sillylilsquid

[sillylilsquid]

hi! I’m so nervous this is my first request, but I absolute love your writing. I don’t have anything specific (hoping that’s okay) I just really like the way you write Hyunju and I’d love it if you could make more content of her! Maybe more first date and meeting things like your most recent post? There’s so little for her, and unfortunately I’m obsessed. Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to consider this request!

i so appreciate you!! yes, absolutely...i currently working on two hyun-ju fics and have quite a few more ideas in my head! i can add you to the taglist, if you would like! xoxo

[sillylilsquid]

it was always you

pairing - hyun-ju x reader summary - After years apart, a surprise dinner brings you and Hyun-ju back into each other’s orbit. Hyun-ju has finished her transition; you never stopped loving her. In the quiet aftermath of slow, devastating intimacy, Hyun-ju learns what it means to be fully seen–and fully wanted. warnings - afab!reader, post-transition!hyun-ju, explicit sexual content, 18 + minors dni!! 4.4k words

You’re halfway through your glass of wine when you hear her laugh. It doesn’t register right away. You’ve been zoning in and out of conversation all night–politely nodding, smiling, pretending to follow the chatter about jobs and breakups and someone’s new dog. You almost don’t notice the person who slides into the empty seat next to you.

Then: that laugh. Low. Warm. A little rasp at the end, like she still doesn’t quite know how to laugh without giving something away.

And then she turns toward you. And your breath catches.

Hyun-ju.

It’s been…god, years? You’re not even sure how long. The last time you saw her, she still wore her hair chopped super short and rarely made eye contact. Now she’s sitting next to you like she owns the space–gold hoops glinting in the restaurant light, her hair almost brushing the tops of her shoulders now, mascara coating her thick lashes.

She looks like a woman who knows exactly who she is.

“Hyun-ju?” you say, voice too soft.

Her eyes flick toward you–and they soften immediately. She tilts her head. “Well, shit,” she murmurs, smiling slow. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You don’t know what to do with your hands. Or your face. You smile, too big, too awkward, and tuck your napkin into your lap like that’s going to help. “I–hi,” you manage. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Min said he was bringing some old friends,” she shrugs. “Didn’t realize you were that old friend.”

You laugh, it comes out breathy. “Yeah. It’s…been a while.”

She hums. Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer than polite. “You look good.”

You blush. Instantly. She notices, of course she does, and leans back just enough to stretch–her arm brushing yours as she moves. She smells like citrus and something woodsy. Expensive and intoxicating.

“You, um–” you swallow. “You look amazing. I mean–like, really. You look…” You trail off. You don’t know how to finish the sentence without sounding unhinged.

She grins, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Thanks, baby. You always were too sweet to lie.”

Oh god. 

You busy yourself with your wine glass. The room keeps talking–Min laughing across the table, two of your other friends arguing about astrology–but it all fades. Hyun-ju’s body is angled toward yours now. Her knees humps yours under the table and stays there.

“You still in the city?” she asks, like it’s just casual conversation. Like her voice isn’t wrecking you from the inside out.

You nod. “Yeah. Moved last year. Teaching now. Nothing glamorous.”

“Doesn’t have to be glamorous. Just has to feel like yours.”

You glance over. Her gaze is steady. It always used to be sharp, skittish, distant. Now it’s soft, patient.

She looks at you like she’s remembering every version of you she ever saw. Every version she might want to know again. “Wanna catch up properly after this?” she asks.

You don’t even think before you say, “Yes.”

The restaurant spills out into the warm hum of evening–street lights buzzing, sidewalk still holding the day’s heat. You’re walking beside Hyun-ju, not quite brushing shoulders, but close enough to feel her there. Solid, present, real.

“Mine’s just around the corner,” she glances down at you. “If you wanna keep talking.”

You nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.” She smiles. Doesn’t say anything else.

Her apartment is quiet, warm-toned, soft in a way you didn’t expect. One wall is lined with plants. The furniture is minimal, clean, cozy. There’s music humming low from a speaker somewhere–just instrumental, ambient, barely there.

You toe off your shoes by the door, trying not to look like you’re too flustered. “Make yourself comfy,” she says as she sets her keys on the counter. “I’ll open us a bottle.”

You nod and sit on the couch, your knees a little too close together, hands folded like you’re in church. The cushions are deep, the kind you can sink into if you let yourself.

She moves confidently around the kitchen. You steal a glance at her–how good she looks in those high waisted jeans, the little tuck of her shirt, the slope of her back. How grounded she seems. Settled.

When she returns with two glasses of wine, she hands you one before sitting beside you–not too close, not too far.

You take a sip. It gives you something to do with your hands. Your nerves are alive and buzzing. “You’ve really changed,” you say quietly, then wince. “Wait, I–I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I just–”

Hyun-ju smiles softly, like she knew what you meant all along. “It’s okay,” she says, setting her glass down. “I finished my transition about nine months ago.”

Your heart lifts into your throat. “Are you happy?” you ask, before you can second guess the question.

She looks at you, and her eyes go warm. “More than ever.”

You smile. It pulls up slowly, genuine and bright. “Good,” you murmur. “You deserve it.”

Something flickers across her face then–something quiet and hard to name. Gratitude, maybe. Or relief. Or maybe just the strange sweetness of being seen.

She leans back into the couch, her glass resting against her thigh. The music plays on. You glance down at her hand–how close it is to yours on the cushion.

She says, “You’re still the same.” You look at her surprised. “I mean that in a good way,” she adds, teasing, her mouth titled in a grin.

You laugh. “God. You always used to say that to get out of trouble.”

She hums. “Worked then. Still works now.” Your knees brush. 

Neither of you move away. You swirl the last of your wine before finishing it in one smooth sip–nerves or habit you’re not sure. Then you lean forward, setting the empty glass on the coffee table a little too gently, like you’re afraid to break the moment by moving too loud.

Hyun-ju’s watching you, glass still in her hand, eyes half lidded and lazy. “Did you finally dump your stupid boyfriend?”

You laugh, a real laugh. “Yeah,” you lean back into the couch. “Like…three months ago, maybe.”

“Finally. He was a loser.” Hyun-ju smirks into her wine.

You laugh. “He wasn’t that bad.”

“He wore toe shoes,” she deadpans.

Your face scrunches. “Okay, yeah, he was that bad.”

She grins, pleased. “And he never deserved you anyway.” That last bit lands differently. Not a joke. Just quiet and soft.

Your breath catches before you can stop it. “You remember that night he picked a fight with me at Min’s party?”

“Of course I do,” her voice dips lower. “I wanted to kill him.” You glance at her. She’s already looking at you. “He made you cry. Then pretended like it was your fault.”

You nod, a little stunned. You hadn’t known she noticed. Let alone remembered.

“I almost followed you out when you left,” she admits, eyes not leaving yours. “But I thought…I didn’t have the right?”

You’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re sitting. The warmth of her body next to yours. The way her knee is angled toward you now, not just brushing by accident. “You could’ve,” your voice is barely above a whisper. “I would’ve wanted you to.”

She looks at you for a long beat. “Yeah?” she asks, like she doesn’t quite believe it–but wants to.

You nod. Her fingers drum lightly on her glass. She sits it down beside yours, the clink of it echoing in the quiet room. Then she shifts–just slightly–turning more toward you. Her thigh touches yours now. Firm and intentional.

“You always looked at me like you wanted to say something. Back then.” She murmurs.

You swallow. “So did you.”

Her gaze drops to your mouth for half a second, then back up. “Maybe. But I wasn’t ready to be seen. Not like that.”

You nod slowly. “And now?”

Her lips twitch, but it’s not a smile. It’s something heavier. “Now I want to be seen by you.”

The silence stretches again. You don’t move. You don’t even breathe. She reaches up, fingers brushing a stray piece of hair from your cheek. Her touch is feather light. Your heart slams against your ribs.

Then her voice, impossibly gentle: “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart skips. Then stutters. Then finally crashes against your ribs as you whisper, “Please.”

Hyun-ju doesn’t hesitate after that. She leans in slowly, giving you every second to pull away–but you don’t. You tilt into her, breath caught in your throat.

And then she kisses you. It’s soft at first–just the press of her mouth against yours, careful and reverent, like she’s memorizing the shape of you. You sigh into it, lips parting as she tilts her head and kisses you deeper, her hand sliding to the side of your face, thumb brushing the hinge of your jaw.

Your whole body warms. Nerves lighting up in places you forgot how to feel. She kisses like someone who’s waited years to be allowed. Someone who’s had this dream over and over and never expected it to be real.

You shift forward on the couch without thinking–closer, closer–until your knees brush hers and your chest is pressed to hers and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Then her hands settle on your waist. Her grip is steady. Grounding. And you let her guide you–up, over, into her lap.

You straddle her, thighs on either side of hers, your skirt bunching up as you settle. She exhales sharply, hands tightening, eyes flicking over your face like she can’t believe you’re really here like this–like this.

“Is this okay?” you murmur, breath warm against her mouth.

She nods, voice low and frayed. “More than okay.”

You kiss her again. Harder now. Sloppier. All the years of restraint unraveling between your mouths. Your hips shift, instinctive and desperate–rolling down against her, slow and uncertain, your breath catching the second your body feels her under you.

Hyun-ju groans. It’s the softest sound–but it punches the air from your lunds.

Her hands slide up your back, one settling between your shoulder blades, the other drifting lower. She’s holding you like she doesn’t want to let go, like she doesn’t quite believe she’s allowed to touch you this way.

And you–God, you can’t stop kissing her. Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging gently. Her lips part with a shiver. You grind down again–needy, dizzy. Her thighs flex beneath you.

She gasps. “Baby–”

You freeze, eyes wide, suddenly remembering everything. “Did I–” you whisper, panic bubbling in your throat. “Did I do something wrong?”

Hyun-ju’s eyes widen, hand tightening on your hips. “No,” she says quickly. “No, sweetheart. Just–” Her voice softened. “Breathe. We can go slow.”

You nod. “I want to…I want to learn what you like. I don’t want to mess this up.”

Her hands slide up to cradle your face again, thumbs stroking gently under your eyes. “You’re not going to mess anything up,” she whispers. “You asking me that? That’s already everything.”

You feel your breath leave your body in a shaky rush. “I want all of you,” you mumble, “I want to touch you right.”

Hyun-ju swallows thickly, eyes bright. Then she leans up and kisses you again. Slower this time. Her hands stay on your cheeks, keeping you close, steady. And underneath you, her body is trembling too.

You don’t remember when the kisses turned desperate again–when you started rocking forward in her lap like you couldn’t help it, your fingers fisting in the fabric of her shirt, her hands steadying your hips like she was trying to slow things down.

You only know the second she pulls away, her lips flushed and parted, her voice low. “Come here,” she murmurs, and then she’s stradlig–effortlessly, your body curled into hers, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist as she lifts you up like you weigh nothing.

You gasp. Laugh a little. “Jesus–”

Hyun-ju’s grinning now, carrying you through the hall like it’s second nature. “That’s what years in the military gets me.”

You cling together, breath hot against her throat. “You were always so strong.”

She huffs a laugh. “Only ever wanted to be strong for the people I cared about.”

That makes your chest squeeze. You don’t know what to say to that. So you kiss her again instead–messy, open mouthed, grateful.

Then you feel the bed beneath you. She drops you onto the mattress with a soft bounce, and your breath hitches as she leans over you, her hands braced beside your shoulders. Her eyes rake over your face, your chest, your parted lips. You feel seen. Not just naked–wanted.

She brushes her thumb across your bottom lip. “You sure?” she whispers. “We don’t have to rush.”

“I’m sure. I want you.”

And then you both start to move. Not rushing, not toward undressing. Just into each other–your bodies tangled in the middle of her bed, mouths locked in slow, hungry kisses.

She’s leaning against the headboard, legs parted just enough for you to settle over her. Your thighs straddle hers, arms braced on either side of her shoulders, and she looks up at you like she’s starving.

You kiss her harder. She groans, low in her throat, pulling you in by the hips, and then her mouth is at your neck–sucking, licking, dragging her teeth just enough to make you gasp. You let her. You let her mark you.

Normally, you’d squirm at the thought of hickies–feeling too visible, too exposed–but not when they’re from her. Not when they come with the press of her body under yours, the sound of her breath catching as you grind down a little harder.

Her hands squeeze your ass, fingers digging in just right, and you moan before you can stop yourself. That earns you a grin–crooked, wicked, half lidded.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, voice rough. “I’ve always wanted your ass in my hands.”

You let out a laugh and then you’re pulling your shirt over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it to the side without a second thought.

She goes quiet. You reach for the hem of her shirt, sliding it up over her stomach slowly. She tenses just a little–but you pause immediately, eyes searching hers. “I–” you start, ready to stop.

But she nods, steady this time. “You can take it off.”

So you do. You ease it up, baring the soft slope of her belly, the delicate line of her ribs, the deep curve of her waist. She helps a little–lifting her arms–and then it’s gone, flung somewhere behind you.

She’s still in her bra. So are you. You stay like that, just looking at each other–half naked, flushed, breathing each other in.

Then her hands come back to your hips. Sliding under the waistband of your pants just slightly. Her thumbs stroke your skin, and you swear your pulse jumps.

God,” she whispers. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You duck your head and kiss her–deep and slow, your chest pressing to hers, the friction making you both sign into each other. “I’ve always wanted this,” you whisper in between kisses. “I’ve wanted you.”

Her mouth finds your jaw, then the shell of your ear. “I used to dream about this,” she breathes. “You, straddling me like this. Moaning in my mouth. Telling me I can have you.”

“You can,” you say. “You have me.”

You kiss her like you’re trying to memorize her mouth. Every curve of her lips, the sound she makes when you nip gently at her bottom lip, the way her breath catches when you roll your hips just right.

Her hands slide up your bare back, warm and sure, until her thumbs brush just beneath the strap of your bra. She doesn’t try to take it off. Not yet. She’s too focused on feeling you.

You lean back slightly, just enough to see her face, and your breath stutters at the sigh of her. Hair mussed. Lips kiss-bitten. Chest rising and falling beneath black lace. She’s radiant.

You lean down again, kissing over the swell of her breasts, your lips trailing reverent, open-mouthed kisses across the edge of her bra. “Fuck,” she whipsers, hands tightening on your hips. “You’re driving me crazy.”

You smile into her skin. “Good.” You shift lower, still straddling her thighs and then her mouth is on you–kissing over your chest, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin just above the cup of your bra.

“You’re unreal. You know that?” she mumbles.

You shake your head, flushed breathless. “I just want to make you feel good.”

“You already are. You’re fucking perfect.”

Her hands slide down again–palming your ass, squeezing, guiding you to roll your hips forward. The friction is enough to make you moan, your hands clutching her shoulders for balance. She watches you like you’re art. Like you’re something she’s only ever dreamed of having.

“Can I take these off you?” she murmurs, fingers bruising the waistband of your pants.

You nod, dazed. “Yeah–please.” You left your hips, and she helps you peel them down, her hands slow, steady, careful not to rush.

The air hits your thighs and you shiver, left in your underwear, your body hot and aching. “God,” she breathes. “Look at you.”

You bite your lip. “Your turn?”

Her mouth twitches into a soft, teasing smile. “You gonna be gentle with me?” You slide your hands down to her waistband, kissing her once more–soft and slow.

“Always.”

You take her pants off the same way she did yours. Careful. Slow. Kissing your way down her body, your hands reverent as you ease the fabric over her hips and thighs, baring more and more of her to your touch.

She’s gorgeous. All of her. When you sit back on your heels you take a second to look at her–both of you in nothing but your bras and underwear now, your bodies flushed and aching, your eyes glassy with want.

“You’re so beautiful, Hyun-ju. You have no idea.”

She reaches up, fingers curling behind your neck to pull you down again. “I think I do. When you look at me like that.”

She kisses you like she’s starving. Hands roaming your bare back, tongue in your mouth, moaning into you as you grind down on her lap. The fabric is soaked now–your underwear clingy and damo, hers stretches tight against the heat of her. Every time you roll your hips, she groans like it’s the first time she's ever been touched. 

You’re both gasping by the time you pull away. “Take this off,” she whispers, slipping her fingers beneath the band of your bra. “Wanna see you. Wanna taste.”

You nod, dizzy. Her hands help you unclasp it, and the second you’re bare, she’s touching–palming your breasts, squeezing gently, brushing her thumbs over your nipples until you whimper.

“So fucking pretty,” she breathes. “I used to jerk off thinking about your tits, you know that?”

You let out a wrecked laugh, squirming. “Fuck.”

She leans forward, dragging her tongue over one nipple, then the other, sucking one into her mouth until you’re gasping, thighs tightening around her hips. Her voice is low and wrecked. “Sound so good, baby. Let me hear you.”

You reach for her bra, hands shaking a little. She sits up to help, her breathing shallow, eyes locked on yours. “You sure?” you whisper.

She nods. “Yeah. I want you to see me.”

You unclasp it slowly, peeling the fabric away. And she’s perfect. You don’t rush. You kiss her collarbones, her chest, her sternum–every inch. Your hands slide up to cup her breasts, brushing your thumb over her nipple and she whimpers.

“Fuck–” her head tips back, neck bared, breath caught. “Touch me. Please”

You shift lower, settling between her thighs, kissing your way down her stomach. You hook your fingers under her underwear and pause, looking up.

She nods, mouth parted. “Take them off.” You do. Slowly. And then she’s fully bare beneath you. Legs parted. Glowing in the low light.

You kiss the inside of her thighs, your voice shaking. “You’re so beautiful, Hyun-ju.”

She groans. “Don’t stop saying that.”

You kiss higher. She gasps when your tongue finally touches her–soft and wet and eager. Her thighs tremble. “Fuck–baby–” her hands tangle in your hair. “Just like that, don’t stop.”

You lick her slowly, firmly, over and over, then slide two fingers inside her–tight and hot and pulsing around you. She moans–deep and loud–and it goes straight to your core.

You fuck her with your fingers, your mouth still on ehr, her hips jerking, her voice breaking. “That’s it,” you whisper. “God, you taste so good. Been thinking about this for years.”

She’s panting now, eyes squeezed shut.

“Gonna come for me?” you ask, curling your fingers just right.

“Yes–fuck–don’t stop, I’m–” And then she shatters.

Her thighs clamp around your head, her voice spilling out in choked, messy sounds, her body shaking as she comes on your tongue, over your fingers, into your mouth.

You don’t stop until she pulls you up–dragging you into her arm, into her kiss. She’s still trembling. Her mouth is hot and open under yours, her hands pulling close. “I wanna make you feel that good,” she whispers. “Wanna ruin you.”

You smile, flushed and wrecked. “Then do it.”

Hyun-ju kisses you hard–possessive now, tasting herself on your lips, her hands roaming hungrily over your body. She rolls you onto your back without effort, settling between your legs, her body warm against yours.

She kisses her way down, slow and greedy. Over your collarbones. Your breasts. Your ribs. “You smell so good,” she groans. “So fucking sweet down here.”

Your underwear is the only thing left between you, soaked through and clinging. She presses her mouth against it, tongue flat and slow, and your whole body arches off the bed. “Oh my God–”

“That’s it,” she says, breath hot against the damp fabric. “Let me hear you.”

You whimper as her fingers slide the fabric aside–just enough to expose your soaked cunt–and she groans when she sees how wet you are.

“All this for me?” she murmurs. “Shit, baby. You’re dripping.”

And then she dives in. Her tongue is steady and deep, licking through your folds, sucking gently on your clit until you’re gasping, your thighs twitching around her head. She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow.

When she slides one finger inside you, you moan so loudly it echoes. “F-fuck, Hyun-ju–”

“God, you’re tight,” she moans, her voice a mess. “Taking me so good. Look at you.”

She curls her finger just right, then adds another, and you’re gone. Eyes rolling back, hips grinding into her mouth, hands clutching the sheets.

“You’re perfect,” she praises. “So wet. So soft. This pussy was made for me.”

You can’t think. Can’t speak. Your thighs are shaking and your stomach’s tightening and she keeps whispering–

“You gonna come for me, sweet girl?”

You nod, crying out.

“Say it,” she demands. “Tell me who’s making you come.”

“You–fuck, you. Hyun-ju, please don’t stop–”

She doesn’t. She fucks you with her fingres, tongue on your clit until your whole body breaks. You come so hard your vision whites out–your legs locked around her shoulders, your voice hoarse from screaming her name.

When you finally collapse, panting, dizzy, she crawls back up to you–kissing your thighs, your stomach, your breasts. Her mouth presses to the corner of your eye, your temple, your cheek.

“Still with me?” she whispers.

You nod weakly. “Barely.”

She grins. “Good.”

You’re both a mess–sweaty, trembling, flushed. She pulls the blanket up around you, still your skin wherever she can reach.

You murmur, half laughing, “I think you actually ruined me.”

Hyun-ju cups your face gently. “Good. I meant every word.”

Later, when your bodies stop trembling and your breathing evens out, you both lie tangled in each other’s arms–bare skin pressed to bare skin beneath the blanket, the room warm with the scent of sweat and sex and something softer underneath.

Hyun-ju’s fingertips trace lazy shapes on your hip, her breath steady against your collarbone. Neither of you speaks for a long time.

Eventually, you whisper, “Do you want to shower?”

She hums. “Only if you come with me.”

You smile, exhausted and warm. “Always.”

The shower is quiet. Gentle. No more teasing–just soft touches, shared shampoo, the warmth of water running down your bodies as you help each other rinse clean.

Afterward, she wraps a towel around your shoulders and leads you back into her bedroom. You both tug on oversized t-shirts–no bras, just underwear–with bare legs and damp hair.

She sits you at the edge of her vanity, flicks on a soft light, and rummages for her micellar water and cotton pads.

“You don’t have to–” you start.

“I want to,” she says. “Let me.”

She stands between your knees, gently wiping away the smudges of makeup still clinging to your eyes, the faded lipstick on your mouth.

When she dabs at your cheek with the last bit of cleanser, her hand falters. Just slightly. You look up. Her eyes are shining.

“I used to dream about this,” she says quietly. “Not just the sex. But this. You. Seeing me like this, and still…staying.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

She flinches at that. Barely–but you feel it in the air. And when she turns to toss the cotton pad away, you catch her hand.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide from me.”

She swallows. “I’m not trying to. It's just–hard. Being bare like this. I never felt…pretty enough. Not really.”

You reach for her, cupping her face in both hands. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her breath catches. Her eyes close. You kiss her, soft and slow, and then pull her into your lap, letting her curl into your arms. And then you say it–bare and trembling: “Don’t leave me again.”

She pulls back, startled. “What?”

“That was too long,” you say, voice thick. “Too hard. I missed you everyday. I didn’t know how to–how to move on from you. I don’t want to do that again.”’

She stares at you, like she's trying to memorize your face. Then she kisses your forehead, voice shaking when she answers. “Never. I’m not going anywhere.”

You hold her tighter. “I’m here,” she whispers. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

taglist - @lesmiix, @shesruinqtion, @diouna, @jeongteen, @natwendigo

[sillylilsquid]

𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖑𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖘

pairing - nam gyu x reader summary - you loved him when you shouldn't have. he hurt you when he swore he never would. now, after everything—grief, silence, years apart—you're learning how to be near him again. it isn't perfect. it never was. but maybe, just maybe, there's still something here worth holding on to. warnings - afab!reader, age gap, forbidden love/brother's ex-best friend trope, mentions of parent death, grieving, brief mentions of drug use/fighting/usual nam gyu vibes, explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni!! 18k words

You grew up with Nam Gyu like a shadow in the hallway. He was always there–shoulder to shoulder with your brother, dropping his shoes by the door, raiding the fridge like it was his own. You were the kid in oversized pajamas, trying to blend into the wall just to watch him. Too shy to speak. Too small to matter.

But you remember everything. The way he laughed too loud, cursed too often, smoked behind the shed even when your mom caught him and told him he’d “ruin his lungs and your brother’s future.” You remember the scabs on his knuckles. The choked grin he gave you when he caught you staring. The way he’d ruffle your hair and call you, “lil sis.”

You remember the day he stopped coming. No warning. No goodbye. One week he was there every day, and the next, your brother wouldn’t say his name. Your parents said it in hushed voices. “He got in with the wrong crowd,” your mom murmured. “Drugs. Guns. He’s not welcome here anymore.”

You never saw him…not until that night.

You’re in college now. Still living at home. Still doing everything right. Your classes are going well. Your professors say you’re “gifted.” You paint portraits for extra cash, volunteer at the community center when you’re not studying. You’re a good girl. Your mom tells her friends how proud she is. Your dad gives you curfews like you’re sixteen.

You still have your childhood room. Pink sheets. Sketches taped to the wall. A desk in the corner covered in soft, pretty things. You don’t party. You don’t sneak around. You don’t lie.

Until you do.

It’s late when your class ends. You stayed behind to finish a painting, left campus with paint on your fingers and your brain still half lost in the shade of someone’s eyes. You don’t even think twice when you pull into the convenience store down the street from your campus. Just want a snack. Something sweet before you drive home.

The bell jingles when you walk in. You head straight for the drinks cooler, tug it open with chilled fingertips. You’re crouched by the candy shelf when you hear it. That voice. Rough and low and unmistakably familiar.

“Thought that was you.”

You freeze. Slowly, you turn–and there he is. Nam Gyu. Standing by the counter like a ghost you summoned. Same hooded eyes, same sharp jaw, same dead-serious stare. Only now he’s older. Taller. Built like a man. There’s a scar above his eyebrow. Tattoos you don’t remember. A cigarette tucked behind one ear.

He looks you up and down, slow. Unapologetic. You feel heat crawl down your neck. “You got taller,” he says. Then a smirk, “Finally.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. He steps closer. Not enough to touch–but enough to make your chest tighten. You don’t know what to say. He looks like a warning sign. A mistake your parents would lose their minds over. But your heart is pounding like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

“Still got that same look on your face,” he murmurs.

“What look?” you manage, too quiet.

He tilts his head, eyes dark. “Like you’re about to beg me for something.” Your stomach flips. And just like that, your perfect little world starts to crack.

After that night at the convenience store, you told yourself it was nothing. A coincidence. A strange little flicker in your perfect routine. You didn’t give him your number. You didn’t ask to see him again. But then he showed up.

Outside the art building. Leaning on a low wall while you packed up your paints. He didn’t say much, just took a long drag from his vape before blowing the strawberry scented smoke in your face. “Just thought I’d say hi,” he said with a shrug, like he didn’t already know your schedule.

Then he was waiting again a few days later. A different building. Same smirk. “You always walk to your car alone?” You told yourself it was harmless. You told yourself you were being careful.

It kept happening. You’d go to the cafe and find him there, nursing a coffee like he belonged. You’d leave a gallery show and see his motorcycle parked across the street. You never invited him. But you stopped telling him to go.

Sometimes he’d offer you rides. Just to be nice, he said. Other times he just…lingered. Leaning against your passenger door, watching you with those tired, heavy lidded eyes. Always in that same hoodie. Always looking like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

You told yourself you weren’t flirting. You were just being polite. But your body always got warm when he was near. Your voice always went soft. You didn’t tell your parents. You didn’t tell your brother. You just let it happen.

It wasn’t one big moment–it was a hundred little ones. A ride home that ended with him brushing your hair behind your ear. A compliment muttered under his breath that made your stomach twist. A lingering look when you leaned over the console, digging through your bag for gum.

One night, it was late. You’d been driving around for no reason. He was smoking, windows cracked. Your legs were curled up under you in the passenger seat. And he said, quiet, “You always this good, huh?”

You blinked. “Good?”

He nodded once. “Don’t party. Don’t lie. Don’t fuck around.”

You felt that sentence in your spine.

A Few Weeks Later…

You’re fucking him now.

On weekends. After class. In his car, in his bed, once in the bathroom at a shitty bar while music thumped outside. You’re kissing him like you need it to breathe. Letting him spit in your mouth when he says, “Good girls don’t take it like that.”

He’s your secret. Your filthy little addiction.

He picks you up in his car after lectures. Has you ride with your skirt pushed up, panties in his glove box. He buys you drinks with his hand on your thigh under the table. Fucks you dumb and raw and makes you smile at your parents like nothing happened.

You keep him off your social media. Tell your friends he’s just someone from school. Tell your brother nothing.

You lie to everyone. But not to yourself. You like the way he bites your shoulder. You like the way he growls, “Mine,” when you try to leave. You like the way he looks at you like he’d kill for you.

And that terrifies you. Because if your brother knew–if your parents knew–you’d lose everything. And if Nam Gyu ever stops showing up again, you’re not sure you’ll survive it this time.

Your parents left that morning for a weekend trip–anniversary, something fancy. They hugged you, kissed your forehead, reminded you not to let anyone over.  You smiled. Promised. Said you’d be panting all weekend.

And now? You’re on your knees in front of Nam Gyu while your favorite candle flickers on your desk. His pants are halfway down his thighs. Your lips are glossy with spit. He’s got his thumb hooked into the corner of your mouth, dragging it down so you can watch your tongue roll over the head of his cock like he owns it.

“God, baby,” he breathes, hand in your hair, rough and praising. “Your mouth’s the fuckin’ prettiest thing in this house.”

You whimper. He grins. The bedroom still looks like it did when you were sixteen. Pink bed sheets. Fairy lights. Your easel in the corner. Drawings on the wall.

Nam Gyu leans back against your pills like he belongs here. “Fuck,” he mutters, “You’d cry if your mom saw you like this, huh?”

You moan around him, cheeks flushed. He grips your jaw, pulls you off slow so strings of spit stretch between your ips and his tip. “Open,” he says. You do.

He smirks, just about to say something else–when the doorbell rings. You freeze. Both of you go still. Nam Gyu blinks, then frowns. “The fuck is that?”

You grab your phone. A text is already lighting up the screen.

Brother👾: you home? came to drop something by

Your heart drops into your stomach. “Fuck–fuck, fuck fuck,” you scramble up off the floor, panic blooming your chest. “It’s my brother. He’s here.”

Nam Gyu’s face goes flat. “I thought he didn’t live here anymore.”

“He doesn’t! He just–he visits, I don’t know, please–” you’re already pulling him up by the wrist, shoving at his chest. “Hide.”

“Hide where?” he hisses. You point to the bed. He gives you the dirtiest look. “You want me to crawl under your fucking bed–”

But you’re already halfway to the door. “I’m stalling him–just do it!”

He curses under his breath–but drops to the floor and disappears under the frame, just as you yank the door open.

“Hey!” you say, breathless. Too cheerful.

Your brother raises an eyebrow. “Why are you out of breath?”

“Uh–yoga. You know. Stretching.”

“You don’t do yoga.”

You laugh. “I do now!” He narrows his eyes. “I, um,” you step aside, heart pounding, “come in. You said you brought something?”

He holds up a brown bag. “Mom forgot her vitamin thing. Figured I’d drop it off.”

You lead him into your room. Your knees are shaking. He takes one step inside. Looks around. Frowns. “Why’s it smell like cologne in here?”

You blink. Your skin goes cold. “I–lit a candle,” you lie quickly. “It’s like…cedarwood or something. Manly. Grounding.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Takes another step inside. You can feel Nam Gyu under the bed. You don’t dare peek. You can barely breathe. 

Your brother sighs and drops the bag on your desk. “Still weird being in here. Place hasn’t changed since we were kids.”

You give a weak laugh. “Yeah…nostalgic.”

Then he crouched to pick something off the floor–right by the bed–and your stomach caves in. But it’s just a pencil. He straightens up. Smiles at you. “You good though? You been okay lately?”

Your throat tightens, but you nod. “Yeah. Just…busy.”

“Tell Mom and Dad I dropped by.”

“I will.” He leans over and ruffles your hair like you’re still twelve. Then he leaves. You don’t move until the front door clicks shut.

A long moment of silence. You hear his car start. And then– “Are you fucking kidding me–” Nam Gyu’s voice, low and furious, as he drags himself out from under the bed. His hoodie is dusty, hair messed up. “You made me hide like a goddamn teenager–”

You throw yourself at him before he can even finish. “I’m sorry–I panicked–” His mouth crashes down on yours, fast and rough, and his hands are already shoving you toward the bed.

“You owe me for that shit,” he growls into your mouth. “You fuckin’ owe me.”

You nod, breathless, pulling at your clothes. He flips you onto your stomach. “No lights. No moaning. Be a good little liar and keep quiet for me.” You bury your face in the pillow and prepare to let him ruin you.

Your face hits the pillow as Nam Gyu shoves you forward, hand planted firmly between your shoulder blades. 

“Gimme that fucking ass,” he growls behind you, voice dark and low with adrenaline. You can feel the floor dust on his jeans–feel how hard he is through the fabric. “Got me hiding under your bed like some fucking side piece.”

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, cheek pressed into the sheets.

“You’re sorry?” he laughs–sharp, mean. “You let me suck your tits with a stuffed bear watching and you’re sorry?”

His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, yanking them down hard. He pauses. “You weren’t even wearing panties when you let me in.”

Your breath stutters. “I–”

He slaps your ass. Hard. “Fucking knew it.” You cry out into the pillow, but he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back. “Shhh,” he coos mockingly. “What would your brother think if he heard you like this? Bent over your bed. Wet as fuck. For the guy he used to call family.”

He lets your hair go and spits down between your thighs. One hand spreads you open–no teasing, no warning–and then his fingers are inside you, two thick and fast, curling up deep. “Goddamn,” he breathes. “Still so tight. You been keeping this little pussy just for me.”

You nod frantically, dropping into your pillow.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes–yes, I have–just you–”

“Good fucking girl.” He pulls his fingers out and slaps your cunt with them, soaked and loud. Then you feel it–his cock, hot and heavy, dragging through your slick. He nudges the head against your entrance, just enough to make you clench. “You wanna get filled like a dirty little secret?”

“Yes–”

“You gonna keep lying to Mommy and Daddy about where you go at night?”

“Yes–” He pushes in deep. Your back arches, mouth open in a silence cry. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you breathe. Just ruts into you hard and fast, his hips slapping against your ass, skin on skin loud in the silence.

His hand clamps over your mouth. “Don’t you dare making a fucking sound,” he hisses. “You want them finding out you’re a whore now? Wanna explain to your brother how I stretch you out and fuck you dumb?”

You whimper under his palm. Your legs shake. He shifts his grip to your throat, pulling your upper body back against his chest. One hand choking you, the other slipping between your legs.

“You feel that?” he grits, rubbing your clit fast. “That’s me. That’s all me. Every inch of this sweet little cunt’s mine.”

You’re spiraling. Coming so hard your body jerks in his hold. He fucks you thorugh it–growling, mean, filthy.

“Fucking squeeze me like that again and I’ll make you suck me clean after.” You sob. He bites your shoulder. Sucks a mark into your skin so deep you’ll see it for days. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You–fuck–you–”

“That’s right.”

When Nam Gyu finally cums, it’s with a loud grunt, buried deep, your name spilling from his mouth like a threat and a prayer. He stays inside you for a second–hands still on your hips, breath heavy against your ear. 

Then he pulls out slow, the slick sound obscene. You collapse on the bed, boneless, face flushed and eyes glassy. He watches you. Watches his cum drip out of you onto your cute pink sheets. Watches your thighs tremble. Then he leans down, kisses your lower back, and mutters: “Bet your brother wouldn’t believe a sweet girl like you could take dick like that.”

You’re still facedown on your bed. Cheek pressed to the sheets. Legs sprawled. Your breathing is uneven and your thighs are trembling. For a second, neither of you move.

Nam gyu just stands there, his jeans still half down, eyes fixed on the mess he made. Your pussy, swollen and leaking. His cum on your thighs. Your back rising and falling like you just ran a mile. “You okay?” he asks finally, quietly.

You nod, a little dazed. “Mmhm.”

He exhales–then zips himself up and pads toward your door, bare feet creaking on the old floorboards. “Don’t move,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll clean you up.”

A minute later, he’s back–with a warm washcloth from the hall bathroom. His voice is different now, lower. Soothed. He kneels between your legs. The cloth is warm when it touches you. Gentle and careful. 

You twitch. “Easy,” he murmurs, one hand on your thigh. “I got you.”

He wipes you clean–slow circles, gentle dabs. No teasing. No filth. Just care. You feel him swipe the cloth through the mess between your legs, wiping up his cum, then toss it to the side. “I was too rough,” he says after a moment. Guilt peeking through.

You peek over your shoulder, cheek squished to the pillow. “I liked it.”

He huffs a breath–smiles, barely–and leans over to kiss your lower back. Soft. A little reverent. Then again. Higher this time. Between your shoulder blades.

You feel his hands under your arms, pulling you up slow, and before you can even fully sit, she’s scooping you into his lap like you’re his. His girl. His baby “C’mon,” he mumbles into your hair. “Shower.”

He carries you to the bathroom room, flicks the light on low. The old shower rattles a little as it starts up. You sit on the counter while he grabs your towel and favorite body wash. He kisses your knees while he waits for the water to heat.

And when you’re both finally inside, under the spray, he washes you like you’re something breakable. Soapy hands across your shoulders. Your back. Down your arms. His fingers slow on your belly, gentle between your legs. No filth now. Just love.

He lets you wear his hoodie after, even though it’s warm outside. And later, curled up in your bed with his arm under your head and his hoodie draped over your bare legs, he holds you so close you can feel his heartbeat in your spine.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I never left,” he murmurs. “You just stopped looking.”

The window’s cracked. The summer air slips in slow, thick and sweet, brushing over your skin. Crickets hum somewhere outside. Your childhood neighborhood, still the same–still safe. Still small.

Nam Gyu’s hoodie hangs loose on your body, sleeves bunched at your wrists. Your legs are bare beneath the covers, curled into his. His chest is warm against your back, arm heavy around your waist, holding you like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

He takes another drag from his vape. The quiet click of it echoes in the stillness, then a curl of strawberry vapor drifts out the open window. “Babe,” he mumbles sleepily against your shoulder. “I’m gonna get you addicted to this shit.”

You smile faintly. “No, you’re not.”

“You already like it.”

“I like you.”

He huffs a breath. Doesn’t say anything for a second. Just lets it hang there. You’re quiet for a while. Long enough for your heart to settle, long enough that you think maybe he’s fallen asleep.

But then, you ask, “Why’d you stop coming around?” It’s soft, gentle. But it slices through the silence like a blade.

He’s quiet for a long time. You don’t push. You just wait. Eventually, he shifts behind you–pulls the covers tighter around the both of you. His vape clicks again. Then he exhales slowly, and says, “Your brother told me to.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

Nam Gyu lets the words come slow. “It was right after that one summer,” he explains. “The one where I started skipping school. Showing up with bruises and black eyes and shit.” He pauses. “Your parents got worried. Thought I was a bad influence. He didn’t disagree.”

Your heart twists. “He told me if I gave a fuck about you,” Nam Gyu says, no emotion in his voice. “I’d stay away. Said you didn’t need some punk with a death wish hanging around the house anymore.”

You roll over to face him. He doesn’t look at you. Just stares up at the ceiling, eyes half lidded, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your blanket. “I didn’t want to scare you,” he mutters. “Didn’t want you to see what I turned into.”

“You didn’t scare me,” you whisper.

“I do now.” You shake your head. He finally looks at you. His eyes are darker than usual. Not angry. Just hurt. Heavy.

“You were so fucking little,” he mutters, almos to himself. “Used to sit in the grass and draw with sidewalk chalk. Couldn’t even look me in the eyes without blushing.” Your throat tightens.

“And then I got kicked out of school. Started running shit with guys who wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet in someone’s back. Stopped being your brother’s friend and started being a problem.” He holds his vape up to his lips but doesn’t hit. “You shouldn't even want me in this bed.”

“But I do.” He looks at you. Really looks. And then he tucks your hair behind your ear. Leans forward, slow, like it hurts him, and presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead. “I know.”

He’s still watching you. Eyes darker now. Not with lust–but with something heavier. Something that makes your chest ache. His hand slides under the hem of your hoodie–barely there, just resting on the small of your back. Then– “Get up here,” he murmurs. You stare up at him in confusion. He taps your thigh gently. “C’mere.”

You hesitate for half a second before shifting forward, crawling up his chest until your body lies flush against his–chest to chest, cheek nestled into the dip between his collarbones. You feel his hand curve around your thigh to help you settle, the other resting flat between your shoulder blades.

His warmth sinks into you instantly. “See?” he mumbles into your hair. “Better.” 

You hum in agreement, eyes slipping closed. You feel his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. One slow, endless loop at a time. It makes your whole body feel like it’s floating.

“I used to think about this,” he says softly, after a long pause. “Back when I stopped coming around. Used to imagine what it’d be like…if I had got to see you one more time. If I got to lay with you in my arms.”

You don’t say anything, just tuck your face deeper into his neck, like maybe if you hold him tighter, he won’t disappear again. His breath slows. He keeps talking–quieter now, barely audible. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to touch you again. Let alone have you fall asleep on top of me like this.”

Your heart thuds hard against your ribcage. And then his arms tighten–just slightly. Not possessive, or horny, not even jealous. Just holding. Just having. “Sleep, baby,” he whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You try to fight it. But your limbs go heavy. Your breathing softens. And eventually you drift off like that–clinging to him. The only boy who ever made you feel both ruined and safe.

And when you woke up the next morning, he was gone. Not in a left you forever way. Just gone-gone. A scribbled note on your desk: had to run. be back later. lock the door–gyu

You had class anyway. You showered, threw on your usual outfit–something cozy, something simple–and tried not to spend the whole lecture replaying the feel of his hand gripping your hip while you moaned into his throat. When you get out of class, there’s a text waiting for you.

When you get out of class, there’s a text waiting for you.

bby boi🧸: party tonight

bby boi🧸: come

You pause. You’re not a party girl. You’re a homework and chamomile tea and skincare before bed kind of girl. But still, your heart skips.

You send back: you’ll be there??

His response is instant.

bby boi🧸: obviously

bby boi🧸: i’ll pick u up

You try on four different outfits before settling on a soft cream sweater and black leggings. Cute socks. Clean sneakers. A spritz of perfume behind your ears and a hint of gloss on your lips.

You hear his car outside. You grab your bag, check yourself in the mirror one more time, then head out. When you slide into the passenger seat, Nam Gyu looks you up and down–blinks once, then frowns. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Your stomach twists and you freeze up. “What?”

He doesn’t mean it mean. He just gestures vaguely. “All girly.”

You bite your lip. Look down at your outfit. “I thought it was cute.”

He huffs a laugh through his nose. And then–you swear it–his eyes soften. “It is.” And then he drives.

The house party is loud. Music shaking the walls. People crowding the front lawn. The air smells like weed and stale beer and cheap perfume.

The second you step inside, it hits you all at once–flashing lights, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, girls dancing on tables, guys with bottles in their fists. Someone yells something unintelligible across the kitchen.

You flinch. Nam Gyu doesn’t. He fits in here. Like he was made for it. The tattoos, the lazy confidence, the way his hand wraps around your wrist without thinking as he guides you through the crush of people.

He starts talking to a friend. Someone taller, louder. They laugh, talk about something you can’t follow. A blunt gets passed. A girl slaps Nam Gyu’s arm playfully. You stay quiet. Pressed against his side. A pretty little shadow in a soft sweater, wide eyed and quiet. He doesn’t let go of your hand, but he doesn’t look at you, either.

You can feel the stares. From girls. From guys. You don’t belong here and you know it. But you want to. Because he’s here. And you want to be where he is. Even if it means swallowing the knot in your throat and trying not to look like you’re trembling.

You’re still glued to his side, barely saying a word, when he finally turns to look at you. You don’t know what gives it away. Maybe the way your hand keeps fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. Maybe the way you flinch every time someone brushes past too close. Maybe it’s how you haven’t laughed once tonight–not even a fake little chuckle to make him feel good.

He leans down toward your ear, voice low. “Come with me.”

You nod immediately, clinging to his sleeve as he guides you out of the kitchen. Up a hallway, past a line for the bathroom, through a cracked open door into some random bedroom.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, the noise softens. You can breathe again. Nam Gyu turns to face you. Eyes sharp but not unkind. “You wanna leave?” he asks, arms folding as he leans against the dresser.

Your eyes widen. “No.” You’re too quick to answer. Too eager.

His brow arches. “No?”

“I–” you swallow. “I wanna stay. I just…”

His head tilts. “You just?”

“I wanna stay with you.”

That get a smile. Slow, crooked, dangerous. “You’re not exactly blending in, baby.”

You blush. You look down at your shoes. “I know. I’m not really…” You trail off, unsure how to say it. Not cool. Not edgy. Not the kind of girl who smokes and dances on tables  and makes guys stare.

He pushes off the dresser and walks up slowly. The floor creaks beneath his boots. When he’s in front of you, he reaches for the end of your sweater sleeve and tugs it between his fingers. “You wanna drink with me?”

Your lashes flutter. “Right now?”

“Yeah. right now. Or not. Up to you.” You’re quiet, nibbling on your bottom lip. He leans in and murmurs, “You don’t have to, baby. If you’re not comfortable, I’m not gonna make you.”

And maybe it’s how gentle his voice goes. Maybe it’s how patient he is, for once. But it makes something inside you crack open.  “I just…” You finally say it. Small and honest. “I just want you to like me.”

The moment hangs in the air like fog. His eyes flicker up to yours. He doesn't laugh. Doesn't tease. He just takes a breath and closes the distance–his hand slipping beneath your jaw to tilt your face toward his. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, voice rough. “You think I don’t like you?”

Your breath catches. “I show up to some stupid party full of assholes I hate just so I can see you in that sweater,” he mutters, thumb grazing your cheek. “You’re the only reason I’m not high off my ass right now.”

You blink up at him. Slowly. And he leans in–kisses the corner of your mouth. Not quite your lips. Not yet. Then he murmurs, “Now sit on the bed and tell me what kinda drink you want.” 

She looks up at him from where she’s perched on the edge of the bed, her voice quiet under the bass still thudding from downstairs. “Can I go with you?”

He doesn’t say yes. Doesn’t say anything. Just grabs your wrist and pulls you in close, tucking her under his arm like she’s already his and leading her back down to the chaos.

It’s worse this time. There’s someone passed out hallway up the stairs. A couple making out in the hallway. The music’s louder. Someone’s lighting a blunt in the living room. But Nam Gyu doesn’t let go of you, not even once.

In the kitchen, he shrugs his arm off you just long enough to grab a red cup, filling it up from a big bottle of something clear. He leans his weight into the counter lazily, one arm slung low around your waist again–pulling you back against him.

You go without a fight. Back flush against his broad chest. He takes a sip, smirking into the cup, and then lifts it toward your lips. “Wanna taste?”

You hesitate, then nod. The second it hits your tongue, you choke. “Oh my god,” you sputter, coughing into your sleeve. “That’s awful!”

Nam Gyu lets out a low laugh against your shoulder, that kind of boyish snort he almost never shows. You feel it more than you hear it–the way his chest shakes behind you, the curve of his smile pressing into the side of your neck. “I told you.”

“You didn’t tell me it tasted like nail polish remover.”

He just hums, taking another sip like it’s nothing. You wrinkle your nose, settling back against him, your head resting lightly against his shoulder. The music’s changed–something heavier, the bass vibrating through the floor–and you can’t help it. You start to sway a little. Barely. Just the tiniest movement.

But he feels it. His hand twitches against your hip. And then he coughs once. Clears his throat. You feel his body tense behind you. His voice sounds a little too casual when he talks to the two guys across from you–one of them saying something about a fight that broke out at the last party, something about who got banned from whose place. But Nam Gyu barely responds. His fingers are digging into your sides now. Harder.

“Stop rubbing on my cock,” he mutters in your ear, his voice hoarse and quiet enough that no one else hears, “or I’ll fuck you right here in front of my friends.”

You freeze, it makes you hold your breath. And he just sips his drink like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just say that with his lips brushing the shell of your ear, while your heart’s racing and your thighs are clenching and his arm is tightening around your waist. “You’re so mean,” you whisper breathlessly.

He smiles into your hair. “Yeah, but you like it.”

One of his friends glances over from where he’s grabbing another drink. “Yo, Gyu,” he calls with a grin, “you bringin’ her to to share or are you takin’ her straight to the backseat?”

Nam Gyu doesn’t miss a seat. “Backseat,” he says, cool and sure. “Gonna get my dick sucked before we leave.”

Your hands shoot up to cover your face, lips parted in shock. You’re mortified. He said it like it’s nothing. Like you’re not right there in his arms, practically melting from embarrassment. “Stop,” you whine, shoving lightly at his chest without looking at him. “You can’t just say that–”

“Why not?” he asks, way too smug. “They should know how good you are for me.”

You make a tiny, wounded noise and try to twist away but he just laughs and hugs you tighter from behind. One hand slides up to tilt your chin, making you look at him with that pouty, red faced glare. He hums, “Cute. Didn’t say it wasn’t true.”

His friends chuckle, amused but distracted. The music’s loud. No one really cares. But he’s got you blushing so hard it hurts, hiding your face again in his hoodie as he kisses the side of your neck like you’re his and he wants everyone to know it.

The second the car door opens, it’s like a dam breaks. Nam Gyu pulls you in with both hands, climbing into the backseat, already crowding you against the seats. It smells like him in here–his cologne, his vape, the faintest trace of weed–and it’s warm, private, and dangerous.

“You were so fuckin’ cute tonight,” he mutters, shoving your sweater up to your ribs, fingers skating over your bra, your waist, gripping like he wants to leave fingerprints. “Walkin’ around all shy in your little socks like you didn’t know what the fuck you were doin’ to me.”

You gasp as you watch him unbutton his jeans, tugging them down just far enough for his cock to spring free–already hard, flushed dark, tip leaking. “Gyu–”

“You wanted this.” He cups your chin, thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “Been squirming in my lap all night. You want me in your throat, baby?” You nod, eyes wide. “Then open up. Be a good fuckin’ girl for me.”

You drop to your knees on the floor of the car, wedged between his legs, the driver’s seat digging into your lower back. Your hands wrap around the base of his cock as you lean in, tongue licking a stripe from base to tip. He hisses through his teeth. “Shit–look at you,” he pants. “Good fucking girl.”

You swirl your tongue around the head and then take him in slowly, inch by inch, until your lips are brushing your fingers. He’s thick. Heavy. The weight of him presses on your tongue, makes your eyes flutter. You moan.

“Fuck. Don’t tease. Take it.” You do. You pull off, spit thick and glossy between you, then open your  mouth wider–letting him slide in deeper. He grabs your hair with one hand, the other bracing on the seat as he starts to thrust.

It’s filthy. Wet. Your eyes start to water almost immediately as he pushes in too far, holding your head down until your nose is buried in the soft of his belly. You choke, gag–but don’t pull away. Your nails dig into his thighs.

“God, baby–fuck yes–take it, just like that,” he grits out. “Look at you. My pretty little slut, takin’ cock in the back of my car like you were made for it.”

You can’t respond. You can only moan around him, eyes blurred, throat tight and aching. Spit’s running down your chin, soaking your sweater. He’s panting now, hips jerking up faster. “You gonna let me cum in that pretty mouth?” he groans. “Huh? You gonna swallow for me, sweetheart?”

You nod as best as you can with him deep in your throat, and that’s all it takes. His breath stutters, his grip tightens. “Fuck, shit, baby–swallow it. Take all of it–”

He spills down your throat with a rough groan, holding your head down while he pulses in your mouth. You whimper, obedient, swallowing everything, lips wrapped around him until he finally lets you go. You pull off with a gasp, coughing a little, tear streaked and flushed and ruined. And he just leans forward, pulls you into his lap, and kisses you slow. “My perfect fuckin’ girl.”

You’re still catching your breath when he reaches up with his sleeve and gently cradles your jaw with his fingers. “Messy girl,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. He wipes at your mouth first–slow, careful–then tips your chin to swipe at the smudged mascara trailing beneath your eyes.

You blink at him, dazed and pink-cheeked, and he smiles like he wants to kiss you again, like he’s proud of the ruin he made. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you in the front seat before someone calls the cops.”

It makes you giggle. He tucks himself back into his jeans, zips up, helps you climb over the center console. His hand never really leaves you–either steadying your thigh, brushing your hair back, or resting on your knee as he starts the car.

The drive is quiet at first. Warm. The only sound is the hum of the engine and the soft music playing from the radio.

“My parents come back tomorrow,” you whisper, watching the streetlights blur past.

He glances at you. “Yeah?”

You nod, picking at the hem of your sweater. “Means I probably won’t be able to see you as much.”

Nam Gyu exhales, his hand squeezing your knee silently. “I won’t abandon you, baby.” You glance over at him, brows slightly furrowed. He grins. “You’re gonna sneak out like a good girl for me, right?”

You roll your eyes, but you nod. “Yeah.”

“Atta girl.” HIs voice dips low–something teasing and dark curling around the edges. “Keep bein’ good and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Your cheeks burn. There’s a pause for a second, then softer he speaks, “If your brother knew, he’d literally kill me.”

You laugh under your breath. “Yeah. I know.”

He chuckles, tapping the wheel with his thumb. “He always was a hothead.”

Another stretch of silence, then you speak again–quieter this time. “I’m almost done with this semester.”

“Yeah?” he hums. “Proud of you.”

“I don’t know if I’m gonna go back.”

His head turns, eyes flicking toward you for a second. “Why not? You’re great at art.”

“I enjoy it. I do,” you say, staring out the window. “But it’s starting to feel like a chore. Like it’s what they want. Not what I want.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t speak right away. His fingers squeeze your knee again. “You know you don’t have to live for them, right?”

You glance over, surprised at the softness in his voice. He’s still focused on the road, but his jaw’s tight. “You can figure out what you want. Doesn’t have to be what they mapped out for you.”

You nod slowly. “I don’t know what I want yet.”

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. “We’ll figure it out.”

The words hang in the air–we’ll. Like he means to stay. You look at him. The boy who wiped your mouth and kissed your ruined face. Who made you feel both destroyed and protected in the same breath. “Okay,” you whisper.

And when he parks outside your house, he doesn’t kiss you again–not right away. He just brushes hair out of your face and says, “Text me when you’re inside.”

“I will.”

“Good girl.”

It’s been a few weeks since that night in his car, since he murmured “good girl” against your cheek like it meant something more than obedience. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn’t. You haven’t dared ask.

Since then, you’ve been lying with more ease than you ever thought possible. “Studying at Mia’s.” “Group project ran late.” “Just staying at school a little longer.”

Your parents don’t question much, not now–not with finals around the corner and your sketchpad always in hand. You’ve been too busy with your last assignments to sneak away like you want to. You’ve been too busy with your last assignments to sneak away like you want to, but Nam Gyu hasn’t complained. Not once. He still texts you throughout the day: stupid memes, blurry gym selfies, a voice memo once where he told you “I miss your weird little laugh.” You keep replaying it when the ache of not seeing him gets too much.

For your final project, you’re supposed to do a single charcoal portrait: someone real, someone who stirs something in you. You chose him. You don’t tell him, of course. You’ve been working on it in secret, staying up late when the house is quiet and everyone’s asleep. His face is starting to emerge from the paper–sharp, shadowed. The slope of his brow, the mess of his hair. Your fingers stay smudged with graphite. You’ve ruined two pillowcases and a sweatshirt. You don’t care.

It’s almost done when your phone buzzes beside you.

bby boi🧸: come open ur window

Your heart stutters. You’re in bed already, oversized shirt on and bare legs, a little flushed from how often you’ve been thinking of him lately. You tiptoe across your room, crack the window open, and there he is–dark jacket, tousled hair, looking up at you like he’s done it a hundred times.

You help him climb in, trying not to laugh when he bumps his knee on your desk. “Shh,” you whisper, biting your lip. “You’re gonna wake up the whole house.”

He grins, breathless from the climb, and whispers back, “You gotta get a ladder or something. I’m getting too old for this.”

You snort softly and motion for him to sit, but his eyes are already scanning your room–and they land on the sketchbook still open on your desk. He tilts his head. “What’s that?”

You freeze. “Nothing–” But he’s already walking toward it. You’re too slow to stop him. His hand hovers over the page–not touching, not smudging. Just looking.

It’s his face. Almost exactly. You even captured the little scar above his eyebrow. The way his mouth curves when he’s about to tease you. The soft shadows under his cheekbones. It’s him, raw and unfiltered. It’s him how you see him.

When he speaks, it’s quiet. “Is this for school?”

You nod, cheeks burning. “Final. It’s…it’s a portrait unit.”

He’s silent for a long beat. Just staring. Then– “You made me look better than I do in real life.”

You huff. “No I didn’t.”

He finally turns toward you. His voice is rough when he says, “That’s how you see me?”

You nod again, smaller this time. He steps closer. His hand finds your cheek and his thumb brushes a charcoal smudge you didn’t know was there. “You make me look like someone worth something,” he murmurs. “No one’s ever done that before.”

And suddenly your room feels very small. The night very quiet. Your breath caught in your chest.

You whisper, “You are.” His fingers tilt your chin up. And when he kisses you, it’s the softest it’s ever been–like he’s scared he’ll break something if he presses too hard. Like he’s trying to memorize how this moment feels.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, legs warm under the covers, blanket draped across your lap. Nam Gyu’s stretched out beside you, propped against your headboard, jacket sleeves pushed up around his forearms and one leg hanging off the mattress. His hair’s still messy from the wind outside, and he smells faintly like smoke and detergent.

The window’s cracked open behind you for air. A breeze curls in, bruising over your bare arms. He looks at you sideways. His voice holds a bit of a teasing tone. “You gonna hide me forever?”

You smile, pulling your legs up to your chest. “Why? You jealous?”

