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straywrds · 7 months ago

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like ink on paper, like red wine on white silk ( the taste of honey chapter 4 )

pairing: young aristocrat hyunjin x f!reader | wc: 32.4k | genre: 19th century au, arranged marriage, romance, smut | warnings: period-appropriate themes & customs including sexuality and beliefs ; virgin!reader ; mutual pining ; slow burn ; heavy angst ; anguish and dark thoughts ; view all compiled warnings here. This work is for adult audiences only. This work portrays explicit sexual content and themes & actions that might trigger some, reader discretion is strongly advised. @cb97percent, dearest, this one's for you.

You had seen a tiger only once in your life but it was quite memorable. It might have been domesticated but it was still the largest cat you had ever seen. You wouldn’t forget the look in its eyes as it descended to devour the carcass the circus workers had left for him. A beautiful beast, too thin, locked in a cage. Hyunjin had the same look in his eyes tonight. What a beautiful beast he was, too, only his prison did not have bars.

The morning of your thirteenth birthday, you found yourself barefoot on the back porch of your family’s villa, throwing nuts on the ground for your favorite squirrel. You liked all the squirrels, of course, but this one had a special place in your heart because its tail was missing. Not only did it stand out, but he was also noticeably less dexterous. He moved slowly and rarely reached the same spots as the others that sometimes roamed the property.

You named the squirrel Henry. And it wasn’t that big of a deal either. It was just that your family could most definitely spare a few nuts here and there and this tiny rodent could use them. It made you smile, though, to see him and his unusual hopping as you went on your days. It gave you a thing to look forward to—and you had very few of those.

You were nervous that your mother would find you here. Like that. Because of Henry and because of other things, too. At that point, it was the second year he spent around the villa and your mother was well aware that you had taken a liking to him. There were things, like Henry, that she tolerated. The beehives, for example. She let you spend some time every other day with the old beekeeper, Mr. Ito, and you had no idea why. She was so strict and unyielding about everything else that it made no sense to allow you something as beautiful as that.

Sometimes, you wondered if it was so that you would not hate her. Perhaps she thought that if she let you have the beekeeping and a garden, it would keep you strong for the rest of it. For the endless lessons—etiquette, manners, dance, embroidery, reading, sewing, singing.

In a couple of years, you’d be learning about politics—a woman, especially not a lady, did not need to be very knowledgeable on the matter, not to the point of forming an opinion about any of it.

However, she would need to know enough to entertain some conversation with her husband, and maybe even some of his business partners, while the men sat around a table to discuss such things. A lady would not be at her place sitting at the table but she would be expected to make a brief appearance—it gave her husband a good reason to show her off, especially if she made one or two witty remarks and was generous on the wine or liquor they drank.

Your mother made you write that down. All of her lectures. All of her lessons. She said it made you practice spelling and your calligraphy at once, and that written words are engraved deeper into the memory of girls. In your bedroom there was a large dresser made of cherry wood and one of the drawers was almost full to the brim with sheets of paper. The words your mother made you write down. The standards she expected of you.

Like, a lady should know better than anybody how to run her house—including her husband. For that, your mother regularly made you join the staff in their chores. You had learned how to wash, dry, and fold laundry. You had learned how to store food, and how to make preserves. More lessons would come. Your middle drawer was full of loose sheets with everything and anything on them. Recipes for soups or cakes or venison. Lists of the best brands of specific products, from cleaning supplies to liquor. Reputable clothing brands.

There were a few songs among those sheets, too. These, you didn’t mind. You liked music. Out of all the lessons, singing was your favorite one, partially because it bore your mother enough that she never stayed around for the entirety of it. But also, and most importantly, you were good at it, and music made you feel alive. You stood near the piano while your teachers played, and you sang along while working on your pitch. Sometimes, the teachers even let you play a few notes on the piano.

You often sang to the bees. The hives and Mr. Ito were your usual audience, and they were easy to please. You were too young to execute some of the harvesting steps, Mr. Ito said, but you were welcome to watch as closely as you wanted. He said that you enthralled the bees, that they remained calm when you were around.

The morning of your thirteenth birthday, you woke up before the rest of your family, although you could hear the staff already at work. The night before, it had been Lillie, the Head Housekeeper, who put you to bed. Your parents were hosting a big dinner to celebrate your sister’s engagement to the son of a wealthy man and you had to be excused from the festivities due to a stomach ache. So it had been Lillie who put you into your sleeping gown and brushed your hair. She pressed warm towels on your belly to make the stomach ache go away. You liked Lillie. She was kind and always treated you with tenderness and love, the way a mother would, the way your mother never had. You only figured the belly ache came from all the stress you had that day, in anticipation of your birthday. It seemed like thirteen was such a big number, even if it was just one more than twelve.

Your sister was seventeen. She and her fiancé would get married soon after she turned eighteen.

You questioned your mother about that one afternoon. “Mother, you said that we would begin our journey to Hwang Estate not before I turned twenty, maybe after.” Already, at your age, you were aware that it was unusual. “Why is Kimi’s marriage at eighteen, then?”

Your mother liked it when you asked direct questions. “Because your marriage is more important,” she told you. “When he is of age, Lord Hyunjin will become a more powerful man than Mr. Hughes, so I want you to be more prepared. More… ripe. When I send you over to him.”

But you had visited the lumberyard owned by the Hughes with the rest of your family. It was huge. The whole place smelled like freshly cut wood, but it was very dusty. When you pointed out to your mother that it looked like this place was rather busy and that it must be important, she shook her head. “Hwang Estate is one thing, my daughter. The estate itself is large—I told you, it is surrounded by a beautiful pine forest. But the Hwangs own the land beyond that forest, too. More acres than your brain can comprehend without seeing it. There are farms on it. He also owns a factory.”

In any case. You weren’t exactly sure you understood what importance was, not in the context related by your mother. Because to you, none of these things were important. Not the size of the Hughes’ lumberyard, not the size of Hyunjin’s estate or the farms around it. To you, all that mattered was that one day, you would go over there and get married to your friend. Your only friend.

You turned thirteen today.

That morning, you woke up with something sticky and warm between your legs. For the first few seconds you assumed you peed the bed, which seemed properly impossible, and yet. Then, after frantically pushing the covers off you, you found yourself in a small puddle of your own blood. You stared at it for a long time, tears running down your face. You tore the sheets off the bed and realized that it had stained the mattress, too, but you wiped it as well as you could and put fresh covers back on. Nobody would guess, and your bed wasn’t due for a change for two more days, so it would give you time.

It was too soon. You had been told to expect it a few years from now.

Your mother had prepared you for that day. The day you would become a woman. You knew what that entailed. Your mother had prepared you for that, too—the consequences of it all. The monthly bleeds were part of the cycle that would allow you to have a baby inside you one day. It would be Lord Hyunjin who would put it there. The baby. And your mother had taught you all about that too, saying that Lord Hyunjin was like a gardener. He would plant his seed inside you on the days when you did not bleed out of your entrance. She called it like that. An entrance—a garden.

The act is a lot more pleasurable for men than it is for women, she also said. They sometimes have special demands or requests—it is expected of you to comply. You are pretty, you are young, you are a maiden, and the most precious thing you have is this purity that you keep between your legs, that your husband is waiting to break. For this reason, it is expected of you to keep your garden unsullied until your husband plants his seed inside it.

Unsullied.

But that morning, you washed yourself up and hid your soiled clothes underneath your bed with the bedsheets. You shoved your least favorite cotton shirt into your undergarments and put another nightgown back on—this way, nobody would know what happened. You needed time to process.

You had never had much of it. Freedom. But from the moment your mother would find out you were bleeding from between your legs, you would have none.

You hated the feeling of it. The dampness, the sharp pain, the nausea spells taking over you. But you stayed outside nonetheless because you were waiting for the mail.

Your heart jumped at the mere thought of it. If you were lucky enough, you would be able to intercept Mr. Greene—the villa’s Head Steward—before he brought the mail back into his office, and he would give you Hyunjin’s letter.

Year after year, it was the only thing you ever looked forward to. Your birthday, and the words Hyunjin sent you.

However, that morning, it wasn’t the mail that you intercepted, but rather a conversation between your parents. They hadn’t seen you on the back porch because the curtains of the parlor were drawn, but one of the windows had been left open to let some fresh air in. It very soon became obvious that you weren’t supposed to hear that conversation at all but you could not move without the risk of the creaking of planks to betray you.

“Are you seriously going to refuse Lord Grover’s offer?” your mother scolded in a tone that was usually reserved for you. “An Earl, Ian! An Earl! Are you out of your damn mind?”

A silence followed during which you heard your father let out a long, tired sigh. “We made a promise and I intend on keeping it,” he said in the end. “I’m a man of honor.”

“You may be a man of honor, but Hwang is no longer of this world to complain about a broken promise,” your mother retorted with disdain. “Because he had no honor at all and it caused his demise. Do you really want your daughter to marry into that family?”

Your heart sank to your stomach as your brain was working at inhuman speed to process everything you were hearing. You may have been only thirteen, but you weren’t stupid—you knew what this conversation was implying. You knew of Hyunjin’s father and the shame he had brought on his family—Hyunjin had sent a letter that year, telling you he would understand if you no longer wished to marry him. But to you, his father’s wrongdoings meant nothing.

Because it was him that you liked. Hyunjin. And you knew he wasn’t like that, like his father. You knew from the letters he sent, and because you were very much unlike your mother.

“I want our family to be able to keep its head held high,” your father said. “It would bring dishonor to us if we were to annul the betrothal. What Hwang did doesn’t change the fact that our daughter will marry into a wealthy, comfortable life, and we still keep our word.”

“Your word. It was your word, not mine.” Your mother clicked her tongue. “I don’t think it would bring us dishonor at all. I don’t think the Hwang boy would have much trouble finding himself a wife. With his mother’s connections, he could probably marry some royal relative, even. For all we know, it’s what he’s going to do anyway. He’s getting older now, an orphan, and he’s responsible for himself. Who’s to say he won’t wed some girl and impregnate her, completely disregarding our arrangement?”

You pressed your hand over your mouth to muffle the sound of your sobs, which you could not control. The inside of your body felt cold like a winter day. You felt so little all of a sudden. Insignificant. Stupid. Unsightly. Revolting. With blood sticking to your thighs and tears rolling your face and your hair tangled and unwashed, with the scent of nuts and corn on your fingers after feeding Henry.

She was right, your mother.

Hyunjin was your friend. Your only friend. He was all that you had and you didn’t even have him yet. He was kind and sweet in the letters he sent you, but nothing about it promised you a happy marriage to him or a marriage at all. Even if he said he couldn’t wait for you to come live with him.

He was reaching an age where boys wanted certain things and thought a lot about girls and their gardens.

“The exact same could be said about Theodore,” your father retorted. “He could impregnate two or three princesses by the time our daughter is of age.”

Theodore—Lord Grover’s son. You did not know him but he and his parents had been guests for the dinner last night, their family being close with the Hughes. It was an honor, your mother said, to host an Earl and his family for a meal, and it had been why she had been so quick to send you away last night when you felt ill. She’d rather you disappear than embarrass her with your childish pain, which, in the end, had been caused by something that was anything but childish.

He was sitting a few seats down from you during dinner—he had been seated by your mother, not too far from your brother. Surely, she wanted him to become friends with the future earl. Theodore was a tall boy of almost twenty years old, with dark eyes and chestnut-brown hair that had a touch of cinnamon in it, which you could only assume came from his mother, whose hair was the color of copper. He was very outgoing and talked to everybody with just the right amount of respect and politeness expected of him. He was handsome even, in the way a boy his age could be. Not quite a man yet but no longer a child.

“He wouldn’t do that! He’ll be an earl,” your mother insisted. “Don’t you want your daughter to marry an earl?”

You could no longer control yourself—the nausea hit you so hard you became dizzy and fell to your knees. You cried, just waiting for the lightheadedness to pass, unable to help your sobs. The pain in your lower abdomen was so sharp it felt like a knife but the pain in your heart was sharper. You didn’t want any of that. You wanted Hyunjin. You had known all your life that you would be his wife someday. And you didn’t want it any other way.

“What is this?” You heard your mother as she approached the nearest window. You couldn’t stand in time, but you managed to wipe some of your tears and your mouth before her face appeared through the glass.

A strange expression, one that you had never seen on her, appeared on her face. It crept up slowly, almost like she was resisting it. Your father appeared by her side—you heard him talk to her in a very irritated voice but couldn’t make out the words as you were too taken up by the mere effort of stopping your cries. Your mother hated it when you cried.

She stormed outside but by the time she was on the porch, you had run away, not minding the destination. All that you wanted was to go far from here. You wanted to be yesterday when you weren’t a woman yet. You wanted to be years from now when you wouldn’t live here anymore but on a pretty estate surrounded by a pine forest.

If Hyunjin wanted you at all.

Your mother caught up with you when you tripped over a rock and fell face-first into the soft grass growing around the property. The soil absorbed most of the shock but none of your shame or your sorrow.

“Get up! Someone will see you!” She grabbed at your gown, attempting to pull you up. “What have I told you about eavesdropping? What have I—”

Her sentence was cut short when she saw blood in the process of tugging at your gown. It left her speechless long enough for you to stand on your own and escape her grip. “I don’t want to marry him,” you managed through your tears, but it was difficult to speak with how tight your throat was. “Please, Mother. Not him, not Lord Grover’s son,” you begged, and you had never begged before in your life. “Please, Mother, I don’t love him, I don’t want to, please, please—”

She raised a hand in the air and used it to strike you in the face hard enough that you almost lost your balance again. It effectively caused you to stop crying as you stared at her, bewildered. It wasn’t the first time you got a strike to the face, but it had never been this hard before. The pain spread underneath your skin like spilled ink on paper.

There were tears in her eyes, but that happened when she was really angry. “How dare you speak to me like this! How dare you show yourself in such a way when we have guests in our home!”

The sting became an ache on your cheek. You knew it would become red and swollen, which meant you would spend the next several days locked in your room, away from prying eyes.

“You’re not worthy of the Grovers, clearly,” your mother commented with disdain. “The wife of an Earl does not act like a spoiled child.” She scoffed. “I doubt they will retain their marriage offer after they hear of your little tantrum.”

You did not know what kind of life you would live. But if you ever had a child, you would not hit them, not even if they misbehaved.

“You said I was going to marry Hyunjin,” you muttered, averting your gaze. “He’s my friend.”

“Friend? He’s your friend?” She lowered herself to look at you from up close. “You know, they say he has his father’s demons in his eyes.”

“No,” you said. Then, “I don’t care. I love him.”

Your mother broke into a burst of hysterical laughter—it echoed in the quiet morning. You noticed Henry nearby, alarmed by the sound, scuttling away.

“Mother,” you murmured. “Please, stop.” She looked scary. You just wanted to return to your room. “Please. Stop.”

She didn’t stop yet—instead, the laughter slowed down, punctuated by deep breaths. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, following your gaze. “Were you feeding that vermin again? What did I tell you about this?”

“He’s not vermin! He’s… he’s my friend.” Henry had reached a tall oak tree and disappeared among the branches.

“He’s your friend,” your mother repeated, her eyes filling with angry tears again. “Let me guess. You love him, too? Have you ever had a fondness for something whole? Why is it that whenever you love something, it’s broken, or crippled?”

She grabbed you by the nape of your neck and dragged you back home, lecturing you about the responsibilities of a girl who became a woman and how you had to be stronger than this, stronger than your willingness to help out a squirrel that didn’t have a tail, stronger than the strange feeling brought by your first bleeding. You had to be stronger than those stupid little childish feelings of yours. “You’re a fool for loving him, child.”

The year you turned thirteen, your mother was so angry at you—or at your father, or both—that she did not allow you to read Hyunjin’s letter. She burned it in front of your eyes, and if a gift had come with it, she never told you. “You will learn to behave like a woman. Like a lady,” she said as the paper turned to ashes. “You could have been the wife of an earl, but instead you will be the wife of a deranged man. Maybe he will be despised by all—maybe that is what you want. To be stained by him.”

He was all that you had. Hyunjin. He was all that you ever wanted, because all this time, he had been the only thing that made you feel like a person and not a lump of clay to be fashioned into something. And you loved him—as broken as he might be.

The sky was blue and clear and the air was cool, the breeze carrying the scent of fall with it. The grass you lay upon was cool too, but soft and comfortable, heating up slowly under the sun as the day advanced. There was nothing around except for the pine forest on one side and a secluded corner of the lake on the other. You could hear the gentle waves flapping on the shore. You heard a few birds, too.

The scene may have been beautiful and serene, but it was the last thing on your mind at the moment.

Hyunjin, your Hyunjin, towering over you, his shirt half-unbuttoned and his hair undone, occupied every molecule of your brain, of your soul. He looked like a feral thing like that, but perhaps it was just because you couldn’t wait to feel him even more.

“Open your legs for me darling, will you?”

His voice echoed through you like an earthquake, starting from your scalp, running all the way to your extremities, but not without coating your core with something warm and heavy. Your lips were raw and swollen from the past hour spent kissing him. On the mouth, in his neck. His hands, his jaw.

You locked eyes with your husband. You never wanted to look at anything but him. He was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

His fingers dug themselves deeper into the plush flesh of your thighs, waiting, eager. He didn’t need to ask you to do it—if Hyunjin wanted, he could open your legs at any moment he wished. He was stronger than you were, and you wouldn’t resist him anyway.

But he liked asking. And you liked it when he asked. When he begged.

His honey skin was warm, warm enough that you did not feel the wind. You only felt him. And his hands on your thighs, so close to your pussy that you swore he could feel how wet you were.

Slowly, you parted open your legs, just for him, and met no resistance. Hyunjin’s expression changed, turning grave and contemplative as he watched. As you offered yourself to him.

He bit his lower lip. “Oh,” he murmured, his voice low, evoking the same honey as his skin. “Baby, you’re soaked…”

You would never get used to it.

Hyunjin lowered himself between your legs, wasting no time before he left wet kisses over your thighs, holding you still. He had hitched up your skirt a while ago already and the contrast between his body and the cool air gave you goosebumps.

It never quite felt real. When he touched you. When he held you. When he looked you in the eyes and called you darling, at any time of the day. You kept waiting for the moment you’d wake up from this dream and return to reality where Hyunjin avoided you like the plague. Yet, months passed, and it never came, allowing you to make a home out of this dream-like life you were in.

You did awaken in the morning but the dream kept on going because you were in your lord husband’s bed and his arms were usually wrapped around your body. If they weren’t, you were holding him, and if you weren’t, he was pressed so close to you that you could feel him, all of him, over all of you. His scent, masculine yet delicate, now lingered on you always, following you wherever you went like a reminder of his love.

You liked it. When you woke up like that, in Hyunjin’s bed, his hard, straining cock pressed on your lower back. You liked it so much that you usually made a point of not waking him up to make the moment last longer. You let it permeate you like ink on paper. Like red wine on white silk. Keeping your eyes closed, you usually registered every little detail you could. Where his hands were. The rhythm of his breathing. His pulse. The little sleepy noises spilling from his lips.

But came a time when it was no longer enough, when your soaked pussy ached for him in a way that could not be put into words. Sometimes you woke him up by taking him into your mouth. You liked it so much. His deep, bitter taste, stronger in the morning. His musky scent. You rarely felt as connected to him as when his heartbeat pulsed through his cock onto your tongue. He watched attentively as you sucked him off, as you massaged his balls just the way you knew he liked. You loved feeling him resist the urge to fuck your throat—the restrained thrusts, the whimpers, his fist in your hair.

Sometimes, he’d tell you that he loved you as he emptied himself in your mouth, and you were certain that this was as close as you’d ever get to a miracle.

This morning, it had been Hyunjin who was up before you. He woke you up with a kiss on your bare shoulder, pulling you back against him. “Let’s have breakfast by the lake, darling, while the weather still allows it.” Some trees were losing their green and turning yellow—you knew that soon, what wasn’t a pine or a spruce would be bright orange or red, and that days would be cold, and nights even colder.

This was Hyunjin’s secret place, he called it. It was quite a walk from the manor but worth every minute of it. It was private and comfortable and pretty. He liked being with you here.

He liked eating your pussy here.

Your breakfast—fresh bread, cheese, and autumn strawberries was left untouched in the basket you carried it in. Hyunjin had decided he wanted to feast on something else.

You shuddered when his hot breath caressed your glistening folds, but you arched into him when he used one of his hands to part your pussylips open. You never reacted gently to him—every little contact felt like a thousand kisses, or a thousand little flames, or both at once.

Heat rushed to your core when Hyunjin gave your pussy three kisses. One on your mons, one on your entrance, and lastly one directly onto your clit. You moaned, biting into your fist, knowing that you were out of sight but not necessarily out of earshot.

“Darling.” He did not need to say anything more—one word, this one word, was worth a lifetime of waiting.

Hyunjin gave your cunt a few tentative, bashful kitten licks, moaning when your taste melted on his tongue. He accentuated the pressure he applied by bobbing his head, licking and lapping at you.

