suhomylife

[suhomylife]

I have no words to describe how reading this felt.

Having my bias and my bias wrecker in a situation like that is just above unreal. When Hyunjin threw away that card I was just ajsbdbxinezonwwowosbaaaaaaaa

The way you described the whole process is extremely sexy and realistic, which is a very good thing, because I could literally imagine every kiss and every move.

Thanks a lot for sharing this story with us

THREE OF A KIND.

PART I

Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (s)

Chapters: Part II / Part III

Synopsis: Late night drinking and a card game, plus two pretty boys? what’s the worst that could happen? (5,7k words)

"Let's play a game!" Chan announced, grinning from ear to ear that his dimples sunken in his cheeks.

With his red cheeks and silly laughs, you were sure he was slightly drunk. You turned your head to the other side to look at Hyunjin and exchanged a knowing glance.

"Is he drunk?" You whispered.

Hyunjin giggled, "I think so," he whispered back and took a sip of his drink.

The three of you were sitting on the sofa, facing the table that was filled with an array of snacks and a few cans of drinks from juice to the half-empty bottle of liquor.

You were surprised to have them visiting your place for a spontaneous little get-together that led to you pulling out the bottle of rum you have in your alcohol stash.

"I'm pretty sure I put a lot more coke than the rum," you said to Hyunjin.

Hyunjin shrugged, he took a bag of chips from the table, "you know he's bad at drinking," he commented, then shoves chips into your mouth in which you voluntarily took and ate.

Chan scooted close to you on the sofa, "Come on! Let's play!" He announced again, along with a toddler-like whine.

When you were about to speak, Hyunjin fed you with more potato chips which you reluctantly took and ate again. You glared at Hyunjin, and he responded with a giggle.

"What are we going to play, Hyung?" Hyunjin asked, put down the bag of chips then dusted off the food crumbs on his lap.

Chan pulled out something from behind him and made it seem like a magic trick, you chuckled at how silly he looked when he did that.

He slammed the thing and took it out of the box that turned out to be a deck of cards.

"Have you been hiding it behind you the whole time?" You asked him.

Chan laughed, he pushed his curly dark hair to the back and took the deck of cards in his hands, "I always come prepared," he said.

"Hyung, you haven't told us what we are going to play," he reminded him of his unanswered question.

Chan held up his hand, "We're going to play suck and blow,"

"Oh!" You exclaimed at the mention of the game name you haven't played since your last college party.

"You know it?" Hyunjin asked from behind you.

You nodded because the answer was obvious, "yes,"

"How do you play it?" He asked.

At first, you thought he asked you that to make sure you knew, but it was actually the other way around.

"You don't know?" You asked him back.

He shook his head.

"I'll give these cards a good shuffle while you explain how the game works to Hyunjin," Chan said, then began shuffling the cards even though it was no use to do that.

Hyunjin shifted his body to face you and rested one arm on the sofa.

"It's easy! The first person puts the card on their lips and then starts passing the card around," you explained, "You suck in the card and pass it to the next person on their lips, and you blow out to pass it," you finished.

There was a crease forming between his eyebrows, "then what's the fun?"

You chuckled, "you have to keep passing the card, if you dropped it then you lose,"

He leaned in so close to you that you could smell his alcohol-tinted breath, "what happens if I lose?" He asked.

You tipped your head and smiled, "you have to kiss," you replied.

"That's such a hassle!" He groaned, "Can we just kiss?" He added with a playful laugh.

Chan stopped shuffling the cards, "what if the losers have to fulfill the wish of the winner?" He suggested an idea.

It sounds so risky but tempting, and the idea of having them grant your wishes is too great of a chance to pass.

"I like it. Let's do that!" You agreed and clapped your hands together.

"Hyunjin?" Chan asked Hyunjin, who slouches against the sofa.

"Okay, let's do it," he agreed and immediately sat up straight with his back leaned against the sofa.

Chan shuffled the cards again.

"There's no use in shuffling it, Chan!" You said with squinted eyes.

He laughed, "I know, I just wanted to do it!"

"Before we start," Hyunjin said next to you, "can you show me how to do it?"

You didn't think he was speaking to you until none of them said anything and looked at you in anticipation,

"You want me to show you?" You asked for confirmation.

Hyunjin nodded.

You shrugged, "Yeah, why not?" You took one card from the deck in Chan's hands and put the card close to your mouth.

"You suck in the card to take it from someone," you proceeded to show him to do it by sucking the card with your mouth then taking it off, "and if you're going to pass it to someone, you blow it out at that person or just wait for that person to take it from you,"

You put the card on your mouth again and sucked it in to let it stick on your mouth, gestured Chan to lean in closer, then brought his face closer by his chin to pass the card to him.

Chan was taken aback by the way your fingers gripped his chin as you leaned in close to pass him the card, he almost forgot that he was supposed to get the card and not just stay still kissing you against the card.

As for Hyunjin, he enjoyed watching your mouth and Chan's pressed against each other with merely a card between them. The thought of having your mouth will be pressed against his too, made him exuberant.

You sighed when you succeeded in passing the card to Chan and took your hand off his chin.

"That's how you do it!" You said, feeling proud of your excellent presentation.

Hyunjin touched his lower lip, "okay, okay, I get it now," he responded.

Chan took the card from his mouth and looked down at your lipstick mark on it, he secretly took the card and set it aside.

"The order is me, then I pass it to you, then you to Hyunjin and back again, alright?" Chan instructed.

"Why not Hyunjin pass it to you?" You suggested.

Chan looked at you with a questioning look on his face.

"I want to see you two kiss," you said while half-laughing.

Hyunjin burst out laughing.

"That's not a good idea," Chan meekly said with a deadpan look on his face.

You held up your hands in the air, "it's okay, I'll let it pass this time," you said.

Chan yet again shuffled the cards for the umpteenth time,

"Are you guys, ready?" He asked.

Both you and Hyunjin nodded in unison.

Chan took the top card from the pile and put it on his mouth until it stuck on it, he leaned in at you.

You slightly tipped your head to the side and leaned in to meet him halfway, when your lips touched the smooth surface of the card, you sucked in the card and held your breath.

You quickly turned your body to the opposite side to meet Hyunjin, who was already waiting with his shoulders hunched down, so his head was at the same level as you.

Running out of breath, you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him closer. You could feel the plump of his lips when you pressed the card onto his lips, and you successfully passed the card on the first try.

You gasped for air the second you let go of the card, "Not going to lie, I got a bit dizzy," you said.

Hyunjin put the card down, "should I pass it right back to you?"

"Hey!" Chan shouted, "you should pass it right back to her!" He ordered.

"Huh?" You glared at Chan, but Hyunjin grabbed you by your neck, insisted you look at him. You took a deep breath before leaning in and taking the card from him.

Hyunjin’s hand was so cold it raised the goosebumps on your arms, and you tried to ignore it as you sucked in the card until it stuck nicely on yours.

You snapped your head immediately in Chan's direction; he cupped your jaws in his hands and aggressively pressed his mouth on you, causing you to laugh.

The card almost slipped from your mouth, but Chan managed to catch it with his mouth right on time.

"Were you trying to give me CPR?" you asked while laughing.

Chan laughed along, and his ears got red, whether by alcohol or he was flustered, you couldn’t tell.

"I'm sorry!" he quickly apologized the second he took the card down off of his lips.

You shook your head in disbelief, took a glass of water from the table, and took a big gulp.

Chan took a new card from the pile, "Ready for the 2nd round?" He asked.

You nodded while Hyunjin clapped in excitement, "Let's get it!"

Chan began like he previously did, this time holding you by your shoulder to aim his mouth at yours, tilting his head as he securely passed the card to yours.

You turned your head to Hyunjin, who hunched down once again to take the card from you and succeeded in the first try, he was getting good at it.

You licked your lips and took a deep breath before taking the card back again from him, Hyunjin held your neck to angled your head since the card was slightly sliding down his chin. You tipped your head upward and sucked in the card immediately before it drops then turned your body to the side to face Chan.

Chan leaned in then withdrew himself, he looked completely out of it for a second, and you started getting dizzy from holding your breath too long.

You whined with the card still stuck to your lips, and that seemed enough to snap him out of the daze.

You immediately closed your eyes when he leaned in, trying to hold your breath for at least another few seconds.

But instead of the stiff, slick texture of the card, you felt his soft, plush lips on yours. And it caught you off guard, you couldn’t function well due to the lack of oxygen that you froze with your lips pressed with his.

When you regained your senses, you jerked your head away and gasped,

"Chan!" You gasped, your hand flew to your lips.

Chan giggled, "I'm sorry. I can't help it," he said as an excuse.

"Did we just lose?" You asked, feeling so annoyed not because of the kiss, but at the fact that he made both of you lose.

He shook his head, "no, that was my fault, I lost," he said, but he didn't sound the slightest bit sorry for losing the game despite his competitive nature.

"Let's do one more round," Hyunjin came up with the suggestion, sitting up straight next to you and raking his hair to the back with his fingers.

"I like that," Chan agreed with a lopsided grin on his face.

You couldn't decide if this game made you even drunk or sober, but it was too early to give up on a game. One more round won't hurt, right?

You stifled a nod, "Yeah, okay, let's do it," you relented.

Chan took the top card on the deck and put it on his mouth in one go, he grabbed you by your shoulders to keep you still as he passed the card onto your mouth.

When the card safely passed to yours, you turned in the opposite direction to face Hyunjin. You leaned forward while kept sucking in the card against your mouth.

You saw Hyunjin leaned in close, but his hand reached for the card and tossed the card somewhere onto the floor, without giving you a second to react, he pressed his mouth on yours.

The softness of his lips melted your shock away almost instantly, and the next thing you know, his hand tangled in your messy locks while the other held you by your jaw.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he used the chance to taste more of you, sticking his tongue to invade your mouth. He let out a sigh that was oddly aphrodisiac as he tugged your lower lip between his teeth.

"Hyunjin," you sighed, the second he spared an inch of space between your mouths.

He cupped your face in his hands and crashed his lips on yours again, sending you tipped sideways but fortunately, your shoulder hits Chan's chest. You were oblivious that Chan was there the whole time until he wrapped his hand around you.

You turned your head at him, and he gave you a sly smile, "Let me join," he muttered before sinking his mouth on yours.

All the while, Hyunjin placed his hot mouth on your neck, sucking and nibbling on the thin skin.

With the firm grip of his hand on the nape of your neck, Chan kissed you deeply, his tongue relentlessly prying the mouth open that made you eventually give in.

Hyunjin gathered your hair with his hand and held it up so he could plant soft kisses on the skin on the back of your ear.

When you started to run out of breath, you put your hand on his chin to slowly pull him away.

Chan went on planting kisses on your neck, while Hyunjin was also doing the same thing on the other side.

"You smell heavenly," Hyunjin hummed against your neck.

Chan took your hand and placed it on his neck, you turned your head at Hyunjin, and he eagerly took your mouth in his again, brushing his lips over and over again.

Chan wrapped his hand around your neck as he nibbled your ear; the low hisses he made sent a chill down your spine.

They took turns to have your lips on them again; you couldn’t comprehend how you could still function well despite being overwhelmed by all these stimulations at once.

When your logic finally caught on to the fact that you were making out with two guys, you were slightly shocked and highly aroused at the same time.

Chan retracted his mouth to watch Hyunjin kiss down your neck and the way your face slacked with your eyes shut, enjoying every second of it.

Chan sighed at the sight he was seeing.

Hyunjin sensed he was being watched, he slowly pulled away and looked at Chan.

You opened your eyes to have them both staring at you.

"I told you," Chan said to Hyunjin, "she'll like it,"

Hyunjin licked his lips then smirked, and you watched as both of their eyes turned wide and dark, heavy with lust.

Despite two pairs of eyes fiercely gazing at you, you softly laughed at them.

"And you think I wouldn't like to have two hot guys kissing me?" You shot back at them, biting your lower lip with a smug on your face.

You glanced at Hyunjin, and he was slyly grinning, his lips flushing red and swollen.

Chan leaned in closer to the side of your face, "so, what do you think?" He asked.

"Well," you grabbed the collar of Hyunjin’s shirt and brought his face close to yours, "if this is my prize for winning," your lips grazed his as you spoke but then snapped your head the other way at Chan, "how can I say no?" You finished.

A wicked grin bloomed on Chan's face, "we'll make sure it's the best you'll ever get," he replied.

Chan snaked an arm around your neck and with one quick move, scooped you in his arms and sat you on his lap with your back against his chest.

Chan placed a haste kiss on your neck; his hands moved down to the hem of your dress and pulled it upward to take it off of you.

Hyunjin got off the sofa and kneeled on the floor in front of you, his eyes darted at your clothed core in front of him, looked up at you, then grabbed your chin and pulled you for a kiss.

With your body leaned forward, Chan used the opportunity to unclasp your bra, slid the straps down your arms to get rid of it.

His impatient hands reached for your hands and began palming them, "look at these breasts," he murmured next to your ear, "they're just perfect for me," he exclaimed as your breasts fit both of his hands like they were made for him. He began gently kneading on the ample flesh, using his fingers to play with your hardening buds.

Hyunjin watched as you reclined against Chan and how his hands played with your breasts.

"Let me taste them," Hyunjin breathlessly said.

Chan halted his kneading, held your breasts in his hands, and held them out at Hyunjin.

Hyunjin licked his lips before taking your hardening bud into his mouth, licking and swirling his tongue on your nipple.

"Try the other one," Chan ordered, his hands steadily holding your breast in his hand.

Hyunjin switched to the other breast, taking your breast in his mouth, and you looked down, you saw his plump lips wrapped around your nipple.

You yelped when Hyunjin sucked on your flesh too hard, causing you to claw on Chan's forearms.

Hyunjin sighed in satisfaction the moment he let go of your breast, "taste so good," he muttered.

Chan hummed against your shoulder blade, his hands continued to knead on both of your breasts, smearing the wet of Hyunjin’s saliva all over.

Hyunjin tugged at the waistband of your underwear and didn't waste his time to pull it down your legs, licking his lips before lowering his mouth on your inner thigh.

Chan glanced at Hyunjin, who was closing in on your heating core, he then brought his hands down the side of your body then parted your legs open, "Let Hyunjin have a taste of it too," he said to you.

You squirmed on his lap, then looked at Hyunjin bringing down his and gasped when you felt his mouth touch the tender flesh, he swiped his tongue down your slit repeatedly as if it wasn't wet enough.

Chan held your waist with one hand and the other gently kneading on your breast.

You reclined against Chan's body at the intensified pleasure as Hyunjin began sucking on your cunt, slipping his tongue in and out of your hole while circling on your clit.

Chan noticed the way Hyunjin hummed in delight as he slurped on your essence, he got curious and ran his hand down to your core.

Hyunjin reluctantly took his mouth off of you so Chan could touch your cunt; you saw his chin and the tip of his nose glistening wet with your essence. But what Chan did was more than a touch, he inserted one finger then withdrew it to add another one, he pumped his fingers a few times until they were dripping in your arousal.

He brought them close to his mouth then sucked on them, "oh yeah, taste so good," he said.

Hyunjin smirked in agreement, brought his mouth down on your cunt again, savoring every bit of it like a delicious dish.

You moaned as you were getting closer to your orgasm, Chan could tell from the way your toes curling and legs trembled, "Keep going, she's close," Chan told Hyunjin.

Hyunjin hummed at the affirmation that he heard him, he continued his delightful assault on your sex, sucking and lapping his tongue over and over again until you lost all sense of control and let the pleasure take over.

Your nails dug into Chan's forearms yet his arms firmly held you as your body slacked from your release.

You leaned forward to give Hyunjin an improper kiss on the mouth and tasted yourself on his mouth.

You leaned back on Chan's chest, he held you close as he planted a kiss on your neck,

"Let's get you comfortable," he said. He took you in his arms and carried you to your bedroom, laying you down gently as if you were a frail paper doll.

And you crawled over to him, you noticed that you were the only one who was naked only made you feel even more aroused, he pulled you close and kissed you rather hungrily. You hovered above him with his hands roaming your body, tracing every curve of your body.

He kissed down your neck, you rested your hands on each side of him to allow him access to your chest.

He was more than willing to bury his head between your breasts, running his wet mouth on the flesh and sucking on them once in a while.

You turned your head to the side to find Hyunjin stripped off his clothes, unbuttoning his shirt as he watched you making out with Chan on the bed.

He took off his jeans next along with his underwear, revealing his erect member that caused a sigh to escape your mouth.

Chan sat up on the bed and rested his back against the headboard, he turned you over to have your back pressed on him again, he sat up straighter, sending you slouch against him and your head rested on his chest.

Hyunjin got on the bed next, "Can I fuck you raw?" He asked you.

Incapable of making a verbal answer, you nodded.

He rubbed your thighs as he kneeled in front of you, and Chan grabbed your legs by your knees to hold them up.

Hyunjin almost drooled at the sight of your wet cunt before his eyes, he took his cock and ran the tip down your slit a few times to milk some more arousal from you.

Chan's breathing quickened at the pornographic view, you could feel the thumping of his heart against your skin.

"She's so little," Hyunjin breathlessly said.

He clenched his jaw when he started pushing his length inside you, he made a sound that was a mix of groans and hisses.

He cursed out loud, "You’re so tight," he whimpered yet kept pushing his length inside you.

You held on to Chan's arms, crying out as Hyunjin’s cock stretched you out more than you could handle, and Chan saw how you struggled.

"You can take him well," Chan whispered to you on the top of your head, his thumb making lazy circles on the skin of your inner thigh.

Hyunjin slowly kept pushing the remaining of his length inside, and you suppressed your moan by pressing your mouth on Chan's arm.

Hyunjin let out a raw groan when he finally bottomed out, "you feel so good," he praised.

He lowered himself on you to place a brief kiss on your mouth before finally beginning to move against you.

He set a steady, slow pace, but each thrust went deeper than the previous, making you endlessly moan at how good he made you feel.

And the fact that Chan couldn't stop whispering sweet nothings to you didn't help,

"You're so beautiful moaning like that," he said along with a kiss on your temple.

A few moments later, he praised, "such a good girl," and later after that, he said, "I can't wait to be inside you,"

All those words made you clench around Hyunjin and gave him a hard time to stay in rhythm, "oh fuck, fuck," he repeatedly cursed, "she keeps clenching around me," he whimpered.

His thrusts were getting sloppy, and shut his eyes so tight as if it would help him regain some control, "I'm going to lose it," he announced.

Getting impatient for his release, Hyunjin picked up the pace and thrusting into you harder. The orgasm hit you faster, and more intense than the previous, feeling that your walls sucking him in gave Hyunjin no time to give you another thrust as he groaned out loud, signaling that he just climaxed as well.

He slowed his movements as he relished his sweet release, when he regained a bit of control, he slowly pulled out and saw cum dripping out of the tip.

"Oh fuck, I cum so hard," he groaned.

He rubbed your thigh as another blob of white of his seed gushed out of your hole along with a string of curses spilling out of his mouth.

Chan slowly put down your legs as your body relaxed from your second orgasm of the night, his pants got smaller the longer he watched.

Hyunjin brought your face close by your neck to kiss you, "you made me cum so hard," he said as soon as he let go of the kiss, then didn't waste time to kiss you again and Chan joined in by kissing your bare shoulder and neck.

"I'd like to continue but it's Chan Hyung's turn now," he said to you against your lips and all at once retracted himself off you, then excused himself to the bathroom.

Chan settled himself beside you on the bed, dragged your body closer, and caressed the smooth of your skin under his touch.

"You don't have to do it if you're tired," he said as he held your face with his hand, he was aware that you might be tired.

You shook your head, "No, I want you," you replied.

He pecked your lips, "if the winner wants her prize now, then she must get it, right?" He said with a cheeky grin.

He got up on the bed and took his shirt off by the back collar, exposing his chiseled abs and pale skin. He went on to unbuckle his belt right away and saw how you watched his hands working to open his jeans.

"I saw you struggle to take Hyunjin's," he said, as he pulled down his jeans just low enough to let his erection sprung free, "I'm not sure if you can take me well," he added.

He then took your hand and let you palm his throbbing cock, "Can you take me well?"

As if you were enthralled by how big it is, you blanked out on words to say and despite doubted if you could take him well, you found yourself nodding.

"Good girl can take a little bit more, right?" He asked you, looking down at how your hand wrapped around his length.

He took his jeans down his legs then had you trapped under him again, "there are just so many things I want to do to you," he said before turning you over on the bed.

You lay face down with your head rested on a pillow, Chan ran his big hand down your back to the curve of your rear, caressing the supple flesh and gently pinching on it.

He sighed at the sight of your cunt from the back, he lifted your hips, and you voluntarily jutted your ass up in the air for him.

"Hyunjin made quite a mess," he muttered to himself.

He kneaded on your flesh again as he teased your entrance with the tip, you shamelessly arching your back at him.

With a strong grip of his hand on your hip, he carefully entered you. And he was right, you struggled taking him despite having Hyunjin stretch you first, and he rubbed your thigh as he kept easing inside.

He lowered himself, kissing your shoulder and the crook of your neck, "you can take me well," he encouraged, "I know you will, baby,"

You turned your head to meet his, and he captured your lips for a slobbering kiss and tried to divert your attention as he kept pushing his length inside.

You clutched the sides of your pillow and cried out from the mix of pain and pleasure he brought on you.

"Just a little bit more," he assured you.

You buried your head in your pillow to muffle your high-pitched moan when he was fully inside you.

He grunted repeatedly and kneaded on your ass again, "such a good girl," he breathlessly praised.

He brought himself close to you again and peppered your skin with searing kisses, "why are you still so tight, mmh?" He asked in between kisses.

He rolled his hips a few times to stretch you out more, groaning against your skin with his teeth scraping your skin.

With one hand keeping your hips lifted, he began moving, slow and steady.

From your peripheral vision, you caught Hyunjin climbing onto the bed then lay next to you.

His hand reached out to your tousled hair and removed strands of hair from covering your face. He planted tender kisses on the side of your face, and you propped your elbows on the mattress so you could lift your upper body at him.

He took your mouth in his, kissing with your tongues and teeth clashing against each other, all the while Chan mercilessly pounding into you.

Hyunjin used one hand to pump his length while the other held you by your neck as he deepened the kiss.

The noises the three of you made resounded in your bedroom, and you didn't realize you were crying until Hyunjin wiped your tears with his knuckles.

You felt your body shake, and on the brink of another orgasm, yet you couldn't betray your body drained from all the stimulations.

"Oh, you keep clenching around me, baby," Chan said between his grunts.

"Close," and that was all you could mumble to him.

With the grip of his hands on your hips getting stronger, he slowed his pace and replaced it with a slow, hard thrust that reverberated throughout your body.

You collapsed back onto your pillow with your eyes fluttering shut, letting the waves of pleasure washing over you as Chan endlessly rammed into you to chase his high.

Hyunjin sat up on the bed, kneeling next to your body, and a moment later, you felt warm drops on your back. Turned out, Hyunjin came ahead of Chan and discharge his load on your back. He moaned a few times as he watched his cum on the smooth of your skin.

Soon after that, Chan pulled out of you to shoot his load on your back, and it surprised you how much you enjoyed having them paint your body with their essences.

You hummed in pleasure, and after that, nothing.

You woke up to Hyunjin’s beautiful lashes rested along his eyelids, half of your body overlapped his, and when you tried to shift, you felt Chan's big hand weighed on your back.

You noticed that you were wearing Chan's black shirt, and you could tell from the musky scent that is really his.

You turned and lay facing up the ceiling, sighing as you tried to recall what happened last night and how you didn't remember what you did before you fell asleep.

"You're awake," Hyunjin mumbled from beside you with his eyes still closed.

You sighed again, "Did I pass out last night?" You asked with a grimace on your face.

He hummed, "don’t worry, we cleaned you up right after,"

You winced and threw your hands to your eyes, shielding whatever pride left in you, "that's so embarrassing," you groaned.

Hyunjin softly chuckled, "I think that's hot," he brought his mouth close to your cheek and brushed his lips ever so softly.

"Let's not do that again," you whined at him but he placed a quick peck on your lips instead.

All of a sudden, Chan nuzzled his head in your neck, "No, I think we should do that again," he mumbled.

You'd be lying if you didn't enjoy having two men cuddling you and propose another threesome first thing in the morning.

You glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed, "I hate to break it to you guys, but aren't you supposed to be back at 8?" You told them.

You turned your head at Chan, "and it's 7.13 am," you informed him.

Hyunjin groaned against your shoulder while Chan kissed you on the cheek before reluctantly getting up from the bed,

"Hyunjin, let's go!" He ordered, got himself back right into his leadership role.

Hyunjin gave you another peck on the lips, "last night was great, and I think we should do it again," he said with a smile, then got off the bed.

You sat up and watched as they picked up their clothes on the floor, then putting them on, Chan gestured to his shirt you were wearing.

You unbuttoned the shirt one by one with your eyes locked with him, "the eyes are not helping," he said to you.

Hyunjin licked his lower lip when he saw you taking the shirt off, revealing your bare upper body at them.

You handed the shirt back to Chan and immediately reached for the duvet to cover up your chest, you spotted a smear of blood on the white sheet.

"Did someone bleed last night?" You asked them.

Hyunjin glanced at Chan, and he glanced at you, gave you an eyebrow raise of acknowledgment, "I think you know who most likely bleed between us three," he said with a smile.

It took you a minute to realize it was yours, of course, it was yours, you had two men fucking you, and you expected nothing happened.

You winced in embarrassment, "that's even more embarrassing," you moaned and hid with the duvet.

Chan laughed, "So, do you like your winning prize?" He asked as he buttoned his shirt back.

Hyunjin sat at the corner of the bed to put on his socks, and you could feel both of their eyes looking at you in anticipation.

"There's nothing better than winning," you said to them with a sly smile on your face.

Chan ran his tongue along his row of teeth and grinned, he came up to you and kissed the top of your head, “Well, next time, make sure you win again!” he said.

“No,” Hyunjin resisted, he came up to you and kissed your cheek, “Next time, I’ll win.”

taglist: @lolalee24 @a-hyunjinshairband

[suhomylife]

Dear Mari,

Once again you blessed this world with a true charm that is conveyed in words by an incredibly talented person.

Just stay with me was the story that made me acquainted with you. It was the first time I read a ‘long’ (what is 17k words now, pfff) one shot that changed the way I perceived fanfiction and met an author whose stories I was eager to read, reflect on, wait and always make a special place in my heart for. I was so in love with this story that I recommended it to my non-fandom non-fanfiction friends and heard really good feedback about it. It’s my go to story when I crave for some love in a one shot format.

So when I saw that you were planning on a sequel I was excited as hell. Because the tender bartender Hyunie would be back. But when I saw the epigraph my heart fell. I didn’t think I would be able to face the breakup of my favorite couple. Like it would just not be possible. Not with this relationship. At this time I was also going through the moment when it felt that my husband fell out of love with me (we talked it through, just like the characters, it’s all good but I was overthinking at the moment) and it just cut through me especially harsh So I really hesitated to read it for some time, until it felt ‘right’ to.

Ironically, ‘right’ turned out to be on the 1st of January, in the cabin in the mountains we rented to celebrate the New Year with a group of friends.

First of all, I want to make yet another compliment on your writing. I don’t know how you do it, but I live through each and every one of your stories. I do not think it is because of the pronouns used, but how you envelope the story, how the reader dives deep into the thoughts, feelings and events. The way you convey all this with words is just exceptional, I haven’t experienced it with any other writer out there, even though I read a couple of really good ones. But it’s only with you that I read, fully immersed in the plot, as if the outer world doesn’t exist at all.

Reading this chapter was intense. I had a heavy heart during most of the story and truly worried about how on earth all this could have happened.

I was in the car somewhere in the mountains when reading it and tumblr and my internet connection said bye bye right at the moment when Hyunjin and MC were having a banter near the bar. When I was on the peak of the heartbreak. And I couldn’t get back to it for 2 more hours. I swear I thought my heart would explode. When I finally reached the WiFi I locked myself in the room to see what comes next.

To be honest I really loved how MC and Hyunjin were able to talk like ‘normal’, joking a bit here and there, it really shifted the tension so much. And it is worth so much. The part when they talked in the kitchen, how he said that nothing made him fall out with her. How they held each others faces.

And the ending, when Hyunie asked her is she was happy. Oh, lord. My poor souls who didn’t have the chance to talk everything through and just dived into overthinking. That is a road to nowhere, truly. I’ve been there myself a few times in life and since then I always follow the rule ‘it’s better to do (to talk it through in this case) and regret then never find out the truths and regret, drown in thoughts etc.

The chapter left me with tears but those were tears of hope and a bit of sadness. I am so looking to the next chapter!

Thank you Mari, and Happy New Year! May this one be full of joy, inspiration and love!

maraschino cherries | i only see you part one.

pairing: hyunjin x f!reader | word count: 25.8k | genre: romance, exes to lovers | warnings: angst ; breakup ; heartbreak ; jealousy and themes of cheating and overall bad relationships ; regret and guilt ; mutual pining ; forced proximity ; mentions of depression/low mental health ; hurt/comfort ; reunions | this chapter contains adult and sexual content as well as strong language but no major warnings apply. this work is a direct sequel to the one-shot just stay with me that i released two years ago~

You knew things weren’t great but you would never have imagined it would come to this. Maybe, somewhere, you still held the hope that things would work out. That Hyunjin loved you the way you loved him, which was to say, enough to try.

“I can’t believe you did this to me, Min. I know we went through a lot you and I but I thought we were friends.”

Minho let out an exasperated sigh. “We are friends!” He looked behind his shoulder as the newly arrived guests made their way in, bringing with them a cool breeze from outside. “Calm down, please. I had no intention to cause a scene. It’s just that he called, and then we had a conversation and I mentioned the cabin and it felt weird not to invite him. Besides, I just figured it was about time that you guys talked.” 

You raised your eyebrows, cocking your head to the side as the shock settled in. “That’s deeply fucked up, do you even realize that? Deeply.  Since when are you a couple mediator? Is that your new business idea? I see it. An office with large windows and a massive sign on the front with the name of your agency on it.” You motioned at the empty space before you as though you were showing a very real sign from a very real building. “Conci-Lee-Ation.”  

Minho scowled at you, pursing his lips. “See, that’s your problem. It’s not that you can’t move on from things. It’s that you don’t want to.”  

Minho’s words reached you much like a blade would cut you open. You stood before him with your mouth agape, silenced, wordless, the sour taste of betrayal invading your throat. His expression softened as soon as he saw the tears pricking at your eyes—he clicked his tongue, letting out a long, tired exhale. “I’m sorry—” he started, but you cut him off.  

“Don’t,” you managed, your bottom lip quivering. But you would rather lie down in the huge living room fireplace than let Minho or anybody else see you cry. “I should be the one apologizing, right? So let me. I am so, so, so sorry Minho for being irrational like this during a situation that is totally normal and not unpleasant at all. I apologize for being upset that you invited my ex to spend the weekend with us without giving me a heads-up.”

You were doing your best to keep your voice as low as possible so as not to be heard but you were becoming aware of a few heads turning in your direction. In the other room, near the front door, Changbin and Jisung were welcoming Hyunjin and Felix inside, and Hyunjin was pretending very hard that he hadn’t noticed you. You figured that the others might even believe his acting but you knew him better than they did. 

“Look—” Minho started, reaching for you. 

You recoiled, avoiding the hand that was trying to squeeze your shoulder. “Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me, Lee Minho. I’m gonna go get this brain fog out of my head and then I’m leaving.”   

You walked away before Minho could even say anything. To avoid the crowd, you went out by the small hallway at the back. There was a door at the end of it, leading to some sort of patio furnished with snowed-in chairs and a functional hot tub.

You didn’t like speaking in absolutes so you wouldn’t say that being here tonight was the worst idea you ever had but it was certainly somewhere in the top three.

It seemed almost like a genuine Christmas tradition by now—you, standing somewhere outside in the dark, freezing your ass off there instead of letting anyone see you cry. 

The first occurrence of this lovely festive activity had been on that Christmas escapade organized,  that time also, by Minho—just a weekend at a cabin in the mountains for the employees of his restaurant. Oh, and you had cried quite a lot that first night. As though something about the holidays made your heart a little bit more vulnerable.

You hadn’t fully processed your breakup with Minho before that night, causing your emotions to go overboard. It wasn’t even that you had still been in love with him because you weren’t. It was just that he had moved on so easily and you were still at the same place in your life. It was just that he had recently gotten engaged to his very pretty girlfriend and you were still very much alone.

Last year had been even worse. It had been, really, the beginning of the end. Stupid arguments over insignificant things. And then it was about significant things. You told Hyunjin he was being unfair, that it was selfish of him not to let you help him. He did not like that. It made him cry. You spent an entire hour crying on your own, sitting on the stairs of the building, outside in the cold. It took two days before he spoke to you again, and what he said was, You don’t understand how I feel so you can’t help me. You’re there for me and I love you.

It was the last time he said it. I love you. Ironically, the breakup had been on Valentine’s Day.

The pain had followed you through the year. A year of ups and downs, emphasis on the downs. You earned your life well, your apartment was decent. You even had a social life. Or rather, you forced yourself to have one. Maybe so as not to worry anybody. Maybe because you wanted to remember what it was like to feel whole.

But it just felt as though nothing really mattered anymore. Nothing had been the same since.

Well. Except for the fact that one whole year later, you were once again hiding outside, the frigid winds covering the sound of your cries.

It started so well. Hyunjin and you. It had been on a night much like this one that you had come to realize you had special feelings for him. Feelings that had crossed the friendship line a while back, only, you couldn’t see it until Hyunjin announced his departure from the restaurant. It had seemed like the end of the world at the time. You couldn’t imagine your daily life without him—who would stay late with you and sweep the floors while listening to soothing music and discussing various topics? Who would come up with stupid jokes to lighten the mood on your bad days? Who would have your back when the restaurant was too busy and your section was more than you could handle? 

Who would put extra maraschino cherries in your drinks just to make you smile? 

It started so well. Perhaps too well. You skipped the ‘going on dates’ stage, jumping headfirst into this relationship because both of you believed in it and had strong feelings for the other. You didn’t doubt that. But, turns out, feelings are in no way a guarantee of success in a relationship. 

Hyunjin did leave his bartender position at Minho’s restaurant to open his own bar. A small, intimate establishment where great drinks were served. It was an instant success, mostly due to the warm, welcoming ambiance of the bar. The crowd was as diversified as it could be—on any given evening, the bar—called Nightcap—could be filled with people in work meetings, groups of friends playing board games, dates, family reunions, birthdays… Anyone, really. Hyunjin was proud of his bar and you were proud of him. 

You helped him as much as he’d let you, which wasn’t that much. He said he didn’t want it to become your burden and you respected that. You could tell he needed to achieve certain things on his own so that he could be at peace with it. And it was fine. 

Somewhere between that first night with him and just a few weeks later when you woke up one morning with your heart particularly full, you fell in love with Hyunjin. You woke him up to tell him so, even, leading to an entire day of passionate lovemaking with food deliveries in between rounds. 

Things were good for a while. Until they weren’t. You also left your job at the restaurant to work full-time at Nightcap and working with Hyunjin was amazing. Until it wasn’t. 

The worst part is that it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t even yours. It just happened. He dedicated himself day and night to start his business and even if his plan was solid and he got help from Minho and a few other friends, a new business was a new business. At the end of his first financial trimester, Hyunjin was so shocked by the bar’s losses that he was unable to keep food down for an entire week. His anxiety levels were so high during that period that you didn’t recognize him—he was cold, distant, and even inconsiderate. 

But of course you could understand that, and it didn’t make you love him any less. 

You made Hyunjin lower your salary in the hopes that his losses would be less disastrous a few months later. To compensate, you decided to use your baking skills to make some money on the side. You found a bakery that hired—the two owners, a married couple, were close to retirement and they were looking to find good employees for when it would be time to pass the bakery along to a buyer who wished to run it. They liked you a lot and it was reciprocated, so they trusted you quickly and a lot. In the end, you became responsible for the bakery several days a week. 

You loved it but it was a lot. You’d finish your shift at Nightcap sometimes well past three to help Hyunjin close up and you would take an hour-long nap in the backroom before making your way to the bakery where you often worked until two or three in the afternoon. 

Anybody with a drop of insight would have seen it coming. But, maybe, love blinded you. Or maybe you were just too foolish. 

It was lovely. Being Hyunjin’s girlfriend. Test-tasting his signature drinks. Having him come up behind you and embrace you just so he could whisper sweet nothings into your ear. He bought you flowers. He test-tasted your cakes. He put extra maraschino cherries in your drinks, even if it was just a soda. He tried to make it all work—the crazy hours, the stress, the pressure, your relationship. 

It was amazing. Being Hyunjin’s girlfriend. Until it wasn’t.

And, months later, you found yourself hiding outside to cry in the cold. You didn’t want anybody to see your pain, your shame. You didn’t want anybody to see all of the space Hyunjin used to occupy within you because then they would know where all of your emptiness came from. 

You didn’t like speaking in absolutes but maybe, after all, coming here this weekend was the worst idea you ever had.

You swallowed your sobs when you heard a door open and close nearby. Oh no. Someone had noticed your absence—you quickly wiped your tears as well as you could, hoping the cold wind would reduce the flush on your face.

It was Jisung. You sighed in relief, glad it wasn’t Minho—how could he do this to you? It was one thing for two exes to have the same friend group, but it was another to invite Hyunjin without letting you know about it.

Jisung made his way to you, carrying an extra hoodie. “Hey.” He handed the hoodie to you, pulling the hood over his head to protect himself from the wind. “Come back, yeah?” 

You took a deep breath, looking away, staring at the scenery. The cabin Minho had rented this time around was even bigger than the first had been. Located deep in the mountains and surrounded by them, it offered a stunning view no matter where you looked. It was snowing heavily, hindering your sight, but even in the night, you could see the snow-covered evergreens and the white mountaintops. You had loved it just earlier. And now all that you wanted to do was to run away.

“I just need a minute,” you told Jisung, wrapping yourself into the hoodie he brought. It smelled like Changbin and you could only assume it was his. “You can go back inside, Ji.”

Jisung shook his head. “Nah, I think I’ll stay if that’s alright.” He mirrored you, leaning on the fence surrounding the patio. “I didn’t know he was going to be there. I would have told you.”

“I know you would have.” Out of everyone here, Jisung was the one who probably understood you the most. He, too, would have bitter memories of the other winter reunion, because it was then that he and Min-seo started dating. She left him after admitting she had cheated on him. Safe to say she was no longer a part of this friend group, but you could tell Jisung was still hurt. “I’m gonna leave. I’ll come back on Sunday to get you.” You two drove here together. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Jisung admitted, clicking his tongue. “Felix and Hyu—” He cleared his throat, embarrassed. “They said they barely made it here and that they were closing the roads behind them due to a blizzard. You would probably not make it very far. It took them almost two hours just to get from the village down the mountain to here.” 

You didn’t take that news well—it brought more tears to your eyes. You took a deep breath but exhaled it as a shaky sob. Despite the wind, Jisung caught it. He opened his arms and hugged you, holding you tight. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I’m sure you’ll be alright. Look at the place Minho rented!” He spun on his heels so that you faced the cabin despite hugging. “It’s huge! There’s gotta be enough space for both of you in there.” 

You figured you could just spend the entire weekend locked in your room and sneak out at night to get food or something. This way you wouldn’t see Hyunjin. At most you would hear his voice, and that would be painful enough.

You wished, so badly, that you didn’t care—everything would be easier. Because if you did that. If you hid away, if you avoided Hyunjin, he would know how affected you still were. And you were ashamed of that. You didn’t want him to know. You didn’t want him to know the impact his absence had on you, the toll it had taken on you.

As much as you wanted to run away, you couldn’t. Right? 

You didn’t want to hurt him.

But you wanted him to think you did not give a single fuck about the breakup. 

So you took a deep breath and nodded gently, prompting Jisung to pull away from you. “Let’s go back inside please, I’m freezing.”

He dragged you back toward the door without waiting, talking about dinner plans. It had been decided that tomorrow, Minho and you were supposed to cook the Christmas dinner, so naturally Jisung had a few requests of his personal favorites. You were almost certain he was making a point of being dramatic about it to distract you and you appreciated him even more for it.

You stopped him before he could turn the door handle. “Ji, is it really obvious that I cried?” For some reason, asking this question gave you a sense of deja vu.

He looked at you using the light filtering from inside to make his judgment. “Not too much. Hey, listen. It’s not by avoiding him forever that you’ll heal from it. Maybe facing that heartbreak is what you need.” 

The deja vu hit you even harder, making you lightheaded for a few seconds.

He was right and you hated that he was right. You said nothing, choosing to just follow him inside, immediately relieved from the cold by the ambient warmth of the cabin. You took a deep breath. Then another. 

The truth was that you just hadn’t seen Hyunjin at all since the breakup and you had no idea how you would react when you found yourself face to face with him. Maybe you would become enraged. Maybe you would freeze and lose your words. Maybe you would break down in tears like an idiot. 

Jisung was right. Avoiding Hyunjin would not heal the wound he left behind. But what he didn’t know—and what you were too ashamed to admit to Jisung—was that nothing ever would. You had let Hyunjin take all of this space inside you and now he was gone and you were empty. And it was not the kind of empty that could be replaced. It was not the kind of hollow that could be replenished. It would stay like that, preserved, unchanged.

You took off the hoodie—after just a few instants in the snowfall outside, it was completely drenched. You returned to the living room, your gaze fixated somewhere between the ground and one meter above it, no higher, avoiding any eye contact. The main floor consisted of one big room—the kitchen and living room were only separated by a half wall. 

You weren’t stupid. You noticed the voices quieting down as you entered but paid them no mind. Or rather you tried to look like you didn’t care and made your way near the fireplace where a few pieces of clothing and boots were already drying on the wall beside it. The cabin was completely quiet by the time you were done executing that simple motion and you could feel people’s eyes burning the back of your head. 

Felix called out your name first. You heard genuine joy in his voice but something else too—it was obvious he was trying to diffuse the tension. “It’s been too long!” 

You spun on your heels to face him. He hadn’t changed really—Felix was always Felix. Radiant and kind. He pulled you into a friendly hug which forced a faint smile on your lips despite how troubled you were. “Hey, Felix.” You tried very hard not to look behind him. “Didn’t think I’d see you here. How have you been?”

“Ah, pretty much the same.” He shrugged. “I sell office spaces and commercial buildings, exactly like I used to.” Felix had a chuckle. “Business is good though so I don’t complain. What about you?” 

You opened your mouth to respond but the words got stuck somewhere along the way, gnawing at your throat like disembodied hands. In a moment of weakness, you allowed your eyes to scan the room, and you saw him.

He’d been wearing a beanie and his thick winter jacket when they first came in and you did run away in literally less than a second, but Hyunjin, unlike Felix, had changed. Considerably. For a few seconds you couldn’t even breathe, stupefied by the mere fact that you were in the same room as him once again. You couldn’t look away from him.

And it seemed that he, too, couldn’t look away from you.

He sported much longer hair than he did the last time you saw him. It fell loosely, framing his face in a messy yet ravishing and controlled manner. He was just as handsome as he had always been. His big, brown eyes observed you from head to toe, his front teeth sinking into his plush bottom lip, showing his evident hesitation. He seemed skinnier than you remembered him and yet his sweater hugged his body at just the right places, displaying newly acquired muscle mass. You could only guess that he had become gym buddies with Changbin—you wouldn’t know. Apart from Ji and Minho, you didn’t really keep up super well with the guys from the restaurant.

But he had deep dark circles under his eyes and his energy was different than it had been. His lips bore the marks of his constant chewing at them, much like his nails and the skin around them. 

You had wondered, all this time, how it would feel when you would see Hyunjin again. Now you had your response.

It felt exactly like the day he broke up with you. Time had not soothed the pain—the sharp pieces of your broken heart pierced you from within as your forces abandoned you. You were bleeding out again. 

You gulped, your breathing suddenly shallow. Seeing Hyunjin again felt much like standing outside in a blizzard.

Felix’s facial expression became concerned and you wondered what you looked like exactly. Your pulse quickened dangerously when Hyunjin pushed himself up to come your way, followed by everyone’s gaze. Once again, the room became quiet. 

When Felix noticed Hyunjin, he offered you a flat smile, squeezed your shoulder, and walked away to return with the others, making sure to speak in an unnaturally loud voice. You panicked internally, watching, unable to move as Hyunjin approached. Was your vision blurry because of tears or because of sheer terror? God, you couldn’t let him see you cry. You just couldn’t. Not after all that had happened. 

You heard his voice when you turned away. Much like Felix, he simply called out your name, but his voice was quiet, soft, brittle. “Wait, please,” he added when he noticed you were still looking away but weren’t moving. “Can we like… talk?” 

He was standing next to you now, you could tell. You didn’t need to see to know—you could smell him, his complex cologne, his personal scent, the musky, unique smell of his shampoo. You knew he was right there because you could feel warmth emanating from his body. He had always been a walking furnace, after all. 

You inhaled shakily and, finally, you faced him. 

You could have collapsed from it alone but somehow managed to stay on your feet. You wanted to look everywhere at once. You wanted to try and read his eyes. You wanted to look at the beauty marks adorning his skin. You wanted to get hypnotized by the texture of his lips, just like you used to. 

He flinched too, almost dropping the beer he was holding. When he came to his senses, he glanced around the room, motioning at the hallway from which you came. “Can we? Talk?” 

With a nod, you walked into the private space, your heart beating at an uneven pace, making you feel as though you were on the verge of a heart attack. Your insides were cold, turned to ice, but your skin was hot, feverish, your cheeks burning. You made a point of only stopping at the far end of the hallway where the lighting was as dim as it could be. He couldn’t see you cry. He couldn’t see you blush. He couldn’t know. You did not want him to see the wounds he inflicted upon you. 

But when you two came to a stop, only silence reigned. You looked through the window in the door—in just a few minutes, the snow had erased your and Jisung’s footprints. You could barely see a few meters away from how thick the blizzard was. 

He couldn’t know.

So you tried your best to look like you had your shit together. “What did you want to tell me?” 

Hyunjin jumped, almost like he was surprised that you asked him a question. “What?” The shadows from the curtains covered half of his face, making it difficult to read him. 

“You said you wanted to talk,” you reminded him impatiently. This conversation needed to be as succinct as it could be. You estimated at about two, perhaps three minutes the time you had left before tears would inevitably roll down your cheeks. “So what did you want to talk about?” 

You had your guesses, all of them worse than the last. Maybe he wanted to flex some accomplishment to prove something to you. Maybe he wanted to tell you about a forgotten item at his apartment. Maybe he wanted to tell you he was getting engaged to Haley. 

The thought of that alone pulled all the air from your lungs—you pretended to clear your throat to help it pass. 

Hyunjin gulped. “It’s been so long. I just wanted to know how you’re doing.” 

He couldn’t know.

