. (.-)

𝗛𝘆𝘂𝗻𝗷𝗶𝗻’𝘀 𝗢𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝗠𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗽𝘁.𝟭 (𝗼𝗰𝘁.𝟭-𝟭𝟱)

𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘:𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙤𝙘𝙩𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙧. 𝙄𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨𝙣𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙡𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙧 𝙖 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧 𝙙𝙞𝙙.

Pls tell me if i linked the wrong fic or if there’s smth wrong w/ the masterlist

Oᴛʜᴇʀ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀs: 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻, 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗵𝗼, 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗯𝗶𝗻, 𝗵𝗮𝗻, 𝗳𝗲𝗹𝗶𝘅, 𝘀𝗲𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗺𝗶𝗻, 𝗷𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗶𝗻, 𝗼𝘁𝟴

☞︎ Pᴀʀᴛ2

Tᴀɢ: hyunjinsz.oct21

Gᴜɪᴅᴇ: ☘︎︎- sᴍᴜᴛ | ☁︎︎- ғʟᴜғғ | ☕︎︎- 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁 | ⚠︎︎- sᴇɴᴛɪᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟭

❥ class president by @tqmies - ☕︎︎

❥ poolside fucking by @youn9racha - ☘︎︎

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟮

❥ gxxd boy by @hanjizung - ☘︎︎

❥ golden hour by @jiminbbyboy - ☘︎︎ ☕︎︎ ☁︎︎ (ft. Chan)

❥ sweet & sour by @seospicy - suggestive

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟯

❥ shibari by @seungmoomin - ☘︎︎

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟰

❥ private after party by @webangchan - ☘︎︎

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟱

❥ home by @wonderlustlucas - ☁︎︎ ☕︎︎

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟲

❥ step-brother!hyunjin by @kpop-dungeon-dark - ☘︎︎ ☕︎︎ ⚠︎︎

❥ (can’t get no) satisfaction by @jenossslut - ☘︎︎

❥ hopeless dreams by @fairiejunie - ☕︎︎ ☁︎︎

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟳

❥ touch deprived by @moon-lixie - ☁︎︎

❥ locked & loaded by @yuta-senpai - ☘︎︎

❥ temperature by @hwangyeonjun - ☘︎︎

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟴

❥ #7A6C98 by @decembermoonskz - ☁︎︎

❥ size kink + hyunjin by @authorb - ☘︎︎

❥ be a good girl and spread your legs by @hwangsies - ☘︎︎

❥ dessert by @hyunsuks-beanie - ☘︎︎

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟵

❥ part 54 by @hyunjinspark - ☕︎︎

❥ mirror mirror by @fairlylino - ☘︎︎

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟭𝟬

❥ orgy + danceracha by @authorb - ☘︎︎ (ft. felix and minho)

❥ the distance between you and i by @wishingyouback - ☁︎︎

❥ sir by @peachychxn - ☘︎︎

❥ stormed in by @kissbinsung - ☘︎︎

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟭𝟭

-

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟭𝟮

❥ rimming by @slutbinnie - ☘︎︎

❥ partners for the night 2 by @cant-choose-a-bias - ☘︎︎

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟭𝟯

❥ i've been looking for you by @kpop-in-new-albion - ☕︎︎

❥ chubby cheeks by @jisungsmysugadaddy - ☁︎︎

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟭𝟰

❥ cuckolding by @peachybun-bun - ☘︎︎ (ft. felix)

❥ break time by @chronosaurusnot - ☘︎︎

❥ chaotic love by @butterflies123456 - ☘︎︎

❥ soft moments with hwang hyunjin by @soleilsuhh - ☁︎︎

❥ day 4 by @cartierbin - ☘︎︎

𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟭𝟱

❥ traitor by @memesolvernonchwe - ☕︎︎

❥ beauty within by @markxdino - ☕︎︎ ☁︎︎

❥ cream pie by @kpop---scenarios - ☘︎︎ (ft. chan)

❥ play with fire by @sugasblunt - ☘︎︎

❥ hair pulling by @eightlee - ☘︎︎

❥ making out by @seungmoomin - suggestive

follow for part2!

Harry's House minimalist posters part two || part one

Source: Pinterest (I own none of the pictures used)

when he sees me || Lee Know

Pairing: Lee Know x f!Reader

Summary: Interacting with others has never been easy for you, whether it is talking to them or, worse, flirting with them. As a result, relationships, but also any form of sexual interactions have always eluded you. You had no reason to think that was going to change anytime soon.

And then your hot neighbor’s cat shows up in your apartment, and you think that things just might change. Even if it’s only on one front.

Word count: 13.3k

Genre: Neighbors AU, slice of life, smut, fluff & angst

Warnings & Tags: mention of a dead grandparent, social anxiety, insecurities, loss of virginity, reader doesn’t tell minho that she’s a virgin, smut (vaginal sex, oral sex [female receiving], fingering, very soft sex), unreliable narrator, unresolved romantic tension.

A/N: Hi everyone! After going through a rough past couple of… six months, hence the disappearance, and pretty much not writing/not finishing anything for all of that, I just really wanted to try writing something again. This was long — it basically took me the whole summer to write this piece — but I’m happy that I’ve managed to create something again :) Thank you to all of the people who sent kind messages during that time, I saw them and truly appreciated them. I hope you enjoy this, and I would really appreciate it if you could let me know your thoughts, especially if you like it!

“It sounds like you really needs to get laid,” Nari comments, and the table laughs heartily while you smile. You make the conscious effort of creasing your eyes, so it looks genuine, but hopefully no one can tell. She reaches over to grab your hand, an amused grin on her face, and squeezes it. “We’ll get on that soon, I promise, but in the meantime, being here is the next best thing.”

You smile and nod, but you also shift slightly in your chair.

‘Here’ is the District 9, and it’s, for all intents and purposes, a strip club. There’s no actual stripping happening, but there are scantily-clad men dancing on stage, and rumors flying around about ‘private sessions’ that can happen in one of the backrooms, if you’re willing to pay. You and your friends — coworkers — are here for the men. But, as the lights dim and your friends start clapping, instead of focusing on the stage, you cast a look over your shoulder.

Keep reading

YOU BELONG TO ME, BABY.

— lonely star, part one of the trilogy series. pairing. street racer! chris x fem! reader. (+ hyunjin, minho) genre. past lovers, angst, heartbreak, hurt/comfort, stripper!(y/n), interlocked stories. warnings. profanity, jealousy, smut, public sex, unprotected intercourse, alcohol abuse, mentioned violence, name calling, blowjob, rage fuck. tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @hyuneater, @lix-ables, @byskzfilms, @danyxthirstae01, @enluc, @skz317cb97. word count. 7.5k

OCT. 2019 — SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA.

Very early in your life it was too late.

You stare at the text message, watercolor tears blurring your vision. The stranger’s hands are numb, her legs heavy.

She needs to go. Away—from him. She loves him very much, but there has to be life after him. She loves him very much, but God, it is unbearable, it is all consuming, it is a coffin six feet down, buried alive, hands never again to touch his.

If it’s not happening to you, you think you can get through with it. It is not your hands, it is hers; it is not your heart bleeding, it’s someone else’s, the stranger’s. The one that’s never met Chris. The one that will board the plane, the one that will survive, live on, away away away—

You look at the words on the screen, and there’s heavy rain, thunderstorm warning—your phone is wet. The watercolor bled, Hyunjin would be mad.

02:38AM chris— you’re the only good thing in my life.

02:41AM chris— if you go i’m dead.

03:02AM chris— YOU ARE BREAKING MY FUCKING HEART ANGEL. REPLY TO ME.

Very early in your life it was too late.

You will your body to move.

JAN. 2022 — SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA.

Chris was drunk.

It had been a long inebriation, settled deep between his bones, holding him there, over the edge. It had a name, but Chris refused to give into it just yet. Soon, but not yet.

There was a rage in him. It’d built a house in his rib cage, and there’d been no stopping it from growing. And it was growing; had been growing for a while—eight hundred and fifty two days, to be exact.

Chris had counted every.single.one of them.

Sitting on top of his black 2015 Chevrolet Camaro, he threw another empty bottle of beer on the dull pavement, with all the little fucking cracks, and bumps, and mistakes—

Yes, there was rage, and it was sizzling white, blinding him. There was rage, because there was grief. And God knows you’re not coming back, so anger is all he has now.

The bottle smashed, as the engines roared. Jisung was getting ready for another race. It hadn’t been but a couple hours since they got there, and they’d already made more than three thousand dollars. Chris had won the first round, and drank himself oblivious after that.

To celebrate, was tonight’s excuse.

If he closed his eyes, he could picture you. Beautiful, astute, waiting, hand extended for him to grab. There—always there with his eyes closed.

Nowhere to be found when he opened them.

“Hey, Bang!”

Chris barely turned to the sound of his surname. The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He took another swing of his new beer, watching as Yeji brought the scarf down, indicating for the racers to start. Jisung’s Nissan growled and he was gone, people cheering all around. Chris followed the cars with his eyes, up until the Devil’s turn and then tilted his head up at the night sky, leaning back on the hood.

“Bang!” The voice was closer, now. Seo Changbin.

“What the fuck do you want?” Chris replied, indifferently, not even bothering to address him.

“Race me. I’ll give you a thousand.”

“Fuck no.”

Changbin groaned, but didn’t give up.

“Upfront.”

Chris peeked at him at that, studying his face. His excited expression betrayed naivety, and Chris wasn’t in the mood to steal money from a rookie. Not only that, but Changbin’s car wasn’t anywhere near race ready, and well, that would probably be classified cheating, wouldn’t it?

“Hard pass, Seo,” he said, and stuck his hand out. Changbin clapped it, obviously disappointed. “But hey, I’ll come help you replace that stock down pipe. Saturday, yeah?”

The man nodded, smile back on his face. “Fuck yeah, bro! Take care of yourself, no? You look like shit.”

Chris chuckled, gaze back to the stars. “Fuck off, Changbin.”

“Say less.”

Changbin had been a high school friend, but after graduation the two drifted apart, Chris sticking with Jisung and Hyunjin, while Bin went off to university and joined a fraternity. Their love for cars remained, and even now, they would sometimes get together and work on Changbin’s Supra, but it would never be like before.

Something broke between them, and it could never be fixed. Maybe it was after he met you.

His murderer—cold case.

Chris chugged the beer, getting off his car. He needed to go for a drive, before he started a fight again. No one could call the cops on a street race, and he was sure—if he started, there was no stopping.

He threw the empty bottle harder this time, getting in. Turning the key, the engine roared—Chris pressed on the gas, car still in park. People close to him turned their heads, admired the smoothness of the sound, the sleek black of the exterior.

Chris ignored their stares, focused on his killing.

The glass smashed, shattering into a million, tiny fucking pieces. He smiled, bitterly.

So, that’s how it looked. His heart.

FEB. 2022 — SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA.

Hyunjin was reading Henry Miller, waiting at Arrivals, gate A2.

A regret was in process, but he swallowed it entire. You had asked, you had no one else. A favor to you—his sweet, precious friend—it couldn’t be wrong. And it wouldn’t be.

At last, you appeared. A myth taking shape; all these years passed, they all thought they dreamt you up. Had she ever been real, Chris had wondered one particular night, crying over a bottle of liquor, always Lark, always whiskey; Chris never drank before you, not the hard stuff. But frequenting at your bar had changed him, watching you dance in front of tens of men, undressing for their eyes—it cracked him. Fucked with his head.

‘Only but a shadow lifted,’ Hyunjin had replied.

‘A dream, then,’ he’d mourned. ‘A dream.’

Now, you were back, corporeal, and there were no words. When your eyes met, your own were glossy, sad with longing.

Hyunjin closed his book, and smiled softly at your figure, slowing down, taking him in. He opened his arms, overcome with relief.

No more of this knife turning, this terrible fucking horror of watching his best friend kill himself bit by bit. The angel had arrived, to breathe life back into him, to stop the torturing pain, the never ending punishment.

What were you, if not part of the Bible, returning to save them all. A salvation.

“Welcome back, sweetheart.”

You nuzzled into him, tears running hot, staining. Your arms squeezed tighter around his torso, missing the clean scent, the softness of his clothes.

Hyunjin had been like a brother to you, in a time where you had no one. He’d been patient, and kind, offering up his life, expecting nothing in return. He gave you Jisung, and eventually Chris, and the three of them filled you up in ways you’ve never before known possible.

You were back at the scene of the crime. Why? Because love is an anchor that settles over home, it is a resurrection, an open door that you leave, a candle that you light—

Because, despite you leaving, you never truly went anywhere if he was here all along. Love unmoving, terrifyingly still.

The both of you walked to Hyunjin’s car, your hand in his. He opened the passenger door for you to get in.

“You know you could’ve stayed with me,” he said, pulling out of the parking spot.

It was already evening in Sydney, the sky in flames. You had missed your city; Perth was wonderful, open, the people friendly enough, but Sydney is your soul. There was something about growing up there, being familiar with the streets, your friends…your club.

You’d missed dancing. You’d sworn off it the minute you decided to leave—Perth had been a standstill, a necessary pause from the rest of your life, completely separate. There you were the girl from before, naive and innocent, a stranger that had no memories, no recollection of fast cars, stripping, money, so fucking much of it—him.

Was it wrong of you to miss eating your own heart? Perth had been nice, it had been lovely, but it wasn’t real. It didn’t exist. The you that tried to escape—she’d failed, and now she was back. Starting from zero.

“No, Hyun. I have to do this on my own this time.”

He glanced at you, red light bringing him to a stop. “Who’s going to give you rides to the bar? Make sure you’re eating?”

You sighed, taking his hand, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on his palm.

“I was by myself for two years. Alone—do you know what it means, Hyunjin?”

Your friend didn’t look convinced, but humored you anyway. “I understand very well, (Y/N). It was a choice we all had to live with, whether we liked it or not.”

His words hurt you. You had no right to play victim when you had up and left, abandoning the only people in your life that loved you unconditionally. Hyunjin had been your roommate for four years, and you hadn’t even bothered to leave a note on your way out.

He had to come home and find half of your clothes gone, your toothbrush missing. He had to wait six hours before his calls could go through, his messages delivered. And then he had to wait two months before you showed him any signs of your being alive.

So yes, Hyunjin knew aloneness. He felt it everyday seeing your furniture intact, still in his guest room, he felt it every time he visited his friend, every time he had to carry him out his car, make sure he wasn’t dead. Every time Chris would hide his face, asking him to leave, embarrassed, devastated.

Being alone felt a lot like a girl boarding a plane and ruining a perfectly fine man.

“I’m sorry. I’ve hurt you irrevocably, and you should never forgive me,” you choked out, tears burning unshed. “But Hyunjin, if nothing else, please know I love you with everything in me.”

He nodded to that, swallowing hard, both hands on the wheel, knuckles white from his deathly grip on it.

“He still goes,” he revealed in a voice barely above a whisper. “To Lonely Star. He looks for you.”

You sobbed, then. Silently, hand over mouth, gaze locked out the window, buildings passing you by, the last bits of sun scorching your skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, and let it all spill out over the dashboard—emotions bouncing on the windshield, no escape for them now.

Now you had to deal with them. No more running away, no more pretending they weren’t there.

If running, why not go towards the things you love?

Hyunjin’s own eyes were wet, too. A regret was in process, and this time he’d let it take over. Because he felt it, the love annihilating, the time destroying. The heart that won’t do the beating, the words that won’t speak.

He hoped for this. If you were regretting, that means it’d hurt you just as much as it had them. So then, the hurting would’ve been for something.

“Will you tell him?” You asked, trying to will your tears to stop.

But your body will betray you, and your will won’t save you. You did this, it whispered, echoing inside of you. You caused it. Deal with it. Set it right.

“No. It’s not my place anymore,” he replied. “Either way, he’s been hanging out with Jisung lately. They’ve been racing a lot, making good money.”

What was racing to Chris Bang—an extension of him. Like an arm, or a lung, vital for his existence. You used to think he could survive without the adrenaline; the gas pedal, the stick shift, his tire grazed streets. All these things were fun, but they weren’t necessary, you’d thought. And it was true—to an extent, you could live without your arm, or one of your lungs, or your leg—but it wouldn’t ever be quite the same again, would it? It’d always feel like something’s missing.

Only then had you understood the nature of him. He breathed cars, he thrived off the thrill of a good race. He was incomplete without those things.

‘You think you have limits, yeah? Until you get out there, and you try this limit, and you think ‘okay, this is it, I can only go this far.’ But then you press down a little bit more…suddenly you’re limitless. A line that has no fucking end.’

God, how you missed him. The sound of his voice, the sight of him. The way he used to fuck you into the steering wheel, those arms that you remember so vividly holding you tight against him while you pieced yourself back together.

His patience with you. His autumn eyes, the way you fell and kept falling in them. This man had been carved of the same soul as you, you felt him entirely your own.

Which is why you let him go. It had gone too far, you had to pull the trigger first. God knows he could never hurt you.

“And you?” You asked, taking a good look at your friend. His hair was longer, covering the nape of his neck, dyed midnight black. His features carved, beautiful as always.

“Renowned artist, Hwang Hyunjin, at your service. I have a gallery now,” he smirked, sensing your need to change the subject.

You were nearing your destination—your new home.

“Of course you do. I saw all about it,” you smiled proudly at him. “You really deserve it, Hyun. You were born to paint.”

At that, he snorted, getting shy. “Perhaps.”

You tried not to think about yourself. What were you doing with your life again? Taking your clothes off for fast money. And yet you couldn’t seem to feel sorry for yourself—this world doesn’t spin the same for everyone.

Money was money, at the end of the day. Lonely Star always provided.

