synopsis: in which months of mocking jake online comes back to bite you, and he makes sure you regret every single word—on your knees.
genre: idol au
pairing: idol!jake x blogger!reader
warnings: dubcon? bratty!reader, petty!jake, mean!jake, big dick!jake, kidnapping (sort of kind of??), oral (m.rec), cum swallowing, reader grinds down on jake’s shoe, mention of daddy kink (but it’s not used), forced submission, manhandling, titty sucking, marking, begging, degrading. self degradation, rough and unprotected p in v, orgasm denial, overstimulation, light spanking slapping and chocking, creampie, spitting, recording for blackmail purposes. i think that’s it….
wc: 15.1k
a/n: this took a lot more time that i initially thought it would … but it’s here now! this draft has been sitting in my archives for years like literal years. back when i used to write on wattpad for bts i had this plot written for tae but scrapped it because i lacked creativity to make it happen. but here we r ! also side note this is not edited to the best of its abilities so if u c a mistake… im sorry :D hope you enjoy, notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy :)
✎﹏﹏
the dorm door slammed open, the sound of sneakers dragging across the floor echoing behind it. the 7 exhausted boys spilled into the living room, all drained and sweaty from the insane dance practice that had run two hours longer than scheduled. jake collapsed face-first onto the couch, groaning into a throw pillow as he stretches his limbs before he feels a cramp in his leg.
"i think my spine is permanently bent," he mumbled, not moving an inch.
sunghoon flopped onto the floor, using his hoodie as a pillow. "i think i disassociated during 'bite me.'"
"you always disassociate during 'bite me,'" heeseung shot back, tossing a towel at him making sunghoon scowl.
jay, meanwhile, had his phone out, thumb lazily scrolling through twitter as he half-listened to the chaos around him. he was about to put his phone down when a thread caught his eye.
"kpop idols who probably have the smallest dick (a very unserious thread)"
"...oh?" jay blinked, intrigued for all the wrong reasons. a grin formed on his lips as he clicked, the list started off wild.
1. jaehyun nct - idc what y'all say. he screams below average.
2. jeno nct - this is a hater post. cry about it.
3. jake from enhypen - golden retriever energy but gives micro vibes. sorry not sorry.
jay let out a loud, sudden laugh at the description given for jake—catching everyone's attention.
"yo, jake," he wheezed, turning the screen toward him. "look what someone said about you."
jake rolled over lazily, half hazy, "what?"
jay shoved the phone in front of his face. jake read the tweet once, then again. then a third time. his brows furrowed deeper with each pass, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was reading.
"...are you serious right now?"
he sat up, yanking the phone from jay's hand to read it himself. his eyes scanned the username, the post and then the likes. 10k likes for a bullshit post, jake scoffed in disbelief. he scrolled down to read the replies which were full of people either agreeing or arguing like their lives depended on it.
"no because she's right and she should say it louder" one of the comments read, jake furrowed his eyebrows before scowling.
"i love him but... yeah."
"nah he gives big dick energy actually"
"this is so mean LMFAOOO"
jake's mouth opened in shock. "why am i even on this list? what did i do to deserve this? how does someone look at me and go, 'yeah, micro dick.' what the hell?"
jay couldn't stop laughing. "it's so random, too. like. where did they get the data? did they run a poll?"
"this isn't funny!" jake snapped, slapping jay's shoulder with the back of his hand. "i'm being slandered in front of thousands of people. tens of thousands!"
sunoo peeked over jay's shoulder. "ooh. and someone made a follow-up post. wait—found their tumblr. they said he looks like he apologizes after missionary.'" sunoo cackles, "i can totally see that."
jake nearly choked on air, "what?!"
he snatched sunoo's phone this time, heart pounding as he scrolls violently across your twitter page. he followed the breadcrumb trail from twitter to a tumblr blog: @s0ftbrat666.
the header was a blurry photo of a cunty hello kitty, and the bio just said: "unserious about everything but dick size."
"who the hell is this? why do they hate me so bad?"
niki, who had been quietly sipping water from the kitchen, muttered, "maybe they're a fan of yours. like, weirdly obsessed. reverse psychology or something."
"no. this is personal. this feels targeted," jake muttered, already downloading and opening the tumblr app on his phone. "i'm not letting this slide."
he made a new account. he picked the most ironic, absurd username he could think of: @goldenjake420.
because that screams, 'i'm the real jake sim!!'
he messaged you immediately, his hands shaking in rage as he smashes his fingers into the screen.
@goldenjake420:
hey
just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true
kinda rude ngl
maybe take it down?
"this is so stupid," he muttered, tossing his phone beside him.
jay raised a brow. "you really just dm'd a twitter troll on tumblr?"
"yes. because the truth matters, jay. i do not have a micro dick!" he exclaims, clearly frustrated from his group mates lack of empathy. he looks around the room in hopes of his members reassurance, only to receive looks of disturbance.
"cmon guys, you know i don't have a micro dick.." he trails off when he sees sunoo grimace at his words.
heeseung smirked from the other side of the couch suddenly sitting up right, ignoring his aching body. "you should send a pic to prove it."
jay cackles before agreeing, "yeah, downwards angles always make that shit look like a tower."
"SHUT UP!" jake shouted, face red in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.
the room erupted in laughter as jake sat there fuming, arms crossed, waiting for a response. he had no idea the person he messaged was already rolling their eyes and preparing to block him.
and this was only the beginning.
you were no stranger to the occasional deranged and delusional fan losing their mind over a post. it was social media, not a diplomatic summit. if you said someone's fave had bad fashion sense or gave off weak dick energy, it was bound to stir drama—but you thrived in it.
what you didn't expect, though, was to get a dm from an account called @goldenjake420 claiming to be jake himself. not just a fan defending him. not someone crying in your inbox about how you were "too mean."
no. this person had committed to the bit.
@goldenjake420:
hey
just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true
kinda rude ngl
maybe take it down?
you blinked at the message, snorted, and sat back in your chair.
"okay..." you muttered under your breath. "we've reached new levels of delusion."
you clicked the profile. no posts. followed no one. default layout. pfp of a blurry golden retriever. and the username?
goldenjake420.
"oh my god," you wheezed. this was peak fandom brainrot.
you stared at the message for a minute, thumbs hovering over your keyboard before you decided, you know what? fine. you wanna play jake sim? let's play.
you typed:
@s0ftbrat666:
omg jake??? THE jake sim???
i am so sorry... i didn't know you had a tumblr account
i feel so bad now omg i'll take it down right away
thank you for being so mature and respectful about it... ugh i feel terrible lol
you hit send. then burst out laughing, eyes watering as you cackle alone in your room.
and five minutes later, you posted a new post on your blog.
——
post by @s0ftbrat666
just got a dm from someone PRETENDING to be jake sim because they were mad i said he has a micro dick LMAOOO. like babes be serious...
jake sim is not on tumblr dot com messaging me with a blurry pic of a golden retriever and the username @/goldenjake420. but since he's here reading my posts, hey jake! if u're mad now wait til u see what i post next
anyway updated my list:
"kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version"
jake is now first on the list.
i've added footnotes
and gifs as evidence.
enjoy :]
——
you tagged it:
#jake sim #enhypen #pls don't take this seriously #except jake if ur reading this then yeah take it seriously
you sat back and refreshed the notes every few seconds. it was already blowing up. likes, reblogs, someone screaming in the tags: "NOT THE FOOTNOTES."
you were thriving, satisfaction filling you as the comments seemed to hype you up.
unbeknownst to you, somewhere in a dorm across the city, jake was screaming into a pillow.
jake was laying on his stomach, face shoved into a couch cushion, aggressively refreshing your tumblr page like a man on a mission. the first message he sent you hadn't gone exactly how he expected. he thought maybe—maybe—you'd feel a little guilty, take the post down, maybe even apologize. instead, he was met with:
"omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry..."
at first, he blinked. then smiled. you were going to apologize and take it down..great!
okay, he thought, that was easier than expected.
but then he saw the post you had published just a few minute later.
——
"kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version."
jake is now first on the list.
i've added footnotes. and gifs.
enjoy :]
——
"NO I AM NOT," he yelled into the pillow, voice muffled but full of sheer disbelief.
he rolled over and shot upright, shoving his phone in jay's face. "do you SEE this? i was already called micro dick jake, but now i'm a submissive pillow princess? where is she even getting this from?"
jay looked over the post with a calm expression and said, "well... you did say 'ngl' in a tumblr dm. that's kinda submissive."
"jay."
"i'm just saying."
jake's blood pressure was actively rising. he was pacing the living room now, phone clenched in his fist. "this isn't a joke anymore. she's making footnotes. gifs, bro. there's like a whole academic paper on my dick energy. and worst of all, PEOPLE ARE AGREEING."
sunoo peeked around the corner. "maybe just let it go? like... it's tumblr. no one's gonna remember next week."
"it's twitter too! no. no, she wanted to make it personal. it's personal now."
he went back to tumblr, typing furiously in your dm's.
@goldenjake420:
okay first of all?? i was acc being really nice
u said some really rude stuff and i still tried to talk to u calmly
but now ur doubling down with footnotes??
idk y ur so convinced i'm a submissive pillow princess
but ur wrong
like so wrong
scientifically inaccurate levels of wrong
he hit send. then stared at the screen.
nothing. no response. refresh. refresh.
"error: message could not be delivered."
"...what?" jake frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he desperately tried sending his messages again.
he clicked your profile.
"you've been blocked by this user."
the silence that followed was deafening.
"she blocked me," he whispered, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. "she actually blocked me."
jay cackled from across the room. "maybe now you'll stop fighting the tumblr girl who thinks you're a bottom."
"i'm not a bottom!" jake snapped, defensive. "and i'm definitely not a pillow princess!"
jay peers over jake's shoulder, his face pulls into a grimace as he reads jake's messages. "maybe it's a good thing that those didn't deliver... you're proving her point." jake rolls his eyes in response, not wanting to deal with his friend.
he opened twitter, then paused. was he really about to tweet about this?
he closed the app.
instead, he opened his notes app and started typing:
"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick."
this wasn't over.
if he had to write a dissertation, he would.
he was reclaiming his name. one footnote at a time.
you were in bed, face smushed into your pillow, scrolling aimlessly when the tag notification came in. you were about to ignore it—probably another reblog of your cursed "submissive missionary micro dick energy" thread—but the caption caught your eye:
@s0ftbrat666 you need to see this LMAOOO he made a THREAD. a whole thread.
confused but curious, you tapped the post.
and there it was.
a full thread. by a tumblr user named @truthaboutjake, which already gave deranged energy, but it got better.
"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick (a thread)."
you nearly dropped your phone, a giggle leaving you as you excitedly click on the thread.
the first slide was formatted like a presentation. bolded title, bullet points, and an unnecessary amount of spacing like someone had spent way too long formatting it.
——
slide 1: addressing the accusations
• the tumblr user @s0ftbrat666 has made multiple posts claiming i am submissive
• she has also accused me of having a micro dick
• both of these are false, offensive, and based on no real evidence
——
no real evidence, he said. like you were in court.
"what in the deranged.." you muttered to yourself, re-reading the text a second time to make sure you were hallucinating.
you snorted, swiping to the next.
——
slide 2: rebuttal
• i've been told i give off dominant energy
• no one who owns a denim jacket collection that big can be submissive
• as for the size... let's just say i've never received complaints
——
you had to pause there, hand over your mouth, wheezing. "denim jackets radiate peg me," you cackle to yourself.
this wasn't a thread written by a deranged fan. no, this was someone personally offended on a soul level. and the way it was written? the tone? the wording?
it was giving him. it was jake.
no one else would be this pressed.
you laughed so hard you had to sit up.
this man had been so insulted by your dumb, unserious thirst post that he created a whole alternate account, wrote a google-doc-tier thread, and was now trying to clear his name in the notes app format. you were obsessed.
you hit reblog.
——
@s0ftbrat666:
i have never in my life witnessed a man fight for his dom rights this hard
the denim jacket argument almost had me convinced ngl
jake sim if this is actually you:
1. calm down
2. you're literally proving my point
3. post the evidence since you're so confident
——
the comments came flooding in:
"NOT HIM MAKING A PRESENTATION"
"'never received complaints' is CRAZY"
"he could've just logged off but now he's in too deep"
"@truthaboutjake is shaking"
you weren't done though. oh no.
you clicked the original post again and dm'd @truthaboutjake directly.
@s0ftbrat666:
wow
a thread?
you really sat down and made a powerpoint about your dick
this is the best thing that's happened to me all week
but you still haven't proven anything
so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence
you're staying in your submissive micro dick era
i'll wait <33
you hit send with a shit-eating grin.
this was your roman empire now. you were going to be thinking about this thread forever.
jake stared at your message like it physically slapped him.
"so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era"
his jaw dropped.
"e-evidence?!" he sputtered aloud, standing up in the middle of the dorm living room like he'd just been accused of murder.
jay, sitting across the room with earbuds in, pulled one out and glanced up. "what now?"
"she wants evidence."
jay blinked. "like...?"
jake gestured wildly at his phone. "like evidence evidence!"
jay raised both brows before grinning "...so what i said about the downward angle, i'm telling you jake that shit makes it look h—"
"NO!" jake practically yelled. "i'm not sending a picture of my dick to some random troll on tumblr!"
he fumed. typed. deleted. typed again. then, finally, sent:
@truthaboutjake:
okay. listen. i'm not sending you a dick pic.
i don't care how much you want "evidence"
that's weird. this whole thing is weird.
i'm literally just trying to correct a false narrative about myself
you saw the message and immediately rolled your eyes so hard you almost saw your brain. you were curled up on your couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, typing with vicious speed.
@s0ftbrat666:
omg.
are you serious right now??
NO ONE asked for actual dick pics. what the hell is wrong with you.
you're literally so deep in this delusion you really think you're jake sim
like?? be serious for once
you are a grown man on tumblr dot com pretending to be an idol and defending your imaginary dick size
this is next level behavior. you need to touch grass and maybe talk to a therapist
jake sim would never
you are EMBARRASSING yourself rn.
you hit send and sighed, rubbing your temples. it was funny at first but the more you interacted with this person the more brain cells you lost, it shocked you that people would go to such lengths to defend their favs.
this was beyond fandom drama now. this was a case study. and the worst part? you were kind of impressed with how committed he was to the bit. concerned of course, but impressed too.
like... he was spiraling. but passionately.
still. you weren't going to let up. because whoever this man was, he needed to be humbled.
you opened a new post draft and typed:
——
@s0ftbrat666:
update: he dm'd me again
and accused me of demanding dick pics
because i said "evidence"
i rest my case. this is not jake sim.
this is some 32-year-old man who unironically uses reddit and thinks being called "submissive" is a slur
log off, drink some water, and go outside before you get a nosebleed from rage
#jake sim #not the real one obviously #this is tumblr not onlyfans relax
——
✎﹏﹏
jake tried to move on.
he really did.
after the dick thread. after being labeled a submissive missionary pillow princess. after the fake fan accusations and being accused of roleplaying as himself—he made the conscious choice to stop checking your blog. he muted your username. closed tumblr for a solid 24 hours. he even turned off his notifs.
he was healing. growing. rebuilding his sanity.
until a member sent him a screenshot.
it was sunghoon.
of course it was sunghoon.
sunghoon:
yo
y tf she got sm time on her hands
icl tho
she funny asf
attached was a photo of your newest tumblr post.
jake opened it, eyes squinting. then he saw it.
——
@s0ftbrat666:
watched enhypen's most recent stage and i just wanna know WHO chose those pants for jake
like bffr. i can see his entire situation
the dick print? front and center.
and it's not giving what he thinks it's giving
it's giving: he begged the stylist to let him wear those pants so he could prove me wrong
and i'm here to tell you... babe...
don't ever do that again.
i'm LAUGHING.
#enhypen #jake sim #pls don't wear tight pants if ur not ready for the scrutiny king #it's not looking good
——
jake froze.
his phone was literally vibrating with how hard he was gripping it.
"she's watching performances now?" he whispered to himself, horrified.
jay looked up from across the room, warily. "...oh god. again?"
"she's analyzing my crotch, jay. she made a post about my dick print."
jay blinked. "that's... new."
"and she said it's 'not giving'!" jake practically screamed, spinning his phone around to show him. "not giving what?! not giving big dick energy?!?!"
jay read it silently, lips twitching. "...it does kind of sound like she thinks you're trying to prove her wrong. which, to be fair, you kinda are." he pauses for a second, "but i thought she deemed you as a deranged fan, does she think that you're actually texting her?"
jake shrugs, "who knows what she's thinking, clearly way to much of this is the shit she posts. also i wasn't even thinking about her when i wore those pants!"
"you literally made a thread defending your dick size last week."
"NOT THE POINT."
jake felt like he was going to combust. it was like every time he clawed his way back to peace, you dropped another post from hell and dragged him back into the pit.
and this time?
this time you targeted his outfit. his styling choices. his crotch visibility. he couldn't even enjoy the stage anymore without wondering if you were out there in a hoodie, behind a screen, zooming in on freeze frames of his pants.
"this is psychological warfare," jake muttered.
sunghoon looked up from his phone, his face annoyed. he was tired of hearing about this, "just block her again."
jake clenched his jaw. "she'll post about it. she'll brag."
he scrolled back up, reading the caption again. and again. his fingers hovered over your username.
he didn't message you. not this time.
instead, he posted on his burner account:
——
@truthaboutjake:
some people spend their lives spreading negativity online because they have nothing else going for them.
if you spend your free time zooming in on people's bodies just to make fun of them, seek help.
also, the pants looked fire.
——
he hit post. and then, two minutes later he opened the group chat.
jayke:
whoever styled me last week.
never again.
we're going back to loose pants. i'm not doing this with tumblr anymore
✎﹏﹏
jake tried to stay composed. he tried.
but every time he opened tumblr, there you were—lurking in his psyche like a demon with wi-fi.
at first it had been a few jabs, sprinkled here and there between your usual posts about other idols. someone's hair, another's dance move, one guy you kept thirsting over for his "evil smirk" and "long fingers." whatever. jake didn't care.
until suddenly—your entire blog became about him.
not in a cute, stan-like way.
no.
it was relentless.
"jake sim update: still looks like a man who apologizes during sex."
"new era, same micro dick energy."
"his pants looked like they were holding in a lie."
"i know he fumbles the aux every time. just look at him."
your followers ate it up. reblog after reblog.
tags like "#he's just so bashable" and "#jake sim slander is self-care" filled the notes.
there were polls. there were graphics.
you made a tier list of idols based on who looked like they cried after sex, and jake was placed right at the top with the caption:
"he looks like he'd say 'was that okay?' while tucking his soft dick back in his briefs."
jake was spiraling.
the worst part? you didn't even seem like a hater.
you didn't hate him.
you just... targeted him like it was your job. your content was crafted with care. effort. borderline affection.
jay leaned over one afternoon while jake doomscrolled through another one of your polls—this one titled "which idol do you think would last the shortest in bed (no offense)", where jake was winning by 68%.
"you know," jay mused, "i think she actually likes you."
jake looked up, eyes wide with horror as he looks at jay disgusted. "what?"
jay shrugged. "she's obsessed. it's giving weirdly specific attention. enemies-to-lovers coded."
"jay. she made a gifset of my crotch."
"exactly."
jake nearly threw his phone across the room.
it wasn't just slander anymore—it was becoming personal. and the most infuriating part?
you were so sure. so smugly sure.
every post was laced with casual cruelty and the sharp confidence of someone who truly believed they knew him. his vibes. his music taste. his dick size. like you'd studied him and filed a damn report.
and the urge to prove you wrong? it was eating at him.
he'd see one of your posts and get this itch. this slow, simmering burn in his gut. like he had something to prove now. like he wanted to walk up to you and say—
"say that shit again. to my face."
he'd fantasized about it more than once.
cornering you at a fansign, maybe. or catching you backstage if he ever figured out who you were. you with that smug little expression, your arms crossed like you knew everything. and him, leaning in, low and sharp, and making damn sure you knew you were wrong about everything—especially that.
he wasn't even mad anymore. not just mad. he was determined.
this wasn't just tumblr slander. this was a challenge.
and jake sim? he didn't lose.
✎﹏﹏
jake laid in bed, phone hovering above his face, lit only by the blue glow of tumblr's godforsaken app. it was well past 2 a.m., and he'd already scrolled through your entire blog—again.
he told himself it was just to see if you'd posted anything new. which, of course, you had,
but really, he was spiraling.
another post. this one read:
——
@softbrat666:
something about jake sim just screams whines when it doesn't slide in all the way
like he'd pause mid-thrust to ask if you're okay because he came too fast
he'd definitely say 'but you just feel so good...' as an excuse
——
and the worst part?
jake read every single reply. studied them, even.
like they held some kind of twisted insight into how you saw him. how you imagined him. you were building this whole persona of him in your mind and then broadcasting it to thousands of followers like it was gospel. and the most messed up part?
you had just enough accuracy to make it sting.
and yet—you remained anonymous.
faceless. untouchable.
he'd tried to find out who you were. he dug through old posts, clicked your tags, searched your url on twitter and insta.
all he found was:
• you lived in seoul
• you were 21
• you drank too much iced americano
• and you had audacity in excess
that was it. no selfies. no personal posts. no full name. you were just a sassy username and a collection of jake sim hate posts.
meanwhile, he was a public figure with his whole government face on blast while you dragged him through the mud constantly.
he hated how much he thought about what you looked like.
were you soft and bratty, like your tone suggested? did you smirk when you wrote those captions? were you the type to twirl your hair and say, "what? it's not that deep," while ruining a man's reputation?
he imagined you walking around seoul, laughing with your friends, ordering overpriced coffee with that smug, evil-little-gremlin energy.
he imagined running into you.
he'd play it cool at first—polite, casual, maybe even a little flirty.
watch you ramble. watch you squirm.
and when he caught you slipping—maybe when you made some offhand comment about k-pop or tumblr—he'd hit you with it:
"so how's that blog going? still think i'm a submissive pillow princess with a micro dick?"
he rolled onto his side, fuming into his pillow.
you lived in his head rent-free and you didn't even know what he looked like at night when he was losing sleep over your bullshit posts.
it was unfair.
you got to stay invisible while he was out here analyzing his own stage outfits to figure out what clip you were gonna slander next.
he scrolled back to that gif set you made of his recent performance. paused on the close-up. the zoom-in.
the goddamn caption:
"not jake sim trying to start a dickprint redemption arc. spoiler: it's not working."
his eye twitched.
"this girl is the devil," he muttered.
and yet... he couldn't stop checking. he needed to know what you'd say next.
✎﹏﹏
you wake up to absolute chaos.
your phone is buzzing. not one or two notifications—hundreds. group chats. twitter and tumblr dms. unknown numbers. missed calls.
it's like your phone caught fire overnight.
you blink against the morning light, groggy and confused, heart picking up speed. something's wrong. you can feel it. you squint at the screen, drag down your notifications, and the first notification you see makes your stomach drop.
"girl you're trending rn... what did you DO???"
then another.
"is that actually your name???"
your pulse is pounding before you even open twitter. your fingers shake as you type your own @ into the search bar, and the second you hit enter, your breath catches.
it's you.
your name. your photo. your phone number. everything.
someone—no, a group of people—had clearly gone full fbi. they'd taken all your casual, dumb little posts over the years and pieced them together like a fucked-up puzzle.
and now your full name was in a viral thread titled:
"this the girl behind the jake sim micro dick blog?"
with a photo of you at a party two months ago, smile beaming.
people were quote-tweeting it with comments like:
"she built like someone who'd have beef with jake sim for no reason."
"oh she definitely owns a stan twitter burner too."
"her blog is my roman empire i need her in therapy immediately."
your blood turned to ice. you were exposed.
fully.
not just as a shitposter but as the jake sim hater.
your inbox was flooded—death threats, confessions, apologies, people asking if it was really you. tumblr dms screaming:
"TAKE THE POSTS DOWN BEFORE HE SEES THEM."
too late.
you scrambled to log into tumblr. your hands fumbled across the keys. it took three tries to get your password right.
the second you were in, you did the only thing you could do.
you hit deactivate.
the blog was gone. years of posts. thousands of notes. all of your followers, your drafts, your hate-poll templates.
deleted.
and then the panic really set in.
your hands were trembling. your ears were ringing. and all you could think about was @truthaboutjake, your mind racing. it was him, you realized that it was him.
"he knows. jake sim fucking knows who i am."
and the worst part?
you had no idea what he'd do with it.
✎﹏﹏
jake found out the same way everyone else did—waking up to a string of texts from jay and sunghoon absolutely losing their shit.
jay: bro. check twitter.
sunghoon: she got exposed.
jay: HER NAME IS OUT LMAOOO
jay: bet she's sweating rn
sunghoon: she's kinda cute tho
he blinked hard, still groggy, and tapped open the thread that seemed to be trending.
your face stared back at him.
his heart flipped.
you looked... nothing like what he expected.
he'd imagined someone smug. cold. maybe with villain bangs and a cigarette habit.
but no—there you were, face flushed in a group photo, laughing mid-sip of iced americano. you looked normal. it almost hurt to admit, but you were pretty.
you looked real.
and now, you were reachable.
he did what anyone would do: searched your name on instagram. he found your linked facebook.
scrolled. scrolled.
paused.
you had your workplace tagged in an old comment.
"juniper bean café - seoul branch."
he stared at it for a long moment. then, very calmly, he stood up, threw on a hoodie, cap, and mask, and left the dorm.
✎﹏﹏
the café was a little tucked away spot with plants hanging from the ceiling and a chalkboard sign outside that said "kiss me, i'm caffeinated."
jake walked in, glancing around. he spotted you immediately, behind the counter, head down as you punched in an order.
he could tell that you had a rough morning, good.
your posture was tense. your hair was pulled back messily. your voice was strained. you looked tired, your eyes that seemed so full of life in your leaked photos had disappeared.
he stepped up to the counter. waited. his eyes trailed down your figure, your frame was draped with a loose fitted sweater and some baggy light wash jeans. you wore a black apron, cinching at your waist—allowing his hungry eyes to capture your curves.
you were trying to look invisible. trying not to stand out. but to him—you were glowing with guilt.
he watched you fumble with a stack of napkins, pretending you didn't feel his eyes burning into you. finally you cleared your throat, still not looking up.
"hi, what can i get you?"
he smiled behind his mask, slow and wicked. he pulled it down just enough to speak—voice dripping low, sharp with mocking sweetness.
"you gonna spit in my drink too?" he asked. "or just keep running your mouth somewhere i can't see?"
you froze.
head snapping up. eyes locking with his. and there it was—that flash of horror, recognition, disbelief. it was him.
you had to admit, he was just as if not more handsome in person. your mouth dried up when you watched his lips curl into a smirk and his eye twitch.
your mouth opened. closed. no sound.
"hi," he said, almost sweetly. "miss me?"
you fumbled a reply—something, anything—but he leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter like he had all the time in the world.
"you disappeared fast. what happened? got leaked and lost all your guts or did you burn through all your micro dick material?"
your coworker looked between you both, utterly confused and in awe that jake was standing in front her. you took a breath. straightened your spine. tried to salvage your dignity.
"this is harassment," you muttered.
"this is karma," jake shot back, his smile dark. he twitched in anger, how dare you call this harassment—what about what you had been doing for the last couple of weeks? "i wanted a latte, by the way. no sugar. unless you're finally ready to be sweet to me."
you nearly dropped the milk jug.
he didn't care. he was so amused. you were the girl who wrote entire essays dragging his dickprint and his imagined bedroom habits? you, flushed and stammering behind a café register?
he wanted to laugh. he wanted to lean in closer. he wanted to ruin you back.
and this? this was just the beginning.
your hands were shaking. milk frother sputtering. heart pounding in your chest like it wanted to escape. and he—jake fucking sim—just stood there.
smiling.
smug.
head tilted slightly like he was thrilled by your discomfort. "you gonna make that latte, or you gonna keep fumbling around and glaring at me?" he drawled, voice low and casual.
you gritted your teeth, turned back to the machine, and fumbled through the motions of making the drink. you could feel his eyes on you the entire time—watching, drinking you in like you were the fucking joke.
you finally slid the drink across the counter, trying not to slam it.
"here. now leave."
he didn't move. just sipped slowly, then licked a bit of foam from his lip like it was the most dramatic thing anyone had ever done in a coffee shop.
and then—he leaned forward. elbow on the counter. voice quiet, words slow and deliberate:
"what time do you get off?"
you blinked, "excuse me?"
"your shift. when does it end?"
"why the fuck would i tell you that?"
his smile widened, all teeth now, sharp and smug.
"because there's going to be a black car waiting for you outside." he continues, "when you clock out, you're going to get in. and then you're going to follow instructions."
you stared at him, genuinely floored. "are you insane? what the hell are you talking about?"
he tilted his head, mockingly sympathetic. "i get it. you're scared. probably embarrassed." he grins,
"but see, that's the thing about defamation—once it's public, i can take legal action. and you've been very public."
your stomach dropped, "you're bluffing."
he shrugged. "wanna bet your savings account on that?"
you opened your mouth. closed it again.
because—fuck. he wasn't bluffing. he didn't have to. you'd posted too much. said too much. and now he had your face, your name, your location.
"you can't just—kidnap me," you said, weaker than intended.
he laughed.
"it's not kidnapping if you get in willingly, sweetheart."
then he slid the latte off the counter, turned, and started to walk toward the door. before he left, he glanced back, over his shoulder.
"9 p.m., right?" he called out. "don't be late. i hate being stood up." he grinned, fuck him.
the bell jingled as he left. the door shut behind him.
and you stood there, in your apron and sneakers and sweaty palms, absolutely rattled. what the fuck did you just get yourself into?
✎﹏﹏
9:03 p.m.
you were pacing behind the café. your shift ended three minutes ago, but you hadn't stepped outside yet. you couldn't. your feet felt like bricks. your stomach twisted with anxiety, hands clenched in the pockets of your jeans.
what the fuck am i doing?
you shouldn't go. you know you shouldn't go. this was literally stranger danger 101, except instead of a stranger it was a kpop idol whose dick size you flamed online for weeks.
your brain was screaming at you. your nerves were a warzone. your inner monologue sounded like one long anxiety spiral:
"you're insane."
"this is how people get murdered."
"he's rich. he could make you disappear and blame it on anxiety meds."
"but also... maybe he just wants to talk?"
"or maybe he's gonna sue you in person with his scary legal team and laugh while you cry."
"or—worse—what if he takes a picture with you and posts it with some shady ass caption like 'finally found her :)' and now you're really cooked?"
your fists clenched tighter.
this was your own fault. you were the one who made that blog. you were the one who said he looked like a pillow princess. you were the one who photoshopped a pacifier into that one fansite photo and captioned it "baby boy can't handle coochie."
and now?
now he knew your name. your face. your shift schedule.
and there it was, waiting on the curb like a horror movie prop—a sleek black car, windows tinted, headlights glowing like eyes.
you stared at it.
and then, finally, took a deep breath and walked towards it.
the back door opened before you could even touch it. you slid inside, hesitating, clutching your bag to your chest like a shield. you looked around the dimly lit interior. leather seats. no jake.
just a stone-faced driver in a black cap.
"um," you said cautiously. "where are we going?"
no response.
you leaned forward slightly. "hello? i just—can you at least tell me if jake is—"
silence.
he kept driving.
great.
you sat back, heart still racing. the lights of the city blurred past the windows. you couldn't even track the direction—you were too jittery to focus. every turn felt like it took you farther from safety.
and god, the silence was suffocating.
you hated it. you hated him.
jake sim and his smug face and his legal threats and the fact that this whole thing was so humiliating.
how the hell did he turn it around on you? curse those people who leaked you.
you were supposed to have the power. the upper hand. you were the one who had thousands of people laughing at his expense. you were the one whose posts got quoted like bible verses on stan twitter.
and now?
now you were alone, in his car, being driven to god knows where because he told you to.
you should've never fucking posted about his dick. you should've stayed anonymous. kept your mouth shut. deleted the pacifier post when it hit 10k notes.
the car slowed. you peeked out the window. it wasn't some mansion, like you feared.
wasn't a dungeon either—at least you think so.
it was a private-looking building—modern, sleek, tucked down a quiet alley with a gated entrance. definitely expensive. definitely secluded.
you were dropped off at the curb. the driver didn't say anything—just nodded toward the front door.
you stepped out slowly, phone gripped tight in your hand, ready to fake an emergency call or scream if necessary.
a man, different from the driver, opened the front door. another silent guy in all black gestured for you to follow.
you hesitated, then followed him down a short hallway, up a narrow flight of stairs, until you reached a door with a single number carved into it: 17.
he knocked once, then opened it.
you stepped in—and stopped.
jake was inside.
he was leaning casually against a wall, dressed in all black—hoodie, chain, jeans, hair tousled, like he hadn't even tried and still looked like a good.
he was scrolling on his phone when you entered, then looked up.
and grinned, "hey." he stops, letting his gaze travel down your trembling form, "glad you could make it, hate blogger."
you wanted to punch him. you wanted to turn around and leave. but most of all—you wanted to know what the hell came next.
and by the look on his face?
he was very ready to show you.
room 17 is quiet. too quiet.
you stand near the door, gripping the strap of your bag like it's your last line of defense. jake hasn't moved from his place against the wall, but his eyes haven't left you for a second. he looks too calm. like this is just some casual meetup and not the most batshit confrontation of your entire life.
"you still haven't told me why i'm here," you say finally, voice tight, trying to sound unbothered even though your throat is dry.
he doesn't answer right away. he just studies you, eyes flicking from your clenched fists to your shifting posture to the tiny, almost-invisible tremble in your knees.
then he lets out a soft little chuckle, the kind that feels mean. smug and quiet and condescending.
"you really don't know?" he asks, stepping away from the wall at last. his strides are slow, deliberate, like he knows you won't run—but that you should.
you take a step back automatically, bumping into the door behind you.
"if this is about suing me," you mutter, chin lifting defensively, "you could've just emailed your legal team. this whole drama king act—" "i'm not suing you." he cuts you off, voice calm but sharp. he walks past you and locks the door with a soft click. your stomach flips.
"then what the hell is this?" he turns back to you, expression unreadable, "this is about correction."
you blink, "what?"
"you posted things that were... inaccurate."
he steps closer. you press yourself further into the door. "about me. my body. my performance. my preferences." another step. you swear you stop breathing, "so now i'm giving you a chance to see the truth."
you stare up at him, wide-eyed, "you're joking."
"does it look like i'm joking?" he murmurs.
you're momentarily speechless. your brain is whirring, trying to process what's happening. jake sim—international idol, global heartthrob, the man you've memed within an inch of his digital life—has dragged you to a private room to debunk his dick size?
you should laugh, but you can't.
because he's standing too close. because he's looking at you like prey. because his voice is dipped in amusement but his eyes are furious.
"you're out of your mind," you whisper, eyes wide and your jaw slacked.
he shrugs, "maybe."
his hand lifts, knuckles brushing your chin—just enough to make your breath catch.
"but you made this personal. you dragged it out. you turned it into a running gag." he leans down slightly, until your noses are nearly brushing. "and now you're gonna watch what happens when you say shit you can't back up."
your throat works around a swallow. your persona starts to crack.
still—you can't not be a brat.
"so what, you're gonna just pull your dick out like some frat boy in a scandal?" you snort. "you're so mad over a joke, you're—"
"baby," his voice cuts you off again, soft but dangerous.
"a joke is calling me clingy or annoying. a joke is editing me into a pink onesie." he steps even closer, "but accusing me of being a submissive pillow princess with a dick that couldn't break a hymen?" he tilts his head, mocking, "that's slander."
you flush. deeply, "you saw that post?"
"i've seen every post," he says coolly. "and the reblogs. and the tags. and the memes."
you suddenly feel so small. not because he's taller—though he is—but because you'd spent months building this image of jake sim as a joke. a punchline. a target.
and now he's right here. and he's pissed.
"you're really that bothered?" you ask, but your voice is quieter now, unsure. "bothered?" he repeats, almost scoffing. "sweetheart, i was obsessed." his hand lifts again, brushes your hair away from your face, fingers dragging a little too slow behind your ear.
"you don't understand what it's like to be degraded by someone who's too cowardly to even show their face." he pauses, his eyes dropping to your lips, "but i'll show you."
you swallow hard. "so what?" you ask, trying not to waver. "you want me to apologize? to... take it all back? post a formal retraction about your dick?"
he grins. slow and sharp, "nah."
