Preview: Sweet As Cherry Wine

Preview: Sweet as Cherry Wine

In which the cold librarian's heart gets melted by his best friend's sister

Synopsis: Kim Seungmin was the assistant librarian at your uni's library and the love of your life. Oh and also your brother's best friend.

Pairings: Seungmin × fem!reader, includes rest of skz, Winter (aespa)

Warnings: brother's best friend trope, a play on Hades and Persephone, secret relationship, flufff, seungmin is a menace, SMUT MINORS DNI, p in v sex, oral (m receiving), verryyy little choking, slightly sub minnie?, just a lot of me simping after his fingies, semi public sex (in the library)

A/N: whadup mona fam. Surprised im alive? yeah me too honestly lol. anyway im very sick rn BUT i wanted to complete this because this shit has been stuck in my wips since september 2023 and anyway it's my Minnie phase. Please look forward to the full fic!!!

STATUS: Coming on 23/10/24 (Subject to change)

TAGLIST: Open

“And how she let the pomegranate juice,

Drip from her smiling lips,

Even Hades trembled under sweet Persephone’s gaze.”

The tantalising smell of old leather and paper hugged your nostrils as soon as you crossed the threshold of the outdoors into the library. The entire room had the faint smell of sandalwood wafting through it as well, which your lungs appreciated as you breathed the air in.

Having spent only six months in your university as a freshman, you had never dared to step foot into the university’s famed collection of books more than five times. You were far too intimidated by it. That, and also the fact that you had a tremendous amount of work hanging over your head. And you certainly did not want to disappoint your parents, who worked day and night in ensuring that you had a proper education.

“Y/Nnie come on!” Your friend, Jeongin, grabbed your hand and dragged you further into the grand building. Jeongin was the first friend you had made in college, having argued furiously with him in your sociology class on the modern feminist forms of thought. Deciding that he was smart enough to never keep you bored, you promptly shook hands with him. He must have thought so too, because the very next day, he introduced you to his band of friends, with whom he had grown up since childhood.

And now, you could see one of those friends waving to the both of you from a very large table. It was Lee Minho–dance prodigy, archeology student in his third year, frequent arson enthusiast and a cat dad. That was what you had gotten from him, six months into your friendship

“Hyung!” Jeongin practically leapt on the stunningly beautiful man as soon as he came near him, “I’ve missed you so much!”

Minho made a face of disgust, but you could see the faint smile threatening to spill out as he hugged Jeongin back.

“Let go of me before I suffocate you, brat.” Minho said, giving you a smile as Jeongin reluctantly pulled back, “Alright, Y/N?”

“Good as always.” You responded with a grin. “Oh, congratulations on your win at the Dance Masters by the way!” Minho tilted his head at you as a ‘thank you’, with his ears turning furiously red, and his smile widening.

“And what about me?” A smooth voice made you jump as the ever-present smile of Hwang Hyunjin appeared before your eyes.

“Give me a warning before you pop out of nowhere!” You laughed, being engulfed into a tight hug by Hyunjin, “And congratulations to you, as well.”

“Why thank you.” Hyunjin did a dramatic sort of curtsy after unleashing you from his arms, “Hyung, have you seen Lix anywhere? He forgot his keychain with me.”

“He’s still stuck in class.” Minho muttered, raising his arms up abruptly and stretching with a very loud sigh, “My bones are so stiff, I swear to God.”

“Could you keep it down, old man?”

Perhaps the most annoying voice in the entire campus rang in your ears as you spun on your heel to see the bane of your existence. The world’s most insidious bastard faced you, in the form of a 5 '10, history-majoring, glasses-wearing, probably drinks pomegranate juice in the morning sophomore.

Kim Seungmin.

The universe couldn't have made a more negative person.

And a more perfect secret boyfriend too.

Taglist: @vixensss @miyeonna @15092000volcano + comment or send an ask to be added!

♡ Pairing: Han Jisung × Chubby!Reader

✧ Word Count: 12,208 words | Reading Time: 45-ish mins

900+ Followers Special ♡

✦ Trope: Second Chance Romance | Ex-Classmates to Lovers | Slow Burn | Popular Jock x Bullied Girl | Non-Idol AU

✧ Warnings: Bullying (verbal abuse, fat-shaming), mentions of physical abuse, toxic family, emotional trauma, drinking, mild suggestiveness, language, angst with comfort, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE

♡ Synopsis: Back in high school, she was the chubby outcast—bullied, bruised, and abandoned—while Han Jisung was the untouchable jock who broke hearts and ignored them all… except hers. When life pulled them apart after a brutal misunderstanding, she vowed never to look back. Now, eight years later, she's a successful engineer—independent and guarded. But when fate throws them back together in the most unexpected boardroom, Jisung sees a second chance. And this time, he’s not letting go without a fight. ♡

✦ Author’s Note: For the ones who loved in silence and healed in shadows. This one’s for you. You are seen, and you are enough. ⋆彡

You were a walking paradox, a vibrant ember struggling to glow beneath a thick layer of societal soot. Chubby, they called you, their voices often laced with a disdain that never seemed to dull, each syllable a tiny pinprick against your already tender skin.

Yet, the softness of your frame held a surprising resilience, your cheeks often flushed with a healthy color that belied their cruel pronouncements, a testament to a spirit that refused to be entirely extinguished. Kindness flowed through you like an unseen current, a gentle offering of smiles even to the very faces that contorted with mockery at your approach, a quiet rebellion against the negativity that surrounded you.

And your mind? It was a sharp, agile thing, devouring knowledge with an insatiable hunger, your intelligence a quiet fire that burned brightly in the hushed corners of the library, a stark contrast to the dim view others seemed to have of you. You found solace in the intricate logic of mathematics, the sprawling narratives of classic literature, worlds where your physical form held no bearing on your worth.

But despite these inherent strengths, an invisible weight clung to you, a suffocating shroud woven from the stinging barbs of your classmates. "Hey, look, it's the walking sofa!" someone would bellow down the hallway, their friends erupting in laughter that felt like a physical shove, each jeer chipping away at the fragile foundation of your self-esteem.

"Bet she uses a GPS to find her own feet," another would sneer, their words echoing the insidious voice of self-doubt that sometimes whispered in your own head, a constant reminder of your perceived inadequacy. You learned to flinch inwardly, to brace yourself for the inevitable sting, to become as small and unobtrusive as possible, a shadow trying desperately to blend into the background noise of the school, your gaze fixed on the worn linoleum floor.

Your world had fractured years ago, the sharp edges never quite fitting back together after the sudden, gaping loss of your father. He had been your anchor, a warm, comforting presence whose booming laughter still echoed faintly in the quiet corners of your memory, a phantom sound that sometimes brought a bittersweet ache to your chest.

Now, he was a faded photograph on your bedside table, a silent observer of your increasingly solitary existence, a bittersweet reminder of a love that felt both impossibly distant and achingly present. Your mother, lost in her own labyrinth of grief, eventually found a fragile sort of peace in the arms of another man.

His arrival brought a polite, almost sterile atmosphere to your home, a subtle distance that grew between you and the woman who had once been your sun and moon. "He's a good man," she'd said once, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth you remembered, her eyes focused on some distant point. "He'll take care of us." But 'us' never truly included you in the same way anymore; you felt like a tolerated guest in a life that had moved on without you.

The real chill, however, the bone-deep, relentless cold, emanated from your aunt. After your mother's remarriage, you were sent to live with her, a woman whose lips seemed permanently pursed in disapproval, whose voice was a constant, low hum of criticism that eroded your spirit.

Her house was a place where joy seemed to wither and die, where every corner held the unspoken accusation of your inadequacy. "Are you going back for seconds?" she'd snap, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as you reached for another small portion of dinner. "Honestly, child, have you no self-control?

You'll never find a nice boy looking like that. You'll be alone forever." Meals were silent, tense affairs, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware and her pointed sighs. Chores were endless, thankless, and any small spark of happiness you managed to ignite was quickly doused by her sharp tongue and colder-than-ice gaze.

"Don't slouch," she'd bark across the living room, her voice like the crack of a whip. "Sit up straight. You look like a sack of potatoes. Honestly, the way you carry yourself…" Your home life became a toxic swamp of neglect and emotional abuse, a secret shame you carried like a lead weight in your stomach, a burden that made your steps heavy and your spirit weary.

"Honestly," she'd mutter under her breath as you did the dishes, the clatter of plates a poor substitute for conversation, "your mother always said you were a clumsy one. Just like her."

Across the bustling, often chaotic landscape of your high school moved Han Jisung. He was a figure carved from a different kind of coldness – a detached, almost arrogant aura that seemed to ripple outwards, creating a respectful distance.

A star athlete, his movements on the basketball court fluid and mesmerizing, he was the undisputed object of countless girls' affections. Their whispered yearnings followed him down the hallways like a persistent, hopeful breeze. "Did you see the way Jisung looked at me during practice?" you'd overhear one girl sigh to her friend, her voice dreamy.

"I swear, he totally wants to ask me to the homecoming dance." Yet, he remained aloof, a polite but firm "I'm not interested" the standard response to any lingering glances or hesitant advances. "Sorry," he'd say, his voice cool but not unkind, his gaze already drifting away, "I'm just really focused on the upcoming tournament. Got to keep my head in the game."

His eyes, sharp and intelligent, often held a distant amusement, a subtle disdain for the petty dramas and hormonal surges that defined the high school experience. "Honestly," he once said to his friend, a slight smirk playing on his lips as a group of girls giggled nearby, their attention clearly fixed on him, "they're all so… transparent." He was a world away from your own, a dazzling supernova you never dared to gaze at directly, knowing you were a mere speck of dust in his radiant orbit.

Yet, unbeknownst to you, in those fleeting moments between classes, or during the forced proximity of shared assemblies, his gaze would sometimes flick towards you. It wasn't a look of mockery or pity, but something… else. A quiet, almost clinical observation.

He noticed the way your shoulders would instinctively hunch when a group of popular kids approached, their laughter echoing in the confined space, the barely perceptible flinch in your eyes when the school bell shrieked through the corridors, the determined set of your jaw as you navigated the crowded lunchroom, your tray held like a fragile shield against the judging eyes.

He saw the way your fingers, often ink-stained from hours spent lost in the pages of a book, your refuge from the harsh realities of your life, would nervously twist the hem of your oversized sweater. Once, during a particularly brutal round of hallway taunts aimed your way, the words like sharp stones thrown with intent, he had paused, his usual easy stride faltering for a split second before he continued on, his expression unreadable, a flicker of something unidentifiable in his dark eyes.

One particularly bleak, rain-swept afternoon, the meager grocery money, carefully counted out and clutched in your sweaty palm, the lifeline that would hopefully stave off your aunt's wrath for another week, was snatched from you just outside the familiar fluorescent glow of the convenience store.

A gaggle of giggling, impeccably dressed girls, their faces bright with a casual cruelty that chilled you to the bone, had surrounded you like a pack of predators. "Well, well, well, look what we have here," the ringleader had sneered, her perfectly manicured nails reaching for your trembling hand.

"Going on a little snack run, tubby? Maybe stocking up for winter hibernation?" "Leave me alone," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible above the drumming rain, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"Oh, are you going to cry?" another one taunted, her eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "Maybe a few tears will wash away some of that… extra baggage." "What's this, enough for a diet soda?" the first girl said, snatching the crumpled bills from your grasp.

"Maybe you should try skipping a few meals, fatty," another added, their laughter echoing the hollowness that had become a constant companion in your stomach. "Yeah," a third chimed in, her voice dripping with false concern, "think of it as us doing you a favor. Helping you reach your… goals."

"Just give it back," you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes, blurring their cruel faces. "It's all I have. My aunt…" They just laughed harder, their cruelty a sharp, physical pain. "Too slow," the ringleader said, tucking the money into her designer bag with a smug smile. "Maybe next time you'll learn to run faster. Or maybe just stay home."

Fear, cold and sharp as shards of glass, pierced through you, rendering your legs heavy and unresponsive. Home, usually a place of quiet dread, now loomed like a monstrous shadow in the downpour. Without the groceries, without the flimsy excuse of running an errand, the prospect of facing your aunt's wrath was unbearable.

"Where have you been?" she'd likely snap, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, her voice laced with impatience. "And where are the groceries I asked for? Don't tell me you've dawdled again." You could already hear the accusations, the bitter recriminations, the inevitable lecture about your worthlessness.

You found yourself huddled beneath the inadequate shelter of a dusty shop awning, the relentless rain plastering strands of hair to your forehead, tears blurring your vision as they mingled with the raindrops tracing paths down your cheeks. "Great," you muttered to yourself, the despair a heavy weight in your chest.

"Just great. Now what?" You were stranded, caught in the cruel intersection of teenage malice and a desolate home life, with nowhere safe to turn. "What am I going to do?" you whispered into the storm, the question a pathetic plea carried away by the wind.

Then, through the grey curtain of rain, a figure emerged. Tall and lean, with the unmistakable swagger of the school's star athlete, Han Jisung paused beside you. His expensive black umbrella, large enough to shelter two, dripped steadily at the edges, a stark contrast to the cheap, flimsy one you usually carried.

He didn't say a word, didn't offer a platitude or a condescending remark. He simply extended the umbrella towards you, the silent gesture a stark contrast to the cacophony of cruel words you had just endured. For a fleeting moment, your fingers brushed against his as you hesitantly took the offered shelter, a surprising jolt of warmth in the pervasive cold.

He turned and walked away, disappearing back into the downpour as quickly and silently as he had appeared. "Hey," you called out after him, a confused question forming on your lips, a desperate need to understand his unexpected kindness, but he was already gone, swallowed by the rain.

Confused, a strange cocktail of gratitude and bewilderment churning within you, you watched his retreating figure. Why would he do that? you wondered, clutching the smooth handle of the umbrella, its expensive fabric a stark contrast to your own worn coat.

Just as you began to think it had been a fleeting act of detached charity, a moment of pity from someone who existed in a completely different stratosphere, he reappeared. This time, he held a small, clear plastic bag clutched in his hand. He stopped directly in front of you.

"Here," he said, his voice surprisingly quiet, almost a murmur, his gaze flicking around as if he didn't want to be seen. He wordlessly pressed the bag into your hand. Inside, nestled against the damp plastic, were crisp twenty-dollar bills.

His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes flickered over your face briefly, a fleeting acknowledgment of your distress. He simply nodded, a curt, almost imperceptible movement of his head. "Take it," he added, his gaze direct for a fleeting second, a hint of something unreadable in their depths. And then he turned and walked away again, melting back into the rainy afternoon, leaving you standing beneath his expensive umbrella, the unexpected kindness a heavy, almost unbelievable weight in your hand.

Your lips parted in stunned silence, a soft, disbelieving "thank you" escaping into the drumming rain, a whisper lost in the downpour. The twenty dollars felt like more than just money; it felt like a lifeline, a tiny, unexpected crack of light in the overwhelming darkness.

"Thank you," you repeated, a little louder this time, clutching the bag tightly, even though he was already gone. The warmth of the unexpected gesture spread through the chill of the rain, a small seed of hope planted in the barren landscape of your day. You wondered, just for a moment, if maybe, just maybe, you weren't entirely invisible after all.

The sleek, black umbrella, a stark contrast to the cheap, floral one you usually carried, became an unspoken, tangible link between your vastly different orbits. It stood sentinel in your locker, a silent testament to an act of unexpected kindness that replayed in your mind like a recurring dream.

The twenty dollars, carefully and sparingly used to replenish your stolen grocery money, felt like more than just currency; it was a symbol of a hand reaching out in the darkness, a small spark of hope in the overwhelming gloom. A hesitant "thank you" the next day in the crowded hallway, your voice barely a rustle of sound, was met with a curt nod from Jisung, his usual guarded expression firmly in place, his gaze already sweeping over the bustling student body. But something had subtly shifted, a nearly imperceptible crack in the icy façade he usually presented to the world.

It began with shared study sessions in the hushed sanctuary of the library. He never explicitly invited you, never uttered a direct request. Instead, he would simply appear at your usual corner table, a formidable stack of advanced calculus textbooks and meticulously organized notes in hand.

You, initially wary of his continued presence, found a surprising, almost unsettling comfort in his focused silence. He possessed an unexpected patience when you wrestled with a particularly convoluted equation, explaining complex concepts with a quiet clarity that your often-impatient teachers lacked.

"Think of it like this," he'd say, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sketched diagrams on scrap paper, his voice a low murmur that barely disturbed the quiet hum of the library. You, in turn, would sometimes help him navigate the labyrinthine prose of English literature, your insightful interpretations of symbolism and theme offering a perspective he, with his more analytical mind, hadn't considered.

"That's… actually a really interesting way to look at it," he'd admit, a flicker of genuine intellectual curiosity in his dark eyes. These sessions were mostly silent, punctuated by the rustling of turning pages and the soft scratching of pens against paper, but a fragile, unspoken camaraderie began to bloom in the shared pursuit of knowledge, a quiet understanding passing between you over highlighted passages and solved problems.

Then came the late-night texts, the glow of your phone screen illuminating your face in the darkness of your small room. It started with a simple, utilitarian "Need help with the assignment?" from his number, a question that sent a jolt of surprised apprehension through you.

Hesitantly, you replied with a terse "Maybe," and soon, short, academic queries about formulas and literary devices morphed into slightly longer exchanges about favorite books (his surprisingly leaning towards classic sci-fi, yours towards poignant coming-of-age stories), obscure indie music, and even, occasionally, fleeting, carefully worded glimpses into the mundane details of your respective days.

His texts were often clipped, punctuated by emojis that seemed oddly out of character for the school's notoriously aloof jock – a surprisingly expressive thumbs-up, a thoughtful pondering face – but there was a consistency to them, a quiet checking-in that you found yourself looking forward to, a small beacon in the often-lonely expanse of your evenings.

He stumbled upon your deep-seated passion for retro video games during one of your brief study breaks in the library, when you were idly scrolling through an old emulator on your battered phone, a nostalgic smile softening your features as pixelated spaceships whizzed across the screen.

To your surprise, a flicker of recognition crossed his usually impassive face. "That's 'Galactic Gladiators', right?" he'd asked, leaning closer, a genuine spark of interest momentarily eclipsing his usual reserve. "My older brother used to be obsessed with that game. I remember watching him play for hours."

This shared, unexpected connection, a bridge built on 8-bit nostalgia, led to clandestine gaming sessions at his sprawling, modern home on weekends. His house, with its sleek furniture and panoramic city views, was a stark, almost intimidating contrast to your cramped, perpetually shadowed one, but in the dimly lit, surprisingly comfortable game room, surrounded by the hypnotic glow of multiple screens and the cheerful cacophony of digital sound effects, you found a strange, unexpected sense of belonging.

He was surprisingly competitive, his fingers flying across the controller with practiced ease, but never condescending, and your laughter, a sound you rarely heard yourself make, would sometimes bubble up and fill the room, a light, joyful sound that felt foreign yet wonderfully liberating. "Nice move!" he'd grudgingly admit after you executed a particularly skillful maneuver, a rare smile gracing his lips.

Throughout these increasingly frequent interactions, Jisung remained a keen, almost unnervingly perceptive, silent observer. He noticed the almost imperceptible tremor in your hands when someone raised their voice, even in a casual classroom discussion.

He saw the fleeting shadow of anxiety that flickered in your eyes when he accidentally brushed your arm in the crowded hallway. He learned your instinctive aversion to sudden loud noises, the way your gaze would dart nervously towards any raised hand in a classroom, as if anticipating a blow.

He pieced together the fragmented clues of your unspoken traumas, the subtle anxieties that clung to you like a second skin, an invisible weight you carried in the slump of your shoulders. He never pried, never asked directly about your strained home life or the cruelties you endured within the school's social hierarchy, but his awareness grew, a quiet understanding that seemed to settle in his dark eyes whenever he looked at you, a silent acknowledgment of the battles you fought unseen.

One particularly unpleasant afternoon, as you were walking home from school, clutching your backpack straps tightly, a group of boisterous guys from the basketball team, emboldened by their perceived social superiority, started making crude, insensitive remarks.

"Hey, look, it's Beauty and the Beast!" one of them jeered, his voice dripping with a nasty sarcasm that made your stomach clench. "Guess who's Beauty?" another one chimed in, eliciting a round of snickers. You froze, your face flushing crimson with shame, your instinct to disappear into the nearest crack in the sidewalk overwhelming.

Before you could shrink away and endure their taunts in silence, Jisung, who had been walking a few discreet steps behind you, his presence unnoticed until that moment, moved with a sudden, terrifying speed. He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, grabbing the loudest offender by the collar of his expensive sports jacket, his knuckles white with barely suppressed fury.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Jisung growled, his usual cool, detached demeanor replaced by a raw, furious intensity you had never witnessed before, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. The other guys, initially amused, backed away, their laughter dying in their throats, surprised and intimidated by his violent outburst. Jisung shoved the guy away, his eyes blazing with a protective anger.

"Don't you ever talk about her like that again. Do you understand me?" The guy, visibly shaken and surprised by the ferocity of Jisung's reaction, mumbled a hasty apology and hurried away with his equally stunned friends. Jisung turned to you, his chest heaving slightly, his expression softening infinitesimally, a hint of genuine concern in his dark eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low and surprisingly gentle. You could only nod mutely, your breath caught in your throat, the unexpected, fierce defense leaving you both shaken and strangely… protected, a warmth spreading through the cold knot of shame in your chest.

But the incident, as such things often do in the hothouse environment of high school, had significant repercussions. Whispers followed Jisung down the hallways now, laced with a different, more salacious kind of speculation. "Did you see him go after her like that?" someone murmured, their eyes wide with gossip.

"He's totally obsessed with that… chubby girl. What does he even see in her?" The rumors spread like wildfire, fueled by the public display of Jisung's anger and your continued, albeit still somewhat hesitant, proximity. "Jisung's into fatties," one particularly cruel comment, delivered with a deliberate, cutting edge, reached his ears in the crowded cafeteria during lunch.

The words, meant to be a public humiliation aimed at both of you, hit a raw nerve, igniting a fury within him that you had only glimpsed before. In a flash, Jisung was on his feet, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were bone-white.

He strode purposefully towards the group of guys who had been snickering, his eyes dark with a barely controlled rage. He grabbed the one who had spoken by the front of his shirt and slammed him against a nearby table, sending trays clattering and food scattering across the linoleum floor.

"Listen here, you piece of shit," Jisung snarled, his voice dangerously low but carrying through the stunned silence of the suddenly hushed cafeteria. "She isn't fat. She is chubby, and being chubby isn't inherently bad. She looks absolutely beautiful.

There is a fundamental difference between ignorance and deliberate malice. Educate yourself, you fucker." He punctuated his furious words with a sharp, brutal punch to the guy's jaw before his stunned friends could react and pull him away. The cafeteria buzzed with shocked whispers and a newfound, albeit grudging and often resentful, respect for Jisung's fierce, albeit violent, defense of you.

The rumors, however, persisted, twisting the narrative into something you increasingly dreaded. "Rich brat Jisung dating the school outcast," they whispered, their voices laced with a mixture of disbelief and disdain. "Probably just a phase. He'll get bored of her eventually and go back to the pretty, skinny girls."

These whispers, amplified by the dramatic incident in the cafeteria, inevitably reached the venomous ears of your aunt. The subtle shift in Jisung's behavior, the undeniable attention he was now paying you, confirmed her worst, most cynical suspicions.

"So," she hissed one evening as you were silently washing dishes after a particularly grueling day at school and an even more grueling dinner with her, her eyes narrowed with a predatory suspicion, "that rich boy has his claws in you now, hasn't he?" You flinched at the venom in her tone, the familiar sting of her judgment.

"He's just… a friend, Aunt," you mumbled, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tremor that ran through you. Her hand shot out with surprising speed, catching you across the face, the sharp crack echoing in the small, cramped kitchen. The physical pain was a familiar ache, but the accusation that followed cut far deeper. "Don't lie to me, you little gold digger!" she spat, her grip tightening on your arm like a vise.

"I knew it. I always knew you were after something. Trying to latch onto his money, aren't you? Just like your good-for-nothing mother!" Her words were like a toxic poison, seeping into the fragile sense of hope that had begun to tentatively bloom within you, twisting the unexpected kindness into something ugly and manipulative. The physical pain was nothing compared to the crushing weight of her accusations, her bitter, distorted perception of your burgeoning connection with Jisung.

The relentless rumors, your aunt's brutal abuse and her vile accusations, the gnawing fear of what others were saying about Jisung because of his association with you – it all became an unbearable weight, crushing the fragile shoots of hope that had dared to emerge.

The unexpected bridge you had started to build with Jisung felt like it was crumbling beneath your feet, the whispers and judgments like relentless waves eroding the foundation. In a desperate, self-preservationist attempt to protect yourself, to retreat back into the familiar, albeit agonizing, solitude, you made a drastic, heart-wrenching decision.

With trembling fingers, tears blurring your vision, you blocked Jisung's number on your old phone, severing the digital lifeline that had offered a sliver of connection. You deleted your text conversations, erasing the late-night exchanges that had brought you a fleeting sense of belonging, the digital echoes of his unexpected kindness now too painful to bear.

You started avoiding the library during your usual study times, the quiet corners now feeling like painful, empty reminders of his focused presence. When he tried to approach you in the crowded hallways, his usual aloofness replaced with a bewildered concern, his brow furrowed with worry and a silent question in his dark eyes, you would turn away, your heart aching with a silent scream of despair trapped in your throat, your gaze fixed resolutely on the opposite wall.

The umbrellas and game nights became distant, bittersweet memories, shrouded in a self-imposed silence, a shield you erected to protect your already battered heart from a world that seemed determined to misunderstand and hurt you.

The fragile connection, barely formed, snapped under the immense weight of fear, misunderstanding, and the crushing reality of your own deeply ingrained insecurities, leaving you alone again in the echoing silence of your own making, the black umbrella a stark, painful reminder of what could have been.

Eight years. An epoch in the fleeting landscape of youth, a span long enough for the seasons to cycle countless times, painting the world in vibrant hues of spring and summer, then stripping it bare with the stark beauty of autumn and winter.

Enough time for fledgling cities to evolve into sprawling, gleaming metropolises of steel and glass, their skylines perpetually reaching for the heavens, monuments to human ambition and progress.

And certainly enough time for the tentative bud of a high school connection, once so fragile and fraught with misunderstanding, to wither into a distant, almost dreamlike memory, its sharp edges softened by the relentless passage of time, its significance fading into the hazy recesses of the past, like a forgotten melody played on a broken instrument, its notes barely audible.

You were no longer the shrinking, self-conscious teenager haunted by the cruel whispers that echoed in the crowded hallways and the oppressive silence of a toxic home, a ghost in your own life. You had painstakingly, meticulously built a new life for yourself, brick by emotional brick, each one laid with the mortar of hard work, unwavering determination, and a fierce, almost defiant independence that had blossomed in the fertile ground of necessity, a shield against the vulnerabilities of the past.

The late nights spent poring over textbooks, the quiet dedication to mastering complex algorithms and intricate lines of code, the relentless pursuit of knowledge in the digital realm, had finally translated into a thriving career as a successful IT engineer in your early twenties.

You commanded respect in boardrooms, your innovative solutions were sought after by colleagues and superiors alike, and your code was elegant, efficient, a testament to the sharp, analytical mind that had always been your secret strength, a weapon against the insecurities that once threatened to consume you.

Your personal life, however, remained a carefully constructed fortress, its walls high and its gates firmly locked, guarded by years of ingrained caution and a deep-seated wariness of vulnerability. You lived alone in a sleek, minimalist apartment perched high above the city's relentless pulse, a sanctuary of your own making where silence was a welcome companion and your personal space was your own inviolable domain, a stark contrast to the chaotic, unpredictable environment of your adolescence. The panoramic city views from your floor-to-ceiling windows served as a constant reminder of how far you had come, a testament to your resilience.

Close friends were a concept that felt foreign, almost unnecessary, a potential source of pain you had learned to avoid, the risk of emotional entanglement outweighing the promise of genuine connection. The scars of the past ran deep, invisible but persistent, leaving you emotionally guarded, wary of any hint of intimacy, and proficient at maintaining a polite, professional distance from everyone you encountered. Trust was a precious currency you hoarded carefully, rarely spending it, its value inflated by the painful lessons etched into the fabric of your youth, lessons you had no intention of repeating.

One crisp autumn afternoon, the air carrying the melancholic scent of fallen leaves swirling in the city's canyons and the sharp, invigorating promise of a coming winter, you were hurrying down a busy downtown street during your lunch break. A mental checklist of errands – dry cleaning, a quick stop at the independent bookstore you frequented for its comforting smell of old paper and ink, and perhaps a decent cup of artisanal coffee from that new place around the corner – ran through your mind with the precision of a well-written algorithm, each task prioritized and scheduled.

Lost in the intricate logic of a particularly challenging debugging task you'd been wrestling with all morning, your mind still tracing the elusive error in the cascading lines of code, a phantom bug that seemed to shift and evade your every attempt to squash it, you rounded a sharp corner near a bustling, trendy coffee shop and collided with someone.

The unexpected impact sent a jolt through you and your sleek, state-of-the-art smartphone skittering across the textured pavement, its screen momentarily flashing a distorted image of your focused concentration before going dark, a small tragedy in your otherwise meticulously managed day.

"Oh, excuse me! I am so incredibly sorry," you murmured automatically, bending down to retrieve your device, your initial annoyance momentarily overshadowed by the awkwardness of the unexpected physical contact and the immediate fear of a cracked screen, a costly inconvenience in your otherwise meticulously ordered life.

As you straightened up, your eyes traveled upwards, drawn to the man you had bumped into. He was taller now, the lean frame of his youth filled out with a more mature breadth across his shoulders, the boyish angularity of his face softened by the passage of time into a subtly handsome countenance, etched with the faintest lines of experience around his eyes, lines that hinted at late nights and weighty decisions, a roadmap of the years that had passed.

Wire-framed glasses, a sophisticated touch you wouldn't have pictured on the often casually dressed teenager you remembered, perched on the bridge of his nose, framing intelligent, familiar eyes that widened almost imperceptibly in surprise, a fleeting flicker of recognition dancing within their depths, a spark that ignited a dormant ember within you, sending a surprising warmth through the chill autumn air.

His once meticulously styled, almost severe haircut now fell in a deliberately messy wave across his forehead, giving him a more approachable, less rigidly perfect appearance, a hint of artistic disarray that somehow softened the sharp edges of his undeniable success.

He wore an impeccably tailored wool coat, the dark charcoal fabric hinting at considerable expense and understated power, and held a steaming paper cup in one hand, the rich, dark aroma of freshly brewed, high-end espresso wafting in the cool air, a scent that somehow felt both vaguely familiar and entirely new, a marker of his evolved world.

A jolt of recognition, sharp and unexpected, shot through you, followed by a disorienting wave of a peculiar, almost unsettling familiarity that tugged at the frayed edges of your carefully constructed present, pulling you back to a time you had consciously tried to bury beneath layers of achievement and self-reliance. It couldn't be… could it possibly be? Han Jisung.

Older, undeniably more polished, radiating an aura of quiet confidence and understated power you hadn't witnessed in his teenage years, but the intense gaze that locked with yours, the almost imperceptible quirk of his lips as he registered your presence, was undeniably him.

Your immediate instinct was to disappear, to melt back into the anonymity of the lunchtime crowd, to pretend you hadn't seen him, hadn't felt that disconcerting flicker of recognition that sent a shiver down your spine, a ghost of a past you thought you had outrun finally catching up.

You offered a quick, generic "So sorry," and began to sidestep him, your mind racing, trying to reconcile the aloof, often sharp-edged teenager you remembered with the sophisticated, almost enigmatic man standing before you, a man who exuded an air of quiet authority and effortless charm.

"[Your Name]?" His voice, deeper now, a smooth baritone that resonated in a way the adolescent timbre never had, cutting through the surrounding cacophony of city noise like a familiar melody played on a new instrument, a familiar cadence that pulled at the frayed edges of a long-dormant memory. He said your full name, the way he used to all those years ago during those stolen, quiet moments in the library, a sound that sent a faint, unexpected tremor through you, a vibration that stirred something long dormant within your carefully guarded heart.

You froze, your carefully constructed composure momentarily faltering, the practiced indifference you wore like armor cracking under the unexpected weight of the encounter. You reluctantly met his gaze, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach, a strange mix of apprehension and a hesitant flicker of something akin to… curiosity? "Jisung?" you replied, the name feeling foreign and yet strangely resonant on your tongue after so many years of deliberate disuse, a whisper from a life you thought you had left behind.

A hesitant, almost shy smile touched his lips, a far cry from the cool detachment and occasional sardonic smirk you remembered from high school. "It's been a while," he said, his eyes studying you with an intensity that made you feel strangely exposed, as if he could see past the carefully constructed walls you had built around yourself, peering into the guarded spaces you rarely allowed anyone to glimpse. "You look… well. Successful."

Before you could formulate a polite refusal or an awkward attempt at small talk about the unpredictable autumn weather or the latest traffic snarl that had plagued your morning commute, he gestured vaguely towards the curb with his free hand. "My car's just around the corner. I'm actually heading in your general direction, I think, towards the financial district. Let me give you a ride back to your office. Save you the walk."

Suspicion, a familiar and unwelcome companion, immediately flared within you, its icy tendrils wrapping around your apprehension. Why? After all this time, after the abrupt and painful way your fragile connection had ended, leaving you feeling abandoned and misunderstood? What could he possibly want after eight long years of silence, years you had spent meticulously rebuilding your life without him, brick by painstaking brick?

You hesitated, weighing the awkwardness of accepting his unexpected offer against the even greater awkwardness of a prolonged conversation on a busy street, the risk of dredging up memories you had worked so diligently to bury beneath layers of professional success and emotional detachment.

There was a strange pull, however, an undeniable flicker of curiosity that you couldn't entirely ignore, a nagging question about the man he had become, the path his life had taken in the years since you last saw him. Against your better judgment, a small, almost imperceptible nod escaped you. "Okay," you said, your voice betraying a hint of your inner turmoil, the single word hanging in the air between you, heavy with unspoken history.

He led you not to a typical, anonymous sedan, but to a breathtakingly beautiful Pagani, its sleek, aerodynamic lines a testament to both artistry and engineering prowess, its low, guttural growl a subtle promise of immense power that vibrated through the very pavement beneath your feet.

The car turned heads as you approached, its presence a silent statement of wealth and refined taste, a world away from the battered jalopies that cluttered the high school parking lot of your memory. The passenger door swung open with a soft, almost theatrical whir, revealing luxurious leather seats that enveloped you in their rich embrace as you hesitantly settled inside, the scent of supple leather and something subtly, intoxicatingly expensive filling your senses, a stark contrast to the worn fabric of your old school backpack and the faint scent of your aunt's harsh cleaning supplies that still sometimes clung to your clothes.

The drive was short, punctuated by a strained, polite conversation about the unseasonably warm autumn weather and the general state of the city's ever-congested traffic, the mundane topics a flimsy shield against the unspoken questions that hung heavy in the air between you.

As he smoothly pulled up to your modern office building, its glass façade reflecting the crisp blue sky and the bustling energy of the city, a monument to your hard-won success, he mentioned the name of his investment firm, a brief, almost casual remark dropped into the otherwise stilted conversation as if discussing the morning's headlines. "Stratagem Capital," he said as you reached for the cool, brushed metal of the door handle, your fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second, a sudden premonition settling in your stomach.

"We're actually scheduled to have a rather important meeting with your company next week. Regarding a potential significant investment opportunity."

A sudden, chilling realization washed over you, cold and sharp as glacial ice, stealing your breath and sending a tremor of disbelief through you. "Stratagem Capital?" you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, the name echoing in the sudden silence of the car, a sound that resonated with an unexpected, almost ominous significance.

Your company, a promising tech startup you had poured your heart and soul into for the past few years, a testament to your resilience and your brilliance, had been working tirelessly for months, preparing meticulously crafted presentations, crunching complex financial projections that represented your team's collective hopes and dreams, pouring every ounce of energy and fragile optimism into securing a crucial investment that could catapult your small firm to the next level, finally allowing your innovative ideas to truly take flight and disrupt the industry.

The lead investor's name had been circulated amongst the senior staff, a prominent and highly respected figure in the tech industry, a name that carried significant weight, but in the whirlwind of deadlines and preparations, you hadn't paid it much attention beyond the professional implications, the potential for growth and validation.