The club was drenched in blue light.

A solid crowd, all eagerly awaiting your first show back. A dark stage, and a spinning pole; low, hypnotizing music, bass heavy. It was all calling to you.

The owner sat at the bar, scanning the scene. You had been his favorite dancer, his most popular employee. When you left, you’d taken a lot of money with you. There was no way he’d lose you again. Not with a full house like this.

Chris got out of his car, locking it behind him. It was after hours, and the Lonely Star seemed an oasis amidst the driest desert for him. He’d gotten a call from Minho to pass by.

‘It’ll be worth your while,’ he’d promised. Something in his voice had convinced Chris to go.

Maybe it was instinct, his gut leading him. Maybe it’d been you, and your red string of fucking fate.

Because nothing was worthwhile for Lee Minho and his club, unless you were there.

God his witness, if he passed through those doors and saw you on that stage, he’d fucking lose it.

How long had you been hiding from him? Who knew and hadn’t told him? He was seething, jaw locking and unlocking, fingers fidgeting with the keys in his hand, trying very hard not to punch the first thing he saw.

Oh, he’d burn the fucking place to the ground. Take you with him and fuck you senseless, drill you to his fucking bed frame so you could never fucking run again.

The neon blue light encased him whole, invading his eyes. The bass of the music bounced in his chest, as he headed straight for the bar.

The stage was empty still, but it looked set up, like someone was about to perform.

“Whiskey. Straight,” he said to the bartender, clapping Minho’s back.

The man in question turned around, a cryptic look on his face. “How’ve you been, Chris?”

Chris scoffed, a quick thank you for the drink, before he kicked it back. The burn in his throat was nothing compared to what he felt throughout his entire body.

Every hair on him was on full alert. The idea of you being backstage, getting ready in one of your ridiculous little outfits that covered nothing but your cunt—two and a half years.

Two and a half fucking years and the first person that got to see you naked was Lee goddamn Minho. Did you really hate him that much?

Had he not given you every fiber of his being?

“Another one,” he ordered, hands clenched into fists on top of the counter.

Chris hang his head, gritting his teeth. All this time, he was dying a thousand deaths, every day, for you to just—

“You’d be wise to calm down,” Minho advised, calmly.

“You’d be wise to shut the fuck up,” he snapped, glaring at the grey haired man. “She’s here, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

Chris’ hand came down on the counter. The sound got drowned by the music, but the bartender jumped nonetheless, eyes wide staring at him.

The second drink was gone as soon as it came.

“You’ve been hiding her from me,” he growled, getting in Minho’s face.

The man remained unfazed. When drunk, Chris would usually get like this. If he wasn’t his friend, Minho would’ve thrown him out countless times.

He supposed there was good enough reason for his behavior today, and he couldn’t fault him. You and Chris had a tumultuous affair—something very intense, and dark, that Minho couldn’t quite understand.

When you left, everything crumpled. Entirely.

“Not exactly,” he said. “But in a sense. She’s staying at one of my apartments.”

Chris furrowed his eyebrows, swallowing needles. His mouth was dry. Pain shot through his chest. So it was true—you really were back.

Only feet away from him.

“You don’t deserve her. I can take care of her now. I swear, Lee, if you touch a hair on her goddamn head—” he fumed, grabbing him by the shirt.

Minho looked down at his now wrinkled shirt, smirking. “You do know I own this place, right? There’s people way bigger than you that don’t like you very much right now.”

Chris chuckled darkly, bringing him closer. “You think I give a fuck about your fucking bodyguards?” he spat.

“You will, if you don’t let go of me.”

The two men measured each other in the swimming lights, before Chris caved, taking a deep breath, and moving away from him.

He drank that third glass slowly, his anger barely contained. It was there, though, waiting, lurking to be set free. Chris would not find peace until he exploded.

“I am not interested in your girl. Business wise, yeah, she’s the best I got. I’m planning on keeping her around for a long time. But that’s it.”

The song changed to something sultry, with heavier bass. Lights dimming, whispers erupted through the crowd. Minho smiled, turning his attention to the stage.

Chris had never looked away.

And it would always be like the first time he ever saw you; walking out from behind the curtains, your hips swaying seductively, you grabbed onto the pole, twirling slowly. Everyone seemed to be hanging from your next move, leaning closer, holding their breath.

You were a vision. A dream his mind conjured up, stained in pretty pinks and blues, the lace on your body made of the finest nightmare—he’d finally gone mad. It couldn’t be you, real, there, right there, so close he could touch you?

Surely not. Surely you wouldn’t mercy him so generously.

Nothing else mattered. You, up on that stage, spinning like a fucking goddess on that pole, your smooth skin sparkling, your angelic, beautiful face—his fucking hell on earth.

He moved towards you in a trance, his love and hate for you having a bar fight. You had made it so incredibly clear—he was not worthy of you, did not deserve you. You left him for dead, and disappeared for what felt like an unbearable eternity.

Now you’re in front of him, his cruel, beautiful girl, a graceful ballerina upside down on that pole, doing the splits, and all he can think about is—you don’t give a shit about him.

You never fucking did. He loved you, loves you, so entirely, would give his soul, whatever there was left, sacrifice himself to the fucking Devil if it meant you’d be his again, and you just—

Felt nothing. You punished him like this?

Oh, he’d show you pain. He’d make it hurt so good.

Chris stood right under your feet. He could hear the other men around him curse at him, call out for him to get out the way, but he dared them to do something about it. He had to make you see—he was there, he knew.

Your eyes recognized him as you fell to your knees, discarding your top. He stared you down, his eyes glistening, his face set, hard lines around his mouth. His luscious, full mouth.

Chris. Real, mad at you. Clad in black jeans and a white shirt, hair styled away from his sharp face. Your heart, looking at you like a stranger.

A gasp escaped your lips, frozen in place. ‘He still goes. He looks for you,’ Hyunjin’s voice echoed in your head.

Bills flying all around you, life played out in slow motion as you saw the stack of money on his hands. You blinked at it, tears stuck to your eyelids.

“Dance,” he demanded, squinting down at you. “That’s how you get these, right?” He shook the bills at you, his hands shaking for another reason entirely.

You saw it, the hate in his eyes. From his perspective, you were a terrible woman, a woman that played him like a fool, and disappeared on him afterwards, once the fun was over. He was dirt poor back then, had nothing to offer. Why would you entertain a loser like him, right?

He couldn’t be further from the truth. But there was no way to show him. And you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You had no control of your body.

To disappear. To disappear completely.

You looked for Minho, who was sitting at the bar, watching the scene play out. You looked a lot like a fallen angel, to him. He was interested to see the ending of this.

He lifted a hand to his bodyguard. Stay put.

The lights were blinding you, there was nothing beyond the man standing in front of you. In your chest, panic. There was no way you could do this. No way in Hell.

“I said fucking dance,” he leaned down to grab your chin, roughly. “That’s all you’re good for, yeah?”

What it took for you to not curl into yourself, then. He had hurt you with your biggest insecurity. You couldn’t escape the club, knowing your dancing always brought you a lot of money. He knew this—he used it against you.

“Don’t look at me like I’ve hurt you,” he said, close to your mouth, gaze scorching.

“What the fuck, man! You’re not supposed to touch the girl,” one of the customers said, getting up from his seat.

More retaliated, but got drowned out by the music. Chris turned around, a deadly calmness settling over him.

“That’s my fucking girl. I can do whatever the fuck I want with her.”

You used his anger as fuel to get up from the ground, and grab the pole once again. Falling into it, you used your momentum to jump and latch your legs around the cool silver, twirling while extending your arms, your hips moving slowly to the beat of the music you’d chosen for the night.

He wanted a show, you’d give him one. For old times sake.

Letting your head fall back, you saw his face change, pain morphing back into unadulterated anger, as he started throwing dollar bills your way.

You closed your eyes, tears finally escaping you, as you came all the way down, knees hitting the floor. You were disgusted with yourself, with the way his money fell on you, so you escaped to the top of the pole, your entire body hurting.

Most of all your own soul. A betrayal. He’d thought you betrayed him, all this time. And wasn’t he right to assume?

But it wasn’t the truth. And would he listen to you now? Did you deserve his time, after everything?

Chris had seen enough. He was fucking done. He dumped the rest of the money on you, watching it lick all over your skin, your back on the stage floor, your hand running over the crevice of your breast.

He was sick to his stomach with want, his own hands aching with yearning. His cock had never stopped getting rock hard just with the thought of you, but having you naked under him like this, and not being able to hide inside you was pure fucking torture.

He’d rather the poison. He’d rather the clean kill.

He turned to walk away, when fingers closed around his own, the touch faint, but there. Enough to stop him dead on his tracks.

Chris looked at your panicked face. He furrowed his brows at you, and shook your touch off. You were playing tricks, fucking with his head.

You wanted nothing to do with him. One thing he never gave you, he showered you with whole. And there was so much more where that had come from—Chris was fucking drowning in money. He had so much of it, he didn’t know what the fuck to do.

Four thousand was on the floor behind you. All hundreds. And yet you didn’t seem to care about it at all, instead trying to grab onto him again. This time it was his shirt.

He wished for death, then, truly, genuinely. What were you doing with him? Had you no mercy? Couldn’t you see you had him on his knees, gun to his mouth?

Let me die. Let me die, now, as she’s holding on to me. This will never happen again.

“Please,” he heard you say. Those weren’t crystals on your cheeks, they were tears.

You, crying for him. What fresh Hell, what godforsaken dream was this—

“Chris.” His name on your lips.

Oh, fuck him straight to the depths of the darkest fucking pit. Bury him alive. He wasn’t wasting this. If it hurt him again, so be it.

You were calling out his name. He was drunk, but that had been real. As real as his heart bursting into flames, a forest fire spreading to the rest of his organs, tearing him down from the inside.

“Curse the fucking pull you have on me—”

He took his shirt off, covering you up, and slid his hands under you, picking you up. You wrapped your legs around his torso, arms circling around his neck.

Home. Home, at long last. You sobbed from joy, as he walked both of you out of the club, everything else becoming static noise, background music.

There would never be anything more important than having you in his arms. You completed him in every possible way. He loved you in death, would follow you hands tied, eyes blind.

There will never be anyone else for him. Never.

You didn’t make it far. His lips had devoured yours as soon as the doors had closed behind you. Taking a turn into the club’s alleyway, he slammed you against the wall, his hands protecting your back, grazing against the rough wall—he breathed you in, lips never once leaving your mouth.

Your naked chests touching, your nails scratched over his toned arms, fingers wrapping around the nape of his neck. He’d filled in so deliciously, though his face had been full of edges.

You never wanted to stop kissing him. You wanted him to take you right there, fuck you raw. No one could possibly understand—this need inside you, it was raging against your very skin.

You needed him to fuck you. Needed him inside you to put out, to silence, to release. Please, please, please—

“Use me, baby. Take it,” he whispered fiercely against your mouth, staring deep in your eyes. “Whatever you need.”

You grabbed ahold of his wide shoulders, just as his fingers moved the thin material of your lingerie. He cupped your cunt, and you moved against him, lips falling open, a moan escaping you.

“Goddamnit, (Y/N). You’re killing me,” his fingers slipped inside you, taking, annihilating.

His touch, blazing against your cold skin, resurrecting you from the grave, goosebumps rising all over. This is how it felt, your body told him. This is what I feel for you, this is how I react to your touch alone—hide inside me. Come home now.

He was relentless, fucking into you with his digits, mouth attacking your mouth, your neck, your ears—his breath was hot, panting. You dug your nails on his shoulders, screams weak and raspy.

Then he stopped. “Open your mouth for me,” he ordered, sticking his fingers in, swirling them around.

You licked them, sucked them dry, tasting yourself on him. He watched you with hungry eyes, trapped against him, naked for him. You had returned—to him. He was going to ruin you until there was nothing left.

Until all you knew was him. He was fucking obsessed with your body, furious you’d refused him yourself for this long.

“My good fucking girl,” he removed his fingers with a ‘pop’, your hands already unbuttoning his jeans, getting lost under the waistband of his underwear.

You rubbed him a couple times, but it just wasn’t enough. You needed him in your mouth, you needed— fuck, all you really needed—

“Let me down,” you said, unwrapping your legs from him. He let you, dazed, and you quickly got on your knees.

When you took him in your mouth, both of you groaned simultaneously, overwhelmed. Chris put one arm against the wall, holding himself up, eyes watching his cock disappear between your lips. Heaven—pure fucking bliss to be like this with you.

“My girl. Mine, mine, mine,” he repeated, over and over, like a mantra. “Made for me.”

It felt a lot like racing, you blowing him. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, heart bursting. His two favorite things. Nothing else mattered, nothing else could fucking compare.

He bucked his hips, his other hand grabbing ahold of your head, his stomach muscles flexing. You felt fucking incredible. He wanted to go on forever, but your tongue was working him loose, your palm rubbing him just right. He’d blow, and he didn’t wanna do in your mouth.

He wanted to get lost inside you.

He tapped on your mouth, releasing himself, pulling you up. “Get up, my beautiful girl. Let me feel you,” his breathing was labored, his eyes ablaze.

Hands on your ass, he picked you up again with no difficulty at all. You kissed him hard, and his hand got lost in your hair, bringing you closer. Moving your panties aside, you positioned his hard cock on your entrance, rocking against him, moaning, panting, tears running down your face, mixing with sweat.

He pressed his forehead against yours, shushing you. “I know, baby girl,” he mumbled, eyes closed.

Then he pushed. You cried out, wrapping your arms around his neck. He slammed into you, bottoming out, and paused, taking a sharp breath. He was violently shaking; not because of exhaustion, but because he’d dreamt of this exact moment a million times, and every time he would wake up alone, realizing he was crying in his sleep.

That terrible half life away from you—and now you were there, and he was touching you, was inside you—his dream come true.

“Goddamn you for taking this away from me,” he choked out, visibly in pain, tears falling miserably from his beautiful, autumn eyes.

You wiped them away, your own still burning, and cried with him, as he fucked into you, slow in the beginning, getting used to you again, holding back in case you wanted to run again, giving you that time to obliterate him once and for all, but—after a point he was just too fucking gone.

There was no more holding back. He drilled you into the wall, all the while his knuckles raw and bloody against your back, his chest your chest, his breath your breath. He was fucking you like a starved man, arms enveloping you, mouth colonizing. Your voice was hoarse, your release near.

“Fuck me, fuck, Chris… God! Please, please, I need to, I need to, please,” you begged, scratching his back, drawing blood. He let you.

He let you have it all. His hands guided your hips on his cock, keeping you steady, allowing you your pace.

“I got you, angel. Fuck on me, baby.”

“Please, I’m so close,” you moaned, head falling back into brick.

He needn’t be told twice. He resumed pounding into you, taking your lips for his. His tongue fighting for dominance, open mouthed—he won. He would win every time, because he could have everything.

You didn’t care anymore. He could swallow you whole.

“Fuck,” he growled, death grip on your hips. “Baby girl, look at me.”

You did. You searched his eyes, nodding to yourself. It was too much, it was so much, he was so wonderful, so beautiful, ruined, sweaty, his smell, just his smell was enough, and you—

You came hard, all over his cock. As if he sensed it, he followed after you, walls painted white. He fisted your hair, pulling you into a sloppy, possessive kiss.

“No one will ever fuck you like I do,” he muttered, his lips dragging over your cheek. “No one will ever love you as much as I fucking do, baby.”

You breathed hard, coming down from your high, ashamed to look at him. He was suffocatingly close, promising you things that you didn’t deserve in the slightest.

“Look at me,” he whispered softly, his index finger guiding your face towards him.

You kept your gaze to his chest; his chiseled muscles, his strong arms, his swimmer shoulders, that thin chain around his neck glistening under the street lights, his big Adam’s apple, the way it bopped as he swallowed.

Chris put you down gently, zipping his pants up, and proceeding to pass his shirt over your head, hiding your breasts from view. You’d given enough of a show—the rest was for his eyes only.

“You’re regretting it,” he said, voice devoid of emotion.

“No,” you replied, sharply. “That’s not it. Chris, I’ve hurt you so much…” you trailed off.

“How can you still love me?” you asked, helplessly, hugging your arms.

He took a step forward, your back getting pressed against the wall once again. Both arms over your head, there was no one more beautiful, more enticing than him at that moment.

But you had been selfish. You’d taken and taken, and you’d dried him out. Back in the club, his image haunting you—he looked a dead man walking.

Absolutely devoid of life. And it had all been your fault.

“Because you’re mine,” he answered, tone deep, raspy. “I never stopped believing you’d come back to me.”

He grabbed your hand, put it over his heart. A sob wretched out of your throat, and you hang your head. He covered your fingers with his, squeezing.

“This goddamn thing—it’s only ever beat for you. There is nothing you can do to me now, that I haven’t already gone through, angel.”

You bit your lips, devastated, defeated. Here he was, offering himself up, to use and abuse him, and you were refusing him, again, because of your own weaknesses.

Oh, you didn’t deserve this man one bit. And yet, you’d be greedy, anyway.

One last time.

“Take me home, Chris.”

He sped through the empty streets, one hand on the steering wheel, the other over yours on the gearbox.

Looking at him now, handling his car so expertly, as easy as breathing to him, you wondered how many hours he’d dedicated to learning this vehicle so intimately.

Hyunjin told you he was racing more now. And all that money he’d thrown on you earlier…just how involved was he in illegal racing?

Before you left, he’d almost gotten arrested for it, and excessive speeding. He’d barely lost the cops, maneuvering through avenues and ending up on the highway, high on adrenaline, Jisung on speakerphone telling him how messed up he was.