He scoffs, then shrugs, not denying it. “Maybe. Kinda pathetic, right?”

You giggle, and he leans his head back against your wall like he’s trying not to smile. The sound of your laugh is his favorite thing in the world and you have no idea.

“No,” you admit softly. “I’m not trying to hide you. I’m just…” You trail off, picking at the edge of your blanket.

He doesn’t push, just waits. You finally exhale, voice quieter. “I’m sure I’ll tell them eventually. Just…not right now.”

He nods, like he understands. Like he does understand. There’s a long, gentle pause. And then, just above a whisper, you say, “I know why they don’t like you anymore.”

His jaw twitches, but doesn’t look away. Doesn’t speak. You go on, nervous but honest. “I think it’ll be hard to show them you’ve changed. Especially with, you know…you being twenty-five. And my brother’s ex-best friend.”

Nam Gyu’s gaze drops. His thumb starts tracing a crease in your sheets. “Yeah.”

“They’ll really have a hard time with it,” you add.

“I know.” His voice is so soft it barely reaches you. “But I don’t care about them.” You glance up at him. “I care about you,” he says, finally looking at you again. “That’s it.”

Your heart aches. You try to hold his gaze, but your face heats up too fast, so you look back down at your lap, hiding a shy smile. He shifts closer, knocking your knee with his. “Hey,” he whispers. You look up. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “I’ll sneak through your window for as long as it takes.”

That makes you laugh again, soft and surprised. “You better be careful, my dad’s got a gun.”

“I’m not scared of your dad.”

“You should be,” you tease.

He grins at that, and for a few quiet minutes, you just sit there. Letting it be easy. Letting yourself enjoy him. Then he reaches out, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. “So…you drew me, huh?”

You groan, grabbing a pillow and half heartedly whacking him with it. “Don’t make it weird!”

“I’m not!” He’s laughing, dodging your attack. “It’s just–kinda sweet. That’s all.”

Your cheeks burn again. But you let yourself lean into his side, head resting on his shoulder, legs tangled under the blanket.

Outside the wind rustles the leaves. Inside, you whisper, “I really like you.” And he doesn’t say it back–not yet. But he turns his head and kisses your forehead like he means something more than words ever could.

3 Years Later…

You’re twenty-two now. Not the same girl who used to sneak out at night and crawl into the passenger seat of his beat-up car, trembling and giggling. Not the girl who kept him hidden like a sin. You’ve graduated, moved to Seoul–far away from the suffocating small town and all its long memories. You rent a cozy little apartment above a flower shop, teach art at a nearby school, and on weekends, you lead pottery classes for older women who treat you like their daughter.

You’re happy, or maybe just quiet. It’s not the same thing, but it’s close enough. He stopped reaching out years ago. First, the replies came slower. Then his messages turned from blue to green. You checked his socials–gone. He blocked you. No warning. Just…gone. It left a hole you haven’t really filled.

Your new friend drags you out to this sleek little place tucked into a quiet alley near Itaewon. Good food, expensive drinks, soft jazz humming in the background. It’s a far cry from the smoke filled house parties you used to cling to Nam Gyu in.

You eat. Laugh. Nurse your drink while your friend heads out early, waving goodbye with a wink and a joke about getting some sleep for once. And you’re left in the half dim lighting, swirling your cocktail with the straw, letting the music buzz low in your chest.

That’s when you feel it. A presence. Eyes. You look up. Nam Gyu. Standing near the door, dressed in black, sharp around the edges–just like always. But older. His hair’s a little longer, his build filled out. There’s a woman on his arm, clinging to him like a promise.

And yet–his eyes are locked on you. For a moment, neither of you move. Then he says something to the girl–quiet and low. She nods and walks off without looking back. And he stays. Still staring.

You drop your eyes, suddenly cold all over, pretending you didn’t see him. You focus on your drink, heart pounding in your ears. You should walk away. Leave. But it’s too late.

He’s already walking toward you. He stops at your table, hands in his coat pockets, that same worn-in confidence in his stance. “You grew up.”

You don’t look at him. Not at first. Just blink, stare at the ice melting in your drink. But something in you snaps. You glance up slowly, eyes sharp, voice quiet. “Yeah. That’s what happens when you ghost someone for three years. People change.”

And that hits him. You see it. The flicker in his jaw, the faint squint in his eyes. He pulls the empty chair out and sits without asking. Like he used to. Like no time passed at all.

“You’re still mad.”

“I’m not mad.” You laugh bitterly. “I’m over it. I just…didn’t expect to see you here. In Seoul. With another girl on your arm.”

He leans back in the chair, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again. “Didn’t think I’d see you either. You’re different.”

“So are you.” You pause, then add, quieter, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” And neither of you say it–but it’s there. The silence. The grief. The thousand things that were left unsaid.

“You should go.” Your voice is steady, but the hand gripping your glass is trembling slightly. You don’t look at him. You can’t. His presence is a weight across your skin, heavy and electric. “I’ll forget I saw you,” you murmur. “Just go.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t move. “That’s not what you want.”

You swallow hard. Still not looking at him. Your thighs press together under the table on pure instinct–tight and tense. You’re trying to stay composed, but he sees the way your knuckles pale where you hold your glass. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He leans forward slightly. Drops his voice. “Come back to my place.”

You scoff, shaking your head once. “What about your girlfriend?”

He lets out a short, amused breath through his nose. “She’s not my girlfriend.” Something shifts. Something cracks. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re standing. You don’t look at him as you walk toward the door. He follows without a word.

The city blurs by outside the windows of the black car. You sit in the back seat beside him, silent. Tension coils in the narrow space between your bodies. His leg brushes yours and you don’t move away.

By the time the elevator door opens to his floor, your heart is pounding in your ears. His apartment is nothing like what you imagined it to be. A luxury penthouse, floor to ceiling windows, expensive furniture. Dark, sleek, masculine.

You step inside slowly, heels clicking against the hardwood. You don’t say anything at first–just walk to the edge of the living room where Seoul glitters beneath you like a galaxy.

“How the hell do you afford this?” you ask, half to yourself.

Behind you, Nam Gyu shrugs off his coat. “I work. I don’t blow it on drugs anymore. Turns out you save a lot of money when you’re not trying to kill yourself.”

You turn around, lips parting–but the words catch in your throat. He’s staring at you. Not just looking. Staring. Like he hasn’t blinked since the second you stepped through the door. You glance down at your dress. Tight. Black, with thin sleeves resting on your shoulder. A slit up the thigh. It clings to all the right places. Your body has changed since he last saw you. Fuller. Softer. More woman than girl now.

You look back up at him. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. He moves. Crosses the space between you in three strides. His hands are on your waist, gripping, pulling. His mouth finds yours–hot, desperate, bruising. He kisses you like it’s been years. Like he hated every day he couldn’t.

Your back hits the window. His hands push down your dress straps roughly, pulling them to your elbows. His mouth is on your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “Fuck,” he breathes against your skin, voice hoarse. “You–fuck, you feel so good now.”

Your fingers are in his hair. His knees hit the hardwood. He doesn’t even hesitate. Not when he sinks down in front of you, palms sliding up the backs of your calves, slow and reverent like he’s praying. Not when his eyes travel up your legs, over the soft swell of your thighs peeking through the slit in your dress. He palms them–big, rough hands gripping tight.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sounding absolutely wrecked. “You got so–” He swallows. “You grew up, baby.” His eyes flash up to yours, pupils blown wide. “Can’t believe you’ve been walking around like this. Looking like this. And I’ve been–” he breaks off, licking his lips. “Dreaming about this body for years.”

Your heart pounds. He pulls your dress up, bunches it around your hips. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, gripping your ass, squeezing hard–groaning like he’s in pain. His mouth finds the inside of your knee, trailing kisses up, slow and sloppy, as he mumbles against your skin.

“Want you so bad, fuck–lemme taste you please. Just–please, baby, I’ll be so good.”

You stare down at him–this tall, cocky, once detached man–now on his knees, lips at your inner thigh, begging. Begging to worship. “You’re begging now?” you murmur, breathless.

He nods against your skin. “I’ll beg all night. You want me to get on my hands and knees and crawl after you, I fucking will. Just let me have you. Let me taste you.”

You step out of your heels. Then out of your panties. He groans when they slide down your legs, eyes locked to the wet center like it’s the only thing on earth. Like it’s his.

And then he’s buried between your thighs. His tongue is hot and filthy, all open mouthed kisses and greedy flicks. He moans into you–loud, like he doesn’t care who hears. Like he wants the whole goddamn city to know how good you taste. His hands hold your thighs apart, fingers pressing bruises into soft flesh. He eats like he’s drowning in you.

“Fuck, you’re sweet,” he mumbles, lips slippery against your folds. “Missed this pussy. Dreamed about it–”

 His tongue drags up and flattens over your clit. You gasp–head falling back against the glass window, body trembling as he sucks, gentle and then hard. He groans like he feels it too, like your pleasure is his pleasure.

“You’re perfect now,” he mutters, breathless. “Full and warm and fuckin’ mine.”

You whimper. “Gyu…”

He pulls back just long enough to look up at you. His chin is wet, lips shiny, eyes wild. “Say you missed me,” he growls. 

“I missed you,” you whisper, shaking.

“Say this pussy missed me.”

Your voice breaks this time. “It missed you–fuck–” And then he dives back in like he’s starving. Tongue flicking and curling and fucking into you until your knees buckle. You cry out, grinding down on his mouth, and he lets you–hands under your ass, guiding your hips, moaning as you ride his face.

Your thighs clench around his head. He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re full on sobbing through your orgasm, shaking, slumped against the window. Your dress is a mess. Your hair’s a mess. Your legs won’t stop trembling.

Nam Gyu finally rises–slow, towering over you. He licks his lips, grinning. “Now,” he says, undoing his belt, voice like thunder. “I’m gonna fuck you in front of this window until every bastard in this city knows who you belong to.”

He towers over you–belt undone, pants halfway down his thighs, cock flushed and aching. It’s thick, heavy, twitching against his abs, and he’s panting just from looking at you. “Please, please let me fuck you.” His voice is trembling.

Your breath catches. He’s flushed, hair messy, pupils blown wide with want. He’s not cocky anymore. Not right now. He’s wretched before he’s even really touched you. “Say I can, baby. Say it’s mine.” He pleads with you.

You glance down at his cock, then back up, lips curled into the faintest smirk. “You want it that bad?”

He nods quickly, hands coming up to cup your face. “So bad. You don’t even know–I’ve been dreaming about you, baby. Jerking off to the thought of your tits, your thighs, your voice. I’d do anything. Anything. Let me show you.”

You lean in, brush your lips across his ear. “Then show me.”

He groans, loud, and spins you gently, pressing your front to the window. The glass is cold against your skin, but he’s already tugging your dress up, sliding it over your hips until it’s bunched around your waist. 

You hear him behind you. Fumbling, panting, cursing under his breath like he’s in pain. “So pretty,” he breathes, gripping your ass, spreading you open. “Your body…fuck, your body’s perfect. You were beautiful before, but now–” He groans. “Now you’re a fuckin’ dream.”

You whimper when he grinds his cock between your thighs, dragging the length of it over your soaked center. He leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, voice hot and needy in your ear. “Let me in baby. Please. Let me fuck you. Let me make you mine again.”

“Say it,” you whisper, trembling.

He nuzzles your neck. “Please, baby. I need it. Need to feel you again. Need to fuck you until you scream my name.”

You shift your hips back, guiding him to your entrance. “Then take it.” He sinks in with a gasp. His hands fly to your waist–gripping so tight, he might bruise. His hips roll forward, slow at first, savoring the heat, the stretch, the way you take every inch like you were made for him.

“Fuck, fuck, you feel even better than I remembered–tight, hot, wet. You’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”

You moan, pressing your palms to the window as his pace builds. Every thrust is deep, smooth, worshipful. He’s fucking you like it’s the last time he ever will–like he’s memorizing your body all over again.

The glass fogs beneath your hands. “Look at you,” he pants, thrusting harder. “Bent over my window, letting me fuck you like a good girl. All these people down there, and you’re just taking it.”

You cry out when he hits that perfect spot–when his hands slide under your dress to grab at your tits, squeezing, groaning at the way they fill his palms. “You got so soft,” he moans. “So full. Your thighs–your ass–your tits–fuck, I could die between them.”

His hips slam into you harder, needier, his voice dissolving into whimpers against your skin. “I’m gonna come,” he gasps. “I’m gonna fucking come. Say it’s mine–say this pussy’s mine–please.”

You tilt your head back, grinding against him, loving every filthy, desperate word. “It’s yours, Gyu. It’s all yours.” That’s all it takes. He breaks. He comes with a guttural moan, hips snapping forward as he spills deep inside you–grinding through it, panting, groaning, hands trembling where they told you.

He doesn’t pull out. Just leans forward, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, whispering between shaky breaths. “I missed you. I missed you so fucking much. Don’t make me go another day without this. Without you.”

You reach back, threading your fingers through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’m never letting you go again.”

The lights are dim, casting a soft golden glow across the tiles and the water. The deep porcelain tub stretches wide in his massive bathroom–sleek black counters, warm wood floors, and wall to wall windows that overlook the glittering city.

But right now, all you care about is him. 

You sit across from each other, the water nearly up to your shoulders, the scent of sandalwood bubbles curling into the air between you. Your knees poke up from the water, glistening in the low light, and his hands rest lazily on his thighs, head tilted back against the edge of the tube.

He looks soft like this. Damp hair curling slightly at the ends, his strong chest rising and falling slowly. When you stretch your legs out and place your feet in his lap, he looks down–smiles.

You wiggle your toes. Nam Gyu huffs a quiet laugh, one hand sliding along your shin. “You’re such a brat.”

“Say it again,” you murmur, teasing.

He grins. “Brat.”

You stick your tongue out at him. He catches your ankle, presses a kiss just above the bone. It’s stupidly gentle. So is the look in his eyes. “What?” you ask, your voice dipping quiet, almost embarrassed.

His shoulders shrug. “Nothing. You’re just…here. In my bath. With your toes in my lap. I think I used to dream about this.”

That’s what does it. The question slips out before you can stop it–fast, unfiltered. “So who was that girl, if she’s not your girlfriend?” The words echo a bit too sharply in the steam filled room. Your eyes go wide. “Shit–I didn’t mean–”

“It’s fine,” he cuts in gently. “You don’t have to act like it didn’t bother you.”

You look down at the water, heart racing, skin heating in more ways than one. “It didn’t bother me,” you say softly.

Nam Gyu gives a slow, amused sigh. “We work together.”

You glance up. “Work together?” You make air quotes with your fingers, voice skeptical. It makes him smirk.

“You wanna go through my phone?” he offers casually. “Deadass. You can scroll through the whole thing. You won’t find anything. No flirty texts. No hidden apps. Just boring ass group chats and my open tabs of porn with girls that look like you.”

You stare at him wide eyed. “What?”

“I’m not kidding,” he says, holding your gaze. “Same body type. Same thighs. Same tits. Same soft little belly. They all look like you. I haven’t fucked anyone since you. Haven’t wanted to.”

The words dangle in the air, leaving you speechless. He runs his hand up your calf, fingers trailing lazily along your skin. “It’s like I ruined myself,” he says with a small laugh. “Now nothing else works.”

You hold your breath. “Gyu…”

“I don’t say that to pressure you,” he murmurs. “You don’t owe me anything. But I don’t want you wondering where I’ve been or who I’ve been with. It’s only ever been you.”

You slip your foot from his lap, crawling forward through the water, slow and shy. He watches you, still and waiting, until you’re between his legs, your chest pressed lightly to his, water lapping around your waists.

Your fingers slide up to his jaw. You tilt his face to you. “Thank you for telling me,” you whisper.

His eyes flicker to your lips, then back to your eyes. “You gonna kiss me now?”

You lean in, barely brushing your mouth over his. “Maybe.”

He grins, water dripping from his lashes. “I missed you so bad,” he breathes out. You kiss him. Long and deep. The kind that makes your toes curl beneath the bubbles.

His hands find your back, your waist, your thighs under the water. You pull back just an inch, catching your breath, whispering, “You don’t have to ruin yourself anymore.” He looks at you like he’s already been saved.

You’re still curled into him, damp skin pressed against his chest, your nose tucked under his jaw. The bubbles have started to fade, leaving the water silky and warm around you both. His arms rest around you, hands drifting mindlessly over your hips, like he doesn’t want to stop touching you for even a second.

You pull back just enough to look at him. There’s a smile curling at your lip. “So you’re really gonna sit here and tell me,” you murmur, “that you didn’t fuck anyone else in the last three years.”

His brows lift. “That’s what I said.”

You tilt your head. “Not even once?”

“Just me and my hand,” he says without shame.

Your mouth falls open a little. “What the fuck.”

He shrugs, totally unfazed. “I tried. Once. Didn’t work.”

Your eyes narrow in disbelief. “Didn’t work?”

“Couldn’t get it up,” he says bluntly. “She wasn’t you.”

You blink at him, jaw slack. “Wow. Really making me feel special over here.”

“You should,” his eyes drag slowly down your face, your lips, your body beneath the water. “You broke my dick. Congratulations.”

You snort, about to make some sarcastic comment–but then his hand trails down your side andrests on your thigh, spreading gently. Not demanding, just waiting. You breathe in slowly. Then you slide out of his arms. His brow furrows. “What are you–”

“Shhh,”  you whisper, slipping lower in the water. His hands twitch like he’s about to reach for you, but then you’re disappearing beneath the surface.

The water distorts everything. His legs, the dimmed lights, the ripples against your arms as you ease forward and settle between his thighs. You press your palms to them gently, guiding him back as he leans against the tub wall.

You glance up, his figure blurred and glowing in golds and blues through the water, and then you wrap your fingers around his half hard cock, stroking slow. Above the water, he groans. His head falls back.

You close your lips around the tip. Heat pulses through the water and through your chest at once. You bob your head slowly, the pressure different down here, warmer, heavier. Your mouth moves with gentle suction, tongue tracing every inch of him you can fit.

You feel the way his hips twitch, his thighs flexing under your hands. You come up only for air–eyes meeting his as you gasp softly, mouth wet and pink and hungry. “You’re really gonna kill me,” he pants.

“I’m making up for three years of you being tragically abstinent,” you tease, voice low and playful.

He grabs the sides of the tub, knuckles white. “You think I won’t drown in this bathtub for you?” he growls.

You grin. Then you go back down. This time, you take him deeper. Let your throat relax, water bubbling softly around you as you move. His hand slips into your wet hair, not pulling, just holding. Like he’s grounding himself.

When you come up again, your lips are slick and swollen, and his whole body's shaking. “Get up here,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Please.”

You blink slowly. Innocent, dangerous. “Why?”

“I need to fuck you.”

You hum, dragging your nails along his thigh. “Thought you liked my mouth?”

His hand wraps tight around your wrist. You think he’s going to pull you into his lap again–but instead, he’s yanking you up, water sluicing down your body, your chest bare and glistening in the low bathroom light. “Get up here,” he growls. “Now.”

You step out of the tub slowly, dripping, trembling–but you don’t get far. He doesn’t wait. The second your foot hits the tile, he grabs your hips, towel falling away, and guides you down to the floor with him. We skin against wet skin. His back hits the side of the tub, and he grabs you right over his lap, one hand fisting your thigh, the other slicking down your waist, squeezing.

“You gonna make me beg again?” he pants, eyes hungry and ruined. 

You stare down at him, breath catching, chest heaving. “No,” you whisper. “I want you to feel how much I missed you.” You reach down, guide him to your center, and sink down slow.

His mouth drops open. His eyes flutter shut. His head thuds back against the porcelain. “Fuck–baby–”

You roll your hips gently, slowly, letting him stretch you open, letting him feel every second of it. He’s still wet from the tub, water pooling on the tile beneath you, your thighs soaked and gleaming as you ride him in slow, grounding waves.

He looks up at you like he’s never seen anything more perfect. His hands settle on your waist, fingers shaking, thumbs stroking your stomach. “You’re unreal,” he murmurs. “You feel unreal.”

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders and he leans in just enough to kiss you–sloppy, desperate, soaking wet–moaning into your mouth as you move faster. “I missed you so much,” you gasp.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he breathes. “Not once.”

And then you’re gasping, trembling, choking his name as your thighs shake and his grip turns bruising–and he fucks up into you like he’s losing his mind, like he’s starving, like he’s going to die here if he doesn’t make you come on his cock one more time.

You’re both still dripping, steam rising from the bath behind you, your bodies tangled on the bathroom floor–no time, no space, just now. Just need.

You’re both a mess–sweaty, soaked, sprawled on the bathroom floor. Water drips from your hair, your thighs still trembling as you lean forward and rest your cheek against his chest. His heart is still pounding beneath your ear, fast and wild like it hasn’t quite caught up yet.

Nam Gyu exhales, arms loosely draped around your back, and murmurs, “Stay.”

You lift your head and look up at him, lips still parted from the kiss you just barely pulled away from. “I can’t.���

“Nooo,” he gorans, throwing  his head back dramatically against the floor. “Why not.”

You sit up slowly, reaching for a towel and dabbing at your skin. “Because I have to go back to my place.”

“Why,” he whines, dragging the world out like a child being denied dessert.

You raise your brows at him, smug. “You can text me. I won’t block you.” A pause. “Like you did to me.”

He groans again, but this time it’s more shame than play. He covers his face with his hand. “Low blow.”

You stifle a giggle, drying off as you stand up. “You deserved it.”

He peeks at you through his fingers. “So we fuck and now you’re just…heading out?” He sits up, watching you with narrowed eyes, trying to look offended but the corner of his mouth is twitching. “What are you now, a fuckboy?”

You laugh, tossing the towel at his head. “Please. My cat will literally kill me if I don’t go home and feed him. He’s feral.”

He catches the towel mid-air, chuckling under his breath as he watches you step around him, grabbing your dress. “Your cat’s got an attitude,” he mutters.

“So do I,” you say with a wink, slipping your dress back on. “Maybe that’s why he likes me.”

Nam Gyu is still sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, towel in his lap, just watching you move. Like he still doesn’t quite believe you’re here. Like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your back and the shape of your smile.

“Do you work tomorrow?” you ask, glancing at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting your hair. 

He shrugs, like the question is beneath him. “I’ll call in.”

You roll your eyes, but your gin is soft. “Okay, well–once you do that, call me. And we’ll meet up. Okay?”

His eyes warm. He nods. “Okay.”

You lean down, press one last kiss to his lips, and whisper, “I’ll see you soon.”

And as you head for the door, he calls after you, voice lazy and teasing: “Tell your cat I said fuck you.” You laugh all the way to the elevator.

The night air is cool on your cheeks as you walk home alone, heels clicking against the pavement, your head still spinning from everything. From him. His mouth. His hands. The things he said. The way he looked at you like you’d swallowed the stars and spit out light. You smile. You don’t mean to–but it happens.

Your phone is warm in your hand, your fingers brushing over his most recent texts. Let me know you got home safe. i should’ve made you stay. i already miss you…

You tuck it away and swipe to call instead–someone else. Your brother answers on the second ring.

“Yo. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, adjusting the strap of your purse. “I just…guess who I ran into tonight.”

He groans. “If this is one of those ‘you’ll never believe who I saw at the grocery store’ calls, I swear to God–”

“It’s Nam Gyu.”

Silence. Then a sigh, long and familiar. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Where? And why?” he asks.

You pause. “Out. At this lounge. He was there with someone but then he…he saw me. Came over.”

Your brother mutters something under his breath, probably cursing like he knows your mom doesn’t like. “Stay away from him,” he says. Not a suggestion. A command. “There’s a reason Mom and Dad made him stop coming around back then. You remember that, right?”

You stop at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Your heart beats a little slower than it did earlier. “I know. I just…” You swallow. “He seemed…different. I don’t know. Maybe he’s changed.”

Your brother’s voice is flat. “Yeah. I highly doubt that. People like that don’t change.”

You shift your phone to the other ear, trying not to sound defensive. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Just be careful, okay? Seriously. That guy’s not–he’s not built for soft things.”

You don’t say anything else. You just promise you’ll call later, then hang up as your apartment comes into view. Once inside, your cat is already meowing at the door like you left him for dead. You scoop him up, kissing the top of his head as he purrs against your collarbone. “I know, I know. I was bad. I’ll feed you.”

You change out of your dress, wash the makeup off your face, pull on the ugliest, softest sleep shirt you own. You scroll through your texts again.

Gyu💀: you make the stupidest faces when ur about to cum

Gyu💀: in a good way btw

Gyu💀: text me when ur home

Gyu💀: text me when ur in bed

Gyu💀: text me even if ur not thinking about me. idc i’ll take crumbs

You smile again. Just a little. And type:

you: i’m home. in bed. and thinking about you

you: but i’ll text you in the morning, gyu. goodnight 

You don’t expect him to reply–but he does. Almost instantly.

Gyu💀: fuuuck. okay. goodnight baby

You sleep like shit. Even curled under your coziest blanket with your cat tucked behind your knees, all you can think about is the way Nam Gyu looked at you last night–like he wanted to memorize the shape of your body with his hands, like the ache in his voice was real when he said “please.”

You wake up slow, eyes gritty, throat dry. A faint soreness between your legs and something heavier sitting right in your chest. It’s a quiet morning. The city hasn’t quite stirred yet. You make tea. Feed Tofu so he won’t scream at you. Sit cross legged on your couch with your sketchpad and try to lose yourself in a drawing–but your lines are uneven. Unsteady. You flip to a blank page and try again, but halfway through you realize you’re drawing him.

Again.

Same strong brow. Same dark eyes. A mouth you could recognize by feel alone. You drop the pencil, lean back, and just…stare at the paper. You shouldn’t miss him. You shouldn’t. But you do. You pull your phone from the coffee table and scroll back to his last text from last night. You stare at it, thumb hovering. Then you start typing.

you: i think i missed you.

The read receipt pops up almost instantly. A bubble appears. Then it disappears. Then reappears.

Gyu💀: meet me at my club tonight. 7pm.

You: okay

You spend way too long picking out what to wear. It’s stupid. You’ve already had your tongue down his throat and his hands between your thighs and you've literally ridden him on his bathroom floor–but still. You want to look good.

You pull on a long black skirt with a small slit up the side. A soft, oversized cream sweater–that sweater, the one from years ago. The one he used to tease you about for being a blanket. You tuck it in just enough to show off your waist. High-top sneakers, a little scuffed. Hair down. Lips tinted rose.

You keep the makeup minimal. Soft, comfortable, like you. Your phone buzzes with the Uber notification. You give your cat one last kiss on the head. “Don’t wait up,” you mumble.

The club is huge. Loud and packed. The music thrums like a heartbeat in the pavement beneath your feet. The line outside stretches down the block and curls around the corner. You suck in a breath, heart already skipping.

This…is definitely not your speed. But you keep your head down, stay in line, and when you finally reach the front, you dig through your bag for your ID–only for the bouncer to nod at you and open the velvet rope. “Go ahead.”

You look at him confused. “Wait, what–?”

But the guy’s already moved on to the next person. You step inside. The air hits you like  a wall: warm, electric, pulsing with music, and sweat, and weed. Neon lights flicker from above, reflecting off mirrored walls and liquor bottles behind the long bar.

People are dancing, drinking, pressed together in corners and booths. It’s chaos. Flashy and expensive. Like something out of someone else’s life. You hover next to the bar, trying not to look too awkward. You pull out your phone and text: i’m here.

You chew your lip. Grip your purse. You feel like you don’t belong, like you’re playing dress up. You wonder where he is–if he’s even here yet. If this was a mistake. Until you feel a hand curl gently around your waist. And hear that familiar voice, low and close to your ear. “Of course you wore that sweater.”

You turn, already smiling. Nam Gyu’s standing there in all black–jeans that fit way too well, a dark t-shirt, and a subtle chain around his neck. He looks good. Too good. And he’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the room.

He leans in a little, fingers still at your waist. “You want a drink?”

You hesitate. “Um…something light?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Light?”

“I have to function, Nam Gyu,” you tease, bumping his arm gently.

That gets a crooked grin out of him. “Got it. Girly. Weak. Possibly pink.”

You roll your eyes but don’t let go of the smile tugging at your lips. “I trust you.”

He waves down the bartender–doesn’t even have to wait. Just murmurs something low and quick, and the guy nods and starts mixing. You blink, impressed. “You really own this place?”

He shrugs. “I helped start it. Now I run most of it.”

The drink slides into your hand moments later. It’s pink. Fizzy. Garnished with a sugared rim and a twist of something citrusy. You raise an eyebrow. “This better not make me black out.”

He laughs. “You’ll be fine.”

You take a sip. It’s sweet, barely any alcohol, and honestly–delicious. “Okay, you win.”

“Say it again,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle against your hip. “I win.”

You bump him again with your elbow. “Don’t push it.”

Nam Gyu leads you through the maze of people like he’s done it a thousand times. And you guess he has. He knows this place like muscle memory–nodding at staff, sliding past corners and shadows and pulsing light until you’re climbing a narrow set of stairs tucked behind the DJ booth.

The noise dips once you’re up top. Not gone, but softened. The VIP lounge is sleek and expensive. Still crowded, still buzzing–but the music doesn’t rattle in your teeth up here. The lighting’s softer, the drinks fancier, the couches low and plush and wrapped in velvet.

You hover just inside the railing. You can see the whole club from here. The crowd below like moving constellations, all glitter and movement and rhythm. It’s a little surreal. This whole night is.

Nam Gyu presses a warm hand to the small of your back. “You okay?”

You nod, eyes still on the floor below. “It’s just a lot.”

“You’re doing good.” His voice is warm, fond. “You look good, too.” You glance at him, just to see if he means it. He’s already looking. Already caught. You feel heat bloom at the base of your throat. “Still soft,” he murmurs, fingers brushing the edge of your sweater where it tucks into your waistband. “Still my girl in sneakers.”

Your breath catches. You don’t say anything. You just take another sip of your drink and try not to melt under the way he’s watching you.

You take the last sip of your drink, lips brushing the sugared rim one final time. Nam Gyu’s watching you–he hasn’t stopped. Leaning back on the velvet couch, one arm stretched along the back behind you, the other draped over his thigh. Relaxed and cocky. Completely zeroed in on you.

He looks like he owns the room. He catches your glance and tips his head slightly. “What?”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

You look away, eyes drifting down to the crowd below. Bodies moving together like waves. Hands in the air, heads thrown back, lights slicing through the dark. Music thrumming through the floor, vibrating faintly beneath your shoes.

“Still not your scene?” he asks softly.

You rest your arms on the railing, trying not to fidget. “Not really.”

“But you’re here.”

You bite your lip. “I said I missed you, didn’t I?”

His breath catches. It’s subtle, but you hear it. Feel it. That little hitch of surprise. Or maybe restraint. When you glance back, he’s already closer. Not touching. But closer. His voice dips. “You know, if I were still twenty-five, I probably would’ve pulled you into the bathroom by now.”

Your eyes widen.  “You’d pretend you didn’t want it,” he continues, “but you’d be dripping. Just like always.”

Your thighs clench under your skirt. You keep your face turned away, but he sees it–he feels it. You shake your head, forcing a light laugh. “You’re not twenty-five anymore. And I’m not nineteen.”

“No,” he says. “You’re better now.” His hand brushes your leg–barely there. Just the edge of his pinky along your thigh, just above your knee. A touch so light it might’ve been imagined. You press your lips together, pulse ticking fast in your throat. He leans in again, mouth near your ear. “Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you right now.”

You don’t answer. Not out loud. You just watch the floor below, the way the people dance like nothing else matters. Like they’re made for it. And you try to pretend your heart’s not thudding out of rhythm every time Nam Gyu looks at you like that.

The second he unlocks the door to his office and lets you inside, you don’t wait. You barely hear the click of it shutting before you’re pushing him back, slamming your mouth into his. His low grunt stutters in surprise, but he melts into it fast–too fast–his hands already sliding down to your waist like he’s been touch starved.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles between kisses, pulling at the hem of your sweater. “Didn’t know you were gonna be the one attacking me tonight.”

You tug him toward the couch, straddling him without another word. His back hits the cushions with a soft thud, and you’re already grinding your hips down into his lap, your long skirt riding up with every roll.

He gasps. Then grins. “Shit. Okay. What do you want me to do?”

Your fingers curl into his shoulder, eyes dark as sin. “Nothing.” You smirk. “Just sit there and be good.”

His breath catches, then he nods fast, wide-eyed and helpless. “Yes ma’am.”

You swear you feel him throb beneath you when he says it. You reach down between you and unbuckle his belt slowly, fingers brushing over the hardness beneath. He’s not just hard–he’s aching. You can tell by the way his head tips back, the way he groans when you palm him through his boxers. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He mutters again.

You slip your hand under the waistband and wrap around him, warm and solid in your grip. His hips jerk. His fingers clench the edge of the couch. He doesn’t even try to touch you back–just watches you, desperate and ruined, as you work him slowly, teasing.

But then your phone vibrates on the table behind him. You don’t look at it. But it keeps going. Buzz. Buzz.

Nam Gyu blinks up at you. “You can get it, baby–”

You grab it and answer without checking the caller ID. “Hello?”

Your brother’s voice hits your ear, loud and clear. “Hey–did you talk to the lawyer yet? They need the signature for Mom and Dad’s estate paperwork–”

Nam Gyu stiffens beneath you. Your free hand presses to his chest. Stay quiet, don’t move.

You clear your throat and try to keep your voice steady. “Yeah, I got the email, I just haven’t–”

You shift your hips, slowly. Nam Gyu gasps. “F-fuck.”

“Who was that?” your brother snaps. “Is someone with you?”

Your stomach drops. You answer too fast. “Just a friend.”

He goes quiet, then says, “You’re with him, aren’t you?”

You glance down at Nam Gyu. His jaw is clenched, brow furrowed. He doesn’t say a word.

“I knew it. I knew you were lying the second you said you ‘ran into him.’ What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You swallow hard. “I don’t need this right now.”

Your brother’s voice cuts like a blade. “What do you think Mom and Dad would say? Is this your way of grieving? Sleeping with him? Letting him back in? It’s fucked. You need to stop.”

You flinch, like his words reached through the phone and hit you. “Don’t do that,” you whisper. “Don’t throw them at me like that.”

He’s relentless. “Then grow the fuck up. Sign the fucking papers. Get your life together. And don’t come crying to me when he fucks it all up for you again.”

You stare down at Nam Gyu, your hand still curled tight into his shirt. His eyes are locked on yours, unreadable. He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t try to fix it. He just waits.

You hang up without saying another word. The silence in the office is heavy–tense, electric, raw. You press your hands to your thighs to steady yourself. Then you look him in the eyes, and sink down on his cock in one long, slow, devastating motion.

You fuck the anger out of yourself.

Hands braced on his chest, thighs tight around your hips, you ride Nam Gyu like you own him. Because in this moment–you do.

He looks wrecked beneath you. Face flushed, lips swollen from all the begging he’s done. Hair sticking to his temples, chest heaving. The matching bra and pany set you wore just for him is long forgotten–his greedy hands shoved the cups down, hands full of your tits, moaning about how perfect you are.

Though now, he’s bare beneath you. Arms pinned above his head, wristed held down by your strength, though he could easily break free. His cock buried deep inside you as you ride him hard and mean. “Fuck–please, baby,” he gasps. “I missed you–I missed this–please, let me touch–”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, hips grinding down, your cunt clenching just to hear the way he chokes on a moan. “You don’t get to touch unless I say.”

“Y-yes ma’am,” he whimpers.

You lean forward, lips brushing his ear. “You like being used, don’t you?”

His whole body twitches. “God–yes–I fucking love it.”

Your pace grows harsher, your breath ragged as you ride him harder. You feel how close he is–his cock throbbing, his body straining beneath you. You let go of his wrists and grab his face instead, making him look at you. “You gonna beg for it?”

He nods fast, completely gone. “Please let me come, please–please–I’ll do anything–I’ll worship you–”

You’re right on the edge too, hips slapping against his, your body shaking. And then–the door to the office swings open. 

“Nam Gyu, I’ve been looking for you–” The voice cuts off. She freezes in the doorway. Her. The girl from dinner. She’s wide-eyed, staring.

Nam Gyu doesn’t even flinch. “Get the fuck out!”

“Jesus–sorry–!” she blurts, scrambling backward and slamming the door behind her. 

Silence. Your chest heaves, your palms still splayed across his chest. You’re still seated on his cock–him still pulsing, twitching, begging.

You slowly start grinding again. Nam Gyu gasps like he’s dying. His hands grab your waist, desperate and clumsy. “Please. Please don’t stop. Please. I’ll do anything–just let me come inside you–I’ll die if you stop–”

You smirk, breathless. “Embarrassed, baby?”

He groans. “I don’t care. Let them all hear. I don’t care. Just don’t stop.”

And you fuck him again–merciless and slow–watching him unravel. You ride him until he’s coming undone beneath you, moaning your name like he’s worshiping it, spilling inside you with trembling thighs and bruised lips.

You both slowly start to get dressed, the sticky heat of your bodies cooling in the aftermath. He watches you as you fix your bra and skirt, soft and reverent, like he still can’t believe he got to touch you yet again.

When you’re slipping your sweater back over your head, Nam Gyu clears his throat and goes, “Can I come over tonight?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know, Gyu. If you know where I live and we…don’t work out…”

His jaw flexes, but he nods. “I get it. I do. But I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable. I swear. I’ll leave if you tell me to. Hell. I’ll sleep on the floor if you want me to.”

Your lips twitch with a reluctant smile. “Okay.”

The drive back to your place is quiet, but not awkward. His fingers rest gently on your knee the entire ride, like he’s grounding himself just by touching you.

When you pull up to your apartment, you glance over shyly. “It’s nothing like your fancy penthouse.”

Nam Gyu lets out a quiet laugh, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I used to live on the street, baby girl. Your place is heaven to me.”

You feel your stomach twist at the nickname, the sincerity in his voice, the softness that feels too real. He follows you inside.

A Few Weeks Later

The road stretches ahead in one long, gray ribbon, the sky overcast, heavy like your chest. You sit with your legs pulled up on the passenger seat, sweatshirt sleeves bunched around your fists, the silence between you and Nam Gyu comfortable–but weighted.

He reaches out every once in a while to rest his hand on your thigh, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your jeans in slow, absent circles. It’s been like that for most of the ride–quiet, steady touches. No music. Just the sound of the engine, the tires on the highway, and the occasional soft murmur between you.

After a while, he glances over. “So why are they selling the house now?”

You swallow. “My dad got really sick. About a year ago.”

His expression shifts immediately–brows pulling together, eyes flickering over you.

“He passed away six months ago,” you say, voice quiet. “Mom lasted another three months. I think she just gave up.”

He’s quiet for a long beat. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, his voice low and serious. “I didn’t know.”

You shrug, staring out the window. “It’s fine. It’s just been…a lot. Trying to get everything settled. Especially with my brother.”

Nam Gyu glances at you again. “He’s still giving you a hard time?”

You don’t answer right away. Just lean your head back against the seat and sigh. “He’s angry. About everything. And he’s always been overprotective. So when it comes to you…”

“I don’t care,” Nam Gyu cuts in gently. “Let him be pissed. I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Your glance at him, heart clenching. “You really didn’t have to come.”

He just shrugs, eyes on the road. “Yeah, I did.”

By the time you arrive, your stomach’s tied in knots. The house looks the same. Like it’s been frozen in time. The overgrown bushes. The chipped mailbox. The front door with the faded welcome mat your mom refused to replace. But it doesn’t feel like home anymore.

You spot your brother’s car in the driveway, along with the lawyer’s. The realtor’s already waiting on the front porch, arms folded, clipboard in hand.

Nam Gyu parks behind them and kills the engine. He glances at you. “You okay?”

You nod, jaw set. “Let’s just get it over with.”

You step out of the car together, and the second you and Nam Gyu walk through the front door, you hear it: “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You turn slowly, meeting his glare. He’s standing in the living room with the lawyer and realtor, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight his neck veins are visible.

You sigh. “Just let me sign the papers and we’ll go.”

His eyes cut to Nam Gyu. “You brought him here? Are you serious?”

“I said drop it,” you snap, already walking past him toward the kitchen where the documents are laid out. “We’re not doing this right now.”

Nam Gyu stays close but quiet, his posture tense. He doesn’t bite back–doesn’t give your brother the satisfaction of a fight. Not yet.

You take the pen the lawyer hands you and sign your name quickly, the sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

Your brother scoffs. “This is such a joke. You always do this. You let trash back into your life and pretend like it’s love.”

You slam the pen down. “I said we’re not doing this.”

He steps forward. “What do you think Mom and Dad would say if they could see you now?”

You open your mouth to respond–but Nam Gyu steps in, voice sharp and low, “Hey. That’s enough.”

Your brother’s gaze cuts to him with a fresh wave of hatred. And you–your hands are trembling slightly, but your face is steel. You just pick up your copy of the signed papers, turn to the realtor, and say flatly, “We’re done here.”

You walk out without another word. Nam Gyu follows, slamming the front door behind him. You’re halfway to the car when the fury claws up your throat like bile. You stop short, heart pounding. Then you spin on your heel.

Nam Gyu calls your name, but you’re already storming back into the house. Your brother’s standing in the living room with his arms crossed, smug like he won whatever argument this was supposed to be.

“Stop making their death about you,” you snap, voice trembling out of anger. “You have done nothing but make this whole process awful for me. I’ve handled everything while you sat in a different country and judged from afar.”

“Oh, please,” your brother scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t even show up to the funeral. Who are you to talk about grief?”

Your breath catches. Behind you, you hear the soft click of the front door as Nam Gyu steps back inside. He doesn’t say a word–just rests a steadying hand on your shoulder, grounding you. 

But you’re shaking. “I hate you,” you whisper at first. Then louder, “I fucking hate you.”

Your brother’s jaw clenches. “Take the money from the house,” you say, venom in every word, “and don’t ever fucking call me again.”

There’s a moment of silence–so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat. And then he laughs. Cold and cruel. “Oh, I see. Gonna run off to Nam Gyu now?” he sneers. “Let him make you feel special again, right? Until you have one minor disagreement and he beats you like he did his ex?”

The world lurches sideways. Your ears ring. You blink at him, stunned. Frozen. You didn’t mishear him. You couldn’t have.

You feel Nam Gyu stiffen behind you–but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say a single word. Your brother smirks. “Yeah. Bet he didn’t tell you that part, huh?”

Your mouth opens. But no sound comes out. The only thing you can feel is the blood roaring in your ears, and the warm, heavy pressure of Nam Gyu’s hand still steady on your shoulder.

You turn to him, jaw tight. “Let’s go.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t argue. Doesn’t glance back at your brother. He just follows you out of the house like a shadow.

The car ride is silent. He doesn’t start the engine right away when you both climb in–just sits there, hands limp on the wheel, staring through the windshield.

You cross your arms, sinking into the passenger seat, then say sharper than you mean to, “Can we go to the hotel, please?”

He flinches. But he turns the key. The drive is only ten minutes, but it feels like forever. No music. No words. Just the muted hum of tires on pavement and the ache of something cracking between you.

He parks. You both get out. Check-in is stiff, wordless–he pays, and you trial behind him to the elevator, eyes on the floor.

When you reach the room, he unlocks the door and lets you walk in first. The moment it shuts behind you, you just stand there. Motionless. The room is dim and clean and painfully quiet. It feels sterile. Temporary. A holding place for whatever happens next.

You turn to face him slowly. Nam Gyu’s already watching you. “Go ahead and ask,” he murmurs. His voice is steady, but there’s something hollow behind it–something bracing for impact.

You swallow. Your throat’s dry. “I…don’t know if I want to hear it.”

His jaw flexes. He looks away, then back at you, eyes dark and tired. “That’s fair.”

You stare at him for another beat, your chest rising and falling too fast. The air between you feels thick. Heavy.

“I didn’t hurt her,” he finally says, voice quieter now. “Not like he thinks I did.”

Your heart knocks hard against your ribs. But you don’t speak. Not yet. Because some part of you still isn’t sure which version of him to believe.

You cross your arms tighter across your chest, your nails biting into your sides. “Then tell me,” you say flatly. “I guess.”

Nam Gyu’s eyes search yours for a long, tense moment, like he’s checking for how much you really want to hear it. But then he takes a slow breath and begins. “It was bad between us. Me and her,” he explains quietly. “I was using all the time. Coke. Pills. Anything to get through the day. She wasn’t much better.”

You don’t interrupt. Just wait.

“We fought constantly. Screaming, throwing shit, doors slamming…the cops got called once. She said I grabbed her arm too hard. I probably did.” He shrugs, but it’s bitter, like he hates himself for even trying to sound casual. “I black out half that week. The only reason I remember any of it is because of the court transcript.”

You swallow hard.

“She dropped the charges a month later,” he says, gaze fixed on the floor now. “Said she exaggerated. Said she didn’t want to ruin my life. But the damage was done. I did six months for possession and resisting arrest.”

You stare at him. The hotel room is quiet. The carpet beneath your feet feels like it might give out. You take one step forward. Then another. And then you shove him. Not hard. Just enough that he stumbles back one step back. He blinks at you, stunned.

“Why,” you begin, voice cracking with fury, “do I still fucking love you after that?”

His eyes fly to yours, wide. “Wait…you what–?”

You shove him again. “You’re not a good guy.”

“I know that,” he says quickly, hands open like he’s surrendering, but there’s something desperate in his voice–like he wants you to hit him again, just to feel it.

So you do. Push him harder this time, until he stumbles back onto the edge of the bed, catching himself with his hands. You’re standing over him now, your whole body trembling with rage and confusion and want.

“So why do I love you,” you whisper, “and why do I wanna fuck you right now?”

He’s breathing hard, looking up at you like you’re the only god he’s ever believed in. “I don't know,” he whispers. “But please…do it anyway.”

Nam Gyu looks up at you like he’s already undone. You climb onto his lap without a word, straddling him, grabbing the front of his sweatshirt and dragging it up and off with a force that makes him gasp. Your nails scrape down his chest as you lean in, mouth at his jaw, biting hard.

He groans–loud–grabbing your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “I missed you,” he pants, “I missed you so fucking much–”

“Shut up.”

You crash your mouth onto his, messy and hot, all teeth and tongue. He’s already hard beneath you, bucking up into your core like he can’t help it. Your hand fumbles at his belt, yanking it open, and he moans like it physically hurts to be touched again by you.

“Fuck, fuck,” he stammers, head tilting back as you reach into his briefs, wrap you fingers around him. “Please, baby–please, I need you–”

You tear off your shirt, your bra, and then stand up just long enough to shimmy out of your pants and panites in one frustrated motion.

“Look at you,” he whispers, nearly breathless. “All for me?”

“Who else?” you snap.

He surges forward, mouthing hungrily at your chest, hands roaming your thighs as you push him flat on the bed and straddle him again, dragging his cock through your slick folds.

“Beg for it,” you whisper into his ear.

“Please,” he groans instantly. “Please ride me, baby, I’ll do anything–need you so bad–been so fucking empty without you.”

You sink down in one swift, brutal motion and he chokes, hands flying to your waist like he’s trying to anchor himself. “Holy fuck! You feel–fuck you feel unreal.” He gasps.

You ride himself without rhythm at first, just fast, messy, like you’re tyring to fuck the heartbreak out of yourself. His fingers bruise into your skin, jaw slack as he watches you, completely gone.

“You’re mine,” you growl, voice raw.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yours, all yours, always–fuck, don’t stop, please–”

You lean down, press your chest to his, fucking him deeper, harder, his name falling form your lips like a curse. Your teeth catch his bottom lip, dragging it before you kiss him again, rough and desperate.

The bed creaks. The headboard hits the wall. His breath is ragged and stuttering beneath you.

“Gonna come,” he whines, completely unguarded. “Fuck–please, can I? Inside you? Please let me…”

“Do it.”

He shatters with a strangled cry, clinging to you like you’re salvation. You don’t stop moving, riding him through it until you come too, a tidal wave breaking as your head falls into the crook of his neck, mouth open in a silent moan.

You collapse together–sticky, panting, clinging.

His voice is hoarse, barely audible. “I love you. Even if you hate me–I love you.”

You’re still catching your breath, chests pressed together and damp with sweat, when Nam Gyu murmurs, voice low against your temple, “Do you love me…or do you just love fucking me?”

You huff a laugh against his neck. “Do I have to only pick one?”

That makes him laugh–deep and breathless, warm in your ear. His arms wrap tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him again. The air between you settles, heavy with heat and history.

“I do love you,” you whisper eventually. “But if you ever do anything to me…I will kill you. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”

He leans back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s no trace of amusement left in his face–just the solemn curve of his mouth as he nods. “Oh, trust me,” he says quietly. “I know.”

You giggle a little, even as your chest aches. You curl tighter into him, cheek resting over his heart.

There’s a beat of silence. Then he whispers, “I’m sorry about how today turned out.”

You nod slowly, fingers tracing the faded ink on his ribs. “I’m just…glad to be done with it all, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I get it.”

You swallow thickly. “I really miss them.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t say anything–he just strokes your spine gently with the pads of his fingers, grounding you.

“I hope they can’t see how things turned out,” you admit, barely audible. “They’d be disappointed in my brother and me.”

He exhales. “You’re doing your best. You loved them. That’s what matters.”

You blink up at the ceiling. Your throat is tight, but the tears don’t come. “I don’t think I’ve ever really said goodbye,” you murmur.

Nam Gyu kisses your hair, cradling  you like you might slip through his arms. “Then maybe we do that tomorrow.”

You let your eyes fall shut, cheek still resting on his chest. His heartbeat thuds gently beneath your ear, slow now. Safe.

You yawn, voice muffled in his skin. “I didn’t go to their funerals.” Nam Gyu doesn’t say anything, just keeps rubbing your back, waiting. You swallow, then keep going. “Because I didn’t want it to be real. If I didn’t see it…then it wasn’t real.”

He exhales through his nose, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “I understand,” he murmurs. “They do too.” You close your eyes tighter. “It’s okay to grieve however you need to,” he adds gently.

“I guess my way of grieving,” you whisper, “is fucking a guy who’s no good for me.”

That makes him laugh–quiet and tired, like he knows exactly much weight lives in that sentence. “I’m trying to be good for you,” he says softly.

You shift, pressing your nose to his neck. “I know, Gyu.”

The morning comes with a dim gray sky and a chill in the air. You’re sitting on the edge of the motel bed, tugging on your hoodie, still half asleep. Nam Gyu runs a hand through his messy hair, watching you quietly.

He speaks up, voice rough with sleep. “I could take you to see them. If you want.”

You look up, startled. You hesitate, heart thudding a little faster. “I…I don’t know,” you admit. “I’ve never been. Not even once.”

Nam Gyu stands, walks over to crouch in front of you. “Then maybe it’s time.”

You stare at him for a beat, then nod slowly. “Okay. Yeah…okay.”

The cemetery is still. Wind rustles through the trees, leaves whispering to each other like they’re trying not to disturb the silence. You walk slowly between the rows, your fingers curled tightly into the sleeves of your hoodie, until you see their names etched in stone.

Your knees give a little when you reach them, and you let yourself sink into the grass. It’s cool beneath you, soft and damp. Nam Gyu stays quiet, standing behind you, one of his hands resting gently on your shoulder.

You stare at the headstones. Your lips part, but nothing comes out at first. It takes a moment for your voice to steady. “Hi,” you finally whisper. “I’m here.” You press your hands into your lap, knuckles white. “Sorry it took me so long.”

The air is thick with things unsaid. You look at the flowers someone left–probably your brother. You didn’t bring any. Didn’t think to. You feel stupid about it.

“I didn’t…I didn’t want it to be real,” you say. “I thought if I just kept going, you’d still be out there somewhere. I didn’t want to see this. I didn’t want this to be true.”

You draw in a shaky breath. Nam Gyu’s hand squeezes lightly. “I miss you both so much,” you whisper, your voice breaks a little. “I think I’ve just been pretending that I’m fine. Like maybe if I didn’t cry, I could just keep going. But I’m not okay.”

You look up at the sky. “I’m trying. I don’t know if I’m doing anything right, but I’m trying.”

And then, slowly, you glance over your shoulder. Nam Gyu is still there, hands in his pockets now, watching you with that same unreadable expression that somehow manages to be both calm and full of quiet affection. When your eyes meet, he just offers you a small smile. Gentle. Patient.

That’s all it takes.

The tears come without warning–hot, soundless, unstoppable. They roll down your cheeks like something broken, finally cracking open, something too tightly held for too long.

You turn away quickly, but Nam Gyu kneels beside you. Doesn't say anything. He just wraps an arm around you, pulling you into him, tucking your face into his chest as your shoulders shake.

Still quiet. Still safe.

You cry there, finally, in the open, in front of the only people you ever wanted to be proud of you. And Nam Gyu just holds you, steady and still, like he knows this is what you needed more than anything else.

The takeout containers are scattered across the bed, half empty and grease stained. You’re both sitting cross legged, the TV playing something mindless in the background, the glow of it soft against the hotel room walls. Nam Gyu’s balancing a carton of noodles on his thigh, shoveling them in like he hasn’t eaten in days.

You stab at a dumpling with your chopsticks and laugh when it slips out of your grasp for the third time. “Okay,” you grumble, “I’m gonna sue.”

Nam Gyu snorts. “Sue who? The dumpling?”

“I don’t know,” you say, popping a piece of broccoli into your mouth instead. “Whoever invented chopsticks. My hands are too sweaty for this.”

“You want a fork, baby?” he teases, nudging your side with his elbow.

You roll your eyes, pretending to be offended. “I’m fine. I’m strong. I’m independent.”

“You’re losing a war to steamed vegetables.”

You laugh, that warm, honest kind that makes your stomach flutter a little when you realize how easily he draws it out of you. You let the moment breathe, quiet and soft.

Then, Nam Gyu asks, gentle and unassuming, “How are you feeling?”

You pause, the air in the room suddenly a little heavier. You push a noodle around your carton. “I was fine,” you say, voice light and falsely bright, “until you asked.” You look up at him with a shaky smile, then down again. “I’m okay. Or… I will be. I think.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t press. He just hums quietly, finishes chewing, and reaches for one of the fortune cookies on the nightstand. He tosses one toward you, and it bounces off your chest before landing in your lap. “Open it,” he says. “Let’s see what your fate is.”

You crack it open and read the slip aloud: “Your strength is not loud, but unshakable.”

Nam Gyu grins. “It’s true though. You’re handling all this…better than I ever could.”

You crumple the fortune and toss it toward the trash, missing entirely. “Thanks, I think.”

He leans back on his elbows, watching you with something quieter in his gaze. “You don’t have to be okay right now. You don’t have to be anything for me.”

You make a face and throw a balled up napkin at him. “Okay, stop being sappy. I’m emotionally fragile and your tender little voice is gonna make me cry.”

Nam Gyu snickers, catching the napkin before it hits his chest. “Fine, fine.”

You nudge his leg with your knee. “What does your fortune say?”

He breaks the cookie with a dramatic flourish, unfolds the tiny strip of paper, and squints at it. “Huh.”

“What?” you ask, peering at him.

He looks at you, deadpan. “Says I’ll receive the most mind blowing head tonight.”

You stare at him, horrid for half a second–before you burst into laughter, clutching your stomach and nearly knocking over the soy sauce. “Shut up! No, it doesn’t!”

He’s already cracking up too, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m kidding. It actually says…” He clears his voice and reads it in a mock serious voice. “A long awaited answer will arrive when you least expect it.”

You go quiet for a beat, your laughter trailing off. “That one’s kinda eerie,” you say.

“Yeah,” Nam Gyu murmurs, folding the fortune and slipping into the takeout bag. “Guess we’ll see.”

You smile faintly, then settle in beside him again, letting your fingers brush against his without holding on–just a soft, simple connection. And for a moment, nothing hurts.

The silence stretches, warm and steady. He doesn’t say anything else. Just leans his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded. 

Outside the city hums below you. Inside, everything is still. You think: maybe this is where the worst ends. maybe this is where something new begins.

You don’t know what comes next. But for now, you stay.

a/n - so, so happy to be back posting again! i absolutely loved writing this story...so lmk if anyone would be interested in a part 2 of this! i'm cooking up some more juicy fics!! xoxo, squid

[sillylilsquid]

update!!

surgery went well! however my recovery has been far from that. i was hoping to get to spend these days writing but in reality i have been sleeping and praying to feel better.

i hope to be back soon, and appreciate the patience from everyone. i appreciate you all🖤 in the mean time! feel free to flood my inbox with plot/fic ideas for me to write up and spoil y’all with when i am better.

small hiatus !! 🖤

i have been writing like crazy these past few weeks! lots of good stuff coming soon. however! i am having surgery tomorrow and i’m unsure when i’ll feel up to writing/posting.

i apologize and hope to be back very soon!!

xoxo, squid

[sillylilsquid]

small hiatus !! 🖤

i have been writing like crazy these past few weeks! lots of good stuff coming soon. however! i am having surgery tomorrow and i’m unsure when i’ll feel up to writing/posting.

i apologize and hope to be back very soon!!

xoxo, squid

[sillylilsquid]

bunny kisses

pairing - hyun-ju x chubby!reader summary - You're curvy. Soft. Nervous. And Hyun-ju can't keep her hands off you. With her, sex becomes worship, and your insecurities start to feel a little quieter. You don’t know what this is, but it’s the first time you feel like someone sees all of you—and stays anyway. warnings - afab!reader, explicit sexual content, body dysphoria, very subtle fat shaming, lots and lots of filthy smut, 18+ minors dni!! 10.7k words

You just wanted to be wanted.