"i want you to see it," he pauses, lets the words sink in. "and then i want to see the look on your face when you realize you were dead fucking wrong."
your mouth opens. no sound comes out. your heart is pounding so fast you think you might throw up. because there's teasing and there's joking and there's flirting with danger—but this?
this is crossing the line, and you don't know if you want him to stop.
you laugh, it comes out breathy and nervous and completely unconvincing. "okay," you say, holding your hands up a little, trying to cut the tension with sarcasm, "haha, very funny. you got me. you've officially scared the shit out of me, and if that was your goal, congratulations."
jake just stands there. watching you. expression unreadable, unreadable and dark. you shift on your feet, trying to find a way out of this, trying to reclaim some sense of control.
"look," you continue, "i'll take everything down, okay? every post. every meme. every stupid out-of-pocket caption." you swallow. "i'll issue an apology. hell, i'll write a thread. a whole google doc. whatever you want."
you inch away from the door, toward the side of the room, trying to put some space between you.
"i crossed a line. i get that now." you laugh again, weaker this time. "like—clearly."
jake still doesn't speak, he starts walking.
slow. silent. like a cat with its prey cornered.
your back hits the wall.
"i'll stop posting about you," you rush out, your heart beating frantically when you feel jake's breath fan against your cheek. "seriously. no more degrading content. no more jokes. you win, okay?" his palm hits the wall beside your head with a sharp thud.
you freeze.
he leans in.
"i don't want a fucking apology," he murmurs, voice thick and low, the sound of it making your legs weaken. you try to hold his gaze, but it's hard when he's this close. when you can smell his cologne—clean and warm, like cedar and skin. when you can see the heat in his eyes, the tension in his jaw.
"i want you to look at me," he says, "and admit you were wrong."
"i just did—" "no." his other hand comes up, fingers ghosting your chin, tilting it up.
"not because you're scared. not because you think i'm gonna sue your ass. i want you to say it because you know."
you suck in a breath as his fingers graze your throat. not squeezing. not threatening. but claiming, staking a presence.
"you think i'm some submissive little pushover," he whispers, "who just lays there and takes it. soft. boring. harmless."
your heart pounds in your chest so loud you swear it echoes. "you think you own the narrative. that you get to decide who i am, what i'm like in bed, how big my fucking dick is."
you flinch at the way he says it, so vulgar and harsh it shoots straight to your core.
"but the second i show up—" his thumb brushes your bottom lip. "you're quiet. nervous. twitchy. like you already know you were talking out of your ass."
you suck in a shaky breath and try to bite back the heat that's crawling up your neck. "you're insane," you whisper, but there's no bite behind it.
his body is so close now, you can feel the heat radiating off him. he hasn't even touched you properly and you already feel like your knees are going to give.
"what do you want from me?" you ask, voice barely holding together. he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"i want to fuck the lies out of your mouth."
his voice is so low, it vibrates down your spine.
"i want you to choke on everything you said about me and realize i was never the one being dominated."
you let out a small, shaky sound—and that's when he finally kisses you.
not soft.
not slow.
possessive. like he's claiming what he's owed.
like he's trying to shove every insult back down your throat, one filthy kiss at a time.
your mind blanks the second his mouth claims yours. his tongue pushes past your lips without hesitation, his hand gripping your jaw to keep you right where he wants you, and you feel it deep—too deep. like he's trying to crawl inside your ribcage and brand himself there.
his kiss isn't gentle. it's punishment.
all teeth and tongue, your back shoved harder into the wall as he presses against you. his body completely, deliberately dominating yours.
"still think i'm soft?" he growls against your lips when he pulls back, breath ragged, thumb digging into the underside of your chin to keep you looking at him.
you don't answer. you can't.
your mouth is open, panting, lips wet and swollen from how violently he just kissed you. your knees barely hold.
his gaze drops to your mouth. then lower, and lower.
he smirks.
"you look scared," he says, tilting his head slightly. "thought you liked writing filthy shit about me. what happened to all that confidence?"
you swallow hard, still in absolute disbelief, "you're—you're actually insane."
"and you're actually still turned on." his hand drops to your hip, gripping hard, pulling you flush against him—and fuck. he's hard. painfully hard. pressing right against your lower stomach. and he knows you feel it.
your eyes widen. you try to squirm away but there's nowhere to go, your back hits the wall again and his thigh wedges between your legs.
"not so micro now, is it?" he breathes against your neck. you let out a broken sound—half gasp, half groan—and that's when jake loses it.
he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, other hand sliding beneath your shirt, grazing skin and pulling a shocked noise out of you. he doesn't give you room to breathe.
"say it," he growls. "say you were wrong."
you shake your head. still stubborn. still you.
"no?" he scoffs. "fine." his thigh presses harder between your legs, rocking up once. your clit throbbed pathetically at the feeling, it was just enough friction to make your eyes roll back. you try to keep your composure, but he watches your face change—watches your pride falter.
"don't lie to me, baby." his voice drops lower—hungrier. "you're dripping. over the same guy you dragged for months."
you gasp, trying to turn your face away from him, but he leans in again, his nose brushing your cheek.
"you gonna blog about this too?" he whispers. "tell your little followers how jake sim manhandled you and made you eat your words with his cock halfway down your throat?"
you whimper and it disgusts you how fast your body betrays you. how wet you already are. how much you want him to ruin you just to prove you were wrong.
and he can tell.
he sees the shift in your expression. how your resistance is slowly, deliciously, falling apart.
your wrists are still pinned, your breathing uneven, chest rising and falling fast as jake leans in like he owns the air around you.
"i'm done hearing you talk," he mutters, dragging his mouth along your jaw. "i think it's time you showed me just how sorry you really are."
he releases your hands and steps back. you don't move. your legs are trembling, your pride hanging on by a thread.
"on your knees," he says simply.
you scoff, arms folding defensively across your chest, "you can't be serious—"
he tilts his head, "i'm not asking again."
there's no loud threat. no yelling. just the terrifying calm of someone who already knows he's won. you hold your ground—barely. but something about the way he looks down at you, already palming the bulge in his jeans, makes your body respond before your mind does.
you sink, slowly. knees hitting the floor like it's a confession. he watches you with quiet satisfaction, like he's waited for this exact moment.
he had been dreaming about the moment he would get you to himself, on your knees—right where he wanted you.
"look at me," he says, and you do—eyes meeting his as he unzips, the sound ridiculously loud in the silence.
he's already thick in his hand when he pulls it out, and your mouth goes dry. you don't want to admit it, but fuck. it's big. way bigger than you ever gave him credit for. your throat tightens at the sheer weight of it, thick and flushed and veined.
his smirk deepens when he sees the way your eyes drop.
"what was that again?" he mocks, giving himself a slow stroke. "micro?"
you glare up at him, heat crawling up your neck. "i was clearly misinformed."
"say it properly."
you hesitate, his free hand tangles in your hair—firm, but not painful. just enough to tilt your face up toward him.
"say. it."
you grit your teeth, "i was wrong."
"about what?"
you groan. "about your dick. okay? you don't have a micro dick."
he raises an eyebrow, "that all?"
"it's big," you mutter, cheeks burning. "you made your point." he laughs—low and satisfied—and guides your face closer, "not yet."
you gasp when you feel his tip touch your cheek, he grins at your expression—feeling satisfied with your shock. he does a few experimental taps, dragging his length over your lips. you hold in a whine when he smears his pre cum over your bottom lip, almost as if he was applying lipgloss on you.
and then he pushes in.
there's no easing into it—he gives you the thick weight of his cock all at once, making you choke. your hands scrambling to grip his thighs as he holds you there, watching with dark, satisfied eyes.
"look at that," he murmurs. "mouth so full of me you can't even talk shit now." you gag again, but his grip stays steady, fingers flexing against the back of your head as he rocks his hips in slow, controlled thrusts. just enough to make you feel how deep he is and prove how wrong you were.
he could feel how warm your mouth was around him, basking in the feeling of not only pleasure but the satisfaction of shutting you up.
"this what you wanted?" he groans. "to see what i've been hiding in those pants you loved to degrade?"
you can't respond. not when he's using your mouth like a cock sleeve, fucking every insult out of you with a punishing rhythm. spit drips from out of your mouth and onto your chin. tears prick at your eyes and yet—somewhere deep in your gut—you like it.
jake's grip on your hair gets stronger, the pain causing your jaw to slack as you continue to take his brutal pace. you could feel the head of his cock rub against the back of your throat, the force not strong enough to make you gag but enough to cause a stream of tears to run down your face.
your nose touched his pelvis with every thrust, indicating how deep he was going. "fuck. look at you, __. who knew cock being in your mouth is the only way to shut you up."
you whine at his words, looking up at him with pleading eyes—yet you didn't know what exacting you were begging for. you rub your thighs together in hopes for some temporary relief, the scene so lewd that you could feel yourself gush in your panties—holding in the urge to let your hands wander down to touch yourself.
jake looked down at you with hungry eyes, his lip twitching as his grip in your hair grew tighter with each thrust. he let low moans slip from his mouth every time his dick grazed the back of your throat.
"aren't you a dirty little whore.." jake drawls out, his chest heaving with pleasure when he notices how tightly you have your thighs clenched. "getting all worked up for someone you've publicly shat on for having the least sex appeal."
you moaned around him when suddenly he pushed your thighs apart with his foot, wedging his sneaker between your legs—giving you something to ease up the tension in your core.
you mewl when he pushed against your clit, almost urging you to grind down against him while he used your mouth to his hearts content. slowly, but surely—you allowed yourself to ground yourself against him. it sickened you how desperate you had become in just a span of a few minutes.
jake almost cums when he sees you move your hips, desperate for any kind of friction to relieve you from your throbbing clit.
the familiar feeling in his stomach begins to tighten, his grip on you becoming unforgiving as he loses self control and allows himself to push himself into your mouth as much as he could. his tip hits the back of your throat repeatedly now, a mixture of his cum and your spit dribbling out of your mouth.
"f-fuck," he groans. "m'gonna cum.. you're gonna take it? yeah? take it in that bratty mouth, hm?" jake murmurs to what seems himself just before he combusts in your mouth. you swallowed a chocked moan when you feel his warm cum coat your mouth, gagging around him as he twitches.
jake felt as if he was on cloud 9, his head lulling to the side as he keeps your head planted where it is—ensuring that you swallow what he gave you fully.
when he finally pulls back, cock glistening with your spit and his cum, your jaw aches as you swallow the salty yet sweet taste of his release. your chest heaving like you've just survived something.
"mouth open and tongue out," he demands. you hesitantly open your mouth, your tongue out as you show him that you swallowed everything.
you whine out desperately when he slides his foot away, leaving you aching again. jake tsk's, "desperate slut."
he crouches down to your level, thumb wiping the corner of your mouth.
"still think i'm a pillow princess?" his voice is a little breathless now. dark and smug. "or you finally ready to admit you don't know shit about me?"
your throat still burns. your lips are swollen, coated in spit and shame, and jake's leaning over you like he's just getting started.
"on your feet."
you hesitate, still panting, still dazed from the way he fucked your mouth like it was owed to him. but something in his voice—firm, expectant—makes you move. your knees tremble as you rise.
jake doesn't give you time to adjust. the second you're upright, he steps in close, hands on your waist, guiding you backward until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.
you're pressed back against the mattress, thighs parted under his hands, still catching your breath from how rough he'd just been with your mouth. but instead of backing down, you do what you do best—deflect.
"look—how about this," you say, voice shaking but holding onto some scrap of cocky defiance. "i'll just say the blog was satire. irony. you know, performance art or something. no one has to know i meant any of it."
jake's expression doesn't change.
"or better yet—i'll make a new post trashing someone else. redirect the attention. easy."
you flash a grin that's all teeth. "maybe i'll even throw in a little praise for you. balance it out."
he just blinks at you. slowly.
"you think you're negotiating right now?"
his voice is calm, but the grip on your thighs tightens.
you blink. "i mean, i'm trying to be reasonable—"
"reasonable?" he laughs, but there's no humor in it. "you publicly dragged me for weeks. humiliated me. and now that you're caught, you want to rewrite the narrative?"
"i'm offering solutions—" "you're offering bullshit," he snaps, and in a second he's climbing over you, his body slotting between your legs like it was made to be there. "and you think you still have leverage? cute."
your breath hitches. your hands push at his chest, but he grabs your wrists and pins them down again, harder this time—your body arching into him involuntarily.
"here's what's really gonna happen," he says, leaning in, nose brushing yours. "you're gonna try to flip this. act like you're still in control. try to turn the tables on me."
your throat tightens.
"but you won't. because the second you try, i'll remind you who made you beg. who had you gagging on the dick you said didn't exist."
his voice drops lower, dangerous. "and then i'll ruin you all over again."
you glare up at him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and defiance."you know what? fine." your voice is sharp, shaky. "you wanna play games? i'll play. let's see how fast you fold when i turn this around."
he raises an eyebrow. "is that right?" you reach down between your bodies—slow, deliberate—wrapping your hand around him. he's still hard. unfairly so. hot and heavy in your palm.
"maybe i was wrong about the size," you murmur, stroking him slow, his breath hitching. "but maybe you really are just a pillow princess. maybe you like being praised more than you like fucking."
his jaw ticks.
you press a kiss to his neck, voice a taunt against his skin. "what happens if i ride you instead? if i make you cum all over yourself."
he freezes.
"what if i write about that next?" you sit up dragging your tongue along the edge of his jaw. "'jake sim—big dick, zero stamina.' think the internet'll love that?"
you think you've got him.
until suddenly—he flips you.
you yelp, back hitting the mattress again as he rips your hand away from his cock and shoves your thighs up around his waist. the shift is fast, dominant, practiced.
"you really thought that'd work?" he's laughing now—mean, breathless, hungry. "thought you'd rile me up and get the upper hand? you forget who tracked you down and got you here in this room." his voice is pure venom now, thick with want. "who had you gagging and drooling on your knees while you fucked yourself on my shoes not even 5 minutes ago?"
his hands expertly yank off your jeans, his thumb hooked around the waistband of your baby pink cotton panties—teasing you. you writhe beneath him, but he doesn't budge—he presses into you, cock sliding between your clothed folds just to tease, just to show you what you don't get to control.
"you wanna test stamina?" he growls. "i'll fuck you 'til that smug little attitude disappears. 'til you're begging me to stop. 'til you're crying and calling me daddy."
you gasp—rage, arousal, panic blending in your gut—but you can't deny the throb between your legs. the way your body betrays your pride.
he feels it too.
his free hand runs up your sweater, your breath shaking as you feel him run his fingers up your stomach and make themselves comfortable on your tits. letting your hands go momentarily, he's yanking your sweater off and throwing it across the room.
"didn't know bratty girls like you wore baby pink. ruffles, lace trim—bows?" he grins, his hands playing with the frills of your bra as you twitch beneath him.
"fuck you," you spat out, voice coming out weaker than you wanted it to. jake only smirks, his hand reaching up to pull the straps of your bra down—letting your tits fall out. "oh i will," and with that he's taking one of your nipples hostage in his mouth. his grip on your wrists stays planted, not allowing you to move or struggle against him when he nips at the sensitive skin of your breasts.
he switches from left to right for a few minutes, basking in your whimpers and mewls before he kisses down your stomach. pulling away he's back to being face to face with you, a smug look on his face before he plants a kiss to your jaw. the kiss turns into bites, nipping at your neck and chest as he leaves behind purple splotches.
"maybe you can post the marks i left and then bash me," jake grins against your skin. you roll your eyes in response only for jake to shoot you a look that says: behave.
he moves your underwear to the side, exposing your cunt to his hungry eyes. he runs his thumb through your slit, gathering your slick.
"so wet," he mutters, dragging the head of his cock against your slit. "guess your body knows who's in charge, even if your mouth doesn't." he slams into you—deep, all at once—and you scream.
no teasing now. no easing in. no prepping.
just punishment. just proof. just him, ruining you from the inside out like it's the only way to shut you up.
"gonna make you forget every insult," he grits, hips snapping into yours over and over. "gonna fuck the hate right outta you."
he could feel your velvet walls convulse, sucking him in like a vacuum as he thrusts into you. you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders, back arching, mind blurring. you hate how good it feels. how right.
"gonna ruin you," he whispers, lips at your neck. "and you're gonna thank me for it." his mouth traveling down to your tit to engulf one of your nipples once again.
your body jolts with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping and moans filling the room as you struggle to adjust to his girth.
you're still trembling when jake lifts your chin. his touch is deceptively gentle, but there's nothing soft in his expression. smug. commanding. dangerously patient.
"you still think you were right?" he asks lowly, voice scraping down your spine like velvet over steel. you blink up at him, lips parted, but your throat is dry. no sass now. not with the way your body's still recovering, knees weak, throat raw from every choked sound he pulled from you.
when you don't respond jake stops his movement, his hips go still as he simply stares down at you with a dark look in his eyes.
you were falling apart.
his cock was deep inside you, filling you so completely you couldn't even think straight—
but jake wasn't moving. he just held you there, pinned beneath him, wrists trapped against the mattress, his hips grinding slow and mean against yours.
you whimpered, hips twitching up against him helplessly, desperate for more. he smirked down at you, cruel and smug, loving the way your body shook, the way your face twisted in frustration.
"what's wrong?" he murmured mockingly, leaning in so close his lips brushed your ear.
"thought you'd be tougher than this."
you rationed with yourself for a moment, were you really going to beg? yes.
you tried to twist your wrists free but his grip only tightened. "please," you gasped out, tears welling in your eyes from how badly you needed to cum. "please, jake, i need it—"
he laughed, low and sharp, and snapped his hips forward once—deep and brutal—making you cry out. but then he stilled again, ignoring your desperate whines.
"you need it?" he repeated, pretending to think. "need my cock? need me to make you cum like the stupid little whore you are?"
your cheeks burned, shame rolling through you, but you nodded frantically.
"say it," he ordered, voice dropping, rough. you squeezed your eyes shut, humiliated, but the words still poured out.
"i need your cock," you sobbed. "please jake, please—i'll do anything, i'll be good, just let me cum—"
he laughed again, so fucking satisfied with himself.
"should've thought about being good before you started running your mouth online," he muttered, dragging his cock slow and deep inside you, making you arch and cry out.
you were shaking now—your whole body burning, every nerve stretched tight and ready to snap.
"you want it that bad?" he asked casually, grinding his hips just enough to make you sob.
"yes," you choked out. "please, jake—please, i need to cum, i can't—"
he grinned wickedly and finally, finally started fucking into you hard—deep, punishing thrusts that made you see stars. your walls clung onto how dick like a suction in attempt to milk him dry.
your moans spilled out loud and wrecked, your whole body bowing off the bed.
"good girl," he murmured darkly, "you're gonna cum when i say. not a second before." you nodded frantically, not trusting yourself to speak without crying. and when he finally, finally leaned down and growled, "cum for me, slut,"
you shattered.
you came so hard you were sobbing, spasming around him, your body giving out completely under his.
jake fucked you through it, laughing under his breath, dragging every last bit of pleasure and humiliation out of you until you were left shaking and gasping for air.
and even then, he wasn't done with you yet. he hadn't cum yet, and at the end of the day that's what you were here for—to be his little cum slut. you barely had time to breathe—your body still spasming from the orgasm he tore out of you
before jake grabbed your hips and pulled you back down onto him, grinding even deeper.
you yelped, broken noises spilling out of your mouth, trying to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.
"no," he snapped, voice sharp and final, one hand locking tight around your waist to keep you from moving. "you don't get to run."
your head lolled back, tears slipping down your cheeks, your body a twitching mess.
"too much," you sobbed, trembling violently.
he laughed—laughed—at your misery.
"too bad," he muttered against your ear. "you're not done." he set a brutal rhythm, fucking into you hard, fast, merciless. your thighs shook, your nails dug into the sheets, your mouth fell open in helpless, gasping cries. you could feel yourself spiraling again—pain and pleasure tangled together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
"you think you're in control?" he grunted, slamming into you harder, making you scream.
"you think you can say whatever you want about me and not pay for it?"
your whole body jolted with every thrust, the humiliation making your head spin.
"say it," he growled. "say you were wrong."
you whimpered, stubborn even now, biting down hard on your lip. he slowed down, grinding his cock against your sensitive walls in deep, deliberate circles that made you keen helplessly.
"say it," he repeated, cruel and low, "or i'll edge you until you're fucking crying."
your pride crumbled fast.
"i was wrong," you gasped out, voice cracking. he smirked, hips snapping forward again.
"about what?"
you squeezed your eyes shut, shame flooding you.
"about—about your dick," you choked out. "i lied, you're big—you're fucking huge—"
he chuckled darkly, like he already knew. "good girl," he breathed, voice dripping with mockery. "what else?"
you shook your head frantically, body jerking with overstimulation. he pulled almost all the way out—your cunt squeezing around nothing—
before slamming back in so brutally you cried out.
"what else?" he hissed against your throat.
"i—i'm just a stupid bitch who doesn't know what she's talking about," you sobbed, face burning hot.
he laughed again, so fucking satisfied, so cruel.
"that's right," he murmured. "a stupid little whore who can't stop begging for the cock she said was too small."
you whimpered, broken, humiliated beyond repair. and still—your body clung to him, desperate for more. you realized with a sick twist in your gut that you would do anything—say anything—just to have him fuck you harder.
and jake knew it too.
he leaned down close, mouth brushing yours cruelly.
"beg," he whispered. "beg me to ruin you."
you could barely think. your body was burning, trembling, stretched tight around him—
your mind a broken mess of shame and need. and still jake kept fucking you deep, rough, relentless.
his hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, your throat, your jaw—manhandling you like you were nothing more than a toy for him to use.
you whimpered when he grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him.
"beg," he ordered again, voice dark, breathless with lust. "beg me to ruin you, slut."
you shook your head at first, a broken little sob tearing from your throat. he growled low, slammed into you even harder—your back arching, a scream ripping from your lips.
"you don't get to say no," he hissed. "you wanted this." tears streamed down your cheeks, your body trembling violently.
"please," you gasped out, the word slipping before you could even think. "please jake..ruin me, use me. fuck me however you want—"
he laughed, so fucking smug, dragging his cock out slow just to make you whine. "good fucking girl," he murmured. "finally learning your place."
you babbled desperate nonsense, sobbing into the sheets, your pride shattered into dust.and jake fucked you through it all—using you like a fleshlight, pounding into you until your legs gave out, until your voice was wrecked and broken.
"this what you wanted, huh?" he sneered, slapping your ass hard enough to leave a sting.
"to get fucked dumb? to get put in your place like the stupid little whore you are?"
you nodded frantically, gasping, sobbing, brain completely mush. "can't even speak anymore," he muttered, mocking. "just a cockdrunk mess." your nails clawed helplessly at the sheets, your cunt squeezing him so tight he groaned.
you felt another orgasm building—sharp, unbearable—but you were too gone to even ask permission. you just sobbed and gasped and let him take everything from you.
"yeah, that's right," he growled, voice thick with pleasure. "cum all over my cock, slut. make a fucking mess."
you shattered, your whole body convulsing around him, screaming his name like a prayer, a curse, a broken confession. and jake fucked you through it, dragging every last bit of your pride and resistance out of you, until there was nothing left but a crying, ruined mess on his cock.
you were shaking. your body was limp, wrecked, trembling under the weight of everything he made you feel.
and jake still wasn't satisfied.
he kept moving, grinding his cock deep inside your overstimulated cunt—mocking every broken sob that fell from your lips.
"what's wrong?" he said, voice dripping with fake sweetness. "too much?"
you could only whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. he grabbed your face again, rough, forcing your glassy eyes to meet his.
"you wanted to run your mouth so bad," he sneered. "now you can fucking thank me." your brain barely processed the words, too fogged with shame and pleasure. he slapped your cheek lightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back.
"say it," he barked. "say thank you."
you whimpered, tears spilling down your cheeks.
"th-thank you," you stammered, voice barely a whisper.
he smirked, cruel and satisfied.
"louder," he ordered, snapping his hips forward viciously, making you cry out. "thank you!" you sobbed, your voice hoarse and broken.
he chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down your throat, pressing lightly just enough to make your head spin.
"thank me for ruining you," he muttered, rolling his hips slow and deep, dragging another helpless moan from your lips.
your pride was turned into ash, your mind gone.
"thank you for ruining me," you gasped out, shaking uncontrollably, completely destroyed. he groaned, clearly getting off on how ruined you were—your body slack, twitching, drooling, your cunt spasming weakly around him.
"pathetic," he muttered against your ear. "look at you." you could feel how wet and messy everything was—your thighs sticky, the sheets underneath you soaked.
and still—still—he wasn't finished.
"gonna fill you up," he rasped, voice rough with the effort of holding back. "gonna fuck you so full you'll be leaking for days."
you sobbed, the humiliation sinking deeper into your bones.
"please," you whispered, because you didn't know what else to say anymore. he grunted low in his chest, thrusting faster, chasing his release. he could feel that familiar tinge in his stomach, he was close.
"such a good little cumdump," he growled. "just a hole for me to use." you broke again, another weak orgasm rolling through your abused body.
and jake finally spilled inside you—deep, hot, filling you up exactly like he promised.
he didn't pull out immediately. he stayed pressed deep, making sure you felt every drop. when he finally did pull out, you collapsed completely, a ruined, twitching, crying mess.
and jake just chuckled, so fucking smug. running his fingers down your slit before plugging your fluttering hole, making sure that his cum stays in you for as long as it could.
"maybe next time you'll think twice before running your mouth about me," he said, releasing your wrists before he gets off the bed. he left you there, spread open, dripping, humiliated beyond repair.
and you realized with a sick twist of your gut—
you liked it.
you fucking loved every humiliating second of it.
✎﹏﹏
your body aches.
not in the romantic, soft-lit, post-orgasm kind of way.
no. it's raw. it's degrading. it's embarrassing.
your legs are trembling so badly you have to lean on the sink just to stay upright. your thighs sticky, sore. your throat dry and stretched thin from the pathetic, wrecked sounds he pulled out of you.
you yank your clothes back on as fast as your shaking hands allow, muttering curses under your breath. you can't even look at yourself in the mirror. because you know what you'll see: the ruined, wrecked version of yourself jake created.
and you hate him.
you hate how smug he looks when you finally stumble back into the room—hair mussed, shirt untucked, standing like he didn't just break you open with nothing but his cock and his fucking mouth. you hate how he leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a look that says he's already won.
you hate that he was right.
and you really, really hate that you liked it.
you roll your shoulders back, force yourself to stand straight even if your body is begging you to drop.
"that what you wanted?" you rasp out, voice wrecked and scratchy. "you win. congrats. want a trophy or something?"
jake doesn't say a word. he just watches.
calm. amused. smug.
and it pisses you off. burns you alive from the inside.
"you got what you wanted. you ruined my pride," you snarl, stepping closer even though your knees are ready to give. "so what now? supposed to kneel and thank you? beg you to keep ruining me?"
he cocks his head slightly, lips twitching.
you hate how unbothered he looks. you hate it so much it makes you reckless.
"you don't actually believe i meant all that, right?" you spit. "you really think i meant it when i said you're big? when i cried about how good you fucked me?"
you scoff, shaking your head with a cold, sharp laugh.
"you're pathetic. you got played because i moaned a little."
and that's when everything shifts.
because jake steps forward—smooth, controlled—grabbing your jaw so hard you gasp, slamming your back against the wall without even looking like he's trying. his face is inches from yours, breath warm, eyes dark and furious.
"still lying?" he murmurs.
your heart pounds wildly. you try to twist away but his grip on your jaw tightens, bruising.
"you begged for my cock," he hisses, thumb dragging across your trembling bottom lip.
"you fucking cried for it. and you're gonna stand there and lie to my face?"
you choke on your words, humiliation pouring down your spine in cold waves.
he laughs bitterly, the sound vibrating low in his chest. "guess you really are as dumb as you look."
you flinch.
and jake leans in closer, voice dropping lower, meaner. "you wanna pretend you're still in control?" he taunts, dragging his fingers down your throat slow, almost tender. "you wanna act like you didn't cum so fucking hard you couldn't even say my name?"
you tremble.
but you don't back down—not yet. pride and fear tangled up, keeping you frozen.
he chuckles darkly.
"fine," he says, voice a low threat. "i'll remind you."
his hand snakes between your thighs, shoving your jeans down again, your underwear dragging with it, baring you completely in seconds. you gasp, struggling—but he's too strong, too fast.
he grabs you by the hips, throws you onto the bed like you're weightless.
and then he's on you.
he presses your wrists to the mattress with one hand again, his weight pinning you down, his other hand roughly forcing your legs apart.
you barely have time to gasp before he's inside you again—deep, brutal, fucking the defiance out of you one savage thrust at a time.
you cry out, throat raw. he fucks you like he's furious, every slam of his hips meant to punish.
"not so fucking smug now, huh?" he pants against your ear.
you whimper, broken sounds spilling out without permission.
"what happened to all that fake confidence, princess?" he mocks, rolling his hips harder, forcing your body to take every inch. "thought you said you could handle it."
you sob, writhing under him, but he doesn't let up. he leans down, dragging his teeth across your jaw, making you shudder helplessly.
"gonna make you beg again," he growls. "gonna make you say it like you fucking mean it."
you try to shake your head—but you're drowning.
he's everywhere. he's everything. and no matter how much you try to cling to your pride, it crumbles between your shaking hands.
you're crying now—humiliated tears streaking down your flushed face—as he pounds into you mercilessly.
"please," you choke out, voice cracking.
he chuckles, cruel and satisfied.
"please what, baby?" he taunts, slowing his thrusts to a deep, punishing grind that makes your whole body twitch and seize.
"please," you sob again, shame burning you alive.
"please let me cum."
he leans back slightly to look at you—hair a mess, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.
"you don't deserve to cum," he says, voice mocking. "whores who lie don't get rewards."
you whimper, hips stuttering against his, desperate, broken.
"but," he adds slowly, almost lazily, "if you beg real nice... maybe i'll consider it."
you sob harder, pride shattered into dust.
and then—you beg.
you beg like a good little whore.
"please, jake," you cry, voice wrecked and hoarse. "i need it—i need to cum—please, please—"
he grins, dark and cruel, and finally—finally—lets you fall apart again, your body convulsing, cunt clenching around him helplessly as he fucks you through the brutal, soul-crushing orgasm. and you barely have a second to breathe before he's moving again—pulling out, grabbing your face in both hands, forcing your mouth open.
"open wide," he orders.
you're so wrecked you don't even think to disobey. you just open—lips trembling, eyes wide and glassy.
and jake leans over—spits straight into your mouth, thick and wet and humiliating.
you gag slightly, tears burning your eyes.
"swallow," he commands sharply.
you do.
you obey without even thinking.
and he smirks—grabbing his phone, flipping open the recording he just made of your pathetic begging, letting you hear it on loop while you lie there ruined, body trembling, throat raw.
he tucks his phone into his pocket, grabs your chin again, forcing you to look up at him. "remember this next time you wanna talk shit," he says, voice low and smug.
he kisses you—mocking and possessive—and leaves you there: used, wrecked, humiliated, and so thoroughly owned that you can't even pretend anymore.
jake sim ruined you and there's no taking it back.
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genre .. warnings ↠ smut, noncon, dubcon, abuse, stepcest, misogyny, the patriarchy is deeply embedded within the story, religious themes here and there, dialogues regarding childbirth and pregnancy
summary ↠ in a world where your body belongs more to your future husband than it ever will to you, it makes sense that your brother, by law or by birthright, owns you too. when your father died, you were convinced that was the worst thing that could ever happen to you. you hadn’t met haechan yet.
wc ↠ 30k (my biggest fic ever)
a/n ↠ revehae’s disbandment fic… if it’s not already obvious, my beliefs do not align with the beliefs frequently portrayed in this story. it is not my intention to romantize any abuse or toxic behavior you may read. also, i had to compact some lines to meet the tumblr block limit (about 40 of them), so if some things read weirdly or a block of text seems huge, i apologize. as always, feedback is appreciated!
don’t like it, don’t read.
night had settled and naturally your body had begun to loosen with the need for rest, your eyelids getting heavy.
every now and then, you would hear a cacophony of boisterous laughs from downstairs just moments before you could slip away completely. at the threshold of sleep, but constantly interrupted. with an exasperated sigh, you resigned yourself to watching television for a while, at least until the boys wore themselves out for the night. but every time you had to turn the volume up another notch, you felt your irritation ramping.
deciding you were at your breaking point, you stuffed your feet into your house slippers and marched down the stairs straight into the living room, huffing, “can you guys please be a little quieter? i’ve been trying to sleep for an hour.”
your stepbrother, haechan, and his three partners in crime, jeno, jaemin, and mark, all glanced at you. there was a lull of silence before they each burst into laughter. “my sweet sister,” haechan said, setting his cup on the coffee table and standing up from where he’d been seated with the others. “what did i tell you about making demands?”
you stiffened. you hadn’t meant to come off that way, but could he blame you for being cranky? sue you for wanting to get some sleep. preferably before the night was over with. “i’m not trying to make demands,” you replied, your tone shifting to something gentler. “i was just asking for a favor.”
“we owe you favors?” haechan asked, the question clearly not meant to be answered. you shuddered when his hand met the small of your back. he cocked his head towards the kitchen. “let’s have a chat.”
your feet carried you there on their own accord when your mind failed you.
“now,” haechan started, shaking his head in dissatisfaction, and sucked his teeth. “that little stunt aside, what did i tell you about coming out when my friends are around?”
“not to do it,” you murmured.
“that’s right,” haechan sang, his hands gentle around your body and his own throbbing with warmth, but his touch still made you freeze. “that could have been a phone call and i might have been more inclined to be nice. but you disobeyed me. you’ve been doing that a lot, sweetheart. so now you’re gonna have to learn why it’s important to listen to me.”
your brows furrowed, and you were desperate to know what he meant by that. you knew him well enough to recognize when you were on the verge of being disciplined. your stepbrothers punishments had been unpleasant, at the very least.
haechan grinned at the obvious look of dread on your face and the stiffness in your posture, and called out to the boys. when they entered the kitchen with mischievous smiles on their lips, each more so than the last, he leaned into you and whispered, “each of my friends has had a little too much to drink tonight, and when men drink, well, let’s just say it makes us do things we wouldn’t normally do.”
you knew he wasn’t saying that to give you a reminder of the effects alcohol had on human inhibition; he was telling you to warn you about what was going to happen any moment now. your eyes widened. “haechan, no, please,” you begged, suddenly wide awake. you frantically hid behind him, panicked.
haechan snickered. they all did. “ah, ah, ah,” he sang, grabbing a hold of you and not only pushing you in front of him, but sending you stumbling into the arms of his friends. “you don’t get to hide now when you weren’t supposed to come out in the first fucking place.”
you had never felt so many hands on your body at once. your torso twisted and turned, shrinking into itself in hopes of recoiling away from every touch, but it was a pointless endeavor. “your little sister is so pretty, haechan,” said mark. “she’s so squirmy,” teased jaemin. “look at her trying to get away,” noted jeno. they all laughed.
“please, stop,” you pleaded, your eyes burning with unshed tears. “haechan, please, make them stop!”
haechan shook his head, and as far as you could tell, his eyes had been approving. “sorry,” he apologized without a hint of sincerity. “but you have to learn.”
fingers slithered up your thigh. “where you going, baby?”
there were a set of hands cupping your supple breasts, another groping your ass, and one more slipping underneath the band of your sleep shorts. you couldn’t tell which was which; your mind was trapped in a panic, and they were all the same. “shh,” jaemin crooned, palming your hair almost with tenderness. “we’re just having a little fun. no doubt haechan would throw a fit if we actually tried to depurify his innocent little sister.”
by the end of the night, you realized jaemin had been right. the three of them touched you and mauled you, but haechan didn’t let them do anything more. apparently, he was just teaching you a lesson. not that that had made it any better. haechan had been watching his friends fondle you for minutes on end, doing nothing in spite of your pleas. the moment he finally decided he’d seen enough and told them to release you, you’d sprinted back upstairs and locked yourself in your room like you should have done from the beginning.
your resentment deepened. never had you quite loved this strange family your mother had married into. your stepfather was a tall, stout businessman who was the chief executive of a technology powerhouse, which sounded awe-inducing out loud, but you always found him painfully arrogant and entitled. as the saying goes, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and haechan was no different.
the worst part was that your mother made you serve him. made you fix his dinner when he was hungry, wash his clothes when they were dirty, clean up behind him and his friends. it was infuriating, because he had maids for that purpose, but insisted on having you do it for some peculiar reason. your mother agreed with him; she thought it was important you learned how to take care of a man.
when your father died, you were convinced that was the worst thing that could ever happen to you. you hadn’t met haechan yet.
on a particularly sunny afternoon, you had gotten dressed to go out to the mall with your best friend and made the unfortunate mistake of walking past haechan, who took one look at you and asked, “you’re really going out wearing that?”