Ever since you met him, Chris had been working on cars. Junk cars, cars that no one would give a second thought about. He took them in to his garage, and brought them back to life. That had been his job, when you two got together—he’d get scrap vehicles, make them race able, and sell them.

It didn’t pay much, but his eyes held so much passion doing it, that you could never bring yourself to mention anything to him. He was wasting himself, his talent. Regardless of what you thought, his knowledge and skills only got better because of that dead end job.

When he started racing himself—that’s when he realized his true calling. At first he sucked ass. But with trial and error, he studied the cars that beat him, their motors, and slowly started ordering the parts needed for the ultimate race car.

He bought his Camaro with Jisung’s help. Jisung had been a racer since before they’d graduated high school. He was one of the best in Sydney, but he also happened to be Chris’ best friend.

So with that extra push, Chris came to be what he was. Then you left, and everything else went to shit, except this. His car. The meet ups—his streets. It was the only thing that kept him from fucking shooting his brains out.

He was so focused, when driving. He loved going fast, it was evident in his face every time he stepped on the gas. You couldn’t help but admire him, the way he’d dedicated himself to this one thing, loved it so utterly.

You loved him. You loved him in a way that could raise the dead from their graves.

“Pull over,” you told him, as if waking up from a dream. “Please.”

He did, barely getting to pull the e-brake, before you straddled him. Chris adjusted under you, hands on your waist, gaze dark, watching your every move.

“Do you still hate me?” you asked, bracing your heart.

His eyes moved, trying to discern your expression, wishing he could read your thoughts. Your hips started grinding on his thighs, your mouth falling open.

“Yes,” he confessed, holding you in place, taken aback.

“Why?” You moved one of his hands underneath the fabric of your shirt, over your breast.

He growled, low, wanting to get in your head—what the fuck were you playing at? He was mad with desire.

“Because you can leave me.” His other hand went to your throat, squeezing, pushing your back against the steering wheel.

“Show me,” you whispered.

He attacked your neck, licking, biting, teeth grazing behind your ear. You wrapped around him like a vine, taking it all, your cunt getting wet just with the thought of him filling you up in his car, just like all those times before.

“Fuck me,” you moaned on his lips. “I need you.”

Your hands unzipped his jeans, pulling his fully erect cock out. You salivated at the sight of it, wanted to take him deep in your mouth. But you needed him inside you more, needed to feel him as part of you, to convince yourself that he was real, that everything would be okay now.

“Chris, please, please—”

“Shut up, be quiet.”

Chris lifted you by the waist, slamming you down on his dick, hissing as you clenched around him. Your eyes met, his cruel gaze dropping to your mouth, reaching and taking your bottom lip between his lips, biting down on it. You whined, fucking yourself on him, his hands guiding your pace.

“Goddamn you, (Y/N). Fuck,” he cursed, his head falling, resting against your sternum, forehead pressing on your collarbone.

And then he started pistoling into you. You screamed, death grip on his shoulders, as you felt the steering wheel dig into your lower back.

His hips moved incessantly, without rest, reaching into the deepest parts of you, taking, devouring, stealing. You could cry with the closeness of him. It was divine—your cunt was on fire, his cock pure gasoline.

“Fucking slut,” he growled in your ear, his mouth everywhere, his voice ricocheting on your skin. “You craved cock this much?”

“Yours,” you breathed, shaking. “Only yours.”

He laughed humorlessly, arms tightening around you, thrusting, killing you. “Yet she’s so willing to undress in front of other men.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, finding his eyes.

They were looking to wound. “Truth hurts, baby?” He asked, voice laced with poison.

You couldn’t breathe. His cock was ramming into you so hard, so fast, tears were stuck on your eyelids—it hurt. It hurt more because it was meant to.

“Tell me, baby girl,” he panted, bringing you flush against him, his hands moving your ass on him.

“I’m so close, oh my God—”

Your thighs were burning with exhaustion.

“Fucking tell me—don’t you dare fucking cum—has anyone else fucked this cunt?”

You scrunched your face, pain erupting in your chest, at the thought of this question replaying over and over inside his head. You’d ruined this beautiful shell of a man.

Now you had to glue him back together.

“Answer me, (Y/N)!” He seized moving, now shaking you violently. “You’re not cumming until you fucking tell me.”

“No! Fuck you, Chris, no, goddamnit.” You collapsed on him, overcome with grief. “Stop fucking acting like you were the only one hurting!”

He made no attempt to console you, his fingers still digging into your ribs. “Don’t you fucking dare turn this around—you chose to leave. I had no fucking choice.”

“Please…” you sobbed, brokenly. “I’m yours. No one’s touched me, Chris.”

His anger hit you in waves. You felt him physically restraining himself from doing anything too harsh, instead pushing you off of him, and onto the passenger seat, on your hands and knees.

You went to speak, before he slammed into you again. This time he was absolutely ruthless, searching only for one thing. Release.

His hand coming down on your ass, again and again, he fucked you hard until you came apart.

“You fucking whore, is this what you wanted? Atonement?”

You shook your head, unable to reply, unable to move. He loved you enough to let you finish, but he still didn’t trust you. You couldn’t blame him. You couldn’t blame him at all.

He pulled out of you roughly, leaving you naked and used. You’d asked for it; you’d been sure that’s what he’d needed. But you couldn’t help regretting ever asking for his honest feelings.

They burned holes through you.

You heard him fumbling with his jeans, and then the door slammed. Slowly turning to sit down, your back sore, you watched as he lit a cigarette, the way his body curved towards the lighter, how it hang from his full lips, as he rose his arms, put them on top of his head.

What a fucking man you loved. Shirtless, a God—if only you weren’t so toxic for each other. Oh, how your heart broke, watching him in conflict with his own self.

But that’s why you’d come back every time, for the rest of time. Because it’s him, because it’s you—together. Because this feeling is intoxicating.

You knew you shouldn’t—you got out.

He pierced you with black eyes. “Get the fuck back in the car.”

You didn’t dare move towards him. “We should break up.”

Chris looked at you bewildered. He huffed out a laugh, hitting his head with his hands, furious, drunk, out of it. What else? What fucking else?

“(Y/N), God my fucking witness, get back in the goddamn car, before I fucking do something I regret.”

“Chris, look at you,” you said, softly, sad.

Cigarette between his fingers, you saw his heavy boots move towards you, now standing before you. His chest was falling and rising, his hair a mess.

Handsome. Handsome as ever. You met his enraged gaze.

“This is what you did to me!” He yelled at you. You flinched, taking a step back. He paused upon seeing your reaction, turning his head away, licking his lips, collecting himself. “Who I am, it’s because of you. So, no,” he chuckled humorlessly, “we’re not breaking up. You’re stuck with me, baby. You’re going nowhere,” he finished, voice dangerous, but gentle.

“Now get inside, before I kill some motherfuckers,” he glared at the cars beeping, catcalling you.

“You’re staying with me.”

✑ Summary: Finally getting a day off, your boyfriend takes you out on a date. Everything is sickeningly sweet until you visit a cute little lingerie store. All he wants to do now is get busy in the dressing room.

Pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x girlfriend!reader

AU/genre: fluff, smut, established relationship

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Oh you know, just soft coupley things that make me wanna squeal and then…, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, semi-public sex, sex in front of the mirror, foreplay, dirty talk, penetration, breath play, vaginal fingering, breast play, tiny bit of biting, cunnilingus, a lot of licking….lets just say that, overstimulation, tiny bit of degradation at the end (jk calls reader a whore, reader says she wants to be called a slut), light ass spanking

Now Playing: Paradise - Bazzi

A/N: hi guys 👀 me again lmao...i love established relationship AUs so dang much so i wrote this. I hope you enjoy 😗💜

Twisting in front of your bedroom mirror, you allow the delicate material of your dress to flow around your figure. You and Jungkook have agreed that spending the day together is much needed after your crazy, off the wall schedules keeps menacing with your relationship. Nothing in particular is planned though, it’ll be wherever the day takes you.

A pair of soft hands reach forward and set along your waist as you pat yourself down. You smile seeing your exceptionally handsome boyfriend in the reflection, his head calmly rests on your shoulder.

“You ready?” Jungkook pecks your cheek. The subtle action has every bone in your body quivering.

“In a minute,” you reply, taking in his appearance. Black t-shirt paired with a light jacket, dark washed jeans, and of course, he’s got his piercings in. His hair’s freshly washed too, locks still damp.

“Okay, but you look gorgeous as is,” he insists. “You don’t need to keep sprucing up you know.”

“But I want to look pretty for you.” You casually shoot back.

Jungkook pecks your cheek again. “You’re beautiful.” He pecks the side of your neck. “You’re sexy.” And turns your face towards his to peck your lips. “I love you always. Let’s go.”

You let out a small whine but he laces his fingers into yours and leads you out of the room.

Your date starts with brunch at a nearby cafe. The atmosphere is welcoming upon entrance. Everything is clean and consists of warm colors ranging from an intense orange to blush blue. It’s moderately crowded being the weekend but you manage to claim a window seat.

While you wait for a server, a few diners gaze your direction from a table diagonal to yours. They seem to be giggling and whispering to each other. You’re unsure what all the gossip's about until you realize they’re staring at your boyfriend. You suppress a smile but it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You look like you have something to share,” Jungkook speaks up, intrigued.

“Mm.” You shake your head, denying the accusation.

“Tell me.”

“You just…have some admirers is all.”

Jungkook whips his head around at your words, scanning the room carefully. Grin spreads timidly across his face when he notices the group of individuals you’re referring to. He gives a tiny wave their direction, causing them to turn excitedly amongst each other.

“And what about you?” He returns his focus to you. “Are you my admirer too?”

“Maybe,” shoulders shrug as you crook your head sideways.

“How ‘bout now?” He leans over and steals a kiss.

“Maybe yes.”

“That’s not a definite answer. Should I keep giving you kisses until you admit you’re mine?” Lips move to capture yours again but the clearing of a throat puts it at a halt.

Jungkook yanks himself back in his original upright position, blinking up at your waitress standing at the edge of the table. The young woman greets you both with a cheerful smile that says get a room.

.

After brunch you decide to walk to the creek, arms entangling with one of his. It's been a secret place for the both of you since first getting together. Sure, a few other people know about it but it's tucked in, mostly hidden from the public eye. You and Jungkook happened to stumble upon it during one of your spontaneous outings. The steepness of the climb has had you secured in his grip many times before but you assure him you're well capable to trail down yourself today.

"Watch your step," he cautions, allowing you in front of him. “Don’t go too fast.”

"I got it, I got-Ahh!"

Okay maybe you're not so capable as you thought. One wrong step and you're sliding down the hill with Jungkook anxiously racing down to catch you.

"Y/N!" He stops your movement with a strong grip. You wince at the scraping of your legs. "Must you always be this stubborn?" He sturdies his stance and hauls you up in his arms.

"I prefer independent,” you correct.

"Your dress is stained and you have scratch marks all over your legs.”

"Evidence of my bravery."

"Are you actually okay baby?" His concern makes your eyes gleam. He’s always taking care of you.

"Extremely so," you snuggle into his chest, wrists locking together around his neck.

Jungkook carries you all the way to the bottom of the creek. He gently guides you down on your feet once finding a comfortable area. The bubbling of the water calls both of your attention almost immediately.

“Shall we?” You enclose your hand in his and start rock hopping. Jungkook chuckles at your eagerness.

“Y/n, what’d we learn about going too fast?”

“That a strong, muscly man like you will be hot on my trail, ready to rescue me!”

“Babe come on.”

“What? Am I going to need to get a new muscly man?”

“No, never! Only me.”

You look over your shoulder and throw him a wide smile. He’s always cutest when a hint of his possessive side sneaks out. Last week he stopped by your work during lunch and witnessed a coworker of yours hovering a little too close behind you. It was an accident but Jungkook didn’t see it as such and for the whole rest of the day, a pout rested on his face.

A bit more rock hopping and you feel the urge to rest and take in the scenery. Jungkook guides you to sit between his legs once finding an ideal landing area. The position gives you a direct view of the water rippling down the current while lush greenery shades you from the harsh beams of the sun. You relax into his chest, feeling the beat of his heart—complete ecstasy overtakes you.

.

Hours pass and evening falls. Looks like you lingered at the creek longer than expected, but it’s not like you were running on a schedule anyway. This was your day and you could do whatever you wanted. Jungkook even took a short nap believe it or not.

Strolling back to the middle of town, you notice many businesses remain open but the cafe you ate at for brunch is closed. Makes sense having only served breakfast and lunch items.

“Wanna go in?” You gesture to the mall up ahead. There’s a pretty decent crowd bustling inside, stirring your curiosity.

“Sure,” Jungkook replies. “Might as well see what all the hypes about.”

Entering the glass doors, red balloons and oversized signs catch your gaze. There’s a sale today, duh. No wonder there’s a slew of people gathering in here.

You and Jungkook scan the expanse of the mall but nothing quite catches your eye like the little lingerie shop who’s sign glows pink. You glance at each other, faint smirk on both your faces.

“Try this on.” Your boyfriend hands you what is probably the skimpiest bra and panty set you’ve ever seen. The amount of cut outs and transparent sections makes you wonder if you ought to just go naked instead.

“This is like three sizes too small for me Jungkook.” You shake the item at him, seeing right through his antics. “I’m not gonna be able to breathe.”

“It was all that was left,” he lies, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Obviously it’s a very hot commodity. Just try it on once. Go on, baby.” He nods towards the dressing rooms.

“You try it on,” you shove the material at him but he pushes it back into your hand.

“Please?” Head crooked to the side, Jungkook flashes you his doe eyes. Unfair, really. How can he make himself look that cute when you know he’s thinking about railing you against the nearest wall tonight?

You grip the fabric tighter and dangle it by your side. “The things I do for you,” you grit and walk towards the dressing room. Jungkook follows close behind, making sure to give your ass a little spank along the way.

.

Once inside the changing room, you observe the contraption in its full essence. There’s no way this is going on your body smoothly. You remove your clothes and start wiggling into the set.

Yup, just as you thought. The panties barely cover your ass cheeks and the bra…don’t even get started on the bra. It’s lacy that’s for sure but also extremely see-through around the nipple area. Definitely the main selling point for Jungkook. He loves anything that shows even a sliver of your tits.

“Jungkook?” You poke your head out from the door of your changing room.

Your boyfriend looks up from his phone and leans off the wall. He strolls up to you, anticipation playing on his face. “Let me see.”

“Okay but just so you know, I can barely move in this.” The door creaks wide, revealing your form. Jungkook doesn’t even try containing the grin pulling on his lips.

“Fuck yeah, that’s coming home with us,” he cuts shortly, scanning over your body like a starved animal.

“This is squeezing me in every way possible. Can’t you choose something else?”

He steps into the stall, hands reaching out to grip your bare sides. “Nope, I choose this. You look stunning baby, sexy as fuck. Wanna shove you up against the back of this door and pound you that’s how much this turns me on.”

“Jungkook…this is a public place. Keep it in your pants until we get home.” You try shrugging his hold off but your boyfriend, evidently stronger than you, anchors his hands around your waist.

“Not sure if I can do that baby,” he says, pressing himself against your body, making you feel his growing erection. “I think it wants out.”

Scoffing, you send him an eye roll. “It always wants out.”

“And that’s a problem how?” He retaliates, grinding into you nice and firm. The motion has your legs shift apart, arousal builds in your core almost instantly. You’re beginning to truly realize how easy it takes for your boyfriend to get you going.

Embarrassingly easy.

“Jungkook,“ you lift your arms around his neck as if habitual.

“Is this you saying yes to a quickie?”

“Lock the door,” you bite your lip expectantly.

He’s desperate. Ferocious even. You try with all your might to keep in perfect sync with his lips but it’s impossible. He's determined to drown you out. You end up slipping a hand down to palm his bulge, knowing he’ll groan in response. And groan he does; long and deep. You love it. But as if triggered, your body’s forced around immediately, back tight against his muscular chest.

“Fucking look at yourself baby," he grabs a hold of your thighs and squeezes them roughly. "Absolutely addicting.”

You stare at your reflection in the mirror facing you, Jungkook's eyes are staring back. It's a bit surreal and you find yourself freezing momentarily. Was this your life? You watch as he moves his lips to the edge of your neck, eagerly applying open mouth kisses to the area. Your eyes threaten to close at the sensation but your boyfriend gives you a little nip, drawing a sharp yelp out of you.

“Keep them open,” he demands, tongue brushing over the slightly sore spot. The gesture sends waves of pleasure up your spine. It's very difficult to do as he says in this condition but you do it anyway.

Satisfied, Jungkook returns to sucking on your neck. He sneaks his arms under yours to gather your breasts in his palms at the same time. You reflexively draw a hand up and card through his hair with your fingers.

“Your tits look so hot in this,” he comments, pushing them together in a tight ball. "Shit." Thumbs glide across the tips of your buds as he continues kneading your breasts rougher and rougher until—

“Fuck!” Jungkook eyes dilate when your breasts pop out of the bra. All his endless groping managed to completely dismantle the material. Its straps are hanging off your shoulders and the clasp is ripped out of place.

“You busted it!” You spin to face him but he pays no attention to your protest. Instead, he throws the barely there bra off in one motion and starts mouthing your mounds like a beast. The delicious friction causes your back to arch and head to snap back simultaneously.

“Ahh—Jungkook this—arhh!”

“You know I love your singing baby but unless you want someone to catch us, I suggest you stifle some of those moans,” he mutters switching between your breasts.

