ナナ

just an intj/p that finds comfort on social media

[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

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[arasinchahonghong]

✧ ─── 𝘚𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘌𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘜𝘴 ─── ✧

​Pairing:CEO!Park Sunghoon x Female!Reader

Tags/Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, established forced/arranged marriage, emotionally distant Sunghoon (initially), parental neglect (accidental/workaholic), yelling, child crying, emotional confrontation, slow burn character development, father-daughter healing, domestic fluff at the end.

Word Count: ~1,200 words

Navigation: [Masterlist]

​─── ✧ ───

​For seven years, the penthouse overlooking the Seoul skyline wasn’t a home; it was a beautifully curated museum of silence.

​You had married Park Sunghoon in a grand ceremony dictated by corporate mergers, not love. You were the soft, enduring light to his freezing shadow. For seven years, you tried everything. You cooked his favorite meals, adjusted his ties before his early morning board meetings, and greeted him with a warm smile every midnight when he returned. In response, you received polite nods, curt replies, and an invisible, unbreakable wall.

​Then came Eunji.

​Born four years into your marriage due to intense family pressure, your sweet four-year-old daughter was a carbon copy of Sunghoon—right down to the sharp, beautiful eyes. But her heart was entirely yours: gentle, hopeful, and longing for affection.

​"Mumma, will Papa play tea party today?" Eunji asked, dragging a tiny plastic cup across the plush living room rug.

​You knelt, kissing her soft cheek, hiding the familiar ache in your chest. "Papa has a very big meeting today, sweetie. He’s working so hard. It’s okay, Mumma will play! Should we make the teddy bears guests?"

​"But Hana’s papa held her hand at the park yesterday," Eunji whispered, her lower lip trembling. "I want Papa to hold my hand too."

​Your heart broke a little more every day. Sunghoon didn’t hate Eunji; he simply treated her like a fragile piece of glass he didn’t know how to handle, choosing to immerse himself in numbers and contracts rather than risk feeling something.

​─── ✧ ───

​The breaking point arrived on a rainy Tuesday evening.

​Sunghoon was working from his home office, conducting a high-stakes international video conference. The door was firmly shut, a visual boundary everyone in the house knew never to cross.

​But Eunji, clutching a colorful drawing she had spent hours perfecting—a drawing of three people holding hands under a bright yellow sun—escaped your watch. Driven by pure, innocent hope, her small fingers twisted the heavy brass doorknob, and she toddled inside.

​"Papa! Look what I made—"

​"I told you, the projections for the third quarter must be revised by—" Sunghoon stopped mid-sentence, his icy gaze dropping to the little girl standing by his desk. The board members on the screen went silent.

​Sunghoon slammed his laptop shut, the sharp clack echoing like a gunshot in the quiet room.

​"What are you doing in here?!" his voice boomed, sharp and laced with exhaustion and irritation. "How many times do I have to say I am not to be disturbed? Get out!"

​Eunji froze. Her big eyes filled with instant terror. The drawing slipped from her tiny hands, fluttering to the floor. She let out a sharp, terrified sob, turning on her heel and running straight into you as you rushed through the doorway.

​You scooped her up against your chest, her tiny frame shaking violently as she buried her face into your neck.

​Looking past her, you saw Sunghoon rubbing his temples, already reaching back out to open his laptop as if nothing had happened. He didn't even look up at his crying child.

​Something inside you—seven years of patience, compliance, and silent suffering—finally snapped.

​"Out," you whispered to the nanny who had just hurried up the stairs. "Take Eunji to her room, please."

​Once the door closed behind them, leaving just you and the man you shared a bed but no life with, you stepped fully into his office.

​"You cross the line when you bring your domestic issues into my workspace, Y/N," Sunghoon said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "Teach your daughter some discipline."

​"Our daughter," you corrected, your voice dangerously low, trembling with a rage he had never seen in you before. "She is our daughter, Sunghoon."

​Sunghoon finally paused, looking up, his dark eyes narrowing slightly.

​"For seven years, I accepted this," you said, tears finally spilling over your lashes, though your stance remained unyielding. "I accepted that you don’t love me. I accepted the silence, the cold looks, the fact that I am nothing but a ghost in your house. I stayed sweet, I stayed quiet, because I chose to fulfill my vows. But I will not let you do this to her."

​"I am securing her future—"

​"She doesn't want your money, Sunghoon! She wants her father!" you yelled, the sudden volume making him visibly flinch. "She is four years old! She doesn't understand stocks or board meetings. She just wanted to show you a picture. She wants you to look at her, to love her, to live with us instead of just existing like a stranger who sleeps under the same roof!"

​You took a deep, shuddering breath, wiping your face fiercely.

​"If you can’t love me, fine. That is my cross to bear. But if you cannot find it in your frozen heart to be a father to that little girl, then tell me now. Because I will take her, and I will leave, and I will make sure she never has to beg for crumbs of your attention ever again."

​Without waiting for his response, you turned and walked out, leaving the heavy oak door wide open.

​─── ✧ ───

​Sunghoon sat frozen in the silence of his office. The silence, which used to be his sanctuary, suddenly felt suffocating.

​His gaze drifted to the floor. There, near the edge of his mahogany desk, lay the crumpled piece of paper Eunji had dropped.

​Slowly, his elegant hands reached down to pick it up. He smoothed out the creases. It was a crude, colorful drawing of three figures. One had long hair, one had a dress, and the tallest one wore a messy black suit. They were all smiling, holding hands. Across the top, in uneven, backward child’s script, it read: MY FAMILY.

​A sudden, sharp pang struck Sunghoon's chest. It was a physical ache so intense it made him catch his breath.

​He thought about his own childhood—raised by a cold, distant father who only acknowledged him for his academic grades. He had swore he would never be weak like that. But in trying to be strong, in burying his emotions to be the perfect CEO, he had become the exact monster he hated. He had passed the curse down to his own innocent daughter. And he was losing the only woman who had ever looked at him with genuine warmth.

​─── ✧ ───

​The next evening, you were sitting in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup with a hollow feeling in your chest. You were already mentally planning how to pack your things.

​The front door clicked open. It was only 6:00 PM. Sunghoon was never home before midnight.

​You walked out into the hallway, defensive walls instantly going up. But the sight before you stopped you in your tracks.

​Sunghoon was kneeling on the hard hardwood floor. His expensive designer suit jacket was tossed onto a chair, his tie completely gone, and the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone. He was holding a large, plush pink teddy bear in one hand, and a box of pastel crayons in the other.

​Eunji was standing a few feet away from him, peeking out from behind the sofa, her thumb in her mouth, her eyes cautious.

​"Eunji-ah," Sunghoon called out. His voice wasn't cold. It was rough, uncertain, and incredibly quiet. "Papa... Papa is sorry for yelling yesterday. I was wrong."

​He awkwardly held out the drawing she had made, which he had carefully taped back together.

​"I really like your drawing," he said, his voice cracking slightly as he forced a gentle smile—a real, vulnerable smile that you had never seen in seven years of marriage. "Can you show me how to color the sun? I don't know how to do it right."

​Eunji looked up at you, searching for permission. You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, your eyes stinging with fresh, entirely different tears.

​Slowly, the little girl took a step forward. Then another. Until she was running, throwing her small arms around Sunghoon’s neck.

​Sunghoon stiffened for a fraction of a second, completely unaccustomed to the warmth, before his arms wrapped tightly around her small frame. He buried his face in her hair, closing his eyes tightly as a single, silent tear slipped down his cheek.

​Over their daughter’s shoulder, Sunghoon looked up and met your gaze. There was no coldness left in his eyes—only remorse, a plea for forgiveness, and the first, fragile spark of a man who was finally ready to learn how to love his family.

I'm back after taking a break... Yay! ... Will update masterlist...

[rikiiduck]

niki becoming a dad👀👀

She’s MINE

Dad Riki x mum reader

Sypnosis: Riki got jealous of his own daughter claiming you

Warning: flufffff

now playing🎧- first love- hikaru utada

📍a/n: hiii thank youuu for your request!! I hope you’ll like this one tooo! Edit: this is a pretty old draft😭

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the living room, casting a warm, golden glow over the soft rug where the center of your universe currently sat.

Your three-year-old daughter, Hina, was deeply engrossed in her morning mission. She wore a pair of mismatched, fuzzy socks, her dark, slightly wavy hair tied into two chaotic little pigtails that bounced every time she moved. And right there on the floor with her, looking entirely too big for the miniature plastic tea set in front of him, was Nishimura Riki.

To the rest of the world, Riki was a man of quiet intensity—sharp, collected, and occasionally intimidating when he was in his element. But right now, sitting cross-legged in a casual gray sweatshirt with a tiny pink plastic teacup balanced precariously between his long fingers, he was just a dad completely wrapped around his daughter’s little finger.

"Drink it, Papa! It's strawberry juice," Hina ordered, her voice high and demanding as she tapped the toy teapot against his cup.

"Ah, my favorite. Thank you, chef," Riki said, his deep voice dropping into that incredibly soft, honeyed tone he reserved only for the two of you. He lifted the tiny cup to his lips, making an overly dramatic, loud gulping sound that had Hina bursting into a fit of giggles, her small hands clapping together.

Sitting on the couch with a warm mug of coffee between your hands, you couldn't help the swell of pure affection that tightened in your chest. You watched the way Riki’s sharp, fox-like eyes crinkled at the corners, a brilliant, genuine smile spreading across his face as he reached out to gently boop Hina’s nose.

He was an incredible father. When you had first found out you were pregnant, Riki had been terrified, constantly reading parenting books and worrying that his naturally quiet, intense demeanor wouldn't be enough. But the moment Hina was placed in his arms, every doubt had melted away. He was patient, fiercely protective, and endlessly attentive. He was the dad who stayed up for midnight feedings just so you could sleep, and the husband who still left sweet notes on the kitchen counter before he left for work. You were, without a doubt, the luckiest woman alive.

Later that afternoon, Riki had stepped away to the kitchen to prepare some snacks, leaving you and Hina on the floor surrounded by her stuffed animals. Hina was currently burying her face into your neck, her small arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders in a sudden burst of toddler affection.

"I love you, Mama," Hina mumbled into your collarbone, squeezing you with all her might. "Mama is mine. Only mine."

You laughed softly, wrapping your arms around her small frame and kissing the top of her head. "Oh really? Mama is yours?"

"Yes! Mine!" Hina declared proudly, pulling back to look at you with fierce, determined little eyes.

"Hey, hold on a minute."

A shadow fell over the two of you as Riki suddenly materialized from the kitchen, setting a plate of sliced apples on the coffee table. Before Hina could protest, Riki slid onto the floor right next to you. His long arm immediately snaked around your waist, pulling you firmly against his side, his chin resting possessively on your shoulder.

He looked across at his daughter, narrowing his eyes in a playful, mock-serious stare. "No way, kiddo. Mama is MINE."

Hina’s jaw practically dropped. She crawled forward, placing her tiny hands on your knee, puffing out her cheeks. "No! My Mama!"

"I bought the ring, I got her first," Riki bickered back smoothly, a teasing smirk playing on his lips as he tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you even closer into his chest. "Find your own wife, Hina. This one belongs to Papa."

"Nooooo!" Hina squealed, lunging forward to tug at Riki’s sweatshirt, trying to physically pry his arm off you. "Mama is Hina's! Mama, tell Papa!"

You couldn't stop the laughter bubbling up from your chest as you looked between the two of them. Riki looked entirely too pleased with himself, leaning down to press a loud, dramatic kiss to your cheek right in front of her just to fuel the fire.

"Papa, no kissing my Mama!" Hina protested, successfully climbing over Riki’s legs to squeeze herself right between the two of you, effectively creating a giant, chaotic family hug. Riki laughed, his chest vibrating against your back as he wrapped his large arms around both of you, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

By the time night fell, the chaotic energy of the daytime finally caught up to the household. After a warm bath and three readings of her favorite storybook, Hina finally drifted off to sleep, her little breathing slow and rhythmic under her star-printed blankets.

Riki closed her bedroom door with an agonizingly slow, careful click, ensuring the silence of the hallway remained unbroken.

The moment he turned around and saw you leaning against the hallway wall, waiting for him, his entire posture changed. The playful bickering dad vanished, replaced by the heavy, hooded gaze of your husband. He walked over to you, his footsteps silent, and didn't hesitate to trap you gently between his arms, his hands resting on the wall on either side of your head.

"Finally," Riki breathed, his voice a low, raspy whisper that sent a familiar shiver down your spine. "She's asleep."

"You were bickering with a three-year-old, Niki," you teased softly, reaching up to rest your hands on his chest, feeling the steady, warm beat of his heart.

"I don't care," he murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed against your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. "I shared you all day. I let her follow you around, I let her hold your hand... but now it's my turn. I mean it. You're mine tonight."

Before you could laugh, Riki tilted your chin up and captured your lips in a slow, deep, and incredibly possessive kiss. It carried all the quiet built-up longing of the day, his hands sliding down to your waist to lift you slightly, pulling you flush against his body. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as the quiet house faded into the background.

He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, a soft, breathless smile on his lips. "I love our little girl," he whispered, kissing you again, sweeter this time. "But I love you more. Come here."

Hand in hand, he led you into your bedroom, finally having you all to himself in the quiet, perfect world you had built together.

Taglist🍎: @kristynaaah @enhapagluuuuu @daydreamer231 @babyt0matoes @nikidikiy @wvndrls @perolaprincess123 @ceceylosa @nota10butadefinite8 @chaebbys

[ptolemaeiia]

KISSING STRANGERS 𓍼 ⌞ p. sunghoon ⌝

⌞ +18 ⌝ you and your best friend sunghoon spend months preparing to move in together as roomates— from furniture shopping to pinterest moodboards, you’ve got it all planned. But when— two weeks before moving in, he starts dating someone— the appartment suddenly feels like a very bad idea…

❪ 20k ❫ ｡ ❛ 박성훈 ❜ 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 𝑖𝑛 best friends to lovers !

MDNI .ᐟ.ᐟ smut, fluff, jealousy, very possessive sunghoon, unprotected sex piv, oral, alcohol consumption, friends to lovers, voyeurism (interrupting sex multiple times), sexual tension, over the clothes stuff. messy ‘friends’ dynamics, rom com, messy characters they don’t know what they want, questionable behaviours sometimes, fast paced. college au, other enha members. ──── m.list

────────

THE THING ABOUT SUNGHOON, is that he's genuinely capable of having good taste in decoration— if he tries really really hard.

Sometimes, on rare occasions, he'll have breakthroughs; he'll find a random ceramic plate at the supermarket, one that has the particularity of- for once- looking decent, and he'll buy it for you, wrapping a little bow around it in guise of covering the price tag.

Other times— well, most of the time, he'll bypass the moodboards and color grades you send him daily— instead finding the ugliest items possible and calling them ‘gorgeous’.

Sunghoon has the taste of an 89 grandma hooked on life support— and he's shameless about it.

He folds everytime he sees something ugly- it's actually starting to become funny. Like this one time, he sent you a link for the ugliest table cloth ever made, called it ‘western vintage’— when it look like it could've been a substitute for toilet paper during the covid pandemic.

To sum up, you wouldn't let him touch your mood boards with a 10'' pole. Sunghoon is incapable of color coordinating things— so much so that you're almost certain he's color blind but just won't say it.

The man thinks neon orange and mustard yellow look good together, for fuck's sake.

But unlike his decoration skills— he's a master at hunting for apartments, that he is.

Ever since you started talking about moving in together— he's taken up a true realtor hobby the way he spends all his time on housing websites. There's not a day that goes by without him sending documents over— scheduling visits, handling it all.

You'd rate him a 12/10 in terms of reliability.

The decoration part though? A minus 78.

Sunghoon's an accomplished man however tacky his taste in household items is— the kind you see and think 'oh damn he's got it under control'. It's not so much about his broad back and big arms- but rather his self restraint, assertiveness and stance. He reeks of success and power even when he parades none of it— which is probably why women (and men) line up to get a taste of him. 

But don't fool yourself, Park Sunghoon indulges in none of that. No no, he keeps to himself— careful and reserved, never letting anyone get too close; he deliberately chooses not to entertain hedonistic habits and instead, surrounds himself with an elite of handpicked, exclusive friends.

You are one of the lucky people Sunghoon chooses to let in— you met by happenstance; during your first year of highschool, back when you'd go back and forth between Seoul and the outskirts to visit your divorced mom, and he just so happened to be on a train with you one day. You spent the next few hours in said train because of technical difficulties, and bonded over the last bottle of water you carried in your bag during a heatwave.

Friendship, sometimes, begins with nothing grander than that.

Over the years, you maintained the same relationship— close but not too close, with enough privacy to allow a drawn line. Sunghoon knew not everything but only a few big secrets of yours— that was how you sustained the equilibrium. You knew most parts of him— his kind, thoughtful and attentive side, inclusive of his darker and broodier side.

But you had no idea what he looked like when he was all in— when there were feelings involved, so naturally you couldn't claim to know him entirely.

You both applied to the same college and hung out any chance you got during the first years, alternating between his home— a high-end penthouse— and yours. Sunghoon was good company, he had good taste in music and movies— knew how to entertain and cook, and had a very specific kind of humor that you so happened to like.

He had long pianist fingers despite being terrible at instruments, he took care of his nails like they were a mirror of his soul— and had tan lines from his expensive Audemars Piquet watch, which he kept religiously in a safe. He wasn't a man of luxury, yet, he liked gifting expensive things to family and in consequence, you.

At the top of the list of things you loved about Park Sunghoon, sat his habit of always skipping songs in his playlist and listening to them all the way through.

He gave a chance to everything, second chances included.

In second was that he could spend hours in a bookstore without buying anything— he never said know to hang outs at the museum and never pretended to like something for convenience.

You could spend hours talking about the things that make Park Sunghoon who he is— the little patterns in his daily life that constituted a special place in yours, by constant exposure.

But what you cant really elaborate on is why you two linked the way you did— why it feels so fusional— yet never transcends the line between platonic and questionable.

In brief, that's how —through a fortunate set of circumstances— you ended up making the decision to live with Park Sunghoon.

        You push the oversized cart through the wide aisles of the furniture store, wheels squeaking against the floor, while Sunghoon walks beside you like he owns the damn place. His broad shoulders brush against yours every few steps, and he's got that half-smirk on his face—the one that says he knows exactly how ridiculous this whole trip is but he's indulging you anyway.

The moodboard you printed out (the one you spent three sleepless nights perfecting on Canva) is crumpled in your free hand, colors and swatches already starting to smear from how many times you've waved it at him like a battle flag.

"Sunghoon, I swear to god, get your nasty eyes off that floral chair before I leave you here," you say, steering the cart sharply away from a display of hideous patterned armchairs that look like they belong in your grandma's attic.

He laughs, low and warm, the sound rumbling through his chest as he reaches over to snag the moodboard from your fingers. "Come on, it's vintage. You said you wanted vintage."

"You're acting like you know anything about 'vintage', give it back to me," you shoot back, snatching the paper back.

Your inside voice is begging to know why you even tolerate this idiot so much— when his taste is actual garbage. But out loud you just roll your eyes and bump the cart into his hip. "Stick to the moodboard. Beige, sage, warm wood tones. Neutral with pops of green. That's the assignment dick face."

Sunghoon leans on the cart handle, his long fingers drumming against the metal. Those fingers that always look too elegant for someone who once tried to convince you neon orange throw pillows were "classy".

He's wearing a simple black t shirt today, stupidly expensive wraparound sunglasses resting on his nose, but he still manages to look like he walked out of a magazine. People keep glancing at him as they pass— women, mostly— and you feel like the little black sheep; like you're somehow gonna get beat up just for standing next to him.

"Fine, fine. Safe, whatever you say boss," he says, but his eyes are already drifting toward a section of overly ornate side tables. "But hear me out—one statement piece. Something with personality."

"Personality for you means ugly," you mutter, but you're smiling. You can't help it— he has such an old-person soul.

You turn into the living room section, rows of sofas stretching out of sight; Sunghoon grabs a throw pillow from a display and holds it up dramatically. It's mustard yellow. Of course it is.

"See? This would look great with the neon orange you're so scared of," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

"You're colorblind man. I'm calling your mom later and telling her to get you tested." You yank the pillow out of his hands and toss it back onto the shelf with exaggerated disgust. "We're getting the charcoal sectional. It's on the moodboard. Page three. Look at the damn moodboard, Hoon."

He's laughing again, that genuine one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes him look younger than the composed, successful version of himself he likes to portray. "You're so bossy when you're nesting. It's cute."

"Fuck off," you say, but there's no heat in it. You're both pushing the cart now, shoulders bumping on purpose. The conversation flows easy, the way it always does with him—l ike slipping into warm water after a long day.

"Okay but seriously," you continue, steering toward the modular sofas, "the sectional has to be big enough for everyone. Housewarming party is happening whether you like it or not. We need space for people to sprawl but also it needs to look good enough for pictures."

"Yeah, sounds right." Sunghoon nods, running a hand through his dark hair. "Speaking of housewarming party, you should send out invites. But we're not doing it the first week. Let's actually unpack before we have seven idiots destroying our new place."

'Our place,' your mind echoes, the words feeling a little too big. This has always been your dream, finding someone you truly hit it off with and move together. But you always thought it would be a girl for some reason... not a 6ft-something man.

"Right. Anyway, Jungwon and Riki are not allowed near the drinks unsupervised. Those two get tipsy off one beer. Remember last time? I don't wanna go through that again."

Sunghoon snorts, grabbing a fabric swatch from a nearby display and rubbing it between his fingers like he's some kind of expert. "Jungwon gets emotional when he's drunk, it's hilarious. We'll put them on snack duty, or water duty. Make them the responsible ones for once."

"Yeah. Let Jay and Heeseung handle the drinks, Jake can DJ or whatever shit he wants to do. Sunoo will probably show up with flowers and make everything look ten times better than we could anyway." You stop the cart in front of a massive L-shaped sectional in a perfect warm gray. It matches the moodboard almost exactly. "This one. This is it. Sit on it."

Sunghoon drops onto the cushions with zero hesitation, spreading his long legs out and patting the spot next to him. "Come test it. Make sure it doesn't hurt your back.”

You sit, sinking into the fabric. It's comfortable, really comfortable. "It's perfect. Soft but not too soft. And at least it doesn't look like a grandma passed away on it."

"Damn okay," he says, but he's grinning. "I still think that one tablecloth had potential."

"That tablecloth looked awful. We're never speaking of it again." You lean back, shoulder to shoulder with him on the display sofa. "Okay, furniture plan: this sectional, the wooden coffee table —not the one with the weird carvings you liked— and those floating shelves for the books. No ugly ceramic stuff unless I approve it first."

He turns his head toward you, close enough that you can smell his cologne— something clean and expensive that always lingers on your clothes after hanging out. "You're really not letting me have any input, huh?"

"Your input is vetoed for life after the neon orange thing. I still have nightmares about that absolute shit of a color combo." You poke his arm, "But fine. You can pick the plants. Within reason. No carnivorous ones or anything that'll die in two weeks because you forget to water them."

Sunghoon's eyes light up like you just handed him the keys to a new luxury car. "Plants? Really? I get full control?"

"Limited control," you correct quickly, already regretting it as you both stand up and start pushing the cart again toward the greenery section. "I'm watching you. One ugly plant and it's going in the trash. No— you're going in the trash."

The plant aisle is a jungle of green— monstera, fiddle leaf figs, snake plants, pothos hanging everywhere. Sunghoon immediately beelines for a dramatic-looking plant with variegated leaves that honestly looks kind of cursed.

"No," you say flatly, grabbing the cart handle to stop him. "That one looks dangerous. Pick something normal."

"It's a prayer plant," he argues, turning the pot around to show you the tag. "It folds its leaves at night. Cute, right? Western vintage."

You burst out laughing, the sound echoing a little too loud in the aisle. A couple nearby glances over, but you don't care.

"You and your fucking western vintage. Get the monstera, it's a classic. Hard to kill and matches the moodboard."

He raises one eyebrow. "You're killing my vision."

"Your vision needs to be euthanized Sunghoon please." But you're smiling as you say it, and you end up compromising on two monsteras and one smaller prayer plant because apparently you're weak.

You load them carefully into the cart, leaves brushing against your arms.

As you wander deeper into the store, the conversation drifts. Sunghoon picks up a set of minimalist ceramic plates— actually decent ones, for once— and holds them up for approval.

"These are... good," you admit grudgingly.

He chuckles, remembering the supermarket plate incident. "See? I can have taste. When I try really hard."

"Rarely. Don't get cocky." You add them to the cart.

Your mind is racing with details: how the apartment will look with his stuff mixed with yours, how his piano (the one he barely plays but keeps because it "looks sophisticated") will fit in the corner, whether the lighting in the new place will make his tan lines even more obvious when he's cooking shirtless like he sometimes does — wait what?

"What about the housewarming menu?" you ask, changing the subject before your thoughts spiral. "Jay will wanna take over the kitchen. We should let him— he's the only one who won't burn water. Jake can bring desserts, Sunoo will handle the vibe and... Heeseung... can sit there— I guess."

Sunghoon nods, pushing the cart with one hand while scrolling through his phone with the other, probably adding things to the apartment checklist you made. "And we keep Jungwon and Riki on hydration duty."

"Exactly. Lightweight kings." You laugh, imagining it.

The cart is filling up— throw blankets in approved colors, a couple of lamps that don't scream "granny's house," some simple glassware. Every item feels like another brick in this new shared life. It's exciting and yet terrifying.

You stop in the bedroom section because, of course you do and Sunghoon eyes a massive bed frame with a dramatic headboard.

"Don't even think about it," you warn. "Simple. Platform bed. No weird carvings."

"But it has presence," he teases, flopping down on the display mattress dramatically. He pats the space beside him again. "Test it with me. Important decision."

You hesitate for half a second— this is how rumors start— before climbing on. The mattress is firm but comfortable.

Sunghoon turns on his side to face you, head propped on his hand.

"Admit it," he says softly, that reserved smile playing on his lips. "This is gonna be good. Even if my taste is shit."

"Your taste is atrocious. But yeah... it's gonna be good. As long as you let me control 90% of the decorating and you keep handling the apartment paperwork like the reliable slave you are."

He laughs quietly. "i’m so good at apartment hunting, right?"

"Exactly." You stare at the ceiling for a moment, both of you lying there on the display bed like idiots. "Party guest list is locked. No randoms. Just the group."

"Deal." Sunghoon sits up, offering you a hand to pull you up too.

You continue through the aisles, banter never stopping and he tries to sneak a hideous abstract sculpture into the cart; you catch him and replace it with a sleek wooden one.

You argue over rug textures— "This one feels like a cloud, Hoon." "It looks like puke."— and laugh until your sides hurt.

By the time the cart is overflowing and you're heading toward checkout, the sun is dipping lower outside the store windows.

You pay (splitting it because that's how you two do things—fair, balanced), and as you wheel everything out toward his car, you can't stop smiling.

Being best friends with a member of the male species, is a really weird thing. See, people tend to view you completely differently when they learn that your best friend is in fact a tall buff guy who happens to be rich. They immediately think, there's no way you're "just friends."

That a guy like him— would never settle for platonic with someone like you. They assume you're fucking, or at least that you're one wrong grocery run away from it.

You've heard the whispers, seen the side-eyes. Hell, even some of the group has thrown in a sly comment or two over the years. But you know where you stand with Sunghoon. Best friends. Ride-or-die. The kind of bond that doesn't need labels to feel solid.

You're both loading the last of the bags into the trunk when Sunghoon's phone buzzes. He pulls it out, checks the screen, and gets this weird little smile, not his usual half-smirk, something you've never seen before. You shrug it off though, it's probably his mom sending another recipe or one of the guys in the group chat. Whatever.

"Everything good?" you ask, tossing the last bag in.

"Yeah," he says, pocketing the phone. "Nothing important."

You head out of the store, arms aching from hauling all the items. Before you can even complain, Sunghoon's already reaching over.

"Let me carry that, you're tired," he says, grabbing the heavier bags like they're nothing.

You trail behind him with the lighter stuff and the plants, both of you looking like a married couple fresh off a furniture run. The thought flickers through your head for half a second and you immediately drop it.

Nope. Not elaborating on that. Giving it any weight just makes shit weird.

But see— you’ve lied a lot from the get go. Since the introduction you’ve said quite a lot of false things— the biggest one being, “it’s purely platonic between me and Park Sunghoon.”

God knows even the most perfect things have cracks in them, right?

The drive back is easy, windows down, your playlist skipping through songs like always because you have the attention span of a goldfish when it comes to music. You're already mentally arranging the living room, trying to picture where the monstera will look best without clashing with his inevitable ugly finds.

"You're not sneaking that funny plant into the main area, by the way," you tell him, poking his arm. "It's going in a corner."

Sunghoon laughs. "You're so dramatic. Jeez."

"Dramatic my ass. It looks like it belongs in a haunted house. We're sticking to the moodboard, dickhead."

He just grins, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "You're lucky I take care of the actual important stuff. Otherwise you'd be living in a beige prison."

"Beige prison is better than neon orange hell," you shoot back, grinning. "Stick to hunting apartments like a neat freak."

By the time you pull up to your building, the sun's almost gone. Sunghoon kills the engine and helps haul everything upstairs without being asked, the two of you bumping shoulders in the elevator like always.

In 3 weeks, you and Park Sunghoon will be living together, life is good.

๑ஓ๑ஓ

Life is NOT good. Fuck life. You're standing in your bathroom, shivering in a towel after what was supposed to be a quick shower but turned into a goddamn ice bath.

The water went from lukewarm to straight-up arctic in under thirty seconds. No hot water. Again. Your ancient landlord has been "looking into it" for two weeks, which is code for doing absolutely jack shit.

You're tired, your hair is half-washed, and you have a morning lecture tomorrow. So you do the only logical thing: you call Jake.

"Dude, I'm dying. My shower is spitting ice cubes. You're the only one I know who's good with this plumbing crap. Please save me."

Jake laughs on the other end. "Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way. Gimme twenty."

Twenty minutes later there's a knock at your door and you open it to find not just Jake, but the whole circus: Jake with a toolbox, Sunghoon looking unfairly put-together in a black hoodie, and Heeseung trailing behind with a bag of snacks like they're here for a movie night instead of a plumbing emergency.

"You said you were coming, not bringing the entire zoo," you groan, stepping aside to let them in.

Jake grins, already kicking off his shoes. "They were with me when you called. Couldn't leave them behind. Sunghoon said he's an expert at watching other people work, and Heeseung brought chips."

"Team morale," Heeseung adds solemnly, holding up the bag. "Also I'm excellent at moral support."

You wrap your hoodie tighter around yourself. "Fine. Just fix my shit before I freeze to death."

Jake heads straight to the bathroom while you, Sunghoon, and Heeseung camp out in your tiny living room. The conversation flows easy, the way it always does with them.

"Uni is kicking my ass," you complain, flopping onto the couch. "Rent's going up again next month and my part-time job pays like shit. Being an adult is a scam."

"Tell me about it," Heeseung says through a mouthful of chips. "I'm living off instant ramen. My landlord raised the rent too— said it's 'market rate.' Market rate my ass. I'll market rate his ass, see how that goes."

Sunghoon leans against the wall, arms crossed, looking amused. "You two are dramatic. Just move somewhere better."

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Penthouse," you shoot back. "Some of us aren't out here swimming in good credit scores."

From the bathroom, Jake's voice echoes. "Pass me the wrench! And stop complaining about rent—the sink is fixed in like five minutes, watch."

You hear clinking and cursing as Jake works. Sunghoon eventually wanders over to "supervise" (aka stand there looking pretty while Jake does everything). You and Heeseung keep chatting about stupid professors, upcoming deadlines, and how none of you can afford to eat out anymore without feeling guilty.

Jake emerges twenty minutes later, wiping his hands. "Fixed. Your hot water heater was just throwing a tantrum. Should be good now."

"You're a godsend," you tell him, genuinely relieved. "I owe you dinner or something."

"Make it the good ramen, not the cheap shit," Jake says, grinning.

You're all sprawled out now, snacks open, relaxed. Sunghoon sits on the arm of the couch, close enough that you catch a whiff of his cologne— clean, expensive, the same one he's worn for years. For some reason it hits different tonight but you shake it off.

Then, casually, like he's commenting on the weather, Sunghoon says, "By the way, I met someone on that group outing last weekend. Mina. She's cool. We're grabbing coffee sometime."

Ah. Nice?

You blink, forcing a smile. "Oh? That's great, Hoon. She sounds nice. You should go for it."

Inside, there's this weird little twist in your stomach. Not jealousy or anything dramatic—just... off. The type of feeling that makes you want to jackhammer the "?????" button on your keyboard.

You push it down immediately. Supportive friend mode. That's where you stand bitch.

He nods, that reserved smile appearing. "Yeah, we'll see. She's into photography or something. Might be fun."