Everybody has a weakness, right? You hadn’t been certain about yours before meeting Hyunjin and especially before dating him. Because then you had found out it was almost impossible for you to lie to him. He said it had always been the case, even revealing that he had been able to read your mood swings long before he confessed. 

So he would definitely see right through you when you would force a smile on your face and tell him things were good and what about him, how’s the bar, everything?

“You still at the bakery?” he went on when the only response he got was silence.

You nodded. “Yeah. Were you able to secure the loan you wanted? For the renovations?” For months, Hyunjin had worked very hard to get a start-up loan for new businesses granted by the government. There was some work to be done in the building and he needed it.

A dark veil clouded his gaze. He drank from his beer as though to let a few seconds pass. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.” He drank again. 

You let out a non-committal hm hm, unable to find an appropriate reaction. You were happy for him in a way. In a way, you didn’t wish him any harm. His well-being took nothing away from you. 

He looked tired, sure—but you remembered Minho’s first two years with the restaurant and he had that same look. A new business was much like a newborn baby, after all. Hyunjin seemed fatigued but you couldn’t see traces of sorrow on him. Maybe it was because it was dark, but he looked like he was just fine. Like he was over it.

Over you.

He could not know. That you were nowhere near over him. ‘Over him’ wasn’t even a different country—it was a whole other continent across the globe.

“Good for you man,” you heard yourself say and it sounded wrong. Good for you man. What kind of response was that?

“Yeah.” He stood there in the darkness, facing you, sometimes looking at the snow outside and other times letting his gaze linger on you. 

He used to tell you that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He used to tell you that you were his favorite person. He used to tell you that he loved your scent. Your taste. He used to tell you that he loved you.

“Has construction begun?” you inquired but you didn’t really want to know. You were looking for a way to end this conversation politely. “Are you adding a new section?” 

Again. “Yeah.” It was a flat yeah. It told you everything you needed to know, really. He wanted to talk to you because he, maybe, felt bad or something. He hadn’t been a great boyfriend at the end but he wasn’t a monster. It must be obvious how miserable you were and he felt bad that he, on the contrary, was just fine. You could only imagine he felt some sort of guilt.

“Where were those?” you asked, motioning at his beer, unable to bear it any longer. You would collapse under the weight of this conversation. “I could use a beer too.”

“Oh, Felix and I brought them. They’re in the fridge. Help yourself, ange—” He stopped before the end of his sentence, frozen in place, his mouth still agape, only able to stop the word from spilling out too late. He covered his lips like he couldn’t believe it.

Meanwhile, you battled the storm within you. Tears pricked at your eyes while waves—no, a tsunami—of memories washed over you. You wished, almost, that it was the bad memories that came back. It would make it so much easier. But it wasn’t. It was all of the good ones. It was the first time he kissed you. It was the first time he bought you flowers. It was the time he took you on an impromptu trip to the beach. 

It was all of the times he called you his angel. 

Hyunjin tried to apologize, becoming a stuttering mess, but you heard none of it—you were far away already, dashing up the stairs to your left before he could see your tears.

He couldn’t know. You didn’t want him to know. That he had made a barren place out of your heart. That you still dreamed about him sometimes and that it didn’t matter if it was a good dream or not. Either it was a nightmare in which you relived the breakup or sometimes even where he was dead, or it was a lovely dream in which he still loved you. The latter made waking up one of the most painful things you ever did. 

He couldn’t know how much you missed him.

Ten months ago 

You groaned when you heard your ringtone from the other room, trying not to lose focus as you put the finishing touches on the bottom part of the two-tiered cake you were working on. 

“Want me to get it for you?” Eric asked as he was busy with paperwork at the moment, sitting on a stool not far from yours. The cake-decorating apparatus took up almost all of the space on the work table, leaving him just a tiny corner. 

You completed the fine tracing of the flower you were drawing in pink icing before looking up. “It’s fine, I’ll check it out later. I’m almost done anyway.”

“I knew it was a good idea to put you in charge of the decoration. That cake is gorgeous,” Eric pointed out with a smile. “I bet that woman will have the best Valentine’s Day.” 

Eric was the son of the bakery’s owners—while they had decided it was time for them to retire, they didn’t want to sell the bakery to just about anybody. Eric, a self-employed accountant, had taken over most of the management to allow his parents some rest without having to give away the business they had worked so hard for all of their lives. You liked him—Eric was pragmatic and understanding, which he got from his parents who were two lovely people. He knew you worked hard at Nightcap too, and often forced you to take naps in the breakroom if he noticed you were tired. 

“Bet she will,” you responded, finding nothing else to say. You remembered her boyfriend who came in last week to order the cake. He had admitted to you he would propose to her on Valentine’s Day. 

Your plans for Valentine’s Day? Work, work, and more work. Most definitely not getting engaged.

Life used to be so much easier. It hadn’t always been simple at the restaurant but it had been somewhere you were comfortable at. You worked crazy hours and it never really mattered, it never took a toll on you. You could be exhausted and functional at once. Maybe, because you were never as exhausted as you were now. 

You sighed, grabbing a few more leaf-shaped pieces of fondant to adorn the roses you had applied earlier. Life used to be much easier but you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, would you? Because it meant you had Hyunjin. It meant you were with him, that the both of you formed a team. You believed in his project and his vision and you wanted to do everything possible to help him make it last. There was nothing you wanted more than his success. 

But, by god, you were so fucking tired. Your only plans after this cake, which was the last of your Valentine’s Day orders, was to go home, take a boiling hot bubble bath and then pass out in bed for as long as possible. Eric had given you tomorrow off—while the bakery would be busy, his mom had come in today exceptionally to do some prep for tomorrow, allowing you some time to rest. That wouldn’t last very long though—there was a Valentine’s event organized at Nightcap, and naturally, you’d go help out over there.

At least it meant you would spend the evening with your boyfriend. 

It wasn’t what it used to be. You were afraid to admit it even to yourself but it was true. You couldn’t even remember the last time both of you had enough energy—or will—to fuck. 

It wasn’t easy for Hyunjin. He had high standards for himself, which meant he perceived any setback, minor or major, as an absolute failure. He was tense and often depressed. It put a lot of pressure on his shoulders and he did not share any of it with you. He seemed resolute to carry that burden all on his own. 

At that thought, your eyes filled up with tears. You grabbed a few random utensils on the table and went to the sink to rinse them just to make sure Eric wouldn’t see. 

Only, it was too late.

“Leave that, I’ll do the dishes…” Eric appeared behind you, his soothing voice accompanied by an equally soothing hand on the small of your back. He tried nudging you away but you didn’t let him. “Go home. You need sleep.” 

You held the batter-covered spatulas under the warm water, your gaze fixed on them, working very hard on zoning out. On purpose. These days, pretending that the outside world didn’t exist was the only way you could feel peace or at least a semblance of it. Your phone went off again but you ignored it.

There were too many thoughts in your head—it was impossible to make sense of them, but all of them revolved around the same thing.

Hyunjin. And how he was pushing you away, slowly but decidedly. A little more every day. Like he was actively trying to find ways to keep you at a distance. You knew him. You knew when he was worried or when he was sad or when he was angry. Sometimes he was all of those at the same time, but he wouldn’t let you comfort him. On his bad days, you barely recognized him. He was short-tempered and barely spoke to you, choosing to quarantine himself some place you were not.

At first, you just told yourself he wasn’t perfectly comfortable with you, maybe. You could understand that—the relationship had moved quickly, perhaps a little too fast. Not everyone is used to just displaying their deepest emotions to others, not when it was about something as significant as Hyunjin’s projects. You gave him space so that he could learn how to process these big emotions on his own, figuring that you would simply dive in when the right moment came.

But the right moment never came. 

What made it so hard was the fact that Hyunjin used to be an excellent partner when it wasn’t about Nightcap. He was romantic and showered you with kind gestures. He was vocal about his love for you and supported you in your own endeavors as well as he could. So you tried to keep the relationship working—a storm did not mean the sun would never be out again. You loved him and you wanted to be with him. At any cost.

The wall he was building between the two of you was getting higher and higher. Your calloused hands were sore from climbing and your arms could barely support you anymore. Sooner rather than later, you would fall back before you could even have a peek at the other side of it. 

Eric’s voice brought you back to the present moment. “That’s enough now,” he simply said, reaching for the utensils you were holding. They weren’t even under the water anymore—it was your hand that had been there instead. It took a few seconds for the pain to reach you, your skin darkening where the water had burned you.

He did not give you a choice—Eric wrapped his arm around your shoulders and brought you back to the worktable, forcing you to sit down while he searched a freezer for some ice. Once it was applied to your hand, he took care of carefully packaging the cake and storing it in the walk-in as you stared through the large windows at the front. Life was happening out there, as normal. You just felt like you were outside of it. 

“You’re taking the week off,” Eric said with an accusatory tone when he came back. “And do not argue. I’m not hearing it,” he added when you turned to him to protest. “If you come back here before your time off is over, I’ll fire you on the spot.”

You wanted to cry then, not minding that he would witness it, only the tears didn’t come. You absorbed the sorrow back and a little more of it just became a part of your DNA. 

“Eric—” you started, your voice foreign. 

“You gotta talk to him,” Eric cut you off. “You have to. You’re not seeing it through my eyes—if you did, you would be appalled.” 

Something ugly emerged in your belly—heavy and hard like lead but colder than the ice that was melting on your hand. “You’re right,” you replied, pushing yourself up. “I’m not seeing it through your eyes. I’m seeing it through mine. Because it’s my fucking life, not yours.” 

You regretted it as soon as you spoke—it was then that the tears made their appearance. In less than two seconds, Eric’s arms were wrapped around you and he was pulling you into a tight hug, patting you gently. Your attempt at resisting him was weak and you found your face buried in the crook of his neck, embracing him back, holding onto him like you were afraid to fall. 

“I’m s—sorry,” you stuttered between sobs. “Eric, I’m so sorry, I’m just…”

He shushed you. “You’re fine. Just breathe for me, okay? Deep breaths. Yes, like that.” He sighed, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Sweetheart,” he whispered into your ear. “He’s hurting you. Can’t you tell?” 

The sob that spilled from your lips was heart-wrenching—you closed your fists tighter around his shirt, more of your warm tears rolling down his neck. 

“It’s just that I’m useless, Eric.” You tried to breathe deeply as he advised, but only a little oxygen made it to your lungs. “There’s nothing I can do to help him. I love him. I love him so much. I think—no, I know—he’s the love of my life. But all I do is make things worse.”

Eric clicked his tongue, pulling away to look you in the eyes. “That isn’t true. And if it’s true, it isn’t on you. It’s not your fault he’s shutting himself off.”

“But it is,” you insisted, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “If I were a better girlfriend, I could do more, you know? I would know what to do, I would make him happy again.”

Eric’s silence hurt you more than anything he could have told you. He just stared at you with a saddened expression, finding no words to comfort you, or perhaps knowing you weren’t ready to hear the truth. 

What you said was also the truth, though. Hyunjin hated it when you were trying to comfort him. He would say that he felt like a burden, like a responsibility. You didn’t see the problem with that. He wasn’t a burden per se—but you had no problem with feeling a sense of responsibility when it came to his happiness. You wanted to do things to make his life better. It wasn’t a chore. It was just… love.

But he hated it. So you had learned how to conceal those attempts at comfort. You had to pretend and give him a succinct response if he told you about something that worried him. Then you had to wait. Sometimes you’d surprise him with some of his favorite foods, other times you called a few friends so that they would come over. It didn’t matter. It just needed to look like you weren’t actively trying to help him.

And now you couldn’t help but feel like he was also resenting you for not helping him. 

Maybe you were falling already. Maybe you had been falling for a long time and you just couldn’t see.

“I’ll drive you home,” Eric decided. And the truth was that you had no energy left in you to resist him, so you let him grab your bag, your jacket, and your phone and you let him drag you to his car after he carefully closed the shop. 

The car ride was completely silent—he turned off the radio as soon as he started the car. The night was cold but not windy and you rested your head against the cool glass of the window just to feel something. 

“I have a few colleagues that could help,” Eric said out of nowhere. He was a few years older than you and you knew he had a large network of acquaintances. “There’s Jake, I told you about Jake. His uncle owns a bar, you know?” You remembered vaguely. “He works for his uncle, but I’m sure he’d be more than happy to step in for a couple of days. You could go somewhere. Just you and Hyunjin.” 

The idea was pleasant in theory but you knew better. You wouldn’t become a better girlfriend just because you were in another place. If anything, it would all make it worse. He would be upset that you’d even suggest such a thing. He would never leave his bar to someone he didn’t know, not for a weekend, not even for an hour.

You used to think he was ashamed. But you knew better. 

It was just that you failed him. 

Eric stopped his car in front of your building. You were still trying to find something to tell him but nothing came to mind. Instead, you gave him a nod and you got out of the car, not even looking back as you made your way toward the entrance, searching your bag for your keys while you waited for the elevator. As you did so, the screen of your phone lit up when you accidentally brushed it. 

The wallpaper was a picture of Hyunjin and you. A selfie that he took some time last year when things were still good. You couldn’t recognize the girl in the picture. She was you only you weren’t her. Not anymore. 

You had two missed calls—the time matched the ringtones you heard while at the bakery. Both calls were from Hyunjin, but he didn’t leave a voicemail.

The apartment was quiet when you entered. You moved in with him soon after you began dating him, head over heels happy to spend as much time as possible with the man you loved. His apartment was more spacious so it just made sense for you to move in here. 

It took a few seconds for you to realize the shower was running. So Hyunjin was home, only he hadn’t turned any of the lights on when he came in. Everything was dark and still. 

Exhausted from your day and from crying, you went to the bedroom, waiting for him to get out of the shower so that you could shower too—

—and you woke up later. It took you a few seconds to understand that you had fallen asleep in the first place, most likely due to your extreme fatigue.

It was still dark outside and everything was as quiet as it had been when you came home. The same knot was still in your throat too. You closed your eyes again, taking a deep breath, extending your arm to reach the other side of the bed, fully expecting Hyunjin to be asleep next to you.

But your hand touched nothing except the cool blanket. 

You sat upright, looking around the bedroom, looking for him. He had been home after all—you had just fallen asleep while he was in the shower. About a million voices in your head started to whisper things you didn’t want to hear but you couldn’t tune them out. Maybe he came back home to shower just so he could go out again after and go fuck that waitress he hired some time ago. The one who was always after him. The one who was openly flirting with him. He kept denying it, he kept saying you were projecting.

Not really knowing what to do, you left the bedroom to check the bathroom just in case, but it was empty. So you made your way to the living room instead. And it was where you found him.

The TV was playing at a low volume, displaying the anime that Hyunjin was watching to fall asleep these days. He was laying on the couch, motionless, his chest rising and sinking slowly to the rhythm of his breathing. You felt relief and pain at once. He wasn’t out fucking that girl. But he had chosen to sleep here instead of by your side.

You swallowed your pride and lowered yourself next to the couch, giving his face a gentle caress. Hyunjin hummed in his sleep, frowning but not waking up. This time, you cupped his cheek and tugged a strand of his silky hair behind his ear. God, he was stunning. It seemed like it had been so long since you could observe him like that. He didn’t seem quite at peace, not even in his sleep, but it was better than nothing. 

You pulled yourself closer to Hyunjin and kissed his sleepy lips, just pressing your mouth onto his. He let out the familiar groan he usually did when he woke up. 

“You’ll rest better if you sleep in the bed,” you whispered, but he didn’t move. 

A scowl appeared on your brows. “Baby?” 

He shifted in his ‘sleep’, rolling with his back facing you. Only you could swear he was just pretending to sleep. It sounded crazy, it sounded insane, and it was very much unlike him, and yet you couldn’t see it any other way.

That reality was just too painful to process so you walked away, giving Hyunjin the space that he wanted but was too embarrassed to ask for with words. You didn’t cry, even if you wanted to. You went to take a shower, washing the day away, scrubbing your body vigorously as though it would make you into a new person. But it didn’t. When you turned the water off, you were still you. Just you. You were still the girl Hyunjin was avoiding. 

You lay awake in bed for several hours that night, waiting to see if Hyunjin would get up any time soon, even just to get a glass of water in the kitchen. You stared at your ceiling, your heart heavy with the memory of the sweet taste of maraschino cherries. To you, today, they just tasted like Hyunjin’s love, and you craved it more than you could say.

You dozed off without realizing you did but when you woke up, Hyunjin was gone.

You spent your entire Valentine’s Day worrying. Under normal circumstances, you would have picked up your phone to text Hyunjin and ask where he was. You even knew which response to expect—he would tell you that he was at the bar, getting everything ready for tonight’s event. But you didn’t. Not immediately at least. There was a wound on your heart and it was a little too raw to poke at it just yet. 

Instead you kept yourself busy for a few hours by deep cleaning the entire apartment. The washing machine ran non-stop until sometime around two in the afternoon. By then, your entire body was sore from all the housework done but you had finally figured out what you were going to text Hyunjin. 

You: hey! ♥ happy valentine’s day baby. are you at the bar?

Hyunjin: you too angel. yes setting everything up for later

The response was a little dry but you swallowed your tears and your pride, determined to make things right somehow. If he ever let you.

You: I figured! I’ll be right there. want me to pick up some takeout on the way there? anything you want, it’s on me!

Hyunjin: you don’t need to come. felix is here and most of the staff 

He literally did not want you there. He did not want you anywhere near him. No matter how obvious it was—and for how long it had been—you just couldn’t make sense of it, not really. Or maybe some part of your brain refused to process it to spare you, only it did not feel like being spared. It did not matter if you realized it in small increments or all at once. The end result was the same. 

He did not love you anymore.

And you didn’t know what to do about that. You hadn’t thought it was possible. You hadn’t imagined it would ever happen. If you were honest—and admitting this even just to yourself was difficult—when Hyunjin and you became a thing, you never imagined how it would end. You never envisioned the termination of it because it did not feel like there would be one. And that had been absurd, obviously. You could see that now. It had even been borderline cocky—that was not the kind of confidence you ever displayed before. To assume someone would love you until the end of times or whatever. Not that every day would be sunshine and unicorns and rainbows, but that it was the kind of love that would overcome the dark days.

How conceited, presumptuous of you.

Now that the truth was catching up with you though, you found yourself humbled the fuck down. 

You did something stupid but it was the only thing you could think to do at the moment—you searched your nightstand to find the leftover painkillers they had prescribed you last year when you sprained your ankle and struggled with physical therapy. You had one left, which you kept in case you injured yourself or something. Today seemed like a perfect occasion to put yourself into a coma of sorts. You washed down the pill with a shot of your favorite whiskey and buried yourself under your covers, staining the pillow with your tears, crying yourself to sleep. 

It was dark when you woke up. You were getting tired of waking up at night with your heart broken in more and more pieces but you pushed yourself up and made yourself shower. Then you did your hair and even put on a little bit of mascara. The truth was that you just wanted to see him. You wanted him to kiss you. You never wanted to forget what it felt like. To be kissed by him. To be loved by Hyunjin. 

The party was going strong at Nightcap. Hyunjin had organized a few games—you had even helped come up with them. The one you worked on the most was the free drink game. Single people could sign up and a number was assigned to them, as well as one free drink ticket. An entire section of the bar was reserved for them where they could meet new people. When someone was interested in another, they could go to the bar and use their free drink ticket to give to that other person. The thing is—the free drink would only be given if two people submitted each other for it. Of course, people could cheat if they wanted but it was their loss. The drink was one glass of Love Potion, a drink designed by Hyunjin several months ago, especially for tonight. Prosecco and cherry vodka on the rocks with a lime-flavored sweet and salty rim. Served with maraschino cherries. 

Because he said that it was with those that he made you fall in love with him.

You remembered his smile as he told you that. You remembered his lips too, stained with the cherry juice from testing different versions of his drink.

Life used to be so good. 

Jay—the apprentice bartender—was mixing up a few drinks, on his own behind the bar. You found it unusual for Hyunjin to leave the young man alone on such a busy night, but he didn’t show up, not even after waiting a few minutes. Yet you had seen his car in the parking lot so you knew he was here. Somewhere. 

Felix was in the bar’s tiny kitchen, doing some preparations. Nightcap didn’t serve meals per se but did offer appetizers and other snacks. He saluted you warmly, as he always did, but he couldn’t tell you where Hyunjin was. “I mean he said he was gonna get more limes at the back to slice but that was a while ago,” he said. “Is he not here?” 

No, he was not. 

In hindsight, you probably should have gone home at that moment. Or maybe not, depending on how you looked at it. But instead you thanked Felix and, ignoring the lump in your throat, crossed the kitchen to make your way toward the back. A short hallway separated the kitchen and the storage room, where an emergency exit was also located. You shivered when you passed the old door, feeling the cold breeze from outside through it. 

You were rehearsing in your head what you thought you would tell Hyunjin when you heard a familiar voice coming from the storage room.

“You can tell me what’s wrong, I’m here for you, Hyune.” It was Haley speaking to him, a waitress. A really pretty waitress who seemed to really really really enjoy working for your boyfriend. “You’re an amazing man. You deserve better than a cheater.”

Your heart halted but so did your feet—you came to an abrupt stop just before you entered the room, a hand over your mouth to cover the sound of the gasp you just let out. A cheater? Was she talking about you? 

A cheater?

HYUNE?

You knew what was happening and yet you couldn’t believe it. You stretched your neck—just a little—to get a peek inside of the room. Hyunjin was right next to the large commercial fridge where you knew he kept the limes. Haley stood before him, very close to him. She was touching him, too, squeezing his shoulder and then letting her hand travel down to his arm, caressing him. Feeling him up.

Just about a million thoughts hit your brain at the same time but it was only a few that you could hear clearly. You knew Hyunjin had no enjoyment in his relationship with you anymore. That was one thing. But to call you a cheater and then hide with his waitress to let her coddle him? Seduce him, even? What kind of nerve did he have?

Was he this unhappy with you? That he would make up stories about cheating, perhaps to alleviate his own guilt? That had to be it, right? He was projecting. He was projecting because he wanted to fuck Haley—if he hadn’t already. He would sometimes tell you that you were the one projecting but now you could tell this whole thing was just a big, messy projecting inception.

You knew things weren’t great but you would never have imagined it would come to this. Maybe, somewhere, you still held the hope that things would work out. That Hyunjin loved you the way you loved him, which was to say, enough to try.

The hit was violent. It felt a lot like you had been kicked in the chest. Or like Hyunjin himself had cut you open to crush your heart with his bare hands. 

What happened next was even worse. You bit into the hand still covering your mouth so as not to be heard when Haley pulled Hyunjin by the collar of his shirt to kiss him. 

You looked away because the sight was too much. Because it felt like you would die if you saw more of it. You took a feeble step toward the emergency exit, your legs trembling just as much as the rest of your body. 

You heard Hyunjin’s voice coming from inside the room. “What the fuck?” There were a few noises, like fabrics brushing and footsteps. You couldn’t comprehend his intonation. You couldn’t tell if he was shocked or if he was, perhaps, denying how badly he wanted it. He said something else but you couldn’t hear it over the sound of your pulse and the high-pitched ringing that echoed in your ear. 

Haley sounded displeased when she replied to him, and yet honey coated her voice. “You can pretend all you want but I see the way you look at me,” she said with a joyless chuckle. “Don’t you think about me when you touch yourself? My body, my tits? I saw you checking me out.” There was a pause during which you leaned against the wall behind you or else you might just collapse. “Tell me, Hyune, do you think about me when you fuck her?” 

You had heard enough and yet you barely controlled your body when you ran away, pushing the emergency door to put as much distance as you could between you and this fucking place and Hyunjin and that girl. You couldn’t breathe, no matter how hard you tried to force oxygen into your lungs. The February air was cold and ruthless but you recognized the signs of a panic attack, knowing what was to come if you didn’t snap out of it. 

You found your phone in your purse but you didn’t even know who to call. The only person you really wanted to be with was Hyunjin. But he wanted otherwise. You had failed him so spectacularly that he… that he…

As you scrolled through your contacts, you realized how alone you were without him. Ironically, it was Minho’s name that popped into your mind. But it was Valentine’s Day after all and he would either be with his wife or at the restaurant, or perhaps both. In any case, there was no way a call from his ex would be welcome. Eric would be busy too, but maybe you could call Jisung. But to tell him what? What was there even to say? 

You heard the door you had just come out from open again and it was closed just a few seconds after. You were on the other corner of the building, hiding there while you regained your senses if you ever would. 

“Baby? Angel? Is that you?” 

Hyunjin.

You realized he must have heard the door. In your urgency to get the fuck away from this place, you hadn’t really bothered with being quiet. 

Angel. How could he allow this word on his tongue after what he did? After he kissed that girl with it? 

It took a few seconds for your feet to obey your brain but you didn’t make it very far before Hyunjin caught up with you. Neither of you was wearing even a jacket—you had left your winter coat on a hook in the kitchen with everyone else’s, but you couldn’t even process the cold. Not the one outside, anyway.

He looked like he didn’t know why you were here. Not really here at the bar but here, behind it, running away, wildly underdressed. He also looked like he knew very well what was going on. 

“Oh my god,” he sighed when he made it to you. “Come inside, you’ll freeze. Are you okay?”

He tried to grab your hand but you dodged him. Hyunjin’s facial expression darkened—he opened his mouth to say something but no words came out. 

Part of you wanted to leave now, digest it all, and have a talk tomorrow, or even later tonight. But another, stronger part of you couldn’t bear keeping it inside for even one more second. It felt like trying to swallow a knife. 

“I saw you,” was all you said. “I just want you to know that I saw you and I heard you.”

The little color he had drained from his face. “W—What?” His bottom lip was trembling—a telltale sign that he was going to cry. “No, no, I—I pushed her away, angel, listen—”

You tsked him, shaking your head in disbelief. You could believe that. That he had pushed her away. Because they were in a public place and he was very notably in a relationship, and people would talk. “It’s fine,” you shrugged. It was not fine but you went on. “She’s hot, I get it.”

“I fired her,” Hyunjin responded without a pause, his voice flat. 

You looked into his eyes, realizing you had no idea what was going on in his head. Realizing you didn’t know who you could trust more. Him, or yourself. Perhaps the correct answer was neither.

“So? Do you?” you replied. “Do you think about her when you touch yourself? When you fuck me?”

You hadn’t seen anger in Hyunjin very often and certainly never to the level he was getting at, so it took you a few seconds to recognize that he was enraged. Something flicked in his eyes, like a warning, but you ignored it. “Are we going to pretend you’re not fooling around with your boss?” 

The question left you speechless. You took a step back, your shoulder blades meeting the brick wall behind you. “What?” You weren’t even surprised—you were properly dumbfounded, as though Hyunjin had spoken in a language you weren’t fluent in.

Hyunjin was getting impatient. A breeze blew over the both of you and a few strands of hair fell over his forehead, obstructing his eyes. “Can we skip the part where you pretend you don’t understand what I’m talking about?” he snickered, looking disgusted. “No, I’m not fucking fantasizing about Haley. But I did call you last night. Twice. To tell you I was on my way to pick you up from the bakery so we could go home. Got no answer—I figured, fine, you’re busy.” 

You thought you knew where this was going but you couldn’t even believe that you were here, right now, having this conversation.

“I saw you through the front windows,” Hyunjin went on. “It was kinda dark, but I saw enough to draw my own conclusions.” 

This explained everything about the awful feeling gnawing at you from the inside. It hadn’t left you since Hyunjin had ignored you last night.

“He just hugged me,” you retorted with a small voice. You didn’t know if you were shaking because it was cold or because you had never felt as broken as you felt now. “I was crying.”

“Sure. A hug. That lasted at least one minute, probably more,” Hyunjin commented. “I wouldn’t know, I walked away. Tell me, does he “““hug””” you like that often?” He emphasized his point by dramatically air quoting the word. How does he like to “““hug””” you? Rough? From behind? Missionary? Does he—”

Your hand left the side of your body before you even realized it—you slapped Hyunjin in the face, shocked at what you were doing just as much as what he was saying and the disdain with which he was speaking to you. Tonight was too much. All of it was entirely too much—barely two minutes ago you witnessed a kiss between him and another woman and yet it was you who was being accused of cheating?

Hyunjin stood before you, speechless, feeling the reddened skin of his cheek like he couldn’t believe it.

“Yes, a hug.” Your voice was shaking.

He cocked his head to the side. “A hug. And then he’ll try to hit that,” he retorted, pressing his lips together.

It felt like it would help you so much if you could figure out exactly what it was that you were feeling. You were furious. You were hurt. You felt sad and betrayed and hopeless. 

You were scared.

Maybe you had known deep inside you, for a while now, that it would come to this. 

“He’s gay. He has a boyfriend. He’s not trying to ‘hit that’. I’m not trying to ‘hit that’. He’s worried about me.” You took a deep breath but only managed to exhale pathetic sobs. “I’m so alone. I’m just so fucking alone, Hyunjin. You don’t even look at me anymore. You just sulk and when I try to pull you back up, when I try to be there for you, you push me away. It hurts, by the way. It hurts when you do that.” 

Hyunjin blinked slowly, his gaze becoming unfocused as though he was reviewing the veracity of your words. It felt terrible to have finally said it. It felt wonderful. Like throwing up after drinking too much. Tasted just as nasty, too. 

“So I hurt you,” Hyunjin replied flatly. “I hurt you.” 

“I know you don’t mean to,” you added. “I just—”

He cut you off. “It was about time you told me,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Why the hell are you wasting your time with me, then?” 

Your heart dropped—it was so violent that you had to press a hand over your chest. It felt like you were going to have a heart attack. “I’m not wasting my time, I’m just saying—”

“No, I got it. I hurt you. Have you ever stopped and wondered if maybe you hurt me, too?” It would have been better if Hyunjin hit you in the face. Anything would have been better than that. “You don’t know how alone I feel too. It’s fine that you don’t want to make me a priority, but it would have been nice to feel like you have my back.”

You buried your face in your hands, hiding your tears away. It couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be telling you that. It couldn’t end.

Not like this.

“But I do have your back,” you mumbled, the pieces of your heart stabbing you from the inside. “I love you—you know that, right?” 

The expression on Hyunjin’s face gave you the response he didn’t speak. 

“Are you breaking up with me?” you asked, your eyes wide. 

“I don’t see what the point of staying together is. If all I do is hurt you and sulk. It’s quite obvious that you’ll be happier without me.”

He walked away. He just walked away.

It was Felix who found you outside some time later, alerted by Hyunjin’s awful mood, or so he said. He was nice. He brought you your coat and offered to go home with you but he was Hyunjin’s friend and he should stay with him. He insisted on calling a cab for you, but when the driver asked you where you were going, you did not give him the address of Hyunjin’s apartment—your apartment. You asked him to take you to the restaurant.

It was the end of the evening there—the dining room was crowded mostly by couples who were now eating dessert and drinking champagne. When you inquired to some of the new employees about Jisung, they all told you he was upstairs with the boss. 

It used to feel like home. This place. The smells, the sounds. It was in this place that maraschino cherries took the taste of love. You crossed the restaurant, keeping your eyes on the floor so as not to see the bar section on the other side. You went directly to the staircase, hoping to find Jisung in his office, but only he was in Minho’s. 

It was the two of them who comforted you that night—or tried, at least. You would never forget the look on their faces when you pushed the door open. It was like they had seen a ghost. Or worse. It made you wonder what you looked like.

You figured you most likely looked like a woman who had lost everything.

Because you sure as hell felt like it. 

Now

Imagine holding the best, most beautiful gift life could ever give you. Imagine feeling its weight in the palm of your hand, the texture of it too, and its warmth. Imagine it scurrying along your arm to bury itself in your chest, making a home out of your heart. Imagine taking care of it, this light inside of you, to make sure it never goes out. 

Imagine a downpour. A monsoon. Imagine not building a roof over the light. Imagine letting the light burn itself out in order to keep yourself warm. And letting it. Because maybe your brain felt like you ought to be punished for something, and what better punishment than to take away from you that one thing, that warmth that you love so much, even if it meant to hurt it all the while? 

After all, there could be only one way to separate that light from your heart, so imagine drinking poison in the hopes it would poison it, too.

Imagine the light drowning right before your eyes. 

What you would see is the state of Hyunjin’s heart. 

He had it all. He had it all because he had you. Maybe it was from missing you too much but he would say that he fell in love with you at first sight and he has only loved you more and more since. 

Maybe it was just because of the way he longed for you. Maybe it was because it was all that he had left. The longing, the yearning. The memory of you. 

Hyunjin was aware of his mistakes. He knew them a little too well—he played them in his head almost at all times. 

He had it all but he didn’t know that he did while it was happening. He was greedy. He had the bar and it was great, it was like a dream come true. Only he was too proud, and too ashamed, too. He really believed he could make it on his own. He didn’t want his problems to become yours. 

He didn’t want you to see him fail. 

He had it all but none of it was worth anything if you weren’t there with him.

Hyunjin had come to understand that a little too late—that he couldn’t just share the good things with you. That true love meant, also, sharing the burdens, the ugly stuff. Really sharing, not just pretending to.

By the time that information settled in, you were long gone. 

Those were the worst months of his life. 

Those were months of sleepless nights, of regret, of shame. Big decisions brewing at the back of his mind and at the very front of it too, crushing him under their weight. Months and months and months of missing you and knowing you deserved better than a guy like him, whose first instincts had been to sabotage the relationship instead of dealing with his issues. You deserved better than a coward.

The colder it got outside, the more vividly he remembered you. 

Hyunjin called Minho one evening in early December, only a few weeks ago. He made it look like he wanted to catch up on him—Hey, it’s been a long time man, how are things?—but really Hyunjin wanted to ask about Minho’s contacts in the food and beverage industry.

And maybe, also, he wanted to ask about you.

“Oh, business has been as good as it can be,” Minho told him after Hyunjin inquired. “Just super grateful for the staff, everyone’s working hard during the holidays.” He paused then. “Hey, Hwang. Are you free some time around the 20th?” 

Hyunjin thought about it, looking at the calendar hanging in Nightcap’s break room. “That’s a Friday. Those are busy,” he replied. Naturally, as a bar owner, he did not have the luxury to take Fridays off. “Why?”

“Ah, of course,” Minho replied politely, clearing his throat. “I rented a cabin in the mountains again since it was such a success the first time. Too bad you can’t make it, you’d be welcome, Felix too—” 

Hyunjin almost dropped his phone, his heart racing. “I can make time,” he said without waiting. “I mean, I could ask someone to take over for a couple of days, I—” He wondered if he sounded as desperate as he was. 

Minho let out a non-committal sound, clicking his tongue. “Are you only saying that because you think she’ll be there?” He didn’t need to specify who he was talking about—Hyunjin knew. 

He was right. Minho was right. Hyunjin had vowed himself he would stay away from you—he had caused you enough pain anyway. He had to pay for the terrible mistakes he made. But the temptation was just too much.

“Before you ask, yes she RSVP’d,” Minho went on. “You should come too. I think it’s about time the two of you get some closure. Fair warning though—I will beat you up if you make her cry. Don’t bring your girlfriend, only Felix.” Hyunjin tried to stop him to at least let him know he sure as hell didn’t have a girlfriend, but Minho didn’t let him. “I’ll text you the address and directions when I hang up. We’re also having a Secret Santa gift exchange. To keep it simple, I’ll pair everyone in an online randomizer. So I’ll text you about that in a couple of days too. I’ll see you on the 20th, Hwang. Good talk.” 

He just hung up. One minute later, Hyunjin was sent a Maps link with an address located in a remote village up in the mountains. 

Two days later, Minho was texting him again to let him know that he would be your Secret Santa. 

Minho: Better not fuck this up, Hwang.

Hyunjin knew he ought to call Minho and ask him to redraw the names because it just wasn’t appropriate. In all honesty, Minho might have tweaked the results. He knew he ought to call him to cancel the whole thing. Hyunjin shouldn’t go. Perhaps he would be tempted. By you.

He shouldn’t go. But he was not strong enough to resist. 

He only wanted you to know what had really happened. He wanted you to know that he was sorry, that he never fucked Haley and never even wanted to, that he never actually thought you and Eric had slept together. He was just upset. And tired. And inadequate. 

He hadn’t apologized for what he had done—you hadn’t given him the occasion to do so. The day after the breakup, you came into the apartment with Minho, Jisung, and Chan. Chan kept him company—as in, making sure he was never in the same room as you were—while the other two helped you pack up your things. You did not look at him but he heard you cry from the other room. You left the apartment. When he went to the bedroom, your keys were on the unmade bed, and his heart was in his throat.

He did not deserve to apologize, but it was his one shot at telling you the truth and admitting his faults. He wouldn’t miss it.

Imagine holding the best, most beautiful gift life could ever give you. Imagine fucking up so bad that your entire life is ruined. 

“Dinner is ready,” Jisung’s voice said through the door. He knocked again. “We made pasta with the sauce Chan brought. The one you like so much,” he added. “Min just opened a bottle of wine. Come on.” 

You sighed, burying your face into your pillow. He didn’t understand. You had tried staying—you had tried having a normal conversation with your ex, but it couldn’t work out. It meant that you couldn’t stay. You had been devising a plan for the past hour or so. While Christmas music was playing downstairs and smells from Chan’s delicious pasta sauce started floating in the air, you were checking if the motel you had seen in the village on your way here was open and if there was a room for rent. A little snow didn’t worry you. 

Good thing you hadn’t really taken the time to unpack your bag.

“Are you there?” Jisung asked, wiggling the door handle to see if you had locked it. You had not, perhaps in your hurry to run away from Hyunjin or because you didn’t imagine anyone would come after you. 

He cracked open the door, just barely, staring at you from the shadows of the hallway. Your room was dark too as you had not bothered turning on any lights during your crying fit. It was a small room but it had a nice view—like most of the bedrooms in the cabin, it even had a balcony. It had a cozy, rustic vibe to it with three of the four walls made of distressed wood paneling, the one facing your bed was built with warm-red bricks. It was such a shame. You had loved the room upon seeing it and had been actually looking forward to your weekend here, as much as you could anyway.

It was hard for you to look forward to things these days. But this weekend was supposed to be good. You were supposed to cook the Christmas dinner tomorrow with Min and you would bake some cookies and a cake, too. You had been assigned as Seungmin’s Secret Santa and you had found a bomb-ass gift for him which was a baseball shirt autographed by his favorite player. He would owe you his life after this. Okay, maybe not literally, but still. You couldn’t wait to see the look on your friend’s face when he would unwrap it.

Not anymore though. You wouldn’t be here tomorrow night. Hell, if there was a god and if that  god was good, you wouldn’t even be here in an hour. 

“I decided to leave,” you told Jisung, sitting up. “You can’t stop me.” 

Jisung fully opened the door. “You can’t though,” he pointed out. “You saw the snow.”

“It’s snow, not a horde of dragons attacking the mountain. I’ll manage.” You stood, putting on a denim jacket over your t-shirt and grabbing your bag. 

“A horde of dragons? You watch too much TV, friend.” Jisung shook his head. “Please don’t leave tonight. We talked about this just earlier.” 

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to be brave anymore.” 

Jisung tried—and failed—to stop you from getting out of the room. He followed you downstairs. Everyone seemed to be in the kitchen. It smelled delicious and you heard their conversations and the clinking of cutlery, but you did not look that way. Instead, you went directly to where you had left your winter jacket and changed into your snow boots. 

“We came in my car though,” Jisung muttered, clearly trying not to be heard by the others whose conversations had visibly lowered in volume. “You need my keys.”

“Yup.” You reached into the pocket of Jisung’s jacket which hung right next to yours and retrieved the aforementioned keys. “There. All good. I promise I’ll be careful with it. I’ll go down to the village at that motel we saw. I’ll come get you on Sunday. Okay?” 

Jisung gave up, a saddened look on his face. He nodded slowly, raising his hands in surrender. “What happened to facing your heartbreak and healing from it?” 

You glanced towards the other side of the large open space room. All of your friends sat around a huge wooden table overflowing with food and wine. All that you could see were smiles. Hyunjin was facing the other way so you could not see his face but he was eating his pasta and having a conversation with Changbin who sat next to him. 

“You’re right about that,” you conceded, your throat tight. “But I don’t think any amount of facing it and looking it in the eyes will heal me. I’m hopeless, Ji. You’re gonna have to wrap your head around that at some point.”

“Nobody is hopeless,” he insisted, but you had walked away already.

You would at least be an adult about it. While you were elaborating your plan, you had considered faking an emergency, something giving you an excuse to leave. But it would be too obvious and too childish. Hyunjin always saw right through your lies anyway. 

“Hey guys,” you managed as you approached the table. “I just came to say goodbye. I decided to leave.” 

A heavy silence fell onto the room. Hyunjin spun in his chair to see you but you did not look at him. 

Minho stood. “Don’t leave, it isn’t safe,” he said. “Look—”

“I’m leaving,” you repeated. “Let’s not ignore the elephant in the room, yeah? We’re all adults, after all, guys. I know it’s been a while since many of you have seen Hyunjin—and Felix—and I’m really happy y’all get this little reunion. But I’m just gonna go. Okay? No hard feelings. Not even for you, Min.” 

You saw Hyunin lowering his head from the corner of your eye. “I’ll go,” he muttered. You barely heard him. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“No, it’s totally fine!” You could hardly believe how easy it was for you to say all of those things in front of everyone. You imagined it must be caused by some sort of adrenaline rush. “I mean it. You should stay.” You made your way toward the door before anyone could stop you. 

Minho did follow, putting himself in between the door and you. “Wait, okay?” 

“Min, just, no,” you began. “You and I dated for nine months. We were friends before. One night you kissed me. Nine months later, you were barely looking at me, barely speaking to me. In the end you broke up with me because it didn’t feel right, because you had too much work, all that.” You didn’t care that Minho’s wife was right there. You didn’t care that literally everyone in the room was listening to you. “I got over you. Then I fell in love with him,” you added, motioning towards Hyunjin who was still looking at the floor. “It was great. Until it was not. Until he, too, stopped looking at me. Until he stopped speaking to me. Until he kissed that waitress in the back room. And then he broke up with me too. So you’re gonna step the fuck away and let me leave this place. And everything will keep going as it was before and I’m not gonna be mad at anyone here. I’m just gonna go. Okay?”

Minho swallowed thickly, sliding to the left, freeing the door. “Okay.” He opened his mouth to speak and you knew him well enough to know he wanted to say I’m sorry, only you didn’t want to hear any more of that—you just pushed the door open and walked out.

You did manage to close the door behind you but that in itself was a miracle for you had barely made it outside. The snow was reaching somewhere just below your knees—it was heavier than you had imagined, too, and you sank into it with each step you took. It infiltrated your boots, freezing your toes almost instantly.

The wind was relentless. You swallowed snow on many occasions on your way to the parking lot, located on the left side of the cabin. But you remained resolute, fueled by anger, by disappointment. You could barely make out the cars—snow must have accumulated on the spot illuminating the area and it had also covered a lot of the cars, so it was difficult to see which was which. 

It was cold but you didn’t care. Once you found Jisung’s car, you began removing the several inches of snow that covered it. You thought about Minho’s words as you angrily pushed the wet snow off the roof and windows. It’s not that you can’t move on from things. It’s that you don’t want to. Maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong—it wasn’t true for every aspect of your life, except, perhaps, this one thing. Hyunjin.

Moving on from him seemed impossible. You had seen, so vividly, your life intertwined with his in the future. You had felt a love deeper than you thought love could ever be. 

And now it was all that you had left. The memories of it, no matter how painful they were. It was all that you had of Hyunjin—the empty space he left behind. 

It kept snowing.

Hyunjin wished you had slammed the door. 

Many things happened right after you left—the group separated itself into thirds. One third tried to diffuse the obvious tension immediately by saying that by now, snow plows or something must have cleared the roads at least a little and that you would be okay. Then they continued the conversation almost as though nothing had occurred. Hyunjin couldn’t even be mad at them because he could tell it was out of good intentions. They were trying to preserve some kind of peace. 

The second group seemed genuinely worried for your well-being. Should he have been able to speak right now, he would have been one of them, voicing his own concerns about the weather and your lack of winter clothing. Felix was asking Jisung if he should go get you. Jisung shrugged. “Maybe someone could follow her just to make sure she makes it safely.”

The third group, however, had other preoccupations. Si-yeon, Minho’s wife, Ha-ri, Changbin’s girlfriend, Soren, Chan’s girlfriend, Chan himself, and Seungmin were discussing under their breaths but he could hear them very well. 

“Is it true what she said?” Si-yeon asked after clearing her throat. By the sound of it, it seemed like she was directing her question towards Minho, but when she did not get a response, she turned to Hyunjin. “Is it true? Did you cheat on her?” 

Heat burned his ears. God, he wanted to disappear. He barely managed to raise his eyes. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “It’s not how it happened.” 

“Did you kiss a waitress? That’s what she said,” Soren pointed out. 

“She kissed me,” Hyunjin specified. “I rejected her.” That night was the worst night of his life. He remembered everything in detail.

“Did you not tell her that you invited her ex?” Chan asked Minho. “That’s fucked up, dude.” 

A cacophony followed—everyone talked over the other, trying to make themselves heard, exposing their point. He really shouldn’t have come. It wasn’t fair to you. He didn’t imagine that Minho would have kept it from you, of course not. But he had, and now you were upset.

And Hyunjin’s heart was heavy.

He missed you. He missed you more than he could say—it didn’t matter if he locked himself in a room all weekend, making sure you never saw him. Because it would mean to be under the same roof as you once again. Even just a few hours. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would smell your perfume as you walked past his door, or maybe he would hear your voice. 

One thing was sure, he wasn’t going to let you leave. Not tonight. He’d barely managed to reach this place, after all. 

Without a word or a glance to anybody, Hyunjin pushed himself up, making his way toward the door. He ignored all the questions and comments. What are you doing? Where are you going? Are you sure it’s a good idea? Maybe someone else should go. 

In two seconds, he was in his boots again, leaving his slippers behind. 

Maybe, selfishly, he wanted you to know that he still loved you. 

Going outside felt like running into a wall, only, the wall was made of wind, ice, and snow. He coughed as snowflakes entered his mouth and even his nostrils. He was only wearing a light sweater but he hid his hands into the sleeves, also protecting his face as best he could with his arms. He called out your name but the wind was louder, so he waited a few seconds to try again. 

He could see some people looking through the windows and that did not please Hyunjin, so he quickly made his way toward the small parking lot. Snow entered his boots but he kept going, squinting as he tried to catch sight of you. He could see that some snow had been removed from a car but that wouldn’t be enough for you to be able to drive with it. There was a lot of snow on the ground and he didn’t think that a simple sedan would be able to go through it. 

He could see the car. He could also see your bag, left on the trunk. 

But he couldn’t see you. 

He called your name again, his heart dropping. It was totally understandable that you were angry but you couldn’t possibly have run off into the woods in this weather, right? 

What he saw once he reached the car was perhaps worse. You were sitting right next to it, one leg stretched and the other bent so that your foot was towards you. You were completely leaning over it, your shoulders shaking with cries. You had cried earlier too—he had seen it in your eyes. It hurt him to see you like this.