Your hand found his hair. So that you could anchor yourself to something. So that you could keep it there, right there, and rub yourself all over his face. “Yes, yes, yes…” Your voice was no more than a desperate whine. Hyunjin responded by moaning louder into your cunt, reacting to how needy you were.

“My darling wife,” he murmured, pulling away just a little to breathe. He looked at you from there, his gaze piercing and heavy, his pink, pillowy lips coated with your slick. “You become such a wild thing when you get your pretty pussy eaten, don’t you?”

You clenched at that, at the sound of his voice, at his hooded eyes. Propping yourself on your elbow to make sure you’d see as much as you could, you watched as Hyunjin returned to your folds, licking at you with fervor, as though he was running out of time, or patience. It was sloppy, and the sounds of his mouth as he tasted you were making you dizzy.

He slurped and slurped, his smooth tongue running all over your folds before he lingered at your entrance, teasing you, then pushing it within you. A stronger wave of pleasure took over you every time. And he knew it. Hell, you could feel his pleased smile against your pussy as he fucked you with his tongue in long, slow licks, savoring you, swallowing every drop of you that he could. It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

You wanted him in every way one could have somebody. If it had been possible, you would have woven your soul to his so that the two of you were never apart. He belonged there. Between your legs. In your heart.

And you belonged there too, in his embrace, in his heart. You belonged to him.

You wanted him. To feel him, to feel him against you. You tugged at his hair and yet Hyunjin did not budge—he moved from your hole to your clit, flicking his tongue gently all over it, bringing you closer to the edge. You moaned with your mouth wide open, your voice echoing over the lake, disappearing into the pine forest. You moaned again, louder, pulling harder at your husband’s silky hair so that he would come find you here. “Please,” you pleaded, your face contorted with pleasure and impatience alike.

He was handsome in the purest way possible. In the most sinful, depraved way. His mouth remained agape as he caught his breath, his lips and cheeks and chin wet with your juices. His breath smelled like your cunt. Some of his hair stuck to his temples—you pushed it behind his ear as you caressed his flushed cheek.

He was so hard—his trousers did very little to conceal the bulge his cock formed in them. He rubbed himself onto your cunt, staining his pants with your cream.

You took his face in both of your hands, pulling him into a kiss. He took your lips and kissed you hard with his pussy-infused mouth. You loved your own taste, especially like this. He whispered your name and you breathed it in, whispering his in return.

Hooking your knees on his waist, you rolled Hyunjin until he was on his back and you straddled him. He was even more beautiful like this, sprawled onto the soft grass, lips swollen, the tent in his pants beckoning you. You took no time pulling his pants down, exposing his length. Finally.

You loved his cock. You just loved it. The way it looked. The way it tasted, the way it smelled. The way it felt under your tongue or in your hand or anywhere else on your body. You wrapped your hand around his base, eliciting a hiss from Hyunjin, his head falling back to rest on the ground.

You loved your husband, you loved his cock. And you wanted him badly. You wanted him in ways he would never take you—how often did you desperately rub your clit at the thought of him fucking you? Of him claiming you by stuffing your tight cunt with his cock, filling you with his cum? You often wondered what it felt like. To be made whole by your husband’s seed, dripping slowly out of your fucked out hole after he was done with you.

He throbbed in your palm. You secured yourself on top of him, guiding his cock at your pussy but not at your entrance. He moaned when you coated it with your creamy slick, grunting at the sensation of his smooth, hot cock rubbing onto your soaked pussy. He touched it, grazing his fingertips on the places where his length touched you, your pussy, the soft, pillowy skin there. One morning you woke up to him sketching you, using his dominant hand to draw you naked on his bed and the other to stroke his leaking cock. He refused to let you touch him—you weren’t to move, he was drawing you. To practice. He really wanted to learn. He drew you well, down to your slick sticking to the soft trimmed hair of your pussy. And then he made you cum with his tongue two times, and he blew his load all over your face just to watch it drip onto your tits.

You loved him. You rubbed your soaked pussy all over his length, using him the same way you sometimes used a pillow to relieve your urges. He was so hard. God, so hard. For you. Just for you.

He tugged at the shirt you were wearing, undoing enough buttons to free your tits. He kissed them, he caressed them, he twisted your nipples until he felt your pussy throb at that.

His eyelids fluttered when you found your rhythm, rutting against him with your hips rolling in ample waves. “Baby—” he let out with a strangled voice. “Use me. Like that.”

And you were using him a little. Once you felt his cock, nothing could stop you. It drove you crazy when he was this hard, when he was looking at you as if you were the most beautiful thing in the world. It just felt so good. Him, there, between your folds, throbbing against your clit. You leaned over to kiss him again, harder this time, your tongue following the same tempo as your hips. You knew that Hyunjin would cum soon because his breathing was shallow,because his fingers were digging themselves into your waist.

You were close too. You wanted to appreciate the moment, the feeling of your cunt on him, your slick dripping onto him, but your mind kept wandering to your most profound desires. You wondered what it would feel like if you were riding him like that but with his cock inside you. How deep it would reach.

You could. Fuck, you could guide him inside you right now—you were so wet it couldn’t possibly be difficult for him to stretch you open, but you’d love it if it hurt. You wanted it to hurt. You wanted Hyunjin to drill into you. You wanted him to use you, to fuck you so hard it brought tears to your eyes. You wanted to be used and loved and fucked by him.

The ripples of pleasure in your core became waves and then a monsoon—surging from within, warm and intoxicating. You could no longer control your moans as they spilled from your lips in loud, staccato breaths. You moved faster, rubbing yourself harder on Hyunjin’s cock, like an animal would. It was too good, too warm, too wet—you couldn’t hold yourself up. Collapsing onto his chest as you chased your high, you buried your face into his neck. Just fuck me just give me your cock… please please I want you to cum inside me—

You realized you were speaking out loud when Hyunjin put his hands on your arms, pulling you away so that he could look you in the eyes.

You had never seen this look on his face before. A glare. Something worse.

For a second—just a second—he frightened you. Like he was a lion and you were a gazelle in the moments before he ripped your throat open. And yet you did not love him, or want him, any less because of it.

His grip on you tightened and before you knew it, you found yourself pinned on the ground underneath him, his cock dangerously close to your hole. You couldn’t move. You could barely breathe underneath the weight of him, dazed from the manhandling.

Time came to a stop. Hyunjin took in the sight of you and you of him. A strand of hair fell in front of his face. You could hear nothing except your own panting. His hand rose slowly and he reached for you. It looked, almost, like he was going to caress your cheek.

Instead, he grabbed your face, holding you like that. He spoke to you then, his voice low, more a snarl than a sentence. “Stop. Fucking. Tempting. Me.” He gave one powerful thrust, his length buried not into your hole but within your folds as he rubbed himself onto you so hard it made you sink into the soil a little.

Sparks ran under your skin—you were too close to the edge, trapped underneath Hyunjin’s weight. Your eyes rolled back. “Please,” you heard yourself say but your mind was being separated from your body, your consciousness leaving you. “Please,” you said again, fire taking over your insides, your cunt dripping. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not that he scared you. Not the ache in the places where his hand held you in place. For an instant, you wondered if the imprint of his fingers would remain on the skin of your face.

Hyunjin let out a noise that was something between a growl and a moan. “I know.” His face was flushed and angry and beautiful. He held your face still as he kissed you hungrily, as his rutting became erratic. “Give it to me, just cum, just fucking cum.”

Something sank within you—an ache spread from your lower back to your pussy under the relentless rubbing of Hyunjin’s cock onto your clit. Your hips stuttered as your release finally reached you and you dissolved into pleasure, moaning uncontrollably. You arched onto Hyunjin and he was all over you—biting your neck, your shoulder, the soft flesh of your breasts. His free hand was groping and squeezing you everywhere while the other forced you to look at him while you came.

The flutters of your pussy reached his cock in shockwaves—he throbbed so hard that you felt it, and his expression changed—his fury melted as deep, low moans escaped from his parted mouth, and you did not think he could really see you, not with his eyes glazed over like that. He was murmuring words that you could not make out, and as your aftershocks hit you, he flooded your mons and your inner thighs with his cum, hips bucking as he emptied himself all over you. It was so wet, so lewd, that it prolonged your orgasm almost painfully as you clenched around nothing, your vision blurred.

Hyunjin collapsed onto you, spent, finally letting go of your face. The ghost of his grip remained as your bliss faded. You slid your hands under his unbuttoned shirt, embracing him like that. You gave his temple a little kiss. Then another. His cock was softening, locked between your two bodies, resting on your lower stomach.

Shame took over you. Like ink on paper. Like red wine on white silk.

Lips trembling, you caressed Hyunjin’s thick, soft hair. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice evading you.

He said nothing and it made you want to disappear. You had come to realize that Hyunjin’s silence was far worse than his rage.

“I’m sorry Hyunjin,” you repeated.

He pulled himself off you but his face was turned away so that you could not see him. And you felt so little then, so stupid, laying half-naked on the grass, your cunt sticky with your husband’s cum.

“I’m so—”

When you went to apologize for a third time, he did turn to you then—his expression was solemn and he silenced you with one look. Then he gave you a kiss, a soft one.

“Don’t,” he spoke against your lips before kissing you again. “Please, darling, don’t.”

He reached for one of the handkerchiefs you had put into the basket along with the breakfast. It was one of those you had embroidered with Ha-ri and her daughters, an activity you found a lot of enjoyment—and peace—in. It had little bees on it, with Hyunjin’s name just below.

He used it to wipe his cum off you. You flinched—being caressed by him could never leave you unfazed, not even in this situation. You were still sensitive from his licking, his rubbing, from him. Your handsome lord husband, the only thing you had ever wanted.

The only thing that could make you soar as high as a bird and fall as hard as the coldest downpour. He was much like a storm, with violent winds, with darkening skies, with menacing thunder. Beautiful and intriguing enough that you wholeheartedly ran outside, bare and uncovered, and let the rain drown you one or a hundred times.

He said nothing—he left you there as he rose, buttoning his trousers back up and making his way to the lake so he could rinse out the handkerchief. His hair floated in the breeze and a couple of ducks floated by, their quacks echoing over the water. The pleasure between your legs mutated into something else—you were sore, and the cool weather was affecting you a whole lot more without Hyunjin’s body to warm you up. You brought your knees close to your chest, hugging your legs as you sat there, watching your husband ignore you.

You realized now the mistake you had made—it wasn’t even that you lost control today and said certain things. It was that a few months ago, after the whole ordeal at Lord Jeon’s place, you and Hyunjin hadn’t really talked. Not about this. Never about the specifics of it. He ate your pussy often, and you rubbed or sucked his cock just as often. He’d say things like careful there, it’s going to leak after he spilled himself a little too close to your entrance. But then he’d usually just lick his cum off you, and it normally ended with you having a second or third orgasm, so you weren’t going to complain.

He showed the affection he had for you, not just in bed. He was visibly more comfortable around you. He’d often say that he loved you. He’d make little surprises for you—flowers picked around the property, more thread for your embroidery, or a freshly painted scene he made for you.

He called you darling. Almost all of the time now. Even around others. You still remembered the first time he did so in the daytime with an audience—you were visiting the Bangs, whose property was on the other side of the lake, for Lady Bang’s birthday celebration. It had been a small, intimate affair—unfortunately, Lady Bang’s health issues had been making her life more difficult, but she seemed to enjoy her birthday anyway. Changbin and Ha-ri were there as well as Lord Han and his wife, who was also rather close with the Bangs.

The celebration began outside with light snacks and beverages. You were having tea with the other women while the men were a little farther, standing by the lake and discussing real estate—a topic that bored Hyunjin to death, so you knew he would try to divert it sooner rather than later. You had become accustomed to it—no more than that, you loved it. This little habit of his. When he came to you to help make his current conversation—business or not—more interesting.

Darling, he’d said from across the yard, his voice loud enough that you—and everyone else—heard him. What are those plants that grow by the water on our side of the lake? The ones that smell so good? I’m trying to convince Lord Han that he wants some for his new cottage home.

The fragrant herb grew naturally in a few places on Hwang Estate, its scent made stronger on days where it rained right before the sun warmed up the earth. You remembered warmth spreading on your cheeks as you fumbled with your words—and your needle. Mugwort, my love, you replied, and Hyunjin raised his cup of coffee at you with a smile before turning to the others again. You remembered even more the lightness in your chest and Lady Bang’s knowing smile. Ha-ri’s, too. Not a word had been said about it, except for Lady Bang’s gentle remark, Your husband seems healthy these days, Lady Hwang. It looks like having you around is good for him. You look well, too.

So you knew that what had happened at the Jeons’ place had done something to soften his heart. Except you had thought that it was open. And that it would keep opening over time, like the petals of a flower unfurling slowly under the sun as spring became summer.

But you realized now that instead of opening, his heart had cracked open—just enough to let some of his love trickle out and spill, to allow some of his light to warm you up, but not enough that he would ever be yours. Not in the way you wanted him to be. And it went so far beyond the act of him putting his cock inside your pussy. It was the thought behind it, his will to never, ever do so was a symptom, a manifestation of something that was festering within him. Like one who had the flu would have a fever and a cough—he recoiled if the tip of his cock even grazed your entrance.

Or at the sight of a newborn baby, an event that happened two weeks ago in town when a mother—the wife of a farmer who worked on his lands—approached him to present him her daughter. A beautiful little girl, soundly asleep in her mother’s arms, all pretty and snug in a bundle of blankets. He barely acknowledged the woman before running away, leaving you with her. You had been more than happy to chat with her and to praise the little angel in her arms, but when she asked if you wanted to hold her, you realized that you just couldn’t. You froze in place, finding yourself unable to take the baby in your arms.

Like a manifestation of something festering inside you. A testimony of everything you didn’t have, and never would.

That morning, as the autumn breeze caressed your hair and the places where your skirt did not cover your legs, as you watched your husband soak a cum-stained handkerchief in the lake, you thought of your mother. And of all the ways in which she had warned you.

She had been right all along. Your heart was drawn toward anything that was broken, and the worst part was that you couldn’t help it at all. Out of all the wretched, damaged things you had loved, though, Hyunjin was by far your favorite.

Hyunjin helped you up when he came back. It seemed that his hand lingered on your forearm a little longer than he needed it to, but perhaps it was just your imagination.

He did not say a word, not one word, as you walked back to the manor. He disappeared into his bedroom, locking the door behind him. You knew he would wash up before joining Changbin and others in the parlor, where they would hold a meeting about Hyunjin’s upcoming business trip. In the city.

Some things just never changed. You hated it, still, when he left for that place where he used to be so acquainted with the brothels.

Some things just never changed. You had been a fool for loving him before, and a fool you still were.

That day, Ahnjong came to help you with your bath and your gown but you refused her—you told your maid that you were feeling sick, that your stomach was a little upset, and that you wished to rest for a few more hours. She believed you, mentioning that she had seen the breakfast return completely whole after your walk with Hyunjin.

You did bathe—in water so warm that it burned your skin. Yet it was not enough to cleanse the shame off you.

You only went outside in the afternoon to check on your beehives. With winter approaching, they weren’t very active and no longer produced enough honey for you to harvest it. Instead, you just made sure that everything was clean and in order so that they could keep getting ready for the cold season. You envied them. They could not know it, but their setbacks would be temporary. The snow and the ice would thaw and spring would bring with it new flowers and warmth for them to enjoy. But for you, it seemed, the cold would be everlasting.

When Ha-ri mentioned she was going to visit the town for a few errands, you immediately asked to join her. Just to put some distance between you and Hwang Estate. Between you and Hyunjin. You hadn’t even seen him after returning home and yet you needed to be away.

“My lady,” Ha-ri said, keeping her voice low to make sure that the coachman wouldn’t hear her. “What is troubling you like that?”

You kept your head turned toward the small window, watching the scenery outside. The soft, green grass, the trees and their coloring, the clouds floating in the sky. It was all too beautiful—it did not make sense to be witnessing it when your heart was in such a state of disarray.

Not giving her an answer would be worse. You took a deep breath, and as you did, the feeling of Hyunjin’s rage came back to you. His firm grip. And you, the stupid fool who did not want to escape it, who relished every moment of it.

“It always worries me when our husbands leave for more than a day or two,” you responded. “You know that, Ha-ri.”

She leaned over so she would be a little closer to you, observing you. “Is that really it?”

“Yes.” You nodded, turning to her. She was studying your face carefully, looking for hints that you were hiding something from her. You could only hope that all of your mother’s lessons hadn’t been useless, that you could still make your face tell something other than what was in your heart.

Ha-ri sat back on her bench, crossing her arms over her chest with a frown on her brow. She did not believe you. “Changbin came to see me during a recess. He told me that Lord Hwang was particularly short-tempered today.”

You ran your tongue over your teeth, inhaling as if to give yourself some time to think this all over. Ha-ri was a friend now, a true friend. The kind of friend you never had except for Hyunjin through his letters when you grew up. She knew a lot about the things that went on between you and your husband. She knew enough to properly humiliate both of you if she ever wished, but you knew she’d never do such a thing. You knew you could trust Ha-ri with your secrets. She didn’t even tell them to her husband.

A heavy silence fell between the two of you. Ha-ri was, also, the kind of sister you never had, despite having been brought up in a household with two of them.

You felt tears in your eyes as you were choosing your words. You didn’t even know what to say to her, and yet you couldn’t possibly not tell her. You would go crazy if you didn’t. It seemed like you couldn’t see ahead, like you were stuck in the middle of a field on a foggy day, and you didn't know where to go to reach home.

When Ha-ri caught sight of your tears, she covered her mouth in surprise before handing you a handkerchief. This one was also one that you had decorated with her, and the sight of it was enough to make the tears roll down your cheeks. You hid behind your hands as you wept.

“Oh, my lady…” She put her hand on your thigh, patting you there gently. Lovingly. “You don’t have to tell me—I think I know anyway…” She pushed a strand of hair away from your face and you removed your hands to look at her.

She was right—you didn’t need to tell her, because she knew it was about Hyunjin, and also probably guessed it had something to do with the distance he insisted on keeping between you and him.

So, that afternoon, Ha-ri brought you with her on her errands, making sure to occupy the silences when they went on for too long, talking about this and that. Nothing too interesting and nothing too boring either. She decided, on the spot, that she would be making new dresses for you for the winter and made you choose your fabrics and colors. Ha-ri was a good friend, and you only felt worse for not being comforted by all her efforts. As though you didn’t deserve her—and maybe you didn’t. Maybe you didn’t deserve any of this.

Your mind was too busy with memories from the morning to properly appreciate Ha-ri’s friendly chat as she explained to you her ideas for the dresses she wished to make. In your mind, all that existed was Hyunjin and his fingers sinking into the delicate skin of your face, his weight on your body, keeping you pinned down on the soft soil. His skin hot and feverish and his beautiful face contorted with fear and resentment. And lust. And love.

After the fabrics, Ha-ri informed you that she needed to stop by the Apothecary to replenish her stash of fever cures—she knew that in the winter months, her little girls would surely need some, and let you know that she always hoarded as much as she could during the fall. You made a few purchases yourself, a little distractedly, mostly to reassure Ha-ri. To give the impression that you weren’t in fact hearing in your mind Hyunjin’s feral groans as he aggressively rubbed his cock on your pussy. Like he couldn’t resist it. Like he wanted to be done with it—with you—as quickly as possible.

You thanked the apothecary and followed Ha-ri outside, answering her questions about honey even though both of you were very much aware that she already knew how beneficial honey could be for a sore throat or even a light cough.

She was already seated when you stopped in your tracks, your gaze going blank as you went to climb back into the coach. Suddenly, it was no longer Hyunjin's desperate release you were thinking of, it was Lee Minho.

And a promise you made to him—and your husband—several months ago already.

“I’ll be right back, Ha-ri,” you heard yourself say. You even felt a smile appear on your lips. And you knew it was convincing by the face your friend made when you spoke to her. “I forgot something—some oils, for my hair.”

Of course she believed you and it made you feel like you were the worst person alive, taking advantage of Ha-ri’s good heart.

“My lady,” the apothecary, an older gentleman, said when you reentered his shop. He had just concluded a quick sale with a young man who had been waiting in line after Ha-ri and yourself. “Is there a problem with your purchases?”

You had always been burdened by the thing between your legs, whether it was about the bleeding or the piece of flesh inside you, the one that you so badly wanted to keep whole so that Hyunjin could claim you. You remembered the day you became a woman and the feeling of the blood dripping from you, the smell of it, too. It had been so violent, especially for a child of that age. And yet, you had come to see it as a blessing. Every month, your body reminded you that one day, it would welcome within it Hyunjin’s heir.

But that was before knowing it would never be the case.

“No, no, there isn’t a problem,” you replied, crossing the small room to meet the old man at the counter. “I’ve forgotten something that I’d like to buy, if you have it in your possession, of course.”

This seemed to unsettle the apothecary a little. He tilted his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean, my lady?”

You took a deep breath but that did very little to stop your lips from trembling. “Can I trust that our conversation will remain private?” When the man went to respond, you raised a hand, insisting. “Truly private. At any cost,” you added. “You may not tell my lord husband, or the doctor in our employment, or anybody.”