“what’s wrong with it?” you asked in annoyance, glancing down at your outfit. “it’s modest.”
haechan retorted in a heartbeat, “yeah, modest and outdated as shit. you look like your name is velma.” he stood up and grabbed a hold of you, which you didn’t take kindly to, all things considered. “let’s go to your room. i’m not letting you go outside like this. it reflects poorly on the family image.”
you stifled a sigh, knowing better than to protest against him.
“take that shit off,” haechan commanded once you entered your bedroom.
you begrudgingly obeyed him, shedding the long dress with black buttons that formed a line on the front. it was a little dated, perhaps, but you dressed that way to honor your deceased grandmother. your father had liked it. he said it kept alive his mother’s memory.
haechan had been going through your closet in pursuit of something that suited his taste, so when he finally did turn around and see you half naked, he paused. “you look better that way,” he said after a moment.
you were affronted, and your body tensed in remembrance of what had happened the last time you felt so vulnerable.
“relax,” haechan teased, shoving a bright yellow sundress decorated with white daffodils into your arms. “put this on.”
the moment you donned the dress, you swore haechan almost looked happy to see you for the first time. his eyes took in the sight of you and it gave you the feeling of something unstill in the very pit of your stomach, even though in the moment he had silently looked at you, your body had seldom moved.
haechan was pleased. “so you do own something that’s not entirely unwearable. you know, they say fine feathers make fine birds.”
it took everything in you not to roll your eyes. “can i go now?”
“patience, miss mary mack,” haechan chastised playfully, grabbing a hat and purse from your closet, also yellow in color. “here. wear this.” with that, haechan turned and walked out of your room. apparently, that was all the consultation he had to offer.
when you were finally at the mall with your best friend chaewon, you couldn’t help but notice something unusual; there were too many eyes on you. you were used to being paid attention to in certain settings, usually in occasions related to your stepfather’s job where everyone recognized you as an attachment to him. his young, beautiful, unmarried stepdaughter.
this was different. not many people knew you, and yet for whatever reason, you could feel stares from numerous directions. most of the time when you went out with chaewon, they were only looking at her. you could count on both hands, if not more, the amount of times you’d been offered things for free just because a stranger felt moved by her beauty.
but as you stood in the middle of a jewelry store, chaewon was unbothered, your eyes darting over a bunch of luxury watches that were on display. “ooh, i think jaehyun would like this,” she whispered, pointing to a particular silver one. “wanna get something for haechan?”
“not really,” you murmured. “i don’t really know what he likes.” his personality made you think he would prefer something more flashy like gold, but as you pondered his style, your eyes raked over a watch with a brown leather band.
“he’s so cute, though,” chaewon swooned with a smile, sighing dreamily. “jaehyun said that he doesn’t want me to marry him, but it’s ultimately up to my dad. you should put in a good word for me.”
you frowned for a split second. you had always thought that you would marry whoever your dad selected for you, but now that he was dead, that choice was in the stone cold hands of your stepfather and stepbrother. you made an attempt at humor to cloak your grief. “don’t you have enough suitors already?” you teased.
“well, yeah,” chaewon admitted, despite not sounding deterred. “but imagine how much less my parents would argue if they’d just married someone they actually liked. that’s why we can’t have sleepovers at my house. always fussing.”
she briefly paused, her attention stolen by another watch she thought her brother would find fitting as a gift, and pulled out her phone to take a picture. a thought struck her as her fingers moved. “ooh, plus we would be sisters-in-law!”
you nodded along as she rambled, but you couldn’t understand why she would want to wed haechan of all the men who would love to have her hand in marriage. it made no sense to you; he was unbearable and treated you cruelly. she would never know that, though. whenever chaewon came to your house for sleepovers, haechan was always on his best behavior.
you thought about it a little harder. haechan was the type of man that looked perfect in pictures and on paper. there was no doubt that he was a handsome young man, and sometimes he was admittedly even funny, but as long as you had shared a house with him, you had been increasingly more miserable.
though there was no way in hell you could tell chaewon that, not when it was your responsibility to ensure everyone kept your family in high regards, so you forced a smile and told her cheerfully, “i’ll ask him what he thinks about it.”
chaewon embraced you in a tight hug. “you’re the best.”
“no, chaewon,” you murmured faintly. “you are.”
if you had to give haechan credit for one thing, however, it would have to be the outfit he’d dressed you in. despite being often told you were beautiful, you were particularly lacking in suitors, which was concerning now that you were in your twenties.
these are the years for betrothal, your mother had said the day of your twentieth birthday, and when you closed your eyes to blow out the burning candle, you hoped for all the admirers your father had once vowed you would have, remembering the times he’d spun you in his arms and likened you to a princess with a million knights to defend her honor.
all you had ever wanted was to make your father proud, even if it meant settling with a man that was less like a fairytale, although in the deepest part of your heart, you had dreamed of a husband that treated you as well as your father had done until the day he died.
day by day, the reality of the situation seemed more and more grim, and as you compared yourself to other young women of your years, you concerned yourself less with the quality of men, but the quantity; time was running out, and you knew that if they found it necessary, your mother and her husband would pair you on blind dates with men of their choice sooner than later.
for that reason, and despite yourself, you found yourself standing outside haechan’s bedroom door. you almost turned back, almost decided that you could handle your problems on your own. with your pride, it seemed better to die than to ask him to extend his help, especially when he made it a point to remind you that he owed you no favors. but you knocked anyway, and when you heard the sound of brutal combat and agonized cries cease, you knew he was coming.
“what?” was the first thing haechan said when he answered his door. “i’m in the middle of a game.”
you swallowed. the words seemed physically painful to say. “i need your help.” it was a strained sound.
haechan’s irritation was gone, replaced by something closer to amusement and ridicule. “you need my help?” he repeated, as amazed to hear those words as you were burdened to say them. “i owe you my help?”
god, it was insane how absurdly predictable he was. “no, but i didn’t ask you for help last time, and i believe your words were that my fashion choices ‘reflect poorly on the family image,’” you reminded.
haechan laughed; his owns words probably sounded like the wisdom of god repeated back to him. “this is about your subpar sense of style? why didn’t you say so sooner?” he stepped out of his doorway. “you realized why you should listen to big brother, didn’t you?”
hearing him refer to himself that way was almost as strange as hearing the irony in his voice when he called you, “sweet sister.” he was no brother of yours, no matter what the law or marriage said. nevertheless, you couldn’t deny the truth in the rest of his words; if nothing else had changed, then surely it was your clothing that had deterred men away.
inflating his ego was the last thing you wanted, so your response was a mere soft, “will you help me?”
“you’re lucky you’re my responsibility,” haechan replied, as if it would burden him otherwise. “sure, i’ll help you, but you’re gonna need an entire closet revamp. be ready to leave in thirty minutes.”
he walked backwards into his room and shut the door. thirty minutes later, you were in the passenger seat of haechan’s sleek, luxurious sports car.
haechan was allergic to silence, and gripping the leather wheel, he asked teasingly, “what made you realize your fashion’s off? did you suddenly get special attention when you were out?”
that was exactly what had happened and you hated it. “more or less,” you told him vaguely.
haechan hummed, putting on his blinker. at least he was a mindful driver. “men want things with value. things with no value go in the trash. your pretty face is a waste if you don’t know what to do with it. save the throwbacks for the met gala.”
“thanks for the advice,” you grumbled.
haechan glanced away from the road briefly to throw you a look. “is that snark?”
“no,” you lied. you both knew it.
it didn’t seem to have personally gotten to him, but haechan was still unsatisfied. “you know how old my mom was when she got engaged to my father?” he asked. “nineteen.”
“and how did that work out for her?” you asked sarcastically, given that they were clearly no longer together.
“wonderfully, considering that when they divorced, she walked away with a fortune more than she had before they were married,” haechan retorted without missing a beat.
the man has a response for everything, you grumbled to yourself, exasperated. “i assume there’s a point in there somewhere.”
“if you would let me get there,” haechan groaned, feigning annoyance. “my mother, despite not being from the most wealthy family ever, still managed to marry my dad. do you want to guess why that is?”
“because your dad values things other than money?” you asked, despite finding it difficult to believe.
“close enough. because my dad saw value in her. the way she behaved, the way she carried herself. that was what made him decide that was the woman he wanted to tie himself to.”
you nodded along. “right.”
haechan rolled his eyes. you still didn’t get it. “the point is, my mom had nothing near my dad’s fortune and still managed to compete against richer women from more prominent families. you, my sweet sister, are the stepdaughter of one of the wealthiest men in the country, and yet how many men have you lured with your own effort?”
you were silent, but you knew he was right to an extent. again. of your suitors, they were mostly men that had heard the chief executive had a stepdaughter and decided that was all that they needed to hear. few were organic, which any woman would prefer.
in an effort to spare your pride, you huffed, “you act as if no man wants me at all.”
haechan laughed harshly. “as long as you’re the ceo’s stepdaughter, of fucking course men will want you. my dad is most likely handpicking a list of candidates for you as well. but most girls run up to their fathers and declare, ‘dad, this is the man i want to marry,’ and pray to god that daddy likes him. you expect me to believe that you’re so good of a stepdaughter, you’ll marry whoever my dad tells you to without bothering to find someone yourself first?”
you sighed.
“everybody in this family serves a purpose,” haechan told you, giving you his attention now that he’d stopped at a red light. “my father leads and represents the company. within a year’s time, he’ll retire and i’ll take his place. your mother assists with charities and public image. you need to figure out how you will contribute.”
it would be untrue if you said haechan hadn’t given you something to contemplate. you could have cared less about the family business, but you remembered your father. sometimes he could be conventional to a fault, though you had still loved him with all your heart. the man had put family above all else in the world, and knowing that, you knew you had to do the same.
not to honor this family whose name you didn’t bear and whose blood you didn’t share, but to honor your father. and there was no better way to do that than to transform yourself from a princess to a queen.
haechan brought you to a specific store you knew your stepfamily frequented. when you walked in together, the staff recognized you both and greeted you respectfully. “genesis,” haechan said to one of the workers, a pretty woman with brown hair and fair skin. “my sister here wants to change her style and is in need of a complete overhaul. do me a solid and show us everything you have in season.”
“you got it,” genesis replied with a kind smile. “right this way, mr. lee.”
she led you to a large, private dressing room secluded from the rest of the store. they had your measurements on file, courtesy of previous fittings, and genesis alongside some other workers began to bring out a large selection of outfits.
haechan did most of the talking. all you had to do was step in and out of the clothes, and wait for his nod of approval. “you look best in bold colors,” haechan mused out loud. he turned to genesis. “let’s try these.”
all around you, there were men and women bustling about as they meticulously organized a fine assortment of clothes and shoes and accessories that would complement your appearance. and when you let yourself sink into the moment, you did feel like royalty.
you did pick a few things yourself and haechan gave no protest, before or after he saw your choice. “i don’t think you have bad coordination. you just need to get your head out of the nineteenth century,” he teased.
you had no response for that, none that wouldn’t kill the mood. even when you were a child, your taste in clothing had always favored that of your grandmother, your father’s mother, yet another loss you had too soon faced. perhaps in dressing like her, you were subconsciously honoring her too.
there was a large, golden-framed mirror fixed to the wallpaper that hung tall against its maroon surface, running nearly from the edge of the floor to the roof, and you gazed upon your appearance with little recognition. “do i look good?” you asked, your face still, your eyes neither fond or unfond.
“you look beautiful, miss,” genesis told you adoringly, delicately placing a headband around your head.
to your chagrin, her input was not the one you had intended to hear. haechan grinned, his warm brown eyes seeming to seldom blink as he looked at you. “it’s an improvement.”
but you could see his eyes wandering, appreciative, and there was an awkward blend of discomfort and desperation that clasped you in its arms. on the one hand, you hated the way he looked at you because it reminded you of the night when his friends had groped your body to their hearts’ content, but on the other, it made you feel desirable. and more than anything, you wanted to be desired.
“thank you for your hard work today,” haechan said to the staff members on your way out, giving your bags to a staff worker to take to the car. the man walked the other direction.
your brows stitched together. “we’re not leaving?” you asked, baffled. maybe he wanted to visit the food court.
“no, my sweet sister,” haechan replied silkily, taking your hand in his. “we have one more stop to make first.”
the second stop was another clothing store a floor higher, which you thought nothing of, assuming he simply wanted to view a broader inventory. haechan led you to the fitting room and told you to stay put.
when he came back, he was holding an ivory lingerie set. your eyes went wide. “haechan, this is…”
“i know what it is,” haechan interjected impatiently. “just try it on so i can see if it’s worth the change.”
you were in no particular hurry to don the ivory set, especially considering you could sense the sting of his eyes boring holes through your bare skin, and you couldn’t believe he had asked you to wear something so raunchy. but there he was, restlessly waiting, his gaze expectant.
your movements were begrudging. when you had actually willed yourself to wear it in front of him, your eyes never met his own. the outfit of his choice was thin as paper and form-fitting and hid little to nothing, the color of your flesh exposed in between intricate stitches of white silk and lace. you felt every bit as naked as you were. haechan very clearly liked what he saw. “maybe you aren’t entirely worthless,” he said, reaching out to brush his hands over your figure. you shuddered.
he stepped back, pulling out his wallet.
“alright, you can take it off. for now.” his smile was unsettling. “i’m buying it.”
something told you that that was nothing to celebrate. after haechan paid, you left the stores for good, and he held the bag himself. “tonight,” he whispered in your ear. “put it on. wait for me. i’m not asking.”
your throat dried, but you nodded your head. what else were you to do?
the rest of your day had been spent rearranging your closet, contemplating heavily what of the clothes you had already owned you would keep, and where to put the ones you couldn’t bring yourself to discard. walking in, you almost never walked out. though it was a time-consuming task, you took delight in shelving your shoes and hanging your clothes. it was distracting.
it lent itself to being a great escape for the trouble which you knew in the back of your mind would find you before the night’s end, and every now and then, you would fleetingly glance back at the singular bag you had yet to open, afraid of its contents.
you wanted to hide. more than anything, you wanted to disappear beneath a mountain of armani tops and miu miu skirts and gucci loafers, concealed and covered, safe from all that sought to hurt you. but this was the reality that had been chosen for you, even if you hadn’t chosen it.
night fell too quickly. you had prayed for the sun to take its sweet time (even though you were aware it would purely mean delaying the inevitable, no real answer), but she, too, had something to hide from; the moon and the night. you dressed yourself in the lingerie; you waited; your heart hammered against your chest and your stomach twisted.
haechan knocked merely to announce himself and strutted in with his usual confident gait. he took out look at you sitting at the edge of your bed and whistled. “you’re so obedient when you want to be,” he praised. “are you learning, sweetheart? what happens when you don’t listen to me?”
you had no clue what would have happened, not specifically, but you were in no way inclined to find out.
haechan joined you on your mattress, sitting beside you. his warm hand wandered to your thigh and you felt your body lock with the wariness of a woman who had felt danger and recognized its emergence. “you’re still upset with me,” he pointed out. “for letting my friends touch you.”
your eyes closed, and you yearned to go anywhere but back to that moment.
“believe me,” haechan whispered, his rough fingers creeping higher, farther. “i didn’t want to. but you weren’t taking me seriously. so much disobedience, so much attitude. i figured you would learn then. and like always, i was right.”
“haechan,” you called his name softly, light as a feather. “i don’t want to do this. what if my mom and your dad find out?”
haechan brushed his thumb against your bottom lip. “if you keep that pretty mouth shut, they won’t.”
you swallowed harshly. something had to work. “but you’re my brother…”
haechan completely dismissed your concerns. “exactly. i own you, remember? i can do whatever the hell i want with you. and if i want to fuck you til i can’t anymore, then i’ll do that.”
“i’m supposed to wait…”
haechan groaned. “your future husband doesn’t have to know.”
he lay you down on your back and mounted you, his knees on either side of your body as he bound you to the mattress by your wrists.
“he’ll lie to you, you know,” haechan murmured against your neck, pressing kisses there. “you can lie back and tell him that you’re a virgin. you think he’ll know the difference?”
you squirmed underneath his weight.
haechan straightened up and smacked your hardly clothed cunt, declaring, “that’s a myth.”
you gasped out. as he drew back, haechan admired the view of you sprawled out before him on the bed, the delicate designs of the lingerie teasing him just enough to evoke a carnal curiosity of a sort. your nipples were obscured, but he could see the upper and underside of your breasts, the soft, moistened surface of your stomach, and the plush, malleable flesh of your thighs.
“my god,” haechan said in amazement. “where do i even begin with you?”
you didn’t answer, but that wasn’t a surprise to haechan. you knew better than to spite him with words, and you knew they wouldn’t persuade him.
haechan paid attention to everything. that which he wanted to see, and that which he didn’t. and it was very obvious that you were anxious. “you don’t have to be nervous,” he assured you, his saccharine voice almost affectionate. “i’ll be gentle. relatively.”
his lips met your skin again, kissing your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders. he could have self-restraint when he so desired, and at the moment, he was summoning all of his willpower. he had this unwavering feeling that he would thank himself later.
you only wanted it to be over. there seemed no way around haechan getting what he wanted, and though there was nothing stopping you from confiding in your mother, you had doubts about her backbone; even if she heard your concerns, you feared that she would ignore them if it meant preserving her marriage. you figured that was why she had you placate her husband’s child.
haechan slipped his hand underneath the crotch of the lingerie and ran his fingers over your slit, testing the waters. dissatisfied, he slipped the fabric to the side and spat between your legs, using it as lubricant as he worked a finger inside. “need you to relax for me,” he murmured.
you weren’t sure how to relax; your body was uncalm and so was your mind, plagued with the reminder of how wrong this was and the memory of how crude the first touches your body received had been, both cementing you in a state of sheer weakness. you had always known, as every woman did, that your body was never truly your own, but this was unlike anything you had ever braced yourself for.
haechan didn’t try to uncover the thoughts in your head just yet. he had no use for them. to him, the more pressing matter was the heat between your legs, and he was more preoccupied with stoking the flames.
your body tightened around his fingers as he stuck in another, the pair steadily collecting your moisture as haechan tried to open you up for him. his eyes flitted over your body, tense as ever, and he shook his head, complaining, “you’re like a damn crab.”
you couldn’t help it. every inch of you was rigid. as you had come to know, haechan got this dangerous look on his face whenever a lightbulb went off in his head, and now was no different. he never withdrew his fingers, but he crouched between your legs to flick his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves.
that got you jumping.
haechan lapped at you as his digits moved inside you, working together to unravel you enough that you could take him. your hands gripped the bedding and your soft moans filled the rest of the silence that went untouched by the sound of your body slickening with unwanted arousal. you tilted your head and bit your lip, hoping to suppress your own noises. it was humiliating.
haechan was finally able to include a third finger with ease, and by that point, he was confident he had done ample work, but he kept going. the thought of what you would sound like when you came for him entered his mind with no intention of vacating, and he decided he would see it for himself.
you could feel it, the fire building rapidly in your core. haechan sensed it too; your body was more restless and your breathing was heavier and some smaller details that weren’t lost on him. he smirked against your folds. “that’s it. don’t fight it, sunshine. just come for me.”
unable to keep your impending orgasm at bay, you trembled in climax at last, hiding your face in a pillow not only to smother your sounds, but to minimize your embarrassment. you clenched around his three, slender digits and your body eased despite yourself.
haechan withdrew his slick fingers from your dripping cunt and sucked them into his mouth with a hum of delight. “now you’re ready for my cock.” he didn’t wait for you to respond. you watched with a speeding heart as he undid his clothes and suddenly realized how much more exposed you had been compared to him, how you were vulnerable and waiting.
haechan grabbed a condom from the right side pocket of his fallen leather jacket and rolled it onto his hardened length. you squirmed when he got closer, but haechan was unfazed, spreading your legs back apart and steadily making his way inside.
you quietly whimpered, “haechan.” the stretch was unlike anything you had taken before, more intense then his fingers alone. you were wet enough to handle it, haechan had made sure of that much, but no preparation could compare when you were so used to being empty.
haechan took his sweet time. in a strange act of kindness, he extended his hand for you to hold, which you did. “i know,” he murmured, kissing your face. “i know, sweetheart. it’s okay. you can take it.”
you nodded your head, your hand never daring to leave his. haechan watched your face as he gingerly coaxed himself deeper, your walls expanding around his girth. soft, high moans escaped him as he filled you to the hilt. you met his eyes for the first time, having somehow mustered the courage, and for a minute, something kept you from looking away.
sooner than later, haechan had sheathed himself inside you completely, but he didn’t move yet. “there you go. i told you that you could take it,” he praised, cradling your cheeks in his hands. “does it hurt?”
most of your voice failed and you managed a tiny, “no.” on the contrary, there was an unusual pleasure in being filled by him.
haechan began to thrust in and out of you, dragging himself back and forth through your slick heat. the friction and the warmth of him was pleasant, and your pussy gushed around him with every movement. at the sound of your own wetness, you flushed and covered your face.
“you’re so damn shy,” haechan teased. he gently pried your hand away from your face. “don’t hide. i want to see that pretty little face showing me how good i’m making you feel.”
you shook your head, ashamed. you had always been told to wait. to lie beneath him in this manner felt forbidden and you knew it as surely as you knew the sun would come, but the knowing did not cease the feeling, and the feeling did not sate the knowing.
it didn’t help that haechan had set a comfortable pace, his thrusts neither too fast nor too hard; they were long, deep strokes that filled you just right and allowed him to savor the way your pussy throbbed around and kneaded his cock for dear life. you were both making a mess of each other and you utterly despised it.
haechan was perceptive to a fault and he knew your shame was likely most of what kept you quiet. had your parents not been home, though they surely wouldn’t hear you when their own rooms were many yards away (though that didn’t account for maids and servants with busy mouths), he would have been less lenient. “i hate quiet sex,” haechan grumbled. “talk to me.”
your face was hot and your ears burned. “i don’t know what to say.”
haechan’s grin was smug. “that’s an easy fix. tell me how much you like me inside of you.”
you did like the feel of him inside of you. more than you cared to admit. the feeling of being full pleased you more than you had anticipated. “i… thought it would be worse,” you murmured.
that amused haechan. “worse, huh? you thought i wouldn’t take care of you?”
“yeah,” you replied faintly. it seemed so unlike him, with how cruel he had been.
haechan leaned lower and caressed your face with his thumb. “if you act like a woman, i’ll treat you like a princess,” he crooned. then, he tugged at your hair and pulled you toward him, not enough to cause you any pain, but enough to draw a startled gasp out of you and make his threat clear. “if you don’t, i treat you like a peasant. understand?”
the words leapt out of your mouth. “i understand!”
“good girl,” he sang, releasing you. “you could make some man really happy one day, you know that?”
you peered up at him. your mouth wouldn’t close. “you think so?”
haechan hummed. his hands cupped your breast and slowly but surely made their way to your hips as his thrusts slowed to a halt. the coldness of his rings made you shudder. “with practice,” he said, admiring the fucked-out looked on your face, his handiwork. “i see in you what my dad saw in my mom. you just need a little training. i could perfect you. would you like that?”
“well, i don’t…”
haechan cut you off. “just think about it. imagine all the men lining up for you to have you on their arm. your mother would stop nagging you. she’d stop comparing you to your friend, too.”
those images flashed in your mind as they often did, the way men would gawk and stare and compete among themselves, vying for your hand in marriage. they would do their best to impress your stepfather, going to war to prove their worthiness. it was easy to imagine after having it described to you on more occasions than you could count, because when chaewon talked, it was your job to listen and support her. your heart clenched.
haechan raised a brow, still smoothing his hands up and down your body. “did you think i didn’t know?”
you said nothing. haechan seemed to know everything.
haechan felt your body tensing beneath his hands, but if anything, it only spurred him on. “she gives you hell. you try so hard to please mommy, but nothing’s ever enough because you’re not her. and you compare yourself to every other girl in your circle because that’s what she does - pick you apart. so you sit there, ignorant in your ways, wondering if you’re just broken. i bet it’s exhausting.”
your eyes burned with unshed tears. “haechan…,” you trailed off weakly. every word cut deeper than the last.
“i could make you into something even better,” haechan whispered, his face so close to yours as his breath tickled your ear. when he said it like that, it sounded like a promise. “i could turn you into something beautiful that no one could resist and no one would deny. men will look at you and dream of making you their wife. mothers will look at you and back at their own daughters with scorn, wondering why they can’t be more like you. fathers will look at you and hope to god their son brings back a woman even half as wonderful as you could be.”
it felt like you were holding your breath and waiting to die.
then, haechan abruptly pulled back, straightening himself. “or not.” he shrugged his shoulders. “you could just commit to a life of constant critique and never satisfy anyone. you could keep convincing yourself that you don’t care. but every woman cares. it’s in your nature.”
without warning, he started moving again, and it knocked the breath out of you. he was closer now, hot on the tail of release.
haechan’s voice was like silk. “do you want to be perfect, sweetheart?”
you needed it. you longed for it. you craved it more than anything. “yes,” you replied breathlessly.
“then, let me teach you how,” he said, simple as that. a great offer, void of charge. “let me make you perfect.”
you bobbed your head without hesitation, thoroughly sold, unconcerned with what you had given away. he was offering you everything you wanted on a silver platter and you had no intention of denying yourself the opportunity to be everything that everyone wanted.
haechan smiled, and for once, he had nothing to say, either. but his face said it all; he was pleased.
after a few more moments, his thrusts became somewhat sporadic, and after a few moments more, he leaned down and sank his teeth into the smooth flesh of your shoulder as he came, stifling his soft moans. your lips parted, but you didn’t complain; you knew that much better.
he took a moment to gather his bearings, but once his mind had cleared and his legs remembered how to serve him, haechan pulled away and rose to his feet. “come on. let’s get you cleaned up.”
haechan did most of the work, scrubbing you clean and holding you up when your body felt too weak to stand. you almost felt okay when you were back in bed, better than what you had initially feared. rather than used, you felt restless, eager to know and eager to become.
“good night,” haechan said from your doorway. “get some rest. you deserve it.”
with that, he turned and left.
you glanced down at your pristine, white sheets. there was a tiny red spot from where your bodies had been.
the day before your stepfather’s birthday, your mother took you with her to buy ingredients for his birthday cake. there was no need for her to go out, or to keep you in tow, for that matter, but your mother was nothing if not a perfect performer.
“you look different,” she observed.
that had your attention, and you immediately stood up even straighter than you already were. “do i?”
your mother hummed, pleasantly surprised. “yes. more sophisticated.”
grinning from ear to ear, you confessed, “i decided to try a different style.”
your mother gave you a tiny smile of approval, placing her hand on your shoulder. “well, that’s excellent. it suits you better. i was starting to worry i’d made a mistake with you along the way somewhere. your daddy would be turning in his grave.”
your heart clenched at the mention of your late father, but you didn’t let it spoil the moment.
turning the aisle, you mother asked, “don’t you want to know why i brought you here with me?”
you decided you would bite and guessed, “to spend quality time with your only daughter?”
your mother laughed. “to remind you of something. even being married to the richest man on the east side, i have certain things i do as a courtesy. i still have wife duties that my husband expects of me. when you marry a man of your own some day, you will understand. your husband will still expect you to raise his children, not a nanny.”
“ah,” you replied, bobbing your head. “of course, i understand that.”
“good. i don’t want you to hate me for being hard on you now, but i do it with faith that when the time comes, you’ll be prepared. becoming your mother has been the greatest blessing god has ever given me. he will give it to you, too.”
the inevitability of motherhood was something you had already long accepted, years before you could truly even understand what it meant. and maybe even now, you might not have totally known. “amen,” you agreed.
your mother pretended to be looking at her phone, checking her list of ingredients, but you noticed her glancing subtly at a man who had been not so discreetly throwing looks where you two stood at a shelf. she turned to you with a smirk that meant she was up to no good. “do you think he’s looking at you or me?”
you gawked and whispered, “mom, you’re married.”
“oh, please,” she mumbled, lightheartedly rolling her eyes. “marriage is security, honey. a man gets married to have an heir, and a woman gets married to have a man take care of her. it’s accomplished. it’s safety, not love.”
she sounded so sure. you thought of what chaewon had told you, about if her parents had married someone they liked instead. with time, maybe they could have grown to love each other. but first and foremost, marriage was a business proposal, and that was what you had always known.
as much as you loved your parents, you knew the love between them had always been scarce. they’d committed to their roles not out of love, but out of an obligation they thought had been given to them by god. your mother put it best. a man took care of a woman, and a woman took care of a man’s child. what he provided for, the woman nurtured.
“besides, i’m just appreciating,” your mother replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “more importantly, your stepfather and i are going on a romantic husband-and-wife trip together in the maldives next week for his birthday, so it will just be you, haechan and the servants in the house for two weeks. i trust that you can handle everything he needs. apparently, he really likes your cooking.”
“he’s never told me that,” you murmured. at first, you had just thought he liked to make you needlessly suffer.
“maybe he’s more the physically affectionate type. must run in the family,” she quipped. “oh, and i was told he took you shopping. how was that?”
you thought about it. to be fair, it had been a pleasant day. the staff were patient and kind and hard-working, and you had found all the new clothes, though some styles would be an adjustment, beautiful. there was the end of day, which you knew you could never mention a word of, but it hadn’t been what you dreaded it would be.
the answer you gave your mother was far less complicated, and you simply told her, “it was nice. he helped me pick out a few things. i guess we’re bonding.”
your mother put a hand over her heart. “oh, i’m so happy to hear that. i was worried that maybe you were too old to appreciate the gift of having an older brother.”
“honestly, i think i’m starting to appreciate it now more than ever,” you admitted softly.
“that’s beautiful. your stepfather told me you would eventually get along, but i had trouble believing it. well, i can breathe easier now,” she said, sighing with relief. “alright, let’s go get those damn eggs and get the hell out of here.”
that had been the intention, until she noticed someone whom she’d referred to as the director’s wife, most likely an affiliate of one of the charities she worked with. no sooner had she noticed her son was with her than she’d grabbed you by the arm and took you over to introduce you to him. to your delight, he seemed to like what he saw.
your stepfather’s birthday party seemed to be going as beautifully as any occasion intended to celebrate a man over half a hundred, part of which meant that most shares of the cake you and your mother had whisked together were quickly eaten by his nieces and nephews and the young children of the men he named friends.
it also meant that it was quite boring. in truth, the party was half celebration and half a fundraiser that welcomed many wealthy men and women across the country, supposedly meant to provide money for existing youth programs. whether or not it was being done in good faith, you knew better than to question. rather, you fulfilled your daughterly duties, greeting guests as they came.
throughout the course of the party, you received ample attention. it was weird, being recognized all of a sudden and directly approached. only last week, men seemed to whisper if they looked at you, and now businessmen in their thirties were flirting with you here and there, some older, and men with boys said how fitting you would be for their dear sons at home.
one man had talked your ears off about his boy child, a notable young fellow by word of how he’d been described, a decorated warrior. the man told you he’d speak with your father and perhaps try to arrange a meeting with the boy he’d promised could protect you and any children you birthed. though you doubted your stepfather would be too impressed, you’d shown him your best smile and told him how delightful it sounded.
that being said, you were of the opinion that it wasn’t as bad as you’d made it out to be. you were pleased with the attention, it made you feel confident, and you accepted the unpleasant parts as simply coming with the territory.
when you finally gained a moment of respite towards the middle of the party, you found a troubled chaewon at the end of a long table at the back of the grand hall. even she, for all her bubbliness, seemed over it. “you look thrilled,” you remarked ironically.
that brought a smile to her upturned lips. “i was just thinking.”
you were all ears. “yeah?”
“the human body is so smart and so dumb. we have seals underneath our fingernails to protect the nail bed from infection, but women still die giving birth.”
you blinked. then you laughed. “you chose a fine place to discuss this matter.”
chaewon smirked. “am i wrong?”
“the human body was never ordained by god to be immune to pain, you know,” you told her, not unkind. “it was ordained by him to sustain it. pain keeps us human, and more importantly, it keeps us alive and breathing.”
“a pain men don’t share,” chaewon murmured.
you finished in a heartbeat, “a pleasure and privilege men don’t share too.”
chaewon groaned, but she wasn’t upset, not seriously. “you sound like my mother. and her mother.”
you raised your shoulders. “well, maybe there are lessons to learn from the wise and more experienced.”
chaewon scoffed. usually, she agreed with you on these matters, as it was all she had ever known, but you could sense a tension within her like no other. it plagued her. “look at you getting so smart.” she sighed, softening. “i guess i’m just scared of giving birth. i can handle the marriage stuff, i’ve always dreamed of it. but the second my parents start mentioning grandchildren and the baby talk, i want to disappear.”
you grabbed her hand, sympathetic. you may not have shared it, but it was a valid concern of hers, to be fair. “you’ve suffered a lot of loss in your family because of it. it makes sense that you’re scared,” you whispered, thinking of the late aunts and cousins she’d mourned. “but your mother was fine, wasn’t she? you might not have to share that fate. god will protect you.”
chaewon nodded her head. it was true, her mother had experienced little to no complications when she’d birthed her and her older brother. her eyes shone with hope as she replied, “you’re right. their fate isn’t mine.”
you squeezed her hand and smiled proudly. “there you go.”
something caught chaewon’s eye. her gaze drifted from your face and her grip on your hand tightened. when you heard a familiar dreamy sigh part her lips, you knew instantly what she had seen without looking. “i don’t envy you, you know.”
your brows furrowed. “what do you mean?”
“i’d hate to be his stepsister. i’d struggle to keep my hands off him,” she explained, probably conjuring up fantasies in her head.
you faltered for half a second, but swiftly composed yourself when you saw haechan coming.
“my dad sure knows how to bore somebody,” haechan said when he came your way. “you ladies look lovely tonight.”
chaewon offered him her seat so that he could sit between you both. his words got a laugh out of her, though with how she was looking at him, she probably would’ve laughed if he joked about folding laundry. “thank you. we’re probably not the target audience. the older crowd seem happy.”
“oh, trust me. they are,” you droned.
haechan turned his head at you, grinning. “getting hit on by the fifty and up club, sister?”
you almost laughed. “nearly so. they seem to just think i’m a perfect match for their sons for now.”
haechan was amused. “i guess they stop by you first then make their way on over to me to tell me that the future of greatness is in my hands.” he smiled and curled an arm around chaewon gingerly. “my feet are tired. would you mind getting me something to drink from the bar?”
chaewon rose to her feet without wasting time. “sure. what should i get you?”
“just tell them it’s for me. the guy’s a longtime caterer. he knows what i like.”
chaewon bobbed her head and somehow, even as she scurried away, it was with refinement and elegance and grace.
and then you were alone. haechan sighed, leaning back in his chair. “are you enjoying the attention?” he asked, glancing over at you.
you smiled. it felt different than before. “yes. it makes me feel beautiful.”
haechan didn’t skip a beat. “you are beautiful. with a little sophistication, you will be the most beautiful woman to ever grace the earth.”
sophistication. yes, refined and elegant and graceful. “where do i lack?” you needed to know.
haechan brushed a strand of hair behind your ears. “i spent a month with my family on my father’s side when i was little. his brother’s wife has many daughters. one thing i heard her tell them all the time was, ‘it only takes a moment to rouse a man’s excitement, but his fidelity? you will work at that for the rest of your life.’” haechan smiled. “do you know where i’m going with this, sweetheart?”
you thought about it. “i have to be more than just a pretty face.”
“exactly,” haechan sang. “things with no value go in the trash. men want a wife they can brag about. you’re beautiful and your stepfather is one of the most influential men in the world. notable achievements. what else?”
“i graduated top of my class,” you said, remembering the years of hard work that you had put into achieving strong academics.
“an educated woman,” haechan said. “good. what else?”
“i’m good with kids,” you blurted.
haechan was grinning. he liked the sound of that. “amazing. men want children to continue their legacies. for that, they need a good woman to manage their households. what else?”