You looked at Jisung, really looked at him, the tailored coat that spoke of power, the air of quiet confidence that radiated from him, the casual mention of multi-million dollar investments as if it were everyday conversation. The aloof, sometimes volatile jock of your past had metamorphosed into a powerful, influential man, a titan in the very industry you were striving to conquer.

And he was the investor. The key to your company's future, the man whose decision could make or break everything you had worked so hard to achieve, the man who now held your professional destiny in his hands. The unexpected, almost cruelly ironic twist hung in the air between you, thick with unspoken history, unresolved emotions, and the immense weight of a potentially very complicated, and possibly very high-stakes, future.

The past and the present had collided with a force that left you reeling, the comfortable distance you had cultivated shattered by the unexpected reappearance of a ghost from your past, a ghost who now held the keys to your future.

The meeting with Stratagem Capital the following week proceeded with an almost unnerving smoothness. You, as the lead engineer on the project, presented your team's innovative work with a calm professionalism that belied the turmoil churning within you. You fielded questions with clarity and precision, your deep understanding of the technology shining through.

Jisung, seated at the head of the table, listened intently, his gaze steady and focused, occasionally interjecting with insightful queries that demonstrated a genuine interest in your company's vision. There was a detached air to his professionalism, a stark contrast to the unexpected ride you had shared, making it almost seem like that encounter had been a figment of your imagination.

Yet, the occasional flicker of something familiar in his eyes, a brief, almost imperceptible softening of his expression when your gazes met, hinted at the complicated history that lay beneath the surface.

Weeks drifted by in a strange state of limbo. The investment from Stratagem Capital was still under consideration, a looming decision that hung over your company like a delicate balance. In the meantime, you found yourself running into Jisung with surprising frequency.

A silent acknowledgment in the building lobby, a shared elevator ride where neither of you spoke, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of the past. Occasionally, their paths would cross outside the office, and he would offer you a ride home, a proposition you initially met with hesitant suspicion.

The first few times, the drives were stiff and awkward. Polite inquiries about work and the city filled the silence, careful conversations that skirted around the eight years of absence and the abrupt end of your high school connection.

You remained guarded, observing him with a cautious eye, trying to decipher his intentions. Was this mere politeness, a byproduct of your professional entanglement? Or was there something more beneath the surface?

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a fragile sense of familiarity began to seep back into your interactions. The silences during the car rides became less strained, occasionally punctuated by a shared observation about a news report or a wry comment about the city's unpredictable traffic.

You found yourself, on a couple of particularly late nights at the office, accepting his offer of a ride without the initial surge of suspicion. There was a strange comfort in the shared journey, a sense of unexpected ease that surprised you.

Unbeknownst to you, Jisung had been meticulously piecing together the fragments of the past, recalling details from your brief time in high school. He remembered your quiet enthusiasm for a particular indie game, the way your eyes lit up when discussing a certain author, and, most surprisingly, he remembered your birthday.

A date that had somehow lodged itself in the recesses of his memory, a small, insignificant detail from a lifetime ago. As your birthday approached, he found himself making plans, a quiet dinner at a restaurant with a discreet, elegant ambiance, the perfect setting to finally ask you out, to see if the fragile connection rekindled by chance could blossom into something more.

Then, one afternoon, as you were leaving the office, he saw you standing outside, laughing with a male coworker. Your head was thrown back, your face radiant with genuine amusement, a carefree expression he hadn't witnessed on you in all the years he had known you, even in your brief moments of joy in high school.

A sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy, unfamiliar and unwelcome, clenched in his chest. The easy camaraderie you shared with this colleague, the effortless joy in your expression, stirred something possessive within him, a feeling he hadn't anticipated.

That evening, as you were packing up your things, preparing for the quiet solitude of your apartment, Jisung was waiting for you in the lobby. Instead of his usual quiet offer of a ride, he stood near the reception desk, his presence drawing the attention of several of your colleagues who were also leaving for the day.

He waited until your eyes met his across the bustling space, and then, his voice carrying with a newfound confidence that echoed through the lobby, he addressed you publicly. "Ms. [Your Last Name]," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, his gaze holding yours. "Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me tomorrow night?"

All eyes in the lobby turned to you, a mixture of curiosity and speculation in their gazes. Caught completely off guard by the public invitation, a blush creeping up your neck, you felt a wave of awkwardness wash over you. The memories of the high school rumors, the sting of your aunt's accusations, flashed through your mind.

Yet, there was also a strange pull, a reluctant curiosity to see where this unexpected turn of events might lead. Under the scrutiny of your colleagues, their hushed whispers filling the sudden silence, you managed a hesitant, "Yes, Mr. Han. I would." The agreement felt both inevitable and incredibly awkward, a step back into a past you had tried so hard to leave behind, under the watchful eyes of your present.

A nervous energy, a fluttering anticipation you hadn't permitted yourself to feel in years, stirred within the carefully guarded chambers of your heart as you prepared for the unexpected dinner. You stood before your closet, a meticulously curated collection of professional attire in understated hues that spoke of competence and control, and sought something that felt both comfortable and hinted at the special occasion, a subtle rebellion against your usual reserved style, a quiet acknowledgment of the significance of the evening.

Your gaze finally settled on a cherry red top, a vibrant splash of color that always seemed to inject a bit of defiant joy into your spirit, a bold statement against the muted tones that often mirrored your inner landscape. You paired it with a denim skort, a touch of casual familiarity amidst the potential formality of the evening, a grounding element that reminded you of the woman you were beneath the polished exterior you presented to the world.

To elevate the look, you chose a pair of sleek cherry red heels, adding a confident lift to your stride and a subtle statement of intent, a silent assertion of your own worth. Finally, you adorned yourself with delicate gold jewelry – a slender necklace that rested at your collarbone, catching the light with a subtle shimmer that drew attention to the graceful curve of your neck, and elegant stud earrings that framed your face with a touch of understated grace, adding a hint of warmth to your otherwise cool demeanor.

The reflection staring back was a woman you had painstakingly built, piece by painstaking piece, strong and independent, a far cry from the invisible, shrinking girl of your past, a testament to your resilience and unwavering spirit.

A sharp, insistent knock echoed through the quiet of your apartment, a sound that both quickened your pulse and filled you with a sense of nervous anticipation. Taking a deep breath, a silent promise to yourself to simply relax and enjoy the evening, regardless of where it might lead, you opened the door to find Jisung standing there.

The black satin shirt he wore accentuated the broad expanse of his shoulders, the fabric catching the soft hallway light with a subtle, almost liquid sheen that hinted at a quiet luxury. The wire-framed glasses added an unexpected intellectual air to his already handsome features, making his sharp, intelligent eyes seem even more thoughtful and perceptive, and you couldn't help but notice how undeniably fine he looked, a refined elegance that was both familiar, a ghost of the intense, sometimes volatile boy you once knew, and entirely new, a testament to the years that had sculpted him into this composed, intriguing man.

The ride to the restaurant was initially filled with a nervous tension, a subtle undercurrent of awkwardness that mirrored your earlier encounters, the silence punctuated by the gentle hum of the Pagani's engine.

Polite conversation filled the gaps, careful inquiries about the day's events and the surprisingly mild autumn weather, neither of you quite venturing into the deeper, more turbulent waters of your shared history or the uncertain territory of the present.

You found yourself stealing glances at him, trying to reconcile the composed man beside you, radiating an air of quiet confidence, with the memory of the intense, sometimes volatile teenager who had defended you in the crowded school cafeteria.

The restaurant was perched on a rooftop, offering a breathtaking panorama of the city lights twinkling below like a million scattered diamonds on a velvet cloth. The ambiance was sophisticated and intimate, soft jazz music drifting through the air, the murmur of hushed conversations a gentle hum that created a sense of secluded elegance, a world away from the noisy chaos of your high school days.

The initial awkwardness during dinner slowly began to dissipate as the conversation drifted towards lighter topics – shared observations about the dazzling city skyline, a brief, surprisingly engaging discussion about a thought-provoking documentary you had both recently watched, revealing unexpected common interests that bridged the years.

Then, as the dessert arrived, a delicate chocolate torte adorned with a single, flickering candle, casting a warm glow on his face, Jisung's eyes met yours with a soft intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "Happy birthday, [Your Name]," he said, his voice a low, warm murmur that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, a simple acknowledgment that held a weight of unspoken understanding.

He then presented you with a small, exquisitely wrapped box, the paper a deep, rich burgundy tied with a silver ribbon, the weight of it surprisingly substantial in your hand. Inside, nestled in soft, black velvet, was a heavy crystal perfume bottle, its facets catching the candlelight.

You lifted it, your breath catching in your throat. The delicate, floral and slightly musky scent that wafted upwards was instantly, achingly familiar, a nostalgic echo of your high school days, a fragrance you hadn't encountered in years, a scent that held within it the ghost of a younger, more vulnerable you.

And then you saw it – your name, [Your Name], elegantly and intricately carved into the smooth, cool glass of the bottle, a personal touch that resonated with a profound intimacy. A wave of emotion washed over you, a poignant mix of profound surprise and an unexpected tenderness that resonated deep within your carefully guarded heart.

He remembered. He remembered the small, seemingly insignificant detail of your favorite scent from a lifetime ago, a scent that evoked bittersweet memories of a time when simple pleasures held a greater significance, a time before the weight of the world had settled so heavily on your shoulders.

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him, a raw vulnerability exposed that you rarely allowed anyone to witness, a crack in the carefully constructed facade of your independence.

"Jisung," you began, your voice trembling slightly, the carefully constructed walls around your heart momentarily crumbling under the weight of his unexpected thoughtfulness and the poignant memories the perfume evoked. "This is… this is incredibly thoughtful. More than I could have ever expected. Thank you."

You paused, gathering your courage to voice the deeper turmoil that had plagued you for so long, the insecurities that still whispered in the quiet corners of your mind. "But… I need to be honest with you. I… I don't love myself. Not really. Not in the way someone should. And if I don't love myself, how can I possibly let anyone else truly love me? I'm… I'm afraid of that. Afraid of being hurt again, afraid of not being enough."

The confession hung in the air between you, heavy with years of unspoken pain, ingrained insecurity, and the deep-seated fear of repeating the hurts of the past, a truth you had carried like a secret burden.

He reached across the table, his larger hand gently covering yours, his touch warm and grounding, a silent reassurance that transcended words.

His gaze was earnest, unwavering, filled with a quiet understanding that surprised you with its depth, a knowing look that seemed to see past your carefully constructed defenses. "Then I'll wait," he said softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand, his eyes conveying a patience you hadn't anticipated, a steadfastness that offered a glimmer of hope.

"I'll wait until you do, [Your Name]. Because I know, deep down, the incredible woman you are, the strength and resilience you possess. And I believe you'll see it too, eventually. And when you do, whenever that may be, I'll still be here." His words were a balm to your wounded spirit, an unexpected promise of unwavering support and a profound belief in you that resonated deep within your heart, planting a tiny seed of hope in the barren landscape of your self-doubt, a fragile promise of a future you hadn't dared to imagine.

The rooftop dinner, bathed in the soft glow of city lights and punctuated by the raw vulnerability you had dared to share, marked a subtle but significant shift in the long, unspoken narrative between you and Jisung. The confession, the hesitant unveiling of your deepest insecurities, hung in the air not as a source of awkwardness or a point of retreat, but as a fragile, newly forged bridge spanning the chasm of years and misunderstandings.

In the weeks that followed, slow, deliberate progress began, like the tentative unfurling of a tightly closed bloom. A simple goodnight text evolved into a brief, thoughtful exchange the next day. A casual inquiry about the challenges of your workday led to a late-night phone call, the comfortable silence that occasionally fell between you gradually replacing the nervous tension and unspoken anxieties of the past.

He didn't push, didn't make demands or issue expectations. He simply offered his quiet, unwavering presence, a steady anchor in the sometimes-turbulent waters of your emotions, a silent reassurance that he wasn't going anywhere.

He would text a simple "How was your day?" or share an interesting article he thought you might find engaging, a small gesture that spoke volumes about his attentiveness. Occasionally, he would suggest a late-night study session, the pretense of academic pursuit now a comfortable backdrop for shared interests – a complex documentary that sparked a fascinating debate, a classic novel you had always intended to read but never found the time for, its pages becoming a shared landscape of discovery.

Slowly, tentatively, you began to lower the carefully constructed walls around your heart, brick by painstaking brick. You found a surprising comfort in his quiet understanding, the way he listened without judgment, his responses thoughtful and genuine, reflecting a depth of empathy you hadn't encountered before.

He learned your rhythms, the days you needed space to navigate the lingering shadows of your past, the evenings you might welcome a gentle distraction, a shared meal, or a quiet conversation. He even started suggesting you cook together at his spacious, modern apartment, his sleek kitchen a stark and welcoming contrast to the cramped, often tense atmosphere of the kitchen of your childhood.

These evenings were filled with a comfortable domesticity, the shared task of preparing a meal, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, the simmering of sauces, becoming a silent language of growing intimacy and trust.

A year spun by, marked by the subtle shifts in the seasons and the more profound shifts within yourself. Jisung's unwavering patience and quiet, steadfast support had become an integral and comforting presence in your life, a constant source of gentle encouragement.

You found yourself laughing more freely, the sound echoing in your apartment without the familiar tinge of self-consciousness. Your steps felt lighter, your shoulders less burdened. The sharp edges of your emotional guardedness began to soften, replaced by a tentative sense of self-acceptance, a growing understanding of your own inherent worth.

You started looking at your reflection with a kinder, more forgiving eye, the critical voice within slowly quieting its relentless judgment. While the journey to fully loving yourself was an ongoing process, a path you were still navigating, you were undeniably more confident, more emotionally stable, the foundations of your well-being feeling stronger and more resilient than they ever had before.

Then, finally, came the day of the project launch, the culmination of months of intense work, sleepless nights, and unwavering dedication, the very project upon which Stratagem Capital's significant investment hinged. The atmosphere in the office was electric with a palpable mixture of nervous anticipation and focused energy, the air thick with the unspoken hopes and fears of your entire team.

You, as the lead engineer and the driving force behind the innovation, presented the final product with a quiet confidence that belied the subtle tremor of excitement within you, your voice steady and clear as you navigated the intricate technical details, your passion for the project shining through.

Everything went smoothly, the system performing flawlessly, its elegant functionality and groundbreaking capabilities impressing the stakeholders. A collective sigh of relief and a wave of triumphant exhaustion washed over your team as the launch was officially declared a resounding success, a testament to your collective hard work and vision.

That evening, a simple text message from Jisung arrived on your phone, the familiar name on the screen sending a warmth spreading through you: "Stratagem party tonight. Nexus. Consider it a celebration of a job well done."

It was a casual invitation, understated in its wording, but the underlying warmth and a hint of personal invitation were unmistakable, a quiet acknowledgment of your shared journey and your individual triumph. Hesitantly, a sense of nervous excitement fluttering in your stomach, you decided to go.

The invitation to Nexus arrived with a subtly possessive addendum from Jisung, delivered via a late-night text that vibrated with an unspoken intimacy: "Wear black. It suits you, highlights the fire in your eyes, and makes those cherry lips look like they're begging for a taste."

Trusting his quiet confidence and the undeniably suggestive compliment, you chose a sleek black dress. Its simple elegance skimmed your curves like a whispered promise, a silent statement of newfound comfort and a daring hint of burgeoning sensuality in your own skin.

The fabric flowed around you like liquid night, a stark contrast to the vibrant, almost defiant red of your birthday dinner, yet equally, if not more, captivating, a subtle promise of the woman you were slowly, deliberately unleashing.

At the club, "Nexus," Jisung's sleek and exclusive domain, the celebratory atmosphere was thick with the intoxicating blend of pulsating music, unrestrained laughter, and the expensive, heady aroma of designer perfume and celebratory spirits.

Your colleagues, flushed with the heady success of the project launch, their usual professional reserve dissolving with each shared bottle of champagne, were in high spirits, their inhibitions lowered to a dangerous degree. You found yourself drawn into their revelry, the offered glasses of the effervescent liquid, each accompanied by increasingly suggestive toasts to your team's brilliance and your own pivotal role, proving utterly irresistible in the face of their insistent camaraderie and playful shoves.

Your notoriously low tolerance for alcohol, a delicate secret you rarely shared, meant the celebratory drinks went to your head with thrilling speed, the edges of the room beginning to soften and sway, the bass of the music vibrating deep within your core, a physical manifestation of the delicious unraveling of your carefully controlled senses, igniting a reckless, intoxicating warmth that spread through your veins.

Soon, a giddy laughter, a sound that had been long suppressed beneath layers of self-consciousness and ingrained caution, bubbled up from within you, a lightness you hadn't experienced with such uninhibited abandon in years.

Encouraged by your tipsy colleagues, their cheers and suggestive winks egging you on, you found yourself on the dance floor, moving with a fluid, uninhibited grace that surprised even yourself, a joyous, almost primal release of pent-up tension and newfound confidence.

Through the shimmering haze of alcohol and flashing lights, your gaze locked with Jisung's across the crowded room.

He was watching you from the edge of the dance floor, leaning against a polished chrome pillar, a soft, almost possessive smile playing on his lips, his gaze dark, intense, and utterly unwavering, a silent observer who seemed to find a quiet amusement and a palpable, smoldering desire in your uncharacteristic abandon.

His eyes held a dark, knowing gleam that sent a shiver of raw anticipation dancing down your spine.

A sudden, deliciously wicked impulse, fueled by the alcohol's intoxicating loosening grip on your inhibitions and a burgeoning, undeniable, almost desperate affection for the man who watched you with such quiet intensity, overtook you with a thrilling recklessness.

With a playful shout that was almost a husky invitation, you weaved through the dancing crowd, a black-clad siren navigating the throng with an unexpected agility, reached Jisung, and, with a boldness that made your own heart pound, yanked him down by the collar of his dark, subtly shimmering silk shirt.

Your cherry-red lips crashed onto his in a kiss that was anything but demure, a rush of giddy affection, uninhibited desire, and a playful, teasing exploration of the boundaries that had long separated you. Your hands tangled in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until your bodies were pressed together, the kiss a heady mix of champagne-fueled impulsiveness and a genuine longing that had been slowly simmering beneath the surface for months, now boiling over.

You nipped playfully at his lower lip before deepening the kiss, your tongue darting out to tease his, a silent, brazen dare in your slightly inebriated state that made his breath hitch and a low groan rumble in his chest.

You punctuated the bold move by gently biting down on his lower lip, a playful yet possessive gesture, before tugging lightly, drawing a surprised, yet undeniably pleased, sound from him.

He recoiled slightly, a flicker of surprise widening his dark eyes before a gentle, yet firm, hand cupped your cheek, stilling your impulsive actions, his thumb stroking the soft skin beneath your ear with a tender possessiveness that sent a delicious thrill spiraling through you.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your swollen lips, a note of amused concern and a definite, husky undercurrent of arousal lacing his tone.

"Easy there, Ms. Y/L/N. Those cherry lips are getting a little… demanding, and you're swaying like a particularly lovely willow tree in a strong breeze. Though, I must admit," his gaze dropped to your lips, a dark heat flickering in his eyes, a predatory gleam that made your pulse quicken, "it's a rather… persuasive argument."

He carefully, yet reluctantly, disentangled himself, his arm remaining possessively around your waist, his touch a steady anchor in your suddenly unsteady world.

Gently but firmly, he steered you away from the pulsating crowd, his concern evident in his steady, unwavering gaze, though a hint of reluctant longing and a definite spark of desire still lingered in their depths.

He helped you into the cool, luxurious embrace of his Pagani, the soft leather a welcome contrast to the sudden heat that flushed your skin.

The ride back to your apartment was quiet, punctuated only by your occasional giggles and his soft, reassuring murmurs, his hand resting lightly on your thigh, his fingers occasionally flexing as if fighting a fierce internal battle against the urge to explore further.

As you fumbled with your door, the city lights blurring through the alcohol-induced haze, Jisung patiently guided your unsteady hand to the keypad.

You punched in the code '14092000', the familiar sequence a jumbled mess in your slightly inebriated mind, the numbers swimming before your eyes. Then, as the lock clicked open, the realization hit you with the force of a sudden downpour, a wave of unexpected warmth flooding through the alcoholic haze.

The numbers… they were his birthday. A small, intimate detail he had entrusted to you, a silent gesture of trust that spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings and the quiet intimacy you now shared, a secret language whispered in digits that now felt like a key to something much deeper.

Once inside your apartment, the lingering effects of the alcohol made you clumsy and endearingly unsteady, your movements a little too dramatic, your laughter a little too loud, each step a playful sway that threatened to send you tumbling.

As Jisung guided you towards your bedroom, his hand a firm, reassuring presence on your back, a wave of affection, amplified by the alcohol and the heady emotions of the evening, washed over you with an almost overwhelming intensity.

You turned to him, your movements slightly exaggerated, a playful glint in your eyes that hinted at mischief and a burgeoning, almost desperate desire. Reaching out, you tugged gently on his hand, pulling him down onto the edge of your bed with a soft giggle that bordered on a husky sigh.

You then proceeded to crawl onto the mattress, straddling his lap, your black dress riding up your thighs with a scandalous disregard for propriety, snuggling on top of him, your head resting comfortably against his chest, the steady, reassuring beat of his heart a comforting rhythm beneath your ear.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair, pulling him closer until your lips were mere inches apart, your breath mingling. "Jisung," you mumbled, your words slightly slurred but filled with a genuine warmth that radiated through you, "I think… no, I know… I love you. You're… you're so good to me. And you smell absolutely intoxicating," you added with a tipsy giggle, nuzzling closer and pressing a lingering, deliberately provocative kiss to the sensitive skin of his neck, your cherry-red lips leaving a faint, fleeting imprint.

You then repeated the playful bite on his lower lip, tugging gently and watching his eyes darken with a mixture of amusement and something far more primal.

A soft chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against your ear, a sound filled with a tender amusement and a palpable, tightly leashed desire that made his muscles tense beneath you. He gently stroked your hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands, his voice a heart-fluttering whisper against your temple, filled with a tender amusement and a quiet longing that mirrored your own, tinged with a hint of reluctant control.

"And I, [Your Name]," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, his arms tightening around your waist for a fleeting, possessive moment before relaxing, his gaze dark and intense as he looked down at you, his eyes lingering on your parted lips, then drifting down to where your hips subtly pressed against his.

"Am willing to wait until those beautiful, slightly tipsy words hold the same crystal clarity as the stars we saw painting the night sky. But darling," his voice dropped to a husky whisper that sent a shiver down your spine, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a feather-light touch that hinted at a barely suppressed hunger, "the waiting is becoming… an exquisite form of torture, especially with those tempting little nibbles."

He held you close, a silent battle raging within him, resisting the undeniable pull of the moment, respecting the vulnerability of your inebriated state, his own desire held firmly in check by a deeper, more profound affection and a gentlemanly restraint that spoke volumes about the depth of his character, even as his body betrayed a different, urgent story.

-- Next Morning

Sunlight stabbed at your eyelids, a brutal assault after the night's champagne-fueled escapades. A dull throb hammered behind your eyes, each pulse echoing the questionable decisions of the previous evening. You groaned, turning your face into the pillow, the lingering scent of expensive cologne a faint, comforting anchor in the sea of your queasy stomach. Slowly, reluctantly, you pried your eyes open, the unfamiliar surroundings of your bedroom coming into focus.

Then, the tantalizing aroma of sizzling bacon and something sweet, like pancakes, wafted from the kitchen, cutting through the fog of your hangover. You pushed yourself up, the black dress from the night before a crumpled heap on the floor. Padding barefoot towards the source of the enticing smell, you found Jisung standing at your stove, effortlessly flipping pancakes, a comfortable domesticity radiating from him that made your heart do a little flip of its own, despite your pounding head.

He turned as you entered, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Morning, sleepyhead," he greeted, his voice a low, teasing drawl. "Slept well? You were quite… enthusiastic last night. Though, I must say," he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, his gaze lingering on your slightly disheveled state, "you have a surprising stamina for someone who claims a low tolerance. You seemed to enjoy our… deep and slow… activities. And if I recall correctly, there were some rather insistent requests for… more."

Panic flared in your chest, hot and sharp. Had you? The memories of last night were fragmented, a blurry montage of laughter, flashing lights, and a reckless boldness you barely recognized. Your cheeks flushed crimson. "We… we didn't… have… sex?" you stammered, your voice thick with sleep and dawning horror.

His smirk widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Relax, agassi," he chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. "Just teasing. Though your attempts to straddle me were… memorable. And your whispered demands were… certainly noted. I got you safely tucked in. All innocent, I assure you. Mostly."

Relief washed over you in a dizzying wave, leaving you slightly breathless and acutely aware of the lingering heat in your cheeks. He moved towards you, his hands reaching out to frame your face, his thumbs gently stroking your temples. "Though," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips, a familiar heat returning to his eyes, "that kiss in the club… and those little nibbles… those were definitely real. And rather… persuasive. You seemed to have a particular fondness for my lower lip."

Your brow furrowed, a wave of mortification washing over you. "I… I don't really remember…" you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper, your cheeks burning hotter.

He closed the distance between you, his gaze intense. He reached out, gently taking your hand, and walked you backwards until your spine met the cool surface of the wall. He placed a hand on either side of your head, effectively pinning you, a playful dominance in his stance. Leaning in close, his breath ghosting over your lips, he teased, "Those kisses were quite something, my tipsy darling. And those little bites… rather… possessive. Should I show you how you did it?"

To his surprise, instead of a denial, a hesitant nod escaped you, a flicker of curiosity overriding your embarrassment.

His eyes darkened, a spark of something primal igniting within them. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against yours, a tantalizing prelude. Then, you surged forward, your hands tangling in his hair, your mouth crashing onto his with a desperate, sober longing. This kiss was different, grounded in a clarity that the previous night lacked, a heartfelt confession in every touch. When you finally broke apart, your breath catching in your throat, you looked into his eyes, the hangover momentarily forgotten. "Jisung," you said, your voice clear and steady, the words carrying the weight of a year of quiet understanding and burgeoning love. "I do love you. I really do."

His gaze softened, a profound tenderness replacing the teasing glint. Without a word, he swept you off your feet, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, and carried you to the kitchen counter, gently placing you on the cool surface amidst the tantalizing aroma of breakfast. His lips found yours again, this time with a fierce tenderness, a claiming kiss that spoke of shared desire and a love that had been patiently waiting. Hands explored, soft moans escaped your lips, the scent of bacon and pancakes mingling with the raw heat of your bodies. Finally, breathless and flushed, you broke apart, foreheads touching.

Han's voice, a low, husky whisper against your ear, sent a shiver down your spine. "I love you more, my love."

-- The End

748 notes View Post

valreifang

11 months ago

cops and robbers — kim seungmin

trope: kim seungmin x reader | strangers-to-lovers ; use of profanity ; mentions of a one night stand once ; he’s a fuckboy basically summary: fuckboy kim seungmin takes interest in the quiet, photography major who lives just across his dorm. wc: 3.8k words

The first time Kim Seungmin sees you, you have a camera strapped around your neck.

You’re just across his dorm room, hands fiddling on the buttons of your DSLR and eyes shifting where you can get your eyes on, looking.

Probably for something that can be added to your portfolio, he thinks. Not that he cares.

It isn’t all that hard to spot him either. Seungmin is easy to find, with a cigarette lit between his fingers and the smell of smoke vexing your senses. His entire body is leant on the wall, eyebrow slit and all to truly sell the fuckboy character.

You lock eyes when you finally find the source of smoke, and you think for a second to tell him to stop. It’s not what you do. Instead, you shift your attention.

It’s never a good idea to be within distance of boys like him anyway. There are other things to think about, things much more important. Like what you’ll have for dinner, the old pair of shoes you need to replace, your final portfolio.

Sighing, you look down at your camera.

You hope the low ISO 200 can capture whatever the fuck you want to take a photo of tonight—long shutter speeds, white balance on auto, manual mode. You’d be fucked if you didn’t have these settings memorized.

Different for day. Different for night. It’s a hassle, but it’s a hassle you keep up with if you want to graduate.

“You know, it isn’t safe for pretty girls like you to be out this late.”

Raspy. It comes from just behind you, and you have half a mind to turn to face the threat when you’re greeted face to face with a smirking Kim Seungmin. He sounds kitschy, looks kitchsy and it seems like he knows it as well.

You roll your eyes. “I think I’ll be fine.”

He stares at you for a minute.

“Whatever you say, princess.” The bass of his voice is a little terrifying, but not enough for you to shuffle away.

He would’ve been more if you weren’t hellbent on the idea of finishing your portfolio for the semester. Nothing scares you more than a failing class.

Not even Seungmin.

He doesn’t seem to mind your lack of chalant. He doesn’t really care. The boy has never been the type to stick his nose in other people’s business, talking to others only when necessary. Being annoyingly chatty was reserved for his friends.

In hindsight, starting a conversation with you should’ve been the first outlier he noticed on his sudden shift of behavior. But he doesn’t. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders and separates himself from you.

He was only out for a smoke anyway.

The next time he sees you is after his one-night-stand-gone-wrong.

It’s still at night, just a week later. And you look exactly like the way you were, camera in your hand and an unbothered look on your face.

Though, when you hear footsteps echoing from just a short distance and spot a speeding figure coming from his room, your face twists in disdain.

You were only out to practice a certain exposure you want to perfect. Not to bear witness to whatever the fuck happens in Seungmin’s dorms.

When he locks eyes with you for the second time that week, you pretend not to notice anything.

“You again?”

He’s shameless. A bit of his overgrown sideburns are sticking to his skin, shirt lazily thrown on, and sweat still glistening on his forehead. You don’t want to think of the connotations of what your observations could possibly mean.

You simply look at him, the way his face morphs in recognition and the way his neck cranes just a little. He looks like he’s in his element, sweat and fucked-out eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

You’re the exact opposite, picking at the buttons of your camera with sleep-riddled eyes and air struck hair.

Sighing, you push yourself off your unflattering position on the ground, brushing off the rubble that might’ve stuck on your pants from sitting there for so long.

You slip back into your dorm room without uttering a single response to the boy.

He sees you everywhere after that.

And truthfully, it was starting to get annoying. Especially when the boys started catching on to his staring.

While Changbin was narrating stories of nights Seungmin couldn’t care for the details of, he finds himself scanning the student hall.

He thinks he doesn’t know the reason why, or at least not until he finds you eating with some other girl.

Your eyes are intently glued to the screen of your camera. He wonders what photos could litter the memory of your SD card.

Before he can even shift his attention back to whatever the fuck was happening back with his friends, he’s caught red-handed. Shit-eating grins surround the table, a few howls here and there, and shoves that Seungmin could've gone without.

“Is she your next target, Seungmin?”

He wants to vomit at the word choice.

“Target?” He scoffs. You weren’t a target. “She isn’t even my type.”

Kim Seungmin brushes off their noise, canceling out the ill-intentions they’ve made up for him. He just sits there, unperturbed by everything until his friends finish eating.

He looks at you one last time before leaving. It’s hard not to.

It doesn’t save him from further teasing.

“You’re a photography major?”

You’re caught off guard by the sudden voice behind you.

It seems Seungmin has made a habit of surprising you when you least expect to see him.

“...I am.”

You finally reply after letting the question hang in the air for a few seconds longer than necessary. He doesn’t care, only cares that you responded to him.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

Is he only capable of asking you questions?

“We’re not friends.” You deadpan. His lips pull into a smile.

“I’m just curious why you have a camera with you all the time. Loosen up.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, just lets the silence hang there. He knows he can tick you off even more, but he doesn’t find himself wanting to. He simply walks back to the dorms with you.

When he walks too fast, he stalls—for just enough time for you to catch up with him.

You fail to notice the way he shifts his position, always standing by the busy side of the road.

“Are you smoking again?”

It’s the first time you initiate conversation, and he snaps out of the trance he’d been in. He was outside again, similar to when he’d first met you. And you were still you, with your camera, and the way you lift it to fit your eye through the viewfinder.

“Why? Are you starting to care about me, princess?” There’s that same smirk evident, and it seems he took your question as invitation to stand next to where you are.

You want to stomp on his face.

“‘M just asking. I really couldn’t care less.”

You can smell the smoke off of him, warranting you to take a full step away. You’ve always hated its scent, and the second-hand smoke exposure.

In turn, Seungmin runs a hand through his hair. It’s shorter, looks like he got it trimmed recently. When you put your camera away in favor of leaving the site of crime, the boy attempts to stop you.

“Leaving already?”

“It isn’t exactly part of my tuition fee to talk to people like you.”

You sound harsh, and it’s an odd feeling to suddenly feel offended about a simple phrase he’s heard multiple times before.

People like you.

What the hell was that even supposed to mean?

“Spare me a few more minutes, angel.”

You don’t bother arguing any further. Besides, you still needed a few more practice photos of where you were looking. You lift your camera back up to peek through its viewfinder, and you can only hope the noise of your photos is enough to drown him out.

“What are you doing out here so late, anyway? Didn’t I tell you it wasn’t safe?”

“I also remember telling you I’ll be fine.” You grumble, snapping a shot. He moves closer to you when you open your mouth to continue talking. “Practicing helps ease the feeling of dread, like I’d be less likely to fail if I did.”

Seungmin notices the calluses on your hands, rough with hard work, and then his eyes trail to your side profile. The light exposure from the moon makes you look prettier than you already do.

Wait, what?

The boy has never stared at someone’s hands and drawn a conclusion before, never taken the time to admire and talk to someone he wasn’t planning on screwing over either.

There’s a first for everything.

“Smoking helps.”

You snort at his sudden comment. Too much time has passed by for him to suddenly butt back into the conversation. The timing makes you laugh a little.

His heart races at the sound.

“Are there thoughts when you feel dread?” He asks, albeit a little silent, in case you didn’t want to talk about it.

You contemplate whether you should talk about it. It’s an unlikely conversation to have with an unlikely person like Kim Seungmin.

Against your better judgement, you answer.

“I don’t know. It just feels like… it feels like my heart is palpitating. I feel scared for some reason. I guess I just really don’t want to fail. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. It does.”

“You also feel dread?” You ask.

He hums in response. “All the time. Sometimes I’m not sure if the decisions I’m making are the right ones.”

It makes him sound so human to be able to empathize. You hate to admit you’re surprised.

“Just do what feels right in your heart.”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You’ll know.” You mumble.

The few minutes you’ve spared him has run out. “Goodbye now, Seungmin.”

“You know who I am?”

“Everybody knows who you are. You and your friends.” You wave him off, finally shutting off your camera and putting the lens hood back. “Bye.”

You’re dismissive, and it’s something that would usually annoy Seungmin because he’s the dismissive one in his friend group.

The sudden challenge should anger him, but it doesn’t. What is it about you, and your playing hard to get, and your dismissiveness that has his attention so much?

He’s usually the one being chased, never chasing.

He’s usually the one being told things, never initiating. Never telling.

You’ve definitely done something to him, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

He really doesn’t want to think about it.

It happened without warning.

You only remember how angry Seungmin was. Everything else was a little blurry.

You don’t even know who threw the first punch. Shapes and shadows just seemed to move around you until a fight broke out.

The victim was from the Engineering department, though you don’t find the word victim befitting for someone like him. You don’t even know his name, just that he has a history for picking on people.

And it seemed today, you had fallen prey. You guess it just wasn’t your lucky day.

Though, if you think of the situation in whole, he definitely had worse luck than you.

Seungmin was locked and loaded behind gritted teeth and white knuckles when he threw a punch. And he was unforgiving with his hits.

“Seungmin, stop it.” Your voice comes out in a desperate plea, and as if a switch, he pulls himself off of the nameless Engineering boy.

“Fucking asshole.” Seungmin spits at him.

He surprises you with how cold he can speak. While you’ve always known that boys like him were a little more asshole-coded, you didn’t think he had it in his moral compass to defend you after having only shared not more than four conversations.

“Why would you do that? Seungmin, what the hell?”

You’re exasperated as you peel him away from the crime scene. He’d suffered a few blows you’re sure would bruise later, and his knuckles were bloody from his displays of violence earlier.

He’s speed walking ahead of you, doesn’t think he can look at you.

“Why didn’t you stand up for yourself? He had your camera.” His voice was significantly louder than it had been during your earlier conversations. You think it might be the first time he’s raised his voice at you.

