𝓻𝒾𝓀𝒶

“i’m starting to think that you really like peonies, ki,” you say, tilting your head as you tuck one stem lower so the bouquet looks fuller. your eyes flick up to meet his across your bedroom. your boyfriend raises his brows in curiousity at your statement. 

“if i tell you i like lilies instead… would you change the arrangements? or am i stuck with pink peonies forever?” you joke, giggling lightly as you gently puff the petals. 

your boyfriend leans against the doorway, arms crossed loosely, mouth curving into that easy, handsome, fond smile he always has on his face. “of course i would,” he answers softly without hesitation. warm. lovely. “anything you want, baby. lilies, roses, those weird spiky ones—i’d figure it out,”

“i love you.”

the words come out true in the way that only riki knows it matters on the outside.

but inside his head, it’s already fracturing. 

were you ever grateful? 

the thought comes uninvited and cold and harsh, like ice cracking under foot when too much pressure is being put on. were you ever grateful? for the flowers every saturday. for the late–night convenient runs riki does because you’re too lazy to cook. for carrying your bags even when his hands were full. for listening to every rambling story about your day even when his own head was screaming. 

did any of it ever actually mean something to you?

riki watches your hands move again—delicate, soft, unaware—adjusting a leaf here, fluffing a bloom there. you hum softly under your breath, content. happy because of the flowers he bought. flowers he keeps buying because genuinely, seeing you happy lights him up every single time you open the door makes something in his chest bloom too.

but why the fuck would you say that you like lilies now? after months of pink peonies every saturday, now you want lilies? 

it shouldn’t be that big of a deal; people change their minds every day, mundane or not, but riki can feel it starting—that slow heat crawling up his spine… the way his molars ache from his jaw tightening. then, his heart does this ugly thud, too fast and too hard. 

so what if you like lilies now?

it shouldn’t be a big deal, but…

he pushes himself off the doorway.

three steps, that’s all it takes.

the floor creaks under his weight but you don’t look up yet, still arranging, still so goddamn oblivious to what goes on in one’s head. 

riki’s hand closes around the handle of a glass pitcher—wet from water, heavier than it looks with all those stems crammed in. the last week’s peonies tremble as he lifts it, petals quivering like…

like they’re afraid too, for you. 

then—

the base of the pitcher connects just above your right ear—right where your pretty hair parts when you tilt your head like you do when you’re concentrating. it’s not elegant or beautiful like in films.

instead, the bedroom’s met with a meaty, wet thud, the sound of something dense hitting something softer. the glass doesn’t break on the first hit; it just dents your skull instead. a dull compression, bone flexing inward like cardboard before it gives.

your blood doesn’t fountain right away either—it just beads brightly at the line along the split skin—then wells up thick and dark as the scalp peels back in ragged strips from the impact of riki’s hit. only then does the pitcher finally shatter on the second hit, shards driving upward into the soft meat under your hairline.

the peonies in the pitcher exploded with the force of the swing. the petals tear free first, soft pinks scattering in arc. some stick to the fresh wound, adhering to the raw, open skin. others are driven by the broken glass—punching into your exposed tissue, forcing their ways inside. 

if you want to be ungrateful so bad, here you go—one long sharp piece lodges deep like a broken tooth, severing your artery; riki assumes—because now your blood does come in earnest and generous. hot ropes of it spray across your desk filled with fresh peonies in a mason jar, wilted ones you didn’t have the heart to throw away, dried peonies he gave months ago that break at the slightest touch, splattering all over.

pretty soft pink petals now turn crimson at the edges.

you gasp, followed with a choked, wet gurgle as air is forced out through your throat that’s suddenly too full of copper. your body jerks hard and your knees buckle sideways and you slump against the table, one hand slapping uselessly at the edge to support yourself. 

the fresh peonies inside tumble out, rolling through the mess, and down on the floor.

your fingers drag red streaks down the white cloth, and your cheek presses to the cool surface of the floor, sneaking more, and your bloody mouth opens and closes like a fish left on the dock. the soft hum you were making earlier is gone, replaced by small, wet clicks every time you try to breathe. tiny red bubbles form at the corner of your lips, popping with a faint pink froth. your fingers twitch near your side—fingers curling weakly against nothing. 