You didn’t download the app expecting anything. You weren’t even sure what you wanted–just that it had been a while. Since anyone looked at you like they saw you. Since someone touched you like they meant it.

So you picked the pinkest pictures you had. One of you in a little skirt, caught in a store window’s reflection, legs crossed just right, face hidden behind your phone. One where you’re smiling too big, holding an iced strawberry matcha. And one taken late at night in your bedroom mirror–kneeling in your bunny print pajamas, cheeks flushed, stuffed animals piled behind you like a little shrine to softness.

Your bio was simple. Soft girl. Iced matcha enthusiast. Just looking for something casual, I guess.🌸

You told yourself it was fine if it was just sex. Fine if no one messaged. You weren’t trying to fall in love. You just wanted to be wanted.

You don’t know how long you were scrolling–left, left, left, boredom and doubt pressing into your stomach like a weight. Until you stopped.

Hyun-ju.

Tall. Androgynous. Sharp jawline, dark sunglasses, a cigarette dangling from glossed lips in one photo. A black tank top with a gold chain glistening against her smooth skin at the gym. The last photo was a blurry mirror selfie in a dim room, the angle all collarbones and laziness, like she couldn’t be bothered to try harder–and didn’t have to.

Her bio made you suck in a breath. 

Terrible at small talk. I like good food, fast hookups, and soft girls with too much lip gloss.

You stared at it for a while. Your thumb hovered. And then you swiped right.

Matched.

She messages first.

well hello, gorgeous girl

Your heart flutters. You blink at the screen, reread it twice, then type back.

hi🥺

you’re killing me with that skirt in your second photo. is that legal? do you know what you’re doing to people?

You stare at the message with your mouth slightly open, fingers frozen above your keyboard. She’s not being subtle. She’s not playing games.

🥺🥺it’s just a skirt…

nah. that’s a weapon. you’re a weapon, bunny. i wanna put you in my lap and ruin you

You let out a squeak. Literally. You cover your mouth with your hand like you can shove the reaction back in. But your thighs squeeze together instinctively, and there’s no denying the warmth crawling through your chest.

you’re so bold omg😳 i’m not used to kind of attention

good. let me be the first. you deserve it, soft thing. i’d kill to make you blush in person

Your fingers tremble a little as you type your next message.

you kinda already are…

then let me take you out. tomorrow night. you dress up for me and i’ll try to behave.

behave?? somehow i don’t believe you

you shouldn’t. but i’ll still buy you dinner first. little place in Itaewon. candlelight. cocktails with flower petals. you’ll look good in that pink dress i just decided you probably own

Your lips part slowly. You do have a pink dress. Satiny. Short. The one you bought because it made you feel like a doll, but never had a reason to wear.

i actually do have a pink dress okay… i’m free after 7 🥺💕

good girl send me your number. i’ll send you the address. and bunny?

yes?

don’t be late i’ve been starving for something sweet

You let your phone drop into your lap. Your face is on fire. Your thighs are pressed tight. And your heart won’t stop thudding.

You booked a nail appointment that morning, even though your chest fluttered with guilt as you tapped your card–like part of you still didn’t think this date was real. But now, your fingers are delicate and pretty in the glow of your vanity mirror, the sheer pink polish catching the light like sugar icing. A soft shimmer to them, just in case she holds your hand.

You try not to stare too long at your reflection as you finish getting ready. Your pink satin dress clings more than you remembered. The hem brushes just above your knees, your thighs bare, your chest pushed up in a way that makes you feel both shy and desperate to be seen. You slip on your matching heels, the ones with the little bow at the ankle, and let your hair fall down your shoulders. You spritz perfume on your neck. A little on your wrist.

Then you stand in front of the mirror and pick yourself apart.

My arms look too soft. My thighs look huge. She’s going to take one look at me and think I catfished her.

Your pictures. They were all at angles. Posed. Edited in subtle ways. You looked thinner in them. Sharper. Safer.

But now you’re here. In the soft fold light of your bedroom. Real. Round. Small and curvy and so exposed.

Your phone buzzes. A message from Hyun-ju.

table’s ready. don’t keep me waiting, bunny.

Your stomach twists. You grab your purse and go.

The restaurant is dimly lit, tucked in the corner of a quiet street in Itaewon. Ivy creeps up the brick walls. There are candles on every table, their glow caught in the wine glasses like liquid flame. It’s the kind of place where dates turn into something more. Where people lean close and say things they don’t mean to say.

And she’s already there.

Hyun-ju stands to greet you. Her outfit is simple–just black slacks and a soft gray blouse, open slightly at the chest–but somehow she looks like she stepped out of a magazine. Her lashes painted with a small amount of mascara, her nails glossy. She leans on one hip and gives you a look that makes your skin go hot all at once.

Like she wants to devour you.

“Holy fuck,” she breathes, eyes raking over you from heels to hem to bare shoulders. “You’re unreal.”

Your voice catches in your throat. “I-I–hi.”

She steps forward and gently takes your hand, raises it, presses a kiss to your knuckles. “That dress should be illegal.”

You’re not sure if you can breathe. You sit quickly, letting her pull out your chair, trying to hide your flushed face behind the menu.

Dinner is a slow-burn blur of candlelight and stolen glances.

You order a drink with lychee and rose petals. It’s girly and sweet and tastes like spring. She watches you sip it with such intensity you nearly drop the glass. Her fingers toy with the stem of her wine glass white her other hand rests, casual and elegant, near yours on the table. She asks you soft questions–how your day was, what polish you picked, what perfume you’re wearing.

“You smell like marshmallows,” she murmurs, voice low, leaning just slightly across the table. “I want to lick it off your skin.”

You giggle, flustered. “You’re terrible.”

“I am.” Her smile curls like smoke. “But you’re making it very hard to behave.”

After your second drink, your cheeks are warm and your limbs are a little looser. You start talking more freely. She makes you laugh. She makes you squirm. Every compliment feels like it lands on bare skin. She watches you the whole time–like she’s memorizing you.

At one point, you lift your drink to your lips and she stops mid sentence, tilts her head.

“Do you know how pretty you are when you blush?” she asks softly. “You look like a treat. Sweet little cupcake.”

You hide your face behind your hand. “Stop.”

“Can’t.” She reaches across the table and tugs your hand away gently. “You don’t even know what you do to people, do you?”

You shake your head, shy. “I really don’t.”

She smiles. Not like she pities you–but like she’s starving. “You will,” she says.

The air outside is cooler now, sharp and smoky with the night. Your heels click softly on the pavement as you walk, your dress swishing against your thighs. Hyun-ju walks beside you with her hands in her pockets, every movement confident and unhurried.

You tell yourself not to read into anything.

It’s just a hookup.

She’s beautiful, and she wants you–for now. You’re allowed to want that. You’re allowed to want this.

But when she looks at you like that–like she could pin you to a wall with her eyes–your stomach turns itself inside out.

“You’re quiet,” she murmurs, glancing down at you. “Cold?”

You shake your head quickly. “No. Just…nervous, maybe.”

Hyun-ju hums like she expected that. She brushes your hand lightly with her fingertips. “You don’t have to be.”

“I know. I just–” You chew your lip. “I guess I keep reminding myself that it’s just…casual.”

At that, she stops walking. You blink and turn to her–and find her watching you with something darker in her gaze.

“Bunny,” she says, voice low and steady, “I know what kind of app we met on. And I know you’re trying to protect your heart right now. But I want you to hear this clearly.”

Her fingers tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. She leans in.

“You’re not just a body to me. You’re not just a hole to fill. You’re you. Soft. Sweet. Blushing and beautiful and dressed like a dream. And when I get you inside my apartment…”

She smiles. Slow, wolfish. “I’m gonna feast.”

Your knees nearly buckle.

Her place smells like clean linen and sandalwood. Dim lights. Tall bookshelves. A few mismatches art prints on the wall, but otherwise minimal–like she only brings home what she wants.

The door clicks shut. You barely have time to turn around before Hyun-ju is on you–not rough, not rushing, just hungry. Her hands find your waist. Her lips hover near your cheek. “Take your shoes off, sweetheart,” she whispers. “I want you comfortable when I take you apart.”

You step out of your heels. She guides you gently backward until the backs of your knees touch the bed.

“Sit,” she murmurs. “Just like that.”

You obey, nervous and breathless, hands clasped in your lap. The satin of your dress rides up slightly over your thighs. And she drops to her knees in front of you like you’re an altar.

“Oh, look at you,” she whispers. Her hands slide up your legs, over the soft curve of your calves, then your thighs. She spreads them gently, reverently, so she can kneel between. “Fuck, baby. You’re unreal. You’re art.”

Her hands knead at your thighs, slow and indulgent. Not rushing to undress you–just worshipping.

“So thick,” she murmurs, pressing kisses to the inside of one thigh. “So soft and perfect and fuck, I could die between these legs.”

Your breath catches. You grab the hem of your dress, trying to keep your hands from shaking.

Then she lifts it. Slowly, carefully. She pushes it up to your waist and stares like she’s starving.

“You’re shaking,” she says gently, and looks up. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“No–please, don’t,” you breathe. “Please.”

Her hands slide up to your hips, her thumbs brushing the waistband of your underwear.

“You’re so shy,” she whispers. “But you let me see you like this. You let me touch. That’s so good, bunny. You’re such a good girl for me.”

She presses a kiss to your belly. Then another. Then another. Her lips trial across your soft stomach, slow and adoring. She buries her face there with a soft groan, her palms now smoothing over your waist like she’s trying to hold all of you.

“Fuck, I love this tummy,” she murmurs. “So cute. So soft. Want you to ride my face with it spilling all over me.”

You gasp. “Hyun-ju–”

She pulls your panties down slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“You’re shaking because you’re nervous,” she says softly. “But soon you’ll be shaking because I won’t stop until you scream.”

Hyun-ju pulls your panties the rest of the way and drops them beside the bed like a trophy. Then she leans back on her heels between your spread thighs and breathes out like she’s seeing heaven.

“Come here,” she urges softly. “Come sit on my face.”

Your heart stutters. “W-what?”

She reaches up, hands gliding over your soft thighs again, but slower now. “I want your cunt on my mouth, bunny. Want to feel all this softness, all of you against my face while I make you cry.”

You blink fast, flustered, and fold in on yourself like a closing flower.

“I–I can’t,” you whisper, arms coming up to hide your tummy, legs shifting instinctively. “I’m too heavy. I’ll crush you.”

Hyun-ju tilts her head, but there’s no impatience. Just warmth. Just hunger softened by something almost tender.

“Oh, baby,” she murmurs, gently guiding your hands down, “you don’t have to be shy with me.”

You shake your head. “I’m not trying to be–I just–I know I don’t look like the girls people usually…”

“Fuck that,” her voice darkens. “You think I’d kneel for someone I didn’t ache for?”

You swallow hard. She leans in. Kisses your tummy again, then the crease where your thigh meets your hip. Each kiss is firmer. Hotter. Hungrier.

“I’ll never ask you to do something that scares you,” she explains, gently easing you back onto the mattress. “But I want to show you what I see when I look at you. Can I do that?”

You nod slowly.

She grins, voice low and coaxing. “Then be good. Lay back.”

You do.

Your body sinks into the sheets. Your dress is bunched around your waist. Your panites are gone. You feel bare, exposed–like every part of you is on display. But then Hyun-ju crawls up onto the bed and kneels between your legs, lowering herself down, eyes locked on yours.

“You don’t have to move,” she whispers. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me taste you like this.”

You gasp as she lowers herself, hands sliding under your ass to tilt your hips just right. 

“Fuck,” she breathes. “You’re soaked. Look at that. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You nod again, lips trembling. “Y-yeah.”

Her hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider. She buries her face between them like she belongs there–like this is what her mouth was made for. Her tongue licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, and the noise she makes? Pure filth.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” she moans.

You whimper. Your hips twitch, but she holds you still, strong palms gripping your plush thighs, her thumbs kneading into the softness.

“You’re gonna take it,” she breathes. “You’re gonna let me worship this pussy. Every inch of you. Don’t hide from me, baby. Don’t ever hide.”

And then, she devours you.

“That’s it,” Hyun-ju breathes against your clit, tongue curling slow and sure. “That’s my girl. Just like that.”

You choke on a moan, hips rocking helplessly, thighs trembling in her grip. She licks you through it again–again–and her voice is honeyed filth, smooth and dark and reverent.

“Such a pretty cunt, baby. Can feel you fluttering on my tongue. She’s so sensitive, huh? Just needs someone to pay attention.”

You whimper, hands fisting the sheets.

“I know, I know,” she coos, nuzzling into you. “It’s so much. Too good, isn’t it? That’s okay–I’m right here. Let it happen. Let me make you cum.”

Your whole body arches when she sucks on your clit, just the right pressure, just right rhythm–and her voice stays in your ear like a lifeline.

“You deserve this. All of it. Want you to remember how it feels to be wanted. To be worshipped. Cum for me, soft thing.”

You break like glass in her hands.

When you come down, your thighs are still twitching, breath in shambles, Hyun-ju climbs up your body–licking her lips, her cheeks flushed with heat.

“That was fucking beautiful,” she whispers, kissing your jaw. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

You reach for her before you even think about it. Your fingers tangle in her shirt, tugging, desperate. “Want–wanna take this off,” you mumble. “Wanna see you.”

She pauses. Watches you for a breath like she’s memorizing this–your need, your softness, your hunger.

Then she pulls you up gently and kisses you full on the mouth.

It’s not just hungry. It’s slow and messy and deep–her lips against yours, her tongue pressing in, letting you taste yourself on her. You moan into it. Your hands fumble at the buttons of her shirt. She helps you halfway, then strips it off the rest of the way, tossing it aside. Her bra joins it.

Then she guides your hands to her waist.

“Undress me, bunny,” she murmurs. “I want to feel your hands on me.”

You’re clumsy and breathless, but you peel her pants down, underwear too, until she’s bare between your legs–flushed and damp and trembling with restraint.

And when you both sink back onto the bed, skin against skin, you wrap your arms around her, your legs tangling. She kisses you again. This time, her hand slides down your tummy and between your legs.

“You’re still so wet,” she whispers. “You want more?”

You nod, dazed. “Please…”

Her fingers slip into you, slow and thick, curling just right. You gasp–and your hand moves instinctively. Down her hips. Across the inside of her thigh. She stutters in her breath when your fingers brush over her.

“Fuck–baby–” Her eyes flutter closed. “Yeah. like that. Want your fingers.”

You press in. she rocks down into your hand as she fucks you with her own–matching rhythms, kissing between gasps, her teeth catching your lip when your thumb brushes her clit.

The bed creaks. The room echoes with soft, wet sounds, breathless moans, half spoken praise.

“You’re so tight,” she pants. “So sweet–fuck, your fingers feel so good.”

“You too,” you whisper, voice cracking. “You feel–oh god–”

You both cum within seconds of each other–her hips jerking, your legs shaking, moans swallowed into messy, open mouthed kisses.

And when it’s over, you’re both breathless, your fingers still tangled inside one another, your bodies sticky and trembling and flushed.

Hyun-ju brushes her nose against your cheek, voice gone soft again. “Did so good for me, bunny.”

You nuzzle into her, afraid to say anything that might break the spell. She just pulls you closer, one arm draped over your waist, and breathes you in like a secret.

You lie there in a daze, limbs limp and chest heaving, body still twitching from the intensity of it all. Hyun-ju is half on top of you, warm and soft and barely catching her breath. For a long moment, all either can do is listen to the shared thrum of your heartbeats, skin slick and flushed where it touches.

Then she moves gently–pressing a kiss to your jaw before pulling back, her voice hoarse but warm. “Be right back, sweet girl.”

She disappears into the bathroom. You barely have time to miss her before she returns with a warm, damp washcloth and a glass of water. She knees beside you and begins to clean you up with the softest touch, kissing the inside of your thigh, your tummy, your hip bone as she goes.

“Still shaking,” she mumbles, almost to herself. “Did I ruin you, pretty thing?”

You blush, but you don’t answer.

She smiles and cups your cheek. “Drink some water. Gotta take care of my girl.”

My girl.

You take the glass and sip slowly. She watches you the whole time, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. Then she tucks you in, pulling the blanket up and settling beside you.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

You feel the weight of it in your chest–like if you stay here too long, you might forget that this was supposed to be casual. Just a hookup. Just one night.

“I should go,” you say softly.

Hyun-ju lifts her head. “What?”

You sit up, pulling the blanket around yourself. “It’s late. I should–I should get home.”

She frowns. “Bunny, just stay.”

You shake your head, voice too thin. “I really shouldn’t. I have work tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll get you an Uber.” She doesn’t say it with resentment–just quiet resignation. You look at her. Her mussed hair, the tenderness in her gaze. It hurts.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Hyun-ju pulls out her phone. “Don’t be.”

She orders the car without another word. When it arrives, she walks you to the curb in just her hoodie, leans down, and kisses your cheek.

“Thanks for tonight,” she murmurs. Her voice is too soft. “Sleep safe, gorgeous girl.”

And then, you’re gone.

The next day, you can’t focus at work.

You’re barely registering emails. Barely hearing your coworkers when they talk to you. You keep zoning out, thinking about Hyun-ju’s mouth on your skin, her breathy little moans, the way she kissed your stomach like it was sacred. You can still hear her voice in your head–lay back for me, bunny. You press your thighs together beneath your desk and tell yourself to stop.

After work, you decide to treat yourself–a little boba run before heading home. Something sweet to make up for the ache you’re trying not to name.

You’re halfway through ordering your drink when you hear her laugh. You freeze.

It’s her. You know her voice now, the rasp of it, the way her laughter curls at the ends like smoke. You turn your head before you can stop yourself–and there she is, in the corner of the cafe, dressed casual and effortless, her hair up, her head tipped back as she laughs at something another girl is saying.

The girl is pretty. And stylish. Skinny. Her makeup’s perfect. She’s leaning close, smiling wide, like she knows she’s winning.

You stare for too long. Hyun-ju catches your eye. For a second, she looks…surprised. Her smile softens, lips parting like she might say something. But your drink is called out. You grab it and turn away, hear in your throat, cheeks burning. You don’t look back.

Your apartment feels colder than normal.

You curl up in your bed in your favorite pajamas and try to color in your Sanrio coloring book, hoping the soft pastel colors and little bows will distract you. They don’t. Your thoughts keep spinning.

It was just a hookup, you remind yourself. You just wanted to feel wanted, even if it was only for one night.

And you did. You got it. She touched you like she adored you. She kissed you like she was starving. She said you were soft and sweet and delicious.

But she’s already moved on.

You swallow hard. Your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You grab it. Not her.

So you open the app again. The same hookup app where you matched with her in the first place. Maybe if someone else wants you–even for a night–it’ll quiet this aching in your chest.

You update your photos. You re-read your little bio. Then you swipe.

A few matches come quickly. You message one–she’s pretty, a little edgy looking, a pierced brow and dark lipstick. You say hi.

She replies: “Sorry, I’m not really into ultra-fem girls.”

Your stomach sinks. You match with another. She messages first, only to say: “Sorry, chubby girls aren’t really my type.”

You set your phone down. You stare at the ceiling. Suddenly, you feel stupid for trying. For getting dressed up. For shaving your legs. For letting yourself hope. You press your face into the pillow and squeeze your eyes shut.

It was just a hookup. So why does it feel like something’s breaking?

You take the next day off work.

You tell yourself it’s just a mental health day. Nothing to do with the hookup you can’t stop thinking about. Nothing to do with the pretty girl you saw Hyun-ju laughing with at the boba shop. Nothing to do with how you spent half the night swiping through a hookup all only to cry yourself to sleep hugging your stuffed bear.

Nope. Not at all.

So you go shopping.

Retail therapy. That’s what people call it, right? You put on your cutest spring cardigan, gloss your lips, and head downtown to your favorite boutiques. You touch silky dresses, oversize bows, sparkly claw clips. You wander slowly through pastel aisles of blushes and creams and shimmer-stick highlighters that promise to make your cheeks “dewy like fresh strawberries.”

And for a little while, you do feel better. A little lighter.

In the dressing room, you try on a little pleated skirt with a lace trimmed pink top, the kind that hugs your curves and shows just a hint of cleavage. You try not to dwell on how tight it is around your middle–or how you keep posing at angles that look more like your profile photos than your actual reflection.

But when you twirl once and catch sight of yourself in the mirror–soft thighs, plush tummy, the shimmer on your cheeks catching the light–you pause.

You look…cute.  Like a cupcake with a pulse.

You whisper, “Okay. Not so bad,” and take a picture before you change.

Next stop: lingerie.

It wasn’t part of the plan, but you wander in anyway, drawn to a matching set in strawberry pink–a balconette bra with little embroidered hearts and a soft, satiny panty with ribbon ties at the hips. You buy it before you can talk yourself out of it.

You’re just tucking it into your shopping bag when your phone buzzes in your purse. You ignore it at first.

But then–something…prickles. A gut feeling. You pull out your phone and glance at the screen.

Hyun-ju.

Your heart stumbles. Your thumb freezes mid-scroll. You tap.

can i come over tonight? need to taste you again, soft thing. been thinking about your thighs all fucking day.

You stand dead still in the middle of Sephora, clutching your phone like it might explode. Your knees nearly buckle. Your brain goes static. Every insecurity from the last 48 hours–the hookup app, the girls who didn’t want you, the way you felt like a placeholder in someone else’s night–all of it vanishes under the heat of ten little words.

She wants you. She still wants you.

You bite your lip and read it again. And again. Your whole body feels warm–cheeks flushed, thighs pressed together, chest rising faster.

You don’t even think before you type. First, you send your address.

i’ll leave the door unlocked. i bought something new. pink and pretty. just for you.🫣

You don’t even wait for a reply. You’re already hurrying home, clutching the lingerie bag like a secret pressed to your heart, already imagining the way her eyes will darken when she sees you.

You don’t even remember the walk home. Just flashes of traffic lights and the ghost of her messages still burning in your chest.

By the time you’re inside, you’re already shedding your jacket, your shoes, your nerves. The apartment is quiet–soft lighting from your little bunny lamp, a vanilla sugar candle flickering faintly on your nightstand. You toss your shopping bags on the bed and breathe in.

Okay.

You’ve got time. You need to get ready.

You peel off your clothes, lay them gently over your chair, and pad into the bathroom. You brush your hair until it falls glossy over your shoulders, smooth on a little shimmer lotion, then pull on the new set–soft pink, heart stitched, with those little satin ties that make you feel like a gift someone’s about to unwrap.

In the mirror, you pause. You look…nervous.

Flushed cheeks, bitten lips, your thighs touching sweetly at the top. The lingerie hugs your curves snug–and for a split second, the doubt creeps in.

Too much. Too thick. Too squishy. Too much.

But then you remember the way Hyun-ju looked at you–devoured you–with her eyes, her mouth, her hands. You remember the things she whispered with her lips against your belly. The way she gripped your thighs like she wanted to live between them.

You breathe out. Okay. You can do this.

You throw on your bunny robe, soft and oversized, and fluff your pillows. You set out a glass of water on your nightstand (just in case), light another candle, and pull the curtains closed.

Then you sit on the edge of your bed, heart racing, robe still open just enough to show the pink lace beneath–and you wait.

You don’t know what tonight means. You only know she’s coming. And that you want her to ruin you softly.

You hear the knock and nearly jump out of your skin.

Your robe’s barely tied. Your cheeks are already hot. You open the door, heart in your throat. And there she is.

Hyun-ju stands there in a long coat and boots, hair down, eyes dragging over you with heat that makes your knees wobble. Her gaze drops to the pale pink peeking through your robe, then back up–slowly, purposefully.

“Look at you,” she murmurs. “Answering the robe in your little bunny pajamas. Trying to kill me?”

You try to speak–to joke, to flirt back–but it’s like your voice gets lost somewhere in your chest. Hyun-ju steps forward, closes the door behind her with a soft click, and cups your face in one warm hand.

“I missed this,” she says softly. “Missed you.”

And then she’s kissing you. It’s not sweet, not at first–it’s hungry, hands finding the curve of your waist, tugging at your robe. She guides you backward, step by step, until your knees hit the edge of the bed.

And then? Then it’s a blur.

Your robe is peeled off. Her mouth between your thighs, her voice filthy and reverent as she praises every part of you. She kisses your belly like it’s holy. Moans into the softness of your thighs like she’s starving. Tells you you’re so pretty like this, legs open, pussy soaked, voice cracking under her tongue.

You’re still breathless when she finally curls into you, fingers drawing lazy shapes on your bare hip, hair messy against your shoulder. Lips still kiss bitten, and you can feel the warmth of her skin pressed to yours in all the softest places.

Her voice comes low, a little teasing. “You gonna let me strap you?”

You choke on your breath, heart lurching. “W-what?” Your cheeks go hot. You glance down at her, wide-eyed.

She grins against your skin, chin nudging your chest. “I said,” she repeats, pressing a kiss to the swell of your breast, “are you gonna let me fuck you from behind tonight?”

You hide your face in your hands with a mortified little squeak. “I don’t–I’ve never–I mean, I don’t even own toys.”

Hyun-ju hums, clearly delighted. “Oh, we’re changing that.” Her voice drops a bit, playful but hungry. “Girl, you’re in for a treat. I’m gonna have you seeing stars.”

Your stomach does flips. You don’t know if it’s the nerves or excitement, or some wild alchemy of both. 

Hyun-ju stretches lazily across the bed, her gin devilish. “You really don’t have any toys?”

You shake your head, shy. “No. Never really…thought I’d need them.”

She hums. “That’s adorable. Tragic–but adorable.”

Then, with a smug little look, she rolls off the bed and unzips her backpack, casually pulling out a small black harness with a toy already snapped in place.

Your jaw drops. “You brought it?” Your eyes snap from the strap back to Hyun-ju. “So you mean like…you’re gonna…now?”

“Of course I did,” she says, amused as she begins stripping out of her clothes. “What, you thought I was bluffing?”

You stare at her, stunned, throat dry as she steps into the harness and tightens the straps at her hips with practiced ease. Your heart hammers. She looks so sure of herself–strong, sexy, in control–and when she catches your eye, her smile softens, just a little.

“You still okay, baby?” she asks gently. “We don’t have to.”

You nod. Too quickly. “Yes. I–I want to.”

“Good girl,” she murmurs. “Get on your hands and knees for me.”

You scramble into position, heart in your throat, burying your face in the pillows to hide your embarrassment–but you can feel how wet you are already, thighs trembling. Then you feel her behind you–warm hands smoothing your hips, kneading at the softness there. She groans low under her breath.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” Hyun-ju breaths. “Look at this perfect ass. All this soft skin just for me.” She drags her hands along the curve of your waist, your stomach, your thighs–squeezing, admiring. “You’re unreal.”

You gasp when you feel the head of the toy rub between your folds. She takes her time, letting it guide through your slick, spreading you gently.

Then she sinks in.

The stretch has you gasping, arms shaking as you brace yourself, and she leans over your back, kissing along your spine. “There you go, baby,” she whispers, “taking me so good already.”

Her hips pull back, then roll forward again, slow and deliberate. You moan into the sheet, and Hyun-ju groans behind you.

“Look at how perfect you are. Fuck, I love watching this–your pretty body bouncing for me. You feel so fucking good.”

Her rhythm picks up. One hand on your waist, the other sliding up your back, she grips your shoulder as she fucks into you harder. Every thrust makes you cry out, breath breaking.

You reach back without thinking–desperate, overwhelmed–and Hyun-ju catches your hand instantly, pressing it into the small of your back and holding you down. “Oh no, bunny,” she pants, “you stay right there. Let me take care of you.”

She pounds into you now, filthy and relentless, the slick sounds of your body filling the room.

You’re a mess, babbling into the mattress. “C-can’t–feels so–so good–”

“Yes you can, soft girl. You’re doing so good for me. Fuck, I could fuck you forever.” Her voice is thick, adoring, and a little ragged. “I love this body. Love the way you looked wrapped around me like this.”

Your legs are trembling. Your voice breaks. “Gonna–gonna cum–Hyun-ju I–”

“Do it,” she groans, pounding deep. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart.”

You cry out, body locking up as the orgasm crashes over you–loud, helpless, ruined. Hyun-ju doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, gasping, tears slipping from your eyes. Then finally, finally, she slows, hips rocking gently as she eases you through it.

You collapse into the sheets, boneless and shaking, and she leans over to kiss the back of your neck, whispering, “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

It doesn’t end after that night.

Hyun-ju keeps showing up–some nights with a bottle of wine, others with nothing but that cocky little grin and the promise of a good time. Sometimes she stays until morning. Sometimes she leaves right after, tugging on her hoodie and pressing a kiss to your forehead before slipping out into the dark. But always, she texts. Always, she comes back.

You don’t talk about what it means. You don’t ask. But you feel it.

In the way she pulls you into her lap at your kitchen table. In how she cooks you breakfast without asking where anything is. In the way she laughs with her whole body when you trip over your words trying to compliment her, teasing. “You got it bad, huh, bunny?”

You try not to let it show. You try.

But it builds anyway.

It’s in the little things–like how your phone lights up with her name and your heart stutters. Or how your breath catches when she calls you ‘baby’ in that low, warm voice. Or how she starts leaving her hoodie draped on the back of your chair, her shampoo in your shower.

And then one lazy afternoon, you’re out with her at some tiny boutique, giggling as you both try on ridiculous clothes that are way too expensive. She snaps a candid photo of you in the mirror–half laughing in an oversized sweater that swallows you whole.

Later, you see it on her story:

Mine���

No tags. Just you.

Your stomach flips.

That night, you’re curled up in bed, overthinking everything, her hoodie pulled over your bare legs. You hover over your keyboard for twenty minutes before finally sending it.

what are we hyunnie?

The typing bubble appears right away.

well, bunny…what do you want this to be?

And just like that, you forget how to breathe.

You stare at your phone, pulse thudding. You almost don’t want to keep going. You could leave it there, let it hang. Pretend you were joking. But something aches behind your ribs, loud and stubborn.

You type slow, fingers shaking a little.

idk. i mean i like this…you. i trust you but, how do i know you’re not seeing someone else?

Three dots. Then nothing. Then dots again. You swallow hard.

i saw you that day at the boba shop. with that girl. you looked…happy.

And then you wait. You start spiraling before she even responds. God, you think, I sound insane. Possessive. Needy. It’s not like we’re even dating. She doesn’t owe me anything. I’m just some dumb girl she hooks up with–

The screen lights up.

call me, bunny.

Your breath catches. You reread it twice. Call me? Your thumb hovers. Your stomach twists into knots.

i don’t want to bother you if you’re busy…

But your phone’s already ringing. Her name glows on your screen. Your heart pounds like a trapped animal. You hesitate–then answer.

“Hey,” you breathe.

“Hi, bunny.” Her voice is soft. Familiar. It slides through your chest like a warm knife. You don’t know what to say.

“You’re jealous,” she says, and it’s not cruel or smug. Just honest.

“I’m not…trying to be,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“It’s just…” Your voice wobbles. “That girl. She was really pretty.”

A pause. Then, “That’s my ex.”

Your heart stutters. Your tone comes out harsher than you mean for it to. “You hang out with your ex?”

“Yeah.” Hyun-ju sighs. “Look, we went through a lot together. She was there for me when shit was really bad. Like, scary bad. You wouldn’t understand.”

You don’t say anything. You’re still trying to process it–how casual she sounds. Like it’s normal. Like it shouldn’t matter. But it does. It really does.

“She’s not my girlfriend anymore,” Hyun-ju says. “We haven’t been together in years. But she…gets me. And I don’t have a lot of people like that.”

You nod even though she can’t see you. You want to believe her. You do. But something twists tight in your chest. 

“I’m not sleeping with anyone else,” she adds quietly.

You just hum, too unsure to say anything more.

There’s a pause. Then she speaks again, a little sharper. “You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

You chew your lip, eyes stinging. “I don’t wanna mess this up,” you whisper. “I just don’t know what I am to you. And that scares me.”

Another breath. This time slower. Gentler. “Bunny,” she murmurs, “you don’t have to be scared. You want something more, just say it. I’ll show up.”

There’s a long silence on the line. You can feel her breathing, low and even. Like she’s trying to decide what to say next.

You bite your lip. Then it just slips out. “Even if you’re not sleeping with her, you’re…emotionally invested. And I don’t know how to feel about that.”

Another silence. Then she sighs. It’s not sharp, not angry. Just…tired.

“I’ll tell you about it some other time,” she says finally. “It’s not something I wanna talk about right now.”

Your heart sinks. “Will you ever be ready?” you ask softly. “Or are you just using that to keep me around?”

The silence changs. It freezes. Sharpens. You can practically hear her jaw tighten through the phone.

Then a quiet, bitter laugh. “I don’t have time for this.”

And the line goes dead. You stare at your screen, blinking. The call ended. No goodbye. No explanation. Just a cold silence ringing in your ears and the sudden, crushing weight of regret curling in your gut.

Hyun-ju stares at her phone long after the call ends.

She presses the heel of her palm to her eyes. Her chest is tight. Her thoughts, louder than usual.

Why did she hang up?

Why the hell did she do that?

She opens her contacts, scrolls down, hesitates. Then taps.

“Hey,” comes the voice on the other end, warm and familiar in a way that cuts through the static in her head.

Hyun-ju swallows. “You busy?”

There’s a pause. Then, “What happened?”

She exhales sharply. “It’s the girl. Bunny.”

Another pause.

“She asked about you,” Hyun-ju mutters, thumb tracing anxious circles on the seam of her sweatpants. “Saw us at the boba shop, freaked out. She thinks I’m emotionally invested in you.”

“Well,” her ex says carefully, “you are. Just not the way she thinks.”

Hyun-ju lets out a frustrated groan. “Yeah, but–fuck, I didn’t know what to say. She asked if I’d ever be ready to talk about it. And I just…froze.”

Her ex hums. “You always do, when it matters.”

Hyun-ju goes quiet.

“You have to remember,” her ex continues gently, “not everyone keeps talking to their ex years after the breakup. You guys are barely a thing and she’s already doubting if she can trust you. That’s not her fault. You’re asking her to believe in something you haven’t even explained.”

“I know,” Hyun-ju says softly. “I know, I just…I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Then don’t.” Hyun-ju goes to speak but is quickly cut off. “Talk to her,” her ex says. “Even if it’s uncomfortable. Even if it’s hard. You’ve never told anyone, I get that. But if you don’t want to lose her–really lose her–you have to let her see you. All of you. Or else she’s gonna walk.”

“And if she doesn’t understand?”

There’s a beat. A breath. Then, “Then she was never good for you in the first place.”

Hyun-ju nods to herself, even though her chest aches at the thought. “Thanks,” she whispers.

Her ex is quiet. Then she says, with a little fondness in her voice, “She better be good to you.”

Hyun-ju’s messages come in quick succession.

bunny please can we talk i didn’t mean to hang up i just panicked i’m not good at this shit but i swear i’m not lying to you please don’t hate me

You read them all with your phone face down beside you, screen lighting up again and again. You don’t respond. Not because you’re angry–but because if you say something now, it might come out too sharp, too insecure, too much.

So you stay quiet. Pull your knees to your chest. Breathe through the ache in your throat. You try to sleep, but it doesn’t come.

And when 2:07am blinks back at you from your phone screen, you give in. Your thumb hovers, then taps her contact.

It rings once. Twice.

A sleepy voice answers. “Bunny?”

Her voice is low, scratchy with sleep. You can hear the confusion and the softness both. It twists something in your gut.

“I wanna talk,” you whisper. “Can we have lunch tomorrow?”

You hear the sound of rustling sheets. “Yeah. Of course. Anywhere you want.”

You nod, even though she can’t see you. “Okay.”

“Are you okay?”

You close your eyes. “I don’t know.”

Hyun-ju’s voice drops even softer. “Thank you for calling me.”

You let that sit between you, quiet but honest. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” she repeats. “Tomorrow.”

You hang up before you can say anything else.

You spot her before she sees you–tucked into the corner of the cafe, hood up over her dark hair, fidgeting with the sleeve of her jacket. Her eyes flick up and land on you, and she straightens a little in her seat.

She doesn’t stand. Doesn’t open her arms like she usually does. And somehow, that feels worse than if she’d looked away entirely.

So you step forward. Wrap your arms around her shoulders and lean down into the hug, holding tight like maybe that will say what you haven’t been able to.

Hyun-ju exhales, relief softening her body against you as her arms come up slowly to hug you back. Then you both sit.

You’re in a big sweater, sleeves pulled down past your knuckles, leggings soft from too many washes. Your hair’s up in a messy clip that you didn’t really try with. You didn’t have it in you to dress up.

Neither of you says anything for a while. You pick at your food. She sips her iced coffee too fast and sets it down with a quiet clink.

Then– “I’m insecure,” you say quietly.

Hyun-ju blinks, lips parting like she’s about to reassure you. 

But you shake your head. “No. Please listen.”

She nods and her mouth shuts.

“I’m insecure,” you repeat. “And I want to hear you out. I swear I do. I promise to listen. And try to understand. But…” Your voice falters, and you wrap your fingers tighter around the cup in front of you. “You have to see my side too. You can’t just expect me to be okay when I don’t know what’s going on. When I see things and make assumptions and then sit in it alone.”

Hyun-ju’s expression shifts–like something tight in her has just been touched. She looks down for a second, lashes low.

“I’m not mad at you,” you whisper. “I’m just scared.”

Shet lets out a slow breath, then looks up at you. Really looks. “Okay,” she says, voice low. “Let me explain. Everything.”

Hyun-ju holds her coffee between both hands, staring down at the melting ice like it might tell her what to say.

“She was my first serious girlfriend,” she says finally. Her voice is cautious. “Her name’s Jina.”

You don’t interrupt.

“At that time, well…” Her jaw works for a second, like she’s chewing on the words, trying to decide how much to give you. “So I am…I mean–well, you see–”

You reach across the table and gently brush your fingers over hers. Just once. Just to say, it’s okay, take your time.

Hyun-ju glances up, and whatever she sees in your face–steady, patient, open–it gives her the strength to keep going.

“When I came out as trans,” she says, and she doesn’t look away this time, “she was the only one there for me.”

Your heart catches. The way she says it–like it cost her something just to speak those words aloud.

“She helped me through my transition. Let me crash at her place when I got kicked out. Took me to my doctor’s appointments. Helped me pick out my name. And when I–when I got too low, when I…” her voice wavers, and she looks away, blinking fast. “I was so depressed. I didn’t think I’d make it. But Jina kept me safe. From everything. From…myself.”

There’s a silence. A gentle, painful silence that hangs between you like fog.

“I’m here now,” she says finally. “That’s what matters. But we couldn’t keep dating. She found someone else. And…we just fell apart.”

She huffs a soft, dry laugh. “I let her go. Romantically, I mena. But it’s hard to let someone go who was there for something like that.”

Your throat aches. You reach for her hand again, this time properly, and she lets you hold it. You squeeze it gently. And say, “Thank you for telling me.”

“I’m sorry for not listening last night,” you say quietly, your thumb brushing her knuckles. “I was…overwhelmed. And jealous. And scared. But that doesn’t excuse it.”

Hyun-ju shrugs, but you see the tension leave her shoulders–just a little. “I get it,” she murmurs. “I do.”

You smile, soft and a little shaky. “You’re so beautiful, Hyun-ju. And I really appreciate you telling me. For sharing that with me. That’s…not easy. But I’m glad you let me in.”

She exhales like she’s been holding her breath this whole time, gaze flicking down lips twitching with the ghost of a smile.

“Yeah, well,” she mutters, “you asked.”

You both laugh–quiet, a little awkward, a little relieved.

“So…we’re okay?” she asks after a moment, like she doesn’t want to hope too hard.

You nod. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

A beat passes. Then Hyun-ju grins. “That means we can go back to my place and I can eat you out, right?”

Your face flushes, and you groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god.”

She giggles, bright and playful. “What? Emotional vulnerability makes me horny.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling now–something soft and full and real blooming warm in your chest.

The door clicks shut, and before you can say a word, Hyun-ju’s hands are on your waist, sliding under your sweater with that familiar heat in her touch.

“You’re mine tonight, soft girl,” she murmurs, lip brushing your neck. “All mine.”

You barely nod before she kisses you–slow and deep, like she’s been starving. She tugs you toward the bed, helping you out of your leggings and sweater until you’re bare beneath her gaze. Her eyes roam you, hungry and tender, taking in your soft stomach, the stretch of your thighs, the curve of your hips.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she breathes, sinking to her knees at the edge of the bed. 

You squirm instinctively, thighs pressing together. “Hyun-ju…”

She gently coaxes your legs apart. “Shh. Let me look at you.”

She kisses the inside of one knee, then the other, moving slowly upward. Every press of her mouth is reverent, worshipful, and it makes your skin burn.

“You know how crazy you drive me?” she says, voice low. “All this softness…fuck. Your tummy, your thighs, these perfect tits–” she cups them with warm palms, thumbs brushing your nipples, “–I wanna live between your legs, baby girl.”

You whimper, head thrown back.

Then she lowers herself, breath hot against your center. Her tongue flicks out once–just a tease–and then she groans like she’s the one being touched. “God, you taste so good.”

She licks you slowly, languidly, like she has all the time in the world. You grab at the sheets, hips jerking, but she holds you down with firm hands on your hips.

“Relax,” she says, grinning against you. “Let me take care of you.”

She dives in deeper, tongue swirling around your clit, slow and relentless. She moans into you like she can’t get enough, her arms wrapped around your thighs, her hands kneading your hips and the soft swell of your tummy.

“I love how your body feels under my hands,” she murmurs between licks. “So plush. So perfect. I could eat you for hours.”

You cry out, trembling. “Hyun-ju–oh god–please–”

“Mmm. That’s it. Let me hear, you bunny.”

She sucks your clit, gentle at first, then harder–rhythmic, greedy. She slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right, and your whole body arches off the mattress with a sob.

“Gonna cum for me?” she whispers, pressing kisses into your thighs. “Let me feel you fall apart. I want it all–every noise, every shake, every drop. You’re so perfect when you break.”

You do. You come hard, legs clamping around her head, mouth falling open in a scream. She doesn’t stop–doesn’t even slow down–tongue still lapping at your clit, drinking in everything you give her like she needs it to live.

You’re wrecked. Shaking. Gasping for breath.

And she only pulls away to kiss your trembling thighs, then your stomach, then up your body until she’s holding you, cradling you against her chest. “You’re everything I want,” she murmurs against your hair. “Every inch of you.”

Your body’s still twitching from the last orgasm, legs boneless and shaky where they rest over Hyun-ju’s thighs. She hasn’t moved far–just enough to press soft, grounding kisses to your cheeks, your collarbone, your chest.

But her eyes? Still hungry.

Her fingers trace idle patterns over your stomach. “You good, sweet girl?”

You nod, dazed. “Mhm.”

Hyun-ju grins. “You think you’re done?”

You blink, lips parting. “I–I thought…”

She shakes her head, leaning to kiss your shoulder, your throat. “No, no. You’re too pretty for just one.” Her voice is a low, lazy purr now. “I need more. Need to feel you cum on my tongue again. Wanna make you cry this time.”

You shiver, heat blooming in your belly again so fast it leaves you breathless. Hyun-ju eases your thighs apart, eyes locked on your soaked, glistening center. “Fuck. Still so wet for me.”

She slides down the bed and hooks your legs over her shoulders this time. Her hands knead your hips, then trail upward–palms smoothing over your soft stomach, up to your tits, which she squeezes, massaging them gently.

“Look at you,” she whispers. “Laid out like a dream. In my fucking bed. You gonna let me ruin you again, bunny?”

You nod, wide eyed, breath caught in your throat.

“Words.”

“Yes, Hyunnie. Please, Hyunnie.”

She doesn’t make you wait. Her mouth is back on you, but this time it’s needy–filthy. She tongues your clit in frantic circles, messily, greedily, moaning into you like she’s starved. You gasp, thighs trembling against her shoulders as she devours you.

Your hands fly to her hair, gripping tight. “Hyun–f-fuck–”

“That’s it,” she pants against you. “So sensitive already. God, I fucking love it. Love how sweet you taste. How soft you are under me.”

You cry out, hips jerking, and she just groans, holding you down and going deeper–flicking her tongue fast, then flattening it, then sucking your clit with the perfect amount of pressure until you’re choking on moans.

Your second orgasm builds hard and fast, overwhelming. You feel it cresting–tight and hot–and you babble something incoherent, tugging on her hair like you’re drowning.

Hyun-ju just hums smugly. “Cum for me again, baby. Wanna see you shake. Wanna taste everything.”

You break.

Your whole body goes taut, then collapses as your orgasm crashes through you, even stronger than the last. You sob her name, thighs clenching tight around her head as she licks you through it, not letting up even for a second.

You’re trembling, gasping, your fingers tangled in her hair, and she stays there–pressing kisses into your soaked folds, your thighs, your tummy, until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation.

When she finally crawls back up to hold you, you’re flushed, dazed, messy with sweat and slick. “Still with me?” she teases, voice husky.

You nod, burying your face in her neck, and she kisses your cheek gently.

“I could do that all night,” she whispers. “You’re so good, bunny girl. So fucking perfect.”

The bathroom fills with steam, the air thick and hazy as you step under the spray with Hyun-ju behind you. Warm water rushes down your back, soothing your spent, aching body–but you barely notice it. Not with Hyun-ju’s hands all over.

“God,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck. “I can’t handle you. These perfect fucking tits.” She cups them tighter, thumbing your nipples until they’re pebbled and sensitive all over again. “This ass.” Her hands slide down, kneading your hips, your backside. “You’re unreal.”

You let out a breathy moan, already melting back into her.

Hyun-ju hums, biting lightly at your shoulder. “You okay for another round, baby?”

You nod, needy and breathless. “Please.”

Her laugh is dark, pleased. “Yeah? Wanna cum for me again, right here in the shower?” Her hand dips lower, between your thighs, fingers sliding through your folds. “Still so wet,” she teases, even though the water’s pouring over you both. “Always so ready for me.”

You whimper when she starts rubbing slow, steady circles over your clit, leaning forward to brace yourself on the shower wall. She presses up behind you, one arm around your waist to steady you as she works you open again.

“You’re so good for me,” she murmurs, mouth hot against your ear. “So sweet. Letting me touch you like this. Letting me make you feel good.”

Your hips buck into her hand, every word shooting straight to your core.

“You like it like this?” she asks, slipping a finger inside you, then another. “Bent over for me? Taking what I give you like a good girl?”

“Y-yes, fuck–”

She scissors her fingers, curling them expertly until your whole body is trembling, your moans echoing against the tile.

“That’s it,” she pants. “I wanna feel you cum on my hand this time. Wanna feel your pussy clench while I fuck you like this.”

You’re almost there–again–already.

Hyun-ju senses it. She presses her body tighter to yours, rutting gently against your ass with a low groan. “Cum for me again, soft girl. Show me how much more you can take.”

You shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, your cry muffled against your arm as you jerk and twitch against her hand. Hyun-ju holds you through it, praising you the whole time–so pretty, so good, so perfect–until you’re trembling in her arms.

She kisses your shoulder, then your jaw, then your lips.

“That’s three,” she whispers. “You think you’ve got another in you, or should I carry you to bed and spoil you some more.”

You’re still catching your breath when Hyun-ju kisses your neck again, leaving dark bruises along your skin, nuzzling against your skin with a soft chuckle. “God, baby,” she breathes, fingers sliding slow and sticky between your legs, teasing your folds again. “You’re already so sensitive…”

You whimper, thighs trembling. “I-I don’t know if I can–”

“Yeah, you can,” she whispers, mouth at your ear. “I know you can. You’re doing so good for me.”

She drops to her knees right there in the shower, hands gripping your thighs as she spreads them apart again. Water runs down your stomach, between your breasts, trailing over your soaked cunt–and Hyun-ju watches it like it’s divine.

“Let me see,” she murmurs, licking her lips before she leans in. “Let me have it again.”

Then her mouth is on you, tongue moving in slow, firm circles over your clit, fingers sliding back inside you like they never left. You gasp–your whole body already over sensitive–but her touch is practiced, knowing, relentless. Her fingers fuck up into you swith a steady rhythm, curling just right. Her mouth works you faster, wetter, until your head is tipped back and your cries echo off the tile.

“Tha-that’s too much–Hyun-ju, I–”

She groans into your pussy. “That’s it,” she pants, fingers pounding faster, her voice thick and reverent. “That’s what I want. Gimme one more. C’mon, bunny–I know you feel it.”

You do. It’s building too fast, pressure pooling deep in your belly, your thighs shaking uncontrollably. It’s more intense than anything you’ve ever felt–raw and dangerous and just barely on the edge of too much.

You cry out as the wave crests.

“I got you,” Hyun-ju moans, mouth never leaving you. “Come on, let go. Let go for me, baby–”

And you snap. Your body convulses as you cum, harder than  you ever have before–legs buckling, eyes rolling back. You scream, and something inside you releases. Warmth gushes from you in pulses, soaking her mouth, her hand, the tile beneath you.

“Ohhh fuck yes,” Hyun-ju groans, sounding wrecked. “That’s it. That’s it, baby–fuck, that’s what I wanted. Look at you. Look at how good you’re doing for me.”

You’re gasping, shaking, overwhelmed. She slows her fingers but doesn’t stop–just words you through the aftershocks with soft murmurs and hungry kisses to your thighs. Her voice is full of awe.

“You squirted for me,” she says, kissing your shaking thighs. “You fucking squirted, baby. You’re unreal.”

You slump against the shower wall, panting, your skin flushed all over. “I–I didn’t even know I could–”

Hyun-ju kisses your hip, then looks up at you with the filthiest grin you’ve ever seen. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”

Hyun-ju towels you off slowly, lovingly–pressing kisses to your thighs, your belly, your collarbone between each gentle pat. When you finally stumble out of the bathroom, she’s already pulled one of her oversized shirts from the drawer, sliding it over your head with a quiet, “There we go. That’s better.”

It smells like her. You melt into it instantly.

She helps you into bed–pulling the covers up, smoothing your hair off your forehead–and then slides in beside you, curling her body around yours like you’re something precious. Her hands stroke up and down your side beneath the shirt, lingering at your waist, your hip, the curve of your belly.

“You okay?” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nod, cheeks warm. “More than okay.”

Hyun-ju hums, fingers still tracing your skin. “You were so good for me. So beautiful. You know that, right?”

You hide your face in her chest, shy but glowing. “Stop…”

“I mean it,” she says, tipping your chin up. “I love your body. Every inch. The way you sound, the way you move, the way you feel. I think about it all the time.”

You bite your lip, heart racing in your chest. Her eyes are soft–unguarded in a way that makes your breath catch.

And then quietly, almost like a secret, you say, “Can I tell you my favorite things about you?”

Her brows lift in surprise. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

You inhale, then glance down at her fingers still resting on your hip. “I like how you touch me,” you begin softly. “How gentle you are when you don’t have to be. Like…when you think I’m not paying attention.”

Hyun-ju doesn’t say anything. Just listens.

“I like your laugh,” you add. “When you laugh so hard you crinkle your nose. And how you always smell like citrus and something warm. And how you remember everything I say, even the little things.”

Your voice lowers. “And I like your body too, Hyunnie. You’re so strong. I like your arms. Your shoulders. Your back. Your abs.” You flush a little. “Sometimes I stare when you’re not looking. You just…look like someone I feel safe with.”

You look up at her, eyes wide and vulnerable. “And I like the way you look at me. Like you’re letting me see something no one else gets to.”

Her mouth parts–like maybe she wants to say something–but she just exhales instead and wraps her arms around you, pulling you in.

She kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose. “You’re gonna break my heart,” she whispers, smiling faintly. 

You bury your face in her chest again, voice barely audible. “Then at least you’ll know you had it.”

She holds you tighter.

The silence stretches between you, soft and drowsy. Her fingers trace idle shapes along your spine, the slow rhythm lulling you into that fragile place where truth comes easy.

You lift your head just slightly, just enough to see her eyes. “Hyunnie?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

She nods, brushing her thumb along your cheek. “Anything.”

You swallow, voice small. “Do you…want this to be more than just hookups?”

Hyun-ju’s hand stills. She blinks once, lips parting. “Do you?”

You meet her gaze, trying not to flinch from how exposed you feel. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I think I do.”

For a moment, she just stares at you–like she doesn’t quite believe it.

“You really want…me?” she says quietly. Her voice is raw, unsure in a way you’ve never heard before.

You nod. “I like being with you. Not just in bed. I like you. And I want to see where this goes. If you do.”

She lets out a slow breath, eyes searching yours. Then–so gently–she leans in to kiss you. Not hungry, not desperate. Just…real.

When she pulls back, she rests her forehead against yours. “Okay,” she whispers.. “Let’s try. If you’re in, I’m in.”

You smile, curling closer into her chest. Her arm wraps around your waist, holding you against her like she means it.

“Good,” you murmur. “Just…don’t disappear on me, okay?”

“I won’t,” she replies. “Not unless you ask me to.”

You fall asleep with her heartbeat under your cheek, her hand warm on your back, and something new–tentative and bright–blooming quietly in your chest.

a/n - i hope you all enjoyed!! hyun-ju is literally just the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world. I just know she worships her partner for sure ;)

taglist - @jeongteen

[sillylilsquid]

afterlife

pairing - au!felix x reader summary - after losing felix in a tragic accident, you find yourself caught between the unbearable weight of grief and the fleeting warmth of the dreams where he still lives. but healing asks for goodbye...and love, real love, never leaves empty handed. warnings - death, brief mention of car accident, grief, mentions of the afterlife, depression a/n - this was inspired by a holding absence song (afterlife), and even tho it's short, I hope you enjoy as much as I do. grief affects every one different, healing is not linear 2.5k words

The apartment is too quiet.

No hum of his music in the next room. No kettle clicking off. No voice–his voice–calling your name like it meant something soft and sacred.

Just the low buzz of the refrigerator, and the ticking of a clock you never paid attention to before.

You sit on the couch and try to breathe. Try to make your lungs work. Try to exist in a world where he doesn’t anymore.

Felix is gone.

Dead.

The words should mean something by now. They should feel solid, real, heavy enough to hold in your hands like stone. But they don’t. They just hang there–weightless, untouchable. A sentence you keep choking on every time it echoes through your skull.

He’s dead.

He’s gone.

He’s never coming back.

And you’re still here.

The apartment is filled with his things. His shoes by the door. His charger curled on the nightstand. His mug still in the sink with the faint ring of tea staining on the inside.

You haven’t touched any of it.

You can’t.

If you move even one thing, it’ll all become real.

Your fingers tighten around the hoodie in your lap–his hoodie. Soft from years of wear, stretched at the wrist, smelling faintly like his cologne and laundry detergent. You press your face into it and breathe until your chest aches. It doesn’t smell as much like him as it used to.

You cry again. You didn’t think you had any tears left, but grief is greedy. It always finds more.

You remember the last thing he said to you.

It wasn’t profound. It wasn’t even the kind of thing you’d want engraved on a headstone or tucked into a letter. It was just– “Don’t forget to eat something, okay? I’ll be back in a bit.”

He never came back.

They said it was instant. The driver didn’t stop. There wasn’t time to call you. By the time the hospital found your number, he was already cold.

  You don’t remember how you got home that day. Just flashes. A white hallway. The sterile lights. A nurse with soft hands and sad eyes. Your knees hitting the floor. The sound you made–howling, ugly, animal.

You haven’t made a sound since.

Night comes slowly. You lie in bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Felix’s hoodie tucked under your chin. The silence is so sad it hurts. You close your eyes just to make it stop.

And when you sleep–you dream.

It’s warm.

There’s a soft breeze brushing your skin, the scent of cherry blossoms floating through the air. You’re sitting on a bench you half remember from some afternoon last spring. The sky is pale violet. The world's feel light–like it’s holding its breath.

You don’t know how long you’ve been there. You look down at your hands. They’re not shaking. You’re not crying. You’re still.

Then–

“Hey.”

Your head snaps up. And he’s there.

Felix.

Standing a few steps away in that old hoodie, hair messy, hands in his pockets. Just like always. Just like you remember.

Your heart stops. He smiles. Not radiant. Not glowing. Just…soft. Familiar. Real.

“You look tired,” he says. His voice. His voice. “Have you been sleeping okay?”

You can’t breathe. You can’t think. “Felix?” you whisper, your voice breaking around the shape of his name.

He nods.

“Is this a dream?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Does it matter?”

You stand slowly, afraid if you move too fast, he’ll disappear. But he doesn’t. He watches you with those same eyes–warm brown, full of galaxies.

“I miss you,” you say. It sounds small. Inadequate. Like carving a grave with your fingernails.

Felix just looks at you. His expression doesn’t change, but something in the air shifts. His voice is gentler this time. “I know.”

And then–he steps forward. Wraps his arms around you. Pulls you in, slow and solid, like gravity itself has decided to give you back everything you lost.

You collapse into him. You don’t know how long you stay like that. You don’t want it to end.

You wake up with tears on your cheeks.

The sheets are tangled. Your hoodie’s on the floor. And your chest aches in a way that’s too familiar now, like grief settling behind your ribs again.

The dream stays with you like a bruise. Felix’s voice–soft, teasing. His arms around you. That smile.

You sit up slowly, rubbing your face. You don’t remember falling asleep. You don’t remember how you even got to bed.

But you remember him.

And for the first time since he died, you feel something. Not peace, not hope. But something like…yearning.

・・・・・

A few weeks later

Time slips sideways. You don’t really feel it anymore.