Jake and Heeseung immediately pile on with teasing questions, the conversation shifting into typical guy shit-talk about dating apps and whatnot. You laugh along, throwing in jokes about Sunghoon's questionable taste in everything except women, apparently.

But that faint twist lingers as you breathe in his cologne again.

You tell yourself it's nothing. Just a weird day. Life's already been kicking your ass with cold showers— you don't need to overthink this too.

๑ஓ๑ஓ

You're the biggest overthinker the world has ever known. It's been one week before move-in and your brain won't shut the fuck up. Ever since Sunghoon casually dropped the Mina news, you've been spiraling in the most ridiculous way possible.

What if he turns into one of those dudes who gets a girlfriend and suddenly disappears? The type who's glued to her 24/7, canceling plans and turning your shared apartment into her second home.

Would she have a problem with you being there? Some girls get weird about their boyfriend living with a female best friend, even if it's been strictly platonic for years…

And honestly? How the hell does someone even start dating a guy knowing he's about to move in with a girl?

Sure, you know there's nothing there, but not everyone gets that. People already assume shit when they see you two together.

You keep telling yourself it's fine, that nothing's going to change, but your brain is a professional at inventing problems that don't exist yet

You're still overthinking it when you meet Sunghoon and the landlord at the new apartment for the final walkthrough.

The place looks even better than you remembered— sunlight pouring in, fresh paint, that perfect spot in the living room for the charcoal sectional. The landlord drones on about the terms, pointing out outlets and explaining the heating system.

You nod along, trying to focus on the important stuff.

Sunghoon's only half there, his phone keeps buzzing and he's texting back with that small, distracted smile. You don't have to ask who it is. Mina. Of course.

"Everything looks good to me," you say, signing your part of the lease after the landlord walks you through the final checklist. Sunghoon signs right after, barely glancing up from his screen before sliding it back.

"Cool," he mutters, typing another reply. "We're good then.”

The landlord leaves and you're both standing in the empty living room, keys in hand. It should feel exciting—this is your place now—but your stomach is doing that stupid twist again.

๑ஓ๑ஓ

Later that night you're both at his current place, surrounded by half-packed boxes, eating takeout on the floor like broke uni students. Except well… you're the only one that's actually broke.

Sunghoon's in a good mood, legs stretched out, picking at his food.

"She's really cool, you know?" he says suddenly, eyes lighting up in that rare, genuine way. "Mina. We talked for like three hours last night. She gets my humor and she's into the same movies. I think you'd like her actually."

You force a smile, swallowing the weird knot in your throat.

"That's awesome, Hoon. I'm happy for you. Seriously. If she puts up with your neon orange taste, she must be a saint."

He chuckles, leaning back against the couch. "She called my prayer plant 'interesting.' That's good right?."

You laugh along, poking at your noodles. "Just don't let her convince you to buy more ugly shit before we move in. I'm not redecorating around someone else's terrible vision."

"Deal." He bumps your shoulder with his. "It'll be fine. You know I wouldn't bring someone around if I thought it'd mess things up."

"Yeah," you say, lying through your teeth. "I'm really happy for you."

Inside, your brain is still overthinking.

What if she hates that he lives with you?

What if things shift and you become the awkward third wheel in your own apartment? But you shove it down. This is Sunghoon. Your best friend.

You know where you stand.

At least erm... you hope you do?

๑ஓ๑ஓ

You don't know where you stand. You don't know whether to stand on top of a cliff or a bridge actually.

One wrong gust of wind and you're either plummeting into the abyss of "i'm jealous because that's MY friend" or swan-diving into the river of "this is fine, everything's fine, I'm totally not spiraling."

Move-in day is pure chaos. Boxes stacked like a Tetris game, bubble wrap popping underfoot, and the scent of new cardboard mixed with Sunghoon's stupidly expensive cologne that's somehow already infiltrating every corner. The charcoal sectional is half-assembled in the living room, looking majestic against the fresh walls, and the monstera plants are perched on the windowsill like leafy green bodyguards.

You're both on the floor surrounded by Ikea instructions that might as well be written in ancient Sumerian; Sunghoon's got that focused look on his face— brows furrowed, fingers turning an allen key —while you're holding up a dubious plank and praying it's not upside down.

"Pass me the weird little L-shaped thing," he says without looking up, hair falling into his eyes.

You toss it over. "This one? Or the torture device thingy?"

He catches it mid-air, smirks. "Both could be torture devices. Have you seen how many screws are left? Feels like we're building a medieval catapult."

You snort, leaning back on your hands. "Knowing your taste, it'll probably end up looking like a medieval catapult anyway"

He laughs and bumps your knee with his. "You love my taste. Admit it. The prayer plant is thriving already. It's a sexy ass plant."

"It's in the corner where no one can see it," you fire back, but you're grinning like an idiot.

This is the good part. The easy part. The two of you knee-deep in cardboard and allen keys, trading insults like always.

You spent the morning blasting your playlist (the one he hates but secretly vibes to anyway), arguing over where the floating shelves should go, and pretending the whole Mina situation wasn't sitting in your stomach like week-old takeout.

For a while, it almost feels normal. Like the last ten years of friendship compressed into one messy, sweaty afternoon of building a life together. He teases you about your obsessive moodboard adherence— you threaten to burn his ugly abstract sculpture if he tries sneaking it in again.

Sunghoon makes you coffee in the new kitchen (because of course he already knows where everything is packed— efficient king) and you both sit on the half-built sectional, shoulders brushing, legs tangled in bubble wrap.

"You're really good at this nesting shit," he says, nudging your foot. "Bossy as hell, but good.”

"Someone has to keep everything in check," you reply, poking his arm.

God, his arms. Why are they like that? Broad and stupidly solid from whatever rich-guy gym routine he does. You yank your brain back by the collar before it starts cataloging his tan lines again. Not today, Satan.

Sunghoon checks his phone at some point; a small, distracted smile creeps onto his face— the same one from the furniture store— and your insides do the twisty thing again. Harder this time.

"Shit, is it already that late?" He runs a hand through his hair. "I've got that thing with Mina tonight, coffee turned into dinner plans."

Of course it did.

You force the smile so hard your cheeks hurt. "Oh yeah? That's cool. Go have fun. I'll figure out where to put the Tv."

He hesitates for half a second, eyes flicking over the disaster zone. "You sure? I can push it back an hour—"

"Nah, go. Seriously. I've got this." Liar. Liar. Liaaaar. You wave him off like the supportive bestie you are, even though your brain is already screaming in 4K surround sound.

Sunghoon stands up, brushes dust off his pants, and gives you a reserved look that makes you feel seen in a way no one else does. "Text me if you need help carrying something. I'll bring reinforcements.”

"Or just more ugly plants," you mutter.

He laughs, leans down to ruffle your hair like you're twelve again, and then he's gone. The door clicks shut behind him and the apartment suddenly feels ten times bigger. Emptier. The monstera leaves rustle in the breeze from the open window like they're gossiping about you.

You sit there on the floor in the half-finished living room, surrounded by half-built furniture and your own thoughts. The charcoal sectional looks perfect, exactly like the moodboard, but now it just feels... off. Like it's waiting for something. Or someone. Probably Mina's perfume or her photography prints or whatever perfect, non-colorblind girl shit she brings to the table.

"Fuck," you whisper to no one, dragging a hand down your face.

Your brain, that treacherous bitch, immediately launches into overdrive.

What if she comes over after the date? What if she stays the night? What if she has amazing taste and suddenly the prayer plant migrates to the center of the room and you have to pretend it doesn't look like a haunted house reject? What if he starts canceling furniture trips and playlist sessions because he's too busy being all couple-y?

Yeah, you're being dramatic. C'mon.

You flop backward onto the rug (the non-puke one, thank you very much) and stare at the ceiling.

You don't know where you stand. Platonic soulmate? Roommate? The girl who's been friend-zoned so hard she's developing altitude sickness from the height of the friend zone? Or—worse—the girl who's been secretly jealous now that someone else might actually take him?

The worst part is you do like Mina from the little he's said. She sounds cool, funny and plus she’s into the same movies. The kind of person who'd probably get along with the group. Which makes this whole internal meltdown even more pathetic.

You groan and roll over, face-planting into a pile of bubble wrap. It pops sadly under your cheek.

"Get your shit together stupid cunt." you mumble to yourself.

But as the sun dips lower and paints the empty walls golden, you stay there on the floor, the apartment half-alive around you, boxes everywhere, plants watching.

You really don't know where you stand. And that terrifies you more than any ugly tablecloth ever could.

๑ஓ๑ஓ

You don't know how the hell a week can feel both brand new and like you've been doing this forever.

Living with Sunghoon is supposed to be the seamless extension of a decade of friendship, right? Best friends turned roommates. Easy. Natural.

Except nothing feels easy when every morning starts with the low hum of his voice through the wall and the sound of running water that makes your brain short-circuit in ways it absolutely should not.

The first full week hits like a fever dream.

Mornings are the worst— or the most dangerous, depending on how honest you're willing to be with yourself. You wake up to the soft clatter of him in the kitchen, the rich smell of coffee already brewing because Sunghoon is that kind of person.

The kind who sets the timer the night before so you both have something decent before uni swallows you whole.

You shuffle out of your room in an oversized hoodie and sleep shorts, hair looking like a bird's nest, and there he is— already dressed in a crisp button-down that somehow makes his shoulders look even broader, sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

"Hey," he says, voice still a little rough from sleep as he slides a mug toward you across the counter. Black with one sugar, exactly how you like it. His fingers brush yours for a second and you pretend it doesn't send a stupid spark up your arm. "Sleep okay? You were tossing around last night. Heard the bed creak."

Jesus Christ, he heard the bed creak? Your face heats up instantly. "Yeah, just... weird dreams. Thanks for the coffee, lifesaver."

Sunghoon leans against the counter, watching you with a quiet, attentive look that always makes you feel like he's seeing more than you want him to. "If the mattress is shit, we can swap rooms. Or I'll order a new topper today. No big deal."

You wave him off, hiding behind the mug. "It's fine, Hoon. Really. Don't go spending your trust fund on my ass."

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and low, and reaches over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Too late. Already added it to the list. Eat something before you run out the door."

The gesture lingers— his knuckles grazed your cheek for half a second, and now you're standing there like an idiot, heart doing obnoxious cartwheels while he casually plates some eggs and toast.

It's caring. He's always been caring.

But in this apartment, with just the two of you and no group buffer, it feels... different. Intimate in a way that makes your stomach flip and your brain scream abort mission, friend zone only.

๑ஓ๑ஓ

Uni days blur together in the usual mess of lectures, group projects, and shitty campus coffee that you now compare unfavorably to whatever magic Sunghoon brews at home.

You text him between classes— stupid shit, memes, complaints about your professor's monotone voice—and he replies with voice notes that are way too soothing for someone who's probably in the middle of his own packed schedule.

By the time you drag yourself home most afternoons, he's already there or arrives shortly after, shedding his jacket and asking about your day like he actually wants the full rundown.

One evening you come back soaked from a sudden downpour, cursing the weather gods under your breath— Sunghoon takes one look at you dripping all over the entryway and disappears into the bathroom, returning with a towel and one of his hoodies.

"You're gonna catch a cold," he murmurs, draping the towel over your head and rubbing gently. His hands are careful, almost tender, as he dries your hair. "Go change. I'll heat up some soup. Jay sent over extra from his latest kitchen ...experiment."

You stand there like a drowned rat, letting him fuss because fighting it feels pointless when he gets that determined look. "You don't have to baby me, dude. I'm not five."

"Could've fooled me with the way you're shivering." He smiles, that small reserved one that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and gives your shoulder a light squeeze before heading to the kitchen. "Besides, I like taking care of you. Someone has to."

What the fuck does that mean?

You pull on his hoodie— because of course it smells like him, clean and expensive and stupidly comforting—and shuffle back out. He's at the stove, stirring the soup with focused precision, brow slightly furrowed like this is a critical mission. His sleeves are rolled up again, exposing those tan lines from his watch, and the way the muscles in his forearms shift as he works...

You tear your eyes away and hop onto the counter beside him. "Smells good, you're spoiling me this week."

Sunghoon glances over, eyes soft. "That's the plan. You've been stressing about midterms, figured good food might help." He ladles a bowl and hands it to you, fingers brushing again.

Deliberate? Accidental? Your brain doesn't know anymore.

Evenings melt into this weird domestic rhythm. You study on the sectional while he works on his laptop across from you, legs tangled under the coffee table because neither of you moves them. He'll reach over randomly to hand you a snack or adjust the lamp so the light hits your notes better. "Don't strain your eyes," he says one night, voice low and serious. You mumble thanks and try not to notice how close his knee is to yours.

The friendship is still there— solid, easy, full of banter. You roast each other over dinner, recreate ridiculous inside jokes from high school, and bicker like always. But underneath it, something's shifting. Or maybe it's just you. Probably just you and your overthinking ass.

Thursday night is when it really hits. You're exhausted from a brutal day of back-to-back classes and come home to find him fresh out of the shower.

He's in the kitchen again— because Sunghoon cooks when he's thinking— wearing only low-slung sweatpants and no shirt. Bare shoulders still damp, water droplets tracing paths down the smooth lines of his back as he chops vegetables with that same focused expression. The kind where his jaw tightens just a little and his long fingers handle the knife like it's an extension of himself.

You freeze in the doorway like a creep, mouth suddenly dry.

Holy shit. When did his shoulders get like that? Broad, defined, carrying the kind of quiet strength that makes you want to trace them with your fingers and then immediately slap yourself for the thought. He's always been hot, objectively. You knew that. But living together means seeing him like this—post-shower glow, relaxed in your shared space—and your brain is filing it away for later torture.

He looks up, catches you staring, and offers a small smile. "Hey. Rough day? You look like you need a hug dwarf."

Before you can respond, he's crossing the room and pulling you into one of those hugs— one arm wraps around your waist, the other hand cradling the back of your head against his bare chest. He's warm from the shower, skin still slightly damp, and he smells like his body wash and home. "Missed you today," he murmurs against your hair. "Tell me about it while I finish dinner?"

What the— fuck???

You nod against him, arms circling his waist because what else are you supposed to do? It feels too good. Too right. Too fucking ambiguous.

Sunghoon holds you a beat longer than necessary before letting go and returning to the stove like nothing happened.

You perch on a stool, watching him cook and thhat focused look returns— the slight furrow, the way he tastes the sauce and adjusts seasoning with care. "You're really good at this," you say, trying to keep your voice light.

He shrugs, shoulders rolling beautifully. "Learned for moments like this. Can't have you surviving on instant ramen forever, right?”

Your heart does something traitorous. Caring. Always so damn caring.

Later, while you're both on the couch pretending to watch a movie, his phone buzzes. He checks it, that soft smile appearing— the Mina smile—and excuses himself to the balcony. "Gotta take this real quick."

You try to focus on the screen. You really do. But the balcony door doesn't close all the way, and his voice carries on the night breeze.

"...Yeah, I know. This week's been crazy with the move-in, but it's good having her here. Makes the place feel less empty." A pause. "No, she's great, you'd like her. We've been friends forever." Another pause, softer. "Dinner tomorrow sounds perfect, Mina. I'll pick you up after your last class. Can't wait to see you."

The jealousy sparks hot and ugly in your chest, like someone struck a match against your ribs.

She'd like her? We've been friends forever? You know it's true. You know you're the one who's always been there.

But hearing him talk to her in that warm tone while you're sitting here in his hoodie, stomach full of his cooking, makes you want to throw something. Preferably at your own stupid feelings.

You curl tighter into the corner of the sectional, pulling the blanket up like armor. Get a grip. He's allowed to date. You're happy for him. Mostly.

But the spark lingers, fanning into quiet flames every time you picture him with her. Does he hug Mina like that? Does he cook for her like that? Does he tuck her hair back and offer to swap rooms because he heard her bed creak?

You're a bitch. The kind of bitch girlfriends are scared of.

Friday morning brings another intimate routine moment. You're in the bathroom brushing your teeth when he walks in shirtless again, towel slung low on his hips from his shower, hair wet and tousled. "Sorry, forgot my watch," he says casually, reaching past you. His bare arm brushes your shoulder, and you nearly choke on toothpaste.

"No problem," you mumble around the brush, eyes glued to the sink. In the mirror, you catch him glancing at you— soft, concerned, maybe something else. He lingers a second longer than needed.

"You okay? You've been quiet since last night."

Because I overheard you being all boyfriend-y with Mina and now I'm noticing how your shoulders look like they could bench-press my whole body— goofy ass.

"Just tired. Midterms."

He nods, squeezing your shoulder gently. "We'll order in tonight, my treat. And I'll handle the dishes so you can crash early."

"Sunghoon, you don't—"

"I want to," he cuts in, voice firm but kind. That ambiguous caring again, the kind that makes you question every platonic boundary you thought was rock solid.

The rest of the week follows the same pattern: mornings with coffee and subtle touches, days at uni where you text like always, evenings filled with his quiet caretaking. He leaves notes on the fridge ("Leftovers in the blue container—eat this, not the expired yogurt"), covers you with a blanket when you fall asleep studying, and listens to your rants about group project freeloaders with full attention, offering solutions and back rubs that feel way too nice.

By Sunday night, you're both exhausted on the couch, some old movie playing low. His arm drapes casually along the back of it, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder. You're hyper-aware of every point of contact.

"You've been off," he says quietly during a lull. "Talk to me."

You shrug, heart pounding. "Just adjusting. Living together is... a lot."

He turns toward you, eyes searching. "In a bad way?" There's real worry there, mixed with something deeper. His hand drops to your knee, thumb stroking absently. Caring. So fucking caring it hurts.

"No," you whisper. "Not bad. Just... new.”

Sunghoon smiles, small and reserved, and pulls you into his side. "We'll figure it out, together.”

You lean into him, cheek against his shoulder— bare again because the motherfucker ditched the shirt after his post-gym shower— and let yourself pretend for a minute that the jealousy from the phone call doesn't exist. That the intimacy of shared mornings and his cooking focus and these ambiguous touches are just friendship.

But deep down, you know the spark is growing. You don't know where you stand, but with every caring gesture, every lingering look, every bare-shouldered moment in your new shared life, the line between best friend and something more feels thinner than ever.

And that terrifies you. Because what if he's just being Sunghoon— reliable, thoughtful—and you're the one reading too much into it? What if Mina is the one who gets the clearer version of his heart?

You close your eyes and breathe him in anyway. The week is over, but the confusion is just beginning. Fuck.

๑ஓ๑ஓ

    The housewarming party is supposed to be fun. A celebration. Proof that you and Sunghoon can pull off this whole roommate thing without the universe imploding. Instead, it ‘surprisingly’ feels like stepping into a pressure cooker...

The guys show up right on time, loud as always, turning your half-settled apartment into a proper disaster zone within minutes. Jake bursts through the door first with a ridiculous stack of takeout bags and a speaker already blasting some Travis Scott song. "Housewarming kings! Where's the alcohol? We're christening this place properly."

"Kitchen counter," you call back, laughing despite the knot in your chest that has been tightening all week.

Sunghoon stays right behind you, one hand lightly on your lower back as he steers you out of Jake's path. "Careful, she's been on her feet all day helping set up, don't trample her motherfuckers."

Jake rolls his eyes but grins. "Yes, daddy."

Heeseung and Jay follow, arms loaded with more snacks and drinks, already bickering about some video game. Riki and Jungwon tumble in last, the maknaes immediately claiming the sectional like it is their throne, legs sprawled everywhere. Sunoo arrives with a soft, angelic smile and a bag of fancy desserts that makes everyone cheer.

For a while, it is perfect. The kind of easy energy yo've missed. You're all crammed together, passing plates, roasting each other mercilessly, the apartment filling with laughter and the clink of bottles.

Sunghoon stays close— refilling your drink before you even notice it is low, handing you a plate with your favorite bites arranged neatly because "you always forget to eat when you're hosting." His fingers brush your wrist each time, lingering just enough to make your skin hum.

"Stop hovering, Hoon," you mutter at one point, bumping his shoulder. But there is no heat in it. Secretly, you crave it. That quiet caretaking in front of everyone makes the ambiguous line blur even more.

He just smiles, reserved and warm. "Not hovering. Taking care of my favorite roommate."

"Only roommate," Jungwon teases from the couch, mouth full. "Unless Mina's moving in too?"

The name drops like a rock into still water. Sunghoon chuckles softly but doesn't deny it.

The party ramps up— music thumps, stories from uni and old high school memories fly around the room. You're in the middle of it, trading insults with Jake about his terrible DJ skills, when the doorbell rings again.

Sunghoon's face lights up in that specific way— the small, genuine smile reserved for someone new. "That's her."

Oh.

Mina steps in, pretty in a casual way that somehow makes your oversized hoodie and jeans feel sloppy. She has an easy laugh, a camera bag slung over her shoulder, and flowers in hand because, eh... of course she does. "Hi everyone! Sorry I'm late— traffic was brutal. These are for the new place."

The group greets her warmly; Sunoo immediately pulls her into a conversation about the flowers, Jay offers her a drink, and Riki starts asking about her photography like he's known her for years.

But your eyes are glued to Sunghoon as he greets her.

He hugs her— not the quick side-hug he gives the guys. A full one, arm around her waist, murmuring something low that makes her smile up at him. His hand lingers on her back the way it sometimes lingers on yours. Caring. Attentive. The same fucking way.

The apartment suddenly feels suffocating. Too small. Too full of their shared space and your racing thoughts.

Every time Sunghoon leans in to say something to her, every shared laugh, every time he makes sure she has food or adjusts the lighting because "the ambiance matters for photos, right?"—it claws at your insides.

Jealousy is not new, but this is sharper. Watching them together in your apartment, on the sectional you tested with him, in the kitchen where he cooked for you shirtless just days ago... it makes the walls close in.

You feel sick to your stomach.

You busy yourself in the kitchen, refilling snacks you obviously dont need to refill, forcing laughs when Jake cracks jokes. Inside, your brain is a fucking circus.

She fits. Look at them. He's glowing. Does he look at you like that? Are you just the comfortable best friend while she gets the real version? Fuck, why does it feel so weird?

Sunghoon catches your eye across the room at one point. His expression shifts— concerned, searching, he excuses himself from Mina mid-sentence and comes over, hand finding your elbow. "You good? You been quiet the last hour."

"Yeah, just tired from playing host," you lie, plastering on a smile. "Go enjoy your guest."

He studies you for a beat too long, thumb stroking your arm. "I'm here if you need anything, yeah?" The words are soft, ambiguous as hell, and they only make the knot worse.

Mina is great. Funny, genuine, easy to talk to. She compliments the place, asks you questions about your classes, even offers to take some group photos.

You hate how much you want to dislike her. The group loves her, Sunghoon keeps glancing between you two like he is hoping you'll click. And you do, on the surface.

But every time he touches her shoulder or laughs at her story, the suffocation grows until you feel like you're drowning in your own living room.

The party winds down eventually. Goodbyes, hugs, promises to do it again soon. Mina leaves with Sunghoon walking her to the elevator, their voices fading down the hall and you stay behind, cleaning up mechanically while the guys filter out with final teasing waves.

When Sunghoon comes back, the apartment is quieter than it has been in hours. Just the two of you, remnants of the party scattered like evidence of a crime scene.

He rolls up his sleeves and starts helping without being asked, gathering empty bottles, wiping counters; the silence stretches, awkward in a way it never used to be.

"You were good tonight," he says eventually, voice low as he dries a glass. "Everyone had a great time. Especially with you running point on the food."

You shrug, tossing napkins into the trash a little harder than necessary. "Team effort. Mina seems nice."

There. You said it. Neutral. Casual. Like it does not feel like swallowing glass.

Sunghoon pauses, setting the glass down. "She is. But... you were off after she got here. Did something happen?"

Yeah, watching you two felt like someone was vacuuming out my soul asshole.

You lean against the counter, arms crossed. "No. Just... first big thing in the new place. Adjusting."

Sunghoon steps closer. Too close. The kitchen light casts shadows on his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark eyes search yours with that quiet intensity. "Talk to me. Really talk. We've done the small talk thing all week. I know when something's bothering you."

The words hang there— akward small talk dissolving into something deeper, heavier. You can feel the shift in the air, thick and charged while he's giving you that caring look again— the one that makes boundaries feel imaginary.

You exhale shakily. "It's stupid. Seeing you with her... in here. It felt weird. Like I was intruding or something."

He doesn't laugh it off- doesn't pull back. Instead, he moves even closer, hands bracing on the counter on either side of you, caging you in without touching. "Youre not intruding. This is our place. Yours and mine. Mina's... she's new. You've been here through everything."

His voice is low, sincere— one hand lifts to brush your cheek, the same way he did that first morning. "I care about you. A lot. More than I probably let on most days. Living with you has been... good. Better than I expected, i dont want that to change."

Your heart hammers— the touch is gentle, thumb tracing your jaw like he is memorizing it, but it's ambiguous. So fucking ambiguous. Is this how best friends are supposed to comfort?

"Hoon..." you whisper, voice cracking. "What are we doing?"

He doesn't move away, his forehead nearly rests against yours, breath warm. "I know. I dont wanna fuck things up. You're important. The most important person in my life. We’ll figure it out together yeah?"

The conversation pulls you under— no more jokes, no more deflections. You tell him about the overthinking, the jealousy that surprises even you, the way you're scared this is going to get complicated and you'll no longer be his best friend.

You don't tell him about the real jealousy though— the silly, ugly one that makes you want to be in Mina's place— fuck that.

Sunghoon listens without interrupting, nodding, his hand eventually sliding to the back of your neck, massaging gently like he can ease the tension out.

"Im not good at this," he admits quietly when you finish. "Keeping things in neat boxes. With you, it's never been neat. But I don't regret asking you to move in. Not for a second."

You swallow hard. "Me neither. But Mina—"

"Is figuring things out," he finishes. "And so are we. I am not choosing. I'm just... here. With you."

After a while, Sunghoon presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before murmuring, "We'll be okay. Get some sleep. Ive got breakfast covered tomorrow."

You believe him. Mostly. But as you lie in bed later, replaying every touch, every word, the suffocating feeling from the party mixes with a new, fluttering hope.

This is going to get complicated. Really fucking complicated. This is not a friendship. There’s nothing friendly about this relationship.

๑ஓ๑ஓ

The week after the housewarming party drags like hangover you can't shake— everything's heavier now—the air in the apartment, the weight in your chest, the way Sunghoon's caring gestures twist between comfort and confusion.

It's late on a Thursday night when the emergency hits. You stumble through the door well past midnight, soaked from rain again because the universe hates you, eyes burning from hours of staring at a failed group project report your asshole teammates dumped on you last minute. Work-study has been kicking your ass, midterms are breathing down your neck, and everything just... sucks.

You don't even make it to your room before Sunghoon appears in the hallway, still in his lounge clothes, hair slightly messy like he's been waiting up. "Hey. Oop, rough day?" His voice is soft, instantly concerned. He takes one look at your dripping state and the defeated slump of your shoulders and pulls you straight into his arms without asking.

You melt into it before your brain can protest. He's warm, solid, smelling like home and his hand rubs slow circles on your back while the other cradles the back of your head. "Bad day?" he murmurs against your hair. "Tell me about it."

And you do. The words spill out in a messy ramble—shitty group members, endless revisions, the professor who doesn't give a fuck, the way rent's creeping up again.

He listens without interrupting, just holding you tighter, chin resting on top of your head. "You're doing your best. That's enough. I'll help with the report tomorrow if you want. Or we can order your favorite takeout."

The hug lingers— longer than it should. His arms stay wrapped around you, one hand sliding up to stroke your damp hair, thumb brushing your temple in that gentle way that makes your knees feel unreliable. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong against your cheek. It feels safe. Too safe.

Too much.

Your brain screams at you— this isn't just friendly. Or is it? Fuck, why does it feel like more every single time?

Maybe because this is highly fucked up— because friends don't act like that while having a girlfriend.

You pull away first, stepping back abruptly even though every cell in your body wants to stay. Confusion floods your face. "Thanks, Hoon. I... I should shower and crash. Sorry for dumping all that on you."

Sunghoon looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "You never have to apologize, get some rest. I'm here if you wake up and still feel like shit."

You nod and escape to your room, heart pounding. The hug stays with you long after the hot water runs out— his touch, his voice, the way he makes the bad day feel bearable.

But Mina's name echoes in the back of your mind like a warning. Youre a bitch for feeling this way about her man.

Mina starts coming over more after that. At first it's casual— dinner one night, movie the next. You try to be normal about it. You really do. But hearing her laugh from his room while they watch something on his laptop makes your stomach turn.

Their voices filter through the wall, low and easy, full of inside jokes you're not part of.

You bury yourself in your room with headphones, blasting music to drown them out, or claim you have late study sessions at the library just to avoid the common areas.

Sunghoon notices, of course. He always notices. He leaves little notes on the fridge—"Saved you some pasta. Eat, please."—or texts you during the day asking if you're okay, if you need anything.

One night he waits up again, catching you as you try to slip in quietly after a long day out.

"You've been avoiding the apartment," he says gently, leaning in the doorway to your room. "Is it because of Mina? Or... us?"

You shrug, avoiding his eyes. "Just busy. Uni's brutal right now."

He steps closer, hand reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. That caring touch again— fuck that. "You know you can talk to me, this is still our place. Don't disappear on me."

The words make your chest ache— youu nod, but the avoidance only gets worse.

Then comes the night that shatters whatever fragile denial you have left.

You told them you're going out— meeting a friend for drinks, staying late. You even make a show of getting dressed up and leaving at a reasonable hour. But the "friend" cancels last minute, and instead of finding somewhere else to go, you end up wandering the streets for a while before quietly letting yourself back in.

The apartment's dark except for the faint light coming from Sunghoon's room. His door's cracked open just enough.

You freeze in the hallway when you hear it.

Soft moans— the rhythmic creak of his bed. Mina's breathless laugh turning into a gasp and Sunghoon's low voice murmuring her name.

They think you're out. They have no idea you're standing there like a statue, heart hammering so hard you feel sick.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The sounds are unmistakable. Intimate. Real.

Your hands fly up to your ears, pressing hard like a child trying to block out a nightmare. It doesn't help, the images flood your brain anyway— his bare shoulders, that focused expression, the way he cares so deeply when he touches someone. Now he's touching her. In your shared apartment. While you stand outside like the pathetic third wheel you've become.

Tears burn your eyes as you tiptoe to your room, shutting the door as quietly as possible. You push your fingers deeper into your ears, curling up on your bed with your face buried in the pillow.

The frustration boils over into quiet, angry sobs. Why does this hurt so much? You knew this would happen. He's dating. You're just the best friend roommate. Get the fuck over it.

But you can't. The sounds eventually fade, but the ache stays. You lie there for hours, replaying every lingering hug, every caring gesture, every ambiguous moment— Sunghoon comforting you after your bad day, the way he pulled you close. The way you pulled away first, confused and scared.

You avoid him even more aggressively after that.

Early mornings to dodge breakfast together. Late nights at cafes pretending to study. Burying yourself in work until your eyes cross. Sunghoon tries— texts, notes, a soft knock on your door asking if you want to watch something— but you keep the walls up.

Inside, your thoughts spiral wildly. He's happy with her. Good for him. But why does hearing them together feel like someone's ripping out a piece of you? This is so fucked.

The apartment that once felt like home now feels like a minefield— every laugh from his room, every time Mina's shoes appear by the door, every lingering glance Sunghoon gives you when he thinks you're not looking —it all builds until you're not sure how much longer you can keep pretending everything's fine.

You don't know where you stand anymore, and the worst part is, Sunghoon still looks at you like he wants to pull you back into one of those long hugs and fix it all. But you're not sure a hug can fix this kind of mess.

Not when your heart's screaming what your mouth refuses to say.

๑ஓ๑ஓ

       The grocery run is supposed to be quick and easy. Just the usual Sunday restock— but obviously everything feels loaded lately, like one wrong word could blow up the fragile peace you've been faking

You're pushing the cart while Sunghoon walks beside you, tossing things in. He's been extra since the night you overheard him and Mina— leaving notes, making sure you eat, checking in with soft "you okay?" texts. It's driving you insane because it feels too much and not enough at the same time.

"Grab the oat milk?" he asks, reaching for his usual protein bars.

You nod, but when he puts another pack of those ugly off-brand snacks in the cart— the ones you hate because they taste like cardboard— you snap.

"Seriously? We talked about this. Stop buying shit we don't need just because it's on sale."

Sunghoon blinks, surprised. "It's not a big deal. I thought you might want options."

"It is a big deal when I'm the one trying to keep the kitchen from turning into a junkyard while you're playing house with Mina every other night." The words fly out sharper than you mean them to. Your voice cracks a little at the end and you hate it.

Sunghoon's jaw tightens. "Playing house? That's what you think this is?"

The aisle feels too narrow. People glance over but you don't care, this is your first real argument as roommates and it's happening under shitty fluorescent lights next to the cereal.