His features, however, deeply contrast with the upset dripping from his voice. His face softens ridiculously fast when he turns back to look at you. And while his intentions send a soft nudge on your heart, you’re still upset at the predicament he’d willingly and intentionally put himself into.

“I didn’t need you to start a fight.” You sigh, tugging him by his arm after he’d stopped walking to direct his line of sight at you.

You continue the fleet-footed walk back to your dorm, dragging him with you.

“A thank you would be appreciated.” He grumbles from behind you, but makes no move to free his arm from your grip. Seungmin simply lets you drag him away.

“Stay there.” You sit him down just in front of your door before slipping into your little room. It takes no longer than two minutes before you’re back outside.

He’s still right where you left him. The only difference is he’s looking at you as if he’d been waiting for you to come out.

You make a move to crouch next to him.

There’s a first aid kit sitting between the two of you, a tub of water, among other things.

“How could you be so reckless?” You offer no warning when you take his hands, soaking them under the water and carefully washing the site of injury.

When you’re sure it’s clean, you turn to look at him. “You barely even know me, and you’re getting into fights.”

You’re clearly stressed, packing ice into a thin cloth while lecturing him under one breath. He doesn’t argue with you. Instead, he hyper fixates on the way you hold his hand—resting it on your thigh, applying light pressure on his bruise.

Your hand is warm, almost too warm against his. And he notices the same callouses he did that night you caught him smoking again. Yours with hard work, his with stubborn lament.

The action makes his face flush an embarrassing color. You don’t seem to notice. You’re too preoccupied being upset to even look him in the face.

“You better not do this again.”

In truth, Seungmin had probably suffered much worse than bruised knuckles. This, in comparison to all the previous fights he’d gotten himself into, was nothing. But it feels more significant than the rest.

His heart folds at how you’re taking care of him.

It was a curiously intimate thing for you to attempt to reduce the swelling with your makeshift cold compress. There’s an unidentifiable feeling in his heart he still doesn’t want to think about, but he knows there’s a subtle change in the air that he needs to address.

“He could’ve smashed years of your hard work.” He suddenly breaks the silence.

It triggers you to glance up, and you lock eyes with Seungmin once more. It looks like he’s rethinking whether he should continue talking.

Against his better judgment, he does. “He had your camera, and all I could think about was how devastated you would feel if he’d broken it.”

You blink a couple of times at his sudden confession. Moreso because he’d been observant enough to know the significance of that single piece of item. And maybe because he was looking at you a certain way.

He does that sometimes.

You don’t really know what to say to him, so you shift your focus back on his wounds. And when you’re sure there wasn’t any more damage, you let him go. “I’m done. You can go.”

A silence falls between you both before the boy climbs back on his feet while holding the cold compress you’d handed him. He takes a few tentative steps away.

“And Seungmin?”

He suddenly turns back at the interjection of your voice, looking at you with that same look from earlier, like you should know he’d do it again for you. It’s almost fond. And Seungmin hovers there, waiting.

You take the brief moment where his attention is on you to finally say the words that’d been brewing in your throat.

“Thank you.”

You’re trying so hard to keep your voice monotone. He’s trying so hard not to smile.

Seungmin’s been in front of you for almost ten minutes now.

It’d been almost a week since he’d gotten into a fight, and he has the gall to suddenly appear in front of you. In the student center during dinner, of all places.

“Hi.” It’s his fourth time uttering those words now, but it seems your attention is still on whatever the fuck poison they were serving for dinner.

“Talk to me. Hi.” He persists.

(“He likes her, for sure.” Hyunjin laughs from a few tables away.

There’s amusement in Chan’s eyes.

“Yeah, he definitely does.” The eldest smiles to himself.)

His attempts are fruitless. You are still drinking your soup, and he is still vying for your attention.

“You’re ignoring me.” Seungmin pouts. He actually pouts. “Are you still upset I started a fight?”

You don’t respond. If you were honest with yourself, you don’t know why you’re ignoring him either. Was it because you’d felt the slightest nudge in your feelings the last time you saw each other?

“Pretty girl.”

You stall before asking. “How’s your knuckles?”

He smiles. “Better. Will you stop ignoring me now?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“If you want me to apologize, I won’t. I don’t feel regret for doing what I did. I’d rather his face smashed than your camera.”

There’s that nudge again. You didn’t want him to apologize either. A few days of mulling it over and the news of quiet in the Engineering department since his fight with Seungmin tells you enough that the benefits had outweighed the risks.

No more stories of students being taunted for doing absolutely nothing.

The boy in front of you clears his throat, trying to get your attention. “But, I’m willing to do anything else for you to stop ignoring me, or apologize for anything else.”

An idea flashes in your head.

“I know how you can make it up to me.” You say in lieu of a real response.

When you’d asked him for a favor, he’d gotten a little excited.

He’d thought it was somewhere along the lines of a date, like that crap he sees in movies. He didn’t think he’d have to model for a few shots in your portfolio.

“New piercing?” You ask, gesturing at your own lips to try and mirror the spot he’d gotten it. It’s silver and shiny, and definitely adds to the fuckboy appeal.

You shudder, you know your own parents would never agree to you doing the same.

“Like it?” Seungmin has the audacity to smirk, flaunting the silver on his lower lip. You simply roll your eyes.

(Though, the few seconds you spare to stare at it is enough judgment for him.

You lift your camera back up. “Alright. Just do whatever for now. Actually, maybe a hand in your pocket—yeah. That’s perfect.”

He does whatever the hell he can think of. And while most would’ve been embarrassed by now, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. If it meant you’d stop ignoring him, he’d do this a million times over.

“Stay in that position.”

“Hmm, I like it when you’re being bossy.”

“Shut up.” You snap a shot, looking at the screen of your camera and smiling in contentment. You don’t give him the time to rest before you’re lifting it back up to eye-level.

And it goes on like that for a while. You use him to study lighting, and angles, and shadows, and forms.

Though, it’s a little difficult when he looks so damn attractive in everything. You might have a biased model. You’re afraid if you were to shoot him in shitty lighting, it would still turn out good.

“Alright.” You switch off your camera after flicking through the numerous shots you’d taken. “I think I’m done.”

“So, you’ll stop ignoring me now?”

He looks at you with everything so potently him when he’s with you.

“Uhuh.” You hum, letting your DSLR drop around your neck. He smiles victoriously.

None of you turn to leave.

You lament in the night air just a little longer, and Seungmin spends the time staring at you.

You suddenly turn to him. His gaze is a little too invasive not to notice. “What?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You.” There’s something about the way he says it that makes you look away. You could swear you saw a tint of red on the tip of his ears.

“Among other girls, I presume.”

He exhales. “No. Just you.”

“Resident fuckboy Kim Seungmin thinking about just one girl?”

“Fuck you.” Though, there’s no spit in the way he says it. His heart warms at the thought of you feeling comfortable enough to joke around with him now, despite you still coining him a fuckboy. He supposes that one’s on him for years of tainted reputation.

Your half laugh at being cursed echoes in his mind, lingering more there than in the air.

“You’re acting strange tonight, Seungmin.”

“You make me act strange.” His voice softens even though he’s essentially putting the blame on you for the way he was acting. And he says it in a way that makes you think he’s waiting for you to say something, or to at least understand the intentions behind his words.

You don’t know how to respond though. He sounds a little too serious to just merely be fucking around with you, like you’ve heard he does.

“The boys are saying I’m getting soft.” Seungmin doesn’t sound like he’s waiting for your response, so you let him continue talking. “Ever since that first night I met you. What the fuck did you do to me?”

He meets your eyes.

“Will you say something?”

You attempt to flat out your nerves at how he’s baring himself vulnerable in front of you all of a sudden. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t grown fond of the boy after his multiple attempts at getting your attention, but you’d also be lying if you said you didn’t think it was just another one of his ploys to get into your pants.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I’m acting like a damn puppy following you around everywhere. And I let you boss me around for pictures when I could be drinking with my friends right now.” He’s still eye-to-eye with you, and it’s scary the way honestly spills from his.

“Then go drink with your friends then. ‘M not forcing you to be here.”

You’re so fucking stubborn, and he tries to search for your eyes but you aren’t looking at him anymore. Yours are downcast somewhere, on the ground, on anywhere but his eyes.

“Look at me.” You don’t know why, but you instantly do. Maybe it was in the way he said it, almost desperate. “I don’t want to drink with my friends. I want to be here with you. Because I like you.”

You crack a slow smile at his words, and at the way he’s stripped himself in genuine softness in front of you. It wasn’t everyday you’d see Kim Seungmin like this.

“So don’t think I’d lie to you about that.” He’s pouting again, and you tease him for it.

You get on your toes, get a good look on his face and the pout that adorns it. “Are you upset I thought you were lying?”

“Fuck off. I’m just—” He can’t help but laugh, pushing you away from him lest he wants to suffer the consequences of kissing you without your permission. He wants you to like him back, and if he has to do it slowly, so be it.

“Just give me a chance.” Almost pleading.

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “Okay.”

“I understand if you—” He suddenly pauses. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

He stares at your lips, at the way it forms around the word, and he’s puzzled at how hot his face feels because he’s never been flustered like this. And he thinks his cheeks will start to burn if he doesn’t stop smiling. But he just can’t bring himself to stop, not when you’ve willingly given him a chance.

On your own autonomy.

“You won’t regret it.”

You don’t think you will.

866 notes View Post

valreifang

1 year ago

STRANGE DREAMS !

CHARACTERS ! incubus/demon!hyunjin, reader

GENRE ! horror, smut [minors dni]

WORDS ! 7.8k [more or less]

SYNOPSIS ! sometimes, you meet a strange man in your dreams. this is one of those times.

THIS FIC CONTAINS ! edible-fueled writing. horror [gore—body horror: descriptions of blood and mutilated bodies. frightening figures and situations. description of drowning. nightmares and sleep paralysis. demons, and thus], references to biblical lore [christianity] and small references to milton's paradise lost [if you squint], and smut [dubcon—sexual manipulation and sex pollen, sorta. d/s dynamics—predator versus prey. possession/corruption. vaginal and anal sex. pussy and face slapping. teasing. fingering. spit. squirting. face fucking. degradation. strength kink sorta. sex with a demon—in demon form. monster cock. lots of cum]

⚠️ if you’re sensitive to gore, be advised before reading. i tried to be tame and brief with descriptions, and although i consider it to be light gore, i understand everyone has their limits. so proceed with caution.

💌 posting this earlier than originally planned cuz why not!! got the idea for this fic a year ago after an edible. it’s very weird n self indulgent but i’m glad i finally finished it !! i hope someone enjoys it <3 i always appreciate feedback !!

You’re certain that it’s the sky you’re gazing into—though, you’re unsure because your vision is unclear, a milky haze clouding your pupils—but the longer you look at it, the more it spins and distorts, bringing on nausea that rises in waves from the pit of your stomach to the top of your head. The nausea brings on a discomfort; dryness in your mouth and a straining in your eyes, and because of that, you’re left with no choice but to close your eyes and let your other senses take over. Darkness surrounds you, and it feels like you have risen into the sky, despite grass being beneath you, and it’s soft, comfortable; almost like you could sink deeper into it before reaching the hard, frigid dirt. You grab the blades of grass with a tight fist, tugging on it, but still unwilling to pull it out as if you would cause harm. Then, the grass all around you becomes apparent—alive—moving against your skin in a response back to you. It tickles all over, building the realization that you lay naked in the grass, though unwilling to get up or cover yourself; lost within the pure contentment of the situation.

There is a wave that sways over you—hot, heavy, and harsh, yet not too overbearing in its nature. You don’t know why, but there’s a sense of familiarity about when you are. It’s as if you’ve been here before, a distant memory that both chills and warms you.

Along with the burbling sound of water pouring into itself, the smell of water whisks in the cool breeze—slightly sweet, green and alluring; whistling your name, calling out for you to come over. The whispering is intriguing, full of temptation but slightly melancholic; no words need be said, yet you understand the language of the waters. The whispers are loud, blaring; not in the sense of volume, but by how jarring it is—unlike anything you’ve heard and yet, it’s something you feel so acquainted with, like a long-time friend. The water cries, begging for you to bathe within it or drink from it and promises a sweet taste that could be comparable to honey and lemons.

When you open your eyes again, everything is clear. The plants around you are breathing, communicating through the whistles of the wind; and just like the water, the plants cry out as well. Though, the cries of the flowers and trees are far different from the cries of the water. The cries of the water nearby sing a great harmony of promise and belief, whereas, the cries of the many trees screech of terror and agitation. They warn of what horrors can be witnessed here, of what great dangers are lurking within them. A sweet song of catastrophe. The flowers, however,—with captivating colors unlike anything you’ve ever seen, yet familiar; like the names of them are on the tip of your tongue, begging to be acknowledged and praised—cry differently. It’s a murmur most comparable to the feeling of silk against your hands, but also the feeling of goosebumps after a close encounter with something you shouldn’t have crossed paths with. A comfortable discomfort.

You look around, fully taking in the picture of what presents itself around you. There are butterflies varying in size and species—they sing as well, something similar to a war cry; morbid and haunting, though still beautiful and in great faith. Dragonflies buzz around, securing their place and status within the area. So much life here—at peace in this paradise. There’s some kind of haze or mist in the air, silent and still, tranquil. The sun is bright, blazing hot and practically piercing, yet despite the warmth, the air is slightly cool. The sight of your surroundings further cements your previous feelings of familiarity. Yet it also uncovers sheer discomfort. Yes, the area is familiar, but there’s something unsettling and distinctly different about it. A discomfort layering in the air, horribly beautiful and homely, but pandemonium is lurking, lurched and hidden within the shadows of this seeming paradise.

You roll over in the grass—laying on your stomach and lifting your head to see beyond what you could before. Not too far from your current position is a waterfall, continuing its whispers. The spring below is surrounded by unusual pink flowers and huge rocks covered in thick, green and yellow moss. Before you can process it, you’re on your feet and moving towards the spring. Once there, you kneel, gazing at your reflection in the waters. It’s almost too much to process but it’s you. It is you and yet it’s like the face you wear does not belong to you. Uncanny and off putting.

Movement. On your left, deep in the periphery of the spring. Your eyes shift, tracking whatever chooses to present itself. A swan. Elegant and pristine. It cranes its neck, beak pointing towards you in acknowledgment. You make full eye contact, and a chill runs up your spine causing your hair to stand on edge. An inflamed feeling of danger sparks within you, and before you have time to fight or run as far away as possible—“There you are!”

The voice comes from your right, but when you look in that direction, there’s nothing there. “So this is where you ran off to.”

The physical energy of the presence behind you is familiar, but strikingly overwhelming—it crawls up your skin like sharp nails, giving you goosebumps—you don’t need to turn around to recognize it. It’s Him. You’re unsure of what he is, exactly, but sometimes you meet him in your dreams. Though deep down you know that his existence and connection to you reaches well beyond the odd worlds of your dream realm. When he touches you, your surroundings change. The waterfall that you were once at is yards away, tiny in perspective. Despite having not moved an inch, it seems that every time you blink, you’re further and further into the woods; trees surrounding you and most certain to bury any noises emitted within their leaves.

The rustling of the tree leaves sounds like a screech, almost like sharp nails against a chalkboard—sinking deep and clashing, scraping out the porcelain enamel. The sound alone affects your brain, echoing in your mind, blaring enough to make you hold your hand against your head. The sound stops once he presses his hand against your cheek—so cold it feels like burning fire, almost scalding enough to melt off your skin; but you do not flinch, nor do you back away, frozen in place. The feeling of his skin against yours evokes an emotional aching so deep, you can feel it festering in the pit of your stomach, spreading to your organs and seeping into your veins—and somehow there is comfort in that.

He’s speaking, and while you’re unable to make out the words he is saying, you can tell that his voice is soft, pillowy like a cloud. Honey-laced words dipping from his tongue as if he’s trying to convince or ask something of you. You avert your gaze, unsure of if you actually want to meet his eyes.

His presence scares you just as much as it calms you. Intriguing, and homely but also frightening and domineering despite simply just standing there. Something about his demeanor feels off, or distorted, at the very least, as if he’s not actually in front of you. As if he was a result of your imagination instead of directly in your eyes view. He’s real, a hand against your skin, almost close enough for you to feel his breath lightly against your skin; and at the very least, he knows you. You know him, too, you think; of course, you’ve seen him in your dreams, but you’re inclined to believe you know him from somewhere else.

“Where are we?” You ask him, avoiding eye contact, shaking away from the contact his hand makes with you. Jarringly, it doesn’t feel like you said anything at all. Your mouth was moving and the words presented themselves in your mind and yet you can’t hear a single thing you’re saying. The familiar fire within your throat when you speak is no longer there.

“The Garden. It’s perfect here, isn’t it?” He gives you a small smile, seemingly understanding your indistinct confusion. Then, as he speaks up again, his voice drips with something resembling woe. “You and I used to live here a long time ago. I visit every so often, dip my legs into that spring back there, and then I reminisce on how pure life was back then before…”

You think he’s talking again, but once again, you’re unable to hear him. You’re too busy lost in his face. The urge to press your lips against his gets stronger as you’re next to him. Then you realize he’s naked as well, and your entire body gets warmer. There’s a budding ache inside you that’s all too familiar, growing at a rapid pace. It’s almost like your body is on fire as a result of being within his presence. Hormones floating, hair standing on edge, your more sensual and raw instincts ready to unveil and latch onto him at any time. Head hurting the longer you’re in his presence until it all just stops.

Everything stops. The trees are no longer rustling, birds no longer humming. There’s no splashing of the waterfall nor whistling in the wind. Just pure silence. The silence is uncomfortable, and causes you to stand still in your tracks like a deer, scared that if you make any sudden moves a predator might attack within the blink of an eye; jumping on you and tearing you apart in a bloody mess of flesh and organs flying everywhere, painting the fallen deep green leaves a perfect contrast of crimson.

“Run,” He says. There’s nothing in his voice; no emotion nor a slight hint at what he’s thinking. But the word echoes in your mind, and sends a chill down your spine, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on edge in either curiosity or total blood curdling fear.

“What do you mean?”

“You need to run,” His voice drops lower. “And don’t get caught.”

So you turn your heels and you run, not willing to ask him twice. Unsure of the direction you’re going in, but the further you seem to travel, the more that discomfort begins to settle in the pit of your stomach. You pick up the pace—one foot in front of the other, careful not to trip over yourself—but a small part of you isn’t sure if the danger that you’re sensing is real or just a part of a sick and twisted game. Instead of running away from the source of your terror, it seems as though you’re running towards it, no matter the direction you run. Twigs and leaves snapping and crunching beneath your feet, but it causes you no pain. In fact, the only thing you can feel in the moment is the thumping of your heart and every single milliliter of blood marching through your vessels.

You admittedly don’t make it too far before you’re cowering, ducking against a large tree. Heart racing with such speed that you’re almost positive it would break free of your ribcage, piercing its way out of your chest. The tree, however, as quickly as you found it, is no longer a place of solace, as you hear a long, loud, and deep growl to your left. The deep guttural sound echoing, slicing through the trees like machetes. You’ve got to move, but you fear that if you do, whatever it is that made that sound, might attack, ripping you to shreds before you’ve even got a chance to exhale. There’s a roar once again, this time uncomfortably closer to your hiding place. You stand still, and the surrounding area of the forest is suddenly extremely silent. No rustle of leaves or echoes of birds, but a loud silence accompanied by a buzzing noise; like a horde of flies marching their way towards you.

“Hyunjin,” You call out. The name slips from your mouth with ease, as if you’ve been calling him by that name all along. In the blink of an eye, just as you exhale his name, your surroundings change; suddenly submerged in water.

You emerge from the cold water, barely having time to register your surroundings before you’re being forced back into the water; claw-like hands scraping into your scalp, sharp and heavy against your skull. It’s hard to make your way above the water because of the forceful weight and before you know it, attempting to hold your breath is useless due to the water infiltrating your lungs. You’re flailing and thrashing around, arms lifting—hands curling into a claws, attempting to grab onto something, only to slash through the water—and legs kicking mindlessly, trying to escape what is uncertain; heart rate accelerating as panic fully sets in. This seems to go on for nearly fifteen minutes, being edged by death over and over; blacking out then awakening time and time again. Vision blocked by the salty darkness of the water, ensuring to agitate you with fright, unsure of when it’s all going to end.

Abruptly, you’re dragged upwards by your hair, back falling harshly against rock, helping you cough up the water in your throat. It feels like it takes minutes for you to learn how to breathe again, attempting to do that and calm down enough to assess your surroundings. You’re coughing so much you think you might cough up an intestine, throat burning with each assault, chest sinking and expanding and then sinking again. It takes many moments of coming back to yourself that you notice that there is no rough hand against your scalp. Alarmed, moving around frantically, backing up toward the closest stone wall. Scanning the area, there’s no human nor animal, nor creature of any nature in sight. Not even a single insect. Not even Hyunjin.

You lean over, though not too far in case history repeats itself, to peer into the water; there isn’t even a single fish, as far as you can tell, the waters quickly descending into a vast, black pit of the unknown. Overhead, the sky that was once shining brightly now dimming rather quickly, accompanied by dark, angry clouds. The winds pick up, swirling atop of the trees, emitting a drawn out whistle comparable to wind chimes; of which you can surprisingly hear over splashing and sputtering of the nearby waterfall. Large roars of thunder stomping in, but no lightning accompanies it. You begin to curl into yourself, attempting to shield yourself from whatever is out there, nature or otherwise.

You close your eyes for five simple seconds, and when you open them, Hyunjin is right next to you. He doesn’t notice you’re awake at first until you shift, catching his attention. He turns to you and you avert your eyes from him. He’s talking but it’s all inaudible, unimportant. Something about his presence in this moment is unsettling. Slightly off from the initially odd behavior he’d be exhibiting. You just nod to his words. “Found you like this about an hour ago. You shook so hard until you stopped and fell asleep.”

Hyunjin holds out a hand for you, which you’re hesitant to grab, but the next thing you know, you’re standing slowly; legs shaking as you attempt to regain strength. You hold onto his arm for extra support, slightly struggling in your steps as he leads you, hand in hand, towards a small cave hidden behind the pour of the waterfall. It’s hardly a hike, but Hyunjin makes sure you get to the other size carefully. “The rocks are slippery. You’ve had a few accidents here before.”

A lot of Hyunjin’s words are vague. Referrals to past events involving the two of you, all of which you cannot remember. There’s a feeling that you’ve been here before, but you’re unable to prove it, or make those connections other than your gut feeling and Hyunjin’s comments.

You’re hesitant to walk into the cave, the inside being pitch black. Hyunjin walks in before you, completely fearless, as if there is no potential danger. At the snap of a finger, there’s suddenly a fire going on within the cave. From you place you can see how the fire illuminates Hyunjin’s figure just a bit, and as you walk closer—finding a bit more comfort now that you can see, and because you know Hyunjin is there waiting for you, willing to guide you into and protect you from the unknown—you admire how the flames of the fire accentuates Hyunjin’s facial features. He was made by God, sculpted from the finest clay and molded into an individual with otherworldly beauty. Hyunjin holds a torch-like stick, fire blazing at the tip of it, used as momentary safety. “I know somewhere we can go.”

He then points into the deep darkness of the cave. You don’t want to go deeper into the cave. Right where you stand is just fine, and most importantly, it’s safe. Hyunjin reads the hesitant look that’s displayed on your face, but he urges you. “You’ve got me, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

And his smile, as beautiful and perfect as it is, seemed crooked, faked for just a moment. He holds out his hand, and without even thinking about it, you take his hand in yours as if you had no choice despite the unease boiling inside of you. His smile curves up again and he turns his head, now guiding you down the cold, dark cave.

The entire time you’re walking, there’s nothing. Hyunjin doesn’t speak and neither do you. The walls on either side all appear the same, dirt colored and oddly smooth, with not even a small crater to make a difference. No matter how long you walk, nor how far, the dark pit continues into nothingness, an upsetting kind of emptiness. Despite Hyunjin being next to you, despite holding his hand, he’s like a stone wall. He makes no effort to speak, nor to even acknowledge you in the slightest despite leading you somewhere, it’s like you’re nothing but a mere bug, nothing to stress about or keep entertained. You feel nothing but loneliness at the pit of your stomach; the only things keeping you company are the thumping of your feet against the ground and the flickering of the flame Hyunjin holds.

It’s a long time of walking before you realize that this cave is actually a tunnel. The tiny white dot of light grows bigger and bigger with every step taken. It feels like forever until you and Hyunjin reach the end of the tunnel. When you do, you’re happy to see light again. The sky now bright and blue, prohibiting any angry clouds of heavy rain. Air fresh and inviting, free of any worry and apprehension. Whatever doubts or dreadful feelings once felt before are now completely an afterthought.

“C’mon let’s go.” Hyunjin discards the torch, dragging you with him by your hand, grip tight against you.

He leads you over to a flower field where flowers ranging in color, size, and species reside. The field is colorful, bright and happy, like a source of glee. Inviting you over by whisper—maybe it’s a honey-filled hum—so sweet and kind. The deeper you walk into the flower field, you notice how enticing the air smells—sweet like a pastry, yet fresh like petrichor. The longer you and Hyunjin walk, hand and hand, the more at ease and loose you feel, almost drunk, mouth welling up with excess saliva. The two of you eventually reach a point to rest, laying on the grass, no words exchanged between you two. Simply just basking in the sun, deeply breathing in the fragrance of the nature that surrounds you.

There’s a passage of time before you start to feel it; an itch that’s tempting you to scratch; a sudden burst in fire. A fire that begins at the pit of your stomach and continues to your core, flaring; spreading further throughout your body in static-like jolts. Your breaths change from relaxed and soft, quiet, to heavy and noticeable; and suddenly the atmosphere feels hotter, small beads of sweat collecting against your forehead. You shift, rubbing your thighs in effort to satiate your sudden cravings, wanting to grind your hips up in search of friction. Growing more desperate and needy by the second.

This is when you look towards Hyunjin, rolling onto your stomach, head resting in your hands as you gaze up at his sitting form; and you actually notice him. You notice his nakedness, every single inch of him on display. He’s like a god, with his honey-like skin that glows and glistens in the sunlight. Toned and defined arm and thigh muscles that flex with nearly every movement he makes. He was meant to be admired, made to be worshiped—having men and women alike kneeling at his feet and imploring him to fuck and defile them. If only you knew how much he agrees. These thoughts almost embarrass you, yet they feel so natural. And your eyes drip lower to admire Hyunjin’s more intimate parts. Cock hanging low, thick, and you’re not too sure if he’s hard or not but he’s big. Mouth watering as you admire his dick: the natural curve to it, how there’s three thick, prominent veins that disperse along his shaft (at least from what you can see at this angle) that are pulsing, just begging for your tongue to roll over them.

You’re pulled away from your fantasy when Hyunjin clears his throat. With an eyebrow raised and a glimmer in his eye, he gives a small smile to you, softly, “You need something from me?”

“Maybe,” You wink at him. You sit up to face him, hand making contact with his knee, fingertips trailing up and down his thigh in a teasing matter. You get a little closer to him, skin against skin, eyes fixated on his cock as your fingertips dance against his inner thigh.

That’s when Hyunjin kisses you, lips soft and plump; and when he presses them against your lips you feel like you're in heaven. At first, your lips barely touch, meeting in small pecks, sweet kisses that eventually deepen into something desperate. The kisses are open mouthed, wet and sloppy, Hyunjin’s tongue makes its way into your mouth naturally, exploring inside of you. The kiss only breaks a few times; when you place your hands flat against Hyunjin’s chest, pushing away slightly just to get air. Each time the kiss breaks, Hyunjin smiles with a small chuckle, licking his lips before leaning in again, forehead pressed to yours.

You break the kiss once more, now focusing more on Hyunjin’s cock. Spitting onto your hand and wrapping it around his shaft, squeezing lightly. Tight fist working up and down Hyunjin’s length, biting your lip when you feel him twitch within your hand. He bites his lip, holding back a moan. Hyunjin stops you before you get too deep into it, instead choosing to take the lead.

Hyunjin plants another kiss to your lips before kissing down your neck, trying his best to take his time to really savor you, but he soon grows impatient. Pushing you down flat against the grass. Quick, wet kisses in several places down your body before he plants one last kiss right above where he really wants to be. There, he wastes no time getting to work, tongue slithering out almost snake-like to lick against your cunt. He really takes in the first taste of his meal, wetness sitting against his tongue, practically melting in his mouth, he moans. He dives in once again, lips and tongue against your cunt, licking and sucking and moaning; fully savoring you.

“Taste so fucking good,” He breathes once to come up for air, not that he actually needs it. Continuing to lap at your cunt, lips kissing and sucking at your clit, moaning into your heat. Hands coming to your thighs to grip, fingernails piercing, spreading you open wider for him.

You grind against his face, hands instinctively going to his hair, fingers tangling within it and pulling with eagerness. Hyunjin groans into you at the slight sting of you pulling at his hair. Tongue not letting up against your clit, following your cunt with every movement you make, not letting you get a break from the feeling of him against you. His mouth domes around your clit, sucking you in, teeth lightly grazing against your bud, momentarily making your back arch. Mid arch, Hyunjin slips two fingers into you. Slight sting as he stretches you out, long digits buried to the knuckles inside of you upon initial thrust.

Soon planting open mouthed kisses against your cunt, fingers working their way in and out of you at an obnoxious pace, curling naturally. Between Hyunjin’s tongue and fingers, in combination with his lips planting kisses against your cunt in between sloppy licks, it’s all too overwhelming. Cunt clenching around his fingers, pulling them in to beg for more, which Hyunjin promptly gives. Fingers fucking into you faster, his other palm pressing down directly against your pelvis.

It’s all too much, but you don’t want it to stop. The feeling of your impending orgasm has you shaking, practically vibrating, unable to brace yourself for it. Tears pooling down the side of your face as you moan out for him. The tips of his fingers repeatedly hit the soft, gushy spot deep inside of you, biting his lip as he watches your face contort. Body stiffening within his hold, unallowed to thrash around, only able to take what he’s giving you. Though unable to completely relax into it, fighting off the feeling of eventual bliss.

Hyunjin lets out a breathy moan at your defiance. Thumb massaging your clit, slowly but surely dragging you further off the edge. Hyunjin finally gets you to relax into his touch, into the feeling of temptation fully engulfing your soul. That’s when it takes over. Your vision blurs, almost going black, mouth agape as you let out cracked moans. Chest getting hot, tightening as you cum, releasing all stress and tension, absolutely melting into this state that makes you feel like you’re floating. Yet your body is only laid out in the grass, legs spread wide for him, as your cunt spills all over his fingers, wetness squirting all over Hyunjin’s forearm and thighs. Tongue desperately trying to lap up whatever he can as his fingers slip away from your cunt. The palm of his hand coming down against your sore cunt once, making you moan out and close your thighs, back arching, pain stinging in the best possible way that leaves you aching for more. Not fully satisfied.

Hyunjin is kneeling over you now, a large hand around his cock. Angry red tip all pretty and glossed with precum that dares to fall onto your skin like delicious raindrops. His cock twitches in his hand, blood rushing, pulsing in the veins that decorate his shaft. It all just makes you think about finally having his cock in you. The burning of the stretch, the feel of him reaching places that haven’t been accessed before, not to mention the feeling of his warm cum filling you up, ounce by ounce.

When Hyunjin pushes into you, you nearly lose your breath, caught in a long inhale. He’s nice enough to push into you slowly, but it’s only because he wants to savor the feeling (though, Hyunjin fully intends to use you however he wants for as long as he pleases). His cock is thick, stretches you beyond anything you’ve experienced before; though instead of being painful, your body is laced, wrapped in pleasure, and the sensation of thrill rushes through your veins. You spread your legs further apart, welcoming more of Hyunijn, hoping that he pushes into you deeper; overcome with desire and want.

“So fucking wet,” Hyunjin pins his cock deeper into you, pulling out quickly, teasingly. “Need more of me?”

You nod frantically, bottom lip slipping away from the clutches of your teeth. When you look up at Hyunjin, his eyes are fixated on your cunt. Tongue peeking out of his mouth, swirling over his bottom lip, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and into his eyebrow. He’s concentrated, breathing so heavily that he almost begins emitting an inhumane growl, but he dials it back quickly. Instead of pushing all of his length inside of you, Hyunjin pulls out completely, tapping the head of his dick against your cunt, sliding his cock from left to right against your clit. You watch as he does this, listening to the pornographic sound of your wetness, cunt clenching around nothing, just begging to finally be filled.

“Please…” You find yourself begging. Eyebrows strung together as you rock your hips up and down, trying to catch Hyunjin’s cock only for him to move away, preventing you from chasing your pleasure. His hand comes down harsh against your cunt in succession, serving as a warning.

“So cockhungry, can’t you be patient?” Hyunjin continues his tease, repeated light slaps against your cunt with his dick. His cock is replaced by his hand, two fingers dragging down from your clit to your slit, thrusting them into you quickly. Two fingers are replaced by three, and three, by four. He moves quickly, tips of his fingers curled and hitting exactly where you need them. He fucks your moans out of you, reveling in the way that your cries spill out just like the wetness of your cunt, and he’s barely doing anything but fingering you. And you’re this fucked up, melting into his fingers, giving him nearly everything he wants. “Always so pathetic and slutty.”

Agreements slip from your mouth, just in hopes that he’ll give you what you need if you’re good for him. Hyunjin just laughs at you, you’re certainly the cutest plaything he’s had—he knows he’s got to take his time with you. Almost wanting to slip his thumb inside of you as well, Hyunjin decides against it, continuing to fuck you with four of his fingers, still unrelenting in his pace. You, however, are lost for words; taking every ounce of what Hyunjin is giving you. A burning sensation rising in the pit of your stomach, hips rising from the ground, but Hyunjin never stops. Even when you’re leaking all over him, thighs shaking and threatening to close around his arm, he doesn’t stop fucking his fingers into you; not until he’s sure he’s got every ounce from you. Cum dripping down his arm as he takes and takes from you, forcing you to squirt all over him and yourself once again. Sliding his fingers out of you with yet another slap against your cunt.

His hand is around his cock again—wet with your cum, smearing it all over his cock—squeezing at its base as he brings his tip to your entrance. But he teases again, merely slapping his cock against your cunt. You arch into him, grinding your hips against his cock but Hyunjin makes no notice of you and your antics. Eventually getting bored, pulling his cock away from you.

“Kneel,” He speaks curtly, standing. However, you do not move fast enough for his liking. “Don’t make me have to do it for you.”

He does anyway. Grabbing you by the hair, dragging you up and forcing you onto your knees, skin grinding into the grass, sure to have bruises on them. Hyunjin’s hand stays in your hair, tugging as his free hand wraps around his cock. He yanks your head to the side, proceeding to slap his cock against your cheek, precum oozing from the tip.

“Open.” He says, and you promptly follow his instructions. “Looks like I’ve got a smart one.”

Hyunjin spits into your mouth, globs of saliva coating your tongue. His cock closely follows, dipping the tip in and out of your mouth quickly. He shifts, though, choosing to slide his entire length into your mouth, lips closing around him; but Hyunjin doesn’t allow it. Cock sliding out of your mouth, resulting in Hyunjin slapping you on the cheek with it again; saliva and cum sticking to your cheek. “Keep your mouth open wide.”

You adjust for him, just wanting to be able to take him and satisfy his cravings. He slides his cock back into your mouth, fully, giving minimum time to adjust to neither his speed nor his size. Mouth stretched to capacity, jaws aching and burning but Hyunjin is completely relishing in all the gagging and choking you do. You’re getting dizzier the longer his dick is in your mouth, tip kissing, nearly ramming, the back of your throat due to Hyunjin’s pacing. You feel like you’re on fire but yet you’re still able to relax into it. It isn’t long before you start moaning around his cock, absentmindedly rocking your hips back and forth whenever you taste a hint of the salty sweet substance. Hyunjin then pulls out, saliva spilling all over your chin and connecting in tiny stings to his cock. Smacking your cheek with his cock another three times, erupting in a full belly laugh, smiling at the way you’re just a completed fucked out mess, barely registering a thing he’s doing or saying to you.

“Look at that,” Hyunjin releases you from his clutches. He pushes you back by your shoulder, making you catch yourself from falling back with the palms of your hands. When you look down, you’re completely soaked, wetness dripping down your thighs and onto the ground, pooling messily onto a leaf, spilling off of its edges and soaking into the dirt beneath it. “Fucking filthy little mess you’ve made. Cunt just begging to be fucked, huh?”