Reluctantly, you bite back every whine that's begging to escape out but Jungkook isn't making it easy. He tugs your nipples with his teeth, tongue darting out to circle over them for extra stimulation. You find yourself quickly loosing your balance and stumble back into the door of the changing room. Jungkook grunts and follows your movement, lips still enveloped around a tit. He gives the other a few lengthy sucks before finally pulling off. Yeah, these are going to be aching tomorrow.

“You’re a tit man through and through,” you pant, heart pounding.

“Guilty,” he shrugs before yanking your panties down to your ankles. You gladly step out of them, fully aware of what's to come. “Look how much you’re dripping baby,” he says collecting some of the arousal glistening along your folds.

“Jungkook, I-you said this was going to be a quickie.”

“Yeah, I did,” he replies and plunges two of his fingers into your wet, hot cunt. “But you know you need to come at least once before you can take me. Always gotta stretch this tight little pussy out, ain’t that right baby?”

“J-Jungkook!!” Pleasure spikes through your system as he breaks through your walls. This isn’t your first time but it sure fucking feels like it.

"Apparently my baby needs help staying quiet hm?" His free hand encloses around the base of your neck without warning, applying enough pressure to keep you from being too loud but without hurting you. The hold sends you into overdrive.

Jungkook studies your face; eyes rolled back and lids closed. He feels his length throbbing in his pants as he views your fucked out state. You hear the squelching of your heat increase with every twist of his fingers, provoking him to pump faster. A couple of hard curls later and he has your pussy spasming, triggering your first orgasm. Jungkook removes his grip around your neck as your cum rapidly spills over his fingers.

You feel some of the sticky substance run down your inner thigh when he extracts himself from your cunt but it doesn't get far. With the flat of his tongue, Jungkook cleans it up until there’s no trace of excess spillage left. He decides to do the same to your pussy but ends up getting carried away and dips his tongue between your weeping folds, ramming it in and out.

"Too much," you pull on his hair but he's unfazed. "Jungkook too much…I can't—"

And there you go, your second orgasm rips through your body in a hurricane of vibrations. Your boyfriend gives your pussy one last stripe with his tongue before popping off to grip the band of his pants.

Fully hard and leaking, you whimper at the sight of his cock out of its restraints. How it manages to fit inside your cunt makes your head spin. Your mouth waters as you prepare to drop to your knees but he stops you from lowering yourself mid-motion.

“This floor’s too damn dirty baby,” he coos. “And you’re too beautiful to get on your knees right now so I’m gonna hold you up and fuck you like you deserve.”

Your thighs are raised into his palms before you have time to counter. Jungkook secures you up along the wall of the dressing room, your arms lock around neck for extra support. The lack of distance between your bodies has the head of his length teasing your entrance. You’re about to tell him to hurry up and push in but he slams into you before you can squeak the words out.

“F-fuck,” you gasp having the breath knocked out of you.

Your eyes shift to the mirror angled in the corner behind you both. It’s position allows you a perfect view of Jungkook’s length sheltering itself in you over and over. You’ve never really watched your boyfriend fuck the daylights out of you before. Maybe you should do it more, seeing as the pressure in your core heightens in response.

“Dammit baby,” he buries his face in the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “I’m not gonna last much longer when you feel like a fucking dream around me.”

“Well same here,” your chest rises heavily against his. “I think I’m going to fall apart the way your cock’s drilling into me.”

Unable to restrain himself further, his thick, hard length beats itself in your inviting walls at a pace so overwhelming it has you shaking and clenching in seconds. Jungkook brings his lips feverishly over yours. Tongues roll in each others mouths to keep either of you from screaming and alerting outsiders.

Your kisses get sloppy with every thrust of his hips and you end up exploding around him first, bathing him in your cum. He shoots his load in you closely after. The mixture of warmth draws a long moan from both of you as you relax into each other’s bodies.

Once you recover your breath, Jungkook sets your feet back on the ground. You find yourself wobbling ever so slightly, earning you a cocky smirk from your boyfriend.

“You okay?” he asks, knowing you’re not.

You steady yourself on the surface of the door with a hand. “Every time we fuck you manage to make me come faster,” you start slowly. “I might not be able to keep up much longer.”

“Baby,” he picks up his pants from the bench. “You can’t even keep up now.”

Fire reignited, you meet the whites of his eyes. “Hurry up and get your clothes on because when we get home I want you to on your back, calling me a slut while I ride your cock until you’re begging me to slow down.”

“Shit, you’re gonna make me come again.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that you little whore.”

Well, looks like this date's become like the rest; starts sweet and ends steamy. Are you surprised though? Not when it's Jungkook you're dating.

A/N: Hey guys thanks for all your reads on this fic, means a lot that you'd stop by 😊 Please let me know your thoughts if you enjoyed this; a little encouragement goes a long way for writers like me 💜😘

@bloodline1632 @jasminperez18

Masterlist

make you feel my love

part 3 of playing with fire ❣️ masterlist ❣️

—hyunjin x reader (f) —word count: 17.4k (im so sorry) (ao3) —genre: non-idol au, organized crime au, romance, explicit smut with plot (minors dni) —warnings: multiple povs, established backstory, explicit violence, murder, hyunjin goes mental, choking (non-sexual), choking (sexual), stabbing, gunshots, romance, explicit smut, safe but unprotected and rather rough sex, angst and fluff, all the smut that actually happens is consensual but it gets filthy—some less consensual stuff is mentioned but only in thoughts

Hyunjin has tasted a lot of things. Lust, hate, drugs. He has tasted blood and it tasted sweet, but you taste sweeter.

a/n: beloveds. i am really so sorry for the word count. i know it's too much! but i simply couldn't divide this into two chapters. this whole thing really is meant to be put out together, i feel like. now... to those who requested unhinged hyunjin, you couldn't have known this had already been mostly planned and written. but you know what they say—careful what you wish for! tagging @entitledtolove as requested. i hope you all find parts of this chapter that you like! thank you so much for the everlasting support. your reblogs, comment, asks and likes mean so much to me! wishing you all a wonderful day! <3

The sky looks like a watercolor painting. 

It’s the golden hour, just a few moments before sunset. The remaining sun rays reflect on big, fluffy clouds—vivid oranges, soft pinks, and everything in between meet in the sky to create a stunning sight. To this, add the imposing and familiar sight of Bukhansan and its three peaks, and you got yourself a true showpiece.

Hyunjin hasn’t painted in a long, long time. 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and captures the scene with a few shots from different angles. If one were to look through his camera roll, one would find many surprising things. They’d find things they might not expect from a man like Hwang Hyunjin. But then, what exactly would they envision for him to keep on his phone? Pictures of guns, cars, gold rings, cash money? Hardcore, illegal porn? Naked women, bags of cocaine? 

Sometimes, reality can be contradictory.

Sometimes, reality can be disappointing.

Hyunjin hasn’t painted in a long, long time. But he photographs all of the things he would like to paint, someday, when he’s not busy overseeing his father’s illegal import and trade operations. He makes sure to have as many photo references for all the things he can’t paint right now, but will, someday, when his mind isn’t so clouded. If that day ever comes.

Someday, he would like to paint you. 

A portrait. A scene. Anything, as long as it’s you. 

Hyunjin scrolls through his pictures for a while, indulging.

He can’t keep photos of you, so he keeps photos of things that remind him of you. 

The flower shop he passes by to get to his father’s office space. The nightclub where he fucked you for the first time. The spot near Han River where he took you for a picnic. That day, he had kissed you under another golden hour and he had known then that he loved you. A sinful, forbidden love.

But he is Hwang Hyunjin, and everybody knows that the Hwang boy likes to play with fire.

Maybe this is why he likes you so much. Maybe this is why he only feels alive when he’s with you, his mouth devouring your lips, your nails digging deep in the skin of his back, your two bodies becoming one. Maybe this is why he never liked his name until he heard you say it, moan it, pleading for something unholy and intoxicating.

If life had decided otherwise, you would be his wife. Not by choice, not your choice at least—your parents would have used you as leverage to buy his father’s peace, submitting to him in the process. But your father is a stubborn son of a bitch, just as bad as Hyunjin’s father, really, and the two families had remained rivals. 

You are Hyunjin’s rival. You are his enemy, his nemesis. 

You are the reason he has so many pictures of the sunset on his phone, you are the reason he lies to his father. You are the reason he finally discovered the taste of love. 

Hyunjin has tasted a lot of things. Lust, hate, drugs. He has tasted blood and it tasted sweet, but you taste sweeter. 

You are Hyunjin’s curse and blessing alike. 

You are the reason he is here tonight.

“Boss,” a voice calls out from somewhere behind. “Minho just called.” 

Hyunjin gets up from his relaxed position—he had been leaning against his car, waiting. He turns towards the voice, only to find Yang Jeongin standing not too far, the last of the sunset illuminating his still youthful face. By now, Yang is more than just a recruit, and Hyunjin officially decided to keep him around. He trusts him and, if he’s being honest with himself, he just quite plainly likes the boy. 

“Should we go, then?” Hyunjin says. He feels weary tonight, but not for long, he knows. 

“He said he’ll meet us there in half an hour,” Jeongin confirms with a stiff nod. He takes a few steps towards the car, staring at the horizon. The city, the sky, the mountain. “Are you sure this is a good idea, boss?” 

Hyunjin takes some time to think about it. He respects Jeongin, respects him enough to give him a thoughtful answer when asked a serious question. 

“It’s a bad idea, Jeongin,” Hyunjin states matter-of-factly. Again, he’ll always choose to be honest with his people—he doesn’t know any other way. “But I have to do this.” 

Hyunjin pulls open the car door on the driver’s side, but he doesn’t get in just yet. He wants to watch the horizon until the sun is completely gone, until the end of the golden hour. 

His phone vibrates just one time, and he knows that it’s you. He hesitates to even open the text message, knowing that you might be the only thing on this godforsaken planet that would change his mind about tonight.

you: be careful. I love you

A short, but no less meaningful message. He hasn’t told you about his plan, but you always sense when he’s about to do something reckless, and often remind him to be careful anyway. He looks at the screen where the displayed words seem to mean the world to him this evening especially.

Hyunjin loves you more than he loves sunsets or painting or the smell of gasoline or the sound of gunshots or the noise of his car’s engine roaring at full throttle. 

Hyunjin: I love you

This is all he sends you, for if this is the last time he ever tells you anything, he wants these three words to be the ones you remember him by.

He deletes the conversation history, as agreed. To keep you safe, if his phone was to ever get stolen from him.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Hyunjin tells his associate. The sun has gone down now, so he gets inside the car, and doesn’t waste any time starting the engine, just to hear the sound, to feel the vibrations around him. 

But, of course, Jeongin gets in the passenger seat. “No way I’m not coming, boss.” The young man isn’t smiling—a rare sight. “This isn’t the sort of thing you should do on your own.

“But if word gets out, this could get you in trouble,” Hyunjin reminds him, pressing the gas pedal just slightly, just to feel the car come alive under his foot. “with my father, I mean. And the other clans.”

Jeongin nods slowly, his eyes scanning the view. “I work for you. Not for your father. And I don’t care about the other clans.” 

Hyunjin negotiates the car out of the small empty lot it was parked in and he speeds away into the night. 

Kangjeon Sunghoon owns many businesses, many of them illegal. Most of those are ignored by the local authorities, for Kangjeon Sunghoon is the best when it comes to befriending crooked politicians or cops. 

Hyunjin knows Sunghoon, knows him very well, and that closeness is the reason he hates every moment of what he is currently doing. 

When they were little, they used to be friends. Two little boys, unaware of the ugliness in the world around them, playing made-up games in each other’s backyard. They’d invent whole galaxies and the world would be just the two of them. They wouldn’t even notice the bodyguards surrounding them, keeping an eye on them. 

When Hyunjin was little, Sunghoon was his best friend. And then they grew up, and they grew apart, too. 

Hyunjin’s phone vibrates once for the second time this evening. But he knows it’s not you. He knows you always manage to pace yourself, no matter how badly you miss him. Hyunjin can pace himself with the texts, too—but this might be why he is so eager, so hungry when he finally has you in his arms. 

Jeongin: Kangjeon’s here boss

A short message, but one that confirms that tonight is the night where Hyunjin deals with it, finally. 

Jeongin’s text was the agreed signal for Hyunjin to get going. And, he’ll go—he just needs a minute. 

He turns off the car’s engine and it becomes dead under him. He slips his phone into the pocket of his pants and dips over the passenger side to reach the glove box. In it, he finds his favorite pistol, the familiar and reliable K5 that his dad had given him for his 17th birthday. 

Leaning back into his own seat again, Hyunjin double-checks the weapon, making sure it’s functional and fully loaded. He remembers turning 7 years old and remembers Sunghoon visiting for a birthday party that had very few children guests, just mostly his dad’s associates. 

But Sunghoon was there. That day, they played with Nerf guns, and they had found that “shooting” each other, over and over, was rather redundant, so they had gone on a hunt to “kill” other guests of the party. None of them had played along, not even Hyunjin’s own dad. But they had eaten chocolate cake. 

"I’d never kill you," Sunghoon had said with his mouth full of chocolate. ‘You’re like my brother, Hyunjah.’ Hyunj ah , with an exaggerated ‘ah’ at the end—this is how Sunghoon used to call him. It started as a joke but it stayed.

That day, Hyunjin had said, "I’d never kill you either, Sunghoon. We are brothers, hyung." That day, Hyunjin had meant what he said. A child’s promise, the oath of a fool.

Sometimes, reality can be contradictory.

Sometimes, reality can be disappointing.

A small speck of off-white catches Hyunjin’s attention on the black leather of his seat. He looks more closely, realizing that it is simply a remnant of the last time he saw you after you had called him from the noodle restaurant. Hyunjin presses his fingers against the cool leather, caressing the small amount of cum and spit that stained the leather. You left that stain a few days ago. He kissed you hard after defiling your mouth and flooding your throat with his seed. He tasted himself on your lips and he liked it. Fuck, nothing feels quite as real as you do. Your mouth, your pussy. Your voice. 

Your eyes when he fucks you.

His gaze trails from the ghost of your mouth on his seat to the building in front of which he parked his car. He came here to do one thing, and one thing only. 

So Hyunjin carefully places the pistol in the inside pocket of his blazer, and he goes to fulfill his quest. His demise, maybe.

He knows the men guarding the door tonight, and actually takes a few minutes to chit chat—not only will this make them less wary, but it will also show them that he’s not here for business, easing the atmosphere once Hyunjin will be inside.

“What’s tonight’s poison, Hwang? Gambling? Women? Drugs?” one of the two men asks, but Hyunjin can’t remember his name. “Haven’t seen you around these parts in a while.”

“Ah, you know how it is.” Hyunjin accepts a cigarette from the other guard and takes a few long drags of it, filling his lungs with toxic smoke. He was never an avid smoker, but he welcomes the soothe it brings him tonight. “Business is business. Business is always busy.”

“Sure is.” Guard #1 lights up another cigarette for himself. “Mr. Kangjeon is here tonight, I’m sure he’ll wanna hang out.” 

Hyunjin pretends to be slightly surprised. As if Jeongin hadn’t done recon. As if Minho wasn’t waiting inside as well. As if he didn’t know. “Really?” Another drag of the cigarette. The smoke burns his throat, but he exhales slowly. “He must be fucking pissed. After all that bullshit.”

“I reckon that’s why he’s here tonight,” guard #2 jokes with an ugly laugh. “Maybe he wants to forget the humiliation.” 

Humiliation . Hyunjin has to try very hard not to sport a smug, proud look. It’s not just anyone who humiliated Kangjeon Sunghoon—it’s you. You did this. The girl who begs him, Hyunjin, to fill her pretty little cunt with his cum, over and over. The girl he wants to hold in his arms after you’re done having sex. The girl he is in love with. The girl who could be his wife if life had decided otherwise. 

“We all wanna forget shit,” Hyunjin points out, trying to forget the feeling of your body on top of his. He throws the finished cigarette on the pavement and crushes it with his perfectly shined dress shoes. “Hence why I’m here. Am I free to go?” 

Guard #2 glances towards Hyunjin’s abdomen, just a second, before looking him in the eyes again. “That a gun you got in there, Mr. Hwang?” 

No point in denying it. “Never been a problem before.” 

“Shit is tense these days, Mr. Hwang. Surely you don’t need that. It’s safer than the suburbs, in there. We got lots of men on security duty tonight.” 

Hyunjin pretends to find that funny. His mouth tastes like cigarettes and he finds himself wishing it tasted like you. Or like your mouth after he came inside of it. He doesn’t even enjoy his own taste—but he likes it when it’s on your lips.

“Fellas—I know your boss is generous, but not as generous as to let you enjoy any of the women in there,” Hyunjin says with a smirk, “but if you ever get lucky, or want to try this with the lesser women you’re fucking, remember this: it’s fucking wonderful to fuck them with the barrel of the gun, just after you’re done with her.” 

“You’re a fucking psycho, Hwang,” Guard #2 says, but with a chuckle. “Everybody knows that.”

In any case, they let him in. 

Hyunjin knows where he will find Sunghoon, but he can’t and doesn’t want to head to the top floor straight away. It would draw too much attention to him, which would ruin the whole operation. 

The Kangjeon clan doesn’t know about Hyunjin’s hiring of Jeongin yet, which is why he’s here undercover. Officially, the business is a large lounge bar, and Hyunjin spots Jeongin sitting at a small table, sipping a drink, scrolling on his phone. The boy looks calm and casual enough that he surely hasn’t raised any suspicions yet. 

“Hyunjin.” Minho found him—Hyunjin saw him elbow his way through a dense crowd to reach him. “There’s a lot of security tonight.” 