"You've been distant as fuck," he says, voice low but heated. "I try to check on you, you shut me out. I bring Mina around and you disappear. What do you want from me?"

"I don't know!" You grip the cart handle until your knuckles hurt. "I just... everything's weird now and I'm tired, okay?"

He looks hurt- actually hurt. "You think this is easy for me? Watching you pull away?"

You don't answer. You just abandon the cart in the middle of the aisle and walk out to the car, chest tight with regret and anger and that stupid fucking longing you can't kill.

The drive home is silent, when you get back to the apartment you disappear into your room and bury yourself in assignments, headphones on full blast.

An hour later there's a soft knock. Sunghoon opens the door a crack, holding your favorite beer— the expensive one you only treat yourself to on good days.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, stepping inside. "I shouldn't have pushed. And I'm sorry if having Mina here makes you feel like shit. That's not what I want."

You stare at the beer like it's personally attacking you. The domesticity of it— the way he remembered your favorite, the way he's standing in your room trying to fix things after a dumb fight over snacks— hits you like a truck. It feels like couple shit.

You take the bottle with shaky hands. "Thanks. I'm sorry I snapped. I've just been... in my head a lot."

He sits on the edge of your bed, close but not touching. "We're okay?"

"Yeah," you lie, because saying anything else right now would open floodgates you're not ready for. "We're okay."

But as he gives you that small, caring smile and leaves you with the beer, the domestic weight settles heavy in your chest. Fuck. This is getting harder every day.

๑ஓ๑ஓ

          Tonight, you're sitting on the sectional alone tonight, the apartment quiet. Sunghoon's out with Mina again.

Instead of spiraling like usual, your brain drags you back to high school— those early days when everything was simpler and the line between you two hadn't blurred into this mess.

Flashback hits hard— you're fifteen again, stuck on that delayed train with him, sharing the last bottle of water like it's some sacred pact. That's where it started. Friendship born from boredom and bad luck.

Prom night memories flood in. You got rejected by the guy you liked— some idiot who said you were "too much like a sister." You cried in the bathroom until Sunghoon found you— he ditched his own date, showed up in his rented tux with snacks he stole from the refreshments table.

"Fuck him," he'd said, sitting on the gross bathroom floor with you. "You're way better than that loser anyway. We'll dance right here if you want. Or we can bail and get convenience store beer."

You laughed through the tears, he stayed with you all night, no questions, no judgment. Just steady, caring Sunghoon. The same way he held you after your parents' divorce shit got bad—when your mom moved away and you felt like the world was splitting. He'd show up at your door with bad movies and shoulder to cry on.

"You're not alone in this," he told you back then, voice serious even at seventeen. "I got you. Always."

You're yanked back to the present when the front door clicks open— Sunghoon steps in, still in the hoodie he left in earlier— he sees you on the couch and his face softens immediately

"Hey. You're home." He kicks off his shoes and comes over without hesitation, dropping down beside you. "Mina had an early thing tomorrow so I came back. You okay?"

You shrug, "Just thinking about old shit. Prom. When my family was falling apart. You were always there, fixing things."

Sunghoon watches you carefully. "I still am. Even if it feels different now."

The contrast hits like a slap. Back then it was easy— pure support, no jealousy, no hearing him with someone else through the walls. Now every caring gesture feels loaded. Every "I got you" carries new weight.

"You remember when you stayed over after my mom's call about the divorce?" you ask quietly. "We fell asleep watching those terrible horror movies and you held my hand the whole night because I was shaking."

He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, i remember. I didn't want you to feel alone for even a second."

You swallow hard. "Feels like we're both alone in the same apartment these days."

Sunghoon shifts closer, his knee pressing against yours. "We don't have to be." His hand finds yours, squeezing gently —the same way he did years ago. "I know things are messy... but I'm still here. Like I was back then."

He was your rock in high school, the one who supported you through every rejection, every family crisis. Now that same rock feels like it's cracking under the weight of unspoken feelings and another girl's laughter in his room.

You don't pull your hand away. "I miss how simple it was," you whisper.

"Me too," he admits, thumb stroking the back of your hand. "But we're still us. We'll figure the rest out.”

You want to believe him, you really do. But as the memories of carefree high school support clash with the complicated mess you're living in now, the inside voice won't shut up.

How the fuck do you go back to simple when everything feels this complicated?

You decide it's time to move the fuck on.

At least that's what you tell yourself when you agree to the casual date with Minjun from your psych class. He's cute, funny enough in lectures, and most importantly— he's not Sunghoon. No complicated history, no shared apartment, no Mina in the picture. Just a simple coffee that turns into dinner and maybe a walk.

The kind of thing that might loosen the knot in your chest, right?

You get ready in your room, sliding into a little black top that shows just enough skin to feel good but not desperate. When you step out, Sunghoon's in the kitchen grabbing water, his eyes drag over you slowly— down the curve of your waist, the bare skin at your collarbone, back up to your face. The look is dark. Hungry, almost?

"You going out?" His voice is low, casual on the surface but edged with something more.

"Yeah. Date with Minjun." You grab your bag, trying to sound breezy. "Don't wait up."

He sets the glass down harder than necessary. "Minjun? The guy who sits in the back and barely talks? You sure that's a good idea?"

You raise an eyebrow. "It's just coffee and dinner, Hoon. I'm not marrying him."

Sunghoon steps closer, crowding your space in that way he does without realizing— or maybe he does. His gaze drops for a split second before flicking back up. "Just be careful. Text me if anything feels off, I don't trust random dudes with you."

The protectiveness hits different tonight, it's more than friendly concern. His hand brushes your arm as you pass, fingers lingering on your skin like he wants to pull you right back.

Heat pools low in your stomach. Fuck. Why does he have to look at you like that? Like he wants to ruin you right here against the counter.  Does he even fucking notice?

But you force yourself out the door anyway.

The date is... fine. Minjun's nice. He laughs at your jokes, pays for dinner, walks you to the door like a gentleman.

There's zero spark though. No butterflies, no insane pull that makes you forget how to speak. Every time he touches your lower back, your brain supplies Sunghoon's face instead. Sunghoon's hands. Sunghoon's dark eyes raking over your body.

By the time you get home it's late— the apartment's quiet except for the TV in the living room. Sunghoon's passed out on the couch, one arm slung over his stomach, shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin at his waist. His hair's messy, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling in steady breaths.

You should go to your room.

Instead you stand there like a creep, staring.

The sexual tension from earlier comes rushing back hard— if it was even ever sexual... you imagine waking him up with your mouth on his neck, his hands gripping your hips, that protective growl turning into something filthy while he fucks the confusion out of you right there on the couch.

God, you're pathetic. Heat floods your face and between your thighs.

He looks so good like this— relaxed, vulnerable, broad shoulders taking up half the couch. You want to crawl on top of him. Want to trace those tan lines with your tongue. Want things you definitely shouldn't want from your best friend.

But then the cold slap of reality hits.

He's probably just being a possessive friend. That's all. He has Mina. He laughs with her in his room, fucks her when he thinks you're gone. The protective bullshit tonight? That's just Sunghoon being Sunghoon— the guy who's looked out for you since high school.

Not because he wants you the way you're starting to need him. He's not lying awake thinking about you the same way, he's not burning up with this unbearable tension every time you're in the same room.

You're the one reading too much into lingering touches and dark looks. You're the idiot catching feelings while he's just... comfortable. Possessive because you've always been his safe person, not because he's imagining you naked.

The realization stings like hell. You tear your eyes away from his sleeping form, chest tight, and slip quietly into your room.

You change into an oversized tee and crawl into bed, pressing your thighs together to ease the ache that won't go away. The apartment feels smaller than ever, Sunghoon's right there on the couch, looking like every dirty fantasy you've been trying to kill, and all you can think is how much it hurts that he probably doesn't feel the same.

Get it together.

๑ஓ๑ஓ

Week seven hits like a goddamn freight train. The tension in the apartment has been building since that night you stared at Sunghoon asleep on the couch like a horny idiot. You've been trying—really trying—to keep your distance, burying yourself in assignments and forcing yourself on more "moving on" dates that go nowhere. But the universe has other plans.

See, you were supposed to be gone for the whole weekend. A cheap bus trip with some girls from your program to escape the city and clear your head. But the trip got conveniently canceled last minute— rain washed out the whole thing—so you drag your tired ass back to the apartment Friday night instead, earlier than expected.

You don't even text Sunghoon. Figured he'd be out or chilling alone.

Big fucking mistake.

The second you push the door open, you hear it.

Moans. Loud, breathy, unmistakable. The wet slap of skin. Sunghoon's low groan that shoots straight between your legs before the ache in your chest takes over.

You freeze in the entryway, keys still in your hand.

The door to his room is wide open like they didn't even bother closing it properly, and there they are— Sunghoon fucking Mina on his bed, her legs wrapped around his waist, his bare back flexing with every thrust. His shoulders— the ones you've been fantasizing about—are glistening with sweat. He looks so good it hurts, hips snapping forward, one hand gripping her thigh hard enough to leave marks.

Your stomach drops. A weird, deep aching feeling blooms in your chest and spreads like poison. It's not just jealousy. It's visceral. Like someone's reached in and twisted everything you've been trying to ignore.

Seeing him like this— raw, lost in pleasure, giving someone else what your body has been craving in secret—makes you feel sick and devastated all at once.

"Fuck— Hoon," Mina gasps, and the sound snaps you out of it.

You drop your bag with a loud thud and they both jolt apart. Sunghoon's head whips toward the door, eyes wide with shock and Mina scrambles for the sheet, face flushed.

Sunghoon sits up fast, pulling the blanket over his lap. "Shit— I didn't know you'd be back early."

The concern in his voice only makes it worse. He's still hard, still naked under that sheet, and he's looking at you with that caring expression like he didn't just shatter the last bit of peace in this apartment.

Mina, to her credit, looks mortified. But then she opens her mouth and makes it so much worse. "This is exactly why we need more privacy, Hoon. Maybe... maybe you should think about moving out. Just us having our own space would be better for everyone."

The words hang in the air like a bomb.

Sunghoon doesn't immediately shut it down— no, he hesitates, running a hand through his messy hair, glancing between you two. That split second of silence is enough to light the fuse.

"This was supposed to be our place." The words rip out of you ugly. "You and me, Sunghoon. Not you, me, and your girlfriend. I moved in with you. Not some couple's retreat where I get to walk in on you fucking while I'm supposed to be gone for the weekend. For fucks sake just give a girl a warning?"

Tears burn your eyes but you don't let them fall.

"I've been walking on eggshells for weeks, avoiding my own fucking living room because I can't stand hearing you two. And now you wanna move out? Like I'm the problem here?"

Sunghoon stands up, wrapping the sheet around his waist, looking torn. "That's not— Mina, don't say shit like that right now. This isn't the time."

"But it's true," Mina says quietly, pulling her clothes on. “This situation is weird for everyone."

"Weird?" You laugh, but it sounds broken. "Yeah, it's real fucking weird watching the guy I've been best friends with for years rail his girlfriend in the apartment we picked together. I didn't wanna see that okay?"

You can still see the image of Sunghoon's hips moving, the way his muscles flexed, burned into your brain. Your body reacts even now— traitorous heat mixing with the ache in your chest—and it makes you hate yourself a little more.

And God, you know you’re being a bitch. But it hurts.

Sunghoon steps toward you, "Hey i'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to see that. We should've closed the door, I wasn't thinking—"

"You never are lately," you snap, stepping back. "Not about how this affects me. This was supposed to be our place, Hoon. Remember? The one you said would be good for us. Now it just feels like I'm crashing your relationship."

Mina slips out of the room awkwardly, murmuring something about giving you two space and the door to the apartment clicks shut behind her a minute later.

Sunghoon stands there in nothing but the sheet, looking devastated and guilty and still so fucking attractive it's unfair.

"I didn't agree to anything. I'm not moving out. This is our apartment. I just... I didn't know how to say no to her without making it worse."

You shake your head, the aching feeling spreading until it feels like your ribs are cracking. "Doesn't matter. The fact that you didn't shut it down immediately says enough. I'm gonna go stay somewhere else tonight, I can't be here right now."

He reaches for you but you dodge his hand. The almost-touch burns worse than if he'd actually grabbed you.

"Don't," you whisper. "Not tonight."

You grab your bag and leave before he can say anything else.

The image of him fucking her follows you the whole way down the stairs, mixing with the memory of his heated stare the night of your date. The sexual tension, the protectiveness, the caring touches—they all feel like lies now.

This was supposed to be your place. Yours and his.

Now it just feels like he's playing with a little bit of everything. Does he even know what he’s doing ? Does he even notice how ambiguous he acts?

    

The cold shoulder lasts for days. You come back the next morning after crashing on a friend's couch, but the apartment feels like a war zone— silent except for tense hallway passings and the occasional awkward "excuse me" when you both reach for the same cabinet.

Sunghoon tries at first. He leaves coffee on the counter with a note that just says "sorry" and your name in his neat handwriting. You dump it down the sink without drinking it, childish as always.

You can feel him noticing the changes. The way you come home later, earbuds always in, the way you don't linger in the kitchen anymore. The way you flinch a little when his door opens. He watches you with those dark eyes, brow furrowed like he's trying to solve a problem he created.

You catch him staring more than once— lingering on your legs when you walk past in shorts, on the way your shirt rides up when you reach for something. The tension hasn't died— oh no, if anything, the fight made it worse— it simmers under every stiff interaction, thick and unbearable.

By day four the silence is killing you both.

Then the power outage hits on Friday night, so convenient. A storm rolls in hard, lights flicker once and die completely, the whole building goes dark, you're in the living room when it happens, laptop dead on your lap, cursing under your breath.

"Shit," Sunghoon mutters from the hallway. He appears a second later with his phone flashlight, looking rumpled in a black t-shirt and sweats. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Your voice is flat, you stand up, but the room feels smaller already.

He disappears for a minute and comes back with candles— emergency ones you both bought during move-in. The warm glow flickers across his face as he sets them on the coffee table. "Old school vibes, huh?"

You don't answer, but you don't leave either.

He scrolls through his phone and connects to a portable speaker. Your old playlist— the one from high school with all the songs you used to listen together— starts playing low; the familiar beats hit you right in the chest.

Sunghoon sits on the other end of the sectional, close enough that you feel the heat from his body. "You've been avoiding me like the plague."

"Can you blame me?" you mutter, pulling your knees up.

He winces. "I fucked up. I should've shut that down immediately, this is our place. I meant that."

The candlelight makes everything feel too intimate, his eyes keep dropping to your mouth, then lower, tracing the neckline of your tank top. You're hyper-aware of every breath he takes, the way his thighs spread when he leans forward. Tension coils tight in your stomach.

You want to climb into his lap and kiss the guilt off his face. Want his hands on you the way they were on her. Want him to ruin the friendship in the best and worst way possible.

"I know things feel different," Sunghoon says suddenly, voice rough and low. "Between us. I can't explain why. It's not just the fight. Living together... it's messing with my head. You walk around and I—" He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck. I don't know what I'm saying."

Your heart slams against your ribs— he's looking at you like he wants to devour you. It builds slowly—both of you leaning in without deciding to, breaths mingling, his gaze dark and heavy. You can smell his cologne mixed with the rain outside.

His hand brushes your knee, then slides higher, thumb stroking the inside of your thigh in a way that's definitely not platonic and heat rushes through you.

God, just do it. Kiss me. Touch me. Make this aching stop.

Your lips are inches apart, you can feel his breath, warm and shaky. His fingers press firmer on your thigh, grip tightening like he's barely holding back and —

His phone rings. His fucking. phone. rings.

Mina's name lights up the screen, bright and obnoxious in the candlelit dark.

Sunghoon freezes, he glances at it, then back at you, conflict written all over his face— the moment shatters.

You pull back fast, like you've been burned. "Answer it.“

He hesitates, thumb hovering over the screen, but the call keeps ringing.

You stand up on shaky legs. "I'm going to bed. Enjoy the candles."

As you walk away, leaving him sitting there with the phone still ringing, the inside voice screams louder than ever.

He almost kissed you. But he still has her on speed dial. This is so fucking messed up.

๑ஓ๑ஓ

The thought of leaving doesn't hit you all at once. It creeps in slowly, starts the morning after the power outage. You wake up to the sound of Sunghoon moving around the kitchen, probably making coffee like always. The memory of his hand on your thigh, his breath on your lips, the way he looked at you like he was starving— it all crashes back. Then Mina's name lighting up his phone, the almost-kiss interrupted. Again.

You lie in bed staring at the ceiling, chest tight.

This can't keep going on like this. You're torturing yourself every single day in this apartment, the images won't leave your head: him fucking Mina, the candlelight on his face, the way your body still reacts to him even when your brain knows better. You're exhausted from the constant tension, the cold shoulders, the aching want that never gets satisfied.

By noon you're on your laptop in a cafe far from home, scrolling through apartment listings. One-bedrooms. Studios. Anything that doesn't have fucking Park Sunghoon in it. Your hands shake as you save a few that look decent— small, expensive, but far enough away that you might actually breathe again. You tell yourself it's practical, rent is going up anyway. You need space to study. To stop wanting your best friend who's busy railing someone else in the next room.

You don't tell him. Not yet.

The next few days blur— you visit two places after class— one tiny studio with shitty lighting, another slightly better one with a window that overlooks a noisy street. You take pictures, ask questions about leases, and feel a weird mix of relief and grief every time you imagine packing your boxes.

This was supposed to be your place with him, it was also supposed to be purely platonic. But you're too big of a slut, turns out— and so is he.

You start packing in secret. Small things at first—a couple books, some clothes you don't wear often and you hide the boxes under your bed like a coward.

Every time you pass Sunghoon in the hallway the tension flares up again— he'll brush past you a little too close, eyes dark, and your body lights up even as your heart twists.

You catch him staring at your mouth when you're both in the kitchen.

He catches you looking at his bare shoulders after his shower but neither of you says anything— the air so thick with it you could cut it with a knife.

By the end of the week you've put a deposit on a tiny studio two subway stops away. It's smaller, more expensive, and nothing like the home you built here. But it's yours.

You're in the middle of quietly moving some winter clothes into a suitcase when it all comes crashing down.

It's 2am. You can't sleep— ugh again—so you slip into the kitchen for water. The apartment is dark except for the fridge light when you open it, you're standing there in an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, barefoot, when Sunghoon appears in the doorway like a ghost.

He's shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair messy from sleep. The sight of him hits you like a punch all tan lines, broad chest, that fucking focused expression even when he's half-awake.

"You're leaving," he says. It's not a question— his voice is rough, raw; he's holding a piece of paper—one of the apartment listing printouts you accidentally left on the counter earlier.

You freeze, glass of water halfway to your mouth. "How did you—"

"I saw the boxes under your bed when I was looking for the spare charger." He steps closer, eyes blazing. "You're actually doing it. You're moving out."

The raw emotions spill before you can stop them.

"Yeah, I am." Your voice cracks. "I can't do this anymore, Sunghoon. I can't keep living here like this—"

Sunghoon looks like you slapped him— the audacity. "You think this is easy for me? You think I don't feel it too?"

"Well you have a fucking girlfriend." The words explode out, loud in the quiet kitchen. "Why do you look at me like that and touch me like that, huh? I just don't get it."

Sunghoon crowds you against the counter before you can escape; his body presses close, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing on the counter beside you.

"Because I'm scared," he admits, voice low and broken. "I don't want you to leave— God, I don't want you to leave. This was supposed to be our place. You and me. I can't imagine coming home and you not being here."

His forehead drops to yours— breaths mingle. His hand slides under the hem of your t-shirt, palm hot against your bare waist, thumb stroking the skin just under your ribs. You shiver hard as his other hand grips your hip tighter, pulling you flush against him. The outline of his cock presses right where you need it and you have to bite back a moan.

Now that you think about it, the line's always been thin— if this was all it took for you to cross it. You were living in delusion, talking about how platonic you both were.

"Sunghoon..." you whisper, voice trembling.

His fingers trace higher under your shirt, brushing the underside of your breast. Your traitorous nipples harden instantly under the thin fabric and he groans softly, hips rolling against yours in a slow, filthy grind. The friction makes your head spin.

You're so wet already it's embarrassing, thighs pressing together instinctively as he keeps that maddening pressure right against your core.

Why are you so easy?

"Been thinking about touching you like this for so long," he mutters, voice rough, his thumb circles your nipple through your shirt, teasing, while his other hand squeezes your ass, pulling you even harder against his erection. "You have no idea what you do to me. I don't even know why i'm doing this— it's so wrong."

The tension is unbearable, every roll of his hips sends sparks through you, you can feel how thick he is, how much he wants you— your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into bare skin as you fight the urge to grind back against him. His mouth hovers inches from yours, breath hot, but he doesn't close the gap. Just teases. Torments. His fingers keep playing with your breast, pinching lightly until you whimper.

"Fuck, you're so responsive," he breathes, lips brushing your ear.

You're losing it— the ache between your legs is painful now, your body screaming for more more more— his fingers inside you, his cock, anything. The kitchen counter digs into your back but all you can focus on is the heat of his body, the way he's holding you like he never wants to let go.

But then reality crashes back.

You push him off hard, hands on his chest— he stumbles back a step, breathing ragged, eyes dark with lust, sweatpants tented obscenely.

"You have a girlfriend," you say, voice shaking. Tears burn your eyes. "You can't do shit like this, Sunghoon. You can't touch me like that when she's the one you're actually with. I won't be the other woman in my own fucking apartment."

Sunghoon looks wrecked. "I know. I'm sorry. I just— I don't know what the hell I'm doing anymore. I don't even know..."

"Well, that's the problem. Im not a toy." You wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly cold. "I'm moving out. I already put the deposit down."

Sunghoon steps forward again but stops when you flinch. The raw pain on his face mirrors your own. "Please don't go. We can figure this out. I'll talk to Mina. I'll end it if that's what you want. Just... don't leave."

The admission hangs heavy between you, it should feel like victory. Instead it just hurts more.

You shake your head, tears finally spilling over. "I didn't ask you to leave her. Just don't do this to her, or to me. It's mean— it's useless."

Sunghoon's eyes widen, he looks like he wants to pull you back against him, touch you again until you forget everything else. The tension is still there, pulsing between you like a living thing. But you can't. Not like this.

You step around him, heading for your room. "I'll start packing properly tomorrow. Please don't make this harder than it already is."

He doesn't follow you; but as you close your bedroom door, you hear him curse softly in the kitchen, the sound of something hitting the counter.

๑ஓ๑ஓ

The next few days are hell. You pack in bursts— clothes, books, the stupid little trinkets you bought together during vacations. Every box feels like another nail in the coffin of what you two had.

Sunghoon keeps his distance, but you catch him watching you— the tension never leaves, it's in every hallway pass, every time his fingers brush yours reaching for the same thing. You're both walking around the apartment like it's wired with explosives.

Mina shows up on wednesday evening.

You're in the kitchen making instant ramen when she knocks. Sunghoon's out— probably at the library or avoiding the war zone you both created; she stands in the doorway looking uncomfortable but determined, hair up in a messy bun, wearing one of his hoodies that makes your stomach twist.

"Hey," she says quietly. "Can we talk?"

You almost laugh. Talk? Sure, let's chat about how you’re slowly dying inside while her boyfriend grinds on you in the middle of the night. But you nod and gesture to the couch. The same one where everything almost fell apart.

She sits, twisting her hands in her lap. "I can feel the tension every time I come over. It's not just awkward anymore. It's... heavy. Sunghoon's been distant as hell and I know part of it is because of you two living together. The history. All of it."

You stare at your ramen, appetite gone. Inside, your brain is screaming. 'Yeah, the history where I stupidly want him and he's been touching me like he wants to fuck me senseless while dating you'. But you keep your mouth shut.

"It's complicated," you say instead, voice tight. "We've been best friends forever. Moving in together changed shit. Made boundaries blurry. I'm sorry if it's been weird for you."

Mina nods slowly, eyes shiny. "I appreciate you saying that. I'm not trying to start drama. I just... needed to know if I'm imagining things. The way he looks at you sometimes, the way the air gets when you're both in the same room…”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself not to spill everything. "We're figuring it out. Or trying to. I'm actually looking for my own place soon."

She looks surprised, then a little relieved. "That might be for the best. For all of us." She stands up, pulling the hoodie sleeves over her hands. "This whole situation is messy as fuck. Thanks for talking to me."

She leaves shortly after and you sit on the couch for a long time, the cold ramen forgotten. Not admitting it out loud doesn't make the feelings disappear. If anything, it makes them louder in your head.

You want Park Sunghoon. Deeply. Stupidly. And pretending otherwise is getting harder every day.

Later that night you hear them arguing through the wall. Not the full words— just raised voices, Sunghoon's low and frustrated, Mina's sharper. It goes on for twenty minutes before the front door slams— then silence.

Sunghoon breaks up with her the next day.

He doesn't tell you right away, you find out when her stuff slowly disappears from the apartment— no more extra toothbrush in the bathroom, no camera bag by the door. The relief hits first, warm and guilty— then the guilt eats at you.

You didn't ask him to end it, you told him not to play games. But you still feel like the villain in someone else's story.

You don't talk to Sunghoon after that night— not really. A few mumbled "morning"s and "excuse me"s in the hallway, but nothing real; the guilt and relief and fear sit heavy in the apartment like fog, but you push through it by convincing yourself you need to move on. For real this time.

Sunghoon isn't someone you should want, that's what you keep telling yourself as you tape up another box. You've already ruined too many things— the easy friendship, the roommate balance, even Mina's relationship. Wanting him now feels selfish and messy and doomed.

You need someone simple, someone who doesn't come with years of history and almost-touches that leave you aching for days.

So when Minjun texts asking if you're free this weekend, you say yes before you can overthink it.

The date is... fine. Dull as fuck, actually.

You meet him at a casual ramen place near campus. He's sweet, talking about his classes and some club he's in, laughing at his own jokes a little too hard. You smile and nod, asking the right questions, but your mind keeps drifting.

Sunghoon would've ordered the spicy one without asking. Sunghoon would've remembered you hate scallions. Sunghoon's hand on your thigh felt like fire—Minjun's fingers brushing yours feel like… nothing.

"This is nice," Minjun says halfway through, smiling across the table. "I've been wanting to do this again. You seem... I don't know, more relaxed tonight?"

You force a laugh. "Yeah, just trying new things."

The conversation stays surface-level. Grades, professors, weekend plans. Nothing that makes your heart race, nothing that makes you forget the way Sunghoon's body felt pressed against yours in the kitchen. By the end of dinner you're restless, a weird mix of disappointment and determination swirling in your chest.

On a whim, as you're walking out, you turn to him. "Wanna come back to my place? It's close."

Thot daughter habits never die...

Minjun looks surprised but pleased. "Yeah. I'd like that."

You text Sunghoon quickly on the way: hey, you gonna be home tonight?

His reply comes fast: No, heading to Jay's after the library. Why?

Just checking, you send back. Have fun.

Guilt twists in your stomach, but you shove it down. This is what moving on looks like and Sunghoon doesn't get to ruin this too.

The second you get inside the apartment you pull Minjun to the couch. He's surprised by the suddenness but goes with it, hands settling on your waist as you kiss him.

His lips are soft. Nice. But they don't spark anything wild; his body feels different—leaner, less solid than Sunghoon's broad frame. His hands slide up your sides carefully, almost polite, while your brain cruelly compares every touch.

Sunghoon would've gripped harder. Sunghoon's hands are bigger. Sunghoon's mouth would've been on your neck already, teasing like he knows exactly what you want.

You deepen the kiss anyway, trying to lose yourself in it. Minjun groans softly, pulling you closer until you're straddling his lap; his hands move to your ass, squeezing as he rolls his hips up.

It feels okay. Good, even.

But it's not electric, not the stomach-dropping, thigh-clenching heat you get from just Sunghoon brushing past you in the hallway.

This is fine. This is what normal feels like. You should want this.

Things get hotter fast— Minjun tugs your shirt up, hands sliding over your bare skin, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. You arch into him, letting his mouth move to your neck, sucking marks that make you gasp; then fingers dip under your bra, teasing your nipples until they harden. He's getting bolder, grinding up against you with clear intent, his hardness pressing right between your legs through your clothes.

You rock against him, chasing friction, but your mind won't shut up.

Sunghoon's cock felt thicker when he was grinding on you. Sunghoon's hands would've been rougher, more desperate. Sunghoon would've already had his fingers inside you, whispering filthy shit in your ear.

The comparisons make you feel guilty and turned on at the same time. You kiss Minjun harder, like you can drown out the thoughts.

He moans into your mouth, one hand slipping down to palm you through your jeans, rubbing with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. "Fuck, you're so hot," he mutters against your lips, voice shaky with want.

His other hand squeezes your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. It feels good, your body even responds, hips moving faster against his hand, but it's missing that soul-crushing intensity. That feeling like you might die if he stops touching you.

You don't notice your phone ringing on the coffee table. Once. Twice. Then silent.

Minjun's hand fumbles with the button of your jeans, breath hot against your neck as he starts tugging them down your hips. You lift up to help him, desperate to feel something real,

— when the front door suddenly flies open.

Sunghoon steps in, keys still in his hand, and freezes mid-step.

For a second he can't even speak. His eyes go wide, mouth slightly open like the air got punched out of him, the color drains from his face as he takes in the scene— Minjun's hands halfway down your jeans, your shirt pushed up, your flushed, guilty expression.

He looks sick to his stomach, like he might actually throw up right there in the entryway.

"What the fuck," he finally chokes out, voice raw and broken. His knuckles are white around the keys.

Minjun scrambles, nearly shoving you off his lap in panic. "Shit—uh, hey man—"

"Get out," Sunghoon cuts him off, eyes locked on you. His voice is cold but you can see the storm behind it.

Minjun doesn't argue. He grabs his jacket and bolts, mumbling an awkward "sorry" as the door slams behind him.

The apartment falls dead silent. Sunghoon stands there, chest rising and falling hard, looking like someone just ripped his heart out and showed it to him.

You pull your shirt down with shaking hands, heart hammering.

The door slams so hard the walls shake— Minjun is gone, but the damage is done. Sunghoon stands there like a statue for three full seconds, then the storm breaks.

"What the actual fuck was that?" His voice starts low but builds fast, shaking with rage and something deeper. He drops his keys on the floor without caring, stepping closer. "You brought him here? To our couch? While I was gone?"

You stand up fast, tugging your clothes back into place, face burning with humiliation and anger. "Ah fuck's sake. You have no right."

"No right?" He laughs, but it's bitter and ugly. "I have every fucking right. This is still my apartment too. And you—" He gestures at you, eyes wild. "You were letting him touch you. His hands were in your jeans, for fuck's sake."

Your chest heaves, the guilt flips into pure fury. "And how many times did I have to hear you fucking Mina in the next room? How many times did I walk in on shit I never wanted to see? You don't get to do that now."

"I ended things with her" he shouts, stepping even closer. The possessiveness rolls off him in waves. "Because every time I touched her I was thinking about you. Because this—" He gestures between you two. "—has been driving me insane for months. And you go and bring some random dude here the second I'm gone?"

You shove his chest, hard, he barely moves. "You don't own me, Sunghoon. We're not together. We're not anything. You made sure of that when you kept messing with me while having a girlfriend. I'm trying to move on because clearly wanting you is the worst mistake I've ever made!"

The words hit him like a slap. For a second his face crumples, then the anger comes back twice as strong.

"Move on?" He laughs again, stepping forward until your back hits the wall. "You think fucking Minjun is moving on? That guy couldn't make you feel half of what I do. I saw the way you looked when I walked in. You weren't even into it y/n!"

"Fuck you," you spit, tears of rage burning your eyes. "At least he doesn't come with ten years of baggage. At least he isn't messy."

Sunghoon's hand goes against the wall beside your head, caging you in. His body is inches from yours, heat radiating off him— the possessiveness is suffocating. "You think I wanted this? We were perfect. Then we moved in together and suddenly I can't stop thinking about you. Your laugh. The way you look in my clothes. How fucking good you feel when you're pressed against me."

You shove him again but he doesn't budge. "Then why didn't you say anything? Why did you keep Mina around like a safety net while you were touching me like you wanted to fuck me?"

"Because i was scared" Sunghoon yells, voice cracking. "Scared of ruining the only real thing I've ever had. You've been my person since high school And now look at us. We've ruined everything anyway."

The argument turns mean, ugly, years of buried shit spilling out.

"You ruined it first," you snap, voice breaking. "Every time you hugged me too long, every time you looked at me like that. You made me feel all of that while you were with someone else. That's cruel, Sunghoon. That's so fucking mean."

His eyes flash with pain. "And you think it didn't hurt me? Hearing you laugh with the guys, watching you pack your shit to leave me? I ended things with Mina because I couldn't keep pretending. But you—" He laughs bitterly. "You ran straight to Minjun. Real mature."