“ngh…” you choke out, blood pulsing from the gash at your temple with each movement. your chest rises and falls in shallow hitches—each one slower and weaker than the last. somewhere in your death, you try to form his name, or maybe just any sound that you can prove to yourself that you’re still alive—but all that comes is a thin, crimson thread that stretches and snaps as your head lolls slightly to the side for the last time. 

riki drops what’s left of the broken handle then, letting it clatter among the petals and glass. thankfully, he’s wearing the home slippers, so he’s not so hurt by the shards. he stands there, breathing hard through his nose. 

the room smells like iron, wet earth, and the cloying sweetness of flowers.

slowly, riki kneels in the spreading puddle—warm, sticky against his sweats. he turns your pretty face toward him with gentle hands, thumbs sliding through the mess on your cheeks. your eyes are still open, pupils blown wide, unfocused but searching.

still looking for him, even if he’s the one who’s got you in this state now.

a single petal is stuck to your lower lash. riki brushes it away with his thumb.

your boyfriend leans in close, pressing his lips against your bloody forehead. tasting the iron when he kisses you. “you said lilies,” he whispers into the cracked temple. “i heard you.”

your last breath rattles into the air, carrying the faint sweetness of the lip balm you always wear. 

“ki?” 

you laugh a little, tilting your head so your cheek brushes his chest. you don’t notice how close he’s gotten behind you. your boyfriend swallows, shaking his head lightly before forcing his voice normal again.

“yeah?”

you turn around and reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck. “thank you, baby. for everything,” you murmur, tiptoeing so you can plant a chaste kiss on his cheek. then, you move to peck the corner of his lips before pulling away. 

“by the way… i’m just kidding with the lilies thing,” you giggle, eyes crinkling at the corners.  “i love peonies more than anything. especially if they’re from you.” 

riki’s grip on your hips tightens—just enough that your breath hitches for half a second. then, he loosens it. your boyfriend leans down to kiss the side of your throat, right over the living pulse that still jumps under his mouth. 

“anthing for you,” he murmurs. 

in the back of his skull, your blood is still spreading across the tiles. the peonies are soaking red, and your eyes are still open, staring up at him like he’s the last thing you’ll ever see.

instead, he closes his own eyes, breathing you in.

for now, this is enough. 

‘that’s all?’ jay asks, pulling his wallet out of his pocket to locate his credit card.

‘yeah, just the drink, please.’ you say, standing behind him. your voice is soft, laced with need. you woke up wet this morning, your thighs rubbing together as you tried to relieve the burning tension between your legs. jay had suggested going to grab a coffee together at the cafe near your place since you both had the day off.

‘okay, go find a table, i’ll bring it over.’ he says, patting your rear gently to signal you to go take a seat.

you feel a soft whimper rise in your throat, threatening to escape. you stand still momentarily before heeding his direction and reluctantly walking away from the counter. you move further into the cafe, searching for somewhere quiet and secluded. you’re not a fan of how busy and noisy the place can get, especially since you arrived just before peak hours.

you go on your phone in the meantime, scrolling mindlessly through instagram until you catch a glimpse of his shadow looming over you.

‘i almost didn’t see you back here,” jay says, setting your iced matcha down before taking a seat in the chair next to you. your eyes hone in on how large his hand appears, his palm practically enveloping the entirety of his cup. you watch him take a sip of his iced coffee, his knee knocking against yours as he shifts in his seat. the minimal contact sends an embarrassingly intense tingle through your body, heat pooling again in your lower abdomen. you can feel your cheeks flushing.

‘what’s wrong?’ jay asks, noticing the slight change in your demeanour. he leans in closer, only heightening your arousal further as you catch a whiff of his cologne.

you don’t want him to worry, and you need to find some relief so you figure it’s better not to hold back any longer. ‘i.. i need you.’ you utter, barely above a whisper.

