

But you didn’t. You just kept writing. Slowly. Sloppily. But writing. You reminded yourself of the good things. You had a date with Hyun-Ju. A real date. And she’d invited you out tonight. To spend time with her. To be with her friends.

You were nervous—god, you were nervous. Your stomach had been twisting with it all day. What if you wore the wrong thing? What if they didn’t like you? What if you couldn’t hear anyone over the music, or you got too anxious to dance, or you embarrassed yourself somehow?

But you still wanted to go. Because Hyun-Ju wanted you there. And deep down… you wanted to see her again. Even if it meant faking a little confidence until it felt real.

You glanced up as she walked past your booth again, carrying two drinks to a table. Her apron was smudged with flour. There was a tiny crease on her brow like she was thinking about too many things at once—but when she looked your way, her face softened. She smiled again. Like it was automatic. Like she was just happy to see you.

And for a moment, the ache dulled. You smiled back. Then you turned back to your screen and started typing again.

You practiced the greeting one more time in the mirror, mouthing the syllables carefully.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” you whispered. Then again, slower. “An-nyeong-ha-se-yo.”

Your accent was a little rough around the edges, but you were trying. You wanted to show Hyun-Ju’s friends you cared enough to at least learn something—even if it was just hello.

You smoothed down your shirt, checking the outfit again. Short black skirt, a crisp white tee that showed just a little sliver of skin above the waistband, your oversized jean jacket thrown on top to balance it out. Comfortable, familiar—cute, but not like you were trying too hard.

Your favorite perfume sat untouched on your desk, the pretty bottle glinting faintly in the light. You hesitated for a second, then spritzed once over your wrists, then your neck. The scent hit instantly—warm and soft and expensive, like good memories and something a little sexier than you usually let yourself feel.

You grabbed your phone, snapping a picture in the mirror. Skirt, shirt, jacket. Platforms peeking from the bottom of the frame.

headed to a house party soon! do i look okay??

You sent it to your mom, heart fluttering for reasons you didn’t entirely understand. Your phone buzzed back a moment later.

you look beautiful. have fun tonight. be safe. i love you!

You stared at her message a little longer than you meant to. Then your Uber pinged from downstairs. You grabbed your bag, gave your reflection one last breathless look, and headed out.

The ride there passed in a haze of neon lights and the thrum of Friday night foot traffic. The city was buzzing, as always–packed sidewalks, late night food carts, chatter echoing down alleys. But as your Uber turned down a quieter residential street, the sounds shifted: laughter spilling from a front yard, music thumping through cracked windows, a glowing porch light swinging slightly in the breeze.

Your Uber pulled to the curb in front of a modest two story house lit up from the inside–music spilling out through the open front door, the scent of beer and grilled snacks wafting out into the night.

Your stomach flipped, nerves prickling your skin. You checked your phone.

we’re out front🩶

You looked up–and there she was. Hyun-ju was leaning against the porch railing, cup in hand, lit from behind by the soft yellow glow of the house’s string lights. The moment she saw you, her grin spread slow and warm across her face.

She looked unfairly good in black jeans and a wine colored tank top under a leather jacket, the kind of effortlessly hot that made your mouth go dry. Her hair was down, bangs brushing her forehead, makeup soft and glowy, lips tinted like fresh berries.

Her friends stood around her on the porch, chatting and laughing, but Hyun-ju stepped forward right away when she saw you. You gave her a nervous smile and a little wave as you climbed the steps.

“Hey,” you said, suddenly blanking on every syllable of Korean you’d practiced. Her grin softened into something almost fond as she pulled you into a brief hug that still managed to melt your knees. She smelled like warm vanilla and peach soju and something you hadn’t placed yet—but now craved.

“Come say hi to everyone,” she murmured, keeping a hand at your lower back as she led you inside.

The house was packed with people–you could barely see the floor between bodies. The air was warm and loud, music booming from someone’s bluetooth speaker in the kitchen, the scent of soju, beer, and sweet snacks lingering in the air.

Just inside the living room, you spotted the girl you remembered from last time–short bob, sparkly earrings, the one who had made you take a shot of something radioactive blue. She looked up from where she sat perched on the arm of the couch.

You panicked a little–words jumbling–but managed to squeak out, “Annyeonghaseyo.”

There was a split second of stunned silence…and then a cheer erupted. The bob-haired girl gasped like you’d given her a gift. “You learn!” she cried, hopping up to fling her arms around you. “Look at you!”

You giggled, flushed, barely catching the soft, proud smile Hyun-ju tried to hide. “Love your outfit,” the girl said, pulling back and giving your skirt and jacket combo an approving once over. “Beautiful.”

Your cheeks flared hot. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Drinks!” someone called from the kitchen.

A chorus of “Yes!” followed, and the group surged toward the back of the house, dragging you and Hyun-ju along.

She stayed close, always within reach. In the kitchen, she grabbed a peach soju and glanced at you, raising a brow. You picked something fruity and fizzy and out of the cooler–a canned cocktail with a pastel label–and caught the little laugh she tried to stifle.

“What?” you asked, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Nothing,” she said, smirking as she popped open her drink. “It just suits you.”

You rolled your eyes and sipped quickly, letting the sweetness distract you from how warm your face felt.

Before you could say anything else, her fingers slid into yours–steady, sure–and you were tugged back into the hallway through a doorway into the living room, where music pulsed through an old speaker and people were dancing, sprawled out on couches, or lounging on the floor with half full drinks.

The crowd shifted around you, and someone’s elbow bumped into your back–Hyun-ju’s hand caught your waist just in time, pulling you in.

The music pulsed around you like a heartbeat, bodies swaying, voices raising above the beat. With the crush of people, you ended up with your back flush to Hyun-ju’s front, her arms resting lightly around your hips.

You weren’t sure if you were dancing or just trying to breathe, your mind struggling to keep up with the mix of music, Korean, laughter, and the way she was standing behind you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She dipped her head slightly, resting her chin on top of yours. “You okay?” she asked, voice warm against your ear.

You nodded, voice soft. “Just…a little overwhelmed.”

Her thumbs brushed gentle circles over your hips. “You’re doing great,” she said, barely loud enough to hear. “Just stay close.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Everything felt like her–her perfume, the press of her jacket against your back, her breath against your hair.

The conversation around you faded into static. You tried to keep up with the jokes being tossed around in rapid-fire Korean, tried to smile at the right moments–but the only thing you could really focus on was how close Hyun-ju was, the slight shift of her hips swaying.

The crowd shifted again–just enough to give you space to breathe, to move without bumping into strangers, but not enough to break the quiet closeness between you and Hyun-ju.

Her hand stayed on your waist. She could’ve stepped back. Could’ve let you go. But she didn’t.

Her palm stayed warm and steady over your side, fingertips brushing the fabric of your shirt, just above where your skirt began. You were sure she could feel the way your breathing had changed—unsteady, shallow. You were sure she knew.

You tried to focus on the song, on her friends’ laughter somewhere off to the right, but all you could feel was her. Her scent—faint and sweet and dizzying. The soft way her chest moved behind your back. The whisper of her thumb moving against your shirt.

Then, gently, her chin came to rest on top of your head. Your breath caught. Her body curved around yours, close and warm. Protective, but not possessive. You tipped your head back instinctively, just to see her.

And she was already looking. Her lips found your forehead, soft and warm. You blinked up at her—heart thudding, hands loose at your sides, drink long forgotten.

When you turned your gaze forward again, breath caught in your throat, Hyun-Ju dipped her head until her lips hovered just beside your ear.

“You dressed cute for me,” she murmured, her voice warm and smooth beneath the music.

You tried to scoff, tried to shake off the way it made your stomach twist—but your voice came out breathier than you wanted. “You told me to.”

“I didn’t think I’d see this much of your legs tonight.”

Your eyes darted down to your skirt—a mid-thigh black thing that hugged your hips and flared just a little. Flowing, but not shy. Not tonight. You swallowed. “Too much?”

“No,” she said, low in your ear, “just enough.” Her fingers, resting so gently on your waist, began to move—slowly, casually, slipping from the hem of your shirt to the bare skin above your skirt.

You jumped a little at the contact, even though it was light. Even though it was careful. Even though it was her.

Hyun-Ju didn’t pull away. “And your tummy?” she said softly, fingers still resting there now—just barely grazing your skin. “What did I do to earn this?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Your whole body felt warm. The music pounded around you. Her fingers didn’t move—just stayed there, gently grounding you and setting your nerves alight.

You could barely hear her friends anymore. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. You just leaned a little heavier into her touch, cheeks flushed and stomach fluttering.

“Hyun-Ju,” you whispered, your voice getting lost in the music.

She leaned in again, her mouth near your jaw this time. “You wanna get some air?” Her words barely registered in your ears. You nodded before you could think.

She laced your fingers together and tugged you through the hallway—dodging swaying bodies and half-closed bedroom doors—until she found a bathroom tucked near the back of the house. She tried the handle, found it unlocked, and nudged it open.

It was small—just a toilet, a sink, a mirror, and a clean white tiled floor—but it was quiet. Dim. Private. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the air changed.

Hyun-Ju leaned back against it, her eyes skating over you in the soft yellow light. You stood in the center of the room, heartbeat ticking high in your throat, your fingers fidgeting at the hem of your shirt.

She crossed the space slowly. “You really wore this for me?” she asked, voice lower now—no teasing, just a soft rasp that made your skin spark.

You couldn’t look at her. “Maybe.”

Hyun-Ju’s fingers found yours, tugged them gently away from your shirt. “I like it.”

You swallowed. “Yeah?”

Her eyes darkened just a little. “Yeah.”

You didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly you were kissing. Slow at first—like you had time. Like she wanted to taste every part of your mouth before she got carried away. Her hands framed your face, thumbs brushing your jaw, her lips warm and plush against yours. She kissed like she’d thought about it. Like she’d really thought about it.

Your hands drifted to her waist, fingers sliding under the hem of her tank top, and you gasped when she suddenly gripped your thighs.

“Up,” she said, breath ghosting your lips. Then—effortlessly—she lifted you and set you on the bathroom counter.

Your knees fell open instinctively, making room for her between them. Her hands gripped your thighs, firm and steady, her thumbs tracing lazy circles just above your knees.

“You okay?” she asked, voice husky now, her forehead resting lightly against yours.

“Yes,” you breathed. “I’m okay.” That was all she needed.

She kissed you again—deeper this time, more sure of herself. Her hands slid up your thighs, gripping gently, possessively, and your fingers curled into her jacket like a lifeline. Her tongue licked into your mouth slow and deliberate, and you whimpered into the kiss, your back arching just a little.

The counter was cool against your bare thighs, but her body was warm, pressing between them, anchoring you in place.

She kissed you like it wasn’t just about tonight. Like she wanted to remember how you tasted when she couldn’t have you later. Like kissing you was the only thing keeping her upright.

When her lips dragged to your jaw, then to the side of your throat, you gasped—hands flying to her shoulders, holding on like the world was tilting. She bit down gently, then soothed the spot with her tongue.

Your hips rolled forward without thinking, and her hands tightened on your thighs. “Careful,” she murmured, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “You keep that up and I’m not gonna let you out of this room.”

Your breath caught. “S-sorry–I’m sorry,” you apologized quietly.

Her soft laugh was like a thrill down your spine. “It’s okay, sweet girl.”

But she kissed you again anyway. Slower this time. Savoring it.

The kiss had just deepened again—your legs locked around Hyun-Ju’s waist, her tongue in your mouth, her hands gripping your thighs like she never wanted to let go—when there was a sudden rattle at the doorknob.

You both froze. A loud, impatient knock followed. “야! 안에 사람 있어? 나 미치겠다고!”

Hey! Is someone in there? I’m gonna lose it!

You panicked, your hands flying to your face. “Oh my god–”

Hyun-ju didn’t even flinch. Calmly, she turned her head toward the door and called back in an easy, slightly amused tone: “야! 안에 사람 있어? 나 미치겠다고!” Just a minute!

Then, under her breath, to you: “He’s so dramatic.”

You gave her a horrified look, whispering, “We have to go, Hyun-Ju.”

She grinned, entirely too pleased with herself, but helped you down off the counter with surprising gentleness. Her hands lingered at your waist, straightening your slightly twisted skirt with a little tug. “You’re okay,” she murmured, giving your hip a squeeze.

“I’m not okay,” you hissed, your heart racing. “My lip gloss is probably—my hair—everything—”

“You look hot,” she said with a wink.

Then, without ceremony, she cracked the door open. The hallway light poured in, and the guy standing outside blinked at the two of you. His eyes scanned you—flushed face, rumpled clothes, Hyun-Ju’s satisfied expression—and he immediately groaned.

“씨발.” Fuck.

Hyun-ju didn’t even blink. She stepped past him, hand gently guiding you forward, and tossed over her shoulder: “질투는 보기 안 좋아요.” Jealousy’s not a good look.

You covered your face as you walked, mortified, your heart pounding like a drumline. Just before you reached the living room again, she paused and turned to you. With both hands, she gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and smoothed down a piece near your crown where it had gotten rumpled.

Her eyes softened, her voice quiet. “There.”

You blinked up at her, shy and a little dizzy. “Thanks…”

She smiled, brushing her thumb along your cheekbone for one lingering second. “You were so cute in there.” Your stomach flipped.

Then she turned casually and led you back toward the group like it was just any other moment, like your lip gloss wasn’t all over her mouth, like she hadn’t just kissed you breathless in a stranger’s bathroom.

Meanwhile, you were glowing pink, your heart still thudding out of rhythm, and praying no one noticed the way you couldn't quite meet anyone's eyes.

Of course, the bob-haired girl from earlier immediately spotted you both and narrowed her eyes. “Took you long enough,” she said with a smirk, handing you a fresh drink. “You okay, sweetheart? You look flushed.” she asked, some words in English and some in Korean.

You opened your mouth to lie—to say you were just hot, or needed air, or anything remotely believable—but Hyun-Ju just plucked the drink out of your hand, took a sip, and handed it back to you.

“She’s good,” she said with a wink. And somehow, you were. Sort of. Maybe. Except for the fact that all you could think about now was her mouth on yours and how many more locked doors this house had.

taglist - @shesruinqtion, @diouna, @jeongteen, @natwendigo, @lesmiix, @sukunasthighmarkings101, @danitzastolfo, @coreyfics, @deftonism, @kikibunnyy, @seungyug, @chattersstuff, @daydreamerstars, @littleblindchannelfan, @tteokbunni

[sillylilsquid]

Hi! I just wanted to sell you that I just read ‘You’re Not Alone pt1” and I really really loved how you wrote the characters. I finished it with a big stupid grin on my face and I can’t wait to see what happens next! I’m now going to dive through your master list now. Thank you for taking the time to write something so wonderful!!

You are literally so sweetie! Thank you for the love and appreciation. ‘You’re Not Alone’ is DEF gonna be a slow burn which I think makes it all the more yummy and delicious! I can add you to the tag list!! Part two coming soon…

xoxo, squid

[sillylilsquid]

you're not alone pt 1.

pairing - hyun-ju x reader summary - studying abroad in korea felt like a great idea, until you realized how hard being by yourself in a new country was. that is, until you meet the tall, beautiful woman who happens to speak perfect english. and maybe things start to feel not so lonely warnings - afab!reader, post-tranistion!hyun-ju, some brief homophobia, explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni!! reader's messages are pink, hyun-ju's are purple, and others are black!

You hadn’t really planned on applying to the study abroad program. It was one of those things that always sounded nice in theory–something you’d hear about from upperclassmen or those perfectly filtered Instagram girls. But for you? It felt like a dream you weren’t quite bold enough to chase.

Still, when the sign-up sheets went up during your sophomore year–neatly printed with phrases like “global learning,” “immersion,” and “cultural exchange”–you found yourself lingering by the bulletin board longer than usual. The Korean program especially caught your eye. Something about it felt…right.

Maybe it was all the late nights you’d spent curled up in your dorm room, reading feminist theory through a global lens. Or the lit seminar where you’d first read Han Kang and felt your heart wrist in ways you couldn't explain. You were majoring in Women’s Studies with a Literature concentration, after all–what better way to broaden your perspective than to actually go somewhere different? To live it?

So you applied. Almost on a whim. And when you got accepted, it felt like a sign. A call to something bigger than yourself.

But now…here you were. In Seoul. All alone.

It had been three weeks since you landed, and everything still felt off-kilter. You kept smiling politely and bowing too deeply. The subway maps blurred when you tried to read them. You hadn’t made any friends–not real ones. Not the kind who understood how exhausting it was to translate everything, to guess your way through conversations, to always feel like an outsider even when no one said it out loud.

Most days, you wandered the city with a tense jaw and quiet determination. Some afternoons, like this one, you retreated into quiet little cafes, trying to convince yourself that knitting a new scarf or reading a comforting novel would be enough to anchor you. That the ache in your chest wasn’t loneliness–it was just culture shock.

You tucked yourself deeper into the corner seat, the oversized knit sleeves of your sweater pulled halfway over your hands. The cafe was warm, but the chill from outside still clung to your bones. Your Kindle sat in your lap, untouched for the past few minutes, while your thumb mindlessly hovered over the next-page button.

You were trying to read. Trying to distract yourself. But your ears still rang with the tension of the day–getting lost on the train, misunderstanding someone who’d tried to give you directions, eating a dry convenience store sandwich alone in a park.

You hadn’t even taken off your headphones when someone approached. You almost didn’t hear her voice until you saw the shadow fall over your table.

“Excuse me?”

You blinked up, tugging your headphones off and setting them on the table. A girl stood just beside you, her dark hair brushing over her shoulders, her coat slightly unzipped to reveal a thick brown turtleneck.

“I just wanted to say…I really like your sweater,” she said, smiling gently. Her English was crisp–clearer than anyone else’s you’d heard in weeks.

You blinked again. “Oh. Um…Thank you.” You looked down at yourself, a little self conscious. “I uh, I knitted it.”

Her eyes widened. “You knitted it?”

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. You weren't used to people reacting like that. “Yeah. It took me a few weeks. I started it before I moved here.”

“That’s so cool,” she said, her voice warm with real excitement. “It suits you. The color. The shape.” She tilted her head, then hesitated. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you…”

“No, you’re not,” you said quickly, surprising yourself. “You’re really not. I–I was just reading, but…thank you.”

There was a pause. Not awkward. Just…open. “I’m Hyun-ju,” she offered, nodding toward the empty seat across from you. “Mind if I sit?”

Your heart fluttered, a little cautious but aching for the company. You nodded, then introduced yourself. 

She sat, shrugging off her coat, and you saw the gentle line of her smile up close now–a little bashful, a little curious. “Are you studying here?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled slowly. “Just started. It’s been…a lot.”

“I bet,” she murmured. “I’ve heard it can be tough. Even for Koreans. Especially if you’re here alone.” You looked at her. There was no pity in her eyes. Just understanding.

“It’s hard to even find someone who speaks English well,” you admitted. “I feel like I’m annoying everyone I talk to.”

Hyun-ju chuckled softly. “You’re not. I promise. I work at a cafe part time–this one, actually. You just picked my day off,” she grinned. “But if you ever want help or…just someone to talk to, I wouldn’t mind.”

You hesitated, your stomach fluttering. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. Do you want my number?”

You did. You handed your phone over to her, and she texted herself so she would have your number too.

“I’m really glad you said something,” you said quietly, almost like a secret.

“Me too. And if you ever have questions–any kind. Even the ones that feel dumb–you can ask me, okay?”

You nodded, and for the first time in days, the tension in your chest started to unravel. Hyun-ju smiled, reaching into her bag and pulling out a second scone, wrapped in a napkin. She pushed it across the table to you without a word.

And just like that–you weren’t alone anymore.

It started with small questions. Texts that blinked across Hyun-ju’s screen at random hours–polite, shy, always with a little apology at the start.

hey, sorry to bother you but how do i say “no bag, please” at the register?

Or:

can you explain how the trash sorting works again?? i messed it up in my dorm and feel like a criminal

Sometimes Hyun-ju would reply in seconds, sometimes hours later between shifts–but her tone was always patient, never rushed. She never made you feel silly for asking things that, to everyone else around you, seemed obvious.

no bag = 봉투 필요 없어요 (bong-too pi-ryo eop-seo-yo) you got this💪 and don’t worry about the trash stuff everyone messes it up at first, even locals

You’d giggle to yourself reading those messages. You’d screenshot her romanizations and practice under your breath before going to the corner store. Sometimes you’d type out longer questions and delete them again, afraid of being too much. But the more she answered, the more it felt okay to try.

And slowly, it shifted. One day you called her after accidentally getting off at the wrong subway stop.

You were on the verge of tears, standing in a crowd of commuters that all moved too fast, too confidently. You had no idea which direction to go. When Hyun-ju picked up, her voice was calm and warm in your ear.

“Okay, okay. Breathe, sweet girl. What do you see around you?”

She talked you through the map like it was nothing. Stayed on the line until you were safely headed the right way, even joked about how she once rode the train all the way to the end of the line on accident because she fell asleep.

You started calling her more after that. Not often. Not every day. But enough that her name became a kind of comfort in your contacts list. Her voice a little lighthouse whenever you felt lost.

You still didn’t hang out much. Not yet. You saw her once or twice–once when she passed you a free coffee over the counter on a rainy day, once when she waved at you across the bookstore and came over just to say hi. But even without being together often, she lingered in your days like warmth in your coat after you’d come inside.

You found yourself telling your mom about her. “I met someone here,” you said on a call one night, wrapped in your duvet, legs tucked up under you. “She’s really sweet. Her name’s Hyun-ju.”

Your mom had leaned into the camera, smiling. “Is she in your program?”

“No, she’s a local. Works at a cafe. She just…” You hesitated, heart warm. “She just talks to me like I belong here.”

You told her how Hyun-ju never made you feel dumb. How she’d texted you an audio note once to help with pronunciation. How she used too many emojis when she was trying to make you laugh, and how her laugh was kind of contagious even through the phone.

Your mom said she was glad you had someone. That made two of you.

The days were still hard sometimes. You still got lonely. But little by little, the silence didn’t feel so crushing. Little by little, her texts made the city feel smaller. Little by little, it started to feel like maybe you had a place here, too.

You hadn’t expected the invitation. It came casually, like most of Hyun-ju’s texts–sincere and low pressure.

we’re all hanging at the cafe after hours wanna come by? it’s nothing crazy, just tea and snacks :) 

You stared at the message for a long time before answering. Even the thought of sitting with strangers made your stomach tighten. But she’d asked. Hyun-ju asked. And you were so tired of being alone all the time, of watching the world happen around you like it was behind glass.

So you said yes. You even put on lipgloss.

The cafe was quieter than usual when you arrived–soft jazz playing from the speakers, the smell of roasted beans clinging to the air. The main lights were off, only the warm, golden scones by the walls still glowing.

Hyun-ju spotted you right away and waved from the back corner, already seated with three others–two girls and a guy, all chatting comfortably in Korean.

You hesitated at the door, fingers curled around your bag strap, before making your way over.

“Hey!” she said, grinning. “You made it!”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Hi. She scooted her chair so you could squeeze in beside her, then quickly introduced you to her friends.

The others look up with friendly curiosity–offering shy smiles, little waves. One of the girls said, “Hi, nice to meet you,” in accented English, and you gave a tiny wave back, already clutching the warm mug someone had slid toward you.

“Nice to meet you all too,” you murmured.

And then the conversation flowed back into Korean. You sat quietly, trying to follow the rhythm, the rises and falls of their voices. You caught a word or two here and there– “school,” “weekend,” “funny”–but most of it blurred past you like wind through branches.

Hyun-ju leaned in now and then to explain something softly. “They’re teasing Min-Jae because he spilled a whole tray of drinks last week.”

Or–

“She’s talking about this date she went on, but the guy was late and didn’t even apologize.”

You laughed quietly when prompted. Smiled politely. Nodded, and sipped your tea. But still, you felt it–that invisible wall between you and the table.

They weren’t unkind. Not at all. But the longer you sat there, the more you felt like an extra. A guest in a space that wasn’t built for you. You were inside the circle, technically, but not really in it. Not in the laughter that came too fast for you to keep up with, or the inside jokes that spun over your head like clouds.

You studied your mug, then the delicate crumbs of a rice cookie on a napkin in front of you. Your jaw ached from holding a smile too long.

When Hyun-ju touched your arm gently–just a brush of her fingers–you looked up, startled. “You okay?” she asked in English, soft enough that no one else heard. 

You nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Her eyes lingered. As if she knew you were lying. But she didn’t push. Just smiled, soft and warm, and poured you more tea.

You stayed an hour before excusing yourself. They all said goodbye kindly–one of the girls even gave you a hug–but your chest felt hollow on the walk home.

You texted your mom that night, curled up on your floor with your face in your hands, the city lights glowing through your curtainless windows.

i hung out with hyun-ju and her friends today i felt kind of invisible though i don’t think they meant to but it still sucked

Your mom replied with love, but it was Hyun-ju’s message that made you tear up.

hey hope you got home okay i’m really glad you came. i know it’s hard thank you for trying 💙

And somehow, even though you still felt out of place…that helped.

The days after the cafe hangout were quiet. Not completely silent–Hyun-ju still texted you every now and then. Still sent the occasional meme, or a photo of a latte she thought looked “too aesthetic to drink,” followed by:

ur kind of vibe, right?

But you took longer to reply. Kept your responses short. You told yourself you were just busy. But really, you were retreating.

Not because of her–never because of her, but because you hated the way you’d felt that night: like a decorative piece set at the edge of the table. Smiling and sipping tea while laughter spun around you like wind you couldn’t catch.

It wasn’t her fault. But it still made you feel small. So when she texted you again, you hesitated before opening the message.

hey i was just wondering if maybe you’d wanna come over this weekend? just you. we can do tea and snacks again. but no strangers, promise. i’ll even let you judge my candle collection

You stared at the message, heart thudding. It was like she’d felt it too. The subtle shift. The way you’d withdraw into yourself. Your fingers hovered. Then typed:

okay. i’d like that. can i bring cookies??

Her apartment was small–barely three rooms–but it was hers. And it was warm. 

You stepped inside and were immediately hit by the soft scent of something sweet–coconut and honey, maybe–and the sound of a playlist humming gently through a tiny speaker by the bookshelf. Her walls were dotted with postcards and thrifted prints, and a sleepy looking cat blinked at you from the couch.

“You have a cat?” you asked, surprised.

Hyun-ju grinned as she slipped off her slippers. “She came with the apartment. She’s the real landlord.”

You laughed–a real one this time–and set your bag down beside the door. She took your coat, handed you a pair of fuzzy socks (“Mandatory,” she’d said seriously), and led you to a floor cushion near the low table, where two mugs were already steaming.

“I got that chamomile you said you missed,” she said gently, like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t gone out of her way to remember.

Your throat tightened. “I brought cookies,” you said quietly, holding them out in a crinkled bakery bag. “From that place you told me about.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, these are dangerous. We’re finishing all of them.”

For the first hour, you mostly talked about nothing. Easy things. Favorite movies. Bad dates. How she almost failed a public speaking class in college because she kept giggling during presentations.

She let you pick the playlist after that. Let you rant about a frustrating professor. Let you sit in silence when you needed to, both of you sipping tea as the sky outside turned soft with everything.

At one point, she reached across the table–not to take your hand, not to crowd you–but just to tuck a stray thread back into the sleeve of your sweater.

You watched her fingers. The gentleness of the gesture.

And finally, you said it. “I felt really out of place the other night.”

She paused, then nodded. “I know.”

You swallowed. “I don’t think they meant it. But… I didn’t know how to be there.”

“I should’ve sat closer,” she said softly. “Translated more. Or maybe just…not invited you into something that wasn’t really built for you.”

You shook your head. “I wanted to come. I wanted to feel normal.”

Hyun-ju looked at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable and full of something tender. “I don’t want you to feel normal,” she said. “I want you to feel wanted.”

Your heart clenched. The room was quiet again. Her cat blinked lazily at the wall. And then she smiled. “But, uh…If you do want to feel superior, I can show you the candle I bought last week that smells like banana bread but somehow also like feet.”

You snorted. “Show me. Immediately.”

That night, when you finally made your way home, your cheeks were sore from smiling. And you realized something as you curled up in bed: you didn’t just have someone you could text. You had someone who noticed when you were fading. And gently pulled you back into the light.

It started with another text.

hey…would you mind proofreading something for me? it’s for women’s lit. i’m nervous about the phrasing🥲

Hyun-ju replied ten minutes later, already halfway through your attachment.

your ideas are solid you’re overthinking the sentence length, though. i’ll mark a few spots

You didn’t expect her to be so thorough. She sent back a marked up Google Doc, full of little suggestions–some grammar, some stylistic–but always gentle. Never pushy. She even added a few comments like “this sentence is beautiful,” and “this hits hard in the best way.”

You stared at her feedback for a long time, heart full. No one had ever read your work like that before.

So when Friday rolled around and you found yourself sitting on your bed with a fres batch of snacks, a vacuumed rug, and a blanket fresh from the dryer…you bit the bullet.

would you maybe want to come over for movie night? like… just us again you can wear pajamas. i’m literally in socks and a hoodie lol

Her answer came quick.

absolutely. omw🩵

Your studio apartment wasn’t much. A twin bed pressed against the window. A small couch you’d found secondhand. A hot plate and a kettle, a cluttered bookshelf full of half read theory and novels. But it was yours.

And now it held her.

Hyun-ju stepped inside in grey sweats and a loose white tee, a tote bag over her shoulder and her hair pulled into a low ponytail. She looked…unfairly cute. Relaxed in a way that made your chest flutter.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said, glancing around with a soft grin. “You really are wearing socks and a hoodie.”

You tugged your sleeve over your palm. “I promised comfort, didn’t I?”

She kicked off her shoes and flopped down on the couch without hesitation, curling her legs up. “This place is cozy as hell. Like a little bookworm nest.”

Your face warmed. “That’s the goal.”

You pulled out your knitting basket from beside the couch, almost shy. “I was working on something earlier, if you wanna see?”

Her eyes lit up instantly. “Oh my god, yes, please. I’ve been dying to see what else you’ve made.”

You settled beside her, pulling out a half finished scarf–soft and moss green with tiny ribs of texture.

Hyun-ju reached out, fingers gentle against the yarn. “This is so beautiful. You made all of this?”

“Yeah,” you ducked your head. “It’s kind of meditative. Makes me feel less…floaty, I guess.”

She looked up at you then. Really looked. “Your hands must be so patient,” she said quietly. “No wonder your writing’s so careful.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from melting.

You picked a rom-com–something light and easy to half watch–and settled under the blanket together. The couch was small, so your thighs touched, even when you both tried not to make a big deal of it.

Half an hour in, you shifted, stretching your legs out gently. Without thinking, your feet rested across her lap, your socked toes brushing the hem of her sweatshirt.

You stilled. “Sorry–”

“No,” she said, smiling softly. “That’s okay.”

Her hands moved naturally–one resting beside your ankle, the other casually smoothing the edge of the blanket over your shins. Like it was second nature to hold you like this. Like warmth belonged between you.

You turned to glance at her, and looked back at the same time. Both of you grinning, caught. “Wait,” she whispered, grabbing her phone. “We need a photo. For documentation. And for your mom.”

You laughed and leaned close. You could smell her shampoo–lavender and something warm. The flash went off once, then twice.

You blinked at the second one and said, “We look so cozy.”

“She’s gonna be obsessed with me,” Hyun-ju joked. You sent it immediately.

move night💕 she brought tea. i made cookies look how comfy we are😭

Your mom replied almost instantly.

I LOVE HER ALREADY!!! tell her thank you for taking care of my baby🥹

You tucked your phone away, smiled soft and sleepy. The movie played on, mostly forgotten. And there you were. Curled up under a blanket. Your feet in her lap. The only sound is her quiet breathing, and the occasional rustle of her fingers against the yarn still sitting at your side.

For the first time in a long, long while, you didn’t feel like a guest in your own life. You felt home.

i got my paper back

Hyun-ju’s reply came fast:

AND???👀 100🥲 she said my analysis was “elegant” which… i have never been called before in my life i told you it was good!!! okay that’s it we’re celebrating, no arguments.

You laughed, staring at your screen, heart full and light.

how should i celebrate? knitting in a bubble bath? i mean yes but also me and my friends are going to this bar in hongdae tonight nothing wild, just drinks and music no pressure, but…i’ll buy ur drinks if you come🥂🎀💅

You stared at the message. Your chest fluttered with nerves. The last time you tried to hang out with her friends, you felt like a misplaced puzzle piece–but still…she’d asked again. Still wanted you there.

You thought of how good it felt to see her in your space. To be seen and held and warmed. You didn’t want to just live inside your safe corner forever. You didn’t want to drag her away from her life to fit into yours.

okay… what time should i meet you?

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the tuck of your sweater where it curved into your waistband. The long, slate gray skirt hugged your hips, the subtle slit brushing high on one thigh whenever you walked. Paired with high-top platform Converse, a black knit sweater, and your favorite earrings, it felt like you. A version of you that showed up.

Your hands trembled a little as you smoothed your skirt. You’re not trying to impress her, you told yourself. You just want to celebrate. But your heart whispered back: yes I am.

The bar was warm and low-lit, with little hanging lanterns over the booths and thudding bass vibrating the wood floors. You hovered in the doorway until you saw her–Hyun-ju, seated in a booth toward the back, half laughing over something one of her friends had said, a bottle of soju half titled in her hand.

Her eyes caught yours instantly. She lit up. She waved both hands, her hair bouncing on top of her shoulders, and then she was up and moving through the crowd toward you.

“You came!” she said, half shouting over the music.

“Of course I did,” you said, trying to sound calm. “You offered free drinks.”

She laughed, pulling you into a half-hug that squeezed all the nerves out of your ribs. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Her friends were already smiling when you arrived at the table. You recognized a few from the last cafe hangout, but this time…something was different. They weren’t just polite–they were trying.

“Hi, nice to see you again!” one said with a thick but determined accent.

“I like your shoes!” said another, miming a thumbs up and pointing to your platforms.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. “Thank you. I’m really happy to be here.”

They all cheered at that, clinking glasses in your direction. You stayed close to Hyun-ju’s side as she guided you to the booth, seating you beside her with a clear, open smile. “Okay, first–something sweet. You don’t strike me as a whisky girl.”

You scrunched your nose. “I strike me as someone who wants to drink pink things and not taste the alcohol.”

She grinned. “Say less.” She returned a moment later with two pale pink cocktails, bubbly and garnished with sugared grapefruit slices. “To your 100,” she said, tapping her glass against yours.

“To your editing skills,” you whispered and sipped. It was dangerously good.

As the night went on, your nerves melted, drink by drink. Hyun-ju never strayed far–she kept her arm resting near yours on the back of the booth, her knee bumping gently into your thigh beneath the table. Every few minutes she’d lean in and say something just for you, little side comments or translations. Her voice curled soft in your ear like a secret.

“She just said she likes your style. She thinks you look like a ‘Korean indie film girl.’”

“Min-Jae’s telling his embarrassing military service stories again. We’re all pretending like we haven’t heard them before.”

You giggled through every one. And the more they spoke, the more her friends softened around you. One even pulled out a tiny Korean-English pocketbook to look up the word “confidence.” When she found it, she pointed to you and said it aloud, proud as hell.

You blinked at her, caught off guard. “Me?”

She nodded. “Yes. Confident.”

You turned to Hyun-ju. “I think they like you,” she whispered, eyes warm and full of pride. You didn’t say anything. Just smiled and looked down into your drink, the sweetness going straight to your head. 

Eventually, you shifted sideways on the booth cushion, laughing too hard at something Hyun-ju whispered. You stretched your legs out beneath the table, your heels slipping out of your platforms, and without thinking, you rested your feet lightly across her lap.

Her hand didn’t even hesitate–just settled on your shin, thumb brushing the side of your ankle. You didn’t move. Neither did she.

The group buzzed around you with chatter and laughter, but the only thing you could feel was her. Her hand. Her smile. Her presence holding you together.

She leaned in after a beat. “You’re doing amazing, by the way,” she murmured. “I know this isn’t easy.”

Your breath caught. “I really like being here,” you said quietly.

“With me?”

You looked at her. Her lashes were long and fluttery in the warm light. Her smile was careful, soft as velvet. “With you,” you said.

The bar emptied out in bursts of laughter and cigarette smoke. You and Hyun-ju followed behind her friends as they spilled onto the street, cheeks flushed, drinks still buzzing your veins. The air outside was sharp and cool, brushing hot skin and making everyone huddle into their jackets.

“We’re heading to that club near the main intersection!” one of them called out, voice raised over the music still bleeding from every open door. “The one with the neon tiger sign!”

Hyun-ju glanced at you. “Too much?”

You were warm from the drinks. Loose in your limbs, a little floaty. The crowd, the noise, the sheer aliveness of the street–it was overwhelming, yes. But her hand was so close to yours, brushing between swings of your steps.

“I can handle it,” you said, smiling faintly.

Hyun-ju’s eyes lingered, searching your face like she could reach what you weren’t saying. And then–gently, like it meant nothing–she slipped her fingers between yours. “Just so I don’t lose you,” she said with a wink.

You nearly tripped over the sidewalk. The warmth of her palm in yours short circuited your brain. You tried to act cool–tried not to stare at where your hands met like you were some girl in a coming-of-age movie–but internally, you were screaming. Screaming and spinning and melting.

They turned down a narrower alley, the crowd thickening with bodies and bass. The club was impossible to miss: tiger shaped neon snarling above the door, lights pulsing in time with the muffled beat of whatever was playing inside.

Inside was chaos.

Hot air. Packed bodies. Purple light flickering across faces. Music loud enough to make your ribs thrum. You stepped in behind Hyun-ju, still clinging to her hand, and immediately found yourself shoulder to shoulder with strangers.

You shrank in close. Her friends scattered into the crowd, pulled toward the bar or the dance floor, but you stayed pressed to Hyun-ju’s side–your body practically against hers, your face half buried into the back of her shoulder as she led you deeper in.

She turned halfway, looking back. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. “Just… a lot of people.”

“I know. Want me to take you home?”

Your heart twisted. No, you thought. No, I don’t want you to think I can’t hang. I don’t want you to feel like I’m dragging you away. I just want to be wherever you are.

You shook your head. “I want to stay. With you.”

Hyun-ju gave you a look–gentle, soft edged, and full of something warm. “Okay. Just stay close, yeah?”

You were already doing that.

At the bar, she ordered two more drinks–something light and fizzy with crushed peach and soju–and you took slow sips while bodies swayed around you in time with the music. You weren’t dancing, not really. But your hips moved with hers in tiny, quiet motions. Her hand grazed your waist once. Then again.

Your face was flushed from the alcohol. From the proximity. From the way her eyes kept flicking toward your mouth when she leaned in to talk. You felt dizzy in the best way.

“This really isn’t your scene, huh?” she said with a laugh, lips close to your ear.

You tilted your head up to look at her, drunk on the lights in her eyes. “No. But you are.”

Her breath caught. You blinked, slow and heavy lidded, immediately panicking internally–did I just say that out loud?? Oh my god, oh my god–but she didn’t pull away. Didn’t laugh.

Instead, she just smiled. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

The two of you slip out the side door, blinking into the dark.

The alley behind the club was slick with spilled drinks and neon runoff. Music still thumped through the wall behind you–muted, like a heartbeat pressed to your ear. The city didn’t sleep, not out here. Groups of guys passed by, laughing too loud, some already stumbling. A motorbike roared by on the street, too close.

You pressed in closer to Hyun-ju without thinking, seeking the familiar warmth of her body.

The soft thud of your shoes echoed as you walked, and you could feel the eyes–their eyes–raking over you as you passed. A couple of them said something in Korean you couldn’t catch. Another one let out a low whistle and muttered something with a smirk, and even though you didn’t understand the words, the tone was unmistakable.

Your skin crawled. You pulled your sweater tighter around you and whispered, “Do they always act like that?”

Hyun-ju didn’t even look at them. “Yeah,” she muttered, jaw set tight. “Hongdae’s full of douchebags. Especially around this time. And you’re a foreigner, so they think they can say whatever they want.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s gross.”

“I know.” She looked over at you, eyes catching the dim glow of an overhead light. “I’m sorry.” Your breath stuttered at the intensity in her voice. “I don’t want you to feel unsafe here,” she added, softer now. “Or like you don’t belong.”

You weren’t sure if she meant Korea or right now–this night, this moment. Either way, you didn’t feel out of place with her.

Hyun-ju slowed to a stop beside a patch of wall still dry and clean, tucked just out of sight of the main road. She leaned her back against the warm brick, legs stretched out a little, chin tilted up like the night couldn’t touch her.

You stood beside her, close enough to feel the heat off her shoulder. The silence between you wasn’t empty.

It pulsed. Stretched. Filled with the echo of every brush of skin, every sideways glance, every lingering laugh you’d shared since that very first sweater compliment in the coffee shop.

She tilted her head toward you slightly. “You good?”

You nodded, breath shallow. “Yeah. Just…kind of a lot.”

She gave a quiet hum of agreement, eyes sliding across your face. “It gets easier. You’re doing better than you think.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Well,” she said, nudging your elbow with hers, “you made it through a club without crying. I’d say that’s progress.”

You let out a laugh–breathy and honest–and her smile bloomed like it was her reward for coaxing it out of you.

The silence returned, heavier now. Hyun-ju looked at your lips. You looked away. Then back again. And you realized–she was already watching you.

The city moved around you. The music throbbed behind the wall. But none of it was louder than your heartbeat in your ears.

“Hyun-ju…” You weren’t even sure what you were going to say.

But she stepped in–just slightly, just enough–and the space between your bodies disappeared. Her arm brushed yours. Her knee bumped yours. You could smell the citrus and soft soap clinging to her collar, the warmth of peach soju still on her breath.

“You’re really pretty,” she murmured, like it was just for you. Like she’d been holding it back all night.

Your stomach did somersaults. “So are you,” you whispered. “I mean–thank you. I mean–”

Hyun-ju laughed, low and close. She leaned in until her forehead was nearly against yours. “You don't have to be nervous around me.”

But you were. Not in a bad way–just in the way that happens when someone who makes you feel safe is suddenly so close you can feel their breath on your cheek.

You glanced at her lips. And she noticed. Still–she didn’t move. Not unless you did. And suddenly, the line between friend and something else felt like a thread pulled tight between your mouths.

One breath. One second. One lean away from snapping.

Your breath hitched. And for a second, you thought you might lean in the rest of the way. But then your heart kicked against your ribs–too fast, too loud–and the panic hit: what if I read this wrong? What if she doesn’t want–what if I mess this up?

You pulled back just slightly, just enough for air to slip between you again. “Sorry,” you said quickly, voice higher than you mean, eyes darting anywhere but her mouth. “I–I didn’t mean–”

But Hyun-ju was already smiling. Soft and warm and just barely there. Like a secret. She didn’t tease. Didn’t look disappointed. She just tilted her head and let the moment dissolve, catching it like a snowflake on her tongue before it could melt into awkwardness.

“It’s okay,” she replied quietly.

You swallowed hard. Your face was on fire. You weren’t sure if it was the soju or the sudden rush of shame, but either way you couldn’t look at her yet. Thankfully, she didn’t make you.

“Do you miss home?” she asked, like she hadn’t noticed how your voice had gone all breathless, like she hadn’t seen you looking at her lips just seconds ago.

You nodded. “Yeah.” A beat passed. “I miss my mom the most.”

Hyun-ju hummed softly, leaning back against the brick wall beside you. “She must miss you a lot too.”

“She does. She always gets emotional when I call her. Even if I just text her a selfie, she’s like, “my baby’s so far away…” You mimic the dramatic sniffle with a smile, your voice catching somewhere between amusement and ache. “It’s sweet. But it makes me feel even more homesick sometimes.”