You sleep a lot. At first, it was because you were exhausted. Then because you wanted to dream. Now–because it’s the only way you see him.

Food becomes optional. Conversations blur. You start telling white lies about feeling better just so people stop checking in. You cancel plans. Ignore texts. You sleep.

And in your dreams, Felix is always there.

You sit beside him on the swings behind your childhood school. He pushes you gently, laughing when your shoes kick up mulch.

You lie next to him in the grass under stars that look too close, listening to music from a cracked phone speaker.

He holds your hand. He kisses your forehead. He whispers your name like it still means something.

And one night, in a dream where the sky looks like watercolor and the air smells like summer, you whisper, “When I close my eyes, I dream I’ll see you in the afterlife.”

Felix just looks at you, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Then don’t stop dreaming.”

The real world feels thinner lately. Washed out. Too bright and too quiet all at once.

You’re sitting across from Chan at a small table in your favorite coffee shop, yours, Felix’s, and his. The one with the mismatched mugs and lopsided pastries. It should feel comforting. Instead, you feel like you’re underwater.

Chan stirs his drink in silence. He’s watching you. 

“You’ve lost weight,” he says softly, not quite meeting your eyes.

You shrug. “I’m just tired.”

He doesn’t answer, just frowns. You stare out the window for a while before you say it. “Chan…I’ve seen him.”

His hand still around his spoon.

“I don’t know if it’s real,” you continue, staring down at the coffee cup cradled in your palms. “But every time I fall asleep, he’s there. He talks to me. We do stuff we used to. He holds me. He remembers everything. It’s like–he never left.”

You finally look at him.

Chan looks older than he did a month ago. Grief changed you both, but in opposite directions. Where you’ve sunk inot something dreamlike, Chan looks too awake. Like he hasn’t rested in weeks. His name falls from his lips gently, too gently.

“That’s…that’s a dream. I know it feels real. But you know it’s not.”

“But what if it is?” you whisper, desperate. “What if that’s where he is now? What if he’s waiting for me?”

“He wouldn’t want you to live like this.”

Your throat tightens. You press your lips together and blink hard, but the tears come anyway. “I just don’t know how to be here without him.”

Chan reaches across the table, covers your hand with his. His palm is warm. Solid. Real.

“You don’t have to be alone,” he says. “But you do have to be here.”

The air is heavier tonight.

You feel it the moment the dream begins–the press of something coming to an end. The sky is overcast, bruised lavender and blue. The park is empty. Even the wind feels still.

Felix is waiting by the willow tree.

You walk toward him slowly, the grass soft beneath your bare feet. He’s sitting on the bench you always shared, arms folded, head bowed. Like he’s been here a long time. Like he’s not sure if he should’ve waited.

“Felix,” you whisper.

He lifts his head. He looks…tired. There are shadows beneath his eyes. His smile is small, fragile, almost broken. But he still opens his arms when you approach, and you curl into him without hesitation.

“I missed you,” you murmur into his hoodie.

He strokes your hair gently. “I know.”

For a while, there’s nothing but the quiet between you. You want to pretend it’s peace. But you can feel it–that something is slipping.

“I had this dream last night,” you whisper. “I was awake in it. Alone. I couldn’t find you.”

Felix doesn’t answer. His hand stills in your hair.

“Don’t go,” you say quickly, voice cracking. “Please don’t. I can’t–”

“I’ll never let you run out of time,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours. “You’ll live forever in the back of my mind.”

You clutch his sleeves.

“What does that mean?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are glossy. Luminous. 

“I don’t belong here,” he admits quietly. “Neither do you.”

“No,” you whisper. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

“You were never meant to stay here with me,” he says, voice cracking like glass. “You’re still alive,” your name falls from his lips like it’s sacred.

You start shaking your head, violently, but he cups your cheeks and holds you steady.

“You have to keep going,” he tells you. “You’re still needed.”

“If I let you go,” you sob, “I have nothing left.”

Felix wipes your tears with the pad of his thumb, even as his own begin to fall. “You have Chan. He loves you. He’ll take care of you. I’ll watch over you.”

“Lixie, you’re the only saving grace I’ve ever had.”

His face twists. Like hearing that hurts more than anything else.

The wind stirs around you. The world trembles faintly, like the dream is straining to hold shape. He brushes your hair behind your ear one last time. “You’ll have me,” he whispers. “Just…not like this.”

Silence stretches between you. And then, finally through your trembling lips, “Felix, without you…I’ve lost a vital part of me.”

He pulls you into him again, tight, fierce, the way you’d always wished he would in real life. You can feel the weight of his grief–for you. For the life you’re wasting just to see him again.

Tears spill freely from both of you now. Your heart feels like it’s breaking open, fracturing beneath your ribs.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers in your ear. “You have to be. It’s not your time. When it comes, you’ll know. And right now, it’s not it.”

You sob into his chest, fists clinging to the fabric of his hoodie.

And then he says it. The sentence that burns itself into you, deep and permanent.

“If I see you again…I hope it’s in the afterlife.”

And just like that–you wake up.

You wake up gasping.

Your sheets are soaked with sweat. The echo of Felix’s voice still rings in your ears–if i see you again, i hope it’s in the afterlife.

Your chest rises and falls too fast. Your hands tremble. But what steals the breath from your lungs completely is the sudden weight around your neck.

You reach up.

Fingers brush a cold chian–thing, silver, and unmistakable.

Felix’s necklace.

The one he never took off. The one he was wearing that night. The one the hospital told you was too damaged, too broken to return.

But it’s whole now.

No scratches. No bent clasp. Just as it used to be. Just like it was on him. Your vision blurs, but this time you don’t cry. You just close your hand around it, and whisper, “Thank you.”

You don’t remember driving to Chan’s.

Only that your hands gripped the wheel too tight, and your eyes stayed dry the whole time. When he opens the door, he’s clearly surprised. His hair’s messy, his voice groggy. He says your name like a question.

You say nothing. Just step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his shoulder like your body can’t hold itself up on its own anymore.

“He’s gone,” you whisper. “Chan…he’s gone.”

There’s a pause. And then, “I know,” he murmurs, arms coming around you. “I’m so sorry.”

You stay like that for a while–breathing in the familiar scent of laundry detergent and skin, the warmth of someone still living.

No dream. No static. No fading.

Just this.

And slowly, your tears stop falling. The ache in your chest doesn’t vanish, but it shifts. It softens. The emptiness loses its grip. 

You are not healed. But you are no longer hollow.

Chan pulls back enough to look at you, brushing a thumb beneath your eye. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “I got you. I’m here for you. I’ll watch over you.”

You nod once, unsure if you can speak.

The chain around your neck rests softly against your skin.

You’ll never forget him. You’ll never stop missing him. But maybe now…you can finally start living again.

You take a deep breath, holding Chan tighter before you manage to say, “I know you will. He told me you would.”

・・・・・

One year later

The cemetery is quiet.

Late spring has brought the soft hum of bees, the scent of blooming clover, the warmth of sunlight through leaves. The breeze carries birdsong. Somewhere far off, a dog barks once. Then silence again.

You stand beside his grave, fingers laced with Chan’s.

The headstone is simple. Polished. Loved.

There are always flowers here–left by you or Chan, other friends, family. Today, you bring white dahlias. Purity, grace, a second chance.

You kneel and place them gently at the base of the stone. Your fingers brush teh carved letters: Felix Lee. forever golden. forever loved.

Chan gives you space. He always does.

You sit beside the grave for a while, just breathing. Your hand still in his. Your necklace still around your neck.

The air shifts.

You close your eyes.

And then–there he is.

Standing a few paces away, in the dappled light beneath the tree. Wind tousling his golden hair. That soft smile you thought you’d never see again.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

He just looks at you. Proud. Peaceful. Whole.

You nod at him, barely holding back the tears. Not from the pain this time. From love.

And when you open your eyes again, he’s gone.

But Chan is still there, watching you carefully. You turn toward him, and without a word, lay your head on his shoulder.

He holds you gently, close to his side.

Neither of you speaks.

There’s no need to. Because for the first time since that terrible day, you know: you are going to be okay.

[sillylilsquid]

HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW SG TRAILER? omg hyunju looks so fine bro

It reminded me so much of the real life romance book idk why lmao

Waiting for the next chapter! 😼💗

(I hope that fuckass of her dad dies of a heart attack) respectfully 🤗

Love your work smmmmmm

YES!! literally she's so hot i simply cannot handle it. I am so FERAL for that woman 🥵

i have been working on tying that story up, I think I have at least 1-2 more parts planned for it! ...BUT!!!

i am writing a chubby!reader x hyun-ju and it's coming along so well I can't wait to share that one too 💓

[sillylilsquid]

after daisy

pairing - felix x reader summary - after losing his service dog, Felix finds comfort in the ER tech who stayed. grief turns to healing, and healing turns to something more; with a new dog, shared nights, and the quiet love growing. warnings - animal death, description cpr/life saving measures, grief, depression 6k words

It was a slow lull between cases–the kind of pause that never lasts in veterinary medicine. Especially the ER.

You had finished tending to inpatients, and now you were restocking gauze and flushing lines when the front door slammed open with a bang that echoed through the fluorescent lit ER. “Help–please–someone help me!”

You turned on instinct. He was already running toward the counter, cradling a limp, bloody golden retriever in his arms. She was hardly moving. Her hind leg dangled at a sickening angle. Her coat was matted with road grit and blood. Her tags clinked weakly with each panicked step.

The man was crying–sobbing, actually–face blotchy and twisted in a raw kind of grief that made your stomach knot. “She–she got out–she ran, and then–a car–” His voice cracked and broke apart.

You didn’t ask for details. You rushed up to him, reaching for the dog. “We’ve got her,” you said, urgent but calm. “What’s your name? What’s her name?”

“Felix. This is Daisy.”

“Okay, I got her, let me take her.” You turned to him, eyes locking. “I need to take her now.”

He hesitated, shaking. His arms clutched tighter around the dog like he wasn’t sure he could let go. “I c-can’t–she’s my–she’s my–” His whole body folded inward, like the weight of her was all that was keeping him from collapsing too. “She’s my service dog.”

Your breath hitched. “I promise we’ll do everything we can,” you said softly now. But I need to take her back. Now.” You saw the moment he surrendered, the pain slicing through him as he handed her over. You rushed toward the back, yelling for help. “Hit by car, unconscious, bradycardic–”

The rest blurred into chaos. You laid Daisy on the exam table in the trauma bay, the team already swarming. You started checking vitals as you barked orders without hesitation. “Get me IV access–jugular if you have to. Start her on oxygen. Warm saline, full flow. Let’s move!”

Blood matted thick along her flank and mouth. Her breathing became agonal–barely there. You felt for a pulse at her femoral artery. Nothing. “She’s coding.”

You were already switching gears. Another tech slid in beside you and began chest compressions while you clipped in an IV catheter with a practiced flick. You flushed the line fast, securing it with tape as you called out for the doctor.

Dr. Park entered just as you began intubation. “Epi, 1ml IV push it now!” You wiped blood from her airway with gauze, sliding the endotracheal tube into her throat, then hooked it up to the ambu bag. “Tube’s in. 7.5, cuff’s inflated. Starting ventilation.”

The screen beeped. You switched out compression with a colleague, watching the monitor–still flat. Ultrasound was already on her chest. No motion. No flicker. Her heart was silent. “Come on, Daisy,” you whispered, almost without realizing. “Stay with me…”

Another round of epi was pushed. Another round of compressions. Sweat ran down your back beneath your scrubs. The whole room pulsed with urgency. Fear and desperation.

The monitors were a chaotic rhythm of being and alarms. Everyone was moving fast–hands passing syringes, lines being flushed, someone calling out vitals. You were pressing hard on Daisy’s chest, her ribs fragile under your hands, while another tech breathed for her through the endotracheal tube. Her gums still pale. 

Still flatline. “No cardiac activity,” someone whispered. Dr. Park hesitated, glanced up at the clock. “I’m calling it,” he said softly.

Your hands dropped. The fell still–all that noise and effort sucked away in a single breath. You stared down at Daisy. Her chest no longer rose. Her fur was still warm under your gloves, but fading. You took a step back, nausea twisting in your guy. You tried. You tried everything. And it hadn’t been enough.

You scrubbed your hands under burning hot water for the third time. They were shaking. Dr. Park had already written up the report. “I’ll go talk to her owner,” he said and you nodded, deciding to stay behind. But you watched as he stepped out into the cold fluorescent hallway.

You began to clean Daisy up. Removing the endotracheal tube and her IVs. You used a warm rag to clean most of the blood off of her–at least what would come off easily. You brushed out her fur the best you could.

After digging through the cupboard you found the warmest, fuzziest blanket and wrapped Daisy in it. Trying to make her look as presentable as possible for Felix.

Meanwhile, Felix hadn’t moved from reception. He was in the far corner of the waiting area, hunched in a chair meant for paperwork and quick check-ins, not grief. He was still soaked through–his sweatshirt darkened with drying blood, jeans stained with road dust. One of his hands gripped Daisy’s leash like it was a lifeline; the other was shaking violently, holding a crushed paper towel someone must’ve handed him earlier.

His leg bounced, his lips moved soundlessly, like he was whispering to her. Maybe praying. Dr. Park cleared his throat, beginning to speak quietly. “Felix?”

He stood too fast, stumbling forward. His face was a mess–red and drawn and desperate. “Is she–can I–” The words caught and tangled in his throat. 

“Let’s talk in private.” Dr. Park guided him toward an exam room, a larger one they used for sensitive cases. The blinds were drawn. The walls were quiet.

Felix sat stiffly in the lone chair beside the counter while Dr. Park remained standing, giving him space. The leash was still wrapped around Felix’s fist. The doctor didn’t sugarcoat–something he learned in his years in the field. “We tried everything we could. We intubated her, gave her fluids, medications, compressions. There was no cardiac activity on ultrasound. We ran multiple rounds of code, but…” A pause. “We couldn’t get her back. She’s passed away. I’m sorry.”

Felix didn’t react at first. He just sat there, staring at the floor. Then– “No.” Soft, almost inaudible. He shook his head, eyes burning as they welled up. “No, she’s strong. She always bounces back.” His voice broke hard, cracking open like something raw beneath it had finally surfaced. “I don’t understand–I–no–”

Dr. Park apologized again, giving Felix a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. “I’ll have them bring her to you, if you’d like.” And that’s when he broke. Felix’s cries became sobs, his sobs turned into screams.

His face was buried into his hands, screaming inaudible words as he cried. His shoulders shook, his blonde hair fell in his face. Dr. Park turned to leave, heading straight back into the treatment area.

Meanwhile, you’d just finished getting charges put in the computer under Daisy’s profile. When you saw Dr. Park he flashed you a sad smile. “Can you take Daisy to him, please? Exam room 3.” You nodded. As you began to wrap Daisy up in a way that would look more peaceful, rather than traumatic, you heard Felix’s screams. His sobs. Daisy’s name falling from his lips over and over again.

“Jeez,” one of the other techs muttered. “It’s sad, but that’s a little dramatic.” 

The words caused a fire to burn in your chest. You turned towards her and shook your head. “That was his service dog. Show some fucking compassion.” You muttered, grabbing Daisy in your arms and storming out of the trauma bay.

You headed towards the room Felix was in, the door was cracked and you saw his bent over frame. You knocked gently with your foot as you pushed the door open. “I have your girl for you,” you spoke softly. Felix’s head immediately snapped up. His eyes were bloodshot, face was blotchy, dried blood smeared across his face.

You gently laid Daisy on the ground making sure her blanket was wrapped neatly around her, leaving her head out. “I cleaned her up as much as I could,” you explained, brushing your fingers through the fur behind her ears. “Take all the time you need.”

Felix practically fell out of his chair, kneeling next to Daisy. His hands trembled as he reached out towards her. When his fingers touched her fur, he broke harder than before. His body hunched over, engulfing Daisy in a hug as he practically laid next to her on the floor. His face buried against the top of her head.

As he cried, repeating her name and how sorry he was, you quietly moved out of the room. Wanting to give him privacy, but you left the door cracked just slightly. Just in case he needed anything. And as you continued with the rest of your shift, you found yourself peeking out into the hallway towards his room.

The rest of your shift passed in quiet echoes–charting, cleaning, checking on overnight inpatients. You kept glancing at the clock. Thirty minutes went by. Then an hour. Two. By the time three hours had passed, the sun started to rise. You heard a few whispers, “Is he really still in there?” “At least he stopped crying.” And you had to bite your tongue.

You’d just clocked out for the day. You changed out of your scrubs, hoodie tugged over your head, badge stowed in your locker. But before you left, your feet pulled you back toward exam room 3. The door was still cracked. You knocked gently on the frame, barely louder than a breath. “Hey…” you said. “Can I sit with you?”

Felix didn’t look up right away. He was lying on the floor, curled around Daisy’s blanket wrapped form like a child would hold a stuffed animal. His face was blotchy, eyes swollen, lips dry from hours of silent crying. But he nodded.

So you stepped inside, quiet and small, and took the chair beside him. No words, just your presence. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t have to.

After a few minutes, you scooted off the chair, sitting near them but not too close. And you reached out–slowly, carefully–fingers brushing through Daisy’s fur one last time. “She would’ve liked you. She liked everyone.”

You blinked hard, trying to swallow back tears. “I think I would’ve liked her too.” And the two of you just…sat. The kind of silence that doesn’t need filing. The kind that honors what was lost. The kind that stays.

The sky outside was blushing grey with morning when Felix finally stirred. He sat up slowly, arms reluctant to let go of Daisy’s small form, his forehead still pressed gently to hers. When he did lift his head, his eyes were glassy again–emptied out, yet somehow still overwhelmed. “I should go…” His voice sounded hoarse and wrecked. “Or I’ll stay here forever.” You wouldn’t have blamed him.

You smiled softly, the kind of smile that knows the pain he’s talking about. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

Felix sat for another beat, stroking Daisy’s fur beneath the blanket, before whispering, “Thank you, Daisy. For everything.”

You swallowed down the ache in your throat. He looked up at you, hollowed out but grounded, like grief had finally started to settle into his bones. “Do you know what you want to do for aftercare?” you asked gently. “We can send her for private cremation if you want her ashes returned, or–”

Felix cut in, quietly, eyes dropping to her collar in his hands that he had unclipped from her. “I can’t afford that.” He hesitated then added, “The front desk already asked. Said I could make payments on what I owe for today.”

That landed harder than you expected. He didn’t look embarrassed. Just defeated. You only nodded. “Okay,” you said softly. “I understand.”

Felix bent over Daisy one last time, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, his lips trembling against her fur. “Goodnight, baby.”

He didn’t cry then. Not out loud. But his whole body trembled as he tucked the blanket around her once more. You waited until he stepped out of the room before reaching for her. Even though you were off the clock, you carried her back to treatment yourself–wrapped gently, respectfully–no different than you would if her person had still been watching.

The back was quiet again. Everyone moved slower in the early morning hours, that liminal space before the rush of breakfast cases and rechecks. You paused by the freezer door, then turned, and walked toward the doctor’s office instead. Dr. Park looked up from his computer when you knocked.

“Hey,” you said, clutching Daisy to you tightly. “I’m paying his bill. All of it. Cremation too. Private. I’ll cover it.”

He blinked. “You sure? I know it’s sad, but we can’t help everyone–”

You nodded once. “She was his whole world. That should matter more than a fucking invoice.” 

He didn’t argue. Just typed up a few notes and handed you the paperwork to sign. You swiped your card without a second thought.

The sun was fully up by the time you stepped outside. The parking lot was mostly empty. The only cars were the tech’s and doctor’s–but one car hadn’t moved.

You recognized it immediately. Felix was still in the driver’s seat. Just…sitting there. Not on his phone. Not crying. Just staring through the windshield at the front doors of the hospital like something might walk back out.

You stopped by the curb. Watched him for a second, heart folding in your chest. Then, gently, you raised your hand in a quiet wave. He looked up. And when he saw you, something flickered in his expression–confused , exhausted, but grateful.

He raised his hand too. Not a wave. More of a reach.

That next evening at the clinic had settled into its usual rhythm–barking from the ICU, a limping kitten in Room 2, and a stack of unfinished SOAP notes growing at the treatment desk. You were finishing up a TPR when the front desk phone rang.

“Hey, uh…there’s a guy up front. Says his name’s Felix? Wants to talk to someone from ER.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You finished the vital signs with a rushed scribble and stepped into the lobby. He was standing by the counter, holding a small envelope. He looked better–less wrecked–but still like he hadn't quite landed back in his body yet. His hair was down, brushed messily out of his face as if he’d ran his fingers through it a thousand times.

When he spotted you, he straightened. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I…I just wanted to say thank you. For yesterday. For everything.”

He handed you the envelope. Inside was a thank you card–simple, soft grey with white script. Tucked inside was a photo: Felix and Daisy on a hiking trail, her tongue out, his smile wide and natural. There was a $50 gift card to a nearby cafe stapled inside with a note that read for the team–thank you for taking care of my girl.

You blinked fast. “You didn’t have to–”

“I did,” he cut in, voice rough. “I had to. You were…kind.” He turned to the front desk then, digging into his pocket for his wallet. “I also need to make a payment toward my bill,” he said. “They told me I could split it over a few weeks–”

The receptionist blinked at the screen. “Um. It’s actually…already paid in full.”

Felix’s brows furrowed. “That’s not right. I didn’t–”

“I know,” she replied, glancing behind him towards you.

You step forward silently. He turned when he felt you hovering. There was something guarded in his expression–grateful but confused, like he was trying to understand something he didn’t quite have the language for yet.

You didn’t explain. Didn’t confess. You just met his eyes and said, gently, “Daisy will be back in a few days.”

His mouth parted, then closed again. He swallowed. “Really?” His voice was tight, careful.

You nodded. “I’ll call when she’s ready to come home.”

He stared at you for a long moment, eyes wet again, but steadier this time. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “Really. For all of it.”

It’s been a few weeks. Daisy’s ashes are long gone. You wrapped them in tissue paper and tucked the box into a plain brown bag. You remember his fingers trembling when he took it from you–how he didn’t speak, didn’t look you in the eye. Just nodded once. Like if he opened his mouth, he might break apart in front of everyone.

You hadn’t seen him since. Not until today.

“That guy with the Australian accent was looking for you yesterday,” one of the night nurses says casually, popping gum between her teeth as you sign out. “Didn’t catch his name. Said he came by about his dog? He didn’t seem right.”

You pause, pen hovering midair. “Did he say anything else?”

She shrugs. “Just…asked if you were working. Didn’t come in. Stayed by the doors, looking kind of lost. Then left.”

You don’t ask why she didn’t come get you. You just nod and finish your charting.

The next day your shift drags. Nothing goes terribly wrong, but the hours feel heavier than usual–like you’re waiting for something. Every time the front door dings open, you glance toward it. And every time, it’s not him.

Until it is.

You’ve just clocked out. Your hoodie’s half zipped, stethoscope tucked in your bag. You round the corner to head out back and–there he is. Sitting on the curb outside the staff entrance. Hoodie up. Elbows on his knees. Daisy’s leash looped twice around his wrist, like it always was–except there’s no dog at the other end now. Just empty slack.

He looks up at the sound of the door. And when he sees you, he tries to smile. It doesn’t work. “Hey,” he mumbles. His voice is raw, like he hasn’t used it much lately. “Didn’t think I’d catch you.”

You sit next to him. Not too close. Not yet. He fidgets with the leash. You ask how he’s been doing. He doesn’t lie, not really.

“Not great,” he admits. “Some nights I still reach for her food bowl. Realize halfway through that I’m filling it for a ghost.”

He laughs a little, but it’s brittle. His eyes are rimmed red. There’s a dull tremor in his hand when he presses his fingers to his temple. “It’s quiet, you know? Real quiet. I thought I’d like that. But…it’s different without her. It’s not silence, it’s…”

“Absence,” you finish.

He nods. The silence between you this time is gentler.

“She used to wake me up when I had bad dreams,” he murmurs. “Now I just wake up and stay up. Because there’s no one to stop it.”

You glance at him. “Do you have anyone else?”

He shakes his head. “It was just her. Just Daisy.” A pause. “And you, that day.”

He doesn’t cry. But it’s a near thing. You want to ask a million things. You want to tell him it’s okay. But you don’t know if it is. So you say the only thing that feels real.

“You don’t have to go home yet.”

And you stand. You wait. And after a long, fragile pause–he rises too.

“I mean–sorry, that probably sounded weird. I just…” You let out a breath. “You can come to my place, if you want. Just for a bit. Stay as long as you need. I figured you might not wanna be alone.”

He looks at you for a long moment. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s quiet on the drive over. You fiddle with the heat, give him the aux cord even though you know he won’t take it. His hands stay in his lap, the leash still curled tight in his grip like muscle memory.

At your place, he toes off his shoes and stands awkwardly by the door. You flick the lights on and toss your keys into the bowl. “Make yourself comfortable,” you announce. “Couch, bed, floor–whatever works. I’m gonna change into something less covered in fur and anxiety.”

That earns a soft snort from him. A tiny upward curl at the edge of his mouth.

You return in sweatpants and an old t-shirt. He hasn’t moved far–just wandered into your room and perched on the edge of your bed, eyes on the ground like he’s not sure if he should even sit.

“I haven’t eaten since, like, yesterday,” he mutters.

You sit down next to him and pull your phone out. “Pizza?” you ask.

He nods. “Pineapple?” you test.

A breathy laugh escapes him. “Absolutely not.”

“Good,” you say, tapping your order in. “I was gonna judge you.”

It takes about 40 minutes for the food to arrive, and in that time, something shifts. He tugs off his hoodie and sits cross legged on your comforter. You toss him a pillow and he hugs it close. “Is this weird?” He asks.

“Yeah,” you reply honestly. “But not in a bad way.”

You eat pizza sitting on your bed with your knees brushing, boxes spread out between you. He talks with his mouth full, and you don’t call him out on it. You’re just glad he’s eating.

After dinner, it’s quiet again–but not heavy. You stretch out and lean against the headboard. He follows, sinking down beside you. And that’s when he finally lets go.

“She used to curl up under the blanket and stick her nose out like a little burrito,” he murmurs, staring at his hands.

You let him talk. About Daisy. About her first day with him. Her surgeries. Her anxiety. Her stupid favorite toy that squeaked like a dying bird. The way she’d sit outside the bathroom door if he forgot to leave it open.

“She didn’t like most people, but she probably liked you.” He says.

Your chest goes tight. He’s quiet for a beat. Then, softer, “She trusted you. That means something…I haven’t really talked about her. Not like this.”

You nod. “You can keep going. Say whatever you need. You don’t have to stop.”

He does. He talks until his voice goes hoarse. Until he can’t keep his eyes open. You don’t rush him. You just listen. At some point, his head tilts and lands on your shoulder. You go still. “Just a second,” he mumbles. “I’ll move.”

You shake your head. “You’re good.”

And he stays. Breathing slowly, warm beside you. And for the first time since you met him, there’s no difference. No wall. No leash between grief and comfort. Just two people on a bed, sharing quiet and space. The beginning of something fragile, and maybe healing.

It doesn't happen all at once. First, it’s just that one night. Then another. A few days later, he shows up outside the clinic near the end of your shift. No texts. Just leans on your car, hands in his jacket pockets, waiting like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Figured I’d see if you wanted takeout,” he says.

You do.

And after that, it becomes a pattern.

Your place, his place. Takeout boxes in the trash, half finished movies in the queue. He starts leaving things behind: a hoodie on your chair, socks tucked in your laundry, a toothbrush next to yours without either of you mentioning it.

Some nights, you fall asleep talking. Other nights, you don't talk at all. But it’s never awkward. Not with him.

You start watching for his face after shifts. He waits for you outside the ER, hood up, sleeves pulled over his hands. He holds your lunch sometimes. Brings coffee. The other nurses start to notice.

“Is that your boyfriend?” one of them teases.

“No,” you say too quickly. “We’re just–friends.”

But even as you say it, it feels too simple.

One late evening, you’re curled up on the couch at his place. A documentary plays in the background, muted. He’s been quiet for a while, scrolling through something on his phone. You think he’s not really present until he says: “There’s a dog at the shelter.”

You turn toward him, brows raised. “Yeah?”

He nods, still looking at his screen. “They posted her picture this morning. She’s older. Little shy. Black lab mix. Looks like she’s had a rough time.”

You pause, watching the way he chews on the inside of his cheek. “You thinking about adopting her?”

A long silence. He locks his phone and tosses it beside him. Shrugs one shoulder. “I dunno. I don't know if I can do that again. Losing her. I don't know if it’s too soon, or if it’ll always be too soon.”

Your heart aches. You shift closer, gentle. “It’s not weird that you’re thinking about it.”

He looks at you. “I just thought…maybe we could go see her? You know. No pressure. Just meet her.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. We can do that.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

He exhales, like he’s been holding that breath since Daisy died. And when you lean your head against his shoulder, he doesn’t flinch or pull away. His fingers brush yours on the blanket between you. Neither of you say it out loud, but there’s something shared in that silence. Something healing. Something ready. 

The shelter smells like bleach and wet fur. It’s loud in the way all shelters are loud–echoing barks, whining, the sharp clang of metal bowls hitting concrete.

Felix tenses beside you as you check in at the front desk. He doesn’t say much, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans, but his eyes never stop moving. Not fear exactly–just bracing. Expecting impact.

You glance at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Just…haven’t been here since…” He trails off and you just nod in understanding.

You reach out without thinking, touching his wrist. His gaze drops where your fingers brush his skin, then back up to your face. He doesn’t pull away.

The volunteer, a young guy in a ‘FOSTER HEROES’ t-shirt, comes to meet you with a clipboard. “You’re here to meet Emmy?”

Felix nods once.

“She’s a little shy,” the guy says as he leads you down the hallway. “Came from a neglect case. She’s sweet though. Warms up once she trusts you.”

You stop in front of a kennel near the end of the row. The dog inside is curled up at the back–small for a lab mix, black with graying fur around the muzzle, one ear that won’t quite stand up.

Emmy doesn’t rush the door. She doesn’t bark. She just lifts her head, slow and careful, her eyes big and cautious. “Hi, sweet girl,” you whisper.

You crouch down. Let her sniff you through the bars. She doesn’t flinch, but she doesn’t move closer either. Felix stays back at first, hands still in his hoodie, watching.

“Do you want to go in?” the volunteer offers.

Felix hesitates. “You can both go,” he says. “No pressure.”

Slowly, Felix follows you inside. Emmy keeps her distance, tense and watchful, but when you sit cross-legged on the floor and open your palm, she takes a few slow steps forward. Her nails click against the concrete.

You don’t rush her. Felix sits beside you, knees drawn up. Quiet. He doesn’t reach for her–just watches the way her body moves, cautious and ready to bolt.

But then Emmy sniffs your hand. Then Felix’s shoe. Then, slowly, she presses her nose against his knee. He freezes. You don’t say anything. 

She sniffs again, then settles her chin on his thigh like she’s already made a decision. Felix’s breath shudders. He brings one hand up, trembling just slightly, and lets it hover before gently touching her fur. 

“She’s so soft,” he says, barely audible.

You smile. “She likes you.”

“You think?”

“Look at her.”

Emmy shifts, half in his lap now, tail flicking just once. The volunteer grins from the door. “Take all the time you need.”

You stay like that for a while. Letting the silence settle. Letting Felix fall in love again–slower this time, more careful.

And when the volunteer finally returns and asks, “So, wanna put in an application?” Felix looks to you first.

Not because he needs permission–but because this time, he doesn't want to do it alone. You smile and nod. “Yeah,” he says, voice soft but certain. “Yeah, I think I do.”

The rain starts as a gentle tapping on the windows, but by the time the takeout boxes are empty and the lights are low, it’s a full on storm. Thunder rolls heavy through the sky, shaking the apartment like a warning.

Felix doesn’t say much. He hasn’t said much since the shelter. Just looked at Emmy like she might vanish if he blinked too long.

Now, the three of you are curled up in the dim warmth of his bedroom–Emmy at the foot of the bed, you and Felix lying side by side under his gray comforter. The TV is on low, playing some random show that neither of you is really watching.

He flinches a little when lightning flashes. His breathing’s gotten tight. You shift closer, careful. “You okay?”

Felix nods–or maybe just tips his head a little–but his hand is fisting the blanket by his chest, jaw clenched.

“Storms?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Been better since Daisy. But…tonight’s loud.”

You don’t push. You just stay next to him, your hand resting lightly on his arm, grounding. You feel him trembling a little under your touch. A deep rumble of thunder rolls across the sky.

Felix’s body tenses again–barely perceptible, but you feel it. And then, like she’s been watching the whole time, Emmy rises from her spot at the foot of the bed.

She moves slowly, ears half cocked, and steps over the sheets to where Felix is lying frozen. One paw, then the next, up until she’s settling herself directly on top of his chest–not heavy, just enough to anchor him. Her chin rests just under his collarbone.

Felix holds his breath. And then–you hear it–a quiet, cracked whisper, “Daisy did this.”

Your heart lurches. He doesn't cry. Doesn’t move. Just lies there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his hand coming up like muscle memory to curl around Emmy’s side.

“First storm after I adopted her. I couldn’t breathe. And she–she just climbed on me. Like she knew.” His voice breaks around the edges. “She always knew.”

You press closer, curling your arm over his and resting your head against his shoulder. “Maybe Emmy knows too.”

He exhales, long and shaky, like something loosens inside him. “She’s not Daisy,” he says softly. “I know that.”

“She doesn’t have to be,” you whisper. “She’s Emmy. And you have each other now.”

There’s silence. Then Felix nods. Emmy shifts slightly, letting out a small sigh, her eyes fluttering shut. Thunder cracks again. This time, Felix doesn’t flinch.

Mornings settle into a rhythm.

Felix wakes before the alarm, most days. You brew the coffee while he rubs the sleep from his eyes. Emmy circles your ankles, tail wagging like she’s clocked in for duty.

She follows Felix from room to room–never needy, just near. Always watching. She nudges his leg when he’s pacing too much. Sits against his knees when he gets that faraway look, the one you’ve learned means he’s spiraling. She even curls up beside the bathroom door when he showers. Just like Daisy used to.

The first time you notice it, you glance down at her quiet shape, then up at Felix through the half steamed glass. “She waits,” you murmur. “Like she knows you need someone on the other side.”

Felix blinks at you, water running down his face. “Daisy did that,” he says, his voice sounding surprised.

You smile. “Maybe Daisy’s telling her how to help you.”

He doesn’t answer right away. But that night you find him sitting on the couch while Emmy lay across his lap, and he’s just…still. Not scrolling, not fidgeting. Just breathing. You let yourself believe he’s healing.

It’s a Thursday when it happens.

Rain again, but softer this time. You’re both in sweats, Emmy’s squirrel toy already soaking wet from too many rounds of fetch in the hallway. Felix is on the floor, back against the couch, and Emmy trots over to drop the soggy toy in his lap. “Okay, okay, one more time, Daisy.”

It slips out like breath. He freezes. You’re on the couch, just close enough to see the shift in his eyes–the way the air pulls tight around him. “Felix.”

His jaw clenches. He looks down at Emmy like he just betrayed her. But Emmy doesn’t react. She just nudges his hand, then places the squirrel gently in his lap again.

Felix blinds rapidly, sniffling once. He picks up the toy, not even wiping his eyes. “You wanna play, huh?”

Emmy wags her tail and sits, ears up. He throws the squirrel. She sprints. You slide down next to him, touching his arm lightly.

“She knows who you meant.”

He laughs through a shaky breath. “I miss her.”

“I know.”

You don’t say more. You just sit there, letting Emmy trot back and forth between you, panting and proud. And when Felix rests his head on your shoulder, you lean into him–quiet, steady. Letting the weight of grief settle alongside something softer. Something new.

The squirrel toy lies abandoned now, forgotten in the corner. Felix’s legs are stretched out in front of him, your thigh pressed against his where you’ve both stayed slouched on the floor. Emmy has flopped belly-up between you, snoring faintly, her head resting across his ankle lke she belongs there.

Neither of you has said much in a while. The only sounds are the hum of the fridge and the soft patter of rain. You glance sideways at him, taking in the soft slump of his shoulders, the wet curls stuck to his temple. He’s tired. Not just end-of-the-day tired. The kind that lives in the bones.

“You okay?” you ask gently.

His eyes stay fixed on Emmy for a second too long. Then he swallows “I keep thinking about how bad I was doing,” he says, voice so quiet you almost miss it. “Back when Daisy died.”

You stay quiet. Let him lead. 

“I wasn’t eating. Barely sleeping. I’d come home and the place felt like a grave like if I breathed too loud I’d break it.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Then I met you.”

You blink. “Felix…”

“I’m serious,” he says, looking at you now. Really looking. “You didn’t just hand me her ashes and disappear. You stayed. You kept showing up. You let me talk about her. You let me not talk about her.”

You feel your throat tighten.

“And now Emmy–she’s not Daisy. I know that. But she…fits. Like she just knew where she was supposed to be. With me. With us.”

He glances down at Emmy, who kicks her leg in her sleep like she’s chasing something.

“Some nights, when I wake up and I feel like I’m drowning again–I’ll turn over and you’re just…there. And she’s there.”

He looks back at you, blinking slowly.

“I don’t think I could do this without you.”

Your heart aches. You don’t speak, just slide your fingers between his, squeezing gently. “You don’t have to,” you whisper.

He leans into you, forehead resting against yours, lashes damp. “Promise?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Felix.”

Emmy stirs, shifting so her paw flops over both your legs like a sleep seal of approval. And for the first time in a long time, you see something new in Felix’s eyes. Not just grief. But hope.

Felix stays pressed against you for a long moment, his breath slow and steady. The storm outside has softened to a light drizzle, but inside the room, something warmer is starting to flicker between you.

You shift closer, letting your hand rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. His eyes find yours, searching, hesitant–like he’s asking permission without words.

You smile softly. “You know,” you murmur, “you don’t have to be scared here.”

His lips twitch in a small, tired smile. “I’m not scared,” he says quietly. “Maybe…just tired.”

You nod, understanding. And then, carefully, as if testing the waters, your fingers brush a stray curl from his forehead. Felix closes his eyes at the touch, leaning into it like it’s the safest place in the world.

You hesitate, then tuck your hand behind his neck, pulling him gently closer. His eyes flutter open, and you see that vulnerable mix of hope and uncertainty again.

“Can I…?” you ask softly.

He nods, and your lips find his. The kiss is slow, soft–like the quiet promise of something new, something healing.

Felix’s hand cups your cheek, thumb tracing gentle circles. Emmy stirs again at your feet but doesn’t move, like she knows this moment is yours.

When you pull back, your foreheads rest together. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel this again,” he confesses, voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, rubbing your nose against his. “Me neither.”

“Thank you,” Felix says, voice thick with emotion.

You squeeze his hand. “No, thank you. For letting me in.”

Outside, the last of the thunder rumbles softly–but inside, it’s calm. Warm. Full of new beginnings.

a/n - sorry for the heartbreak, but ugh this idea has been in my head for a while. I work in vet med and see so many grieve. xoxo hope u enjoyed

[sillylilsquid]

⋆𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖘 𝖒𝖊 𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑⋆ pt. 2

pairing - nam gyu x reader summary - he's the only thing that hurts and feels like home all at once, and you'd rather break for him than ever be without him warnings - au!nam gyu, afab!reader, abusive relationship, toxic relationship, power dynamic, dom/sub relationship, nam gyu being nam gyu, 18+ minors dni!! 6.8k words

Three months later

The air in your tiny studio apartment always smelled faintly like coffee grounds and lemon cleaner. It was barely big enough for a bed, a kitchenette, and a single window, but it was yours. Quiet, safe, clean. No yelling. No glass shattered on the floor. No bruises to cover.

You had a job now–bartending at a sleek rooftop lounge downtown. You weren’t rolling in money, but you could pay your rent, cover groceries, and still have enough left over for the occasional coffee or lipstick. You kept your phone on Do Not Disturb most of the time, except for your friend. And lately, a guy you’d started talking to. Nothing serious. He was nice, easy to laugh with, gentle in ways that made your chest ache with confusion. You liked him, maybe. But you didn’t let yourself feel too much.

Tonight, he’d convinced you to go out. Club Pentagon. You hesitated–Nam Gyu’s club. His favorite place to drink, to show off, to start shit. But it had been months. Maybe he wasn’t even there anymore.

The bass rattled in your chest as you moved through the crowd. Lights flashing, heat thick in the air, perfume and sweat and cologne mixing into a haze. The guy you came with had gone to order drinks, and you slipped away toward the back hallway to find the bathroom.

You turned the corner fast. And slammed right into someone’s chest. Your heart stopped. Because you knew that cologne. Knew that voice the second he exhale a low, sharp, “What the fuck–?”

Your head snapped up–and there he was. Nam Gyu. Hair shorter, jaw tighter, wearing a black dress shirt half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, chain catching in the blue neon lights. A drink in his hand, but his eyes–his eyes–were locked on you like a gun to the head.

Neither of you spoke. The music pulsed behind you. Your blood roared in your ears. Then, before you could turn or move or think–his hand shot out. Fingers around your wrist. Tight. And he yanked you forward, dragging you backward, through the nearest door–the men’s restroom.

It slammed shut behind you, and suddenly it was quieter, colder, lit with harsh fluorescents and sharp tile. Your back hit the wall, breath gone from your lungs as Nam Gyu turned to face you, still holding your wrist.

His chest was rising and falling hard. Like he’d just seen a ghost.

You flinch when his fingers tighten on your wrist. Not hard–not like before. But enough to make your body remember. Enough to make your breath catch.

“Who’s that guy?” Nam Gyu’s voice is low, dangerous, but there’s a crack under it–tight, frantic.

You blink at him. “What?”

“The one you came in with,” he hisses. “The guy touching his waist. Is he fucking you now?”

Your jaw tightens, throat burning. “Leave me alone, Nam Gyu.” You try to move past him. He doesn’t let you.

Instead, he pulls you back, quick and sharp. Not violent, just desperate. The heel of your shoe scrapes against the tile. “Let go of me,” you snap, yanking your arm. “I mean it.”

But you don’t expect what happens next. Nam Gyu’s hand falls away from your waist. And then–he drops to his knees.

Right there, in the middle of the men’s restroom, next to the urinals and under the flickering fluorescent light. His hand dangling loose around his neck, and his eyes–his fucking eyes–are glassy, staring up at you like you just shot him through the heart.

“Don’t do this,” he says. “Please. Don’t walk away from me.”

You’re frozen. You’ve seen him pissed, smug, drunk, cold, even broken. But not like this. Not begging. 

“I miss you,” he mutters. “I miss your voice. Your smell. The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. The way you patch me up after I ruin everything.” Your breath status. You try to say something, anything, but he keeps going, chest heaving. “I know I fucked up. I know I always fuck up, but I can be better. Just–just tell me what to do. I’ll do it. I’ll crawl if that’s what you want. I’ll bleed for you.”

“Gyu…”

“I think about you every second,” he gasps, like the words are knives in his throat. “I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe. You’re in my fucking head and you won’t leave.” He moves closer on his knees, grabs the hem of your dress like it’s an altar, his fingers clutching the fabric. “I need you,” he whispers. “Come back. Come home. I don’t care who that guy is, I don’t care what you think you felt for him–I need you. Not him. Not anyone else.”

And all you can do is stare down at him, at this man who once made you feel like nothing–now falling apart at your feet, choking on everything he refused to give when you begged for it.

You’re still frozen. The bass from the club pulses through the bathroom walls like a second heartbeat, but it’s all white noise compared to the sound of Nam Gyu breathing hard at your feet, clutching the hem of your dress like a man half drowned.

Your voice is quiet when you finally speak. “Are you high right now?”

He looks up at you, eyes red rimmed, but steady. “No.”

Silence falls like dust. You should walk away. You should turn on your heel, step over him, and never look back. But your hand moves before your brain catches up–slow, gentle fingers sliding through his hair like muscle memory. Like forgiveness. His eyes flutter closed for a second. He leans into your touch, jaw trembling. The bathroom door creaks open behind you. You don’t move fast enough. 

“Yo–” It’s the guy you came with. The one with warm hands and kind eyes. He freezes in the doorway, taking in the scene: Nam Gyu on his knees, arms wrapped around your legs, you stroking his hair like something sacred.

You spin around. “Wait–wait, it’s not–” But he’s already gone. The door slams. You suck in a breath, pulse thrumming at your throat. You’re still staring at the door when Nam Gyu speaks again.

“You look really good,” he murmurs. His voice is quiet and low. Like it physically hurts him to say it. “You’ve gained some weight,” he adds. “Your makeup’s different. Your face…” his thumb grazes your ankle. “You look…happy.”

You flinch like he slapped you. He notices. “I mean–not that you are,” he says quickly. “Just–you look it. Like you finally slept. Like you got away from…me.” His voice cracks on the last word.

You watch him, chest tight, as the man who tore you to pieces now folds in on himself. Every cruel word he ever threw at you, every night he left you waiting, every time he slammed a door or yanked you by the wrist–it’s all right there, hanging between you both, poisonous and heavy.

And still, part of you wants to reach for him. Because that’s who you are. Because no one has ever needed you the way he does. Because when he looks at you–like this–you can almost believe he means it.

“Stand up,” you whisper. Nam Gyu doesn’t move at first, still kneeling, still holding on like letting go might kill him. You sigh tiredly, and reach down to help him. Your fingers wrap around his forearm and he lets you pull him up, slow and heavy like gravity’s working harder on him than anyone else in the club. When he’s standing, you both hover in a weird limbo, barely breathing.

Now you’re face to face. Too close. Too quiet. You step back. “I wanna leave.”

His brows twitch. “We can go to my place–”

You shake your head instantly, lips parting. “I don’t…I don’t think I want to go back there.”

A beat. He swallows. “Okay. That’s fine. What about yours?”

You hesitate again, arms wrapping around yourself. “I don’t want you at my place either.”

The silence between you sharpens. “I promise not to hurt you,” he says quickly, voice low, earnest. “I swear, if you tell me to leave, I will. You don’t have to say anything else. I just…I just wanna talk. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

He means it. You can see it in his eyes. The desperate kind of honesty that only shows up after the damage is done. You nod once. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.

The ride is quiet.

His car still smells like the cologne you once loved and now don’t know how to feel about. You stare out the passenger window as the neon lights of the club fade behind you, replaced by the slower, quieter parts of the city.

Nam Gyu doesn’t speak. Not even a glance. He keeps both his hands on the wheel, knuckles tight, jaw clenched like he’s scared he might say the wrong thing and lose you all over again. You’ve kicked your heels off. You’re exhausted. And still, somehow, part of you feels more awake than you have in months.

You unlock your door and step inside first, the dim glow of your bedside lamp casting a soft golden hue over the tiny studio. It smells like clean laundry and your perfume, warm and lived-in. Behind you, Nam Gyu steps in slower, his gaze moving across the cramped room–bed shoved into the corner, tiny kitchenette against the wall, one worn down dresser, and not much else.

“Well,” he begins quietly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “It’s…cozy.”

You glance over your shoulder and roll your eyes. “Yeah, well…not everyone has a shit ton of money to throw around.”

He flinches just slightly at the edge in your voice, but doesn’t argue. Just nods once, standing stiffly in the open space like he’s afraid to touch anything.

You sight and sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking faintly beneath you. “You can sit,” you mutter, not looking at him.

He hesitates, just for a beat, before walking over–but instead of sitting beside you, he lowers himself to the floor. Cross-legged, quiet, gaze on the floor between his knees. The silence is thick. You blink down at him, arms flooded, heart pounding. You don’t know why the sight of him like that–at your feet–makes something ache in your chest.

Then, before you can stop yourself, your hand lifts slightly, fingers twitching toward him. “Come here,” you whisper. “Scoot closer.”

He looks up at you. There’s something broken in his eyes. And without a word, he obeys, knees scraping across the floor until he’s right in front of you. Then slowly–like a prayer–he leans forward and rests his head in your lap.

You freeze. The weight of him there is overwhelming. Heavy in your lap. Heavy on your heart. His arms wrap loosely around your waist, not tight, not needy–just there. Like he’s anchoring himself. Like you’re the only thing holding him to the ground.

You rest one hesitant hand in his hair, fingers carding through the dark strands like you used to. And he exhales. Shaky. Like he’s been waiting for this. Like he’s been holding himself up alone for too long.

You let your fingers run through his hair for a moment longer. He’s warm, quiet. Almost peaceful in your lap. Almost. Then you clear your throat. “So,” you murmur, “how many girls did you fuck?”

His body tenses slightly. Slowly, he lifts his head just enough to look up at you from your lap, eyes glassy under the yellow lamplight. He doesn’t say anything for a long second. Then, his voice hoarse, “None.”

You blink. “None?”

He nods once, but doesn’t elaborate. You search his face, looking for a tell–some smirk, some dismissive shrug. But there’s nothing. Just exhaustion. Just his chest slowly rising and falling. You huff lightly. “I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t care,” he says quietly. “Still true.”

You frown, eyes scanning over the bruising under his eyes, the red in the corners, the puffiness. He looks like he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks. “You haven’t been sleeping well,” you say softly, almost like a thought escaping. Your thumb gently drags under one of his eyes, careful, as if touching something fragile.

He goes to speak–his lips part like he wants to respond, but nothing comes out. He just looks at you, throat bobbing around a swallow. Like if he tries to say anything, it’ll all fall apart. You let your hand drop to your lap and sigh, finally breaking eye contact. 

“Gyu,” you say, your voice a whisper. “We can’t be doing this. You know that, right?” He doesn’t answer immediately. You feel him rest his head back down, slower this time, curling in closer against your body like someone trying to disappear. His grip around your waist tightens just slightly.

“It’s not good for either of us,” you say again. Your tone isn’t angry–it’s not even sharp. It’s just tired. “You can’t keep showing up like this. Saying the right things when you want something, disappearing when you don’t. I can’t do that again. I’m not her anymore.”

Still, he doesn’t speak. But you feel his breath stutter against your thigh, a tremor he’s trying to swallow down. His silence says more than any of his empty promises ever did. And you realize, for the first time ever, Nam Gyu doesn’t know what to say.

You don’t say anything else, just letting the silence stretch on. His weight in your lap is comforting in a way it shouldn’t be. Dangerous in a way you’re trying not to acknowledge. You’re both still for a long while–until your legs start to tingle beneath him.

Gently, slowly, you move to shift your weight, your hand brushing his shoulder. “Nam Gyu,” you murmur, voice soft but firm, “you should get up.”

He doesn’t move. So you try again, a little more direct this time. Your fingers press into his arm with a little more purpose. “Come on. Get up.”

But instead of letting go, he clings tighter. “No–no, please don’t.” His voice cracks as his arms wrap around your waist, desperate now, panicked. “Don’t push me away. Not again. Please.”

You freeze. “Gyu–” you start, but he’s already unraveling.

“I can’t–I can’t do this without you,” he chokes, burying his face into your lap. “I know I fucked it all up, I know that, but please. Please don’t tell me it’s over for real. I’ll change, I swear to God, I’ll do anything–just don’t leave me again.”

His shoulders start to shake violently, and suddenly it’s not just words spilling out–it’s sobs. Ugly, raw, broken sobs, tearing out of him like they've been sitting in his chest for years. He clutches at you like a man drowning, voice cracked open and childlike. “You’re the only thing I ever gave a fuck about–don’t take that away from me.”

You’re completely frozen. Staring down at the man sobbing into your lap like his heart has been ripped in half. You’ve never seen him like this. Not Nam Gyu. Not the man who used to spit venom and slam doors, who called you worthless one day and kissed your forehead the next.

He’s crying. And not just crying–breaking. Begging, pleading. It makes your chest tight. You don’t know what to do with your hands. Don’t know where to look. For a moment, you don’t even feel angry anymore. Just…numb. Numb and overwhelmed.

“Gyu,” you whisper. It’s the only thing you say. Your fingers hover awkwardly near his shoulders, uncertain whether to touch him or push him away again.

He clutches you together. “I don’t know how to be good,” he gasps out. “But I’ll fucking learn. I’ll figure it out. Just–please don't let this be it. Don’t walk away from me.” It's in that moment you realize he isn’t fighting to win. He’s fighting not to lose you.

Gently, you clear your throat. “Gyu.” He tenses instantly, like he already knows what you’re about to say. His head lifts slightly, gaze flickering up to meet yours. “I think you should leave.”

His breath catches. “No–wait, please–” He shifts to sit up more fully, still clutching your knee. “Don’t make me go. Not yet.”

But you shake your head softly. “I’m okay, you’re okay. I just…I need time. Alone. To think.” He looks like he’s about to argue again, but then stops himself. He’s learning. Slowly, painfull. Learning when to listen. “I’ll text you tomorrow,” you say quietly. “I promise. But for tonight, you need to go home. Get some rest. And I need space to…just breathe.”

Nam Gyu swallows hard and nods, yet he still doesn’t move. “Gyu,” you say again, gentler this time, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “Please.”

His fingers loosen, then fall away. He pulls back, knees creaking as he rises to his feet, and stands awkwardly in the center of your apartment. For a moment, he just looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize you–burn the shape of you into his mind in case this really is the last time.

But you give him a small, tired smile. “I’ll text you. Okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll wait.” He gathers himself, slips on his shoes. Opens the door–then pauses, glancing back one last time. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Gyu.” And he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is deafening. You sit on the edge of the bed for a long time, fingers still tingling from where they touched his skin. You don’t cry. Not yet. You just sit there, trying to remember how to breathe.

The air outside is cold. Not freezing–but sharp, bracing, like it’s trying to keep him awake. Nam Gyu stands outside your door for a long moment after it clicks shut, eyes unfocused. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe deeply. Just stares at the grian of the wood, like if he waits long enough, maybe you’ll open it again.

You don’t. So he turns and heads back to his car. It’s late–nearly midnight–but the streets of Seoul never really sleep. Neon signs still buzz. Somewhere across the river, he can hear the low boom of bass from another club.

He used to chase that noise. That chaos. He used to bury himself in it. Tonight, he just drives past it.

By the time he reaches his apartment, his joints ache from the cold. The space feels too big when he unlocks the door–too sterile, too clean, too expensive. The kind of palace that says look at me, but no one’s looking now.

He doesn’t even turn the lights on. Just drops his keys on the counter, heads to his bedroom and flops onto the mattress. He thinks if he closes his eyes and breathes in hard enough he swears he can still smell your scent.

The apartment feels too quiet after Nam Gyu leaves. His absence leaves a hollow feeling behind, something jagged in the air. You change into pajamas, brush your teeth, turn off every light except for the soft one on your nightstand. You even try the usual comforts–your weighted blanket, a familiar playlist, counting breaths–but nothing works.

Your mind won’t stop replaying it. The way he cried. The way he clung to you like he’d drown if he let go. The way he looked up at you, red-eyed and shaking, as if you held his entire world in the palm of your hand.

You curl into yourself under the blanket, one arm over your eyes. Ten minutes pass. Then thirty. It’s nearly 2am when you give in. You grab your phone from the nightstand and stare at the screen for a long time before dialing. It only rings once.

“Hello?” His voice is breathless, immediate. Like he had been waiting for your call.

You sigh. “Were you waiting for me to call?”

There’s a pause. Then a soft, “Yeah…”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“I know,” he replies. “Me neither.”

You don’t say anything right away. Just lie there in the dark with the phone pressed to your cheek, trying to ignore the familiar ache in your chest. “I’m not calling because I changed my mind,” you say, and you can feel him freeze on the other end of the line.

“I know,” he murmurs.

“I just…” you hesitate. “I didn’t want you to go to bed thinking I don’t care.”

His voice cracks around your name. “I know you care. I know. And I’ll wait. As long as you need. Just…please keep calling. Even if you’re mad at me. Even if it’s just to say goodnight.”

You close your eyes. “You’re so stupid.”

“I know,” he whispers. “But I’m your stupid, if you’ll have me.” You don’t answer, you don’t have to. Not really. There’s a long silence before either of you speak again. And he’s the one to break the silence. “You can yell at me, you know?”

You stare at the shadows on your ceiling. “What?”

“You can bitch me out. For everything. I deserve it. You can scream at me, hang up on me, whatever you want. I’ll take it.”

“I don’t want to scream at you,” you mutter. “I just…” But then something inside you cracks. “I hate that you made me feel small,” you say, voice tight.

Nam Gyu hums–low, like he’s listening. Like he’s holding it. “I hate that you treated me like I was some–some toy you could throw away when you got bored.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly.

“And I hate that I kept hoping you’d change. That I let you talk me into staying each time. That I stopped seeing my friends, stopped answering their texts because you’d make me feel guilty–like it was my fault.”

“Okay,” he breathes. Not defensive, just there. You sit up in bed, blanket sliding off your shoulders.

“You humiliated me in front of your friends. Like I was something to be ashamed of. You’d show me off when you wanted to, and then act like I was nothing when it didn’t suit you. You treated me like a secret.”

“I know,” he says. “You’re right.”

“And I hate that I still want you.” You groan, shoving your face into your hands. Silence. A breath. His. Another one. Yours. You wipe your eyes with the heel of your hand. When did you start crying? But that’s when it all starts to spill out of you.

“How would it make you feel,” you ask, voice trembling, “if I told you I fucked other guys after I left you? That they made me cum more times than you ever did?” He doesn’t answer.

Your breath stutters. “Or what if I kicked your ass out of a car and threatened to leave you in the middle of the night? What if I called you a dog and made you sleep on the goddamn floor?”