‘what? right here?’

you lower you head shamefully, playing with your fingers in your lap.

‘we can’t right now, sweetheart, i’m sorry…’ jay coos, reaching out to brush some of your hair out of your face. you clench your thighs together at the tender touch, the brief contact setting your skin on fire.

‘can i just…’ you gulp, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt, feeling embarrassed by what you’re about to suggest. ‘can i just ride your thigh… just a little bit, i’ll be quick, i promise, please jay…’ you whimper, leaning towards him. you reach over to grasp his muscular leg, your fingertips barely sinking in to his firm flesh.

he chuckles softly at you, seemingly amused by your behaviour. ‘are you really that desperate?’ he teases, sitting up a little bit in his seat to peek over the half wall. he supposes no one would notice, and he knows you’ll be true to your word. it won’t take you long to achieve your release.

without saying anything else, jay’s hands grab onto your waist firmly, guiding you over onto his lap so both of your thighs are straddling one of his.

you gasp softly as your clothed core comes into contact with the fabric of his jeans. his thigh is wide enough that you can feel a slight stretch in your pelvis as you own legs spread to accommodate his form beneath you. you know this is going to be over quick.

your fingers find purchase in his t-shirt, gripping the material. you don’t hesitate, beginning to roll your hips against him, your aching cunt clenching around nothing.

‘shush, you need to be quiet though, doll.’ jay says in a low voice, cupping your jaw in his hand. he prods one finger at your lips, your mouth opening to accept the digit instinctively. ‘there we go.’

you suck eagerly on his finger, although it does little to muffle your needy whines as you keep rubbing yourself against his thigh.

‘that’s it, does that feel better?’ jay murmurs in your ear, his free hand settling in the small of your back to keep you steady. he lets you set your own pace, not helping you move but making you work for it. you seem to be doing fine on your own.

your thighs tremble, the band inside of you tightening further. your clit throbs, signalling your impending release. your movements get faster, albeit a bit sloppy as you drag your dripping pussy along the expanse of his thigh, practically drooling around his finger still in your mouth. your hands tighten on his shirt as your orgasm wracks through you. your body shakes, thighs clenching around his, as your back arches forward.

‘good girl,’ jay praises, reaching up to stroke your hair, pressing a kiss to your neck. you pant softly, your cheeks still flushed and pink lips parted as you come down your high.

the soft sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway make you sit up, the bell on your collar jangling. your small fingers wrap around the thin bars of your cage, trying to peer through. the door swings open, your owner’s silhouette entering the bedroom. your collar jingles more as you excitedly squirm in anticipation. you stick your tongue out, panting softly at the sight of sunghoon approaching you.

‘hi, kitty,’ he says, flicking on the light as he steps closer to your cage. you’re practically clawing at the bars now, trying to sit up as far as you can within the cramped space. ‘so eager to see me.. did you miss me?’ he asks, his voice low as he sticks a finger through your cage towards your mouth. you eagerly lap at his digit, suckling on the tip of his finger while you purr softly.

seemingly pleased by your response, sunghoon withdraws his hand, your disappointed whine emanating from the confines of your cage. he unbuckles his belt, the sound of clanking metal making your thighs press together instinctively. he takes his already semi-hard cock out of his boxers, tugging his pants to his mid thighs before giving his shaft a few lazy strokes.

you stick your tongue out again, opening your mouth wider, nostrils flaring as you push your face against the bars. pathetic little noises escape you, sunghoon’s eyes glimmering with dark promise as you gazes down at you.

‘my pretty little kitty, keep your mouth open just like that for me,’ he murmurs. you do as he says, watching as he grips his length a bit tighter, pumping himself a bit faster now. you whimper, a string of drool trickling down your chin as tears well in your eyes from keeping your jaw extended like this. your thighs rub against each other in a primal search for friction, your desire building within you along with a fluttering sense of anxiety.

‘please, please,’ you mewl, your lips coming together in a pout but sunghoon stops his movements, glaring at you in response.