The apothecary’s gaze lingered on you for a few seconds, then he bowed his head low. “Of course, my lady. I am at your service.”

Maybe you trusted him, maybe you didn’t—the truth was that in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because you simply wanted to have a bottle or two of it in your possession just in case. Perhaps it could be some sort of safety net. A hail mary.

It was Sookie who told you about it, many years ago. At the time, it had appeared to you as one of the highest offenses, as one of the worst things a woman could do. But Sookie had insisted that you would understand one day—you just didn't believe her.

But that was before.

You cleared your throat and did your best to look like you weren’t wildly nauseous. “Sir, do you remember the… the tea you sold me, a few months ago?”

The apothecary’s posture changed immediately, and so did his facial expression—he stood straight, looking very solemn, crossing his hands on the counter. “Yes, my lady. I dared not ask, of course, but I noticed you stopped buying it.”

You nodded. “Yes. Of course, I’m sure you understand.”

He nodded, too. “I understand.”

In your chest, your heart fluttered and it felt, for half a second, like you were freefalling. “I’d like to purchase something like it, only stronger, more potent. I was told of such a product by somebody who I trust, who was familiar with it.” Because she used to work in a pleasure house—but you didn’t need to tell him that. A man his age must have seen all kinds of things. “I’m sure you understand,” you said again.

He did not avert his gaze, staring at you in the eyes with a mix of surprise and sadness, which you did your best to ignore. “I understand,” he echoed, his voice a little more faint. “Stronger, you say…”

Some poisons were just strong enough to eradicate a life growing inside a woman’s body without harming her too much. But, according to Sookie, it could destroy her womb if there was nothing to kill inside of it, so one should be absolutely certain to be pregnant before starting the treatment.

You felt tears returning to your eyes but you fought them. “Yes. A bottle, please.”

The man sighed. It took a few seconds before he finally disappeared at the back of his shop. You took this opportunity to wipe the corner of your eyes while he was searching for what he needed.

You wondered if god existed, and if he did, if he would ever grant you forgiveness for what you were doing.

All that you had ever wanted was to be a good wife to Hyunjin. All your life you had waited for it, for the day you would marry him and then for the wedding night that would follow.

And now it just felt all like a big failure. You understood him and his wishes and his fears, yet it did not stop you from wanting to be his wife, really his wife, without him being ashamed or afraid.

It was all that you had ever been allowed to be—Hyunjin’s betrothed. You owed it to him and to yourself to try and make this marriage whole.

The apothecary returned, putting a small bottle made of dark glass on the counter. “A woman should take a few capsules as soon as she notices her monthly bleeds are late,” he said in a low voice, barely audible even in the quietness of the shop. “She should take a few more a day or so later while she is still bleeding. To… ensure the job is finished.”

You took the small vial and stored it safely in your bag, exchanging it for a generous amount of gold coins. But the man did not touch them, he only stared at them.

“I would prefer if you did not pay me for this, my lady.” He pushed the gold back toward you. “I do not hold judgment—I do not need to know the reasoning, but I won’t accept payment, not for this. I simply can’t.”

His words were just like blades, each of them sinking into your chest deep enough to draw blood. You collected the coins with shaky hands and left the store without a word.

The days were shorter now—the sun disappeared faster than you expected it to. It seemed like you saw less and less of it, noticeably so, every day. You went for a walk around the estate after your errands with Ha-ri, letting it drag much longer than you needed to, more than you should. It just felt good to be alone with the exception, occasionally, of a small forest animal.

At dusk, you came across a squirrel who looked a lot like Henry, except this one had a tail. The bottle was tucked in the inner pockets of your jacket and it felt as though it weighed a ton. You remembered Henry and how he had simply stopped visiting you one day. Lillie had told you he might have found a partner but you just knew he was dead.

It didn’t matter that it was dark outside—no matter where you went, the lights inside Hwang Manor shone bright enough for you to see in the distance. All you had to do was walk towards them and hope not to put your feet in the wrong place. Only, maybe it was exactly what you wanted. Maybe you didn’t mind slipping and falling into a creek and hitting your head. Maybe you didn’t mind tumbling into the lake and being swallowed by it, only to never be seen again.

You used to believe that nothing could be as painful as that, as difficult as that. To be Hyunjin’s wife and not knowing whether he loved you or not. How foolish of you.

This was much worse. Knowing that his heart, indeed, beat for you, and yet he kept a reasonable distance between you two. On purpose. According to his wishes. You had done nothing to soothe his wounds, because, in fact, you had made them worse, like rubbing salt onto them instead of kissing them softly. Because you were a stupid little girl, and your mother’s relentless teaching had done nothing to prepare you for this. It had done nothing to make you enough for him, for Hyunjin.

After all, he wasn’t just a lord. He was Lord Hwang, but he was intelligent—very, very intelligent. He knew much about the world and about literature, or art. He took good care of the business he oversaw. He had refined tastes—he liked beautiful things, complicated things. Things like him. An intricate meal, a detailed painting, an interesting conversation. He liked silk sheets and lavish wine. He liked unusual books.

And you…

He loved you. But you were too simple, too uncomplicated to permeate him the way he did for you. To hold any weight where it mattered.

He loved you.

But marrying you had not been an option. He had not chosen you.

You heard them calling out for you sometime after sunset. You quickly made your way back as you did not wish to draw any attention to you. It was Seonghwa who welcomed you, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. “My lady,” he said with concern in his eyes. “Supper will be served shortly, I… Are you alright?”

You hadn’t cried—the sorrow you felt was too deep for that. The tears would take longer to make an appearance. You felt like a beehive in the winter. Alive somewhere inside, but sluggish, inactive. You wondered what exactly Seonghwa was seeing in you to inquire about your well-being. You wondered if the shadows haunting you had begun spilling from your eyes, or perhaps your lips. They, for sure, had spilled from your heart, hurting Hyunjin in the process.

“I’m alright. Don’t let them wait on my behalf, Seonghwa. Have the chef serve dinner whenever he wishes and I’ll join as soon as I can.”

You let Ahnjong take you to your bedroom so she could brush out your hair for dinner. You remembered, then, that the Bangs were visiting tonight. It happened often and those dinners were usually rather spontaneous. Normally, you were delighted.

She brushed out your hair and put it in a braid and you felt nothing. Your mind was elsewhere. “My lady,” the young maid mentioned, “there’s mud on your gown.” And there was. You let her undress you, removing all the layers that had been soiled by the damp autumn soil. You let her choose your new gown and she went for the deep red one. “His lordship’s favorite,” as she pointed out.

When she wasn’t looking, you took the small glass bottle from your jacket and hid it underneath your pillows. Your hands were still shaking and you realized it was because you didn’t want to face Hyunjin again. You didn’t want to see the bitterness in his eyes, didn’t want to feel his resentment behind the facade that he would surely put up.

You stared into your mirror, taking in the sight of you. Your parents were wealthy but you had never owned beautiful clothes such as this gown before you came here. You hadn’t been allowed that—for soirées, your mother would borrow a gown from someone else. She didn’t want you turning ungrateful, she said. She wanted to remind you of what you were worth. You could see it now—all of it. In a way you never had. You could be wearing the queen’s dress but it wouldn’t make a difference. It wouldn’t change you as a person, wouldn’t add to your value. It wouldn’t complicate you.

Not once before had it occurred to you, not in a way that reached you so deep within your bones. That you weren’tHyunjin’s choice. You were his father’s choice—or rather, a way for him to settle the matter quickly. After all, when he and your father made the arrangement, he was already engaged in his extra-marital affairs. Perhaps he knew that it would end badly. Perhaps he could sense that he was risking a lot and that his family was likely to lose its reputation sooner rather than later, so he just took the first offer he got. And you were that. The first offer, or the more convenient one.

It had never occurred to you before because you had never, not once, felt like Hyunjin would have wanted it any other way. Until now, it had simply felt like fate had brought the two of you together. Maybe, in some vain, arrogant way, you had believed that he would have picked you if given a choice.

But he had not chosen you.

Dinner was already ongoing when you descended the stairs. You heard your guests first. Maybe Hyunjin had decided not to attend. Maybe he didn’t want to see you. Maybe—

“We shouldn’t be gone for more than three or four days,” you heard him say in the dining room. “I’m thinking, after we’re back, we should go on a hunting trip. The three of us.”

Your heart dropped. At least now you knew he was at dinner, so he wasn’t completely disgusted with the idea of eating at the same table as you.

But he wasn’t even gone yet and he was planning to leave again once he returned.

“What an excellent idea!” Lord Christopher exclaimed, after which you heard a thump, as though someone had punched the table.

“What, me too?” Ah, so Changbin was there as well. Which meant…

“My lord, are you planning on stealing my husband away from me?” Ha-ri asked playfully. Only you knew she sort of meant it. And you knew, maybe, that she thought having Hyunjin close would comfort you.

“Of course not,” Hyunjin responded, and you heard wine or liquor in his voice. “It’ll be just a few days.”

“Maybe I could meet with you in the city the day after tomorrow,” Lord Chris offered. “The land on the West has quite a lot of deer, or so I heard. Should we ask Lord Jeon to come along, too?”

A short silence followed. By then you had made it to the dining room but waited behind the door before you entered.

“Maybe we could,” Hyunjin said in the end. “I know he’s rather busy, but asking would, at the very least, be polite.”

You chose this moment to make your entrance, hoping that the conversation between the men would be engrossing enough that you wouldn’t be noticed. However, naturally, every head in the room turned to you, all five of them, and also the maid who was pouring wine into everyone’s glass.

“Oh no, stay seated,” you told them when they went to stand for you. You walked around the room—they had given you a chair next to Hyunjin’s. Of course they would—the housekeepers didn’t know any better. A million thoughts were going through your mind and yet you somehow managed to remain composed, even trying to smile. “It’s lovely to have supper with such friendly guests. Please excuse my tardiness.”

“Oh no, the pleasure is ours, my lady.” Lady Bang was glowing tonight with her hair held at the back of her head and a stunning periwinkle gown. “I was afraid you were ill.”

You went towards your seat as you tried to come up with a believable lie, something that would be neutral, something that would not hint at anything. You knew the maids were listening, and even though they had no bad intentions, it seemed that they liked to analyze everything that was said between you and other guests of the manor. If you lied about where you had been, they would know, and it meant everybody would know you were hiding something.

But how could you make them understand that it wasn’t a tangible thing that you were hiding? Not an affair or criminal activity. It was your sorrow that you wanted to keep secret. Because you didn’t want anybody to know. And above all, you didn’t want Hyunjin to know that you were gloomy. It would only make things worse.

As you reached for your chair, Hyunjin pushed himself up rather abruptly, and for an instant, you believed he would leave dinner and your heart skipped a few beats. Instead he pulled your chair for you, dipping his head. “My lady.” He did not look at you when he spoke, but you sat down anyway, doing your best to keep your breathing steady. But the truth was that your head was much like an apiary in the summer—buzzing and lively, with every part of it sparking and working.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to sit down with Hyunjin and talk to him calmly. You wanted to slap him in the face maybe. You wanted to tell him that you loved him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to watch him paint. You wanted to have a nice dinner with your friends and get drunk on wine and you wanted your heart to be lighter than the petals of a rose. You wanted to cry. You really wanted to cry. You wanted to ask Lady Bang and Ha-ri to follow you to your bedroom so that you could tell them everything.

Yes. Yes, that was it.

The burden had become too heavy and now it felt as though you were suffocating. As though you were drowning in it.

You were given a glass with wine in it as well as a bowl of soup. The others were halfway through theirs—you tasted it, partially to warm yourself up and mostly to delay the moment you’d have to talk. Nobody had said anything after you sat down—but it was obvious that Lady Bang was still expecting a response.

“I went for an evening walk and lost track of time,” you told her. “I always get a little confused at this time of the year. The days are getting so short.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Lord Christopher said with a frown. “Especially at this time of the year—the wild animals are looking to feed in ample amounts to prepare for the winter.”

You took a large sip of wine—it was good, sweet but still strong and tangy. “Oh, I doubt I would become anything’s dinner, my lord.”

“I must insist. There have been sightings of wolves in the mountains nearby. I would hate it if anything happened to you, my lady.”

You almost choked on your wine but it went largely unnoticed when Changbin echoed Lord Christopher’s advice and the attention was all turned to him. You managed to swallow the wine and ate some soup to soothe your throat, but now your mind was tainted with Christopher’s words. He was right—something could happen to you out there. Anything. You could come face to face with a bear or a wolf or a hunter could mistake you for the game he'd been tailing for a day. You could slip and fall and crack your skull open on a rock.

You felt it all happening—you became aware of the danger and you waited for the moment you would be afraid, only, it never came. Instead you were invaded with the urge to return out there and walk blindly into the forest, waiting for it to decide your fate. Maybe it would be a relief for Hyunjin—maybe he would get to choose who sat next to him for supper and who woke up in his bed in the morning.

“Thank you for your concern,” you told Lord Christopher, hoping he wouldn’t notice how weak your voice was. “I’ll keep that in mind should I want to be out again after dark.”

Ha-ri went to say something but she was interrupted by the loud knock it made when Hyunjin put his empty wine glass back on the table—a lot harder than he needed to.

“No. You will not anymore. Never again.” He spoke at low volume but he enunciated every word very clearly, making himself heard. His voice was coated with quiet rage, turning your stomach to lead. He did not look your way but he went on. “You will not venture away from the manor after dusk. Never again. It isn’t safe. There’s nothing to gain from it. And if you must do it in the daylight, you will do so in the company of someone else. Is that clear?”

The silence that filled the room following Hyunjin’s statement—or rather, command—was so heavy that you could almost feel it permeate your lungs as you breathed in. You dared not look away from your bowl of soup, wondering what you ought to do next. That had never happened before, not like that at least. Hyunjin had never been the kind of husband to exert his manly rights—quite the contrary, in fact. You could tell he always tried to be anything but whatever his father had been like.

You did raise your head then, at the same time as Hyunjin did—the guests were very interested in their own soup all of a sudden—and you saw them. In his eyes. You saw those demons you had always heard about, those you had been warned against most of your life. You had never been frightened of Hyunjin until today. Until this morning, when he lost himself. Until now, when he didn’t look like himself.

And yet you could not look away. And yet you could not love him less.

You stared into them, into his eyes, searching for the ones you had come to know. The ones that were like molasses on a slice of pound cake. They were still somewhere in there, weren’t they?

Hyunjin tried so very hard not to be like his father. As for you?

You—you were the result of years of coaching from your mother. She had taught you all about that—what to do when your husband would give you a command, whether it was to get him a glass of liquor, to help him change his clothes, or to get on your knees so he could have his way with you. Your mother might have forced these thoughts into your mind, but she was far from being the submissive wife she had tried to fashion you into. Tonight, if she were you, she would have snapped at Hyunjin for his comment, in front of their guests. Things would have escalated later. You used to hide your head under your pillows so as not to hear your parents yell at each other. And other things.

You tried so very hard not to be like your mother, too.

You took one deep breath, then another. You reached for Hyunjin—he recoiled at first, a faint scowl adorning his brow, but you simply took his hand in yours and squeezed it gently.

“Of course, my love.” You gulped, but the knot in your throat remained. “You’re right. It was reckless. I shall be more cautious in the future.”

He stared down at the hand you were holding as though he couldn’t believe what you were saying. You figured the moment might have lasted a thousand years if it weren’t for the maids who came to swap the bowls of soup for dinner plates, which were filled with a roast that looked and smelled fantastic.

Lord Christopher commented on it, echoed by Changbin, and dinner went on. It went on around you but you took no part in it, simply responding to questions when you were talked to and smiling when someone said something humorous.

They spoke about politics. Lady Bang inquired about Ha-ri’s dressmaking. Changbin asked Christopher about the renovations that were taking place on their estate. Lord Christopher asked if you had any plans to go and visit your family back home sometime soon and you made up some lie about it.

Ha-ri suggested that everyone went outside before dessert—just to get some fresh air. You followed her as she took your hand and invited Lady Bang to come with while the men could go wherever they wanted. But really you knew she just wanted to get you away from Hyunjin.

Only you didn’t really. He was angry at you—more than he had ever been. And you were his wife and you were supposed to make things right.

Ha-ri led you and Lady Bang to her sewing room, where she opened the door of the balcony to let in the night air. You stood there for a moment while she was showing Lady Bang her new fabrics for the winter, but your mind was wandering elsewhere. Your thoughts had been sent a few days from now, when your husband would be in the city. He was so angry at you that he might just go see if any brothel had something to offer. Perhaps he would fuck once or twice until he was pacified, and then return to you.

He did choose them. Those women. He asked for them and was given some time and pleasure with them in exchange for money. But you? He never asked for you and he got nothing in exchange. Nothing at all.

You thought nothing could make your night worse—and then two maids entered the sewing room with a teapot and cups. “Mr. Seonghwa sends us,” one of them, Salma, said. “He said the ladies might want a warm drink.”

You watched as the two young women prepared the tray and the tea, your mind far away from this room. You were listening more to whatever was outside than what was occurring here, searching for Hyunjin’s distant voice in the night, wondering what he, Christopher, and Changbin might be talking about. You would not be so bold as to suggest he would ever talk about you with them, but, selfishly, you wanted to hear some kind of sorrow in his voice—the same that inhabited you. Or maybe you had it all wrong. Maybe that anguish, that desolation, didn’t live within either of you—perhaps it was the other way around. Maybe, instead, it embraced you, contained you, like a cursed sanctuary. Maybe it had become your home, one that you weren’t sure you would ever escape.

You thought nothing could make your night worse—and then, when the maids were done setting up the small table for tea, they glanced at each other with knowing smiles and pink cheeks.

“My lady,” the other one, Emi, told Lady Bang, dipping her head very low. “Pardon the intrusion, I—” She took a deep breath, as though whatever she was about to say was terrible.

Inquisitive, you took a few steps towards the scene.

“We were simply wondering if what they say about you is true, my lady,” Salma added, also dropping her head, her cheeks darkening. “It would be such wonderful news.”

You instantly knew what this was all about when you saw Lady Bang react to the question by instinctively pressing a hand on her stomach.

A few seconds passed, during which Ha-ri stared at you, and only at you. Slowly, Lady Bang turned to you with a complicated expression on her face, making you wonder how much she knew. How much she had guessed. And that made you wonder how obvious it all was.

It made you wonder what the maids were saying about you.

It made you wonder if they could hear your heart shattering in your chest.

“Well,” you made yourself say, knowing very well you weren’t fooling anybody but pushing through regardless. Let them talk. The maids and the stewards and the apothecary and everyone else. Let them say whatever the fuck they wanted. “Is it true or not, my friend?”

She hesitated, biting her lip, but not moving her hand from her stomach. “Yes, it is. I found out last month, but I wasn’t sure it would hold so I didn’t—”

You raised your hand. It made you wonder if they noticed how badly it was trembling. “There’s no need to explain yourself, my lady. What lovely news! Congratulations!”

It was her, Lady Bang, who pulled you into an embrace, not the other way around. You vaguely heard Ha-ri dismiss the two maids, doing so politely but firmly as your friend held you against her. Despite the numerous layers of fabric both of you were wearing, it seemed, almost, like you could feel it. It radiated from her, from her belly. The life that she bore. The miracle, the blessing she carried inside of it. You allowed yourself to cry, figuring at first that it may look as though they were tears of joy. And really, they were. But there was so much more to it.

“I didn’t want you to hear about it like that,” she whispered into your ear. “I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t respond, prolonging the hug more than you needed to.

And then you saw everything so clearly it was like looking through a window. You understood everything. When they told you who you would marry and when, and how, and why. When they decided for you. You understood why your mother had tried to put an end to the betrothal, why she had been so adamant that you should marry somebody else.

You understood why she had warned you against broken things. It was not because she hated you, not because she resented you or despised you. It was because she was protecting you. Out of love. The way a mother only could love, which is to say, violently. Had she known? She couldn’t possibly have known, at that time, the exact details of it all, but she must have guessed that one day you would find yourself in such a challenging situation. She didn’t want you to get attached to Henry because he was a tiny squirrel, smaller and weaker than the others, and he was likely to become a hawk’s dinner or freeze to death much sooner than you expected.

She didn’t want you to get attached to Hyunjin because she knew that once a woman had opened her heart to a man, he held the power to destroy her.

You understood everything. You understood why you were so ashamed of it—that Hyunjin refused so categorically to ever, ever fuck you. You understood why it hurt you so much, why that shame lingered, why and how it had stained you. Like ink on paper. Like red wine on white silk.

Because your mother had not seen that coming. And she had promised you that when a lady made sure her garden remained unsullied, it would be the one thing her lord husband would without a doubt love about her, that he would desire it, that he would vulgarize it to his heart's content. She had made it seem as though there was no way this would ever fail. That if you were still pure on your wedding day, your husband would plant his seed in your garden, and there was no other option. She had made you feel as though it was the worst of offenses when a man wanted nothing to do with his wife’s garden.