“i can sing, sew, cook, clean…,”
“you know what you’re missing?” haechan interjected. he didn’t give you a chance to answer. “submission. for all the good things about you, sweetheart, you do have a mouth on you. it could do you some good to be more docile.”
maybe he was right. you had never considered yourself particularly unruly, but you were no idiot, and you knew when things were worth questioning. like the true meaning of this party, for that matter. but that did not mean you had to be the one to question it, and sometimes, closing your eyes and looking the other way was smarter.
chaewon was returning, her short black hair bouncing as she walked with that perfect smile. “here you are,” she said to haechan, handing him over a glass.
“thank you, chaewon.” he took a tentative sip, judging for a moment, then hummed in satisfaction. “just the way i like it.”
your parents left the morning after the party, and haechan had sent home all the housekeepers, leaving you with only yourself during the day while he tended to his father’s affairs at work, in his absence.
with the housekeepers gone, there would be things to do around the house, and you spent a morning compiling a list in your mind. the laundry would need to be taken care of. the main rooms managed, if there were guests. haechan liked coffee in the morning, and he would expect to come back to dinner already waiting, no matter how late he returned home, which was sometimes long after the day’s end.
you managed to perfect your routine in seven days. wake up early enough so that his coffee was ready to grab on his way out. on wednesdays, he went in later, so you would need to wake up even earlier to prepare breakfast. he liked familiar foods for breakfast but more variety for dinner, so that was a factor when you were shopping. laundry was a sunday affair, and you had to ensure you didn’t use the detergent that irritated his skin.
one day in particular was different. haechan hardly went in from thursday to sunday, and today was friday, so he was home. over breakfast, he said, “yuta nakamoto, one of our japanese investors, is coming over this afternoon. if you don’t behave yourself, it’s not just me you disappoint, it’s our entire family. and your father.”
the mention of your father made your heart clench. “i understand.”
“see that you do.” he stood, taking up his plate. he set it in the sink, but didn’t wash it. he was expecting that of you. “breakfast was good. you’re handling this well.” with that, he turned and walked away.
after cleaning the kitchen, you went upstairs to freshen up and make yourself pretty. more often than not, you chose makeup that was subtle and complemented your natural features. peering into the closet that was brimming with clothes haechan had hand-picked for you to wear, you settled on a dress that was flattering without being too formal.
it was maybe two hours before you were ready. you went to haechan’s door, dressed in an outfit he had bought, smelling like the lotion and oil you had anointed yourself with after shower. your fist tapped his door.
when he came out, he was dressed differently too, as if he was preparing to go to work. his eyes flitted over your body. you waited for his approval with bated breath. it was only for a few seconds, but you swore it felt like minutes. “you look beautiful,” he said. his voice was absent of awe, but his eyes were appreciative.
you smiled, relieved. “thank you,” you said. “will he be here soon?”
“soon,” haechan said, checking his watch. your mind wandered back to the watch with the leather band you had seen while shopping with chaewon. he went downstairs, and you followed him.
true to his word, yuta nakamoto did arrive shortly after. the two of them exchanged greetings.
“let me take your coat, sir,” you said politely.
“oh, thank you.” yuta smiled, shrugged his coat off, and handed it over to you. you put it on the rack.
“this is my stepsister,” haechan introduced. he told him your name.
you grinned. “can i get you something to drink, mr. nakamoto?”
“just some water would be wonderful,” he told you. “the sun’s blazing out there.”
haechan made himself chuckle. “the summers are getting hotter.”
as you went to fix yuta nakamoto a glass of water, you could hear him talking to your brother as they stepped further into the foyer. “your sister is very well-trained,” he said.
haechan laughed. this one had less of a performative quality. “we lees like everything in top tier condition, from our women to our products.”
the afternoon passed smoothly, and the meeting was a pleasant affair. you didn’t do much of anything, but you made it a point to be available. the two of them talked about business, and haechan was his usual charming self, flashing smiles and saying all the right things. you followed their dialogue but didn’t comment.
it was maybe about forty five minutes until yuta nakamoto left and you returned his coat to him, helping him slip it back on. he looked relaxed and confident in the matters they’d discussed. you closed the door behind him on his way out, and turned to haechan who looked pleased himself. “you were perfect,” he said.
your eyes sparkled. “really?”
haechan had a twinkle to his eyes as well, admiring his handiwork. “you were poised. servile without being too obsequious. he noticed.”
he’s proud of me, you thought, your heart feeling light. “thank you,” you said.
“for what?” he was literally asking.
“for making me better,” you whispered. “for showing me how to be a proper woman.”
haechan ran his finger over your face. “you’re welcome,” he said softly. “your father would be proud.”
it was the single most powerful thing he could have said. you really hoped so. nothing mattered more, nothing at all.
when the days passed, you hardly noticed the time lost. there were many things around the house that needed to be taken care of, and it was by no means a small estate, so your work was often cut out for you. you told yourself it was nothing you couldn’t bear on your own. you were the daughter of the most powerful man in the country, and this was your first test to see if you could handle the privilege and honor. all you had to do was keep haechan happy. it wasn’t as if you had children to raise, so it ought to have been simple enough.
and at moments when you had spare time to think, your mind wandered to what haechan was doing at work, if the company was giving him a hard time. here and there he would come home particularly agitated, but you knew nonetheless that he would prosper. you applied the same principle; if he was not able to bear his father’s responsibilities in his absence, there was no way he could run the company when the baton was passed.
that was nothing to worry about though. haechan was smart and competent. he had purified you with ease, made you the woman your father had known you could be, and it had taken him little to nothing. he was a man that you could depend on, and for that, you wanted to prove that he could rely on you to do what he expected as well. you had to.
the day had become night, and darkness settled around the house. you lit candles in the kitchen to create the feeling of an intimate moment. haechan was on the phone as you set the table. “oh, that’s wonderful. how long are you staying?” you watched him with curious eyes as he took his seat. “no, no, not at all. i can handle the company. it won’t burn down if you take a few more weeks off.”
so that’s what it was. your parents were extending their getaway.
“it is beautiful,” haechan said, sounding as if he was agreeing with something. “stay. you deserve it. make sure you appreciate how blue the water is before you come back and see murky everything is in the city.” haechan laughed. “yes, she’s well. she’s plating dinner as we speak. she’s been doing a remarkable job.”
your heart fluttered. you set the utensils down in a careful order. he’s talking about me.
“alright. call me when you have lunch. have a good night,” he said at last, hanging up. “pass me the salt.”
it was an equal distance away from him as it was from you, but you handed it over regardless.
he shook some grains into his food. “you know,” he said. “we’ve got a lot of time together. looks like mom and dad aren’t coming home until next month.”
“i heard,” you said. “did you ask them to take pictures of the water?”
“no,” haechan said. he picked up his fork. “i’m sure your mom will anyway. she’d take pictures of the lake we see every day leaving the house.” he laughed at himself.
it occurred to you then that you hadn’t left the house at all since the party, not even to go shopping. your mother might have liked to go out herself sometimes, if not out of a genuine preference for doing things herself than out of sense of duty to perform it, though your stepfather himself did not seem to expect it of her. he cared less about who did the shopping and how and more about what time dinner would be prepared.
you had spoken to chaewon since that night, but every exchange was sparse and fleeting. you were too busy as of late, and certainly she had her own affairs to attend to.
“would it be okay if i invited chaewon over someday?” you asked. haechan hung out with his friends plenty enough. he never said so, but why else would he come home so late smelling of alcohol?
“chaewon,” he repeated. haechan hummed, mulling it over. “fine. you’ve been good.”
you beamed. it would be good to see her again. “thank you,” you said, remembering his lessons. submission.
haechan chuckled. “don’t thank me yet. nothing is for free.”
after dinner, you washed the dishes, wiped the table, and then at last withdrew to your bedroom to cleanse yourself. you had chosen a silky black nightgown to wear to bed, but first anointed your skin with lotion to make it especially soft for him tonight.
haechan appeared in your doorway moments later and welcomed himself inside. “are you ready for me, sweetheart?” he didn’t wait for you to answer. his hands cupped your breasts through your gown, eager to feel what was his.
it did you no good not to be ready; he would take what he wanted regardless. you tensed a bit at first, but willed yourself to relax. the contact took some getting used to, but you didn’t want to displease him. perhaps by the time your future husband was due to take you, you would be prepared enough not to be so fidgety. “yes,” you whispered.
oddly enough, haechan didn’t speak right away. for a moment all you could hear was his breathing and the sound of your nightgown rustling as he kneaded your breasts through the fabric. your lips parted ever so slightly when his thumbs brushed repeatedly against your nipples.
“still so restless. guess that means i just have to fuck you till you get comfortable.” his hands dropped to his sides. “but not tonight. get on your knees.”
your brows furrowed, but you did as told.
“look at you,” he crooned, brushing his fingers through your hair. “right where you belong. you look so pretty.”
your lashes fluttered. “thank you.”
“don’t thank me yet,” he said for the second time. “take my pants off.”
he hadn’t decompressed for the day yet beyond dinner, so instead of his casual wear, he was sporting the clothes he’d worn into the office. you undid the belt buckle and slipped it off, undid his fly, and let his pants fall down to his ankles.
you had been about to reach for his underwear too when his hands gripped yours. “suck,” he said.
your lips tugged. “but you’re not…”
a smack rang out in the air. “did i tell you to comment on my state of undress or did i tell you to suck?”
you reached up to hold your sizzling cheek. “i’m sorry…”
haechan was annoyed. “don’t be sorry. do what i told you to fucking do. if you can’t please me, you’ll never please any man.”
you pressed your lips against the outline of his half-hard cock through his boxers. you hadn’t expected this to be what he wanted, you thought it would be more like the first night he took you, but you supposed there were many ways to please a man, and a good wife should be skilled at them all.
“there you go,” he said. “lick me. do it like you’re fucking starving for it.”
your tongue darted against the dent in his pants, licking, swirling, sucking, your world narrowing to the taste of cotton and your own saliva. you wished you would have known the sort of favor he wanted. you might have looked online for some tips, anything that would temper this sense of aimlessness that accompanied your fear of arousing disappointment rather than lust.
haechan moaned, though, his fingers tightening in your hair with need instead of violence for now. that noise was a light in the dark for you, and you followed it, repeating whatever stroke of your tongue had given him pleasure with a touch more of confidence. the floor was rough against your knees, but you would bruise them both a million times over if it meant he was satisfied. because if he was satisfied, it meant you were doing something right.
“just like that. good.” his words were breathy. a wet spot had formed in his pants from the combined dampness of your saliva and his precum.
you could still feel the faint burn on your cheek where his palm had whacked you, but the pain had taken a backseat to his pleasure, so it was a distant thing in the moment. the first tests started at home. you would give favors many times once you were married, so it was best to get good at it early. thank goodness haechan was such a thorough teacher, keeping you disciplined.
“fuck, baby,” he groaned. you figured his body was of a more sensitive nature, so even through his underwear he must have felt these sensations sharper than most.
his cock had reached total erection, and you had felt it growing against your skin with every warm touch. you remembered how it had felt inside you at first, the size so overwhelming you had bled after. it hadn’t hurt per se, but the stretch was so unusual you had nothing to compare it to. and haechan had been courteous and kind, so it was not as unbearable as you had imagined.
more importantly, your body had given him immense pleasure, and you were of a mind to keep it that way, thinking of how you would drink less at the next gala and eat better than was normal for you and wear more of the clothes and undergarments he so loved, as you were memorizing the colors and outfits and fabrics that were pleasant to his senses and tastes…
“take my cock out,” haechan said. “i want you to suck me now. and i don’t want to feel any teeth.” your hands reached for his boxers and tugged them down to reunite with his pants. his cock sprung free, already leaking and aching for you to the finish the job. you took only a little bit into your mouth at first, intimidated by the remaining length. how could this all fit into your mouth?
haechan didn’t offer answers, but he did offer moans, which in a way was an answer in and of itself. you kept that motion up for as long as you could, but when you started to take him deeper, your throat rejected it and you gagged. you pulled off him, tears burning your eyes.
when haechan sighed, you feared he would strike you again, but instead he grabbed one of your hands and made you curl it around his cock. “keep your hand here.” he moved the other beneath it to the bottom. “move this one up and down. like that. good. now try it again.”
your lips sealed around his cock again, your dominant hand stroking his cock all the while, the two working in tandem to deliver the high he was seeking. you focused on your breathing more than anything, because it felt like that was where things started to go wrong.
haechan’s hand cupped yours, demonstrating to you how to squeeze his cock, and from there it was relatively smooth sailing. every now and then you would go up to let yourself breathe through your mouth, but you tried not to do it too long, or too often, lest it disturbed him.
“there you go. you’re getting the hang of it,” he said. you could see the way his chest was rising and falling, falling and rising. “look me in the eyes while you suck my dick.” you did. in the beginning it was an awkward thing, meeting his gaze when you were doing something so intimate, but you didn’t dare look away. he had given you a task, and you intended to see it through no matter what. everything else had to be temporarily set aside.
haechan reached down to tug the top of your nightgown and expose your breasts to him, the sight stimulating him even more. he squeezed them as he done before, only this time without the barrier to keep you from noticing how warm his hands were. his fingers brushed your nipples. it was almost distracting, but you summoned all your willpower to keep yourself focused on what was most important.
the sound of you sucking him was wet and lewd, but you supposed haechan had like that, because here and there he would mutter things under his breath about how beautiful you looked and sounded on your knees before him. you remembered he’d said he hated quietness during intimate acts. perhaps the next time he took you you should make yourself especially loud for him. he would appreciate that.
“i’m gonna come,” he grunted. “faster.”
you obliged, setting a new pace that was quicker and harder to maintain than the other, but it wasn’t so bad; in a few moments, he would be finished. in a few moments, you could say you were beginning to acquire another skill, and only haechan could speak to what extent, but you were hopeful he would be content…
“fuck,” haechan hissed. he’s liking it. he likes it. you hoped he would finish soon. you felt your mouth growing tired, and you didn’t want to anger him by stopping now of all moments, now when he was so close to the finish, right there…
haechan came at last, spilling into your mouth with a shrill sound and an abrupt forward drive of his hips. his eyes snapped closed and he used your mouth until every bit of his high began to fade.
when they opened at last, he was demanding. “swallow.”
the taste was bitter, but you made yourself do as he bade you, swallowing his warmth until there was no more. only then did he withdraw from your mouth.
“now you can thank me,” he said. “thank me for letting you suck my cock.”
your eyes darted away awkwardly. “thank you for… letting me you suck your cock.”
he grabbed your chin. “look at me,” he barked. “now say it again.”
you met his eyes. “thank you, haechan. for letting me suck your cock.”
haechan smiled. “good girl.” he fixed his clothes. “i expect breakfast tomorrow.”
“yes, haechan.”
“and you need more practice, but not tonight. we’ll work on it some more later.”
“okay, haechan.”
satisfied, he walked away.
you woke late. most days you would have set an alarm to gather you out of your sleep, but you must have been so tired last night that you’d forgotten. you scrambled out of bed, making a quick effort of washing up before you scurried downstairs to the kitchen. this would be one of those days where haechan wanted an entire meal instead of just coffee.
that said, you started with his coffee first, then hurried to get every ingredient out of its place. maybe haechan would wake up late too. maybe he wouldn’t notice.
you were pulling a pan out of the cabinet when you heard footsteps descending down the stairs. your heart raced.
haechan called out your name. you couldn’t even see his entire body yet, but you could hear him. “why don’t i smell bacon?”
“i’m… i’m working on it,” you said, glancing over at the raw bacon on the counter.
“you’re working on it.” far too soon, haechan made it downstairs and crossed his arms when he saw you standing there, nothing going except the coffee. “shouldn’t you be about done by now?”
you couldn’t meet his eyes. “i woke up late.”
“you woke up late.” haechan laughed. “you woke up late?”
you nodded, looking at the floor.
your shoulders went cold when he began to approach you. he seized your face abruptly and made you look at him. “can you not do one simple thing? you think a man wants a wife who can’t even have his breakfast ready when he wakes up and his dinner ready when he gets home?”
“no,” you whispered, eyes blurring with shame. “i’m sorry, haechan. it won’t happen again.”
he smacked your face, the same side that he’d struck last night. “see that it doesn’t,” he said. “how many times do i have to tell you? where do things with no value go?”
your voice was a whimper. “in the trash.”
“and are you trash?”
“no, i’m not trash...”
“as long as you’re a part of my family, damn right you’re not,” haechan said. he released you. “pour me a cup of coffee.”
so you did.
after haechan had had his coffee, he took your face in his hands and asked, “you know i only do this because i love you, right?”
you sniffled. “really?”
“of course,” haechan crooned. he brushed the tears from your eyes. “why would i bother trying to fix you if i didn’t love you? i want what’s best for you, baby. and sometimes what’s best for you is a little discipline. i don’t know what you would do without me. no one else is going to be this patient with you. the rest of the world will you chew you up and spit you back out.”
you nodded. “i know.”
“good. now dry your eyes and get back to work, okay?” he went to go sit at the island.
that day made you realize that you couldn’t afford to keep making mistakes, especially ones that you were beyond capable of preventing. to be the best that you could be, to truly live in your father’s image, you had to go above and beyond in exceeding expectations.
it would make your father proud. it was making your mother proud too, and you had thought she was impossible to please. and it made haechan proud, as your brother and as your teacher, the lines blurring as they should when it came to the realization of the perfect girl. at times, nothing mattered more.
over the coming weeks, as the responsibilities came and went and came and went again, you found yourself drawn back to those words he’d said, like a vessel that wants to drift away but is anchored where it floats. you know i only do this because i love you. it had been so long since you heard anyone say that. your father not since his passing, your mother not since god knows when.
i only do this because i love you. you hadn’t known, but now that you did, the thought kept to you like a spirit housed to a man. there was such strangeness. you had never before thought words of that nature would come from haechan and onto you, but perhaps you didn’t know him as well as you thought. but things were different than they had been some months ago. did he change, or did you change? did you become a person deserving of love, or did he become a person willing to express it?
you supposed it mattered little now. i love you. you had his love, his care, and you knew what you had to do to maintain it. now that you knew you had it, you would do whatever it took to keep it. no price was too high.
after that day, you began practicing to please haechan in the future so that you would be less of a disappointment. you ordered a toy so that you could train your throat to take him better. it was hard at first. every time you did it your mouth instinctively wanted to gag. but you had to perfect it, you had to get it right so that you would be perfect for him.
you practiced arching your back in the mirror, wanting to get the curve of your spine just right. you practiced perfecting your moans so that they were loud and breathless enough for his ears. you spent hours analyzing pornography to enact the things you saw other women do. the next time haechan took you, you had to be the very best you could.
failure was not an option.
there were weeks before chaewon finally had enough time to fit you in her schedule, and when the rolled around that you knew she would be coming over, you were terribly excited.
she was about twenty minutes out when haechan entered your room and came up behind you where you were bent over your bed, scrolling. “i need something from you real quick, baby,” he said, his hands drifting underneath your skirt.
“hyuck, no,” you said softly. “chaewon’s gonna be here soon.”
clearly it was the wrong thing to say. “no?” haechan repeated. “no?”
you swallowed. “i only meant…”
he didn’t care to hear your explanations. “did you just tell me no?”
“haechan, please, i…”
“i think you’re confused about who’s in control here,” haechan said. he spun you around to face him. “do i belong to you?”
“no….”
“do i answer to you?”
you sniffed. “no, haechan…”
“so then why the fuck—” he started, his face getting closer to yours. “—do you think you get to tell me no?”
“i don’t think that, haechan, i-i made a mistake, i’m sorry-”
“you’re the fucking mistake if you think you have the power to tell me what i can or can do. if i want to fuck you right now, i will. if i want to fuck you in front of chaewon, i will. if i want to fuck you on the streets of tijuana and make you a public spectacle, i fucking will.”
your eyes burned.
his hand wrapped around your throat and tightened there. “if you hang out with your friends, that’s because of me. if you wear a pretty dress you like, that’s because of me. if you get married, that’s because of me. if you breathe, that’s because of me. do you understand? nod if you do.”
you nodded your head urgently, eyes wide.
haechan released your throat. “good. now turn around.”
he took you there against your bed. it hurt badly, but you knew that you deserved it, so you didn’t complain, and when he was done, you silently retreated to the shower to wash away the traces of what had happened from the eye, even if you could still feel the ache within you.
your neck bruised from where he had seized it into his hand, and that was something that wouldn’t simply wash away with water. you changed into a turtleneck to conceal it, fixed your hair, and made yourself smile. this was how he would want you to look.
chaewon looked even prettier than the last time you saw her. “my brother’s getting married,” she announced when you both got settled in your room.
“really?”
she nodded, grinning from ear to ear. “yes, really! it’s official as of last night. he really likes rosie.”
“i couldn’t tell,” you said. jaehyun had been with her for the better part of eight years, and only now did he think to drop on one knee. “i mean, what took him so long?”
“i mean, my brother is a little different than most guys. he takes stuff slow. that’s his thing.” chaewon shrugged. “the guy’s a total romantic.”
“i mean, but don’t you think that’s weird?” you asked. “if a guy waited eight years to propose to me, i’d think he was ashamed of me or something.”
“if he was ashamed of her, he wouldn’t marry her at all,” chaewon told you. “or meticulously pick out what ring to propose to her with, or where to do it, or rehearse his lines in his room every day for weeks in advance.”
“i guess,” you conceded. “i just think that’s a long time.”
“forever’s a long time too, and that’s how long people hope to be married,” chaewon said. “what’s an eight year slice of forever?”
“you say things so weirdly.”
“it’s a talent of mine,” chaewon chirped. “you’re invited, by the way. obviously. your plus one can be whoever you want, but i really hope you bring haechan.”
you rolled your eyes. “give it up to god, chae.”
“i can’t!” she clasped her hands together. “please, please, please? for me? i really want him there.”
“why? it’s not even your wedding.”
“obviously,” she agreed. “if it was my wedding, he’d be there as the groom.”
your stomach clenched. “but like… what do you even like about him? you can’t just marry him because you think he’s handsome.”
“he is so handsome,” chaewon said dreamily. “but he’s also very witty and intelligent. i like talking to him. you don’t understand the importance of good conversation, of talking to someone who knows how to respond to you and meet you where you are.”
he was witty. sometimes. “so… you like him because he’s handsome and can hold a conversation?”
“and he’s a perfect gentleman,” she breathed.
“i guess that’s reason enough.”
chaewon grinned. “and if you invite him as your plus one, i might get the chance to get to know him even better.”
“our brothers barely even like each other,” you reminded her. why, you had no idea, but they just never seemed to click as well as you and chaewon had. “why would my brother even go to jaehyun’s wedding?”
“because you’re gonna ask him nicely,” she retorted. “please?”
you exhaled a breath. “i’ll mention it to him later.”
“yay!” chaewon threw her arms around you. “you’re the bestest best friend ever.”
the day passed in a blend of talking, gossiping, and laughing. before you knew it, you had all but forgotten the incident earlier, and remembered what it felt like to be alive, even if for a short while.
at night, you and chaewon showered, and fell asleep together in your bed.
it must have been late when you suddenly woke again with a sudden thirst. you rolled over in your bed and felt the emptiness beside you and remembered that chaewon was supposed to have been there. maybe she’s gone to the bathroom.
you opened the door and made for the stairs. but as you started the descent, you started to hear… noises. strange noises. noises that were unfamiliar in their familiarity.
“shh, baby,” you heard haechan’s voice whispering. “you don’t want to wake her, do you?”
you couldn’t see chaewon at all, but you faintly heard her say something that sounded like, “no, i’m sorry. you just feel too good.”
haechan chuckled. “don’t be sorry. just be quiet.”
your chest was so tight you thought you might die.
their voices might have been quiet, but their bodies weren’t. you could hear the sound of him driving into her, of her hands scrambling for purchase, of their breathing finding a rhythmic sync, of haechan taking a pleasure that had nothing to do with you.
and it felt like the wind had been knocked out of you.
it was too much. you forced yourself to turn away and creep back up the stairs as quietly as you had come down. you returned to your bedroom and threw the blankets over yourself, your pillow dampening bit by bit.
chaewon was chipper the next morning, very chipper. before she left, she offered to help you make breakfast for haechan. you waited to see if she would mention their tryst, but she didn’t at all.
it was supposed to be a secret then. something between her and him that you weren’t in on, that you weren’t a part of.
when she left, you went to your bathroom and began to wipe off the concealer you had used to hide the bruises haechan had given you from her. they were darker than they had been yesterday. she didn’t want him. you knew that to be a certainty. if she knew what it truly was like to be his, beyond marveling at his handsome face and witty words and willingness to pull out a chair here and there, she would crumble like a house in a tropical storm.
but you, on the other hand, were strong and enduring. you could take it. you could take anything he gave you, not just when it was pleasant, but when it burned. you could take it and know that it was beautiful, that it was a display of love, strength, and growth.
chaewon had been born shining. she had no idea what it was like to be pressed into a diamond, to earn everything beautiful about herself. she had no idea what it was like to be shaped by his hand. she had no idea what it was like to be his creation, to be exactly as he intended.
but you did. and that was why you knew no one else could satisfy him, even if he made the mistake of seeking out other temporary delights. no candy was as sweet as the one made purely by your own hand, because it was yours.
you knew you had displeased him yesterday, a slip of the tongue that would never happen again, but you had pleased him the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. you planned to do so for eternity. haechan, forever yours, you, forever his, in a condition of perpetual devotion.
and forever started today. “hello?” came the voice on the other end of the phone, gruff and confused.
“hi, jeno,” you sang.
“this is a surprise,” jeno murmured. you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “change your mind about me?”
“not at all, no,” you said. “do you think my friend chaewon is pretty?”
“chaewon,” he repeated. “do i think she’s pretty? i think she’s gorgeous, everyone knows she’s gorgeous. why?”
“what if i told you that she leaves bible study every wednesday at eight, stops at becky’s at eight twenty, gets gas at eight thirty, and she’s home by nine.”
there was a lull of silence. “why are you telling me that?”
you continued, “she has a bad habit of looking at her phone while she’s walking, she wears noise-cancelling while she’s waiting in becky’s up until the moment she gets back in her car, and sometimes she forgets to lock it.”
jeno said your name. “is this a fucking joke?”
“nope,” you chirped. “dead serious. she’s that stupid.”
“i thought she was your friend.”
“i thought she was too,” you said. “but i thought wrong.”
jeno laughed. he didn’t ask what happened. he didn’t care. “so, let me get this straight. you guys had a cat fight, and now you want me to… what? brutalize her in the becky’s parking lot?”
“i don’t care what you do,” you said, “as long as she suffers. deal or no deal?”
“damn,” jeno said. “i’ll think about it, princess. i gotta go, though.”
“think about it quickly.” you hung up. wednesday was approaching.
you didn’t agonize over whether or not he would do it. guys like jeno couldn’t resist themselves. instead you busied yourself with tasks around the house, keeping haechan happy, keeping him satisfied, keeping him yours.
the next time you saw chaewon was in the hospital. “what happened?” you asked as you came to her side, brows stitched.
“i was leaving becky’s,” she said, her voice small. she looked small. her lips and cheeks were bruised, and there were other marks scattered across her figure. and yet somehow she was still annoyingly fucking beautiful. “but then some guy came up behind me when i was leaving… and… and…” she couldn’t continue. her eyes became wet.
you squeezed her hand. “hey, hey. it’s okay. it’s okay. you’re safe now.”
her bruised lips were quivering. “it hurt so bad.”
“i know,” you whispered. “did you see what the guy looked like?”
chaewon shook her head. “i didn’t see anything. one second i was alone and the next he was there. i tried to get away but he was too strong. and the cameras out there haven’t been functioning in ages.”
“he won’t get away with this,” you told her. “do you understand that?”
chaewon nodded.
you smiled. “good. i have to go. my parents are coming back today and i want to be home before they do. i’ll come back to visit you again tomorrow. will you be okay?”
“i think so,” she whispered.
“alright. i love you, chae.”
“i love you too,” she whispered.
first problem taken care of. at home, you went straight to haechan’s room. the door was already open so you let yourself inside. “haechan?” you called.
haechan looked up from his phone. he had been sitting on his bed, scrolling. “hey. chaewon okay? she’s not in too bad shape, is she?”
“who gives a fuck?”
haechan paused. then he laughed, perhaps thinking it was a joke. “you…? i mean, aren’t you guys best friends?”
“not anymore.”
haechan tilted his head. “you guys get into a fight in the two seconds between her coming over and now?”
“i know what you did,” you announced levelly.
haechan was quiet a moment. “what are you talking about?”
“don’t do that, haechan. i heard you,” you said. “i heard you with her in the kitchen.”
haechan sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “look-”
you cut him off. “i know i made a mistake. i know you were angry at me. i understand.” you stepped closer, shutting the door behind yourself as you entered the room entirely. “i know i deserved to be punished. but was what i did so wrong that you had to replace me?”
“sweetheart, i-”
“you didn’t do it to hurt me,” you said. “i know you didn’t, because you didn’t want me to know. if you wanted to hurt me, you would have wanted me to see. so then you must truly have meant to replace me, to find someone better than me…”
“if you would let me-”
“but she’s not better than me!” you snapped. “she’s not! and i wish everyone would stop treating her like she’s some perfect princess just because she smiles prettily when she’s hardly a real woman! a real woman wouldn’t fear giving birth! a real woman would trust god!”
you knew you were getting out of line, but you needed him to hear you. this was worth any punishment he could conceive.
“i shouldn’t raise my voice. strike me if you must,” you told him, standing in front of him now, between his legs, perfectly within arms reach. “if you would choke me, i’m ready.” you tugged your shirt over your head to give him better access to your throat. “but she doesn’t deserve you. she doesn’t have what it takes to be your woman. she wouldn’t do these things for you. i know because i’ve spent almost my whole life since first grade by her side and she’s always expected everything to be easy. she has no idea how to face anything she thinks might be hard.”
you brought his hand to your neck, where the bruises were fainter now, but still visible, the colors blooming across your neck. “she wouldn’t see this as what it is,” you whispered, not once looking away from his eyes. “a gift. a honor. a privilege. she would think it’s monstrous. but it’s not. it’s beautiful. it’s a milestone.”
you smiled. “that’s why i had to teach her a lesson.”
“baby,” haechan said slowly. “what did you do?”
“i had jeno pay her a visit.”
“what?”
you nodded. “please don’t be angry,” you whispered. “i did it for you.”
haechan’s hand didn’t fall away from your throat, but it was very loose. “for me?”
“yes. for you. for us. because i love you. because you said you loved me.”
“i do love you,” haechan said, running his spare fingers through your hair.
“so why did you do that?” you asked. your eyes were misty, and soon your cheeks were dampened. “am i not good enough? did i do something wrong? i can fix it, haechan, i swear. i can be better. you just have to tell me. i’ll do anything.” you dropped to your knees. “i can fix it, haechan,” you said again, peering up at him desperately. “let me fix it. please. i don’t want to be trash.”
“how do you plan on fixing it, baby?” haechan murmured.
“i’ll show you,” you said. you began to tug down his pants. “i’ll do better this time. i promise. i’ve been practicing, like you said.”
haechan looked genuinely surprised. “you’ve been practicing for me, baby?”
“yes,” you admitted. “i wanted to make you proud.”
“i’m so proud of you, my girl,” haechan said. he patted your head. “show me what you can do.”
my girl. his girl.
at first, you mirrored the last encounter together where he’d had you on your knees, kissing him through his boxers. he had liked that, you remembered. you spread your tongue along the fabric and sucked the head as if there was no barrier.
you continued that just long enough to get him worked up before doing away with the boxers and discarding them into oblivion, but you paid the head of his cock no mind. instead you dragged your tongue again now along his shaft, up and down, down and up. you heard his breath hitch, and that was all the encouragement you needed. tonight, you were determined to get this right. you couldn’t lose him to someone else, least of all her.
the next time you licked up his shaft, you started another descending path, except this time you were peppering sweet, soft kisses, a gesture that was tender and loving, more than he knew. your lips found their way from just shy of his head to his balls. you took one into your mouth gingerly, not wanting to overstimulate him.
“fuck,” haechan swore. “you trying to kill me, baby?” your giggles were stifled. while your mouth was preoccupied with that, you stroked his cock in your fist. he was so hard now, it never took long. you could feel the blood burning within your hand, his cock hot and stiff with excitement. that’s it. that’s how much he wants me. that’s how much he needs me.
whether he knew it or not, he needed you, just as you needed him. you could see it clearly now. the two of you were fated, and now you had reached a point where it was truly undeniable on your part, where the truth stood tall, a roaming giant, every resistance being crumbled underfoot. the past never mattered. you could forgive his sins if he forgave yours.
those days where you had not yet understood what it earnestly meant to be a woman, where you had believed he was a terror that some entity had cursed you with, those were the days of your naivety at its purest. it was like if chaewon had seen those marks on your neck; she would think they were some an immortal act, she wouldn’t realize it was a gift, a token of love, of care, of how much haechan wanted to see you prosper.
at last when you felt the growing tension in haechan’s body amass to a peak, you let yourself take the head of his cock into your mouth, though without any particular haste. haechan shuddered, the sensation worth the anticipation and then some. “oh, shit.”
seeing him react so strongly made your body burn with urges of its own, but those were secondary. what was paramount was making him understand, proving to him that you were the woman he had made of you.
“you taste so good, hyuck,” you briefly pulled away to tell him. “i missed your cock so much.” not a moment later, you were back to sucking him.
haechan groaned. “yeah? i can tell you miss it. you really have been—holy shit—practicing.”
you moaned around his cock, and it must have done something, because the noise that came out of him made your thighs tense.
“don’t stop,” haechan gasped. “fuck, just like that, baby, don’t stop, you’re so good.”
you were determined to unravel him, to please him more than anyone ever had and ever could, to stake your claim to the man you knew with your whole heart was yours by right, even if you’d never hear the words come out his mouth. this was evidence enough. the way his body responded to you, the things you were making him say, that was a power of its own, and power was the most important thing in this world.
and if men were the heads of power, but you had dominion over his body, what did that say about you?
haechan said your name. he rarely did, it was usually a petname, something sweet and meaningless, but this was yours. “god, i’m gonna fucking come.” it was fun to see his body speak for him, to watch it convey things that words like pleasure never really could. his hips jolted as his cum emptied inside your mouth, hot and salty and meant for you. even as that was happening, his hands were clenched into the sheets, and his voice was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard.
you swallowed it all, not letting a single drop go to waste, and when you were done, you remembered your words. “thank you, haechan, for letting me suck your cock,” you whispered, meeting his eyes as you licked some of his release from your lips.
haechan blinked silently. then he laughed. “fuck. you’re so welcome, princess.”
you got up from your knees and sat on the bed. “can i ride you?”
haechan raised his brow, amused. “you think you can handle that?”
“i know i can.”
“confident,” haechan murmured. he lay back. “sure, ride me. but if you get tired and ask me to take control, i swear to god…”
“that won’t be a problem,” you promised.
haechan chuckled. “if you say so. grab a condom.”
“we don’t need it,” you said as you undid your bra and skirt. “i’m not afraid of the consequences. i’m not afraid of what it means to be a woman.”
haechan’s face fell. “baby, if you get pregnant, that could get us in a world of trouble.”
“i’m not afraid,” you insisted.
“and that’s brave,” haechan said, “but imagine what your mom would think.”
“i don’t care,” you blurted. “i want to marry you and have your babies.”
“whoa. okay,” haechan said, visibly reeling. “we can do that, i promise. after we’re married. deal?”
you nodded. “okay. deal.”
haechan exhaled a breath. “great. now go get a condom out of that drawer and show me how much you want my cock.”
you did as told, fetching a condom from the supply he had in his nightstand drawer. as you were rolling it down his shaft, you whispered, “can we pretend?”
haechan smiled. “yes, princess. we can pretend.”
you shed the very last of your clothes and mounted haechan’s lap. “i want your cock so badly, hyuck.” you sank down onto him, inch by inch, bit by bit. “don’t you feel it?”
haechan moaned. your pussy was gushing around his cock, wet and warm and tight. his hands went to your hips. “shit, babe. all that from sucking me off?”
you nodded. “i like making you feel good.”
haechan closed his eyes. “i like that you like making me feel good.”
nothing could have been better or more important. you would have done this every day if he so asked. you would have gotten on your knees for him, or perhaps your hands and knees, or your back, or bent over whatever surface he preferred that day, or mounted him as you were now, none of it mattered. you were a good woman, and so you could please him whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted, however he wanted it.
surely chaewon couldn’t say the same. chaewon was just a pretty face. beyond that, she was empty. you pitied whatever man would realize that only after he had made her his wife, but that man would not be yours.