He approached you carefully, almost as though you were a feral animal. “Hey,” he said in a low voice.

You jumped, looking up, recoiling when you saw him—that motion caused you to wince and wrap your hands around your ankle.

Hyunjin got on his knees, not minding one bit the cold snow dampening his pants and freezing him. “Did you hurt yourself?” He tried to look you in the eyes but you wouldn’t let him. “Did you fall? Did you hit your head?” 

“I’m fine,” you replied. “It’s just my ankle.”

“You don’t look fine to me.” 

You sighed, wiping tears off your face. Your bare fingers were red and stiff. Instinctively, Hyunjin reached for your hand to warm it up, but you pulled away. “It’s fine. I’ll be okay. Go back inside.”

He looked around, searching for his words. “I don’t think you can leave,” he started, leaning closer to you. “Look. We can’t even see the path. We’re snowed in. And you hurt yourself. Isn’t this the ankle you sprained before?” 

You gave him a slow nod after a few seconds. “There was ice over there,” you explained, motioning vaguely behind you. “Under the snow. I slipped, and…” 

“We’ll get you back inside now,” Hyunjin said. “Wait here, I’ll go get someone and we’ll—”

“No, please.” This time, you did touch him—when he went to stand up, you caught his wrist, pulling him back. Your touch went through his body like a shockwave, making him lightheaded. “I can’t go back in there. Not after I made a scene.”

There it was. There you were. He recognized you more than ever now as you softened, as your anger dissipated. Not two seconds ago, you were still enraged. Now you looked at him with teary, pleading eyes. 

“Everyone in there is your friend,” Hyunjin pointed out. “No one will judge you.” 

“Of course they’ll judge me.” You let go of his wrist, taking a deep breath. “Help me up. I can still drive.” 

Unfortunately for you, he had seen in which pocket of your coat you had put Jisung’s keys—he was easily able to reach into it to retrieve them, effectively stealing them from you.

You stared at him with your mouth wide open, shocked. “Fuck you!” 

“Yup, fuck me,” Hyunjin retorted, this time standing up for good. “Hold on!” he quickly added when you, too, tried to stand, but it was obvious you couldn’t put much weight on your ankle. 

“This is the second most humiliating day of my life,” you muttered as Hyunjin went to help you up. “The first on the list is when my boyfriend dumped me on Valentine’s Day.” You shot him a venomous gaze.

He sighed, the pang in his heart undeniable. He had never really been confronted with it before. The pain he had caused you. It had all been abstract up until this point. He had thought about it a lot, of course, but to see it with his own two eyes was a whole other thing. Your damp cheeks, the redness in your eyes. The expression on your face when you looked at him—it wasn’t even anger, or disgust. It was worse. It was disappointment.

And yet. You were there. You were right there. It was the first time in so long that Hyunjin saw you, that he spoke with you. And it wasn’t an easy thing to admit, not even to himself, but it still felt so normal to be by your side, to just speak with you. Sure, there was an awkwardness that could not be denied. But there was so much more beneath it. All the memories, all the time spent with you, all the love, the intimacy. It seemed like that bond hadn’t been severed. 

“What a fucking loser,” Hyunjin said with an exaggerated snort. “Good riddance, yeah? Nobody needs a boyfriend like that.” 

You stared at him, speechless, blinking slowly. Maybe it was the stress or the pain, but you burst into laughter that you had to control in order not to hurt your ankle even more. It was music to his ears. It almost felt like being revived after cardiac arrest. “Come on, help me up instead of working your stand-up comic routine.” 

Hyunjin positioned himself behind you, not hesitating before wrapping one arm around your waist and another under your arms. “I got you, just don’t use that foot.” You smelled good. Your perfume was the same—its delicate yet bold notes hit his nostrils like a warm spring day. 

Much like ripping a band-aid off a wound, Hyunjin pulled you up right away—you helped by standing on your good foot and by holding onto the car next to you, but you had to lean against it as soon as you stood, wincing in pain. “Wow,” you said nonetheless. “You’ve been working out, haven’t you?”

He shrugged. “Helps me keep my head clear.” He grabbed your bag and returned to you, wrapping his arm around your waist again. You held onto him and hopped as best you could toward the cabin as he let you put all your weight onto him. “Careful, you’ll slip again,” he warned. “I’ll carry you—”

“Not a fucking chance. I’d rather die frozen in the snow than go back in there carried princess-style by the guy who dumped me on Valentine’s Day.”

“Really gotta rub it in, don’t you?” Despite the gloomy essence of the conversation, the tone was light-hearted. “Not that I don’t deserve it…”

It didn’t matter that it took several minutes to make it back to the porch—Hyunjin was not cold. Not when he was so close to you. Not when he was touching you, holding you. 

“Don’t let them make fun of me,” you warned. 

He glanced inside—pretty much everyone was back around the table. “I won’t,” he promised, grabbing the door handle, but he didn’t push it open. “I really want you to know that I didn’t cheat on you. I didn’t want to cheat on you,” he said, turning to you. “I know that you saw what you saw and I’m not asking you to forgive me or anything like that. Haley kissed me and I pushed her away. I just want you to believe me. Please.”

You frowned. “You literally broke up with me five minutes later, though.” 

“I had my reasons. But nowhere among them was Haley. I promise you.” His heart felt lighter now that he had told you. 

“She had been flirting with you for months,” you reminded him. “Very openly. Often right in front of me.”

“I should have fired her way before,” he conceded. That was one of the many mistakes he made—obviously, Hyunjin wasn’t worth much when put under stress, like he lost any ability to think clearly. “But I don’t want you going around thinking that you got cheated on. Because you didn’t. I would never have done this to you.” 

You remained quiet—Hyunjin could sense that you needed to think it over, so instead of insisting on the topic, he opened the door. 

You were obviously uncomfortable when you followed him inside. “You have no idea how humiliating this is for me,” you muttered under your breath. “All of it.” 

It was his fault, after all, so there was no way in hell Hyunjin would let you be uneasy because of him.

The guests around the table became quiet when they noticed that you were with him. Jisung immediately got up, followed closely by Si-yeon and Soren. 

Jisung gasped when he saw the state you were in. “Oh my god, are you okay?” 

“It’s my fault,” Hyunjin said immediately. “I insisted that she should stay and I chased after her.” He found it rather simple to lie when it was to make your life easier. “She tripped and twisted her ankle trying to run away from me.” 

“I’m fine,” you said but nobody believed you. 

Hyunjin was gently pushed away as everyone came to take care of you—Chan and Soren helped you to the couch while Jisung was preparing a bag of ice for your ankle. Minho inquired about the amount of parm you wanted on your pasta as he filled a plate with food for you. Felix stood with Hyunjin and, together, they observed the scene quietly. You were given a hot pack to warm up your fingers and a thick blanket to wrap around you. 

In no more than five minutes, you were comfortably lying on one of the sectional couches of the living room, eating a generous plate of pasta with your foot elevated on two cushions. Jisung, Soren, and Chan were sitting with you, eating and drinking, while others had returned to the table and a few people were standing near the kitchen island, chatting and putting leftovers in containers. 

Hyunjin stayed in a corner after sending Felix away—he didn’t want his friend to miss out on a good evening on his behalf. He wasn’t hungry anymore. He was just troubled. He hadn’t been able to predict how he would feel once he saw you again, but even if his guess had turned out scarily accurate, the real thing was a million times more intense.

Hyunjin had known from the start. He had known from the moment you walked away from him that Valentine’s Day that he still loved you and that he wouldn’t stop loving you. But to know one thing and to experience it were two very different events.

His eyes met yours when you looked up from your plate. This time you didn’t avert your gaze.

Yup. He was fucked.

He was still head-over-heels in love with you.

“I think it’s sprained and that we have to wrap it tightly,” Jisung said, his eyes on his screen after looking up first aid advice. 

“We’ll get you to a doctor as soon as the snow allows it,” Chan assured. “Do you want another glass of wine?” 

The ambiance was much quieter than it had been—everyone was dispersed around the cabin, just enjoying the overall coziness of the place. You were still in the living room with Chan, Soren, and Jisung but you could see Minho in the kitchen, chatting with Felix and Hyunjin while he did some prep for tomorrow’s Christmas meal. You knew a few people were watching horror movies in the basement—and you were especially grateful to be anywhere but there.

“No, thank you,” you told Chan, forcing a smile on your face. “You guys don’t have to stay with me you know? I’ll be fine. Didn’t you want to play board games?”

“Won’t you play with us?” Jisung asked. 

“I’m tired.” And it wasn’t even a lie. Your entire day had been a roller coaster of emotions and you felt drained, empty, and your ankle was still excessively painful. “If someone would be kind enough to fetch me some elastic bandages from the first aid kit, that’s all I need. I’m used to it, I can wrap it myself.” 

Chan tried to insist but in the end, Soren dragged him away so he would help her choose a board game—maybe she understood you a little better than the guys. Maybe she knew that you just needed to be alone for a little while.

It was Jisung who brought you the bandages. “Are you okay?” He squeezed your shoulder, taking a deep breath. 

You stared at the rolls of bandage in your hand, thinking it over. Today felt much like a fever dream, like nothing about it was real. Like it could not be possible that you were currently in the same building as Hyunjin. Like it could not be possible that he had spoken to you softly, that he had held you, touched you, and that it made your heart flutter. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted to Jisung. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to be feeling,” you added, keeping your voice low.

“I don’t think there’s any way you’re ‘supposed’ to feel right now,” he told you. 

You nodded, sending him away so that he could join the game. Felix and Hyunjin also voiced their desire to play. “I’ll make us a round of drinks before,” Hyunjin decided. “Anyone interested?” 

You heard responses coming from the dining area and then silence fell over the room. From the corner of your eye, you noticed that several heads were turned your way. Hyunjin called your name, his voice cracking as he did so. “Do you want a drink?” 

“Sure,” you replied out of habit, mostly to make everyone look away.

You focused on unwrapping your supplies, doing your best to chase the thoughts swirling in your head. God, why were you a little glad to see him all of a sudden? You had been so upset about it earlier—with good reason!—and while you were very much still pissed off, you couldn’t help but feel a certain relief after his revelation. 

You didn’t want to believe him. That he didn’t cheat on you, that he never even wanted to. So why was your heart… like that? Why wasn’t it raising its defenses, why was it leaving you exposed and vulnerable? Had it not learned from the betrayal it suffered? Why had it been so easy for Hyunjin to sneak his way back inside of it? 

For months, the simple idea of meeting Hyunjin again had haunted you as you had no idea how you would react. But sometimes—usually after a few drinks—you started to imagine crazy scenarios. Like him calling you out of nowhere and asking to see you or even him showing up unannounced at your job to beg you to take him back. You were usually quick to banish these thoughts, trying to drown them in the most painful memories you held. Like all the times he kept you at a distance when all that you wanted was to be there with him, just so he wouldn’t be alone with his dark thoughts. 

When that didn’t suffice, you had to bring out the big guns. Like replaying in your mind the kiss with Haley. Or the subsequent breakup, and the tone with which he spoke to you, making it very clear that while you had good intentions, you did not have the means to help him—no matter how hard you’d try, you would never be enough to soothe his heart. 

Except he was here tonight, whether you liked it or not. And you could still feel the ghost of his hand around your waist. You had never known addiction before and would a drug addict had told you about their experience, you would have empathized with them of course, but not understood. If it’s an addiction and if it’s dangerous, then why keep doing it, even if it feels good?

Because. Because it felt so fucking good.

You were so lost in your thoughts, barely paying attention to wrapping your ankle, that you didn’t notice Hyunjin when he approached, holding two glasses. You jumped when you saw him, immediately telling yourself that your heart rate was increasing because he had surprised you and not because he looked exceptionally handsome in the warm lighting of the fireplace. 

And certainly not because he was handing you a glass with a very familiar drink in it—you recognized it instantly as one of his signature drinks. He called it, simply, Merry Christmas. You had participated in its creation in the form of drinking many versions of it to review them. Sugar around the rim, some limoncello, a little bit (or a lot) of vodka, and a drop of vanilla syrup in some seltzer. But the best part was the maraschino cherry juice, which gave the cocktail its festive look along with a piece of rosemary resembling a little evergreen tree in the glass. 

“There,” Hyunjin said, waiting for you to pick up your drink. He seemed to hesitate but ultimately went on, “I added some extra cherries in yours. I hear they’re very good at promoting the healing of ankles specifically.”

You stared at your glass and then at his own drink, which only had one maraschino cherry in it. As though you needed to make sure, you glanced around the room, trying to see how many the others had gotten. Because Hyunjin had put an entire mini-skewer of cherries in yours. 

He used to do that all the time back at the restaurant. His special drinks. Just for you. They didn’t always contain alcohol but he always made up some scientific facts to justify them—to boost serotonin, to clear headaches, to ease a sore neck, to heal a cold. And you’d always accept the drinks with a witty remark and it forced a smile on your face, no matter what. 

In hindsight, you couldn’t believe that you hadn’t noticed his feelings for you before it was almost too late. He hadn’t even been subtle about it, had he? 

And there he was, doing it again. This time, though, your brain came to your defense—this wasn’t him flirting with you like it had been at the restaurant. This was simply Hyunjin trying to be nice after daring to show up here. 

And yet, almost like muscle memory, your lips curved into a faint smile. 

“I’d really love to see all these medical articles you read,” you retorted, accepting the drink from him. “It’s crazy all the things I learn with you. At this rate, you’re basically some sort of healer.”  

Hyunjin seemed just as surprised as you to hear your response, but once the shock set in, he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you my secrets,” he replied, sitting on the couch next to the cushions on which your ankle rested not long ago. “The more I tell you, the more dangerous it is for you. It’s best if you stay in the dark.” 

“Sure thing.” You took a sip from the drink—it was ice cold and just as delicious as you remembered it. Or maybe even more. It had been so long. “I didn’t know there was a cocktail mafia out there. I got it—I won’t tell a soul.”

“I knew I could trust you.” Hyunjin winked at you, also tasting his drink, glancing at the others who were now preparing their board game on the table. “Seriously though, are you okay?” He motioned at your foot.

You rested it on the cushions again, lifting the leg of your pants to display it. It was definitely very swollen and a little bruising had started to appear in places. You winced, sucking air between your teeth, quickly drinking more in the hopes that the alcohol would help. “It could have been worse,” you said nonetheless. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

“Yeah, it looks exactly like the time you sprained it,” Hyunjin confirmed with a nod, observing it closely. “Give that to me. It needs to be wrapped quickly to control the swelling.” He showed you the bandages left on the couch next to you. “I think it’s better if someone does it for you.” He stopped then, averting his gaze. “I can get someone else if you want.” 

Gun to your head, you would not have been able to understand addiction before tonight. 

“It’s fine. Thank you.” You handed him the bandages, sitting more comfortably now. “You’re the healer, after all. Makes me wonder why you settled for bartending when you could be rich—like, a literal millionaire—performing miracles on the daily. You could have it all. A palace to live in, all the riches you can imagine, all the girls, too—” 

You stopped mid-sentence, biting into a maraschino cherry, releasing its sweet juice on your tongue. It hadn’t really occurred to you that Hyunjin could very well be in a relationship right now. If it wasn’t Haley then it was someone else. Surely. A man like him—kind, funny, handsome, with a huge cock and the talent to use it. There was no way in hell he wasn’t seeing someone. 

Hyunjin put his drink away, choosing to begin his task instead of responding. He gulped, reaching for your ankle, pausing just a few millimeters away from it almost like he was asking permission. He used to do that a lot. Except it was with his mouth on your pussy, and he did it to tease you just as much as to ask for your consent—because it turned him on a lot. 

Just how much alcohol was in this damn drink?

You took another sip anyway, hoping that holding the glass in front of your face for a few seconds would allow for the dramatic flush that had appeared on it to fade away a little. 

Slowly, carefully, Hyunjin lifted your foot to lay the bandage underneath your ankle. It quickly returned on the cushions, and if you were honest, it had caused you a lot of pain to move it and yet you found yourself wishing he would do it again. The sensation of his fingers on your skin was as frightening as it was intoxicating. It reminded you of when he would caress your leg, your calf, your ankle with the back of his fingers while the two of you lounged on the couch. Sometimes naked, sometimes not, just existing alongside one another, watching TV. 

It reminded you of all the times he would wrap his fingers around your ankles, pulling them up, resting them on his shoulders so he could fuck you deeper. 

Oh no. No no no. You couldn’t feel like this. You couldn’t even let those thoughts wander in your mind—it was too dangerous. The fact that he was here tonight was a coincidence, albeit a sinister one. It didn’t mean anything. He was nice to you because of his guilt and maybe because he had gotten over that dark episode in his life and he wanted some closure. It was hard to tell. In any case, none of this meant anything. Him being sweet. The maraschino cherries.

You couldn’t let it mean anything—because in less than forty-eight hours you would both leave this place and go on your separate ways. And you did not think you could go through it another time. You did not think you could lose him again. It might kill you this time. It really might.

Fortunately for you, however, a strong gust of wind blew over the mountain as you took a few more nervous sips of your drink, and the power went out. 

There was only one second of complete silence before an uproar of terrified screams echoed from downstairs, where a bunch of people had been watching horror movies. Ultimately, Seungmin’s voice could be heard louder than the others as he urged people to ‘chill the fuck out’ because ‘it’s just a power outage’. 

Minho cursed from the kitchen. “I can’t see shit.” 

The cabin was very dark with the exception of the large fireplace in the living room and a few dim security lights here and there. Being so close to the fire, you could see Hyunjin very well—he did not seem bothered by the sudden turn of events, continuing his careful wrapping of your ankle, making sure to be as meticulous as he could be. 

People downstairs quickly came back up, telling a tale of the power going out at the exact moment some disturbing scene happened in the movie, scaring all of them to death. Minho reminded everyone that an electrical generator would continue to give them power for the two fridges as well as one tank of hot water and that he did not want anybody arguing over that. 

“We’ll still have food and be able to wash up,” he said while Felix was holding the flashlight on his phone over his shoulder to light up the counter where he was cutting up vegetables. “Nobody is allowed to take extensive showers like some people like to do. Okay?” 

“This felt targeted, Lee,” Hyunjin chuckled, shaking his head. 

Hyunjin was known for his very long and very warm showers—it had become a running joke among the employees. You giggled too, remembering the friendly bicker between these two back when you worked at the restaurant. But your amusement was cut short by the memory of Hyunjin’s bathroom after he exited his shower in the apartment you shared with him—he usually doodled something in the condensation that was covering the mirror. For you. A heart, a smiley face, or he’d just write I love you. You even made it a habit of going to see what the surprise was after his shower, even if you didn’t need to be in the bathroom.

You drank more, remaining quiet as everyone took place on the couch or on big cushions on the floor. By the time most were comfortably installed, your ankle was tightly wrapped and Hyunjin had even pressed more ice onto it.

He stayed there when he was done, sitting, and drinking in silence. You tried to ignore the curious glances, eyes fixated on the flames in the fireplace. 

“It’s running late, we could just go to bed and hope the power is back by tomorrow,” Seungmin suggested. 

“The heating system relies on electricity though,” Minho explained. “There are loads of blankets, but maybe it would be safer for some of us to sleep here in the living room by the fire?” He gulped nervously. “Especially those who, huh, aren’t sharing a bed with someone else. I’d hate for someone to freeze in their sleep.” 

“Wow,” Jisung scoffed with a playful smile. “Looking out for your single-as-fuck friends. Truly heartwarming.” 

“I’m just saying,” Minho responded, shrugging, but he was smiling too. “Those who want, we could go grab the mattresses upstairs?”

“OH MY GOD, A SLEEPOVER! YES!” Jisung exclaimed, pushing himself up even though it had not been a minute since he sat down. “Singles only. All of you who are fulfilled and content and happy can go freeze your asses upstairs.” 

As usual, Jisung’s comment brought laughter to the group. Most of the guys were on mattress duty while others were trying to find all the extra blankets, or exchanging woolen socks to make sure everyone’s toes would be safe from the cold. Naturally, you were forbidden to move, so you just drank, each maraschino cherry reminding you of how alone you were. 

And yet you were surrounded with all of your friends. People you cared about and who cared about you. People who called you on your birthday, who sent you memes in the middle of the night as a love language, who brought you soup when you had the flu. It wasn’t fair to them. This loneliness that you felt. And you didn’t want any of it, but it was stuck somewhere in your throat, slowly but surely preventing your lungs from getting the oxygen they needed. 

And here they were, devising architectural plans for a pillow fort while you were holding your tears. You wouldn’t have called yourself a bad person or a bad friend before but it was tonight that you realized that you were one. Because it felt like so little mattered since the breakup. Months. Months of just watching life happen around you—as the audience, not the actor. 

It just seemed like your existence itself was lackluster now that you had tasted life with your soulmate. Everything you did, you did it without Hyunjin. Without Hyunjin as a qualitative, descriptive way to describe the state you were in. You woke up without Hyunjin. You celebrated your birthday without Hyunjin. You went to the grocery store without Hyunjin. You went to work. You visited your mother for dinner. You went out for drinks with friends. You watched the new season of your favorite TV show.

You existed without Hyunjin. 

But it just wasn’t the same. 

It soon became clear that Hyunjin intended to be present for Jisung’s sleepover, which made you panic on the inside. On one hand was your ankle and you weren’t sure how well you’d do in the stairs. On the other hand was the dreadful notion of sleeping in the same room as him. It wouldn’t matter how many people would be there also—you would be able to recognize his breathing patterns, his soft, sleepy sighs when he rolled over. 

You had never been one to sleep easily before him. You’d spend hours just waiting for sleep to come. And then there had been Hyunjin and it used to feel like you didn’t have enough hours in a day to be with him. Like you didn’t even want to sleep at night. You’d lay in bed, sleepy, often a little sore between your legs but full of cum, just existing alongside him. Listening to him fall asleep. His arms around you. It was impossible not to drift to sleep then, because you had never felt safer than in these moments.

Needless to say—now that you slept without Hyunjin, you did not sleep very much at all. 

Carefully, you removed your ankle from the cushions, preparing to get up—Hyunjin spotted you, quickly dropping the pillows he was holding. “Wait! You can’t do that!” 

You rolled your eyes—it seemed easier to act annoyed at him than you let him show the true state of your heart. “I sure as hell can. I can’t spend the next week sitting on that couch. I need to pee.” 

He grunted something under his breath. “Alright. Let’s go. You always have to pee.”

“Oh shut up,” you retorted, nudging him and yet still allowing him to wrap his arm around you once again, helping you up. He quickly pulled away, letting you lean against the wall. “I’ll manage. Thank you very much.” 

You pathetically limped your way to one of the downstairs bathrooms, locking yourself in there using your phone for light, quickly splashing cool water all over your face. You should have tried to leave. By now, you might have been in a motel somewhere, all alone, away from Hyunjin and all the memories he brought back. 

You were walking around the bathroom, testing whether you could make it upstairs or not, when someone knocked at the door. 

“Coming!” 

“It’s me.” Hyunjin. “I just figured, like, do you want me to go get your toothbrush and stuff from upstairs? Maybe?”

What the fuck was going on? Was that going to happen? Being… friends? With him? After everything that had happened? Despite all the complicated feelings you had?

You opened the door. “It’s fine, I’ll sleep upstairs,” you assured.

He raised an eyebrow, looking at you and then down at your ankle. “Not a good idea.” 

“It’s fine,” you repeated, going past him, making your way slowly and painfully toward the stairs. He followed you closely—you could feel his hands ghosting you as he prepared to hold you if you collapsed. 

Maybe it made you want to collapse. 

“Hey, are you not coming to my sleepover?” Jisung called. He was busy making the beds with Felix. You counted five of them which could only mean one thing. “I told them to bring a mattress for you. Thought it would be best for your foot.”

You stood there, basking in the warmth of the fireplace. Sure. Sure, it all looked super cozy. Part of you wanted to sleep on the cold hard floor upstairs. Another part of you wanted the exact opposite.

“Listen to your friend,” Hyunjin advised. This time, he pressed his hand on your lower back, sending your mind spinning and your heart racing. His hand was so big and so warm. Just above your ass. “I’ll go get your stuff upstairs. You really need to be careful, there was a lot of swelling.” 

You almost asked Jisung to go instead but if you had to be totally honest with yourself, if someone was going to look into your luggage and see your underwear, you’d rather it was somebody who had once been intimate with it. So you just nodded. “Call me when you’re up there, I’ll guide you.”

“Does that mean you packed at the last minute and everything is chaos in your bag?” Hyunjin playfully asked. “When will you learn?”

You pushed him, limping towards a couch in a quiet corner. It was a little farther away from the fireplace and all the action, but you could use the peace, even if it was a little cool. “I don’t think you have any lessons to give me, Hwang. Just how many airpods have you lost by now? We must be at five or six pairs, right? More? When will you learn?” 

Hyunjin stuck out his tongue at you, choosing to climb upstairs instead of responding to you. You sat down, breathing deeply. You couldn’t let this go any further. You couldn’t even be his friend, not even if it somehow turned out to be true that he had never cheated on you. You couldn’t watch him fall in love with another. Certain things are just too heavy to bear. 

Jisung pretended to need something on the table to have an excuse to stand closer to you. “Looks like things are good between you t—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off. “There are no ‘things’ between us. I just decided to be civil, same as him. It’d be a shame to waste Minho’s weekend. He spent a lot of money on this.” 

“Hm-hm.” You heard Jisung suppress his laughter. “Sure thing.” He turned to you. “Look—I really think you two need to talk. Let me finish,” he added when he saw that you were going to interrupt him again. “I get it, he hurt you. But you don’t see the way he looks at you, do you?” 

Your phone rang in your pocket—you pulled it out only to see Hyunjin’s number appear on the screen. It had been months since you had seen it there and it made your heart flutter.

“He doesn’t look at me in any special way,” you replied, suddenly very aware of the taste of maraschino cherries lingering on your tongue. 

But Jisung was gone already, returned with the others in their quest to create the most comfortable sleeping nook known to mankind. You allowed yourself a few seconds to pretend Jisung hadn’t said anything and took the call.

“I’m with your bag,” Hyunjin said immediately. “Where’s your toothbrush?”

You tried to remember the moment when you threw everything in your luggage. “Probably at the bottom. I have a small toiletries bag. Bring the whole bag.”

You heard shuffling and brushing noises—it became obvious Hyunjin had put you on speaker, probably using the light from his phone to see inside your bag as he searched it. “Got it! What do your PJs look like?”

“It’s just a pair of dark blue shorts and a black tank top. It has a jellyfish on it.” You definitely had not planned on being seen by Hyunjin in your pajamas. You might have picked something a little more… a little less… simple. 

Or not. Because none of this mattered. He probably definitely had a girlfriend and nothing was happening. 

“Found them,” Hyunjin replied. “Love the tank top, it’s really cool. Do you want socks?”

“Yes, the fuzzy ones. Bring my underwear too.” You sighed, burying your face in your hand. 

There was a silence on the other end. Just a few seconds. “Which one? Oh, this one’s cute. With the sheep.” 

Yes of course. Out of all the panties you brought today, he had to come across the ones with a sleeping sheep pattern on them. “Sure, whichever.” You sighed. “That’s all, thanks. Oh—wait, I have a power bank too. We could charge our phones. In the left pocket I think?” 

You really had thrown everything in there at the last minute. You tried to remember a little better but Hyunjin let out a strange sound—a gasp of sorts—and it snapped you back to reality, putting all of your memories exactly where they belonged.

No. No, your power bank was not in the left pocket. 

“You still have that thing?” Hyunjin asked with an intonation that was impossible to decode. 

That thing as in the bullet vibrator he gifted you for your two-month anniversary. That thing as in, that bullet vibrator that you had put in the left pocket of your bag just in case things were a little boring up here.

Flames engulfed your head whole—you sat there, speechless, trying to find something to say. But really you were remembering the evening he gave it to you. And the things he had done to you with it that very night. Edging you and teasing you until there were tears in your eyes, until you begged him to let you cum. Playing with you using that toy and his mouth and his fingers and the tip of his cock. Sinking into you only when you were on the brink of insanity, finally giving you what you needed, fucking you into a delightful bliss. 

“Well, it still works,” you heard yourself say. “Would be a waste to throw it away.” That wasn’t even a lie—that little thing packed a punch. 

Hyunjin chuckled. “Want me to bring it to you?”

You clicked your tongue. “You’re hilarious. Maybe you want some alone time with it? If I recall well, you probably wouldn’t be against it.” And you knew that your memories were accurate—how could you forget brushing the vibrating toy up and down Hyunjin’s straining cock, slowly, languidly, just so you could collect his precum and lick it off him? 

“So funny, ha-ha-ha. Alright, be right there.” Hyunjin hung up. You stared at the dark kitchen in front of you, unable to grasp onto the thoughts that visited your mind. And yet it was all that you wanted. It was all that you needed—to figure out what was going on in your head and in your heart. 

Hyunjin came back wearing his own lounging outfit—just sweatpants and a graphic t-shirt with a hoodie, nothing unlike him. He also gave you a small, battery-powered camping light which he had found upstairs, but he barely looked at you as he handed you the pile of clothes he went to fetch. To be fair, you barely looked at him, too—it was already a lot to find yourself stuck on a snowed-in mountain with your ex, after all, and the fact that he had just gone through your stuff, panties and vibrator included, did not help, and you eagerly locked yourself in the bathroom, glad to be away from the others for a few minutes.

As you changed, it became obvious that the sleepover had already started in the living room. Jisung had apparently officially closed the door upstairs, ‘blocking’ the access to his Singles-Only night. Felix and Seungmin were arguing playfully about video games. You listened to their conversation with a smile on your lips, choosing products at random from your toiletries bag, just whatever you needed to freshen up a little. 

In truth, you knew that this uncertainty was no better than whatever had been occurring in your mind before. A discussion had been launched—only it wasn’t even a discussion. It was just Hyunjin dropping information on you without you having any chance to respond. But you had questions. You had many of them. And either you were getting answers tonight or you weren’t going to sleep at all.

As soon as you were cleaned up and cozy in your pajamas, you returned to the main room only to find Hyunjin alone in the dim kitchen, adding slices of orange into a pot on the gas stove. You looked on the other side of the cabin where both Jisung and Seungmin were sitting around Felix, who was playing on his Switch. The three of them paid no attention to you whatsoever. 

With a deep breath, you painfully made your way to the counter and sat on the nearest stool. Hyunjin glanced behind his shoulder as he stirred whatever was in the saucepan—but from here, you could smell his mulled wine. His recipe was the best you ever tasted. 

You sat in silence for a minute, trying to find the right words, realizing there were no right words. 

“It smells good,” you said in a low voice. 

“Thank you. I put loads of oranges, just the way you like it,” Hyunjin replied, turning to you. There were only a couple of candles lighting up the entire kitchen and you watched as the flames danced on his skin. “And extra honey, too.” 

It was strange. It was a little messed up. To act like this when he hadn’t seen you in months. When he had dumped you on a cold February night. 

“What you said earlier…” You averted your gaze, reliving the memory. “Was it true? Was it really really true?” 

Hyunjin frowned as he tried to understand exactly what you were referring to. “What do you mean?”

“That you didn’t cheat on me.” Your voice was barely more than a whisper. “That you didn’t want to.” 

He did not speak just yet—instead, Hyunjin grabbed two mugs and carefully filled them with warm wine using a ladle. He slid one over to you. “Careful, it’s hot.” 

You wrapped the mug with your hands to warm them up, inhaling the familiar scent. It smelled like winter nights and sitting on the balcony, dressed up from head to toe, just to drink mulled wine and kiss under the snow. 

“I swear,” Hyunjin responded, leaning on the counter on the other side of it, looking right into your eyes. “I promise you. I made mistakes—I made all the mistakes, actually, except that one.” 

You didn’t want to believe him. But you believed him. 

“I… I was so upset after what I had seen at the bakery,” Hyunjin explained. “I couldn’t believe you would cheat on me. I didn’t really believe it. I was just hurt. My mind was dark. Which is not an excuse, by the way. I’m just explaining.” 

You took the smallest sip of wine, careful not to burn your tongue. It was warm but it wasn’t hot—suddenly, you remembered Hyunjin’s ability to always serve a beverage at the right temperature. 

You did believe him—but there was another, darker question on your mind.

“Can I ask you something else?” You bravely found Hyunjin’s eyes—he tilted his head to the side, nodding as an invitation for you to go on. “What was it, then? Is it something I said, something I did? Something I didn’t do? What is it that made you fall out of love with me?” 

Hyunjin recoiled, straightening up, looking away, obviously troubled. Maybe he wasn’t ready to tell you about that yet but selfishly you didn’t care very much. You just needed to hear it from him. He would, of course, word it kindly. But you needed him to tell you about the ways you had failed him.

“Guys,” he called out, turning away and grabbing more mugs. “I made mulled wine. Who wants some?” 

“I’ll have some, thanks, man.” Seungmin pushed himself up, making his way to the kitchen to get his wine. 

As though they were waiting for someone to get up for them, Felix and Jisung asked him to bring them a cup too, causing more friendly banter.

“How’s your ankle?” Seungmin asked you while he was waiting for Hyunjin to fill the mugs—and he was really taking his time, stopping after each mug to gulp down a lot of wine as though he needed to make sure he wouldn’t remember tonight. 

“Not too bad,” you replied, your voice weak. “It could be worse.” 

“Good. Thanks a lot,” Seungmin added when Hyunjin slid a small, Santa-themed platter before him. He had placed the mugs of wine on it as well as a few chocolates. “It’s good to have you back, and I’m not saying that just because of the drinks.”

“Yeah he is saying it just because of the drinks,” Jisung said from the living room, causing more chuckles. 

Seungmin walked away, calling Jisung a few names. You focused on your own wine, drinking some more of it, but it did not have the effect you were hoping it would have. You shivered, suddenly becoming a little too aware of the lack of proper heating in the place. Everything—save for the bickering—was quiet, allowing you to hear the howling wind outside. You drank more to warm up. While you were definitely starting to feel the buzz from the drinks, you were still way too sober for this. 

“You should have brought winter clothes,” Hyunjin reprimanded but his voice was gentle. He shook his hoodie off himself, removing it and quickly resting it on your shoulders before you could say anything. “And, by the way, nothing.” 

You frowned, confused and shocked. The hoodie’s soft fabric caressed your skin, warm and comforting. It smelled like him. Like Hyunjin. You slid one arm into it, then another, unable to resist it. “Nothing what?” 

“You asked what made me fall out of love. My answer is nothing did.” Hyunjin kept himself busy by cleaning up the saucepan and stove. 

Nothing.

Nothing as in it happened without a reason? Or nothing as in he didn’t fall out of love? Those were two very different things. 

“But you broke up,” you managed, your hands trembling. 

“Because I thought it was the best thing for you.” Hyunjin left the stove, standing right next to your stool, his hair falling over his face a little. “Do you understand? It’s not something you did. You were perfect. You were… You were too good for me. Can’t you see that? It wasn’t because I didn’t love you anymore. It was because I loved you that I let you go.”

A strange mix of rage and anguish rose within you. You stared at the bottom of your mug where only a little wine was left—you emptied it, still deep in your thoughts. This couldn’t possibly be happening.

“So you’re telling me,” you started, your voice low, “that you were still in love with me on that Valentine’s Day? And you broke up with me for my own good?” 

He gulped and bit his lip. It was dark but you could still see the flush on his cheeks. “Yeah.” 

You stood up, unable to stay still any longer. You went to the sink to let your empty mug soak and limped back towards the nearest window just to watch the blizzard. Hyunjin followed you quietly. 

“That decision wasn’t up to you, Hyunjin,” you whispered. “You made it, but it wasn’t yours to make. I was and still am more than capable of deciding what’s good or what’s bad for me.” You looked behind you, at this handsome man hiding behind his hair. “We were so good together and you ruined it.” 

He let out a shaky breath. “I know,” he muttered. He hesitated but not for long. “You’re the best thing that happened to me.” You turned to him, trying to see the expression on his face better. “It broke me. It took me months of therapy to feel almost like a person again. Months to realize the fact that I broke up because I felt inadequate and that instead of trying to be better, I went the cowardly way.” 

Therapy? “Hyunjin—”

He shook his head, his long hair moving with him. “I know I have no right to but I want to apologize. I’m so sorry. I’m not asking for forgiveness. Just saying sorry.” 

You listened to the room around you. There was laughter coming from the living room and the crackling of the fireplace and the wind outside. But your heartbeat was louder. He had gone to therapy? Hyunjin? 

Inadequate? 

“Hyunjin,” you breathed, reaching for his face. He flinched—barely, but he flinched, undoubtedly remembering the slap he had earned himself on that awful night. Still, you pushed a strand of his hair away, displaying his big, sad eyes. The flames of the candles flickered in the tears collecting there. You did not know what to say. “It broke me, too.” 

He pressed his lips together, holding his tears. You cupped his face briefly, just to feel him under your fingertips. When your hand retreated, he touched his cheek as though he couldn’t believe it. “I’m so sorry. It’s such a waste. It was all for nothing.” 

Any animosity you might have felt for him had melted a while ago. Your heart felt like the first day of spring with remnants of snow and puddles of water on the ground, but with a bright blue sky and the sun warming up the world again. Hyunjin had not cheated on you. He had been a little bit stupid because he did not respond well to pressure. 

He had hurt himself hurting you. 

“It wasn’t for nothing,” you replied. “I know you were so stressed because of the bar and I should have helped you more, I just didn’t know how, I should have known how. But don’t say it was for nothing. Nightcap is your baby, and—”

“No,” Hyunjin interrupted you. When you tried to insist, he shushed you more insistently and this time it was him who framed your face with his large hand, cupping your cheek, resting his thumb on your trembling lips. 

A jolt of electricity went through your body. How many times had he held you like this? Exactly like this? Seconds before he would pull you into a kiss and say something sweet or something nasty to you. Time stopped for a while—not for the rest of the world, no. The snowstorm was still raging outside and the guys were still playing in the living room and the flames were still flickering on the candles and in the fireplace. Time stopped for you and for Hyunjin only—time stopped being linear. Instead, it brought you back, just for a few instants, to the past. To the way things used to be when you were still whole. 

Hyunjin looked into your eyes as though they were a work of art in a museum that he wanted to study. His gaze trailed down to your lips, lingering there much longer than it should, before returning where it was. 

“Yes,” you insisted but your face was so warm you could feel it. “You worked so hard for it and none of what you sacrificed for it was for nothing.”

“I put it up for sale some time ago,” Hyunjin revealed, struggling to get the words out. “I don’t want it anymore.”

It would have felt the same if he had been the one to slap you in the face right then and there. You pulled away, the intimate bubble you two were in breaking instantly. You whispered an outraged cry at him. “LIKE HELL YOU’RE SELLING IT!” You pushed him away almost like he had attacked you. And he sort of had. “There’s your blood, sweat, and tears in this place, you’re not giving up on it. I forbid it.” You became aware that the living room was eerily quiet all of a sudden.

“It’s already on the market. Besides, I’m not changing my mind.” Hyunjin shrugged, looking over your shoulder to stare at the snow. “You’re wrong. What I sacrificed for it was too high a price.”

“But it was your dream.” You could not believe you were having this conversation.

“A dream can become pointless,” Hyunjin replied. “Mine did. That’s why I called Minho. I wanted to ask if he knew anyone who might be interested in buying. And if he’d have me back at the restaurant.”

“This is not happening.” You shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is Felix in charge of selling it? FELIX?”

“There’s people in bed upstairs,” Hyunjin urged you but you were already gone—you did your best to get to the living room as quickly as possible.

Felix had paused the game, leaving his Switch on the coffee table. “What’s going on?” 

“Are you selling his bar?” Felix’s facial expression turned suspiciously contrite—he did not need to say anything, you already had your answer. “What the fuck? Isn’t he your best friend or something? How can you let him do that? Don’t you remember all the hard work he put into it? All the love? You were there, same as me!” 

Felix looked somewhere next to you where you could only suppose Hyunjin was standing. All the while, you noticed Jisung’s concerned look as he observed the scene. 

Still, it was Seungmin who spoke first. “People change their minds sometimes.” 

“But not about this,” you insisted. “This is the equivalent of a mother selling her child.” 

“Hyunjin thought long and hard about this,” Felix explained. “He tried many things, but…”

“But at the end of the day, no matter what I tried or even what my damn therapist would tell me,” Hyunjin finished for him, “the fire was gone, and it was all meaningless.” 

You found nothing to say about that. In fact you found nothing to say about anything. After letting the silence grow heavy the more time passed, Jisung tried to break the uneasiness that had infiltrated the room. “My laptop’s got a full battery,” he said. “How about we put on a movie and try to get some sleep? I bet Minho’s gonna be working in that kitchen at 5 AM tomorrow.” 

Everybody agreed a little too eagerly, however your voice still hadn’t returned. You left the guys while they were setting up the laptop and choosing a movie to retrieve your power bank in order to charge your phone overnight. Nightcap. It simply could not be gone. It made no sense—the more you thought about it the less sense it made, in fact. Hyunjin had invested a lot of money in it. Who in their right mind would waste this away? 

“Dude, I’m not sleeping next to him, sorry,” you heard Seungmin. “We all know he basically runs a marathon in his sleep every night.” 

Hyunjin clicked his tongue. “I just move around a little bit, you’re being dramatic. Fine, take this bed then.” 

The exchange brought a little bit of warmth back into you as you recalled Hyunjin’s insane sleeping habits. It’s not that he talked in his sleep or that he sleepwalked, but he would go to bed wearing something with a certain amount of blankets and wake up the next morning butt naked with only a quarter of one blanket left on the bed, covering nothing at all. It was funny but it still resulted in you being rather cold, especially during the winter months, so you had to sleep in separate blankets than him. 

God, you missed him.

You still missed him even though he was right there, just a few meters away. 

Most of the kerfuffle was over by the time you joined the living room again where the five mattresses had been laid down next to one another. Felix slept on the far left, then Seungmin, then Jisung. The next bed was empty, and the one on the far right was occupied by Hyunjin who was scrolling his phone. He looked around as you approached, realizing that nobody had taken the space beside him. 

There were three awkward seconds before he came to help you sit down to make sure you didn’t strain your ankle too much. “I’m sure Ji would trade places with you,” he told you as you sat down on the mattress. It was soft but not too much, and comfy. The blankets were smooth. 

You probably should trade places with Jisung. For your own sake. “I’m good if you are,” you said nonetheless. It must be the wine. “Besides, I’m far more used to your antics than any of these guys.”

Hyunjin let out a faint chuckle. “Do any of them know you snore?”

Your mouth fell open in utter shock. “I do not!” 

“Sometimes you do when you’re really tired,” Hyunjin recalled, lying down in his own bed. He spoke to Jisung behind you. “If it gets too annoying, you’ll have to tickle her until she wakes up and stops.” 

“How is that fair? I don’t go around and reveal all your secrets?!” You lay down too, pulling the blankets over you, immediately reaching a level of snugness not yet known to mankind. The fire was keeping the entire room warm. “I didn’t tell anybody when you cried at the movie theater watching Inside Out!” 

Felix actually spat out the water he was drinking. Seungmin begged for details but you decided to leave it there because it was funnier this way. Jisung started the movie and everyone settled in. You had already seen this movie but it was one that you liked so you paid attention, watching as well as you could from your mattress on Jisung’s laptop screen. 

It was unfortunately Jisung who fell asleep first—so much for his big sleepover. By then, your comfort levels had gone down significantly due to your sore ankle. You winced in pain, trying to stuff some of the thick blankets underneath your foot to elevate it a little. 

Hyunjin rested himself on one elbow, leaning next to you. “Are you alright?” he whispered. His breath smelled like sweet mint—he was still using the same toothpaste as he used to. “Does it hurt?” 

He was very close. Close enough that you could see the texture of his lips. “A little. It’s okay.” 

He wasted no time. “Hold on.” In less than two seconds, Hyunjin was up again and going to the freezer to fill a plastic bag with ice. 

When he returned, he kneeled down at the foot of your bed to apply the ice under your covers—he also used one of the pillows from the couch to elevate your ankle. Your heart skipped a beat every time he touched you. “Better?”

“So much better. Thanks.” 

Hyunjin nodded and looked at the other guys. With a playful roll of the eyes, he simply closed the laptop’s lid. 

“They’re all asleep. Children,” he giggled under his breath, returning to his bed. And you would not admit this to anybody but you could swear he was much closer to you than he had been before. “Goodnight. And wake me up if you need to get up. I know you’ll have to pee like a million times.” 

You elbowed him gently yet firmly. “Goodnight.” Without the laptop screen lighting up the room, the whole place seemed warmer, like amber was coating everything. 

You closed your eyes and yet you knew sleep would not find you. You were still thinking about Nightcap and what it meant for Hyunjin. 

And his arm was dangerously close to yours. If you moved even just one inch, your hand would brush his.��

After it had been agreed it was best for everybody if you two slept under separate blankets, Hyunjin had gotten into the habit of finding your hand under all of those layers separating you and holding it as the two of you drifted to sleep.

You missed him.

You missed being loved by him.

“Hyunjin,” you mouthed, your mind haunted by visions of Hyunjin behind the bar at Nightcap, mixing his kick ass drinks, chatting with his favorite regulars.

“What? Already?” He rolled on his side with a puzzled expression on his face. You had been right—his hand ghosted yours as he did so but he made sure to keep it away. “You need to get your kidneys looked at.” 

“Oh shut up, I don’t need to pee.” You rolled on your side too so you would face him. “You can’t sell Nightcap.” 

His eyes darkened. He licked his teeth, sighing. “I’m selling Nightcap. Case closed. Now, sleep.” He closed his eyelids, almost like a child would when they pretended to sleep. 

You tugged at the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Don’t play with me. Look at me in the eyes, Hyunjin, and tell me you no longer want to have your own bar.” 

It took a while but Hyunjin yielded, opening his eyes, his gaze finding yours. He stared at you then slid even closer—he was on the very edge of his mattress. “I no longer want to have my own bar.”

“But why? Everything you did… It’s the best damn bar in town.” The conversation was barely audible and yet you two understood each other perfectly. “I know it isn’t easy, but you can do this.” 

Hyunjin held his breath for a few seconds. “Nobody ever believed in me as much as you did,” he muttered, dejected. 

You clicked your tongue. “Bullshit. That isn’t true. Everyone believed and still believe in you. Felix! And Minho, Chan, Changb—”

He shook his head, disagreeing. “No. I mean. Yes, but it’s not the same. They believed in my business, in my drinks and in my chances at building something good. But you, you believed in me.”

It pulled the air out of your lungs—you stayed there, motionless, your gaze slowly blurring as tears pricked at your eyes. You hated this. You hated all of this.

You hated speaking in the past tense with Hyunjin. 

“I still do,” you managed, exhaling shakily. You closed your eyes in the hopes it would stop you from crying. 