Still nothing, just silence on the other end of the line. You blink hard, forcing the tears to fall. “I didn’t do any of that!” you exclaim. “But you did. And you didn’t even think twice.”

There’s a long pause. When Nam Gyu speaks, his voice is hoarse. “I am sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t…I don’t even have words. I was cruel. I was disgusting. I didn’t treat you like a person and I know that. I know.”

You swallow. “I don’t forgive you,” you murmur.

“I know.”

“But maybe I will. One day. Or maybe not.” You both fall quiet.

Then his voice, soft again, uncertain. “Do you want me to stay on the phone until you fall asleep?” You don’t answer. Just leave the call open. Just listen to his breath in your ear like a heartbeat. And slowly–finally–you drift off.

You ignore his texts the next morning. The one that just says thank you for last night. And the follow up: i hope you slept okay. And the third: please don’t shut me out again. I’ll wait. But please don’t disappear.

You don’t answer. Not even when he calls. Once, then twice. By the afternoon, the silence feels heavier than your thoughts. There’s no clarity, no peace, just pressure behind your ribs and a thousand memories grinding at your brain.

You grab your coat. You don’t text. You don’t call. You just show up. When Nam Gyu opens the door to his apartment, he’s barefoot, hair still messy, wearing that old threadbare shirt you used to sleep in. He blinks when he sees you, almost like he doesn't believe you’re real…Then you shove him. Hard. He stumbles back a few steps, shocked, catching himself on the edge of the couch. “Wait–” 

“Don’t,” you snap; you’re already stepping inside, fury boiling in your chest, years of swallowed pain rising like bile in your throat. “You ruined me,” you snap. He freezes. “You took everything good I had left and twisted it. You made me question every word out of my mouth, every outfit I wore, every goddamn breath I took in your presence.”

“Yeah,” Nam Gyu says quietly. He straightens up, hand half lifted like he’s bracing for a hit. “I just–”

“Shut the fuck up,” you bark. It makes him freeze. “I’m talking. And for once–just once–you’re going to fucking listen to me.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Good. “You broke me into tiny little pieces and then got annoyed when I bled on your floor.” He opens his mouth–but you shove him again before he can speak.

“Stop,” he snaps, finally–voice tight.

You smile bitterly. “Aw. Am I making you mad now?”

His jaw clenches. “No.”

“You sure?” You circle him slowly, like you’re winding up. “I mean–I’m not choking you in a parking lot or throwing your shit down the stairs, so I guess I’m still behind on points, huh?”

He flinches. You step in closer, and push him again, flat-palmed, right in the chest.

“You think this is anger?” your voice cracks as it rises. “This isn’t anger. This is everything you left me to carry alone. All the nights you locked the door on me, all the times you called me a dog and laughed when I cried and then fucked me like none of it mattered.”

He swallows hard, standing there–still as stone. Letting you hit him with every word.

“And you know what really fucking kills me?” you continue. “You knew I would’ve died for you. And you still treated me like nothing.”

Nam Gyu’s eyes flicker, something breaking in them–but you’re not done. Your hand flies up, sharp and fast, aiming for his face. But he catches your wrist. His grip isn’t harsh, not exactly, but it’s firm. Controlled. Like he’s holding back something much bigger behind his eyes. His other hand curls into a fist at his side, knuckles white. “Don’t,” he mutters, jaw clenched. “Don’t do that.”

You rip your hand away, chest heaving–and then you spit in his face. His eyes snap shut, jaw twitching, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t wipe it away. And when you step forward, grabbing both of his shoulders and shoving him down, he drops to his knees like he belongs there.

Like that’s where he’s meant to be. You grip his chin hard, forcing his head up. Making him look at you, really look at you. “You don’t get to cry,” you hiss. “You cried like a bitch last night. But you don’t get to act broken now. You don’t get to kneel here and pretend you’ve changed when you’re still wearing the skin of a man who called me a burden and meant it.”

His breathing is shallow. Silent. His throat bobs as he swallows, but he still says nothing. “You remember spitting on me?” Your nails dig into his jaw. “Remember making me sleep on the floor because you were in a mood? Remember dragging me out of your car by my hair, and holding me down on the ground in the middle of nowhere?”

He blinks, but doesn’t look away. “Say it,” you snap. “Say you remember.”

“I remember…” he whispers.

You lean in closer, your voice trembling with fury. “And if you ever make me feel that small again, I swear to god, I won’t just walk away. I’ll ruin you. Do you fucking understand me?” 

He nods. Barely. You squeeze his jaw harder. “Say it.”

“I understand.” His voice cracks, but he still doesn’t move. You stare at him for a long, heavy moment–his knees on the floor, your hand wrapped around his chin, the old wound between you ripped wide open again. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the first time you actually believe he’s sorry.

You’re still holding his face in your hand when the silence starts to press in. His eyes flick up to meet yours, wide and shining. But there’s no apology in them–just something rawer. Older. Like he’s trying to hold it together and falling apart anyway.

So you let go. You take a step back, slow and deliberate. Your gaze drags down over him where he’s still on his knees, like you’re appraising something pathetic. Like you’re deciding whether or not he’s worth stepping on.

You tilt your head. Mocking. Then you step toward him, and slap him. Hard. His head jerks sideways with the impact. The sound cracks through the apartment like a gunshot. And for a second the world just stops.

Then he’s on his feet. Chest heaving, cheeks flushed. His hand balling at his sides. But you don’t flinch. You step back, measured and controlled. A smirk pulling at your lips. “You need to feel what it was like to be me,” you say. “To stand there wondering what kind of mood you were in. If you were going to break something or break me.”

He doesn’t answer. His shoulders are rigid, jaw clenched so tight it trembles. “You remember all those nights, Nam Gyu? All those nights you yelled at me for texting you too much, or asking how your day was? When you’d sit on that couch and fuck other girls in front of me.” Nam Gyu’s throat bobs with his swallow. “Don’t look at me like you’re the victim here.” Your voice is cold when you say it.

“Don’t hit me,” he says suddenly, his voice cracking, almost desperate. “I never hit you–”

“Oh, right,” you snap. “Just spit on me. Called me worthless, and disgusting. Boasted about how many times you cheated on me. Right, you get a gold star. That’s so much better.”

He shakes his head barely. But you’re already stepping back into his space. You get right in his face, fury burning now, rage pouring out after festering too long. “Go ahead then,” you hiss. “Fucking hit me.”

His eyes widen. “What?”

“Do it,” you say again, louder. “Hit me. Show me who you really are, Gyu.” You shove him again, and again. He doesn’t budge. And then–he lifts his hand. Just a fraction. The motion is sharp. Quick. Like a reflex.

But he stops himself. Just before it reaches you. His hand hovers in the air–shaking–then slowly drops back to his side. The look on his face is twisted. Sick. Like he’s just glimpsed some awful version of himself in a mirror.

You let the silence stretch. Then you smile, cold and sure. “That’s what I thought.”

He’s breathing hard now. Eyes blown wide, shame etched into every line of his face. “Poor Nam Gyu,” you murmur, taking another slow step around him. “Not so tough when the leash is around your neck.”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even move. Just stands there. Hands trembling at his sides. Face flushed with humiliation and something else–something deeper. You circle back around to face him, still calm. Still in control. And then, softly–cuttingly: “Good boy.”

He flinches like the words slap harder than your hand did. And this time, you watch him wilt under you. Finally, like all the power he used to lord over you has drained right out of him. And now all that’s left is the version of him you always begged to see.

Nam Gyu doesn’t move. Still standing there, chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile, arms tense at his sides like he’s afraid to lift them–afraid to break something. You or himself. Whatever fragile thread is keeping the two of you from shattering completely.

You take a step toward him. Then another. And another. Until you’re right there, face tilted up to his, your breath brushing his chin. His eyes flick down to your mouth, the snap away like it burns him.

You don’t say anything. Just reach up slowly, deliberately, and rest your hand on his cheek. His eyes flutter shut the moment you touch him, like he can’t bear to look at you while you’re being soft. Like it hurts worse than the slap.

Your thumb brushes along his cheekbone–gently this time. A quiet contrast to everything that came before. It feels cruel, almost, to touch him like this now. Like he doesn’t deserve it. Maybe he doesn’t. But you do it anyway.

He leans into your hand instinctively, just enough for you to feel the weight of it. Then your fingers slip into his hair, and you tug–just enough to make him look at you. His eyes are wild. Glassy and scared. 

You hold his gaze for a long, quiet moment. And then, slowly, you pull him down and kiss him. It’s not desperate. It’s not even gentle. It’s something else entirely–slow and sure and deliberate. A promise and a punishment all at once. Like you’re kissing him because you can. Because after everything he’s done to you, he still wants you to.

And because part of you–some hollow, aching part–still wants him too. When you pull away, his lips are parted, his breath shallow. His hands are still fisted at his sides, like he doesn’t trust them not to betray him.

Your forehead rests against his for a breath, maybe two. And then you step back, letting the distance settle again between you. Letting him feel it. Letting him miss you, even in the space of a second.

You exhale shakily, eyes still on him as your fingers fall away from his cheek. The kiss still lingers–on your mouth, in the air between you, in the way neither of you seems quite ready to move. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice barely holding steady.

Nam Gyu’s head jerks slightly. “No. Don’t–don’t apologize.” His voice cracks on the words. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he says, firmer this time. “You don’t apologize for that. I deserved all of it. Every word. And that…that wasn’t even half of what I’ve done to you.”

He looks at you then–really looks. Like he’s bracing himself for whatever else you might throw at him, not out of defensiveness, but readiness. Like he wants to carry it. He swallows hard, eyes flicking away again as he shifts on his feet. Then, quieter, almost shy: “Can I hug you?”

Your throat tightens. And instead of answering, you take the first step, just one, and close the space between you. Your arms slip around his waist, and his come around your shoulders like a lifeline. He holds you with so much care, so much want, that it nearly knocks the air out of you. No words, no apologies, no apologies needed. Just the two of you, holding each other in the echo of everything that came before. In the fragile, aching silence of something maybe not broken beyond repair. And for now…that’s enough.

It starts with money. Small deposits at first. $60 here. $250 there. You notice them by the third one, brows furrowed as you scroll through your banking app. Before you can bring it up, your phone buzzes. A simple, one word text from Nam Gyu. Enjoy.

That’s it. No follow up. No explanation. The next time, he transfers half your rent. After that, it’s gas money. Then your phone bill. You try to push back–text him something half joking about being his sugar baby–but he doesn’t bite.

“You took care of me when I was nothing,” he mutters one night, eyes trained on the TV. “Just let me do something right.”

So you let him. You stop packing a bag after a while. Leave your toothbrush by his sink. Then your moisturizer. A pair of socks on the floor. A shirt draped over the back of his desk chair. You don’t think about it, not really, not until you notice your slippers lined up neatly beside his by the door.

One morning, you go to find a pair of his socks to steal and you see that he’s emptied out an entire dresser drawer. Just for you. He doesn’t say anything about it. But his eyes flick over to you, then drop back to his book. You don’t say anything either.

And it just keeps happening. You start coming by straight after work. Start waking up in his bed more often than your own. One evening, you’re unlocking the door to his apartment and realize–for the first time–you did it with your own key.

You’re wearing one of his old t-shirts. Carrying a tote bag of groceries. The apartment smells like your candle. Nam Gyu is already home, barefoot, flipping through mail. He glances up when you step inside, freezes for just a second, then exhales like something inside him finally unclenched. “You’re home.” It’s not a question, but it still sounds like him asking. You nod, and you don’t correct him. 

Weeks pass. The more you settle in, the more you unravel. The job wears you thin–late hours, drunk men flirting with you, a boss who calls you by the wrong name. You come home drained, skipping dinner, curling up like you’re bracing for something.

Nam Gyu notices. Of course he does. You wake up one morning to coffee on the nightstand, toast you didn’t ask for, and Nam Gyu sitting beside you on the bed. “I don’t want you working there anymore,” he mutters quietly. “You hate it. You cry in the shower. I hear you.”

You open your mouth, but he shakes his head. 

“I can take care of you. You don’t have to keep bleeding for people who wouldn’t even flinch for you.”

It takes you two weeks to finally quit. That night, he doesn’t say much. Just pulls you in when you crawl into bed beside him, kisses the top of your head, and murmurs against your hair, “I’m proud of you.”

Everything’s not perfect, not even close.

Some days, things feel good–easy, even. You cook together. Fold laundry on the couch. Watch half a movie before Nam Gyu falls asleep with his head in your lap. There are quiet moments. Safe pens. You’ve started to trust those again. But the cracks still show.

Sometimes he says something too sharp. The old tone slips in, that venom laced just beneath his breath. Like muscle memory. And you freeze–not because you’re afraid, not anymore–but because you remember. All of it. Too clearly.

Tonight, it was over nothing. A cabinet left open. Dishes left in the sink. You muttered that you’d get to them, but he snapped something low under his breath. Something that sounded too much like before. You stared at him. Didn’t say a word. Just turned and walked into the bedroom, closed the door softly behind you.

Hours pass. The house is quiet, but not still. You hear movement in the hallway. A soft thump against the wall. Then– knock, knock, knock. Then a pause. A soft rustle. The door opens slow, like he thinks you might yell. You don’t.

Nam Gyu stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest like he’s trying to hold himself in. “Sorry,” he mutters. You look up from where you’re sitting on the bed, still dressed, phone dim in your lap. He fidgets. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it. I was just–” He cuts himself off with a frustrated exhale. “Doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve that.”

You wait. Watch him squirm. “I’m trying,” he admits quietly. “I really am.”

You nod slowly. “I know.” He looks relieved, but still guilty. Still standing in the doorway, like he’s waiting to be dismissed. Like he thinks he should sleep on the couch. “Come here,” you say finally.

His shoulders drop an inch. Then another. He crosses the room slowly, cautiously, like he’s still not sure you’ll let him. But when he slides into bed beside you, you don’t pull away. You let him wrap his arms around you, let his nose press into the crook of your neck. Let his remorse settle into the quiet. And even though he’s not perfect–and maybe never will be–he’s here. And he’s trying. That has to count for something.

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[sillylilsquid]

⋆𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖘 𝖒𝖊 𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑⋆

pairing - nam gyu x reader summary - he's the only thing that hurts and feels like home all at once, and you'd rather break for him than ever be without him warnings - au!nam gyu, afab!reader, abusive relationship, toxic relationship, power dynamic, dom/sub relationship, nam gyu being nam gyu, 18+ minors dni!! 8.6k words

You weren’t supposed to fall in love with him. That was the first rule. And if you did, you sure as hell weren’t supposed to stay in love.

But then again, Nam Gyu never played fair.

He didn’t come into your life like a storm. He came quiet. Smooth. Charismatic enough to make you forget your own name when he looked at you a certain way. It started with gifts. A new phone. Then a pair of shoes you swore you never told him you wanted. Then rent for the next three months. Then he told you not to worry about your job–”it’s not like they’re paying you shit anyway.”

And just like that, you became his.

Now you live in a high-rise apartment you didn’t pay for. All your clothes have tags on them you can’t pronounce. And your entire life–what you wear, where you go, who you talk to–depends on whether or not Nam Gyu is in a good mood.

Tonight, he wasn’t.

You don’t even look up when the front door slams shut. He doesn’t say anything as he walks in, just tosses his coat over the back of a chair and drops a heavy chain and his phone on the kitchen counter. You’re curled up on the couch like you always are–quiet, waiting, obedient. Your knees are pulled to your chest, wearing one of the oversized shirts he left in your closet, hoping it softens him.

He walks past you like you’re invisible. Your voice is barely a whisper. “You said you’d be back hours ago.”

He stops in the hallway. Tension crackles in the air. And then he laughs–sharp and humorless. “Oh? Now you keepin’ track of my hours?”

You flinch. “I was just asking.”

He turns slowly, eyes dark with something dangerous. “No, you weren’t. You were whining.”

You brace yourself for the argument. But instead of yelling, he stalks toward you, slow and calm. That’s worse. Nam Gyu only gets quiet when he wants you to hurt. He sits on the edge of the coffee table and leans in close, hand resting casually on your thigh like nothing’s wrong.

“Tell me something,” he says, brushing his thumb along your bare skin. “Where exactly would you be without me, huh? You think you’d be sittin’ up here in this place, dressed like that, eating food you didn’t have to cook, if I hadn’t decided you were worth keepin’ around?”

Your throat tightens. You don’t answer.

He leans in closer, voice lower. “Girls would kill to be in your position. But you? You’re over here pouting like a little brat.”

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to ask him where he was, who he was with, why he always smells like someone else’s perfume when he comes home. But instead, you do what you always do–you nod.

He cups your chin, tilting your face toward him. “Good girl,” he murmurs, soft now. “That’s my girl.”

And then, just like that, the switch flips. He kisses your forehead, pulls you into his chest, and you let him–because when he’s like this, when his arms are warm around you and his breath is soft in your hair, it’s easy to pretend it means something. Even if deep down you know he’s just making sure you stay.

Then:

You met him when your world was already falling apart. Your hours were getting cut at work, your roommate bailed, and the ceiling of your shitty apartment started leaking again. You were halfway through Googling “how to break a lease without getting sued” when he slid into your life like it was always his.

Nam Gyu didn’t ask what’s wrong. He already knew. He had a way of talking like he could see right through you. Like he’d already done the math and figured out exactly how little you had left.

“Come stay with me,” he said, like he was offering you a ride to work. “I’ll take care of everything. You just gotta be mine.”

At the time, it sounded sweet. Like a gift. Not a contract. And you said yes before you thought about it. And that’s how it started.

The first week he spoiled you. He bought groceries, handed you cash like it was nothing.  His place was nice–too nice for a guy who said he “freelanced.” You didn’t ask questions. He let you sleep in, stay in bed all day, walk around in his t-shirts and nothing else. He made it feel like home. Like you were something precious.

“You deserve better than that old life,” he told you one night, fingers playing with the ends of your hair. “You’re mine now. You don’t need anyone else.” And you believed him. Because he made it easy to.

It didn’t take long for the rules to show up. At first, they were little things. “Don’t wear that out. Guys are gonna stare, and I’ll have to break someone’s jaw.” “Why do you still follow your ex on Instagram?” “Tell your friend to stop calling so much. You’ve got me now. That should be enough.”

And when you hesitated–when you tried to defend yourself–he’d go quiet. Withdraw. Sleep facing away from you. And that silence was worse than yelling. So you stopped arguing. And he started smiling again.

By the second month, he’d cut the world off around you. He said he didn’t like your friends. Said they were dragging you down. He picked apart your family in passing conversation until you started to feel ashamed for even thinking about them.

And you let him. Because he’d kiss your temple right after and whisper, “They never care about you the way I do.”

He’d run you baths. Leave notes on the fridge. Buy you perfume and tell you it smelled like heaven on your skin. You thought it was love. But it was programming. He taught you how to crave his approval.

You started thanking him for things you used to do on your own. Rent. Groceries. Medicine. Clothes. He’d give you something and wait, expectant, until you kissed him and whispered, “thank  you. I don’t deserve you.”

And he’d smile, press his mouth to your throat, and say, “Damn right you don’t.”

The first time he disappeared for a few days, you lost your mind. No calls. No messages. No warning. 

You sat on the floor of that luxury apartment–his apartment–and stared at your reflection in the black screen of your phone. Wondering if you’d done something wrong. Wondering if you were about to be abandoned again.

And then he came home with a new bag slung over his shoulder, reeking of alcohol and another girl’s perfume, and kissed your forehead like he’d just stepped out for coffee. “Miss me, baby?”

You should have screamed. You should have run. Instead, you nodded. You told him yes. And you meant it. Because, by then, you couldn’t imagine life without him. Not because it was good. But because you didn’t remember who you were before him. And that’s exactly how he wanted it. 

Now:

It’s late morning. The curtains are still half drawn, sunlight bleeding across the floor in soft gold. You’re perched on the edge of the bed, tugging your sleeves down over your hand while Nam Gyu scrolls through his phone beside you, shirtless and humming faintly under his breath.

He hasn’t said a word since waking up. Just grunted when you handed him coffee and leaned against your thigh while he answered messages.

You wait a little longer before you speak–timing it just right, like a kid trying to catch their parents in a good mood. “My mom texted me this morning,” you say, careful and light. “She asked if wanted to come by for dinner this weekend.”

He doesn’t look up. Just exhales through his nose and says flatly, “Yeah, no. That sounds awful.”

Your stomach sinks a little. But you keep your voice steady, playful. “Awful? Come on, they’d probably like you.”

He snorts. “Sure they would. After all, I’m the guy who picked their daughter up off the floor and turned her into a house pet.”

That lands like a punch, and he knows it. He finally glances over at you, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. You’re staring at your lap, blinking too fast, throat tight. “I just thought it might be nice,” you say softly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen them.”

He tosses his phone onto the bed and stretches, cracking his neck. “Yeah, and let me guess–your mom’s gonna give me that fake smile and your dad’s gonna look at me like I’m a fucking parasite. Meanwhile, you’ll sit there pretending you’re not some needy little thing who’d rather be sucking my cock under my table than sitting at theirs.”

You flinch. It’s quiet for a second too long. Then you wipe at your eyes quickly, trying to hide it. He catches the motion. “Seriously?” he asks, voice lilting now, almost amused. “You’re crying? Over that?”

You shake your head, but he’s already grinning. “God, you’re such a baby.” Then, “Want me to kiss it better, princess? Or you gonna cry some more about mommy missing you?”

His voice is mocking, syrupy sweet. But the hand he drapes over your thigh is warm, grounding. The weight of it makes you feel dizzy.

You bite your lip and say nothing.

And then he leans in, brushing his lips against your cheek–just a whisper of affection–before whispering in your ear, “you really are lucky to have me. Anyone else would’ve thrown you out ages ago.”

You nod, slow. Silent. Because he’s not wrong. He stayed. Even if he’s the one who made sure no one else could.

You don’t bring up your family again. Not that day. Not the day after. Not at all.

You get quieter. Not in a dramatic way–just…careful. Smaller. You smile when he makes a joke, but you don’t reach for him like you used to. You stop curling into his side at night unless he pulls you in. And you start going to be early, pretending to be asleep before he even gets off the phone with whoever he’s out with that night.

He notices. He always notices. At first, he doesn’t say anything. Just watches you–like he’s trying to figure out whether to ignore it or punish you for it.

And then, suddenly–he flips the script.

The next morning, there’s coffee waiting for you on the nightstand. Your favorite kind, made exactly the way you like it. There’s a new hoodie hanging on the back of the door–one of his, freshly washed, smelling like his cologne. You find a little velvet box on the kitchen counter with earrings you once pointed at in a shop window months ago. You never even told him you liked them.

And he’s home that night. Early. He tosses his keys on the table and comes straight over to where you’re sitting on the couch, pulling you into his lap like it’s nothing. Like this is normal. “Missed you,” he says simply, nuzzling into your neck.

You freeze for a second–then melt, because you’re weak when it comes to this part. This version of him. The warm, sleepy one who holds you like he’ll die if you leave. “Did you like the stuff I left for you?” he murmurs, brushing his nose against your cheek.

You nod. “Yeah. It was sweet.”

He hums. His hands trail under your hoodie, skin to skin. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he says, almost too casual. You open your mouth to answer–but he cuts you off, kissing your jaw, your throat, the corner of your mouth. “I don’t like it when you get quiet…makes me feel like you’re forgetting who you belong to.” his voice is softer now, dangerous.

You shake your head fast. “I’m not.”

He grins. “Good.” Nam Gyu lifts your chin with two fingers and kisses you deep–slow and full, like a promise. You feel your bones go soft. “You don’t need anyone else, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “Not your mom. Not your friends. Just me.”

And you believe him again. Because he made you this way.

It happens that night. The first time in two weeks. He kisses you like he’s starving, murmuring half-lies against your skin– “missed you, baby…no one’s as good as you…look at the way you take it, fuck…”–and for a second it feels real again. You forget how long it’s been. You forget everything he’s said, every bruise on your pride. You melt like it’s the first time.

After, he stays curled behind you, fingers lazily drawing circles on your thigh. “You fuck so good I might actually take out to dinner,” he mutters with a grin.

You roll your eyes and laugh softly. “Wow. What an honor.”

“Don’t get cocky,” he says, biting your shoulder gently. “You’re still replaceable.”

But the next night, he tells you to wear something nice. And your heart flutters because it’s been forever since you went anywhere together. You put on your best dress, your new earrings, makeup careful but soft, hair done just the way he likes it.

He whistles when he sees you. “Shit. My girl cleaned up,” he said as he grabbed your ass. “Try not to cry at the restaurant this time, yeah?” You smile even though your stomach twists.

The restaurant is expensive. High ceilings, candlelight, a bottle of wine he orders without asking. He’s beautiful in this setting–sharp lines and smug eyes, his gold chain glinting in the low light. 

But he’s not present. He scrolls through his phone between bites. Laughs at something a girl sends him. Doesn’t look up when you ask him about your day.

You try to hold on anyway. “It’s nice here,” you hum, trying to make conversation. “We haven’t done this in a while.”

“Yeah, well,” he speaks without looking up, “you’ve been acting like a wet towel. Not exactly fun to take out.”

Your breath catches. You stare down at your plate. Something inside you snaps. “Then why bother?” you whisper, sharper than you meant. “Why even bring me if you’re gonna spend the whole time on your phone?”

Nam Gyu looks up slowly. Eyes cold. Expression unreadable. “Careful.” You open your mouth to apologize but he cuts you off. “You’re gonna regret that later.”

Back at the apartment, he’s already packing when you come in behind him. You stand frozen in the doorway, heart thudding. “W-what are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer. Just zips his duffel and throws a sweatshirt over his shoulder. 

“Nam Gyu,” your voice cracks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was just–just frustrated. I’m sorry, please don’t–”

“I’m not gonna sit around while my bitch of a girlfriend talks down to me in public.”

“I wasn’t–!” you start, then swallow it. Lower your head. “I’m sorry. Please. Gyu. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Too late for that.” He brushes past you. You grab his wrist.

“Please don’t go,” you whisper, tears threatening again. “Please, I’ll do better. I’ll be better, I promise. Just don’t leave me.”

He looks at you like you’re an inconvenience. Like your tears are annoying. “This is exactly why people get rid of girls like you.” Then he walks out.

He leaves. The door slams. You don’t even realize you’re chasing after him until your bare feet hit the cold floor of the hallway. But he’s already in the elevator. Already gone. Already choosing the night over you.

You call him. Once. Twice. Five times. Straight to voicemail. So you resort to texting him.

Please come back

Can we talk?

Please

I’m sorry

Gyu, please

Left on read. Then nothing. You stare at the screen as the typing dots appear…and vanish. You wait. Your heart thunders like it’s fighting to stay alive. You send another message.

Are you okay? Just tell me ur okay

Delivered, but not read. And then–just like that–your messages stop going through. Blocked. You don’t cry, not right away. Not until you check his Instagram. His story is fresh, posted just ten minutes ago. It’s a dark, crowded room. Music pulsing. His friends laughing, drinks spilling, arms around each other.

And there he is. Smirking. Beer in hand, alive like nothing ever happened. Like you never happened. You watch the loop of him over and over until the tears finally come–quiet and humiliated, curled up on the couch in one of his shirts that still smells like him.

Two days pass.

You barely eat. The food in the fridge going untouched. You sleep in his shirt. You tell yourself you’re overreacting, that he’ll come home and tell you it was just a fight. That he was angry. That he didn’t mean it. That he still loves you.

3:21am.

The lock turns. You’re asleep–sort of. That brittle half sleep where everything feels like a dream and a nightmare stitched together. You hear the door creak open. The low scrape of shoes on tile. And then–a giggle, soft, feminine.

His voice came out low and muffled, “Shhh, my girl’s sleeping.”

The blood drains from your face. You fumble out of bed, heart in your throat. Your feet are cold against the floor. You walk to the hallway on autopilot, the apartment dark but not silent.

And then you see him. Nam Gyu on the couch. Some girl–tiny, barefoot, wearing a short dress. Her hair a mess, eyes bright, like she’s been having fun. Like this was normal.

He freezes when he sees you. The girl turns too, confused, until she realizes that you’re the girlfriend. That she’s the mistake. 

You say nothing. You can’t. Your voice is gone. Your breath is gone. Nam Gyu just stares at you. Not shocked. Not guilty. Just annoyed. Like you ruined the night.

Your body is frozen. The girl giggles again, messy and high pitches, and waves at you like you’re a friend just walking into the room. Her cheeks are flushed, lips glossy but smeared down her chin. She’s perched on Nam Gyu’s lap like she’s always belonged there. Like you don’t.

Your eyes lock on his. He stares back at you like this is your fault. Like you’re the intruder in the shared space. Your chest rises with a sharp breath, but you don’t say anything. You just glare at him, your throat burning, and turn to walk away, to go back into the bedroom. To shut the door and pretend like this isn’t happening.

But his voice stops you cold. “You want me to forgive you?” You stop in the hallway, spine stiff, heart beating against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. “Then sit your ass down and watch me fuck her.”

You turn, slowly. “What?” you whisper.

He doesn’t repeat himself. Just tilts his chin, eyes sharp, mean. “You heard me,” he says. “Get in here. Show me how fucking loyal you acutally are.”

The room tilts. You blink, trying to understand if this is real. If he means it. But he just keeps staring at you–steady, unreadable. Like this is a test. Like this is punishment.

Your stomach drops, but your feet move. Against every ounce of pride, of pain, of self worth, you walk back into the living room. You drag your feet like they weigh a hundred pounds, like the air is made of syrup.

He points to the floor in front of him. You sink to your knees. The carpet feels rough against your skin. Cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones and makes you feel small. Forgettable.

The girl is still curled against him, hands pawing at his chest like she can’t tell something’s shifted. She doesn't even look at you–too drunk or too far gone to care. Her lips find his neck again, clumsy and wet, and she lets out a breathy little moan as she grinds into his lap.

You don’t even know her name, and you’re sure he doesn’t know it either. Nam Gyu’s hands slide under her thighs, lifting her easily and adjusting her so she straddles him properly. She giggles again, whispering something into his ear that you can’t hear.

You try to look away. But his voice cuts through the space again, low and sharp. “Eyes on me.”

Your gaze snaps back up. He watches you as he undoes his belt. While the girl sucks on his collarbone, giggling, oblivious. He doesn’t kiss her. Doesn’t touch her with tenderness. This isn’t about her.

It’s about you. 

He enters her like it means nothing–no warning, no gentleness–and she lets out a sloppy, surprised moan. Her nails dig into his shoulders, her body moving with his like it’s instinct. And the whole time, his eyes never leave yours.

His expression doesn’t change, not really. He’s calm. Cold, in control. You sit there on your knees, silent, humiliated, frozen. Every sound she makes carves another notch into your rids. Every thrust, every sigh, every creak of the couch burns hotter than the last. 

You don’t cry. Not yet. You just sit there. Loyal, obedient, destroyed. And Nam Gyu? He doesn’t stop until he decides you’ve had enough.

The girl slumps against him, limbs loose and boneless, head tucked against his shoulder like a child after a tantrum. Her breath is warm and sticky sounding as it fans against his throat, a soft giggle still bubbling up from somewhere deep in her chest like she doesn’t understand what just happened. 

You stay kneeling. Still and silent and humiliated. Nam Gyu barely glances at her as he tucks his cock back into his boxers. He grips her waist with both hands, not gentle, and lifts her off him like she’s weightless. “Get up,” he mutters to her, not even bothering to fake tenderness.

She whines a little, clinging to him. “Mmm, nooo. I’m comfy…”

“I said, get up.” His voice slices through the haze of her drunken clinginess. She pouts, confused, but slowly wobbles to her feet, tugging her skirt down over her shaky legs. She doesn’t look at you as she stumbles toward the door, pulling her jacket on crookedly, one heel half buckled.

She gives Nam Gyu a sloppy kiss on the cheek and giggles again. “You’re mean,” she mumbles.

“Bye,” he says flatly, and shuts the door behind her. Then silence. You don’t move. He turns slowly, back to the couch, and drops down with a deep sigh, letting his legs spread wide. His shirt’s still half unbuttoned, collar loose, boxers riding up his thighs. He sinks into the cushions like a king back on his throne, like he didn’t just destroy something vital in front of you.

He looks at you. Just looks, and waits. The air is thick. Heavy with sweat and sex and shame. You shift slightly on your knees, but don’t rise. You can feel his stare on you like heat, like a weight across your chest. His jaw flexes once, slow. “Not gonna cry?” he asks. “Thought you’d be sobbing by now.”

You say nothing. Because if you open your mouth, it will come out as a sob. And he knows it. He leans back, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the other resting on his thigh. His fingers tap against the fabric, slow and deliberate.

“Still trying to prove something?” he murmurs. “That you deserve me?” Your lip trembles. You bite it hard enough to taste blood. He huffs a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Pathetic,” he says, but there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes now. Curiosity. Intrigue. That cold amusement he gets when he’s testing your limits just to see where they crack.

You sit there and take it. Your knees ache. Your back burns. But you don’t move. Not until he tells you to. And he doesn’t. Not yet. He just watches and waits. To see if you’ll finally break.

Nam Gyu doesn’t speak for a long time. Just sits there, sprawled across the couch like a god, like a devil–shirt wrinkled and open, chest rising and falling slow. His skin still glows faintly with sweat, the scent of her perfume still clinging faintly to the air.

You keep your eyes on his face. And he keeps his on you. Then, without a word, he lifts his hand. Points downward. Right between his feet. Your breath stutters. You hesitate for a second. Not because you don’t understand, but because some last flicker of self respect is twitching inside your chest like a dying insect.

But it doesn’t last.

You crawl forward. Small, shuffling movements. Palms flat to the floor, knees dragging across the carpet, until you’re right where he wants you–kneeling between his legs, the heat of his skin pulsing around you.

He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t even lean forward. Just watches. His gaze burns into the stop of your head, down your throat, along every line of tension in your spine. You lift your chin slowly, meeting his stare with your own, your lips parted like you wanted to speak–but you don’t. There’s nothing to say. Not really.

So you do the only thing that makes sense in that moment. You lean forward, slow and quiet, and press your cheek to his knee. It’s warm, solid. The fabric of his boxers brushes your skin and you let your head rest there, curled against him like something docile. Like something owned.

He breathes in deep. Still doesn’t touch you. But his thigh shifts beneath your cheek, a small movement, one that almost feels like instinct–as if, despite everything, part of him still responds to your closeness. Even if he won’t admit it.

You keep your eyes on him, tilted up from where your head rests on his leg. Waiting. For him to speak. For him to punish. For him to forgive. Whatever he chooses–you’ll take it. Because you’re still there. And he knows you will be. Always.

His stare finally drops. Not down at you. Not even at his lap. Just…somewhere else. Past your head. Past the room. Like he’s already bored again. Like your presence isn’t even enough to keep him interested for more than a few minutes.

But then–his hand moves. It lowers slowly, fingers brushing the side of your face, then slipping into your hair. He strokes it lazily, absently–like you’re some stray cat he didn’t mean to feed, like it’s just muscle memory now, touching you.

“You really are pathetic,” he murmurs, almost to himself. No anger in his voice anymore, just cruel honesty. “Sat there and watched me fuck her, and now you’re cuddled up to my leg like some mutt.”

Your cheeks burn. But you don’t move. You can’t move. His fingers tighten in your hair–not enough to hurt, not yet, but enough to remind you who he is. What he can do. What he already has done.

“And don’t look at me like you’re the victim,” he mutters. “You’re the one who embarrassed me in public. Who spoke to me like a bitch. And now you wanna play the good little girlfriend again?”

You blink hard. Swallow down the lump in your throat. He lets out a cold, humorless laugh. “I should’ve left you crying on the damn floor. Should’ve let that girl sleep in our bed. Bet she would’ve been louder for me.” His thumb brushes over your scalp, slow and rough. “But you just had to be here, huh? Had to crawl back like the desperate little bitch you are.”

You feel it in your chest–sharp and aching. You want to speak, want to say something, but your mouth won’t move. Because he’s right. You are still here. You did stay.

His hand drifts again, petting you in slow, cruel strokes. Not comforting. Not kind. Just meant to humiliate you further, like he’s reminding you of where you belong–on your knees, under his touch, beneath his contempt.

“You gonna say anything?” he asks suddenly. “Or are you just gonna keep staring at me like that?” He still won’t look at you. But now he’s listening. Waiting. Testing how deep your loyalty runs–how far you’ll let him drag you down.

You shake your head. Not at him, not in defiance. Just slow, tiny, instinctual–like you’re trying to shrink yourself smaller, quieter, more obedient. A soft, barely-there, “No.”

No, you’re not going to say anything. No, you’re not going to argue. No, you’re not going to push back like you did that night, with your tone all sharp and your voice too loud and your mouth too bold.

His touch slows. Then stills. Then starts again–rougher this time, the tips of his fingers catching at the roots of your hair as he scrapes back through it. You let him. 

Your head tilts more fully into his leg, cheek resting against his warm, bare skin. You smell her on his shirt–cheap perfume, sweat, sex. But you still nuzzle in closer.

His leg shifts a little and your hand flies up without thinking, clutching his knee like you’re afraid he might move away. Leave again. Take that heat with him. Take that bitter, punishing attention you’ve been starving for since he left.

He sees it. And laughs under his breath. “God, look at you,” he sneers, finally glancing down at where you’ve curled yourself at his feet. “You’d let me spit in your face and call it affection, wouldn’t you?”

Your throat tightens–but you nod. Because you would. You have. You’re doing it right now. 

“Of course you would,” he mutters, almost fond in the way someone might talk to a stupid, loyal dog. “Doesn’t even matter what I do. I treat you like shit, and you just sit there like this–waiting for scraps. Hoping I’ll tell you you’re good again.”

His thumb brushes your jaw this time, lifting your chin just slightly. “You want me to break you, don’t you?” You nod again. Slower. Shame burning through you. Because you don’t just want it–you need it. Need the punishment. The degradation. The reminder that you belong to him even when he’s cruel. Especially when he’s cruel.

You don’t ask him to forgive you. You don’t ask him if he still loves you, if he ever loved you. You just stay there–kneeling, quiet, pliant–offering up every soft, pathetic piece of yourself for him to crush under his heel.

And he lets you. Lets you sit there trembling beneath him, half broken and desperate to be useful again. He watches you for a long time. Silent. Still. Like he’s waiting to see if you'll fold even more on your own. If you’ll cry. If you’ll break without lifting a single finger.

But you don’t move. Not yet. So he does. His hand leaves your hair, and your heart stutters at the sudden loss of contact. But then he leans forward, just slightly–towering over you now, still sitting, still spread out like a king on a throne.

“You want to be good again?” he says, calm and quiet. You nod. He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “You sure?”

You whisper, “Yes.” 

Then, he spits in your face. Warm, sharp, fast. It hits your cheek and your lashes and you flinch–not from fear, but from the jolt of knowing he meant it. From the way he does it so easily, like it doesn’t even register as cruel to him. Like you’re beneath that kind of decency now. 

And maybe you are. He doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t explain. Just settles back again, palms on his knees, staring at the wet streak on your cheek. You don’t wipe it away. You keep your eyes on him, waiting. “Good girl,” he mutters.

And that wreck something inside you. That stupid, pathetic flutter in your chest when he says it, even after that. Especially after that. But he’s not done. “You want your place back?” You nod again. “You think you’ve earned anything just by sitting there?”

You don’t answer–not fast enough, anyway–and his grip tightens in your hair, tugging your head back just enough to make your throat stretch, eyes wide as you stare up at him. “I said,” he repeats, “you think you’ve earned it?”

You shake your head, lips trembling. “No.” 

“Then why the fuck are you acting like it?” Nam Gyu lets go of your hair and you slump back down, forehead brushing his thigh now. You try to hide your face–but he won’t let you disappear that easily. “Tell me how pathetic you are. How stupid you are for acting that way.”

You shift a little, shame burning down your spine, throat tight with the weight of the words. “I’m pathetic,” you whisper, then louder, “I’m your pathetic little thing.”

He hums, pleased. “Keep going.”

“I’m–” Your lips tremble. “I’m disgusting. I’m stupid for thinking I could talk back to you. I’m lucky you even look at me tonight.”

He exhales slowly, satisfied. “Now, don’t pull that shit again.”

For the past week, you’ve been perfect. You wake when he says. Speak only when spoken to. You answer every command with a soft, “Okay, Gyu.” You follow him like a shadow–silent, pliant, unthreatening.

You’re his favorite kind of girl again: a quiet one.

When he texts, you come. When he tugs you closer at parties, you lean into him like he’s gravity. You let him rest his hand around your throat when you sit in booths with his friends, laugh at the right moments, never talk too much. Your friends’ messages go unread. You don’t speak to your family anymore.

It’s like none of it ever happened. Like the night he used you and called you trash never really broke you. But it did. And tonight, that crack shows.

You’re at some rooftop club in Itaewon–too loud, too crowded. The whole place smells like perfume, sweat, and smoke. Nam Gyu’s been nursing the same drink for an hour, one hand wrapped lazily around your hip, the other texting someone you’re not allowed to ask about. He hasn’t looked at you in twenty minutes.

You say nothing. Just keep sipping your water, letting your feet ache in the heels he told you to wear. Then he laughs at something some girl says–leans in a little too close–and you mutter it before you can stop yourself. “Fucking flirt.”

It’s barely audible. Not even meant for him. Just a bitter breath of a thought. But he hears it. He freezes mid laugh, and slowly turns his head toward you. “What?”

You stiffen. “Nothing.”

“Nah. Say it again.” His voice is calm, his smile is gone.

“I said nothing,” you repeat, not meeting his eyes.

That’s when it changes. He stands up so fast his drink spills. His hand wraps around your wrist, hard, and yanks you up from the table. Conversations stutter around you as heads turn. “The fuck did you just say to me, huh?” he snarls, loud enough for the whole section to hear.

“Nam Gyu, please–” you start, mortified, tugging at his grip.

“Nah, you got somethin’ to say, say it. Go on. Be brave now.” He’s practically dragging you through the club. “You wanna talk back? Say it louder.”

The car door slams shut and you’re off. He’s driving too fast. Red lights blur past. His jaw is locked, eyes dead ahead. “You always wanna embarrass me in front of everyone, huh?”

“I didn’t mean to, I just–”

“You just what? You just couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut for once?”

You don’t stay quiet. Not this time. “Because I’m tired of being your toy!” you scream. “You treat me like garbage, Nam Gyu! You drag me around like I’m nothing!”

That does it. He swerves, tires screeching, and veers off the main road. Gravel crunches under the wheels as he pulls into some unlit, empty field on the edge of town. “What are you doing? Where are we–”

He slams the breaks. Turns off the engine. Silence. Then he leans across you, opens the door. “Get out.”

You freeze. “W-what?” 

“You heard me. Out.”

“It’s the middle of nowhere, it’s–”

“Get the fuck out!”

You don’t move. Just stare at him, shaking. “Gyu, please. Don’t leave me here. I’ll–I won’t talk back again, I swear!”

But he’s already opening his own door. Stepping out. Breathing hard. Jaw clenched.

You don’t move. You’re frozen in the passenger seat, hands gripping the edge of the door, breath coming in shallow gasps. “Nam Gyu, please–don’t do this, I didn’t mean–”

He rounds the car in seconds. Yanks open your door all the way. And grabs you by the wrist. “Out.”

You brace yourself, legs planted, shoulders pressed back against the seat. “Stop it,” you gasp, pushing weakly at his chest. “I said I’ll be good–”

“You always say that,” he roars, dragging you forward, forcing you out inch by inch. “Every time. ‘I’ll be good, Nam Gyu.’ ‘I’ll do better, Gyu.’ Bullshit.”

You fight it, still clinging to the edge of the seat, nails digging in. But he’s stronger. He always is. One good yank and you’re out of his car–knees scraping hard against gravel, palms hitting the dirt as you crumple onto the cold ground beside the car.

Then his legs start moving. Like he’s going to leave. You grab for him instinctively. Arms wrap around his leg, your cheeks pressed to the denim of his jeans, sobs already clawing up your throat. “Please don’t go,” you beg, your voice barely recognizable. “Please, I’m sorry–don’t leave me here. I’ll be good, I swear–I’ll be whatever you want, just don’t go.”

He looks down at you. And laughs. It’s not kind. Not even amused. It’s mean. Sharp and cruel. “Look at you,” he sneers. “Clinging to my leg like a fucking dog.”

You sob harder, clinging tighter. “I’ll do anything. Please. I swear.”

He yanks his leg once, but you won’t let go. You’re shaking too hard, crying too loud, desperate and broken in the middle of nowhere. “You don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore, do you” he spits. “You hate being with me, but the second I try to cut you loose, you act like I’m your fucking lifeline.”

“I don’t hate you,” you cry. “I don’t–I love you–please don’t leave me–”

“If it’s that bad, then fucking go,” he snarls. “Walk. Find your own way home. Lose my number. Never come back to my apartment again.”

You shake your head violently, still kneeling in the dirt, arms locked tight around him. “No–please, I can’t–I’ll do anything, I’ll be better, I promise–”

His laughter rings out again. More disgusted than anything. “Jesus. You really are pathetic.” He leans down, grabs a fistful of your hair, just enough to tilt your face up. “This is what you are without me? On your knees, sobbing like a little whore in the dirt?”

You nod through the tears. “Yes–yes, I’m yours–I don’t care how you treat me, I just want you–please…”

Your voice breaks. So does something else, deep inside you. And he sees it. He likes it. “Say it again,” he says. “Say you’ll do anything.”

Your lips tremble. “I’ll do anything.” You can’t even hear yourself anymore–your own voice sounds distant, broken. But your arms won’t let go. You stay clinging to him like it’s the only thing keeping you breathing.

Nam Gyu clicks his tongue and shakes his head slowly. “You know what’s funny?” he mutters, pulling his leg just enough to shift your balance, forcing you to tighten your grip. “I’ve got three girls in my DMs right now who’d kill for the chance to be in your spot. Younger than you. Hotter than you. Obedient.” He chuckles. “So why the fuck am I still entertaining you?”

Your stomach sinks. But you nod. Of course he does. He doesn’t need you. You already knew that. “I know,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I know. I’m sorry…”

“You should be.” His tone sharpens.

You bury your face against his thigh. “I’m sorry…I’ll be better… I swear–”

Nam Gyu moves suddenly, shifting his weight, and crouches just low enough to tilt your chin up again–rough fingers digging into your jaw. His face is all shadows, eyes dark. “You’d let me point a fucking gun at your head and beg me to pull the trigger, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t even hesitate. “If you told me to,” you whisper. “I would.”

Something flickers behind his eyes. A flash of disbelief–or maybe something like pride. Then he grabs you. Fist tangled in the front of your shirt, he yanks you off the ground like a rag doll. Your feet barely find their place before he’s shoving you toward the car. “Get in the back.”

You stumble. Hands barely catch you on the edge of the seat before he forces you inside. You fall back into the cushions, breath stolen from your lungs, chest still heaving from the sobs.

He doesn’t follow. Not right away. He slams the door shut and walks away from the car–toward the front, maybe, but he stops. His silhouette paces in the headlights, arms tense at his sides, jaw working like he’s chewing on his rage.

You watch him through the window. Curled in the corner of the backseat, legs pulled up to your chest. You don’t move. Don’t breathe too loud. You just wait. Watching him from behind the glass, wondering what he’s going to do next. And hoping–despite everything–that he doesn’t leave you.

You flinch when the driver’s side door yanks open, your whole body tensing like he might throw you out again. But he doesn’t say anything. He gets in, slams the door, and starts the engine. The car rumbles to life, headlights slicing through the dark stretch of nowhere ahead of you. Gravel crunches as he pulls back onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting tensely on the gearshift.

It’s silent.

You sit curled in the back, sniffling quietly, watching the back of his head. The tremble in your hands hasn’t gone away. Then slowly–tentatively–you reach forward between the front seats. Your fingers brush against his forearm. He doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t grab you either. You rest your hand there, gently, like a dog trying not to get kicked.

He drives. The wind outside is loud. The night feels endless. Your voice is small when it comes. “Can I see them?”

He doesn’t look at you. “See what?”

“The girls,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “The ones you’re talking to.”

A pause, sharp. Like he’s trying to figure out where you’re going with this. “Why?”

“I just wanna know,” you mumble. “If you wanna fuck them…it’s okay. I won’t be mad.”

He laughs once–cold and dismissive. “Already have.” The words hit like ice water down your spine. Your hand stays where it is. You don’t pull away. You nod, even though he’s not looking.

“Okay.”

Your throat burns. Something inside you twists and knots and begs to scream–but you swallow it. You press your cheek against the edge of the seat and keep your fingers curled lightly on his arm. “What can I do to make this better?” you ask, softer now. “Tell me what to do.”

Nam Gyu still doesn’t answer. But his jaw ticks once. The car keeps moving. And your hand doesn’t leave his skin. The silence stretches out until it hurts. Your fingers twitch slightly against his arm, unsure if you’re allowed to keep touching him. But he doesn’t shake you off.

Eventually, he exhales–sharp, bitter–and says: “You wanna make it better?”

Your eyes flick up. He’s staring straight ahead, voice low, dead calm now in a way that’s so much worse than his screaming. “Then start by shutting the fuck up. I don’t wanna hear another word unless it’s ‘yes, Nam Gyu’ or you’re choking on your own spit trying to thank me for not dumping your pathetic ass on the side of the road.”

Your heart stutters. You nod quickly, whispering: “Yes, Nam Gyu.”

His hand tightens on the wheel. “Good girl,” he mutters, and it’s not praise. It’s mockery. You cling to it anyway. The silence returns. But this time, it feels like you’re on a leash–short, tight, like he could yank it any second and choke the breath out of you. Then without looking at you, he adds, “If I feel generous later, maybe I’ll let you clean my shoes with your mouth. Since you’re already so fucking comfortable on your knees.”

Your face burns with shame, but you still manage, “Yes, Nam Gyu.”

He finally lets out a cruel, dismissive chuckle. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t say a word as he pulls into the garage. Just cuts the engine, gets out, and slams the door. You scramble after him, hurrying to keep up like some obedient little pet. He doesn’t even glance at you as he unlocks the door, strides inside, and leaves it open behind him like he knows you’ll follow.

You do. As soon as the door shuts behind you, you whisper, “Gyu…please–”

That’s all it takes. He spins on you so fast your breath catches. His hand is in your hair before you can blink, dragging your head back, mouth inches from yours. “Please what?” he growls, eyes wild. “Please punish you? Please remind you who the fuck you belong to? Is that what you want?”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. His grip tightens, and you whimper, eyes glassy. “Answer me.”

“Yes–yes, Nam Gyu. Please. I am so sorry–” He kisses you, brutal, all teeth and no mercy. There’s nothing gentle about it–just frustration and control and something venomous between his teeth. He shoves you backward, and your spine hits the wall with a thud. His hands are already on your clothes, dragging them off without finesse, without care.

“Take it off faster or I’ll rip it,” he snaps. You fumble to obey, shaking fingers unbuttoning, unzipping, pulling fabric away in a blind mess. He watches like a man possessed–hungry, furious, eyes flashing like he could devour you and still be unsatisfied.

“You know what the worst part is?” he snarls, shoving your underwear down with no warning. “You act like you hate how I treat you. Cry about it. Beg. But you keep coming back. You keep fucking crawling and now look at you–look at you, baby girl.”

He fists a hand in your hair again and forces you to look at your reflection in the hallway mirror. “Tell me what you see.”

Your voice shakes. “Y-your girl. I’m your girl, Gyu–”

He cuts you off by dragging you toward the bedroom. “No. You’re my toy. My fucking property. And tonight, you’re gonna make up for running your mouth and embarrassing me.”

You nod so fast it makes your neck ache. “Anything. Please, I’ll do anything–”

He throws you onto the bed like you weigh nothing. “Yeah,” he mutters, rolling his sleeves up, stalking toward you. “You will.” He yanks you to the edge of the bed, gripping your thighs like it’s his right.

“Look at you. Fucking pathetic. Still wet after everything, aren’t you?” 

“Please–”

“No. Don’t even try.” His palm crack against your cheek–not hard enough to hurt, but enough to shock you, to shut you up. You flinch, and he grabs your jaw. “You run your mouth at the club, you humiliate me in front of everyone, and now you wanna beg for my attention?”

“I didn’t mean–”

“Shut up.” Nam Gyu spits on your face–hot and sudden, splattering across your cheek lips. You freeze, it makes him grin. “That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? Letting me spit on you. Fuck you. Treat you like the little whore you are.”

Your face burns, shame prickling beneath your skin, but you don’t wipe it away. You can’t. All you can do is look up at him, eyes glassy, mouth open like you’re still trying to prove something. Still trying to win back a scrap of favor. “Fucking perfect,” he mutters. “Not even flinching now. You like it, don’t you?”

You nod, just barely as you tremble. “Say it.”

“I like it when you spit on me…”

“Of course you do.” He drags you down to your knees on the floor, towering over you. “You want to be used? Like the worthless little bitch you are?”

“Yes–yes, I’ll do anything.”

“Then shut up and open your mouth.” And you do. You let him treat you like nothing–his hand in your hair, your throat used until you gag. He wipes your face roughly, smearing spit and tears together until it’s all just a mess. Until you’re just a mess.

But the more you take it–really take it–the more his sneer twists into something almost proud. When he finally pulls you up off your knees, he looks at you differently. Still rough, still disgusted–but there’s a sick sort of fondness bleeding in under it all. “Look at you.”

You can barely meet his gaze. Humiliated, ruined, willing. “Good girl,” he breathes, finally–soft and low like a secret. “Took you long enough.”

You’re still on your knees when he finally pulls back, panting, satisfied, watching you from above like you’re something pitiful. His hand tangles in your hair for a moment longer, holding you in place as your eyes water and your mouth stays parted, the taste of him still heavy on your tongue.

He exhales a low laugh. “Thank me for letting you suck my cock.”

You blink up at him but quickly say, “Thank you, Gyu. Thank you for letting me suck your cock.” 

It makes him smirk, and he leans down to wipe your mouth with his thumb like he’s cleaning a mess off a table. “Now put some fucking clothes on.” He turns away like he’s done with you–like you’re dismissed–and strips out of his pants, leaving only his boxers and a loose t-shirt. He climbs into bed and doesn’t spare you another glance, one arm behind his head as he lays there, calm and untouchable.

You don’t move for a moment. Your knees hurt. Your face is hot. You finally pull on one of his shirts from the floor and quietly make your way to the foot of the bed. You hesitate. Clear your throat. “Can I…can I lay with you?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, a disinterested grunt that counts as permission. You climb into bed beside him, careful not to touch him. You lay on your back, arms tight against your sides, trying to breathe shallowly like he won’t notice you if you’re quiet enough.

But of course he does. “You’re pathetic,” he mutters suddenly. Not looking at you. Just stating it like he’s talking about the weather. “So desperate. Like a stray dog I fed once and now can’t get rid of.”

You nod. “I know,” you mumble.

“And you like it. That’s the sick part. You fucking love how I treat you.”

Your voice trembles, but you answer anyway. “I do.” 

He turns his head now, finally looking at you–expression sharp even in the dark. “You like being used. Like being talked down to. Makes you feel special, doesn’t it?”

You nod again, “Yes.”

“Say it.”

You swallow. “It makes me feel special. When you treat me like that.” 

He laughs under his breath. “Jesus Christ. You’d let me spit on you again right now and call it a gift.”

You don’t even hesitate. “I would.” There’s a beat of silence. Then he exhales and rolls over, back turned to you. Like the conversation never happened. But you stay exactly where you are–still, quiet, obedient. Hoping he doesn't send you away. Hoping he’ll keep you tonight.

a/n - listen, we all know nam gyu is a dirty, toxic boy...but I can't help my love for him

[sillylilsquid]

where the light finds you

pairing - hyun-ju x reader summary - After your secret relationship with Hyun-ju is exposed, everything falls apart. Lost and ready to give up, you call the only person who’s ever truly seen you. In the quiet that follows, she helps you build something new—soft, safe, and entirely yours. warnings - au!hyun-ju, afab!reader, homophobia, suicidal thoughts, transphobia, angsty angst!! 18+ minors dni 3.6k words

You met Hyun-ju at a convenience store in late autumn. She was standing behind the counter with chipped black nail polish and a tired look in her eyes that you mistook for boredom–until she cracked a joke under her breath and smirked at you like she already knew your whole life story.

You didn’t know you were going to fall for her. You just wanted your change.

But then you started coming back. First once a week, then twice. Then every night you could sneak out without raising suspicion. You never bought much–ramen, gum, a bottle of soda–but she always rang you up with something extra. A soft smile. A quiet question. A lingering glance that made your chest ache in ways you weren’t ready to name.

You liked girls. You’d known for a while. You’d just gotten good at pretending otherwise. Hyun-ju didn’t ask you to say it out loud. She just waited. Waited until one night in the alley behind the store, when you both stepped out for air and she offered you her lighter and you didn't even smoke but you took it anyway, fingers brushing hers. And then she leaned in, slow and careful, and said, “If I kiss you right now, are you gonna lie to yourself tomorrow?”

And you whispered, “I won’t lie.” She kissed you. That was the beginning. 

You’ve been together for seven months now. Quietly. Carefully. Not because you’re ashamed, but because you don’t have the privilege not to be. Your parents don’t just disapprove of people like Hyun-ju–they don’t believe she should exist. And if they knew you were gay? You’ve heard them talk about it before. “Brainwashed.” “Western disease.” “Sinners.”

So you lie. Every day. You lie to survive. You lie to keep her safe. You lie to protect the one real thing you’ve ever had in this world.

