pshl

[winterywrites]

texts with your boy best friend | park sunghoon smau.

part 1. part 2. part 3.

summary: a glimpse into your life as park sunghoon's best friend

author's thoughts: park sunghoon's menacing texts returns to celebrate the upcoming comeback!

taglist (open): @dorlithesweetest @nichozzystuffs

© all rights reserved. winterywrites. est sept 2025

[heesunghooney]

HAGSGSHAHSHSH

[taexvan]

BAD HABITS

#PRIDE!

(enhypen x the seven deadly sins)

✰ exbf!sunghoon x exgf!reader

IN WHICH... after months of feeling like an afterthought, you finally walk away from your boyfriend, Park Sunghoon. Sick and tired of his coldness and empty promises, you're done waiting for him to change.

warnings-> nsfw, MDNI, slow burn, angst, smut, a bit of fluff, strong language, non-idol au, oral sex (f!rec), face riding, unprotected sex (stay safe!), explicit sex, overstimulation, creampie, rough sex, dom!sunghoon, sub!reader, sinofpride!sunghoon, exes to lovers, porn with plot, multiple positions, wall sex, dirty talk, pet names (use of the words "good girl"), makeup sex, kissing, praise, choking, crying during sex, it is implied that reader might have a praise kink, (could be more)

-> (w/c:13.1k)

It's another Friday night, the apartment is loud and Sunghoon's friends are scattered across the living room with drinks and snacks, the kind of casual gathering that happens so often you've stopped counting. You'd been here earlier, before they all showed up, but you'd excused yourself to run an errand. Now you're back, and the sound of their laughter carries all the way to the entryway.

You hadn’t meant to overhear them but Riki’s teasing voice carried from the living room, "So…" he says, and there's that particular tone in his voice that suggests he's about to be annoying, “You’ve been pretty quiet about your girl lately. Things okay?” Sunghoon’s response was a calm “We’re fine.”

That made Jake laugh. “Fine? Dude You’re literally living together and that’s all you’ve got? She must be doing something right to get you to commit like that."

"Mm," Sunghoon says, and it's not quite agreement, just acknowledgment. "I'm just saying," Riki grins, and you can hear the mischief in his voice, "she's always trying so hard to impress you.” You stand and listen as the conversation spirals, they joke about the dinner you’d tried so hard to make, how Sunghoon had barely looked up from his phone. How you were always trying and how he needed to act like he gave a fuck otherwise he'd lose you.

“Oh my God, yeah. She looked so excited too. Hoon, you're ice cold, man. How does she even put up with you?" Jake laughs. There's a beat, a long one. Long enough that you think maybe he'll say something, long enough that your heart lifts slightly in hope. "She tries," he says finally, and his voice is still perfectly detached.

Another beat of silence follows, the kind that makes you realize he's not going to say anything else. He's not going to defend you or tell them to stop or indicate in any way that he actually cares that they're making fun of your relationship. "Bro, you should at least pretend to care," Riki says, and he's laughing but there's a note of genuine concern underneath it.

Sunghoon still doesn't respond.

Jake continues, "Like, seriously though, y/n's a sweetheart. You could at least make an effort to show her you're into it, into her…before she seeks that out elsewhere" he grins “and well” Jake sighs “she's not too bad huh?” He nudges Riki who leans back laughing. "That's enough," Sunghoon says finally, and his voice is sharp enough to cut, but it took him too long to say it, way too long.

You slip back out before they notice you, unable to face any of them.

You sit in your car for a while, trying to process what you just heard. It's not that you're upset that they were being mean, they were just joking, the way friends do. But the fact that Sunghoon sat there and let them talk about how you try too hard, how he doesn't care, how you're wasting your energy on him...and he only told them to stop after several minutes of letting it happen.

You sit with yourself for a while, replaying the conversation over and over again and each time it cuts deeper than the last. The way he just sat there in his cold ways and let you be the subject of gentle mockery.

You drive back inside eventually, trying to compose yourself. Not knowing whether to bring it up or just let it go but as you walk through the door and see him sitting there on the couch, completely unbothered, you know you're going to let it build. You know this is just one more thing on top of everything else, just another example that shows how much he doesn't value you, at least not in the way that matters. You keep your mouth shut for once and decide to ignore his antics just a bit longer…a mistake you should have never made.

The day of the argument starts like any other day. Sunghoon kisses you goodbye in the morning before he leaves. You'd mentioned last night that you had dinner plans; a reservation at that restaurant you've been wanting to try and he'd said “sounds good” in that annoying noncommittal way he does.

You should have known it was a sign.

You spend the day excited, actually excited about the evening. You buy a new dress, get your nails and hair done. Naturally you're trying, putting in effort, doing all the things you're supposed to do when you care about someone. Then, around 4 PM, a message comes through.

Hoonie♡: Something came up baby. Can't do dinner tonight.

No explanation, not even an apology, nothing. You call him immediately. "What came up?" you ask, trying to keep your voice level. "Plans with Jake and Heeseung."

Your brows furrow in confusion "Plans that you just made today?"

"Yes."

"Sunghoon, we have dinner reservations…I bought a dress, like- I've been looking forward to this all week…what do you mean?” You hear his sigh through the phone "I know baby. But this is important."

"And I'm not?" He doesn't answer.

"I'll reschedule," he says finally, like that solves anything. Like canceling on you at the last minute is acceptable as long as he can pencil you back in when it's more convenient. You hang up on him without another word, anger burning through your veins as you look through the group chat. You scroll down to the latest texts, and based on the conversation, it seems that he's going to some event with his friends.

It's not an emergency, not something that couldn't have been postponed…just something he decided was more important than you. That's when you decide you need to talk to him. This might be the last straw…his lack of effort, the coldness, the way he treats you like an obligation instead of someone he loves. You're tired of it.

Later that day, you drive to his apartment with your new dress still on, your hair and makeup and all your efforts for tonight on display. And despite how beautiful you thought you looked, it couldn't blur out the ugliness spreading inside. Your heart shatters, completely ready to finally say all the things you've been holding back. Sunghoon's “You look gorgeous, angel” quickly turns into a "You're being ridiculous," when you look him dead in the eye and tell him to cancel with his friends. And his voice is so cold it sounds like he's never cared about you at all.

You stare at him across his apartment. You've been here for a whole hour. One hour of going in circles, of him refusing to acknowledge what he did, of you asking for literally the bare minimum…an apology, an admission that he was wrong and getting nothing except that same perfectly controlled expression and excuses wrapped in ice. "I'm not being ridiculous," you say, and your voice is already shaking. "I'm asking you to cancel and admit you were wrong."

"I wasn't wrong." He shrugs "You were!" Your voice gets louder. "For God's sake You made plans with me…we had dinner plans, Sunghoon. I bought a new dress, I tried to look pretty for you…I was excited. And you canceled at the last minute for Jake and Heeseung?. You couldn’t even tell me the reason why…I had to find out through the group chat like I was nobody." He turns away from you, like this conversation is beneath him, like you're beneath him. "Plans change."

"Don't turn away from me!" You move closer. "Look at me…please just look at me and tell me why I don't matter enough for a single text." He turns back, but his expression is colder than before, completely closed off. "Plans change, y/n" he repeats, like you didn't hear him the first time, like repetition will make it true. "And communication exists for a reason!" Your voice cracks, "I just need you to acknowledge that you hurt my feelings, that you disrespected me, I need you to say you're sorry. That's it, Hoonie, that's literally all I need."

"I'm not going to apologize for spending time with my best friends."

"That's not what this is about!" You're yelling now, past the point of trying to keep your voice level. "I don't care that you're going out with Jake or Heeseung. I care that you made me feel like an afterthought, like something you could just push aside whenever something better came along." He looks at you with an expression so detached it's almost cruel.

"You're not an afterthought."

"Then why do you make me feel like one?" Tears are sliding down your face now and you hate that, hate that he's making you cry while he stands there completely unmoved. "Why do I always feel like I'm begging for scraps of your attention? Why am I the only one who tries in this relationship?"

"You're not-"

"Don't lie to me!" You step closer, desperate now. "Don't stand there and tell me I'm not when we both know it's true. I'm always the one planning things, making the effort, always the one who cares more and you know it but you don't even care." He doesn't answer, just stands there with his jaw tight and his eyes cold and completely, utterly unmoved by your pain. "Say something," you plead. "Defend yourself. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me anything, Hoon. Don't just stand there like I'm not worth responding to."

"What do you want me to say?" His voice is perfectly controlled, ice cold, not a single trace of guilt or remorse, "That I'm sorry? Fine, I'm sorry. Happy now?" The casual cruelty of it takes your breath away. "That's not an apology and you know it," you say quietly. "An apology means you feel something about what you did, and you don't. You don't feel a thing."

"That's not true."

"Then prove it, show me…do something…anything that shows me you actually care about my feelings instead of just saying the words because it's easier for you than being vulnerable."

He runs a hand through his hair, but it's just a gesture of irritation. "I'm not good at this babe, you know it" he says finally. "I'm not good at talking about feelings and I'm not going to pretend to be. This is who I am. If you can't accept that then that's your problem, not mine."

The words hang between you like a blade.

"My problem?" Your voice drops to something dangerous. "Seriously!?, my problem?” you can't believe the words you're hearing. Tears stream down your face, ruining your makeup but he just stands still, looking down at you with that dark expression.

“My fucking problem is that I love someone who won't even try to meet me halfway, i've been waiting for you to show me that you love me back and every single day you choose your pride instead."

"I do love you," he says, but it sounds automated, like a line he's memorized.

"No, you don't, not really, because if you did, you would fight for me. You would do better…you would fucking try." You move toward the door, hands shaking and shoulders heavy. "But you won't. You'd rather lose me than admit you were wrong. Your pride matters to you more than I do."

"Y/n”

"I can't do this anymore," you say, and your voice is surprisingly steady now. Tired. "I can't keep begging someone to care about me. I can't keep being the only one trying. I'm exhausted, Hoonie. I'm so exhausted." You grab your jacket. "Don't do this," he says, and for the first time there's a crack in his voice. A hint that maybe he feels something after all.

But it's too late.

"I need someone who will fight for me," you turn to him. "Someone who will admit when they're wrong and actually try to do better. I need someone who can be vulnerable with me. And that's not you."

You reach for the door.

"I love you," he says suddenly, and the words sound like they're tearing their way out of his chest. "I do. I'm sorry. I'm sorry baby, okay? I'm sorry."

But you're already gone, already walking out.

And even though he said the words, even though you heard the desperation in his voice, it's too late because words without action mean nothing, and he's had his chance.

He doesn't follow you, doesn't say your name again and doesn't do anything except let you walk out of his apartment and out of his life because his pride has already destroyed everything that mattered.

The first night after the argument, he calls. You're in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling emotionally drained with all that's running through your mind. You lift your phone and stare at the screen until it stops ringing. You tell yourself that if it mattered enough, he would've followed you out. Five minutes later another call comes through, then a text.

Hoonie♡: Are you home?

You change his contact name, lock your phone and throw it face down onto your bed. You don't answer, you don't even open it and you won't. Although when you wake up the next morning there's another one.

Sunghoon: We should talk.

You leave it unopened but by the third day the messages change.

Sunghoon: Please answer. Sunghoon: I know you're upset. Sunghoon: I'm trying.

That one almost gets you…Almost.

You stare at it for a long time because trying feels like such a cruel word after everything. Trying now, trying after everything, trying only when you're gone. You sigh heavily, putting your phone away.

About a week later you're sitting at lunch with your friend when your phone lights up again. You don't mean to look, hoping to spend some quality time with your best friend Leah, but it lights up again and again so you unlock it swiftly to put it on silent but a certain notification catches your attention.

Sunghoon: Did you eat?

Your chest hurts immediately, a horrible feeling creeping into your chest. Your eyebrows furrow and you lock your screen, placing your phone back down, still very much trying your best to ignore Leah's stare.

“You gonna answer?” she asks

“No.”

She nods then after a second, hesitantly says, “He looks like he's going through it by the way.” Your eyes find hers immediately and you can see she regretted saying it the second the words left her lips.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She averts her gaze, her attention returning to her food.

“No seriously.”

Leah sighs when she realizes you're not about to let this go easily. “I ran into the guys yesterday.” You don't respond but you feel her eyes on you. “They said he hasn't really been doing well.” Your stomach twists unpleasantly and you hate that it does, you hate that part of you immediately starts imagining him and that you still know exactly what he looks like when he's tired. Leah watches you for a second longer as you clear your throat and continue eating.

That night while you're cleaning up the last of the dishes in the sink, your phone rings again. You stare at his contact. It rings, once, twice, then a text comes in.

Sunghoon: I'm sorry Sunghoon: I just want to hear your voice

You sigh heavily, closing your eyes when another rolls in.

Sunghoon: Goodnight.

You stare at the screen until it goes dark but you still don't reply. And for the first time since you walked out of his apartment, you cry. Not because you want him back or that you're changing your mind, just because for the first time it really feels like maybe losing you finally became real to him. And that realization comes too late for both of you.

A few more days pass by with multiple missed calls and texts from Sunghoon. He shows up at your place a few times but you don't let him in.

One night Sunghoon gets home and can't help the feeling of emptiness spreading through him. Not to speak of how the apartment feels wrong. It's felt lacking ever since you left. Too quiet, not because it's empty but because it isn't.

Your mug is still in the cabinet, your hair tie is still looped around the bathroom handle. One of your hoodies is folded over the arm of the couch, your scent haunts his sheets, your favorite snacks still sitting untouched on the shelves. Nothing is gone…you surround his entire world. Your presence is so strong that your absence feels hallucinated.

Sunghoon stands in the kitchen for a long time. Then he sits down, leaning back on the couch and unlocks his phone. He opens your chat and his thumb hovers over the empty text box.

Sunghoon: I'm sorry y/n, I really am…can I please see you?.

He looks at it and deletes it, too short. He thinks for a second before typing again.

Sunghoon: I'm sorry for how I've been acting.

He stares at it for a second then deletes it again, too specific.

Sunghoon: I miss you.

He deletes it immediately and his jaw tightens. No, how can he be so shameless? Missing you is not the point. He knows he's been an ass to you lately. He locks his phone, leans forward then unlocks it and opens the chat again.

Sunghoon: I know you're ignoring me.

Delete. That sounds bitter.

Sunghoon: I know you don't want to talk to me.

He deletes it with a heavy exhale, throwing his phone onto the couch. Five minutes later he picks it back up, stares and types.

Sunghoon: I keep trying to explain myself and I think that's part of the problem.

His eyes stay on the screen before his thumb moves again.

Sunghoon: You weren't asking me to explain…you were asking me to care.

He stops and reads it then keeps going.

Sunghoon: You kept telling me I hurt you and all I cared about was proving I wasn't wrong.

His expression hardens slightly, not because he disagrees but because he doesn't like seeing it written down, it just makes him feel even worse.

Sunghoon: You asked me to choose you and I didn't realize how badly I'd been behaving towards you. I was cruel and wrong, always thinking that needing you made me weak.

His breathing slows as he stares at it.

Sunghoon: I let you think I didn't care because it felt easier than letting you see how much I did.

He stops and reads everything again, his jaw clenching in anger. Anger at himself, at his behaviour.

Sunghoon: And I'm sorry I made you beg for things I should've given freely. I know you deserve better than me…but I can't let you go, not like this.

The cursor blinks and his eyes move over the message once as his thumb hovers over the send button. He could send it, he really wants to…but suddenly he remembers your face. Mascara ruined, voice shaking, the beautiful dress you had on for him…

And he realizes something that makes his stomach turn. He didn't say any of this when it mattered and now you're gone. He stares at the send button then deletes everything. And the chat goes empty again. His phone stays in his hand for a while then he sets it face down. Quietly, to nobody in particular, he whispers, “Too late” And for the first time since you walked out of here all those nights ago, he doesn't call. He doesn't text, just sits there in silence, wallowing in his own misery.

The days drag on, long and exhausting. And no matter how much you try not to let it happen, Sunghoon stays on your mind. Days turn into weeks, and your friends slowly start getting worried.

You stop feeling like going out and your life settles into the same routine every day. You wake up early, get some chores done, go to class then to work before going home and shutting yourself in your room where you binge your favorite movies until you fall asleep, only to wake up and do it all over again.

You notice your friends watching you more carefully lately. Asking if you're okay a little too often. You keep telling them you are, and eventually they stop pushing. Until today, they're weirdly persistent about getting you out of the house today.

You let out a tired sigh and stare out the window as the car comes to a stop. Jake's throwing a party tonight, and apparently everyone's going.

You'd already told them you weren't coming but then they somehow got Jake to ask you himself. And turning Jake down isn't exactly easy. It's ridiculous how effortlessly charming he can be, completely unaware that he's part of the reason you and your boyfriend aren't together anymore.

The house is already packed when you arrive. Jake's parties are always like this, sprawling and loud and full of people you know and people you don't, the kind of loud that presses against your skull and the kind of event where you can disappear into the crowd if you need to. Which you definitely need to, considering you'd only come because your friends had worn you down with promises that Sunghoon wouldn’t be here. They lied.

You see him before he sees you…or that's what you tell yourself for approximately three seconds before his eyes find yours across the room and every single thought in your head evaporates.

He freezes, actually freezes, mid-conversation with Heeseung, his entire body goes still in a way that's almost comical if the whole situation wasn't so devastating. His expression doesn't change, he's too controlled for that, too practiced at keeping his face neutral but his eyes betray him completely. They go dark and focused and entirely on you in a way that makes your chest do something complicated.

You look away first, you have to. He's got some nerve for sure, looking at you like that, like he didn't just choose his friends over you three weeks ago and mean it. You move deeper into the crowd, toward the kitchen, where you don't have to think about the fact that he's here or that he looked at you like seeing you was the most important thing that's happened to him in weeks. You're trying very hard not to notice him but it's not really working.

He's everywhere you look, across the living room, leaning against a wall with that cold expression he wears like armor. In the kitchen doorway, watching you laugh at something your friend said. Near the stairs, his eyes track your movement through the room with an intensity that makes your skin feel like it's vibrating.

Every time you look at him directly, he holds your stare, doesn't look away.

That's new. The Sunghoon you know would have played it cool, would have pretended not to notice you and let his pride dictate that he couldn't be the one caught staring. But this version, the one standing in Jake's living room in dark pants and a black shirt, with his dark hair falling into his eyes, doesn't look away.

He just watches…it's infuriating, it's also making it very hard to breathe. You're at the drinks table, pouring yourself something stronger than you intended, when a guy you don't recognize slides up beside you.

"Hey," he says, and he's smiling in a way that suggests he thinks he's charming. "I don't think we've met. I'm Seojun."

"Y/n," you say politely. He leans against the counter, completely at ease. "So you're here with someone or...?"

"Actually, I came with-" you start, but you're not sure how to finish that sentence. You came with your friend but they're nowhere to be seen. "Cool, cool." He doesn't seem to care about the incomplete answer. "You wanna get out of here? There's a quieter room upstairs, we could-"

A hand appears on your lower back and you don't even have to turn around to know it's Sunghoon. The touch is possessive, unmistakable, and it's such a contrast to the cold distance he's maintained all night, that it catches you off guard.

"She's not interested," he says, and his voice is ice. Colder than you've ever heard it, which is saying something. Seojun glances between you two and seems to finally clue in that he's made a mistake. "Oh, shit, my bad man. Didn't know she was with you," he disappears back into the crowd, not turning back once and you immediately roll your eyes, turning to look at Sunghoon, his jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might break.

His hand is still on your back, and there's something in his expression that's pure possessiveness. "What the hell?" you say quietly, because this is Sunghoon, the guy who won't even defend you to his friends, who won't publicly claim you and treats you like you're irrelevant. And yet here he is, staking a claim like you belong to him and only him.

"He was hitting on you," Sunghoon says flatly. "I'm aware" You raise a brow. "I don't like it." His stare doesn’t leave your face. "You don't like it?" You pull away from him slightly. "Since when do you care who talks to me?"

He doesn't answer. Just watches you with that dark, focused intensity, his jaw still tight, his hand still reaching for you even though you've stepped away.

"You can't just decide you're possessive now," you say, and your voice is shaking slightly, whether from anger or something else, you're not sure. "You can't ignore me for years and then act like I'm yours the second someone else shows interest…you won't even look at me when your friends are around, but the second someone else shows interest, suddenly you're territorial?"

"That's not what this is."

"Then what is it?" You step closer, and there's anger in your voice now, real anger. "Because from where I'm standing it looks like you only care about owning me, not actually being with me."

"That's not true y/n"

"But it is...you only care when there’s competition…you want to control who I talk to but you won't fight for me, want me unavailable but you won’t choose me. Want me to be yours but you won't be mine."

His jaw clenches. "You just don't understand."

"Then explain it to me!" You're almost yelling now. "Explain to me why you get to decide I'm off limits to other people when you won't even acknowledge that I matter to you!” He doesn't respond, just stares at you like you're the only person in the room, like everyone else has disappeared and you're the only thing left that truly matters.

"You do matter," he says, his voice suddenly quiet. "You matter so much it terrifies me." The words land somewhere painful and you hate that they do. You hate that after everything, after all the weeks of silence, the way he'd look through you when his friends were around, those six words still have the power to crack something open in your chest.

"That's not enough," you say, but your voice comes out smaller than you intended. His face stills. "You can't say things like that and expect me to forget everything." You laugh, but it comes out wrong, too sharp, too close to breaking. "All I wanted was for you to show me…I wanted you to act like I mattered. Not hide me away like I was something to be ashamed of."

"I never hid you."

"You wouldn't even look at me." The words scrape coming out.

"You think I was ignoring you?" He takes a step forward, eyes never leaving yours. "I was avoiding your effect on me, Y/n." His hands come up to rest on your shoulders, and you tell yourself to step back but your body's not listening. "Every time I'm around you I can't fucking think straight." His voice drops lower "And I hated that. I hated that I couldn't be in the same room as you without losing my head completely." You shake your head slowly. "That sounds like a you problem."

"It is." His thumb moves once against your shoulder. "It's entirely my problem." You should step back and you're aware of that but you're also aware that your feet aren't moving. "The way you laugh," he says quietly, and his eyes drop for just a moment before finding yours again. "The way you smell. The way you look at me like you can see straight through everything I put up." His jaw shifts. "Your eyes are the worst part."

"Sunghoon…”

"I hear your voice after you leave." Something in his expression cracks open slightly, just for a second. "I tried to get you out of my head but I couldn't." You press your lips together and there's still that anger sitting in your chest, real and justified, and you know that.

You know words in a dim kitchen at a party don't erase months of coldness, of being kept at arm's length, of watching him pretend you were nobody, You know all of that.

And still your hand comes up and presses flat against his chest, not to push him away but just to feel whether his heart is doing what yours is. His eyes flick to where your palm rests. “You can be mad at me,” he says quietly, “You have every right to be…you can hate me if you need to.” His forehead dips slightly toward yours. “But whether you choose me or not, you'll always be the love of my life.”

Your breath catches as the words settle between you, heavy and impossible. You don’t know what to do with them, or with any of this honestly. With the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room that hasn’t shifted beneath his feet. With the fact that some traitorous part of you has wanted to hear exactly this for months. His forehead stays close to yours but he doesn't close the distance. You realize after a second he's waiting, not assuming.

Your fingers loosen where they're tangled in the front of his shirt and his eyes flick down once before returning to yours. Then he says quietly “I need to say something and I need you not to interrupt me.”

You almost laugh. The nerve of this man…the audacity.

But something in his expression stops you. You look up at him and don't say anything. He takes that as permission letting his hands fall away from your shoulders and immediately you miss the warmth which annoys you more than anything.

His eyes stay on yours when he starts talking. “When you came to my apartment that night…” His jaw shifts, “I knew you were right.” Your expression stills and he swallows once before continuing, “You walked in and I knew.”

Your brows pull together, watching him struggle with his words, his gaze dropping briefly to his hands. “I saw you.” His voice lowers, “The beautiful dress, your pretty hair.”

His mouth presses into a thin line, “You looked excited.” Something uncomfortable twists in your chest. “You looked excited and I made you cry, I fucked up real bad…I saw you walk in there, trying to keep your cool after I had completely broke your heart.” He looks away for the first time since walking up to you tonight. “And instead of admitting I messed up…” His expression hardens at himself. “I decided that if I stayed calm enough then eventually you'd stop being upset.”

Your breathing slows and he lets out a short laugh, completely no trace of humor in it. “I thought if I apologized then that meant you finally had a reason to leave me” Your face changes slightly and his eyes catch it. Sunghoon nods once, “Yeah” his voice stays even, “That sounds bad out loud.”

You stare at him and he keeps going.

“I kept acting like every disagreement had to have a winner.” His jaw tightens.

“And if I admitted I hurt you then somehow I'd lose and you'd realize I didn't deserve you.” His eyes stay on yours. “But you weren't trying to win.” The music outside feels distant as his voice softens. “You were trying to be loved.” Your throat tightens at his words and he winces at his words, his expression shifting immediately with all the regret of these past few weeks sending his eyes lower.

“I made you feel stupid for wanting that y/n…I made the only girl I've ever loved question my love towards her all because my insecurities and overthinking had clouded my senses.” You blink in surprise and his shoulders rise and fall once. “You stood in front of me and asked me for one thing.” his gaze lifts, “to care that I fucking hurt you which was the bare fucking minimum…and I made you feel unreasonable.” His voice drops quieter, “That wasn't fair.”

You stare at him but he doesn't move, letting his words sit between you. You swallow hard and your voice comes out smaller than expected. “Why didn't you say all this then?” His eyes don't leave yours but his answer comes immediately…because this is something he's asked himself everyday since the argument.

His expression softens painfully. “Because I'm an idiot”

Your chest hurts, there's a knot in your throat and you can't breathe well. He looks down once before saying, “I was wrong. I was wrong and I'm sorry…i'm really sorry baby” Your breath catches.

“You deserved better than the version of me that loved you quietly and expected you to feel it anyway.” Your fingers tighten slightly against his shirt. He notices but his expression doesn't change. “I don't expect you to forgive me tonight…I don't expect anything.” his eyes hold yours. “But I will always want you…” his throat moves once. “I want to show you that I love you, I know I may not say it much but God, I love you so much it fucking hurts…”

His gaze flickers, “I want to be better for you, I want to change.” The room feels smaller suddenly and your eyes sting unexpectedly. You had never heard so much emotion coming from him and you didn't know how to feel. And somehow…it hurts more than all the begging ever did. You look at him for a long moment, soaking in his words. The room hasn't changed. The music is still loud somewhere behind the walls and people are still dancing, chatting and laughing.

Someone drops something in the other room and there's a chorus of exaggerated reactions. Life keeps moving, but somehow everything here feels unbearably still. Your eyes stay on his not quite knowing what to do yet…you expected explanations, defensiveness, you expected him to tell you he was trying his best, not…this.

You didn't expect him to stand in front of you and admit he was wrong. No conditions or excuses. You swallow again, your throat feeling dry after all the yelling, not to mention how much you hate that your chest hurts, it aches in a certain way when you hear him speak, when his gaze catches yours it hurts even more. You always knew you were in love with him but the feeling is so visceral and it leaves you helpless and dumbfounded.

Because part of you wanted to stay angry. Anger was easier, anger didn't miss him or care that he called and texted you a thousand times a day. Your eyes drop and you immediately notice that his hands are at his sides.You realize suddenly that he hasn't touched you since letting go.

Your throat tightens unexpectedly and you look back up. His expression shifts slightly like he's reading something in your face and immediately preparing to back away from it. He steps back once, careful not to touch you and your brows pull together.

“You should go back to your friends y/n.” Your eyes flick up and he gives a short nod. “You don't owe me this…what am I kidding, you don't owe me anything” he sighs. Your chest hurts even more than before. Simply staring at him, you exhale tiredly as he briefly looks away.

Then quietly says, “I just…” his eyes find yours again, “I didn't want the last thing you remembered from me to be that night,” his expression stays steady. “I didn't want you thinking I let you leave because I didn't care or because I didn't love you, because I love you more than anything in this world” Your throat burns at his words and you can no longer control how fast your heart is racing. “I can't get you out of my head” A pause. “I love you more than life itself” and something about that…the simplicity of it, does something to you, it breaks something open.

Because that's it, that's all you ever wanted to hear. Instead he was so quietly showing his emotions, like someone holding something precious too tightly and wondering why it couldn't breathe.

Your eyes sting and his expression changes immediately, shoulders tensing up. “Don't cry…” his voice tenses. You smack him away, bringing your hands up to cover your eyes. God this is so embarrassing. “You don't get to tell me what to do.” you roll your eyes at him. Something almost like a smile appears on his face before he lowers his face quickly.

Then you step forward and his eyes lift instantly. You stop right in front of him, close enough to feel him breathe and his expression doesn't move but his throat does. You stare at him, then ask “You're not going to stop me if I walk away right?” His eyes stay on yours, and he's unable to hide his wince, “No.” His gaze drops briefly, then returns. “I would want to stop you, really bad, but I would've respected your choice anyway.” Your heart twists and you look at him for a long second then shake your head once.

“You're so annoying.”

His brows pull together and you let out a bitter laugh. “You had months to say all this” his expression softens before he responds, “I know.”

Your fingers move before your brain catches up, you reach up and his body stills as your hand rests against his jaw. Warm…real. His eyes close for half a second as he processes that this is actually your touch.

When they open, they're softer than you've ever seen them. You swallow and your thumb moves once. “You hurt me, Hoonie.” His gaze follows your hand, “I know.”

“You made me feel stupid for loving you.” He winces again and your voice gets quieter. “I'm still angry.” His expression doesn't change, shoulders slumped in defeat.

“You should be.” You stare at him then you whisper, “but I missed you.” His eyes close, actually close, like the words hit somewhere painful. When he opens them, there's something in them you've never seen before, relief flooding every bone in his body. His voice comes out rough as he smiles down at you, “I missed you.” And then neither of you move, just stand there, too close and aware of the emotions you have for each other.

Your eyes drop to his mouth and his breathing changes instantly, gaze flickering across your features before returning to your eyes. He doesn't move at all until you realize he's waiting. Waiting for your forgiveness, for your approval. You look at him, really look, past the tense jaw, sharp edges, the dark eyes and the armor he wears. You look everywhere and you find that you have nothing left to fight with. You bite your lip in frustration, no longer able to hide the ache in your chest.

And quietly, you close the distance, your lips meet once. Soft and careful, tentative like a question and his breath leaves him immediately. Not kissing back at first, still soaking in that you're really here in his arms, then his hand comes up slowly, rests against your waist and he kisses you back, less uncertain.

And suddenly something in him breaks, because he exhales against your mouth like he's been holding that breath for months, like it's the first easy thing either of you has done in a very long time.

But the second you moan into his mouth, his control snaps completely. His hand slides into your hair, tilting your head back, and he's kissing you like he's been starving for it. Like these last few weeks of distance have nearly killed him.

You kiss him back with everything you've got, your fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer, and it's desperate and angry and passionate all at once. It's weeks of frustration and longing and how much you missed each other. When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together. Your fingers loosen where they’re gripping his shirt and neither of you says anything.

Suddenly your face feels warm and you glance around, the party still loud and chaotic as it reaches its peak. People are moving around you singing, dancing and making out in the corners. Sunghoon follows your gaze and his brows raise slightly like he only just remembered there’s a world outside of this. He looks around once then back at you. A smile tugs at his lips when he notices your sudden shyness and he moves in for another kiss but you step back.

“Not here...” you murmur. His eyes stay on yours for a second longer then he nods once, reaching out and holding his hand out. You stare at it for a second. Then you place your hand in his, and his fingers close around yours instantly. His hand stays around yours as he leads you away, you don’t ask where, you just follow him.

You go upstairs, up one flight and then another until you finally reach a door at the end of the hall. When he opens the door, he steps aside first, letting you go in before him. You walk inside, noticing the room is dim and quiet which is refreshing considering the loud noise downstairs

The air is cool from an air conditioner humming softly in the background, just enough to make the warmth of the party fade off your skin. A thick, soft carpet covers the floor, muting every step you take as you move further in and it all feels almost too comfortable for a room meant for anything serious.

To one side sits a sleek gaming setup, dual monitors, a console neatly placed beneath them, controllers lined up like they’re actually cared for. Cables are hidden, everything organized in a way that feels intentional rather than messy.

Blue LED lights line the edges of the ceiling and behind the setup, casting a soft glow over everything like the room is permanently stuck between night and calm.

Across from it, a wide couch sits low, cushions slightly worn in and near the center of the room is a pool table, dark felt surface catching the blue light in soft reflections with a few balls still scattered around like someone left mid-game and never bothered to finish.

“What is this place?” You ask, still looking around the calming environment.

“It's a play room” he smirks, the blue light settling deep into his pale skin. You laugh at his suggestive tone but before you know it, he's pulling you closer, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek.

The blood rushes to your face as you turn away from him. Stupid, so stupid. You hated the effect he had on you, it had been a little over a month since you had any action, with him being your last lay and your body so easily responds to his touch.

Your mind briefly remembers the night before the fight and you feel a warm feeling blooming at your core. You had been making dinner that night, hoping to surprise him after a long day at work.

He was so turned on that night…

Your hair was still slightly wet from your shower and you were in your favorite nightgown, he had caught a whiff of your scent, still fresh from your shower, and just the way you smiled up at him when you noticed his presence, the sight of your nipples poking through your gown, he couldn't control himself.

He grabbed you and lifted you onto the countertop, pulled your panties aside and ate you out for a good 20 minutes before he stood to his feet. Wrapped your legs around his neck, nearly folding you in half and fucked you so hard that you could barely walk the next day.

“Baby can I kiss you?” His voice breaks you out of your trance, low and rough with need.

Your initial embarrassment now long gone and evolved into something warmer, something darker. You smile, the last of your hesitation melting. He leans in and kisses that smile right off your lips, deep and hungry.

His mouth finds your pulse point and he groans against your skin. “I missed you so fucking much, he sighs, his hands already trailing your hips. His hands slide under your dress, palms hot against your thighs. You should stop this, you think. Your friends are downstairs…anyone coyld come up right now.

But the second he tugs you closer and locks the door with a quiet click, all protest dies in your throat.

“This is a bad idea,” you moan as he mouths down your neck, teeth grazing. Your fingers find his hair as he tugs down the strap of your dress with his teeth. “Tell me to stop and I will.” He doesn’t stop. Instead he spins you around, pressing you against the cool door. The contrast makes you shiver. He unzips your dress slowly, letting it pool at your feet, then turns you again so he can see all of you.

“You’re breathtaking,” he murmurs, eyes dark. You reach for his shirt, pulling it over his head. The sight of his broad shoulders and toned chest makes your mouth go dry. “It's been so long, I don't know if I-” you gasp against his lips, pulling back enough so he can hear you.

“You know I fuck you good, baby” he whispers, backing you up toward the couch until your legs hit the edge and you sink down. Sunghoon drops to his knees between your thighs like it’s the only place he belongs. He presses open mouthed kisses up your inner thigh, then hooks his fingers in your panties and pushes them aside. The cool air hits your wet folds a second before his hot tongue flattens against your clit.

You cry out, fingers flying into his hair. His big hands wrap around your legs and he yanks you forward, wrapping your thighs around his face as you moan into the pillows, your legs trembling when he presses his face into your pussy and inhales. Your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers tangling deep as he does it again, his nose rubbing against your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. He inhales deeply, and your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head.

“Fuck” he curses under his breath. And when he pulls back, he's breathing hard, his gaze unfocused. He presses his wet tongue flat against your clit, licking at your juices until you're whimpering his name.

He eats you like he’s starving, long and slow licks before his lips close around your clit, sucking slowly until you're arching into his mouth. His tongue pushes inside you, fucking you with it while his nose grinds against your clit. You’re shaking, grinding against his face, fingers tight in his hair and he groans at your taste, loving how your thighs are trembling around him.

He edges you on until the exact second he's sure you're gonna cum, then he pulls away completely. Leaving a quick kiss against your pelvis before pulling back, lips shiny. Your whines of protest quickly die down when you hear his next words.

“Sit on my face, baby”

You hesitate, cheeks burning, but he doesn’t wait. He lies back on the carpet and pulls you over him, strong hands guiding your hips down until you’re smothering him with your pussy. His tongue immediately goes back to work, fucking into you while his nose grinds against your clit.

You brace your hands on the floor and rock against his mouth, moans spilling freely. His tongue drags across you once, sucking your clit into his mouth, long and hard pulls that have you babbling nonsense as the wetness slicks your thighs. “Oh my…F-Fuck” you cry when his tongue slips inside you, low groans leaving his throat with each lick. Your hands find his hair again, moans spilling past your lips as you grind against him.

He sucks hard on your clit and your orgasm crashes through you without warning. You come with a broken cry, thighs clamping around his head as you grind down, soaking his face. He licks you through every pulse, greedy and relentless, until you’re trembling and oversensitive. Your juices spill down his chin but he doesn't let up. The cold air hits your nipples, a high contrast from the heat dragging between your thighs and it's not long before your moans turn to cries.

You grind against his tongue, feeling up your body as the pleasure overwhelms you, another orgasm already making its way up. His efforts send a shudder wracking through your body, your thighs trembling around his head and with a loud cry, you roll your hips against his mouth, fingers digging into his hair.

“I'm s-so close” you moan, his sharp gaze locks onto yours, a groan rumbling through you as his eyes fall to your chest. He sucks your clit into his mouth again, loving the way your tits bounce as you completely lose yourself to him, dark eyes watching you desperately chase your orgasm.

“H-Hoon I can't!” the rest of your statement evolves into a scream as you squirm, attempting to pull away from him. But he tightens his grip around your thighs, forcing you down as the sparks of your orgasm shoots through you.

You cry out, legs shuddering around his face as tears well up in your eyes, your body no longer under your control. Your release shakes you to your core and your legs give out immediately. A loud gasp escapes you and he licks you through it, holding you still as your release splashes against his face. He groans against you, flipping you over until he's buried in between your legs again and your release is spilling down your ass.

He licks it all up, pressing a hand over your mouth when your cries turn into screams, he grips your thighs and rests your legs on his shoulders so he can push his tongue inside you as you breathlessly grind out the rest of your release. “Such a good girl” he praises, sending a violent tremor through your body when he presses a kiss against your clit. Only then does he pull away, lips shiny and eyes wild. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing hard. “You taste so fucking sweet”

You barely have time to process your intense orgasm before he's pulling his pants down, and settling between your thighs. You watch him through lidded eyes as he drags his tip over your aching clit, another shudder running through you when you let out a gasp. His eyes search your face, dropping to your chest.

“Hands and knees.”

You obey on shaky limbs, positioning yourself so that your face is pressed against the softness of the carpet and your ass is high up in the air, arching your back the way he likes. “Arch for me baby, that's it, just like that” the approval in his tone sends another wave of heat to your stomach, your fingers shaking as you try to hold back a moan.

You feel his hot tongue between your legs again and you bite your lip to suppress your moan as he drags it all the way from your clit to your entrance. And without any further warning, he grips your hip, holds you down, and then he's pushing inside you with one smooth thrust. The stretch is perfect, full and deep. You both moan and you feel so full and delicious that your legs nearly give out.

Sunghoon stills behind you, his control slipping through the cracks as he tries to stay grounded. “Fuck, you always take me so well,” he growls, voice strained. His words wrap around you like a warm blanket and suddenly you can't control yourself, you want to make him feel good, want him to lose it with you.

You push back to meet his thrusts and he hisses, gripping your hip tighter. Completely drunk on pleasure, the moans leave your lips naturally. “You're so fucking big, holy f-fuck you're gonna make me cum” you pant, your vision blurring when his tip brushes against your g-spot.

He starts moving, faster, hips snapping against your ass. Every thrust hits that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes “Do it, cum for me” his hand wraps around one of your legs, lifting it higher to hit that spot just right. “Cum all over my dick, so I can fuck you again” dark spots cloud your vision as he pulls out to the tip, your arousal gushing down your thighs before he slams back in.

Your orgasm quickly builds again, it starts at the base of your spine when he picks up his pace, the loud music managing to cover your cries as his heavy balls slap against your ass with each thrust.

Your juices mix with his, running down your thighs and the sight turns him on so much that he wraps a hand around your hair, pulling you back so his lips are pressed against your ear and his breath fans down the length of your nape. “You're always so wet for me, it feels good, doesn't it?”

His hand snakes around to rub your clit and you clench hard around him. “Cum all over me, baby. Let me feel you.” You shatter again, crying out into the carpet as pleasure rips through you. He fucks you through it, groaning at the way you pulse around him, then pulls out and flips you onto your back.

“That's it, you're amazing” he whispers, “I’m gonna give it to you good, gonna fill you up” you whimper when his thumb brushes against your clit again, dragging out your orgasm.

"Legs on my shoulders, baby.” You obey, still panting. He folds you neatly, pressing a messy kiss to your lips as he lines himself up and sinks deep in one smooth thrust. The stretch pulls a broken moan from your throat. “Fuck, you're so tight,” he groans against your mouth.

“Such a perfect little pussy” He picks up speed, hips snapping harder as he kisses you the whole time, slow and filthy, swallowing every sound you make. When your eyes start to water from the overwhelming pleasure, a few tears slip down your temples.

Sunghoon notices immediately, kissing them away without slowing down. “Shh, I’ve got you, baby. You’re doing so good.” The new angle has his dick dragging perfectly against that spot inside you. More tears fall as the pleasure borders on too much.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, voice low and tender. “You’re so beautiful. My good girl. My perfect girl. Let go for me.” The new angle is devastating. His hand wraps loosely around your throat, thumb stroking your clit as he drives into you hard and fast. “Give me one more,” he demands, voice rough. “I want to feel you come while I’m buried inside you.”

You’re so sensitive it almost hurts, but the pleasure builds again anyway. When it peaks, you clamp down on him with a broken moan, nails digging into his shoulders. You shatter with a sob, clenching hard around him and he fucks you through it, murmuring praises the entire time.

“That’s it…just like that. You’re squeezing me so tight, baby.” He pulls out, flips you onto your stomach again, and pulls your hips up. You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s pushing back in from behind, one hand fisting your hair gently.

But he doesn’t stay there long. He pulls out again, turns you to face him, and lifts you. Sunghoon's lips find yours in a hungry kiss before Your back hits the cool wall and your legs wrap around his waist. He kisses you deeply as he thrusts back inside, and with his gaze on yours, he begins thrusting again, your moans mingling with his low groans as the wet sounds echo between you.

His eyes search your face, watching your every reaction to each and every one of his thrusts. And when your brows furrow and legs tremble around him at a particular spot. He buries his face in your neck, fucking into you fast and hard, his tip kissing the sweet spot with every thrust until the budding sensation in your stomach overtakes your senses as he takes you against the wall with deep, powerful strokes. “H-Hoon it's too much, Oh my God” you moan against his lips, tears rolling down your face as he kisses down your neck.

Your toes curl around him, head falling back and cold shivers wrack through your body as his lips trail your throat “Give me one more baby, cum all over my dick, you can take it” his hand finds your clit again, rubbing in circular motions as your cries grow louder and your breathing hitches.

You feel him pulse inside you and with every glide of his dick against your walls, you feel yourself getting closer. His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing slightly, and your eyes go wide when you realize you can no longer hold it back. Your nails dig into his shoulders as another orgasm builds fast.

Tears are streaming down your face now from the intensity. Sunghoon kisses them away, then kisses your lips again, softer this time. “Don’t hold back, princess. Cum for me, I want to feel you fall apart, you cum so good” And you do, hard.

Your whole body shakes as you come with a broken cry. He groans your name, hips stuttering as you moan out your release, biting into his shoulder when your orgasm explodes, gushing around him in pulsing waves as he curses under his breath, fucking you through it.

Sunghoon doesn't give you time to catch your breath, he pulls out of you, turns you around before pushing back in, and you're so overstimulated, still spilling around him when he begins thrusting again, now eagerly chasing his own release.

He grips your hips bruisingly tight, his hips slapping against yours, balls dripping with cum as he fucks into you so hard, each thrust sending a helpless moan out of your lips and the feeling is almost instantaneous. He pushes deep inside you, groaning out his climax as hot white ropes of his cum coat your womb.

The two of you stay still for a second, drowning in the after effects of your release. His heavy breathing mixes with yours and you push back against him to ease out, your mind completely gone.

He pulls out slowly and drops to his knees behind you, gripping your ass in his hands. He licks between your legs, and you cry out for the last time, pushing back against his face as he manages to draw out one last orgasm from you before you're pushing him away.

You stay pressed against the wall for a long moment, foreheads together, breathing each other in. He kisses you again slowly, sweet and grounding before carefully lowering you to your feet.

It had been so long since the two of you had sex like this and with all the fights and arguments and high emotions lately, you had completely forgotten how great he was in bed. You can barely feel your legs. He lifts you easily and lays you back down on the soft carpet, settling you gently onto your back.

His gaze stays locked on yours as he cleans you up with his handkerchief, the touch so careful and reverent it makes something warm bloom in your chest. All the while he murmurs soft praise against your skin. “So perfect… my good girl. You did so well, baby.”

He slides your panties slowly up your thighs, then reaches behind you to clasp your bra with gentle fingers. “So beautiful,” he whispers, almost to himself, but you catch every word. He treats you like something precious, a doll he’s afraid of breaking as he helps you back into your dress, zipping it up with the same quiet care.

Only when you’re fully dressed does he pull his own shirt back on. He cups your face with both hands and presses a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “Are you tired, baby?” he asks softly, eyes searching yours. You nod, still a little dazed. “All of that made me sleepy… but ice cream sounds really good right now,” you admit with a helpless sigh.

A warm smile spreads across his face. He helps you to your feet, steadying you when your legs wobble. “Ice cream it is. Come on.” The moment you think about walking back out to the party, fresh panic rises in your chest.

“Wait… is it okay to go out there right away?” Your voice is small, embarrassed. “I feel like it’s really obvious we just had sex.” Sunghoon laughs a little, the sound warm and low before playfully ruffling your hair, “Why? Are you embarrassed?” You swat his hand away immediately, trying to smooth your hair down with whatever dignity you have left.

“What? no.” the denial comes a little too fast. His eyebrows lift, that tiny amused smile lingering on his lips like he’s enjoying watching you squirm. The mischievous glint in his eyes makes your ears burn hotter. “We can hang outside for a while until you feel more comfortable,” he suggests, voice gentle but teasing. "Fine," you mumble, refusing to meet his gaze. "But only for a little while."

“Sure,” he says simply, clearly humoring you. He kisses your cheek one last time, then unlocks the door. Sunghoon goes first, slipping through the hallway with an ease that's honestly unfair, hands in his pockets, completely unbothered, nodding once at someone who calls his name without stopping.

You trail a few steps behind, trying very hard to look like you belong exactly where you are and are absolutely not sneaking anywhere. The back door clicks shut behind you both and suddenly the noise of the party becomes muffled, distant. The night air is cooler than you expected and you breathe it in slowly, shoulders dropping about three inches. "See?" Sunghoon glances over at you. "Still alive."

"Barely," you say, and he laughs softly at that, quiet and warm. You walk without much of a plan until the convenience store sign two blocks down catches your eye. "Ice cream," you say. It isn't really a question. He looks where you're looking and then just starts walking that direction.

The freezer section is tiny and overcrowded with options and you stand in front of it for an unreasonable amount of time, the cold air drifting out and cooling your still-warm face.

Sunghoon reaches past you without hesitation and pulls out a strawberry bar, simple as anything. You deliberate for another full ten seconds before grabbing one too. He pays before you can even reach for your wallet. When you open your mouth to protest, he gently grabs your hand. “Don’t,” he says mildly, already leading you back outside.

You end up sitting side by side on a low wall, shoulders brushing. The party is a faint thrum in the background. Out here it’s just the quiet street, passing cars, and the soft sound of melting ice cream.

Sunghoon is quiet, the comfortable kind. You steal a glance at him and find him already looking at you. When you quickly look away, he reaches over and brushes a smudge of ice cream from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “You had some,” he murmurs. Your heart stutters. “Oh.” He says nothing else, just goes back to his ice cream like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

After a moment, his voice comes out low and rough. “You know I love you, right?” The words sound like they cost him nothing. “I’ve loved you this whole time. Every second since you walked out…I've been thinking about you. I was just too much of a coward to say it. I’m sorry but I need you to know it.”

You close your eyes for a second.

“I’ve been waiting to hear that,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I’m still angry.”

“I know.” His voice is quiet, patient.

“But…” You shift closer until your thigh presses against his. “I’m also tired of waiting for you to fix this on your own. It's going to take you forever, isn't it? You’ll keep hiding behind that control and pride unless I force you to stop.” He shakes his head slowly. “So I’m forcing you,” you say. “Right now. No more walls, no more shutting me out, If we do this again, you have to actually let me in. You have to try.”

“You’re right.” He swallows. “I don’t know if I’m good at it yet… but I’ll learn. I won’t let you down again.” A small smile tugs at your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck and he pulls you against his chest, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Call me tomorrow,” you mumble into his shirt. “Plan something. Show up. Don’t make me drag the truth out of you every time. I mean it.”

He nods against your forehead. “I will.”

“And if you ever shut me out like that again-”

“I won’t.” His voice is steady and certain. “I can’t. Never again.” You pull back just enough to look at him. In the moonlight, the regret and quiet desperation on his face are unmistakable. He reaches out slowly, giving you time to move away, then gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

You sit in comfortable silence for a while. Eventually his head ends up in your lap, your fingers threading through his hair as you trace the beauty marks on his face. He kisses your hand softly whenever it passes his lips.

“We should head back, Hoonie,” you whisper. “Just a little longer” His eyes stay closed, content. You play with his hair a few minutes more, adjusting his collar, before he finally sits up.

He stands first, brushing off his slacks, then offers you his hand without a word. You take it. His fingers close around yours firmly, like they belong there, and he doesn’t let go as you walk back toward the party.

The noise hits you before the door comes into view, heavy bass vibrating through the walls, overlapping voices, and the thick warmth of too many bodies in one space. You slow down without meaning to and Sunghoon notices instantly, his thumb brushes once across your knuckles, a small quiet reminder that his hand is still there.

You let out a slow breath and let him lead you inside. The second the door opens, the party swallows you both. Someone spots Sunghoon almost immediately and calls his name. He turns toward the voice, calm and unhurried, but his fingers stay laced tightly with yours. He doesn’t let go. Not even for a second.

A few heads turn, eyes drop to your joined hands. Sunghoon doesn’t acknowledge the stares. He answers whoever called him in short, even tones, then glances down at you, just a quick, quiet check. You squeeze his hand and he squeezes back.

He moves through the crowd at his own pace, one hand holding yours while the other finds the small of your back whenever the space gets tight. The touches are effortless and automatic, like his body is accustomed to the fact that he's done it a thousand times.

A guy you vaguely recognize claps Sunghoon on the shoulder and starts chatting. Sunghoon listens, replying in those measured sentences he’s so good at and you drift half a step back to give him space, but his arm extends without even looking. He finds your hand again and gently pulls you back to his side. His thumb continues tracing slow, absent patterns on your skin, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The guy’s eyes slide to you with open curiosity. You look down at your intertwined fingers and exhale. Somehow, the party feels smaller now.

As you step into the living room, you feel the shift, eyes turning, realization dawning on people’s faces as they notice your joined hands. “Oh, no way” Jake leans back on the couch, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Well, well, well.” Heeseung glances up at his statement, blinks, then chuckles and nudges him.

Jake just shrugs, clearly entertained. “What? I’m surprised.” Your face heats up instantly and Sunghoon’s grip tightens slightly around your hand. “You disappeared for like ten minutes,” Jay says, looking between the two of you, “and now you’re holding hands?”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “Not your business.”

“God damn,” Jake clutches his chest dramatically. “He’s protective now.”

“Maybe they’re both just drunk,” Riki offers with full confidence. Sunghoon turns to him slowly, completely calm. “No we're not, we just talked.” The room goes quiet for a beat. Everyone here knows what the last few weeks looked like. Jake’s eyes widened. “Wait…you apologized?” Sunghoon gives him a flat look and that makes him gasp.

“Oh my God.” he says as Heeseung starts laughing. Sunoo sits up, suddenly very interested. “You? You apologized?” “That’s enough,” Sunghoon says, voice flat, clearly done with the conversation. But your smile slips out anyway and everyone notices. “Aww look at her,” Jake coos. “She’s so cute, y/n’s so cute, you guys look really cute right now”

Sunghoon ignores him and laces your fingers tighter. He turns back to Jake with the most unimpressed expression you’ve ever seen. “Are you done?”

Jake opens his mouth to no doubt spew some more ragebait but Sunghoon won't hear it, “Are you done?” he repeats, tone final. Jake closes his mouth for half a second then says “I’m just saying…you're lucky she forgave you man, you should be grateful every single day.”

Sunghoon’s voice drops, quiet but clear. “I am.”

The room stills as everyone goes quiet.

Sunghoon doesn’t say things like that, not publicly at least. His ears are faintly pink, jaw tight, but he doesn’t take it back.

Jake’s teasing tone softens. “Okay…good.”

Sunghoon exhales slowly, thumb brushing your knuckles again. Then Jake, never one to let a tender moment last, jumps up onto the edge of the couch with his drink raised. “Alright, that’s it! This one’s for Hoon and y/n, everybody!”

The house erupts. Cheers, whistles, clinking bottles.

“To their reunion!” Jake yells.

“To their reunion!” the room echoes back.

You cover your face with your free hand and try to hide behind Sunghoon. It doesn’t work, Jake can still see you and points directly at your hiding spot. Someone starts clapping, then it turns into a chant.

You peek out from behind Sunghoon’s shoulder in horror and he goes still for a second…then laughs, quiet at first, shoulders shaking, unguarded in a way you rarely see. The sound makes the embarrassment fade into something warmer.

You look up at him. His cheeks faintly pink, soft smile on his face, still holding your hand like he has no intention of letting go and your chest tightens with affection.

“Speech!” Jake demands, pointing at Sunghoon.

“No.”

“Speech! Speech! Speech!”

Sunghoon stares at him, completely deadpan. “No.”

Jake immediately pivots to you. “Y/n?”

You shake your head so fast your hair flies. Absolutely not. The room boos dramatically. Sunghoon glances down at you, amused, then lifts your joined hands and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to the back of yours, never breaking his gaze away from yours. And the room loses it all over again.

You make a mortified sound at all the attention and bury your face in his shoulder. He shifts slightly to shield you better, the quiet laugh still rumbling in his chest as chaos swirls around you both.

When the chaos finally quiets, Sunghoon notices how overwhelmed you look. He’s hyper-aware of you now in a way he wasn’t before tonight. Without a word, his hand settles at the small of your back as he gently steers you away from the noise. You move through the hallway, past the thick of the crowd, until the kitchen opens up around you, quieter, cooler and the party reduced to a distant, muffled hum.

He exhales the moment you’re there, like he needed the quiet just as badly.

His hands wrap around your waist, and in one smooth motion he lifts you onto the countertop, stepping between your legs.

“You okay?” His voice is softer now, quieter. Nothing like the cold, measured tone he used to wear like armor.

“Yeah” You look up at him in the dim orange glow of the kitchen light and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

He draws you closer, resting his forehead against yours and for a long moment, neither of you speaks, you just breathe together while the party throbs somewhere far away.

Later, when the party has thinned out, he insists on driving you home, not leaving you any room to argue. Once behind the wheel, he reaches for your hand before he’s even pulled out of the parking spot, as if the distance between you is already unbearable. His thumb traces slow circles over your knuckles the entire drive, neither of you mentions it.

You watch the streetlights blur past and steal glances at him. Every time, his grip tightens slightly, like he can feel your eyes on him even while he watches the road. When he pulls up outside your building and cuts the engine, neither of you moves.

He speaks first. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

You turn to him and he’s already watching you. “We can get coffee,” you say. “I’ll make time.”

Something in his shoulders eases. “Okay” He exhales. “Okay.” You reach for your seatbelt but still don’t move, he doesn’t either. The quiet stretches, warm and heavy “I should go in,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he agrees, voice low. You turn toward him and he’s already there, closer than you realized. His hand rising to cradle your face, his thumb brushes slowly across your cheekbone, fingers curling gently along your jaw, like he has all the time in the world.

You lean into his touch. His eyes soften at the movement. You lean in and kiss him, slow, unhurried, more promise than passion. He kisses you back with both hands now framing your face, as if one wasn’t enough to convince himself you’re real. When you finally pull away, you stay close, foreheads nearly touching.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, “Five more minutes.” he whispers back.

You laugh softly and he pulls you in by the back of your neck until your forehead rests properly against his chest, and you sit like that in the dark car, neither of you counting.

Eventually you make yourself pull away and step out. You’re halfway to your building when your phone buzzes.

Sunghoon: already miss you

You stop walking, pressing your lips together to hide your smile. When you glance back, his car is still idling at the curb. You can see him watching you through the windshield and you’re still editing his contact name when another text comes in.

Hoonie♡: coffee tomorrow. don’t forget Y/N: I won’t forget! Hoonie♡: looking forward to it, goodnight beautiful Y/N: goodnight :3

You stand there smiling like an idiot long after his car pulls away, the warmth in your chest following you all the way upstairs.

The next few months settle into something softer.

You wake up one morning to a quiet apartment. Sunghoon has always been an early riser, but the silence today feels intentional. You pad into the living room wearing one of his shirts and find him standing by the window, two coffees already made. His expression is carefully neutral. The kind that usually means he’s nervous or planning something.

“Good morning,” he says, voice gentle and a small smile touching his lips.

“Morning” You accept the coffee he offers “You’ve been up for a while.”

“Mhm, Couldn’t sleep” He doesn’t look at you, just stares out the window, “I have something for you.”

“Hoonie, we talked about this. You don’t have to keep buying me things,” you sigh.

“It’s not that kind of thing.” He finally turns to face you, and you catch the flicker of nerves in his eyes. “Come with me.”

Confused, you follow him to the bedroom. He opens your side of the closet and gestures inside. At first you see nothing unusual. Then, a tiny meow.

Your eyes widen at the sound and tucked in the back corner, in a little bed he clearly set up, is a tiny gray kitten. She’s so small she could fit in your palm and when she spots you, she wobbles forward with pure kitten determination.

“Oh my god…”

“You mentioned that you love animals,” Sunghoon says, voice carefully controlled.

You scoop her up and she immediately starts purring, burrowing against your chest. Tears prick at your eyes.

“Hoonie, this is…”

“Too much?” He sounds genuinely worried. “I can return her if-”

“She's perfect.” You turn to him, the kitten cradled in your arms. “She's perfect and I love it, I love you.”

Something in his face softens completely. He reaches out, brushing his thumb across your cheek in that now-familiar gesture. “I love you more,” he says. The words still sound new coming from him, but he says them anyway. Every single day. And every time, it warms you straight through.

You name her Star.

She quickly becomes the center of your little world. Sunghoon throws himself into it the way he does everything, methodical, thorough, almost comically serious. He researches the best kitten food, sets up play schedules, and buys her an absurd number of toys. But the sweetest moments are the quiet ones. Catching him reading with Star curled asleep on his chest, his expression peaceful in a way it never used to be.

He brings you flowers a lot. Not just once every few weeks, but every other day a new arrangement appears on the kitchen counter with a note in his neat handwriting. “Thinking of you” and “For You” or simply his initials. Small, consistent proof that he’s thinking about you even when you’re apart.

He plans dates, dinners, museum visits, walks in the park with Star in her little carrier. He’s still a little stiff sometimes, still learning how to do casual romance, but he tries. He reaches for your hand without overthinking it, he laughs at your jokes even when they’re terrible. He listens.

Some other mornings, like this one, you wake to find him already watching you, eyes soft in the early light.

“morning princess” he says, voice still rough with sleep. You smile, shifting closer. “morning.”

Before either of you can say more, Star launches herself onto the bed like a tiny gray missile and wedges firmly between you.

You both burst out laughing, his real, unguarded laugh that still feels like a gift. He pulls you both closer, smiling as Star purrs triumphantly.

Your relationship's not perfect, it’s still messy and fragile sometimes. He still struggles with vulnerability and you still have to remind him it’s safe to stay but it’s real.

And for the first time in a long time, real is enough.

-> made by @taexvan ●RULES ●MASTERLIST ●TAGLISTS ●IMPORTANT

(a/n:) hihihi! first off, I want to thank everyone who took the time to read this. I really appreciate you <3 And if you're here for the first time, this is part two of my seven deadly sins series! if you'd like you can check out heeseung's version here! part 3 shall be coming very soon :] ~vivi

☆taglist! @melodisic @baekgufx @gyubdaengi

[janiary]

WHITE CARDIGAN . ݁⋆ 𝜗𝜚⋆. ݁ P.SH

pairing ‎ꪆৎ cheater!sunghoon x sidechick!reader

summary ꪆৎ A good boyfriend isn’t supposed to offer another girl his hoodie. Especially not to you, shivering without your cardigan, your bare shoulders giving his eyes reason to stray. To be fair, Sunghoon never claimed to be a good boyfriend.

18+ mdni ⚠︎ smut, college au, emotional/physical cheating, morally grey characters, mean dom!sunghoon, sub!reader, possessiveness, “innocent” reader, corruption kink, degradation, praise, begging, slut-shaming, p in v, blowjob, face fucking, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, semi-clothed sex, rough sex, semi-public sex (bathroom stall)

word count ꪆৎ 3.5k

author note ꪆৎ hello… i’m struggling with my other wips so I present to you a surprise return of cheater hoon :)

Sunghoon is a weak man.

Not physically. Obviously. He can easily deadlift twice his weight without breaking a sweat. Not mentally, either. His grades are sharp, his discipline something to be admired.

But when it comes to you? ...Yeah. He's weak. He's completely and utterly helpless to the fact that he wants you that badly. Especially today.

Your arms and shoulders were usually concealed with a white cardigan. It's this soft-looking thing, cute and girlish like the rest of you, always draped over your shoulders like the picture-perfect image of innocence, and always sliding down one shoulder, just enough to tease the idea of what you'd look like stripped of said innocence. Just enough to make him (and other guys, he's sure) imagine what it would be like to get close enough to catch the scent of your sweet perfume lingering on the cotton fibres and to rip it off of you.

You’re not wearing it today, though. He noticed the absence the moment you slid into the seat beside him at the library, beaming at him with that smile he usually couldn't get enough of. Only this time, his gaze didn't linger on your face for long. It drifted instead to your bare arms, your shoulders, the elegant curve of your collarbone, the way your lace-trimmed camisole hugged the swell of your chest—then flicked back up the moment you looked at him again, careful not to let on that he'd been staring.

"Oh? What's this?" You nod toward the coffee sitting at your spot. "Is this for me?"

"Got myself something, so..." he shrugs casually—as if waiting in line for ten minutes because he remembered you like oat milk with an extra pump of vanilla is anything casual.

"Really?" you breathe, already tugging your laptop and notebook from your bag, your face lit with pleased surprise. "Gosh, Hoon. That's so sweet of you. You really didn't have to."

He has to physically resist the urge to smile like an idiot.

Anything for you, he wants to say. "It's nothing," is what comes out instead, accompanied by a polite smile.

Because that's what guys with girlfriends are technically supposed to do.

Guys with girlfriends are also technically supposed to feel guilty for thinking about thoughts they shouldn't, and lying about who they're studying with. Sunghoon doesn't feel guilty, though. He hadn't felt that way twenty minutes ago when his girlfriend texted him—Study hard. Miss you—to which he had yet to answer. He still doesn't.

You'd been assigned as project partners last semester. You were kind, and funny, and so unbearably pretty that just looking at you felt like a small betrayal. Hence why he kept answering your texts when you asked him to study. Hence why his girlfriend doesn't know you exist. Hence why he's here, sitting in the school library with you, your hands wrapped around the warmth of the small coffee he'd bought you, and your whole body shivering because for some reason the building was running air-conditioning in the middle of winter.

He tries not to stare the whole time. He works. Helps you with the assignment you're both working on. Says a few things that make you laugh. Steals glances when you're leaning over your notebook, when your neckline dips just a little bit too low, at the lace of your pink bra peeking out from under your top's little straps. And then he's watching your neck, all lovely and exposed, wondering if he'd only need one of his hands to wrap around the whole of it, just imagining how much lovelier it would look covered in his markings.

Then he notices the goosebumps on your delicate skin, how your hands move to rub up and down the length of your arms in an attempt to warm yourself.

It's strange. You always wear your white cardigan.

"Cold?" He asks.

"Mm," you nod, flashing a pained smile, "Accidentally left my sweater in the lecture hall earlier. Couldn't find it after, though..."

Your lower lip quivers, a pretty sigh escaping you as your hands fall from your arms to rub together. Suddenly, the weight of his zip-up hoodie feels uselessly heavy on his shoulders, as the thought of offering it to you becomes more and more appealing.

He shouldn't offer. He really, really, shouldn't. Free coffees and studying together is one thing. Offering you his clothes is another thing entirely. But he can't just ignore you, can he? He shoves the brief image of his girlfriend's face from his mind. You're shivering, teeth chattering, and he's feeling hotter by the second. It would be plain cruel to leave you like this.

"You can take mine."

You blink, a flicker of hesitation in your expression, and it makes him want to sink into the floor, because you know. You’re aware that he’s taken, and the implications that come with his offer.

"I mean, only if you want," he adds, regret and embarrassment creeping up on him in the form of a flush to his cheeks.

Was it weird to offer? Do you think he's trying to hit on you? If that were the case... hypothetically... would you think less of him for it?

"I'm not sure..."

Shame begins to encompass him wholly, and he looks back to his laptop screen thinking that maybe it would be best to pretend he never said it all. And then—

"I wouldn't want you to be cold, either."

He whips his head back around.

The look on your face is beautifully pitiful, and his heart aches at the sight of it alone. To think you would put his comfort above your own... That's just the thing with you. You're so, painfully, achingly sweet.

"I'm not cold. Too hot, actually," he's already reaching for the zipper, until it zips all the way down, trying not to enjoy the way your eyes drag down his arms and shoulders too much.

He wraps the hoodie around you, and when you slip your arms into the sleeves and pull the hood over your head, something possessive clicks into place. It's already oversized on him. On you, though? It swallows you whole. You're wearing his scent, his warmth, and his rational mind is already giving up.

"Thank you." You look to him shyly, pushing the sleeves up so that your hands can poke through.

"You don't need to thank me."

"You're kidding, right? I can't thank you enough." You're sighing into the newfound warmth, wrapping the fabric closer around you. Then, you're looking right at him, looking devastatingly grateful as you tilt your head. "You're really amazing, you know that?"

The cold air against his bare skin does nothing to cool him down. Now he knows, with certainty, that he really shouldn't have offered you that sweater. Not only because he'll never be able to get the sight of you wearing it out of his mind, but because it was the first moment he realized that without even touching you, he'd already betrayed his own principles beyond redemption.

"Next time, coffee's on me, m'kay? Gotta let me repay you for... you know." You gesture to the coffee, the sweater, the assignment you've both barely touched. "Everything—“

"No." The word comes out almost immediately, and a little too harsh.

His eyes drop to your body, your frame in his sweater, to your soft, kissable-looking lips, and his last thread of restraint snaps.

He's already imagined, countless times, how he'd take you. It's been playing on repeat in his mind for the past hour. What difference does speaking it out loud make?

His lips pull into a wicked grin.

"I know something else you could do, though."

Oh, and you’re repaying him, alright.

Repaying him tenfold on the floor of the men's bathroom, the tile cold beneath your knees as he threads his hands firmly through your hair. The sound of the library's ventilation system does nothing to drown out the wet, sloppy sound of your mouth working around his cock.

"Shit. You're eager," he rasps, laughing to hide the small hiss that escapes him. "Real fucking good with your mouth, too."

You try to say something, but your words are reduced to a muffled, needy whimper against his length. The same mouth that had been smiling at him over coffee not an hour ago now stretched around his cock. He lets out a low laugh at the sound, and the whole filthy, picture-perfect sight of it.

"My sweet girl," he breathes, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "Where'd you learn to be such a little slut?"

He’s glad you can’t respond. He doesn't want to think about what your answer would be.

He hasn't moved your head yet, just letting you do all the work, and you're doing it beautifully, your throat relaxing for him bit by bit, your grasp growing more certain with every stroke.

Earlier, when he'd pressed you against the stall and kissed you breathless, you'd murmured something against his mouth about not really knowing what you were doing. He'd assumed that meant rusty. Lack of practice. Maybe a little nervous. It didn't matter to him. It just made it hotter watching those doe eyes looking up at him, so sweet, so fervent, while your mouth worked him like a champ.

"Think you can take more for me, pretty girl?" He coos, thumb tracing the stretched corner of your lips. "You're doing such a good job. I know you can."

Then his fingers tighten in your hair, and he takes over.

He shoves, and you instantly gag as he hits the back of your throat. Tears spring to your eyes, your throat fluttering wildly around him, and for a second he just holds you there, groaning at the tight, spasming heat. He swipes one away almost tenderly even as he holds you there, buried deep, feeling you struggle.

"You okay?" He hums, "Just breathe."

You nod. Then, something shifts. You breathe through your nose. Your jaw relaxes. And your throat opens just enough to let him sink in, smooth as silk, and the sudden ease makes his breath hitch.

"Shit, that's it. You're a natural, hm?" He says, wickedly proud, marvelling at you. "Fucking gorgeous."

He thrusts a few more times, deep enough to make you feel every inch, to let him savour the sight, and rough enough to satisfy the part of him that almost feels the need to punish you for all the months of pure torture he’s been put through. But the tender side of him, the side that can’t help but look at your wide-eyed obedience with affection, eases back. He doesn't want to overwork you. There’s no point in it when he has other things on his mind.

He pulls you off, and you gasp, lips parted and glistening, eyes glassy and unfocused. For half a second you just kneel there, breathing hard, but before he can even tell you you've done enough, you're on him again. Mouthing the side of his shaft, kissing down to the base, hand still stroking him. There's drool on your chin, tear stains on your cheeks, precum smeared across your lips, and you're looking up at him with those eyes, just moaning at the taste of him. The sight alone could take him out.

And... shit, as much as he'd love to let you play with him as long as you want, he'd rather watch you fall apart on his cock instead.

"Fuck. You're killing me."

He hauls you up before you can take him back in your mouth. The sudden movement leaves you breathless, your back hitting the cold tiles of the stall wall with a thud, and the gasp you make is swallowed instantly. His mouth crashes onto yours, tongue pushing past your lips, and he tastes himself there, a possessive, prideful rush running through him. It makes him groan into the kiss, one hand sliding from your jaw to your throat, while the other vanishes beneath the hem of your skirt.

Not wasting a second, his fingers hook into the lace of your panties, delicate and feminine and thoroughly ruined from just how soaked you are. He tugs them down, tossing them somewhere on the floor and hoists you up, your legs flying around his waist.

One arm locks beneath your thighs, steadying you against the stall wall, and he just holds you there, cradled and captive, awestruck by how perfect you look like this, in his sweater, legs spread open for him—flushed, trembling and all his.

His free hand trails down, and his fingers circle your clit in a slow, torturous rhythm, feeling you jerk and quiver against him. He dips his head, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"So fucking wet," he murmurs. His fingers keep circling, lazy and torturous, feeling you twitch. "Is this all for me? You want me to ruin that pretty little pussy? Want me to fuck you right here, right now, where anyone could hear?"

You can't speak. Can barely breathe. You just nod, frantic, your hips bucking against his hand, seeking more.

"Yeah?" He grins, and his hand withdraws, leaving you desperate and aching, and he shifts his hips, the head of his cock nudging against your pussy. Just the barest pressure. Just the threat of entry. Your whole body tenses in anticipation, and then—he stops. His hand reaches for your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his.

"Beg for it."

"Sunghoon—"

"Beg for my cock like a good slut. Tell me how much you—"

"Please." You don't hesitate. You don't even let him finish his sentence. "Please just fuck me. Please, Hoon—"

For a second, he just stares at you in absolute disbelief. Then his grin returns, sharper.

"Holy shit." He breathes, half-laugh, half-groan. "So fucking desperate. My perfect little slut."

And then he pushes in. He does it slow on purpose just to watch your face as he stretches you open. Your body resists for just a second, then yields, and the gasp that leaves you goes straight to his ego. The sweetest goddamn sound he's ever heard.

"Shit," he breathes out, sinking into your pussy, watching it swallow every inch of him. "My pretty little secret. You promise not to tell anyone, right? Not your little girlfriends. Not mine. This is just between us, right?”

You shake your head frantically, a desperate little whimper escaping your lips as he buries himself all the way in.

"Good girl." He grins, wolfish and more than ready to ruin you properly. His hand slides up to grasp your neck, his grip firm, but only there to hold as he pulls out all the way. He does it just to watch you squirm, to hear the broken little whine that escapes you at the emptiness, before slamming back in, one brutal thrust. "Just keep that pretty mouth shut, and I'll give it to you whenever you want. Yeah?"

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the bathroom, fucking you senseless. Every stroke fills you to the brim, over and over, and you cling to his shoulders to brace yourself. Your nails dig into him, and your voice fractures into moans so broken, so overwhelmed by the sensation of being so full of him. He just fucks you harder, watching your face, mesmerized by the ruin of you.

"So fucking tight," he hisses, nearly needing to push back against the urge to finish right there.

"So—so much. Hoon—" you cry out, your body clamping down around him, and the sound of his name breaking on your lips nearly undoes him.

"Yeah?" He pauses for a heartbeat, his hand sliding up to thumb the fabric of his sweater—the thing you're still wearing.

He pushes it up, exposing your heaving chest, your breasts cupped in pretty lace, the whole obscene picture of you: fucked out, full of him, wearing his clothes like you belong to him.

"God. Look at you." He breathes, thumbing the lace, eyes dark and intense with lust and possession, "My sweet girl in her pretty little bra, taking my cock so well. Wearing my sweater. You're so perfect."

He pushes the bra up roughly, freeing your breasts, and his mouth descends. He sucks enough to leave a mark, while his hand kneads the other. You buck against him, a whimper catching in your throat, one hand threading through the strands of his hair, which makes him grin.

"Hoon—"

"You gonna cum?" He teases, lifting his head to look at you. "Cum for me. Cum around my cock like a good girl. Lemme feel it."

His mouth claims yours, swallowing every shattered cry as your body seizes around him. You clench tight, and he groans into the kiss, feeling you fall apart—and that feeling alone breaks something in him, feeling himself approach his own high.

"Fucking take it." He pants against your lips. "Take every last drop. All of it."

With one final thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, your body firmly pressed to the bathroom stall wall, and he lets go. A groan tears from his throat as he spills inside you, filling you up, marking you somewhere no one can see. Somewhere only he'll know.

Later, he drives you back to your place.

You sit in the passenger seat with his hoodie still bundled around you, your lips kiss-swollen. His hand rests on your thigh, thumb stroking small circles into your skin.

He should probably feel an aching sense of regret. Maybe a hollowness, as he processes the aftermath. He doesn't though. He doesn’t know what he expects from himself at this point. Honestly, the idea that alone almost makes him laugh out loud—as if he could ever regret any of it.

The way you'd looked up at him in the bathroom, wide-eyed, almost nervous, but so goddamn eager to please, replays on loop in his head. The way you'd trembled when he touched you, like no one had ever touched you properly before, but arched into him regardless. The little sounds you'd made, surprised and helpless, as if you couldn't believe what was happening—the begging.

You'll be good for me, won't you?

Damn right, you were. So fucking good. So sweet. So precious.

He pulls up in front of your place, and you turn to him.

"Thanks for the ride. And for... you know."

You both laugh a little at the implication, knowing damn well his cum is probably still leaking out of you, soaking your underwear. Shit, if he had any less self-restraint than he already does, he'd take you again right here in his car.

"I'll see you again soon?" You ask it so sweetly his chest aches.

He doesn’t answer right away. He just grins, cocky, but when he pulls you in and captures your lips in his, swallowing your sound of surprise, the kiss comes out tender. Soft, slow, a little desperate, and far too affectionate for a girl that technically isn't his, but he's long since stopped giving a fuck. His thumb strokes your jaw while his tongue sweeps your lower lip, and for a second he forgets he's inside a car—and that he's supposed to pick up his girlfriend right after. He just loses himself in the taste of your lips: sweet like sugar, filthy like what you swallowed an hour ago.

It lasts a while, and he lets it. Indulges himself in the feeling of your hands curling into fists against his shirt, and your soft, pliant mouth against his, and when he finally, grudgingly, pulls back, he can't help but chase your lips again. He dips back in for one last taste, a half-groan caught in his throat as he offers a peck.

"See you," he breathes against your lips, before pulling away entirely.

Your eyes flutter open, your lips still slightly parted. You look wrecked. You look innocent. You look exactly how he wants you to look. Fucking hell.

The passenger door clicks open, and you slip out of the car, still wearing his hoodie. He doesn’t bother asking for it back. It looks better on you anyway, he thinks to himself, watching you pull yourself together at the curb.

You turn once, give a little wave, and sling your backpack over your shoulder.

That's when he sees it.

Your backpack, open just a crack, reveals enough to see the sleeve of something soft and white, bunched up inside, zipper pulled just far enough to hide it—or so you thought.

Your cardigan.

nav ✰.ᐟ m.list ✰.ᐟ thanks for reading ♡

[heesunghooney]

FUCKKK THATS SO HOT ACTUALLY 😞

[tobiosbbyghorl]

accidentally booked! 🔞

- Two best friends go on a budget trip to Japan, only to accidentally book a love hotel for their entire stay. What starts as laughter and harmless fun slowly turns into lingering touches, stolen glances, and undeniable tension—until one night changes everything, and they’re forced to confront feelings they’ve been hiding for far too long.

tags: explicit sexual content, consensual sex, multiple rounds, oral sex (f receiving, m receiving), filming with consent, mirror sex, semi-public setting, overstimulation, light possessiveness, dirty talk, praise kink, body worship, breast fixation, shower/jacuzzi sex

wc: 11,900

rie's note: this was from last year>< so expect errors ahead! enjoy the ride! like,reblogs, and FEEDBACKS 👉🏻🥹👈🏻are highly appreciated :3 added more scenes hence the lil different writing style heh

You were halfway through your iced americano when Park Sunghoon slid into the seat across from you with the kind of urgency only someone who forgot to buy concert tickets would have.

“I did it,” he said, slightly breathless. “I found the cheapest possible hotel in Tokyo for five nights. I’m talking dirt-cheap.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And by ‘cheapest’ you mean we’ll be sharing a closet with a raccoon family or—?”

“No, no. This place looks fine. Clean. Themed. Cute. I think the rooms are based on trains or something.”

You blinked at him. “Trains?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, like that explained everything. “It’s called ‘Fantasy Express.’ Kind of a vibe, right?”

“…Doesn’t that sound like a porn parody of the Shinkansen?”

Sunghoon gave you a blank look. “You said budget. I delivered. Be grateful.”

You snorted and took a sip of your drink. “Right. This better not end with me cuddling you for warmth in a windowless shoebox.”

He grinned. “Is that a threat or a promise, bestie?”

You flipped him off, laughing. But deep down, you were buzzing with excitement — not just because of the trip, but because it had been years since you and Sunghoon got away together.

After college, everything changed. Jobs, time zones, relationships that fizzled out before they even began. But Sunghoon was constant. He was the one person who could make you laugh even when you were crying into your broken laptop at 2 a.m. He was the voice note at midnight, the “I made too much ramen, come over,” the comfort in chaos.

So when the two of you finally managed to book this long-overdue trip to Japan, it felt like pressing pause on real life. No deadlines. No drama. Just the two of you, trains, street food, and maybe — if the stars aligned — a little karaoke.

You’d been talking about it since your second year in college. A pinky promise made over shared takoyaki from a food stall on your campus lawn.

“One day, we’ll go. Just you and me. Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka. A no-plan plan.”

You remembered that promise because Sunghoon never broke his.

Which is why you didn’t question it when he said he’d handle the hotel. And flights. And a few “must-see” locations, because even though you called it a “no-plan plan,” you both knew you were the chaotic one.

The night before your flight, Sunghoon came over to help you pack. In reality, he just sat on your bed, eating your snacks and judging your underwear choices.

“Why do you need seven pairs for five days?” he asked, mouth full of chips.

“In case I fall into a river. Or sweat. Or get possessed and pee myself. I don’t know, leave me alone.”

He laughed and reached over to zip your suitcase, fingers brushing yours for a second too long.

Neither of you mentioned it.

The flight was smooth. You watched a rom-com, he watched anime. You fell asleep on his shoulder. He didn’t move.

When you landed in Tokyo, everything felt surreal — the bright signs, the clean air, the sense that something new was about to happen.

The train ride to the hotel was quiet. You scrolled through Instagram while Sunghoon triple-checked the hotel address on Google Maps.

“We’re almost there,” he said, pointing to a small tucked-away building near the corner of a quiet street.

It looked decent. Small. Cozy. A glowing pink sign above the entrance read:

“Welcome to FANTASY EXPRESS — All Aboard the Love Line!”

You stared at it. Then at him.

“Hoon.”

“Yeah?”

“…Did you just book us into a love hotel?”

Sunghoon blinked. Looked back up at the sign. Back at you. “…No?” he tried, voice cracking halfway through. You deadpanned. “This is literally vibrating with sex energy.”

“I thought it was themed!”

“It is. The theme is fucking.”

He dropped his suitcase. “I swear on everything holy, I didn’t know. I just thought it was quirky. It said ‘train carriage rooms’ and had cute colors!”

You stared at him, unblinking. “You booked us into a love hotel. For five nights.”

A silence.

And then, slowly, the two of you burst into uncontrollable laughter — loud, ugly, bent-over laughter as passersby gave you weird looks.

Sunghoon wiped a tear from his eye. “Guess we’re really going on a ride.”

You shoved his shoulder, still laughing. “Idiot.”

The door slid open with a hiss, revealing the room Sunghoon had confidently reserved for five full nights.

You took one look inside and immediately stopped.

“…You’re joking.”

“Nope,” Sunghoon said in a flat voice, already sounding like he regretted every choice he’d ever made.

There were train handles hanging from the ceiling.

The walls had digital screens showing looped footage of Japanese countryside rolling past at high speed.

A faux train announcement played in the background every few minutes: “Next stop… pleasure.”

You turned slowly toward him. “Sunghoon.”

“Okay, wait—just hear me out.”

You stepped in and did a slow, horrified turn.

There was a chrome pole right in the middle of the room.

The bed looked like it was upholstered with actual train seats, complete with seat belts and tray tables. And worst of all, the mirrored ceiling had a blinking LED banner that read:

🚨 “ALL ABOARD — NONSTOP EXPRESS” 🚨

You gaped. “So its really is a love hotel.”

“No it’s not! …Okay maybe. Technically. But—look, I didn’t know! I thought it was just themed!”

“You thought this was a railway-themed budget capsule, and not a sex train hotel?!”

“I didn’t read that far down the listing, okay?! It was cheap and looked… clean! Plus the review said ‘lots of amenities!’”

“Sunghoon. There’s a vending machine for underwear's and condoms next to the door.”

He paused. Looked. “…Okay, I’ll give you that one. You sighed, dragging your suitcase in anyway. “We are going to get diseases just by existing here.”

Sunghoon followed behind sheepishly, dragging his bag. “You know, in a different light, this place is kind of hilarious.”

You turned to him and blinked. “We’re literally sleeping in a porn set.” “A very affordable porn set.”

You flopped dramatically onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling mirror.

He was right. It was funny. And the more you looked at the blinking lights, the mood lighting, and the suggestively placed towel basket beside the bed, the harder it was to stop laughing.

You both ended up bent over, wheezing from laughter as the fake train announcement repeated:

“Passengers, please hold on… for your own safety.”

Ten Minutes Later

“…Wait,” you muttered from the bathroom doorway. “Is that a jacuzzi?”

Sunghoon looked up from his phone. “A what?”

You pointed. “There’s a jacuzzi in here. And… no way. Is that a sauna?” He came over and peeked in. Sure enough, tucked behind the ridiculously clean glass partition was a legit two-person jacuzzi tub with sleek jets, LED lighting, and a discreet shelf of complimentary scented oils. And beside it? A cramped but actual mini sauna, already set to a cozy 45°C.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “They really want people to… marinate before they—”

“Okay! I’m not letting this place win,” Sunghoon cut in. “We are taking full advantage. This shit is expensive in normal hotels.”

You looked at him in disbelief. “You want to use the sex jacuzzi?”

He shrugged. “It’s just a tub. The jets don’t know what’s going on. You want to spend the night pouting, or do you want a hot bath with free tea tree oil?”

You groaned. “I hate that you’re making sense.”

Twenty Minutes Later

You were in the tub first — submerged in warm water, hair tied up, sighing as the jets eased the travel ache out of your spine.

“I feel gross about how good this is,” you mumbled.

Sunghoon was sitting just outside the sauna, half-wrapped in a towel, drinking water. “Don’t get used to it. This is our peak. We’re about to suffer in a train-themed sex chamber for five nights.”

“You say that like it’s not your fault.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Fair.” You watched as steam curled off his shoulders, his skin flushed slightly pink from the sauna. He looked good. A little too good.

You quickly looked away and sank deeper into the water. Nope. Not thinking that.

You were best friends. The kind who shared hoodies and bitched about exes and had matching pajamas from a failed couples Halloween sale. You weren’t supposed to be noticing how broad his chest was, or how low his towel sat on his hips.

He caught you looking. You snapped your head the other way.

A pause. “You okay?” he asked, voice lower.

“Yup,” you replied, too fast. “Just tired.”

You heard him chuckle under his breath. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You splashed water at him. “Go back to your sauna.”

But the heat in your chest had nothing to do with steam.

You both climbed into the ridiculous velvet-upholstered bed and laid side by side, limbs awkwardly angled to avoid touching too much.

The train screen looped soft countryside visuals.

The LED sign above the mirror blinked softly:

“Don’t miss your stop…”

You stared at the ceiling. “Why does this feel like the foreplay part of a drama?”

Sunghoon’s voice was low. “Because everything here is designed for people to fuck.”

You both went quiet. Too quiet.

Then he added, a little too casually. “If you get cold tonight, just say something.”

You turned your head slightly. His profile glowed in the soft red light. “I won’t.”

“I know.” But neither of you moved. Not yet.

You woke up to the smell of grilled fish and miso soup.

Blinking groggily, you turned your head to find Sunghoon already sitting up in bed, hair messy, skin flushed from sleep, and a gleam of childlike wonder in his eyes.

“Room service,” he said simply, holding up a laminated card with neat checkboxes. “And it’s actually good. Like. Too good for this place.”

You sat up, blinking blearily at the silver-domed trays on the fold-out tray table. “Wait—this place has room service?”

“Apparently. I checked last night before sleeping. They serve breakfast to the room for ‘maximum comfort and pleasure.’” He did finger quotes around that last part. “Very suggestive. But also… delicious.”

He peeled the lid off one tray, and the smell immediately hit you: steaming rice, grilled salmon, soft tamagoyaki, pickled vegetables, and even a little matcha jelly cube for dessert.

Your stomach growled audibly.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, crawling across the bed like a zombie. “I’m never leaving.”

He passed you chopsticks. “See? You talk a big game, but deep down, you’re just here for the perks.”

You dug in. “Mmf—if you booked this place on purpose for this breakfast alone, I forgive you.”

“I’ll take that as my official pardon,” he said, chewing on a piece of miso-glazed eggplant.

For a moment, the room was quiet — just soft clinks of chopsticks, muffled chewing, and the fake train sounds looping in the background.

And then, as always, came the banter.

“So,” you said, mid-bite, “you gonna keep walking around in that towel all morning or…?”

Sunghoon glanced down at himself — still shirtless, his towel hanging loose around his hips as if he were starring in a shampoo commercial. He smirked. “Jealous?”

You scoffed. “Of what? Your man boobs?”

“First of all,” he said, popping a grape into his mouth, “these are pecs. Try not to cry when you see me in real lighting.”

“I’ve seen you in fluorescent kitchen lights eating ramen at 2 a.m. I’ve survived worse.”

“I’ve also seen you drunk with a sheet mask on and mismatched socks, so don’t act superior.”

“Those socks were a fashion statement.”

He snorted. “A cry for help.”

After breakfast and a little too much matcha jelly, the two of you finally started getting dressed.

Or trying to, anyway.

You were standing at the small mirror near the door, brushing your teeth and fussing with your hair when you heard Sunghoon behind you, grunting in frustration.

“What’s your problem?” you asked, spitting out toothpaste.

“Where the hell is the other sock I packed?”

You glanced over and nearly choked — he was half-dressed, hair still wet from the shower, towel hanging on the rack, shirt hanging off one shoulder like a K-drama lead in distress.

You raised a brow. “Check your suitcase. Or maybe the laundry bag?”

He groaned dramatically and flopped onto the bed. “Why does this always happen to me?”

“Because your packing skills are trash.”

“You packed seven pairs of underwear for five nights!”

“Prepared. Not chaotic.”

“Psychotic.”

You tossed a sock at his face. “Shut up and wear this.”

He caught it, looked at the pattern — pastel pink with tiny peaches on them — and grinned.

“Wait… these are your socks.”

“They’re clean. Be grateful.”