‘i told you to keep your mouth open, bitch.’ he growls, clearly unimpressed with your sudden disobedience so you quickly open wide once more, a few tears dribbling down your flushed cheeks. you want to taste him, need to feel the weight of his girth on your tongue. you’ve been waiting for him all day.

sunghoon starts fisting his cock again, grunting as his tip flares a cherry shade of red, bubbling with pre-cum. you choke back a sob, your jaw still hanging slack as you watch him, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of your stomach because you know what he plans to do to you.

the cage clangs as sunghoon flips the lock, tugging the door open so he can get closer to your trembling form. you stay put, looking up at him with tear-stained cheeks and your swollen lips parted as far you can feasibly manage. with a low groan, he releases his load onto you, splattering his seed across your face, some of it landing on your heaving chest as well. you frantically flick your tongue around, trying to gather as much of it as possible on your tongue in a last ditch effort. he laughs at you, a low chuckle from deep in his chest at your pathetic behaviour.

you whine as he mocks you, visibly distressed by the fact that he still hasn’t let you taste him. as he plants a large hand on the top of your head, attempting to push you back into your cage, you pounce forward, wrapping your limbs around one of his legs.

‘no, please, pl-please, m-missed you-‘ you cry, clinging to him in an effort to prevent him from leaving again. sunghoon grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you off of him, your weakened body crumbling to the floor. he suddenly grabs your face in his hand, forcing you to meet his gaze. he doesn’t ask you to open your mouth for him this time, just uses his other thumb to pull your bottom lip down. sunghoon looms over you as he spits into your mouth, a wad of his saliva landing on your tongue before he closes your jaw for you. ‘swallow.’ he commands, and you do, without hesitation.

heeseung’s hands bracket your waist, backing you up against the shelving unit in the tiny storage closet that can barely contain both of you. his hands are everywhere, groping your breasts over top of your scrubs before sliding both palms beneath the hem to cup them through your bra.

it feels surreal, like one minute you were sending him the occasional sext and now he’s literally trying to get into your pants. you’d always had this on and off, hot and cold, flirty, tension filled sort of relationship with your fellow resident, heeseung, but you never felt comfortable pursuing something physical. not now, while you’re the busiest you’ve ever been in your life. you need ways to destress sure, but you were thinking more along the lines of going out for drinks with your friends not… whatever this is.

‘god, you’re so pretty,’ he breathes against your neck as one hand slides to the small of your back so he can keep you pinned against him. there’s nowhere to go anyway, the closet is so small, if you so much as flinch, you’re afraid that bottles will go flying. ‘too pretty to be stuck in these scrubs all day, need to get them off you sometime.’ murmurs as he presses hot, open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, the hand that’s still on your breast is kneading the mound roughly.

your nipple stiffens beneath his palm despite yourself, arching into his touch but it’s strange. you didn’t ask for this, yet it feels good receiving this kind of attention. still, you know well enough that this isn’t appropriate for this kind of setting. ‘we- we can’t do this here,’ you protest softly and it likely sounds half hearted in his ears. it’s not that you don’t like him, he’s really attractive… but you also know he has a reputation. you’re sure you’re not the only girl in his phone, much less the only one he treats this way. you’re probably not the only girl he’s cornered like this either.

not used to being told ‘no’, heeseung only grips your waist tighter. ‘shush, just a little-‘ he coos against your lips as he captures them in a kiss, but he’s not letting up on his touching. your hands find his chest, trying to push him away but he won’t budge. you feel the shelf behind you shift and a bottle clatters to the floor. you whimper, ‘heeseung, please’, but his hand has moved from your breast to cup your mound through your pants, rubbing the heel into the apex of your pussy. you feel breathless all of a sudden, heat rising in your core but the shame burns hotter. ‘please stop’ you beg and to your shock, he does.

‘what’s wrong with you?’ he seethes, taking the half a step back that’s possible in this confined of a space. he looks the same as before he dragged you in here, but your own scrubs are twisted, your lip shade smeared. you open your mouth to formulate some kind of response, but he just shakes his head and opens the door to the supply closet, leaving you there.