The question is rhetorical but you still nod; even going as far as to whine a little bit, hips moving seemingly without your control. Hyunjin takes pleasure in this small action, kneeling down to your level. He licks his fingers, noting that he doesn’t need to at all, and swipes them over your clit, one, two times before his ring and middle finger are sliding into your cunt. Fingertips meeting the exact place you need them each time he slides them into you. You’re clenching around his fingers now, and Hyunjin licks his lips, pulling away from you.

“Turn around.” You obey, turning on your hands and knees, swinging your ass in the air. He continues with his teasing, and at this point you’re nearly sobbing, wondering if he’ll ever actually give you what you want. Pathetic chants and whines spilling from your mouth as you push your ass against Hyunjin, unable to control yourself; thinking with your cunt instead of your brain.

Hyunjin spits down onto you, and you can feel the glob of spit slide down from your asshole to your cunt, tickling its way down your clit. Hyunjin, though, slides the head of his cock from your clit, upwards, collecting his spit and your wetness in the process. He teases the tip at the rim of your tight hole, teasing at it. But when you push your ass towards Hyunjin, he pulls away, tsk-ing in the process.

“Silly little play thing,” Hyunjin gives a cold, almost threatening laugh. “I think I need to teach you a lesson on patience, hm?”

The threat has you pleading with him, repeated apologies dancing off your tongue, ultimately not acknowledged. Hyunjin loves to hear the sounds of your begs and pleads, but ultimately, the words you say do not matter to him—it all means nothing. Hyunjin marches at the beat of his own drum, and in situations like this, when he’s got a perfect piece of flesh like you beneath him, everything that he says, goes. And right now, he’s perfectly fine with teasing you over and over and over again.

Slapping his cock against your cunt once, twice, Hyunjin slightly pushes the head of his cock against the rim of your ass. He continues applying pressure, fixated on stretching out the perfectly puckered hole. You whine at the feeling, slowly inching away from it, but Hyunjin holds your hips still. Pushing and pushing, slowly, until finally he slides the head of his cock into your tight hole. Hyunjin moans out at how your hole tightens around him, welcoming him inside. He does nothing, just stays like that, moaning and ignoring your pleas for him to do something. It’s not until you feel the side of his hand brush up against you cunt that you realize Hyunjin has got a hand around his shaft, getting himself off while the tip of his cock is in your ass and you’ve got nothing to do except for lay there and accept it, with your ass in the air and your face against dirt.

His moans increase as he fucks his hand around his cock faster; and if it werent for his other hand holding you in place, you’d at least try to fuck back on him through the stretch of the pain. As Hyunjin exhales, letting out a deep groan of a moan, you feel the rush of warm liquid shooting into you. You moan in response as Hyunjin makes a mess of you with his cum, filling you up, trying to keep it all inside until he pulls out and it all, inevitably, leaks out of your hole, pooling around your cunt.

Hyunjin wastes no time, cock sliding into your cunt with ease due to your wetness and his cum; but the stretch is intense, more than you initially expected. You tighten up a bit, resisting, though you want to relax. You can’t hold your arch perfectly any longer but that’s the least of your worries—the only thing on your mind being cock. Hyunjin slides another inch into you. Maybe it’s because of all the teasing, or the fact that you’ve already cum twice, but he’s not even halfway inside of you and it feels like he’s reached the depths of your soul already. His hand reaches around, fingers coming in contact with your clit in hopes of helping you ease up.

“Created just for me,” Hyunjin breathes out, voice rough with possession. “Made just for me. Only me.”

He continues with his ownership of you, voice dipping deeper as his words become mostly obscenities. You don’t hear it. Or perhaps you can’t hear it. Maybe you don’t want to hear the vile things he’s saying. You’re overtaken, caught up by the intense, high pitch ringing that is worming its way through your ear canal, planting and fertilizing clashing waves of static all around your brain.

His hand wraps around your neck. It feels nothing like the soft, once heavenly hands that had been massaging all over your skin. These hands are rough, calloused and rigid palms that venture into freakishly long, boney fingers; with nails like claws that pierce into the side of your neck right behind your ear. Your eyes remain closed, fearing that if you open them that you’ll see something you shouldn’t, something that your mind would be unable to comprehend visually. A feeling of spiritual discomfort crawls up your back, causing you to arch, shivering at the same moment Hyunjin works his cock deeper into you, stretching you further; mentally and physically—of which he insists on doing, wanting to bend you to his will and break you beyond anything you’ve experienced.

Hyunjin pulls you back to him, hips unrelenting. Teeth, sharp like razors, piercing down into the flesh of your shoulders; nearly enough for blood to start trickling down your skin, but that does not occur. His teeth, however, do leave indents in your skin; that, if he’s lucky enough, will be permanent. His lips meet your ear next, a brief kiss planted to the lobe before whispering in a rather gruff voice, unlike that of his usual. “Inferior to me. Mine to claim.”

When he cums there’s an immense amount of it, sticky and warm. Hyunjin makes sure to be fully buried inside of you, cock seemingly swelling in size as he forces you to take all his cum inside. Hyunjin is selfish, not waiting a single moment, and barely pulling out before he begins to thrust back in. Cum coats his cock, almost daring to drip onto the ground in raindrop-like shapes. He refuses to allow that, however, fucking all of his cum back into you. His thighs, which originally felt like the silkiest, softest flesh, now coarse and dry—except for the sticky cum running down them, connecting in slightly thick, white lines against your thighs—and fuzzy; thick. “Mine to possess.”

You slowly come to realize that Hyunjin has taken a different shape completely. No longer possessing the body of a man, he has turned into some kind of beast, something inhuman. He’s grown abnormally in size and you can tell because he’s holding you up as he fucks you, toes barely scraping the dirt.

And as filthy and as frightening as it is, the line between fear and arousal is a very thin, blurry line. It leads you to come crashing down, partially due to the overstimulation, cunt spasming around Hyunjin’s cock, sucking in all his cum. You’re elated, completely delighted, mind elsewhere as you experience your high with Hyunjin fucking you through it. Hardly registering anything other than the feeling of Hyunjin’s cock stretching you out and the warmth of his cum—a sticky mess that’s leaking out both of your holes and staining your thighs.

When you come to, you’re laying on Hyunjin’s chest. It’s still daylight out, the sun beaming as bright as ever, nearly blinding when you open your eyes. It takes a few moments to shake away the pure, drowsy euphoria you’re feeling, completely ravished by bliss; almost hypnotized. You prop your head up to look at Hyunjin, and the moment you do, it’s like there are trumpets sounding off all around you. You have a realization—no, a revelation—that things aren’t as they seem as you peer up at the brown-haired man. As queasiness makes a home in the pit of your stomach, all within two mere seconds, the wind picks up; howling in the distance, bustling within the branches of trees.

“This is a dream, isn’t it?” For what might be the first time, your eyes meet his.

What words can be used to describe what you saw when you looked into the eyes of that thing? Petrifying? Nauseating? Surreal? It makes you want to close your eyes, however, when you do, the images you’ve seen seem as though they’ve been permanently printed against the black of your eyelids. Perhaps you can attempt to run away—and hide, praying to God that you’re not stalked and caught—but your muscles don’t respond to the neurons being sent by your brain. Perhaps you can find a way out of this dream, but your physical body seemingly refuses to acknowledge the call to wake up; only processing the utter fright in the images it created. The only thing you can do is stare into Hyunjin’s eyes, continuing to receive visions of which you hope you’ll be able to forget.

His irises are a deep pool of black, displaying a particular flavor not only of loneliness but utter wickedness. The longer you stare into Hyunjin’s eyes the longer you are disillusioned, fully snatched away from all delusion of this former fairytale. Vision clouded by a thick, murky fog; fully spotlighting the shocks of visions you see in his eyes.

A beast, creature unlike anything you’ve ever seen or imagined. The face of a man only oddly elongated with empty eye sockets and horns—covered in blood that only makes a mop of its fine hair—curled up into two spikes atop his head. A smile so wide it’s like it was carved in with a razor blade and charred, blackened and blood stained fangs hanging from its mouth. Its body, with its abnormally long limbs, is completely drenched in blood, dripping in pools all around the entity. Pieces of what you can only assume is a human—or even worse, you—discarded and littered around it without much thought or care.

Flesh. Human meat. Limbs and bones and the insides—intestines, livers and hearts and muscle—all around you as this vision becomes reality; suddenly finding yourself within one meter of this monstrosity. The pool of blood coming up to your ankles, rising steadily. Pieces and pieces of the now deceased all around you, entirely mangled and minced. The creature holds pieces of meat within its claws, sharp nails piercing into the gray flesh, bits of meat stuck between its teeth as it tears into its victim.

It is feeding.

The situation becomes all the more frightening when the creature raises its head towards you. Despite it being eyeless, you know that you’re making eye contact, getting lost within the empty abyss that seems to be staring into the corners of your spirit. It’s wide smile never fading as it lurches, sprinting towards you faster than the blink of an eye.

The transition from the dream world to the waking world is surreal, almost jarring. Especially since when you awaken, you’re paralyzed, body stiff with static crawling all over your skin. The darkness of your bedroom surrounds you, both familiar and completely unknown. You attempt to move around a little, opening and closing your eyes multiple times, attempting to raise at least a finger; though falling short of progress to escape this feeling, left to stare straight up at your ceiling.

Then there’s the boom. A loud, static-like noise; deep as if something really heavy had dropped—but you’re unsure if it’s coming from the dark corner on your right or elsewhere within your home. A thing that simultaneously occurred and did not happen. The speed at which fear rises within you is faster than the speed of light. Heart racing as the physical manifestation of dread drops to the bottom of your stomach—fear making its home in the back of your throat, tightening as your swallow, seemingly making it difficult to breathe. It consumes you, a heavy burden, too insufferable to support, unable to put up a fair fight against it.

Don’t Look.

Curiosity gets the best of you. You shift your eyes to the right and in the far corner of the bedroom is a space that’s significantly darker than anything else in the room; like a void. Perhaps it’s because the light from your plug-in air freshener doesn’t reach that area of the room. And perhaps you’re tired and still reeling from that strange dream, but you swear you see movement as you glance over. You want to look away, you have to look away, but curiosity sinks its claws into you. Hypnotizing and you're paralyzed with fear of what could happen. Then, the darkness in the corner grows, getting larger as if whatever it is has been expanding, standing up to greet you.

Then it disperses. Leaving you alone, shaking and sweating in the cold, unwelcoming darkness of your room, finally able to move and process things.

601 notes View Post

valreifang

11 months ago

☆°. — study me | hhj

genre: smut, fluff

pairing: nerd!hyunjin x afab!reader

wc: 6k

warnings: inexperienced hyunjin, oral (m receiving), protected sex, fast-ish plot progression, strangers to lovers (only roughly proof read)

author's note: @hyunverse and @astraystayyh made me do it (also inspired heavily by rin's post!!!!!) 😚😚😚

He had always been cute, though he surely wasn't aware of it; when he sat in class, dainty glasses by the curve of his nose, he always seemed focused, taking notes with furrowed brows, full attention granted to the professor up front. When he left the lecture hall it was often in lonesome, and hurried; not shy, per se, but quick, and quiet. When people talked to him he was polite, though his shoulders tensed, and a blush crept up his smiling cheeks; not uncomfortable, as far as you could tell, yet visibly not in his element, either — and it all added to his charm. He was smart and aware of it, though he seldom raised his hand, initiated questions. He never corrected professors on their mistakes, never played the know-it-all even though he could. He simply sat in class, day after day, to your right in front of you, and left to go to his next class as quietly as he had entered your mutual one.

You watched Hyunjin walk into the lecture hall, headphones covering his sense of hearing, bag thrown over his shoulder lazily, a subtle lightness in his step. He fixed his glasses with a long, delicate finger before he sat down to prep his desk; placing his laptop in front of him, reducing the brightness before typing away his password, fishing in his bag for his phone right before the professor walked in. Hyunjin was busy taking off the bony headphones before they disappeared in his bag, and a big hand slid through the dark strands of his hair, only needing one movement to fix them into place; after that there seemed to be a click in his demeanour, in his attention. No music in his ears, no phone in his hands; quick fingers that were copying the headline of today's topic which the professor had projected onto the board, concentrated, glasern eyes void of the initial casual leisureness the had entered the classroom with.

It was a little bit of a ritual, watching him in class; you weren't sure if it was creepy, if it made you some sort of pre-version of a stalker, or an obsessed freak. You weren't sure either, if watching him was the reason you were at risk of failing the class, altogether. You were surprised every day anew that no one else was; that Hyunjin seemed to be nearly invisible for most people on campus, left for the few friends he kept with, or the occasional aquaintance he made for group projects before those relationships faded away, due to the lack of its' benefit. Yet even those people didn't seem to be taken by him the way you were, didn't see him the way you did; a striking beauty, hidden beneath a character so quiet and quirky, helpless, almost, that to others he appeared nothing but ordinary. A studious nerd, introverted and awkward; but you didn't want to go through another day without having talked to him. Couldn't, you thought; you needed to initiate a conversation, wanted so bad to hear the sound of his voice, the look of his eyes when the object he was looking at was you.

The professor had announced a group project for today's class, and had, by the end of explaining all about it and before dismissing the class, ordered you to look for partners until the next lesson, to start with first preparations. In your opinion, it was the perfect opportunity to go up to Hyunjin without appearing a freak, or too pushy, or utterly random; you weren't sure he even knew your name, so simply asking for a coffee seemed too finite to you. As expected, while everyone was still packing their bags and talking of weekend plans and just how boring their next class was going to be, Hyunjin had already put on his headphones and was on his way out of the hall, daring to disappear into the crowd of students before your very eyes. You hurried to collect your things before you stumbled down behind him, falling into a slow run to catch up with him. He was tall, quite a bit taller than you, so his struts were fast without being hurried, and you struggled to keep up with him, fighting your way between people before your hand could finally reach his figure, and a finger of yours tapped on his shoulder.

Your touch made him stop in his tracks in a rather confused manner, and he turned around perplexed before locking eyes with you. When you smiled at him expectantly one hand of his freed his right ear from his headphones, and he returned your smile, though only politely, yet not catching what you have stopped him for. The confusion was written in his eyes, and you hurried to clear it up.

"Hey, I'm y/n, from uh, Statistics... we just had this class together."

You looked at Hyunjin, waiting for a response, despite not having cleared up anything at all. He nodded, fixing his bag on his shoulder. You almost got distracted by the veins which ran through his hand when he did that, but you forced yourself to look him in the eyes instead. Brown and deep. You had never noticed before how captivating they were.

"Yeah, I know who you are...", a smile on his lips and you weren't sure what it meant, but there was a deep blush on his cheeks right after, and it made your chest fill with a warmth so sound you simply kept smiling at him.

"Was there anything you needed?" Pure curiosity in his tone, and you wondered how such a smart person could be so foolish. Though it was cute seeing him perplexed, cute seeing a void of his usual intelligence within his eyes.

You cleared your throat and fixed your bag yourself, before nodding up at him. You had never stood this close to him, had never noticed just how tall he was.

"I wondered if you wanted to be my partner for the group project thing. I'm not really good at statistics, so I wanted to pair up with someone who could... help me. In a way."

Hyunjin blushed deeper at that, and the fist around the strap of his bag tightened. He gulped visibly, Adam’s apple bobbing before his eyes lost yours suddenly, and he nodded, stuttering a little when he spoke.

"Uh, yeah, for sure. I, uh, I'm not really, like, sure if I can help much, I'm not a great teacher, but, uhm-", he looked at you, and you simply reciprocated his gaze; he blushed yet a little harder, fixed his glasses with a clumsy finger, and gave you a shy smile, "but, yeah. I'll be your partner."

☆.☆.☆

It was a Saturday night, and it felt strange not sitting in front of the mirror to apply some make-up, or get a decent outfit ready to wear to a night out with your friends. Instead, your old bag was thrown carelessly over your shoulder and the steps you took on the glistening asphalt were taking you to Hyunjin’s dorm, to study and work on the project with him at seven in the afternoon. Not what you normally busied yourself with, not on a weekend, but you hadn’t been this excited over a Saturday night plan in a good while. The day prior, Hyunjin had been ready to leave right after confirming he would partner up with you; that you needed to exchange phone numbers in order to be able to start the work he had seemingly forgotten, and you had giggled when he’d typed his contact into your phone with a guilty smile and a low-hanging head. He had replied quickly when you had texted him, clarifying his schedule – busier than you had expected, packed to the brim – before confirming to meet up today. And you had been giddy ever since.

When you knocked on his dorm room, Hyunjin opened moments later. He looked comfortable, in a plain black shirt and grey sweatpants, no glasses but his long, raven hair in a lazy bun. He smiled before welcoming you in, stepping aside and closing the door behind you. The room wasn’t big, much like your own, but clean, neat. Not much decoration on the walls but a picture or two, seemingly of family members, or close friends. You spotted multiple game consoles and a spacey monitor on his desk, an expensive looking keyboard, heavy headphones – different ones he took with him to class –, a mic, his school laptop on his bed. Two candles by his nightstand, and one bouquet of dried flowers on his windowsill; if dried on purpose of due to lack of care you were unsure, but they were pretty nonetheless.

Hyunjin stood behind you as you took in his small room, abashed and clearing his throat when you finally looked at him again. You smiled, and disposed your bag next to his bed.

“Nice room.”

He must have not expected the compliment; he looked perplexed, chuckling suddenly and a little too loud before thanking you quietly. He got rid of a couple strands of loose hair with a quick hand, and straightened his back, shaking his head as if to rid himself off thoughts, to find his way back to you. He gave you a quick smile, too; it was so pretty that you almost told him, almost stepped up to be level with him and touch the side of his face, purely to manifest him within you. Him and his face, his shy smile with its’ small, pearly teeth and glistening eyes.

“Alright, I guess we should start. The desk is pretty, uh, full and stuff, you can just sit on the bed, if... you don’t mind.” He sat down on the chair in front of the desk, motioned you to the bed. He tripped over the light carpet on his floor before finding his seat, though acted as though nothing had happened; cute.

“Just get comfortable.”

The sentence didn’t carry any connotation yet Hyunjin reddened after he spoke, and lost your eyes to rummage in his bag and in the drawers of his desk to fish out all the materials he thought he’d need. You smiled to yourself, and did as he told you; got comfortable on his bed, and got out your papers and pencils, spreading them out on his blanketed mattress. It smelt nice, his bed. Clean, almost like neutral linen, but with a hint of a scent you believed to be uniquely his. It was the first time you sensed it; you had never been close enough to him before to notice it, but now that you sat in the essence of it, in the core of his existence, in his very own four walls, it engulfed you. It was deep vanilla and sweetest honey, it was a scent dark and intense, but light. It wasn’t heavy, it didn’t suffocate you. It simply existed in the space around you, and it stuck to him; you doubted you’d ever forget the scent again.

When Hyunjin looked at you again, turning to face you on his chair, he stopped in his tracks, and his eyes seemed to widen, his jaw to tighten. It felt unfamiliar seeing him without his glasses, though very much known to watch the pink flush creep up his neck. He blinked a couple times, simply watching you, and it wasn’t until you shifted in your place, sinking further into his mattress that he moved again, pretending to look for something, or really doing so. He cleared his throat and choked on his own spit, fell into a short coughing fit; you almost giggled, and when Hyunjin caught sight of your repressed grin, the pink on his neck deepened into a red; he was even more helpless than you initially thought. He was still looking around, not frantically but close to it, mumbling something you didn’t catch, until you spotted his glasses on the nightstand. You leaned over to get hold of them, and offered them to him, with eyes big and expectant.

“Are you looking for those?”

The room was so small that the distance between the edge of the bed and the desk was only an arm length, so Hyunjin got hold of the glasses simply by reaching out, thanking you. He was interesting; everything he did around you, from the way he moved to the way he spoke, seemed always to be happening in a state of trance, or incredible awkwardness you hoped stemmed from fluster, not discomfort. The feeling spreading in the pit of your stomach was indescribable, when Hyunjin, with soft, delicate fingers and a familiar move, placed the silvery glasses on the rich curve of his nose, fixing them into the dip of his ears before sliding them up; ready to work, and he looked concentrated momentarily, serious; far more attractive up close than when you watched him in class, and you wondered if you’d handle an entire hour of speaking to him while in his bed, in his room, in the midst of his scent.

Yet the hour flew by too fast for your liking, and before you knew it you were packing your bag and making your way to the door of Hyunjin’s dorm room. The hour had contained of more giggling and casual talking than you had thought, and it had gotten you excited. Maybe it was your fantasy, but Hyunjin had seemed interested; more than just into the project, interested in you, too. He had asked questions, had initiated conversation, had neglected his work. He had been – after half an hour – brave enough to poke fun at your lack of mathematical skill, after you had failed to understand an equation he’d tried to bring closer to you. You had gasped and acted hurt, and the giggle which he had followed up with had made you so speechless that Hyunjin had needed to continue with the explaining, flustered and stuttering, a little rocky; all hope of understanding his explaining had been lost there, but you hadn’t minded it.

Hyunjin stood by the door, held it open for you. There it was again, the fluster in his eyes, the flush on his neck; and you weren’t even doing anything. It’s not like the big doe eyes you caught his gaze with could play any role in his abash, or the purposeful teasing smile you shot him. It also couldn’t be the fact you simply stood in his door, waiting for him to say something, instead of leaving for the night with a simple goodbye, with your bag in hand, and quick fingers in your hair, pretending to fix it.

“Uh, we didn’t really come really far.”, he finally voiced with a chuckle, and you reciprocated. Yet you waited; it seemed there was more he wished to say. Hyunjin stepped from one foot to the other, furrowed his brows quickly before losing your eyes, locking your gaze again and opening his mouth, though without success initially. He closed it again, at a loss for words, and you cocked your head curiously, deliberately waiting, feigning ignorance. He huffed out an awkward chuckle, more air than laugh, and ruffled his hair. It made it look messier than before, but you liked it.

“Sorry, just – do you wanna meet tomorrow? I know it’s a Sunday, but... I don’t know, I thought we could work on the project some more. Only if you want to.”, he added quickly when you didn’t say anything. Only after you nodded with a smile Hyunjin’s shoulders seemed to relax, the tension in his body dissipating into relief.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Same time?”

☆.☆.☆

It had been two weeks of continuous meeting and working on the project with Hyunjin; but it had also been two weeks of continuous laughing and talking, of conversations far more memorable than the frustration over the schoolwork. Hyunjin had opened up to you, though still shy and quiet, far calmer around you now, more comfortable, it seemed. Yet you shied from initiating more; you had touched his thigh in friendly manner a week ago, barely a second, and the man had turned to a statue of stone, had lost sense of every word he’d had dancing on his lips, had lost train, even, of every thought; it had needed him a good five minutes before he had spoke again. Not only that, but he had eyed you the entire time after, hadn’t left his eyes wander from you, unless you’d caught and reciprocated them; only then his gaze had fallen to his fiddling hands in his lap, sneaking a look again only when you weren’t watching anymore.

You were sure he liked you, you doubted to be wrong about that; but ironically, you liked him too much to confront that, in fear of shying him away, of risking the delicate friendship which had developed over the past two weeks. The group project would end next week, and you weren’t sure if you’ve acquainted enough to stay friends beyond that.

You were sitting on Hyunjin’s bed, him on the mattress beside you, two hours into working on a PowerPoint which looked somewhat decent; decent to Hyunjin’s standards, that was, because you didn’t even know half the tricks he used to connect slides and merge texts and pictures; you would have stopped working on it a good while ago, deeming everything neat and sensible, but Hyunjin had looked at you wide-eyed and shocked, claiming it wasn’t near half-way done. You didn’t mind that he continued working on it; you enjoyed spending time with him, and you enjoyed watching him work, seeing him in his element. He had told you that he was into computers and everything regarding them, whether it was gaming or programming, or merely learning about the matter; you’d had the privilege to watch him build together a new keyboard he acquired, and as little interest as you had in the matter yourself, it was fascinating seeing him burn for something. He had grown bashful when he’d notice how much he had talked, and had apologized; when you’d admitted how cute it was, he hadn’t known what to do with himself, and had simply gone back to installing.

The small laptop lay on Hyunjin’s thighs as he typed away, finding new things to add, brows furrowed and the familiar, concentrated look in his eyes you knew so well from class; and, now, from working together with him. You watched him, weren’t left to do much more; and you enjoyed it. Hyunjin wore a nicely fitting polo-shirt over a simple flannel, and loose jeans which hung down his body leisurely. One of his fingers was adorned by a simple silver ring, matching with the silver of his square glasses; he looked unbelievable, and he didn’t even know it. Over the past week – if it was any possible – Hyunjin had somehow become even more beautiful to you. Knowing him closer made his exterior seem brighter, kinder; as though his soul reflected on his body and pulled you in even deeper than previous.

When he noticed you staring from his peripheral he caught your gaze, though not without his usual shyness. He chuckled a little before you smiled at him, and his eyes lost yours again.

“Why’re you looking at me like that.” His voice carried a hint of a whine, and your skin burned at the sound of it. The side of his face was a deep pink, his ears fire as he typed away on the project. You gathered your bravery; today could be the last time you’d meet him like this, with an excuse and void of brave initiations.

“I like looking at you. You’re cute when you’re working.”

He hadn’t expected it, neither have you; you meant the words, but you were surprised just how easily they slipped past your lips. Without friction, smooth; clear. So clear that Hyunjin stuttered around before going back to the laptop, the blue hues illuminating his face so prettily, you wished to remember this sight forever. Even if today didn’t go anywhere. Even if your short friendship would only be a memory a year down the line; you wished to remember the way his eyes glistened with a mix of confusion and curiosity in the dim light of the laptop screen, how his nose curved beneath his reflecting glasses, the way his tongue darted out and his wet lips caught again the hues of the computer.

Hyunjin mumbled a quiet “What are you saying?”, almost to himself because you barely caught it, and you huffed out in amusement.

“I’m serious.” Your tone was, too, and it made Hyunjin look at you, momentarily. His brows were furrowed, in something like question, doubt. It needed him a while to find his words, fishing them from somewhere within him; you could see the work in his mind, processing your words and understanding them, thinking of a response. You saw the whole process, before he finally spoke.

“Why, though?” Too long a time he took for two words only, but they sounded so honest your eyes softened, and your head cocked a bit, questioning. Hyunjin noticed, and followed up.

“I’m, like, boring. Why are you even hanging out with me?”

“Because I like you.”

The words flooded the room. They had felt trapped in your throat though gushed out the moment you allowed them, and they drowned you both in their weight. Hyunjin only sat, and looked at you. You have never seen him so pale, so colourless; you hoped it was a good sign.

“I don’t think you’re boring. You’re the most interesting person I know. And I like you.”

Only then Hyunjin’s face returned to the usual colour he’d acquired around you over the past two weeks; crimson red and his ears flaming, his neck probably hot if you only touched it. The moments of silence he granted you with were torturing, but the look in his eyes as he held your gaze looked promising; and then his cheeks painted pink, and he started blinking excessively.

“I... I like you, too.”

Two highschoolers confessing, but something about it was sweet, and pure, and ignited a fire within you.

“Can I kiss you?”, you heard yourself saying, and before you knew it, you felt his lips on your own. Soft, the very first thing you thought. Like clouds on your lips, or feathers, or sweet cotton candy. And though Hyunjin wasn’t skilled per se, a little helpless with his teeth and his tongue, unsure of what to do, you enjoyed it. You enjoyed the slow pace of the kiss, the wet sounds your lips made when they touched. You enjoyed feeling his urge to touch you, to lay a finger on your thigh, before he collected enough courage to do so; and the touch was heavenly, too. Heavy on your body, significant and real. Everything about Hyunjin made you buzz; and then a whine slipped past his lips. It tumbled over into your mouth and you swallowed it, before Hyunjin could retract from you a bit, embarrassment glazing his eyes. You smiled in response, burning with a newly found passion now. He mumbled a quiet “Sorry.”, but you shook your head, softly, inching yet closer to him. You felt his breath on your lips, could see the droplet of sweat on his forehead. You could see your own reflection in his glasses; you took them off slowly before almost connecting back to a kiss, yet not quite.

“Don’t be sorry. I wanna hear that sound again.”

You closed the distance between you, and at your words Hyunjin complied, and let a sigh escape him. You almost reciprocated, almost followed suit; you had never heard anything prettier, anything more desperate and honest. You continued kissing him before you allowed your hands to explore his body, cautious of his reactions and even more eager when he leaned into your every touch. He was chasing you, your lips, your hands, your fingers which started playing with the loop of his leather belt. Hyunjin’s breathing had become staggered by this point, heavy and irregular, chest heaving so intensely you almost chuckled at it.

It was subtle, but when you felt his hips buck up from the mattress in impatient anticipation you moaned into him, and finally undid his belt, opened the button of his jeans. You retracted, gave a quick peck to his searching, reddened lips.

“That’s okay, yeah?”

Hyunjin didn’t seem like he had understood the question. He didn’t seem like he understood anything around him while he was looking at you; seeing him so very dumb founded, in absence of his usual cleverness and brains, was far better than you had anticipated, far more satisfying. It gave you an ego boost you didn’t know you needed, or wanted, for that matter.

You chuckled, and asked again; only then Hyunjin nodded frantically, following up with what felt like a million “Yes, yeah yeah, yes.”’s before you continued with a smug grin.

And it was adorable, seeing Hyunjin pucker his lips in the thought of feeling your lips on his again, only for you to lower your head, and bury your face in his neck instead. You felt his low whine against your lips before you heard it, and he sensed your smile against his skin, followed by a kiss deep and long, while your hands played with the waistband of his jeans. It’s been far too long he’d had anyone like this, embarrassingly long; and even longer since he’d liked someone as much as you. He was in trance as your lips travelled further down his body, not undressing him but catching bare spots of skin to plant kisses atop; his collarbones, the curve from his neck towards his shoulders, his jewellered chest right above the neckline of his shirt.

It wasn’t long before you were levelled with his core. Your position on the bed was awkward, a little uncomfortable, but it was the least of your concerns. You pulled up the hem of Hyunjin’s shirt a bit to kiss at his abdomen, teasing and licking and making a show out of it, and it paid off; the man was flush against the wall of his room, fingers digging into the blanket beneath him, looking at you, blinking so often you wondered if he was able to see anything in between. And you were getting impatient. You could feel the faint weight of his erection beneath his jeans as you brushed his core occasionally, his jerks and jumps when you did so, silently begging you for more. When you asked another “Can I?” he nodded, and you pulled his erection from its’ confines. Hyunjin sucked in a breath at that, bashfulness written in his eyes, brows furrowed; and he suddenly looked for something, tapping across his mattress before he got hold of his glasses, slipping them on. He blushed when you cocked your head at him, fixed them onto his nose with a finger; you loved that habit.

“Just, wanna see everything clearly.”

He was almost ashamed when he said it, but he huffed out in embarrassed amusement when he heard you laugh softly, teasingly. Your hand tightened a bit around the base of his sex, causing him to tense up at the sudden pressure, and your fist moved further up his length. You looked up at him beneath your lashes, intently, dark, almost. You gave a single kitten lick to his tip, gave him a kiss after before smiling up at his dizzied expression; “Watch, then.”

With that, you started softly sucking on his tip, cautiously and void of hurry, taking your time. You were languish with it, letting your tongue dart out and dance across his skin, swirling it when he moaned out or tightened his fist which held captive the fabric of his vanilla scented blanket. You didn’t know that watching him throw his head back would bring you the pleasure it did, but watching Hyunjin’s Adam’s apple beneath the soft, frail skin of his neck made you roll your hips into nothing, the sweat slowly forming on his skin made you flush and sigh against him. You took him deeper, engulfing him in your warm, wet mouth, inch by inch, getting used to his length, the feeling of his heavy veins against your tongue. And he was shy with his hands, placed them everywhere but on you; ran his fingers through his hair with furrowed brows, fisted the fabric of his jeans, or the softness of the blanket, or the pillow laying next to him. It wasn’t until he locked eyes with you, when he caught sight of a loose strand of hair framing against your cheek that he was courageous enough to reach out; Hyunjin moved the hair out of your face softly, delicately almost, held it then, his palm a nice feeling on your skull. And he kept it there. Stroking your hair, tightening around it when you hollowed your cheeks, when you sucked away the salty precum oozing out his angry tip.

You felt him at the back of your throat. He was bigger than you had expected, and his weight lay on your tongue, his tip grazing repeatedly at your uvula, by now sensitive and reddened, though you didn’t stop your antics. Not when the sounds he let roll off his tongue increased not only in volume but in desperation, whines so high pitched you couldn’t help but grin against him. You watched him, every of his movement; the way his glasses slid off his nose before he fixed them with a haste movement, quick and messy, making them sit slightly tilted; enough for you to notice, not enough for him to care. The strands framing his face starting sticking against the sweat forming on his forehead, his lip had developed a bruise from his repeated biting on it; he was a mess, heaving breath and breathless sighs, sweaty palm fisting at your hair in utter helplessness. And he could barely speak a word, could barely form a thought, yet opened his mouth nonetheless, only for words to fail him. He stuttered about, whimpered more than he succeeded to speak. You slowed down your pace, halted a little in the bobbing movement of your head, let your jaw rest to allow him to collect his mind. He looked down at you, urges so deep swimming behind his eyelids, and he breathed out shakily, licked his bruised-up lips.

“I’m so close.”

The words came out his mouth almost apologetically, breathless and quiet. He sat there, back against the wall, an utter mess, too beautiful to be real; lips spit-covered as he spoke, brows formed into one line, eyes glazed with every human emotion this planet granted.

“Do you have condoms?”, you whispered against him, your voice hoarse and weak, your throat sore. He hadn’t expected the words, but nodded after a moment of blushing, motioning to his nightstand with a cock of the head. You eyed him teasingly before shifting to open the drawer of his nightstand; packs of painkillers and coughing drops, looking old and unused. Pencils and other useless stuff before you spotted packs of condoms shoved into the very back, and you fished for one before meeting his eye again. You contemplated teasing him about it; you knew he wasn’t bringing girls over regularly – if at all – to his dorm room, so the small stack of contraceptions was all but adorable – Hyunjin was so very reddened though, and looking so very bashful already that you decided against it, and busied yourself with sliding off your jeans instead, leaving you to sit in front of him in your shirt and panties.

And he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Not much exposed but when you straddled him your thighs were everything his eyes ate alive, shyly placing his hot palms atop them, breathing in shakily when you giggled at him. You tore open the little plastic wrapping, slid on the condom after a confirming nod of his; and when you leaned in to kiss him, he reciprocated it with a depth before not shown, clashing against your mouth clumsily but so passionately that you couldn’t mind it. You shifted in your place, lips never stopping to eat up his own, until you hovered above his erection. He felt your warmth atop him already, bucked his hips up in impatience only for his tip to graze your clothed sex; you both moaned at the embarrassingly short contact, and it was your cue to sink down on him slowly. You weren’t prepped, but you were wet enough for him to slide in easily after pulling your panties to the side, taking him inch by inch, not hurrying, dragging out the scenery. You watched him all the while, and the sight was utterly priceless; blown-out pupils beneath his glasses, a longing so grand behind his lids that you couldn’t help but kiss him again. A deep kiss as you bottomed out on him, felt him endlessly inside you, and he whined into your mouth, loud and raw when you clenched around him.

“I’m not gonna last long.”, he breathed out when you leaned back again; he was too adorable. Looking almost guilty, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs desperately. You chuckled before placing another peck on his swollen lips – even more like clouds now, puffy and soft to touch – and rolled your hips against him. He groaned deeply, throwing his head back with a quiet thump against the wall, hands tightening on your body, as though trying to hold you in place. You felt him twitch inside you, felt him throb against your depth; he wasn’t lying, he wouldn’t last at all.

“I don’t care. Just enjoy yourself.”

With that you started riding him slowly, and softly, giving him an opportunity to collect himself, though it was to little use. He was whining, he was throwing his head back and forth, lulling to the side, he was losing control of everything around him; his glasses slid off his nose repeatedly, sitting so deep they dared to fall off, sounds so loud you wondered if people outside could hear what was happening behind closed doors. His neck was red, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes were closed so tight you wondered if it strained the muscles in his face; and you kept rolling your hips against him, chasing the feeling yourself, basking in the way he filled you out entirely. Basking in his sounds, in the sight of him, in the way he felt; this was better than what you had dared to dream of, and you hoped it would be yours for eternities to come.