He gave you a playful look. “If my feet feel too soft and feminine later, it’s your fault.”

You rolled your eyes. “You could use a little softness.” There was a beat of quiet as you both finished dressing.

And then, almost too casually, Sunghoon asked, “You good with the plan today? Shibuya, food, maybe teamLab Planets?”

You smiled. “Hell yeah. Let’s go get blinded by LED art and overpay for strawberry mochi.”

You grabbed your tote bag, he slung his camera over his shoulder, and together you stepped out into the Tokyo sunlight — blinking against the sudden warmth, the city buzzing with life all around you.

The love hotel’s sliding door closed behind you with a soft mechanical hiss.

“God, being outside feels illegal after that room,” you muttered, stretching.

Sunghoon yawned beside you. “We need to get out as much as possible. If we spend too long in there…”

“…we’ll end up using that pole, and not ironically.”

You said it jokingly, but the second it left your lips, you realized you were both thinking it.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

You both looked away.

Sunghoon cleared his throat and started walking. “Right. Food. Vibes. Let’s pretend we’re not staying in horny train hell.”

You followed, heart doing weird things.

By 10:30 a.m., you were already on your second iced drink and your fifth photo taken by Sunghoon.

"This one’s blurry,” you said, looking over his shoulder as he flipped through the camera roll.

“You moved,” he replied, flicking to the next one.

“I was mid-chew.”

“Exactly. Candid.”

“You got my molar in HD.”

He laughed, slinging the camera back over his shoulder. “You’re welcome. That’s raw content.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and tugged him toward the next street corner, where a little taiyaki cart was steaming golden fish-shaped cakes onto paper trays.

He bought one with custard and one with sweet potato, handing you the first without asking — he always remembered your favorite.

The day passed in a colorful, unfiltered blur.

From Asakusa’s temple streets to Ueno Park’s shaded paths, you strolled through the buzzing city under soft summer clouds, sharing bites of grilled yakitori, stopping at claw machines, and laughing until your stomach hurt every time Sunghoon got scammed by a vending machine.

“Bro,” he groaned as his Pocari Sweat got stuck halfway. “I just wanted electrolytes.”

“That’s what you get for bullying me about my socks.”

“They are ridiculous.”

“And now they’re your lucky socks, so shut up and suffer.”

He grinned, defeated, as you shook the machine for him until the drink finally dropped.

He brought the good camera — the one he only took out during special trips or when he really wanted to remember something.

At first, it was just the usual:

Colorful alleyways, Vintage signs, Cats in front of bookstores and Neon billboards starting to glow as dusk rolled in

But then the lens kept shifting toward you.

He’d tilt the viewfinder just slightly to the left whenever you were sipping your drink, or smiling up at a paper lantern, or holding up a peace sign in front of a giant tanuki statue.

He didn’t make a big deal out of it.

He never did.

Just snapped quietly, a small smile on his face, pretending to be adjusting settings every time you caught him in the act.

“Stop taking pictures of me looking ugly,” you said as you leaned against a vending machine at golden hour.

“You never look ugly,” he replied without thinking.

You blinked. He clicked his shutter.

You smacked his arm. “Flattery gets you nowhere, Park.”

“I was talking about the vending machine, actually.”

“Oh, screw you—”

By late afternoon, the two of you were barefoot, wading through glowing water and walking across mirrored floors.

The floating flowers, the endless lights, the reflection of stars above and below you — it all felt surreal.

Sunghoon was quiet most of the time, too busy adjusting focus, waiting for the exact second a projection shifted, or the water stilled, or your silhouette lined up against the light.

“Stay right there,” he murmured, crouching low.

You stood still, bathed in blue and purple.

A single glowing lily floated past your ankles.

Click.

When he finally looked up from the lens, his expression was soft, like he’d forgotten where you were — like the whole room was quiet just for a second.

You waved your arms. “Earth to perv?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, standing up and brushing dust off his knees. “Just… this lighting’s good.”

“Mm-hmm. You’re not slick.”

Dinner was ramen from a tiny shop hidden in an alley where no one spoke English and the broth was so rich it felt illegal.

You walked off the food through quiet backstreets, with neon signs humming above your heads and laundry flapping on upper balconies.

Sunghoon carried your bag without saying anything.

You bought him an ice cream without asking.

It was so easy. The kind of night you wanted to fold up and keep in your pocket forever.

At one point, you stopped to take a photo of your own — just a snapshot of him in the warm city light, licking ice cream and grinning.

“Got you,” you said, triumphant.

He raised a brow. “You finally captured my beauty?”

“No. I finally got proof you like vanilla.”

“You said you wouldn’t judge.”

“Too late.”

The fake train ambiance greeted you again as you entered the room — soft station chimes, muffled track sounds looping on the hidden speakers. You kicked off your shoes with a groan and threw your bag down like it betrayed you.

Sunghoon collapsed face-first on the bed. “We’ve walked 23,000 steps. I checked.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“My knees are 47 years old now.”

You laughed as you peeled off your socks. “Okay, Grandpa. Want me to book us an onsen for tomorrow?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he lifted his head slowly, eyes narrowing at the frosted-glass door in the corner.

“…wait. We still haven’t used the sauna together.”

You followed his gaze.

The in-room sauna and jacuzzi setup was tucked into the corner like an afterthought — sleek, surprisingly clean, and wildly over-the-top for the price. You hadn’t dared touch it yet.

You raised a brow. “You serious?”

He was already standing.

“I’m not walking like a gremlin tomorrow. Sauna it is.”

The small wooden sauna heated up quickly — enough for the two of you to sit side by side, towels wrapped around your waists, foreheads already glistening.

It smelled like cedar and something citrusy.

“I feel like we’re in a rich person’s armpit,” you muttered.

Sunghoon cracked up, head tilted back, eyes closed. “I feel like we’re about to get a motivational TED Talk from a man named Daisuke about financial freedom.”

You snorted. “We are literally boiling ourselves in a love hotel sauna. What freedom?”

There was a pause.

Then—

“This is nice though,” he admitted. “Like… surprisingly.”

You hummed, wiping sweat from your brow. “We deserve it. That yakitori hunt was a whole workout.”

A beat passed.

“Also, you were sweating this much at the gacha machine, so I feel like this is just your brand.”

“Don’t come for my capsule toys. They bring me joy.”

“Your suitcase is full of tiny plastic sushi. Let that sink in.”

After the sauna, you both flopped into the jacuzzi — towels still on, bubbles swirling lazily, the overhead lighting dimmed to a soft purple glow.

You leaned back against the edge and sighed so dramatically that Sunghoon mimicked it seconds later.

“Haaaaa~”

“Haaaaa.”

“…Why do you sound like a dying anime girl?”

“Why do you sound like a wounded elk?”

You flicked a handful of bubbles at him, and he retaliated by splashing water into your face.

By the time you both settled down, your cheeks hurt from laughing.

He nudged your foot underwater. “Hey. For real.”

You looked over.

“This whole day was perfect. Thanks for not letting me book some sad capsule hotel instead.”

You smiled softly. “Thanks for accidentally giving us the weirdest five days of our lives.”

A pause.

You both sank a little deeper into the water, the bubbles rising quietly between you.

Nothing else needed to be said.

Not yet.

After the sauna and jacuzzi, everything felt heavier — your limbs loose, your muscles relaxed, your brain pleasantly fuzzy in the best way.

Sunghoon handed you your toothbrush like always. Same side of the sink. Same rhythm. You brushed shoulder to shoulder, bumping elbows whenever one of you leaned over to spit.

You wore your oversized shirt — the one with faded cartoon prints and sleeves too long for your arms.

He wore a black tank top and gray sweats, his hair still damp and curling a bit at the nape.

It looked domestic.

Dangerously so.

You didn’t comment on it.

The sheets were still warm when you both flopped down again — you on your side of the bed, Sunghoon sprawled diagonally, legs halfway off the edge like a kid after a sugar crash.

"What do we watch?” you mumbled, tugging the blanket over your legs.

“I found a channel earlier that only plays weird food documentaries,” he said. “One of them was about a guy in Osaka who makes noodles with his feet.”

You blinked.

“That sounds unappetizing.”

“And yet I couldn’t look away.”

He flipped on the TV, and soon enough, soft narration in Japanese filled the room. Onscreen, a slow montage showed close-ups of dough, broth, and a man lovingly caressing noodles like they were his own children.

You both stared.

Then:

“His foot game’s strong,” Sunghoon muttered.

You snorted, smacking his arm. “Stop.”

A second later, he tilted the screen toward you and snapped a photo of your mid-laugh face.

“Delete it,” you said.

“Nope.”

“Sunghoon—”

“That’s a top-tier smile. Archive-worthy.”

You reached for the camera.

He held it just out of reach, laughing as you tried to climb over him, only to lose your balance and flop onto his side of the bed.

He oofed softly as your elbow landed against his stomach.

And then…

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

You were both breathing, barely, quiet again except for the soft murmur of the food show and the faint rumble of train sounds from the wall speaker — still looping, still somehow comforting.

Your head rested near his shoulder. His arm lay beside you, palm up.

You didn’t think about how easy it would be to lace your fingers through it.

Because that wasn’t the point.

Not tonight.

Eventually, you mumbled, “I’ll fall asleep right here.”

“Good.”

“Then you’ll complain that I drool.”

“I always do. Doesn’t stop you.”

“…True.”

A beat passed.

Then Sunghoon shifted slightly, pulled the blanket over you too, and said, soft as a sigh:

“Night, dummy.”

You smiled into the pillow.

“Night, Hoon.”

You both woke up later than planned.

To no one’s surprise, the blackout curtains plus the post-sauna coma plus the gentle train track sounds had knocked you both out cold.

When you opened your eyes, Sunghoon was already awake beside you, scrolling on his phone with bedhead and one eye squinting at the light.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he greeted without looking.

You groaned and threw the blanket over your face. “Why are you always so chipper in the morning?”

“I already ordered breakfast. It’ll be here in ten.”

That made you peek out

“Pretty good options. Surprisingly tasty too.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you ate already?”

“I may have had a mini croissant. For science.”

The tray rolled in like a hotel drama — miso soup, boiled eggs, tamagoyaki, rice, fruit, juice, and coffee, all neatly arranged in little porcelain dishes.

“This is way too fancy for a place with a pole in the corner,” you whispered.

Sunghoon burst out laughing. “We should eat on the pole.”

“Try it. Break your back.”

You sat cross-legged on the bed, carefully pouring soy sauce into the tiny saucer while Sunghoon buttered his toast like an old man at a countryside inn.

It was… cozy. Stupidly cozy.

He took a photo of the spread — and then one of you holding a strawberry between your lips.

“You’re so annoying,” you said.

“Smile,” he replied.

And you did.

You both dressed quickly — jeans and sneakers, matching windbreakers by accident (he insisted you copied him), camera packed again.

The plan today was Shimokitazawa, the artsy thrift-store-filled neighborhood that smelled like espresso, vinyl records, and dreams of quitting your job.

You wandered between secondhand shops and cafés, trying on sunglasses, picking up ugly mugs, posing in front of graffiti.

Sunghoon’s camera was out the entire time — and even though he pretended he was just testing settings, you saw how he always pointed it at you when you weren’t looking.

You caught him once.

He didn’t deny it.

“I like how you look when you’re not trying.”

You blinked.

He looked away, adjusting the lens. “Lighting’s better.”

“…Right.”

It was small.

You reached for a cold canned drink at the exact same moment.

Your fingers brushed his. Barely. Briefly.

But it lingered — just a half-second too long.

You felt it. So did he.

Neither of you said a thing.

You were sitting on a bench outside a vintage bookstore, sipping soda while he reviewed the photos on his camera.

“What are you deleting?”

“Blurry ones.”

“Let me see.”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Because some are mine.”

“…Some?”

He paused.

Then smiled a little — not in a teasing way this time.

“Some are just for me.”

You didn’t ask what that meant.

You just let it sit there between you.

Warm. Quiet. Weightless.

But not really.

You returned to the hotel a little earlier than Day 1, shoes dusty, legs tired, hands full of little finds — enamel pins, a thrifted shirt, a random keychain he insisted matched your vibe.

In the jacuzzi again. This time quieter. You both leaned back and let the water do the talking.

Later, you brushed your teeth side by side again, yawning into your sleeves, shoulders bumping gently.

You climbed into bed first. This time, when he laid beside you, you noticed how close your hands were on the blanket.

Not touching.

Just… close enough. You didn’t pull away.

Neither did he. It started small.

Just a joke, really. After another long day out — this time at the Shibuya Sky deck and walking through Harajuku — you’d peeled off your jacket and complained about how sweaty you were.

“You’re melting,” Sunghoon commented, flopping dramatically onto the bed while you stood near the mirror, tying your hair up.

“You’d melt too if you had boobs trapping heat.”

He snorted. “Do you want me to confirm that or—” You threw a pillow at him.

“Okay, but real talk,” Sunghoon said as the door hissed shut behind him. “This sauna is saving my life. I’m starting a petition to install one back home.”

You chuckled, stepping inside after him in your towel, feeling the warm steam immediately cling to your skin.

Tonight felt hotter somehow — and not just because of the temperature.

Maybe it was how Sunghoon looked right now. Hair swept back slightly damp, skin already glowing, the soft edge of his collarbone visible. His towel was secure but low, and he sat with one arm resting over the wooden bench behind you, casual, almost… cocky.

“So,” he started, turning slightly toward you. “You gonna keep avoiding the fact that you made a noise when you sat down yesterday?”

“I did not.”

"You groaned like you were starring in a drama.”

You blinked at him. “Are you being flirty right now?”

He smirked. “Would it work?”

You gave him a look.

He laughed, leaning his head back against the wall. “Relax. I flirt with everyone.”

“…No, you don’t.”

He looked at you again, slower this time.

You felt it — that shift.

The quiet drawl in his tone when he said, “Right. I don’t.”

Ten minutes in, the steam got thicker.

You leaned forward to reach for your water bottle, not realizing your towel had come a little… loose.

You tugged it quickly and pressed it tighter to your chest, but the damage was done.

Sunghoon’s eyes had flicked down.

And then—back up.

He cleared his throat and smirked. “…Nice catch.”

You threw him a glare, cheeks hot, but not from the heat.

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not being gross,” he said, tilting his head lazily. “I’m just observant. It’s part of my charm.”

“Your charm is a menace.”

“Yeah?” he said, voice dropping just enough to make your skin prickle. “Still keeping me around, though.”

Later, while drying off, you were both laughing over a dumb quiz show playing on the love hotel TV, towels replaced with your usual comfy clothes. But the air still hadn’t gone back to normal.

You sat on the bed, brushing your hair.

He sat behind you, watching something on his phone, absently letting his fingers toy with the end of your shirt hem.

You didn’t realize he was doing it until he stilled.

Then—

“You always wear this one,” he said softly. “It’s got a little hole in the back.”

You turned to look at him.

“You’re really paying attention, huh?”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“I always do.”

There was no laugh this time. No grin. Just the warm glow from the room lamp and the way his eyes dropped for a second — from your face, to your lips, to your collarbone — before he looked back up.

You swallowed.

He looked way too close all of a sudden.

And yet, not close enough.

You stood up.

Quickly. Casually.

“I’m brushing my teeth.”

“Okay,” he said behind you, quiet… amused. “Run away, then.”The night settled in earlier than usual — maybe because you both agreed your legs needed a break, maybe because the city lights felt better admired from the bed with snacks and cold drinks.

You kicked your feet up, pulling the blanket over your lap while Sunghoon scrolled through the hotel TV’s library.

"We’re not watching something sad,” you warned.

“Why not?”

“Because every time we do, you start doing that emotional whisper voice after.”

He raised a brow, amused. “‘If I die, tell my cat I loved her’ isn’t emotional. It’s factual.”

You snorted and popped a grape into your mouth.

He settled on a coming-of-age romance film — something soft, slow, with golden lighting and friends-to-lovers tension that hit a little too close.

You didn’t comment.

Thirty minutes in, the movie faded into the background. You were half-focused, shoulder-to-shoulder with Sunghoon beneath the same blanket, a bowl of chips between you.

He reached over to grab one, and his fingers brushed yours again.

This time, you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

You felt him glance at you — not a quick flick, but a lingering stare.

“…What?” you asked, not looking at him.

"Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m admiring.”

Your heart thudded once.

“…What?”

He smiled slowly, eyes dropping to your mouth. “I said nothing.”

Somewhere between the third snack break and the movie credits, Sunghoon nudged your leg.

“Truth or dare?”

You looked at him sideways. “What are we, twelve?”

“Pick.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Truth.”

He leaned back against the headboard, one arm behind his head.

“Have you ever thought about kissing me?”

Your breath caught

He didn’t laugh this time. He didn’t smirk.

He just watched you — calm, unreadable.

You stared at him, pulse ticking louder.

“…Is that a real question?”

His voice dropped lower. “You chose ‘truth.’”

The silence stretched. You felt it thick in your throat, in the space between your knees touching beneath the blanket.

Then, softly—

“Once or twice,” you admitted.

His lips curved, slow and smug.

You shoved his shoulder, embarrassed. “Okay, your turn.”

“Dare,” he said immediately.

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to lie.”

You stared at him.

“…Fine. I dare you to—”

“Kiss me.”

Your breath stalled.

“What?”

“I dare you to kiss me.”

He said it casually, but you saw the way his hand gripped the blanket — the slight twitch in his jaw, the sharp inhale he tried to hide.

You licked your lips slowly.

“Sunghoon—”

"It’s just a game, right?” he said, voice velvet-soft.

You looked at him.

At his eyes. His mouth. His flushed cheeks and the way he was so close but not making a move.

Like he was giving you control.

And that scared you more than anything.

Because suddenly, the game didn’t feel like a game anymore.

You leaned in.

Just a little.

Just enough that he felt your breath.

But before your lips touched, you pulled back and whispered, “Next round.”

He exhaled sharply, a chuckle slipping out — part relief, part frustration.

“You’re evil.”

You smiled.

“Just playing the game.”

“I’m sleepy,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

The tension from the game still clung to your skin, warm and heavy. Your heart was doing too much—pounding like you just ran up a hill instead of almost-kissing your best friend.

You tugged the blanket up and turned on your side, facing away from him.

Or so you thought.

Because as you lay back on the pillows, eyes half-lidded and breath evening out, your gaze landed somewhere else.

Above you.

The mirror on the ceiling.

You blinked.

It was such a stupid, love-hotel thing to have, and you hadn’t even paid attention to it since the first day. But now?

Now you saw everything.

You.

Sunghoon.

Lying side by side, under the same blanket, bodies close enough to share heat.

His head tilted toward you slightly, lips parted like he was going to say something—but didn’t.

Your breath caught.

The image in the mirror wasn’t what friends looked like.

It wasn’t casual. It was intimate.

Too much.

Not enough.

You shifted, just barely.

And in the reflection, you watched Sunghoon do the same.

His hand moved above the blanket.

Closer.

Not touching you—but hovering near your waist.

You felt his knuckles brush the hem of your shirt, barely there.

Goosebumps rose instantly.

Your eyes flicked up again—to the mirror.

He was watching it too.

Watching you.

“…Sunghoon,” you said, barely audible.

He didn’t move his hand. Didn’t blink.

“I know,” he said softly, like he already knew what was in your chest. “You’re sleepy.”

But he still didn’t pull away.

Instead, he let his fingers rest lightly against your side—just enough pressure to make you feel it.

His voice dropped, rougher now.

“But if you weren’t…”

Your stomach twisted.

“If I wasn’t?” you asked.

He met your eyes in the mirror.

“I’d kiss you,” he murmured. “And this time, you wouldn’t stop me.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

The air between you was thick. You felt the heat from his body, the blanket suddenly too warm. His words echoed, burning a hole into your chest.

Still, you didn’t move.

Not away.

Not toward him.

Just… there. Caught.

Heart racing.

Eyes locked in the reflection.

And then—

He pulled his hand away slowly.

A soft breath left your lips.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes.

But you didn’t sleep for a long, long time.

Not with his voice still in your ear.

Not with his hand still ghosting your skin.

And not with that mirror burning above you, showing you something you couldn’t unsee.

“C’mon,” Sunghoon said, tugging your wrist gently as you both stepped out of the taxi and into the Tokyo night. “We’re not leaving Japan without at least one club night. Live a little.”

You gave him a look. “You’re the one who googled ‘clubs that don’t have a cover fee’ and filtered by ‘low noise.’”

“Exactly,” he grinned. “I’m a responsible party animal.”

You snorted, but let him guide you in.

The club was tucked away under a neon sign and a set of stairs, with a cozy, crowded feel—dark corners, glowing drinks, and music that thudded deep in your chest.

He ordered you both something sweet and sparkling. The kind of drink that made your lips sticky and your smile looser.

It was supposed to be harmless.

Just a night out.

You wore a black dress—Sunghoon’s pick, actually, from earlier that day.

“I’m not letting you pack a bunch of oversized hoodies for a night out,” he said back in the hotel. “Show some skin. It’s Japan. Everyone’s hot.”

So you did.

And now?

Now you were paying for it.

Two drinks in, you danced near the edge of the floor, swaying with the beat, laughing with Sunghoon beside you. His hand hovered low on your back—not touching, but close enough to be there if you stumbled.

Until he stepped away for a second to use the bathroom.

And they showed up.

Two guys—tall, confident, clearly a little tipsy.

“Hey, you alone?” one of them asked, smiling too much, eyes dipping low.

You smiled politely, shaking your head. “I’m with someone.”

“Oh?” The second guy grinned. “Boyfriend?”

Before you could answer, you felt it—a hand on your waist. Warm. Familiar.

Sunghoon.

“No,” he said smoothly, his voice sharp behind you. “She’s with me.”

You blinked, surprised by the edge in his tone.

Sunghoon wasn’t the jealous type. Or at least, he’d never acted like it before. Not when guys checked you out. Not when they flirted harmlessly.

But tonight?

He wasn’t joking.

One look at his face and you knew.

The guys backed off, muttering something in Japanese you didn’t catch. But you didn’t care. Not when Sunghoon’s fingers stayed on your hip even after they were gone.

You turned to him.

“…You okay?”

He stared at you for a second.

Then he laughed—short, breathless.

“You have any idea how you look tonight?”

You blinked. “Sunghoon—”

“No,” he said, pulling you gently toward a quieter corner of the club. “I let you out in that dress and thought, yeah, sure, I’ll be normal about it. But then I see guys eyeing you like they have a shot and suddenly I’m—”

He cut himself off.

You stared.

“Suddenly you’re what?”

He looked at you. Really looked.

And for the first time tonight, there was no filter.

“I’m not normal about you,” he said simply. “Haven’t been for a long time.”

Your heart stuttered.

The music faded into nothing.

“…Sunghoon.”

“I know,” he said, eyes flicking to your lips. “We’re best friends. This whole trip’s been fun. Flirty. Safe. But tonight?”

He leaned in.

“Tonight, I want to make it clear.”

Your back hit the wall, gently.

Not rough.

Not rushed.

Just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You’re with me,” he whispered, lips barely brushing your jaw.

And you didn’t move.

Not away.

Not at all.

The cab ride back to the hotel was dead silent.

Not because there was nothing to say.

Because everything had already been said — in the way Sunghoon looked at you when those guys tried flirting at the club, in the way his hand gripped your waist like it belonged there.

And in the way he whispered, low and rough:

“You’re with me.”

The words looped in your head the whole ride. And when you stepped into your room — the one with the ridiculous train-themed decor, mood lighting, and giant mirror above the bed — it was over.

The second the door clicked shut—

He kissed you.

Not like a friend.

Not like someone testing the waters.

Like he knew what you tasted like.

Like he needed it.

His hands were everywhere — cupping your face, sliding down your waist, pressing into your lower back until your bodies were flush. You were barely able to keep up with his mouth — all tongue, teeth, urgency.

You gasped when his lips left yours to nip your jaw.

“Sunghoon—”

“I told you,” he growled, voice wrecked. “I’m not waiting anymore.”

He walked you backward toward the bed, kissing you between every step.

You fell onto the mattress, breathless, heart racing. The mirror above showed your reflection — the two of you tangled in shadows and heat, your thighs parting instinctively as Sunghoon leaned over you.

“You don’t know,” he whispered, nose brushing yours, “how many nights I’ve watched you sleep in this bed.”

His hand slid under your dress, fingertips grazing your thighs.

“Thinking about this.”

You gasped when he squeezed your leg, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re soaked through,” he murmured.

“I’ve been—thinking about it too,” you admitted, cheeks warm.

That was all he needed.

Sunghoon yanked off his shirt, revealing the hard lines of his chest, the trail of muscle down his abs — you stared shamelessly.

He noticed.

“Like what you see?”

You nodded.

“Use your words, baby.”

“I like it,” you whispered, eyes blown wide. “I want all of you.”

He groaned. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

Then he was kissing down your neck, tugging your dress off slowly, his mouth dragging over every new inch of skin.

“No bra?” he murmured against your chest.

“You told me to wear something easy to take off,” you whispered.

His eyes burned.

“I was joking,” he growled, “but fuck, that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said.”

His tongue circled your nipple before sucking hard, making your hips buck.

“Sunghoon—”

“Be patient,” he said, sliding your panties off. “I’m going to make you cum on my tongue first.”

Then he was kneeling at the edge of the bed, pulling your legs over his shoulders, and diving in.

You cried out.

He licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning like he’d just tasted heaven.

Then again. Slower.

His fingers gripped your thighs, keeping you open as he licked you deep — tongue teasing your folds, swirling around your clit, then flattening with just enough pressure to make your legs shake.

You tangled your fingers in his hair. “Sunghoon, please—please—”

He paused, pulled back just enough to speak.

“Say it again.”

You moaned. “Please, Sunghoon—make me cum—please—”

“Good girl.”

He dove back in, and you were gone.

Your orgasm ripped through you, thighs clenching around his head as you came with a broken moan of his name.

He didn’t stop — he kept licking, slow and lazy now, lapping up everything you gave him until you were panting, trembling.

He crawled back up your body and kissed you — letting you taste yourself on his lips.

Then you felt him.

Hard. Heavy. Pressing against your thigh.

You reached down, wrapping your hand around him, and his head dropped to your shoulder with a groan.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “If you touch me like that, I’m gonna lose it.”

You smirked, kissing his jaw. “Then lose it.”

He laughed — low and rough — then pulled back to line himself up.

You were still soaked. Still twitching from your first orgasm.

He met your eyes, voice hoarse.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” you whispered. “I want you.”

He slid in with one deep thrust.

His hips rolled into you, slow and deep.

One thrust — thick, stretching, deliberate.

You gasped, hands gripping his shoulders as he filled you to the hilt.

“Fuck, Sunghoon—”

“I know,” he murmured, mouth brushing your ear. “You’re perfect like this.”

He stilled inside you, chest heaving. You could feel how hard he was — how much restraint he was using just to not lose control.

Then he pulled back.

And pushed in again.

Deeper.

Your breath hitched.

Above you, the mirror reflected everything — the way your body arched into him, how your mouth parted when he bottomed out, the tension in his jaw as he watched you take him like you were made for it.

You whimpered.

“Look up,” he said softly.

You did.

And your entire body shivered.

The sight was unreal.

His body between your legs.

The way your back curved.

The way your nails pressed into his skin.

Sunghoon leaned in close, lips dragging across your jaw.

“Now imagine if you could see this again.”

You blinked, dazed. “What?”

He reached for his phone.

Tossed a look toward the dresser, a sly smirk playing on his lips.

“I brought the tripod.”

Your stomach flipped.

“You’re joking—”

“Nope.” He was already sliding the legs out, adjusting the angle toward the bed. “Consent. One hundred percent. Just for us. Just for tonight. I want to remember everything.”

Your thighs instinctively squeezed around his waist.

He placed the phone on the stand, hit record, and returned to you.

Settled between your legs again.

Caged you in with his arms.

Kissed you like it would never be enough.

“This okay?” he whispered against your lips.

You nodded, eyes wide, chest rising.

“Say it, baby.”

You swallowed. “Yes. I want it. I want you.”

He groaned — guttural, raw.

Then he started moving.

Long, slow strokes at first.

His hips grinding into yours, dragging over every sensitive spot with maddening precision.

His hand slid under your lower back, lifting your hips slightly — angling you better, deeper — until you were gasping his name.

“God—Hoon—”

“You hear that?” he rasped, breathless. “That sound you make when I hit here—”

Thrust.

You cried out.

“—that’s going to ruin me.”

His thumb brushed your clit in tight circles while he fucked you, rhythm getting messier — your thighs slick, sheets twisted, the air thick with skin and heat and moans.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Look at how fucking pretty you are when I’m inside you.”

You forced yourself to glance up at the mirror again—

And it was filthy.

Your eyes glassy.

Your body bouncing gently with every stroke.

Sunghoon — hair messy, jaw clenched, sweat slicking his chest — completely lost in you.

His thrusts got faster.

Your fingers clawed at his back.

You were getting close again. Too close.

“Sunghoon—Hoon—I’m—”

“Let go,” he growled. “I want to see it. Want to see you cum all over me.”

His hand gripped your thigh tighter, holding you in place as he slammed into you, dragging your orgasm out until you were moaning shamelessly, your body shaking under him.

You came hard.

Eyes rolling.

Toes curling.

He groaned loudly, head dropping to your shoulder.

Then he pulled out suddenly — tugged his cock in his fist once, twice—

“Where?” he panted.

“Stomach,” you gasped. “Please—”

And he spilled with a sharp grunt, hot ropes across your skin, your belly, his hips still twitching from the force.

The room was silent except for your panting.

You both stared at the mirror.

Then each other.

Sunghoon let out a soft, broken laugh.

“...We’re fucked.”

The room was still warm.

The soft buzz of fake train sounds from the speaker had long since faded into the background, replaced by only your uneven breathing and the low whirr of the air conditioner above the bed.

Your body was still tingling.

Muscles relaxed, core aching in the best way, thighs sticky with the aftermath of everything you just shared.

Sunghoon was lying beside you — one arm tucked under his head, the other draped lazily across your bare stomach. His fingers traced little, absent-minded shapes there, gliding through the mess he’d left on your skin like he couldn’t bear not to touch you.

He looked wrecked. Hair messy. Eyes soft. Lips red from kissing too hard.

But the way he was looking at you now?

Completely different.

Like the teasing and jokes were stripped away.

Like he was finally seeing you.

And maybe for the first time—you were really letting him.

“You okay?” he murmured.

His voice was soft, a little hoarse.

You turned your head slowly, looking at him. “Yeah. More than okay.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Good.”

Then, quieter, “Because that... wasn’t just for fun.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I mean—” he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, looking up at the ceiling. “I know we’ve been friends forever. I know this trip was supposed to be, like, low-budget ramen and chaotic sightseeing and those vending machines you’re obsessed with, and I definitely didn’t mean to—book a fucking love hotel—but—”

You cut him off with a quiet laugh, rolling over to face him. “Hoon.”

He looked at you, eyes wide.

Your fingers reached up, brushing his hair from his forehead.

“I know it wasn’t just for fun.”

You paused.

“...Did you really mean everything you said tonight? At the club? Back here?”

His gaze didn’t flinch.

“Every word.”

Your breath caught.

“You’ve... thought about this?” you asked, almost shy. “Us?”

He nodded slowly, like he was afraid he’d scare you off. “For longer than I should have.”

You swallowed, heart thudding.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He smiled, soft and bittersweet. “Because I didn’t think I had a chance. You’re...you. You flirt with ramen vending machines.”

You laughed, burying your face in the pillow. “I do not.”

“You do,” he teased. “You called that one in Shibuya a good boy.”

You giggled.

Then his fingers stilled on your stomach.

“But the second I saw that guy at the club looking at you like you weren’t the most precious thing in the room... I snapped. I couldn’t keep pretending.”

You looked up at him. “And now?”

He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours.

“Now I want to be the only one who gets to touch you.”

Your breath caught.

“I want to take you on real dates. Hold your hand in public. Make you breakfast. Wake up beside you without wondering if I crossed a line the night before.”

Your chest ached — in the best way.

You wrapped your arm around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Then let’s do that.”

His brows lifted slightly.

“Yeah?” You nodded. “You idiot. I’ve wanted this too.”

He smiled — slow and real, the kind that reached his eyes.

And then? He kissed you again.

Gentle this time. Lingering. No rush.

Just the start of something real.

When you finally broke apart, curled in the sheets, your limbs tangled—

Sunghoon rested his cheek on your chest, humming softly.

“We’re kind of gross,” he mumbled sleepily.

You blinked. “What?”

He pointed up lazily.

You looked. And laughed. The mirror.

Still foggy. Still showing your bodies — flushed and messy and completely tangled up in each other.

“Let’s clean up,” you whispered.

Sunghoon groaned dramatically. “Can’t move. Dead. Died from your pussy.”

You smacked his arm with a pillow. “Romantic.”

He grinned.

Then he sat up—still shirtless, still glowing—and stretched.

As you slipped off the bed to grab your robe, something caught your eye.

That little panel near the bathroom. The one that looked just a little too clean. Too new.

You padded over, curiosity tugging.

Pushed it open— And found the train.

“Sunghoon…”

Your voice was breathless, laced with awe and disbelief as you stared into the hidden room tucked behind the bathroom mirror.

He came up behind you, still shirtless, eyes scanning the strange, atmospheric glow pouring out of the secret space.

“…What the hell?” he murmured, stepping in beside you. The small room looked exactly like the interior of a luxury train car.

Gold-trimmed velvet seats lined both sides.

The projected windows showed nighttime scenery rushing past, as if the whole place were actually moving.

And above it all? Mirrors. Full-length. Perfect angles.

“Did you book this on purpose?” you whispered.

Sunghoon laughed quietly, slipping his arm around your waist. “You’re giving me too much credit.”

You turned to look at him, still flushed, still warm and full from earlier.

He stared back at you—his gaze darker now, hungrier.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “we can’t just find a secret room like this and not do something stupid.”

You shivered.

“Define stupid.” His lips ghosted your neck.

“Take off your robe,” he murmured.

You blinked. “Here?”

“Here,” he said, nodding toward one of the seats. “There.”

Then he tilted your chin toward the mirror above.

“So you can watch.” Your stomach flipped.

He pulled you inside gently, guiding you toward the plush velvet seat like it was a throne.

“Sit,” he said, voice deeper now. “Right here. Legs open.”

You did. Robe sliding down your arms, bare underneath.

The second you sat, the coolness of the velvet against your thighs made you gasp.

Sunghoon dropped to his knees between your legs, spreading them wider, mouth just hovering over your center.

He looked up at you once—dark eyes, flushed cheeks, messy hair. Yours.

“I didn’t get enough of you earlier,” he murmured. “Wanna taste you right. Wanna take my time.”

You whimpered.

Then his tongue was on you. Sunghoon devoured you.

Tongue slow and firm, licking up every drop, nose pressed into your folds, mouth working you open until your head fell back and your hips jerked against his mouth.

You glanced up, dazed—and moaned when you caught the mirror reflection.

Everything. Your legs trembling. Your hands gripping the seat. His messy hair buried between your thighs.

He glanced up mid-lick, locking eyes with you through the mirror.

“Keep looking,” he said, mouth shiny. “I want you to see what you do to me.”

He sucked your clit into his mouth then—hard. You gasped, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

“Oh my god—Sunghoon—!”

“You gonna cum again, baby?” he whispered, licking slow circles again. “Right here, in this fucked-up train fantasy room?”

You moaned—loud, desperate.

“Say it.”

“Yes—please—yes, I’m gonna—fuck—”

He flicked his tongue in a perfect rhythm, and when his fingers slid inside you—two, slow, deep—you shattered.

You came on his tongue, thighs shaking around his head, crying out as he licked you through it, swallowing everything you gave him.

When you finally stopped shaking, he kissed the inside of your thighs, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked up.

Still on his knees. Still hard.

But now? Smiling. Smug. Possessive.

“Still alive?” he teased. You gave a breathless laugh. “Barely.”

“Good,” he said, standing. “Because I’m not done with you.” He pulled you up to your feet and spun you to face the mirror.

Your reflection was glowing—lips parted, chest heaving, legs weak.

Sunghoon pressed up behind you, cock dragging along your ass as he leaned in to whisper:

“Bend over the seat.”

You obeyed—bare hands gripping the backrest, legs shaking as he kicked your feet further apart.

He stroked himself behind you, tip brushing your folds.

“Look how ready you are,” he murmured. “Already dripping again.”

He slid in with one thrust. You both moaned. You watched in the mirror as he grabbed your hips and began to move—slow at first, letting you feel every thick inch inside.

Then harder. Faster. Filthy.

The sound of skin slapping, your breathy moans, his rough grunts—it was insane. His hand slid around to grip your throat gently, tipping your face toward the mirror again.

“Watch, baby. Watch me fuck you.” You did.

And it was the most erotic thing you’d ever seen.You—bent over, mouth open in shock. Him—behind you, wrecked, hips snapping, muscles straining.

And you couldn’t last. You were already so full. So overstimulated. So his. “I’m—gonna—again—”

“Do it,” he panted. “Cum for me. Make a mess. I’m right behind you.” You came again—harder this time, louder, a cry ripped from your throat as your body clenched around him.

And with a final groan—“Fuck, yes”—he came too, spilling deep inside you, his hips twitching, hands gripping your waist tight as he gave you everything. You collapsed onto the velvet seat, breathless, shaking.

Sunghoon leaned over you, arms wrapped around your waist from behind.

You both stared into the mirror. Sweaty. Marked. Ruined.

“…Best love hotel ever,” you mumbled.

Sunghoon laughed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Welcome to the last stops, baby.”

The water steamed around you, warm and humming, tiny waves lapping at your sides as you sank back into the love hotel’s private jacuzzi.

The bathroom light was dim, glowing low and amber, reflecting off the tiled walls like candlelight.

You barely had time to close your eyes before a pair of arms slipped around your waist from behind.

“Round three,” Sunghoon murmured into your shoulder.

“Already?” you whispered, dazed. “You’re serious?”

“You’re mine now,” he said simply. “I’m never gonna be done.”

You moaned as he pulled you back into his chest, your legs floating around his hips, his hands sliding across your stomach beneath the water.

Then higher.

Until he had your breasts cupped in both palms.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “I’m obsessed.”

You bit your lip, gasping as he started to play with them — thumbs brushing your nipples, squeezing gently like he’d been waiting to get his hands on them all night.

“I always noticed,” he confessed, pressing kisses to the back of your neck. “Every time you stretched in front of me, every time your shirt clung to them when it rained—"

“Sunghoon—”

“—and now they’re mine,” he said, voice rough with need. “So I’m gonna touch them whenever I want.”

His mouth trailed down your neck, then he reached around, shifting you to straddle his lap in the water.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he muttered, lowering his mouth to your chest.

Then he kissed your breasts—slow, wet kisses, tongue flicking across your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth.

You let out a soft moan, your hands burying in his wet hair. He groaned into your skin, pulling your body even closer until your tits were pressed to his face. His voice was muffled. “I could live right here.” You giggled breathlessly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m obsessed,” he corrected, licking again. “Let me worship you.” You felt his cock harden again beneath you, hot and heavy in the water.

“Sunghoon…”

“I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, mouth brushing your chest. “One more. Just one more.”

He reached under the water, lining himself up, and slowly eased you down onto him — warm water swirling around your waists as you sank onto his cock, inch by thick inch.

You both groaned. It felt so full like this. So warm. Slippery. Intimate. His forehead pressed to yours, hands gripping your waist.

“Move for me, baby,” he whispered. “Nice and slow.”

You rolled your hips, riding him gently in the water, the movement easy and fluid with the water supporting your weight. And he couldn’t stop watching your chest.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “Bounce for me, just like that. Look at them—"

Your tits bounced with every movement, droplets clinging to your nipples, glistening under the soft light. His hands returned to them again and again — massaging, squeezing, sucking one into his mouth as you moved on him.

You whined. “You’re too into this—”

“I warned you,” he growled. “They’re mine now.”

Then he grabbed your hips, took over the pace, thrusting up into you as the water splashed gently around you. Slow, deep strokes. His cock dragging against your sensitive walls, your body already so used to him but still twitching at the stretch. You clung to him, lips brushing his. “You feel so good.”

“I want you to cum on my cock like this,” he breathed. “Wanna feel you clench around me again.”

His hand slid between your bodies, thumb brushing over your clit under the water — slow, tight circles until you were gasping again.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “While I’m buried inside you. I want to feel it.”

You did. With a broken gasp, body trembling in the bubbling heat, your walls tightened around him, clenching so hard he swore under his breath—

“Fuck—yes—fuck, you’re perfect—”

And then he came too, moaning into your mouth as he spilled inside you again, his arms tightening around you as if he couldn’t let you go. You stayed there, clinging to him, your body spent and warm, water lapping gently against your skin.

He kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then your boob. Again.

“Seriously?” “What?” he said innocently. “They’re the love of my life now.”

The water steamed around you, warm bubbles churning against your skin as Sunghoon's hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you flush against his hard body. His lips trailed hot kisses down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to send shivers racing through you despite the heat. "Mine" he growled low, voice rough with need, his cock already throbbing against your thigh, slick with the jacuzzi's warmth and his own arousal.

You arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he lifted you slightly, the water sloshing around your waists. His mouth captured yours in a fierce kiss, tongue plunging deep, claiming every inch while one hand slid between your legs. Fingers parted your folds, stroking your clit with firm circles that made you gasp into his mouth. He didn't tease for long—Sunghoon never did when possession burned this hot. Two fingers pushed inside you, curling to hit that spot that had your walls clenching around him.

"Fuck, you're still so wet for me," he murmured against your lips, pumping his fingers faster, thumb grinding your clit. The water made everything slicker, hotter, your body responding with desperate bucks against his hand. But he wasn't done worshipping yet. Withdrawing his fingers, he brought them to your mouth, pressing them past your lips. "Taste yourself. Taste how much you want this." You sucked eagerly, tongue swirling around his digits, eyes locked on his darkened gaze.

Satisfaction flashed in his eyes as he pulled his hand away, replacing it with the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance. But instead of thrusting in right there, he stood fully, water cascading off his toned chest and abs, muscles flexing as he hauled you up with him. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, the jacuzzi's edge pressing into your back for leverage. "Not like this," he said, voice husky. "I want to fuck you standing, feel every inch of you gripping me while I hold you open."

He shifted, one arm banding around your back to support you, the other guiding his cock. The tip breached you slowly at first, stretching your pussy with that delicious burn as he sank in inch by inch. You moaned, head falling back, the steam-filled air thick with the scent of sex and chlorine. Water lapped at your joined bodies, but it was nothing compared to the heat building where he filled you completely, balls pressing against your ass.

Sunghoon groaned, hips snapping forward in a sharp thrust that buried him to the hilt. "God, yes—tight like this, just for me." He started a rhythm, powerful and unrelenting, each drive lifting you slightly against him, your breasts bouncing with the force. His free hand roamed, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you cry out, then soothing it with his mouth, sucking the peak between his teeth. You clung to him, nails raking down his back, urging him deeper.

The standing position let him angle just right, his cock dragging along your inner walls, hitting your g-spot with every plunge. Water splashed around you as he fucked harder, possessive grunts escaping him. "No one else gets this. No one else fucks you like I do." His pace quickened, hips pistoning, the slap of wet skin echoing in the steamy enclosure. Your pussy fluttered around him, building toward that edge, clit grinding against his pelvis with each thrust.

He sensed it, shifting his hold to free a hand, fingers finding your clit again. He rubbed in tight, fast circles, matching his brutal rhythm. "Cum for me. Milk my cock while I fill you up." The command pushed you over, orgasm crashing through you like a wave, walls spasming as you screamed his name. Sunghoon followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, hot cum flooding your pussy in thick spurts. He held you there, both panting, his forehead pressed to yours as the aftershocks rippled through.

But even spent, his grip didn't loosen. "We're not done" he whispered, already hardening inside you again. "I want more".

Sunghoon's cock twitched inside your still-pulsing pussy, the mix of his cum and your juices leaking down your thighs into the bubbling water. He didn't pull out yet, instead rocking his hips in slow, deliberate grinds that kept the friction alive, his mouth crashing back onto yours. The kiss was messy, tongues tangling with renewed hunger, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as he swallowed your whimpers. "You feel that?" he rasped between breaths, one hand cupping your ass to tilt you higher on his shaft. "I'm gonna fuck you until you're ruined for anyone else."

He thrust up again, harder this time, the water churning wildly as he bounced you on his length. Your oversensitive walls clenched around him, every slide sending sparks of pleasure-pain through your core. You gasped into his mouth, breaking the kiss to beg, but he silenced you with another deep plunge, his free hand tangling in your wet hair to yank your head back. His lips attacked your throat, sucking marks into the skin—dark bruises that would linger as proof of his claim.

The rhythm built fast, his hips snapping with possessive force, cock stretching you wide with each entry. Your clit rubbed against his base, the pressure coiling tight despite the fresh ache from your first climax. "That's it, take it all," he growled, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise. You shattered again sooner than expected, body trembling as another orgasm ripped through you, but he didn't stop. Sunghoon kept pounding, chasing his own release while your pussy fluttered helplessly around him, overstimulated nerves firing wildly.

"Fuck, yes—squeeze me like that," he grunted, finally spilling inside you with a guttural moan, hot ropes of cum painting your walls anew. He held you impaled, panting against your shoulder, but his cock stayed buried deep, semi-hard and insistent. Slowly, he lowered you both back into the jacuzzi, the warm jets massaging your joined bodies as he pulled you onto his lap facing him.

His hands roamed your back, tracing the scratches you'd left earlier, before cupping your face for a slower makeout. Lips brushed softly at first, then deeper, his tongue exploring lazily while his hips shifted beneath you. You felt him thickening again, the third round stirring as he broke the kiss to murmur, "On your knees. Show me how much you need my cock."

You slid down eagerly, the water lapping at your chest as you positioned yourself between his spread thighs. His erection stood proud, veined and glistening with your combined fluids. Wrapping your hand around the base, you leaned in, tongue flicking out to lap at the slit, tasting the salty mix of cum and arousal. Sunghoon's fingers threaded through your hair, guiding you gently at first. "Suck it. Take me deep."

Your lips parted, sliding over the head, hollowing your cheeks as you bobbed down, taking more with each pass. The jacuzzi's bubbles tickled your skin, adding to the sensory overload as you worked him with your mouth—tongue swirling along the underside, hand stroking what you couldn't fit. He groaned, hips bucking slightly, fucking your face with controlled thrusts. "God, your mouth... so fucking good. Look at me while you do it."

Eyes locked on his, darkened with lust, you hummed around his length, the vibration drawing a hiss from him. Saliva dripped down your chin, mixing with the water, as you deepthroated him, throat relaxing to accommodate his girth. His grip tightened, possessive, holding you there for a moment before letting you pull back for air. "Enough." he said hoarsely, hauling you up for another searing kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.

He spun you around then, pressing your back to his chest, legs draped over his as he positioned you. One arm locked around your waist, the other parting your thighs wide. "Spread for me," he commanded, fingers dipping into your soaked pussy, scooping out some of his cum before rubbing it over your clit. You moaned too cock drunk to speak, arching into his touch, but he was already lining up his cock, slamming home in one fluid motion.

This angle let him go deeper, the head of his dick battering your cervix with every upward thrust. Water splashed over the jacuzzi's edge as he fucked you relentlessly, his mouth on your neck, biting and licking. "You're mine to use"he whispered hotly, fingers returning to your clit, pinching and rolling it until you were sobbing with overstimulation. Your body betrayed you, hips grinding back despite the intensity, chasing the building pressure. "Yours only-fuck— yours." You managed to replied back.

He didn't let up, pace brutal, cock dragging against your g-spot with precision. The coil snapped violently—your pussy gushed around him, squirting in forceful arcs that mixed with the jacuzzi water, soaking his thighs. "Fuck, yes—squirt for me, baby," he praised, thrusting through it, prolonging the waves until you were a trembling mess.

Sunghoon came with a roar, flooding you once more, his body shuddering against yours. He held you close through the aftershocks, kisses turning tender, lips brushing your temple, your jaw. "All mine,"he murmured, finally softening and slipping out, cum trickling from your abused pussy.

Exhausted, he lifted you effortlessly, wrapping you in a towel before carrying you to the nearby lounge chair. The steam still hung in the air as he settled beside you, pulling you into his chest. His arms encircled you possessively, one hand stroking your hair as your eyelids grew heavy. "Sleep now" he whispered, voice soft and kissing the top of your head. You drifted off to the rhythm of his heartbeat, safe and claimed in his embrace.

The scent of miso soup and freshly baked melonpan woke you before sunlight did.

You blinked against the soft morning glow spilling in through the patterned blinds.

The mirror above the bed was foggy now from the jacuzzi steam the night before — a quiet, ghostly reminder of everything you’d done in this ridiculous love hotel.

The sheets were wrapped around you like a cocoon, and when you turned over, the space beside you was empty. But only for a second. Because then Sunghoon walked in, shirtless, hair a mess, tray in hand. Room service.

“Good morning, superstar,” he grinned. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes. “You ordered food?”

“I ordered everything.”

He plopped the tray down on the bed — steaming rice bowls, tamagoyaki, cut fruit in flower shapes, and melonpan fresh enough that you could smell the butter. Two iced coffees sat sweating in the corner. You blinked. “You remembered melonpan?”

“You moaned about it in your sleep,” he teased, climbing back into bed. You slapped his chest lightly. “You’re lying.”

“Maybe,” he grinned. “Maybe I just like hearing you moan.”

You groaned, flopping face-first into a pillow. “Stop talking.”

He chuckled. “That’s rich, coming from someone who begged me in a fake train room last night.”

You threw the other pillow at him.

He caught it mid-air. “I’m keeping this one. Smells like your shampoo.”

You peeked out from under the sheets, still flushed.

“Are you… always like this in the morning?”

“Only when I wake up with my favorite person naked beside me.”

He leaned over to kiss your cheek.

Then your shoulder. Then your chest.

You shoved him back with a laugh. “Eat your breakfast.” “I’m trying, but my meal’s hiding under all those blankets—ow, okay, I’m done—!”

He handed you a cup of coffee like it was the holy grail. You drank. Grateful. Warm in more ways than one. After a moment of silence, your voice dropped.

“So… this isn’t just a one-time thing, right?”

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate.

“Babe. I came like a dozen times and cried into your neck. You’re not getting rid of me.” You snorted into your cup. He reached across the tray, brushing your fingers with his.

“I mean it. I want you. All the time. After we go home. Even when you’re being annoying.”

You narrowed your eyes. “When am I annoying?”

“Specially when your annoying,” he smiled. He reached for his phone and, without asking, snapped a picture of you wrapped in blankets, coffee cup in hand, cheeks flushed from laughter.

You groaned. “No—delete that—!”

“Nope,” he grinned, adding it to an album. “This is my favorite version of you. Hair messy, barely alive, and mine.”

You went still. Then softly, “Yours?”

He looked up. “Of course.” Then quieter.

“...Always hoped you’d be.” You leaned in and kissed him slow. Sleepy. Full of a new kind of sweetness.

“Okay,” you whispered. “So what now?”

Sunghoon leaned back against the headboard, arm around you.

“We’ll finish the trip,” he said. “Take more pictures. Eat ridiculous food.”

Then, with a cheeky grin:

“See if the other rooms here have different themes. Maybe one with clouds? A plane? Hospital bed—?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, but hear me out—”

You shoved a piece of fruit into his mouth.

He chewed, smug.

Then he laced his fingers through yours.

“I want to do this every year,” he said seriously. “Travel. Get lost. End up somewhere weird.”

“With me?” you whispered.

“With you,” he said. “Always.”

@ tobiosbbyghorl 2026

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[heesunghooney]

CAN I CRY?!?!? I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD CRY 😭😭😭

[wispyn]

AFTER MIDNIGHT ❦ P.S

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄…박성훈 ︵ spring break always gets chaotic after midnight, so why not have a one night stand with a stranger?

content advisory: collegestudent!reader x ceo!sunghoon , hoon is older and rich , alcohol consumption , drunk sex (unprotected) , oral (m) , oral on the balcony lol , rough hoon , sub reader , dirty talk , praise!kink , biting , ass slapping , doggy , cowgirl , multiple orgasms , creampie , aftercare , mdni. 5872%

lena speaks: plot has been in my mind for everr, enjoy your spring break lovies and support heeseung always <3 ,

like and reblog for kisses !

The train screeched as it slowed, the sharp whistle cutting through the air before it finally came to a complete stop at Jeongdongjin. The sudden stillness made everyone shift in their seats, and within seconds the quiet carriage filled with movement. People stood, reaching up to grab their bags from the overhead racks, bumping shoulders and squeezing past one another as they hurried toward the exit. The narrow aisle quickly became crowded with travelers eager to get off after the long ride.

You and your group of friends stood shortly after, pulling down your bags and dragging your suitcases into the slow-moving line. The wheels scraped against the floor as you rolled them forward, the sound blending with the chatter of passengers and the shuffle of footsteps. When it was finally your turn, you stepped down from the train platform first, the cool coastal breeze immediately brushing against your skin.

You turned just in time to see Sunoo hop off behind you with an excited grin, stretching his arms as if the air itself was different here. Ningning stepped down next, her pink cowboy hat sitting proudly on her head—the same one she had impulsively bought the day before the trip. She had insisted it was “essential for spring break energy,” and now she wore it like a badge of honor. Keeho was the last one to step off the train, dragging his suitcase behind him with a tired sigh. He had spent nearly the entire two hour ride complaining about how much he hated trains and how renting a car would’ve been easier. But in his defense, he probably wasn’t wrong.

Finding a taxi, however, turned out to be harder than expected. A few cars passed by the station entrance, but every driver seemed to completely ignore Keeho, who stood near the curb waving his arm dramatically at each one. The more he tried, the more ridiculous it looked. It wasn’t until Ningning casually stepped forward that things finally changed. With one quick wave and a bright smile, a taxi slowed down almost instantly and pulled up beside the curb. Keeho stared at the car for a moment before scoffing under his breath.

The ride to the resort ended up being cramped, the three of you practically squeezed together in the back while the warm air lingered inside the vehicle. Keeho continued his complaints about how hot it was, dramatically fanning himself with his phone. Meanwhile, Ningning had somehow charmed the driver within seconds of getting in. He had even offered her the front seat without hesitation, and she happily accepted, the cool blast of air conditioning hitting her face while the rest of you sat packed together in the back.

After circling around a small roundabout lined with palm trees and coastal flowers, the taxi finally pulled up to the curb in front of the resort entrance. The driver stepped out to help with the luggage, pulling suitcases from the trunk while everyone stretched their legs after the ride. One by one, you each grabbed your bags. You bowed politely, thanking him for the ride before straightening up and finally letting your eyes wander toward the view ahead. The ocean stretched out in front of the resort, shimmering under the sunlight as waves rolled toward the shore. The salty scent of the sea lingered in the air, carried gently by the breeze. “Mm… you can smell the salt in the air,” you said quietly, taking a slow breath and letting the fresh scent fill your lungs.

Sunoo stepped beside you, squinting slightly as he looked up toward the bright sky. “Smells like spring break,” he said with a satisfied smile, clearly proud of the trip he had planned. Ningning walked back toward the group just as the taxi pulled away from the curb. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, adjusting the pink cowboy hat with an amused grin. “The idiot only charged me fourteen thousand won for the ride,” she snickered. Keeho laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “If prices drop every time you’re around, I should probably just follow you everywhere.” The four of you shared a quick laugh before continuing forward, rolling your suitcases along the wide stone pathway leading deeper into the resort.

Nothing, however, could have prepared any of you for the massive cruise ship sitting at the top of the steep cliff ahead. The structure towered over the coastline, its white exterior shining under the sunlight as if it had been placed there purely for dramatic effect. Sure, you had all seen photos of it online when Sunoo first suggested the trip—but seeing it in person was something completely different. You slowed your steps, staring at the scenery unfolding in front of you. It had been a while since you had taken a proper vacation like this, away from lectures, assignments, and the stress of college life. You were genuinely glad you had decided to come.

“How did they even get that boat up there?” Ningning suddenly asked, her voice pulling you out of your thoughts. There was always that saying—that even the most beautiful people had at least one flaw. For Ningning, unfortunately, that flaw was common sense. Sunoo barely glanced at her, his eyes still focused on the view in front of him. “It’s a cruise ship, you idiot,” he said flatly.

Ningning furrowed her brows, squinting up at the structure again like she was genuinely trying to figure it out before shrugging and continuing to walk. Keeho immediately launched into a rambling speech about how this was already the best spring break vacation he had ever been on, praising everything from the view to the weather. Sunoo happily accepted every compliment thrown his way, clearly proud of himself for planning the trip in the first place.

The sound of your suitcases rolled steadily along the concrete before shifting onto the smoother stone path that curved through the resort grounds. Your gaze wandered across the people walking nearby, noticing how many of them looked around your age. Groups of college students laughed as they carried beach bags and cameras, likely here for the same reason you were, to escape the stress of midterms and responsibilities, even if just for a few days.

You silently hoped this long weekend would turn out to be worth it.

The next day, the sun came up bright and early. It peaked through the glass windows, a friendly reminder that the day had just begun. Your group of four roamed the clean halls, talking over each other about what plans they had for the day. About the club that the resort had opened for spring breakers. Entering the large lobby, you did a turn into the cafeteria, where the staff behind the counter were already busy. It smelled of fresh fruits, vegetables, and the freshly squeezed orange juice an employee was prepping in the back. On the menu, it read a special: "Ship’s Spring Break Special: Korean Street Toast."

One by one, you each grabbed a tray and filled it up until nothing else could fit. You looked around for a place to sit, preferably by the window to look at the amazing view. Sunoo started talking about his midterms, hoping he didn't fail, but admitting he hadn't tried hard enough to be sure. "If the teacher has a bit of sympathy, she'll pass me," he said, taking a spoonful of his seaweed soup. Keeho looked over at him, shaking his head. "Cross your fingers. She looks like she takes everything way too seriously," he replied. Ningning then chimed in about her own midterm, explaining how easy it had felt.

But soon, you got sick of it. You came on this vacation to forget about school—to leave the stress of tests back in Seoul. You brought your cup of orange juice down to the table with a small thud, grabbing the attention of the others. "So, what are we doing today?" you asked. Ningning took a bite of her bread, holding up her index finger until she finally swallowed. "As much as the pool here is beautiful, I wanna go to their private beach," she said, sipping on the mimosa she’d excitedly grabbed earlier. Sunoo nodded. "The UV is at five. It’s perfect for tanning." They both smiled, happy they were on the same page. "I'm fine with the beach," Keeho agreed. After a few more bites, the group finally headed down.

It was a small hike, but worth it. The ocean built up strong waves, creating a dramatic roar as it swept up onto the tan sand. The water was a perfect blue, mixing with the sky as the sun beamed high. You and Ningning found chaise lounge chairs with privacy curtains. You tossed your bag down and folded the curtains back so the sun could hit the chairs directly. You began with the sunscreen, rubbing it all over your body until it covered every hidden spot. You lay down then, sliding on your sunglasses and letting the beams toast your skin. Ningning hummed a joyful tune, watching as Sunoo and Keeho played in the water like little kids. She looked over at you, letting out a small chuckle. Her thigh brushing against yours as she sighed into the breeze. "It feels nice, doesn't it?" she asked, sliding her body further down the lounge chair to maximize the exposure. "Doing something different other than staring at a laptop, making coffees until my skin reeks of espresso, and best of all—not dealing with any boys." She dragged out the word boys with a playful, bitter edge.

You chuckled, tilting your head towards her without opening your eyes. You knew her cycle too well. "Has Soobin called you yet?" The silence that followed was your answer. She let out a long, jagged sigh. "No. But he said he would. You heard him, right? Standing by the taxi? He promised he’d call to ask how the trip was." You slid your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose, peering at her. She looked pathetic in the most beautiful way—worried, annoyed, and still holding hope for a guy who was probably already on top of another girl. "Ning, I have no idea why you still let him breathe your air," you spoke plainly, your voice dropping to a grounded, blunt tone. "He clearly doesn’t want to settle down. He looks for you for one thing, and once he gets it, he ghosts until he’s hungry again. Don't settle for a dirtbag just because he has a pretty face.”

She groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes to shield them from the glare. "I know, I know. It’s just... the habit. I don't know how to move on when my body still remembers him." A wicked thought sparked in your mind. You sat up abruptly, the movement causing your bikini top to shift, and you smirked, pulling your sunglasses off completely. "Jesus, Ning. You don't need a phone call. You need sex."

Ningning’s jaw dropped, a hysterical giggle bubbling out of her as she covered her face. "A one-night stand? Seriously? How would that even work here? Everyone is a stranger." "That is exactly the point!" you scoffed, leaning closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We’re on spring break. It’s the international holiday for bad decisions. You find someone tonight, you flirt and touch for a few hours, and then you never see them again. No feelings, no 'where is this going' texts. Just pure, mindless friction."

Ningning’s eyes began to wander, her gaze drifting over the other vacationers until they suddenly snagged on something. Her expression shifted from skeptical to predatory. "Think I might be looking at my meal for later," she whispered, her voice low. You turned your head, and the air left your lungs. Three men were playing football in the shallow surf, their bodies carved out of granite and glistening with saltwater. One in particular, the one in the center, was a total eclipse of the sun. He was big, his pale skin glowing against the black of his trunks. Every time he moved to catch the ball, the muscles in his back and biceps flexed in a way that felt like a personal insult to your self-control. He wore a black hat backward, and his trunks sat dangerously low on his hips, revealing a deep, sharp V-line that disappeared into the water. You felt a sudden, thrumming ache between your thighs, a sharp heat that made you instinctively cross your legs and bite your index finger.

"God, please let them be at the club tonight," you whispered, the words coming out. "I’d let him touch me for hours." You and Ningning burst into a fit of breathless, dirty laughter just as Keeho and Sunoo walked up from the water, dripping wet. "What's so funny?" Keeho asked, flopping down onto the sand near your feet and shaking his head like a dog, spraying you with cold droplets. "Just talking about our plans for the evening," you giggled, eyes still darting back to the man in the water. "Hey, if one of us disappears tonight, don't call the police. Just assume we're being well taken care of."

Sunoo leaned against the end of Ningning's chair, running a hand through his damp hair. "The sudden change in attitude? You’d never say something that scandalous back home. You're usually the 'let's stay in and watch a movie' girl." You shrugged as you took a slow sip of your drink. "It’s spring break, Sunoo. What happens on break stays here. My morals are officially on vacation." "Should I be worried for my safety?" Keeho snickered, standing up and grabbing your hand with a firm tug. "You guys are acting weird. Come on, get your asses in the water before you melt."

Keeho didn't give you a choice, his grip firm and playful as he hauled you toward the shoreline. The first hit of the water was sharp against your ankles, sending a jolt straight up your spine that made you shriek with a mix of adrenaline and pure joy. You fumbled with your sunglasses, tossing them blindly toward the sand before diving deeper. Sunoo and Ningning were right on your heels, their laughter cutting through the heavy roar of the tide. The water felt like a second skin as it swirled around your waist, tugging at the ties of your bikini. But as you wiped the spray from your eyes and turned your head, the breath hitched in your throat.

He was closer now. The game of football had drifted, or perhaps he had steered it, until he was only a few yards away. Up close, the view was devastating. He was an absolute mountain of a man—chest broad enough to block out the sun and shoulders that looked like they were carved from marble. Every time a wave hit him, the water broke against his skin. Your eyes locked, and the world around you blurred. The sound of Keeho splashing and Ningning’s high-pitched giggling faded into a dull hum, replaced by the humming of your own pulse in your ears. He didn't look away. Instead, he let his gaze drop, slowly and carefully tracing the curve of your body beneath the water before bringing his dark, hooded eyes back to yours.

The club was exactly how you imagined it on vacation. Alcohol everywhere, house music pumping through your veins, and bodies swaying against yours as you danced recklessly. You wore something skimpier now, a soft blush pink dress covered in an intricate floral fabric that felt like velvet against your skin. The gold starfish pinned to the chest caught every stray beam of light, holding a sheer pink sash that draped down your front, while the ruffled hem teased the tops of your thighs. It was short, barely covering your ass, but it was so perfect. You paired it with some nude sandals, also perfect and much better than tripping on your own feet in heels.

You stood near the entrance, swaying just a tad as the alcohol started to get to your head. Your eyes squinted, looking for Ningning’s familiar figure until she appeared in the crowd. She grabbed your arm, leaning into your ear and speaking loud enough for you to hear over the bass. "They don't wanna leave! They met some people, so let's just leave together!" she yelled. You nodded, and both of you walked toward the exit until the fresh air hit your face.

The wind was like a slap to the face, but it felt good. After hours spent squished between people and the smell of sweat, the salty air was just what you needed. You held onto Ningning tightly, as she was a bit more tipsy than you but still able to recognize her surroundings. "I really took your advice seriously yn," she said, giggling as you walked. "Tried to find someone but... none of them were interesting." Ningning shrugged, continuing her giggles. You only smiled, teasing her as you stepped into the quiet luxury of the lobby.

"It's okay, don't listen to me." You sat her down on a chair, and she hummed a tune from earlier tonight. She continued to babble about the night, who she met, what she drank, and how fun it felt to finally party. "We really need to thank Sunoo for this trip. I'm so glad we're here." She inhaled the fresh air, letting out a sigh of relief before looking around.

Ningning automatically noticed a sign outside a door, her vision 20/20 even with alcohol in her system. She tugged at your pink dress, making eye contact immediately. "What if we crash a party?" she suggested, springing up from her seat. Your brows furrowed, looking at her before turning around. A door that was propped open led to an event held in a private, dim garden. You smirked, grabbing her arm and pulling her over. You both teased each other as you crossed the lobby, whispering about playing it cool, trying to blend in, and most of all—not making a scene.

You passed the sign, walking through the door and into the private garden. It was nicely decorated; a fountain bubbled in one corner, and people in expensive suits and dresses were scattered around. Fairy lights hung from the trees, and the greenery was perfectly manicured. There weren't many people, but it was enough to blend in. Your eyes wandered until they caught another pair—the same dark, intense eyes you’d locked with earlier today.

Except he wasn't shirtless now. Or wearing a backwards hat. He wore an all-black suit with the top buttons open just a little, showing a hint of his collarbone. His hair fell casually over his forehead, and a gold chain glinted against his skin. He stood with the same guys from the beach, all looking completely different in their formal wear. You broke eye contact, looking anywhere but at him. "What do you think this is?" you wondered.

Ningning seemed as clueless as you, but her eyes glistened. "I don't know, but I see a bar." She laughed, pulling you toward it. You both took seats at the end of the bar, quickly asking for drinks. The bartender placed a coaster first, then the dirty martini you ordered. You took a sip, the cold alcohol spiking through your body as Ningning looked over her shoulder. "There’s a food table," she quietly gasped. "I’m hungry, please don't stop me." She giggled, making her way to the appetizers.

Left alone, you continued to sip on your martini as the chatter of older people filled your ears. You couldn't help but look back again, searching for the guy from the beach. But he was gone—not in the spot where you first spotted him. Your eyes went back to your glass, feeling a bit bored until someone sat in the empty stool next to you.

The guy from the beach.

His cologne was so strong and expensive it made your head swirl. His large hands were folded as he looked toward the bartender. You tried to act normal, looking straight ahead even though you desperately wanted to stare at his profile. The man behind the counter appeared, giving him a respectful nod. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Just your finest bourbon, please," he answered. His voice was even deeper than you expected, a rich baritone that made your stomach flip. His eyes then went toward you, scanning your side profile as you stared down at your drink. He smiled, checking the time on his watch before the bartender returned. Finally, you looked up, watching as he took a slow sip of the auburn liquid. He set the glass down, locking eyes with you and smiling. "Fun party, is it not?" he started, turning his stool toward you. You nodded shyly, looking back at your martini. "Yeah... congratulations to whoever this party is for," you awkwardly chuckled, the alcohol finally hitting.

He looked surprised, then a smirk played on his lips as he watched your expression. "You know the couple?" You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and nodded. "They're my friends," you cleared your throat, looking over at Ningning who was busy talking to someone at the buffet. As cute as he was, you felt so awkward. He laughed again, a little louder this time, the sound rich and vibrating in the small space between your stools. "You're a great liar," he murmured, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Your eyebrows furrowed, your heart doing a nervous little dance in your chest. "Excuse me?" you said, turning fully to look at him. He was devastatingly gorgeous. His dark, thick eyebrows gave him an almost intimidating look, and his skin was flawlessly pale against the black of his suit. You caught the sight of tiny moles scattered across his face—near his eye, on his nose—each one looking like a target for a kiss. His nose was sharp and straight, and when he smirked, his lips pulled back to reveal slight fangs that made him look more like a predator than a regular guy.

"If you're going to crash a party, at least know what you're getting into," he chuckled, swirling the ice in his bourbon. "This isn't a wedding. Company parties are usually far too boring to crash. You should have walked next door, that’s where you would have found your 'friends' and their white dress." He mischievously snickered, his ego peaking as he watched the realization hit your face. You couldn't help but laugh—laugh at how dumb you felt, but also because his confidence was infectious. You rubbed your forehead, looking back at him through your lashes. "A company party, huh? So I’m surrounded by corporate sharks?"

"Something like that," he nodded, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before meeting your eyes again. He played with the edge of his coaster, his long fingers moving with a slow grace. "I'm certain you aren't part of this firm. So, what brings a girl like you into a room full of suits?" "Spring break," you replied, taking a brave sip of your martini. "I’m a college student."

His eyebrows lifted, a genuine flash of surprise crossing his face. He hesitated, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to take it all in. He looked you over once, then twice, his gaze lingering on the sheer sash draped over your chest. "A student," he repeated, his voice dropping. "I suppose I should have guessed. You really have the look." He scoffed. "And you?" you countered, feeling bold. "I assume you're some high-level executive who happened to tag along to keep your colleagues in line?" He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm Sunghoon," he said, ignoring the question with a flirty tilt of his head. He leaned into your space, the scent of his cologne shushing your thoughts. "Is it okay if the pretty girl tells me her name? Or do you want to keep anonymous?"

"Yn," you said simply, feeling the heat of a blush creeping onto your cheeks. You both sat at that bar for what felt like hours, the rest of the party blurring into a hum of background noise. You learned that he was thirty, and the way he spoke was so calm, measured, and completely unfazed by the chaos around him—it made you feel like the center of his universe. He told you about his dog back home, Gaeul, and how he missed the quiet of Seoul compared to the loud, neon energy of the resort. He listened when you talked about your midterms, his eyes never leaving yours, making you feel much older than twenty-two.

By your second martini, the world felt lightweight. You were conscious of every time his knee brushed against yours, every time his hand moved closer to yours on the mahogany bar. "I’m going to use the restroom," you finally said, feeling the need to catch your breath away from his intense stare. You looked around, trying to find a door through the maze of fairy lights.

Sunghoon stood up abruptly, his tall frame casting a shadow over you. He didn't step aside; he blocked your path, his expression shifting from flirty to something much darker, much more possessive. "I know the men at this party, yn," he whispered, leaning down until his breath hitched against your ear. His hand moved, fingers wrapping firmly around your forearm to bring you a fraction closer. The heat of his palm was so electric. "The bathrooms down here... they aren't fit for a sweet girl like you. Especially not by this hour."

He let the silence hang for a moment, his thumb stroking the skin of your wrist in a slow circle. "Why don't you come up to my room? It's cleaner. It's quiet. And I have a bottle of vintage champagne up there that’s been waiting for a reason to be opened." He smirked, his eyes hooded as they locked onto yours. "I think you’re a very good reason, don't you?" You looked up at him, the thrill of the "one-night stand" you’d joked about with Ningning suddenly becoming very, very real. "Okay," you whispered, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. "Lead the way, Sunghoon." He didn't waste a second. Sunghoon’s hand moved from your arm to the small of your back, his palm a steady, burning weight that guided you away from the bar and toward the elevators. You didn't look back for Ningning; you knew she was likely off on her own adventure, and right now, your heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

The elevator lobby was quiet, the gold-plated doors gleaming under the soft recessed lighting. Sunghoon pressed the button for the penthouse, and the wait felt like an eternity. When the chime finally rang and the doors slid open, he ushered you inside.

The moment the doors hissed shut, the world changed. The muffled bass of the club and the chatter of the garden party vanished, replaced by a silence so thick. You were trapped in a small, mirrored box with a man who was nearly a head taller than you, smelling of bourbon and that intoxicating cedar cologne.

You caught your reflection in the polished chrome. You looked flushed, your eyes bright with a mixture of alcohol and adrenaline. Next to you, Sunghoon looked devastatingly composed. His fingers went straight to the buttons of his black shirt, undoing one, then two, until his chest was partially open. The gold chain he wore caught the light, resting against his pale skin. He caught you watching his hands in the mirror and smirked, a slow, dark expression that made your knees feel like water.

"You're very quiet all of a sudden," he murmured, his voice echoing in the confined space. He stepped closer, crowding you into the corner of the elevator. He didn't touch you yet, but the heat radiating off his black suit jacket was enough to make your skin prickle. "Not getting cold feet, are you?" "I don't get cold feet," you countered, though your voice was a little breathier than you intended. "Good," he rasped, leaning down so his lips were inches from your neck. "Because I’ve been remarkably patient today, and I’m reaching my limit."

The elevator dinged, the doors opening directly into his suite. You stepped out and nearly gasped. It wasn't just a hotel room; it was a sprawling, modern masterpiece. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls wrapped around the entire space, offering a staggering, 360-degree view of the resort's coastline and the dark, shimmering ocean you’d been swimming in earlier that day. The furniture was all dark leather and polished wood, and the air was perfectly chilled. It screamed wealth, the kind of rich you didn't even want to put a price tag on yet.

Sunghoon tossed his blazer onto a chair, his black button-down stretching across his broad shoulders as he gestured toward a set of double doors. "The master bath is through there," he said, his eyes trailing down the length of your pink dress one more time before meeting your gaze. "Take your time. I'll get the champagne started." You nodded, clutching your sheer sash as you ducked into the bathroom. The moment the door clicked shut, you leaned your back against the cool marble and let out the breath you’d been holding.

The bathroom was insane—a deep soaking tub, a rain shower that could fit four people, and enough Carrara marble to floor a cathedral. But you didn't actually have to use the restroom. You walked over to the massive vanity, gripping the edge of the sink as you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your pupils were blown wide. Your chest was heaving. You looked at the gold starfish on your dress, then back at your own reflection. You let out a hysterical little laugh bubbling up in your throat. You had crashed a corporate party, picked up a man nearly a decade older than you, and now you were in a penthouse suite that probably cost more than your entire trip here.

You took a deep breath, smoothing the ruffles of your dress and checking your hair. You weren't going to make him wait a second longer.

The suite was quiet, but the only sound that you hear was the muffled roar of the ocean far below. Your eyes scanned the dim room until they landed on the open glass slider. The sheer curtains billowed in the night breeze, leading your gaze out to the massive wrap-around balcony.

Sunghoon was standing there, his back to you as he leaned against the railing. He had discarded his black button-down loosely into his slacks. Even from behind, his shoulders were imposing, the fabric straining against his frame. He heard the soft click of your sandals on the hardwood and turned slowly, a silver bucket with a bottle of champagne resting on the small outdoor table beside him. He had opened his shirt even further while you were in the bathroom. The dark fabric hung open, revealing the hard, pale planes of his chest. The moonlight hit the sharp angles of his face, making him look like something out of a high-end editorial—expensive, untouchable, and utterly lethal.

"I was beginning to think you took the opportunity and left," he teased, his voice low and raspy as it carried over the wind. You walked toward him, the ruffled hem of your dress fluttering against your thighs. As you stepped onto the balcony, the humidity of the tropical night wrapped around you, a stark contrast to the chilled air of the suite. The view was staggering—the entire coastline was lit up like a string of diamonds, the black expanse of the sea stretching out into infinity.

"I told you I don't get cold feet," you reminded him, stopping just a few inches away. The alcohol was still humming in your system, giving you a boost of confidence you didn't usually possess. Sunghoon reached for the bottle, the pop of the cork echoing into the night. He poured two glasses, the bubbles hissing as he handed one to you. His fingers brushed against yours—a lingering contact that sent a fresh jolt of electricity straight to your core.

"To being on this vacation," he murmured. You raised your glass to his, the crystal clinking with a sharp, expensive ring that echoed into the tropical night. "To coincidentally meeting each other," you countered, a playful challenge in your tone. You watched him over the rim as the sparkling champagne hit the back of your throat, the vintage bubbles crisp and potent. It was far stronger than anything you usually drank, hitting your system with a rush that made the stars above seem to dance.

When you pulled the glass away, Sunghoon was staring out at the coastline, a dark, thoughtful smile playing on his lips. He looked as if he’d just stumbled upon a prize he had no intention of letting go. "You know, I've been doing this corporate life for such a short time in the grand scheme... but it feels like forever," he started, his deep voice making you crave him with a sudden, sharp ache between your thighs.

He turned toward you, his movements slow as he invaded your space. He crowded you against the railing until the scent of his cologne and bourbon was all you could breathe. He reached out, his thumb hooking under the edge of the sheer pink sash draped over your shoulder, tugging it just enough to make the silk rasp against your bare skin. "And when I work, far away... away from home... I always want to come home to something else other than my dog," he chuckled, placing his hand on your waist. You smirked, looking up at him with a sneaky, alcohol-dazed look. "Too bored to play with yourself, Sunghoon?" you teased.

He scoffed, a dark, amused sound as he pulled you in closer while you set your glass on the side table. "Why do all that when I can have a sweet girl like you do it all for me, hm?" he rumbled, his thumb soothing the sensitive skin of your side. You made eye contact with him and smiled, geeking at the intensity of the situation. "A girl my age...obviously we always seek for pension. For someone who’s already figured it out," you said, your hand dangerously planting against the hard, bunched muscle of his bicep.

"Doll, I'd buy you everything you ever mentioned. Anything you'll touch, and everything you'll ever dream of," he whispered into your ear now. His hand went up to your neck, pushing your head out just enough to lay a firm, lingering kiss there. He placed another soft kiss lower, making you squirm as his lips grazed your collarbone. "You'd never have to lift a finger again, not around me," he assured, placing another kiss on the sensitive cord of your neck.

"You're lucky I'm not that kind of girl," you whispered, right before Sunghoon finally leaned in for the kiss. It felt so passionate, the way he slowly kissed you, his lips moving with a hungry rhythm. You melted into his touch, wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to eat him whole. His tongue slipped in, taking your breath away as he pulled you closer, hungrier than before. The taste of bourbon mixed with the sweet champagne in your mouth as his lips finally drifted down to your neck.

He began to suck deep, dark marks into your skin, claiming his prize. You stared out into the sky and moaned freely, letting him mark you deeply, when suddenly you felt his teeth sink into your pulse point. He bit you hard and a sharp whimper escaped your lips as he looked back at you and smiled obsessively. "Now that I've got you up here and like this..." he smirked, his fangs peeking out. "Tell me what you are going to do with me? Are you going to keep teasing me, or are you going to show me exactly how dirty a college girl can be?"

“Why say when I can just show you?” You say, smiling as you pecked his bruised lips. The alcohol, the adrenaline of the crash, and the magnetic pull of this man had finally snapped the last of your inhibitions. You let your gaze drop from his intense eyes, tracing the line of his throat down to where the gold chain rested against his skin, and then further down to the low-slung waistband of his black slacks.

You sank to your knees slowly, the ruffled hem of your dress bunching up around your thighs as the cool tiles of the balcony met your skin. Sunghoon let out a sharp exhale, his entire body stiff as he realized exactly what you were doing. "Yn..." he warned, but there was no bite in it—only a raw desperation. You reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as you fumbled with the button of his slacks. The sound of his zipper sliding down was loud in the quiet of the night, followed immediately by the heavy thrum of the ocean waves below.

When you finally freed him, the sight took your breath away—he was thick, pulsing, and already leaking a bead of desire that glistened under the moonlight. His cock was as perfect as him, and you desperately wanted a taste of it.

You spit in your palm, the heat of the night making the slickness feel like molten silk as you lubed up his thick, heavy length. Sunghoon’s breath hitched, a sharp sound as he bit his lower lip, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the railing. He watched with a dark look while your hand began to pump him back and forth, the wet friction of your skin against his causing his hips to twitch instinctively. Finally, you started off with slow, teasing kitten licks at the very tip, tasting the salty, sweet beads of pre-cum that leaked from him with every rhythmic stroke. He tasted exactly how he smelled—expensive, masculine, and utterly intoxicating.

You swirled your tongue around the broad, pulsing head, hearing his breathing turn uneven and ragged as his hand finally found your hair. He didn't grip it just yet; instead, he carefully tucked the stray strands behind your ears, his fingers trembling slightly. He made sure he had an unobstructed, crystal-clear view of your flushed, pretty face worshiping his cock under the moonlight.

"So beautiful...but stop teasing me and give me the whole experience, yeah?" he rasped, his voice dropping that vibrated in the air. His fingers suddenly tangled deep at the base of your skull, his grip tightening with a firm, dominant possessiveness that forced your head forward. You gave him a small smile, your eyes locked onto his, before stretching your mouth wide and taking his entire cock in. You hummed low in your throat around the thickness, making his entire body shudder. You tried to take every inch, but he was just so massive it felt physically impossible; your jaw ached and your eyes watered as you began to bop your head frantically, determined to please him.

Sunghoon had to admit—he’d had his share of hookups, women who knew exactly what they were doing—but he had never let someone as young and fresh as you touch him like this. He looked down at you, his eyes glazed with a lethal amount of lust, his ego soaring as he watched you struggle to accommodate him. He silently prayed you were the last person who would ever get to see him this undone. You were so fucking incredible, a hurricane of pure, unadulterated talent.

Your hands slid up the hard, tensed planes of his thighs, reaching for his shirt to frantically unbutton the rest of the dark fabric. As it fell open, his flexed, rock-hard abs were bathed in the silver glow of the moon, the muscles rippling and glistening with sweat with every guttural groan he let out while you continued to throat him. Sunghoon’s other hand gripped the top of your head, holding you still with a bruising strength as he began to ruthlessly thrust into your mouth. Your lips stretched to their absolute limit, allowing him to fill you completely, his girth stretching your cheeks until they were white.

"Ahhh—so warm," he muttered, a low chuckle vibrating in his throat as his eyes drifted shut in pure ecstasy. He began to fuck your face faster now, the force of his thrusts bringing your nose into contact with the musky base of his cock. Each lunging movement was a reminder of his power, his hips snapping forward with a dominant precision. "Doing so g-good... letting me fuck your mouth like a tight, hungry p-pussy," he moaned, his voice breaking as he opened his eyes to watch the wreckage he was making of you. Your hands found his thighs again, gripping the corded muscle so tightly your knuckles turned white; it felt like he was trying to rip you open with the sheer size of him. Between your legs, you were a soaking mess, your own nectar coating your thighs and the balcony floor as the raw, dominant sight of him made you come right there on your knees.

He held your head in a grip, hot tears of pleasure pricking your eyes as his tip slammed against your uvula like a bell. Your muffled moans sent fresh vibrations through him, and as you instinctively swallowed around his length, his thrusts began to stutter and fail. He was so close; you could feel the tension coiling in his hips, the muscles in his legs locking tight.

He pulled out abruptly, your thick saliva coating his pulsing cock as he pumped himself frantically in front of your face. You tried to catch your breath, gasping for air, but his heavy groin practically blocked the world out as he loomed over you. "Open that pretty mouth, doll," he commanded, his voice a primal snap that brooked no argument.

You obeyed instantly, your tongue out and waiting, your face tilted up toward him. He slapped the broad, hot tip against your tongue once, twice, before finally letting out his heavy loads of semen. He painted you white, the thick, hot cream coating your tongue, your lips, and your cheek until he finally had nothing left to give. You didn't waste a drop, looking him dead in the eye with a defiant, hungry gaze as you swallowed every bit of his release, your throat working visibly to take all of him down.

Sunghoon hauled you up, his strength effortless as he pulled you into a bruising, messy kiss, tasting his own release on your tongue as if he wanted to reclaim every part of himself he'd given you. He pulled back just enough to wipe the stray, salty tears from your cheeks, his dark eyes shimmering with an obsessive, glazed-over heat. "Let me take care of you now," he rasped, his own legs heavy and weak, yet he guided you toward the sprawling king-sized bed with the single-minded focus of a man who was only just getting started.

The click of the nightstand light bathed the room in a warm, amber glow, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the gold chain resting against his collarbone. He didn't let go, wrapping his massive frame around you from behind, his lips finding the sensitive, marked skin of your neck. The contact was electric—half-ticklish, half-lethal. "Stop teasing me, Hoonie," you whispered, the new nickname hitting him like a physical jolt to the gut.

He groaned at the sound of it, his hands sliding up to the bodice of your strapless dress. With a sudden, downward jerk, he freed your tits. You weren't wearing a bra, and they sprung out into the cool air, the tips already pebbled and aching for his touch. Sunghoon didn't hesitate; his hands came around to grope you obsessively, squeezing the soft mounds together until they overflowed between his long, elegant fingers. He began to roll your nipples between his thumbs, tugging and pinching with a pressure that made your knees buckle.

"Please—please fuck me, Hoonie—I'm so desperate," you begged, the alcohol stripping away every filter and leaving you raw. He let out a low chuckle, his chin resting on your shoulder as he pulled down the rest of the pink floral dress. The dress pooled at your feet, leaving you entirely bare in the amber light. "Bend over for me on the bed. Now," he ordered.

You scrambled onto the silk sheets, burying your face in the plush pillows and arching your back until your ass was high in the air, a silent invitation for the wreckage to come. You heard the frantic rustle of his clothes hitting the floor—the heavy thud of his shoes, the hiss of his slacks—and then the bed groaned under his massive weight. His calloused hands found your hips, his eyes darkening as he saw how soaked you were, your arousal coating your inner thighs and glistening in the light.

"So soaked... my pretty girl can't wait to be used, huh?" he teased, his voice thick with hunger. He lifted your knees, positioning you exactly where he wanted you before leaning down. His tongue lashed across your clit in one long, wet strip from front to back. You jumped, a high-pitched giggle moan escaping you as he did it again, devouring your sweetness with a greedy, expert tongue. "Perfect taste. You’re fucking perfect," he praised, his voice muffled against your flesh. Then, without warning, he sank his teeth into the soft meat of your ass. You let out a sharp whimper of pure pleasure-pain, already knowing the marks he was leaving would be dark and deep.

He grabbed his throbbing cock and lined it up with your pulsing, expectant entrance. He pushed in slowly, just the tip at first, stretching you wide until you felt like you might snap. You gasped, the sheer size of him feeling like he was tearing through your very soul. "S-so big, Hoonie... it hurts," you whined, your eyes red-rimmed and hazy as you looked back at him.

He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your bare back as he captured your lips in a deep, soul-searching kiss. "I've got you, baby. I'll be gentle until you're ready. I'll go slow," he promised, though the strain in his voice told you how much it was costing him to hold back. He began to slide in, inch by agonizing inch, until he was buried to the hilt. You breathed heavily, your insides fluttering as they finally adjusted to his massive girth. The pain dissolved into a heavy, throbbing heat that felt like a drug. "Mmm, go faster, babe... I can handle it now," you urged, batting your lashes and backing your weight up against him. You began to grind your ass against his lap, the friction sending a growl ripping through Sunghoon’s throat.

He took total, ruthless control. His hands gripped your waist like iron claws as he began to drill into you, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room alongside the scent of sex and sea salt. Each thrust was deep and rhythmic, his balls slapping against your ass with a frantic, wet thud. He reached back and delivered a sharp, stinging slap to your right cheek, the red mark blooming instantly on your pale skin. "Such a tight pussy, fuck," he hissed, his head thrown back, his veins corded in his neck. "Gonna mold myself into you... make it so only I can fit inside you."

He was relentless, his thumbs digging into your hips as he drove himself harder and harder, bruising your walls. You were crying out now, your face buried in the sheets as he slapped you again in the same spot, the sting sending a jolt of lightning straight to your clit. You felt your orgasm coiling in your lower stomach, a knot of pure fire that refused to break. He kept you on the edge, teasing you by pulling out almost entirely before slamming back in with a force that made you see stars.

"Not yet yn," he spoke, sensing your peak. "You don't get to finish until I tell you." He shifted his grip, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back so you had to watch your own reflection in the mirrored ceiling as he hammered into you. The sight of him, so dominant, sweat-slicked, and focused—pushed you even further. "Sunghoon, please! I'm gonna cum! I can't hold it," you sobbed, your body trembling.

"Let's cum together," he rasped, his voice finally breaking. He delivered three final, soul-crushing thrusts, burying himself as deep as possible, his knot expanding inside you as he spent himself. You felt the scorching heat of him filling you up like icing, your whole body shaking and convulsing around him until your knees finally gave out for good.

You crashed down into the pillows, the room spinning as Sunghoon pulled out and collapsed beside you. He lay there, his arm over his eyes, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. You sat up slowly, your body sore and buzzing, watching him with a wide, drunken smile. You climbed on top of him, your bare skin slick with sweat and the heavy, musky scent of the last hour. You straddled his hips, watching the drained man peek from under his arm as a lazy, satisfied smile spread across your face.