You tell them you’re studying with friends when you go to her apartment. You hide the texts. You delete the photos. You’ve become an expert in invisibility. 

But when you’re with her? You’re seen.

She traces your cheek with her knuckles like you’re made of porcelain. She kisses you slowly, reverently, like she’s grateful you exist. When she says your name, it’s always soft–never a demon, always a promise.

Hyun-ju never makes you feel wrong. That’s what makes it so dangerous. That’s what makes it so sacred. That’s why it hurts so much when it all comes crashing down.

Hyun-ju makes you ramen in her tiny kitchen while humming a song you don’t recognize. The space smells like broth and garlic and a little bit like the perfume you accidentally left behind last week. Her hoodie hangs off one shoulder as she stirs the pot, and you watch the curve of her neck like you’ll never see it again.

You’re sitting on the counter, swinging your feet like a kid, cheeks warm from the heater–and from her. You reach out and tug her sleeve, just to make her turn and look at you. 

She does. Always does. “You’re staring,” she teases, grinning without looking away.

“So?” you shrug.

Hyun-ju steps closer. Her fingers brush your knee. “So, come here.” You kiss her like the world’s not waiting to punish you for it. You fall asleep in her arms that night, curled under a weighted blanket on her couch, listening to her heartbeat through her chest.

The next day, you go home. You’re a little late, but no one notices at first. You head upstairs, heart still soft from the night before, and plug your phone into the wall. You don’t notice it’s unlocked. You don’t notice the message that just came in from Hyun-ju until it’s too late.

baby text me when ur home safe, ok? i love you

You hear your mother’s voice behind you–sharp, confused. “Who is this?”

You turn. She’s holding your phone. Her eyes are scanning the screen like it’s a foreign language she wants to set on fire. Your stomach drops. “Give it back,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

She doesn’t. She scrolls, and sees everything. Photos, messages. One where you’re holding Hyun-ju’s hang. Another where she’s kissing your cheek. Then she says your name in that low, furious tone. Like you’re not her daughter anymore. “Is this some kind of joke?”

You don’t answer. “Is she a man? What is this?” Then, “You’re…you’re with a tranny? Is that what this is?”

The word slices through the air like a slap. You feel it in your chest, in your spine. “Don’t say that,” you snap. “Don’t ever say that.”

But your father’s in the room now too. And the shouting starts. It’s all at once–accusations, disgust, disbelief. “How long has this been going on?” “What the hell is wrong with you?” “Is this why you’ve been sneaking out?” “You’re sick.”

You try to explain. You try to shout back. You try to tell them she’s not what they think, that she’s kind, that she saved you, that she loves you. But they don't hear you.

They don’t want to. Your mother is crying like you died. Your father is yelling like he wants you gone. Then he says the final blow: “Get out of this house. Not while you’re living like this. Not while you’re throwing your life away for a man pretending to be a woman.”

And something in you breaks. Something loud and quiet at the same time. You grab your jacket. You snatch your phone. You don’t know where you’re going. Only that you can’t stay. Only that there’s nowhere left to call home.

Rain pounds against your skin like a thousand tiny knives. Your clothes are soaked through, sticking cold and heavy to your body. Your shoes squelch with every step, but you don’t care. You don’t think. You just move forward, away from the shouting, the accusations, the broken love you can’t fix.

The city lights blur through the sheets of rain, and the cold seeps past your ribs, curling around your heart. You want to disappear. You want to stop hurting. You want the storm inside you to quiet.

You find yourself at teh edge of the bridge you’ve always avoided. The one your parents warned you never to go near. You sit on the cold metal rail, legs dangling over the side. The wind claws at your hair. Your hands shake as you try to swing your legs over, to step off and finally let go–but your body won’t cooperate. Fear, numbness, exhaustion hold you in place.

Minutes stretch on like hours. Your phone slips from your pocket onto your lap. You barely register it until it lights up. You text her. Just one word.

Help.

She calls you immediately. She heard the silence of your voice and the loud, pounding rain. The ragged breathe. The thunder. “Where are you? Please, baby–stay there. I’m coming. I’ll be right there.”

You close your eyes, clutch the railing, and hope someone will reach you before it’s too late.

You’re not sure how long has passed when you hear the sound of footsteps splashing through puddles, uneven but desperate. Your heart lurches–part of you wants to run, but your body is rooted, trembling on the cold metal rail of the bridge. The wind tears at your soaked hair and presses icy fingers into your skin, urging you forward, toward the darkness below.

A voice breaks through the roar of the rain, cracking with fear and urgency. “Please…don’t.” 

You don’t turn around. You barely breathe, barely think. Your toes curl over the edge. Another step. Then another. Then hands–gently, trembling–reach out, palms raised as if to say I'm here, and I won't hurt you.

“Hey. Hey.” Hyun-ju’s voice is low but fierce. She stops just a breath away, careful not to crowd you, but close enough you can feel the heat of her body despite the cold. Her eyes lock with yours, searching for the flicker of something beyond the darkness. She takes a slow, steady breath, her hands rising slowly, palms open, safe. “Don’t move any closer. Not yet. Please.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, heart hammering against your ribs like a warning. The void below seems to call to you, promising relief, quiet, nothingness. But her gaze holds you. Not with anger or fear–but with pure, raw love. “Look at me,” she says softly, voice barely louder than the rain. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

She moves a fraction closer, still holding her hands out, steady and open. “I know you’re hurting. I know it feels like the word is crushing you.” Her fingers brush a wet strand of hair from your face, her touch light but anchoring. “But I swear to  you–you’re not broken. You’re not a burden. You are more than the darkness trying to pull you in.”

You close your eyes, the tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. Her voice softens, urgent but gentle. “Please, come back from the edge. Let me hold you. Let me fight with you, for you.”

Your body trembles uncontrollably. The edge is so close–so easy to slip over. Her hands move slowly now, resting on your shoulders, grounding you. “Stay here with me. Just for now. Just a little longer.”

And before you try to move away, she’s tugging you back. Her strong arms wrapped tightly around you as she pulls you off the rail and onto the concrete. Her forehead presses to yours. Her breath is warm, steadying. Her presence, a lifeline in the storm. You lean into her, trembling, and for the first time in hours, the urge to fall away begins to fade. Because she’s here. Because she sees you. Because maybe, just maybe, love is enough.

Hyun-ju takes your hand, fingers intertwining with yours, cold but alive. “We’re going back,” she says, voice gentle but resolute. “You’re not alone.”

You nod, unable to speak, your body trembling with exhaustion and relief. The drive back is short, but seems to drag on. The city blurs around you: street lights smeared by rain, distant cars humming through puddles, the faint echo of life continuing despite your pain.

Her grip never loosens. Every so often, she squeezes your hand, silent encouragement in the night. When you finally reach her apartment, she kicks the door open with her soaked boots and locks the door behind you. 

All you hear is the distant thunder, and the soft drip of water trailing from your clothes onto the floor. You’re standing there–soaked to the bone, arms limp at your sides, eyes distant.

Hyun-ju watches you for a beat, her chest rising and falling too fast. You can tell she wants to cry, maybe scream, but she doesn’t. Instead, she exhales through her nose and grips your wrist with just enough pressure to keep you tethered. “Come one,” she says, voice on the edge of steady and wavering. “Shower. Now.”

You don’t respond. Don’t nod. Don’t resist.

She pulls you gently through the apartment, straight to the bathroom. The lights are too warm, too yellow. Your reflection in the mirror is a stranger–eyes red rimmed, lips pale, soaked closer clinging like a second skin.

Hyun-ju shuts the door behind you both. The moment she turns to you again, she softens. Her hands find the hem of your shirt. “You’re freezing,” she murmurs. “Let me help.”

You still don’t speak. Your fingers twitch at your sides, but you don’t move to stop her. She peels off your jacket, layer by layer, careful with your arms like you’re bruised all over. Maybe you are. Not physically, but somewhere deeper–beneath the skin, where her fingers can’t reach but her presence still tries to heal.

Your shirt hits the tiled floor with a wet slap. She avoids your eyes as she undoes the button of your jeans, lips pressed tight. Her breath stutters once–just once–as she slides the damp denim down your legs, then helps you step out of them. “I’ve got you,” she whispers, like it’s a promise.

When you’re bare, shivering, arms crossed loosely over your chest, Hyun-ju steps around you and turns on the shower. The rush of hot water fills the silence like static. She tests the temperature with her hand, then opens the glass door. “In you go,” she says softly, her hand brushing your back to guide you in.

You step in like sleepwalking. The heat crashes over you all at once, steam rising, clinging to the fogged-up glass. Your skin prickles and stings as it wakes back up. You stand there, head bowed, arms loose at your side as the water runs down your spine.

Hyun-ju doesn’t leave. She kneels outside the shower, her palm pressed gently to the glass. She doesn’t look away from you, even when you close your eyes, even when your knees finally buckle and you slide down to sit under the spray, curling in on yourself.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, voice a little cracked now. “I’m staying right here.”

The water runs and runs. And even though you haven’t said a word, something deep inside you finally starts to thaw.

The water finally turns off. You don’t even remember reaching for the knob, but your fingers are wrinkled and raw. The steam curls around your head like a dream, and you sit there a moment longer, letting the silence breathe.

The glass door opens with a soft creak. Hyun-ju’s there, holding a fluffy towel open like a pair of arms. “Come here,” she says quietly.

You step out with shaky legs. She wraps you in the towel, tucking it gently around your shoulders, then uses another to blot the water from your hair, being careful not to press too hard. Like you’ll shatter.

You still don’t say a word. You don't need to. Not yet. Hyun-ju helps you dress–drying your limbs, pulling the hoodie over your head like you’re a child again, like she’s done this before, like she will again if she has to.

You don’t resist. You don’t flinch. But you don't help either. You’re just…there. Empty.

She guides you to the bed and lifts the blanket. You slide beneath it, small and curled like maybe you can disappear into the sheets. The mattress shifts as she climbs in beside you. She doesn’t touch you, not at first–just sits close enough that you can feel her warmth. Waiting. Present.

Then comes the soft patter of tiny paws across the room. Her little gray cat hops onto the bed, eyes wide, tail flicking curiously. He’s fluffy, round, and immediately curls up against your stomach.

Hyun-ju lets out a breath–almost a laugh. Softy and wobbly. “Muffin wants to help you too.” You blink, eyes still glassy. She leans in just a little, resting her chin on her hand as hse watches the two of you.

Muffin lets out a tiny mrrp and nuzzles your hoodie, his little body a warm pressure against yours. It’s sutpid–tiny, maybe. But something in your chest shifts. A crack. A breathe. You press your fingers into Muffin’s fur. He purrs, soft and steayd, like a motor in a quiet room.

Hyun-ju watches you for a long moment, her expression unreadable, but her eyes…her eyes are full of relief. And fear. And love. “Can I hold you?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

You nod. She slides closer, wrapping an arm around your waist as if to keep you tethered here, in this moment. Your back presses to her chest. Her hand finds yours beneath the blanket.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she whispers against your hair.

You know. You know, but still, it hits you like a stone in your throat. “I’m sorry,” you whisper back, voice cracked and tin. 

She presses a kiss into your damp hair. “You’re here,” she says. “That’s all I care about.” And finally–finally–you let your body rest. Not because the pain’s gone. But because you’re not alone in it anymore.

The apartment is quiet now. The only sounds are the low hum of the radiator, the muffled rain still falling against the windows, and the gentle purring of Muffin, nestled against your stomach like a warm little stone.

“They found out.” You muttered.

She doesn’t ask who. She doesn’t need to. “My mom went through my phone. I forgot to delete…I don’t know, something. A message. A photo of us. Doesn’t matter.” Your voice is hoarse. “They said horrible shit. About you. About me. About…everything.”

You feel Hyun-ju exhale, slow and long behind you. Her arm tightens just slightly around your middle, like she could shield you even now, even from something that already happened. “I figured,” she replies softly. “I assumed that’s what it was.”

You nod into the pillow. “I tried to fight back. I tried to explain. But they didn’t care. It’s like they didn’t even see me. Just…saw something they hated. Something disgusting.” You go quiet again, words catching in your throat. Your fingers curl into Muffin’s fur.

“They don’t deserve you,” she says, barely more than a whisper. “Not if that’s how they look at you. Not if they could throw you away just for loving someone.”

Your throat tightens. “I didn’t even tell them you’re trans,” you whisper. “They wouldn’t have cared. Me being a girl who loves girls was enough for them.”

Hyun-ju is quiet for a long time. Her hand slides up your arm, slow, soothing. “I’m so fucking sorry,” she finally says. “I wish I could take it all from you. I’d carry it if I could.”

A few silent tears slip from your eyes, soaking into  the pillow beneath your cheek. But they're different now. Not from the same hopeless palace. These are tears that come when someone sees you and stays.

You turn your head just enough to look at her. Her eyes are soft, rimmed with worry, but there’s a fierceness there too. A kind of love that doesn't back down, even when the world tries to make it feel wrong.

“I wanted to call you,” you murmur. “But I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

Hyun-ju doesn’t even blink. “I would’ve come even if you didn’t call. I would’ve found you.” She tucks your hair behind your ear, her thumb brushing your cheek. “And I’ll keep showing up. Every time. As long as you need me.”

It makes your chest ache. But this time, it’s from something other than pain. You nod. Let yourself believe it. Just a little. Muffin purrs louder, like he’s proud of both of you. Like maybe you’re going to be okay.

It’s been a few weeks. The cold hasn’t gone, not completely–not from the air, not from your chest–but the world feels different now. Softer around the edges. Lighter.

You’re living with Hyun-ju now in her small, one bedroom apartment. What started as a silent, teary night in her bed because something closer to a beginning. She took time off work without asking–just made the call and stayed close, like it was the easiest decision in the world.

When you told her you didn’t want to go home–not even to grab your things–she didn’t argue. Just slipped her hand into yours and said, “Then we’ll get new ones.”

You went shopping the next day, wrapped in a too big hoodie and nerves like raw wire. She pushed the cart while you slowly picked out pieces that felt like yours; soft things, warm things, clothes that hugged your skin instead of making you feel like a stranger in your own life. She insisted on letting you pick the toothbrush color. You ended up choosing a yellow one–bright, sunny, hopeful.

Hyun-ju made space for you. Literally.

Cleared out drawers, cleared off half the closet, shoved things around in the bathroom so you’d have your own spot. She even gave you the left side of the bed without a word, like it had always been yours.

And Muffin? Muffin claimed you immediately. He curls up on your chest every night now like you’re the most sacred pillow he’s ever known. You think he was the first one who believed you were staying.

Hyun-ju and you go out more, too. At first it was terrifying–restaurants, bookstores, even just walking down the sidewalk with her pinky brushing yours. You flinched the first time she kissed your cheek in public, heart racing, eyes darting like someone might yell at you.

But no one did. No one stared. Some people smiled. And slowly you began to understand, the world isn’t your parents. It isn’t the house you left behind. It’s this–Hyun-ju’s hand warm in yours, sunlight in your hair, laughter spilling out between mouthfuls of dumplings in a cafe that doesn’t care who you love.

You’re not completely healed. There are still days where the shadows feel too close. But now there’s always someone beside you–someone who hands you tea with both hands and kisses your forehead when you can’t meet her eyes.

Someone who stayed. 

Tonight, she’s curled up next to you on the couch, legs tangled, Muffin snoring on your lap. A movie plays low in the background, forgotten. Hyun-ju traces lazy circles on the inside of your wrist, like she always does when she’s trying to tell you she loves you without saying it out loud.

“I’m proud of you,” she murmurs, eyes still on your skin. “You’re doing so good.” You don’t cry. Not this time. You smile instead. Lean in, kiss her cheek, and whisper, “I love you.” And for once, you believe you’re allowed to say it out loud.

author's note - here's a shortie for you! some angst with a happy ending is always my fav! work has been insane lately (yay for vet med!) but I am getting back into the swing of writing! more to come soon!!

[sillylilsquid]

𝒹ℯ𝓋𝒾𝓁 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌

pairing - nam gyu x reader summary - You were sweet. Too sweet for Nam Gyu. He knew it the moment he met you—innocent, wide-eyed, everything he didn’t deserve. But he wanted you anyway. Wanted you at his side, even when it meant pulling you into the dark. Through drug deals, bloodstained shirts, sex tapes, and strip club sins, you stayed. Now you’re his. And he’ll destroy anyone who dares touch you. warnings - au!nam gyu, afab!reader, degradation, public humiliation, threesome, nam gyu being nam gyu explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni!! 10k words a/n - I love nam gyu so much wtf. hehe enjoy!!

You didn’t want to go to the party that night.

Your friend begged you into it, promising it would be “chill”–just a few people, a little music, drinks if you wanted them. But the second you stepped inside the dim apartment, pulsing with low bass and laughter too loud for a Tuesday night, you regretted it.

You stuck close to the wall, clutching your phone like it might save you. You didn’t know anyone here. You were too dressed up. Or not dressed up enough. You couldn’t tell. You just wanted to leave.

That’s when he saw you.

Nam Gyu leaned against the kitchen counter, black hoodie unzipped, silver rings glinting on his fingers as he nursed a drink he hadn’t even touched. He was bored. He came to these parties out of habit more than interest. But then you walked in–wide eyed, shy, pretty–and it was like a switch flipped in him.

You looked lost. Soft. Out of place.

He made his way toward you slowly, like a hunter not wanting to startle prey.

“You good?” he asked, voice low, eyes scanning your face like he already knew the answer.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just waiting for my friend.”

“You don’t know anyone here, do you?”

“...No.”

He tilted his head. Smirked. “Then stick with me.”

You hesitated. He stepped closer. “I’ll keep you safe.”

That night, Nam Gyu never left your side. He never let anyone else get too close. He made sure your drink stayed full, that you hand stayed warm in his. And when you yawned around midnight and said you were tired, he walked you out himself, gave you his number, and kissed the back of your hand like a gentleman who had no business being that charming.

Now

You’re in his passenger seat now, thighs sticky against the leather, soft dress riding high on your legs. There’s lip gloss smeared at the corner of your mouth, and you don’t even notice. He does.

He notices everything.

“You always wear this when you want something, don’t you?” Nam Gyu hums, fingers brushing over your bare thigh. “My sweet little angel.”

You nod before you think to answer, and he smiles like a wolf.

You’ve been his for months now–long enough that people whisper when they see you with him, long enough that your friends don’t ask where you disappear to for days at a time. They don’t want to know.

You go where he goes. To his place. His car. His errands. Even the ones that end in dark alleyways and heavy duffel bags. He never lets you out of his sight. And when he’s not there, you feel hollow.

But he always comes back. He always takes care of you.

You’re his good girl.

“You sure about this, baby?” Nam Gyu asks as he shuts the car door behind you. His voice is low, even, but his eyes flick toward you–sharp and calculating under the streetlight.

You nod, nervous but stubborn. “I just want to be with you.”

He chuckles, brushing his thumb over your lips. “Even when it’s ugly?” He glances down the alleyway where two men are waiting. “Even when I’m not your sweet Nam Gyu, just the monster who makes people disappear?”

You swallow and nod again.

His smile is slow and dangerous. “Alright. But here’s the rule, angel.”

His hand curls around your jaw, not tight–just enough to make you listen. “You keep that pretty mouth shut. You don’t say a word. You don’t look at them. You stay by the car. And if you’re good–real good–I’ll give you a reward.”

You press your thighs together. “I’ll ruin you so bad you’ll forget your own name,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “That sound nice?”

You manage a soft little, “yes sir,” and he hums like he’s satisfied.

You stay where he told you–seat pushed back just enough to give you some cover, head turned to the side as Nam Gyu steps out of the car. His demeanor changes instantly: relaxed but unreadable, hands shoved into his coat pockets as he strolls up to the two men waiting beside a warehouse.

They talk quietly. No smiles, no greetings. One guy lifts a briefcase. Nam Gyu checks it, gives a short nod, then motions to his own jacket–passing off something that glints under the dim light.

It’s fast. Efficient. Clinical.

You know this world doesn’t scare him. But the thought of something going wrong, of him not walking back to the car–it twists your stomach into knots. You have to force your hands to stay in your lap.

But then he’s striding back toward you, unbothered, cracking his neck like it was just another Thursday night. He slides into the driver’s seat and glances at you sideways.

“You alright, baby?”

You nod quickly, but your heart is racing. He reaches out and runs a hand through your hair. “You did good. Real good.”

And the way he says it? It lights a fire in your gut.

It’s not even ten minutes later when you’re bent over the hood of the car in some secluded backlot, the city lights just faint in the distance. Your dress is hiked up, your face flushed, and Nam Gyu is right behind you, fucking into you slow and deep.

“You didn’t make a sound,” he groans, brushing your hair from your sweaty cheek. “Didn’t move. You’re my perfect girl, you know that.”

Your moan is all breath and need, hands sliding across the car’s cool metal for something to hold on to.

He grins, pulling out his phone. “Smile for me, baby.”

The camera clicks on. His voice dips into a murmur. “Look at this. My angel–makeup smudged, drool on her chin, taking my cock like it’s the only thing she’s ever wanted. You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

You gasp when he reaches forward, thumbing over your swollen lips.

“This video’s just for me,” he whispers. “So I don’t forget how you look when you’re ruined.”

His free hand slips between your legs, and you’re gone–crying out his name, shaking as the pleasure rolls through you. And afterward, when he lifts you up and sets you in his lap in the back seat, he kisses you soft and sweet. Wipes the tears from your cheeks. Tucks your hair behind your ears. 

The phone buzzes. 

“Saved,” he says with a smirk. “Think I’ll watch that next time you’re not around to fuck me stupid.”

You only stepped away for a second.

Nam Gyu had gone to take a call–something business related, something he didn’t want you hearing. You understood. You always did. So you waited near the back hallways of the bar, tucked between the restroom signs and a neon beer logo humming overhead.

That’s where Jihoon found you.

“You look bored,” he said smoothly, stepping in too close, his cologne sharp and cloying.

You straightened up, uneasy. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.” His smirk deepend. “Didn’t expect Nam Gyu’s girl to be so…obedient.”

You blinked. “What?”

Jihoon looked you over, dark eyes gleaming with knowledge that made your stomach twist. He had joked earlier, “you always keep her so quiet, hyung,. Must be doing something right,” but now, now he wasn’t joking.

You stepped back. “Excuse me, I need to–”

“I get why you don’t talk much. I’d keep my mouth full too if he fucked me like that,” Jihoon drawled. “Took me a while to figure out it was you in that video, but once I did…Goddamn.”

Your blood ran cold.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Your mind spun with horror. The video–that video–Nam Gyu said no one else would ever see it. You were on your knees in it, ruined and messy and sobbing through moans, begging for him while he praised you like you were made of gold.

Jihoon winked.

You pushed past him, heart racing, almost falling over your own feet as you found Nam Gyu leaning against the bar, scrolling through his phone. He glanced up, ready to tease you for looking so rattled–but his expression shifted the second he saw your face.

You didn’t have to say anything. Just whispered, “he saw it,” and Nam Gyu turned to stone.

Which one? He didn’t ask. What did he say? He didn’t need to.

Jihoon was still by the hallways, sipping his drink like he owned the place. Nam Gyu moved so fast you almost didn’t catch it.

The glass in Jihoon’s hand shattered first–Nam Gyu’s fist collided with his face, then again, then again. It wasn’t a fight. It was a punishment. It was a goddamn reckoning.

Shouts erupted. People scrambled.

Nam Gyu had Jihoon on the floor, blood splattered across his knuckles, his voice venomous as he snarled, “You watched something that didn’t belong to you.”

Jihoon coughed, wheezing. 

“You looked at her,” Nam Gyu seethed. “Talked to her. Thought I wouldn’t find out?”

You reached him only after two other men pulled him off. His chest heaved. Blood dripped from his hand, and his eyes–his eyes looked like they’d kill again if you gave him the word.

And then his gaze fell on you.

You. Shaking, scared. Clutching your arms like they could keep you from falling apart.

He crossed to you in two strides, cupped your cheeks with his bloodied hands like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I didn’t send it. I swear–”

“I know, baby. I know.”

He hissed your forehead. Then your lips. Then your jaw, breath stuttering with how close he’d come to losing his mind. “You’re mine,” he said. “They don't get to see what’s mine.”

You don’t speak on the ride home.

Nam Gyu’s knuckles are still red. The inside of his palm split open in one place, blood smeared across his fingers. You keep your hands in your lap, your head resting against the window, eyes unfocused. But you feel him glance at you every few seconds–checking. Watching. Like he doesn’t quite trust the silence.

The moment the door shuts behind you, his hand catches your wrist. “Wait.”

You pause, turning toward him.

“There’s blood,” he says, thumb brushing along your jaw. “From me. On your face.”

You blink, and he curses under his breath, not at you–never at you–but at himself. 

“Go shower, baby. Please. I’ll get your clothes, alright?”

You nod, and the moment stretches. He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, just beside the smear. Then another, at the corner of your mouth. His voice is hoarse when he murmurs, “Don’t lock the door.”

The water is hot. You sit on the tile floor with steam curling around you like a cocoon. You scrub at the dried blood, the sweat, the fear. You breathe. And when you step out wrapped in a towel, Nam Gyu is already there–waiting on the edge of the bed with clean clothes folded beside him and a bottle of water in his hands.

He helps you dress like you’re fragile porcelain. Pulls the shirt over your head. Brushes your damp hair back with careful fingers. Covers your thighs with one of his hoodies when you climb into his lap.

“You were so good today,” he whispers against your shoulder. “So brave.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, and he pulls you in tighter, like he’s trying to tuck you inside him.

“I’ll never let anyone near you again. I swear.”

You bury your face in his chest and nod, your voice muffled. “I know.”

He presses kiss after kiss to your skin–your neck, your cheek, your temple–until your breathing evens out and your body starts to relax.

“Next time, I’ll kill the fucker.” he says quietly, more to himself than you.

You’re curled up against him on the couch, one of his hoodies swallowing you whole, your legs across his lap. The movie you picked is playing, but neither of you have paid attention in twenty minutes.

Nam Gyu’s hand drifts up your thigh, slow and casual. His phone buzzes once–then again–and he sighs, unlocking it lazily.

“Still talking about that video,” he mutters under his breath, tilting the screen away from you. “Motherfucker’s lucky I didn’t break his jaw.”

You glance up at him. “You didn’t delete it?”

He looks at you for a beat. Then smirks, “Why would I delete this?”

He turns the screen to face you. 

It’s you, on your knees. Barely dressed, lips wrapped around his cock, tears in your lashes, drool slicking your chin while he praises you between low moans. You let out the tiniest sound–something between embarrassment and heat–and your thighs press together without thinking.

“Look at you,” Nam Gyu says softly, his tone dark and full of pride. “No wonder he wanted to watch this. You’re fucking hot, baby girl. Look at you.” He swipes forward. “This one–fuck, this angle. Your eyes? The way you choke around me? How could I not keep this?”

You squirm in place, hands twisting in the fabric of his hoodie. “Gyu…” you whisper, breath catching in your throat.

“What?” he asks, sliding a hand beneath the hoodie and up your bare stomach. “You embarrassed? You looked so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth, baby. That’s not embarrassing, that’s my good girl.”

You let out a desperate whimper and rock your hips forward, needy and flushed and trembling.

“Need something?” he asks, still watching the video like it’s art. “You were begging in this one, too. Just like you’re doing now.”

“Gyu,” you whine. “Please.”

That gets his attention. He tosses his phone aside and grabs your hips, pulling you fully into his lap. You straddle him. Flushed and aching, and he kisses you hard–possessive and rough, tongue deep in your mouth like he owns it. Because he does.

“You want to be good for me again?” he breathes, pressing his cock against you through his sweats. “Wanna make another, pretty girl?”

You nod frantically. “Yes, yes please–”

“Then you earn it,” he growls.

His lips trail down your neck, tongue hot, teeth grazing. One hand cups the back of your head, fingers tangling tight in your hair as he pulls just enough to make you gasp.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “My perfect little fucktoy. Bet you’d let me do anything right now, wouldn’t you?”

You nod frantically, hips grinding against his clothed cock. His grip tightens. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you pant. “Anything.”

He chuckles and drags his thumb along your jaw before sliding it down to press against your throat.

“Anything, huh?” His voice drops into a filthy rasp. “Then tell me what you want. What position, baby? You want it soft and slow on the bed? Bent over the couch like a whore? On your knees while I fuck your throat again?”

You squirm, so needy it hurts. “I–I want–”

“Spit it out,” he growls, his hand tightening just enough around your neck to make you flutter. “Tell me or I’ll make you beg for an hour.”

“I want you to bed me over,” you cry. “Please, please, I want it from behind–I need you so bad–”

“Oh, fuck.” He groans, cock twitching against you. “See? That’s what I like. Begging and filthy. Just like my girl should be.”

He presses you down on the couch, flipping you with ease, his hand sliding up your back as he yanks the hoodie up and over your ass.

“You think I should film this one?” he says casually as he slides his cock against your dripping pussy. “Send it to that little fuck who wanted to see you. Let him watch while I make you cum again and again.”

You whimper, voice breaking. “Please–”

“Or better yet…” he leans over you, lips brushing your ear. “I could make so much money posting this online. People would pay to see you like this. Pretty and used and cock drunk. Let them all see what a good little toy you are for me.”

He grabs your hair again, hard, and pulls your head back as he finally pushes inside you, slow and deep until you’re crying, shaking underneath him.

“This pussy’s mine,” he growls, fucking into with bruising and possessive thrusts. “You hear me? You’re mine. No one else gets to have this. No one else gets to touch you.”

“Y-yours,” you sob, loving every second. “Only yours–”

“That’s my girl.”

Your body jolts with each deep thrust, the slap of skin on skin loud and obscene in the dark apartment. His grip in your hair never loosens, forcing your back into a delicious arch while he other hand roams greedily–your hip, your waist, your throat.

“You hear that?” he pants against your ear, teeth grazing your jaw. “That wet little sound every time I fuck into you? That’s how bad you wanted it.”

You’re incoherent, drooling into the couch cushion as your nails claw at the fabric. 

“Look at you,” he hisses. “Completely fucking gone. I should take a picture of your face right now–make it your contact photo so everyone knows exactly what you look like when I’ve got you like this.”

You sob a moan as your walls tighten around him, your orgasm crashing through you with a violent ripple. Nam Gyu groans low, filthy and wrecked, fucking you through it, his rhythm never breaking.

“Fuck, that’s it–milk my cock, pretty girl. So desperate for it. So fucking good.”

You feel him twitch, stutter. The hand on your throat slides down, and he presses on your stomach, pinning you in place. His voice turns tight and sharp. “Where do you want it, baby? Inside? You want me to fill you up?”

“Please,” you whimper. “Want all of it–please…”

He growls and slams into you once, twice–then he’s gone rigid behind you, hips flush to your ass, cursing under his breath as he spills inside.

Silence follows, heavy with heat and breathlessness. 

He collapses over you, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder as he strokes your waist, grounding you, whispering praise like a secret spell.

“So good for me,” he murmurs. “My sweet girl. Always take me so well, don’t you?”

You nod weakly, boneless and dazed beneath him. He’s already pulling you into his lap, kissing your temple, guiding you with gentle touches to the bathroom.

You’re wrapped in a fresh towel, perched on the sink while Nam Gyu dabs at the faint trace of mascara on your cheek with a warm cloth. His jaw is tight, the earlier heat replaced by something more protective. More reverent.

“I told you,” he mutters, “you’re too soft to be around this shit.”

“But I want to be with you,” you say quietly, eyes wide and still a little glassy. “I don’t want to stay behind.”

He grits his teeth. “It’s not safe.”

You slide your fingers down his bare chest, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll protect me. You always do.”

His hands falter. “Fuck. You know I can’t say no to you.”

The hum of the engine is the only sound in the car. Nam Gyu’s hand is firm on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead, jaw locked. You fidget beside him, heart fluttering not from nerves–but because you can tell he’s switched into that cold, razor sharp mode. The one he wears when things are about to get messy.

“We’re not here to make friends,” he says finally, voice low and unreadable. “You don’t talk to anyone. You don’t look at anyone. You don’t fucking wander.”

You blink, then nod.

“I mean it,” he continues, eyes flicking to you. “You stay glued to my side. If I say move, you move. If I say run–”

“I’ll run.”

His lips twitch, like he wants to be mad at you for being so quick to agree–but he’s too busy watching over you. From the backseat, he grabs a black hoodie and tosses it onto  your lap.

“Put that on.”

You hesitate. “But–”

“You’re already wearing a skirt that shows too much,” he snaps. “Don’t give them a reason to stare.”

You slip the hoodie over your head, letting it swallow you whole. The sleeves go past your hands and the fabric smells like him–cigarettes, leather, mint gum. He exhales slowly, watching you pull the hood up.

“Good girl.”

Inside, it’s loud.

Grimy walls vibrate with the bass-heavy music and the roar of men hyped on bloodlust. Fights break out in circles, sweaty bodies slamming into each other. Money changes hands. Bottles click. Everything smells like booze, smoke, and violence.

Nam Gyu walks ahead of you, his hand gripping yours tightly. His shoulders are tense, steps wide and confident. Like a wolf guiding his mate through enemy territory.

It’s only minutes before you feel the first set of eyes.

Then another.

Men nudge each other. Smirk. One of them–greasy hair, tattoos curling down his neck–leans a little too close when you pass. His eyes rake down your body, lingering even through the hoodie.

“Cute,” he murmurs, loud enough for Nam Gyu to hear. 

Nam Gyu stops. His grip on your hand tightens, then suddenly he’s yanking you behind him, shoving you gently toward the wall as he steps between you and the other man.

“You got something to say?”

The guy grins, not backing down. “Relax, man. She yours?”

Nam Gyu doesn’t answer. Just stares him down like he’s already picturing what bone to break first. His whole frame is taut, jaw ticking, a slow burn behind his eyes. “You know what?” he says softly. “I don’t like your face.”

The guy scoffs, but Nam Gyu’s hand twitches at his side. His stance is pure threat.

The man eventually snorts and turns away, muttering something under his breath, disappearing into the crowd. Nam Gyu turns to you immediately, eyes scanning your face.

“You okay?”

You nod, wide eyed. He cups the side of your neck gently, thumb brushing over your skin. His voice drops, barely audible beneath the music.

“Stay behind me. No more close calls.”

You murmur, “Yes, Gyu.”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “If one more motherfucker looks at you like that, I’ll beat him bloody in front of everyone here.”

The crowd thickens as the next match begins. Somewhere in the center of the warehouse, two men are going at it hard, fists flying, blood spraying across the concrete. The cheers rise in waves, but Nam Gyu barely flinches. He’s got one arm looped around your waist now, thumb rubbing slow circles through the hoodie fabric as you stand just behind him.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight,” a voice cuts through the noise, low and mocking.

Nam Gyu turns, lazy and slow, and across from him stands a man you don’t recognize–but from the way Nam Gyu’s hand immediately tightens on your hip, you know he does.

“Bringing your girl to the ring now?” the guy laughs, eyeing you like you’re some toy he’s judging. “She doesn’t look like your usual type, man. Bit too…clean.”

Nam Gyu doesn't say anything. Just reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a joint, and lights it with calm precision. The flame flickers briefly in his eyes–eyes that never left the man’s face.

“Didn’t think you liked ‘em sweet,” the guy keeps going, grinning wider now. “Thought you liked the kind that’d keep up with your mess, not shy little bitches who–”

Nam Gyu exhales a stream of smoke. Slow. Deliberate. His arm drops from your waist as he takes a step forward.

You tense, but his hand shoots out–grabbing the man by the collar and jerking him forward so fast you don’t even have time to gasp.

“You ever say her name in the same sentence as ‘bitch’ again,” he sneers, “I’ll shatter your face so bad you’ll be sipping meals through a fucking straw.”

The man tries to laugh it off, but there’s no breath behind it. Nam Gyu lets him go with a rough shove, and the guy backs off quickly, disappearing into the crow.

You exhale only when Nam Gyu turns back to you. Still calm. Still collected. Like that didn’t even ruffle him.

He takes another drag, the smoke curling around his lips. 

“Can I try?”

He looks down at you, and it’s that look.

The one that makes your knees go soft. The one that shuts your mouth without a sound. Sharp and final and all dark hunger. 

“No.” 

You blink, surprised. “But–”

Before the word can finish, his free hand lifts and gently wraps around your neck. Just enough pressure to still you, to remind you who you belong to.

“Don���t argue,” he mutters, leaning in close, his breath warm and tasting like smoke. “You don’t need this shit. You’ve already got something in your system that keeps you high.”

He squeezes once, soft and possessive, then presses a kiss to your cheek. “You’ve got me.”

You’re tucked behind him again–fingers curled into the back of his jacket, face half hidden by the hood he made you wear. The lights in the basement flicker overhead, and the music is so loud your ears are ringing.

Nam Gyu’s talking low to a guy with shaky hands and a too-skinny frame. The exchange is smooth, money folded, bag slipped from pocket to palm, quiet nods.

You’re quiet. Just like he asked.

Until he pulls out a pre-roll from his jacket and lights it without missing a beat. Your nose wrinkles. And you can’t help it. You huff, “So you can smoke, but I can’t?”

Nam Gyu pauses mid inhale. His gaze cuts to you slowly, like he’s deciding whether or not to bother being patient.

You blink up at him biting your lip with fake innocence.

He exhales a curl of smoke. “Stop arguing.”

“But it’s just–”

“I said stop.” His tone is flat and cold.

But you push–because you’re feeling bold. You like when he’s rough. You like when he growls and drags you away from crowds just to show you who’s in control.

You grin, barely hiding it. “What’re you gonna do, Gyu? Spank me in the middle of a fight club?”

His eyes flash. He takes a slow step toward you and you backpedal into the wall with a laugh until his hand comes down hard on the wall beside your head. His other hand comes up under your chin–firm, fingers splayed across your throat, just enough to make you feel caged.

“You don’t want to be a brat right now, pretty thing,” he murmurs, low and dangerous. “Because I’ll punish you right here. In front of everyone. Think I won’t?”

Your breath catches, thighs clenching involuntarily. 

He smiles, mean and dark. “That’s what I thought.”

But you still don’t shut up. You smirk, tilt your head. “You wouldn’t.”

His eyes narrow. And then his hand slides down your body, gripping your ass through the hoodie. Squeezing. Firm.

You yelp, cheeks going hot, looking around quickly–but no one seems to notice. Or they’re pretending not to.

Nam Gyu leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You wanna be a brat?” he breathes. “Fine. I’ll make sure every fucker in this place knows you’re mine.”

Before you can speak, his hand slides between your legs, right there over your panties, pressing slow and firm.

You squirm, whimpering, and reach out to grab his hand. “Gyu–”

“No,” he says. “You opened your mouth. Now take it.”

His fingers rub a slow, tortuous circles through the fabric, and your knees almost give out. “If I pull my hand away and you’re soaked through, baby…” he grins, tongue running over his bottom lip. “You’re gonna make me real proud.”

 The pressure of his fingers between your thighs fades as quickly as it came, and you’re left dazed, breathless, against the cold wall of the fight club basement.

Nam Gyu looks down at you like he’s bored, but his hand is still on your neck–firm but not cruel, controlling and grounding.

“You wanna act like a brat?” he whispers. “Fine.”

You glance up, flushed and wide eyed.

“Take your panties off.”

“What?”

“You heard me, angel,” he says, thumb brushing over your jaw. “Right here. Right now. And hand them to me.”

“I–Gyu, I can’t–”

His hand tightens around your throat. Not painful, just firm enough to make your legs weak. His mouth is at your ear now, voice dipped in something darker.

“You don’t tell me no. not when you're soaking wet wearing my hoodie. Not when you were moaning in public like you wanted someone to hear. You made this choice.”

You swallow hard. Heat coils low in your belly. Your hands shake as you reach under your skirt, and slowly peel the soaked panties down your legs.

They stick a little, damp with arousal. You want to die.

Nam Gyu watches, eyes locked on your every movement. And when you finally hold them out, face hot with shame, he snatches them from your hand and casually shoves them into his back pocket.

Like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just take a piece of you in front of half the goddamn room.

“Good girl,” he hums, brushing his knuckles down your thigh. “Now be smart for me.”

You nod silently, throat tight.

“Act normal for the rest of the night. Stay close. Be sweet. And maybe–if you don’t get on my nerves, I’ll let you cum when we get home.”

He leans in, lips kissing your neck. “If I feel like being nice.”

Then he turns on his heel, walking away without looking back. And you’re left trembling, no panties, slick dripping down your thighs–and the weight of his promise burning like fire under your skin.

The rest of the night crawls. Your legs feel too warm, too bare even with your skirt and his hoodie covering them. Every movement, every whisper of air against your skin reminds you: no panties. Nothing but your own slick and his promise hanging like a weight between your thighs.

Nam Gyu doesn’t touch you again. He doesn’t even glance your way.

You follow him like a shadow, just like always–but tonight it’s different. You’re raw and exposed, nerves buzzing, head spinning with want. Every stare from across the room makes you press closer to him. Every brush of your thighs reminds you who owns you.

Finally, finally, he signals it’s time to leave.

The fresh air outside the underground lot hits like a slap–cold, sharp. You trail him toward the car in silence, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

Then, as you approach the driver’s side, he “accidently” drops his keys. They clatter onto the concrete with a quiet little echo.

Nam Gyu stops. Turns his head toward you lazily. “Pick them up.”

Your chest tightens. You glance around–there’s no one near, but still…this is outside. Open. Exposed.

“Gyu–”

He raises one brow. “I said,” he repeated, voice steady and cool, “pick them up.”

You hesitate, then slowly, carefully bend at the waist. The oversized hoodie lifts, rising up your thighs, baring the curve of your ass just enough to leave no question of what’s missing underneath. You feel the air kiss your skin. Hear the smallest exhale behind you.

Then nothing.

You grab the keys with trembling fingers and straighten, your face burning. Nam Gyu says nothing.

Just takes the keys from your hand, gets in the car, and unlocks your side like everything’s normal.

You trail him inside his apartment like a ghost–silent, aching, skin still flushed. He tosses his jacket on the couch, kicks off his boots, stretches. The casual routine of it all makes you want to scream.

Because you’re dripping, thighs sticky, still pantyless, still waiting for him to keep his word.

But he doesn’t even look at you.

“Gyu…” you try, voice small.

He lights a cigarette.

“Gyu, please.”

Nothing.

You follow him through the apartment, tugging on his sleeve, bumping your head gently against his shoulder like a needy kitten. “Please, Gyu,” you whisper. “You said I could…”

He blows out smoke, and shrugs you off. “If you were really good,” he says. “I’d reward you.”

“I was good,” you plead. “I did everything you said–please, please touch me. I can’t–”

He glances down at you finally, eyes lidded and sharp. “You look real cute begging like that. Like a little stray. Maybe I should keep ignoring you. See how desperate you get.”

Your lip trembles. You drop to your knees without thinking. And that’s when his mask finally cracks.

You’re on your knees before him, hands clutching at the hem of his shirt, tears shining in your lashes. Not from pain, but from need. The kind that makes your whole body ache. The kind only he knows how to fix.

Nam Gyu exhales slowly, like it’s taking everything in him not to snap right now. He flicks ash into the tray beside him, then crouches down in front of you, fingertips grazing your chin.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and mean and so soft it’s cruel. “Just pathetic. Whining, begging, crawling after me like some needy little slut.”

You whimper. Nod.

“I asked for obedience tonight,” he continues. “And you gave me attitude. So now? You’re going to ask. Nicely. Clearly. You’re going to tell me exactly what you want. Every filthy word.”

You blink up at him, lips parting.

“Say it, angel,” he urges, thumb brushing your lower lip. “Tell me what you want.”

You take a shaky breath. “I want you to…touch me.”

He tilts his head, unimpressed. “Where?”

Your face burns. “My…my pussy,” you whisper.

His eyes darken. He leans in, breathing ghosting over your face. “Say it louder.”

You squirm, thighs pressing together–but you need this. “Please touch my pussy, Gyu.”

He groans softly, then cups your face in both hands, fingers curling just tight enough to make you feel owned. “That’s better.” He pulls back and stands. “Take off the hoodie,” he commands. “Now.”

You obey immediately, stripping it off with trembling hands until you’re kneeling on the hardwood floor, bare and flushed and dripping between your thighs.

He just watches for a moment–watching your chest rise and fall, watching you tremble. Then he unbuttons his jeans, slow and deliberate. “Hands behind your back.”

You do it.

Nam Gyu steps forward, his cock already half hard and twitching in anticipation. He brushes the tip along your lips, watching your eyes flutter. “You wanna make up for earlier?” he coos. “Be a good girl now?”

You nod frantically, lips parted.

He pushes past them without warning, groaning as your mouth stretches around him. “Fuck, yes–that’s it,” he growls, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gently curling around your throat. “Knew this mouth was made for me. Knew the second I saw you.”

You choke and moan, spit running down your chin. He doesn’t pull back. “Look at you. Crying for cock. You don’t even care who sees anymore, do you? You’d suck me in front of anyone if I told you to.”

You moan around him–yes.

“That’s my girl.”

He pulls you off his cock slowly, dragging your spit-slic lips along him with a hiss, and when your eyes flutter up–desperate, ruined–Nam Gyu grips your jaw tight.

“Up,” he says. “C’mere, baby. I want you to see what a mess you’ve made of yourself.”

You stumble to your feet, shaky, dizzy with want. He drags you over to the full length mirror near the corner of the room and presses you forward until your palms hit the glass. You can see yourself–bare, flushes, cheeks wet, lips swollen, eyes dazed.

He pushes up behind you, his cock sliding between your thighs, dragging through your wetness with ease.

“Look,” he growls, one hand tangling in your hair to keep your head up. “Watch that pretty little face when I fuck you. I want you to see how desperate you are.”

He thrusts into you with no warning, deep and hard, and you cry out–body rocking forward as your breasts press against the cold mirror.

That’s it,” he grunts, his rhythm pounding and cruel. “That’s what you wanted, huh? Wanted to be teased in public, walk around soaked with no panties like my personal fucktoy?”

You can’t even speak. Just moan, sobbing out his name as your reflection trembles in front of you.

“You’re mine,” he spats, hand wrapping tightly around your throat. “Say it. Say you’re fucking mine.”

“I’m yours,” you cry. “I’m yours, Gyu–please, please I need–”

“You’ll take it,” he groans. “Watch yourself cum on my cock like a good girl.”

And you do. Loud. Shaking. Legs giving out under you as you break apart in front of the mirror, eyes locked on the way your body spasms from his thrusts. He fucks you through it, growling praise in your ear the whole time.

After the mirror, after the shaking and the crying and the way you collapsed in his arms like your bones had melted, Nam Gyu didn’t say a word. He just scooped you up and carried you to bed.

Now you’re curled in his lap, oversized shirt tugged back onto your body, hair damp from the gentle shower he gave you. His fingers trail up and down your back, soothing and slow, and his lips ghost along your temple every few minutes like he has to be touching you.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, his voice warm and quiet now. You nod against his chest, sleepy and sore but glowing with it. He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Did so good for me,” he says. “So fuckin’ good. Took everything like a perfect little doll.” His words make you melt deeper into him. You feel small and safe and loved–even when your thighs are still sticky and your voice is hoarse from begging.

“You hungry?” he asks.

You hum. “Maybe…something sweet.”

He smirks, brushing your hair back. “I got you.”

The next day he takes you shopping. Not to a mall or busy street. He finds little tucked away boutiques, quiet designer shops, places where he can flash a roll of cash and the clerks know better than to ask questions.

“Anything you want,” Nam Gyu says, watching you try on a dress with that lazy smirk. “You look good in everything, baby.”

You try to argue, but he shuts it down fast–hand on your waist, teeth at your ear. “You’re mine. You deserve nice shit.”

You end up with a few bags–shoes, something soft and lacy he definitely picked out for his own pleasure, and a purse you swore you didn’t need.

Then he takes you out for ice cream.

You sit side by side on a low wall outside the shop, the night warm, your thighs brushing under the table as you share a sundae. He feeds you the first bite, thumb catching the melted chocolate at the corner of your lip and licking it off slowly.

“You know,” he says casually, “Thanos asked about you the other day.”

You stare up at him. “Thanos?”

He grins. “My body. Real quiet. But dangerous as hell. Smart, though. Always knows a good thing when he sees one.”

You frown. “He asked about me?”

Nam Gyu nods, chewing on his spoon before leaning. “I might’ve shown him a couple pictures.”

“What kind of pictures?”

He just smirks. Doesn’t answer. 

“Gyu.”

“The kind where you’ve got your pretty lips all swollen and your legs shaking,” he says like it’s nothing. “Told him how good you are. How you cry when you cum. He got real quiet for a second and then said… ‘Bet she’d look good on her knees between us.’”

You drop your spoon. It makes Nam Gyu laugh.

“Don’t worry. I told him I’d ask. Figured I’d see if my girl wanted to play.” He licks a bit of ice cream off his thumb again. “So? You curious, pretty thing?”

You sit there, spoon forgotten, ice cream melting between you as the air shifts. The way Nam Gyu’s watching you–lazy, teasing–makes your stomach twist in a way you know too well.

You swallow hard. “Like…both of you?”

He hums. “Mhm.” 

You squirm a little on the bench, eyes flicking away. “And…what would you…do?”

He smirks. “You want details, baby.”

You nod, too fast. Nam Gyu leans in, voice low and dripping with sin. “I’d have you between us. One in your mouth, one in your pussy. Or maybe stretched open, stuffed full, crying from how good it feels.”

Your thighs squeeze together.

“Thanos is slow,” he adds. “Patient. He’d take his time with you. Meanwhile I’d be behind you, whispering in your ear about how you look even prettier when you’re being shared.”

You whimper. He reaches over and gently cups your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “But only if you want it. Say the word and I’ll call him.”

You hesitate for one more second…and then nod. “I want it.”

The next night, Nam Gyu makes you shower. Makes you wear something soft and barely there. Nothing underneath. He’s quieter than usual, but his eyes are darker, hungrier.

“You okay?” he asks, thumb stroking your jaw.

You nod. “Just nervous.”

He kisses you slow. “I’ll be right there the whole time.”

When the knock comes, you nearly jump. Nam Gyu opens the door–and there he is. Thanos. Tall. Broad. Calm eyes, sharp jaw. A quiet, unreadable energy that sends a thrill straight through you. He nods once, respectful. But his gaze lingers.

You sit curled on the couch, heart pounding, thighs pressed tight.

Nam Gyu gestures to you with a smirk. “Told you she was pretty.”

Thanos looks at you–eyes slow, measured–and says, “You weren’t exaggerating.”

Nam Gyu walks over, kneels in front of you, brushing your knees apart. “You still want this, angel?” You nod. He glances back. “Lock the door, hyung.” And then it all begins.

They don’t rush. Thanos stands in front of you now, calm and unreadable. Nam Gyu’s beside you on the couch, fingers stroking your bare thigh.

“Come here,” Thanos says quietly, his voice like velvet.

You glance at Nam Gyu instinctively, like you’re asking for permission, reassurance. He just smirks, taps your chin. “You’re okay, angel. Go.”

You slide into Thanos’ lap, straddling him slowly. His hands settle on your hips–warm and big, but not forceful.

Then Nam Gyu’s beside you again, watching as Thanos cups your cheek, his thumb brushing your lip.

The first kiss is soft.

Then another–Nam Gyu leans in from the side, stealing your lips next. Back and forth, again and again–two mouths, two tastes, one hand on your thigh, the other buried in your hair. You’re dizzy before their shirts even come off.

Thanos peels yours over your head with care. Nam Gyu undoes your shorts, tossing them aside. You’re left in just your panties, trembling in Thanos’ lap, completely exposed under their eyes.

“I don’t know if…” you murmur shyly. “I don’t know if I want Thanos to fuck me.” It slips out before you can stop it, and guilt flashes across your face like a slap. But Thanos only smiles–soft and patient.

“That’s okay,” he says. “I’ll leave that to Nam Gyu tonight.”

Nam Gyu grins, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder. “She’s sweet, huh?”

“Very.”

Nam Gyu runs a finger up the inside of your thigh. “You gonna suck him off like a good girl, though?” 

You nod, cheeks hot. He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “That’s my girl.” Then with a lazy smirk: “Thanos can fuck you next time.”

You moan–quiet, wrecked already–and Thanos hums low beneath you. “Next time,” he agrees.

Thanos’ cock is heavy and hard against your thigh, still tucked in his boxers, but the look in his eyes is gentle. Waiting. Nam Gyu kneels behind you, lazy and confident, fingers dragging the soaked fabric of your panties to the side.

You whimper when he slides two fingers through your folds–slow and deep, curling just right.

“She’s dripping already,” Nam Gyu murmurs to Thanos, lips brushing your shoulder. “Think she likes the idea of putting on a show for us.”

Thanos just hums “I’d watch her for hours.”

Nam Gyu smirks. “You will.”

He pushes you back gently until you’re leaning forward in Thanos’ lap, chest pressed to his stomach, and Thanos lifts his hips slightly to free his cock–thick, flushed, waiting.

“Open that pretty mouth,” Nam Gyu purrs behind you, sliding his fingers out and guiding his cock to your soaked entrance. “Show him how grateful you are.”

Your body aches, stuffed full from both ends, your moan vibrating against Thanos’ cock. His hand slides into your hair, not pushing, just anchoring you there gently as he watches your lashes flutter.

“Fuck,” Thanos breathes, watching you take him deeper. “She’s really something.”

Nam Gyu groans behind you,  fucking you slow, grinding deep. “She’s mine,” he growls. “But I don’t mind sharing if she keeps being so fuckin’ good.”

You gag slightly around Thanos, your throat relaxing as you try to keep up, spit slicking your chin. Nam Gyu slaps your ass hard, the sting sharp and fast.

“That sound?” he mutters. “That messy choke? That’s what makes it real, baby.” He slams into you harder, making you cry around Thanos’ cock.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect like this,” Nam Gyu says through gritted teeth. “Torn between us. Crying around his dick while I wreck this pretty pussy. Bet you don’t even know who to moan for anymore.”

Thanos strokes your hair, voice rough now. “You want me to cum in your mouth, sweetheart?”

You nod with wide, teary eyes, and Nam Gyu groans behind you. “She loves that,” he hisses. “Let her.”

Thanos grips your hair a little tighter–not cruel, just enough–and with a low quiet grunt, he cums down your throat. You swallow it all, obedient and eager, eyes fluttering, throat bobbing until he’s done.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, thumb wiping your wet cheek. “Such a good girl.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t stop. “Stay just like that,” he commands, pounding into you now with a punishing pace. “Still full of him. Still dripping from your mouth. You’re mine, baby. Mine. and I’m gonna cum so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow.”

You cry his name, trembling, falling forward into Thanos’ chest as you start to cum–again–shaking all over.

Nam Gyu groans as he spills inside you, his hand curling around your throat from behind, holding you still as he fucks it out, fucking you full.

When he’s done, he pulls you back, cradling you against his chest, panting against your neck. Thanos just watches, silent and dark-eyed, still stroking your hair. Nam Gyu kisses you temple, still breathless. “Next time,” he murmurs against your skin, “he fucks you too.”

Your body is jelly.

Boneless. Melted. Floating somewhere between overstimulated and euphoric, your skin still tingling from every place they touched. You’re nestled between them on the bed now–Thanos lying back, his arms around your waist, your back pressed to his chest, the curve of your ass resting snugly against his hips.

Nam Gyu is propped on one elbow beside you, shirtless and smirking, lazily dragging his fingers along the inside of your thigh like he’s still deciding whether or not to go another round.

You hum softly, lips parted, cheeks still pink. Thanos’ hand rubs gentle circles on your stomach.

“I didn’t think it’d feel that good,” you whisper, almost shy.

Nam Gyu chuckles, dipping down to kiss your jaw. “Told you.”

Thanos says nothing–just presses a kiss to your shoulder, quiet and reverent. Nam Gyu brushes his nose along your cheek, voice lower now. “Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs. “We can do this any time you want.”

You shiver. Then, suddenly, Nam Gyu shifts you–gently but firmly. He moves you so you’re sitting up, only for him to slide you back against until your spine meets Thanos’ chest, his thick arms wrapping around your waist to hold you in place.

You gasp, wide-eyed, your head tipping back to rest on his shoulder. Thanos doesn’t say a word–he just holds you, steady and patient, like he was meant to.

Nam Gyu kneels in front of you on the mattress, one hand coming up to stroke your jaw, your lip, your throat. “Next time,” he says, voice like a promise, “you’re gonna let him fuck you.”

You blink at him, heart pounding. “And I’m gonna watch,” he continues. “From right here. Gonna see you stretched around someone else’s cock while your pretty little eyes roll back and you thank me for letting it happen.”

You’re breathing hard now. Heat coils low in your belly again. Nam Gyu leans closer, hsi thumb brushing your lips. “And you’re gonna like it.” 

You nod, barely able to speak. “Say it.”

“I’m gonna like it,” you whisper. He kisses you slowly–deep and possessive. Then pulls back and smiles.

“That’s my girl.”

You were so used to following him like a shadow, when he brought you to the club, you didn’t question it. Even when it reeked of sweat, smoke, and too much money. Even when the bass rattled your bones and the VIP suite was full of expensive liquor and half dressed girls.

You sat on his lap. Because that’s where he wanted you. Because that’s where you wanted to be. Thanos was there. Some of the others too–talking, laughing, tossing bills and making crude jokes while Nam Gyu nursed his whiskey with one hand wrapped tight around your waist.