It wasn’t two minutes, and not before you started bouncing up and down Hyunjin’s length slowly, with thighs strained and hips eager, that the man stuttered in his demeanour, bucking his hips so helplessly into your own, without much success in causing friction, simply to chase you, to chase the feeling, to come closer to you. And it wasn’t long after that when a whine so endearing, so frantic left his throat, and he came into the condom with a string of apologies and curses, and whispers of your name. You allowed him to ride out his high, moving against him in failed search of your own release, kissing at his neck and nibbling at the lobe of his ear, whispering reassurances, feeling his hands on your skin, his arms caging you in. His breathing was heavy, shaky, his eyes closed in exhaustion, or relief, or simple and pure pleasure when you leaned back again. You smiled to yourself, watching calmness take over him now; no nervousness now as you yet sat atop him, no awkwardness, only satisfaction, content.

When he opened his eyes and noticed your staring at him he blushed again, and upon remembering his softened sex inside of you he groaned lowly, twitching in his seat. He was sensitive, he was endearing; and for now he was yours. You smiled at him, and he reciprocated it shyly; you fixed the glasses on his nose, gave him a long, deep kiss. He basked in it, simply let you kiss him, let you run your hands through his hair. It wasn’t until you guided his right hand to your core he sucked in a breath again, upon feeling your warm wetness on his fingertips; and he looked at you with eyes wide open when you leaned back, and whined out again when you whispered; “Gonna show you how you can make me feel good, too.”

taglist: @es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads-archived @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @wolfennracha @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife @binniesbang

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valreifang

1 year ago

role play

pairing: husband!hyunjin x reader

genre: smut, fluff (at the end!), one-shot

wc: 2k

synopsis: you and your husband try to spice things up by role playing as strangers during date night, but hyunjin just can’t hold in how much he loves his wife

warnings: role play, fake? cheating (mc and hj are married but role playing as strangers), unprotected sex, dirty talk, mc is called a slut and whore, not proofread!

Ten years you’ve been in love with Hyunjin, and 4 years you’ve been married to him. He was a perfect lover—kind, caring, romantic—everything you could ever want and more. He even managed to exceed your wildest dreams and expectations once he became your husband, never failing to make you feel loved every single day. You really couldn’t ask for any more, couldn’t really think of anything more to ask of him. He anticipated your needs before you had them, and fulfilled your desires before you realized they existed. He loved you endlessly and you loved him just as much.

But maintaining this level of passion for this long doesn’t come without effort. Even the strongest relationships could benefit from a little spice here and there. So when you proposed to switch things up for your date night, Hyunjin eagerly agreed.

Role playing.

Neither of you had tried it before, but it seemed like a fun way to add a little excitement to your night. You planned to meet at the new bar in town at 7 o’clock, where you both would act like strangers, allowing you to create characters for yourselves and live out your fantasies for the night. Having a new identity might give you the confidence to be bold and maybe even take some risks you wouldn’t normally take, you thought. And the idea of seeing a more daring side of Hyunjin kept you anticipating your date all day.

At 7 o’clock you entered the building. The lighting was dim and warm and the soft jazz playing in the background made for a seductive ambience. You perched yourself on a stool at the bar, one leg crossed over the other, the long slit of your dress revealing your thigh. It was a brand new dress Hyunjin had never seen before, and you knew he’d love it.

You scanned the room for your husband, but didn’t see any sign of him, so you ordered a drink to keep you occupied in the meantime. As you took your first sip, a tall figure approached you.

“Is this seat taken?”

A familiar hand lightly caressed your back as the question was whispered in your ear. His low voice sent a shiver of excitement down your spine and you could smell the floral cologne on his neck—he was wearing your favorite. Fighting back your smile, you shook your head no and continued sipping your drink. Hyunjin sat down and ordered his own drink, and that’s when you finally took a look at him.

He was dressed in a fitted black suit, a skinny black tie snug around his neck, his belt secured around his waist, his entire outfit perfectly molded to his body—absolutely ravishing. You observed the various rings adorning his fingers, shining as he reached for his glass, but one was missing—his wedding ring. Hyunjin noticed your frown as you gazed at his hands, and knew right away what got you upset. He made eye contact with you and grinned as he patted his pocket, indicating that the ring was inside. You swiftly turned away, but couldn’t suppress the smile that crept onto your face. You loved that your husband was so in tune with your feelings, immediately understanding it was his ring that upset you. And you supposed he wasn’t your husband for tonight so you decided to let it go.

You redirected your attention to the glass in front of you, and now it was Hyunjin’s turn to study the sight before him. His gaze traveled from your face—beautiful as ever, your lips adorably puckered as you sucked on your straw—to your bare shoulders, to your dress—one he hadn’t seen before but instantly loved, because it hugged your curves perfectly and the slit up your thigh was practically inviting him in. Simply put, you looked stunning. So stunning that Hyunjin almost forgot you weren’t supposed to know each other in this present moment, and nearly leaned in to kiss you. Instead, he cleared his throat and began his pursuit of wooing you.

“Does a beautiful woman like you always come to the bar alone?”

You looked up from your glass with a grin. “Are you talking to me?”

Hyunjin turned to face you. “You’re the most beautiful one here, so yes.”

“I did come alone.” You nonchalantly answer.

“Mind if I keep you company?”

“If it’s you, I don’t mind.”

“I’m Hyunjin.” He reached out his hand.

“I’m Y/N.” You clasped your hand in his, which he pulled to his lips for a kiss.

You giggled into your drink and he did the same. It’s only been a few minutes and he already made you blush. Leave it to your sweet husband to make you flustered so easily. But this was not how you planned for the night to go. You wanted to act outside the box, to do things you wouldn’t normally do, to say things you never had the guts to say.

Brushing your hair behind your shoulder, you channeled your alter ego. “You seem to have quite the collection of rings Hyunjin, are you married?”

Hyunjin looked at you nervously for a moment before deciding on his answer. “No, I’m not.”

“That’s a shame.” You sighed. “Because I enjoy sleeping with married men the most.”

“Is that so?” He gulped.

“Mhm.” You nodded, fingers traveling up his arms. “The danger makes it more fun. I like to steal what doesn’t belong to me and make it mine.”

Hyunjin tugged to loosen the tie around his neck. “You have good intuition then, because I actually am married.” He reached into his pocket to pull out the ring. “Does that make you want me more?”

“Depends.” You mischievously grinned at him. “What do you plan on doing with me?”

Hyunjin leaned in to whisper in your ear. “I’ll book a room at the hotel across the street. How about I take you there, take off this dress and fuck you all night?”

His breath hit your neck and sent surges of thrill through your body.

“Came here to find a slut to fuck instead of your wife?” You whispered. “I’m your girl.”

His hand was sliding up your thigh now, inching closer to where the fabric ended and where your core was basically aching for him to touch. You could see how turned on he was too from the tent growing in his pants.

“How bad do you want me?” You watched him with hooded eyes.

Hyunjin’s lips parted as he gazed at your figure up and down. “So bad.”

“Show me.”

You didn’t stay another second in that bar. Your heart raced as Hyunjin grabbed your hand and led you to the hotel.

The moment the door shut, your back was pressed against the wall and Hyunjin’s hands were up your dress. You fumbled with the buttons on his shirt as he pressed feverish kisses down your neck. You did a messy job of unbuckling his pants but eventually stripped them off of him, freeing the boner that had been growing underneath. Hyunjin used one hand to rub over your already-soaked panties while the other frantically searched for the zipper on your dress. Once he found it and pulled it down, letting the dress drop to your ankles and exposing you to him, he paused for a moment to admire your naked body.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

He dove in for a heated kiss, drowning your lips in his and cradling your face in his hands. You could tell that he was getting lost in the kiss, but you were growing impatient. You placed your hand on his bulge, causing his body to shudder as you began palming him over his boxers.

“I want you to show me how bad you want me.” You whispered. “Fuck me like I’m your whore.”

“Someone’s eager.” Hyunjin smirked. “Are you going to be my pretty little…slut tonight?”

You could hear the hesitation in his voice when he called you that. Hyunjin’s vocabulary for you was strictly limited to loving, sweet words and affectionate pet names. It was probably uncomfortable for him to degrade you in any way. And as much as it filled your heart to know that he only ever wanted to praise you, hearing him call you his slut was undeniably hot.

“Yes baby, I’m such a slut for your big cock.” You reached into his boxers and began pumping him. “Want you to fuck me already.”

“Turn around, spread your pussy for me.”

Hyunjin tightly gripped your waist as you bent over and pressed your ass against his dick, hard and leaking with anticipation. He slid the tip up and down your folds, garnering whimpers from you. Once his dick was coated with your wetness, he positioned himself at your entrance.

“Oh,” He sighed as his cock slipped in. “You feel so good sweetheart.”

“Hyunjin, I’m not your sweetheart.” You muttered, but you could help whining as he started pumping in and out.

“S-sorry.” He panted as he continued thrusting into you. “Fuck, this pussy feels so good.”

“Yeah? You like how tight my pussy is? How wet I am for you?”

Hyunjin could only respond with deep moans and lustful sighs. He was too focused on fucking you to really hear what you were saying. You started losing your train of thought as well when his pace began to quicken, the knot in your stomach unraveling with each thrust. You were dripping down your thighs and the wet sounds of his skin slapping against yours filled the room. His dick was impossibly hard, stuffing you full and hitting you in all the right places. And before you even knew it, you came.

“H-Hyunjin, fuck, hyun—I’m cumming.”

Your body squirmed as your rode your high. Hyunjin gripped your waist tighter, keeping you in place, still relentlessly pounding into you. You felt his dick twitch inside of you and knew he was close too.

“Cum inside baby, stuff this pussy.” You grinded against him, eager for his load.

“Ah—fuck, wait.” He paused his movements all of a sudden and held you still. “I want to see your face when I cum.”

Hyunjin spun you around and kissed you, leading you backwards until your legs hit the bed. You laid down as he lifted your legs, placing one last soft kiss on your shoulder before thrusting into you without warning. You yelped at the sudden sensation, pleasure overtaking your body once again.

This time, Hyunjin didn’t hold back. He pounded into you hard, bucking his hips against yours over and over until his thrusts became erratic. His high was approaching and he held onto you tightly, panting as he struggled to control his movements.

“I love you.” He muttered, his head buried in your neck.

You chuckled. “You’re gonna tell a stranger that you love them?”

Hyunjin’s face was flushed, his eyes hooded as he gazed at you. He couldn’t think straight. “M’sorry, I just—you’re just so beautiful.”

You took his face in your hands and kissed him, sweetly, passionately, enveloping him in your love. It took his breath away and he came with your lips on his.

“I love you too.” You sighed into his mouth as he emptied himself inside you.

It took a few minutes for him to catch his breath before Hyunjin removed himself from your body. After cleaning yourselves up, you dove back onto the sheets, tired and ready to end the night.

“Are we done role playing now? I want to hold you.” Hyunjin mumbled, pulling the covers over your bodies.

You snuggled into his side and rested your head in the crook of his neck. Hyunjin sighed with satisfaction and pulled you close. He fell asleep with you in his arms, and you were soon to follow, your eyes growing tired. But before they closed and locked you in slumber, you took one last look at your husband sleeping soundly next to you. He tried so hard to play along with your game today, to become the salacious Casanova of your fantasies. But in the end, he couldn’t hide the fact that he was your sweet, loving husband after all.

And you wouldn’t change a thing about him. You wouldn’t trade the man you had for anything in the world.

a/n: just a random hj thought i had today, but what’s new 🤷 it’s not super polished or anything, but I’m hoping to get back into the groove of writing again so I hope y’all enjoy this one a lil bit :] lemme know your thoughts if you do! 💕

permanent taglist: @stay-wol @whlfchn @swissgoswish @hyunsungbased @erispancakes @jeonginssa @skz-streamer @maciscominghome @s00buwu @berryberrytan @straydhampir @babrieeee @chartrucewhore @ladylexis @yubinism @lilylouise @choisoorin @hyunjinsfairy @meloncremesoda @laylasbunbunny @yourmomscuntis2tighy @chansbabygirlsstuff

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1K notes View Post

valreifang

1 year ago

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE

Lee Know x reader. (s)

Synopsis: Let's play two truths and a lie, and here goes the first thing about you: You want to fuck your roommate's boyfriend, Minho. (9k words)

Author's note: It's a quick one-shot I made like a year ago but pls enjoy it nonetheless 😊

Content warning: Infidelity.

This is how you play two truths and a lie. You share three statements about you, two being true and one false, and people must determine which is which.

So here goes the first statement: You want to fuck your roommate's boyfriend.

A few months ago, you came to the city for your new job and were placed in a housing with a group of unbearable people. Since you've just started working, you tried looking at another option to get a temporary place to stay until you're financially stable enough to rent an apartment.

Long story short, a friend of a friend introduced you to Kim who happened to have an extra room you can rent. She owns the apartment and does not necessarily need the money, she offered her room for the sole reason which is to help you. You're aware that you don't meet this kind of that is to help you. You're aware that you don't meet this kind of person every day and for that, you're grateful for her.

After a week of living as roommates, you learn that Kim is just as graceful as her occupation, a ballet dancer. She's beautiful, kind-hearted, amicable, and ultimately, a very attentive roommate.

The room you're staying in was supposedly her private dance studio but she uses the living room to practice now and you have to adjust yourself to the huge mirror covering one side of the wall in your room.

Not long after that, Minho comes into the picture. A sharp nose, sharp jaws, and feline eyes, a beautiful face that only reminds you that the world is unfair to some people, including you.

"This is Minho," Kim introduces him with a smile

The second your eyes lock in a gaze with him, you feel an instant attraction and it intensifies as he stares back into your eyes.

"My boyfriend," Kim adds a little too late.

It's funny that the word boyfriend doesn't stop you from being attracted to him, if anything, you want him more than before.

Kim and Minho have been together for two years now and they met at the dance academy which explains a lot of things, including Minho's lean and toned body.

How do you know? Because sometimes he stays over and on more than one occasion, you found him walking out of the bathroom with nothing but a white towel hanging lowly around his waist.

That's also when you learn that this attraction is strictly physical, your uterus is acting up when you see him, and lewd thoughts rush through your head. It's all biological. There's no way you want to pursue him romantically, you couldn't even think of a person more deserving to be with him than Kim. They're both beautiful and talented dancers, oftentimes, you get so envious because they have such a lovely relationship.

Like tonight, you hear their laughter the second you step into the apartment, finding Kim and Minho in the kitchen just casually talking to each other while sharing a bowl of fruits. You love how simple yet endearing their interaction is.

"Hey, you're home!" Kim says with a sweet, welcoming smile.

You wave your hand at her and briefly at Minho, "Hi, everyone!" You awkwardly say, feeling like you're interrupting them.

"Have you had dinner?" Kim asks, attentive as always.

"Yeah, I grabbed dinner after work," you lie, but you can always creep your way to the fridge late at night for dinner.

"There's a pie in the fridge. Help yourself to some dessert," she sweetly offers then shoves a piece of blueberry into her mouth.

Without having to look, you can see how Minho looks at you, he has this deep, intense gaze that makes you the slightest bit intimidated.

"I will, thanks," you hurriedly respond, wanting the interaction to end as soon as possible, "I'll just... get into my room."

"Yeah, you should rest," Kim softly mutters.

You hoist your bag higher on your shoulder and head to your room, before you get in, you mutter to them, "Night, guys."

"Night," Kim cheerily says.

You hurriedly get in and catch a glimpse of Minho with his intense stare a second before the door completely closes and clicks in place.

The trick to surviving the night is to wait until they get into the bedroom and put headphones on as you come out of yours, not only to avoid hearing unwanted noises, but you reckon it's only right to take the extra measure to respect their privacy.

As you're listening and catching glimpses of the movie playing on your phone, you walk around the kitchen to prepare your simple, unhealthy dinner: a cup of noodles and a can of soda.

You're quietly eating your dinner by the kitchen counter with the headphones still on and once you finished, you treat yourself to a slice of pie, then put the rest of the pie back into the fridge.

It gets messy as you're munching on the pie while watching the movie on your phone. The cherry filling gets all over your fingers and you hurriedly lick it off before it gets—

"Oh, my God!" You shriek in surprise, seeing someone standing by the fridge. Once you realize it's Minho, you break into laughter.

"I'm just getting a bottle of water," he says, his face illuminated by the glow of the fridge lights.

"I'm sorry," you say while clutching your chest, and a second later, regret for saying it when he should be the one apologizing.

There's something different in the way Minho looks at you, he has one corner of his mouth raised higher than the other, giving you the impression that he's thinking of filthy things when he looks at you like that. He's giving you that look now and it does certain things to you.

He then stops leaning against the fridge, taking the bottle of water as he walks back to the bedroom, leaving his signature faint smirk on the back of your head.

The signals are there, they're subtle yet constantly pinging, asking you to respond. For now, you're going to ignore it like you always do and continue existing like you're not sharing the same space with him.

Statement number two: You believe Minho wants to fuck you too.

At first, you thought you imagined it, you want to fuck him so you started being delusional and thinking that he wants to fuck you too. Once you started paying attention though, you realized that what he's been doing to you meant something or some sort of message he tried to deliver.

The first occurrence that came to your realization is when the two of you were in the kitchen, you were enjoying your yoghurt and he suddenly came behind you to get something from the drawer that happened to be blocked by your body. Instead of telling you to step aside, he made you stand there as his hand curved around your waist to get something out of a drawer.

From there, you noticed a lot of things he did, the way he briefly rested his hand on the small of your back as he walked past behind you, his hand that would often brush a part of your body when the two of you are next to each other or the way he would speak close to your ear as if he's seeking to be close to you. Simply put, he always tries to make physical contact with you.

The scariest part of it is not the possibility that the two of you will eventually get caught, but how unfazed he is even when his girlfriend is there. Like that night where the three of you shared the sofa and somehow, his hand found your shoulder and instead of retreating, he continued to caress the nape of your neck with his knuckle.

However, what happens tonight is what makes you believe that he wants the same thing.

After making sure that you're the only one still awake in the vicinity, you make your way to the bathroom to take a nice, hot shower to help you relax and sleep faster. You skip on using the hairdryer since it'll make too much noise and tiptoe your way back to your bedroom.

In the middle of putting on your clothes, you realize that you left the door ajar and you notice Minho is watching through the reflection in the mirror.

Instead of stopping or rushing to close the door, you pretend to not see him there and continue, turning your body to the side, showcasing every curve of your body through the reflection in the mirror.

You arch your back as you put on the night dress over your head and slowly slip yourself in it, shimmying your body as you pull the dress down with your hands. Then you look at him through the reflection in the mirror and make it known that you're aware of his presence.

From the crooked grin on his face, you can tell that Minho is pleased to be caught watching you and you received his signal loud and clear: He wants to fuck you too.

But sadly, tonight's show is over so you walk to the door and close it.

Friday afternoon, Kim barges into your room and she rarely comes into your room without knocking on your door. Seeing that she's carrying a dress in her hand, you guess she needs your opinions on her clothing choices.

You sit on the bed and take your headphones off, "What's up, Kim?"

She stands at the end of the bed and lifts the dress with both hands, "What do you think?" She asks.

It's a mini dress with spaghetti straps in a deep purple color and it's a nice dress, you're just not sure if it fits Kim's style that well, she usually opts for dresses with flaring hem and floral prints.

"It's nice, Kim," you say but skip on giving her the detailed explanation.

She puts the dress close to her body and hugs it, "Do you like it?"

"Yeah," you shortly reply, even though it doesn't fit her style well, it certainly will look good on her.

"Good!" She shortly says, handing the dress to you, "Cause you'll be wearing it.

Somehow, you reach for it and awkwardly hold it in front of you, "W-why? Why me?"

Kim goes to your vanity table and flips open your jewelry box, she holds your earrings one by one to find ones that would match the dress.

"You're coming with me to this party," she says, leaving a lot of details in her answer.

"What party?"

"Party at my friend's," she simply answers, deciding on the gold small hoop earrings.

But that's against your plan, you want to steer clear of Minho and party at Kim's friend means that he'd likely be there too.

"Kim, I don't think that's a good idea," you tell her.

She then leans against the desk in your room and crosses her arm together in front of her, "These past few days you refused to hang out with me so you have to hang out with me tonight."

So Kim knows that you've been purposely avoiding her but you need to explain that it's not because of her, "But that's not—"

"Nuh-uh!" She quickly cuts you off again, "Tonight you're going to the party with me," she decides on her own, not accepting any more excuses from you.

"Is it okay though? I mean... it's your friend's party. I don't want to intrude," you meekly say while playing with the strap of the dress.

"Why would it not be okay?" She says, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, "Besides I want to introduce you to Gaspard."

Maybe you owe this one to Kim and hearing a guy's name piques your interest, "And who is Gaspard?"

"A cute guy," she shortly answers with a sly grin on her heart-shaped face, "And you'll like him."

It's not like Minho's presence would bother you that much and Kim needs you, she wants you there, therefore, as a good roommate, you should be there.

"Yeah, okay, I'm in the mood to meet a cute guy tonight," you tell her, not forgetting to show enthusiasm as well.

"That's the spirit!" Kim says with a wide grin dancing on her face.

Well, since you'll be there and possibly meet Minho, Gaspard better be a cute distraction for real.

The taxi pulls up in front of a house and you reckon it's where the party at from how many cars are parked outside and the faint thumping of the music playing inside.

The fact that you get here by taxi only means that there's no Minho so you can relax, for now.

Kim excitedly links her arm with you as you both walk into the house and you expect a party with laid-back music and endless glasses of wine but the second you step inside, upbeat music is blasting from around the house and everyone is having beers from red plastic cups.

The party is not what you imagined it would be, but it's what you need.

Kim cranes her neck to find her friends and once she finds them, she raises her hand to signal her arrival to them.

"Come on! Let's meet my friends!" She says.

Please, God, let him be a cute distraction! You repeatedly mutter in your heart as she drags you with her to meet her friends who are gathered in what you guess is a rec room in the house.

When Kim's friends finally come to sight, you put on a smile as you quietly guess which one of them is Gaspard. Kim goes to hug them one by one before introducing you to them.

"This is Ellie, Jena, Paul..." she introduces her friends back to you one by as the mentioned person warmly greets you.

"And Minho," someone adds from behind you.

You immediately look over your shoulder to see Minho standing there, Kim gently slaps his shoulder in response and laughs.

"This is not a roll call, honey," Kim says with a smile and then leans in to give Minho a quick peck on the lips.

Minho is already here and there's no Gaspard yet. No Gaspard means there'll be no distraction. You keep your smile on even though you're slowly descending into distress.

"There he is!" Kim exclaims, pointing at something behind you.

You reflexively turn on your heels and see a tall man with brown hair, striking green eyes, and a scintillating smile. This man will make the perfect distraction.

Please let this man be Gaspard, you deeply wish inside your heart.

Kim comes to your side and puts her arm around you, "This is the man I told you about," she says.

"I hope you only told her nice things about me," Gaspard says with a sly grin that makes his whole face light up.

The universe heard your plea and decided to make it true for you, this is Gaspard, the perfect distraction you want and need.

"Holyfuck..." you lowly mutter in disbelief.

"What's that?" Kim asks, hearing you saying something but doesn't quite catch it.

You've already forgotten where you are and what you're doing. And Minho? Who is Minho? You let out a chuckle and shake these silly thoughts away.

"So this is Gaspard, huh?" You say in all confidence.

"That is me," he answers, returning the confidence with a wide smile, "I'm better than you expected, I guess?"

Gaspard is confident and then gets shy in the next minute which you find charming, you smile at him and say, "I need more time to decide on that."

"That's fair," Gaspard says, offering his hand at you.

You think he's just going to shake your hand but he takes you into the crowd gathered in the middle of the room, dancing.

"A fair warning, I'm a bad dancer," you warn him as he takes your hands in his and makes you stand facing him.

"We still have time to decide on that," he pokes fun at you, taking you by the waist and pulling you close to his front.

Kim is right, Gaspard is cute and you like him already. He has just the right amount of facial hair and it grazes your cheek whenever he leans in to whisper into your ear, giving you a tingling feeling inside and outside.

After a few moments though, you find yourself panting from dancing with him. You should've known this would happen when you're dancing with a real dancer.

Since Gaspard is way taller than you, you have to put your arm around his shoulder and stand on your tiptoe to whisper to his ear, "Hey, how about we get drinks?"

"Drinks?" He asks you in confirmation since the mix of loud music and chatter is filling the room.

"Yeah," you answer while repeatedly nodding your head.

He doesn't say anything but takes your hand and leads the way through the crowd to the kitchen where bottles of liquor are strewn around on the kitchen island.

You intently watch as Gaspard is excitingly making you his special concoction. He finishes it off with a spritz of lemon before handing it to you.

"Thank you," you mutter in gratitude.

"Come on. Taste it!" He encourages you, curious of what you think of his drink-mixing skill.

Well, you've been staring at it long enough to give him the impression that you hesitate to drink it. You hurriedly take a small sip and you don't even have to lie, it's good.

"Wow!" You gasp, impressed with the drink he made.

"I know," he confidently says with a smirk and drinks his drink.

It's so refreshing and sweet like it has no alcohol at all, you hurriedly take another sip.

"It's really good," you tell him.

"Thank you," he says with a grin.

He then offers his hand at you, "Let's find somewhere to talk?"

You take his hand without question, letting him take you wherever he wants because it seems like he knows where he's going. He leads you to the backyard where everyone is hanging out by the pool.

"Hey, you!"

Recognizing the voice, your head snaps toward the source, and see Kim waving her hand at you from the long sofa that curved around a fancy fireplace.

You stop walking on your track and end up leading Gaspard there. You unconsciously let out a sigh of relief after seeing that there's no Minho there.

"Oh, hey," you greet back.

Kim scoots to the side to make space for you on the sofa, "Where have you guys been?"

"Oh, we were just dancing and he made me a drink," you honestly answer, not forgetting to show her the drink in your hand.

"And where were you going to take her, Gaspard?" Kim asks with eyes squinted at him.

"Anywhere but here," he jokingly answers.

"Well, since you guys just got here, it's your turn to play!" Someone says, you can't remember what her name is but she's one of the friends Kim introduced earlier.

"Turn to play? What?" You ask in confusion.

"Two truths and a lie," someone says.

You feel bad for not being able to remember their names, Gaspard's influence is that powerful on you.

"You know how to play, right?" Kim asks.

It's not about whether you know how to play or not, it's just so unexpected that these talented, gorgeous dancers like to play this kind of game at parties.

"Yes, I do," you answer.

Kim turns on the sofa to face you and looks at you in anticipation, "Okay then. Shoot!"

"Right now?"

"Yes," Kim shortly answers with a chuckle.

You admire their eagerness whether for the game or to know something about you, you rake your brain to think of three things about you and one of them should be a lie that would likely fool them good.

"Okay first is uhm... I'm allergic to cats," you share.

There's no response from them but you can see how they're looking at you and probably every detailed facial expression you make that will give away hints about whether you're lying or not.

"Second thing is my mom has a twin," you confidently share with a faint smile.

"Ah," Kim lowly gasps and you guess because you've shared this information with her before.

"Last thing is..." you look around as you think of the last thing to share with them.

You eventually turn to the side and see Gaspard smiling at you, "I think Gaspard is cute," you share the third thing about you.

"That's the one! That's the lie!" Someone excitedly guesses, and you suddenly remember his name as Paul.

You laugh because Gaspard looks so offended by his friend, "No, it's not a lie," you quickly defend him.

Gaspard shoots him a glare and triumphantly laughs, "Just drink, man!"

Paul drinks his beer in defeat.

"I must say the second one is the lie," the girl says again, still can't remember her name though.

"No. Her mom has a fraternal twin," Kim says, learning that information from you on the first day you moved into her apartment.

"Drink up, Jena!" Kim tells her that she guessed wrong and not wasting time but drinks her beer as a punishment.

"Oh, so you're not allergic to cats?" Gaspard asks.

"No, I'm not. I like cats," you answer.

He then sighs in relief, "That's great because I have a cat."

"Oh, wow?!" You utter in disbelief.

Other than being a great distraction, you share a lot in common with Gaspard and that says something.

"I also have cats," someone adds, joining in on the circle.

You can tell by the voice that it's the man you've been trying to avoid seeing tonight. You remain calm and have a sip of your drink.

"Yes, Minho, we all know you're a cat daddy," Jena says, finally knowing her name from Kim.

Kim groans and tosses a cushion at Jena, "Don't say that!"

Minho takes a gulp of Kim's drink and sits with his back reclined and his legs spread open, even his sitting position oozing with confidence and you eat that shit up.

You feel like slapping your face at that thought and have another sip to swallow that thought down.

"Is it my turn to play?" Minho asks around.

Jena shrugs since no one is taking the turn to play, "Yeah, sure, go ahead."

Minho softly scratches his chin before speaking, "I want to kiss someone tonight."

He starts easy but from the faint smirk on his face, you can tell he's brewing something in his mind.

"That someone is not my girlfriend," he calmly says.

Welp, there you go! Minho acts like he didn't just drop a shocking statement while his girlfriend is sitting prettily next to him.

You glance at Kim and she looks calm, but you can see that her jaws are slightly clenched. She's not happy so Minho should stop it.

But instead of calming his girlfriend, Minho looks at you and continues to share the third statement, "The person I want to kiss is one of you."

Your heart skips a beat because he keeps looking right at you and making it obvious for everyone to see who it is. All of a sudden, you feel the urge to exit this scene but walking out only makes it even more obvious.

Minho is sick of doing this to you and Kim, it's like he doesn't even care what it can do to either you or Kim.

"Oh, Minho, that's..." Paul hisses, not able to finish his sentence.

"Why, Paul?" Minho daringly asks him.

"Nothing," Paul says while scratching his head.

Minho leans forward and says, "It's you, Paul. It's you who I want to kiss."

Paul's tense face melts in a second and everyone bursts out laughing, "Fuck you, man!"

"It's you. I want to kiss you," Minho taunts him more, throwing himself at him and jokingly tries to kiss him.

Paul keeps pushing him away, sloshing his drink as he tries to dodge Minho's kiss while everyone else is laughing at them.

Even though it turns out to be a joke, you feel sick in the stomach and feel the need to get out of here.

"I need to go to the restroom," you mutter, getting up from the sofa.

Gaspard puts down his drink, "I can show you—"

"It's okay. I can go by myself," you tell him off, you regret being so crass but you're sure he'll understand.

"Okay," he says, sitting back down on the sofa.

While clutching the hem of your dress, you head back inside the house and find the bathroom to only queue to get inside, you decide to try on the second floor. You can easily find the bathroom as it's wedged between two bedrooms.

It's a party, you're sure the host would be okay with you using their bathroom, you don't even need to pee or something, you just need a space to vent.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you keep muttering to the reflection in the mirror.

When you touch your neck, you can feel a sheen of sweat there so you run your hands under the cold water and tap it to your neck.

This is the first time you realize what it'll do to you when it comes to following your desire. You'll ruin not only their relationship but also your friendship with Kim and she's been nothing but good to you.

"Fuck!" You mutter once again as you splash cold water on your face like it would help to put some sense into you.

Coming here was a bad idea!

But you're already here so you only need to stick to your plan, staying away from Minho and sticking with Gaspard. You allow yourself to spend a few more minutes just to compose yourself before coming out of the bathroom.

As you're about to climb down the stairs, the plan comes to a failure.

You see Minho is coming up the stairs and he seems to be looking for you as well from the way he stops once he finds you.

Instead of avoiding him as you planned, you feel the need to confront him about what happened a while ago. You grab the front of his shirt and take him into one of the bedrooms. The first one is locked so you try the other one and it's empty.

Once both of you are inside, you slam the door shut and push him against it.

"What the hell are you doing?" You aggressively ask, pushing his chest until his back hits the door.

"What? What am I doing?" He plays innocent but that smirk knows it all.

You slap his chest with both of your hands now but all you can feel is how firm his pecs are.

"You just don't care, do you?"

He puts his hands on each side of your waist and draws you closer, not hesitating to plant his mouth on your jaw.

"Minho!" You whine, ending up getting trapped in his hold with his arms wrapped tightly around you.

He glides his lips up and presses a kiss there on the skin under your ear, sending a tingling down your spine as his warm breath brushes your skin.

You helplessly dodge away from his lips yet somehow, he manages to capture your lips in a kiss and oh, you hate it so much! You hate how you like the way he kisses you, so passionately and hungrily, he makes it known that he wants it so much.

Okay, maybe the kiss is a slip-up and you hurriedly pull yourself out of it. You push him and pull away from the kiss.

"You know we can't do this," you mutter but you're looking at his lips, tempted to kiss him again.

He ignores your words and kisses you again, and you fall into it again. You try harder this time and break the kiss.

"Minho!" You whine, looking away to not let the temptation win again.

Using it as an opportunity, Minho plants his mouth on your ear and nibbles on it, peeling a layer off of your sanity which brings you to slip down the slope again.

Your lips are colliding again, harder and deeper, causing even more damage than the previous one as his hands go all over you and pull the straps of your dress down your shoulders.

The two logics in your head are clashing against each other, the one wants to satisfy this desire and the other wants to get out of this situation altogether. If you follow the former then at least, your curiosity will be fulfilled and if you follow the latter, then you get to keep the peace.

As you are caught in that inner battle, you blank out and stiffen against him.

"We have to stop," you mutter to him.

But is that what you want? To stop when you already have your toes dipped in the water?

Minho also takes a moment to assess the situation, he looks at you with his lips red and wet, "it has to stop," he says in agreement.

You take a step back and feel the sudden detachment as he lets go of you and you can't believe that he agrees right away that this is the better decision. You can't help but think that he doesn't want you enough.

He stays standing there, leaning against the door and looking at you with his eyes dark and wide with lust.

"So what do we do now?"

That's such a wrong thing to ask you because what you want to do now is be selfish for the night, for one fucking night, and if you're going to do it, you may as well go all in, right?

Take the chance or pass? Right or wrong? Continue or stop? Now or never?

"Fuck!" you heavily sigh and take down the straps of your dress, sending your breasts spilling out of the front.

"Suck my tits," you order.

It takes Minho a moment to process it and when he finally catches on that you've made up your mind, he goes for it. He comes at you full speed, hands off the brake and head first.

His mouth lathers at your breasts before sucking at them like you asked, taking them in turns, and leaving them wet with his saliva.

"Nibble on my nipples," you command.

You look down to watch him obeying you, using his tongue to nibble on your blossoming buds and alternating it with his teeth next.

"Oh, fuck," you breathlessly mutter as he sucks hard on your nipple.

While his mouth is busy latching on your breasts, his hands are snaking to the back and kneading at your asscheeks, caressing them with his fingers, and teasing your underwear.

This feels so wrong yet so good, you have your inner battle still but your logic is being defeated by your body's needs. You pull him by the shoulder and make him kiss you again so you'll stop thinking.

The rattles on the door startle you both and Minho immediately pushes the door with his back, then holds the knob to not let anyone in. Whoever tries to get it seems to figure out that the room is occupied.

"Sorry," someone says from behind the door.

Minho immediately locks the door while you take a step back from him, he gives you that look again, the kind of look that sees right through you and knows that you feel conflicted inside.

"Kim is my good friend," you tell him, feeling a pang of sadness in your chest that it aches.

He comes at you again and kisses you in which you're returning with the same eagerness. He seems to know that it's the only way to make you stop talking and thinking altogether. He pulls you closer than before his hands snaking to your rear, cupping the ample flesh in his hand.

"This is terrible," you mutter as you break the kiss so you can take your underwear off.

"This is terrible..." you mutter again, pulling him close by the waistband of his jeans and proceeding to unzip his fly open, "Betraying her like this."

It's like your body has a mind of its own, it's doing the opposite of what you're saying.

You impatiently take his semi-hard out of its confine and stroke it in your hand, "terrible," you emphasize the word and nail it deep into your head.

Minho doesn't say anything but follows what your body wants, he kisses you again, sloppily with his hands mindlessly roaming around your body.

"Touch me there," you whisper into him.

Without looking, his hand knows where to go. It goes to where you want him to be, going to the front to that wetness between your legs.

"Put your fingers in."

Minho runs his fingers down your slit repeatedly before inserting his finger into you. One digit is enough to make you moan in pleasure as he pumps it in and out of you.