"What're you doing?" He chuckled. His large hands instinctively found your ass once again, his thumbs tracing the heat of your skin. You leaned down, your hair falling like a curtain around his face, and pressed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to his chest. "I wanna go again," you stated, your voice dropping into a purr. You trailed your lips up to his neck, finding the pulse point where the skin was still hot and marked. Sunghoon closed his eyes, his head falling back into the pillows as he let you mark him up everywhere. "Still so sensitive, sweet girl," he whispered, his breath hitching as your teeth grazed his jaw.

You sat up, your hand reaching down to find his cock—already thickening and hardening again under the mere weight of your thighs. You hovered over him, the tip teasing your swollen, soaking entrance, before you sank down fast. You let out a strangled cry as he filled you up to the hilt, the stretch feeling even more intense now that you were already sensitized and bruised from before.

"Doesn't seem so sensitive to me," you giggled, your voice trembling with the fullness of him. You began to rock your hips forward in a slow, grinding circle, feeling his thick groin blunt-force its way against all your internal walls. You let out a loud, long sigh of pleasure, your muscles aching but your hunger far from satisfied.

Your hands pushed against his hard, flexed chest, riding his cock at a faster, more desperate pace now. Sunghoon watched you with a glazed, obsessive look, his hand coming up to deliver a sharp, stinging slap to your ass. The sudden shock made you jump, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips as the sting radiated through your core. He couldn't get enough of the sight of you—drunk, naked, and riding his worn-out member like your life depended on it. "You're so perfect... so fucking perfect," he praised, his voice a guttural groan. He reached up, his hands locking onto your hips and physically directing your movements, forcing you into a deeper, more punishing rhythm. "Taking all of me again. Such a greedy little thing."

You changed the pace now, holding onto his thick thighs for balance as you began to jump on his cock like a bunny. Your tits bounced wildly with every movement, your moans getting cut off as your breath hitched in your throat. With every downward plunge, you felt the tip of him hitting your lower belly—striking that deep, hidden spot that sent electricity through your entire frame.

Sunghoon sat up abruptly, his core muscles rippling as his mouth found your tit automatically. His tongue twirled the sensitive bud around, sucking on it like a hungry child while you watched from above, your head lolling back with pleasure. He moved on to the other, devouring it, his teeth grazing the tip just enough to make you shriek.

"God, Hoon, please don't stop," you moaned, throwing an arm around his neck and pulling his face deeper into your chest. He wrapped his massive arm around your waist, and suddenly he began to thrust up to meet your downward strikes. The double friction was overwhelming; you choked out a sob as literal tears of ecstasy began to track down your cheeks. His hot breaths were ghosting against your skin as he went rough, fucking your pussy with a primal, renewed urgency.

You felt your second orgasm coiling tight, the waves of pleasure crashing over you, but Sunghoon gripped your hips and held you still for a second, teasing you, refusing to let you drop yet. "Yn…," he rasped, his eyes burning into yours. "Look at me when you cum."

The tension snapped. You rode the sensation out as Sunghoon let out a final moan, coming for the third time tonight. Both of your milks combined inside you, a hot, overflowing mess that seeped out as his cock finally began to soften within your walls. You both made eye contact again, both of you flushed and completely spent, sharing a smile that felt far too intimate for two people who had just met hours ago. He leaned in, kissing you with a desperate, all-consuming passion, his tongue sweeping through your mouth as if he wanted to taste every part of you one last time.

You eventually pushed away, slowly and wetly pulling off of him. You collapsed onto the silk sheets next to him, staring up at the ceiling as you tried to remember how to breathe. Sunghoon lay there for a moment, his eyes drifting down to catch the sight of the white liquid cream dripping from between your thighs and staining the sheets.

Without a word, he rolled out of bed, standing tall and nude in the light. He disappeared into the marble bathroom, the sound of the faucet echoing for a second before he returned with a warm, wet cloth in his hand. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at you shamelessly, his gaze trailing over every mark he’d left on your skin.

"You okay, doll?" he comforted, his voice soft and caring. You nodded, the heavy weight of sleep finally starting to pull at your eyelids. "Yeah... I'm okay," you replied, your voice a mere whisper.

"I'm going to clean you up." He folded the cloth over his hand and touched your inner thigh. The warmth made you squirm and jerk instinctively, but he held your leg still with a gentle, firm hand. He wiped the semen from your skin with slow, tender strokes, treating you like something fragile and precious. He even came back a second time to gently wipe the smudged makeup and dried tears from your cheeks, his touch incredibly light.

"Hoon, you don't have to do all this," you murmured, your eyes falling shut. He hummed in response, his thumb tracing your jawline as he cleaned off the dried tears. "What kind of man would I be to leave you like this?" he asked rhetorically. He was a man, through and through, possessive in the heat of it, and devastatingly protective in the aftermath.

He set the cloth aside and reached over to kill the light, plunging the suite into a soft, moonlit blue. He pulled the heavy duvet over both of you, making sure you were tucked in and warm. He tugged at your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest, his large arms wrapping around you like a shield. You let out a sigh of pure relief, but before sleep took you, you turned in his arms.

He already had his eyes closed, his breathing leveling out, but your delicate fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, making him open his dark eyes one last time. You reached up for a soft, quick kiss—tender and quiet. You tucked your head under his chin, listening to the steady beat of his heart as you finally let the sleep take over.

Your eyes fluttered open, the harsh brightness of the tropical sun cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows to wake you. You stirred, the silk sheets cool against your bare skin, until you finally sat up and looked around. The scale of the suite hit you all over again—the marble, the designer furniture, the lingering scent of expensive cologne and sex.

Suddenly, the memories of last night flooded in like a wave. The balcony. The way Sunghoon had dismantled you on this very bed. You reached out, but the space beside you was cold. He wasn't there. Your heart did a nervous little skip until you saw your clothes, the pink floral dress and nude sandals—neatly placed on a chair, folded with a precision that felt almost clinical. Suddenly, the chime of the private elevator echoed through the suite. You quickly scrambled to wrap the heavy blanket around your chest, tucking it tight as you watched the bedroom door open.

Sunghoon walked right in, looking like a different man. He was drenched in sweat, wearing charcoal grey gym gear that clung to his sculpted chest and thighs. The sight of you awake made his smile grow instantly, a warm expression. "Morning, sweet girl," he spoke first, his voice still heavy from sleep.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His large, calloused hands cupped your face, tilting your head up for a quick, passionate kiss that tasted of mint and hard work. "I let you sleep in while I went to the gym. You looked too peaceful to wake," he whispered, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. You blinked, trying to clear the sleep from your brain. "Do you know what time it is?" you asked, your morning voice coming out as a wrecked, breathy rasp. He checked the heavy, silver watch on his wrist. "It’s about twenty past nine."

Reality hit you like a slap. Ningning. The guys. "Shit, I should probably go," you explained, bracing yourself to get up. But the moment you shifted, a sharp, deep ache radiated from your hips and thighs. You winced, a low hiss escaping your teeth as your muscles protested the "workout" he’d given you hours prior.

Sunghoon noticed the change in your expression immediately. He reached out, his hands finding your shoulders to gently push you back down into the pillows. "Are you in pain? Did I hurt you?" he soothed, his thumbs running in slow, apologetic circles over your collarbones. You shook your head, a shy laugh escaping you as you looked up at him. "Well, of course I'm in pain. You were... relentless in between my thighs."

He let out a low chuckle, his ego clearly stroked. He stood up suddenly, disappearing into the kitchenette, and returned a moment later with a heavy silver tray. He placed it beside you, lifting the cloche to reveal an extravagant breakfast of poached eggs, smoked salmon, and a bowl of glistening fruit. "Eat up. I'll wash up and then I’ll take you back myself," he assured.

He walked into the bathroom, and seconds later, you heard the roar of the rainfall shower. You sat up carefully, keeping the blanket tucked under your arms as you picked at a strawberry. The fruit was perfectly ripe, melting in your mouth along with the blueberries you shoved in after. This wasn't just a one-night stand; the level of care, the effortless care—it felt high-end, too real, and impossible to ever get over.

As you moved the plate closer, you noticed a white, embossed piece of stationery tucked under the edge of the tray. You picked it up, popping another blueberry into your mouth as you read the elegant script. Your jaw practically hit the mattress.

“It is always a pleasure to serve the CEO of the finest company in Seoul. Enjoy your stay, Mr. Park.”

Everything suddenly clicked into place. The private garden party. The deference of the staff. The suite that cost more than a year of your life. The arrogant, dominant confidence that felt like it was bred into his bones. You hadn't just crashed a party; you had spent the night being wrecked by one of the most richest men in the country.

You stared at the paper, your mind racing. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand, your fingers stumbling as you opened the group chat with the others. You typed out a single, snarky comment:

YN: Woke up next to a billionaire. Don’t save me.

You clicked the phone shut just as the shower turned off. You tucked the paper back where you found it, trying to act casual. Sunghoon walked out a moment later, a white towel hanging dangerously low on his hips, his V-line showing just right. Droplets of water clung to his pale, muscular skin, trailing down his abs as he walked toward you.

He leaned over the bed, picking up a strawberry from your plate and tossing it into his mouth. He watched you with an adoring gaze, looking like a man completely captivated. "You're so beautiful like this. I could stay in this room with you all day," he murmured. The weight of who he was didn't intimidate you—it thrilled you. You reached up, wrapping your arms around his damp neck and pulling him down toward you. You giggled against his lips, tasting the sweetness of the fruit as you kissed him deeply.

"Then let's be here all day," you whispered.

And as he hovered over you—you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

© wispyn, all rights reserved.

[heesunghooney]

COMELNYAAA 😭❤️❤️❤️

[heedimples]

as it turns out, i got reincarnated into park sunghoon’s gold-digging fiancée!

ʚɞ summary - after a truck sends you spiraling out of your old life, you wake in silk sheets and a diamond ring, trapped inside the body of cha y/n: the shallow, borderline-evil fiancée of ceo park sunghoon, fated to be discarded in popular webnovel melting the cold ceo’s heart. you know exactly how this ends: with sunghoon choosing your sweet wedding planner, lee soojin, on your wedding day while you stand alone, humiliated. so, of course, the most logical course of action is not to fight the plot. in fact, you’ll be the most pleasant, agreeable, and completely forgettable fiancée possible. but there’s just one problem with changing the storyline: it forces sunghoon to notice you. and the more you try to push him toward the love he is destined for, the more he pulls toward you instead. fate is one thing. desire is another. and when the man who was never supposed to even like you looks at you like you’re his world, walking away may cost far more than losing ever would. ʚɞ tags - 18+ MDNI, f!reader, isekai/transmigration, angst, fluff, drama, slow-ish burn (?) vaginal sex (p in v), unprotected sex, breeding kink, window sex, office sex, jealous!hoon, wattpad-ish tropes yet again, sunghoon lowkey loses his mind bc the y/nussy is so good ʚɞ w.c - 16k

THE LAST THING YOU REMEMBERED WAS THE BLARING HORN, the sound of screeching tires, and a truck’s grille filling your entire world. Then—

—nothing…?

You woke up to the pleasant smell of expensive linen and the feeling of your face pressed into a pillow softer than any cloud you’d ever imagined. Your head throbbed dully, and you groaned, pushing yourself up on elbows that felt strangely delicate, blinking against the morning light filtering through gigantic windows that showcased a city skyline you didn’t recognize at all.

What the hell?

The room looked like something from a spread from a luxury magazine. A chaise lounge in dove grey sat in the corner, next to a vanity table littered with crystal perfume bottles and jewelry boxes spilling over with gold chains and diamonds that glittered even in the soft light. You swung your legs out of the bed, your feet sinking into a plush, cream-colored rug. You were wearing silk pajamas—silk fucking pajamas!—a matching set in a blush pink that felt alien against your skin.

A full-length mirror stood opposite the bed. You stumbled toward it.

The reflection staring back was yours, and yet—it wasn’t. Your face, but perfected, hair that you usually kept in a hurriedly-brushed ponytail fell in artful, salon-fresh waves. Even your skin was flawless, glowing with the kind of health that only comes from expensive facials and a complete lack of real-world stress.

“Okay,” you whispered to the stranger in the mirror. “Okay, breathe. This is a dream. It has to me. A very, very detailed dream brought on by that last glass of soju and that novel you stayed up way too late finishing.”

The novel. Melting the Cold CEO’S Heart. It was a trashy, addictive romance you’d read on a whim, and the male lead, Park Sunghoon, was cold, ruthless, and unfairly handsome, trapped in a business arrangement—an engagement with a shallow, gold-digging socialite named… your blood ran cold as you remembered.

Y/N.

Your namesake, and the villainess of the novel. The one who was pathologically obsessed with Sunghoon’s money and status, who made the female lead’s life miserable, and who was unceremoniously dumped when Sunghoon finally broke free of his family’s shackles to be with his one true love, the sweet and humble wedding planner, Soojin.

You looked at the room around you. You looked at your perfect, manicured hands. You remembered the truck.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you said, your voice echoing in the cavernous room.

The plot, as you remembered it, was straightforward. The real Cha Y/N would play the devoted fiancée, clinging to Sunghoon’s arm at every event, while secretly making the life of the female lead, Lee Soojin, a living hell. Sunghoon, cold to his fiancée, would find himself drawn to Soojin’s genuine warmth and resilience, and after a series of public scandals orchestrated by Cha Y/N, Sunghoon would finally snap, publicly denounce her, and run into the rain to confess his love to Soojin. Roll credits.

Your old life, by comparison, had been pleasantly predictable. You worked a mid-level office job at a small logistics firm, a job you were competent at but which offered no real passion. Your days were a blur of spreadsheets, lukewarm coffee from the breakroom machine, and polite, surface-level conversations with colleagues you’d never see outside of work hours. Your apartment was a snug, lightly cluttered one-bedroom. Your social life was limited to your best friend, Abby, who you only got to see about once a month for dinner when she wasn’t busy with her boyfriend, Heeseung. Weekends were for laundry, grocery shopping, and maybe a movie if you could muster the energy. It was fine, by all means. Safe. And, if you were being brutally honest with yourself in your most vulnerable moments, a little bit boring.

The thrill, the color, the feeling in your life came from elsewhere:

Webnovels.

They were your escape. During your lunch break, hunched over your phone at your desk. On the subway ride home, packed between strangers. Late at night, curled under your blankets with the screen’s glow the only light in the room. You devoured them. Regency romances, fantasy epics, modern-day dramas. You loved them all, but you had a particular, guilty fondness for the tropiest of the tropey: the cold, domineering male lead and the plucky heroine who thawed his heart.

You knew the formulas by heart. The accidental touch that sent sparks flying. The possessive glare across a crowded room. The misunderstanding that drove them apart for three agonizing chapters before the grand reconciliation. It was comfort food for your soul. In those pages, you could experience earth-shattering love without the risk of a broken heart.

Now, standing in this silent, opulent bedroom, the irony almost made you laugh. You’d fantasized about being in a story like this a thousand times, but—you’d always imagined yourself as the heroine, not the villainess slated for a spectacular downfall.

A soft knock at the door made you jump nearly a foot in the air.

“Miss Cha?” a polite, older woman’s voice called through the wood. “Your breakfast is ready. The car will be here in one hour to take you to Mr. Park’s office for the wedding planning consultation.”

Wedding planning. You felt, suddenly, very awake. That was today. Chapter Four, if you recalled correctly. The first official meeting between Cha Y/N, Sunghoon, and the wedding planner, Lee Soojin. The scene where the villainess would size up her rival with thinly-veiled contempt, make snide remarks about her choice of clothing, and generally establish herself as the obstacle to Sunghoon and Soojin’s true love.

Your stomach churned. You couldn’t do that. You physically couldn’t. The thought of being cruel to some innocent woman just trying to do her job made you feel ill.

But what was the alternative? If you weren’t the evil Cha Y/N, then who were you? A random office worker from another world, trapped in a fictional character’s body. If you started acting completely out of character, what would happen? Would the universe correct itself? Would you be thrown into a mental institution? Would Sunghoon’s powerful family have you quietly disposed of for being an unpredictable variable in their business merger masquerading as a marriage?

Panic, sharp and acrid, rose in your throat. You gripped the edge of the vanity table, your knuckles turning white. Think, Y/N. You have to think.

The original Cha Y/N’s fate was bankruptcy and social ruin after Sunghoon cut her off. She’d tried to fight it, to cling, to scheme, and it had only made her fall harder and more publicly.

So you had to survive. You couldn’t be that person. You wouldn’t. It was simple: do no harm, collect the checks, and get the hell out. Let Sunghoon and Soojin have their epic romance. You’d take the alimony and live quietly on a beach somewhere, far from this world of cutthroat socialites and emotionally constipated CEOs.

It was a coward’s plan, sure, but it was the only one that seemed to offer a path through this nightmare that didn’t end with you being publicly eviscerated.

You took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at the reflection again. “Okay, Cha Y/N,” you said to her. “Let’s do this.”

An hour later, you were in the back of a sleek, silent sedan, watching the city blur past. You’d chosen an outfit from the walk-in closet that felt the least like a costume and foregone most of the jewelry, wearing only small studs in your ears.

The driver held the door open for you in front of a towering glass skyscraper that seemed to pierce the clouds. The logo was etched into the side.

The lobby was cold and elegant, people in sharp suits moving with purpose across the vast marble floor, footsteps echoing everywhere. The receptionist, a woman with a smile as polished as the granite desk, took one look at you and nodded.

“Miss Cha. Mr. Park is expecting you. 67th floor, please.” She gestured to a private elevator whose doors were already sliding open.

The ride up was smooth and swift, and you watched the numbers climb, your heart doing a nervous tap-dance. The doors opened directly into a corner office.

The view was breathtaking, a panoramic sweep of the city and the river beyond. But the room itself was as cold as the man standing before the window, his back to you. He was tall, with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, silhouetted against the bright sky. He wore a charcoal grey suit that looked like it had been tailored directly onto him.

Then he turned.

Park Sunghoon.

The description from the novel didn’t do him justice. He was handsome in a way that felt almost aggressive. Sharp jawline, dark, intense eyes under thick, perfectly shaped brows, hair styled in a way that looked effortless and expensive. But it was his expression that really hit you. There was no warmth in his gaze, no flicker of recognition or welcome for his fiancée. And how could you fault him? Cha Y/N had been a piece of work.

“You’re early,” he intoned.

“Looks like I am.” you managed, your own voice sounding too small.

He said nothing, just looked at you for a beat longer than was comfortable. Then he gestured with a faint tilt of his head toward a large meeting table off to the side. “Sit. The planner will be here shortly.”

You walked to the table, hyper-aware of the click of your heels on the polished concrete floor. You sat in the chair he’d indicated, folding your hands in your lap to keep them from trembling. He didn’t sit. He remained standing by the window, the picture of impatience and disinterest.

The silence stretched, and you studied the grain of the table, the way the sunlight caught the edge of a glass water pitcher. Anything to avoid looking at him.

You’d read about his coldness, of course you had. You’d found it thrilling in the abstract, a challenge for the heroine to overcome, but experiencing it firsthand was different. It was isolating. It made you feel invisible, inconsequential. You understood, with sudden, painful clarity, why the original Cha Y/N had become so obsessed with his wealth and status. If you couldn’t have his warmth, you’d settle for the things his name could buy. It was a pathetic, hollow consolation prize, but it must have been something to hold onto.

Another soft knock at the door.

“Enter,” Sunghoon said, not moving from his post.

The door opened, and a woman stepped in. She was around your age, maybe a year or two younger. She wore a simple, professional cream-colored blouse and a black skirt. Her hair was pulled back in a neat, low ponytail. She carried a large portfolio and an iPad.

Lee Soojin.

Your pulse quickened. The female lead. The woman who, according to the plot, you were supposed to torment.

She bowed slightly. “Mr. Park. Miss Cha. Thank you for having me. I’m Lee Soojin, from Ever After Planning.”

She was exactly as described, warm and beautiful. She had a kind, fresh face, warm brown eyes, and a smile that seemed genuine, though right now, it was tinged with nervousness as her gaze darted between you and the imposing figure of Sunghoon. She clutched a large portfolio to her chest like a shield.

“Please, come in,” Sunghoon said, and his voice was different, softer.

The meeting was awkward, to say the least. Soojin presented floral arrangements and color palettes, her voice occasionally trembling. You, desperate not to play the villain, said nothing except, “That looks lovely,” or “Whatever you think is best, Miss Lee.” You kept your eyes on the swatches, avoiding Sunghoon’s probing stare. You could feel it on you, a laser of suspicion. The real Y/N would have been picky and dismissive, finding fault with everything to assert dominance.

Sunghoon, surprisingly, engaged. He asked practical questions about logistics, timelines, vendor reliability. His questions were sharp and intelligent. Soojin, after a few stumbling starts, began to answer with growing confidence, her passion for her work shining through. You saw the exact moment he noticed it: a slight tilt of his head, a fraction of a second where his gaze lingered on her animated face instead of the brochure.

There it is, you thought, a strange pang hitting you square in the chest. The beginning. The plan was working.

But then he turned that gaze on you. “You’re not yourself today.” His tone was neutral, but the question in it was clear: What’s your deal?

You met his eyes for the first time that day. “Well,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended. “Ms. Lee seems very competent. I just trust her expertise.”

He stared at you again, then gave a curt nod, turning back to Soojin, and the rest of the meeting passed in a blur.

THE MONTHS THAT FOLLOWED WERE A BIZARRE SORT OF DANCE. You attended obligatory social events on Sunghoon’s arm, fit the role of a silent, smiling accessory perfectly. You learned the rules of this world: who to nod to, who to ignore, which fork and knife to use where and why. And through it all, you were forced into proximity with Park Sunghoon.

At first, it was nothing but ice. Silent car rides, silent meals. You didn’t think there was ever a way to hold a conversation with Park Sunghoon. But survival instinct was a powerful thing when it kicked in, and the more nervous you got, the more your immediate instinct to be yourself began to show, especially once you moved in together.

The incident that started the thaw was, of all things, congee.

It was three weeks in. A late-night business dinner had left Sunghoon looking paler than usual, the sharp lines of his face drawn tight. You’d heard him return, the quiet click of the door, then nothing. An hour later, a faint, pained sound from the kitchen. You found him leaning against the island, one hand pressed to his stomach, staring into the empty fridge with blank eyes.

“Stomach ache?” you’d asked, hovering in the doorway.

He’d just grunted in response.

The real Y/N would have called for a maid, despite the ungodly hour. You, on the other hand, having grown up middle-class, were a veteran of questionable street food and late-night stress-eating, so you simply nudged him aside with your hip and rummaged through the pantry. “Sit,” you said, your tone brooking no argument. “You’re blocking the rice.”

He’d watched, silent and wary, as you boiled the rice into a soft mush, shredding the leftover roast chicken from yesterday’s dinner and adding slivers of ginger. The kitchen filled with a warm savory scent, and when you slid the bowl across the island to him, he looked at it like it was a foreign artefact.

“It’s just congee,” you said, suddenly self-conscious. “My mom used to make it when I was sick.”

He took a cautious spoonful. Then another. You had never cooked for someone before, but seeing the almost imperceptible relaxation of his shoulders, the way the tension drained out of his body, made you realize why your mother had loved it so much. When he was done, he placed the spoon neatly in the empty bowl and met your eyes. “It was nice. Thank you.”

You’d snorted. “High praise, coming from you.”

A brief flicker of a smile touched his lips. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

That was the crack in the ice, and after that, indifference became harder to maintain. The silent car rides began to fill with your commentary on the city passing by, or his dry observations about the people you’d just met at some function. Once, you found him one evening in the library, staring blankly at a contract, his tie loose. You’d placed a cup of tea next to his elbow without a word. He’d looked up, surprised, then nodded in thanks. Another time, you’d gotten locked out on the massive balcony during a sudden rain shower. He’d found you, drenched and laughing, and instead of chastising you, he’d handed you a towel with a shake of his head, a genuine, if exasperated, smile on his face. “Only you,” he’d muttered.

Then came the charity gala for the Seoul Arts Foundation. It was a stuffy, black-tie affair, and the champagne was flowing too freely. You, nervous under the scrutiny of a hundred socialites who knew the real Cha Y/N, drank more than you should have. Sunghoon, for reasons unknown, matched you glass for glass.

It was no surprise that the car ride home, inevitably, was filled with giddiness. You were slumped in the backseat, giggling at nothing, the city lights streaking past the window like liquid silver. He was beside you, his posture less rigid, a soft, unfocused smile on his face as he watched you.

“You’re different,” he said suddenly, his voice a low rumble in the dark car.

“Am I?” you hiccupped, turning to him. His face was so close. The sharp angles were softened in the shadows.

“Mm. Before. You were so… loud. Demanding. Everything was—all about money for you.” He reached out, his finger hovering near your temple, not touching. “But now…”

“Maybe I just grew up,” you offered, the lie tasting bitter.

He shook his head slowly, his eyes searching yours with an unnerving intensity. “No. It’s not that. It’s like you’re a completely different person.” He leaned closer, his breath warm and faintly sweet with champagne. “Who are you?”

Your heart hammered in your chest. The truth was a wild, desperate thing clawing at your throat. In your tipsy state, it slipped out, covered up in a joke. “Maybe I’m from a different universe,” you whispered, a playful, dizzy smile on your lips. “One where I’m not a horrible person.”

He stared at you. Then, to your utter astonishment, his lower lip pushed out in the faintest, most fleeting pout. You had never seen an expression so disarmingly childish and vulnerable on his face, but it was gone in a second, replaced by a slight scowl. “Stop messing with me,” he murmured, but there was no heat in it. He leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes, a small sigh escaping him.

The hangover the next morning was brutal, but at least it was a shared misery. You found him in the kitchen, grimacing over a glass of water, still in his rumpled dress shirt from the night before. You wordlessly made tea, and when you handed him a mug, your fingers brushed. He didn’t pull away.

Then you got sick.

It was a brutal flu, a personal betrayal from your own immune system. One day you were fine, the next, you were a shivering, aching heap buried under the duvet in your room. The maids fluttered in and out with tea and towels, but the apartment felt cold.

You drifted in a feverish haze, only semi-aware of the passage of time. But then—

You heard the firm, quiet tread of leather soles on parquet. The room darkened as a tall silhouette blocked the light from the hallway.

Sunghoon stood there, still in his work suit, his tie slightly loosened.

“The staff said you haven’t eaten,” he stated, his voice softer than usual.

“Can’t,” you croaked, turning your head into the pillow. “Everything hurts.”

You heard him set something down on the bedside table—a small tray. Then, to your shock, you felt the bed dip near your hip as he sat on the very edge of the mattress. You kept your eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm that had nothing to do with fever.

For a long, long while, all you could hear was your congested breathing. Then, a touch. Light, hesitant. Fingertips, surprisingly cool, brushing the sweat-dampened hair back from your forehead. The gesture was so tender, so utterly at odds with the Park Sunghoon you knew, that your breath hitched. His fingers stilled for a second, thinking he’d woken you. When you didn’t move, they continued, tucking the hair gently behind your ear.

He didn’t say a word. He just sat there,  his hand eventually coming to rest, palm down, on the duvet beside your shoulder. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he stood up. You heard the faint clink of a spoon against ceramic. “There’s broth here when you can manage it,” he murmured.

He worked from the armchair next to your bed that day, the quiet tap of his laptop keys a strangely comforting sound. He’d glance over every so often, refilling your water glass without being asked. It was the most mundane kind of care, but it made your heart squeeze. No one in this glittering, fake world had taken care of you like that. It felt more intimate than any kiss the novel had described between him and Soojin.

Life settled into a strange, peaceful rhythm that was nothing like the plot you remembered. You weren’t friends, not exactly. But you were… something. Allies due to the nature of your situation, perhaps. Your conversations became longer. You discovered he had a dry, wicked sense of humor that only emerged when he was truly relaxed. You learned he hated mint chocolate and loved coffee-flavored ice-cream. And then, one evening, you were in his study, looking for a book he’d said was in there. Your fingers trailed over the spines on a high shelf when you knocked a small, ornate wooden box to the floor. It sprung open, spilling its contents: not jewelry or documents, but a handful of old, laminated badges and a single, well-worn ice skate blade guard.

Curious, you picked up a badge. Seoul Junior Figure Skating Championship, 1st Place, Park Sunghoon, Age 12. Another: National Youth Competition, Finalist. There were photos, too. A young boy with solemn eyes and a shock of dark hair, poised on the ice, his arms outstretched. The resemblance was unmistakable.

You were staring at a photo of him, gap-toothed, holding a trophy with a rare, bright, unguarded smile, when his voice came from the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

You jumped, the photo fluttering from your hand. He was leaning against the doorframe, his expression closed off, but you saw the flicker of something—embarrassment? pain?—in his eyes before the shutters came down.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, gathering the items with clumsy hands. “I knocked the box over. I didn’t mean to pry.” You held up one of the badges. “You were a figure skater?”

He walked in, taking the badge from your fingers. He looked at it for a long moment, his thumb tracing the raised lettering. “It was a long time ago.”

“Why did you stop?” The question was out before you could stop it.

He didn’t answer immediately. He carefully placed the badge back in the box, his movements precise. “My father,” he said finally, his voice flat. “He decided it was a frivolous pursuit for the heir of Park Holdings. That it wouldn’t build the ruthlessness required for business.” A humorless twist of his lips. “I suppose he was right, in a way.”

The sadness in his tone made you inexplicably upset. You thought of the cold, ruthless CEO you’d read about, the one who only melted for one person. You were seeing the fossil of the boy who had been melted down and reforged into that man.

On an impulse you didn’t fully understand, you spoke. “When was the last time you were on the ice?”

He looked at you, startled. “I don’t know. Over ten years?”

“We should go.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Ice skating. We should go. There’s that new private rink at your country club. We could rent it out. No one would have to know.”

He stared at you as if you’d suggested flying to the moon. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” You pressed, a sudden boldness rising in you. “You loved it once. Don’t you ever… you know, miss it? Just the feeling of it?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. He looked from your face to the open box, to the photo of his younger, smiling self. The conflict in his eyes was a war you could almost see play out in front of you. Finally, he let out a slow breath. “That’s a pointless thing to do.”

But he didn’t say no.

Two days later, his assistant quietly booked the rink for a private two-hour session at midnight. He didn’t mention it to you. You only found out when a note, written in his sharp, elegant script, was left on the kitchen island next to your keys: 8 PM. Dress warm.

An hour later, you were in the empty rink, feeling utterly ridiculous in brand-new thermals. Sunghoon was already laced up, moving with a natural grace as he carved a slow circle on the pristine ice. He made it look effortless. You, on the other hand, sat on the bench, fumbling with the laces. Your fingers felt thick and clumsy. After a minute of struggle, you felt the bench dip beside you. He didn’t ask. He just took the skate from your hands, his fingers brushing yours.

“You have to tie them tightly. Ankle support is everything.”

He bent his head, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead as he began to lace the boot for you, his movements sure and careful. You watched, mesmerized by the sight of Park Sunghoon’s elegant, powerful hands, the ones that signed countless deals, meticulously tying a double knot for you. It felt impossibly tender. Then he did the same with the other foot, his knuckles accidentally brushing the sensitive skin of your ankle. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold raced up your spine.

“There,” he said, looking up and meeting your eyes. “Now, stand up. Slowly.”

You did, taking one wobbly step onto the surface, and immediately felt your legs betray you. You windmilled your arms, a squeak escaping your throat.

“Careful, careful,” A strong hand closed around your elbow, steadying you. “Bend your knees. Not at the waist.”

“Easy for you to say,” you grumbled, but you bent your knees. His hand stayed on your arm, a firm, warm anchor.

“Now, glide. Don’t step.”

You pushed off, lurching forward. He moved with you, a silent, steady presence at your side. For the first ten minutes, it was a comedy of errors. You wobbled, you slipped, you clutched at his forearm with a grip that probably cut off his circulation. And through it all, he was patient. Surprisingly, infuriatingly patient.

“You’re thinking too much,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice as you stared at your feet in concentration.

“I’m thinking about not concussing myself on this ice!”

“Look at me. Not at your feet.”

You dragged your gaze up to his face. In the cool, bright light of the rink, he looked younger. The usual severity in his expression was softened.

“Better,” he said. “Now, just move with me.”

He took your hands in his, skating backwards and pulling you along. It was terrifying and thrilling. The world narrowed to the sound of blades on ice, the puff of your breath in the cold air, and the solid, reliable grip of his hands. You started to find a shaky rhythm.

“See?” he said, and you realized he was smiling. A real, proper smile that reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. It transformed his face completely. Your heart did a funny little stutter that had nothing to do with skating.

“Don’t let me fall,” you said, the words coming out in a soft, breathless rush.

His grip tightened almost imperceptibly. He never looked away from your eyes. “I won’t.”

He guided you around the rink until your legs burned and your cheeks were numb with cold and laughter. Then, he demonstrated a simple spin, a blur of controlled motion that left you gaping. When he stopped, perfectly centered, he was breathing slightly harder, his face flushed.

He looked alive.

“Show-off,” you called, pushing off the wall to glide clumsily toward him.

He caught you easily when you overbalanced, his hands coming to rest on your hips to steady you. You were suddenly, acutely aware of the closeness. The heat of his body through the layers of clothing. The way his thumbs were pressing just above the waistband of your leggings. His face was inches from yours, his breath warm against your cold skin. His eyes were dark and searching.

You looked up at him, your own laughter dying in your throat. The rink was silent except for the hum of the chillers. For a heartbeat that felt like forever, neither of you moved. You could see the faint scar on his brow, the dark fringe of his lashes, the part of his lips as he breathed.

Then, a distant door clanged. The spell broke. He released your hips, his hands falling back to his sides as he took a small half-step back. “You’re getting the hang of it,” he said, his voice returning to its usual register, though it was a shade rougher and, if you listened hard enough, breathier.

All the way home, you replayed the moment at the rink over and over, the feel of his hands on you. It sparked a low, restless heat in your belly that was becoming frustratingly familiar.

That very heat continued to follow you, and it was driving you crazy. In the mornings, when he’d emerge from his bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips, his hair damp, his torso a landscape of lean muscle and faint scars you itched to trace. You’d mutter a good morning and flee to the kitchen, your face hot. Once, you came out of your room in just a thin camisole and pajamas to get water, forgetting he was working late at the dining table. The look he gave you—a slow, sweeping gaze that felt like a physical touch—had you scurrying back to your room, your skin prickling with awareness. You’d lie in your bed, in the dark, and imagine him in his room just down the hall. Was he asleep? Reading? Thinking about the company? Thinking about… you? Your mind would wander, unbidden, to the feel of his hands on your waist at the rink. To the solid heat of him when you’d stumbled against his chest. To the way his sweatpants hung on his hips. And then a slow, aching warmth would pool low in your belly, and you’d press your thighs together, frustrated and aroused in equal measure.

This was not part of the plan. Getting horny for your emotionally unavailable contract-fiancé was the fastest way to get your heart pulverized.

A WEEK LATER, SUNGHOON INFORMED YOU, OVER A BREAKFAST OF PERFECTLY POACHED EGGS, THAT YOU WOULD BE MEETING HIS FRIENDS.

“Friends?” you’d echoed, nearly choking on your toast. The novel’s Sunghoon had only business associates, rivals, and sycophants. Friends were never part of it.

“Yes,” he said, not looking up from his tablet. “Park Jongseong and Shim Jaeyun. They’re very insistent. They want to meet you badly.” He said it dryly, but you caught the slightest tension in his shoulders. “It’s a dinner on Friday, at Jay’s.”

Friday arrived, and with it, a low-cut dress that felt both too much and not enough. Sunghoon was silent in the elevator ride up, his profile sharp in the dim light. But when the doors opened into a sprawling, modern loft filled with the smell of gourmet food and the sound of jazz, his posture shifted. He placed a light, guiding hand on the small of your back.

“Sunghoon! You made it!” A man with a charming, lopsided grin and artfully messy hair bounded over, pulling Sunghoon into a brief, back-slapping hug. Jake, you guessed. His eyes, warm and curious, immediately landed on you. “And you must be the infamous Y/N.” He winked.

Another man approached, slightly taller, with a more composed elegance but a friendly glint in his eye. Jay, of course. He shook your hand firmly. “A pleasure. Come in, make yourself at home.”

The evening was nothing like the functions you’d gotten used to over the last few months, and you found that your initial nervousness bled away easily. Jay was dry and witty, Jake was sweet and genuinely funny. They teased Sunghoon mercilessly about anything and everything, and to your astonishment, he took it. He even smiled a real, relaxed smile that made your heart do that stupid little flip again.

And the best part was, they talked to you. Not to Cha Y/N, the socialite fiancée, but to you. Jay asked about your opinion on the new exhibition at the National Museum, and you found yourself in a debate about Norman Rockwell. Jake, hearing you hum along to the jazz track, pulled you into a conversation about it. You were in your element, laughing, arguing. You forgot, for a moment, the character you were supposed to be playing.

You also forgot to watch Sunghoon.

He had turned quiet, observing from his seat on the plush sofa, a glass of whiskey cradled in his hand. At first, you thought he was just back to being his usual reserved self. But as the night wore on and your laughter grew more frequent, you began to feel it—a tension emanating from him. When Jake leaned in to refill your wine glass, his hand brushing yours as he pointed to a particular album cover on the shelf, you felt Sunghoon’s gaze on you like a hand.

A few minutes later, when you got up to admire the view of the rolling countryside from the windows, Jake followed, standing close beside you to point things out. “There,” he said, his shoulder almost touching yours, “that’s where Sunghoon and I got hopelessly lost on a school trip. He was too stubborn to ask for directions. We nearly froze to death.”

You laughed, turning to him. “I can picture that.”

“Picture what?”

Sunghoon’s voice was quiet, right behind you. You hadn’t heard him approach. He slid between you and Jake with a smooth, deliberate movement. His arm came around your waist, his hand settling on your hip, pulling you back against him.

“Just reminiscing about your navigational failures,” Jake said, his grin not fading, but his eyes flicking between Sunghoon’s face and the hand on your waist.

“Mm,” Sunghoon murmured, his breath stirring the hair near your ear. His thumb moved, a slow, unconscious stroke against your dress. “Don’t believe a word he says. He was the one who dropped our map in the mud and got us lost in the first place.”

Despite the conversation not dying out, Sunghoon kept you anchored to his side, his fingers splayed on your hip, the warmth of his chest against your shoulder. Sunghoon’s interjections became more frequent in your interactions with Jay and Jake, his dry remarks steering the conversation away from anything that involved you and his friends directly interacting.

You couldn't say you didn’t expect that the journey back would be shrouded in a heavy silence. Sunghoon stared out the window, his jaw tight.

“Did you have a good time?” he finally asked, his voice devoid of inflection.

“I did,” you said carefully. “They’re lovely.”

“They seemed to think the same of you.” The words were clipped.

You turned to look at his profile. “Is that a problem?”

He didn’t answer. He just kept looking out at the passing lights, the muscle in his jaw working. The possessiveness he’d shown at the penthouse was gone, replaced by this cold, withdrawn sulk. It was so childish, and so utterly at odds with the man in the novel, who wouldn’t have batted an eye if the original Y/N had flirted with an entire football team. He’d found her disgusting, but he hadn’t cared. He’d been indifferent.

This wasn’t indifference.

The realization sent a dangerous thrill through you, followed immediately by a wave of guilt. You were messing with the script, and you had no idea what the new plot was.

Back at home, he headed straight for his study without a word. You stood in the grand living room, feeling unmoored. The heat from his touch still lingered on your skin, but the silent treatment felt worse than any cold remark. You took a deep breath and followed him.

He was standing by the window, a dark silhouette against the city’s glitter.

“Sunghoon.”

He didn’t turn.

You walked closer, your heels silent on the rug. “Are you angry with me?”

“No.” The word was short, final.

“You seem like it.”

He finally turned. In the dim light from the window, his expression was unreadable. “I’m not angry. I just don’t appreciate your…” he pretended to think. “Acting.”

“Acting?”

“The laughing. The leaning in. The wide-eyed interest in everything they said.” His tone was low, edged with something you couldn’t understand. “It was a bit much, don’t you think?”

A flash of irritation burst through you. “I was being polite. And for your information, I was genuinely interested. They’re good people, it was a normal conversation.”

“It didn’t look normal from where I was sitting.” He took a step closer. The air between you crackled. “Looked like you were enjoying their attention a little too much.”

You closed the remaining distance between you, stopping just an arm’s length away. You looked up at him, at the storm in his gray eyes. “Sunghoon,” you said, your voice tender. “They’re your friends. I was nice to them because they’re important to you. That’s all.”

But if anything, your softness seemed to make it worse.

A low, frustrated sound escaped him. He finally turned, but not to look at you. His gaze swept over his desk, the neat stacks of papers, as if searching for an escape. “That’s not the point,” he said, his voice clipped and cold.

The aching in your chest curdled into a sharp spike of annoyance. You’d spent the entire evening navigating his unpredictable moods, from his possessive display at Jay’s to this petulant silence. You’d offered an olive branch, and he was swatting it away.

“Then what is the point, Sunghoon?” you asked, the calm in your voice beginning to fray. “Because from where I’m standing, you invited me to meet the only people in your life who seem to actually like you, I had a genuinely pleasant conversation with them, and now you’re treating me like I’ve committed some kind of crime. So, please, enlighten me. What exactly did I do wrong? Was my laugh too loud? Were my interests too provocative?”

He flinched, just a tiny tightening around his eyes, but it was enough. He looked at you then, and the storm in his brown eyes was now a cold front. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” he said, the accusation falling like a blade. “You have this—” he ran his hands through his hair. “This way. You turn it on and off. For the press, for my employees, for my friends. That wide-eyed fascination. That laugh that makes men feel like they’re the wittiest person in the world. It’s an act. And a very convincing one, apparently.”

The accusation was so absurd, so wildly off-base, that for a second you were speechless. He was describing the original Y/N. Not you. You’d forgotten to act tonight.

That was the whole problem.

Your own frustration boiled over. “You are impossible, Sunghoon,” you stated, the words leaving your lips before you could temper them. “And you’re not even making sense. You’re jealous of your own friends for having a regular conversation with me. Do you hear yourself?”

You didn’t wait for an answer. The conversation was going in circles, spiraling into a void where his logic couldn’t follow. The warmth of the evening, the feeling of connection with Jake and Jay, the heat of his hand on your hip—it was all being poisoned by this stubborn, childish sulk. You were tired. The emotional whiplash was exhausting.

“You know what? Forget it,” you said, turning on your heel. The silk of your dress whispered against your legs as you strode toward the study door. “I’m going to bed. You can stand here and brood at the skyline all night for all I care.”

You reached for the polished brass handle, your fingers closing around the cool metal. You pulled.

The door didn’t budge.

A large, warm hand was splayed flat against the dark wood, just above your head, holding it shut. You hadn’t heard him move, but he was right there behind you, his body warm. The scent of his cologne enveloped you. You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

“Wait.”

His voice was close, right by your ear. It had lost its icy edge. Now it was just rough, scraped raw.

You didn’t turn. You stared at the grain of the wood, at his long fingers pressed white-knuckled against it. “Let me go, Sunghoon.”

“I said wait.” The hand on the door slid down, his arm now caging you in, his chest not quite touching your back but you could feel the heat of him through the thin layers of your dress and his shirt. “Just—please. Wait a moment.”

The fight drained out of you, replaced by a shaky, breathless awareness. You leaned your forehead lightly against the door, closing your eyes. “Why?”

A long pause. You could hear his breathing, slightly uneven. “Because you’re right,” he said, the words so quiet you almost didn’t hear them. “I’m being impossible.”

You blinked, your eyes still closed.

Huh?

He continued, the words coming out in a reluctant, stilted rush, as if being forced past a great internal resistance. “It wasn’t an act. I could see that. Tonight. With them.” He took a deep breath, his chest expanding behind you. “You were—yourself. And they liked you. Jake was practically hanging on your every word about that absurd painting with the floating clocks.”

“Dali,” you murmured automatically.

“Yes, Dali.” he echoed. He shifted, his arm brushing against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. “The point is…” he cleared his throat. “I’m not used to it.”

“To what? To people liking your fiancée?”

“To caring if they do,” he admitted. “To watching it happen and feeling like I…” He trailed off. “It’s unfamiliar. And I handled it poorly. I apologize.”

The formal, stiff apology was so like him, yet the vulnerability laced through it was entirely new. The annoyance melted away, leaving that strange, aching tenderness in its place.

You finally turned, slowly, under the arch of his arm. You had to tilt your head back to look at him. In the dim light, his handsome face was all sharp angles and shadow, but his eyes… they held a turmoil you’d never seen before.

“You were jealous,” you said, not as an accusation, but as a simple, gentle observation.

He held your gaze for a long moment, then looked away, his jaw working. A faint, almost imperceptible flush touched the high points of his cheeks. “I was. It was… illogical.”

“A little,” you agreed, a small smile touching your lips. “They’re your best friends. Jake looks at you like you hung the moon. Jay clearly adores you. They were just being kind to me because I’m with you.”

He looked back at you, searching your face. “You’re not upset?”

“I was annoyed,” you said honestly. “Because you were being a grumpy, silent statue and it was confusing. But I’m not upset.” You reached up, tentatively, and placed a hand lightly on his chest, over his sternum. You could feel the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath your palm. “It’s okay to feel things, Sunghoon. Even if they’re messy and confusing and don’t make sense.”

He stared down at your hand on his chest, then his gaze lifted to yours. His brows were knitted upwards. “I don’t know how to do this,” he said, the words so quiet they were almost swallowed by the room.

“Do what?”

“Any of it.” The admission seemed to unlock something. The words started to tumble out, low and rushed. “This. Having someone here. Someone who—who argues with me and really listens to me and doesn’t look at my friends as potential social climbing opportunities. Someone who gets annoyed when I’m being an ass instead of just simpering. And then seeing you with them, so natural, so easy… it felt like you fit. You fit into a part of my life that has nothing to do with mergers or board meetings. And I didn’t know what to do with that. I still don’t. It’s—well, it’s kind of unsettling. It’s ridiculous. I know it’s ridiculous. Jay would laugh himself sick if he knew. He’s probably already guessed. He’s annoyingly perceptive about these things. Which is another problem, because now I’ll have to hear about it for weeks, and he’ll make some comment about me being emotionally stunted, which is technically accurate but still rude to point out, especially when I’m the one usually paying for his overpriced whiskey—”

He was rambling. Park Sunghoon, the master of terse, cutting remarks, was rambling.

You let out a breathy, incredulous little giggle.

He stopped mid-sentence, his brows drawing together again. “What?”

You shook your head, your smile widening. “Nothing. It’s just… you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

He blinked. Cute. You were certain no one had ever used that word to describe Park Sunghoon in his entire life. A series of emotions flickered across his face: disbelief, offense, and then a dawning, bewildered wonder. The faint blush on his cheeks deepened.

“I am not,” he stated, but the protest sounded almost petulant.

“You are a little,” you insisted, your thumb making a small, unconscious circle on his shirt. “All this big, brooding energy because your friends and your fake fiancée got along too well. It’s adorable.”

He stared at you, utterly disarmed. The hand that wasn’t braced against the door came up, hesitated, then gently brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face. His touch was feather-light, tentative. “You’re the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met,” he murmured.

“I know,” you whispered back.

Your eyes dropped to his lips, then flicked back up to his. His gaze was locked on your mouth. For one heart-stopping second, you thought he might kiss you. The air grew thick, your breath coming shorter. His head dipped slightly, his eyes darkening—

—but then he stopped. He closed his eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath, and straightened. The moment shattered.

His hand fell from your face, and he took a small, deliberate step back.

He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at you. “Go to bed,” he said, his voice rough, scraping over the words. “We have the drive to my parents’ estate tomorrow.”

THE PARK FAMILY ESTATE WAS LESS A HOUSE AND MORE A DISPLAY OF WEALTH. It was all severe lines, imported stone, and meticulously manicured gardens that looked like no one was allowed to walk in them. The air itself felt several degrees cooler when you stepped out of the car.

Sunghoon’s father, Chairman Park, was exactly as the novel had foretold: a man carved from glacier ice, a crueller, harsher version of Sunghoon. His greeting was a curt nod, his eyes assessing you. His mother, on the other hand, was far more complex. She was elegant, with a smile that reached her eyes but didn't quite warm them, and she welcomed you gracefully, complimenting your dress, asking after the wedding plans with a tone of mild interest.

Dinner was a silent, formal affair. The clink of silverware against fine china was deafening. Chairman Park grilled Sunghoon on work, dismissing his answers with grunts. He ignored you completely. Mrs. Park attempted lighter conversation, asking you about your family, your interests. You answered as blandly as possible, sticking to the script you imagined the original Y/N would have used: mentions of charitable boards, designer names.

“You must be so excited for the wedding, dear,” Mrs. Park said as dessert was served, a fragile porcelain cup of tea placed before her. “It’s such a wonderful opportunity to solidify your future.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yes, of course.”

“Sunghoon tells me you’ve been spending a lot of time together since you’ve started living together. Getting to know each other.” Her smile remained, but her eyes were sharp and beady. “That’s good. A strong foundation of… understanding is so important in these arrangements.”

At the word ‘arrangement’, Sunghoon, beside you, went very still.

After dinner, Mrs. Park suggested a walk in the garden. “The roses are in bloom, Y/N. Come, let’s get some air.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. You followed her out into the twilight, the scent of roses indeed thick and almost cloying. She walked in silence for a while along a gravel path that wound past sculpted hedges and a large koi pond.

“You are a very different girl from the reports I received,” she began, her voice conversational. “The Y/N we researched was rather more acquisitive. I thought that before, you knew what this marriage was.” She turned to you. “A strategic alliance for your family’s benefit and for the stability of ours.”

You kept your eyes on the path, your stomach knotting.

“But it seems this new version of you,” she continued, stopping by the pond to watch the orange and white shapes glide beneath the water’s surface. “Is quite confusing for my son, I think. He is a man who values clarity. He understands transactions.” She turned to you, her smile still perfectly in place. “Your job, my dear, is to be a compliant partner and an asset to him. Not to… confuse him by making him question the nature of the transaction.”

The gentleness in her tone made the words cut deeper. “I’m not trying to confuse him,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Aren’t you?” she asked, tilting her head. She let out a soft, pitying sigh. “You’re forgetting your place. This is a business arrangement. When the time is right, and his position is unassailable, you will both go your separate ways with the agreed-upon compensation. Any emotional complication is a breach of contract.” She placed a cold, delicate hand on your arm. “Do not make the mistake of believing this is a love story, Y/N. Remember who you are. And more importantly, remember who he is.”

Your head was spinning.

She gave your arm a faint pat. “I’ll leave you to enjoy the pond. Do find your way back before it gets too dark.”

She walked away, her footsteps silent on the gravel, leaving you alone by the darkening water.

The dam broke.

Tears, hot and shameful, welled up and spilled over. She was right. Of course she was right. You were an imposter in every sense. An imposter in this body, in this life, and now, an imposter in your own feelings. You were muddying the waters of a simple deal, risking everything for a man who was made to love someone else. The sobs came then, quiet and wrenching, your shoulders shaking as you stared blindly at the koi, your tears making small splashes in the pond.

You didn’t hear his approach. You only sensed a presence, and you quickly wiped your cheeks with the backs of your hands, turning your face away.

“Y/N?”

Sunghoon’s voice, close. Panic spiked inside you.

You couldn’t let him see.

“I’m fine,” you choked out, your voice thick. “Just—um. Admiring the pond. Give me a minute.”

“Look at me.”

“No, really, I’m—”

“Y/N.” His voice was low, but it was a command nonetheless. “Look at me.”

Slowly, you turned. The last of the twilight caught the tracks of your tears, glistening on your skin. His expression, which had been carefully neutral when he found you, shattered. His eyes widened, then darkened with fury.

“What did she say to you?” The question was a soft, deadly thing.

You shook your head, fresh tears falling. “Nothing. She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“Tell me.” He took a step closer.

“She just—just reminded me of my place,” you whispered, the words tasting like ash. “That this is just an arrangement. That I shouldn’t… forget what it is. That I’m—I’m confusing you. And she’s right, Sunghoon, I am. I’m messing it all up, and I’m—” you sniffed. “I’m so sorry—”

“Stop.” The word was a whip-crack. He closed the final distance, his hands coming up to frame your face. His thumbs brushed the tears from your cheeks. “She has no right. No right to speak to you like that.”

“She does,” you cried, the frustration and heartbreak pouring out. “This is her world! These are her rules! I’m just a temporary fixture, and I’m acting like—like I’m something else. I’m sorry for being confusing. I’m sorry for the skating and the congee and for talking to your friends and for just… for just being here all wrong!”

You were babbling, tears streaming freely now. You tried to pull away, but he didn’t let you. Instead, he pulled you into his chest.

One arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, the other hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair. He held you firmly, securely, as you cried into the crisp cotton of his shirt. He didn’t shush you. He didn’t tell you it would be okay. He just held you, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“Y/N,” he murmured into your hair. “You are the only thing that has made any sense in a very, very long time.”

You clung to him, your fists bunching in the fabric of his shirt. His hand moved from your head to stroke your hair, slow, calming strokes. You could feel the steady, strong beat of his heart against your cheek, and the last of your resistance melted away, and you sank into the embrace, letting him hold the pieces of you together.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in the silence of the garden and the sanctuary of his arms. The tears eventually subsided, leaving you hollowed out and shaky. He didn’t let go until finally, you took a ragged, shuddering breath. He leaned back just enough to look down at you, his hands moving to cup your face again. His thumbs wiped away the last of the moisture on your cheeks. His eyes searched yours.

“We’re leaving,” he said.

He kept one arm around you, guiding you firmly back toward the monstrous house, not to say goodbye to his parents, but straight to the car. He opened the passenger door for you, got in the driver’s side, started the engine, and pulled away from the estate without a backward glance.

You looked out the window, watching the dark countryside blur past, feeling the ghost of his arms around you, the sensation of his fingers in your hair. Your skin still tingled where he’d touched you. Then you snuck a glance at his profile, lit by the dashboard lights. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, but the cold fury had settled into a deep, simmering resolve. He had chosen a side. And for tonight, at least, he had chosen yours.

Though, of course, life humbled you. Confusion had to come from the other side of the equation: Lee Soojin.

The wedding planning continued as normal. You made a point of being pleasant, supportive even. You praised her ideas, deferred to her taste. You were the dream client, and her initial nervousness around you melted into a warm, professional respect. You liked her. She was kind, hardworking, genuinely talented.

And Sunghoon always noticed her. It was natural that he did—that was how it was meant to go. In meetings, he was engaged, asking questions, offering solutions. You’d catch him watching her as she meticulously arranged sample centerpieces, a considering look on his face. Once, when she dropped a binder, he was out of his chair in an instant to help her gather the scattered papers. Their hands brushed. You saw the faint pink that tinged Soojin’s cheeks, the way she couldn’t quite meet his eyes afterward, and the jealousy brewing in the pit of your stomach almost became acidic.

It was exactly as the novel said. The cold CEO, melted by the genuine warmth of the commoner. You’d see them talking quietly in a corner of his office after a meeting had officially ended, and that strange pang would hit your chest again.

THE WORST WAS THE DAY OF THE FINAL VENUE WALKTHROUGH. You’d arrived separately from Sunghoon, caught in a snarl of downtown traffic.

The location was a stunning, glass-walled conservatory overlooking the river. By the time you rushed through the arched entrance, the late afternoon sun was casting long shadows across the polished floor.

You saw them before they saw you.

They were at the far end of the conservatory, standing on a temporary wooden platform that marked where the altar would be. Lee Soojin was pointing towards the ceiling, explaining something about hanging floral installations, her face animated with passion. And Sunghoon…

Sunghoon was listening. Not just listening, but absorbing it all. He stood beside her, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, his head tilted slightly toward her. The sunlight streamed through the glass panes, catching the dust motes in the air and painting them both in a soft, golden glow.

It was a perfect picture. The ambitious, brilliant CEO and the creative, warm-hearted wedding planner. He was asking a question, his expression serious but open, and Soojin smiled, gesturing with her hands as she answered.

You could see it, the rows of chairs filled with Seoul’s elite. The live music swelling. Soojin, in a simple, beautiful dress that wasn’t the one you’d picked, walking down this very aisle. And Sunghoon, waiting for her right there, on that platform, his brown eyes fixed only on her. The image was so vivid that it stole the breath from your lungs. Your chest constricted, a sharp ache that had nothing to do with the hurried walk from the car.

This was it. The real beginning of the end for Cha Y/N.

Sunghoon’s gaze finally flickered away from Soojin and landed on you, standing frozen in the doorway. The open, engaged expression on his face closed down, smoothed into the more familiar, neutral mask. He straightened up.

“You’re late.”

“Traffic,” you said, your voice sounding brittle and thin to your own ears. You forced a smile, directing it at Soojin, who had turned and was now offering you a polite, slightly nervous bow. “Sorry, Miss Lee. Please, show me what you’ve finalized.”

You walked forward, your heels clicking a sharp, lonely rhythm on the stone. As you passed Sunghoon to join Soojin by the platform, he did something unexpected. He reached out and briefly, almost absently, tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers were cool against your heated skin. “You look flushed,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Did you run?”

The gesture was so intimate. A week ago, it might have sent a thrill through you. Now, it just felt like salt in the wound. He’s just playing his part, a vicious voice in your head whispered. The attentive fiancé in front of the help. It doesn’t mean anything. He was just looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Just the heat,” you lied, pulling away slightly, your smile feeling more like a grimace.

The rest of the walkthrough was agony. You nodded and agreed to everything Soojin proposed: the arch of white orchids, the string quartet placement, the timing for the sunset ceremony. But you felt like a spectator haunting your own life. Your responses were automatic. “Lovely.” “Perfect.” “Whatever you think is best.”

You watched Sunghoon and Soojin discuss the practicalities. Lighting cues for the photographer, the route for the caterers, backup plans for rain. Their rapport was seamless. He’d ask a sharp, logistical question, and she’d have a thoughtful, prepared answer. He’d nod, a flicker of approval in his eyes, and suggest a minor refinement. She’d consider it, then agree with a bright, “Yes, that’s much more efficient!” Every shared titter over a hiccup, every moment of unspoken understanding as they examined a floor plan, felt like a tiny paper cut on your heart. A hundred small, insignificant slices that left you feeling quietly, profoundly bloody.

As she got to her binder, Soojin tripped slightly on a loose cable snaking across the floor. Sunghoon’s hand shot out, steadying her by the elbow. “Careful,” he said, his voice soft.

“Oh! Thank you, Mr. Park,” Soojin stammered, her cheeks flushing a pretty, delicate pink again. She quickly righted herself, but her gaze lingered on his face for a second too long before she busied herself with her clipboard.

You looked away, your throat tight.

A little while later, as you were examining sample table linens, Sunghoon stood close behind you, leaning over your shoulder to point at a fabric swatch in Soojin’s hand. His chest brushed against your back. “I like the ivory better, not the stark white,” he said, his voice a soft rumble near your ear. “It’ll be less harsh under the lights.”

You stiffened, every nerve ending hyper-aware.

“Yes,” you managed to whisper. “Okay. The ivory is better.”

He stayed there for a moment longer than necessary, and then he straightened up, the warmth leaving your back.

The walkthrough concluded with polite bows and assurances. Soojin promised to have the revised layouts emailed by the morning. Sunghoon gave a curt nod. “Your work is impressive, Miss Lee. Thank you.”

The praise, so directly given, made Soojin beam. “Thank you, Mr. Park! I won’t let you down.”

No, you thought, the ache in your chest deepening. You certainly won’t.

That night, back in the penthouse, you were curled on the vast living room sofa, a book (decidedly not a romance) open but unread on your lap. You were replaying the image of them by the window, trying to quash the hollow feeling it left behind. This was the plan. This was what you wanted. For them to fall in love, for the story to proceed, so you could leave.

So why did it feel like this?

You heard his footsteps first, then the subtle shift in the air as he entered the room. He didn’t sit. He came to stand behind the sofa, looking down at you. You kept your eyes on your book, but you could feel his gaze like a physical touch, tracing the line of your shoulder, the curve of your neck where your hair had fallen away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice dropping into that lower register that seemed reserved for these late-night moments.

You swallowed. “Nothing. Just tired.”

The lie hung in the air. He was quiet for a long moment. You could almost hear him weighing his next move. Then, you felt the cushion dip slightly as he leaned forward, his hands coming to rest on the back of the sofa, one on either side of you.

“You’ve been quiet since the venue,” he stated, his voice a soft rumble near your ear. “Was it something Miss Lee said?”

The mention of her name was like a splash of cold water. You closed your book with a soft snap. “No. She was perfect. Everything is perfect.” You made to get up, to escape to the safety of your room.

A hand, firm and warm, landed on your shoulder, gently pressing you back down. “Y/N.”

You froze. He almost never used your name. It was always “you,” or “Miss Cha” in formal settings. The sound of it in his voice, so close, did something dangerous to your insides.

“Look at me.”

Slowly, you turned your head to look up at him. He was leaning over the back of the sofa, his face serious, his storm-cloud eyes searching yours. The distance between your faces was less than a foot. You could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the slight pulse at the base of his throat. Your breath caught.

“I don’t believe you,” he said softly

Fine, you wanted to say. Something did happen. The entire plot of a trashy romance novel happened. And I saw you smiling at her, and it’s supposed to happen, but it feels all wrong now.

“I mean it,” you said instead. “It’s nothing. Really.” You offered him a weak smile. “Just pre-wedding jitters, I guess.”

He studied your face for a long moment, his own unreadable. Then he nodded slowly, not looking convinced. He reached out, and for a heart-stopping second, you thought he might touch your face. But his hand just brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, the contact brief.

“Okay. Get some rest,” he said, his voice quiet. He stood and left the room, leaving you alone with the echo of his touch and the churning confusion in your gut.

Here lay the entire problem: the more you saw of the real Park Sunghoon, the more the fictional version paled in comparison. The attraction you’d felt for a character became a terrifyingly real pull towards the living, breathing man. You’d catch yourself watching him, a hollow ache blooming in your chest, before violently shoving the feeling down. He’s not for you. This story isn’t yours. His happiness is with Soojin

The pang in your chest was no longer alien, it was a constant, dull companion. And it was your cue to exit, stage left.

Enough. You had played your part. You had been harmless. You had, against all odds, built something resembling a civil friendship with the male lead. Now it was time to give him his freedom, take your cushy payout, and vanish. You had your lawyer draw up a simple, clean, no-fault dissolution of the engagement agreement, and then you requested a meeting in his office. The same office where you’d first met Soojin.

HE WAS AT HIS DESK, BUT HE WASN’T WORKING. He was waiting for you, leaning back in his chair, watching you as you entered. The afternoon light slanted across the room, splashing everything in gold and shadow.

“You wanted to see me,” he said. His voice was deceptively casual, but his posture was alert.

You managed a nod, your throat suddenly dry. The leather folder in your hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

He pushed off the desk and closed the distance between you in a few unhurried strides. Before you could step back or offer a handshake—any kind of businesslike gesture—his arm slid around your waist, pulling you gently against him. He dipped his head, his nose brushing the hair at your temple as he inhaled softly. “It’s nice to have you here,” he murmured, the words a warm puff against your skin.

You forced yourself to relax into the half-embrace, your mind screaming at the contradiction. This was the man who’d taken care of you when you were sick, who taught you to skate. This was also the man whose destiny was written in ink, intertwined with another woman’s name. The hollow ache in your chest expanded, threatening to swallow your resolve.

“I just needed to talk to you about something,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. You extricated yourself from his hold.

He frowned, returning back to his desk. “Is that right?”

“Yes.” You placed the sleek leather folder on the desk between you. “I need you to sign these.”

He didn’t look at it. His eyes stayed on your face. “What is it?”

“The termination of our engagement.” The words came out steady, practiced. “My lawyers have already reviewed it. It’s very straightforward. The settlement terms are there, and I think you’ll find them reasonable.”

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence from him. The gold light glinted off the edges of the folder, off the sharp line of his cheekbone.

He didn’t move. He didn’t blink.

Slowly, so slowly, he leaned forward. He didn’t reach for the folder. He placed his palms flat on the desk, his knuckles white. When he spoke, his voice was a low, controlled vibration.

“What?”

“I’m calling off the arrangement,” you repeated, your own voice sounding thin in comparison. “It’s for the best. We both know this was never a real—”

“For the best,” he echoed, cutting you off. The control was cracking. You could see it at the edges—a muscle jumping in his jaw, a storm gathering in those dark eyes. He pushed back from the desk and stood up, the movement fluid and predatory. He loomed over the desk, over you. “For the best? Are you serious? You come into my life, you—you change everything, you act like a completely different person for months, and now you just… you just drop this on my desk and say it’s for the best?”

“Sunghoon,” you startled at the emotion in his voice, taking an involuntary step back. “We both don’t want this. It’s a business deal that’s run its course. You can be with—”

“With who?” he snapped, his voice rising. He came around the desk, stopping a few feet from you. The space between you crackled with his fury. “Who is it that you think I want to be with? Tell me.”

“Soojin!” you blurted out. “Lee Soojin! It’s obvious, Sunghoon. You’re good together. She’s sweet, she’s genuine, she’s everything that—that this arrangement isn’t. You should be with her. You’re meant to be with her.”

He stared at you as if you’d started speaking in tongues. The anger seemed to freeze, then shatter into pure, unadulterated disbelief. “Soojin,” he scoffed, the name a flat, incredulous syllable. “Our wedding planner.”

“Yes! You talk to her, you laugh with her, you look at her like…” You trailed off, the memory of those looks twisting inside you.

“Like a competent professional whose work I respect?” he fired back, taking another step closer. You could see the faint flecks of gold in his irises, the rapid pulse at the base of his throat. “Is that the crime? Is that what this is about? You’ve decided, based on God-knows-what, that I have feelings for our wedding planner, and so you’re, what? Nobly stepping aside? Is that it?”

It was too close to the truth. You floundered. “It’s logical. This engagement is a farce. We should both be free.”

“Free?” he laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Are you fucking with me?” He was right in front of you now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the subtle, clean scent of his cologne. His gaze bored into yours, searching for something you were desperately trying to hide. “For months, I’ve been trying to understand you. I thought—I actually thought…” He broke off, shaking his head, a hand raking through his perfect hair in a gesture of utter frustration. “And now you hand me this. Did I do something? Did I upset you? Is this some new, elaborate game? Because if it is, I need you to tell me the rules right now, because I can’t keep up.”

The pain in his voice, the sheer, bewildered hurt mixed in with the anger, was your undoing. This wasn’t in the novel. The Sunghoon in the novel would have taken the papers with relief, maybe a cutting remark. He wouldn’t be standing here, looking at you like you’d just reached into his chest and pulled out his entire heart.

“It’s not a game,” you whispered, your own resolve crumbling. “And you didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve been—you’ve been lovely. That’s the whole problem.”

“That’s the whole problem,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “I’ve been lovely, so you’re leaving.” He ran his hands through his hair. “That makes no sense. None of this makes any sense, Y/N, I don’t accept this.”

“You have to sign the papers,” you said weakly.

“I don’t have to do a damn thing,” he said, and the final shred of his control vanished. His eyes blazed with conviction. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to walk in here, change every single thing, and then just walk away because you’ve decided what’s for the best. You don’t know what’s best for me.” He leaned in, his face inches from yours. His breath was warm against your skin. “The only thing I know for certain right now,” he said, each word deliberate, hammering, and emphasised, “is that I am not signing those papers.”

“You have to,” you insisted, your voice trembling despite your resolve. “Sunghoon, this isn’t real. What we have is a contract. You’ll get over this. In a month, you’ll look back and be grateful I let you go to be with someone you actually—someone who actually means something to you. Soojin is—”

“Enough.” The word was a guttural snarl that vibrated in the marrow of your bones. His hand, still hovering near your arm, finally closed around your wrist firmly. “Enough about Lee Soojin! You think this is about her?”

He pulled you closer, the motion so sudden you stumbled a half-step forward. The storm in his eyes had broken.

“You want to know what I’ve been thinking about?” he demanded, his voice a ragged scrape of sound. “When I’m in a meeting so boring I want to put my head through the glass, I think about coming home. Not just to this place. To wherever you are. That’s home. I imagine walking in and finding you asleep on the sofa with a book on your chest. I think about picking it up, reading the page you dog-eared, just to know what was in your head before you drifted off. If you’re in the kitchen, I think about you humming to yourself, that off-key little tune you do when you’re making tea, and I wonder what would happen if I came up behind you and put my hands around your waist.”

Your breath hitched, trapped in your throat. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be. This was a deviation, a crack in the universe.

“And you think I’ve been—been thinking about her?” He let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Before you, this place was just a building. I’d work until I couldn’t see straight just to have an excuse not to come back.” His eyebrows were drawn together. “You’ve fucked me up, Y/N. Now I find myself watching the clock like some pathetic highschooler, inventing reasons to wrap things up early. Because you’re here.”

He leaned in, his forehead almost touching yours. “You want to know when I think about Lee Soojin? I think about her when she’s emailing me timelines and invoices. That’s it. She’s a good planner, and she’s doing an excellent job planning a wedding that I don’t want with anyone but you.”

“You don’t mean that,” you whispered, a last-ditch defense. “It’s just… the arrangement, Sunghoon. It’s confusing your feelings—”

“Y/N,” He released your wrist, but only to bring both hands up to frame your face, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. The touch was devastating in its tenderness. “You think I don’t know what I feel? You think this is confusion? This is the only thing that has ever been clear to me.”

“Sunghoon, please—”

“No.” The word was soft, final. “It’s you. It’s only you. It has only ever been you.” His voice broke on the last word, the raw vulnerability of it slicing through you. “Do you understand? There is no one else, there will never be anyone else for me.”

The world tilted. The solid ground of the plot, of your predetermined escape, crumbled into dust beneath your feet. He was looking at you like you were the sun, but you were just a thief standing in its light.

“You’re wrong,” you choked out, tears spilling over now, matching his. “You have to be wrong. This is a trick. I tricked you. I didn’t mean to, but I did. I’m not her, Sunghoon. The person you think you—the person you feel this for, it’s not me. It’s a lie.”

His brow furrowed, bewildered concern overtaking his features. He wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “What are you talking about? Of course it’s you. Who else would it be?”

“The real Cha Y/N!” you cried, the words tearing free from some deep, secret place of panic. “The one who was supposed to be here! The person I was a year ago! That’s who you were supposed to be engaged to. That’s who you were supposed to hate. And I—I came in and I messed it all up. I was nice to Soojin. I made you congee. I laughed with your friends. I’ve been pretending to be someone,” you sniffled. “Someone better, and you fell for the act. You fell for this—this character.” You were sobbing in earnest now, the guilt and fear and desperate, unwanted hope pouring out of you. “You’re a good man, Sunghoon. You’re just—you feel responsible because I’ve been kind. That’s all this is.”

For a long, suspended moment, he just stared at you, his hands still cradling your face. The anger had drained from his expression, and, to your surprise, he wasn’t looking at you like you were crazy. He was looking at you like he was finally, finally putting the pieces together.

“A character,” he repeated slowly. His thumbs stilled on your skin. “You think you’ve been playing a part.”

“Yes.”

“And the real Cha Y/N… you believe she was someone else. Someone I was meant to despise.”

“Yes.”

He took a deep, slow breath, his gaze searching every inch of your face as if seeing it for the first time. “The night in the car. After the gala. You said you were from a different universe.” he said slowly. “I thought you were joking.”

You couldn’t speak. You just looked at him, your eyes wide with terror.

His voice dropped to a whisper, filled with awe and a terrible, heartbreaking softness. “You weren’t joking, were you?”

The last of your resistance collapsed. You shook your head, a tiny, helpless movement.

“Oh, Y/N,” he breathed. The sound was full of wonder. His grip on your face gentled even further. “My impossible, ridiculous girl. Do you really think it matters to me?” A faint, incredulous smile touched his lips, though his eyes were still wet. “Do you think I’m some honorable hero from one of your books?”

You flinched at the accuracy of it.

His smile faded, replaced by that same conviction. “I told you. I’m not a hero. I’m a selfish man. I want what I want. And I have never, not for one second since you woke up in this world, wanted anyone but you.” He leaned closer, his gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, dark with a hunger that stole the air from your lungs. “I have spent the last few months in a special kind of hell, Y/N. Do you have any idea what that’s been like? To have the woman I’m contractually bound to be the only woman I can’t fucking have? To watch you walk around in those little sleep shorts, with your hair messy in the morning, and have to pretend I don’t see it? To sit across from you at breakfast and want to clear the entire table with my arm just to get my hands on you?” He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice dropped to a vicious whisper that scraped over every nerve ending. “I’ve thought about bending you over this very desk. I’ve thought about pinning you against that glass and watching the whole city see who you belong to. I’ve thought about your mouth, your thighs, the sounds you’d make if I finally stopped being a gentleman. I’ve fucked my own hand more times these past few months than in my entire life before you, and every single time, it was your name I bit into my pillow to keep from shouting.”

A dizzying wave of heat crashed through you.

“Sunghoon,” you started, but you had no words.

“No,” he growled, pulling back to look at you, his gaze scouring your face. “Listen to me.” He released your wrist only to bring both hands up to frame your face, his touch searing. “You are not leaving me. This engagement is not ending. The only thing that’s ending is this pathetic charade where we pretend this isn’t real.”

He released you so suddenly you swayed. In one fluid, violent motion, he snatched the leather folder from the desk. You watched, hypnotized, as his hands searched for the papers. He tore them in half, then quarters, then let the pieces flutter to the floor.

“The only paper you’ll sign next,” he said, his voice low and final, “is our marriage certificate. Do you understand me?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. His attention was already on his tie. With a sharp tug, he loosened the knot of his silk tie, the dark fabric slithering free. His eyes never left yours as he began to stalk toward you, a predator with its prey finally cornered.

You took a step back. Then another. Your heart was a wild drum against your ribs. The heat between your legs was a throbbing, insistent ache. Your back hit something cool and unyielding—the massive floor-to-ceiling window. The panoramic view of the city sprawled behind you, a dizzying drop of steel and glass. You were trapped between the cold glass and the furnace of his body.

He closed the final distance and planted his hands on the glass on either side of your head, caging you in.

“Now,” he breathed out. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you haven’t thought about it. Lie to me.”

You couldn’t. Your breath hitched, your lips parted. A small, desperate whimper escaped you.

That was all the answer he needed.

He kissed you like he was starving, and you were the first thing he’d had in a lifetime. He kissed you like he was trying to erase every word about leaving, every mention of another person’s name. His teeth grazed your lower lip, a sharp sting of pleasure-pain that made you cry out against his mouth. Your hands flew up to clutch at the crisp fabric of his shirt. A low groan rumbled from his chest into yours.

He swallowed the sound, his tongue tangling with yours, deep and filthy. When he finally broke for air, it was only to drag his lips along your jaw, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

“You think I could look at anyone else,” he growled, his voice a scrape against your ear as he bit your earlobe. “When you’re in my house? In my bed? Fuck.” His hands left the glass and gripped your hips, fingers digging in through the thin fabric of your dress. “Every night. Every goddamn night, Y/N.”

“Sunghoon—” you whimpered, the explicit confession flooding your system with heat.

“Y/N,” he breathed out. He spun you around, your front pressing against the cool, unyielding glass. The city sprawled below, and your breath fogged the window. His body covered yours from behind, his erection a hard, insistent line against the curve of your ass. He pushed your hair aside and buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. “I couldn’t stand it,” he whispered, the words a dark, delicious sin directly into your ear. One hand slid around your waist, splaying possessively over your lower belly. The other hand yanked at the hem of your dress, gathering it up around your waist. The cool air kissed your bare thighs, and you shuddered. “Tell me you thought about it, too. Tell me you touched yourself, thinking about my hands on you.”

“Yes,” you breathed, the admission torn from you.

“Good.” The word was a satisfied rumble. His fingers hooked into the lace of your panties. With a sharp tug, the delicate fabric tore, and he palmed your bare ass, then slid his hand between your thighs.

You were soaked. Achingly, shamelessly wet for him.

He groaned, a deep, pained sound. “Look at this.” He dragged two fingers through your slickness, circling your clit with a pressure that made you cry out and press your forehead to the cold glass. “All that talk of leaving,” he breathed out, his voice thick with lust, “but your body knows the truth. It knows who it belongs to.”

He pushed a finger inside you, then a second, curling them expertly. Your inner muscles clenched around him, a pulse of pure need. You moaned.

His other hand slid up your torso, roughly palming your tits through the silk of your dress before finding the zipper at the side. With a sharp tug, he pulled it down, the fabric gaping open. He shoved the material off your shoulders, baring you to the waist. The cool glass met your feverish skin, your nipples pebbling into tight, sensitive points against the smooth, unyielding surface.

“See?” he whispered hotly against your ear, his fingers still working inside you, stretching you, preparing you. “See how pretty you look? Pressed against my window. My view.” He bit down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to brand you. “I want the whole city to see. I want every man in every building to look up and see my pretty little wife getting fucked by her husband. To know you’re taken. That you’re mine.”

A shudder of pure, wanton heat racked your body. “We’re—we’re not married yet,” you gasped out, a feeble defense as you ground your hips back against his hand. “We’re just—hngh!—business partners.”

His fingers stilled. Then, slowly, he pulled them out. You whimpered at the loss, the emptiness. You heard the rustle of clothing, the clink of his belt buckle, the slide of a zipper. Then the replacement of the hot, heavy weight of his erection pressed against the cleft of your ass with the velvety head of his cock nudging against your soaked folds.

“Is that so?”

His voice was a low, dangerous purr against the shell of your ear. He held his cock there, just brushing your pussy, his hips making tiny, maddening circles that smeared his pre-cum against your sensitive folds.

“If we’re not married,” he continued, his tone deceptively light, almost conversational, as his hands gripped your hips, “then I suppose this would be improper. A breach of our purely business arrangement.” He pulled back slightly, the loss of his heat a physical pain. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should stop.”

“No,” you gasped, the word torn from you. You tried to push back against him, but his grip was iron, holding you still. “Sunghoon—”

“No?” he echoed, mock-thoughtful. One hand smoothed over your bare hip, his thumb digging into the sensitive dip. “But you were so clear about the terms just now. About it being just business.” He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “Business partners don’t do this, do they, Y/N?”

You were trembling. Your muscles clenched around nothing, aching. “Sunghoon, please.”

“Please what?” he purred, his other hand coming up to circle your throat. “Use your words. Tell me what you need.”

You were beyond pride, beyond the script of the novel, beyond everything but the pounding of your blood and the empty, throbbing want between your legs. “I need you,” you gasped, your forehead grinding against the cool glass. “I need your cock. Please. Please, just… fuck me. I need it. I need you inside me.”

“Where inside you?” he demanded, his voice dropping to a filthy whisper. One hand slid from your hip, around to your lower belly, pressing down. “Here?” He rocked his hips, the blunt head catching on your entrance, pushing in just a single, devastating inch before retreating. A broken cry of agreement left your lips. “You feel that? That’s where I belong. That’s where I’m going to fill you up.”

“Please,” you sobbed, shameless now. “Please, Sunghoon, I need it so bad—”

He sheathed himself to the hilt.

The world dissolved into a white-hot shock of sensation. The stretch was immense, breathtaking, a burning fullness that stole the air from your lungs completely. You screamed, the sound muffled against the glass. He was so deep, you could practically feel him in your womb.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his body going rigid against yours, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “God, you’re tight. You’re taking me so well, baby. So perfect for me.”

He didn’t move for a long moment, letting you feel every inch, letting your body adjust to the overwhelming intrusion. You could feel the heavy throb of him inside you, the way your own muscles fluttered and clenched around him, trying to pull him deeper.

Then he moved.

He pulled out slowly, almost completely, dragging it out before slamming back in. A choked cry was punched from you with each relentless thrust thrust that jolted you forward into the window, your palms squeaking against the glass. The sound of skin slapping against skin, of his ragged breaths and your desperate moans, filled the silent office.

“You thought you could leave?” he panted, his pace increasing, becoming less controlled, more frantic. He wrapped one arm around your waist, hauling you back onto him with every drive of his hips. “You thought you could walk away from me?” He slammed into you, and a sharp cry was punched from your chest. “I’d have found you. I’d have torn the world apart to bring you back. You’re mine.”

“Big words,” you managed to taunt, your voice shaking. “For a man who—ah!—needed a contract to get a wife.”

“You have a smart mouth for someone getting split open on my cock,” he snarled. The arm around your waist tightened, and his other hand came down in a sharp, stinging slap on your ass.

The shock of it made you clench around him harder.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic. “You like that?” He spanked you again, on the other side, and you moaned, pushing your ass back into the contact, into his thrusts. “This perfect cunt,” he hammered into you, “this perfect body. All mine. In a month, you’ll be my wife. Then it’s forever.” His breaths were shaking too, now. “You’ll carry my children. You’ll wear my ring and my marks and my cum every single day until you forget there was ever a time you weren’t mine.”

Your nails scrabbled against the smooth glass. “You’re—you’re insane,” you gasped out.

“For you,” he growled, nipping at your shoulder. “It’s all for you.” His pace became brutal, a piston-like drive that had you seeing stars with each impact. The tightness in your belly wound faster, faster, a spring of sensation ready to snap. You could feel the sweat slick between your bodies.

“That’s it,” he whispered, watching your desperate, pleasure-twisted expression in the darkening reflection of the glass. “See how beautiful you are? Taking all of me. Made for me. My perfect girl.” He slid a hand around your hip, his fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing tight little circles. “You want me to put a baby in you, don’t you?” he breathed. “You want to be so full of me you can’t forget for a second who you belong to.”

Your hips rocked back, meeting his thrusts, seeking more, deeper. “Yes,” you whimpered. “Yes, Sunghoon, please.”

In one brutal, fluid motion, he spun you around. Your back hit the glass with a soft thud, the city lights a dizzying backdrop behind him. Before you could process the new position, his mouth was on yours, swallowing your gasp. His tongue mapped the interior of your mouth as his hands gripped your bare thighs, hiking them up around his hips. He entered you again in this new, face-to-face angle, and it was somehow deeper. You could see his face—the dark flush on his cheekbones, the sweat beading at his temples, the madness in his eyes.

His cock sank back into your soaked pussy with a slick thrust, stretching you wide in this new angle that let him grind right against that spot deep inside. Sunghoon groaned low in his throat, his forehead pressing to yours as he started moving again, slow at first, savoring the way your walls clenched around him, pulling him in like you were made to milk every inch. "Fuck, you’re incredible," he rasped, voice rough with awe. "So tight, so wet for me. ‘S like your body's begging to keep me forever."

You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into the taut muscles of his back through his shirt as he picked up the pace, hips snapping forward. Each plunge drove him deeper, the head of his cock dragging along your inner walls, hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The cool glass bit into your spine, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every thrust. All you could focus on was Sunghoon: his breath hot on your neck, his hands bruising your thighs as he held you open, fucking you so hard you were sure you’d forget your own name by the time he was done.

"That's my girl," he murmured, lips brushing your ear, his rhythm turning relentless. He loved it, the way your pussy fluttered around his thick length, the obscene wet sounds of him sliding in and out, the way your tits bounced with each thrust. He shifted his grip, hiking you up higher so that one hand could slide up to cup your breast, thumb flicking your hardened nipple while he lowered his mouth to the other.

Your head fell back against the window, a series of punched-out moan and whimpers tearing from your throat. His thrusts grew harder, faster again. You could feel him everywhere—his cock throbbing inside you, his hands on your body, his mouth on your tits, and the tightness climbed further and further, your clit pulsing under the friction of his body—until it snapped. You cried out his name as you rode the waves of your orgasm, legs trembling in his hold.

Sunghoon followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt with your name on his lips. His cock pulsed, hot spurts of cum flooding your depths, marking you from the inside out. He held you there, grinding deep as he emptied himself. Then slowly, carefully, he pulled out. A hot trickle slid down your inner thigh. He released you from his grip gently, his expression utterly shattered. He looked at you—your flushed face, your kiss-swollen lips, your dress rumpled around your waist—as if you were a miracle.

He leaned down and kissed you softly. “I’m in love with you, you impossible woman,” he whispered against your lips. “I think I have been since you shoved me out of the way to make congee.”

A watery laugh-sob escaped you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on.

He kissed your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose. Then his expression grew serious again, though the tenderness remained, and he reached for his discarded suit jacket, draped over his desk chair, and wrapped it around your shoulders. Then looked at the scattered shreds of the termination agreement on the floor, then back at you, a dark gleam in his eye. “And just in case you get any more noble, self-sacrificing ideas…” He placed his large hand over your lower belly again, thumb stroking the skin. “We’re not done here. We’re going home, and you can forget about work tomorrow.”

THREE YEARS LATER, THE SOUND OF GLEEFUL SHRIEKS WAS BETTER THAN ANY ALARM CLOCK.

You stirred, a soft smile already on your face before you even opened your eyes. The early morning sun filtered through the gauzy curtains of the bedroom in the penthouse—your penthouse, your bedroom—covering everything in warm, honeyed light. The space beside you in the vast bed was empty, but still warm. You could hear the distant, deep complaints of Sunghoon’s voice mixing with the high, piping laughter of your daughter, Via.

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, one hand automatically cradling the gentle, firm swell of your belly. Twenty weeks along with your second. A little brother for Via, the ultrasound had confirmed.

Padding out to the open-plan living area, you leaned against the doorframe, watching. Sunghoon, dressed in soft grey sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, was on his hands and knees, being conquered by a two-year-old warlord in ugly green dinosaur pajamas. Via was perched triumphantly on his back, tiny hands fisted in his shirt, shouting “Daddy, horsey! Faster!”

“I am a CEO,” Sunghoon grumbled, but his voice was full of laughter as he obediently crawled a few more feet across the rug. “I negotiate several deals before you even eat breakfast. I am not a horse.”

“Horsey!” Via insisted, shrieking.

“You heard the boss,” you called out, grinning.

Sunghoon’s head snapped up. His face, which still took your breath away, softened instantly when he saw you. Even with sleep-tousled hair, he still made your heart do that stupid flip with a smile that reached his crinkled eyes. “Look, Via, Mama’s awake,” he said, carefully rolling so he could scoop your giggling daughter into his arms as he stood.

“Mama!” Via reached for you, and Sunghoon carried her over, depositing a wriggling, warm bundle into your arms before leaning down to kiss you, slow and sweet.

“Good morning, baby.” he murmured against your lips. “How did you sleep?”

“Perfectly,” you said, meaning it. You kissed Via’s dark hair. “Unlike someone who was apparently running a rodeo at 7 AM.”

“She has her mother’s energy,” Sunghoon said, his hand coming to rest on your belly, his thumb stroking the curve. “And her mother’s terrible sense of timing.” he mock-frowned. “Why’d you have to get up now? I was just about to bring you breakfast in bed.”