She had made you feel as though you would fail, as a woman and as a wife, should you not be touched by your husband.

And even if you understood Hyunjin’s struggles, his fears, his complicated feelings towards his father and even fatherhood itself—you couldn’t undo the lectures that had been given to you, that had been carved onto your mind. They had become a part of you, intrinsically so. If you could, you would cut your skull open and pick them from your brain to discard them, but it would mean losing pieces of yourself. And you were okay with that. If, somehow, you could turn into a blank canvas, if you could be unmade, you would let Hyunjin fashion you into a wife that would be enough for him. That would be enough to heal his wounds instead of making them worse.

You thought of the old beekeeper, Mr. Ito, and of the day he showed you how to make sure honey was pure. He said that if one day, you were no longer able to produce your own, you should at least know how to procure the real thing.

“If honey is pure,” he had said, using a match to light a candle, “it will burn.” And he had shown you all the steps—wrapping cotton around a stick and coating it in honey before dipping it into the flame. You remembered the scent of it, sweet, sweet, sweet, and the way the honey, pure and unadulterated, caught on fire.

You wanted to run back home. It was not possible but you wished for it anyway—you wanted to see the villa from afar and run barefoot on the grass again. You wanted Henry to be still alive. You wanted Mr. Ito to be still alive. Even just for an instant, you wanted to be more like that little girl again, the one who held hope in her heart, the one who wasn’t afraid to burn.

“You ladies enjoy your tea,” you murmured, pulling away before anyone could see your tears. “I will go see how dessert is coming along.”

Neither Ha-ri or Lady Bang tried to stop you even though you weren’t particularly convincing. You walked away, ignoring the staircase as you passed it—you had no intention of checking on dessert or on anything. Hell, you weren’t even sure what you were doing at all until you made it to your bedroom and caught sight of your bed. You barely took the time to close the door behind you, crossing the room until you were sitting atop your soft mattress, feeling the linen and silk sheets laid on it. All white. Oh, how badly you wanted to stain them red.

You reached under your pillow, finding the small bottle obtained from the apothecary earlier. The label only had a skull and crossbones on it and, underneath in a thin font, Diachylon.

What had he said? The apothecary? That you should take it after noticing a pregnancy. He couldn’t have known, of course, that you had an entirely different objective in mind.

You wanted to be more than this.

You wanted the state of your garden to be anything but a problem. All this time, all your life—it all had been about this, hadn’t it? So much had been forbidden—running, ice skating, horse riding. Freedom. All this time you had believed, subconsciously or not, that your fucking garden should remain unsullied. That Hyunjin would be a happy husband as long as you managed to offer yourself to him in the purest form you could. That he would be displeased should your garden be anything but immaculate.

There was one thing you hadn’t even considered, though.

What if you didn’t have a garden at all?

What if you set fire to it? Would it burn? If it was pure, would it burn?

With trembling hands, you pushed the lid open, looking at the contents of the bottle. It was difficult to make out in the dark lighting of your room, but it was half-full with capsules. You held one between your thumb and your index, inspecting it. It seemed to be dark in color and had a thick consistency, just like honey. A strong, unpleasant scent invaded your nostrils when you breathed in—this had nothing to do with the little teas you brewed yourself a few months ago. This had the power to make a barren, lifeless place out of your womb. You brought the capsule to your lips after pouring yourself a glass of water from the pitcher on your nightstand.

Knock knock knock. “Darling? Darling, are you in there?”

You stopped breathing, motionless, your heart picking up a pace.

He couldn’t know. He couldn’t ever find out about what you were doing. You knew it would destroy him. You knew that on some days, he wasn’t much more than a castle without bricks, a tree without leaves, a canvas without paint. And today was one of those days.

It took exactly three seconds for you to bury the bottle under your pillow. You would remove it sometime later when it would be safe, after you had ingested the pills. When you would be absolutely certain that nobody would ever find out. You would never tell anybody. They would presume. Hyunjin would, Dr. Lee, even Ha-ri. But you would die before admitting the truth to anybody. You wouldn’t even tell Cloud. You wouldn’t even tell the bees. You wouldn’t even tell the wind about what you had done.

“Darling?” Hyunjin said again, his voice lower now. “Can I come in?”

You stood, figuring that not responding would only make things worse, but before you could cross the room, he let himself in—you hadn’t locked the door, apparently. Just two seconds later and he would have caught you shoving capsules of poison down your throat.

It took your breath away. You wondered if you would ever not be moved by him, by his presence, his existence. He stood there, his back on the closed door behind him, staring at you with his eyes like ink on paper, his lips parted, plush and raw from whiskey, like red wine on white silk.

“Yes.” The words spilled from you without you having any control over them—like one part of your brain was constantly on edge, ready to make you Lady Hwang at a moment’s notice. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to make our guests wait, I just—”

Whatever excuse you were going to make up, he didn’t let you say it out loud. He pushed himself off the wall, darting towards you—for an instant, it looked a little like he was going to attack, to pounce like a tiger. You had seen a tiger only once in your life but it was quite memorable. It might have been domesticated but it was still the largest cat you had ever seen. You wouldn’t forget the look in its eyes as it descended to devour the carcass the circus workers had left for him. A beautiful beast, too thin, locked in a cage.

Hyunjin had the same look in his eyes tonight. What a beautiful beast he was, too, only his prison did not have bars.

He did not lash out—when he stood just a few inches away from you, he stared down at you, cupping your cheek in his big hand. “Darling,” he whispered. His breath smelled like whiskey and like wine. His hair smelled like the outside air. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

It was not the first time it happened. The last time, he had gotten angry because you had drunkenly made a risqué comment during dinner. Even if it was an intimate dinner with people from the estate—Changbin, Ha-ri, Dr. Lee, Seonghwa, and Su-jin. It was always the same thing. You keep tempting me, he had said. And then he kissed you hard but you kissed him harder and he ate your pussy all night.

“Don’t be sorry,” you murmured, caressing his perfect face. “It’s okay. Do you want to lie down?” He was very drunk—he was holding on to you as though he was afraid to collapse.

“No, I want—I want—” but he couldn’t say it. Whatever he had in mind remained there as he frowned, his gaze not once moving away from your lips. “I want to stop being like that,” he uttered finally.

You wanted to tell him that it would be alright soon.

But he kissed you.

He pressed his lips onto yours, taking your mouth in his, claiming you once again. You kissed him back as his hands descended on your waist so he could pull you closer. He buried his face into your neck, biting you gently, suckling on your skin. He gently led you towards your bed, his lips not once leaving your skin, his tongue like flames licking at you.

He’s too drunk, you told yourself as he lifted you just enough so he could sit you down on your mattress. But it felt too good. And you loved him too much.

“Don’t let me talk to you like that again, darling,” Hyunjin said as he followed you onto the bed, on his hands and knees above you. He kissed you again, his hands scrambling to lift up your skirt. “Please. Promise me you won’t let me ever again.”

Your mind was all over the place, so much so that you didn’t know what he was referring to. After the breakfast fiasco, he had barely acknowledged your presence.

“You were right though, I shouldn’t have stayed out after dark,” you pointed out, taking his face in your hands, forcing him to look you in the eyes.

His had tears in them. And it broke your heart.

“My love.” Your throat was shutting itself tight but you fought it. “You can be mad at me, it’s alright. This is what a marriage is like.” And you meant it.

Hyunjin froze in place, one hand squeezing your thigh, the other somewhere near your head. “Mad at you?” He frowned deeply, staring at you like it was the first time he ever saw you. “Mad at YOU?”

You felt even more foolish then, your pussy already wet just from a few kisses and even fewer touches, realizing that you had misunderstood him.

“None of that anger, or hatred, is directed at you,” Hyunjin managed slowly. “I love you. My beekeeper wife. I love you. I love you. I love you—” And then he was back on your lips, his tongue gliding in between yours.

How could you tell him? How could you tell him that he was his own worst enemy, that he was the only thing keeping himself on a leash?

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that tonight, but that's not all. This morning too.” He spoke to you between kisses, feeling the damp linen over your cunt with his fingertips. “I shouldn’t have… touched you like that. It’s wrong.”

And yet you clenched around nothing remembering the way it had felt when he pinned you down, when you had been trapped underneath him. When he held you in place, his grip unforgivable and strong. It would have been factually wrong to say you hadn’t been frightened at all. And yet you feared nothing from Hyunjin—you trusted him with your life.

“I liked it,” you breathed, losing yourself in him already.

“It’s wrong. Baby, it’s wrong,” he insisted, his voice somewhere between a moan and a grunt. “Don’t ever let me do this to you again. Hit me if you must.”

You moaned too when he rubbed your folds through your underskirt in slow, lazy circles. You reached for his trousers, attempting to undo the button. Hitting him? No. Taking his cock in your mouth and letting him fuck your throat? Yes.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned when you squeezed him through his pants.

Here’s what would happen—you would have drunken sex during which Hyunjin would open his heart to you, during which he would pleasure you, shatter you, devour you. He would finish in your mouth and you would welcome the sting at your throat and your sore jaw because they felt just like kisses. It wouldn’t be the first time such an event occurred. Tomorrow, you would talk it out. And progress would or wouldn’t be made.

Or so you thought, until Hyunjin stretched his arm a little to pull your pillow closer, perhaps to lay it under your head. He stopped everything, motionless, and you could only watch in horror as he pulled the vial from where you had hastily hidden it. He looked at the label and then he looked at you. You remembered the morning of your thirteenth birthday—the day you became a woman. Waking up in a puddle of your own blood, afraid, ashamed as though you had done something terribly wrong.

Hyunjin pulled away, standing next to the bed, still gaping at the bottle he was holding, his tented pants unbuttoned.

One thing about Hyunjin though was that he kept his promises. He had hated speaking harshly at you that morning so, tonight, he did the opposite.

“Darling,” he said in a strangled voice, softer than you ever expected. “Wh—” He lost his words again and you sat down on your bed, shaking. “I forbade you.” The look of betrayal on his face was, perhaps, the worst thing ever inflicted on you, worse than any insult your mother might have hurled at you. It would have hurt less if Hyunjin had hit you in the face.

“Please,” you began, but you were in a panic, dizzy and tired and drunk and scared, and it seemed like you had lost all ability to speak. “Hyunjin—”

Not once did he raise his voice. “Come.” He grabbed at your arm and did so in an exceptionally delicate manner. It would not have been different if you two were walking in a wildflower field on a sunny day. “Here, darling. Did you take these just now?”

Before you could give him an answer, he dragged you to the lavatory, making you stand right in front of the sink. The mirror showed you a bleak reflection. You could barely recognize yourself.

“Throw them up. Now. Please.”

“Hyunjin, I—”

He pressed his hand at the back of your head, forcing you to lean over the sink, but not really forcing you. He would have done the same motion should he have wanted to show you a beautiful flower on the ground. “Do you want me to do it for you?” he asked calmly, bringing his fingers near your lips. “It’s okay baby, it’ll be over in a second.” Before you knew it, his fingers were in your mouth, reaching for your throat to stimulate your gag reflex. And he knew exactly how to do so—he was very intimate with the aforementioned gag reflex.

He was so gentle with it that you weren’t sure what brought the tears to your eyes exactly—maybe it was his distress, or the pussy-laced fingers invading your mouth. Or maybe it was shame and regret.

In one swift motion, you grabbed Hyunjin’s wrist to pull him away, freeing your throat. You coughed, choking on your own spit.

“Darling,” Hyunjin began, and you raised your hand to quiet him while you caught your breath.

You wiped the tears at the corner of your eyes, but one glance at the mirror revealed the mess that you had become. “I didn’t take it. I’m fine.”

“You didn’t take it,” he repeated slowly, almost like he didn’t understand. “You didn’t take the medication. Are you lying to me?”

“No. I didn’t.” You left the washroom, returning to your bedroom before he could get ahold of the capsules. While Hyunjin stood there, you quickly closed the lid on the bottle and set it on the small table by the window.

You noticed the droplets of water sticking to the glass. As though they were beckoning you, you made your way to the door leading to your balcony. The rain was light but cold, the sort of rain that was almost snow but not quite. Everything was dark, so dark that you could not make out the mountains on the horizon.

Hyunjin joined you in the cold, his eyes darker than the rainy night.

You wished, almost, that he would scream, that he would be enraged. You wished, almost, that he reacted violently. But instead, he held you. Close. He pressed your head on his chest and held you there, caressing your hair, rocking you ever so slightly in a comforting motion. You couldn’t tell whether he was trying to comfort you or himself.

“Darling,” he whispered, his voice blending with the rain in the exact same way he blended a deep red with true black on a canvas. “I would kill any man or woman who laid a single finger on you. I almost did so once and I would and will do it again if I ever need to.” He held you tighter. He was warm, feverish, and his heartbeat was irregular. “In this case, I’m the one who’s hurting you. So tell me, darling. Tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

You wanted to tell him that he wasn’t hurting you but it would have been a lie. As reluctant as you were to admit it. You had never admitted it to yourself before. You swallowed a sob, wrapping your arms around your husband, holding onto him.

He pulled away so he could look you in the eyes, holding your face in his hands. His pretty traits were twisted in anguish. You watched as a raindrop rolled from his temple, where his wet hair stuck to his skin, down to his jaw. He waited patiently until you were strong enough to look him in the eyes, too.

He caressed your lips with his thumb—he didn’t seem drunk anymore, as though the shock had sobered him up.

“Darling,” he said nonetheless. “I’m begging you. I’m begging you. I’m nothing without you. Nothing, do you hear me? Your absence would cause my demise, in one way or another. And yet I do not want to die. I want to be alive. With you. I want to hear your laughter, I want to wake up by your side. I want to taste your honey. I want to paint you, and travel with you, and—” He paused, overwhelmed, while your heart swelled with love and something even deeper than that, something that didn’t even have a name. “I’m sorry I’m not enough. I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want. But please, don’t—”

You put your hands over his—he was trembling. He was digging a hole in your chest.

“I’m sorry I did that this morning. I’m sorry I got angry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You had never seen him like that. He was broken.

“I told you I liked—”

But he didn’t let you finish your sentence. He shook his head and a few more droplets of rain rolled down his cheeks. “You don’t know what was on my mind. Terrible things. Disgusting things. I almost…” His gaze became unfocused as he replayed the scene in his mind. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. “It won’t happen again. I won’t let it. I won’t hurt you, I won’t—”

“Hyunjin.” You thought about all of the colors in your heart, about all of the words in your mind, about all of the sorrow in your veins. You wanted—no, you needed—him to understand. “All my life, they told me I needed to do this and that and be this and that and not to do this or that. And not to say this, but to say that. And I know that your childhood was awful, a lot worse than mine, but you will never understand what it is to have been born a woman.”

That seemed to unsettle him and to ground him at once. He straightened up a little, looking at you inquisitively, listening as the rain kept on pouring on the both of you.

“Every day, from the age of six or seven years old,” you went on, “I was reminded of how important it all was. I was told that if I did well—if I was intelligent enough, pretty enough, if I took care of my hair, of my body, of my—” You gulped, finding it harder to breathe. “Of my garden, I would become worthy of bearing your heirs. Hyunjin, it’s the only thing that was allowed to define me. My entire life. The beekeeping was just a distraction from that reality. I was made to be the mother of your children more than I was made to be your wife. I don’t know what I am without that. I’m nothing if I’m not that. And yet I understand you, and I respect your wish to never have children. I love you, Hyunjin. I just wanted… I think I just wanted to get rid of that burden. I told myself it was to relieve you of it, but really, it was for me. I wanted to be something more.”

Slowly, Hyunjin lowered his face just millimeters away from yours, ghosting your lips with his, his hot breath spreading on your skin like ink on paper, like red wine on white silk. His forehead pushed onto yours gently.

“My pretty, pretty wife.” He kissed you—a deep, languid kiss, his tongue caressing yours, his fingers closing into fists in your hair. “Can’t you see? Can’t you see what I see in you?”

Another kiss followed—this time, however, he pulled you with him until his back hit the wall behind him. It rained a little less here, close to the manor, but a shiver went down your spine anyway.

“It was never about what I want or don’t want,” he continued, his lips caressing yours with every word. “I do want it too. More than you would ever expect. I want to fuck a baby into you. I want to make love to you and I want to see your belly swell with the life that I put inside it. I want to hold the baby we made together and kiss its little baby forehead. And then, when it’s big enough, I want to fuck another into you. And another. I want to love them the way my father never loved me. I want to love you, and them, forever. It’s not about what I want or not. I want it. I just cannot, in good conscience, let it become reality. My blood is tainted. The fairy tale would turn into a nightmare, and I would hurt you, and our family.”

Traumatized. Your husband was traumatized.

And maybe, probably, so were you.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, where the scent of his cologne was stronger. He held you in his arms for what might have been a minute, or perhaps an hour. He only moved when he noticed your body trembling not from emotion, but from the cold—he took your hand then, leading you back inside.

“I’ll go ask for a bath for you.” He kissed the top of your head. “You need to warm up. I’ll make sure our guests are comfortable for the night, too.”

You didn’t let go of his hand when he took a step away—he turned to you, head tilted to the side. “I want to have my bath here.” You took a deep breath. “And come back to me. Don’t lock yourself in your room.”

“I’ll come back.” Normally, on the evenings before he left for a business trip, Hyunjin went to bed early, often in a room separate from yours since he didn’t want to wake you up in the morning.

“Okay.” You touched him, his toned chest, letting your fingers linger on the buttons of his shirt. He left the room and you almost collapsed, barely making it to your bed.

You lay down. You just lay down, your eyes fixated on the ceiling above. You were still there when the two maids came in—it was Salma and Emi. You remembered that Anhjong was off duty until tomorrow morning.

“Lady Hwang,” they said in unison, dropping their heads. Salma was holding Cloud in her arms. As soon as she saw you, the cat jumped on the ground so she could join you in bed. “His lordship said you were to have a bath,” Emi added.

You gave them a simple hm hm, caressing Cloud’s soft fur as the almost fully-grown cat rolled into a ball next to you, her purrs echoing in the quiet room. You closed your eyes, trying to breathe at the same slow pace as her.

“Should we add anything to the water, my lady?”

“Just some jasmine oil, Salma. Thank you.”

“You seem tired, Lady Hwang. Should we stay? I can wash your hair if you wish,” Emi offered.

“I am tired,” you admitted. “But I’ll be just fine. After you��ve filled the tub, please return to your quarters and enjoy your night.”

You were eager to plunge into the small but comfortable copper tub of your lavatory—while Hyunjin’s was more spacious, yours felt, well, like yours. You liked this room and everything about it. The balcony, the view in the morning, the furniture, the rich wood adorning it. In any case—for some reason you couldn’t quite explain, you craved Hyunjin’s presence in a space that wasn’t his. Almost like you feared you would overdose on him.

He was far by now. Most likely, he was back downstairs with Lord Christopher and Changbin who were having late-night drinks, as they usually did when the Bangs visited. Normally, you would be with Ha-ri and Lady Bang,somewhere in the manor, chatting and doing lady things. It did not matter, however, how far away Hyunjin was—you could still feel his hands on your body, his lips on your skin. You could still hear his voice in the air around you.

Can’t you see what I see in you?

You wondered what it was that he saw. You wondered if any of it came from you, really you, or if it was all just more attributes forced onto you.

It was never about what I want, or what I don’t want.

Apparently not. None of what Hyunjin had told you tonight felt real—you would be able to recite each word but your mind simply could not believe them.

Hyunjin had not chosen you, he had not chosen to be engaged or married to you.

But neither had you. And it did not change one thing about the amount of love you held for him, or how profound that love was.

I want to fuck a baby into you.

You pressed your thighs together, clenching around nothing. You hadn’t lied to him—it was true that you had been built into a baby-making wife. But what was also painfully true was your hunger. Your yearning. And it had nothing to do with childbearing. It was not the sort of thing a lady should ever have on her mind, let alone act on. They locked women in asylums for thoughts far less lewd or offensive.

You wanted Hyunjin that way because you desired him. You wanted him like he was a part of you that was missing—and maybe he was. Maybe he was exactly that. It didn’t matter how it would happen. He could hastily take you from behind at some event, unable to help himself. Or he could take his time, sinking into you over the course of several hours. He could, if he wanted, hurt you. He could pull your skirt up at any moment and take you, claiming you for good. He could, if he wanted, fuck his demons into you. You would gladly rid him of them. He would not need to be kind. He could pin you down, tie you up, pull your hair. Nothing that he would do to you would hurt as much as the absence of him did.

But you loved him.

You loved him enough to give up just about anything if it meant you would be together. The edges of his soul were sharp, but so were yours. He had given you quite a few cuts just like you had done to him. He had never chosen to marry you. You had never chosen to marry him.

But you had fallen in love with him.

And you had chosen to let that happen.

No amount of tears, of pain, of frustration would ever make you regret that, or make you wish your life had taken another turn. Often, others kept their hearts closed—they made sure to stay at a safe distance from the things they liked out of fear of those becoming things they loved. But you weren’t like that and you had never been.