"Add one more."

He draws his finger out and brings his index and middle fingers, shoving them into your mouth to wet them with your saliva. He brings them back to your entrance and slowly pushes them inside.

"Fuck, oh..." you moan, burying your head in his neck.

Two fingers are going in and out of you and you're already losing it. You start to think of what his cock would be like inside you as it feels hot and hard in your hand, pulsating with so much desire.

His lips nestle in your neck, kissing and lightly sucking on the skin as your body clings to him for support.

"Curl them— Oh!"

Minho knows what to do, he curls his fingers and carefully finds that spot that makes you whine and moan at the same time, and the lewd noise echoes in the dimly lit room.

You look over your shoulder to locate the bed and start steering his body there, walking backward without having to take hands off of each other.

He slowly pulls out and breaks the kiss only to pull your dress up, making the dress hunched around your waist. You plop down onto the bed and get on, you take a moment to continue undoing his jeans and pull it down enough to let his erection free.

Without thinking, you put his cock into your mouth, take him as much as you can and compensate for the rest you can't take with your hand. You lick and suck, alternating those two as you enjoy every inch of his delicious length with your mouth.

Minho tangles his hand in your hair and gently tugs at it, "I feel so guilty," he says.

Oh, so he's not that selfish after all but the thought of him thinking of his girlfriend with his cock deep in your mouth doesn't make you jealous at all, it makes you feel more aroused than before.

"Oh, so guilty," he says between his hoarse, low moans as he stares back into your eyes.

You slowly pull away and replace your mouth with your hand, restlessly pumping his swollen cock.

"You should be," you tell him, sticking your tongue out of your mouth and swirling it around the pink tip of his cock.

All of a sudden, he grabs your hand and takes it away from his length, he then takes your other hand to pin it against the bed. He hovers above you as he kisses you again, his tongue prying open your mouth to taste more of you.

You can feel him rubbing his length between your folds and you spread your legs open so he can do it more, making you drenched than you already are.

It's obvious to you now that you want him, you want him so bad and what you want is only inches away from you, and you can feel how much he wants you.

"Put it in," you breathlessly say against his lips.

Minho wastes no time to position himself between your legs. He then holds his cock, lubricating it with your essence and giving it a few pumps to finally aims it toward your entrance.

The more time he takes to be inside you, the more impatient you get.

"Put it deep inside me," you demand, opening your legs wider for him.

Yet Minho keeps teasing your entrance, heightening your anticipation and the tension in the room, making you arching your back at him.

When he finally pushes in, he only inserts the tip. It's just the tip but Gosh! It feels good already when he starts thrusting at a slow, steady pace.

"That's it," you say, keeping your waist afloat to take more of him, "all the way in."

Minho is just as impatient. He takes your wish as his command and pushes the rest of his length into you, hitting you deep inside that you blank out and you can't hear your own scream of pleasure.

It only registered to you now that it's all real once you take a look at how his cock is fully buried deep inside you and there's nothing like the feeling of finally having your desire fulfilled. Minho feels so good inside you, every inch of his length fills you perfectly like he was made just for you.

"Oh..." you loudly moan as he starts moving.

You're in and out of you at how hard he's thrusting into you that it reverberates throughout your body and in the middle of it, you manage to look at him, his face is masked with pleasure from the way his eyes are half shut and his lips pressed together.

Maybe the two of you want it so much that the sex feels rushed and a little rough, almost animalistic even. You can feel you're about to cum and so is he.

"Don't cum inside," you warn him before bringing his head close for a sloppy kiss on his lips.

In return, Minho goes sloppy with his thrusts that the bed quakes along with his movements and you're gripping the sheet to hold on to. He's twitching inside you and your legs are shaking. The knot in your stomach keeps tightening and you feel like exploding at any minute now.

He incessantly thrusts into you while you keep gripping the sheet, he probably senses that you're on the brink of climaxing and takes you there, sending you into your release with your eyes screwed shut, seeing white. He cums not long after you and keeps himself deep into you, completely forgetting your warning.

When it occurs to you that he completely forgot about your warning, you slowly push him away and force him to pull out of you.

"I told you not to cum inside," you whine.

Minho's eyes fixated on the way his cum drips out of you, pearly white and glistening wet, inviting him to taste. He finds a way to solve it by settling his head between your legs and licking your mixed juices off of your cunt and not hesitating to swallow it. He sucks on your gushing hole before using his tongue to insert it, he makes sure to not leave any drop of his cum in you.

Watching him eating you and swallowing his own cum is getting you off in the best way, you suddenly don't mind it that much that he cum inside you. If anything, you want him to fill you so you get to watch him do it all over again.

"Stop, Minho! Stop!" You tell him, tugging at his hair to stop him from diving further into your wetness.

He abruptly stops and lifts his head with his mouth and chin glistening wet with your essence. You grab him by the front of his shirt and make him hover above you again. You know you already got what you want and it's time to stop.

What are you going to do now? You ask yourself.

Seize the chance. This is probably the last time you ever had this chance and this could be the one and only chance. You roll him over and straddle him, thinking of having him again for the last time, selfishly.

Taking a moment for this could be the only chance you get to do it, you look at him and his beautiful face, and you allow yourself to kiss his lips. You're running your hands down his clothed chest and patiently unbuttoning his shirt, then part it open to reveal his toned upper half body.

It's only fair if you get to touch him all over too so you do it, using your hands and your lips next, it's just you and miles and miles of his warm, honey skin.

Minho lets you do everything as he lays on his back, watches you kissing every inch of his abdomen, and eventually has him in your mouth again. He props his hands against the bed to see how your lips wrapped around his cock.

After a while, you suddenly pull out and gasp for air, "We have to stop."

He sits up on the bed and puts your hair away from your face, "But I don't want to stop," he says, then continues putting your hair away to the back so he can kiss your neck, chest, and breasts.

They're just words, they've been just words that you say in vain and have no effect to make you stop whatsoever. You only say that just to remind you that this feels so wrong but it feels good to do it.

You sit on his lap and position his cock at your entrance again, slowly, you lower yourself on him. You let out a mewl as you take him in little by little, feeling his girth stretching you out.

"Do you want to stop?" He asks you with his hands cradling your head in between.

"We have to," you sigh with your eyes closed, overwhelmed by his cock that buries deep inside you.

"I don't want to," he breathlessly says, holding you by the waist, guiding you to start moving.

Putting your arms around his shoulders for support, you're switching between pulsating and rolling your hips around him as he latches his lips on your neck and chest.

Somehow, he feels bigger and harder inside you, and he fills you better, therefore, you just want to keep feeling his length around you. However, in the middle of it, your logic fights to come out of you.

"This is wrong," you breathlessly mutter.

"Mmh-hmm," he hums against your lips, mindlessly answering to you.

"This is so wrong, Minho," you say again as you keep moving to chase your high.

If this is wrong then why it feels so good? If this is wrong then you never want to be right. If this is wrong then you want to be a sinner, forever.

"Oh, I can't do this anymore," you cry, it's unclear whether it's the body or your conscience speaking.

"Keep going, keep going," he repeatedly mutters through his gritted teeth, watching you bouncing on his cock.

The sex is more intense and harder than the previous one, you keep holding your breath even though you're running out of air. Your nails dug into his skin, your mouth locked with his lips, and you feel a sheen of sweat forming on your skin.

It all comes down to the one moment when everything hits you all at once. Other than the wave of dopamine and oxytocin that surge through your body, you feel good, you feel light and happy, but underneath that, you feel that bitter feeling, guilt that is gnawing and eating you alive from the inside.

You open your eyes and find Minho looking at you with a soft gaze and it feels tender that you feel like crying, or you're about to as you feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

"Oh, God! What have I done?" You roughly brush the hair stuck to your moist forehead.

"It's okay," Minho says, trying to justify this act of betrayal.

"Oh, my God!" You press the heels of your palms to your eyes to stop you from crying.

Minho gently holds your chin and softly presses a kiss on your lips as if he's trying to take the pain away but that's useless because you caused this yourself and he's a part of the problem.

But his kiss no longer holds the same effect, you feel restless the more he kisses you so you slowly pull away and keep a safe space between you and him.

"Let's just stop," you say with a sigh and then rush to get off his lap. You lowly gasp from the sudden emptiness and once your feet touch the floor, you're staggering backward.

Then, you feel it, his hot cum that drips out of you and down your inner thigh.

"I can help you with that," Minho offers.

You immediately hold your hand up at him and firmly say, "Just stop!"

You start fixing your dress, putting your arm in the straps, and pulling them to your shoulders. You look around for your underwear and once you find it, you put it on.

"Kim can't know about this," you meekly say as you pull the hem of your dress and smooth them down.

There's no looking back at it now. You've got what you wanted and now it's time to move on. You turn the door knob and head out without saying anything else.

Rejoining the party downstairs, you immediately head to the kitchen to get a drink but on the way there, someone catches you by the hand.

"Come, dance with me!" Kim says with a grin, pulling you with her to the middle of the room.

"Kim, I–" you can't find anything to say to her without the guilt clogging your throat, "I need a drink."

"Here. Have mine!" She hands you her cup.

"I'll get us drinks and get back to you, okay?" You kindly refuse her but she won't let go of your hand.

"Oh, come on, it's my favorite song!" She pleads with her puppy eyes, making you feel worse than you already are.

Seeing her and how oblivious she is to what you and Minho have done is breaking your heart.

That brings you to the third and last statement: That will be the first and the last time you've had sex with Minho.

Things are going back to normal. Or that's what it seems to you.

You're still roommates with Kim and she's still oblivious about what you and Minho did behind her back which means he keeps true to his promise.

And yes, he still comes to the apartment but it doesn't bother you as it used to. You learn that your friendship with Kim is far more valuable than his boyfriend's cock, in fact, you've been taking her kindness for granted.

So for these past few days, you've been trying to avoid them as much as possible. You purposely come home late from work and if you do find them together in the apartment, you make excuses to stay in your bedroom.

Fewer interactions means fewer chances of this guilt from bringing you down further.

The new plan is to get your own place as soon as possible and for that to happen, you have to start looking for it.

Today, Gaspard offers to help you check a few places and it's also the perfect getaway than staying in the apartment. You quietly get dressed and slip out of your bedroom to find Kim catches you while dunking her teabag into her cup.

"Where are you going?" She asks.

You don't want to tell her about it yet that you plan on moving out soon so you make up an excuse on the spot, "Just getting a few things for work, yeah," you lie.

She tosses the teabag into the trash and uses a spoon to stir it, "Just getting a few things for work, huh?"

"Yeah, I need new work shoes," you lie again, seamlessly this time.

"And you think you don't need my help?"

"No, no," you hastily reply, "I just know how much you like staying in on the weekends."

"I would to go out on the weekend too."

Kim keeps misunderstanding you so you decide to tell her, "I'm going out with Gaspard," you admit, but keep the details from her.

Kim lets out a laugh and puts down her cup of tea, "Oh, my God! Why did you lie about it?"

"I don't know. It feels weird," you awkwardly answer.

"Why would it be weird? Cause he's my friend?"

"Yeah..." you meekly say.

She laughs again and comes up to you, "Why would it be weird that my roommate is going out with my good friend?"

That's true, this is nothing compared to fucking your roommate's boyfriend. You swallow the guilt that crawls out of your throat.

"I can lend you my shoes to match it with that cute dress?" She offers, kind as always.

"No, it's fine. It's comfortable this way," you say, opting for the sneakers you're wearing since you're going to do a lot of walking today.

"As long as you're comfortable," she says, fixing your hair as she speaks.

The front door opens and the two of you are turning your heads to see who's coming, it's none other than Minho. You hurriedly sling your purse around your shoulder and ready to leave.

"I'd better get going," you tell Kim, giving her a quick hug.

"You can come home as late as you want," she jokingly says as she hugs you back, "Actually, don't bother coming home tonight."

You laugh it off and pull away while ignoring Minho who walks to the kitchen to get something out of the fridge. You head for the door and wave bye at Kim before getting out.

The search for a new place comes to fruition, you have two potential living spaces but the only problem is you can't afford the rent, yet.

You end the day with a hearty dinner also as a treat for Gaspard for being so helpful and patient with you. He's simply a great guy to be with and you wonder why didn't you want to fuck him instead of Minho.

Oh fuck, you think about Minho again and it reminds you that he's in the apartment now so you stay out as late as you can. You consider Gaspard's offer to come and visit his place but you don't want to give him the impression that this is a date.

It's too casual to be counted as a date in the first place but you make sure to promise him a proper one next time.

"Maybe next time when I'm not sweaty and the day is not as humid as today," you kindly refuse the offer.

"I agree," he says as his hair turns a lot curler in this humidity and shyly brushes it to the back.

He walks you to the entrance of your apartment building and you turn on your feet to face him, "Thank you for today," you sincerely say.

"No worries. I had fun today," he coyly says with a smile.

You know he wants to kiss you and you want to kiss him too because he's just so attractive and fun to be with, he's a great guy... you can list so many reasons why you should kiss him so you muster up the courage to do it.

You stand on your tiptoe and press a kiss on his lips, putting your hand on his shoulder for support and Gaspard returns the kiss with so much gentleness with his hand cupping your jaw.

In the middle of it, you come to a realization that you kiss him for so many reasons but not because you like him. You slowly pull away from the kiss and quickly put on a smile for him.

"Goodnight, Gaspard," you mutter.

He allows himself to place a gentle caress on your cheek and smiles back at you as he says back, "Goodnight!"

The walk back to the apartment feels like a punishment. At least, it's late enough that you're sure Kim is already asleep by now so you quietly unlock the door, pushing it open without making any noise, and walk through the living room until you get to the safety of your room.

You kick your shoes off, throw your purse onto the bed, and take off your jacket, just standing there in your dress facing the huge mirror with your reflection staring back at you.

"Do you need help with that?" Minho asks through the cracks of your door.

You hate it that he's still here and you're happy to see him, you're not answering but he comes to your aid anyway. He stands right behind you and slowly unzips your dress for you.

It must be intentional the way his knuckles graze your skin as he pulls the zipper down your back.

The memories from that night come back to you and unlock all the feelings that you try to keep at the bottom of your heart.

Minho then places his hand on your shoulder and looks at you through the mirror, "Do you need help with anything else?" He asks with a voice so low it's almost like a whisper.

You turn your head to the side and meet his gaze, "No."

All sorts of thoughts come rushing through your head but it's the same contradicting questions: Take the chance or pass? Right or wrong? Continue or stop? Now or never?

Those questions going around your head and won't stop bothering you until you make up your mind.

You turn around to face him and notice how close he's standing in front of you, so close that you can feel the heat his body is emitting.

"But I'll help myself," you say and then kiss him.

Well, you guess people can tell which one is the lie now.

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1K notes View Post

valreifang

11 months ago

IN BLOOM | jisung first date series. second chance lovers.

pairing: jisung x fem!reader word count: 13.2k genre: childhood friends au, angst, fluff, songwriter!jisung, florist!reader warnings: swearing, minor character death, grief/loss (nothing to do with any of the members!) summary: it's february. the tulips are in bloom. jisung is back.

a/n: *taps mic* hello?? is this thing on?? oh good. yes. hi. hello! it's been a while, as most of you can tell. thank you all SO MUCH for sticking around. if you've been reading my asks you'll know that march and april were rough months for me personally. shout out to my anons and mutuals who kept my spirits high and made my days brighter. uhhh, this was originally supposed to be a stand alone fic but i figured hey, what the hell, and made it into jisung's first date chapter. it's pretty heavy stuff. lots of feelings, lots of love. i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it! again, thank you so much for waiting for me. i'll be back soon with more updates! all the love <3

also thank you kenzie for being such a light during all of this. i hope all my screaming in your messages was worth it!

“All of these had to be pulled.” Hyunjin huffs, dropping a few crates just past the doorway.

“Again?” you ask, hands on your hips as you stare at yet another wasted supply. “I don’t understand, they sold so well last year.”

Hyunjin gives you a sad smile. “It’ll pick up eventually, don’t worry. I mean the holidays just finished and business usually slows down in the months after anyways.”

He’s being sincere, you know that. But there’s a part of you that also knows it’s a lot more than just the usual ebb and flow of sales. He’s being nice for your sake.

“Maybe we could try coming up with other ideas?” he suggests, because Hyunjin is nothing if not kind. Always willing, always finding a way.

He moves past you to grab a fresh pair of gloves. The ones he’s wearing are dirty, pollen-stained and ripped at the edges.

“You’ve always been really good at basket arrangements. We could try to make some for Valentine's Day. Different sizes, maybe? The big ones will probably do well for online orders since they’re more optimal for things like office deliveries and stuff like that.”

You hum in approval. “True. I mean, I was kind of worried we would have to skip out on deliveries this year since we don’t have the manpower to handle all of that, but I think Jeongin’s been looking to pick up hours around here again. He said something about his program giving them a month of independent study, so he’ll be home for a bit.” you say, scribbling down a reminder in your notebook. “I could ask him to help with driving the truck in his free time?”

Hyunjin lights up– he always does when Jeongin is mentioned.

It’s been a lot quieter ever since he left for college. There were so many tears and so many hugs that were met with countless 'you guys are dramatic's in return. But it’s hard to not feel sad when people leave town; when they decide the borders lined with apple trees and rice fields aren’t enough to stop their dreams from blooming into more than what’s capable of being pursued here.

That, unsurprisingly, is something you know all too well.

“Can’t believe he’s driving.” Hyunjin laments as he wipes his floral scissors with a rag. “I used to spend my days changing his diapers and spoon feeding him redbulls– but now? Driving? My baby is all grown up.” he fake sniffles. “By the way, I’m gonna take my fifteen after I’m done snipping these tulips.”

You snort, bending down to take the crates of wilted flowers to the back for disposal. Hyunjin moves to help but you shake him off.

“Sounds good. Also, don’t let Innie hear you say that. I’m about a thousand percent sure he has the strength needed to throw you into the dumpster with one arm now.”

“My baby would never do that to me!” Hyunjin calls out as you round the corner, bumping open the back door with your hip.

February brings a lot of rain in Jeju. Today is no different; fat drops landing on your head as soon as you stumble out into the alley behind the shop. Footsteps heavy on wet brick, you curse under your breath as you run as fast as you can to the dumpster.

There’s still a few supply boxes from yesterday’s shipment laying around. You meant to bring them in, but you were so exhausted that it slipped your mind while you struggled to make sure everything inside the shop was figured out.

Scrambling, you haul them in one by one, shoes squeaking against the floor as you alternate in and out, soggy cardboard pressed against the front of your apron.

Hyunjin’s on break. A necessary one at that. You can’t bother him, especially not when he’s done enough by taking on more responsibility both as a physical worker and a newly actualized business partner recently. A few stacks of boxes and wet hair seem like a fair trade off for what he’s had to sacrifice in the past year now.

“Idiot,” you mumble, cursing yourself for carelessness. Your slip ups have been more frequent lately, evident in the way you constantly forget things and can’t seem to push away the haziness clouding your mind.

If it weren’t for the timing of it all, you’d blame it on the weather. The gloominess. The overcast skies probably have some sort of hand in your lack of clarity. Shrouded.

But it’s February. And in Jeju— it rains.

By the time you make it back inside, you’re drenched.

“You look like you just got dunked in a pool.”

You frown, ringing your hair out into the trash bin by the door. It’ll definitely take time to dry off, both your hair and your clothes are soaked through.

Hyunjin watches with an amused look, arms crossed as he leans his back against the counter.

“Might as well have. It’s insane out there.” you sigh. “How was your break?”

You look up to find that his face has gone unreadable.

“Yeah, about that…” Hyunjin trails off, voice suddenly smaller than before.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s just–” Hyunjin chews at his bottom lip.

You push past him into the supply room to switch out your apron just as he says, “Do you mind if I leave a little early today?”

You scoff, turning to face him. “Hwang Hyunjin,” you scold, lips twitching when he visibly startles at your tone, “You don’t have to ask me that. We’re partners now, remember? We run this place.”

He shifts on his feet, still unsure.

“Besides,” you huff, tying a knot behind your back, “We were friends way before that, too. You don’t have to be all proper with me. Of course you can leave early. It’s slow today, I can take care of it.”

Hyunjin sighs after contemplating for a second. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, though?”

When he stares at you for a moment too long, you know the real reason for his hesitation. It makes something twist deep in your gut.

Guilt, maybe, amongst other things.

“Of course.” you shrug, doing your best to seem nonchalant.

Hyunjin’s ability to read people is kind of intense, a little scary at times. You happen to be one of his favorite subjects in that regard.

“Have fun. Tell Minah I said hi.”

He pales, sputtering around words as he struggles to say something. It’s cute, his plump lips opening and closing, eyes wild.

“I’m not going to see her! I’m–it’s just a movie! How did you—God, you’re so annoying. I should’ve made you trim the tulips. Hah!”

You giggle. “It’s funny that you think I wouldn’t know, especially with the way you love to actually make yourself look busy whenever she stops by to say hi.”

“I am busy.” he mumbles, looking away. “I just emphasize it a lot more when she’s here.”

“Sure,” you roll your eyes, “Let’s go with that.”

He whines a couple more times, trails after you around the shop and laughs when you swat him away with a rolled up newspaper that’s used for wrapping vases.

It’s loud. Easy. Hyunjin is a gentle reminder that normalcy still exists in your day to day, even if it’s hard to find.

When he finally decides to leave, he lingers for a moment, triple checks that you’ll be okay. You roll your eyes for what feels like the millionth time today, but deep down you’re grateful.

“Love you,” he says, one foot out the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

You shake your head, ignoring him. “Love you too.”

And then he’s gone, a skip in his step as he heads down the sidewalk, leaving you with nothing but freshly-trimmed tulips and the sound of rain.

“Herb snips, shears, tape…” you mumble, scanning the supply shelf.

There’s not much to do in-shop right now. Almost all the arrangements have been tended to by Hyunjin already, his specialty being his keen eye. That’s why he handles the appeal of the shop, leaving you to figure out all the logistics. Learning it all was easier said than done.

In reality, it was never your intention to take over the shop at all.

“When I die,” your grandma would always say, ignoring the way you groaned and begged her to stop bringing it up, “Sell this place. Use the money for something worthwhile. A trip to Greece, maybe?”

“Nana,” you would scold, glaring at her where she stood next to you, trimming a batch of roses.

Wrinkled hands that still held all the skill of youth. Fingers moving at a speed others could only ever dream of having– you included.

Your grandma handled flowers with the same amount of care she did everything else. It’s no wonder that when they grew they would lean in her direction, drawn to her like they would be the sun.

“I’m not selling this place. It’s too special, too important. A vacation only lasts so long, Nana. This is forever.”

She would smile, turn petals over in her hand. Sometimes the marigolds would match the glow in her eyes, a testament to the belief you harbored as a child that she had the ability to sprout blossoms from her fingertips.

“The one thing you shouldn’t do, my dear, is rely on forever. Because that, too, is uncertain.”

You wish you hadn’t been so hard headed. Wish that you would’ve believed her, taken the time to listen, cherished the moment a little bit longer instead of relying on the promise of tomorrow.

I’m sorry for your loss.

Your grandmother was a wonderful woman.

She’ll be with you in your heart, forever.

Oh, what a lie forever is.

The shop stays empty for the rest of the day. There were a few passersby, all of whom simply stopped to scan the arrangements along the windows before giving a polite nod and carrying on their way.

Realistically, the shop has no problem with attracting customers. It’s a sight to behold: mid-floor to ceiling windows with various displays, hanging baskets of winding greenery, countless arrangements that fill the shelves and add a pop of color, and a wide assortment of flowers for each season.

The real issue lies in your inability to sell. Most people regard the place as being good for nothing more than window shopping and the usual photo-op.

Business has slowed since your Grandma passed; since you took over as the sole owner and were suddenly face to face with the task of making decisions in the shop’s best interest– both integrity wise and from a business standpoint.

“I know, I know,” you say around the pen cap between your teeth, “You used to be the brains around here, not me. I’m not creative enough for all of this, you know? No matter how much I try to be.”

You look up from where your notebook lays open, dozens of scribbles for arrangement ideas and planning. The picture on the wall stares at you, unmoving, eyes as bright as marigolds.

“Don’t give me that look.”

She stares. A gaze that holds all the answers while also saying nothing at all.

“Ugh.” you groan, leaning your palms on the desk.

You allow your head to hang forward, defeated, exhaustion flooding your bones.

Just as you’re about to speak again, to complain about yet another thing that probably has her rolling around in her grave, the bell at the front counter dings.

The clock on the desk reads 6:55pm, five minutes until close. You hadn’t even heard anyone come in.

“Be right there!” you call out, rushing to grab your apron from where you’d thrown it on one of the chairs.

In your haste, the box of seed packets you’d been inventorying goes tumbling to the floor.

“Fuck,” you mutter, bending down to pick everything up. One more thing to add to the list today.

Off-kilter. Disoriented. Exhausted.

You sniffle a few times, blinking against the sting behind your eyes as you stand up to put the box back in its place.

One deep breath, a shake of your shoulders. Just enough to chase it all away until later.

“Sorry about that,” you say cheerily, pushing past the hanging beads that separate the front of the shop from the back. “How can I help you?”

There’s a stranger, his back turned, attention focused on a batch of tulips. Freshly cut. White, blue, purple.

You realize, belatedly, that you’d forgotten to grab your apron in your haste to clean up the seed packets. Another slip up. Nana always prided herself in her apron, wore it like a badge of honor, raised you to do the same.

Just as you spin around to grab it, the stranger says, “It’s okay. I just, um, I wanted to say hi.”

You freeze. There’s a long moment where his voice rings loud in your ears, reverberates against the walls of your brain until it travels through your blood, the feeling like wildfire in your veins until it settles deep in the pit of your stomach.

Slowly, you turn, heart clamoring in your chest, threatening to stop altogether as soon as you come face to face with the one person you never thought you’d see again.

Because there, at the front of the store, is Jisung.

Jisung, with wide eyes and parted lips. Jisung, with hair that still curls at the ends and falls in shags around his face. Jisung, broader, more actualized, now grown into his features but still undeniably soft around the edges. Jisung, with thick framed glasses pushed up his nose and silver hoops dangling from his ears.

A stranger. But undoubtedly Jisung.

“You look…nice.” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand.

Three words is all it takes. Ice turns to fire. The blood that had drained from your face returns with the blaze of a thousand suns, anger burning your throat.

You reach forward, grab the remote for the neon Open sign and click the power button. Jisung watches in confusion.

“The shop is closed.” you manage on a shaky breath.

Jisung sighs, something heavy. “Listen, I’m—”

“The shop–” you try again, louder, “–is closed.”

Jisung stares. His eyes are still the same velvety brown; big and round and just as you remember.

There was once a time where the sight of Jisung in your Grandma’s shop made your heart sing. A soft tune, the thrum of a thousand harps, a song only for him.

His heart-shaped smile as he helped her hammer some of the shelves onto the wall. The sound of his laughter whenever you’d enter a sneezing fit from accidentally rubbing your face with a gloved hand. His rosy cheeks, burnt from the wind whipping past his face as he ran on foot to make sure you were okay the one time an angry customer smashed a vase on the floor and you called him crying.

But now, seeing him here, a stranger in a body you once knew like the back of your hand— it feels wrong.

“I…” he trails off, registering the way your fists are clenched at your sides.

“Okay,” he resigns, licking his lips. “I, uh– have a good night.”

He gives you one last look, bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth, and then slips out the door. You watch his retreating figure through the glass panel, dark gray skies muting the sound of your rattling heart.

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. Jisung is back.

And in Jeju– it rains.

There’s an apple tree in the middle of town where Jisung told you he loved you for the first and last time.

Off the corner, a few minutes down the road from where your houses stand a mere five hundred feet away from one another.

Your grandparents were farmers. Your grandma started her floral business a few years before you were born, a dream she always had that your grandpa urged her to pursue once he decided to sell the animals to a younger, more capable couple that could take care of them.

Jisung’s parents, new residents on the island, looking to settle down and start a family.

That’s how it happens. Yours and Jisung’s story, two authors of the same book, destined since the start.

Jisung was born on the same night your mother left you at your grandparents’ doorstep. One note, an apology, is all you’ve ever known about her. Your grandma never cared to indulge you. You’re glad in a way. She provided more than enough love to make sure you never felt an absence in her wake.

The townspeople used to say you and Jisung were soulmates. Something about the heavens knowing he would need a friend, hence why you were delivered that night. From that moment on, the two of you were inseparable.

Attached at the hip, you and Jisung grew up together. First steps, first birthdays, firsts for everything under the sun.

Jisung was there in the morning to walk with you to school and he was there at night when the two of you tucked into bed, sleepovers a regular occurrence, both of you counting the pale green stick-on stars dotting his ceiling until you fell asleep.

Jisung was always around. He held your hand and walked with you to the nurse’s office the first time you got stung by a bee. He wiped your eyes when the boy you liked told you he only ever saw you as a friend, your first rejection. He sat with you under the stars the night your grandpa died, your face tucked into his neck as you stained the collar of his shirt with tears until you were too tired to cry. In the years that followed, he took care of you and your grandma like the two of you were his own.

Jisung, for lack of a better word, was your first forever.

“You could come with me, you know.”

Under the stars, real ones that time, Jisung had turned to you and offered the world.

The air was cold. The apple tree was bare.

“It’ll be fun. We’ll be together, we’ll experience new things. I can do music and you can study all that history stuff you like to learn about. You know, nerdy things.”

“They’re not nerdy things, Ji. Don’t you know everything we have now is because of what’s happened before us?” you’d asked. “Doesn’t it make you wonder? Learning about the past helps us better understand the present, and ultimately the future.”

Jisung had hummed softly, an agreement. “I don’t care about the future, though.” he’d said. “I care about right now. You, me, this.”

When you turned to look at him, he propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at you from above as the moon casted a halo around his head.

“I love you,” he whispered, “And I want you to come with me.”

Jisung, with all the stars in his eyes and a heart full of dreams. Jisung, with the world at his fingertips and the ambition to make it his own.

You, with all your hopes stuffed tight into a suitcase and chained to a boulder, thrown into the ocean. Sinking and sinking until it hit the bottom.

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

Images of marigolds flashed behind your eyes when you closed them, a tear rolling down your cheek. Jisung’s mouth was soft when he kissed it away, salt on his lips. Burning.

“But I can’t.” you choked.

Under the apple tree, Jisung told you he loved you for the first and last time. He promised that the distance would be no match for him, that he would traverse oceans to find his way back. He promised forever.

It was February. The tulips were in bloom. Jisung left to pursue his dreams with a guitar on his back and your heart in his hands. Your understanding of forever was shot at point blank. The bullet passed clean through you.

And in Jeju– it rained.

“I think you should talk to him.”

The sun is out today. Perfect weather for another field harvest. The distributor had called you early in the morning to ask if you’d be willing to accept a drop off even though it’s the weekend. You’d agreed, calling in your most reliable help for the job.

“And I think you’re not helping.” you huff, snipping the head off another hyacinth.

“Agreed,” Hyunjin parrots from beside you, currently in the middle of putting together an arrangement, “This guy sounds like a total dick.”

Chan sighs from behind the two of you, his knees knocking against the legs of the desk when he swivels back and forth in the chair.

Besides Hyunjin and Jeongin, both of whom moved into town after you’d already graduated, and of course, Jisung– Chan is your oldest friend.

Chan was also a neighbor of yours. Three years older than you and Jisung, he was the one who acted as a role model for the two of you when growing up. Nowadays he helps his parents run the largest orange grove on the island during the day and DJs one of the clubs in the tourism hub at night.

“Jisung’s not a dick, he’s just–”

“An asshole.” you finish, smirking when Hyunjin cackles.

Chan sighs. Again. “Yeah okay, I’ll give you that one.”

“Listen, I know I’ve never met him, but isn’t it weird that he just, like, showed up?” Hyunjin asks, setting down his scissors. You continue trimming the hyacinths, listening halfheartedly.

“I mean, think about it. Dude disappears to pursue music, right? He’s gone for what– three years?”

“Four.” you correct.

“God, even worse.” he grimaces.

“But yeah, okay, four years. And then boom! He just strolls in through the front door without so much as a word during the time he was gone? No letters, no phone calls, not even a damn visit. Nothing! All so he can pop up and go ‘oh, you look nice’? Come on.” he scoffs, crossing his arms.

You wince, caught off guard because you’ve never really heard it phrased as bluntly as Hyunjin put it just then. It’s no surprise that he’s annoyed, having only just heard the full story thirty minutes ago. He’d been shocked, partly because you never told him and also because he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Okay, yes, he was wrong for that. But isn’t part of you even just the least bit curious as to why?”

You pause mid-snip, mulling Chan’s words over in your head.

The most frustrating part about it all is that you are curious. You wish you weren’t, though. Not when you’ve spent the past four years trying to convince yourself that you don’t need to know what Jisung’s been up to, don’t need to know if he’s been okay since he clearly held no concern for you in that regard anyways.

“What?” you ask when you realize that both boys are staring at you.

“Well?” Hyunjin pushes. “Are you?”

You shrug. “No, not really.”

There’s a total of five seconds that pass before Hyunjin is stomping over and hauling Chan up out of his chair, pushing him towards the front door as he protests.

“Out! Out, out, out, we have important business matters to discuss.”

“But we were supposed to get lunch—!”

“We’re taking a rain check!” Hyunjin fights back, shoving him out of the shop before he has a chance to answer. He drops the shade to cover the glass, Chan’s sad figure left alone on the other side.

You gape at him. “What was that for?”

Hyunjin scoffs. “You think you’re convincing? Think again.”

He hops up on to the counter and gestures for you to do the same. When you do, he pulls you closer, grabs your hand in his, and pushes your head down until it’s resting on his shoulder.

“Tell me the truth now,” he says, soft. “I know there’s more to it.”

Hyunjin’s warm to the touch. The heat seeps through the fabric of his shirt, igniting the skin of your cheek until you feel like you’re standing too close to the sun. A star. Hyunjin is a light in your tunnel.

“I am curious,” you start, “About him, I mean. I’ve– I don’t know. It’s been so long. I tried to pretend I didn’t care when I saw him, but the minute I looked into his eyes it was like I was eighteen again. Eighteen and happy and looking at someone that I always thought would be there, you know?”

Hyunjin hums but doesn’t say anything. He squeezes your hand once, a signal to keep going.

“I’m scared, though. Part of me doesn’t want to know.”

Hyunjin takes a deep breath. “What are you scared of?”

Through the gaps in the beads you can see into your office, the picture of your Grandma hanging on the wall. She stares at you, unblinking.

“What if he tells me that it’s true?” you ask, lifting your head to look up at him. “What if he says that I was right, that he didn’t care? That he left and didn’t want to call because it no longer mattered to him? That he loves his life there and only came back to clear his own conscience?”

“Oh honey,” Hyunjin soothes, pulling you into his chest. You hadn’t realized you were crying, that the anger and fear had bubbled over until there were tears falling down your cheeks, wetting the fabric of Hyunjin’s sweater.

He lets you cry for a while. It’s nothing new; Hyunjin has seen you break down countless times. He’s been there through the worst of it, held your hand even in the aftermath. He’s picked you up off the floor more times than you can count, has grounded you when you felt like the world was gonna open up beneath you and swallow you whole. Salt of the earth, returning you to its core.

Once you’ve quieted into nothing more than shallow breaths and a few scattered hiccups, Hyunjin speaks again.

“Can you be honest with me?”

You nod, the hair stuck to your cheek with tears rubbing against his shoulder.

“Do you love him?”

It nearly knocks the wind out of you. This concept, so foreign to you now, shoved to the back of your mind to make room for the things that matter most. Hospital visits, labor cuts, wage increases— none of it left any room for love, let alone the thought of someone else. Especially someone as all-consuming as Jisung.

Slowly, you inhale, breath shaking on the exhale. Hyunjin squeezes your hand to remind you that he’s there.

“I don’t think I ever stopped, Hyune.”

The silence stretches thin. The realization is dizzying. Years of suppressed emotions, of telling yourself and everyone around you that it wasn’t a big deal. The sad eyes of the townspeople whenever they’d see you sitting beneath the apple tree. The gentle touch of your grandma’s hand when she’d find you on the front steps alone, staring at the stars. The soft hum of the radio in the shop, set to a playlist of all the songs he’s written, the only reminder that somewhere out there he was doing well.

The final crack in the dam, its water pushing until it gives way.