“Mm, no,” you leaned into him. “This is much better.”

my first long-ish fic...thats why i used dividers but wow its lowkey too many sweats anyway she is my baby this took me so long (literally over a month lol) but i hope u like her....... to be honest with u guys,,, i dont like it 😭 i was super excited abt this idea but i dont like at all how it came out and i honestly think i could have done so much better but i just wanted to get this done even if it was shit i cant lie im sorry 😞 it felt so weird to finish off after everything,, im still pretty torn up about it so if anything at all came off a little weird thats my bad 🥲🥲🥲 anyway i hope u liked it tho, and i hope ur all doing good and keeping healthy (and boycotting belift !!) <3 much love from ur mona heedimples 💝

+ taglist - @heetaki @clearlyhoonie @arischacco @ickbite @ewstain @keonnies @shawnyle @s4eungie @endukki @nonchalantjaeyun @wonsvisuals

[heesunghooney]

FUCK ME THIS IS MY JOY IN LIFE RN PARK SUNGHOON U CRAZY MAN I LOVE YOU

[musz777-deactivated20260323]

heeseung pulls you flush against his chest, his strong hands gripping your hips as he grinds slowly into you. his lips brush your ear, hot breath sending shivers down your spine. in a deep, husky voice filled with lust and quiet defiance, he whispers,

“sign the petition, drop my hashtags on x, and boycott hybe… like my good fucking girl”

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

──── ACCIDENTALLY YOURS ⋆˚꩜｡ p. sh

pairing ˚୨୧⋆｡ ₊° park sunghoon x f!reader ── .✦ smut (mdni!), fluff, rom-com, angst, slowburn kinda, college!au, friends to lovers ft. yn's roommate!jake & sunghoon's roomate!jay wc ꩜⊹✎ᝰ.ᐟ 24k

synopsis ୭ ⁺₊✧ the universe has a funny way of working. some people find their fate in poetry, in the stars, or in the grand, sweeping moments of life. you? you find yours in the form of park sunghoon—a boy you keep running into in the most unfortunate ways possible. like how he threw a football straight into your face and broke your nose. or when he got way too drunk at a party and threw up all over your shoes. or that time he somehow managed to blow up an entire science experiment all over you. in other words—the few accidental times the universe tries to tell you that park sunghoon is your fate…and the one time you finally listened (and maybe fate had less to do with a broken nose and more to do with the way he looks at you like you’re his favorite accident).

warnings ꩜｡⊹ ࣪ ˖ sunghoon is DOWNBAD, clumsy & awkward as hell // he YEARNS & LONGS, a drama queen // alcohol consumption // mild cursing // hoon is also a self sabotager // jayhoon bromance is real // sunghoon has one sided mental beef against jake for sum reason LOL ˗ˏˋ nsfw tags ᝰ.ᐟ virgin!sunghoon x experienced!reader, lowkey sub/switch!sunghoon, unprotected sex (dont do it pls!!!), oral sex (f receiving), riding, fingering, squirting, dry humping, hoon has a praise kink for sure, breast play, handjob, hair pulling, dirty talk, masturbation (he does it while he munches whoops), roughish sex, creampie

°˖➴ .ᐟ addie ── OK so i'd like to start off with saying last i checked this fic had 15k words...and then suddenly it has 24k... idk what happened honestly . but i ended up LOVING writing this sunghoon bc in my eyes he's a hot, clumsy dork <3 this is my first time ever writing smut so i am so so sorry if it sucks absolute booty hole bc it truly had me spinning in circles...i have so much respect for smut authors bc damn . anyways i hope u guys like, pls let me know what u think & also ty ronnie per usual for beta reading & encouraging me to explore out of my comfort zone heh. HOPE U ALL ENJOY :')

they say you never forget your first.

your first kiss. your first failing grade. your first crush. your first pet’s name.

for park sunghoon? he’ll never forget the first time he met you.

and honestly? he kind of wishes he could.

scratch that—he desperately wishes he could. then he wishes he could self-implode. then, he wishes he could rewind time and never agree to play catch with jay in the first place.

not to be dramatic or anything. but if you had been responsible for sending a football flying at full speed straight into someone’s face, you’d probably want to self-implode too.

and that’s exactly what happens.

it’s a quiet day. a peaceful one, almost. the kind of the day that feels soft around the edges, where nothing’s too bright, too loud, or too complicated. the one that almost makes sunghoon feel like simply a background character in the movie of his own life, which he doesn’t entirely mind either.

sunghoon’s morning starts like most of his mornings do—half productive, half running on pure autopilot. he wakes up to his alarm on time (a small miracle), beats jay to their shared bathroom before he can claim it for his thirty minute long skincare routine (a big miracle), and grabs a granola bar from the kitchen cabinet. said cabinet, by the way, is home to an endlessly growing collection of half-eaten snacks—chips that have gone soft, instant ramen cups with weird flavors no one remembers buying, and a mystery jar of peanut butter that’s been there since move in day.

sunghoon pays half attention in his 9AM statistics lecture (which is about as much as anyone can ask from him on a monday morning), and manages to grab his favorite sandwich from the café before they run out for the day. the café lady even remembers his name this time (although she calls him ‘sungoon’, which he lets slide because she gives him extra pickles).

it’s all wonderfully, boringly normal.

and for sunghoon, that’s saying something.

because his life isn’t exactly filled with chaos—he’s not that guy. but he does have a habit of stumbling into moments that feel like they were written by a sitcom writer and he’s the character created solely for the purpose of comedic relief.

like the time he ran into and tripped over the campus mascot in front of an entire basketball game. or the time he waved back at someone who wasn’t waving at him and then had to commit to pretending he actually did know them. or the time he tried to flirt with a girl at a bookstore and accidentally knocked over an entire table of self-help books on himself.

you get the idea.

still, today feels normal. stable, predictable.

until jay shows up.

jay appears in sunghoon’s peripheral vision exactly how sunghoon predicted he would—hair sticking up in three different directions, wearing an oversized hoodie that may or may not be his sleep shirt, a cup of iced coffee in one hand even though it’s four in the afternoon and, for some reason, a football in the other.

sunghoon blinks up at him from his table in the campus courtyard. there’s an empty sandwich container on one side of him, a half-finished math sheet on the other, and that quiet kind of peace that only comes when you’re okay with the world not doing anything particularly interesting.

jay park ruins that peace immediately.

“what’s that for?” sunghoon asks, nodding at the football in jay’s right hand.

jay shrugs, sipping his coffee before putting it down next to sunghoon’s empty sandwich container. “found it on my way here. thought it’d be fun.”

fun.

sunghoon raises an eyebrow. that’s a bold word coming from jay—jay park, a business major who considers waking up before noon an accomplishment and whose idea of cardio is sprinting into lecture late.

still, sunghoon doesn’t judge. he’s learned his lesson about athletic optimism. the summer he was nine, he tried out for the neighborhood little league baseball team with nothing but poor hand-eye coordination and a dream. one swing, one very unlucky coach, and one black eye later, and sunghoon retired early from all things sports related.

which should’ve been foreshadowing in itself.

sunghoon’s first mistake is catching the football when jay tosses it at him. his second is not immediately throwing it back and walking away.

because somehow, between the caffeine in jay’s bloodstream and sunghoon’s chronic inability to say no to stupid ideas—five minutes later they’re standing on opposite sides of the courtyard, tossing the football lazily back and forth.

and it becomes easy, repetitive. jay’s talking about something mid-throw, probably the new band he’s into or some conspiracy theory about the campus squirrels. but sunghoon’s not really listening, not really. he’s too focused on the rhythm. catch, step, throw. catch, step, throw. it’s almost meditative.

until it isn’t.

because somewhere across the courtyard that smells like grass and cheap coffee, laughter suddenly carries through the air—a bright, unfamiliar kind of laugh that feels like home anyways and that makes sunghoon’s head instinctively turn.

and in that same half-second, jay’s voice calls out.

“yo, heads up!”

sunghoon turns back just in time to see the football not in his own hands anymore.

and it’s definitely not heading towards jay either.

it’s heading towards you.

and before he could do anything about it—the ball collides with your face with an impact so loud that the entire school might as well have witnessed it.

“oh my god,” jay whispers.

“oh my god,” sunghoon repeats under his breath.

“oh my god,” you’re gasping, clutching your nose and stumbling back before you can catch yourself, your butt hitting the grass.

sunghoon’s stunned for a second, arms halfway raised, eyes flickering between you and jay and the football. he runs through a mental list of things that could maybe, possibly, reverse the entire past twenty minutes of the disaster that is his life (spoiler: there aren’t any).

and then he’s moving before he even realizes it, jogging over with wide eyes and a growing pit of dread in his stomach.

“oh my god—are you okay? did i—shit—is your nose broken?” the words fall out of his mouth in one frantic breath as he crouches beside you.

you hand is still pressed against your face as you blink up at the figure above you, your vision disorientated.

and when your eyes finally focus—the face that greets you is devastatingly pretty.

which would be fine under any other circumstance. except for the fact that this is the face of a man who literally just assaulted you via sports equipment.

and unfortunately for sunghoon, the face that greets him is just as devastatingly pretty.

which would also be fine…under any other circumstance.

because sunghoon’s luck with girls isn’t terrible…technically. he’s had his fair share of crushes that lasted two weeks but ended in radio silence. he knows how to flirt when he needs to, knows how to make a girl laugh, knows what kind of compliment lands without sounding weird. he’s even good at the little things—opening doors, letting the girl have the booth side of the table, texting back on time but not too soon, pretending to like matcha even though it tastes like grass to him.

the problem is never getting their attention. he’s grown up around enough of his mom’s friends cooing at him during dinner parties—‘your son is so handsome!’ ‘what did you eat during your pregnancy to get a face like that?’— that he’s well aware he’s got at least one thing working in his favor. so no, getting attention isn’t the issue.

it’s keeping it.

because sunghoon is the kind of guy who accidentally ghosts first. not on purpose, he just forgets. he gets too caught up in assignments, or chores, or reorganizing his t-shirt collection by color again (even though it’s really only three colors: black, white, and a slightly lighter black). he’s terrible at balancing the whole dating thing and college thing and not knocking over self-help book displays in public thing.

and now, apparently, not breaking someone’s nose.

but right now, looking at you—bloodied nose, wide eyes, planted in wet grass and probably mildly concussed—sunghoon can’t think about any of that.

because, somehow, even like this, maybe even especially like this, he thinks you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen.

which is horrifying.

sunghoon wants to dig a hole right then and there and crawl inside. maybe build a small underground home, maybe live out the rest of his days as a mole person.

“i—i’m so sorry. i swear, it was an accident—he—jay was supposed to catch it—”

that’s when jay conveniently shows up right behind him, a hand lifting up in betrayal, “bro, you looked away—”

“i was distracted—”

“by what?”

sunghoon freezes. his brain short-circuits, because the answer is, unfortunately, you.

he opens his mouth. freezes. clears his throat. tries again. “by…a…bird?”

you finally speak up from your spot on the ground, your head going back and forth at the two bickering guys through your watery eyes, “…a bird.”

“yeah,” sunghoon says, shrugging like this is an everyday conversation. “it was…really big.”

there’s a slight beat of silence where even jay looks like he feels pity for his best friend. then, you squint at him, tilting your head slightly.

“wait—” you start, voice still a little nasally. “you look familiar. have we met before?”

sunghoon stiffens. his entire life flashes before his eyes.

have you met before? god, please not the self-help book incident. or worse—not the person he accidentally waved to thinking it was someone he knew.

he feels his stomach drop. maybe it’s neither. maybe it’s both.

and maybe he should just crawl into the earth now and never come back up.

“that would be park sunghoon,” a new voice cuts in.

you turn your head towards the sound, relief instantly washing over your face when you see the tall boy approaching—baseball cap on backwards, plastic cup of boba in one hand, and a very mild look of concern on his face.

“jake.”

“y/n.” jake’s eyes flick to the scene in front of him: you, still clutching your nose; sunghoon, crouched nearby with a look only a guilty perpetrator could possess; and jay, standing behind him and sipping his coffee like he’s getting free entertainment (and he is).

“…i leave you alone for two minutes,” jake starts flatly, “and you’ve already managed to get injured by my friends.”

“accidentally injured,” jay corrects pointedly and very much unhelpfully.

jake ignores him. “he lives in our building, that’s probably where you’ve seen him.” he then gestures vaguely to both sunghoon and jay with the drink in his hand. “they both do. down the hall from us.”

he reaches down and helps you to your feet in one smooth pull, steadying you by the elbow before turning to the boys. “y/n, meet sunghoon and jay—two of my closest friends since high school, unfortunately. and also unfortunately, our neighbors.”

then he glances back at the pair, who now stand side by side in an awkward pose of guilt and discomfort. “and sunghoon and jay, meet y/n—my new roommate. remember? i told you guys she transferred here a few days ago. i was coming over to introduce you guys but…looks like you beat me to it.”

sunghoon makes a noise. not a normal human noise. a noise that lands somewhere between a startled choke, squeak, and what he thinks a goose being lightly stepped on would sound like. 

because no—he absolutely does not remember jake telling him this. because jake definitely mentioned it, but probably in the middle of a league match when sunghoon was functioning at ten percent brain capacity, half-listening while trying not to die in-game for the fifteenth time:

“new roommate, got it,” he had probably replied at the time, while actually registering none of it.

and now here you are. in front of him. because of course the universe would make you one of his closest friend’s roommate. of course the prettiest girl he’s ever accidentally assaulted with a football now lives ten doors down.

he hovers, like he wants to say something else—maybe something smooth so you think he’s charming, maybe an actual apology so you think he’s not an asshole with awful coordination. but his brain offers him nothing but static.

he opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again. nothing.

he’s spiraling. he wants to evaporate. he wants to scream. but instead of doing any of these things, sunghoon does what any rational, socially competent person would do.

he sticks out his hand. straight. stiff. right in front of you. doesn’t say a word.

you blink. you glance down at it. then back up at him. you squint your eyes past the vision of your other hand still clutching your face, looking at him as if trying to puzzle something together. 

still, with your free hand, you eventually reach forward and give his a small, polite shake. his palm is warm, a little clammy, and you’re pretty sure you can feel him holding his breath the entire time. 

“nice to meet you, park sunghoon,” your voice small but with something else. 

the way his full name rolls off your tongue is smooth, deliberate. just on the edge of playful, but there’s something else beneath it. he can’t tell if it’s sarcasm or sincerity. maybe both. maybe you’re the kind of person who could ruin him with a smile and then apologize while doing it.

either way, it sticks. because it shouldn’t sound like that. like a challenge. like a secret he’s suddenly desperate to learn. and the worst part of it all? he likes it.

and for a second, everything else is tuned out—the sound of the commotion around campus, the breeze rustling the leaves around him, even jay’s straw scraping against the remaining ice in his cup—all sunghoon can focus on is the faint curve of your lips when you say his name. it hits him somewhere low in his gut. strange and foreign and sweet. sweet in a way that could be addicting if sunghoon isn’t careful.

and honestly, he’s not good with things that make him feel like this. because, sunghoon? sunghoon is far from careful. he’s clumsy in life—can’t keep his balance, can’t hold his composure, can’t even throw a football without committing mild assault.

and now he can’t think straight either.

“—and jay,” you nod towards jay, who lifts his now empty coffee cup in a small wave, “but i think i should probably go to the clinic or something.”

jake nudges you gently, which snaps sunghoon out of whatever trance he was sinking into, “yeah. let’s get you checked out before you lose your nose.”

and because sunghoon is sunghoon and definitely not a rational, socially competent person—the best he could manage is a crooked, lopsided smile and a stiff little wave as you turn to go.

you start walking, jake talking quietly beside you, but before you’re too far away, you glance back over your shoulder. and it’s quick, half a second at most—but sunghoons catches it.

a faint smile. the faintest. and he can’t tell if it’s teasing, curious, or dangerous. maybe all three.

either way, it stays with him and he freezes, watching you disappear around the corner, his heartbeat now annoyingly loud in his chest. and he doesn’t know what to think of it. because, again, sunghoon’s luck with girls isn’t terrible…technically. he just doesn’t think he’s ever felt this before. but, to be fair, it’s not everyday you accidentally potentially break the nose of the prettiest-girl-you’ve-seen-turned-neighbor before.

“that…was amazing.” jay breaks sunghoon out of his mental spiral, nudging sunghoon’s arm with his own elbow, smirking.

sunghoon doesn’t answer. he’s too busy replaying every second in his head—the way your hand felt, the way you said his name, the way you threw that half-smile over your shoulder.

and somehow, some way, sunghoon’s wonderfully boring day had accidentally become something else entirely.

and that was the first time park sunghoon sees you.

the second time he sees you, he almost forgets about the entire football fiasco, honestly.

not because it’s anything personal against you. god, no.

but because he remembers something his therapist once said. something about how, apparently, if a memory is painful enough, sometimes the best thing to do is just…repress it. file it away. pretend it never happened altogether.

which, in hindsight, is probably, most definitely, not the best way to handle one’s crippling emotions. especially not crippling emotions involving a girl who looks like the kind of person that keeps you up at night after only exchanging a solid ten (10) words.

but to be fair, sunghoon’s therapist is also a twenty-something year old business major who listens to ‘character development’ podcasts every morning and calls it experience.

so yeah. his therapist is jay park.

which explains why the memory of meeting you now lives in the deepest and darkest corners of sunghoon’s mind—right between the mascot-tripping incident and the little league baseball trauma.

but again—sunghoon has the chronic inability to say no. especially to jay. and you’d think, after years of friendship, he’d know better.

he does not.

which is how he ends up here—standing in the middle of a frat house that’s definitely seen better days, clutching a red solo cup filled with what jay insists is just ginger ale, and silently wondering how to sneak out without anyone noticing.

because parties were never really sunghoon’s thing.

not only because he’s a self-proclaimed introvert. but because they usually involve three things: 1) loud music that usually consists of mediocre 2000s pop songs all mashed up together by a frat brother whose side gig is dj-ing, 2) sticky floors from mysterious substances that he refuses to think about, and 3) some guy named ni-ki who, for reasons unknown to science, keeps losing his left shoe at every function and makes it everyone else’s problem.

or all of the above. usually all of the above.

but now sunghoon’s too many sips deep into his maybe-not-ginger-ale mystery drink, with the floorboards vibrating underneath him, and the crowd of bodies around him moving in an off-beat rhythm to some one direction song.

he also thinks the room might be spinning, but he’s not sure if that’s from the strobing lights flickering across the ceiling or because he accidentally downed half of whatever this drink actually is. he should probably stop. he should definitely stop.

but before he can even gather his thoughts to make any semi-rational decision a semi-drunk person could make, jay shows up and slaps him on the shoulder with the force of a man who’s had one too many more than sunghoon has.

“dude,” jay shouts over the music, leaning in and nodding his head toward the other end of the room. “don’t look now, but—”

which is precisely the kind of sentence that makes sunghoon immediately look now.

and there you are.

you’re across the room, leaning casually against the wall, laughing at whatever jake just said beside you. your head’s tilted back, cup in hand, a strand of hair falling over your face, and sunghoon nearly forgets to breathe.

and you’re wearing exactly what’s going to keep him up tonight. and so, of course, he doesn’t know what to do about it. 

sunghoon’s pretty sure the air conditioning in this place stopped working about an hour ago, but the room suddenly feels suffocating, sweat prickling at the back of his neck and the crowd blurs into a backdrop, the music fading to a distance. all he can see is the curve of your mouth when you laugh—fully, invitingly, the kind that pulls a low heat to his gut—and the way your fingers twist a loose strand of hair absentmindedly, completely unaware of how it draws him in.

it’s not fair. you’re supposed to be a one-time occurrence. the one-time girl he accidentally maimed with a football and might awkwardly bump into while checking mail or when he comes over to visit jake—not someone who looks like she belongs in every dream he’s going to have for the next six months.

and sunghoon hasn’t even had a real first kiss, technically—unless you count that tragedy of spin-the-bottle in the tenth grade where he accidentally bit a girl’s lip and left her mortified and bloody—but all of the sudden, his mind floods with foreign, forbidden thoughts he really shouldn’t entertain. thoughts of closing the distance, backing you against that wall, his hands on your waist, how your lips would part under his, the faint taste of whatever you’re drinking mixing with his, your laughter turning into something heavier, needier. the way your body might arch into him, the soft gasps you’d make if his mouth trailed lower—god, it’s wrong, it’s too much, and sunghoon tries his hardest to veer his thoughts elsewhere. 

but because sunghoon is everything except subtle, jay follows his line of sight and smirks immediately.

“oh god,” jay warns, but the intrigued look on his face says otherwise. “you’re thinking about going over there, aren’t you?”

sunghoon freezes before subtly rolling his eyes, running a hand through his hair, “i just—i should apologize. right? like, properly. you know, be mature about it.”

jay gives a look despite the a playful tone in his slurred voice, “i’m just saying. she might walk away with a new broken bone if you do.”

sunghoon exhales, straightens up, takes a gulp of his drink and coughs from the burn—yeah, definitely not ginger ale. “statistically, lightning can’t strike twice.”

jay blinks. “how the hell are you quoting statistics while drunk?”

“because i’m not,” sunghoon says pointedly, slapping his own cheek once as if that’ll magically sober him up. and he thinks he’s at least…fifty percent sober. hopefully. “see? totally fine.”

he doesn’t stick around to hear whatever jay’s response is—because the second he notices jake disappearing into the kitchen, he’s already weaving through the crowd, heart pounding, brain screaming at him to turn around, and feet doing exactly the opposite.

you notice him before he even reaches you. there’s a flicker of surprise on your face, but it fades just as quickly—shifting into something that looks like amusement. like you were expecting this. like you’d been waiting for him to show up eventually.

“the park sunghoon,” you say once he’s close enough to hear you over the music. and when he is, the space between you feels heavy—maybe it’s from the heat of the room, maybe from the scent of alcohol and sweat. maybe from something else entirely. “i didn’t take you as a party person.”

sunghoon freezes mid-step.

because he thought he knew what he was going to say to you once he got here. maybe something clever, maybe something smooth. but your tone—the teasing ease of it, the way his name sounds in your mouth—it throws him off completely.

his fingers tighten around his cup and he takes another sip, pretending to look casual and not because he suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands. then he lets out a laugh—nervous, stupid, a little too loud.

“i’m usually not,” he manages, trying to sound smooth as he leans a shoulder against the wall beside you. “but jay can be persuasive.”

a small smirk plays at the corner of your lips. “mmm. and the drink?”

sunghoon follows your gaze down to the red solo cup in his hand.

“jay told me it was ginger ale.”

you don’t say anything for a second. then, you let out another hum, reaching out before he can react and taking the cup straight from his hands.

you take a slow sip, your eyes trained on his own over the rim of his cup. it’s deliberate. it’s long. it’s dangerous. and he feels every. second. of it.

you lower the cup, swallow, then make a face. “yeah. definitely not ginger ale.”

sunghoon laughs, sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, figures.”

a teasing smile tugs at your lips, “do you do everything jay tells you to?”

his eyes widen immediately. “what? no! no—no, definitely not.”

“uh huh,” you glance past him to where jay’s pretending not to watch the two of you from across the room. very badly. “did he tell you to come over here?”

sunghoon turns, spots jay’s unsubtle wave, and groans. “no, actually. i came over all on my own, i’ll have you know.”

“oh yeah?” you tilt your head, stepping just a little closer—close enough for him to catch the faint citrus of your perfume. “and why’s that, sunghoon?”

he opens his mouth, ready with something about apologizing again, but the words stall.

because here you are. up close. and you’re a little overwhelming—eyes steady, posture loose, smile daring. he thinks he can feel his pulse in his ears.

“because…uh—” sunghoon stops, clears his throat, then smirks, trying to look steadier than his heart feels. “i figured if i’m gonna cause another accident tonight, i should probably make sure it’s worth it.”

you laugh, and he swears it’s louder than the music, “smooth recovery.”

“i’m a fast learner.”

“from jay?”

he grins. “definitely not.”

and the way you smile at that—the slow, curious curve of it—makes him realize he’s in trouble. the kind of trouble he doesn’t exactly want to walk away from.

there’s a beat where neither of you say anything. the music continues to thump all around him, the lights flash across your face in a dizzy rhythm that makes sunghoon’s stomach flip, and you’re standing close enough now that he can smell the faint scent of your citrus perfume and feel the heat from your arm whenever you shift slightly closer to hear him over the music.

and god, it’s suddenly very, very hard to think straight again.

he clears his throat. “anyway. i, uh—i wanted to apologize too. properly, you know. for your nose. for ruining your face—i mean, not that your face is ruined! it’s a great face. a perfect face. or, maybe not perfect-perfect, but y’know, structurally sound—”

sunghoon stops. he thinks he’s never hated himself, alcohol, and maybe a little bit of jay more than he does in this moment.

you stare at him for a long second, lips pressed together like you’re biting back a laugh. then, slowly, the teasing smirk on your face softens into something warmer, something he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

“sunghoon,” you say, his name coming out softer this time. “how about we just start over?”

the noise of the party tunes out again. it’s like the world narrowed down to just you, him, and the faint sound of ‘has anyone seen my left shoe?’ somewhere in the background.

“yeah,” sunghoon nods a little, nervous and hopeful all at once, his mouth twitching into an awkward smile. “yeah, i’d really like that.”

and then the conversation lulls into something easy after that. something comfortable. he manages to land a joke that makes you laugh, he learns your major, how you ended up as jake’s roommate—which spirals into a story about being cousins with his last roommate, lee heeseung, who graduated last semester and now moved onto bigger and better things in the adult world. and by bigger and better, we mean he graduated with a biology degree but now works for a music label and spends all his time obsessing over his co-worker-turned-girlfriend.

and everything feels good. it’s casual. it’s normal.

sunghoon feels like he’s floating—like he’s actually managing to exist around you without saying anything stupid about bones or noses or facial structures.

everything is just fine.

until it suddenly isn’t.

because when you turn away to refill your cup, sunghoon straightens up from the wall and blinks. once, twice. the lights all smear together in red and gold and blue. the floor tilts, or maybe he does. either way, his vision sways, just a little, and he can feel his pulse pounding in his head.

and that’s when it hits him. 

oh. oh no.

sunghoon is drunk.

the realization hits him at the same moment you turn back towards him.

your hair catches the light as you move, and your lips part—he can see you saying something, your mouth forming the beginning of a smile—but all sunghoon can focus on is trying his very best to look composed. his fingers dig into the side of the table next to him, the room ripples, the floor hums under his feet.

he blinks hard. again. and again, like that’s somehow going to stop the slow spin that’s started in his vision. it doesn’t. his heartbeat trips over itself. there’s too much heat in the room, too much sound pressing at the back of his skull, too much you in front of him.

“would you want to—i don’t know, maybe one day—”

sunghoon doesn’t hear the rest of your sentence. because suddenly his entire body stiffens. the nausea rises sharp and fast, his breath catches, and his face drops. and you barely have a second to register his expression before he’s leaning forward when—

it happens.

the end to park sunghoon’s dignity.

the music doesn’t stop. the lights don’t even flicker. but for sunghoon, the world falls completely silent as he realizes, in a slow motion way that only seem to exist in horror movies, that he’s just thrown up all over your shoes.

you stare down at your shoes, blinking.

sunghoon stares down at your shoes, horrified.

the silence between you stretches, thick and terrible. somewhere in the background, one direction is still playing, jay is shaking his head in a kind of not-surprised disappointment, and someone trips over a single, abandoned left shoe.

“oh my god,” sunghoon whispers, voice small and hoarse as he stares at the pile of him now covering your shoes. “oh my god.”

he then looks up at you, all glassy-eyed and pale, half-drunk but one hundred percent mortified, “i am so sorry—i swear, i didn’t—your shoes—”

you look down at your shoes again, then back at him, and then close your eyes slowly, not saying anything.

“—i promise i’m not like this normally,” he blurts out, words slurring together. “i—oh my god, i’m so sorry—”

sunghoon sways slightly where he stands, still holding the table for balance, his face stuck in the kind of panic that belongs to someone who’s guilty.

jake appears just in time, two cups in hand, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees the scene in front of him.

“…what the hell,” jake says flatly, eyes darting between you, your shoes, and the man responsible.

and sunghoon can’t even look up. his hand is still clamped over his mouth, palm slightly damp, stomach twisting, throat burning, and mind praying that everyone else around them is drunk enough to ignore the situation.

he risks a glance. immediate regret.

your shoes, the mess, the smell, the whole awful, lingering reality of what he’s done. the sight alone is enough to make sunghoon sway again. his brain, fuzzy and slow, still tries to find the words to form an apology that’s at least fifty percent not pathetic.

you then inhale. “yeah,” you say finally, your voice weirdly calm for someone whose shoes had just been absolutely ruined. “i…i think i’m just gonna go home.”

your voice is quiet, barely above the music, but somehow, it cuts through everything. the pounding bass. the off key singing of the crowd. the ringing in sunghoon’s ears. it’s all he can hear.

jake sighs, glancing between the two of you. “yeah. yeah, that’s probably smart. let’s go.”

he gives sunghoon a pitying look—the kind you give a guy when you’re stuck in between both sides of a battle—before turning to guide you toward the door.

sunghoon still doesn’t move. he just stands there, stuck, heartbeat hammering behind his ribs, in his head, everywhere. his mouth opens like he might say something—apologize again, call out your name, beg the floor to swallow him whole. but nothing comes out.

so he just watches. watches the back of your head disappear into the crowd. watches jake’s hand settle lightly on your shoulder. watches the door close behind you.

he exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face when jay appears beside him. he’s holding a now half-empty cup, the look on his face somewhere between pity and amusement.

“…i told you you were drunk.”

sunghoon pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut, “jay.”

“yeah?”

“shut up.”

jay doesn’t. instead, he hums, “and i told you not to come over.”

sunghoon thunks his head against the wall behind him, “jay.”

“yeah?”

“please stop talking.”

and that was the second time park sunghoon sees you.

the next and third time sunghoon sees you, he knows it’s coming.

sunghoon knew he was going to see you because he’s an observant guy. yes, he sits in the back of class and only speaks when spoken to, but he notices the little things.

like how the guy two seats to his left keeps a family-sized bag of hot cheetos inside his backpack and thinks no one notices. or how the girl in the third row plays papa’s freezeria on her laptop every single lecture, unbothered by the fact that the professor is talking about reaction mechanisms right in front of her.

and how the new girl—the pretty one who showed up one random day with the shiny hair and the voice that always knows the right answers—always gets there five minutes early and sits in the first row. aka, you.

sunghoon has always noticed you.

so yeah, he knew he was going to see you today. chemistry lab is predictable like that. but he didn’t think it was going to be like this—you coming in late, hair slightly frazzled but still somehow shiny, breath just a little uneven from probably speed walking across campus, cheeks warm with the rush of someone running late, eyes scanning the room for an open seat.

because you are never late. but the universe has a weird sense of humor sometimes. and today, it decided to silence your morning alarm all on its own (you smacked it in your sleep and gave yourself twenty-too-many-minutes of snooze time), cut off your shower halfway through rinsing out your conditioner, and let the vending machine eat your last dollar without giving you your granola bar.

so the sight of you hesitating in the doorway makes the entire energy of the room shift just a little for sunghoon. he watches you mumble a quiet apology to your professor before your eyes quickly scan the room for an empty seat. and then his heart stalls for one horrifying second.

because he swears he can hear the universe laughing. laughing at the fact that the only seat available in the entire room…just so happens to be the one next to park sunghoon.

sunghoon, who immediately pretends to be incredibly invested in the periodic table projected on the side wall.

sunghoon, who is currently praying that someone will miraculously volunteer as tribute and take the empty chair beside him out of nowhere. no one does.

sunghoon, who tries his very best to quietly will himself invisible (he has never succeeded at this before. he does not succeed now).

your eyes land on the seat. then on him. and your expression does this tiny thing—something between oh! and oh…and something else that sunghoon cannot, and probably should not, interpret for the sake of his emotional stability.

then, with a small flash of hesitation and what seems like acceptance, you make your way over.

“hey…sunghoon,” you say, voice soft but steady as you pull out the chair.

sunghoon turns his head just slightly, offering you a nervous half smile that feels about three seconds away from collapsing into a full panic.

“hey,” he manages, voice a little too quiet, a little too soft. you slide into the seat, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and the faint citrus scent of you hits him like déjà vu and disaster rolled into one. and because it completely throws him off, he doesn’t even realize what he says next until the words are already out, “so how was your weekend?”

and then he freezes.

so do you. you are mid-bag-unzip. there is a soft still in the air as his words hang in between you two. how was your weekend.

the weekend where he vomited all over you.

sunghoon looks away and mentally slams his head into the table. maybe you didn’t hear him. or maybe he’s hallucinating and didn’t actually say that. or maybe he did actually say that and you’ll pretend it didn’t happen out of pity for him.

none of that happens.

because, eventually, you turn to him fully, a small smile on your face as you casually shrug, “oh, it was good!”

sunghoon stops for a second. he stares. okay. okay, good. maybe we’re safe. maybe this is forgiveness, maybe this is grace.

“—until i had to throw away my favorite pair of shoes.”

and there. it. is.

sunghoon thinks he dies. just a little. or a lot, internally. his eyes shut, his fingers gripping the pen in his hand so hard he swears the plastic actually creaks.

“yeah, um. that’s…fair,” he says back, but it comes out more like a croak. “listen, i’m really—”

“it’s really okay, sunghoon,” your voice interrupts as you tap your pen on the notebook, the tone light and casual and teasing—not at all the sound of someone who recently got assaulted by the same guy twice in the past week. “i mean, i think you just really owe me now, though.”

sunghoon’s eyes snap open. he glances over to look you and—

you don’t look mad. you don’t sound mad. if anything, you look…amused, really. and the tilt in your voice just now sounded almost fond, even. which is objectively worse for sunghoon’s emotional well-being.

sunghoon tries to speak. tries to be cool, collected, charming, normal. tries to ignore the fact that the pretty new girl with shiny hair that usually sits five rows ahead of him is currently still talking to him after he messed up with her twice.

“i—yeah—yes. absolutely. i will. i promise—”

and sunghoon literally does not know what he’s promising, nor does his mind give him the chance to find the words before the professor’s voice cuts through the room, “alright everyone. today’s experiment will be done in pairs. your partner will be the person you’re currently sharing a lab bench with.”

there’s a beat of silence.

because, again, the universe has a very weird sense of humor.

then, a soft inhale. and sunghoon isn’t even entirely sure if it came from him or from you. could be both.

“…so,” you start, turning slightly toward him just enough that your shoulder brushes his, “lab partners?”

and approximately within the next two seconds, park sunghoon goes through all five stages of grief:

denial — no. surely not. she means across the lab bench. diagonally. someone else. fate would never be this cruel to me.

anger — this is jay’s fault. it’s always jay’s fault. why did he convince me to go to that party. why does alcohol exist. this is all jay’s fault.

bargaining — if the universe lets me get through this without causing any physical harm, i will donate to charity. i will recycle properly. i will stop ignoring mom’s text messages. 

depression — i am going to die. right here. in a room that smells faintly of citrus (you), acetone (lab), and sweat (me).

acceptance — okay. okay. we got this. we persevere.

sunghoon swallows. clears his throat, once, then twice. but his voice still cracks like a thirteen year old boy when he turns to you, “lab partners.”

you give a small smile. it’s not mocking, it’s not pitying. just…warm. like you know exactly how nervous he is. like you know how sorry he is. like you aren’t holding the past two disasters against him at all. and sunghoon will take it. he’ll take whatever he can get.

you both stand and begin gathering equipment from the front bench—beakers, pipettes, safety goggles that look like they were designed by someone who has never seen a human face in their entire life.

so when sunghoon returns to the table and tries to put them on, it’s all a tragic scene—the strap catches, the goggles twist, his hair gets stuck. and through it all, you watch with a smile playing at your lips, but you don’t laugh. instead, you step closer, simply tilting your head.

“here,” you murmur, your voice gentle in a way that makes something inside sunghoon want to claw at his own skin. your hands lift, slow and careful, fingers sliding lightly into his hair as you adjust the straps behind his head.

“bend down a bit,” you say, struggling to reach his height, and sunghoon does what he’s told. you finish adjusting the goggles, smoothing down a strand of hair near his temple before your fingers linger for a brief second. the moment is light. short. harmless. but still long enough for sunghoon.

“thanks,” he says in a voice that isn’t really a voice. it’s low and careful, like if he speaks too loud the moment will shatter.

because you’re still close. close enough that he can feel your own warmth. close enough that if he tilted his head forward just a fraction, his lips would be right near your own. and he is trying so hard not to focus on that. he miserably fails.

all he can focus on is your breathing—soft and a little uneven, like you’re not totally unaffected either, which would be insane, because this is you and this is him and the universe should not allow him to have this much hope. that would be cruel.

but then your eyes flick up to meet his, and the world gets quiet for a second, like someone hit pause on everything except the two of you.

sunghoon swallows hard. his eyes dart elsewhere, anywhere, but then it hits him.

it hits him abruptly and mortifyingly, with the force of a preteen revelation:

there’s the subtle sheen of sweat tracing the line of your collarbone, where the lab’s humid heat has your skin glistening just enough to draw his eye to the hollow of your throat, where you’re wearing the tiniest necklace he has ever seen in his life.

and somehow that is the most scandalous thing he has ever encountered.

because it sits there, tiny and delicate and soft—and he thinks back to the way you spoke to him at the party. the way your eyes didn’t back down from his, the way his name sounded from your mouth the first time he met you. like you knew exactly what you were doing. 

you are everything but delicate. and something about that contrast, the softness laced with boldness, the gentle curve edged with something sharp—makes something in sunghoon go frighteningly, beautifully still. because sunghoon realizes he want more.

and not just in that casual, lab-partner-who-lives-ten-doors-down-and-occasionally-asks-to-borrow-sugar way. but in the remember-your-favorite-snack-and-stock-the-pantry-with-it, memorize-your-handwriting, learn-your-schedule-by-heart, hold-your-face-in-my-hands-and-finally-know-what-you-taste-like kind of way. the kind where he’d trace the line of your jaw just to feel your pulse quicken under his touch, where late-night texts turn into confessions whispered into the dark, where the world narrows to just the heat of your breath mingling with his, close enough that one right move could unravel everything else.

park sunghoon is 22 years old but his brain reacts to this realization like he is eleven, standing at the edge of the community pool and realizing that girls have collarbones and the world will never, ever be the same. his ears go hot. his heart beats faster. he looks away.

“no problem,” you clear your throat, stepping back, smoothing down your skirt with your palms. your voice is light again, controlled. but there’s a little curve at the corner of your mouth—like you know.

and somehow, everything after that falls into a quiet, simple, routine. because, in theory, the experiment is simple. measure, mix, heat, observe. nothing that a normal college student with half a functioning brain shouldn’t be able to handle.

which is precisely the issue. because the second sunghoon thinks he’s in the clear, the second sunghoon thinks he can maybe, possibly, start a normal conversation with you, maybe even pretend like the past two incidents never even happened—

you lean slightly over the lab bench, shifting slightly when the edge of your sweater brushes against his wrist. and that’s all it takes.

sunghoon forgets everything he just told himself.

“okay,” you tap your fingers playfully against the table. “we just need ten millimeters of solution A.”

“right,” sunghoon says, nodding immediately.

sunghoon says this with confidence.

sunghoon does not know what solution A is.

his hands are still steady though, surprisingly. he reaches for a beaker, a dropper, a labeled bottle.

“careful,” you say softly, fingers brushing his wrist as you help guide the pipette from one bottle to the other. sunghoon tries to ignore it. he really, really tries. he then looks at you, and you’re already looking at him.

“you’re really focused,” you tease with a small smirk, an eyebrow lifting.

“yeah,” he says without thinking. but he’s focused on you. not the beaker. not the measurement. and most definitely not the very important instruction that says pour ten millimeters and not thirty.

so when he pours—it’s too much. way too much. there’s a hiss, a bubble, a foaming roar before sunghoon could stop it even if he wanted to.

“wait—no that’s too—” you start, but it’s too late. and all sunghoon can do is stand there, and watch. watch as the reaction is already shooting upward, a fountain of foaming mixed colors exploding straight into the air before dropping right back down and directly—

on you.

all over you. from your hair to your eyelashes to your lips to your sweater to the floor.

the entire room goes silent. sunghoon swears he can hear 1) the way the professor closes her eyes slowly, like she’s lived this exact nightmare seven semesters in a row, and 2) someone in the front of class whisper a small, “holy shit.”

and sunghoon is frozen in horror. completely, absolutely, done. wishing death upon himself. his soul leaves his body, watches from the ceiling, and considers not returning.

you blink. foam slides down your cheek in slow motion. “okay..,” you say, very calmly, as though you saw this coming from a mile away and yet still trying to process what happened. “..cool. of course.”

“i—i am so—” sunghoon’s voice breaks as he inhales a heavy breath, the words tumbling before he even knows what he’s apologizing for this time. the explosion? or maybe still the throw-up? the almost-broken-nose moment? “i don’t even know how that—”

you hold a hand up, stopping him mid-sentence. a blob of foam falls from your face.

“sunghoon,” you deadpan, eyes slowly opening. and your expression says it all—not annoyed, not surprised, not even disappointed. just the acceptance of fate. and sunghoon mentally accepts the fact that maybe he should not be allowed within ten feet of you.

“i know,” you sigh, voice strangely gentle for someone covered head to toe in chemicals and is the current center of attention in a room full of people, “and it’s okay.”

sunghoon squeezes his eyes shut. there is nothing he can say. no apology that will undo the last ten minutes, the last few days, the last entire week. no sentence in any human language that can fix this.

maybe this is punishment for that one time he ghosted a girl because she used too many laughing emojis. maybe this is karma coming back. maybe someone hired a witch to curse him. maybe it was jay. honestly, it was probably jay.

your voice breaks him out of his downwards spiral, “i think i need to…go wash this out.”

and because sunghoon is sunghoon and a man powered entirely of panic, impulse, and bad luck—he moves before he thinks. his hands are already tugging his own hoodie over his head, the hem catching awkwardly on his shirt, his hair going everywhere, and earbuds (why did he put his earbuds in his pocket) flying out and clattering to the floor.

but then he’s holding the hoodie out in front of him.

just…holding it. straight armed. eyes avoiding yours and trained on the material in front of him.

and you just stand there, foam still dripping, but now staring at the hoodie. then back at him.

“sunghoon—”

“just take it,” he blurts, his cheeks flushed pink and voice embarrassingly earnest. “please. before the chemicals…seep…or—spread? i don’t know—”

and sunghoon has no idea what happens when lab foam dries on skin. he just knows it sounds bad and cannot, and will not, be the reason you get third degree chemical burns.

but when you take the hoodie from his hands, a small thank you on your lips, you look at him with something soft, something understanding, something that looks real, and not tossed out of politeness or pity. something that makes sunghoon’s heart want to beat straight out of his ribcage.

and when you come back a few minutes after, sunghoon thinks he’s ready.

he is not ready.

because, see, sunghoon did not think ahead (he has never once thought ahead, historically speaking), and therefore he did not anticipate the sheer consequences of his own actions playing out. of him handing you his hoodie. of you actually wearing his hoodie.

but there you are.

and it swallows you whole. the sleeves bunched slightly at your wrists so they don’t slip past your fingers. the hem hits right at the end of your skirt. the collar sits a little wide and off-center because the hoodie is well-loved, and because sunghoon studies in it, because he sleeps in it, and because he chews on the drawstring when he’s stressed—so one string is short and the other is stupidly long, uneven in the exact way only his hoodie is uneven.

your hair is pulled up now, strands slightly damp from the sink, your cheeks pink from your attempt of scrubbing mysterious chemicals off, and you look like you belong in it.

sunghoon’s body has a reaction that can only be described as malfunctioning. his breath catches in his throat, his pulse jumps, and that foreign feeling of something coiling tight and low in his gut comes back, heating spreading uninvited, unwelcomed, but definitely undeniable. 

because you look good. and soft and warm and heartbreakingly casual. like you’ve worn his clothes a thousand times before. like you will wear his clothes a thousand more.

and definitely like something sunghoon could be stupid about for the rest of his life. like there is a universe—maybe just slightly left of this one—where this is normal. where you wash your face at his bathroom sink and steal his clothes on purpose and drink the orange juice from his fridge without asking.

and he would let you. every single time.

so yes, the third time sunghoon sees you—he knows it’s coming. he just didn’t expect to want it this time.

“so let me get this straight,” jay leans over the table with the wide eyes of someone who already heard the story (he did) and is simply here just to see his friend in agony (he is), “…you blew her up?”

sunghoon peers his eyes from across the courtyard table, nearly scoffing, “no, i didn’t blow y/n up.”

“so…you blew up all over her?”

sunghoon throws his hands up exasperatedly, gesturing to his still very intact self, “well, evidently not!”

“okay…so,” jay draws his voice out, slow and unimpressed, dragging the fork through his lunch, “…what did you blow up?”

“why—” sunghoon drags a hand down his face, “—is everyone saying i blew something up?”

jay looks straight at him, chews on his pasta, and does not answer. instead, he pulls out his phone.

“because,” he scrolls through the screen once before turning the screen up to sunghoon, “of this text i got from jake saying ‘sunghoon blew up y/n. eye roll emoji.’”

sunghoon stares. blinks, then stares again.

traitor.

“i blew up our science experiment,” sunghoon mutters through a sigh, pinching his nose like the memory physically hurts him. “all. over. her.”

jay pauses mid-bite. lets it sink in. then—

“oh god,” he bursts into full laughter, “all over her?”

sunghoon ignores him. rolls his eyes.

“jay, it was so bad,” he groans, burying his face into both hands now. “i don’t even know what happened. she was so close to me and her hand brushed mine and it’s like my brain just—” he then looks up and claps his hands together dramatically. “—stopped.”

jay doesn’t say anything.

sunghoon, however and unfortunately, continues.

“and then it gets worse, jay.”

there’s a long beat. jay gives sunghoon a look that tells him there’s no possible way it could get worse. but, once again, because the universe has a weird sense of humor, sunghoon’s existence is living proof that it always will get worse.

jay takes another bite before he nods solemnly, as if gearing up for what’s coming. “alright, lay it on me. what’s next, what else could possibly have happ—”

but jay doesn’t finish.

because at that exact moment—you walk into the courtyard. hair still pulled into a loose ponytail, the sunlight catching in your face like the sun only came out today to make sure you’re seen by the rest of the world, a smile on your face as you walk besides jake.

but none of that matters.

because you’re still wearing sunghoon’s hoodie. his hoodie. and he can’t take his eyes off you. you look like you got dressed in his bedroom. you look like you belong in his bedroom.

sunghoon stops breathing. from beside him, jay also freezes.

“…isn’t that…your hoodie?” his chewing slows down to a a stop, voice going flat. then, just for dramatic effect, “…on y/n?”

sunghoon does not look away. in fact, he’s full on staring. stares like a man witnessing both the holiest and worst moment of his entire life.

“that, jay—” sunghoon says, voice low, hollow, and utterly destroyed, “—is exactly how it gets worse.”

jay looks at you—completely swallowed by the hoodie, laughing lightly at something jake says, fingers tugging absentmindedly at the drawstring.

he looks back at sunghoon and squints.

“…this is bad,” jay starts slowly, nodding as if he totally knows what’s going on but definitely doesn’t, “because…?”

sunghoon turns to him with a look, “BECAUSE, JAY. SHE’S WEARING MY HOODIE. and it makes me—” he gestures weakly, helplessly, and vaguely to himself— “feel things.”

and that’s when jay sets down his fork very gently, the realization hitting him in real time, “oh my god, you like her.”

sunghoon doesn’t respond. he just closes his eyes, inhaling slowly, trying to remember the exact breathing pattern his therapist (again, jay) recommended for moments of emotional crisis (four counts in, six counts out, something like that)—which, by the way, he is strongly considering firing him now because none of his advice ever helps in the moment.

because yes. sunghoon does like you.

he likes you. he likes the way your laugh sounds just a little breathier when you’re trying to not show you think something is funny. he likes the way you talk like you’re choosing your words on purpose, but never too carefully. he likes that you didn’t freak out on him when he, multiple times, was the direct cause of your suffering. he likes the way you look at him like he’s not the complete wreck he is. he likes that you’re kind, but not in a soft, fragile way. kind like you’re aware and like you choose to be.

he likes you, and the only times he has ever interacted with you, he’s probably taken another two years off your lifespan.

sunghoon, by all known definitions, should never interact with you ever again.

“oh wow,” jay continues, laughing now, breathless, delighted, and the worst therapist-slash-best-friend in the world. “no, dude. you totally do. you have a crush on the girl you’re, like—” he holds his fingers up half an inch apart, “—this close to actually killing.”

sunghoon slams his palm on the table and immediately regrets it because it rattles and now people are looking, “shut up, jay.”

jay raises both his hands in surrender, but the smirk on his face says he’s not surrendering at all.

“no, like—think about it,” he presses, leaning in closer. “that’s probably why you keep messing up. you’re nervous around her. like, elementary playground crush behavior. you’re basically pulling her pigtails.”

sunghoon stares at him, horrified. “jay. let’s not compare this to elementary school kids please.”

jay shrugs, picking his fork back up and goes back to twirling his pasta like this is a regular tuesday and not a life-changing-revelation for sunghoon.

“whatever,” sunghoon continues, voice deflated, shoulders sinking, “it doesn’t matter anyway. it’s not like she feels the same way. especially after i—” he pauses and gestures vaguely to the lingering memory of disasters that has defined his existence lately. “all of that.”

he doesn’t specify which disaster. he doesn’t need to. jay knows. you know. the world knows. God definitely knows.

sunghoon rubs a hand over his face, voice growing quieter, smaller. “i should just stop. stop talking to her. stop trying. just…distance myself or something.”

that’s when jay’s fork freezes mid-air. he sets it down and looks at sunghoon like he just suggested he run off to the mountains and join a cult.

“okay. woah. relax, drama queen. absolutely not.”

sunghoon blinks. jay picks his fork back up and points it at him with the authority of something who has never once been correct but speaks confidently anyway.

“first of all, please never say the words distance myself ever again. you sound like an awful romance-novel-series-turned-movie-franchise.”

sunghoon glares weakly from across the table. “i’m being serious, jay. she probably hates me. or worse—” he has to swallow because the next words taste bitter, like something he never wanted to even consider but could be highly likely, “—she’s probably, like, i don’t know—into jake. or something.”

and jay actually physically recoils. his whole upper body leans backwards like someone just threw a raw fish at him and he has to grab the edge of the table to prevent himself from falling back.

he then furrows his brows at sunghoon, eyes squinting, “you’re joking, right?”

sunghoon doesn’t answer. because he is, surely, not joking.

jay looks over his shoulder to where you’re standing across the courtyard—still smiling, hair still catching sunlight, still wearing sunghoon’s hoodie—then looks back at sunghoon with the expression of someone witnessing unprecedented levels of stupidity.

“sunghoon,” he says carefully, slowly, “y/n looks like the kind of person who probably color codes her google calendar and knows the exact expiration date of every condiment in her fridge. and jake—” his thumb points vaguely behind him, “—jake once microwaved a fork because he thought it would make his food taste warmer. the entire reason why we don’t live with him.”

sunghoon just stares. jay nods to himself, like there’s no possible argument to this. “trust me. i don’t think y/n would want to choose that life.”

sunghoon opens his mouth to argue—because at least warmer meals by microwaved-metal sound better than an almost broken nose by football—but then his gaze flicks over jay’s shoulder.

“jay. stop. talking.”

and jay isn’t even talking anymore, but he shuts his mouth anyways. he goes still. sunghoon goes still. then, sunghoon’s eyes widen a fraction, the smallest warning signal.

because you’re coming over. you’re walking across the courtyard next to jake, food in hand, and waving over at the two boys, completely unaware of the quarter-life-crisis occurring only a few feet away.

sunghoon keeps his face still, but his posture changes slightly. he pulls his shoulders back, takes a deep breath, straightens out the water bottle sitting in front of him for absolutely no reason.

“hey,” jake calls out, slapping jay lightly on the back as he drops into the seat next to him, “mind if we join?”

you’re already sliding into the empty spot next to sunghoon, easy, natural, like it’s just what you do. like this is normal. like sitting beside him is just…your place.

“’course not,” sunghoon mutters, politely, evenly, eyes fixed on absolutely anything else that isn’t you. the water bottle, the condensation, the way the light hits the plastic. fascinating stuff, really.

you shift, just a little—knees angled toward him, shoulder brushing close enough that he can feel your warmth, not touching, but enough to notice the space between you.

“hey,” you say. it’s small, soft, casual. it’s nothing dramatic, but yet, sunghoon feels it like someone tugged a string from somewhere deep within his ribs.

he doesn’t look up, just nods.

“hey.” it’s neutral, nothing to analyze, nothing to misunderstand.

if you’re weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t think anything of it. but here’s the thing, you are paying attention. so you offer him a faint smile, the kind that’s quiet, doesn’t demand anything, just acknowledgement.

and sunghoon sees it. his chest goes painfully warm. because he wants to look back. wants to return it. wants to ask how are you in a way that means i’ve been thinking about you and not just saying it to make small talk.

he wants to tell you he keeps replaying the sound of your laugh in his head and wants to say something stupid and honest and reckless like i hope the hoodie’s okay. actually, please just keep it. forever. i don’t want it back.

but instead, he focuses harder on anything and everything else around him. the way jake’s enthusiastically talking to jay about something with his hands. the wrinkled label on the water bottle. jay’s pasta, now stale and definitely cold. everything he doesn’t care about. because, right now, looking at the one thing he does care about feels too dangerous for himself.

and you notice. not in the dramatic why-are-you-avoiding-me kind of way, but in the micro-shift in your posture. the way your smile lingers for half a second longer than it should, like you were waiting for something. the way your fingers tap the edge of the table a few times. the way you let out a small exhale through your nose.

“—thinking just something small at our apartment,” jake’s voice finally cuts in, bright and loud. he’s gesturing big enough to knock jay over if he wanted to. “drinks, music—maybe ni-ki can dj if he doesn’t lose his shoe again.”

jay groans. “one, he is not dj-ing. last time was a one direction blender remix from hell. and two, ni-ki will never not lose his shoe.”

you laugh at that, the sound light, amused, genuine. and sunghoon swears his chest has never felt more tight.

jake continues, eyes wide and excited, “anyways—you guys are coming. this weekend. both of you. no excuses.”

sunghoon nods once, quick and automatic. “yeah. sure.”

your head tilts at that, just slightly—a tiny furrow in your brow, like you can sense something in the air is different.

and sunghoon tries his best to pretend he doesn’t notice. tries to pretend that the sudden distance between you isn’t something he’s actively building with his own hands. but it feels awful.

because he knows what he’s doing. doing the exact thing jay told him not to do—the easy thing. pulling back, shrinking, playing it safe. as if safety has ever saved him from anything.

he swallows hard. his jaw clenches. the collar of his shirt suddenly feels too hot, too tight. but the conversation keeps moving around him anyways—jake rambling about playlists, jay complaining about how he’s going to be forced to help clean afterwards—voices blended together into one long, meaningless sound.

meanwhile, sunghoon is somewhere else entirely. somewhere between panic and longing and the quiet awareness of his own undoing. he finally risks a glance, quick and careful, but just enough to look at you. and you’re already looking back at jake now, laughing gently, the kind that sunghoon could definitely get used to, but—

your fingers still tap against the table. your leg bounces next to his, as if in anticipation, as if aware.

and sunghoon’s chest aches in a way he can’t explain. not to himself. and definitely not to you.

the next time sunghoon sees you, he swears it’s not his fault.

at least, he’d like to think so. but statistically speaking—and sunghoon knows his statistics—it probably was his fault anyways.

the parking lot is nearly empty, close to sunset hour—that small time in between where the sky is barely turning colors and everything looks a little softer around the edges, the campus quieting down in the way it only is when all classes have ended for the week and everyone’s going home.

sunghoon’s already halfway through the lot, keys dangling from hand, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. and he’s so close. dangerously, blissfully close to freedom. to going home, collapsing onto the couch, arguing with jay over takeout before inevitably eating cereal and playing league until his eyes dry out. so, yes, almost free.

almost able to pretend today didn’t happen. almost able to pretend he didn’t, once again, cause minor emotional and physical harm to the girl who has done nothing but exist and be moderately nice to him.

he unlocks his car, swings the back door open, tosses his backpack in with a soft thud. and then—he looks up.

and he sees you.

you’re a little ways across the lot—just far enough that sunghoon could pretend he didn’t notice you if he were a stronger man (he is not), but still close enough to see his hoodie’s sleeves pushed up to your elbows, a frown on your face as your phone is pressed to your ear, and the hood of your car propped open.

sunghoon watches as you pop your head back into your car and turn the key back into the ignition again and again and again—

to no avail. the car stays dead.

sunghoon hesitates. he internally debates. argues with himself for, like, three whole minutes.

he could leave. he could absolutely leave. you haven’t seen him yet. he could get in his car, drive away, go home, take a nice, warm shower even though it has weak water pressure, eat cereal over the sink, and pretend he never witnessed anything.

but instead, he stands there. like an idiot. staring across the parking lot with the look of someone who’s fighting with only himself.

don’t go. she definitely thinks you’re a curse.

go. she’s wearing your hoodie.

don’t go. what if you break the car somehow.

go. now. before she calls roadside assistance and meets a guy who’s better at life than you. or worse, jake.

don’t go. you’re supposed to be distancing. that’s the plan. that’s the safe thing. the smart thing, the—

you look up.

and when your eyes meet his, your expression softens, breaking into something comforting and relieved. like you’re glad to see him. you lift your hand and give a small wave.

and that’s it. that’s the end of sunghoon’s entire distancing plan.

he sighs.

fine. he is going.

he is a moth and you’re the closest open flame and he will simply have to deal with the consequences later.

his feet start to move before the rest of him agrees to it, shoulders stiff, posture trying very hard to look normal and calm and definitely not like he just had a full internal monologue breakdown. you give him a smile when he’s close enough—bright, easy, familiar, somehow—and sunghoon has to physically look away for a beat to reorient his mental wellbeing.

“car won’t start?” he says, even though he definitely already knows the answer.

you let out a breath, the sound coming out like a laugh as if the situation is somehow funny instead of deeply annoying. “yeah. i think the battery’s dead. or the universe hates me specifically. either one.”

sunghoon’s lips twitch because he’s sure if the universe hates anyone specifically, it’s him. “could be both.”

your smile widens as you look up at him, “definitely both.”

there’s a short pause that falls between you two for a second before you speak up again, “i tried calling the roadside people but it keeps going straight to voicemail, which feels pretty ironic.”

“i’m pretty sure roadside assistance is a scam anyways,” he says, shrugging as he tucks his hands deep into his pockets. “i think they just nap in trucks and hope people give up.”

you laugh at that, fully this time, and it’s even softer, warmer, like the joke wasn’t even that funny but you like the way he said it. and sunghoon is ridiculously glad his hands are in his pockets now, because his fingers twitch at the sound.

and park sunghoon is not a car guy. not even a little bit. he failed his driver’s license test twice. and not even the driving part—he failed the written part. both times. he still has to google which side his gas tank is on. and he’s pretty sure his car is two years due for an oil change.

so what he does next is absolutely logical, because sunghoon is not touching your car with a ten foot pole. what he does is what any rational, non-car expert, guy with a raging crush and a fully functioning car would do in this situation:

“do you…want a ride home?” he offers, though it comes out more like a question to himself.

your lips part just slightly. surprise flickers across your face—and then something else. something unreadable. something that feels like a soft yes. “really? you don’t mind?”

sunghoon nods—casual, casual, very casual—despite the fact that his heart is jumping around in his ribcage at the thought of you sitting in his passenger seat.

“i mean…” he clears his throat, eyes down to the ground just to avoid yours. “we literally live down the hall from one other. i wouldn’t exactly be able to sleep peacefully knowing you got stranded in a parking lot.”

your smile widens a bit more, real and grateful, as you fidget with the ends of the hoodie now. “okay,” you say. “yeah. i’d really appreciate that.”

and that’s how sunghoon finds himself walking you to his car—unlocking the passenger door for you like he was raised by parents who taught him manners (he was) and how to fall in love too fast (he does).

he gets in on his side, starts the car, and the radio is too loud, so he turns it down. then it’s too quiet, so he turns it up again. then regrets everything.

but he starts driving anyways, silence falling in between the two of you. he grips the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, and he clears his throat just to have something to do.

the engine hums, the sky slowly going from pink to orange around you two, but the one and only thing sunghoon can perceive is your presence in his hoodie in his car.

you look out the window, watching the campus buildings pass. “i always forget how pretty it gets around this time,” you murmur, suddenly breaking him out of his own thoughts.

sunghoon glances at you before focusing on the road again. “yeah,” he says, a little small. “it kind of sneaks up on you.”

you smile, not looking away from the window. and then suddenly, “you strike me as a sunset person.”

sunghoon stills and blinks, keeping his eyes trained on the road. “a what?”

“like…you seem like someone who appreciates that kind of stuff,” you explain, glancing slightly at him. “sunsets. late-night convenience store runs. peeling fruit the slow way. that kind of person.”

sunghoon opens his mouth. then closes it, because he does not know what to do with that sentence.

“i..i guess?” he tries, trying very hard not to panic at the idea of someone, namely you, having thoughts about him. “well, you seem like a…sunrise person.”

you turn to look at him fully now, and you laugh under your breath, “i’m definitely not a morning person.”

“no. not morning,” he says, shaking his head a little. he turns right at a stop sign, his hand loose on the wheel now, almost relaxed. almost. “just…the feeling of starting fresh.”

you don’t say anything right away. you just look at him, eyes trained to the side of his face, as if you’re trying to figure something out.

and sunghoon nearly drives into a parked prius, but he hopes you don’t notice that.

you look back out your window, but your smile stays, “that was weirdly poetic of you, park sunghoon.”

sunghoon swallows hard, but his grip loosens some more. the quiet settles again after that, but now it’s different. lighter, easier. you start talking about the small things, nothing earth-shattering, but something comfortable. something about the terrible on-campus breakfast, the vending machine that stole your dollar this morning, how jake broke your coffee machine after two uses. but the whole time—sunghoon can’t help but think.

think how maybe in another universe, this is normal.

maybe in another universe, you’re always in his passenger seat at the end of the day. maybe he drives you home not out of chance, but because it’s routine. because you’re just in each other’s lives. because this is what you do. because he knows what songs you like to play when you’re tired and which stores you stop at on the way home and how you hum when you think about what you want to eat for dinner.

maybe in another universe, he didn’t meet you by accidentally hitting you in the face with a football. maybe in that universe, he’s…normal. not whatever this is—this mess of nerves and second guesses and catastrophes that only ever seem to happen to him whenever he’s with you.

maybe in that universe, he meets you at one of jake’s parties he throws too often. maybe you’re laughing at something someone said, holding a red cup and leaning against the counter, and sunghoon sees you from across the room the way people see things they were always meant to find.

maybe he walks over—all steady and confident—and says something easy, something light, something that makes your smile bloom slowly and softly at him. not out of politeness, not out of pity because he threw up all over you. just because you want to.

maybe in that universe, he gets the girl. but this is not that universe.

and when the car rolls to a stop outside the building, sunghoon still finds himself walking you to your door.

because of course he does. because he wants to. because he doesn’t know how not to.

you stop in front of your apartment, keys already halfway in the door, and turn to him, meeting his eyes fully.

“thank you,” you say, and the look in your eyes is soft. honest. and something else, something sunghoon can’t quite place and, frankly, is afraid to. “for the ride—” and then you look down, fingers toying with the drawstring of the hoodie, like it means something you don’t have words for just yet, “—and the hoodie.”

and as sunghoon looks at you in the quiet of the hallway—just you, him, the flicker of the dying lightbulb a few doors down, and the pure warmth he feels around you—he thinks there’s a version of this moment where he says it all.

where he doesn’t swallow everything down, doesn’t mistake silence for safety. where he tells you he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since the first time you laughed in his direction, that the sound of it still sits in his chest. where he admits that every stupid mistake, every clumsy accident, somehow only pulled him closer.

but instead, this version has him standing still, heart in his throat, pretending that wanting you quietly is the same as not wanting you at all.

so he just nods.

“yeah. of course.”

you smile one more time, soft and unsure, lingering just a beat too long—like you’re waiting for him to say something else, or maybe trying to find the courage to say something yourself.

but then you turn, hand halfway reaching to the door handle, and pause. your fingers hover mid-air. the hallway hums with nothing but silence and the heaviness of everything left unsaid between you two.

sunghoon straightens instinctively, caught off guard by the stillness that follows.

you turn back to him. “can i—” your voice comes quieter this time, hesitant in a new way he hasn’t heard before. “—can i ask you something?”

sunghoon blinks, his throat suddenly dry. “uh…yeah. of course. what’s up?”

“we’re cool, right?” you ask, eyes wide and searching his face. “like…we’re friends?”

and the words hit harder than they should. sunghoon does not know how to answer that. because how exactly does he even define what this is? a one-sided crush? forced proximity? neighbors-turned-accidental-victim-and-perpetrator-turned-friends?

“um—yeah,” he finally says, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “i’d say so.”

you study him for a long second, lips parting like you’re testing to see whether he’s lying. “okay. i just…didn’t know if i did something wrong. you seemed a little off earlier, at lunch.” and your laugh that follows is small, nervous, the kind people use to soften a truth. “and i overthink sometimes, so…yeah.”

sunghoon’s heart twists sharply at that. you, overthinking. you, worrying if you’d done something wrong when he’s the one building the wall between you.

“no,” he blurts before he can stop himself. it comes out too fast, too honest, but he keeps going anyways. “no, you didn’t do anything.” he clears his throat, a bubble of nerves rising too fast. “i just…wasn’t feeling great. long day, you know? classes and…exploding chemicals and stuff,” he exhales, the corner of his mouth twitching.

your shoulders relax, the worry written all over your face fading into something gentler and amused. “okay,” you say with a nod, your smile returning. “just wanted to make sure. friends, then?”

the word stings again, but sunghoon forces a smile anyways. “friends.”

you grin—wide and bright—and it makes something in his chest go weightless and heavy all at once. because, sunghoon realizes, not for the first time, this is what he likes about you, maybe. that you’re not all sharp edges and confidence like he thought. you’re also warmth and thoughtfulness and awkward timing, the kind of person who checks in even when you don’t have to. just because you want to, and just because you mean it.

“i’ll see you tomorrow then?” you say, hand going back to unlock your door. “at the party?”

sunghoon nods. “wouldn’t wanna miss it.”

you look back and smile at him one more time before slipping inside, the door closing gently behind you. sunghoon stands there for a moment, clinging to the warmth of your presence still in the air, lungs tight, and heart somewhere between the pavement of the parking lot and the memory of seeing you for the first time that day in the courtyard.

and he thinks—not for the first time, and definitely not for the last—

in this universe? he is truly, utterly, deeply doomed.

“so you’re really not coming?”

jay’s already standing by the door, shoes on, dressed in what he considers casual party attire, which means a wrinkled overshirt that might be clean, with a white shirt under that definitely isn’t, and jeans he absolutely pulled off the back of his desk chair. his keys jingle in his hand as he leans against the door frame, waiting for sunghoon to fold.

“yes, jay. i’m staying.” sunghoon doesn’t even look up from the couch, eyes trained on the random documentary that he found on the nature channel playing in front of him. “and frankly, you can’t make me go.”

jay lets out a huff. “jake could. and he will. we literally live ten feet away, he’ll drag you by your ankles if he has to.”

“then tell him i’m sick,” sunghoon mutters back, slouching deeper into the couch like he’s trying to merge with it. “like the flu or something.”

jay’s laugh that comes after is a loud, disbelieving, ha.

“that’s so bull. you only ever get sick for two reasons,” he holds up two fingers. “one, when you drink too much, and two, when you get that suspicious ass chinese takeout i keep telling you to stop ordering.”

sunghoon finally looks up from the tv to glare at him. for a second, it looks like he might get up—stand his ground, be a grown man, assert dominance or whatever the sunghoon equivalent is to that.

he doesn’t.

he just grabs the nearest couch pillow and launches it in jay’s direction with zero aim, zero strategy, and zero strength.

jay looks at the pillow. then at sunghoon. “wow,” he says flatly before tossing it back onto the far end of the couch.

“okay, fine,” jay continues, a mix of amusement and pity in his tone, “but you’re really gonna sit here on a saturday night—” he cranes his neck toward the tv, brows furrowing, “—watching a documentary about…dinosaur extinction?”

“dinosaurs are cool,” sunghoon says, eyes narrowing in defense. “plus, i’m tired.”

“no,” jay crosses his arms. “you’re lying.”

sunghoon then lets out a sigh through his nose, because—yeah, he is. but he doesn’t let jay know that. because what he wants to say is that he’s exhausted, but not in the way that sleep can fix. the kind of exhaustion that comes from thinking too much and saying too little. from the drive home yesterday that replayed in his head so vividly he’s starting to remember it like a movie he’ll never get to rewatch. from the realization that every time you smile, something inside him shifts a little, softly, painfully, and permanently.

and that terrifies him. because sunghoon has never been that guy. not the one who gets the girl, not the one who says the right thing at the right time. he’s the background character—the one who holds the door, smiles too late, apologizes too much.

so no, he can’t go to that party. he can’t stand in a crowded room watching you light up the way you do—laughing at something someone else will say, someone else’s story, someone else’s joke, someone who isn’t actively avoiding you for your own good—reminding him of all the ways he can’t have you.

jay stares for a beat longer, studying him like he’s about to bring up the topic sunghoon’s been avoiding all day and night—but he doesn’t. he just exhales, slow and knowing, and reaches for the door. “fine. i’ll tell jake you caught the plague or something.”

and after jay leaves, sunghoon’s not sure how much time passes. the apartment settles into that kind of quiet that lets you hear the hum of the fridge, the faint tick of the clock in the hallway that jay insists adds ambience, the low static of the tv playing in front of him.

sunghoon is still on the couch, now half under a blanket he stole from jay’s room, his eyes fixed on the screen, where a cgi triceratops is doing something probably scientifically inaccurate. but it doesn’t matter anyways because he hasn’t been paying attention for the past forty minutes. because his mind is somewhere else. it’s been somewhere else since you shut your door one night ago, wearing his hoodie and smiling at him like he hadn’t spent the whole day overthinking about you.

and he tells himself—again, again, and again—that this distance thing is good. smart. necessary. that the safest point between your two paths is the one where he never hurts you again. where he removes himself before he ruins something that could’ve been easy, simple, normal.

and sunghoon almost believes it, too.

until his phone buzzes.

it buzzes once, and it’s quick and sharp, yet cuts through his silence. he glances at the coffee table and stares at it. he almost doesn’t want to pick it up, as if he knows who it is and is avoiding the inevitable.

but he reaches for it anyway.

Y/N (11:15PM) : hii sunghoon

and his heart drops. he stares at the screen. doesn’t type. doesn’t move. his thumb hovers just above the message box just as his phone buzzes again in his hand:

Y/N (11:16PM) : jay told me you weren’t feeling well :( i hope everything’s ok

sunghoon inhales sharply through his nose. his jaw tightens. because, no, nothing’s okay with sunghoon. not really. not the kind of ‘not okay’ that he could exactly explain to you, though. it’s not a headache or a fever or whatever lie jay came up with. somewhere more like the ache of wanting something he’s convinced he shouldn’t. something that looks a lot like you.

his brain starts the war almost instantly.

don’t answer. you’re supposed to be distancing, remember? this is the plan.

don’t be an asshole. just say thanks. be normal for once in your life.

sunghoon groans quietly, head hitting back against the couch as he presses the heel of his hand to his forehead.

then your third text lights up the screen.

Y/N (11:18PM) : do you want me to bring anything?

and sunghoon’s brain short circuits completely.

yes. you. here. now.

you standing in his doorway, wearing his hoodie again like it’s the most natural, normal thing in the world. you filling the apartment with that quiet warmth you seem to carry everywhere. you sitting beside him on this stupid couch watching stupid documentaries with him until stupid hours of the night.

but because he can’t exactly put that feeling into logical words, he instead stares at his screen for a little too long, fighting with the part of him that’s screaming to stop pretending he doesn’t care.

he stares long enough at your words that the screen dims, and he has to tap it once just to see your name again.

his thumb twitches—hovering, shaking—because a part of him wants to break the rules he set for himself. wants to answer you. wants to let himself want you.

but he doesn’t.

he shuts his phone off, flips it back down on the table, and pushes it away like it’s the devil himself. his throat burns, his chest hurts. he leans back into the couch, closing his eyes, and exhales—slow, heavy, resigned.

because if he answers, he’ll just want more again. and wanting has never ended well for sunghoon. so he tells himself you’re just being kind, that this is what you do because this is who you are. you care, you reach out, you text first. you say things like hope you’re okay and ask if he needs anything because you ask everyone that. because you’re a friend.

sunghoon sinks deeper into the couch, trying his best to breathe through the tightness that refuses to leave. the clock ticks, the documentary plays, the phone stays face down.

and just when sunghoon finally feels himself settle—

the front door slams open.

“—OKAY. first of all, you’re coming to this party. and second of all, you’re so stupid.”

jake storms in at full volume, the door slamming shut behind him with the force of someone who has no respect for privacy and apparently door hinges. he’s flushed—cheeks pink, eyes bright, hair a mess, which means he definitely pregamed his own party.

sunghoon jolts upright so fast he nearly falls off the couch. “jesus christ—”

but jake is already toeing off his shoes like he lives here, marching across the living room like a man on a mission, and unfortunately for sunghoon, that mission is him.

“dude,” jake says, pointing at him like an accusation, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

sunghoon groans, dragging a hand down his face. this is jay’s fault. this is all jay’s fault. it’s always jay’s fault. jay never locks the door and this is the consequence for sunghoon not checking. this is karma. this is the plague he supposedly caught. he’s never lying again.

“so tell me why jay said you’re sick,” jake even air quotes it. “‘sick.’”

a beat.

“which is a lie, by the way.”

sunghoon glares weakly. “why does everyone just casually know the conditions under which i get sick?”

“because,” jake raises a finger, counting, “one, you only get sick when you drink too much—”

sunghoon mutters, “oh my god—”

“and two—” jake continues, louder, a second finger in sunghoon’s face, “—when you get chinese food from that cursed corner place i keep telling you not to order from. so unless you did either of those tonight, which you didn’t—because they only take venmo and i checked your venmo transactions—”

“why the fuck are you checking my venmo transacti—”

“—you’re not sick.” jake finishes triumphantly.

“you, jay, and i need to have a conversation about boundaries,” sunghoon deadpans at the boy in front of him.

“don’t deflect,” jake snaps at him. “you’re avoiding the question.”

sunghoon slumps back into the couch cushions, silently praying for death. or a sinkhole. or spontaneous combustion. he’s not picky, really.

“i’ll just go to the next one, okay?” he mutters from his spot. “it’s no big deal.”

and jake gives him a look that says he’s offended. like, genuinely offended.

“it is a big deal,” jake squints, marching a few steps closer. “you’re not skipping this just to avoid y/n. what are you, twelve?”

sunghoon instantly shoots upright again, a look betrayal on his face, “i—what, who said anything about—”

“jay.”

sunghoon shuts his eyes. exhales. counts to three.

jay is fired. jay is beyond fired. he is never telling jay anything ever again.

“and also, i just know you,” jake continues, pacing the living room like this is an intervention sunghoon is now apparently a part of. “you can’t keep doing this. moping around, feeling sorry for yourself just because you made a few minor accidents.”

“a few major—”

“—yes, sunghoon. a few minor ones,” jake says, waving a casual hand through the air. “just go to the party, talk to her, apologize. kiss and make up—actually, don’t do that one unless the vibe is right—but you get my point. just don’t sit here doing this sad boy act and torturing yourself.”

sunghoon narrows his eyes at him, because he forgets—he always forgets—how stupidly well jake knows him.

jake, who once sat with sunghoon on the curb after a failed calculus final and talked him out of dropping out entirely by buying him a churro and saying, ‘your brain just had a lag.’

jake, who memorized sunghoon’s stress tells by sophomore year of highschool—right thumb tapping: anxious; left thumb tapping: spiraling.

jake, who once dragged him out of bed at 2AM because he ‘felt in his soul’ that sunghoon needed fresh air and a convenience store slushie.

jake, who has known every single crush sunghoon’s ever had—most of whom sunghoon barely even realized were crushes until jake said something.

so yeah. of course jake sees right through him.

sunghoon looks away, jaw tight. eventually, he lets out a sigh, “jake, it’s not that simple.”

“sure it is,” jake stops, hands on his hips. “you just make it complicated.”

sunghoon looks up then, and his expression isn’t defensive. just resigned—the kind that comes from trying too hard to convince yourself you don’t care that there’s no way you could go back now.

“i’m not going,” he says finally. “end of story.”

and for a moment, jake looks like he might argue again, brows drawn together, mouth opening. but then he stops. his mouth shuts and something soft flashes in his eyes. he lets out an exhale.

“fine,” he turns to the door, already putting his shoes on. “stay here. be mysterious and tortured or whatever.”

sunghoon doesn’t reply. he just watches the glow of the tv flicker across the living room—tiny prehistoric creatures moving across the screen, narrator droning on.

and right as jake is about to leave, he pauses. “oh, by the way—” he adds casually. “she was asking about you.”

sunghoon freezes. his heart does something absolutely violent and traitorous inside his chest.

jake then glances over his shoulder, “she was looking for you, actually,”

and that’s it. that’s the crack in sunghoon’s entire resolve.

because logic means nothing when it comes to you. because distance means absolutely nothing when you’re still thinking about him. and restraint? restraint dies instantly because he can already see it—you, at that party, somewhere in the crowd, wearing something that’s definitely going to make sunghoon stop breathing, holding a drink and smiling at someone who could be him, but isn’t.

jake opens the door. “see you there, yeah?”

sunghoon didn’t really know what the plan was. not really, anyways.

but here he is.

the music’s too loud, the lighting’s too low, tinted red in that way that makes everyone look vaguely better but slightly untrustworthy, and everything smells faintly of fruit punch, cheap beer, and body spray. there’s a sticky patch on the floor that catches the sole of his shoe everytime he shifts his weight, and someone spilled an entire drink near the door but everyone’s pretending they don’t see it.

and now sunghoon’s standing in the corner, yet again, red solo cup in hand, the deja vu washing over from last time. he’s already warm—cheeks flushed from the multiple shots jake forced into his hand the moment he arrived, calling them ‘celebration shots’ for finally showing up. jake took three. jay took one, immediately regretted it, but took a second one anyways. sunghoon took two and was rudely reminded him and alcohol don’t like one another.

now he’s approximately three minutes into a conversation with a classmate whose name he absolutely does not remember but is pretending he does because lying feels easier than admitting he forgot. the poor guy is saying something about his econ midterm, but the words wash over sunghoon like static. because even while nodding politely, even through the chaos of the environment, sunghoon’s eyes find you.

of course they do.

you’re across the room by the couch, cup in hand, laughing at something someone just said. your head tilts back a little, your mouth curves in that way that knocks the air straight out of his lungs. it’s the kind of laugh that makes strangers look your way without knowing why. the kind of laugh that gets stuck in his head for days after.

and, of course, you look good.

unfairly good.

your hair soft under the shifting lights, your cheeks glowing, your sweater hanging just right on your frame. there’s something about you—always something—that makes you look like a secret sunghoon wants to keep, a discovery he wants no one else to find, something he wants to learn slowly, quietly, intimately.

he swallows hard. looks away. then looks back again, because he can’t not.

and then, almost as if you can feel that he’s staring—you glance up. your eyes scan the room lazily, drifting over faces and shoulders and the mess of people. until they land on him.

your expression softens. surprised, but warm. a small, easy smile curves onto your lips—one that says oh, you came, and something else he’s too scared to interpret.

and sunghoon, because he’s sunghoon, and a complete, absolute idiot—panics.

he panics and turns away. pretends to be very interested in the contents of his red solo cup that he knows isn’t even close to edible. nods along to whatever econ-related nonsense the guy in front of him is saying like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever heard.

and he doesn’t see it—but you frown slightly. doesn’t see the way your smile falters, something uncertain flickering across your face. doesn’t see the slight confusion in your eyes before you turn back to your group.

and that’s how it starts. the night spins on just like that—full of almosts and not quites and hesitation.

you find him in the kitchen a little bit later. he’s pouring something that looks just as inedible as before into his cup, and you smile when he notices you.

“hey—i’m glad you made it, you feeling better?”

but sunghoon startles like you’ve caught him doing something wrong. he steps back too quickly, nearly bumping the counter, muttering something along the lines of ‘yeah—i’m okay, fine—’ before he excuses himself to find jay.

later, you end next to him in the circle when jake—who’s already too many shots in—suggests a game of truth or dare. you sit, knee brushing sunghoon’s for a second, before he abruptly stands up, mumbling about needing more ice in his cup before disappearing into the crowd.

and then it keeps happening. you’re mid-conversation with jay and jake, laughing at something ridiculous they just said, when your eyes move across the room, as if your body can’t help but instinctively search for him. when you finally find him again—leaning against the wall across the room, phone in hand, eyes meeting his for a brief second—his gaze darts immediately back down to his phone as if nothing just happened.

you start to notice it—the way he never stays in the same place as you for long, the way he keeps his shoulders angled away from you, the way his smile turns tight and fades when you step too close. the way his eyes flash with something heavy and unspoken before he drags them away from you as if touching you would be dangerous.

you try to tell yourself you’re imagining it, that maybe he’s tired, that it’s the alcohol or the lighting or ni-ki’s loud karaoke or anything else.

your chest feels tight. the air feels heavier than it should. jay is rambling about unplugging the karaoke machine before ni-ki loses his voice, jake is doubled over laughing, red cup in hand that you should definitely take away from him, but none of it feels right anymore.

and it’s ridiculous, really. because you shouldn’t care this much. because, technically, sunghoon is no one to you. just a boy you met recently. a boy who happened to be decent-looking—very, very, decent-looking. who happened to be clumsy in a way that drew you in instead of away. who happened to be your neighbor. your roommate’s best friend. a guy with pretty hands and a nervous laugh and a tendency to panic whenever you tried to flirt with him on purpose.

and, honestly—at first it was fun.

because you’re not oblivious. you’re not dense. you noticed the way he got nervous around you. you saw the way his eyes widened the first time you ever said his full name, the way his breath caught when you leaned in, the way his hands shook the tiniest bit when you wore his hoodie.

and god, you liked it. you liked getting a reaction out of him. liked watching the way he came undone so easily around you.

but now? now that same boy won’t even look at you?

it feels worse than it should. worse than you want it to. worse than anything he’s done so far—and that includes accidentally assaulting you three times.

you tell yourself it’s fine. that it doesn’t matter. that you’re overthinking again, like you always do.

you laugh at something jake says. you clink your cup against jay’s and take another sip just to have something to do ith your hands. you smile, chat, pretend nothing’s wrong.

but then, from the corner of your eye, you see it.

the way sunghoon’s head turns when you laugh, just barely. the way his gaze flickers toward you for a second too long. the way his jaw tightens before he looks away again like he saw something he shouldn’t have.

and that’s when something inside you snaps. the ache shifts sharply, into something close to frustration, confusion and something hot behind your ribs that makes your drink taste too bitter and makes the room feel too loud.

you set your drink down on the table next to you, too hard. it spills over the rim. you don’t even care.

because what is this? what is he doing? and why does it sting so much?

jay says something to you—something that makes jake laugh again a little too loudly, but you barely hum in response, eyes already scanning the room again.

you find him again, now closer to the back hallway, talking to someone you don’t recognize. he looks uncomfortable, like he almost always does, but there’s something else tonight. something distant.

and you’re done trying to figure it out.

you held back, you didn’t push. you swallowed your pride enough to ask him point-blank if you were even friends. you tried to read him, tried to be patient, tried to be understanding.

and now he’s avoiding you? after he’s the one who kept messing up? after he offered you his hoodie? after he drove you home? after everything?

you feel heat bubble in your throat, not from embarrassment, but something closer to hurt. something that feels too close to rejection from someone you barely even know.

you’re done. you’re done wondering. done overthinking. done waiting for him to make the first move.

so before you can talk yourself out of it, your feet are already moving. through the crowd, past the couch, past jay’s raised eyebrows, jake’s knowing smirk, and ni-ki’s off-key singing.

and when you finally get to him, he barely has a second to react before your hand catches his wrist and you’re pulling him into the dim hallway of the apartment that leads to where the bedrooms are. 

it’s quieter here, the thumping bass of the music fading into a distant pulse behind him, like a heartbeat finally slowing down—unlike his own. the air is cooler, laced with the faint scent of spilled beer you’re going to lose your mind over in the morning and whatever cheap air freshener jake sprayed earlier—but it’s still a relief from the chaotic swirl of bodies and flashing lights in the living room.

sunghoon stumbles a little as you tug him along, finally stopping with a soft thump when his back hits the wall. he’s trapped—stuck against the peeling wallpaper and your hand still wrapped tightly around his wrist. his eyes widen, the look on his face equal parts confusion, surprise, and something else, something that makes your stomach flip.

“so are you going to tell me why you’re ignoring me?” your voice comes out sharper than you intended, raw with the sting of it all—the silence, the distance, the hurt flashing in your eyes as you watch him falter.

sunghoon’s mouth opens, then closes, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. his cheeks are flushed pink under the dim lighting, and you can’t tell if it’s from the shots he knocked back earlier with jay and jake or from the way you’re standing so close.

“i—i’m…” he’s stammering, his voice low, almost like a whisper stuck in throat, like he’s afraid the words will shatter everything between you. “i don’t—” 

“because first of all,” you step closer, “you tell me we’re fine, we’re friends, we’re cool, that i didn’t do anything wrong—”

his eyes flicker in panic. breath stutters, chest rising too fast. 

“—and then you ignore my texts. completely avoid me. won’t even look at me. in my own apartment.” you exhale sharply. “i’m confused, sunghoon.” 

and for a moment, neither of you move. the music muffled now, just an echo behind you, and the hallway feels too quiet. too intimate, too charged, like the world narrowed down to just the two of you. you loosen your grip on his wrist, but you don’t drop it. and he doesn’t pull away. he just looks at you like he’s bracing for impact. then, he swallows hard, “i—it’s not like i want to—” 

“...okay,” you cut in but your voice is softer, steadier, “then what is it?” 

you watch as sunghoon takes a breath as if to ground himself before he starts, “it’s just—i…” and suddenly his words tumble, trip, collapse over themself. “i don’t know. i just keep messing up. everytime. like the football, the shoes, the lab, probably somehow your car breaking down had something to do with me, literally everything—” 

“sunghoon—” 

“—and it’s like my body just glitches around you or something,” he blurts, running a hand through his hair. “i get nervous, then do something stupid, then you get hurt, and then i feel like an idiot—” his voice cracks and he has to take a breather before continuing again, “and i don’t know how to get myself to stop screwing up around you. i don’t know how to just be normal. not with you.”

his eyes drop. shoulders tense. he looks like he hates himself for saying any of that out loud.

you don’t say anything. you just look at him, studying the way his cheeks glow that soft pink, the slight part of his lips as he breathes unevenly, the way he looks at you with that raw, boyish vulnerability and nerves.

and then your anger melts into something else. something warmer, deeper, something that understands. something that makes the frustration soften and something that tugs at your chest. 

you step closer, close enough to feel the heat rolling off of him, close enough that he sucks in a breath like you just touched him even though you didn’t. a small smile makes its way to your face as you tilt your head to meet his eyes fully. your eyes flicker down his face—along the cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the way he swallows hard under your gaze. 

“okay then…just stop messing up,” you whisper, lips quirking just the tiniest bit. your tone is lighter now, teasing, like it’s the simplest solution in the world. 

sunghoon blinks at you. once, then twice. because you say that as if it’s easy. as if your simple existence being just mere inches away doesn’t set every nerve inside his being on fire. as if his heart isn’t pounding so loud and wild that he’s convinced you can hear it, drowning out the rest of the party around you. as if you’re not looking at him with your glossy eyes and lips, so close to his own, that he doesn’t know if he should kiss you or melt into the ground.

but none of that matters.

because you decide for him.

because the silence is too thick, too charged, and you can’t take it anymore. so before you can even think to stop yourself—

you lean in and close the distance, your lips brushing his in a hesitant, soft way that sends a jolt through you both. and it’s cautious at first, like testing the waters, and sunghoon genuinely believes he’s in a fever dream for a second. but then his hands suddenly find your waist and pull you in closer, and it shifts into so much more.

his lips move against yours with a newfound urgency, one hand sliding up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. his back hits the wall again with the sudden motion, but he doesn’t care. in fact, in this moment, nothing else matters to sunghoon right now.

because you’re deepening the kiss, tasting the faint bitterness of beer on him, mixed with something sweeter, something unmistakably sunghoon, something that pulls you into a quicker, messier rhythm. a low groan escapes his throat, vibrating against your mouth, and it only fuels you further. you break apart for a breath, but only for a second before your lips crash into his again, your hands fisting in his hoodie as you push him harder against the wall. his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you flush against him until the heat between you becomes nearly unbearable.

“come on,” you murmur against his lips, your voice breathless as you grab his wrist again, but this time you tug him toward the first door in the hallway—your room—and push it open with your free hand.

the door clicks shut behind sunghoon, and he barely has a moment to take in the surroundings—dimly lit by the small lamp on the nightstand beside your bed, a string of lights laced along the headboard, a stack of annotated books piled on your desk, and a row of succulents perched on the windowsill. it’s all so warm, so utterly you.

that’s all he manages to register within the first 0.5 seconds of entering your room. because you don’t hesitate. your lips crash into his again, more fervent now, hungry, backing him hard against the door until the frame digs into his back but he doesn’t even care. 

sunghoon kisses you like he’s terrified it’ll end if he stops—too much tongue at first, then not enough, teeth clashing in the mix because he tilts wrong, nose bumping yours, a startled little huff escaping him when you nip his bottom lip and he doesn’t know whether to pull back or chase harder. his hands are everywhere and nowhere—gripping your waist tight, then loosening like he’s scared he’ll bruise you, then wandering up your back and fisting your sweater like it’s the only thing keeping him on earth. 

it’s sloppy, breathless, desperate in a way only a kiss can be when the person has waited twenty two years and repressed every memory that came before it. his rhythm falters with every push and pull, chasing your mouth when you pull for air, making these soft, involuntary sounds—half-whimper, half-groan—that he’ll probably overthink about later. 

“park sunghoon,” you whisper against his swollen lips, pulling back just enough that he instinctively follows, chasing, eyes still closed, and completely, utterly, wrecked. your hands knot in his hoodie, “am i your first kiss?” 

sunghoon’s eyes flutter open, hazy and dark with pure want as he looks down at you. “yeah—well, n—” the rest dies when your drag your teeth over his lower lip, slow and deliberate. a broken, needy sound tears out of him and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, “—no. yes? i think.”

“you think?” your hands slide into his hair, nails scraping lightly, and tug just enough to tip his head back. the soft thud of his back hitting the door again doesn’t even register—his arms only tighten around you, fingers everywhere like he’s trying to memorize your exact shape through fabric. “tell me.” 