"At least he doesn't make me mad" you scream. Tears are falling freely now. "At least he doesn't make me question every single thing.Was any of it real? Or was I just the safe, comfortable best friend you kept around while you played house with other girls?”

Sunghoon's face twists. "Don't say that, for fucks sake. Everything was real. Every fucking second. You're the only person who's ever really known me. The only one I let in. And yeah, I fucked up— i was scared, but don't stand there and pretend you didn't feel it too. Don't pretend you weren't wet for me in the kitchen while I had a girlfriend."

The words are low and dirty, so dirty.

"I hate you," you whisper, but there's no heat left in it— just exhaustion and want and years of love twisted into something painful.

"No you don't." His voice drops, dangerous and desperate. "You love me. Same way I love you."

"I do love you, you asshole" you shout, shoving him again, but this time your hands fist in his shirt instead of pushing away. "I love you so much it makes me sick— I've loved you for years. And I hate it. i hate wanting you. Look at what it's done to us."

Sunghoon's hands are on you instantly, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. "Then stop running. Stop trying to replace me with guys who don't even know you. You're mine. You've always been mine."

The kiss is desperate and violent. His mouth crashes into yours, all teeth and tongue and pent-up years of want. You kiss him back just as hard, hands yanking at his hair, nails digging into his shoulders— he groans into your mouth, lifting you up like you weigh nothing and pressing you against the wall, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

There's nothing gentle about it. It's angry and messy and perfect, his hips grind against you, hard and insistent, while his mouth devours yours. You bite his bottom lip and he moans, the sound vibrating through your whole body.

His hands are everywhere— squeezing your ass, sliding under your shirt to palm your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples roughly.

"Fuck, I've wanted this for so long," he growls against your mouth, rolling his hips in a filthy rhythm that makes you whimper. "Wanted to touch you like this. Taste you. Make you mine."

You tug his hair harder, kissing him deeper, tongues sliding together in a desperate battle. The anger hasn't faded, it fuels everything; everything touch feels like punishment and reward at the same time.

The kiss breaks only when you both need air. Sunghoon rests his forehead against yours, breathing ragged, eyes dark with lust and love and fear.

"Don't leave me," he whispers, voice raw. "Please. We'll figure out the rest, but don't go."

You're still wrapped around him, heart pounding, body on fire, the argument left you both stripped bare. Now there's only this—desperate, angry, all-consuming love that's been waiting years to explode.

"I've wanted to touch you like this for so long," he whispers, voice wrecked and trembling. His fingers trace your ribs slowly, reverently, like he's memorizing every dip and curve he's only ever imagined. "Knowing your heart for years and never getting to feel your skin... it's fucking torture."

You shiver hard, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.

This is happening. After all the fights, the almosts, the heartbreak. Finally. "Then touch me," you breathe against his lips. "Stop holding back. I need you."

He groans deep in his chest and kisses you again, slower this time, tongue sliding against yours in long, filthy strokes while his hands push your shirt up and off. The fabric whispers over your skin and hits the floor with a soft sound— the cool air of the apartment hits your bare chest, making your nipples tighten instantly. Sunghoon's gaze drops, hungry and possessive, and he lets out a shaky breath.

"God, look at you." His hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, teasing circles until they pebble under his touch. He leans down and takes one into his mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. The wet heat of his mouth makes you arch off the wall with a moan.

"These are mine," he murmurs against your skin, switching to the other breast, sucking a dark mark right above it. "These pretty tits. Mine to touch. Mine to taste. Mine to mark up so no one else ever gets ideas again."

You're already dripping, thighs pressing together as he maps your body with his mouth and hands. He kisses down your stomach, tongue dipping into your navel, then drops to his knees right there on the living room floor like he physically can't wait another second. His eyes are blown wide with lust and something deeper as he looks up at you, hands sliding your jeans and panties down your legs with agonizing slowness.

He helps you step out of them, then presses his face against your inner thigh, kissing the soft skin there, breathing you in. "Smell so fucking good," he groans, voice muffled. "Been dying to taste this pussy. You can’t even imagine how many times I jerked off thinking about you."

He doesn't tease for long, he's way too desperate for that. His mouth is on you in seconds, tongue sliding through your soaked folds with a deep, satisfied groan that vibrates straight to your clit— the sensation is overwhelming—hot, wet, perfect. You grip his hair tight, head falling back against the wall with a broken moan.

"Shit—Hoon —oh my god," you gasp. His tongue is relentless, licking broad stripes up your slit before circling your clit with precise, devastating flicks. Two thick fingers push inside you slowly, curling just right against that spot that makes your vision blur. He pumps them steadily, scissoring gently to open you up while his mouth sucks on your clit.

The sounds are obscene— the wet slide of his fingers, the filthy noises of his mouth devouring you, your own desperate whimpers echoing in the quiet apartment. He adds a third finger, stretching you beautifully, and the fullness makes your legs shake.

"This pussy is mine," he growls against you, pulling back just enough to speak, lips shiny with your arousal. "So tight. So wet. Only gets like this for me, doesn't it? Not for him. Never for him." He curls his fingers harder, rubbing that spot mercilessly while his tongue flicks faster. "Say it. Tell me who this belongs to."

"You," you moan, hips grinding against his face. "It's yours, Hoon. All yours."

He rewards you by sucking your clit into his mouth hard, fingers pumping faster— the pressure builds fast and overwhelming. Your thighs tremble around his head as the orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and shattering. You cry out his name, clenching around his fingers, soaking his chin and hand, he doesn't stop, licking you through every wave, groaning like tasting your release is the best thing he's ever experienced.

When you finally push his head away, oversensitive and panting, he stands up slowly, kissing up your body— stomach, ribs, breasts, collarbones—until he reaches your mouth. The kiss is filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue while his cock presses hot and heavy against your stomach.

Your hands explore him greedily now, pushing his shirt off so you can finally feel his skin. The moment your palms meet his bare chest you both moan— his skin is fever-hot, smooth over hard muscle, tan lines stark under your fingers.

Finally. After knowing every corner of his heart, you get to touch his body. This beautiful skin you've stared at for years. You trace his abs, the V of his hips, his broad shoulders, feeling him shiver under your touch.

Sunghoon's hands are everywhere too— mapping you with the same devotion. "This waist," he murmurs, gripping it tight. "Mine." His palms slide down to your ass, squeezing hard. "This perfect ass. Mine." He cups your breasts again, thumbs flicking your nipples. "These tits. Mine." His fingers dip between your legs, stroking your soaked pussy. "This cunt. All fucking mine."

You wrap your hand around his cock, stroking him slowly, feeling him throb in your grip. He's thick, hot, leaking at the tip. "Yours," you whisper back, kissing him deeply. "I'm yours."

Sunghoon sits on the couch and pulls you on top of him, hands gripping your hips as you straddle his lap. The head of his cock nudges against your entrance, slick and ready. But he doesn't let you sink down right away.

Instead, he grips your hips tighter and starts grinding up against you, sliding his thick length through your soaked folds without entering you. The heavy drag of his cock against your clit makes you whimper, hips jerking involuntarily. He does it again, slower, teasing, letting the head catch against your entrance before sliding back up to rub firmly over your swollen clit.

"Feel that?" he murmurs, voice low and rough, eyes locked on yours. "Feel how hard I am for you?" He grinds up again, coating himself in your wetness, the obscene sound filling the room.

You moan helplessly, rolling your hips to chase the friction, but he keeps control, teasing you mercilessly —sliding the head just inside you before pulling back out, rubbing it in slow circles over your clit until you're shaking.

"Please," you beg, nails digging into his shoulders. "Hoon, please fuck me."

He finally lets you sink down onto him, inch by thick inch. His head falls back with a broken, guttural moan as your walls stretch around him, hot and tight.

"Fuck— baby, calm down," he gasps, fingers digging bruises into your hips. His cock twitches hard inside you, stretching you so perfectly it borders on too much. "I'm gonna cum the second you start riding me if you keep squeezing like that... shit, you feel too good."

You roll your hips experimentally, taking him deeper, watching his face twist in overwhelming pleasure. He looks completely wrecked already— lips parted, eyes half-lidded and glassy, sweat starting to bead on his chest and collarbones. His abs tense under your hands with every movement.

He laughs shakily, the sound turning into a deep groan. "I'm serious— stop, fuck, stop moving for a second. I'm gonna cum too fast. You're choking my cock, baby."

You lean down and kiss him, filthy and deep, tongues sliding messily as you keep rolling your hips in slow, grinding circles. He whines into your mouth, hands sliding to your ass, squeezing hard as he tries to hold back.

Then something in him snaps.

With a low moan he flips you over onto your back on the couch, spreading your legs wide and thrusting back in deep in one smooth motion. The new angle makes you cry out, nails raking down his back. He fucks you hard but intimate, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked as he pounds into you with deep strokes.

"Mine," he pants between thrusts, kissing you sloppily, tongues tangling in messy, desperate kisses. "This body. This heart. All mine. I don't own you... but you're still mine. Say it."

"I'm yours," you moan, legs wrapped tight around his waist, heels digging into his lower back. "Always have been…. Fuck— harder, Hoon. Please."

He gives it to you, hips snapping faster, one hand reaching between you to rub tight circles on your clit. The couch creaks loudly under you, swea-slick skin slides together obscenely. It's messy and filthy and perfect.

He sucks bruises into your neck and tits while thrusting deep, then kisses you again like he can't stand being apart from your mouth for even a second.

"Love you," Sunghoon groans against your lips, voice breaking as he grinds deep. "Love you so fucking much. Should've said it years ago. Should've made you mine the second we moved in together."

He suddenly slows his thrusts to a torturous grind, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in so deep you feel him in your stomach. His eyes are dark, possessive, and a little wicked as he watches your face.

"Not yet," he murmurs, voice rough. "I want to feel you fall apart again." He hooks your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. The new angle lets him hit even deeper, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot with every slow thrust.

You cry out, nails digging into his back. He teases you mercilessly— pulling out until just the tip stays inside, then pushing back in so slowly you can feel every thick inch stretching you open. His thumb circles your clit in lazy strokes, keeping you right on the edge but never letting you fall.

"Please— Hoon, I'm so close," you beg, voice breaking.

He leans down, folding you further, and kisses you filthy and deep. "Not yet, baby. Hold it. I want to feel this tight little pussy flutter around me." You clench around him involuntarily and he groans, forehead dropping to yours. "Fuck— stop squeezing me like that though, or I'm gonna lose it."

But you can't stop. Your walls flutter and pulse around his thick cock, and Sunghoon curses, hips snapping harder.

"Shit— cum for me," he demands, thumb pressing firmer on your clit.

The orgasm hits you like a freight train. You scream his name, back arching off the couch as your pussy clenches violently around him, gushing wetly. The pleasure is blinding, wave after wave crashing through you.

Sunghoon follows with a broken, guttural moan, burying himself as deep as possible. His cock pulses hard, flooding you with long, thick ropes of cum. He keeps thrusting through it, hips jerking uncontrollably as he fills you up, more and more spilling deep inside until it starts leaking out around his cock.

When the last shudder finally leaves both of you, he stays buried inside, breathing hard. A breathy, disbelieving laugh escapes him.

"Fuck... I've never cum this much in my life," he pants, voice hoarse. He pulls out slowly, watching with dark, satisfied eyes as his cum leaks from your swollen pussy. With a low groan he pushes two fingers back inside you, fucking his release deeper.

"Look at that," he murmurs, mesmerized. "So full of me. So fucking gorgeous." He leans down and kisses you softly, tenderly, still pushing his cum back inside with slow strokes of his fingers. "My beautiful girl. All mine. Inside and out.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time, like he never wants to stop.

For a long moment afterward you just lie there, tangled and sweaty and breathing hard. He presses soft, reverent kisses to your face, your neck, your shoulders—gentle now after the storm.

"We're so fucked," you whisper with a tired, sated laugh, fingers tracing patterns on his back.

Sunghoon smiles against your skin, nuzzling closer. "Yeah. But i'm never letting you go again."

…

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[alleiraa]

Truth or Desire? - y.jw + p.js

Pairings: Roommate!Jungwon x Fem!Reader x Best Friend!Jay

IN WHICH... your roommate Jungwon knows you're down bad for his best friend, Jay. He loves watching Jay flirt with you until you're a flustered mess, so why not spice things up with a little game?

WC: 7.3k

Content/Warnings: MDNI, Truth or Dare, Alcohol Use, Cuddling, Stripping, Edging, Teasing, Threesome, Fingering, Handjob, Multiple Orgasms, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Aftercare (oral), Cuckolding, Praise Kink

A/N: I know Truth or Dare is a bit overused...BUT I WANTED TO WRITE IT, OK. Anyways, live, laugh, love JayWon. This is pretty filthy; enjoy ;D

Jungwon glanced at you, sprawled on the couch with your feet propped in his lap like you always did after a long day of classes.

He smiled to himself, rubbing soothing circles on your ankles as he glanced at his messages.

Jay was coming over in thirty minutes, and you had no idea.

He imagined the look on your face when he walked through the door— eyes wide and cheeks flushed, smiling too much, laughing too loudly. 

It was adorable.

He loved seeing you turn into a flustered mess around his best friend. So he took every opportunity he could to put you two in the same room, watching from the side as you tried and failed to appear cool and relaxed. 

Jay was a good sport about it, smiling when he was supposed to, keeping his flirting just subtle enough to drive you insane without crossing a line. 

Jungwon watched it all, pulling you into his chest after getting home, as you babbled about how hot Jay was. You let him run his hands down your arms and bury his face in your neck, too distracted by thoughts of Jay to realize just how much your roommate loved to touch you.

Another message popped up on Jungwon’s phone. 

Jay was ten minutes away.

He looked at you again, your face relaxed as you stared at your phone, your mouth curling slightly at the corners at something on the screen. 

It was going to be a fun night. 

You looked at Jungwon as the doorbell rang. “Are you expecting someone?”

He shrugged, gently removing your feet from his lap as he stood up. “Nope, I’ll check.” He got up and walked to the door, his figure disappearing down the hall. 

You heard the door open, and a familiar voice trailed into the room.

You froze.

No, it couldn’t be.

You bolted upright, looking down in horror as you realized that you were in pajamas: an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts that rode up your thighs. There was no time to change, no time to hide in your room. You ran your fingers through your hair, adjusting the shorts on your hips as you assumed a normal sitting position on the couch.

Jay walked into the room, and you glanced over your shoulder as casually as you could manage. “Oh, hey, Jay.”

His characteristic side-smile appeared on his face: “Hey, y/n, how are you?”

You smiled, “I’m good, just…relaxing.” You tried not to let your eyes wander. He was wearing a loose button-up shirt and baggy jeans. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to his elbows, with two buttons undone at the top, so his collarbone was on full display. 

But the worst (best) part? A thin pair of black glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, perched lazily as if he threw them on in a rush.

Was he trying to kill you?

You turned away as you felt heat creeping up your neck, scrolling absently on your phone. 

Jungwon’s voice wafted through the space: “Can I get you something to drink, Jay?”

“Water’s fine.”

Your eyes were on your phone, but your attention was solely focused on Jay’s every movement. You heard him shift on his feet before he walked over and took a seat on the couch next to you, only a cushion between you.

“You look comfy.” He said.

You sucked in your bottom lip, pulling your bare legs under you as you shot him a half-smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were coming over.”

He chuckled lowly, the sound triggering a warm ache between your legs. “It’s ok, I don’t mind.” He paused before adding, “It’s cute.”

A smile worked its way to your mouth as you fiddled with the bottom of your shirt. This kind of comment was normal for Jay, subtle but said at just the right moment to make you squirm. No matter how many times he did it, you never got used to it.

Jungwon came over with a glass of water for Jay, setting it on the table in front of him before sitting on the other side of you. He put his arm over your shoulder and practically pulled you on top of him, drawing a surprised yelp from your lips.

You gave him a sharp look, feeling a blush settle on your cheeks. He was never this touchy when Jay was around, always opting to hover on the sidelines and hold you later after you were done being a flustered mess. 

But now his arm casually rested over your waist, your back against his chest as he traced your stomach through your shirt. 

Jay’s eyes flicked to Jungwon’s arm over you, but he said nothing, his face unreadable. He leaned over and brought the water glass to his lips, his throat bobbing as he drank.

You couldn’t help but stare.

“Should we watch something?” 

Jungwon’s voice interrupted your thoughts, and you tore your gaze away from Jay and to the TV, where Jungwon was already scrolling through movies.

Ten minutes later, you all settled on some rom-com you’d never seen, the studio fanfare echoing through the room.

Jungwon rested his chin on your head, his arm tightening around your waist as he shifted to pull you closer.

You didn’t move; you couldn’t move, because pulling away from him would mean moving closer to Jay, which was not an option. So you leaned back, letting yourself relax against Jungwon. You felt him smile behind you.

Throughout the movie, Jungwon’s hands got bolder. He traced circles on your thigh, brushed his knuckles against your arm, and played with the edge of your shirt so his fingers were just centimeters from the bare skin of your stomach.

You tried to ignore it, but with Jay on the other side of you, every touch felt different—charged. You knew that Jungwon was enjoying this, a hum vibrating from his chest every time you shifted under him. 

At one point, he put his lips next to your ear, hot breath fanning over your neck as he whispered, “Comfortable?”

Your skin shivered, and you let out a breath, “Yeah.”

“Really? Because you’re moving a lot.”

You glanced at Jay to see if he was listening, but his face was turned towards the TV, seemingly totally unaware of your conversation.

“I know what you’re doing,” you hissed.

Jungwon let his hand rest at the top of your thigh. “What am I doing?”

“Being annoying.”

He laughed softly against your hair, which drew Jay’s attention. His dark eyes flicked to his friend's hand on your thigh, and this time—just barely—his eyes narrowed.

Jay stood up. “I’m going to grab a beer; anyone want one?”

“Ooh, yes, please,” Jungwon said

Jay looked at you, “y/n?”

You nodded, “Sure.”

The second he left the room, you wiggled out of Jungwon’s arms, climbing out of his lap.

“Hey,” he whined, reaching for you.

You ignored him. “What’s gotten into you? You’re so…clingy.”

“Can a guy not cuddle with his roommate?”

“Uh, not in front of the guy you know I like,” You said.

“I’m helping you; this will make him jealous.”

“Or it will scare him off, because Jay’s a good guy who wouldn’t steal the girl his best friend is fondling.”

Jungwon shrugged, “Fine, if you don’t like me touching you, I won’t.” He crossed his arms.

“I-,” you stopped. Of course, you liked it—being held by him. After a long day, Jungwon was always the person who could help you relax. Always the person who made you feel safe.

But this was different, at least—that’s what you told yourself.

You were still staring at Jungwon’s pouty expression when Jay walked back in. 

He handed you both a beer and took his old seat, eyes darting between you and Jungwon. 

You sighed and sat between them, your knee now barely brushing against Jungwon’s. He didn’t look at you.

The TV droned on, and you kept telling yourself that this was what you wanted. To be around Jay and embarrassingly flirt with him until (you hoped) he would finally make a move. But he was quietly watching the movie, and Jungwon was looking ahead with an expression like a stone, ignoring you regardless of how many apologetic glances you sent him. 

You sank into the couch cushions and chalked the night up to a failure. 

When the movie ended, you immediately got to your feet, planning to hide in your room for the rest of the evening.

“Tired already?” Jay said.

You laughed nervously, “Yeah, well I have a lot of studying to do tomorrow.”

“You didn’t even finish your drink.”

You looked down at the coffee table where your barely touched beer sat, the one you’d abandoned after Jungwon had given you the cold shoulder.

“You can finish it.” You said.

“y/n.”

You stopped, because no matter how hard you tried, Jungwon was your weakness. You turned, and almost smiled in relief when you saw that his cold expression had been replaced with a teasing smirk.

“How about we play a game?”

Your eyes narrowed. “What game?”

“Hmm,” he put a finger on his lip, “Would You Rather? Never Have I Ever? Truth or Dare?”

“What are we, thirteen?” Jay snorted.

“Come on, Jay Hyung, it’ll be fun. Have you ever even played them?”

Jay tapped his foot. “I guess not.”

Jungwon grinned at you. “y/n? Don’t make me force you.”

You tried to resist. Tried to make the words “no” come out of your mouth because the idea of playing any of those games with Jay in the mix made your heart race. But you still felt bad for shutting down Jungwon earlier, and he looked so cute right now with his hair flopping over his forehead…

“Fine.” You plopped back onto the couch. “Would You Rather sounds the least painful.”

“What do you say we introduce some shots into the mix, Jay?” Jungwon said.

Jay smiled, “In that case, Truth or Dare is best.” He looked at you, “That way you have an out.”

You groaned, “Why ask me if you’re not gonna listen?”

Jungwon laughed and ruffled your hair before heading to the kitchen. “You were outvoted y/n; it’s totally fair.”

“Whatever.”

Ten minutes later, the three of you sat on the ground around the coffee table, a shot glass in front of each of you with a bottle of vodka in the center.

“You'd better actually play the game, Wonie. I’m not in the mood to deal with you being drunk right now.” You grumbled.

He waved his hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll play, I promise.”

Jay just chuckled and poured each of you a shot. “One to start?”

You didn’t even wait for them. Just grabbed your glass and downed it, wincing as the bitter liquid hit the back of your throat.

Both of them stared at you with surprise etched on their faces.

“What?”

“Someone wasn’t lying about the long day,” Jay said, downing his too.

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just start.”

After taking his shot, Jungwon turned to you. “Ok, y/n, truth or dare?”

You hesitated. This game was new for Jungwon, a step beyond the teasing comments and subtle hints. To make things worse, you could tell from the way he looked at you that he was feeling risky. Neither option was safe.

“Truth.”

He smiled sweetly. “What do you think about Jay Hyung?"

You froze. The question was simple enough, and Jungwon asked it with a casual lightness to his voice that could fool everyone. Everyone except you. You glanced at Jay, who seemed to be trying to hold back a smirk.

“Jay is…nice. He’s respectful and caring and…plays the guitar really well.”

Jungwon raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?”

You nodded quickly, avoiding Jay’s eyes that you felt burning into the side of your face. “Yup.”

He shrugged. “Ok, your turn then.”

“Truth or dare, Jungwon?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Dare.”

You bit your lip, flying through a list of potential dares. They all felt so boring, and you were starting to feel a bit vengeful. He loved making you squirm; maybe it was time for him to get a taste of his own medicine.

“I dare you to let me text your ex.” You smirked; it was perfect. He hated talking about her. You’d met her once, and she was that annoying type who was painfully clingy and controlling. If she wasn’t with him, she was texting him—often about her complete disapproval of you—saying how “improper” it was for a guy to have a female roommate. He had to block her for his own sanity. He would definitely take the shot; no way would he open up that can of worms.

Jungwon pulled out his phone and held it out to you with zero hesitation. “Go ahead.”

You stared at him, pushing down your shock as you slowly took it out of his hands. “Really?”

He shrugged.

You pursed your lips and decided to take a different route. You stood up and walked over to Jungwon, lowering yourself into his lap. You felt him exhale sharply, and Jay chuckled from the other side of the table. You took Jungwon’s arm and wrapped it around you, then pulled up his phone camera. You shifted until the picture looked as couply as possible, then took it, the frame showing nothing but his large hand palming your stomach. 

You stood up and sent it before looking back at Jungwon.

He looked genuinely flustered, the most you’d ever seen him. His face was bright red, his pupils wide, and he couldn’t quite meet your eyes. 

You cocked your head. He touched you like that all the time and never looked more than vaguely amused. But the second you initiated, he looked just like you after a few hours of talking to Jay…

Wait.

No.

Jungwon’s phone buzzed in your hand, ripping you out of your thoughts. You opened it to the message you’d sent, eyes widening at the texts that flooded the screen.

I fucking knew you liked her. You asshole, how long were you cheating on me?? That bitch can’t give you HALF of what I could!!

They went on and on and on… and you half-threw Jungwon’s phone back at him before sitting back down, feeling slightly dizzy. Were you really that oblivious?

Jungwon looked between you and the messages lighting up his phone, his eyes a storm of concern and satisfaction.

Jay wasted no time. “Jungwon, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he said, trying to catch your eye.

“Did you really choose to room with y/n over me because you thought ‘space would be good for our friendship’?”

Your head snapped up, looking between the two boys before settling on Jungwon, who was shooting Jay a death glare. 

“You told me Jay had already found a roommate.” 

He laughed nervously, “Well, Heeseung was looking for a place.”

“But I asked him first,” Jay said. “He turned me down almost immediately.”

“Listen…” Jungwon tried.

“Answer the question or drink,” Jay said.

You were staring at Jungwon like he was a different person, and you assumed he noticed, because one look at you and he was reaching for his shot glass. After he drank, he leveled an annoyed expression at Jay.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Jay said.

Jungwon worked his jaw, studying Jay carefully. “I dare you to take your shirt off.”

Jay snorted, his eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Do it or drink, Jay Hyung.”

You stared at your lap, wanting nothing more than to hide in your room. You knew if Jay did that, you’d be a blushing mess, and Jungwon knew it too. 

But if he liked you, why did he keep pushing you towards Jay? Shouldn’t he be possessive or something? Although now that you thought about it, he was possessive—at least around everyone who wasn’t Jay. He never let you out of his sight at parties, and within minutes of a guy approaching you, he was always by your side, a light hand at your back as he subtly told the guy to fuck off.

You thought he was looking out for you, making sure you were safe. But now, you saw it for what it really was: a claim.

And for some reason, Jay was the only exception.

Jay glanced at you, his eyes dropping down to the way you were wringing your hands. He nodded slightly, and slowly—torturously—unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. He let it slip off his shoulders and tossed it behind him, leaving his chest completely bare.

It should be illegal how good he looked. Messy black hair, tan skin, black glasses sitting crooked on the edge of his nose. You tried not to stare. You really did. But you’d been imagining this exact image for months, and now that it was in front of you, you couldn’t look away.

Jay caught your eye and smirked, leaning back onto his hands behind his back and looking smugly at Jungwon.

But your roommate’s eyes were locked on you. He studied you with a hunger you’d never seen in him, watching the way your eyes were pulled to Jay like a magnet, and the way you crossed your legs, trying to calm the hot pressure building in your core.

“It’s your turn, y/n,” Jay said.

You stared at the bottle of vodka on the table, not wanting to look at either of them. The tension in the room was palpable, hovering around you like a raincloud ready to burst. 

You forced yourself to look at Jay, trying with your entire being to keep your eyes on his face. “Truth or dare?”

He tilted his head, a slight smile on his face as he took in the blush on your neck. “Truth.”

“Um.” You looked between him and the vodka. “Do you…really think I’m cute?”

You watched as Jay’s eyes darkened, his gaze briefly dropping to your lips. He leaned forward, his muscles flexing as he rested his forearm on the table. “I mean what I say, y/n.”

The way he was looking at you was doing unholy things to your brain. You felt like he was undressing you with his eyes, his stare lingering on every shift of your hips as you squirmed under his attention. 

You wanted him to touch you so bad it hurt.

Jungwon cleared his throat, snapping you both out of your trance. A muscle in his jaw was clenched as he looked between the two of you, his fingers tapping against his knee in a steady rhythm. 

You bit your lip, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes. “Go ahead, Jay.”

“Truth or dare y/n?”

You were quickly losing your ability to look Jay in the eye without every thought in your head immediately dissolving into warm emptiness. Your thighs clenched involuntarily every time his low voice slipped from between his lips, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold it together. 

“Dare.”

Jay exhaled softly, and you saw his hand clench. He looked at Jungwon, whose cheeks were already flushed, and pupils wide as he looked at you, a half-contained neediness in his eyes.

“I dare you to sit in my lap.”

You felt your mouth fall open as the words left his mouth, a rush of blood going straight between your legs. His eyes traced the parting of your lips the same way a cat looked at a toy, drinking in your shock like it was fuel. He shot you the crooked half-smile he knew drove you crazy. “You can drink, you know.”

You knew you should. It was one of those dares that was supposed to make you drink, but the thought of your back pressed against Jay’s bare chest…it was everything you’d been dreaming about.

Jungwon’s gaze bore into you like a physical pressure, and as you turned your head, you prepared yourself for jealousy, even anger. But instead, when your eyes met his, you found only anticipation. 

You stared at your shot glass, every thought in your brain screaming at you to fill it, but your desire was winning, and your body was being pulled towards Jay as if he was your center of gravity.

Slowly, you got to your feet and moved towards Jay. His eyes were almost completely black as he watched you, and when you lowered your butt to sit squarely in his crossed legs, his hands found your hips, holding you firmly against him. 

He took off his glasses and placed them on the table, then shifted so his chin rested on your shoulder, his breath hot on your neck as he whispered in your ear. “Good choice.”

You had to hold your breath to stop from whimpering. His skin felt electric whenever it touched you, and his hands weren’t helping. His fingers traced gentle strokes in the bend between your hips and thighs, one of them occasionally brushing up your bare leg. 

You cursed yourself for wearing shorts; the skin-to-skin contact was going to be the end of you.

“Jungwon, go.” Jay’s low voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t stop yourself from exhaling softly.

You felt him smile against your ear.

Jungwon licked his lips, gaze locked on the way you chewed on your lip to keep from making a sound you knew you’d regret. 

“y/n, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you said quickly.

His question was instant and slightly breathless. “Are you turned on right now?”

You tensed, and at that moment, Jay’s hand drifted towards your inner thigh. 

You gasped, pressing your back against his chest as the pressure in your core tightened.

Jungwon smirked, his expression almost predatory.

Jay chuckled. “I feel like that answers it.”

“I want to hear her say it,” Jungwon said.

You knew there was no getting out of this one, but you tried to sound at least a little put-together as you said it. “Yes…”

“Yes what?” Jungwon asked.

You clicked your tongue. “Yes, I’m turned on.”

Jay nuzzled his nose behind your ear, his lips brushing over your hot skin, sending a shivering jolt down your back.

“Jay…” you sighed.

He made a sound similar to a purr. “Oh, I like it when you say my name like that.”

The ache between your legs was so intense it hurt, and you were about five seconds away from grinding on Jay’s lap. You couldn’t take it anymore; you needed to be touched.

Then you realized you had the power, because it was your turn.

Jungwon had moved closer, taking your old spot as he watched the way Jay traced your neck with his lips, his fingers playing with the necklace around his neck.

“Jungwon, truth or dare?”

His eyes darted up to yours. “Truth.”

You sighed because it was not the one you wanted him to pick. Luckily, you still had plenty of questions. “Why do you like watching Jay flirt with me?”

You saw them exchange glances.

Jungwon rubbed the back of his neck. “I liked…that he distracted you. I could see you get flustered and nervous around me since it wasn’t about me. You’d let me hold you and comfort you, something that would never happen if I-”

He stopped, and you noticed the growing tint of red on his cheeks. 

“If you what?”

He leaned back on his hands, a teasing smile on his face. “You’ll have to wait for your next turn.”

You rolled your eyes, momentarily forgetting where you were sitting until Jay’s hand slipped under your shirt. 

You inhaled sharply as his hand palmed your stomach, the contact making your hunger flourish with a new intensity. 

Jay’s voice sounded close to your ear. “I guess it’s my turn now. Are you ready?”

You nodded, your head feeling heavy.

His breath made your skin tingle as he spoke. “Truth or dare y/n?”

Frankly, you were done playing games. 

“Dare.”

He smiled against your neck, and a few seconds passed before he declared your fate. 

“I dare you to kiss Jungwon.”

The room went silent.

You looked at Jungwon.

He was staring at Jay with wide eyes, all of his playful confidence gone as his carefully guarded desires were revealed to the world.

“You can still drink y/n,” Jay said, his voice smug.

You realized you didn’t want to, and even though Jay was the one who made your knees weak, you were so horny you didn’t particularly care who was doing the touching.

Your eyes flicked down to Jungwon’s lips, and you felt a spark of pleasure in your brain when you saw his eyes visibly darken with need. Plus, it was about time that Jungwon took his turn being the flustered one. 

You moved to climb out of Jay’s lap, but his hands gripped your hips, holding you down. “Nope, he has to come to you.”

Jungwon didn’t hesitate. He moved until he was directly across from Jay’s legs, looking up at you with nervous anticipation. 

Slowly, you hooked your hand behind his neck, playing with the ends of his hair as your eyes scanned his face. 

You’d barely touched him, and he looked wrecked. His pupils were blown completely wide, his skin was hot, and his breathing came out in quick, shallow gasps. He kept looking between your eyes and your lips, like he was scared they’d disappear if he looked away for too long. 

You smiled because you were starting to understand why Jungwon enjoyed seeing you like this. The way he was looking at you made your core ache just as much as Jay’s rogue fingers, and you wondered how many of the nights that he held you after watching you lose your mind over Jay ended with him stroking himself in his room.

Now, you could help each other.

You leaned in, and you felt him tentatively brush his nose against yours, his hot breath ghosting over your mouth before your lips finally touched.