“Then you owe it to yourself,” Hyunjin says. “You owe it to your heart to get an answer. Free yourself from this pain, love. Don’t let yourself suffer forever.”

Forever. That word again. No matter how many times you’ve tried to escape it, it always comes back.

“It’s gonna hurt.” he sighs, tightening his grip when you sniffle. “It’s gonna hurt so fucking bad, babe. But you can take it. You’ve got people who love you enough to stand in front of you and soften the blow from time to time. But you’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

He hops down from the counter and moves to stand in front of you, right between your legs. Placing both hands on your shoulders, he pushes until you’re sitting with your back straight and lifts your chin.

“You deserve an answer.” he says, with conviction this time. “Okay?”

He lets his thumb swipe beneath your eyes, smiles softly. Unconditional— that’s what he is. Hyunjin burns brighter than any star in your sky, the heat wrapping its arms around you like it’s too scared to let go, to watch you freeze and die out like so many others.

“I don’t deserve you, though.” you say, laughing wetly when he rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,” he chuckles, pulling you in for a hug, “You deserve everything and more.”

When Jisung comes into the shop two days later, you’re ready for it.

Chan had talked to him. No surprise, really, not when he’s been letting him crash in his spare room ever since he figured out that he was holed up in one of the hotels out in the tourism hub.

If there’s one thing about Chan, it’s that he’d rip the shirt off his back to clothe anyone in need. Housing a friend is nothing, especially when that friend is Jisung.

“I don’t know how much of a consolation this is,” he’d said nervously, watching as you regarded him with an expectant look, “But he’s pretty cut up about you not wanting to see him. Which, I know, is stupid. He is the one who fucked up. But I just– I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like this, I guess.”

It’s not a consolation, not really. Knowing that Jisung is struggling is far from anything you want to hear.

Sure, there’s anger present. Anyone would be stupid to not feel the least bit frustrated with what’s happened. Years lost, time stripped away. But you’ve long since come to terms with it, the anger turning to sadness in the meantime.

“Also, he leaves tomorrow.” Chan smiled sadly. “He really wants to talk to you before then.”

Hyunjin left early again today to give the two of you space. Not before making a show of his own though, threatening to incite violence with his arms that are supposedly ‘shredded’ from years of lifting boxes filled with petunias.

The shop is slow again, not many sales nor a lot of foot traffic. Usually when the sun is out there’s more to do; people to see, smiles to give. But there’s nothing, just the chirping of birds and the sound of cars rolling by.

Maybe the world knows that this is what you need. The calm before the storm.

Five minutes until close. You’ve spent most of the day pacing back and forth. Waiting. Anticipating.

Chan had said Jisung planned on stopping by, trying again. You’d told him that was okay, and his eyes lit up. Too much hope, maybe, that something might come of this.

You’re seated in the back office, staring at marigold colored irises when the front door opens. You hear it this time, ears fine tuned, waiting.

Slowly, you stand, make your way to the front. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you pull back the beaded curtain and Jisung’s figure comes into view.

He looks the same as he did the other day: curled hair, thick glasses, parted lips. His sweater, fluffy and striped, hangs off of his shoulders in a way that boxes off his tapered waist, one that you know is hidden beneath all the layers. The sleeves are way too long judging by the way it curls over his fingers.

“Hi.” he breathes out, watching as you step into full view.

You blink. “Hi, Jisung.”

His name feels weird on your tongue. Bitter. It’s been years since you uttered it, forbidding yourself from the luxury out of fear that it would make his absence more real. Talking about him in the past tense always scared you off before you could even get the chance.

“How– How’ve you been?” he chews on the inside of his lip.

You want to scold him, tell him to stop the habit just like you always would in the past. He’d make a joke then, tell you to kiss him so that he had something else to do instead. You would laugh, feign disgust, but in the back of your mind you’d wanted it more than anything.

You’d waited for it, the day you could kiss him without warning and melt into his touch as he kissed you back. Another stupid bet on forever; the belief that you had all the time in the world for things to get to that point.

“I’ve been better.” you say, taking a deep breath. “What about you?”

Good, you think. He’s been good. He looks good. He doesn’t need this place.

“Me too.” he says instead. “I’ve been better.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Silence fills the room, heavy on both your chests. The anticipation feels like it might kill you before anything else does.

“I’m sorry that–”

“Is that all you came here to say?” you cut him off.

“What?” he asks, confused. “No, I– no.”

“What, then? What is it you want to say, Jisung?” your voice is firm. He winces when his name leaves your mouth. “Because, honestly, I’ve waited all this time to hear literally anything from you, and if all that comes out of this is that you’ve ‘been better’ I might actually lose my fucking mind.”

The words tumble out faster than you intend. You can’t help it, not with the way anxiety has been bubbling over in your chest since the moment you woke up this morning. You could barely sleep last night, not when you were playing out every possible scenario in your head, the anticipation of it all making your sheets feel scratchy against your skin and the lumps in your pillow more discernible.

“No, no, of course I wouldn’t do that.” he says quickly. “It's just that I didn’t know where to start. I don’t know how much you’ll allow me to say, what the boundary is here. I didn’t want to just barge in and demand you listen to me. You don’t owe me that. You don’t owe me anything. Not after what I did.”

What I did, his voice rings loud in your ears. He’s aware of it, of the pain he caused.

He takes a step forward, and then another, again and again until he’s right up against the front counter, an arm’s length away.

Your breath catches then, when you see him up close for the first time in four years, see the way he’s grown and changed with your own eyes.

Stubble dotting his chin, laugh lines around his mouth, the dip and curve of the bow above his lips that you always loved. Brown eyes, soil and stardust.

“Tell me what your conditions are,” he says quietly, “And I’ll give you every explanation I have.”

The sincerity on his face is blinding. Your stomach twists at the thought of hearing what he has to say, that same fear brewing in the pit of it. You take a deep breath, feel the phantom ghost of a hand squeezing yours and a crescent moon eye smile.

“I waited four years for you.” you say.

“I know.”

“I trusted that you’d be back. That you would keep in touch during the time you were gone.”

“I–” his voice cracks. “I know.”

“You lied to me.”

Jisung tips his head back then. Swallows down a lump in his throat. Blinks rapidly at the ceiling, veins of ivy crawling along the expanse of it.

“I know.”

“So you owe me everything. I deserve that. I deserve answers.”

When he brings his head down to look at you, it’s unreadable. A mix of emotions that you aren’t familiar enough with anymore to decipher. Fear, guilt, sorrow. Hope, too. Maybe.

You stare at him head on, fully letting your eyes meet for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He holds your gaze, unwavering. Determined. The sight makes your heart clench.

“Okay,” he says after a beat of silence. “Okay. I can do that.”

Despite the ever-growing mountain of things to address, you decide that the first thing you want to hear from Jisung is about his time in Seoul.

You’re only human, after all.

Best friends from the start– you can’t stop yourself from wondering what life has been like for him. Jisung’s always been good at storytelling, animated in his features and gestures to the point that you’d be rolling around and clutching your stomach from laughter. It’s one of the things you missed the most, just talking and being present in one another’s lives.

The two of you end up at one of the diners down the road. The owners, an elderly couple, coo as soon as they catch sight of you.

“My flower girl,” the old lady, Mrs. Kim, greets.

“Mrs. Kim,” you beam, moving in for a hug. When you pull away, Jisung is behind you, hands clasped behind his back and feet together like he has his tail between his legs.

“Halmeoni,” you say, gesturing at him, “Do you remember Jisungie?”

His eyes go wide at the nickname, and you try to ignore the heat creeping up your neck, avoiding his gaze and instead watching as Mrs. Kim blinks in surprise.

“Oh! Oh my goodness, our Jisungie? Honey! Honey, look, Jisung is here! Oh you crazy boy,” she scolds, rushing forward to hit his shoulder and pull him in for a hug. “Where have you been? It’s been ages!”

Jisung lets out an oof! as her body slams into him, all of his anxiousness dissolving into laughter as he hugs her back.

“Hi Mrs. Kim, how have you been?”

“Me?” she asks, pulling him away to hold at arm’s length, “Nevermind about me! I’m old! How have you been?”

Good, you think again, a mimic of earlier. Jisungs eyes flit over to yours for the smallest of moments before he answers.

“Better,” he says. “I’m doing better.”

Once both Mr. and Mrs. Kim are done doting over the both of you, they seat you by the window.

The island is always beautiful on sunny days: trees swaying, golden rays painting the rooftops in hues of pink and orange, the indigo shimmer of the ocean off in the distance.

“So,” you say, catching Jisung’s attention, “Tell me about Seoul.”

He hums. “It’s busy. Stinks. Lots of people.”

“Dream come true, yeah?” you joke, taking a sip of your water.

Jisung chuckles. “You could say that, I guess.”

“I mean, it was yours.”

“It was.” he sighs, looking down at the table. “I don’t know. It’s nice. I met good people, made even better connections. I live in this one bedroom studio apartment just outside of Itaewon, so I’m close to where all the foreigners hang out. I’ve learned a lot, gained a lot of inspiration for my music.”

You follow along, staring at him intently. His mouth, still heart-shaped, twitches when he catches you in the act.

You clear your throat, glancing away. “Yeah, I’ve– uh, I’ve heard some of your songs.”

He raises his eyebrows, almost like he hadn’t expected you to say that. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I hear them on the radio sometimes.” A lie. “It usually takes me a second to realize that it’s you.” Another lie. “But they’re good, you’re doing well.”

Pink dusts the tops of Jisung’s cheeks as he turns back to the window, clearing his throat.

He looks younger like this, like he’s still the same boy who would sit across from you all those years ago. Cherry-stained lips and a smile so bright it put the sun to shame.

He talks a bit more about his music, about how he’s with a good company that gives him creative freedom and enough support to pursue more if he desires.

His eyes light up when he tells you about his studio, a small room on the fifth floor of a building in the middle of the city where he does all of his writing. It’s equipped with an entire soundboard, full of instruments that he says he’s been able to get signed by artists that come in and out. Most notably, his guitar, the same one he left with.

Slowly, like a flower blossoming, petals opening one by one, you feel yourself falling back into step with him.

Everything is so familiar: the curve of his smile, the tilt in his voice when he gets excited, the rumble of laughter when he recounts an embarrassing run-in with an A-list celebrity in the company’s cafeteria. He shares stories that fill your heart as the two of you fill your stomachs.

But with the ease comes something more, something you recognize as longing. You hadn’t realized how much you longed to be there through this part of his life, how you wished you’d been the one to answer a video call as he showed off his apartment the first day he moved in, his company badge when it was newly issued, every moment of happiness that you’d been absent for just as much as he was absent for yours.

He seems to share the same sentiment then, when he sets down his fork and stares at his empty plate.

“You run the shop now,” he says, “How’s that been?”

You purse your lips, nodding your head slowly. You knew this conversation would happen, that it was coming.

“It’s good, I guess. Been almost a year now since, uh, it was left to me.” you shrug. “I’m not alone though, Hyunjin is a big help. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Jisung noticeably bristles. Eyebrows pulled together, staring more intently at a crumb on his plate. It looks like there’s a lot he wants to say, like he can’t find the words to say them.

So, naturally, you do it for him.

“I assume Chan told you so I wouldn’t have to, by the way.”

He looks up then, as if he wasn’t expecting you to address the very obvious elephant in the room.

“He did, yes.” Jisung says after a while. His voice is quiet, gentle, like he’s walking on eggshells. “I– I didn’t know how to bring it up. I assume you’ve heard it all already but– I really, really am sorry to hear about Nana.”

The way her name sounds coming out of his mouth turns your mind to static.

Suddenly you’re in the hospital again, monitors beeping, hands as soft as petals cradled in your own and wishing that you could bury your face in a familiar neck as you cried and watched the marigolds wilt.

“I don’t need an apology for that.” you croak, blinking back tears. Jisung is somewhere in your periphery, your vision blurry around the edges.

“It wasn’t sad. Her life, I mean. It was full. Of love. Of light. She left this place happy. That’s what she told me, at least.”

You take a deep breath. “So don’t be sorry about it.”

Jisung sniffles, and the sound shoots straight through your chest.

“I know. I just– I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I should’ve been. I had no idea that–”

“Nobody did, Jisung. Don’t punish yourself for that.”

He sees it then, when you finally meet his eyes, the acceptance. You’ve come to terms with things a long time ago, have fought tooth and nail to come out on the other side of all the guilt and resentment and grief alive. Scathed, but alive nonetheless.

“You’re right.” he sighs, wiping at his eyes quickly. “She’d probably yell at me for saying that.”

You laugh, suddenly, the noise startling him. Jisung looks at you like you’re crazy.

“I think she has a lot more to yell at you for than being sorry that she died.”

The bluntness punches a chuckle out of him, and you giggle at the thought.

Your grandmother was always such an outspoken person. She always said what was on her mind, speaking it loud. There’s no doubt that if she was here she’d be berating Jisung, smacking him upside the head before pulling him into a hug and cooking his favorite meal. Tough love, but still, love.

“She would’ve loved to be able to see you.” you say once your laughter dies out, the air a bit lighter between the two of you. “She always wondered if you’d grow your hair out without her around to nag you about keeping it short.”

He reaches up to run a hand through his curls, the strands falling around his face in a way that has your heart stammering in your chest.

“Well, clearly I don’t know how to listen.”

“No, you don’t.”

Jisung smiles softly. “Maybe I’ll cut it now. You know, since I’m here. And because I know she’d want me to.”

You watch him carefully, searching his eyes. For what, you don’t know. All that’s in them are stars.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You’re here.”

By the time the two of you leave the diner, stomachs full and enough bags of extra side dishes hanging off of your arms to last you at least two weeks, courtesy of Mrs. Kim, the sun is almost fully set.

The ocean is calm, the evening breeze just barely brushing the surface of the tide. Jisung walks in step with you down the street, one side of his face cast in a glow from the sun’s fading rays.

“Do you think you’d maybe want to stop by the arcade that Old Man Park runs? Just for a little?”

You snort. “Why? So I can embarrass you?”

“Hey!” he puts a hand on his chest, offended. “I’ll have you know that I let you win all those times.”

“How do you let someone win after spending hours practicing while I worked at the shop?”

“I was being nice!”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t believe me?” he grins. You try not to look, afraid of how bad your blood pressure might spike from the sight.

“I’ll have you know that I’m one of the best Kart Rider players in the PC Bang scene back in Seoul.”

“Jisung,” you scold, “That’s a computer game. These are coin-ops. There’s way more skill needed.”

“No there isn’t!”

He knocks his shoulder against yours, tucking his chin to his chest to hide his smile when you try to fight back.

It’s easy. Nice. There’s a soft melody echoing in the dust-covered chambers of your heart. You still know all the chords.

Old Man Park’s arcade is a few doors down from the shop. You stop there to drop off the food, spare a glance in the mirror hanging in your office to fix your hair.

Your grandma’s picture stares at you from the other wall, eyes bright.

“Love you,” you say, kissing the skin of your fingertips and pressing it gently against the frame.

Jisung is toeing at a few rocks on the sidewalk when you walk back out. He doesn’t see you, too busy with his eyes casted down at the concrete, hands shoved into his pockets.

It’s still hard to believe that he’s here. Flesh and bone. For a long time it felt like he was nothing but a distant dream, someone who only existed in the memories that you kept locked deep within your heart, the key somewhere on the streets of Seoul.

“Ready?” you ask.

He looks up, his glasses moving when his cheeks round into a smile.

Something passes across his face– a myriad of emotions in just a fraction of a second. Hesitantly, he holds out his hand. Long, delicate fingers.

You stare at it, swallowing roughly around the butterfly wings flapping inside your throat.

The one thing you shouldn’t do, my dear, is rely on forever. Because that, too, is uncertain.

Forever isn’t promised. But even then, there are things you know for sure:

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. Jisung is here. Living, breathing, in the flesh.

So you take his hand, watch as relief floods his features, and let yourself feel.

The wind in your hair, the calluses on Jisung’s palms, and the warmth radiating out of the smile that threatens to split his face into two.

And with that certainty, the two of you start walking. A silent agreement to focus on the now.

You. Him. This.

“God, I can’t believe everything is only one coin.”

You laugh, watching as the multi-colored lights cast a glow on Jisung’s face.

“Stop acting like you don’t remember this place.”

“I don’t!” he argues, smiling. “We stopped coming here, what, in middle school? Once Chan hyung started driving? We would always ask him to take us to the other one out in the big town!”

Chan’s first car was an old Camry with leather seats and enough room for the three of you to pile into after school. Used, but still with enough juice to satisfy three young kids who felt like they were on top of the world.

You used to sit in the back, the wind whipping your hair every which way while yours and Jisung’s hands lay side by side in the middle seat, pinkies brushing but neither of you willing to take it further.

“Oh, shit!” Jisung gasps, letting go of your hand as he runs up to the space invaders machine.

“Here we go,” you sigh, following after him. He’s like a kid in a candy store, face filled with innocent wonder and joy.

“Aren’t there, like, I don’t know– things better than this in Seoul?” you ask as he shoves a coin into the game.

Jisung turns to look at you with a devilish grin. “Obviously,” he says, “But I can’t beat anyone’s high score over there. Here though? Ha! This place is ancient. I can finally be at the top of the leaderboard in something.”

“We’ll see about that.” you mumble, the noise of the game booting up drowning you out.

Jisung sticks his tongue out when he focuses really hard on things. It’s cute, the way the end of it sits between his lips, spit-slick and parted just a little bit.

He’s glowing, probably because of the lights, hues of red and green and blue flashing across his face. But then again, Jisung has always shined brighter than anything.

The game beeps to signal that he has one life left. He grunts a few times, his fingers tapping the buttons madly as his other hand handles the joystick in a frenzy of movements.

When it ends, he groans, throws his hands up in defeat..

You shake your own head knowingly, watching his eyes bug out of their sockets as soon as the leaderboard appears on the screen, the 8-bit letters blinking at him.

“You’re joking.” he laughs in disbelief, turning to stare at you. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

There, on the screen, is your name. The highest score. Jeongin and Hyunjin’s names sit just below you, respectively.

“What was that again about finally being able to be at the top?” you mock him, smirking.

“Since when did you get good at this?”

You shrug. “Had to find something to do in my free time.”

“No,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “Nuh-uh. No way. This is not happening. I will beat you.” he holds out his hand for another coin, to which you roll your eyes and place one in his palm.

“You might as well give up now. We’ll be here all night.”

“In your dreams.” he scoffs, assuming his position as another round loads onto the screen.

Jisung has always been competitive. It’s one of his more hidden characteristics.

It persists still, you realize, as you watch him burn through the styrofoam cup of coins that Old Man Park had given the two of you. Free of charge for old time’s sake.

Fort-five minutes. All he’s managed to do is bump Hyunjin down to fourth.

“Ugh!” he groans, kicking the machine lightly with his foot.

“Look at you throwing a tantrum.”

“I’m not throwing a tantrum.” he pouts. You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay fine. I’m throwing a tantrum.”

“Thought so.”

“Can you blame me?” he asks. “This is, like, our first date. And I’m sucking. Hard.”

“Our–” you stop, eyes wide. Jisung mimics you, almost like he didn’t mean to say what he did.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. Your mind goes blank. But the world doesn’t end. Time keeps moving. Jisung is still here.

“I didn’t–”

“I like the sound of that.” you say quickly. “Of this being our first date, I mean.’

He smiles. Slow and sweet like molasses. Blinding.

“And the fact that you suck.”

The moment is shattered, his resulting whine echoing throughout the arcade.

“Come on you big baby,” you laugh, grabbing his hand. “I know a game you can beat me at.”

He lets himself be pulled, pretending that he’s upset, but you can see the smile tugging at his lips when you lace your fingers together.

The feeling is still new, this ease you have with him. The wounds you sported all those years are still healing, some more fresh than others. But with each laugh that comes out of Jisung’s mouth and shared glance, every note that your heart sings, you can feel them beginning to fade. A balm to soothe the burn.

The Pac-Man game is situated in the back corner of the arcade, right next to the jukebox. It used to be your favorite, because Jisung would always use his own coins to play songs for you while you tried to score higher than twenty-five thousand points.

When you get there, he frowns. “The only game you think I can beat you at is Pac-Man?”

“I don’t think,” you say, grabbing a coin before shoving the cup into his chest. “I know.”

The game boots up instantly, and you smile softly to yourself when Jisung moves wordlessly behind you, slips a coin into the jukebox.

“Play something good, Jisungie.”

He freezes. Out of the corner of your eye you watch him stare at you for a long moment. And then he smiles. Stardust.

“You got it.”

In a matter of seconds, Lovers In A Dangerous Time by Bruce Cockburn rings throughout the arcade, the speakers on the ceiling fighting past the static.

An old song. The same one your grandparents would dance to in the mornings, eggs on the stove and love in the air.

Your grandma used to say it was written for them, because when they fell in love the war was at its peak and she didn’t know if he’d ever come home.

After he passed, she still played it, except those times it was Jisung who twirled her around and painted a smile on her face as you watched from the same spot you grew up in. Always there.

Jisung, Jisung, Jisung.

When the game starts, you try your best. It’s hard. You’ve always been terrible at anything involving quick decisions. Focusing on everything at once isn’t easy for you, that much is still true.

“Shit.” you mumble, the top right corner of the screen reading ten thousand points as the ghosts run into you.

Jisung lets out a low whistle. “Harsh.”

“You wanna go back to space invaders and waste the last of our money?” you raise an eyebrow.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Go ahead.” he says, holding the cup out for you to take another coin.

You try a couple more times, failing each and every one. You can tell that Jisung is growing more and more amused with every attempt, and the smugness radiating off of him is starting to rub you the wrong way.

“If you’re so good,” you say after a particularly sad attempt, turning to glare at him. Jisung has his lips pulled tight to stop himself from laughing. “Then why don’t you try?”

He chuckles then. “I’d rather help you, if you’ll let me.”

“How are you supposed to do that? We only have one coin left.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything. He puts the cup down, the last coin held between his fingers. You watch as he slips it into the machine, move to get out of his way once he’s done, but he stops you by grabbing your hand and spinning you back around, his fingers placed over yours on the joystick.

With your back flush against his front, caged in by his arms on either side, Jisung takes a deep breath.

“This okay?” he asks right next to your ear, the curls on the side of his head brushing your cheek when he leans down to get a better look at the screen.

Warm. He’s so warm. The material of his sweater only worsens the heat, and the faint scent of vanilla makes your head swim.

It’s more than okay. Great, even. It’s Jisung. Everything and more.

“Yeah,” you say, letting him control your hands as he flicks the joystick. “It’s okay.”

The hair against your cheek moves when he smiles. “Good.” he says, and then hits the start button.

The game begins but you’re barely processing what’s happening, too aware of the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

A firm chest, different from what’s observable on the outside, what with the fluffiness of his sweater and soft features. His arms too, encasing you, the bulge and flex of his biceps every time he moves.

It’s all so intoxicating, so much so that you don’t even realize you’ve beaten the highest score in the system by the time he loses his last life.

“What?” you blink. “What the hell?!”

You laugh, spinning to face Jisung who’s grinning from ear to ear. In your excitement, you jump, flinging your arms around his neck. He’s surprised, but catches you nonetheless, circling his arms around your waist.

“Holy shit how’d you do that!” you squeal while he swings you around, feet off the ground.

“Magic, I guess.” he chuckles.

The closeness of his voice brings you crashing back down, suddenly aware of what position you’re both in. You pull back quickly, clear your throat, and watch as his face falls from the loss of contact.

It’s been a long time since you hugged Jisung. The thought transports you to that day four years ago, standing under the apple tree, the future uncertain. Forever promised.

Things are different now.

“Sorry,” he backtracks. “I didn’t– um, I wasn’t trying to–”

You cut him off by throwing yourself at him for a second time. Intentional. Breathless. Tired of running and acting like it’s not the thing you want most in the entire world.

Jisung doesn’t react until he feels your face against the skin of his neck. On instinct, he hugs tight, hands around your waist, breathing in the smell of your hair.

“Hi.” you whisper against him.

One word. Simple. However the weight of it sends a chill down his spine. It feels like home.

He tightens his hold. A silent understanding. The two of you never had much of a need for words anyways.

“Hi.” he whispers back.

The apple tree is much bigger now.

Long, thick branches, a wide trunk, a slight tilt in its shape.

It’s bare. The season is long gone. But it’s okay, because it means that the view of the stars isn’t blocked when you and Jisung lay beneath it.

It’s the same but it isn’t. There’s gaps– periods of time where the two of you grew separately. There are moments and memories tucked away that neither of you know about, whole lives to discover.

But even so, it feels right. His arm wrapped around you, your head on his chest. The stars and the moon. You and Jisung.

It’s nice. Perfect, even. But there’s a conversation that needs to be had. One that can’t be put off any longer.

“Ji.”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Jisung shifts beneath you, tightening his hold. The grass is damp. Neither of you care, too caught up in each other to stress about whether or not it’ll stain.

“Of course.”

“Am I ever gonna see you again?”

He takes a deep breath. “Yes.”

“You said that last time.”

“I know.”

“So what makes this different?” you ask, sitting up. He watches you carefully, eyes trained on every movement like he’s scared you’ll get up and run away.

When he realizes you’re waiting for an answer, he sits up too, pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs.

He doesn’t say anything, just wordlessly reaches into his pocket. Silently, he hands whatever he grabbed to you. A guitar pick.

It’s white, a marbled design. Golden flecks infused into the lines. There, on the front, is a singular marigold. When you flip it over, you’re met with a tulip.

“Do you remember that one time, when you called me crying at midnight because Nana told you that she didn’t know if she’d be able to afford school in the city?”

You nod silently, still turning the guitar pick over in your hand.

It was one of those nights where the rain was relentless. Monsoon season always tagged on to the tail end of the school year, bringing with it a more intense gloominess than usual.

You’d been angry. Stressed. Irritated that other kids at school were making plans to go to the mainland for college and you were stuck helping your grandmother trim foliage and wrap vases in newspaper.

“You told me that you couldn’t do it anymore.” Jisung whispered, staring up at the sky. “That you were tired of being here. That you needed to get out.”

You remember. Jisung had walked through the rain to show up at your window. Had climbed in with muddy shoes and sat on the floor of your room with you until the downpour stopped and your tears dried.

“And I said that I would make it happen, that I would invent a way to live amongst the stars so you could be as far from here as possible.”

“So what?” you ask, looking at him. “Did you finally do it, then? Is that why you came back?”

“Don’t be like that.”

“No, Jisung, I’m gonna fucking be like that.” you scoff, rising to your feet.

There’s a fire in your veins, stoked until the embers are burning hot against your throat. Too good to be true. You should’ve known that there was no explanation left for him to give.

Jisung scrambles to his feet. “It wasn’t like I wanted to–”

“Oh like hell you did.” you say, turning to face him. “Four years, Jisung. I waited four years and you just– you come back and decide to tell me about some make-believe bullshit to save yourself and feel less guilty about the fact that you left.”

“It wasn’t make-believe to me,” he argues. “It was real. Everything I said was real. I left and I tried for years to make something of myself so I could come back here and get you.”

“Oh so it’s my fault? I made you leave, is that it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“So then say something else!” you yell. The stars rumble, threatening to fall out of the sky. “Say something else, then, Jisung. Why didn’t you call? Huh?”

“Because I–” he stops, licks his lips. “God. Fuck. I couldn’t face you if I had nothing to show for myself, okay? It wasn’t fair to you for me to leave you behind just so I could fail.”

“Ha!” you laugh, running a hand through your hair in disbelief. “So you decided to go radio silent instead? Decided to not only leave me alone but let me suffer and wonder about where you were because that’s so much better than telling me that you were struggling, right? Great choice, Jisung. Really.”

He blinks a few times, watching as you pace back and forth in the grass.

Anger bubbles deep in your gut. This whole time, he knew. It was a conscious decision. Jisung deliberately didn’t contact you because he chose not to.

“Did you ever even love me?”

The words tumble out before you can stop them. Jisung’s entire body goes rigid, his face falling and eyes hardening within a fraction of a second.

“Watch what you say.” he says, his voice low in his chest.

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just be honest.”

“I’m trying.” he pleads. His eyes are glossy. Big and round behind his glasses. Illuminated by the moon.

“I fucked up, okay? I prioritized myself and the way I felt over you and fucked everything up. But I tried. I tried so fucking hard. And I’m sorry it took me so long but I wanted– no– I needed to make sure that I had everything figured out before I came back. I promised I would.”

“No, Jisung, you promised me that–”

“I’m not talking about you.” he says then, taking a deep breath. “You weren’t the only one I made promises to back then.”

Before you have a chance to speak, Jisung says, “I promised her. I told her I’d get you out of here. That I’d give you a life that you deserved, because she knew she couldn’t.”

You drop to your knees when the first sob hits, the force of it racking your body so hard you feel like you’re drowning. Jisung catches you on the fall, holds you up, lets you bury your face into his neck like he had so many times before.

“She told me you believed in forever. She wanted me to give that to you. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Jisung lets you cry. He holds you through the storm, your wails as loud as thunder and tears as heavy as rain. Four years in the making; the sky and the earth colliding until the dirt and layers of sediment give way to the molten core that’s been hiding beneath the surface all along.

Pain. Grief. All of it pent up and leading to this moment.

“You should’ve told me.” you cry, beating a fist into Jisung’s chest. “You idiot. You fucking idiot. You should’ve told me.”

Jisung pulls you in closer, takes each hit as long as it means that it’ll soften the blow on your heart. He whispers apologies in your ear, runs a hand through your hair.

When it quiets again, the worst of the storm gone, he shifts so that your head is in his lap, his legs crossed and tucked beneath him. A few stray tears wet the fabric of his jeans, your eyes focused on the field of flowers across the street.

“I won’t ask you to come with me.” he says after a long while, when your breathing has evened out. “I know that things are different. You have a life here that you’ve made for yourself, responsibilities to bear as well.”

He pauses to push a few strands of hair out of your face. His fingers are gentle against the skin of your cheek.

“But I promise it’ll be different. I spent too long away from you, was too selfish for my own good. I won’t disappear again. I’ll call every day. I’ll visit. You’ll get every part of me that I kept away from you all this time, and I’ll get every part of you in return.”

Your heart thrums. The thought of having what you’ve wanted for so long. Of having Jisung.

“And when you’re ready, when you feel like you can’t do it anymore, there’ll be a place for you.”

His voice is firm. Confident. More sure than he’s ever sounded before in his life.

When you turn to face him, he’s already staring back. Jisung, with all the stars in his eyes and a heart full of dreams. Jisung, with the world at his fingertips and the offer to make it yours.

Under the apple tree, Jisung leans down and kisses you for the first time. Twenty four years in the making, soft and slow, his lips a perfect fit against yours. A starboy and his flower girl. His glow is so bright it makes blossoms sprout from her fingertips.

Soft curls tickle your eyelids when he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours. You reach up to run a hand through them, smiling softly when he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I love you.” you say first this time.

He reaches out a hand, closes it over your fist that’s still clutching the guitar pick. A marigold and a tulip, both working together to make a perfect harmony.

“I love you, too.” Jisung whispers back. “Forever.”

Jisung stops by the shop early to say goodbye.

There’s less tears this time, less of a reason to be sad. But still, when he wraps his arms around you, vanilla filling your nose and curls against your face, you feel your composure crumble.

“Every day.” he says, repeating the same thing he did all night. “I promise. Morning and night. Also at lunch. Oh, and on your days off. Matter of fact, you can call when you’re on the toilet too.”

The last part earns him an elbow to the ribs, his laughter bubbling up and out of his throat as he tries to dodge any and all subsequent attacks.

He kisses you stupid before he goes, Chan rolling his eyes from his car out front. You flip him off blindly, Jisung’s lips still attached to yours, earning a loud honk in response.

When he leaves, the shop is quiet, the only sound being the buzzing of your phone as Jisung blows it up with text messages the second the car pulls away.

You’re too busy replying, giggling to yourself when a slew of cute emoticons start appearing one by one, that you nearly fall over out of your chair when Hyunjin bursts through the door.

“Jesus Christ Hyune, did you have to–”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, breathless.

“Uh,” you blink, glancing round. “Working?”

“Is Jisung not on a damn plane right now?”

“I mean he’s on his way to the airport. Chan is–”

“Chan hyung told me that Jisung wanted you to go with him.” Hyunjin says, brow furrowed.

You sigh. “He didn’t want me to go with him. Well, okay, he did. But I told him I can’t just pick up and leave. He knows that. Nana left this place to me and–”

“You are so stupid.” Hyunjin sighs.

“Excuse me?” you ask. You stand up, crossing your arms as you walk closer to the counter.

“Come on. We have to go.”

“Go where, Hyunjin? I’m not leaving to–”

He cuts you off, places an envelope on the wooden surface. “And I am not letting you stay here and pretend that this is what you want.”

“What is that?”

“A plane ticket.” he says, pushing it towards you. “To Seoul.”

Your mouth opens and closes, lost for words. Hyunjin is already moving around the counter, pushing past you with an expression the most serious you’ve ever seen on him.

“Hyunjin I– I can’t– where did you even…?”

“Chan hyung has a friend.” he mumbles as he begins pulling stuff out of the office. Your planning notebook, your apron, the picture of your grandma off the wall. All of it thrown into a small box he managed to snag from somewhere off to the side.

“His name is Seungmin or something. Met him out in the tourist hub. Dude’s super rich with tons of miles and apparently owed Chan for a drunken night where he needed to be escorted to his hotel. So thanks to him, you’re leaving.” he explains as he grabs the box with both hands and starts walking towards the door.

“Wait.” you stop him, watching as he turns to regard you with a look that says his patience is running thin.

“I told you I can’t leave, Hyunjin. This place is where I need to be.”

He huffs, places the box on the ground in front of him. His hair falls in waves around his face, a shimmery dark brown beneath the rays of the sun poking into the room.

“Can you be honest with me?” he asks.

You nod, slowly.

“Do you love him?”

Hyunjin watches you with careful eyes. Reads you like a book, something he’s always been good at. You don’t doubt that it’s written on your face. Star-kissed cheeks and eyes as bright as marigolds.

“So much that it hurts, Hyune.”

Hyunjin smiles, eyes watery. “Then you deserve to go. You deserve your chance to be free. Don’t worry about this place, I’ll take care of it.”

The familiar sting of tears sits behind your eyes. Your heart swells full of love for this friend, this light, this beacon of unconditional love in the shape of your best friend.

“I don’t have clothes.” you manage to say around the lump in your throat.

Hyunjin shakes his head, tears spilling down the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll send them to you.”

“There’s a lot to do around here for just one person. What if you need me?”

“I’ll manage.”

You round the corner quickly, throwing yourself into his chest. He catches you with ease, wraps his arms around your body as the both of you cry into each other.

“I’ll miss you.” you say weakly.

Hyunjin’s throat bobs against the top of your head. “I’ll always be here in our little corner of the world.”

The two of you stay like that for a while. Hyunjin’s warmth seeps into your skin, lights you ablaze. By the time he pulls away, his hands on your shoulders, you feel like you’re floating. Unreal.

“I don’t have a way to get there.” you say quickly, glancing at the clock.

Jisung’s plane leaves soon. The airport, the only one on the island, is a thirty minute drive. You’re at a disadvantage the more time you spend not moving.

“Don’t worry,” Hyunjin chuckles. “I’ve got that taken care of.”

You open your mouth to ask him what he means when you’re cut off by the sound of honking from outside. Confused, you run to the door, your jaw dropping as soon as you realize who’s waiting for you.

“Hurry up people we don’t have all day!” Jeongin calls, his upper body hanging out of the window. He’s parked outside in a beat-up truck, arms waving wildly when he spots you.

“Innie!” you scream, pushing through the door to run at him. He jumps out of the truck just in time for you to barrel into his chest, laughter loud in your ears as he spins you around.

“You’re here! Oh my god I thought you weren’t coming for another two weeks.” you say in disbelief once he puts you down.

He looks older, more sophisticated. His hair is rusted and falls past his ears, the ends just barely touching his shoulders.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “I figured I’d show up earlier. You know, see you before you leave, catch up with my parents, help Hyunjin break into your house. The usual.”

“Help Hyunjin break into my what–” you say, but you stop when your eyes fall on the small suitcase in the backseat. Your own bag, the one that’s been sitting in your closet untouched for years now.