“I get that," she said. “When I lived abroad, I missed my mom’s kimchi jjigae so bad I literally cried over instant noodles.”

That made you laugh. You finally looked at her again. The way her eyes sparkled made you feel lighter. Like the pressure of what almost happened had shifted into something gentler, easier to carry.

Neither of you said anything for a few seconds. The quiet was peaceful now.

Your hands had ended up close together–yours still nervously fidgeting with your sleeves, hers tucked into the pockets of her trousers. Then slowly–so slowly you almost didn’t register it–Hyun-ju’s hand slipped out of her pocket and her fingers brushed yours.

You froze for half a second. Then let your hand relax, let her touch settle. She didn’t grab your hand. Didn’t lace her fingers with yours. She just touched. Barley there. Her pinky traced along the side of yours. Her thumb bumped the back of your hand like she was testing how close you’d let her be.

And you didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to. You looked down at your hands, barely connected, the space between them buzzing with warmth.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re not scared,” she said, her voice so quiet it almost got lost in the thrum of the city beyond the alley.

You glanced up at her. “I’m not scared of you.”

“I know,” her smile returned, just the faintest tug at the corners of her mouth. “That’s why I like you.”

Your heart skipped so hard you almost swayed. Hyun-ju just gave your fingers a soft, single tape with ehrs–like a period on the end of a sentence–and then stepped away from the wall.

“Ya~!” a voice called, clearly drunk and delighted. One of Hyun-ju’s friends poked their head out, raising both brows at the sight of you standing so close together. They said something quick in Korean, teasing and singsongy, followed by a loud, theatrical whistle.

Hyun-ju groaned under her breath. She turned her head just enough to call back, “Dagchyeo!” –Shut up!

The friend only laughed and ducked back inside, the door swinging shut behind them. Hyun-ju sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand. “It’s late,” she said, glancing at you again–softer now. “Let’s get you home.”

You nodded, but your body didn’t quite move yet. Part of you didn’t want to. Didn’t want to step out of the alley’s hush. Didn’t want to let go of this–whatever this is. The way her words had settled over you like a blanket. The way her fingers had traced yours like they knew exactly how you needed to be held.

But she was already turning toward the street, and so you followed, your footsteps echoing behind hers as you left the quiet behind.

Still, you felt the shape of that almost-moment clinging to you. You carried it in your chest like a secret, glowing and warm and terrifying. And maybe, just maybe, she was carrying it too.

Back at your apartment you kicked your shoes off by the door, shrugging out of your sweater and skirt as you padded around. The air inside was cool and still, the glow of the streetlights outside barely filtering through the window blinds. Everything felt too quiet after the crush of the club, the sticky bass, the heat of Hyun-ju’s side against yours.

You sat on the edge of your bed for a minute, heart still ticking too fast. Then picked up your phone. It was late. Almost 3am in Seoul. But it was morning where your mom was. You didn’t even hesitate.

The line clicked. It barely rang twice before your mom’s voice came through, a little raspy but warm. “Hello?”

“Hi,” you whispered, curling your knees to your chest. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No, baby. I was up. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, chewing at your bottom lip. “I don’t…I don’t know what to do about Hyun-ju.”

There was a beat of silence. “Is something wrong?”

You flopped back onto your pillow and stared at the ceiling. “No, I mean–nothing’s wrong. She’s… she’s been amazing, actually. Like she’s the only reason I haven’t just come home. She helps me with everything. She makes me feel less lonely. And tonight we went out with her friends and…I don’t know, she just…she held my hand. And stood so close to me. And said these things and–”

Your voice cracked off. You swallowed. “I think I like her.”

Another beat. You could hear the gentle inhale on the other end of the call, the rustle of your mom shifting in her seat. “Well, honey,” she said softly, “that doesn't sound like a bad thing.”

You pulled the blanket over your legs. “I don’t want to make things weird. What if she doesn’t feel the same way? What if I say something and ruin it?”

Your mom made that thoughtful sound she always made when you were spiraling–half a hum, half a sigh.

“You’re not going to ruin anything by being honest,” she said. “Not if what you have with her is real. It sounds like she cares about you. And if she doesn’t feel the same way, then…you’ll still have a friend. But you’ll drive yourself crazy holding it in.”

You blinked up at the ceiling, your throat tight. “She’s just…so beautiful. And confident. And I feel like I’m still fumbling through everything. I don’t know why she even likes being around me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” your mom sighed. “If she’s anything like the way you describe her, then she knows how lucky she is to have you. And you know I’ll love you no matter what.”

Your chest ached. “I miss you, mom.”

“I miss you too, baby. But I’m proud of you. And I think you should tell her. When you're ready.”

You nodded even though she couldn’t see it. “Okay.”

“Get some sleep. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You ended the call and lay there for a long time, staring at the cracks of light on your ceiling. Your fingers still tingled from where hers had touched yours. And even though you were scared, a little part of you already knew: you were going to tell her.

The scent of shampoo still lingered in the air. You’d showered hours ago, hoping it would help clear the fog from your head. Instead, it left you pacing around your tiny apartment with damp hair and a belly full of nerves.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about Hyun-ju since last night. Her fingers brushing yours. The way she smiled after you pulled away. That look in her eyes before her friend interrupted.

So today, you did what you always did to distract yourself: you studied. Curled up on your bed in a clean pair of lounge shorts and a loose tee, you read the same paragraph five times in a row. You scribbled notes. You highlighted whole pages. You forgot to eat.

Your phone buzzed next to your laptop.

i’m bringing dinner over. hope you’re hungry! you like tteokbokki right??

Your stomach growled so loudly you could hear it over the silence. You scrambled to text her back.

omg yes thank you i didn’t even realize i skipped lunch lol good thing you’ve got me then 20 mins🛵💨

Those twenty minutes felt like hours. By the time she knocked on your door, you’d lit a candle to  try to calm yourself down, cleaned up your desk three times, and changed into an oversized cardigan just for something to do with your hands.

You opened the door to see her standing there in sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt, a brown paper bag in her arms and her hair loose around her face. Effortless and beautiful. The casual kind of pretty that made your breath stick.

“Hi,” she said, already grinning. “Hope you’re ready to ruin your digestive system.”

You laughed a little, stepping aside. “You’re saving my life, honestly.”

She came in like she belonged there–placing the bag on your low table, toeing off her shoes. She plopped onto the floor, cross legged on a cushion, and started unpacking the food. The smell hit you instantly: spicy rice cakes, fried dumplings, something crispy and cheesy too.

“God, that smells so good,” you murmured, settling beside her.

“Eat,” she urged, pushing a container toward you. “You look like you’ve been studying since sunrise.”

“I kinda have.”

She smiled softly. “Nerd.”

You shrugged sheepishly, digging in. You didn’t say much after that–not because you didn’t want to, but because your chest was still tight. Everything you wanted to tell her was pressing against your ribs, making it hard to breathe.

Hyun-ju, meanwhile, talked easily. She told you about an old man who came into the cafe and tried to pay for a cappuccino with American quarters. About how she saw a little dog wearing a raincoat that looked like a watermelon. About a new show she was watching.

And you…barely answered. You nodded. You smiled. You let out a small laugh here and there. But your answers were short, clipped. Like you were holding your breath.

She picked up on it almost immediately. Mid-bite, she paused and tilted her head at you. “You okay?”

Your chopsticks froze halfway to your mouth. “Yeah. Sorry. Just tired, I guess.”

Her eyes lingered on your face. “You’ve been quiet.”

You swallowed then looked down at your lap. She didn’t push. Just waited. “I’ve just…been thinking,” you said finally. “About some stuff.”

“Stuff, huh?” she teased gently. But her gaze was soft and careful.

You nodded. “Stuff.”

She didn’t ask what. Didn’t prod or demand or tease any further. She just nudged the fried dumplings closer to you and said, “Eat more.”

And you did. Quietly. Slowly. While she kept talking like nothing was wrong. Like she knew you’d tell her when you were ready. And maybe…maybe you would.

The containers were mostly empty, your fingers sticky with sauce, your stomach warm and full in that just satisfied kind of way. You both lingered on the floor longer than necessary, chatting a little more now that the worst of your nerves had been soothed.

Eventually, you reached for the napkins. “I should, um…clean this up.”

Hyun-ju stood too. “I’ll help.”

You carried a couple containers to the sink, trying not to panic at how easily she followed. The kitchen wasn’t really a kitchen–more like a countertop, a sink, and two cabinets squeezed along one wall. So when Hyun-ju stepped beside you, her shoulder brushed yours. Warm. Intentional, maybe. You couldn’t be sure.

You rinsed out a container and handed it to her to toss, but your fingers brushed as you passed it, and you both flinched just a little. You froze for a second too long, still close enough to smell the faint trace of her fabric softener, and when you glanced up, she was already looking at you.

You dropped your gaze and fumbled for another container. “So–uh–I had fun with your friends last night.”

She leaned in slightly to toss the trash, voice smooth. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded quickly, trying to stay casual. “Yeah. I mean…I was nervous, but they were nice. And it was fun. Loud, but fun.” 

Hyun-ju smiled at that. “They love clubbing. They’d go every weekend if they could.”

You laughed softly, setting a cup in the sink. “I don’t usually go out like that. Not my scene.”

She leaned against the counter now, arms folded, watching you from way too close. “But you had fun.”

You looked over at her and gave a tiny shrug, your fingers still toying with the edge of the sink. “Yeah. It was…fun.”

That word again. Loaded and dangerous. Her gaze stayed steady. “Yeah. Fun.”

There was a pause–short, but deep enough to feel like you'd stepped off a curb. Neither of you moved. Neither of you said anything. You could hear your own heartbeat. Feel it in your throat.

You reached blindly for a napkin just to give your hands something to do. “Sorry,” you mumbled. “I’m being so awkward right now.”

Hyun-ju chuckled, soft and amused. “You always say that.”

“I am though!”

You tried to laugh it off, dabbing at an invisible spill, but she gently reached out and took the napkin from your hand, tossing behind you into the trash. You froze. Her fingers brushed yours again. On purpose this time.

“Maybe I like it,” she said.

You stared at her, lips parting–but before you could say anything, before your brain could decide whether to run or reach for her, she stepped back. Just a bit.

Not far. Not enough to forget the closeness. Just enough to give you room to breathe. But even still…you didn’t want her to leave.

The apartment had gone quiet again, save for the hum of your tiny space heater and the soft music from your phone’s playlist in the background.

You both ended up back on the couch. The takeout was put away, the kitchen mostly cleaned, and the weight of the day–not to mention the last few–was finally settling into your limbs. You curled under the same blanket as last time, legs tucked beside you, your knee almost brushing hers where she sat reclined on the other end.

Hyun-ju was flipping through Netflix with the remote. “Okay,” she said. “Something relaxing. Nothing scary. Nothing sad. And definitely no English subtitles–I’m off duty tonight.”

You gave a quiet laugh. “But then I won’t understand.”

She clicked on some lighthearted Korean variety show, grinning. “That’s fine. You’ll get the vibe.”

You raised your brow but didn’t argue. And she was right–after a while, you did get the vibe. You had no clue what was being said, but the cast’s dramatic reactions and ridiculous games made it easy enough to follow. You found yourself giggling along even if the jokes went over your head.

Then, quietly, Hyun-ju said something in Korean–her voice soft and lilting.

You blinked. “What?”

She just looked at you with that coy little smile. “Nothing.”

You stared suspiciously. “That wasn’t nothing.”

She shrugged, sinking lower into the couch, one hand tucked behind her head. “If you didn’t understand, then it can’t be important, right?”

You narrowed your eyes. “It sounded filthy.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did it?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, heat rising in your cheeks. “I’m gonna make you teach me everything you say one day.”

Hyun-ju gave a mock sigh. “That would ruin all my secrets.”

You were just about to fire back a smart reply when your phone buzzed in your lap. A picture from your mom.

You unlocked your phone and smiled instantly. It was a photo of your dog, curled up in her usual spot on the couch back home. Her tongue poked out a little in her sleep.

“Awh,” you said softly. “My mom sent a photo of Berry.”

Hyun-ju leaned over, and you could feel her body shift against yours under the blanket. Her cheek nearly brushed your shoulder as she peered at your phone. “She’s cute. Is that your dog?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “She’s really old. Fourteen now, I think.”

Hyun-ju gave a soft, warm laugh. “Oh. So like me?”

You turned your head to look at her, startled–and found her already watching you, a teasing glint in her eye.

You let out a surprised giggle, a little flustered. “You’re not that old!”

“Mm,” she hummed. “Twenty eight feels old when you’re hanging out with someone still in undergrad.”

You nudged her with your elbow. “Well. Twenty one feels like a baby when you say it like that.”

Hyun-ju grinned and looked back toward the TV, but she didn’t move away. Her arm stayed there, warm and close beside yours. Your fingers weren’t quite touching, but it wouldn’t take much. A shift. A reach. A choice.

You glanced at her again, but she was just quietly watching the show. At ease. Her presence was grounding and intoxicating all at once.

And suddenly, your dog wasn’t the only thing making your chest ache with homesick longing. You just…didnt’ know what for.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed.

The show had long since ended, the screen now idling with soft background music as recommendations scrolled past. The blanket was pulled a little higher over both of you, though neither of you moved to get more comfortable. You were already too comfortable–warm from dinner, from being next to her, from the drinks still humming faintly in your blood from the night before.

The apartment was dim and quiet now. Just your tiny lamp lit the room in a yellow glow, and it cast soft shadows across Hyun-ju’s face where she sat beside you.

She shifted just slightly, her shoulder brushing yours again. Her knees were pulled up, one hand draped across them, the other still resting close to yours under the blanket.

She smelled like lavender and the fabric softener  you now recognized. Her lashes were long in the low light, eyes trained on the screen even though she clearly wasn’t watching it anymore.

Your phone buzzed again. Another message from your mom, this time just:

So… have you told her yet?

With a winking emoji. You stared at it. Then, very quietly, locked your phone again and set it face down on the couch cushion.

Hyun-ju noticed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, voice soft. “Just my mom being nosy.”

Her lips quirked. “What’s she asking?”

You hesitated. “She…thinks I should be honest with you.”

Hyun-ju’s brows raised gently, and her head tilted, attention fixed entirely on you now. “About?”

You swallowed. The air suddenly felt thick, like the room had shrunk around you. You weren’t sure you could say it–weren’t even sure what it was yet. But you wanted to. God, you wanted to.

“I dunno,” you said, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I just–I’m really glad I met you.”

She watched you closely. And when she spoke, her voice was lower. Quieter. Like she didn’t want to startle whatever fragile moment this was becoming. “I’m glad I met you too.”

You looked up at her. The couch was too small. Or maybe it's just that way because you were suddenly so close. Her eyes dropped to your mouth for the briefest second, then flicked back up.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. Her fingers brushed against yours under the blanket–barely there. Like she was testing it. Testing you.

And you didn’t pull away.

Your heart was thudding so hard you could feel it in your throat. In your fingertips. In the heat crawling up the back of your neck. She was right there. If you leaned in just a little more–

You blinked, breaking the stare. Looked at the floor. The blanket. Anything. “I–uh…I need some water,” you mumble suddenly.

Hyun-ju smiled softly. Not disappointed–just…understanding. Like she could feel how badly you wanted her. How scared you still were.

She reached for the remote instead and said, “Okay. I’ll pick the next show.”

You laughed, shakily. “Deal.”

And you stood up on wobbly legs, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. You tried to catch your breath–trying to remind yourself that nothing happened. That it wasn’t a big deal.

But you knew it was. Because the way Hyun-ju looked at you just now…that wasn’t a “friend” look. That was a “kiss me already” look.

Your fingers trembled as you lifted the glass to your lips. You reread your mother’s text message before replying saying you didn’t think you could do it.

Her response came quickly.

Baby, you literally spent all of elementary school crying if your teacher looked at you weird. You’re doing GREAT! Just tell her she’s pretty and that you want to kiss her face. That always worked for me.

You laughed softly, biting your lip. And for a moment, the fear in your chest eased.

You padded back toward the living room, still sipping your water. Hyun-Ju had already queued up another show—something lighthearted, judging from the upbeat music in the intro—and was curled against the arm of the couch, blanket bunched in her lap.

She looked up when you entered and smiled. “Come here,” she said, her voice low and easy.

You moved to sit down beside her again, and before you could settle in properly, Hyun-Ju leaned forward and gently tugged at your legs. You squeaked softly as she pulled them into her lap.

She wordlessly adjusted the blanket, tugging it up and around both of you again. And then her hand returned to your leg, resting lightly over the fabric.

And her thumb began to move. Back and forth. A lazy, unconscious stroke across your shin. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t short circuiting every thought in your head.

Everything in you told you to focus on the show. You really did. But you couldn’t hear the dialogue over the static building in your chest.

Hyun-ju wasn’t even looking at you–her face was calm, relaxed, completely unfazed. But her thumb kept moving, slow and rhythmic, like she knew.

You swallowed and shifted slightly under the blanket, your foot brushing her side. She didn’t react. Didn’t stop touching you.

Your heart thudded wildly. You couldn’t tell if she was being playful, or flirty, or if this was just how she showed affection. You couldn’t tell if you were imagining the way her fingers paused slightly whenever your breath caught–or if you were just so far gone now that every little thing felt electric.

You curled your fingers into the edge of the blanket. Tried to breathe. Tried to watch the show. But all you could think about was her hand. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she looked at you like she wanted something–but would never push. And god…you were starting to want her to.

The warmth of Hyun-Ju's hand moved—just slightly—her fingers brushing up the curve of your calf under the blanket. You flinched. Not because it hurt. Just because it was her. Touching you like that.

She blinked, her head tilting slightly to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head quickly, adjusting the blanket like it had betrayed you. “No—it’s nothing.”

Her brow lifted, but she didn’t press. She just smiled a little, watching your face a moment longer before turning back to the screen. You couldn’t focus. Not even a little. You spent the rest of the episode in some hellish purgatory between wanting to melt into her and wanting to run away screaming.

After a few quiet minutes, Hyun-Ju leaned forward and clicked the remote to turn off the TV. “I should let you get some rest,” she said, stretching just slightly. “You’ve got class in the morning.”

You tried not to deflate. “Yeah, okay,” you murmured, forcing a smile even though you didn’t want her to leave.

She stood, smoothing her shirt, and you walked her to the door. There was a pause before she turned the knob—both of you lingering like something more should be said.

You wrapped your arms around her instead, pulling her into a quick, tight hug. Hyun-Ju held you just as tight. But you didn’t say anything. Didn’t kiss her. Didn’t ask her to stay. She left with a soft goodnight and a hand brushing your arm. The door clicked shut behind her. You stared at it for a long time.

The next morning you were groggy, distracted, and buried in a lecture you barely remembered signing up for. You were typing half-baked notes into your computer when your phone buzzed on the desk.

coffee after class??

You smiled instantly.

yes please. plz plz. rescue me.

You met her at the café, a small corner table already waiting. She brought over your drink before you could even ask, and you plopped into the seat with a grateful sigh.

“That class dragged,” you said, already wrapping both hands around the warm cup. “Like painfully. I think I blacked out during the middle twenty minutes.”

Hyun-Ju laughed, chin resting on her hand. “Then I’m glad I saved you.”

She listened as you recounted the most boring parts of your morning, nodding along and making little quips that made you smile without trying. At some point, without thinking, you shifted your chair just slightly closer to hers.

Her arm was resting along the back of your seat now, and your head—before you could chicken out—tilted sideways, resting gently against her shoulder.

Neither of you said anything at first. You were staring at your shoes. Then hers. Then both, side by side under the table, not quite touching. 

Your heart was going crazy in your chest. You took a breath. And then, before you could talk yourself out of it—“Were you going to kiss me the other night?”

You felt her shoulder shift with a quiet laugh. She glanced down at you, voice warm and teasing. “Did you want me to kiss you?”

You bit your lip. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Hyun-Ju hummed, a thoughtful sound as she tapped her fingers lightly against her cup. “Well…” she said softly, “you get back to me on that—whenever you’ve decided.”

You looked up at her, a little smile tugging at your lips. “I will,” you said, and meant it.

taglist - @shesruinqtion, @diouna, @jeongteen, @natwendigo, @lesmiix, @sukunasthighmarkings101, @danitzastolfo

[sillylilsquid]

Hey so I don’t have any requests but I hope you know that better with a girl ruined my life (but like in a good way? There’s so much soul in this fic and it really made me so happy and sad but also very happy) I LOVE YOU (I am in shambles)

words can't even describe how much I love hearing this. it's by far my favorite fic i've posted. thank u so much!! 🥹💓

I promise I am working on more fics (some hyun-ju ones and a Thanos one!) but I'm just having a hard time getting them to feel right...so it's been taking me awhile because I only want to post things I'm super happy with.

I PROMISE MORE TO COME SOON xoxo

[sillylilsquid]

hi! I’m so nervous this is my first request, but I absolute love your writing. I don’t have anything specific (hoping that’s okay) I just really like the way you write Hyunju and I’d love it if you could make more content of her! Maybe more first date and meeting things like your most recent post? There’s so little for her, and unfortunately I’m obsessed. Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to consider this request!

i so appreciate you!! yes, absolutely...i currently working on two hyun-ju fics and have quite a few more ideas in my head! i can add you to the taglist, if you would like! xoxo

[sillylilsquid]

it was always you

pairing - hyun-ju x reader summary - After years apart, a surprise dinner brings you and Hyun-ju back into each other’s orbit. Hyun-ju has finished her transition; you never stopped loving her. In the quiet aftermath of slow, devastating intimacy, Hyun-ju learns what it means to be fully seen–and fully wanted. warnings - afab!reader, post-transition!hyun-ju, explicit sexual content, 18 + minors dni!! 4.4k words

You’re halfway through your glass of wine when you hear her laugh. It doesn’t register right away. You’ve been zoning in and out of conversation all night–politely nodding, smiling, pretending to follow the chatter about jobs and breakups and someone’s new dog. You almost don’t notice the person who slides into the empty seat next to you.

Then: that laugh. Low. Warm. A little rasp at the end, like she still doesn’t quite know how to laugh without giving something away.

And then she turns toward you. And your breath catches.

Hyun-ju.

It’s been…god, years? You’re not even sure how long. The last time you saw her, she still wore her hair chopped super short and rarely made eye contact. Now she’s sitting next to you like she owns the space–gold hoops glinting in the restaurant light, her hair almost brushing the tops of her shoulders now, mascara coating her thick lashes.

She looks like a woman who knows exactly who she is.

“Hyun-ju?” you say, voice too soft.

Her eyes flick toward you–and they soften immediately. She tilts her head. “Well, shit,” she murmurs, smiling slow. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You don’t know what to do with your hands. Or your face. You smile, too big, too awkward, and tuck your napkin into your lap like that’s going to help. “I–hi,” you manage. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Min said he was bringing some old friends,” she shrugs. “Didn’t realize you were that old friend.”

You laugh, it comes out breathy. “Yeah. It’s…been a while.”

She hums. Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer than polite. “You look good.”

You blush. Instantly. She notices, of course she does, and leans back just enough to stretch–her arm brushing yours as she moves. She smells like citrus and something woodsy. Expensive and intoxicating.

“You, um–” you swallow. “You look amazing. I mean–like, really. You look…” You trail off. You don’t know how to finish the sentence without sounding unhinged.

She grins, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Thanks, baby. You always were too sweet to lie.”

Oh god. 

You busy yourself with your wine glass. The room keeps talking–Min laughing across the table, two of your other friends arguing about astrology–but it all fades. Hyun-ju’s body is angled toward yours now. Her knees humps yours under the table and stays there.

“You still in the city?” she asks, like it’s just casual conversation. Like her voice isn’t wrecking you from the inside out.

You nod. “Yeah. Moved last year. Teaching now. Nothing glamorous.”

“Doesn’t have to be glamorous. Just has to feel like yours.”

You glance over. Her gaze is steady. It always used to be sharp, skittish, distant. Now it’s soft, patient.

She looks at you like she’s remembering every version of you she ever saw. Every version she might want to know again. “Wanna catch up properly after this?” she asks.

You don’t even think before you say, “Yes.”

The restaurant spills out into the warm hum of evening–street lights buzzing, sidewalk still holding the day’s heat. You’re walking beside Hyun-ju, not quite brushing shoulders, but close enough to feel her there. Solid, present, real.

“Mine’s just around the corner,” she glances down at you. “If you wanna keep talking.”

You nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.” She smiles. Doesn’t say anything else.

Her apartment is quiet, warm-toned, soft in a way you didn’t expect. One wall is lined with plants. The furniture is minimal, clean, cozy. There’s music humming low from a speaker somewhere–just instrumental, ambient, barely there.

You toe off your shoes by the door, trying not to look like you’re too flustered. “Make yourself comfy,” she says as she sets her keys on the counter. “I’ll open us a bottle.”

You nod and sit on the couch, your knees a little too close together, hands folded like you’re in church. The cushions are deep, the kind you can sink into if you let yourself.

She moves confidently around the kitchen. You steal a glance at her–how good she looks in those high waisted jeans, the little tuck of her shirt, the slope of her back. How grounded she seems. Settled.

When she returns with two glasses of wine, she hands you one before sitting beside you–not too close, not too far.

You take a sip. It gives you something to do with your hands. Your nerves are alive and buzzing. “You’ve really changed,” you say quietly, then wince. “Wait, I–I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I just–”

Hyun-ju smiles softly, like she knew what you meant all along. “It’s okay,” she says, setting her glass down. “I finished my transition about nine months ago.”

Your heart lifts into your throat. “Are you happy?” you ask, before you can second guess the question.

She looks at you, and her eyes go warm. “More than ever.”

You smile. It pulls up slowly, genuine and bright. “Good,” you murmur. “You deserve it.”

Something flickers across her face then–something quiet and hard to name. Gratitude, maybe. Or relief. Or maybe just the strange sweetness of being seen.

She leans back into the couch, her glass resting against her thigh. The music plays on. You glance down at her hand–how close it is to yours on the cushion.

She says, “You’re still the same.” You look at her surprised. “I mean that in a good way,” she adds, teasing, her mouth titled in a grin.

You laugh. “God. You always used to say that to get out of trouble.”

She hums. “Worked then. Still works now.” Your knees brush. 

Neither of you move away. You swirl the last of your wine before finishing it in one smooth sip–nerves or habit you’re not sure. Then you lean forward, setting the empty glass on the coffee table a little too gently, like you’re afraid to break the moment by moving too loud.

Hyun-ju’s watching you, glass still in her hand, eyes half lidded and lazy. “Did you finally dump your stupid boyfriend?”

You laugh, a real laugh. “Yeah,” you lean back into the couch. “Like…three months ago, maybe.”

“Finally. He was a loser.” Hyun-ju smirks into her wine.

You laugh. “He wasn’t that bad.”

“He wore toe shoes,” she deadpans.

Your face scrunches. “Okay, yeah, he was that bad.”

She grins, pleased. “And he never deserved you anyway.” That last bit lands differently. Not a joke. Just quiet and soft.

Your breath catches before you can stop it. “You remember that night he picked a fight with me at Min’s party?”

“Of course I do,” her voice dips lower. “I wanted to kill him.” You glance at her. She’s already looking at you. “He made you cry. Then pretended like it was your fault.”

You nod, a little stunned. You hadn’t known she noticed. Let alone remembered.

“I almost followed you out when you left,” she admits, eyes not leaving yours. “But I thought…I didn’t have the right?”

You’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re sitting. The warmth of her body next to yours. The way her knee is angled toward you now, not just brushing by accident. “You could’ve,” your voice is barely above a whisper. “I would’ve wanted you to.”

She looks at you for a long beat. “Yeah?” she asks, like she doesn’t quite believe it–but wants to.

You nod. Her fingers drum lightly on her glass. She sits it down beside yours, the clink of it echoing in the quiet room. Then she shifts–just slightly–turning more toward you. Her thigh touches yours now. Firm and intentional.

“You always looked at me like you wanted to say something. Back then.” She murmurs.

You swallow. “So did you.”

Her gaze drops to your mouth for half a second, then back up. “Maybe. But I wasn’t ready to be seen. Not like that.”

You nod slowly. “And now?”

Her lips twitch, but it’s not a smile. It’s something heavier. “Now I want to be seen by you.”

The silence stretches again. You don’t move. You don’t even breathe. She reaches up, fingers brushing a stray piece of hair from your cheek. Her touch is feather light. Your heart slams against your ribs.

Then her voice, impossibly gentle: “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart skips. Then stutters. Then finally crashes against your ribs as you whisper, “Please.”

Hyun-ju doesn’t hesitate after that. She leans in slowly, giving you every second to pull away–but you don’t. You tilt into her, breath caught in your throat.

And then she kisses you. It’s soft at first–just the press of her mouth against yours, careful and reverent, like she’s memorizing the shape of you. You sigh into it, lips parting as she tilts her head and kisses you deeper, her hand sliding to the side of your face, thumb brushing the hinge of your jaw.

Your whole body warms. Nerves lighting up in places you forgot how to feel. She kisses like someone who’s waited years to be allowed. Someone who’s had this dream over and over and never expected it to be real.

You shift forward on the couch without thinking–closer, closer–until your knees brush hers and your chest is pressed to hers and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Then her hands settle on your waist. Her grip is steady. Grounding. And you let her guide you–up, over, into her lap.

You straddle her, thighs on either side of hers, your skirt bunching up as you settle. She exhales sharply, hands tightening, eyes flicking over your face like she can’t believe you’re really here like this–like this.

“Is this okay?” you murmur, breath warm against her mouth.

She nods, voice low and frayed. “More than okay.”

You kiss her again. Harder now. Sloppier. All the years of restraint unraveling between your mouths. Your hips shift, instinctive and desperate–rolling down against her, slow and uncertain, your breath catching the second your body feels her under you.

Hyun-ju groans. It’s the softest sound–but it punches the air from your lunds.

Her hands slide up your back, one settling between your shoulder blades, the other drifting lower. She’s holding you like she doesn’t want to let go, like she doesn’t quite believe she’s allowed to touch you this way.

And you–God, you can’t stop kissing her. Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging gently. Her lips part with a shiver. You grind down again–needy, dizzy. Her thighs flex beneath you.

She gasps. “Baby–”

You freeze, eyes wide, suddenly remembering everything. “Did I–” you whisper, panic bubbling in your throat. “Did I do something wrong?”

Hyun-ju’s eyes widen, hand tightening on your hips. “No,” she says quickly. “No, sweetheart. Just–” Her voice softened. “Breathe. We can go slow.”

You nod. “I want to…I want to learn what you like. I don’t want to mess this up.”

Her hands slide up to cradle your face again, thumbs stroking gently under your eyes. “You’re not going to mess anything up,” she whispers. “You asking me that? That’s already everything.”

You feel your breath leave your body in a shaky rush. “I want all of you,” you mumble, “I want to touch you right.”

Hyun-ju swallows thickly, eyes bright. Then she leans up and kisses you again. Slower this time. Her hands stay on your cheeks, keeping you close, steady. And underneath you, her body is trembling too.

You don’t remember when the kisses turned desperate again–when you started rocking forward in her lap like you couldn’t help it, your fingers fisting in the fabric of her shirt, her hands steadying your hips like she was trying to slow things down.

You only know the second she pulls away, her lips flushed and parted, her voice low. “Come here,” she murmurs, and then she’s stradlig–effortlessly, your body curled into hers, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist as she lifts you up like you weigh nothing.

You gasp. Laugh a little. “Jesus–”

Hyun-ju’s grinning now, carrying you through the hall like it’s second nature. “That’s what years in the military gets me.”

You cling together, breath hot against her throat. “You were always so strong.”

She huffs a laugh. “Only ever wanted to be strong for the people I cared about.”

That makes your chest squeeze. You don’t know what to say to that. So you kiss her again instead–messy, open mouthed, grateful.

Then you feel the bed beneath you. She drops you onto the mattress with a soft bounce, and your breath hitches as she leans over you, her hands braced beside your shoulders. Her eyes rake over your face, your chest, your parted lips. You feel seen. Not just naked–wanted.

She brushes her thumb across your bottom lip. “You sure?” she whispers. “We don’t have to rush.”

“I’m sure. I want you.”

And then you both start to move. Not rushing, not toward undressing. Just into each other–your bodies tangled in the middle of her bed, mouths locked in slow, hungry kisses.

She’s leaning against the headboard, legs parted just enough for you to settle over her. Your thighs straddle hers, arms braced on either side of her shoulders, and she looks up at you like she’s starving.

You kiss her harder. She groans, low in her throat, pulling you in by the hips, and then her mouth is at your neck–sucking, licking, dragging her teeth just enough to make you gasp. You let her. You let her mark you.

Normally, you’d squirm at the thought of hickies–feeling too visible, too exposed–but not when they’re from her. Not when they come with the press of her body under yours, the sound of her breath catching as you grind down a little harder.

Her hands squeeze your ass, fingers digging in just right, and you moan before you can stop yourself. That earns you a grin–crooked, wicked, half lidded.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, voice rough. “I’ve always wanted your ass in my hands.”

You let out a laugh and then you’re pulling your shirt over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it to the side without a second thought.

She goes quiet. You reach for the hem of her shirt, sliding it up over her stomach slowly. She tenses just a little–but you pause immediately, eyes searching hers. “I–” you start, ready to stop.

But she nods, steady this time. “You can take it off.”

So you do. You ease it up, baring the soft slope of her belly, the delicate line of her ribs, the deep curve of her waist. She helps a little–lifting her arms–and then it’s gone, flung somewhere behind you.

She’s still in her bra. So are you. You stay like that, just looking at each other–half naked, flushed, breathing each other in.

Then her hands come back to your hips. Sliding under the waistband of your pants just slightly. Her thumbs stroke your skin, and you swear your pulse jumps.

God,” she whispers. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You duck your head and kiss her–deep and slow, your chest pressing to hers, the friction making you both sign into each other. “I’ve always wanted this,” you whisper in between kisses. “I’ve wanted you.”

Her mouth finds your jaw, then the shell of your ear. “I used to dream about this,” she breathes. “You, straddling me like this. Moaning in my mouth. Telling me I can have you.”

“You can,” you say. “You have me.”

You kiss her like you’re trying to memorize her mouth. Every curve of her lips, the sound she makes when you nip gently at her bottom lip, the way her breath catches when you roll your hips just right.

Her hands slide up your bare back, warm and sure, until her thumbs brush just beneath the strap of your bra. She doesn’t try to take it off. Not yet. She’s too focused on feeling you.

You lean back slightly, just enough to see her face, and your breath stutters at the sigh of her. Hair mussed. Lips kiss-bitten. Chest rising and falling beneath black lace. She’s radiant.

You lean down again, kissing over the swell of her breasts, your lips trailing reverent, open-mouthed kisses across the edge of her bra. “Fuck,” she whipsers, hands tightening on your hips. “You’re driving me crazy.”

You smile into her skin. “Good.” You shift lower, still straddling her thighs and then her mouth is on you–kissing over your chest, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin just above the cup of your bra.

“You’re unreal. You know that?” she mumbles.

You shake your head, flushed breathless. “I just want to make you feel good.”

“You already are. You’re fucking perfect.”

Her hands slide down again–palming your ass, squeezing, guiding you to roll your hips forward. The friction is enough to make you moan, your hands clutching her shoulders for balance. She watches you like you’re art. Like you’re something she’s only ever dreamed of having.

“Can I take these off you?” she murmurs, fingers bruising the waistband of your pants.

You nod, dazed. “Yeah–please.” You left your hips, and she helps you peel them down, her hands slow, steady, careful not to rush.

The air hits your thighs and you shiver, left in your underwear, your body hot and aching. “God,” she breathes. “Look at you.”

You bite your lip. “Your turn?”

Her mouth twitches into a soft, teasing smile. “You gonna be gentle with me?” You slide your hands down to her waistband, kissing her once more–soft and slow.

“Always.”

You take her pants off the same way she did yours. Careful. Slow. Kissing your way down her body, your hands reverent as you ease the fabric over her hips and thighs, baring more and more of her to your touch.

She’s gorgeous. All of her. When you sit back on your heels you take a second to look at her–both of you in nothing but your bras and underwear now, your bodies flushed and aching, your eyes glassy with want.

“You’re so beautiful, Hyun-ju. You have no idea.”

She reaches up, fingers curling behind your neck to pull you down again. “I think I do. When you look at me like that.”

She kisses you like she’s starving. Hands roaming your bare back, tongue in your mouth, moaning into you as you grind down on her lap. The fabric is soaked now–your underwear clingy and damo, hers stretches tight against the heat of her. Every time you roll your hips, she groans like it’s the first time she's ever been touched. 

You’re both gasping by the time you pull away. “Take this off,” she whispers, slipping her fingers beneath the band of your bra. “Wanna see you. Wanna taste.”

You nod, dizzy. Her hands help you unclasp it, and the second you’re bare, she’s touching–palming your breasts, squeezing gently, brushing her thumbs over your nipples until you whimper.

“So fucking pretty,” she breathes. “I used to jerk off thinking about your tits, you know that?”

You let out a wrecked laugh, squirming. “Fuck.”

She leans forward, dragging her tongue over one nipple, then the other, sucking one into her mouth until you’re gasping, thighs tightening around her hips. Her voice is low and wrecked. “Sound so good, baby. Let me hear you.”

You reach for her bra, hands shaking a little. She sits up to help, her breathing shallow, eyes locked on yours. “You sure?” you whisper.

She nods. “Yeah. I want you to see me.”

You unclasp it slowly, peeling the fabric away. And she’s perfect. You don’t rush. You kiss her collarbones, her chest, her sternum–every inch. Your hands slide up to cup her breasts, brushing your thumb over her nipple and she whimpers.

“Fuck–” her head tips back, neck bared, breath caught. “Touch me. Please”

You shift lower, settling between her thighs, kissing your way down her stomach. You hook your fingers under her underwear and pause, looking up.

She nods, mouth parted. “Take them off.” You do. Slowly. And then she’s fully bare beneath you. Legs parted. Glowing in the low light.

You kiss the inside of her thighs, your voice shaking. “You’re so beautiful, Hyun-ju.”

She groans. “Don’t stop saying that.”

You kiss higher. She gasps when your tongue finally touches her–soft and wet and eager. Her thighs tremble. “Fuck–baby–” her hands tangle in your hair. “Just like that, don’t stop.”

You lick her slowly, firmly, over and over, then slide two fingers inside her–tight and hot and pulsing around you. She moans–deep and loud–and it goes straight to your core.

You fuck her with your fingers, your mouth still on ehr, her hips jerking, her voice breaking. “That’s it,” you whisper. “God, you taste so good. Been thinking about this for years.”

She’s panting now, eyes squeezed shut.

“Gonna come for me?” you ask, curling your fingers just right.

“Yes–fuck–don’t stop, I’m–” And then she shatters.

Her thighs clamp around your head, her voice spilling out in choked, messy sounds, her body shaking as she comes on your tongue, over your fingers, into your mouth.

You don’t stop until she pulls you up–dragging you into her arm, into her kiss. She’s still trembling. Her mouth is hot and open under yours, her hands pulling close. “I wanna make you feel that good,” she whispers. “Wanna ruin you.”

You smile, flushed and wrecked. “Then do it.”

Hyun-ju kisses you hard–possessive now, tasting herself on your lips, her hands roaming hungrily over your body. She rolls you onto your back without effort, settling between your legs, her body warm against yours.

She kisses her way down, slow and greedy. Over your collarbones. Your breasts. Your ribs. “You smell so good,” she groans. “So fucking sweet down here.”

Your underwear is the only thing left between you, soaked through and clinging. She presses her mouth against it, tongue flat and slow, and your whole body arches off the bed. “Oh my God–”

“That’s it,” she says, breath hot against the damp fabric. “Let me hear you.”

You whimper as her fingers slide the fabric aside–just enough to expose your soaked cunt–and she groans when she sees how wet you are.

“All this for me?” she murmurs. “Shit, baby. You’re dripping.”

And then she dives in. Her tongue is steady and deep, licking through your folds, sucking gently on your clit until you’re gasping, your thighs twitching around her head. She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow.

When she slides one finger inside you, you moan so loudly it echoes. “F-fuck, Hyun-ju–”

“God, you’re tight,” she moans, her voice a mess. “Taking me so good. Look at you.”

She curls her finger just right, then adds another, and you’re gone. Eyes rolling back, hips grinding into her mouth, hands clutching the sheets.

“You’re perfect,” she praises. “So wet. So soft. This pussy was made for me.”

You can’t think. Can’t speak. Your thighs are shaking and your stomach’s tightening and she keeps whispering–

“You gonna come for me, sweet girl?”

You nod, crying out.

“Say it,” she demands. “Tell me who’s making you come.”

“You–fuck, you. Hyun-ju, please don’t stop–”

She doesn’t. She fucks you with her fingres, tongue on your clit until your whole body breaks. You come so hard your vision whites out–your legs locked around her shoulders, your voice hoarse from screaming her name.

When you finally collapse, panting, dizzy, she crawls back up to you–kissing your thighs, your stomach, your breasts. Her mouth presses to the corner of your eye, your temple, your cheek.

“Still with me?” she whispers.

You nod weakly. “Barely.”

She grins. “Good.”

You’re both a mess–sweaty, trembling, flushed. She pulls the blanket up around you, still your skin wherever she can reach.

You murmur, half laughing, “I think you actually ruined me.”

Hyun-ju cups your face gently. “Good. I meant every word.”

Later, when your bodies stop trembling and your breathing evens out, you both lie tangled in each other’s arms–bare skin pressed to bare skin beneath the blanket, the room warm with the scent of sweat and sex and something softer underneath.

Hyun-ju’s fingertips trace lazy shapes on your hip, her breath steady against your collarbone. Neither of you speaks for a long time.

Eventually, you whisper, “Do you want to shower?”

She hums. “Only if you come with me.”

You smile, exhausted and warm. “Always.”

The shower is quiet. Gentle. No more teasing–just soft touches, shared shampoo, the warmth of water running down your bodies as you help each other rinse clean.

Afterward, she wraps a towel around your shoulders and leads you back into her bedroom. You both tug on oversized t-shirts–no bras, just underwear–with bare legs and damp hair.

She sits you at the edge of her vanity, flicks on a soft light, and rummages for her micellar water and cotton pads.

“You don’t have to–” you start.

“I want to,” she says. “Let me.”

She stands between your knees, gently wiping away the smudges of makeup still clinging to your eyes, the faded lipstick on your mouth.

When she dabs at your cheek with the last bit of cleanser, her hand falters. Just slightly. You look up. Her eyes are shining.

“I used to dream about this,” she says quietly. “Not just the sex. But this. You. Seeing me like this, and still…staying.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

She flinches at that. Barely–but you feel it in the air. And when she turns to toss the cotton pad away, you catch her hand.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide from me.”

She swallows. “I’m not trying to. It's just–hard. Being bare like this. I never felt…pretty enough. Not really.”

You reach for her, cupping her face in both hands. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her breath catches. Her eyes close. You kiss her, soft and slow, and then pull her into your lap, letting her curl into your arms. And then you say it–bare and trembling: “Don’t leave me again.”

She pulls back, startled. “What?”

“That was too long,” you say, voice thick. “Too hard. I missed you everyday. I didn’t know how to–how to move on from you. I don’t want to do that again.”’

She stares at you, like she's trying to memorize your face. Then she kisses your forehead, voice shaking when she answers. “Never. I’m not going anywhere.”

You hold her tighter. “I’m here,” she whispers. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

taglist - @lesmiix, @shesruinqtion, @diouna, @jeongteen, @natwendigo

[sillylilsquid]

𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖑𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖘

pairing - nam gyu x reader summary - you loved him when you shouldn't have. he hurt you when he swore he never would. now, after everything—grief, silence, years apart—you're learning how to be near him again. it isn't perfect. it never was. but maybe, just maybe, there's still something here worth holding on to. warnings - afab!reader, age gap, forbidden love/brother's ex-best friend trope, mentions of parent death, grieving, brief mentions of drug use/fighting/usual nam gyu vibes, explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni!! 18k words

You grew up with Nam Gyu like a shadow in the hallway. He was always there–shoulder to shoulder with your brother, dropping his shoes by the door, raiding the fridge like it was his own. You were the kid in oversized pajamas, trying to blend into the wall just to watch him. Too shy to speak. Too small to matter.