His lips were soft, familiar like you’d kissed them thousands of times. You felt a warmth bloom in your chest like a campfire—intense but safe. Jungwon made a sound, and you felt his hand instinctively rise to brush your waist, like he wanted to hold you but didn’t want to overstep.

You grabbed his wrist and moved his hand the rest of the way, smiling against his lips as his fingers dug gratefully into your side. 

That’s when you felt a finger press on your clit.

You gasped into Jungwon’s mouth as a surge of pleasure swept through your body, your grip on his hair tightening, causing a groan to slip from his lips. 

“Don’t mind me,” Jay said, pulling your hair back from your neck and leaning down to kiss the sensitive skin, his finger still pressed firmly on your clit through your shorts.

Your focus was narrowed until all you could feel was the painful pressure between your legs and the warmth of Jungwon’s lips. But in that moment, it didn’t matter whose lips were whose, or whose hands; all that mattered was that you wanted them on you.

So you kissed Jungwon as if your life depended on it, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him as close as physics allowed, because on that floor—sandwiched between two boys that’d been devouring you with their eyes for hours—it felt like it did.

Jungwon responded to your sudden eagerness like he’d been waiting for it all his life, opening his mouth and letting your tongues dance like fated lovers, his hands gripping your waist with a claiming force.

Jay hadn’t stopped kissing your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin like he wanted to spell his own name in bruises. His fingers had started making light circles over your clothed core, the slight pressure driving you even crazier than direct contact. You shifted on his lap, trying to grind against his finger and increase the pressure. Every time, his other hand would pinch the skin on your inner thigh, making you arch and tremble against his back.

You desperately wanted to feel your skin pressed against his bare chest, so you moved one arm from around Jungwon’s neck and gripped the bottom of your sleep shirt, tugging it up against Jungwon’s hands. He got the message and detached from your lips with a wet pop, ripping your shirt off your body and tossing it to the side. 

A broken groan escaped his lips as he took you in bare before him. “You’re more than I ever imagined.” He reached out and rolled one of your hard nipples between his thumb and index finger, smiling as you moaned at the contact.

“Do you like it when I touch you y/n?”

“Yes!” You gasped. “I love it when you touch me, Wonie.”

“God, you sound so pretty,” Jay said, teeth grazing over your ear.

You leaned your head back on his shoulder, sighing as your skin met his.

“Fuck Jungwon,” Jay said, his hand on your hip moving up to cup your other breast. “How did you hold back for so long?”

Jungwon took your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sensitive bud. “I wanted her to beg for it.”

Jay smiled and forced your chin towards him, drinking in your wrecked expression with hungry eyes. “I don’t hear much begging.”

“Jay,” you breathed, “I want you so bad.”

“How bad?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” He sighed, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb.

You continued, the pressure in your core so intense it was making you delirious, Jungwon’s persistent mouth on your chest not helping. “I’ve wanted you for so long, I dreamed of you inside me, please.”

The sentence had barely left your mouth when he kissed you. 

His lips were hungry, firm, devouring your mouth like a wild animal. One of your hands found his hair, and he growled, holding your chin towards him with an almost painful grip.

The room was filled with the sound of clashing tongues and wet licks, your strained moan occasionally cutting through the filth.

Jay’s hand had migrated under your sleep shorts, running up your folds through your soaked panties.

Your hips jerked against him with every stroke, begging for more.

He just smiled against your lips, never giving you the pressure you craved.

He was just as bad as Jungwon, preferring to watch you slowly come apart, much more than the end goal. You wondered if your roommate had learned it from him.

You were vaguely aware of Jungwon removing his hoodie and t-shirt, moving forward until you were basically straddled between them. His hands found your waistband, pulling your shorts down completely until you were naked besides your panties. He watched Jay’s hand run over your core with glazed eyes, his erection growing painfully in his pants.

When you felt Jungwon’s hand on your wrist, pulling it towards him, you broke the kiss with Jay to look, breathing heavily. 

Jungwon placed your palm over his bulge, groaning as you squeezed softly.

You leaned forward, watching every twitch of pleasure on Jungwon’s face as you rubbed him. “How long have you been hiding this from me, Jungwon?”

He tilted his head back, moaning softly. “So long, baby.”

The pet name made you smile. “You should have just asked; you know how much I like to make you happy. My sweet Wonie, my perfect roommate. I could have helped you.”

His face was strained as he looked at you. “Really? You would have…?”

You lowered your voice, keeping your eyes locked. “Anything for you, Jungwon.”

That was enough to make him buck against your hand, and he pulled away from your touch, gasping as his legs trembled. “I almost came right there, and you barely touched me.”

“Take it off, Jungwon.”

He nodded, pulling at the waistband of his sweats, stripping down his pants, and his boxers in one motion. His cock sprang free, already dripping and angry with arousal.

You licked your lips and reached for him.

Jungwon sat back down, and when your fingers made contact, he groaned.

You slowly stroked his shaft, watching his face contort in pleasure at your touch. 

You heard Jay sigh behind you, the sound sending a vibration through your back. “Need to see your face look like that,” he whispered.

Then his fingers slipped under your panties.

“Jay!” You moaned, pressing your back harder against his chest.

His finger swiped through your wet folds, the sound so filthy it made you arch against him. 

You continued your strokes along Jungwon’s shaft, speeding up slightly when Jay’s fingers made your control slip. 

Jungwon was a moaning mess under you, keeping himself propped up on his elbows as he watched you touch him while Jay made you squirm.

Jay put his other hand back on your breast, pinching your hard nipple as he continued to tease your entrance.

You brushed your finger over the slit on Jungwon’s tip; his sounds were the only thing keeping you grounded as Jay edged you.

“Fuck!” Jungwon groaned. “Talk to me, y/n; I want to hear your voice.”

“Wonie,” you gasped, trying to grind against Jay’s fingers. “I’ve always loved it when you touched me; you always made me feel good even when I was miserable.”

Jay’s thumb pressed against your clit, drawing a high-pitched moan from your throat. You pumped Jungwon’s dick with desperate speed, feeling the pressure in your core building.

Jungwon’s breathing was ragged. “y/n, I’m close!”

“Jay!” You sobbed, turning your head to bury your face in his neck.

Jay chuckled lowly and finally slipped two fingers past your entrance, a scream streaming from your lips as he curled up to hit your G-spot.

Your orgasm hit you like a truck, exploding through you like a parade of fireworks. You let go of Jungwon and gripped Jay’s knees with an iron grip as pleasure wracked your body.

Jungwon came right after, gasping as hot ropes of his cum shot out over your stomach and even Jay’s hand, which was still moving inside you as he helped you through your orgasm. 

You ground on Jay’s hand as you rode out the aftershocks, your chest heaving as the hours of buildup were finally released.

When you were slumped against him, Jay removed his hand, eyes going to Jungwon as he studied the remnants of cum on his arm. 

Jungwon lay on the ground with a lazy smile on his face. “Sorry, Jay Hyung.”

Jay just smirked and put his arm in front of your mouth. “Open up.”

Your mouth dropped open, too spent to be anything but obedient.

Jay put his hand on the back of your head and pushed you towards his arm, sighing as he watched you lick up the white substance. “Good girl.”

When you were done, you fell back onto Jay’s chest, finding solace in his warmth.

He chuckled. “You ok?”

You nodded, your eyes closed as you nuzzled your cheek into his neck. “I’m perfect.”

“Yeah, you are,” Jungwon said, watching you curl into Jay with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“But I feel bad that you didn’t get to feel good, Jay.”

Jay stroked your hair. “Don’t feel bad; watching you was reward enough.”

You traced his collarbone with your finger, his skin so warm and smooth it was intoxicating. You remembered what you’d said to him earlier when he’d asked you to beg. You hadn’t lied; they weren’t just words spoken in desperation. You wanted Jay fully, and the fresh ache in your core told you that you weren’t ready for the night to end. 

You put your lips next to his ear and lowered your voice into a whisper. “Jay, I still need you.”

He tensed under you, his hands that had been wandering over your waist stilling. 

“y/n…” he said, his voice strained.

“What?” You pouted. “Do you not want me?”

He stared at your plump lips, and you could see the battle of restraint in his eyes. His expression alone answered your question, but you wanted to hear him say it.

“It’s not that, I just…” A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he looked at Jungwon, who was watching the two of you closely. “Jungwon has liked you for so long and I can’t-”

Jungwon cut him off. “It’s ok, Jay, do what she asks.”

“What?” Jay said.

You looked at your roommate, whose back was already propped against the table, his hand drifting to his hardening cock. “Fuck her, Jay Hyung.”

Jay searched your face for confirmation, his hand drifting down to your ass. 

So you kissed him.

Jay groaned into your mouth, his lips moving with a new intensity now that the unspoken boundaries had been stripped away. One of his hands tangled in your hair while the other hooked under your thigh, holding you flush against him. He gently lowered you off his lap, pushing you onto your back on the carpet. He stood up and grabbed at the zipper on his jeans, sighing as his hard length finally sprang free.

“Jay,” you moaned. Your walls clenched at the sight of him, and you watched with bated breath as he slowly sank to his knees before you.

Beside you, Jungwon had started to stroke himself. His eyes were glassy as they flicked between Jay’s dick and your face, pupils widening as he watched your lips part in a needy whine. The effect your sounds had on him was almost concerning. He thought that he could spend the rest of his life hearing them and never get tired of it. He reminded himself to ask if he could record you next time.

Jay grabbed your legs and hooked them over his shoulders, smirking when you gasped at the sudden change in position. He hissed as he let his tip run through your folds, your wetness coating his length.

You clawed at the floor, fingers curling in the carpet as shockwaves of pleasure coursed through you in intense bursts. Your vagina clenched around nothing, wanting so desperately to be filled. 

“You feel so fucking good.” Jay groaned. He teased your entrance, hovering at the rim of your hole, moving in small circles.

You tried to push yourself onto him, but he pulled back every time, watching with brutal satisfaction as a few tears spilled down your face.

“Jay!” You sobbed, so frustrated you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You didn’t think you’d wanted anything more in your life.

“Shh, it’s ok, baby.” Jungwon appeared by your head. He stroked your hair and peppered kisses down your face. “Just a little longer, ok?”

You reached for him; his voice a beacon in the dark, more comforting than you could put into words.

Jungwon interlaced your fingers and leaned down to kiss your lips.

You gripped his hair, holding onto him like a lifeline.

His kiss was deep and claiming, full of unspoken confessions and pent-up desires. With every move of his lips, you remembered the way he held you to his chest after a long day, or the way he hovered near you at a party, only a step away whenever you needed him.

You were lost in it, lost in him, and then you felt a pressure between your legs, and with a strangled groan, Jay pushed inside of you.

You cried out, ripping your mouth away from Jungwon as you threw your head back, the stretch so good you were seeing white. 

Since you were still wet from earlier, Jay wasted no time. He moved inside of you in eager thrusts, his rhythm hard and devastating. 

“You’re so tight,” he growled, “so fucking perfect for me.”

Jungwon kept stroking your hair, his other hand on his cock as he pumped himself in time with Jay’s thrusts. “Keep going, Jay Hyung, she’s so pretty right now.”

Jay’s grip tightened on your hips as he deepened his thrusts, studying the pleasure on your face with the same care and intensity he studied his F1 races.

You were a moaning wreck, your sounds getting higher and more frequent as you felt your orgasm building.

Jungwon removed his hand from your hair and shifted towards where Jay was slipping inside of you. With one hand never leaving his dick, his gaze turned towards you; he reached down and pressed two fingers on your clit.

You screamed, tears streaming down your face as he started making firm, consistent circles over the sensitive bud. 

He pumped himself harder, his breaths turning ragged as he approached his climax. 

Jay had started slamming into you with frantic snaps against your pelvis, his eyes wide as short gasps stumbled from his lips.

You were all close, all chasing a release you’d been thinking of the second Jungwon turned down Jay’s roommate offer. Beginning the slow-burn cycle of stolen glances and loaded words that left you all aching by the end of the day.

You came first.

A broken cry ripped from your throat as you felt your walls clamp down around Jay, spasms of pleasure flowing through your body in waves.

Jay followed you, gasping as his hot seed filled you to the brim, your pussy milking him dry. He slowed his thrusts as he helped you through it, the two of you moaning in harmony.

Jungwon was last. He jerked himself off with quick strokes of his hand, wrecked whines slipping from between his lips as he came for the second time that night. He aligned himself so most of it landed around your mouth, and you licked up as much as you could, finding the way he followed the flicks of your tongue addicting.

The smell of sex lingered over the room like a cloud, the only sound the heaving of your mingled breaths. 

Jay pulled out of you, groaning as your bodies came apart with a wet squelch. He collapsed next to you, eyes closed as he caught his breath.

Jungwon crawled to the vacant space between your legs, licking his lips before leaning down to clean up Jay’s cum leaking down your thighs. 

You whimpered, oversensitive and spent, too weak to shove him away.

“Jay, would you get her face?” Jungwon said, voice muffled between your legs.

Jay sighed, opening his eyes and leaning over you. He kissed away the remains of Jungwon’s mess, tongue flicking over your skin as he licked up every drop. When he was done, he kissed you softly, and you moaned when you tasted Jungwon’s cum on his lips.

He smirked, “You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You kissed him again, a smile on your lips. “Only for you.”

When Jungwon was finished, he lay down on your other side, his hand moving to your waist as he pulled your back against his chest. He kissed your shoulder. “How do you feel?”

You placed your hand over his on your waist, brushing his fingers. “Tired.”

“But a good tired?” Jay asked.

You laughed. “Yeah, pretty good.”

“So I didn’t ruin our friendship?” Jungwon asked, face buried in your hair.

You smiled. “No, Wonie, I think you made it better.”

“So…we can do this again?” 

You giggled at the hope in his voice. “All three of us?”

Jay pushed a strand of hair out of your face. “If you want.”

You ran your hand down Jay’s chest, smiling when his muscles flexed under your touch. You could get used to this. 

“Yes, I’d like that.”

Jungwon made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, peppering kisses down your neck, his lips curved into a smile against your skin. “Now I can stop pretending everything you do doesn’t drive me insane.”

Jay leaned in and kissed you softly. “You know, at first, I only flirted because Jungwon asked me to, but somewhere along the way, I started believing what I was saying.”

You grinned, brushing his cheek with your thumb. “So you’re in?”

He smiled. “All the way.”

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[dolljju]

͏ ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏🪓 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔴𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔳𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔬𝔬 ━━╋━ 狂犬病 🪦

( один с темнотой ) ⚰️† ── INSANECLOWN.COM

[velmirenoir]

stargirl interlude ☆ nrk

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ pairing ⭑ fem!reader ♡ clingy bf!riki

in which ⭑ you and your boyfriend are on the road driving back from a camping trip with your family, yet your boyfriend insists on bothering you the whole way back home.

content warning ⭑ unprotected sex, car sex, risky sex, bulge/size kink, some fluff + aftercare, riki is downbad, pain infliction (biting), quickie, thigh worshipping, creampie, golden retriever bf ♡ black cat gf, unparticipating third party, use of name mami, not proofread

ⓘ wc ⭑ 2.1k

| now playing ⭑ fetish

riki takes out one earbud out from your ear. "baby, are you even listening to what i'm saying?" he complains, pouting.

you don't even spare him a glance, your eyes just stay focused to the endless flat grass fields from behind the car window.

"riki, please i'm listening to my podcast." - you sigh, reaching over to take back the earbud - "we still have like 28 something minutes left until we're home." you've been talking non-stop for the past 3 hours."

"please baby? i'll leave you alone to nap when we get back home. but if you shut me out like this what am i supposed to do for the next unbearable 28 minutes?

"i don't know?" you shrug, dismissively. "play something on your phone."

riki huffs, clearly dissatisfied. "fine."

you smile to yourself as you put the other earbud back in, turning your attention back to the scenery outside.

it all lasts a total of a few seconds before a finger pokes you on your thigh.

"...riki."

"what?" he asks, playfully.

"you said 'fine.'"

"i lied."

"i see that now."

with a defeated sigh, you pull out both earbuds out and tuck the wires into your travel bag in the seatback pocket. there's no point fighting him on this anymore.

his eyes light up instantly, a huge grin plastered on his face. it's cute.

his hand settles on your bare thigh, a finger wandering underneath the spandex of your shorts. he squeezes at the soft plump skin of your thighs before tracing circles and other shapes on your thigh.

"what are you doing?"

"i don't know," he hums. "i missed you."

"i'm literally right here." you flick his forehead.

"ow! what was that for?"

riki gives your thigh another squeeze - his focus never leaves your thighs.

he keeps squeezing, poking, tracing who knows what like a bored kid playing with a stress toy. you let him get away with it for a few more seconds before giving him another flick to the forehead.

"...worth it. i don't care." he mutters, rubbing his forehead before snaking his hand back on your thigh.

"you hate me." he mutters.

"i don't."

"you - whatever." he sighs. riki scoots closer, leaning his head on your shoulder. his blonde locks fall on your bare shoulder. "please?"

"what now riki?"

"i just want your attention." his fingers play with your hands.

"you been having it." you ruffle your fingers through his soft hair. "i know, but i want more."

his fingers wander between your thighs, resting his hand inbetween. you know what this means.

you glance toward the front of the car, your parents and siblings are still busy talking amongst themselves. thankfully too busy to care about the two of you in the very back row.

"i mean i guess.." - you start - "we have time to waste anyway."

his head perks up. "really? you'd let me?" he asks, almost like he can't believe you'd ever agree to something to like this.

"why not? i'm bored too." you shrug.

"but you're going to be on lookout duty, i swear to - riki.. if anyone turns their head around i'm blaming you. i don't want to be found out."

he nods ecstatically, "yes mami, i know."

you smile.

his hand hooks around your waist, guiding you onto his lap. you comply, your back hitting his chest. he spreads his legs wider to give you more leg room.

his bulge presses underneath you. the strap of your tank top falls limply to the side from the sudden movement.

he presses a light kiss to the exposed skin, your skin hot from having been soaking in the sun through the window for a while.

riki lifts you up slightly to pull down his grey baggy sweats and his red chrome hearts boxers, releasing his dick.

there's precum oozing out of his tip.

"seriously?"

"can't help it. not when i have a perfect girlfriend like you. one with thighs like that." he tugs down your shorts, revealing your lacey panties.

"my favorite ones too? baby, you're made for me." his hands grip your waist gently, guiding you to lower yourself back onto his lap. he adjusts, his hands moving down to grip your thighs.

he closes your legs, making them wrap around his dick.

he lets out a low moan.

"hey, quiet - they'll hear us."

"shit, sorry baby. just.. you feel so good. and i'm not even inside of you yet."

you rest your head on his shoulder, letting him take the lead.

riki squeezes your thighs, moving them up and down his thick shaft, letting the precum coat all over him and your thighs for more feeling.

"i love you.." riki mutters.

"i love your thighs, too."

you exhale, you can't tear away from the sight. his swollen head moving between your thighs, it feels weird. but weird in a good way.

"riki, stop talking about my thighs. you're lookout remember?"

"i know but.. they really are heaven made into a physical form. fuck y/n, i love you so much."

"sh..shut up.." you mutter, your cheeks flushing violently at his words.

he lets go of your thighs and moves his hips on his own.

"haah.."

you bite your lip, because you know if you don't, you'll release a loud noise and draw unwanted attention to you guys.

"do you guys want to stop somewhere? there's a nice restaurant around this area." your mom speaks up, glancing at you from the rearview mirror.

riki quickly ducks behind you, using you as a shield.

"nnno, i think we're okay." you respond back quickly.

"where's riki?"

"he's um.." riki thrusts a tiny nudge into you, making you almost gasp. "he's asleep in my lap."

your mother doesn't question any further, turning her attention back to the road. you reach behind you and pinch riki, he squirms.

"sorry.. got carried away." his movements stop abruptly.

"...i wanna see your face."

"you can."

"no like, face towards me."

"riki.."

he leans in, his hands squeezing your thighs playfully. "face meeeee."

you turn your head to the side, deadpan. "riki, i'm serious. you have to be lookout. i have been doing it for the past 5 minutes. if i face you, i'm trusting you completely."

"i know, i know. i won't do anything that wouldn't please you. i just want to see your angelic face."

you sigh, shifting uncomfortably before you turn around, hovering over the head of his dick.

"waaiiit, if you're facing this way, how will i fuck your thighsss? ughhh.. decisions."

"riki, just shut up." you decided to take control now, moving your panties to the side.

"wait wait wait, hold on-"

you slide down all the way in one go before he even mutters something else.

"ah y/n, you're so warm.. fuuuuuuuuuck."

riki's hands come to rest on your thighs, his legs spreading wider to hit you deeper.

you adjust, placing your legs flat down on his legs. your hands reach up under his hoodie, holding onto his abs for support. his muscles flex instinctively at your touch.

you begin to lift yourself up and down on him, occasionally letting out the quietest whimpers. he leans back, sitting comfortable as he watches your face closely.

every time you blink, every time your mouth opens slightly agape in pleasure, every time your eyes roll back, just any little slight difference in your face, riki watches it.

"ri..ki. you're supposed to be watching."

"i am watching."

"the front! not me. you're asking to get caught!" you whisper aggressively."

he huffs. "i am doing that too. kind of. you're more important anyway."

"i hate you."

his hand grip your ass cheeks, helping guide you up and down faster. "i know, it turns me on when you're mean..."

you moan a bit louder, unable to suppress it. he winces as you clench around him. you move your hands from under his shirt to rest behind you on his knees for support, you lean back.

"y/n..."

riki's hands come to rest on your waist again.

from this angle, he could see his dick bulging from your stomach. he presses down on your stomach, right on the spot where he's thrusting into you so deep.

your eyes roll back. "riki.."

"i know princess i know, shhh.." he starts to meet your downward movements with his own. "just let me handle it."

you oblige, your fingers going down to please yourself.

"that feel good?"

"yeah.. feels really good." you mutter.

riki takes your fingers and inserts them inside you, stretching you more. it burns, but it burns so good.

"do it like this mami, finger yourself deeper so your clit rubs against your own palm. let me see you lose yourself."

"i'm so close baby fuck, but i'm not cumming until you do." he breathes.

his right hand is pressing down on the bulge on your stomach, applying pressure, and his left hand is guiding your fingers deeper and faster.

"aah, ki.."

"yeah. fuck yeah, i love when you call me that."

"who makes you feel good?"

"riki does..aah."

"who can only make you feel this good?"

"..you..you do."

his hips slow, riki focuses on getting you there first. "it's too big, i can't.."

"nononono baby don't say that, you can. you've shown me before you can. you're capable of doing it, right pretty?"

"uh..uhuh."

your movements become more frantic, and your thighs begin to shake.

"it's okay love, i'm right here." riki kisses you, swallowing all your moans and screams as you squirt all over his thighs.

you fall forward right into him limply, absolutely drained. he catches you. you take your hand out of your puffy abused pussy.

he lifts the same hand you used and begins to lick off your juices from your fingers. savoring every bit.

"i'm gonna move now, okay y/n?"

you nod.

"cover your mouth."

riki begins thrusting into you brutally, "haah, y/n, you're perfect."

"love.. you so much." he whispers between soft moans.

you can't. it's asking too much of you to be quiet. as a last resort, you bite down harshly on riki's shoulder through his hoodie.

"no - y/n!"

he stops thrusting.

you lift your head up weakly.

riki lifts you up, guiding you off his dick. and that's when you feel it, warm sticky liquid oozing out of you.

"fuck, we've made a mess."

riki laughs, kissing you.

"you owe me."

"i know. i'll make it up to you, let's shower first once we get home yeah?"

· · ─────────────────── ✙ ──────────────────── · ·

"dear jesus, what the hell where you guys doing in the back? why is it all wet? ya spill somethin' or?" your sibling asks, extreme concern in her voice evident.

"and why was it sticky?" your other sibling questions.

you're in the kitchen cooking riki's favorite, dumplings. your heart drops to your ass when your siblings ask.

"yeah, y/n just spilled some soda. that's why, she's just a bit clumsy." riki responds from the living room.

"be more careful next time!" your dad shouts from upstairs.

"there was a speed bump! how about you guys drive more careful next time?!" you retort, mildly annoyed you got the blame.

riki makes his way over to you, hugging you from behind.

"smells so good, when's it ready?"

"it already is ready, if you didn't come to bother me i would've transferred it to a plate now." you elbow him.

he laughs, "okay." he reaches above to grab a plate from a cabinet above, holding it next to you.

"did you pick a movie already?" you ask, transferring the dumplings carefully onto the plate one by one.

"yup. chose your favorite, figured it'd do some type of damage control after i blamed you for the mess."

"i'm still mad."

"i know. i'll make it up to you."

"whatever, let's go watch." you say, turning on your heel.

riki puts the hoodie on of your korilakkuma onesie pajama. he does the same for the matching rilakkuma onesie he's wearing.

"you're so silly, ki."

"can't we be silly together?"

he doesn't even wait for a reply, already guiding you to the living room.

as soon as you set the plate down on the coffee table, riki pulls you down into him. he wraps his arms around you, effectively trapping you.

"riki."

"i love you."

"aren't we gonna watch?"

"i love you." he repeats.

"are we gonna cuddle the whole time?"

"yes. i love you."

"the foods gonna get cold."

"oh. right." he sits up quickly, reaching over for his chopsticks.

you smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "i love you too, idiot."

authors note ˚　. sorry it's been a while since my last upload, i've been overwhelmed with college applications and whatnot. been soososo busy and haven't had energy to write, i hope you guys enjoyed this one though!!! now that i'm done with applications i'll be writing more often! no more waiting a week lolol. thanks for reading and understanding :)

[smidare]

❤︎⠀⠀your daddy owes money to the yixiang family, when he disappears—you become collateral to wang yixiang who's taken over his fathers business.

•⠀‎‎  masterlist  ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎𓋰‎‎  ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎💬 ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎mafia!nicholas x collateral!reader ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ───  ᛫ dead dove do not eat, dubcon, noncon elements, slight stockhome syndrome, manipulation, co-dependency, unprotected p in v, creampie, face fucking, finger fucking, oral (m. rec), hair pulling.  ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ✶   ‎‎ ‎‎word count. 5691

( a/n ) this was for a paid req on my ko-fi n i finallyyy finished it >< i was having such writers block n couldnt think of how to continue scenes without making it 10k words lolol so the pacing is off (which i hate..) but i hope u all enjoy it !

the rain had been falling for three days straight, the kind of cold, relentless downpour that seeped into your bones and made the already cramped apartment feel even smaller. you were twenty-three, but most days you still felt like a ghost in your own life—shy to the point of invisibility, the girl who apologized when someone else stepped on your foot, who kept your head down at the little bookstore where you worked part-time shelving novels you could never afford to buy. your world was small, quiet, and safe only because you never asked for more.

your father had never been warm, but he had been there. until he wasn’t.

you came home that tuesday to an empty closet, missing cash from the tin under the sink, and a single crumpled note on the kitchen table in his sloppy handwriting:

kid,

debt’s too big. i’m done. you’ll manage. don’t look for me.

no “i love you.” no explanation. just the faint smell of his cheap cigarettes and the echo of a door slamming somewhere you couldn’t follow.

you sank to the floor right there in your work clothes, the cheap polyester of your blouse sticking to your skin, and cried until your throat hurt. you had no close friends to call. no savings. the landlord’s number was already lighting up your cracked phone screen.

the first collection call came two days later. you stammered that your father was gone. the voice on the other end went silent, then laughed once, low and ugly, before hanging up.

you didn’t know they were already watching.

it was the fifth night when the knock came—sharp, three raps that rattled the thin door.

you were in an oversized t-shirt and soft shorts, hair still damp from a lukewarm shower, curled on the couch with a library book you couldn’t focus on. your heart jumped into your throat. another knock, louder.

“open the door. we know you’re in there.”

you crept forward on bare feet and peered through the peephole.

three men stood in the hallway. the one in front was tall, broad through the shoulders, dressed in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled once at the forearms. sharp jaw. dark, assessing eyes. a faint scar along the inside of his elbow. he looked expensive and lethal all at once. beautiful features that still held that scary sharpness, his presence filled the cheap hallway like he owned the building.

wang yixiang.

you didn’t open it.

the lock gave way with a splintering crack. you stumbled backward with a small, terrified sound as the three men stepped inside. the two flanking him moved like they’d done this a hundred times—efficient, unhurried. one checked the bedroom. the other stayed by the door.

nicholas’s gaze swept the tiny living room, then landed on you. something shifted in his expression. not surprise exactly. interest. possession, already forming.

“wang yixiang,” he said, voice low and smooth with the faintest trace of an accent. “your father owes the wang family a significant sum. where is he?”

your back hit the wall. your arms wrapped around your middle instinctively. “h-he’s not here. he left. days ago. i—i don’t know where he went. please, i don’t have anything to do with—”

the searcher returned from the bedroom. “cleaned out. nothing of value except her.”

nicholas stepped closer. you flinched hard. he stopped, head tilting slightly as he studied the way you trembled.

“then the debt transfers,” he said calmly. “family pays what family owes. you’re coming with us. collateral.”

“no—!” the word tore out of you, high and panicked. “i don’t have money! i work at a bookstore, i barely make rent! he left me here! he doesn’t care—”

“doesn’t matter.” nicholas nodded once to the men. “take her. gently. she’s not to be damaged.”

you fought. weakly, because you had never learned how to fight. one of the men caught your wrists and zip-tied them in front of you with surprising care not to cut skin. a soft black cloth bag slipped over your head. you whimpered.

“don’t scream,” nicholas murmured near your ear. his voice was almost kind. “it won’t change anything. and i don’t enjoy hurting pretty things that don’t deserve it.”

the car ride was long and silent except for your quiet, hitching sobs. leather seats. the faint scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, expensive. you could feel him beside you in the back seat, the heat of his thigh not quite touching yours.

when the bag came off, you were standing in a large bedroom inside what looked like a private estate on the outskirts of the city. high ceilings, dark polished wood, a massive bed with crisp white sheets, an attached bathroom. the windows were reinforced. the door had a heavy deadbolt on the outside.

“this is where you’ll stay,” nicholas said from the doorway, hands in his pockets like this was a business transaction. “food will be brought three times a day. if you need anything—books, clothes, whatever—tell the guard outside. behave, and you’ll be comfortable. fight, and…” he shrugged one shoulder. “comfort becomes optional.”

tears spilled hot down your cheeks. “why are you doing this? i’m innocent. i didn’t even know how much he owed—”

“in this world, innocence is a liability.” his eyes flicked over you—your bare legs, the way your tied hands trembled against your stomach, the wide, wet eyes you couldn’t hide. “your father made his choices. you get to live with them.”

he left. the lock clicked.

you curled into a ball on the bed and cried yourself hoarse.

the first week passed in a strange, suspended haze.

meals arrived on trays—proper food, better than anything you could have made. the silent guard never spoke. you tried once. he stared through you like you were already furniture.

you explored the room. there were books on the shelf—classics, some chinese poetry, a few modern thrillers. a television with cable but no streaming, no internet. the bathroom had soft towels and expensive soap that smelled like the cologne nicholas wore.

on the third day he returned.

he entered without knocking, closed the door, and pulled the single armchair closer to the bed before sitting. black shirt again. the tattoo on his forearm was visible now—a stylized dragon coiled around a sword. wang family mark, you would later learn.

you sat on the edge of the mattress, knees pulled to your chest, watching him like he might lunge.

“how are you settling?” he asked, conversational.

“i’m a prisoner,” you whispered.

“you’re protected collateral.” he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “do you know how much your father owed us?”

you shook your head.

“enough that even if you worked every day for the rest of your life at that little bookstore, you’d never clear the interest.” his voice was matter-of-fact. “we reached out through every channel. he’s gone. no response. no attempt to bargain for you.”

the words landed like stones in your stomach. fresh tears welled. you tried to hide them, but he saw.

“crying won’t bring him back,” nicholas said, softer. “but here, at least, no one will touch you unless i allow it. the wang family has rules. you’re under my personal supervision now.”

“why?” the question slipped out before you could stop it.

he studied you for a long moment. “because when i walked into that apartment and saw you—trembling, alone, trying so hard to be brave—i decided you were mine to handle. the others wanted to auction you off or use you to send a message. i said no.” a small, almost fond curve touched his mouth. “consider it mercy.”

mercy. from the man who had zip-tied your wrists and locked you in a gilded cage.

by day seven you had started counting the hours between his visits.

when he didn’t come on day five and six, the guard simply said “boss busy” and left your tray. you paced. you read the same page of a book three times. you stared at the ceiling and wondered if anyone had even noticed you were gone. your job had already replaced you—some chirpy text from your manager about “no call, no show.” no one else had texted.

on day eight nicholas returned carrying a book.

he set it on the bed beside you. “thought you might like this one. girl finds her strength in a place she never expected.”

your fingers brushed his when you took it. you yanked your hand back like you’d been burned, cheeks flaming. “thank you.”

he watched the blush spread across your face with open fascination. “you’re still polite. even now. most people in your position would be spitting curses.”