You leaned back to whisper in his ear, “You don’t even like strip clubs.”

He smirked. “Nope.”

“Then why–”

His hand slid down your thigh. “Wanted to watch you squirm in front of everyone.” You swallowed hard. His eyes darkened. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, lips brushing your ear. “On your knees.”

You blinked. “W-what?”

He didn’t repeat it. Just shifted in his seat, hand pushing lighting at your lower back. “Get down there and crawl to me.”

The room didn’t go silent. But it felt like it did. You hesitated. And that’s when he added, louder this time–so everyone could hear: “Be a good girl, baby. Show them who you belong to.”

You hesitated for a second. Just one. Then you slid off his lap, down to your knees on the plush floor of the suite, the room tilting in your peripheral vision as the velvet of your dress pooled around your thighs.

The conversation dimmed. A few chuckles. Some low whistles. Thanos raised an eyebrow over his drink, but didn’t say a word. Nam Gyu’s voice cut through it all–calm, dangerous, amused. “You heard me. Crawl.”

Your throat went dry. You placed your palms flat on the floor, head bowed. Crawling toward him was slow, deliberate–each movement a spark of humiliation and heat that made your body throb.

And he just watched. Legs spread, glass in one hand, the other draped casually over his thigh like he was waiting for a pet to return home. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Look how pretty you are like this.”

You reached his boots. Lifted your gaze just enough to his eyes. He grinned. “You’re such a good little thing, huh? All that attitude at home, and now you’re on your knees in front of my friends.”

Thanos whistled low. Someone else muttered, “Shit…”

But you didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Because you liked it. You like the way Nam Gyu leaned forward, sliding his hand into your hair like a leash. The way he tilted your chin up and whispered loud enough for them to all hear, “You belong to me.”

Your breath hitched. He leaned in closer, voice softer now. Just for you. “Tell me who owns you.”

Your lips parted. Your voice was a whisper, but it carried. “You do…”

He smiled. Dark, possessive, pleased. “Louder.”

You closed your eyes, shame and arousal crashing together in your chest. “...You do, Nam Gyu.”

“Good girl.” And just like that, his thumb brushed your bottom lip–his silent reward. You didn’t care that they were watching anymore. Because all you wanted was him.

You stayed on the floor. Kneeling between Nam Gyu’s legs like you belonged there, while the rest of the guys fell back into their conversations–like it was normal. Like your flushed cheeks and glassy eyes weren’t right there, on full display.

You rested your hands on his thighs. Innocently at first. But then your fingers drifted. To the waistband of his jeans. To the hem of his shirt. You slipped your fingers just beneath the fabric, dragging your nails over the V of his hips, grazing his lower stomach. He didn’t react–until your hand slid just a little too far. 

His hand wrapped around your wrist instantly. “Careful, baby,” he said, not even looking at you. “My gun’s there.”

You blinked. “You brought your gun here?”

Nam Gyu finally turned to you, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face. “What? You thought I’d come unarmed to a club full of liars and creeps?”

With his free hand, he reached behind his back and pulled the pistol from his waistband–sleek and silent–setting it gently on the table in front of him like it was just a wallet or a phone.

Thanos let out a short laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

Nam Gyu smirked. “And yet, nobody fucks with me.”

Your hand stilled. But only for a second. Nam Gyu leaned forward, brushing your cheek with his thumb like you were a prize on display. Then his voice dropped lower. Filthier. “How ‘bout you tell them what you did to Thanos the other day?”

Your stomach flipped. Thanos raised his eyebrows, silent but very interested. You swallowed. “W-what?”

Nam Gyu tilted his head, stroking your jaw with maddening slowness. “You remember, don’t you? Bent over the couch. That pretty little mouth stuffed full while he was in your throat and I was in your–”

You slapped a hand over his mouth, face burning. He bit your palm and laughed. “Shy now?” he teased. “You weren’t shy when you were choking on him and begging me to fuck you harder. What was it you said, baby?”

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “Please, Nam Gyu, let Thanos fill my mouth again–I’ll be so good.”

Thanos just raised his glass in a lazy toast. Your face was on fire. Nam Gyu smiled wider. “That’s right. My good little girl.”

You stayed kneeling between his legs, fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt, thighs pressed together. You could still feel the weight of every pair of eyes on you–even if they were pretending not to watch. Even if no one said a word.

You stayed resting your head quietly in Nam Gyu’s lap, his fingers lazily combing through your hair like you were a pet. The room had returned to its usual rhythm–drinks being poured, lazy conversation, soft moans from the stage below–but your heart was still pounding in your ears.

Then one of the guys across the room–Min-ju, you thought–nodded toward you and smirked. “You gonna share that video with the rest of us, or just keep her all to yourselves?”

Thanos snorted into his drink, shaking his head. “Man…”

You looked up suddenly, startled. “Video?”

Nam Gyu chuckled low, dark. “You think we didn’t save that shit?” Before you could even move, he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, unlocked it, and flipped around it. “Watch this shit,” he said proudly.

He hit play. Your stomach dropped. There you were–on your knees, mascara running, droll on your chin, choking on Thanos’ cock while Nam Gyu fucked you from behind and held your throat with one hand, the other wrapped in your hair.

Your moans spilled from the speaker. Loud. Raw and needy. “Look at that face,” Nam Gyu murmured, stroking your hair again.

You tried to bury your face in his thigh. Tried to pretend it wasn’t you on the screen, crying out, begging, ruined. But he wasn’t having it. He grabbed your jaw, not rough–but firm–and turned your face back toward the phone. “No hiding,” he said softly. “Look how pretty you are. Look how good you took us.”

Your eyes teared up, throat tight with embarrassment as Min-ju let out a low whistle. “Damn. She’s a keeper.”

Thanos just smirked. “She was begging for it.”

Nam Gyu leaned down, pressing a kiss to your flushed cheek. “You love it,” he whispered. “Being our good little toy. Don’t lie.” And the worst part? You did love it.

The laughter faded into the background. You couldn’t stop staring at the screen. Couldn’t stop hearing your own voice play back over and over–moaning, gasping, begging. You felt the heat rise in your face, up your neck, your chest tight and your throat burning.

One shaky breath. Then another. And then–a single tear slipped down your cheek. “Gyu,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Can we go home?”

Nam Gyu blinked. He looked down at you, at the way your eyes glassed over, at how your lip quivered even as you tried to hide it. Something shifted behind his eyes–just for a second. The pride, the smugness–it softened.

He sighed through his nose. Then shoved his phone into his pocket, stood, and grabbed the gun off the table with practiced ease, tucking it into the back of his jeans. You were still on your knees when he grabbed your wrist and hauled you up. “Let’s go.”

His grip was rough, but not mean. Just possessive. The room went quiet as he dragged you toward the door. A few chuckles. A few murmured ooohs. Thanos raised his glass. “She’s in trouble now.” You didn’t look back. You just followed, breath shaky, fingers curled in Nam Gyu’s sleeve.

Outside, the air hit cool and sharp, like you could finally breathe again. The parking lot was quiet, nearly empty, the city humming softly in the distance.

He stopped walking once you reached the car, letting go of your wrist and turning to face. “You mad at me?” he asked, voice low.

You wiped your cheek with your sleeve, sniffling. “No…just embarrassed.”

Nam Gyu watched you for a moment–really watched you. Then he smirked. “Good. That was the point.” 

You looked away, swallowing. He stepped closer, “but you can’t lie to me baby.” His fingers brushed down your side, slow and warm. “You’re fucking soaked right now, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. He leaned in, voice brushing against your ear like silk. “You love being shown off. You loved being ours.”

Your knees felt weak. He opened the car door for you like a gentleman. Like a menace. Like someone who already knew exactly what he was going to do to you the second you got home. “Get in.”

Back at home, he didn’t tease. He didn’t push. Instead, he let you pull him to bed, let you climb into his lap and take what you needed–slow, tender, yours. He held himself back, let you move at your own pace, let you feel in control.

And when you finally sank down on him, soft little moans in his ear, he whispered how proud he was. How good you felt. How beautiful you looked riding him.

You fell asleep wrapped around each other. And when you woke up to him smoking next to you, you begged, “Please, Gyu. Just one hit. I wanna know what it feels like.”

He grumbled at first, but gave in. you curled up beside him on the couch, a blanket across your lap, giggling uncontrollably twenty minutes later with your head in his lap and your fingers tracing the ink on his arms.

“This is so nice,” you whispered.

“Yeah?” he said, smiling down at you. 

You nodded, all soft and floaty. “I love you, Gyu.”

He blinked. Smirked. “Say it again.”

You grinned, sleepy and high and glowing. “I love you, Gyu.” And for once, he didn’t joke. Didn’t tease. He just kissed you. And held you tighter. Like he meant it. Like he always had.

[sillylilsquid]

better with a girl

pairing - hyun-ju x reader summary - it started with a match on a dating app and the belief that you were straight. but hyun-ju—with her soft hands, patient smile, and every kiss that left you needing more—teaches you what it really means to want. warnings - au!hyun-ju, no squid game, afab!reader, sexuality exploration, explicit sexual content, 18+, minors dni!! 9.7k words - your text is bold, hyunnie's is italics!

Honestly, you weren’t looking for anything serious.

Not after the last guy cheated on you with someone from his gym–and the one before that who ghosted you after you told him you like to cook for the people you love, like it was some kind of red flag. You weren’t bitter exactly. Just…tired.

Tired of being the one who cared. Tired of begging for affection like it was some kind of reward. Tired of holding your breath around people who never really saw you.

So, no. You weren’t looking for anything. And definitely not anyone. But your friends wouldn’t let it go.

“You’re too wound tight,” one of them told you over drinks. “You need to get laid, babe. Or fall in love. Preferably both.”

“You say that like they’re easy to find,” you muttered, half into your wine glass.

“You’re not even trying. When’s the last night you went on a date?”

You didn’t answer. 

So a week later, tipsy and half daring yourself, you downloaded the app.

You hesitated when it asked about your preferences. Men. Women. Both. 

You hovered over ‘men’ like always. But then your thumb slid over to ‘both.’ Just for balance, you told yourself. Just in case. You weren’t gay or anything. You were just…curious. And exhausted. And maybe a little too bored.

The app was chaos. A blur of overly filtered selfies and bio quotes like “CEO of making you smile” and “looking for my player 2.”

Her pictures weren’t trying too hard. One of her at a bookstore with glasses on, one lounging on a couch in a leather jacket and bare-faced confidence. Her profile said: “Better in person. Or worse, depending on your taste.”

You swiped right before you could overthink it. 

And then–match. Your stomach dropped a little. And then she messaged you first.

so you’re the one with the pretty eyes and nervous smile?

You read it five times before you replied.

pretty bold opening line

i’m just observant. bold would’ve been asking if you taste as sweet as you look.

Your breath caught, your pulse picking up.

(kidding. mostly)

you can tell me to chill and i will

i don’t want you to chill. just maybe…don’t go full chaos on the first message?

deal. half chaos. full charm 😉

you always this hesitant or am i just special?

maybe both.

i’ve never really talked to…a girl on here before.

There was a pause before she replied. Not long. Just enough to make you worry she’d vanished.

hey, that’s okay.

no pressure. no expectations. i’m just here to get to know you.

unless you want pressure. but like, the fun kind

lol.

are you always like this?

a little. 

but i’m also respectful, attentive, and excellent at ordering takeout.

if you ever wanted to find out.

You hesitate before replying. Your stomach already in knots and you couldn’t stop smiling.

i mean…coffee might be safer than takeout. for now.

for now🤭

send me your schedule. i’ll pick the spot. first date’s on me

first date?

you think i’m this charming just for small talk?

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. It was just coffee. Just a date. Just…with a girl.

A really pretty girl with perfect eyeliner and flirty texts and a voice you could practically hear through the screen. But still. Just a date.

Nothing worth getting nervous over.

You stood in the mirror, staring at the mess of clothes scattered on your bed, muttering to yourself like a lunatic. “Why are you freaking out? She’s just a girl.”

You tugged off your third shirt and grabbed another. “She’s a girl, not a rockstar.”

But your hands were shaking. And your heart was pounding. And the lipstick you picked–soft, not too bold, not too try hard–was already smudged from the way you kept pressing your lips together.

You reapplied it, again. And stared at yourself. “She’s just a girl,” you repeated, whispering this time. “You’re straight.”

But the way your stomach twisted said otherwise.

The coffee shop was one of those cozy, indie spots tucked on a quiet street–exposed brick walls, hanging plants, and warm lighting. You spotted Hyun-ju immediately.

She was already sitting by the window, one leg crossed over the other, black turtleneck, jacket slung over the back of her chair. Her hair was pinned back loosely, a few strands falling to frame her face.

She looked up just as you stepped in–and smiled. And your brain short circuited. She stood as you approached, standing much taller than you thought she’d be, and you hated how much your pulse jumped when she reached out and touched your arm gently, just a soft brush of her fingers.

“Hey,” she said, voice like honey. “You look good.”

You laughed, breathless. “Thanks. You too.”

“You nervous?”

“Terrified.”

She grinned. “Good. Me too.”

The date was easy. Infuriatingly so.

She made you laugh. She asked questions and actually listened to the answers. She tilted her head when she talked, smiled at you like you were the only person in the room, and touched your hand once–just to make a point about something dumb–but it lingered. Just a little too long.

And when it was over, and you both stepped outside, the sky soft and fading into gold, she looked at you like she was deciding whether to kiss you.

She didn’t.

She just walked you to your car, winked, and said, “Text me when you get home safe, yeah?”

You nodded. You couldn’t stop smiling the whole way home.

Your phone buzzed ten minutes later.

so… that was better than a date with a guy, huh?😉

Your heart plummeted. Because it was.

You didn’t tell your friends much. Just that you went on a date. Just that it was…nice. You dodged every follow up question like your life depended on it.

“Who was it?” “No one you know.”

“What’s he do?” “He’s–uh. They. Work in creative stuff.”

“Are you seeing him again?” “Maybe.”

They knew you were hiding something, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud. Not yet. You weren’t ready to open that box. Because once you did, it was real. And it already felt too real.

Hyun-ju didn’t text you all day the next day. Not in a mean way. Just gave you space. It made you restless. Until, just before bed, your phone buzzed.

you didn’t forget about me already, did you?

Attached was a mirror selfie–no makeup, oversized tee, hair tied back, and still somehow so beautiful it made your stomach flip. You stared at it way too long before answering.

not yet. you checking in on your competition?

nah. i just wanted to be the face in your head before you fell asleep😇

You didn’t answer that one. But you stared at the photo again before bed. And again when you woke up.

The texting got easier after that. Casual. Fun. But there were moments where her charm slipped into something sharper–playful, but deliberate.

what are you doing friday?

nothing. why?

you’re coming to dinner with me. i want to see how you look in candlelight.

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

you always this smooth?

no. just with you.

Friday comes faster than you expect. 

You spend over an hour getting ready, yelling at your closet, changing your outfit over and over again and regretting every choice.

When you arrive at the restaurant, she’s already there. It’s upscale, the kind of place you need a reservation for. The kind where soft jazz hums under the clatter of silverware.

And fuck. She’s wearing a sleek dark blouse tucked into tailored trousers, gold rings on her fingers, and just a touch of mascara. Her hair is down, brushing elegantly over her shoulders.

She stands when you approach. Her eyes trail over you slowly. “Wow,” she says, soft and sincere. “You’re stunning.”

You don’t know what to say, so you laugh, awkward and shy. “You clean up okay too.”

She grins. “Flattery and a compliment? Careful, you’ll make me fall for you.”

You sit across from her, trying to slow your heartbeat. She pours you a glass of wine. Her fingers brush yours.

And as the night unfolds, between courses and soft laughter and the brush of her knee against yours under the table, that voice inside you starts whispering again.

You’re not into women, right?

Then why can’t you stop looking at her mouth? Why do you keep leaning in when she speaks? Why do you want her to reach for your hand and not let go?

You reached for the check the second the waiter dropped it off. “I’ve got it,” you said quickly, already pulling out your card.

But Hyun-ju was faster. She slid the black booklet toward her without even glancing down. “Nope.”

You blinked. “What? Why not?”

“Because I asked you out,” she said simply, pulling her wallet from her coat. “And because I want to.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t–”

“Don’t make me fight you over this in front of everyone,” she warned, but her tone was playful. Her eyes sparkled as she handed over her card.

You sat back in your seat, flustered. “You’re very stubborn.”

She smirked. “And you’re very cute when you’re trying to be polite.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you said nothing. Just stared at your wine glass while your pulse thundered in your ears.

The walk back to your car was quiet–but not awkward. The kind of quiet that buzzes with unspoken things. 

You walked side by side down the cobbled sidewalk, streetlights washing the pavement in pale gold. Her hand brushes yours once. Then again. You didn’t pull away.

When you reached your car, you hesitated with your keys in hand. She leaned against the door, watching you. “Well?” she said softly. “Was I worth dressing up for?”

You laughed, breathless. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” She raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Do I need to convince you?”

You didn’t back away–but your chest was tight and your stomach was tangled in knots. 

Hyun-ju leaned in, slow and deliberate, her lips just inches from yours. And then…she stopped. Her breath was warm against your cheek, her voice a murmur. “I want to kiss you.”

Your mouth parted. You couldn’t speak. “But I won’t,” she spoke softer now. “Not until you want me to.”

You felt your heart split clean down the middle. Because part of you was begging for her to do it. And part of you still didn’t know who you were if you let her.

She stepped back. “Drive safe, pretty girl,” she murmured, and turned to walk away. 

You sat in your car for ten minutes before starting it, heart pounding, throat thigh, and eyes burning. Because you wanted her. And you didn’t know what that made you.

You lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, quiet–except for the loud, humiliating echo of your thoughts. 

You hadn’t even kissed her. And yet here you were, chest tight, legs tangled in your sheets, your mouth still tingling from the ghost of a kiss that never happened.

You groaned and rolled over, unlocking your phone.

Twitter: no.

Instagram: worse.

Messages: 3 unread. None from her.

Google:...maybe 

You opened the browser. Then, with a subtle grace of a woman having a minor identity crisis, you typed: “am i gay if i like one girl”

Delete. Too desperate.

“signs you’re into women”

Delete. Too obvious.

“can straight girls like girls sometime”

You stared at the screen, jaw clenched, heart racing. Then you opened Notes and started typing to yourself, because texting your friends would mean explaining, and you weren’t ready for that.

okay but it’s not like i want to marry her or anything.

i just like her smile

and her voice

and her hands

and the way she looks at me

and the way she almost kissed me

okay 

maybe it’s something

maybe i like her

maybe i want her to kiss me

fuck 

You slammed your phone face down and groaned into your pillow. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But all you could think about was her voice in your ear, her mouth inches from yours, saying: “Not until you want me to.”

And the worst part? You already did.

The next morning, you were trying to act normal. Just a little grocery shopping. Laundry. Scrolling aimlessly on your phone and definitely not thinking about almost being kissed again in your car.

That’s when she texted.

morning💪

Attached: a gym mirror selfie. She was in a black sports bra and high waisted leggings, headphones around her neck, a smirk tugging at her lips. Hair pulled into a mess pony. Skin glowing. Abs unfair.

You dropped your phone on your chest and let out a noise that can only be described as internal combustion.

you okay?

literally no

that bad, huh?

you’re annoying

and hot

stop this

😌

come over tonight. i’ll feed you and put on a movie. sweatpants encouraged

what are we watching?

something gay. obviosuly.

  😐

bring wine or your nervous energy. whichever is easier to carry

You showed up two hours later with both.

Hyun-ju opened the door in a t-shirt and sweatpants, glasses on, makeup free and still somehow hotter than anyone had a right to be.

Her place was warm and inviting–soft lighting, a lived-in couch, scented candles burning something vanilla and cozy. You sat side by side under a throw blanket, legs touching. She let you pick the movie.

Twenty minutes later, you weren’t even watching it.

You were hyper aware of her every breath. Every time her hand moved. Every shift of her thigh against yours. And when she leaned over to grab the remote from the coffee table, her body brushing yours–

“I don’t know how to do it,” you blurted out.

She paused. “Do what?”

“I mean–any of it. With a woman. Like…” You stared at the screen, horrified at yourself but too far gone now. “Kissing. Touching. Sex. I don’t know how to have sex with a woman. I don’t even know what that looks like. Is it, like–scissoring? Is that even real? And what if I mess it up? What if you want me to touch you and I just, like, poke something wrong and kill the vibe?”

You finally turned to look at her. She was just sitting there. Silent and smiling. Her chin in her hand. Eyes soft and so amused.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

She tilted her head. “Because I’ve never seen anyone talk themselves into a meltdown this adorably before.”

You groaned, burning your face in the blanket. “I’m gonna die.”

“No you’re not.”

I might! I’m a straight girl who got wine drunk and accidently fell into a queer panic spiral in your living room.”

“Baby,” she murmured, reaching out to gently tug the blanket down and uncover your face. “You’re not straight.” You blinked up at her, lips parted. She smiled–soft and certain. “But you’re very cute when you’re trying to fight it.”

You’re still half under the blanket, your face burning, staring at Hyun-ju like she’d just uncovered every secret you’d been hiding.

She hadn’t stopped smiling. Her eyes glittered with something between affection and straight up amusement.

“I’m serious,” you muttered, barely able to hold eye contact. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know what it looks like. I’ve only ever—like, watched–guy stuff.”

Hyun-ju leaned back on the couch, one arm slung lazily over the cushion behind your shoulders. “You know there’s porn, right?”

Your entire body locked up. “I–what?” 

“There’s porn. Lesbian porn. Gay porn. Real stuff, ethical stuff. It’s pretty easy to find.”

“I’m not gonna watch porn just to figure out how to sleep with you!”

She raised a brow. “Is that what you’re worried about? Sleeping with me?”

“I didn’t mean–I’m not planning to–not like that–I don’t know what I meant–” You were spiraling. Full meltdown mode.

Hyun-ju let you go on for a few more seconds, just watching you with that infuriating calm like she was thoroughly enjoying this.

And then, gently, “Hey.”

You froze. She leaned in just a little closer, her voice low. “You don’t have to learn anything for me. I’m not expecting you to show up with a skill set.”

You blinked at her, breathing hard.

“I don’t care if you’ve never kissed a girl,” she said. “Or touched one. Or even thought about it before me.”

You stared. “But I have thought about it.”

“I know,” she said, smiling again. “That’s why you’re sitting on my couch, clutching a throw blanket and looking like your brain is on fire.”

You let out a noise between a laugh and a sob. “This is so embarrassing.”

“It’s not,” she assured. “It’s honest. And kind of hot, if I’m being honest.”

You whipped your head toward her. “Hot?!” 

“Baby,” she said, barely biting back a grin, “you rambling about how clueless and flustered you are? While blushing and squirming next to me like that?” She shrugged. “Kind of ridiculously hot.”

You let out a broken, strangled sound and buried your face again. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

You stayed hidden under the blanket, your voice muffled. “I can’t believe you said porn.”

She laughed–low, rich, teasing. “What? It’s educational!” You were still hiding under the blanket when Hyun-ju tilted her head and said, casual as ever, “We can watch some together, if you want.”

You froze. “What.”

She blinked. “Porn. You said you’ve never seen–”

“I know what you said,” you hissed, peeking out from behind the blanket with your entire face on fire. “And excuse me, I can watch porn by myself, thank you very much.”

Hyun-ju just smirked, like that was the answer she’d been hoping for. “I’m just saying,” she murmured, “sometimes it’s more fun to learn with supervision.”

You launched a throw pillow at her face.

You didn’t say much after that. You put on another movie. Something safe. Something very not gay. 

But Hyun-ju kept brushing her fingers against yours under the blanket. And you kept pretending not to notice. And your brain kept looping back to what she’d said.

Porn. Together. Supervision.

You weren’t sleeping tonight.

Hours later, back in your own apartment, you lay on your stomach in bed, phone glowing too bright in the dark, anxiety buzzing in your fingertips.

You stared at the search bar. You typed slowly.

“lesbian sex real”

Delete. You weren’t a serial killer.

“lesbian porn”

Okay. You clicked one of the links. The first few thumbnails made your stomach twist. Not because it was gross–because it was…a lot.

But then you clicked on one that looked softer. Realer. Two women kissing slowly, their hands tentative and warm.

Your breath caught. You watched. They touched like they meant it. They kissed like they'd missed each other. You felt heat rush between your legs before you even realized it.

And then–one of them moaned. And it hit you. Sharp and low. You clamped your thighs together, heart pounding, and slammed your laptop shut. You laid there in the dark, breathless, your pulse racing, your whole body tingling.

“Holy shit.”

Because you liked it. You really, really liked it. And suddenly, it wasn’t just about Hyun-ju anymore.

It was a Saturday night, and your phone buzzed just as you were debating whether to eat dinner or cry under a blanket for the rest of the weekend.

going to a club with a friend. you should come

no pressure btw. just vibes

i don’t club

i don’t either. but i do wear tight clothes and look hot under colored lights.

and i think you’d enjoy that

You stared at the phone for a full minute. Then you threw on the best outfit you could pull together in under ten minutes.

The club wasn’t a packed, sweaty disaster like you’d feared. It was dark and moody and glowy–neon reds and blues painting every surface, bass pulsing low in your chest.

Hyun-ju spotted you at the door and waved you over. You nearly choked. She was in black slacks and a cropped mesh top layered over a strappy bralette, all gold jewelry and smoky eyes and smug smiles. Her nails were painted wine red, one hand around a soda glass, the other casually resting on her hip.

“I didn’t know what to wear,” you mumbled when she pulled you into a hug.

Her arms wrapped around your waist. “You wore this,” she murmured, eyes raking over you. “And that’s all I care about.”

You didn’t drink. Neither did she. But it didn’t matter. The music was loud, the lights were low, and her hand stayed on the small of your back whenever you moved. You couldn’t stop thinking about it. The video. The way those women had touched each other. The sounds. The want. And now Hyun-ju was right here–pressed close to your body, her breath warm against your ear every time she leaned in to talk.

You were sober. And still, you felt drunk.

It was almost 1am when the crowd thinned and the music dulled into background haze. You were standing beside her near the exit, blinking slowly, heart crawling up your neck form how close she was.

“You look tired,” she said softly, brushing a hair out of your face.

You nodded barely.

“You don’t have to Uber back, you know.”

You looked up. She shrugged one shoulder. “You can crash at my place. It’s closer. And I’ve got extra clothes.”

You swallowed. “Oh.”

“Unless you’d rather go home.”

“No,” you said quickly. “I mean–I can come over. That’s fine. If it’s okay.”

She smiled. “It’s more than okay.”

The car ride to her place was quiet. Her music low. Her hand rested casually on the gearshift, fingers tapping, rings glinting under the streetlights.

You stared out the window, but your brain wouldn’t shut up.

She’s so close. Her hands. That mouth. What would she sound like?

By the time she parked and let you inside, you were a silent, shaky mess. And the night was just beginning.

Like before, her apartment was warm and quiet, a contrast to the thumping bass still echoing faintly in your chest. She kicked her shoes off by the door and flicked on a lamp–low, amber light casting soft shadows across the room.

“Make yourself at home,” she said, tugging her jacket off and hanging it neatly. “You want water or anything?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m good.”

You stood awkwardly by the couch while she padded off to her bedroom, calling back, “I’ll grab you something to sleep in.”

Your heart was pounding. You stared at the record player tucked in the corner. The plant by the window. The jacket slung over the back of the armchair. It all smelled like her–clean and woodsy, warm and sharp.

She returned a moment later and handed you a fold shirt and some loose cotton shorts. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Take your time.”

You muttered a thanks and practically sprinted out of the room.

By the time you emerged, changed and clean faced, your nerves had officially gone nuclear. 

Hyun-ju was sitting cross legged on the couch, scrolling through her phone, now in sleep shorts and a sweatshirt, her hair loose on her shoulders. She looked…unfairly good. Comfortable. Effortless.

You hesitated in the doorway. Her eyes flickered up, slow and soft. And then she smiled. “You look cute.”

You fiddled with the hem of the oversized shirt she gave you. “It’s literally yours.”

“Exactly.”

You crossed the room slowly and sat behind her, tucking your legs under you. She turned the TV on, scrolled half heartedly through the options.

Neither of you were really watching. Your arm brushed hers. You could feel the heat of her skin. Her thigh close to yours. The hum of tension that had been building since you walked through the door.

She glanced over. “You okay?”

You nodded too fast. “Yeah. just–tired. Long day. Loud music. You know. I’m not really a club person. You could probably tell. Not that I hated it. It was actually kind of fun. Mostly because you were there. Which I guess makes sense. Since I like being around you.”

You were spiraling again. Hyun-ju didn’t say anything.

You hesitated.

Your heart pounded in your throat. You looked at her mouth. Then back to the screen. Then to her eyes. And then you chickened out.

“Anyway,” you mumbled, pulling the blanket over your lap. ��Thanks for letting me stay.”

She leaned her head back on the couch, still watching you. Her voice was teasingly low. “Was that supposed to be a kiss?”

Your eyes went wide. “What?! No!”

Her smile grew. “Are you sure?”

You flushed all the way to your ears. “I wasn’t–I mean, I thought maybe–but then I didn’t–I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Hyun-ju tilted her head, her voice softening. “Baby,” she said gently, “you don’t have to know what you’re doing. You just have to want it.”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t move away either. You were frozen. Her words echoed in your chest: ‘you just have to want it.’ And god, you did.

You just didn’t know how to ask. 

She shifted beside you, slow and smooth, like she was giving you time to back away. You didn’t. Her hand came up to your cheek, gentle and grounding. Her thumb brushed softly under your eye, then down to the curve of your jaw.

“You’ve kissed guys before, right?” she asked, voice low.

You nodded nervously. “Yeah.”

She smiled. “It’s the same idea…just way better when it’s another girl.”

Your breath caught. She leaned in slowly, her voice like velvet. “It’s not about technique. Or pressure. Or anything you’ve seen in movies.”

Her nose brushed yours, barely there contact that made your stomach twist. “It’s about attention,” she whispered. “Letting it build. Following what feels good.”

Her lips touched yours–just once. A soft press. A question. You exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for hours.

She kissed you again–slightly deeper now, slow and sure. Her lips warm. Soft. She let you feel the shape of her mouth, the gentle tug and press. No rush. No demand. “Just like that,” she whispered against your lips. “You’re doing perfect.”

You whimpered without meaning to. She pulled back just enough to look at you. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. “Can I… can we do that again?”

That smile. That smile.

“I was hoping you’d ask.” And then she kissed you again–longer, guiding her lips with hers, her hand still cradling your cheek. You followed her lead–tentative, shy, but hungry. Your hands found her waist. She let out a soft hum of approval.

“There you go,” she murmured, lips brushing yours between words. “See? You’re already learning.”

She kissed you again–slightly deeper, a bit slower. “You’re a natural, baby,” she whispered.

You gasped softly, dizzy from praise, from the heart blooming in your chest. “I didn’t think–kissing a girl would feel like–”

Her fingers threaded gently through your hair. “Like that?”

“Like…this.”

Hyun-ju smiled, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Like something you want to do again?” You nodded. “Good.” She kissed your jaw. “Because I’m not done showing you.”

You didn’t go any further that night. Just kissing. Soft, slow, and gentle. When it got too much–when your hands trembled or your breath caught in that panicky way–Hyun-ju pulled back, tucked your hair behind your ear, and whispered, “that’s enough for tonight, baby. You did so good.” And you melted.

A few days later, she picked you up in the late afternoon with a picnic basket and a blanket thrown in the back seat like it was nothing. “You’re so domestic,” you teased as she opened the passenger door for you.

She just smirked. “Only for girls who wear nervous smiles and make me drive across town for the good strawberries.”

She took you to a quiet park, a little hill shaded with trees, far enough from anyone else to feel like it was just the two of you.

You helped her lay out the blanket. She unpacked sandwiches, fruit, two glass bottles of soda, and a pack of cookies she’d clearly bought last minute.

You both sat down, sunlight streaking through the trees, laughter soft and easy between bites. And you couldn’t stop looking at her. The way her hair caught in the light. The stretch of her legs where she lounged beside you. The little smirk she gave you when she caught you staring and didn’t say a word.

Your stomach flipped. You’d been thinking about kissing her again for days. The memory of it was still warm in your chest–her mouth, her hands, the way she’d held you like you were something fragile and precious.

And now, sitting beside her on a blanket in the fading sun, you wanted it again. You ached for it. But you didn’t know how to say it. Instead you said, “This is nice.”

She glanced at you, one brow lifted softly. “Yeah?”

You nodded, heart in your throat. “I like spending time with you.”

Hyun-ju leaned back on one arm, eyes gentle. “I like spending time with you too.”

You hesitated. Then leaned over, just a little. Her gaze flickered to your mouth, then back to your eyes. She didn’t move. Didn’t rush you. “Can I kiss you?” you whispered.

And god, the way she looked at you then–like you’d just handed her the sun. “You don’t ever have to ask,” she said softly. “But I love it when you do.”

You leaned in, hands shaking just a little, and kissed her. Slow. Lingering. Sunlight on your skin, her fingers brushing your knee like a promise. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to explain yourself. You just felt.

That evening after the picnic, she brought you back to her place. You didn’t want to go home–not yet. Not when everything inside you was still buzzing. Not when the quiet between you felt so full.

You both curled up on her couch under a blanket, a random movie playing low in the background. You were tucked into her side, your head on her shoulder, her arm around you like it had always belonged there.

You didn’t speak for a while. But eventually, you whispered, “I still don’t know what I am.”

Hyun-ju didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift. Just kept stroking her fingers through your hair like your words didn’t scare you.

You swallowed hard. “I mean, I like you. I really like you. But I still get scared sometimes. Like, I think about kissing you and I get excited and nervous at the same time. I don’t know what that means. If I’m…gay. Or bi. Or just confused. I feel like I should know.”

Her hand paused for a second–just long enough for you to notice. Then it moved again. “You don’t have to label it right now,” she said quietly. “Or ever, if you don’t want to.”

You pressed your cheek into her chest, listening to the slow thud of her heartbeat.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” you whispered. “You’ve been so good to me.”

“You’re not going to mess anything up,” she murmured, her voice low and certain. “You’re allowed to be figuring things out.”

You blinked hard, your throat felt thick. “And what if I just…stay confused?”

Her hand slid under your chin, tilting your face up gently. Her eyes met yours–steady, warm, so full. “Then we stay confused together,” she said. “As long as you want me around.”

You let out a breath tha felt like a release. And she leaned in, kissing your forehead, and whispered: “I’m not going anywhere.” 

A few weeks later things have changed, in soft, quiet ways.

You and hyun-ju were still texting every day–little things at first: good morning, good night, updates about your day. But somewhere along the way, your texts got…flirtier. Playful and teasing.

She started sending mirror selfies when she got dressed for work. You started sending emojis you wouldn’t have dared to use before. And sometimes, late at  night, the conversation drifted into gentle, breathless places.

Still, nothing more than kissing. But everything building. One night you invited her over. Not because she offered. Not because she insisted. Because you wanted to.

you’ve never been to my place

you should come over sometime

tell me when, baby. i’ll be there

And just like that, she was.

You had tried to clean. Really tried. But you still felt a flush of embarrassment when she stepped inside, eyes sweeping the cluttered counter, the unfolded laundry on a chair, the half dead plant in the window.

“It’s not–sorry, it’s kind of a mess,” you said quickly, tossing a sock into your bedroom.

But she just smiled, slow and fond. “It looks like you live here. I like that.”

You gave her a look. “You would say that.”

“I meant it.”

She toed off her boots and padded toward the couch like she’d been there a hundred times. You followed, still a little flustered, and sat beside her with a sigh. You’d picked up chocolate from that corner store she liked, and she grinned when you brought it out.

“I love that you remembered this,” she said, unwrapping one and popping it into her mouth.

You shrugged, smiling. “You said it was your favorite.”

She leaned back on the couch, ankles crossed. “You’re learning me.”

“Trying to,” you responded. Your voice came out smaller than you meant. Her eyes shifted to you, something softer behind them now. And your heart picked up. There was something you’d been meaning to ask. You just didn’t know how. You fiddled with the corner of the chocolate wrapper. “Can I ask you something?”

Hyun-ju nodded. “Anything.”

You hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about…us,” you started slowly. “And about going further. Eventually.”

Her expression didn’t change–still calm, open, listening.

You took a breath. “I just–I don’t really know how anything works. With two women. Like, really works. And I know I could Google it, and I have a little, but it’s not the same as talking to someone who…” Your cheeks were burning now. “Who knows. Who had done things.”

Hyun-ju didn’t laugh. She didn’t tease. She leaned in, her voice quiet but full of warmth. “You can ask me anything, baby. I’ll tell you the truth.”

You were blushing so hard you thought you might catch fire. But Hyun-ju didn’t look surprised. Or uncomfortable. Just soft and steady. She turned on the couch, facing you fully now, her knee brushing yours. “Okay,” she said quietly. “What do you want to know?”

You hesitated, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Everything?”

That made her smile. Not teasing–fond. “Alright, let’s start simple.”

She reached for your hand, lacing her fingers gently through yours, her thumb brushing the top of your knuckles. It grounded you. Slowed your breath.

“There’s no one right way,” she started. “Some women like fingers. Some like mouths. Some like toys. Some don’t want penetration at all.” You nodded slowly. “And all of that’s okay. What matters is listening. To your partner, to yourself. Asking what feels good. Paying attention.”

Then she asked, “Have you had sex with guys before?”

You nodded. “Yeah. A few.”

Her head tilted. “Did you like it?”

You opened your mouth then closed it. Hyun-ju just waited. You shifted, cheeks burning. “I thought I did? Or I thought I was supposed to? I don’t know. It always just kind of felt…like it was happening at me.”

She hummed softly. “Did you even cum?”

You blinked at her. Didn’t say a word. Her brows lifted, and the tiniest smirk tugged at the edge of her mouth. “Ah.”

You groaned and dropped your head into your hands. “This is so humiliating.”

“Baby,” she said, tugging your hand gently down so she could see your face again. “No, it’s not. It’s not. It’s honest. And it makes me want to take my time with you even more.”

You looked at her–really looked at her–and your chest squeezed. “I want to try,” you whispered. “Not tonight. But sometime. With you.”

“I’d love that, whenever you’re ready.”

You swallowed hard. “Would you…show me? What it’s supposed to feel like?”

Her hand slid gently up your arm, fingers brushing your jaw, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll show you everything,” she said. “Exactly how good it gets. And I’ll go slow. We don't have to do anything you're not ready for. But when you are–I want to ruin you for anything else.”

Your breath caught. And then–so quiet you almost didn’t hear yourself say it: “Do you want to stay over?” 

Her smile was instant. And so, so soft. “I thought you’d never ask.”

It had taken you weeks to work up to it, but you finally told someone. One of your closest friends, mid coffee run and panic spill, when you blurted out, “I’ve been seeing someone…kind of. A girl.”

They didn’t even blink. “Is she hot?”

You nearly dropped your drink. “Yes?! That’s not the point!”

They laughed. “It’s very much the point.”

And after that, it got a little easier. You started doing research. Quietly. Privately. Watching videos, reading articles, letting yourself imagine. You even bought a toy–nothing major, just something small and safe to test the waters. And after all that…you still wanted her. No confusion. No doubt. Just want.

So when one of your friends invited you and Hyun-ju out to a club, you said yes. You texted her first.

i wanna go out with you tonight. like properly…dancing and all

that sounds dangerously like a date

maybe it is

i’ll wear something slutty

You nearly combusted. The club was loud, neon-lit, crowded–but it didn’t matter. Because she was there. In a cropped top and tailored pants, hair sleek, skin glowing under the lights. Your friends met her, exchanged looks you pretended not to notice, and she handled it like she always did–cool, calm, absolutely magnetic.

You stuck close to her the entire night. And for the first time, you didn’t hide it. You let your fingers trail down her arm when you leaned in to talk. You pressed your hand to her waist when the bass got too loud and the crowd swelled. You even kissed her cheek once, lingering longer than you ever had before.

Her hand found yours and squeezed. Adn when you pulled her onto the dance floor, she came willingly–one hand on your hip, the other sliding low, slow, possessive. You couldn’t stop touching her. You didn’t want to.

Back at your apartment, the air was different. Charged and quiet. You let her in and closed the door behind you with a shaky breath. Hyun-ju turned to face you, eyes dark, searching. “You okay?”

You nodded. “I want to,” you said. “Tonight.”

She stepped closer. “You sure?”

You nodded again, heart pounding. “I’ve thought about it. A lot. And I’m scared, but I…I want it. With you.”

She crossed the room slowly, closing the space between you. “Okay,” she murmured. “Then I’m going to take care of you. And you’re going to tell me everything you like. If you want me to stop, I stop. If anything doesn’t feel good, you say the word.”

You nodded again, eyes wide. “Okay.”

Her hand slid up your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. “You ready?”

“Yes…” you whispered. 

She smiled. “Good girl.”

She kissed you slowly–no rush, no hunger, just warmth. Gentle lips and the slow slide of her hands around your waist like she was holding something sacred. When she deepened the kiss, you gasped softly, and she took it like a promise.

You let her guide you to the bed, her mouth never leaving yours. “You nervous?” she whispered against your lips. You nodded. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.”

Her hand stroked down your back. “Okay.” 

Hyun-ju helped you out of your clothes piece by piece, pausing between every step. “You’re doing so good,” she whispered, pressing kisses to your shoulder, the curve of your collarbone. “So beautiful, baby. You’re okay.”

When you were bare in front of her, you instinctively went to cover your chest with your arms–but she caught your wrists, softly. “Don’t hide,” she said. “You’re perfect. I want to see all of you.”

And god, the way she looked at you–like you were art, like you were something holy–made you want to cry.

She undressed too, letting you see her at her own pace, and kissed you again as she gently guided you onto the bed.

She started with her hands. Slow strokes along your thighs, your stomach, your chest–never rushing, never groping. Just learning you. Letting you feel how much she wanted to be there.

“Tell me if anything feels weird, okay?” she said as her fingers slid between your legs, featherlight. “I’m going to start slow.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. Her fingers dipped lower, circling your clit in the softest, slowest motion. Your hips twitched, and she immediately paused.

“Too much?”

You shook your head quickly. “No–just surprised.”

“That’s okay.” She smiled. “We’re not in a hurry.”

When she found the right rhythm–gentle, steady, maddening–you couldn’t stop the sound that left you. A gasp. A whimper. 

“Just like that,” she murmured. “Let go. Don’t think. Let it feel good.”

Her lips found your neck, warm kisses as her fingers coaxed you further, deeper into the feeling. You were panting now. Hands tangled in the sheets. Her name on your lips. “I’m gonna–” you gasped. “I think I’m–”

“That’s it,” she whispered, mouth brushing your ear. “Let me see you, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

And you did. With her name caught in your throat, your body arching into her hand, you unraveled completely. And when it was over–when your body went soft and trembling beneath her–she kissed your cheek, then your shoulder, and pulled the blanket up over you both. “You okay?” she whispered, brushing your hair from your face.

You nodded, breath still catching. “I’ve never…nothing’s ever felt like that before.” 

She kissed your forehead. “That’s because no one’s ever taken the time to learn you.”

You laughed, breathless. “So that’s what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Hyun-ju smirked, tucking you into her arms. “Mhm. told you it was better with a girl.”

You buried your face in her neck, smiling. “Stay?”

She wrapped her arms around you like she already belonged there. “Always.”

The room was quiet, warm, lit only by the soft glow from your hallway light. You were curled in Hyun-ju’s side, tangled under your blanket, your body still humming from what she’d just done to you. Your fingers played lazily along her stomach, tracing the hem of her tank top. 

She had one arm behind her head, hair a little messy, face flushed but smug. “You still breathing?” she teased.

“Barely,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

“Good.”

You laughed, and tilted your face up toward hers. Then kissed her. Softly. Slowly. A little longer than before. Her lips curved against yours. “Hey,” she warned between kisses. “You keep doing that and you’re gonna turn me on again.”

You smiled sweetly. “That’s the plan.”

Her eyes darkened instantly. “Oh, really?”

You nodded, blushing. “I feel…braver now.”

She pulled you into her lap, her hands sliding to your waist. “Mm. That so?”

You nodded again, but there was still a flicker of nerves in your eyes. She saw it–of course she did. But instead of pushing, she leaned forward and kissed your collarbone. “Then let me return the favor,” she whispered. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She took her time with you again–slower, even, than before. This time, you were laid out completely, her lips trailing kisses down your stomach, her hands spreading your thighs like they were hers to keep. “Let me show you what my mouth can do,” she murmured as she kissed the soft skin of your inner thigh. 

You whimpered. And then–oh god. Her tongue was gentle at first. Careful. Drawing slow circles around your clit without ever quite pressing into it. She flicked, teased, tasted you like she was starving–and you couldn’t stop moving. “H-hyun-ju–”

“Shh, I know,” she said between kisses. “You’re doing so good. You taste so fucking sweet.”

When you started getting close, her tongue would slow. Pull back. Kiss along your thighs again until you were gasping. “Please,” you whimpered. “Don’t stop.”

She smirked against your skin. “Not yet.”

“Hyun–” You tried to move your hips, chase her mouth, but her hands pinned your thighs open with gentle strength.

“You’ll cum when I say,” she murmured. “And not a second before.”

You were panting now, eyes glassy, voice cracking. “But–what about you?” you asked, nearly sobbing. “You said I was turning you on. Don’t you want–”

She looked up at you from between your thighs, mouth wet, eyes half lidded with hunger. “Oh, I do, baby. But tonight’s for you. And I’m not stopping until you cum so hard you forget your own name.” 

You moaned, legs trembling, body arching off the bed. And this time, when she sucked your clit between her lips and moaned into you…you broke. You came with a cry, your whole body trembling, hands gripping the sheets, hips stuttering as she licked you through it, slower now, softer, until your body collapsed back into the mattress.

She crawled up beside you, kissed your forehead, and whispered, “that’s two.”

You blinked, still catching your breath. “You’re keeping score?”

She grinned. “Of course.”

You didn’t fall asleep right away. Your body was too full of warmth. Your chest still fluttering from what she’d just done to you. You were curled up in her arms, your face tucked into the space where her neck met her shoulder, her hand brushing slow circles across your back.

Hyun-ju kissed the top of your head and exhaled softly. “That was really special to me,” she said. You blinked up at her. “Tonight,” she added. “You. Trusting me. Wanting me.”

Your heart tightened. “Of course I trust you.”

“I know. But…still. You didn’t have to let me in like that. And I know it wasn’t just about sex for you.”

You nodded, quietly. Her hand kept moving across your back. “I’ve had hookups,” she continued. “Casual stuff. Things that didn’t mean anything. But tonight–this meant something. Because it was you. And because I know how hard it is to be brave when your whole body’s screaming that you’re new to this.”

You pressed your lips to her shoulder. “You make it feel easy.”

She kissed your hair in return. “That’s the goal.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time after that. Just stayed there, tangled together, your hand resting over her heart.

It didn’t stop after that. If anything, it became impossible to stay away. You craved her. Her mouth. Her hands. Her laugh. Her steadiness. You started spending more time with her than without her–half your clothes in her closet, a toothbrush at her sink, a mug she kept just for you in her cabinet.

When you had to work, you texted her all day. About everything and nothing. About how bored you were. About how hot she looked in the selfie she sent at lunch. About how badly you wanted to crawl into her lap when she called you baby in a voice memo.

And Hyun-ju? She was insatiable. Not in a demanding way–but in that way where all it took was a look. One look from you and she was on her knees. On the floor. Behind the door. Wherever she could have you.

Once, she had her mouth on you in the backseat of her car. Thirty minutes before you were due to meet her friends for dinner. She made you cum twice, then fixed your hair like nothing happened, kissed your flushed cheek, and said, “You look even prettier like this.”

And you let her. Every time.

But lately, something had been tugging at your chest. A kind of guilt. A kind of ache. You loved the way she touched you. The way she cared for you, praised you, took you apart like it was her favorite thing.

But she hadn’t asked for anything. She never even hinted. And you wanted to give her something back.

So one night–warm lights, soft music, your body tangled with hers on the couch–you kissed her. Not tentative. Not testing. Just…wanting.

She kissed you back, gentle but a little surprised at how eager you were. You straddled her lap, fingers curling into the hem of her shirt. She pulled back slightly. “Baby–”

“I want to,” you whispered. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Her eyes ghosted over your face, searching. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Please. I want to learn. I want you.”

Seh let you tug off her shirt, your hands shaking slightly. You kissed down her neck, fingertips brushing her ribs. You slid off her pants next, leaving her in just her bra and panties–so beautiful you forgot to breathe.

But then–you froze. Not because you didn’t want her. Because you did. So much it scared you.

Hyun-ju noticed instantly. Her hands came to rest gently on your hips. “Hey,” she whispered. “Look at me.”

You did. She was calm. Beautiful. Patient. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

You shook your head quickly. “No–I want to. I just…I don’t want to do it wrong.”

Her hand slid up to cup your face. “You won’t,” she said softly. “I’ll help you. I’ll tell you what feels good. We go slow. We go together.”

You swallowed. “Okay.”

And when she kissed you again, it was like falling into warmth you already knew by heart.

The kiss is deeper now. Slow, lingering kisses that tasted like trust and nerves and something more. Smoothing warm blooming between your ribs. Her hands stayed on your hips, grounding you. You pulled back just enough to whisper, “Tell me what to do.”

Hyun-ju smiled softly. “Start with touching. Explore. You don’t have to rush.”

Your fingers drifted down her sides, mesmerizing the curve of her waist, the slope of her thigh, the softness of skin beneath cotton. She was laid out beneath you, eyes never leaving yours.

Your fingers hit a spot on her stomach that made her jump slightly and giggle, your eyes snapped up but she just assured you it was because you tickled her.

So you continue.. Your hand hovered near the waistband of her underwear. Your mouth was on her neck now, and you sucked on her skin briefly. But then you stopped moving, pulling away so you could sit up. Breath shallow. Pulse fluttering in your throat.

Hyun-ju cupped the back of your head, voice warm and low. “You’re doing so good, baby,” she whispered. “Don’t overthink it.”

“I’m not–I just…” you swallowed. “I’ve never–”

“I know. I know you haven’t.” She kissed the side of your face. “Let me help, yeah?”

You nodded, and she gently took your hand, guiding it over the soft skin of her stomach, down– “You don’t have to go inside,” she murmured, “unless you want to. Just touch me the way you like being touched.”

Your fingers brushed the front of her panties and she sighed, hips shifting slightly beneath you. The sound shot straight through you, a bolt of nervous desire sparking low in your belly. You pressed more firmly, rubbing gentle, clumsy circles.

She gasped softly. “Yes. Just like that.”

You looked up at her, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Really,” she said, breathless now. “Feels so fucking good, baby.”

Your face flushed. You kept going. Tentative at first. Still unsure. But the more she moaned for you, the more her hips lifted to meet your hand, the more your nerves twisted into something bold.

You kissed her chest, her collarbone. Nuzzled into the space above her bra, lips brushing the swell of one breast. 

She arched into your touch. “I love watching you learn,” she murmured. “You’re so careful. So sweet.”

You whimpered. “I want to be good for you.”

“You are,” she said. “You already are.”

Her praise made your head spin. You slipped your hand into her panties, heart hammering as you finally touched her. She was wet. So wet. And warm. And soft. “Fuck,” she moaned, clenching around nothing. “You’re making me crazy.”

Your fingers moved slowly, spreading her open, rubbing gentle circles around her clit. “Like that?” you whispered. 

“Exactly like that,” she breathed. You couldn’t stop looking at her. Her mouth slightly open. Her eyes fluttering. Her thighs tensing under your body as you moved. She was so responsive. So vocal. And still, so focused on you.

“You’re doing everything right,” she said. “I want you to feel how much I want you.”

“I do,” you whispered. “I want to make you cum.”

She groaned. “Keep going, baby. You’re almost there.”

And when her body finally shook–when she moaned your name and clenched around your fingers and pulled you down for a kiss–you felt more powerful and wanted than you ever had in your life.

You held her until her breathing slowed, until her hands relaxed against your spine. You whispered, “Did I really do okay?”

She smiled, eyes half lidded. “You didn’t just do okay. You wrecked me.”

You giggled, your face buried in her neck. “I want to do it again. Soon.”

“Then we’ll do it again. As many times as you want.”

Time passed. Not in a loud, dramatic way. But in soft little shifts. In the quiet turning of pages. In the way your heart stopped feeling like a question every time you looked at her.

You started holding her hand in public. At first, it was small. Just pinkies brushing on the subway, or you knuckles resting against hers in a cafe line. But then it was real. Linking your arms when walking through the park. Reaching for her hand across a dinner table. Sitting her lap during a game night at a friend’s place without flinching when someone raised an eyebrow.

She noticed every time. Not with a smirk, not with a joke–but with a quiet squeeze of your hand. A kiss to your temple. The smallest smile that said I see you. I know how far you’ve come.

You told your parents. You practice in the mirror for three days. Rehearsed every line. Anticipated every question. And when you finally said the words out loud–”I’m dating a woman. Her name is Hyun-ju.”–your mom just blinked.

Then said, “Is she nice?” 

And when you brought her home for dinner, she was more than nice. She helped wash dishes after. Told your dad his bad jokes were genuinely funny. Complemented the food like it was five-star dining. Your mom said she hoped Hyun-ju would come back soon.

You nearly cried in the bathroom after. Hyun-ju waited until you were curled in bed that night to kiss your forehead and whisper, “You did that. I’m proud of you.”

She introduced you to her brother next. He greeted you with a skeptical squint and a sarcastic, “So you’re the reason she’s been smiling like a Disney princess lately.”

You wanted to crawl into the floor. But by the end of the night, you were all laughing over drinks, and he sent Hyun-ju a selfie of the two of you with the caption: she’s way too sweet for your scary ass.

She grumbled, but you caught her saving the photo anyway.

And behind closed doors, you kept learning. You kept asking. And Hyun-ju kept giving.

You ate her out for the first time–nervous, shaking, trying to remember everything she’d taught you. She guided you with soft sighs and patient praise. Held your hair back. Moaned your name. “Just like that,” she whispered. “You’re making me fall apart.”

You learned her body in pieces. The curve of her hips. The sounds she made when you kissed her inner thigh. The way her voice dropped when she was close.

Eventually, she let you use toys–slowly at first, testing sizes and shapes, her hands always on your wrists, her eyes always watching yours. You’d never felt so trusted. So empowered. So wanted. And every time you touched her, every time you made her gasp or cry out or come undone, you couldn’t help but think–this is what love feels like.

The first time you said I love you…wasn’t when you meant to.

It wasn’t after a grand romantic gesture. It wasn’t in the middle of sex, or during an anniversary dinner, or while watching a sunset hand-in-hand.

It was on a Tuesday. You’d both had a long day. Work had sucked. The trains were late. You were grumpy, cold, and tired, and all you wanted was food and warmth and her.

You got to her apartment half an hour late, kicking your shoes off with a groan and dropping your bag like it had offended you personally.

“I bought dumplings,” you muttered, voice flat, “but they’re probably lukewarm at best and if I don’t sit down in the next five seconds I’m going to cry.”

Hyun-ju didn’t say anything. She just walked over, took your coat off for you, cupped your face in her hands, and kissed your forehead. And that was it. That was the moment. That moment you realized it had already happened. 

You were already in love with her. You had been for a while. You just hadn’t said it yet. So you stood there, with your arms still half in your sleeves, heart wide open and raw, and blurted it, “I love you.”

The air stopped. Hyun-ju blinked. You blinked. Your stomach dropped. “Oh my god,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean–wait, no, I did mean it, I just–fuck.”

She smiled. Not big. Not dramatic. Just soft. Quiet. Like the words had been sitting on the tip of her own tongue too. “Good,” she said. “Because I love you too.” You stared at her, wide-eyed and overwhelmed. She kissed you again. Slower this time. With the kind of love that said I’ve been waiting for you to say it. Then she grabbed the bag of dumplings, pulled you toward the couch, and said, “Now sit down before you.”

author's note - hope you all enjoy! this was so special for me to write, and so much fun. i hope you love it as much as I do!!

[sillylilsquid]

almost, always

pairing - hyun-ju x reader summary - after everything fell apart, you and hyun-ju keep finding excuses to stay in each other's lives. some loves don't end cleanly. some loves find a way back, even when they shouldn't. warnings - au!hyun-ju, afab!reader, angsty angst, brief sexual content, pre-bottom surgery hyun-ju. 18+, minors dni! 5.2k words

It was always the little things that piled up first. The unanswered texts. The late nights you spent waiting, wondering if she forgot, if she cared, if she was just tired or if it was you.

The arguments that started small and stupid–where to eat, what time to meet–and ended with slammed doors and swallowed apologies.

“You never take anything seriously,” she said once, standing in the kitchen, arms crossed so tight you thought she might snap in half.

You laughed–sharp, defensive. “It’s not that serious, Hyun-ju. It’s just dinner.” 

But it was never just dinner. It was never just one thing.

It was the thousand tiny disappointments that neither of you knew how to voice until they turned into something ugly.

It was her needing structure, needing something solid to hold onto–and you needing something a little freer, a little softer, something she couldn’t give without breaking herself apart.

It was both of you pretending you could fix it, even when you knew you couldn’t.

Until one night, after one too many fights, one too many wrong words, she said, quietly, almost kindly: “I can’t take care of both of us anymore.”

You didn’t fight her. You just stood there and let her walk away.