“technically—” he starts, voice cracking. “there was this girl in tenth grade—” 

you cut him off again with your tongue this time, licking into his mouth slow and filthy, and whatever story he had dies against your lips. he makes another helpless noise, raw and surprised, and tries to copy the motion. his nose bumps yours again, his grip on your hips stutter, and every time he thinks he found the rhythm, you change it, and he whimpers like it hurts. it’s all messy, desperate, and perfect. 

one of his hands slides down—hesitant, then sudden—and cups the back of your thigh. he lifts it experimentally, and when you immediately hook your leg around his waist he groans like he’s been punched. you smirk against him, giving him credit for the confidence you didn’t think he had in him as he pulls you flush against his body. 

“—spin the bottle,” he manages to gasp out when you trail your mouth along his jaw now, nipping at the skin here and there. he tilts his head back, offering more as his eyes flutter closed again, a soft moan on his lips. “i bit her lip and she bled—”

you giggle softly against his jaw, teeth grazing the sharp line of it, and he shudders so violently his knees almost buckle. his voice is strained now, another small gasp cracking from his throat when you roll your hips once, the friction going straight to his core. “—and my therapist told me to repress traumatic memories so i don’t count it.” 

you freeze and pull back slightly, lifting an eyebrow as amusement flickers in your eyes despite the heat pooling in your core. “your therapist?”

sunghoon’s eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, mouth swollen and red and still chasing yours. “uh. yeah. jay. jay is my therapist.”

your lips twitch, a small laugh bubbling out before you can catch it. god.

“fuck. you’re so cute,” you murmur, and the sound of your laugh seems to snap the last thread of any and all restraint sunghoon had left. you crash your mouth back into his the same second he surges forwards, kissing you like he’s drowning and you’re his oxygen, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded at this point. you’re already moving, tugging the front of his hoodie, walking backward, pulling him with you step by stumbling step across the room. 

he follows without question, hands roaming everywhere all at once—up your back, into your hair, down to your ass like he can’t decide what he wants to hold onto most. his mouth never leaves yours, swallowing every soft noise you make, and every time you nip his lip he makes that same desperate little sound and tries to kiss your harder, deeper, messier. 

your legs hit the edge of the bed first, and you tumble backwards with a small thud. sunghoon stays standing at the foot of the bed, chest heaving, lips parted and shiny, hair a mess. his eyes rake over you—lips swollen, hair fanned across your pillow, that infuriating, knowing smirk still clinging to your mouth like you already know exactly what you look like sprawled out waiting for him.

and god, sunghoon thought he knew what living felt like. he thought he was pretty damn accomplished already—decent grades, a color-coded closet, the occasional victory when he plays league with the guys. but this? sunghoon just stares, like this sight of you like this is a religious experience he’s not worthy of. 

he’s never felt more alive.

you prop yourself up on your elbows, tilt your head, and your smirk widens. 

“gonna keep me waiting, park sunghoon?” 

you tease, an eyebrow arched as sunghoon shakes his head frantically in an almost comical, desperate no. he scrambles forward like a man possessed, knees sinking into the mattress before his weight is on you just right, one thigh easily slotting between yours as he leans down to capture your lips again. his hands shove under your sweater, palms hot and trembling against your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra like he’s afraid to go higher but dying to.

your hands roam up his back under his shirt, light enough to raise goosebumps, but hard enough to make him arch and grind down with a muffled, broken moan that vibrates straight into your mouth. his mouth trails everywhere, hot and open against your neck, tasting the cool metal of that stupidly delicate necklace, teeth nipping in that perfect, impossible way that hitches your breath and makes you wonder how the hell this could be his first time doing this.

his thigh presses firmer, rough denim rough against your bare skin where your skirt has slightly ridden up, and you can’t help it—you roll up into him, shameless, chasing the pressure, hips circling slow and needy—not sure what you’re after, just something, anything, to relieve the rising ache.

and that makes sunghoon freeze. just for a split second—his mouth hovering over your collarbone, breath ragged and uneven against your skin. you feel it right away, the faint tremor in his hands where they’re gripping your hips, the way his body tenses against yours. he pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes—his own wide, pupils blown but laced with something else—uncertainty and pure, raw, nerves that make your heart twist.

“wait,” he breathes, voice low and rough. his forehead drops to yours, nose brushing, lips so close you can feel the ghost of them against yours, “i…i don’t know what i’m doing.”

and it’s the way the confession spills out. the way it sounds so vulnerable, jagged edges and all. the way his cheeks burn a deeper red that starts to creep down his neck. the way his fingers flex against your sides, like he’s afraid to let you go but equally afraid to keep touching.

the way his eyes hit you—with desire so thick it aches in your core, tangled with that boyish charm that only makes him so much more endearing, more real. you tilt your head up, your hands softening where they clutch his shoulders.

“sunghoon,” you whisper, voice soft but steady, thumb tracing a slow circle onto his hoodie. “that’s okay. we can stop, or we can keep going. whatever you’re comfortable with.”

and sunghoon swallows hard. every nerve he owns is screaming—your body soft and there beneath him, the way your legs are hooked around his waist, it’s all overwhelming, intoxicating, like he’s edged too close to the sun and has absolutely no intention of backing away. and sunghoon’s never been here before, never had anyone look at him like this. but he’s also never felt this way about anyone before. and that’s what makes his heart slam against his ribs.

his eyes drop to your lips before flickering back up. “yeah?” it’s barely a word, more like a pure plea, and god, the vulnerability in it tugs at you harder.

“yeah,” you lean in, brushing your mouth against his in a feather-light touch, not quite a kiss, but just enough to make him chase it. his breath hitches, hands sliding up your waist under your sweater again, hesitant but warmer now, like your words unlocked something for him.

“i just—i really like you, y/n,” his words are so soft and quiet you almost think you made it up. “—and i really don’t want to mess this up. more than i have.” his hands shake slightly on your waist, thumbs rubbing gentle circles over your skin as the confession hangs there between you like something holy and obscene at the same time. 

you lean up and give him a full kiss this time, soft, gentle, and reassuring, then smile against him, shifting your hips just enough against him to draw a sharp inhale from him. “you won’t, hoon,” you whisper, nipping at his lower lip, tugging it gently between your own until he groans. “trust me, you’re not going anywhere.” you fingers weave back into his hair, guiding him back down as you capture his lips again—slower this time, letting him set the pace even as you arch up to meet him.

and sunghoon melts into it, his tongue shyly tracing your lips until you part for him, letting him in with a soft sigh that goes straight to his core. his hands gain confidence, sliding up your sides, palms warm and slightly calloused as they explore the curve of your ribs, stopping just shy of your bra like he’s silently asking for permission. you nod into the kiss, arching your body into his hands, and he exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years. fingers shove your sweater up and off in one frantic motion, and the cool air hits your skin the same second his mouth does—and it’s hot, open, starving against your throat. 

your hands go down to the ends of his hoodie, dragging the material up his chest yourself, nails raking over his abs, feeling them tense under your touch. “off,” you mumble into his mouth. 

sunghoon doesn’t hesitate—he takes it off so fast and clumsily, in park sunghoon fashion, that he almost elbows himself in the face but that doesn’t matter. it’s tossed blindly into the corner of your room before he’s back, chest pressing against you, skin already boiling hot. 

his lips find your throat again, this time sucking a small mark just below your jaw, harder than before, teeth scraping, tongue soothing, and when he pulls back to check your face, there’s still that flicker of hesitation, like he’s waiting for you to tell him no.

“this okay?” he murmurs against the bruise he just left, voice wrecked, his hips rolling down experimentally—a slow, grinding press that has you gasping, thighs tightening around him, the rough drag of his pants over your bare thighs sending a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly. sunghoon’s breath catches—sharp and audible—like he’s just discovered something forbidden, his eyes flicking down to where your bodies connect, then back up to your face, searching, pleading. 

you can’t answer with words. you just arch up even more, grinding your heat against the now obvious length of him, and the broken moan that rips out of his throat is unholy. he starts to move a little faster, barely holding it together as he chases the way you’re arched off the bed. his hands brace on either side of your head, arms trembling faintly from the effort of holding himself up, caging you in the best kind of trap.

you nod, biting your lip to stifle back a moan, your hands sliding down his sides with a firm press. “yeah, just like that,” you whisper, voice laced with encouragement that makes his pupils go wider. “keep going, just feel me.”

he follows your lead, eyes locked on yours, lips parted in awe as he follows your rhythm. “fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours again. another roll, deeper this time, heavier, his hardening length unmistakable through his jeans, pressing right where you need it, drawing a whimper from your throat. “like this?”

“yes, perfect, hoon,” you let out, rewarding him with a tilt of your hips that has him cursing again under his breath, his movements faltering for a second before he steadies himself again. “use your hands, baby. touch me. here.” you take one of his palms and guide it between your bodies and beneath your bra, molding his broad hand over your breast and squeezing it lightly with your own fingers laced over his.

sunghoon’s eyes darken to near black as he stares at his hand on you like it’s a miracle. the hesitation flickers again—he bites his lip hard, eyes darting to yours for that final green light. you nod, arching into his touch and removing your own hand before he finally moves, thumb circling slowly at first, then bolder, pinching lightly until you gasp his name, “sunghoon—yes, harder.” 

he obeys instantly, rolling the bud between his fingers while kneading with a confidence that borders on desperate. the sensation releases another moan from you, this time loud enough that he clamps his free hand over your mouth instinctively, his eyes blown in a panic. 

“shh—people might—” but you don’t let him finish. 

you take his thumb between your lips, sucking it without any hesitation that leaves him choking on a sound that’s half-moan, half-whine, hips now jerking erratically against yours. his hand falls away, replaced by his mouth crashing into yours—messy, all teeth and tongue, swallowing your moans as he grinds harder, faster, the rough drag of fabric and heat coiling tight between you until you’re both chasing that edge, breathless and lost.

sunghoon should be embarrassed, really. the only one coherent thought left rattling around his skull is: 

he’s about to cum in his pants like a goddamn middle-schooler and there’s not a single thing he can do to stop it.

he can’t stop the obscene sounds spilling from his mouth, his gut feels like it’s on fire in the best way possible, and he’s jerking his body against your soaked heat like it’s trying to fight its way through the pathetic fabric. it’s his first time with a girl, and he might not even make it to the first time part at this point. 

“skirt. push it up,” you pant against his lips, and he does, fumbling his fingers to fully hike the fabric to your waist, exposing the thin barrier of your underwear. his hand hovers there, burning over your thigh, inches from where you’re aching and soaked for him. “touch me, hoon,” you urge, not waiting to take his wrist and press his palm right over your wet core, letting him feel the way you’re absolutely dripping through the lace.

sunghoon’s entire body locks at the sensation, eyes in shock, lips shiny and swollen as he stares down at you, chest heaving. “i—fuck, you’re…wet.” the word comes out slowly, almost disbelieving. his fingers flex, tracing the outline of you through the thin fabric. your mouth drops open slightly at the sensation as you buck up into his hand with a sharp whine, nodding.

“yeah, for you, hoon. now rub, like—” you move his fingers for him, showing the motion—slow, firm circles over your clit that already have your legs trembling, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. he easily takes over after two strokes, copying perfectly, his touch turning slick as he presses firmer, learning your body like it’s his new religion. “oh god—yes, right there, don’t stop—”

and he definitely isn’t planning on it. sunghoon’s mesmerized, forehead pressed to your shoulder now, watching his own hand work between your legs like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. his hips keep grinding, chasing his own friction clumsily against your soft thigh, breaths coming in hot gasps against your skin.

“sunghoon—fuck,” you whimper, the praise spilling out as his thumb finds that perfect rhythm on your clit, circles tightening, faster now, the slick sounds filling the room obscenely. he groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard, his free hand clamped on the headboard above you to steady himself.

“am i—is this good?” his words come out cracked and rough, raw desperation threading through it as he presses two fingers experimentally against your entrance through the soaked fabric, feeling you flutter and pulse for him. his hips grind down harder in response to your every twitch, the bulge in his jeans now straining, hot and insistent against your thigh. sunghoon’s unraveling—muscles tense, cheeks flushed, abdomen flexing with every roll—but those big, pleading eyes keep flicking up to yours constantly, almost as if begging for reassurance, for you to keep leading him through this fire.

“perfect, baby. so, so good,” you choke out, your hand shooting down to cover his, guiding his fingers to slip right under the edge of your underwear now. “inside—now. curl them up, like this.” you demonstrate with his hand, pushing one long finger past your folds, then two. and he slides in so easily, your arousal coating him instantly. the stretch burns sweetly, and you both moan—his a broken, addicting sound that sends a vibration straight through you.

sunghoon stops again, buried to the knuckles, eyes staring down at where he’s disappearing inside you. “holy shit,” his voice is wrecked, feeling the way you clench instantly around him. “you’re so—tight—fuck, i can feel you—” his fingers twitch inside you, curling just like you showed him, brushing that one spot that makes your eyes roll back instantly.

“right there. right there, hoon. please—” you cry out, back arching off the bed, nails raking down his bare back hard enough that it stings but he doesn’t care. your words give him the confidence to move—gentle thrusts at first, scissoring his fingers gently, learning the slick glide of you around him, then bolder, fast, his thumb never leaving your clit. the dual sensation has you seeing white, the pleasure coiling violently tight in your core, breaths coming in sobs now.

his forehead drops to yours, noses bumping, lips brushing yours in frantic, open-mouthed kisses that are more shared air than anything. “tell me—fuck, tell me what else,” he’s panting against your mouth, his free hand moving from the headboard to palm your breast fully, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “want to make you—cum—please, show me how—”

and that plea—raw, ruined, his—snaps the coil. 

you shatter—walls clamping down hard on his fingers that they stutter inside you, your orgasm rushing through in sudden waves before you could see it coming. “sunghoon—yes, yes, yes—” your cries muffle into his shoulder, thighs shaking uncontrollably, gushing over his hand in a rush that soaks his fingers, his wrist, the sheets beneath you.

sunghoon whines, all high and uneven as he watches you come undone on his fingers, squeezing him like you’re trying to keep him inside forever. his hips jerk forward in messy, desperate snaps against your thigh, cock leaking steadily through his boxers now, chasing friction he’s too wrecked to control. he doesn’t stop—he can’t stop—pumping you through it, thumb grinding ruthless circles over your swollen clit until you’re twitching, oversensitive, thighs clamping around his wrist like a trap, a broken sob ripping out of you that sounds like his name and mercy all at once.

only when your body limps, boneless and gasping, does he ease his fingers out—slow, deliberate, eyes locked on the way your slick coats him, strings of it clinging to his skin as he holds them up to the dim light. his breath stutters at the sight of his glistening fingers, dripping with just pure you. “did i—fuck, did i do that?” 

he doesn’t wait for an answer. brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean with a filthy, broken groan that vibrates straight to your spent clit, making your body jerk again even as you’re still coming down. his tongue swirls, greedy, eyes fluttering shut like he’s tasting heaven and hell at once.

you’re ruined—face flushed, lips bitten raw, hair stuck to your forehead with sweat—but that smirk still clings. you grab his wrist, yank him down hard, and crash your mouth to his, tasting yourself on his tongue—a little salty, a little sweet, but all filthy. “we’re not done,” you murmur, wrecked and hungry, hands already fumbling for his pants. “off—now.”

sunghoon nods frantically, hips lifting just enough to help you shove the material down his legs, boxers tented obscenely, a dark stain already blooming in the front. before he can even process, you hook your fingers in the waistband and drag them down too, freeing him and—fuck. he’s thick, flushed a deep red and curving up toward his stomach, already twitching under your gaze untouched.

he immediately tries to hide his face in your neck, mortified. “don’t—don’t stare like that.” 

you giggle, low and filthy, wrapping your hand around him without warning—one firm stroke from base to tip, thumb swiping through the bead of pre-cum leaking from his slit, spreading it down his length in a slick glide.he immediately bucks into your fist with a choked sob, one hand clutching your shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

“baby, you’re gorgeous,” the words drip off your tongue like honey or poison but sunghoon doesn’t know the difference at this point. your thumb swipes over his silt again, and sunghoon has to shut his eyes to restrain himself from finishing all over your fingers right then and there. “feel how hard you are for me? fucking dripping.” 

another stroke—tighter, faster—and his head slams against the pillow next to your head, throat bared, a high, desperate whine tearing out of him.

“touch yourself,” you order, guiding his trembling hand to wrap around yours. “show me how you do it when you think about me.”

sunghoon’s eyes snap to yours, wide and scandalized, breath picking up. “w—what? i—fuck, i don’t—” but his hand moves anyways, wrapping around yours where you stroke him, guiding you together—slow twists at the head, then long pulls back to his base. he’s so responsive, every drag pulling more and more. more moans from his throat, more precum from his tip, leaking steadily over your knuckles.

“good boy,” you praise, and he preens, chest puffing slightly, a desperate whimper spilling out as his free hand braces the headboard above you again for leverage.

“faster—” you tighten your grip, speeding up, and he follows your lead flawlessly, both your hands working him in brutal sync until he’s babbling nonsense pleas mixed in with your name like a prayer he’s too far gone to control. 

then you feel him twitch, once and hard, and you stop cold, releasing him. sunghoon almost pouts at the sudden, aching void—the sharp denial hitting like a punch, but you’re already shifting, too fast to let him dwell.

“not yet—i want your mouth first,” you murmur, sitting up and shoving at his chest until he’s forced back on his heels between your spread thighs, cock bobbing heavy and desperate, flushed dark and leaking. his gaze drops—your face, your bitten lips, then lower to where you’re still exposed, folds swollen and glistening, lace shoved aside and ruined, dripping with the mess he made of you. “get off the bed. on your knees, hoon. want you to taste me.”

he drops instantly—knees thudding against the floor at the foot of the bed, hands grabbing your thighs and yanking you to the edge so fast the mattress springs groan. his face is inches from your core now, breath punching out hot and frantic over your sensitive skin, making you twitch.

he swallows hard at the sight. “i—you need to…show me please,” he’s nearly begging, his voice raspy yet so earnest that it makes your heart stutter at the sight.

you thread your fingers in his hair, guide his mouth forward, pressing his lips to your inner thigh first, letting him kiss and lick small, gentle patterns up toward where you’re aching. “start slow, baby,” you breathe, thighs trembling. “kiss it, then tongue—flat and wide.” 

he obeys like it’s the only thing he was born to do.

lips brush your folds—hesitant, reverent—then his tongue comes out, one broad, filthy lick from your entrance to your clit that punches the air out of your lungs. you immediately roll your hips into his face shamelessly.

“fuck—yes—just like that—suck my clit now—”

and sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice. he devours you—nose bumping your mound, tongue sloppy and urgent, latching onto your clit with a perfect amount of greed that it pulls a small scream from your throat. he’s messy—chin slick, eyes glassy as he glances up through his lashes for approval, moaning into you every time you tug his hair like he’s on the receiving end. 

“mmph—good?” he mumbles into you, the vibration nearly sending you over, and then—without waiting—he sinks one long finger back inside you, curls it hard, and starts pumping like you taught him.

“oh my god—sunghoon, fuck—yes—” 

your ankles lock behind his head, heels digging into his back, and you ride his face without shame—hips rolling, grinding, fucking yourself on his tongue while he devours you, thriving on every gasp, every quiver, tongue delving deep, lips sucking with starvation. like it’s his last meal and his punishment and his salvation all at once.

sunghoon’s free hand then drops between his own legs —wraps around his aching cock and starts stroking in frantic, sloppy pulls, hips thrusting into his fist in time with the way you’re riding his face. pre-cum drips onto the floor, splattering the wood, and he doesn’t even care—just moans into your cunt like a broken thing, eyes rolling back every time you clench around his finger.

you force yourself up on shaking elbows just to look at the view.

sunghoon on his knees, hair wrecked from your hands, face buried between your thighs, skin slick with sweat that catches in the dim light, mouth shiny with you, pumping his cock recklessly—and those dark, glassy eyes flicking up through wet lashes, begging for approval even as his tongue fucks you into oblivion.

the sight alone almost ends you.

so you decide you’re going to ruin him. and he’s going to thank you for it.

“hoon—fuck—come here,” you haul him up by the hair until his mouth slams into yours, slick with your release, tasting like salt and sin. you feel the heavy, slick weight of his cock pressing against your thigh, twitching wildly with need.

you shove him back with a teasing palm to his chest—flip him in one sharp twist—and he goes down easy, hitting the mattress with a small grunt, eyes huge and black as he puts together what’s about to happen. you straddle him in a heartbeat later, knees digging into the sheets on either side of his hips, hovering just high enough that your soaked heat brushes the flushed head of him—once, twice—drawing a needy, high-pitched whine that rips straight from his chest.

his cock lines up perfectly—throbbing, veins bulging, slick with both of you—and he bites his lip bloody trying to hold back the whimper, hands shaking violently where they clamp your waist for dear life. “wait—shit—i don’t have a condom—”

“sunghoon,” you shoot, voice raw and impatient, already lifting your hips to torture him at your entrance, sinking down just enough to swallow his tip in tight, wet heat. “i really don’t fucking care right now.”

his head slams back against the headboard with a thud, a raw moan tearing free as his hips jerk up involuntarily, trying to bury himself deeper.

“just wanna make you feel good, yeah?”

he nods wildly, eyes pleading—utterly lost, wrecked, and completely yours. “please—fuck, yes please—”

you don’t wait any longer. you drop, sinking down fully in one brutal, merciless move. and the stretch—the sweet, burning stretch of him splitting you open has you both gasping, the pent up tension that’s piled up for days finally shattering into a pure ecstasy that has you blinded.

he fills you to the brim, thick and pulsing, every inch dragging against your clenching walls as you bottom out, your hips now flush against his. you can’t make sense of it—how he’s stretching you impossibly wide, the burn delicious and overwhelming all at once, your body fluttering around him in desperate adjustment. his head snaps back against your headboard again, his throat exposed and veins bulging as he can’t stop the deep moans coming from his chest, hands clamping onto your hips—bruising, possessive, the only way to keep himself grounded.

you collapse forward, forehead to his, breaths mingling in hot, frantic pants. his eyes are squeezed shut, lashes wet against his pinked cheeks, lips opening and closing from the pure pleasure, “oh my god—you’re…fuck you’re—so tight—” the words tumble out, his hips twitching up, chasing the sensation, making you both gasp at the jolt.

“shh—stay still,” you whisper as best as you can, hands holding his face to force his glassy eyes open. and you have to collect yourself for a second. because park sunghoon is a vision—lips swollen red, pupils dark and blown, sweat trickling down his temple. “breathe, hoon.” you clench around him deliberately, and he tries his hardest not to snap immediately, his cock throbbing deep inside you. 

“c—can’t—it’s too much—gonna—” his voice cracks, hands scrabbling at your waist, dragging you down harder even as his thighs shake violently under you, every muscle rigid, restraint shattering second by second. he’s pulsing inside you, fighting with everything he has not to cum, teeth gritted, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes because it’s too good, too perfect, too much. 

you lift your hips carefully, just an inch, then sink back down, slow, torturous, letting him feel every slick of you swallowing him whole. “fuck—yes—” his eyes roll back, mouth falling open on a silent moan, his hips bucking up to meet you halfway on their own, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing loud and filthy. “tell me—fuck, tell me if it feels good—”

“perfect, baby. you feel perfect,” you gasp immediately, voice trembling as you finally start moving—hands braced on his sweat-slick chest, nails carving red lines into his skin. “just like this—harder now, hold my hips—help me—”

and he does—fingers pressing as he hauls you down onto his cock as he suddenly slams up, meeting your movements in brutal, punishing thrusts that turn the air filthy, wet slaps echoing, obscene, and unrelenting. the bed starts to creak in protest beneath you, the string lights on your headboard blurring into hazy streaks as the pleasure turns into tears stinging your eyes. 

“hoon, yes, yes—faster,” your voice breaks into sobs, head tipping back, spine arching so hard your breasts shove up into his face. 

he absolutely loses it. 

he’s seventy percent sure he’s blacked out—the rest of him drowning in the symphony of your broken whines, the way your pussy sucks him in like it’s starving, the intoxicating sensation of you around him—every wet clench, every flutter squeezing him. but he’s still determined, feral with it, a man suddenly possessed—one hand flying up to palm one of your breasts hard, rolling the nipple rough enough between his fingers to draw a small yelp from you, the other shoving between your bodies to rub messy, perfect circles over your swollen clit.

 “s—so tight—fuck, so mine,” he chokes out, voice breaking on every thrust. “mine, mine, mine—fuck—please say—” 

his thrusts turn erratic, sloppy, with a new found determination as he chases his release, eyes locked on where he splits you open—you stretched around him, white slick coating his thighs, his balls, every inch of skin where you two collide.

“yours,” you moan, nails digging further into his chest. “been yours ever since you hit me in the fucking face, baby.”

and that does it. sunghoon just breaks. 

back arching off the bed, whole body spasming, a strangled cry of your name tearing from his throat as as you feel him cum hard, his cock pulsing and swelling impossibly thicker inside you, the harsh and hot spurts filling you up quickly. the heat of it, the throb, the way he jerks inside you shatters you instantly after. 

your second orgasm hits you with a sob against his mouth, clamping down viciously around him, milking him dry as you gush—violent, soaking pulses that drench his cock, his lap, the sheets, everything in a hot, filthy flood that leaves you shaking, blinded, ruined.

you collapse together—boneless, shuddering wrecks tangled in the sweat damp sheets that now cling to your skin. his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against his chest, his cock still twitching deep inside as the aftershock ripples through you both. the room spins softly in the dim glow of your lights, the only sounds the distant party you both forgot about and your breathes mingling in a ragged harmony—his chest heaving against yours, heartbeats syncing in a frantic yet slowing pattern.

sunghoon buries his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing sloppy, uncoordinated kisses, trying his best to catch his breath, each exhale hot against your skin.

“did i—was that okay? are you hurt anywhere?” voice small, vulnerable again despite the literal fact that he’s still buried deep inside you, his release leaking warm and sticky down your thighs, pooling beneath you in an intimate, filthy reminder. his hand moves to stroke your back gently, tracing the curves of your body as if mapping every inch for damage.

you giggle against him, the sound exhausted yet euphoric, vibrating through your chest as you lift his chin with a single finger, tilting his flushed face to yours. the kiss is soft, slow, lingering—tongues lazy and unhurried, a stark contrast to a few minutes ago, tasting all like salt and sex. “hoon, i think you ruined me,” you murmur against his lips, half-teasing, half-serious, your voice strained from the moans he pulled from you.

he lets out a small, relieved laugh, warm and genuine as his hands stay gentle on your back, thumbs circling soothing patterns over your damp skin. you shift slowly, lifting off him with ease, both of you exhaling in a sharp unison at the sudden emptiness.

you don’t pull away far, nestling into his side, draping a leg over his thigh as he tugs your crumpled up blanket over you both. his arm curls around your shoulders, his fingers tracing lazy swirls along your arm, the touch sweet and affectionate.

“ruined you, huh?” he echos after a beat, voice muffled as he presses a kiss to your temple, lips curving into a shy grin against your hair. “is that…good ruined or bad ruined? because if it’s bad, i swear i’ll make it up to you—after i make up for your nose. and shoes. and clothes. i’ve got a lifetime supply of apologies, honestly.”

you snort softly, cuddling closer into his neck, inhaling the comfort and warmth radiating off of him as your fingers dance lightly over his chest. “good ruined, idiot. like, the kind where i might not be able to physically get up tomorrow. so now you owe me at least breakfast in bed.”

“deal.” sunghoon chuckles, the sound vibrating through you both, his free hand slipping under the blanket to find yours, lacing your fingers in a loose, effortless hold. “pancakes? or—wait, do you even like pancakes? god, i don’t even know that yet. we should probably fix that before i ruin you again.”

you tilt your head up, eyes narrowing playfully before a small smirk tugs at the corners of your lips, “baby, is that your way of asking me out?”

his laugh melts into a groan as he buries his face into your hair again, arms tightening around you as he pulls you impossibly closer, bodies fitting perfectly together, “keep calling me baby like that and we’re skipping the pancake date—i’m just gonna ruin you all over again.”

your grin widens as you lift a brow at him, a mix of teasing and challenge written all over your face. then, your hand begins its slow, deliberate descent, fingers trailing a lazy path down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, your eyes watching his adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow, his breath catching in anticipation as your hand moves lower and lower.

you part your lips just enough, voice laced sweetly with promise: “deal, baby.”

and after that night, everything kind of falls into an abnormally normal rhythm.

sunghoon did get you pancakes—because he’s a man of promises.

but not until after he ruined you a second time, because, well…he’s a man of promises.

he eventually makes up for the other accidents too. he starts knocking on your door at 8:03AM every morning—two coffees balancing in one hand, a paper bag of something warm in the other, hoodie string still uneven but now on a different hoodie because he let you keep that other one. he starts showing up—after class to drive you home with him, in your texts to ask you which cereal he should buy for the week, in your kitchen, handing you clean dishes while pretending not to stare at the way you hum along to whatever song is playing. 

he starts showing up in parts of your life where you didn't even know he was missing but now that he’s here, you never want to go back. 

and through it all, sunghoon learns you. he learns that you can’t drink iced coffee without stirring it exactly three times first, that you sometimes talk in your sleep, that you always pick the m&ms out of trail mix, that you hate parallel parking but love late night drives, that you laugh with your whole face, and that someway, somehow, between the pancakes and drives and mornings and the softness—you’ve managed to carve out a permanent place in his life without either of you really meaning to.

so yeah. everything becomes accidentally abnormal after that night.

sunghoon still wakes up on time like he always does—but now he gets ready faster, just so he can walk ten doors down the hall and meet you before class.

you still sit next to him in chemistry, but now your hand is slyly trailing up his thigh under the bench table while he’s trying (and desperately failing) to measure 25 milliliters of sodium hydroxide without shaking.

when you’re at his apartment, curled up together on the couch, jay walks by and gives sunghoon a look that says finally.

when he’s at your apartment, head resting in your lap, jake walks by and gives you the same look.

it’s all wonderfully, beautifully, accidentally abnormal. which, for you and sunghoon, feels just right.

so, yeah—they say you never forget your firsts.

your first love, your first kiss, your first time.

for park sunghoon? he’ll never forget the first time he met you.

and honestly?

he kind of really hopes he never will.

꩜｡⊹ ࣪ ˖ ty all again if u made it to the end <3 mwahmwahmwah

m.list here!

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[heesunghooney]

LOSER HOON I LOVE YOU SM 😭😭😭😭😭

[momentsofengene]

LET ME HELP YOU ✧ park sunghoon

pairing: experienced!sunghoon x virgin!reader

in which your best friend, sunghoon, helps you out when you crush rejects you for being a virgin.

genre: smut (mdni), explicit content, tiny bit of angst, comfort, college setting

warnings: pwp, p in v, soft dom!hoon, fem!reader, protected sex, virginity loss, cursing

word count: 3k

There he is, Eric, your crush for almost a year now.

He’s at the end of the hallway, laughing with his friend Juyeon, the way he always does, completely unaware of the way your stomach twists every time you see him.

You’ve been watching him for months — by the hallways, in your shared classes, at the cafeteria, even at his football games. He doesn’t know you’re there, and somehow that makes it hurt and excite you at the same time.

The semester is almost over, the last one before you graduate college, and you’ve decided you can’t go on just watching him from afar. You need to say it. You need to know, even if it’s nothing.

A sharp exhale leaves your lips as you summon every ounce of courage. It’s all or nothing, you tell yourself, heart hammering in your chest.

You walk toward him slowly, Juyeon noticing first and nudging Eric. His head turns, and your heart nearly stops as your eyes meet his.

For a brief moment, it feels like the world shrinks, and it’s just the two of you. You manage a small, “Hi.”

Eric smiles. “Hey, can I help you?”

Just like that, the universe tilts. You would have melted right there if not for your shaky knees.

“I… I wanted to talk to you. In private,” you manage to say.

He hesitates, but nods. “Sure.”

You move to a quieter corner of the hallway, far from anyone’s view. Your heart beats so loud it feels like it could betray you.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“I like you, Eric. For a while now. I’m hoping to get to know you better.”

When he says nothing, your chest tightens. Panic rises, and you rush to backtrack.

“It’s okay if you don’t like me back. I just… I needed to say it.”

He sighs and finally speaks. “You see… Y/N, right?”

You nod.

“You’re cute and all but–”

He’s cut off by Juyeon, clearly eavesdropping from behind. “He doesn’t date virgins,” Juyeon says, laughing lightly.

Eric curses under his breath, frustration flashing across his face before he turns back to you.

“He’s right, but I didn’t mean it that way,” he says quickly.

“Oh, you definitely mean it like that,” Juyeon laughs again, and Eric snaps, “Shut up man.”

Your eyes sting as you try to hold back tears.

“I… I get it. Don’t worry,” you murmur, voice shaking.

Eric steps closer, trying to reach for your hand. “Look–”

Juyeon interrupts again. “You know it’s like meat, it’s better when it’s seasoned.”

Eric pushes him away, gripping his collar. “I said stop talking, man.”

When he finally turns back to reach for you, you’re already gone.

“Should’ve just been honest, man,” Juyeon mutters beside him.

“Oh fuck off,” Eric snaps, shaking his head.

You didn’t go to school the next day. You stayed in your dorm, curled up on your bed, the thin blanket hardly enough to shield you from the chill of your own thoughts.

Your room felt suffocating, small, like the walls were closing in around you, pressing you down as if the world itself wanted you to stay in one place and think about your mistake.

You hadn’t even touched your phone, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t moved from the tangled mess of sheets and pillows you had buried yourself in.

Your body felt heavy, like it didn’t belong to you anymore.

Tears came freely, sliding down your cheeks in quiet, unstoppable streams. You kept asking yourself over and over why you had to confess to Eric.

Why you had to risk your own heart on a star football player who clearly didn’t see you in that way.

Of course he’d like girls with experience, you thought bitterly, the words twisting in your chest. He’s the star player. He doesn’t need someone like me. Someone… inexperienced.

The lump in your throat grew heavier, and you tried to swallow it down, but it only made your sobs louder, shaking your body from head to toe.

You didn’t even know what time it was. The sunlight streaming faintly through the blinds was harsh on your eyes, and when you blinked, it felt like the light itself was accusing you.

You hadn’t eaten since you woke up, though sleep had been fleeting, barely three hours, your mind replaying every moment of the hallway, every word, every look.

A knock at the door startled you, and for a moment you froze, unsure if you had the courage to face anyone.

What if it’s Eric? What if he came to mock me? But the knock came again, more insistent this time, and your heart thudded painfully in your chest.

You hesitated, wiping at your tear-stained cheeks with the back of your hand. You looked at the mirror, attempting to fix your hair, to pull yourself together, but nothing seemed right.

Your reflection stared back at you: red eyes, flushed cheeks, disheveled hair, lips slightly trembling and you felt a pang of self-consciousness.

Finally, with a shaky breath, you opened the door.

Sunghoon was standing there, his arms crossed and brows furrowed in irritation, like he had just walked into a mess he didn’t know existed.

“Y/N, I’ve been knocking on this door for a couple of minutes. You weren’t in school and–”

He paused mid-sentence, noticing your tear-streaked face, the way your eyes glimmered with unshed tears.

“Were you crying?” His voice softened, concern overtaking the irritation.

You only nodded slowly, your gaze fixed on the floor. Without a word, he stepped aside and gestured for you to come in.

You followed quietly, letting him guide you to the couch. He placed a gentle, comforting hand on your shoulder, his warmth grounding you, and you sank down into the cushions.

“I don’t know what happened, and I’m not going to ask you if you’re not ready, but–” His voice faltered, and you felt the weight of his worry.

“I confessed to Eric,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, voice trembling.

You refused to look him in the eyes, staring instead at your hands, curled in your lap.

“You what?” His voice rose in surprise, concern sharp in his tone.

“I confessed… and he rejected me,” you continued, barely above a whisper. “He said he doesn’t date virgins.”

Sunghoon’s face darkened instantly, his jaw tightening, fists curling slightly at his sides.

“That asshole… just wait till he–”

“Sunghoon, please,” you interrupted, shaking your head, feeling tears sting your eyes again.

“Don’t do anything stupid. I know you’re mad, but fighting him won’t make anything better. He’ll hate me even more.”

His expression softened as he looked down at you, sincerity shining through the concern in his eyes. “I won’t. I promise I won’t."

You exhaled shakily, letting a small fraction of relief seep through your panic.

He leaned closer and pulled you into a hug, his arms strong and protective around you.

You buried your face in his shoulder, crying silently as he rubbed your back in slow, reassuring circles.

His hand traced comforting patterns, and the warmth of his presence wrapped around you.

“I just don’t understand why that’s a reason when dating someone,” you murmured against him, voice muffled and shaky. “I don’t get it. It doesn’t make sense.”

He held you tighter, the silence stretching between you both like a protective cocoon.

After a few minutes, you managed to lift your head slightly, blinking rapidly to clear your vision.

Sunghoon’s gaze met yours, gentle but unwavering, and for a moment, the weight of your shame felt lighter.

“So… what are you going to do now?” he asked softly. “Are you going to skip classes because of that jerk?”

You shrugged, the uncertainty weighing on you. “I don’t know. Maybe I should’ve… lost my virginity a long time ago. Maybe then he would’ve dated me.”

Sunghoon’s expression hardened with protective intensity.

“Don’t ever measure your worth by a man, Y/N. Taking your virginity isn’t something to waste on someone else. It’s for you, for the right time, not to satisfy someone who doesn’t care about you properly.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little bitterly, teasing despite the lingering ache. “Then why are you saying that, when you have all this… experience?”

Sunghoon’s ears turned pink, and he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… I stopped sleeping around a long time ago,” he admitted, voice quiet, almost shy.

You giggled at his reaction, the first genuine smile you’d had all day. He laughed along with you, the sound easing some of the tension in your chest.

“Glad I could cheer you up,” he said, his smile softening.

Suddenly, his tone shifted, serious and intent. “What if I help you…”

You blinked, confused. “Help me with what?”

He hesitated, then swallowed before speaking. “I… I can help you learn. You know… so next time, if you want to… you’ll know what to do.”

You laughed, thinking he was joking, but when you saw the seriousness in his eyes, your laughter died away.

“Oh. You’re serious,” you whispered.

He just shrugged, lips pursed. “Just trying to help you out.”

You paused, considering his words carefully.

Slowly, your lips curved into a timid smile. “It’s… not a bad idea.”

Sunghoon’s eyes widened in surprise. Not expecting you to agree with him

“But then that means… I’d lose my virginity… to you,” you spoke softly, realization hitting in.

His cheeks flushed, and he quickly added, “I mean… only if you want.”

You straightened, resolve firming up in your chest. “It’s okay. I trust you, Hoon.”

His chest eased, a small, genuine smile forming. “I promise I won’t let you down.”

The car ride to Sunghoon’s house feels unreal, your nerves tangled with anticipation. Your fingers fidget in your lap, every small movement amplified under his gaze.

He glances at you occasionally, giving a reassuring smile, and for a moment, the weight of everything else; Eric, rejection, embarrassment, feels distant.

When you arrive, he suggests going inside since his parents are out on a business trip for a week and his sister is at a slumber party.

The thought of privacy both comforts and terrifies you. You take a deep breath as he opens the door, and the cool air of his home brushes against your skin.

“Hey, are you okay? We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” he says softly, his voice gentle in a way you rarely hear.

You force a small smile, shaking your head.

“I’m okay, Hoon. Don’t worry about me. I’ve made my mind.”

He nods and extends his hand. You take it, letting him guide you upstairs to his bedroom.

The door clicks shut behind you, and the room feels surprisingly neat. It was mostly black and white, the bed in the middle with a grid-patterned bedspread, with the air smelling faintly of his humidifier.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your pounding heart. He watches you with careful eyes, lips slightly parted, breath hitched.

For the first time, he seems nervous too.

“Are you sure you’re still up for this?” he asks, locking eyes with yours.

You nod, giving him a small smile. “I am, Hoon. Thank you for asking.”

He inhales, looking around the room, then back at you.

“You do know how to kiss, right?” You chuckle softly. “Of course,” you reply, though your stomach flutters at his proximity.

“Great, that’s the first step.”

He cups your face gently, leaning in for a slow kiss. His lips brush yours carefully, testing the waters, and you respond immediately, pressing closer.

His hands move to your waist, pulling you slightly toward him, and the warmth of his body against yours makes your heart race.

You gasped as your body continued to flush against his.

Sunghoon took advantage of the sound, slipping his tongue into your mouth as your lips parted.

Your tongues slid against each other, the kiss deepening naturally as he held you closer.

After a pause, he pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “You good?” he murmurs.

You nod, cheeks flushed. He smiles softly, then leans in again, hands moving more confidently, exploring gently.

He pulled away softly before asking, “Ready for the next part?”

You nodded, breath unsteady, as he led you toward the bed. He guided you down until your back met the soft mattress, the fabric dipping beneath your weight.

Sunghoon followed, crawling over you, his larger frame hovering above yours. He leaned down and kissed you again, rougher than before, more certain.

He tore his lips from yours, pressing kisses along your cheeks and jaw before trailing down your neck to your collarbone.

The sensation made you shudder, and he paused, sensing it immediately.

Before he could speak, you whispered, “Go on, Hoon.”

That was all the reassurance he needed. He returned to your neck, sucking gently at a sensitive spot near your collarbone, drawing a soft moan from your lips.

He sat up and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Your eyes widened at the sight. You had seen him shirtless before, but never this close.

His pale skin glowed beneath the light, his physique stealing your breath. Defined abs, strong arms, muscles flexing slightly as his hands rested on you.

He leaned back down to kiss you, his fingers sliding to the hem of your shirt and slowly moving underneath. Your heartbeat quickened when his hands touched your bare skin, squeezing your waist gently.

He tugged at your shirt, helping you pull it off until you were left in just your bra. His gaze lingered before he leaned in, kissing the exposed skin at the top of your chest.

His hands moved to your back, unclipping your bra with practiced ease and letting it fall to the side.

Suddenly, self-consciousness hit you. You grabbed a pillow and held it to your chest, flustered.

Sunghoon’s expression softened immediately. He took the pillow gently from your hands and said, “It’s okay, angel. Don’t be shy.”

You lowered it slowly, your heart melting at his tone.

He smiled softly before leaning down, kissing your breasts one after the other. He did not linger too long, careful not to overwhelm you on your first time.

His kisses trailed downward, from your stomach to your lower abdomen.

You felt the growing bulge between his legs brush against you as he continued, sending a jolt of awareness through your body.

His hands moved to the waistband of your shorts, fingers hesitating for a moment as if checking in. When you gave him a small smile, he pulled them down along with your underwear.

“Shit,” he muttered quietly. “You’re so wet already.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as cool air brushed against your core.

Before doing anything else, he stood up and unbuttoned his pants, sliding them down until he was left in boxers. He pushed those down too, his hardened length revealed.

You gasped softly, cheeks burning.

Sunghoon stepped away briefly, grabbing a condom from the nightstand drawer and slipping it onto his cock.

He hesitates for a moment, looking at you with concern and care. “You ready?” he asks softly.

“Yes, Hoon. I trust you,” you whisper, heart pounding.

He smirked softly and placed his hands on your thighs. “Spread for me, angel.”

He guided your legs apart carefully, adjusting them until he found the right angle. Slowly, he pressed the tip against your core, making you wince as he began to push in. The stretch burned, unfamiliar and intense.

His voice dropped, gentle in a way you had never heard even after years of friendship.

“Shh. I’m sorry, angel. I promise it won’t hurt after this.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, letting you adjust. Once he was fully inside, he stayed still, giving you time to breathe.

When he finally moved, his hands gripping your hips, the pain gradually faded, replaced by a building warmth that made your toes curl.

“Hoon… don’t stop. That feels so good,” you whispered between soft sounds.

Encouraged, he picked up the pace just slightly, careful not to overwhelm you.

A sound slipped from his lips, low and unrestrained. Hearing it made something tighten inside you, your body reacting instinctively.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the sensation until a knot formed in your stomach.

“Hoon, my belly hurts. I don’t know what to do,” you cried.

“Don’t worry, angel,” he murmured, hands soothing your hips. “It just means you’re about to come. Let go. I’m right here.”

You did, your body shaking as you came undone. Moments later, he followed, breath hitching as he pulled out, removing the condom and tossing it aside.

He collapsed beside you, pulling the blanket over both of you. Your bodies were warm, slick with sweat, breathing uneven as the room settled into quiet again.

Your breathing then slows, and for the first time today, you feel safe, cared for, and cherished. You curl closer to him, resting your head on his chest.

“Thank you for being my first, Hoon,” you whispered.

You snuggle into him, feeling the warmth of his body, and for a moment, silence fills the room. Then, softly, he speaks again.

“You know…” he begins, his voice low and serious. “The reason I stopped sleeping with anyone else… it’s because I fell for someone. And that someone… is you.”

Your heart swells at his words, disbelief and warmth mixing in a rush through your chest. “Me?” you whisper.

He nods, eyes soft. “When I heard what happened with Eric… my heart broke for you. That’s why I wanted to help you tonight. I wanted you to feel safe and cared for, to know someone’s on your side.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “So… maybe we could… give this thing a shot. The two of us?”

He blinks, then pulls you closer, a smile spreading across his face as he pecks your cheek.

“Yes. Let’s try this. Just you and me.”

You giggle softly, the last traces of nervousness fading as sleepiness starts to tug at your eyelids.

“Goodnight, angel,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You drift off, safe in his arms, knowing that tonight was the beginning of something real, a connection built on trust, care, and honesty.

══════════════════════════════

author's note: first time writing smut, i'm glad this turned out well :)) anyways, i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing it <3

[heesunghooney]

KIYOWOOOO

[moonriizing]

A Christmas Proposal | p.sh (18+)

You told one tiny lie about being engaged to Sunghoon. Now you’re spending Christmas with his entire family—sharing intimate spaces, dated traditions, and an alarming amount of chemistry. Faking it should be a walk in the park, except Sunghoon is playing the perfect boyfriend a little too well, and it’s throwing you off your game.

Genre: fake dating, hallmark xmas, smut Pairing: ENHYPEN Park Sunghoon x female reader Warnings: NOT PROOFREAD, lying, fake dating, mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), MDNI Notes: 22k words. I GOT CARRIED AWAY. I was watching The Proposal with my husband when this plot came to me, sooo, guess I should say I took some inspo from that classic. MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO THOSE WHO CELEBRATE! I hope y'all like this one <3 Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic.

You were halfway through a phone call when the elevator doors opened, one hand clutching your handbag as you rattled off reminders about deadlines, inventory counts, and the very real need to restock supplies before the holiday rush. 

“Yes, by next week,” you said, already walking. “No, I don’t care if it’s ‘usually fine,’ I want the warehouse well-stocked and ready—”

You stepped onto the floor and kept moving, heels clicking, bag swinging. You didn’t notice the way the floor fell quiet the moment you stepped in. People scrambled back to their desks, suddenly invested in their screens, shuffling papers that did not need shuffling, answering phones that were not ringing. A few heads ducked. A few shoulders squared. No one made eye contact with the icy, headstrong, amazonian boss who had clearly woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

You.

Still mid-call, you marched straight toward your office, listening to your warehouse officer explain that the warehouse was well-stocked and ready for the holiday rush and that everything would be fine. “I’m not asking for some words of affirmation, Joe. Show me that this confidence is not unfounded. I need updated numbers by lunchtime.”

It wasn’t until you pushed open the glass door that you finally ended the call, pinching the bridge of your nose for half a second before refocusing.

“Morning!” Becca said brightly, already there, already holding out your iced coffee like an offering.

You took it without slowing down. She fell into step beside you, launching into your schedule like she always did—meetings, contracts, things that needed signing before lunch, and ones that could wait until after. You dropped into your chair, skimmed the first page of the file she handed you. 

You were halfway through skimming the file when you noticed something in your periphery. You looked up and saw that there was a man standing just behind Becca. Tall. Good-looking. Broad-shouldered. Hands in his pockets. He was staring around your office like he had time to admire the view, eyes flicking over the shelves, the windows, the framed awards.

For a second, you wondered if you’d forgotten you were supposed to have a meeting with some model for your brand’s campaign.

You frowned. “Who’s your friend, Becca?”

“Oh—right! Sorry. This is—” She paused, then quickly nudged the man with her elbow

“I’m Sunghoon,” he said, smiling at you before Becca could finish. He gave a lazy little wave. “The intern.”

You blinked. The intern. He said it like this was a college club meeting. Or orientation. Or literally anywhere but here, where interns usually tried desperately not to be noticed. You stared at him. Then back at Becca. “Why is the intern in my office?”

Becca cleared her throat. “He’s the temp I told you about. He’ll be covering for me while I’m on maternity leave. Assisting you directly.”

You glanced back at him, unimpressed. “Is he ready for that?” you asked Becca.

“Yes. I walked him through everything,” she said quickly. “He’s picked it up really fast.”

 “So he knows this isn’t a light workload? Long hours, hectic schedules, all that?”

Before you could respond, Sunghoon leaned forward slightly. “You can ask me, you know,” he said. “I’m right here.”

The room went very still.

You stared at him, more surprised than offended. Most interns shrank under eye contact. Apologized. Overexplained. This one had the audacity to interrupt you, like he wasn’t face-to-face with the person everyone else avoided before coffee. For a second, you couldn’t tell if he was clueless or if he just didn’t scare easily.

You didn’t like either option. “I won’t be needing you yet,” you said flatly. “You can go.”

Sunghoon didn’t argue. He simply nodded once, hands dropping from his pockets as he turned toward the door. “Alright.”

And then he left. The door clicked shut behind him. You and Becca stared at it for a moment.

You exhaled through your nose and picked up your pen. “What kind of temp did you get me?”

“He’s very competent. Just a little tactless at times. And he was once…” She hesitated. “…reported to HR for insubordination.”

“Insubordination?”

“Yeah, he was. But it was all a misunderstanding.” She paused for a second and then added, “Apparently, the way he talks pissed some people off. Which was why I thought he’d be perfect for this role.”

You slowly looked up from your paperwork. “What’s that supposed to mean?

Becca grimaced, then covered her mouth. “Okay. That—yeah. That was supposed to be an inside thought.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you went back to signing. “You’ve been working for me too long.”

She cleared her throat, tapping her tablet like she needed something to do with her hands. “Mr. Zhou just stepped into the lobby. Should we… um… go wait for him in the conference room?” she asked, already smiling.

“Fine,” you said, signing your name a little harder on the last paperwork. “But we’re unpacking that later.”

You were puzzled to see Sunghoon waiting by the car as soon as you stepped out of your office at noon. He looked out of place there, standing in a crisp set of suit and coat, looking like he was shooting an ad for Ralph Lauren. You were realizing in real time that he was unnecessarily too good-looking and too well-dressed to be someone’s errand boy.

He was holding Becca’s work tablet and the leather briefcase she’d usually brought to meetings.

“Where’s Becca?” you asked, not slowing down as you watched him open the car door for you.

“She’s gone,” he said, watching you settle onto the backseat. “Told me my secretary duties start today.”

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

Sunghoon blinked, confused. “Oh, you didn’t know? I thought she discussed this with you beforehand.”

You sighed, waved him off, and leaned back on the seat. As Sunghoon closed the door and rounded the car, you took your phone out and typed out a message to Becca.

You: I’m docking your pay.

Sunghoon took the driver’s seat without ceremony, adjusted the mirror, and pulled into traffic. 

“Read the documents carefully,” you said without looking up. “And pay attention during the meeting.”

“I will,” he said. “To both.”

The car ride was quiet. You reviewed the agenda on your tablet while the city slid past the windows, aware of him in your periphery—too relaxed, but not sloppy. 

Your phone rang not even ten minutes into the ride and you sighed when you saw the caller ID. But answered anyway. “Hi, Grandma.”

“I just wanna remind you that you have a date this evening,” she said immediately. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

“No,” you replied. “I’m working.”

“You said that last week.”

“I was working last week too. I’m busy, Grandma. Right now, I’m heading out for a lunch meeting with suppliers.”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re always working. You can’t keep postponing your life like this. Why do you always put that damn company first?”

You pressed your lips together. “Grandma, this was your company. You put me here.”

“Excuses. When will you have a husband?” she shot back. “Or children? I’m old and dying. Do you think time is gonna wait for me? I just want to see you settle down and be happy. Is that too much to ask?”

You looked out the window. “You’re healthy. You’re strong. You’re not going anywhere.”

You heard her exhale sharply on the other line, clearly annoyed now. “If you don’t come tonight, I’ll erase your name from my will. You won’t get a single penny from me.”

“You’ve been saying that for years,” you said evenly. “Need I remind you that you only have one living relative and it’s me?”

She huffed. “Don’t test me. I might just donate my whole fortune to charity. You must go this time. I swear this one is better than the previous dates. His name is Pa—”

“I love you,” you said, cutting her off. “I’ll call you later.”

You ended the call before she could respond.

For a moment, the only sound in the car was the hum of the engine and the soft click of the turn signal. You slipped your phone back into your bag and leaned farther into the seat, already compartmentalizing the conversation the way you always did.

You caught movement in the rearview mirror. Sunghoon was looking at you. “Persistent grandma?” he asked when your gazes met.

You sighed, unimpressed. “Eyes on the road.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, tone mild enough to be irritating.

You let the silence stretch after that, your attention returning to the tablet in your hands. You scrolled through the agenda, noting the points you wanted addressed, the concessions you were willing to make, and the ones you absolutely were not. Sunghoon drove without comment, smooth and calm, like he wasn’t ferrying someone who could fire him on a whim.

You glanced up again, studying his reflection this time with intention. The angle of his jaw. The familiarity you hadn’t been able to put a finger on ever since you saw his face.

“Have we met before?” you asked.

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “We went to the same university. And met once at a freshman party.”

That checked out. You’d seen enough of him around campus for his face to register, even now. You hummed, “Knew you looked familiar. You have an unforgettable face.”

That slipped out unintentionally, making you pause. You considered taking it back, but you ultimately just decided to roll with it. You cleared your throat. “I mean—well… Have you seen yourself?”

“Sorry, what?” he asked, glancing briefly at you. “I didn’t catch that.”

But the slight smirk on his lips told you that was a lie. You rolled your eyes, then watched him for another second. “If we went to uni at the same time,” you asked, “how are you still interning? At this age?”

He grinned. “Are you discriminating?"

“I’m just asking.”

“As my boss or as someone who knew me from college?”

You exhaled through your nose, realizing now that Becca wasn’t exaggerating when she said Sunghoon can be annoying for some. “Forget it,” you said.

He just smiled, focusing on driving. But a few moments later, he said, “I just got out of a slave contract with my previous employer.”

You looked up. “I assume that’s an exaggeration.”

“It could be,” he replied, shrugging.

You didn’t comment. Some jobs did feel like that. You knew it, even if you’d never experienced it firsthand. You’d never been employed under someone, except when you interned for your Grandma, but even that was hardly employment. You’d always been your own boss.

The car slowed as the restaurant came into view. Sunghoon found a parking space easily. “We’re here,” he said as soon as the engine stopped.

You straightened, already stepping out of the vehicle. “They’re gonna give us the revised version of the contract from last time. Remember to go over it very, very carefully.”

“Got it,” he replied, gathering his things and fixing his coat as he stepped out of the car.

You paused, looked at him once with furrowed brows, then said, “Lose the coat.”

He blinked. “What? Why?”

“Just lose it,” you said, waving your hand dismissively. “You’re gonna make these people think I brought a date to this meeting.”

The realization hit him a second later. “Oh.”

His ears turned red almost immediately, the color creeping up fast enough that it caught you off guard. He looked away, cleared his throat, and shrugged out of the coat with noticeably less confidence than he’d had five seconds ago.

“Right,” he said. “Okay.”

You didn’t respond. You were already walking.

He followed a step behind. You noticed the way he kept tugging at his sleeves, the way his shoulders squared like he was suddenly conscious about his posture. It didn’t slow him down, but it made him seem less casual and more shy.

You filed that thought in the far back of your mind and pushed open the restaurant door.

Sunghoon settled into his role faster than you’d anticipated. He learned your schedule within days, memorizing the gaps between meetings, the calls you always took walking, the ones you preferred, seated and uninterrupted. By the first week, he stopped asking what you needed and started having it ready before you spoke. Coffee appeared when you’d skipped breakfast. Documents were summarized and tabbed—never highlighted, because you hated highlights.

He remembered dates without reminders. Flagged clauses you would’ve circled anyway. Anticipated questions before clients finished asking them. He spoke only when necessary in meetings, and when he did, it was concise enough that no one dared interrupt him. 

“Your two o’clock wanted to move to three,” he said one morning, falling into step beside you as you walked down the hall. “Mr. Lee begged. Said something about traffic and divine intervention.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That divine intervention doesn’t outrank your calendar.”

You didn’t break stride. “Good.”

By the end of the second week, you—and everyone around you—had realized that you now have a second Becca, a more merciless one at that. People stopped going to you first. They went to Sunghoon. He filtered what mattered and killed what didn’t. When he brought you something, it was because it deserved your time. He filtered your calls ruthlessly. If something reached you, it mattered. If it didn’t, it never existed. People learned quickly that arguing with him was pointless; if Sunghoon said you were unavailable, then you were.

Occasionally, he tested his boundaries. Not in ways that interfered with work, but in tone.

“Do you always look like this when you’re thinking?” he asked once, watching you review a document.

You didn’t look up. “Like what.”

“Like you’re about to ruin someone’s life.”

You slid the folder toward him. “Page twelve.”

He glanced down, eyes scanning. “Ah,” he said. “There it is. I knew something was odd with this.”

In meetings, he was quiet, efficient, present without being intrusive. He passed notes when necessary, caught errors before they reached the table, and never spoke unless spoken to or unless you were about to walk into something avoidable.

“Clause eighteen,” he murmured once, sliding you a note.

You corrected the issue mid-sentence and moved on. Afterward, in the elevator, you said, “Good catch.”

His brows lifted in surprise. “Was that praise?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t,” he said, grinning. “But I will cherish it.”

By the third week, he stopped flinching when you corrected him. By the fourth, he started correcting other people before you had to. He learned quickly what earned silence versus what earned a look. Silence meant he was safe. The look meant he had exactly one more word before his internship became a cautionary tale.

He respected that. Mostly.

“So,” he said once, handing you a folder, “do you want the bad news first or the worse news?”

You took the folder. “If you ever phrase it like that again, you’re fired.”

“Noted,” he said calmly. “Then I’ll just say this contract is trash.”

You looked up slowly. He met your gaze without flinching. “Respectfully.”

You skimmed the page. Then the next. Then the clause he’d marked with a single tab. It was, in fact, trash.

You closed the folder. “Schedule a call.”

“I already did.”

He had an irritating habit of leaning where he wasn’t supposed to. Doorframes. Desks. The back of chairs that did not belong to him. He never slouched in meetings, never interrupted, but outside of them, he carried himself like he wasn’t intimidated by anyone in the building.

Including you. Especially you.

“Do you actually read all of these,” he asked once, eyeing the stack of reports on your desk.

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

He paused. “I guess you’re not like those other nepo babies who—um… nevermind.”

You lifted your pen. “Finish that sentence, Secretary Park.”

“Nope,” he said, chuckling nervously and retreating a step. “I’m quite attached to my paycheck, you see.”

You rolled your eyes, but Sunghoon kept his grin. “When will you call me by my first name?”

Your brows furrowed. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, there’s Becca. You address her not only by her first name but by her nickname.”

You tutted, shaking your head and deciding to ignore his question entirely. “Go. I don’t need you right now,” you said, waving him away. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he chimed, walking away. You returned to your screen. You didn’t fire him.

By the end of the month, Sunghoon no longer felt like a temporary replacement to your intuitive and reliable Becca. He felt like his own fixture. An irritating, unnecessarily good-looking, deeply unserious, but very competent fixture.

“Is that Prada?” you asked, just as Sunghoon turned the engine off. 

He glanced back at you, then at his coat. “I think so? I got this as a gift for my birthday.”

You chuckled, reaching for the door. “Your clothes are too expensive for an intern.”

You stepped out of the car, eyes blinking at the blinding building right in front of you. Sunghoon fell into step beside you not 30 seconds later, and you noticed that he’d taken off his coat.

“You should keep it on,” you said.

He tilted his head. “But wouldn’t it make them think you brought a date to the meeting?”

You shrugged. “Maybe, but these people are worth impressing. I’m heading inside first. You go get your coat and make yourself look good.”

You were inside the building for less than two minutes when you ran into someone that made your eyes twitch. He called your name from across the lobby, his voice ringing out annoyingly.

“Is that you?” he asked when he approached you. “Well, damn. It is you.”

“Carlo,” you acknowledged, offering a curt smile.

“Oh, so you remember me,” he grinned, his eyes roving from your head to your foot, then back up to your face again, not without pausing briefly on your chest. “It’s been a while, huh?”

You nodded once, polite and brief, already angling your body toward the other direction. “It has. If you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way to a meeting.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always busy,” he said, waving it off. “But who isn’t?” he added, laughing out loud.

He then launched into a recap of his life since the last time you’d seen him—his job, his connections, the people he knew, the Dubai prince he was chummy with, the places he’d been. It was all very impressive, apparently. You tried to interject twice. Both attempts failed. He spoke over you like it was muscle memory.

You remembered, dimly, the disastrous blind date your Grandmother had set you up on last year. Apparently Carlo was a friend’s son who was intelligent and sweet. You gave it a chance because you’d run out of excuses to decline. But Carlo was downright obnoxious. He was preposterous, talked only about himself, and after the date, he told every mutual acquaintance you both had that you were the reason why it never worked out after the first date—as if he didn’t blow up your phone asking for another chance after you refused to go on another date with him. He’d framed your refusal like a misunderstanding, and acted like persistence was a charm.

“So anyway,” he said, finally pausing just long enough to inhale, “I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner sometime. Catch up properly.”

You spotted Sunghoon a few steps away. “There you are, my love,” you called out with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Sunghoon looked up at the sound of your voice, just as you crossed the distance and slipped your arm around his without asking, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. For a moment, you thought he might ask what was happening. But he looked at you and at the puzzled Carlo just nearby and seemed to understand the situation right away.

“Sorry,” you said, turning back to Carlo with an apologetic smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “What were you saying?”

Carlo took a step back, posture stiffening, his grin faltering as his eyes moved from Sunghoon’s face to his tailored clothes, then back to you. Whatever confidence he’d walked into the lobby with seemed to deflate all at once.

“Oh, by the way,” you began, turning to Sunghoon. “Have you met Carlo? He’s in the export business. And the son of Grandmama’s friend.”

Sunghoon didn’t miss a beat. He offered his hand. “Sunghoon,” he said pleasantly.

Carlo stared, shaking his hand. You smiled and said, “My fiancee.”

“Oh,” Carlo said. “Fiancée.”

“Yes,” you replied simply. You could already imagine how this little lie would spread among your mutual acquaintances and business spaces you shared with Carlo, given how loose-lipped he was. But all you could care about right now was getting him to leave you alone.

“Well—uh,” Carlo said, shaking Sunghoon’s hand a little too quickly. “Nice to meet you. You two look… great.” He stepped back, already glancing at his phone. “I should get going. Busy day. You know how it is.”

You watched him retreat without comment, hurrying through the lobby until he disappeared entirely. Only then did you exhale.

You loosened your grip on Sunghoon’s arm, turning toward him. “Thank you,” you began.

“Your fiancée?” said someone from behind you.

You immediately froze, recognizing the timbre, the authority, and the unmistakable tone of your Grandmother’s voice. 

You turned slowly and found her standing a few feet away, handbag tucked neatly under her arm, eyes sharp and clearly amused.

“Did I hear that right,” she said, her smile widening as her gaze flicked between you and Sunghoon, “or am I finally losing my hearing?”

Sunghoon, to his credit, didn’t move. Neither did you. And somewhere between the impulsive little lie and her grin, you realized that things were about to blow out of proportion.

“OMG, Grammy. You heard that? I’m sorry. This is my assistant. I only said he was my fiancée to get that obnoxious Carlo off my back.” 

You could have said that and gotten it over with. But you couldn’t. The delight on your grandmother’s face was too precious for you to shatter with the truth.  So here you were, sitting across from her for an impromptu family dinner, Sunghoon holding your hand beside you. 

You were usually the most intimidating person in any room you walked into. Boardrooms, negotiations, crowded halls full of people waiting for you to speak—none of it ever rattled you. But at that dinner table, you were painfully aware of your posture, your hands, the way your expression changed with every interaction.

Your grandmother had that effect on you. She was the only person who could ever make you nervous, especially when it involved major life decisions like this.

It didn’t help that she was beaming like she’d just won the lottery. Sunghoon, as it turned out, was the grandson of an old friend of hers.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew my Grandma?” you had discreetly asked him earlier during the meeting with an investor, while your Grandmother watched from a few tables away.

She had insisted she’d wait until you finished the business meeting, and that was how you found yourselves trapped in this ‘family’ dinner.

“So,” she said, eyes bright as she looked between you and Sunghoon, “how did the two of you meet?”

You stiffened slightly, already bracing yourself. Sunghoon answered easily. “Oh, we met in college,” he said, reaching for his water. “We reconnected only recently when I started working for her.”

Your grandmother’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? And when did you start dating?”

You kept your gaze on your plate, listening. “About a month ago,” Sunghoon replied smoothly.

A month ago. You did the math immediately, your mind racing ahead of your body. That was the exact week he’d started working as your temporary assistant.

“And engaged already?” your grandmother said, delighted rather than suspicious.

Sunghoon nodded. “We didn’t see the point in waiting.”

She laughed, clapping her hands softly. “Oh, I love that. Life is too short to hesitate.” She turned to you then, eyes sharp and delighted. “So you mean to tell me you got engaged without telling me you were dating my best friend’s grandson?”

You opened your mouth, only to just close it again. Sunghoon cleared his throat. “It all happened rather quickly.”

“That’s what I love about it,” she said, waving a hand. “Destiny waits for no one,” she added, laughing.

You laughed too—awkwardly enough that you were sure you’d given it all away. You stared at the food on the table, suddenly finding your favorite dish from the best chef in the city unappetizing and dry.

“Does your family know?” she asked Sunghoom again.

Sunghoon hesitated, glancing at you for an answer. You had absolutely nothing to offer him. Not even a lie half-formed. So you lifted one shoulder, the smallest shrug you could manage.

He turned back to her and smiled. “Not yet. We wanted to keep it quiet for a while,” he said, shrugging lightly. “It hasn’t been very long. But I guess the secret’s out now that you know.”

Your grandmother looked like she might burst from excitement. “Oh, this is wonderful,” she said, already reaching for her phone. “They’ll be thrilled.”

You sat up straighter. “Grandma—”

“Wait,” Sunghoon said at the same time.

She waved both of you off, already dialing. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll just tell them quickly.”

You watched in horror as she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?” she said brightly. “Yes, yes, it’s me. You’ll never guess what I just found out.”

You sank back into your chair, heart thudding.

She spoke excitedly, voice warm and loud enough that you caught pieces of the conversation—laughter, delighted exclaims, repeated congratulations. You could hear someone else speaking on the other end, just as excited.

You didn’t catch the names, but you didn’t need to. Whoever was on the other end was laughing too. Your grandmother kept nodding along, with soft mm-hmms and delighted sighs.

“I know. I couldn’t believe it either.” She glanced at the two of you, eyes shining. “They’re here with me right now.”

Sunghoon didn’t move. His hand was still resting near yours on the table, close enough but not quite touching. He looked composed, if a little too still, like he’d decided that reacting would only make things worse.

Your grandmother laughed again. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. Of course it makes sense. Haven’t you always said fate has terrible timing?”

She listened for a moment, then hummed approvingly. “Yes. I’ll tell them.”

She ended the call with a satisfied tap of her finger against the screen and set her phone down carefully, as if savoring the moment. “There,” she said, pleased. “They are over the moon.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose. “Grandma—”

“You never even told them that you were seeing someone, Sunghoon,” she added. “They’re insisting on dinner soon. All of us.”

“That might be difficult,” he said carefully. “With work and—”

“Oh, nonsense,” she interrupted. “You’ll make time. You always do for family.”

She smiled at you then, softer and fonder. “And you,” she said, “I’m gonna excuse the fact that you kept this a secret from me.”

You pressed your lips together, offering something that might have passed for a smile.

Across the table, your grandmother reached for her glass, perfectly satisfied. Beside you, Sunghoon shifted just enough that his knee brushed yours under the table. Neither of you commented on it. But you both understood the same thing at the exact same time.

This had officially gone too far to undo politely.

By the time you finally parted with your grandmother outside the restaurant, you were exhausted. Not the kind of tired you felt after negotiations or long meetings, but the slow, creeping kind that sank into your bones and stayed there.

You slid into the backseat as soon as Sunghoon opened the door for you, barely waiting for it to close before sinking back against the leather. The city lights blurred past the windows as the car pulled away from the curb.

“That,” you said, staring at the ceiling, “went so wrong so fast.”

Sunghoon huffed a small laugh from the driver’s seat. “That’s one way to put it.”

You dragged a hand down your face. “I just wanted Carlo to leave me alone. I didn’t plan on my grandmother calling half the city to announce my engagement.”

“She seemed… enthusiastic.”

“Oh, trust me. That was her being restrained,” you muttered. You straightened slightly, folding your arms. “You’ve been with me long enough to know how she takes my love life very, very seriously.”

The car stopped at a red light. Sunghoon glanced at you through the rearview mirror. “You could let her have it for a few days,” he said casually. “Then tell her it didn’t work out. People break up all the time. We haven’t been dating long anyway. It’ll be believable.”

You sighed, nodding. “That’s the plan.”

The light turned green, and he eased back into traffic. You watched the city slide past again, your reflection faint in the glass.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a moment. “For dragging you into this. For the phone call with your folks. For—” You waved a hand vaguely. “All of it.”

Sunghoon shrugged, eyes on the road. “It’s fine.”

You looked at him. “You don’t have to say that.”

“No really,” he replied. “I don’t mind. I’ll just consider it part of the job.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’d hate the job if I were you.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Well,” he said, “it’s not the strangest thing I’ve been dragged into for work.”

You snorted despite yourself. The car slowed in front of your apartment building. Sunghoon parked and turned the engine off. You stepped out of the car, the night air cool against your skin. Behind you, Sunghoon followed, just another assistant at your side.

That was all it was supposed to be.

“See you in the morning, boss,” he said, handing you your bag as you both stopped in front of the elevator.

You nodded. “See you in the morning, Secretary Park.”

He nodded back, then stepped closer—so suddenly that you barely had time to register it before he was right there, warmth and presence crowding your space. 

You froze, surprised by the proximity. For a split-second your mind was racing to process so many things at once—the closeness, the clean scent of his cologne, his steady breathing, and the way you’d been holding yours without realizing it.

Then his arm lifted past your shoulder. The elevator button clicked softly behind you.

“Oh,” you breathed, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

Sunghoon pulled back, his expression unreadable for a second, before his mouth curved into a smile—one that made you pause. You’d seen that smile every day for the last few weeks, but this was the first time you’d found yourself completely disarmed by it.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open, and air rushed back into your lungs like you’d been underwater. You looked away first, stepping inside without a word. 

Sunghoon remained outside, one hand lifting in a wave. “Good night,” he said.

The doors closed between you, sealing him out, and the last thing you saw was that damn smile.

The very next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone ringing on the nightstand. You squinted at the screen. Grandma.

“Oh my god, what now?” you grumbled, sitting up before answering. “Good morning,” you croaked, rubbing your eyes.

“Pack your bags,” she said immediately, skipping any niceties. “We’re going away for the holidays.”

“It’s still two weeks before Christmas, Grandmama.”

“Oh, honey,” she gushed. “We’ll be spending the holidays with Sunghoon’s family.”

You straightened up, swiping at the alarm that had somehow joined the chaos. “Excuse me?”

“Yes. For a week. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“A WEEK?!” you echoed loudly, standing up on your bed now, clutching a fistful of your hair. “Grandma, what do you mean a week? What… Where—WITH WHOM?”

“Okay, young lady. Calm down. I can’t understand you when you’re rambling like this.”

“Grandma, I can’t—I have work. There’s the holiday promos, the rush, meetings and deals. I literally can’t even disappear for a day, let alone a whole week.”

“You have competent employees for that. I’m sure they can handle it,” she said casually. “Besides, I checked your calendar and you don’t have anything major that requires your immediate attention. Surely you can pause your micromanaging for a few days?”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, offended. “I don’t micromanage—ugh. Not the point,” you muttered, more to yourself.

You took a deep breath and sat back on the bed. “Listen, Grandma. I haven’t met his family yet. I haven’t even been introduced as his girlfriend yet. I can’t just show up as his fiancee out of nowhere.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said, waving the thought away like dust. “But this is exactly the right moment. It’s the holidays.”

You paused, genuinely bewildered. “How did this even happen?”

“Oh, my dear, this wasn’t my idea,” she replied, her voice lighting up. “Sunghoon’s grandmother insisted.”

You let out a long, shaky breath. “Grandma—”

“Pack your bags,” she said cheerfully. “Don’t argue with me. I’ve already told them you’re coming and I already took care of everything.”

Now here you were, sitting in your office, heels tapping impatiently on the marble floor, fingers drumming against the wood of your desk. Every five seconds, you checked the clock, willing Sunghoon to appear.

Finally, the office door slid open, and there he was, smiling so calmly like things hadn’t blown out of proportion already. “Oh, there you are, Secretary Park! I need you to act as my fiancée. Again.”

His brows furrowed, confused. “Okay, relax. Why?”

“Surely your family’s told you by now that I am to spend the holidays with you?” you snapped, exasperation leaking into your tone.

He shrugged. “I’ve been told. But… you don’t have to. I can get you out of it if you really hate the idea.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “I don’t like the idea. But you know as well as I do that dissuading my grandmother is impossible.”

He chuckled lightly. “You’ve never let anyone tell you what to do.”

You snorted, leaning forward. “I’ll have you know that my grandmother can—and will—tell me what to do. Ghosting blind dates is a walk in the park, but things like this? Yeah. No way.”

Sunghoon hummed in acknowledgment. “She does seem like the formidable type.”

There was a moment of silence between you, one so comical you could hear the crickets in your head. “So?” you prompted. “Will you do it, or not?”

Sunghoon just shrugged, eyes still playful. “Do I get a raise?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated, but also relieved. “I’ll even make you a regular while I’m at it, Intern Park.”

Being the meticulous person you were, you drafted a contract days before the trip. Not a legal one, of course, but a set of rules you and Sunghoon both agreed to follow while pretending to be engaged. You and Sunghoon made it together and agreed to both of your conditions, especially involving physical intimacy.

You made a point to make sure holding hands and displays of affection were strictly in front of the family only. And of course no hugging unless absolutely necessary. There were clauses about sticking to an agreed context and backstory, and never answering major or intrusive questions without the other.

“How do you feel about sharing a bedroom?” he asked.

“Do we have to? Can’t I get my own guest room?”

Sunghoon shook his head. “You clearly don’t know my family at all. An engaged couple staying in separate bedrooms? They’re gonna be suspicious.”

That made sense. “Alright. But I’m taking the bed. You can have the couch. Or the floor. Whatever works.”

“Come on,” he said, mock-protesting. “It’s my house. I should get the bed.”

“And I’m your boss,” you countered. “Rule number five will be, I always win.”

“Now you’re just power tripping.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Fifth clause. Very important.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at said clause about ‘no kissing or hugging’. “Exceptions?” he asked casually. “Christmas games, dances, mistletoe… maybe a moment of festive goodwill?”

“Absolutely not,” you said firmly. “Exceptions are only if the world is literally ending. Or someone dies. Or—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were overexplaining. “Just don’t ask for exceptions.”

Sunghoon nodded, taking that in stride. “But the situation could call for a hug, you know?”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just not.”

“Fine. But I’m telling you, my family will notice.”

“Just what kind of family do you have?”

Apparently, the kind who were affectionate and close, and took Christmas very seriously.

Days later, you boarded a plane with your grandmother practically vibrating with excitement beside you. She chatted the entire time—about the food, about the weather, about how nice it was that you were finally dating and thinking of marriage—while you nodded along, occasionally exchanging looks with Sunghoon over the divider between your seats. Thankfully, first class gave you just enough privacy that you didn’t have to perform more than absolutely necessary.

When you landed, the cold winter air hit you first, stinging your cheek. You’d barely stepped outside the terminal when a pickup truck rolled to a stop in front of you, horn honking cheerfully.

A jolly older man hopped out, grinning wide. “You must be exhausted,” he said warmly, eyes immediately landing on your grandmother. “It’s been too long.”

Her face lit up in a way you didn’t see very often these days. “Look at you,” she said, holding his arm affectionately. “All grown up.”

They hugged like no time had passed at all. Behind you, Sunghoon carefully placed a coat over your shoulder, its warmth engulfing you almost immediately. Then he leaned in slightly, one hand still on your shoulder. “That’s my uncle.”

Sunghoon introduced you and you offered a hand for a shake. “Lovely to meet you.”

The entire drive into town was filled with laughter and reminiscing, stories bouncing back and forth like they’d only seen each other yesterday instead of decades ago. Apparently, his uncle had spent a good portion of his childhood around your grandmother, running around while the adults talked business and dreams and things far too big for children to understand.

You watched your grandmother from the backseat, her smile so soft and sweet, and felt something warm settle in your chest.

“Just how long have you known this family?” you asked her, half-teasing.

Sunghoon’s uncle laughed before she could answer. “Oh, longer than me,” he said easily. “Her and my Ma go way back. Back when I wasn’t even born yet.”

She nodded fondly. “We were already friends when we both had nothing,” she said. “We used to talk about what we’d do one day, when life finally got easier. Now, we have money. But we’re both too busy to see each other.”

You hummed, thoughtful, eyes drifting out the window. A moment later, curiosity got the better of you. You turned slightly toward Sunghoon. “I don’t think you’ve told me what your family does?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Merchandising.”

That was vague. You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could press further, his uncle laughed and pointed ahead, where a tall building rose proudly in the middle of the city square. It stretched for blocks, glass gleaming even under the sky.

“That,” he said, clearly pleased, “is what my dear mother—Sunghoon’s grandma—built from the ground up.”

Your breath caught. It was a shopping mall. Not just any mall, either. You recognized the name immediately. You’d seen more than a few of them back home, even had business with them!

Slowly, you turned to look at Sunghoon, scanning him from head to toe like you were seeing him for the first time.

He noticed. “What?”

“Merchandising?” you said flatly.

He shrugged again, entirely unapologetic. You leaned back in your seat, stunned, eyes flicking back to the building as it disappeared behind you.

Great. Of course you’d accidentally gotten fake-engaged into another powerful family.

When the truck finally came to a stop, you stepped down onto solid ground and immediately turned to Sunghoon, catching him by the sleeve before he could move too far ahead.

“Wait,” you said under your breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you were rich?”

He blinked, genuinely taken aback. “What?”

“That mall,” you said flatly. “The one your family runs. You don’t just forget to mention that, not when you know we’re retail partners with them.”

Sunghoon huffed a laugh. “You never asked. And besides, I’m not rich. My family is.”

You stared at him. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” he said mildly. “Just not one you like.”

You scoffed, lowering your voice even further. “Then why are you working as an intern? In my company. For—” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “minimum pay and maximum suffering?”

His mouth opened, like he was about to say something but his uncle’s voice came booming from a few steps away. “Sunghoon!”

He looked over his shoulder. “Coming,” he replied easily, then glanced back at you. “Come on.”

You followed them down the pier, heels clicking against weathered wood as the sea air wrapped around you. Only when you reached the edge did you finally understand why everyone had stopped.

A sailboat waited at the dock, white and pristine, bobbing gently against the water. You slowed to a stop. “Why are we getting on a boat?”

Sunghoon glanced at the sailboat, then back at you, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “My family thinks we’re better than everyone else,” he said, “so they bought a whole island and decided to live far away from the commoners.”

You stopped walking altogether. “I’m sorry—what?”

His uncle let out a bark of laughter, clapping a hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder. “That’s not true at all,” he said. “We didn’t move there. It’s just for family gatherings. Holidays. Reunions. That sort of thing.”

“And no, we don’t own the whole island,” his uncle added, looking out into the horizon, one hand on his hip. “Only half of it.”

Like that made it less unreasonable.

You’d spent years thinking your grandmother was extravagant—buying properties she rarely stayed in, collecting things simply because she could. But apparently, somewhere a thousand miles away, another woman had been doing the exact same thing.

No wonder they’re friends.

Sunghoon hovered beside you now, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence without looking at him. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

You opened your eyes. “I’m fine.”

He smiled at that, then held a hand out toward you. You hesitated for half a second, narrowing your eyes at him, then just as quickly, remembered the whole happily in love act had officially begun. So you took his hand and let him help you aboard the boat. 

You had a feeling this week is going to be a lot harder than you’d anticipated.

The ride out to the island was mercifully short. The boat cut smoothly across the water, cold wind biting at your cheeks until your eyes watered. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, breath fogging faintly in front of you.

Someone was already waiting there. A girl stood at the edge of the dock, bundled in a thick coat and scarf, waving with both arms like she didn’t feel the cold at all.

“That’s my sister,” Sunghoon said beside you. “Yeji.”

The moment your feet hit the dock, Yeji made a beeline for him, throwing her arms around his neck without hesitation. “You’re alive,” she said dramatically. “I was starting to think you’d fallen off the face of the earth.”

Sunghoon laughed, hugging her back. “You facetimed me three days ago.”

“Three days is a long time,” she shot back, then said something else under her breath that made him groan and flick her forehead lightly. You didn’t catch the words, but the sight of their teasing and laughter made your chest feel oddly warm.

Then Sunghoon turned slightly and gestured toward you. “This is—” He paused for half a second, then continued smoothly. “My girlfriend.”

Yeji’s eyes snapped to you, sharp and curious, then widened with unmistakable delight. “Girlfriend,” she said slowly, grinning mischievously. “That’s not what I heard,” she added in a sing-song.

Sunghoon sighed. “Please be normal. Don’t embarrass me.”

“Welcome,” Yeji said cheerfully, offering a hug which you returned awkwardly. Then she pulled back just enough to study your face. “Wow. You’re very pretty. Why would you wanna marry that guy?”

“Alright,” Sunghoon interjected, tugging Yeji  from behind by her jacket collar. “That’s enough. Go away.”

“What? I think she’s too good for you.” She turned to you. “You sure you don’t wanna change your mind?”

“Stop,” he chided softly, chuckling, “Don’t discourage her. She might just change her mind. Nothing’s decided yet.”

“Oh, what nonsense.”

The voice came from behind Yeji—calm, amused, unmistakably unimpressed. A woman stepped forward, elegant in every sense of the word, eyes narrowing playfully as she looked Sunghoon over.

“You left a perfectly good position in the family business saying you wanted to fend for yourself,” she continued, “and now you come home with a fiancée?” Her lips curved into a smile. “You didn’t even wait a year before crawling back.”

You were taken aback, instinctively scooting closer to Sunghoon after what you heard. In your mind, you were wondering who this was and why she seemed to dislike him.

But beside you, Sunghoon merely sighed, shook his head in exasperation, and told you, “This is my mom.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off-guard. Then it immediately clicked that this might be how they normally talked to each other, and all in good fun, you assumed.

His mother didn’t give you much time to dwell on it. Her attention shifted to you immediately, her expression softening as she stepped closer and pulled you into a hug before you could react.

“Oh,” you exclaimed. Behind her, you mouthed to Sunghoon, ’Is this normal?’

He just shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. “Welcome,” she said warmly. “We’re so happy you’re here.”

You laughed softly, a little breathless, returning the hug despite the nerves curling in your stomach. And then everything moved at once.

You were ushered forward, names thrown at you faster than you could catch them—aunts, cousins, someone’s partner, someone else’s child—smiles and greetings blurring together as you were guided further into the property. The words ‘Sunghoon’s fiancee’ kept echoing in your ears, and you felt a little lightheaded as you realized that lie felt bigger by the second, ballooning with every new face and every fond look directed your way.

Warm air hit you the moment you stepped inside the house, carrying the smell of food and something sweet. It was massive, but you barely had time to take it in before you heard someone call out your grandmother’s nickname.

“Oh my goodness,” a voice exclaimed, followed by hurried footsteps.

An elderly woman appeared with her arms already open, and your grandmother’s face lit up like a sunrise. They met in the middle of the room, hugging tightly, laughing, talking over each other all at once.

You watched them fondly, feeling warm all over and knowing it wasn’t because of the central heating. Then the noise swelled again around you, and you were being pulled into a hug by Sunghoon’s grandmother who had affectionately asked you to call her ‘Nana’.

Eventually—somehow—you and Sunghoon finally escaped everybody’s attention and you found yourself trailing behind him aas he led you down a quieter hallway. You passed through wide corridors, went up several flights of staircases, before he finally stopped in front of a wooden door that looked like every other one in the hall.

“Come on in,” he said, pushing the door open and letting you step inside first.

The room was spacious, sunlight spilling through tall windowsr. A queen-sized bed sat at the center, dressed in crisp white linens under fluffy navy blue duvets. A thick rug covered the hardwood floor, and a small writing desk sat neatly in the corner. A fireplace along one wall had a few framed family photos on its mantle. There was also a couch just in front of the fireplace, and you noticed a subtle scent of pine and cinnamon lingering faintly in the room.

“How big is your family?” you asked, your gaze drifting around, taking in the comfort and scale of the space.

“Not very,” he said, hauling the last of your luggage over to the corner and setting it down with ease. “Nana has five kids, all married with kids. And most of my older cousins are married too, so I’ve got eight nieces and nephews.”

“Wow. Are there like, thirty of you?”

“Almost thirty,” he said, shrugging, a small smile tugging at his lips. “If everyone comes home for the holidays this year, you’re looking at twenty-eight Parks under one roof.”

“That’s a lot of people,” you murmured, scanning the room.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Well, my dad was an only child who had only one kid,” you replied, leaning slightly against the desk. “So, no aunts and uncles for me. No horde of cousins either.”

Sunghoon glanced at you from the doorway, tilting his head slightly. “Right, why didn’t your parents come here with you? I assume they’re thrilled that their only child is engaged.”

You froze, realizing in that moment that you’d never actually told him your parents had passed. Before you could answer, a sharp knock came at the door, swinging open just as quickly without really waiting for anyone to respond.

“Hello! I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” a warm, lively voice called out. Sunghoon’s mother stepped inside, carrying a tray laden with small snacks and a thermos of tea.

“No. We were just settling in,” you answered, trying to sound normal.

“I figured you’d be hungry after that long journey,” she said brightly, setting the tray down. She turned her gaze on you, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “How are you feeling? You’ve traveled so far! Are you comfortable? Did you eat enough on the plane? Oh, do you like sweets?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, blinking at the rapid-fire questions, completely overwhelmed.

“Oh, and I’m so sorry about the chaos,” she said, smiling as she poured tea into the teacup. “Our family tends to overreact. Especially with Sunghoon being the only man in the family who hasn’t married yet. Everyone’s just excited to meet you.”

You felt a genuine warmth spread through your chest. “Thank you,” you said softly, taking a small step closer to accept the cup she was offering.

“And how is my son? Is he good to you? Does he treat you well?”

“Oh, he’s… wonderful. He takes care of everything for me,” you replied, and in a way, what you said was true.

“As he should,” she chimed, looking proud. “He must have been really good to you for you to decide to get married shortly after dating. OH!” She exclaimed, practically jumping in her seat. “You haven’t shown us your engagement ring yet!”

You froze, eyes flitting to Sunghoon across the room. He too looked surprised. You were both realizing in real-time that you had forgotten one, if not the most important thing about this whole engagement thing.

The damn ring!

“Is this it?” his mother asked, reaching for your hand where your default favorite ring to wear wrapped daintily on your finger.

You glanced sideways at Sunghoon, your expression screaming Help me.

“Alright, Mom, we’re tired. We need some rest. Please give us some space,” said Sunghoon, walking over and gently tugging her mom away from you.

“Oh, fine,” she said, still beaming as her son dragged her all the way out of the door. “But you need to tell me everything later!”

“Okay, bye-bye,” Sunghoon said before closing the door to her face.

The silence that followed was like a breath of fresh air. You slumped onto the couch, exhaling a long, tired breath. “I can’t believe you forgot about the ring.”

“Nah, I think that’s on you,” he said casually, sitting on the edge of the bed. “This whole thing was your idea. You should have known getting engaged includes getting a ring.”

“Are you saying you didn’t know that?”

Sunghoon paused, head tilting, deep in thought. You sighed and waved a hand dismissively. “Forget it. Where’s the contract? Let’s go over it one more time.”

Sunghoon laid it out on the desk and went through the rules you’d carefully set up—holding hands only in front of family, no hugging, no kissing, agreed backstory, a clear understanding of what questions could be answered and which ones required a unanimous decision, and most importantly, telling everyone after the holidays that things didn’t work out and you had to break up.

You came to the clause about the bed, and after a short discussion, agreed to alternate each night between the bed and the couch. 

“Alright, get some rest,” he said after, standing up and walking toward the door. “maybe a shower if you’d like.”

You raised a hand. “Wait, where are you going? You’re not allowed to leave me alone. It’s in the contract. Rule number eight.”