But you remember everything. The way he laughed too loud, cursed too often, smoked behind the shed even when your mom caught him and told him he’d “ruin his lungs and your brother’s future.” You remember the scabs on his knuckles. The choked grin he gave you when he caught you staring. The way he’d ruffle your hair and call you, “lil sis.”

You remember the day he stopped coming. No warning. No goodbye. One week he was there every day, and the next, your brother wouldn’t say his name. Your parents said it in hushed voices. “He got in with the wrong crowd,” your mom murmured. “Drugs. Guns. He’s not welcome here anymore.”

You never saw him…not until that night.

You’re in college now. Still living at home. Still doing everything right. Your classes are going well. Your professors say you’re “gifted.” You paint portraits for extra cash, volunteer at the community center when you’re not studying. You’re a good girl. Your mom tells her friends how proud she is. Your dad gives you curfews like you’re sixteen.

You still have your childhood room. Pink sheets. Sketches taped to the wall. A desk in the corner covered in soft, pretty things. You don’t party. You don’t sneak around. You don’t lie.

Until you do.

It’s late when your class ends. You stayed behind to finish a painting, left campus with paint on your fingers and your brain still half lost in the shade of someone’s eyes. You don’t even think twice when you pull into the convenience store down the street from your campus. Just want a snack. Something sweet before you drive home.

The bell jingles when you walk in. You head straight for the drinks cooler, tug it open with chilled fingertips. You’re crouched by the candy shelf when you hear it. That voice. Rough and low and unmistakably familiar.

“Thought that was you.”

You freeze. Slowly, you turn–and there he is. Nam Gyu. Standing by the counter like a ghost you summoned. Same hooded eyes, same sharp jaw, same dead-serious stare. Only now he’s older. Taller. Built like a man. There’s a scar above his eyebrow. Tattoos you don’t remember. A cigarette tucked behind one ear.

He looks you up and down, slow. Unapologetic. You feel heat crawl down your neck. “You got taller,” he says. Then a smirk, “Finally.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. He steps closer. Not enough to touch–but enough to make your chest tighten. You don’t know what to say. He looks like a warning sign. A mistake your parents would lose their minds over. But your heart is pounding like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

“Still got that same look on your face,” he murmurs.

“What look?” you manage, too quiet.

He tilts his head, eyes dark. “Like you’re about to beg me for something.” Your stomach flips. And just like that, your perfect little world starts to crack.

After that night at the convenience store, you told yourself it was nothing. A coincidence. A strange little flicker in your perfect routine. You didn’t give him your number. You didn’t ask to see him again. But then he showed up.

Outside the art building. Leaning on a low wall while you packed up your paints. He didn’t say much, just took a long drag from his vape before blowing the strawberry scented smoke in your face. “Just thought I’d say hi,” he said with a shrug, like he didn’t already know your schedule.

Then he was waiting again a few days later. A different building. Same smirk. “You always walk to your car alone?” You told yourself it was harmless. You told yourself you were being careful.

It kept happening. You’d go to the cafe and find him there, nursing a coffee like he belonged. You’d leave a gallery show and see his motorcycle parked across the street. You never invited him. But you stopped telling him to go.

Sometimes he’d offer you rides. Just to be nice, he said. Other times he just…lingered. Leaning against your passenger door, watching you with those tired, heavy lidded eyes. Always in that same hoodie. Always looking like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

You told yourself you weren’t flirting. You were just being polite. But your body always got warm when he was near. Your voice always went soft. You didn’t tell your parents. You didn’t tell your brother. You just let it happen.

It wasn’t one big moment–it was a hundred little ones. A ride home that ended with him brushing your hair behind your ear. A compliment muttered under his breath that made your stomach twist. A lingering look when you leaned over the console, digging through your bag for gum.

One night, it was late. You’d been driving around for no reason. He was smoking, windows cracked. Your legs were curled up under you in the passenger seat. And he said, quiet, “You always this good, huh?”

You blinked. “Good?”

He nodded once. “Don’t party. Don’t lie. Don’t fuck around.”

You felt that sentence in your spine.

A Few Weeks Later…

You’re fucking him now.

On weekends. After class. In his car, in his bed, once in the bathroom at a shitty bar while music thumped outside. You’re kissing him like you need it to breathe. Letting him spit in your mouth when he says, “Good girls don’t take it like that.”

He’s your secret. Your filthy little addiction.

He picks you up in his car after lectures. Has you ride with your skirt pushed up, panties in his glove box. He buys you drinks with his hand on your thigh under the table. Fucks you dumb and raw and makes you smile at your parents like nothing happened.

You keep him off your social media. Tell your friends he’s just someone from school. Tell your brother nothing.

You lie to everyone. But not to yourself. You like the way he bites your shoulder. You like the way he growls, “Mine,” when you try to leave. You like the way he looks at you like he’d kill for you.

And that terrifies you. Because if your brother knew–if your parents knew–you’d lose everything. And if Nam Gyu ever stops showing up again, you’re not sure you’ll survive it this time.

Your parents left that morning for a weekend trip–anniversary, something fancy. They hugged you, kissed your forehead, reminded you not to let anyone over.  You smiled. Promised. Said you’d be panting all weekend.

And now? You’re on your knees in front of Nam Gyu while your favorite candle flickers on your desk. His pants are halfway down his thighs. Your lips are glossy with spit. He’s got his thumb hooked into the corner of your mouth, dragging it down so you can watch your tongue roll over the head of his cock like he owns it.

“God, baby,” he breathes, hand in your hair, rough and praising. “Your mouth’s the fuckin’ prettiest thing in this house.”

You whimper. He grins. The bedroom still looks like it did when you were sixteen. Pink bed sheets. Fairy lights. Your easel in the corner. Drawings on the wall.

Nam Gyu leans back against your pills like he belongs here. “Fuck,” he mutters, “You’d cry if your mom saw you like this, huh?”

You moan around him, cheeks flushed. He grips your jaw, pulls you off slow so strings of spit stretch between your ips and his tip. “Open,” he says. You do.

He smirks, just about to say something else–when the doorbell rings. You freeze. Both of you go still. Nam Gyu blinks, then frowns. “The fuck is that?”

You grab your phone. A text is already lighting up the screen.

Brother👾: you home? came to drop something by

Your heart drops into your stomach. “Fuck–fuck, fuck fuck,” you scramble up off the floor, panic blooming your chest. “It’s my brother. He’s here.”

Nam Gyu’s face goes flat. “I thought he didn’t live here anymore.”

“He doesn’t! He just–he visits, I don’t know, please–” you’re already pulling him up by the wrist, shoving at his chest. “Hide.”

“Hide where?” he hisses. You point to the bed. He gives you the dirtiest look. “You want me to crawl under your fucking bed–”

But you’re already halfway to the door. “I’m stalling him–just do it!”

He curses under his breath–but drops to the floor and disappears under the frame, just as you yank the door open.

“Hey!” you say, breathless. Too cheerful.

Your brother raises an eyebrow. “Why are you out of breath?”

“Uh–yoga. You know. Stretching.”

“You don’t do yoga.”

You laugh. “I do now!” He narrows his eyes. “I, um,” you step aside, heart pounding, “come in. You said you brought something?”

He holds up a brown bag. “Mom forgot her vitamin thing. Figured I’d drop it off.”

You lead him into your room. Your knees are shaking. He takes one step inside. Looks around. Frowns. “Why’s it smell like cologne in here?”

You blink. Your skin goes cold. “I–lit a candle,” you lie quickly. “It’s like…cedarwood or something. Manly. Grounding.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Takes another step inside. You can feel Nam Gyu under the bed. You don’t dare peek. You can barely breathe. 

Your brother sighs and drops the bag on your desk. “Still weird being in here. Place hasn’t changed since we were kids.”

You give a weak laugh. “Yeah…nostalgic.”

Then he crouched to pick something off the floor–right by the bed–and your stomach caves in. But it’s just a pencil. He straightens up. Smiles at you. “You good though? You been okay lately?”

Your throat tightens, but you nod. “Yeah. Just…busy.”

“Tell Mom and Dad I dropped by.”

“I will.” He leans over and ruffles your hair like you’re still twelve. Then he leaves. You don’t move until the front door clicks shut.

A long moment of silence. You hear his car start. And then– “Are you fucking kidding me–” Nam Gyu’s voice, low and furious, as he drags himself out from under the bed. His hoodie is dusty, hair messed up. “You made me hide like a goddamn teenager–”

You throw yourself at him before he can even finish. “I’m sorry–I panicked–” His mouth crashes down on yours, fast and rough, and his hands are already shoving you toward the bed.

“You owe me for that shit,” he growls into your mouth. “You fuckin’ owe me.”

You nod, breathless, pulling at your clothes. He flips you onto your stomach. “No lights. No moaning. Be a good little liar and keep quiet for me.” You bury your face in the pillow and prepare to let him ruin you.

Your face hits the pillow as Nam Gyu shoves you forward, hand planted firmly between your shoulder blades. 

“Gimme that fucking ass,” he growls behind you, voice dark and low with adrenaline. You can feel the floor dust on his jeans–feel how hard he is through the fabric. “Got me hiding under your bed like some fucking side piece.”

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, cheek pressed into the sheets.

“You’re sorry?” he laughs–sharp, mean. “You let me suck your tits with a stuffed bear watching and you’re sorry?”

His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, yanking them down hard. He pauses. “You weren’t even wearing panties when you let me in.”

Your breath stutters. “I–”

He slaps your ass. Hard. “Fucking knew it.” You cry out into the pillow, but he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back. “Shhh,” he coos mockingly. “What would your brother think if he heard you like this? Bent over your bed. Wet as fuck. For the guy he used to call family.”

He lets your hair go and spits down between your thighs. One hand spreads you open–no teasing, no warning–and then his fingers are inside you, two thick and fast, curling up deep. “Goddamn,” he breathes. “Still so tight. You been keeping this little pussy just for me.”

You nod frantically, dropping into your pillow.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes–yes, I have–just you–”

“Good fucking girl.” He pulls his fingers out and slaps your cunt with them, soaked and loud. Then you feel it–his cock, hot and heavy, dragging through your slick. He nudges the head against your entrance, just enough to make you clench. “You wanna get filled like a dirty little secret?”

“Yes–”

“You gonna keep lying to Mommy and Daddy about where you go at night?”

“Yes–” He pushes in deep. Your back arches, mouth open in a silence cry. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you breathe. Just ruts into you hard and fast, his hips slapping against your ass, skin on skin loud in the silence.

His hand clamps over your mouth. “Don’t you dare making a fucking sound,” he hisses. “You want them finding out you’re a whore now? Wanna explain to your brother how I stretch you out and fuck you dumb?”

You whimper under his palm. Your legs shake. He shifts his grip to your throat, pulling your upper body back against his chest. One hand choking you, the other slipping between your legs.

“You feel that?” he grits, rubbing your clit fast. “That’s me. That’s all me. Every inch of this sweet little cunt’s mine.”

You’re spiraling. Coming so hard your body jerks in his hold. He fucks you thorugh it–growling, mean, filthy.

“Fucking squeeze me like that again and I’ll make you suck me clean after.” You sob. He bites your shoulder. Sucks a mark into your skin so deep you’ll see it for days. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You–fuck–you–”

“That’s right.”

When Nam Gyu finally cums, it’s with a loud grunt, buried deep, your name spilling from his mouth like a threat and a prayer. He stays inside you for a second–hands still on your hips, breath heavy against your ear. 

Then he pulls out slow, the slick sound obscene. You collapse on the bed, boneless, face flushed and eyes glassy. He watches you. Watches his cum drip out of you onto your cute pink sheets. Watches your thighs tremble. Then he leans down, kisses your lower back, and mutters: “Bet your brother wouldn’t believe a sweet girl like you could take dick like that.”

You’re still facedown on your bed. Cheek pressed to the sheets. Legs sprawled. Your breathing is uneven and your thighs are trembling. For a second, neither of you move.

Nam gyu just stands there, his jeans still half down, eyes fixed on the mess he made. Your pussy, swollen and leaking. His cum on your thighs. Your back rising and falling like you just ran a mile. “You okay?” he asks finally, quietly.

You nod, a little dazed. “Mmhm.”

He exhales–then zips himself up and pads toward your door, bare feet creaking on the old floorboards. “Don’t move,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll clean you up.”

A minute later, he’s back–with a warm washcloth from the hall bathroom. His voice is different now, lower. Soothed. He kneels between your legs. The cloth is warm when it touches you. Gentle and careful. 

You twitch. “Easy,” he murmurs, one hand on your thigh. “I got you.”

He wipes you clean–slow circles, gentle dabs. No teasing. No filth. Just care. You feel him swipe the cloth through the mess between your legs, wiping up his cum, then toss it to the side. “I was too rough,” he says after a moment. Guilt peeking through.

You peek over your shoulder, cheek squished to the pillow. “I liked it.”

He huffs a breath–smiles, barely–and leans over to kiss your lower back. Soft. A little reverent. Then again. Higher this time. Between your shoulder blades.

You feel his hands under your arms, pulling you up slow, and before you can even fully sit, she’s scooping you into his lap like you’re his. His girl. His baby “C’mon,” he mumbles into your hair. “Shower.”

He carries you to the bathroom room, flicks the light on low. The old shower rattles a little as it starts up. You sit on the counter while he grabs your towel and favorite body wash. He kisses your knees while he waits for the water to heat.

And when you’re both finally inside, under the spray, he washes you like you’re something breakable. Soapy hands across your shoulders. Your back. Down your arms. His fingers slow on your belly, gentle between your legs. No filth now. Just love.

He lets you wear his hoodie after, even though it’s warm outside. And later, curled up in your bed with his arm under your head and his hoodie draped over your bare legs, he holds you so close you can feel his heartbeat in your spine.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I never left,” he murmurs. “You just stopped looking.”

The window’s cracked. The summer air slips in slow, thick and sweet, brushing over your skin. Crickets hum somewhere outside. Your childhood neighborhood, still the same–still safe. Still small.

Nam Gyu’s hoodie hangs loose on your body, sleeves bunched at your wrists. Your legs are bare beneath the covers, curled into his. His chest is warm against your back, arm heavy around your waist, holding you like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

He takes another drag from his vape. The quiet click of it echoes in the stillness, then a curl of strawberry vapor drifts out the open window. “Babe,” he mumbles sleepily against your shoulder. “I’m gonna get you addicted to this shit.”

You smile faintly. “No, you’re not.”

“You already like it.”

“I like you.”

He huffs a breath. Doesn’t say anything for a second. Just lets it hang there. You’re quiet for a while. Long enough for your heart to settle, long enough that you think maybe he’s fallen asleep.

But then, you ask, “Why’d you stop coming around?” It’s soft, gentle. But it slices through the silence like a blade.

He’s quiet for a long time. You don’t push. You just wait. Eventually, he shifts behind you–pulls the covers tighter around the both of you. His vape clicks again. Then he exhales slowly, and says, “Your brother told me to.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

Nam Gyu lets the words come slow. “It was right after that one summer,” he explains. “The one where I started skipping school. Showing up with bruises and black eyes and shit.” He pauses. “Your parents got worried. Thought I was a bad influence. He didn’t disagree.”

Your heart twists. “He told me if I gave a fuck about you,” Nam Gyu says, no emotion in his voice. “I’d stay away. Said you didn’t need some punk with a death wish hanging around the house anymore.”

You roll over to face him. He doesn’t look at you. Just stares up at the ceiling, eyes half lidded, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your blanket. “I didn’t want to scare you,” he mutters. “Didn’t want you to see what I turned into.”

“You didn’t scare me,” you whisper.

“I do now.” You shake your head. He finally looks at you. His eyes are darker than usual. Not angry. Just hurt. Heavy.

“You were so fucking little,” he mutters, almos to himself. “Used to sit in the grass and draw with sidewalk chalk. Couldn’t even look me in the eyes without blushing.” Your throat tightens.

“And then I got kicked out of school. Started running shit with guys who wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet in someone’s back. Stopped being your brother’s friend and started being a problem.” He holds his vape up to his lips but doesn’t hit. “You shouldn't even want me in this bed.”

“But I do.” He looks at you. Really looks. And then he tucks your hair behind your ear. Leans forward, slow, like it hurts him, and presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead. “I know.”

He’s still watching you. Eyes darker now. Not with lust–but with something heavier. Something that makes your chest ache. His hand slides under the hem of your hoodie–barely there, just resting on the small of your back. Then– “Get up here,” he murmurs. You stare up at him in confusion. He taps your thigh gently. “C’mere.”

You hesitate for half a second before shifting forward, crawling up his chest until your body lies flush against his–chest to chest, cheek nestled into the dip between his collarbones. You feel his hand curve around your thigh to help you settle, the other resting flat between your shoulder blades.

His warmth sinks into you instantly. “See?” he mumbles into your hair. “Better.” 

You hum in agreement, eyes slipping closed. You feel his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. One slow, endless loop at a time. It makes your whole body feel like it’s floating.

“I used to think about this,” he says softly, after a long pause. “Back when I stopped coming around. Used to imagine what it’d be like…if I had got to see you one more time. If I got to lay with you in my arms.”

You don’t say anything, just tuck your face deeper into his neck, like maybe if you hold him tighter, he won’t disappear again. His breath slows. He keeps talking–quieter now, barely audible. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to touch you again. Let alone have you fall asleep on top of me like this.”

Your heart thuds hard against your ribcage. And then his arms tighten–just slightly. Not possessive, or horny, not even jealous. Just holding. Just having. “Sleep, baby,” he whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You try to fight it. But your limbs go heavy. Your breathing softens. And eventually you drift off like that–clinging to him. The only boy who ever made you feel both ruined and safe.

And when you woke up the next morning, he was gone. Not in a left you forever way. Just gone-gone. A scribbled note on your desk: had to run. be back later. lock the door–gyu

You had class anyway. You showered, threw on your usual outfit–something cozy, something simple–and tried not to spend the whole lecture replaying the feel of his hand gripping your hip while you moaned into his throat. When you get out of class, there’s a text waiting for you.

When you get out of class, there’s a text waiting for you.

bby boi🧸: party tonight

bby boi🧸: come

You pause. You’re not a party girl. You’re a homework and chamomile tea and skincare before bed kind of girl. But still, your heart skips.

You send back: you’ll be there??

His response is instant.

bby boi🧸: obviously

bby boi🧸: i’ll pick u up

You try on four different outfits before settling on a soft cream sweater and black leggings. Cute socks. Clean sneakers. A spritz of perfume behind your ears and a hint of gloss on your lips.

You hear his car outside. You grab your bag, check yourself in the mirror one more time, then head out. When you slide into the passenger seat, Nam Gyu looks you up and down–blinks once, then frowns. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Your stomach twists and you freeze up. “What?”

He doesn’t mean it mean. He just gestures vaguely. “All girly.”

You bite your lip. Look down at your outfit. “I thought it was cute.”

He huffs a laugh through his nose. And then–you swear it–his eyes soften. “It is.” And then he drives.

The house party is loud. Music shaking the walls. People crowding the front lawn. The air smells like weed and stale beer and cheap perfume.

The second you step inside, it hits you all at once–flashing lights, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, girls dancing on tables, guys with bottles in their fists. Someone yells something unintelligible across the kitchen.

You flinch. Nam Gyu doesn’t. He fits in here. Like he was made for it. The tattoos, the lazy confidence, the way his hand wraps around your wrist without thinking as he guides you through the crush of people.

He starts talking to a friend. Someone taller, louder. They laugh, talk about something you can’t follow. A blunt gets passed. A girl slaps Nam Gyu’s arm playfully. You stay quiet. Pressed against his side. A pretty little shadow in a soft sweater, wide eyed and quiet. He doesn’t let go of your hand, but he doesn’t look at you, either.

You can feel the stares. From girls. From guys. You don’t belong here and you know it. But you want to. Because he’s here. And you want to be where he is. Even if it means swallowing the knot in your throat and trying not to look like you’re trembling.

You’re still glued to his side, barely saying a word, when he finally turns to look at you. You don’t know what gives it away. Maybe the way your hand keeps fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. Maybe the way you flinch every time someone brushes past too close. Maybe it’s how you haven’t laughed once tonight–not even a fake little chuckle to make him feel good.

He leans down toward your ear, voice low. “Come with me.”

You nod immediately, clinging to his sleeve as he guides you out of the kitchen. Up a hallway, past a line for the bathroom, through a cracked open door into some random bedroom.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, the noise softens. You can breathe again. Nam Gyu turns to face you. Eyes sharp but not unkind. “You wanna leave?” he asks, arms folding as he leans against the dresser.

Your eyes widen. “No.” You’re too quick to answer. Too eager.

His brow arches. “No?”

“I–” you swallow. “I wanna stay. I just…”

His head tilts. “You just?”

“I wanna stay with you.”

That get a smile. Slow, crooked, dangerous. “You’re not exactly blending in, baby.”

You blush. You look down at your shoes. “I know. I’m not really…” You trail off, unsure how to say it. Not cool. Not edgy. Not the kind of girl who smokes and dances on tables  and makes guys stare.

He pushes off the dresser and walks up slowly. The floor creaks beneath his boots. When he’s in front of you, he reaches for the end of your sweater sleeve and tugs it between his fingers. “You wanna drink with me?”

Your lashes flutter. “Right now?”

“Yeah. right now. Or not. Up to you.” You’re quiet, nibbling on your bottom lip. He leans in and murmurs, “You don’t have to, baby. If you’re not comfortable, I’m not gonna make you.”

And maybe it’s how gentle his voice goes. Maybe it’s how patient he is, for once. But it makes something inside you crack open.  “I just…” You finally say it. Small and honest. “I just want you to like me.”

The moment hangs in the air like fog. His eyes flicker up to yours. He doesn't laugh. Doesn't tease. He just takes a breath and closes the distance–his hand slipping beneath your jaw to tilt your face toward his. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, voice rough. “You think I don’t like you?”

Your breath catches. “I show up to some stupid party full of assholes I hate just so I can see you in that sweater,” he mutters, thumb grazing your cheek. “You’re the only reason I’m not high off my ass right now.”

You blink up at him. Slowly. And he leans in–kisses the corner of your mouth. Not quite your lips. Not yet. Then he murmurs, “Now sit on the bed and tell me what kinda drink you want.” 

She looks up at him from where she’s perched on the edge of the bed, her voice quiet under the bass still thudding from downstairs. “Can I go with you?”

He doesn’t say yes. Doesn’t say anything. Just grabs your wrist and pulls you in close, tucking her under his arm like she’s already his and leading her back down to the chaos.

It’s worse this time. There’s someone passed out hallway up the stairs. A couple making out in the hallway. The music’s louder. Someone’s lighting a blunt in the living room. But Nam Gyu doesn’t let go of you, not even once.

In the kitchen, he shrugs his arm off you just long enough to grab a red cup, filling it up from a big bottle of something clear. He leans his weight into the counter lazily, one arm slung low around your waist again–pulling you back against him.

You go without a fight. Back flush against his broad chest. He takes a sip, smirking into the cup, and then lifts it toward your lips. “Wanna taste?”

You hesitate, then nod. The second it hits your tongue, you choke. “Oh my god,” you sputter, coughing into your sleeve. “That’s awful!”

Nam Gyu lets out a low laugh against your shoulder, that kind of boyish snort he almost never shows. You feel it more than you hear it–the way his chest shakes behind you, the curve of his smile pressing into the side of your neck. “I told you.”

“You didn’t tell me it tasted like nail polish remover.”

He just hums, taking another sip like it’s nothing. You wrinkle your nose, settling back against him, your head resting lightly against his shoulder. The music’s changed–something heavier, the bass vibrating through the floor–and you can’t help it. You start to sway a little. Barely. Just the tiniest movement.

But he feels it. His hand twitches against your hip. And then he coughs once. Clears his throat. You feel his body tense behind you. His voice sounds a little too casual when he talks to the two guys across from you–one of them saying something about a fight that broke out at the last party, something about who got banned from whose place. But Nam Gyu barely responds. His fingers are digging into your sides now. Harder.

“Stop rubbing on my cock,” he mutters in your ear, his voice hoarse and quiet enough that no one else hears, “or I’ll fuck you right here in front of my friends.”

You freeze, it makes you hold your breath. And he just sips his drink like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just say that with his lips brushing the shell of your ear, while your heart’s racing and your thighs are clenching and his arm is tightening around your waist. “You’re so mean,” you whisper breathlessly.

He smiles into your hair. “Yeah, but you like it.”

One of his friends glances over from where he’s grabbing another drink. “Yo, Gyu,” he calls with a grin, “you bringin’ her to to share or are you takin’ her straight to the backseat?”

Nam Gyu doesn’t miss a seat. “Backseat,” he says, cool and sure. “Gonna get my dick sucked before we leave.”

Your hands shoot up to cover your face, lips parted in shock. You’re mortified. He said it like it’s nothing. Like you’re not right there in his arms, practically melting from embarrassment. “Stop,” you whine, shoving lightly at his chest without looking at him. “You can’t just say that–”

“Why not?” he asks, way too smug. “They should know how good you are for me.”

You make a tiny, wounded noise and try to twist away but he just laughs and hugs you tighter from behind. One hand slides up to tilt your chin, making you look at him with that pouty, red faced glare. He hums, “Cute. Didn’t say it wasn’t true.”

His friends chuckle, amused but distracted. The music’s loud. No one really cares. But he’s got you blushing so hard it hurts, hiding your face again in his hoodie as he kisses the side of your neck like you’re his and he wants everyone to know it.

The second the car door opens, it’s like a dam breaks. Nam Gyu pulls you in with both hands, climbing into the backseat, already crowding you against the seats. It smells like him in here–his cologne, his vape, the faintest trace of weed–and it’s warm, private, and dangerous.

“You were so fuckin’ cute tonight,” he mutters, shoving your sweater up to your ribs, fingers skating over your bra, your waist, gripping like he wants to leave fingerprints. “Walkin’ around all shy in your little socks like you didn’t know what the fuck you were doin’ to me.”

You gasp as you watch him unbutton his jeans, tugging them down just far enough for his cock to spring free–already hard, flushed dark, tip leaking. “Gyu–”

“You wanted this.” He cups your chin, thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “Been squirming in my lap all night. You want me in your throat, baby?” You nod, eyes wide. “Then open up. Be a good fuckin’ girl for me.”

You drop to your knees on the floor of the car, wedged between his legs, the driver’s seat digging into your lower back. Your hands wrap around the base of his cock as you lean in, tongue licking a stripe from base to tip. He hisses through his teeth. “Shit–look at you,” he pants. “Good fucking girl.”

You swirl your tongue around the head and then take him in slowly, inch by inch, until your lips are brushing your fingers. He’s thick. Heavy. The weight of him presses on your tongue, makes your eyes flutter. You moan.

“Fuck. Don’t tease. Take it.” You do. You pull off, spit thick and glossy between you, then open your  mouth wider–letting him slide in deeper. He grabs your hair with one hand, the other bracing on the seat as he starts to thrust.

It’s filthy. Wet. Your eyes start to water almost immediately as he pushes in too far, holding your head down until your nose is buried in the soft of his belly. You choke, gag–but don’t pull away. Your nails dig into his thighs.

“God, baby–fuck yes–take it, just like that,” he grits out. “Look at you. My pretty little slut, takin’ cock in the back of my car like you were made for it.”

You can’t respond. You can only moan around him, eyes blurred, throat tight and aching. Spit’s running down your chin, soaking your sweater. He’s panting now, hips jerking up faster. “You gonna let me cum in that pretty mouth?” he groans. “Huh? You gonna swallow for me, sweetheart?”

You nod as best as you can with him deep in your throat, and that’s all it takes. His breath stutters, his grip tightens. “Fuck, shit, baby–swallow it. Take all of it–”

He spills down your throat with a rough groan, holding your head down while he pulses in your mouth. You whimper, obedient, swallowing everything, lips wrapped around him until he finally lets you go. You pull off with a gasp, coughing a little, tear streaked and flushed and ruined. And he just leans forward, pulls you into his lap, and kisses you slow. “My perfect fuckin’ girl.”

You’re still catching your breath when he reaches up with his sleeve and gently cradles your jaw with his fingers. “Messy girl,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. He wipes at your mouth first–slow, careful–then tips your chin to swipe at the smudged mascara trailing beneath your eyes.

You blink at him, dazed and pink-cheeked, and he smiles like he wants to kiss you again, like he’s proud of the ruin he made. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you in the front seat before someone calls the cops.”

It makes you giggle. He tucks himself back into his jeans, zips up, helps you climb over the center console. His hand never really leaves you–either steadying your thigh, brushing your hair back, or resting on your knee as he starts the car.

The drive is quiet at first. Warm. The only sound is the hum of the engine and the soft music playing from the radio.

“My parents come back tomorrow,” you whisper, watching the streetlights blur past.

He glances at you. “Yeah?”

You nod, picking at the hem of your sweater. “Means I probably won’t be able to see you as much.”

Nam Gyu exhales, his hand squeezing your knee silently. “I won’t abandon you, baby.” You glance over at him, brows slightly furrowed. He grins. “You’re gonna sneak out like a good girl for me, right?”

You roll your eyes, but you nod. “Yeah.”

“Atta girl.” HIs voice dips low–something teasing and dark curling around the edges. “Keep bein’ good and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Your cheeks burn. There’s a pause for a second, then softer he speaks, “If your brother knew, he’d literally kill me.”

You laugh under your breath. “Yeah. I know.”

He chuckles, tapping the wheel with his thumb. “He always was a hothead.”

Another stretch of silence, then you speak again–quieter this time. “I’m almost done with this semester.”

“Yeah?” he hums. “Proud of you.”

“I don’t know if I’m gonna go back.”

His head turns, eyes flicking toward you for a second. “Why not? You’re great at art.”

“I enjoy it. I do,” you say, staring out the window. “But it’s starting to feel like a chore. Like it’s what they want. Not what I want.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t speak right away. His fingers squeeze your knee again. “You know you don’t have to live for them, right?”

You glance over, surprised at the softness in his voice. He’s still focused on the road, but his jaw’s tight. “You can figure out what you want. Doesn’t have to be what they mapped out for you.”

You nod slowly. “I don’t know what I want yet.”

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. “We’ll figure it out.”

The words hang in the air–we’ll. Like he means to stay. You look at him. The boy who wiped your mouth and kissed your ruined face. Who made you feel both destroyed and protected in the same breath. “Okay,” you whisper.

And when he parks outside your house, he doesn’t kiss you again–not right away. He just brushes hair out of your face and says, “Text me when you’re inside.”

“I will.”

“Good girl.”

It’s been a few weeks since that night in his car, since he murmured “good girl” against your cheek like it meant something more than obedience. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn’t. You haven’t dared ask.

Since then, you’ve been lying with more ease than you ever thought possible. “Studying at Mia’s.” “Group project ran late.” “Just staying at school a little longer.”

Your parents don’t question much, not now–not with finals around the corner and your sketchpad always in hand. You’ve been too busy with your last assignments to sneak away like you want to. You’ve been too busy with your last assignments to sneak away like you want to, but Nam Gyu hasn’t complained. Not once. He still texts you throughout the day: stupid memes, blurry gym selfies, a voice memo once where he told you “I miss your weird little laugh.” You keep replaying it when the ache of not seeing him gets too much.

For your final project, you’re supposed to do a single charcoal portrait: someone real, someone who stirs something in you. You chose him. You don’t tell him, of course. You’ve been working on it in secret, staying up late when the house is quiet and everyone’s asleep. His face is starting to emerge from the paper–sharp, shadowed. The slope of his brow, the mess of his hair. Your fingers stay smudged with graphite. You’ve ruined two pillowcases and a sweatshirt. You don’t care.

It’s almost done when your phone buzzes beside you.

bby boi🧸: come open ur window

Your heart stutters. You’re in bed already, oversized shirt on and bare legs, a little flushed from how often you’ve been thinking of him lately. You tiptoe across your room, crack the window open, and there he is–dark jacket, tousled hair, looking up at you like he’s done it a hundred times.

You help him climb in, trying not to laugh when he bumps his knee on your desk. “Shh,” you whisper, biting your lip. “You’re gonna wake up the whole house.”

He grins, breathless from the climb, and whispers back, “You gotta get a ladder or something. I’m getting too old for this.”

You snort softly and motion for him to sit, but his eyes are already scanning your room–and they land on the sketchbook still open on your desk. He tilts his head. “What’s that?”

You freeze. “Nothing–” But he’s already walking toward it. You’re too slow to stop him. His hand hovers over the page–not touching, not smudging. Just looking.

It’s his face. Almost exactly. You even captured the little scar above his eyebrow. The way his mouth curves when he’s about to tease you. The soft shadows under his cheekbones. It’s him, raw and unfiltered. It’s him how you see him.

When he speaks, it’s quiet. “Is this for school?”

You nod, cheeks burning. “Final. It’s…it’s a portrait unit.”

He’s silent for a long beat. Just staring. Then– “You made me look better than I do in real life.”

You huff. “No I didn’t.”

He finally turns toward you. His voice is rough when he says, “That’s how you see me?”

You nod again, smaller this time. He steps closer. His hand finds your cheek and his thumb brushes a charcoal smudge you didn’t know was there. “You make me look like someone worth something,” he murmurs. “No one’s ever done that before.”

And suddenly your room feels very small. The night very quiet. Your breath caught in your chest.

You whisper, “You are.” His fingers tilt your chin up. And when he kisses you, it’s the softest it’s ever been–like he’s scared he’ll break something if he presses too hard. Like he’s trying to memorize how this moment feels.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, legs warm under the covers, blanket draped across your lap. Nam Gyu’s stretched out beside you, propped against your headboard, jacket sleeves pushed up around his forearms and one leg hanging off the mattress. His hair’s still messy from the wind outside, and he smells faintly like smoke and detergent.

The window’s cracked open behind you for air. A breeze curls in, bruising over your bare arms. He looks at you sideways. His voice holds a bit of a teasing tone. “You gonna hide me forever?”

You smile, pulling your legs up to your chest. “Why? You jealous?”

He scoffs, then shrugs, not denying it. “Maybe. Kinda pathetic, right?”

You giggle, and he leans his head back against your wall like he’s trying not to smile. The sound of your laugh is his favorite thing in the world and you have no idea.

“No,” you admit softly. “I’m not trying to hide you. I’m just…” You trail off, picking at the edge of your blanket.

He doesn’t push, just waits. You finally exhale, voice quieter. “I’m sure I’ll tell them eventually. Just…not right now.”

He nods, like he understands. Like he does understand. There’s a long, gentle pause. And then, just above a whisper, you say, “I know why they don’t like you anymore.”

His jaw twitches, but doesn’t look away. Doesn’t speak. You go on, nervous but honest. “I think it’ll be hard to show them you’ve changed. Especially with, you know…you being twenty-five. And my brother’s ex-best friend.”

Nam Gyu’s gaze drops. His thumb starts tracing a crease in your sheets. “Yeah.”

“They’ll really have a hard time with it,” you add.

“I know.” His voice is so soft it barely reaches you. “But I don’t care about them.” You glance up at him. “I care about you,” he says, finally looking at you again. “That’s it.”

Your heart aches. You try to hold his gaze, but your face heats up too fast, so you look back down at your lap, hiding a shy smile. He shifts closer, knocking your knee with his. “Hey,” he whispers. You look up. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “I’ll sneak through your window for as long as it takes.”

That makes you laugh again, soft and surprised. “You better be careful, my dad’s got a gun.”

“I’m not scared of your dad.”

“You should be,” you tease.

He grins at that, and for a few quiet minutes, you just sit there. Letting it be easy. Letting yourself enjoy him. Then he reaches out, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. “So…you drew me, huh?”

You groan, grabbing a pillow and half heartedly whacking him with it. “Don’t make it weird!”

“I’m not!” He’s laughing, dodging your attack. “It’s just–kinda sweet. That’s all.”

Your cheeks burn again. But you let yourself lean into his side, head resting on his shoulder, legs tangled under the blanket.

Outside the wind rustles the leaves. Inside, you whisper, “I really like you.” And he doesn’t say it back–not yet. But he turns his head and kisses your forehead like he means something more than words ever could.

3 Years Later…

You’re twenty-two now. Not the same girl who used to sneak out at night and crawl into the passenger seat of his beat-up car, trembling and giggling. Not the girl who kept him hidden like a sin. You’ve graduated, moved to Seoul–far away from the suffocating small town and all its long memories. You rent a cozy little apartment above a flower shop, teach art at a nearby school, and on weekends, you lead pottery classes for older women who treat you like their daughter.

You’re happy, or maybe just quiet. It’s not the same thing, but it’s close enough. He stopped reaching out years ago. First, the replies came slower. Then his messages turned from blue to green. You checked his socials–gone. He blocked you. No warning. Just…gone. It left a hole you haven’t really filled.

Your new friend drags you out to this sleek little place tucked into a quiet alley near Itaewon. Good food, expensive drinks, soft jazz humming in the background. It’s a far cry from the smoke filled house parties you used to cling to Nam Gyu in.

You eat. Laugh. Nurse your drink while your friend heads out early, waving goodbye with a wink and a joke about getting some sleep for once. And you’re left in the half dim lighting, swirling your cocktail with the straw, letting the music buzz low in your chest.

That’s when you feel it. A presence. Eyes. You look up. Nam Gyu. Standing near the door, dressed in black, sharp around the edges–just like always. But older. His hair’s a little longer, his build filled out. There’s a woman on his arm, clinging to him like a promise.

And yet–his eyes are locked on you. For a moment, neither of you move. Then he says something to the girl–quiet and low. She nods and walks off without looking back. And he stays. Still staring.

You drop your eyes, suddenly cold all over, pretending you didn’t see him. You focus on your drink, heart pounding in your ears. You should walk away. Leave. But it’s too late.

He’s already walking toward you. He stops at your table, hands in his coat pockets, that same worn-in confidence in his stance. “You grew up.”

You don’t look at him. Not at first. Just blink, stare at the ice melting in your drink. But something in you snaps. You glance up slowly, eyes sharp, voice quiet. “Yeah. That’s what happens when you ghost someone for three years. People change.”

And that hits him. You see it. The flicker in his jaw, the faint squint in his eyes. He pulls the empty chair out and sits without asking. Like he used to. Like no time passed at all.

“You’re still mad.”

“I’m not mad.” You laugh bitterly. “I’m over it. I just…didn’t expect to see you here. In Seoul. With another girl on your arm.”

He leans back in the chair, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again. “Didn’t think I’d see you either. You’re different.”

“So are you.” You pause, then add, quieter, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” And neither of you say it–but it’s there. The silence. The grief. The thousand things that were left unsaid.

“You should go.” Your voice is steady, but the hand gripping your glass is trembling slightly. You don’t look at him. You can’t. His presence is a weight across your skin, heavy and electric. “I’ll forget I saw you,” you murmur. “Just go.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t move. “That’s not what you want.”

You swallow hard. Still not looking at him. Your thighs press together under the table on pure instinct–tight and tense. You’re trying to stay composed, but he sees the way your knuckles pale where you hold your glass. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He leans forward slightly. Drops his voice. “Come back to my place.”

You scoff, shaking your head once. “What about your girlfriend?”

He lets out a short, amused breath through his nose. “She’s not my girlfriend.” Something shifts. Something cracks. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re standing. You don’t look at him as you walk toward the door. He follows without a word.

The city blurs by outside the windows of the black car. You sit in the back seat beside him, silent. Tension coils in the narrow space between your bodies. His leg brushes yours and you don’t move away.

By the time the elevator door opens to his floor, your heart is pounding in your ears. His apartment is nothing like what you imagined it to be. A luxury penthouse, floor to ceiling windows, expensive furniture. Dark, sleek, masculine.

You step inside slowly, heels clicking against the hardwood. You don’t say anything at first–just walk to the edge of the living room where Seoul glitters beneath you like a galaxy.

“How the hell do you afford this?” you ask, half to yourself.

Behind you, Nam Gyu shrugs off his coat. “I work. I don’t blow it on drugs anymore. Turns out you save a lot of money when you’re not trying to kill yourself.”

You turn around, lips parting–but the words catch in your throat. He’s staring at you. Not just looking. Staring. Like he hasn’t blinked since the second you stepped through the door. You glance down at your dress. Tight. Black, with thin sleeves resting on your shoulder. A slit up the thigh. It clings to all the right places. Your body has changed since he last saw you. Fuller. Softer. More woman than girl now.

You look back up at him. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. He moves. Crosses the space between you in three strides. His hands are on your waist, gripping, pulling. His mouth finds yours–hot, desperate, bruising. He kisses you like it’s been years. Like he hated every day he couldn’t.

Your back hits the window. His hands push down your dress straps roughly, pulling them to your elbows. His mouth is on your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “Fuck,” he breathes against your skin, voice hoarse. “You–fuck, you feel so good now.”

Your fingers are in his hair. His knees hit the hardwood. He doesn’t even hesitate. Not when he sinks down in front of you, palms sliding up the backs of your calves, slow and reverent like he’s praying. Not when his eyes travel up your legs, over the soft swell of your thighs peeking through the slit in your dress. He palms them–big, rough hands gripping tight.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sounding absolutely wrecked. “You got so–” He swallows. “You grew up, baby.” His eyes flash up to yours, pupils blown wide. “Can’t believe you’ve been walking around like this. Looking like this. And I’ve been–” he breaks off, licking his lips. “Dreaming about this body for years.”

Your heart pounds. He pulls your dress up, bunches it around your hips. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, gripping your ass, squeezing hard–groaning like he’s in pain. His mouth finds the inside of your knee, trailing kisses up, slow and sloppy, as he mumbles against your skin.

“Want you so bad, fuck–lemme taste you please. Just–please, baby, I’ll be so good.”

You stare down at him–this tall, cocky, once detached man–now on his knees, lips at your inner thigh, begging. Begging to worship. “You’re begging now?” you murmur, breathless.

He nods against your skin. “I’ll beg all night. You want me to get on my hands and knees and crawl after you, I fucking will. Just let me have you. Let me taste you.”

You step out of your heels. Then out of your panties. He groans when they slide down your legs, eyes locked to the wet center like it’s the only thing on earth. Like it’s his.

And then he’s buried between your thighs. His tongue is hot and filthy, all open mouthed kisses and greedy flicks. He moans into you–loud, like he doesn’t care who hears. Like he wants the whole goddamn city to know how good you taste. His hands hold your thighs apart, fingers pressing bruises into soft flesh. He eats like he’s drowning in you.

“Fuck, you’re sweet,” he mumbles, lips slippery against your folds. “Missed this pussy. Dreamed about it–”

 His tongue drags up and flattens over your clit. You gasp–head falling back against the glass window, body trembling as he sucks, gentle and then hard. He groans like he feels it too, like your pleasure is his pleasure.

“You’re perfect now,” he mutters, breathless. “Full and warm and fuckin’ mine.”

You whimper. “Gyu…”

He pulls back just long enough to look up at you. His chin is wet, lips shiny, eyes wild. “Say you missed me,” he growls. 

“I missed you,” you whisper, shaking.

“Say this pussy missed me.”

Your voice breaks this time. “It missed you–fuck–” And then he dives back in like he’s starving. Tongue flicking and curling and fucking into you until your knees buckle. You cry out, grinding down on his mouth, and he lets you–hands under your ass, guiding your hips, moaning as you ride his face.

Your thighs clench around his head. He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re full on sobbing through your orgasm, shaking, slumped against the window. Your dress is a mess. Your hair’s a mess. Your legs won’t stop trembling.