“do i feel better than her?” you asked.
haechan didn’t hesitate. “so much better,” he said. “i don’t know what i was thinking, baby. i could never replace you. you’re perfect.”
that warmed your heart. “you mean that?”
“of course, beautiful,” haechan said. “look at you. look how good you’re taking my cock right now. you know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“uh huh,” you agreed. that’s right. i know what he likes.
“nobody’s ever made me feel the way you do,” he said breathlessly. “you were made for me.”
for you, by you. “i was made for you,” you echoed, bouncing on him harder. your boobs followed suit.
“you’re so fucking beautiful,” haechan swore. he took your boobs into his hands, holding them, kneading them.
you smiled coyly. “you’re very handsome.” you liked the way he looked beneath you, his skin flushed, his chest heaving, his hair beginning to stick to his face as the lust made even a room as spacious as this one grow hot and stuffy. you liked the way his lips parted for breath, the way his eyes fluttered when the warm sensation of you got to be too much, the way his brows jumped when your pussy throbbed in response to his words.
it went beyond attraction. it satisfied you, assured you, and rewarded you all at the same time. it was your north star, that guiding light, the thing that let you know that for as long as it was bright you were not a failure.
“you feel so good,” you whimpered, your eyes fixed to his face. you stitched your brows together. “i love your cock, i love it, i love it so much! i don’t want anyone else, hyuck, just you, no one else matters like you do. i’d do anything for you.”
“anything?” haechan murmured.
you nodded. “anything, anything at all. you said i’m beautiful, but i’m only beautiful because you made me so.”
haechan groaned. “and don’t you forget it.”
“i won’t,” you promised. your skin was scorching, every breath more intense than the one before it. “i won’t forget. i’m in debt to you, i’ll repay it however you want me to.”
haechan reached up and grabbed your throat. “repay it by riding me like you mean it.”
your eyes widened. “yes,” you whispered, and immediately began to ride him faster.
haechan grunted. his grip on your hips tightened as you increased your pace.
“yes, yes, yes,” you moaned. your body was moving on top of his wildly, eagerly, desperately. it was as if he had something that no one else could give you, something that you couldn't even give yourself if you tried, but was still unique and purely your own, and no one else could taint it. something like a purpose.
haechan lay there, a dazed look in his eye as he watched you ride him like you were worshiping your new god, and in a way, that was exactly what you were doing.
“tell me it feels good, hyuck,” you said. “tell me i belong to you.”
“i can’t even put into words how incredible you feel,” haechan breathed. “you’re all mine, baby. all mine.”
“i want you to claim me,” you told him, peering down into his eyes. “i want you to show the whole world that i belong to you. breed me, hyuckie. fill me up with your love and show everyone that i’m yours.”
your words made him swear. “you’re asking for something real dangerous, princess, you know that?”
“i don’t care,” you insisted. “all i care about is you.”
“if i breed you, i’m not just gonna do it one time,” haechan said, tightening his chokehold just a bit. “i’m gonna do it again, and again, again, until your pussy has given me every last baby it can. you understand that?”
“yes,” you gasped. “i understand. i’ll give you as many as you want!” it truly didn’t matter to you. you had long accepted the inevitability of motherhood, and you would gladly produce as many babies as he dreamed. that was what you were meant to do, and that was what you would do. and what would say that you were haechan’s like his baby growing in your stomach, the proof of it growing larger and larger by the month until it was a truth that you could cradle in your hands?
you had dreamed of it so much lately, being the mother of haechan’s children, as many as he wanted. marrying him and bearing his name, as you never took on the lee name when your mother married in, too attached to that of your father’s. maybe getting a place of your own, somewhere with a view even better than the one here. raising your sweet little baby, something you and haechan would create together, while he officially took on his father’s position within the company.
nothing would have been sweeter. you would have given up anything for that. soon enough, it would no longer be a dream, but a reality. you imagined inviting chaewon to your wedding, making her watch as haechan swore a vow to you and not her, as he promised to love you until death did you part. you imagined her willing herself to be polite, forcing herself to say that she was happy for you as you had done tirelessly for so many years.
that day would be about you, not her. it would be entirely yours. you would be wearing a stunning dress, surrounded by your loved ones, walking to meet the love of your life at the aisle’s end, and the only thing wrong was that your father would not be there to hand you off.
but you wouldn’t let that ruin anything. because the wedding itself would be proof that you had done it, that you had become the woman he always knew you would, and that was what mattered. then you and haechan would be off to your honeymoon, and he would make love to you with no barriers, and you would give him a child, and everything would be perfect. “when do you think we can get married?” you asked him.
“uh, in a couple years,” haechan projected, loosening his hold on you. “i just have to get settled into the company first, sweetheart.”
you beamed. “my ceo,” you murmured. “whenever you come home stressed, i’ll make sure you come home to something to eat, and then i’ll suck your cock until you come down my throat.”
haechan’s dick twitched. “holy fuck.”
“or you can fuck me, if you’d prefer,” you said. “even if i’m asleep, even if i’m tired, i’ll be yours.”
“there’s no one else on this planet like you, you know that?” haechan asked.
somehow you smiled even wider. “likewise, hyuckie. and even if there was, i’d still choose you.”
haechan simpered. “you’d choose me no matter what, wouldn’t you?”
“yes,” you gasped, a particular nudge of his cock inside you stealing your breath for a moment. “you’re everything to me, haechan.”
“i know, baby,” he muttered. “i know.”
if you were already wet to begin with, you were dripping now, and that might not have been enough to accurately describe your state of arousal either; your pussy was leaking so much you could feel it dripping past your thighs and onto the sheets, staining his bed. and with how vigorously you were riding him, the sound of your bodies meeting was just as intense.
you had never gotten like that before, even haechan seemed amazed. “you’re so wet,” he whispered incredulously. “jesus christ. you’re fucking soaked. because of talking about babies?”
you whimpered. “please give me your cum, hyuck, i need it so bad, i want your baby, i want everyone to know you own me, that your cock was so deep inside me it made me see stars. please, please, please.”
“if you keep talking like that, i’m going to see stars,” he hissed.
you didn’t stop talking. partly because you knew he liked it, and partly because you were so far gone that talking deliriously was about all you could really do. you moaned loudly. “haechan!” you cried out. “please, i’m gonna come on your cock, i want us to come together, oh, please, please, please!”
your thighs had begun to ache from the effort of riding him so hard and for so long, but you paid it no mind. even when your body tired, you refused to stop. not before he was finished. you were stronger than that.
it was a good thing that the servants were returning tomorrow, and not a second before. you were being so loud that someone on the opposite wing would likely have been able to hear your cries.
“i’m gonna come,” haechan said, driving his hips up to meet your thrusts. “i’m gonna come, baby, fuck—”
he spilled, not into you, into the condom, but with such an intensity that you could almost have convinced yourself it didn’t matter. you felt the way his hands gripped your hips to anchor himself, the way his body convulsed beneath you, and you heard him cry out and shudder as the orgasm took over his body, as for a moment he surrendered all sense and all control to the ecstasy that scorched through every corner of his body.
that was what undid you, and as he was still coming down from that godly high your body had given him, you clamped down around his cock, chanting, “yes,” over and over again until your hips finally stilled.
the room was quiet for a moment, or close enough to quiet. your panting and the fan whirling was about all the noise you could hear.
you lay against haechan’s chest. “promise me you’ll always choose me,” you whispered.
“i promise, sweetheart,” haechan said softly, curling his arm around your waist.
the two of you stayed together like that, skin to skin, heart to heart. your eyes fluttered closed and you might have even slipped away if you didn’t hear the footsteps coming up the hall. footsteps that had no reason to be on this corridor.
haechan sat up and patted your arm. “go in the closet. hurry up.”
you scurried away, plucking your clothes off the floor, and hid inside the closet.
haechan was shuffling around in his bed, hurriedly redressing himself from the sounds of it. that went on for a few moments until a knock sounded at your door that made you jolt.
“it’s open!” haechan called out.
“hey,” came his father’s voice. “we’re back. your stepmom went up to the room to get some rest, but i’d thought i’d come over and let you know.”
“cool,” haechan said. “nice trip?”
“fantastic. very beautiful place. beautiful girls too. you would have liked it.”
haechan laughed. the sound made your chest tighten. “oh, i’m sure.”
“where’s your stepsister?” your stepfather asked. “i peered in her room, but she wasn’t there.”
“uh, i don’t know. she left a little while ago. probably hanging out with chaewon.”
“chaewon is in the hospital.”
“yeah, i know,” haechan said. “she probably went to go see how she’s doing or something.”
your stepfather sighed. “you’re supposed to keep a rein on her.”
“i have,” haechan insisted. “didn’t you notice how pristine the house looked when you walked in?”
“i suppose so,” came his father. “alright. i’m gonna go lie down. that flight got the better of me. let your stepsister know we’re back.”
“will do.”
you heard the door click shut, and released the shakiest breath.
“you can come out now,” haechan said.
you stepped out the closet, still naked, your clothes in your hands. “keep a rein on me?” you echoed, smiling. “is that what you’re doing?”
“mmhm,” haechan hummed, pulling you back into his arms. “bend over.”
you draped yourself over his bed.
“see?” haechan threw his hand against your ass, making you cry out in surprise. “that’s the rein.”
the next day, you went to see chaewon again, bearing gifts that your mother had gotten for her while on the trip. it seemed like more than the things she had given you, but you focused on dropping them off, saying a few nice things to your best friend, hovering beside her for a few moments, and then leaving. haechan was at home. you missed him already. you wanted to feel his body against yours, to hear him whisper praises in your ears.
as you turned to leave chaewon’s hospital room, jaehyun was there in the hallway. your eyes flickered in surprise but you smiled pleasantly. “hello, jaehyun. i’m sorry, i didn’t see you there.”
jaehyun’s face didn’t change. “i know what you did.”
your smile didn’t fade, not yet anyway, but you tilted your head, brows stitching together. “i’m confused.”
“i know what you did,” jaehyun repeated. “you hurt her.”
you laughed. “right. with what bits?” you gestured over your figure. “i think i’m ill-equipped. you’re not. maybe you did it.”
jaehyun drew near you so quickly you missed it in the time it took you to blink. “don’t you ever,” he started, “accuse me of something so egregiously foul and incestuous as that when you’re the one who’s sleeping with your brother.”
your shoulders went cold. how did he know?
“don’t you realize that your brother will fuck anything with a pulse?” jaehyun asked. “i’ve seen the way he looks at you, and i’ve seen the way you look at him. it’s disgusting.”
“you-”
“be quiet,” jaehyun hissed. “when i came to see her last night, she was crying. i asked her what was wrong. she said, ‘god has punished me for my sin.’ i told her, ‘that’s nonsense, chaewon. what did you do?’ she said, ‘i slept with someone before i was married.’ obviously, i was not happy to hear this, but she was going through enough, so i simply asked her, ‘chaewon, who was it?’ she avoided my eyes, she wouldn’t look at anything but the tv. finally, she said, ‘haechan.’”
“what does that have to do with me?” you asked.
“everything,” jaehyun said, glowering. “you’ve always wanted to be her. chaewon’s too blind to realize it, she only sees the best in people. but you have always resented her for having everything you didn’t. and when she slept with your precious brother, well, that was the last straw for you.”
“you have no proof of this,” you said. “stop wasting my time with theories.”
“let’s see if your parents will think it’s just a theory.” jaehyun turned and walked away.
needless to say, when you walked into the main room, you knew the day was far from over.
everyone was joined on the couch: your mother, who looked distraught, your stepfather, who looked distressed, and haechan… who just looked distant.
when your mother saw you, she called your name. “come sit. now.”
your heart thudded, but you had braced yourself for anything they could throw at you. you were prepared to fight.
“jaehyun says that you set up that poor incident that happened to chaewon,” she said worriedly. “did you do that?”
well, your cat was out of the bag. “yes.”
your mother furrowed her brows. “but why? she’s your best friend, and she’s a good girl.”
“she’s a stupid cunt and she has no idea what it takes to be a woman. she thought she deserved him,” you blurted.
she looked taken aback. “so it’s true then.” she grasped her dress. “you and haechan have… a relationship.”
“yes,” you confirmed proudly. “we love each other.”
scoffing, your stepfather said, “this- this is despicable. haechan, she’s your sister.”
haechan said nothing.
your mother sighed and began to massage her temple. “i don’t understand how something like this could happen. i knew you two were getting closer, yes, but for heaven’s sake, i thought you were just finally bonding.”
“we have bonded,” you insisted.
“you have sinned. there is nothing holy about this joining. to lay with another man before marriage, and not only that, but your brother…”
you almost rolled your eyes, “he’s my stepbrother. we’re not related!”
“you need to watch your tone,” she said, pointing her finger at you.
“you don’t understand,” you whispered. “haechan and i love each other, and we’re going to get married and have children together.”
your mother looked like she was going to faint. she was gripping the pad of the chair for dear life. “jesus christ. what did you just say?”
your stepfather barked, “then you will have disgraced our entire family. do you have any idea the shame that the news of this affair would bring to our names? we would be a laughing stock in the media. we would lose investors. the company would be in shambles!”
your mother reached for your arm. “this must stop now.”
“no! can’t you hear me? we’re in love. we’re in love. and i won’t let you take that away from us!”
“are you out of your ever loving mind?” she snapped. “you cannot be in love with him, he is your brother. and you sure as hell cannot marry him. mark my words, no one will bless it.”
“yes i can! he said so himself. he said we’ll get married when he gets settled within the company.”
“settled within the company,” your father echoed. “there will be no company to settle into if this were to happen, do you hear me? i wanted to come home, relax, announce my retirement and pass let my son take my place. instead i’m bombarded with this utter nonsense. what’s with all this talk of marriage anyway? haechan has never shown interest in marrying any of the girls i’ve paired him up with.”
“haechan likes women with value,” you told him firmly.
“value!” your stepfather laughed, as if there was something funny that you were missing there. “is this a joke or something?” he turned to face his son, who had been silent on the matter thus far. “haechan, do you want to be ceo or not?”
“yes,” haechan finally spoke up.
“then you have to stop this incestuous nonsense. i will not have you ruining the reputation of the company i’ve spent decades building up from nothing because of some silly fling you decided to have with your stepsister of all people. i can turn a blind eye to many things, but this will not do.”
to your horror, haechan nodded his head. “i’ll stop. i swear, dad, on everything, i’ll stop.”
relieved, your stepfather sighed. “good. that solves that issue. we’ll announce it today, and the party will be on the third sunday of the month.”
you gawked. “what?”
your stepfather stood, not so much as looking at you. “i have business to attend to. come find me in my study if it’s important.” he started down the hall.
haechan met your eyes, but he didn’t say anything to you, and they were only on you for a fleeting moment before he went after his father. “actually, dad, i wanted to talk to you about the company. i had some ideas and i thought i would run them by…” his voice trailed off the further he went.
you sat there, blinking rapidly, trying to comprehend what had just happened. “what…”
your mother turned sympathetic. “oh, honey. i’m sorry.”
“he lied,” you whispered. only last night, he had held you in his arms and told you that he would always choose you. he had promised.
she didn’t ask what about. she just held you. “i know, darling,” she said. “believe it or not, i know how you feel. you think you’ve done your very best to make him happy, but something else comes along and then that something else takes priority. and you wonder what you did to make him love you less.” she patted your back. “that’s just how they are.”
“why?” you whispered, tears rolling down your cheeks.
“i wish i knew, honey. i wish i knew.”
over the next couple of weeks, you barely saw haechan, which was easy given the size of the house, but still jarring when you had spent the past month glued to his side, fulfilling his every need. and now he didn’t need you. you had exhausted your value.
you just didn’t understand it. did all that time together mean nothing to him? every word, every touch, every promise? one day, he was holding you like you were the most precious thing he ever seen, and the next he tossed you away like… like trash.
never had you ever felt more embarrassed. he had been so quiet, his eyes darting back and forth between whoever was speaking as you vehemently defended your love, while he didn’t say a word. not when it mattered most. not when it was time to stand for you.
you had officially become worthless, and you weren’t even sure you knew why. after everything with chaewon went down, you could have sworn that you had made it right. that he had chosen you. that you had proved to him you could be everything he wanted and more. that you would do anything for him. but he didn’t want it.
the other day, you had tried to send a text to chaewon, but it didn’t go through; jaehyun must have told her the truth. now you were truly and utterly alone.
you felt alone too. on the second week before the party, you barely stepped out of your room altogether. all you did was lay in bed and weep, while haechan was probably planning what initiatives he was going to take as the new chief executive. your mother came to your room to check on you, but you didn’t feel like talking. she had to make the maids send up your meals, but you barely touched them at all.
it wasn’t food you were hungry for. you could barely eat or sleep. it was haechan. i thought he loved me, you said to yourself, alone in your mind, a dark, cold void where every thought reverberated. he said he loved me. he said he would always choose me. he said there was no one else like me. he said we would get married and then start a family. he said i was perfect.
you must have replayed that night in your mind over and over a million times since it happened. it had been magical, the most magical. all your hard work and studying had paid off, and it was the most confident you had ever felt. it had given you something to believe in, something larger than just yourself.
but it was over now, dead and gone, and to never come back, as far as haechan was concerned. he had given that up, because when faced with the choice of you or the company, he had chosen the latter, sacrificing your love, your devotion, your faith. sacrificing everything he had told you to be.
the bruises that had been on your neck were mostly gone now, but you could still see them clearly as if they’d never left, as if it was just yesterday that his hand had been around your throat. you wished he’d do it again, just to show you that he still cared. the longer he was away, the more you started to forget what it was like to feel his hands on your body.
you missed him. you felt like you hated him, and yet you missed him so much. you missed the warmth of his body beside yours, you missed the way his fingers would thread your hair, you missed the way his voice sounded when he was right there, and you missed the way it felt when he said something that made every punishment feel like it was worth it. but even if you couldn’t get that, you would have settled for his anger, his frustrations, his violence, his cruelty.
it would have been better than nothing. right now you had nothing but silence and distance, and you were certain that someone tearing you open from limb to limb would still hurt less.
the day of the party, you almost had to be forced out of bed. you wanted to stay home and rot, but your mother said it would reflect poorly on the family if you were absent. resigned, you did your makeup, covering up the days of sobbing, and donned a gorgeous red dress that haechan had bought you months ago.
as you gazed at your reflection in the mirror, all you could thing about was that day at the mall. you look the best in bold colors, he had said. well, here you were in red, the boldest of them all. today, he would see you. today, you would make sure it was impossible for him not to.
the venue was rippling with businessmen and their ladies, as to be expected. you sat at the high table with the rest of your family, as to be expected. normally at events like this, you would chaewon by your side to help you through the monotonous segments… but that ship had sailed.
it was entertaining enough. you mostly watched haechan, who was socializing deftly, here one second, and there the next. he was very charming. everyone looked glad to hear whatever it was he was saying. they were putting their trust in him, their time and their faith, just as you once had. you all are so silly, you thought. he’s a liar. he lies. he’s lying to you right now.
the future of greatness was in his hands, he had said. his father might as well have put his money in a safe and melted it.
it was amazing, though, how haechan could say things he didn’t mean with such conviction. he could make a believer out of anyone. that silver tongue of his could forge promises like no one you had ever seen and say them almost as though he truly believed them himself. you were convinced that it had to have been some kind of superpower.
or maybe it was insanity of some kind, but regardless, it made you realize that maybe this whole time you hadn’t really known him at all.
speeches were given and forgotten. there was food and drinks and laughter. so much laughter. people were just laughing for laughter’s sake, and you were sitting there trying to hide the fact that your entire world had been upturned. somehow you felt even lonelier here than you had alone in your bed.
“now this was no hand-me-down,” your stepfather was saying in the middle of his speech, his hand clasped on haechan’s shoulder. “my son has this position because despite all odds, he’s proven that deserves it more than anyone.”
everyone was cheering and clapping. you clapped your hands together too, watching attentively. “that was beautiful,” you said, standing up. “would you make if i said a few words of my own?”
your stepfather’s smile tightened ever so slightly, but haechan’s face didn’t seem to change at all. your mother reached for your arm, but you were determined.
“i won’t be long, i promise,” you added.
“of course. why not,” your stepfather replied begrudgingly. “everyone, my beloved stepdaughter would like to say a few words to celebrate her stepbrother’s success.”
more cheers, more laughter, but it all faded as you went up to accept the microphone. as you stood beside haechan, the closest you had been to him in weeks, you saw your stepfather whisper something to one of his men, who then proceeded to take a position not too far from you, his eyes watching and waiting.
“first of all, i just want to start off by saying congratulations, brother,” you told him, grinning from ear to ear. “i’m very happy for you. it seems that you’re finally getting everything you wanted, and you know what? you deserve it.”
haechan looked so composed, so proper. “thank you, sister.”
glancing out into the crowd of people before you, you continued, “when i heard that my brother here would be the new chief executive of our family’s excellent company, i was not surprised. who would be a better candidate than the man with this much grit? i think he could turn a tree into a diamond if he really wanted to.” everyone laughed. “i believe that the future of the company is in amazing hands. haechan is the kind of person who knows what he wants and how to get it. once he has a vision for something, he will mold it and shape it in his palms until there is nothing but the best version of it.” you could feel haechan’s gaze on you from the corner of your eye, but you didn’t glance at him. “it’s truly inspiring to watch. i feel as though i’ve learned a lot from him. to never accept anything but the best for myself. to always strive for perfection and aim to have what the next person doesn’t. that’s what truly makes this company great - the ability to distinguish it from its competitors, to exist in a realm of its own. if you like what my father has done with the company so far, then you should get excited. because lee haechan is going to make it even better. thank you.”
as everyone clapped and hollered, you handed the microphone back to haechan and returned to your seat without a backwards glance. you had said what you needed to say.
“let’s give my sister another round of applause for those kind words,” haechan said, smiling, but there was no depth to it. “isn’t she the absolute sweetest? even though she exaggerates a little bit. making me sound like ten times the man i am.” laughter rang out in the room.
that might have been the first thing he’d said all night with some truth to it.
the party dragged on with no end in sight, and you found yourself missing chaewon once more, the feeling harder to drown than you thought it would be. you supposed it was only natural. she had been a close companion of yours since the two of you were very young. you wondered if she missed you too, or if she hated you now, just as you hated haechan.
you were nursing a drink in an empty corridor to get away from the noise when you heard footsteps approaching. oh, brother, you thought.
a male voice you didn’t recognize said your name. “hey. that was a wonderful speech back there. you have a way with words.” when you turned around, you had to look up to see his face. he towered over you, tall and imposing. he smiled and outstretched his free hand. in the other he was holding a glass of champagne. “i’m johnny.”
you already knew that. you may not have recognized his voice, but you recognized his face. johnny suh. his father used to do business with your stepfather before he retired and had johnny take over, much like what was happening with haechan now. he was also one of the shareholders. you gave him your name and shook his hand, though it was unusual for men to do that with the women they met.
“thank you for coming to celebrate my brother,” you said politely.
“of course,” johnny replied, pleasant as one could be. “my father is hoping i do business with him. but i thought i might have sensed some… tension between the two of you a moment ago.”
“tension?” you echoed, feigning ignorance.
johnny shrugged. “well, i don’t know. i just thought it was peculiar that your stepfather had placed someone on your end of the platform. like he wanted to be prepared in case you said something… improper.”
your smile was tight. “my stepfather is a cautious man, is all.”
“i’m sure,” johnny said. “i didn’t mean to pry. i just thought that maybe there was strife, or maybe you wanted the position for yourself.”
so little had you ever even considered that an option that you were certain he was jesting, but when you laughed, he didn’t join in. “you’re serious?”
johnny didn’t even blink. “i’m not a man intimidated by a woman’s success. if you did take it, i think you would do well. it’s about time that more women assume positions of power in this world.”
he was speaking of foreign, forbidden concepts. “that sounds… scary.”
“of course it does,” he agreed. “but if there’s no pioneer, it’ll never happen. the grounds will never flourish. my father taught me a lot about business, but my mother taught me about life and judgment. my father was always focused on the end result, but my mom saw how to get there.”
you took that in. “how old are you?”
“thirty-one this year.”
looking at his hand, you saw there was no wedding band on his finger. “you’re not married.”
“yes, society tends to be a bit more forgiving to men in that regard,” he replied, chuckling. “do you have any plans to get married soon?”
the thought of getting married stirred up some odd feelings, and memories, within you. “no. well, my stepfather has a list.”
johnny laughed. “no one wants to marry off their father’s list. mine has one too. my next date is still postponed indefinitely.” he took a sip from his champagne glass. “isn’t there any guy you like?”
“not anymore,” you murmured.
that made johnny smile. “then can i take you on a date?”
well, he was very forward. you did like men like that. it had been a long time since you’d gone on a date with a guy, and maybe going somewhere without traces of haechan would finally expel him from your mind. “sure.”
“perfect,” johnny chirped. “would you prefer to be indoors or outdoors? vanni’s has some of the best italian food i’ve ever had, but the pier is a great place to watch the sunset.”
outside. you needed to be outside again, connect with nature or something. that month alone with haechan had felt like an eternity, and the only people you had seen that weren’t him were chaewon and one of the foreign investors. “the pier sounds lovely,” you decided.
“the pier it is,” johnny said. the lighting in the hallway made his eyes sparkle. “if you give me your number, we can arrange a time that works best for you. wear comfortable shoes.”
you exchanged numbers and he promised to text you, wishing you a good night before pardoning himself, and you found yourself wondering what you had gotten yourself into just now, but a part of you wanted to untangle yourself from anything that was tied to haechan. the other so badly wished you could go into his arms and be held by him and take in his warmth.
but that was not an option anymore. he had given it up, he had deemed it worthless in the face of his father, the place where it might have mattered most. if he could choose other things, then perhaps you could choose something that wasn’t him as well.
that being said, you still couldn’t be certain if you had made a good choice. you couldn’t be certain of anything anymore. you laid in bed that night, the dress and makeup gone, alone with your raw self, or at least whatever was left of her. you had relied on haechan, in more ways than you knew. in trying to build a structure around him, you inadvertently built a system that upraised him as the very sun that kept life as you had known it together.
it never seemed like a bad thing. even now, it hardly seemed like a bad thing; it felt like you were lost, like you were drifting, and you needed him to keep you anchored, but he was gone now, so you were trying to do it yourself, clumsily, spitefully, desperately, but it was just too different.
tonight of all nights, you really missed chaewon. it was your fault she wasn’t there, you knew that. maybe everything was your fault. you had never regretted anything more; you honestly felt at least three shed skins away from the person who made that choice, removed enough to feel remorse, but not so much that you didn’t still feel angry at the thought of haechan with another.
and yet even that had wounded you less than him choosing the company, because he hadn’t even tried. maybe if he had put in some effort, you could forgive that, but he had sat there like it had nothing to do with him, like it wasn’t his life, like it wasn’t yours.
you weren’t sure when you fell asleep. you never really were. every night you lay awake, thinking about haechan, crying more often than not, and it felt like mere seconds between then and the second you roused, not even remembering the moment that sleep took you.
the cycle, unbroken as it had been for weeks, persisted even into the day of the date you were going on with johnny. you debated whether or not you even wanted to go, but you knew that what you were doing now was not helping, so you made yourself get up. it was just a few hours. the bed would be there when you returned.
concealing the dark circles under your eyes made you think of concealing the bruises haechan had left on your throat even though those were long gone now and you realized this was not too different. they were marks haechan had left on you, even if one was more indirect than the other.
you made yourself pretty, the way he would want you to be, even if it wasn’t for him, even if it was for another guy. you remembered what it felt like to get his approval for an outfit. for a second you almost let yourself wonder if he would approve of this one, but you had to finish getting ready before johnny got here.
the final look was so different from the version of you drowning in bed that you felt like you were posing, an imposter in your own skin. your perception of reality was fragile lately.
johnny picked you up yourself. he was outside in a car waiting and got out to open the passenger door for you when he saw you coming down the steps. “hey,” he greeted.
“hi,” you said back.
his eyes seemed to take you in, and you knew your efforts weren’t for nothing. “you look beautiful.”
“thank you.” he didn’t look bad himself. johnny was an attractive guy, and he had dressed with the weather in mind. “you look rather spiffy yourself.”
“well, i tried for you.” once you were inside, he shut the door behind you and went around to get in the other seat.
you watched him buckle his seatbelt. “you didn’t have to do this. you could have just sent a driver.”
johnny glanced over at you, not yet starting the car, and smiled. “i find that what a man can do matters less than what he chooses to do. besides, i have a functioning car and an active license. what’s the harm?”
you hummed. “i guess that’s true.”
“shall we go?”
“we shall,” you said, adjusting your seat a bit.
you didn’t talk much on the way there, but it didn’t feel awkward. sometimes it was nice to just look out the window and watch as you passed everything by. there was a world out there, and it was vast, parts of it unknown.
at the pier, johnny bought you both drinks and you ambled along the boardwalk together. “so,” he started. he had matched his strides to yours. “tell me about yourself.”
you didn’t know where to start. it felt like there was so much you could say. “what do you want to know?”
johnny shrugged. “anything. what do you like to do in your free time? where do you see yourself in ten years? what kind of men are you into? were you really going to marry off of your father’s list?”
you pondered each of those things before you spoke, and every answer seemed to go back to haechan. “the list… um, i don’t know. i guess i never really thought about who i would marry.”
that seemed to amuse johnny. “isn’t that all anyone ever thinks about?”
“i thought about getting married, yes. but not really who.” it was a lie now, but once it had been true.
“so you wanted to get married just so you could say you did it?” johnny asked. he didn’t seem to mean anything by it.
“i mean, that’s… putting it bluntly,” you murmured. “but i guess it’s something like that.”
johnny’s voice was soft. “that doesn’t sound like you’re living for yourself.”
“well, a woman lives for her family,” you said. that was what you had always been taught.
johnny changed the subject. “well, what about the other questions? what do you like to do?”
you had spent the past couple of weeks becoming a corpse in your bed, and the weeks before that submitting to haechan’s every whim, or practicing how you would in the future, so you weren’t sure how to answer that question either. “um, if there’s nothing to do around the house, i might hang out with my friend chaewon. well, i did, but um… anyway, i… watch tv, i guess? i don’t have that much free time. what about you?”
johnny didn’t even think about it. “i like to do all sorts of things. try out restaurants i’ve never eaten at, or an activity i’ve never done. i’m a pretty spontaneous guy.” he glanced down at you. “does that bother you? spontaneity?”
you didn’t know if haechan had been spontaneous or unpredictable or both. “i don’t think it’s a problem.”
johnny was pleased. “good. some people prefer routine, but i get bored easily, you know? i want to be with someone who has a sense of adventure.”
but i get bored easily. maybe that was it. maybe haechan had gotten bored of you. maybe he lost interest. “do you get bored of women as well?” you asked. you hadn’t mean to be that forward, but it came out before you could rein it back in.
that, on the other hand, made johnny pause. he spoke very carefully, “i think that there are certain traits i’m attracted to in a woman. her fierceness. her spirit. her resilience. those are the things that keep me interested. i think i wouldn’t approach a woman who didn’t display these traits in the first place.”
you had never really thought of yourself that way, but if he believed it, maybe it was true.
“what about you?” he asked. “what do you want in a man?”
you took a moment to think about that as well. it was something you didn’t always have the luxury of considering. for so long it had just been, this is the kind of woman i need to be. “maybe a man like my father. my biological father,” you whispered. “he was sweet. even when he was busy working, he made time for me. he made me feel special.”
“sounds like he was a good father,” johnny said.
your heart felt heavy. “he was.”
thankfully the rest of the date was lighter. johnny took you to a ton of different stores and you browsed through their inventory, pointing out things that looked cool or silly. you tried on a few different hats. johnny. there was live music playing and you stayed around for that as well.
something about it soothed you. you had always liked music, ever since you were very young. in high school you and chaewon had gone to so many concerts you could scarcely remember them all, but you remembered the way they had made you feel. there was nothing else like that in the world.
leaning against the railing, you watched as the sun began to sink down into the earth for the night, the sky blossoming with color. you could hear the sea beneath you, the water heaving back and forth, the waves crashing against the earth, devouring the bottom of the structure where you stood.
“i think i never really appreciated stuff like this,” you said quietly.
johnny hummed. “why not?”
“it didn’t seem like it mattered,” you said. “it seemed like everything else was bigger and more imminent. but maybe i had it backwards.”
“maybe.”
for the first time in a long time, the silence wasn’t so loud. it didn’t feel like your thoughts were haunting you, pulling you back into a dark abyss of emotions that kept you up at night. everything was just there.
when the sky turned dark, johnny decided he would take you home. you did speak a little bit in the car, but after a while it was just the radio and the gloomy, looming night. you liked it that way.
johnny helped you out of the car and led you up the doorsteps like a proper gentleman, even though it was utterly unnecessary. “i had a good time with you tonight,” he said.
strangely, you felt likewise. you didn’t know if it was because of him, or the environment, but nevertheless, you were glad you forced yourself out of bed that day. “i did too,” you said. “we should do that again.”
johnny was pleasantly surprised by the initiative. “do you have anywhere in mind?”
you thought about it. “there’s a restaurant my father liked,” you told him. “i’ll text it to you when i get inside.”
johnny nodded. “okay. i’ll be waiting.”
“have a good night, johnny.”
he reached out for your hand and kissed it. “you as well.” he walked back a few steps and watched you go inside before he left.
you didn’t run into anyone when you came in so you went straight to your bedroom and took a shower. you were moisturizing yourself when someone knocked on the door. “honey, it’s me. can i come in?”
you glanced up at the door. “yes, it’s unlocked.”
your mother entered the bedroom and closed the door behind her. “how was the date?”
“he was different than i was expecting him to be.”
your mother tilted her head. “in a good way or a bad way?”
“i’m not sure yet,” you said. johnny had been nice enough. you just had a lot going on, and being back here made you remember everything.
“well, you have time to figure it out,” she said. she came to sit beside you on the bed. “do you want to go out with him again?”
“yes.” you knew that much.
she looked pleased. “good. that’s good. i’m glad you’re putting yourself out there and finding a man of your own. i started talking to your stepfather about arrangements.”
arrangements. well, johnny had picked a good time to ask you out. truthfully, it was the last thing you wanted. “mom?”
“yes, dear?”
“do you ever think about dad?” you asked. you knew she hardly talked about him, and you never mentioned him to her first, but today his memory was particularly strong.
she she didn’t answer immediately. it was a while before she finally said, “i try not to.”
you wondered why, but you didn’t ask. “i just feel like you moved on really fast. and i don’t know, i don’t think he deserved that.”
“i remember him one way and you remember him another,” your mother said. she stood up. “goodnight. get some rest. i want us all to have breakfast together tomorrow.”
you restrained yourself from groaning in disgruntlement. ever since you started locking yourself in your room for half the day, she had been trying to force these family meals. sometimes it would be breakfast and sometimes it would be dinner. and it was absolutely awful because haechan would always sit there as if he had never done anything wrong.
but it would be fine. you would get through it. because maybe that was what you did. you got through things.
day by day, you found yourself looking more and more forward to your next date with johnny. it had been a long time since you went to that restaurant you told him about. after your father died, it was like the world pulled you in the other direction, and everything that was his was so far away, part of another life you once had.
you almost wished you could go back to it. but you knew that was impossible, so the next best thing was to wrestle out of this one and start something new.
before you knew it, you were sitting before johnny, eating things that you used to eat, drinking stuff you used to drink. it was bittersweet.
after a while, johnny very gingerly asked, “can i ask when your father died?”
“like two years before my mom married my stepfather,” you said, looking down at your plate. if you closed your eyes, you could see him sitting there, talking about how much he liked the songs the band was playing.
you didn’t know if he was a mind reader or something, but he pressed, “do you think she moved on too fast?”
yes. maybe. i don’t know anymore. when you told her that you did, your mother had said something that confused you. you had no idea how she remembered him, or what that was supposed to mean. “it just feels like she was running from something,” you said. “and i didn’t feel like i really had time to process what happened before she married into this new family.”
“have you ever considered therapy?”
“no.”
“why not?”
“i never really thought about it,” you told him. “i guess i was worried about other things.”
“like getting married?” it was such a harmless question, but it felt like there was something he was getting at.