It did not. You tried burying your face into your pillow but Hyunjin was quicker—you jumped a little when he touched you, wiping your tears with the back of his fingers before caressing your cheek with his thumb. A strong chill went through your spine, tickling you all over your body. Especially between your legs. 

Oh fuck. 

“See? It’s just how I said. Nobody believes in me the way you do,” Hyunjin whispered. He must have gotten closer because you could feel his breath on the damp skin of your face. “I’m selling Nightcap because it lost its meaning. I was not quite enough for it back when I had you by my side. Now that I’m alone, I’m properly inadequate.” 

You opened your eyes not minding the tears anymore. You couldn’t shake this anger inside you. “You gave up on me,” you said. “And now you’re going to give up on your dream, too?” 

Hyunjin remained quiet for an instant, his gaze dancing from your eyes to your lips to his hand, still very close to yours. “I had the idea for Nightcap when I realized I was in love with you and I didn’t think you would ever return my feelings,” Hyunjin explained. “I couldn’t stand the idea of working at the same place as you. It was torture. But by some miracle, you did fall in love with me. Nightcap—that dream—and you became intertwined in my head. Don’t you get it? The tables have turned now—I can’t stand being in a place where you are not.” 

He wiped your tears again, taking his time, caressing your lips. The tingling came back in your extremities while a distracting pressure pulled at your loins. You had to resist the urge to kiss his hand. You had to resist the urge to forget all the pain you had been through and kiss him.

“Can I please ask you something? Just one thing,” Hyunjin went on, tucking your hair behind your ear like he used to. “But only tell me the truth. If you’re going to say anything but the truth I don’t want to hear it.”

You nodded, wondering if he could feel your pulse through your skin. 

“Have you been happy? Have you been living a good life, falling in love, making friends, enjoying each day?” 

This hurt a whole lot more than your sprained ankle. This hurt more than a blade through the heart. A blade through the heart was swift, merciful. This was more like a serrated knife wielded by some psychopath. Your reflex was to retreat both of your arms underneath your blankets as though it would protect you.

The truth. “I’ll tell you if you tell me,” you chose to say. 

He thought about it. “No. I haven’t been happy, but it’s a bit better with the meds that the psychiatrist prescribed.” He licked his lips, a slight frown appearing between his brows. “There hasn’t been anybody else. Your turn now.”

He was single? Not just single—he hadn’t seen anyone else since last Valentine’s Day? Hyunjin? This young god? Business owner? Handsome as hell? Charming without even trying to be? How could it even be?

You took some time to ponder over it. “I don’t know. I don’t remember what it felt like to be happy. I remember moments of it, but it’s like they happened to somebody else, or like I saw it in a movie. My heart forgot how to be anything but heavy.” 

This seemed to make him sad. “Have you fallen in love?” 

Your body was warm under the blankets but you refused to take off Hyunjin’s hoodie. You let his scent invade you. You let it remind you of the first time he kissed you.

“No. My heart forgot how to do that, too.” 

Hyunjin said nothing but his eyes did not leave you. You felt his hand sneak underneath your covers, searching for yours—he held it when he found it, squeezing it gently. “Sleep,” he whispered. 

Muscle memory is one hell of a thing. Despite the turmoil within you and despite the unexpected fire between your legs, the familiar feeling of your hand in Hyunjin’s, joined together under a separate layer of blankets, appeased you. Or maybe it was the wine. And the drink before that. But your eyelids became heavy and your chest a little lighter. 

Maybe it was just a dream, but you felt Hyunjin press his lips on your forehead, whispering inaudible things as you surrendered to sleep.

Maybe it was just a dream.

to be continued...

Note: Happy holidays everyone! I have been working on this for a while and as I mentioned in the masterlist, I truly intended on releasing everything as a one-shot for Christmas. Unfortunately there have been complications at work and I had to pick up a few additional shifts... So instead of rushing or not finishing it on time, I've separated the story in two parts!

It was great to revisit bartender hyun<3 it made me very nostalgic from the period of time when I originally wrote Just stay with me. I'd like to say thank you to all of my readers, of course, but especially those who have been sticking around with me since then or even before! But thank you to everyone and to those who give me and my stories some love. Thank you for your kind words and for supporting me. I appreciate it <3

I will try to release part two asap!! Let's pray that things settle down at work.. You guys take care!

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[suhomylife]

Oh my, that was for sure one of the sweetest, cutest and fluffiest things I’ve read in a while and I looooved it oh so much! It felt so natural,so unforced, every second of reading it made me feel very warm inside. I had to hid my face in the pillow a couple of times too because it was just too sweet. These little shy ‘what’s is something I envision me and Hyunie doing irl. Oh my heeeeart 🥹

I wonder if we get a chance to read the continuation of this pretty story?

Thanks a lot for sharing this one with us 🩵

—in a different light.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

genre: fluff, pining, non-idol au, best friend’s little brother au

word count: 5.2k

summary: when another girl makes hyunjin question the way you see him, inevitably leaving him to sulk, he wants nothing but to go to you and hold you in his arms. and good thing he did, for that was all he needed to realise how wrong she was.

a/n: here she is! like i said this part doesn’t show the upcoming convo between y/n and dahye but!!we have a very good hyunyn moment if you ask me and a lot of you were asking about hyunie’s tweet about the almost kiss lol. as always i hope you guys enjoy! i would love to read your different thoughts on this<3

Hyunjin wanted you to rely on him.

Ever since the night you broke down in his arms when Mingyu left, he promised to himself to always be there for you no matter what. And then when you grew closer as the new year started, not only was his goal to be there for you anymore, but for you to notice that he was, and therefore to know that you could go to him whenever you felt like you needed someone.

However, the thing was, that just as you began to rely on him the way he wanted, he failed to realise that he, too, started to rely on you the most — not to say to need you more than he ever had.

It only hit him after the very unpleasant conversation with Dahye he had that afternoon.

Although he sounded cold, unbothered even, he couldn’t help but feel upset about it.

It wasn’t even Dahye threatening with telling you about his feelings for you what he was upset about — he was being so obvious about them already anyway, if anything her telling you would only confirm what you deep down already knew. It sucked that it wouldn’t be on his own terms and timing, sure, but that was it.

He could also always confess that day, before Dahye even had the chance to do it for him, but he didn’t want to rush into something he knew you weren’t ready to hear just yet, only for Dahye not to end up acting on her words in the end. In all honesty, he didn’t think she would do it. She wouldn’t, right? He wanted to believe she wasn’t obsessed with him to the point of actually coming in between your relationship.

No, that wasn’t it. What upset him were her spiteful words about his age, and how you would never be able to see past your age gap.

He knew it was stupid. Three years were nothing. Maybe they were when you just met, when he was still a high schooler, a teenager, but not anymore. Not now that you were both in your twenties and he had a career, a job, a car. Now that he was able to drive you around, take you out, buy you stuff just because. Most importantly, three years were definitely nothing now that you grew close enough to become actual friends —although there was nothing platonic on his end of your friendship—, being able to joke around and treat each other as equals, finally leaving behind the ‘little brother/big sister’ dynamic you had unintentionally adopted with him by being Yeji’s best friend, and which he grew to despise with everything in him as the years went by.

He had even brought it up to you only a few days ago, how he didn’t want you to still see him like the teen boy you met six years ago, and you promised him you didn’t; that you saw him as the man he was now — as Hyunjin. Just Hyunjin.

Nevertheless, although he knew your small age gap was nothing now, and although you had confirmed it to him not even a week ago, up until he managed to make you fall for him, it would always be his biggest insecurity when it came to you. And, therefore, having someone point out how ‘clearly’ you treated him like a child, even if it came from a place of spite, like he knew it did from Dahye, could only make him sulk.

And it was when his mind was spinning and his heart was hurting, that he realised he wanted nothing more but to go to you in that moment.

He wanted to hold you close, to wrap his arms ever so tightly around you, and to have your arms wrapped around his body just as fondly. He wanted to feel your chest move up and down against his with every breath you took, to feel your breathing on his neck as you hid your face in the crook of it, and to take in that sweet scent of yours he loved so much.

He wanted to be with you, close to you. Simple as that.

And, thankfully for him, expressing his wishes to you was all it took for you to accept him at your place. Even though you were busy right then, having him say he was feeling down and wanted nothing but to be with you was all it took for you to put your workload aside and focus on him.

That’s how Hyunjin ended up at your door only half an hour later, entering the passcode he knew by heart. It was still surreal for him to have reached this point in your relationship, where you’d tell him to just help himself into your place when he arrived, like you had texted him to a few minutes ago.

It felt almost domestic, without you being a couple yet. And he loved it to bits.

“I’m here!” He announced his arrival as soon as he entered your place, not to have you freak out over your door opening so suddenly.

“Hey, I’m in the kitchen!” You replied from the next room, just as he took his shoes off and put on the slippers you kept for your guests by the door.

Wasting no time, he made his way into the kitchen, unable to hide the beaming smile creeping up his face at the sight of you in an apron, with your hair tied up into a ponytail, as you were just putting a tray of what looked like chocolate chip cookies in the oven.

“Suddenly felt like eating something sweet?” He asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame as he admired you.

You shook your head no, closing the oven and then quickly fixing the heat before you stood up and finally looked at him — your eyes inevitably softening when they met his. “Just thought we could have some coffee and your favourite cookies later in order to cheer you up…”

Being too shy by your own statement, you missed the way his lips parted into a lovesick smile that showed his teeth. You did, however, hear the breathy laugh that escaped his mouth right after, feeling him enter the room and get closer to you right as you cleaned up the remains of flour on the counter.

And maybe you focused a little too hard on said task, for you failed to realise how close to you he actually got — only doing so when you felt his chin rest on your shoulder and his arms sneak around your waist, loosely enough not to push any boundaries.

“Thank you…” he mumbled cutely, unable to see just how flustered you were. “You didn’t have to, though. Just being with you is enough to make me feel better”.

You bit your bottom lip in a poor attempt to avoid a smile from showing on your face, looking down to his intertwined hands over your stomach, before you found yourself covering them with your own and gently rubbing your thumbs on his soft skin.

“There was no harm in taking it one step further and making you a sweet treat, was there?” You asked, tilting your head back so you could look at him.

Hyunjin smiled softly, eyes going down to your mouth for a second before he nodded his head. It was only becoming harder not to lean in and press his lips to yours when you were so close to him.

Luckily —or not really— for him, you put some space between the two of you by undoing his hold around your waist and turning around, so you could properly look at him.

“I may have gotten a bit caught up and ended up making more cookie dough than I intended to, though” you confessed, undoing your ponytail and beginning to take off your apron. “So I put the rest of it in a container that I’m giving you to take back home later. Just keep it in the freezer and whenever you feel like having some preheat the oven at—what…” you shyly wondered when Hyunjin could not hold back a giggle, quietly placing the folded apron on the counter.

He shook his in disbelief, letting out another small laugh as his warm hands cupped your face.

I love you, is what he wanted to say.

Fuck, he loved you.

He loved how you cared for him and everyone you loved. Because you loved him, he knew you did, even if it was only platonically.

He loved how you had dropped everything that day, regardless of how busy you were, just to be with him when he said he needed you.

He loved how you showed affection by baking and doing small acts of service.

He loved the way you loved so beautifully, so selflessly; without asking for anything in return — although, unknown to you right then, he was willing to give you everything in return.

He loved you. All of you.

From head to toe, inside and out, he loved every last bit of you.

“You’re the best” he said instead, adoringly looking at you while his thumbs drew gentle circles on your cheeks.

“All I did was bake some cookies…”

“And you’re the best” he repeated, leaning in once more and tightly wrapping you inside his arms.

“Hyunie…” you sweetly called his name when he began to softly rock your bodies together.

“What, I said I wanted to hold you” he mumbled nuzzling a ticklish spot in your neck that had you letting out a laugh.

“I thought maybe you’d do that after I took the cookies out of the oven”.

At that, he smiled, pulling away just enough to look at you. “Now why would I do that, I’m taking every second I get”.

Rolling your eyes in amusement, you playfully tried to pry his hands away from your body. “You’re a dork”.

He chuckled, only tightening his hold on your waist and lifting you up with ease. “Maybe,” he sat you down on the counter, not wasting another second to pull you into his arms once again and to hide his face in the crook of your neck, all while you were still trying to process what had just happened. “But I did say I was coming over just to hold you, so…”

“Just to hold me?” You wondered, for once and for all hugging him back and feeling him relax under your touch.

“Just to hold you” he hummed, getting lost in the way your hand gently ran up and down his back.

“You won’t be eating the cookies I made especially for you then?”

He chuckled, somehow managing to pull you closer to him. “I will be eating all those and then taking the dough you told me about home with me”.

“I would’ve been very sad otherwise” you pushed it, earning a brittle laugh from him.

“You’re gonna have to text me the instructions, though, because otherwise I’ll most definitely end up fucking it up somehow and burning them”.

“I’d expect something like that from Han and not you, honestly” you admitted.

“Oh, he’s not allowed anywhere near my cookies”.

“Don’t be selfish now” you called him out.

“You made them especially for me, though” he stood his ground.

“Should I make a whole batch for him then?” You teased, pulling him away by his shoulders, so you’d meet his eyes right before you pensively stared at the ceiling. “Maybe one for Minho as well”.

“Yah, they can get their own person to bake for them” he called you out. “You’re mine”.

Trying your hardest to ignore the butterflies that had just been unleashed in your stomach, you played dumb. “Oh, so I’m like your personal baker now?”

He smirked, knowing all too well what you were doing. “You know that’s not really what I meant”.

Finding it hard to meet his eyes without growing nervous, you looked down to your lap instead, noticing his loose grip on your waist. “Let them at least try one if you don’t want me to send them some, then”.

“I’ll think about it after the nap you promised me” Hyunjin negotiated.

You chuckled, only then locking eyes with him. “We gotta wait until the cookies are done first. They take around ten minutes, there isn’t enough time left for us to actually fall asleep”.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t cuddle in the meantime” he fidgeted with the fabric of your t-shirt.

“I guess you’re right…” you agreed softly. “We could go to the sofa for now”.

“For now?” He questioned. “Where are we going next?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to take a nap?” You confusedly asked right back.

“Yes?” His eyebrows furrowed. “I thought on the couch?”

“Oh,” you felt your cheeks burn. “The couch, of course”.

“Where were you thinking?” He smiled —more like, smirked— as he caught on.

“I’m not saying it” you sheepishly looked away, earning a throaty laugh from him that had him resting his forehead on your shoulder for a moment, as he collected himself.

“I have no problem napping in your bed as long as you’re okay with it” he managed to put into words what you refused to.

“I simply thought it’d be more comfortable but now I’m too embarrassed, so let’s just go to the sofa instead”.

“Don’t be,” he lovingly pulled a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s all about comfort after all”.

“Never mind, I’m too ashamed now”.

“Couch then?” He suggested, not wanting to push your limits.

“I mean, I guess, but it’s gonna be uncomfortable though…” you mumbled, taking the two of you back to the night you fell asleep together on it, and how your bodies hurt the next morning.

He knew first hand that your couch wasn’t the best place to sleep on and that you weren’t just using it as an excuse to take him to your bed — although he wouldn’t mind it if you were.

“Then bed” he stated the obvious, unable to hide his grin.

You half laughed, half whined, letting your head fall on his shoulder to hopelessly hide yourself from this conversation.

“Y/N, if you don’t decide within the next five seconds, I’m choosing one and carrying you there”.

“You wouldn’t” you mumbled.

“Is that a challenge?”

You shrugged, still refusing to lift your head up and to give him a proper answer.

“Okay then,” he sighed, making your heart jump when you felt his hands grab the back of your knees to pull you closer to the edge of the counter —and, therefore, to him—. “Just for the record, I warned you”.

With that said, his hands travelled slightly up to the back of your thighs, lifting you up enough for you to wrap your legs around his waist out of instinct, just as a small, surprised squeal escaped your mouth.

This wasn’t platonic, you thought while you crossed the door and entered your living room. This was so way past being platonic.

His hands on your thighs, your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck while your face hid in it, as you were too shy right then to look up and meet his eyes that would be only a couple of inches away… These weren’t touches you’d share with a friend, let alone with just anyone else.

You could see the red lights in your head warning you about the risky path you were taking, and yet, you didn’t want to turn back around.

“Okay, last chance” he stopped right outside the door to your room. “Where are we napping”.

“I thought you were choosing instead?” You tilted your head back, finally earning enough courage to look at him.

“I was, but I’m trying to be a gentleman here and let you have the last word”.

You chuckled, feeling like you were losing your mind. “Just take me to the bedroom already”.

His head tilted back in surprise, eyes sparkling in a way you’d never seen before. “Oh?”

“No, don’t” you helplessly tried to fix it, placing a hand over his eyes so you wouldn’t have him giving you that look that for some reason made you so fucking weak. He giggled, accepting his fate as he could not use his hands right then to remove yours from his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that”.

“You know, when you say stuff like that I—”

“Yah, Hwang Hyunjin” you moved your hand down to cover his mouth instead, before he could finish his sentence.

“You’re the one who started it” his loud yet muffled words were enough for you to withdraw your hand completely, placing it back over his shoulder.

“I didn’t mean it like that, though?” You repeated your previous point.

He sighed overdramatically, shaking his head as he could not contain his amusement. “You really need to start watching your words”.

“Last time something like this happened, you said it was cute” you reminded him.

“Last time it happened, I wasn’t carrying you like this when we were alone at your place” he pointed out, managing to bring even more heat to your face. “I’m just a simple man, Y/N”.

“Ugh, can we just go take a nap before I get even more embarrassed?” You begged, having already shamefully hidden your face in the crook of his neck.

Hyunjin laughed lightly, silently complying with your wishes and entering your bedroom for once and for all, where he carefully laid you down on your bed before he slumped down next to you.

Not satisfied with just being next to you, he lied on his side to face you and threw an arm over your waist, so he could pull you closer and make the most out of this lazy evening with you.

However, instead of closing his eyes like you’d expected him to as soon as his head hit the pillow, he kept them open, using that moment to admire your face from up close and giving place to a comfortable silence to take over the room, as your eyes remained fixed on him as well and neither of you dared to look away from each other.

“You know, you’re supposed to close your eyes when you’re trying to sleep” you teased him in a whisper after what felt like minutes.

“You’re looking at me instead of closing them, too” he bit back, in a whisper as well.

“There’s no use for me to try and sleep yet, I have to go and take the cookies out of the oven any minute now”.

“Well, I guess I’ll just stare at you as well until that happens, then” Hyunjin said, and at that you could only laugh under your breath, shaking your head as your adoring eyes remained locked with his. “What?” He couldn’t help but nervously ask — somehow the look in your eyes feeling all too new for him and not knowing how to react.

“Nothing, I just…” you kept quiet for a moment, thinking carefully about your next words. “Never thought we’d be like this one day”.

“Like what, about to take a nap in your bed?” He joked.

You playfully shoved him off, having him take that small action of yours to his advantage by grabbing your hand, in order to keep you from pushing him again. “You know what I mean…”

He nodded quietly, staring down at your hands right as he intertwined his fingers with yours. “Is it weird?” He asked you, unable to hide the fear in his voice.

Staring down to your interlocked hands now resting in the small space between your bodies, you shook your head no, and Hyunjin released the air he didn’t realise he’d been holding for the five seconds it took you to give him a sincere answer.

“It’s just new,” you confessed, looking up at him. “Different. Not weird”.

Hyunjin smiled sweetly, leaning slightly in so that his head would rest closer to yours on the pillow — close enough for his breathing to mix with yours, for his nose to graze the tip of yours, and for a small tilt of his head to be all it’d take for him to press his lips to yours if he wanted to.

But he wouldn’t. No matter how bad he wanted to kiss you and how hard he was trying not to, he wouldn’t go as far as to close the gap between your mouths and press them together, because he wouldn’t push you.

The ball was in your court. It had been for a while now. He would only get as close as he could without making you uncomfortable, and you would be the one to make the final decision. Whenever you were ready, he would be there, ready as well to take whatever it was you were willing to give him.

The way he caught your eyes going down to his mouth, staring at it for what could be considered longer than normal, to then fix them back in his eyes before they went back down to his lips, just as he was hopelessly doing with yours right then, was enough to let him know you were considering taking the risk.

Nevertheless, right as he felt you move just an inch closer to him, just as he held his breath and thought maybe you would finally make the move and allow him to taste your lips like he had dreamed of countless times by now, the alarm you’d set up on your phone was heard going off from the kitchen.

You inevitably jumped up and away from him, undoing the previous hold of your hands while at it and clearing your throat, almost as if you’d just been pulled away from a trance.

“T-The alarm, I should, um…” you tried your best to compose yourself as you began to stand up. “The cookies…”

Hyunjin simply nodded, just as stunned, letting you know it was okay for you to go.

“Do you want me to bring them to you or maybe come with me and eat them in the kitchen or…”

He smiled. You were blabbering.

Cute.

“As much as I’m dying to try them,” he genuinely let you know. “I just want you to come back here already so we can go back to how we just were before the alarm went off”.

Feeling your cheeks burn, like it seemed to be the norm when you were around him now, you nodded; clumsily stumbling back and pointing towards the door, to let him know you were heading out of there.

With one last lingering look after he nodded his head for you to go, you left him alone in your room to shove his face into the pillow as a mixture of an incredulous laugh and a frustrated whine of his was muffled into it.

That was just his luck.

But he wasn’t crazy, was he? You had been staring at his lips and you did lean closer to him the moment before the alarm went off. The tension was so clear, so palpable, he couldn’t have imagined it. He wasn’t that delusional, was he?

He sighed heavily, resting on his back and defeatedly throwing an arm over his eyes. Had it not been for the stupid alarm, maybe he would be feeling your lips on his right then.

You, on the other hand, although just as frustrated as him, remained speechless, unable to understand what had just happened.

After having mindlessly turned off the alarm as you rushed to take the tray out of the oven, you just stood there in the middle of your kitchen, almost frozen, as you got once again lost in your thoughts.

You wanted to kiss him.

You could try and blame it on the atmosphere surrounding the two of you being just right and luring you into it, or maybe even on the way he looked particularly handsome that day and having his pretty face only inches away from you was being of no help at all. You were only human, after all. But even then, you couldn’t deny that, whatever the reason was, for a moment there you had really wanted to kiss him. Had you even leaned in at some point?

God, had it not been thanks to your alarm, you would probably have ended up rushing into something you were not ready for yet and turning your relationship with Hyunjin into a mess.

Were you really willing to kiss him regardless of the consequences?

It had been, what, a week since Chan opened your eyes about this whole situation with Hyunjin? Roughly one week since you started questioning everything? And you were already thinking of risking it all and kissing him?

You couldn’t just rush into things. Not with Hyunjin. Not when you weren’t sure about anything.

You didn’t know what you wanted, nor what you were looking for yet — either with Hyunjin or with anyone else for that matter. And you cared about him too much to even dream of playing with him.

Which didn’t mean you weren’t willing to explore your feelings for him. You were certain now more than ever that you did feel something for him. Maybe minimum, maybe just a small crush, but you couldn’t deny that there was a spark in your heart that ignited when it came to him. And you wanted to lean into that warm and safe feeling you got whenever you were with him.

You didn’t feel ready to jump into a new relationship just yet, and you didn’t exactly know what Hyunjin wanted from you either; for you knew that, in male language, flirting and giving someone special treatment didn’t always translate to wanting a serious relationship.

It felt too soon to ask him about his intentions with you, too entitled to demand an answer from him right then. But, so far, you were okay with how things were. You were just figuring out your feelings and the depth of them, and you guessed so was he.

Still, whatever it was that you felt, and whatever it was that he did, you couldn’t ignore that there was something going on between the two of you anymore. The conversations you held, the looks you exchanged and the small touches you shared during the past week… Furthermore, the tension you had felt only minutes ago and the urge to lean in and press your lips to his, were all the realisation you needed.

Taking a deep breath, feeling ready to go back to the man waiting for you in your room after managing to clear your mind, you grabbed your phone before you could head back. However, a particular Twitter DM caught your attention before you could do so. Standing in your place, you stared at the notification, reading Dahye’s words over and over.

‘Hey, girlie!’, followed by the smiley emoji with blushy cheeks, which could only come off as cynical from her.

You immediately felt sick to your stomach. You’d gotten a text like that once before in your life, by one of Hayun’s annoying friends trying to warn you about Mingyu and her, and you had wrongfully ignored it —only at first, until you could no longer look past the signs—, so you knew better than to ignore a text like this now. But that didn’t mean you were opening it today.

You had already gone through enough emotions that day. From waking up early to catch up with the project, to have Hyunjin publicly call you pretty on Twitter, to have him text you about feeling down and inevitably making you worry, to have him tell you he wanted to hold you, to have him actually hold you, to feel flustered as ever over the sudden couch or bed discussion whilst being carried by him, to feeling like kissing him for a moment there… You definitely needed a rest, and you wanted nothing but to do so in his arms.

Whatever it was that Dahye wanted to tell you, it could wait — for you knew it had to do with Hyunjin, and you were neither emotionally nor mentally prepared for yet another disillusionment.

Was it wrong of you to want to live in an illusion for just a little longer, in case Dahye’s DM ended up being bad news?

Either way, regardless of your wishes, the nauseous feeling you got at the simple sight of her name and the way your mind was sent spiraling because of her text, could only serve as a reminder of why you weren’t ready for a new relationship yet.

Not even bothering to take your phone back with you anymore, you locked it and left it on the kitchen counter before going back to your room.

Once there, a smile curved up your mouth at the sight of Hyunjin. He was now lying on his back with his hands behind his head, and his eyes had been closed until he felt you cross the door and they inevitably focused on you.

Without a word, he opened his arms for you to go over there. And, without a second thought, you did just that.

Feeling his arms wrap ever so tightly around you as soon as you crawled next to him, you let out a contented sigh as you instantly felt at ease; right before you realised just how close your face was to his and you hid it in his chest.

“What” you daringly mumbled when you felt his chest tremble and his laugh reached your ears.

Instead of answering you right away, he took you by surprise by pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “You’re adorable” he said, resting his chin on your head and tightening his hold on you.

“Just go to sleep already” you scolded him, in a way cuter voice than you’d intended, which had him laughing once again and mumbling something about how cute you were under his breath.

Feeling how nervous you got both by his words and by being that close to him again, and how you had clearly hidden your face in his chest to avoid having either of you possibly leaning in again, Hyunjin could only confirm that he had not imagined you staring at his mouth and leaning closer to it earlier that day.

Even though you were visibly nervous over it now, and although he could tell you didn’t feel ready just yet, just knowing that you were now beginning to see him in another light, just enough to look at him with longing and maybe even considering to kiss him, was enough for him to be on cloud nine.

He had come here because he needed to feel you close after Dahye planted all those doubts in his mind. He needed the reassurance that you didn’t see him the way she said, and he couldn’t be happier now that he had just confirmed that you were indeed able to look past the baby image you used to have of him.

In the end, he was right to tell her she knew nothing about your relationship, because she truly didn’t. She didn’t know how you acted around each other, how you talked to each other, how you looked at each other.

Only you and him knew how your relationship worked, and even when it came to the bits of it that neither of you were sure about, it was still only for the two of you to figure out.

He realised right then that he shouldn’t mind what outsiders —let alone Dahye of all people— had to say on your dynamics, and that he was actually okay with people not seeing the changes in the way you treated him as long as he was able to feel them.

After all, he was the one who almost got kissed by you when no one else was around.

tag list: @jehhskz @iknowyouknowminho @doohnut @saintcosette @lailac13 @kayleefriedchicken @rikibun @yongbokkiesworld @seungzsmin @beautifulcolorgarden @hyunetopia @velvetmoonlght @automaticpersonabatpaper @httpdwaekki @brinnalaine @wondering-out-loud @feelikecinderella @nujeskz @amarecerasus @liknws @nhyunn @midsoulz @tirena1 @tinyelfperson @thatonexcgirl @iovecb97 @hynier @phenomenalgirl9 @your-favorite-pirate @jin-from-the-block @yearofthetiger25 @quokkacidal @stayconnecteed @kwanisms @yoonguurt @143hyunes @iiriam @cookielixie @hyunlvrs @allyrarara @machaandlofi @mehli-00 @justiceforvillains @minhosprettywife @whats-my-question @armystay89 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @hyeon-yi @skzstannie @onlyhyunjin @shyshyshytwice @nicoleparadas @​broken-glowsticks

[suhomylife]

This one was too sweet to be true 🥹

Hey i wanted to request a drabble from the prompt list you shared hehe ( you're doing a great job btw, the "scratch post" is my absolute favourite from now on )

So my request would be a bsfs to lovers fic ( or whichever trope that you feel comfortable writing ( I'm just a sucker for bsfs to lovers )) based on the prompts numbered 93,99 and 100. And my choice of characters would be bang chan x f reader :)

P.S : I love you and your work mwah

A/N: Probably came as a surprise months later heh. I apologize for taking this long, but hope you enjoy it nevertheless.

tape 1 · 「cayendo」

➥ Brother's Best Friend!Chris x Reader (f) — <1k

➥ The author chooses not to issue tags in this short. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.

➥ Prompt(s) requested (March run)     · 93: Do you realize what that means?     · 99: This is wrong.     · 100: I love you.

➥ He's been falling for you for god knows how long, but he finally hits the ground at your brother's wedding.

It always feels like your feelings for him are flashing on your face when you’re in the same room. Tonight, maybe more than usual.

He’s the best man. 

This is the very first time you see him in a suit. It may not even be his; you’re pretty sure he doesn’t own one. Late into the night, he is far from dapper, tie loosened up with buttons of his shirt undone, rioting curls all in disarray, laughing his ass off at the groom’s very drunk dance moves. You acknowledge this is in fact the dumbest your brother has ever acted with a quiet chuckle from the balcony. Halfway through his contagious laughter fit, his eyes find yours even from that afar. He calms down, shoves his hands in his pockets, and heads out into your bubble of night chill.

“Can’t believe he actually tied the knot,” he extends his hand to bum a cherry-flavored smoke, “I had good money running on his commitment issues.”

“Not everyone is sworn to the player lifestyle like you,” you light his cigarette with an overpriced Zippo, “Some people actually look to settle down, you know.”

The night is dark. The balcony is secluded. It’s a miracle he’s managed to spot you actually. The lighter flame casts a soft spotlight on his face, and you swear his dimples got even deeper from laughing so much. He takes a long drag without a care in the world, still smiling with his eyes.

“You think I’m a player?”

“I know you are one. I’ve never seen you with a girlfriend.”

“I’ve had a couple.”

“Were they all Canadian?”

He giggles. He likes it when you’re all sassy with him. He likes you. 

He’s liked you ever since you threw your shoes at him in junior high.

It’s just paranoia, but he can’t help it. He always still feels like you can hear his pulse when you’re in the same room. But this isn’t a room. You can’t bust him. He hopes your ears are ringing just as much from the loud music inside just as an added measure.

“Is there something on my face?” you touch your cheek.

He’s overestimated the safety of darkness. He doesn’t even realize he’s staring. He’s enchanted. 

He’s a bit drunk. He’s stupid. 

He’s in love.

He flicks the cigarette away and grabs your waist out of nowhere like an intrusive thought. He presses his lips on yours, and his heart almost combusts. He can tell he’s caught you off-guard. You can’t even reciprocate for two seconds.

But then… you melt.

You melt in his arms. You melt in his lips. You melt under his touch when he puts his hands on your cheeks and pulls you closer.

The groom’s hearty laughter is so loud that it reaches all the way outside, and suddenly his wits snap back.

“I’m sorry!” he moves away in sheer panic, “I–I know this is wrong. I’ve had a few, and… and you’re so beautiful and I… I couldn’t…”

“Chris.”

His breathing is erratic. He looks like his entire life is at stake. You can definitely hear his pulse now.

“Do you… like me?”

The secluded balcony proves useless. He is so busted. He forgets his entire vocabulary. He is trying so hard to stitch some words together that will make sense but…

You don’t understand why he’s not denying it.

“Do you realize what this means?” you take one step closer.

He’s just gawking at you, utterly hypnotized. Your mere presence turns him into stone. Your heels click on the stone surface but it’s so quiet outside that it blares in his ears.

“Your fuckboy reign is so over, Bang.”

You yank on his tie and borrow his lips again, then keep pulling him until your back hits the wall. He melts. He melts on your tongue. He melts when you moan into his mouth.

He ceases to exist when you shove your hand inside his pants and palm him. You look right into his soul when you start stroking him, but he is quick to reciprocate. He sneaks a hand between your legs, slowly slides it up, and caresses your pussy. He shudders when he feels moisture on his fingertips.

“Make me cum on them,” you whisper against his lips.

His wrist works on command. He pulls his hand back, sucks on his fingers, then wraps one leg around his waist and shoves two fingers inside you.

You fucking lose it when he starts beckoning.

His lips are quick to find yours again. He can tell how many glasses of champagne you’ve had; he can taste the strawberries on your tongue. He wonders what it would be like if he smeared strawberries against your creamy cunt. He wonders how sweet it would taste when you feed it to him. He wonders if you would say yes if he asked to take you away this weekend to make you cum for forty eight hours straight. He wonders if he is drawing his last breath when you quietly moan his name while cumming all over his fingers.

Minho is going to kill him.

Eh. He’s had a good run.

You both smile at each other stupidly when your escapade comes to a full stop. Before heading inside, you touch his shoulder and ask somewhat hesitantly.

“Is it true? The like thing.”

“No,” he quickly responds.

Your heart falls from your chest. Your cheeks get flushed, but not because of the usual reason. He waits for a good five seconds until you fully believe in a false reality, then cracks up, endeared out of his mind.

“I really really fucking love you,” he seals his confession with a chaste kiss.

➥ "Flash!" request guidelines here.

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

✉ Enjoyed this? It would be cool of you to reblog so that my work can reach more people.

[suhomylife]

Dear Mari, where do I begin?

When I first saw the story, the warnings and that very personal answer to the ask of yours I was really hesitant whether I wanted to read this story. Because it felt too personal to me, too. Unfortunate or not, far too many things that I’ve been through are mentioned in this story and I wasn’t sure if I am ready to face it. But I know that whatever you wrote, not reading it would be a huge miss. Your stories never disappoint. They emerge the desire to live. So I waited until the right time comes. And it eventually did.

You know, one thing I like most about your works is that they are very deep and personal and hit you with the emotions and events right to the core. It’s not about ‘he fucked you 10 times and made you come 16’, no. It’s about true life and mature experiences. It’s about depth, true feelings, realizations, often quite hurtful. Hard decisions. Real life. One can see how much thought and reflection, as well as your heart you’ve put into what you wrote.

And this one is no different. It’s very mature. A reader lives through a pretty long life of a character, goes through several life-changing events, and the main plot hasn’t even started yet. But we get to see the full picture of the character, why everything has led to where we are now. And reading that was not easy, I should say, it made me reflect on some aspects of my life that I probably wouldn’t come across any other time.

It genuinely makes me sad that the MC and Chris didn’t get the chance to grow old together, but in reality, how many of us really do? Falling out of love is very common, it is extremely painful, scary and emptying. I wish neither me nor anyone in the world would go through this, but it is the course of life. And sometimes this is really for the better.

I am starting to read chapter 2 right now and am very much looking forward to how the story will unfold.

Thank you Mari, as always🩵

P.s. I’ll just drop here three citations that hit me most while reading and made me thing a lot.

You couldn’t force him to love you either. He had stopped loving you a long time ago—it just took him a while to come to the realization. You wanted to hate him. To resent him. But all that you could do about Chris was love him, no matter how broken, how misaligned that love had become.

———

And you loved him in a desperate way, like trying to hold onto a knife not by its handle, but by its blade.

———

You never found the time. Or the courage. Or the courage to find the time.

aloneness | by design chapter one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aloneness forced on you. Defining you, almost. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking let me in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you felt disgusting for thinking that way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It felt easy. 

Too easy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt the same. So you stayed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t take your birth control that night. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Chris was there for you. He always was. 

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

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

He asked you about art. 

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

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

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

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

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

Loss. 

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

The daughter became ill, and she died. 

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

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

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

Forced upon you. Aloneness. 

Loss.

You never really get over it. Loss.

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

Judith was that to you. And to Christopher. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The cake was really good,” you commented. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This one is something, for sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or boyfriend, maybe. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GET A FUCKING GRIP!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two things happened at once then.

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

Then your brain processed the words it was reading.

Full name: Hwang, Hyunjin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

... to be continued.

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

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

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

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

Welcome to Stormhaven 🤍

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

taglist:

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

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

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

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

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

[suhomylife]

The way my whooooooole body electrified while reading and the silliest smile was plastered on my face!!!! Ough how good was it!

The level of tension was incredible. I even forgot to breathe at some points.

Absolutely loved it.

Really hoping for part 2, I am hoping for the happy ending so muccch!

7 minutes in heaven with ...Hyunjin?!

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

18+ | smut | wc: 2.7k

╰─..★.──────────╯

fuck, i shouldn’t of come.

you thought to yourself. you sat on the floor in a dimly lit room in a frat house getting ready to play a game of spin the bottle. your best friend had dragged you out of the dorms, for this? you’d rather be anywhere else right now, especially after making eye contact with him. Hwang Hyunjin.

you two didn’t like each other - that was putting it lightly. He was annoying, arrogant, and everyone worshipped him. you hated that, and he hated you because you didn’t, or at least that’s how it seemed.

after a few spins, the bottle landed on you and …him. your friend laughed, knowing the lore between the two of you, and this round the chosen were to play seven minutes in heaven. was this the demon lord’s doing? someone had to have had it out for you.

you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t wanna cause a scene, you wouldn’t, so you went willingly, Hyunjin leading the way.

after a few minutes, you were already sitting in a cramped closet, very cramped. you were sitting opposite of him, your knees almost touching, though you were trying your best to keep even that from happening. while he looked at you with a cold expression, “well?” he spoke.

you huffed, coming off bored. “i’m not doing anything with you.” disgust laced in your tone, “i’d rather swim with sharks.”

“please,” he scoffed, “it’s not like i want to be here with you either.”

“this is hell.” you sighed.

he smirked, “it’s just 7 minutes.”

“7 minutes too long.”

he leaned over to you, “stop whining. it's gonna pass very quickly.”

you shot him a glare.

“asshole.”

he chuckled at your insult, then proceeded to purposely click his knees to yours.

“calm down. It’s not my fault the bottle fell on you.”

you were clearly not amused with any of this. how he was so calm was beyond your comprehension. you looked up, a warm light hung above, doing little to nothing. he was fidgeting with his rings on his nimble fingers. the shadows casted shaping his perfectly sculpted features whilst loose strands of hair framed his face, his honey skin glistened and lush as ever. it was aggravating how perfect he was.

he must’ve felt you staring because he looked straight up at you. a sly grin appearing on his face.

“are you checking me out, princess?”

fuck. that’s exactly what you were doing.

“no.”

“seemed like it.” he slurred his words, he even sounded hot.

“just because everyone else finds you attractive, doesn’t mean i do.” a lie. “and don’t call me that.”

he tilt his head to the side, brows furrowed and holding his bottom lip between his teeth. he spoke again, his tone deep and low, inching closer on into your side of the closet. your back sank into the wall behind you, you had no where to go. like a mouse caught in the cat’s mouth.

“no need to lie to me. i can see right through you, princess.” he whispered.

your breath caught as he closed the distance between you even more, he was enticing, daunting, was this a test? he rendered you near speechless, your cheeks were burning up, and you hoped he couldn’t tell. you held your ground, wanting to be just as intimidating (failing). though his black eyes were pulling you in further, his expensive cologne clouding your thoughts. you liked all of it, and you couldn’t admit it, or more like, you were choosing not to.

“this is a game for you, im not stupid Hyunjin.” you whispered, your brain felt fuzzy, your eyes hung low, and were draped with lust induced curiosity. your tone not nearly as serious as you words. maybe you even batted your lashes, and stole a glance at his lips, not that.. that meant anything, or whatever.

he smirked once more when you whispered his name. he was enjoying the way you looked at him, your lashes casting shadows that met the blush on your cheeks. he’d gift you the world if you asked him to in this moment, that’s how awestruck he was in your presence. and the way you said his name, he usually only heard insults from you, he knew he was getting somewhere if that wasn’t the case now. he placed his hand on your knee, pushing them down and slowly dragged his hand along your inner thigh, seeing just how far you were gonna let him go.

his eyes were low, focused on his own movements, as you watched, your heart now pounding against your rib cage.

he spoke in a low, calming tone, “im not playing a game. you’re just obvious.”

you scoffed, “and you’re just delusional.”

you attempted to remove his hand with your own, but when your hand met his, something shifted. his hands were much larger than your own, your eyes lingered on them for a moment, they could swallow your own hands whole. you began to wonder how they would feel wrapped around your-

your smile slipped as you came to terms with your situation, locked in a closet with the campus it boy, mr.prince himself. anyone else would kill for this opportunity, not you though, right?

shit.

when he realized you weren’t gonna move his hand, his grip tightened and he edged even closer. he was now sitting between your legs.

he loved the way you couldn’t look away from his eyes now, the way your smile faded. he could see the wheels turning in your head and he held your gaze, but admiring all of you. “if i am, tell me to stop.”

you were able to come up for air for a moment.

“you just want me to fall into your trap.”

and if it was working? then what? but he knew the answer to that, jerk, you thought.

“you’re so use to just getting what you want… i’m not that easy.”

your words were hollow, yet they stung. he held the close proximity anyway, and you didn’t try to change that, rather, your body didn’t, no matter how much your brain fought against it. your eyes flickered between his eyes and his lips, they looked soft… were they?

he held back a smirk, he noticed your glances, swooned in silence. he knew deep down you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. his hand still rested on your thigh, moving it from time to time to make you feel more and more needy for him. he enjoyed that you weren’t as unaffected as you tried to act. “i know you aren’t. you’re the most difficult person i’ve ever met.”

a truth.

you weren’t begging for his attention like others did, he didn’t want you to. he liked the back and forth, he had to admit. though, he had long coveted for you, you despised him, yet here you two were, and at a mere coincidence. you had him in the palm of your hand and you were all but aware of it. he edged closer, risking it all until his lips were hovering dangerously close to yours.

“Hyunjin….” you whispered, a warning. he was winning, but you were too far gone to do anything about it.

Hyunjin’s breath caught as he heard you say his name in a soft voice. you were driving him insane. he wanted to lean in and kiss you, but he held himself back. he needed to tease you a bit more. “yeah, princess? can’t think of anything to say?” his lips hovered over yours as he spoke.

“you’re the one giving it up so easily.” you gave one last bite with your words, shaking your head while your tone and body gave in.

he could sense it all, how your body and tone completely changed. his body was nearly pressed against yours.

he chuckled against your neck and spoke, “just shut up.” he placed small kisses on your neck and collarbone. His hand went up higher on your thigh until it reached your waist, pulling you into him even more.

you held your breath as his lips hit your skin, your nails found their way into his hair, tugging softly. you whispered his name again, your tone needy and desperate. you mentally scolded yourself, what the fuck was that?

he could hear the desperation in your voice, you needed him and it was clear as a day, his name sounded heavenly out your mouth, he wanted to make you say it over and over again. it made him want to do more, to do so much more. he spoke against your skin in a soft, hungry voice. “princess…”

“kiss me already.” you spoke through gritted teeth.

Hyunjin pulled away from your neck slowly when you spoke out those words. he looked at you for a moment, observing how you looked with your eyes full of lust. he didn’t need to hear you beg twice. he crashed his lips against yours and captured them in a heated, hungry kiss. savoring the feeling, and the taste. you were so delicate and soft. he adored it. his tongue slipped in between your lips as his hands grabbed your waist and pulled you on his lap suddenly, his back hitting the wall.

you let out a soft whine into his mouth as he pulled you on top of him, his strength taking you by surprise.

he smirked at that, melting under your pretty little whimpers. as you straddled him, his hands were firmly on your hips, he began to grind you gently on his, in rhythm with the kiss.

and he held you close, like he would lose you at any second, he couldn’t get enough, both your chests pressed against each other, he could feel how hard it was slowly becoming to breathe.

he wore jeans and you could feel everything, the rough fabric easily getting you off already. this was so fucked, yet you were drowning in all of it. the way he held you, the way his hands were slipping under your shirt to squeeze your skin, how he kissed you like he was starving. you couldn’t help it. your hands cupped his face, deepening the already intense feeling between the two of you. you pressed yourself down against the fabric, growing needy for some type of release.

Hyunjin let out a moan quietly as he broke the kiss. he looked at you, breathing heavily, he spoke in a low, dark voice, “(y/n).” he started to run his hands down your waist and thighs, his touch getting more firm and dominant. his gaze was murderous.

he brought his lips to yours again, meeting for a moment but not connecting. you chased them, meeting his again. he kissed you with, if not more, hunger than the last. this one was more merciful, labored. melting every fiber of your being. neither of you could get enough. he pulled back to breath.

“we should stop…” you breathed.

he chuckled at your comment, he leaned in and placed gentle kisses on your shoulder as he responded. “oh really?” he continued giving you kisses up your neck, till he reached your jawline, he looked up at you and spoke, “still wanna stop?”

he was making this difficult, you couldn’t stay in here. someone was bound to catch you. but you really didn’t want it to end either.

“we’ll get caught pretty boy.” your nails traced up his neck.

he was well aware that someone could catch you, that you shouldn’t be doing this at all, but he couldn’t stop himself. he pulled away from your skin and spoke against your ear, “doors locked, we can be quiet?”

your hands snaked past his neck and down his back, underneath his shirt, he was so warm, you let your nails drag softly on his skin. “are you gonna make sure i stay quiet?” you whispered against his ear, leaving one gentle kiss just below it. you couldn’t believe what you were saying, but it was like word vomit, wether you meant it or not.

a shiver went down his spine as he felt your fingernails on his skin and your lips on his ear. he let out a small “fuck” and closed his eyes. he could feel the fire inside of him igniting more and more as your body was pressed against his, your lips on his skin. he didn’t let you speak once more and instead pushed his lips against yours in a voracious kiss. a moan escaped your lips.

Hyunjin grunted against your lips as you started to grind against him again, his hands that were resting on your waist were now fully grasping your hips, he took control. he was breathing heavily and he broke the kiss for a moment. he spoke against your lips in a hot, low voice, sounding very desperate now, “… you’re driving me insane.”

“oh, so you wanna stop?” you breathed out, you were almost out of breath from the heated kiss. your hands slid down his chest to his torso, and they landed on his belt. he watched you, studying your every move with an ardent gaze, he bit his lip, he couldn’t believe his eyes, all the times he thought of you, and now here you were sitting on his lap, teasing him. he took a deep breath, wanting this so badly, needing you so badly. he furrowed his brows, he took your hands in his, “are you sure you wanna do this?”

you stopped to think, all of this was happening so fast, you didn’t even recognize this side of yourself. Hyunjin… the boy who was always such a jerk to you, was gripping your hips and moaning curses in your ear in a tiny closet at some frat house. maybe you shouldn’t do this, what were you thinking? he didn’t actually like you, this was probably another regular friday night for him. he probably wanted this to happen so he could brag about come monday. he’d tell everyone how easy it was, how you were the whore who gave it up to him. but when you looked into his eyes, sincerity was all you could sense. you felt like an idiot, you wouldn’t fall for it, fall for him.