Nam Gyu finally rises–slow, towering over you. He licks his lips, grinning. “Now,” he says, undoing his belt, voice like thunder. “I’m gonna fuck you in front of this window until every bastard in this city knows who you belong to.”

He towers over you–belt undone, pants halfway down his thighs, cock flushed and aching. It’s thick, heavy, twitching against his abs, and he’s panting just from looking at you. “Please, please let me fuck you.” His voice is trembling.

Your breath catches. He’s flushed, hair messy, pupils blown wide with want. He’s not cocky anymore. Not right now. He’s wretched before he’s even really touched you. “Say I can, baby. Say it’s mine.” He pleads with you.

You glance down at his cock, then back up, lips curled into the faintest smirk. “You want it that bad?”

He nods quickly, hands coming up to cup your face. “So bad. You don’t even know–I’ve been dreaming about you, baby. Jerking off to the thought of your tits, your thighs, your voice. I’d do anything. Anything. Let me show you.”

You lean in, brush your lips across his ear. “Then show me.”

He groans, loud, and spins you gently, pressing your front to the window. The glass is cold against your skin, but he’s already tugging your dress up, sliding it over your hips until it’s bunched around your waist. 

You hear him behind you. Fumbling, panting, cursing under his breath like he’s in pain. “So pretty,” he breathes, gripping your ass, spreading you open. “Your body…fuck, your body’s perfect. You were beautiful before, but now–” He groans. “Now you’re a fuckin’ dream.”

You whimper when he grinds his cock between your thighs, dragging the length of it over your soaked center. He leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, voice hot and needy in your ear. “Let me in baby. Please. Let me fuck you. Let me make you mine again.”

“Say it,” you whisper, trembling.

He nuzzles your neck. “Please, baby. I need it. Need to feel you again. Need to fuck you until you scream my name.”

You shift your hips back, guiding him to your entrance. “Then take it.” He sinks in with a gasp. His hands fly to your waist–gripping so tight, he might bruise. His hips roll forward, slow at first, savoring the heat, the stretch, the way you take every inch like you were made for him.

“Fuck, fuck, you feel even better than I remembered–tight, hot, wet. You’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”

You moan, pressing your palms to the window as his pace builds. Every thrust is deep, smooth, worshipful. He’s fucking you like it’s the last time he ever will–like he’s memorizing your body all over again.

The glass fogs beneath your hands. “Look at you,” he pants, thrusting harder. “Bent over my window, letting me fuck you like a good girl. All these people down there, and you’re just taking it.”

You cry out when he hits that perfect spot–when his hands slide under your dress to grab at your tits, squeezing, groaning at the way they fill his palms. “You got so soft,” he moans. “So full. Your thighs–your ass–your tits–fuck, I could die between them.”

His hips slam into you harder, needier, his voice dissolving into whimpers against your skin. “I’m gonna come,” he gasps. “I’m gonna fucking come. Say it’s mine–say this pussy’s mine–please.”

You tilt your head back, grinding against him, loving every filthy, desperate word. “It’s yours, Gyu. It’s all yours.” That’s all it takes. He breaks. He comes with a guttural moan, hips snapping forward as he spills deep inside you–grinding through it, panting, groaning, hands trembling where they told you.

He doesn’t pull out. Just leans forward, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, whispering between shaky breaths. “I missed you. I missed you so fucking much. Don’t make me go another day without this. Without you.”

You reach back, threading your fingers through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’m never letting you go again.”

The lights are dim, casting a soft golden glow across the tiles and the water. The deep porcelain tub stretches wide in his massive bathroom–sleek black counters, warm wood floors, and wall to wall windows that overlook the glittering city.

But right now, all you care about is him. 

You sit across from each other, the water nearly up to your shoulders, the scent of sandalwood bubbles curling into the air between you. Your knees poke up from the water, glistening in the low light, and his hands rest lazily on his thighs, head tilted back against the edge of the tube.

He looks soft like this. Damp hair curling slightly at the ends, his strong chest rising and falling slowly. When you stretch your legs out and place your feet in his lap, he looks down–smiles.

You wiggle your toes. Nam Gyu huffs a quiet laugh, one hand sliding along your shin. “You’re such a brat.”

“Say it again,” you murmur, teasing.

He grins. “Brat.”

You stick your tongue out at him. He catches your ankle, presses a kiss just above the bone. It’s stupidly gentle. So is the look in his eyes. “What?” you ask, your voice dipping quiet, almost embarrassed.

His shoulders shrug. “Nothing. You’re just…here. In my bath. With your toes in my lap. I think I used to dream about this.”

That’s what does it. The question slips out before you can stop it–fast, unfiltered. “So who was that girl, if she’s not your girlfriend?” The words echo a bit too sharply in the steam filled room. Your eyes go wide. “Shit–I didn’t mean–”

“It’s fine,” he cuts in gently. “You don’t have to act like it didn’t bother you.”

You look down at the water, heart racing, skin heating in more ways than one. “It didn’t bother me,” you say softly.

Nam Gyu gives a slow, amused sigh. “We work together.”

You glance up. “Work together?” You make air quotes with your fingers, voice skeptical. It makes him smirk.

“You wanna go through my phone?” he offers casually. “Deadass. You can scroll through the whole thing. You won’t find anything. No flirty texts. No hidden apps. Just boring ass group chats and my open tabs of porn with girls that look like you.”

You stare at him wide eyed. “What?”

“I’m not kidding,” he says, holding your gaze. “Same body type. Same thighs. Same tits. Same soft little belly. They all look like you. I haven’t fucked anyone since you. Haven’t wanted to.”

The words dangle in the air, leaving you speechless. He runs his hand up your calf, fingers trailing lazily along your skin. “It’s like I ruined myself,” he says with a small laugh. “Now nothing else works.”

You hold your breath. “Gyu…”

“I don’t say that to pressure you,” he murmurs. “You don’t owe me anything. But I don’t want you wondering where I’ve been or who I’ve been with. It’s only ever been you.”

You slip your foot from his lap, crawling forward through the water, slow and shy. He watches you, still and waiting, until you’re between his legs, your chest pressed lightly to his, water lapping around your waists.

Your fingers slide up to his jaw. You tilt his face to you. “Thank you for telling me,” you whisper.

His eyes flicker to your lips, then back to your eyes. “You gonna kiss me now?”

You lean in, barely brushing your mouth over his. “Maybe.”

He grins, water dripping from his lashes. “I missed you so bad,” he breathes out. You kiss him. Long and deep. The kind that makes your toes curl beneath the bubbles.

His hands find your back, your waist, your thighs under the water. You pull back just an inch, catching your breath, whispering, “You don’t have to ruin yourself anymore.” He looks at you like he’s already been saved.

You’re still curled into him, damp skin pressed against his chest, your nose tucked under his jaw. The bubbles have started to fade, leaving the water silky and warm around you both. His arms rest around you, hands drifting mindlessly over your hips, like he doesn’t want to stop touching you for even a second.

You pull back just enough to look at him. There’s a smile curling at your lip. “So you’re really gonna sit here and tell me,” you murmur, “that you didn’t fuck anyone else in the last three years.”

His brows lift. “That’s what I said.”

You tilt your head. “Not even once?”

“Just me and my hand,” he says without shame.

Your mouth falls open a little. “What the fuck.”

He shrugs, totally unfazed. “I tried. Once. Didn’t work.”

Your eyes narrow in disbelief. “Didn’t work?”

“Couldn’t get it up,” he says bluntly. “She wasn’t you.”

You blink at him, jaw slack. “Wow. Really making me feel special over here.”

“You should,” his eyes drag slowly down your face, your lips, your body beneath the water. “You broke my dick. Congratulations.”

You snort, about to make some sarcastic comment–but then his hand trails down your side andrests on your thigh, spreading gently. Not demanding, just waiting. You breathe in slowly. Then you slide out of his arms. His brow furrows. “What are you–”

“Shhh,”  you whisper, slipping lower in the water. His hands twitch like he’s about to reach for you, but then you’re disappearing beneath the surface.

The water distorts everything. His legs, the dimmed lights, the ripples against your arms as you ease forward and settle between his thighs. You press your palms to them gently, guiding him back as he leans against the tub wall.

You glance up, his figure blurred and glowing in golds and blues through the water, and then you wrap your fingers around his half hard cock, stroking slow. Above the water, he groans. His head falls back.

You close your lips around the tip. Heat pulses through the water and through your chest at once. You bob your head slowly, the pressure different down here, warmer, heavier. Your mouth moves with gentle suction, tongue tracing every inch of him you can fit.

You feel the way his hips twitch, his thighs flexing under your hands. You come up only for air–eyes meeting his as you gasp softly, mouth wet and pink and hungry. “You’re really gonna kill me,” he pants.

“I’m making up for three years of you being tragically abstinent,” you tease, voice low and playful.

He grabs the sides of the tub, knuckles white. “You think I won’t drown in this bathtub for you?” he growls.

You grin. Then you go back down. This time, you take him deeper. Let your throat relax, water bubbling softly around you as you move. His hand slips into your wet hair, not pulling, just holding. Like he’s grounding himself.

When you come up again, your lips are slick and swollen, and his whole body's shaking. “Get up here,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Please.”

You blink slowly. Innocent, dangerous. “Why?”

“I need to fuck you.”

You hum, dragging your nails along his thigh. “Thought you liked my mouth?”

His hand wraps tight around your wrist. You think he’s going to pull you into his lap again–but instead, he’s yanking you up, water sluicing down your body, your chest bare and glistening in the low bathroom light. “Get up here,” he growls. “Now.”

You step out of the tub slowly, dripping, trembling–but you don’t get far. He doesn’t wait. The second your foot hits the tile, he grabs your hips, towel falling away, and guides you down to the floor with him. We skin against wet skin. His back hits the side of the tub, and he grabs you right over his lap, one hand fisting your thigh, the other slicking down your waist, squeezing.

“You gonna make me beg again?” he pants, eyes hungry and ruined. 

You stare down at him, breath catching, chest heaving. “No,” you whisper. “I want you to feel how much I missed you.” You reach down, guide him to your center, and sink down slow.

His mouth drops open. His eyes flutter shut. His head thuds back against the porcelain. “Fuck–baby–”

You roll your hips gently, slowly, letting him stretch you open, letting him feel every second of it. He’s still wet from the tub, water pooling on the tile beneath you, your thighs soaked and gleaming as you ride him in slow, grounding waves.

He looks up at you like he’s never seen anything more perfect. His hands settle on your waist, fingers shaking, thumbs stroking your stomach. “You’re unreal,” he murmurs. “You feel unreal.”

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders and he leans in just enough to kiss you–sloppy, desperate, soaking wet–moaning into your mouth as you move faster. “I missed you so much,” you gasp.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he breathes. “Not once.”

And then you’re gasping, trembling, choking his name as your thighs shake and his grip turns bruising–and he fucks up into you like he’s losing his mind, like he’s starving, like he’s going to die here if he doesn’t make you come on his cock one more time.

You’re both still dripping, steam rising from the bath behind you, your bodies tangled on the bathroom floor–no time, no space, just now. Just need.

You’re both a mess–sweaty, soaked, sprawled on the bathroom floor. Water drips from your hair, your thighs still trembling as you lean forward and rest your cheek against his chest. His heart is still pounding beneath your ear, fast and wild like it hasn’t quite caught up yet.

Nam Gyu exhales, arms loosely draped around your back, and murmurs, “Stay.”

You lift your head and look up at him, lips still parted from the kiss you just barely pulled away from. “I can’t.”

“Nooo,” he gorans, throwing  his head back dramatically against the floor. “Why not.”

You sit up slowly, reaching for a towel and dabbing at your skin. “Because I have to go back to my place.”

“Why,” he whines, dragging the world out like a child being denied dessert.

You raise your brows at him, smug. “You can text me. I won’t block you.” A pause. “Like you did to me.”

He groans again, but this time it’s more shame than play. He covers his face with his hand. “Low blow.”

You stifle a giggle, drying off as you stand up. “You deserved it.”

He peeks at you through his fingers. “So we fuck and now you’re just…heading out?” He sits up, watching you with narrowed eyes, trying to look offended but the corner of his mouth is twitching. “What are you now, a fuckboy?”

You laugh, tossing the towel at his head. “Please. My cat will literally kill me if I don’t go home and feed him. He’s feral.”

He catches the towel mid-air, chuckling under his breath as he watches you step around him, grabbing your dress. “Your cat’s got an attitude,” he mutters.

“So do I,” you say with a wink, slipping your dress back on. “Maybe that’s why he likes me.”

Nam Gyu is still sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, towel in his lap, just watching you move. Like he still doesn’t quite believe you’re here. Like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your back and the shape of your smile.

“Do you work tomorrow?” you ask, glancing at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting your hair. 

He shrugs, like the question is beneath him. “I’ll call in.”

You roll your eyes, but your gin is soft. “Okay, well–once you do that, call me. And we’ll meet up. Okay?”

His eyes warm. He nods. “Okay.”

You lean down, press one last kiss to his lips, and whisper, “I’ll see you soon.”

And as you head for the door, he calls after you, voice lazy and teasing: “Tell your cat I said fuck you.” You laugh all the way to the elevator.

The night air is cool on your cheeks as you walk home alone, heels clicking against the pavement, your head still spinning from everything. From him. His mouth. His hands. The things he said. The way he looked at you like you’d swallowed the stars and spit out light. You smile. You don’t mean to–but it happens.

Your phone is warm in your hand, your fingers brushing over his most recent texts. Let me know you got home safe. i should’ve made you stay. i already miss you…

You tuck it away and swipe to call instead–someone else. Your brother answers on the second ring.

“Yo. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, adjusting the strap of your purse. “I just…guess who I ran into tonight.”

He groans. “If this is one of those ‘you’ll never believe who I saw at the grocery store’ calls, I swear to God–”

“It’s Nam Gyu.”

Silence. Then a sigh, long and familiar. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Where? And why?” he asks.

You pause. “Out. At this lounge. He was there with someone but then he…he saw me. Came over.”

Your brother mutters something under his breath, probably cursing like he knows your mom doesn’t like. “Stay away from him,” he says. Not a suggestion. A command. “There’s a reason Mom and Dad made him stop coming around back then. You remember that, right?”

You stop at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Your heart beats a little slower than it did earlier. “I know. I just…” You swallow. “He seemed…different. I don’t know. Maybe he’s changed.”

Your brother’s voice is flat. “Yeah. I highly doubt that. People like that don’t change.”

You shift your phone to the other ear, trying not to sound defensive. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Just be careful, okay? Seriously. That guy’s not–he’s not built for soft things.”

You don’t say anything else. You just promise you’ll call later, then hang up as your apartment comes into view. Once inside, your cat is already meowing at the door like you left him for dead. You scoop him up, kissing the top of his head as he purrs against your collarbone. “I know, I know. I was bad. I’ll feed you.”

You change out of your dress, wash the makeup off your face, pull on the ugliest, softest sleep shirt you own. You scroll through your texts again.

Gyu💀: you make the stupidest faces when ur about to cum

Gyu💀: in a good way btw

Gyu💀: text me when ur home

Gyu💀: text me when ur in bed

Gyu💀: text me even if ur not thinking about me. idc i’ll take crumbs

You smile again. Just a little. And type:

you: i’m home. in bed. and thinking about you

you: but i’ll text you in the morning, gyu. goodnight 

You don’t expect him to reply–but he does. Almost instantly.

Gyu💀: fuuuck. okay. goodnight baby

You sleep like shit. Even curled under your coziest blanket with your cat tucked behind your knees, all you can think about is the way Nam Gyu looked at you last night–like he wanted to memorize the shape of your body with his hands, like the ache in his voice was real when he said “please.”

You wake up slow, eyes gritty, throat dry. A faint soreness between your legs and something heavier sitting right in your chest. It’s a quiet morning. The city hasn’t quite stirred yet. You make tea. Feed Tofu so he won’t scream at you. Sit cross legged on your couch with your sketchpad and try to lose yourself in a drawing–but your lines are uneven. Unsteady. You flip to a blank page and try again, but halfway through you realize you’re drawing him.

Again.

Same strong brow. Same dark eyes. A mouth you could recognize by feel alone. You drop the pencil, lean back, and just…stare at the paper. You shouldn’t miss him. You shouldn’t. But you do. You pull your phone from the coffee table and scroll back to his last text from last night. You stare at it, thumb hovering. Then you start typing.

you: i think i missed you.

The read receipt pops up almost instantly. A bubble appears. Then it disappears. Then reappears.

Gyu💀: meet me at my club tonight. 7pm.

You: okay

You spend way too long picking out what to wear. It’s stupid. You’ve already had your tongue down his throat and his hands between your thighs and you've literally ridden him on his bathroom floor–but still. You want to look good.

You pull on a long black skirt with a small slit up the side. A soft, oversized cream sweater–that sweater, the one from years ago. The one he used to tease you about for being a blanket. You tuck it in just enough to show off your waist. High-top sneakers, a little scuffed. Hair down. Lips tinted rose.

You keep the makeup minimal. Soft, comfortable, like you. Your phone buzzes with the Uber notification. You give your cat one last kiss on the head. “Don’t wait up,” you mumble.

The club is huge. Loud and packed. The music thrums like a heartbeat in the pavement beneath your feet. The line outside stretches down the block and curls around the corner. You suck in a breath, heart already skipping.

This…is definitely not your speed. But you keep your head down, stay in line, and when you finally reach the front, you dig through your bag for your ID–only for the bouncer to nod at you and open the velvet rope. “Go ahead.”

You look at him confused. “Wait, what–?”

But the guy’s already moved on to the next person. You step inside. The air hits you like  a wall: warm, electric, pulsing with music, and sweat, and weed. Neon lights flicker from above, reflecting off mirrored walls and liquor bottles behind the long bar.

People are dancing, drinking, pressed together in corners and booths. It’s chaos. Flashy and expensive. Like something out of someone else’s life. You hover next to the bar, trying not to look too awkward. You pull out your phone and text: i’m here.

You chew your lip. Grip your purse. You feel like you don’t belong, like you’re playing dress up. You wonder where he is–if he’s even here yet. If this was a mistake. Until you feel a hand curl gently around your waist. And hear that familiar voice, low and close to your ear. “Of course you wore that sweater.”

You turn, already smiling. Nam Gyu’s standing there in all black–jeans that fit way too well, a dark t-shirt, and a subtle chain around his neck. He looks good. Too good. And he’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the room.

He leans in a little, fingers still at your waist. “You want a drink?”

You hesitate. “Um…something light?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Light?”

“I have to function, Nam Gyu,” you tease, bumping his arm gently.

That gets a crooked grin out of him. “Got it. Girly. Weak. Possibly pink.”

You roll your eyes but don’t let go of the smile tugging at your lips. “I trust you.”

He waves down the bartender–doesn’t even have to wait. Just murmurs something low and quick, and the guy nods and starts mixing. You blink, impressed. “You really own this place?”

He shrugs. “I helped start it. Now I run most of it.”

The drink slides into your hand moments later. It’s pink. Fizzy. Garnished with a sugared rim and a twist of something citrusy. You raise an eyebrow. “This better not make me black out.”

He laughs. “You’ll be fine.”

You take a sip. It’s sweet, barely any alcohol, and honestly–delicious. “Okay, you win.”

“Say it again,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle against your hip. “I win.”

You bump him again with your elbow. “Don’t push it.”

Nam Gyu leads you through the maze of people like he’s done it a thousand times. And you guess he has. He knows this place like muscle memory–nodding at staff, sliding past corners and shadows and pulsing light until you’re climbing a narrow set of stairs tucked behind the DJ booth.

The noise dips once you’re up top. Not gone, but softened. The VIP lounge is sleek and expensive. Still crowded, still buzzing–but the music doesn’t rattle in your teeth up here. The lighting’s softer, the drinks fancier, the couches low and plush and wrapped in velvet.

You hover just inside the railing. You can see the whole club from here. The crowd below like moving constellations, all glitter and movement and rhythm. It’s a little surreal. This whole night is.

Nam Gyu presses a warm hand to the small of your back. “You okay?”

You nod, eyes still on the floor below. “It’s just a lot.”

“You’re doing good.” His voice is warm, fond. “You look good, too.” You glance at him, just to see if he means it. He’s already looking. Already caught. You feel heat bloom at the base of your throat. “Still soft,” he murmurs, fingers brushing the edge of your sweater where it tucks into your waistband. “Still my girl in sneakers.”

Your breath catches. You don’t say anything. You just take another sip of your drink and try not to melt under the way he’s watching you.

You take the last sip of your drink, lips brushing the sugared rim one final time. Nam Gyu’s watching you–he hasn’t stopped. Leaning back on the velvet couch, one arm stretched along the back behind you, the other draped over his thigh. Relaxed and cocky. Completely zeroed in on you.

He looks like he owns the room. He catches your glance and tips his head slightly. “What?”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

You look away, eyes drifting down to the crowd below. Bodies moving together like waves. Hands in the air, heads thrown back, lights slicing through the dark. Music thrumming through the floor, vibrating faintly beneath your shoes.

“Still not your scene?” he asks softly.

You rest your arms on the railing, trying not to fidget. “Not really.”

“But you’re here.”

You bite your lip. “I said I missed you, didn’t I?”

His breath catches. It’s subtle, but you hear it. Feel it. That little hitch of surprise. Or maybe restraint. When you glance back, he’s already closer. Not touching. But closer. His voice dips. “You know, if I were still twenty-five, I probably would’ve pulled you into the bathroom by now.”

Your eyes widen.  “You’d pretend you didn’t want it,” he continues, “but you’d be dripping. Just like always.”

Your thighs clench under your skirt. You keep your face turned away, but he sees it–he feels it. You shake your head, forcing a light laugh. “You’re not twenty-five anymore. And I’m not nineteen.”

“No,” he says. “You’re better now.” His hand brushes your leg–barely there. Just the edge of his pinky along your thigh, just above your knee. A touch so light it might’ve been imagined. You press your lips together, pulse ticking fast in your throat. He leans in again, mouth near your ear. “Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you right now.”

You don’t answer. Not out loud. You just watch the floor below, the way the people dance like nothing else matters. Like they’re made for it. And you try to pretend your heart’s not thudding out of rhythm every time Nam Gyu looks at you like that.

The second he unlocks the door to his office and lets you inside, you don’t wait. You barely hear the click of it shutting before you’re pushing him back, slamming your mouth into his. His low grunt stutters in surprise, but he melts into it fast–too fast–his hands already sliding down to your waist like he’s been touch starved.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles between kisses, pulling at the hem of your sweater. “Didn’t know you were gonna be the one attacking me tonight.”

You tug him toward the couch, straddling him without another word. His back hits the cushions with a soft thud, and you’re already grinding your hips down into his lap, your long skirt riding up with every roll.

He gasps. Then grins. “Shit. Okay. What do you want me to do?”

Your fingers curl into his shoulder, eyes dark as sin. “Nothing.” You smirk. “Just sit there and be good.”

His breath catches, then he nods fast, wide-eyed and helpless. “Yes ma’am.”

You swear you feel him throb beneath you when he says it. You reach down between you and unbuckle his belt slowly, fingers brushing over the hardness beneath. He’s not just hard–he’s aching. You can tell by the way his head tips back, the way he groans when you palm him through his boxers. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He mutters again.

You slip your hand under the waistband and wrap around him, warm and solid in your grip. His hips jerk. His fingers clench the edge of the couch. He doesn’t even try to touch you back–just watches you, desperate and ruined, as you work him slowly, teasing.

But then your phone vibrates on the table behind him. You don’t look at it. But it keeps going. Buzz. Buzz.

Nam Gyu blinks up at you. “You can get it, baby–”

You grab it and answer without checking the caller ID. “Hello?”

Your brother’s voice hits your ear, loud and clear. “Hey–did you talk to the lawyer yet? They need the signature for Mom and Dad’s estate paperwork–”

Nam Gyu stiffens beneath you. Your free hand presses to his chest. Stay quiet, don’t move.

You clear your throat and try to keep your voice steady. “Yeah, I got the email, I just haven’t–”

You shift your hips, slowly. Nam Gyu gasps. “F-fuck.”

“Who was that?” your brother snaps. “Is someone with you?”

Your stomach drops. You answer too fast. “Just a friend.”

He goes quiet, then says, “You’re with him, aren’t you?”

You glance down at Nam Gyu. His jaw is clenched, brow furrowed. He doesn’t say a word.

“I knew it. I knew you were lying the second you said you ‘ran into him.’ What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You swallow hard. “I don’t need this right now.”

Your brother’s voice cuts like a blade. “What do you think Mom and Dad would say? Is this your way of grieving? Sleeping with him? Letting him back in? It’s fucked. You need to stop.”

You flinch, like his words reached through the phone and hit you. “Don’t do that,” you whisper. “Don’t throw them at me like that.”

He’s relentless. “Then grow the fuck up. Sign the fucking papers. Get your life together. And don’t come crying to me when he fucks it all up for you again.”

You stare down at Nam Gyu, your hand still curled tight into his shirt. His eyes are locked on yours, unreadable. He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t try to fix it. He just waits.

You hang up without saying another word. The silence in the office is heavy–tense, electric, raw. You press your hands to your thighs to steady yourself. Then you look him in the eyes, and sink down on his cock in one long, slow, devastating motion.

You fuck the anger out of yourself.

Hands braced on his chest, thighs tight around your hips, you ride Nam Gyu like you own him. Because in this moment–you do.

He looks wrecked beneath you. Face flushed, lips swollen from all the begging he’s done. Hair sticking to his temples, chest heaving. The matching bra and pany set you wore just for him is long forgotten–his greedy hands shoved the cups down, hands full of your tits, moaning about how perfect you are.

Though now, he’s bare beneath you. Arms pinned above his head, wristed held down by your strength, though he could easily break free. His cock buried deep inside you as you ride him hard and mean. “Fuck–please, baby,” he gasps. “I missed you–I missed this–please, let me touch–”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, hips grinding down, your cunt clenching just to hear the way he chokes on a moan. “You don’t get to touch unless I say.”

“Y-yes ma’am,” he whimpers.

You lean forward, lips brushing his ear. “You like being used, don’t you?”

His whole body twitches. “God–yes–I fucking love it.”

Your pace grows harsher, your breath ragged as you ride him harder. You feel how close he is–his cock throbbing, his body straining beneath you. You let go of his wrists and grab his face instead, making him look at you. “You gonna beg for it?”

He nods fast, completely gone. “Please let me come, please–please–I’ll do anything–I’ll worship you–”

You’re right on the edge too, hips slapping against his, your body shaking. And then–the door to the office swings open. 

“Nam Gyu, I’ve been looking for you–” The voice cuts off. She freezes in the doorway. Her. The girl from dinner. She’s wide-eyed, staring.

Nam Gyu doesn’t even flinch. “Get the fuck out!”

“Jesus–sorry–!” she blurts, scrambling backward and slamming the door behind her. 

Silence. Your chest heaves, your palms still splayed across his chest. You’re still seated on his cock–him still pulsing, twitching, begging.

You slowly start grinding again. Nam Gyu gasps like he’s dying. His hands grab your waist, desperate and clumsy. “Please. Please don’t stop. Please. I’ll do anything–just let me come inside you–I’ll die if you stop–”

You smirk, breathless. “Embarrassed, baby?”

He groans. “I don’t care. Let them all hear. I don’t care. Just don’t stop.”

And you fuck him again–merciless and slow–watching him unravel. You ride him until he’s coming undone beneath you, moaning your name like he’s worshiping it, spilling inside you with trembling thighs and bruised lips.

You both slowly start to get dressed, the sticky heat of your bodies cooling in the aftermath. He watches you as you fix your bra and skirt, soft and reverent, like he still can’t believe he got to touch you yet again.

When you’re slipping your sweater back over your head, Nam Gyu clears his throat and goes, “Can I come over tonight?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know, Gyu. If you know where I live and we…don’t work out…”

His jaw flexes, but he nods. “I get it. I do. But I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable. I swear. I’ll leave if you tell me to. Hell. I’ll sleep on the floor if you want me to.”

Your lips twitch with a reluctant smile. “Okay.”

The drive back to your place is quiet, but not awkward. His fingers rest gently on your knee the entire ride, like he’s grounding himself just by touching you.

When you pull up to your apartment, you glance over shyly. “It’s nothing like your fancy penthouse.”

Nam Gyu lets out a quiet laugh, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I used to live on the street, baby girl. Your place is heaven to me.”

You feel your stomach twist at the nickname, the sincerity in his voice, the softness that feels too real. He follows you inside.

A Few Weeks Later

The road stretches ahead in one long, gray ribbon, the sky overcast, heavy like your chest. You sit with your legs pulled up on the passenger seat, sweatshirt sleeves bunched around your fists, the silence between you and Nam Gyu comfortable–but weighted.

He reaches out every once in a while to rest his hand on your thigh, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your jeans in slow, absent circles. It’s been like that for most of the ride–quiet, steady touches. No music. Just the sound of the engine, the tires on the highway, and the occasional soft murmur between you.

After a while, he glances over. “So why are they selling the house now?”

You swallow. “My dad got really sick. About a year ago.”

His expression shifts immediately–brows pulling together, eyes flickering over you.

“He passed away six months ago,” you say, voice quiet. “Mom lasted another three months. I think she just gave up.”

He’s quiet for a long beat. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, his voice low and serious. “I didn’t know.”

You shrug, staring out the window. “It’s fine. It’s just been…a lot. Trying to get everything settled. Especially with my brother.”

Nam Gyu glances at you again. “He’s still giving you a hard time?”

You don’t answer right away. Just lean your head back against the seat and sigh. “He’s angry. About everything. And he’s always been overprotective. So when it comes to you…”

“I don’t care,” Nam Gyu cuts in gently. “Let him be pissed. I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Your glance at him, heart clenching. “You really didn’t have to come.”

He just shrugs, eyes on the road. “Yeah, I did.”

By the time you arrive, your stomach’s tied in knots. The house looks the same. Like it’s been frozen in time. The overgrown bushes. The chipped mailbox. The front door with the faded welcome mat your mom refused to replace. But it doesn’t feel like home anymore.

You spot your brother’s car in the driveway, along with the lawyer’s. The realtor’s already waiting on the front porch, arms folded, clipboard in hand.

Nam Gyu parks behind them and kills the engine. He glances at you. “You okay?”

You nod, jaw set. “Let’s just get it over with.”

You step out of the car together, and the second you and Nam Gyu walk through the front door, you hear it: “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You turn slowly, meeting his glare. He’s standing in the living room with the lawyer and realtor, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight his neck veins are visible.

You sigh. “Just let me sign the papers and we’ll go.”

His eyes cut to Nam Gyu. “You brought him here? Are you serious?”

“I said drop it,” you snap, already walking past him toward the kitchen where the documents are laid out. “We’re not doing this right now.”

Nam Gyu stays close but quiet, his posture tense. He doesn’t bite back–doesn’t give your brother the satisfaction of a fight. Not yet.

You take the pen the lawyer hands you and sign your name quickly, the sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

Your brother scoffs. “This is such a joke. You always do this. You let trash back into your life and pretend like it’s love.”

You slam the pen down. “I said we’re not doing this.”

He steps forward. “What do you think Mom and Dad would say if they could see you now?”

You open your mouth to respond–but Nam Gyu steps in, voice sharp and low, “Hey. That’s enough.”

Your brother’s gaze cuts to him with a fresh wave of hatred. And you–your hands are trembling slightly, but your face is steel. You just pick up your copy of the signed papers, turn to the realtor, and say flatly, “We’re done here.”

You walk out without another word. Nam Gyu follows, slamming the front door behind him. You’re halfway to the car when the fury claws up your throat like bile. You stop short, heart pounding. Then you spin on your heel.

Nam Gyu calls your name, but you’re already storming back into the house. Your brother’s standing in the living room with his arms crossed, smug like he won whatever argument this was supposed to be.

“Stop making their death about you,” you snap, voice trembling out of anger. “You have done nothing but make this whole process awful for me. I’ve handled everything while you sat in a different country and judged from afar.”

“Oh, please,” your brother scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t even show up to the funeral. Who are you to talk about grief?”

Your breath catches. Behind you, you hear the soft click of the front door as Nam Gyu steps back inside. He doesn’t say a word–just rests a steadying hand on your shoulder, grounding you. 

But you’re shaking. “I hate you,” you whisper at first. Then louder, “I fucking hate you.”

Your brother’s jaw clenches. “Take the money from the house,” you say, venom in every word, “and don’t ever fucking call me again.”

There’s a moment of silence–so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat. And then he laughs. Cold and cruel. “Oh, I see. Gonna run off to Nam Gyu now?” he sneers. “Let him make you feel special again, right? Until you have one minor disagreement and he beats you like he did his ex?”

The world lurches sideways. Your ears ring. You blink at him, stunned. Frozen. You didn’t mishear him. You couldn’t have.

You feel Nam Gyu stiffen behind you–but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say a single word. Your brother smirks. “Yeah. Bet he didn’t tell you that part, huh?”

Your mouth opens. But no sound comes out. The only thing you can feel is the blood roaring in your ears, and the warm, heavy pressure of Nam Gyu’s hand still steady on your shoulder.

You turn to him, jaw tight. “Let’s go.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t argue. Doesn’t glance back at your brother. He just follows you out of the house like a shadow.

The car ride is silent. He doesn’t start the engine right away when you both climb in–just sits there, hands limp on the wheel, staring through the windshield.

You cross your arms, sinking into the passenger seat, then say sharper than you mean to, “Can we go to the hotel, please?”

He flinches. But he turns the key. The drive is only ten minutes, but it feels like forever. No music. No words. Just the muted hum of tires on pavement and the ache of something cracking between you.

He parks. You both get out. Check-in is stiff, wordless–he pays, and you trial behind him to the elevator, eyes on the floor.

When you reach the room, he unlocks the door and lets you walk in first. The moment it shuts behind you, you just stand there. Motionless. The room is dim and clean and painfully quiet. It feels sterile. Temporary. A holding place for whatever happens next.

You turn to face him slowly. Nam Gyu’s already watching you. “Go ahead and ask,” he murmurs. His voice is steady, but there’s something hollow behind it–something bracing for impact.

You swallow. Your throat’s dry. “I…don’t know if I want to hear it.”

His jaw flexes. He looks away, then back at you, eyes dark and tired. “That’s fair.”

You stare at him for another beat, your chest rising and falling too fast. The air between you feels thick. Heavy.

“I didn’t hurt her,” he finally says, voice quieter now. “Not like he thinks I did.”

Your heart knocks hard against your ribs. But you don’t speak. Not yet. Because some part of you still isn’t sure which version of him to believe.

You cross your arms tighter across your chest, your nails biting into your sides. “Then tell me,” you say flatly. “I guess.”

Nam Gyu’s eyes search yours for a long, tense moment, like he’s checking for how much you really want to hear it. But then he takes a slow breath and begins. “It was bad between us. Me and her,” he explains quietly. “I was using all the time. Coke. Pills. Anything to get through the day. She wasn’t much better.”

You don’t interrupt. Just wait.

“We fought constantly. Screaming, throwing shit, doors slamming…the cops got called once. She said I grabbed her arm too hard. I probably did.” He shrugs, but it’s bitter, like he hates himself for even trying to sound casual. “I black out half that week. The only reason I remember any of it is because of the court transcript.”

You swallow hard.

“She dropped the charges a month later,” he says, gaze fixed on the floor now. “Said she exaggerated. Said she didn’t want to ruin my life. But the damage was done. I did six months for possession and resisting arrest.”

You stare at him. The hotel room is quiet. The carpet beneath your feet feels like it might give out. You take one step forward. Then another. And then you shove him. Not hard. Just enough that he stumbles back one step back. He blinks at you, stunned.

“Why,” you begin, voice cracking with fury, “do I still fucking love you after that?”

His eyes fly to yours, wide. “Wait…you what–?”

You shove him again. “You’re not a good guy.”

“I know that,” he says quickly, hands open like he’s surrendering, but there’s something desperate in his voice–like he wants you to hit him again, just to feel it.

So you do. Push him harder this time, until he stumbles back onto the edge of the bed, catching himself with his hands. You’re standing over him now, your whole body trembling with rage and confusion and want.

“So why do I love you,” you whisper, “and why do I wanna fuck you right now?”

He’s breathing hard, looking up at you like you’re the only god he’s ever believed in. “I don't know,” he whispers. “But please…do it anyway.”

Nam Gyu looks up at you like he’s already undone. You climb onto his lap without a word, straddling him, grabbing the front of his sweatshirt and dragging it up and off with a force that makes him gasp. Your nails scrape down his chest as you lean in, mouth at his jaw, biting hard.

He groans–loud–grabbing your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “I missed you,” he pants, “I missed you so fucking much–”

“Shut up.”

You crash your mouth onto his, messy and hot, all teeth and tongue. He’s already hard beneath you, bucking up into your core like he can’t help it. Your hand fumbles at his belt, yanking it open, and he moans like it physically hurts to be touched again by you.

“Fuck, fuck,” he stammers, head tilting back as you reach into his briefs, wrap you fingers around him. “Please, baby–please, I need you–”

You tear off your shirt, your bra, and then stand up just long enough to shimmy out of your pants and panites in one frustrated motion.

“Look at you,” he whispers, nearly breathless. “All for me?”

“Who else?” you snap.

He surges forward, mouthing hungrily at your chest, hands roaming your thighs as you push him flat on the bed and straddle him again, dragging his cock through your slick folds.

“Beg for it,” you whisper into his ear.

“Please,” he groans instantly. “Please ride me, baby, I’ll do anything–need you so bad–been so fucking empty without you.”

You sink down in one swift, brutal motion and he chokes, hands flying to your waist like he’s trying to anchor himself. “Holy fuck! You feel–fuck you feel unreal.” He gasps.

You ride himself without rhythm at first, just fast, messy, like you’re tyring to fuck the heartbreak out of yourself. His fingers bruise into your skin, jaw slack as he watches you, completely gone.

“You’re mine,” you growl, voice raw.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yours, all yours, always–fuck, don’t stop, please–”

You lean down, press your chest to his, fucking him deeper, harder, his name falling form your lips like a curse. Your teeth catch his bottom lip, dragging it before you kiss him again, rough and desperate.

The bed creaks. The headboard hits the wall. His breath is ragged and stuttering beneath you.

“Gonna come,” he whines, completely unguarded. “Fuck–please, can I? Inside you? Please let me…”

“Do it.”

He shatters with a strangled cry, clinging to you like you’re salvation. You don’t stop moving, riding him through it until you come too, a tidal wave breaking as your head falls into the crook of his neck, mouth open in a silent moan.

You collapse together–sticky, panting, clinging.

His voice is hoarse, barely audible. “I love you. Even if you hate me–I love you.”

You’re still catching your breath, chests pressed together and damp with sweat, when Nam Gyu murmurs, voice low against your temple, “Do you love me…or do you just love fucking me?”

You huff a laugh against his neck. “Do I have to only pick one?”

That makes him laugh–deep and breathless, warm in your ear. His arms wrap tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him again. The air between you settles, heavy with heat and history.

“I do love you,” you whisper eventually. “But if you ever do anything to me…I will kill you. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”

He leans back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s no trace of amusement left in his face–just the solemn curve of his mouth as he nods. “Oh, trust me,” he says quietly. “I know.”

You giggle a little, even as your chest aches. You curl tighter into him, cheek resting over his heart.

There’s a beat of silence. Then he whispers, “I’m sorry about how today turned out.”

You nod slowly, fingers tracing the faded ink on his ribs. “I’m just…glad to be done with it all, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I get it.”

You swallow thickly. “I really miss them.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t say anything–he just strokes your spine gently with the pads of his fingers, grounding you.

“I hope they can’t see how things turned out,” you admit, barely audible. “They’d be disappointed in my brother and me.”

He exhales. “You’re doing your best. You loved them. That’s what matters.”

You blink up at the ceiling. Your throat is tight, but the tears don’t come. “I don’t think I’ve ever really said goodbye,” you murmur.

Nam Gyu kisses your hair, cradling  you like you might slip through his arms. “Then maybe we do that tomorrow.”

You let your eyes fall shut, cheek still resting on his chest. His heartbeat thuds gently beneath your ear, slow now. Safe.

You yawn, voice muffled in his skin. “I didn’t go to their funerals.” Nam Gyu doesn’t say anything, just keeps rubbing your back, waiting. You swallow, then keep going. “Because I didn’t want it to be real. If I didn’t see it…then it wasn’t real.”

He exhales through his nose, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “I understand,” he murmurs. “They do too.” You close your eyes tighter. “It’s okay to grieve however you need to,” he adds gently.

“I guess my way of grieving,” you whisper, “is fucking a guy who’s no good for me.”

That makes him laugh–quiet and tired, like he knows exactly much weight lives in that sentence. “I’m trying to be good for you,” he says softly.

You shift, pressing your nose to his neck. “I know, Gyu.”

The morning comes with a dim gray sky and a chill in the air. You’re sitting on the edge of the motel bed, tugging on your hoodie, still half asleep. Nam Gyu runs a hand through his messy hair, watching you quietly.

He speaks up, voice rough with sleep. “I could take you to see them. If you want.”

You look up, startled. You hesitate, heart thudding a little faster. “I…I don’t know,” you admit. “I’ve never been. Not even once.”

Nam Gyu stands, walks over to crouch in front of you. “Then maybe it’s time.”

You stare at him for a beat, then nod slowly. “Okay. Yeah…okay.”

The cemetery is still. Wind rustles through the trees, leaves whispering to each other like they’re trying not to disturb the silence. You walk slowly between the rows, your fingers curled tightly into the sleeves of your hoodie, until you see their names etched in stone.

Your knees give a little when you reach them, and you let yourself sink into the grass. It’s cool beneath you, soft and damp. Nam Gyu stays quiet, standing behind you, one of his hands resting gently on your shoulder.

You stare at the headstones. Your lips part, but nothing comes out at first. It takes a moment for your voice to steady. “Hi,” you finally whisper. “I’m here.” You press your hands into your lap, knuckles white. “Sorry it took me so long.”

The air is thick with things unsaid. You look at the flowers someone left–probably your brother. You didn’t bring any. Didn’t think to. You feel stupid about it.

“I didn’t…I didn’t want it to be real,” you say. “I thought if I just kept going, you’d still be out there somewhere. I didn’t want to see this. I didn’t want this to be true.”

You draw in a shaky breath. Nam Gyu’s hand squeezes lightly. “I miss you both so much,” you whisper, your voice breaks a little. “I think I’ve just been pretending that I’m fine. Like maybe if I didn’t cry, I could just keep going. But I’m not okay.”

You look up at the sky. “I’m trying. I don’t know if I’m doing anything right, but I’m trying.”

And then, slowly, you glance over your shoulder. Nam Gyu is still there, hands in his pockets now, watching you with that same unreadable expression that somehow manages to be both calm and full of quiet affection. When your eyes meet, he just offers you a small smile. Gentle. Patient.

That’s all it takes.

The tears come without warning–hot, soundless, unstoppable. They roll down your cheeks like something broken, finally cracking open, something too tightly held for too long.

You turn away quickly, but Nam Gyu kneels beside you. Doesn't say anything. He just wraps an arm around you, pulling you into him, tucking your face into his chest as your shoulders shake.

Still quiet. Still safe.

You cry there, finally, in the open, in front of the only people you ever wanted to be proud of you. And Nam Gyu just holds you, steady and still, like he knows this is what you needed more than anything else.

The takeout containers are scattered across the bed, half empty and grease stained. You’re both sitting cross legged, the TV playing something mindless in the background, the glow of it soft against the hotel room walls. Nam Gyu’s balancing a carton of noodles on his thigh, shoveling them in like he hasn’t eaten in days.

You stab at a dumpling with your chopsticks and laugh when it slips out of your grasp for the third time. “Okay,” you grumble, “I’m gonna sue.”