“For the last time,” Hyunjin says from behind you, carrying the box in his arms. “It’s not breaking and entering if I have a key. Which, by the way, I told you would come in handy one day.”

He sets the box down next to the luggage and dusts his hands on his pants. When he turns to face you, he’s smiling, eyes disappearing into crescent moons.

With tears threatening to spill once again, you stare at the both of them, your heart bursting at the seams. “I love you guys.”

Jeongin grimaces, opts for getting back in the driver’s seat as you laugh. Hyunjin rolls his eyes and ushers you inside of the truck.

“Yeah, yeah. Save it.” he says. “Right now, you have a plane to catch.”

The airport is crowded.

There are tons of people everywhere, some saying hello and some saying goodbye. Hyunjin explained the gate system to you before you left him and Jeongin on the curb, and you keep glancing down at your ticket to make sure none of the information has changed in the past thirty seconds since you last looked.

Thankfully, your gate isn’t far. With twenty minutes to go until boarding, you can feel the sweat building up beneath the hand that’s curled around your suitcase handle.

It’s scary thinking about the fact that this is it. That you’re finally leaving.

It’s bittersweet, too. There’s an excitement in the pit of your stomach as well as a feeling of dread in your chest, both of them meeting in the middle somewhere.

You let your eyes scan the crowd, searching for wavy hair and thick-rimmed glasses. However, the first thing you see is the familiar neck of a guitar, strapped right on to a back that you would know and recognize anywhere without warning.

Jisung is seated near the gate, his eyebrows furrowed and lips set in a pout as he glares down at his phone. You realize that he’s probably wondering why you won’t answer, why all of his emoticons are going ignored.

Quietly, you come up behind him, reach into your pocket, and say, “Excuse me? I think you dropped this.”

Jisung startles, his eyes falling on to the guitar pick being held out in your hand. Slowly, he lets his gaze follow upwards, wide-eyed and shocked.

“What– what are you doing here?” he asks.

You place the pick in his hand. “I'm on my way to Seoul. There’s a guy there that I’ve been trying to find for a while.” you say.

Jisung catches on quickly. “Oh, really?” he asks, moving over so you can sit beside him. “This guy must be pretty great if you’re leaving for the mainland.”

The rain starts hitting the tarmac outside right as you sit down. “Hm, yeah. He is. He really likes the stars. He says that he found a way for me to live in them, too.”

He laughs, the sound making your stomach flip. “Sounds like you’re excited.”

You nod. “I am. He promised me that we’d do a lot together, experience new things. Apparently he’s gonna write songs and I’m gonna be a nerd.”

Jisung snorts and reaches across to link his hand with yours.

“He’s really lucky.” he says, leaning over to plant a kiss on your lips.

You smile into it. “So am I.” you whisper into his mouth, your heart stuffed to the brim with flower petals.

And when Jisung smiles back, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek and give you another kiss with the force of a thousand suns, you feel the key you’d been searching for finally click into place.

Salt of the earth. Soil and stardust. A boy who glows so bright that his girl sprouts blossoms from her fingertips.

Forever isn’t promised. But then again, with Jisung by your side, there are things you know for certain:

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. In Jeju– it rains.

And no matter what, despite all odds, you and Jisung will always find your way back to each other in the place where marigolds grow.

[tags: @skzstarnet @snowyquokka @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny @drhsthl @strwbrrychannie @shays-library @giuliadesu @iknowyouknowminho @linocz @pynchkilledme @jisunglyricist @itsgghowitsgg @alician87 @skzms @meloncremesoda @ilychee08 @allaboutsan @legally-lixs @stayceebs97 @candyquokka @chans1aptop @liknws @realrintaro @beeracha @vxllxnsworld @feelikecinderella @caitxx1 @lilac13 @sebastianswhore13 @classiclitandmemes @hyunverse @linosazuna @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @bubbly-moon @cookiesandcreammy ]

602 notes View Post

valreifang

10 months ago

INEXPERIENCED.

Han x reader. (s)

Synopsis: One of your subordinates wasn’t performing the way you would have liked, you invited him for a drink in the hopes of encouraging him only to discover that he's inexperienced in other things too. (7,5k words)

Author's note: Let me know if you want a second part. Oh, and happy birthday, Hannie! ♡

"Goddammit!"

The chief's voice is sharp and loud like a crack of thunder but instead of lightning, it comes with a stack of papers hurling toward you.

Fortunately, it's breezing past the side of your head as it scatters in the air and the papers float before they make a quiet landing on the floor.

"Have you been teaching those under your wing right?" The chief yells again, this time personally aimed it toward you with his nostrils flared and his neck gets all red whether from the anger or his collar is too tight, or both.

"Don't make light of our work here!"

It's always safe to apologize first and explain later, it's even better if there are no explanations at all and admit right away that it's your fault.

"We're very sorry, sir!" You sincerely say while keeping your head down, you secretly glance to the side to check on someone and he does the same thing too.

"I'll take responsibility for this," you openly accept the blame as a good senior would do.

"Enough with your apologies!" The chief lowers his voice as he rubs on his wrist and you guess he got hurt from hurling the papers at you with all of his strength.

"Just go back to your work and do it right!" The chief yells once more as he hides the pain around his wrist.

You nod and put on a courteous smile, "Please, excuse us," you say.

You quickly make your way out of his office along with your junior co-worker and none of you say anything until you both turn into the hallway that leads you back to your office.

The person next to you, Han, stops walking and turns to face you, he's looking down at his feet when he apologizes, "I'm sorry. It was my mistake but I dragged you into this."

With a job comes a responsibility and when you get tasked to take him under your wing, you are fully aware that he's your responsibility and his mistake will be your mistake too. Since he's new, it's understandable that he stumbled on things but the problem is he's done it a couple of times already in the last five months he's been working here.

However, you remember you were once in his position and you've experienced how stressful it can be when everyone is pressing you from all sides, you don't want that for him so you try to be a compassionate senior for him.

You gently place your hand on his shoulder and smile at him, "The most important thing is you acknowledge your mistake and apologize. Now, we can just laugh it off," you tell him.

Han lifts his head, showing how sorry he is with his eyebrow downturn and wistful eyes, "We can't just laugh it off," he meekly says.

You put your hand on the small of his back and whisk him away to continue walking down the hallway, "Let's just laugh it off and have a few drinks tonight," you console him.

"Maybe just one drink," he says, feeling concerned with what you mean by a few drinks.

"Let's drink until morning!" You jokingly say, linking your arm with his.

"We can't drink until morning," Han meekly says as you keep dragging him along with you.

"Oh, come on!" You gently slap him on the chest and get surprised by the firm muscles he has under his crisp white shirt, "It's my treat."

What's a high-paying job when he earns more stress than money?

Han should consider himself lucky that he has you as a senior. Not only that you're nice, you are so kind and patient with him, you teach him everything he needs to know about his job and the company. You always try to cheer him up when he gets chewed off by the chief. You're not only making this job bearable to him, you make it possible for him to enjoy his work with you around.

"Oh, no!" You gasp as you see the sign taped on the front door of the bar.

"Our sanctuary!" You cry with your lips pursed and your shoulders sagged.

Closed for renovation, it says on it.

It's such a shame that the bar that you both regularly visit is closed on days like this when he needs to drink his sorrow away and just decompress.

"Shall we go somewhere else?" He suggests while scratching the back of his head, raking his brain for any bar he knows in this area.

Your face brightens as the light bulb in your head dings with an idea, "How about we drink at my place?"

"Huh?" His eyes burrowed in slight shock and confusion.

"Come on! It's just around the corner," you don't wait for his answer, you link your arm around him and whisk him away with you.

Turns out, you're not lying about your place is just around the corner. You live in a small house with a miniature garden in the back and everywhere he looks, there's a potted plant sitting in the corner of the room.

It creates such a contrast to the hustling and bustling of the city and the stressful environment at work, it offers a pleasant atmosphere that instantly puts him at ease.

Keeping the window open, the wind chime sings a tune every time a gust of wind brushes in between, sending them clinking against each other.

"How do you manage to take care of all of these plants?" He asks in wonder, foolishly touching the tiny thorns on one of your succulents.

"It's easy," you answer from the kitchen, "You just need to water them."

Han saunters into the kitchen, ready to offer his help as you stand on your tiptoe to get glasses from the top cabinet. He notices the big jar of dark brown liquid with something floating on the surface.

"What is that?"

"That's what we'll be drinking tonight," you answer with a smile.

Being the gentleman he is, he carries the big jar of mysterious drink to the living room, carefully puts it down on the table, and then sits on the floor, looking at it with curious eyes.

"It's cherry brandy," you inform.

"You made it yourself?" He wildly guesses.

"I am," you answer with a proud smile, opening the jar with all of your strength.

As soon as the lid cracks open, Han is already intoxicated by the sweet, alcohol-tinted aroma that is wafting around the room. He watches as you dip the ladle and meticulously pour it into the glass. He knows now that the things bobbing on the surface are the cherries.

"But how?" He asks in wonder as he observes the drink in his hand.

"It's just cherries, sugar, and vodka, put them in the jar, shake them, put them in the dark for weeks, and voila!" You easily share the recipe and the comprehensive steps for making it.

"No, I mean, how do you have time to do all these?" He asks, utterly befuddled.

Work is draining enough to him that he has no energy left to do other things than rest, and when he gets time, he uses it on something as frivolous as playing video games. That explains why he can't relate to your way of life because how?

You look at him and snort as if his question is inane and the answer is obvious. You get up from the floor as you say, "I'm going to get the cheese."

"Please don't tell me you also made the cheese yourself," he jokingly asks because he already has so much respect for you.

This cherry brandy is dangerous. The cherries mask the taste of the alcohol and all Han can taste is the sweet and tangy flavor of the cherries, but he's aware that he's getting lightheaded with every sip of it. The worst part is he can't stop drinking it.

You're using his drunk state as a chance to tease him and he starts grouching, slurring his words doing it.

"What I'm saying is you always change the topic to me apologizing," he whines with his lips forming a cute pout.

"I'm not," you deny, taking a piece of cheese in between sips.

"I know I am incompetent," he grumbles then hisses at the alcohol burning down his throat.

"I beg to differ. I don't think you're incompetent."

"What then? Incapable? Pathetic? Useless?"

"I think you're just... inexperienced and that's okay," you pause to pick a handful of cherries from the jar with the ladle, "I know that you're sorry and you'll keep trying to be better. I have faith in you, Han."

Han didn't know that he needed to hear that until now. Suddenly, the tightness in his chest loosens, and he feels liberated. He can finally breathe and enjoy his drink with ease.

"Let's impress the chief with our next presentation, okay?" You softly smile at him, raising your glass to invite him for a toast.

Returning the spirit, Han smiles and raises his glass, clinking it with yours as he promises himself to prove that you're not wasting your faith in him.

"Damn! This cherry brandy is so good," he praises with his nose scrunched reacting to the aftertaste.

"Can you do this?" You pop a cherry into your mouth while holding the stem between your thumb and index finger.

"Do what?"

You put the stem into your mouth next and begin moving your mouth, almost like chewing it. After a while, you stick your tongue out, revealing the stem is knotted now. It's impressive, yes, but his eyes are focusing on your lips and how they're glistening wet, probably tastes as sweet as a cherry too.

"That's kind of uh..." he's not sure if what he's about to say is appropriate so he decides not to finish his sentence, "Wow!"

"They say that if you can do this that means you're a good kisser," you remark as you fish out more cherries out of the jar with the ladle.

He hesitates but considering that he's not in a workplace and the alcohol dulls his brain, it can no longer tell what's appropriate or not anymore.

"Are you?"

"Mmh?" You hum in question with a cherry tug between your teeth.

"Are you a good kisser?" He daringly asks.

You bite through the cherry and he can the juice flooding your mouth, you're chewing it as you're looking at him, making him wait for your answer in anticipation.

Then you lean forward on the table, you prop a hand under your chin and slightly tilt your head to the side, "Want to try?"

The way you both execute it is like two teenagers doing seven minutes in heaven. You're both sitting facing each other on the floor with your legs folded under you and awkwardly looking at each other.

All of a sudden, you lean in close until both of your faces are merely inches away from each other. Your lips slowly curl into a smile as you stare into his warm brown eyes.

"You have beautiful eyes."

He can't only handle that much and smiles at your compliment, "Thank you."

"But I need you to close them for now."

"Okay," he obeys your order and closes his eyes.

A minute later, Han just realized what he'd done to himself. With his eyes closed, he can't see what you're doing and he can only wait in anticipation with his heart pitter-patter in his chest.

"Where should I start, mmh?"

He hears you mutter and he knows that it's a rhetorical question, you don't need an answer, you do that just to build his anticipation.

In the next moment, Han feels your breath fanning over his ear, sending goose bumps down his neck, then softly, you press a kiss to his left temple.

“Hmm... where to now?” The words are spoken softly against his skin, each one a caress.

He knows it's yet another rhetorical question but it's enough to send his heart rattling like someone sets firecrackers in his chest.

The tip of your nose grazes his skin as you move lower and you surprise him with a kiss on his cheek, making him close his eyes tightly as impatient sears through him.

As if you hear his thoughts, you land the next kiss on the corner of his mouth, so close yet not exactly where he wants your lips to be.

Then you rest your hand on his jaw, holding him in place as you press an innocent peck on his lips. A tingling sensation bounces around in his chest and a second after you pull away only to sink your lips on his again.

This time, you take the lead, you're showing him how it's done, drawing the kisses out. When your tongue slips between his lips, he goes stock-still. He can't comprehend that your tongue is in his mouth, hot and wet, swirling around his tongue.

This is it. This is kissing and kissing is this good. Oh, man, no one tells him that it's this good!

When you break the kiss, he almost lets out a whimper of complaint from the sudden loss of contact.

"What do you think?" You ask, biting your lower lip but he notices a grin peeking around the edges of your mouth.

"The best kiss I've ever had," he honestly admits.

You let out a soft laugh, "We're not at work. You don't have to suck me up," you say, not entirely buying his words.

"B-but I'm not lying," he assures you with his eyebrows downturn and his dark eyes looking at you.

You take your glass of cherry brandy and have a small sip, "Well, if the only other person you've ever kissed is your mum, then I'll take you on that," you jokingly say.

Something catches in his throat and it's the truth. Han doesn't plan on telling anyone about it or ever for that matter but he deems you're trustworthy enough to keep this secret for him.

"I'm a virgin," he meekly confesses.

The handle of the ladle slips off your fingers and it clatters to the bottom of the jar, "Pardon?"

"I have never had sex with anyone," the hesitation makes his voice quiver at the end of his sentence.

You bring your glass close to your mouth but not drink it, "When I said you're inexperienced, I didn't think that it included the dating area."

Now it feels like he's just told you his defect and his nerves are being replaced by a wave of regret. His eyes wander off, his voice turns small.

"Was that a turn-off?"

You take a cherry from your drink and shove it into your mouth, as you chew on it a sly smirk rises on your face. You lick your lips and then lean forward, "If I say that I'll pop your cherry..."

Your hand reaches for his face and the pressure of your fingertips on his chin makes him face you again, leading him to believe you want eye contact.

"What would you do?"

The tension is climbing fast when you both enter your bedroom, he can't even see his surroundings as both of your lips are locked in a rapturous kiss and you lead him in one direction, the bed.

The moment you have him lying on the bed and you pin him under, his skin gets hot and sensitive, his pulse drumming with eagerness. His cock digs in his slacks, reminding him that it's real and it's not some fantasies he's making up in his head. He is sure he's been turned on before but he can't remember when, even if he did, he's sure it wasn't this much.

From there, it's raining kisses on his lips, and in between the aching presses of your lips, your tongue caresses him, making his skin tingle. When he tries to capture your tongue to take into himself, you evade him. You tease him more by brushing at his lips and dip your tongue inside for a mere second, then quickly withdraw, making him almost groan in frustration.

Okay, he gets it, you're a good kisser so stop playing, he complains in his head.

The way you smile against his lips only means that you know what you're doing and enjoying it. Impulsively, Han decides to seal your mouth with his and touches your tongue with his, an explosion of taste in his mouth, sweet, tangy, tart, so. fucking. addictive.

As he's drunk in your kisses, you run your hand down his body and eventually discover his member poking through the front of his slacks.

"Wow!" You lowly gasp yet continue rubbing his clothed bulge, "You're already this hard?"

Since it's his first time, he doesn't know how to properly react or respond, but he's familiar with this feeling tugging inside him, insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he meekly apologizes.

You gently cup his jaw and stare into his dark, round eyes, "What to be sorry for?"

To assure him, you place a long, lingering kiss on his lips and then sit straddling him on the bed. You untuck the hem of your blouse out of your skirt and bring your fingers to the top button.

"My junior pops a boner on me..." you maintain eye contact with him as you continue undoing all the buttons on your blouse, "Then I can't just look and do nothing."

It's a mystery how he doesn't get blind from seeing your bare upper half body but he knows his eyes are almost out of their sockets the second you take your blouse off, revealing your soft mounds hanging beautifully on your chest.

You're already gorgeous with your clothes on but like this, it's too much for him. He swallows hard as you glide your hand down your sternum and he sees how your fingers lightly graze your nipple as you cup the underside.

You take both of his hands and put them on your breasts, then, you let them go just to see what he's going to do with them.

Nothing. He does nothing but look at his hands holding your breasts and you almost grin at how he looks at them with eyes filled with childlike wonder.

You tilt your head to the side, "So what do you think?"

"They're so soft," he innocently answers.

You hold his hands and move them together, fondling your breasts together with him, you gesture his thumb to play with your hardening bud. Soon, he's doing it himself, kneading on your breasts and once in a while, rubbing his fingers over your nipples.

After a while of letting him touch them, you deem he's ready for more, "Want to kiss them?"

His eyes glance up from your chest to your eyes and then stifle a nod. You scoot a little to the back as he rises from the bed, and this new position brings his mouth close to your breasts.

Sensing his hesitation, you say, "Go ahead. Put your mouth on them."

As he stares at them in silence, Han swallows air, sending his Adam's apple bobbing inside his throat before softly landing his small, pouty lips on the valley of your breasts, a long peck that leaves a searing feeling on your skin and then buries his head in between.

A ragged breath escaped your mouth as you encircled your arms around him, drawing him closer. You tangle your hand in his hair, dark, loose curls, caught between your fingers.

Seconds stretched into minutes and Han hasn't done anything but rests one side of his head on your sternum.

"You're not falling asleep, are you?" You jokingly ask.

"No," his voice is small and low, almost like a whisper.

You reckon he needs some pointers on ways to play with them, you glide your hand to the back of his head and tilt his head slightly upward, just enough to make him look at you.

"How about we put them in your mouth?" You ask with your hand softly scratching the tendrils of hair on the nape of his neck.

You lead him by placing your hand on his jaw and with your thumb, you trace his lower lip, then slowly, you part his mouth open with it. You let him do the rest and he catches up fast, he opens his mouth a little wider and takes your ample flesh, then closes his mouth around it.

Han is following his instincts, he tightens his grip around you and pulls you closer so he can feast on you. He has your breasts in his face, his mouth, rolling on his tongue. He can play with them all day.

As you gaze down at your chest, you see his lips wrapped around your nipple and his hand kneading on the other, both stimulations sending you twist and arch your back, your ass making friction on his crotch.

"You like them, huh?"

Without detaching his mouth from your nipple, he answers, "I like this."

He moves his mouth to the other nipple and sucks on it, "and this."

It's such an erotic sight that you feel a tingle down there. You bring your hands to the side of your breasts and push them to the middle so he can suck them all at once.

Han doesn't need more pointers, he knows what he wants and going for it. More importantly, he knows this is no fantasy playing in his head. This moment, you, and his undeniable attraction to you are all real.

He's slowly yet surely claiming your body in any way he can, he drags his lips up your throat, along your jaw, back toward your mouth, kissing you like it's his lifeline and he's hanging on a thin thread.

A murmuring sound hums in your throat as you kiss him back while your hands go down his back, taking the tail of his shirt out of his slacks. You draw your hands back to the front, unbuttoning his shirt and your patience wears thin as you get to the last one, you end up ripping it open.

A sigh escapes your mouth as you place your hand on his bare chest, but it's the swell of his chest muscles that distracts you from your exploration. You never touch hard rounded flesh like this before and his skin is searing hot under your fingertips. Gosh! You want to touch him all over.

As you sink your mouth into his again, you run your greedy hands over his arms, his chest, and his abs. You also admire his exceptional shoulders-to-waist ratio.

On the other hand, Han isn't prepared when you stroke over the fly of his pants, a jolt of pleasure coursed through him and his cock twitches in excitement, and a hoarse groan falls out of his mouth. His mind goes haywire as you unbutton and unzip his slacks, then you withdraw the hard length of his cock. He's almost losing it when your eyes go dark with so much want.

"Oh, so hot," you breathlessly gasp as you wrap your fingers around his swelling member, "mmh... so hard for me."

It's obvious that you have the experience, you seem to know where to touch, what would please him the most, the rhythm he prefers, and know when to pick up the pumping of your hand around his length.

"Am I doing good?" You casually ask, acting like you don't see the effect of your stimulations on him.

"Good," his voice is trembling with so much intensity.

As much as he likes it, he doesn't want to risk coming all over your palm, he wants to explore more of you and more ways to do that to you.

"Want... to... touch you," That's all he can mutter after forcing his brain to form a coherent sentence.

"Want to touch me?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"There," he lowly whispers that he doubts you can hear it.

You give him a haste kiss before answering his request by sitting on your knees, you swiftly undo the hook fastening at the side of your skirt and then ease the zipper over the sweet curve of your hip. Instead of sitting back down, you get off his lap and slowly lay yourself down on the bed. You raise your hips to lower the skirt down and then out of your legs.

"Now, come here," You're patting the space next to you.

It puts him in a trance seeing you lying naked on the bed with only your white underwear on, the fabric is so flimsy it leaves nothing to the imagination.

After a struggling minute, his brain finally manages to process your command, he lays next to you. You waste no time but gently hold his chin, then bring his head close for a kiss.

Maybe it's because you're too good at this that makes Han feels he needs to rise to the level. He does more than a kiss, he licks, he nibbles at your lips, and his tongue daringly invades your mouth to get as much of that sweet taste of you.

A hand finds him and you're taking it with you, placing it on you, guiding him to where you like to be touched. Your neck, across your chest, the underside of your breasts, around the navel and you keep leading him south, not stopping until his hand meets your clothed sex.

"It's wet," he blurts out as he feels the dampness of your underwear against his palm.

"It's even wetter underneath," you mutter against his lips.

Curiosity gets the best of him, he checks right away to see if what you said is true. He slips his hand under the fabric and immediately gets the answer. You're drenched and it gets all over his fingers the more he touches you.

"Oh, my God..." you arch your back against his hand, offering more of you to touch.

He feels encouraged to please you more, he pulls your underwear to the side and slips one finger into you. Low murmurs tumble from your lips and it tells him that this is what you want. He works a second finger in, and the stretching sensation has your head falling back and your heels dug into the bed.

"Curl them," you instruct as you push into penetration.

Han doesn't obey your words right away, he allows his fingers to ease in and out, feeling you out and catching you off guard, he curls his fingers inside you, startling a breathless gasp from you.

With your eyes closed, you lick your lips and then ask, “Are you sure it's your first time?"

His insecurity kicks in again as you show sheer doubt in your question, “What do you mean by that?”

You open your eyes and slyly smile at him, “It means so far you’re very good at it.”

The moment he hears that his insecurity turns into confidence. He applies slow, measured movements and does what he thinks would please you, using your lewd noises as the guide. The motions seem to calm you even as they put you on edge.

Your hand hikes its way up to his arm then nestles in his tousled hair, "My, my! You really are a capable boy when you try," you praise with dazed eyes and a sly grin.

This should offend him but it does nothing but stroke his ego in the best way. Other than that, he just wants to please you more and more even though he has no idea how. The better question is: what to do next?

"Do you mind taking my underwear off for me?"

He doesn't answer but hurriedly gets himself to do it, fingers tugging at the waistband of your underwear, then slowly, pulling it down your legs. The scrape of his nails on your skin sends a shudder down your spine.

"There you go!" You delightfully exclaim once the underwear is off of you.

You get comfortable on the bed, propping an elbow on the mattress as you lie slightly to the side, "Now, take your clothes off."

He's just realized now that his shirt is still loosely draped around his shoulders and his slacks are bunched around his thighs with his hard-on hanging out of his boxer.

With naughty eyes, you watch as he removes the pieces of clothing until there's none left but miles of miles of honey skin. You run one hand down your front then part your legs open, you don't seem to be embarrassed touching yourself in front of him and he finds that very sexy.

Little does he know, what you're about to do next is far sexier.

You put your hands on the back of your knees and then slowly, you pull them apart, exposing your glistening wet core to him.

Han admits that he hasn't seen enough to know but he's sure he's looking at one of the prettiest pussy he's ever seen, glistening wet, pulsating with so much desire, and so damn inviting. Looking at it makes him swallow air, hard.

He wants to play it cool but he fails at it, he wants you so much, he becomes this one big ache of wanting.

As he's about to lower himself on you, you block him from coming closer with your hand on his chest, "Oh, we almost forgot the condom."

You twist your body to the side, hand reaching for the handle of your bedside drawer and pull it open. To cut time, he grabs it for you from a box full of condoms inside the drawer.

"Want me to put it on?" You offer.

"Yes," he shortly answers, not caring if he sounds so eager.

You tear through the foil wrapper and take out the rubber, you give his length a gentle stroke before rolling the rubber down, then you pinch the end to make room for his completion.

You lay back on the bed, head resting on the pillow and a smile lingering on your face, showing him that you're comfortable enough to continue.

"You know what to do next," you say as you rub your hand up and down his forearm.

As he hesitates, you wrap your hand around his cock and rub it between your folds, milking more essence to prepare you for penetration. You're getting impatient for him but you let him decide when to enter you.

After a while, Han finally aligns his cock to your entrance, and with a shallow breath, he pushes just enough until his tip disappeared inside you.

Oh, the face he makes as he enters you, it's priceless.

"I can take a little more," you assure him with fingers lightly scraping the skin of his arms.

"I just—" he bites back a groan and tugs his lower lips between his teeth, "Give me a moment. This is my first time."

As you lay underneath and hear that, you find him hot and cute at the same time, butterflies explode in your stomach and fly around in amok.

"Kiss me," you sweetly ask, bringing his head close with your hand holding his chin.

Han fulfills your wish, lowering his mouth on you again as you wrap your arms around him. As he calms down from the rising tension, you bring your hands down to his hips and nudge him to push more into you.

"Oh..." his groan is hoarse and raw, spilling into your open mouth.

"I want all of you inside me," you whine against his lips.

Conveniently, what you want aligns with what he wants, he pushes the rest of his length inside you until he's fully sheathed in your warm, velvety walls.

A shaky breath escapes his mouth and he buries his head in your neck, you can hear every shudder of his breath, getting heavier with each passing second.

The two of you savor the moment—not speaking, not moving, not doing anything, just being with someone. The room is so quiet you hear the cars driving by outside and the occasional sounds of the wind-chime from the living room.

With a passionate kiss on your lips, he begins moving, he withdraws then thrusts, and the pace turns quick all of a sudden. You understand that this is his first time but he can't fully enjoy it when he's going at a light speed in a second.

"Hey, slow down," You calmly say with a soft peck on his lips and jaw, "don't rush."

He abruptly stops moving for a second and lets out a low sigh, "Sorry, I can't help myself."

Why he has to be this cute in a heating moment like this? You can't help but smile and peck his small lips again. You keep your hand on his neck, feeling the blood rushing in his veins.

"This is our first time," you say, "I want it to be special."

"Okay," he says with repeated nods.

Our first time. That sounds like you're hinting that this will be the first of many. Han feels a flutter all over his body hearing that.

Our first time, he replays it in the back of his head for his own amusement.

Keeping your words in mind, he continues where he left off, thrusting into you again at a moderate speed until he finds his pace. You give him the closeness he seeks by spreading your legs wider and wrapping them around his dainty waist.

In between kisses and moans, you tenderly gaze into his eyes and ask, "So, how do I feel?"

He forces his brain to try and compute words, "You feel hot... slippery and tight."

He pauses to clear his throat and adds, "You feel so good."

"I know," You softly smile and land a peck on his lips, "You feel so good inside me too."

Gosh! If he knew that sex felt this good, he would have done it sooner. He believes that it's all because of you. There's no guarantee that it would feel this good with someone else.

The way you keep clenching tighter around him means that he's doing well but on the other hand, it brings him closer to the edge. How long does sex usually last? He doesn't know but it seems like he can't hold himself back anymore.

"I'm sorry but I think I'm about to come," he says through his gritted teeth.

You hastily kiss his lips, "do you want to cum, mmh?"

Now that you asked him, he doesn't feel good about saying yes because you seem like you still want to continue. He changes his mind, convincing himself he can hold back a little longer.

"No, I can't— I shouldn't," he mutters while shaking his head.

"You hold back so much despite it being your first time," you say with a sly smile.

You put your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him, and swiftly, you roll him to the side, forcing him to lay back on the bed while you get on top of him.

"Alright then..." you sigh as you run both hands down his chest, "Try not to come as hard as you can."

Han should've taken your warning seriously. He gaps so loudly as you start rolling your hips against him, back and forth, then in circular motions, painstakingly slow. He's hopelessly grasping at the last shred of sanity left in him.

It's impossible to hold back anymore when you're fucking him good and he's watching you enjoying it with your breasts bouncing along to the slightest of movement, your nails clawing at his chest and the sexiest part of all is that blissful smile plastered on your face.

For a timeless moment, Han hovers on the brink, breathless, until the orgasm crashes over him and he grips at your thighs as you drive into him relentlessly. He hasn't finished with his orgasm yet he can feel your muscles fluttering around him and clamping him down.

With a hoarse groan, you surge into him one last time and come around him, then slowly, you lower your shaking body to the bed.

Without thinking, Han holds you close like you are his. He puts his arms around you and you burrow your head into the crook of his neck as you hold him back.

"Congratulations!" You whisper.

"Mmh?" He asks with dazed eyes.

"Your cherry has been popped!"

Han jolts awake the next morning, he's seeing you sleeping next to him, in your room and the sun is shining so brightly outside. The first thought that comes to his mind is he's late for work and panicked.

He rises from the bed and gasps, "Oh, God! Did I oversleep?!"

You put your hand on his chest and pull him to lay back on the bed, "It's Saturday," you sleepily croak.

"Oh? Right..." His panic turns into embarrassment and he blames his body clock for that.

You scoot close to his side and put your arm across his chest, fingertips lightly trailing his collarbone. It feels nice, and snug. Why would he try to leave this heavenly feeling of lazing on the bed with you?

But he's aware that he should also consider that you might want your personal space back and he doesn't want to overstay his visit.

"I uhm... I probably should go," he says yet not moving an inch.

He hears you draw a breath then drop your hand to cup his jaw, "Okay."

Again, Han remains still on the bed, lying so close next to you and in your warm embrace. You suddenly lift your head and roll to the side, overlapping his body with yours.

"Before you leave, want to shower with me first?"

This is unexpected but he's not complaining at all. He reminds himself to keep calm and try to come up with a playful response.

"So we can have sex again?"

You crack a laugh at that and rest your chin on his chest, you gently tap his cheek with your index finger, "Now that you're no longer a virgin, you think you're so hot, huh?"

It hasn't completely sunk into him that he had sex for the first time last night and the reminder makes his heart flutter.

He keeps his cool and nonchalantly shrugs, "Just a little."

As much as he tries his best to resist it, Han keeps following you with his eyes.

Yes, he's aware of how creepy it is and he wants to act normal, it makes it obvious that he feels something toward you.

Or rather, why are you able to act normal about this?

He admits that he likes that part about you, you are aware that this is a workplace and there shouldn't be personal business involved within.

However, Han can't help but wonder if he's the only one still thinking about that night.

Now that he thinks about it, you and him never really agreed on what to call this relationship, is it just casual or do you want to take it further, and is not talking about it an adult thing to do?

"Ugh, I don't know," he doesn't mean to let it out loud but thankfully, no one is there to hear it.

His eyes hovering over you again, he slightly swivels his office chair to the side and watches you checking files from one of your juniors. He finds it attractive that you have a crease between your eyebrows whenever you're focused on something and the way you flip the page then hold it between your fingers, oh, it does something to him.

"It looks good," you say as you put the files back, "You can proceed with this one."

Your junior takes the file back from you and holds it in front of her as she asks, "Will you come to our company dinner tomorrow night?"

You don't even consider it but answer right away, "Yes, sure, I'll be there."

Your junior responds with a warm smile, "That's great!"

After your junior leaves, you collect some files from your desk, get up, and bring them with you as you make your way toward his desk.

He doesn't know why but he shoots up from his chair as if he gets caught doing something. You stop by his desk and you have no idea how thankful he is, imagine if you walked past his desk, he would be so fucking embarrassed.

"Han, these are the documents for the next meeting," you say, showing him the files you're holding, "Can you organize them for me?"

"Absolutely!" He answers without a beat.

He thinks you have nothing else to do for him but you linger by his side and then slowly lean into his side while keeping the files open, covering half of your faces.

"Isn't the day after tomorrow is your birthday?" You ask.

His breath hitches either from the proximity or the fact that you know about this birthday, "Yes. How do you know?"

"Oh, well..." You slightly shrug instead of telling him the answer.

Taking him by surprise, you lean in closer and then place a soft kiss on his cheek. His breath catches in his throat and he feels a hiccup coming. He looks around to see if anyone saw that but the official remains lively as usual.

"What's that for?" He manages to ask while holding his cheek as if he is trying to hide the mark even though there is nothing but the searing feeling it leaves on his skin.

"An early birthday present," you simply answer with a smile then walk back to your desk.

Han used to dread company dinner because it requires him to drink and he's bad at drinking.

The first round is at a barbecue place, the drinking is moderate, and he can slow down the drinking by shoving food in between.

On the second round, they're going for a karaoke bar and that's when it gets tricky, someone will somehow notice if he hasn't drunk enough and force him to get on their level. If only they had any ideas that he'd be likely blacked out from drinking as much as them.

By the time the second round ends, Han finds himself stumbling on his way out of the karaoke bar. He's not drunk but he knows he's one drink away from it. Someone grabs his arm and without looking, he knows that it's you. No one likes to link their arms with him, except you.

"Hey, do you want to get out of here?" You keep your voice low to not let anyone else hear it.

"Yes," he answers without thinking and frankly, you can take him anywhere you want.

"Round three! Let's go!" The team manager shouts, half slurring his words and leading everyone to go.

"But–but how about...?" He stutters, pointing at their co-workers walking away and he's afraid that the two of you might get in trouble for ditching everyone else.

"Don't worry about it," you assure him, walking to the other way of where everyone else is going and at the end of the street, you hail a taxi.

It's obvious that he doesn't know where you're taking him until you tell the taxi driver to pull over and he steps out of the taxi, finding himself at the front of a hotel.

He follows you as you walk across the lobby, coming toward the reception to check in for a stay. The process only takes a few minutes and you get handed a keycard.

He can simply ask you why you're taking him here but it would be so naive of him, right? The most important thing is he likes where this is going.

Arrive at your floor, you lead the way to the room and even though he's still feeling a little lightheaded, his eyes can't seem to look away from watching your back figure as you walk in front of him with your hips swaying side to side and that pencil you always wear to work does nothing but accentuate the shape of your—

"I'm sorry, Han," you suddenly apologize as you walk up to a door and he guesses it must be the room you're assigned to.

"Yes?" He asks, confounded.

Instead of getting into the room first, you turn around on your feet and stand with your back facing the door while holding the keycard in your hands.

"You see I don't really know what you'd like for your birthday so..." your voice turns lower the more you speak but it's the soft gaze and the way you're looking at him through your lashes that suddenly makes it hard to breathe.

"I was thinking we could go shopping together but I can't help myself."

There's no physical contact whatsoever but he gets hot all over, he licks his lips as his eyes flick to your lips that tempted him to kiss.

"I've been thinking about being alone with you and all the things we could do together."

He is right to not ask the question but God, he likes the answer to it.

"So... will this do?" You ask, your eyes filled with wild, naughty glints.

Instead of answering, he takes the keycard from your hand and puts it close to the scanner on the handle of the door, it automatically clicks open.

Now, you know the answer. He couldn't ask for a better birthday present than what's going to happen in this hotel room.

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