“i’m scared,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “yelling won’t change anything.”

“smart girl.” he reached out slowly, giving you time to flinch, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingertips were calloused but careful. “the world outside these walls would have eaten you alive, you know. shy little thing like you, no connections, no money. at least here you’re fed. protected.”

funny. protected by the man who kidnapped you.

you didn’t say it. you couldn’t. because some broken, lonely part of you was starting to understand what he meant.

he sat on the edge of the bed this time, closer than before. “the wang family has been in this city for three generations. my grandfather started with one gambling den and a knife. built it into import businesses, clubs, protection. debt collection is just one arm. we don’t like loose ends.” his eyes met yours. “your father was a loose end. you… you’re something else.”

your heart was beating too fast. “what am i?”

he smiled, small and sharp. “mine.”

the rain kept falling.

by the middle of week two, the pattern had settled into something that almost felt like routine. nicholas visited almost every evening. sometimes for ten minutes, sometimes for nearly an hour. he would pull the armchair close to the bed or sit on the edge of the mattress and talk to you like you were a person instead of a debt that needed guarding.

he told you more about the wang family in pieces. his grandfather had started with nothing but a single gambling den in the old district and a willingness to use a knife when collections went bad. his father had turned it into something bigger—import businesses that moved everything from electronics to things that never appeared on manifests, a handful of high-end clubs that laundered money and hosted men who liked to pretend they were legitimate. debt collection was still the ugly heart of it. nicholas spoke about it without apology, but you noticed the way his jaw tightened when he mentioned his father.

“he expects me to be the same kind of man he is,” nicholas said one night, voice low. “ruthless. efficient. no loose ends. when i told him i was keeping you here instead of selling you or making an example, he laughed. said i was getting soft.” his eyes flicked up at the ceiling and then to you. “maybe i am.”

you didn’t know what to say to that. so you stayed quiet, knees drawn up, watching him from the safety of the pillows. he didn’t push.

on another night he asked about your father. you told him the truth in small, halting pieces—how your mother had left when you were twelve, how your father had started drinking more, how the gambling had gotten worse in the last two years. how you had spent most of your life trying to be small enough that he wouldn’t notice you, wouldn’t get angry.

nicholas listened without interrupting. when you finished, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the same careful gesture he’d used before.

“he left you with nothing,” he said quietly. “and still you’re trying to defend him in your head. that’s the part i don’t understand about people like you.”

you looked down at your hands. “i don’t know how to stop.”

“you will,” he answered. “eventually.”

by the end of week two you had started counting the hours until his visits the way you used to count the minutes until your shift at the bookstore ended. when he missed one evening because of “business,” the guard outside your door simply said “boss busy” and left your tray. you paced. you read the same paragraph four times. you caught yourself listening for footsteps in the hallway like a stray dog waiting for its owner.

when he finally came the next night you almost smiled before you could stop yourself.

he noticed.

“you missed me,” he said. it wasn’t a question.

you flushed and looked away. “it’s just… quiet when you’re not here.”

nicholas didn’t tease. he simply sat on the bed closer than usual and let the silence stretch until you filled it. you told him about the underlings you sometimes heard through the door—rough voices, laughter that didn’t sound kind, the occasional sound of something heavy being dragged. you admitted, voice small, that it scared you.

for a long moment he didn’t speak. he simply watched you with those dark, assessing eyes, the ones that always seemed to see too much. then he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture so careful it made your chest ache.

“mm…they should scare you,” he said finally, voice low and even. “most of them enjoy fear. they like the way it makes people small and obedient. but they won’t touch you.” his fingers lingered at the side of your neck, thumb resting over your pulse. “i made that very clear. the first one who forgets who you belong to will lose more than his tongue.”

you shivered. not entirely from the words.

nicholas noticed. of course he did. he always noticed.

“saw that you almost smiled when i walked in tonight,” he continued, quieter now. “you caught yourself, but i saw it. you were relieved.” he didn’t sound mocking. he sounded… pleased. like he had been waiting for this exact crack in your walls.

he let the words hang between you for a moment, watching the way your shoulders drew tighter, the way your fingers twisted harder into the fabric of your shirt. 

then he moved closer on the bed, not asking, simply closing the last bit of space until his thigh pressed solidly against yours and his arm settled around your back. his hand found the nape of your neck again, thumb resting over your pulse like he was taking measure of how fast it was racing.

you didn’t pull away. that was the part that made your stomach twist the most.

nicholas’s fingers stroked slowly along the side of your throat, almost absentminded, like he was soothing something skittish. “relief is a dangerous thing,” he said quietly. “it means you’re starting to separate me from the rest of them. from the men who laugh in the hallway. from the ones who would have already broken you open and thrown the pieces away.” his thumb pressed a little firmer against your pulse. “it means some part of you has already decided i’m the safer option. and you hate that, don’t you?”

you stayed quiet, staring at your own hands. the silence felt heavier than it should have.

shame crawled hot under your skin, thick and suffocating. you hated how easily your body had stopped fighting his closeness. how your shoulders had loosened the second his arm came around you. how some exhausted, traitorous part of you had actually leaned into the warmth of his chest instead of pulling away. 

you had spent your whole life trying to be small enough to survive—first with your father, then with the world that had never wanted you—and now here you were, letting the man who had taken you by force and locked you in this room stroke your throat like you were something he was gentling.

it made you feel sick. it made you feel pathetic. and worst of all, it made something small and desperate inside you whisper that at least when he was here, the fear was quieter. at least when he touched you, you weren’t completely alone.

you hated yourself for that thought more than anything else.

nicholas watched you for another long moment, thumb still resting over your pulse like he could feel every shameful beat. then he stood. the loss of his warmth was immediate and jarring. you hated that too.

he reached down and patted the top of your head—once, twice—the way someone might soothe a well-behaved pet. the gesture was gentle. it was also deeply condescending. his fingers lingered in your hair for a second longer than necessary before he spoke.

“i’ll be leaving for a few days,” he said, voice calm and even, like he was discussing the weather. “business in another city. my father wants me to handle something in person. i won’t be able to visit while i’m gone.”

the words landed like ice water.

your head snapped up before you could stop it. the panic was instant and humiliating, rising fast in your chest. a few days. he had missed nights before because of “business,” but he had always come back the next evening or the one after. 

this felt different. longer. more final. the thought of waking up in this room without the possibility of his footsteps in the hallway, without his low voice filling the silence, without the careful weight of his hand on your neck—it made something crack open inside you that you didn’t want to examine.

you opened your mouth, then closed it again. you didn’t know what you had been about to say. please don’t? how long is a few days? what if something happens while you’re gone? the questions were pathetic. you were pathetic for even thinking them.

nicholas saw it all. the way your eyes widened. the way your hands twisted tighter in your shirt. the way your breathing had gone shallow. he didn’t smile, but something satisfied flickered behind his eyes.

“you’re panicking,” he observed, almost gently. “interesting.”

you looked away fast, shame burning hotter. you wanted to disappear. you wanted to crawl under the blankets and pretend you hadn’t just reacted like that to the news of his absence. but your body wouldn’t cooperate. your heart was beating too hard. the room already felt emptier, even when he hadn’t left yet.

he reached down again and tipped your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. “the guard will still bring your meals. you’ll still have your books. nothing in this room will change.” his thumb brushed once across your bottom lip. “but you won’t see me. you won’t hear my voice. and you’re realizing you don’t like that very much, are you?”

you tried to pull your chin away. he didn’t let you.

“i told you once that you would stop defending him in your head eventually,” nicholas said, quieter now. “this is the same thing. you’re starting to understand that the only person who comes back for you is me. the only person who chooses to keep you soft instead of breaking you is me. and now that i’m taking that away for a few days, you’re scared.” his fingers tightened just slightly on your jaw. 

“good. that means you’re learning.”

he let go of your face and patted your head once more, slower this time, almost like he was rewarding you for the panic you couldn’t hide.

“i’ll be back before you have time to forget what my hands feel like,” he said. “try not to spiral too badly while i’m gone. i want you in one piece when i return.”

he turned and walked to the door without looking back. the lock clicked shut behind him with the same final sound it always made.

you sat there for a long time after, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around yourself like they could replace the weight of his arm. the shame sat heavy in your chest, thick and bitter. you had almost smiled when he walked in tonight. you had let him hold you. you had felt relief when he touched you. and now the thought of him being gone for days made your stomach twist with something dangerously close to grief.

you pressed your forehead to your knees and tried to breathe.

it didn’t work.

the room was already too quiet.

you wondered if this was what dying felt like.

it was funny, in a sick, twisted way. 

here you were—sobbing so hard your throat had gone raw and your voice had collapsed into something hoarse and broken at the fact your kidnapper that left you alone for a few days. every unexpected sound in the hallway made you flinch so violently your whole body jerked. the tray of food the guard left went mostly untouched. you couldn’t bring yourself to eat. you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything except sit on the bed with your arms wrapped around your knees and wait for footsteps that never sounded like his.

why did your heart hurt this much?

the question circled endlessly, mean and relentless. nicholas had kidnapped you. he had zip-tied your wrists, locked you in this room, and told you in that calm, certain voice that you belonged to him now. he had taken everything from you—your freedom, your future, even the small, sad life you’d been living before. and yet the thought of him not coming back made something inside you feel like it was caving in.

you tried to rationalize it. maybe you were just scared of what would happen if he died out there on whatever ugly business his father had sent him to handle. if nicholas was gone, there would be no one left to tell the others to keep their hands off you. you would either rot in this room until someone remembered you existed, or they would drag you out and use you the way nicholas had once said they wanted to. that was the logical explanation. that was the one that didn’t make you feel completely insane.

but it wasn’t the whole truth, and you knew it.

the truth was uglier. the truth was that some broken, lonely part of you had started needing him. not just his protection. him. the low sound of his voice. the careful weight of his hand on the back of your neck. the gentle feeling of his fingers in your hair. the way he looked at you like you were something he had chosen to keep instead of something the world had thrown away. you hated yourself for it. you hated how easily you had leaned into his chest that last night. you hated that you had almost smiled when he walked through the door. you hated that his absence felt like a hole in your chest that nothing else could fill.

every time footsteps passed in the hallway, your heart would lurch—stupid, desperate hope—only to crash when they kept moving. they never slowed. they never stopped at your door. and every time it happened, the ache got worse. you would press your forehead harder against your knees and try to breathe through it, but the sobs would come anyway, quiet and wrecked, until your voice gave out completely.

you told yourself it was fear. you told yourself it was survival instinct. you told yourself anything that made the feeling make sense.

none of it helped.

the two weeks had felt like dying in slow motion.

you had stopped counting the days properly after the first week. time blurred into long stretches of staring at the ceiling, jumping at every sound in the hallway, and trying not to fall apart completely when the footsteps never belonged to him. 

you told yourself he was probably dead. that his father’s business had finally taken him the way it took so many others—another body in whatever ugly war the wang family was always fighting. the thought should have brought relief. instead it left you hollow and sick, because if nicholas was gone, then so was the only thing keeping you from becoming exactly what he’d warned you about.

but when the familiar rhythm of his footsteps finally reached your door, your heart slammed so hard against your ribs you thought it might actually burst.

the door opened.

he looked wrong.

the white button-up was wrinkled and half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms so the pale scar near his elbow stood out stark against his skin. a black vest hung open over it, tie pulled loose and crooked like he’d been yanking at it. his face was the worst part. tired, bloodshot eyes that still burned with something sharp and unhinged. dried blood streaked across his jaw and one cheek, flaking in places. more of it crusted on his fingers. he looked like he hadn’t slept. like whatever he’d done out there had followed him back inside this room.

you wondered if the wild hammering in your chest was fear or relief.

maybe both.

it didn’t matter. the second he stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him, the relief died screaming.

nicholas crossed the room in three long strides. his hand shot out and gripped your jaw hard, fingers digging into your skin as he forced your head back. some of the blood still partially wet on his knuckles smeared against your cheek. up close, he smelled like gunpowder, sweat, and something metallic.

you made a small, broken sound.

he didn’t speak at first. he just looked at you—really looked—like he was checking to make sure you were still exactly where he’d left you. his thumb dragged roughly across your bottom lip, smearing a trace of blood there too.

“two weeks,” he said, voice low and rough, nothing like the calm tone he used to use. “and you still look at me like that. fuck.”

you tried to turn your face away. his grip tightened until it hurt.

“don’t,” he warned. “i’ve spent fourteen fucking days thinking about this room. about you in it. about whether you were still here or whether someone had gotten stupid while i was gone.” his other hand came up and fisted in your hair, yanking your head back further. “and the second i walk in, you look at me like you don’t know whether to be scared or happy i’m alive.”

tears stung your eyes. you hated that he could still read you so easily.

nicholas leaned in until his blood-streaked face was inches from yours. his breath was hot against your mouth.

“which one is winning right now?” he asked. “fear? or relief?”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. your throat had closed up.

he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. it was sharp and exhausted and a little unhinged.

“doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “both work for me.”

his hand left your jaw only to shove you backward onto the bed. you landed hard. before you could scramble away he was on you, knee between your thighs, one hand still fisted in your hair while the other ripped at the front of your shirt. buttons scattered. he didn’t bother being careful. he yanked the fabric apart and dragged his bloodied fingers down your chest, leaving faint red smears across your skin.

“wait—nicho—”

the word barely left your mouth.

nicholas didn’t let you finish.

his hand clamped over your lips, hard, smothering the rest of his name. the blood on his fingers smeared across your mouth and cheek as he shoved you deeper into the mattress.

“don’t,” he warned, voice low and ragged. “don’t say my name like you’re still allowed to tell me no.”

you made a muffled, panicked sound against his palm. he ignored it. with his other hand he finished tearing your shirt open the rest of the way, buttons pinging across the floor. his bloodied fingers dragged down your bare chest, leaving red streaks over your skin like he was marking you.

“two weeks,” he muttered, almost to himself. “two fuckin’ weeks of thinking about this. about you. about whether someone had touched what’s mine while i was gone.” his knee forced your thighs wider. “and you’re still trying to say wait? thought you’d learned. thought my absence would be enough to break you so i wouldn’t have to take.”

“guess not.”

he moved his hand from your mouth only to shove two fingers past your lips instead, pressing down on your tongue. you gagged around them. the metallic taste lingering on your tongue. he didn’t care.

“open properly.”

when he pulled his fingers out they were wet with your spit. he didn’t give you time to breathe before he was undoing his belt one-handed, the other still fisted tight in your hair. he freed his cock—already hard, flushed dark—and dragged the head across your lips, smearing precum and a faint trace of blood.

“clean it.”

you hesitated, tears already spilling. nicholas yanked your hair hard enough to make your eyes water and pushed forward, forcing the head past your lips and into your mouth. he didn’t ease in. he thrusted shallowly at first, then deeper, using your hair as a handle to fuck your throat in rough, impatient strokes. you choked around him, hands flying up to push at his thighs. he caught both wrists in one hand and pinned them above your head against the mattress.

“that’s it,” he growled, hips snapping forward. “take it. you spent two weeks crying over me—now you can choke on me instead.”

he used your mouth until your jaw ached and tears streamed down your temples, until spit dripped down your chin and onto your bare chest. only then did he pull out, breathing hard, and flip you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing. he yanked your hips up, shoved your face into the pillow, and pushed two fingers into you without warning.

you were wet. shame burned through you at how easily your body betrayed you.

nicholas laughed once, low and mean. “look at that. missed me that much, huh?” he fucked you with his fingers hard and fast, curling them cruelly until your legs shook. “say it. say you missed me while i was gone.”

you shook your head into the pillow, sobbing. he added a third finger and curled them up—hitting that spot so perfectly that your legs shook and your mouth betrayed you by letting out pathetic muffled whimpers and whines.

“say it or i’ll make it hurt more.”

“i—i missed you—” the words came out broken and muffled.

he pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his thick cock in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. you cried out into the pillow. it stung. it wasn’t like you’d been a virgin. you’d done less than savory work to keep food in your stomach but it had been awhile—not to mention, he was big. maybe not extremely long but long enough that you occasionally felt his cock press against your cervix. more than you’d ever taken. 

he didn’t give you a second to adjust. he fucked you hard and deep, one hand still fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip so tightly you knew there would be bruises.

“two weeks,” he snarled against your ear, pace relentless. “two weeks of thinking about this pretty little cunt. about how tight you’d get when you’re terrified. about how cute you look when you cry.” he yanked your head back by the hair, forcing your back to arch. “and you were in here wondering if i was dead? pathetic.”

you were sobbing openly now, overwhelmed, but your body kept clenching around him. nicholas noticed. of course he did.

“still getting wet for me even while you’re crying,” he said, voice rough with something between anger and satisfaction. “cute. you’re learning well.”

he reached around and rubbed your clit in tight, brutal circles while he kept fucking you. the combination was too much. you came with a broken, humiliated sound, walls fluttering around him. nicholas groaned, fucked you through it, then pulled out and flipped you onto your back again.

he shoved back inside before you could catch your breath, pinning your wrists above your head. his blood-streaked face hovered over yours as he fucked you slower but deeper, grinding against that gummy spot inside you with every thrust. you could feel your vision begin to blur. the overstimulation drowning you within its waters.

“look at me,” he ordered.

you tried. your eyes, red and wet with tears. he looked down at you with sharp cat like eyes—and god, did he look like he wanted to devour you whole.

“you’re mine,” he said, voice quieter but no less intense. “even when i’m gone. even when you’re scared of me. even when you hate yourself for missing me.” his hips snapped forward harder. the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the room.

“say it while i’m inside you. come on, pretty girl.”

“i’m yours—” it tore out of you on a sob.

and thats all it took, your admission of giving yourself up to your captor. nicholas’s rhythm faltered as he buried himself deep and came with a low, guttural sound, flooding you in hot, thick pulses. he stayed there, cock twitching inside you, forehead pressed to yours as he caught his breath. all you could do was whimper at the warm heavy feeling of his cum filling you up.

for a long moment the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the wet sound of him still inside you.

then he kissed you—slow, almost gentle, tasting like copper and exhaustion.

when he finally pulled out, he watched his cum leak out of you with dark, satisfied eyes. he dragged two fingers through it and pushed them back inside you, like he was making sure it stayed.

“missed you too,” he murmured against your temple, voice rough. “more than i should’ve.”

his bloodied fingers stroked your hair almost tenderly while you shook beneath him.

“glad i kept you. my perfect collateral."

𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗲ㅤ © ㅤ ( 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱 — 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗮𝗿𝗶𝘇𝗲, 𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗔𝗜.​ ㅤ ❤︎ㅤ 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 . )

𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗅𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾—𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹. 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗈. 𝖻𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗌. 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗱. 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 ♡

[sunwoosjellyfrills]

( 004 ) ; DESIRED

CLICK ME FOR THE DOCUMENT

This document uses pictures so it is not mobile friendly at all (unless mobile users can suddenly edit pictures..?)

Hi there again after a long time.. I've crawled my way back into my tumblr account to show you this cutesy minimalistic oc template that I made during my time away with a few scraps from my old docs. It's for one of my own personal projects but what's the harm in sharing this too? As usual, do not remove my credits from the template if you plan to use this. Thank you so much for the support on my other docs too, I really appreciate the likes and reposts. These things really do inspire me to push myself further to make more simple docs despite my lack of skill.

Unfortunately, my activity will be spotty as I am now working on a Visual Novel project with friends and I fear that may chew off more of my free time this year and possibly next year but I will try my best to make some more smaller projects at least. Hopefully my VN goes well so I can return to this account quickly ^-^

[wonvelvet]

may all heeseung antis rest in hell

[hoonkitti]

      DON'T SMILE ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗆𝖾?

      𓊆박성훈 x fem reader𓊇 don't smile because it happened, baby, cry because it's over. and you're supposed to think about me every time you hold her. oh, you're supposed to think about me every time you hold her. i want you to miss me. i want you to miss me.

  ⤫ 2136 ⤫ ― inspo: sabrina carpenter's don't smile! cheating but not really (sunghoon is in a talking stage), lowkey toxic, slight fluff, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, quickie, cum on face, profanity, dirty talking, exes to lovers, not proofread

  ⊹ 𐙚⋆˙˚ hello :") i'm still very much busy, but i'm also feeling suuuper guilty about not posting or updating at all so here you go! i'm so sorry that it's super short :( i just want to give you guys something to read cause the semester isn't finished yet! please wish me luck! i really need that 4.00 x-x ...

don’t smile because it happened, baby, cry because it’s over. oh you’re supposed to think about me  every time you hold her.

you’re nursing the vodka at the bar. your friends are laughing around you, shitty professors and even shitter ex boyfriends—but their voices and laughters fade into background noise the second your eyes find him across the room.

park sunghoon.

he’s leaning against the high–top table with his usual group of friends—jake, jay, heeseung, and others—laughing at something someone just said. the dim bar lights catch on his sharp jawline and the way his dark hair falls is perfectly messy. 

he looks good.

he always looks too good.

relaxed in that white button up with his sleeves folded that always made his shoulders look broader. but right beside him, tucked under his arm like she belongs there, is sooha.

his new girlfriend.

you’d heard about her two weeks ago—from your girlfriends, and then directly from jungwon himself. “sunghoon’s with this girl named sooha now,” he’d casually said over lunch, “she likes him, and he thinks why not.” 

months had passed since your breakup, the reminder still stung. especially because everyone knew it was your fault—the stupid fights you picked and the way you pushed him away until he stopped chasing.

and now here they are.

now he’s chasing over another?

sooha’s giggling, pressing closer. your fingers tighten around your cold glass.

ryujin follows your stare when she realises you’ve been too quiet. she winces. “fuck… that’s sooha. you good?”

you don’t answer right away. because sunghoon’s eyes finally drift across the bar and find yours.

i think i need a shower, my friends are taking shots, you think it’s happy hour, for me it’s not.

the easy smile on his face flickers. just for a heartbeat—his shoulders tense under that white shirt, jaw tightening as recognition hits. his fingers twitch slightly on her shoulder. sooha doesn’t notice—she’s still chatting with the others.

but his gaze stays locked on you—and you don’t pull away either.

you hold it. let him see the bitterness and something more intimate, like nostalgia, simmer under your skin. the unspoken cry because it’s over. you were the one who ruined things—sure—yeah. but seeing him move on before you feels like salt in the wound. 

he swallows, glancing quickly at sooha before his eyes flick back to you. 

oh you’re supposed to think about me  every time you hold her.

the restroom hallway is quieter, the music muffled. you push open the door to the sink area and freeze for half a second.

sunghoons’s there.

he’s at the far sink, washing his hands with his sleeves rolled up. his eyes lift immediately when you enter, meeting yours in the mirror. neither of you speaks. 

oh, well.

you step up to the sink right next to him, turning on the tap. the water runs cold over your delicate hands as you feel the heat of his glance on the side of your face. in the mirror, his reflection keeps flicking over to you—tracing your profile, your lips, the line of your neck.

you do the same, though. stealing glances at the way his slender fingers move along the slippery soap, the faint flush on his cheeks.

he finishes first. instead of leaving right away, he reaches for the stack of paper towels and holds it out to you. 

you turn off the tap, hesitate for a beat, then take it. your fingers brush his. 

you can fake it, but you know i know, know i know.

“girls night?” 

you crumple the tissue, meeting his gaze directly this time. 

“mmhm.”

a beat passes. he doesn’t smile. doesn’t offer any fake pleasantries about how you’ve been or how nice it is to see you again. he just looks at you—the same way you’re looking up to him. 

“...i… i didn’t think i’d see you tonight.” 

sunghoon lets out a slow breath, eyes dropping to your lips for a second before dragging back up. “...yeah. me neither.”

the silence stretches again, but it’s not empty. it’s full of everything you didn’t say when you broke up. all the nights you spent tangled in his sheets. all the nights he slept with your scent on his pillowcase.

you feel yourself getting bold, the shots and the ache mixing in your chest. you step a little closer, voice dropping.

“don’t you miss me?”

his eyes darken and for a split second, his eyebrows twitch. he doesn’t answer right away, but you see the way his fingers curl against the edge of the counter sink.

you push anyway, softer this time, almost pleading. “don’t you miss me, sunghoon?”

i want you to miss me, i want you to miss me.

he exhales sharply. for a moment, he looks away, but he doesn’t move. “i’m… getting to know her,” he says quietly, adam’s apple bobbing behind his skin. “you… you broke up with me.”

the words sting, but you don’t back down. he didn’t even say they’re dating. you tilt your head, looking straight into those eyes that used to look at you like you hung the moon.

“but don’t you miss me?” you whisper again, stepping closer until your cologne wraps around him. “don’t you miss the way we were?”

sunghoon’s resolve cracks so easily right in front of you.

his hand lifts like it has a mind of its own, fingertips barely grazing your waist over your top. not pulling you in, but not pushing you away either. his breathing gets a little shallower as he stares down at you, that familiar longing and missing flickering behind the guilt.

“yn…” he breathes, voice rough. “you can’t just say that to me.”

but sunghoon’s not walking away. he’s in a situation where the cuffs are too loose around his wrists. his fingers press a little firmer into your side, like muscle memory. his gaze drops to your mouth again, longer this time, and you can practically feel the pull.

the nostalgia turning into heat.

i want you to miss me, i want you to miss me.

you push up on your toes and kiss him first.

the second your lips touch his, sunghoon makes a low, broken sound in his throat. for half a heartbeat, he freezes—then he kisses you back like a man starved. his hand slides fully around your waist, yanking you flush against him at his other hand cups your cheek.

it’s messy, urgent, all teeth and months of pent–up frustration.

“ugh, fuck,” he breathes against your mouth between kisses, barely pulling back enough to speak. “what are you—”

you cut him off with another kiss, and he groans—walking you backward without breaking contact. he pushes the door to the men’s restroom open with his shoulder, thanking god that it’s empty before dragging you into the last cubicle. the lock clicks shut behind you with a finality that sends a thrill down your spine.

sunghoon spins you around, pressing your back against the cool wall. his mouth is on yours again—now deeper. one of his hands slides down to grip your thigh, hiking it up around his hip as he grinds into you.

“gonna get me in s’much trouble,” he mutters against your lips, but kissing you harder like he’s just saying it. his tongue slips into your mouth, tasting like the whiskey he was drinking earlier. one hand slides up under your top, palm hot against your skin.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, lips swollen. his eyes are glassy with want and guilt. 

“tell me to stop,” he rasps, forehead resting against yours. “right now. tell me.”

you shake your head, hands fisting the front of his button–up. “don’t wanna,” you murmur, pulling him in close. “i want you right now,” you whisper, “let’s fix this. i miss you, hoonie.”

sunghoon sighs and lets out a wrecked, “my gosh…” like he can’t believe how easy it is—how weak he is for you. his resolve completely shatters. 

he crashes his mouth back onto yours. in seconds, he’s hiking your skirt up around your waist, tugging your panties down just enough. you hear the sound of his belt buckle opening, then the zipper, then the hurried rustle of fabric.

you’re dripping, and he’s hard as fuck.

sunghoon lifts you up like you weigh nothing, pressing your back against the cubicle wall. your legs wrap around his hips instinctively. he doesn’t tease—doesn’t wait.

“can’t take back what you’re saying now,” he grunts as he wraps his hand around the base, positioning the tip at your entrance. “you’re taking me back.” 

then he pushes in—one long, rough thrust that buries him to the hilt.

you both moan aloud, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls. he’s thick, stretching you open after months apart, and the sudden fullness makes your eyes roll back. sunghoon’s forehead drops to your shoulder, a shaky “fuck…” escaping him as your velvet walls clench around his cock.

there isn’t a need to adjust—not when your pussy’s molded to the shape of his cock.

sunghoon’s hips snap forward, fucking you hard and deep against the wall. the slap of skin on skin is filthy, loud, desperate. “shit—you’re so wet,” he groans. one hand grips your thigh while the other stays braced on the wall. “missed you so much… missed how fucking tight you get for me.”

you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders through his white button up as he pounds into you. “hngh—hoonie, fuck—you’re s’huge,” you gasp. every thrust hits that perfect, sending sparks up your spine. the door trembles slightly with the force of it. 

“look at me,” he demands breathlessly, slamming into you again. “you wanted this, right? say it, say it.”

when you moan out a broken “yes—wanted you,” he curses under his breath and kisses you again, messier this time, tongue sliding as he fucks you harder. his rhythm starts to falter, growing erratic and needy.

“gonna make you cum,” sunghoon pants against your mouth. “then you’re gonna take every drop like a good girl… just like you used to.”

his thrusts turn sloppy and desperate, hips snapping hard as he chases his high. your moans mix with his ragged breathing, the sound echoing obscenely in the cubicle. 

“fuck—i’m close,” he graons, voice strained. “where do you want it?”

you don’t even hesitate, “on my face.”

sunghoon almost roll his eyes in pleasure. with one final, hard, slam that knocks your cervix up—he pulls out suddenly, setting you down on shaky legs. your knees rest and press on his shoes ‘cause sunghoon refuses to let your pretty skin touch the dirty floor.

you look up as he strokes his wet, throbbing cock fast and rough right above your face. sunghoon looks the best when he’s jerking off.

“shit—look at me, pretty,” he pants, groaning. “keep on looking at me with those eyes.”

a few more strokes—sunghoon cums hard with a groan. thick, warm ropes of cum land across your lips, cheek, and chin. you keep your eyes on him the whole time—watching the way his face twists in pleasure, his white button–up rumpled and hair messy. 

the second he finishes, sunghoon bends down to pull you up and kisses you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue with a filthy moan. his hands cradle your face, thumbs smearing his release across your skin.

“you’re so insane,” he whispers, still breathing hard. “i—”

the main bathroom door suddenly swings with laughter.

“this place is packed tonight,” jake’s voice echoes. the tap turns. 

“did you see who’s here? yn and her friends are at the bar.”

sunghoon freezes completely, eyes blown wide. his hand instinctively flies up to cover your mouth, body pressing you harder. 

jay laughs, the sound way too close. “yeah, i saw. sucks to be sunghoon, man. can’t imagine running into your ex while you’re here with the girl you’re talking to. awkward as fuck.”

heeseung chimes in, lathering his hands with soap. “he’s acting weird all night. probably saw her and dipped. dude can’t catch a break.”

jake hums, pissing at the urinal. “of couse he dipped. he’ll relapse if he doesn’t.”

your eyes flick up to sunghoon’s face.

he avoids your gaze instantly, staring elsewhere like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. his lips are pressed into a thin line, cheeks flushed, and you can feel his heartbeat racing against you.

the boys keep chatting and laughing for another agonising minute before finally washing up and leaving. the door swings shut behind them, and silence falls again.

sunghoon doesn’t move his hand from your mouth right away. he just stares at you, breathing hard. then, slowly, lean to press a kiss to your forehead.

“yeah…” he admits quietly, voice barely above a whisper. his forehead drops to yours. “i miss you.”

ㅤ© ⌞hoonkitti⌝ ⁞ all rights reservedㅤ please don't share, copy, or translate my work.

[starriwon]

𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 - 𝐋𝐇𝐒

𝜗𝜚 heeseung x reader . husband!hee x reader. heeseung as a dad.

The apartment was unusually quiet for a Saturday morning.

No music playing from Heeseung's speaker. No television running in the background. No sound of him humming absentmindedly while making coffee.

Just soft sunlight spilling across the living room floor and the tiny babbling sounds coming from the play mat in the middle of the room.

Heedo sat there surrounded by plushies and scattered blocks, his chubby hands gripping a stuffed deer nearly as big as his torso. His dark hair stuck up in every direction from sleep, and his cheeks were still warm and pink from his morning nap.

You sat cross-legged beside him, watching as he concentrated very seriously on trying to shove the plush's ear into his mouth.

"Baby," you laughed softly, gently pulling it away. "That is not food."

Heedo blinked at you.

Then he grinned.

Your heart melted instantly.

Being a mother had turned you into an emotional mess.

A year ago, you used to tease Heeseung for getting emotional over tiny things. A sentimental commercial? He was sniffling. A video of a puppy reunited with its owner? Tears in his eyes.

Now you cried because your son learned how to clap.

You heard footsteps approaching from the hallway.

A second later, Heeseung appeared wearing gray sweatpants and a black hoodie, still sleepy, hair messy, rubbing his eyes.

You swore he somehow looked even more handsome after becoming a dad.

Which was unfair.

"Morning," he mumbled, voice still rough from sleep.

He walked over immediately, dropping onto the floor beside you before leaning in to kiss your forehead.

"You look pretty," he added casually, like he wasn't saying something capable of making your stomach flip this early in the morning.

He walked over immediately, dropping onto the floor beside you before leaning in to kiss your forehead.

Then he turned to Heedo.

"Morning, buddy."

The baby squealed.

Actually squealed.