Nam Gyu snorts. “Sue who? The dumpling?”

“I don’t know,” you say, popping a piece of broccoli into your mouth instead. “Whoever invented chopsticks. My hands are too sweaty for this.”

“You want a fork, baby?” he teases, nudging your side with his elbow.

You roll your eyes, pretending to be offended. “I’m fine. I’m strong. I’m independent.”

“You’re losing a war to steamed vegetables.”

You laugh, that warm, honest kind that makes your stomach flutter a little when you realize how easily he draws it out of you. You let the moment breathe, quiet and soft.

Then, Nam Gyu asks, gentle and unassuming, “How are you feeling?”

You pause, the air in the room suddenly a little heavier. You push a noodle around your carton. “I was fine,” you say, voice light and falsely bright, “until you asked.” You look up at him with a shaky smile, then down again. “I’m okay. Or… I will be. I think.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t press. He just hums quietly, finishes chewing, and reaches for one of the fortune cookies on the nightstand. He tosses one toward you, and it bounces off your chest before landing in your lap. “Open it,” he says. “Let’s see what your fate is.”

You crack it open and read the slip aloud: “Your strength is not loud, but unshakable.”

Nam Gyu grins. “It’s true though. You’re handling all this…better than I ever could.”

You crumple the fortune and toss it toward the trash, missing entirely. “Thanks, I think.”

He leans back on his elbows, watching you with something quieter in his gaze. “You don’t have to be okay right now. You don’t have to be anything for me.”

You make a face and throw a balled up napkin at him. “Okay, stop being sappy. I’m emotionally fragile and your tender little voice is gonna make me cry.”

Nam Gyu snickers, catching the napkin before it hits his chest. “Fine, fine.”

You nudge his leg with your knee. “What does your fortune say?”

He breaks the cookie with a dramatic flourish, unfolds the tiny strip of paper, and squints at it. “Huh.”

“What?” you ask, peering at him.

He looks at you, deadpan. “Says I’ll receive the most mind blowing head tonight.”

You stare at him, horrid for half a second–before you burst into laughter, clutching your stomach and nearly knocking over the soy sauce. “Shut up! No, it doesn’t!”

He’s already cracking up too, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m kidding. It actually says…” He clears his voice and reads it in a mock serious voice. “A long awaited answer will arrive when you least expect it.”

You go quiet for a beat, your laughter trailing off. “That one’s kinda eerie,” you say.

“Yeah,” Nam Gyu murmurs, folding the fortune and slipping into the takeout bag. “Guess we’ll see.”

You smile faintly, then settle in beside him again, letting your fingers brush against his without holding on–just a soft, simple connection. And for a moment, nothing hurts.

The silence stretches, warm and steady. He doesn’t say anything else. Just leans his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded. 

Outside the city hums below you. Inside, everything is still. You think: maybe this is where the worst ends. maybe this is where something new begins.

You don’t know what comes next. But for now, you stay.

a/n - so, so happy to be back posting again! i absolutely loved writing this story...so lmk if anyone would be interested in a part 2 of this! i'm cooking up some more juicy fics!! xoxo, squid

[sillylilsquid]

update!!

surgery went well! however my recovery has been far from that. i was hoping to get to spend these days writing but in reality i have been sleeping and praying to feel better.

i hope to be back soon, and appreciate the patience from everyone. i appreciate you all🖤 in the mean time! feel free to flood my inbox with plot/fic ideas for me to write up and spoil y’all with when i am better.

small hiatus !! 🖤

i have been writing like crazy these past few weeks! lots of good stuff coming soon. however! i am having surgery tomorrow and i’m unsure when i’ll feel up to writing/posting.

i apologize and hope to be back very soon!!

xoxo, squid

[sillylilsquid]

small hiatus !! 🖤

i have been writing like crazy these past few weeks! lots of good stuff coming soon. however! i am having surgery tomorrow and i’m unsure when i’ll feel up to writing/posting.

i apologize and hope to be back very soon!!

xoxo, squid

[sillylilsquid]

bunny kisses

pairing - hyun-ju x chubby!reader summary - You're curvy. Soft. Nervous. And Hyun-ju can't keep her hands off you. With her, sex becomes worship, and your insecurities start to feel a little quieter. You don’t know what this is, but it’s the first time you feel like someone sees all of you—and stays anyway. warnings - afab!reader, explicit sexual content, body dysphoria, very subtle fat shaming, lots and lots of filthy smut, 18+ minors dni!! 10.7k words

You just wanted to be wanted.

You didn’t download the app expecting anything. You weren’t even sure what you wanted–just that it had been a while. Since anyone looked at you like they saw you. Since someone touched you like they meant it.

So you picked the pinkest pictures you had. One of you in a little skirt, caught in a store window’s reflection, legs crossed just right, face hidden behind your phone. One where you’re smiling too big, holding an iced strawberry matcha. And one taken late at night in your bedroom mirror–kneeling in your bunny print pajamas, cheeks flushed, stuffed animals piled behind you like a little shrine to softness.

Your bio was simple. Soft girl. Iced matcha enthusiast. Just looking for something casual, I guess.🌸

You told yourself it was fine if it was just sex. Fine if no one messaged. You weren’t trying to fall in love. You just wanted to be wanted.

You don’t know how long you were scrolling–left, left, left, boredom and doubt pressing into your stomach like a weight. Until you stopped.

Hyun-ju.

Tall. Androgynous. Sharp jawline, dark sunglasses, a cigarette dangling from glossed lips in one photo. A black tank top with a gold chain glistening against her smooth skin at the gym. The last photo was a blurry mirror selfie in a dim room, the angle all collarbones and laziness, like she couldn’t be bothered to try harder–and didn’t have to.

Her bio made you suck in a breath. 

Terrible at small talk. I like good food, fast hookups, and soft girls with too much lip gloss.

You stared at it for a while. Your thumb hovered. And then you swiped right.

Matched.

She messages first.

well hello, gorgeous girl

Your heart flutters. You blink at the screen, reread it twice, then type back.

hi🥺

you’re killing me with that skirt in your second photo. is that legal? do you know what you’re doing to people?

You stare at the message with your mouth slightly open, fingers frozen above your keyboard. She’s not being subtle. She’s not playing games.

🥺🥺it’s just a skirt…

nah. that’s a weapon. you’re a weapon, bunny. i wanna put you in my lap and ruin you

You let out a squeak. Literally. You cover your mouth with your hand like you can shove the reaction back in. But your thighs squeeze together instinctively, and there’s no denying the warmth crawling through your chest.

you’re so bold omg😳 i’m not used to kind of attention

good. let me be the first. you deserve it, soft thing. i’d kill to make you blush in person

Your fingers tremble a little as you type your next message.

you kinda already are…

then let me take you out. tomorrow night. you dress up for me and i’ll try to behave.

behave?? somehow i don’t believe you

you shouldn’t. but i’ll still buy you dinner first. little place in Itaewon. candlelight. cocktails with flower petals. you’ll look good in that pink dress i just decided you probably own

Your lips part slowly. You do have a pink dress. Satiny. Short. The one you bought because it made you feel like a doll, but never had a reason to wear.

i actually do have a pink dress okay… i’m free after 7 🥺💕

good girl send me your number. i’ll send you the address. and bunny?

yes?

don’t be late i’ve been starving for something sweet

You let your phone drop into your lap. Your face is on fire. Your thighs are pressed tight. And your heart won’t stop thudding.

You booked a nail appointment that morning, even though your chest fluttered with guilt as you tapped your card–like part of you still didn’t think this date was real. But now, your fingers are delicate and pretty in the glow of your vanity mirror, the sheer pink polish catching the light like sugar icing. A soft shimmer to them, just in case she holds your hand.

You try not to stare too long at your reflection as you finish getting ready. Your pink satin dress clings more than you remembered. The hem brushes just above your knees, your thighs bare, your chest pushed up in a way that makes you feel both shy and desperate to be seen. You slip on your matching heels, the ones with the little bow at the ankle, and let your hair fall down your shoulders. You spritz perfume on your neck. A little on your wrist.

Then you stand in front of the mirror and pick yourself apart.

My arms look too soft. My thighs look huge. She’s going to take one look at me and think I catfished her.

Your pictures. They were all at angles. Posed. Edited in subtle ways. You looked thinner in them. Sharper. Safer.

But now you’re here. In the soft fold light of your bedroom. Real. Round. Small and curvy and so exposed.

Your phone buzzes. A message from Hyun-ju.

table’s ready. don’t keep me waiting, bunny.

Your stomach twists. You grab your purse and go.

The restaurant is dimly lit, tucked in the corner of a quiet street in Itaewon. Ivy creeps up the brick walls. There are candles on every table, their glow caught in the wine glasses like liquid flame. It’s the kind of place where dates turn into something more. Where people lean close and say things they don’t mean to say.

And she’s already there.

Hyun-ju stands to greet you. Her outfit is simple–just black slacks and a soft gray blouse, open slightly at the chest–but somehow she looks like she stepped out of a magazine. Her lashes painted with a small amount of mascara, her nails glossy. She leans on one hip and gives you a look that makes your skin go hot all at once.

Like she wants to devour you.

“Holy fuck,” she breathes, eyes raking over you from heels to hem to bare shoulders. “You’re unreal.”

Your voice catches in your throat. “I-I–hi.”

She steps forward and gently takes your hand, raises it, presses a kiss to your knuckles. “That dress should be illegal.”

You’re not sure if you can breathe. You sit quickly, letting her pull out your chair, trying to hide your flushed face behind the menu.

Dinner is a slow-burn blur of candlelight and stolen glances.

You order a drink with lychee and rose petals. It’s girly and sweet and tastes like spring. She watches you sip it with such intensity you nearly drop the glass. Her fingers toy with the stem of her wine glass white her other hand rests, casual and elegant, near yours on the table. She asks you soft questions–how your day was, what polish you picked, what perfume you’re wearing.

“You smell like marshmallows,” she murmurs, voice low, leaning just slightly across the table. “I want to lick it off your skin.”

You giggle, flustered. “You’re terrible.”

“I am.” Her smile curls like smoke. “But you’re making it very hard to behave.”

After your second drink, your cheeks are warm and your limbs are a little looser. You start talking more freely. She makes you laugh. She makes you squirm. Every compliment feels like it lands on bare skin. She watches you the whole time–like she’s memorizing you.

At one point, you lift your drink to your lips and she stops mid sentence, tilts her head.

“Do you know how pretty you are when you blush?” she asks softly. “You look like a treat. Sweet little cupcake.”

You hide your face behind your hand. “Stop.”

“Can’t.” She reaches across the table and tugs your hand away gently. “You don’t even know what you do to people, do you?”

You shake your head, shy. “I really don’t.”

She smiles. Not like she pities you–but like she’s starving. “You will,” she says.

The air outside is cooler now, sharp and smoky with the night. Your heels click softly on the pavement as you walk, your dress swishing against your thighs. Hyun-ju walks beside you with her hands in her pockets, every movement confident and unhurried.

You tell yourself not to read into anything.

It’s just a hookup.

She’s beautiful, and she wants you–for now. You’re allowed to want that. You’re allowed to want this.

But when she looks at you like that–like she could pin you to a wall with her eyes–your stomach turns itself inside out.

“You’re quiet,” she murmurs, glancing down at you. “Cold?”

You shake your head quickly. “No. Just…nervous, maybe.”

Hyun-ju hums like she expected that. She brushes your hand lightly with her fingertips. “You don’t have to be.”

“I know. I just–” You chew your lip. “I guess I keep reminding myself that it’s just…casual.”

At that, she stops walking. You blink and turn to her–and find her watching you with something darker in her gaze.

“Bunny,” she says, voice low and steady, “I know what kind of app we met on. And I know you’re trying to protect your heart right now. But I want you to hear this clearly.”

Her fingers tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. She leans in.

“You’re not just a body to me. You’re not just a hole to fill. You’re you. Soft. Sweet. Blushing and beautiful and dressed like a dream. And when I get you inside my apartment…”

She smiles. Slow, wolfish. “I’m gonna feast.”

Your knees nearly buckle.

Her place smells like clean linen and sandalwood. Dim lights. Tall bookshelves. A few mismatches art prints on the wall, but otherwise minimal–like she only brings home what she wants.

The door clicks shut. You barely have time to turn around before Hyun-ju is on you–not rough, not rushing, just hungry. Her hands find your waist. Her lips hover near your cheek. “Take your shoes off, sweetheart,” she whispers. “I want you comfortable when I take you apart.”

You step out of your heels. She guides you gently backward until the backs of your knees touch the bed.

“Sit,” she murmurs. “Just like that.”

You obey, nervous and breathless, hands clasped in your lap. The satin of your dress rides up slightly over your thighs. And she drops to her knees in front of you like you’re an altar.

“Oh, look at you,” she whispers. Her hands slide up your legs, over the soft curve of your calves, then your thighs. She spreads them gently, reverently, so she can kneel between. “Fuck, baby. You’re unreal. You’re art.”

Her hands knead at your thighs, slow and indulgent. Not rushing to undress you–just worshipping.

“So thick,” she murmurs, pressing kisses to the inside of one thigh. “So soft and perfect and fuck, I could die between these legs.”

Your breath catches. You grab the hem of your dress, trying to keep your hands from shaking.

Then she lifts it. Slowly, carefully. She pushes it up to your waist and stares like she’s starving.

“You’re shaking,” she says gently, and looks up. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“No–please, don’t,” you breathe. “Please.”

Her hands slide up to your hips, her thumbs brushing the waistband of your underwear.

“You’re so shy,” she whispers. “But you let me see you like this. You let me touch. That’s so good, bunny. You’re such a good girl for me.”

She presses a kiss to your belly. Then another. Then another. Her lips trial across your soft stomach, slow and adoring. She buries her face there with a soft groan, her palms now smoothing over your waist like she’s trying to hold all of you.

“Fuck, I love this tummy,” she murmurs. “So cute. So soft. Want you to ride my face with it spilling all over me.”

You gasp. “Hyun-ju–”

She pulls your panties down slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“You’re shaking because you’re nervous,” she says softly. “But soon you’ll be shaking because I won’t stop until you scream.”

Hyun-ju pulls your panties the rest of the way and drops them beside the bed like a trophy. Then she leans back on her heels between your spread thighs and breathes out like she’s seeing heaven.

“Come here,” she urges softly. “Come sit on my face.”

Your heart stutters. “W-what?”

She reaches up, hands gliding over your soft thighs again, but slower now. “I want your cunt on my mouth, bunny. Want to feel all this softness, all of you against my face while I make you cry.”

You blink fast, flustered, and fold in on yourself like a closing flower.

“I–I can’t,” you whisper, arms coming up to hide your tummy, legs shifting instinctively. “I’m too heavy. I’ll crush you.”

Hyun-ju tilts her head, but there’s no impatience. Just warmth. Just hunger softened by something almost tender.

“Oh, baby,” she murmurs, gently guiding your hands down, “you don’t have to be shy with me.”

You shake your head. “I’m not trying to be–I just–I know I don’t look like the girls people usually…”

“Fuck that,” her voice darkens. “You think I’d kneel for someone I didn’t ache for?”

You swallow hard. She leans in. Kisses your tummy again, then the crease where your thigh meets your hip. Each kiss is firmer. Hotter. Hungrier.

“I’ll never ask you to do something that scares you,” she explains, gently easing you back onto the mattress. “But I want to show you what I see when I look at you. Can I do that?”

You nod slowly.

She grins, voice low and coaxing. “Then be good. Lay back.”

You do.

Your body sinks into the sheets. Your dress is bunched around your waist. Your panites are gone. You feel bare, exposed–like every part of you is on display. But then Hyun-ju crawls up onto the bed and kneels between your legs, lowering herself down, eyes locked on yours.

“You don’t have to move,” she whispers. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me taste you like this.”

You gasp as she lowers herself, hands sliding under your ass to tilt your hips just right. 

“Fuck,” she breathes. “You’re soaked. Look at that. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You nod again, lips trembling. “Y-yeah.”

Her hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider. She buries her face between them like she belongs there–like this is what her mouth was made for. Her tongue licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, and the noise she makes? Pure filth.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” she moans.

You whimper. Your hips twitch, but she holds you still, strong palms gripping your plush thighs, her thumbs kneading into the softness.

“You’re gonna take it,” she breathes. “You’re gonna let me worship this pussy. Every inch of you. Don’t hide from me, baby. Don’t ever hide.”

And then, she devours you.

“That’s it,” Hyun-ju breathes against your clit, tongue curling slow and sure. “That’s my girl. Just like that.”

You choke on a moan, hips rocking helplessly, thighs trembling in her grip. She licks you through it again–again–and her voice is honeyed filth, smooth and dark and reverent.

“Such a pretty cunt, baby. Can feel you fluttering on my tongue. She’s so sensitive, huh? Just needs someone to pay attention.”

You whimper, hands fisting the sheets.

“I know, I know,” she coos, nuzzling into you. “It’s so much. Too good, isn’t it? That’s okay–I’m right here. Let it happen. Let me make you cum.”

Your whole body arches when she sucks on your clit, just the right pressure, just right rhythm–and her voice stays in your ear like a lifeline.

“You deserve this. All of it. Want you to remember how it feels to be wanted. To be worshipped. Cum for me, soft thing.”

You break like glass in her hands.

When you come down, your thighs are still twitching, breath in shambles, Hyun-ju climbs up your body–licking her lips, her cheeks flushed with heat.

“That was fucking beautiful,” she whispers, kissing your jaw. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

You reach for her before you even think about it. Your fingers tangle in her shirt, tugging, desperate. “Want–wanna take this off,” you mumble. “Wanna see you.”

She pauses. Watches you for a breath like she’s memorizing this–your need, your softness, your hunger.

Then she pulls you up gently and kisses you full on the mouth.

It’s not just hungry. It’s slow and messy and deep–her lips against yours, her tongue pressing in, letting you taste yourself on her. You moan into it. Your hands fumble at the buttons of her shirt. She helps you halfway, then strips it off the rest of the way, tossing it aside. Her bra joins it.

Then she guides your hands to her waist.

“Undress me, bunny,” she murmurs. “I want to feel your hands on me.”

You’re clumsy and breathless, but you peel her pants down, underwear too, until she’s bare between your legs–flushed and damp and trembling with restraint.

And when you both sink back onto the bed, skin against skin, you wrap your arms around her, your legs tangling. She kisses you again. This time, her hand slides down your tummy and between your legs.

“You’re still so wet,” she whispers. “You want more?”

You nod, dazed. “Please…”

Her fingers slip into you, slow and thick, curling just right. You gasp–and your hand moves instinctively. Down her hips. Across the inside of her thigh. She stutters in her breath when your fingers brush over her.

“Fuck–baby–” Her eyes flutter closed. “Yeah. like that. Want your fingers.”

You press in. she rocks down into your hand as she fucks you with her own–matching rhythms, kissing between gasps, her teeth catching your lip when your thumb brushes her clit.

The bed creaks. The room echoes with soft, wet sounds, breathless moans, half spoken praise.

“You’re so tight,” she pants. “So sweet–fuck, your fingers feel so good.”

“You too,” you whisper, voice cracking. “You feel–oh god–”

You both cum within seconds of each other–her hips jerking, your legs shaking, moans swallowed into messy, open mouthed kisses.

And when it’s over, you’re both breathless, your fingers still tangled inside one another, your bodies sticky and trembling and flushed.

Hyun-ju brushes her nose against your cheek, voice gone soft again. “Did so good for me, bunny.”

You nuzzle into her, afraid to say anything that might break the spell. She just pulls you closer, one arm draped over your waist, and breathes you in like a secret.

You lie there in a daze, limbs limp and chest heaving, body still twitching from the intensity of it all. Hyun-ju is half on top of you, warm and soft and barely catching her breath. For a long moment, all either can do is listen to the shared thrum of your heartbeats, skin slick and flushed where it touches.

Then she moves gently–pressing a kiss to your jaw before pulling back, her voice hoarse but warm. “Be right back, sweet girl.”

She disappears into the bathroom. You barely have time to miss her before she returns with a warm, damp washcloth and a glass of water. She knees beside you and begins to clean you up with the softest touch, kissing the inside of your thigh, your tummy, your hip bone as she goes.

“Still shaking,” she mumbles, almost to herself. “Did I ruin you, pretty thing?”

You blush, but you don’t answer.

She smiles and cups your cheek. “Drink some water. Gotta take care of my girl.”

My girl.

You take the glass and sip slowly. She watches you the whole time, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. Then she tucks you in, pulling the blanket up and settling beside you.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

You feel the weight of it in your chest–like if you stay here too long, you might forget that this was supposed to be casual. Just a hookup. Just one night.

“I should go,” you say softly.

Hyun-ju lifts her head. “What?”

You sit up, pulling the blanket around yourself. “It’s late. I should–I should get home.”

She frowns. “Bunny, just stay.”

You shake your head, voice too thin. “I really shouldn’t. I have work tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll get you an Uber.” She doesn’t say it with resentment–just quiet resignation. You look at her. Her mussed hair, the tenderness in her gaze. It hurts.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Hyun-ju pulls out her phone. “Don’t be.”

She orders the car without another word. When it arrives, she walks you to the curb in just her hoodie, leans down, and kisses your cheek.

“Thanks for tonight,” she murmurs. Her voice is too soft. “Sleep safe, gorgeous girl.”

And then, you’re gone.

The next day, you can’t focus at work.

You’re barely registering emails. Barely hearing your coworkers when they talk to you. You keep zoning out, thinking about Hyun-ju’s mouth on your skin, her breathy little moans, the way she kissed your stomach like it was sacred. You can still hear her voice in your head–lay back for me, bunny. You press your thighs together beneath your desk and tell yourself to stop.

After work, you decide to treat yourself–a little boba run before heading home. Something sweet to make up for the ache you’re trying not to name.

You’re halfway through ordering your drink when you hear her laugh. You freeze.

It’s her. You know her voice now, the rasp of it, the way her laughter curls at the ends like smoke. You turn your head before you can stop yourself–and there she is, in the corner of the cafe, dressed casual and effortless, her hair up, her head tipped back as she laughs at something another girl is saying.

The girl is pretty. And stylish. Skinny. Her makeup’s perfect. She’s leaning close, smiling wide, like she knows she’s winning.

You stare for too long. Hyun-ju catches your eye. For a second, she looks…surprised. Her smile softens, lips parting like she might say something. But your drink is called out. You grab it and turn away, hear in your throat, cheeks burning. You don’t look back.

Your apartment feels colder than normal.

You curl up in your bed in your favorite pajamas and try to color in your Sanrio coloring book, hoping the soft pastel colors and little bows will distract you. They don’t. Your thoughts keep spinning.

It was just a hookup, you remind yourself. You just wanted to feel wanted, even if it was only for one night.

And you did. You got it. She touched you like she adored you. She kissed you like she was starving. She said you were soft and sweet and delicious.

But she’s already moved on.

You swallow hard. Your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You grab it. Not her.

So you open the app again. The same hookup app where you matched with her in the first place. Maybe if someone else wants you–even for a night–it’ll quiet this aching in your chest.

You update your photos. You re-read your little bio. Then you swipe.

A few matches come quickly. You message one–she’s pretty, a little edgy looking, a pierced brow and dark lipstick. You say hi.

She replies: “Sorry, I’m not really into ultra-fem girls.”

Your stomach sinks. You match with another. She messages first, only to say: “Sorry, chubby girls aren’t really my type.”

You set your phone down. You stare at the ceiling. Suddenly, you feel stupid for trying. For getting dressed up. For shaving your legs. For letting yourself hope. You press your face into the pillow and squeeze your eyes shut.

It was just a hookup. So why does it feel like something’s breaking?

You take the next day off work.

You tell yourself it’s just a mental health day. Nothing to do with the hookup you can’t stop thinking about. Nothing to do with the pretty girl you saw Hyun-ju laughing with at the boba shop. Nothing to do with how you spent half the night swiping through a hookup all only to cry yourself to sleep hugging your stuffed bear.

Nope. Not at all.

So you go shopping.

Retail therapy. That’s what people call it, right? You put on your cutest spring cardigan, gloss your lips, and head downtown to your favorite boutiques. You touch silky dresses, oversize bows, sparkly claw clips. You wander slowly through pastel aisles of blushes and creams and shimmer-stick highlighters that promise to make your cheeks “dewy like fresh strawberries.”

And for a little while, you do feel better. A little lighter.

In the dressing room, you try on a little pleated skirt with a lace trimmed pink top, the kind that hugs your curves and shows just a hint of cleavage. You try not to dwell on how tight it is around your middle–or how you keep posing at angles that look more like your profile photos than your actual reflection.

But when you twirl once and catch sight of yourself in the mirror–soft thighs, plush tummy, the shimmer on your cheeks catching the light–you pause.

You look…cute.  Like a cupcake with a pulse.

You whisper, “Okay. Not so bad,” and take a picture before you change.

Next stop: lingerie.

It wasn’t part of the plan, but you wander in anyway, drawn to a matching set in strawberry pink–a balconette bra with little embroidered hearts and a soft, satiny panty with ribbon ties at the hips. You buy it before you can talk yourself out of it.

You’re just tucking it into your shopping bag when your phone buzzes in your purse. You ignore it at first.

But then–something…prickles. A gut feeling. You pull out your phone and glance at the screen.

Hyun-ju.

Your heart stumbles. Your thumb freezes mid-scroll. You tap.

can i come over tonight? need to taste you again, soft thing. been thinking about your thighs all fucking day.

You stand dead still in the middle of Sephora, clutching your phone like it might explode. Your knees nearly buckle. Your brain goes static. Every insecurity from the last 48 hours–the hookup app, the girls who didn’t want you, the way you felt like a placeholder in someone else’s night–all of it vanishes under the heat of ten little words.

She wants you. She still wants you.

You bite your lip and read it again. And again. Your whole body feels warm–cheeks flushed, thighs pressed together, chest rising faster.

You don’t even think before you type. First, you send your address.

i’ll leave the door unlocked. i bought something new. pink and pretty. just for you.🫣

You don’t even wait for a reply. You’re already hurrying home, clutching the lingerie bag like a secret pressed to your heart, already imagining the way her eyes will darken when she sees you.

You don’t even remember the walk home. Just flashes of traffic lights and the ghost of her messages still burning in your chest.

By the time you’re inside, you’re already shedding your jacket, your shoes, your nerves. The apartment is quiet–soft lighting from your little bunny lamp, a vanilla sugar candle flickering faintly on your nightstand. You toss your shopping bags on the bed and breathe in.

Okay.

You’ve got time. You need to get ready.

You peel off your clothes, lay them gently over your chair, and pad into the bathroom. You brush your hair until it falls glossy over your shoulders, smooth on a little shimmer lotion, then pull on the new set–soft pink, heart stitched, with those little satin ties that make you feel like a gift someone’s about to unwrap.

In the mirror, you pause. You look…nervous.

Flushed cheeks, bitten lips, your thighs touching sweetly at the top. The lingerie hugs your curves snug–and for a split second, the doubt creeps in.

Too much. Too thick. Too squishy. Too much.

But then you remember the way Hyun-ju looked at you–devoured you–with her eyes, her mouth, her hands. You remember the things she whispered with her lips against your belly. The way she gripped your thighs like she wanted to live between them.

You breathe out. Okay. You can do this.

You throw on your bunny robe, soft and oversized, and fluff your pillows. You set out a glass of water on your nightstand (just in case), light another candle, and pull the curtains closed.

Then you sit on the edge of your bed, heart racing, robe still open just enough to show the pink lace beneath–and you wait.

You don’t know what tonight means. You only know she’s coming. And that you want her to ruin you softly.

You hear the knock and nearly jump out of your skin.

Your robe’s barely tied. Your cheeks are already hot. You open the door, heart in your throat. And there she is.

Hyun-ju stands there in a long coat and boots, hair down, eyes dragging over you with heat that makes your knees wobble. Her gaze drops to the pale pink peeking through your robe, then back up–slowly, purposefully.

“Look at you,” she murmurs. “Answering the robe in your little bunny pajamas. Trying to kill me?”

You try to speak–to joke, to flirt back–but it’s like your voice gets lost somewhere in your chest. Hyun-ju steps forward, closes the door behind her with a soft click, and cups your face in one warm hand.

“I missed this,” she says softly. “Missed you.”

And then she’s kissing you. It’s not sweet, not at first–it’s hungry, hands finding the curve of your waist, tugging at your robe. She guides you backward, step by step, until your knees hit the edge of the bed.

And then? Then it’s a blur.

Your robe is peeled off. Her mouth between your thighs, her voice filthy and reverent as she praises every part of you. She kisses your belly like it’s holy. Moans into the softness of your thighs like she’s starving. Tells you you’re so pretty like this, legs open, pussy soaked, voice cracking under her tongue.

You’re still breathless when she finally curls into you, fingers drawing lazy shapes on your bare hip, hair messy against your shoulder. Lips still kiss bitten, and you can feel the warmth of her skin pressed to yours in all the softest places.

Her voice comes low, a little teasing. “You gonna let me strap you?”

You choke on your breath, heart lurching. “W-what?” Your cheeks go hot. You glance down at her, wide-eyed.

She grins against your skin, chin nudging your chest. “I said,” she repeats, pressing a kiss to the swell of your breast, “are you gonna let me fuck you from behind tonight?”

You hide your face in your hands with a mortified little squeak. “I don’t–I’ve never–I mean, I don’t even own toys.”

Hyun-ju hums, clearly delighted. “Oh, we’re changing that.” Her voice drops a bit, playful but hungry. “Girl, you’re in for a treat. I’m gonna have you seeing stars.”

Your stomach does flips. You don’t know if it’s the nerves or excitement, or some wild alchemy of both. 

Hyun-ju stretches lazily across the bed, her gin devilish. “You really don’t have any toys?”

You shake your head, shy. “No. Never really…thought I’d need them.”

She hums. “That’s adorable. Tragic–but adorable.”

Then, with a smug little look, she rolls off the bed and unzips her backpack, casually pulling out a small black harness with a toy already snapped in place.

Your jaw drops. “You brought it?” Your eyes snap from the strap back to Hyun-ju. “So you mean like…you’re gonna…now?”

“Of course I did,” she says, amused as she begins stripping out of her clothes. “What, you thought I was bluffing?”

You stare at her, stunned, throat dry as she steps into the harness and tightens the straps at her hips with practiced ease. Your heart hammers. She looks so sure of herself–strong, sexy, in control–and when she catches your eye, her smile softens, just a little.

“You still okay, baby?” she asks gently. “We don’t have to.”

You nod. Too quickly. “Yes. I–I want to.”

“Good girl,” she murmurs. “Get on your hands and knees for me.”

You scramble into position, heart in your throat, burying your face in the pillows to hide your embarrassment–but you can feel how wet you are already, thighs trembling. Then you feel her behind you–warm hands smoothing your hips, kneading at the softness there. She groans low under her breath.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” Hyun-ju breaths. “Look at this perfect ass. All this soft skin just for me.” She drags her hands along the curve of your waist, your stomach, your thighs–squeezing, admiring. “You��re unreal.”

You gasp when you feel the head of the toy rub between your folds. She takes her time, letting it guide through your slick, spreading you gently.

Then she sinks in.

The stretch has you gasping, arms shaking as you brace yourself, and she leans over your back, kissing along your spine. “There you go, baby,” she whispers, “taking me so good already.”

Her hips pull back, then roll forward again, slow and deliberate. You moan into the sheet, and Hyun-ju groans behind you.

“Look at how perfect you are. Fuck, I love watching this–your pretty body bouncing for me. You feel so fucking good.”

Her rhythm picks up. One hand on your waist, the other sliding up your back, she grips your shoulder as she fucks into you harder. Every thrust makes you cry out, breath breaking.

You reach back without thinking–desperate, overwhelmed–and Hyun-ju catches your hand instantly, pressing it into the small of your back and holding you down. “Oh no, bunny,” she pants, “you stay right there. Let me take care of you.”

She pounds into you now, filthy and relentless, the slick sounds of your body filling the room.

You’re a mess, babbling into the mattress. “C-can’t–feels so–so good–”

“Yes you can, soft girl. You’re doing so good for me. Fuck, I could fuck you forever.” Her voice is thick, adoring, and a little ragged. “I love this body. Love the way you looked wrapped around me like this.”

Your legs are trembling. Your voice breaks. “Gonna–gonna cum–Hyun-ju I–”

“Do it,” she groans, pounding deep. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart.”

You cry out, body locking up as the orgasm crashes over you–loud, helpless, ruined. Hyun-ju doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, gasping, tears slipping from your eyes. Then finally, finally, she slows, hips rocking gently as she eases you through it.

You collapse into the sheets, boneless and shaking, and she leans over to kiss the back of your neck, whispering, “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

It doesn’t end after that night.

Hyun-ju keeps showing up–some nights with a bottle of wine, others with nothing but that cocky little grin and the promise of a good time. Sometimes she stays until morning. Sometimes she leaves right after, tugging on her hoodie and pressing a kiss to your forehead before slipping out into the dark. But always, she texts. Always, she comes back.

You don’t talk about what it means. You don’t ask. But you feel it.

In the way she pulls you into her lap at your kitchen table. In how she cooks you breakfast without asking where anything is. In the way she laughs with her whole body when you trip over your words trying to compliment her, teasing. “You got it bad, huh, bunny?”

You try not to let it show. You try.

But it builds anyway.

It’s in the little things–like how your phone lights up with her name and your heart stutters. Or how your breath catches when she calls you ‘baby’ in that low, warm voice. Or how she starts leaving her hoodie draped on the back of your chair, her shampoo in your shower.

And then one lazy afternoon, you’re out with her at some tiny boutique, giggling as you both try on ridiculous clothes that are way too expensive. She snaps a candid photo of you in the mirror–half laughing in an oversized sweater that swallows you whole.

Later, you see it on her story:

Mine🍓

No tags. Just you.

Your stomach flips.

That night, you’re curled up in bed, overthinking everything, her hoodie pulled over your bare legs. You hover over your keyboard for twenty minutes before finally sending it.

what are we hyunnie?

The typing bubble appears right away.

well, bunny…what do you want this to be?

And just like that, you forget how to breathe.

You stare at your phone, pulse thudding. You almost don’t want to keep going. You could leave it there, let it hang. Pretend you were joking. But something aches behind your ribs, loud and stubborn.

You type slow, fingers shaking a little.

idk. i mean i like this…you. i trust you but, how do i know you’re not seeing someone else?

Three dots. Then nothing. Then dots again. You swallow hard.

i saw you that day at the boba shop. with that girl. you looked…happy.

And then you wait. You start spiraling before she even responds. God, you think, I sound insane. Possessive. Needy. It’s not like we’re even dating. She doesn’t owe me anything. I’m just some dumb girl she hooks up with–

The screen lights up.

call me, bunny.

Your breath catches. You reread it twice. Call me? Your thumb hovers. Your stomach twists into knots.

i don’t want to bother you if you’re busy…

But your phone’s already ringing. Her name glows on your screen. Your heart pounds like a trapped animal. You hesitate–then answer.

“Hey,” you breathe.

“Hi, bunny.” Her voice is soft. Familiar. It slides through your chest like a warm knife. You don’t know what to say.

“You’re jealous,” she says, and it’s not cruel or smug. Just honest.

“I’m not…trying to be,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“It’s just…” Your voice wobbles. “That girl. She was really pretty.”

A pause. Then, “That’s my ex.”

Your heart stutters. Your tone comes out harsher than you mean for it to. “You hang out with your ex?”

“Yeah.” Hyun-ju sighs. “Look, we went through a lot together. She was there for me when shit was really bad. Like, scary bad. You wouldn’t understand.”

You don’t say anything. You’re still trying to process it–how casual she sounds. Like it’s normal. Like it shouldn’t matter. But it does. It really does.

“She’s not my girlfriend anymore,” Hyun-ju says. “We haven’t been together in years. But she…gets me. And I don’t have a lot of people like that.”

You nod even though she can’t see you. You want to believe her. You do. But something twists tight in your chest. 

“I’m not sleeping with anyone else,” she adds quietly.

You just hum, too unsure to say anything more.

There’s a pause. Then she speaks again, a little sharper. “You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

You chew your lip, eyes stinging. “I don’t wanna mess this up,” you whisper. “I just don’t know what I am to you. And that scares me.”

Another breath. This time slower. Gentler. “Bunny,” she murmurs, “you don’t have to be scared. You want something more, just say it. I’ll show up.”

There’s a long silence on the line. You can feel her breathing, low and even. Like she’s trying to decide what to say next.

You bite your lip. Then it just slips out. “Even if you’re not sleeping with her, you’re…emotionally invested. And I don’t know how to feel about that.”

Another silence. Then she sighs. It’s not sharp, not angry. Just…tired.

“I’ll tell you about it some other time,” she says finally. “It’s not something I wanna talk about right now.”

Your heart sinks. “Will you ever be ready?” you ask softly. “Or are you just using that to keep me around?”

The silence changs. It freezes. Sharpens. You can practically hear her jaw tighten through the phone.

Then a quiet, bitter laugh. “I don’t have time for this.”

And the line goes dead. You stare at your screen, blinking. The call ended. No goodbye. No explanation. Just a cold silence ringing in your ears and the sudden, crushing weight of regret curling in your gut.

Hyun-ju stares at her phone long after the call ends.

She presses the heel of her palm to her eyes. Her chest is tight. Her thoughts, louder than usual.

Why did she hang up?

Why the hell did she do that?

She opens her contacts, scrolls down, hesitates. Then taps.

“Hey,” comes the voice on the other end, warm and familiar in a way that cuts through the static in her head.

Hyun-ju swallows. “You busy?”

There’s a pause. Then, “What happened?”

She exhales sharply. “It’s the girl. Bunny.”

Another pause.

“She asked about you,” Hyun-ju mutters, thumb tracing anxious circles on the seam of her sweatpants. “Saw us at the boba shop, freaked out. She thinks I’m emotionally invested in you.”

“Well,” her ex says carefully, “you are. Just not the way she thinks.”

Hyun-ju lets out a frustrated groan. “Yeah, but–fuck, I didn’t know what to say. She asked if I’d ever be ready to talk about it. And I just…froze.”

Her ex hums. “You always do, when it matters.”

Hyun-ju goes quiet.

“You have to remember,” her ex continues gently, “not everyone keeps talking to their ex years after the breakup. You guys are barely a thing and she’s already doubting if she can trust you. That’s not her fault. You’re asking her to believe in something you haven’t even explained.”

“I know,” Hyun-ju says softly. “I know, I just…I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Then don’t.” Hyun-ju goes to speak but is quickly cut off. “Talk to her,” her ex says. “Even if it’s uncomfortable. Even if it’s hard. You’ve never told anyone, I get that. But if you don’t want to lose her–really lose her–you have to let her see you. All of you. Or else she’s gonna walk.”

“And if she doesn’t understand?”

There’s a beat. A breath. Then, “Then she was never good for you in the first place.”

Hyun-ju nods to herself, even though her chest aches at the thought. “Thanks,” she whispers.

Her ex is quiet. Then she says, with a little fondness in her voice, “She better be good to you.”

Hyun-ju’s messages come in quick succession.

bunny please can we talk i didn’t mean to hang up i just panicked i’m not good at this shit but i swear i’m not lying to you please don’t hate me

You read them all with your phone face down beside you, screen lighting up again and again. You don’t respond. Not because you’re angry–but because if you say something now, it might come out too sharp, too insecure, too much.

So you stay quiet. Pull your knees to your chest. Breathe through the ache in your throat. You try to sleep, but it doesn’t come.

And when 2:07am blinks back at you from your phone screen, you give in. Your thumb hovers, then taps her contact.

It rings once. Twice.

A sleepy voice answers. “Bunny?”

Her voice is low, scratchy with sleep. You can hear the confusion and the softness both. It twists something in your gut.

“I wanna talk,” you whisper. “Can we have lunch tomorrow?”

You hear the sound of rustling sheets. “Yeah. Of course. Anywhere you want.”

You nod, even though she can’t see you. “Okay.”

“Are you okay?”

You close your eyes. “I don’t know.”

Hyun-ju’s voice drops even softer. “Thank you for calling me.”

You let that sit between you, quiet but honest. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” she repeats. “Tomorrow.”

You hang up before you can say anything else.

You spot her before she sees you–tucked into the corner of the cafe, hood up over her dark hair, fidgeting with the sleeve of her jacket. Her eyes flick up and land on you, and she straightens a little in her seat.

She doesn’t stand. Doesn’t open her arms like she usually does. And somehow, that feels worse than if she’d looked away entirely.

So you step forward. Wrap your arms around her shoulders and lean down into the hug, holding tight like maybe that will say what you haven’t been able to.

Hyun-ju exhales, relief softening her body against you as her arms come up slowly to hug you back. Then you both sit.

You’re in a big sweater, sleeves pulled down past your knuckles, leggings soft from too many washes. Your hair’s up in a messy clip that you didn’t really try with. You didn’t have it in you to dress up.

Neither of you says anything for a while. You pick at your food. She sips her iced coffee too fast and sets it down with a quiet clink.

Then– “I’m insecure,” you say quietly.

Hyun-ju blinks, lips parting like she’s about to reassure you. 

But you shake your head. “No. Please listen.”

She nods and her mouth shuts.

“I’m insecure,” you repeat. “And I want to hear you out. I swear I do. I promise to listen. And try to understand. But…” Your voice falters, and you wrap your fingers tighter around the cup in front of you. “You have to see my side too. You can’t just expect me to be okay when I don’t know what’s going on. When I see things and make assumptions and then sit in it alone.”

Hyun-ju’s expression shifts–like something tight in her has just been touched. She looks down for a second, lashes low.

“I’m not mad at you,” you whisper. “I’m just scared.”

Shet lets out a slow breath, then looks up at you. Really looks. “Okay,” she says, voice low. “Let me explain. Everything.”

Hyun-ju holds her coffee between both hands, staring down at the melting ice like it might tell her what to say.

“She was my first serious girlfriend,” she says finally. Her voice is cautious. “Her name’s Jina.”

You don’t interrupt.

“At that time, well…” Her jaw works for a second, like she’s chewing on the words, trying to decide how much to give you. “So I am…I mean–well, you see–”

You reach across the table and gently brush your fingers over hers. Just once. Just to say, it’s okay, take your time.

Hyun-ju glances up, and whatever she sees in your face–steady, patient, open–it gives her the strength to keep going.

“When I came out as trans,” she says, and she doesn’t look away this time, “she was the only one there for me.”

Your heart catches. The way she says it–like it cost her something just to speak those words aloud.

“She helped me through my transition. Let me crash at her place when I got kicked out. Took me to my doctor’s appointments. Helped me pick out my name. And when I–when I got too low, when I…” her voice wavers, and she looks away, blinking fast. “I was so depressed. I didn’t think I’d make it. But Jina kept me safe. From everything. From…myself.”

There’s a silence. A gentle, painful silence that hangs between you like fog.

“I’m here now,” she says finally. “That’s what matters. But we couldn’t keep dating. She found someone else. And…we just fell apart.”

She huffs a soft, dry laugh. “I let her go. Romantically, I mena. But it’s hard to let someone go who was there for something like that.”

Your throat aches. You reach for her hand again, this time properly, and she lets you hold it. You squeeze it gently. And say, “Thank you for telling me.”

“I’m sorry for not listening last night,” you say quietly, your thumb brushing her knuckles. “I was…overwhelmed. And jealous. And scared. But that doesn’t excuse it.”

Hyun-ju shrugs, but you see the tension leave her shoulders–just a little. “I get it,” she murmurs. “I do.”

You smile, soft and a little shaky. “You’re so beautiful, Hyun-ju. And I really appreciate you telling me. For sharing that with me. That’s…not easy. But I’m glad you let me in.”

She exhales like she’s been holding her breath this whole time, gaze flicking down lips twitching with the ghost of a smile.