Once, your mother had told you, Why is it that whenever you love something, it’s broken, or crippled? And you did not have an answer to that question. You loved what you loved. Period. She had tried to paint you as weak because of it, and for a long time, you believed her. You could see it clearly now. No love, certainly not the honest, unconditional kind, was the symptom of a brittle heart. On the contrary—only the bravest ones allowed it to permeate their souls.

One day, a traveling merchant visited your family’s villa—he was selling strange wares, something you had never seen before. Plates, vases, cups, teapots—except they were not new. He had said that these pieces had once been valuable and that they had been discarded by their owners after shattering. This man, an old man, explained to your father and to you how he had made it his life’s purpose to repair these objects so they could be beautiful again. So that they could fulfill their purpose.

He used gold to reattach the pieces together. The practice had a name, only you couldn’t remember what it was called.

You loved Hyunjin exactly the way he was—as broken or crippled as he might be. And one day, maybe, he would let you become the string of gold that held him together, something that made him whole again.

A delicate scent of jasmine reached Hyunjin’s nostrils as soon as he pushed your bedroom door open. He almost dropped the tray he was holding when Cloud snaked in between his feet, dashing out of the room with one of her characteristic—and very loud—meows. At this hour, she usually liked to hang around the kitchen. The staff fed her some meat and she liked to nap by the oven while it was still warm.

“Is that you?” you inquired. Your question was followed by gentle splashes of water, indicating that you were already bathing.

You didn’t need to say his name. He knew when you were speaking to him because your voice sounded different then.

“It’s me.” Without wasting time, he went to you.

The air was thick in the washroom, heavy with the humidity created by your apparently very hot bath. You didn’t seem bothered by the heat one bit, laying in the water like a siren, head resting on the edge of the tub. It was too dark for him to see you nearly as much as he’d like, but he could make out your silhouette under the water, familiar and enticing.

His heart still beating unevenly after tonight’s events, he sat on the chair near the bathtub, setting the tray on the counter next to him. You observed him in silence, your hair floating around you, your fingers tracing circles in the water, creating ripples on the surface of it.

“I brought you some food.” His voice was still shaking. He couldn’t stop seeing it in his head. Those awful capsules you kept. The look in your eyes when he found you. The look in your eyes this morning when he almost violated you. “You haven’t had dessert.”

You remained quiet, your eyes not leaving him once. He had stepped out just short of half an hour, long enough to let things settle, to digest at least some of it. Long enough to hear the staff talk excitedly about the big news, which had just become public. Literally moments ago, apparently. It was with tears in his eyes that Christopher confirmed it to be true. And it was with tears in his eyes, too, that Hyunjin embraced him and congratulated him. If there was one man Hyunjin had no doubt would be a wonderful father, it was him.

Hyunjin rose from his seat, grabbing one of the pieces of honeycomb he had brought. They were a part of your last harvest—while you insisted they should be reserved for presents to your friends or guests, he didn’t like thinking that you worked so hard to take care of your bees, all summer, only to give away all of the yield.

It was sticky on his fingers. He lowered himself right by the tub and brought the sweet treat to your lips. You took a little bite from it and more honey spilled on his hand, dripping on your collarbone. Hyunjin ate the rest, savoring each second of it, the chewy beeswax and the unique taste of your wildflower honey.

“Do you want more, darling?” he asked softly, licking his fingers clean so he wouldn’t waste a single drop.

“No, Hyunjin. Thank you.”

He stood again, wincing in pain—the injury to his knee had healed well but his leg had never been quite the same since—and returned to the counter to get you something else. Your lips curved into a smile when he brought you a small glass of port. You went to hold it but he didn’t let you. Instead, he pressed it on your lips, helping you drink it.

“Oh, it’s the good one,” you commented after the first sip.

“Only the best for my darling wife,” he replied with a smile that was a little somber.

This time, you didn’t let him—you took the glass from him, allowing him to drink his own. It was really warm here and the fabric of his shirt stuck to his skin in places, or maybe it was just the curve of your bare shoulders.

Your free hand broke the surface of the water and you held it palm up towards him. His heart jumped a little when he understood what you were asking for, but he held your hand, squeezing it gently.

“I apologize, Hyunjin,” you uttered slowly. “I’m sorry I…” You sighed, drinking a small sip of port while you found the right words. “I’ve been so selfish.”

He almost choked on his drink. “Selfish? No, that’s me, I’m selfish. I keep doing what I think is right because otherwise my conscience couldn’t take it. I should have realized before that it has consequences. That even if we think something is right, it doesn’t mean it is.”

He had repeated the pattern you had been used to—putting you through his own issues and pacifying you with an apiary. Wasn’t this exactly the same as your childhood? He still remembered your letters from then—he remembered all of your letters—and how surprised you were that your parents would allow you to learn the beekeeping trade. His intentions mattered little here—of course he had done it to make you happy. And it had made you happy. Only it was like making you lick honey off the stem of a rose—the taste would be sweet, yes, but the thorns would cut your tongue nonetheless.

You sat upright, pulling yourself closer to him, your chin resting on the arm you kept on the edge of the tub. “We’re sick in the head, aren’t we?” you whispered, sorrow written all over your face. You sighed. “I had a very unladylike idea. And you had the very unlordly reaction to shove your fingers down my throat to make me throw up. All of that just because I’m too… concupiscent for my, or your, own good.”

“Concupiscent?” He swallowed the last of his port but barely, coughing it down.

“Yes, concupiscent!” you repeated, but this time, your traits had softened and the ghost of a smile appeared on your lips. “Both in the literal and Christian sense of the word.”

“You’re exaggerating, darling.” He became serious then. In his head, his thoughts danced in circles, too fast for him to grasp onto one. The truth was that he couldn’t stop thinking of the moment he saw you with these evil pills.

You had it all wrong. He had failed to make you see the love he had for you. He had failed you as a husband. As a friend. Because if you knew the extent—the magnitude—of his devotion, the thought wouldn’t even have crossed your mind. Because then you would have known that any harm you caused yourself was inflicted tenfold onto him.

You were the only thing in the world that mattered. He would give up on it all if it meant that joy had made a home out of your heart.

“I’m not,” you went on. “I’m humbly asking for your forgiveness.”

“There is nothing to forgive. Darling. Nothing.”

You looked into his eyes. “You’re wrong. There is. I am asking for your forgiveness. Please give it to me.”

He discarded his empty glass. “I dare not ask for your forgiveness, but—”

You cut him off. “I forgive you.”

The air had been kicked out of his lungs—for a few seconds, he could only hear a ringing in his left ear. He didn’t deserve you. He never had. You had too good of a heart—it should love something other than him. In a perfect life, you wouldn’t be Lady Hwang. You wouldn’t even know of his existence. In a perfect life, you would be a princess, or perhaps even a queen, and your husband would have a soul that didn’t have holes in it.

But life wasn’t perfect. Which meant that his life was absolutely perfect.

Because it had put you on his path. Because you were his sweet, sweet wife, living under his roof, because you took his name, because you were his. He knew he held no ownership over you and yet you were his woman. No matter how hurt, no matter how deranged either of you were, Hyunjin was your man and you were his woman.

“And don’t tell me not to,” you added. “I’m not taking it back. Can we try again? Please?”

“Try what, darling?” he caressed your hair. Most of it was damp.

“This. All of this. Our marriage.” You thought about it. “I don’t want to erase what we had, but I want to move past tonight. I made a mistake and… I want to outgrow it.”

He sighed, kissing your forehead. Your skin was warm—the warmth spilled inside of him, traveling from his lips, spreading within his body. “Then, I do forgive you.” He still didn’t see anything he ought to give you forgiveness for, but if it was something you needed to hear from him, then he ought to say it. “Promise me you will never hurt yourself? You’ll never only hurt you if you do so.”

You nodded, tilting your head to the side, inviting him in for a kiss to which he did not resist. Hyunjin kissed you slowly. Your mouth tasted like honey and port and you smelled like jasmine and he was so in love with you that sometimes it felt like he was dying. It had to be what death felt like, right? Frightening and peaceful at once.

You deepened the kiss, breathing your sweet air into his lungs. He moaned when you rested your hands, dripping with hot scented water, onto his shoulders to pull him closer. Only he was as close as he could be. You owned him. He was little more than a marionette dictated by your existence.

He melted into the kiss, warmth spreading in his belly. Your fingers, sneaky and agile, began undoing the buttons of his shirt. You smiled against his lips as you undressed him lazily and he, himself, took care of his trousers. Clothes seemed so futile when he was with you—any moment spent without the contact of your bare skin on his was wasted.

It took no time for him to step into the tub with you. Only, this one was much smaller than the one in his bedroom so he had to squeeze himself there. Fortunately you found a solution to the problem when you came to straddle him, your ass resting on his thighs, your arms around his neck.

He kissed your lips again, then your neck. He licked the honey off your collarbone, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your hips. The warmth you had sparked within him had turned into something else. It felt, almost, like something was vibrating at a low frequency in his lower abdomen.

“Baby, we don’t have to,” you murmured into his hair, holding onto him. “I just needed you close.” Maybe you were feeling him grow hard against your thigh—Hyunjin had no way to resist you. But it was becoming difficult. To resist.

Because, before tonight, he had never admitted to anybody—not even to himself—the things he told you. In some ways, he became aware of them as the words spilled from his lips. He couldn’t explain his panic. You wouldn’t be the first woman to use this substance to prevent or stop birth. He was well aware of the practice.

How could he explain this to you?

He recognized the bottle in your hands from across the room. He had seen it before, or something similar enough anyway, in his mother’s bedroom cabinet. He couldn’t explain it to you because he had no way of proving it anyway, but he knew that his mother had suffered numerous miscarriages. That he was the only baby who ever held inside her.

Had she wanted him at all?

Had she tried to get rid of him, too? Had she tried to prevent him altogether in preparation for whenever his father might want to unleash himself onto her next?

Maybe, what he had seen at that moment as you sat on your bed, holding the medicine in your hands, was the reality he had been avoiding for so long—by trying so hard to be unlike his father, he was becoming indistinguishable from him. He was becoming him, only in a different shade perhaps.

He wanted to be more than that. He wanted to be more than trying to be something, or someone. He wanted to deserve you. Really deserve you.

And it was difficult to resist. His willpower was weakening the more time he spent with you because it just meant he loved you a little more each day. And every day, it was a surprise because he had never imagined he would have the capacity to love you more than he already did.

And yet.

“I’m right here darling.”

He let his hands travel along the paradise that was your body, stopping only to cup your breasts. He played with your nipples in slow, relaxed circles, using his thumbs. The rest of his fingers squeezed you, eliciting a little breathy moan out of you that was so alluring it made him dizzy.

You caressed him, too—his neck, his arms, his forearms, holding onto his wrists, your face twisting in pleasure with every new touch despite how you seemed to want to fight it. He didn’t want to fight it. He didn’t want to fight anymore. He had fought his inner demons his whole life, and for what?

“I’m right here,” he said again, his eyes gliding over your body. “God, look at you. My pretty wife… and those tits…”

You blushed violently so he did not let you turn away—gently pushing your chin upwards with two of his fingers, Hyunjin watched as your skin became a canvas on which color was spreading, deep and vivid and moving, better than any masterpiece.

“Lovely,” he commented, peppering your face with little kisses.

You giggled under your breath, taking his mouth for a deep kiss. Your lips were smooth and warm—he kissed you back, desperately, losing a bit more of his sanity with each second.

“Why are you laughing?” he questioned, amused and endeared and aroused. “Did I say something funny?”

You shook your head and took a few instants to give him your response, during which he admired you some more. Your eyes like stories, telling more than an entire library ever could, your flushed cheeks, your lips, raw from kissing.

“No.” You bit your lip, sinking onto him a little more, the weight of you delightful on his hardening cock. “You make me feel beautiful.”

Maybe it was his life’s calling—maybe he had been put on his Earth to serve that one and only purpose. To serve you, your heart, and your beauty. To be the mirror in which you saw all of those things that made you the ravishing woman that you were. From your smile to the way you pronounced his name, or your sweeter-than-honey voice. Your mind,stronger than mountains and your heart. Your heart, which was much like an ocean—grand, full of life, and deep. Your heart held so much that sometimes he worried you would collapse under its weight. But no, not you. Because you were you. His pretty beekeeper wife. And there was nothing he wanted more than to drown in that sea.

“You are beautiful, darling.”

He throbbed when you rolled your hips just a little, seeking friction. Your lips parted open but no sound came out of them. What a shame—he ought to change that.

He, too, bucked his hips, but a little harder, and this time you blessed him with your voice, moaning as you let your head fall in the crook of his neck. He was going to be fully hard soon if you kept going. If he kept going. He slid his hands at your back to rest them on your ass, keeping you close. The feeling of your hard nipples against his chest was enough to drive him crazy. There was no space between your body and his, and yet it wasn’t even enough. He needed more. He needed you closer even.

“I wish I had understood all these things before,” he confessed, massaging your ass, rubbing his erection on your thigh and the soft skin of your cunt.

“We said we were moving on,” you reminded him, kissing his jaw. “I just want both of us to be happy.”

Moving on. Something he had never quite done before. His entire life, Hyunjin had been haunted by the ghosts of his past and some days, he still felt as though he was the little boy hiding in his room—in this room—to escape fury or despair.

But he would do any one thing you asked for. His defenses had all been annihilated tonight. He was finally allowing his heart to tap into his deepest, most secret desires, to turn silence into words, to let them take flight. He hoped it wasn't too late, but it was tonight that he realized that love would always be stronger than fear.

“What else do you want, baby?” Anything. You could ask for anything and he would give it to you.

Your lips crashed on his for a passionate kiss—you let go of his shoulders to shove a hand underwater, wrapping your fingers around his cock. “Let me make you feel good,” you said between kisses, squeezing him, making him see stars already. Heat pooled between his legs and he suppressed a whimper when you fondled his balls in the most tender, sensual way you possibly could.

He groaned in your mouth as you alternated between palming and pumping his length. “Close your eyes,” you whispered, pushing his head back to expose his neck. You kissed him there too.

You thumbed his tip skillfully, using just enough friction, touching him in all the right places. “Oh fuck.” You knew him by heart, didn’t you? He was a slave under you, obeying each of your commands.

“I want to ask you something.” Your voice was low. “I want you to tell me what you were thinking about this morning when you…”

He throbbed in your hand at the mere memory of it. You felt it, adjusting your pace accordingly.

“No,” he managed, his breath hitching. “It’s not… right.”

Your languid massage came to a halt—instead, you squeezed him so hard that his entire body jerked forward, pleasure and pain becoming one, spreading under his skin.

You went on. “I want to know what it would be like. If we…”

He tried to steady his breathing but you made it very difficult by literally holding him by the balls and looking like a goddess on top of him.

“We never have to do it,” you added softly with a smile. “But I want to imagine it in my head.”

We never have to do it only Hyunjin had reached the limit. Of what he could prevent. Of his self-control. His temperance had run out.

“No man should say these things to his wife.” It was too lewd. Too honest. “I fear I would feel compelled to act upon my words. And it wouldn’t be right to do so tonight, would it, darling?”

“Not if you do it to silence me,” you breathed. “It would only be right if you did so because you wanted it so bad that you couldn’t help it. Isn’t that what almost happened, earlier? Is that why you were so angry this morning?”

He throbbed again—harder this time, moaning as you gave his cock a gentle squeeze. “Baby—”

Fuck this.

He had enough of it all. Of trying. Of resisting. Of pretending, even to himself, that he wasn’t obsessed with it, with you. He should have loved you hard on your wedding night. He should have loved you hard every night after.

“Tell me,” you insisted. But instead of telling you, he lifted you off him—you stared at him surprised, retreating a little farther.

He pushed himself up, splashing water all over the floor in the process, getting out of the bathtub. You turned to him, reaching for his cock again—hard, straining—and opening your mouth to take him between your lips, but he stopped you, cupping your face instead. “Get up, darling.”

Your eyes widened with anticipation and he had to force air into his lungs as you stood, graceful and sinful at once, your skin covered in goosebumps. Water rolled down your body and he followed it with his gaze. He liked the way the drops slowed down around your stomach before they continued their course, disappearing in the trimmed, silky-soft hair covering your pussy.

You stepped out of the bathtub, your arms around his neck to kiss him—he kissed you back but wrapped your legs around his waist as he lifted you. He should have done so on your wedding night. He should have done so every night after.

“A—Are you sure?” you managed, grinding almost painfully on his erection, kissing and licking his neck, leaving a trail of spit behind. “You’re not doing it just to—”

He lay you in your bed, dampening the sheets immediately but he didn’t care. He held his cock, giving it a few lazy pumps as he kneeled over you. “No, I’m not doing it to silence you. Or whatever.” He kissed you. Your thighs. Your mons. Your waist. Your breasts. Your neck. Your lips. “I’m doing it because I can’t fucking resist you anymore.”

You whined when he pushed onto your knee to spread your legs for him, holding onto his arms like you were afraid to fall. Were you scared? Turned on? Eager? You looked eager—disheveled, with your eyes glazed over, your chest rising and lowering with your small, shallow breaths.

You let out a loud moan when he cupped your pussy, feeling how wet you were and it wasn’t from the bath. Your juices stuck to his fingers and the palm of his hand as he massaged you, the tip of his fingers teasing your ass.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—” You sighed, head falling at the back, arching your back. “Yes, please—”

It would be a lie to say he hadn’t thought about this moment a lot. Because he had. Before meeting you and after. Sometimes he was imagining long, elaborate scenarios, and others simply picturing the moment he would work you open and the context didn’t matter.

Except it mattered. Context was everything. Context was more important than the act itself. It was with shame that he was towering over you tonight, the flames of the candles around your bed lighting only some parts of you—your left breast, your waist on the left side, too, your face. You had granted him his forgiveness a little too quickly and it didn’t feel quite deserved now. So he would keep begging you for it until he was satisfied. Until he knew he earned it, really earned it.

He clicked his tongue at the sight. “Darling.” He pressed two fingers at your entrance and he swore he could feel your pulse there. He caressed you, smearing your slick all over your pussylips. “Not so fast.” He needed more time.

He would keep begging until he knew he deserved you, which was to say, he would keep begging until his last breath. He didn’t need to use words for it. He would put his mouth to a better use than that, whispering his pleas into you.

He lowered himself between your legs, in this sacred place, kissing your inner thighs. Your skin smelled like the jasmine oil you had bathed in but the scent of your pussy was better. Sweeter.

“You want to know what went through my mind this morning?” He inhaled you, pressing his face between your legs, your slick coating his face. You writhed under him, your fists finding his hair. “It might offend you to know I was frighteningly close to forcing myself onto you.” He lapped at your cunt, teasing you, letting your taste melt into the tip of his tongue. Just little kitten licks, but each of them sent a jolt of lightning directly to his crotch. Each of them made you moan louder than the last.

It was true and it felt good to say it while tasting you. It felt good to say it, period.

“I wanted to keep you there and spread you open,” he went on, tilting his head to the side a little so he could reach your entrance better. Your cunt fluttered on his tongue, forcing a grunt out of him. “I wanted to watch myself sink into your tight cunt. Wanted to bury myself as deep as I could.”

You cried out, your hand closing into a fist in his hair, pressing him closer, rolling your hips to meet his tongue, to rub your clit onto his nose. You were hungry for more but he was hungrier. A craving that could not be explained with words.

“I wanted to break you open.” He used two of his fingers to expose you to him. “I wanted to fuck you. And ruin your pretty pussy.” Hyunjin pushed his tongue into your tight hole, licking you, fucking you with it. He did it because he knew you loved it, he knew you lost it every time he did it. But the truth was that it was an out-of-body experience to feel your cunt flutter around his tongue. You arched into his mouth, your voice filling the quiet room. “I thought exactly the same thing the very day I met you. We weren’t even married, darling, and I already wanted to ravage you.”

He quickly returned to your cunt, kissing it, fucking it sloppy with his tongue. You were meant to be worshiped. Could you feel that? Could you feel that each swirl of his tongue was a new prayer?

He barely heard you over the lewd sounds of his own mouth on you, but he could swear you muttered something like please fucking do it, which made his legs go limp a little. He groaned, taking himself in one hand to soothe the aching pressure he felt at his core. Eager. So fucking eager, and impatient. Acting innocent earlier with your we don’t have to do it, knowing fully he would. Knowing he had no wish for restraint anymore.

No, of course, you weren’t like that, were you? You wouldn’t torture him this way. But you were hungry for cock, and it was driving him properly insane.

He emerged from between your legs out of breath, your juices dripping all over his chin. “You really don’t know, do you?” God, you were so fucking wet. And he wasn’t even really drunk anymore—yet he felt lightheaded, like he was barely more than a cock and a mouth and a heart that loved you endlessly. “You ask for something but you don’t know if you’ll be able to handle it.” He meant that. As though to prove his point, he lay his tongue flat on your folds, taking one firm lick, slurping on you like you were the most extravagant dessert. Which, well, was exactly what you were. He was certain he could live off your cunt and only your cunt. You were the only sustenance required to keep him alive. “If I had my way with you, you would have blacked out while I made you mine.”