“i-“ you removed your hands, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear. you removed yourself from his lap suddenly and sat back in your original position, missing his warmth already. “i should go-“ you attempted to stand up.

Hyunjin felt his heart sink as you got up, when you tried to get up, he reached his hand out and gripped your wrist, “hold up…”

you could only look at him, wanting to cry now, awaiting his next words.

he was quiet for a few moments as his thoughts were entangled together, not knowing what words to use and how to say it without seeming vulnerable. he wasn’t even sure what he was doing himself. he just knew that he wanted you. he looked up at you, his tone soft, “don’t go.”

“that’s it?” you scoffed, “i’m not doing this with you. you don’t even like me outside of here… i won’t be made to look like another whore that got added to your roster.”

you yanked your wrist from his grasp and stood up, your hand resting on the door handle.

Hyunjin stood up, towering over you. your words stung, your assumptions weren’t true, he could say that, but you wouldn’t believe him. he wasn’t gonna defile you in a frat closet anyway, you deserved so much better.

“I don’t wanna do this here either. let me-“

you didn’t let him finish, “I don’t like you.”

your eyes were soft, your tone shattered. nothing he could say would change your mind. you hated him, you hated him so much, and yet you were getting lost in his eyes again. they were soft, solicit, lust-filled. your eyes trailed down to his lips, the ones just glued to yours mere seconds ago. why couldn’t you think straight? you felt pathetic.

Hyunjin inched closer, wanting nothing more than to touch you again, kiss you again. “i don’t want you like this. let’s get out of here.”

you were hesitant, “don’t-“

and then someone started banging on the door, you unlocked it and stormed out. leaving some very confused guys peering in, and Hyunjin behind.

- end: part 1 ????

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

[suhomylife]

It was sooo freaking good! So much passion and tenderness in the words, the way you managed to embed all the feelings in it. Absolutely fantastic! I’m absolutely in love with your writing

cigarette smoke. BANG CHAN (18+)

pair. mechanic! chris x fem! reader genre. motel setting, romance, angst, smut warnings. use of pet names, flawed characters, smoking, explicit sexual content — read at your own discretion! word count. 3.7k

synopsis. fingers sink into the supple skin of your hip, the rest of him God knows where, impossible to tell as he ravages your sleek cunt, pistoling with the ferocity of a man unhinged, a man pathetic enough to think he can possibly carve a place for him inside of the body he wants to dominate more than anything else, against his greedy nature for the rest of the world and all it offers.

“I’m going to cut that motherfucker’s hands off next time he tries laying them on you.”

Chris was in deep shit.

Deep fucking shit.

You cross your arms over your chest, rubbing the skin, trying to keep warm. “You don’t have the balls.”

He smirks, chuckling to himself, and unlocks the door to his room for the time being, gesturing for you to get in first. “Watch it, angel. You might say something you’ll regret.”

You remain where you stand, stubborn as ever. Of course. Nothing’s ever easy when it comes to you, he should’ve known. So, why the fuck did he bring you here? What goddamn reason did he have for thinking you would, for once, once, do him the favor and comply with anything he requests of you?

Chris sighs. Drags a hand over his tired face, and scratches at his jaw, sensing his patience’s about to run out. Lucky for you. You’d probably love it. He thinks God must’ve put you on this Earth to get on his nerves and laugh mockingly as you watch him lose his fucking mind.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You prod, scoffing. Still not moving. “You get a hard-on every time someone tells you no.”

The mechanic growls, temper rising exponentially, and snatches you by the arm, shoving you through the door and locking it behind him, throwing the key haphazardly on top of the beaten down dresser with the cracked vanity and your lipstick stains from the previous night all over it. You don’t miss the way his biceps flex, all those delicious veins popping up the surface with the rough movement.

The one on his neck is constantly pulsing, angry and defined. You focus your gaze there, putting a hand on the bed’s mattress to keep from falling as you try to find your balance. Chris appears unbothered as he rids himself of the heavy biker jacket and rider boots. You contemplate pissing him off a bit more, just to get him where you really want him.

He really only ever chokes you out if you’ve crossed a line. You want him to go back to being familiar, to hatefuck you until you remember your place. You want to forget last night; how gentle his hands were, how softly he kissed you as he watched you two through the mirror, labored breath on your shoulder, fingers lightly wrapped around your bruised neck.

You didn’t want that—couldn’t want that. Violence is what you know. What you’re good at. Tenderness doesn’t last, it never does. Not with you. You’ll never deserve something like that.

Your hands move on their own accord, as you hear the click—four times—of his lighter. You smell the tobacco, see the smoke swirling and rising to the ceiling, with no escape.

He’s sitting on the rutty armchair by the TV, forearms propped on his knees, leaning forward, in nothing but a gray tank and unbuckled jeans, silver bracelet dangling as he taps his cigarette on an ashtray full of butts in front of him.

Your chest tightens at the sight of him. You bite your lip, and ignore the lump forming in your throat. You reach behind you to unhook the clasp of your bra.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asks harshly, upon noticing your undressing.

He sounds exhausted. There’s a raw raspiness to his voice, hours of chain smoking and dealing with grease, yelling over loud motors, then cursing every fucker who dares harass you at the bar. You haven’t thanked him once for looking out for you in there. If it wasn’t for him, who knows what would’ve happened to you, where you’d be.

Chris has the annoying tendency to make you his business, to keep involving himself with you, and taking your bullshit in stride. A good man in an ocean of so many bad ones, and you’ve no idea how to treat him, what to do with him. So, you push him away, hope it’s enough, hope that someday he’ll prove you right and become just like the rest of them—that he’ll get sick of you, and—and dump you. Just like you deserve.

It’s been a year.

By everyone else’s definition but your own, you’re his girl.

You’re sick with emotion you’ve no name for.

“Are you going to fuck me or should I leave?” You ask, sounding bored, feeling terrified.

Being naked in front of him will never stop feeling like the very first time he ever saw you that way. Back then, he’d run a calloused hand over your thigh, all the way up to your breast, and then had proceeded to crush you to his chest and push his thick, hard cock inside you, in the gas station outside of town.

Other places—the women’s bathroom at the bar, the kitchens after hours, the back room of the auto repair shop, his car, his second car, the bike currently parked outside, the shower of the apartment you share with your coworker, up against the fridge, the balcony with the potted plants you forgot to water months ago—and all those times, in all those places and positions, and times . . . He never once looked away.

He faced you fully, unafraid, not as a problem, but as an answer, and perhaps he’d been waiting for you or you’d been waiting for him, because Chris has been the only man that’s ever willed to take you upon himself as he has. No one’s ever stayed this long and not ran for their lives at the first sign of crazy.

Which is what you are. What you offer to his humble responsibility and sense of duty.

He doesn’t answer for a long time, instead studying your body as if a map has unraveled in front of him, uncharted waters and unclaimed lands. All dips and dives and curves, rounded corners and mountain sides.

The tip of the stick in his mouth burns red, hands coming together, overworked fingers interweaving. Dark eyes obscured by even darker wispy locks, plump mouth set in a hard line, completely unreachable, impossible to read.

You’re defiant. You refuse to cave under the weight of that gaze. Why else would he bring you here at three in the morning? Why else would he sit on the bar counter nursing whiskey after whiskey, counting down the minutes till you closed so he can take you with him?

You’re not good at a lot of things.

“Do you want to leave?” He asks, finally, voice muffled around the cigarette. “Am I holding you from something?”

“Fuck you.”

He leans back on the chair, mansplaining, arms raised behind his head. The glint in his eye is mischievous, is teasing. You bite down on your tongue, and get on the bed on all fours, facing away from him, giving him a good view of what he could have if he quit fucking playing games—it works, you hear that sharp inhale you’d been looking for, the choking down, the teeth grinding—before you get comfortable on your knees, hands on your lap, turning back to face him properly, blinking innocently, stomach churning with anticipation.

“Maybe,” he contemplates. “Answer me, (Y/N).”

Your brows furrow. Was there an actual question? “Answer what?”

“If I don’t fuck you tonight, are you going to leave?”

Whatever had been building up inside you shrivels and dies. You freeze all over, a terrible shiver running from the top of your head down your spine. He cannot be serious. So many things bubble up to the top, words you’d never speak out loud; confessions and thoughts, pointless black prayers you’ve whispered in dark, empty rooms. None of it is the correct answer.

You don’t think you’ll ever be ready for what is the correct answer.

“Did you think I was going to stay?” You spew acid, instead, deflecting, refusing, ignoring.

Chris seems to have expected it. He smashes the butt on the ashtray and gets up slowly, running a hand through soft looking hair. You could’ve been tugging at it by now, following the snap of his hips as they dig into your sopping cunt, but instead, here you are, talking in riddles about complicated, stupid feelings that you’d rather never discuss, never bring up, ever again.

“Do you have to cuddle with me to have me now? Is that it? Have you gone soft, Chris?” You reach to grab your shirt from the foot of the bed, to get dressed as fast as you can, to leave this ridiculous room and this even more ridiculous man. “What are you going to say next—are you gonna domesticate me, too, perhaps, like a fucking cat? Would you like to make love to me, wash my hair and sing me lulla—”

It takes all but three strides to reach you. He has you on your feet in an instant, standing so tall in front of you you have to crane your neck, and even knowing this, you feel ashamed. His hands grab the sides of your face, burying into your hair, as he forces you to look into his bloodshot eyes.

Fully clothed to your embarrassing nakedness, and yet you feel the bulge in his pants as it brushes your lower stomach, ever growing and so very hard already. See, this is what we both know, you want to tell him, to scream at him. Why do you need to make it difficult? Can’t you tell I’m already yours?

“Do I?” He mumbles close to your lips, tobacco on his breath, his muscular scent enveloping you in blissful familiarity, the word home home home beating inside you loud and clear. “Do I, angel?” He repeats, searching for answers in your eyes, diving deeper, beneath your skin, to your heart.

“Do I have you?” As he presses his lips to yours, grabbing a fistful of your hair and holding you to him, your body turning liquid, pulverizing into a million tiny pieces begging to be found by him.

Your entire being is screaming for him, raging against the instinctual fear and the agonizing dread of being left alone after you’ve encountered something as forceful, as devastating, fucking obliterating as Chris, and what if he snatches it all away? What if he leaves you with nothing but the unbearable gaping hole you’ve made for him in your chest?

What he’s supposed to fill and fill—what if, one day, he chooses not to? What if he abandons the fortress, declares retreat? What if he never comes back? What then?

“Why can’t you just slip inside me and get lost?” You whisper in his ear, your hands on his massive shoulders, pulling down, wanting to fit as much of him as they can. “Why isn’t that good enough?”

His hands are on the move again traveling south—cupping your mound with one palm, cursing at the sensation of your hot pussy on his fingers. He presses one of them between your lips, feeling your slick, rubbing the bundle of nerves that sends you over the edge every time.

Your knees wobble. He keeps you steady, holds you around the waist. You let him suck on your neck, lick down to your collarbone, all the while his fingers work on you, juices making a mess on his jeans, a leg propped to keep your thighs open.

“You’re afraid, sweetheart,” he says hoarsely, taking your mouth in his again. You let him. You let him do everything. You moan and you writhe and you come apart, and he’s patient, so patient with you.

“Don’t know what the word means,” you retort, ever the hard headed woman he fell in love with.

He chuckles lowly, letting you unzip him, before throwing you on the bed, and climbing after you, his broad figure over yours, unspoken promises and so many fucking things he’s yet to do to you.

“Of course you don’t,” he says affectionately, staring into your soul. “Fear, commitment, obedience—lost fucking concepts.”

You hum, wiggling your hips so your cunt is level with his swollen erection. “Never stood a chance.” When you grab him in your hand, big, so, so big and ready for you, he hisses and clamps a hand over your wrist, stopping you.

“As much as I wanna bury myself into this tight little fucking pussy right now—” He brings that same hand that held his cock to his lips, kissing your open palm. You ogle, surprised, speechless. You’re leaking so bad you feel the covers soaking underneath you.

“Shut your mouth for a second,” he demands sharply, seeing you’re about to rebute. “I need to make fucking sure first—Do I have your full consent to try something new?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You groan, aching with how empty you are, as you try to grab hold of his dick and shove it inside you, to end your suffering. “Chris, are you fucking—we’ve screwed fifty ways into the sun, now’s your time for this?”

He says nothing. He waits with a pained look, a sort of self inflicted wound, like he’s the one scared, like he’s risking everything here.

“Yes,” you let up. “Okay, yes.”

“I love you.”

He might've as well slapped you. It would’ve had the same effect.

“What?”

“I love you.”

“Chris, this isn’t funny.”

“I love you.”

You’re drowning. You’re going down under, sinking, sinking, filling up with water, and your lungs aren’t working properly, and there’s a solid case of hysteria twisting in your gut, and you’re suddenly very, very afraid of letting it get out, because if it does—if you crack open and it explodes—it’s going to ruin the perfect fucking quiet around the words the man on top of you won’t stop saying.

What is it that he’s saying again?

You can’t hear over the liquid in your ears.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, grabbing you by the hair and smashing your foreheads together. “You hear me? Forget about it. You’re mine, and I’d fucking eviscerate for you, and you have me. All of me, angel.”

His tip teases your entrance and you buck into him, delirious for friction, delirious for anything other than words you’ve no idea what to do with, words you’ve never been good at. He kisses you roughly, and bites your bottom lip, your cheek, your ear.

“I’m a pain in the ass,” you say way too loudly, maybe, and it comes out high pitched and dismayed.

Chris, attuned to you and your needs, buries inside your cunt to the hilt with one swift movement and stays there, elbows digging into the mattress on either side of your face. He’s smirking, and it reminds you—you hate his stupid, handsome face. So much. So much you  can’t live without it.

“Very,” he agrees, and one of his big hands reaches down to cup your ass, squeezing savagely.

“You hate my hotheadedness.”

He shakes his head, working you up to a quick pace, just how you like it.

“I’d be a terrible—girlfriend,” you force the word out like it burns you. “I’ll drive you up a wall.”

Chris smiles, and hushes you. “Already done that,” he murmurs softly. “I’m beyond myself.”

Oh. “Which is why you’re talking crazy! Look, I can’t—”

His mouth is on you before you can get anything else out. It stays on you for a long time, just as his cock plunders you, the taking savage, selfish, like this—you, you—should’ve been his from the very first moment, completely, thoroughly, unreservedly, because he swears, he fucking promises—as soon as you entered the threshold of his shop, a wild and panicked thing looking for a person—him, him—to assist you and your smoking car, so goddamn clueless about motor oil and antifreeze fluid and their part on keeping a vehicle running—he’d been irrevocably, stupidly yours.

And now, as you are, naked and arching, and moaning under him, lost to your pleasure, he understands why he brought you here. That night, and all the nights after. You’re in possession of so much more than you think, so much more than he’s willing to lay bare in front of you. Not only his heart, the foolish thing he wears on his sleeve and has given away so willingly time and time before, no. Something vital, something that beats inside him similar to the drumming of the bleeding muscle, but which has no name, no etymology, just a vast sense of dreadful blackness that fills him with terror as the truth grips him—there’s absolutely not a single fucking thing he would not do for you, for your safety.

The dark, and the buried. The voice that wraps his hand around your pretty neck and squeezes, the voice that tells him you can take it, the thing that drives him over the edge, the very thing that turned deadly earlier at the bar when that man wouldn’t take the fucking hint. All his mortal, destructive tendencies—they’re yours to do as you please, to pull and tug and maneuver. You have the shadows of his mind dancing to your whims, obeying you like a rotting dog would a master.

And you have no fucking idea, do you?

Fingers sink into the supple skin of your hip, the rest of him God knows where, impossible to tell as he ravages your sleek cunt, pistoling with the ferocity of a man unhinged, a man pathetic enough to think he can possibly carve a place for him inside of the body he wants to dominate more than anything else, against his greedy nature for the rest of the world and all it offers.

He’d rather stay here, in this ratty motel room, wasted on you, until he can remember nothing but your name and how good it feels on his lips.

“Chris . . .”

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles against your open mouth, a hand coming to push away strands of hair from your eyes, the touch raw, tender, like a self inflicted wound. “So damn beautiful . . .”

You meet him halfway, your face wide with a feeling that twists like a knife inside him.

He fucks you slow then, his cock moving torturously unhurried, deliberate, a sedation you can’t help but fall into, a lulling pace, something dangerously close to—

“I’m scared,” you let yourself admit, your forearm falling over your face, embarrassed, overflowing with dread for what you promised yourself you were never going to succumb to, the emotion red and pumping and terrifying, terrifying.

Chris grabs the arm obscuring you from him and pins it above your head, measuring you with steady eyes, determined to make you see, to make you understand.

“I know,” he says, and it sounds a lot like: me too.

There’s no stopping the tears now, and he won’t even give you a second, not a single moment—he’s still burying you alive, wrapping you in his scent and his words and his coffee eyes, warm warm warm, scalding, and your body betrays as it always does, because you—because it’s—

“You could hurt me,” you whisper. “You could hurt me really badly.”

“Never.” His arms wrap around your waist and bring you over him, on his lap, the change of position delightfully unbearable, his entire length so incredibly deep, so much deeper than before. “It took me a long time to find you, angel, to bring you here.” You move against him, falling against his shoulder, and he holds you, he lets you do whatever you want. “Never, you hear me? (Y/N) . . . fuck, baby.”

“I’d let you,” you continue, sadly. “I’d let you do anything.”

He shushes you, leaving a kiss on the top of your spine, and leans back on defined muscle, arms flexing under his weight. When he focuses on your body and how it arches on his dick, watching you ride him, swallowing him deep in your folds, grabbing onto his thighs for support—he loses it.

“You’ve no fucking clue how you look right now, baby girl . . . Fuck on me, c’mon, that’s it, that’s it, you’re almost there, let me see you . . .” There’s a high you’re chasing like no other—no one’s ever been able to give it to you like the man opposite you, coaching you to your release. It’s unbelievable how blind you’d been; to accept what he offers, meant accepting this too, letting it in, a flash flood endangering everything you’ve believed, tearing through and down your walls, demanding, never angry, yet somehow always horrific.

His rough hands grab your hips and slam you on his rock hard cock, determined to finish this, to show you there’s no room to regret, to backtrack and run off the minute it’s done—because you might, because he knows, because he’s not going to let it happen and you’re a little more grateful every time he meets your eye with glorious belief that this, you you you, can become something else, something more, something potentially wonderful.

If you let him. If you allow.

Nothing but your labored breathing and the sound of skin on skin, then—a growl, raspy and guttural, as his body stills and he shudders inside you, hot semen spilling down your thighs, where you meet. It’s hard to swallow but you manage, as your own heartbeat sounds erratic, your own release mixing with his, the smell musky and erotic. His chest collides with yours, sweaty, ripped, and you blush, despite yourself, refusing to curl in his arms how he wants you, how he’s trying to have you.

His mouth is everywhere, peppering open mouthed kisses on your shoulders, your neck, your hair, and his hands, that intoxicating touch that silences you every time, it climbs to your cheek turning your head so his lips can find yours. You try really hard to find it in yourself to stop acting like this; like you’re under his spell with no escape, but it’s a weak argument and an even weaker case.

Something changed. Something changed and you let it.

“I don’t have to hear it back,” he murmurs in your ear, content to just have you as close as possible, if you’re not willing to face him fully yet. “All I want is you.”

“You deserve better,” you argue numbly, staring at the point where he ends and you begin. “This is—”

“—whatever you want it to be,” he finishes for you, reassuring you. 

You shake your head. 

He sighs, patient.

“Got on your nerves already?” You ask, a bitter smile stretching your features.

Chris fists a handful of your hair and smashed his mouth on yours, rough and heated. You gasp into him and melt almost immediately.

“Every—single—day,” he rasps, in between breaths. “Fucking torment me,” and then, manners an afterthought, “Please.”

You snort. 

He bites your lip as punishment.

[suhomylife]

Oh lord,I got soooo electrified but I felt it’s gonna come to this the moment he sent the text aaaaaaaaaa helpppppp

Cliffhanger apart, the chapter was so freaking good!!!!

THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.

PART 2

Bangchan x reader. (s)

Chapters: Part I

Synopsis: To help you moving on from your break-up, Chan takes you out for a night. However, he doesn't expect you will find a potential new love in someone else. (9,5k words)

Author's note: Here's one you've been asking for. Please tell me what you think about it! Nevertheless, enjoy x

"I think we're done for the day, huh?" You sigh in relief after dumping the dirty towels into the laundry bag and tossing it to the back room.

"No, actually, someone just walked in and wanted a haircut," your co-worker says while holding a stack of clean towels in front of her.

"Keem can have it," you resolve, you've finished all of your appointments for the day, and you're tired and ready to go home.

"Yeah, that's the problem. He specifically asked for you," your co-worker answers, putting the towels into the shelf full of them.

You plant your hands on each side of your waist and shoot a puzzled look at your coworker, "Huh?"

Is this customer aware that the salon is about to close and there's another hairstylist on duty? That exciting feeling of getting home soon is slowly fading as you head in to meet this customer who specifically asks for you.

The second you walk in, Keem, the other stylist, grabs your elbow and then leans into your side to whisper, "He's so cute."

Hearing it doesn't lift your mood at all, you just want to get it over with and go home.

"Where?" You ask as you put on your apron.

"He's right there," she whispers, pointing to the middle seat hidden behind the big mirror then detaches herself off you to go back behind the counter.

For a customer who chooses an awful time to get a haircut, you put on a phony smile and shove your hands into the pockets of your apron as you greet.

"Hi, what can I do for... You!" The infliction in your voice changes as you see who that customer is.

It's the shit-eating grin, the stupid dimples on his stupid face and

"It's enough torture to have you as my neighbor and now I have to you see at work too," you say as you cross your arms together in front of you.

"Oh, wow, is this how you treat your customer?" He says with a fake concerned look.

"Only the select few," you say with a sinister smile.

"I made it on your list of honors? Is this because we had sex—"

You hurriedly cover his mouth with your hand and make sure no one is seeing what you're doing to him, or worse, letting them acquire that piece of information.

"What do you want?" You scold him with a piercing glare.

He takes your hand off of his mouth and dramatically gasps for air, "I want a haircut," he simply answers.

With a huff, you swivel his chair to face the mirror and grab the cape for him, putting it around his neck, then clip it together. You put on a phony smile as you look at him through the reflection in the mirror.

"So, what do you want me to do with your hair besides setting it on fire?" You sarcastically ask him.

It's amazing how his grin doesn't wear off even just for a second, "We don't need to cut much, I guess just the tip," he says.

"Just the tip," you repeat, "Is that the title of your sex tape?"

Chan cracks a sonorous laugh, "That's a good one!"

Once you hear the sound of the scissors snipping away the hair, you get in the zone. You focus on giving his hair a nice shape that accentuates his strong jawline and makes his facial features more prominent.

"Don't talk much, huh?" He asks, slightly turning his head to the side.

You grab the nape of his neck and forcefully turn his head back to the front, "just here trying my best not to snip you somewhere else," you calmly mutter.

"Ooh, chills!" He responds with a shudder.

You switch your scissors with a hair clipper and it starts buzzing as you turn it on, you're holding it in his hand as you look at him and say, "You're going to regret coming here and allowing me to be this close to you with a sharp object."

Seeing you bringing the hair clipper close to his face, he reflexively closes his eyes so tightly and you hold the urge to not laugh at it.

"Oh, okay, I regret it now," he says like a frightened child left alone by his parents.

You gently place your hand on his jaw, "Stay still," you warn him.

He obeys you, keeping his head still and his eyes closed as you're carefully trimming his sideburns. You suddenly find yourself admiring his face and his beautiful features of a long, big nose and voluptuous lips.

For a split second, you so badly want to run your thumb on his lips and feel how soft they are. You did feel it once with your lips but you were too sad to notice and now you realize how much you regret it.

Before the temptation returns, you turn off the trimmer and put it away, then proceed to help brush the hair on his face and around his neck with a soft brush.

"You're all done," you announce, taking the cape from around his neck.

Chan stays on his seat as you brush the excess hair off the nape of his neck and make sure they don't stick to his skin. You put all of your equipment on the cart next to you and anticipate his reaction to your haircut.

Not trying to brag here but you did a good job here because he looks even more attractive with a fresh cut.

"Aren't you going to tell me how handsome I am and then kiss me on the cheek?" He asks while blinking his big eyes at you.

"I'm not your mom," you reply with a plain smile.

"I'm waiting for you."

When you think you already got rid of him after giving him a haircut, you see him lounging around the counter and putting on his charms for Keem. You plan on keeping it a secret that you know each other but if he starts flirting with your co-worker, then there's a possibility you'll see her walking out of his apartment the next day and it only gets messy from there. You come up to him and tug at the sleeve of his jacket, then pull him to the side.

"Why are you still here?" You ask through your gritted teeth and keeping your volume low.

"Why?"

"Because we're going out tonight," he answers.

"We?"

"And no, my panties are not in a twist," he says with a teeth-baring grin, "You can check it yourself if you want."

"Ugh. No!" You groan in refusal.

What is it about him anyway that makes the girls go crazy for him? If you're thinking with your depraved, brutal, and cavewoman brain, it must be the body that is inexplicably electric and sexually charged, braced with heavy muscles, and injected with a high dose of testosterone. In other words, he's hot, and it's hard not to be biologically attracted to him. But if you're thinking progressively and in the 21st century way, you know you should avoid this fuckboy at all costs.

"Ugh. Okay," you groan in agreement this time.

"If you don't want to go then I'll just take Keem," he says, secretly threatening not only you but also your workplace dynamic.

"I'm sure she's keem for it," he makes a pun.

And then, there's something called human error.

-

At first, Chan thought that you have that stoic expression only whenever you're around him but he was wrong. He learns that it's just your default expression and you wear it like a defense mechanism to keep the predators at bay. At least, he shouldn't worry about leaving you alone in the bar as he's working the DJ booth.

Once he's done with his set, he ignores the calls for his name and walks up to you, seeing you rather unimpressed by what he just did. What did he expect though? You're not most girls.

He taps the table, signaling the bartender to come and tend to his order, "The usual, please?"

The bartender nods and is about to turn away to make his drink when he calls for him again, "And one more for this nice lady," he adds, gesturing at you and flashing you a sly smile.

Chan turns around to face the dance floor and leans his back against the counter, "So, what do you think?"

"It was good," you answer after sipping your drink.

"You have a filthy expression on your face," he teases you and gently elbows your side, "go on, tell me what you're really thinking."

"Strangling you with my bare hands," you answer without a beat.

Chan leans in close enough that he can get a whiff of the smell of your shampoo, "so that's your kink?"

"Only when I see fear in your eyes," you answer with a wicked smile.

"Wow. You know how to excite a guy," he praises, not entirely lying about it because he gets a little excited from your snarky comments.

The bartender comes with both of your drinks and you hurriedly finish your previous one to go ahead with the next. He watches as you take a small sip and then waits to see how your nose scrunched at the bitter aftertaste.

"You're single now and maybe it's time for you to get out there, you know, find a new love," he says, secretly hoping that you'll find it in him when he looks at you.

"Hey, Chris," a girl comes and without hesitating, placing a kiss on his cheek, "Great set!"

"Thanks, Alicia," he says to the tall lady with beautiful braided hair.

"This one is on me," she says as she gives him a drink from the ones she ordered.

"Cheers then!" He says, clinking his glass with hers with his charming smile on.

The lady leaves to take the drinks away and is soon engulfed by the crowd. Chan notices that you remain calm about that interaction, and again, what did he expect?

"At least, one of us has no problems getting some tonight," you take a jab at him.

"I'm taking you out so we can have fun tonight and enjoy yourself—"

"The only way I can enjoy myself is when I'm alone."

"Oh?" He gasps and gives you a wild glare.

You roll your eyes and sigh once you realize he's taking it the wrong way, "I just want to go home and binge my favorite show and sleep," you finish your sentence with a big gulp of drink and he gets to see another nose scrunch from you.

The intention was to take you out of the apartment and perhaps, he can get you to loosen up a little bit, making this getting to know each other thing a little easier for him. It seems like he's forcing it on you and maybe it wasn't a good idea after all.

"Okay, then, we'll go home after this one," he says, lifting his glass close to his mouth.

"Or you can just stay here and do your thing, and I'm going home," you suggest a better idea after finishing your drink and you grab your bag as if you just can't wait to get out of here.

Chan is quick to grab your arm and stops you from leaving, "Hey, at least, let me finish my drink first," he protests.

"You don't have to leave with me. I can go home myself," you say to him.

"Just wait for me," he squeezes on your arm and adds, "Please?"

You consider it for a moment and then say, "I'll wait for you outside."

Since he's done a gig here, Chan has to make a proper exit out of the club, he greets a few people who work there and grabs his backpack of equipment, carrying it in his hand as he walks out of there. He finds you leaning against the street lamp and the light casts a glowing halo on your head, making you look like an angel... with a stoic expression.

He grins when you notice him coming, "Okay, I lied, there's another thing we have to do tonight," he says.

"Goodness, Chris, just bag a lady and call it a night," you groan in complaint.

Both of his eyebrows ratchet up at your words, "It has nothing to do with that."

"What is it then?" You cross your arms together in front of you.

"Only the best part of the night," he answers with a cryptic smile.

Chan knew he should have started the night with food. He can see that your mood gradually elevates with every bite you take from the delicious kebab he recommended to get after a boozy night out.

By the time you both arrive at the apartment building, you get all quiet like a drowsy child after a day out at the park and he finds it cute, especially with the way your lips slowly jutting out and you keep widening your eyes to stay awake.

"How about next Friday night we're doing it your way?" he suggests as he keeps the elevator door open for you with his back.

"If that means you'll leave me alone then yes," your eyes turn small as you politely moan into your hand.

"We're going to stay in and binge-watch your favorite show and sleep," he lists everything you mentioned earlier and an idea pops into his head.

"We'll have a pajama party!" He announces along with a poor imitation of tooting horns.

"No!" You flatly reject the idea.

"I'll bring the snacks," he offers.

You steadfastly shake your head.

"Then I'll keep knocking on your door until you let me in," he annoyingly moves into your side until he's rubbing elbows with yours.

"Then I hope you get abducted by aliens," you come out with an absurd wish and it cackles him.

"You would miss me," he confidently remarks with his signature grin.

"Doubtful. Very doubtful."

"Why?"

"I know I'd get to see you again someday—"

Chan can't help himself from smiling but little does he know, you're not done with your sentence yet.

"— in hell."

That wipes the smile off his face, "but I'm a good person. People like me," he says while making an innocent face.

"Because they don't know you, if they did, someone would have kicked your ass already."

"They'd try," Chan easily says with a nonchalant shrug, and at the same time, you both burst out laughing.

This is not flirting and he's aware there's something wrong with this interaction but you know what? He likes every bit of it.

Chan's heart sinks when it's time for the two of you to part ways and before you get to slip away from him, he tugs at the strap of your bag.

"Hey, can't wait for our pajama party," he says.

You pull your bag until the strap slips out of his hand and head to your apartment door.

"No response," he points out, "it's as a yes then."

"No!" You shout.

"So... it's a no?" He asks in confusion.

You push the door to get inside your apartment and lingers by the doorway, facing him.

"No," you cheekily respond and then close the door, leaving him with a different kind of thrill for what comes next.

-

From the way this person treats your door like a tambourine, you can safely guess that it's Chan knocking on the door for the so-called pajama party.

Ugh, why did you agree to it in the first place? It's so unlike you to let someone in on your space but it doesn't matter whether you let him or not, the boundaries have been crossed so many times that there's no such thing as personal space anymore.

Before letting him in, you check through the peephole, and just as you expected, he comes undressed, literally. He's standing on the other side of the door wearing nothing but gray sweatpants hanging low around his hips.

"Please have mercy on my eyes and put some clothes on!" You shout through the door with your hand holding the knob.

"I don't wear pajamas. This is what I wear to sleep," he responds and you can hear him faintly laughing with your ear pressed on the door.

"And what makes you think you're going to sleep at my place tonight?"

"I don't know. A hunch," he playfully responds.

"Pajama party is officially canceled!" You say through the peephole.

"Okay, okay, I'll put some clothes on," he sighs in defeat.

You watch through the peephole to see if he's really going to his apartment to change. With his broad shoulders, all hunched up, he walks back to his apartment and doesn't even bother to close the door, he grabs whatever lying close to him and puts the dark t-shirt over his head. Even under the poor lighting, the ridges of his muscles are visible and inviting you to feel it with your touch.

As though he knows he's being watched, he looks your way and then trudges his way back to your door. The first thing you see after you open the door for him is his big grin that sends his dimples sinking deep into his cheeks.

With a glare at his empty hands, you ask, "And where's the snack?"

Chan puts his arms on each side of the doorframe and leans in close, towering you with his big figure, proudly he answers, "Ma'am, I am the snack."

Can't tell if he's trying to charm you, intimidate you, or both, doesn't matter because he failed at all of them.

"But you promised!" You can tolerate people when they make jokes about anything but you can't accept when it involves food.

Chan takes his phone out of his pocket and shows it to you, "It's being delivered. See?"

Your jaws unclenched in a second and you open the door wider for him, "You may come in!" You sweetly say with a curtsy.

"Thank you, Your Majesty!" He says with a bow before steps into your apartment.

It's ironic how you prepared everything despite you were grudging it, you set the sofa, put some cushions and since he said he was bringing the food, you bought drinks for tonight.

"I have juice, soda, and beers," you list everything you have in your fridge as you're looking at it.

"We'll have the soda for now and beers for later," Chan strategically plans.

The food he ordered only lasts for two episodes and from there, you both run on beers and chips while sitting on opposite sides of each other on the couch with your feet touching.

"I like seeing white stockings on women," Chan comments after seeing the female character wearing it under her dress.

"This is why I hate watching with a man," you say in a condescending tone.

"I'm not even saying anything about her body," he defends himself and playfully rubs his foot with yours.

"Just shh..." you hush him, getting back at him by tackling his foot with yours.

The whole time the TV show is playing, your attention is on him, you're merely curious if he's genuinely invested in it or just wants to annoy you with his presence. From your observation, it seems like it's the former but the jury's still out.

"Wait, is that it?" He asks as the first season has just ended and the credit title rolls down the screen.

"That's the end of the first season," you say, starting to gather the trash on the table and put it into a plastic bag.

"But there's another season, right?" He says, looking distressed that the show ends with a cliffhanger.

"Yeah," you answer.

"Then let's watch it!" He says with a grin and slowly blinking his eyes at you.

"No, Chris, it's late," you show him the time on the screen on your phone that it's close to midnight.

"But I want to know what happens next and I need to know now," he speaks like a spoiled little brat.

You get up from the sofa to get rid of the trash, "You can watch it on your own."

Grabbing the back of your sweater, Chan pulls you hard until you plop down onto the sofa next to you then he puts his arm around you to keep you down.

"Let's just party all night, eh?" He persuades you as he leans in close to the side of your head you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek.

You leer to the side at him and ask, "I can't make you leave, do I?"

"Not a chance," he shortly answers.

Seeing that there's no other way to make him leave but to fulfill his wish, you give in and sit back down on the sofa as Chan hits the play button.

With your stomach full and the exhaustion from the day, and you feel snug on the sofa wrapped in your blanket, you're getting drowsy as the night gets late. You manage to stay awake for two episodes but not long after that, your eyes get really heavy and you can barely keep them open anymore.

Going to rest my eyes for a bit, you tell yourself in your head but close your eyes, slowly drifting into deep slumber.

-

It's not new that Chan wakes up not knowing where he is, he lifts his head and looks around, taking in his surroundings to give him clues of his whereabouts. One look at the TV screen that shows a question whether he's still watching or not, he immediately recalls where he is, what he's doing here, and—

"Owh!" He lowly gasps as you accidentally elbow him on the ribs.

There he is, lying next to you on the sofa, your back pressed close to his chest he can feel every rise and fall of your body as you're breathing. He doesn't know how it comes to this and he's not complaining though, if anything, it's an opportunity for him to admire you up close.

Cautiously, he removes the hair covering your face to the side and takes an intimate look at your facial features, first at your eyes with your eyelashes fanning out so beautifully, he runs his fingertip down your nose and eventually at your lips which he dreams of kissing.

Do you know that you're so beautiful yet so unaware of it?

Chan gently buries his nose in your neck and inhales your heavenly scent that gets him intoxicated, putting himself in a test of restraint that he'll be likely to fail. All of a sudden, you stir in your sleep and nuzzle closer as if you're seeking warmth from his body heat.

What did he just put himself into? He frustratingly asks in his head.

Soon enough, he can feel your body start to mold against him and it feels nice, you're fulfilling his need for this closeness but unfortunately, he can't control how his body is reacting to this as it wants to do more than just being pressed close to yours.

Chan carefully places his hand on your hips and quietly, he tries to push you away to make a safe space between your bodies even though he has to suffer the loss of your warmth against him.

As if your body knows what he's trying to do, you push back even further and the curve of your ass sits right on the bulge growing inside his sweatpants, putting him at a greater risk.

"Fuck!" he mouthes in distress.

If it wasn't for the TV light that casts a hazy glow on you, he wouldn't notice that your eyes are open and you're waking up to him with his hand on your hips which he's afraid only giving you the impression that he tries to pull you close instead of the opposite.

"I—" he can't say anything without sounding like he's lying because he knows that a greater part of him wanted it, wanting you.

In the next moment, he finds your hand reaching for him and unexpectedly, you put your fingers across his lips, asking him to stop talking as you bring his head close until your lips touch. He doesn't dare to do anything but when you stroke his lower lip with your tongue, his instincts take over.

To no one's surprise, Chan claims your mouth like a starved man.

However, Chan doesn't plunge right into it, he's starting the kiss with innocent brushes of his lips on yours and teasing licks before taking your mouth once again in a deeper kiss.

When he draws back, your lips are parted on soundless gasps of desire. It takes a moment for your eyes to clear enough to focus on him and with a low voice, he says, "I couldn't resist it."

He can't waste a second without kissing you so he indulges in another dizzying kiss, "I thought about kissing you all week."

Days, weeks, months, it comes to a blur to him but he learned the agony of waiting so he counts the time until his lips can reunite with yours again, hopefully, once and for all.

"Now, I can't seem to stop," As he speaks, he threads his fingers into your hair and angles your head back. He trails kisses along your jawline, nips your chin, and kisses the corner of your mouth.

A murmur humming in your throat as he kisses you yet again and your hand flies into his hair, fingertips lazily scratching at his scalp. You suddenly pull away from the kiss and gaze into his dark eyes, "Then don't stop."

So Chan hasn't been the only one, after all.

Planting his mouth on yours again, he twines his tongue with yours, and oh... this taste, this softness, your hand in his hair, kiss after kiss after kiss.

He allows himself to run his fingertips down the length of your arm and smiles when goosebumps ripple outward. Nuzzling your neck, he breathes in the soft scent of your skin and kisses the sweet spot just behind your jaw. Your lips are calling him, but instead, he sucks on your earlobe and bites it, startling a shaky sigh from you.

He allows himself to explore more by running his hand along the length of your body, cupping the curve of your breasts, and even through the layers of fabrics, he can feel the firm buds of your nipple. He so badly wants to pinch it, love on it, but there is too much fabric in the way. He simply resolves it by slipping his hand under and he finds your soft mounds in a second, not wasting another second to fondle on it.

As he kisses you harder, and you arch into his body, you're undulating your hips against the aching bulge inside its confine, forcing him to bite back his groan.

Oh, he hasn’t wanted someone like this in... Has he ever wanted someone like this?

He reels himself back to the present, glancing down at his pale hand and your nipple caught between his fingers, it's an erotic sight indeed that he can't resist pinching it and enjoying your sharp intake of breath.

"Chris..."

The sound of his name falling from your lips is just as unexpected as it is hot. He sees you breathe through your parted lips that's swollen and glistening wet from all the kissing, and then at your wide, lustful eyes that tell him you're ready for more.

An impatient hand glides down your stomach and slips beneath the waistband of your shorts, his gentle fingers caress you with slow strokes. He is touching you there, right where you need him and you shiver, then burrow closer to him as more goosebumps dotted your skin.

"My God, you're drenched," he says and with each syllable, his lips grazed your ear.

Your body clenched hard, clenched even harder when he presses a finger deep into you, filling you. He massages your clit with lazy swirls of his thumb, making you start trembling against him.

He lowers a kiss on you again, tongue and teeth invading your mouth and that's all it takes to send you climbing quick and sharp toward your release.

His mouth finds your ear and with his hot breath tickles you, he lowly asks, "Does it feel good?”

There's no answer but you sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you throw your head back, inhaling sharply. Chan can feel tiny muscles fluttering around his fingers, and he knows you are close.

He doesn't need to see to know the answer, he can feel it with his hand, "You’re drenching my palm," he whispers again.

With your hand in his hair, you bring his head close and peck his lips, "Chris, I want it," you mutter as you pull away.

You lightly nod, "Mmh-hmm."

"It?" He asks to confirm if you're thinking of the same thing and he's not taking the wrong sign.

"Condom?"

"No need," you shortly answer, "I'm on the pill."

A jolt of excitement surges all over his body just from the thought that he'll be inside you with no layer of protection and it utterly exhilarates him that he needs to calm down for a minute. He uses the time to remove your shorts and then his sweatpants next without taking his other arm from around you.

Once he settles himself behind you, he puts his hand between your legs, lifting a leg and putting it over his hips, allowing his hard member to get between your legs. It feels a whole lot different to feel how wet you are on every inch of his length.

"Feel that?" He asks you with his mouth nestled close to your ear and his swollen cock rubbing between your folds, "I'm aching for you."

Chan kisses your mouth, your jaw, your neck as hard flesh prodding at your sex, making you stop breathing for a moment and you feel nothing but a sensuous stretching that goes on and on until he seated himself fully inside you and oh, he fits perfectly.

"It's too good. You feel– oh... I'm going to lose it," he can't comprehend what he's feeling right now.

The heat, this tightness, so perfect for him and his body asks for nothing but more and more and more of you.

Responding to his body's needs, he withdraws and then thrusts back into you, soon enough, he sets a steady pace. His free hand slides down to your bundle of nerves, touching you there for added stimulation. You grip his wrist, seemingly intending to pull him away, but your hand refuses to cooperate.

The twin assaults of his fingers and his cock that fills you full kindle a flame inside you that spread all over you like wildfire. Your mouth is parted open but all that comes out are gasps and sighs of pleasure so instead of words, you communicate how you feel through your body. You spread your thighs wider and writhe to match his thrust for thrust.

There's nothing but the sounds of his hips slapping your ass and his cock that incessantly slipping in and out of you, and he likes how he finds peace despite his body being in pure chaos.

With his mouth lingering close to your ear, he knows you hear every shudder of his breath to the lowest of his sultry moans slipped out of his mouth, and honestly, he would have been embarrassed if it weren’t for your hand tangled in his curls and keep pulling him for a kiss, before finding his hand that rests on your chest and hold it.

"Perfect..." the word tumbles out of his mouth as your fingers slip right between the spaces of his fingers and lace it together.

"Ah, ah, ah," more moans fall out of your lips as you arch into him, and through it all, your eyes locked in a gaze with his, letting him see the pure pleasure that builds up inside you.

Chan has slept with a handful of people, but he’s never been so in tune with someone's body. He’s never been so desperate to please or so elated when he hears you cry his name as you cum around him.

The high takes you over and also your ability to move, speak, and think. You curl up, making you feel smaller against him. The hand interlaced with his tightens as he speeds up the motions of his hips and with one last deep thrust, he joins you in falling apart.

Using this tender moment to pour his affection for you, he's whispering your name and kissing you softly, then slowly, he eases out of—

"No, don't!" Your hand grabs at his hips, hard, nails digging into the flesh, "Stay."

Obeying your words, Chan holds you close, limbs to limb, skin to skin, hearts lying so close to each other with mere flesh and bones in between. He doesn't know what this was, but it sure as hell was not fucking. He kisses you hard and soft to find out.

It's when he pulls away and looks into your eyes that he figures out the answer as the most incredible feeling of being loved washes over him.

-

When Chan wakes up the next morning. He registers the sunlight on his face, the distant barking of a neighborhood dog, and the delicious smell of buttered toast and coffee, it's all around him and—

It just hits him that he's waking up on your sofa and he burrows into the blanket with a happy sigh once he recalls everything that happened last night to the tiniest details, summoning the butterflies to flutter around in his stomach.

The sound of your footsteps forces him to get out of his daze and he scrambles to get up when you walk past the sofa on your way to the kitchen.

"Morning!" He cheerily greets you while covering his naked lower half with the blanket.

Without looking and with your hands tying your hair, you fainty reply to his greeting, "Morning."

You didn't reply to his level of enthusiasm but that's okay, he just doesn't expect you to be this stoic this early in the day. Instead of searching for his sweatpants, he wraps the blanket around his hips like a towel and waddles his way to the kitchen.

"You're up early," he says, noticing that it's barely seven and he knows you usually leave for work a little after eight, sometimes close to nine.

"Early appointment. Have to do a client's hair. Wedding," you concisely explain as you quietly sip your coffee from a big red mug.

It's strange, the way you speak and how your eyes are looking anywhere but in his direction. For now, he's going to think that you're just tired and not fully meeting your dose of caffeine yet

"Okay, so what's for breakfast?" He asks, excitedly tapping the dining table with his hands and grinning at you.

"Toast and coffee," you say while standing on your toes to get a glass from the top cabinet.

"Anything but coffee, please?" He politely asks, watching you walk the other way to get a carton of orange juice out of the fridge.

It's a sunny day but the room shares the same temperature as the glass of orange juice you pour into his glass. He observantly watches you, searching for any clues whether this is how you are in the morning or something is actually off with you.

There's one way to know, first, he takes a small sip of his juice to help with his dry throat and then jabs around the topic, "Last night was fun, don't you think?"

There's no answer and he can't see your reaction toward it when you're standing with your back facing him and he begins to think that it's the latter.

"I'm thinking we should do this again next Friday but I'll get to pick what we're going to watch and you bring—"

"Chris, I'm sorry but..." You swiftly turn on your feet and check the time on the clock, "I have to leave now."

"Sure, yeah, you can't be late for a wedding," he playfully says while keeps searching for your eyes to make you look at him.

You walk around your apartment to gather your things, your phone, and your wallet, stuffing them into a purse. You grab another bag which he guesses is one you usually carry for work and that only confirms that you're indeed leaving for an appointment.

"You can stay for breakfast and use the spare keys to lock the door when you leave," you say those things in a hurry as you drag your bag to the foyer.

He turns on his chair to look at you as he jokes, "We've only slept together twice and you're already giving me your apartment keys?"