“Yeah, well,” she mutters, “you asked.”

You both laugh–quiet, a little awkward, a little relieved.

“So…we’re okay?” she asks after a moment, like she doesn’t want to hope too hard.

You nod. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

A beat passes. Then Hyun-ju grins. “That means we can go back to my place and I can eat you out, right?”

Your face flushes, and you groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god.”

She giggles, bright and playful. “What? Emotional vulnerability makes me horny.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling now–something soft and full and real blooming warm in your chest.

The door clicks shut, and before you can say a word, Hyun-ju’s hands are on your waist, sliding under your sweater with that familiar heat in her touch.

“You’re mine tonight, soft girl,” she murmurs, lip brushing your neck. “All mine.”

You barely nod before she kisses you–slow and deep, like she’s been starving. She tugs you toward the bed, helping you out of your leggings and sweater until you’re bare beneath her gaze. Her eyes roam you, hungry and tender, taking in your soft stomach, the stretch of your thighs, the curve of your hips.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she breathes, sinking to her knees at the edge of the bed. 

You squirm instinctively, thighs pressing together. “Hyun-ju…”

She gently coaxes your legs apart. “Shh. Let me look at you.”

She kisses the inside of one knee, then the other, moving slowly upward. Every press of her mouth is reverent, worshipful, and it makes your skin burn.

“You know how crazy you drive me?” she says, voice low. “All this softness…fuck. Your tummy, your thighs, these perfect tits–” she cups them with warm palms, thumbs brushing your nipples, “–I wanna live between your legs, baby girl.”

You whimper, head thrown back.

Then she lowers herself, breath hot against your center. Her tongue flicks out once–just a tease–and then she groans like she’s the one being touched. “God, you taste so good.”

She licks you slowly, languidly, like she has all the time in the world. You grab at the sheets, hips jerking, but she holds you down with firm hands on your hips.

“Relax,” she says, grinning against you. “Let me take care of you.”

She dives in deeper, tongue swirling around your clit, slow and relentless. She moans into you like she can’t get enough, her arms wrapped around your thighs, her hands kneading your hips and the soft swell of your tummy.

“I love how your body feels under my hands,” she murmurs between licks. “So plush. So perfect. I could eat you for hours.”

You cry out, trembling. “Hyun-ju–oh god–please–”

“Mmm. That’s it. Let me hear, you bunny.”

She sucks your clit, gentle at first, then harder–rhythmic, greedy. She slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right, and your whole body arches off the mattress with a sob.

“Gonna cum for me?” she whispers, pressing kisses into your thighs. “Let me feel you fall apart. I want it all–every noise, every shake, every drop. You’re so perfect when you break.”

You do. You come hard, legs clamping around her head, mouth falling open in a scream. She doesn’t stop–doesn’t even slow down–tongue still lapping at your clit, drinking in everything you give her like she needs it to live.

You’re wrecked. Shaking. Gasping for breath.

And she only pulls away to kiss your trembling thighs, then your stomach, then up your body until she’s holding you, cradling you against her chest. “You’re everything I want,” she murmurs against your hair. “Every inch of you.”

Your body’s still twitching from the last orgasm, legs boneless and shaky where they rest over Hyun-ju’s thighs. She hasn’t moved far–just enough to press soft, grounding kisses to your cheeks, your collarbone, your chest.

But her eyes? Still hungry.

Her fingers trace idle patterns over your stomach. “You good, sweet girl?”

You nod, dazed. “Mhm.”

Hyun-ju grins. “You think you’re done?”

You blink, lips parting. “I–I thought…”

She shakes her head, leaning to kiss your shoulder, your throat. “No, no. You’re too pretty for just one.” Her voice is a low, lazy purr now. “I need more. Need to feel you cum on my tongue again. Wanna make you cry this time.”

You shiver, heat blooming in your belly again so fast it leaves you breathless. Hyun-ju eases your thighs apart, eyes locked on your soaked, glistening center. “Fuck. Still so wet for me.”

She slides down the bed and hooks your legs over her shoulders this time. Her hands knead your hips, then trail upward–palms smoothing over your soft stomach, up to your tits, which she squeezes, massaging them gently.

“Look at you,” she whispers. “Laid out like a dream. In my fucking bed. You gonna let me ruin you again, bunny?”

You nod, wide eyed, breath caught in your throat.

“Words.”

“Yes, Hyunnie. Please, Hyunnie.”

She doesn’t make you wait. Her mouth is back on you, but this time it’s needy–filthy. She tongues your clit in frantic circles, messily, greedily, moaning into you like she’s starved. You gasp, thighs trembling against her shoulders as she devours you.

Your hands fly to her hair, gripping tight. “Hyun–f-fuck–”

“That’s it,” she pants against you. “So sensitive already. God, I fucking love it. Love how sweet you taste. How soft you are under me.”

You cry out, hips jerking, and she just groans, holding you down and going deeper–flicking her tongue fast, then flattening it, then sucking your clit with the perfect amount of pressure until you’re choking on moans.

Your second orgasm builds hard and fast, overwhelming. You feel it cresting–tight and hot–and you babble something incoherent, tugging on her hair like you’re drowning.

Hyun-ju just hums smugly. “Cum for me again, baby. Wanna see you shake. Wanna taste everything.”

You break.

Your whole body goes taut, then collapses as your orgasm crashes through you, even stronger than the last. You sob her name, thighs clenching tight around her head as she licks you through it, not letting up even for a second.

You’re trembling, gasping, your fingers tangled in her hair, and she stays there–pressing kisses into your soaked folds, your thighs, your tummy, until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation.

When she finally crawls back up to hold you, you’re flushed, dazed, messy with sweat and slick. “Still with me?” she teases, voice husky.

You nod, burying your face in her neck, and she kisses your cheek gently.

“I could do that all night,” she whispers. “You’re so good, bunny girl. So fucking perfect.”

The bathroom fills with steam, the air thick and hazy as you step under the spray with Hyun-ju behind you. Warm water rushes down your back, soothing your spent, aching body–but you barely notice it. Not with Hyun-ju’s hands all over.

“God,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck. “I can’t handle you. These perfect fucking tits.” She cups them tighter, thumbing your nipples until they’re pebbled and sensitive all over again. “This ass.” Her hands slide down, kneading your hips, your backside. “You’re unreal.”

You let out a breathy moan, already melting back into her.

Hyun-ju hums, biting lightly at your shoulder. “You okay for another round, baby?”

You nod, needy and breathless. “Please.”

Her laugh is dark, pleased. “Yeah? Wanna cum for me again, right here in the shower?” Her hand dips lower, between your thighs, fingers sliding through your folds. “Still so wet,” she teases, even though the water’s pouring over you both. “Always so ready for me.”

You whimper when she starts rubbing slow, steady circles over your clit, leaning forward to brace yourself on the shower wall. She presses up behind you, one arm around your waist to steady you as she works you open again.

“You’re so good for me,” she murmurs, mouth hot against your ear. “So sweet. Letting me touch you like this. Letting me make you feel good.”

Your hips buck into her hand, every word shooting straight to your core.

“You like it like this?” she asks, slipping a finger inside you, then another. “Bent over for me? Taking what I give you like a good girl?”

“Y-yes, fuck–”

She scissors her fingers, curling them expertly until your whole body is trembling, your moans echoing against the tile.

“That’s it,” she pants. “I wanna feel you cum on my hand this time. Wanna feel your pussy clench while I fuck you like this.”

You’re almost there–again–already.

Hyun-ju senses it. She presses her body tighter to yours, rutting gently against your ass with a low groan. “Cum for me again, soft girl. Show me how much more you can take.”

You shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, your cry muffled against your arm as you jerk and twitch against her hand. Hyun-ju holds you through it, praising you the whole time–so pretty, so good, so perfect–until you’re trembling in her arms.

She kisses your shoulder, then your jaw, then your lips.

“That’s three,” she whispers. “You think you’ve got another in you, or should I carry you to bed and spoil you some more.”

You’re still catching your breath when Hyun-ju kisses your neck again, leaving dark bruises along your skin, nuzzling against your skin with a soft chuckle. “God, baby,” she breathes, fingers sliding slow and sticky between your legs, teasing your folds again. “You’re already so sensitive…”

You whimper, thighs trembling. “I-I don’t know if I can–”

“Yeah, you can,” she whispers, mouth at your ear. “I know you can. You’re doing so good for me.”

She drops to her knees right there in the shower, hands gripping your thighs as she spreads them apart again. Water runs down your stomach, between your breasts, trailing over your soaked cunt–and Hyun-ju watches it like it’s divine.

“Let me see,” she murmurs, licking her lips before she leans in. “Let me have it again.”

Then her mouth is on you, tongue moving in slow, firm circles over your clit, fingers sliding back inside you like they never left. You gasp–your whole body already over sensitive–but her touch is practiced, knowing, relentless. Her fingers fuck up into you swith a steady rhythm, curling just right. Her mouth works you faster, wetter, until your head is tipped back and your cries echo off the tile.

“Tha-that’s too much–Hyun-ju, I–”

She groans into your pussy. “That’s it,” she pants, fingers pounding faster, her voice thick and reverent. “That’s what I want. Gimme one more. C’mon, bunny–I know you feel it.”

You do. It’s building too fast, pressure pooling deep in your belly, your thighs shaking uncontrollably. It’s more intense than anything you’ve ever felt–raw and dangerous and just barely on the edge of too much.

You cry out as the wave crests.

“I got you,” Hyun-ju moans, mouth never leaving you. “Come on, let go. Let go for me, baby–”

And you snap. Your body convulses as you cum, harder than  you ever have before–legs buckling, eyes rolling back. You scream, and something inside you releases. Warmth gushes from you in pulses, soaking her mouth, her hand, the tile beneath you.

“Ohhh fuck yes,” Hyun-ju groans, sounding wrecked. “That’s it. That’s it, baby–fuck, that’s what I wanted. Look at you. Look at how good you’re doing for me.”

You’re gasping, shaking, overwhelmed. She slows her fingers but doesn’t stop–just words you through the aftershocks with soft murmurs and hungry kisses to your thighs. Her voice is full of awe.

“You squirted for me,” she says, kissing your shaking thighs. “You fucking squirted, baby. You’re unreal.”

You slump against the shower wall, panting, your skin flushed all over. “I–I didn’t even know I could–”

Hyun-ju kisses your hip, then looks up at you with the filthiest grin you’ve ever seen. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”

Hyun-ju towels you off slowly, lovingly–pressing kisses to your thighs, your belly, your collarbone between each gentle pat. When you finally stumble out of the bathroom, she’s already pulled one of her oversized shirts from the drawer, sliding it over your head with a quiet, “There we go. That’s better.”

It smells like her. You melt into it instantly.

She helps you into bed–pulling the covers up, smoothing your hair off your forehead–and then slides in beside you, curling her body around yours like you’re something precious. Her hands stroke up and down your side beneath the shirt, lingering at your waist, your hip, the curve of your belly.

“You okay?” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nod, cheeks warm. “More than okay.”

Hyun-ju hums, fingers still tracing your skin. “You were so good for me. So beautiful. You know that, right?”

You hide your face in her chest, shy but glowing. “Stop…”

“I mean it,” she says, tipping your chin up. “I love your body. Every inch. The way you sound, the way you move, the way you feel. I think about it all the time.”

You bite your lip, heart racing in your chest. Her eyes are soft–unguarded in a way that makes your breath catch.

And then quietly, almost like a secret, you say, “Can I tell you my favorite things about you?”

Her brows lift in surprise. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

You inhale, then glance down at her fingers still resting on your hip. “I like how you touch me,” you begin softly. “How gentle you are when you don’t have to be. Like…when you think I’m not paying attention.”

Hyun-ju doesn’t say anything. Just listens.

“I like your laugh,” you add. “When you laugh so hard you crinkle your nose. And how you always smell like citrus and something warm. And how you remember everything I say, even the little things.”

Your voice lowers. “And I like your body too, Hyunnie. You’re so strong. I like your arms. Your shoulders. Your back. Your abs.” You flush a little. “Sometimes I stare when you’re not looking. You just…look like someone I feel safe with.”

You look up at her, eyes wide and vulnerable. “And I like the way you look at me. Like you’re letting me see something no one else gets to.”

Her mouth parts–like maybe she wants to say something–but she just exhales instead and wraps her arms around you, pulling you in.

She kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose. “You’re gonna break my heart,” she whispers, smiling faintly. 

You bury your face in her chest again, voice barely audible. “Then at least you’ll know you had it.”

She holds you tighter.

The silence stretches between you, soft and drowsy. Her fingers trace idle shapes along your spine, the slow rhythm lulling you into that fragile place where truth comes easy.

You lift your head just slightly, just enough to see her eyes. “Hyunnie?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

She nods, brushing her thumb along your cheek. “Anything.”

You swallow, voice small. “Do you…want this to be more than just hookups?”

Hyun-ju’s hand stills. She blinks once, lips parting. “Do you?”

You meet her gaze, trying not to flinch from how exposed you feel. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I think I do.”

For a moment, she just stares at you–like she doesn’t quite believe it.

“You really want…me?” she says quietly. Her voice is raw, unsure in a way you’ve never heard before.

You nod. “I like being with you. Not just in bed. I like you. And I want to see where this goes. If you do.”

She lets out a slow breath, eyes searching yours. Then–so gently–she leans in to kiss you. Not hungry, not desperate. Just…real.

When she pulls back, she rests her forehead against yours. “Okay,” she whispers.. “Let’s try. If you’re in, I’m in.”

You smile, curling closer into her chest. Her arm wraps around your waist, holding you against her like she means it.

“Good,” you murmur. “Just…don’t disappear on me, okay?”

“I won’t,” she replies. “Not unless you ask me to.”

You fall asleep with her heartbeat under your cheek, her hand warm on your back, and something new–tentative and bright–blooming quietly in your chest.

a/n - i hope you all enjoyed!! hyun-ju is literally just the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world. I just know she worships her partner for sure ;)

taglist - @jeongteen

[sillylilsquid]

afterlife

pairing - au!felix x reader summary - after losing felix in a tragic accident, you find yourself caught between the unbearable weight of grief and the fleeting warmth of the dreams where he still lives. but healing asks for goodbye...and love, real love, never leaves empty handed. warnings - death, brief mention of car accident, grief, mentions of the afterlife, depression a/n - this was inspired by a holding absence song (afterlife), and even tho it's short, I hope you enjoy as much as I do. grief affects every one different, healing is not linear 2.5k words

The apartment is too quiet.

No hum of his music in the next room. No kettle clicking off. No voice–his voice–calling your name like it meant something soft and sacred.

Just the low buzz of the refrigerator, and the ticking of a clock you never paid attention to before.

You sit on the couch and try to breathe. Try to make your lungs work. Try to exist in a world where he doesn’t anymore.

Felix is gone.

Dead.

The words should mean something by now. They should feel solid, real, heavy enough to hold in your hands like stone. But they don’t. They just hang there–weightless, untouchable. A sentence you keep choking on every time it echoes through your skull.

He’s dead.

He’s gone.

He’s never coming back.

And you’re still here.

The apartment is filled with his things. His shoes by the door. His charger curled on the nightstand. His mug still in the sink with the faint ring of tea staining on the inside.

You haven’t touched any of it.

You can’t.

If you move even one thing, it’ll all become real.

Your fingers tighten around the hoodie in your lap–his hoodie. Soft from years of wear, stretched at the wrist, smelling faintly like his cologne and laundry detergent. You press your face into it and breathe until your chest aches. It doesn’t smell as much like him as it used to.

You cry again. You didn’t think you had any tears left, but grief is greedy. It always finds more.

You remember the last thing he said to you.

It wasn’t profound. It wasn’t even the kind of thing you’d want engraved on a headstone or tucked into a letter. It was just– “Don’t forget to eat something, okay? I’ll be back in a bit.”

He never came back.

They said it was instant. The driver didn’t stop. There wasn’t time to call you. By the time the hospital found your number, he was already cold.

  You don’t remember how you got home that day. Just flashes. A white hallway. The sterile lights. A nurse with soft hands and sad eyes. Your knees hitting the floor. The sound you made–howling, ugly, animal.

You haven’t made a sound since.

Night comes slowly. You lie in bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Felix’s hoodie tucked under your chin. The silence is so sad it hurts. You close your eyes just to make it stop.

And when you sleep–you dream.

It’s warm.

There’s a soft breeze brushing your skin, the scent of cherry blossoms floating through the air. You’re sitting on a bench you half remember from some afternoon last spring. The sky is pale violet. The world's feel light–like it’s holding its breath.

You don’t know how long you’ve been there. You look down at your hands. They’re not shaking. You’re not crying. You’re still.

Then–

“Hey.”

Your head snaps up. And he’s there.

Felix.

Standing a few steps away in that old hoodie, hair messy, hands in his pockets. Just like always. Just like you remember.

Your heart stops. He smiles. Not radiant. Not glowing. Just…soft. Familiar. Real.

“You look tired,” he says. His voice. His voice. “Have you been sleeping okay?”

You can’t breathe. You can’t think. “Felix?” you whisper, your voice breaking around the shape of his name.

He nods.

“Is this a dream?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Does it matter?”

You stand slowly, afraid if you move too fast, he’ll disappear. But he doesn’t. He watches you with those same eyes–warm brown, full of galaxies.

“I miss you,” you say. It sounds small. Inadequate. Like carving a grave with your fingernails.

Felix just looks at you. His expression doesn’t change, but something in the air shifts. His voice is gentler this time. “I know.”

And then–he steps forward. Wraps his arms around you. Pulls you in, slow and solid, like gravity itself has decided to give you back everything you lost.

You collapse into him. You don’t know how long you stay like that. You don’t want it to end.

You wake up with tears on your cheeks.

The sheets are tangled. Your hoodie’s on the floor. And your chest aches in a way that’s too familiar now, like grief settling behind your ribs again.

The dream stays with you like a bruise. Felix’s voice–soft, teasing. His arms around you. That smile.

You sit up slowly, rubbing your face. You don’t remember falling asleep. You don’t remember how you even got to bed.

But you remember him.

And for the first time since he died, you feel something. Not peace, not hope. But something like…yearning.

・・・・・

A few weeks later

Time slips sideways. You don’t really feel it anymore.

You sleep a lot. At first, it was because you were exhausted. Then because you wanted to dream. Now–because it’s the only way you see him.

Food becomes optional. Conversations blur. You start telling white lies about feeling better just so people stop checking in. You cancel plans. Ignore texts. You sleep.

And in your dreams, Felix is always there.

You sit beside him on the swings behind your childhood school. He pushes you gently, laughing when your shoes kick up mulch.

You lie next to him in the grass under stars that look too close, listening to music from a cracked phone speaker.

He holds your hand. He kisses your forehead. He whispers your name like it still means something.

And one night, in a dream where the sky looks like watercolor and the air smells like summer, you whisper, “When I close my eyes, I dream I’ll see you in the afterlife.”

Felix just looks at you, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Then don’t stop dreaming.”

The real world feels thinner lately. Washed out. Too bright and too quiet all at once.

You’re sitting across from Chan at a small table in your favorite coffee shop, yours, Felix’s, and his. The one with the mismatched mugs and lopsided pastries. It should feel comforting. Instead, you feel like you’re underwater.

Chan stirs his drink in silence. He’s watching you. 

“You’ve lost weight,” he says softly, not quite meeting your eyes.

You shrug. “I’m just tired.”

He doesn’t answer, just frowns. You stare out the window for a while before you say it. “Chan…I’ve seen him.”

His hand still around his spoon.

“I don’t know if it’s real,” you continue, staring down at the coffee cup cradled in your palms. “But every time I fall asleep, he’s there. He talks to me. We do stuff we used to. He holds me. He remembers everything. It’s like–he never left.”

You finally look at him.

Chan looks older than he did a month ago. Grief changed you both, but in opposite directions. Where you’ve sunk inot something dreamlike, Chan looks too awake. Like he hasn’t rested in weeks. His name falls from his lips gently, too gently.

“That’s…that’s a dream. I know it feels real. But you know it’s not.”

“But what if it is?” you whisper, desperate. “What if that’s where he is now? What if he’s waiting for me?”

“He wouldn’t want you to live like this.”

Your throat tightens. You press your lips together and blink hard, but the tears come anyway. “I just don’t know how to be here without him.”

Chan reaches across the table, covers your hand with his. His palm is warm. Solid. Real.

“You don’t have to be alone,” he says. “But you do have to be here.”

The air is heavier tonight.

You feel it the moment the dream begins–the press of something coming to an end. The sky is overcast, bruised lavender and blue. The park is empty. Even the wind feels still.

Felix is waiting by the willow tree.

You walk toward him slowly, the grass soft beneath your bare feet. He’s sitting on the bench you always shared, arms folded, head bowed. Like he’s been here a long time. Like he’s not sure if he should’ve waited.

“Felix,” you whisper.

He lifts his head. He looks…tired. There are shadows beneath his eyes. His smile is small, fragile, almost broken. But he still opens his arms when you approach, and you curl into him without hesitation.

“I missed you,” you murmur into his hoodie.

He strokes your hair gently. “I know.”

For a while, there’s nothing but the quiet between you. You want to pretend it’s peace. But you can feel it–that something is slipping.

“I had this dream last night,” you whisper. “I was awake in it. Alone. I couldn’t find you.”

Felix doesn’t answer. His hand stills in your hair.

“Don’t go,” you say quickly, voice cracking. “Please don’t. I can’t–”

“I’ll never let you run out of time,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours. “You’ll live forever in the back of my mind.”

You clutch his sleeves.

“What does that mean?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are glossy. Luminous. 

“I don’t belong here,” he admits quietly. “Neither do you.”

“No,” you whisper. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

“You were never meant to stay here with me,” he says, voice cracking like glass. “You’re still alive,” your name falls from his lips like it’s sacred.

You start shaking your head, violently, but he cups your cheeks and holds you steady.

“You have to keep going,” he tells you. “You’re still needed.”

“If I let you go,” you sob, “I have nothing left.”

Felix wipes your tears with the pad of his thumb, even as his own begin to fall. “You have Chan. He loves you. He’ll take care of you. I’ll watch over you.”

“Lixie, you’re the only saving grace I’ve ever had.”

His face twists. Like hearing that hurts more than anything else.

The wind stirs around you. The world trembles faintly, like the dream is straining to hold shape. He brushes your hair behind your ear one last time. “You’ll have me,” he whispers. “Just…not like this.”

Silence stretches between you. And then, finally through your trembling lips, “Felix, without you…I’ve lost a vital part of me.”

He pulls you into him again, tight, fierce, the way you’d always wished he would in real life. You can feel the weight of his grief–for you. For the life you’re wasting just to see him again.

Tears spill freely from both of you now. Your heart feels like it’s breaking open, fracturing beneath your ribs.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers in your ear. “You have to be. It’s not your time. When it comes, you’ll know. And right now, it’s not it.”

You sob into his chest, fists clinging to the fabric of his hoodie.

And then he says it. The sentence that burns itself into you, deep and permanent.

“If I see you again…I hope it’s in the afterlife.”

And just like that–you wake up.

You wake up gasping.

Your sheets are soaked with sweat. The echo of Felix’s voice still rings in your ears–if i see you again, i hope it’s in the afterlife.

Your chest rises and falls too fast. Your hands tremble. But what steals the breath from your lungs completely is the sudden weight around your neck.

You reach up.

Fingers brush a cold chian–thing, silver, and unmistakable.

Felix’s necklace.

The one he never took off. The one he was wearing that night. The one the hospital told you was too damaged, too broken to return.

But it’s whole now.

No scratches. No bent clasp. Just as it used to be. Just like it was on him. Your vision blurs, but this time you don’t cry. You just close your hand around it, and whisper, “Thank you.”

You don’t remember driving to Chan’s.

Only that your hands gripped the wheel too tight, and your eyes stayed dry the whole time. When he opens the door, he’s clearly surprised. His hair’s messy, his voice groggy. He says your name like a question.

You say nothing. Just step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his shoulder like your body can’t hold itself up on its own anymore.

“He’s gone,” you whisper. “Chan…he’s gone.”

There’s a pause. And then, “I know,” he murmurs, arms coming around you. “I’m so sorry.”

You stay like that for a while–breathing in the familiar scent of laundry detergent and skin, the warmth of someone still living.

No dream. No static. No fading.

Just this.

And slowly, your tears stop falling. The ache in your chest doesn’t vanish, but it shifts. It softens. The emptiness loses its grip. 

You are not healed. But you are no longer hollow.

Chan pulls back enough to look at you, brushing a thumb beneath your eye. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “I got you. I’m here for you. I’ll watch over you.”

You nod once, unsure if you can speak.

The chain around your neck rests softly against your skin.

You’ll never forget him. You’ll never stop missing him. But maybe now…you can finally start living again.

You take a deep breath, holding Chan tighter before you manage to say, “I know you will. He told me you would.”

・・・・・

One year later

The cemetery is quiet.

Late spring has brought the soft hum of bees, the scent of blooming clover, the warmth of sunlight through leaves. The breeze carries birdsong. Somewhere far off, a dog barks once. Then silence again.

You stand beside his grave, fingers laced with Chan’s.

The headstone is simple. Polished. Loved.

There are always flowers here–left by you or Chan, other friends, family. Today, you bring white dahlias. Purity, grace, a second chance.

You kneel and place them gently at the base of the stone. Your fingers brush teh carved letters: Felix Lee. forever golden. forever loved.

Chan gives you space. He always does.

You sit beside the grave for a while, just breathing. Your hand still in his. Your necklace still around your neck.

The air shifts.

You close your eyes.

And then–there he is.

Standing a few paces away, in the dappled light beneath the tree. Wind tousling his golden hair. That soft smile you thought you’d never see again.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

He just looks at you. Proud. Peaceful. Whole.

You nod at him, barely holding back the tears. Not from the pain this time. From love.

And when you open your eyes again, he’s gone.

But Chan is still there, watching you carefully. You turn toward him, and without a word, lay your head on his shoulder.

He holds you gently, close to his side.

Neither of you speaks.

There’s no need to. Because for the first time since that terrible day, you know: you are going to be okay.

[sillylilsquid]

HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW SG TRAILER? omg hyunju looks so fine bro

It reminded me so much of the real life romance book idk why lmao

Waiting for the next chapter! 😼💗

(I hope that fuckass of her dad dies of a heart attack) respectfully 🤗

Love your work smmmmmm

YES!! literally she's so hot i simply cannot handle it. I am so FERAL for that woman 🥵

i have been working on tying that story up, I think I have at least 1-2 more parts planned for it! ...BUT!!!

i am writing a chubby!reader x hyun-ju and it's coming along so well I can't wait to share that one too 💓

[sillylilsquid]

after daisy

pairing - felix x reader summary - after losing his service dog, Felix finds comfort in the ER tech who stayed. grief turns to healing, and healing turns to something more; with a new dog, shared nights, and the quiet love growing. warnings - animal death, description cpr/life saving measures, grief, depression 6k words

It was a slow lull between cases–the kind of pause that never lasts in veterinary medicine. Especially the ER.

You had finished tending to inpatients, and now you were restocking gauze and flushing lines when the front door slammed open with a bang that echoed through the fluorescent lit ER. “Help–please–someone help me!”

You turned on instinct. He was already running toward the counter, cradling a limp, bloody golden retriever in his arms. She was hardly moving. Her hind leg dangled at a sickening angle. Her coat was matted with road grit and blood. Her tags clinked weakly with each panicked step.

The man was crying–sobbing, actually–face blotchy and twisted in a raw kind of grief that made your stomach knot. “She–she got out–she ran, and then–a car–” His voice cracked and broke apart.

You didn’t ask for details. You rushed up to him, reaching for the dog. “We’ve got her,” you said, urgent but calm. “What’s your name? What’s her name?”

“Felix. This is Daisy.”

“Okay, I got her, let me take her.” You turned to him, eyes locking. “I need to take her now.”

He hesitated, shaking. His arms clutched tighter around the dog like he wasn’t sure he could let go. “I c-can’t–she’s my–she’s my–” His whole body folded inward, like the weight of her was all that was keeping him from collapsing too. “She’s my service dog.”

Your breath hitched. “I promise we’ll do everything we can,” you said softly now. But I need to take her back. Now.” You saw the moment he surrendered, the pain slicing through him as he handed her over. You rushed toward the back, yelling for help. “Hit by car, unconscious, bradycardic–”

The rest blurred into chaos. You laid Daisy on the exam table in the trauma bay, the team already swarming. You started checking vitals as you barked orders without hesitation. “Get me IV access–jugular if you have to. Start her on oxygen. Warm saline, full flow. Let’s move!”

Blood matted thick along her flank and mouth. Her breathing became agonal–barely there. You felt for a pulse at her femoral artery. Nothing. “She’s coding.”

You were already switching gears. Another tech slid in beside you and began chest compressions while you clipped in an IV catheter with a practiced flick. You flushed the line fast, securing it with tape as you called out for the doctor.

Dr. Park entered just as you began intubation. “Epi, 1ml IV push it now!” You wiped blood from her airway with gauze, sliding the endotracheal tube into her throat, then hooked it up to the ambu bag. “Tube’s in. 7.5, cuff’s inflated. Starting ventilation.”

The screen beeped. You switched out compression with a colleague, watching the monitor–still flat. Ultrasound was already on her chest. No motion. No flicker. Her heart was silent. “Come on, Daisy,” you whispered, almost without realizing. “Stay with me…”

Another round of epi was pushed. Another round of compressions. Sweat ran down your back beneath your scrubs. The whole room pulsed with urgency. Fear and desperation.

The monitors were a chaotic rhythm of being and alarms. Everyone was moving fast–hands passing syringes, lines being flushed, someone calling out vitals. You were pressing hard on Daisy’s chest, her ribs fragile under your hands, while another tech breathed for her through the endotracheal tube. Her gums still pale. 

Still flatline. “No cardiac activity,” someone whispered. Dr. Park hesitated, glanced up at the clock. “I’m calling it,” he said softly.

Your hands dropped. The fell still–all that noise and effort sucked away in a single breath. You stared down at Daisy. Her chest no longer rose. Her fur was still warm under your gloves, but fading. You took a step back, nausea twisting in your guy. You tried. You tried everything. And it hadn’t been enough.

You scrubbed your hands under burning hot water for the third time. They were shaking. Dr. Park had already written up the report. “I’ll go talk to her owner,” he said and you nodded, deciding to stay behind. But you watched as he stepped out into the cold fluorescent hallway.

You began to clean Daisy up. Removing the endotracheal tube and her IVs. You used a warm rag to clean most of the blood off of her–at least what would come off easily. You brushed out her fur the best you could.

After digging through the cupboard you found the warmest, fuzziest blanket and wrapped Daisy in it. Trying to make her look as presentable as possible for Felix.

Meanwhile, Felix hadn’t moved from reception. He was in the far corner of the waiting area, hunched in a chair meant for paperwork and quick check-ins, not grief. He was still soaked through–his sweatshirt darkened with drying blood, jeans stained with road dust. One of his hands gripped Daisy’s leash like it was a lifeline; the other was shaking violently, holding a crushed paper towel someone must’ve handed him earlier.

His leg bounced, his lips moved soundlessly, like he was whispering to her. Maybe praying. Dr. Park cleared his throat, beginning to speak quietly. “Felix?”

He stood too fast, stumbling forward. His face was a mess–red and drawn and desperate. “Is she–can I–” The words caught and tangled in his throat. 

“Let’s talk in private.” Dr. Park guided him toward an exam room, a larger one they used for sensitive cases. The blinds were drawn. The walls were quiet.

Felix sat stiffly in the lone chair beside the counter while Dr. Park remained standing, giving him space. The leash was still wrapped around Felix’s fist. The doctor didn’t sugarcoat–something he learned in his years in the field. “We tried everything we could. We intubated her, gave her fluids, medications, compressions. There was no cardiac activity on ultrasound. We ran multiple rounds of code, but…” A pause. “We couldn’t get her back. She’s passed away. I’m sorry.”

Felix didn’t react at first. He just sat there, staring at the floor. Then– “No.” Soft, almost inaudible. He shook his head, eyes burning as they welled up. “No, she’s strong. She always bounces back.” His voice broke hard, cracking open like something raw beneath it had finally surfaced. “I don’t understand–I–no–”

Dr. Park apologized again, giving Felix a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. “I’ll have them bring her to you, if you’d like.” And that’s when he broke. Felix’s cries became sobs, his sobs turned into screams.

His face was buried into his hands, screaming inaudible words as he cried. His shoulders shook, his blonde hair fell in his face. Dr. Park turned to leave, heading straight back into the treatment area.

Meanwhile, you’d just finished getting charges put in the computer under Daisy’s profile. When you saw Dr. Park he flashed you a sad smile. “Can you take Daisy to him, please? Exam room 3.” You nodded. As you began to wrap Daisy up in a way that would look more peaceful, rather than traumatic, you heard Felix’s screams. His sobs. Daisy’s name falling from his lips over and over again.

“Jeez,” one of the other techs muttered. “It’s sad, but that’s a little dramatic.” 

The words caused a fire to burn in your chest. You turned towards her and shook your head. “That was his service dog. Show some fucking compassion.” You muttered, grabbing Daisy in your arms and storming out of the trauma bay.

You headed towards the room Felix was in, the door was cracked and you saw his bent over frame. You knocked gently with your foot as you pushed the door open. “I have your girl for you,” you spoke softly. Felix’s head immediately snapped up. His eyes were bloodshot, face was blotchy, dried blood smeared across his face.

You gently laid Daisy on the ground making sure her blanket was wrapped neatly around her, leaving her head out. “I cleaned her up as much as I could,” you explained, brushing your fingers through the fur behind her ears. “Take all the time you need.”

Felix practically fell out of his chair, kneeling next to Daisy. His hands trembled as he reached out towards her. When his fingers touched her fur, he broke harder than before. His body hunched over, engulfing Daisy in a hug as he practically laid next to her on the floor. His face buried against the top of her head.

As he cried, repeating her name and how sorry he was, you quietly moved out of the room. Wanting to give him privacy, but you left the door cracked just slightly. Just in case he needed anything. And as you continued with the rest of your shift, you found yourself peeking out into the hallway towards his room.

The rest of your shift passed in quiet echoes–charting, cleaning, checking on overnight inpatients. You kept glancing at the clock. Thirty minutes went by. Then an hour. Two. By the time three hours had passed, the sun started to rise. You heard a few whispers, “Is he really still in there?” “At least he stopped crying.” And you had to bite your tongue.

You’d just clocked out for the day. You changed out of your scrubs, hoodie tugged over your head, badge stowed in your locker. But before you left, your feet pulled you back toward exam room 3. The door was still cracked. You knocked gently on the frame, barely louder than a breath. “Hey…” you said. “Can I sit with you?”

Felix didn’t look up right away. He was lying on the floor, curled around Daisy’s blanket wrapped form like a child would hold a stuffed animal. His face was blotchy, eyes swollen, lips dry from hours of silent crying. But he nodded.

So you stepped inside, quiet and small, and took the chair beside him. No words, just your presence. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t have to.

After a few minutes, you scooted off the chair, sitting near them but not too close. And you reached out–slowly, carefully–fingers brushing through Daisy’s fur one last time. “She would’ve liked you. She liked everyone.”

You blinked hard, trying to swallow back tears. “I think I would’ve liked her too.” And the two of you just…sat. The kind of silence that doesn’t need filing. The kind that honors what was lost. The kind that stays.

The sky outside was blushing grey with morning when Felix finally stirred. He sat up slowly, arms reluctant to let go of Daisy’s small form, his forehead still pressed gently to hers. When he did lift his head, his eyes were glassy again–emptied out, yet somehow still overwhelmed. “I should go…” His voice sounded hoarse and wrecked. “Or I’ll stay here forever.” You wouldn’t have blamed him.

You smiled softly, the kind of smile that knows the pain he’s talking about. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

Felix sat for another beat, stroking Daisy’s fur beneath the blanket, before whispering, “Thank you, Daisy. For everything.”

You swallowed down the ache in your throat. He looked up at you, hollowed out but grounded, like grief had finally started to settle into his bones. “Do you know what you want to do for aftercare?” you asked gently. “We can send her for private cremation if you want her ashes returned, or–”

Felix cut in, quietly, eyes dropping to her collar in his hands that he had unclipped from her. “I can’t afford that.” He hesitated then added, “The front desk already asked. Said I could make payments on what I owe for today.”

That landed harder than you expected. He didn’t look embarrassed. Just defeated. You only nodded. “Okay,” you said softly. “I understand.”

Felix bent over Daisy one last time, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, his lips trembling against her fur. “Goodnight, baby.”

He didn’t cry then. Not out loud. But his whole body trembled as he tucked the blanket around her once more. You waited until he stepped out of the room before reaching for her. Even though you were off the clock, you carried her back to treatment yourself–wrapped gently, respectfully–no different than you would if her person had still been watching.

The back was quiet again. Everyone moved slower in the early morning hours, that liminal space before the rush of breakfast cases and rechecks. You paused by the freezer door, then turned, and walked toward the doctor’s office instead. Dr. Park looked up from his computer when you knocked.

“Hey,” you said, clutching Daisy to you tightly. “I’m paying his bill. All of it. Cremation too. Private. I’ll cover it.”

He blinked. “You sure? I know it’s sad, but we can’t help everyone–”

You nodded once. “She was his whole world. That should matter more than a fucking invoice.” 

He didn’t argue. Just typed up a few notes and handed you the paperwork to sign. You swiped your card without a second thought.

The sun was fully up by the time you stepped outside. The parking lot was mostly empty. The only cars were the tech’s and doctor’s–but one car hadn’t moved.

You recognized it immediately. Felix was still in the driver’s seat. Just…sitting there. Not on his phone. Not crying. Just staring through the windshield at the front doors of the hospital like something might walk back out.

You stopped by the curb. Watched him for a second, heart folding in your chest. Then, gently, you raised your hand in a quiet wave. He looked up. And when he saw you, something flickered in his expression–confused , exhausted, but grateful.

He raised his hand too. Not a wave. More of a reach.

That next evening at the clinic had settled into its usual rhythm–barking from the ICU, a limping kitten in Room 2, and a stack of unfinished SOAP notes growing at the treatment desk. You were finishing up a TPR when the front desk phone rang.

“Hey, uh…there’s a guy up front. Says his name’s Felix? Wants to talk to someone from ER.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You finished the vital signs with a rushed scribble and stepped into the lobby. He was standing by the counter, holding a small envelope. He looked better–less wrecked–but still like he hadn't quite landed back in his body yet. His hair was down, brushed messily out of his face as if he’d ran his fingers through it a thousand times.

When he spotted you, he straightened. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I…I just wanted to say thank you. For yesterday. For everything.”

He handed you the envelope. Inside was a thank you card–simple, soft grey with white script. Tucked inside was a photo: Felix and Daisy on a hiking trail, her tongue out, his smile wide and natural. There was a $50 gift card to a nearby cafe stapled inside with a note that read for the team–thank you for taking care of my girl.

You blinked fast. “You didn’t have to–”

“I did,” he cut in, voice rough. “I had to. You were…kind.” He turned to the front desk then, digging into his pocket for his wallet. “I also need to make a payment toward my bill,” he said. “They told me I could split it over a few weeks–”

The receptionist blinked at the screen. “Um. It’s actually…already paid in full.”

Felix’s brows furrowed. “That’s not right. I didn’t–”

“I know,” she replied, glancing behind him towards you.

You step forward silently. He turned when he felt you hovering. There was something guarded in his expression–grateful but confused, like he was trying to understand something he didn’t quite have the language for yet.

You didn’t explain. Didn’t confess. You just met his eyes and said, gently, “Daisy will be back in a few days.”

His mouth parted, then closed again. He swallowed. “Really?” His voice was tight, careful.

You nodded. “I’ll call when she’s ready to come home.”

He stared at you for a long moment, eyes wet again, but steadier this time. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “Really. For all of it.”

It’s been a few weeks. Daisy’s ashes are long gone. You wrapped them in tissue paper and tucked the box into a plain brown bag. You remember his fingers trembling when he took it from you–how he didn’t speak, didn’t look you in the eye. Just nodded once. Like if he opened his mouth, he might break apart in front of everyone.

You hadn’t seen him since. Not until today.

“That guy with the Australian accent was looking for you yesterday,” one of the night nurses says casually, popping gum between her teeth as you sign out. “Didn’t catch his name. Said he came by about his dog? He didn’t seem right.”

You pause, pen hovering midair. “Did he say anything else?”

She shrugs. “Just…asked if you were working. Didn’t come in. Stayed by the doors, looking kind of lost. Then left.”

You don’t ask why she didn’t come get you. You just nod and finish your charting.

The next day your shift drags. Nothing goes terribly wrong, but the hours feel heavier than usual–like you’re waiting for something. Every time the front door dings open, you glance toward it. And every time, it’s not him.

Until it is.

You’ve just clocked out. Your hoodie’s half zipped, stethoscope tucked in your bag. You round the corner to head out back and–there he is. Sitting on the curb outside the staff entrance. Hoodie up. Elbows on his knees. Daisy’s leash looped twice around his wrist, like it always was–except there’s no dog at the other end now. Just empty slack.

He looks up at the sound of the door. And when he sees you, he tries to smile. It doesn’t work. “Hey,” he mumbles. His voice is raw, like he hasn’t used it much lately. “Didn’t think I’d catch you.”

You sit next to him. Not too close. Not yet. He fidgets with the leash. You ask how he’s been doing. He doesn’t lie, not really.

“Not great,” he admits. “Some nights I still reach for her food bowl. Realize halfway through that I’m filling it for a ghost.”

He laughs a little, but it’s brittle. His eyes are rimmed red. There’s a dull tremor in his hand when he presses his fingers to his temple. “It’s quiet, you know? Real quiet. I thought I’d like that. But…it’s different without her. It’s not silence, it’s…”

“Absence,” you finish.

He nods. The silence between you this time is gentler.

“She used to wake me up when I had bad dreams,” he murmurs. “Now I just wake up and stay up. Because there’s no one to stop it.”

You glance at him. “Do you have anyone else?”

He shakes his head. “It was just her. Just Daisy.” A pause. “And you, that day.”

He doesn’t cry. But it’s a near thing. You want to ask a million things. You want to tell him it’s okay. But you don’t know if it is. So you say the only thing that feels real.

“You don’t have to go home yet.”

And you stand. You wait. And after a long, fragile pause–he rises too.

“I mean–sorry, that probably sounded weird. I just…” You let out a breath. “You can come to my place, if you want. Just for a bit. Stay as long as you need. I figured you might not wanna be alone.”

He looks at you for a long moment. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s quiet on the drive over. You fiddle with the heat, give him the aux cord even though you know he won’t take it. His hands stay in his lap, the leash still curled tight in his grip like muscle memory.

At your place, he toes off his shoes and stands awkwardly by the door. You flick the lights on and toss your keys into the bowl. “Make yourself comfortable,” you announce. “Couch, bed, floor–whatever works. I’m gonna change into something less covered in fur and anxiety.”

That earns a soft snort from him. A tiny upward curl at the edge of his mouth.

You return in sweatpants and an old t-shirt. He hasn’t moved far–just wandered into your room and perched on the edge of your bed, eyes on the ground like he’s not sure if he should even sit.

“I haven’t eaten since, like, yesterday,” he mutters.

You sit down next to him and pull your phone out. “Pizza?” you ask.

He nods. “Pineapple?” you test.

A breathy laugh escapes him. “Absolutely not.”

“Good,” you say, tapping your order in. “I was gonna judge you.”

It takes about 40 minutes for the food to arrive, and in that time, something shifts. He tugs off his hoodie and sits cross legged on your comforter. You toss him a pillow and he hugs it close. “Is this weird?” He asks.

“Yeah,” you reply honestly. “But not in a bad way.”