“i mean, yeah…”
johnny took a sip from his cup. “well, my mom says you can bury a body, but it’ll still be right there where you left it. you have to face those sorts of things.”
the conversation was getting heavy. maybe too heavy for a second date. “i like the music they play here,” you whispered. “the music they played at the pier was nice too.”
johnny smiled. “do you like music?”
you nodded. “yes. i used to sing in the choir. when i was little i watched my grandmother play the piano. i wanted to learn how to play it in college but i never had time.”
“you have time now,” he replied simply.
your brows furrowed a moment. that was true. it had seemed so small in the grand scheme of things, learning to play an instrument, but now there was really nothing holding you back. “i guess so.”
“i’d like to hear you sing some time,” johnny said with genuine interest.
you smiled timidly. “i think i’m a bit rusty, but i wouldn’t mind doing a tune or two. what about you? do you sing?”
johnny made a face, moving his head from side to side. “a little bit. i’m not whitney houston or anything but i can hold a note.”
you laughed. “i heard there’s a festival happening on the tenth. would you be interested in that?”
“are you asking me on a date?” johnny teased.
“i thought that was the point of this.”
“it is,” he said. “and for the record, i would love to be at this festival with you on the tenth. i’ll clear my schedule right now.”
“if you’re busy, it’s okay—”
“nope,” johnny interrupted, already reaching for his phone. “i’m calling my assistant and telling him to cancel everything i have scheduled for that day.”
you had already been smiling, but it somehow grew even bigger. “that’s really nice of you.”
johnny’s eyes raked over your face, your smile. “it’s what you do for a girl you like.”
something about that made your heart flutter in a way that felt forbidden, but you didn’t know why.
and if you thought that was a lot, then nothing could prepare you for when johnny walked you up the steps to your house like he had done on the first date, only this time asking, “can i kiss you?”
when you came to think of it, you weren’t sure if haechan had ever kissed you on the lips. he had kissed other parts of your body and held you in his arms, but he had never put his lips to yours, and you never knew how badly you wanted that until now. “yes,” you whispered.
johnny craned his head down so that his lips could reach yours. the kiss was soft, tender. in a way it felt like he was merely testing the waters, but it made a fierce heat spread through your chest, and when he pulled away, you felt light as a feather.
“was that okay?” he asked, taking in your face with concern.
“yes,” you said again, because you didn’t know what else to say. a smile broke out across your face.
“good,” he said, reluctantly stepping down. “good night.”
“good night, johnny.”
it was safe to say that the dates didn’t stop there.
you spent months going out with johnny, and the more you did, the less you thought about anyone else. when you were with him, it felt like the two of you were the only people in the world, but not because you were alone. because he had a way of making everything else not matter.
the two of you did various activities together. the music festival was a blast, and he was tall, so he got good videos. you went bowling a few times, and that got super competitive. he even had the idea of taking dance classes, and it was the silliest thing, but you did it, and you enjoyed it. everything felt so easy.
the worst part was the waiting. sitting at home, knowing he was at work, knowing that it would be a while before he responded to your messages. but you always texted each other good morning and good night, no matter what. sometimes you texted him things anyway, if you really just had something to get off your chest, knowing that he would read it later.
it did finally give you the inspiration you needed to get out of bed and stop merely existing. you took up piano like you wanted, and the instructor came in a few times a week, helping you bit by bit.
you started sleeping more, and the dark circles went away. there were still hard times and harder thoughts, but you didn’t feel this unshakable sense of doom anymore. it felt like things were happening the way they were supposed to, and for the first time in a long time, you were doing things just because you wanted to do it.
that felt like a superpower you never knew you had. your mind was at ease more often that not, even though it could still be hard when you saw haechan and remembered the way things were. but you told yourself that the way things were was not necessarily the same as the way things should be.
one day, you went over to johnny’s apartment for the first time. “you have a nice place,” you said, taking in the sight of everything. it was neat, organized. the furniture selection was tasteful.
“thanks. perks of being a businessman,” he chirped. “may i interest you in a glass of pinot noir?”
you giggled. “yes, you may.”
the two of you sat at a table, drinking wine, talking about anything and everything under the sun. it felt comfortable. safe. you just came as you were, and he was okay with that.
one thing led to another, and you found yourself in bed with him. at first it was just kissing. his lips against your lips, then against your jaw, then against your neck. it made your breath hitch. then it was touching. he paused, asking if you it was okay, and his hands wandered more and more, his eyes glued to your face, searching your every expression for a hint.
at some point, you wound up naked. his lips had been everywhere, your face, your chest, your abdomen, but then his face was between your legs, and he said, “i want to make you feel good. tell me if you want me to stop.”
at first, you had started to go into your mind, but it was hardly ever a good place to be. you slowly eased into the moment and let yourself relax. and that was the best choice you could have made. when you came, he kissed you down there and said that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
you wanted to return the favor. he had said you didn’t need to, but you insisted; it would feel wrong if you didn’t give back. so begrudgingly he let you, and when you took him into your mouth, you pulled out every trick you knew to please him, because there was never the alternative of being mediocre.
johnny was very receptive. you liked the way his body reacted on its own, those responses raw and natural. you liked the way his voice sounded when he urged you on, saying things like, “fuck, just like that. you’re so good at that. how are you so good at that?” he had a steady hand in your hair as he held it behind your head.
when he came, you swallowed everything, your eyes fixed to his as you did. he looked like his soul had been dragged out of him, his eyes hazy, his chest heaving.
when you pulled away, you said, “thank you for letting me suck your cock, johnny.”
johnny blinked, like it took him a moment to process what you said, which was fair, all things considered. “what did you just say?”
you really hadn’t even meant to say it, but it was ingrained.
johnny was looking at you hard. “where did that come from? that’s really weird.”
your face burned. “i-i’m sorry, i thought you would like it.”
“don’t be silly. that’s nothing you need to thank me for,” he said. he pulled you off the floor, back up to the bed with him. “who taught you to say that?”
you didn’t know how he knew that, but your heart was racing. you had been hiding this truth from him for so long. you were afraid that if you told him, he would change his mind about you and everything you had would be nothing, and you couldn’t take another loss, you just couldn’t.
but you couldn’t lie to him either, so reluctantly you confessed as quietly as you could, “haechan…”
johnny’s brows furrowed together. “had he touched you?”
you swallowed. “yes… but i wanted him to!”
johnny put his pants back on and handed your clothes back to you. you were afraid he was going to make you leave, but he asked, “when did this start?”
“i don’t know. it was months ago,” you said. it felt like forever ago and just yesterday at the same time. “i wasn’t getting suitors, so i asked him to help me dress more attractively. he took me to the mall and bought me clothes. he also bought… lingerie. he told me to have it on and wait for him. and later that night he came in and we… were together.” your eyes watered. “i’m sorry. i understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore. i know i was supposed to wait. he said i could lie, that my husband would lie, but i can’t do it. i’m sorry, i’m sorry.”
“stop,” johnny said, gentle but firm. “having sex doesn’t defile you. stop crying. tell me the full story.”
so you did. you told him about haechan and his friends. you told him about chaewon and the mall. you told him about the party, the vacation, what you saw in the kitchen, and how haechan had chosen the company over you. you told him what haechan had said, that if you couldn’t make him happy, you would make no man happy. that things with no value go in the trash. by the end of it, johnny’s face was grim.
“you do realize that that’s coercion and manipulation?”
“what?” you croaked. you didn’t know what you expected him to say, but it wasn’t that.
johnny continued, “none of what you just told me is normal. you just told me that he took advantage of your grief and insecurities to make you consent to having sex with him, and that he physically abused you and let his friends abuse you as well.”
“he loves me. he said so,” you whispered, but you had already started to doubt that.
johnny grabbed you by the shoulders. his touch wasn’t rough, but you could feel the graveness of it. “a man who loves you will not put his hands on you. a man who loves you will not lie to you. a man who loves you will not make you perform sexual favors simply so that you can meet a friend and then become aggressive because you’re inexperienced. that is a man who is using you. that is a man who gets off on controlling you and eroding your sense of self.”
for some reason, that only made you cry more. you knew haechan was no good for you. you knew that he was a liar and he hit you and he was probably not a good person, but you had never been good at letting go. it was the single hardest thing in the world.
johnny’s eyes softened. he wiped the tears from your face with his thumb. “darling, he made it so that your self worth hinged on his validation to such an extent that whenever he got angry, you would blame yourself. you would think, ‘well, if i never messed up, he wouldn’t have hit me.’ but there’s no such thing as perfection, least of all to men like him. men like him don’t give you the space you need to mistakes and grow. they want to break you down so that there’s nothing left of you but what they want you to be. don’t let him break you down by believing his lies.”
“you don’t understand. at first, he was helping me…” you whispered.
“i understand how you might believe that, but it was never about helping you. he may have done things that you feel have benefited you, but it was always for his own gain.” johnny tilted your chin up. “why do you want suitors?”
it was such an outlandish question. “because i want to get married.”
“why?”
“because…. i want to have a family.”
“why?”
“because that’s what i’m supposed to do.”
“why?”
you didn’t understand why he was asking this question over and over and it was frustrating. “because that’s how i grew up.”
“exactly,” johnny said. “you want those things because the rest of the world told you that you’re supposed to want it. they dress it and make it sound pretty too. but you know what happens to most people? they marry a person they don’t really know or barely like. they have kids with this person without an inkling of an idea what a commitment it is to be a parent. they fuss and fight with this person and the children grow up watching, learning, absorbing, and they internalize it as their picture of love so that when they go into the real world, they can’t identify a performance of it from the real thing. and the cycle repeats.”
it made you remember what chaewon had said about why you couldn’t have sleepovers at her house. she had always complained about her parents’ incessant arguments.
johnny kissed your forehead and continued, “so if you’re going to marry someone, if you’re going to have children, at least do it on your own terms. do it because you want to. don’t do it because you think that’s all there is to life. it’s not. you’re very young.”
he was the first person to ever say anything like that to you, and that went for a lot of things you had heard him say over the months. but when you were brave enough to follow his advice, it did make you happier, so maybe he was right.
“i want to marry you,” johnny said. “but i don’t want you to agree to it because you think you have to. i want you to agree because you like me, and you think that we will make each other happy.”
“i do like you,” you said, wiping your eyes. “you make me happy. more than anyone else.”
“are you sure?” johnny asked warily.
“yes,” you told him. you wrapped your arms around him. “i want you in my life forever.”
“okay,” johnny said, sighing in relief. “okay. then sit down. we should talk about that.”
you followed him to the bed, sitting beside him, watching him, half clothed and barely even noticing. his words were echoing in your head, giving you so much to think about, things you had never considered, and that was the thing you liked about johnny that was so scary. he put things in your head that went against everything you ever heard, everything you had ever let yourself believe about the world.
that night honestly ended too soon, but the good news was that you weren’t dreading going back home for once.
at the next dinner, you knew the night was going to be exciting. everyone was seated in their usual spots, and your mother interrogated everyone about their days.
you took a more active position for once, asking haechan, “how’s things with the company?”
“i’m glad you asked, sister,” haechan said, smiling. it was always weird seeing him act pleasant. “things are running smoothly. we’re currently trying to ascertain the most efficient means of implementing some new initiatives i had in mind that could boost our worker productivity and overall profitability. and you? how are things going with, what is it, mr. suh?”
“i’m glad you asked, brother,” you echoed, matching his smile. “mr. suh wants me to be mrs. suh.”
the table went silent for a moment. you saw the forks freeze as everyone took that in.
your stepfather was the first to say, “i think that’s a wonderful idea!”
“honey, that’s amazing,” said your mother, the delight shaping her face. “i’m so proud. are you serious?”
“very,” you said. you glanced at your stepfather. “obviously, i need your blessing, but…”
“i can’t think of anything more fantastic," he interrupted.
“i think i’m going to cry,” your mother said, clasping her hands over her mouth. “my baby is getting married! i’m getting a grandchild!”
it felt like forever before your mother and her husband finally stopped bombarding you with a million questions about things you hadn’t even had time to consider yet, but it was obvious that they were pleased.
haechan, on the other hand, was not.
you were alone in the kitchen, grabbing something extra to drink when haechan popped up in the entrance.
“you can’t marry him,” he said.
“i believe that decision is up to your father, and he seems more than thrilled about it,” you replied.
it was like he didn’t hear you. “you can’t marry him,” he said again.
you spun around and crossed your arms. “and why not?”
“because you’re mine,” haechan declared. he walked up until he was standing directly in front of you, his face nearly touching yours. “did you forget that already? i don’t touch you for a couple of months and you spread your legs for the first willing man in a suit like a good little whore? is that what you are? a whore?”
you grabbed a knife from the knife holder and pointed it at him. “don’t talk to me like that!”
haechan’s eyes widened. “baby, put the knife down.”
“no!” you exclaimed. something about the entire interaction made you feel so triggered. “you made me like this! i believed you. i thought you loved me!”
“i do. i do love you, baby, i swear-“
you jabbed the knife at him. “stop lying to me! you only love yourself! you said you were going to fix me, but you just wanted to break me down. you said you were doing what’s best for me, but you were doing what was best for yourself!”
haechan leapt back, stumbling. “okay, okay, i’m sorry, i’m sorry- let me make it up to you, okay?”
“no,” you said firmly. “i’m done with you. i’m moving in with johnny.”
haechan didn’t look like he was taking that well. you could see it in his eyes. the shock, then the anger. he was quiet for a moment, just glaring at you, but at last, he said, “you’ll never find another man like me.”
“i sure hope so.” you turned and walked away.
every time you saw haechan around the house after that day, he was sure to look at you with nothing but contempt, as if you had done something to break his heart and not the other way around.
but you didn’t care. something good was finally happening to you, and you weren’t going to let him ruin it. you weren’t going to let your life revolve around his happiness anymore. for once, this was about you. and that was okay. it felt like it was okay.
it didn’t take long for you to remember how much you hated moving. the process was beyond annoying, even with people hired to do the heavy lifting for you. it was especially hard when you moved out of the house you grew up in, your father’s house. every memory you had ever made for the first twenty something years of your life was in that house, and you had to leave them there, or try to bring them somewhere the walls looked different, and the stairs didn’t sound the same, and the doors weren’t what you were used to. somewhere they didn’t fit.
at least now you were going somewhere you wanted to be. this house had never been a home. you walked around it the last few days of your staying, and it felt like a shackle was at your feet, letting you go just far enough to get around here, but keeping you inside.
the kitchen made you remember that night with haechan and his friends, the way their hands had felt on your body, how trapped you had felt. it reminded you of the way his hand went across your face when you woke late. your closet reminded you of the doom you felt waiting for him to come up to your bedroom, dreading it. the living room made you remember the day the investor stopped by to see him. the stairs made you remember hearing him and chaewon together.
when you put all of those thoughts together… you really hated this house.
“that’s the last of it,” you said in relief as you came in to sit on johnny’s couch. well, it was yours now too. “thanks for letting me move in.”
johnny snorted. “well, we’re getting married, so i think that’s only fair.”
i am getting married. to think something you had dreamed of your whole life was now becoming a tangible reality, and you were doing it for the right reason too. not because it was what everyone expected, but because you genuinely wanted it.
you glanced up at johnny. “i don’t think i’m going to talk to haechan anymore.”
“good,” he said, nodding. “that’s good.”
your feelings for haechan had been complicated, hard to shake even when you began to comprehend the truth of the harm he had done to you. but for some reason, that night in the kitchen, when he said those things to you, it was like a switch had gone off in your head. maybe even a month prior, you would have told yourself that you deserved it, that you had insulted him by going off with another man and had somehow earned his cruelty. but every month with johnny made you realize that what you had felt around haechan was not butterflies, but fear.
you didn’t want to live every single day on edge. you wanted to be with someone who made you feel safe. someone who made the world feel quiet. someone who made your life feel rich with possibility. someone like johnny.
“i was so stupid to believe him,” you murmured.
johnny shook his head. “you weren’t stupid,” he said. he approached the couch and dropped beside you. “you were vulnerable. he knew that and he preyed on you. the good thing is that you started to recognize the trap for what it was, and you didn’t let yourself get stuck in it. that counts for something.”
your brows furrowed as you became lost in thought, pondering the way things had been, how you had been so deceived. “he was nice sometimes. especially in the beginning.”
johnny chuckled. “of course he was. it’s easy to forgive someone when you’re clinging onto the good parts of them.”
“it’s almost like you’re speaking from experience.”
“well, there’s a lot of things you still don’t know about me,” johnny said. “but i’ll trust you if you can trust me.”
you reached for his hand. “i do trust you.”
johnny smiled. “i’m getting you a ring. and i’m going to propose to you properly. somewhere with good music. then we’re gonna go to dinner and you’re gonna tell me what you want to do in the next phase of your life, and i’ll tell you something about the last phase of mine.” he squeezed your hand. “deal?”
you looked down at your joined hands, and a wide grin broke across your lips. “deal.”
you were truly happy with johnny. happier than you had been since before your father died. part of that was because your understanding of happiness had changed. you did things because they fulfilled you, and not because you were told that you should find it fulfilling. it didn’t feel like you were performing. with johnny, you could truly just be, and he still accepted you with open arms no matter what.
sometimes you would make mistakes. sometimes the ways of the life you had before you and johnny met emerged, but when it did, johnny helped you get through it so that you could start to unlearn behaviors that were never truly meant to serve you.
and you learned so much about yourself now that you were finally letting yourself exist. you wanted to travel more, learn more instruments, learn more languages, eat different food, meet different people. you wanted to pick up new hobbies and wear new clothes and do something random just because.
you had been in the middle of selecting color arrangements for your wedding when the mention of a familiar name on the news got your attention. the news anchor was saying, “tonight’s breaking news, ceo lee haechan has been removed from office after several subordinates came forward alleging that he engaged in illicit sexual relationships with them. the allegations are currently under investigation, and no criminal charges have been announced at this time.”
oh, how you would have loved to have been a fly on the wall at the house. things with no value go in the trash. there’s a mercy in that. i’d rather him go to hell.
as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turned to months, though, no matter how great your life had become, you knew there was still something missing.
you tapped your feet against the ground as you sat at the back of the cafe. you had texted chaewon from johnny’s phone, still knowing her number by heart after all these years. you’d had little hopes that she would respond, but she did, and now you were waiting.
it had been so long since you last saw each other, you didn’t know what to expect. you didn’t even feel like the person you were when everything happened. it felt like a life that someone else had lived.
when you finally saw chaewon approaching, the air fled your lungs. she sat down at the table in front of you, and up close, she seemed to have become a different person too.
“hey,” you said shakily.
chaewon didn’t smile. “hey.”
“long time, no see. you look good,” you told her, because it was true. she had always looked good, her worst days were another person’s very best. but her hair was longer now, and she had dyed it.
“as do you,” she said, “but we’re a little past small talk, don’t you think?”
you swallowed. it was strange, being so careful around her, the person you had once felt the most comfortable with. “i suppose we are.”
chaewon cut to the chase. “my brother made me block you. he says you set it up. is that true?”
it was the hardest thing to admit. “yes.”
chaewon scoffed. “wow. how could you do that? do you know that i got pregnant?”
“what?”
“yeah,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “luckily, jaehyun convinced my parents not to make me keep it. i was so scared.”
“did it… go okay?” you asked tinily. it felt like a stupid thing to say. “the abortion?”
“it was fine, i guess,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “i cramped and bled for a few days. after that it was easier.”
you nodded. it took you a moment to find the words. “chaewon, i am… so sorry. sending him after you… that was awful of me. i heard you and haechan in the kitchen that night and i was angry. i was jealous. i’ve been jealous of you almost my whole life. and i chose to do something that i knew would hurt you because of it. looking back, i can see how wrong it was. you didn’t deserve it at all and it cost me our friendship, and i didn’t understand that that was the realest thing i had. i know there’s nothing i can say to erase the impact of that trauma, but i can promise that i won’t let my emotions get the better of me like that again. i’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if i have to.”
chaewon was quiet a long time. “i appreciate your apology, but i don’t know if i’m ready to forgive you right now, or if i ever will be.”
that cut deep, but you couldn’t blame her. “that makes sense.”
“congratulations on your engagement,” she said, gesturing to your hand. “i hope he treats you well and you have a good life together. goodbye.”
“goodbye, chaewon,” you whispered. you watched her rise and walk away, almost as quickly as she had come. the moment was over before it really began, and you sat there not knowing if she would ever come back, not knowing if you had said the right thing, not knowing if there was anything in the world you could do to keep her there.
you looked down at the ring johnny had gotten you. it was absolutely beautiful, and he had let you choose it to ensure you loved it. you were entering a new phase of your life, and though it wasn’t with chaewon, it was with someone who loved you all the same. maybe you could live with that.
Lee Donghyuck has everything. The perfect career, perfect reputation and perfect fiancée.
You have nothing except a dead-end job at his law firm and a hopeless crush that borders on obsession.
When Donghyuck starts paying attention to you, it feels like a miracle. Like being chosen. Like finally becoming someone worth looking at.
The problem is that everyone knows what happens to the girls he notices: they cry, they quit, they disappear.
But you're different.
At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.
haechan (donghyuck) x reader, smut + angst!!!, office affair
words-> 10.6k words (what the helly, my longest fic so far!!)
content-> lots of smut!!!, dry humping, oral (m.receiving), vaginal penetration, breeding, choking, spit + cum eating, slapping, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation, cheating, degradation (if u squint), power imbalance, obsession, hyuck is an asshole , unreliable narrator!!!
cami's notes at the end :3
The first time you see him, you’re holding a stack of files so high it obscures your vision, and you nearly walk into the glass door of the conference room. A hand shoots out, stopping the door before it hits your face. You peer around the teetering tower of paper.
“New girl,” a voice says, smooth and laced with amusement. Not a question.
You lower the files, and there he is.
Lee Donghyuck. With a familiarity that borders on reverence, he imposes respect with his very eyes.
You’d heard the name whispered in the breakroom, seen his photo on the firm’s “Notable Cases” wall. He’s the golden boy, the prodigy, the son who could do no wrong.
In person, he is more. The sharp, elegant cut of his suit, the dark, knowing eyes that sweep over you in a single, assessing glance, the slight but perpetual curl at the corner of his mouth that suggests he’s privy to a joke you don’t understand.
He is beautiful in a way that feels unfair.
“Thank you,” you manage, your voice barely a squeak.
He doesn’t move his hand, holding the door open, forcing you to pass under his arm. You feel the heat of him, catch the faint, expensive scent of his cologne: sandalwood and something citrus, sharp and clean.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice dropping. “The old geezers in there prefer their coffee scalding and their copies without smudges. You wouldn’t want to fail on your first month here, right pretty girl?”
Taken aback by the sudden nickname, the copies go back and forth on your hands as your eyes look for him, but he’s gone, striding down the hallway as if he owns the very air, leaving you standing there, your face burning.
You don’t know if you’ve been helped or warned. You feel, intensely, the truth of his words.
You are the newest, lowest employee at Jung & Lee, a firm so prestigious its name alone opens doors.
Your job is a symphony of mundane tasks: making copies and fetching lattes with precise sugar levels, and, as Mr. Jung had bluntly put it in your interview, “providing a pleasant atmosphere.”
You are meant to be a visual relief to the silver-haired partners, a pretty, quiet fixture.
But you are clumsy.
You spilled coffee on a contract the first week. You misfiled a crucial deposition just yesterday.
The partners’ eyes slide over you with vague disappointment. You are supposed to be pretty and enjoyable to look at, even if you are a little inept, but you are failing at even this.
Haechan, however, does not fail. He is a force of nature. At twenty-six, he has been at the firm since he was nineteen, his path greased by the legacy of his parents, both titans in the legal world. He wins cases with a dazzling, ruthless charm. He is the favorite, the heir apparent.
Therefore, the office rules are clear: Haechan wants, Haechan gets.
No one ever says no to him.
The engagement to Kim Jiwon, daughter of a rival firm’s senior partner, has been the talk of the industry for a while now: a merger more than a marriage, set for a lavish winter January wedding. Everyone knows.
Everyone also knows about the other, quieter stories.
The whispers about interns who cried in the bathroom, about girls who begged the HR staff to fire them, about assistants who transferred departments abruptly.
It’s an open secret, discussed in hushed, almost admiring tones.
He gets bored, they say. He likes the chase. Who can blame him? The power he holds is absolute, a silent currency everyone accepts. Everything is too easy not to try it.
And you, you like him.
It’s a pathetic, immediate thing, blooming in the pit of your stomach that first day you saw him, watered by every subsequent glance.
Convincing yourself that he decided to look at you, to help you, to call you a name. That must mean something.
It gets easily to your head because you’ve never been approached by men, not really.
Your relationships are a short, sad list of hesitant texts that faded into silence. Like the Wonbin boy you met at college, who ghosted you after hooking up at a party. Or that tinder date who left the restaurant after meeting you.
You’ve come to believe there is something inherently unlovable about you, something missing or broken that needs to be fixed, to be seen by someone, to be validated into existence.
Haechan sees you, and now you´re afraid no one else would look at you as him, ever.
He sees you, not in the way you crave, but he does see you.
His eyes linger on your figure in the communal kitchen as you fumble with the espresso machine. He watches you from behind the crystal door of his office as you rush past with paper cups filled with watered down black coffee.
They are not warm glances; they are cold, analytical, like a collector examining a potential acquisition. Debating himself if you are worth his time.
They make your skin prickle and your heart pound a frantic, hopeful rhythm against your ribs. Your face flushed every time you pass next to his office.
The gossip intimidates you, non stop stories of his cruelty wrapped in the velvet of his charm. But a desperate, hungry and pathetic part of you reasons that all those other girls simply weren’t enough.
Probably they deserved being treated like that, probably they didn’t realize how lucky they were that a man like Donghyuck was sticking around with them. But you…you are sure, you must be enough for him.
Maybe you could be.
Maybe your pleasantness, your submission, your sheer willingness to please could be what he needs. Someone who never says no, who never makes him angry, who is what he wants her to be.
So you decide to begin your own, pitiful campaign.
You wake up earlier to iron your tube skirt with special care, do your makeup like Minjeong’s, the receptionist who Donghyuck always smiles at.
You smile at him in the hallway, a little too brightly, batting your lashes and scrunching your nose a little.
You volunteer to bring files to his office, lingering to ask a pointless question about the case numbering system.
You go back and forth from his office to your pathetic cubicle to ask him if he needs a coffee refill.
You laugh a little too loudly at a joke he makes in the breakroom.
You are throwing yourself at him, a silent, obvious offering. A cheap doormat inviting him to step in.
After weeks of insufferable uncertainty, he accepts the invitation, but on his own terms.
There is no romantic confession, no real declaration.
It starts in the stark, concrete silence of the gray underground parking lot, weeks before Christmas.
Your car wouldn't start. The cold air from December gets to your bones and you’re near tears, fumbling with your keys on your trembling hands, when his sleek black sedan glides to a stop beside you. The window rolls down.
“Need a ride?” he asks. Not a greeting, not an acknowledgement of who you are.
Anyway, you nod, wordless.
He doesn't get out of his car, doesn’t open the door for you, neither helps you with your bag, but waits, watching you as you hurry around to the passenger side and slide in, still trembling.
The interior of the car smells like him: expensive leather and his clean, cologne.
He never asks you where you live, doesn’t give a damn about where were you going to.
The ride is silent. He drives with a lazy, confident grace, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between you, so close you can feel the warmth radiating from it.
You take a good look at him, not trying to be discreet; you’d never realize the small scattered moles on his cheeks, nor the prominent veins on his hands, rings wrapped in most of his fingers except the ring one, jet black hair framing his face beautifully.
You sit rigidly, hands clasped in your lap, now hyper-aware of the hem of your skirt, the way your blouse stretches across your chest, worried of how chapped your lips must be due to the freezing cold night. Mortified that he can look at you so up close.
He doesn’t drive you home. He drives to a part of the city you don’t know, to a bar with a flickering neon sign that looks like it’d have sticky floors and disgusting restrooms. It’s ugly and old, a place where no one from the firm would ever go.
“D-Donghyuck?” you ask, your voice small.
“I need a drink,” he says, not looking at you. “And I don't want to drink alone.” It’s not a request, not even an invitation. He’s carelessly informing you what is going to happen.
He walks into the run-down place as if he owned it with you behind him. Not giving you a glare.
He sits in a booth, far away from the other. He buys you a drink you don’t want. In the dim, smoky light, he tells you he’s tired. Tired of his fiancé, tired of the expectations.
“She’s so demanding…a spoiled rotten child who can never shut her damn mouth. Always talking back to me, always complaining. ” he sighs, swirling his whiskey on his ringed fingers and you may want to laugh at the description, because by what you’d heard, he’s not any better.
“So goddam empty. She doesn’t care about me. We don’t love each other. Not anymore, if we ever did. I’m so tired of giving my life to the firm and my parents' wishes…” His voice is a low, intimate hum that vibrates in your bones. Sadness comes innate from every complaint he lets out.
In any other context you would think it’s idiotic to feel sympathy for a rich kid having an episode of chronic affluenza. But not now.
He chose to give you a ride, doesn’t matter if he’s making you drink with him. He chose to open his heart with you from all people. It must mean something.
Your eyes linger nervously from your watered down drink on the table to him, on the unbuttoned neck of his shirt, on the hair falling and framing his face beautifully, on his moles. Allowing yourself to memorize every detail because you never know if this fallen-from-heaven opportunity will ever happen again.
He looks at you then, and his gaze is different: softer, focused and intense. It feels like being chosen.
“I’m sorry about that…sounds so, so sad…but then why…?” you dare to whisper.
He reaches across the table, his fingers tracing the back of your hand. A shiver runs through you. And you wonder if he feels the same tingles as you, that same electricity that makes you feel like you’re in love.
“It’s complicated, she is. But you are real…you’re not judging me, or saying that my problems are rich kid bullshit. What a nice, comprehensive girl you are…such a good listener…”
You flush at the compliment, the pathetic, desperate hope inside you swelling to painful proportions. He called you nice! And you feel like that’s all you’ve ever wanted to hear.
He drops a few bills on the table and stands, offering you a hand. You take it, your small, cold hand disappearing into his large, warm one.
Back in the car, the silence is different. It’s charged with a new, heavy intimacy.
This time, he opened the door for you, he waited until you were inside to follow you into the backseat of his luxurious car. Face to face, your bare knees touching his and you still can feel the electricity running through your body. Could he feel it too?
You don't get to ask him, his warm hand coming to caress your cheek, fingers toying with the fat there. The way you lean into his touch like a stray cat begging to be adopted tells him everything he needs to know.
He doesn’t kiss you right away.
His hand is already there: warm, steady against your cheek, his thumb dragging slowly across your lower lip like he’s testing something. Waiting. Watching.
“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low, controlled.
But you don’t even know what he wants you to say. And maybe that’s the point.
His fingers tighten just slightly as he tilts your chin up, just enough to take the decision out of your hands.
The kiss hits hard.
Not soft, not hesitant, rather decisive.
His mouth presses into yours like he’s already made up his mind for both of you, like this was always going to happen. Your breath catches instantly, your hands hovering for half a second before they settle against him, unsure but unwilling to pull away.
He doesn’t rush. That’s what makes it worse.
Everything about it is slow and deliberate, like he knows you’re not going anywhere. Like he’s certain you’ll let him do whatever he wants.
His grip shifts, at your jaw, then firmly at your neck, keeping you exactly where he wants you as the kiss deepens.
And you let him.
Even when your head starts to spin, even when something quiet and distant in you whispers that you shouldn’t, shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be this close, you lean in instead.
Because he kisses like you mean something. And you don’t stop him.
When he pulls away, it’s barely an inch. Close enough that your lips still brush when you breathe.
He’s watching you. Really watching you. That same assessing look from the hallway, but now it’s hotter and way heavier. It’s not looking at your outfit or your posture anymore, it’s looking right through you, like he’s peeled you open and found the one part of you that was hoping for this all along.
“I knew it,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking slowly over your pulse point, wanting to squeeze. “I knew you’d be like this.”
Your stomach flips. “L-like… what?” you breathe.
Is he going to say pretty? cute? nice?
He leans in, lips brushing your ear this time, warm and teasing and possessive. “So easy.”
You don't get to feel sad when he’s kissing you again, deeper now, hungrier, one of his hands sliding down your back to press you flush against him. He can feel your breasts pushing into his chest as well as the way your thighs are rubbing together.
Your fingers twist into the fabric of his coat, trying to anchor yourself as he takes and takes and takes, and you give in.
And it feels like a victory. It feels like finally being seen.
When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen, your chest heaving. His hands roam all over your clothed body until they reach your hips, bringing you to his lap with ease.
Crotch pressed right against your center, skirt bunched up all the way to your hipbone. He hisses at the contact, aroused by how easily you gave up your morals just to please him. A smirk on his face that says you were made for him.
Thrusts to your covered pussy invite you to move, your hips grind on his back and forth and you can feel yourself growing wetter against his expensive formal pants. The friction of his size against your flushed parts combined to the accumulated heat on his car make your face go red and Hyuck's nose slowly gets covered in sweat that you wish you could lick off him.
“Fucking hell…” he says, low and breathless against your neck as he sucks the skin there, marking with a mix of purple and red, making you moan. “You wanted this so bad, didn’t you?”
Your mind feels like static, but you manage a weak nod. “Y-yes…”
He chuckles, a dark, delicious sound that makes your toes curl. “Good girl.” His hands slide under your blouse lifting it lazily, just enough to have a nice view. He is warm against the skin of your back. “You’re not going to make this difficult, are you? Not like her.”
You shake your head, because no, you would never be difficult. You would never say no.
His fingers find your bra, and it’s like your whole life has been leading up to this moment. To be in the backseat of a car, letting a man who’s barely spoken to you undress you in a dark, empty parking lot.
He lowers the cups until your breasts are peaking out, palms slide around to cup them, and you gasp, arching into him. He rolls your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, watching your face, gauging your reaction, a smug satisfaction in his eyes.
“You like that, huh?”
"Yes! Yes, please!" Your movements intensify and the friction combined to the tortuous touch on your hard nipples becomes almost too much.
“God, look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “So fucking responsive. You were just waiting for someone to touch you, weren’t you?”
You were.
The shame should be overwhelming, but it’s drowned out by the roaring in your ears, the frantic beat of your own heart.
He’s touching you. Hyuck's touching you. It doesn’t matter that it’s in the back of a car, that he’s engaged, that you’re nothing more than a convenient distraction. All that matters is that he chose you out of all people.
His hands are everywhere now, sliding your skirt up higher, tracing the line of your panties, the damp fabric clinging to you. “Soaked,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “All this for me?”
You just nod, unable to form words, lost in a haze of sensation. His fingers press against your clit through the thin cotton, and you cry out, a sharp, desperate sound that seems to spur him on.
His hands land on your hips one last time for the night, guiding your movements to accommodate his own pleasure. Faster, harder, even making you bounce on him as if you were riding him. Mesmerized by the way your tits follow the movement.
Your eyes fill up with tears, out of shame, stress or simply pleasure that has become too much. He feels it too, you know it by the way his nose scrunches and lets out a few gasps that sound like a dream you could only pray to have. Your panties are soaking wet, high pitched cries come out of your mouth...you feel like you are about to explode until...
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit! Move!"
You are pushed away, back hitting the drivers seat as he undones his belt and hurries to free his length out of his black Calvin Klein briefs. Cock wet with precum that glistens against the dim light that leaks through the windows, is pumped by his fist one, two and three times until he is cumming on your wet panties. Rope after rope of his warm thick load lands on your covered pussy, pulsating around nothing.
The sight is obscene, so much you might as well have come from just watching. Your mind is racing with thoughts, he is so big, so pretty, you wonder how he would have tasted inside your mouth, or how much it would hurt being filled up by him.
"Pathetic," he says once he's done, panting and watching the mess he made on you. Fingers clean up his cum from your panties, only to smear it against your tits and clean the remnants on your blouse. "So fucking pathetic. Look at you."
He’s looking at you like you’re something he scraped off the bottom of his shoe.
You don't say anything as he pushes you to the side, fixing himself up, hand brushing his black hair back. He still looks like the most handsome man in the world.
He laughs, a harsh, ugly sound that has nothing to do with the warm chuckles from earlier. He zips himself up with a sharp, decisive movement, the metallic click echoing in the sudden, cold silence of the car.
Doesn't ask you where you live, he just lets you type your address into the gps app. Takes you home in silence, his eyes darting to you across the rear-view mirror from time to time.
He won't admit it, but the sadness painted on your face...that is going to be his favorite sight for a long time.