Hyunjin knew that already because of the guards at the door, but he would have guessed it anyway—after suffering a loss like the one he did a few days ago, Sunghoon needs to be careful. 

“We’ll be fine,” Hyunjin tells Minho but he’s not so sure about that. “Let’s get a drink.” 

Lee Minho won’t be the one to complain about getting drinks, so he follows Hyunjin to the counter and they order together. Hyunjin wants vodka and Minho a glass of wine. 

He knows they’re being watched, but it really doesn’t look like Jeongin has been noticed at all, which is great news. It’s exactly how things were supposed to go.

“Are you sure about this?” Minho asks him when he’s sure nobody around can hear. “It’s not too late to back out.”

“I’ve thought about this,” Hyunjin tells him after licking vodka off his lips. But he wishes it was you, not liquor. “It has to be done.” 

“It doesn’t,” Minho insists. “It sure as fuck doesn’t have to be done, Hyunjin. I’m still loyal and I’ll do what you tell me to do, but it’s not something that is required to happen.”

Hyunjin debates this in his mind for a while. “You’re right. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t have to go this way. But this is how it has to be for me .”

Minho raises his glass in a small celebratory gesture. “There you go. The truth. I’ll drink to that.” And he empties his glass. “You sure this isn’t just about good pussy?” 

Hyunjin debates this, too. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Well fuck.” Minho grabs Hyunjin’s glass from his hand and empties that one, too. “Live fast, die young, or whatever. Let’s go.” 

The two men make their way to the VIP elevator. Hyunjin doesn’t need a badge for it, and the same goes for Minho, by association. In the elevator, he takes his phone out. He won’t text you, not right now. But he’ll make sure you’re as safe as you can be. 

So he texts Han Jisung.

Hyunjin : are you with her? Jisung: she's watching a movie in her dorm. why? everything ok man????

He’s a good guy. Smart, efficient, brave. The kinda guy Hyunjin would want to work for him. The kinda guy Hyunjin would want to be protecting you. 

Hyunjin: stay with her in the room if you’re not already. be armed be ready just in case. 

The response doesn’t take long. Good, because the elevator just reached the top floor. 

Jisung : wtf man? what’s going on??? tell me what i should expect Hyunjin: just fucking stay with her. delete these texts and don't answer this one. counting on you, han. better keep her safe

Hyunjin makes sure to delete the conversation history and follows a security guard through a hallway. 

This is the illegal part of this particular business of Sunghoon’s. This is the sex floor. 

And some doors are open. Some aren’t, but some are. Hyunjin watches all the depravity, all the fucking, all the using. He listens closely to the ambient sounds—moans, cries, screams. Whimpers. Flesh on flesh. In one room, a woman is being fucked hard by two men, one in her cunt and the other in her ass, while another woman is snorting cocaine off her neck. In the next room, a man is tied up to a pole in the middle of an empty room, being submitted to apparently incessant teasing—in just a few seconds, Hyunjin notices how overstimulated he is, the vibrant flush of his erect cock, the anguish and pleasure on his face as men and women alike take turns at touching him. 

Minho knows the guard that’s leading them in the hallway. “Busy night, eh?” he tells him. “I don’t remember things being this… lively.”

“You haven’t been here in a while, then,” the man replies with a shrug. “Business has been good. Too good. That’s why we need that fucking land… and that stupid son of a bitch and his whore of a daughter fucked everything up.” 

Hyunjin tenses up and Minho senses it, so he makes a sound as if to show comprehension of the situation. 

“That was a shitshow, wasn’t it?” Minho says in a conversational tone. The three of them have reached a small lounge, away from the many sex rooms. There’s just one door, and behind that door is Sunghoon. “How’d she get out anyway?”

“The official story as we’re supposed to tell it is…” the guard starts, his voice low, leaning closer to the others to not be heard, “that she gave them, the guys guarding her, a good time because she’s a big, big slut, and they fell asleep and she ran away. But that’s not what actually happened.”

Hyunjin sees red, so red that he barely hears the guy explain to Minho the actual version of the story. Of course, Sunghoon wouldn’t want anyone to believe that he underestimated you and hired dumbasses to keep you caged up. Of course, it’s easier to spread false rumors. Rumors that would taint your reputation.

Oh, well, you definitely are a little bit of a slut. Only, you’re his , Hyunjin’s, slut— no one else’s . Some random, grimy old fucks have no claim on you. 

And neither does Kangjeon Sunghoon. 

He’s in his large office, as usual. And as usual, he’s got a few girls with him. Some of his associates are present as well—they’re sitting around a glass table, having drinks, looking at ipads, obviously discussing business. Except that two of the girls are fucking on the half of the table that’s unused, and one of them has Sunghoon’s fingers in her mouth, sucking on them hard, her lips raw. 

The room smells like weed and like booze. When they enter, discussions stop, and heads turn towards them. Sunghoon pulls his fingers out of the girl’s mouth, who releases them with a loud and satisfying ‘pop’. 

“Hyunj ah , what the fuck man?” Sunghoon says, pushing himself out of his seat. “It’s been too damn long! Didn’t even believe them when they told me you were here tonight!”

Hyunjin watches him as he wipes the drool off his fingers in the girl’s hair. 

“Sunghoon.” Hyunjin tries to make himself smile. He tries so hard, but he can’t—he knows that if life had decided otherwise, it might have been you sucking on Sunghoon’s fingers tonight. “Hey, man.” 

Hyunjin knows to pace himself. He knows that he doesn’t need to ask for a private meeting with Sunghoon—soon enough, he will want to be in a more intimate setting with his childhood friend. He likes to touch and fuck girls during business meetings, but ones with a little less of a crowd. 

The moans from the two girls are distracting but Hyunjin sits on one of the comfortable couches and Sunghoon joins him. Minho hangs around the table, pretending to be paying attention to the girls on it. Well, Hyunjin figures he might enjoy the show, but he’s actually just following their plan to a tee—Hyunjin takes care of Sunghoon and Minho keeps an eye on his men. 

This is how it’s supposed to go. Jeongin is their escape out of here, supposed to clear out a path for them after it has been done. This is the plan. It’s only an outline of a plan, which is fine. It leaves space for improvising in case things take a bad turn.

“What brings you here, Hyunj ah ?” Sunghoon asks, sitting across from Hyunjin, in a large armchair, legs spread out. He's sporting a semi and doesn’t shy away from it. “Wait, I’ve got some good stuff for you. Some new experimental shit my chemists are working on.” 

“You always have the best stuff,” Hyunjin admits with a nod, accepting three bright-colored pills from the man that was once his friend. “What do these do?” 

“The blue one will make you happy. The purple one will make your cock hard and make you wanna fuck all night. Huge loads, too. It’s magical. The yellow one is just meant to balance it all out.” 

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. “How are you even alive, still?” 

“Take them, hyung. I wanna have fun. I missed you, man. Why don’t you visit anymore?” 

Hyunjin looks at the pills in his palm. It wouldn’t be the first time he blindly swallows some compound drugs created by Sunghoon’s chemists, but he’s not quite sure this is the best option for him right now. Still, he has to at least pretend, so he throws them into his mouth, hoping to get a chance to spit them out soon before they’re all melted and spreading to his bloodstream. 

But that’s why Minho’s here.

“Mr. Kangjeon,” Minho says carefully, with a very polite voice. “I heard about your… setbacks.”

Sunghoon sighs deeply and throws his head back, and Hyunjin takes the hint—he quietly pulls the three pills out of his mouth and hides them behind the cushion of the couch he’s sitting on. In just a few seconds they had melted by half, but that’s not too bad. Hyunjin had done jobs with a lot more drugs in his systems, and it had gone okay.

Minho winks at him and continues to hover around the two women—one of them has the other’s head secured between her thighs, and she’s moaning most delightfully.

Hyunjin misses you. A lot.

Maybe some of the drugs made it to his bloodstream. Maybe.

“I suppose that’s why you’re here,” Sunghoon tells Hyunjin, his face unreadable. “Wanted to mock me? Rub it in my face?”

“I don’t know, hyung, does that sound like me?” Hyunjin shrugs and reaches for the bottle of gin on the coffee table next to him, pouring himself a shot. 

“Leave us,” Sunghoon tells his associates, but he makes sure that the girls remain. Soon, it’s just Hyunjin, Sunghoon, Minho, the two girls, and Sunghoon’s advisor in the room. This is a new guy—he must have fired, or killed, the other one. “Hyunjah. Fuck.”

“That bad, huh?” Hyunjin pours another shot which he hands to his childhood friend. 

“That fucking slut. She was supposed to stay still until her shithead of a father gave up the land he’s so desperately trying to buy. And for what! For nothing! I’m the most profitable business in town! The slut was supposed to just be a good girl, and do as she’s told!” 

Hyunjin gulps, almost choking. Heat is beginning to rise up in his head. His ears are already red with anger, and he’s struggling to hold the glass in his hand. Still, he manages to down the last of the gin. 

“Be a good girl, huh?” he says, tasting those words in his mouth. He’s said those words to you before, a few times—sometimes, you just take him exceptionally well, and he has to let you know . That you’re a good girl. His good girl. “Maybe you should have hired better guys. Less dumb.” 

Sunghoon scowls at him, raising his chin in defiance. “Fuck you, Hwang. Didn’t think the bitch had any sort of a fight in her. Had I known, I would have had her brought to me immediately. Would have tamed her good. Teach her a lesson. Bet she has a nice cunt, that bitch.” 

Sunghoon emphasizes his threats by dry humping the nothing on top of him, making lewd sounds, and grunting, his half-hard cock even more obvious. For one second, Hyunjin imagines it, Sunghoon and you, him using you and him teaching you a lesson, or whatever that means for him. His short fat cock dishonoring you, his disgusting mouth on your tits… 

Hyunjin gets up from the couch. The leather made him feel trapped. Instead, he sits on the coffee table, right in front of Sunghoon, his knees brushing against his. 

“Say that again, hyung,” Hyunjin utters, and it’s more of a command than anything else. “Fucking prick.”

Sunghoon’s eyebrows raise in pure unadulterated shock. He leans towards the front, coming face to face with him. Hyunjin can smell his breath—it smells like booze and like pussy. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sunghoon says, squinting, reading Hyunjin’s eyes, or trying to. “After all these years? Really? The marriage didn’t go through, man. Get over it.” 

Hyunjin licks his lips but his mouth is dry. He’s not nervous—really, he isn’t. He just doesn’t enjoy the present moment, and he’s starting to feel a little high. Blood and heat are pooling in his gut, and the two girls are being louder than ever. He wants to fuck you. He wants to make love to you. He wants to get this over with.

“I would have let you have a go with her or whatever,” Sunghoon adds with a shrug. “You’ve always been so fucking possessive, man. She ain’t yours. She ain’t mine either. I was just gonna keep her until her dad came through. Guess he didn’t mind her being gone that much… Not that I blame him—she’s probably more of a problem than anything. Hell, he probably regrets not marrying her over to you now. You know I asked for her hand, too?”

Hyunjin didn’t know that. He stares at the man in front of him while the woman has a violent orgasm on the table on the other side of the room. 

“I didn’t wanna tell you. I know how you can get. I remember how you really didn’t want me to play with your favorite toys.” 

“Why did you ask for her hand, Sunghoon?” Hyunjin asks calmly, but he is anything but calm.

“I wanted to get her father’s empire after I would have gotten him killed,” Sunghoon explains, and he’s serious again. “And she has nice tits. The kind you wanna make bounce. Don’t worry, I would have let you use her even after marrying her. But apparently, her mom was adamant I was the worst possible outcome for her daughter.”

“Well, she’s fucking right.” Hyunjin’s lip is trembling with wrath. 

“Ah, I would have put a couple of kids inside her or whatever. Then who cares? Even after the first one, her cunt would have been unfuckable anyway.”

This is all he can think of now. Sunghoon, on top of you, hurting you in ways you don’t want to be hurt. His hips slamming into yours, him taking you from behind like you’re just his bitch, his fucktoy, his cocksleeve. Making you fuck other men just for his amusement, making you swallow their load. Ramming into you, filling you until he fucks a baby inside you, effectively trapping you into a loveless marriage for the rest of your life. 

“Hyunjah, are you okay man? Maybe I gave you too strong a dose…” 

Sunghoon simply can’t finish his answer because that’s when Hyunjin grabs him by the collar of his button-up shirt and punches him hard on the nose.

There is an instant, no more than a millisecond, where the room grows silent. Where Sunghoon, stunned from the punch, looks at Hyunjin with bewilderment. With disappointment. With admiration.

But he’s Kangjeon Sunghoon, a force to be reckoned with—or so people say—so he launches himself towards Hyunjin, and pulls him into a fight. Hyunjin gets a few punches to the face but he can take it, for everybody knows the Hwang boy likes to play with fire. He’s wrestling Sunghoon to get away, to get him down. To show him who’s best.

Hyunjin is stronger than him, he always has been. And tonight, he is hungry . 

There’s a fight somewhere behind them too—Minho is taking care of it, so Hyunjin doesn’t pay too much attention. He finally gets a good hold of his opponent and manages to elbow him in the head hard enough for him to fall back into the couch. Every punch is loaded with hatred. Every punch is loaded with love. 

“You have no claim over her, hyung,” Hyunjin whispers, his face so close to Sunghoon’s it might look as if he was about to kiss him. Both of them have several cuts and bruises on their face, and Sunghoon’s lips are covered in blood. “Do you feel it? Did you feel my love when I hit you?” 

Sunghoon growls and goes to retaliate, but Hyunjin hits him first, again. Harder. It’s as if there was no other possibility—nothing can hurt him tonight. Like it was meant to be this way.

“I’ll make you feel the fucking love I have for her, you piece of shit,” Hyunjin snarls, using his knee to push against Sunghoon’s chest, hard, most likely breaking a few ribs on the way.

Sunghoon’s arms are flailing around, trying to get away, but there is blood dripping into his eyes from his split-open brow and Hyunjin knows it must be burning him. He knows his face must feel like it’s been hit by a truck.

“Do you feel my love now, Sunghoon? Do you feel how much I love her? Can you tell that she is mine ?” Hyunjin’s voice is sweet as honey when he asks that. “I’ll make you feel my love, hyung.”

Hyunjin reaches for Sunghoon’s neck, which he wraps in between his hands tightly, choking him.

And he doesn’t choke him the way he chokes you. He chokes you the proper way, just enough to see your eyes roll at the back of your head while he buries himself deep inside of you. No, no. He chokes Sunghoon by crushing his windpipe with his strong, large hands. 

“She-isn’t- yours !” Hyunjin grunts, tightening his grip around Sunghoon’s neck, enunciating each word clearly and perfectly. The man is trying to defend himself and punches Hyunjin in the face in the process, then attempts to pry his hands away from his throat. But he cannot. “Don’t you fucking speak of her like that!” 

Ugly sounds are coming out of Sunghoon’s mouth now, and his eyes are turning red, all the blood vessels in them bursting one after the other. He’s gasping for air, struggling, his face turning to a dark purple shade. Tears are rolling on his cheeks, and Hyunjin feels relief.

“Is that what you wanted to do to her, hyung? Wanted to see her cry like that while you breed her, you disgusting pig?” 

Sunghoon tries his best to shake his head, tries to deny it. But Hyunjin knows him. He’s seen him fuck girls. He’s seen him fuck them and choke them until they pass out.

“Listen to me, piece of shit,” Hyunjin grunts, pulling Sunghoon’s face just millimeters from his. “She is mine. Understand that? Mine. Not yours, not anyone else’s. Mine . She loves me. I love her. Tell me you fucking understand that. Tell me I made you feel my love.” 

But Sunghoon is past communicating. Hyunjin, so far, has been mildly aware of the commotion behind him, but he has to look away from Sunghoon’s blueish face when he hears a gunshot. 

The two women are crying in a corner of the room and Minho is standing near the table with a nosebleed and various other injuries, holding his gun at the lifeless body at his feet—Sunghoon’s advisor. The gunshot was loud, and Hyunjin knows it was necessary, but it also means they have just a few seconds left before being caught. 

So he returns to the task at hand.

“If life had decided otherwise,” Hyunjin growled, “she would have been my wife. You had no right to take her. No fucking right. Do you understand? DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND ?” 

Sunghoon manages, slightly, to signal some kind of positive response. His tongue is swollen and creeps its way out of his dark blue lips. Hyunjin can feel the muscle and the cartilage bursting and cracking under his palms. 

In the end, he releases Sunghoon, who collapses on the couch, hands at his throat, probably unable to breathe. Hyunjin is pretty sure he severely damaged his trachea. 

He didn’t have the intention of leaving this place with Kangjeon Sunghoon still alive anyway. 

Minho offers him his pistol, but Hyunjin shakes his head and waits until Sunghoon locks his bloodshot, teary eyes with his before shooting him in the head with the K5 his dad gave him years ago. 

This is far from being Hyunjin’s first kill, and it is certainly not his last. But it had never meant anything before. Before you. 

You’re alone in a cool, dark room. Hands are trying to touch you, hands tugging at your hair, hands trying to creep their way into your mouth or under the skirt of your dress. You try to push them away but there are too many of them. The hands become silhouettes, still too many to count them all and try to pull you against them. You scream but they do not listen. When the silhouettes are gone, it’s even worse, because you’re alone. No one can hear you. And you stay in that cool, dark room for a long time until someone comes to get you. It’s not a dark silhouette but you don’t know them, but they get you and make you walk to a cemetery and there’s a hole in the cemetery, with people in it. Dead people. Jisung, your mother, your father.

Hyunjin.

Your own scream wakes you up and you jolt out of the blankets, trying to fend off hands that aren’t there. Trying to unsee the dead bodies of the people you love. 