Unfortunately, the jokes fall short as he hears nothing but the sound of the knob turning and you're getting out of the apartment.

"Have a great day at work!" He shouts at you but all he gets in response is the door closing and then clicks in place.

Chan can't tell anymore if you're leaving for work or you're leaving him, but it feels like he's getting his karma for always being the one leaving in the morning.

-

It's wedding season and that explains why there are a lot of scribbles on your calendar, you have a lot of appointments to do this month, and you get so busy that he's hardly seeing you lately.

Work is one thing he can understand but you can't possibly work 24 hours a day without a day off, right? At one point, he should have caught you leaving or coming home from work, whichever it is, the chance never comes to him, not even once.

Chan begins to wonder if you're avoiding him, he knows because there's a slight difference to it and it's in the purpose. You've been purposely doing things to avoid him.

With an excuse prepared in his head, Chan comes knocking on your door the next Friday night. He's been keeping your spare keys and can easily let himself in but that would be impolite, he needs to be on your good side to earn your trust.

After a few times knocking with no answer, he lets himself in but not because he has the spare keys, the door is unlocked so he figures you must be at home and doing something that makes you unable to get the door.

"Anyone's home?" He shouts into the void in your living room and hesitantly walks further inside.

Hearing the loud humming of a hairdryer, he walks to your bedroom. Unexpectedly, you're coming out as he's about to walk in.

"Oh, God!" You gasp in surprise as you hold the front of your bathrobe together, "What are you doing here?"

In contrast, Chan laughs seeing your shell-shocked expression in his presence. He then crosses his arms together and leans the side of his body against the doorframe, not forgetting to wear his grin as he answers to you, "Just checking to see if my neighbor is alive."

"Well, I'm alive," You're talking as you're taking dresses out of your closet, "and I need your help."

Looking at your mood and the way you talk normally to him, he concludes that the thought that you've been purposely avoiding him was just a silly thought after all. Other than that, you need his help and he likes being needed by you.

"I'm at your service," Chan says, permitting himself to step into your bedroom and sit on the end of your bed.

You're standing in front of him, holding up two dresses in your hands, one is a white line dress with a v-neck and the other is a body-hugging velvet dress in a deep burgundy color. Both will look good on you but he needs to know one thing before he gives his vote.

"Are we going out tonight?" He playfully asks, feeling a buzz of excitement filling him.

You turn around to face the full-length mirror while holding the dress in front of you in turn to give you ideas on how it will look on you.

"I have a date," you tell him.

Hearing that, the excitement in his body vanishes in a second and is replaced by a cold shudder of panic. He tries to laugh it off in denial.

"A–a date?" He stammers.

"Uh-huh," You end up settling the dress situation yourself by choosing to go with the white linen dress, "Can you get out of my room so I can change?"

His subconscious has the tendency to obey you, he gets up from the bed and walks out of your room, and he lingers there by the door, contemplating whether he should push the conversation or not.

"With who?" He doesn't want to know but curiosity gets the best of him.

"A guy I met at one of the weddings," you share from inside your bedroom.

"Is this—" he pauses to swallow air, "Is this your first date?"

"Yes and I'm excited," your voice grows louder and soon, the door cracks open and you reveal yourself to him, "Now, tell me I made the right choice?"

He takes a staggering step backward and asks, "On the date or the dress?"

You take a look at yourself on the round mirror hanging on the wall, "Is it too casual? No?"

For a second, Chan forgets about the direness of the situation and takes a good look at you, the dress compliments your shape so well, the hem flares up like a blooming flower and the v-cut neckline offers a modest cleavage, perfect for a first date. If he has to be honest, even without the dress, it won't make you less comely but he hates that you look this good and it's not for him.

"You look... good," he tries to make it sound like your appearance doesn't make any impression on him.

You wipe the excess lipstick on the corner of your mouth then look over your shoulder, "And the date?"

He doesn't expect you to give him the chance to say something about it and obviously, he's going to try his best to intercept your plan.

"Don't you think it's too soon?" He follows you as you head back to your bedroom then stops at the doorway as you enter the bathroom after, "To get on a date."

You take off the hair rollers nestling on the crown of your hair and your hair flows down like big springs, then brush it down with your fingers.

"You told me yourself that I should get out there and find new love," you return his words to him.

That feels like he's just slapped himself in the face. Why did he tell you that? Oh, yeah, that's because he wants you to start opening up so he can let himself in and fill that position.

"But that's not– I just didn't think..." his words trailing off as he can't exactly explain the reason why he said it, not now at least.

You put all of your hair to the front then flip it all together to the back, you're shaking the end with your fingers, sending the sweet smell of your shampoo flying around in the room.

"Didn't think what?" You curiously ask as you apply a fresh coat of lipstick on your lips, the shade is bright red like a flamethrower.

"When I said you should start finding a new love, I was hoping that you could finally see me and..." he can't find another way of telling you without saying it out loud, "perhaps, you can find it in me."

That makes you stop whatever you're doing and turn around on your feet, leaning against the bathroom counter, you look at him in eerie silence, and then out of nowhere, a laugh bursts out of you.

"Chris, stop playing!" You brush past him on the way out of the bathroom.

He's trailing behind you as you pick up a purse from a collection of them in your closet, "I'm not playing," he assures you.

"Okay, yeah, I trust you," you half-heartedly respond, heading out and going to the foyer to pick your shoes next.

"Can you please look at me?" He pleads as he waits for you to make up your mind with your choice of shoes.

"Just look at me, please?" He begs again, desperately.

You take your chosen shoes and hold them in one hand as you hold his gaze, "Okay, I'm looking at you."

In those fierce eyes, Chan finds the courage to assess his feelings and tries to fathom them into words. He inhales air before letting it out in a long, low sigh.

"Don't go on that date," he demands.

"Why?"

"Because I want you here."

"Chris, that's not a good enough reason," you say with a low laugh.

He gently places his hands on each of your elbows and tenderly stares into your eyes, "Then go ahead, ask me that one question."

"What question?"

"Ask me what are we," he steadily holds your gaze even though he feels a whirlwind in his head and chaos stirring inside his chest.

You brush it off with a laugh, "Why should I ask you—"

"Just ask me the question!" He accidentally raises his voice at you and immediately lowers his voice after, he looks down to take a breather before looking back into your eyes, "Ask me what are we!"

It feels like an eternity waiting for you to ask him that but he has the patience and an answer to that, he only needs you to ask him that.

You drop the shoes onto the floor and take a step forward, you hold his gaze as he holds his breath. Deep down, he knows that you'd have to be blind to not see the light of affection in his eyes.

To his dismay, you unexpectedly retreat and pick up everything with you toward the door. With your back turned to him, you say, "I don't want to be late for the date."

-

It's been an hour since he came back from your apartment and he's still stuck in the denial stage. He's lying in the dark and stares at the ceiling of his bedroom, ignoring his phone that's been tirelessly blaring with notifications.

It's not a rejection if you don't give him a definite, abundantly clear answer, right? Besides, there's a chance that the guy blew the date and you can see that he's the better man. Is he though? Is he any better?

There are two ways to handle this situation. One, he can try to forget all about it, hit call back on one of the girls contacting him right now, get out of here, and distract himself with a physical release. Or two, wait because there's something in him that tells him to wait just a little longer.

But wait for what? Wait until you return from your date? Wait until he sees it happens, you with your new beau, all lovey-dovey next door?

It seems like he's finally progressed into the next stage: anger.

Every thought that crosses his head right now is not nice and he needs an outlet for this anger. He shoots up from the bed, he starts pacing back and forth in the room, hands balled into fists, he gets this urge to punch something, he wants to— No, he can't wait with this ugly feeling slowly taking over him and driving him insane.

"Fuck this," he curses out loud into the void in his apartment, he picks up his phone and texts someone about meeting up tonight.

While typing a text, knocking comes on his door, and whoever it is, they'd better not piss him off or— the knocking comes again, he exhales air out of his mouth to calm down and walks in heavy steps to get the door.

It seems as if his anger wasn't there in the first place, the second he opens the door and sees you, all of those nasty thoughts vanish into thin air.

You're carrying your shoes in one hand and the other is holding one side of the doorframe. You look at him with a smile ever so softly blooms on your face, "So..."

See? It wasn't a rejection. He just needed to wait a little longer and God, he was glad he did.

"So...?" He asks back, holding the urge to smile back at you.

You daringly stare into his eyes as you take a step into his apartment, "So... what are we, Chris?"

It's crazy how your magnetic field is so strong that he can't stand being this close to you and not touching you, his hesitant hands are reaching for you, they retreat and give, doing it for a while until you drop everything off your hands and put your hands around his shoulders. Indirectly permitted him to put his hands on you.

"What are we, mmh?" You ask again with your eyes flickering like they hold stars in them.

"We are..." he considers to let the truth out but what's the fun in that? He needs to get back at you for making him doubt everything earlier, "Neighbors."

"No," you shake your head in disagreement, "You're definitely going to say something else."

Luckily, he's strong enough to hold you steady as you put your whole weight against him, leaving not even an inch of gap between your bodies.

"Someone still has her panties in a twist," he playfully responds with his charming grin on, dimples and all.

"Shame on you because I don't have any panties on," you say with your small smile turning into a broad one.

His eyes widen in slight shock, and his hand automatically glides downward, landing a caress on the curve of your ass and slipping under the hem of your dress to check whether your words are true or not. His fingers edge at the lacy fabric of your underwear and it turns out to be the latter.

"Ugh, you're lying!" He groans in complaint but it doesn't make him less happy, he's elated, and his heart is about to burst.

"Partly."

"How so?"

"Because you're about to take them off," you shamelessly say.

Chan wants to let go of all the things that hold him back. He brings both of your lips together, he kisses you like you're oxygen and he's short on air. He runs his hands down your back to your hips, cupping your sweet ass, and pulls you even closer. You struggle to get closer as he kisses you deep and hard your head tilted to the back, you weave your fingers through his hair as you pour yourself into the kiss.

Everything that happened before this is in the past now, all he knows now is your taste and the hot sighs of your breath, and then this irrepressible want to devour you.

"I'm going to carry you to bed," Chan's plush lips brushing yours as he speaks.

The idea of carrying you to bed is highly appealing to him at the moment. He likes holding you and as messed up as it was, he wants to throw you onto the bed, in the most respectful way.

"Then what are you waiting for, kangaroo boy?"

A sharp gasp escapes your mouth as he swoops you into his arms and carries you in the direction of the bedroom. You have your arms looped around his neck to hold onto and place kisses along his jaw all the way to his bedroom.

Instead of throwing you onto the bed like he planned, he throws both of you onto the bed and it quakes, he immediately props an elbow against the mattress to not put his weights on you.

"God, you're so beautiful," his sigh tells how overwhelmed he is by what he's seeing and what a privilege that he's able to place kisses on such beauty.

When you try to gasp a mouthful of air, he breathes it into you with his hand resting on your jaw, you look up at him, and a starburst of emotion expands inside him. He thinks you see it in his eyes because you softly smile at him.

Giving you time to breathe, he shifts his focus elsewhere, he kisses and sucks on your neck, all the while his hands are keeping your body closely pressed against him, making you aware of the firm flesh prodding your crotch through his blue jeans.

The next thing is his mouth searching for the source of the heat and your body goes into total system failure as his mouth inches closer to where you want him. Between your thighs, you flush and tingle with wanting.

"This smell..." he hums as he buries his nose in your clothed sex, making you able to feel every sharp intake of air he inhales through his nose.

He pries his mouth open and plants it on your heating wetness, not caring about the lacy fabric that blocks him from tasting it raw.

"Mmh..." he deeply hums again, almost like the low roar of a wild animal hunting at night, "I want this smell all over me."

The intensity of your desire frightens and embarrasses you at the same time, you need a little control but control is gone when Chan tugs the waistband of your underwear between his teeth and begins to pull it down your legs.

He places his hands on the back of your thighs and slowly, lifts both of your legs upward as he keeps biting your underwear. You're watching as he tries to take it off of you with such determination.

Once he succeeds, he grabs the underwear from between his teeth and holds it up to show you his latest conquest, "Twisted panties no more," he says with a sly grin.

Instead of tossing it aside, he puts the underwear into the back pocket of his jeans, "I'm keeping it."

There are so many layers of clothing keeping him from feeling your skin but he can start by removing his t-shirt, having no problems showing you his taut muscles and his pale skin that reddens around the chest, neck, and both ears.

Next, Chan grabs your knees, he pulls them apart to bare your sex to his eyes and his chest expands on a sharp inhalation. The look on his face tells it all, he wants you, he wants you so bad that he swallows air, sending his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

It's the first time that he gets to see it open and bare, gushing with essence, tantalizing. He leisurely takes his time to admire it while plotting things he wants to do to it.

He rubs his hands down the sides of your thighs and lowly sighs, without his eyes straying away from the sight between your legs, he says, "You have the prettiest little—”

He thinks he's imagining it but he's not the only one hearing knocks on his apartment door. Sensing someone else's presence, your legs instinctively shut and you pull the hem of your dress down.

"Chris, are you expecting someone?" You ask with your forehead wrinkled in question.

"No," he shortly answers, he doesn't want you to think that he's waiting for someone else other than you, "I don't—"

The knocking comes again a while later, a little too aggressive that both of you can't ignore it anymore.

"Someone is knocking on your door," you say.

"Yeah, but I swear, I don't—"

You place your hand on his waist and look at him, "well, then, get the door and find out."

He'd rather have someone sawing him off of you than having to voluntarily get away from you, whoever this person is will be responsible for what's not going down at this moment.

"Only if you promise you won't change your mind," he tells you with a sly smirk.

"If you don't hurry and get the door, I might," you say back.

"Stay still. Don't move. Not even an inch," he pecks your lips for every warning with both hands cupping your face. He plants another long peck on your lips before dashing toward the front door and thinking of just sending this person away so he can get back to you.

This is where he makes a mistake. He doesn't check through the peephole and opens the door right away, having the faintest idea that catastrophe awaits on the other side of the door.

"Ah, there you are!" The girl says, jumping at him and immediately locking lips with him.

It happens so fast that by the time Chan registers it, the girl pulls away but keeps her arms looped around his shoulders.

"I came here as soon as I received your text," she grabs his chin and kisses his slacked-open mouth, "I hope I didn't make you wait long."

On the other end of the room, he hears your footsteps coming and soon, you come into his sight. You look so calm and he'd prefer a raging sea because with calm water, he never really knows what he's dealing with.

With an enigmatic smile, you look at him and say, "You know what, Chris? I change my mind."

-

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[suhomylife]

This has taken me much longer than it should have. I read the chapter a few days after its release but it got so deep under my skin that i had to take time to process it in order to be able to formulate anything coherent (hopefully) rather than just screaming in caps lock.

When you left us shocked on a sheer precipice of chapter 3 I couldn’t even imagine what hell of a rollercoaster we will have to go through together with Hyune and Sunnie. Everything these two had to go together is so heartbreaking, I don’t think I’ve ever read or seen something even close traumatic and dramatic as this. It was painful to read every sentence and every word felt like a bee bite, because to be fair you combined all the things I was (and still am at some point) afraid when I was a teen. Like I’m still scared of teenage pregnancy, even though I’m 28 fucking years old, and reading the characters go through that almost had me have a panic attack.

None of them deserved to go through all this pain. To suffer so much because of their parents mistakes. It is heartbreaking to even think about how easy it is to ruin someone’s life. I wish I could hug both Hyun and Sunnie and take all their pain away.

What Sunnie’s parents did is absolutely terrifying and crazy. These two were ready and were willing to raise a child which is so rare and they didn’t even give them the chance. What a waste of air for people like them. I feel so sorry for the kids. What’s the point of giving birth when you don’t hear your children at all? Honestly it’s absolutely heartbreaking.

I cried so hard reading the part where he called his parents for the first time. It’s so painful and so filled with regret. That everyone poured some water in the jar of this mistake.

And when it turned out that Huynjin also picked Four of Wands…and Four?? He knew it was the Mc from the very start 😭 he just had to wait until he was ready to open his heart and for her to be ready. And he was equally terrified of Loving and being Loved too.

The way you managed to transfer all the pain and hardships the characters had to go through is really astonishing. I was listening to ambient music while reading and that also added so much atmosphere to the story. There are a couple (of many, I swear my notes are just the endless citation of the story) that really got deep into my head, id love to point them out:

It was a temporary relief. Like walking in a desert and finding a lone tree that would provide shade—the sun would move around it, slowly exposing him to the heat again, and the air remained warm despite it all anyway. 

- Wow. What a way to put the words together and depict the emotion. Just wow!

Changed. In order to attain its ultimate form, the caterpillar had to go through destruction first. 

- so out boy is a caterpillar too.

Love can become hatred. Or maybe you can love yourself a little more instead.

- what a thought!!!

Anyways, I came back to writing this when it started to hurt a little less and I and just immensely grateful to you for letting feel a part of this amazing story.

As always. You are crazy talented, Mari. Thank you for being here and continuing to create your wonderful worlds. Love you always!

petrichor | four of wands chapter five

pairing: witch!hyun x f!reader | wc: 51.9k | genre: adult/dark romance | warnings: angst ; religious bigotry ; severe parental abuse ; occult sciences/magick ; coming-of-age chapter ; suicidal thoughts/themes of suicide ; death and mourning, and more. This work contains explicit sexual content and is strictly for adult audiences. ⚠️ caution: this chapter contains sensitive topics and (very) dark themes. please read the full list of warnings if you suspect such content could upset you. another, less exhaustive list of warnings is also available if you would rather not be spoiled. please visit the series content warnings to access both. Reader discretion is advised.

The water was so close that Hyunjin could hear the ripples of the waves in detail but it was too dark to see it—when he looked past the tiny building, it looked like he was just staring at a vast empty space, which is to say, it felt just like staring into a mirror. 

When Hyunjin was twelve years old, he found a little puppy in a back alley as he was coming home from school, but that is not where his story begins.

His story also doesn’t begin when he was born or something like that—he would say that few things, not even his existence, actually mattered before he met Hye Sun. 

Hyunjin was nine years old when the Juns moved into his neighborhood and were welcomed into their church. He had many friends already, as Hyunjin had always been a lively and outgoing child, but he didn’t mind making more. The church would throw a big party whenever such an event took place, so it was with hands sticky from ice cream and many glasses of sweet lemonade into the afternoon that he was introduced to Hye Sun. 

“This is Hye Sun. She is the Juns’ daughter,” his mother told him, standing in between him and the new family. The party took place in the courtyard behind the church and the weather was nice. “Since the other children are a little older than you two, I assured the Juns that you would keep an eye on her and introduce her around.”

Hyunjin looked at the little girl standing in front of him. She was holding a mostly melted ice cream cone and wore a bright pink t-shirt, a blue skirt, and blue tights. She had pigtails and the elastics in her hair had little tigers on them. 

He looked at his mom—it wasn’t the first time she asked such things from him. Hyunjin might have been young but he knew why she did that, and it was because it made her, and Dad, look like they were kind and considerate people. Like they had raised their son not just right, but better than other people raised their children.

The other kids were a few years ahead of him but Hyunjin was wise for his age, so he got along with them just fine. “Hi,” he told Hye Sun, waving at her. “I’m Hyunjin.”

The little girl was shy. She tried to hide behind her mother, but she was pushed forward. “You go now, Hye Sun. They’ll be your new prayer group, so you have to get to know them.” 

Hyunjin couldn’t remember having been shy but he could understand how she felt. He would probably want to hide too if they took him out of his bedroom, his house, his city and his church and threw him in an entirely new place. 

He extended his hand for her to take. “Come, I’ll show you my secret spot and no one can bother us there.” 

Hye Sun stared at his hand and his face alternatively, once in a while looking at one of her parents. Ultimately, she took a step toward him, then another, and took his hand, not minding that it was a little sticky. 

They didn’t talk much at first. The secret spot was a narrow space between the church and the fence surrounding the courtyard. There was a dense forsythia at its end, offering cover. Nobody really bothered Hyunjin when he was here, and that day was no exception. He asked if she wanted lemonade or something and she said no, sitting near the bush, inspecting every branch carefully as if her life depended on it. Hyunjin gave her space, sitting on the other side, near the fence, watching the party through it. 

Some time passed, during which Father Yeon made an unofficial speech to a small group—which included Hyunjin’s and the girl’s parents—as to why it was important to create bonds between each other. Hyunjin wasn’t sure he understood everything he said—he was too young to comprehend those things, but old enough to know he would understand them someday. Father Yeon spoke of keeping an eye on each other but not in the sense Hyunjin would have thought. He couldn’t understand, but he was almost sure their priest was asking prominent members of the church to snoop on others.

Because sin was poison, and poison spread quickly—should it unfortunately leak within them, the stain would be difficult, perhaps impossible, to wash away. So it was best to eliminate the threat of it before it happened altogether.

» Read the full chapter on ao3. (you don't need an account to access it, just click the link!)

author's note: Where do I even begin? I suppose I should say thank you. It's always the first thing that comes to mind when I talk to my readers, whether it's individually through reblogs, asks, or DMs, or when I speak to all of you. Thank you for keeping my stories in your hearts like that. I feel a little stronger thanks to you guys. This chapter is very different than other things I've written. I'm becoming very close to writing in a 100% Unadulterated Mari™️ way and it makes me as excited as it makes me frightened! I do hope that despite all of this, you will find things to like in the chapter. At the very least, it should answer some questions. To no one's surprise, I'd like to extend a very heartfelt thank you to @cb97percent who has been an incredible help with this beast of a chapter, and who doesn't let my brain go in certain places. Thank you miss cb. So just that. Thank you. For keeping my stories alive with your hearts and your kindness.

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[suhomylife]

“good morning y/n”

chan whispers in your ear. his ever so soft hands caressing your bare cheek.

“how did you sleep?” he asks, now pressing soft and gentle kisses onto your nose. his plush lips move carefully across your skin. “perfectly” you sigh, snuggling your head into the crook of his neck.

“perfect,”

he leans over and starts to press tender kisses over your lips, gradually moving to other parts of your face. soft, slow, full of love and admiration. your forehead, lips, cheeks, temples, neck. taking hold of your hand, he presses more kisses to your fingers. delicately decorating your fingers, palms, wrist and shoulders with pretty marks.

"what are you doing?" you giggle. kissing your shoulder, he looks up at you with those chocolate brown eyes that make you go crazy.

"i'm loving you"

[suhomylife]

Dear lord, this????!!!!!?!?!?!?! Is SO good??? So freaking beautiful and heart breaking??? Which country do I save to be ever loved like this?? 🥹

Sky this is unbelievable written, I am in absolute love with your desperately in love Chris!

「Wish You Would」

➥ Boyfriend's Best Friend!Chris x Reader (f) — 2.8k

⚠ — Chris' POV, heavy yearning, smut with feelings.

➥ He shouldn't love you, but he doesn't know how to make it stop.

I’m not dumb. I know this is wrong, but I can’t help it.

You stun me. In every way possible.

The first time our eyes met, you were at the bar by yourself. You smiled at me once, and I lost the ability to fucking  speak. I remember stuttering a bunch when my friends asked me what was wrong, but all I could say was ‘Pretty’.

God, you are so pretty.

“Go say hi to her!”

“Or, you know, how about I jump off the roof instead? It’s essentially the same thing!”

I downed my entire drink to muster the bare minimum amount of courage required to talk to you. When I stood next to you, you smiled at me again.

“Chris. M–my name. You are?”

Fucking stop doing that thing with your lips. I’m a smart man, I swear!

Before you could give me an answer, someone behind you called out your name and gave you a backhug. Out of every fucking person it could possibly be, it turned out to be my goddamn best friend.

Who is my roommate.

Who is more than a brother to me.

“Oh, you guys met already, huh?”

Well, we were about to, but does it even matter now?

Keep reading

「© 2021-2024, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

✉ Enjoyed this? Share your thoughts with me via an ask! It would also be cool of you to reblog so that my work can reach more people.

[suhomylife]

This is excruciatingly beautiful, tender and filled with so much love and emotion! I wished I could Melt in it.

And the ending 🥹🥹 it tore my insides with how sweet it was

「Blue」

➥ Best Friend/Neighbor!Chris x Reader (f) — 2.4k

➥ Hurt/comfort, mutual pining, smut with feelings

➥ He knows you. A lot more than you know.

He knows when you have the blues.

Your car enters the driveway across the street. You kill the engine and turn off the headlights, but you’re not leaving the car. You’re not looking for something either—he observes no movement from his kitchen window. You’re just sitting there, perfectly still and your eyes probably closed. Over time, he’s managed to break it down into three levels, but he needs to see your face to determine which one it is.

Level one is code sky. Either because it’s Sunday night, or there is some minor annoyance you refuse to let go of. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t solve.

Level two is code azure. Someone with a high social rank is involved. A family member, a close friend, or worst case scenario, your boss. You will need to extensively talk it out, and he will knock some sense into you. Problem solved.

Level three is code midnight. Something drastic has happened. He has observed only two instances in five years, immediately praying to every deity he knows to never witness it again. 

He knows when you have the blues. All shades of it.

➥ Read the full story here. (No ads, no signups, clicking is enough — for content protection only)

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

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I needed a pillow to hug today. If you also did, this one's dedicated to you.

✉ Enjoyed this? Share your thoughts with me! It would also be cool of you to reblog so that my work can reach more people.

[suhomylife]

THIS WAS SO GOOD LIKE HELP???

BAD IDEA, RIGHT?

Bangchan x reader. (s)

Synopsis: Your ex, Chan, makes a return to his social media with a thirst trap. Horny and bored, you decide to see him for the sole reason of getting your physical needs fulfilled. However, as the night goes, you start to wonder if seeing him tonight is a bad idea. (14,4k words)

Author's note: Yes, it's inspired by that one Olivia Rodrigo song.

Talking to your ex is a bad idea, right?

You've been considering whether to slide into his DM or not, commenting on his Instastory which is a video of him exercising half naked, exposing his toned upper half body in all its glory.

It's been two years after the breakup and he didn't post anything on his social media until today, it's like he knows you're bored and horny.

It's unclear whether it's him or it's your uterus talking, but he looks hotter, sexier, and bigger than the last time you saw him. Although you must admit that he's always been attractive to you, except that his attractiveness is on a whole 'nother level now and it makes you wonder why you let this man go in the first place.

In your defense, Chan is not a terrible ex, he decided to break up with you because he was leaving to study abroad and thought the long-distance relationship would be hard and mentally draining for both of you.

You acted like it didn't hurt you but when you came home that night, you cried so hard that your pillow got drenched in tears. You didn't want to break up with him because he's a great guy who happens to be great in bed too, not only because he has the most delicious cock you've ever had but he also knows how to put it to a good use. Simply put, you were so devastated thinking that you'd never find a man like him again.

And you know what? You were right. You tried dating a few times but nothing comes close to what you had with Chan. Also, can't two people reconnect?

Before you get to change your mind again, you decide to hit the like button and send a short message in his DM.

Hey, there. You type into the message box, adding a smiling emoji at the end to make it sound casual but friendly at the same time.

There's no reply or a sign that he's read your message, you figure he must be busy on a Saturday morning, he could be having another session at the gym or having breakfast, or... yeah, it could be him ignoring your messages.

Slightly hangover from hanging out with your friends last night, you slump down your bed and close your eyes to get another few minutes of sleep.

You wake up an hour later with more than a dozen notifications on your phone, they're mostly your friends sending photos they took of you last night. You groan when you see a couple of work emails and do not think twice to skip them. There are some texts from friends and then, there it is, a reply from Chan.

Well, hello, there!

It's been ages.

How are you?

You check the time and his replies came about fifteen minutes ago, there's a possibility that he's still on his phone and he'll respond faster this time.

Never been better.

How about you?

Looking fine as ever, I see.

You add the eyes emoji before hitting the send button and drop your phone onto the bed, it's a bit risky but a compliment never hurt. Besides, who doesn't like getting a compliment?

The thought that Chan is probably waiting for your reply in those fifteen minutes amuses you but pfft... that's just your wishful thinking.

As you wait for his response, you're checking the photos your friends sent you. You check them one by one, deleting the ones that you don't like and saving the good ones where you look flattering.

An idea pops into your head as you go through your gallery: a plan. First, you choose a photo of you that shows your whole look last night, dressed in a blue mini dress and strappy heels with your hair up, tied in a messy bun, in other words, you looked hot and you felt like it when your friend took the picture.

You upload it as your Instagram story and wait until it is successfully uploaded. You're sure as hell he'll see your new post, then he'll get curious and open it, and Wowza!

Chan thinks he can be the only one posting a thirst trap on a Saturday morning, huh?

It only takes a minute for the thirst trap to do its job, you smirk at the notifications and see Chan's username on the top.

Me? He adds three flustered emojis to it.

Nah. I'm not.

But you...

You look beautiful as always.

Is it even allowed to look that beautiful?

A year of being single makes you weak at the slightest chance of romance, you catch yourself smiling to yourself in the mirror. You slap yourself to get ahold of yourself, reminding yourself that he could say that just to—

A notification pops up and it shows that Chan liked and reacted to your Instagram story with the hearts eyes emoji. Fuck! You just caught yourself smiling again. but what can you do? You're just a girl who is lonely and in need of some loving touch.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down and think about what to reply to him.

And you...

Is it even allowed to have that much of muscles?

Someone, please close the gym!

You look good nonetheless, Chris.

But seriously, close the gym! You add a laughing emoji to keep it playful.

You patiently wait for his reply but your patience only lasts for twenty minutes until he makes you wait longer for his reply and you slump on the bed again.

It's time for plan number two!

The thirst trap worked to pique his interest and you have to come up with something that shows you're a hot commodity, you don't waste your time chasing boys, they chase you. That way, Chan will respond to your message faster.

So here comes plan number two, you take another trip to your gallery, scrolling through photos from last night, and find the perfect photo. It's a picture of you and one of your male friends, you're standing side by side, holding your drinks together and smiling to the camera. There's enough friendliness in there to show that you're close with this guy but also, not that close. You don't know how to explain it, but you know it'll work.

You wait a few more minutes to add it to your Instagram story, not forgetting to tag your friend which is the best part of it. If anyone checks his account, they'll see a model with blue eyes, just the perfect guy to make certain someone is jealous.

You're devilishly laughing as you hit the post button and wait until it is successfully uploaded. You check to see the final result and smile in satisfaction.

Okay, maybe you were too haste and didn't do your calculation right because morning has turned into afternoon and Chan hasn't replied to you. Not only did he make you wait, but you also wasted three hours of your day staring at the ceiling with the phone resting on your chest.

At this point, you should've given up and maybe it's true, he only replied just to be friendly, nothing more. You fling your phone across the bed out of spite and get up, planning to wash him away from your head with a hot shower.

Against the loud sound of the hairdryer, you hear your phone chimes and you turn it off to check whether you're imagining it chimes or not.

You hate how quickly you forget how upset you were a while ago after seeing your phone light up with new notifications.

I'm sorry for replying late.

I was busy moving some stuff.

Do you have time?

And you hate it more that he can easily get your hopes up again. You figure it's time he tastes his own medicine, you put your phone away and leave him on read. You'll reply later when you feel like it, or never. Who knows?

You continue drying your hair but the constant hum of the hairdryer makes you unable to hear your thoughts, especially one that stops you from going to your phone again as it chimes with a new notification. It only takes twenty minutes for you to cave into the temptation.

I don't know about you but all these chats, they're not enough.

Can we video call instead?

It takes you not even a minute to say yes to him. You make a run to your closet and change your clothes, picking up a white top with a low neckline, ditching the bra, and pairing it with denim shorts.

Chan doesn't give you a minute to choose the setting of the video call, your phone rings as you try to make the bed as best as you can and sit with your back against the headboard of the bed.

The phone keeps ringing but you need to check your hair in the mirror again to finally accept the video call. A second later, Chan's face appears on your phone screen, and from his damp hair, it seems like he's just taken a shower too.

"Hey," he greets you as he brushes his curls with his hand.

"You look a little wet, Chris," you tease with a sly smile.

Chan moves, changing his sitting position and revealing himself in a bathrobe with his chest all exposed. Intentional or not, you must admit that's quite a show!

"I was feeling hot so I took a quick shower," he answers with a grin.

"Feeling hot, huh?" You tease again.

"I am now," he playfully responds, flashing you a sly smile and lip bite.

The two of you just stare at each other through the screen and it's getting too much for you with how intense his eyes are.

"So, where are you now?"

"I'm actually in the city," he shortly replies.

"Oh? You're back!" You gasp but hold yourself back from continuing the sentence and ask if he's back for good. The most important thing is he's confirmed his location, all you need to find out next is if he's up to do no good with you.

"Kind of," he vaguely answers.

"Kind of..." you teasingly repeat his words and then giggle.

Chan grins and rests his back against a pillow, it's unclear if he's sitting on the bed or the sofa, "Oh, how I missed that," he says.

You take a pillow and put it on your lap as something to hold on to, "Missed what?"

"Your sweet smiles and cute giggles," he shortly answers like he's been waiting for you to ask him that.

"Oh, stop it, Chris!" You respond, getting a little flustered that you melt onto your pillow. You may as well lie down on your stomach and put the pillow under your chest, "You're getting good at lying, huh?"

"Yeah. Nah. Just a little bit," he jokingly says, then bursts into laughter that his dimples sunken deep into his cheeks.

And oh, you missed his dimpled smiles and his sonorous laughter too, but you're not going to tell him that, maybe not now, or ever.

To avoid it escalating really quickly, you shift the conversation elsewhere. You prop a hand under your chin and tilt your head to the side while the other hand steadily holds your phone far enough from your face.

"So, what are you doing now?"

"Staring at your face," he answers, a half smirk decorating his rectangular face.

"Just my face?" You jokingly ask with a flirty lip bite.

"Everything else too," he adds, catching his eyes flicking down for a second then smirks.

You act oblivious to the fact that with the way you lie on your stomach, you're offering him a view of your cleavage and he would be stupid if he missed the sign.

"What I meant is what are you doing in the city? Is it for work or...?"

"I need to sort a few things," he vaguely explains.

It's obvious that he's keeping the details from you and you have to respect that, he's not your boyfriend and even if he is, he's not obligated to tell you everything. Including the possibility that he came here to see his new girlfriend, perhaps?

"Oh? So, all business, no pleasure?" You joke with a light chuckle, hiding your true intention to know whether he's seeing anyone or not.

"I'm free tonight and I was hoping that we could meet," He says, shattering the negative thoughts that rush through your head.

Now, that gets you thinking if he's coming here to see you and you get that fluttering feeling in your stomach, or it could be your uterus ovulating as you speak, either way, you like it.

"Tonight?" You ask, acting like you already have a plan for tonight.

"Yes. Or do you already have plans for tonight?"

The act always works, gosh, you should consider to start a career as an actor, "Not really, but uh... where do you want us to meet?"

"There's a nice bar in the hotel I'm staying in. We can have a drink or two," he replies, then licks his lips and makes them appear wet and fuller, tantalizing you to kiss them.

Despite you feeling like screaming and jumping on the bed, you remain coy about it, reminding yourself to not sound eager but show enough enthusiasm.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, tilting your head to the other way and saying, "Hotel bar has better drinks so... yeah, I'd love a drink or two."

A triumphant smile rises on his face and it's cute that he lets it show, making you feel a lot of things in a few seconds.

"I'll see you there, I mean, here at 8?"

You tug your middle finger between your teeth and flash him a seductive smile, "Okay."

"I'll DM you the address."

"Okay," you mutter again while staring at him through the screen on your phone.

"See you tonight then," he says, touching his lips and rubbing the lower lip with his long, dainty finger.

"Can't wait to meet you," he adds.

Instead of answering him, you let out a giggle and sit up on the bed. You flip your hair to the back and just stare at him for a minute without saying anything.

"See you tonight, Chris," you finally reply, making sure to call his name with a low, sultry voice and a sly smile.

Without hesitation, you hang up first and let out a long sigh after. It's just a video call but Gosh! It feels like a foreplay already.

You give yourself a moment to compose yourself before execute plan number three: Dressed to fucking impress. To be honest, you don't even bother with the 'impress' part, you just want to fuck.

See? Talking to him is not a bad idea after all.

-

The sound of your high heels constantly tapping the marble floor as you walk echoes in the hotel lobby, you're unsure of how to inform him that you've arrived just a few minutes late from the appointed time.

You take your phone out of your purse and are about to compose a message when you catch him holding his hand up at you from the second floor.

You wave your hand back at him and make your way to the stairs, climbing each step with caution because it would embarrassing if you tripped. But looking at Chan waiting for you at the top of the stairs makes it feel like you're living a scene out of a movie.

Even with his signature all-black look, it doesn't make him less princely. He looks dreamy with crinkles in his eyes and a charming smile on his face.

He offers his hand when you're only a couple of steps away from him. You take it and let him guide you on the last steps of the stairs. His grip is firm as you remember and he still has his favorite chain bracelet around his wrist.

"You look gorgeous," he doesn't say it in a dramatic, hyperbolic way but he softly whispers it to you before placing a sweet kiss on your cheek, so close to the corner of your mouth.

The night has just begun but he's already succeeded in making you quietly hold your breath. You put on a smile for him and coyly say, "You look stunning in black as... always."

He laughs and it feels like to see and hear it in person, like you can feel the warmth that his laughs emit.

"Want to have dinner first?" He asks.

"I've had dinner," you answer.

The truth is, you barely had dinner because you were too nervous to eat anything but you did eat a nutrition bar in the taxi.

"This way to the bar then?" He offers his arm at you like a true gentleman.

"Lead the way, sir!" You say as you link your arm around him.

It's only a short walk from the hotel lobby to the bar Chan mentioned, the interior is rather luxurious, leather seats with a live jazz performance. He mutters something to the hostess, probably where he prefers to sit and she nods in response.

"This way, please!" She says with a polite smile, walking like a feline creature in her tight skirt and silk blouse.

You glance to the side to see if Chan is looking at the pretty hostess in front of him, but you find him staring at you instead.

"Is there something on my face?" You ask in slight panic, afraid that you have something in your teeth but he feels bad to tell you.

"No," he simply answers.

"This way, sir, ma'am," the hostess says, gesturing to the booth she chooses for the two of you, a little hidden in the corner of the bar to provide some privacy.

Chan gently places his hand on the small of your back and lets you take a seat first. You have a seat in the middle of the curved sofa and he sits right next to you.

"Can we order drinks right away?" Chan asks as he puts his phone on the table.

"Sure," the hostess answers, slightly bending down to hear him talk clearly, "What would you like to have, sir?"

"I'll have the... Boulevardier," he eloquently says with a slight French accent.

"Excellent choice, sir!" She comments, she then turns her head at you to take your order, "How about you, ma'am?"

Things have been feeling a little surreal for these past few hours your brain is struggling to keep up, you want to be cool and confidently answer the fanciable hostess but it takes you a longer time to process a simple question like that.

"I'd love a daiquiri, please!" You answer, ignoring the fact that it takes you a minute to come up with it.

"Can I recommend you with the Hemingway special? It's a daiquiri with a splash of sweet grapefruit juice and Maraschino liqueur," she eloquently explains, proving that she's not only hired because of her look.

"That sounds amazing. I'd love that," you say with an impressed smile.

After confirming your orders, the hostess left the booth and it's just the two of you now in this nice yet slightly erotic setting of the bar.

"That's a nice dress," he suddenly compliments as he's looking at your face, not at your dress.

The dress goes to your midthigh, it's white and tight enough to showcase your curve. It's long-sleeved but the sweetheart neckline exposed just the right amount of skin. You've been saving it for a special occasion and considering that you haven't met him for two years, you reckon it's time to wear it.

"Just something I had, you know, lying around," you playfully answer.

The drinks come not long after and Chan waits until the server leaves to initiate a toast with you. Your drink is in a glass with a thin stem so you carefully lift it with your fingers.

"Cheers!" You mutter in unison and clink your glasses together.

The first round of drinks went with a conversation that consisted of basic questions. He asks you about work, family, life in general, and everything in between. You must admit that your life is kind of boring but it's nice to know that he wanted to catch up on your life updates.

It's a little disappointing though that he doesn't ask anything about your love life or whether you're seeing anyone or not.

When you deem that you're on the verge of oversharing, you stop talking and shift the focus to him.

"What about you? What are you working on at the moment?" You curiously ask, putting down your drink on the table and leaving one last sip on the fragile-looking glass.

"I'm working on a lot of things right now. From a lot of places too," he answers.

"So, you've been traveling a lot," you remark.

"Yes."

That says something about his relationship status and unless he has learned how to be in a long-distance relationship, then it means he's not seeing anyone right now. Even if he is, there's a big chance that it's noncommittal.

This calls for a celebration so you pick up your drink and drain every last drop of it, delightfully gasping once you swallow it.

"Round 2?" Chan offers.

"Yes."

Now that you've made up your mind about it and from the subtle signals he's sending you so far, it's safe to say that he's up to do no good with you. You smooth down the hem of your dress and flip your hair to the back, preparing yourself to execute plan number four: Make your intention known.

As much as you feel tempted to say 'Chris, let's fuck!' right to his face, you decide not to be haste and go with a more convenient, acceptable way. You plan to be forthright about your intention what you want and if he wanted the same too so the two of you can skip the formalities and go straight to the fucking.

"Chris, I have something to tell you," you say to him.

He positions his body slightly turns to the side to face you and softly smiles, "You can tell me."

You've mustered up the courage and have the words prepared in your head only for the moment to be ruined by your phone ringing in your purse.

"Fuck..." you quietly mutter to yourself, you could sense your courage shrinking inside you.

The phone has stopped ringing but you grab your purse on the space next to you and pull it out to check the caller. A new text message appears on your screen.

Call me. It's urgent. Your friend wrote in her text along with multiple red exclamation marks.

It seems rather urgent, you put on an apologetic smile at Chan and say, "I'm sorry but do you mind if I make a quick call?"

"Not at all," Chan says with an easy smile.

You take your phone with you as you get up from the sofa, leaving the booth at the same time the waiter comes with your second round of drinks.

Finding the way to the restroom, you hit the call button as you enter and stand in front of the sinks, waiting for your friend to pick up while checking for your hair and make-up in the mirror.

"What's the urgency?" You say the second you hear the call being picked up.

"I need to borrow your laptop. Mine is suddenly frozen and I can't reboot it," your friend answers in a rather distressed tone.

Knowing that it's not the kind of urgent you imagined in your head, you let out a sigh of relief and then say, "Yes, yes you can use my laptop."

"I'm already in the elevator to your floor."

"You have the code to my apartment and I'm sure you know where I put my laptop," you calmly tell her, putting the strands of hair to the side and carefully dabbing the skin under your eyes.

"Wait. You're not home?"

"I'm not and I'm not taking any more questions," you immediately stop her before she gets too nosy.

"Don't call me for the rest of the night. Bye!" You don't wait for a response and quickly hang up.

On the way back to your booth, you see Chan enjoying the jazz performance on the stage, tapping his foot against the floor. You didn't notice the way he sat until now, his legs spread open, he's slightly slumped and his long arm rests along the edge of the sofa, plus he left the top three buttons on his shirt open.

Chan looks so hot simply by sitting like that and you're sure you've seen much hotter men but you really can't remember when.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down and slide into the booth again, then slowly sit on the sofa, leaving a gap between you and him.

"Here's your drink," he says, handing the glass to you with such caution.

"Thank you!" You mutter your gratitude.

You're glad that you're taking the recommendation because the Hemingway Daiquiri tastes so refreshing, it's sweet and sour, certainly an upscale from the classic daiquiri.

"I hope the call wasn't something bad," he says to you.

You lick your lips after taking a sip, "Oh, no. It was my friend. She needs to borrow something," you spare him from the details.

It takes a minute to remember where you left the conversation and when you finally recall, you need to take more time to prepare yourself again. You immediately take another sip to quicken the process of building up your courage.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He suddenly comes up with an unexpected request.

Your throat burns from accidentally swallowing your alcohol too fast and you can feel your eyes get teary as well.

"Sure," you manage to answer.

Somehow the gap you purposely put between you and him disappears, he sits so close to you that his knee bumps into yours.

"I've been stalking your Instagram page," he shares with a shy smile.

You snort because he makes it seem like it's an embarrassing thing to say, but you doubt if that's true, he could be saying that to make you feel flattered.

"As far as I can recall, you've been abandoning your account until today," you say, hardly believing his so-called secret.

"That's because I'm using a fake Instagram account," he simply answers.

You snort again and roll your eyes at him, "Yeah, sure."

Chan smirks and picks up his phone, he opens Instagram to show the fake Instagram account he made and it only has one following, you.

"Do you believe me now?"

It's hard to stay calm when you find out that the guy who broke your heart two years ago has secretly been keeping up with you through your social media. You're happy but a part of you is still in denial.

"I mean... why not use your own Instagram?" you ask out of pure curiosity because it's not like you'd mistake this as a sign that he wants to get back with you. You're not that naive nor delusional.

"Then you would know that I regret breaking up with you," he casually answers like he didn't just reveal something profound.

You look at him to check if he's just messing with you and you would know if he's lying cause he's bad at it, but nope, he's telling the truth.

"And you would know that I've been struggling to get over you," he continues with glints filling his doe eyes.

There's an alarm going off in your chest, it's coming from the heart and it's telling you to be cautious, potential heartbreak lies ahead. You get reminded that you came here not to confront your feelings, you came here to get fucked, hopefully hard.

"And I guess you posted your boxing video for a purpose?" You ask with your eyebrow raised at him.

"Well..." he shrugs and slyly grins, "it worked, didn't it?"

As expected, this man has so many tricks up his sleeves. Better be careful as he puts all of his attention on you, his arm slowly makes its way around your shoulder and his hand is playing with your hair.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"No comment," You smirk and take a small sip of your drink.

Chan lets out a laugh, the sonorous one and the kind that makes his eyes form two crescents. He takes a sip of his Boulevardier which is an upscale version of negroni.

"I've been wondering why you stayed single for so long," he says with an underlying tone, implying that he's actually asking you the reason why. Also confirmed his secret stalking behavior.

"It's not that long," you reply, crossing your legs together as you flash him a sly smile.

"A year, isn't it?" He asks.

You groan and roll your eyes at him, "You really are a stalker."

"You can tell me," he playfully elbows your side.

"No. It's a secret," you refuse to share.

"I shared my secret with you and it's only fair if you share yours with me."

"First of all, I didn't ask for your secret," you defend yourself while holding your drink close to your mouth.

He leans to your side, offering his ear at you as he says, "You can whisper it to me."

He means to know the answer anyway so you lean into his ear and cover the side of your mouth, then whisper, "All the guys I've met, they don't have a big cock like yours."

That's a way to get his attention and escalate the tension between the two of you. You pull away with a devilish smirk dancing on your face.

You glance down at his crotch and ask, "Is it still as big as I remember?"

"If you're lucky, you'll get to find out," he plays coy about it and you find it extremely attractive.