❤︎₊ ⊹
It becomes a pattern. Ugly bars, his car, once a cheap hourly motel that smells of bleach and despair. Every time, he goes about the same narrative of his misery with Jiwon.
“She’s mean,” he’ll mutter against your neck. “She doesn’t understand me like you do.”
He paints her as a gilded cage, and you, you are the wild, sweet, secret freedom.
But when you tentatively ask, “Will you tell her? Will it ever end?” he doesn’t answer with action. He answers with his mouth on yours, his teeth on your shoulder, his promises breathed into your skin.
“Soon,” he whispers, his hand fisted in your hair. “It’s not easy, you know? How could you know, though? No one’s ever taken you seriously.”
The words sting, but they are wrapped in the heat of his touch, and you accept them.
You accept everything.
He is mean from the beginning, in ways that feel like truths. In the motel room, watching you dress, he’d say, “You know you’re nothing at the firm, right? If you quit tomorrow, no one would notice. Or maybe…” He’ll chuckle and point at you just like a highschooler would do when bullying the slowest person in the class. “Maybe they’d be relieved that no one’s gonna burn their fucking coffee” He says it casually, as if commenting on the weather.
And you nod, because it feels true. Your existence is irrelevant.
But in his arms, under his weight, you are something.
You are his secret.
That has to mean more than being nothing.
❤︎₊ ⊹
And that’s how you find yourself here: New Year’s Eve.
The office party is on the top floor of a sleek skyscraper, a panoramic view of the city glittering like spilled jewels. You’re wearing a simple, dark red dress you bought on sale, spent half of your savings of the month to go get your makeup and hair done. That makes you feel almost, but not quite, like you belong.
He’s here, of course.
He’s the star, a handsome prince in an immaculate suit. Clear glasses and perfectly combed black hair framed his handsome face and she was with him. Kim Jiwon.
She is as beautiful as the rumors promised: all sharp angles just like him, icy elegance backed up by her white-ish blonde hair, body perfectly suited by a couture that you are sure was way more expensive than yours, followed by a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
She hangs on his arm, a glittering amethyst on her ring finger that could probably pay your rent for a decade.
She’s perfect, and you hate her for that. You hate that every glance you give at her reminds you of everything that you are not. Especially Hyuck's.
You hate that his arm envelops her and she looks untroubled. That she looks like she doesn't even want to be there, spending time with the man you would give anything to have by your side.
You mingle around the noisy room, filled with laughter and hypocrisy, all by yourself, choosing to stand by the window, nursing a glass of cheap champagne, watching them.
He leans down and whispers something in her ear. She laughs, a brittle, lovely sound. She looks so complete, so sure of her place beside him. The sight is a physical pain that sickens you.
For the first time, a sick, ugly thought slithers into your mind: maybe he wasn’t lying about her being demanding.
Maybe you truly are the one who understands him.
Eyes going back to the window as the sight of his precious hand keeps lowering on her back until he reaches the curve of her ass and you feel like you want to die.
The night becomes even worse with every second that passes through, champagne combined with wine making you feel like you are just a little freer, braver...
"Miss y/n?" A guy dressed in black and white, just another peasant serving for the night, touching your shoulder and leaning in to whisper something. "Mr. Lee asked me to inform you that he'd be waiting for you at the men's bathroom. A confidential matter." He bows, before walking away, your whole world shaking at the realization that he is thinking about you even when he is right next to her.
That has to mean something.
You wait a couple of minutes to make it not so suspicious, trying so hard not to laugh at the self-proclaimed win. The cheap alcohol stills running through your veins making you feel like you might want to tell everyone that Lee Donghyuck is waiting for you, and only you in the bathroom.
But you don’t. You can’t.
You walk away trying so hard not to look suspicious, a smirk on your face to hold the excitement, isolating yourself to the very back of the floor. Music blends far away, your heartbeat can be listened to in your ears as you push the heavy door open.
You find him alone, leaning against the marble counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He doesn't look at you when you enter, locking the door behind you.
“Look at you,” he says, his voice flat, bored. “Thought you could dress up all nice and pretend you’re one of them.”
Your confidence shatters. “I just… I wanted to look nice.”
“Trying to compete with her? Comparing yourself to a respectable woman?” He finally turns, and his eyes are colder than you’ve ever seen them. “Don’t. You’ll embarrass yourself.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Shut up,” he cuts you off, closing the distance between you in three long strides. He backs you against the heavy door, the wood hard and unforgiving against your spine. “Did you have fun watching us? Is that what gets you off? Being a little voyeur, watching me with my fiancée?”
"I-I'm sorry...it's not that way, I—"
He scoffs, an ugly sound filled with mockery. "Then what way is it? Are you fucking stupid? Staring like you hate her...I just started with you and you're already getting on my nerves." His hand, engagement ring and all, on your cheeks, squeezing so hard until you pout for him.
"I'm really sorry, Donghyuck..." Words stuck between his index and thumb, not like he really wants to listen to anything you have to say. Your eyes are now shiny and glazed under the soft yellow light.
"You know what you need? To learn your damn place." He says, his anger turning into a dark amusement that thrills you more than it should. His fingers dig into your jaw, forcing your head back. "So pathetic, you're about to cry, aren't you? I like that about you. That you're fucking pathetic. I could tell you to kill yourself and you'd do it. Wouldn't you?"
You nod repeatedly, head knocking on the door as he has you by the jaw still. Any ounce of self respect is thrown out the window the moment he puts his hands on you.
His knee presses between your legs, a hard, undeniable pressure against your core. You can’t help but grind against it, a desperate, shameless movement. He laughs, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through your entire body, staying at your core.
“See? Desperate little thing. All dressed up with nowhere to go, but right here. On your knees for me.” His words are venom, but you lap them up like honey.
He yanks down the top of your dress, exposing the flimsy black lace bra you wore just for him. The one you bought thinking maybe he would take you to a nice dinner, maybe he would take you to a hotel for the night, where you would have a bed for two and maybe even breakfast the morning after.
His thumb hooks into the cup and pulls it down, the cold air hitting you, making you shiver instantly. However, this time is different, he lowers, under you so as to have a good taste of your sensible buds. Tongue lapping the nipple while staring at your face. Toying with the other between his fingers.
Still too embarrassed about your simple existence, eyes shut close as you moan relentlessly. Not giving a shit about who may hear you.
"Getting hard? Look at you...what a fucking slut." He whispers against your tit, making sure to be heard.
He bites down, not gently. A sharp, stinging pain makes you cry out, but he doesn't let go, sucking hard, leaving a dark, possessive mark.
A brand. Proof. He moves to the other breast, to your chest, your collarbones. Giving it the same treatment, until your upper body is a constellation of purple and red blotches. Hurting, saliva drying on your skin and making you tremble due to the cold or because you just want him so much.
He pulls back, admiring his work. “There,” he says, a dark satisfaction in his voice. “Now everyone will know you’re used goods. That you belong to someone.”
Your heart soars.
Belong.
He spins you around, your hands flattening against the cold marble of the counter. You see yourself in the mirror: the hairstyle you paid for now all messy, lipstick smudged, breasts exposed and bruised.
You look wrecked. You look wanted.
And you think you feel better than ever.
His eyes find yours for a moment and the only thing you come across is hunger. Desire, desperation, all of it in a single glance.
He hikes your long dress up over your hips, the fabric bunching around your waist. “Look at you,” he says, his eyes meeting yours in the reflection. “Look at how much you want this.” His fingers hook into your panties, pulling them down to your knees. The cool air brushes against your dripping heat. "You want this, don't you?" He smirks as his hands undo his expensive belt with a clink that makes your hair stand on end.
Hard length on his fist, pumping a few times, smearing the precum all over. He doesn't even bother to pretend to find a condom.
You try to have a look at him, pulsating just at the thought of him raw inside you, neck turning to try to have a peek of him, only to be taken by the hair and forced to look front. He aligned himself, wet and flushed head against your dripping folds, not pushing, just letting you feel him there.
His hand grips harder on your hair, hissing at the feeling of your warm pussy lips kissing his cock as he slowly pushes himself in.
You cry out as if being hurt. The primal feeling of being filled without any barrier between the two along with the way his cock throbs inside you once he's settled to the hilt is too overwhelming.
"You take it so well, pretty girl. Like you were made for this...for me."
Your heart throbs on your bruised chest.
Made for him!!
It needs to be true.
Hot breath against your cheek, his lips on the side of your face. Panting, licking and biting on the side of your cheek as his thrust starts slow and calculated. Perfectly angulated, up and down in a way that you feel so full and wanting to pee. He's hitting your sweet spot with no effort. Making your legs shake and your mind blank as your eyes go from the white ceiling, to his frame on the mirror, to yourself, not able to keep yourself in orbit.
His other hand goes from your hair to your neck, griping just enough to keep your head up. "Eyes on yourself, don't you dare look away. I want you to see what you are." His pace picks up, the slap of skin against skin and the obscene squelch of your wetness wrapping his throbbing cock the only sounds aside from your whimpers and his pretty moans, sometimes grunts.
"Is this how you wanted it? Getting fucked in the bathroom during the stupid company dinner?" He mocks, thrusts becoming sloppier and faster each second. "She's probably looking for me right now...wondering where I am. She doesn't have a fucking clue that I'm stuffing this tight pussy."
His words are poison, but they go straight to your core, making you clench even more around him. He groans in response, the grip on your neck tightening. "You like that, huh? Being my little secret. My dirty little whore."
He lets go of your neck, only to grab both of your arms and pin them behind your back, using them as leverage to thrust deeper. The angle shifts, and you see stars. The pleasure is so intense it borders on pain, and you love it. Moans become cries of help, telling him to please stop, that it's too much and he doesn't care, of course.
He stares at the printed reflection on the mirror, bruised tits bouncing deliciously with every thrust, and your pathetic face that's barely holding the tears...he loves every part of it. Loves that he can take whatever he wants and that you won't complain.
Not letting go of your arms, he fucks into you, hard, fast, making you scream out until you cum all over him, legs trembling as you fight to stay upright. Your walls clenching and contracting violently around his cock as your slick drips down your thighs, you see him squeezing his eyes shut and cursing under his breath as he buries himself deep inside you with one last thrust. His desperate gasps fill the empty room and you feel the warmth of him coating your inner walls, thick ropes of cum marking you from the inside out, makes you feel complete.
He collapses onto your back, his weight pressing you into the counter, both of you panting heavily. For a moment, you stay like that, a tangled mess of limbs and spent passion. You can feel his heart beating against your back, a steady, reassuring rhythm that makes you feel safe.
But the feeling doesn't last.
He pulls out, and you feel empty, both physically and emotionally. The sudden loss of him is a cold, sharp ache.
He's already fixing himself up, tucking his shirt back into his pants, adjusting the knot on his tie, washing his hands like nothing happened.
He catches your eye in the mirror, and for a second, you see something other than coldness in them. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the familiar, detached amusement.
He turns to you, a small, cruel smile playing on his lips. He gestures towards the small bin on the corner, the one used to throw paper towels.
"Clean yourself up," he says, his tone dismissive. " I don't want you dripping my cum all over the floor like a bitch in heat." A disgusted look on his face.
You hurry to comply, your hands shaking as you pull the strips of your dress and bra over your shoulders again and you clean yourself up with the rough paper towels. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, a warm, sticky reminder of what just happened. You ball up the soiled paper towels and your panties, and throw them into the bin as instructed.
He watches you, his arms crossed over his chest. When you're done, he walks over to you, his eyes raking over your disheveled form.
"You look a mess," he says, his voice flat.
He reaches out and smooths down your dress, his fingers lingering for a second on your hip. Then he turns you around, his hands gently adjusting the top of your dress, it doesn't hide the bruises he just made at all. And he doesn't care.
"There," he says, stepping back to admire his work. "Now you look like you've been properly fucked." He smirks, a dark satisfaction in his eyes.
"Go back to the party," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Act like nothing happened. And don't you dare to look at me."
He unlocks the door and opens it, gesturing for you to leave. At least he's still a gentleman, you think.
You hesitate for a second, your heart aching with a desperate need for something more. A kiss, a kind word, a gentle touch, anything to hold on to.
But you get nothing.
You walk out of the bathroom, your head held high, your heart a shattered mess in your chest. Your body's still warm and your pussy drying along with the ambient.
The party is in full swing, the music louder, the laughter more forced. You grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and take a long sip, the bubbles doing little to soothe the raw ache in your throat. Trying so hard not to notice the way in which he stares at your bruised chest.
You stay in a faraway corner just to scan the room, and your eyes immediately land on him.
He's back with her, his arm around her waist, a charming smile on his face as he laughs at something she says. He looks perfect, like he hasn't just been fucking a nobody in the bathroom.
And you, you're just a nobody.
You watch them for a while, a silent, invisible and full of resentment observer.
❤︎₊ ⊹
The following Monday morning at the office, the gossip, once a distant hum, becomes a sharp, clear voice. All directed to you. Partners, waiters, staff, everyone saw the state in which you came back from an unknown place. And everyone could easily assume who did that to you.
Just when you were up to take Hyuck’s coffee to his office, two of the junior associates, Minju and Yunah, corner you by the printer.
“Hiii! Y/n, right? Sorry to bother you sweetheart, we can see that you’re on the run…it’s just that…” You nod, willing to do anything they’d asked you to do.
Go buy snacks, bring them lunch tomorrow, anything, you’d do it, but the pity on the tallest made your mouth go dry.
“You know he’s engaged, right?” Minju says, straight to the point abruptly but not unkindly. “To Kim Jiwon. The wedding’s set for this January and you know…they’ve been together for years. She even was at the Christmas dinner…"
As if you didn't fucking knew, or saw her at the dinner. You’re sick because your blood ran hot on your body, wanting to curse at both of them for being so nosy. As if you weren’t going to change that for good.
Nonetheless, the unspoken part hangs in the air: He’s using you.
“I know,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s…complicated.”
Yunah scoffs, a bitter, knowing sound. “No, it’s not. It’s the oldest story in this building. He gets bored, he finds a distraction. He breaks them. Then he goes back to her. You are not the first, and you won't be the last.”
"You should stop this, for your own good..." Minju says, as her perfectly manicured hands placed a streak of hair behind your ear with softness in her eyes.
Both girls leave you there, the printer whirring softly, a hollow ache in your chest. You knew they were right. Every word was a shard of glass lodging itself in your heart.
But the desperate, pathetic part of you clings to the memory of his hands on your skin, his whispered words. “You were made for me” “You belong to someone”
You want it to be true more than you want to breathe.
But the truth is undeniable. Everyone can see it, that you were a momentary diversion, a snack to tide him over.
For a moment, in the darkness with him, you had believed it was only him and you.
The fact that he had chosen you, all the "beautiful" moments spent with him…now you see the vast, crowded reality: him, Jiwon, their families, the firm, the entire world. And you...you mean nothing.
❤︎₊ ⊹
The realization comes after not being called by him all day.
After some weeks, you left work at five, you went to the market to buy groceries and once at home you took a shower.
He hasn't called you yet and you start to think that you'd done something wrong.
No hookups in his car, no groping in his office, not even a glance when you entered his office.
Anguish filling your chest with every passing minute, eyes holding tears because nothing had happened yet and it'd be pathetic to cry over nothing.
What if Yunah and Minju said something to him? Had the rumours reached his office?
Every imaginable thought coming to your head, emptied by three dry knocks on the door.
His text.
Open the door. Now.
You almost trip on your own feet as you rush, your heart pounding against your ribcage. Opening the door you find him, disheveled, angry, and more handsome than ever in his simple white t-shirt and black jeans. Hyuck doesn’t even look at you, he just pushes past you and walks inside, leaving the door ajar as he sits on your tiny couch.
He looks so out of place there, the small, worn couch swallowing him up, the cheap lamp casting a sickly yellow glow on his face.
“Donghyuck… what… what’s wrong?” you stammer, your hands trembling. Getting closer, you sit next to him, only to be pushed out of your own couch, to sit on your knees. His ringed fingers tangled across your neck, harder with every word he spat.
"Everyone is fucking bothering me with questions about you. It's driving me insane. What the fuck did you do, huh? Do you know what can happen if this goes further? Can your stupid brain understand that you're fucking with my future?"
"B-but you lied to me! You are going to marry her! Everyone knows, as they know you fucked me at the party, because you wanted!" The boldness of your words is new. Maybe the weeks of being close to him gave you some kind of confidence.
He laughs, but there's no humor in it. It's a cold, sharp sound that makes you flinch.
"What did I lie about? Did I ever say I loved you? Did I ever promise you anything?" He leans forward, his face close to yours, his breath hot and angry. “I said I was tired of her and believe me, I am. I never said I was leaving her. You heard what you wanted to hear.” His grip on your neck thightens, your mouth open gasping for air, eyes itching with hot tears threatening to fall violently. “Did you really think,” he continues, his voice a soft, venomous caress, “that I would cancel a wedding, a merger that’s been planned for years, for a desperate, easy girl like you?
His words are like physical blows, each one knocking the air out of your lungs. You want to argue, to scream at him, but you can't.
Because deep down, you know he's right.
You were convenient. Easy.
He stands up, pacing the small space of your living room like a caged animal, your eyes following every movement of his.
"You think you're special? You think you're different? You're not. You're just the latest in a long line of girls who were stupid enough to fall for my bullshit."
He stops in front of you, looking down at you with a mixture of disgust and pity. "You're pathetic. You know that? You're a pathetic little girl who's so desperate for a little bit of attention that you'll let anyone treat you like dirt."
He's right. You know it by the way you can feel yourself getting wet just by the way he's looking at you from above. As he always had.
You look up at him, your vision blurred by tears, and for the first time, you see not a lover, not a savior, but a predator.
Take off your clothes," he says, his voice devoid of any emotion. "All of them."
Your hands are shaking so badly that you can barely manage the buttons on your shirt. He watches, sitting on the couch, tighs spread and a cruel smirk playing on his lips, as you strip for him, your clothes falling into a heap on the floor.
When you're completely naked, shivering from a combination of cold and fear, he finally moves.
He leans to you, elbows to his knees, eying your figure, your head that rests low avoiding the wicked way his eyes devour you. Irises going from your hardening nipples to your clenching tights.
He doesn't kiss you, doesn't say a word. He just looks at you, at the glistening wetness between your legs, the way your body twitches with anticipation that betrays your fear with a sickening arousal.
He lets out a harsh laugh, a sound that makes you want to curl up and disappear. "Look at you," he says, his fingers tracing the slick folds of your pussy, toying with the results of your arousal, smearing it everywhere. "You're so fucking wet... You love this, don't you? You love it when I remind you that you're nothing."
You can only moan in response, your hips bucking involuntarily against his hand, left hand traveling to your neck, squeezing just enough.
He's right. You do love it. You hate yourself for it, but you do.
"You're a sick little slut, aren't you?" he says, a low growl rumbling in your ears. "Getting off on being treated like trash."
He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Don't worry, pretty. I'll give you what you need."
And with that, the hand that kept cupping your heat snapped shut against your plump cheek.
Neck incorporating again as he held your head and fixed your hair, wiping your hot tears away. Getting you prepared for another one. Again and again and again.
He loved the way you wouldn't even scream, willing to take anything he gave you. The grip on around your air flow getting stronger with each slap and the delicious sting on your cheek had your blood sizzling; thighs clenching together giving away how much you needed him. "What are you? Answer me." He's slapping your face again. "You're a fucking bitch, right?"
"I'm a- I'm a fucking bitch! Please, Hyuck..." you beg, your mind clouded with need and your body aching for more of him. He could ask you to bark and you would do it if that meant he'll finally fuck you.
The need to be filled, to be used, to be needed.
You'd let him do anything.
He laughs, a cruel, mocking sound that sends a fresh wave of shame coursing through you. But it's a shame that feels like pleasure, a twisted delight in your own degradation.
"Please, what?" he coos, his voice laced with false sweetness. "Please hit you again? Please call you a whore? Please remind you that you're nothing but a hole for me to fuck?" His thumb brushes against your already puffy cheek, a gesture that would almost be tender if it wasn't for the mocking look in his eyes.
His gaze is heavy, weighing you down, pinning you to the spot. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the shame burning in your gut, but you can't look away.
His eyes are dark, filled with a hunger that's both terrifying and intoxicating. He's looking at you like you're a piece of meat, a thing to be consumed, and a part of you, a sick, twisted part of you, revels in it.
Both hands gripping strands of your hair, forcing you to look up at him with watery eyes and flushed red cheeks. "Answer me," he demands, his tone sharp, impatient.
"Please..." you beg, your voice a pathetic whimper. "Please fuck me, please Hyuck.."
A slow, cruel smile spreads across his face. "That's what I thought. Get this shit off," The grip on your hair pushing your face to his clothed crotch. You can feel the heat of him, the hard line of his erection through the rough denim, and a desperate moan escapes your lips, not fighting the urge to lick a wet strand across the material, earning a soft moan that you'll keep on your mind forever.
Your hands fumble with the button of his jeans, your fingers clumsy and trembling. He watches you, a dark amusement in his eyes, as you struggle to free him. When you finally manage to pull down the zipper and push his black briefs down, his cock springs free, hard and flushed and angry-looking.
The sight of him makes your mouth water. He's so big, so perfect, and you want him so badly it hurts.
You lean forward, your tongue darting out to taste the bead of precum glistening at the tip. He tastes salty, a little bit bitter, and it's the most delicious thing you've ever tasted.
You wrap your lips around him, taking him as deep as you can until your nose tickles with the grown hair of his pelvis, tongue swirling around the sensitive head. He groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, a low, guttural sound of pleasure that makes your pussy clench.
You start to move, your head bobbing up and down, your lips stretched tight around him. You can feel him hitting the back of your throat, the slight gag reflex a dull ache that only adds to the pleasure.
"Shit... look at you," he breathes, his voice a low, husky whisper, locking your hair against his pelvis, the way your throat grips him makes him hiss. The small build-up confidence that you're making him feel good is enough to look him in the eye, spit and precum spilling from the corner of your mouth warning because of how full is your mouth as he thrusts up, shamelessly using your mouth.
Right before your gag reflex betrays you, he pulls back, a thick strand of saliva connecting both. The urge of satisfying him urges you to lick at his balls, full of cum that you wished was just for you. His bony fingers grip along his wet shaft, up and down, enjoying a little too much the squelch of it all.
"You're such a dirty slut aren't you? You were crying just now, where did that shit go, uh?" A smirk playing on his lips as he continues to pump himself. "Now you're acting like you want to be treated like a dog."
You nod, your eyes glazed with lust and tears, too ashamed to speak.
"Open wide," he commands, and you obey, your mouth falling open as he guides himself back to your lips. He doesn't enter you, though, instead, he strokes himself, his movements fast and furious, until with a harsh groan, he cums, thick, white ropes of his release painting your face, your lips, your tongue. Right before you could swallow, he keeps your mouth open and kneels down, letting out a globe of spit to rest on your tongue along with his cum. Admiring his piece of art.
You close your eyes, savoring the feeling of him marking you, claiming you. It’s degrading, humiliating, and you love it.
Once his fingers leave your mouth, you willingly swallow and finally feel complete. He's in you, he has possessed your mind and your body.
You don't get time to say anything stupid before he's lifting you by the neck, sitting on the couch with you on top of him. The head of his cock's sinfully pinching you above your pelvis. Still half hard, he slides you back and forth, your wet folds coating his cock, your slickness making the friction delicious, a promise of what's to come.
"You're so fucking wet," he growls, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. "Is this what you wanted? To be used like a cheap whore?"
You can only moan in response, your head thrown back, your hands braced on his shoulders as you grind against him. Your clit is throbbing, a desperate, aching need for more, for him to be inside you, to fill you up and claim you completely.
"Please," you beg, your voice a broken, breathless whimper. "Please, Hyuck...please, need you...please"
He smirks, a dark satisfaction in his eyes. Doesn't even try to ask what you want, he knows it for sure.
He finally pushes inside you, a slow, deliberate stretch that steals your breath. He fills you completely, the feeling of him so intense it borders on pain. But it's a pain you crave, a pain that feels like pleasure.
He lets you adjust for a moment, his hands holding you still, his eyes locked on yours. Filled to the brim, your lungs run out of air because of the way you feel him twitching raw inside you. Desperate, primal.
Then he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. Your bodies move together, a perfect, messy harmony of flesh and sweat and desperate need. You lean down, your lips finding his, a hungry, desperate kiss that's all teeth and tongue, and the best of it all is that he doesn't deny it to you. He can taste himself on you, the faint, lingering taste of his cum, and it's the most intoxicating thing you've ever experienced.
His hands are everywhere, roaming your body, mapping every curve, every dip, every inch of you.
Left hand finding your hair, gripping so hard that your head is pulled back by force, his right hand groping your ass before meanly spanking you a few times that go straight to your core, tightening and clenching against him.
"Shitt, fuck!" He merely screams, thrusts fastening, your clit being tickled by his pubic hair with each movement. "You're milking the fuck out of me, huh? You want me to fill your cheap hole?"
You babble nonsense, something that sounds like a desperate plea, not like he would expect something different from you.
Your mind lost in a haze of pleasure and pain, your body writhing against him, your hips meeting his thrust for thrust. He doesn't care, he's not seeking for your orgasm but for his. This is about him and you know it, and you still don't care.
"Such a pathetic, disgusting piece of shit," he whispers against your skin, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.
Hands aggressively spreading your ass to find the hole he hasn't touched ever since he met you.
Index slightly massaging around the rim of your tight hole. The unexpected sensation makes you shudder, a loud, guttural moan escaping your lips.
"W-what...?" you manage to gasp, your body tensing at the new intrusion. No one has ever touched you there. The thought is both terrifying, but mostly electrifying.
He chuckles, a dark, wicked sound that vibrates through you. "Don't act so surprised, pretty. You'll take whatever I give you, won't you? This hole is fucking mine too, isn't it?"
He doesn't wait for an answer, just pushes harder, the tip of his index breaching the tight ring of muscle. The burn is sharp, intense, a shocking counterpoint to the pleasure building in your core. You cry out, your hands digging into his shoulders, your body torn between pulling away and pushing for more.
"Look at you, taking it so well," he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive purr. "You're so full of surprises."
Index is fully inside you now, moving in tandem with his cock, a dual invasion that has your head spinning and babbling things between yesses and pleads to stop. The pleasure is almost too much, a white-hot inferno that threatens to consume you whole. Your moans are constant now, a string of desperate, incoherent pleas for more.
"Yes, that's it..." You can tell he's getting close to the edge by the way he hisses, eyes lost on the way your tits bounce and your body convulses, loving the way you're on top of him and you're still defenseless. All consumed on his clenching teeth and the aired moans he lets slip of his pretty lips. "Milk this cock, milk my finger, take everything I'm giving you, be a good girl...come over my cock, dirty slut—"
The final command sends you over the edge.
Your orgasm crashes over you with the force of a tidal wave, a violent, shuddering release that leaves you boneless and breathless. Your vision whites out, your body arching against him, a scream that hurts tearing from your throat and warm tears that make your eyes burn spill down your flushed face. You cry out, your body convulsing, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you shaking and breathless. Your walls clenching and contracting violently around him and your warm slick dripping down both of you, all the way to your old furniture.
He follows you moments later, with a harsh, guttural groan tearing from his lips as he spills inside, burying himself deep inside you, your warm walls milking him as he spills his hot, thick release inside you, coating your inner walls, a warm, sticky flood that makes you feel complete. His hips jerk erratically, his body shuddering against yours as he rides out the waves of his pleasure.
For a moment, you stay like that, a tangled, panting mess of sweat and satisfaction and limbs that shudder with the overstimulation, his cock twitching inside you as your pussy convulses around him.
He's still inside you, a comforting, possessive weight that makes you feel safe, cherished. Loved...
But the feeling is fleeting, a fragile bubble that bursts with the sudden coldness in his eyes.
He pulls out of you, the loss of him a sudden, sharp ache. He pushes you off him, not gently, but with a rough, impatient shove that sends you sprawling onto the floor.
You land in a heap, your legs on one side, your body aching in a dozen different places.
Afterward, as he pulls his briefs and jeans up, finding his belt with detached efficiency, you find yourself on your knees. Literally on your knees, clutching the fabric of his pants.
“Please,” you beg, the word a raw scrape in your throat. “Please, don’t go. Please...please don’t leave me.”
He looks down at you, still bare, on your knees, with tears from the fear that he might abandon you mixed with the tears from pleasure; his expression is one of faint disgust, as if looking at a persistent stain.
He pries your fingers loose, one by one. “Grow up.”
He stands over you, a magnificent, cruel god, and you are nothing but a discarded offering.
“Don’t call me,” he says, the words a final, deathly blow as he grips your cheeks with extra strength, forcing a pout that he'd never admit to love. “Don’t text me. Don’t even fucking look at me when we pass in the hallway. I'll call you when I want to, and you'll be there, every-fucking-time. You got it?” He says, pointing a threatening finger at you. “We’re done. For now.”
And then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving you in the suffocating silence of your apartment.
The silence is a living thing, heavy and suffocating. It presses in on you, amplifying the frantic, panicked beating of your own heart. You’re alone.
Utterly, completely alone.
You lie there for a long time, a tangled, weeping mess on the floor, the slickness of him drying on your thighs, the phantom sting of his slaps still on your cheeks. The apartment feels cold, empty, haunted by the echo of his cruel words.
You try to piece together the shattered fragments of your dignity, but there’s nothing left to hold on to. Just the burning shame and the aching, desperate need for a man who sees you as less than nothing.
You drag yourself to the bathroom, your body aching with every movement. The tap of the water being open, on a desperate try to get his scent, his touches that still tingle off your body. The water in the shower is scalding, but you barely feel it.
You scrub your skin raw, trying to wash away the memory of his hands, the taste of him in your mouth, the feeling of him inside you. But it’s no use.
He’s etched into you, a permanent, indelible stain on your soul.
You look at your reflection in the mirror, and you barely recognize the person staring back at you. A stranger with puffy red cheeks. A broken, pathetic girl with a haunted look in her eyes.
You hate her. You hate her more than you’ve ever hated anyone.
You sink to the floor, the water still streaming down around you, and you finally let go. You scream, a raw, gut-wrenching sound of pure, unadulterated agony, until your throat is raw and your body is wracked with sobs.
This is your rock bottom. A cheap, lonely apartment, the ghost of a man who despises you, and the crushing weight of your own pathetic desperation.
❤︎₊ ⊹
He gets married the following week. The office's chat room is abuzz with pictures: Jiwon in a stunning custom gown, Haechan handsome and smiling in his tuxedo, a picture-perfect union of power and prestige.
And then, life returns to a terrible, hollow normal. You see him at the office. He doesn’t glance at you. Not in meetings, not in the hallways. You are air again. The ghost he said you were.
But the texts still come. Late at night.
The usual bar. 11 PM.
Or, more brazenly,
Parking level B2. Now.
You go. Every single time. Because when he summons you, the world narrows to a single, blinding point of possibility: this time, maybe, he will see you. This time, he will stay.
The encounters become rougher, more impersonal. He’s often angry, taking out frustrations about a case, about Jiwon, about his life on your body. He calls you the most degrading names, pushes you to your knees in dirty alleyways behind bars, fucks you in the back of his car without a kiss, a touch or word of affection afterwards.
And you let him. You welcome it. The pain is a perverse form of attention. The bruises he leaves on your skin are proof that you existed to him, if only for a few minutes.
You become an expert at hiding the marks. Makeup on your neck, long sleeves in the summer, a carefully practiced smile to mask the hollowness in your eyes that no one believes, but they don't care enough to ask for.
In the end, the reflection doesn’t come in a dramatic moment. It comes on a Tuesday evening, as you’re waiting for the kettle to boil in your silent apartment. You are waiting for a text that hasn’t come, and you realize with a dull thud of finality that you are hoping for it. You are hoping to be used.
And somewhere deep down, beneath the humiliation, beneath the loneliness, beneath everything he has taken from you, there is still that same pathetic hope.
Maybe tonight... Maybe this time...
Maybe he will finally love you.
The screen lights up.
And before you've even read the message, you're already reaching for your keys.
❤︎₊ ⊹
haaaaiiii, i finally finished thisss, i've been writing it for like 3 months and i just couldn't finish it because of uni and bc i was so blocked tfff :,c but i made it!!1 just in time for my pookie's bday!! i luv u haechi dongyuki, kisses from mx to wherever u are (as if he was reading this plek)
ANYWAYS, i really want to highlight that i do NAWT condone any of these actions (from cheating to disrespect ourselves like this) but!!! i'm so sick on my head that i find soooo hot this type of attitude specially on haechan idk why he's so mhmgmmgpdmhg. anyways, i wanted to write some naaasty smut with lots of angst, everytime i write sth i'm like "hell yea, i outdid myself" but this time i think i actually did, hopefully heheh
hope you enjoyed it!! let me know if you did!! thxs for readiiiing :3
♣︎ a/n "i should probably finish my other fics" NAHH fuck them lets write another
haechan is just a simple guy. he doesn't mean any harm to you, you just happened to catch his eye one afternoon on campus.
maybe it was the way you laughed at something your friend said, head tilted back without a care in the world. maybe it was the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear while reading beneath the shade of a tree or maybe there wasn't a reason at all.
all he knows is that after that day, he couldn't forget you, he tried. he really did but somehow everytime he thought about you led his hand in his trousers.
he was tired, tired of stroking himself alone. he laid in his bed every night, the rhythm of his chest rising up and down, sweat scattered on his forehead, as he imagines you, taking his length, filling you to the brim, tears leaving your eyes. he even thought about impreganting you, so you can't leave him.
but at the end of the day, it's all just a piece of his imagination. however, fate has another plan, the dream house party is this weekend. this time, he'd approach you without hesitation filling his blood.
it was finally the weekend. the one where haechan had been thinking about for weeks, where he was finally going to talk to you. he genuinely felt so pathetic as if he was high school teenage girl trying to confess to her crush, but the thing was that this was exactly the same thing.
he saw you the moment you walked in. the noise of the party didn’t fade, not really, but something about you cut through it anyway. oh god, you wore a short skim dress, not aware at how many jerks might be staring at you (including him) which made him want to gauge their eyes. he swore he popped a boner right there and then.
his hands embarassingly sweaty, resulting him clamping his hands over his crotch, trying to hide his rising length during the whole party. it was 12 am, people were leaving slowly, haechan was still there, still standing somewhere between “i’m going to do it” and “i’ll wait a few more minutes.”
which, at this point, was basically his entire personality for the night, he watched you from across the room. you were still surrounded by your friends, still talking, still smiling at something someone said like the world wasn’t quietly winding down around you. like time wasn’t slipping away with every second he hesitated.
he sighed, finally forcing his feet to move this was it. no more standing there pretending he was “waiting for the right moment.” there was no right moment. there was only this one, messy, real, slightly terrifying one.
he took a step forward, then another, eyes locked on you like if he looked away even for a second, he might lose the courage completely but then–
your group shifted, your friends started moving straight toward him or more specifically, toward his friends’ side of the room. haechan’s steps slowed almost instantly.
of course.
of course this was happening now, his heart kicked up so fast it almost felt loud in his ears, like it was trying to warn him before his brain could even catch up. suddenly, everything felt closer. tighter. like the room had shrunk without asking permission.
haechan caught in his gaze, the way you were walking towards him right now...everytime you took a step, your oh so perfect tits bounce just right, his eyes locked on them, for too long but not too long for you to notice. it drived him to the edge of crazy.
his mind already racing with filthly thoughts, he shifts uncomfortably, adjusting his growing erection in his pants. he let out a small, slightly awkward breath that might’ve been a laugh if he had more control over his nervous system.
one of your friends cut in first, haechan barely had time to register the movement before someone was suddenly in front of him, smiling like this was the most normal thing in the world.
“hey! wanna play truth or dare?”
for a second, he just blinked because his brain was still stuck on you being right there. close enough that he didn’t even have to look for you anymore.
“uh—yeah,” he heard himself say before he could overthink it into oblivion, his voice sounded normal. somehow miraculously. his friends immediately reacted like he had just agreed to jump off a building for fun.
haechan shot them a look, but it didn’t really land because his attention kept slipping back to you.
the group started forming a loose circle in the living room, people dragging chairs, sitting on the floor, laughing as the night finally settled into something slower, more contained.
haechan slides into the circle, positioning himself directly across from you so he has a perfect view. he leans back on his hands, legs spread casually as he watches you settle into your spot.