Sobs and tears are choking you and you gasp for air, coughing them up, tears rolling down your cheeks. You have no control over them. You have very little control over anything, lately. 

A soothing arm pulls you against a friendly body. Slowly, you are returning to reality. Slowly, your brain is catching up to the fact that you are awake, that you are safe. 

“I’m right here,” Jisung tells you softly, squeezing you tighter with his uninjured arm—the other is still in a splint, for safety. “You’re okay. You’re okay. It was just another nightmare.” 

There is a nightmare every night. And never twice the same. 

Jisung insisted on spending the night in your room. You didn’t know why, and you tried to question him. But questioning him only made things more difficult, it seems, and in the end, Jisung had gotten angry with you. 

So you understood this was a request that came either from your mother or from Hyunjin. 

Your phone has no interesting notifications. Nothing from Hyunjin. Just classmates asking about a group project you’d forgotten about. 

You open the text message app and press on the conversation with Hyunjin’s number. 

Last night, you cheated on an important rule. Because this morning you can read the last text he sent you. “I love you.” 

You read it, over and over, until your eyes grow tired. You gently remove Jisung’s arm from around your shoulders and lie back down in your bed. He does the same, and you both look at the white ceiling above you in silence. 

“Don’t you have class?” Jisung asks, maybe just to make conversation, maybe because he truly cares about your education. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I should get up,” you admit. But class seems so irrelevant after all this. A degree in business management and finance was one thing. Witnessing your father’s almost death was another. Being locked up for days was yet another. “I really should.” 

Jisung props himself up on his good elbow and watches your face carefully but in silence. You stare back, your gaze not lingering for long on his face, but rather moving downwards to his shoulder, the one he caught a bullet in. For you. 

You reach for it and cup it gently, feeling the thick dressing under the sling and Jisung’s shirt. He winces at your touch, so you remove your hand and squeeze his wrist instead. 

“Just a bit sensitive when I skip my medication,” Jisung tells you with a reassuring smile. He’s the one who took a bullet for you and yet he’s the one reassuring you. “I’m all good. Forgot my meds last night, is all.” 

“Jisung…” for days now, you’ve wanted to say something, anything, but words elude you. Thank you simply doesn’t cut it, but saying nothing is worse. “I wanted to say—”

But Jisung shakes his head. “Shhh, shhh, nope,” he says, cutting you off. “I know what you’re gonna say. Don’t say it.” 

“But—you could have died,” you insist, your voice suddenly small. “For me.”

Jisung smiles at you, sighs, and lies back down. It’s good to be comfortable around people. There aren’t many people you’re comfortable around, but he's one of them.

“Yeah, I guess,” Jisung admits with a nervous laugh. “But. You’re my closest friend and I think you would have done the same for me.”

You think about it. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” 

“See?” another chuckle, but this time more open, less tense. “So it’s all good.” 

You nod and push yourself up. Not out of bed, but at least you’re sitting up, which is one step closer to class than lying down. 

“Best friends don’t lie to each other, don’t they?” you ask, your phone in your hand, the screen still displaying Hyunjin’s message text. You read it another time before locking eyes with Jisung who obviously knows what you’re about to say, and braces himself. “Who insisted on you sleeping in my dorm, then?”

Your friend sits too, taking a deep breath as he looks at your phone.

“You didn’t delete it,” he points out. “You should delete it.” 

“What did he do?” you ask. “I know it was him. What did he do?”

Jisung shrugs, biting his bottom lip. “I really have no idea. He just wanted you safe.” 

Your question gets at least partially answered after you’ve showered—as you’re getting dressed, your phone rings. Expecting news from Hyunjin, you’re quite disappointed to see your father’s number calling you. But then, you almost lost him, too—so you answer the phone and conceal your low spirits the best you can.

“Hey Dad,” you say as you manage your way into your shoes with one hand. “Everything okay? Feeling better? I’m almost late for class.” 

There’s a silence from your father, which is unusual—he doesn’t particularly like speaking to the phone, not even to you, so when he has to, he makes sure it’s as succinct as possible. 

“Dad?”

“You’re with Han Jisung, right?” is all he says.

“Yes, of course, we—”

“Tell him to drive you home. Immediately. Here. Do not stop anywhere. Do not stop for coffee. Or food. Only drive on busy roads. You keep a loaded pistol in your hand while he drives.”

“Dad? What’s going on?”

“Do you understand me? Now, sweetie. Come home.” 

He hangs up. You look at your phone as if you expect this to be part of your nightmare from earlier. 

But you’re awake. And it’s all real.

An escort of your father’s men surrounds your car when you approach the estate. Jisung nods at the driver to his left, recognizing him, and they match speeds to stay in formation. 

There’s a pistol in your hand. As per your father’s request, it’s loaded and the security is off. You know how to use it—you’ve been taught weapon handling at a young age and practice regularly. However, you do not enjoy it. You never have. 

You just know that you won’t hesitate to pull the trigger if you ever need to. 

Deep down, you know. You know that it’s not a coincidence. Hyunjin’s simple but urgent text, his request for Jisung to stay by your side… Your father’s immediate command to head home. You know all of this but you don’t know what exactly is going on. 

So you let Jisung drive you to your parents’ house and you let their security team escort both of you inside, where your father is waiting for you. He’s with your mother, but your uncle isn’t there. 

“Let’s go to the conference room,” your father tells you, and you follow him. He stops in his tracks when he notices that Jisung stayed near the entrance. “You too, Han.”

In the end, it’s you, Jisung, your parents, and Kim Seungmin. You sit at the large table, your legs shaking underneath it. 

Your mother sits next to you. Jisung is on your other side while your father and Seungmin sit across from you.

“I’ll start this by saying that your mother had warned you, sweetie,” your father tells you. While his words might sound like a reproach, his voice and intonation were less harsh than expected. “She warned you about the Hwang boy.” 

Your heart flutters in your chest, one, two, three times, before sinking somewhere deep and cold. You feel your air intake being drastically reduced, but you simply can’t let it show and you know it. You can’t let anything show on your face, or in your body language. 

You should have deleted that text. 

“What about him?” you ask, drawing from within you all the conviction you can, as to sound convincing. “Dad, why am I here?”

“What happened when he drove you here, after the... situation?” Your father asks you, his eyes scanning you thoroughly. He is still pale and sickly from the attack on him, but you know he’s fully able to read you. “Why did Hwang drive you here, alone? Why didn’t you get home with Kim?” He gestures towards Seungmin, who shifts uncomfortably on his chair. 

You can’t see them, but you know your mother’s and Jisung’s eyes are fixated on you, waiting. Your father is still staring at you, while Seungmin is looking away. You guess that he was questioned by your father and that he truly doesn’t want to be here. 

“He wanted to talk to me,” you reply. You know that to tell a convincing lie, you need to lead with the truth and then continue on with the fabricated parts. “In private.”

“There was no need for him to speak to you in private.” Now, your father sounds very accusatory, and the little frightened girl inside you wants to cry and run away. But you have to be stronger than that. “What did he have to say to you, the daughter of his enemy?” 

Your mother interjects before you can even open your mouth. “He doesn’t see her like that,” she insists. “I don’t think he sees her as his enemy. He sees her as the girl he almost married.” 

There is a pause in the conversation during which your father looks at your mother, then at you, showing no emotion. “Then, that’s even worse,” he concludes, but he turns to you. “What exactly happened during this car ride then, if you are not his enemy?”  

You remember your uncle’s poisonous words after Hyunjin had left you here that night. You remember the accusations. You remember the lingering taste of Hyunjin’s cock in your mouth, laced with the mint drop still melting on your tongue. 

“I didn’t betray you, if that’s what you’re asking,” you tell your father. Somehow, the memory of that car ride has made you stronger, and your voice no longer shakes. “And Hyunjin didn’t try to convince me to betray you either, but I don’t think you believe me.”

Your father looks at you for a long time. “ Hyunjin ? So you two are on a first-name basis, now?” A scoff, but there is no joy in it. “In any case. I believe you. I’m just asking what you two talked about exactly. You’ll understand why in an instant—I just want to hear it from you first.” 

You know what to say then, you find the perfect lie. But first, you want to bask in the memory of the truth—the feeling of Hyunjin’s fist in your hair, the urgency in his moans when you let him fuck your throat. The pure indulgence in his beautiful eyes when he came inside your throat. 

“He asked me who did this to me, and to Seungmin. Who it was, where we were kept, he wanted to know everything,” you tell your father, and you just know he believes you. He believes you because it makes sense, and because he did ask questions, so you’re only lying a little. “He said Kangjeon crossed a line.” 

Another long silence follows your statement, but you wait. 

You check your phone a couple of times. No notification. You’ve followed Jisung’s advice and deleted Hyunjin’s text. But you want to read it again, the three little words. 

“The boy was right to say this,” your mother says finally. “But is that all that he said?” 

You shrug. “Mom, I don’t know. In case you don’t remember, this was moments after I escaped from being a literal hostage.” 

Your mother puts her hand on yours and squeezes it gently. Her eyes are kind, too. Apologetic. You barely recognize her these days.

“Did the Hwang boy tell you about Kangjeon’s offer, from a few years ago?” she asks, ignoring the angered muttering this question created in your father. “Did he tell you that they were best friends when they were children?”

And this is when your mother tells you about it. That after Hyunjin’s mother passed, he became a sad, lonely child, and his father found him a friend in one of his closest business partner’s son, Kangjeon Sunghoon. They were rivals just as much as they were friends, but they both grew up to be wild, untamed things. The newest intel, as of last week, doesn't show any animosity between the two. If anything, they visit each other’s businesses without care, although they are not partners like their fathers were. 

Some time ago, Kangjeon approached your parents with an offer—he knew the Hwangs’ marriage proposal hadn’t gone through, but he wanted to be seriously considered for an option. For you. He had simply asked your parents for your hand in marriage. They had refused. “He was even worse than the Hwang boy,” your mother concludes.

Your mother lets you digest that, a gesture you appreciate despite being stunned.

Kangjeon—Hyunjin’s childhood friend—had wanted to marry you ? He was a complete stranger to you, even if you had heard his name before. You had no mutual contacts, had never met him!

Hyunjin had never felt like a stranger to you.

“We’re going to show you something,” your father tells you. His voice is surprisingly soft, but also stern. “This is footage we managed to get. From last night, at one of Kangjeon’s main businesses. At some point, we lose the audio, but you don’t need to hear everything to understand… the video speaks for itself.” 

Your mother slides an ipad in front of you, which you put in between you and Jisung. There’s a video waiting to be played, but you’re not even sure you want to see what’s on it. 

But you press play. Because deep down, you know what’s on it.

You see him. You see Hyunjin. In a large, fancy-looking room. Seated on a leather couch, which is in front of another identical couch, with an imposing coffee table in between the two. He looks different, but you can’t explain why. Something in the way he holds himself. 

You hear noises—the room is quite large and the camera’s angle is limited, but you can hear moans. A woman moaning, more particularly. Lee Minho is there, too, pacing the room peacefully, looking at the view from the few various windows. 

Hyunjin shifts his weight on the couch. When he moves, his hair moves with him. You miss him. You miss brushing your hand through his hair while you ride him. You miss covering his face in kisses. 

He’s talking with a man facing him. Sunghoon.

And they’re talking about you. 

Kangjeon calls you a slut, and goes to great lengths to explain how you ruined his big plan by not letting him keep you hostage. The more he speaks, the more you notice Hyunjin’s whole body tense up. The more his leg bounces, too—it started with his foot only, but the trembling is creeping its way up steadily. But, he watches his childhood friend in silence. Well, until Kangjeon mentions how it would have been preferable if you had simply been a ‘good girl’.

You see it. You see a cloud of darkness pass in Hyunjin’s eyes, you see his brain process what Kangjeon just said. And then he repeats them. Those words—and when Hyunjin says ‘good girl’, you squirm on your seat, feeling a familiar tingling between your legs.

Muscle memory is one hell of a thing. 

There is a short exchange between the two and you notice that Hyunjin speaks to Kangjeon the way he would address a blood relative, a brother—informally and honestly. He tells him that it’s Kangjeon's own fault that you got away.

But then it becomes crude. You feel heat spread to your cheeks, wishing that your parents weren’t in the room while a stranger makes an assumption about the quality of your pussy and pretends to be fucking you from below. But they’re here, and they’ve apparently seen it all already, so you just keep your eyes on the screen in front of you. 

Jisung takes your hand in his, and you’re glad he does. 

What would have happened if you hadn’t gotten away? Would you still be Kangjeon’s captive? Would he have ‘taught you a lesson’, as he insists he should have done? 

In the video, Hyunjin stands up from his seat on the couch—you wonder what he’ll do next, as the tension within him is palpable. It reminds you, almost, of the few instants just before he cums. The tightness in his neck, stiff shoulders, the slight furrow between his brows, which you can mostly see, thanks to the good quality of the security camera. 

All that Hyujin does, though, is sitting on the table that separates the two couches. He’s very close to Kangjeon now, but he leans even closer, looking at him with a death stare.

“Say that again, hyung,” you hear Hyunjin say. An invitation. A threat. “Fucking prick.”

Now it’s Kangjeon leaning closer to Hyunjin. You can tell that they’re studying one another.

“Well, I’ll be damned. After all these years? Really? The marriage didn’t go through, man. Get over—”

This is when the audio cuts, so you can’t hear anything anymore. 

But your father was right. You don’t need to hear what is being said to understand the situation. 

They keep talking. For a while. Well, Kangjeon does most of the talking while Hyunjin becomes more and more aggravated. You hate seeing him like this. But you see so much in this short video.

You get to see everything. You see Hyunjin’s calm demeanor turn into something else, something feral. One second he’s okay—bitter, but calm. 

And then he unleashes whatever beast had been sleeping within him.

He grabs Kangjeon by his collar and delivers a powerful punch to his face. There is a pause as if none of the parties involved could believe what had just happened. You jumped in your chair as if you had been the one being punched, surprised by the speed and strength of the blow.

And then all hell breaks loose. The fight begins.

It’s not just Hyunjin—Minho is also defending himself, preventing Kangjeon’s security guy from putting himself in between Hyunjin and his boss. 

You see the hit to Hyunjin’s face. You see the wrestle… you see it all. 

Your heart sinks in your chest when Hyunjin, ultimately, crushes Kangjeon’s chest with his knee, pushing him deep into the couch. He looks scary. Hyunjin. But you are not afraid of him. 

Be mindful of the Hwang boy , your mother had told you. He is dangerous.

But you had never been a particularly obedient daughter anyway. 

It’s Hyunjin’s turn to give a speech to Kangjeon, and now you find yourself wishing you could hear him. 

His beautiful hands creep their way to Kangjeon’s throat, and he wraps it tight in them. Those same hands he touches you with, the hands that learned to play you like he would play an instrument. He chokes you, sometimes. Not like this. He chokes you and you like it.

He’s choking Kangjeon and you like it. 

You can’t hear what Hyunjin is saying—he’s not saying it as much as he spits hatred and contempt in Kangjeon’s face. You can’t hear it but you manage to read a few of the words on his lips. ‘Mine. She loves me, I love her. Tell me (something that you can’t catch because of the snarl twisting Hyunjin’s face as he talks) that. Tell me I made you feel my love.’ 

You don’t know if Kangjeon felt Hyunjin’s love, but you did. Sinfully. You only notice now that your breathing has sped up dramatically—Jisung squeezes your hand tighter in his, and you know it’s to bring you back to here, to now . 

That’s when Minho pulls out a pistol from inside of his jacket and simply shoots the man he had been wrestling with. The man falls to the ground—the headshot was quick and clean. 

When Hyunjin releases Kangjeon, you think he’s dead. It’s only a few seconds later that you notice he is trying to breathe, his hands clawing at his own throat while Hyunjin towers over him, looking at him with disdain. 

Minho offers him his weapon, but Hyunjin pulls his own pistol, which you recognize as the one given by his father when he was a teenager. 

And he shoots Kangjeon in the head. Another clean shot. 

The video stops. You don’t know in what state your face must be, but you can’t care about this right now. You understand the implications behind this. 

“Why did Hwang Hyunjin do this?” your father asks you, crossing his hands on the table in front of him. “Why did he seek revenge for you ?” 

You hear the questions. You feel Jisung’s hand retreating from yours, you feel him get up from his chair to pace around the room, obviously too stressed about the whole situation. 

Your phone is in your pocket. You pull it out to see if you have any notifications.

Nothing.

“What happened to him?” you ask, your eyes still on your phone. “To Hyunjin?” You look up but not at your father—you turn to your mother. “Mom, did he get out of there okay?” 

There is something in your mother’s eyes. Acknowledgment. Understanding. She bites her bottom lip, glancing toward your father for just a second before turning her sad eyes back to you. She touches your hair tenderly.

“We’re not sure yet,” she tells you softly. “We know that he was hit. We know that he was bleeding from his arm and leg when he exited the building. We know Lee Minho was shot in the stomach. We know Yang Jeongin was bleeding from his head and was unconscious. It was the other two who dragged him out. We know they barely got out of there, but we don’t know if they’re currently alive. Or where they went, where they are.” 

You know that you have to conceal your true feelings. You know that because if your parents were to find out that you are fucking Hwang Hyunjin and that he is in love with you and you with him, it would be the end of the world.

Except it already feels like the end of the world in your chest. 

As a force of habit, your eyes search for Jisung’s. When they find them, you see that he is just as overwhelmed as you are. You remember the fondness he has for the youngest, Jeongin. 