His brows furrowed. “You okay about me being in the room while you shower and get dressed?”

Your cheeks heat up instantly. “Okay. You can go,” you said calmly.

He chuckled softly, hands in his pockets, turning to the door again. “I’ll just check out the field, see what’s there to expect. Don’t worry. I won’t be long,” he beamed, giving a small wave before closing the door.

By the end of that night, the engagement ring situation had been settled. You’d stared down at the ring already on your finger and said, “We can just say this is it.”

Sunghoon had squinted at it, thoughtful. “It doesn’t look like an engagement ring.”

You lifted your chin. “It does. The rock is a diamond. Just smaller than what engagement rings usually have. Do you have a better idea?” you shot back.

He didn’t. So that was that. The ring was promoted on the spot, its significance upgraded without its consent, and you both agreed never to question it again unless absolutely necessary. Preferably never.

And then the week began and nothing could have prepared you for what the holidays looked like in his family.

It was loud. Doors were always opening, someone was always calling out from another room, laughter echoing down hallways. There were meals that turned into three-hour affairs, dishes clattering, voices overlapping, debates breaking out over the most insignificant things. Someone was always touching someone else—an arm around a shoulder, fingers laced together, hair ruffled in passing. Affection here wasn’t saved for special moments. It was everywhere.

It was nothing like the holidays you knew.

Christmas, to you, had always been quiet. A peaceful dinner with your grandmother. Soft music playing in the background. Catching up, exchanging gifts, sitting side by side on the couch with wine glasses until you both got sleepy and called it a night.

Here, Christmas started days early and showed no signs of slowing down.

You were fed constantly. Asked questions constantly. Complimented, hugged, pulled into conversations you barely understood, handed drinks you didn’t ask for. At some point, someone insisted you had to try a dessert because it was “Sunghoon’s favorite growing up,” and suddenly he was there beside you, watching your reaction.

That was another problem entirely. Sunghoon was a little too good at this.

He held your hand casually, like it was second nature. Thumb brushing over your knuckles without thinking. He leaned in when people spoke to you, an arm slipping around your waist like muscle memory. He remembered to pull out your chair, to pass you food first, to check if you were cold before grabbing you a sweater.

None of it felt forced. If anything, you were the awkward one. “How are you so good at this?”

He glanced at you, amused. “Good at what?”

“This,” you said vaguely, gesturing between the two of you. “The loving boyfriend thing. It’s weird!”

His mouth twitched. “Would you rather I be awkward and obvious like you?”

You scoffed. “I am not obvious.”

“You flinch every time I touch you.”

“That’s because you don’t give me a heads up,” you hissed.

He just smiled, infuriatingly smug, and reached for your hand again as someone walked past. “Real couples don’t need a heads up for something like this,” he said, lifting your joined hands, then pressing a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“What are you doing?” you deadpanned, but the smile on his lips remained.

“Nana and your grandma are looking right at us,” he said.

You turned your head to said direction, and found that they were, in fact, not looking. You scoffed, pulled your hand back and glared at him. “I’m docking your pay for this month.”

“You really think I need it?” he asked smugly, spreading his arms in a grand gesture.

You grimaced, taken aback by an arrogance you’d never seen in him before. “Stop. It’s your family’s, not yours.”

“Well, I’m part of this family, so…” he replied, shrugging arrogantly. You snorted, rolling your eyes but not denying your laugh.

Sunghoon has always been popular in your company. You noticed that much after weeks of having him beside you everyday. People were always ogling him, heads turned whenever he passed by, followed by giggles and dreamy sighs. It was different from when it was just you. Most of the time, people tried to avoid eye contact with you and turned the other way when they saw you coming.

Of course you knew why he was popular—it has all to do with his good-looks. You tried, but you could never deny that his appearance was, in fact, out of this world. Not to mention he’s tall, has good genes, and is intelligent. But other than that, there wasn’t much you could say about him as a person. You didn’t really know what he was like outside of work, after all. You never paid him that much attention unless he was giving you a rundown of the day’s agenda.

But here, in his home, surrounded by his family, you started noticing him more—not as your assistant, not even as your fake fiancée—but as someone in his own world. You saw the way he laughed freely here, all toothy and loud. The way he let his nieces climb all over him, how he listened when his grandmother spoke, how his mother scolded him and kissed his cheek in the same breath.

He was warm here. Soft and gentle in a way you’d never seen at work. And he was always close to you. His hand would find the small of your back in crowded rooms. He’d tuck you in beside him on couches, offer you food before himself, glance at you like he was checking if you were still okay. Sometimes you caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking, his eyes gentle and unreadable.

You told yourself it was part of the act. But as the days passed, surrounded by noise and laughter and far too much affection, you started feeling like you were the one pretending the hardest.

“You ready?” he asked on the morning of the 23rd.

You’d just finished touching up your makeup. “Yes.”

“Okay good. Let’s go. Everyone’s waiting.”

You hesitated, retracting your hand when he reached for it. Sunghoon looked at you like he was over it. “Well? Come on then.”

“It’s just…” you huffed, gesturing vaguely. “It’s a family pictorial. I’m not exactly… family.”

Sunghoon chuckled, reaching for your hand again. “We’ve talked about this. It’s not that deep.”

Except it was. You couldn’t fathom how Sunghoon could be so calm about this whole thing. Not just the family pictorial, but the whole sham of an engagement you two were in. 

“I can hear you thinking. Stop that,” he prompted, tugging you by the hand, all the way out of the bedroom.

The house was full. Not metaphorically—literally full. Every bedroom was occupied, couches were claimed, extra chairs pulled out from storage, voices overlapping in every corner of the house. The entire family had arrived, cousins and partners and children. You’d naturally been absorbed into it, everyone’s basically been treating you like family.

They had a tradition, apparently. A family photo every Christmas. Same spot, same arrangement, different years. It was said to always happen every morning of the 23rd, two days before Christmas. And everyone took it seriously, dressing up with intent and looking their best.

“You can’t not join,” Sunghoon reminded you, steering you toward the center of the room. “That’d be weird. Am I supposed to tell everyone, ‘this is a fake engagement so she’s skipping out’?”

You lowered your voice as people shuffled around you, calling names, arguing about height order. “That’s the thing. This is fake and temporary, but the photo we’re taking is gonna live forever in your family albums. Immortalized and revisited every year.”

He laughed softly, like it hadn’t even occurred to him that this could be a problem. “If you really feel that bad about it,” he said, shrugging, “you could always marry me for real. Clear your conscience.”

You gave him a deadpan look. He simply grinned, completely unrepentant, then gently nudged you forward as someone called his name again. 

By then, it was too late to back out. You let yourself be placed beside him, his arm slipping easily around your back like it belonged there.

The camera flashed.And just like that, this Christmas was immortalized as the year Sunghoon brought home a girl. If you didn’t get caught in the lie, then it would be the year he brought home a fiancée and things didn’t work out. If you did get caught, then it would still be the year he brought home a fiancée, but a fake one.Either way. It would be humiliating for him.

You thought that would be the end of it. But later, after breakfast, when the living room had devolved into noise and laughter and people sprawled across every available surface, one of his cousins produced a Polaroid camera.

“Oh, we’re doing couples,” she announced. “This is non-negotiable.”

Groans followed, and some cheers. You felt Sunghoon’s hand find yours before you’d even fully processed what was happening, his fingers lacing with yours like muscle memory.

“You weren’t kidding,” you muttered under your breath. “Your family really does love each other.”

“You love us too,” he murmured back, grinning.

“I’ve known you people for a week,” you retorted, scoffing. But then, looking around, you added, “But yeah. You guys are cool.”

You were herded onto the couch together, shoulders pressed close. Someone crouched in front of you, aiming the camera. She looked into the camera, then at the two of you, brows furrowed.

“Are you guys really dating?” she asked, and you felt your heart drop to the floor. For a second, you wondered if you got caught, but then she added, “Scoot closer. This isn’t the 1800s.”

You chuckled and it came out strained. Sunghoon’s arm snaked around your waist, making you stiffen and glance at him. He gave it a gentle squeeze, urging you to relax. So you tried.

“Kiss!” someone shouted from behind, followed by a chorus of hoots and whistles.

“That’s enough,” Sunghoon said lightly, but firmly. “You’re not getting a show.”

There were groans. Booing. Someone yelled that he was no fun. He just shrugged like none of it bothered him.

“Smile!” the cousin prompted.

You smiled without thinking. Then the camera clicked, and the photo slid out with a soft whirr.

Sunghoon didn’t move right away. Neither did you. When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you. You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, eyes gleaming, a smile playing on his lips. You stared back, brows furrowing, confused at the attention he was giving you.

You waited a second. Then another. The smile on his lips didn’t change, it just stayed there, sweet and knowing, like he was in on something you weren’t.

Heat crept up your neck. You shifted slightly on the couch, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting, of his arm still resting behind you. “Why are you staring at me?”

He hummed softly, like he was thinking about it. But he still didn’t answer. So you stopped looking away.

If he was going to stare, then fine. You could stare too.

But that was a bad idea. The noise around you slowly faded while you held his gaze, your heart thudding louder and louder with every passing second. His expression changed then, and you couldn’t tell what it meant. It was something between amusement and surprise.

Click!

You both broke at the sound, turning toward his cousin.

“Oh,” she said, already grinning down at the developing photo. “This one’s going on the tree!”

Everyone eventually drifted off to do their own thing. The kids bundled themselves up and tore out into the snow, their shrieks of laughter muffled by scarves and knit hats. You stayed inside, lounging on one of the couches near the wide living room windows, a warm mug cradled between your palms as you watched them tumble and recover and tumble again.

Nana sat beside you with a knitted blanket over her lap, while your grandma sat across from you, glasses perched low on her nose.

“They used to do that too,” your grandma said fondly, nodding toward the window. “Run around like little monsters until we had to drag them back inside.”

You smiled. “Who?”

“Your father,” Nana replied with a smile. “And my kids. Every summer, without fail. They’d come stay here for weeks. This place was a rental at the time. We didn’t have enough money yet to purchase it.”

Your attention sharpened. You hadn’t heard much about that time—just fragments, half-remembered anecdotes your grandmother would mention in passing.

“Oh yes,” your grandmother chimed in. “We saved up a few months of salary just to rent this out for summer,” she added, laughing heartily.

Nana nodded, looking outside. “They were inseparable. Always muddy, always hungry. Your father was so polite, though. Even as a boy.”

Grandma chuckled. “Polite until he got comfortable.”

You laughed softly, the sound surprising you. “That sounds like him.”

“They were happy summers,” Nana continued, her voice warm with memory. “Those were good days. This place witnessed those kids grow up. Your mom and dad got engaged here.”

The room fell into a gentle hush, that subtle heaviness creeping in. You knew it all too well. It always happened whenever your parents were brought into the conversation. Nana reached out and patted your knee, her touch gentle and affectionate.

“You must miss them very much,” she said softly.

You swallowed, then nodded. “I do. But it’s okay. Really.” You managed a small smile. “I was young. I barely remember some things.”

That wasn’t entirely true—but it was the version you’d learned to give people, the one that made them stop looking at you like you might shatter.

Nana studied you for a moment, eyes kind but knowing. “Still,” she said, “we’re glad you’re here. You’re family too, you know.”

You blinked, throat tightening unexpectedly. “Thank you,” you said, meaning it more than you could explain.

Then, as if sensing the mood had sunk too low, your grandma straightened a little and clapped her hands together lightly. “Well! Speaking of family,” she said brightly, “have you two thought about where you’ll get married?”

“I—what?” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” your grandma laughed. “This is not an unexpected subject.”

You chuckled awkwardly. “No. No, it’s not. I just—we… Sunghoon and I haven’t discussed it yet.”

“But you’re gonna get married anyway, aren’t you?” Nana asked, placing a hand on your arm. “Why wait? You could do it here. After Christmas. The snow would be beautiful.”

“Oh, I love winter weddings,” your grandma gushed.

“I do too!” Nana agreed, also gushing. “My youngest had one and it was majestic!”

Your mind scrambled, panic blooming fast. After Christmas? Here? You could practically feel the lie ballooning again, threatening to burst.

“I think that might be a little—” you started, glancing desperately around the room, looking for Sunghoon.

“Oh, of course we’ll leave that up to you two,” said Nana, giggling. “But think about it and let us know. I know a good organizer who can give us an amazing event in short notice.”

Right on cue, the front door opened. Cold air rushed in along with laughter, Sunghoon’s uncle stomping snow off his boots as Sunghoon followed behind him, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Perfect conditions out there,” his uncle announced cheerfully. “Snow uphill is just right. We can go sledding today!”

The kids immediately erupted, cheers echoing through the house. Sunghoon’s gaze flicked to you, taking you in—your posture, your pallid face and horrified expression—and quickly understood that you needed him.

“Hello, ladies,” he greeted, kissing his Nana on the cheek and your grandma too. “I hope you’re not bullying my fiancee.”

They both chuckled, waving their hands. “Oh, we’re just talking,” Nana said, smiling. 

Sunghoon turned to you. “Wanna go sledding?”

“Yes,” you exclaimed with enthusiasm, not because you wanted to go but because you couldn’t wait to get out of there. “I love sledding.”

“Then we should go before they destroy the hill,” he smiled, offering a hand.

Nana laughed, waving a hand. “Go on, go. We’ll talk weddings later.”

You nearly tripped over your own feet standing up. Sunghoon fell into step beside you as you walked toward the main door, leaning in just enough to murmur, “You okay?”

“Pretty sure I was this close to spontaneously combusting,” you whispered back. “But yeah. I’m okay.”

Outside, the cold bit through your coat immediately. The sky was pale and endless, the snow untouched and glittering. Laughter was echoing from the hill as kids dragged sleds uphill.

Sunghoon handed you a pair of gloves without comment. You took them automatically, slipping them on. “Our grandmas suggested we get married here, just after Christmas. Apparently they both love winter weddings.”

“Oh, wow. What did you say to that?” he asked, walking over to fix your bonnet.

You scoffed, then rolled your eyes, letting him tie the laces of your bonnet under your chin. “What do you think? Couldn’t even get a word in. They were taking a mile a minute.”

He chuckled softly, patting your head after he was done with the laces. “Don’t mind them. Ultimately, the decision would be up to us. They can’t force us to do anything.”

You hummed to that, agreeing. Then you looked up at his hand, still sitting on your head. “You’re getting comfortable, Secretary Park.”

He grinned, defiant, not moving his hand away as he leaned down to say, “Except I’m not Secretary Park right now. I’m your baby.”

You grimaced, swatting his hand away. “Ew. As if.”

“Ah, it wasn’t ‘baby’. What was it, again?” he teased, walking backward. “My love, was it?”

You scowled, running after him to hit him. But he dodged easily. “You’re so annoying. I’m firing you first thing when we get back.”

“No, you won’t,” he grinned, holding out a hand. “You’re not gonna find a secretary who can do better than me.”

You scoffed, but you knew he was right. “Only for now,” you retorted. “As soon as Becca’s back, you’re out,” you added, then took his hand and followed him into the snow.

Sledding, apparently, was a two-person activity. You found that out only after everyone had already scattered across the hill, pairs forming naturally.

“Oh, I’m good,” you said quickly, hanging back near the fence. “I’ll just… watch.”

Sunghoon turned toward you, breath fogging in the cold. “You don’t wanna try?”

“I’m perfectly content being moral support,” you replied, hands tucked into your coat sleeves. “Very enthusiastic moral support.”

“Come on. It’s fun. You’re gonna love it,” he offered, smiling. Then he held a hand out to you, palm up.

“C’mon,” he said again. “One ride.”

You hesitated. You really did. You even glanced back toward the house, like the contract might physically manifest and slap his hand away for you. But then he tilted his head slightly, arm still extended, that stupid smile on his lips, and you sighed.

“Fine,” you muttered, stepping forward. “But hands around me is against the rules.”

He lifted a brow. “We’re sledding. I have to hold you.”

You considered that for a second, then nodded. “Alright. Compromise.”

You followed him, letting him guide you toward one of the sleds waiting at the top of the hill. The snow was packed down from use. You sat down first, legs tucked in, bracing yourself.

Sunghoon climbed on behind you and you stiffened immediately as his knees bracketed your hips, your back pressing flush against his chest through layers of winter coats.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice too close to your ear that it made the hair on your neck rise.

“I am relaxed,” you blurted, which was a blatant lie.

His hands hovered for a second, like he was giving you time to object. When you didn’t, he placed them carefully at your sides instead of fully around you, fingers gripping the edge of the sled.

“See?” he whispered in your ear, and you felt that in the way your heart started racing. “No rules broken.”

Your heart was already pounding like you were halfway down the hill. “Just… don’t move them,” you warned.

“I won’t.”

The sled jerked forward. Snow rushed past in a blur as gravity took over, the world tilting, the cold air biting at your cheeks. You gasped, half-laughing, half-panicking as the speed picked up.

Behind you, Sunghoon laughed too, his breath warm where it brushed your ear. The sled hit a small bump, and you jolted back instinctively. His arm tightened at your side—not wrapping, but close enough that you felt it anyway.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah!” you replied, grinning so hard as the wind whipped against your face.

When the sled finally slowed at the bottom of the hill, snow spraying up around you, you were both still laughing, breathless, a little unsteady.

Then the laughter faded. You looked up at him at the same time he looked down at you, and suddenly the space between your faces felt too small. Small enough that you could feel his warm breath against your cheek.

You blinked a few times, surprised and frozen in place. Sunghoon’s gaze dropped to your mouth, just for a second. When it lifted again, he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing once. Seeing that and the intent in his eyes made your heart kick painfully against your ribs, like it was trying to escape.

Laughter and cheering exploded behind you as another sled barreled to a stop nearby.

You moved instantly, standing too fast, stepping away before your body could do something stupid. Cold air rushed back in like a shock as you brushed snow from your coat, cheeks burning despite the winter air.

Sunghoon cleared his throat. “That was fun,” he said, smiling like nothing happened.

You swallowed, looking away. “Yeah.”

Behind you, you could feel his gaze linger. You told yourself it was just adrenaline. Still, when he reached for the sled again and asked, “One more?” you didn’t say no.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. You drifted between rooms, between conversations—helping in the kitchen, sitting in on half-finished card games, watching kids chase each other until someone inevitably cried over a stolen candy cane. 

Somewhere in the middle of it all, you realized you’d stopped keeping track of where Sunghoon was at all times. Not because you didn’t care, but because you didn’t need to.

He was there when you glanced up from a conversation, leaning against a doorway, already looking at you. He was there beside you when someone handed out mugs of something warm, your shoulders brushing as you accepted yours. There were looks shared across the room, quick whispered comments that made you laugh under your breath, inside jokes forming without effort.

For once since you got here, there was no pressure to perform. No constant mental checklist. No fear that you’d look too distant for two people who were supposedly engaged. You were just genuinely enjoying yourself.

By nightfall, after a movie that half the room slept through, you found yourself walking back down the hall beside him, the house was quieter now, voices fading behind closed doors.

You were still laughing about a scene from the movie neither of you could take seriously. Your steps slowed naturally as you reached the door to the bedroom.

Sunghoon lingered in the hallway, hands in his pockets, watching you with a thoughtful expression. “You know,” he said casually, “you’re a really good person.”

You snorted, already turning toward the door. “Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

That made you pause. You glanced back at him, brows lifting. “Right. Sure you are.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, really. People at work call you Medusa, but I think they’re wrong about you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Oh, I don’t call you that,” he added quickly. “It’s just them.” 

You stared at him, genuinely caught off guard. “Medusa?”

“Like I said, they’re wrong. Please forgive them,” he said, smiling. “It’s just that they’ve never met someone so hardworking and intelligent. So sharp. So… wonderful. I think they figured there’s no way a real person could be that amazing, so they called you Medusa.”

Your stomach fluttered, completely against your will. But then you scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “Or,” you said, recovering, “it’s because people freeze when they see me. Like Medusa turns them into stone.”

He laughed. “That too.”

You laughed too, the sound echoing softly down the quiet hallway. And then for a moment, neither of you said anything. You were just staring at each other. When he leaned on the wall adjacent to the door, you mirrored him by leaning on his bedroom door.

Crossing your arms, you said, “It’s my turn on the bed tonight.”

Sunghoon chuckled softly, eyes glimmering, shaking his head. “No, it’s not.”

“It’s not?” you asked, feigning ignorance.

He opened his mouth—probably to argue, like always—then stopped. His gaze was still on you, that soft glow in his eyes was still there.

“…Fine,” he sighed, pushing himself away from the wall and walking toward you. He stopped just a breath away. “You can have it.”

You frowned, caught off guard. “That was too easy.”

He shrugged, reaching for the door knob behind you, leaning in so close. “Don’t get used to it,” he murmured, still not moving away even after he had pushed the door open.

You smiled, shaking your head lightly, and walked in. You took your cardigan off, reached the bed, arranged the blanket—you counted the steps in your head, not because you needed to, but because your chest was doing this ridiculous fluttering thing.

Sunghoon followed quietly, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips, and you watched as he picked up his blanket and headed to the couch. Then he gave you a small wave before disappearing behind the backrest. 

You lay down, smiling to yourself, staring up at the ceiling, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest.

This is bad, you whispered in your thoughts. This is so bad. You were smiling like an idiot. Because of Park Sunghoon! 

You exhaled through your nose. Okay. So maybe you were enjoying this holiday. A little too much. And yes. Fine. Sunghoon likes you. You weren’t imagining that. You’d spent your entire career reading people; you weren’t about to pretend you couldn’t read this.

But the more troubling realization was: you might be starting to like him back.

And that was bad because you had no idea how to tread this territory. This wasn’t in the agreement. There was no clause for catching feelings, no protocol for what to do if that ever happened.

“Hey,” Sunghoon’s voice carried from across the room, making your head snap that way, quieting your thoughts.

“Hey…” you murmured back.

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

You didn’t answer right away. You let yourself breathe. Then you exhaled softly, trying to get some control back, and making a decision right then and there. “Goodnight, Secretary Park,” you murmured.

You knew what it meant to call him that, knew how that sounded. But the words weren’t exactly for him. Not really. They were for you—a reminder to draw a line, to keep your head straight and not get distracted.

Because it turns out that the most dangerous thing about fake dating is not getting caught; it’s when things start to feel real.

The house was already awake when you stirred the next morning. You could tell before you even opened the door—voices overlapping downstairs, footsteps on the stairs, laughter that was louder than usual. Sunghoon noticed it too the second he stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, sleeves rolled as he buttoned his shirt.

“Is it just me or is the house noisier than usual?” he asked, voice light.

You huffed a laugh. “Maybe your family multiplied in their sleep.”

You didn’t get far down the stairs before his mother intercepted the both of you, beaming, hands clasped together like she’d been waiting all morning for this exact moment.

“Surprise!” she said brightly.

Behind her, the living room was packed. Not just relatives—new faces. Older couples you didn’t recognize, younger people clustered near the windows, a few men Sunghoon vaguely waved at in recognition. Someone had already put music on. Someone else had brought food. There were flowers on the table that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday.

Sunghoon blinked once. “Mom, what’s going on?”

His mother laughed, waving him off. “Oh, we thought it would be nice to surprise you with an engagement party and invite our family friends, and your friends of course.”

“Your friends?” you asked, looking at Sunghoon.

“Yes, dear,” his mom answered. “Kids he grew up with and went to school with.”

She looped an arm through yours before you could take a step back. “I know it’s a lot, and you two have a penchant for keeping things lowkey. But don’t worry, this is just a small function. We won’t put you in too much spotlight, so no pressure.”

“Hah,” you exclaimed, then chuckled awkwardly. “Of course. No pressure,” you echoed, glancing sideways at Sunghoon.

“Mom,” he said, “you really didn’t have to—”

“Oh hush,” she said, already steering you further into the hall. “Everyone’s been dying to meet you properly.”

And just like that, the lie wasn’t a snowball anymore. It’s an avalanche.

You endured. That was the only way to describe it. Endurance. You smiled when people congratulated you. You nodded when they said you were beautiful together. You accepted hugs from women who smelled like perfume and winter coats and cinnamon.

Someone pressed a drink into your hand. Someone else asked how you met. You answered automatically, muscle memory carrying you through a story you’d told often enough that it no longer snagged.

Sunghoon stayed close. A hand at your back, a glance across the room when the noise spiked. Every so often, he’d hold your hand and give it a light squeeze, as if he was apologizing and asking you to power through.

His friends were easier than you expected. They were polite, warm, and a little teasing, the kind that only comes from a long shared history.

One of them clapped Sunghoon on the shoulder. “Good for you man. Moving away, starting over, meeting someone you wanted to marry.”

“Jealous, Jake?” another guy scoffed. “Maybe if you stopped sleeping around like a menace—”

“Oh, shut up, Jay,” Jake shot back. “You’re the one flirting with sad married women.”

“For the last time,” Jay sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like this argument had worn him thin, “she’s not married. She’s divorced.”

You watched Sunghoon through it all—relaxed, carefree, amused, completely at ease in the presence of friends who knew him best.

“So,” Heeseung cut in, eyes flicking between the two of you. “What are you doing these days, Hoon?”

“Yeah,” someone else added. “What happened after you left the family company?”

That caught your attention. You glanced at Sunghoon. “The slave contract you were talking about,” you said slowly, “that was with your family?”

He grinned, entirely unapologetic. You scowled. “The hell? So you were a nepo baby too. How dare you call me one.”

Sunghoon laughed, head lolling back. You just stared at him, unimpressed. His friends too, apparently. They were just staring like they had no idea what was so funny. 

Sunghoon eventually noticed it, so he stopped, cleared his throat, and straightened up. “I’m working as a secretary,” he said, and then, with visible pride, slid an arm around your shoulder. “In her cosmetics company.”

The pause was immediate. “…Wait,” Jay said. “You work for her?”

“She’s the CEO?” Jake asked, and Sunghoon nodded again.

“So you’re—” Heeseung pointed at you, then back at Sunghoon. “—his boss?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon said proudly. “She’s very cool.”

There was a second where you braced yourself, afraid they might judge him for it. But then Jake barked out a laugh. Then suddenly, everyone else was laughing.

“No way,” Jay said, shaking his head. “You? Taking orders?”

Jake followed, grinning wide. “Do you have any idea how insane that is? This man has never worked under anyone.”

“Ever,” Heeseung added. “He used to boss entire departments around like it was a sport.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“That’s extremely true,” Jake shot back. He turned to you, “He’s so annoying. And he doesn’t even realize it. He once made a manager wait because he ‘wasn’t done talking.’”

You blinked, surprised, then laughed before you could stop yourself. Nodding, you said, “He is kinda annoying. And tactless sometimes.”

Jay pointed at you, delighted. “See? Imagine that kind of guy working under someone?”

Sunghoon was pouting now. “I’m gonna cry and tell my mom if you don’t stop,” he quipped.

But his friends ignored him. Jake asked you, “Bet you’re always on the verge of firing him every day, huh?”

You shrugged. “Not really. He is annoying but I can keep him in line. And he’s pretty good at his job. There are only two people who can keep up with me, and he’s one of them.”

“Figures,” Heeseung said, nodding like it all made sense now. “Leaves the family business, ends up working for someone smarter than him.”

“And marries her,” Jake added, grinning. “How poetic.”

Sunghoon didn’t deny it. If anything, he looked pleased—standing there beside you like this arrangement wasn’t something to be embarrassed about, but something he’d chosen.

You felt something warm settle in your chest at that. 

“So,” Jake said, dragging a chair closer and plopping down like he was settling in for a story. “I gotta ask. How did this happen?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You two,” Jake clarified, gesturing between you. “From boss and secretary to engaged and getting married soon.”

Jay leaned forward, eyes bright. “Yeah. Did he seduce you with his wiles while pretending to work as your secretary?”

Sunghoon scoffed. “I did not seduce her.”

“You absolutely did,” Jake said. “Look at him. That’s a man who knows how to weaponize his out-of-this-world good looks.”

You snorted. “Please. If anything, he annoyed me into submission.”

Sunghoon gasped. “That’s slander.”

“Oh, come on,” Jay said. “You’re telling me he didn’t pull the whole competent, always-there, remembers-your-coffee-order routine?”

Sunghoon opened his mouth to protest again, but you beat him to it. “It’s not hard to fall for Sunghoon,” you said.

The table went quiet. You hadn’t planned to say that. It just slipped out.

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of the way Sunghoon had turned fully toward you. “I mean—he is,” you continued. “He’s thoughtful. He pays attention. He notices things most people don’t bother with. He anticipates what needs to be done without making a show of it.”

Sunghoon didn’t interrupt. He just watched you, expression unreadable, eyes steady.

“He’s… considerate. And patient. And surprisingly kind. Of course, he’s sarcastic and all but even that is excusable because those little arguments are fun and makes every day less dull,” you added, smiling absently. “And he’s the sweetest. Which is annoying, actually, because it makes it hard to stay mad at him.”

You finally looked at Sunghoon.

He was smiling—but not the smug one, not the teasing one. This was softer, the same smile he had been giving you these last few days. The kind that looked like he was grateful for the existence of you. He looked like he hadn’t expected to hear all that, but he was holding it carefully now that it existed.

You gave him the same smile. Or as best as you could reflect it, hoping, and knowing, that he knew exactly what it meant. And you realized now that you had just crossed a line. 

Straight up just stepped over it without hesitation, after telling yourself very clearly the night before where it was.

Jake stood abruptly. “Okay. Nope. I’m too single for this.” He waved a hand between the two of you. “You’re both being disgustingly in love. Kissing in front of me would’ve been less damaging.”

Heeseung laughed. “Agreed. Let’s move on before I start believing in love again.”

You huffed a laugh, but it came out weaker than you meant it to. Your chest was heavy with warmth and feelings and… and love.

But you had no time to dwell on it. Someone suggested games. Someone else brought snacks. Chairs were pulled, conversations restarted, the day rolling forward like nothing had almost happened.

But when Sunghoon held your hand under the table later, not for show because no one would’ve seen it, you didn’t move away. And for the rest of the day, you didn’t bring up the line you’d drawn. You just quietly stood on the other side of it.

The engagement party thing was over by noon. Guests left one by one, and the family resumed preparations for Christmas Eve dinner. You were gathered in the kitchen with the adults, helping out with the cookies.

Sunghoon was sitting in a chair beside you, casually chatting with you and his mom about holiday traditions.

“Your parents actually used to host the winter bonfires,” said Sunghoon’s mom, smiling fondly at you. 

“They did?” you asked, delighted to hear another anecdote about your parents.

She nodded. “Yes. Every year. And then your mom got pregnant with you, so they skipped a year. After that, the whole tradition just stopped,” she added, sighing. “They’d always made it so magical. We simply could not recreate it.”

Sunghoon leaned forward, gesturing with his mug. “I remember when I met her parents. Incredible people. And her mom’s so beautiful.”

The room froze. Adults exchanged sharp glances, eyebrows raised. His mom looked at him, brows furrowed. “You met her parents?”

“Yeah. I—” You nudged Sunghoon’s leg under the table, stopping him.

“But that’s impossible, dear,” Nana said, her voice laced with sympathy, “you couldn’t have. Her parents passed away a long time ago.”

You felt Sunghoon freeze beside you. Quick on your feet, you leaned slightly toward him, your tone casual as if nothing unusual had happened, as if your heart didn’t just sink to your stomach. 

“Oh, I took him to their graves,” you said smoothly. “He met them there.”

Sunghoon blinked at you, clearly realizing he’d made a mistake.

“I wanted to introduce him to them first,” you added, smiling, channeling your best acting yet. “I didn’t know our connection yet at the time, but they were probably thrilled to know I’m marrying their close friend’s son.”

“Aw,” Sunghoon’s mom sighed. “That’s very thoughtful of you, isn’t it?”

The tension in the room melted almost instantly, replaced by murmurs and soft chuckles from the other adults. Conversation resumed around you, with only a few glances exchanged—reminders of the near slip, and of just how good you were at thinking on your feet.

Sunghoon reached for your hand, so you glanced at him. He looked apologetic, and you could tell it wasn’t because he nearly revealed that you weren’t in a real relationship. You smiled at him, patting his hand and mouthing, ‘It’s okay.’

By the time dinner preparations were done, you were exhausted. Exhausted from the engagement party, from socializing with people who were basically strangers to you, and exhausted from helping out in the kitchen.

“This is nice and all, but I think I prefer our boring Christmas dinners, Grandma,” you told your Grandma while getting dressed for dinner.

She chuckled heartily, sitting in front of her vanity and trying on a different shade of lipstick. “Being surrounded by people you love on Christmas is how it’s supposed to be, my dear. It’s a shame I couldn’t give you this kind of warmth growing up.”

“Hey,” you chided, walking toward her and wrapping your arms around her shoulder. “I have no complaints, so you shouldn’t talk like that. You raised me as best as you can and taught me everything I know.”

Your Grandma melted in your embrace, sighing as she put the lipstick down. “Yeah, you’re a wonderful kid, alright. I just wished you were a little sweeter.”

“Please,” you chuckled, pulling away. “My lack of sweetness and my attitude in general is thanks to you, as well.”

“I know that, but couldn’t you be more affectionate? Or expressive?” she sighed, gaze following you across the room. “Learn a thing or two about expressing yourself from Sunghoon.”

“Too late for that,” you quipped, checking your reflection in the mirror once more.

Your Grandma sighed in defeat. “I guess I should be glad you’re marrying him then. He can express affection for both of you.”

Then came a series of knocks on the door. You quickly walked toward it, yanking it open knowing Sunghoon would be on the other side. 

“Hi,” he beamed, taking you in with his eyes. “You look amazing.”

You shrugged. “You don’t look so bad yourself, my love,” you replied, using your endearment, not because your grandma was there, but because… just because.

“Shall we?”

The dining room was warm, the scent of roasted meat and cinnamon filling the air. Dinner was loud like always in this house—chairs scraping, someone always talking over someone else, Nana shushing nobody in particular.

You ended up seated beside Sunghoon, mostly because every time you tried to move, someone asked you to stay. He passed you food without asking. You corrected his grip on the serving spoon once. He fixed it without comment.

At some point, his Nana leaned over.  “Is now the best time to talk weddings?”

Sunghoon chuckled lightly. “Nana, it’s Christmas eve. We’ll have time for that later.”

Nana tried to insist, but eventually gave up when you both refused adamantly. Later, when some cousins got up to chase the kids outside for an impromptu snowball fight, Sunghoon leaned closer. 

After dishes were cleared and the family settled around the living room for a low-volume carol playlist, you both slipped out to the balcony, leaving the laughter and chatter behind. The night was cold, and snowflakes drifted lazily downward, coating the garden below in soft white. Sunghoon wrapped a blanket around himself, then stood behind you.

“Is this okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms and the blanket around you.

You chuckled, feeling the warmth seep in immediately. “Are people watching?”

“Yeah. About a dozen of them,” he replied briskly. “I think I need to hold you closer. Make it more believable, you know?” he added, already tightening his arms around you.

You could tell he was lying, but you didn’t bother confirming. “You should, or we’d get caught,” you said, leaning your head against his chest.

“Your family has a lot of stamina,” you said after a pause. “I would’ve tapped out after day one.”

“You did better than I expected,” he replied, chuckling. “Everyone likes you. Nana adores you.”

“That’s terrifying,” you said, looking up at him. “She’s very perceptive.”

Sunghoon smiled, shifting a little and pressing his chin on top of your head. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Day.”

“I know. One more day and this is all over,” you replied, taking a long relieved breath. “We can finally go back to how things were.”

You felt him stiffen behind you, recovering almost as quickly. He laughed slowly. “I was actually thinking the same thing. When this is over, we could go back to our hectic, caffeinated daily routine, closing deals like champs, terrorizing the marketing head, pressuring manufacturers, calling the lab day in and day out for new and improved formulas.”

“You’re making us sound like bad capitalists,” you quipped, grinning. “I mean we’re capitalists but we're not that bad.”

Sunghoon chuckled, his chest vibrating against your back. “And I was also thinking…” he paused, loosened his arms, and turned you around so you could face him fully.

He braced his hands on the railing, caging you in as he stared into your eyes. You held your breath and looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“I was thinking maybe we could go out on nice dinners sometimes. After work,” he continued. “Go on a road trip on weekends. Maybe catch a movie if you’re into that.”

“Like bosses and secretaries do?”

He huffed a laugh. “I’m pretty sure they don’t do that.”

You shrugged, still looking anywhere but his eyes. “They might. If they’re… dating.”

The word lingered between you, more meaningful than you meant it to be. Sunghoon stayed quiet for a few moments, then, softly, carefully, he said your name, the word rolling beautifully on his tongue.

You looked up, finally meeting his gaze. “Yes? Sunghoon?”

Something changed in his expression. Like you’d tapped something only he could feel. “That’s three times,” he said softly.

“What?”

“Three times you’ve called me by my name since we met.”

You blinked, surprised he’d even noticed. “You’re counting?”

He shrugged. “If you’re Secretary Park every minute of the day, you just can’t help but keep count.”

Neither of you moved. He didn’t step closer, diidn’t touch you, he just stayed there, giving you space and somehow still holding you in place.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, almost in a whisper.

“That would be breaking the rules,” you said, automatically. Not because you actually cared about the rules, but because  you were too nervous. Your heart was kicking hard against your ribs. Your breathing was getting unsteady. And your skin was pricking not from the cold, but from anticipation.

“I knew you’d say that,” he chuckled, already leaning in.

You met him halfway. In a kiss that was soft and careful, growing firmer with every breath. His hand found your waist, warm through the layers, steadying you as your lips pressed back with more certainty.

For a moment, you couldn’t hear or see anything. You could only feel. Feel his hand around you, his lips against yours, his warmth, your warmth, his heartbeat against your own. Snow fell. Laughter drifted faintly from inside. The world continued on, unaware. Or maybe they were aware. You didn’t care. Right now, nothing else mattered but this moment right here.

Even after you pulled away, you stayed close, foreheads touching, breaths fogging, cheeks flushed, and grinning. Sunghoon’s hands lingered at your waist, firm but gentle, the warmth through the layers of your coats seeping into you like it was meant to.

“God, it’s freezing out here,” he murmured, voice low.

“You don’t say,” you whispered back, and the words were a laugh and a shiver at the same time.

He tilted his head slightly, nudging yours so your noses brushed. “I—” He stopped, exhaling sharply.

You tilted your chin up, meeting his eyes. “I know,” you said softly.

He let out a small laugh, almost a sigh, pressing a little closer. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Neither do I,” you admitted, and it came out softer than you expected, a confession you hadn’t planned to give aloud.

There was a pause, long enough that you could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, long enough that the wind seemed to hush around you. Your hands found his neck, and he leaned into your touch, eyes closing for just a fraction of a second before reopening, searching yours.

“I can’t pretend anymore.”

“Then let’s not,” you replied softly, and before you knew it, Sunghoon was scooping you up again for another kiss.

You were used to being in control.

Boardrooms fell silent whenever you walked in. People listened when you spoke. Decisions were set the moment you made them. Even now, in Sunghoon’s bedroom with the door closed and the city humming somewhere across the sea, you expected that familiar balance to tilt in your favor.

But it didn’t.

“What are you doing?” you asked, eyes wide and brows furrowed at Sunghoon who just stopped kissing you out of nowhere.

He shrugged, infuriatingly nonchalant and relaxed. “We need to slow down.”

“What?” you demanded, thoroughly confused. “What do you mean? This was your idea.”

“It is, but I need to know we’re on the same page here,” he said, smiling casually, but the firm grip of his hands on your hips told you he was restraining himself hard.

“I thought we made that clear?”

“No. What we did was stare into each other’s eyes and use vague words,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling over. “Park Sunghoon, I swear to God if you don’t kiss me right no—”

He crashed his lips into yours, shutting you up completely. Your body reacted immediately, heat and need shooting up through your core. Sunghoon’s long fingers tangled into your hair, tugging firmly until a moan escaped from your lips. He took this chance to shove his tongue into your open mouth. You pulled him even closer, breasts pressing against his broad chest.

His kisses trailed to your jaw, one hand slipping under your shirt to touch the skin of your waist. You gasped when his mouth latched to your neck, sucking and nipping.

“Hoon,” you said, tapping his shoulders. “Take me to the bed.”

Sunghoon pulled away just enough to press his forehead against you, smirking. “Is that an order?” he rasped, his hand underneath your shirt now moving to slip past your bra.

“No?” you breathed, holding back a moan when he gave your nipple a gentle squeeze. “Is it?”

“It better not be,” he whispered into your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin. He took your wrists  “I’ll allow that at work, but don’t think for one second that I’m gonna let you tell me what to do in my room…”

He kissed your neck, making your skin shiver in the best way. “Or on my bed,” he added, licking your throat.

You moaned out his name, but he was quick to press a finger on your lips. “Shush, love. This may be a big house, but the walls here are thin.”

“Sunghoon…” you purred, and he cupped your cheek gently, then pressed a long, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Be quiet, alright?” he said, smiling before disappearing from your line of sight.

You were confused for a fraction of a second. Then you felt your skirt being lifted, followed by something pressing on your clothed cunt without warning.

You gasped, realizing belatedly that it was Sunghoon’s nose. You felt him take a long sniff, hand wrapping around your thigh. You grabbed a fistful of his hair and he let out a growl the likes of which you’d never heard before.

A second later, he was devouring you, relentless and insatiable, leaving you trembling under his touch. Your grip on his hair tightened, your knees were threatening to give out with every lick. If it wasn’t for his tight hold around your legs, you would have collapsed on the floor already.

Sunghoon slipped a finger into you, without warning, making you gasp. He rose to his feet, finger still inside you, his other hand pushing loose hair behind your ear as he shushed you gently. 

“The entire house is gonna hear you, and they’re gonna know exactly what’s going on in here,” he said, as if it wasn’t his fingering that was making you make all these noises.

But you listened anyway, biting down your lower lip, tears pricking at your eyelids when he pushed a second finger in. You buried your face on his chest, fingers digging into his shoulders as he pushed you closer to the edge

Sunghoon pressed his lips on the side of your head, shushing you gently while still brutally ramming his fingers in and out of your sex.

Then you felt that familiar knot twisting low in your belly, threatening to come undone. Your breathing turned erratic, breasts falling and rising rapidly as you braced for an orgasm. Sunghoon saw that, kissed your cheek, and moved harder amd faster. 

His fingers were cramping, but the delightful look on your face was spurring him on. He couldn’t wait to see the beautiful face you’d make when it’s finally him drilling into your sweet cunt. Just thinking about it was making his cock throb—hard and hot, still trapped in his pants.

“Hoon, I’m—” you cut yourself off, gasping, body jerking, hands on his shoulders gripping tighter as a wave of orgasmm surged through you.

Then you fell limp against Sunghoon, who held you steadily. He kissed you again because… well because he just couldn’t stop himself from kissing you, could he? His head was clouded, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to fuck your brains out.

So he lifted your thighs, wrapped your legs around his legs and carried you over to the bed.

You fell on the mattress with a bounce, still out of breath from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Sunghoon crawled over you, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Still wanna tell me what to do?” he asked, mouth hovering just above yours.

You hesitated. That hesitation made him smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, kissing you again. 

His hand pinned your wrist above your head, the other tracing down your side like he was rewriting the rules you lived by. He gathered the hem of your sweater, yanking it up and over your head, before crashing his lips back to yours.

Your skirt and stockings followed immediately after, his hands settling on your thighs, spreading them wide enough for him to marvel at the sight of your wet pussy.

“Like what you’re seeing?” you asked, confidence spiking because Sunghoon was looking at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world.

He huffed an amused laugh, hand tracing your thigh. “Oh, I love it. You have no idea.”

When was the last time you felt this kind of intense desire and uninhibited pleasure? You couldn’t even remember. Not that it mattered. Sunghoon was here to rock your entire world tonight, with that rock-hard, standing tall, deliciously girthy manhood that had just sprang free from the confines of his boxers.

You held your breath when he positioned himself between your legs, licking a stripe on his hands and coating his cock with the slick. Your fingers curled into the sheets as he pressed into you slowly, the earlier orgasm making him slide smoothly, but the stretch made you whimper.

“Don’t make me cover that mouth myself,” he warned, grinning so sweetly, unaware of the surge of pleasure that just shot through you when he said those words.

He bottomed out with a groan, his body settling over yours as he collected himself. His hair brushed your face as he moaned against your chest, muttering curses under his breath.

Meanwhile, you were catching your breath, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Sunghoon, I need you to move. Please. Please. Please,” you’d basically pleaded.

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, lifting his head to meet your gaze and plant a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ll allow it because you asked nicely,” he quipped, pulling out for a second just before thrusting into you.

Your chest rose and fell against his, nerves dancing in sensations his every move was sending through your body. Your fingers tangled, your breaths mingled, heat lingered in every glance, and every brush of skin. You clung to him, losing track of everything except his touch and the way he held you close.

The world had narrowed to the feeling of him against you, the pull and the push—especially the push. Your lower lip stung from biting too hard to keep yourself quiet. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, echoing in his.

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, lips grazing your temple, and the shiver that ran down your spine was delightful and hot. 

“You are most beautiful,” he whispered, eyes locked with yours, filled with sincerity and something tender… something that looked a lot like love.

Snow kept falling outside, and somewhere between the haze of lust and warmth, you were sure that whatever came next would leave both of you ruined in the best possible way. But at the same time, you realized you wouldn’t have wanted to stop even if you could.

You woke up to Sunghoon’s arms wrapped around you, his warmth seeping through the blankets, his scent lingering in your hair and on your clothes. He was awake, head propped on one hand, watching you with that half-smile that made your chest tighten.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, embarrassed, burying your face against his shoulder.

“Keeping my eyes on you in case this turns out to be a dream and you disappear,” he said in one breath, brushing loose strands of hair behind your ear.

You grinned, snuggling closer. “That’s so corny.”

You stayed like that for a few more minutes, savoring the warmth and the way his hand traced idle patterns along your side. But the inevitability of the morning eventually caught up with you. It’s Christmas Day. By now, the rest of the family would be gathered downstairs, waiting to open gifts and celebrate some more.

“Come on. You should see what I got you,” he said, sitting up. “It’s in a red box with a shiny green ribbon on it.”

“You got me something?” you asked, genuinely surprised.

Sunghoon looked at you like the answer should have been obvious. “Of course, I got you something. It’s Christmas. You’re supposed to— wait…” he paused, narrowing his eyes at you. “You didn’t get me anything, did you?”

You smiled sheepishly, and Sunghoon’s jaw dropped. But then he shrugged, reached to cup your face, and grinned.

“It’s okay. I think I received my best Christmas gift yet,” he chimed, leaning in to kiss you.

You ended up cuddling in bed again. Sunghoon was relentless, kissing the back of your neck, tugging your hands, soft murmurs of promises that made your heart flutter and your cheeks burn. Getting up after that was slow. Clothes, brushing teeth, and somehow, through a haze of laughter, stolen kisses, and whispers, you managed to get ready.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, standing behind you in front of the mirror and wrapping his arms around.

“Thanks. I figured I should try harder if I’m gonna date someone so otherworldly handsome,” you replied, turning to face him, arms finding their way around his neck.

Sunghoon grinned, clearly pleased with what he just heard. “You don’t need to. You’re already too beautiful for someone like me.”

You rolled your eyes, not buying it. “You clearly don’t understand just how beautiful you are, Park Sunghoon.”

He kissed you again, and you had to squirm out of his hold and walk out of the room first or you’d spend the whole morning locked in the bedroom with him.

The first thing you noticed when you reached the bottom of the stairs was the silence. The usual mayhem of children squealing and zooming around, adults chattering, holiday music in the background—it was all gone. Only the adults were there, standing rigidly, staring at the two of you.

Your stomach dropped. Something was wrong, you could feel it in your bones.

Sunghoon stepped closer, taking your hand in his. “What’s going on?”

No one answered. Then his mom stepped forward, her smile tight, eyes not quite meeting his. She shoved a piece of paper into his hands, and you immediately recognized your carefully constructed contract even before reading the words.

“What is the meaning of that?” his mom asked, her voice small and hesitant. “Hoon, tell us right now. Why is there a document like that in your bedroom?”

The words didn’t register at first. The paper in his hands felt heavy, like it had gravity all its own. You tried to breathe but your chest felt hollow.

Sunghoon opened his mouth, searching for the right words, and your heart hammered in sympathy and panic. “We… I can explain…”

Voices erupted around you, overlapping, frantic and sharp. Someone asked why he did this. Another said this was unnecessary and that he didn’t have to deceive everyone. One voice asked if he had any motive. Another asked if he thought of this family as a joke.

You barely made sense of it, caught between the tidal wave of accusations, most of them being directed at Sunghoon. He kept his hand around yours, holding you tight and shielding you with his body as his family demanded answers from him. The rest of the room seemed to tilt and spin. You barely heard him try to speak again; his words were drowned out by questions, accusations, demands—all of it directed at him.

Finally, you found your voice, loud and firm, “It’s my fault.”

All eyes turned toward you, stunned at your words. You took in their confused faces, then exhaled sharply. 

“I made him do this,” you added, tugging your hand away from Sunghoon’s grasp. “There was a… a situation,” you began to explain, choosing your words carefully. 

“A supposedly one-off situation that unexpectedly spiraled out of control. And I know, we could have avoided this by being honest from the get-go but…” Your gaze swept the room and settled on your grandma in the corner. You thought she’d look angry, but all you could see on her face was sympathy. “But we didn’t. We couldn’t.”

You flattened your lips into a smile, still directed at your grandmother. “Not when it was the first time in a long time that I saw someone smile as brightly as she did when she heard I had a fiancee.”

Your Grandma’s hand flew to her mouth, his brows furrowing, and she looked away. You turned to the rest of Sunghoon’s family. To his Nana, to his parents, his aunts and uncles—the very people who welcomed you warmly into their home.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I have my reasons, but they’re all just excuses. Selfish excuses. I shouldn’t have dragged your entire family into this. I wouldn’t have,” you paused, taking a deep breath and turning to Sunghoon. “I wouldn’t have if I had known just how much you loved Sunghoon.”

You turned to everyone again. Nana’s hand was on her chest, Sunghoon’s mom was covering her mouth in shock.

“So don’t blame him. It’s not his fault. He’s a really good man,” you added, smiling bitterly. “He just couldn’t say no to his Medusa of a boss who promised him a raise and regularization if he agreed to do this.” 

“Stop,” Sunghoon said, taking your hand. “I didn’t agree to this because of that—”

“It’s okay, Secretary Park,” you interrupted, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry for ruining your Christmas. I’ll leave,” you said, voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. You glanced at Nana, and the words escaped almost like a prayer: “You have a wonderful family. I’m sorry. I wish we didn’t have to meet like this.”

And with that, you walked out, leaving Sunghoon rooted in place, the paper still in his hand, the room swirling with stunned silence.

Before you knew it, you were sinking into your seat on the plane, the engines vibrating softly beneath you. Beside you, your grandma was perfectly composed, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she stared out the window at the receding tarmac.

Sunghoon’s family had tried to make you stay. Gentle pleas, promises to table the matter of your deceit and unpack it properly. But you knew they were only being polite. That was just the kind of family they were, too nice for their own good.

You stared at the screen in front of you, counting the buttons, the logos stamped into the leather, your thoughts spinning in circles. Finally, you broke the quiet.

“Grandma…” Your voice was small, tentative. “Why aren’t you mad?”

Her calm eyes met yours. “Why would I be mad?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “I knew everything from the beginning.”

Your chest tightened. “You did?”

She nodded serenely. “Of course. You thought you were so clever, but you forgot that I taught you how to use that intelligent brain of yours.”

You blinked. “Wait… what? How?”

Grandma leaned back, unbothered by your wide-eyed stare. “My dear, with whom do you think I set you up with on that last blind date I begged you to go to?”

Your stomach dropped. “That… that was… No way.” You chuckled, in denial. “It can’t have been Sunghoon.”

“Oh, but it was,” she said, as if it were the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. “I kept telling you I knew his family. But you wouldn’t even give a second to hear me out. Imagine my surprise when I saw you in that hotel lobby, calling Park Sunghoon your fiancee.”

At this point, your heart beat has turned erratic. “If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was trying to see how far you were willing to take this charade. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but Sunghoon asked me to play along, so I did,” she explained.

You turned sharply to face her, incredulous. “Sunghoon knew that you knew?”

“Yes. He was confident he could make you fall in love and turn this pseudorelationship into a real thing. Sunhee and I had so much fun watching you struggle to maintain a face all week.”

Your jaw dropped. “Who else knows?”

“No one else, as far as I know.” Her hand rested gently over yours. “My dear, you’re clearly overwhelmed right now. Let’s talk about this later.”

You slumped back in your seat, staring out the window at the clouds streaked with gold from the rising sun, your mind buzzing. She knew. Nana knew. Sunghoon knew they knew. And somehow, that knowledge made the entire avalanche of the past twenty-four hours feel both heavier and… a little lighter.

“What are you gonna do now, child?” your grandma asked, and honestly? You have no idea.

Sunghoon first met you when he was ten.

It was summer, hot and loud and bright in the way summers only feel when you’re a kid. His kite had gotten stuck in a tree at the park, and he’d decided that climbing it himself was a good idea. 

But he was wrong. He slipped on the way down, scraped his knee, and sat there sniffing quietly, holding back his tears, more embarrassed than hurt.

Then you appeared out of nowhere, crouched in front of him, asked if he could stand, and when he said no, you sighed like an adult who’d already dealt with worse problems than a bleeding knee. 

After covering his knee with a cartoon Band Aid from your purse, you climbed the tree yourself and brought the kite down like it was nothing.

You were taller than him back then. Probably smarter, and more mature. And when you handed the kite to him and smiled, all he could think was that you were pretty. Like an angel.

He never saw you again after that day. Life moved on, as it does. He went to school, made friends, and had growth spurts. The memory of you drifted to the back of his mind, filed away with other half-remembered moments from childhood.

Until college.

He didn’t recognize you at first. Years had a way of blurring faces, and he almost walked past you at the freshman welcome party until you laughed. Suddenly he was ten again, at the park with a scraped knee and a kite in his hands.

You’d grown prettier, smarter, and more graceful. He was much much taller than you now, but the difference in height only made Sunghoon think you were cute.

He hadn’t even wanted to attend this party. He’d only gone because his cousin promised to cover his chores for a month if he showed up. Sunghoon wasn’t naïve—he knew his cousin wanted him there as decoration. He’d grown into his looks by then, and he was ‘handsome’, something people never let him forget, even when he wished they would.

But that night, for the first time in his life, he thought maybe he could use his looks for something other than being stared at. Maybe he could use it to charm his way into your contacts.

He planned to talk to you. Just to say ‘hi’. Maybe ask if you remembered him from all those summers ago. Or maybe he didn’t need to bring up the past at all. He could just talk to you. Say something normal. Ask for your number.

He stood near the drinks table, psyching himself up. But when the moment came, his nerves got the better of him. So he took a shot of soju.

Liquid courage, he told himself.

Then another. Then a third, because his heart was still beating too fast and you were laughing again and seeing that was making it hard for him to breathe.

By the fourth, his cousin was asking if he was okay. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, eyes locked on you a few tables away. 

His cousin poured a shot for himself, and Sunghoon snatched it away, downing it straight just to see if it would make him less nervous.

Before he knew it, he was already wasted, slumped over a table, cheek pressed to cold plastic. Someone had drawn something obscene on his hand. The party was over, and you were gone.

He lay there for a long moment, staring at a bottle, wondering how he’d managed to mess it up without ever actually trying.

After that, he saw you everywhere. The library, the quad, the cafeteria line. Sometimes alone, sometimes surrounded by people. You never noticed him, and he never pushed himself into your space.

Then one afternoon, he saw you holding hands with someone. Apparently, you’d started seeing this guy from the Liberal Arts department. That night, he went back to his dorm, shut the door, lay on his bed, and stared at the ceiling.

His cousin glanced over. “What’s up with you? You look like you just got dumped”

“I might as well have been,” Sunghoon said, voice flat. He turned his face into his pillow and let himself feel stupid for exactly five minutes.

Then he moved on because that was just life. He was happy that you were happy.

He dipped his own toes in the dating pool. Dated seriously, even. He laughed, fell in and out of love, learned what he liked and didn’t. You became a fond thought in the back of his head, not a fixation. And also something his friends teased him about every now and then.

Then senior year came. He heard you’d broken up, and realized he still liked you. So he thought about trying again.

He did the same thing without realizing: took shots for liquid courage. One too many shots, obviously. And passed out on a couch before he could say your name, obviously.

Senior year came and went. Graduation followed. He figured that was that. Some people were just meant to be memories.

And his life after college had already been mapped out for him. Sunghoon worked long hours in his family’s corporation. He learned how to sit through meetings without showing boredom, how to be sharp without being cruel. He dated when he had time, stopped when he didn’t. He built a reputation he hadn’t asked for but carried well enough.

Every once in a while, your name surfaced not from memory, but from screens. LinkedIn updates. A promotion. An article shared by someone else. Your company’s name appeared frequently in industry chatter. You weren’t loud online. You had Instagram but didn’t post much.

He nodded at those updates like they were news about someone he once knew well.

Years later, when he heard about a potential partnership with your company, he volunteered to handle it without hesitation. It wasn’t even his division, but he argued his case until he won. 

He told everyone else that it was professional curiosity. Strategic interest. Nothing else. In reality, he thought maybe this would finally put him in the same room as you again.

But it didn’t. Nana collapsed. That family emergency pulled him away the day of the meeting, and the opportunity slipped through his fingers. Life, once again, had other plans. He never made it to the meeting. Someone else took over. The partnership went through anyway, handled efficiently, just not by him.

You stayed untouchable and unseen. And of course, he moved on again.

Years passed. Nana recovered and became sharper than ever. She mentioned your name casually over tea.

“Her grandma’s worried,” she said. “She thinks that brilliant granddaughter of hers works too much. She called, asking if I knew someone suitable.”

“Someone suitable? A husband?” Sunghoon’s mom asked.

He froze in his seat, hand hovering as he reached for his teacup.

“Yes,” Nana continued, watching him carefully over the rim of her cup. “I told her I might know someone, but I don’t approve of arranged marriages.”

Sunghoon’s mom glanced at him too, the only man in the family who hasn’t married yet. “It would be nice. I heard she’s very intelligent and pretty. But I’m a fan of true love too, mama. These days they call it ‘organic encounter’.”

That night, Sunghoon stared at his ceiling for a long time and made a decision.

He left his job, much to his family’s dismay. They managed to reel him in with his contract, but as soon as that was over, Sunghoon was out. He moved cities. Applied to your company hoping he’d get closer to you through work. But te only position open was an internship. He took it anyway.

It was a humbling position. Educational. Occasionally ridiculous, and nowhere near you. Apparently interns didn’t meet CEOs on the reg.

So for months, you were just a name, a presence on another floor. Interns and other employees often talked about you—brilliant, dedicated, but formidable and terrifying. Medusa, they called you. 

Sunghoon would find himself standing up for you against men in his department who uttered inappropriate comments. Especially those who questioned your right to sit in the CEO’s office.

And then one Tuesday morning, Sunghoon was at the reception desk, sorting documents he wasn’t technically supposed to touch yet, when the elevators chimed.

He didn’t look up. He didn’t really need to. But then he heard a familiar voice calling him by name.

“Park Sunghoon?” the voice repeated, making him look up and freeze.

Your grandmother stood at the front desk, elegant as always. She looked exactly the way Sunghoon remembered her from childhood. She leaned on her cane more out of habit than necessity, eyes sharp as they swept his face. “Is that you, dear boy?”

Sunghoon straightened instinctively, unsure why his heart had started beating faster. He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

A pleased smile spread across her face. “Well,” she said lightly, tapping her cane against the floor once. “I thought so.

My, how much you’re grown.”

His mouth went dry. “You remember me?”

She laughed softly. “Of course I do. What are you doing here? Last I heard you were Executive Director at your family’s company.”

Sunghoon hesitated. Then he sighed, knowing full well how hard it was gonna be to lie to your grandma. “I think we’re gonna need to sit down if I’m to answer that question.”

Your Grandma seemed to understand something. “Come to tea this Sunday. Let’s unpack whatever that is.”

And Sunghoon did meet with your grandma that Sunday. And he confessed that he was there because of you. After hours of talking about you, your grandma decided to set him up on a blind date with you.

To say he was thrilled was an understatement. Sunghoon was over the moon. He couldn’t wait for the day to come. Though Grandma did warn him that she had a habit of not showing up to these dates. He was still looking forward to it, hoping your grandma stayed true to her words when she said she would try to convince you.

Then Becca came by the intern lounge, asking if anyone wanted to be your temporary secretary while she was on maternity leave.

“For Medusa?” someone murmured quietly. Silence followed, and interns exchanged nervous glances. Sunghoon was the only one who raised his hand.

Becca stared at him. “I need to know if you’re serious about this.”

“Yes.”

“You’re gonna be paid a regular’s rate, but it’s not gonna be an easy task.”

“I know. I can handle it.”

She sighed. “Fine. No backing out at the last minute, alright?” she said, pointing her pen at him. “Follow me. Training starts now.”

Sunghoon trained for a week, learning schedules and systems, familiarizing himself with important names and contacts, copying the cadence of your emails. All this while stealing glances into your office, or staring a little too long whenever you passed by.  

He reminded himself to be normal. To not let the past—or the crush—color the present. Even though it had clearly already taken over his entire world.

And then came the day Sunghoon was finally getting introduced to you. Becca had given him the head’s up the day before, and he took an extra hour getting ready the next day.

He stood with Becca in your office, patiently waiting for you to walk into those heavy glass doors. When you did, Sunghoon straightened up. Luckily that time, he didn’t get drunk or pass out anymore. Everything after that was an experience Sunghoon would never forget.

And now, over a month later, there he was, standing just inside your office, asking you to take him back.

It was the 29th. Just two days before New Year’s Day and four days since the whole fiasco at the Park Estate. Grandma and Nana had invited you out on a brunch where you apologized—more than once. For the lies. For leaving. For ruining Christmas. 

Nana waved it all off with a soft laugh, insisting none of it mattered as much as you thought it did. “We’ve seen worse.”

She said the family wasn’t really angry, just shocked. Said that if you’d stayed, things wou;d’ve been resolved over breakfast and hot cocoa, the way they always did.

“What’s done is done,” your grandma had said simply, stirring her coffee. “At least you learned a lesson from this experience.”

You didn’t bring up Sunghoon. You couldn’t, not after how vague things were left between you. The grandmas seemed to understand that the subject was touchy and decided not to bring it up either.

After brunch, you told them you had something for Nana—and for everyone back home. It had arrived at the office that morning, and that was how the three of you ended up there instead of going straight home.You drove back to the office with the city humming around you, hands steady on the wheel despite everything sitting heavy in your chest.

They followed you into the building where employees greeted your grandma at every turn, surprised to see THE big boss parading the halls. You heard Nana quip about your grandma building an empire through inflicting fear upon her people, and laughed along when they did.

But that laughter died down the moment you stepped out of the elevator and found Park Sunghoon standing near reception, hands clasped loosely in front of him, jacket still on like he hadn’t been sure whether to stay or leave. He looked up the moment the elevator opened, like he’d been waiting for it.

For a second, no one moved. Your brows furrowed, relief and confusion washing over you. Relief because four days felt too long and you’d missed him the whole time. Confusion because what was he doing there? And why did he wait until now to come see you?

“What are you doing here?” you finally asked.

He picked up a clear bag from the floor and lifted it for you to see. “You didn’t get to see what I got you,” he said and your eyes locked on the red giftbox with a green ribbon inside the clear bag.

Your grandma squeezed your arm gently. “We’ll give you two a moment.”

Nana was already nodding, amused. “Yes. Let’s let the kids sort it out.”

You didn’t protest, letting them walk back into the elevator, muttering and giggling. The office fell quiet. You and Sunghoon were staring at each other while the rest of the people on that floor held their breath. You could feel their eyes, watching and waiting for whatever was about to go down.

You exhaled and started walking toward your office. Sunghoon followed silently behind. You didn’t say anything until you were inside your office, the door clicking shut behind you. It was quieter here, insulated from the rest of the floor.

You turned to face him. “My grandma told me something about you,” you said, not elaborating because he probably already knows what you mean. “Is it true?

“It is,” he answered quickly.

You let out a slow breath. “So you liked me even before I asked you to be my fake fiancee?”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Oh, I liked you longer than that.” 

Your heart stuttered, just before beating wildly in your chest.

“When we were kids, when we were in college… I liked you in different ways, at different stages of my life.” He met your eyes fully. “And now… Now I’m in love with you.”

You kept your voice steady, hands clenching at your sides as you tried your best not to just go ahead and jump in his arms. “Why didn’t you come see me sooner?”

“I tried, but I didn’t really get a chance. You were in a relationship with this dude in college—”

“No, I meant after we left the island on Christmas day,” you interrupted.

Sunghoon paused, realization dawning on him. “Oh. Oh, I wanted to,” he said. “But no one was allowed to leave the island until the holidays were over. That’s not negotiable in my family. And I needed to sort things out. With them. With myself. I didn’t want to come to you half-done.”

You laughed under your breath. “Do you always have to do things properly?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to do this one right.”

Silence fell between you. You crossed your arms, still unsure what to do, how to navigate this. “I’m sorry,” you said first, because you had to. He deserved it. “For leaving like that. For not letting you say anything.”

He shook his head. “I would’ve followed you anyway.”

“So?” you asked, heat creeping up your neck. “What now?”

Sunghoon took one tentative step closer. “Well, my new year’s resolution is to kiss you everyday for the rest of my life.”

You huffed a laugh, caught off guard. “That’s a… very specific commitment.”

“I’m very committed to it.”

You laughed despite yourself, and Sunghoon watched with a fond smile, just before silence came again. You were both standing at the edge of something you didn’t want to rush or ruin.

“Well?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you just gonna stand there all day or do I have to kiss you myself?”

Sunghoon’s mouth stretched into the biggest, happiest smile you’d ever seen on a man. He crossed the distance between you in one step, then wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back just as tightly, instinctively, like it was something your body had been waiting for longer than your mind wanted to admit.

Then he kissed you. A kiss that answered everything, one that didn’t ask questions anymore. For a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you. But only for a moment because three seconds later, the sound of clapping, cheers, and hooting erupted around the office.

Startled, you pulled back just enough to see past his shoulder and realized that the entire floor had been watching from outside the clear glass walls of your office.

“Oh my god,” you exclaimed, looking at Sunghoon and then laughing. “Do you think they heard you confess your love for me?” you teased.

Sunghoon glanced around, then back at you, utterly unbothered. “I don’t care,” he said, scooping you up and kissing you again.

The office erupted all over again, a whole floor of employees witnessing the day you and Sunghoon made a scene professing love like you were in a movie.

And honestly? You didn’t care either.

[fin]

[heesunghooney]

WHAT WAS IN THE BOX GODDAMNNNNN WHAT DID HE GET HER A RING?!?!?! 😭😭😭😭

[brokenengene]

⸻𝐎ne 𝐌ore 𝐂hance - p.sh

Park Sunghoon was not the love of your life, only a wealthy heir you were arranged to wed. After a year of marriage full of dealing with his affairs and arrogance, you're ready to walk away. Soon, Sunghoon is facing the truth. If he wants to learn to love you, it's going to be a fight he can't give

pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: arranged marriage, smut, second chance

This content is only for readers 18+

word count: 16K

content warning: strong language, sexual content, toxic relationships, Sunghoon is an asshole, off-page infidelity, so much angst, suggestive usage of alcohol, marital discourse, emotional distress, power imbalance, detailed smut including: oral sex (f!recieving), unprotected sex, praise kink, dirty talk, creampie, overstim.

[ 𝐂atalogue. ]

It’s been an entire year since you said “I do.” 

It's not like you really had a choice. 

Park Sunghoon was not the love of your life. A piece of you shattered as you stood helpless at the altar. 

As a little girl, you dreamed of falling in love. Of waking up next to a man who had it all. 

You imagined picking out the perfect white dress to wear as you walked down the aisle.

Weddings are supposed to be the best day of your life, not the worst.

His family was disgustingly wealthy, and when their only son started acting out of line—

A ring was the swiftest way to knock him back into shape. 

You didn’t have to work. The house was paid off, and the Park family business brought in more than enough profit to drown in.

But the office was your only escape from him and the women he brought in and out of those doors. 

Your hands trembled as you flipped through your keys. The blisters on your feet ached as you pushed open the front door. 

You let out a deep sigh as you kick off your heels.

Every single choice you made was to keep yourself out of this goddamn house for as long as humanly possible. 

With tired hands, you unbuttoned the first two buttons of your blouse. The weight of the day is finally catching up to you. 

And of course, the fridge wasn’t stocked. Cereal would have to do. 

The kitchen was large but empty. Most of the house was. It’s not like you had a lot to bring into the marriage. And you never cared to spend Sunghoon's money on home decor.

If you could even call this place home.

You pulled out a chair at the dimly lit kitchen island. Your bare feet rested against the barstools as you stared aimlessly out the window ahead. 

The sound of stumbling footsteps above confirms that once again, Sunghoon has company. 

You finished up your meal, at least what was left of it, before heading up the dark staircase. 

The door to Sunghoon's room was cracked open, and a sliver of dim light cut through the dark hall. 

You couldn't help but glance into the room as you walked by. 

He knows exactly what he’s fucking doing. 

Breathless sighs and wet sounds of pleasure you would rather not hear echo throughout the hall. You weren’t completely sure if it was on purpose. 

A self-deprecating laugh cuts through your throat. He knows what time you get off work. 

You viciously kicked the door shut. A loud bang exploded throughout the lifeless house. 

Cursing and the rustling of sheets followed as you dragged yourself down the hall towards your own bedroom. 

Sleeping with other women had to be his way of getting back at his parents—or maybe blowing off some steam. 

You pretended like it didn’t bother you, especially when things got loud, and you had to be up early the next morning. 

You shut your own bedroom door, the isolation setting in as you plopped down onto the massive bed in the center.

This sucks. This fucking sucks. 

Not even the hot water could comfort you as it cascaded down your skin. The steam was suffocating as you tried to scrub off the stress and burden of the day. 

Like clockwork, you climbed into your cold bed, letting the mattress dip slightly under your weight. 

You set your alarm, scrolling through your phone to distract you from the ungodly noises echoing from down the hall. 

It was a mindless hell-scape. You knew it was bad for your health, but you needed something—anything to get your mind off things. 

You didn’t even post your engagement. Somehow word just got around. And in time, you were receiving half-hearted congratulations and unsolicited marriage advice. 

You didn't even change your last name on the sites. Legally, you were Mrs.Park, but emotionally, you didn’t feel that way in the slightest. 

How could you when your husband treats your marriage like a punishment? 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to drown out the pleasurable moans of his name falling from another woman’s lips. 

And God, you just wanted to be held. 

Tears started to fall; it was a common occurrence with the stress of the office and coming back to something far from what you’d consider home to be. 

You held yourself tighter, after all—it’s not like you have anyone else who will.

Hours went by, your chest ached, and your eyes burned. 

The house was quiet again, and the sound of your soft sobs cut harshly through the silence. 

Accepting defeat, you crawled out of bed, loosely throwing a soft robe over your body before making your way back towards the kitchen. 

You needed alcohol, something—anything to help put your mind to rest.

As you reached the top of the stairwell, your body went into shock. 

Sunghoon, lazily resting in the kitchen. 

The oven blinked back  the time. 

2:24am

With a shaky breath, you descended the stairwell. Aware of your less-than-sharp appearance. 

You walked past him without a glance or a word, heading straight for the wine cabinet. 

The tension was thick as you made your selections. The glasses clinked as you poured yourself a drink. 

His eyes stayed focused on you. 

“Are all your guests gone?” You spat out sharply as you took a small sip of your wine. The taste sweetly coated your throat as you swallowed.

Your elbows rested against the countertops as you glared at him over the top of your wine glass. 

“I just had one guest, thank you very much,” Sunghoon replied, his voice nonchalant as he turned to grab his own glass of wine.

“You’re such a brat. I see why your family needed to whip your ass into shape.” You muttered, the words nearly as harsh as the alcohol tearing down your throat. 

“At least they’re smart enough not to make business deals that sell out their own daughter in the process.” Sunghoon bit back. He took a sharp swig of his own wine as the venom of his words cut through your skin. 

“Man-whore.” You spit out, your words throwing back the same laced venom. 

“You’re just jealous.” He replies, finishing the rest of his wine glass in one go. 

The words make you scoff. It must be the tear stained look on your face, or the sobs he heard between deep strokes.

“No, just done with the bullshit.” You reply, voice heavy as you finish your wine. Without hesitation, you swiftly poured yourself another glass. 

Sunghoon watches. Scoffing as he sets his own glass down on the opposite countertop. Crossing his arms over his chest. 

“What bullshit? You have a 4-carat ring, this entire house besides my room, and I let you keep that silly little job you care so much about.” Sunghoon replies, his expression stoic, devoid of anything even remotely human. 

You let out a laugh of disbelief. He can’t be this much of an immature dick. 

“You know what. I’ve tried to be the bigger person here, but fuck this.” You replied. Swiftly drowning the rest of your alcohol. 

Sunghoon's cold gaze watches. His shoulders tense at your words, and you swear you could see something else cracking through that cold, bitter exterior. 

The ring on your finger feels all too heavy as Sunghoon lets out a condescending laugh.

“Fuck what?” He replies. 

“Everything! This marriage, this goddamn house! You?” You cried out, the words burning your throat. With a weak sob and a choke in your words, your true feelings finally come to light. 

“You’re ungrateful, you know that?” Sunghoon spits out, his jaw tightening as his gaze narrows strongly. 

“No. You’re the ungrateful one. I’ve given you your space. I haven’t spent a penny of your goddamn money.” You choke out. Hot tears stream down your face as the emotions of the past year start to surface. 

A whole year of this. No more. 

You trembled as you ripped the wedding band from your finger. Without a second thought, you chucked it clean across the kitchen. 

Sunghoon's expression is stunned as the metal hits his chest, echoing loudly in the silence as it hits the tile floor. 

“I’m done”

“You’re what?” Sunghoon whispers, his voice quivering as he glances between the sparking ring in the floor and your tear-stained face.

“You heard me.” 

The world feels like it’s spinning. For a year, you’ve tried to give space, give him the benefit of the doubt. 

Maybe he would at least try to turn things around. If you were kind enough, maybe he would try to make an effort to make this work.

You turned on your heels, heading straight out of the kitchen towards the arch of the front door. 

“Hey!” Sunghoon shouts, his steps heavy as he follows you down the hall.

“Where are you going?” He shouts. His voice quivering as he stopped a few feet away from you. 

“Away from here. Away from you.” You sob, grabbing your keys and slipping on whatever pair of shoes was left by the door.

Sunghoon watches as his cold expression starts to break. His eyes dart between you, the keys in your hand—

“Please—“ Sunghoon whispers, his voice cracking under pressure as he stands tense on the other side of the dark hall. 

You don’t care to hear his words. The last thing you want from him is more sad, pathetic excuses. 

And without another word, you’re out the door. 

⋆⋆⋆

Sunghoon could hardly breathe as he sat alone with himself in the silence. 

She’s gone, after all this time; she finally pulled the fucking trigger. 

He lets out a shaky breath, running his hands over his face. 

God, he feels like the biggest asshole on the planet.

And maybe that’s deserved.

Sunghoon hesitates before locking the door behind you, the house still eerily quiet, even more so with your car gone from the driveway. 

He pulls himself back into the kitchen, pouring another glass of alcohol to help clear his head. 

That ring. 

His breath catches as he sees the shimmering band left on the cold tile. 

Sunghoon wishes he could lie to himself, tell himself it didn’t hurt when you tore the band off your finger. 

To him, the wedding was nothing more than a punishment.

To him, you felt like a punishment. 

The alcohol, the other women, it was all a ploy to get a hold of some type of control—

A ploy to barely hold on to the reckless life he used to have. 

He never wanted to be a family man, not at this age anyway. 

Your twenties are supposed to be for fucking around, self-pleasure, and indulgence.

Not caring for a wife you never even really wanted. 

But the truth is—every night when those women left, every night when he heard the sobs you thought were caught in your pillow. 

It only broke him down more. 

And damn, nothing hurts more than his completely empty, lifeless house.

Sunghoon put down his drink before swiftly bending down to pick up the ring from the cold, hard floor. 

He twisted it in his hands, his stomach churning as he remembered the chains he felt around his throat when he slipped this jewelry onto your delicate finger. 

He hasn’t kissed you since the wedding. Hasn’t even tried.

But day in and day out, you still come through that door with a brave face. 

Neither of you wanted this, but maybe just maybe he could try to make it work. 

And if he has any say? There won't be another year of lifeless distractions. 

⋆⋆⋆

You stumbled into the office fifteen minutes late. 

Your back ached from the hotel mattress, and your eyelids felt heavy from the lack of restful sleep. 

Of course, your coworkers don’t notice that, for months now, you’ve been dragging yourself into this building with what little strength you could muster. 

Your desk is exactly how you left it. 

The morning sun cuts through the blinds as you set up your laptop, scrolling through emails, making a quick to-do list for the day. 

“Hey!” 

A casual voice calls out. 

You swiftly recognize it as your boss. Your shoulders tense as she approaches with a wide, perfect smile on her face. 

“I hope you're doing well this morning, Mrs. Park.” Your boss says professionally as she stands tall at the edge of your desk. 

“Doing great! And you?” You reply, forcing a wide smile with what minuscule strength you have left. 

“I’m doing amazing, thank you for asking! Well, I guess I shouldn’t beat around the bush—“ your boss says, that toothy corporate grin only growing. 

“Mhm…” you reply softly as you turn to face her, hands trembling at your side as you await the news. 

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard the news Stephanie is going on maternity leave and she’ll be out for the rest of the holidays.” Your boss replies.

Your heart sinks. Maternity leave? 

You glance over at your coworker's empty desk, adorned with family pictures, crayon drawings signed proudly—

The empty weight on your left hand doubles. 

You’ll never have that. Not with him. 

You pull yourself together, smiling even brighter as you react to the “good news.” 

“Wow, I didn't even know she was expecting!” You reply forcefully as the words burn in your throat. 

“So, um…naturally, for the rest of the fiscal year, if it’s not too much, she does have some clients that need to be taken care of. And I would hate to ask her to do that remotely—“ your boss announces. 

Of course. They want you—the one with no kids to take on extra work, unpaid. 

But as long as it keeps you out of that house—

“I can take her clients. No problem, just send them my email, and I’ll be in contact.” You reply. 

Your boss's expression melts. 

“Thank you, God, what would this office do without you! I’ll have them forwarded to you right away.” 

Your boss turns on her heels, and the sound of her shoes against the cold tile echoes as she leaves the hall. 

As if your life couldn’t get any worse. 

⋆⋆⋆

The day dragged on, and your eyes felt heavy as they stayed glued to the screen of your laptop. Your to-do list only grew longer and longer. 

People started to fizzle out as you sent email after email. 

Before you knew it, you were the only one left at the office. 

The sun started to set, and the windows let in warm shades of yellow and orange. 

You had to put your head down just to rest your eyes for a few seconds. 

With a soft groan, you put your head in your arms, folding them over the hard, cold desk. 

Your heavy eyelids fluttered shut from exhaustion, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. 

After a few brief moments, your phone buzzes. 

“Incoming call, Sunghoon Park.” The robotic voice calls out. 

You let it ring. 

“Incoming call. Sunghoon Park.” 

Again? You let it go to voicemail. 

After a few more hours, with the sun set low on the horizon, you pack up your things. 

You can barely walk straight as you drag yourself out of the concrete escape. 

The click of your heels makes your head throb as you tread through the dark parking garage back to your car. 

You toss your things into the passenger seat before turning on the engine. 

The screen illuminates to life, your phone automatically connects to the speakers—

“Now playing voicemail from Sunghoon Park.”

The robotic voice interrupts your music. 

Your fingertip hovers over the red button, but before you can end the call.

“Hey.”

His voice comes through the speakers, except this time it’s not commanding.

This time, it’s soft and apologetic.

You let it play. Is this seriously about to be your first apology? 

It takes storming out and sleeping in a hotel to get an '’m sorry'?

“Listen, I know I’m the last person you want to hear from right now. Believe me. No pressure, but if you want to, please…come by the house tonight. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I’m just worried.” 

And after those words, the voicemail disappears.

⋆⋆⋆

Your hands tremble as you stand at your doorstep, fidgeting with your keys.

Sunghoon is the last person who deserves your sympathy. 

But yet the way his voice sounded was so sincere. He called you once, just once, and left that message like he meant it. 

And your heart was tugging at you to go back.

The smell of fresh-roasted vegetables fills the air. Your brows furrow as you shut the door quietly behind you. 

With caution, you stalk towards the kitchen; the entire living room has the overhead lights and lamps lit. You’ve never seen the house so bright. 

Candles warm the space, the rugs? Freshly vacuumed. 

“Hello?” You asked as you stepped into the kitchen. Sunghoon must’ve felt bad enough to at least hire a maid.

But your heart drops when you round the corner. 

“Hey...” Sunghoon replies softly. Food roasting in the oven, the countertops lined with fresh groceries. 

“What are you—is this your way of trying to apologize?” You question, narrowing your gaze as you watch him stand at the stovetop. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up to his elbows. He’s still casually dressed in slacks like he’s just got out of a meeting.

“Y—you came?” He gasps as he sees your tired, tear-stained face in the doorway. 

“Listen, I know this isn’t nearly enough to make up for…everything.” He continues. 

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms as you glance at him with a stoic expression. Your head is still thumping from all the alcohol and shitty rounds of sleep. 

“I hope you like pasta? I’m ashamed to admit I don’t even know what you like.” Sunghoon concludes as the vegetables simmer over the top of the stove. 

“Pasta is fine.” You reply blankly. Your shoulders are still tense. You scan his every move and calculate your every word. The last thing you want his him using those against you. 

“Could you pass me that olive oil?” He says his voice is tight as he keeps storing the vegetables sizzling on the stove top. 

You hesitate before stepping through the doorframe. Grabbing the olive oil left on one side of the counter, and met him by the stove. 

Sunghoon forces a smile as he takes it, his hands trembling as he tries not to burn the vegetables on the stove. 

“So um…I was honest when I said I don’t know really anything about you. Your favorite food, favorite movie, favorite song—“ Sunghoon mumbles softly as he tosses the food around some more. Once it’s cooked through, he reaches over the hot stovetop to turn off all the appliances. 

“Playing chef isn’t going to undo everything.” You reply weakly, your voice shaky, your head still pounding.

“I know it’s not enough, I'm not really sure anything will be enough to fix this,” Sunghoon replies, the plate in his hands trembling as he loads up two separate plates. 

“You don’t even have to stay if you don’t want to, it’s just—God, when you left last night. It really shook me, I’ve never felt so much regret, so much frustration with myself.” Sunghoon continues, his voice cracking under the pressure as he bends down to open up the oven. 

He pulls out a pan of fresh golden breadsticks, and he puts one onto each plate before he reaches up into the wine cabinet. 

Our heart hammers hard in your chest as he speaks. The two of you sit at the kitchen table. The dark, crafted wood was comically large for the two of you. 

Sunghoon sat at the head, and you joined him at the corner. 

He smiles at you as he sets down two wine glasses. The image immediately pulls you back to the argument of last night. 

You tear your eyes away from him, fingertips fidgeting in your lap. 

Your thumb brushes across your ring finger—a nervous habit.

But there’s no band around your finger. 

“Sunghoon, I guess I could say the same. About you. I mean, I don’t really know anything about you besides the fact that you’re an arrogant dick.” You reply, twirling your fork around your plate before taking a bite. 

“Well, and I guess I don’t really know you besides the fact that you’re hardworking and kind and definitely not deserving of an arrogant dick like me, but you’re eating my cooking right now and I—“ Sunghoon stops himself midway. His own fork was trembling in his hands. 

Your eyes go wide at his confession. You swiftly take another bite of food before your jaw can hit the ground. 

Sunghoon awkwardly clears his throat and shakes his head. His eyes were darting between you, the plate, and—

“How’s the food?” He stammers out frantically.

You swallow the rest of your pasta. Taking a sip of your wine to wash it down. 

“It’s fine, a little salty but edible.” 

“Great, that’s a lot better than I was expecting,” Sunghoon replies as he nervously takes another sip of his drink. 

There’s a quiet beat, the air laced with tension as the sound of silverware on plates clicks through the silence. 

Sunghoon clears his throat. 

“I um, know this marriage wasn’t really a choice. For either of us, but—I think I want to learn how to fall in love.” Sunghoon replies, his voice shaky, trailing off at the end of his sentence. 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you process the words.

“Fall in love?” You ask weakly smiling back at the pure absurdity of his words. 

“Yeah fall in love, with you. My wife. I’m choosing to learn, starting now.” Sunghoon confesses, his face slightly flushed and hot as his clammy hands grip his silverware tight.

“So now I’m your wife?” You bite back. The tension from the fight is still fresh. You want to forgive him deep down, but…

“I want to be the type of man that makes you want to put that ring back on your finger.” He whispers, his eyes softening as he glances over your expression. 

His eyes linger on the color of your eyes, the slope of your nose—

“I guess that starts now, then…” You whisper back half-heartedly as you finish the rest of your plate. 

Without another word, Sunghoon forces a smile, leaning across the table to collect your dishes and his own. 

Sunghoon turned on the faucet as he started to run the plates. Something warm tugged in your chest.

“Need help with those?” You asked softly. Your feet were aching as you stood up from the dinner table. 

“No, no, you don’t have to.” He stammered out, wiping the steam from his brow as he started to scrub the soapy dishes. 

You snuck up behind him and grabbed the soft hand towel resting across his shoulder. His gasp made you snicker as you took the rinsed dishes and dried them.

Sunghoon put the forks back in the drawer as you put the plates away overtop your head. It’s crazy how fast dishes get done with two. 

The tension left in the dark kitchen was nothing short of awkward. 

You caved in, heading up the stairs like every other night before. You stopped in the hall, noticing Sunghoon's room door cracked open slightly. 

The light was left on, and there was a mattress wrapped in fresh plastic leaning against the wall. Half of a bedframe was put together as screws and tools littered the ground. 

Sunghoon’s heavy footsteps stopped right behind you. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck as he noticed what you saw. 

“Rearranging?” You asked playfully as you turned to look at him, his expression wide. 

“No, no, I bought a new bed—and mattress.” He choked out. Sunghoon gently pushed the door open the rest of the way before bending down to pick up a pack of instructions. 

“When I said I wanted to start over, I meant it.” He confessed as he started to scan the room for his next tool. 

Damn, he’s really committed to this bit.

You sank down on one of the lounge chairs. His room was massive. The king-sized mattress looked small in the expanse of it all. There was a large set of windows covered by dark curtains. 

The warm light from the side lamps gave the room a soft, dim glow.

Sunghoon got to work putting the bed together. You watched, eyes lingering on the curves of his biceps as he assembled the wood and steel. 

You just sat there, watching. God, it was so awkward not knowing what to talk about with your own husband. 

“So um..how’s work been?” Sunghoon asked as he tactfully twisted the screws into place. His eyes locked on his hands as they worked. 

“Work was fine. It was fine.” You replied, sinking back into the chair, resting the ache in your back. 

“You were out later than normal,” Sunghoon replied before sticking the screwdriver in his mouth to set two pieces of the bed together. 

He noticed? 

“Yeah I’m I had some extra work thrown at me. One of my coworkers is on maternity leave, so I told the company I’d take her clients.” You replied.

Normally, you wouldn’t share this much, but the atmosphere was already changing. 

“That’s insane of them. Should’ve split the load between the whole department.” Sunghoon replies, glancing over his work at you for just a moment before going back to building. 

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t mind. It just work.” You replied, sitting more casually as you conversed with him. 

“Yeah, but it’s exhausting you. Seriously, do you even have time for anything else?” Sunghoon completes, his voice soft and casual. You can’t help but let your eyes once again trace those biceps you never even noticed before. 

“If I do, I’m too tired by the time I get off.” You shrugged. 

Sunghoon's expression faltered, only for a moment, before his attention went back to focusing on the project at hand.

“Can you help me put the mattress on?” Sunghoon interrupts as he pushes the bed back against the wall. 

You stood up from your chair to help him. The two of you lift the mattress and slide it back down into place. 

“Looks comfy.” You replied as the two of you tore the plastic off the brand new thing. 

“You should join me.” Sunghoon blurts out. His expression widened, cheeks flushing as he realized what he had just said. 

“Excuse me?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“No, no, God, that’s not what I meant. Not sex, unless you want to? I meant like—sleep. Like for real sleep.” Sunghoon stirred. His voice was interrupted by your snickering laugh. 

You laughed softly as he stuttered over his words, all embarrassed like a fool. His face was in shock, disbelief. 

He made you laugh. An honest, real laugh.

And it’s the most perfect sound he’s ever heard. 

⋆⋆⋆

Your hands trembled as you slipped out of your work clothes, tossing them mindlessly onto the ground before slipping into your pajamas. 

Just a plain pair of shorts paired with a white tank. Sunghoon? He’d have to earn the sexy stuff. 

With a quiet pace, you patted down the hall, stopping right at his door. You sucked in a sharp breath as you knocked. 