You clenched around nothing, pressing your thighs together, pressing his head harder in between them. Concupiscent his ass. You were straight-up horny. But he had known this about you for a while now, hadn’t he? He just hadn’t let that information sink in—truly sink in—in order to protect you. Or himself. Both, perhaps.

“I have to relax you before,” he explained. He was leaking already. “Do you understand, darling?”

He glanced at you in time to see you nod—you propped yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him, making it impossible for him not to smile. Even in this light, he could see your beauty. Hell, it could have been daylight or completely dark that it wouldn’t have made a difference. Your beauty transcended all human senses.

“Don’t hold back,” he warned you, returning to his post, his purpose, his home. He pushed a single finger into your dripping hole—farther than he ever had before, just past the second knuckle. He felt it in his crotch when you clenched around him, writhing and whimpering desperately.

He gave your clit a kiss first, a gentle one, massaging your walls with his finger.

And then he unleashed himself on you.

Hugging your clit in his plush lips, he licked and sucked onto it, regularly changing his tempo, fucking you with his finger at the same time, speaking sins and miracles into your cunt. The way you pulled his hair to fuck yourself onto his face made him want to die or something like it. He almost came when he felt a deep throb within you. You were close, too.

He rotated his wrist, inserting a second finger inside—and almost lost his sanity because of it. How tight were you even? You wouldn’t be able to take his cock, would you? He wouldn’t even be able to put half of it in your virgin pussy.

Your voice turned into pretty staccato moans when he found the soft spot he was looking for. You couldn’t stop clenching around his fingers, so he licked at your clit, obeying its demands, wishing nothing but to fulfill his function.

“Yes, oh yes, oh my god—” You weren’t making much sense, but the sound of your voice almost brought tears to his eyes. Beautiful.

His wife. His woman.

He applied a bit more pressure in both places—your clit and the sensitive spot inside your cunt, moaning with you as you ascended, rubbing his cock onto the mattress.

He did not stop when you came—you were convulsing almost violently on the bed, pleasure taking over you, crying out, your cunt pulsing under him. You gushed onto his face, coating it with your sweet, sweet, sweet cream. He stopped breathing, becoming one with you, letting your orgasm move him, too. Letting the high tide take him. Gradually, you came to a stop and he followed you into stillness too, only removing his fingers once he was certain your high had receded.

You collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily, the scent of your cunt all over him and this room.

He was well aware that simply thinking such a thing was a cardinal sin, but he knew that if angels made love and had orgasms, they looked just like you when you did. Sounded like you. Felt like you. Tasted like you, too.

He couldn’t see it in the dark, but he knew that a special treat was now pooling at your entrance. His special treat. His reward for helping you reach rapture. He waited a few seconds while you were resting before selfishly lapping at your entrance once more, collecting your juices, slurping and swallowing them, swallowing you.

You came back gently—he felt your hand in his hair again, caressing him lovingly now. He smiled as he drank the last of you, not wasting any time before he climbed up onto you so he could share your taste. You looked fucked out, your skin was hot and feverish, and he kissed you hard. He could feel you tasting yourself, seeking the sweetness in his mouth. He throbbed at that. He was no longer reigning over his own body for you were the queen sitting at the throne.

You pulled away, looking him in the eyes as best you could in the dark. You touched his face. He was feverish too, sweat pooling at his temples, his hair stuck in all sorts of places.

“We don’t have to,” you whispered for the second time that night, with a sweet smile on your lips and, if he wasn’t making things up, tears in your eyes. “I love you, Hyunjin.”

“I love you too, darling.” His leaking cock rested on your pussy, as it usually did when he was making an approximation of love to you. “You know I love you, right? Don’t lie to me.”

He appreciated that you took a few seconds to think about it. You nodded, wiping the corner of your eye. “I do.”

Hyunjin leaned down to kiss your forehead. And then he kissed the tears on your cheeks. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer.

“Are you saying we don’t have to because you don’t want to, baby?” He gave your lips a kiss, too. “Because it’s okay.”

You shook your head vigorously. “No! No, I want to.” As though to prove your point, you wrapped your legs around his waist, the two of you becoming completely intertwined. But it was more than just your bodies—it was your souls that were entangled, too.

“But you’re crying.” He hated it when you cried. It was as though each tear was a thousand years of torture.

“I’m crying but I’m not sad.” You held his face with both hands. “I’m not even scared. I'm happy.”

He sort of wanted to cry, too so he understood what you meant. Tonight really was special. It was strange to know he was currently creating one of the most beautiful memories in his life, one that he would cherish even when he would be old. Perhaps especially when he would be old. He smiled. “You’ll have to tell me if I hurt you.”

“You will hurt me,” you said with conviction. “I want it to hurt.”

He grunted, burying his face in your hair while he recovered from that lethal plea. You caressed his back, his waist, his ass, dragging your fingernails along his skin, tickling him all over.

There wasn’t much left of the flames on the candles, which meant he had limited time. Because if there was one thing all of his fantasies had in common, it was that he truly, profoundly wished to look into your eyes as he fucked you. When he claimed you.

“Darling,” he began, “I want you to look at me.”

You did, your eyes finding his when he positioned himself. His heart skipped a few beats when he spread you open. He guided himself near your entrance but stayed there. “Keep looking at me. Don’t close your eyes.”

He could not wait anymore. It felt like he had waited a thousand years. It felt like it was the only way, maybe, you would truly understand the love he had for you. If he fucked it into you.

“I love you,” you said again as he ever so slightly pushed the tip of his cock inside you. Barely. Not even an inch.

But he caught on fire nonetheless.

It took all of the composure in the world not to buck his hips violently—he had reached nirvana. He had ascended somewhere higher than heaven. Somehow, he could taste love and lust. He could hear colors maybe.

“I love you,” he managed, his cock throbbing dangerously.

He moved a little, sinking deeper into your heat, his cock engulfed by your tight warmth. His eyelids fluttered as blood rushed to his crotch but it felt like his heart was sinking and was beating somewhere there, astray but more powerful than ever.

You were so wet, so snug around him, your eyes not leaving him, your pretty mouth parted open as you took more and more of him. It was becoming difficult for him to move now. “Relax baby,” he muttered, retreating a little.

“Do it,” you begged, your fingernails sinking into his back. “Take me, please.”

He caressed your folds, each of his moves slow and purposeful. “Again.”

He sank into your warmth once more, not forcing it but making sure all of his tip had disappeared. “You’re so fucking wet,” he commented, hissing through his teeth.

He kissed you, deeply, trying to say something with his tongue for which he could not find the words. You kissed him back, undulating your hips gently.

He made sure it was as unhurried as it could possibly be. Hyunjin guided his cock into your intimacy, sinking into your dripping hole.

“Deeper,” you whined, spreading yourself more for him.

“Shhh, baby.” He caressed your cheek, thrusting into you with more strength finally, stretching your virgin cunt open, moving in shallow thrusts, patiently. Yet impatiently. These few seconds appeared to him much longer than all of his existence so far.

It was better than anything he had ever thought it would be. Not because you were tight and not because you were soaking wet for him, and not even because you were a virgin and he was about to claim your chastity, the crumbs of innocence you had left. You were better than any whiskey, making him drunker than liquor ever could. Because he loved you. Because he had you. And he wouldn’t want his life to be any other way. It didn’t matter the pain that he went through if it meant that he got to be with you in the end.

If given the choice, he would do it all over again so that he could be here with you, tonight, his aching cock forcing itself inside you.

You cried out when he met resistance—he came to a stop, his heartbeat echoing in his ears.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he breathed. “Just look at me.”

He pulled away a little only to thrust back into you. And then he did it again. And again. Kindly. Slowly. You struggled with keeping your eyes open but you did so anyway, your moans more beautiful than any music as he fucked you into his woman.

He would compare it to the feeling of jerking awake in the middle of the night, feeling like he was falling from the sky. That strange feeling of losing his balance, his senses, of not knowing where he was or where he was going.

Yes. It felt just like that when he breached you open.

He saw it in your eyes for just a second. Pain, pleasure, surprise. Ecstasy. You gasped, clenching around him, your fingernails cutting the skin of his back. He observed you the way some observed masterpieces in galleries, taking it all in, noticing the subtleties, engraving the beauty in his mind so that it would remain there forever. You looked at him like you had been falling, too, and like he was the only thing you could hold onto. You looked at him like you were seeing him for the first time. For the thousandth time.

“FUCK—” Nothing could even compare to you. How tight you were. How well you took him. How beautiful you were with your flushed cheeks and the tip of your tongue resting on your bottom lip.

Hyunjin moved inside you, stretching you some more, finally bottoming out. He looked down, barely seeing anything but enough to be aware that his cock was buried deep inside you. He stayed there, returning to your face, to your mouth. Just lips on lips, your breath tickling his skin, the spasms of your pussy calming down with you as you adjusted to his size.

“Are you okay?” he asked under his breath, not sure whether he was or not. “Talk to me.”

“Y—Yes.” You inhaled and exhaled a few times but it didn’t seem to have much of an effect. Hyunjin could feel your pulse through your skin. “Fuck me, Hyunjin.”

You would kill him someday.

“Spread your legs a little more for me, yeah?” He adjusted himself to be more comfortable as he kissed you. Your mouth, smooth and wet, still tasted like your pussy.

He didn’t break the kiss as he resumed his thrusts, barely moving at first. You jerked your hips underneath, attempting to fuck yourself onto him. He didn’t let you—not right now. He held you down by your waist, slowly pumping in and out of you, and the dance began. Because it was much like it, a dance—but so was just about everything beautiful, wasn't it?

Hyunjin remained calm for a while, fucking you slowly yet relentlessly, his body over yours and your hands all over him, feeling him, his abdomen, his arms, even his cock as he fucked you with it. Like you were trying to learn him the way you would learn a language or a trade. Or a dance.

“You’re so—so big,” you moaned before biting into his shoulder as his fucking picked up a pace. As he slammed into you a little harder, but not nearly as hard as he could, or wanted to.

He had thought it would be easy to ruin you but he had been wrong. You were the most precious thing in this world, and each cry tortured him to no end while, also, filling him with the highest pleasure he had ever experienced.

“Fuck me. Like that. Yes—”

He did, obeying your command as he was meant to, stuffing you with his cock. His gentle thrusts blended into another shade of red when your gasps turned into long, erotic moans. He danced with you harder, faster, pounding into your dripping pussy, driving himself insane, driving himself close to his high.

“Take it. Take my cock.” He was begging you in strangled groans.

“Yes, please, yes!”

He didn’t want it to stop. He never wanted this moment to end—he was ready to explode but he wished this night would last forever. It was all he ever wanted. To be balls deep into your cunt, your voice echoing in the room, the lewd sounds of your bodies colliding like music to his ears. He slowed down, taking some time to kiss your neck, your bare shoulder, to inhale the scent of your hair, to taste your pussy on your lips.

“Baby.” You pressed your hands on his ass in an attempt at pushing him into your pussy again. Eager. So eager. “Don’t stop.”

He needed a minute or an eternity. He was experiencing true bliss for the first time in his life, buried into your wetness, making his peace with whatever demons had been haunting him before.

When he failed to give you what you wished for, you did something that surprised him beyond words—you hooked your leg around his, rolling over and taking him with you until he was lying flat on his back. At one point in the maneuver, he slipped out from your soaked cunt and the air felt cold and brutal around him. He missed you immediately. It felt like he was lacking something, like he had lost an organ.

Before he knew it, you were straddling him, panting, reaching for his cock to put it back where it belonged.

It dawned on him then. As if he could see it all clearly, finally. You were his wife. You were the girl he had written letters to all his life. You were the girl who sent him letters all his life, too. You were the woman he married, the woman he had desired for years. The person he had loved all this time, the one he belonged with, the one he belonged to. And you were on top of him, claiming him just as much as he was claiming you. Time came to a stop when he realized that his wildest dreams had come true.

You sank onto his straining cock, taking more of it inch by inch, getting used to feeling him this way. You came to a stop when you were completely sitting on him, clenching violently. You were going to milk him. You were going to fuck his soul out of him.

You rolled your hips tentatively once just to see what it was like. Then you did it again with a little more determination. And again. And again—soon enough, you were riding him in powerful, needy movements, accompanied by equally needy moans. Fuck. He was doomed.

Hyunjin snapped when you lay your hands flat on his chest, using another angle to take even more of him.

“Already greedy,” he muttered, fucking you from below. “Look at the way you take my cock.”

Like a pro. Like your body had always known his.

“Take it. Use me, baby. Take what you need.” Hyunjin was close—his cock throbbed every two or three seconds and he couldn’t hold for much longer, certainly not with you on top of him like that, bouncing on his cock.

He squeezed your tits, caressed your tummy, held your waist. He cried out when the speed of your riding increased, when your voice turned into desperate little gasps.

“Take it.” You were using him. Abusing him. Edging yourself on his aching cock. “Cum on my cock, darling.”

He grabbed your waist to guide the rolls of your hips, pushing you up and down on him, using you the same way you were doing with him. He was close. His vision was blurred—he had already started to melt into the mattress beneath him, his entire life dictated by the intoxicating sensation of your tight cunt undulating up and down his length.

His pretty wife. His beekeeper wife. No longer a virgin but a cock-hungry, desperate seductress with whom he was hopelessly in love.

The pressure in his abdomen became too much—his muscles tightened as he felt himself toppling over the edge. He saw sparks. He felt them, too, all over him.

Hyunjin let out a long, drawn-out moan when he came, back arching into you, hips stuttering, pleasure shattering him in pieces. He spilled himself inside you, spurting thick ropes of cum and filling you with them. You fucked it all deeper inside you as you came, too, your pussy fluttering, your upper body collapsing onto him, your hips moving with your orgasm, obeying it. He didn’t think this amount of cum ever came out of him before—he was still twitching and leaking when you came to a stop, spent and content and exhausted. Much like him.

Neither of you moved for a long time, long enough for all the candles to run out of wax, turning the room completely dark in the night.

It wasn’t just dark. It was quiet—very quiet. And Hyunjin realized it was the same in his mind, too. For the first time in a long, long time—there wasn’t a voice shouting or whispering vile things in his head. There was nothing, only light, only love. Only you.

You climbed down his softening cock but it was only so you could curl up in his arms—still, it felt just as erotic as making love to you when his seed dripped out of you, some of it landing on his skin, lukewarm and sticky.

He held you close, the both of you sweaty, beautiful messes.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you too much, darling.” He smiled, kissing your forehead.

It wasn't just that it was quiet in his mind—his chest was lighter, too.

You hummed softly, your eyes closed, lulled to sleep by the rush of pleasure you experienced. “Not too much.” You opened your eyes but barely. “I didn’t think it would feel this big inside me,” you admitted. “But I loved it.”

Hyunjin blushed, pressing you against him, keeping you there. If he could have it his way, neither of you would ever have to leave this bed.

"Did I do alright?" you asked sleepily.

"Alright?" He held you tighter, kissing your forehead. "You fucked the life out of me, darling."

You giggled, the both of you comforted.

His slumber was dreamless, and yet he never ceased to feel your presence, even in his sleep.

It was sunlight that woke him up the next morning—for a few seconds, he thought it all must have been a dream, that it couldn't possibly have been true. Except you were still exactly in the same spot, naked, with light bruises on your waist where he held you, last night, as he rammed into you. There was more coloring at your neck where he sucked the skin too hard.

You woke up too, smiling as you remembered the night before. He was about to kiss you when you looked at him with wide eyes like you had just gotten an epiphany. You sat up in your bed quickly, pushing yourself to the side, observing the mattress.

“Oh my god,” you uttered, your voice raw from all your pleased screams and moans of the night before. “Hyunjin, we really did put way too much.”

He didn’t get it at first. Only when he sat up, too, did he see the same thing as you, which was the faintest—and it was really, really faint—pinkish-red stain on your white silk sheets. There were a lot of other stains, and to him it looked no different than staring at a piece of art, for they were remnants of his lovemaking with you.

Still, he chuckled with you, amused by your shock and at the way you covered your mouth, remembering your wedding night and his subterfuge. “Oh,” he simply said, admiring your body now. He had never felt any particular way when he entered a church, no matter how much he had been told of the sanctity of this place. But, looking at you, he understood what he ought to have been feeling all this time. His holy place. You were the goddess and the church at once, absolving him of all his sins, forcing him into sinning, hearing his grateful prayers and making him plea for mercy.

The same pinkish-red spread on your cheeks, delightful to see. “I’m so embarrassed now,” you pouted, hiding your face in your hands. “Everyone saw it! Oh no!”

He couldn’t help but laugh, following you into your lavatory as you fled the scene as though it would diminish your shame. He chased you, catching you by the waist and lifting you onto the counter to sit you down there. He kissed you—your mouth tasted like old water and the ghost of your pussy had lingered on your lips. “You’re okay, darling. They don’t matter.”

And he meant it. Hell, for the first time, he really did mean it.

That adorable pout didn’t leave your face. However, you played with his hair while he covered your breasts in kisses.“We need a bath,” you pointed out. “We’re disgusting.”

Your bathtub was still full of last night’s water. Hyunjin was supposed to leave for his business trip soon, but he had more important things to do, which were to wash up and have breakfast with you.

Or have you for breakfast.

He had never in his life before felt so alive. He had never before wished for immortality. He would not have enough of a mere mortal lifetime to love you.

“Let’s get dressed and have a bath in my room, yeah?” he suggested. “And then we can—”

You bit your lip, looking somewhere down his chest, smiling coyly. “Can we… you know? Again?”

“Yes, my darling. Again and again.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, taking in the sight of you. He had seen you wear luxurious gowns, he had seen your hair braided elegantly. But you had never been as beautiful as you were now.

That day was the first day in Hyunjin’s life where he felt absolutely no dread, no gloom. From the moment he woke up in your cum-stained bed to the moment he fell asleep much later at night, in a different city after painfully parting from you, all that he held within him was peace. Peace and elation.

He had held you close, very close, and you hadn’t broken into pieces. It had been distance that almost ruined it all, and Hyunjin would die before he let anything get in between you two again.

“You really are a little too cheery, brother.”

Hyunjin glared at Jungkook, elbowing him on his left side to shut him up. “Don’t call me that in front of people,” he muttered between his teeth. “Actually don’t call me that at all. Ever.”

“You’re no fun at all, Hwang.” Jungkook rolled his eyes, turning to the rest of the group who were having a completely unrelated discussion and not paying them any mind.

It was a splendid autumn evening, with a descending sunset and a cool breeze, making the walk from the hotel where he, Changbin, and Christopher stayed, quite pleasant and even invigorating. After three days of mentally draining business meetings and futile dinners with investors, Hyunjin had decided to prolong the trip a little, to go hunting among other things. Well, he didn’t really want to at first, but you insisted.

“It might be the only opportunity you get to do such a thing with Lord Christopher before he becomes a father,” you pointed out. “Knowing him, I doubt he will stay away from his wife and child much.”

You were right, of course. So Chris had joined him, Changbin, and Jungkook for a short hunting trip, and Hyunjin was trying very hard to focus on all of that instead of remembering how it felt to sink inside you…

“Are you even listening to me?” Jungkook waved his hands just inches short of Hyunjin’s face to bring him back to the present moment. “Damn. Are you sure you’re quite alright?” He turned to the other two. “Did he hit his head or something?”

Changbin shrugged while Christopher hid his smile. “He’s not telling us either, so I don’t know what his problem is.”

Jungkook gave Hyunjin a look that was a little too knowing, but he couldn’t possibly know anything about his current state of mind, so Hyunjin brushed it off as regular jungkookesque behavior.

“I’m listening,” Hyunjin said impatiently. “I said I didn’t mind going, I just wish you would have told me about this dinner before I left. We would have packed better, more appropriate clothes.”

Jungkook waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. Teddy isn’t like that. I’ve known him a long time and he's even less lordly than I am.”

“Well he mustn’t be very lordly at all then,” Hyunjin pointed out, causing Chris and Changbin to burst into laughter. Even Jungkook smiled reluctantly at the joke, pretending to be offended by it.

After spending most of the day outside hunting—and not catching anything, not even a hare—Jungkook had declared that the four of them had been formally invited for dinner at the residence of an old friend of his. He hadn’t really called him his friend, suggesting he was mostly an acquaintance. To Hyunjin, he had admitted to meeting him at a sex party. “But he had a girl on his cock and another was on the girl’s cunt, so we didn’t talk all that much.”

Which did not make Hyunjin eager at all to meet Jungkook’s not-friend, but he apparently had a great collection of weapons that both Chris and Changbin really wanted to see. He had longswords and maces and even a few katanas, or so Jungkook claimed. Hyunjin figured, considering the man’s political influence, that he might be able to negotiate something out of it, or at least to make a good impression. Maybe it would serve a purpose one day.

Which brought him to tonight. He followed the three other men, listening a little to Jungkook’s insane sex parties stories or his personal description of a few of the weapons they were about to see. But really Hyunjin was wondering what you were doing. It would be your birthday soon and he had found lovely gifts for you. He couldn’t wait to give them to you, to share them with you.