You eat pizza sitting on your bed with your knees brushing, boxes spread out between you. He talks with his mouth full, and you don’t call him out on it. You’re just glad he’s eating.

After dinner, it’s quiet again–but not heavy. You stretch out and lean against the headboard. He follows, sinking down beside you. And that’s when he finally lets go.

“She used to curl up under the blanket and stick her nose out like a little burrito,” he murmurs, staring at his hands.

You let him talk. About Daisy. About her first day with him. Her surgeries. Her anxiety. Her stupid favorite toy that squeaked like a dying bird. The way she’d sit outside the bathroom door if he forgot to leave it open.

“She didn’t like most people, but she probably liked you.” He says.

Your chest goes tight. He’s quiet for a beat. Then, softer, “She trusted you. That means something…I haven’t really talked about her. Not like this.”

You nod. “You can keep going. Say whatever you need. You don’t have to stop.”

He does. He talks until his voice goes hoarse. Until he can’t keep his eyes open. You don’t rush him. You just listen. At some point, his head tilts and lands on your shoulder. You go still. “Just a second,” he mumbles. “I’ll move.”

You shake your head. “You’re good.”

And he stays. Breathing slowly, warm beside you. And for the first time since you met him, there’s no difference. No wall. No leash between grief and comfort. Just two people on a bed, sharing quiet and space. The beginning of something fragile, and maybe healing.

It doesn't happen all at once. First, it’s just that one night. Then another. A few days later, he shows up outside the clinic near the end of your shift. No texts. Just leans on your car, hands in his jacket pockets, waiting like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Figured I’d see if you wanted takeout,” he says.

You do.

And after that, it becomes a pattern.

Your place, his place. Takeout boxes in the trash, half finished movies in the queue. He starts leaving things behind: a hoodie on your chair, socks tucked in your laundry, a toothbrush next to yours without either of you mentioning it.

Some nights, you fall asleep talking. Other nights, you don't talk at all. But it’s never awkward. Not with him.

You start watching for his face after shifts. He waits for you outside the ER, hood up, sleeves pulled over his hands. He holds your lunch sometimes. Brings coffee. The other nurses start to notice.

“Is that your boyfriend?” one of them teases.

“No,” you say too quickly. “We’re just–friends.”

But even as you say it, it feels too simple.

One late evening, you’re curled up on the couch at his place. A documentary plays in the background, muted. He’s been quiet for a while, scrolling through something on his phone. You think he’s not really present until he says: “There’s a dog at the shelter.”

You turn toward him, brows raised. “Yeah?”

He nods, still looking at his screen. “They posted her picture this morning. She’s older. Little shy. Black lab mix. Looks like she’s had a rough time.”

You pause, watching the way he chews on the inside of his cheek. “You thinking about adopting her?”

A long silence. He locks his phone and tosses it beside him. Shrugs one shoulder. “I dunno. I don't know if I can do that again. Losing her. I don't know if it’s too soon, or if it’ll always be too soon.”

Your heart aches. You shift closer, gentle. “It’s not weird that you’re thinking about it.”

He looks at you. “I just thought…maybe we could go see her? You know. No pressure. Just meet her.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. We can do that.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

He exhales, like he’s been holding that breath since Daisy died. And when you lean your head against his shoulder, he doesn’t flinch or pull away. His fingers brush yours on the blanket between you. Neither of you say it out loud, but there’s something shared in that silence. Something healing. Something ready. 

The shelter smells like bleach and wet fur. It’s loud in the way all shelters are loud–echoing barks, whining, the sharp clang of metal bowls hitting concrete.

Felix tenses beside you as you check in at the front desk. He doesn’t say much, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans, but his eyes never stop moving. Not fear exactly–just bracing. Expecting impact.

You glance at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Just…haven’t been here since…” He trails off and you just nod in understanding.

You reach out without thinking, touching his wrist. His gaze drops where your fingers brush his skin, then back up to your face. He doesn’t pull away.

The volunteer, a young guy in a ‘FOSTER HEROES’ t-shirt, comes to meet you with a clipboard. “You’re here to meet Emmy?”

Felix nods once.

“She’s a little shy,” the guy says as he leads you down the hallway. “Came from a neglect case. She’s sweet though. Warms up once she trusts you.”

You stop in front of a kennel near the end of the row. The dog inside is curled up at the back–small for a lab mix, black with graying fur around the muzzle, one ear that won’t quite stand up.

Emmy doesn’t rush the door. She doesn’t bark. She just lifts her head, slow and careful, her eyes big and cautious. “Hi, sweet girl,” you whisper.

You crouch down. Let her sniff you through the bars. She doesn’t flinch, but she doesn’t move closer either. Felix stays back at first, hands still in his hoodie, watching.

“Do you want to go in?” the volunteer offers.

Felix hesitates. “You can both go,” he says. “No pressure.”

Slowly, Felix follows you inside. Emmy keeps her distance, tense and watchful, but when you sit cross-legged on the floor and open your palm, she takes a few slow steps forward. Her nails click against the concrete.

You don’t rush her. Felix sits beside you, knees drawn up. Quiet. He doesn’t reach for her–just watches the way her body moves, cautious and ready to bolt.

But then Emmy sniffs your hand. Then Felix’s shoe. Then, slowly, she presses her nose against his knee. He freezes. You don’t say anything. 

She sniffs again, then settles her chin on his thigh like she’s already made a decision. Felix’s breath shudders. He brings one hand up, trembling just slightly, and lets it hover before gently touching her fur. 

“She’s so soft,” he says, barely audible.

You smile. “She likes you.”

“You think?”

“Look at her.”

Emmy shifts, half in his lap now, tail flicking just once. The volunteer grins from the door. “Take all the time you need.”

You stay like that for a while. Letting the silence settle. Letting Felix fall in love again–slower this time, more careful.

And when the volunteer finally returns and asks, “So, wanna put in an application?” Felix looks to you first.

Not because he needs permission–but because this time, he doesn't want to do it alone. You smile and nod. “Yeah,” he says, voice soft but certain. “Yeah, I think I do.”

The rain starts as a gentle tapping on the windows, but by the time the takeout boxes are empty and the lights are low, it’s a full on storm. Thunder rolls heavy through the sky, shaking the apartment like a warning.

Felix doesn’t say much. He hasn’t said much since the shelter. Just looked at Emmy like she might vanish if he blinked too long.

Now, the three of you are curled up in the dim warmth of his bedroom–Emmy at the foot of the bed, you and Felix lying side by side under his gray comforter. The TV is on low, playing some random show that neither of you is really watching.

He flinches a little when lightning flashes. His breathing’s gotten tight. You shift closer, careful. “You okay?”

Felix nods–or maybe just tips his head a little–but his hand is fisting the blanket by his chest, jaw clenched.

“Storms?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Been better since Daisy. But…tonight’s loud.”

You don’t push. You just stay next to him, your hand resting lightly on his arm, grounding. You feel him trembling a little under your touch. A deep rumble of thunder rolls across the sky.

Felix’s body tenses again–barely perceptible, but you feel it. And then, like she’s been watching the whole time, Emmy rises from her spot at the foot of the bed.

She moves slowly, ears half cocked, and steps over the sheets to where Felix is lying frozen. One paw, then the next, up until she’s settling herself directly on top of his chest–not heavy, just enough to anchor him. Her chin rests just under his collarbone.

Felix holds his breath. And then–you hear it–a quiet, cracked whisper, “Daisy did this.”

Your heart lurches. He doesn't cry. Doesn’t move. Just lies there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his hand coming up like muscle memory to curl around Emmy’s side.

“First storm after I adopted her. I couldn’t breathe. And she–she just climbed on me. Like she knew.” His voice breaks around the edges. “She always knew.”

You press closer, curling your arm over his and resting your head against his shoulder. “Maybe Emmy knows too.”

He exhales, long and shaky, like something loosens inside him. “She’s not Daisy,” he says softly. “I know that.”

“She doesn’t have to be,” you whisper. “She’s Emmy. And you have each other now.”

There’s silence. Then Felix nods. Emmy shifts slightly, letting out a small sigh, her eyes fluttering shut. Thunder cracks again. This time, Felix doesn’t flinch.

Mornings settle into a rhythm.

Felix wakes before the alarm, most days. You brew the coffee while he rubs the sleep from his eyes. Emmy circles your ankles, tail wagging like she’s clocked in for duty.

She follows Felix from room to room–never needy, just near. Always watching. She nudges his leg when he’s pacing too much. Sits against his knees when he gets that faraway look, the one you’ve learned means he’s spiraling. She even curls up beside the bathroom door when he showers. Just like Daisy used to.

The first time you notice it, you glance down at her quiet shape, then up at Felix through the half steamed glass. “She waits,” you murmur. “Like she knows you need someone on the other side.”

Felix blinks at you, water running down his face. “Daisy did that,” he says, his voice sounding surprised.

You smile. “Maybe Daisy’s telling her how to help you.”

He doesn’t answer right away. But that night you find him sitting on the couch while Emmy lay across his lap, and he’s just…still. Not scrolling, not fidgeting. Just breathing. You let yourself believe he’s healing.

It’s a Thursday when it happens.

Rain again, but softer this time. You’re both in sweats, Emmy’s squirrel toy already soaking wet from too many rounds of fetch in the hallway. Felix is on the floor, back against the couch, and Emmy trots over to drop the soggy toy in his lap. “Okay, okay, one more time, Daisy.”

It slips out like breath. He freezes. You’re on the couch, just close enough to see the shift in his eyes–the way the air pulls tight around him. “Felix.”

His jaw clenches. He looks down at Emmy like he just betrayed her. But Emmy doesn’t react. She just nudges his hand, then places the squirrel gently in his lap again.

Felix blinds rapidly, sniffling once. He picks up the toy, not even wiping his eyes. “You wanna play, huh?”

Emmy wags her tail and sits, ears up. He throws the squirrel. She sprints. You slide down next to him, touching his arm lightly.

“She knows who you meant.”

He laughs through a shaky breath. “I miss her.”

“I know.”

You don’t say more. You just sit there, letting Emmy trot back and forth between you, panting and proud. And when Felix rests his head on your shoulder, you lean into him–quiet, steady. Letting the weight of grief settle alongside something softer. Something new.

The squirrel toy lies abandoned now, forgotten in the corner. Felix’s legs are stretched out in front of him, your thigh pressed against his where you’ve both stayed slouched on the floor. Emmy has flopped belly-up between you, snoring faintly, her head resting across his ankle lke she belongs there.

Neither of you has said much in a while. The only sounds are the hum of the fridge and the soft patter of rain. You glance sideways at him, taking in the soft slump of his shoulders, the wet curls stuck to his temple. He’s tired. Not just end-of-the-day tired. The kind that lives in the bones.

“You okay?” you ask gently.

His eyes stay fixed on Emmy for a second too long. Then he swallows “I keep thinking about how bad I was doing,” he says, voice so quiet you almost miss it. “Back when Daisy died.”

You stay quiet. Let him lead. 

“I wasn’t eating. Barely sleeping. I’d come home and the place felt like a grave like if I breathed too loud I’d break it.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Then I met you.”

You blink. “Felix…”

“I’m serious,” he says, looking at you now. Really looking. “You didn’t just hand me her ashes and disappear. You stayed. You kept showing up. You let me talk about her. You let me not talk about her.”

You feel your throat tighten.

“And now Emmy–she’s not Daisy. I know that. But she…fits. Like she just knew where she was supposed to be. With me. With us.”

He glances down at Emmy, who kicks her leg in her sleep like she’s chasing something.

“Some nights, when I wake up and I feel like I’m drowning again–I’ll turn over and you’re just…there. And she’s there.”

He looks back at you, blinking slowly.

“I don’t think I could do this without you.”

Your heart aches. You don’t speak, just slide your fingers between his, squeezing gently. “You don’t have to,” you whisper.

He leans into you, forehead resting against yours, lashes damp. “Promise?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Felix.”

Emmy stirs, shifting so her paw flops over both your legs like a sleep seal of approval. And for the first time in a long time, you see something new in Felix’s eyes. Not just grief. But hope.

Felix stays pressed against you for a long moment, his breath slow and steady. The storm outside has softened to a light drizzle, but inside the room, something warmer is starting to flicker between you.

You shift closer, letting your hand rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. His eyes find yours, searching, hesitant–like he’s asking permission without words.

You smile softly. “You know,” you murmur, “you don’t have to be scared here.”

His lips twitch in a small, tired smile. “I’m not scared,” he says quietly. “Maybe…just tired.”

You nod, understanding. And then, carefully, as if testing the waters, your fingers brush a stray curl from his forehead. Felix closes his eyes at the touch, leaning into it like it’s the safest place in the world.

You hesitate, then tuck your hand behind his neck, pulling him gently closer. His eyes flutter open, and you see that vulnerable mix of hope and uncertainty again.

“Can I…?” you ask softly.

He nods, and your lips find his. The kiss is slow, soft–like the quiet promise of something new, something healing.

Felix’s hand cups your cheek, thumb tracing gentle circles. Emmy stirs again at your feet but doesn’t move, like she knows this moment is yours.

When you pull back, your foreheads rest together. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel this again,” he confesses, voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, rubbing your nose against his. “Me neither.”

“Thank you,” Felix says, voice thick with emotion.

You squeeze his hand. “No, thank you. For letting me in.”

Outside, the last of the thunder rumbles softly–but inside, it’s calm. Warm. Full of new beginnings.

a/n - sorry for the heartbreak, but ugh this idea has been in my head for a while. I work in vet med and see so many grieve. xoxo hope u enjoyed

[sillylilsquid]

⋆𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖘 𝖒𝖊 𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑⋆ pt. 2

pairing - nam gyu x reader summary - he's the only thing that hurts and feels like home all at once, and you'd rather break for him than ever be without him warnings - au!nam gyu, afab!reader, abusive relationship, toxic relationship, power dynamic, dom/sub relationship, nam gyu being nam gyu, 18+ minors dni!! 6.8k words

Three months later

The air in your tiny studio apartment always smelled faintly like coffee grounds and lemon cleaner. It was barely big enough for a bed, a kitchenette, and a single window, but it was yours. Quiet, safe, clean. No yelling. No glass shattered on the floor. No bruises to cover.

You had a job now–bartending at a sleek rooftop lounge downtown. You weren’t rolling in money, but you could pay your rent, cover groceries, and still have enough left over for the occasional coffee or lipstick. You kept your phone on Do Not Disturb most of the time, except for your friend. And lately, a guy you’d started talking to. Nothing serious. He was nice, easy to laugh with, gentle in ways that made your chest ache with confusion. You liked him, maybe. But you didn’t let yourself feel too much.

Tonight, he’d convinced you to go out. Club Pentagon. You hesitated–Nam Gyu’s club. His favorite place to drink, to show off, to start shit. But it had been months. Maybe he wasn’t even there anymore.

The bass rattled in your chest as you moved through the crowd. Lights flashing, heat thick in the air, perfume and sweat and cologne mixing into a haze. The guy you came with had gone to order drinks, and you slipped away toward the back hallway to find the bathroom.

You turned the corner fast. And slammed right into someone’s chest. Your heart stopped. Because you knew that cologne. Knew that voice the second he exhale a low, sharp, “What the fuck–?”

Your head snapped up–and there he was. Nam Gyu. Hair shorter, jaw tighter, wearing a black dress shirt half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, chain catching in the blue neon lights. A drink in his hand, but his eyes–his eyes–were locked on you like a gun to the head.

Neither of you spoke. The music pulsed behind you. Your blood roared in your ears. Then, before you could turn or move or think–his hand shot out. Fingers around your wrist. Tight. And he yanked you forward, dragging you backward, through the nearest door–the men’s restroom.

It slammed shut behind you, and suddenly it was quieter, colder, lit with harsh fluorescents and sharp tile. Your back hit the wall, breath gone from your lungs as Nam Gyu turned to face you, still holding your wrist.

His chest was rising and falling hard. Like he’d just seen a ghost.

You flinch when his fingers tighten on your wrist. Not hard–not like before. But enough to make your body remember. Enough to make your breath catch.

“Who’s that guy?” Nam Gyu’s voice is low, dangerous, but there’s a crack under it–tight, frantic.

You blink at him. “What?”

“The one you came in with,” he hisses. “The guy touching his waist. Is he fucking you now?”

Your jaw tightens, throat burning. “Leave me alone, Nam Gyu.” You try to move past him. He doesn’t let you.

Instead, he pulls you back, quick and sharp. Not violent, just desperate. The heel of your shoe scrapes against the tile. “Let go of me,” you snap, yanking your arm. “I mean it.”

But you don’t expect what happens next. Nam Gyu’s hand falls away from your waist. And then–he drops to his knees.

Right there, in the middle of the men’s restroom, next to the urinals and under the flickering fluorescent light. His hand dangling loose around his neck, and his eyes–his fucking eyes–are glassy, staring up at you like you just shot him through the heart.

“Don’t do this,” he says. “Please. Don’t walk away from me.”

You’re frozen. You’ve seen him pissed, smug, drunk, cold, even broken. But not like this. Not begging. 

“I miss you,” he mutters. “I miss your voice. Your smell. The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. The way you patch me up after I ruin everything.” Your breath status. You try to say something, anything, but he keeps going, chest heaving. “I know I fucked up. I know I always fuck up, but I can be better. Just–just tell me what to do. I’ll do it. I’ll crawl if that’s what you want. I’ll bleed for you.”

“Gyu…”

“I think about you every second,” he gasps, like the words are knives in his throat. “I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe. You’re in my fucking head and you won’t leave.” He moves closer on his knees, grabs the hem of your dress like it’s an altar, his fingers clutching the fabric. “I need you,” he whispers. “Come back. Come home. I don’t care who that guy is, I don’t care what you think you felt for him–I need you. Not him. Not anyone else.”

And all you can do is stare down at him, at this man who once made you feel like nothing–now falling apart at your feet, choking on everything he refused to give when you begged for it.

You’re still frozen. The bass from the club pulses through the bathroom walls like a second heartbeat, but it’s all white noise compared to the sound of Nam Gyu breathing hard at your feet, clutching the hem of your dress like a man half drowned.

Your voice is quiet when you finally speak. “Are you high right now?”

He looks up at you, eyes red rimmed, but steady. “No.”

Silence falls like dust. You should walk away. You should turn on your heel, step over him, and never look back. But your hand moves before your brain catches up–slow, gentle fingers sliding through his hair like muscle memory. Like forgiveness. His eyes flutter closed for a second. He leans into your touch, jaw trembling. The bathroom door creaks open behind you. You don’t move fast enough. 

“Yo–” It’s the guy you came with. The one with warm hands and kind eyes. He freezes in the doorway, taking in the scene: Nam Gyu on his knees, arms wrapped around your legs, you stroking his hair like something sacred.

You spin around. “Wait–wait, it’s not–” But he’s already gone. The door slams. You suck in a breath, pulse thrumming at your throat. You’re still staring at the door when Nam Gyu speaks again.

“You look really good,” he murmurs. His voice is quiet and low. Like it physically hurts him to say it. “You’ve gained some weight,” he adds. “Your makeup’s different. Your face…” his thumb grazes your ankle. “You look…happy.”

You flinch like he slapped you. He notices. “I mean–not that you are,” he says quickly. “Just–you look it. Like you finally slept. Like you got away from…me.” His voice cracks on the last word.

You watch him, chest tight, as the man who tore you to pieces now folds in on himself. Every cruel word he ever threw at you, every night he left you waiting, every time he slammed a door or yanked you by the wrist–it’s all right there, hanging between you both, poisonous and heavy.

And still, part of you wants to reach for him. Because that’s who you are. Because no one has ever needed you the way he does. Because when he looks at you–like this–you can almost believe he means it.

“Stand up,” you whisper. Nam Gyu doesn’t move at first, still kneeling, still holding on like letting go might kill him. You sigh tiredly, and reach down to help him. Your fingers wrap around his forearm and he lets you pull him up, slow and heavy like gravity’s working harder on him than anyone else in the club. When he’s standing, you both hover in a weird limbo, barely breathing.

Now you’re face to face. Too close. Too quiet. You step back. “I wanna leave.”

His brows twitch. “We can go to my place–”

You shake your head instantly, lips parting. “I don’t…I don’t think I want to go back there.”

A beat. He swallows. “Okay. That’s fine. What about yours?”

You hesitate again, arms wrapping around yourself. “I don’t want you at my place either.”

The silence between you sharpens. “I promise not to hurt you,” he says quickly, voice low, earnest. “I swear, if you tell me to leave, I will. You don’t have to say anything else. I just…I just wanna talk. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

He means it. You can see it in his eyes. The desperate kind of honesty that only shows up after the damage is done. You nod once. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.

The ride is quiet.

His car still smells like the cologne you once loved and now don’t know how to feel about. You stare out the passenger window as the neon lights of the club fade behind you, replaced by the slower, quieter parts of the city.

Nam Gyu doesn’t speak. Not even a glance. He keeps both his hands on the wheel, knuckles tight, jaw clenched like he’s scared he might say the wrong thing and lose you all over again. You’ve kicked your heels off. You’re exhausted. And still, somehow, part of you feels more awake than you have in months.

You unlock your door and step inside first, the dim glow of your bedside lamp casting a soft golden hue over the tiny studio. It smells like clean laundry and your perfume, warm and lived-in. Behind you, Nam Gyu steps in slower, his gaze moving across the cramped room–bed shoved into the corner, tiny kitchenette against the wall, one worn down dresser, and not much else.

“Well,” he begins quietly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “It’s…cozy.”

You glance over your shoulder and roll your eyes. “Yeah, well…not everyone has a shit ton of money to throw around.”

He flinches just slightly at the edge in your voice, but doesn’t argue. Just nods once, standing stiffly in the open space like he’s afraid to touch anything.

You sight and sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking faintly beneath you. “You can sit,” you mutter, not looking at him.

He hesitates, just for a beat, before walking over–but instead of sitting beside you, he lowers himself to the floor. Cross-legged, quiet, gaze on the floor between his knees. The silence is thick. You blink down at him, arms flooded, heart pounding. You don’t know why the sight of him like that–at your feet–makes something ache in your chest.

Then, before you can stop yourself, your hand lifts slightly, fingers twitching toward him. “Come here,” you whisper. “Scoot closer.”

He looks up at you. There’s something broken in his eyes. And without a word, he obeys, knees scraping across the floor until he’s right in front of you. Then slowly–like a prayer–he leans forward and rests his head in your lap.

You freeze. The weight of him there is overwhelming. Heavy in your lap. Heavy on your heart. His arms wrap loosely around your waist, not tight, not needy–just there. Like he’s anchoring himself. Like you’re the only thing holding him to the ground.

You rest one hesitant hand in his hair, fingers carding through the dark strands like you used to. And he exhales. Shaky. Like he’s been waiting for this. Like he’s been holding himself up alone for too long.

You let your fingers run through his hair for a moment longer. He’s warm, quiet. Almost peaceful in your lap. Almost. Then you clear your throat. “So,” you murmur, “how many girls did you fuck?”

His body tenses slightly. Slowly, he lifts his head just enough to look up at you from your lap, eyes glassy under the yellow lamplight. He doesn’t say anything for a long second. Then, his voice hoarse, “None.”

You blink. “None?”

He nods once, but doesn’t elaborate. You search his face, looking for a tell–some smirk, some dismissive shrug. But there’s nothing. Just exhaustion. Just his chest slowly rising and falling. You huff lightly. “I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t care,” he says quietly. “Still true.”

You frown, eyes scanning over the bruising under his eyes, the red in the corners, the puffiness. He looks like he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks. “You haven’t been sleeping well,” you say softly, almost like a thought escaping. Your thumb gently drags under one of his eyes, careful, as if touching something fragile.

He goes to speak–his lips part like he wants to respond, but nothing comes out. He just looks at you, throat bobbing around a swallow. Like if he tries to say anything, it’ll all fall apart. You let your hand drop to your lap and sigh, finally breaking eye contact. 

“Gyu,” you say, your voice a whisper. “We can’t be doing this. You know that, right?” He doesn’t answer immediately. You feel him rest his head back down, slower this time, curling in closer against your body like someone trying to disappear. His grip around your waist tightens just slightly.

“It’s not good for either of us,” you say again. Your tone isn’t angry–it’s not even sharp. It’s just tired. “You can’t keep showing up like this. Saying the right things when you want something, disappearing when you don’t. I can’t do that again. I’m not her anymore.”

Still, he doesn’t speak. But you feel his breath stutter against your thigh, a tremor he’s trying to swallow down. His silence says more than any of his empty promises ever did. And you realize, for the first time ever, Nam Gyu doesn’t know what to say.

You don’t say anything else, just letting the silence stretch on. His weight in your lap is comforting in a way it shouldn’t be. Dangerous in a way you’re trying not to acknowledge. You’re both still for a long while–until your legs start to tingle beneath him.

Gently, slowly, you move to shift your weight, your hand brushing his shoulder. “Nam Gyu,” you murmur, voice soft but firm, “you should get up.”

He doesn’t move. So you try again, a little more direct this time. Your fingers press into his arm with a little more purpose. “Come on. Get up.”

But instead of letting go, he clings tighter. “No–no, please don’t.” His voice cracks as his arms wrap around your waist, desperate now, panicked. “Don’t push me away. Not again. Please.”

You freeze. “Gyu–” you start, but he’s already unraveling.

“I can’t–I can’t do this without you,” he chokes, burying his face into your lap. “I know I fucked it all up, I know that, but please. Please don’t tell me it’s over for real. I’ll change, I swear to God, I’ll do anything–just don’t leave me again.”

His shoulders start to shake violently, and suddenly it’s not just words spilling out–it’s sobs. Ugly, raw, broken sobs, tearing out of him like they've been sitting in his chest for years. He clutches at you like a man drowning, voice cracked open and childlike. “You’re the only thing I ever gave a fuck about–don’t take that away from me.”

You’re completely frozen. Staring down at the man sobbing into your lap like his heart has been ripped in half. You’ve never seen him like this. Not Nam Gyu. Not the man who used to spit venom and slam doors, who called you worthless one day and kissed your forehead the next.

He’s crying. And not just crying–breaking. Begging, pleading. It makes your chest tight. You don’t know what to do with your hands. Don’t know where to look. For a moment, you don’t even feel angry anymore. Just…numb. Numb and overwhelmed.

“Gyu,” you whisper. It’s the only thing you say. Your fingers hover awkwardly near his shoulders, uncertain whether to touch him or push him away again.

He clutches you together. “I don’t know how to be good,” he gasps out. “But I’ll fucking learn. I’ll figure it out. Just–please don't let this be it. Don’t walk away from me.” It's in that moment you realize he isn’t fighting to win. He’s fighting not to lose you.

Gently, you clear your throat. “Gyu.” He tenses instantly, like he already knows what you’re about to say. His head lifts slightly, gaze flickering up to meet yours. “I think you should leave.”

His breath catches. “No–wait, please–” He shifts to sit up more fully, still clutching your knee. “Don’t make me go. Not yet.”

But you shake your head softly. “I’m okay, you’re okay. I just…I need time. Alone. To think.” He looks like he’s about to argue again, but then stops himself. He’s learning. Slowly, painfull. Learning when to listen. “I’ll text you tomorrow,” you say quietly. “I promise. But for tonight, you need to go home. Get some rest. And I need space to…just breathe.”

Nam Gyu swallows hard and nods, yet he still doesn’t move. “Gyu,” you say again, gentler this time, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “Please.”

His fingers loosen, then fall away. He pulls back, knees creaking as he rises to his feet, and stands awkwardly in the center of your apartment. For a moment, he just looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize you–burn the shape of you into his mind in case this really is the last time.

But you give him a small, tired smile. “I’ll text you. Okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll wait.” He gathers himself, slips on his shoes. Opens the door–then pauses, glancing back one last time. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Gyu.” And he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is deafening. You sit on the edge of the bed for a long time, fingers still tingling from where they touched his skin. You don’t cry. Not yet. You just sit there, trying to remember how to breathe.

The air outside is cold. Not freezing–but sharp, bracing, like it’s trying to keep him awake. Nam Gyu stands outside your door for a long moment after it clicks shut, eyes unfocused. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe deeply. Just stares at the grian of the wood, like if he waits long enough, maybe you’ll open it again.

You don’t. So he turns and heads back to his car. It’s late–nearly midnight–but the streets of Seoul never really sleep. Neon signs still buzz. Somewhere across the river, he can hear the low boom of bass from another club.

He used to chase that noise. That chaos. He used to bury himself in it. Tonight, he just drives past it.

By the time he reaches his apartment, his joints ache from the cold. The space feels too big when he unlocks the door–too sterile, too clean, too expensive. The kind of palace that says look at me, but no one’s looking now.

He doesn’t even turn the lights on. Just drops his keys on the counter, heads to his bedroom and flops onto the mattress. He thinks if he closes his eyes and breathes in hard enough he swears he can still smell your scent.

The apartment feels too quiet after Nam Gyu leaves. His absence leaves a hollow feeling behind, something jagged in the air. You change into pajamas, brush your teeth, turn off every light except for the soft one on your nightstand. You even try the usual comforts–your weighted blanket, a familiar playlist, counting breaths–but nothing works.

Your mind won’t stop replaying it. The way he cried. The way he clung to you like he’d drown if he let go. The way he looked up at you, red-eyed and shaking, as if you held his entire world in the palm of your hand.

You curl into yourself under the blanket, one arm over your eyes. Ten minutes pass. Then thirty. It’s nearly 2am when you give in. You grab your phone from the nightstand and stare at the screen for a long time before dialing. It only rings once.

“Hello?” His voice is breathless, immediate. Like he had been waiting for your call.

You sigh. “Were you waiting for me to call?”

There’s a pause. Then a soft, “Yeah…”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“I know,” he replies. “Me neither.”

You don’t say anything right away. Just lie there in the dark with the phone pressed to your cheek, trying to ignore the familiar ache in your chest. “I’m not calling because I changed my mind,” you say, and you can feel him freeze on the other end of the line.

“I know,” he murmurs.

“I just…” you hesitate. “I didn’t want you to go to bed thinking I don’t care.”

His voice cracks around your name. “I know you care. I know. And I’ll wait. As long as you need. Just…please keep calling. Even if you’re mad at me. Even if it’s just to say goodnight.”

You close your eyes. “You’re so stupid.”

“I know,” he whispers. “But I’m your stupid, if you’ll have me.” You don’t answer, you don’t have to. Not really. There’s a long silence before either of you speak again. And he’s the one to break the silence. “You can yell at me, you know?”

You stare at the shadows on your ceiling. “What?”

“You can bitch me out. For everything. I deserve it. You can scream at me, hang up on me, whatever you want. I’ll take it.”

“I don’t want to scream at you,” you mutter. “I just…” But then something inside you cracks. “I hate that you made me feel small,” you say, voice tight.

Nam Gyu hums–low, like he’s listening. Like he’s holding it. “I hate that you treated me like I was some–some toy you could throw away when you got bored.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly.

“And I hate that I kept hoping you’d change. That I let you talk me into staying each time. That I stopped seeing my friends, stopped answering their texts because you’d make me feel guilty–like it was my fault.”

“Okay,” he breathes. Not defensive, just there. You sit up in bed, blanket sliding off your shoulders.

“You humiliated me in front of your friends. Like I was something to be ashamed of. You’d show me off when you wanted to, and then act like I was nothing when it didn’t suit you. You treated me like a secret.”

“I know,” he says. “You’re right.”

“And I hate that I still want you.” You groan, shoving your face into your hands. Silence. A breath. His. Another one. Yours. You wipe your eyes with the heel of your hand. When did you start crying? But that’s when it all starts to spill out of you.

“How would it make you feel,” you ask, voice trembling, “if I told you I fucked other guys after I left you? That they made me cum more times than you ever did?” He doesn’t answer.

Your breath stutters. “Or what if I kicked your ass out of a car and threatened to leave you in the middle of the night? What if I called you a dog and made you sleep on the goddamn floor?”

Still nothing, just silence on the other end of the line. You blink hard, forcing the tears to fall. “I didn’t do any of that!” you exclaim. “But you did. And you didn’t even think twice.”

There’s a long pause. When Nam Gyu speaks, his voice is hoarse. “I am sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t…I don’t even have words. I was cruel. I was disgusting. I didn’t treat you like a person and I know that. I know.”

You swallow. “I don’t forgive you,” you murmur.

“I know.”

“But maybe I will. One day. Or maybe not.” You both fall quiet.

Then his voice, soft again, uncertain. “Do you want me to stay on the phone until you fall asleep?” You don’t answer. Just leave the call open. Just listen to his breath in your ear like a heartbeat. And slowly–finally–you drift off.

You ignore his texts the next morning. The one that just says thank you for last night. And the follow up: i hope you slept okay. And the third: please don’t shut me out again. I’ll wait. But please don’t disappear.

You don’t answer. Not even when he calls. Once, then twice. By the afternoon, the silence feels heavier than your thoughts. There’s no clarity, no peace, just pressure behind your ribs and a thousand memories grinding at your brain.

You grab your coat. You don’t text. You don’t call. You just show up. When Nam Gyu opens the door to his apartment, he’s barefoot, hair still messy, wearing that old threadbare shirt you used to sleep in. He blinks when he sees you, almost like he doesn't believe you’re real…Then you shove him. Hard. He stumbles back a few steps, shocked, catching himself on the edge of the couch. “Wait–” 

“Don’t,” you snap; you’re already stepping inside, fury boiling in your chest, years of swallowed pain rising like bile in your throat. “You ruined me,” you snap. He freezes. “You took everything good I had left and twisted it. You made me question every word out of my mouth, every outfit I wore, every goddamn breath I took in your presence.”

“Yeah,” Nam Gyu says quietly. He straightens up, hand half lifted like he’s bracing for a hit. “I just–”

“Shut the fuck up,” you bark. It makes him freeze. “I’m talking. And for once–just once–you’re going to fucking listen to me.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Good. “You broke me into tiny little pieces and then got annoyed when I bled on your floor.” He opens his mouth–but you shove him again before he can speak.

“Stop,” he snaps, finally–voice tight.

You smile bitterly. “Aw. Am I making you mad now?”

His jaw clenches. “No.”

“You sure?” You circle him slowly, like you’re winding up. “I mean–I’m not choking you in a parking lot or throwing your shit down the stairs, so I guess I’m still behind on points, huh?”

He flinches. You step in closer, and push him again, flat-palmed, right in the chest.

“You think this is anger?” your voice cracks as it rises. “This isn’t anger. This is everything you left me to carry alone. All the nights you locked the door on me, all the times you called me a dog and laughed when I cried and then fucked me like none of it mattered.”

He swallows hard, standing there–still as stone. Letting you hit him with every word.

“And you know what really fucking kills me?” you continue. “You knew I would’ve died for you. And you still treated me like nothing.”

Nam Gyu’s eyes flicker, something breaking in them–but you’re not done. Your hand flies up, sharp and fast, aiming for his face. But he catches your wrist. His grip isn’t harsh, not exactly, but it’s firm. Controlled. Like he’s holding back something much bigger behind his eyes. His other hand curls into a fist at his side, knuckles white. “Don’t,” he mutters, jaw clenched. “Don’t do that.”

You rip your hand away, chest heaving–and then you spit in his face. His eyes snap shut, jaw twitching, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t wipe it away. And when you step forward, grabbing both of his shoulders and shoving him down, he drops to his knees like he belongs there.

Like that’s where he’s meant to be. You grip his chin hard, forcing his head up. Making him look at you, really look at you. “You don’t get to cry,” you hiss. “You cried like a bitch last night. But you don’t get to act broken now. You don’t get to kneel here and pretend you’ve changed when you’re still wearing the skin of a man who called me a burden and meant it.”

His breathing is shallow. Silent. His throat bobs as he swallows, but he still says nothing. “You remember spitting on me?” Your nails dig into his jaw. “Remember making me sleep on the floor because you were in a mood? Remember dragging me out of your car by my hair, and holding me down on the ground in the middle of nowhere?”

He blinks, but doesn’t look away. “Say it,” you snap. “Say you remember.”

“I remember…” he whispers.

You lean in closer, your voice trembling with fury. “And if you ever make me feel that small again, I swear to god, I won’t just walk away. I’ll ruin you. Do you fucking understand me?” 

He nods. Barely. You squeeze his jaw harder. “Say it.”

“I understand.” His voice cracks, but he still doesn’t move. You stare at him for a long, heavy moment–his knees on the floor, your hand wrapped around his chin, the old wound between you ripped wide open again. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the first time you actually believe he’s sorry.

You’re still holding his face in your hand when the silence starts to press in. His eyes flick up to meet yours, wide and shining. But there’s no apology in them–just something rawer. Older. Like he’s trying to hold it together and falling apart anyway.

So you let go. You take a step back, slow and deliberate. Your gaze drags down over him where he’s still on his knees, like you’re appraising something pathetic. Like you’re deciding whether or not he’s worth stepping on.

You tilt your head. Mocking. Then you step toward him, and slap him. Hard. His head jerks sideways with the impact. The sound cracks through the apartment like a gunshot. And for a second the world just stops.

Then he’s on his feet. Chest heaving, cheeks flushed. His hand balling at his sides. But you don’t flinch. You step back, measured and controlled. A smirk pulling at your lips. “You need to feel what it was like to be me,” you say. “To stand there wondering what kind of mood you were in. If you were going to break something or break me.”

He doesn’t answer. His shoulders are rigid, jaw clenched so tight it trembles. “You remember all those nights, Nam Gyu? All those nights you yelled at me for texting you too much, or asking how your day was? When you’d sit on that couch and fuck other girls in front of me.” Nam Gyu’s throat bobs with his swallow. “Don’t look at me like you’re the victim here.” Your voice is cold when you say it.

“Don’t hit me,” he says suddenly, his voice cracking, almost desperate. “I never hit you–”

“Oh, right,” you snap. “Just spit on me. Called me worthless, and disgusting. Boasted about how many times you cheated on me. Right, you get a gold star. That’s so much better.”

He shakes his head barely. But you’re already stepping back into his space. You get right in his face, fury burning now, rage pouring out after festering too long. “Go ahead then,” you hiss. “Fucking hit me.”

His eyes widen. “What?”

“Do it,” you say again, louder. “Hit me. Show me who you really are, Gyu.” You shove him again, and again. He doesn’t budge. And then–he lifts his hand. Just a fraction. The motion is sharp. Quick. Like a reflex.

But he stops himself. Just before it reaches you. His hand hovers in the air–shaking–then slowly drops back to his side. The look on his face is twisted. Sick. Like he’s just glimpsed some awful version of himself in a mirror.

You let the silence stretch. Then you smile, cold and sure. “That’s what I thought.”

He’s breathing hard now. Eyes blown wide, shame etched into every line of his face. “Poor Nam Gyu,” you murmur, taking another slow step around him. “Not so tough when the leash is around your neck.”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even move. Just stands there. Hands trembling at his sides. Face flushed with humiliation and something else–something deeper. You circle back around to face him, still calm. Still in control. And then, softly–cuttingly: “Good boy.”

He flinches like the words slap harder than your hand did. And this time, you watch him wilt under you. Finally, like all the power he used to lord over you has drained right out of him. And now all that’s left is the version of him you always begged to see.

Nam Gyu doesn’t move. Still standing there, chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile, arms tense at his sides like he’s afraid to lift them–afraid to break something. You or himself. Whatever fragile thread is keeping the two of you from shattering completely.

You take a step toward him. Then another. And another. Until you’re right there, face tilted up to his, your breath brushing his chin. His eyes flick down to your mouth, the snap away like it burns him.

You don’t say anything. Just reach up slowly, deliberately, and rest your hand on his cheek. His eyes flutter shut the moment you touch him, like he can’t bear to look at you while you’re being soft. Like it hurts worse than the slap.

Your thumb brushes along his cheekbone–gently this time. A quiet contrast to everything that came before. It feels cruel, almost, to touch him like this now. Like he doesn’t deserve it. Maybe he doesn’t. But you do it anyway.

He leans into your hand instinctively, just enough for you to feel the weight of it. Then your fingers slip into his hair, and you tug–just enough to make him look at you. His eyes are wild. Glassy and scared. 

You hold his gaze for a long, quiet moment. And then, slowly, you pull him down and kiss him. It’s not desperate. It’s not even gentle. It’s something else entirely–slow and sure and deliberate. A promise and a punishment all at once. Like you’re kissing him because you can. Because after everything he’s done to you, he still wants you to.

And because part of you–some hollow, aching part–still wants him too. When you pull away, his lips are parted, his breath shallow. His hands are still fisted at his sides, like he doesn’t trust them not to betray him.

Your forehead rests against his for a breath, maybe two. And then you step back, letting the distance settle again between you. Letting him feel it. Letting him miss you, even in the space of a second.

You exhale shakily, eyes still on him as your fingers fall away from his cheek. The kiss still lingers–on your mouth, in the air between you, in the way neither of you seems quite ready to move. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice barely holding steady.

Nam Gyu’s head jerks slightly. “No. Don’t–don’t apologize.” His voice cracks on the words. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he says, firmer this time. “You don’t apologize for that. I deserved all of it. Every word. And that…that wasn’t even half of what I’ve done to you.”

He looks at you then–really looks. Like he’s bracing himself for whatever else you might throw at him, not out of defensiveness, but readiness. Like he wants to carry it. He swallows hard, eyes flicking away again as he shifts on his feet. Then, quieter, almost shy: “Can I hug you?”

Your throat tightens. And instead of answering, you take the first step, just one, and close the space between you. Your arms slip around his waist, and his come around your shoulders like a lifeline. He holds you with so much care, so much want, that it nearly knocks the air out of you. No words, no apologies, no apologies needed. Just the two of you, holding each other in the echo of everything that came before. In the fragile, aching silence of something maybe not broken beyond repair. And for now…that’s enough.

It starts with money. Small deposits at first. $60 here. $250 there. You notice them by the third one, brows furrowed as you scroll through your banking app. Before you can bring it up, your phone buzzes. A simple, one word text from Nam Gyu. Enjoy.

That’s it. No follow up. No explanation. The next time, he transfers half your rent. After that, it’s gas money. Then your phone bill. You try to push back–text him something half joking about being his sugar baby–but he doesn’t bite.

“You took care of me when I was nothing,” he mutters one night, eyes trained on the TV. “Just let me do something right.”

So you let him. You stop packing a bag after a while. Leave your toothbrush by his sink. Then your moisturizer. A pair of socks on the floor. A shirt draped over the back of his desk chair. You don’t think about it, not really, not until you notice your slippers lined up neatly beside his by the door.

One morning, you go to find a pair of his socks to steal and you see that he’s emptied out an entire dresser drawer. Just for you. He doesn’t say anything about it. But his eyes flick over to you, then drop back to his book. You don’t say anything either.

And it just keeps happening. You start coming by straight after work. Start waking up in his bed more often than your own. One evening, you’re unlocking the door to his apartment and realize–for the first time–you did it with your own key.

You’re wearing one of his old t-shirts. Carrying a tote bag of groceries. The apartment smells like your candle. Nam Gyu is already home, barefoot, flipping through mail. He glances up when you step inside, freezes for just a second, then exhales like something inside him finally unclenched. “You’re home.” It’s not a question, but it still sounds like him asking. You nod, and you don’t correct him. 

Weeks pass. The more you settle in, the more you unravel. The job wears you thin–late hours, drunk men flirting with you, a boss who calls you by the wrong name. You come home drained, skipping dinner, curling up like you’re bracing for something.

Nam Gyu notices. Of course he does. You wake up one morning to coffee on the nightstand, toast you didn’t ask for, and Nam Gyu sitting beside you on the bed. “I don’t want you working there anymore,” he mutters quietly. “You hate it. You cry in the shower. I hear you.”

You open your mouth, but he shakes his head. 

“I can take care of you. You don’t have to keep bleeding for people who wouldn’t even flinch for you.”