Noticing that you've drained your drink, Chan waves his hand to get the two of you another round of drinks. Obviously, you don't want it to end when things have just started to warm up.

He looks at you and then glances down, showing his hand snaking its way to your thigh.

"Have I told you that it's a nice dress?"

"I don't mind hearing it one more time," you respond with a cheeky smile.

He shoots you a big grin while he's playing with the hem of your dress, feeling the fabric between his fingers.

"It's a nice dress," he compliments, then leans in close so that you can feel his warm breath brush your cheek as he adds, "And I want to take it off of you tonight."

You place your hand on his hand that rests on your thigh and play with his bracelet, "if you're lucky, you'll get to do it," you poke fun at him.

You can audibly hear his laugh in your ear as he leans in closer his nose pokes your cheek, "We're even now."

The third drinks bring the tension higher as the two of you relax from every sip and the gap between your bodies gradually disappears.

Chan has his eyes on you all the time, it's overwhelming at times but you like the way he looks at you like an animal who has his eyes on its prey and you like seeing the confliction in his eyes on whether he should eat you whole or play with his food first.

There's so much chemistry and tension here, plus the alcohol, you're only waiting for the light to turn bright green, really.

He gently brushes your hair to the side and keeps it there so he can plant a kiss on the skin behind your ear, knowing that it's your sensitive part of body.

"You change your perfume?"

"Yes," you manage to remain calm despite the proximity and the way he constantly rubs your thigh with his knuckle.

He drags his lips to your ear and asks, "What is it called?"

You lick your lips and make him wait for your answer, "I believe it's called Good Girl Gone Bad."

He tilts his head to the side and looks at you right in the eyes, wide and dark with lust, "How bad?"

You grab the collar of his shirt and tug at it, "If you're lucky, you'll get to find out," you get back at him again.

As he bursts out laughing with his eyes closed, you follow your intrusive thought to cup his jaw with your hand and laugh along.

"That's two to one," you remind him.

He stops laughing only to fondly smile at you, "Remind me how I broke up with you."

"For a start, you acted like an absolute jerk that day," you half-jokingly say.

The truth is it wasn't the breakup that hurt you the most, it's the post-break-up and his total absence from your life, he didn't call or text, or even send a pity email after that day. It felt as if he didn't want you in his life anymore.

Fuck. How did you get here again? Forced to face your feelings. Time to shift the talk.

"It's getting late, don't you think?"

Chan immediately reaches for his phone on the table to check the time, "It's 10.51."

"Oh," you plainly respond and finish you drink.

"Can I have your new numbers?" He suddenly asks.

You put down your glass on the table and answer, "I still have the same phone numbers."

"Yeah but I lost my phone at the airport and had to get a new one, lost all of my contacts," he explains like he knew you thought about how he didn't call you earlier.

Chan hands you his phone so you can enter your phone numbers and hand it back to him once you've finished. He hits the call button instead of saving it first and your phone rings a second later.

"Come on. Pick it up!" He tells you.

You obey him, accepting his phone call even though he's sitting next to you, "Hello?"

"Hi, it's future Chris calling," he says with a mix of foolish and sexy grin, you don't know how but he does it so well.

Curious to see where this talk is going, you decide to play along with him, "If you are really from the future, can you tell me the lottery numbers for this week?"

"I... can't tell you that."

"I'm hanging up," you joke.

"But I can tell you something else."

"Not interested," you put away your phone from your ear.

He glares at you, forcing you to continue playing along with him, "Hear me first!"

"Okay, I'm listening," you say with a dramatic eye roll.

"Future Chris says you need to go to hotel room number 103 tonight."

"Uhm... why?"

"You have to go there if you want to get lucky," he says with his tongue slightly poking out on one corner of his mouth.

"Still not interested," you poke fun, pretending to hang up the phone again.

"You'll regret it," he teases.

"I doubt that," you say with your nose scrunched at him.

Chan gets a little annoyed now, you can tell by the way he has his tongue poking his cheek and the fed-up grin on his face.

"Don't you want to get lucky tonight and find out about..." he pauses as he reaches for the pendant of your necklace and turns it over in his fingers, "the thing you're curious of."

This is it then, your intention matched his intention and the light has turned bright green. You take his hand and put it down onto your lap, then you slide your hand into his palm, "Okay."

"Okay," He says, holding your hand in his then brings it close to his mouth to place a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

-

As you're waiting for the elevator to arrive, Chan steadily places his hand on the arch of your back and lingers there until the elevator chimes open.

He lets you get in first and you choose to stand on the side, close to the panel full of numbers of the hotel floors and he reaches for it to push the number to his floor.

Should you consider yourself lucky that the elevator is empty? Should you be nervous because you're starting to feel like a prey being locked with its predator inside a small, enclosed space?

No words are being exchanged as the two of you locked in a gaze, but he speaks so much through his eyes, they're fiery, filled with so much want, so much need, and ultimately, desire.

After that much teasing, flirting, alcohol, chemistry, and tension, you've been wondering how the two of you managed to not kiss each other already.

It seems like he's about to make it happen as he comes closer to you, putting his hands on the handlebar and caging you in between. Slowly, he brings his hand close to your face and carefully puts away the strands of hair covering your face to the side, then tucks it behind your ear.

In this proximity, you can see how plush his lips are, how soft and full they are, and it's getting too hard to try to ignore. You look at him, telling him how much you want to kiss him through your eyes and deliberately blink to give him the unspoken permission to kiss you.

The heating moment gets interrupted by the sound of the elevator chimes open and a group of people gets in from the fourth floor.

"Excuse me," a man says as he reaches for the panel to press the number to his floor.

With his hand on your back again, Chan protectively guides you to take a step forward and stands behind you, he puts his arm around your waist with his hand resting on your abdomen.

There's a low chatter going on from the other corner of the elevator but the absence of silence doesn't make it less tense as Chan buries his nose in your hair, you can feel every breath he inhales on the nape of your neck. It feels hot and cold at the same time, making you tingling inside.

He then presses his mouth to your ear and softly whispers, "You're still using the same shampoo, mmh?" His lips graze your ear as he speaks.

Chan puts his other arm on you and quietly, pulls you closer until your back meets his chest, that way you can feel him behind you and his body heat that slowly melts you from the inside.

Quietly, he slides his hand down to the curve of your ass cheek and then gently squeezes the flesh.

"My God, this body..." he whispers with his breath tickles your body, "Makes me want to ruin you so much."

Is it wrong that you don't even want to hide it anymore? You want everyone in the elevator to hear what he just said to you and for a split second, you want Chan to fuck you right there and let everyone watches.

However, Chan suddenly lets go of you and you pout at the sudden loss of contact. Then you notice that the little screen above the panel shows that the elevator is about to stop on the 10th floor.

When it chimes open, you make your way out with Chan trails behind you. None of you look back but keep walking ahead with his hand resting on the arch of your back again, leading you to where his room is. His hand goes lower and lower the further you walk through the hotel corridor.

"This way," he says, guiding your body to take the left corridor.

Without warning, he grabs you by the waist and roughly pulls you with him until he hits his back against the wall, then crashes his mouth on you.

This is not your shared first kiss but this is somehow better than that. The feeling of your lips finally reunited in a rapturous kiss especially when you've been craving it oh, there's nothing like it!

Chan kisses you so hard, so deep, so passionately that you have a hard time returning it to him and breathing becomes a second priority to you.

"I've been wanting to do that all night," he mutters when he lets go of the kiss.

Still gasping for air, you nod and say, "Me too."

To your surprise, he turns you over and has you pinned against the wall this time, he pushes his body against yours as he seeks to be as close to you as possible until there's no inch of gap left between your bodies.

When he deems that you need to breathe, he lets go of your lips only to kiss you on your neck and you tip your head to the side to give him the free access. You let out a low moan as his teeth faintly scrape the skin.

His hands run amok, feeling you all over and touching you through your clothes, eventually his hand cups your breast in his. He kisses your lips again only to distract you from his hand trying to pull down the front of your dress and after a few tries, he manages to send your breast spilling which he wastes no time to take it in his mouth.

"Oh..." The moan just slipped out of your mouth and you hurriedly press your lips together to shut yourself up, aware that you're in a hotel corridor and the hotel guests might hear it, oh and also, someone may walk in on you making out in the hotel corridor.

He leaves your breast wet with his saliva when he lets go and goes straight to kiss you again, putting his weight against you and hoisting your leg around him.

It's getting hard to stay quiet as he starts to dry hump you, you can feel the friction of his clothed erection on you, big and bulging, highly arousing.

Hearing footsteps coming, he hurriedly fixes your dress and takes your hand, this time, leading you right to his hotel room. He swiftly unlocks the door with his keycard and pushes the door inward.

"Come in," he softly mutters, keeping the door open to let you in.

Once you're both inside, the obscenity continues. Nothing is stopping you from coming at each other and ripping each other's clothes. Your dress is the first to go then his shirts, they're lying on the carpeted floor now.

As you lips continuously latch with his, Chan swiftly unbuckles his belt and zips open his fly, he pulls his erection out of its confine.

Without breaking the kiss, he takes your hand and puts it around his hardening member. You gasp at how hot it feels in your hand, how hard it is that you can feel the veins coiling around his length.

He pulls away and looks down to see your hand holding his cock, "Is it as big as you remember?"

You suck air through your teeth and then say, "I'm not sure."

You start to slowly pump his length in your hand and look up at him, "but there's a way I can know for sure."

His eyebrow raised in question, "You do?"

"Uh-huh," you answer, leaning in to kiss him.

From his lips, you begin a trail of kisses to his neck and his chest next, then down to his sculpted abs until your knees hit the carpeted floor.

Something about kneeling in front of him and he's looking down on you with a mix of excitement and anticipation in his eyes arousing you in a whole new way.

In return, you look back at him, innocently blinking your eyes at him all the while your hand keeps stroking his cock in front of you.

"Can I?" You ask him with your thumb softly rubbing the tip of his cock.

He puts his hands in your hair, brushing your hair and gathering them in the back of your head, making a makeshift ponytail with his hand, "Yes."

Without looking away from him, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, then slowly, you take him in your mouth. You take him little by little and give yourself time to adjust yourself to his size which you think is somewhat bigger than you remember.

Wanting to impress him, you push yourself to take more of him but you're too haste and his cock hits the back of your throat so fast, triggering your gag reflex. You immediately pull away before you embarrass yourself more and look away as you let out a cough.

"Still too big for me," You say with a shy chuckle.

Chan places his hand on your cheek and tenderly caresses it, "Too big for you, mmh?"

You nod with your puppy eyes at him.

"But you're taking it so well," he coos, now wiping your chin with his thumb.

You wrap your hand around his cock again and slowly pump it, "Yeah?"

"Yes," he mutters with a soft smile.

The truth is you're not a big fan of giving blow jobs and you're not very confident in your skill, but he remains sweet and patient with you and you believe it's because he knows.

Chan makes you feel safe and comfortable enough to make you want to do it again.

"Let me just..." you don't finish your sentence but do it all over again.

You remind yourself to take it slow, regulate your breathing, and keep calm, it's even better if you can try to enjoy doing it.

To compensate for the rest that you can't take in your mouth, you use your hand and alternate between sucking and licking.

"See? You're taking me so well," he softly mutters, delicately tucking your hair behind your ear.

It doesn't take long for you to find your rhythm and slowly enjoying yourself giving him head, you're even humming in pleasure with your mouth full of him.

Seeing his reactions and hearing the lewd noises coming out of your mouth, encourages you to keep going despite your jaws getting tired and your knees are hurting from kneeling too long.

In between his low moans, he manages to mutter sweet nothings to you.

"Oh, that pretty mouth!"

"You're just too good."

"Oh... Too good at this!"

After a few minutes though, you sense that you needed a break so you slowly pull out and replace your mouth with your hand.

"You like that?"

"Very much," he answers without a beat.

He offers his hand to help you get up from the floor and pulls you close, hoisting your body against him knowing that you're probably tired from kneeling too long.

"You're getting too good, it's dangerous," he whispers to you with both hands cupping your ass cheeks.

You giggle and let him have your lips in him again, you're opening your mouth for him so he can kiss you deeper while he hoists you higher until your feet are lifted off the floor.

Chan carries you to the bed and gently lays you down on the bed, he removes his jeans first before joining you, lying next to you on the bed.

He brushes your hair away from your face and presses a kiss on your lips, "So, is it as big as you remember?"

You tangle your hand in his soft curls, "Jury's still out," you answer with a sly smile.

Chan glares at you as a grin slowly blossoms on his face, he offers his arm as your pillow and then pulls you closer to him, that way, he can comfortably plant his lips on yours again.

As he keeps you busy with his kisses, his hand is making its way down south and not stopping until it lands on your clothed cunt. He smirks against your lips the second he slips his fingers under, meeting your wetness.

"That wet for me, mmh?" He murmurs.

You coyly shrug and shoot him a smirk just to provoke him.

"Well, I'm honored," he says with his fingers tracing your folds and running it up and down your slit.

When he starts playing with your clit, you know you no long can keep your cool anymore. The cold that comes from the metal of his chain bracelet adds a different sensation to the hot and wetness of your cunt.

"Goodness..." you breathlessly gasp as he inserts his finger into you.

"I know you can take one more," he mutters with his mouth pressed to your ear, then proceeds to add another digit.

His two long fingers are inside you now, pumping them in and out of you, and curls them to find that spot that makes you—

"Chris! Oh, fuck!" You curse and grip his shoulder hard enough your nails dug into the skin.

He's enjoying it from the way his head hovers above you and peacefully observing your face, wanting to see all of your reactions to his delightful assault.

He has his mouth sucking on your breast now and the other is being fondled by his other hand, the other hand is busy making a mess out of you.

You're squirming on the bed with your waist upheld in the air and shamelessly arching your back at him, seeking more of him inside you.

Chan knows when to stop, he teases you enough to prepare you for what comes next. He slows down his hand motions and slowly pulls them out. He doesn't let go yet but keeps his hand inside your underwear, playing with your clit.

A moment later, he draws his hand out of your underwear and rubs his fingers coated with your arousal on his lips, "Taste yourself on me," he says.

Seeing his lips wet with your essence is rather arousing and you don't hesitate at all to kiss him, tasting yourself on him. The kiss feels exceptionally kinky and you thought you couldn't be more aroused than this.

Without letting go of the kiss, he hovers above you and props his elbows against the mattress, "Are you still on the pills?"

You swallow air before answering, "Yeah."

He places a sweet peck on your lips then looks at you, "Is it okay if we do it without protection?"

Maybe deep down you know you can trust him and it wouldn't be the first time you're doing it with him without a layer of protection so you find it easy to agree to it and nod.

"Okay," you say, also providing him a verbal consent.

He smiles at you and lowers his mouth on you again, he continues the kisses down your front. His hands tugging at the elastic band of your underwear and pulling it down as he continues the kisses down to your legs.

The bed quakes as Chan gets off the bed and he's just standing there, looking at you and your naked body for his eyes to lust on. You catch him inhaling and exhaling air like he's overwhelmed by what he's seeing.

"You're so beautiful," he mutters with a delightful sigh.

It would be the only normal response to get flustered under his lustful eyes, you look away from him and say, "Just get in here, Chris!"

He surprises you by jumping onto the bed, making the bed quakes once more and he immediately puts his lips on yours again.

"Turn over for me," he softly whispers to you ear.

Without saying a word, you obey him, turning over on the bed and getting on your fours, kneeling with your hands propped against the mattress in front of you.

Chan positions himself behind you and then with so much care, he puts all of your hair away onto one shoulder so he can place kisses on your back. His hands freely roam around your body.

In your opinion, Chan has the most attractive pair of hands, it's warm and firm with veins snaking on the back of his hand, and of course, long fingers that know how to find your most sensitive spot. Now, they're on you, going all over you and feeling you all over.

"I almost forgot how soft you are," he murmurs.

He then brings his hands to your chest to play with your mounds, he hums in pleasure as he sees your breasts mold perfectly in his hands.

"Like they were made just for me," he sighs.

It's like his attractiveness and his big cock aren't enough, Chan has to have a smart mouth too, a mouth that knows what to say and how to say it.

Then again, you're just a girl and you're prone to sugary sweet words like that. You look over your shoulder and smile at him, not expecting that he's going to capture your lips in a kiss.

He slides one hand down to your throbbing cunt again, making sure it's wet enough for him to penetrate. He gently pushes you to the front so he can aim his cock at your entrance and then slowly, he guides you to take him in.

"Oh... ah..." you moan, crumpling the sheet underneath you.

And you almost forget how big he is until he's inside you and you get so high that you blank out, you're there on all fours and merely just a vessel.

Not giving you another minute to adjust, Chan moves back and pulls his cock out only to push it deeper inside you. He then wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly while you're flailing against him like a rag doll.

"You feel so good," he whispers, his breath is hot and heavy in your ear, "So fucking tight around me."

He brings his hand down to rub your clit, adding gentle pressure as he's circling on it.

"I'm going to move, okay?" He says to you with a slobbering kiss on your shoulder.

Unable to form a coherent answer, you repeatedly nod in answer.

The sploshing sound of his fingers incessantly rubbing your clit intensify along with the pace of his thrusting. Chan either has his lips on your lips or plants them on your shoulder, either way, he does it to muffle his groans.

This is what happens when his hand and his cock joint forces, you find yourself on the brink of orgasm when all you've been doing is filling the room with your high-pitched moans.

"Oh, I'm cumming," you whine, holding onto the sheet as waves of pleasure surging all over you.

Chan slows down but does not stop thrusting into you, he kisses your neck and shoulder as you relish your orgasm. He keeps you close with his slung across your chest.

"Chris?" You breathlessly call his name.

"Yes, baby?" He answers your call and you guess the pet name unintentionally slipped out of his mouth.

Not going to lie, it gets you fluttering to hear him call you baby. You curve your arm around his neck and bring his head close to kiss him.

After a while, you start to doubt that the fluttering feeling came from Chan calling you with a pet name. You think it's because you're getting your second orgasm.

"What should I do, Chris?" You whine against his mouth

He breaks the kiss and looks at you with a concerned look, "Huh?" Chan confusingly asks.

"I'm about to cum again," you shamelessly admit.

Chan lets out a low chuckle and presses a kiss on your lips, "Then let's cum together, yeah?" he simply resolves.

He draws you close to him until your back hits his chest, his strong arms wrapped around you to hold you steady as he adds more speed to his thrust.

"Chris, oh..." you moan while holding onto his forearm.

His hands slithering around, one hand squeezing on your breast and the other wrapped around your neck. His mouth nests in the crook of your neck, grunting in pleasure and at times, sucking on your skin to muffle his noises.

"Oh, you keep clenching, baby," he mutters, followed by a broken moan.

That is probably because his cock is deep inside you, it's engorging and pulsating, filling you whole and continuously rubbing against your velvety walls, making the knot in your stomach tighten with each passing second.

Getting weak on the knees, you collapse onto the bed and Chan hurriedly holds you by the waist as he maintains the pace.

"I'm close, I'm close," you tell him repeatedly with one side of your face pressed against the bed.

Chan groans as he pushes his cock as shallowly as possible inside you, "Almost there," he says through his gritted teeth.

The previous orgasm makes you more sensitive than before and you can't hold yourself back anymore so you slowly let go and let the pleasure take over you once more.

Meanwhile, Chan hovers behind you and takes your hands, he holds them by the wrists then pin them against the bed as he restlessly thrusts into you to chase his high.

"Want me to cum inside you?" He asks, still thoughtful as you remember

"Uh-huh, yeah," you manage to answer even with your brain close to short-circuit.

Getting the permission is all he needed to get to his release. Then moment he finally come undone, he lets out a hoarse yet the most beautiful moan you ever heard, then lets himself lay on top of you.

A moment passes in contented silence and Chan presses a long kiss on the nape of your neck, then softly asks, "Are you okay?"

Not getting an answer, he endearingly brushes your hair away from your face to check it himself, "Did I go too rough on you?" He asks again with a slight concern.

You allow yourself to take a few more seconds to gain your composure and instead of answering, you foolishly grin at him and say, "That was so fucking good."

In response, Chan brightly smiles then pecks your lips, "No, but seriously, are you okay?"

You nod at him, "I'm okay."

After hearing your confirmation, he lets out a sigh of relief and then kisses you again, longer than the previous one.

"Sweet break?"

You don't expect him to say that after a long time, you smile and nod, "Sweet break."

-

Sweet break is something you used to say to each other when you need to take a break from something by eating something sweet. Like now, for instance, you and him taking a break from sex to order something sweet from the room service.

"Bad news is the kitchen is closed" Chan announces the second you come out of the bathroom.

It would be bothersome to put on your dress so you put on Chan's shirt instead, buttoning it as you join him on the sofa, "And the good news?"

He opens the food cover to show you what he got from the room service, "They're still serving desserts," he says with a grin.

The two of you huddle together around the plates of desserts and eating them on the sofa, filling the room with the sounds of your chewing and the dessert spoon scraping the plate.

It's fascinating to watch Chan casually eat his chocolate cake like he didn't just fuck the brains out of you a while ago. You let out a low chuckle and get back to your crepes.

"What's so funny?" He asks, catching you quietly chuckling to yourself.

"Nothing," you answer with a shrug.

He glares at you and decides to invade your plate with his fork, stabbing at the sliced banana and then shoving it into his mouth.

"Hey, eat your own dessert," you scold him but let him collect more bananas from your plate.

"But you don't like bananas," he says in between his chews.

"I don't like bananas but that doesn't mean I can't eat them," you say, but proceed to put the bananas to the side of the plate.

"I'm eating it for you so you only eat what you like," he says with a proud grin.

It's endearing that he still remembers little things like this. The sweet break, your dislike toward a certain and even how many of his fingers you like to have inside you. You can't help but wonder if he remembers other things too. His feelings for you, perhaps?

"Want to order another one?"

The two of you shared and finished the last plate together, even though you feel like you can have another plate, you refuse the offer.

He puts the plates away to the side of the room and returns to the sofa, lifting your legs before he sits next to you and then puts your legs on his lap.

"What's that café with the salted caramel cookies?" He suddenly asks.

"The one with butternut latte?" You ask back to check.

He gently puts his hand on your shoulder and plays with your hair, "Is it still open?"

Damn. He even still remembers that one café you regularly visited when the two of you were still dating.

"Yes," you answer with a smile.

"Man. Those are the best cookies!" he sighs with his fingertips lightly rubbing your thigh.

"I mean, we can go there tomorrow if you want," you casually say or you hope it sounds casual, it's a friendly offer.

He stops playing with your hand and cups your jaw, "I would love to," he says.

From the way his smile slowly dims, you sense a 'but' coming. Oh no, you sense a regret coming. You shouldn't have offered it in the first place.

"But I have to leave tomorrow," he says.

"Oh?" You try to remain unbothered and keep your facial expression in check, "Tomorrow, huh?"

"Yeah. I have to take care of a few things back home," he explains.

By back home, he means Australia and he'll fly out tomorrow, and probably for good. You hate that you get sad like it would be the first he's done it to you.

He holds you by the chin and slowly brings your head close to place a chaste kiss on your lips, it's so tender that you feel a tug at your chest.

"Thank you for coming to see me," he sincerely says with his eyes wide and shining for you.

This is where you start losing the objective of why you're here, you came here to solely get fucked, not expecting anything but his cock inside you.

Time to put some sense into your head and laugh it off, "Oh, my God, Chris!" You gasp out loud.

His forehead wrinkles in question, "What?"

"Yes, we can fuck again, no need to try so hard," you say with a sassy eye roll.

Learning that he's being pranked, he squints his eyes at you with his tongue pokes his cheek. While clutching his chest, he says, "Gosh, I thought—"

Before he can finish his sentence, you shut him up with a kiss because you don't want to keep talking about your feelings or get reminded of how things were when you were still together. You kiss him because you want to forget.

"You thought what?" You ask as you sit on his lap.

He licks his lips and shakes his head, "Nothing."

He's more than glad to have you sitting on his lap as it allows him to hold you close. His hands trail the sides of your body until they eventually land on your ass and then eagerly fondle them in his hands. Catching you off guard, he lands a slap on your ass cheek.

"Chris!" You shriek, abruptly stop kissing him, "That stings!"

"Can't help it," he innocently says while laughing and then pulls you close to kiss you again before you scold him more.

As a safety measure, you take his hands from your ass and fold them together on his chest but he takes it to his advantage, he finds another playground for his lewd hands.

Doesn't want to waste time unbuttoning it, he slips his hand under your shirt to fondle your breast, circling his fingers around your nipple before pinching at it.

He then lifts your shirt, exposing your breasts to the cool night air, and wastes no time to bury his head in between your mounds. He then pulls the shirt down and hides himself in it, acting like a toddler by purposely placing ticklish kisses on you to make you laugh

"Stop playing," you scold him with your hand tangled in his curls, "Let's go to bed, mmh?"

Chan pops his head out through the opening of the shirt and looks at you, "Kiss me first," he demands.

How can you say no when he looks at you with fondness in his eyes and a smile on his face? You fulfill his wish and place a long, lingering kiss on his lips.

"Can we go now?" You say the second you pull away from the kiss.

"Okay," he obliges.

He gets out of your shirt first and you get off his lap next, then starts walking toward the bedroom when Chan suddenly comes from behind you and hoists you up, looking unbothered carrying you on his shoulder.

"To the bed!" He announces, then slaps the back of your thigh.

"Chris!" You scold again but you can't do anything about it as you hang upside-down on his back.

The bed is already a mess and it seems like it's going to get even messier with the way Chan constantly has you pinned under him. He kisses your lips, softly yet hungrily like devouring an ice cream.

Aware that he has taken his turn, Chan doesn't complain when you flip him over and take it over from him. You're straddling him, rubbing his cock between your slit while he's unbuttoning your shirt open.

You find yourself wet for him again in no time and his cock is as hard as you need it to be, maybe this is why sex with him feels exceptional, the two of you are always horny for each other.

You let out a low, long moan the whole time you lower yourself on him and a seductive chuckle slips out of your mouth the second he's fully buried inside you.

When you look down at him, you find him staring at you with his mouth agape. You slyly smile and place both of your hands on his glorious pecs, "Have you always been this big?"

Chan licks his lips and rests his hands on your thighs, "And have you always been this tight?" He asks back instead of answering.

Being on top gives you the freedom to set a pace you prefer and switch positions as you like, more importantly, you can fully enjoy every bit of it. But it's working because Chan is such a great partner, he lets you have full control and lets you take your time.

If not using his hands to touch you all over, he has his hands folded under his head and quietly enjoying watching you fucking him.

"If you keep clenching around me like that, I might cum too fast," he tells you.

"I'm okay with that," you calmly respond.

To tease him more, you purposely keep clenching around him and rolling your hips in circular motions. Somehow you stop focusing on getting your high and start thinking about how to please him more.

"Oh," he loudly groans and his hand grips at your waist, "You're bad!"

You giggle in response while continuing to roll your hips back and forth in painstakingly slow motion.

"Oh, you're really, really bad," he says with ragged breath.

The sex may not be as hard or as intense as the previous one but it's just as good, even better. Maybe it's the unwavering eye contact, maybe it's the way he hisses every time you tease him, or the way he trusts you to make him feel good.

Whatever it is, you feel like sharing an intimate moment with him and you can't lie, it feels special.

"Are you close?" You ask because you're very close to your climax.

"I've been waiting for you to ask me that," he hastily answers, still able to joke in a heating moment like this.

You take him along with you to the edge and not stopping until the two of you come to your release, you keep moving at a sloppy pace to ride out the high.

Chan pulls you close, forcing you to lower yourself onto his body and accidentally sending his cock to slip out. You don't mind it at first but you can feel his hot cum dripping out of you and onto his abdomen.

You break the kiss and mutter in panic, "It's dripping."

"I'll put it back in," he simply responds, reaching down for his cock and slowly pushes it back into you.

Now that it's resolved, he puts his arms around you again and pulls you even closer until your bodies mold into one another, then kisses you more.

Without looking and breaking the kiss, he pulls the duvet and covers both of your bodies with it, ready to end the night with your bodies still connected.

"Have I told you this?" He suddenly asks.

"What?"

He looks at you with his brown eyes that looks like a nice cup of cocoa, comforting and warm.

"I miss you," he ever softly says.

There he goes again, making you debate whether you came here for the sex or to try to rekindle old sparks with him. But in all honesty, it feels good to know that the yearning goes both ways.

For once, you let your heart answer it for you.

"I miss you too, Chris," you mutter back with a smile.

And now you start debating if seeing him tonight is indeed a bad idea.

-

There's a wet, squelching sound when you first come to your senses the next morning, you feel like sleeping for another hour or two but you also feel the urge to check what that noise is all about.

You force open your eyes and find out right away the source of that wet, squelching sound, it's coming from Chan and he has his mouth latched to your breast.

"Morning, Chris," you croak as you brush your hair away from your face.

He lets go of your breast with a loud pop and looks at you, "Did I wake you?"

"Not really," you answer, putting your hand in his fluffy bedhead.

"I'm sorry," he says but not looking like it.

"Are you? Sorry?" You jokingly say and lay back on your pillow.

He slyly grins and shifts his focus back to playing with your mounds. He holds your breast up and uses his slick tongue to tease your nipple, alternating between licking and sucking.

It's normal to feel horny in the morning and, you find yourself already wet under there, you guess Chan has been helping himself while you were still sleeping.

Chan's head hangs above your chest and you can see how much he's enjoying your breasts, playing with them like a toddler, he even makes noises as he fills his mouth with your ample flesh.

"Aren't you leaving today? Shouldn't we get up and shower?" You mutter, softly scratching his scalp as you talk.

He sucks at your breast so hard and pulls it before letting it go, grinning as he is satisfied with what he just did.

"My flight is in the afternoon," he says.

"And I'd better go so you can pack—"

"But I already ordered breakfast," he whines like a fussy child.

"Well, we can shower first."

"They'll send breakfast at 8," he shares with a wild grin.

You turn your head to check the time on the clock hanging on the wall, "But it's hardly 7."

"Exactly!" He exclaims.

"Exactly what?" You ask in genuine confusion.

He buries his head in your neck and whispers, "We have an hour before breakfast."

Despite catching on to his intention, you decide to act dumb, "And?"

"And..." he inhales your scent before hovering above you, "I'll have my breakfast first."

He winks at you then goes under the duvet, and settles himself between your legs to have his so-called breakfast and it only makes sense that it progresses to intercourse.

Morning sex offers different things, it's the quiet, the peace, the slivers of morning sun shining through the cracks of the curtains, doing it with a refreshed mind and body, it's also the best way to start the day.

It's even better when you get to be a pillow princess, you just lay back and let Chan do all the handwork. He has your legs locked around his waist as he thrusts into you at a slow yet steady pace and in every thrust, he makes you feel every inch of his length rubbing against your walls.

"This is just great," he says with his face pressed to the side of your head.

"Mmh, what?" You respond as best as you can.

"I don't have to do cardio today," he says with a low chuckle.

This is your favorite kind of sex, do it by not taking it too seriously. Because in your opinion, other than it should be comfortable for the individuals involved, sex should be fun.

You kiss his open mouth and drag your lips down to his neck, then plant your mouth on his skin, sucking at it hard enough to form a hickey on it.

"What's that about?" He's rather dumbfounded instead of annoyed.

"Just trying to make it fair," you coyly say as you point to the blossoming mark he made on your breast.

"Yeah, okay," he says in defeat.

As much as you don't want the sex to end, it eventually ends but in a rather explosive, euphoric way. You feel like you've just been given another chance at life after that last orgasm.

"Who needs coffee, huh?" You sigh as you blankly stare at the ceiling.

It's a rhetorical question but Chan decides to respond to it anyway, "Not me, apparently."

Then you remember that he indeed doesn't drink nor need coffee to function, "Not you, apparently," you correct your earlier remark.

Chan carefully lowers himself on top of you and hastily kisses you, both of your teeth almost colliding.

"Thought I was still dreaming when I woke up next to you," he says, coming with another sentimental remark that evokes something deep within you.

You decide to push it further down and keep it there by saying, "Ugh. It's too early for that," you groan.

Chan weakly chuckles with his head nestled in your neck and just like the universe knows you need the distraction, the knocking comes on the door and it must be the breakfast.

You gently pat his head and say, "Now, go get my coffee!"

The morning continues with a quiet breakfast, it's obvious the reason why, the two of you burnt so many calories last night and need a reload.

Then there's the shower and you strongly refuse to share with him or else, it'll take much time. But Chan has an even stronger will and joins you anyway.

This is another reason why sex with him feels exceptional, the two of you are the same insatiable creatures.

The two of you dressed in silence and at times, catch him watching you, instead of feeling shy, you give him a proper show, bending down and wriggling your ass as you put your underwear on.

Chan enjoys every bit of it, he grins and bites his lips, tempted to come up at you, and goes at it again, but sadly, time is running out.

It's here, this is where it's going to end and you never know when you'll see him again, and that's even if you're still able to. You can only hope that he doesn't see how much you want him to stay.

"This is it then," you say, standing right in front of him in the foyer.

He takes your hand, loosely lacing his fingers with yours, "Can I still text you?"

"Sure," you answer.

"How about phone calls?"

"Booty calls only," you jokingly say.

He smiles and takes a step closer to you, you can almost see every moment the two of you shared last night flashes in his eyes, and it's achingly beautiful.

"Can I kiss you before you leave?"

You plan to make the goodbye as brief and as painless as possible but you don't want to risk losing the opportunity to make it a not-so-sad ending. But if you have to be honest, you simply want to kiss him.

"Okay," you agree with a nod.

You put your arms around his shoulders and let your body molds into him as he holds you close, you tilt your head up and close your eyes.

The moment your lips make contact, your heart bursts open and there's no way of stopping your feelings flow out of it so you let them be. You let him feel your pain, your yearning, and ultimately, your feelings for him that you try so hard to conceal, and then slowly, you pull away from the kiss before they fight their way out of your heart.

It's possible that Chan feels it too, that the kiss feels intimate, the kiss feels emotional, and a little close to the heart. He pulls you into a hug that lasts for a long time as if he tries to convey some unspoken messages too.

"No need to send me off," you tell him, not wanting to make it sadder than it already is.

Chan walks you to the door with his hand on the small of your back and then keeps it open for the final goodbye. You stand facing him and say, "Goodb—"

He puts his finger on your lips to stop you from finishing your sentence, "I'll see you when I see you."

That sounds like he indirectly promises you that one day, he'll come and see you again, and surprisingly, it only makes you uneasy.

You put on a smile and try another way to say goodbye, "Have a safe flight, Chris."

As you get into the back of the taxi, you get these familiar feelings and unfortunately, they're not the good kind. You feel like you went through the same thing before, you feel angry, you feel sad, and lost, and you feel this tightness in your chest that makes it hard to breathe. Then it hits you that it feels exactly like that day he broke up with you, this is the feeling of heartbreak.

In the end, you got your physical needs at the price of having to face your feelings and it all comes down to one conclusion: seeing him was a bad idea.

-

ONE MONTH LATER

It's like you're trapped in an endless loop, it's the weekend and you're lying on your bed, horny and bored.

Your phone is blaring with notifications and messages, you check and skim through them, they're from your friends or some other miscellaneous, you couldn't care less.

In other words, they're not the notifications you've been anticipating.

Chan has been diligently contacting you, sometimes he texted and when he's not, he calls you late at night because apparently, he's always busy during the day. The point is he always contact you by any means of communication.

However, for these past few days, it's been total radio silence. He's not even looking at the pictures you specifically posted to thirst-trap him. If only he knows how much time and energy you've spent just to get a single flattering shot of yourself. Ugh!

As you're about to spiral down, your phone dings and you consider ignoring it to spare you from getting disappointed all over again.

After a moment though, you cave in. You unlock your phone and get greeted by the very notification you've been dying to get.

What you doin'?

Busy running around in my head? He wrote a corny message and added a crying laughing emoji.

A week of no contact and that's the first thing he said? You scoff in disbelief and just stare at the messages, you've learned to make him wait for your reply and use the time to think of witty, flirty answers to his messages.

Am I running with clothes on or naked? You playfully ask back, giggling as you type it.

I think you know the answer. He wrote back with a winking emoji.

Let's hope I don't catch a cold then. You jokingly write in response.

You should stop cause it does things to me.

One minute he's corny, one minute he's cute, and the rest of the time? Hot, confident, and flirty, and you eat those shit up.

Things like what? You reply.

Like this. He wrote along with a picture.

Intrigued, you hurriedly click open the attachment and it's a picture he took of him in the mirror, wearing nothing but his white underwear. Your eyes feast on his glorious Greek God body, his sculpted abs and broad shoulders, and eventually your eyes flick down to the bulge inside his underwear.

In all honestly, it's the first thing that catches your eye because it's so fucking big and the underwear does nothing but enhance the shape and the size.

All of a sudden, you feel thirsty, literally and figuratively, and Chan knows how to make you keep swallowing air by sending you another picture.

The picture is of the same setting but in a rather different position, he's sitting on a chair, slightly slumped with his legs spread wide open and his hand holding his bulge.

Wish it was your hand.

Did he take a class on how to take good thirst traps and nudes? Because damn! Two pictures are enough to make you feel like an animal in heat.

Can I have it in my mouth instead?

Want to have you in my mouth.

Being straightforward mixed with the drooling emoji always works but what really does it is the one magic word: Please?

A minute later, there's no reply from him but your phone rings, he's calling you and you scramble to sit on the bed. You take a deep breath first before hitting the accept call button.

"Hello?"

"Gosh, I want you so much," He suddenly says, no greetings or small talk first. He goes straight to what he wants and you kind of dig that.

You giggle into the phone and playfully ask, "How much?"

"So fucking much," he emphasizes every word and lets out a heavy sigh after.

"Come and maybe I'll give it to you," you seductively say while playing with the lint on your denim shorts, "Maybe."

He chuckles and then jokingly says, "I'm on my way."

"Don't make me wait long," you play along with him but secretly wish that it's true.

You hear rustles from his end of the phone call and think he's probably calling you while lying on his bed but then, you hear the sound of bustling streets and car horns and—

"You're not really on the way, right?" You nervously ask, twisting the loose thread around your index finger.

"I told you, I'm coming," he coyly says.

Your heart skips a beat but he could be anywhere, he could be driving to work or you know, in a taxi in... Australia. Right?

"Chris..." you meekly call him.

"Yes?"

"Are you in the city?" You ask to confirm his location.

"Suprise!" He exclaims followed by a series of giggles.

Yes, you secretly wish that he was coming, but not now but not now and maybe, not ever because the last time you saw each other, things didn't end well for you.

So seeing him tonight is a bad idea, right?

"Why didn't you—" You don't know how to word it without sounding like you're not grateful for his surprise.

"I want to see you," he says, cutting through your silence, "Do you want to see me too?"

What should you do? You don't want him to come but at the same time, you want him to come. Oh, God, this is so confusing!

You want to lie so badly but your heart won't let you, "I want to see you," you openly admit.

"I'm coming so wait for me, yeah?" He softly mutters.

"Okay," you weakly reply.

"I'll see you in a bit," he says with a smile that you can hear through the phone.

"See you."

The second you hang up the call, you start pacing back and forth in your room. He'll be here anytime soon and it'll be just like that night all over again.

You almost jump when the knock comes on the door and you slowly walk to the door, just standing there with your hand on the knob, debating if you should ignore him and pretend you're not home.

The knocks come again and reflexively, you turn the knob and pull the door open.

There he is in a white shirt and blue jeans, the simplest way of dressing yet somehow, it looks incredibly stunning on him.

"Hi," he says with a sweet grin on his face.

His hair is slightly tousled, he smells incredible and those dimples have the power to make you soften around him almost immediately, they're your kryptonite.

"Hi," you say back, lingering by the doorway.

"Brought you wine," he says, showing the bottle of red wine in his hand.

You tilt your head to the side and fight the urge to jump at him and climb him like a tree.

"That's so nice of you," you say with a smile.

"Can I come in?" He asks, gesturing his head toward the inside of your apartment.

But it's a bad idea, right?

However, you find yourself nodding and you step aside, "You may come in."

Chan steps inside and you close the door behind you after. The second you turn around, he pushes you to the wall and crashes his lips against yours.

And you know what? Fuck it! It's fine.

-

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[suhomylife]

What’s the price? Whatever it is, take my money for a custom session with Lee fucking Minho.

Aphrodisiacs · 「Touch」

➥ Massage Therapist!Minho x Client!Reader (f) — 3k

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

⚠ — Unintentionally sensual massage, stigmatophilia (piercing fetishism/mc has one).

➥ Lotus Massage & Healing is all the rage right now, and having a friend that works there has some perks.

“Okay, I have to ask,” you placed your coffee mug on the table, “What’s up with the rise of Lotus Healing lately? That place is fucking everywhere on social media.”

“A famous ASMR content creator visited us a couple of weeks ago, and ever since then we’ve been getting bookings like there’s no tomorrow,” Felix explained as if he was doing a newscast.

“The fuck? You’re getting rich because of tingles?”

“You haven’t seen what my boss looks like, have you?” he grinned and took his phone out. In a matter of seconds, you were looking at the About page of this high end spa’s website, and your jaw hit the floor.

“NO SHIT! This is him?!” you pointed at the zoomed in image of a ridiculously good looking man on the screen while scaring the passing waitress, “I really thought he was some ancient healing guru or something.”

“Well, he’s very much in his prime years as you can see.”

“I need this man to knead me immediately,” you pretended to wipe the drool from the corners of your mouth, “Does he do one of those happy ending things?”

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous!” he scolded, seemingly offended, “Lee Minho is a legitimate god of massage therapy. He gets booked by stage performers a lot.”

“Oh, he’s a god alright and he looks like my salvation.” 

“Sorry to break it to you, but he’s not dating material, like at all. He’s so fucking stoic, not to mention highkey egocentric,” an utterly unamused expression climbed on his freckles, “I do get these intrusive thoughts of designing humbling experiences for him every now and then, but the pay is insanely good, so…”

“Can you blame him? If I looked like that, I would have confidence seizures, too.”

Felix’s face changed all of a sudden as if he was having a lightbulb moment. Being such close friends for the longest time, you knew a lot of unnecessarily intimate details about each other, but Felix also knew something about this Lee Minho. Something he casually divulged during some dude talk moment over drinks, but what was important here was that you happened to be in possession of his kryptonite. 

He couldn’t fucking believe this hadn’t occurred to him sooner.

“You know what, I actually have reason to believe he would like you,” he loudly slurped on his coffee.

“Because of ya girl’s infinite charms, why thank you,” you quipped with a pleased smile.

“Something like that,” he smirked in return, “Why don’t you make an appointment for when you’re free? I’ve been meaning to thank you for helping me move anyway.”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for, but you’re the fucking man, Lix!”

You snatched his phone from him to check out the appointment schedule on the webpage, but damn, Felix wasn’t exaggerating when he said people were booking like there was no tomorrow.

“Jesus, how the fuck you don’t have anything available until December?!”

“Scratch the formalities. I’m your plug anyway,” he reached for his mug again, “I’ll hook you up with his custom therapy.”

“Custom therapy?”

“That’s the Lee Minho experience,” he winked and finished the rest of his coffee.

The following weekend, you made your way to Lotus Massage & Healing, very much looking forward to some me time being pampered by some man oozing sexiness. The location was in the heart of the city, and you could literally smell the simplistic extravagance of the place from the moment you walked through the door.

“Hi, I’m here for my 2 p.m. appointment?”

“Welcome to Lotus,” you were greeted by the god of massage therapy himself, “My name is Lee Minho. I’m the owner of the establishment.”

Oh, I know who you are, motherfucker, you wanted to say, but your usual antics weren’t exactly appropriate for your friend’s fancy workplace. Instead, you put on the good girl mask and politely smiled at him.

“I have you for custom therapy today, correct?”

You have me for whatever you want actually, the voice in your head commented on your behalf.

“Yes.”

It was hard to believe Minho was real for how good looking he was, but you understood what Felix meant when he was describing his boss. The man was polite, but he wasn’t smiling at all, causing you to wonder whether he was capable of feeling an emotion. Then again he had such an aloof serenity to him that it made perfect sense he was running a business like this.

“Please proceed to Room 3 and undress. I’ll be with you shortly.”

You thanked your prospective therapist and headed to the location you were given. The room looked like it was meant for relaxation. The walls were a very dark shade of brown, almost black, and the soft orange lights illuminating the place provided quite a nice contrast. Placed on a small table next to the massage bed, there were several wooden instruments as well as oil bottles in different sizes and straw-made decorations. Almost inaudible ambient sounds were playing in the background, and it smelled so good inside that the coziness quickly enveloped you. 

You removed all your clothes and put them in a closet, then lay facedown under the soft covers that looked like gray fleece blankets. The material felt so good on your skin. Shortly after, you heard the heavy wooden door open, and you caught a glimpse of Minho’s black scrubs to your left.

“I’ll be giving you a full body treatment today,” he started talking in whispers to let you know about his agenda, “If you’re uncomfortable at any point, please let me know.”

I doubt it, you giggled to yourself inside. You heard the sound of him pumping oil into his palms, rubbing some up to his elbows, and then he established first skin-to-skin contact.

It was like a tornado made landfall.

Minho’s large and veiny hands felt oh so good on your skin, immediately causing you to exhale. Just a few minutes in, you already knew why he was dubbed the god of massage therapy. Slippery but precise movements of his fingers drawing abstract fractals on your back, undoing all the knots you didn’t even know you had, and weirdly enough… 

Arousing you without touching a single erogenous zone.

Sure, this wasn’t the kind of establishment where he fucked his clients, but just having him touch you however he wanted, and the awareness of being at a beautiful stranger’s complete mercy felt like the most oddly erotic experience of your life. Maybe it was the oils, maybe it was the dim lights, maybe it was simply the knowledge of Lee Minho running his hands on your naked body with the sole intention of making you feel good, who knew, but you were unintentionally clenching your jaw to stop yourself from making questionable sounds.

“Please don’t restrain yourself if it feels pleasurable. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he spoke very softly, noticing the tenseness, “It just means you’re enjoying it.”

“I don’t want people to think something else is going on inside,” you admitted, kinda glad he wasn’t able to see your face, “It feels a bit too good.”

“Our walls are soundproof. Please be comfortable.”

Well… Since he asked...

His touch became firmer like he was encouraging you to let loose, and you couldn’t help the high note of a moan your sigh started with before receding into a mute breath. If you looked into his eyes at that moment, you would be able to see how satisfied he was with the reaction he elicited.

The moment you felt the flat surface of hot stones gliding on your back, Minho started properly pushing you into a comatose state of relaxation. You were wondering if death by massage was at all possible because it was that good. You were simply melting on that table, the sounds of delight you were making concerningly bordering on sexual gratification by the time he was done with your legs.

“Now turn around,” he whispered his instructions.

There was only one untouched zone left. You couldn’t dare open your eyes as Minho was working your torso, hands slithering all over you like a pair of snakes replacing the discomfort in your body with some poison of pleasure. Your anticipation inadvertently peaked when he finally reached your crotch. 