It took little time to reach their destination, which was a large townhouse in a posh neighborhood of the city. They were greeted by Jungkook’s friend himself, and despite his discontentment with the outfit he was wearing, Hyunjin made sure to use his best manners.

“I am so pleased to meet you, Lord Hwang,” the man said as he let them inside, away from the cold air. He was tall—taller than him even—and had chestnut-brown hair. “I heard a lot about you.”

“I have also heard a lot about you, Lord Grover.” Hyunjin dipped his head politely. After all, it wasn’t every day that he entered the home of an Earl. “Thank you for hosting us. I only wish we dressed more appropriately for the occasion.”

“I see nothing wrong with the way you are clothed, gentlemen.”

The house’s steward made an appearance then, bowing deeply as he saluted his guests.

Grover turned to him. “Isaki, have you prepared the parlor as I requested?”

“Yes, my lord,” the young man—a boy, really—replied. “I’ve also brewed some tea.”

Hyunjin knew he wouldn’t like Grover when he failed to thank his steward, letting young Isaki walk away after announcing tea. His gaze crossed Christopher’s and he saw the same displeasure as his own in it. The two of them seemed to have the same taste when it came to people.

Jungkook and Lord Grover caught up while he was giving them a tour of the house. This was only his secondary residence, which he kept for business and political purposes. He had a large estate in the countryside, somewhere a little down south.

“Isn’t this the region where your lady wife is from, Hwang?” Jungkook asked as they walked into the empty dining room. And Hyunjin knew, from the shape of his mouth, that he almost called him brother again.

He tsked, letting his reaction pass as something other than annoyance. “Yes, yes it very much is,” he managed, observing the many paintings adorning the walls. Two of them were by famous masters and he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t impressed.

“Ah, yes, indeed!” Lord Grover grinned. “As she might have told you, Lord Hyunjin, she and I have met on one occasion and attended the same events a few times. Naturally, her chaperone wouldn’t let her anywhere near me at that point,” he added.

Hyunjin felt that new information fall into his stomach like a rock into a lake. He stayed still, his eyes still fixated on the stunning nighttime scenery painted by James Wright he stood by. The moon, and the light radiating from it, were absolutely stunning.

“I wouldn’t think she told you of the time we met,” Grover went on. “But I wish to congratulate you on your wedding, no matter how late. Have you been enjoying married life? Or is married life the reason you’re visiting the city? There are many reputable… tourist spots.”

Hyunjin clenched his jaw, focusing on the details of the painting. Each leaf was painted in detail, it seemed, giving the impression they were swaying in a soft breeze. Was he crazy, or was this man taunting him?

“We’re here for business, Lord Grover,” Changbin responded in his place. “I must say, Lord and Lady Hwang form a strong pair.”

“Seconded,” Christopher added. “Lord Grover, is that what I think it is?”

Christopher pretended to be fascinated by an antique chair in a corner, giving Hyunjin some respite. He was doing everything he could to stay calm, only, he could never be calm when it was about you. He didn’t like that you had met this guy before. When exactly? And in what circumstances?

Why hadn’t you told him?

He forced himself to take a deep breath. Of course, you couldn’t possibly have listed every person you ever met. The reason Hyunjin never heard about him, most likely, was that the encounter wasn’t particularly significant. Right?

Before he could finish ruminating over this, the short tour of the dining room was over. “Teddy, they really wanted to see the katanas,” Jungkook said with a smirk.

“With all due respect, Lord Jungkook,” Christopher began, a playful smile on his face, “I believe you expressed quite a lot of excitement at the idea yourself.”

“I swear to god these guys don’t give me a single break.” Jungkook sighed dramatically. It was at that moment that Isaki made a second appearance.

“Tea is ready, my lords,” he said, dipping his head and keeping his eyes on the ground. “The parlor is this way.”

“We’ll dine in the parlor if you gentlemen don’t mind,” Lord Grover explained. “It’s a simple, casual meal, and I’d much rather we all make ourselves comfortable.” He paused, his big, dark eyes dancing from him, to Jungkook, and back to him. “Lords Jungkook and Hyunjin—my mother expressed the wish to meet you. She is aging and very ill, so she will not be joining us for supper.”

No matter how upset he was, Hyunjin could only feel empathy for that fact. He knew that a son never really got over the loss of his mother—and Theodore had lost his father about ten years ago or so, becoming Earl when he was only twenty-one. He could relate to that, no matter how untrusting he was of the man.

“Of course,” Jungkook said at once. “Teddy, tell me—has her condition worsened?”

Grover gave him a nod, a grave expression on his face. “The doctor says she doesn’t have much time left. At the risk of sounding heartless, I have to admit I’d rather it didn’t last for too long. There is no need for suffering when there is nothing to gain from it.”

“I’m terribly sorry to hear this.” Hyunjin dipped his head politely. “Let’s go meet her so that she can rest for the night afterward.”

“Isaki, can you please show Lord Christopher and Mister Changbin to the parlor? Don’t wait up, too—drink the tea while it’s hot.”

The group parted in two halves and Hyunjin followed Theodore into a narrow corridor to the left. Jungkook walked with them, the three of them remaining quiet, out of respect. Hyunjin couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in his chest, like a darkness looming, and he didn’t like it. He tried to blame it on Jungkook’s insane stories about those parties he attended with Grover, only that didn’t help much.

They quickly reached their destination, which was a large bedroom in which Theodore’s mother lay on a single bed. The rest of the room was furnished with couches and armchairs, suggesting the woman was accustomed to welcoming guests into this room. It was dark at first, so Hyunjin helped Theodore when he lit up a few oil lamps.

“Hello, Mother,” he told her as he brought one of the lamps to her bedside table. “Were you sleeping? Our guests are here.”

The woman was thin and her skin was pale with a waxy aspect to it. Her son helped her sit up in her bed while Hyunjin and Jungkook waited politely behind. She seemed rather unwell yet she gave Theodore a smile when he adjusted her pillows. The entire room smelled like illness and camphor.

“Lady Grover.” As the eldest, Jungkook spoke first, going as far as getting on one knee.

Hyunjin mirrored him, out of respect for the woman who was visibly at the end of her life. “Good evening, Lady Grover.” Her hair was somewhere between gray and copper, but it was dull and frizzy, lacking care and health.

It took quite a while for her to say anything—by the time he and Jungkook were standing upright again, she was squinting, staring at both of them intensely as if she was trying to decode them. Theodore remained by her side but let her speak first.

Then, finally, her gaze came to a stop, lingering on Hyunjin. “By god, Teddy, he looks exactly like him.” She brought a weak, shaky hand over her shriveled, dry lips. “Come closer, young man. Please.”

Hyunjin was aware of the way Jungkook was gawking at him from the side, only he was too preoccupied to try and translate his body language. It wasn’t the first time such a scene occurred and yet he despised it every single time. He would sometimes be at an event, having dinner with clients, and a complete stranger would come up to him to strike up a conversation, mentioning how they knew exactly who he was because he looked so much like his father.

But he knew better than to disrespect a lady like her, so he crossed the room, coming to stand next to Lord Grover. He couldn’t find a single thing to say.

“Oh, heavens!” Lady Grover’s eyes filled up with tears and unrest took control of him, the weight of this invisible, impending doom now tangible in the air. “Closer, young man, let me see you.”

He didn’t initially react—too surprised by the situation, Hyunjin stood there, quiet, the gears of his mind going faster with each passing second. At that moment, he remembered that fateful visit to Jeon Manor a few months ago and coming face to face with Lady Myeong in a hallway, moments before dinner. The look on her face had been quite unforgettable, like she had just seen a ghost. You have your father’s eyes, Lord Hwang, she had told him. And his allure, too.

Hyunjin twisted his neck, searching for Jungkook’s eyes, trying to see if he was thinking the same thing he was. And by the looks of it—he was, indeed, sharing his fear.

Before he knew it, Lady Grover grabbed his hands, squeezing them in hers. Nothing about the gesture was inherently wrong—she held him lovingly, even, and he didn’t mind the cold of her skin or the fact that he could feel her bones through her flesh. It was the look on her face that frightened him.

“Oh, truly…” He lowered himself closer to the woman, unsure of what to do. Big tears were rolling down her bony cheeks. “You might just be even more handsome than he was, but it’s undeniable,” she told Hyunjin. “I have missed your father every day since the last time he and I were together.”

He heard footsteps behind him—Jungkook had come closer yet remained at the back respectfully.

“They all said such atrocious things about him,” Lady Grover went on, her shoulders shaking with her cries. “But they didn’t know him like I did.”

“My father made bad decisions,” Hyunjin conceded. That had been a response that Christopher taught him when both of them were still young Back then, Hyunjin was under his tutelage after his father’s death.

She shook her head. “No, child. They did not understand him. How could they understand him when he never let them see his true colors? The colors of his spirit?”

She looked somewhere behind him. “You too, Lord Jeon. You have the eyes and the cheekbones.”

She was jumping from one topic to another and yet making her point very, very clear, without having the need to speak it out loud. It was obvious that this woman had known his father intimately. Very much so. How many women like her were there?

“Nobody knew him better than I did,” she let go of Hyunjin’s hands, gesturing weakly at the empty space by her bed. “They took him away from me. Away. I didn’t have a choice.”

Her cries intensified, causing a violent episode of coughing—Hyunjin retreated while Theodore attempted to help his mother drink some water. A couple of nurses rushed into the room, asking them to leave. Stunned, Hyunjin’s feet managed to get him out of the room but he stopped when he found himself in the hallway with Jungkook and Theodore.

“What’s the meaning of this, Teddy?” Jungkook inquired. He looked upset and he wasn’t easily moved, which said a lot about the gravity of the situation.

“I heard so much of this Lord Hwang after my… father passed,” Grover said with a shrug. “It only made sense to me that my mother met his son while she still can.” The intonation with which he said the word son didn’t please Hyunjin. “Thank you for indulging her. Shall we join the others for dinner?”

Hyunjin walked slowly, staying behind, deep in his thoughts. The implications of his short encounter with Lady Grover were quite evident. She had clearly known him intimately—in a way nobody else, not his mother, not himself, had. The new piece of information left him speechless, although Hyunjin knew he ought not to be surprised by it. How many mistresses did he have? Did they all believe he loved them? That he wasn’t using them?

How many illegitimate children had he fathered?

He could not stop staring at Theodore now, not even after they reached the parlor and sat down on plush armchairs around a coffee table covered with food. It wasn’t just in the way he looked. It was in the way he held himself too, and the shape of his mouth when he smiled. It was unequivocal though, and he could not unsee it. The deep shade of brown of his eyes and his honeyed skin.

Hyunjin spoke very little and ate even less, letting the others fill the conversation and only talking when directly spoken to. He was trying to put his thoughts in order. He was trying to convince himself he had nothing to fear from Theodore Grover—that should they have the same father, there would be no consequences to it.

The plates of food got emptied and maids came to clean up the table while Isaki was serving scotch, but Hyunjin was still trying to imagine all of the ways he could harm him, should the earl decide to. It would make no sense to even tryanything. Hyunjin’s estate prospered well, sure, but if Grover somehow came after him, claiming to be a Hwang, he would lose everything. His title, his land. Hell, his reputation too.

As the other men drank, Hyunjin sat there, wondering what would compel Grover to claim anything he owned as his.

The response came to him when Theodore invited them to follow him to his roofed terrace. He liked to smoke a cigar after dinner, apparently. “And Jungkook knows I get the best imported cigars,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, because you control the docks.” Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“If that’s alright with you, Lord Grover,” Chris began, “I’ll stay behind. I have no wish to smoke any cigars, and I do enjoy looking at your stunning collection here.”

Grover nodded. “Of course. Then perhaps I should ask the entertainment to come in now instead of later?” He turned to his steward who was standing quietly in a corner of the room. “Isaki, get them.”

The women entered the room as Theodore was grabbing his smoking paraphernalia from a drawer. Five of them—no, six. Young and obedient, they listened to the earl’s command when he asked them to stand in a row before them.

Hyunjin averted his gaze, fighting a strong spell of nausea. He had to get out of here. He had to get the fuck away from this man.

“Choose whichever you like, gentlemen,” Grover said with a smirk. “They’re all quite skilled—I tested them, so I’d know.”

A very heavy and uncomfortable silence grew in the room. It felt like Hyunjin had something stuck in his throat preventing him from breathing as much air as he needed. He hated this. It wasn’t even the first time such a thing happened, but it was the first time since, well, you.

His unease did not stem from a desire to spend time with any of the prostitutes. What he feared was that you would hear something that you wouldn’t like and that you wouldn’t believe him if he told you nothing had taken place. He couldn’t bear to lose you.

He couldn’t bear to hurt you. Not any more than he already had.

“I’m leaving.” Hyunjin stood, the words escaping him before he could really think about it. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Grover, but I will return to the hotel.” He was quite certain that both Christopher and Changbin would follow him.

He was right—they stood, too. But before they could speak, Grover turned to them, making his way towards the girls, all of which wore excessively revealing clothes.

“You don’t have to worry about a thing, Lord Hwang,” he uttered slowly. “I heard of your… unique tastes. I requested Mindy here especially for you. Right, sweetheart?” Pushing open the loose robe she was wearing, he revealed her belly, small but round—she was visibly with child.

“Lord Grover!” Christopher started, but Hyunjin raised his hand to quiet him.

With a calmness he didn’t know in himself, Hyunjin reached into the pocket of his blazer to find his gold. Ignoring Grover, he crossed the room, giving each woman a substantial amount of money. “Thank you, ladies,” he said politely. “I believe this pays for your evening and more. You may leave.”

They all looked at each other, visibly frightened, but Hyunjin did not look away from Grover’s eyes, who was staring back with a defiant expression on his face. It took quite a while before he told them, “You heard the man. Leave. I’ll simply let your madam know that she ought to send me something better next time I host these guests.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Hyunjin retorted as the women quickly scuttled out of the room. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Lord Grover. I shall pray for your mother.”

Without waiting for a response, Hyunjin turned his heels and walked away. To his surprise, Jungkook was also going after him as well as Christopher and Changbin.

“You haven’t even asked me how I met her,” Lord Grover exclaimed with a joyless laugh. “Your wife. I wish you had at least asked me, I was dying to tell you.”

Hyunjin stopped right in his tracks, very well aware that he ought to be better than this. That he ought to display more class than this bastard.

“Let’s go,” Changbin muttered through gritted teeth, but Hyunjin did not budge.

He faced Grover once again. “You met her. What about it?” he asked him. “My wife is quite remarkable, I’ll agree—I understand how she would have made a strong impression on you. My lord.”

“Oh, she is remarkable. And grew into a radiant, exquisite young woman, no doubt.” Grover chuckled, but Hyunjin’s anger was slowly rising within him, reaching dangerous levels. “I went for a visit to her family’s villa, you see, with my parents. She was still a young girl, properly trained and yet feral. I knew she would never be fully tamed. I noticed her for it, of course. She showed up to the villa barely an hour before the feast would be served, her hands dirty, her hair sticky and messy with honey.”

He leaned against the wall behind him, crossing his arms over his chest, acting out a little too dramatically in his pondering man pose.

“In any case. First thing I hear after dinner is how her mother wishes to break off her betrothal to a certain Lord Hwang. Her mother comes to my mother, and I just so happen to be in the next room over, from which Mother calls me and asks if I would be inclined to offer this young lady a proper home, should I take her as my wife. What was I to say? I liked her, as undomesticated as she might have been. Too bad her father—”

Hyunjin didn’t hear the rest of his story. He had thrown himself at Grover before he could utter even one more word. His fist closed around the velvet of his collar. His other fist slammed into that classless bastard’s face. There were shouts behind him, even hands trying to grab at him, but Hyunjin did not let go of Grover, not even as he retaliated and punched him back a few times.

He did not register the impacts as pain. He did not register them at all, and yet Grover got him square on the lips, almost breaking some teeth in the process, and got his nose, too. How could he. How dare he keep a memory of you at all? You were not his to remember. He was nothing to you.

Hyunjin pinned him against the wall, hard enough that the back of Grover’s head hit it, dizzying him momentarily. He had a few weak attempts at punches but Hyunjin dodged them all. Had he ever truly wished to be engaged to you? Had he used those hands to give himself pleasure with the thought of you on his mind?

“If you touch my wife—” Hyunjin groaned when the taste of blood invaded his mouth. He spit on the ground at Grover’s feet, holding him at the wall with his forearm against his throat. “If you touch even one strand of her hair, if you dare put your foul eyes on her even just once. You’ll regret it. You’ll fucking regret it—”

Hyunjin’s threats were cut short when Christopher successfully pulled him away from Grover.

“Take him outside,” Changbin told Chris as though he wasn’t even there. “Don’t let him come back here.”

His soul didn’t feel like it was quite tethered to his body. He had very little control over the slander and threats he shouted on his way outside, held firmly by Christopher. Not even the cold night air calmed him down, not his friend’s pleas, and certainly not reason.

The only thing he remembered was you and the secret promise he had made.

He meant it. He would die before he let anything get in between you two again.

... to be continued.

Author’s note: Where do I even begin? I looked at the date of the last release of this story and just… What can I say. To those who are here today, reading this—thank you. Thank you for being so patient and for understanding the stupid ways my inspiration works. Thank you for urging me to prioritize my health. I realize now that it’s a lot because I do feel safe taking my time, resting, etc that I’m able to write happily. This chapter was challenging and a lot of it was by pure fear to disappoint my faithful readers. I hope it was at least a little satisfying. I’m very glad to be releasing this today.

Thank you to those who reblog, who send messages, who interact meaningfully. It is thanks to you that I’m still on here and that my stories aren’t confined to my computer. Please know that your kindness goes a long way for me and to other authors as well. It’s appreciated and it motivates me every day. Lots of love 🤍

permanent taglist

@abiaswreck ; @aimeexx ; @anylady-fics ; @cb97percent ;

@hwan-g ; @hynjinnnnlvr ; @hyunnie4ever ; @hyvneluv ;

@imseungminsgf ; @karlachsleftbicep ; @leedunno ; @m00n-dream ;

@mmoonriseflowerr ; @palindrome969 ; @rubyshoedpixie ; @shywolfcherryblossom ;

@skzfelixlove ; @suhomylife ; @ven-fic-recs ;

#hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin smut #skz smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin fic #hwang hyunjin fic

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xxanaduwrites · 11 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a residue series installment ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

m’no good

✎ elementary-teacher!reader (miss.honey) x biker!benny 🏍️

summary: in which honey gets the call from johnny that benny’s in the hospital :( cal takes her to him. :’)

warnings: talks of being beaten, descriptions of injury, cursing, lying, crying, being judgy again. it’s an emotional one to say the least, but there’s some sweet moments & a happy ending :)

author’s note: this is NOT in order with the last two parts posted. instead, it’s a future installment in “bein’ married.” you can find the timeline in da main hive masterlist. this is heavily based on the events of the bikeriders movie of benny getting beat up & hospitalized. of course this is my own made-up spin on the situation at hand. idk this idea struck me at 3am & i wrote it in less than a day, so i figured i’d just release it now. you can find a mention of this scenario in session 1 of from the hive 🎙️🐝 this can be read alone if you like, but the interview context could help for sure! x

+ also if you were wondering, i personally picture honey as brittany murphy’s character in uptown girl’s molly gunn! i’ve been obsessing over her style in it & that’s what inspired honey’s style in my writing — especially with the embroidered overalls. you can picture her however you please, & i hope you continue to do as yourself ofc <3

word count: 4.7k (2x longer than the other parts, yay!)

💌 requests are open, send ‘em honey 💋

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You were in the midst of Sunday dinner with your parents when you got the news. News that would leave you scrambling out of the house in an instant with no thoughts behind your honeydew drop eyes besides him — besides Benny.

Your Pa was comfortable at the head of the table, a cigarette between his lips as he scanned the paper under reading glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. Your Ma had just taken her seat at the table, a forkful stabbing into her salad. So when the phone rang your Pa didn’t even flinch. A result of him being too engrossed in his paper. On the other hand, your Ma sighed in a way that made you know she was evidently too tired to be on her feet again. This led you to announce that you’d get the phone. And you did, pulling it off the reciever and twisting your little finger around the warm yellow chord.

“Hi, you’ve reached The BeeHive. Honey speaking!” You chirped into the phone in your usual honey coated tone. Between your family business that consisted of beekeeping and honey jarring, answering the phone in such a way became rather customary and oddly normal. So much so that no one seemed to bat an eye besides your cousins who laughed every time they called. Absolute menaces indeed.

“Honey?” It was Johnny’s drawl on the line, rough and edgy with a twinge of something you couldn’t catch.

“Oh hi Joh— Mr. Davis!” You cleared your throat and corrected yourself. Trying to remain formal. Trying to remain respectable. Sure, you and Johnny were far from past that. Calling him Johnny instead of Mr. Davis was an entirely different respect that only you, Benny, the wives, and the rest of the guys would ever understand. So your parents? Well, they wouldn’t get that, and besides his kids were still your students after all. “How’s it goin’? Y’need to speak to my Pa? He’s right ‘ere.” You asked, your father’s demeanor easily shifting at the mention, his paper going flat against the table. It wasn’t unusual for Johnny to call your house. No — Johnny was a consistent buyer of your family’s honey. He incorporated it into the Club, handing the guys out honey beers during picnics and meetings. He learned of it from those community events you frequented with your parents, always having some sort of incorporation when catering was involved.