His tiny arms shot upward dramatically as if Heeseung had been gone for years instead of ten minutes.

You snorted. "Wow. So that's how it is."

Heeseung smirked smugly while lifting Heedo into his lap.

"He just has excellent taste."

"Traitor," you whispered to your son.

Heedo responded by slapping his hand against your cheek.

"See?" Heeseung laughed. "Violence already. He's definitely my kid."

You rolled your eyes.

But your chest still felt warm watching them together.

You remembered how terrified Heeseung had been when Heedo was first born.

Not because he didn't want him.

Because he was scared of messing up.

The first night home from the hospital, Heeseung had stayed awake nearly the entire time just staring at the baby sleeping in the bassinet.

You had woken up at three in the morning and found him sitting there silently.

"What are you doing?" you whispered sleepily.

He looked up immediately.

"Checking if he's breathing."

"Heeseung."

"I know," he sighed. "I know. I'm being dramatic."

But he still checked again.

From that moment on, you realized something.

Heeseung loved deeply.

Completely.

Sometimes so deeply it scared him.

And Heedo had become the center of his entire world.

"Did he eat already?" Heeseung asked now, adjusting Heedo against his chest.

"Yeah. Half his banana ended up on the wall though."

"That's talent."

"Your son."

"Our son."

You smiled.

Heeseung leaned back against the couch while Heedo grabbed fistfuls of his hoodie strings.

"Hey," Heeseung protested. "That hurts."

The baby giggled mischievously.

You narrowed your eyes. "He absolutely understands what he's doing."

"He's evil."

"Exactly like you."

Heeseung pointed at himself proudly. "And you still married me. Crazy behavior."

Heeseung gasped dramatically.

Then Heedo copied the sound.

You both froze.

The baby stared at you proudly before gasping again.

"Oh my god," you whispered.

Heeseung immediately pulled out his phone.

"Do it again, buddy."

Heedo blinked.

Silence.

"Come on," Heeseung encouraged. "One more—"

Instead, the baby sneezed directly into his face.

You burst into laughter.

Heeseung sat there in offended silence.

"...I think he hates me."

"No," you wheezed. "He definitely loves you. Unfortunately."

The morning passed slowly and comfortably.

Laundry folded together.

Coffee reheated three separate times because parenting destroyed every schedule.

Cartoons playing in the background while Heedo crawled everywhere at dangerous speeds.

At one point you found him halfway under the coffee table trying to eat a sock.

"WHY DO YOU KEEP FINDING SOCKS?" you asked in genuine confusion.

Heeseung looked up from the kitchen.

"Maybe he's building a collection."

"He's ten months old."

"Collector mentality starts young."

You laughed despite yourself.

Later, after lunch, the three of you ended up sitting on the floor together.

Heedo stood shakily between your legs while gripping your fingers tightly.

For the past few weeks, he'd been trying harder to stand on his own.

One second he'd be balanced confidently.

The next he'd topple sideways dramatically like a tiny drunk person.

Heeseung sat nearby filming him proudly.

"Look at him," he said softly. "He's getting so big."

You looked over.

There was something emotional in his expression.

Something almost sad.

"You okay?" you asked gently.

Heeseung smiled faintly.

"Yeah."

But after a second he added quietly, "I just feel like everything's going too fast."

Your heart softened.

"He's still little."

"I know, but..." Heeseung watched Heedo carefully. "It feels like yesterday we brought him home."

You remembered those first exhausting months.

No sleep.

Constant crying.

Panicking over every tiny thing.

You remembered sitting on the kitchen floor at two in the morning crying because Heedo wouldn't stop screaming.

And Heeseung kneeling beside you immediately.

"Hey, hey," he whispered, taking the baby gently. "You're okay."

"I don't know what he needs."

"You don't have to know everything right away."

He'd looked exhausted too.

Dark circles under his eyes.

Hair messy.

Barely functioning.

But he still smiled at you softly.

"We'll figure it out together."

And somehow, you had.

Not perfectly.

But together.

Now Heedo was babbling nonstop, trying to steal food off your plates, and crawling faster than either of you thought possible.

Time really had flown.

"You know what's crazy?" you said.

"What?"

"He has your attitude already."

Heeseung looked offended. "Excuse me?"

"You're both dramatic."

"False."

Right on cue, Heedo lost balance and flopped backward onto your lap before immediately whining like he'd been mortally wounded.

You stared.

Then looked at Heeseung.

Heeseung stared back.

"...Okay maybe a little."

You laughed.

The afternoon sunlight grew warmer as the hours passed.

Heedo became clingier the sleepier he got, constantly reaching for one of you.

Eventually he crawled directly into Heeseung's lap and rested his head against his chest.

Your husband melted instantly.

"Oh no," you teased quietly. "Dad's gone soft again."

"I was always soft."

"You cried because he held your finger for the first time."

"That was emotional."

"You cried harder than me after he was born."

"Can you blame me?" Heeseung shot back softly. "I looked at both of you and almost lost my mind."

"That was ALSO emotional."

You giggled.

Heeseung looked down at the sleepy baby in his arms.

His expression changed completely.

Gentle.

Careful.

Full of love.

And suddenly your chest ached.

Because this was your family.

This.

Messy apartment.

Baby toys everywhere.

Laundry waiting to be done.

Heeseung wearing mismatched socks because he never paired them correctly.

It wasn't glamorous.

But it was yours.

And you loved it more than anything.

After Heedo's nap, the energy level in the apartment somehow tripled.

The baby woke up refreshed and immediately chose chaos.

He escaped during a diaper change.

He tried climbing the couch.

He attempted to lick the television screen.

"He's fearless," Heeseung muttered while chasing him.

"He got that from you too."

"I was not climbing furniture as a baby."

"You literally jumped off the garage roof when you were thirteen."

"That was strategy."

"That was stupidity."

Heeseung grinned.

Meanwhile, Heedo pulled himself upright using the couch.

You both paused automatically.

He'd been getting steadier every day.

Now he stood there wobbling slightly, tiny fingers gripping the cushion.

His eyes widened proudly when he realized he was balanced.

"Good job," you encouraged softly.

Heeseung crouched nearby.

"Come here, buddy."

Heedo looked between the two of you.

Then carefully lifted one hand away from the couch.

Your breath caught.

He balanced.

For one second.

Two.

Then plopped directly onto his butt.

He stared at the floor in shock.

And immediately started crying.

"Oh no," you said quickly, scooping him up. "Baby, you're okay."

Heeseung rubbed Heedo's back soothingly.

"You scared yourself, huh?"

The baby sniffled dramatically.

"Such an actor," you whispered.

Heeseung snorted.

But something thoughtful lingered in his expression.

Later that evening, after dinner, the apartment glowed softly under warm lights.

Music played quietly from the speaker while you cleaned the kitchen.

Heeseung sat in the living room with Heedo between his knees.

You could hear them from the sink.

"Okay," Heeseung said seriously. "Mission: walking."

Heedo slapped the floor.

"Exactly."

You smiled to yourself.

A few moments later, Heeseung called your name.

"Come here for a second."

You dried your hands and walked into the living room.

Heeseung sat on one side of the rug while holding Heedo upright.

"Sit over there," he said.

Suspiciously.

You narrowed your eyes. "Why?"

"Trust me," he said with a suspiciously charming smile that usually meant trouble.

That was dangerous.

Still, you sat across from them.

Heeseung adjusted Heedo carefully until the baby was standing alone for a brief second.

Then he slowly let go.

Your heart jumped.

"Heeseung—"

"I've got him."

Heedo wobbled.

His tiny arms stretched outward for balance.

Wide eyes fixed on you.

"Come here, baby," you encouraged softly.

He stood there uncertainly.

Then—

One tiny step.

You froze.

Heeseung froze.

Even Heedo looked shocked.

Then another step.

Unsteady.

Tiny.

Perfect.

"Oh my god," you whispered.

Heeseung's mouth literally fell open.

"He's walking."

One more step.

Then Heedo pitched forward directly into your arms.

You caught him instantly.

For one second, silence filled the room.

Then both of you exploded.

"He walked!"

"He actually walked!"

You laughed so hard tears filled your eyes while hugging the confused baby tightly.

Heeseung looked genuinely emotional.

"No way," he kept saying. "No way."

He grabbed his phone frantically.

"Do it again. Wait. We need to record this. Oh my god."

You burst into laughter.

"Heeseung, calm down."

"I CAN'T CALM DOWN."

Heedo stared at both of you like you'd lost your minds.

Which, honestly, maybe you had.

For the next twenty minutes, your living room became chaos.

Heeseung sat across from you recording while you encouraged Heedo to walk between you.

Sometimes he managed one step.

Sometimes three.

Once he got distracted midway and sat down to chew on a toy car.

But every tiny success made both of you cheer like proud idiots.

"Good job!"

"That's my boy!"

"Heeseung stop yelling, you're scaring him."

"I'm supporting him enthusiastically."

"You sound like a football coach."

"HE CAN DO IT."

Eventually Heedo successfully toddled four shaky steps into Heeseung's arms.

Your husband actually screamed.

Not even a dignified scream.

A full excited yell.

"Yes! THAT'S MY SON!"

He scooped Heedo up immediately, peppering kisses all over his face while the baby giggled uncontrollably.

Your chest felt painfully full watching them.

Heeseung looked over at you.

And the expression on his face nearly destroyed you.

Pure happiness.

Pure love.

"You saw that?" he asked breathlessly.

"Yeah," you laughed softly.

"He walked."

"I know."

"He actually walked."

Tears suddenly filled your eyes again.

Which made Heeseung point dramatically.

"See? Now you're crying," he teased gently, reaching over to wipe beneath your eye with his thumb.

"You cried first after he took two steps."

"That's different."

"It literally is not."

He grinned.

Then he stood carefully while holding Heedo against his chest.

Your son immediately grabbed fistfuls of his hair.

"Ow," Heeseung complained weakly.

You laughed.

"He loves you."

"He assaults me."

"Same thing."

Heeseung walked over and sat beside you on the couch.

Heedo rested sleepily against his shoulder now, exhausted from all the excitement.

Tiny fingers still curled into the fabric of Heeseung's hoodie.

The apartment felt peaceful again.

Warm.

Safe.

You leaned your head against Heeseung's shoulder.

"We made a whole person," you murmured.

Heeseung looked down at the baby quietly.

"Yeah."

His voice sounded softer than usual.

Almost emotional again.

"He's amazing."

"You're amazing with him."

Heeseung glanced at you immediately.

"You are too."

You smiled faintly.

Some days parenting still felt overwhelming.

Some days you worried constantly.

Were you doing enough?

Was Heedo happy?

Safe?

Loved enough?

But moments like this made everything feel okay.

Because your son was loved.

So unbelievably loved.

Heeseung adjusted Heedo gently.

"He's getting heavier," he complained quietly.

"That's because he eats like you."

"Growing boy."

"He stole fries off my plate today."

Heeseung looked proud.

"That's my son."

You rolled your eyes fondly.

A few minutes later, Heeseung spoke again.

"Do you think he knows how much we love him?"

The question caught you off guard.

You looked at him carefully.

And suddenly you remembered every late night.

Every diaper change.

Every sleepy feeding.

Every moment Heeseung held the baby carefully like he was the most precious thing in the world.

"He knows," you said softly.

Heeseung's shoulders relaxed.

The room stayed quiet for a while.

Then suddenly—

Heedo lifted his head sleepily.

"Da-da," he mumbled.

You both froze instantly.

Heeseung blinked.

"...Did he just—"

"Yeah."

Heeseung looked seconds away from passing out.

"Oh my god."

You burst into laughter.

"Heeseung, breathe."

"HE CALLED ME DADA."

The baby immediately yawned afterward like nothing happened.

Meanwhile your husband looked emotionally devastated.

"That's it," he whispered dramatically. "Best day of my life."

You laughed harder.

Then Heeseung looked at you.

Really looked at you.

And his expression softened completely.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Then his mouth curved into that familiar flirty smile. "You know, you somehow get prettier every time I look at you. It's actually unfair."

Your smile faded into something gentler.

"For what?"

"For this." He glanced around the apartment. "For him. For us."

Emotion tightened in your chest.

"You don't have to thank me."

"I know."

He nudged your shoulder lightly.

"But I still want to."

You leaned over carefully and kissed him.

Soft.

Warm.

Familiar.

When you pulled away, Heeseung smiled against your forehead.

Then Heedo made an offended little noise between you both.

You immediately laughed.

"He's jealous."

"As he should be," Heeseung said seriously.

The baby blinked sleepily at both of you.

And suddenly you realized something.

Years from now, Heedo probably wouldn't remember this day.

He wouldn't remember the soft music in the apartment.

Or the sunset glowing through the windows.

Or how loudly his parents cheered over three tiny steps.

But you would.

You would remember every second.

The wobble in his knees.

The shocked look on his tiny face.

The way Heeseung nearly cried.

The warmth filling the apartment afterward.

You'd remember this forever.

Because these were the moments that built a life.

Not the huge dramatic milestones.

But this.

Tiny sock-stealing baby.

Messy living room.

Your husband smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

Love filling every corner of your home.

Heedo yawned again before resting fully against Heeseung's chest.

Already half asleep.

Heeseung brushed a tiny hand gently.

"He really walked today," he whispered like he still couldn't believe it.

You smiled.

"Yeah."

Your husband looked over at you one last time.

And in that moment, with your sleepy son between you and the apartment wrapped in quiet warmth, you realized something simple.

You were happy.

Completely.

And somehow, three tiny steps had made your whole world feel even bigger.

MORE ON WATTPAD!

𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 ❪ ★ ❫ » Enhypen as dad's ! ════════════════════════ This is a AU, its not real! This is just an imagination. The book will not con

[irkkii]

‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ SMORES N' MORE ⭑ p.sh

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎警察 ⸝ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇.

𝟏,𝟐𝟖𝟎─‎────𝓲 ‎ ‎ ‎﹑⠀classmate! p.sh ‎‎ ‎ 𝗑‎ ‎ ‎fem! rea ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎◜ ⁠‿⁠ ◝ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎𝖺𝓁𝖼𝗈𝗁𝗈𝗅‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝒾𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀rb for ! ‎ ‎‎ ‎❤︎🍚

you, sunghoon, and a bunch of other students are on a college camping trip for some educational thing tied to your majors.

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐄⠀⠀◜⁠‿⁠◝

it’s late now and everyone’s sitting around the campfire, roasting marshmallows. you’ve already burn't yours for the sixth time. sunghoon, sitting right next to you, notices and leans over slightly.

"need help?"

you glance at him. "no, but thanks."

you’ve known sunghoon since sophomore year of high school. you spoke sometimes but were never really close. even now in the same college, you aren’t particularly close. still, he’s always been a nice guy—and also nice looking.

on your seventh try you finally get a perfectly marshmallow. but when you turn to grab a graham cracker, they’re all gone. once again, sunghoon notices. he holds his already-made s’more out to you.

"want mine?"

you look up at him. "no, no, you can keep it," you say politely.

"no, take it. i don’t even like s’mores that much anyway."

he offers it again and you eventually accept, smiling softly as you take a bite.

as the night goes on, people start heading back to their cabins and tents. (you chose a cabin cause no way were you sleeping in a tent). sunghoon happens to be in the same one as you.

when you finally get inside, you flop down onto the bottom bunk. sunghoon sits in the old armchair across from you. the room fills with a awkward silence.

"you tired?" he asks softly, not really making eye contact.

"yeah. you?"

"yeah."

more silence.

he notices the mini fridge near him and opens it, revealing a couple of beers. you raise an eyebrow.

"you brought beer?"

"no." the way he says it makes it sound like he did.

"then how’d they get there?"

"i don’t know."

you smile at him. "you can be honest."

he smiles back, just a little. "i am honest."

you shrug. "okay, i believe you then."

"when the professors do a dorm check, those can’t be in here," you say.

sunghoon looks at you. "so what do we do with them?"

you know you should be responsible… but there are exactly two beers and exactly two of you. plus you’re pretty sure you can handle alcohol well enough.

"we can drink them," you suggest. "unless you don’t drink."

"i do sometimes. these are pretty big bottles though."

they were, but what’s the worst that could happen?

soon you’re both sitting on the bed together, clinking the bottles.

"cheers."

"cheers," he says back.

you both take a swing and immediately grimace.

"stronger than i thought," sunghoon mutters, eyebrows furrowed.

"yeah, same. we probably shouldn’t drink all of it."

next thing you know, both bottles are empty. you’re both tipsy (maybe even a bit more than tipsy at this point), and somehow you’re kissing—slow, soft, and lazy. your head is tilted, his back is against the headboard, one hand gently holding your jaw while the other rests on your waist. the kisses are sleepy, missing each other’s lips a few times, but still warm. eventually you both drift off like that.

the next morning, the loud crackle of a professor’s voice over the dorm speakers wakes everyone up. "everyone wake up!"

you wake first, slowly, then jolt when you realize you’re lying on someone’s chest. sunghoon stirs right after and sits up quickly.

"what are you doing on my bed?" you ask.

"and what are you doing laying on me?" he replies.

he glances over your shoulder and sees the two empty beer bottles. he sighs and drops his head back against the headboard. you turn and look too. the memories slowly come back.

"oh."

"wait… did we, you know?"

"no, we just kissed… i think."

another loud announcement blares through the speakers. "cabin 2, we’re waiting for you!"

that’s your cabin.

"we need to get dressed."

"yeah," he agrees.

you both scramble to get ready and walk out. the second you step outside, you feel everyone’s eyes on you. (you’ve never wanted to be invisible more in your life). you make sure to put some distance between you and sunghoon so no one gets the wrong idea.

one of the guys from last night shoulders sunghoon with a smirk. "so how was it?"

sunghoon rolls his eyes slightly. "we didn’t do anything."

"yeah, they all say that."

"okayyyyyy!" the professor calls out. "the first day of camping is now done. next we’re just checking out the area some more. everyone can go for their own walk, take pictures, explore. just be back here by 10am!"

the group starts to scatter, leaving just you and sunghoon. without saying anything, you both begin walking together.

"sorry about last night," sunghoon says quietly after a while.

"don’t apologize. i’m the one who brought up drinking in the first place."

he stays quiet for a second.

"yeah, but since you were drunk i should’ve stopped the kissing part."

"hoon, we were both drunk. it’s not your fault."

he hums in response.

as you walk, the same group of guys passes by. one of them notices something on sunghoon’s neck and grins.

"you got something right there," he says, pointing before walking off laughing with his friends.

you glance over and sure enough—there’s a hickey on his neck, great.

"i don’t even remember doing that. i’m sorry."

"is it bad?" he asks, tilting his head a little so you can see it better.

"yeah, a little," you say, wincing. "but we can cover it up later."

"why?" he asks.

you pause, confused why he would even ask that. "well becaus—"

"just kidding," he cuts you off with a small smile.

what you don’t know is that he’s only half-joking. deep down he wouldn’t mind getting drunk with you every night if it ended like this, but he’s not bold enough to admit that out loud.

[bxbybluelove-x]

pretty when you cry | wc: 1.4k

↪crying during sex, teasing, petnames

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You can't take the way he isn’t even looking at you.

You keep calling his name but he doesn’t even look up. He won’t even spare you a single glance.

“Heeseung” you whine.

“Heeseung. Please” you beg.

He doesn’t reply, partly because he’s too focused. Partly because he doesn’t know what you could possibly want more.

“Heeseung” you whine, tears threatening to fall.

You need him close, you need his attention.

He just thinks you want more and spreads your thighs further apart as he licks and sucks at your pussy. 

“Heeseung!” you whine again and tug on his hair, wanting his attention.

He presses one last kiss to your clit before pulling back.

“Mh? What’s wrong? “ his lips glisten with your juices. 

“I need you close” your voice shakes.

His brows furrow for a second before pulling himself up so he’s on top of you.

He immediately coos at the sight of you, tears spilling from your eyes, cheeks flushed, messy hair and your hand crumpling the sheets next to you.

Firstly, he grabs your hand and kisses it before pinning it next to your head.

“You need me close?” he repeats as he kisses you gently.

He doesn’t wipe your tears as they give him a weird sense of satisfaction and possessiveness.

You nod as you look into his eyes, trying to memorize every part of him.

He kisses your neck and smirks to himself.

He loooves how vulnerable you get during sex. Like you physically need this closeness to feel full and loved by him. Maybe it’s fucked up, maybe it’s unhealthy, but that wouldn’t be a first in your relationship. 

He gives his already hard cock a few strokes before lining it with your hole.

You're so wet and ready for him, already clenching like you’re trying to suck him in.

“Fuck-” he groans as he sinks into you.

You whimper, slightly oversensitive considering how long his face was between your thighs earlier.

He grabs your calves and lifts them so your thighs are squished against your chest and he can go deeper.

You immediately moan “oh my god” as you arch slightly, your arms going around his neck.

He buries his face in your neck and starts thrusting, fast and powerful.

You whimper and dig your nails into his neck.

He groans, but doesn’t get mad, knowing you’re feeling extremely sensitive right now.

“I know baby, I know,” 

“C-closer” you beg, needing him to invade every part of your body, your mind, your soul.

He grunts as he plunges deeper into you. “Baby I don’t think I can get closer than this.”

You whimper and more tears fall. You sniffle “I c-can’t,”

He pulls back to look at you and chuckles.

“You’re so sensitive, baby. C’mon don’t cry.” he presses kisses all over your face as his thrusts slow down.

You sniffle and he looks at you.

He wraps your legs around him so his pelvis grinds against you with every thrust, then he wraps one arm around your waist and leans down so your chests are touching.

He starts moving again, slower. Each powerful thrust sending shocks to your brain, making it feel all fuzzy and warm. He doesn’t stop looking at you as he watches your brows arch and your mouth fall open.

He feels you claw at his shoulders and just continues his slow, deliberate thrusts that knock the air from your chest.

“Better? Hm?”

You can’t possibly reply. You just roll your eyes back and arch into his chest.

“So fuckin’ needy. Do you get it now when I say no one else can handle you? Hm?” 

You whimper, more tears falling from your eyes and into the mattress beneath you.

“It’s okay baby,” he kisses your neck. “Just means you're mine.”

“Heeseung-” you try to warn him you’re close but he interrupts you.

“I know. You’re- fuck- squeezing me so tight baby.”

He feels your grip on his biceps tighten and your legs lock in around him.

“Cmon hold on a little longer,” he smirks, basically pulling out until only the tip is in.

Poor y/n. Still getting teased, even when you’re crying, sweating, begging him for more.

Your head lolls to the side, letting more tears roll down your face.

He loves that.

“Look at me y/n,” his voice is soft,even though his actions speak way louder.

His actions being the way his dick is barely still inside you and he’s completely neglecting your pleasure.

You don’t turn your head and you cross your arms as well, giving him the full brat treatment.

“Seriously, baby?” his thumb goes to lazily rub your clit, making you clench around him.

He pushes back in slightly and your head tilts back.

“You were being so good. So communicative.” He leans in to suck a fresh hickey on your exposed skin.

You whine but don’t dare to push him away.

You try to roll your hips, attempting to get a sliver of pleasure from his firm thumb pressing against your clit and his cock half-inside your pussy.

He immediately pins them down.

“Y/n,” he warns.

Your arms go from crossed to covering your face.

He can barely see if you’re crying but hears the familiar sniffles and whimpers of all the other times he was in this situation.

“Cmon don’t do that now-” he tries to pull them away but you shake your head.

He sighs and smooths his thumb over your wrist, right under where your palm is covering your eyes.

“Baby. C’mon,” he repeats, stuck between "I took it too far” and “she’s a dramatic brat”.

He sinks back inside you, finally, pitying you.

He starts picking his pace up again, thrusting shallowly but rubbing circles on your clit.

It really isn’t hard to gain his compassion.

You’re feeling good again and your arms fall back above your head. 

When you meet his gaze it isn’t warm. But not cold either.

He’s just...watching you.

The smudged black streaks of mascara falling down your face and your red, teary big eyes staring up at him like you’d do anything for him.

He plunges himself deep inside and you cry out.

He knows he should be going easier on you right now, but he just can’t resist when you fall apart around him.

In between your breathy moans, he buries his face in your neck and you swear you can hear him groan as you clench around him.

He presses soft kisses there as his dick slides in and out of your puffy pussy.

“You’re so pretty when you cry.”

That makes your legs tighten around him and pull him deeper.

You moan and let out a soft “‘m so close” in his ear.

He doesn’t stop this time.

“You’re such a good girl for me.” he praises, knowing exactly how to push you over the edge.

“That’s it. Cmon. Let go for me.”

It’s like his words have the magical effect of controlling what your body does, cutting yourself from the decision.

You feel like an elastic snap in your stomach and throw your head back as you call his name, repeatedly.

“I know, I know, fuck-” he speeds up, using your pussy as his personal fleshlight as he feels his own orgasm arrive too.

You whine as you look up at him.

All you want right now, in your post-orgasm blissful haze is to see him cum too.

You tug on his hair. “Please baby,”

That has him groaning as he bottoms out inside you with a final thrust, filling you up.

“Oh God,” he basically moans in your ear as his dick spills more cum inside you.

“Fuck-” he thrusts a few more times before basically falling on top of you, finally making you feel that closeness you were asking for in the beginning.

You stay like that for a few minutes, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair.

When he pulls back he grabs a tissue on the nightstand and admires the sight of his cum leaking out of your pussy, before cleaning it all up. 

“You okay?” he asks after giving you a soft kiss on the lips.

You nod and look up at him as he smudges the mascara stains under your eyes.

“Sorry I cried,” you chuckle.

He chuckles back. “I didn’t mind. As long as you don’t shut me out.”

In fact, he loved it. Loved it so much he was already planning on how to tease so much you’d be crying in his arms. But that was for next time.

You nod as you play with his hair absentmindedly, unaware of his evil plan.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

[wonvelvet]

THE MORNING — ACT TWO.

in which you, jake’s younger sister, accidentally fall in love with his best friend—lee heeseung. wc: 1.9k ⊹ ࣪ ˖ . PART ONE.

cw: unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), a lil dubcon-ish for a moment, risk of getting caught, hee is lowkey mean, smut mdni, soft dom hee + half proofread forgive me

after that night where you and heeseung literally gave eachother head, you two barely spoke.

you knew heeseung was a player, but the way he spoke to you at three am in your parents kitchen while your own brother was asleep just a door away—you thought maybe, just maybe, he’d prove you wrong.

one specific sentence heeseung said that night wouldn’t escape your stupid brain, ‘imagine how good you’d feel around my dick, but that’s for next time, right?’

what the fuck does next time even mean? tomorrow? next month? next year? your chest heated in frustration. however, all your thoughts are quickly thrown out the door when jake rudely waves his hand infront of your face.

‘jake, get your weird hand away from me’

‘i’m- i’m the weird one?’ jake gestures to himself, ‘you’re the one staring into the abyss instead of eating the lovely fucking breakfast i made for you!’

even though you thought jake was an absolute bitch, he surprisingly noticed how disgustingly sad you were around the house. to try and make you feel better even though he didn’t know why you were so upset, he made you breakfast—a breakfast that looks like literal coal.

‘jake… this is burnt i’m not eating this.’ you scoff,

jake pulls the plate away from you towards him, ‘more for me i guess’ he whispers, and with the most irritating smile you’ve ever seen.

all of a sudden, the light bulb in your depressed brain finally clicks. jake is a boy, and even better, he’s best friends with heeseung… he must know what heeseung is thinking, right? and so, after somehow converting your very lewd night with heeseung to a pg-13 and sibling-appropriate story to tell, you pull the—very burnt—toast out of jake’s mouth.

‘what the fuck’

‘jake listen to me, if you hung out with a girl that you even told you really liked and that you’d meet her next time, would you meet her next time?’

jake takes a moment before responding, ‘i mean, if i “really” liked her then… yeah i would? i mean- why wouldn’t i?’

ugh, not only did that response make you cringe, it also broke your heart. maybe heeseung was lying about saying he liked you. ‘why are you asking though?, which disgusting loser told you he liked you’

you slap jake’s shoulder, ‘i’m asking for a friend!’

‘you only have one friend…ningning? but she’s the love of MY life! she has to like ME!’ jake puts his hand over his heart, acting as if he got stabbed to death.

୨ৎ

the only good part of biology was that heeseung was in the same lecture as you, meaning it was the one time a week you saw him. usually heeseung arrives earlier than you, but today? you were first.

your heart started racing when you entered through the doors, even your organs were nervous to see him. a breath of fresh air breezed past you when you couldn’t find him in the sea of students.

until a guy aggressively bumps into you from behind. you turn around with your brows furrowed, ready to confront—

heeseung?

‘oh sorry’

oh sorry? that’s all he has to say to you? what a fucking cunt, ‘just watch where your goin next time yeah?’

heeseung looks at you up and down before letting out a half scoff-half smile, walking to his seat. you know what, fuck him!

୨ৎ

1:42am

yeah maybe you didn’t like heeseung at first, but he basically took your “innocent” card. how are you supposed to move on from the first boy you’ve ever sucked off, the boy who made you cum for the first time on your kitchen counter?

how are you supposed to move on from the boy you’re literally still thinking about at one am instead of doing the dust-collecting physics homework infront of you? maybe you just arnet—maybe this is your destiny, to be dumped by a guy who you never even dated.

the silence in your room is quickly interrupted by a knock on your door. the knock was quiet and gentle, meaning it wasn’t jake.

you hesitantly get up from your chair, reaching for the knob. meeting eyes with none other than lee heeseung.

‘hi’ heeseung looks unusually shy standing at your door,

‘what do you want’

heeseung tilts his head at you, ‘rude much?’

‘isn’t it also rude to ghost a girl after making her get on her knees for you?’

heeseung lets out a empty hearted laugh at your words, clearly in disbelief. ‘i ghosted- you?’

you don’t respond, letting him sit in his own silence while he steps inside your room fully and shuts the door. ‘what the fuck are you doing-‘

heeseung grabs a fistful of your hair, ‘how about i make you get on your knees for me again yeah?’ mocking your attitude from earlier that day. he pushes you down till your knees feel the familiar cold, hard floor—similar to that night in the kitchen.

you try and fight out of heeseungs grip but he keeps you still, ‘fuck- hee, you expect me to give you head after you fucking ghosted me? let go of me.’

your protests are quickly shut down at the sound of heeseungs zipper being pushed down. damn, did the sight of his dick just make you shut up?

you never thought your self respect would’ve ever been this low as you shamefully wrap your hands around heeseungs member, ‘talking so fucking much about “fuck hee! you expect me to give you head after fucking ghosting me!” but now that you’re on your knees and your mouth is full of me you’re quiet? slut’

you suck harder at the harsh words, pulling a groan out of him—you knew he wasn’t lying, you practically drooled at the thought of giving him head every night before you went to bed.

the first time you did this for him, heeseung was quiet and would only let out small groans. however today he was unusually loud, moaning at the feeling of your warm tongue like no one was home. wait-

you pull off of him, a string of saliva still connecting you to him. ‘wait heeseung, jake’s home and the door is unlocke-‘ your words are cut off by heeseung pushing himself past your lips once again, thrusting in you harder.

your eyes keep darting to the door, you knew jake would kill you both if he saw whatever the fuck you two are doing right now. heeseung grabs your jaw, making you look back up at him, ‘look at me when you’re on your knees for me’

as soon as he got close he surprisingly pulled out of you, edging himself. ‘no- fuck- i want to cum inside of you’

the pool of arousal in between your legs started overflowing at his filthy words, he pulled you up and crashed his lips onto yours. his tongue forced its way past your lips and savored every inch of your mouth, leaving you no space to breathe.

after pushing you onto the bed, he finally does the honors of locking the doors. heeseung couldn’t give less of a fuck if jake caught him being inside of you—he thinks it would even make him cum harder. but for your sake, he knew had to lock it.

your heart raced unimaginably faster as heeseung stepped closer to you, his knee making the mattress dip causing your heart to flutter. he climbs up on top of you, this time kissing you deeply and gently as his hand slips between both of your bodies, landing right onto your clothed kitty.

you moan into his mouth while he rubs his ring and middle finger against your clit, moving his mouth to your neck down to your collarbone. he pushes your shirt up just till it reveals your bare chest, taking one of your aching nipples into his warm mouth. he pushes your pants down along with your panties, his fingers now having direct contact with your bare cunt.

he eases two fingers at once using your wetness, your moans only growing louder. ‘look at you, acting like you were soo mad but you’re so fucking wet for me’ he curls his fingers deeper into you, pulling out a borderline pornographic moan out of you.

he pulls his fingers out of you once he realizes you are dangerously close, making you whimper at the emptiness. he aligns himself at your entrance before pushing in with one brutal thrust, making your nails claw at his back. he pushes your legs back further to your ears, making you feel him deeper. he swallows your obscene moans with his own mouth.

your chin starts to get drenched with spit, making you have to practically swallow his spit as if it was your own, your throat that was already fucked red from his dick a few minutes ago is now dripping with his saliva.

he pulls off of your mouth to air out all moans, thrusting into faster once he gets close. ‘hee- fuck, jake’s gonna hear you!’

heeseung pushes your legs further back, making the moans spilling out your mouth uncontrollable. ‘maybe jake should know that- his little sister likes his best fucking friends dick- so much- right?’

you can’t even answer, heeseung rams into your sweet spot with every single thrust. you’re convinced your brain is melting at all the stimulation. the gush of fluids released by you were triggered by heeseung’s fingers playing with your oversensitive clit. your release triggering his, and with one final thrust, heeseung lets out hot, ropes of cum deep inside of you.

you two stay lying on top of eachother for a while, coming down from your highs. when heeseung finally pulls out making you whimper at the sensation, he uses his fingers to push the drips of his cum back inside of you, keeping you full of him.