“Sunghoon, seriously? You’ve been married for over a year now. What’s going on?” 

An older female voice cut through the silence. 

“Mom just..can we not do this now? It’s late.” You heard Sunghoon reply with a frustrated groan. 

You put your ear to the cold door. Listening as the voice came through the speaker. 

Your mother-in-law, of course. She has her reasons. 

“Are you and she even trying? Please tell me you're at least trying for a baby. This timing is unacceptable!" A gruff female voice once again breaks the peace and quiet. 

“That’s none of your business, Mom,” Sunghoon replied, his voice already growing more frustrated the longer your mother-in-law stayed on the line. 

“Don’t tell me she’s having problems conceiving. Is that what this is about? If so, what a waste of—“

“No. You don’t get to talk about her like that. I won’t let you.” Sunghoon shouted. A heavy silence followed. 

Did he just defend you? 

“It’s late. I’m going to bed. And if you throw her name around like that again, I swear you won’t like the outcome.” 

And with a soft beat, the call needed.

The rustling of sheets and footsteps swiftly followed as Sunghoon made his way to the door. 

With a soft click, the door swung open. Sunghoon rested against the doorframe, looking down at you appreciatively. 

You jumped back frantically, looking everywhere but him in an attempt to hide the fact that you were eavesdropping. 

“Hey, are you ready?” Sunghoon asked calmly. 

“Yes, I’m exhausted. Still excited to try out this brand new mattress though.” You replied, trying to hide the confused frown tugging at your lips. 

What could your mother-in-law possibly be about? Kids weren't a part of the deal…or were they? 

Regardless, you hadn’t had proper sleep in how long? The conflict would have to be pushed to the morning. 

“Just let me know if you’re cold…or hot,” Sunghoon replied as he pulled the large, thick comforter back. 

You nodded before walking to the side of the bed. Sliding into the fresh linens. 

The scent flooded your senses, and the blankets were soft against your bare skin.

You turned over your shoulder. Pulling the blankets up to your neck as Sunghoon turned off the lights. 

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness. The sound of cars passing interrupted the otherwise pure silence. 

Sunghoon let out a tired sigh as he joined you. You felt the mattress dip under his weight as he settled next to you. 

God, there was so much space. 

The two of you subconsciously curled up at the corners of the bed. One of your arms hung off the mattress along with one of Sunghoon's legs. 

And between you?

Wide. Empty. space. 

You let your eyes flutter shut. The drag of the day was finally catching up to you now that you were horizontal. 

With a tired sigh, you phased in and out of consciousness. 

And the last thing you felt before you were out was the softness of Sunghoon's hand on your waist. 

⋆⋆⋆

You stirred as the sun poured between the cracks of the window curtains. 

For once, you weren't waking up to a cold, empty bed by the blare of an alarm. 

Sunghoon was still quietly resting behind you. His arm loosely draped around your waist and nothing more. 

You turned over your shoulder to face him. The quiet chirp of the birds outside could be heard in the peacefulness of the morning. 

Sunghoon. 

His lips were softly parted, chest rising and falling with a slow rhythm. His dark hair fell in messy waves against his pale skin. A perfect contrast. 

His thick brows were slightly furrowed as he slept. The slope of his nose–

It made your heart race. 

With a deep breath, Sunghoon stirred awake. You tried to put some inches of distance between you before he realized you were quite literally admiring him while he slept. 

“Good morning,” Sunghoon grunted, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Morning.” You replied casually as you propped yourself up on your elbows. 

Sunghoon glanced at you, shaking his head as his eyes adjusted to the light. 

His gaze traced your face, the curve of your chest. The lines of your body as you lie in bed with him, like you’d done it countless times before. 

“How did you sleep?” He asked, awkwardly clearing his throat before brushing his dark hair off his forehead. 

“Great, actually. The mattress was great.” You replied with a soft smile of disbelief. 

Tension. It was definitely there—simmering in the empty space between you. 

The moment was intimate by nature, the two of you vulnerable in bed together, the domestically of it all. 

Usually, in movies, this is the part where you kiss. 

And more often than not, that kiss turns into more—

The two of you let out a weak laugh. A telling sign you both felt that spark. 

Whatever plan Sunghoon had? You hate to admit it, but it was fucking working. 

“That’s good to hear…” Sunghoon whispered as he closed some of the distance. His hand reached out, eyes wide as he hesitated. 

You gave him a knowing look, soft, almost aching. The tension tugged at your heart…

Sunghoon's hand trembled as he held your waist. Without words, he closed more of that distance…

And soon you were glancing into his dark eyes. Lips parted, so much left unsaid as your heart raced in your chest and your hands trembled at your sides. 

“You really don’t have to try so fucking hard, you know.” You whispered, eyes soft as you glanced at his expression.

It’s like the icy cold exterior of before was starting to melt.

And then he leaned in. Nose brushing against your cheek, the faint lingering of his cologne still dusting across his skin. 

His lips part as they find your own. Sunghoon's breath shakes as he finally presses his lips to your own. 

Your hands hesitate, and your eyes don’t exactly close either. Your heart's racing, and you don’t even know what to do. 

Sunghoon pulls away, just enough for his warmth to leave your lips as he glances into your eyes. 

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t—“

“Sunghoon.” You interrupted, chest coiled tight with a feeling you couldn’t name. 

His gaze softened as he glanced down at you. His chest pressed up against your own, legs tangled together beneath the sheets. 

You hand cupped the side of his face, reveling in the soft sigh that he let out at the gesture. 

Then your fingertips moved, brushing through the dark, messy locks of his hair. 

And then you pulled him in, and your lips found his in a soft, chaste kiss. 

The deep, breathy groan that escaped Sunghoon's throat was everything. His eyes fluttered shut, brows perfectly furrowed as he kissed you back with intent. 

The two of you naturally fell into a rhythm. Lips parting and moving in sync. Your bodies were hot as they started to seek each other out. 

His breathing got heavier as you kissed. Hands teasing, fingertips pushing limits. Gasps that said, 'let this be real.' And touches that burned with an agonizing plea to start over.

Sunghoon broke the kiss to catch his breath. His grip found your waist as he pressed his body up into yours. 

His soft lips found the corner of your lips before they kissed the edge of your jaw. 

You melted into the sheets, head tilting as he kissed down your throat like he’d done it a thousand times before. 

Longing turned to confidence as Sunghoon pulled a weak gasp from your throat. 

That sound alone was enough to turn him on. 

God, what were the two of you missing? This tension, this heat between you was burning hot. All from a kiss?

You gasped as Sunghoon's thumbs brushed against your bare skin. where your top had ridden up just a few inches.

It felt so wrong yet so right. Like something new but also something you’ve been wanting forever in the same. 

You don’t know if you were clouded by longing, hurt, hormones, or a mix of all three.

But something about having your husband on top of you for the first time?

“Tell me to stop.” Sunghoon rasped as he kissed down your neck. His hands were growing more confident with their touch. 

Without realizing, he pressed his hips up into yours, pulling a gasp from both of your lips. 

Your eyes went wide at the gesture. At how bad you wanted it. Even if you’d never truly admit it. 

And there was no way in hell you were telling him to stop. 

Words got caught in your chest as you glanced at him. Finally feeling what you’ve been aching for for all this time.

“Don’t stop.” 

His breath was hot against your skin as he kissed your neck again. Softly, slowly, like he wanted to savor every second. 

Sunghoon's hands slid beneath the edge of your shirt, his thumbs teasing as they brushed across the softness of your skin. 

And then the phone rang. 

Sunghoon groaned with disappointment as he pulled his lips away. 

He kept one hand resting on your waist as he reached over the bedside table. 

“God no…it’s my mother.” Sunghoon groaned. Reluctantly pulling away from your warmth. 

The rang again, and his eyes darted between the screen in his hand and the much more enticing version of you. 

“You should answer it.” You replied softly, voice barely over the sound of a whisper. 

“I guess you’re right…you know how she is,” Sunghoon replied before picking up the phone with a professional hello. 

Before you knew it, he was swiftly headed out of the bedroom, the sounds of his mother's nagging only echoing as the door shut behind him. 

You fell against the pillows, finally letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

Here you are, in Sunghoon's bed, the faint woody scent of his cologne still lingering. 

And so was the warmth of his touch. 

⋆⋆⋆

Like always, Monday came around quickly. You stumbled into the office, phone already ringing, a laptop full of emails on the verge of springing open. 

The workload given to you was intense. The office that was usually your solitude started to morph into something else. 

And just as you pulled open your laptop and plugged it in to charge—

Footsteps. 

“Please God no…” You mumbled. The last thing you needed was to get caught up in workplace drama.

“Did you see the pictures of Stephanie’s baby on Facebook?!” Your coworker replied enthusiastically in a tone too loud for the early morning hours. 

You winced, shaking your head before putting on the best fake smile you could manage. 

“I’m not on Facebook…” you replied without even glancing up from your laptop. 

“Oh, right. Well, look, isn’t he adorable? Steph and her husband didn’t even do a gender reveal. Said they wanted it to be a surprise.” Your coworker replied, tilting her phone over your desk to show you. 

You shut your eyes, sucking in a deep breath. 

Don’t overreact, don't overreact. This is totally not the reason you have all these extra clients in the first place—

“That’s so sweet. I’m happy for her.” You replied bluntly before typing away at another invoice. 

“He looks so much like his dad it’s insane.” Your coworker continued. 

“Speaking of…how’s your husband been?” 

You swallowed an audible groan at the attempt of even more small talk.

“Fine, he’s fine, just busy.” You replied again bluntly. Your fingers only hitting the keys of your laptop even harder now. 

“Do you know if he’s coming with you to the office party. I’m kind of in charge of catering food and need a headcount.” She replied. 

Immediately, you were pulled out of your work. Did she just say holiday party? 

“What holiday party?” You asked curiously. Never in all the time you’ve worked at this company have you remembered them hosting a holiday party.

“Yeah, boss wants to start new traditions for the culture or whatever." She replied. “It’s nothing fancy, totally casual.” 

“I see.” You replied, glancing at your bare ring fingers, you thought. 

“I’ll  have to see if he’s available, but for sure put me down on the list.” You smiled weakly. 

“Yes! Perfect, it’s the second Friday before Christmas, 7pm.” She replied, typing out some more information on her phone before bidding you goodbye. 

 “I’ll see you there.” You replied before turning back the the half-written email that you had up on your screen. 

You couldn’t help but feel nervous about bringing the idea up to Sunghoon. 

⋆⋆⋆

The sound of sports on the television hummed softly in the background as you arrived home.

The faint scent of spice lingered in the hair, and the floor was cold against your feet as you kicked off your shoes at the door.

“Sunghoon?” You called out softly as you came down the hall. His car was parked out front. He must’ve gotten home early. 

The light was left on in the kitchen, signaling someone must’ve been home. Like always, you threw down your keys and took off your coat. 

A white sheet of paper was left on the kitchen table. You know you shouldn’t look at your husband's business, but your curiosity got the best of you. 

The sheet was cold and sharp between your fingertips as you picked it up, glancing over your shoulder to make sure Sunghoon wasn’t going to catch you in the act. 

Your heart started to race, your pulse was so heavy you could feel it thumping in your ears. 

He got tested. And everything came back clean. 

It’s almost like you didn’t know how to feel. Mortified? Anxious? Excited? 

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs quickly put a stop to those thoughts. Before he could see you, you put the packet back down exactly where you found it. 

“You’re home.” Sunghoon smiled, his eyes widening as he saw you standing in the kitchen. 

“Yeah, long day…” You replied, your heart skipping a beat as you saw him round the corner.

“Do you um…want to order dinner? I wasn't really sure if I should cook something.” Sunghoon smiled. 

“Takeout sounds good.” You smiled. God, things were still so fucking awkward between you. Especially after the kiss. 

“I’ll have something delivered. There’s a game tonight, or we can watch a movie if you’re not into that.” Sunghoon replied as he motioned for you to join him on the couch. 

The house felt warm and cozy. A stark contrast to how cold and dark it was just a few weeks ago. 

The dinners, the warm nights. You wanted it to be enough to repair everything. You could see that he really was trying. 

But forgiveness can’t always be bought. Sometimes it has to be repaired. 

And more often than not, that takes two sets of hands.

After Sunghoon ordered the food, you quickly changed into something more comfortable. 

Sunghoon's favorite basketball team was about halfway through their game. You kept your eyes glued to the screen, scared that if you turned and glanced at him, it would bring up every emotion you’ve been trying to bury.

The party. Right, the party.

“Sunghoon?” You whispered, just loud enough to tear his focus away from the game. 

“Yeah?” He replied softly. 

“I know this is probably dumb, but. The office—there is this new tradition, I guess. We’re having a holiday party in a few weeks, and I’m supposed to bring a plus one.” You choked out. 

“A holiday party? Sunghoon asked calmly, raising a thick brow in your direction. 

“Yeah, it’s like stupid, but…there’s free food from the office? And you know, be a part of the culture, I guess.” You replied, heat ran down your neck as you spoke. 

There was a quiet pause. A painful, quiet pause that felt like it went on forever. Knots twisted in your stomach, and nervous sweat ran down your brow.

Sunghoon smiled. He actually smiled. His perfectly straight smile complemented the face you were already starting to become so fond of. 

“Sounds like a good time.” He replied. His dark eyes glancing into your own as he reached out a hand. His touch gently found your skin, his warmth flooding your nerves as he placed his hand overtop your own. 

“And for the record. I don’t think it’s dumb.” 

⋆⋆⋆

The rest of the night was peaceful. The subtle brush of a hand, the way Sunghoon gently wiped the edge of your lips after dinner. 

The tension was thick, the game had gone into overtime, and the two of you kept slipping closer and closer. 

The kiss. 

You still couldn’t get it out of your head. Was it a heat-of-the-moment thing? Sunghoon hadn’t even tried to kiss you since then. You can’t be that bad of a kisser, right? 

“Hey.” 

At the sound of his voice, you nearly jumped off the couch. His soft voice tore through your heart, grounding you in the moment as the noisy game faded into the background. 

“Yeah?” You whispered softly. The air between you is thick. You shifted under yourself against the couch. 

“Can I just…” Sunghoon whispered, his voice barely audible as the edge of his fingertips brushed against your thigh.

The tension sizzled between you. Neither of you spoke, not wanting to risk tearing what was pulsing apart. 

Your eyes met his, heart hammering at the soft and dark look in them. 

As your chest went tight, you couldn’t help but look down, gaze following the shape of his perfect lips. You knew it, and so did he. 

Neither of you could stop thinking about the kiss.

And without another word, Sunghoon's lips were back on yours. 

With a sharp gasp, your soft hands flew to his hair. Gently tangling on the midnight stands as his grip found your waist. Confident, hungry—picking up right where he left off the first morning. 

Sunghoon gently nipped at your bottom lip. Gasping as he pulled away just enough to breathe.

“Shit, I’m sorry I—“ 

“Shut up. Just shut up.” You chuckled, smiling into another heated kiss. 

Your core went tight at the sound of his laugh. A deep chuckle erupting from his chest that spread warmth everywhere his touch had yet to find. 

His hands were gentle as they guided you, his body shifting over top of yours as he lay you down on the couch. 

Sunghoon was lost in you. Lost in your scent, in your warmth, in your entire being. 

Rationality was nowhere to be found. 

Just like before, Sunghoon's hands dipped under the fabric of your shirt. His touch was gentle yet commanding as he started to press his thumbs against your bare skin. 

You gasped into his open mouth at the gesture. Sunghoon only replied by pressing into you more. Moaning as he swallowed the breath from your lungs. 

With a near whimper, Sunghoon broke away. Trailing feather light kisses across your jaw as his hands held you beneath him in place. 

“Kissing you makes me feel…different.” He breathed out. His breath caught as he pulled your body close into his. 

“What’s so different?” You replied. His breath was shaky as his lips dragged across the sensitive ridges of your neck. 

“I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not adrenaline. It’s something else.” Sunghoon whispered, smiling against your skin before he found your hips again. 

You hummed softly as his lips gently melted against your own. Your heart fluttered as he moved with precision. 

After another long moment, Sunghoon pulled away. Resting his forehead against your own as he panted for breath. 

“It’s like I could never get tired of this. Like I could kiss you all night and never want to stop.” He confessed, letting out a breathless laugh as he listened to the words leaving his own tongue. 

Sunghoon smiled against your lips as he leaned in again. His breath hitched as he kissed you light and slow. 

A soft groan vibrated in his throat as he broke away. Only to kiss you harder.

“Fuck” he cursed with a low, pleasured chuckle. His lips brushed softly against your own as he spoke. 

His hands slid further up your base skin. His thumbs traced your sides, feeling every dip and curve.

 “I’m such—God…” Sunghoon cursed as his plump, soft lips tore apart from your own. His hot body pressed into yours, pulling a gasp from your lips. 

“I’m such a fucking idiot…” he whispered with a self-deprecating tone as his lips dragged softly down your neck. 

His grip on your waist tightened as the air coiled tight. 

“This whole time I could’ve—we could’ve…” Sunghoon panted, his breath hot as it fanned softly beneath your ear. 

He places a chaste kiss on the soft skin there. He hesitated before he pulled away to glance into his eyes. 

“Sunghoon…what are you—“

“I heard it. You crying. Every single night.” He confessed, his voice shaking as a hand left your body to cup the side of your face. 

He glanced down at you, his expression soft as the pad of his thumb gently brushed across your cheek. 

“I—I wasn’t crying.” You lied as all the memories came back. Your heart twisted. You couldn’t do this, not now. Now, when things were finally taking a step in the right direction. 

Sunghoon took a sharp breath in. His soft, dark eyes grew glassy as he fought back tears. 

“You were crying. Because of me.” Sunghoon choked out. His expression turned pained. Like the fact in itself struck a hole through his heart. 

“And I did nothing.” He whispered. His voice was so soft you could barely hear it over the sound of your own breathing. 

“All I’ve done is hurt you. Because I was angry, and I don’t know what else to do. I felt trapped. At first, I didn't want this.” Sunghoon confessed. The silence between you was loud; desolate tears pooled in the corner of his eyes as he looked at you. 

This soft, innocent woman, he just had his lips on.

A woman who, despite it all, did only the right things. 

Tears fell harder from his face as he continued. Your throat closed up as he failed to hold back a sob. 

“I slept with other people…you didn’t deserve that. You never, ever deserved that. Not from me, not from anyone.” Sunghoon cried as his other hand now found your face. 

He studies you through tears, his lip quivering as his fingertips brush across your perfect lips. 

“And I know you saw the papers too.” He swallowed sharply. Inhaling deeply as he tried to gauge your reaction. 

“What papers?” You questioned softly, hot tears pooling in your own eyes as your heart sank into your chest.

“I got tested. For everything. Came back clean.” Sunghoon choked out. 

He leaned in, his breath ghosting across your lips as his warm tears fell onto your cheeks. 

“And the crazy part? That’s the bare fucking minimum. A whole year and just now I have enough sense to show some basic human decency.” He confirmed. 

The air between you grew silent. The void only getting torn apart by a sharp sob from both of you. 

Sunghoon sobbed again, the sound itself so painful it nearly tore your heart apart. 

“I’m so fucking sorry.” Sunghoon cried, breaking down as his forehead rested against yours. 

“You’re my wife. And I touched someone else.” Sunghoon cried, his chest tightening as all the guilt spilled over. 

“And I think cooking you a half-burned dinner is going to fix it.” He rasped out. The tears slowly came to a painful stop. 

You didn’t even realize how much you were crying, too. How much were you hurting. All the memories came back, the name-calling, the dismissal. 

“I should’ve held you in my arms this entire time…you should’ve walked out on me a year ago.” He continued, his lips parting as he only pulled away to weakly wipe his tears. 

You glanced up at him with a tear-stained gaze. Your hands moved without even thinking. 

Softly, you gently wiped away his tears. Your fingertips lingering for just a moment—

That kind reaction? It only made him break down more.

“I’m so fucking sorry…I’m sorry for it all.” Sunghoon panted before he closed the distance, his lips finding yours in a hot, heated kiss. 

You kissed him back, hands moving everywhere that you felt they weren’t allowed before. His breath was hot, and whimpers and moans only grew louder. 

“Wait..” he panted against your lips, his breath hitching as your palms slid down his chest. 

You were equally as needy. His confession, his lips, and his touch all came crashing down at once. 

The sound of your lips leaving his echoed in the quiet night. You still lingered close, feeling the strength of his chest beneath your fingertips.

“We’re moving too fast,” Sunghoon whispered, almost like he was trying to convince himself. 

“You think we’re moving too fast?” You asked curiously. 

“I just don’t want our first time to be like this. I don’t want to be full of guilt and regrets.” Sunghoon continued. 

“I want it to be out of trust and love. And I know it’ll take time—but if you’ll have me? I’d never ask for anything else in this world ever again.” 

“And I mean that, from the bottom of my heart, I mean every fucking word.” He choked out with a gentle sob. 

It almost felt like too much. Were things moving too fast? What if he didn’t actually mean it? He had to have some kind of anterior motive. 

But when you glanced into his eyes, all you saw was something broken. A man who was lost, with nowhere else to go. 

You saw it yourself, the meals, the test. The way his arm drifted across your waist as he slept. The way he didn’t press you for anything more—

The way his eyes didn’t leave yours the entire time he confessed. This was your marriage on the line. 

Not his money, not your body. You and only you. 

You and only you are what he was pleading for.

It felt like barbed wire was tightening around your throat as you spoke. It’s like you weren't even thinking. Your heart knew it before your consciousness could even manage. 

“I forgive you.” 

Your voice, hushed and whispered, hit him harder than he could’ve imagined. The words laced with truth, and longing for something that could’ve been this entire time. 

“You don’t have to do that.” Sunghoon rebuttals, his voice shaking like he couldn’t believe how true your words felt in his heart. 

“I want to. Because I—“

“I’m starting to fall in love with you.” You replied. It’s true.

Why else did you go back when he called? Why else did you stay? He didn’t deserve another chance, yet you gave it to him. Deep down, you knew the only reason why. 

It was because you loved him. At least you were starting to.

Sunghoon kissed you, deeper than he ever had before. It was hungry, needy—he poured everything into his breath that he could say with words. 

“And I’m starting to fall in love, for the first time in my entire fucking life.” He chuckled at the absurdity of it. 

“I’m falling deeply in love with you. And I have no plans of stopping.”

Sunghoon pulled away, his flushed ears peaking through the strands of his midnight hair. 

He smirked with disbelief as his hand slid to find your own. His fingertips slot perfectly against yours. 

“Will you come to bed with me?” He asked with a hushed whisper.

“I—I-I…” you choked out, overwhelmed by all the unspoken applications of it.

“We don’t have to do anything. I just want you close.” Sunghoon confessed as you glanced into his eyes. Searching and needy.

“Yeah. I’ll come.” You replied softly. The corners of your lips tugged into a smile before you even noticed it. 

Sunghoon cut out the lights before guiding you up the stairs and down the hall.

The hall that you cried down so many times, the door to his room that you used to stand outside of full of only dread. 

But not anymore. 

The two of you climbed into the king-sized bed together. Except this time, the two of you don’t bother to leave any space. 

The woody scent you’d grown to love filled your senses. Sunghoon's strong biceps were warm against your skin as his arm rested across the curve of your hip. 

And the two of you drifted off to sleep wrapped up in each other's arms. 

⋆⋆⋆

The holiday party was all the office cared to talk about. Seems like the bosses' plan to change the work culture seemed to be working out. 

The night of the party, you came home to change and grab your plus one. 

“Sunghoon? You almost ready?” You called out from the kitchen as you set down your keys and phone like muscle memory. 

“Almost.” He called out from the top floor of the house. His voice muffled as it traced through the rooms and down the hall. 

Just as you turned to head up the stairs yourself, a perfectly wrapped box caught your attention. 

The tag hung off the side of the box as it sat on the dinner table. You stalked closer, curiosity getting the best of you despite the time crunch. 

You lifted the tag between your fingertips. Reading your name scribbled across the tag in Sunghoon's handwriting. 

A gift? For you?

Footsteps caught your attention as Sunghoon came down the stairwell. His dark hair was perfectly styled to frame his features. He smelled like fresh cologne and just the perfect amount of lingering musk. 

“That’s for you.” Sunghoon smiled as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. 

“From who?” You questioned with a contagious smile.

“From me. Go on, open it.” 

Your fingertips trembled as you pulled at the smooth ribbons of the box. 

The sound of wrapping paper tore through the air as you unraveled the gift, heart racing with anticipation of what could possibly be left inside. 

You could hardly breathe as your eyes fixated on what was in the box. 

A necklace. Dazzling, catching the dim kitchen lights. It was delicate and classy. The diamonds perfectly embedded in the silver. 

Sunghoon smiled as his hands slid around your waist. His breath was warm against your ear, his breath shaking as he whispered. 

“Go ahead and get dressed. I can’t wait to see you in it.” 

There was a sharp pause as your heart raced between your ears. 

“This is beautiful, wow…thank you.” You replied as you set the delicate jewelry back into the box.

Sunghoon hummed softly before he pressed his lips to your neck. His touch is featherlight, just below your ear. 

His touch lingered across your waist before he let you go. The tension between you was already so thick. 

Sunghoon leaned against the counter, watching from behind as you made your way up the staircase. 

The minute you got to your room, you locked the door, letting out a breath you didn’t even realize was caught in your throat. 

Piece by piece, you stepped out of your work clothes. 

Your fingertips brushed against the cool satin of your dress as you pulled it over your hips. The ruby red caught the light in a gentle sheen. 

The hem of the tea-length dress stopped a few inches above the ankle. Your hands shook as you reached behind yourself. Biceps straining as you fumbled with the zipper. 

“Goddamit..” you cursed under your breath as you struggled to get a good grip on it. You twisted over your other shoulder for a better shot. 

It was no luck. The metal zipper slipped out of your fingertips once again, leaving the back of your dress hanging wide open. 

The vigorous attempts had you out of breath. With a sharp exhale, your palms found the polished mahogany wood of your dresser. 

After a few long moments of recovery, you tried again. Arms aching as you reached behind to grab the tiny zipper.

“Fuck…” you cursed as the zipper once again slipped through your trembling fingertips. 

Just as you shook out the knots in your arms, a soft knock came from the other side of the door. 

“You almost ready?” Sunghoon called out.

“Yeah, just…getting dressed still.” You replied, grunting as you tried to pull the zipper again. 

You let out a defeated sigh. Trembling as you called out. 

“Can I get some help, actually? The zipper to my dress is stuck and I—“

Before you could even explain yourself, Sunghoon was coming through the door. 

His breath caught as he saw you standing there, the straps of your dress hanging off your shoulders. The skin of your back is open and exposed. 

“Hold still.” Sunghoon muttered, his voice soft as he swiftly closed the distance between you two.

His hands hesitated before they found the zipper resting dangerously low on your back. 

You pushed your hair out of the way in a weak attempt to distract yourself from the warmth of his touch. 

As his fingertips pulled the zipper up, you couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath. 

“There…” Sunghoon muttered, completely breathless as he spun you around by the forearms.

“Thank you…” You replied before nervously smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric of your dress. 

Sunghoon smiled, his eyes softening as he glanced at you in that stunning ruby red gown. 

His hand reached out, gently wrapping your fingers in his own. 

You just watched, breath hitching as high slowly guided your hand to his lips. 

Sunghoon gently kissed the back of your hand. His lips are featherlight against your skin. 

The scene of his eyes fluttered shut and his lips pressed to your skin made you flustered.

“You look beautiful.” Sunghoon choked out. The words were nearly crippling as they fell from his lips. 

"Thank you." You replied, smiling softly as he admired your figure, lips parted in nothing but awe.

Sunghoon licked his lips, his eyes giving you one last look—

"The necklace…" He whispered as he noticed the torn box resting peacefully on the edge of your dresser.

He reached around you to take the diamonds out of the box. His fingers worked with delicacy as he put the silver around your neck.

You nearly gasped as the cold metal of the jewelry hit your skin. Sunghoon was focused as he adjusted the length, letting the pendant hang perfectly across your collarbone.

"God, you look so fucking perfect," Sunghoon whispered as he spun you around, letting you glance at yourself in the large mirror from across the room.

Your reflection stared back at you. The two of you dressed to perfection, the way his hands lingered on your waist—

"I mean it…" Sunghoon whispered, his voice dropping an octave as his hand gently cupped your jaw.

His fingertips were soft as they guided you with his touch. His lips found yours again—soft and chaste. His lips just dared to take more before he broke away with a gasp.

"I think it's time to go." You whispered, clearing some of the tension from your throat as you glanced at the clock on the wall.

"You're right. You ready?" Sunghoon smiled before his touch dropped from your skin, leaving you with a shiver of cold.

"Never been more ready." You replied, following him out of your room and down the hall.

A year ago, you would've never imagined walking hand in hand with him down the same hall that broke you apart. 

And for the first time ever, his touch doesn't feel like it's to prove a point.

⋆⋆⋆

The drive to the venue was peaceful. Your breath fanned against the glass windows as you looked at the decorations outside. 

Houses and lamp posts were lined with twinkling white and red lights. The streets were bustling with people frantically shopping for the holidays. 

"Wow…didn't know we had the budget for this." You whispered as you finally arrived at the address. 

The hotel was nothing short of luxury. Floors and floors of windows expanded beyond you could see into the night sky. 

The valet was already waiting to take the car. Sunghoon passed the keys before swiftly stepping around the front of the car to let you out. 

He offered his hand, the ghost of his breath visible in the cold as he stood out in the open air.

Warmth surged through your heart as you took his hand in yours. Sunghoon gave it a comforting squeeze before pulling you along.

The faint smell of pinewood mixed with peppermint flooded your senses as Sunghoon led you to the conference room.

Loud, muffled chatter could already be heard from the other side of the door. 

Sunghoon finally let go of your hand as he pushed open the double doors. 

The room was modestly decorated. Garland and lights hung by the crown molding of the walls. Christmas trees were perfect and pristinely filled as they lined the walls.

"Wow, so this really is where the budget went." You whispered under your breath as you took in the scenery.

Sunghoon chuckled as the two of you entered the room. 

"Oh my God, he's real!" Your coworker announced, setting down her drink before she closed the distance between you two.

"Yeah, he's real. This is my husband, Sunghoon," You replied as you introduced him. The title rolling easily off your tongue.

"Nice to meet you." Your coworker replied professionally, giving the two of you a casual nod.

"There are drinks over there, like small treats and stuff, too. Help yourself! You know if we don't eat it all it's going to rot in the breakroom for weeks." She replied before another professionally dressed man came into view.

"Right you are." You replied, watching as the man you knew to be her husband wrapped his arms around her lovingly.

The atmosphere was casual, just as planned. There was a mixture of small talk and exquisite laughter. The crowd seemed to talk about all things work and family.

"Sunghoon, is it? I'm Jake from accounting." Your other coworker introduced him self professionally before extending a hand.

"Nice to meet you," Sunghoon replied before giving Jake a firm handshake in return. He was definitely in his element, charming all the guests with his practiced charisma. 

As the two talked business, the details flew right over your head. Ever now and then, you would pick up a phrase or two. 

"We're up twenty two percent from the last quarter—" You heard Sunghoon reply, the words and numbers holding no actual weight. 

The only thing you could focus on was his stance, his confidence, the way his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

Your eyes lingered on his every movement, watching the veins in his forearms as he shifted his drink in his hand.

"Yeah, my wife and I are trying to figure out our next step, you know? Our company offers a generous amount of maternity leave, so we're trying to plan accordingly." Jake said like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The name of your company brought you back into the conversation.

Work, right. This was a work party.

"Wow seems like good benefits. I see why my wife is in no rush to leave." Sunghoon replied casually before taking another sip of his drink.

"We won't have to worry about taking out that benefit anytime soon if you know what I mean," Sunghoon replied with a cheeky smirk.

"What?" You muttered under your breath, your hand hesitant as your grip around his arm loosened.

"Ah honeymoon phase is long gone by now, isn't it?" Jake replied. Earning a deep chuckle from Sunghoon.

"Oh yeah, we've been going through a dry spell, we're lucky if anything can happen before she knocks out for the night. Maternity leave won't be on my mind for a while—"

"Sunghoon." You interrupted, pulling your grip completely away from his arm at his response.

"What I'm just telling the truth, you pass out the second your head hits the pillow." Sunghoon defended, putting his arms up in false surrender.

Your jaw locked with frustration. For one night, can't he just behave?

"Sheesh, twelve months in and things are only going downhill in the bedroom department?" Jake replied. Earning another deep, charismatic laugh out of Sunghoon.

"Tell me about it," Sunghoon replied, smiling before taking another sip of his drink.

You were fuming. The heat was hot as it ran down your neck. You had to get out of there before you did something that would cost you your job for good.

With a shallow attempt at a deep calming breath, you turned on your heel. The door out clear in your sights.

Your palms and heels were sweating, and the lights and decorations all of a sudden felt suffocating.

"Let me grab your contact, and I'll get you in touch with the rep for—wait!" Sunghoon called out as you walked away. His attention dropped from Jake completely as he watched you leave.

"Shit,” Sunghoon cursed under his breath as he left his half-full cup on a nearby table before following you out.

The hotel door slammed hard behind you. The air had grown colder, bitter against all the bare skin exposed by the design of your dress.

“Wait!” Sunghoon called out, reaching out to grab your hand before you forcefully pulled it away.

“I’m going home.” You commanded. Feeling the air between you freeze as you waited for the car.

“What are you feeling okay?” Sunghoon asked kindly, his voice and expression soft as he studied you.

Jaw tight, tears threatening to spill at any moment.

You crossed your arms over your chest for warmth as you waited for the valet. 

“Can we not do this here?” You spat out more pained than venomous.

“Do what? Are you cold?” Sunghoon asked before taking off his blazer and putting it over your shoulders.

His cologne filled your senses, and you were so angry. It felt like your heart was being torn apart between all the memories of the past weeks. It felt like the Sunghoon in that conference room was a completely different person.

“You just don’t know when to stop talking, do you?” You choked out, hot tears falling down your frozen cheeks as the valet pulled the car to the hotel door.

Sunghoon went quiet, letting out a sharp breath as he retrieved the keys before hopping back into the driver's seat.

“That Jake guy—”

“Don't.” You replied, slamming the door to the passenger seat hard before Sunghoon pulled out of the parking lot.

The two of you didn’t speak the entire ride home. Somehow, you mutually knew that would only make things worse.

You questioned everything as you stared out the window. Your job, this marriage, the repair you thought had been mended.

The minute you got through the door, you kicked off your heels.

“Look, whatever I did or said—I’m sorry, okay? I can’t fix this if you won’t talk to me,” Sunghoon pleaded. Locking the door behind him as you stumbled into the dark house. 

“You humiliated me! In front of everyone! Like I don’t already have a hard time at work as it is.” You cried out, tearing his blazer off your shoulders before tossing it vigorously to the floor. 

“I’m sorry…” Sunghoon whispered, his expression turning soft, his movements hesitant, before he stepped closer. 

“You say that a lot these days.” You replied. Smearing makeup across your face as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand. 

“Trust me, I know that.” Sunghoon relied before letting his hands hold the sides of your face. 

Your heart shattered. His own eyes were glassy as he held back tears. You couldn’t help but sob. 

“I—I was just wanting them to like me. I guess I was just trying to look relateable, I didn’t mean to—“

You sucked in a sharp breath as you listened to his words. Your breath was shaky as he held you close to his chest. 

“Hurt you. It feels like that’s the only thing I’m good at.” Sunghoon replied, choking back a sob as his hands dropped from the sides of your face. 

A cold shiver went down your spine at the loss of his touch. 

“But I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I can’t bear to do that,” Sunghoon confessed, his fingertips trembling as he slowly removed the top button of his shirt. 

You let the tears fall as your arms stayed crossed tight over your chest. 

You watched as Sunghoon kicked off his shoes before tossing his car keys on the kitchen counter. 

“Come on. We’re not ending the night like this.” Sunghoon replied, his voice commanding his hand sought out yours again. 

You hesitated before letting your fingertips thread between his own. The gesture made your heart ache with warmth, his touch soothing the cool chill of your skin. 

He led you up the dark stairs before swiftly pushing the door to his room open. 

You sank down onto the bed. You just sat there and stared, legs and knees too weak to move on. 

Sunghoon rolled up his sleeves up to his elbows before he turned on one of his bedside lamps. A soft, warm glow was cast across the room, leaving dramatic shadows across both of your faces.

Sunghoon fell to his knees, his breath sharp as he reached out to brush his fingertips across your thigh. 

“Let me make this right,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice husky and deep as his grip slightly tightened. 

“You made this….us. You played it off as a joke.” You choked out. Your words were harsh, but in the same you couldn’t muster up the strength to brush him off.

“I know, I know…” Sunghoon replied with a shaky breath. 

“Tell me how this feels,” Sunghoon whispered as he wiped away your tears. He leaned in, his breath shaking as his lips hovered above yours. 

You sniffled quietly, but you didn’t pull away. His touch was calming, comforting. And despite everything—

You couldn’t resist.

His lips found yours softly. His touch was so delicate, he kissed you as if at any moment you could break.

And that might have been the truth. 

With a soft whimper, you kissed him back. Warmth spread throughout your body as his lips moved slowly and gently against yours. 

It felt like his touch was healing the wounds from the inside out. Every breath, every gasp, every shutter was stitching up the tears between your hearts. 

You fell into a slow rhythm of push and pull. Sunghoon's hands slid further up your thigh as his lips fell away from yours with a gentle suck. 

The satin fabric of your dress was smooth beneath his fingertips as he subconsciously inched it higher and higher. 

With a weak gasp, Sunghoon tore himself from your lips, panting for breath as he peppered fragile kisses beneath your jaw. 

You tilted your head as he kissed your neck. Taking his time, savoring the angle you just opened up for him to mark. 

“Better?” Sunghoon replied as he pulled away from your skin, leaving behind a faint mark. 

“Better.” You replied, pulling him back into your embrace. 

Your back fell against the mattress as Sunghoon climbed onto the bed. His body seeking out yours with devotion. 

His grip trembled as he pulled apart the next button of his shirt, flashing a sliver of perfectly pale skin beneath. 

His forearms crashed on either side of your head before his lips were back on yours. Hot and hungry, moving with an intensity that wasn’t there before. 

“Oh my God…” Sunghoon panted against your lips. He sucked in a sharp breath as his lips softly brushed back against your own. 

He smiled into another kiss, letting his hips drop in the process. 

You gasped as his hips rolled softly into your own. Just barely, like he himself wasn’t sure of just how far this was going to go. 

“You tell me to stop. I stop…” Sunghoon whispered. His voice was low and raspy as his lips dragged back down your skin. 

Sunghoon's hands pushed the dress further up your thighs. His mouth dragged down your neck before finding its place at your collarbone. 

“Sunghoon..” you moaned. Actually moved as his thumb barely brushed the inside of your thigh.

“Fuck…” he cursed, the top of his ears flushing red at your strangled noises. All brought on by the nature of his touch. 

“My name never sounded better.” 

Sunghoon pulled away to glance into your eyes. His fingertips stopped high on your thigh. 

“I need you to tell me just how far you want this to go,” Sunghoon questioned, his voice shaking as he held back. 

Your chest tightened as you met his gaze. In that moment, the world felt so small. The only thing that mattered was your husband on top of you. The woes of the party and the past were a fleeting thought in the midst of the heat. 

You let out another shah breath, your eyes locked on him and only him before you replied—

“All the fucking way.”

“So you’d let me taste you?” Sunghoon smirked against your skin as his fingertips slipped dangerously high. 

You gasped at his touch, hips lifting off the mattress from just how needy you were. 

And you couldn’t control it. 

It has been so long since you’ve been touched like this. So long since someone—anyone had wanted to make you feel this way. 

And you couldn’t imagine being beneath anyone else. 

“Go ahead…” you replied. Biting back the smile on your lips as Sunghoon pushed the red dress up over your hips. 

You shivered at the cold as he exposed your bare legs and thighs. You shifted nervously under him, but his touch was firm and grounding. 

Sunghoon panted as his fingertips reached between your thighs. Peeing away the delicate fabric already stuck to your damp folds. 

He cursed under his breath at the sight, his jaw fell open as he discarded your panties to the floor. 

“Holy shit…” Sunghoon cursed as he saw you completely bare for the first time. 

Your heart was beating fast. All you could do was lie there and let him stare, let him savor you and everything your body had to offer. 

“You’re beautiful,” Sunghoon whispered softly before he kneeled between your thighs. 

You let out a self-deprecating chuckle as you helped spread your legs. Opening yourself up to him even more. 

Sunghoon's hands slid slowly up the back of your thighs. His lips followed his touch as he kissed between them tenderly. 

Every nip and suck made you shudder. Sunghoon couldn’t help but hold you down to the mattress as he marked and claimed you as his own. 

He left small bruises between your legs, his breath stopping right before he reached where you needed him most. 

And without another word, his mouth found you. 

You gasped deeply at his touch; his touch was soft as he ran a shallow stripe between your folds. He lapped softly at your core like you were something delicate.

“Sunghoon.” You whimpered shamelessly. Your head hitting the pillows as he left you spread wide open. His tongue flicking between your damp folds.

His eyes flicked up to meet your own as his mouth lapped at your pussy. He was already drunk on you, on your scent, on your taste.

“Fuck…you taste amazing.” Sunghoon groaned into your pussy. His fingertips dug into the soft skin of your thighs as he gently lapped at your entrance. His eyes rolled back at the taste before he explored you more. 

“Oh fuck—“ you cursed as you felt the tactical flicks of his tongue. Sunghoon was studying you. Every flinch and gasp he pulled from you only dragged him on more.

Sunghoon gripped you tight as his lips found your clit. His tongue ran lazily around the bus as he savored you. He flicked at the slower nub with shallow, teasing licks—

“Fuck!” You cried out even louder at his motions. Your thighs trembled as he let his focus lock on that sensitive aching bud. 

With a deep groan, your fingertips slid down to thread in the midnight strands of his hair. The softness helped to ground you, keeping you from slipping out of consciousness from his efforts. 

Sunghoon let out a primal groan as your hips bucked softly into his face. One of his hands slid from your thighs to the lower part of your stomach to hold you down as he continued to feast. 

You cried out his name. Shuddering against his mouth as he held you down. Heat pooled low in your stomach where he was holding you down. Sweat ran down your back as your hot skin melted into the cool sheets.

“Sunghoon I—“ “Don’t hold back.” Sunghoon groaned into your dripping cunt. His lips found your clit again, placing flat, thick stripes against it before sealing his mouth around it. 

“Oh my god…” You whimpered, hips lifting off the dampened sheets to chase his tongue. You didn’t even realize how hard you were pulling at his hair. 

Sunghoon let out a satisfied groan as he felt your thighs trembling against his ears. He was completely lost in it all. 

His eyes fluttered shut as he savored the desperate pleas from your lips; he took it all in. Your taste, your smell, the softness of your skin beneath his grip. 

“Sunghoon!” You cried out, thighs trembling, hips bucking sharply against his mouth. 

Your toes curled as he pushed you over the edge with nothing more than his tongue. You felt one lick, then two, before the rhythm had you gasping for air. 

You came hard. His tongue fucking youthrough your orgasm like it was second nature. Arousal rushed through your body like the aftermath of a broken dam. 

You shamelessly coated his tongue as you came. Waves of your glistened arousal coated his lips and chin. 

After what felt like eternity, your body started to come back down from the high. The grip you had on Sunghoon started to loosen as your thighs found their place back on the mattress. 

Sunghoon continued to eat you out through your orgasm. His mouth kisses you through every shutter and writhes. 

When you fell lip against the sheets, Sunghoon released his grip. Giving your cunt a few short licks before he came up for air. 

You watched breathless, chest tight as he wiped your come from his lips with the back of his hand. 

His tongue then darted out to savor the rest before he climbed back up your body. 

Without another word, his lips were back on yours. A deep growl escaped from his throat as his body pushed impatiently into your own. 

You kissed him back, letting your lips move hot and slow against his own while your hands worked to remove the buttons of his shirt. 

Sunghoon shirked against your lips in response. His breath caught as he took your lips in his, the taste of you mingling with the scent of him. 

“Do you have any idea how good you taste?” Sunghoon confessed, breathless against your lips as you peeled away the layers of his shirt. 

The dim light cast soft shadows across his bare figure, highlighting the muscles and curves of his arms.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” Sunghoon whispered as he tossed his shirt to the ground. His hands were immediately back on your body. Brushing against the cool red satin.

“I've wanted something real…I never thought you’d want me like this, and I guess that’s why the joke—“

“Shh…” you replied. Your expression, soft as your fingertips, cupped the sides of his face. 

Sunghoon let out a soft whimper at your touch. With an intimate gasp, he turned his head to brush his soft lips against the inside of your palm. 

“I know I either talk too much or not enough…I’m a complete fucking wreck.” Sunghoon chuckled with a self-deprecating tone. 

Your lips dropped into a slight frown as you held him. 

“Hey, look at me…” You whispered, watching as your thumbs brushed gracefully across the soft angles of his cheeks. 

“Remember all those weeks ago. When you called me back after I stomped out.” You replied, remembering the moment all too vividly. 

“How could I forget? I saw you, I saw everything just crumbling apart.” Sunghoon replied, letting his dark eyes finally lift to meet your own. 

“You told me you wanted to learn to love me.” You replied. Sucking in a sharp, shaky breath before you continued.

“I do…God, you’re already my everything,” Sunghoon replied, kissing your palm again before meeting your gaze. 

“I don't want you to feel like you have fix everything…” You whispered intimately. Voice so soft you almost couldn’t hear it over the sharpness of his breath. 

“It’s all my fault, though…the reason you're hurt, the reason you’ve been hurting.” Sunghoon continued, letting his head drop to your shoulder as he pulled you in close. 

“Sunghoon. Do you love me? Because I swear to god if you do? If this is real?”

“I love you. I fucking love you. You’re my wife, my everything.” Sunghoon interrupted. His voice was sharp without a stutter. 

He lifted his head to kiss you again. Heated and messy with no coordination, only sheer desperation. 

“Then let’s make this real.” You replied. Lifting your hips to meet his own. 

Sunghoon's eyes widened as he got the message. After all this time of push and pull of waiting—

His hands immediately went to the back of your dress. You sat up just enough for him to pull the zipper down. His fingers were hot and trembling. 

He pulled back, glancing at you lovingly before pushing the fabric down your shoulders. 

Sunghoon couldn’t help but watch in awe as each inch of skin was revealed. Slowly, he took his time peeling away the layers one by one. 

Your dress was soon discarded alongside his shirt. The two of you fell against the bed so naturally. Bodies melting together like two perfect pieces of a puzzle.

Your legs parted as his hips fell against your own. You couldn’t help but wimper at the feeling of his hard, heavy cock being held back. 

Sunghoon returned your smirk as he grinded down softly, just giving you a preview of what he had to offer. 

“So we’re really doing this? Are you sure this is what you want?” Sunghoon whispered as your hands found his waist. Sliding to the front of his pants.

“I want this more than anything.” You relied, biting your lips as you pulled down the zipper. 

Sunghoon moaned softly as your knuckles grazed his cock. God, he was so sensitive already. The two of you knew this wasn’t going to last long. 

You felt heat rush to your head as you finally freed him. Pushing his boxers and pants down past his thighs. 

Sunghoon kicked off his clothes, letting them fall somewhere he paid no mind to.

His cock was already thick with need. Flushed and leaking at the tip. Precome slapped against his stomach as his cock sprang free. 

You trembled at the sight. He was so big—

“You can take it. I know you can.” Sunghoon replied softly as he saw the shock and worry on your face.

He leaned in. Kissing you as his hands guided you into position. 

“Can’t believe it took you a year to realize…” Sunghoon chuckled at your response to his size. 

“If I realize beforehand? We would’ve fucked along time ago.” You teased back with a smile. 

Sunghoon tore his lips from your own, letting them latch beneath your jawline as his hips settled against yours. 

“I guess we’re going to have to make up for lost time,” Sunghoon replied as his cock slid between your hot, slick folds. 

Sunghoon's jaw fell open as he felt you already so wet from his touch and your orgasm. 

“Shit, I’m not gonna last,” Sunghoon confessed with a breathy laugh. His hands slid between your bodies, lining up his cock and adjusting the angle of your thighs. 

“Don’t care. I’ll take that as a compliment.” You replied confidently, letting Sunghoon push your thighs apart just right. 

You gasped as he notched the top of his cock in your entrance. Slowly letting his hands slide across your skin before he penetrated your hole. 

“Ah—it’s a lot.” You moaned. The feeling of just his tip had your toes curling against the sheets. 

“This is the only time I want you hurting from now on…” Sunghoon grunted as he pushed in another inch. 

“Fuck.” Your back arched off the bed as you shouted another curse. Sweat started to pool at your brow, and he was hardly even halfway into your cunt. 

“Fuck you feel unreal…I’m already gone for this pussy.” Sunghoon groaned, shifting his grip on the sheets on either side of your head. 

You glanced into his eyes, your nose brushing against his as he shifted further in. The rim of your entrance is burning at the invading stretch. 

“Shit—I’m seriously already about to come,” Sunghoon whispered against your lips with a grin. His hands tightened around your thighs, pushing them back towards your chest. 

He opened you up enough to take him; his lips softly kissed you through every moan as he filled you to the brim. 

You felt tears pooling in your eyes as his heavy cock finally thrusted all the way inside your wet, warm walls. 

“You still with me?” Sunghoon asked, lifting a hand to cup your cheek as he started to move. 

The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard tapping the wall with every thrust of his hips.

Sunghoon panted, breathless and euphoric as you took every single one of his inches and ridges. 

Your tits bounced with the force of his thrusts. Sunghoon watched from above, his gaze lingering on how perfect you looked all laid out and full of him.

Your hands clawed at the back of his shoulders as you pulled him close. The heat is finally satisfying in the best way as your bodies are molded together as one. 

Sunghoon watched you with an expression nothing short of awe. After a moment, he dropped his forehead against your own. 

You whimpered as his hands slid down your body, helping to angle your hips just right. He thrusted into you slowly and deeply, groaning with pleasure as you pulsed around him. 

It felt so right. His touch, his words, his glances. 

And for the first time, you truly felt seen. 

Sunghoon panted as he kissed you again, taking the air from your lungs. His hips were gentle yet precise. Every moment is calculated to prolong your pleasure. 

You didn’t even know what to say. All you could do was hold him close as he whispered sweet praise against your skin. 

He pulled an airy gasp from your lips as he thrust deep into your heat. The tip of his cock tapping against your cervix—the gesture making your thighs clench.

“Ah, Sunghoon.” You moaned, letting your hands slide through his hair and across his skin with no direction. 

Sunghoon bit down hard on his lip as you clenched around him. Your wetness drips down the inside of your thighs from the force of his thrusts. 

“Too much?” He questioned, gripping the sheets roughly as he pulled his hips back.

“Just enough.” You replied, letting your hands slide down his body to pull him back into you. 

Sunghoon let out a breathless laugh as he continued. His abdomen tightened, his pace faltering. 

He was close. 

“I’m—shit I’m close you feel too fucking good.” Sunghoon laughed with disbelief, his hips shuddering above you once more. 

“Will you come inside?” You asked, eyes widening as the words left your mouth without even thinking. 

“Yes. Hell fucking yes.” Sunghoon smiled against your lips as he kissed you senseless. His grip tightened around you as he drove faster into your cunt.

“I love you so fucking much.” Sunghoon gasped, his jaw falling open as he drove into you one last time before he came. 

Heavy breaths fell from his lips as he filled you with his come. The moment was so tender and intimate, the only thing you could feel was him painting your walls with evidence of himself. 

After a few short thrusts, Sunghoon fell limp against your shoulder. The two of you are basking in the aftershocks, full of nothing but pleasure.

You kissed his head, taking your fingertips through the sweaty strands as his heart raced against your chest. 

“Sunghoon?” You choked out, your voice cracking with emotion. 

“Yeah?” He replied with a hum as his body only sank further into yours. 

The smell of sex filled the air, the faint lingering scent of his cologne now felt like it was taking on new meaning.

You opened your mouth to reply, your mind screaming at you to tell him what had been repeating in your head.

And with a sharp breath, you replied…

“I love you too.” 

He lifted his head and glanced into your eyes lovingly as he gently pushed your hair behind your ear. 

“Thank you for giving me one more chance,” Sunghoon whispered deeply. 

Your expression softened at his words, your heart swelling with warmth and love. 

“After everything, all I wanted was for you to give us a chance. That’s why I couldn’t bring myself to really leave.” You choked out with a sniffle.

“You’re the only one who’s ever even tried to see me, like really see me,” Sunghoon replied. 

“Trust me, I know when someone’s hurting. And to be honest, that’s really what I saw.” You vented. 

“So you’ll have me? All of me? Even with the messy past and shitty mistakes?” Sunghoon questioned. His eyes pained as he held back a sob. 

Your heart melted as you smiled up at him. 

The man on top of you wasn’t the same one who you stood next to at the altar. 

No cameras, no witnesses…

 Through all the tears, the fights, the misunderstandings. He still fought for you. 

And in that moment, you realized, despite the circumstances—

You couldn’t have chosen better yourself. 

“As long as you meet me halfway. I’m yours.” 

⋆⋆⋆

kates note: thank you guys for waiting for this fic!! My life has been so crazy, mentally I wasn’t in the best place and I just had awful awful writers block. But the good news is I’m feeling a lot better and have been writing again! I missed all my mutuals and amazing followers. I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as me. I’d love to hear your thoughts so don’t be afraid to holler in the tags or in my inbox. Good news is I’m working on some requests as well as another sci-fi fic at the moment! So hopefully it won’t be long until next time.

like always take care!

xoxo kate

𑣲 perm. taglist: @aggarwaldrishti @kristynaaah @vanillaxbambi @ninistranaut @dulcetnostalgia @1-itsneverthatserious-1 @nesquikluvr @osakinanadesu @m1kkso @yazmike @lovcheol @luvksnn @taesnumber1 @kookiesnkim @skzenhalove @seungsoftly @ziiao @opalsunrise64 @wondash @saraabbasii-blog @wonniezzkitty111 @angelhyuka

𑣲 fic. taglist: @miauumin @mrsjhonnysuh @defonotsanni @starfire21 @foreveronez @fouldiplomatpapershark @devdozes @woofie-nctzen-fanarts @astrohypen @allinitformofusand @jessica-fazer67 @st4rg1rlies @kiminpixels @nsfwoosan @axfyl @chubbypeach2111 @insolcewinter @vixensss @mixxie2203 @sunghoonsluv @quilevyt @avikadostoast @vrusha01 @wondash @01209r @kikidoul @amortenha @nishimurarizzler @daemyratwst @h7llow @run2gyuz @skzenhalove @mahungexe @justpassingdontworry @urfavlocalgirly

[si3rren-deactivated20260204]

VOTE BABY — park sunghoon (crack)

reminder to vote for enhypen otherwise he wont let u bust a nut yall

————-

You barely make it out of your bedroom before a hand wraps around your wrist. Sunghoon's grip is firm, cold like his expression, and effortlessly pulls you backward. The door shuts behind you with a dull click. His body pins yours to it, all height and sharp scent—clean, expensive, cruel.

“Going somewhere?” he asks flatly, voice low, eyes unreadable.

You hesitate. “I was just… gonna grab water—”

He tilts his head.

“Wrong answer.”

His hand slides under your shirt, so casually you forget how to breathe. His lips brush your jaw, then your neck. You can feel him smirk when you shiver.

“You weren’t gonna vote for us, were you?”

Your heart stops. “What?”

“You think I don’t check your apps?” he whispers. “I saw the screen time. Instagram: 4 hours. Tumblr: 7 hours. Mnet Plus?”

He pauses.

“Zero.”

You open your mouth to defend yourself. He doesn’t let you.

Sunghoon lifts you with one arm, shoving your legs around his waist. He presses you harder to the door, his knee slotting between your thighs. His voice is all silk and threat.

“Here’s how this works,” he says coolly. “You vote, you come.”

You blink. “W-What—”

“You don’t vote…”

He leans in. Kisses you so deep your brain melts, then pulls back before you can even react.

“…you don’t even breathe.”

You’re flushed, dizzy, half-ruined already.

Your phone buzzes.

He takes it from your hand and opens it with your passcode—how does he know it???—and shoves it right back.

“Open. The. App.”

Your hands tremble. “I—I think I deleted it—”

He freezes.

“You what?”

“I just needed storage—”

He steps back. Doesn’t say a word. Just stares at you.

Sunghoon turns to face the camera.

You didn’t know there was a camera.

You don’t know where it came from.

You don’t know how it got there.

He stares right into it like he’s in a Calvin Klein ad but terrifying.

“Listen carefully.”

His voice is cold. Final. Like he’s narrating your death.

“Download Mnet Plus. Vote Enhypen. Or she doesn’t finish. No exceptions. I’m not even horny. I’m just disappointed.”

You: “Sunghoon—”

He doesn’t blink.

“I will walk out of this room.”

You: “Wait—”

“I will walk out of this room with blue balls just to prove a point.”

You: “What point???”

He glances down at you. His expression is unreadable. His voice is a whisper.

“That you don’t deserve to come until we win.”

Cue black screen. Static buzz. Your phone is somehow on full brightness and logged into your alt account. Sunghoon’s voice haunts the silence.

“Vote Enhypen. Or no nut.”

——-

anyways vote for enhypen 😔

[heesunghooney]

yall i think sunghoon packed my order for me but idk

[heesunghooney]

I LOVE THIS SM WARGHHHHHH BRB DYING

[heesunghooney]

proud owner of these pics btw RAHHHHH

[cherry-lala]

Welcome Home, Outsider

Pairings: Dark!Heeseung X Fem!Reader

Genre: Thriller/Angst, Dark Themes Wordcount: 14.1k+

Summary: A hidden village welcomes you as if you were expected. Their kindness feels rehearsed, their smiles too wide. When you meet Heeseung, charming but unsettling, you realize escape is more than dangerous-it might be impossible.

Warnings: Abduction, Captivity, Gaslighting, Psychological Manipulation, Violence, Blood, Gore, Attempted Escape, Chains/Restraint, Obsession, Yandere Behavior, Power Imbalance, Mind Control/Influence, Claustrophobia, Stalking, Forced Proximity, Loss of Autonomy, Implied Torture, Emotional Distress, Creepy Tenderness, Survival Horror, Identity Erasure Themes. Non-con themes, Dom!Heesung, Mean heesung, force intrusion.

A/N: THIS IS ONLY FICTIONAL DONT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY! my first really dark fic and yea… enjoy~ Taglist: @kristynaaah,@won1yoiz

More from this Anthology: Phantoms & FairyTales

The highway should have been familiar by now. You’d driven it this morning, coffee in hand, radio humming, heading back from a three–day work trip in the city. The presentation was over, the deal was signed, and all that waited for you at home was silence and your own bed.

Your phone was balanced between your shoulder and ear, your friend’s voice filling the car. You laughed at something she said, then glanced at the clock glowing pale blue on the dash. Late. Later than you wanted. The trees were thick here, walls of dark green pressing close, and the bars on your phone screen dipped to one, then none.

“Ugh,” you muttered, the call cutting into static. “I’ll call you back—”

But she never heard it. The line went dead.

You huffed, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. “Stupid trees,” you mumbled. Branches arched overhead, heavy with summer leaves, blocking out what was left of the evening sky.

You tightened your grip on the wheel, gaze flicking to the road. Except… this stretch didn’t look right. You didn’t remember the curve bending so sharply, or the way the guardrail ended abruptly at a stand of pines.

It had to be your memory playing tricks. This morning you’d been running on caffeine, sunlight sharp through the windshield. Everything looks different at night, you told yourself. Shadows make strangers out of ordinary things.

Still, unease prickled at your neck.

You decided to keep driving a little longer—just until your phone found a signal again. Worst case, you could turn around. But then your gaze fell to the fuel gauge.

The needle hovered over the red line.

“Great.”

The gas light blinked on just as the road opened to reveal something impossible: a small town tucked neatly between the trees, as though you’d driven into a memory you didn’t own. Warm lights glowed in shop windows. A fountain gurgled softly in the square. People strolled the cobblestones with baskets and lanterns, their faces open and smiling like a festival was underway.

Relief washed through you, sharp and immediate. You slowed, easing into the square where a gas station stood at the corner—a modest one, a single pump beneath a slanted roof, the kind you’d expect on a postcard.

Perfect. Just enough to fill up and head back to the real road. Just enough to be gone.

You pulled up, killed the engine, and stepped out into air that smelled faintly of bread and rain. The pump clicked loudly in the stillness, but when you reached for your card, the slot was covered with a strip of brass, tarnished smooth by years of use. No scanner, no keypad, nothing modern. A small bell above the station door jingled and an older man leaned out, his apron smeared with oil.

“Out of gas?” he called, voice too cheerful for midnight.

“Yeah,” you admitted, lifting your wallet. “Can I—?”

He shook his head before you could finish. “No need.” He pointed at the pump handle. “It’ll work just fine. Fill her up, outsider.”

The word snagged at your ear, sharp against the otherwise ordinary sentence. You frowned. “Sorry, what?”

But he was already gone, the bell jingling as the door closed behind him.

You pumped the gas anyway, because what else could you do? The numbers on the dial spun sluggishly, like an old clock reluctant to tell time. When the tank was full, you slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key—

—and the engine sputtered once, then died.

“Seriously?” you muttered, trying again. Dead.

Before you could curse, someone knocked on your window. You jumped, heart vaulting to your throat. A woman in a linen dress stood there, smiling as though she had been waiting for this exact moment. Silver hair caught the streetlamp, her hands folded neatly at her apron.

You cracked the window. “Can I help you?”

“Oh,” she breathed, like your face was a long–lost photograph. “You made it.”

“I think my car—”

“Not to worry. Come along.” Her tone was gentle but left no room for refusal. “You must be hungry after such a drive. We’ll take care of you.”

Something in your chest urged you to say no. But the night pressed close, trees hemming you in, the scent of bread drifting faintly through the rain. And you were hungry. So you locked the car, shoved the useless phone into your pocket, and followed her.

The town square opened around you like a stage. Cobblestones slick with drizzle, lamps glowing golden, the murmur of voices threaded with laughter that stopped too quickly. Children drew chalk patterns—suns, moons, circles that looped endlessly. The fountain burbled steadily, drip… drip… drip, like it had never once stopped.

The woman guided you toward a small shop with striped awning and warm light spilling onto the street. The bell over the bakery door chimed sweet and high, and heat washed over you: loaves stacked neatly, jars of jam glinting like jewels.

The baker behind the counter looked up, his face breaking into a wide, delighted smile that felt practiced to perfection. “Look who’s here,” he said, removing his flour–dusted cap with theatrical reverence. “Welcome home.”

Your stomach twisted. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I don’t live here.”

“Not yet,” the woman beside you replied lightly, as though you’d made a clever joke. She sliced a piece of bread, steam ghosting up, and pressed it into your hands. “Eat. You’ll feel better.”

The bread was warm, soft, salt and butter melting on your tongue. Too good to spit out, even as unease grew sharp in your throat.

The baker’s smile faltered—just for an instant. His eyes went oddly vacant, like a curtain dropping inside him. Then his mouth moved, words spilling in a voice that didn’t belong to him: calm, steady, low enough to vibrate in your bones.

“Welcome home, outsider. The Keeper is watching.”

The bread turned to ash in your mouth.

You backed away. “What the hell was that?”

The woman laid a hand on your wrist, her pulse steady beneath papery skin. “Don’t mind him,” she said, smile unbroken. “He’s only tired.”

But the baker kept smiling, that same hollow shape plastered back into place.

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how heavy the bread sat in your hand. The woman’s touch lingered a second too long before she gently guided your wrist down.

“You must be tired,” she said softly. “It’s late. My husband is good with cars—he’ll have a look in the morning.”

You started to protest, words stumbling out. “No, really, if there’s just a tow service or—”

“There isn’t,” she cut in, though her voice never lost its softness. “But don’t worry. One night under a roof, some rest, and by sunrise you’ll be back on your way.”

One night. That sounded manageable. You only needed one night.

The baker had already turned away, humming tunelessly, slicing into another loaf as though nothing strange had passed his lips. You forced yourself to move, forced your body to accept the warmth of the bakery as if you hadn’t heard him speak with a voice that wasn’t his.

The woman introduced herself as Mira, and the name fit her too well—like it had been polished for you before you ever arrived. “Come,” she urged, holding the door open. The rain outside had quickened into steady lines, cobblestones shining slick under lamplight.

You followed, because what else could you do?

Her house was only a few doors down. Small, tidy, ivy crawling up the stone like it had been painted there. The air inside was warm, scented faintly of herbs and old wood. A man sat at the table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, spectacles perched low on his nose as he fiddled with a lantern wick. He looked up, and his smile was slower, steadier than Mira’s—less practiced, but no less certain.

“This is my husband, Rowan,” she said.

Rowan rose, offering a hand that was calloused but dry. “Mira tells me your car wouldn’t start.”

“Yeah.” You rubbed the back of your neck, embarrassed at how shaky your voice sounded. “I thought maybe it just needed more gas, but—”

“Likely something simple,” Rowan interrupted, like he’d already decided. “I’ll take a look in the morning light.”

Mira was already bustling about, setting a kettle on the stove. “Sit, sit. You’ll catch your death standing there in damp clothes. You’ll stay the night with us—there’s no inn worth walking to in this weather.”

You hesitated. The protest rose again—no, you’d rather wait with your car, no, you didn’t want to impose—but it sounded weak even in your own head. And outside, the rain was steady, the night darker than it had any right to be.

“One night,” you said finally, voice low.

Rowan’s smile deepened, like he’d been waiting for that answer. “One night is all you’ll need.”

The guest room was small but clean, a quilt folded at the end of the bed, a lamp flickering faintly on the nightstand. Mira pressed a cup of tea into your hands, the steam curling into your face, carrying something floral you couldn’t place.

“You’ll sleep sound,” she promised. “Tomorrow will be easier.”

Her words were so calm, so certain, you almost believed them. You set the cup aside, murmured a thank you, and closed the door.

But as you slid beneath the quilt, staring up at the low ceiling while the rain tapped against the glass, unease crawled under your skin.

You told yourself you’d be gone by sunrise—before anyone else could mistake your name, before another voice spoke through smiling lips.

Just one night. That was all.

The first thing you noticed when you woke was the quiet. Not silence, but quiet in a way cities never had — the muffled hum of voices outside, the gentle slosh of water somewhere close, the distant thud of feet over cobblestones. Sunshine streamed through the curtains, warm against your face, and for a moment you could almost believe last night had been a bad dream.

You dressed quickly, pulling on yesterday’s jeans and t-shirt, eager to leave. Minnie would be waiting at home, probably curling against the window the way she always did when you were gone. And your friend was no doubt texting and calling, worried you hadn’t checked in. You needed to get out of here, charge your phone, call back, go home.

The town looked different in daylight. When you stepped outside, the cobblestones shone pale under the morning sun. The fountain in the center of the square sparkled like crystal, children laughing as they tossed flower petals into the water. Merchants wheeled carts of fruit and bread into neat rows, voices bright as they called greetings to one another. Everywhere you looked there were smiles, warm and easy.

It should have calmed you. It almost did. Except… no one had a phone. Not a single person glanced at a screen, tapped a keyboard, or even slipped earbuds in. You scanned the square again, double-checking, waiting to see the flash of metal in someone’s hand. Nothing.

Maybe, you reasoned, they didn’t need it. Not with no service out here. You told yourself that was it. Just a quiet town clinging to simpler ways. Still, it left your throat dry.

Rowan was already crouched by your car, sleeves rolled up, a rag tucked into his belt. The hood was open, the engine’s dark guts exposed. You froze when you realized he had the keys — dangling from his finger as he leaned in to check something.

You didn’t remember giving them to him.

“Morning,” he greeted easily, straightening with a faint groan. He wiped his hands on the rag. “Not good news, I’m afraid. Starter’s dead.”

You frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. The car’s new. Just got it a few months ago.”

Rowan shrugged, expression calm but unreadable. “Machines fail when they want to. Don’t matter how old they are.”

Suspicion coiled in your gut. Maybe he didn’t know what he was talking about. Maybe he was stringing you along. Either way, you needed help from outside. You dug for your phone, thumb flying to the little “SOS” tucked in the corner of the screen. For a flicker of a second, the red letters glowed, searching.

Battery: 2%.

The screen blinked once, twice—dead.

You reached for your charger, only to remember it had been in the car last night. Now it was nowhere. Not in the glove box, not in your bag, not anywhere you checked.

Rowan must have seen the panic crease your face. He rested a reassuring hand on the hood of your car. “Don’t worry. I’ll fetch a replacement part from one of the shops. Might take a day. By tomorrow, you’ll be on your way.”

Another day. Your chest tightened. You wanted to argue, to demand a tow truck, to insist he was wrong. But his gaze was steady, his voice certain in a way that made the words settle heavy in your stomach.

“Thanks,” you muttered, swallowing down the bad taste. “I guess.”

You left him to it, walking back into the square.

The townsfolk were everywhere now, basking in the sun, their chatter low and melodic. Heads turned as you passed, conversations pausing. Their eyes lingered on you—not unfriendly, not cold. Something else. Like they knew you. Like they’d been expecting this exact shape of you in their square for a long time.

You shifted uncomfortably, shoving your hands into your pockets.

That was when a woman with hair braided down her back stepped forward, balancing a tray of warm rolls. “You must be hungry,” she said brightly. “We’re having brunch in the square. Please, join us.”

Another man, tall and broad-shouldered, appeared at her side with a jug of juice. “It’s no trouble,” he added quickly, almost eager. “It would honor us.”

Your stomach growled at the smell of butter and sugar drifting from the tray. You thought of Minnie, of your friend, of the dead phone and the car you weren’t sure you’d get back. A day wouldn’t kill you, you reasoned. And food—real food—might help you think clearer.

“Sure,” you said finally, forcing a small smile. “Why not.”

The woman’s smile stretched, almost too wide, before softening back into something more natural. “Wonderful. Come sit.”

You followed them toward a long wooden table set near the fountain, where others were already gathering, chairs scraping over the cobblestones. As you sat, the sun caught the water behind you, throwing fragments of light across the square. Everyone’s voices blended into a warm hum.

It was almost nice.

Almost.

Because even with the bread on your plate and the sun on your shoulders, you couldn’t shake the way every introduction started the same way—

with your name, spoken like they’d practiced it long before you ever gave it to them.

The bread was soft, dusted with sugar that clung to your fingertips. A clay cup of cider sat by your plate, the steam curling lazily into the warm air. The chatter around the table was easy, cheerful, as though you’d been sitting there your whole life instead of ten uneasy minutes.

“So,” a woman across from you began, tilting her head like she already knew the answer, “where did you say you were traveling from?”

You swallowed, forcing casual. “Just… the city. Business trip.”

Nods all around, murmurs of interest. The man beside her leaned in. “We don’t get many visitors here. You’ll find the quiet suits you.”

Your stomach knotted. “Yeah, well, I don’t plan to stay long.”

The words dropped into the air, flattening the chatter around you. For a beat too long, no one moved. Then, as if someone had given a cue, the smiles returned all at once.

The woman laughed lightly. “Of course. Everyone says that at first.”

You frowned. “Everyone?”

“Other outsiders,” she said, still smiling, though her fingers twisted the edge of her napkin.

Something cold slid down your spine. “Outsiders? What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer. Or rather, her mouth moved, but the words that came out were softer, too calm, threading through her usual tone. “The Keeper brings who He wills.”

Your fork froze halfway to your mouth. “Who?”

Her smile held, but her eyes darted to the man beside her. He picked up seamlessly, voice bright again: “Eat, eat! You’ll need your strength.”

You pressed. “No, really. Who’s The Keeper?”

That pause again — the way air seemed to thin. People’s hands stilled over their cups, spoons hovering in bowls. Then, in perfect unison, they looked at you and smiled with identical softness.

“The Keeper keeps,” one man said.

“The Keeper watches,” another added.

“The Keeper is why we stay,” murmured the woman, though her lips trembled faintly, like she wanted to say more.

You gripped the edge of the table. “So… he’s your mayor? Your priest? What?”

A silence heavier than thunder spread across the square. Children’s laughter from the fountain faltered, then stopped altogether.

Finally, the broad-shouldered man at your side leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered words he should not have known:

“He’s the voice behind every locked door.”

You turned sharply, but his smile was already back, wide and harmless, as though he’d said nothing.

Another villager across from you met your gaze, eyes glazed and distant. Her voice dropped, barely a whisper, yet you heard it as though it pressed against your ribs:

“Every shadow at dusk belongs to Him.”

Your pulse thundered. You pushed your chair back, the legs scraping against stone. Dozens of eyes followed you, their smiles calm, steady, as though nothing had slipped at all.

Rowan’s words from the morning clawed back into your mind: Tomorrow. Just one more day.

You realized, then, that every single person at this table knew you wouldn’t be gone tomorrow.

The pajamas were soft, woven from a fine fabric that breathed against your skin. Mira had handed them to you last night, saying they were a gift from the town’s seamstress. The strange part wasn’t the comfort—it was the color. Your favorite. A shade you had never mentioned, not once. You brushed it off as coincidence, as a lucky guess, but the thought itched at the back of your mind.

You lay awake in the borrowed bed, staring at the low ceiling. Every creak of wood, every sigh of wind through the shutters, made your chest feel tighter. The villagers’ smiles from earlier, the slips in their voices, the way they’d said your name like they’d known it for years—all of it replayed in your head, tangling into something you couldn’t smooth out.

Anxiety wound itself around your ribs, but your body betrayed you anyway. Your eyes grew heavy, lids sinking. Just before sleep claimed you, a whisper threaded through the quiet.

Your name.

Followed by the softest, steadiest murmur: Welcome home.

You jolted, but the weight of sleep dragged you under before you could move.

You woke to screaming.

Bolting upright, your heart hammered against your ribs, breath sharp. The sound was high, shrill—panic, terror—until it broke into giggles. Children’s laughter.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, pressing a hand to your chest. Just kids playing. Nothing else.

The sun was already spilling across the room, warm and golden, bright enough to chase the shadows from the corners.

You dressed quickly, freshening up in the small bathroom. On the chair, folded neatly, was another gift: an olive-green dress, light and soft. You hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t expected it. Another villager’s kindness, Mira had said. You slipped it on anyway, telling yourself it was only practical—you needed a change from the dirty clothes you’d arrived in.

It fit too well.

The square looked almost identical to yesterday’s morning. Laughter around the fountain, merchants arranging fruit and bread in neat rows, neighbors greeting each other with warm voices.

You didn’t linger. You went straight to the gas station where Rowan had worked on your car yesterday.

Your steps faltered.

There was no Rowan.

No hood popped open.

No car.

Your car was gone—like it had never been there.

Panic surged cold through your veins. You spun and sprinted back toward Mira’s house, bursting through the door.

Rowan and Mira sat at the table, calm as ever, breakfast spread neatly between them. Rowan chewed thoughtfully, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and looked up at you.

“Where’s my car?” you demanded, your voice cracking with fury.

Rowan blinked, unbothered. “What car?”

Your stomach dropped.

“The one you were fixing yesterday!” Your voice shook as you nearly shouted it. “The one I drove here in!”

He only looked at you with calm patience, as though you were raving. “Y/N… calm down. Sit. Eat. You’re hungry, that’s all.”

“No,” you snapped, the word scraping raw from your throat. You turned desperately to Mira, but she met you with the same unnervingly gentle expression.

“Yes, sit, sweetie,” she said softly. “You’re not yourself today.”

Frustration clawed at your chest, hot and unbearable. “Not myself? You don’t know a damn thing about me!” you shouted, voice breaking. “Just give me my keys, tell me where my car is, and I’ll leave this fucked town!”

Their voices overlapped then, low and coaxing, trying to calm you like you were some panicked animal.

You couldn’t breathe in there.

You bolted from the house and ran. Through streets, around corners, past homes with curtains drawn tight. You searched until your legs gave out, every street looping back into the same circle. No matter where you looked, your car was gone.

Tears burned hot in your eyes as you stumbled to the sidewalk and sank down. The villagers passed by in pairs, whispering behind polite smiles, their eyes darting to you but never lingering long.

You pressed your face into your hands, sobbing, when a voice—warm, human—cut through.

“What’s a pretty girl like you crying for?”

Your head jerked up.

A man stood above you, tall, his dark hair catching the sunlight. His smile was warm—not practiced, not hollow. Real. Handsome in a way that made your breath falter.

You didn’t answer. Just stared.

He didn’t seem offended. Instead, he chuckled softly and lowered himself to sit beside you on the stone curb. He extended a hand, steady and open.

“Name’s Heeseung,” he said, voice low, as if sharing a secret just for you. “I was wondering what the uproar in town was about.”

He chuckled again, but his eyes—calm, knowing—stayed locked on yours.

And in that gaze, you felt something shift. He wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t empty.

For the first time since you arrived, you weren’t sure if you should feel relieved… or even more afraid.

You sniffled, wiping the back of your hand across your face, but Heeseung’s smile didn’t falter. He stayed right beside you on the curb, not too close, not too far, his presence steady in a way that quieted your shaking chest.

“I… I came here with my car,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. The words rushed out like water from a broken pipe. “I stopped for gas, it wouldn’t start, and Rowan—Mira’s husband—he was fixing it. But now it’s gone. It’s just—gone. They said it never existed.”

Heeseung tilted his head, frowning lightly in sympathy. “That sounds awful.”

Your throat tightened. “It doesn’t make sense. It was right there yesterday.”

He nodded slowly, like he was weighing each word before giving it back to you. “This town…” He looked out toward the square, where villagers moved with their usual warmth, their greetings tossed into the air like petals. “They don’t really use cars. Never have, not much reason. Someone might’ve… taken it. Curiosity, maybe.”

“Stolen?” you whispered, heart pounding harder.

His gaze returned to you, soft but steady. “It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened here.” His lips curved, almost apologetic. “I don’t think it was Rowan, though. He’s… simple.”

The knot in your chest loosened, just slightly. Maybe it wasn’t madness. Maybe it was theft. That, at least, made sense in the world you knew. But why did Rowan lie?

Heeseung rose smoothly to his feet and held a hand out. “Come on. Sitting in the street won’t help. Let me get you something to drink.”

You hesitated—every instinct warned you not to follow strangers here—but his hand stayed open, patient, not pushing. Against your better judgment, you slid your palm into his. Warm. Real.

He guided you further into town, weaving through the narrow cobblestone streets. People turned as you passed, their faces lighting up with greetings. “Morning, Heeseung,” a man called from behind a fruit stall. “Morning, Heeseung,” echoed a woman balancing flowers.

Heeseung smiled back at each one, raising a hand casually, but he didn’t slow. He didn’t stop. His attention never left you for long.

Finally, he pushed open the door to a small shop where the air was heavy with citrus and herbs. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with jars of dried fruit and glass canisters of tea leaves. The woman behind the counter smiled warmly at him, then at you, though her eyes lingered on you just a beat too long.

“Two Ice teas,” Heeseung said smoothly before you could protest. “On me.”

The woman nodded and disappeared through a doorway.

He led you to a table by the wide window. Sunlight filtered through the glass, spilling in soft gold across the table. The square outside looked almost idyllic — children chasing each other, dogs trotting happily after them, laughter carrying through the air.

For the first time since you arrived, you felt your shoulders ease. Just a little.

When the drinks arrived, fragrant with peach and hibiscus, Heeseung gestured for you to take the first sip. It was sweet, refreshing, settling the churn in your stomach.

“So,” you said finally, voice still low. “What about you? You’ve lived here your whole life?”

He leaned back, fingers tapping idly against the mug. “Yeah. Since I was young. This place is all I’ve really known.”

“You’ve never left?”

He shrugged. “Only once. When I was a kid, my parents took me out to visit family. I don’t remember much. Just that it felt… loud.” He smiled faintly, eyes flicking to yours. “Everything outside feels louder.”

There was something wistful in the way he said it, but also something guarded. You couldn’t tell if he was hiding a memory or reshaping it to fit the story.

“You don’t miss it? The outside?” you asked, leaning forward.

His smile softened. “Why would I? Everything I need is here.”

The words were simple, almost comforting. Yet something about the way he said everything sent another chill creeping up your spine.

Heeseung leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes steady on yours. “Listen,” he said softly, his voice carrying a calm weight that smoothed the edges of your panic. “My parents are out of town right now. But when they’re back in two weeks, they can take their car. They’ll be happy to drive you out.”

Two weeks.

The number made your pulse spike at first, but Heeseung’s tone was so certain, so practical, that your body betrayed you with a wave of relief. Two weeks was long, but it wasn’t forever. You could manage that.

Jessica would definitely be worried by now. She had Minnie, your cat, and she’d already be trying to reach you. If your phone stayed dead, if no word came, Jessica would go to the police. A missing person’s report, a search — someone would come looking.

Whether it was through Heeseung’s parents or the authorities, one way or another, you would get out. The thought steadied you.

You cradled your glass of tea, the cold grounding your hands. “Two weeks,” you murmured. “I can… I can wait that long.”

His smile softened, almost triumphant but kind. “Good. No need to tear yourself apart in the meantime.”

He took a sip of his tea, then leaned back, watching you with that unreadable calm. “Besides,” he added lightly, “there’s a lantern festival tonight. I’d like it if you came with me.”

You blinked. “Lanterns?”

He nodded. “It’s nothing big. Kids decorate their own, we light them by the fountain, watch them float. You’ll see—it’s beautiful.”

You hesitated, Mira and Rowan’s faces flashing sharp in your mind, their calm gaslighting smiles. The thought of sitting at their table again made your throat close.

Being with Heeseung… that was different. Bearable. Almost normal.

“Okay,” you said finally, surprising yourself. “I’ll go.”

Night came and the square glowed with paper lanterns in every shape and size. Children crouched over tables, painting flowers and stars across the delicate surfaces. Parents watched nearby, their voices a steady hum of laughter and gentle scolding.

It looked like any festival you could have found back home. Ordinary. Safe.

Heeseung sat with you at one of the tables, handing you a brush with a grin. “Here. Prove you’re not terrible at this.”

You laughed weakly, dipping the brush in paint. The bristles dragged clumsy shapes across the lantern’s pale surface. A crooked star. A lopsided flower. A streak of blue where you hadn’t meant one.

Heeseung leaned over, his own hand steady as he traced a perfect arc. He glanced at your lantern, then back at you, smirking. “Not bad. But—” he gestured to the kid on your other side—“he’s beating you. Look at that dragon.”

The boy next to you beamed proudly at his masterpiece. You rolled your eyes, chuckling. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Heeseung laughed—an easy, warm sound that tugged at your chest. For a little while, you forgot the missing car, the whispers, even the weight of your dead phone. The square shimmered with color, lanterns bobbing like stars plucked from the sky.

For the first time since arriving, you let yourself breathe. Maybe, just maybe, you could survive this place long enough to leave.

Two weeks. That was all.

And if Heeseung kept smiling at you like that, you thought maybe you could even stand it.

By the time the sun slid beneath the treeline, the whole square glowed. Lanterns hung from strings crisscrossing overhead, painted in colors that caught the last of the light and made it dance. Children darted between the tables, giggling, their hands smudged with paint. The fountain shimmered, reflecting a hundred tiny suns.

You held your lantern carefully, the paint on its surface still a little damp. A crooked flower bloomed across one side, the star you’d tried to draw tilting like it might fall. Imperfect, but yours.

Heeseung brushed past you, his shoulder grazing yours just enough to make you aware of it. He held his own lantern — elegant arcs of green and gold curling like vines around its frame. He was grinning, eyes lit with amusement.

“You’re proud of that one, huh?” he teased, nodding at your lantern.

You rolled your eyes, but smiled. “It has character.”

“It has… something,” he said with mock-seriousness, and you nudged him with your elbow. He laughed, the sound spilling easy into the night air, mixing with the hum of the crowd.

When the first match struck, silence fell in a wave — the kind of hush that meant anticipation, not fear. Lanterns lit one by one, their paper bellies filling with golden light, until the square seemed to glow from within. The children cheered, voices high and bright, their faces shining.

“Ready?” Heeseung asked, his voice softer now.

You nodded, fingers tightening around the thin bamboo rim.

Together, you bent low, letting the candle heat swell inside the lantern. The paper warmed, trembling faintly, alive in your hands.

“On three,” he murmured. “One… two…”

You let go.

Your lantern rose clumsily, wobbling as it fought the air, but then it steadied. It floated upward, joining the others that drifted higher and higher, tiny stars set free into the dark.

Heeseung’s lantern lifted beside yours, its green and gold gleaming like fireflies tangled in vines.

The two of you tipped your heads back, watching. Around you, laughter and cheers filled the air. A child clapped wildly as his lantern outpaced the others. Couples leaned against one another, pointing up at the glowing sky.

You felt your chest loosen for the first time since you arrived. No whispers, no strange slips in voices, no unsettling smiles. Just light, laughter, and Heeseung standing close enough that you could feel his warmth.

For a moment, it was easy to forget the gnawing dread. Easy to believe this place could be beautiful.

You glanced at Heeseung. The lanterns’ glow painted his face in soft gold, his smile gentler now, quieter. When his eyes met yours, it wasn’t with the hollow certainty you’d seen in everyone else. It was alive.

“See?” he said. “Not everything here is so bad.”

You smiled despite yourself, the sound of children’s giggles wrapping around you like a blanket.

For now, you let yourself believe him.

Just for tonight.

The lanterns dimmed behind you, the laughter of children fading into the hum of the village. Heeseung walked beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, quiet but steady. His presence made the shadows feel less heavy.

As the familiar shape of Mira and Rowan’s house came into view, your steps faltered. You slowed until you stopped completely, staring at the neat window boxes glowing under lamplight.

Heeseung tilted his head. “Something wrong?”

You hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t… I don’t feel safe with them.”

His brows knit together. “Mira and Rowan? They’re good people.”

“Good people don’t lie.” The words left you sharper than intended. “They told me my car didn’t exist. They looked me in the eye and acted like I was crazy. That’s not kindness, that’s manipulation.”

Heeseung went quiet, studying your face. For a long moment, the only sound was the distant drip of the fountain in the square.

Finally, he nodded, thoughtful. “I see.”

Then, after another pause, he said softly, “I’ve got spare rooms at my place. If it makes you feel better, you can use one until you leave. No one will bother you there.”

Relief crashed over you so fast you nearly swayed. “Really? Thank you. I—thank you.”

His lips curved into a small smile. “Come on. It’s not far.”

You followed him through quieter streets, further and further from the square until the lantern glow faded behind you. The path narrowed, lined with trees that bent overhead.

“How far do you live?” you asked, glancing at him.

“Not far,” he said easily. “My parents own a place on the outskirts. They like the quiet—not too close, not too far. Big enough for when family visits.” He chuckled at your raised brow. “And, honestly, they travel a lot. Work keeps them outside the village more than here. They wanted a house that felt worth coming back to.”

The side-eye you gave him made him grin wider. “Don’t worry. I promise it’s still home.”

When it appeared, you almost stopped in your tracks.

The house rose from the trees like something cut from another world. Larger than the cottages in town, built of pale stone with a peaked roof and broad windows that reflected the moonlight. A porch wrapped around the front, lanterns glowing softly at each post. The garden was tidy but wide, hedges shaped neatly, a gravel path leading to the door.

And there—just barely visible through one of the windows—you caught the faint flicker of a television screen. Technology. Real, modern.

Heeseung noticed your glance. “My parents don’t mind a few conveniences,” he said with a small shrug. “They say it makes coming back easier after weeks away.”

Inside, the air was warm, scented faintly of cedar. The entryway opened into a spacious living room with deep armchairs and a long couch. A low shelf held books, their spines worn, and a flat-screen sat against the far wall. The kitchen gleamed in stainless steel, jars neatly labeled, a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter.

He led you up the staircase, your hand gliding over the polished banister. Upstairs, the hall stretched quiet, doors on either side. He opened one near the end and stepped aside.

The room was simple but cozy — a wide bed with a thick quilt folded at the end, curtains drawn half-open to let the moonlight in, a dresser with a small lamp glowing amber. A rug softened the wooden floor, patterned in pale greens and cream.

“This’ll be yours,” Heeseung said. “Bathroom’s across the hall. And don’t worry — my room’s downstairs, so you’ll have the whole floor to yourself. Privacy, space, whatever you need.”

You stood in the doorway, staring at the room like it was a mirage. A safe space, a place of your own, at least for now.

“Thank you,” you whispered, turning to him. “Really.”

He gave a small bow of his head, lips curving. “Get some rest. You’ve had enough for one day.”

As his footsteps faded down the stairs, you sank onto the bed. The quilt was soft, the lamp warm. For the first time since arriving, you felt something close to comfort.

Almost enough to forget the whispers that had followed you since the moment you entered this village.

Almost.

The sun slipped through the pristine glass window, pouring across the quilt in golden stripes. Morning light had a way of softening everything, and in that glow you noticed the room more clearly. The pale green rug, the cream-colored dresser, even the weight of the quilt—it all looked like your taste, almost uncomfortably so.