“Why did he do this?” your father asks again. Beside him, Seungmin stares at you with big, troubled eyes and a pale face. “Can’t you see how he just complicated everything?” 

You blink, hardly believing you’re hearing right. 

“Already people are threatening us,” your father adds with a sigh. “Already, people think this was a planned operation, something that we had a say in! Two of my closest business partners accused me of betraying them to benefit the Hwang clan! The Hwangs ! My sworn enemies!” 

You raise your eyes to meet your father’s. “I am not Hyunjin’s enemy.” You gulp painfully, taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts while your heart is jumping to conclusions, ugly conclusions that resemble the nightmares you have as of late. “He is not my enemy.” 

“Yes, he is your enemy, you foolish girl.” Your father hits the table with his fist, making you jump. “And now , we are also at war with all the people who were loyal to Kangjeon! This isn't just some small revenge, he slaughtered him!” 

You want to tell him, your father, that Hyunjin likes to fuck you hard and whisper sweet things, filthy things, in your ears while he does so. You want, so badly, your father to know that you are in love with his enemy and that you would choose Hyunjin over him any day if you had to. 

But you don’t, because you’re better than this. 

However, you have to let him know one thing.

“Dad, you should be glad, not angry,” you start, raising from your chair. Your legs feel weak, but you don’t let it show. “You should be glad that someone had the balls to defend my honor while you sat here and did nothing. Even when I was still there, a hostage. Your own daughter. You refused to negotiate my way out so you wouldn’t look weak in Kangjeon’s eyes. You didn’t do anything after I returned, as if you were telling Kangjeon it didn’t matter what he did to me. Well, tell me, who looks weak now, Father?” 

You don’t wait for your father’s response. You know he would give you hell anyway. And maybe you deserve it—after all, you just disrespected him in front of others. 

But fuck. It felt fantastic. 

You spin your heels and walk away. Several people try to stop you, but you don’t let them—you even steal a pistol from one of the security guards and don’t hesitate to aim it at anyone who stands in your way. 

“You can’t venture out,” your mother tells you, catching up with you just after you’ve gone through the door leading to the garage. “It’s dangerous. Kangjeon’s men…” 

“I got this.” you show her the gun. “I’m fucking done, mom. My own father is more concerned about what others will say than about how I feel, or how a monster used me as leverage against him.” You make your way to your car, which you rarely use, so it’s always in your parents’ garage. You find the keys in the glove box and revel in the sound of the engine when it starts. “I need to get the fuck away from here or I’ll make this even worse with dad.” 

She sighs. Your mother understands, and she knows you’re right. Jisung appears in the garage, but he’s alone. 

“Get in,” you tell him. “We’re leaving.”

Jisung waits in the frame of the door. “It’s not safe, Kangjeon—”

“Kangjeon is dead,” you remind him. “His men don’t scare me.” Jisung must know, you feel like, what you need to do right now. He has to understand. And you need him to do the thing you need to do. “Please, Jisung. Get in the car.” 

He nods while your mother takes a few steps back from your Mercedes, giving you enough space to drive away. You wait while the garage door opens up, revving the engine a little. It reminds you of the night Hyunjin let you drive his car and then fucked you in the backseat. 

“Be careful,” your mother tells you. There is comprehension in her eyes. You love your mother, you really do. You know what she is trying to warn you against. She's warned you about him for years, after all.

“Yeah, yeah.” 

It feels like freedom when you drive past the gate and into the street. It’s still early in the day, and you try to pace your driving so as not to draw attention to yourself. But you want to floor it. 

“Do you know where they are?” Jisung asks you. So, he understood, after all. Of course. “Cause I don’t.” 

“I think I might know.” You think you might, but really, what drives you is just the hope that you actually will see Hyunjin again. 

Alive.

You call his phone and it goes straight to voicemail. But you know where you’ll go to look for him.

Hyunjin told you some time ago about his place just outside of Iksan. He told you about it because his father doesn’t know about it, nor do any of his father’s men. Only the people that Hyunjin trusts are allowed to know that he has a house in Iksan.

The drive from Seoul to Iksan takes about three hours if one is used to the road. But you’re not used to that road, and you don’t drive regularly, so it takes you four hours and a half to reach Iksan. 

He told you about his place but he never told you the specific location. So with Jisung, you look for him. 

You call Hyunjin’s phone ten or a hundred times, and every time, it goes straight to voicemail. 

It’s easy to get used to pain. Especially when one’s system is pumped full of narcotics. 

Hyunjin is high. He’s high and he knows it because the pain in his left arm and leg is almost gone. It’s not gone gone, but, almost. It’s only the ghost of pain that remains. Just a reminder of the mess he made. 

A big, big mess. But he doesn’t regret it.

Hyunjin is high and he doesn’t want to think of you because he misses you, and it might make him hard, and he thinks the doctor will come to check on him soon. 

His phone is cracked and broken so he can’t look at the photos he took. Not of you, because he can’t keep pictures of you. Photographs of things that remind him of you. The sunset. A flower shop. Iced tea. A busy street in the morning. 

Hyunjin is high but he remembers everything about you. Your laugh, your smile. Your eyes when he fucks you. Your eyes after he kisses you. Your mouth around his cock, so sweet, so warm. He remembers your nails in the skin of his back and he remembers your voice, your mellow voice. You’re soft all over. He likes to palm your tits, he likes to feel all of your body with his hands before fucking you. 

God, you are the best thing that ever happened to him. 

If he had died, it would have been worth it. 

= = =

Hyunjin wakes up again sometime later. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the attack, since being treated urgently at his father’s house by his father’s doctor, since Minho had a stroke in the middle of his blood transfusion since he learned that Jeongin had suffered a brain injury. 

Some nerves and muscles in Hyunjin’s arms had been damaged. The minor surgery to fix this, apparently, had been a success—but it still hurt like a motherfucker. 

He doesn’t know exactly how long it’s been, but he knows it’s been a while. He gets out of the bed in his room—he occupies the master bedroom of his house in Iksan while the other two sleep on the first floor—and manages his way to the bathroom. 

He doesn’t like what the mirror shows him, so he doesn’t look. 

It’s quiet downstairs. The doctor and the nurse are in the office, and Hyunjin finds Minho in the living room. He’s sitting on the couch in front of the TV, but the device is turned off. Instead, Minho is staring at the door that’s cracked open, just left of the living room. Jeongin’s room.

“How is he today?” Hyunjin asks, mostly limping his way to the couch, but choosing to lean against the back of it instead—the couch is too low and it hurts him a little bit too much when he sits on it. “Better?”

“Better,” Minho responds with a shrug. “Less confused. Still can’t get out of bed on his own, he’s too dizzy.” 

Hyunjin nods. He often feels dizzy too, but it’s because of the medication. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Sorry I got you guys involved in this. It was selfish.”

Minho turns to him, staring at him with his piercing gaze. “Don’t be, Hyunjin. I had my reservations at first, but after hearing what that son of a bitch said… It had to be done.” He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “Shit. I’m sorry you had to be the one pulling the trigger on Kangjeon.” 

They hadn’t really talked about it, not yet. Hyunjin takes a moment to scan his friend, his bruised face, and the obvious dressing on his abdomen where the bullet had to be pulled from. 

“I thought I’d regret it,” Hyunjin admits to him, to his friend. “I really don’t. I’m ashamed I ever called him my friend, my brother.”

“He changed, even I saw that.” Maybe Minho is just trying to console you, but Hyunjin can acknowledge that he’s not wrong. “He got worse every time I saw him, honestly. Wonder what it would have been like in two or even five years, if you had let him live.”

But Hyunjin couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk letting Sunghoon live. Because his eyes had been on you, and you had become his prey, now. And Hyunjin knew that Sunghoon liked to play with his prey before a kill. 

The day drags. Hyunjin naps on one of the couches and eats lunch with Minho and Jeongin in the young man’s bedroom. He wants to paint, so he sends the nurse out to seek painting supplies. It takes her a whole two hours but she returns with the basics. It’s not much, but it’s more than enough for the dire situation Hyunjin is currently in. 

He’s halfway into his painting when he hears a knock on the front door. The sun went down a while ago, and he for sure knows that the night nursing staff is all present downstairs. 

He puts his painting brush down and hears Minho’s voice coming from the staircase. “You expecting someone?”

“No.” His father knows what happened, and is well aware of it, but Hyunjin didn’t tell him where they were going. He just said they were going to hide and lay low for a while, to which his father had answered ‘when you come back make sure you don’t make things even worse, boy’. “Maybe the staff ordered food?”

A pause. Voices. “No,” Minho confirms. 

Hyunjin limps his way out of his room and downstairs. Halfway through the staircase, the knocks resume, louder. Insisting. Jeongin is closest to the door, just outside his bedroom. He’s leaning against the wall to keep his balance and stares at Hyunjin with big, scared eyes. The boy has been through a lot. Too much.

Minho hurries the two nurses into the basement and closes the door behind them before pulling his pistol from a drawer of a small table in the living room. 

“At this point, I’ll literally shoot anybody who looks at me a little funny,” he admits to Hyunjin. 

“Let me open the door,” Hyunjin says. He knows Minho meant what he said and he doesn’t particularly want to draw more attention to this house than it already gets, and gunshots are quite loud… besides, his friends have sacrificed enough for him.

But Minho adamantly refuses, claims that he’s best at judging if people are dangerous or not, so Hyunjin insists. They keep their voices low to not be heard by the person who is still relentlessly knocking on their door. 

It’s Jeongin who, in the end, makes his way to the door, a hand on the wall to steady himself. Hyunjin sees him too late—he’s already in the process of unlocking the door and opening it when he and Minho turn towards the small entryway. 

There’s a long silence after the door has been cracked open. Jeongin is looking outside at whoever is standing on the porch with an expression that Hyunjin can’t read. Minho is closer to the door, so all he has to do is stretch his neck and he gets a glimpse of the person. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers. “Fuck. Goddamn.” He turns to Hyunjin. “Come see this.” 

Jeongin pulls the door open.

And Hyunjin sees you. 

You’re standing on the front porch, underdressed for the current weather and with a trembling hand over your mouth, as if you can’t believe what you’re seeing. Hell, Hyunjin can’t believe it either. Behind you, your faithful Han is equally shocked. 

“You-you're alive,” you say, looking at Hyunjin, Minho and Jeongin, but your eyes keep coming back to him, Hyunjin. “You’re not dead.” 

For a solid four seconds, Hyunjin wonders if he is still high. If any of this is real. 

But then you go through the door and cross the room, closing the distance between you and him. You look pale and you have dark circles under your reddened eyes. You must have cried a lot. You look like you’ve been crying a lot. 

But you’re here. 

Hyunjin wraps you in his arms, pulling you close. The contact between your two bodies creates sparks. For an instant there, he doesn’t even feel the pain. He just feels you. Your hands fisting his shirt, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your warm tears seeping through his collar. You. You. 

“Baby,” he whispers, burying his face into your hair. God, that smell. Your hair is so soft, so nice. “Shhhh, it’s okay.” He can’t stand hearing your soft cries. “Please, just breathe.” 

You try. You try to breathe, shifting your face to be looking at him from your spot in his neck. Hyunjin feels your breath, warm and nice, on his skin. Your breath smells like your favorite gum, which is strawberry-watermelon flavored. Your eyes are red but not in the same way Sunghoon’s eyes had been filled with blood before he had killed him. Your eyes are red because you love him. Sunghoon’s eyes were bloodshot because Hyunjin loves you. 

“How did you find us?” he asks you, unable to hide the quiver in his voice. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” you tell him, burying your face in his neck again, holding him tighter. Hyunjin feels your breasts against his chest, soft, comforting. Enticing. “I guessed you’d be at the Iksan house… I’ve been looking for you since yesterday, driving through town. Then I saw this house and the plum tree in the backyard. And I remembered you told me about the plum tree.” 

You remembered the plum tree. 

Hyunjin is well aware that you two are not alone in the room—he can hear the relieved and excited conversation between Minho, Jeongin, and Han—but he can’t wait any longer. 

He pulls you away, just enough to be able to take your face in his hands, delicately. Your skin is smooth and he brushes his fingers on your damp cheekbones, chasing the tears away. God, you’re so beautiful. Your lips, pink and raw from your cries, waiting for him, the sight of your smooth tongue an invitation. A promise. Your hair, messy and shiny and soft. Everything on you is soft. 

He’s the harshest thing about you. Coarse, abrasive. Those tears coating your face are because of him. The pain in your heart is because of him. 

So Hyunjin kisses you, pressing his lips against yours as gently as he can, using his mouth to part yours open, breathing in your oxygen when he inhales with the urgency of a man who just resurfaced after diving to the bottom of the ocean. He kisses you and he forgets Sunghoon. He forgets the sight of Jeongin’s head being violently thrown against the concrete wall. He forgets the smell of Minho’s blood. 

He kisses you and you’re all he remembers. 

His tongue is just about to find yours when he hears Jeongin loudly clear his throat just next to him. You’re the first to pull away from the kiss, your face flushed and enthralling. There’s a spark in your eyes that’s threatening to turn into flames. 

But Hyunjin had always liked to play with fire. 

“Boss,” Jeongin says apologetically. He tries to dip his head in a polite bow, knowing that he interrupted something important but loses his balance in the process—in the end, you’re the one to catch him and help him stay put. “Sorry,” Jeongin adds. “I just… I’m just so glad for the both of you, but we need to make sure they weren’t followed here.” 

Hyunjin sighs with a nod. “You’re right.” But the sudden rush of blood to his crotch had made him forget the basics of going into hiding. “I’ll go and drive around for a little while.” 

“I’m totally fine, I can go,” Han offers casually with a shrug. His arm is in a sling, but he does look okay. “I actually made sure we weren’t followed when we were driving, but I understand we have to go check, to be safe. I’m actually really good at circling neighborhoods. It’s how I made my name. I’m really good at it.”

“He’s right,” you say with a chuckle, obviously reminiscing about something very funny. Your laugh is so beautiful it makes Hyunjin want to cry, too. The mere fact that he is here and you are here, and he can hear your laugh. “I’ll go with you, Jisung.” 

“No, I’ll go.” Minho doesn’t hesitate and grabs a jacket from the small closet near the front door. “It’s all good.”

Jeongin turns to Han and Minho, his eyes round and desperate. “Fuck, don’t leave me alone with these two.” He can barely cross the room, but he does, and Minho laughs a little too loudly when Jeongin also grabs a jacket from the closer. “I’m going too, I don’t care if I pass out in the back of that car. It’s still better than staying here.” 

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and laughs it off, but really, he’s relieved. He makes sure to notify the nursing staff that their services aren’t required immediately as Minho and Jeongin will be headed outside—their rooms are in the basement, so he’s pretty sure they’ll stay there.

When he finds you again, you’re in the kitchen. The only source of light comes from the small night light on the opposite wall to you. You watch him make his way to you, your eyes big, full of tears again. 

You press your palms against his abdomen, hands sliding downwards. Hyunjin breathes in through his teeth, that contact sending shivers through his spine and awakening his cock for good. But that’s not where you’re going—instead, you feel his left thigh, just above the knee, where a stab wound is healing. You hover delicately, so delicately that it doesn’t hurt him at all.

“Hyunjin,” you say. Your voice is just a whisper. Your voice makes his cock twitch. “Hyunjin… What did you do? What did you do to yourself?”

He doesn’t care about that. He does care about the injuries that Jeongin and Minho suffer from… but his leg, his arm—he doesn’t give a fuck about them. 

“I didn’t know he was your friend,” you continue, standing upright again, placing your hands on his waist. Your fingers are tugging at the elastic of his sweatpants and it’s driving him crazy. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“But I did. I did have to,” Hyunjin replies, his palms on the small of your back, pressing your core against the bulge forming in his pants. “You’re mine. He can’t do this to you and get away with it. He would have done worse if I hadn’t killed him.”

“I saw it,” you say, your big eyes looking into his gaze with love, with lust. He doesn’t see fear in them, he just sees you. “The security footage.” 

Your traits twist a little when you say that, and, at first, Hyunjin thinks it’s because he disgusts you. But then he feels you, moving lightly, feeling the stiffness of his cock, and he understands that it’s pleasure overtaking you, nothing else. Relief, maybe. He hopes because it wasn’t just anybody he killed, for you. 

“I saw what you did to him,” you go on, your head falling back a little, exposing your lips, your jaw, your neck, your earlobes, all of it ready for him to kiss and tease with his teeth. “I saw what you said to him. Some of it.”

“Did you?” Hyunjin dives in, leaving a trail of kisses on your collarbone before reaching the soft skin of your neck. You moan a deep heartfelt moan. Your hands pull harder on his waistband. “What did you see?”

Against his tongue, he can feel you swallow—his mouth parted open on your neck, tasting you, kissing you there. 

“I saw it all,” you say. Your voice is not even a whisper anymore—you’re just breathing the words, your core pressed delightfully against his concealed erection. Fuck, he missed you. “Hyunjin, do it to me, too.” 

Hyunjin’s legs go limp at your plea—another moan escapes your pink lips when he presses his tongue flat against the base of your neck and licks you up, all the way to the ticklish spot behind your ear.

“Hyunjin,” you repeat, your voice is a curse, your voice is a prophecy. “Touch me there.” 

You reach for his wrist, where his hand was trying to rid you of your shirt. Instead, you direct it to your neck, inviting it to your throat. 

You look at him with forest fires in your eyes. “Please,” you urge him. “I missed you. So much. Make me feel your love, Hyunjin.” 

Hyunjin’s cock twitches hard at that, but he ignores it and closes his hand around your neck, around your throat. You have tears in your eyes, and he can see your tongue behind your wet lips. 