"alright, who's going first?" jaemin asks, spinning an empty bottle in the center. the bottle slows down, pointing directly at one of your friends.one of the friends clapped her hands dramatically, grinning “truth or dare?” the girl the bottle landed on didn’t even hesitate “truth!” immediate chaos.
the group around her reacted at once,
“no fun!!”
“boring!”
“you’re supposed to suffer a little!”
laughter broke through the complaints, filling the space again, light and easy, bouncing off the walls that were slowly feeling less like a party and more like a shared secret between everyone left in the room.
haechan let himself smile a little at that, just watching, but then his eyes drifted.
of course they did, to you.
you were sitting not too far away, listening, laughing at something someone whispered beside you, completely relaxed like the whole thing didn’t have the same effect on him that it did on you.
the girl suddenly leaned forward, eyes scanning the circle like she was about to expose secrets for fun “okay so,” she said, dragging it out for effect, “the people among us… who still is a virgin!" the room went instantly louder.
“oh my god—”
laughter bounced around the circle as people started pointing, teasing, trying to guess before anyone even answered properly. she buried her face in her hands for a second before finally peeking out between her fingers “ugh, fine.”
the room quieted immediately, she pointed across the circle “it's y/n..!" for a split second, everything went still then every head turned toward you, haechan's heart immediately dropped somewhere near his stomach.
the words hit him like a truck, his breath hitching audibly in his throat. immediately, his jeans became painfully tight, the realization that you were untouched driving him absolutely insane. he shifts his legs uncomfortably, trying to hide the massive bulge forming in his pants, his eyes locked solely on you with a newfound, predatory hunger. "fuck..." he muttered under his breath.
you looked completely caught off guard, “what?” you laughed, staring at your friend in disbelief.
“you asked!”
“i didn't think you'd actually say it..”
the room exploded into reactions, some people looked shocked and some looked suspicious. others immediately started teasing you while your friend defended herself with a dramatic, “don't blame me! you told me the truth!”
later, as the party slowly emptied out, people began gathering their things and saying their goodbyes.
the once crowded living room was now scattered with half-finished conversations and tired laughter. the energy had shifted completely from loud and chaotic to soft and sleepy.
haechan stood near the front door, hands tucked into his pockets and somehow, after spending an entire night trying to gather the courage to talk to you, he still hadn't done it.
it was actually impressive.
almost, then he saw you. you were saying goodbye to your friends, adjusting the strap of your bag as you prepared to leave. his stomach dropped.
no.
absolutely not.
if he let you walk out that door now, he knew exactly what would happen. before he could talk himself out of it, his feet started moving and suddenly he was standing in front of you. for a moment, neither of you said anything.
mostly because haechan's carefully prepared speech had completely disappeared from his brain.
"uh..."
great start.
you looked at him expectantly, he nearly laughed from nerves "you're leaving?" the second the words left his mouth, he wanted to throw himself into traffic.
obviously you were leaving.
you were standing by the door with your bag on.
genius observation.
but instead of looking annoyed, you smiled slightly. "yeah."
"right. yeah." he said, with a hint of hesitation.
silence.
haechan could feel himself actively losing this battle then he forced himself to continue "i was wondering..." his voice came out steadier this time. "would it be okay if i dropped you home?"
for a second, his heart forgot how to function, the question hung between you yet somehow it felt like the most terrifying thing he'd ever asked. you blinked, clearly surprised, not uncomfortable. just surprised which, honestly, was fair.
from your perspective, a guy you'd barely spoken to had suddenly appeared at the end of the night offering you a ride.
haechan immediately rushed to explain "only if you're okay with it," he added quickly. "if not, that's completely fine." he scratched the back of his neck, looking away for a moment "i just thought i'd ask." his honesty surprised even himself.
you studied him for a second and for the first time since he'd noticed you months ago in that university courtyard, haechan realized he wasn't looking at some impossible fantasy. he was standing in front of a real person and for the first time, you were looking right back at him.
ever since that night he dropped you to your home. it stimulates him that he knows where you live, your address. he has no bad intentions, he would never think of doing such a pathetic thing— but here he is, infront of your apartment complex.
he has your routine memorized, like the back of his hand. to anyone it was just a mundane routine but to him? it was poetry. he knew, at five am, the morning light peeked in your apartment causing you to wake up. then you'd get ready til six thirty am and leave for your uni.
you'd return home by seven to seven thirty pm, the real rush that made his blood hum with excitement was that today you were at a sleepover, he heard from your friends meaning you wouldn't be home today.
he has no bad intentions, really. he just wants you to feel loved, loved by him.
right now, he stands in front of your apartment. his eyes are locked on the keypad. he paces slowly in the dimly lit hallway. in his mind, he replays the exact movement of your finger. he had the code completely memorized.
he steps closer and presses the digits one by one. a sharp beep tears through the silent hallway. the lock click turns, as the door opens and all he could smell was remnents of you, your smell and your presence.
he steps inside, his eyes filled with lust scanning the familiarly unfamiliar place, the scent of vanilla and jasmine hits him instantly, your scent. it's intoxicating, driving him mad with desire.
he closes the door behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet apartment. he pushes open your bedroom door slowly, stepping inside. his breath catches in his throat. the room is a sanctuary, soft pink walls, fairy lights draped across the ceiling, your scent lingering in the air like a beautiful ghost. he runs his fingers along the edge of your desk, his touch gentle, reverent.
he exits youe room, his feet moving towards the bathroom with a hidden ambition. his heart races as he spies your discarded panties on the bathroom floor. he picks them up cautiously, bringing them to his nose, oh god, your smell... something intimate and erotic awakes inside of him. his cock hardens instantly in his sweatpants.
he looks around, checking if someone could see him. the irony, his hand travels down to his trousers. he palmed his crotch as he found himself delving into your scent, he gasps for air.
he presses the fabric against his nose again, inhaling deeply. his free hand travels down his sweatpants, slowly. his throbbing length springs free and he groans softly, stroking himself as he sniffs your panties. he breathes, his thumb circling his tip. his breath is ragged, desperate. desperate for you.
his hand moves faster, pumping his length rhythmically as he imagines you beneath him. he presses your panties against his face, groaning at the intoxicating scent, "fuck... you smell so good, baby..." he pants, his hips bucking slightly, he closes his eyes, picturing your face.
his strokes grow harder, faster. in his mind, he sees you— eyes wide, lips parted as he slides inside you. He imagines your tight warmth gripping him, your soft moans filling his ears, "yes... take it all" he whines, his hips thrusting into empty air, his voice echoing in the empty apartment.
his pace becomes frantic, desperate. his cock twitches violently in his grip as he imagines your walls clamping down on him, milking him endlessly. his other hand squeezes your panties against his face, he strokes himself with the thrill of getting caught by you.
with a guttural, choked moan, his body arches violently. thick ropes of cum spill over his hand and the bathroom floor, his hips bucking uncontrollably into his fist as he rides out the intense orgasm. he gasps, panting heavily. his entire body trembles as the waves of pleasure crash over him.
after shamelessly catching his breath, he moves to your dresser, pulling open the drawer filled with your neatly folded panties. his eyes darken with hunger as he selects a pair. soft, silk, unused. he rubs his drying cum across the fabric, marking them with his essence.
a dark grin spreads across his face as he finishes marking them, his chest swells with twisted pride that every morning you'll slide into these panties, unaware that his cum will be pressing against your folds, coating your delicate flesh. you'll walk around, go about your day, feeling nothing but the fabric.
the next few days, he sees you across campus and his heart swells with this dark secret. you wave at him brightly, completely unaware that your sweet pussy is basically wraped around his essence. he waves back, playing the naive friend while inside he's burning with possesion.
for the next few weeks, the space between you teo seemed to shrink with every passing day. it became a fixture in the lecture halls, always sliding into the same creaking wooden seats, shoulders brushing with every shared laugh. but the casual hangouts and quiet study dates were no longer enough to quiet the restless storm brewing inside him.
a heavy, aching dissatisfaction had taken root. he didn’t just want to be close to you anymore; he wanted to tear down every remaining boundary, to consume you completely and feel you wrap around him from the inside out.
he just couldn't wait no more. he tried. he really did. but you would test his patience when you showed up in the shortest shorts, and tight tanks that barely covered you. sometimes he wondered if you were intentionally straining his patience, pushing his self-control to the limit.
today, he stood just a step away, his chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. the usual easygoing warmth in his eyes had vanished, replaced by something dark, intense, and unreadable as he watched the rain drip from your jawline.
you'd asked him to drop you off to your apartment, but it started raining, heavily. oh, how haechan thanked the heavens.
the rain fell in punishing sheets, standing under the shelter of the apartment awning, you were both completely soaked. strands of wet hair clung to your face, and your clothes felt heavy, plastering themselves to your skin.
haechan's eyes flickered, catching the way your white shirt had become translucent from the rain, clinging to your curves like a second skin. through the thin, wet fabric, your black bra was clearly visible, the lace pattern barely concealed.
he swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing as he watched the water droplets trail down between your breasts, disappearing beneath your collar.
it took every ounce of his self-control to keep his composure. he clenched his jaw, forcing his eyes away from the tantalizing sight of your wet shirt clinging to your breasts. he shifted his weight, discreetly adjusting his stance to hide the growing problem in his jeans, his knuckles turning white as he shoved his hands into his pockets.
"uh, i'll go now.." he said, diverting his eyes from you. "you're going to freeze out here," you said, your voice shivering slightly as you offered a kind, sympathetic smile. you gestured toward the heavy glass doors of the complex.
"come inside. just until the storm lets up, i can get you a dry towel." you urged him. how could he refuse you?, to which he reluctantly walked to your apartment, his steps heavy and deliberate as he followed you down the quiet corridor. he kept his eyes locked firmly on the back of your head, watching the way your wet clothes clung to your skin.
his hands curling into tight fists at his sides to keep from reaching out prematurely. he was crossing the threshold into your private world. a faint, dangerous shift passed over his features; a predator recognizing that the cage doors had just been unlocked from the inside.
when you unlocked the door, he stepped inside the utterly familiar house, which once he filled his scent with, inhaling deeply. the air still holds traces of him, ghosts of his presence, of the countless hours he's spent inside your walls. his eyes scan over you, damp and vulnerable, unaware that he's violated this sanctuary of yours dozens of times.
he watches you disappear into the bathroom, his mind racing. the sight of you, soaked and naive, has his heart pounding and his jeans growing tight. when you return with a towel, he takes it from you without a word, deliberately letting his fingers brush against yours.
"thanks.." he said with a soft smile, "yeah, no worries. just make sure don't catch a cold!
he nods, forcing his smile to remain casual as he watches you dry your hair. the gentle concern in your voice sends a jolt of possessiveness through him. he wants to keep you warm, keep you safe... and keep you wrapped around his dick.
"i'll bring you something warm to drink, mhm?" you said softly. his heart swelled at your sweetness. he nodded, watching you walk into the kitchen to make hot coffee. his steps were completely silent as he followed.
he purposely stood directly behind you, pressing his broad, damp chest flush against your back. he leaned his weight against the counter, trapping you between his bodu and the kitchen island. his cock presses against your soaked shorts as he feigns casual indifference, pretending to observe the coffee brewing.
"smells good," yeah, he couldn't give one single fuck about the coffee, the only scent he was craving was yours. he murmurs against your ear, his hips subtly grinding forward so you can't miss it.
you jolted, your breath hitching at the sudden warmth pressing against your back. you quickly convinced yourself he wasn’t doing it intentionally; the kitchen was small, and he was just trying to stay out of the way.
trying to shake off the sudden nervousness, you forced your hands to stay steady and continued brewing the coffee, "uh, yeah..." you stammered, your voice trailing off as you stared fixedly at the mugs, trying to ignore the wetness dripping in your panties.
he notices your nervousness and it intoxicates him. the way you're trying so hard to be normal, to be a good host, while he's violating your personal space. he grinds a little harder, letting you feel the full length of his arousal pressed between your ass cheeks.
you didn't mean to let out a whimper, your clamped your thighs tighter at the contact. haechan's ego swelling at your lack of experience.
his eyes flash with triumph at your unintentional whimper. he swallows hard, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you back against him fully. his other hand moves to cover yours on the counter, holding you in place as he continues to grind against you slowly, deliberately.
"shh..." his hand travels around your curves, you didn't stop him, it felt so good.
he feels your knees weaken and it makes him dizzy with power. your body is betraying you, responding to his hidden assault even as your mind remains oblivious. he grinds with more pressure. "just let your body feel it...doll."
his hand slides down from your waist to grip your thigh, lifting it slightly to change the angle so he can press deeper between your cheeks. he kisses your neck gently as he dry humps you against the counter.
haechan was way more vocal than you, he moaned against your ear, goosebumps spreading across your skin. his hand travels down to the waistband of your soaked shorts and your panties, tugging them down slowly as your whimpers fill the kitchen.
he drops them to the floor, exposing your bare skin to the cool air and his burning gaze. his cock is rock hard against your ass, slick with his own precum. "you're so wet, baby.." he groans, "you can give it to me, right?"
he coaxed you with his sweet and gentle voice, His voice drops to a low, soothing murmur as his fingers find your slick folds, sliding inside you with agonizing slowness. he feels your walls clench around him, your body responding despite your confusion.
"easy there, doll... just relax for me..." he curls his fingers gently, searching for that spot he knows makes you melt. "you feel so good..."
"haechan...i've never done this before..." you let out a breathy moan, his heart stutters at your confession–which he already knows, something dark and predatory burns behimd his eyes. he strokes you slower, gentler, revering the wet heat of you. his thumb finds the bundle of nerves, rubbing soft circles. he continues to stimulate you to the fullest.
he turns you to face him, his hands framing your face gently as he sees your eyes got glossy from the mere pleasure he gave you. he wondered how badly are you going to break when he stuffs you with his cock, filling you up or when he fucks your throat ruthlessly, gagging around his cock.
oh he was just getting started, you were so devastingly innocent, all he wanted to do was to corrupt you beyond any limit.
his lips curl into a dark smile as he takes in your innocent face, your tear-filled eyes. he realizes just how easy it would be to corrupt you, to take your virginity and make you love every second of it.
haechan, then led you into the bedroom, his hand firm on your lower back as he guided you forward. once inside he started peeling off his clothes right in front of you, first tugging his shirt over his head to reveal his chest, then shoving his pants and underwear down in one motion.
his cock sprung free, already half-hard and flushed. he stepped out of the pile of fabric and moved closer, reaching for your own clothes next. he stripped you slowly, pulling your soaked shirt off, as he clipped off your bra as you stood bare in front of him.
suddenly you were hyperaware of everything about you. you felt insecure, your hands rushed to cover your breasts– but haechan burned inside when he witnessed you conceal your beautiful body, the body which he can worship for hours, the body which he could not leave untouched.
"no, no, no." he immediately pushed your hands from covering yourself. he sounded so angered as if it personally offended him, it absolutely did. he let you sit on the bed, standing in front of you with his cock standing hard.
he had climbed onto the bed and pushed two fingers into your mouth, sliding them over your tongue, "suck," he whispered, his other hand stroked his cock. your naive eyes fluttered open, confused but obedient as you closed your lips around his fingers and sucked gently.
he whimpered, pulling his fingers out and replacing them with the head of his cock, "you're so beautiful, do you know that?" you took him into your mouth, tasting the salt of his precum while he thrust shallowly between your lips, he removed his cock from your lips, and laid you down on the bed.
he pinned your wrists above your head. he shifted lower between your spread thighs, releasing one wrist so his fingers could trail down your stomach. two thick digits pressed between your folds, rubbing over your clit in slow circles before he pushed them inside.
a moan escaped your lips when he moved his digits inside you, his ego swelling beyond limit. he worked them in and out steadily, stretching your tight walls while his thumb kept stroking that sensitive spot above. the way your back arched oh god, he loved how your tits bounced to the rhythm of his strokes. your juices coated his fingers quickly as he curled them upward, searching for the spot that made your hips twitch.
he pulled his fingers free after a few minutes and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low hum. then he lowered his face between your legs, leaving small pecks on your stomach, on your pelvic bone and on your inner thigh. his tongue dragged a long, flat stripe from your entrance up to your clit, tasting you fully before he sealed his lips around the swollen nub and sucked resulting a devastingly beautiful moan from you. "mhmg!...haechan.."
"oh you taste like heaven..." he licked and lapped with purpose, tongue dipping inside you now and then while his nose pressed against your mound. you trembled continuously and he showed no signs of stopping his assault on your core.
his hands gripped your thighs, keeping them wide open as he ate you out, saliva and your wetness mixing and dripping down toward the sheets.
he stayed there, tongue working deeper and faster, it made you see white, your toes curled with pleasure filling up your nerves. you squirted until your thighs started shaking around his head, your juices gushing out rapidly. his face, the sheets and your thighs dripped of your cum.
only then did he pull back, lips shiny, and crawl up your body again. he gazed at your dried tears, "oh baby, you did so well," he captured your lips in a deep, consuming kiss, nothing sweet or innocent about it. his tongue invades your mouth. he moaned into the kiss, tasting your juice, suckling on your tongue, a clash of teeth and tongues.
"i'm gonna fill you up raw, baby..." he heaved with lust veiling his eyes, his cock rested heavy against your slick pussy as he positioned himself, the head nudging your entrance without pushing in yet.
he growls, lining the thick head of his cock against your untouched entrance. he pushes forward slowly at first, the fat tip stretching your tight hole, then slams in deeper with one rough thrust. your hymen tears open under the force, the thin membrane ripping apart around his cock as he forces every inch inside you, you screamed out, with pain flowing in veins which slowly transitioned into tempering pleasure.
blood trickles out around his shaft, spilling on the bedsheet and mixing with the slick from his precum as he starts pounding into you without mercy. each thrust drives deeper, stretching your virgin walls that clench and flutter around him.
he pulls back just enough to see the red streaks on his cock before slamming back in, fucking the torn innocence wider with every stroke. his hips snap forward relentlessly, the wet sounds of your bleeding cunt filling the room as he claims your virginity completely.
he doesn't slow down, not one bit. he finally have you under him, after months of longing. hd grinded his pelvis against your clit while his cock rearranges your insides, pushing past the resistance until he's buried balls deep as he fucks you harder, the head of his dick battering your cervix with each brutal thrust.
your body shakes under him while he uses your freshly deflowered pussy, pulling out partially to watch your juices cling to his cock before ramming back inside.
his pace grew erratic as he chased his orgasm, grinding deep and holding there while his cock pulsed. hot cum flooded your insides, thick ropes painting your walls and leaking out around his shaft to mix with the blood.
he stayed buried inside you, rocking gently to push his load deeper, "stay like this, doll.." he ordered, keeping you pinned beneath him, "we don't want any of it to drip out? okay?"
haechan told himself, he can't live without you, never and you can never leave him, ever. the way he can keep you to himself, only to himself is to get you pregnant. his nerves filled with joy, when he envisions you all big and plump with his seed in you.
so, even after he came he kept his cock inside, half-hard and twitching as more cum seeped into you. his hands roamed your body while he whispered about how he'd keep coming back to fill you up until your belly swelled.
you laid there dazed, his fingers back in your mouth as you sucked them clean, completely unaware of how thoroughly he'd claimed you.
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tags: haechan x reader ft maeda riku. best friend's brother trope. fluff. haechan plays the bass and has jet black hair and he's so sexy.
wc: 1.8k words.
note: this was supposed to be way shorter... but idk what happened sorry. pls enjoy hihi! i love band boy haechan.
you’ve always known that riku has an older brother.
he had mentioned it on several occasions, something along the lines of — my jerk brother borrowed my jeans without telling me, or i couldn’t sleep because my prick brother kept playing his stupid bass!
what you didn’t know, is said brother is this hot.
you’re not supposed to be here. you’re supposed to be using the bathroom, but somewhere along the hallway, you lost your way so now you’re here, standing before an open door. his bedroom wall is filled with michael jackson posters — and some bands you’ve only seen from your father’s old cassettes.
sitting in the middle of the room is him. he looks a little like riku, but with rounder features and a constellation of moles decorating his honey skin. he’s sitting on the floor, strumming his bass and bopping his head to the tune, tongue poking against his cheek.
you stand there, awestruck. your hand grips on the door frame, attempting to hide yourself behind the wall but he could see you. he looks up, fingers still orchestrating the instrument, eyeing you from head to toe. you feel your skin burn.
“lost?” he speaks, voice nothing like you’ve ever heard before. you think that you’ll remember the sound forever.
“uhm… the bathroom?”
“last door on the left.”
embarrassed, you walk away, his stare at the back of your head going unnoticed.
…
“what’s your brother’s name?”
“hm? haechan.”
“maeda hae—“
“—lee. different dad.”
“lee haechan…”
the bed dips. riku looks at you, propping his elbow onto the bed, lifting himself slightly to get a proper look. his eyebrows are furrowed, eyes squinted as he scans you. he’s known you for a while now, able to read your every move.
“yn. are you into my brother?”
your face turns to look at him, just slightly. you’re grateful for the dim lights, perhaps, he wouldn’t be able to see the blush creeping up your cheeks. you shake your head.
“no way. i just saw him on my way to the bathroom and was curious.”
you pray he couldn’t see through your lie. he squints his eyes just a little more, for a moment, before resting his head back against the pillows.
“good. he’s a stupid prick.”
you don’t know that. what you know for sure, is that he’s stupidly gorgeous.
…
yn [9:05 AM]: maeda riku i am seriously going to kill you. SERIOUSLY!!!!
rikuri [9:09 AM]: please do NOT i’m sooooo sorry ok!!! yushi needed my help so i had to leave :( pancakes in the microwave love you!
you scoff, tossing the phone to the other side of the bed, sounding a hushed thud. reluctantly, you pick your towel off a chair and make your way to the bathroom, mentally cursing your best friend in your head, planning all the ways you can get back at him. you brush your teeth, back leaned against the wall. you don't notice the door's unlocked until haechan walks in, towel slung over his shoulder.
"what —"
"chill," he mutters, grabbing his toothbrush. there's no urgency in his tone, no shock, as if it's the most mundane thing ever.
haechan brushes, standing close to you, shoulders lightly brushing. he looks into the mirror, meeting your eyes and raising his eyebrow, as if telling you to resume.
and so, you do. a little slower, more flustered than normal.
...
hanging out at riku's become a routine. embedded in your being, you find yourself taking the bus to his neighbourhood after class without thought. his mother claims that you're a maeda now, as you know where the spare keys are, and a designated mug sits in the dishwasher for you.
riku on the other hand, is rarely around. he prefers spending his afternoons at yushi's leaving you alone as you watch an old romcom in his living room.
haechan walks in, wordlessly taking a seat beside you — it has become a frequent occurence. you think that you see haechan even more than riku lately, the way he'd join you for your binge watches, or when you'd bake cookies with riku. sometimes, he'd leave touches that linger —hand on your back as he passes by, or fingertip brushing against your lips as he makes you try a snack.
it's normal, yet it accelerates your heart rate without fail. you find yourself nervous every time he does as little as looking at you.
"pretty woman."
you turn to him, eyes widened. you? pretty? your hands curl around the hem of your shirt, making sense of it all.
"huh?"
haechan raises his eyebrow, tongue poking against his cheek.
"the name of the movie?"
"oh."
he chuckles, shaking his head before turning his attention back to the tv. right, of course he's talking about the damn julia roberts movie, and not you. you clasp a cushion against your face, embarrassed. he taps on your arm, touch burning through your skin.
"are you going to sungchan's party? the one on friday?"
"sungchan? oh, probably not, was not in —"
" — do you want to come with me?"
there's a minute pause as you turn your head towards him, and he's already looking at you. all the jest in his face is replaced with sincerity as he stares down at you, lip pressed against teeth.
"oh, yeah, of course."
"cool. it's a date then. we can get dinner first."
...
when riku said that his brother's a stupid prick, this must be what he means.
the servers must think you're a pathetic little thing, the way you're sitting at the far-right booth with a watered down iced tea and a melted banana split. haechan's an hour late — and with the way that he's not answering any of your calls, he's probably not coming. so, ashamedly, you grab your bag and leave for home, where you quickly flop onto your bed and weep.
no signs of haechan, at least not up until one in the morning.
yn [1:27 AM]: your brother truly is a PRICK. all caps lock btw. BOLDED. UNDERLINED. TIMES NEW ROMAN SIZE 57 AND CENTERED.
rikuri [1:28 AM]: preach mama
rikuri [1:32 AM]: also wat
you're not in the mood to explain, so you shut your phone and sleep, dried tears on your cheeks.
...
it wasn't supposed to last this long.
haechan's had one long day, like it was a karmic debt sent by God which he had to pay in the form of nakamoto yuta and his stupid lies.
"sorry dude, the gig wasn't supposed to last this long. shotaro said they had some sort of technical error," yuta shrugs, shoving his drumsticks into his bag.
haechan glares at him, a full on side-eye as he swings his bass bag over his shoulder.
"you said the gig was supposed to start at 9, but it started at 10. and then you said we were the opener — bro, we were the fucking encore!"
"miscommunication, sorry," the older answers, holding his hands up in surrender.
haechan rolls his eyes, "does anyone have a charger? my phone's fucking dead," he scans the room, grumbling "useless," under his breath when all his band members shake their head, shoving his bass bag into the back of the van.
he bids his goodbye to the members (while scowling, of course), fast-walking to his car when the universe reminds him of whatever karmic debt he had in the form of a flat tire. he bangs his head against the car roof, cussing under his breath.
"i'm taking the fucking van!"
...
you're not at the diner, and you don't seem to be at sungchan's party.
haechan trudges through the crowd, muttering apologies at every bump and spilled alcohol. instead of finding you, he bumps into riku, who’s sitting on the kitchen counter, nursing a drink.
“have you seen yn?”
riku blinks, shaking his head. confusion sits in his eyes for a while until realisation hits.
“wait. is this why she texted me saying you’re a fucking prick? what the fuck did you do to my best friend?”
haechan’s tongue pokes against his cheek, running a hand over his face. he grabs riku’s drink, downing it in one go before grabbing his brother's hand. he pulls his brother through the crowd, earning a couple whines from him.
"dude — where the fuck are we going?"
"you're helping me get yn back."
to riku's dismay, the two brothers arrive at your house — standing in your garden as haechan figures a way to get riku into your bedroom. you won't answer calls, nor will you answer the door. so, he eyes the tree looming over your bedroom window and the gears in his head click.
"riku. you're going to climb up this tree and go through her window."
"the hell? who said i'm doing all that?"
"your dearest older brother, of course."
the younger groans, but he makes no more protest as haechan gives him a boost, and so he climbs up the tree, making his way into your window and turning his head back to shoot haechan the middle finger.
you're jolt awake by the sound of riku falling to the floor with a thud. the blanket is pulled over your body as you screech.
"what the fuck?"
"it's me, it's riku!" he yells back, holding his hands up in surrender. "yn, you have to go downstairs, please."
...
someway, somehow, riku manages to convince you to go downstairs.
"in another life, please find a man better than my brother."
you scoff, opening the door to be greeted by haechan, on his knees, staring up at you. full begging posture. riku runs a hand across his face, shaking his head.
"god, i can't watch this," he mumbles, walking away to disappear into your kitchen.
haechan, on the other hand, is still on his knees, hands clasped together in a prayer. it's a rare sight — he always seems so aloof, and cheeky, poking jokes at you any chance he had, leaving remarks that border on platonic and flirty.
you liked it, though. lee haechan on his knees begging.
"i'm so, so sorry," he says, each word emphasised. "i had a whole thing going on with the band. i swear i planned my time so well, it's just — some things happened, with my car, and then my phone died —"
"haechan. get up."
"no, i really am sorry, please don't be mad —"
your cheeks flush as you look around the neighbourhood, seeing the lady that lives across you peeking through her window only amplifies the redness. you pull him up, "please, just get up, i won't be mad anymore."
"you promise?" he finally gets up, staring at you with hopeful eyes.
you sigh, bringing your hand forward to flick him on the forehead.
"don't ever mess up again."
he blinks, wanting to make a comment on how the flick didn't hurt at all, but he bites his tongue.
"so you forgive me?"
"yes."
"you're not mad at me anymore?"
"no."
"so you'll go on a date with me?"
you roll your eyes, but you can't stop the smile that creeps up your cheeks.
"geez, haechan — yes, i'll go on a date with you."
haechan grins, bringing his pinky up to seal the promise, cheekily kissing your pinky.
"is my brother still on his knees? can i come out now?"
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warnings: smut, mdni, mature themes, unprotected sex, p in v, clit play, slight nipple play, sharing chewing gum, mentions of cigarettes and smoking, semi public sex, oral (m receiving)
summary: non idol, rockstar!yuta x fem reader
requested!
the whole venue stink of cigarettes, cologne, metal and hairspray. you were stood at the side of the stage, watching the opening act close up their set before your boyfriend yuta took the stage. he was the front man of his band, the lead singer. he walks out the green room with the rest of his musicians. you smile as he approaches you, hand gripping your ass as he kisses your temple.
“keep a hold of this for me”
he smirks as you lean in for a kiss, his chewing gum swirling around your tongues before he spits it into your mouth for good, drawing back with the same smirk.
“break a leg handsome”
“thanks baby, go watch from the crowd, best view from the front row”
you nod and give him one last peck before one of the venue security escorted you to the front of the crowd, in front of the barricade with some other staff and photographers. during the show he is running around, jumping and singing his heart out, sweat dripping down his chest, hands coming to fondle with his cheetah print belt just to tease you, his white and red hair clinging to his neck and forehead with sweat, tattoos peeking out from his outfit, tongue hanging out in between versus and choruses. spraying the crowd with his water bottle, throwing his sweat cloth out to the crowd. towards the end of his set you start to make your way out of the venue, walking back to the back of the stage near the stage door to give any crew space to clear out any equipment. yuta winks at you as he’s ushered past with the rest of his band. when things backstage die down you go to his door and knock.
when he opens the door with his chest bare and still heaving a bit from the excitement, his smile widens
“there she is”
“room for a little one?”
he nods, letting you in happily while cracking open a beer with his teeth while you make yourself comfortable on the couch
“you know i hate when you do that!”
“oh come on i’m a pro with my mouth!”
“yeah and i’d like to keep it that way! how you gonna go down on me with cracked teeth?”
he just smiles into the beer bottle as he takes a swig and sits on the arm rest next to you, your body leans against him and he slots his leg around you so you can be closer. he offers you a drink of his beer which you take, handing it back to him. you and his band mates talk about the show and you can’t help but hush over how good yuta looked and sounded, looking up at him from your seat, hands coming up behind you to feel his arms and torso. his band mates quickly get the memo and head out to their tour bus, more like a run down old van they converted into some rockstar hotel on wheels.
“you can’t keep your hands to yourself can you?”
“can you blame me? look at you…”
you stand and face him, standing between his legs as he holds your hands, the metal from his rings now warm with sweat and body heat.
“you looked so good tonight yu”
“thanks baby, had my number one fan out in the crowd”
he winks at you before a hand comes up to cup your jaw, bringing you into him for a kiss, he can taste the faint remnants of his recycled spearmint gum as his tongue swirls around your mouth in a greedy kiss. his skin feels warm and clammy against yours, his deep manly musk filling your senses. you sigh into his mouth and he gets the message, breaking apart only to slide down on to the couch fully, bringing you to sit on his lap, and you reconnect again.
your hands are all over his chest, his torso and arms, feeling him up while you depend the kiss and he takes the gum from your mouth, before spitting it out in the trash can next to the vanity desk. it doesn’t take much longer before he’s lifting your shirt up over your head, hands coming up to cup your tits through your bra
“how you want me baby?”
“right here”
he nods letting you stand up and unbutton your pants, getting back on the couch on your hands and knees, you hear him taking his pants off too, the sound of his belt hitting the floor sends chills up your spine. before long you feel his warm hands pushing against your lower back and you push forward creating an arch for him.
“you look so fucking good baby, already so wet, thinking about this all night werent you?”
“yes… yuta, please”
“i got you”
he lines himself up with your entrance, collecting and spreading your slick, his free hand comes down to give your ass a playful smack before he pushes in, the heat and adrenaline surrounding the room consumes you both. he starts with a fast pace, the unlocked green room door just waiting for someone to walk in and stumble across you both. his band mates, venue staff, groupies, anyone is bound to waltz in within minutes. he grunts as you squeeze around him, sounds of skin slapping, his balls haphazardly hitting agaisnt your clit with every thrust. you squeal at the stretch and immediate impact of his harsh thrusts, moaning when he hits your sweet spot over and over.
“fuck! yuta! yes! right there baby!”
“so fucking tight… shit baby”
one of his hands grips your hip tight, the other wrapping around your hair in a ponytail, yanking it back to bring your body flush against his, his hips not faltering for a second. your head leans back on his shoulder and he lets out a breathy chuckle at how easily you melt against him, lazy smirk adorning his features. the hand that was in your hair drops down your front and in between your legs, finding your clit with ease. your thighs twitch and your chest jolts forward just a fraction making him laugh again
“feels good?”
“yes! please! yuta! so good! please!”
you don’t really know why youre begging, nor what your begging for, but he gets the message, keep going, don’t stop, you’re close.
“you gonna cum for me sweet thing?”
“uh huh”
you can barely form words, just drawn out mewls in between whiney moans. your hands claw at his forearm, nails dragging and leaving pretty red lines and faint crescent dents, the smell of his aftershave and hairspray, mixed with the lingering cigarette smoke and rolling papers could you both, it’s rough and dirty, just like the sex. on the small ripped leather couch in the dimly lit backstage green room, beer bottles and ashtrays littering the tables. faded and signed posters of past talent overlapping each other on the walls, a contrast to the fresh flyer put up this morning of your boyfriend and his friends. his fingers continue to work tight circles on your clit as his cockhead bullies into you, dragging against your walls before pummelling into that spongey spot that has the coil on your core about to come undone
“yuta… cum with me baby… please, need to feel it”
“i’m close, just a little more for me”
his hips snap harder, a new found urgency as you both hear talking and screaming girls getting louder, the stage door directly opposite the green room.
“fuck- hngh… i’m gonna cum, let go for me baby”
all it takes is the hand on your hip flying to your chest, pinching and twisting your nipple in time with a harsh flick of your clit and his hips stilling inside of you as deep as he can go before your spilling all over him, and you feel him flood your walls. cum spurting in you and creating a pool of mess inside you. your body falls forward, his torso following and collapsing on top of you, both of you panting and heaving, catching your breathe. when he pulls out he watches as he drips out of you slowly, his fingers coming to swipe some up, licking both of you off his fingers as he sits back.
“you okay?”
“more than okay… i can still feel you in there”
you both let out a breathless laugh as he starts to gather his pants and yours. you shimmy back into your clothes and fix them so they’re back to normal, he pulls his pants up. you know he barely ever wears underwear, letting his low rise jeans show off his hip tattoos, but you always wonder how he doesn’t chafe, you watch as he tucks himself into his pants, leaving them unbuttoned and belt undone, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the room, his stage manager there and waiting by the door to collect the bands belongings.
“were you listening the whole time? pervert”
“just get in the bus, we have a long night on the road”
you hide your face as yuta smirks and leads you out the stage door, fans screaming and trying to get autographs and pictures, but with you on his arm, he doesn’t look twice, just makes a beeline for the tour bus, helping you up the stairs. of course within 10 minutes pictures of you and your boyfriend leaving the venue, sweaty and flushed, with his pants hanging low on his hips and practically open and exposed go viral. but neither of you care about that, not when you’re at the back of the bus, on your knees in front of him. the only thing you can hear is yutas filthy mouth and the road beneath the bus crumble. and the only thing you can think is how good you’re going to feel when you swap places with him.
hi pretty loves! i’m sorry for being so MIA the last few weeks, i took some time after the mark situation to take a break from writing, then started redrafting, i’ve got some works on the way! been super hectic with work so they’ve not been out as fast as i had hoped, but coming to the end of my long week now! hopefully have more up tonight and within the next few days!
also again happy 10 years of nct! i hope everyone is doing okay with the news of winwin’s contract coming to an end, we were all kind of expecting the news with baited breath, i hope he is happy and can now fully fulfil all his dreams now with no boundaries, thank you for you’re time and love win, with both 127 ans wayv, and we will be supporting you always
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"my lord with all your heirs are you not worried of a succession crisis." Said the advisor "trust I have asked them many times and all but two deny the throne." Said the king "my oldest thinks it's his obligation to take it and my youngest thinks it allows her to eat ice cream for dinner."