It takes you two weeks to finally quit. That night, he doesn’t say much. Just pulls you in when you crawl into bed beside him, kisses the top of your head, and murmurs against your hair, “I’m proud of you.”

Everything’s not perfect, not even close.

Some days, things feel good–easy, even. You cook together. Fold laundry on the couch. Watch half a movie before Nam Gyu falls asleep with his head in your lap. There are quiet moments. Safe pens. You’ve started to trust those again. But the cracks still show.

Sometimes he says something too sharp. The old tone slips in, that venom laced just beneath his breath. Like muscle memory. And you freeze–not because you’re afraid, not anymore–but because you remember. All of it. Too clearly.

Tonight, it was over nothing. A cabinet left open. Dishes left in the sink. You muttered that you’d get to them, but he snapped something low under his breath. Something that sounded too much like before. You stared at him. Didn’t say a word. Just turned and walked into the bedroom, closed the door softly behind you.

Hours pass. The house is quiet, but not still. You hear movement in the hallway. A soft thump against the wall. Then– knock, knock, knock. Then a pause. A soft rustle. The door opens slow, like he thinks you might yell. You don’t.

Nam Gyu stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest like he’s trying to hold himself in. “Sorry,” he mutters. You look up from where you’re sitting on the bed, still dressed, phone dim in your lap. He fidgets. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it. I was just–” He cuts himself off with a frustrated exhale. “Doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve that.”

You wait. Watch him squirm. “I’m trying,” he admits quietly. “I really am.”

You nod slowly. “I know.” He looks relieved, but still guilty. Still standing in the doorway, like he’s waiting to be dismissed. Like he thinks he should sleep on the couch. “Come here,” you say finally.

His shoulders drop an inch. Then another. He crosses the room slowly, cautiously, like he’s still not sure you’ll let him. But when he slides into bed beside you, you don’t pull away. You let him wrap his arms around you, let his nose press into the crook of your neck. Let his remorse settle into the quiet. And even though he’s not perfect–and maybe never will be–he’s here. And he’s trying. That has to count for something.

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[sillylilsquid]

⋆𝖍𝖊 ����𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖘 𝖒𝖊 𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑⋆

pairing - nam gyu x reader summary - he's the only thing that hurts and feels like home all at once, and you'd rather break for him than ever be without him warnings - au!nam gyu, afab!reader, abusive relationship, toxic relationship, power dynamic, dom/sub relationship, nam gyu being nam gyu, 18+ minors dni!! 8.6k words

You weren’t supposed to fall in love with him. That was the first rule. And if you did, you sure as hell weren’t supposed to stay in love.

But then again, Nam Gyu never played fair.

He didn’t come into your life like a storm. He came quiet. Smooth. Charismatic enough to make you forget your own name when he looked at you a certain way. It started with gifts. A new phone. Then a pair of shoes you swore you never told him you wanted. Then rent for the next three months. Then he told you not to worry about your job–”it’s not like they’re paying you shit anyway.”

And just like that, you became his.

Now you live in a high-rise apartment you didn’t pay for. All your clothes have tags on them you can’t pronounce. And your entire life–what you wear, where you go, who you talk to–depends on whether or not Nam Gyu is in a good mood.

Tonight, he wasn’t.

You don’t even look up when the front door slams shut. He doesn’t say anything as he walks in, just tosses his coat over the back of a chair and drops a heavy chain and his phone on the kitchen counter. You’re curled up on the couch like you always are–quiet, waiting, obedient. Your knees are pulled to your chest, wearing one of the oversized shirts he left in your closet, hoping it softens him.

He walks past you like you’re invisible. Your voice is barely a whisper. “You said you’d be back hours ago.”

He stops in the hallway. Tension crackles in the air. And then he laughs–sharp and humorless. “Oh? Now you keepin’ track of my hours?”

You flinch. “I was just asking.”

He turns slowly, eyes dark with something dangerous. “No, you weren’t. You were whining.”

You brace yourself for the argument. But instead of yelling, he stalks toward you, slow and calm. That’s worse. Nam Gyu only gets quiet when he wants you to hurt. He sits on the edge of the coffee table and leans in close, hand resting casually on your thigh like nothing’s wrong.

“Tell me something,” he says, brushing his thumb along your bare skin. “Where exactly would you be without me, huh? You think you’d be sittin’ up here in this place, dressed like that, eating food you didn’t have to cook, if I hadn’t decided you were worth keepin’ around?”

Your throat tightens. You don’t answer.

He leans in closer, voice lower. “Girls would kill to be in your position. But you? You’re over here pouting like a little brat.”

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to ask him where he was, who he was with, why he always smells like someone else’s perfume when he comes home. But instead, you do what you always do–you nod.

He cups your chin, tilting your face toward him. “Good girl,” he murmurs, soft now. “That’s my girl.”

And then, just like that, the switch flips. He kisses your forehead, pulls you into his chest, and you let him–because when he’s like this, when his arms are warm around you and his breath is soft in your hair, it’s easy to pretend it means something. Even if deep down you know he’s just making sure you stay.

Then:

You met him when your world was already falling apart. Your hours were getting cut at work, your roommate bailed, and the ceiling of your shitty apartment started leaking again. You were halfway through Googling “how to break a lease without getting sued” when he slid into your life like it was always his.

Nam Gyu didn’t ask what’s wrong. He already knew. He had a way of talking like he could see right through you. Like he’d already done the math and figured out exactly how little you had left.

“Come stay with me,” he said, like he was offering you a ride to work. “I’ll take care of everything. You just gotta be mine.”

At the time, it sounded sweet. Like a gift. Not a contract. And you said yes before you thought about it. And that’s how it started.

The first week he spoiled you. He bought groceries, handed you cash like it was nothing.  His place was nice–too nice for a guy who said he “freelanced.” You didn’t ask questions. He let you sleep in, stay in bed all day, walk around in his t-shirts and nothing else. He made it feel like home. Like you were something precious.

“You deserve better than that old life,” he told you one night, fingers playing with the ends of your hair. “You’re mine now. You don’t need anyone else.” And you believed him. Because he made it easy to.

It didn’t take long for the rules to show up. At first, they were little things. “Don’t wear that out. Guys are gonna stare, and I’ll have to break someone’s jaw.” “Why do you still follow your ex on Instagram?” “Tell your friend to stop calling so much. You’ve got me now. That should be enough.”

And when you hesitated–when you tried to defend yourself–he’d go quiet. Withdraw. Sleep facing away from you. And that silence was worse than yelling. So you stopped arguing. And he started smiling again.

By the second month, he’d cut the world off around you. He said he didn’t like your friends. Said they were dragging you down. He picked apart your family in passing conversation until you started to feel ashamed for even thinking about them.

And you let him. Because he’d kiss your temple right after and whisper, “They never care about you the way I do.”

He’d run you baths. Leave notes on the fridge. Buy you perfume and tell you it smelled like heaven on your skin. You thought it was love. But it was programming. He taught you how to crave his approval.

You started thanking him for things you used to do on your own. Rent. Groceries. Medicine. Clothes. He’d give you something and wait, expectant, until you kissed him and whispered, “thank  you. I don’t deserve you.”

And he’d smile, press his mouth to your throat, and say, “Damn right you don’t.”

The first time he disappeared for a few days, you lost your mind. No calls. No messages. No warning. 

You sat on the floor of that luxury apartment–his apartment–and stared at your reflection in the black screen of your phone. Wondering if you’d done something wrong. Wondering if you were about to be abandoned again.

And then he came home with a new bag slung over his shoulder, reeking of alcohol and another girl’s perfume, and kissed your forehead like he’d just stepped out for coffee. “Miss me, baby?”

You should have screamed. You should have run. Instead, you nodded. You told him yes. And you meant it. Because, by then, you couldn’t imagine life without him. Not because it was good. But because you didn’t remember who you were before him. And that’s exactly how he wanted it. 

Now:

It’s late morning. The curtains are still half drawn, sunlight bleeding across the floor in soft gold. You’re perched on the edge of the bed, tugging your sleeves down over your hand while Nam Gyu scrolls through his phone beside you, shirtless and humming faintly under his breath.

He hasn’t said a word since waking up. Just grunted when you handed him coffee and leaned against your thigh while he answered messages.

You wait a little longer before you speak–timing it just right, like a kid trying to catch their parents in a good mood. “My mom texted me this morning,” you say, careful and light. “She asked if wanted to come by for dinner this weekend.”

He doesn’t look up. Just exhales through his nose and says flatly, “Yeah, no. That sounds awful.”

Your stomach sinks a little. But you keep your voice steady, playful. “Awful? Come on, they’d probably like you.”

He snorts. “Sure they would. After all, I’m the guy who picked their daughter up off the floor and turned her into a house pet.”

That lands like a punch, and he knows it. He finally glances over at you, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. You’re staring at your lap, blinking too fast, throat tight. “I just thought it might be nice,” you say softly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen them.”

He tosses his phone onto the bed and stretches, cracking his neck. “Yeah, and let me guess–your mom’s gonna give me that fake smile and your dad’s gonna look at me like I’m a fucking parasite. Meanwhile, you’ll sit there pretending you’re not some needy little thing who’d rather be sucking my cock under my table than sitting at theirs.”

You flinch. It’s quiet for a second too long. Then you wipe at your eyes quickly, trying to hide it. He catches the motion. “Seriously?” he asks, voice lilting now, almost amused. “You’re crying? Over that?”

You shake your head, but he’s already grinning. “God, you’re such a baby.” Then, “Want me to kiss it better, princess? Or you gonna cry some more about mommy missing you?”

His voice is mocking, syrupy sweet. But the hand he drapes over your thigh is warm, grounding. The weight of it makes you feel dizzy.

You bite your lip and say nothing.

And then he leans in, brushing his lips against your cheek–just a whisper of affection–before whispering in your ear, “you really are lucky to have me. Anyone else would’ve thrown you out ages ago.”

You nod, slow. Silent. Because he’s not wrong. He stayed. Even if he’s the one who made sure no one else could.

You don’t bring up your family again. Not that day. Not the day after. Not at all.

You get quieter. Not in a dramatic way–just…careful. Smaller. You smile when he makes a joke, but you don’t reach for him like you used to. You stop curling into his side at night unless he pulls you in. And you start going to be early, pretending to be asleep before he even gets off the phone with whoever he’s out with that night.

He notices. He always notices. At first, he doesn’t say anything. Just watches you–like he’s trying to figure out whether to ignore it or punish you for it.

And then, suddenly–he flips the script.

The next morning, there’s coffee waiting for you on the nightstand. Your favorite kind, made exactly the way you like it. There’s a new hoodie hanging on the back of the door–one of his, freshly washed, smelling like his cologne. You find a little velvet box on the kitchen counter with earrings you once pointed at in a shop window months ago. You never even told him you liked them.

And he’s home that night. Early. He tosses his keys on the table and comes straight over to where you’re sitting on the couch, pulling you into his lap like it’s nothing. Like this is normal. “Missed you,” he says simply, nuzzling into your neck.

You freeze for a second–then melt, because you’re weak when it comes to this part. This version of him. The warm, sleepy one who holds you like he’ll die if you leave. “Did you like the stuff I left for you?” he murmurs, brushing his nose against your cheek.

You nod. “Yeah. It was sweet.”

He hums. His hands trail under your hoodie, skin to skin. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he says, almost too casual. You open your mouth to answer–but he cuts you off, kissing your jaw, your throat, the corner of your mouth. “I don’t like it when you get quiet…makes me feel like you’re forgetting who you belong to.” his voice is softer now, dangerous.

You shake your head fast. “I’m not.”

He grins. “Good.” Nam Gyu lifts your chin with two fingers and kisses you deep–slow and full, like a promise. You feel your bones go soft. “You don’t need anyone else, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “Not your mom. Not your friends. Just me.”

And you believe him again. Because he made you this way.

It happens that night. The first time in two weeks. He kisses you like he’s starving, murmuring half-lies against your skin– “missed you, baby…no one’s as good as you…look at the way you take it, fuck…”–and for a second it feels real again. You forget how long it’s been. You forget everything he’s said, every bruise on your pride. You melt like it’s the first time.

After, he stays curled behind you, fingers lazily drawing circles on your thigh. “You fuck so good I might actually take out to dinner,” he mutters with a grin.

You roll your eyes and laugh softly. “Wow. What an honor.”

“Don’t get cocky,” he says, biting your shoulder gently. “You’re still replaceable.”

But the next night, he tells you to wear something nice. And your heart flutters because it’s been forever since you went anywhere together. You put on your best dress, your new earrings, makeup careful but soft, hair done just the way he likes it.

He whistles when he sees you. “Shit. My girl cleaned up,” he said as he grabbed your ass. “Try not to cry at the restaurant this time, yeah?” You smile even though your stomach twists.

The restaurant is expensive. High ceilings, candlelight, a bottle of wine he orders without asking. He’s beautiful in this setting–sharp lines and smug eyes, his gold chain glinting in the low light. 

But he’s not present. He scrolls through his phone between bites. Laughs at something a girl sends him. Doesn’t look up when you ask him about your day.

You try to hold on anyway. “It’s nice here,” you hum, trying to make conversation. “We haven’t done this in a while.”

“Yeah, well,” he speaks without looking up, “you’ve been acting like a wet towel. Not exactly fun to take out.”

Your breath catches. You stare down at your plate. Something inside you snaps. “Then why bother?” you whisper, sharper than you meant. “Why even bring me if you’re gonna spend the whole time on your phone?”

Nam Gyu looks up slowly. Eyes cold. Expression unreadable. “Careful.” You open your mouth to apologize but he cuts you off. “You’re gonna regret that later.”

Back at the apartment, he’s already packing when you come in behind him. You stand frozen in the doorway, heart thudding. “W-what are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer. Just zips his duffel and throws a sweatshirt over his shoulder. 

“Nam Gyu,” your voice cracks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was just–just frustrated. I’m sorry, please don’t–”

“I’m not gonna sit around while my bitch of a girlfriend talks down to me in public.”

“I wasn’t–!” you start, then swallow it. Lower your head. “I’m sorry. Please. Gyu. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Too late for that.” He brushes past you. You grab his wrist.

“Please don’t go,” you whisper, tears threatening again. “Please, I’ll do better. I’ll be better, I promise. Just don’t leave me.”

He looks at you like you’re an inconvenience. Like your tears are annoying. “This is exactly why people get rid of girls like you.” Then he walks out.

He leaves. The door slams. You don’t even realize you’re chasing after him until your bare feet hit the cold floor of the hallway. But he’s already in the elevator. Already gone. Already choosing the night over you.

You call him. Once. Twice. Five times. Straight to voicemail. So you resort to texting him.

Please come back

Can we talk?

Please

I’m sorry

Gyu, please

Left on read. Then nothing. You stare at the screen as the typing dots appear…and vanish. You wait. Your heart thunders like it’s fighting to stay alive. You send another message.

Are you okay? Just tell me ur okay

Delivered, but not read. And then–just like that–your messages stop going through. Blocked. You don’t cry, not right away. Not until you check his Instagram. His story is fresh, posted just ten minutes ago. It’s a dark, crowded room. Music pulsing. His friends laughing, drinks spilling, arms around each other.

And there he is. Smirking. Beer in hand, alive like nothing ever happened. Like you never happened. You watch the loop of him over and over until the tears finally come–quiet and humiliated, curled up on the couch in one of his shirts that still smells like him.

Two days pass.

You barely eat. The food in the fridge going untouched. You sleep in his shirt. You tell yourself you’re overreacting, that he’ll come home and tell you it was just a fight. That he was angry. That he didn’t mean it. That he still loves you.

3:21am.

The lock turns. You’re asleep–sort of. That brittle half sleep where everything feels like a dream and a nightmare stitched together. You hear the door creak open. The low scrape of shoes on tile. And then–a giggle, soft, feminine.

His voice came out low and muffled, “Shhh, my girl’s sleeping.”

The blood drains from your face. You fumble out of bed, heart in your throat. Your feet are cold against the floor. You walk to the hallway on autopilot, the apartment dark but not silent.

And then you see him. Nam Gyu on the couch. Some girl–tiny, barefoot, wearing a short dress. Her hair a mess, eyes bright, like she’s been having fun. Like this was normal.

He freezes when he sees you. The girl turns too, confused, until she realizes that you’re the girlfriend. That she’s the mistake. 

You say nothing. You can’t. Your voice is gone. Your breath is gone. Nam Gyu just stares at you. Not shocked. Not guilty. Just annoyed. Like you ruined the night.

Your body is frozen. The girl giggles again, messy and high pitches, and waves at you like you’re a friend just walking into the room. Her cheeks are flushed, lips glossy but smeared down her chin. She’s perched on Nam Gyu’s lap like she’s always belonged there. Like you don’t.

Your eyes lock on his. He stares back at you like this is your fault. Like you’re the intruder in the shared space. Your chest rises with a sharp breath, but you don’t say anything. You just glare at him, your throat burning, and turn to walk away, to go back into the bedroom. To shut the door and pretend like this isn’t happening.

But his voice stops you cold. “You want me to forgive you?” You stop in the hallway, spine stiff, heart beating against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. “Then sit your ass down and watch me fuck her.”

You turn, slowly. “What?” you whisper.

He doesn’t repeat himself. Just tilts his chin, eyes sharp, mean. “You heard me,” he says. “Get in here. Show me how fucking loyal you acutally are.”

The room tilts. You blink, trying to understand if this is real. If he means it. But he just keeps staring at you–steady, unreadable. Like this is a test. Like this is punishment.

Your stomach drops, but your feet move. Against every ounce of pride, of pain, of self worth, you walk back into the living room. You drag your feet like they weigh a hundred pounds, like the air is made of syrup.

He points to the floor in front of him. You sink to your knees. The carpet feels rough against your skin. Cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones and makes you feel small. Forgettable.

The girl is still curled against him, hands pawing at his chest like she can’t tell something’s shifted. She doesn't even look at you–too drunk or too far gone to care. Her lips find his neck again, clumsy and wet, and she lets out a breathy little moan as she grinds into his lap.

You don’t even know her name, and you’re sure he doesn’t know it either. Nam Gyu’s hands slide under her thighs, lifting her easily and adjusting her so she straddles him properly. She giggles again, whispering something into his ear that you can’t hear.

You try to look away. But his voice cuts through the space again, low and sharp. “Eyes on me.”

Your gaze snaps back up. He watches you as he undoes his belt. While the girl sucks on his collarbone, giggling, oblivious. He doesn’t kiss her. Doesn’t touch her with tenderness. This isn’t about her.

It’s about you. 

He enters her like it means nothing–no warning, no gentleness–and she lets out a sloppy, surprised moan. Her nails dig into his shoulders, her body moving with his like it’s instinct. And the whole time, his eyes never leave yours.

His expression doesn’t change, not really. He’s calm. Cold, in control. You sit there on your knees, silent, humiliated, frozen. Every sound she makes carves another notch into your rids. Every thrust, every sigh, every creak of the couch burns hotter than the last. 

You don’t cry. Not yet. You just sit there. Loyal, obedient, destroyed. And Nam Gyu? He doesn’t stop until he decides you’ve had enough.

The girl slumps against him, limbs loose and boneless, head tucked against his shoulder like a child after a tantrum. Her breath is warm and sticky sounding as it fans against his throat, a soft giggle still bubbling up from somewhere deep in her chest like she doesn’t understand what just happened. 

You stay kneeling. Still and silent and humiliated. Nam Gyu barely glances at her as he tucks his cock back into his boxers. He grips her waist with both hands, not gentle, and lifts her off him like she’s weightless. “Get up,” he mutters to her, not even bothering to fake tenderness.

She whines a little, clinging to him. “Mmm, nooo. I’m comfy…”

“I said, get up.” His voice slices through the haze of her drunken clinginess. She pouts, confused, but slowly wobbles to her feet, tugging her skirt down over her shaky legs. She doesn’t look at you as she stumbles toward the door, pulling her jacket on crookedly, one heel half buckled.

She gives Nam Gyu a sloppy kiss on the cheek and giggles again. “You’re mean,” she mumbles.

“Bye,” he says flatly, and shuts the door behind her. Then silence. You don’t move. He turns slowly, back to the couch, and drops down with a deep sigh, letting his legs spread wide. His shirt’s still half unbuttoned, collar loose, boxers riding up his thighs. He sinks into the cushions like a king back on his throne, like he didn’t just destroy something vital in front of you.

He looks at you. Just looks, and waits. The air is thick. Heavy with sweat and sex and shame. You shift slightly on your knees, but don’t rise. You can feel his stare on you like heat, like a weight across your chest. His jaw flexes once, slow. “Not gonna cry?” he asks. “Thought you’d be sobbing by now.”

You say nothing. Because if you open your mouth, it will come out as a sob. And he knows it. He leans back, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the other resting on his thigh. His fingers tap against the fabric, slow and deliberate.

“Still trying to prove something?” he murmurs. “That you deserve me?” Your lip trembles. You bite it hard enough to taste blood. He huffs a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Pathetic,” he says, but there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes now. Curiosity. Intrigue. That cold amusement he gets when he’s testing your limits just to see where they crack.

You sit there and take it. Your knees ache. Your back burns. But you don’t move. Not until he tells you to. And he doesn’t. Not yet. He just watches and waits. To see if you’ll finally break.

Nam Gyu doesn’t speak for a long time. Just sits there, sprawled across the couch like a god, like a devil–shirt wrinkled and open, chest rising and falling slow. His skin still glows faintly with sweat, the scent of her perfume still clinging faintly to the air.

You keep your eyes on his face. And he keeps his on you. Then, without a word, he lifts his hand. Points downward. Right between his feet. Your breath stutters. You hesitate for a second. Not because you don’t understand, but because some last flicker of self respect is twitching inside your chest like a dying insect.

But it doesn’t last.

You crawl forward. Small, shuffling movements. Palms flat to the floor, knees dragging across the carpet, until you’re right where he wants you–kneeling between his legs, the heat of his skin pulsing around you.

He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t even lean forward. Just watches. His gaze burns into the stop of your head, down your throat, along every line of tension in your spine. You lift your chin slowly, meeting his stare with your own, your lips parted like you wanted to speak–but you don’t. There’s nothing to say. Not really.

So you do the only thing that makes sense in that moment. You lean forward, slow and quiet, and press your cheek to his knee. It’s warm, solid. The fabric of his boxers brushes your skin and you let your head rest there, curled against him like something docile. Like something owned.

He breathes in deep. Still doesn’t touch you. But his thigh shifts beneath your cheek, a small movement, one that almost feels like instinct–as if, despite everything, part of him still responds to your closeness. Even if he won’t admit it.

You keep your eyes on him, tilted up from where your head rests on his leg. Waiting. For him to speak. For him to punish. For him to forgive. Whatever he chooses–you’ll take it. Because you’re still there. And he knows you will be. Always.

His stare finally drops. Not down at you. Not even at his lap. Just…somewhere else. Past your head. Past the room. Like he’s already bored again. Like your presence isn’t even enough to keep him interested for more than a few minutes.

But then–his hand moves. It lowers slowly, fingers brushing the side of your face, then slipping into your hair. He strokes it lazily, absently–like you’re some stray cat he didn’t mean to feed, like it’s just muscle memory now, touching you.

“You really are pathetic,” he murmurs, almost to himself. No anger in his voice anymore, just cruel honesty. “Sat there and watched me fuck her, and now you’re cuddled up to my leg like some mutt.”

Your cheeks burn. But you don’t move. You can’t move. His fingers tighten in your hair–not enough to hurt, not yet, but enough to remind you who he is. What he can do. What he already has done.

“And don’t look at me like you’re the victim,” he mutters. “You’re the one who embarrassed me in public. Who spoke to me like a bitch. And now you wanna play the good little girlfriend again?”

You blink hard. Swallow down the lump in your throat. He lets out a cold, humorless laugh. “I should’ve left you crying on the damn floor. Should’ve let that girl sleep in our bed. Bet she would’ve been louder for me.” His thumb brushes over your scalp, slow and rough. “But you just had to be here, huh? Had to crawl back like the desperate little bitch you are.”

You feel it in your chest–sharp and aching. You want to speak, want to say something, but your mouth won’t move. Because he’s right. You are still here. You did stay.

His hand drifts again, petting you in slow, cruel strokes. Not comforting. Not kind. Just meant to humiliate you further, like he’s reminding you of where you belong–on your knees, under his touch, beneath his contempt.

“You gonna say anything?” he asks suddenly. “Or are you just gonna keep staring at me like that?” He still won’t look at you. But now he’s listening. Waiting. Testing how deep your loyalty runs–how far you’ll let him drag you down.

You shake your head. Not at him, not in defiance. Just slow, tiny, instinctual–like you’re trying to shrink yourself smaller, quieter, more obedient. A soft, barely-there, “No.”

No, you’re not going to say anything. No, you’re not going to argue. No, you’re not going to push back like you did that night, with your tone all sharp and your voice too loud and your mouth too bold.

His touch slows. Then stills. Then starts again–rougher this time, the tips of his fingers catching at the roots of your hair as he scrapes back through it. You let him. 

Your head tilts more fully into his leg, cheek resting against his warm, bare skin. You smell her on his shirt–cheap perfume, sweat, sex. But you still nuzzle in closer.

His leg shifts a little and your hand flies up without thinking, clutching his knee like you’re afraid he might move away. Leave again. Take that heat with him. Take that bitter, punishing attention you’ve been starving for since he left.

He sees it. And laughs under his breath. “God, look at you,” he sneers, finally glancing down at where you’ve curled yourself at his feet. “You’d let me spit in your face and call it affection, wouldn’t you?”

Your throat tightens–but you nod. Because you would. You have. You’re doing it right now. 

“Of course you would,” he mutters, almost fond in the way someone might talk to a stupid, loyal dog. “Doesn’t even matter what I do. I treat you like shit, and you just sit there like this–waiting for scraps. Hoping I’ll tell you you’re good again.”

His thumb brushes your jaw this time, lifting your chin just slightly. “You want me to break you, don’t you?” You nod again. Slower. Shame burning through you. Because you don’t just want it–you need it. Need the punishment. The degradation. The reminder that you belong to him even when he’s cruel. Especially when he’s cruel.

You don’t ask him to forgive you. You don’t ask him if he still loves you, if he ever loved you. You just stay there–kneeling, quiet, pliant–offering up every soft, pathetic piece of yourself for him to crush under his heel.

And he lets you. Lets you sit there trembling beneath him, half broken and desperate to be useful again. He watches you for a long time. Silent. Still. Like he’s waiting to see if you'll fold even more on your own. If you’ll cry. If you’ll break without lifting a single finger.

But you don’t move. Not yet. So he does. His hand leaves your hair, and your heart stutters at the sudden loss of contact. But then he leans forward, just slightly–towering over you now, still sitting, still spread out like a king on a throne.

“You want to be good again?” he says, calm and quiet. You nod. He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “You sure?”

You whisper, “Yes.” 

Then, he spits in your face. Warm, sharp, fast. It hits your cheek and your lashes and you flinch–not from fear, but from the jolt of knowing he meant it. From the way he does it so easily, like it doesn’t even register as cruel to him. Like you’re beneath that kind of decency now. 

And maybe you are. He doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t explain. Just settles back again, palms on his knees, staring at the wet streak on your cheek. You don’t wipe it away. You keep your eyes on him, waiting. “Good girl,” he mutters.

And that wreck something inside you. That stupid, pathetic flutter in your chest when he says it, even after that. Especially after that. But he’s not done. “You want your place back?” You nod again. “You think you’ve earned anything just by sitting there?”

You don’t answer–not fast enough, anyway–and his grip tightens in your hair, tugging your head back just enough to make your throat stretch, eyes wide as you stare up at him. “I said,” he repeats, “you think you’ve earned it?”

You shake your head, lips trembling. “No.” 

“Then why the fuck are you acting like it?” Nam Gyu lets go of your hair and you slump back down, forehead brushing his thigh now. You try to hide your face–but he won’t let you disappear that easily. “Tell me how pathetic you are. How stupid you are for acting that way.”

You shift a little, shame burning down your spine, throat tight with the weight of the words. “I’m pathetic,” you whisper, then louder, “I’m your pathetic little thing.”

He hums, pleased. “Keep going.”

“I’m–” Your lips tremble. “I’m disgusting. I’m stupid for thinking I could talk back to you. I’m lucky you even look at me tonight.”

He exhales slowly, satisfied. “Now, don’t pull that shit again.”

For the past week, you’ve been perfect. You wake when he says. Speak only when spoken to. You answer every command with a soft, “Okay, Gyu.” You follow him like a shadow–silent, pliant, unthreatening.

You’re his favorite kind of girl again: a quiet one.

When he texts, you come. When he tugs you closer at parties, you lean into him like he’s gravity. You let him rest his hand around your throat when you sit in booths with his friends, laugh at the right moments, never talk too much. Your friends’ messages go unread. You don’t speak to your family anymore.

It’s like none of it ever happened. Like the night he used you and called you trash never really broke you. But it did. And tonight, that crack shows.

You’re at some rooftop club in Itaewon–too loud, too crowded. The whole place smells like perfume, sweat, and smoke. Nam Gyu’s been nursing the same drink for an hour, one hand wrapped lazily around your hip, the other texting someone you’re not allowed to ask about. He hasn’t looked at you in twenty minutes.

You say nothing. Just keep sipping your water, letting your feet ache in the heels he told you to wear. Then he laughs at something some girl says–leans in a little too close–and you mutter it before you can stop yourself. “Fucking flirt.”

It’s barely audible. Not even meant for him. Just a bitter breath of a thought. But he hears it. He freezes mid laugh, and slowly turns his head toward you. “What?”

You stiffen. “Nothing.”

“Nah. Say it again.” His voice is calm, his smile is gone.

“I said nothing,” you repeat, not meeting his eyes.

That’s when it changes. He stands up so fast his drink spills. His hand wraps around your wrist, hard, and yanks you up from the table. Conversations stutter around you as heads turn. “The fuck did you just say to me, huh?” he snarls, loud enough for the whole section to hear.

“Nam Gyu, please–” you start, mortified, tugging at his grip.

“Nah, you got somethin’ to say, say it. Go on. Be brave now.” He’s practically dragging you through the club. “You wanna talk back? Say it louder.”

The car door slams shut and you’re off. He’s driving too fast. Red lights blur past. His jaw is locked, eyes dead ahead. “You always wanna embarrass me in front of everyone, huh?”

“I didn’t mean to, I just–”

“You just what? You just couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut for once?”

You don’t stay quiet. Not this time. “Because I’m tired of being your toy!” you scream. “You treat me like garbage, Nam Gyu! You drag me around like I’m nothing!”

That does it. He swerves, tires screeching, and veers off the main road. Gravel crunches under the wheels as he pulls into some unlit, empty field on the edge of town. “What are you doing? Where are we–”

He slams the breaks. Turns off the engine. Silence. Then he leans across you, opens the door. “Get out.”

You freeze. “W-what?” 

“You heard me. Out.”

“It’s the middle of nowhere, it’s–”

“Get the fuck out!”

You don’t move. Just stare at him, shaking. “Gyu, please. Don’t leave me here. I’ll–I won’t talk back again, I swear!”

But he’s already opening his own door. Stepping out. Breathing hard. Jaw clenched.

You don’t move. You’re frozen in the passenger seat, hands gripping the edge of the door, breath coming in shallow gasps. “Nam Gyu, please–don’t do this, I didn’t mean–”

He rounds the car in seconds. Yanks open your door all the way. And grabs you by the wrist. “Out.”

You brace yourself, legs planted, shoulders pressed back against the seat. “Stop it,” you gasp, pushing weakly at his chest. “I said I’ll be good–”

“You always say that,” he roars, dragging you forward, forcing you out inch by inch. “Every time. ‘I’ll be good, Nam Gyu.’ ‘I’ll do better, Gyu.’ Bullshit.”

You fight it, still clinging to the edge of the seat, nails digging in. But he’s stronger. He always is. One good yank and you’re out of his car–knees scraping hard against gravel, palms hitting the dirt as you crumple onto the cold ground beside the car.

Then his legs start moving. Like he’s going to leave. You grab for him instinctively. Arms wrap around his leg, your cheeks pressed to the denim of his jeans, sobs already clawing up your throat. “Please don’t go,” you beg, your voice barely recognizable. “Please, I’m sorry–don’t leave me here. I’ll be good, I swear–I’ll be whatever you want, just don’t go.”

He looks down at you. And laughs. It’s not kind. Not even amused. It’s mean. Sharp and cruel. “Look at you,” he sneers. “Clinging to my leg like a fucking dog.”

You sob harder, clinging tighter. “I’ll do anything. Please. I swear.”

He yanks his leg once, but you won’t let go. You’re shaking too hard, crying too loud, desperate and broken in the middle of nowhere. “You don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore, do you” he spits. “You hate being with me, but the second I try to cut you loose, you act like I’m your fucking lifeline.”

“I don’t hate you,” you cry. “I don’t–I love you–please don’t leave me–”

“If it’s that bad, then fucking go,” he snarls. “Walk. Find your own way home. Lose my number. Never come back to my apartment again.”

You shake your head violently, still kneeling in the dirt, arms locked tight around him. “No–please, I can’t–I’ll do anything, I’ll be better, I promise–”

His laughter rings out again. More disgusted than anything. “Jesus. You really are pathetic.” He leans down, grabs a fistful of your hair, just enough to tilt your face up. “This is what you are without me? On your knees, sobbing like a little whore in the dirt?”

You nod through the tears. “Yes–yes, I’m yours–I don’t care how you treat me, I just want you–please…”

Your voice breaks. So does something else, deep inside you. And he sees it. He likes it. “Say it again,” he says. “Say you’ll do anything.”

Your lips tremble. “I’ll do anything.” You can’t even hear yourself anymore–your own voice sounds distant, broken. But your arms won’t let go. You stay clinging to him like it’s the only thing keeping you breathing.

Nam Gyu clicks his tongue and shakes his head slowly. “You know what’s funny?” he mutters, pulling his leg just enough to shift your balance, forcing you to tighten your grip. “I’ve got three girls in my DMs right now who’d kill for the chance to be in your spot. Younger than you. Hotter than you. Obedient.” He chuckles. “So why the fuck am I still entertaining you?”

Your stomach sinks. But you nod. Of course he does. He doesn’t need you. You already knew that. “I know,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I know. I’m sorry…”

“You should be.” His tone sharpens.

You bury your face against his thigh. “I’m sorry…I’ll be better… I swear–”

Nam Gyu moves suddenly, shifting his weight, and crouches just low enough to tilt your chin up again–rough fingers digging into your jaw. His face is all shadows, eyes dark. “You’d let me point a fucking gun at your head and beg me to pull the trigger, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t even hesitate. “If you told me to,” you whisper. “I would.”

Something flickers behind his eyes. A flash of disbelief–or maybe something like pride. Then he grabs you. Fist tangled in the front of your shirt, he yanks you off the ground like a rag doll. Your feet barely find their place before he’s shoving you toward the car. “Get in the back.”

You stumble. Hands barely catch you on the edge of the seat before he forces you inside. You fall back into the cushions, breath stolen from your lungs, chest still heaving from the sobs.

He doesn’t follow. Not right away. He slams the door shut and walks away from the car–toward the front, maybe, but he stops. His silhouette paces in the headlights, arms tense at his sides, jaw working like he’s chewing on his rage.

You watch him through the window. Curled in the corner of the backseat, legs pulled up to your chest. You don’t move. Don’t breathe too loud. You just wait. Watching him from behind the glass, wondering what he’s going to do next. And hoping–despite everything–that he doesn’t leave you.

You flinch when the driver’s side door yanks open, your whole body tensing like he might throw you out again. But he doesn’t say anything. He gets in, slams the door, and starts the engine. The car rumbles to life, headlights slicing through the dark stretch of nowhere ahead of you. Gravel crunches as he pulls back onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting tensely on the gearshift.

It’s silent.

You sit curled in the back, sniffling quietly, watching the back of his head. The tremble in your hands hasn’t gone away. Then slowly–tentatively–you reach forward between the front seats. Your fingers brush against his forearm. He doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t grab you either. You rest your hand there, gently, like a dog trying not to get kicked.

He drives. The wind outside is loud. The night feels endless. Your voice is small when it comes. “Can I see them?”

He doesn’t look at you. “See what?”

“The girls,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “The ones you’re talking to.”

A pause, sharp. Like he’s trying to figure out where you’re going with this. “Why?”

“I just wanna know,” you mumble. “If you wanna fuck them…it’s okay. I won’t be mad.”

He laughs once–cold and dismissive. “Already have.” The words hit like ice water down your spine. Your hand stays where it is. You don’t pull away. You nod, even though he’s not looking.

“Okay.”

Your throat burns. Something inside you twists and knots and begs to scream–but you swallow it. You press your cheek against the edge of the seat and keep your fingers curled lightly on his arm. “What can I do to make this better?” you ask, softer now. “Tell me what to do.”

Nam Gyu still doesn’t answer. But his jaw ticks once. The car keeps moving. And your hand doesn’t leave his skin. The silence stretches out until it hurts. Your fingers twitch slightly against his arm, unsure if you’re allowed to keep touching him. But he doesn’t shake you off.

Eventually, he exhales–sharp, bitter–and says: “You wanna make it better?”

Your eyes flick up. He’s staring straight ahead, voice low, dead calm now in a way that’s so much worse than his screaming. “Then start by shutting the fuck up. I don’t wanna hear another word unless it’s ‘yes, Nam Gyu’ or you’re choking on your own spit trying to thank me for not dumping your pathetic ass on the side of the road.”

Your heart stutters. You nod quickly, whispering: “Yes, Nam Gyu.”

His hand tightens on the wheel. “Good girl,” he mutters, and it’s not praise. It’s mockery. You cling to it anyway. The silence returns. But this time, it feels like you’re on a leash–short, tight, like he could yank it any second and choke the breath out of you. Then without looking at you, he adds, “If I feel generous later, maybe I’ll let you clean my shoes with your mouth. Since you’re already so fucking comfortable on your knees.”

Your face burns with shame, but you still manage, “Yes, Nam Gyu.”

He finally lets out a cruel, dismissive chuckle. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t say a word as he pulls into the garage. Just cuts the engine, gets out, and slams the door. You scramble after him, hurrying to keep up like some obedient little pet. He doesn’t even glance at you as he unlocks the door, strides inside, and leaves it open behind him like he knows you’ll follow.

You do. As soon as the door shuts behind you, you whisper, “Gyu…please–”

That’s all it takes. He spins on you so fast your breath catches. His hand is in your hair before you can blink, dragging your head back, mouth inches from yours. “Please what?” he growls, eyes wild. “Please punish you? Please remind you who the fuck you belong to? Is that what you want?”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. His grip tightens, and you whimper, eyes glassy. “Answer me.”

“Yes–yes, Nam Gyu. Please. I am so sorry–” He kisses you, brutal, all teeth and no mercy. There’s nothing gentle about it–just frustration and control and something venomous between his teeth. He shoves you backward, and your spine hits the wall with a thud. His hands are already on your clothes, dragging them off without finesse, without care.

“Take it off faster or I’ll rip it,” he snaps. You fumble to obey, shaking fingers unbuttoning, unzipping, pulling fabric away in a blind mess. He watches like a man possessed–hungry, furious, eyes flashing like he could devour you and still be unsatisfied.

“You know what the worst part is?” he snarls, shoving your underwear down with no warning. “You act like you hate how I treat you. Cry about it. Beg. But you keep coming back. You keep fucking crawling and now look at you–look at you, baby girl.”

He fists a hand in your hair again and forces you to look at your reflection in the hallway mirror. “Tell me what you see.”

Your voice shakes. “Y-your girl. I’m your girl, Gyu–”

He cuts you off by dragging you toward the bedroom. “No. You’re my toy. My fucking property. And tonight, you’re gonna make up for running your mouth and embarrassing me.”

You nod so fast it makes your neck ache. “Anything. Please, I’ll do anything–”

He throws you onto the bed like you weigh nothing. “Yeah,” he mutters, rolling his sleeves up, stalking toward you. “You will.” He yanks you to the edge of the bed, gripping your thighs like it’s his right.

“Look at you. Fucking pathetic. Still wet after everything, aren’t you?” 

“Please–”

“No. Don’t even try.” His palm crack against your cheek–not hard enough to hurt, but enough to shock you, to shut you up. You flinch, and he grabs your jaw. “You run your mouth at the club, you humiliate me in front of everyone, and now you wanna beg for my attention?”

“I didn’t mean–”

“Shut up.” Nam Gyu spits on your face–hot and sudden, splattering across your cheek lips. You freeze, it makes him grin. “That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? Letting me spit on you. Fuck you. Treat you like the little whore you are.”

Your face burns, shame prickling beneath your skin, but you don’t wipe it away. You can’t. All you can do is look up at him, eyes glassy, mouth open like you’re still trying to prove something. Still trying to win back a scrap of favor. “Fucking perfect,” he mutters. “Not even flinching now. You like it, don’t you?”

You nod, just barely as you tremble. “Say it.”

“I like it when you spit on me…”

“Of course you do.” He drags you down to your knees on the floor, towering over you. “You want to be used? Like the worthless little bitch you are?”

“Yes–yes, I’ll do anything.”

“Then shut up and open your mouth.” And you do. You let him treat you like nothing–his hand in your hair, your throat used until you gag. He wipes your face roughly, smearing spit and tears together until it’s all just a mess. Until you’re just a mess.

But the more you take it–really take it–the more his sneer twists into something almost proud. When he finally pulls you up off your knees, he looks at you differently. Still rough, still disgusted–but there’s a sick sort of fondness bleeding in under it all. “Look at you.”

You can barely meet his gaze. Humiliated, ruined, willing. “Good girl,” he breathes, finally–soft and low like a secret. “Took you long enough.”

You’re still on your knees when he finally pulls back, panting, satisfied, watching you from above like you’re something pitiful. His hand tangles in your hair for a moment longer, holding you in place as your eyes water and your mouth stays parted, the taste of him still heavy on your tongue.

He exhales a low laugh. “Thank me for letting you suck my cock.”

You blink up at him but quickly say, “Thank you, Gyu. Thank you for letting me suck your cock.” 

It makes him smirk, and he leans down to wipe your mouth with his thumb like he’s cleaning a mess off a table. “Now put some fucking clothes on.” He turns away like he’s done with you–like you’re dismissed–and strips out of his pants, leaving only his boxers and a loose t-shirt. He climbs into bed and doesn’t spare you another glance, one arm behind his head as he lays there, calm and untouchable.

You don’t move for a moment. Your knees hurt. Your face is hot. You finally pull on one of his shirts from the floor and quietly make your way to the foot of the bed. You hesitate. Clear your throat. “Can I…can I lay with you?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, a disinterested grunt that counts as permission. You climb into bed beside him, careful not to touch him. You lay on your back, arms tight against your sides, trying to breathe shallowly like he won’t notice you if you’re quiet enough.

But of course he does. “You’re pathetic,” he mutters suddenly. Not looking at you. Just stating it like he’s talking about the weather. “So desperate. Like a stray dog I fed once and now can’t get rid of.”

You nod. “I know,” you mumble.

“And you like it. That’s the sick part. You fucking love how I treat you.”

Your voice trembles, but you answer anyway. “I do.” 

He turns his head now, finally looking at you–expression sharp even in the dark. “You like being used. Like being talked down to. Makes you feel special, doesn’t it?”

You nod again, “Yes.”

“Say it.”

You swallow. “It makes me feel special. When you treat me like that.” 

He laughs under his breath. “Jesus Christ. You’d let me spit on you again right now and call it a gift.”

You don’t even hesitate. “I would.” There’s a beat of silence. Then he exhales and rolls over, back turned to you. Like the conversation never happened. But you stay exactly where you are–still, quiet, obedient. Hoping he doesn't send you away. Hoping he’ll keep you tonight.

a/n - listen, we all know nam gyu is a dirty, toxic boy...but I can't help my love for him