God, you are such a slut. But you are his slut, so he presses his palm against the delicate skin of your throat, and you melt beneath him. 

Hyunjin uses the grasp around your neck to pull you in for a wet kiss. You moan in his mouth, your hands clawing at his back as if you’re trying to merge your body with his. 

“Is that what you want?” he asks into your ear, squeezing your neck with just the right amount of pressure—right before it elicits pain. Later, he will hurt you more.

“Please,” your eyes are closed and your hands linger on his back for a second before they trail down to the front of his body, grazing over his straining cock. “Hyunjin.” 

He’s not going to fuck you in this kitchen. Because there is a slight possibility that someone might catch him doing it. While part of him would be delighted for the whole world to see how well you take his cock, he’d rather you just be his. 

So Hyunjin kisses you hard while you rub him over his trousers. You’re making him crazy. Apparently, though, he’s always been crazy. Everybody knows that the Hwang boy likes to play with fire. But you’re making him worse. But you’re making him better.

Hyunjin takes you upstairs. He feels slow in the staircase, his leg still sore from the wound, but your hand is in his and it’s okay. You let go of him when you enter the bedroom and notice the easel and the painting he was working on just earlier. 

Hyunjin has told you about his hobby many times, and has even shown you pictures of his works—but this is the first time you see it in person, and it feels intimate, intimate enough to make him forget the stiffness in his cock. 

The painting isn’t over yet, and he’s not perfectly happy with the supplies he was provided with—he’s much more comfortable painting in the art studio of his apartment—but he watches you stare at the half-painted sunset on the canvas, your head cocked to the side. 

“Hyunjin, this is so pretty,” you tell him, your hands hovering over the wet paint without touching it. He wouldn’t mind if you did. He wouldn’t mind if you smeared color all over it, for it would remind him of your fingers when he looks at the painting. “I wish I could paint, too.” 

Hyunjin pulls you against him, eager to feel you again. He kisses you. The kiss is deep and deepens even more when you wrap your arms around him to direct the both of you towards the bed. 

Sometimes Hyunjin wonders if there will ever be a time when he sees you and will not want to immediately ruin you. He knows you feel the same, too—it’s electrifying. But he’s with you far less than he is without you.

And he needs you.

Your hands are already pulling his clothes off him and he does the same to you, hungry for your body. God, he should paint you in a nude portrait, just so he can look at you, at the universe that you are, endlessly. 

“Hyunjin,” you whisper once you are both on the bed, him sitting on the edge of it, you behind him, wrapping his chest in your arms in a hug. He knows you’re looking at the dressings covering his wounds. “Hyunjin, I’m so sorry… it’s all my fault. If we hadn’t met, you wouldn’t… you wouldn’t have had to kill him...” 

Your spit-smeared hand trails down his abdomen and you waste no time locking it around his erect cock, sending a jolt of electricity through Hyunjin’s whole body. He leans his back into you and you kiss his unharmed shoulder softly, warmth spreading all over him. Your warmth. 

“You don’t understand,” he says, his head falling back to lean against your bare breasts. He feels them through his hair and he likes it. “You’re more important than him. More important than anything.” 

Your stroking of his cock intensifies after he says this to you, he grunts when your other hand joins in the work to play with his balls, massaging them, and Hyunjin moves his hips to meet your fist. Fuck, you’re jerking him so… delicately . Why does it feel so intense?

“I love you,” you say into his ear, and he knows you mean it because he feels your love. He feels it in your hands, sending pleasure all throughout his body. He feels it in your mouth, in your tongue now twirling on his neck, he feels it in the way you look at him. 

“I love you,” he responds, his voice cracking when you squeeze his cock a little harder than you need to, making precum ooze out of him like it’s your only purpose. Like it’s your command, to him, to come undone. “Fuck, yes, so fucking good…” 

You push onto the side of his head so he faces you, and Hyunjin kisses you hungrily, his mouth open for yours, his tongue exploring every corner of it. You kiss him back and he feels violence in your mouth that’s threatening to make him explode. His balls feel sore.

He needs you. 

“Can you fuck?” you ask him, your mouth still so close to his. He licks the spit off your lips and his hand reaches for you, trying to pull you even closer. “You’re hurt.”

“I don’t care if it hurts,” he says and he means it. “Need you baby…” 

You could rip out his stitches with your teeth and he would thank you for it. You could cut him open in other places and he would also thank you for it. 

You are his, but, likewise, he is yours. 

You let go of his cock and for an instant, Hyunjin’s breath is cut off—his pleasure had been increasing dangerously and the sudden lack of it makes him dizzy. 

He wants you and he wants to feel all of you and he wants to take his time. But lately, Hyunjin feels like he is running out of time. 

You both move onto the bed, and Hyunjin finds himself laying next to you. Facing each other, you kiss again, a tender, loving kiss, and it doesn’t take long before you pull him close and he positions himself on top of you. Fuck, he does love to taste you, feel your legs shake when he makes you cum with his tongue, but he has a different kind of hunger tonight. He wants the comfort of your soft pussy, the comfort of your body under his. 

You are his solace. You are his secret. Not much in his life makes sense—from the day he was born, Hyunjin has never known ordinary . Mundane. This is why he likes painting so much. He can paint the most ordinary things, like sunsets, and just… pretend .

But you— you make sense, even if you shouldn’t. 

“You’re the best fucking thing that ever happened to me,” he says under his breath, his mouth grazing over yours. “Never wanna be without you, baby…” 

He reaches with his hand for your folds, finding you wet and warm to the touch. Your skin is so smooth there, just like he remembers it. Fuck, he missed this. He missed you. He presses his fingers against you, lazily rubbing at your clit for now, as it usually turns you into a writhing, moaning mess, and he quite likes that sight… 

But he realizes that you’ve stopped moving. Hyunjin looks up, only to find you frozen in place, a soft frown in between your brows. Your eyes are filled up with tears and your lips, raw from all the rough kissing, are trembling. 

“Baby,” he whispers, his hand retreating from your sacred heat. He’s rock hard and absolutely ready to fuck you, but he puts his face close to yours, his cock throbbing painfully—however, it doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it bothers him to see you upset. “Should I stop?” 

“No, no, please, don’t stop,” you beg him, pressing yourself against him, your hands feeling him. You’re impatient. “Just don’t… don’t say things if you don’t mean them, please, Hyunjin…” You roll your hips, grinding against his aching cock, moaning softly against his mouth. 

“But I meant it,” Hyunjin insists, grabbing your waist firmly and digging his fingers into your soft skin. “I never want to be without you.”

You keep rubbing yourself against him, and Hyunjin feels your slick creaming up his cock in the process. He looks down to witness it, and the off-white of your juices on his flushed length extracts a deep moan out of him. 

He should paint that, too. He would name the painting love is a masterpiece, oil on canvas .

“I know you mean it,” you tell him, pushing his chin upwards so he’s looking at you in the eyes again. “But it can’t be real , Hyunjin. And you shouldn’t say things that can’t happen… it’ll just hurt me. And hurt you, too.” 

Your big eyes are still wet with tears, and your pink mouth parts open just for him, but Hyunjin’s brain is overloaded with the sensation of you against his cock, your hands all over him, your smell, the softness of your hair…

“But—” he begins, but you kiss him to make him stop. 

“Don’t say it. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” You look at him, a few tears rolling on your cheeks. “Just promise me one thing—that even when this all turns to shit, you won’t forget me. I won’t ever forget you, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin wants to tell you that it could never turn to shit, this, you, him, that it will always be okay. But he knows you’re right. He hates it, but he can’t deny it either.

If life had decided otherwise, you would be his wife.

Sometimes, reality can be disappointing.

Hyunjin cups your face in his hand, swiping away your tears. “I promise,” he tells you with a sigh. This is a promise he can keep—he will remember you even after he is dead, after his atoms have been split all across the universe. He could never forget you. 

At that moment, there is an infinite amount of things that Hyunjin wants to say to you. He wants to tell you that when that guy stabbed him in the shoulder the other day, he thought his artery had been severed, and he thought he was going to die. 

And it was about you he was thinking. Your lips. The way it looks when sunshine hits your hair. Your laugh, the stars in your eyes. Your hands, your mouth. The beauty in your soul. Hyunjin thought he was going to die but he wanted to die thinking of you.

Nevertheless, he is here tonight. His shoulder is sore but he is alive. He can’t promise you much, but he can make you feel his love.

Hyunjin kisses you softly and he manages his way on top of you despite the pain in his leg. You sink into the soft mattress, your breathing unsteady and deep. Nothing could stop him from fucking you tonight, not even the end of the world. 

So he guides his cock near your entrance, letting it rub against your skin, on your clit more precisely. Softly. Nicely, until your tears have stopped, until your breathing has turned into shallow sighs, until you’ve spread your legs open for him. 

Hyunjin pushes the tip of his cock inside you, extracting a delightful moan from you. Your nails dig into his skin on his sides, and he knows this will leave scratches. He hopes you scar him so that he can wear you like a token, a reminder.

There’s a moan stuck in Hyunjin’s throat as he eases himself inside you, your tight walls hugging him. The sound it makes when he stretches you is unholy—you’re wet, so wet, so much that it leaks around his cock and out of you. This feeling is now somewhat familiar to Hyunjin, but he knows he could never have enough of it, of you. 

He rocks his hips back and forth, kindly at first, getting used both to your tightness and the lingering pain from his leg wound, until he puts his hand under your leg to raise it higher, to open your thighs furthermore. Your face is flushed now, and completely focused on the cock that is fucking you. 

“ Fuck ,” he groans when he looks down only to catch a glimpse of his cock disappearing in your flushed slit. “I love your pussy, baby… fuck, so good...”

“Harder please ,” you beg him, your eyelids already fluttering. Hyunjin bites his lip at that sight and at your request.

“You’re such a filthy slut,” he grunts, slamming into you harder than he had so far, making your back arch with delight. “You take me so fucking well…” 

The way you roll your hips from beneath him makes him want to go berserk. You may have been right about absolutes and promises, but he knows one thing—nothing in this world is as good as fucking you. 

So that’s what he does. Fuck you. For a while. You fuck him from below, too, your nails buried in his thighs, his mouth on your nipples, his hands on your waist, your hips meeting his. Hyunjin is pounding into you relentlessly. Each time he bottoms out, you arch your back, you cry out, you ask for more, more. You say his name and it makes him see stars.

When Hyunjin pauses to catch his breath, you watch him from behind glazed eyes, your face red, your hair sticking to your forehead. You’ve never been as beautiful as you are in this moment. You pull him closer, making him lie down in front of you, both of you on your side, face to face.

You wrap your leg around his waist, pressing yourself against his aching cock, your breath hot against his skin. You kiss him softly, despite your obvious eagerness to have him inside you again. Hyunjin slides his arm under your body, pulling you closer, and reaches for your hair to push it away from your face, baring your neck in the same motion. You are the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, he knows that for sure. 

He puts his lips against your neck, right where it meets your ear. You moan at that, and your agile hand finds his cock, stroking him nicely, your grip not too tight but tenacious. He could cum right now, but Hyunjin wants to do so inside you, over and over again. He wants to see his seed spill out of you. He wants to make your voice fill the room as he does so, make you beg, turn you into a mess. 

But you reach for his neck too, to trace the outline of his tattoo. You do this often. You also often kiss it, saying that you like it so, so much. But tonight, your hand trails up to Hyunjin’s hair where you play with his dark locks softly, your other hand working his cock slowly and daintily. Your eyes are locked into his, reading him, decoding him. Breaking him. You almost make him cum when you thumb the tip of his aching cock, licking your lips while doing so. 

You finally whisper his name when he grabs your body to roll you on your other side, your backside now facing him, but your voice is barely audible, just an indiscernible murmur. 

Hyunjin looks down just to admire your ass as you rub it against his cock. He’s leaking so much precum and the ache of his cock has spread to his lower stomach, pulling his insides down, like a sting that wouldn’t go.

He lets his hand trail lazily on your thigh, enjoying the smoothness of your skin. His other hand is still under your body, ready to position you in any way he’d like to have you at any given moment. Well, if he can still think lucid thoughts later on—Hyunjin wonders if any of his blood is still reaching his brain or if it’s all going to his dick. He feels engorged, almost too sensitive, ready to blow. 

You try to reach for his cock from your position, but he puts your arm back to your side.

“No, no,” he murmurs to your ear, his free hand grabbing your waist with a secure grip. “Let me fuck you. This time, let me worry about you , not the other way around.”

Hyunjin takes just a second to take it all in—the sight of you, the strong smell of sweat and sex in the room, the view he has of your soaked folds—and then he pins you against the mattress, putting all of his weight on you. You cry out, surprised or thrilled, or both—but you move your knee, opening your legs for him, making it easier for Hyunjin to find what he’s looking for.

He enters you again with just one powerful thrust, Hyunjin’s cock is throbbing as you moan into the comforter when Hyunjin sinks into you. It’s alright, Hyunjin figures, but he wants to hear you. He slides his hand all the way to your neck, lifting your chin, pulling your head up until it hugs the crook of his neck, pressing his hand against your throat.

He feels it. The slight but obvious give in your neck, the fragility of the cartilage, your throat, and the moan that is being birthed inside of it. The throat which you like to offer him to fuck. Hyunjin presses his fingers a little harder on the soft spot of it, skillfully reducing your oxygen intake. 

You gasp, letting out a strangled cry. “Yes, Hyunjin …” but you have no voice, as he has taken it away from you with just some pressure from his fingers. 

Yes. That’s the way he likes it when you say his name, like no other cock has ever been as good as his—like you’re begging for him , like you’ve never wanted anything more in your life than his cock stretching your delicate pussy.

Hyunjin thrusts his hips to meet you, fucking you deep and hard, which results in more writhing and strangled moans from you, your face twisting with delight and pain both while he tests the limits of his hand around your throat.

He's going to cum, Hyunjin knows it. He has one minute left if that. Your hands are clutching the one he has around your neck, but not really fighting him. You let him stretch your pretty little cunt, too, let him bite into your shoulder, which he keeps doing desperately as if it would delay his orgasm in any way. As if he didn’t fucking love the taste of your skin.

It doesn’t help at all, and his release is inevitable. He pushes you harder onto the mattress, fucking you in a true prone bone position with your ass propped up just enough, your head still held up high by his grip around your throat. That must hurt you, Hyunjin thinks. 

God, he reaches so deep, his whole cock is enveloped by your warmth, your wetness. The overstimulation is close to unbearable, as Hyunjin’s cock twitches painfully every few seconds. Everytime, his hand closes tighter around your neck. 

And yet, you’re wet and tight around him, smearing your cream onto his cock with each of his powerful thrusts into you. He rubs your left ass cheek with his free hand, kneading it nicely before giving it a gentle slap. Then a not-so-gentle one. 

He chokes you harder then.

Your walls throb around him, giving away your true colors. 

“... such a good girl you are…” Hyunjin wants to say so much more, but his brain is in a fog. “... do you feel my love now?” 

Seconds. Seconds before he bursts inside you, and he wants to do so as deep as he physically can. But not before you answer him. 

“Do you feel my love, baby?” he croaks into your ear. Your face has turned to a dark red color, and the sounds escaping your lips remind him of the ones Sunghoon made when he killed him. Hyunjin’s cock twitches hard, and he grips your fragile neck tighter.

You open your mouth. Your face is red and your eyes are white, rolled all the way back—he can’t see much from behind you, and he wishes he could watch you melt into a mess. 

“Do you feel it?” His voice is low, barely audible. But you nod. “Are you gonna cum for me, my pretty little slut? I’m so close baby…”

“Y—yes, yes yes yes,” your voice is just a raspy gasp. You have never been more beautiful than you are in that moment. 

And this is how Hyunjin finally cums. Just a few seconds into his release, you cum, too. 

It’s overwhelming. You cry out, your screams muffled by the hand still gripping your neck. Hyunjin groans as his cock pulses violently inside you, finally ridding him of the ache in his loins. 

He shoots four powerful loads inside you, painting your still fluttering walls white, flooding you with his love. There’s so much of it—he can’t control it, he can just fuck his cum deeper into you, your tight pussy milking his tight balls just perfectly. 

The aftershock from feeling you throb onto his sensitive shaft is so strong that Hyunjin’s knees go weak, but he manages, somehow, to keep fucking you through it, until you’ve stopped squirming, until your pussy has stopped fluttering around him. 

When he releases your throat, you inhale deeply, slumping on the mattress, your body limp. 

Hyunjin pulls out, finding his cock covered in his cum and yours—his favorite sight. A trail of it follows his softening length, dripping onto your inner thigh and the blankets, but he lets his body fall next to yours—both of you fully spent.

When you manage to push yourself up a little, he gets a glimpse of you, your fucked out face, smeared mascara, swollen lips. He sees the imprint of his hand on your neck. You will be bruised from this. But you always look good with blues or purples on you.

When Hyunjin tries to sit up, you pull him back down onto the bed, so he wraps you into his arms. 

“Stay with me,” you tell him. Your voice is still hoarse and he loves it. “Don’t clean me up, Hyunjin. I want to feel your cum inside me for a little while.” 

If he hadn’t fucked you this hard, his cock would have gotten hard again right now. 

Hyunjin knows he can’t promise you anything. 

Yet he wants to. He wants to pick up iced tea for you on the way home. He wants to kiss you good morning and good night. He wants to witness many sunsets with you. He wants to make love to you, make you feel his love every day.

But this is not the love he can give you. He can kill men for you, he can fuck you so hard you forget your own name. But that's about it.

Sometimes, reality can be contradictory.

Sometimes, reality can be disappointing.