It could’ve been your bedroom back home.

You stretched, groaning a little, and glanced down at your olive-green dress. White flecks dotted the fabric—paint from the lanterns. You sighed, brushing at them half-heartedly, then remembered you’d forgotten your other clothes at Mira’s house. No way were you going back there.

You crossed the room, pulled open the closet.

Rows of dresses greeted you. Most in shades of olive, a few skirts and shirts, even a couple pairs of jeans folded neatly. They looked crisp, untouched—like they’d been hung just yesterday.

You frowned, your mind catching on a question you hadn’t thought to ask. Did Heeseung have a sister? He’d never mentioned one. And if he didn’t… oh god. Were you sleeping in a dead girl’s room? About to wear her clothes?

Shaking the thought away, you reached for a simple yellow dress stitched with tiny sunflowers near the hem. When you slipped it on, it fell perfectly against your frame, hugging in all the right places like it had been tailored for you. Too perfect.

You shoved the thought down. Shoes from yesterday still fit, so you slid those on and headed toward the bathroom to at least make yourself look alive.

Inside, you paused. The counter gleamed, lined with bottles of skincare you recognized—products you used yourself. Same brand, same colors. There was even a hairbrush, bristles clean, waiting.

His mom must have good taste, you told yourself quickly, forcing your shoulders to relax. Just coincidence.

When you finished, hair neat and skin cooled from the products, you crept down the stairs as quietly as possible. You hated being the first awake in someone else’s house. But as luck would have it, Heeseung was already up.

The smell of pancakes hit you first. He was plating food in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, a small smirk tugging at his lips when he saw you.

“Oh. Good morning,” he said warmly. “Hope you like strawberry pancakes and hash.”

You froze mid-step. “I—uh—yeah. I like strawberry pancakes. And… hash.”

Your voice felt too small in the kitchen’s quiet.

He motioned you over, sliding a plate across the table. You sat opposite him, letting the sweet steam of strawberries fill the silence. For a few minutes, the only sound was the clink of forks against plates.

Then he looked up, his eyes skimming over you, and smiled faintly. “That dress suits you.”

You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks. For a second you forgot you’d even put it on.

“Thanks,” you muttered. Then the questions tumbled out before you could stop them. “That brings me to ask… whose room was I sleeping in? Was it your sister’s? The clothes in the closet—they look new. Did she never get to wear them?”

You heard the edge of nerves in your own voice, sharper than you’d meant.

Heeseung finished chewing, swallowed slowly, and set his fork down. His expression stayed calm, patient.

“I don’t have a sister,” he said finally. “My mother… she collects clothes when she travels. Cities outside, markets she likes. She buys more than she needs. When her closet fills up, she leaves the extras in the spare rooms. Simple as that.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh, nodding. “Ohhh… okay. That makes sense.”

It didn’t make perfect sense, but you wanted it to. You wanted the explanation to be enough.

So you took another bite of pancakes, the taste too sweet on your tongue, and pretended it was.

You focused on your plate, cutting into the pancake, pretending the simple act of eating was enough to keep your mind steady. The strawberries were bright and sweet, the hash savory and warm. It should have been comforting.

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, fork twirling idly in his hand as his eyes studied you. Not invasive, not sharp — just steady.

“So,” he said finally, voice casual, “what’s waiting for you back home?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged lightly. “You’ve been restless since you got here. People don’t usually cling that hard unless there’s something they’re afraid of losing.”

You chewed slowly, stalling. “I have a friend. Jessica. She’s probably worried sick by now. And my cat, Minnie.” You gave a small laugh, softer than you meant. “She’s not good with new people. Probably hiding under the bed the whole time I’m gone.”

His lips quirked at that. “So… one friend, and a cat.”

The way he said it made your throat tighten. You set the fork down. “That’s enough.”

He held up his hand. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just… sometimes people leave thinking they’ll be missed more than they are. Sometimes they’re wrong.”

The words landed heavy, twisting against the small comfort you’d been holding onto — Jessica, the police, someone coming to look. You dropped your gaze to the quilted table runner, tracing a seam with your fingertip.

“She’ll notice,” you muttered. “She has to.”

Heeseung tilted his head, considering you. His expression wasn’t mocking, but it wasn’t pity either. It was… knowing.

“I’m sure she will,” he said gently. “But in the meantime…” His gaze softened, almost playful. “Why not make this feel a little less like a prison and a little more like a vacation?”

You snorted, surprised at your own laugh. “Some vacation.”

He smiled, pushing his plate aside. “I could show you around today. Parts of town you haven’t seen yet.”

You hesitated, the memory of Mira and Rowan’s calm denial flickering sharp in your chest.

But Heeseung’s tone was easy, like an open hand. And the thought of staying cooped up in that room — in that perfect room — made your skin itch.

“Okay,” you said finally. “Show me.”

His smile widened, warm enough to trick you into forgetting, just for a moment, how dangerous forgetting could be.

The morning sun made the cobblestones glow, warming the square as the village stirred awake. Heeseung walked at your side, hands in his pockets, posture loose and easy, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“See?” he said, nodding toward a row of stalls being set up near the fountain. “Better in the morning. Less crowded, more… alive.”

You smiled faintly, though your eyes caught on the details. Every stall was perfectly arranged—apples stacked in neat pyramids, loaves of bread tied in identical twine bows. Too neat, too uniform.

“Very alive,” you murmured.

A woman sweeping her porch paused as you passed, her eyes trailing over you with that same strange awe you’d felt yesterday. Then, like flipping a switch, she smiled at Heeseung. “Morning.”

“Morning,” he echoed smoothly, tipping his head before leaning closer to you. His shoulder brushed yours. “Don’t take it personally. You’re new. They’re just curious.”

“Feels more like I’m under a magnifying glass,” you muttered, shifting.

He gave a low chuckle, the sound curling into your chest. “Well, you make a better view than most.”

You rolled your eyes, but heat crept into your cheeks. “That’s your way of making me feel better?”

“Is it working?” His grin widened just enough.

You shook your head, but you didn’t move away.

He led you toward a narrow lane that smelled faintly of herbs. Gardens bloomed behind low fences, vines climbing in perfect symmetry. Too perfect, you thought again, like someone had trimmed each leaf to match.

“Who takes care of all this?” you asked, slowing to glance at a rose bush without a single blemish.

“The villagers,” Heeseung answered easily. “Everyone does their part.”

You raised a brow. “Everyone?”

He shrugged. “It keeps the town looking nice. Don’t tell me you don’t like pretty things.”

Your gaze flicked back to him, and he smirked knowingly.

The path curved and opened to a small plaza with a fruit shop tucked at one corner. The air was sweet, citrus drifting from the open door. Heeseung held it for you with a mock bow. “After you.”

Inside, the shopkeeper’s smile stretched wide, eyes flicking to Heeseung before landing on you. She greeted him warmly, then hesitated just a moment too long before greeting you.

It was subtle—if you weren’t already suspicious, you might not have noticed.

You chose not to mention it.

Heeseung plucked an orange from a basket, tossing it lightly between his hands before offering it to you. “Try it. Sweeter than anything outside the village.”

You took it, your fingers brushing his. He didn’t move them away right away, and for a second you didn’t either.

Finally, you cleared your throat and tucked the fruit into the crook of your arm. “Thanks.”

His grin softened, less teasing now, more thoughtful. “See? Not everything here is meant to scare you.”

You wanted to argue, to point out the stares, the way everything felt arranged, but instead you let the moment hang. Because his eyes were warm, his voice low, and you were tired of fighting every second.

So you played along. Just for now.

The first week slipped past like honey, slow and thick.

Every day, Heeseung found time for you. Sometimes it was small — walking you down the lane to the market, slipping you a candied chestnut from a stall. Sometimes it was grander — taking you to the orchard at the edge of town, showing you the river that glittered silver under the afternoon sun.

He could’ve spent his days with his friends, you thought, but he didn’t. He was at your side, always.

You met a few of them anyway — Jake with his easy smile, Jay with his sharp humor, a couple others your age. They were friendly enough, laughed in the right places, but something in their posture felt off. They always hung back a little, only approaching you when Heeseung was there. And when he drifted a few steps away, they drifted too, like you were tied to his orbit.

Still, not everything was heavy. You found your favorite spot in town: a bookstore on the corner, its windows smudged with dust, its shelves crooked with age. The air inside smelled like paper and lavender. The old man at the counter barely looked up when you came in, only nodded once in acknowledgment.

It was quiet there. Peaceful. The one place you felt like you could think without eyes following you.

But even with those small comforts, the oddities piled up.

And Heeseung… he was attentive. Too attentive.

You couldn’t deny you liked being with him. He made you laugh, made the days easier. But whenever you tried to slip away — just for a walk by yourself, a moment to breathe — he always found you.

Once, in the bookstore, you’d tucked yourself into a chair by the window, deep into a novel. The quiet was soothing, the first real silence since you’d arrived. But then the bell over the door rang, and a shadow fell over your page.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be here,” Heeseung said with a smile, sliding into the seat opposite you.

You frowned faintly. “Didn’t know I had to.”

He only grinned wider. “You don’t. I just like knowing where you are.”

The words should have felt protective. They didn’t.

Other thigs lingered in your mind.

Every night, at exactly the same time, the church bell rang once. Just once. No matter the weather, no matter who was in the square. The sound stretched through the dark, low and steady, and the streets would grow quiet for a moment before life picked back up.

And the children — they were always playing in circles. Chalk on stone, hopscotch patterns, games that looped endlessly. But sometimes, when you passed, they’d stop mid-game and stare at you. Not for long. Just long enough for your skin to crawl before they went back to skipping, laughing like nothing had happened.

At the end of the week, you lay awake in your borrowed bed at Heeseung’s house, staring at the ceiling, replaying it all.

The bookstore. The laughter. His smile.

And underneath, the way he always knew where to find you. The way the town seemed to anticipate your wants before you spoke them. The way “normal” never lasted longer than a moment.

You told yourself you’d survive two weeks. One down. One more to go.

But a voice deep inside whispered that the town wasn’t going to let you leave at all.

You carried that whisper with you the next day, tucked like a splinter under your skin.

The village looked the same — too perfect, too ordinary — but now every smile felt like it hid a secret, every laugh too rehearsed. You decided to test it. Nothing dramatic. Just… questions.

At the fruit stall, you lingered while the shopkeeper stacked pears into a pyramid. “Heeseung mentioned his parents a few times,” you said lightly. “ Are they away often?”

The man’s hands stilled on the fruit. Then, with a brisk nod, he said, “They’re busy people,” and turned sharply, calling to a woman across the square as though you weren’t standing there at all.

Later, you tried Mira, hoping the familiarity might loosen her tongue. She pressed a loaf of bread into your hands, warm and butter-scented.

“Did you know Heeseung’s parents well?” you asked. “Before they started traveling?”

Her smile never faltered. But she didn’t answer. Instead, she smoothed the paper bag around the loaf, tied it with a neat string, and said, “You should eat while it’s warm.”

The dismissal was so gentle it made your stomach turn.

Jake and Jay were harder. They’d been kind to you when Heeseung was around, so you waited until he was gone, then caught them near the fountain, tossing a ball back and forth.

“You’ve known Heeseung forever, right?” you asked, trying to sound casual. “What are his parents like?”

The ball slipped through Jake’s hands and thudded against the stones. He didn’t laugh the way he usually would. Instead, he bent too quickly, scooping it up, his face hidden. “They’re not around much,” he muttered.

Jay cleared his throat, sharp in the quiet. “Heeseung’s the one you should ask.” His tone was final, not unkind — but it felt like a wall slamming shut.

They didn’t stick around after that. Both mumbled excuses and left, their retreat stiff, like they could feel someone breathing down their necks.

By the time you circled back to the square, frustration burned hot in your chest. The villagers weren’t just avoiding the question. They were avoiding you.

Every time you pressed, their eyes flicked somewhere else — to the church tower, to the fountain, to nothing at all. It was as though an invisible thread tugged their gaze away, pulling them back into silence.

And each evasion fed the same gnawing thought:

Maybe Heeseung didn’t have parents at all.

Maybe the house you slept in wasn’t theirs.

Maybe it had never belonged to anyone but him.

That night, you lay in bed again, staring at the ceiling. The house was quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that listens. You pressed your hands flat against the quilt and tried to slow your breathing.

One week. That’s all you needed to last.

But with every unanswered question, every smile that shut you down, the walls of the town pressed closer.

And the whisper returned, steady as the church bell in the dark:

You’ll never leave.

Two mornings later, you found yourself back at the kitchen table.

The smell of food wafted through the air — warm, familiar. Vegetable omelette, one of your favorites. You should’ve been grateful. Instead, you only pushed your fork through the omelette , cutting neat lines without ever lifting a bite to your mouth.

The silence stretched, heavy.

Then Heeseung’s voice broke it.

“Why are you going around town asking about my parents,” he said suddenly, “when I’m right here?”

The words were sharp enough to make your stomach twist. Not curious. Not hurt. Accusing.

Your head jerked up, eyes wide. “I—” you stammered, throat dry. “How did you—”

His gaze didn’t waver. Calm. Knowing.

You swallowed, forcing your voice steady. “I just wanted to see how well-known your parents are to the townspeople. They don’t mention them. Only you.”

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, his expression unreadable but shadowed with something that wasn’t kindness.

“I already told you enough about them,” he said flatly. “Why do you need to know more?”

Your pulse spiked, but you forced your words out, measured, calm. “Because all this seems a bit odd to me, is all. It’s only natural. New environment, new people… I want to understand where I’m staying.”

Heeseung stared at you for a long, suffocating moment. The clock ticked faintly on the wall. Your fork trembled in your hand.

Then his chair scraped back against the floor, the sound sharp enough to make you flinch.

He rose slowly, his face still calm, almost gentle — but his voice was smooth and steady in a way that made your skin prickle.

“It’s best you stop digging before you fall in the hole.”

The words hung in the air like smoke. He didn’t wait for your reply. He only turned, his footsteps quiet against the floorboards, and disappeared through the doorway.

You sat frozen at the table. The food on your plate was still steaming, but you felt cold all over, like the warmth had drained from your body.

For the first time, there was no mistaking it.

This didn’t feel right.

This wasn’t safety.

This was a cage.

And if you didn’t find a way out soon, you knew you’d never get the chance.

You spend the next morning like a cartographer with a fever — not mapping roads or rivers, but habits. If you can’t trust what people say, you can at least trust what they do.

You start small and obvious: the church bell. It rings once at exactly eight every night — not morning, not noon — and the sound settles over the town like a metronome. You note it with a pencil in the margin of your makeshift notebook: BELL — 20:00 single strike. You watch the fountain; the children, true to habit, are always there at ten, chalk in hand, looping circles until noon. The market stalls bloom at dawn and fold away after three, and the mill grinds steadily every afternoon while the old man hums the same tune. People eat their main meal mid-afternoon, not evening, and lamps are lit by dusk as if someone set a timer across every street.

You mark patterns in the corners of your pages: SHOP OPEN 06:00–15:00. CHURCH BELL 20:00. CHILDREN CIRCLE 10:00 & 16:00. CURFEW? — note question mark. The town begins to look less like a maze and more like a clock, a machine whose pieces move with obedient precision.

Mapping habits would be enough if the world were honest. It is not.

By noon, you’ve sketched a plan: test the road just after the market folds, when fewer people will be on the streets; get past the outskirts before the church bell rings. You’ll watch the miller’s path, the baker’s sweep, and weave between their schedules to reach the lane that seems to vanish into trees.

You don’t tell anyone. You don’t ask Heeseung for advice. You avoid the market front, sliding between stalls and pretending interest in apples while watching faces. You scribble notes on the underside of a napkin and fold it to hide the scrawl. This is a one-person job.

At first it feels clinical, clean — observation instead of panic. Then you notice something souring the air: the people aren’t just moving on their schedules, they’re tracking you while they move. Eyes that used to warm when you passed now cool. Smiles steady into thin lines. Conversations that started bright snap shut when you near. The town has learned the sound of your footsteps.

You test it. You duck down a lane toward the herb garden to note the old woman’s watering routine. You’re crouched behind a low fence, pen poised, when the woman freezes with watering can mid-air. Her head tilts, like an animal hearing a twig snap. Her gaze finds yours, not with surprise but with a simple, practiced acknowledgment — and then she lifts the can and pours water where the soil needs it, not where she was going to. She doesn’t move away. She doesn’t run. She just resumes, slower, eyes not leaving you. It is not curiosity anymore; it’s surveillance.

When you move again, a dozen small, polite faces turn in your direction as if some signal passed through their mouths. You pass the bookshop and the bell over its door jingles — only you never pushed it. The old man watches you, expression neutral as ever, but there’s a line at the corner of his mouth now that wasn’t there before. He doesn’t look away when you meet his gaze. He does not warn you, does not help. He merely accommodates the knowledge of you.

Heeseung is supposed to be avoiding you by your choice, but he becomes the most unsettling of clocks: two beats ahead of yours. You plan to slip out after the miller’s whistle but find him leaning against the mill’s wall, hands tucked into his pockets as casual as a man reading the paper. You decide to duck into the bookstore for an hour, and the bell over the door rings not from your hand but from his shoulder as he slides in beside you, as if his presence triggers the latch.

“How exhausting,” he tells you once, soft and near, when you are crouched in shadow watching the lane. “You keep checking boxes like it’ll save you.” He isn’t accusing. He’s amused. He is, somehow, two steps ahead of your intention and half a step inside your head. You flinch at how easily he knows the rhythm of your day.

You try to press others for more explicit answers — the whereabouts of the town records, the ledger you’re convinced is kept in the mill or the hall — and the cold turns brackish. Where people once offered pastry and idle gossip, they now file past you with a polite averted stare. The baker hands bread to a neighbor without a glance. Children, who yesterday chased each other with blunt joy, now part around you with a careful, slow choreography, eyes lowered. A woman you passed in the square drops a bundle of herbs and walks away as if the touch of you would burn her.

You begin to feel not just watched, but judged. As if some invisible ordinance had been invoked the moment you started asking questions. Their distance is not an accident — it’s punishment in miniature. The town presses closed its doors and shutters in the wake of your curiosity, and each closing feels like a small verdict.

You clutch your notebook to your chest and taste copper; the rawness of being singled out burns hot. Anger stiffens your shoulders into a new kind of armor. This is not merely about being an outsider anymore — it is about your insistence on truth. You will not be gentle with the truth.

At dusk, when the church bell rings once and the square inhales, you sit on the fountain’s edge and pull open your folded napkin. The map is smudged where your hand has sweated, your pen shaky. You trace the routes with your finger, memorizing: mill path, baker’s sweep, market fold, lane to the pines.

They can watch. They can close. They can whisper to their windows and roll curtains away. You decide it does not matter. If they are a machine, you will be the grit in their gears.

You stand, the water catching the last light like glass, and resolve the next step. You will not ask politely. You will not prod with gentle questions. You will make a move. Tonight, you will test the road — not to flee yet, but to confirm the seam where his control begins.

Your hands are steady as you fold the napkin, your jaw set. The town thinks its eyes own you. They are wrong.

One person can start a chain. One person can slip the first gear. You will be that person.

You sat through breakfast like nothing was wrong, fork moving on autopilot while your mind ticked through the plan you’d tested the night before. The pancakes warmed your mouth but didn’t settle the coil in your chest. You laughed at Heeseung’s jokes, replied when he asked about the bookstore, let your fingers brush his across the table when he reached for the syrup—every small gesture measured and harmless, a mask you wore because masks were safer than outright accusation.

Heeseung hummed as he cleared your plate, quiet domesticity that everything in you wanted to trust. He stood, plates in hand, and for a breath the room was ordinary: sunlight on the table, the kettle’s soft whistle from the stove. Then he paused at the doorway, voice soft but flat, as if reciting a weather report.

“The Keeper doesn’t just know your past moves,” he said, looking back over his shoulder with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “He knows your today’s and future moves too. So play carefully—though he doesn’t play nice.”

The words slid into you like cold water. You’d heard the name—The Keeper—but never in a sentence that felt like a warning aimed straight at your spine. For a second the cutlery in your hand seemed too loud, the ticking clock a metronome counting down a secret you hadn’t been given. Heeseung’s smile was small and easy, but the chill it left was anything but casual.

You forced a joke, something light about pancakes, but your laugh came out thin. As you walked out the door, the town’s sun felt too bright, like a spotlight on a stage you didn’t agree to be in. Anger flared under the cold: at Heeseung, at the villagers, at the idea of some hidden voice threading their mouths and thoughts together. The thing called The Keeper could know futures and maps and names—well, fine.

You tightened your jaw until your teeth ached. Let him think he knew you. Let the town bow if they wanted. You were not theirs. Not a puppet. Not a piece in some careful machine.

If he thought control would quiet you, he was wrong. You’d been planning this for days; tonight you would test the seam again, push harder. To hell with his control—if they wanted to play god, you’d burn the rulebook first.

The house breathed like it was asleep.

You pressed a hand to the wall, feeling for any vibration of footsteps, any sign that Heeseung was moving below. Nothing. The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator somewhere in the kitchen, steady as a heartbeat.

This was your chance.

You tied the quilt into a rope with trembling fingers, knot after knot until the fabric bit deep into your skin. The rail near the inside of the window was cold beneath your hands, smooth iron that didn’t creak or bend. You looped the rope around it and tugged, testing the knot, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure someone could hear.

If you’re wrong, if he wakes up…

You shoved the thought down. There wasn’t another choice.

Sliding the window open, you eased your body through. The glass whispered against its track, too smooth to complain, and the night air slapped you awake. You gripped the quilt, lowering yourself into the dark. The rope burned your palms, fabric slipping against sweat, and every muscle in your arms screamed with the effort.

When your feet hit the grass, you crumpled, chest heaving, biting down on a cry of pain. You rolled onto your side and forced yourself up, legs shaking. The world smelled of damp earth, iron from the rail, and the faint sweetness of something blooming in the night.

And then you froze.

The backyard stretched wider than you remembered in daylight, a long field of grass hemmed in by trees. The moon poured silver over everything, sharpening the shadows. At first you thought it was just another shape tucked into the darkness, a mound swallowed by overgrown grass. But then the wind shifted, and the blue tarp flapped back just enough to reveal a curve of metal.

Your breath caught.

You staggered forward, feet crunching over damp grass, pulling the tarp away with shaking hands.

Your car.

Every detail screamed at you: the small scratch by the handle, the dent you’d sworn you’d fix last year, the way the paint caught moonlight like it remembered sunlight. Your whole body surged with relief so strong you nearly sobbed. You gripped the door handle, shaking it, tugging like a drowning person clawing for air.

But the door was locked.

You pressed your forehead to the glass, breath fogging a small circle onto the window. You whispered, “Oh my God, oh my God,” over and over until the words blurred.

Then the realization hit like ice down your spine.

Heeseung knew. He knew you were looking. He’d told you the car was most likely stolen, told you it was gone, told you not to worry. And all this time—hidden here, in his own backyard, under a tarp, as if it were a secret meant only for him.

Your knees buckled. You grabbed the hood for balance, fingers slipping on the cold metal. Your stomach churned so hard it felt like you’d vomit right there.

He lied. He lied to my face. He’s been lying since the moment you met him.

Your hand went to your pocket automatically, searching for the keys. Empty. You patted your jeans, frantic, checked again. Nothing. Of course. Of course he still had them.

The relief that had hit you seconds ago turned inside out, flipping into pure panic. Your throat tightened until it hurt, your lungs refusing to pull air in.

He’s never going to let me leave.

The night suddenly felt heavier, like the trees were leaning closer, watching. Every cricket chirp sounded too loud, every shift of the leaves like footsteps coming closer.

You stumbled back from the car, eyes darting to the windows of the house, every curtain a possible watcher. Your heart hammered against your ribs as if trying to break free.

Don’t look back. Don’t let him see you here. Run.

You clenched your fists, swallowing the bile rising in your throat, and forced your legs to move. Each step away from the car felt like tearing yourself from safety and running straight into danger — but staying wasn’t an option.

You took off into the shadows of the backyard, breath ragged, grass wet against your calves, mind racing with one thought louder than all the others:

He’s been watching me all along

You run before you can talk yourself back into staying. The backyard swallows you and spits you out into a ribbon of service lanes and hedges you’ve memorized during daylight reconnaissance. Moonlight threads through leaves, turning everything into silver lace. Your breath is ragged and sharp. Relief and rage thrash together in your chest — you’d found the car, and he’d kept it from you like a prize or a threat — and you use that heat as fuel.

The alleyways feel narrower at night. Where in the day you’d walked and noticed shutters, flower boxes, the crooked angle of a chimney, now every line looks like a bar, every house a cage. You move on a single-minded current: to the gas station, then out the road, then to the first person with a phone or a truck or decency enough to take you away.

Your feet slap against cobblestones until the sound becomes a drumbeat in your skull. You keep your head low, shoulders hunched, hands hooked near your hips like someone expecting to be grabbed at any moment. The lamp-lits leave dents of shadow on the pavement; curtains twitching cast brief silhouettes you refuse to meet. Somewhere, a dog barks, sharp and surprised, and you jump so hard your whole body vibrates.

The pump at the gas station comes up like a promise. You barrel through the small square, past the fountain that gurgles like an indifferent witness, and the air smells of cool concrete and the faint, greasy memory of motor oil. You don’t check the pump — you only look at the road, the one that threads out of town, and you run straight onto it.

For thirty minutes you run until your legs feel like spun glass and your lungs are knives in your ribs. The town becomes a smudge behind you; the trees thin and the road opens up into honest asphalt and the black sky. You slow, each breath a rasp, your chest heaving. Tears you didn’t realize you’d been holding finally slip out, hot and ridiculous and useless. You press your palms into your thighs and try to breathe like someone teaching herself a trick.

You don’t have a phone — it was lost when the car went missing — so you can’t call anyone. You can only stand there and plead with the empty highway for anyone to come by, any set of headlights to be mercy.

Headlights come like an impossible blessing. A pickup truck’s beams sweep your shape into focus, a wide square of white that cuts the dark. You fling your arms up. You scream until your voice cracks. The truck brakes with a screech, tires burning—metal groans—and the bumper clips your hip hard enough to jolt you forward. Pain blossoms; you stumble but stay upright.

The driver jumps out, face hard and then softens when he takes you in: mud drying into your hair, your clothes wet with dew, eyes blown wide with exhaustion and fear. He gapes, then snaps into action. “Get in. Get in, now!” His tone is terse but his hands are steady as he helps you climb into the cab. The seat is battered leather that smells of road and old coffee. You press against it like it’s a raft and sob into the curve of your arm.

He slams the door and throws the truck into gear. You babble the story quickly — the town, the car in the backyard, the house, Heeseung’s laugh, the way every smile had felt like a lie. You expect laughter, skepticism, some patronizing line. Instead his jaw hardens the more you talk, and he says, “We’ll get you someplace safe. I’ll make a call, get the police—don’t worry.”

Music hums from some dusty radio; a slow song that belongs to another life plays and it steadies you, a thread of normal. You catch your breath and finally glance at his phone in the cup holder, proof that someone in the world still has signal. You open your mouth to ask him to call Jessica, to tell her where you are, to beg the simplest, human thing: a voice that says, I’m okay.

His phone vibrates. He answers. You wait, willing yourself to be patient — two rings, then three — until his voice becomes a calm murmur you can’t make out at first. He listens. You look away, counting the seconds like a countdown.

“Mhm. Yeah. I’ve got her. We’re heading back now,” he says eventually, with a smoothness that’s almost casual.

The three words fold the air out of you. Your head turns slowly toward him as if underwater. Your mouth opens around a sound that is both question and accusation. “You… what do you mean you’ve got her?”

He sets the phone down after hanging up like it’s a thing he’d been meaning to tell you all along, pulls the wheel back with both hands, and looks at you with a smile that’s too gentle. The city sounds leak into the cab from open windows — crickets, somewhere an engine — but the truck feels like a small, sealed cell. He leans forward, voice syrup-smooth.

“You’re safe with me,” he says, as if reciting a charm. “With us. I’m bringing you back home. Where no one can hurt you. Where love will only find you.”

Heat floods your face — not from shame, but from the panic that races under your skin. It’s the wrong phrase in the wrong voice. The way he says we and us makes the truck grow small and metallic. Something in the timbre of his words snaps every taut nerve in you to attention. You realize—like a mouth opening in the dark to reveal teeth—that this man is not an angel or a rescuer. He is part of the machinery you fled.

You lunge. It is reflex, ugly and immediate — a grab for control that feels like the only honest thing you can do. Your hands slam onto the wheel. He moves with you, quick and practiced. A hand clamps your wrist, another presses against your ribs to hold you back. You twist, thumb scraping the vinyl, a desperate animal clinging for agency.

The truck veers. The world tilts. The headlights of a tree rush at you as if the road itself had decided to end. The driver’s voice snaps into rough command and something hard presses to your chest. You pull. He pushes. The truck fishtails, an ugly, terrible sound of rubber and panic. The instrument panel lights smear into long red streaks. Your heart bangs deaf against your sternum.

There’s a metallic cry, a sound like everything tearing. The wheel jerks under your hands; the truck loses its line. For a second time stretches — slow-motion terror: your shoulder slamming into the dash, glass cracking into a spray of cold knives, the world turning to a single, terrible ring around your face. Your cheek meets something sharp; heat blooms and you taste metal. The seatbelt slices across you and keeps you from flying forward, keeps your body from answering the momentum that wants to fling you into the void.

Air is ejected from your lungs, a soundless, ragged animal noise. The radio becomes a faraway bell. Your teeth ache. Blood runs somewhere you can’t see, metallic and immediate in your mouth. The entire truck groans and the world narrows to light, sound, impact.

Then the truck stops — not gently, just a brutal, heaving surrender. For a second there is silence that is thick as wool and full of ringing. Something heavy hits wood. A sound you feel more than hear: the absolute, final thud of the world folding.

Your body is pressed into the seat by force you didn’t consent to; your forehead hurts like it has been folded. You try to move and your arms answer like lead. Every breath hurts. You can’t think; the edges of your vision are dotted with stars and black.

Your body is pressed into the seat by force you never chose. Every rib feels splintered, your forehead pounding like someone folded it in half. When you move your arms, they answer like lead. Each breath is a shallow, tearing thing.

The horn shrieks, unrelenting, a sound so loud it feels like it’s boring into your skull. You fumble at the buckle, shove at the door until it gives, and you tumble out of the cab. The ground rushes up, knocking what little air you had left from your chest. You choke, spit iron onto the dirt, and force yourself to your knees.

The horn won’t stop. That endless, hollow noise screams through the still woods.

Staggering, you drag yourself to the driver’s side. He’s slumped over the wheel, head at an angle that makes your stomach twist. You shove at his shoulder with both hands. “Move—god, move!” He’s heavy, his body unwilling, but with one last desperate heave you manage to roll him off just enough. His arm slides, his hand falls away, and the horn finally cuts out.

Blessed silence crashes down.

You’re shaking so hard your teeth clack. But you remember: a phone. He had one. You need it.

You crouch awkwardly, leaning into the cab, palms scraping glass and plastic as you search. His pockets yield nothing. You bite down on a sob and shove deeper, groping under the dash, until your fingers brush something hard and cold. Metal.

Your hand closes around it, dragging it out from the floor near his feet. A phone. The screen is cracked, fractured into a spiderweb, but when you press the button a faint light glows. Still alive.

A shaky laugh rips from you. Relief and desperation and fury all tangled together. “Fuck you, Heeseung,” you whisper hoarsely, spitting the words like venom.

You shove the phone into your pocket and turn, dragging your battered body toward the tree line. Your legs feel like wet sand, your arm hangs wrong, but adrenaline keeps you moving. Each step deeper into the forest feels like it could be the one that finally gives way — but you keep dragging, branches snagging at your clothes, leaves whispering overhead.

Fifteen minutes. That’s how long you last before your body betrays you. You collapse against a tree, bark biting your back, chest heaving like it wants to split open.

That’s when your pocket vibrates.

The phone.

You rip it out with trembling hands, thumb swiping the fractured screen before you think. No name, just a string of digits glowing in the dark. For a heartbeat you dare to hope it’s help, someone real.

You answer.

“…I thought you were smarter than this.”

His voice. Heeseung’s. Calm. Cold. Too close.

Your mouth goes dry.

“You killed Dan, you know that?” he continues, voice almost bored. “Dan was a nice guy. We don’t take deaths lightly in this town.”

Tears sting your eyes, fall hot down your cheeks. You choke out, “Fuck you, you crazy asshole.” The words shake but they’re sharp, defiant. “I’m never going back—even if I have to die fighting.”

Heeseung only chuckles softly, like you’re a child throwing a tantrum. “Don’t say those bad words, baby. The world out there never treated you right. Jessica never even put out a police report. She’s partying at a bar right now. She doesn’t care.” His voice lowers, intimate, poisonous. “You see? You were never meant for outside. You belong here. With me.”

Your breath hitches, fury clashing with the sick coil of doubt in your chest. “SHUT UP! You don’t know anything about me or Jessica!” You spit the words like fire, though deep inside, some ugly seed of fear twists at what he said.

“Best friends,” he murmurs, amused. “You think best friends don’t lie? She’s been with your ex before, hasn’t she? That night she swore she was at the jazz festival? Maybe she wasn’t.”

Your silence betrays you. He takes it as permission to go on, his voice lowering until it feels like it’s in your ear, not the phone. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll deal with her. But you—” a pause, a breath, “—you need to be taught what happens when someone breaks the Keeper’s laws. Nobody betrays me without punishment.”

The line crackles. And then—

The sound shifts. His voice isn’t in the phone anymore.

It’s around you. Between the trees. Echoing in the dark.

“Let’s play a game,” he whispers.

Your heart seizes.

“Y/n hides,” the words curl against your spine, “and Heeseung seeks.”

The line dies with a soft click.

Silence again. Except it’s not silence. It’s the woods listening. Waiting.

You clutch the cracked phone in your shaking hands, your chest a furnace of terror and rage, and realize the game has already started.

“If you want to play hide and seek,” you rasp, spitting iron from your mouth, “let’s fucking play.”

The phone slips from your grip and shatters against the roots. It doesn’t matter. The night holds his voice even after the call dies, every tree whispering it back to you: Yn hides. Heeseung seeks.

You press your back to the trunk, tasting blood on your lips, clutching your bad arm to your ribs. The pain is white-hot, dizzying—but it’s nothing compared to the crawling terror in your gut. He’s out here. Maybe close. Maybe everywhere.

Branches groan in the wind. The forest feels like it’s leaning over you, waiting.

Move.

You stagger forward, biting down on the scream that wants to tear out of your throat. You don’t run blindly; you duck low, slipping behind brush, forcing your battered body to be clever even as your lungs burn. Each footfall is muffled by damp leaves, but every crunch feels like a flare.

Somewhere behind you, a laugh threads through the trees. Too close.

“Good girl,” Heeseung’s voice hums, not raised, not strained—like he’s whispering directly into your bones. “Run. Make me chase you. You always look prettiest when you’re desperate.”

Rage slams into your fear. Your jaw tightens. He thinks this is a game. Fine. Games have winners.

You break into a run, stumbling through the undergrowth, dodging low branches that claw at your skin. Bark scrapes your arms raw; brambles tear lines into your calves. Blood wells and runs warm down your skin. Still you move, teeth gritted, because pain means you’re alive.

Your foot catches on a root and you crash forward. Dirt fills your mouth, grit grinding against your tongue. You shove yourself up, coughing, spitting red mud and blood. The crash echoes—and you hear him.

Boots on leaves. Heavy, measured. Not rushing. Stalking.

“Every step you take, love,” his voice slides between the trees, “I feel it. You can’t hide from me. You’re mine.”

You press against the nearest trunk, clutching a sharp, broken branch. Your bad arm screams as you lift it, but you don’t care. Adrenaline chews through the pain.

The footsteps pause. Then a low, taunting whistle cuts through the dark.

You grit your teeth, step out from behind the tree, and swing.

The branch cracks across his forearm before he can dodge. He grunts—not in pain, but surprise—and blood beads where wood split skin. He stares at it, then at you. His smile curves sharp, half-shadow.

“You want to fight me?” He steps closer, slow and deliberate, towering over you even as you raise the branch again. “I like that. Makes breaking you so much sweeter.”

You jab the branch toward his chest. He catches it barehanded, grip iron. The wood bites into his palm, blood slicking down—but he doesn’t let go. He yanks hard. The force rips the weapon from your hands and sends you stumbling forward into him.

His arm wraps around your waist, crushing your bad ribs. Pain lances white-hot. You scream into his chest, clawing at his shirt, nails tearing fabric. He hisses, almost pleased.

“Mine,” he growls into your ear, voice low and fevered. “No matter how hard you run, no matter how loud you scream—you’ll always come back to me.”

You slam your head back against his face. The impact cracks your skull and his nose bursts, blood spilling hot across your hair. He reels, curses—still holding you, but loosened. You seize the moment, wrench your knee up into his stomach. He doubles slightly, enough for you to slip free, tearing yourself from his grasp like skin from a wound.

You run again, wild, the world spinning with pain. Blood streams down your temple, sticky and hot. Your arm throbs, ribs scream, but you don’t care. You don’t care. If this is the end, it will be with you fighting, teeth bared, claws out.

Behind you, his laugh follows—broken now, streaked with blood, but still hungry. You can hear his boots beating against the leaves as he began to run after you.

“That’s it, baby,” he shouts into the trees, the sound echoing too close, too loud. “Fight me. Make me bleed. Make me chase you. Because when I catch you—” his voice drops into a whisper that feels pressed against the back of your neck—“I’m never letting you go again.”

The forest swallows his words, but your heart beats them back at you.

Your body was already giving out, blood slicking your arm, lungs burning with every rasped inhale. You pushed anyway, every step forward a battle, every heartbeat a countdown.

And then—he was there, again ,before you can even think.

Heeseung moved through the trees like he’d been carved from the shadows themselves, his eyes glinting dark in the moonlight. Before you could lunge, he caught you, spun you, and slammed you back against the rough bark of a tree.

Your head snapped back, pain ricocheting down your spine, and his hand was at your throat again, not squeezing fully, just holding—like he wanted to feel every desperate swallow you made.

You clawed at his wrist, nails catching skin, but his grip never wavered. His face was inches from yours, hair falling wild into his eyes, sweat and blood shining on his cheekbones and nose. He was too close, too steady, and the air between you burned.

“Still fighting,” he murmured, voice low, husky with something more dangerous than anger. His thumb dragged slowly along your jawline, smearing dirt and blood like it was makeup he’d painted himself. “God, you look beautiful when you’re furious.”

You spat in his face. A pathetic, trembling act of defiance.

He blinked, then smiled—slow, hungry, like you’d just given him something he wanted. He wiped the spit away with his thumb, and then, deliberately, put the thumb to his lips and tasted it.

Heat crawled up your neck, rage and something else tangled so tight you couldn’t tell them apart.

“You hate me.” His words were a purr, brushing against your ear as he leaned closer, chest pressed against yours, holding you to the tree with the sheer weight of his body. “And yet…” His nose grazed yours, breath fanning hot across your lips. “You can’t stop trembling for me.”

Your whole body shook—not from desire, you told yourself, but from adrenaline, from fury, from exhaustion. But the smirk on his mouth said he’d already decided for you.

“You’re mine,” Heeseung whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, almost gentle if not for the bruising pressure of his hand on your throat. “Every bruise on your skin, every drop of blood you spill—mine. No one else will touch you. No one else will have you. You belong here. With me.”

Your voice broke on a curse. “I’ll never belong to you.”

He chuckled, dark and low, the sound vibrating through your chest where it touched his. His hand slid from your throat to your collarbone, pressing down just enough to keep you pinned, thumb tracing slow circles against the pulse hammering beneath your skin.

“Say what you want, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth, so close you could taste the salt of his sweat. “Your words are fire, but your body…” He leaned back just enough to look you over, eyes roving shamelessly down your trembling frame. “Your body already knows who you belong to.”

You wanted to scream at him, to drive your knee into his gut, to claw his eyes out. Instead you shuddered, breath catching hard in your chest, because his presence was overwhelming—crushing, suffocating, intimate in the most terrifying way.

Heeseung smiled softly, almost tender, as if you hadn’t just tried to kill him. His thumb brushed one last time over your lower lip, smearing blood. Then he stepped back, leaving you to crumple onto the ground, gasping, body shaking not just with pain but with the heat he’d left crawling over your skin.

From above, his voice fell like silk soaked in venom:

"Below me is where you belong."

You lay sprawled on the cold, damp earth, gasping and sputtering as you struggled to catch your breath. Your throat ached fiercely where his fingers had dug into your flesh, bruises already forming beneath your skin. In your weakened state, you could only glare up at him, eyes blazing with hatred and disgust.

"You fucking bastard," you rasped, voice hoarse and ragged. "I'll never be yours, do you hear me? I'll fight you every step of the way until my last breath!"

Heeseung loomed over you, a cruel smile twisting his lips as he listened to your impotent rage. He threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the trees like a madman's cackle. Then, without warning, he lifted his boot and slammed it into your stomach, knocking the wind from your lungs.

You wheezed and choked, curled in on yourself as the pain radiated through your core. Before you could recover, Heeseung grabbed a fistful of your hair and wrenched your head back, forcing your face down into the dirt and debris of the forest floor.

"Shut your mouth, you’re starting to irritate me," he snarled, grinding your cheek into the gritty earth. "You'll scream all you want, but it won't change a damn thing. You're mine now, and I'll use you however I please."

Hot tears of humiliation and fear stung your eyes as you felt him fumbling with his belt, the clink of metal on metal sending a bolt of dread through you. You tried to twist away, to crawl out of his reach, but his grip on your hair was unbreakable.

"No, please..." you whimpered, even as a traitorous part of you quivered with a sick sense of anticipation. "Don't do this..."

But your pleas fell on deaf ears. Heeseung simply laughed again, a harsh, mocking sound that made your blood run cold. Then, with one brutal thrust, he forced himself inside you, splitting you open on his hard, throbbing cock.

You screamed, a raw, agonized sound torn from the depths of your soul. Pain exploded through you, your body rebelling against the violating intrusion. You were dry, too dry, and the brutal invasion felt like being split open by a red-hot brands. Tears poured down your face as you bucked and you screamed again as Heeseung began to move, each brutal thrust punching the air from your lungs and forcing fresh tears from your eyes. The pain was unbearable, your dry walls scraping and burning with every drag of his cock. You felt split open, utterly invaded and claimed in the most violating way possible.

"No, no, no!" you sobbed, twisting your hips in a futile attempt to escape the relentless onslaught. But Heeseung merely gripped your hips harder, fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises. He used the leverage to pull you back onto his cock, burying himself to the hilt with every savage thrust.

Tears and snot streamed down your face as you continued to scream and beg, but Heeseung paid you no heed. He grunted and panted above you, lost in his own dark pleasure as he used your body like a mere object for his gratification. You could feel his hips slapping against your ass, the obscene sound mixing with your agonized cries.

Despite the pain, despite the revulsion churning in your gut, you could feel a traitorous heat beginning to build deep in your core. Your body betrayed you, responding to the brutal stimulation against your most sensitive spots. You clamped your teeth down on your lower lip, biting hard enough to draw blood as you tried to stifle the wanton moans that threatened to spill from your throat.

But it was no use. As Heeseung continued to pound into you, his cock striking that secret spot inside you over and over, you could feel the heat coiling tighter and tighter. Your walls began to flutter and clench around him, slick arousal beginning to ease the way.

"No, goddammit, no!" you whimpered, even as a broken moan slipped past your lips. Tears of shame and confusion mixed with the pain and reluctant pleasure, streaming down your face. Your body was betraying you, surrendering to the very man who sought to ruin you.

Heeseung merely laughed, a dark, cruel sound filled with triumph and male satisfaction. "That's it, you’re filthy baby," he growled, hips never faltering in their brutal rhythm. "Your cunt is so fucking hungry for my cock. You can't deny it, can you? Your body knows who it belongs to." As Heeseung continued his relentless assault, you felt the first traitorous flutters of unwanted pleasure building in your core.

You couldn't hold back the scream any longer as your body betrayed you completely, the shameful pleasure cresting and crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your back arched, pressing your bruised and aching breasts against the rough earth as your climax ripped through you, tearing a guttural, broken cry from your throat.

"Yes!" Heeseung roared in triumph, his hips slamming forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming, clenching heat. You felt his cock pulse and throb, the thick length jerking as he spilled his seed deep inside you. The sensation of his hot, sticky release flooding your unprotected core only intensified your unwanted ecstasy, your body milking him for every last drop.

Wave after wave of sickening bliss crashed through you, your mind reeling as your body shuddered and convulsed beneath him. Tears poured down your face, a mix of self-loathing and reluctant rapture. You had fought it with every fiber of your being, but in the end, your flesh had surrendered to his dark claim.

As the final aftershocks ebbed away, Heeseung collapsed heavily on top of you, his full weight pressing you down into the unforgiving ground. You gasped for air, lungs burning and chest heaving as you struggled to process the devastating reality of what had just happened. He had taken you, violated you, and against your own will, your body had sung with a traitorous, shameful pleasure at its own defilement.

Heeseung lifted his head, his dark eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction as he gazed down at your ravaged face. A smug, triumphant smile curved his lips, twisting your stomach with renewed revulsion. "That's it," he purred, voice low and mocking. "You're mine now, in every way that matters. Your mind may deny it, but your body knows the truth - you were made to be fucked and bred."

Heeseung rolled off you, his softening cock slipping from your abused, dripping cunt with a obscene squelch. You shuddered at the loss, a fresh wave of tears spilling down your cheeks as the horrible reality of your defilement crashed over you. Your thighs trembled, barely able to support your weight as you struggled to push yourself up on your hands.

You forced your arms to push against the dirt, chest burning, legs trembling like paper. Every part of you screamed to collapse, but you dragged yourself upright anyway, eyes locked on the branch near your hand. If you could just—if you could land one more hit—

Heeseung sighed, almost bored, as he rolled onto his side to watch you. His face was flushed, dark hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes steady in that unnerving way that made him look older than time itself.

“Still fighting,” he muttered, shaking his head like you were a stubborn child. “I found you. Game’s over.”

Before you could lunge, he was already moving. He reached the thick branch you were reaching for, hefted it easily, and swung. Pain exploded white-hot against your skull. The world fractured, your body crumpling before you could even scream.

Black.

When light returned, it was soft and golden.

The sun filtered through pale curtains, warm and clean. The air smelled faintly of lavender soap and bread baking in the distance. The sheets beneath you were smooth, tucked, immaculate. Your body… felt fine. No ache in your ribs, no split skin, no blood. Only a lingering heaviness, like waking from fever.

For one impossible heartbeat, you thought maybe it had been a nightmare — the chase, the blood, Heeseung’s smile in the dark.

Then you shifted.

Metal clinked.

Your wrist jerked and pain flared — not from an injury though you noticed you had bandages wrapped around your torso and arm under your night clothes, but from raw skin beneath a band of iron. A chain stretched from your wrist to the headboard, polished smooth, fastened tight.

The sunlight suddenly felt cruel, like a spotlight in a theatre. The room was the same one Heeseung had first offered you. The same dresser, the same mirror, the same pristine sheets. A sanctuary turned cell.

And outside the window, faint but unmistakable, came the sound of children’s laughter. The town was awake, alive, unchanged — as if your nightmare hadn’t touched it at all.

Your stomach twisted. You weren’t sure if you wanted to scream or be sick.

Then the door opened with a slow, deliberate creak.

Heeseung stepped inside carrying a tray, his hair damp from a shower, his shirt clean, his expression calm. Like last night had never happened. He set the tray down on the bedside table — bread, tea, something sweet that smelled of honey.

“Good morning,” he said softly, his voice warm, almost gentle. His eyes flicked once to the chain at your wrist, then back to your face. “I told you you’d be safe here. Welcome home, outsider.”

Happy Fictober! Hope this one hunts you just right! Like, Comment, and Reblog.

[heesunghooney]

THIS WAS A MOVIE UNFOLDING BEFORE MY EYES

[i2sunric]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐄 (p.sh)

PAIRING: murderer!sunghoon x reader (f)

SUMMARY: after your ex shattered you and left you bleeding across the wreckage of your own heart, you thought you'd never be whole again. that is, until you stumble upon a strange website that leads you to the rabbit-masked man who sets you free— a man far closer than you ever imagined.

WARNING: kinktober. this story is HEAVY THEMED: mention of SA (NOT FROM HOON & NO GRAPHIC NARRATION), murders, low-key gore at some points (but nothing described), smut, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), masked sex, choking kink, missionary, riding, doggy, dirty talk, ex name’s kai (a fictional character invented), pet names (hoon, baby) lmk if more! NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 15th October 2025

WC: 8.5k

TAGLIST: @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @enhamonsterghoul @star-hoon @princesstiti14 @mintchocoddeonut @lostgirlysstuff @firstclassjaylee

a/n: this has been in my drafts since last kinktober lol 😜 also sorry for being inactive, i’m brain dead. lmk your thoughts and please LIKE & REBLOG to help an author out. HAPPY KINKTOBER 🩷

Kai’s name lingered in your chest like poison.

The night it happened replayed itself when you tried to sleep, when you showered, when you looked at yourself in the mirror.

His hands, his words, the way he broke you down until you were nothing but silence— that stayed.

You left him, of course you did, but walking away didn’t mean you were free. The bruises healed, your skin didn’t hold his fingerprints anymore, but inside you, the cracks ran deep.

You weren’t the same girl who laughed at Yunjin’s jokes or teased Sunghoon about his obsession with skating olympic.You didn’t have nights out with Karina anymore or late night studies with Jake.

You smiled, sometimes. You even laughed when you forced yourself. But it was never whole, and you knew they saw through it.

You knew they’d understand if you told them. Yunjin especially— she was fire, she would’ve burned Kai down for what he’d done.

But you couldn’t.

The words lodged themselves in your throat every time. Admitting it out loud felt like letting it happen all over again. So instead, you carried it alone.

You let them think you were healing from just a normal breakup. You let them believe that time was enough to wash away the pain.

At night, when sleep refused to come, you wandered through the internet like a ghost.

You stumbled into places you wouldn’t have dared months ago.

Forums where people poured out their pain, confessions typed out like wounds left open for strangers to see.

One night, you subscribed to one. Not to talk, no, the idea of typing your story made your fingers tremble,mbut to read.

And read you did.

Page after page of stories that mirrored yours in pieces: a hand too rough, a word too cruel, a night that left them shattered.

Some of them had clawed their way back to life while s ome were still buried under it, fighting to reach the surface.

You stayed silent, but you lingered. It was both suffocating and comforting to see you weren’t alone.

Until one thread caught your attention.

The title was nothing extraordinary, just another anonymous post. But the words inside were different, someone mentioned a site, a place they claimed had changed everything. They didn’t say much, just a link and a cryptic sentence: “He takes care of what no one else will.”

Your finger hovered over the link for what felt like forever. A hundred alarms screamed in your head, but something colder, darker, pushed you forward.

you clicked.

The page opened, and your screen bled black and red. The title at the top, jagged letters glowing faintly, read: The Purge.

It wasn’t flashy, not like the forums or the social media you knew. It was stark, stripped down, unsettling in its simplicity. A single promise ran across the screen like a vow carved into stone: He will take care of anything. And anyone.

Beneath that was a number and the picture of a rabbit-masked man. One of the ears was broken and its white paint was dirtied with blood streaks.

Mr. Rabbit.

Your heart thudded hard enough that you pressed a hand against your chest. This was insane, it was probably fake. Some sick joke… and yet…

Your phone felt heavier than usual as you typed the number into the dial pad. Your thumb hovered above the green call button, trembling. “Don’t,” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head. “Don’t be stupid. Don’t do this.”

But you pressed it anyway.

The line rang twice, then all you heard was silence. You thought for a second no one would answer, that you’d hung yourself on the hook of a dead line.

But then, a voice slid through, distorted, mechanical, yet with a strange cadence beneath it. “Name.”

Your throat went dry. “I— my name is Y/N.” You whispered it, your name raw on your tongue, and for a split second, the voice faltered.

It wasn’t obvious, just a pause, a hesitation, however, you caught it. He seemed… startled.

But then the voice steadied again, lower now, almost careful. “Tell me.”

Your breath trembled as you spoke “I- uhm…” you cleared your throat “I found this phone number on a website, and I thought maybe you could help me?”

A couple of beats passed before the voice repeated “Tell me.”

“My ex boyfriend.” You blurted out, and suddenly the words flowed out of your mouth with ease “I loved him, and I thought he did too.. but when he tried to go further I told him I wasn’t ready and he..”

He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t ask you to clarify. He just listened, the static of the altered tone wrapping aroyour words like it was absorbing them whole.

“He took what he wanted, and I just froze. I let him do that to me and now I just… I just wish he could suffer the same way I died a little that night.”

When you stopped, silence stretched long and suffocating.

“What’s his name?” He asked.

“Kai Young.” You thought he’d say something, maybe ask why you were calling, maybe mock you for believing in a site like this.

But he didn’t. His answer was low, “Consider him gone.”

And then the line went dead.

You sat there, staring at your screen, the dial tone humming like a ghost in your ear.

The phone slipped from your hand onto the sheets. Your heart was hammering so violently you thought you’d be sick.

You curled your fingers against the fabric of your bedspread, dragging in breath after breath, but nothing settled.

Did you really just do that? Did you just— did you just put a death sentence on him?

The thought made your stomach twist, but then another one followed, just as sharp, he deserves it.

You replayed Kai’s face in your mind, the way his eyes had narrowed that night, the way his lips had curled into that cruel smile, the way his hand had gripped your wrist until you thought it would break.

The disgust, the shame, the tears you swallowed down alone, suddenly, imagining him gone didn’t feel wrong. It felt… almost like justice.

Still, doubt crawled through you.

What if this was all fake? What if nothing happened? What if it was a scam?

You lay awake until the sky bled gray, phone clutched in your hand, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

🕸.

Days blurred together. You went to class, you saw Yunjin and Sunghoon, you laughed when they teased you, but underneath, you were restless.

You checked the news, scrolled through social media, searched his name more times than you could count.

Nothing.

Perhaps, Mr. Rabbit was really just a scam.

Until one evening, Yunjin’s voice cracked through your haze. “Did you see the news about Kai?”

Your head whipped up so fast it hurt. “What about him?”

She frowned, holding up her phone. “Apparently… he’s gone, like, disappeared. No one’s seen him in days, and people are saying he didn’t show up to work, his roommates don’t know where he is.”

Your chest hollowed out as her words blurred. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to act confused, concerned. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”

“Exactly that,” she said, scrolling. “Police are looking, but… I don’t know. It’s creepy as fuck, someone can’t just disappear in thin air. But whatever— he was an ass. Not like anyone’s crying over him.” She laughed, but lightly, testing your reaction.

You smiled weakly, pretending to brush it off, while inside, your blood roared in your ears.

Later, when you were alone, you sat on your bed in the dark, staring at the black screen of your phone.

Your fingers twitched, tempted to call the number again, to hear that voice, to ask what happened.

You had made a call, and for the first time since that night, you weren’t powerless anymore.

Your fingers hovered over the call button again, heart racing like the first time, except now there was a strange anticipation curled up inside you.

You didn’t know why you wanted to hear his voice again, Mr. Rabbit’s, the distorted, mechanical one that had already carved its place into your memory.

Maybe it was because of the way his words had stuck, heavy and absolute.

Maybe it was because since that night, Kai had been nothing more than a ghost in the news. Whatever the reason, you pressed the button, and the line rang once before the same voice answered.

“Name.”

It was the same demand as before, but this time you breathed steadier. “It’s me, Y/N, I called because of my ex… remember?”

Silence, then that strange pause again, as if recognition had tightened around the voice. “Why are you calling again?”

You bit your lip, curling your knees to your chest on the bed. “I just… I wanted to know about him, bbout Kai.”

The silence stretched so long you thought he might hang up. But then, his voice came, heavy through the distortion. “He’s in a place where he can’t touch you anymore.”

Your breath shook as relief rushed over you, your shoulders dropping like you’d been carrying Kai’s shadow all this time. “So… it’s really over.” tears you didn’t know you’d been holding back rolled freely down your cheeks.

“Yes.” His tone didn’t waver, but there was something beneath it, something almost… gentle. “You don’t need to look over your shoulder anymore.”

You pressed your face into your knees, whispering, “Thank you.”

There was no dramatic answer, no indulgence in your gratitude. Just a steady command, stripped of anything but truth, “Focus on the people who love you. That’s where you’ll find yourself again.”

And then the line went dead, leaving you in the dark with only your racing heartbeat.

🕸.

Focus on the people who love you.

It should’ve been easy advice, but it felt like the hardest thing in the world.

Still, you tried. And strangely, in trying, you found yourself noticing Sunghoon more.

He’d always been around, quiet and steady, the one who didn’t push too hard but made sure you were never left alone in the corner of the room.

Since Kai’s disappearance, he’d lingered a little closer, his eyes on you more often, softer somehow. Perhaps, he was afraid you were grieving the memory of your ex boyfriend.

He didn’t know you were celebrating the death of a monster.

One afternoon, he caught you lingering outside the café near campus, scrolling absently on your phone. “You’ve been spacing out a lot lately,” he said, coming up beside you, his voice low enough that you almost jumped.

“I’ve just been… thinking,” you muttered, slipping your phone away.

He studied you for a moment, then asked, “Do you want to go out tonight? Just us. Maybe a movie or something.”

The suggestion caught you off guard. “A movie?”

His lips quirked, a faint smile ghosting across them. “Yeah. The cinema’s showing that horror flick everyone’s been talking about, I’ll even buy you popcorn.”

You laughed, light and unexpected, the sound strange in your own ears. “You’re really trying to bribe me with popcorn?”

“Is it working?” he teased, but the warmth in his eyes was genuine.

You agreed, and that evening you found yourself walking beside him through the glowing city streets, the air crisp and alive.

The theatre buzzed with chatter, neon signs flashing above the crowd. Sunghoon walked close enough that your shoulders brushed every so often, his presence grounding.

Inside, the lights dimmed and the screen came alive with screaming shadows. You lasted maybe twenty minutes before the movie had your pulse hammering. The villain’s mask, the sudden bursts of sound, the flickering lights— it was too much. You shifted in your seat, arms wrapping around yourself.

Sunghoon leaned closer, his whisper brushing against your ear. “You okay?”

You shook your head quickly. “I hate horror movies. Why did I even agree to this?”

His quiet chuckle made your stomach flip. “Because you trusted me.”

When another jump scare lit up the screen, you didn’t even think before curling into him, your body pressing against his arm, your face buried against his shoulder.

You felt the way he froze for a second, startled, before he relaxed, letting you cling to him. He shifted just slightly, his arm brushing against your back, steady, protective.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured softly, so soft it was almost lost under the screams from the speakers. “I’ve got you.”

You just stayed pressed against him, letting his warmth chase away the shadows that flickered too close in your mind.

When the credits finally rolled and the lights came up, you realized you hadn’t let go.

Your face heated as you pulled back quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Sunghoon shook his head before you could finish. “Don’t apologize. You can hold onto me whenever you want.”

Your chest tightened at the quiet sincerity in his tone. You looked down, fumbling with your bag, unsure how to answer.

But he didn’t push, didn’t demand anything of you. Instead, he just stood, stretching casually before offering his hand. “Come on. Let’s get some food before the night ends, I know a place.”

The way he said it, light and easy, made it simple to slip your hand into his.

His fingers curled around yours, steady and warm, and you didn’t let go.

That night, sitting across from him in a tiny diner as you picked at fries and listened to him tease you about hiding in his shoulder for half the movie, you felt something you hadn’t in so long.

Free. Not haunted, not broken, just… free.

Later, when he walked you home, he stopped in front of your door, his hands in his pockets, eyes lingering on you in the glow of the streetlamp. “You seem lighter,” he said softly, almost like he was afraid of breaking the moment.

“Maybe I am,” you admitted, your voice quiet but sure.

He smiled, the kind that reached his eyes, and leaned just a little closer. “Good. You deserve to feel that way.”

🕸.

It started with a kiss.

Not the reckless kind, not the kind that took without asking, but the quiet, trembling kind where his voice carried more weight than the touch itself.

After your third date, walking home side by side under the golden haze of the streetlamps, Sunghoon had stopped in front of your door.

His hand lingered by your wrist, not holding, just close enough to feel the warmth. He cleared his throat, his eyes darting between your lips and your gaze before he asked, softly but firmly, “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart stuttered at the question, at the gentleness of it.

The memory of Kai asking for nothing and taking everything, flashed sharp and ugly in your chest, and it made Sunghoon’s hesitation all the more precious.

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper, “Yes.”

The kiss wasn’t fire or frenzy.

It was slow, warm, like being wrapped in a blanket you hadn’t known you’d needed.

His lips pressed against yours with care, no rush, no pressure.

Just him, and you, and the quiet hum of the night around you.

When he pulled back, he smiled faintly, almost shy, as if he hadn’t been sure you’d let him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Since then, everything with him had been slow, deliberate.

He didn’t push.

He made you laugh when you didn’t think you could anymore, he walked you home even when it meant going out of his way.andnhe even let you steal his hoodies when the wind turned cold, pretending not to notice when you buried your face in them because they smelled like him.

You weren’t in love yet, at least, you didn’t think so, but you loved spending time with him.

You loved how light you felt with him, like the chains had loosened, even if they hadn’t fallen off completely.

The weeks stretched on, filled with easy dates and late-night calls that left you falling asleep to the sound of his laugh.

You were learning to trust, slowly, carefully, like testing the temperature of water before stepping in.

He seemed to understand without you ever having to explain. He never made you feel rushed, never asked for more than you could give.

But the shadows of your past never fully left you.

It was a quiet afternoon when you sat on the couch, scrolling absently through the news.

A headline caught your eye, pulling you to stillness: Body of missing man found in lake, police investigating possible homicide.

Your breath caught as you tapped the article.

The details spilled across the screen: an old man, missing for days, had been found in the murky waters of a nearby lake. His body… destroyed.

They didn’t use many words, but the few they did were enough.

Brutal. Mangled. Nothing natural.

Your stomach churned and uou dropped the phone onto your lap, staring blankly at the wall. The first thought that stabbed through your mind was irrational, absurd, but impossible to ignore: Mr. Rabbit.

Your chest tightened, recalling the red and black glow of that website, the distorted voice on the phone, the way he had told you, “Consider him gone.”

You wondered if someone else had whispered their pain to that same voice, had asked for release from their demon, and now this old man had become the price.

Was that man a monster, too?

Had he hurt someone, ruined them the way Kai had ruined you? Was that why his body ended up at the bottom of a lake? Or… was it something worse?

Your phone buzzed suddenly, making you jump. Sunghoon’s name lit up the screen.

Hoonie: wanna get ice cream later? i’ll pick you up.

You stared at the message, trying to steady your breathing.

The contrast between the horror sitting heavy in your mind and the sweetness of his text almost made you dizzy. You typed back

You: yeah, i’d like that.

Later, as you sat across from him in a small parlor, the chill of chocolate chip melting over your tongue, you kept sneaking glances at him.

His smile was easy, his laugh soft when he teased you about getting a scoop on your nose. He leaned over to wipe it with a napkin, his touch light and brief, and your heart clenched.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked suddenly, tilting his head.

You blinked, startled. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure me out,” he said, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “You can ask me anything, you know.”

You shook your head quickly, forcing a laugh. “No, I’m just… thinking.”

He studied you for a moment longer, but he didn’t push. Instead, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours. “Whatever it is… you can trust me. You know that, right?”

The sincerity in his eyes almost broke you.

You wanted to tell him. About Kai, about the phone calls and also about Mr. Rabbit.

But the words tangled in your throat, too heavy, too dangerous.

A little secret wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Instead, you just nodded, letting his hand rest against yours, steadying you in ways he didn’t even realize.

🕸.

The afternoon light at Sunghoon’s apartment spilled in pale gold through the curtains, softening the edges of everything. It was quiet except for the low hum of his washing machine, the one he’d joked about never knowing how to operate properly.

You’d offered to help because he was always the one looking after you — driving you home, buying dinner, walking on the side of the street where the cars passed — and for once you wanted to do something for him.

He’d smiled when you told him, brushed his thumb against your knuckles, and left you to it while he went to pick up takeout.

The basket of his laundry sat on the floor by your feet.

You crouched down, sorting shirts and hoodies, surprised at how dark his wardrobe was. Blacks, greys, navy.

Not unusual for him, he always wore muted colors, but in a pile like this, it looked almost uniform.

A flash of deep burgundy caught your eye in the heap.

At first you thought it was just a darker fabric, a wine-colored shirt maybe. But when you pulled it free, you saw the stain.

It ran across the hem like a smear, darker at the edges, dried but still visible.

You frowned. “Ketchup?” you murmured to yourself, bringing it closer. But the smell hit you before the thought could finish: not sweet nor tangy.

It was metallic, the scent clung to your nose, unmistakable. Blood.

Your stomach dropped. You held the shirt out at arm’s length, staring at it.

The mark wasn’t small, not like a nosebleed or a kitchen cut. It had soaked into the fabric.

You tried to reason with yourself. Maybe he’d hurt himself badly. Maybe he’d been cooking meat. Maybe…

You placed the shirt gently back in the basket, hands trembling.

The hum of the machine suddenly seemed louder. The apartment felt bigger, emptier, like the walls were listening.

When Sunghoon finally came back, the door swung open and the smell of food rushed in with him. “Hey,” he called lightly, balancing two bags in his arms. “Hope you’re hungry, they gave me extra dumplings.”

You straightened up from the laundry, your hands rubbing together to hide their unsteadiness and joined him in the living room “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” he said, setting the bags on the counter. He glanced at you, his expression softening. “Everything okay?”

You hesitated. “I… was doing your laundry, like I said I would.”

He smiled, loosening the knot of one bag. “I usually just throw it all in without sorting. You’re a lifesaver.”

Your throat felt tight. “There was a shirt.”

He paused mid-motion, looking up. “A shirt?”

“It was…” You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the counter. “It was stained dark red. I thought it was ketchup at first, but it wasn’t. It smelled like…” You trailed off, your voice catching.

“Blood?” he finished for you, his tone calm.

You blinked at him, surprised. “Yeah.”

For a moment he just stood there, his hands still on the takeout bag, his face unreadable. Then he sighed softly, almost like he’d expected this. “Right… That.”

Your heart thudded. “That? Sunghoon, what—”

He straightened up, wiping his palms on his jeans before turning fully to you. “I cut myself.” His voice was steady, even, like he’d rehearsed the answer.

“Cooking, I sliced my palm open on a knife a couple nights ago. Bled everywhere. I didn’t even realize I threw that shirt in the hamper without washing it first.”

You stared at him, searching his face. “You cut yourself cooking.”

“Yes,” he said firmly, walking toward you. His expression softened when he saw the look in your eyes. “I’m okay, it wasn’t serious. I should’ve been more careful.”

You looked down, your fingers twisting together. “It was a lot of blood.”

“It felt like a lot at the time.” He reached out, brushing his fingers against your arm. “I wrapped it, went to the hospital and got it sorted. Do you want to see?”

You blinked up at him. “See what?”

“My hand.” He held it out to you, palm up.

You hesitated before taking it. His skin was warm, the faint ridge of a healing cut running diagonally across the center, just starting to scar.

“It’s fine now,” he said quietly. “Promise.”

You traced the line with your thumb without thinking, the roughness of the healing skin catching against you. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t think it mattered.” His voice lowered, something like guilt creeping in. “I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve been through enough already.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You looked up at him, your throat tightening. “I just… when I saw the stain, I thought…” You shook your head, unable to finish.

Mr. Rabbit. The lake. The old man. Kai.

Sunghoon’s brow furrowed as he squeezed your hand gently. “Thought what?”

You forced a shaky laugh, stepping back. “Nothing. It’s stupid, I just freaked myself out.”

He studied you for a long moment, his gaze steady. “I’d never hurt you,” he said softly. “You know that, right?”

“I know.” The answer came out before you could stop it, and you realized it was true.

Whatever the shirt meant, whatever the stain had been, you didn’t feel fear in his presence “I know,” you repeated, quieter.

His shoulders relaxed. “Good.” He let go of your hand slowly, as if he didn’t want to, and gestured to the counter. “Come on. Food’s getting cold, and I got your favorite.”

You tried to smile, to push the heaviness from the room. “You always get my favorite.”

“Someone’s gotta spoil you,” he teased, but there was a warmth under his words that wrapped around you.

Later, as you sat cross-legged on his couch eating dumplings, you kept sneaking glances at his palm.

The cut was there, real, just like he’d said. Accidental.

But the image of the shirt, the dark stain, the metallic scent, stayed in your mind. And behind it all, the mask from the website— the rabbit with its hollow eyes.

You wondered if maybe you’d been too quick to draw lines between things.

Maybe the world wasn’t as tangled as it felt in your head.

Or maybe you were just starting to see the edges of something you weren’t ready to understand.

🕸.

The headlines had become routine, though no less chilling: another disappearance, another corpse unearthed, another nameless shadow taking lives.

It had been every five days, almost like clockwork. Men and women both, none spared, none seemingly connected until you looked closer.

Each had something in common, cruelty whispered about them, crimes that had gone unpunished. Whispers of abuse, theft, betrayal.

And your mind, despite all your attempts to silence it, always drifted back to the rabbit mask, to that metallic-stained shirt, to the mystery you’d only brushed against.

That morning, you’d woken in Sunghoon’s bed, his arm heavy around your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

He was still asleep, his face so peaceful it almost mocked the chaos outside.

You shifted carefully, trying not to wake him, and reached for your phone on the nightstand.

The notification blinked from the NEWS APP you had downloaded. A new article.

Your eyes scanned quickly, breath catching as you read the lines. A man in his mid-thirties, found in an alleyway. Cause of death suspected poisoning from rat poison. Victim was under investigation for repeated domestic abuse of wife and children.

The words crawled across your skin like ice. A shiver passed through you as you sat up in bed, clutching the phone, careful not to wake Sunghoon.

The pattern was undeniable now. Each corpse was marked by justice delivered outside of courts, outside of law.

Justice meted out by someone who had no patience for due process.

Someone like Mr. Rabbit.

You slipped out of bed, your bare feet soft against the floorboards, and shut yourself in the bathroom.

The pale blue tiles reflected your unease as you scrolled to that number you weren’t supposed to have memorized but did anyway.

The burner line. The one Mr. Rabbit had on his website that was every victim’s death sentence… or freedoms. With shaky hands, you pressed call.

You wanted to ask him if he had been the craftsman of all those murders. You wanted to tell him to be careful, after all, he had been the one to set you free from your monster.

The dial tone buzzed in your ear. Before you could hear the other side, a vibration hummed not from your phone, but somewhere else in the apartment.

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. The sound was faint, muffled, coming from outside this room.

You took the phone away from uour ear abruptly, with your heart hammering, and cracked the bathroom door.

The vibration came again, steady, and you followed it down the short hallway, barefoot, holding your breath.

Past the living room, past the half-empty takeout boxes on the counter. To the door of his study.

The sound was clearer here. Inside.

You pushed the door open with trembling fingers. The study smelled faintly of ink and dust, the blinds drawn tight.

On the desk, papers stacked too neatly, his laptop shut.

But the noise wasn’t from there.

You followed it to the lower drawer of the cabinet, and with a trembling tug, slid it open.

Your blood went cold.

A burner phone lay inside, vibrating against the wood with your number flashing.

Beside it, carefully placed, was a mask. White, blood-stained and with a broken ear, black hollow eyes that stared straight through you.

Mr. Rabbit.

Your throat dried, a sound dying in your chest.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

You spun, gasping, the drawer still open, mask glinting in the dim light.

Sunghoon stood there, hair mussed from sleep, but his eyes were sharp and awake, watching you like a predator who had just been cornered.

“I—” your words stumbled out, shaking. “You… you’re Mr. Rabbit?”

He tilted his head slightly, a wry smirk ghosting his lips. “So it seems.”

The air between you crackled. “You… you killed those people,” you whispered.

His eyes held yours, unflinching. “Yes.” No denial. No hesitation. Just the word, low and certain. “And I won’t apologize for it.”

Fear tangled with disbelief inside you, coiling hot in your stomach. You pressed back against the desk, the mask looming in your peripheral vision. “You’re a murderer.”

He stepped forward slowly, careful, almost tender in his movements. “I am. But not to you.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. “How do I know that?”

“Because everything I’ve done, every night I’ve gone out—” he stopped just inches from you now, his voice hushed, intimate. “It was to deliver justice to those who never got it.”

Your chest heaved, conflicted, torn.

He reached out, cupping your cheek with a hand that felt steady, but cold.

His thumb brushed your skin, grounding you.

“You saw what Kai did to you. That night you called i swear I went mad.” His lips curved, his voice a whisper meant only for you. “I enjoyed hurting him, cutting him into pieces he had broken you in. Every moment of his sufferance. Every second of his fear.”

Your breath hitched sharply. A part of you recoiled, another part ignited.

His words were wrong, horrifying, yet your body betrayed you, heat curling in your chest at the way he said it, at the devotion in his tone.

“You’re insane,” you murmured weakly.

His smirk deepened, but his touch gentled. “Maybe. But I’d rather be insane with you knowing the truth than lie to you any longer.”

The air grew heavy, thick with something darker than fear. He leaned closer, his breath brushing your lips. “I’d never hurt you,” he whispered again, desperate this time. “Trust me.”

And for reasons you couldn’t explain, you did. Against all reason, all instinct, you believed him.

The drawer with the mask remained open, a silent witness, but when his lips finally pressed against yours, all you could feel was him.

His kiss was urgent, hungry, desperate for you to choose him despite everything you’d learned. Your fingers clutched his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groaned into your mouth, relief breaking through him like a tide.

He pressed you back against the desk, kissing you harder, teeth grazing your lower lip. His hands slid down your sides, pausing every few inches, as though asking silent questions with every touch. “Can I?” he breathed against your neck.

“Yes,” you whispered before you even realized it, your body aching for him.

Clothes began to fall away, piece by piece, the heat between you growing unbearable as he guided you back into his bedroom.

He stripped you gently, reverently, murmuring your name between kisses as though he couldn’t believe you were still here, still letting him touch you after what you’d just discovered.

His lips trailed fire across your collarbone, down to your chest, his tongue circling a nipple as his hands pinned your hips to the sheets.

You gasped, arching into him, the sound tearing from your throat. “Sunghoon…”

He looked up at you, his pupils blown wide, lips slick. “Say it again.”

“Sunghoon.”

“Again.”

Your voice trembled, but you obeyed, moaning his name as his hand slipped lower, teasing at the edge of your panties before sliding beneath them.

His fingers found you wet, and a dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Fuck… even knowing what I am, you still want me like this?”

You couldn’t lie, couldn’t deny it. “Yes,” you gasped, clutching at his shoulders.

His mouth crashed back to yours, tongue demanding, claiming, while his fingers worked you open, curling deep until your hips jerked helplessly against him. “That’s my girl,” he murmured into your mouth. “So sweet for me.”

It felt so different from when your body was frozen in fear at Kai’s demand. Sunghoon wasn’t demanding, he was just lost in making you feel good.

“Mh fuck baby, you’re so tight.” He tried to add a third finger, your body tightening around his digits “Your sweet little pussy is clenching around my fingers.”

The dirty talking made your orgasm reach fast and with just one curl of his fingers, you were reaching your peak.

He let you ride it out, gently holding your body so you wouldn’t convulse too much.

He laid you down gently, his body hovering over yours, eyes searching your face. “Last chance,” he whispered, breath ragged. “Tell me no, and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t stop,” you begged, nails digging into his back. “Please, Sunghoon. I want you.”

That was all it took.

He tore his clothes off, his skin hot against yours, his cock hard and heavy as it pressed against your thigh. He kissed you again, messy and feverish, before pushing inside you with a groan that vibrated through your bones.

You had realised why he had used three fingers to stretch you. He was so thick, filling you so good.

The stretch burned, but it was exquisite, grounding you to the reality of him, of this moment. He buried himself to the hilt, forehead pressed to yours, whispering curses under his breath. “Fuck… so tight… I could cum just like this.”

He moved slowly at first, deep thrusts that made you gasp and cling to him, before his pace quickened, urgency overtaking him.

Each thrust drove a whimper from your throat, your body meeting his in desperate rhythm.

“You feel that?” He growled, his hand gripping your throat lightly, not choking, just holding. “That’s me.” his other hand pressed down your stomach, feeling the bulge poking out “That’s me fucking you brainless, ain’t it right, baby?”

Your back arched, your nails clawing down his chest, your voice breaking as pleasure built inside you. “Yes—God, yes.”

His thrusts grew rougher, sweat dripping from his temple, his eyes never leaving yours. “Say you trust me,” He demanded, his tone ragged.

“I trust you,” You cried, and his rhythm faltered for a second, his jaw clenching, overcome by your words.

That was enough to send you spiraling. The coil snapped, pleasure ripping through you, white-hot and consuming.

You cried out his name, your body shuddering beneath him, walls tightening around him until he cursed loudly, thrusting harder, chasing his own release.

With a final deep thrust, he groaned, spilling inside you, collapsing against your chest as his breath came in harsh, uneven pants.

His lips pressed to your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he could reach, as if to reassure himself you were still there.

Minutes passed before he lifted his head, sweaty hair falling into his eyes. “I told you,” he whispered, voice raw. “I’ll never hurt you.”

And though the mask still lay waiting in the other room, silent proof of who he really was, you found yourself whispering back, “I know.”

🕸.

The room was dim and heavy with the warmth of both your bodies, the sheets tangled at your waists and the faint scent of sweat and skin still hanging in the air.

The blinds were drawn tight, keeping out the world beyond this room, and the only sound was the low rhythm of Sunghoon’s breathing beside you. His chest rose and fell, slow but uneven, as if his thoughts weighed more than the air he pulled in.

You lay on your side, propped up slightly on an elbow, watching the faint lines of his profile in the darkness.

His hair clung damp to his forehead, his eyes half-closed but restless. He didn’t look like a monster, not scary like Kai— he looked like a man who hadn’t slept properly in years, a man with shadows under his eyes and something buried in his chest.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered softly.

His eyes slid open, heavy and dark, and turned to meet yours. “Mmh?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing idle shapes against his shoulder. “Tell me.”

He frowned faintly. “Tell you what?”

“All of it.” Your voice was quiet but steady, even though your heart was hammering. “How you started… why you started. What this is.”

For a long moment, he was silent. His gaze flicked away, toward the ceiling, and he exhaled slowly, his hand covering his mouth like he was thinking of how to shape the words. When he spoke, his voice was low, rough-edged.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said, staring past you at nothing. “The first time… I didn’t even plan it. I saw a headline about a little girl, she was seven and hee stepfather had been—” his jaw tightened, “He’d been hurting her for years. And he walked free. Technicality, that’s what the article said.”

You stayed quiet, watching his face as he spoke.

“I saw him one night, outside a bar,” Sunghoon continued, his voice more distant now, like he was telling you a story he’d rehearsed in his own head. “I knew his face from the news. He was laughing… laughing, like he hadn’t destroyed a child. Like he wasn’t a monster. I don’t even remember deciding, I just followed him… and he didn’t make it home.”

You swallowed hard, the sheets tightening in your fingers. “And after that?”

“After that,” he said, eyes finally meeting yours again, “I couldn’t stop.” He exhaled a sharp breath through his nose. “Every headline, every story, every name. I found them. The ones who slipped through the cracks, he ones no one punished. I became… Mr. Rabbit. A mask, a name and a ghost.”

His voice dropped, softer now. “I opened the website to help the souls this world crushed, to help those who deserved a fighting change and weren’t given one.” Your throat felt tight, your voice thin. “And me?”

“When I heard your voice and your name that night… I saw white,” he said immediately, leaning closer, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. His thumb rubbed circles into your skin like he was trying to calm you, but you could feel the tremor in it. “I couldn’t believe he did that to you, and you hadn’t told a soul. I doubt Yunjin knew. So i promised myself that I would protect you from then on.”

You closed your eyes briefly, trying to breathe through the weight of his confession. The words echoed in the room like a storm had passed through and left only silence.

After a long pause, you murmured, “The shirt I found in the laundry basket, the dark one, stained red.”

His hand stilled against your neck.

“You said you’d cut yourself cooking,” you continued, eyes opening to search his. “Is it true?”

He stared at you for a moment, unreadable, then gave a short, humorless laugh. “You’re sharper than I hoped you’d be.”

“Don’t,” you said quietly. “Just tell me.”

He turned onto his back, dragging a hand over his face, staring at the ceiling again. “It wasn’t cooking that night. The man I was after— he was strong. He’d beaten his wife half to death before and she was too scared to testify. I cornered him, but he got the knife from me before I finished it. Took a tentative swing. That’s where the scar came from.”

You reached for his hand, pulling it gently into the light from the bedside lamp. “I can assure you he is in worse shape.” His palm was still faintly marked by the wound, a thin pale line running diagonally across the skin.

You traced it with your fingertip, slow and deliberate. “You could’ve died,” you murmured.

“I didn’t.” His voice was flat, but there was something softer beneath it, like he wasn’t used to anyone worrying. “He still ended up in hell.”

Your chest tightened at the way he said it, matter-of-fact, like he was explaining something as normal as taking out the trash. You looked at his face, at the tension in his jaw, the faint tremor in his fingers.

“I don’t know how to feel,” you whispered.

“I don’t expect you to,” he said immediately, rolling to face you again. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his eyes searching yours desperately. “I don’t need you to forgive me yet, I’m sorry I lied.”

He gulped “But you know why I can’t stop.”

You let out a shaky breath. “And you’re sure no one knows?”

“No one,” he said firmly. “Not the cops, not the people on that website, not anyone but you.” He brushed his thumb against your lips. “And if you want to leave, you can. Right now, I won’t stop you.”

You stared at him for a long time, your heartbeat loud in your ears. You thought of Kai, of the nights you’d woken up shaking from dreams of his hands.

You thought of Mr. Rabbit, of the words consider him gone, and the strange relief you’d felt. And you thought of Sunghoon, lying here now, looking at you like you were the last good thing he had left.

You reached up slowly, your fingers sliding into his hair, and whispered, “I’m still here.”

His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering closed. “Why?” he asked softly, almost like he didn’t believe it.

“Because I trust you,” you murmured, surprising even yourself with the words. “Because I know you won’t hurt me.”

For the first time since his confession, his face softened. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath shuddering out. “I won’t, I swear.”

The tension bled out of him like air from a balloon, his body curling into yours, one arm sliding around your waist as if to anchor himself.

You closed your eyes, your fingers still tracing the scar in his palm. “You’ve saved me Sunghoon, I owe you more than ,anything.”

🕸.

Sunghoon had been looking for you for nearly an hour.

He had gone to the grocery shop, but when he called you to tell you he was on his way back with your favourite snack, you hadn’t answered.

Now, he knew he didn’t need to worry, you were safe in his apartment… still, his sixth sense told him something wasn’t quite right.

The apartment was silent except for the steady thud of his boots on the floorboards. Every room he entered was empty, every whisper of your presence deliberately erased. When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he pulled it out with a sharp breath, irritation laced with worry as your name flashed on the screen.

He answered. “Where are you?”

Your voice came through, low and steady, threaded with something he couldn’t name. “Let’s play a game, Mr. Rabbit.”

The nickname hung in the air like a ghost. His jaw clenched, every muscle in his body going still. “What are you doing?”

You chuckled softly. “You’ll have to find out. I left you a riddle, if you’re as clever as you say you are, you’ll find me.”

He exhaled, half-amused despite himself. “You want to play with me, huh?”

“I want to see if you’re still good at finding what hides in the dark,” you replied, your voice silk and smoke. “Clue number one: I’m where secrets sleep, where screams are quiet and the air is cold.”

The line went dead.

He lowered the phone, staring at it for a moment, and then his lips curved in that slow, knowing smirk of his.

You were testing him. A challenge, one he already knew the answer to before you finished speaking.

He moved through the apartment with the deliberate pace of a hunter who already knew where his prey had gone. His hand found the doorknob to the basement and paused, feeling the faint chill that seeped through the crack.

When he opened the door, a single dim bulb cast long shadows across the steps. And there you were, waiting at the bottom.

You stood in the center of the room, barefoot on the concrete floor, the flickering light catching on the white rabbit mask that hid your face.

A robe hung loosely from your shoulders, the fabric sliding down to reveal glimpses of skin.

For a moment, he just stood there, silent. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, traveled from your mask to your bare legs, to the soft rise and fall of your chest.

You tilted your head slightly, your voice muffled but playful through the mask. “Welcome to my warren, Mr. Rabbit.”

He descended the stairs slowly, one hand sliding along the rail. “You’ve been busy, I see,” He murmured, his tone almost reverent. “What is this?”

“I told you,” you said softly, stepping closer. “A game.”

The robe fell from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. You were left in nothing but white lace and the mask. The air seemed to crackle between you, thick and charged.

He stopped a few feet away, his breath caught halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “You’re going to kill me one day,” he said quietly.

You smiled beneath the mask and even though he could not see it, he noticed it from your tone. “Maybe.”

You took his hand and guided him toward the worn sofa in the corner. “Sit,” You commanded, your tone firm in a way that made something flicker behind his eyes.

He obeyed, still wearing that infuriating, half-smug expression that always seemed to challenge you. His hands rested on his knees, waiting, patient.

You moved closer, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt. “You always take control,” you murmured. “Not tonight.”

His lips curved, amused. “Is that so?”

You pulled his shirt over his head, letting your fingers trail down the hard planes of his chest, brushing his happy trail.

His breath hitched slightly when your hands slid lower, your touch deliberate and slow. You leaned close enough for your voice to brush against his ear. “You like it when I play with you, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer. His gaze locked on the mask covering your face, something dark flickering behind his eyes.

When you straddled his lap, his hands instinctively moved to your hips, gripping just enough to remind you of who you were dealing with.

“Now, I am offended that you got my clue so fast.” You murmured, one hand working his zipper open and freeing his already aching cock.

You pumped him lazily, just enough to enjoy the way his breath itched “You have to do more to try and out win a murdered.” He replied.

“Well,” You slid your panties to the side and slowly sank down on him, your moan muffled from the mask “I just have to learn from the best.”

Your movements were deliberate, slow in a teasing way. Sunghoon bit his bottom lip, his hips unconsciously thrusting upwards to get more of you.

“Do I turn you on?” You laughed mockingly, “I bet you had fantasies of me wearing this mask, of me being your Mrs. Rabbit.”

But then, suddenly, his fingers shifted to the edge of your mask. “You shouldn’t wear this,” he said softly. “It doesn’t belong to you.”

Before you could protest, he slipped it off.

And instead of setting it aside, he slid it over his own face. The stained white rabbit stared back at you, faceless now, only his voice remaining .

“You want to be Mrs. Rabbit?” he asked, his words a growl that seemed to vibrate in the space between you. “Then show me you mean it.”

The air seemed to thicken around you, your pulse hammering as he rose from the couch. In one motion, he switched your positions, pressing you down onto the worn cushions. His strength wasn’t harsh, just commanding.

“Still in control?” he murmured against your neck, his breath hot.

You tried to speak, but your voice caught somewhere between defiance and need as he gripped your hips and started thrusting in you at full force. Pulling back just to slam back all the way in.

He laughed softly, the sound echoing behind the mask, both terrifying and intoxicating.

You could feel his heartbeat through his chest where it pressed against yours, fast and uneven.

“Holy shit,” he groaned, his hand wrapping around your neck, not to choke, but to let you see who was in control. “You have found your kink, uh?”

You rolled your eyes, “You’ve ruined my game.” In response, his free hand came down to thumb your clit, making you arch your back.

“That’s what I thought.” He murmured, slowing his thrusts as he turned you around. Your hands gripped the side of the sofa as his strong arms brought your ass up in the air.

His palm connected with your cheek, making you moan at the sting “Fuck, you’re so filthy.” he cursed, gripping your hips to fuck you from behind.

The room was filled with broken moans and heavy breaths, his balls slapping against your skin.

“Mh! Harder Hoon, please.” At your plea, he gripped your hair and brought you up against his chest “As you wish.”

His thirsts grew errantic, fast and deep, making you see stars.

Your eyes rolled back while one of your hands sneaked down to circle your clit, making you clench around him “Fuck.” He groaned.

“I’m so close,” you announced, your other hand squeezing your breast through the fabric of your lingerie as he thrust a couple of more times before you were shattering on him.

“A-ah.” You breathed out brokenly as he fucked you to overstimulation, your body buzzing with the orgasm “Stop.”

“One second.” He breathed out, his own peace faltering as he reached his peak. His grip was bruising on your hips as he thrust one last time before cumming inside you with a low groan.

He slowed down until he stopped, slipping out of you.

Sunghoon sighed out contentedly as he collapsed beside you, taking the rabbit mask off.

He held you close to his chest, pressing a kiss to uour sweaty forehead “Did you like my game?” you asked, your voice small from the aftermath.

“I loved it,” he reassured “And now you are officially my Mrs. Rabbit.”

[heesunghooney]

THIS WAS SO FKN HOT IM WETTTTT