“Nah — nah.” He brushed that idea away rather quickly and your brows furrowed in confusion. “Gotta speak to yuh. Look I — I needa tell y’something, but if your Pa’s overhearin’ I need yuh to pretend we’re talking about the girls, alright?”

“I —“ you began but stopped short trying to compartmentalize what he was saying without reacting. “Oh, right I remember we were gonna talk about the girls' grades, yeah?” You rambled out, your words feeling far too thick coming out of your mouth, it almost didn’t sound like you. You feared your parents would catch on instantly, but instead their interest deflated as soon as nothing you said resembled anything to do with their business. It only took a second for your father to go back to his paper and beer and your mother to her salad.

“That’a good, Honey. Very good.” Johnny praised as you motioned with your hand that you were gonna step out of a sec, which really meant you were gonna pull the chord as far as you could into the other room. The distance — well it wasn’t much. The open archway from your parent’s kitchen to the living room wasn’t sound proof, so they could still technically hear every word you said, but your volume would be at lower frequency for sure, and your reactions practically undefinable.

“They’re doing real good, Mr. Davis. Bright girls you got there.” You muttered out so Johnny would know you were still there. You could feel your heart going a mile a minute as you paced the short distance available you could in restraint of the phone.

“I know. I know. They love ya, Honey, and they’re just fine. No need to worry ‘ere.” He reassured you, and a sigh of relief escaped your lips. The last thing you needed to hear was something bad about those babies. It would absolutely break your heart. But what you weren’t expecting to hear was something that would shatter it into a million little pieces. “It’s uh — it’s Benny.” Johnny said, and every fiber of your being went on fire, burning to ash. “He’s — he’s banged up, Honey. Got ‘im in the hospital and everything. ‘parently some jackasses got ‘im real good at some pub not too far from us. Beat him the fuck up, and broke his foot. Could’a lost the damn thing over his colors.”

A gasp left your lips in an instant, and you almost choked as you swallowed down a whimper to conceal the sudden volcano of tears bound to erupt. Now you understood why Johnny wanted — no needed this conversation to be under wraps. Your parents were already nervous about your ridin’ and to hear about some guys jumping your husband for bein’ part of the Club 'would have your parents in a frenzy. “I’m — I’m so sorry t—to hear that, J — Mr. Davis.” You continued the facade, a facade that pained you even more now as you tied back your emotions so forcfully wanting to rip from the seams. “Is your l-little girl okay?”

“He’s fine. They’re takin’ good care of him last I heard from Cockroach. He’s up and talkin’. Took ‘im to the hospital on the West End.” Johnny explained and little by little, piece by piece the fragments of your heart were starting to come back together, but you knew for certain, they wouldn’t be mended until you saw him. Until you got to touch him. Inspect him. Coddle him. Got to know who the fuck messed with him. “Go ‘n see ‘im. He needs his wife, alright?”

“I will.” You assured him, stepping back to peek through the archway at your parents who were still eating. Thankfully nothing seemed amiss. “I’ll be over soon with the homework she’s gonna miss for the week. Does she need anything else from me? Need a friend to bring her books home tomorrow?” You added in code. Code for ‘Who the fuck did this to him, and how could you help make sure those fuckers never got as close as a mile away from Benny again?’

“Nah. Don’t you be worryin’ now, Honey. The guys and I are on it. We’ll take care of ‘em. You take care of ‘im.” He settled on the plan. “Capisce?”

A wave of relief washed over you then. A relief that could only come from Johnny’s word alone. Cause you knew he’d take care of it. He always did. “Capisce.” You sniffled, not caring anymore if your parents caught on.

“Cal’s already on the way to pick ya up at your Ma’s.” He informed you. “Told ‘em to park around the corner so there’s no suspicion. You can tell ‘em you're stoppin’ by the house.” You never thought a time like this would leave you feeling extra grateful that Johnny and his family only lived a block away from your parents. But here you were, feeling just that.

You wanted to thank him then. The words were resting against your tongue heavily, so you made do with what you could. “Thank you, Mr. Davis. I’ll tell ‘em you said ‘ello. Please send my parents regards to your wife and the girls. I’ll be there soon.”

“Anything for ya n’ Benny. Y’know that. Yuh take care of y’self now, o—kay?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, itching to run out of your house and into Benny’s arms already. If you could. God, you sure hoped he wasn’t too banged up for a cuddle or two. Makin’ him feel a whole lot better was your main concern. “Bye Mr. Davis. See ya soon,” you spoke into the line before stepping heavily across the threshold and accidently putting the phone back on the hook with a little more aggression than you anticipated.

“Sorry,” you tensed and broke out in an innocent smile, “I gotta go to Mr. Davis’s. His girl is sick real bad with the Flu. Doctors says she’ll be out of school for a week and of course there’s all this important testin’ going on. Gotta keep ‘er on track, y’know? Such a good cookie. Get in a fit if she misses one lick of school.” You rambled on, adding more and more to lie you rather not tell, but knew it was for their own good. For your own good. For Benny’s. Your marriage. Your future. What you’d hope would become a bundle of joy or two with his pretty blue eyes and freckled face to match.

“‘Course she does. She’s a Davis after all.” Your father added, a fond smile stretching across his face.

“Oh that’s too bad,” your mother frowned, and then stood unexpectedly, her chair scraping against the kitchen flooring. “Here, I’ll pack ya some honey buns to take to ‘er.” Before you could protest your Ma was already piling some of her homemade buns into a metal cookie container and passing them to you.

“Real sweet, Mama.” You could feel your eyes startin’ to tear up again, that familiar wave of remembrance coming back to remind you what you were really leaving for. A wave of impatience that made your anxieties spike higher and higher at the prospect of more minutes ticking away without you being next to Benny. “M’sure it’ll make ‘er feel so much better in no time.” You kissed your Ma on the cheek in appreciaton and turned to head out.

“Wait,” your Ma said right when you were about to exit the front door with your backpack in tow. Thankfully she didn’t see you mouth a curse into the air with your back towards her. “Y’didn’t even get to touch your dinner. Will ya be back to finish it or should I wrap it up?”

“Nah. That’s ‘ight.” You declined. “I still got leftovers in the fridge for me and Benny from Rosie’s. Heat it up when I get home, but thanks Mama. Save it for yuh and Pa.”

“‘ight. Get’ome safe, Honey.” She called out. Safe. Safe. Benny didn’t get home safe, but he was safe now. Safe in the hospital that is, but was he really safe?

Your fingers gripped the doorhand, knuckles burning white as you took a breath to calm yourself. “I will, Mama. Love ya. Bye!” And then you were out the door, trying to keep your composure as long as you could, until you were out of eyeshot of your Ma and Pa’s. Your ballet flat feet banged against the pavement as you went on running down the rest, a sharp turn at the corner showing Cal by his bike, waiting and ready for you. A fresh cigarette between his lips, just ‘bout to be lit, long forgotten once his eyes landed on you.

It only took one look at him. One frown on those deep set features of his for you to be barrelling at him, strong arms encircling you in a hug.

“Oh Cal!” You cried into his tattered shirt, the dame of tears breaking out of you uncontrollably. Too uncontrollably. But you didn’t care. Couldn’t care. It was Cal after all. The brother you never had. The brother you should have had. The family you now had because of Benny. Because of Johnny. And it wasn’t that you didn’t love your parents — you loved and appreciated them of course, but you never felt fully accepted by them. So being in Cal’s arms was far more comforting than being in the arms of your parents because you could be yourself with Cal, without judgment.

“M’so sorry, Honey. So sorry.” He mumbled into your sun kissed up-do, smelling of fresh vanilla and honey scented soap.

You were crying so hard. Too hard. You’d become a total mess of hiccups and hard breathes. Of course, Cal accessed you accordingly, pulling you from his chest to take a good look at ya. And boy did your rosey cheeks and red rimmed glossy coated eyes destroy him. They really did. He hated seein’ you like this. All the guys did. They loved you far too much.

Cal’s warm calloused fingers circled the apples of your cheeks, brushing away the tear tracks that resided. “It’s gonna be ‘ight. ‘erything gonna be okay.” He cooed, trying to calm you down. “Gotta stay strong for ‘im so he can get betta. Can’t take ya like this. It’ll break ‘im, Honey.”

“I — I know. I know.” You squeezed your eyes shut, wet lashes bowing down. You took a breath. Then another. And another until you felt somewhat better. More calm that is.

“Ready t’go?” Cal asked carefully when he noticed your breaths evening out.

“Mhm,” you hummed, nodding your head.

Cal helped you onto his bike and you clung onto him as you rode. The weight of his jacket felt oddly comforting in your hold. Even though the circumstances of such colors were alarming in such a time, it didn’t leave you on edge by any means. Before you knew it, you were pulling up in the West End. Cal parked his bike, leading you to the front desk and of course the receptionist looked at the two of you kind-of funny.

“Family only.” She said to Cal, immediately putting two-and-two together who he was here for before turning to you, a big smile gracing her features. “How can I help ya, Miss?”

Your emotions were all over the place. Anger bubbling up inside you in an instant, ready to burst at the assumption of such a thing. Sure, it was a common mistake. To be misplaced next to one of the guys in your floral knitted cardigan and patterned jeans to match. But now — now, of all times. It was your last straw.

“That’s ‘is wife. Uh — Honey Cross.” Cal motioned to you, explaining who you were before your rage could ensue.

“Hm — I don’t see a Honey here,” the receptionist said, amusement crossing her features. Clearly pleased by shooting Cal’s advances in an instant. “I’m going to need to see some ID.” She pushed, and you were already ripping off your backpack before she could even finish the sentence.

Cal’s hands materialized around the straps without a second thought, helping you out of the thing but also holding it up for you while you fished for your bedazzled wallet. It was in the deep depths of the thing, mushed around with all your work sheets and lesson plans for the week. You were always equipped and extra prepared, making your supposed trip to the Davis’s for his little girl not amiss one bit. Your cutesy keychain clipped to the end flung about as you finally uncovered it, whipping out your ID with ease. This wasn’t your first rodeo in such a situation, learning from the last time Benny was tossed in a jail cell to get your ID updated with your new last name as soon as humanly possible.

The receptionist looked between you, Benny’s paperwork, and your ID for longer than necessary. “Hmmm, okay. Second floor room twelve, Mrs. Cross.” She finally gave in. “But you’ll have to stay here, Mister.” She told Cal.

He raised his hands up in the air like he was bound to be incarcerated, and the sight almost got a laugh out of you. Almost. “Fine. I’ll be out front when y’ready, Honey.” He informed you, and you nodded.

He helped you put your things back together, and when he caught wind of your name etched into your ID, his eyes widened. “Huh? So that’s y’real name then.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, wedging the thing back into your wallet, snapping it close. And if you thought the receptionist was suspicious earlier, she was far more suspicious now.

His features scrunched up in an innocent way, that long earring of his shaking as he shook his head. “S’cute, but I can’t see ya as anything else but Honey. Be weird if I called y’anything else.”

“I get it,” the edge of your clip curled up in a faint smile then. Your first smile in what felt like ages. You couldn’t help it with Cal. It was hard not to smile around him. “Feels weird calling you Calvin, Caleb, or Calum or whatever. Which is it anyways?” You asked, brows furrowed in confusion at the thought as you zipped your bag closed.

“Don’t matter now.” He patted your shoulders once your backpack was shelled around you. “Time to go see y’man, anyways.”

Turning on your heel, you nodded when you faced him, thanking him profusely and giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek as you gave him a tight hug. Once you let him go, you were off. Darting across the halls and climbing up the stairs, you weaved around the patients in their hospital beds being pushed by nurses and doctors in their lab coats until you made it to room twelve. For a moment, you stopped in your tracks, attempting a warm honey smile to grace your hubby with. To distract him from the evident pain he was having and the deep rooted distraught you felt inside.

But once you turned the corner, oh — you were a goner. There was Benny with a blue blooming zygoma, a swollen and bandaged eye, and his right foot propped up in a form fitted cast. Your heart shattered all over again without your control. Your hubby looked like a beat up puppy dog, and you couldn’t help but frown at the sight.

His blues — well his good one that is — caught your eye immediately. It was hard not to when you came waltzing in like that, all dolled up in a swarming buzz of color and sweet honey perfume. It wafted across the room and the smell touched his nose, warming him up for the first time since he’s been placed in this cold sterile room.

“Honey?” He blinked. Once. Twice. Wondering if your sweet face was an apparition. He told Cockroach not to tell you. Didn’t want you to see ‘im like this. Not until he was out and the brusin’ subsided at least, but he guessed Roach forgot to relay the message to Johnny and the rest of the guys when he told ‘em.

“Oh — my poor baby!” You cooed, racing across the room as soon as his gravelly voice hit your ears. You dotted on him in an instant. Fitting your form on the small empty space at the edge of the bed near his hip, you didn’t even bother pulling over the chair adjacent to his bed. And Benny didn’t mind no.

Even though he wasn’t too happy to see you here, he was happy to feel you here.

Your hand brushed through his hair and caressed the good side of his face, sweet and delicate. Benny couldn’t help but lean his cheek into your comforting touch. For the very first time you watched as a hot warm tear trickled down his cheek and landed on your hand.

“Please don’t let’em take my foot,” he begged, his large warm hands circling around both of yours and dropping them in his lap. “If — If they take my foot then I can’t ride again, and — and then how will I-I take y’to school?”

His sweep of emotions took you by surprise. You’d never seen him cry. Not when he was beaten and bruised in a bar fight. Not when a shard of glass wedged itself into his skin after punching through a car window. Not when you were applying alcohol to his cuts or when he was gettin’ stitches. No Benny never cried. And here he was now. Crying in front of you. In front of his wife. God, of course that just wrecked you.

Sure, maybe someone else would have made a stink. Would have told him that there were bigger things to worry about then his riding. But you wouldn’t do that — no. Besides you, ridin’ was Benny’s biggest passion. And both showed in the way he was most concerned about you. Concerned about taking care of you. How’d he do that if they took his foot and couldn’t take you to work every day. You couldn’t drive. Didn’t know how. It’s not that you didn’t want to, you just never had the time to go get your driver’s license. Not between working at the local diner while you were studying and getting your degree. And now that you had it and Benny well — you had all that you really needed.

“I won’t let ‘em, baby. I promise. I promise.” You assured, pulling his strong hands up with yours and kissing each and every rough rimmed knuckle of his. “As for takin’ me to school. Don’t you worry about that. Took the bus before I met y’anyways. Doesn’t make a difference. I’ll do it until you’re better again, alright?”

But it did make a difference. It did to him. He adored those mornings and afternoons when he had you on the back of his bike, taking you to and from school. He especially loved it when you were still living with your Ma and Pa. It was the little things like that that not only got him through his day, but also made him feel like he was doing something good. Doing something good by you. Makin’ himself seem responsible enough to your parents for being on time and prompt, to marry you. And it worked after a while. He had you now as his wife. In the apartment you shared. In his home. In his bed. While that was all good and great, he couldn’t help but wonder if something like this would set them off.

He grimaced, the thoughts gnawing at him and makin’ him ask you, “do y’parents know?”

“No, no. They don’t. Think I’m at Johnny’s dropping off homework for his sick little girl. Think you’re at work. ‘Member I told ‘em you were working today so you didn’t have to come?” You reminded him.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to throw a little white lie around here and there to your parents about Benny. Sure, he was on good terms with them now thanks to Johnny. Thanks to the fact that their little girl had him as her husband, and they didn’t have too much of a choice. But, that didn’t mean things were perfect. Benny wasn’t much of a fan at the way they treated you from time to time. Especially when they made comments about your decisions. About the way you dressed. He thought you were perfect as is, and it boiled his blood whenever he heard them goin’ on and on about it, especially at Sunday dinners. So sometimes he just didn’t come. Sometimes you didn’t go either. But of course you did today cause you felt bad you hadn’t been in awhile and felt like you needed to see ‘em. They were your parents after all. Now you were regretting not going with him instead. Maybe none of this would have happened if you had never gone to your parents in the first place.

“Hm, right,” he sighed, squeezing your hand in appreciation. “How was it anyways? Did they give ya a hard time?”

“No. Not today,” you replied. “Didn’t have time to. Didn’t even get t’sit down. I should’ve been with y’anyways.”

“No y’shouldn’t of.” He shook his head in disagreement, and then revealed, “m’no good for ya, baby.”

“What?!” You gasped, absolutely baffled by what he was sayin’. “What you goin’ on about?” He hadn’t just really said that? Had he? He did! “S’not true. Not true at all.” Your cute little bee earrings shook as you moved your head back and forth in earnest. “You’re too good t’me —“ He bowed his head down in a silent no. “Far too good,” you repeated, trying to search his eye so he could see you. Really see that you meant every word you were sayin’. “Y’loyal to Johnny and the guys. To me.” You reminded him, but his gaze was still downwards, trained on your conjoined hands in his lap. You brushed your thumb back and forth against his skin. “Lemme ask you somethin’..” you began, “What did y’do when those guys came up to ya, huh?”

“Told ‘em they’d have to kill me to get my jacket off,” he revealed, his response making your lips curl up soundly. That was your Benny right there, your loyal Benny.

“And why’s that?” You asked, pushing on. Trying to get him to the root of his decision.

“Cause…” he shrugged, taking a moment to think about it. “It represents my family….represents you. Hell, I got your patches on it!” His voice was slowly rising in defense, in bits of anger. “Got your name sewed over my heart bigger than a goddamn weddin’ ring will ever be and those fuckers laughed about it!”

A full, bright toothed smile had your dimples peaked like two pretty mountains, and when Benny’s eyes finally found your sweet honey speckled ones — well his anger dissipated. “Ah, c’mere.”

“I don’t wanna crush y—“ you began, worrying about hurting him, but he cut you off immediately.

“C’mere,” he cooed, scooting over just a tad so you could lay next to ‘em. Of course you couldn’t say no to him. Could never ever. Not when he wanted y’so bad. “Need my girl.”

“Alright, alright,” you hummed, rolling your eyes playfully as you curled yourself next to ‘em. A comfortable silence landed over the two of you, one that you were thankful for after everything. After all the fuss of the day. You just wished you could be just like this with him at home in your own bed. His strong arm wrapped around your back, hand cupping your shoulder and you tilted your head onto his own. His lips found your forehead quickly, feeling more pillowy than usual from the impact on his face and your eyes fluttered at the contact. “Oh that reminds me. Did ya eat?”

“Huh?” He hummed confused.

“Did they feed y’here yet?” You tried again.

“Nah,” he replied.

“Fuckin’ hell. Got y’propped up, but can’t feed ya…” you shook your head in disappointment, and your concern for him over something so miniscule within the swarm of everything warmed his heart tenfold.

You moved to get up, but he stopped you short with his hand that was once on your shoulder now materializing on your waist. “Where y’going?” He pouted.

“Nowhere, baby.” You assured him, fingers curling under the good side of his chin so you could leave a soft kiss on his lips which he relaxed in as soon as it came. “Just grabbin’ my bag from the floor. Got some grub — well…” you trailed off, a laugh escaping you as you unzipped your bag and took out the tin your mother gave you. “I know it ain’t dinner, but I say dessert won’t hurt. Doctor’s orders, y’know?” You opened the tin to reveal the fresh honey buns your Mama made then, and God did Benny wanna just eat you up instead. “Y’want?”

He nodded, so you didn’t hesitate in passing one over to him. Both of you enjoyed the sweet treat. So much so, that when a crumb or two fell on your chest, Benny dived right in to access it — and well who were you to protest when his soft lips met your warm skin? When his lips continued their assault around your fingers, cleaning off the sugary residue that remained. And you were happy. So happy and giddy because you were with your Benny. You knew no matter what happened. No matter what came next, the two of you would be alright. Cause that was what marriage was all about, signing up for the good, the bad, and the ugly, being there for each other in sickness and in health.

And in that short hour or so that remained in visiting hours, before the nurse flagged you down to kick you out, you laughed and giggled more than you had in days, and even when you scolded him, warning that a nurse may catch him licking down your chest or sucking your fingers, a smile graced your sweet features the entire time and Benny ate up every single second soundly.

“I fuckin’ love ya, y’know that Mrs. Cross?” He said to you at some point, in the midst of everything.

“I fuckin’ love ya too, Mr. Cross. Always and forever.”

And always and forever it was.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

additional author’s note: AH I COULDN’T HELP MYSELF. PWETTY PLZ DON’T BE MAD AT ME FOR JUMPING OUT OF ORDER. (with a cherry on top 🍒)

my requests are open for any miss honey x benny cross works + any convos about these two in general. don’t be shy honey, i’m all for yapping in the asks.

+ don’t forget to comment if you’d like be added to “da bee hive” (my version of da tag list)

smoochies. all da love xanadu 💋

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