The room was so freaking silent that the slightest rustle was amplified in your ears sixfold. When he slowly removed the soft material covering you from the waist down, there was no mistake that Minho gulped.

The unexpected sight of a piece of minimalistic accessory adorning your pussy shocked his entire body like a bolt of lightning.

“Christina?” he nonchalantly asked.

“Hm?” you hummed a bit dazed, currently fighting the urge to fall asleep.

“Your piercing.”

“Wow, you namedropped,” you smiled stupidly, “You know your stuff, huh?”

“I’m an intimate jewelry aficionado,” he continued in whispers, “I don’t mean to be crass, but it makes you look even prettier.”

So this was what Felix meant when he said he had reason to believe Minho would like you. You as in your pussy. 

Aficionado my ass, you thought to yourself while internally laughing your ass off. Minho had a very obvious fetish he was normal about, but you still found it super flattering coming from a guy like him, the god of therapy or sex or who the fuck knows what else.

“Thank you very much,” you heaved a sigh through your smirk, “You can feel it if the fancy strikes.”

If the fancy strikes. 

Not only did Minho have complete tunnel vision on the titanium-plated jewelry, but he was also in the middle of a hardcore battle with his urges, chastising himself for being so fucking weak for something like this, not to mention utterly unprofessional. He was suffering from such a horrible case of acute onset desire that he was on the literal brink of throwing himself at you. 

Did issuing a trigger warning for extreme sexiness occur to you by any chance? 

Before soaking his hands in oil again, Minho maneuvered to slide his index and ring fingers down your labia, careful not to make contact with your clit for his own sanity even though both of you were longing for that touch. Your folds were already glistening with your arousal, making him heavily salivate with how much he was craving for it on his tongue. He discreetly stained the tip of his middle finger with you, then turned around to allegedly pump some oil in his palms whereas he just wanted to scratch an unbearable itch in his brain.

Not that he had any experience with narcotics, but he was convinced this was what heroin fiends felt like for how instantly addictive your taste was, and he was going to lose his mind if he couldn’t coat his tongue with your slick through and through.

He took a deep breath and started massaging your inner thighs first. It was a healing touch, but you couldn’t help how your body tensed up no matter how much you were trying to relax. Every time he got closer to your pussy, your breathing patterns changed, suddenly becoming much more frequent, then retreating to its basal rhythm again. It wasn’t long before the awareness hit—this feeling was uncannily similar to having a partner edge you for their own pleasure.

This wasn’t some tantric massage technique or anything anymore. He was legitimately playing with you, and you wanted him to get wetter, messier, just fuck the shit out of you on that table, and use you to satiate his own appetite.

But he wasn’t making a move. 

You didn’t know if it was against some mighty principle or if he just couldn’t find the courage to go through with it. You were trying to find the right words to tell him that you would keep this little secret between you two as long as you lived, that he had nothing to worry about, and that all you needed was his mouth on you, but your mind had stopped working some time ago. All you could process was Minho’s touch. His breathing. The way he kept subtly licking his lips and how his Adam’s apple bobbed every time he swallowed. You were so damn turned on that weren’t able to tell anymore if it was the pleasant-scented oils or your own slick covering you between your legs. Minho’s sharp sense of smell, on the other hand, was snitching on how he was able to get you this wet, which served as a phantom touch that stroked his ego and his cock at the same time.

And even though he had a completely expressionless façade, Minho’s professionalism still couldn’t stop him from getting embarrassingly hard, throbbing every time his fingers caressed your piercing. He was done with the session maybe five minutes ago, but he kept dragging it on to admire you just a little bit longer, and with each drop oozing out of you, he found himself contemplating harder. 

Was your taste worth risking his whole entire reputation and career for?

In the battle of logic versus lust, the latter had already declared a bloody triumph. All he needed to do was to take the loss with grace and surrender. 

So did you.

Minho’s ministrations came to a halt, and he was looking at your soaked cunt like he was in a trance, eyes glassy, pupils blown wide, lips parted and slightly panting. He brushed his thumb over your clit once, overcome with the urge to suck on it, and even though you were visibly clenching, he was just too stunned to act on it.

And you ran out of fucking patience.

“Do it,” you breathily uttered, leaving absolutely no room for any doubt or second thoughts.

One look into your eyes, and Minho’s entire train of thought immediately derailed. You shouldn’t have said that. You really shouldn’t have said that. You shouldn’t have looked at him with that much fire in your gaze. You shouldn’t have sounded like he was everything you ever desired. 

As if he was possessed, Minho pressed two fingers on your clit and started rubbing you. Your moans were getting more and more desperate, and it was just so fucking tempting. His eyes were examining your every move, how your body was reacting to him, how good he was making you feel, and he could only promise to make you feel better. You eventually couldn’t stand it anymore and propped up on your elbows.

“Taste me,” you firmly commanded looking dead into his eyes.

And he lost all control.

Was your taste worth risking his whole entire reputation and career for?

Yes. Yes, it was. It fucking was.

He sinisterly smiled at you in response, and you watched him lower his head and fucking finally give you what you were in dire need of. A single slow drag of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit, punctuated with a soft suck.

“Never thought I would describe taste as pretty, but that’s what you taste like,” Minho spoke a bit more audibly than a whisper this time, “You taste as fucking pretty as your pussy.”

Then he immediately proceeded to ravage you, closing his entire mouth on your cunt. Just kissing, licking, and slurping on you so eagerly as though he was touch-starved for years. You may have said that half-jokingly, but turns out you were going to get your happy ending after all. Happy ending but it was in hell and you were forever burning in the fires of lust consuming you, bestowed with a climax every time you fucking blinked.

And that was the only right way to die. Between Minho’s perfectly plush lips.

You were already so on edge that you instinctively put your hands on his head, which prompted him to lock his arms on your thighs and bury himself deeper into you. You rode his beautiful face faster and faster and faster, hurrying to get your sweet release until you finally snapped, dissolving in his mouth and offering him the most intense notes of your essence. The afterglow of your orgasm slowly spread throughout your entire body, and combined with the already relaxed state you were in, you were almost on the brink of passing out. Minho came into your vision again with a tall glass of water, and you felt every single one of your cells being rejuvenated with the cool liquid rushing down your esophagus. With a pleased smile on his face, he left you by yourself to gather your wits and get dressed, and greeted you in the hallway after you emerged from Room 3.

“Satisfied with the service I presume?”

“Very much,” you reciprocated the curls at the corners of his mouth, “I would love to come in frequently, but I understand you’re quite booked.”

“I take after-hours appointments if you’re interested.”

“Do you now?”

You shared a silent look that lasted several seconds, your smiles still intact. Then Minho took out something that looked like a business card printed on matte black paper from his back pocket and handed it to you.

“This is my personal number. The private booking comes with a side benefit of a nice dinner,” he checked you out one last time from head to toe before leaving, “Call me.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Happy endings never felt so good.

「© 2021-2024, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

✉ Enjoyed this? It would be cool of you to reblog so that my work can reach more people.

[suhomylife]

This is so beautiful, tender and filled with love! Made me feel so warm inside out and long for an affection like that too

inhale, exhale.

model!hyunjin x photographer reader. mutual pining and tension and flirting. friends to lovers.

prequel to Breathe, so i highly recommend reading the second part if you haven’t already hehe. reader is wearing a dress/heels.

hyune gives me photoshoots and i give you brainrots in return it is the natural circle of life.. i hope you’ll enjoy this one too 🥹 feedback is highly appreciated as always <3

Hyunjin’s eyes are piercing, locking onto your figure with an intensity that seems to capture you in place. He’s leaning casually against his sleek black car, one leg crossed before the other, arms folded over his chest, unmoving as the sound of your heels echoes against the cobblestone.

Instead, he tilts his head ever so slightly at your approach, his eyes tracing the contours of your silhouette, setting ablaze the scarlet fabric of your gown with their fervent scrutiny.

It was those very brown eyes you first noticed when Minho showed you Hyunjin’s portfolio. You now know that he is drowned in a sea of accolades regarding his physique— his sculpted proportions, the tantalizing curve of his lips and the seductive caress of his fingertips against them, and above all, his alluring aura and the way he works the camera as if it as an extension of his being.

But it is his eyes that have drawn you in first. Piercing, even through a stack of printed photographs in Minho's hands, burning through paper to ensnare your attention. Even more so, when these same eyes found you for the first time, in an outing your best friend Minho organized— an aspiring photographer shaking the hands of an established model, it was a match made in heaven, per se.

Though heaven was the last thing to grace your mind as you looked at Hyunjin, at the way he carried himself with a grace, and a slight cockiness that only comes from knowing your worth.

You caught his eyes multiple times across the dinner table, your knees grazing his underneath it. You returned home with his perfume imprinted into your skin from the lengthy hours you spent talking over drinks, long after Minho went home to his lover, and three cats. You knew then that Hyunjin could never be just a friend to you.

You are even more sure of it tonight, a fleeting four months later. Minho, the heir of your country’s biggest talent agency is hosting his parent’s annual party, gathering photographers, models, and artistic directors alike, a chance to network and score deals you wouldn’t find elsewhere.

Hyunjin insisted on picking you up.

You pause barely a few inches away from Hyunjin, close enough for him to behold the glitter gracing your eyelids, shimmering beneath the moonlight. Smelling his perfume feels like coming home, and you close yourself for a millisecond longer, allowing yourself the electrifying pleasure of being a mere breath away from him.

“Hello, love,” he speaks softly, and his words morph into invisible fingers trailing down your spine, igniting goosebumps in their trail. You’ve never gotten used to this nickname and the way it stumbles so easily from his lips, as if you could, one day indeed, be his love, a reality hovering just beyond your grasp.

“Hi, Hyunjin,” you smile and his placid facade cracks a little, a glint of a grin shimmering on his lips. He drinks you in, his scrutiny deliberate and unhurried, his gaze moving languidly across your form, flickering between all your features as if he beheld time between his palms, and all his seconds could be spent admiring you. It is only when he seems satiated does he speak again.

“You’re beautiful,” he says earnestly, and you don’t miss his choice of phrasing, you’re beautiful as opposed to you look beautiful, as though it matters not what you are clad in, but the fact that it is you wearing it.

Oftentimes, your compliments to him feel superfluous, your words faltering when you think of the many times Hyunjin must have heard the same adjectives describing him. Yet tonight, you cannot conjure a sarcastic retort to drown his sweet words, not before his ebony suit and the satin shirt peeking beneath it, worst of all, the delicate cascade of gold necklaces that glisten mockingly underneath the stars, taunting you, almost, for being able to graze Hyunjin’s skin when you cannot.

So, you settle for the truth.

“So are you.”

“Complimenting me quite easily tonight?” He smirks, and you respond with an exaggerated eye roll, leaning in closer.

“Forget it. You're actually insufferable.”

He mirrors your movement, drawing nearer until your breaths mingle in the space between you both. “I am actually very lovable, thank you very much.”

“Says who?” you challenge, a hint of defiance coloring your words. The kiss he imprints on the tip of your nose comes like clockwork at your words.

“You,” he grins, and you falter, caught off guard by the unexpected tenderness of his gesture. Heat rises to your face, a blush betraying your composure, even beneath your already pink-kissed cheeks, and you curse inwardly at your own vulnerability.

You hate him. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to kiss someone this badly.

He observes your reaction with amusement, a knowing smile playing upon his lips as he taps the car door once before opening it for you. “After you, love.”

Stepping into the sports car feels like walking into Hyunjin’s essence— the rich cognac and oak notes ricocheting off the interior, the scarlet red cushions echoing the passion Hyunjin seems to carry within him.

And amidst the opulent interior, the small water lilies keychain you brought him seems almost out of place, as it dangles from the rearview mirror. Yet, it makes you feel as if part of you has intermingled with Hyunjin’s being, even in the most simplest of ways.

“Are you nervous?” Hyunjin asks ten minutes into your ride, his fingers drumming along the edge of the steering wheel. Your gaze drifts to the golden rings adorning his fingers, each one bearing the iconic emblem of Versace's Medusa. In another life, he could easily be their ambassador and muse.

Hyunjin’s eyes are piercing, not only because of the flames they dip your body in but also because of the gentle way they unravel your layers, understand your silences more than others grasp your words.

“I am. It’s my first time coming as a graduate, you know? What if I don’t leave a good impression on anyone?”

“Impossible.”

Had someone else uttered those words you would have been inclined to contradict them, but Hyunjin speaks with utmost certainty, as if his words are the only conceivable reply to yours.

“Okay.”

His fingers trail along the shell of your ear, delicately tucking a stray lock of hair behind it. The breaths in your chest ebb and flow more rapidly, you don’t know if it is from nerves or his touch.

“Inhale with me,” he instructs, and you follow his lead, synchronizing your breath with his. His hand glides down your jawline, a gentle caress that soothes your racing pulse. “Exhale,” he murmurs, and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding, comforted by the weight of his touch.

You know the ghost of his fingertips will remain with you as the night wears on, a reminder that he is near, just around the corner, waiting for you to call him.

“You’ll do well, I’m sure of it.”

The gathering is held in a different location every year, and this time, Minho chose an intimate setting—a dimly lit hotel bar, graced by the warm glow of chandeliers suspended from the ceiling, brown leather seats surrounding glass tables, and extravagant flower arrangements.

For a split second, your back instinctively hunches, a reflexive response before this detailed showcase of luxury. But then you straighten your spine, comforted by the sound of your clicking heels against the polished floor, and Hyunjin's warm palm against your lower back.

You reach for a drink from a passing tray, the glass cool against your fingertips as you swirl the cocktail within. You take note of the numerous guests, as you cast a glance around the room, each one a titan in their creative field. Hyunjin stands at your side, his shoulder brushing against yours, as he too takes his time in assessing the room.

“Seems kind of boring,” Hyunjin remarks, his voice laced with a hint of disinterest as he leisurely sips his drink.

“Seems like your scene,” you tease, flashing him a playful grin, and he arches a brow in response.

“Oh yeah? And what is my scene?”

“An intimate setting with romantic lighting and jazz music,” you explain, taking a step closer and resting a hand delicately on his arm. “And some wine,” you add, though his attention is captivated by the movement of your shimmering lips as you speak. “And pretty people eyeing you all over the place.”

“Are they?” he counters, his hand sliding slowly to your waist, drawing you nearer with a subtle pull. “I only see you.”

“Really?” you challenge, trailing a finger tantalizingly slow along his jawline, “Then make sure your eyes never leave me throughout the night.”

His gaze remains fixed on your retreating form, a mixture of bewilderment and desire swirling in his eyes. He mutters a curse at the sight of your backless dress— it seems more than likely that you are a killer sent to end him by the end of the night.

It’s a few hours later, and Hyunjin has exhausted every social bone in his being, each interaction draining his reserves of charm and charisma. All he craves now is rest, and the comfort of his home—it turns out that, lately, it is more and more wherever you are, rather than the confines of his house.

He spots you sitting in a secluded corner, bathed in the soft glow of a solitary candle. A gentle smile graces his lips as he observes you, engrossed in nibbling at the snacks laid out before you.

Do you even realize how beautiful you are?

“You’re whipped,” Minho's voice interrupts his thoughts, Hyunjin does not contradict him.

“Is it that obvious?” he replies with a hint of amusement, his eyes never flickering away from your figure.

“You should see how you look at them.”

“Is it weird that everywhere we go, the world seems to narrow down to them alone?” he admits, a tinge of uncertainty coloring his words. The silence that follows from Minho makes a scorching heat creep up his neck, so he unbuttons his shirt for a bit of respite.

Minho shakes his head, a small giggle escaping his lips, before offering a reassuring clap on Hyunjin’s back. “I’ll see you around.”

Hyunjin quickly strides towards you, eager not to waste any seconds far from you, propelled by a longing that grips him like a second skin. He thinks you’re much closer to his heart than the necklaces brushing against his bare chest.

“Found you,” Hyunjin announces with a grin as he settles onto the couch across from you. Your body relaxes once you recognize him, your smile blooms akin to the first petals unfurling in spring.

“See, you didn’t look at me all night,” you pout teasingly and he chuckles, tipping his head back.

“I actually was. I was looking at you, through my heart.”

“How does that even work?”

He hesitates for a moment before his next words spill forth, unfiltered and raw. “I don't need to see you to know that you are near, I just feel it.”

A moment of silence hangs between you before you smile sheepishly, tilting your head to the side in wonder. “How was your night?”

“Productive but tiring, and you?” he replies, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the warmth of your presence.

“I got a booking, a big one,” you announce with a grin, and his own smile mirrors yours instantly, his happiness following yours as if tethered by an invisible string.

“Really?”

“Yes, and I think I'll need your help. It needs to be in a bathtub and I know you are busy so it’s okay if—”

“I’m all yours,” he interrupts without hesitation, and you nod, heart swelling with gratitude.

It is quiet then, as you rest your head against the corner of the couch, and Hyunjin mirrors your gesture, his gaze never wavering from yours. The soft flicker of candlelight casts a warm glow upon his bare skin, the one unveiled by his unbuttoned shirt. And your mouth suddenly feels dry, and your heart suddenly aches, for him alone.

He brings his hand near his face, his rosy lips brushing against his knuckles, as your eyes trace the contours of his face— it seems to possess an otherworldly radiance, with dark locks cascading like silken strands, as if meticulously arranged by the hand of Aphrodite herself. Surely, she would adore him too, as would anyone who had the privilege of knowing him.

But you believe your adoration surpasses that of most.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your hand reaching out to rest delicately on his knee. “For finding me again.”

In response, his eyes soften, a gentleness that transcends mere words seeping into his gaze. He's no longer just around the corner; he’s right behind the door, both your hands poised on the doorknob. It is only a matter of time before one of you takes the plunge.

“Thank you for letting me find you.”

[suhomylife]

😨😨😨😨😨😨😨😨

What the hell I didn’t expect any of these and it was hot as fuck

Lee Minnhoe is a badass and I am weak for this man

Can I be her???!

「Drabble Challenge」 · #1

INSATIABLE ➥ Chris is not even subtle about how much he wants to fuck you, but he's never dared to verbalize it. Meanwhile, all he had to do was ask.

➥ Boyfriend!Minho x Reader (f) x Chris — 2.4k

➥ Prompt(s) requested: 18, 65, 95

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

⚠ — Consensual non-monogamy, hotwifing, objectifying language.

“I don’t know. Have you considered inviting a bull?”

Granted, two bottles of wine were already TKO’d when Chris dropped that ‘suggestion’ about spicing up his best friends’ sex lives. You and Minho exchanged knowing looks over the dinner table. Thank fuck he possessed unbreakable poise, otherwise you would have howled with laughter five sentences ago.

“So you want to sleep with my girlfriend,” Minho slowly sank his fork inside the creamy tiramisu.

“I didn’t say that.”

“What did you say then?”

“I’m just saying that monogamy is a social construct,” Chris slightly slurred, “Research shows that couples can enjoy different sexual partners and still maintain a healthy and happy relationship.”

“Send me a link to that article if it actually exists,” Minho finally cut to the chase, “You’ve been openly thirsting for years, man. Everybody and their brother knows how you have the hots for my girl. Just say you want to fuck her.”

Chris took a few seconds to examine his former roommate’s face. Yes, he did make ultra bold declarations about you over a decade, to your face for that matter, but it was always under the disguise of banter. You know, unnecessarily close friends did that shit to each other, but it didn’t have to mean anything.

Except in his case, it fucking did.

He didn’t know if he was mustering courage or being utterly stupid, but courtesy of the wine invading his entire cardiovascular system, he blurted out before he could stop himself.

“Fine.”

“Fine what?” Minho cocked a single brow.

“Fine, I want to fuck her. Happy?” he downed his entire glass, slowly crossing the line between flustered and annoyed.

You and Minho exchange another look. His poise had cracked a little bit by the reaction he elicited from his friend, and he was smirking at you.

“What do you say, baby?”

You had known this man almost all your life. You had seen him barely clothed around the house time and time again on scorching summer days, and his figure barely left anything to the imagination. You still eyed Chris up and down hyperbolically inappropriately as if you were about to pick a horse for the race of your life. 

“Bulked up since he moved out,” you shoved the last bite of tiramisu into your mouth, “I’m game.”

Chris’ entire demeanor changed in slow motion, and his life started flashing before his eyes like he was going to die soon. That one dance you shared during college prom where he tried to hide his erection from you for the rest of the night, all those beach days where you were technically naked in front of him, the car rides where you were crammed in the backseat on top of each other, the random cuddles where you slept on his chest…

“Wait, are you serious?” he pinched his thighs under the table for a reality check, “So, like, what, you wanna watch us fuck?”

“If my lady wants me there.”

“You do know they call me Mr. Steal Your Girl for a reason, right?”

“I’m not even remotely insecure,” Minho shrugged and got up to help you clear the table, “but no kissing. That’s my only rule.”

You and Minho had properly fried the poor guy’s brain, and he was still contemplating whether you were fucking with him or not. He missed two-thirds of what was happening in the movie you all watched after dinner because of his neverending internal soliloquy. You had always been a trio, even roommates at one point, but you were friends.

Which never once stopped him from having confusing feelings for you, but he had to make do.

“Crash here tonight. You’ve had too much to drink,” Minho turned off the TV once the credits started rolling, “I’ll go take a shower, then hit the bed.”

“Good night, baby,” you kissed Minho and sent him off with a slap on his ass. 

Chris still had an utterly blank look in his bloodshot eyes. He was so going to have a hangover the day after judging by the way he was rubbing his temples. Without saying anything, you went to the kitchen and brought back two tall glasses filled with effervescent water and set them on the coffee table coasters. The ice-cold liquid helped alleviate some of the drowsiness and knocked a granular amount of sense into Chris.

“I didn’t know you and Minho had an open relationship,” he finally spoke with a small voice, “How long has this been going on?”

“We don’t,” you explained, “We just sometimes invite people into our bed.”

So that wasn’t some sick prank or anything. The ‘suggestion’ he thought he was being so slick about was a goddamn reality of this household.

“But why?”

“Because research shows couples can enjoy different sexual partners, and still love each other,” you warmly smiled at him.

The questions in his head multiplied. Since when? Had this been a thing all along? After you two moved in together? Wasn’t Minho jealous? Weren’t you jealous sharing him with other people? Didn’t this damage your relationship at all? How come you didn’t resent each other?

But more importantly, why did he fucking hear about this now?

“Is he– is he also…?”

“He’s never invited someone for himself if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then… Why– Why do you…? I mean…”

You chuckled. It was obvious Chris was trying to satisfy his curiosity without stepping on a landmine, and it was so fucking cute to watch.

“I have a very high sex drive, and Minho has trouble catching up sometimes,” you confessed, “but I think you know that already.”

Well…

Part of the reason you had been haunting him for so long was the fact that you and Minho weren’t exactly known for being a quiet couple. Chris had inadvertently been a part of your bedroom many times through the wall you shared, and unfortunately for his excessively horny self, he currently held an honorary Ph.D. in everything you liked in bed.

“How would I know?” he attempted not to show color by showing all of his colors at once.

“Physics, Chrissy. If you can hear me through the wall, I can also hear you jerking off.”

His ears suddenly reddened, which was the telltale sign of his mortification. Even after all these years, he hadn’t changed one bit. You were about to combust due to acute endearment aggression.

“Which means… We can really…?”

“If you want to,” you acknowledged.

“But wouldn’t… Like, wouldn’t our– our friendship…?”

“You’re my favorite person in the whole wide world,” you soothed him while caressing his face, “And I’d like to think I’m yours, too.”

That was the moment his colors started changing. Never in a million years did he think this moment would come true. You were looking at him, head tilted, lips parted, giving him permission to make a move.

Hell, you were fucking encouraging it.

“I’ve been told kissing is off limits,” he swiped his tongue on his lips, “Can I kiss other parts of your body?”

You tilted your head further and exposed your neck in response. Chris could see your heartbeat manifesting through the large vein. He leaned into you and traced it with his tongue, punctuating it with a soft kiss. You immediately started melting.

He, on the other hand, was still in utter disbelief.

Your body temperature was rising with each kiss, exuding more of your scent for him to inhale. You still smelled like the sandy beaches of his hometown. You removed each other’s shirts with unrushed movements, and you took one of your favorite sights in as he got rid of your shorts, laying you down on the couch.

A very topless Chris in his jeans. Now slithering between your legs.

Maybe it was the familiarity. Maybe it was his unintended training, or maybe he was just a natural. Three licks on your glistening folds, and you were already feeling your high fast approaching.

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” you breathily moaned as he kept swirling his tongue around your clit, swollen enough to get sucked on.

Your fingers were in his curls, and the deeper he sank his tongue into you, the harder you were pulling at them. It would be a lie if you said you had never imagined those bulging arms wrapped around your thighs every time you were at the beach together. Chris was such a gorgeous man to witness. At work to please you. With endless enthusiasm.

“Fuck, Chris…”

“Louder.”

“Oh, god!”

“Louder.”

“You’re getting too much of a thrill out of this,” you bit into your smile with your eyes closed.

“Try finally having sex with the star of your wet dreams, so would you,” he spoke into your pussy, “I hope he fucking hears it for a change.”

“Damn, couldn’t even wait for me to go to sleep, huh?” 

Minho appeared by the door, a towel wrapped around his waist, drying his hair with another. He slowly approached the couch and kneeled right next to you, your arm stretched towards him as if to say ‘Care to join?’

“Enjoying ourselves, baby?” he placed a kiss on your temple.

“Y-yes.”

“Tongue game?”

“Perfect.”

Content with the response he received, Minho looked at his friend between his girl’s legs, lazily gliding his tongue with eyes closed and overdosing on euphoria without a single care in the world. The second the two men established eye contact, Chris stopped.

“Kiss her.”

Minho had told him no kissing. He had to stay away from your lips, but he wasn’t exactly told which pair they were.

Which meant he could still kiss you.

The second Minho took your lips between his, Chris quickly drew a map in his head and started making out with your pussy in the exact same pattern. Your moans amplified in the room, albeit a bit muffled, and Chris felt himself getting even harder inside his jeans. 

Minho fondling your breasts and sucking on your nipples. Chris coating your folds through and through and slipping two fingers inside you. Overwhelming. Passion materialized. Hot as fuck.

You came so hard on Chris’ perfectly plush lips.

“On fours towards me, baby,” Minho didn’t even give a minute to you to recollect yourself and helped you up, “You need to return the favor. Let me watch my beautiful girl.”

Laying down on the couch into the print of your body, Minho unwrapped his towel and flashed his thighs and hardening cock for you to suck on. You arched your ass towards Chris for him to slide in, but one mere touch against your dripping entrance and he almost lost his entire mind.

“Fuck, too wet!”

“What is it, Bang?” Minho grinned while clasping his hands behind his nape, “Not gonna last?” 

He could legitimately finish just by sinking into you alone. Chris had imagined this for so long that he couldn’t calculate what an out-of-body experience the real thing would be. He took it extremely slow to prevent his untimely demise for he wasn’t ready for any of this to end yet.

“Let me give you a little secret,” Minho instructed while stroking your hair, “Spank her ass. She makes very hot sounds when her mouth is full.”

You felt the entire outline of his large hand on the soft flesh, and a loud albeit muffled grunt ripped from your throat. Minho’s eyes turned dark crimson when he saw you drooling all over his cock.

“Go harder. She can take it,” he grabbed a fistful of your hair and started guiding your head, “Fuck her into me.”

And that was the last straw.

Not even a permission. He had received a fucking command to blow your back out, and Chris would be the dumbest man alive if he passed on that. If he was going to cum, he was going to cum. This was the point of no return now.

His pace quickened, and his thrusts got much sharper. He was literally able to feel the slippery texture of your deep end on his tip while groping you everywhere he could. With his remaining ounce of sanity, he spat on his fingers for lubrication and started rubbing your clit fervently to provide you with some friction. When it felt too good too fast for you, you involuntarily clenched, and it was over for him.

“Fuck, I’m cumming!”

“Inside,” Minho firmly declared, shooting daggers at Chris, “No cumming on her body.”

Chris’ rhythm turned from frantic to erratic, and you felt something warm spilling inside you. Mere seconds later, your moans on Minho’s cock elicited a pretty violent orgasm from him. He immediately kissed your lips and showered you with praise as your breathing returned to normal. Chris collapsed on the couch behind you, utterly fucked out and trying to catch his breath. You watched him for a moment while smiling to yourself, then kissed his forehead goodnight and went to bed.

“Can’t fucking believe this actually happened,” he finally managed to utter, his eyes still draped with his arm.

“You should have asked sooner. She didn’t know how to bring it up to you.” 

Fifty different questions immediately rushed into Chris’ brain, but it happened so fast that he didn’t know which one to ask first. Before he could even ask one, Minho wrapped himself in his towel again and stood up.

“Now I’m gonna go fuck your cum deeper into her, and you’re gonna fucking hear it. ”

Chris burst out laughing like an absolute idiot, wondering if he was going to remember any of this in the morning, or if it was at all real. When he least expected it, Minho’s voice echoed from the end of the hall.

“You’re not coming?”

He looked at his friend with utter shock in his eyes, removing whatever amount of drunkenness still coursing through his blood. He didn’t hear things; Minho actually uttered those words.

“I have fucking backstage pass now?!”

“Feel free. No pressure,” the grin on Minho’s face suddenly got wider, “but I’ll let you kiss her if you join us.”

「© 2021-2024, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

✉ Enjoyed this? It would be cool of you to reblog so that my work can reach more people.

[suhomylife]

This is so good, like, hello? I’m speechless!

The word play for me absolutely dead. Cream me, he said….omggg I almost died right here at that moment!

Your Chrises are the best, dear Ren, but this one in particular right here….id give all I have and sell a kidney too just to get a moment with him. Why do I feel like this is very close to what real Chrizztopher Bahng is in real life?

thank you for this beautiful one shot I loved every second of it ❤️

「Drabble Challenge」 · #3

SCRATCH POST ➥ He claims the letter 'S' stands for a lot of things this weekend: Sun, sea, sand, Sex on the Beach... You're not about to admit that out loud, but you're secretly hoping he doesn't solely mean the cocktail.

Because damn he's bringing sexy back.

➥ Best friend!Chris x Reader (f) — 3.7k (so much for a drabble)

➥ Prompt(s) requested: 46 || There will be multiple versions of this prompt.

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

⚠ — Public sex, heavy thirst turning wholesome.

“I’ll go for a dip,” he placed his shades on the little side table between you, “Then let’s eat. I’m starving.”

The response on the tip of your tongue was way too X-rated for 2 in the afternoon, so you nodded with a warm smile instead and watched him disappear into the sea.

When Chris suggested balling out on a beach weekend to get over the thesis defense PTSD, you didn’t even think twice. Hell yeah to a much-deserved vacation with your best friend, daydrinking until you got shitfaced over pretty cocktails at the beach club. 

If you claimed the prospect of seeing him half naked had nothing to do with how much you were looking forward to this trip, instant VIP space in hell for you.

For years, it was like there was this unspoken rule between you that prevented doing something utterly stupid, and you pretty much friendzoned each other as if it was government mandated. He was kind, not to mention so pleasing to look at—of course you would develop a stupid crush much like everyone who sighed after him when he walked by, but nothing to make a big deal out of. It was eventually going to go away. It had to. No crush lasted that long.

Growing up together has its cons. You can’t really notice what’s right in front of your nose because you’re not programmed to perceive it a certain way. 

But something began to crack inside you when Chris started becoming a man. All of a sudden, he wasn’t the cute dork you knew anymore. 

His features sharpened along with his jawline. His voice got deeper along with his gaze, and you realized the things you wanted to do with his sculpted body had long crossed the border of wholesome cuddling. He felt too firm under your touch to be a mere pillow anyway. Your banters turned into relentless flirting that always ended with smug grins, but it still didn’t go past that.

Growing up together has its cons. You can’t really notice what’s right in front of your nose because you’re not programmed to perceive it a certain way. As an object of desire, to be precise. 

That afternoon on the beach, however, Chris was literally forcing his way into your tunnel vision. When he got out of the water, he somehow managed to bend time, and everything turned into slow motion. 

Your brainrot got way out of hand.

His curls were still somewhat visible despite his wet hair, and his shorts sticking to his thick thighs were not leaving anything to the imagination. Your eyes were following each drop trickling down his chiseled torso, and you were a minor breeze away from jumping him to lick all the salt off his skin. When he raised his arms to wash his hair under the cold shower, the muscles on his back strained so hard that you were visibly dripping between your legs.

Good god, this fucking scratch post.

After all those years you’d known Chris, one thing was still a medical mystery. You had no idea how a person could look extremely hot doing the most benign things. Walking, drinking water, breathing… 

“Are you still firm on sunbathing, or can we take shelter in a cabana?” he woke you up from your violent delusions while drying himself with a towel.

“I could use some shade,” you pressed your legs together and pretended his god-like figure had absolutely no effect on you, “Wanna hit the bar first?”

“I’d kill for a Sex on the Beach right now.”

Sure. Why suggest any other drink when the corniest fucking innuendo existed, right?!

You and me both, brother, you wanted to say but opted for biting your tongue, silently picking up your things and heading to the palm-decorated area behind you.

“Can we have two Sex on the Be—”

“Nuh uh, make it a pitcher please,” you hijacked his order, “The gentleman here doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Because it was firmly established that you weren’t going to be able to survive the day if you weren’t at least moderately buzzed around this menace. While waiting for your drinks, Chris looked you up and down for no reason at all and furrowed his brows when he took notice of something.

“You came to the beach wearing fucking lipgloss?”

“It’s called a balm, you peasant,” you corrected him, “To prevent my lips from getting chapped.”

“So not to make them look more kissable or anything,” he leaned against the counter with a shit-eating grin.

See, it was things like this that made your palms itch, making you feel like you were being put to some test. This motherfucker thought he was oh so irresistible, which he was to be frank, but he had no idea the kind of hell you could drag him through if you snapped. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to shoo the urges trying to override your sanity.

“You’re making fun of my skincare products, but you’re wearing fucking cologne,” you scoffed.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are! You smell like candy.”

“OR maybe my pheromones just smell sweet to you.”

You wanted to wipe that stupid smirk off his face so hard, but unfortunately for you, it was at moments like this that your lizard brain was telling you to get on your knees and suck him dry.

“Pheromones do not release themselves, you know?” you shrugged and placed your elbows on the bar counter, “Maybe something triggered it.”

He chuckled, very much entertained, but didn’t answer. As you were hyperfocused on the mixology show in front of you, you could feel Chris’ eyes practically parkouring all over your body, and it was tickling something inside you. When your order was fulfilled, he picked up the tray and headed to the nearest cabana. While you were busy pouring generous amounts of the orangy drink over ice, he took his sweet time fishing for something from his bag and eventually handed you a bottle of sunscreen.

“Cream me, will you?”

Okay, that’s enough!

Not if he creamed himself first. That word choice was fucking deliberate, and if he thought you weren’t going to retaliate anymore just because you were playing nice all this time…

You took a big sip from your drink staring at him, then snatched the bottle from his hand. He sat at the very edge of the mattress and downed his entire glass in one go as if he were merely drinking water. You weren’t sure what exactly was the cause of the excessive thirst—his earlier hardcore swimming session, or… 

You positioned yourself right behind him comfortably, perfectly aligning your body against his, and let your legs dangle from either side of him. While the point was to fluster him, you were hit with a sudden realization.

You had never been this close to him before.

To make matters worse, Chris had just gotten out of the cool sea water and taken an even colder shower, but his body was on fire like he’d been sitting under the sun for hours, emitting all the heatwave back at you. In all senses of the word. 

You knew you were too close, but so did he. When you didn’t do anything, he briefly looked to his left side, not turning around all the way back, but it was enough for you to see the playful smile on his lips. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself of what your task was supposed to be, then sprayed several splashes of the coconutty liquid on his back. 

He hissed loudly when you established that first skin-to-skin contact.

“Cold?”

“Yeah,” he uttered a little too breathily, “but I like it.”

Well, if he liked this, then…

You pressed your palms on his shoulders and started running your hands down his arms. Much more slowly than you should have. The sunscreen was almost like a massage oil substitute for the way you were moving. When the pressure of your touch increased, his eyes closed and his breathing slowed down, his body unintentionally leaning into you.

“Tanned skin suits you so much,” you confessed in a whisper with no ulterior motive for once, “I really like it.”

Chris always sucked at taking compliments, but you could tell how much he was enjoying it from the muffled chuckle he let out.

“A little bit down.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to give instructions when you’re getting creamed, Christopher.”

You removed your hands from his arms and placed two fingers on his nape, sliding it down his spine and watching how you were breaking goosebumps on his skin. And that was the moment your intrusive thoughts took complete control. 

When you reached right between his shoulder blades, your feathery touches mutated into a scratch. You sized him up, waiting for a sign of discomfort, but all you saw was the way he bit his lips. 

He loved this.

Your breathing on his back pleasantly tickling him, you kept drawing slow, random lines without a particular destination in mind, culminating into an accidental discovery. The dent right under his left shoulder blade. He sharply inhaled.

Very interesting.

“You’re sensitive here, huh?” you quietly observed.

“M-Maybe.”

“What happens if I kiss you there?”

“Don’t—!”

Before he could finish his warning, you kissed that spot, and he let slip a full on dragged out moan. The real heat of his skin was nothing short of hellfire. The shape of your moist lips started appearing all over his back, spiking an urge to go full territorial and cover him with kiss marks. His soft but still ecstatic whines were so cute, but you wanted to hear it louder. He shuddered when you pressed your breasts against his bare back. 

You let your instincts take the wheel, wrapping one arm around his waist, then sliding your hand inside his still-damp shorts. 

“W-What are you doing?”

“Helping myself,” you quietly responded while kissing his back.

Never in a million years would you be able to guess you would one day feel Chris under your palm. Throbbing. Leaking. For you. He was mouthwateringly hard, and with every lazy stroke, he was letting go a bit more. He threw his head back and rested his nape on your right shoulder. You kissed his fully exposed neck. You kissed his shoulders. He was melting into a puddle already, and if you kept this up, he wasn’t going to be able to recover from the embarrassment of the mess he was about to cause.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” you smiled against his neck.

“Enjoying?” he creased his brows, “Do you not realize how hard I am right now?”

“Very,” you observed in a serious tone, “Am I hurting you?”

“You’re going to if you don’t do something about it.”

All of a sudden, you pulled your hand back, and Chris crashed into reality headfirst. He let out such a disappointed groan, but it quickly turned into a much bigger anticipation when he watched you close the drapes and turn around again.

“Like what?” you asked while taking careful steps towards him.

He lost the ability to speak. 

You gently pushed on his chest to signal him to move backwards. He wasn’t able to take his eyes off of you, just watching you crawl towards him like a crouching tiger until his back hit the wooden surface behind him.

“Like sitting on it maybe?” you straddled him with unrushed movements.

Feeling your heat on his cock even through those layers of fabric almost fried his brain. He was looking up at you with huge eyes and parted lips, incredulous that you were actually on his lap. As you were grinding on him torturously slowly, he was gawking at your breasts, not being able to figure out how he could touch you everywhere all at once.

“Wanna feel them?”

If he didn’t nod way too enthusiastically for his own good, maybe it wouldn’t occur to you to block his attempt to cop a feel at the last second.

“You didn’t say please,” you tsked in disapproval, “Not very gentlemanly of you.”

Chris closed his eyes and bit into his smile, fully aware how his go-to line to tease you had backfired on him. If only he knew for how long you were collecting things to throw back at his face…

“Please.”

“Please what?”

He was getting visibly embarrassed no matter how much he was trying to play it cool. You didn’t think this could get any more entertaining than it already was, but oh well… 

“Can I please touch?”

“Touch where?”

When he attempted to touch you, you stopped him from his wrists. Or more like he let you stop him considering his inhumane strength. You lifted his arms, pushed them back, and leaned into his face.

“Touch where?”

“Your–Your tits.”

As a response, you placed his hands on your breasts and squeezed them on his behalf, causing him to gulp so thickly and twitch under you. You honestly weren’t expecting such strong reactions from him, making this moment all the more satisfying for you. When you threw your arms around his neck, he took that as an opening to free your breasts and immediately started sucking on the sensitive flesh. 

If this was how he made out with your nipples, ain’t no telling what he would do on your clit.

He could feel how you were reacting to him now, softly moaning and clenching on top of him, but it wasn’t enough. How could it ever be enough? He looked up at you once again and pulled you close to kiss you, but…

“Be patient,” you stopped him. Again.

His face fell, but it wasn’t necessarily because you didn’t grant permission. It was a certain word you used that got him almost mad.

“Isn’t ten fucking years enough patience for you?”

The smug smile you were wearing all this time erased itself.

Growing up together has its cons. You can’t really notice what’s right in front of your nose because you’re not programmed to perceive it a certain way. As an object of desire, to be precise. And when you realize you do, you have to put a leash on it so as not to lose the one thing that matters the most to you.

Sometimes for ten years.

“I can finally touch you,” Chris kissed your collarbones, and the desperation in his voice was growing stronger, “I’m about to fucking lose it, please.” 

It almost made you cave.

The smile that reappeared on your lips was simply diabolical. If only he could shut himself up, you wouldn’t be teasing him so much, but he was giving you weapon after weapon. It wasn’t your fault—he put it in your head.

“Sorry,” you kissed his nose and uttered regretfully, “I don’t remember cumming.”

It suddenly turned into a staredown. Without looking away, he slid your bikini to the side and pressed his fingers on your clit, immediately deliquescing whatever amount of stubbornness you still put up. 

“You’re wet,” he spoke from between your breasts, still drawing delicious circles, “Admit it. This is because you watched me shower, right?”

“W-What shower?”

“Come on, baby girl. I saw you staring,” his grin made a comeback, “I think it’s only polite if I clean up after myself, don’t you reckon?”

The way he was beyond himself just pleasuring you, completely lost in ecstasy was one of the sexiest things you’d ever witnessed. Nevertheless, you were still wondering how much further you could push it without giving him what he was deeply craving.

“No.”

“Let me eat it.”

“But no.”

“Let me!”

His frustration had no business being this cute. Ever so merciful, you finally decided to do him a favor since he insisted.

“I should cream your face, too, right?” you brushed your thumbs on his cheeks, “For good measure.”

The maniacal glint in his eyes was almost dangerous. He slid down in his place to make you sit on his face, not even letting you strip, and he hooked his fingers in your bottoms to expose you. When he finally started dragging his tongue all over your cunt, it was with so much appetite that you almost let a scream slip for how intense the feeling was. 

He was getting the sloppy kiss you denied him from your pussy. 

His hands were all over your body, groping whatever piece of flesh he could reach, and every command he received, he fulfilled it to perfection. To tease faster. To suck harder. To moan louder. This much obedience was the last thing you expected from him. 

“Chris, I’m g— Fuck, too much!”

He didn’t care. You promised to cream his face for good measure, so every drop he could get, he was going to, especially when you were cumming that hard in his mouth. He timed your contractions to decide when you were finally coming down, then climbed back up to pull you on his lap again.

You finally kissed him.

When your lips touched his after two forevers, he heaved a deep and content sigh in your mouth. You could taste the Sex on the Beach on his tongue. And the sea. And yourself. 

And pure lust. 

Growing up together has its cons. You can’t really notice what’s right in front of your nose because you’re not programmed to perceive it as an object of desire, but once you do, there is absolutely nothing you can do to take it back.

You dragged down the waist of his shorts to free him and were instantly hit with the fact that touching it and seeing it with your own eyes were entirely different experiences. He looked concerningly scrumptious, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine the type of pleasure he was capable of providing you. You aligned his girth with your entrance, and the groans he let out as he was sinking into you were alarming, to say the least.

“Holy shit, that’s… TIGHT!” 

“Shh, people are going to hear you,” you covered his mouth, but couldn’t help laughing at his overenthusiasm either.

“Look at my forehead,” he removed your hand, “Does it say I give a fuck?” 

“No?”

“It’s because I don’t,” he groped your sides once he bottomed out, “Now let’s fuck, baby.”

Yes, you had imagined this very moment in your most inappropriate thoughts, maybe even in excruciating detail when you were touching yourself, and the context was always more or less the same. Chris, the number one frequenter of your wet dreams, spewing profanities at your face while defiling you to his heart’s content.

That afternoon on that beach, however, it was your favorite person in the whole wide world, hugging your waist, looking deep into your eyes to keep track of exactly how he was making you feel so that he could move better for you. Every time he extracted a muffled moan out of you, every time he made you curse, every time you squeezed your eyes and sank your fingertips deeper into his skin for how good you were feeling, his own pleasure quadrupled.

Even though you were fucking as hard as you always thought you would, you had never pictured it to be this… visceral.

“Our first time,” he smiled against your neck and swelled your heart in your chest five times its size, “Finally.”

“Stop being so adorable!”

“Why?” he looked at you with his usual smug smile again, “Does it make you wanna fuck me harder?”

“It kinda does, yeah.”

He latched himself on your lips and kept kissing you for god knows how long. Feeling him this close and his refusal to be away from you simultaneously made you wetter and induced an intense desire to cry.

Out of happiness.

“Fuck me harder,” he spoke into your mouth, “Scratch me again.”

“OR,” you echoed his much earlier remark, “maybe I deny you until you snap.”

“You realize I fucking bench your weight, right?”

In the blink of an eye, you found yourself on your back. You instinctively started laughing for you were caught completely off guard, but it instantaneously disappeared when you realized how much his gaze had darkened.

“I said scratch,” he firmly commanded this time while placing one leg on his shoulder, “Like I said. Cream me.”

You were loving this shade on him.

His thrusts suddenly turned much sharper, and you couldn’t remember the last time you were fucked this good. Completely carnally with kisses turning into bites and touches shapeshifting into needy gropes all over. You were so wet with how aroused you were that you could feel yourself dripping down your ass, and when you finally started dragging your nails down Chris’ back, precisely when you reached that spot, his orgasm hit him so hard that he had to slam his lips on yours to silence himself.

You never realized how much more beautiful he could get with afterglow, resting his head on your chest. 

“So I’m thinking having two separate rooms is not exactly frugal,” he finally looked up at you, “We can share mine.”

“Why yours?”

“It has a hot tub.”

“Isn’t sleeping on the couch gonna be uncomfortable for you?”

In all fairness, you had deserved to get tickled to death for that snark, and no amount of ‘I’m sorry’s were enough to save your ass.

“If you wanna play it that way, then we’re not leaving this cabana,” he trapped you under his frame.

“It’s gonna get cold,” you started playing with his hair, reciprocating his mischievous grin, “There are no blankets here.”

“I’m gonna give you three guesses for how we’ll keep warm all night,” he kissed your hand, “If you can’t get it right, I’m eating your pussy until you cry.”

“Hugging.”

“No.”

“Cuddling.”

“No.”

“Fucking?”

His eyes glinted the same way they did when you suggested creaming his face for good measure, and he started slithering down between your legs.

“No.” 

「© 2021-2024, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

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