Present

It’s been six months since you broke up. Six months of pretending you don’t think about her every time you pass a cafe she liked. Six months of telling yourself you’re better off, even though every bone in your body knows you’re lying.

So when your kitchen light goes out–and the broken stool in your closet mocks you–you do the stupidest thing you could possibly do.

You text her.

hey. can you help me? my light’s out and i can’t reach it

It’s pathetic. You know it is. You stare at the message, thumb hovering over the screen, heart pounding. You almost delete it. But before you can, the typing bubble pops up.

Hyunnie omw.

Three letters. No hesitation. Just like that, you’re right back where you started. Waiting for her.

You don’t have to wait for long. 

Fifteen minutes, maybe less, before you hear the soft knock at the door–the same rhythm she always used. Three quick taps. One long one.

You hesitate with your hand on the doorknob. Some stupid, stubborn part of you still thinks: if I don’t open it, maybe I won’t have to feel all of it.

But you open it anyway.

And there she is.

Hyun-ju, standing in your hallway like no time has passed at all. Black sweater, faded jeans, keys hooked on her thumb. Tall and steady in the way you never learned how to be.

Her eyes flick over you–taking you in, checking for damage you’re not sure you even show–and then she smiles.

Small. Careful. Like if she gives too much away, you’ll both fall apart.

“Hey,” she says softly.

“Hey,” you manage, voice catching in your throat.

You step back to let her in. She kicks off her shoes without being asked, setting them neatly by the door–because of course she remembers how you hated when she used to track dirt across your floors.

The apartment feels too small with her in it.

Or maybe it just feels too full–with everything you’re trying not to say.

You point toward the kitchen lamely. “It’s the light in there. I can’t reach it.”

Hyun-ju nods, already moving. Efficient and calm. Like she didn’t once rip your heart out with her bare hands.

She grabs the chair from your table without a word, balancing carefully as she reaches up. You stand back, watching her–the stretch of her body, steady confidence of her hands, the way her brows furrow slightly in concentration.

Your throat tightens.

It’s stupid. It’s just a lightbulb.

But once, it would’ve been your how she was fixing. Your broken things she was trying to make better.

Now it’s just…charity.

She steps down lightly, flipping the switch. The kitchen floods with warm light. “There,” she says, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Good as new.”

You smile weakly. “Thanks.”

Silence stretches. You wonder if she can hear your heart beating through the walls. 

She clears her throat, rocking back on her heels. “You doing okay?”

Same question as last time. Same lie waiting on your tongue.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a smile. “Fine.”

And for a second–just a second–you think she might call you on it. Might reach for you like she used to.

But she just nods. Tight. Careful.

“Good,” she says, too quietly.

You walk her to the door even though she doesn’t need help. Even though you don’t want her to leave. She hesitates at the threshold. And so do you.

But nothing happens. No apology. No confession. No miracle. 

Just two people still too close and too far at the same time.

“Text me if you need anything else,” Hyun-ju says, voice low. 

You nod, heart splintering. “Yeah. Sure.”

She hesitates like she wants to say something more. But she doesn’t. She just slips out the door, leaving you standing there, holding all the things you’re still too scared to say.

Six months ago

You never meant to fight that night.

You meant to talk. To fix it. To make her see you were trying. But somehow it always ended the same way.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Hyun-ju said, standing in the doorway, arms crossed so tight across her chest you could almost hear the bones creaking under the strain.

You sat on the couch, hands trembling in your lap, staring at the coffee table because looking at her hurt too much.

“It’s not that bad,” you said, voice cracking. “We just had a rough week. That’s all.”

Hyun-ju laughed–sharp and broken. “A rough week? You missed your interview. You forgot about dinner with my parents. You left the gas on in the kitchen.”

You flinched. “I said I was sorry,” you whispered.

“You’re always sorry,” she said, and her voice cracked too, despite everything. “I’m tired of having to pick up the pieces every time you forget how to live.”

You shot to your feet, chest burning. “I never asked you to do that!”

“You didn’t have to!” she snapped. “I love you, you idiot. I loved you enough to try. And you made me feel like I was holding this whole fucking relationship together by myself.”

Silence.

Just the sound of both of you breathing, ragged and uneven.

You stepped forward, desperate. “I can be better.”

She shook her head. Tears glinting in her eyes that she refused to let fall. 

“It’s not about being better,” she said, voice small. “It’s about me not wanting to feel like I’m drowning every time I look at you.”

You hated her for saying it. You hated yourself more for knowing it was true. You opened your mouth to argue. To plead. To promise you’d change.

But she was already grabbing her keys. Already putting on her shoes. Already walking out the door.

And you–you just let her. Because you didn’t know how to ask her to stay without hurting her even more.

Now

You don’t talk about that night anymore. You don’t even let yourself think about it if you can help it.

But Hyun-ju still texts sometimes.

When her car won’t start. When she locks herself out. When she needs someone at two in the morning and there’s no one else she trusts to come without asking questions.

You still text her too.

When you burn yourself cooking and need someone to yell at you until you ice it properly. When you get a flat tire and don’t know what the hell to do. When it’s late and you’re lonely and you tell yourself you’re just being practical–not desperate. 

Each text feels like stitching yourself back together with thread that’s already frayed.

Temporary. Inevitable.

Neither of you ever says too much.

Never how are you unless something’s wrong. Never I miss you even when it’s obvious. Never I’m sorry even though it hums under everything.

Just these small, bleeding moments of almost-love you both pretend are nothing. You know it’s stupid. You know you’re only hurting yourself.

But you also know: if she texts again, you’ll answer. 

Every time.

You pick a quiet place.

Small, tucked away. Half-lit and half-empty, the kind of restaurant where you can pretend you’re not two people who fell apart.

Hyun-ju’s already there when you arrive–sitting at a booth in the back, scrolling absently on her phone.

She looks up when she hears you, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear the way she always did when she was nervous.

Only now–you notice it’s longer.

Falling a little messier over her shoulders. Softer somehow. 

“Your hair’s gotten long,” you blurt without thinking as you slide into the seat across from her.

She touches it self consciously, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “Yeah. Guess I got lazy about cutting it.”

“It looks good,” you say, maybe too quickly.

Her smile deepens, a little more real. “Thanks.”

She lets her eyes wander over you for a second, lingering in a way that makes your skin feel too tight.

“You look good too,” she says, quieter. “Healthier. Happier.”

You duck your head, pretending to read the menu even though the words are blurring.

“Trying,” you mumble. And she hums–low and thoughtful, and for a second it almost feels easy. Almost.

Dinner is…easy, at first.

Small talk. Work. The weather. You both pretend this is normal.

You poke at your pasta, your foot brushing hers under the table, and it feels like it used to.

Almost.

And maybe that’s why you say it. Maybe that’s why you finally crack open your ribs and spill it out like it’s something worth offering.

“I’ve gotten better, you know,” you say, trying to sound casual and not desperate.

Hyun-ju looks up, surprised.

You rush on before you can lose your never. “I use the planner you bought me. Every day. I don’t miss appointments anymore. I even set like five alarms so I’m not late for anything.”

You laugh awkwardly, scraping your fork across your plate. “I’m…I’m more responsible now,” you say, quieter. “I’m not the same.”

Hyun-ju’s face softens.

She reaches across the table and squeezes your hand–just once, quick, like she’s afraid of what it might mean if she holds on too long.

“That’s good,” she says, voice warm. “I’m proud.”

And you smile. You smile because you’re supposed to. Because she’s proud of you.

But deep down, it feels like someone’s wringing the air out of your lungs. Because for one stupid, impossible second, you thought maybe–

Maybe if you got better–

Maybe if you fixed all the things she hated–

Maybe she’d come back.

But she just smiles across the table. Kind. Distant. Done.

Proud of you. Not in love with you.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, pretending you didn’t just bleed out in front of her. “Yeah,” you say, voice almost steady. “Yeah, it’s good.”

Neither of you says what you’re really thinking. That it’s too late. That getting better doesn’t undo the past. That some bridges don’t burn–they just…fade.

You finish dinner. You laugh at her jokes. You hug goodbye. And when she pulls away, she doesn’t linger. Not like she used to.

Back at your apartment, you stare at your planner–the one she gave you–open on the kitchen counter.

Tomorrow: meetings. Grocery run. Doctor’s appointment.

Everything neatly written out. Everything structured. Everything good.

You’ve gotten better. You really have. But it doesn’t matter. She’s still gone. And you’re still her–mad at yourself for wanting her anyway.

A few weeks later

The texts don’t stop after dinner. If anything, they come more often now.

You send her pictures sometimes–small glimpses into your day. Your coffee in the morning. Your planner spread out across your desk, scribbled full of meetings. Your smile, shy and proud, after hitting the gym for the first time in weeks.

Hyun-ju always answers.

proud of you.

you look good. happy. 

And it’s enough to keep you breathing. For a while.

You didn’t mean to send the next text. Not really. 

You’re just feeling reckless one night–buzzed off loneliness and one too many glasses of wine.

Your skin warm. Your heart stupid.

You take a few more photos. First one, smiling at the mirror, hairy messy, t-shirt too big. Second one, slipping the t-shirt off one shoulder, baring skin you know she used to worship. Third one, lower, suggestive, soft and a little desperate even though you don’t say anything.

You hit send without thinking. And immediately regret it.

She doesn’t reply. Not right away. You spend an hour lying on the floor staring at your phone, heart pounding, stomach flipping.

Finally, the screen lights up. Incoming call. Hyunnie.

You answer without thinking, “Hey,” you breathe.

She doesn’t answer for a second. When she does, her voice is wrecked. “We have to stop this.”

You sit up too fast, panic slicing through you. “What?”

“We can’t keep talking like this,” she says, a little steadier. “It’s not fair. To either of us.”

Your throat tightens. “Please don’t–”

“I can’t…” She exhales sharply, and you can hear her struggling with it.  “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay. I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to come over there every time you send me something like that.”

Tears sting in your eyes, hot and fast. “I’ll stop,” you whisper desperately. “I’ll be good. Just–don’t leave.”

Silence hums across the line.

“I promised myself,” she says, voice breaking, “I promised myself I’d take care of me this time.”

You press your fist to your mouth, trying to stay quiet, but a choked sob slips through.

And that’s what does it. That’s what breaks her. “I–shit,” she mutters. “I’m coming over.”

The line goes dead.

You’re still curled on the couch, wearing the same stupid oversized shirt, wiping tears off your cheeks with the sleeves, when you hear the knock at the door.

Soft. Three quick taps. One long one.

Hyun-ju stands there–messy, breathless, soaked from the light drizzle outside, looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world she ever learned how to love.

Neither of you says anything. You just launch yourself at her.

She catches you easily, arms wrapping around you so tight you can barely breathe–but you don’t care.

You press your face into her neck, inhaling the scent of rain and sweat and regret.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against her skin.

“No,” she says fiercely, pulling you closer. “I’m sorry.”

She presses a kiss to the top of your head. Another to your forehead. Another to your trembling mouth.

It’s not careful. It’s not clean. It’s messy and hungry and wrong.

But you let her kiss you. And you kiss her back. Because neither of you ever learned how to let go properly. And maybe you never will.

Hyun-ju kisses you like she’s drowning.

Like she thinks if she stops, she’ll realize how stupid this is–how doomed you both are–but she can’t stop. Her hands are shaking where they grip your hips, holding you close like she’s terrified you’ll disappear.

You break apart for a second, gasping.

“This is a bad idea,” she says, voice low, wrecked, forehead pressed against yours.

You nod, heart hammering against your ribs. “I know.”

Her fingers trail up your arms, ghost-light, hesitant. “We shouldn’t,” she breathes against your lips.

“You can stop,” you whisper back. “If you want.”

You feel her shudder. But she doesn’t stop. 

She leans in again–slower this time–mouth brushing yours so lightly you could almost pretend you imagined it. Another kiss. And another. Each one a little deeper. A little more desperate. 

Her hands move like she’s afraid to touch you and terrified not to.

She presses you back into the couch, following you down, the weight of her body so familiar it makes your chest ache.

You arch into her, fingers threading through her damp hair, pulling her closer, and she groans–wrecked–into your mouth.

“I’m supposed to be stronger than this,” she says, voice cracking.

“You are,” you whisper, thumbing over her cheekbone. “You are.”

Another kiss. Harder. Rougher. 

Her hips slot between yours, and you gasp, feeling the heat of her, the way she’s already trembling.

“Tell me to stop,” she pleads, breathless.

You cup her face,  forcing her to look at you. “I won’t,” you say softly. “I want this.”

Her eyes slam shut. Her forehead drops to your shoulder.

And then she’s moving.

Sliding her hands under your shirt. Mapping the skin she used to know by heart. Kissing her way down your throat, across your collarbone, dragging her teeth lighty where she knows it’ll make you shiver.

Clothes fall away, messy, half-forgotten on the floor.

And the whole time–

The whole aching time–

She keeps whispering, “We shouldn’t be doing this,” even as she presses deeper into you, even as her hands roam desperate and frantic over your body.

You arch against her, moaning softly, and she curses under her breath, breaking apart at the seams.

“Hyun-ju,” you whisper, guiding her hand lower. “Please.”

It’s the please that shatters her. She sinks into you like gravity gave up, mouth finding yours again, kissing you slow and deep and broken.

When she finally pushes inside you–slow, careful, trembling–you both gasp at the same time. And it’s not rough. It’s not quick. It’s aching. 

Like she’s trying to memorize the shape of you. Like she knows it’s the last time she’ll get to have this.

You clutch at her, nails digging into her shoulders, pulling her closer, closer, closer.

And she gives you everything. Every broken piece. Every unfinished sentence. Every fucking thing she spent months trying to bury.

You come undone together–messy, desperate, whispering each other’s names like prayers neither of you believe in anymore.

She doesn’t pull away immediately. She just rests her forehead against yours, both of you trembling, both of you too full of regret and relief and sadness to move.

“We’re so stupid,” she whispers hoarsely.

You close your eyes, feeling tears prick. “I know,” you say. But you don’t let go. And neither does she.

The room is dark now. The rain tapping against the windows is the only sound.

You’re lying in Hyun-ju’s arms, both you stripped down to nothing, skin cooling where it was just burning minutes ago.

Sheets tangled around your legs. Your head tucked into the curve of her neck. She’s holding you too tight, like she’s scared you’ll disappear if she lets go.

You keep your breathing slow. Even. Pretending you’re asleep. You’re not. You’re so awake it hurts.

You feel her shift slightly, her hand brushing gently up and down your back, so light it barely feels real.

And then you hear it. Her raw voice, low, barely a whisper into the darkness: “Fuck,” she mutters. “I miss you.”

You stay perfectly still. Hyun-ju exhales shakily, pressing her nose into your hair.

“These past six months…they’ve been hell.”

Her fingers tighten on your hip, grounding herself. Or maybe holding herself back.

“I tried,” she breathes. “I tried seeing other people. I tried moving on.”

Another shaky breath. “But fuck…you’re always on my mind.”

You close your eyes tighter, tears pricking at the corners. “I’m so stupid,” she whispers. “We can’t do this. I can’t hurt myself again.”

Her voice cracks on the last word. “I can’t hurt you again.”

You want to turn around. You want to tell her you’re awake. You want to tell her you don’t care–that you’d let her break you a hundred times if it meant feeling like this for even one more second.

But you stay still. Frozen in place between what you want and what you know you can’t have. Hyun-ju presses a soft, broken kiss into your hair.

And then, quieter than before, “I love you.”

It’s not loud. It’s not for you to hear. But you hear it anyway. And it shatters you.

You wake up first. For a few minutes, you just lie there–watching the way Hyun-ju’s chest rises and falls, the way her hands curl instinctively against your hip like she’s still holding onto you in her sleep.

You wonder if she dreams about you. Or if you’re just another bad habit she can’t kick.

When she stirs, blinking awake slowly, the first thing she does is pull you closer, pressing her forehead to your shoulder.

Neither of you says anything.

The air is thick. Too heavy with everything  you can’t take back.

Eventually, she pulls away, sitting up slowly, rubbing her face with her hands like she’s trying to scrub away the night. You sit too. 

Both of you fully dressed now, standing awkwardly near the door, pretending this isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever done.

Hyun-ju grabs her jacket. Hesitates.

You reach for the doorknob but don’t turn it.

You glance at her–at the way her jaw clenches, the way her hands twitch at her sides like she wants to reach for you but knows she shouldn’t.

It would be so easy. One more kiss. One more excuse.

But she steps back. Gives you space. And somehow, that hurts worse than anything else.

“I’ll see you around,” she says softly.

You nod. “Yeah.”

She leaves without looking back. You close the door behind her and lean against it, pressing your forehead to the cool wood, trying not to cry.

A few days later you text her.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Nothing serious. Just hey and how are you and you left your jacket here.

Left on read. Every time. You tell yourself to stop. 

You don’t. You just keep staring at your phone like if you hope hard enough, maybe it’ll light up. Maybe she’ll come back. Maybe this time it’ll be different.

Four days later. Almost a week. Finally.

Hyunnie: can we meet up

Your heart stutters. You don’t even think, you just reply. Where?

Hyunnie: my place

You knock once. The door swings open almost immediately.

She’s standing there, hair messy, eyes dark, wearing that same oversized hoodie you always loved. For a second, neither of you moves.

Then she’s pulling you inside, slamming the door shut behind you, kissing you like she’s been starving without you.

The clothes fall away faster this time. It’s rougher. Less careful. More desperate.

Hands grabbing, mouths bruising, bodies colliding like you’re both trying to tear something out of yourselves.

You lose yourself in her–the way she gasps when you bite her lip. The way her hands tremble when she pushes inside you. The way she says your name like it’s the only thing tethering her to earth.

You come undone together again, messier this time, more broken.

But when you’re lying tangled in her sheets afterward, skin still buzzing, you can’t stay quiet anymore.

You trace slow circles into her arm, your voice barely above a whisper, “If you just…if you just want sex…” you trail off, swallowing hard. “I’m fine with that. I just…I just want to know you. Even if it’s only like this.”

Hyun-ju stiffens under your touch. You keep going–because you have to.

“I’ll take whatever you can give,” you say, blinking back tears “Even if it’s just…being your hookup.”

The silence after that is deafening. You can feel her breathing change–sharp and uneven. She pulls away slightly, just enough to see your face. Her own face crumples–like she’s breaking in front of you. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice wrecked. “I never wanted to make you feel like that.”

You shake your head, trying to smile. Trying to make it easier for her. “It’s fine,” you lie. “Really. I just…I don’t want to lose you.”

Hyun-ju cups your face in her hands, pressing her forehead to yours. “You were never just sex to me,” she said with a shaky voice. “Never.”

But she doesn’t promise anything more. And you don’t ask her to. Because you already know how this ends. And you’re still choosing her anyway.

You try to stay. You really do.

You lie still in Hyun-ju’s bed, your face tucked against her bare shoulder, breathing in the warmth of her skin like you can memorize it. Like you can make it last.

But you can't.

You can feel it–the ache growing heavier by the second. The way her arm around your waist isn’t tight enough. The way she shifts in her sleep, turning slightly away from you. The way everything between you feels unfinished and unsaid and already slipping away.

You stare at the ceiling for a long time. The digital clock on her nightstand glows red. 

3:17 AM.

You peel the blanket back slowly, careful not to wake her. You sit up, pulling your shirt over your head, slipping your jeans back on with shaking hands.

You glance back once. She’s still sleeping. Peaceful. Beautiful. So far away.

You want to crawl back into bed. You want to stay. You want to believe that this time will be different. But it won’t be. You know that now.

So you slip out the door. You don’t leave a note. You don’t send a text. You just walk down the empty hallway, out into the cold, and let the night swallow you whole.

You curl up on your couch, pulling your knees to your chest, burying your face in your hands.

And you cry.

Not the pretty, cinematic kind of crying. The ugly, gasping kind–the kind that shakes your whole body and leaves you feeling hollow afterward.

You cry because you love her. You cry because she loves you too, but not enough. You cry because some part of you still thinks if you were just better, different, more, she’d stay.

But you know the truth. You could become everything she ever wanted. And it still wouldn’t be enough to erase the cracks that already splintered you both apart.

You fall asleep on the couch, tear stained and shivering, clutching your phone like it might save you. It doesn’t buzz. She doesn’t call. And you don’t know if that makes it better or worse.

It’s been three days since you left her bed in the middle of the night. You haven’t texted. You’re halfway through convincing yourself she’s moved on–again–when your phone buzzes.

Hyunnie: dinner tomorrow night? 7pm. i made a reservation. wear something nice.

Your stomach flips so hard it makes you dizzy. You typed out a hundred different replies. You settle on one word. Ok.

The place is beautiful. Dim lighting. Crisp white tablecloths. Waiters in black ties gliding between tables like something out of a dream.

You set out of the taxi feeling underdressed even in your nicest dress. Your hands shake a little as you walk through the doors.

And there she is.

Hyun-ju–waiting just inside. Hair sleek, dark red dress perfectly fitted, holding a small bouquet of white roses. 

When she sees you, she smiles–wide, real, shy–the kind of smile that used to be just for you.

Your breath catches. She steps forward, offering you the flowers without a word. You take them, fingers brushing hers.

“Hi,” you mumble.

“Hi,” she says back, softer.

And somehow, the world tilts back into place.

She pulls your chair out for you like a gentleman, brushing her hand along your waist as you sit. You’re too stunned to say anything.

She orders a bottle of wine–something expensive, judging by the look the waiter gives her–and glances at you across the table like she’s memorizing your face.

You don’t ask why. You just let it happen.

The food is perfect. The wine is better. The conversation is easy in a way you forgot it could be.

She tells you about her work. You tell her about your little wins lately–showing up, staying steady, building a life piece by piece.

She listens like every word you say matters.

When the dessert comes–some fancy chocolate cake with fresh berries–she doesn’t even ask. She just grabs two spoons and slides one across the table to you, smiling that soft, crooked smile that makes your heart hurt.

You laugh under your breath and dig in, bumping her foot under the table accidentally–and not moving it away. Neither does she.

The check comes. She waves it away without looking. The waiter retreats, and for a long second, it’s just you and her, the candles between you flickering.

Hyun-ju clears her throat. “I’ve been thinking,” she says, voice rough, like the words are stuck in her chest. “About us.”

You hold your breath. 

“I miss you. Not just the…easy parts. I miss everything.” You blink, hands tightening around your napkin.

“I thought I had to let you go,” she says quietly. “I thought…that was the right thing. For both of us.”

A pause. A breath.

Her eyes lock on yours.

“But I don’t want to live the rest of my life wondering if we could've gotten it right.”

Your heart slams so hard you feel it in your fingertips.

“I want to try again,” her voice is steady now. “I want us.”

The room blurs at the edges. You’re not sure if you’re breathing. But your voice is calm when you answer in a whisper, “Yeah. I want us too.”

And when she reaches across the table to lace her fingers through yours–this time, you don’t hesitate.

You hold on. Tight. Like you’ll never let go again.

The night air is cool when you step outside the restaurant. The streetlights buzz softly overhead, the city humming around you–but it feels like you’re moving through a world made just for the two of you.

Hyun-ju slips her hand into yours without asking. You squeeze her fingers, and she squeezes back.

You walk slowly, no destination in mind, just soaking it all in–the warmth of her hand, the quiet rhythm of her footsteps next to yours.

It feels fragile. It feels real.

You pass a little park, empty this late at night. The fountain glitters under the streetlamps, tossing little shards of silver across the pavement.

Hyun-ju tugs you toward it, grinning shyly. You let her.

At the edge of the fountain, she stops, turning to face you, her free hand brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

“You’re beautiful,” she says quietly.

You flush, ducking your head. “You’re just saying that because you fed me three courses of fancy food.”

She laughs, a real laugh, the sound curling around your heart. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You meet her eyes–steady, calm. For a moment, neither of you moves. And then she leans in.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just soft.

Her lips brush yours–gentle, slow, careful like she’s relearning you piece by piece. You kiss her back, arms sliding around her neck, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between you.

When you finally pull away, she presses her forehead to yours, breathing you in.

“I’m not perfect,” she whispers. “I’m gonna fuck up sometimes.”

You smile, thumb stroking her jaw. “Me too.”

“But I’m staying this time,” she says, voice shaking a little. “I’m staying.”

You nod, tears pricking at your eyes, but you laugh through it. “Good,” you whisper. “Because I'm not letting you go again.”

Hyun-ju kisses you again–longer this time–and you let the city blur around you, let the world fall away.

Because for the first time in a long time, it feels like the two of you are finally standing still. Finally choosing each other. Not because you’re scared. But because you’re ready. Together. This time for real.

[sillylilsquid]

hii how are you <3 , may i request a part 2 to ‘something like safe’ where they run into the man who was harassing reader?

i am so happy you enjoyed pt 1! plz enjoy part 2, and feel free to send more requests!! thank you for reading!! xoxo

[sillylilsquid]

𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔣𝔢 𝔭𝔱. 2

♥︎summary: part two of something like safe. after surviving the fallout of old wounds and violent confrontations, you and thanos find yourselves tangled in something deeper than friendship. wherever you are, he's there too and that's enough. ♥︎trigger warnings: au, no squid game. afab!reader, au!Thanos, nam gyu being the silly wingman, sexual themes, mentions of stalking/blackmail(nothing in depth, just implied), suggestive photos, oc thanos. minors dni!! 18+ 6.7k words

A few months later

Things didn’t snap back to normal. Healing wasn’t linear. Some days were better than others. But lately…you were having more better days than not.

You’d started going to therapy. You never told Thanos the details of your sessions, but you didn’t have to–he noticed. In the way you started eating regular meals again. The way your apartment no longer looked like a battlefield. The way your laughter came easier, louder.

You even started sleeping again, real sleep–not the kind soaked in alcohol and emotional exhaustion.

Thanos had stayed close through all of it. Quiet when you needed quiet, teasing when you needed laughter, fierce when you needed fire. The two of you weren’t together, not in the official sense–but the line between best friends and something more had never been blurrier. He called you baby more often than he used your name, kissed your forehead like it was instinct. You curled into his chest like it was home.

You didn’t talk about what you were. But you knew what he was to you: a lifeline.

Still…even with all that, the past had a way of creeping back in.

The messages hadn’t stopped.

Blocked number after blocked number. Different voicemails. Cryptic comments on your old photos. And every time, it shook something loose in your chest. You never answered. But you saw them.

You never told Thanos. Because you knew what would happen if you did.

Thanos had bought tickets for you and him to see a band at one of the small, local venues. He was always making sure you got out of the house to do fun things with him. The energy was electric. Music pounding through the floor, lights flashing, the crowd swaying like one giant heartbeat. It was the first time in months you’d felt free.

Thanos stood behind you, hands resting lightly on your hips, swaying in time with you. Every so often, he leaned down, murmuring something in your ear just to make you laugh. His breath on your neck, the heat of his body–it was grounding.

“I told you this’d be good for you,” he shouted over the music.

You smiled, nodding. He was right. You hadn’t felt this light in a long time.

That was–until you saw him.

Across the venue. Near the bar.

The man.

Your blood ran cold. He was leaning against the counter, drink in hand, scanning the crowd. And then his eyes locked with yours.

He smirked. You froze.

The moment didn’t last long–because Thanos noticed. He always did.

“Hey,” his voice dropped, hands tightening on your waist. “What is it?”

You couldn’t speak. Just turned your head slightly, eyes wide. Thanos followed your gaze.

And when he saw him–when he realized who you were staring at–you felt his whole body go tense.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” he muttered.

You grabbed his hand instantly. “Thanos. No. Please don’t.”

But he was already moving.

“Thanos, stop–please, just ignore him. Let’s go somewhere else–” you were pulling on his arm, trying to get him to turn back, but he wrenched free.

“You’ve been getting messages again, haven’t you?” he snapped, voice rough. You blinked, startled.

“What–”

“Haven’t you?” he growled, turning on you. “I fucking knew it. You didn’t say anything because you knew I’d lose it. Right?”

“Because I don’t want this!” you yelled. “I just want it to be over!”

Thanos didn’t wait for a reply. He shouldered his way through the crowd, fast and furious, until he was standing toe to toe with the guy.

And the man–smug, cocky bastard–just laughed. “Oh, this again?” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re still playing bodyguard? Jesus, dude. Get a life.”

Thanos didn’t speak. He swung.

The punch was brutal–cracked across the guy’s jaw so hard it sent him reeling into the bar. Glass shattered. People screamed. The music faltered.

You shoved your way through the crowd, heart pounding. “Thanos, stop!” You grabbed his arm, but he was too far gone.

The guy lunged back, trying to tackle him. Thanos caught him mid-swing, slammed him into the edge of the counter. “You think this is a game?” he snarled, grabbing him by the collar. “You think you can fuck with her and walk away?”

“Thanos!” You were yelling now, panicking. “Security’s coming–please, you have to stop!”

He turned, wide eyed, chest heaving. “Why are you still defending him!?”

“I’m not! I just–I just want you to be safe!” your voice cracked.

But it was too late. Security was already swarming in, grabbing Thanos by the arms, dragging him back as he cursed and shouted.

“Get your hands off me–he’s the one who should be getting thrown out!”

You could barely think. You followed him out, stumbling into the cool night air as Thanos ripped free from the guard, pacing like a caged animal.

He turned to you, rage still burning in his eyes. “He’s still messing with you. Still sending shit. And you didn’t tell me?”

“I just wanted to forget,” you whispered, voice raw.

He stared at you, breathing hard. Then, softer–broken–he said, “I’m trying to protect you, babe. You think I’m gonna let him keep haunting you like this?”

“I know,” you whispered. “I know. But I’m scared.”

Thanos stepped forward, gently cradling your face in both hands. “You’re not alone. He’s not going to touch you. Not again. I’ll make sure of it.”

You leaned into him, trembling. The city swirled around you, the noise, the lights–but in that moment, all that mattered was his hands on your skin, his voice grounding you.

Thanos was pacing now, fists clenched, jaw tight, still riding the high of adrenaline and fury. You were trying to keep it together, trying to breathe, but your heart was pounding so loud it echoed in your ears.

You kept your voice low, afraid of setting him off again. “Let’s just leave, okay? We’ll get in the car, go somewhere quiet–”

But then you heard a voice behind you.

“Hey.”

You froze. Slowly, like in a nightmare, you turned.

There he was. The guy.

Out on the sidewalk, walking toward you with his hands raised like he was trying to look innocent, like he was the victim here. There was a bruise blooming on his jaw, blood at the corner of his lip–but his eyes were sharp, cocky.

“Can we just talk?” he said, glancing between you and Thanos. “You really gonna let him get away with that? After everything we had?”

Your stomach twisted violently. “Leave. Now.”

He stepped closer anyway. “C’mon baby. Don’t act like I’m the villain–” And then, his hand reached out. Fingers brushed your cheek, moving toward your hair.

That was all it took.

Thanos moved like lightning.

He shoved you back, hard enough that you stumbled a few steps out of the way, and then he lunged. His shoulder slammed into the guy’s chest, sending him crashing to the pavement. He didn’t wait–he was on top of him in an instant, fists flying, a snarl ripping from his throat.

“You don’t touch her,” Thanos growled, his voice barely human.

The man tried to push off, but Thanos was bigger. Stronger. Angrier. Blow after blow landed, raw, brutal, unforgiving.

“Thanos!” you screamed, scrambling toward them. “Stop–he’s not worth it! You’re gonna get arrested–!”

But he didn’t hear you. Or maybe he did, but didn’t care.

You heard the sound of someone calling 911. A girl nearby shouted, “Someone get security–he’s gonna kill him!”

You dropped to your knees, grabbing Thanos’ arm, trying to pull him off. “Thanos, please! You’re scaring me!”

That made him pause. Just for a second.

His breathing was ragged, knuckles bloodied, eyes locked on the man’s face–split lip, swollen eye, blood smeared across the concrete.

Then you heard it.

The sirens

They were close. Too close.

Thanos stood up slowly, fists still clenched, chest heaving. He didn’t look at anyone but you. Just you.

His voice was low, guttural. “He touched you.”

You nodded, tears in your eyes. “I know. I know, baby. But you can’t go to jail for me. Please.”

You reached out, cupping his face, your hand trembling. “You have to breathe. Look at me. Please.”

Thanos stared at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. Slowly–slowly–his breathing started to steady.

But the flashing lights were already painting the street in red and blue.

Two squad cars screeched to a halt near the curb, doors flinging open. You backed up instinctively, your hand still wrapped around Thanos’ wrist, trying to anchor him.

“Hands where I can see ‘em!” one officer barked, flashlight blinding as it swept over the scene.

Thanos didn’t flinch. He just lifted his hands slowly, blood smeared across his knuckles, chest still rising and falling like he hadn’t come down from the high yet.

You stepped in front of him, panicked. “Please–please, he was just protecting me–he didn’t start it!”

Another officer was kneeling beside the guy on the ground. “Can you hear me? What’s your name? Did he do this?”

The man moaned dramatically, clutching his ribs. “Yeah,” he coughed. “Yeah, he attacked me. Outta nowhere.”

Your stomach dropped.

“He was harassing me–he touched me first,” you said quickly, voice rising. “He came up to me, tried to hug me–Thanos just stepped in to protect me!”

“He was the one who put hands on her,” Thanos said, his voice gravelly. “You want my statement? Start there.”

“Step back,” the taller cop ordered, putting a hand on your shoulder to move you aside as another officer approached Thanos, already pulling hand cuffs. “Sir, you’re being detained for assault. You have the right to remain silent–”

“No–wait,” you pleaded, heart hammering. “Please, he didn’t do anything wrong–he was defending me!”

The guy on the ground gave a smug groan. “Yeah, well maybe next time tell your boyfriend to keep his fists to himself.”

Thanos lunged.

It was only half a step, but the officers immediately shoved him back, forcing his hands behind his back more aggressively this time. His eyes never left the man on the ground.

“I should’ve done worse,” he growled.

The officer twisted his arm tighter. “That’s enough.”

“Thanos!” you rushed forward again, panic spiking as they began walking him toward the squad car. He looked back at you, his jaw tight, blood on his teeth from where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek.

But his eyes–they softened when they met yours.

“I’m fine, babe,” he said, voice low. “Don’t cry.”

Your vision blurred anyway. “This is my fault.”

His head shook, firm. “None of this is on you. Don’t ever think that.”

The officer opened the back door of the car. “Ma’am, we need you to stay back.”

“No!” you shouted, voice cracking. “You can’t just arrest him! That man assaulted me, he’s been harassing me for months–check my phone! Check the texts!”

One of the officers paused at that, eyeing you more seriously now. “You have messages?”

“Yes,” you said quickly, pulling your phone from your pocket, fingers fumbling as you opened the thread. “Voicemails. Texts. Photos. He tried to blackmail me. He threatened me. He’s the one who should be in handcuffs.”

The officer’s expression changed. “Show me everything.”

Another approached with a notebook. “We’ll need a formal statement. If this man’s been stalking and threatening you, that’s serious. It changes everything.”

You looked over your shoulder.

Thanos was already in the back of the cruiser, head tilted against the window, a resigned look on his face. Like he thought this was the price he had to pay.

You turned back to the officer. “He didn’t attack a stranger. He protected me. He stopped the guy who’s been haunting me every time I try to move on.”

The officer nodded. “Alright. Let’s take this one step at a time. But if what you’re saying holds up, that man might be spending the night in a cell instead of your friend.”

Your heart thudded.

You turned back toward the car, eyes locking with Thanos through the glass. “I’ll fix this,” you mouthed.

And he gave the smallest nod, the barest curve of a smile. Like he believed you.

You spent hours at the station.

Giving your statement. Handing over screenshots. Voicemails. Photos you didn’t even realize were still sitting in your gallery like little landmines. It was exhausting–reliving it, naming it out loud. But you did it. For yourself. For him.

Thanos had been taken to holding while they sorted everything out. They kept him longer than you expected. His name raised flags. Past charges–DUIs, drug possession, public intoxication. He’d been in and out of trouble before, and they didn’t want to take any chances.

But when the toxicology came back clean, when they saw the messages from your stalker, when it was clear Thanos hadn’t come looking for a fight but responded to a threat–they let him go.

Just a fine. No charges pressed. No record added.

When they finally brought him out, his knuckles were bandaged, his hoodie rumpled, his expression unreadable.

You didn’t say anything. You just crossed the lobby and wrapped your arms around him, holding on like he was the only real thing in the world.

“Hey,” he murmured, arms slowly curling around you. “Told you I was fine.”

But his voice cracked on the last word.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes swimming with relief. “I was so scared,” you whispered.

He brushed your cheek with his thumb, the gentlest touch, like he couldn’t believe you were still there. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Me too.”

The ride home was quiet. Not heavy. Just tired.

But underneath it all, there was something else. Something stronger. Unshakable. Like the two of you had been through the fire and came out still holding hands.

And neither you were letting go.

The car was dark and quiet, the streetlights passing slow flickers as Thanos drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting palm up on the console–waiting.

You slipped your hand into his without a word.

Your body was heavy, heart still running on the memory of sirens and shouting, but his touch grounded you. Familiar. Safe. You scooted closer in the passenger seat, practically curling into him, your head resting against his shoulder.

Thanos didn’t say anything at first. He just squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing slow circles against your skin.

A few minutes passed like that–comfortable silence–and then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “I shouldn’t’ve lost it like that.”

You blinked, lifting your head slightly to look at him. “Thanos–”

“I mean it,” he cut in, jaw tight. “I saw red. I didn’t care who was watching, what it looked like. I just wanted to hurt him.” His grip on the wheel tightened. “I could’ve made things worse. For you. For me.”

You didn’t say anything.

Because you knew how hard that was for him to admit.

The man who never apologized. Never second guessed himself. Never let anyone see him sweat.

You squeezed his hand tighter. “I’m glad you were there.”

Thanos shook his head, eyes still locked on the road. “I’m not proud of tonight.”

You leaned closer, tucking your face into the side of his neck. “Doesn’t matter. I still feel safe when I’m with you.”

That made him exhale, a shaky, uneven breath. His fingers curled tighter around yours.

“You hungry?” he asked after a long pause. His voice was quieter now, like the edge of his anger had dulled into something else. “I was thinking pizza.”

You nodded into his shoulder. “Only if you order extra cheese.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, reaching for his phone at the next red light. “Yeah, yeah. I got you.”

The pizza box was open between the two of you, slices half eaten, grease stained napkins scattered around the bed. A movie played in the background, one neither of you were really watching.

You were curled up against him, legs tangled under the blanket, head resting on his chest. He was absently running his fingers through your hair, and for once, he wasn’t saying much.

Neither were you.

Until, softly, you whispered, “I thought they were gonna take you away.”

Thanos didn’t move, but his fingers stilled for a beat. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I thought so too.”

Your throat tightened. “I don’t think I would’ve handled that very well.”

He turned his head, resting his chin on your crown. “You’re stronger than you think.”

“Not when it comes to you.”

He was quiet for a long time after that. Then his voice, rough but sincere, cut through the silence.

“I don’t know what this is,” he said. “You and me. But whatever it is…I’d burn down the world for you.”

You sat up slightly, meeting his eyes in the dim glow of the TV. “I don’t want you to burn anything down.”

“I know,” he said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “But if I had to…I wouldn’t even hesitate.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. “You don’t have to. You’re here. That’s enough.”

His hands found your waist, thumbs brushing over your skin beneath your shirt–his shirt. “Still,” he whispered, “you ever feel unsafe again, babe? You tell me. Don’t keep it to yourself.”

You nodded, eyes glossy. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

You swallowed. “Promise.”

Thanos pulled you back into his arms, burying his face in your neck. You stayed like that until the credits rolled, the city quiet around you, the world finally giving you both a moment to breathe.

And maybe for the first time in a long time…sleep came easy.

You woke up to the smell of something warm and buttery drifting through your apartment.

Thanos.

You blinked, still curled in bed beneath a mountain of blankets. The soreness from last night lingered like a bruise–more emotional than physical–but there was something comforting about waking up and knowing he was still here.

Padding bearfoot into the kitchen, you found him at the stove, wearing nothing but sweats and the ugliest apron–the one that said “Kiss the Cook, He’s Sad and Hot.”

You blinked. “You’re wearing that?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “What, this?” He wiggled the ruffled apron string at you. “I think I look good.”

“You look like you lost a bet.”

He smirked. “I lost a lot of things last night. My dignity. My temper. My shot at being a law-abiding citizen.”

You snorted and leaned against the counter, watching as he flipped a pancake with way too much confidence. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re in love with me.”

The words hung in the air like static.

You rolled your eyes to deflect, but the heat that crept up your neck betrayed you.

He didn’t push it.

Instead, he slid a plate toward you, stacked high with pancakes, fruit, and a little smiley face drawn in whipped cream.

You blinked at it. “What the hell is this?”

“A peace offering,” he said, serious now. “For making you cry last night.”

You sat at the table quietly, picking at a blueberry. “You didn’t make me cry,” you mumbled. “Everything else did. You just…held me while I broke.”

Thanos leaned against the counter across from you, arms crossed over that stupid apron, watching you like you were still the most delicate thing in the room.

“I was thinking,” he said slowly, “maybe you need a day away from it all. From the city. From everything.”

You glanced up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. So I packed a basket. We’re going on a picnic.”

Your brows rose. “You…planned a picnic?”

He looked mildly offended. “I can be romantic.”

“I don’t even think we’re dating.”

He didn’t respond. Just turned, grabbed a water bottle off the counter and muttered, “Not yet.”

It was warm out. Breezy. The kind of day that begged for forgiveness and new beginnings.

Thanos had driven you out to some secluded field just outside the city–tall grass, wildflowers, birdsong in the trees. A faded blanket spread out beneath the sun, a basket between you filled with snacks and drinks you didn’t remember buying.

The two of you lay side by side, arms brushing, legs tangled, just…existing.

He handed you a strawberry. “Open.”

You did, reluctantly, and he popped it into your mouth, smug. “There. My good deed of the day.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“And yet, here you are. Lying next to me. In love.”

You smacked his arm, laughing, but your stomach twisted at the word. Because you were. And you didn’t know how long you could pretend you weren’t.

He was looking at you then–really looking. The kind of look that felt like a hand around your ribs, like he was about to say something that would undo you both.

But instead, he whispered, “You ever think about what it’d be like if we weren’t just…whatever this is?”

You froze.

Then, quietly: “Yeah. I do.”

A beat.

“Do you want that?”

Your throat went dry. “I want a lot of things I’m scared to say out loud.”

His fingers brushed yours.

You turned your head, met his eyes in the sunlight. “I want you to kiss me right now.”

And he did. Slow. Careful. Like he was afraid to break you–but desperate to try anyway.

When he pulled back, his voice was barely audible. “We don’t have to define it yet. But you’re mine, babe. One way or another.”

You curled into his chest, eyes fluttering closed. For once, the silence wasn’t heavy. It felt like a beginning.

Things didn’t change all at once. But they did change.

There was no dramatic confession. No official “you’re mine” conversation. It just…happened.

Thanos still never used the word boyfriend. You never pushed for labels. But the way he looked at you, touched you, showed up for you–everyone knew. Especially you.

He started keeping snacks he didn’t like at his place because you did. Started leaving his clothes in your closet. Started saying our bed instead of my bed.

And you? You started smiling again.

You’d started going back to work part time. Started painting again. Started waking up without dread pressing against your ribs. Started texting him first. Started laughing at his dumb jokes like you used to.

He noticed. He noticed everything.

You dragged him to the fair after he complained about the heat and “people being gross,” but he ended up winning you a giant plush bear and fed you funnel cake off the tips of his fingers. You ended up making out behind the bumper cars like teenagers.

One rainy day at your apartment, you made a pillow fort. He pretended to hate it. But he stayed in it with you for five hours straight, watching trash TV, kissing the back of your hand whenever you looked sad.

Thanos would take you to the bookstore every time you finished reading a book. One so he could make fun of the smut you liked to read, and two so he could see your face light up when he pulled out his card and told you to buy whatever you wanted.

And then, one night–he breaks.

You were in his apartment, curled up on the couch in one of his shirts, when he got the call.

He didn’t say much–just “Yeah,” and “Okay,” and “Thanks for letting me know.”

When he hung up, his face was blank.

You sat up slowly. “Thanos?”

He ran a hand over his face, and for a second, you saw it–the fracture. The crack forming down the center of him.

“My dad died,” he said flatly.

Your breath hitched. “Oh.”

“We weren’t close,” he added quickly, too quickly. “He was a prick. Treated me like shit growing up. Never called. Never showed up. Last time I saw him, he told me I was a disappointment.”

You move closer, placing a hand on his arm.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at you..

“I think…” you said gently, “I think we grieve the things we wanted, not just what we had. Maybe you didn’t lose a good father. But maybe you lost the chance for him to ever become one.”

His eyes burned. And suddenly, he looked so young.

He let you pull him into your chest. He didn’t cry. Not really. But he clung to you like he might fall apart if he didn’t. And for once, you were the one whispering, “I got you, babe. I’ve got you.”

You stayed like that for hours. No words. Just warmth.

The day of his father’s funeral was an interesting one.

You didn’t ask questions when he showed up at your place with tired eyes and a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He didn’t speak much–just handed you coffee, leaned against the wall while you grabbed a sweater, and murmured, “Can you come with me?”

You nodded. No hesitation.

He drove in silence, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh like he needed the contact to stay grounded. The road twisted through rural streets, open fields, and finally–an old house. 

It was smaller than you expected. Plain. Worn. The yard was dying and the mailbox was crooked. But the curtains were clean, the porch light on.

And when the front door opened, a woman stepped out. His mother.

She was smaller than him–shorter, wiry, pale like she’d once been soft and never quite healed from it. Her eyes landed on you first, curious and cautious, then flicked to Thanos.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” she said quietly.

Thanos gave her a curt nod. “I said I would.”

Her gaze returned to you. “And this is…?”

“My girlfriend,” Thanos said, smooth as anything.

You linked–but didn’t say a word. You knew better than to correct him. Not right now.

His mother’s eyes narrowed just slightly, but she didn’t press. She stepped aside and let you both in.

The service was short. Cold. A few spoken words. An awkward eulogy. You stayed close to Thanos the whole time, your hand in his, your shoulder against his arm as he stared ahead like he was watching a screen instead of burying a man who never really saw him.

He didn’t cry.

But he was shaking by the end of it.

Back at the house, his mother lingered in the kitchen, making small talk with distant relatives and neighbors, sipping coffee she didn’t really want. You stood near the hallway, waiting–until Thanos touched your lower back and said, voice low and rough, “Come upstairs.”

The room was smaller than you expected. Faded posters still clung to the walls. The same narrow bed was there–fresh sheets, but still old. A desk with a crooked lamp. A mirror that had seen things it couldn’t unsee.

Thanos closed the door behind you. Locked it.

He didn’t speak.

He just grabbed your face and kissed you.

Desperate. Hungry. 

Like he was trying to climb inside you just to get away from what he was feeling.

You gasped against his mouth, hands flying up to clutch at his shirt. He walked you back until your legs hit the bed, and then pushed you down with a low groan, following you immediately, mouth dragging down your throat.

“I can’t think when I’m around you,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “Can’t breathe. I just–fuck–I need this.”

You nodded, breathless. “Take it.”

That was all he needed.

Clothes were half off, half ruined, your dress bunched around your hips, his slacks undone and shoved down just enough. He didn’t bother with slow. Didn’t tease. Just lined himself up and slid inside you in one rough, achingly perfect thrust.

You gasped–sharp, breath hitching–and he bit down on your shoulder to muffle his own groan. “Fuck, babe–” he whispered, “you feel so good. Always do.”

His hips rolled into you with a rhythm that was hungry, not rushed. Like he needed to savor every second but couldn’t stop himself from grinding deeper, harder. His hand slipped under your thigh, hiking your leg up to get closer.

“This room was hell,” he growled, thrusting deep. “But you–you make it feel like something worth surviving.”

You whimpered his name, nails digging into his back. He caught your mouth with his again, swallowing every moan, every shiver.

“You gonna let me forget everything else?” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “Just for a while?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, lips brushing his. “I’m yours. Right here. Always.”

He kissed you like he was trying to breathe through you. And when he came, it was with your name on his lips, buried in your skin, holding you like the world was ending again.

You were curled into his chest, his hoodie draped over your bare shoulders. The hallway outside was quiet–no voices, no clinking dishes. Just the two of you, wrapped up in a moment that felt stolen, secret.

He kissed the top of your head and whispered, “Thanks for coming with me today.”

You looked up at him. “Thanks for calling me your girlfriend.”

Thanos smirked, eyes still heavy-lidded. “Gotta give her something to talk about.”

“Mmhm,” you murmured, curling closer. “Well…she doesn’t know you just railed me in her guest sheets, so I think we’re still being respectful.”

Thanos laughed quietly. And then he kissed you again.

Because if the past had to live in this house…then so did this moment. And you? You were the one thing in it worth remembering.

Later that week

Thanos was in the shower, the sound of rushing water echoing faintly through the apartment while you lounged on his couch, wrapped in one of his shirts, a half eaten slice of pizza dangling from your fingers.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table.

You glanced at it instinctively–muscle memory.

Not snooping. Not really. Just…looking.

The screen lit up with a name you knew all too well: Nam Su. Who you knew Thanos pretended like he could never remember that his name was actually Nam Gyu. The one who always chirped him for being soft about you.

The preview showed just enough to be dangerous.

Nam Su🥴

lmao ur so far gone. u gonna tell her or just keep letting her sleep in ur bed like ur not in love with her?

Your heart stopped. The phone went dark again. Your brain went static.

You stared at the black screen like it might offer an explanation. Like you hadn’t just seen those exact words

You.

Love.

Her.

Nam Su🥴

honestly it’s kinda sad. she clearly wants u too bro. ur both idiots

Your breath caught in your throat. Your entire face flushed warm. Your pulse was everywhere at once–your neck, your wrists, behind your knees. You set the phone down like it was radioactive and leaned back against the cushions, wide-eyed and buzzing.

Holy shit.

Thanos liked you.

Not just liked–love, if Nam Gyu wasn’t exaggerating. And you hadn’t been imagining it. The looks, the touches, the jealousy, the sex. It wasn’t just heat. It was something real.

You pressed your hands to your face, heart thudding.

He had no idea you’d seen it.

When he came out of the shower–towel slung low on his hips, hair dripping, freshy warm and smug as ever–you were already tucked into the couch with a blanket up to your chin and the most suspiciously innocent smile on your face.

He raised an eyebrow. “What.”

You shrugged way too fast. “Nothing.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You look guilty.”

“I look cute,” you corrected, trying not to vibrate off the furniture. “Shut up and come cuddle me.”

Thanos huffed but didn’t argue. He dropped down beside you, pulling you into his chest, lips brushing the crown of your head like always.

But this time?

You were melting inside. Because he didn’t know that you knew. He didn’t know that every time he touched you now, your heart would race for a new reason.

That you’d tuck that secret close to your chest until the time was right. 

That you were his, just waiting for him to say the words.

And maybe–just maybe–he was already yours too.

You were in his kitchen, barefoot in one of his band tees that hung off your shoulder, standing on your tiptoes to reach the cereal cabinet.

Thanos walked in, still shirtless, hair a wet mess from toweling off, looking like a goddamn problem.

He leaned on the counter and watched you struggle, arms crossed over his chest. “You know I put it up there to see you do that, right?”

You glanced over your shoulder. “That’s deeply misogynistic.”

“And yet you’re still reaching.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbed a spoon, and walked past him, smacking his bare stomach on your way. “I could end you.”

“Could you?” he muttered under his breath, grabbing a mug from the shelf. “Because I feel like last night, you were–”

You whirled on him, cereal bowl in hand. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

He grinned, smug and unrepentant. “Not even gonna lie–I had no idea the sound you made when you–”

“Thanos!” 

“I’m just saying.” He took a sip of his coffee, eyes glittering with mischief. “If you’re gonna fake hate me, you’ve gotta stop moaning my name like a prayer.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. Not because of the teasing–he did that every day. But because you knew now. You knew he had feelings. That it wasn’t just physical. That it wasn’t just heat. That somewhere under all this fire and banter and smug little smirks was a man who loved you.

And he had no idea you were walking around carrying that knowledge like a loaded gun. 

You set your cereal down, leaning against the counter opposite him, arms crossed. “You’re lucky I like you.”

His gaze softened for just a second. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, nose scrunching. “If I didn’t, you’d be six feet under by now. Murdered in your sleep. Real tragic.”

Thanos chuckled, stepping closer, arms sliding around your waist. “You’d miss me.”

Your face burned. “Would not.”

“You would,” he said, lips brushing your temple. “You’d cry. Like, real tears. Snot and everything.”

“I don’t ugly cry.”

“Babe,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You sobbed when the cartoon dog in that movie died.”

You smacked his shoulder and shoved him away, laughing. “Shut up! That dog was pure.”

He grinned, grabbing your cereal bowl and stealing a spoonful before walking off like he hadn’t just left you a melted puddle on the kitchen floor.

You stared after him, lips twitching. God, you were so gone for him.

You should’ve known better.

The second Nam Gyu suggested a horror movie double feature and Thanos immediately agreed, you should have known you were walking into a trap.

You hated horror movies.

You didn’t just get scared–you embarrassed yourself. Hiding behind your hands, squeaking at jump scares, clinging to the person next to you. (Which was, conveniently, Thanos).

Nam Gyu and his newest girlfriend sat a few rows ahead, already cracking jokes, tossing popcorn back and forth as the trailers started. You and Thanos had taken seats a little farther back–darker, quieter.

Safer.

Or so you thought.

The movie started–loud, dark, unnerving–and within the first ten minutes, you were already tense, your body practically folded into yourself. You hated the anticipation worse than the scares.

Thanos noticed. He always noticed.

At first, it was small.

A hand on your thigh, thumb stroking slow circles. A nudge of his knee against yours. A soft chuckle against your ear when you jumped the first time something grotesque splattered across the screen.

“You good, babe?” he murmured, voice low and teasing.

You glared at him. “You suck.”

“You love it,” he whispered.

And then he was kissing you–slow, careful–when the next gory scene flashed, shielding you from the worst of it. His hand slid higher on your thigh, fingertips brushing under the hem of your skirt in featherlight, maddening touches.

You whimpered against his mouth, body burning, heart hammering louder than the movie’s soundtrack.

“Focus on me,” he said, voice almost a growl, lips brushing yours between words. “Just me.”

You did. You forgot everything else.

You kissed him back like you were starved, fingers fisting in his hoodie, trying to pull him closer. His palm slid under your thigh, squeezing, dragging you subtly toward him in the dark. If anyone noticed, you didn’t care. For those two hours, the whole world was just him–his mouth, his hands, his voice in your ear.

You barely made it into his car before you were on him.

The second he unlocked the doors, you shoved him into the passenger seat and climbed into his lap, kissing him fiercely, straddling him like you didn’t care who might walk past.

Thanos groaned into your mouth, his hands immediately finding your hips, pulling you flush against him. “Fuck, babe–”

“Shut up,” you whispered, dragging your hands through his hair. “You did this. Deal with it.”

He laughed–low and wrecked–before grabbing your thighs and rocking you down against him. You gasped at the friction, grinding into him desperately.

The windows were already starting to fog up when the passenger door suddenly swung open.

“Well, damn,” Nam Gyu’s voice cracked out, somewhere between amusement and horror.

You yelped, falling off Thanos’ lap in a mess of limbs and mortified screeching. Thanos just sat there, grinning, completely unbothered.

Nam Gyu held up his phone, laughing so hard he was wheezing. “Got it,” he crowed, showing you the picture he’d snapped–blurry, half shadowed, but unmistakable: you straddling Thanos, his hands all over you, the two of you completely lost in each other.

“You’re dead,” you hissed.

“You’re welcome,” Nam Gyu shot back. “Finally some evidence. I’m framing this shit.”

Thanos leaned back in the seat, arm draped lazily over your shoulders. “Might as well get a good one next time,” he muttered under his breath, kissing your cheek.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning as Nam Gyu wandered off cackling. But even through your embarrassment, you felt Thanos’ hand find yours again.

And you didn’t let go.

Sometime Later

You never made it official.

No hard launch. No anniversary. No change in titles or big conversations under the stars. There was no “will you be mine?”–because the answer had always been yes, long before either of you said it.

It just happened.

Like breathing.

Like muscle memory.

Like him.

Where you went, he followed. Not because he had to–but because he wanted to. Because he couldn’t not.

And when he disappeared for a while–out for a smoke, or just driving to clear his head–you always knew where to find him. You’d show up at whatever corner of the city he’d wandered to, like your pulse was synched with his. You knew what music he’d be listening to, what mood he’d be wearing. You always brought his drink the way he liked it–half sweet, a little ice, never decaf.

Your friends stopped asking.

“Where’s Thanos?”

“Wherever she is.”

And they were never wrong. Because it was in the little things.

His toothbrush in your bathroom. Your hoodie in his laundry.

The way his hand found your lower back automatically when you crossed the street. The way your fingers fixed the collar of his shirt when he wasn’t looking. The way he brought you pancakes when he knew you didn’t sleep, and the way you held him when he got quiet about things that still haunted him.

You never needed to say what you were.

Because it was written all over you–in the way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking, in the way you smiled into his shoulder when he laughed, in how the world always felt steadier with him in it.

Your friendship had evolved–not into something new, but something deeper. Something patient. Fierce. A love that didn’t need fireworks to be real. A love that simply was.

Maybe one day you’ll call it what it is.

But for now?

He’s yours. And you’re his. In every way that counts. Thanos always made you feel something. Something like safe.

And that’s more than enough.

taglist: @avsarchivez, @breakmeoff