‘i didn’t mean to ghost you’ heeseung says breathless,

he falls to your side and brushes your hair out of your face, ‘i’m sorry i just didn’t know what to do- i didn’t want jake to be mad at you’

the sudden remembrance of jake makes your whole body heat up, ‘fuck! what if jake sees us like this?!’

he lets out a soft laugh at your nervousness, ‘he’s not home, you think i’d let you moan that fucking loud when he’s home? i’m not stupid’

you stay quiet in embarrassment at heeseung’s confrontation. he pulls you into one last soft kiss, ‘fuck jake’

kiki’ thoughts: oki guys ending was kinda lame but this is so half assed so pls forgive me… also the vpn i used to make this KEPT TURNING OFF every thirty minutes so i got frustrated mid way.. + im sorry jake It’s Jusy jokes

[i2sunric]

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 ! (p.sh)

PAIRING: ex-husband!sunghoon x ex-wife!reader (f)

SUMMARY: sick and tired of their parents always arguing whenever one of them comes to pick ‘em up, yohan and haneul (or haneul and yohan, per haneul’s request) decide to organize a mission and make you and sunghoon fall in love again.

WARNINGS: starring JIHOON (reader’s new bf), fluff, divorced parents, shared custody, mentions of hickeys, insults, anger, fights, making out (jihoon & reader - later hoon & reader), memories, suggestive (barely by the end), mentions of pregnancy, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 15th July 2025

WC: 7.9k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @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

NOW PLAYING: Keep on Loving You by Cigarettes After Sex & The Way I Loved You by Taylor Swift

a/n: honestly i had so much fun writing this! i’ve been a little all over the place so sorry if i took some time to finish it 💔💔 please LIKE & REBLOG to spread 🩷 i’m proud of this, the writing course i took in april is paying off me thinks.

You stepped from the elevator onto the thirty-ninth floor, stilettos clicking over marble, so glossy it caught the overhead lights and flung them back in shards of silver. 

The corridor outside Sunghoon’s penthouse still smelled faintly of the cedar-and-bergamot diffuser he favored, familiar, irritating and annoyingly comforting. 

Your blouse was perfectly ironed, hair swept into a high ponytail, makeup soft but immaculate. 

Beneath the collar your scarf hid the blooming marks Jihoon’s mouth had painted along your throat last nighjt, the silk wrapped delicately each time you swallowed, a secret reminder of how fast you’d already moved on.

You rang the bell. The custom steel door whispered open, and there he was: Park Sunghoon, ex-husband, ex-golden boy, barefoot in a charcoal cashmere sweater and sweatpants that draped too casually on a body still honed like a fencer’s blade. 

which was unfair, since you had to hit the gym so much to get your body back after pregnancy.

A crooked half-smile lifted one corner of his lips, the exact smile that used to undo you, and still threatened to annoy you into irrationality.

“Two minutes late,” he said, leaning a shoulder to the jamb. “Color me shocked, you’re slipping.”

“Traffic was charitable,” you answered, gliding past him. “Or perhaps the universe felt sorry for me, knowing I’d be dealing with you.”

He gave a low, appreciative hum while closing the door. “Biting already. I Haven’t even offered you coffee yet.”

“God forbid,” you muttered. “Caffeine brewed by your hands might revert me to our marriage counseling days, and we both know how that ended.”

“Explosively.” His eyes flicked to the silk tucked at your neck, lingered just a second too long. The bastard had always been sharp. “New accessory? Striking choice for July.”

You lifted your chin. “Fashion, Sunghoon. Look it up sometime instead of living in sweatpants.”

He laughed under his breath and motioned toward the sun-drenched living room where floor-to-ceiling windows gave Seoul’s skyline center stage. 

Lego castles sprawled across the rug, watercolor palettes lay open on the coffee table, brushes soaking in mismatched mugs. 

Voices floated from the hallway: one soft and uncertain, the other bright and commanding.

“Haneul, put that down, you’ll spill!” Yohan fretted.

“It’s fine, dummy,” Haneul declared. “I’m strong.”

You couldn’t help smiling. They were your perfect halves, as contrasting and complementary as moonlight and flame. 

The moment they spotted you, four small feet thundered over the hardwood.

“Mommy!” Haneul launched herself first, fierce as always, burrowing under your blouse in search of a hug. 

She smelled like finger paint and the strawberry shampoo you’d chosen for her at six months old. Yohan arrived a breath later, slower, shy, but his arms slipped around your waist with a familiar sigh of relief.

“Hey, my loves,” you murmured, kissing each silky head. “Did you behave for Daddy?”

“They over-behaved,” Sunghoon said, folding arms across his chest. “I’m thinking of renting them out as examples to other children.”

Haneul stuck out her tongue at him. “We’re only good because we’re awesome,” she announced.

Yohan tightened his grip on your wrist, “We made you pictures,” he said, voice so small you bent to hear it. “I painted a galaxy.”

“And I drew a tiger eating a monster truck,” Haneul added proudly.

“My little artists,” you praised, gathering both creations. Yohan’s painting was good, while you werent really sure which one was the car and which one was the tigér in Haneul’s “These are masterpieces. They’re going on the fridge.”

Sunghoon’s gaze moved from the paintings to your face. “The kids have packed, everything’s by the door. I labeled the medicine for Yohan’s cough.” 

A pause, then with exaggerated politeness he said “Should I also forward their pediatrician records to your… new friend? You know, in case of emergencies between making hickey art?”

Heat pricked your ears, but you smirked “Jihoon’s a doctor, actually, I think we’ll manage.”

“A doctor,” Sunghoon repeated, tilting his head “Good choice, someone has to keep you in one piece after you trip over your own pride.”

You arched a brow “Funny, that’s exactly what he said about you, except with more medical terminology.”

Haneul, oblivious, tugged your wrist “Mommy, can we bake cookies tonight? The really gooey ones?”

“Absolutely. Yohan, you’ll help too, right?”

He nodded shyly. “If I can stir.”

“Stirring is essential,” you assured him.

Sunghoon cleared his throat “Hang on,” he said, and vanished down the hallway. The twins scampered into the foyer to collect tiny backpacks, one blue and one purple. 

You waited, fingers tracing the ridges of your wedding band’s phantom imprint— gone nearly a year now, yet some days it felt freshly removed.

He returned with two plushies, Yohan’s weathered penguin, Haneul’s stuffed phoenix, plus a zipped folder “Their latest school forms,” he said, pressing the folder into your free hand. “And Yohan’s reading log. He’s ahead of level again.”

You met his eyes, a reluctant swell of pride shared between adversaries “Thank you.”

An awkward beat. 

The kind that used to end with a kiss back when the pauses held gravity, not distance. 

He broke it first, voice low “They’re good kids because of you.”

“And you,” you granted softly. It was a truth neither of you enjoyed admitting.

Across the room the twins argued about who would press the elevator button. 

Their little voices echoed like bells, filling corners once haunted by adult shouting. Your throat tightened, but hadn’t walked into this ivory tower to cry, so you blinked the tears back.

“You okay?” Sunghoon asked, more gently than expected.

You blinked “Peachy.”

He studied you, the way he once did across candlelit tables, conviction that he could read every flicker of thought. 

His gaze drifted again to the scarf, and his lips curved, bittersweet “I don’t regret us,” he murmured. “Even if we’re better like this.”

“Better is relative,” you said, checking the time. “And you still owe me half the orthodontist fund.”

“Invoice me, I’ll pay promptly, unlike your boyfriend.” The playful barb slipped out before he could help it. You rolled your eyes.

Haneul appeared between you with the decisive stomp of a warrior princess. “Daddy, hug.”

He knelt, catching her in strong arms. 

Yohan edged closer, and Sunghoon embraced him too, kisses pressed to raven hair. “Be good for Mom,” he said, and they nodded. Then his gaze lifted to you. “Text when you get home?”

“I will,” you answered. 

This new civility was fragile; you weren’t about to break it.

At the door you paused, adjusting scarf and handbags while the elevator dinged. Sunghoon hovered in the threshold like a man thinking of unsaying things already said.

“Take care of yourself,” he said quietly.

“You too.” You hesitated, then added, “Try sleeping before three a.m. for once.”

“Doctor’s orders, I suppose.” He flashed that maddening crooked smile.

The elevator doors slid open, you shepherded the twins inside. 

As the doors closed, Sunghoon raised two fingers in a casual salute. You answered with a small, wry wave.

The elevator began its silent descent. Haneul bounced on her heels “Mommy, can we call Uncle Jihoon on the way?”

“Maybe after dinner,” you said, smoothing her hair.

Yohan tugged your coat, whispering, “Will Daddy be lonely?”

Your chest tightened again, but you kept your voice steady Daddy has lots of things that keep him occupied, he’ll be fine.”

The numbers ticked downward. 

You inhaled, catching faint traces of cedar that clung even here, and let them pass.

☆.

Jihoon’s mouth had trailed from the hollow behind your ear to the curve of your collarbone, each slow kiss coaxing a sigh you scarcely recognized as your own. 

The loft’s floor-to-ceiling windows framed the late-afternoon light, dusty and gold, and the silk shirt you had worn for brunch lay discarded over the arm of the couch. 

Jihoon’s hands explored beneath the lace edge of your bra, thumbs stroking the faint bruises his lips had left the night before. 

When he murmured your name you arched into him, fingers threading through his soft brown hair.

“You taste like espresso.” he teased, breath warm against your shoulder.

“You made it too strong.” you whispered, nipping his lower lip.

His chuckle vibrated through both of you. “I make everything strong.”

The slow, building pressure of his body against yours blurred whatever fragile sense of time you’d carried in. 

He nudged your knees apart, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your sternum, and you tugged at his belt with impatient fingers. He braced an arm beside your head, gaze glossy with heat. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need—” The sentence dissolved when his hips rolled, and you gasped, half laugh, half moan. “Jihoon, don’t—”

A faint buzz rattled somewhere to the left. 

Phone? Table? Call? You ignored it, lifting to meet his mouth again. The buzz returned, more insistent, followed by a muffled ping. 

Then another.

Jihoon pulled back just enough to look at you, hair falling into his eyes. “Want me to toss it onto the obalcony?”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Might be the hospital.”

“Fine.” He leaned, snagged his phone, squinted. “It’s yours.” he said when he found no missed call on his.

You frowned. 

Your own phone lay face-down on the coffee table, screen pulsing with notification after notification. 

When you flipped it, the lock screen lit with Sunghoon’s name… eight missed calls, two voicemails, half a dozen texts.

The last message read at 3:47 PM

Sunghoon: WHERE ARE YOU?

Blood drained from your face. 

Pickup was three-thirty. 

A twenty-minute cross-city drive in Friday traffic stood between you and the twins.

“Oh God,” you breathed. “I’m late. Jihoon, I’m late.”

He sat back instantly. “What— how late?”

“Half an hour, maybe more if we hit jams.” You shoved into your blouse, fumbling buttons wrong, then right, hand shaking. 

The twins had never waited alone— Sunghoon’s anger was one thing, but Yohan’s shy heart twisted at schedule changes, and Haneul’s fierce bravado evaporated when she sensed tension.

Jihoon steadied your wrists. “I’ll drive,

give me the keys.”

“You have a shift—”

“Not till seven, come on.”

You stuffed rumpled hair into a claw clip, found your heels, and snatched your back before quickly bolting out of the house.

While Jihoon locked up, you hit call back. Sunghoon answered on the first ring; the controlled ice in his voice froze your spine.

“It’s four o’clock,” he said, no greeting. “You were due at three-thirty.”

“I know. Traffic—”

“Don’t you dare lie.” A hard exhale. “The twins have been sitting in the lobby with the doorman for twenty minutes because I have a meeting I can’t move.”

Guilt slammed like a wave. “I’m on my way! twenty-five minutes.”

“You should’ve been on your way an hour ago.” The line clicked deadk 

Your stomach churned. 

In the elevator Jihoon squeezed your hand, lips pressed to your temple. “Focus on breathing. We’ll make every light.”

You half-ran to his car. 

jihoon wove through side streets, one palm steady on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh in silent reassurance.

You replayed the last four years in the windshield: the final shouting match with Sunghoon, ink drying on divorce papers, the fragile truce of shared custody. 

You’d kept promises; pickups, drop-offs, parent-teacher nights— a flawless record until now. Your eyes stung. Jihoon squeezed again. “They’ll be okay, Sunghoon too.”

“Sunghoon doesn’t do ‘okay., he does perfect schedules and synchronized watches.”

“He can survive twenty minutes of imperfection.”

“He’ll make sure I don’t.”

Jihoon hit the horn, merged ruthlessly. “He’ll snarl, you’ll snarl back, then you’ll take the kids home. That’s it.”

The GPS ticked minutes downward while the sun slid west. 

At 4:24PM the logo over Sunghoon’s building loomed like a herald of judgement. You leapt from the car before Jihoon had fully stopped.

Inside, the concierge recognized you and your panic, and gestured toward a leather bench.

Yohan sat small-shouldered, backpack clutched to his chest. Haneul swung her legs defiantly, scowling at every adult in range. The instant they spotted you, mixed relief and hurt flooded their faces.

You knelt. “I’m so sorry, babies.” You wrapped them both close. “Traffic swallowed me whole.”

Sunghoon approached from the elevators, suit jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to elbows, jaw tight. His presence alone thickened the air.

“Thank Mr. Seo for babysitting,” he told the twins, nodding to the concierge. They murmured thanks. 

Then his eyes skewered you. “My office lost a forty-million-won client because I had to sprint downstairs.” His tone remained low, but fury simmered beneath. “You didn’t answer until the tenth call.”

“I was— occupied,” you admitted, heat crawling up your throat.

“With Doctor Perfect.” His gaze flicked to the slight smudge of your lipstick above Jihoon’s collar. “How responsible.”

Jihoon entered then, purposeful but calm. 

He offered a slight bow. “Afternoon, Mr. Park. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, the delay was my fault.”

Sunghoon laughed once, sharp. “Chivalry? Cute. It doesn’t un-delay my schedule.” He turned back to you. “If you can’t honor the pickup window, you need to let me know, they sat with strangers.”

“Mr. Seo isn’t a stranger,” you argued, but your shoulders drooped. “I know it’s my fault.”

“Damn right,” he snapped, then seemed to remember the children’s wide eyes and moderated his voice. “From now on, if you’ll be late, call at least half an our ahead.”

Jihoon stepped forward. “We’ll set extra alarms. She truly—”

Sunghoon’s palm lifted, silencing him. “This is between their mother and me.”

Haneul spoke up, fierce loyalty flashing. “Daddy, Mommy said sorry. Let it go.”

Sunghoon regarded his daughter, pride and frustration warring. 

Yohan’s hand slipped into yours; his small fingers trembled. You tucked him under your arm.

“I’ll make it up,” you promised, meeting Sunghoon’s gaze. “I’ll take them also tomorrow, feed them, homework, baths. Drop them at school in the morning.”

“We already have plans,” he said. “But go now. I have work.” He crouched to the twins’ level, anger vanishing behind tenderness. “Love you both. Be good, buckle up.”

They hugged him tight. When they stepped back he straightened, facing you again, expression calmer but still flinty. “One slip, fine. Don’t let it become a pattern.”

“It won’t,” you said.

Jihoon touched the small of your back— steady warmth. Sunghoon’s eyes tracked the gesture, but he only nodded once, curt, and strode toward the second bank of elevators, phone already to ear.

In the car, silence settled until Haneul blurted, “Mommy, you’re never late.”

You winced. “I messed up. I’m sorry.”

Yohan leaned against you. “We forgave you already.”

Your chest ached. Jihoon glanced in the mirror. “Cookies and extra sprinkles tonight?”

Haneul brightened. “Bear shaped!”

“And maybe a penguin one for Yohan,” you added.

Promise of sugar thawed the tension. 

As Jihoon eased into traffic, his hand sought yours again. You squeezed, grateful. 

You texted Sunghoon

You: Home safe. Thanks for waiting.  

The read receipt appeared instantly, yet no reply came. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t tonight. You would face him again at soccer practice on Sunday, armed with punctuality and contrition.

For now you had twins chattering about cookie shapes and a man beside you who smelled of hand sanitizer and steadfast patience. 

But it didn’t quite soothe you as Sunghoon’s cedar scent did.

☆.

You had tucked Yohan beneath his rocket-printed duvet at nine-thirty sharp, smoothing the fringe from his lashes while he whispered requests for “just one more chapter.” 

Haneul occupied the opposite bunk across the room, arms folded in protest because her brother’s galaxy comforter looked “cooler than boring princess swirls.” 

You compromised: two pages more of Tangled for them both and a promise of pancakes at dawn, then a good-night kiss to each forehead. 

When you eased the door nearly shut, lwaving a narrow sliver left open so hallway light could chase away nightmares, you heard nothing but the hush of their synchronized breathing and, somewhere deeper in the apartment, the distant drip of the kitchen faucet you still forgot to call the landlord about.

In your bedroom you exchanged slacks for an oversized tee, idly scrolling through Sunghoon’s terse email about next week’s parent–teacher conference: concise bullet points, no greeting, no sign-off, just times and an attachment. 

You answered with equal brevity: noted, see you there, and hit send before second-guessing tone. 

Jihoon’s name flashed in a new message immediately after.

Hoon 🩷: Miss you already. ER’s a madhouse tonight. Sleep soon? 

You smiled at the screen, typed back quickly

You: pancake duty at sunrise but I’ll try.

and set the phone facedown. 

The apartment settled into its nocturnal symphony: refrigerator humming, street traffic, a soft river flowing some feet away, and you let eyelids flutter shut unaware of the quiet rebellion brewing down the hall.

Haneul waited until the hallway light dimmed on the smart timer, ten-fifteen, then kicked off her blanket. 

She tiptoed across cool laminate, clutching her phoenix plush like a talisman. 

Yohan was already half-propped on elbows, eyes wide behind the milky glow of the small astronaut night-lamp.

“You‘re awake too?,” he whispered, voice feather-soft so it wouldn’t carry.

“Mission time,” she declared, clambering onto the mattress beside him. 

The springs squeaked; both froze, listening. 

No footsteps. No Mommy. Safe.

Yohan scooted to make room, pulling up his notebook, the one with planetary rings on the cover and TOP SECRET scribbled in bubble letters. 

Inside, colored-pencil schematics sprawled across pages: stick-figure Mommy and Daddy separated by a jagged thunderbolt, arrows leading to a giant red heart.

Haneul grabbed a purple crayon. “Step one, we need a plan that makes them talk without all the blah blah fight stuff.”

Yohan nodded solemnly, pencil poised. “Like a peace treaty.”

“Treaties are boring. We need… a trap.” She drew a square labelled family patch HQ and, under that, two stick grown-ups with startled eyebrows.

He frowned. “Daddy doesn’t like when we surprise him, and mommy gets scared when daddy is mad.”

“Fine,” she allowed, tapping the page. “Then we make them do something happy together. What do they both like?”

Yohan’s brow furrowed, deep in six-year-old contemplation. “Coffee?” he suggested.

“They’ll just drink and talk about bills.” Haneul rolled her eyes. “Think bigger.”

“Skating!” he blurted. “Daddy took us to the frozen fountain last winter. Mommy laughed a lot that day.”

Haneul’s grin flashed feral. “Yes. Ice. But how do we get them there at the same time?”

They fell into hushed deliberation, heads bent, plush phoenix wedged like a conference mascot between them. 

Yohan proposed forged invitations to a “special parents’ night” at the rink. 

Haneul countered with a surprise picnic in the middle of the ice, blankets, cocoa, maybe glitter bombs. Yohan worried about glitter in skates; Haneul insisted glitter fixed everything. 

They compromised: glitter only on the thermos.

Haneul flipped to a fresh page. “Backup plan in case they can’t pic nic: make them watch old wedding videos.”

Yohan’s eyes widened. “Do we have those?”

“Grandma does. We can ask but pretend it’s for school.”

“I don’t like fibbing.”

“It’s not fibbing,” she soothed. “It’s… diplomacy.” She’d heard Sunghoon use the word during a heated phone call and liked how it rolled off the tongue.

They listed supplies: colored paper, cocoa packets, marshmallows shaped like stars (non-negotiable), enough allowance coins to bribe the rink guard, and Sunghoon’s spare keycard if pick-up shuttling required infiltration of his apartment. 

Haneul promised she could swipe it from the crystal bowl by his door. 

Yohan fretted about fingerprints, but she waved him off “Daddy is a CEO, not an FBI agent.”

When strategies tired their brains, Yohan yawned cavernously. 

Haneul fished a flashlight from under the pillow, clicked it on beneath a shared blanket, and they whispered final oaths of secrecy— not a peep to grown-ups, especially not Jihoon, because doctors asked too many questions. 

They spat on palms with theatrical disgust, then sealed the pact with a sticky handshake that made them giggle until Yohan clapped both hands over his mouth.

Haneul switched off the flashlight. She nestled beside her twin brother, fingers intertwined.

“Mommy and Daddy will be happy again,” she murmured into darkness, more a statement than a wish.

Yohan swallowed. “Even if they don’t get married again… maybe they’ll laugh.”

She nudged him with an elbow. “They’ll laugh. And then we won’t have to pack bags every other weekend like ping-pong balls.”

He considered this, then nodded. “Mission: family patch!” he recited, sleep thickening his voice. “Operation commence tomorrow at oh-six-hundred.”

Haneul had no idea what hour that was, but Yohan liked numbers, so she agreed and commanded the phoenix plush to stand lookout. 

By the time its stitched wings drooped against the pillow, both children drifted under, breathing in unison, dreaming of twirling ice and microscopic glitter storms, of coffee steam curling between two grown-ups who once loved each other enough to make a galaxy-painting boy and a tiger-riding girl.

Down the hall, you lay unaware, one arm flung over your eyes, pondering whether to email Sunghoon a proper apology for last week’s tardy scramble. 

You debated phrasing until thoughts blurred, eventually you decided morning clarity would serve better. 

Had you risen to peek in on the twins, like you usually did before sleeping, you might have noticed the double rise and fall beneath Yohan’s quilt or the faint scent of purple crayon still hanging in the air. 

☆.

You spent Saturday morning lost in the weekend routine: laundry tumbling in the washer, a precarious tower of receipts on the dining table begging to be categorized, too distracted to notice the unnatural hush in the twins’ room and ghe sudden disappearance of your phone.

Sunghoon, the next day, somewhere across the river, sat in his high-rise office final-polishing a pitch deck, blissfully ignorant that Yohan and Haneul were toggling between his unlocked laptop.

While you counted vitamins into a plastic day-pill container, they sent your mother a text requiring your wedding videos for a school project. She dropped a USB driver when you were busy hanging out the clothes. 

Then, they plundered the external drive labeled ARCHIVE— DO NOT DELETE on Sunghoon’s computer. 

Up popped camcorder footage: you six months pregnant, satin wedding dress tailored around your belly; Sunghoon in a dove-gray suit, gaze locked on you like earth’s true north. 

The twins giggled at their own embryonic cameos— your wobbling walk down the aisle, Sunghoon’s trembling hands when he kissed your knuckles, your joint vows whispered over the soundtrack of distant seagulls. 

Haneul clipped segments without mercy, Yohan layering transitions that blinked neon pink and comic-sans captions: LOOK HOW MUCH THEY LOVED EACH OTHER! A royalty-free harp arpeggio looped beneath every frame, jerky and too loud.. 

Yohan handled logistics. He typed on Sunghoon’s email: “Client call moved. I’ll be offlain after noon.” 

Haneul commandeered your phone when you left it charging beside the toaster. Her thumbs flew: “Running errands.” even if she didn’t really know what it meant “Taking kids skating at Star Rink tomorrow, can you grab them at four? :) Grab your skates, maybe they wanna stay longer” 

The smiley looked nothing like your usual punctuation and everything like six-year-old exuberance, but they trusted adult obliviousness.

Next they texted you from his own work chat window, Yohan’s idea, so a parallel message pinged onto your lock screen: “I’ll drop twins at rink 3:30. You pick ’em up? Thanks. Bring your skates in case they want to stay longer.”

Then they deleted the threads, archiving proof deep in message trash where no one ever scrolled.

Grandma arrived at noon. 

Your mother thought the surprise visit was your idea; you didn’t know that neither Sunghoon nor you were aware of their secret mission.

By three-thirty you shoved your skates into a canvas tote, wondering why Sunghoon had promised the twins ice on a weekend so crammed. 

Still, a commitment was a commitment, and guilt over last week’s tardy pickup nipped your conscience. 

You arrived to Star Rink’s gleaming atrium just after three-fifty, breath fogging in the artificially cooled air, muttering apologies you’d craft for tiny ears. 

The rink looked unusually empty, just a few teenagers practicing spins, no sign of your children skating with your ex husband.

Then a familiar voice echoed across the polished concrete. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Sunghoon strode from the opposite entrance, coat unfastened, skates slung over one shoulder. 

His surprise mirrored yours so perfectly it might have been choreographed— which, unknown to either of you, it had.

“You said to be here at four,” he accused.

You blinked. “No— you said i’d grab them at four.”

He frowned. “I have the text.” He dug for his phone, scrolling with brows knit. You mirrored him, finding nothing but your past conversations.

“Where are the twins?” you asked, throat tightening.

“Probably hiding behind a pillar laughing at us.” He scanned the rink. “Come on, rascals, out!”

No answer. 

Only the squeak of rental skates and the distant crunch of blades carving ice. 

You and Sunghoon shared a look that bridged the chasm of months— parental telepathy laced with worry.

A rink attendant in a blue windbreaker approached, clipboard in hand. “Mr. Park? Ms. L/N?”

“Yes,” you both answered, then glared at each other for saying it in unison.

The attendant smiled like someone who’d been tipped off. “Your children dropped off a USB this morning. Asked us to play it at four sharp. They said you might… need context.” She gestured toward the suspended Jumbotron above center ice. 

Its four screens currently looped skate sponsors.

You opened your mouth— closed it. Sunghoon’s eyes narrowed. 

“They told us to inform you they are at their Grandma’s, safe and sound.” She made air quotes. 

Haneul’s grin flashed in your memory, wicked and gap-toothed. Yohan’s shy collusion behind it. You dragged a hand over your face. “Demons.”

The attendant glanced at the wall clock. 3:58. “We were also told to insist you both ‘get on the ice first so the magic works.’ Their words.”

Sunghoon pinched the bridge of his nose, then sighed. “Fine. Humor us.”

You laced skates side by side on a bench, trying not to notice how his forearm brushed yours when he tugged his bootstrings, how the slice of his jaw looked less severe up close, how the citrus-cedar cologne you once bought him still anchored memories. 

When you stood, wobbling, he offered a reflexive hand, not the poised businessman, just the competitive skater who’d coached you through a thousand laps in winter courting days. 

Muscle memory overruled pride, you let him steady you onto the ice.

The rink felt cavernous without the twins’ chatter. Fluorescent lights struck the frozen surface in blue shivers. You pushed off cautiously, lungs filling with cold whisper-clean air. 

Sunghoon glided backward, assessing your form. “Knees bent,” he murmured, in instinctive coach mode.

“I remember,” you said, managing a credible curve. Across the ice, teen couples twirled; pop music thumped overhead. That familiarity, him skating circles until your confidence caught, stirred warmth you tried to quell.

At exactly four-o-one the music cut, replaced by a jarring harp trill booming through loudspeakers. 

The Jumbotron flickered snowflakes, then a shaky camcorder frame: you in pearls, belly round under ivory silk, Sunghoon at the altar, eyes glossy.

Your skate edges wobbled. “Oh, my God.”

He looked up, jaw slack. 

The audio crackled— your voice in 720p, laughing, telling the officiant a twins joke mid-vow and everyone roaring. Caption bubbles popped: THEY WERE SO CUTE! :’) Glitter GIFs rained down pixelated gold across the screen. 

The edit jumped, janky cross-fade to the first dance where Sunghoon’s hands rested protectively on your curve. 

A subtitle shouted: LOOK HOW DADDY STARED AT MOMMY!

A collective “awww” rose from rink spectators. Your cheeks burned.

Then the too loud music started, deafening everyone around.

Sunghoon skated closer, voice low. “Where did they even get this?”

“Your archive drive? My mother had a backup too.”

He winced. “I locked that folder.”

“They hacked you.” A short, incredulous laugh escaped. “Our six-year-olds hacked you.”

Onscreen footage shifted to the hospital delivery room, your mother must’ve filmed it, Sunghoon pressing lips to your brow while monitors beeped. 

Then a freeze-frame zoom-in on both newborns, overlay text in rainbow font: MISSION FAMILY PATCH: ACTIVEIGHT.

Mutters of delight filtered from onlookers. 

You swayed slightly, Sunghoon caught your elbow. For a long heartbeat neither of you moved, riveted by the stumble-through montage, first bath, stroller race, your exhausted faces side by side on the couch. 

The amateur edit felt like a love letter scrawled in crayon, messy yet searingly sincere.

When the screen faded to white with a final flourish, PLEASE LOVE AGAIN, silence thawed into soft arena applause. The attendant cut the feed and awkwardly restarted the playlist.

You exhaled, a shudder that misted the chilly air. “They went to Grandma’s so we’d be forced to… reconnect.”

“Tiny criminals,” he murmured, but his voice wasn’t angry. just overwhelmed. And guilty. 

You eased back, studying him. Ice crystals peppered his hair where condensation had settled. 

He looked suddenly tired, the rapid-fire CEO shutters pulled open to something vulnerable.

“They miss the way we used to laugh,” you said, throat tight.

“Do you?” he asked, earnestness slipping out before he could clothe it in sarcasm.

“Yes,” you admitted, quiet, surprising even yourself. “I miss when we were on the same team.”

He nodded, gaze drifting to your scarf, today a soft gray, no hickeys to hide, “We’re still parents. That team never dissolved.”

“You’re right. We just… forgot how to play.”

He released a breathy chuckle. “Leave it to our kids to schedule a remedial practice.”

You managed a tentative smile. The playlist shifted to a mellow jazz instrumental. Without thinking you extended a hand. “One lap? For old times.”

He took it gently, palm warm through your glove. 

Together you pushed off, synchronizing lengths like gear teeth meshing. 

The glide settled into familiar rhythm— your left, his right, bodies leaning, inside edges kissing ice.

He matched speed to yours, never showboating. Halfway around, muscle memory took over and you attempted a cautious crossover. 

He guided your hips with featherlight fingertips, murmuring corrections the way he had when teaching you to skate backwards: “Weight over the heel, trust the blade.”

Trust. 

That had been the fragile axis after divorce, trust in schedules, trust in boundaries, but not in closeness. 

Yet here, under fluorescent hum and cinnamon-cocoa rink air, your body remembered what your mind had shelved, you trusted him to keep you upright on ice. 

He trusted you with the beating hearts of his children.

When you completed the circuit, neither of you let go immediately. 

You drifted near the boards, hearts thudding louder than rental pop. Finally he cleared his throat. “We should call them. Let them know mission accomplished… partially.”

You laughed softly. “They’ll demand proof.”

“Let’s take a picture then, to show them.”

“Alright.” You murmured, taking your phone out of your jeans and handing it to him.

He took it, a shy quirk on an otherwise confident man. “Say cheese.”

His hand rested on the small of your back, so familiar it was almost painful. 

Heat jolted through your body, and he must have felt it too because his own shifted closer.

“Cheese.” You breathed out and he took the selfie before giving you your phone back. 

A comfortable hush settled. 

You studied his profile, the slope of cheekbone, faint crease where laughter used to live. 

Something gentle stirred beneath ribs, not romantic lightning, but a warm tide of possibility.

“If we’re going to be ambushed by our own offspring,” you said, “maybe we should carve out time to talk, really talk, before they escalate.”

“Dinner?” he offered, simple as breathing. “Somewhere public. Neutral ground.”

You lifted a brow. “Supervised by waitstaff instead of kindergarteners.”

“Exactly.” His smile warmed. “Next Thursday? I’ll book at that Italian place you like.”i

“Email me the details.” You squeezed his arm once before stepping back. “And… thanks for catching me earlier.”

“Always.” The word hovered in the cool air, sincere and unvarnished.

You skated toward the exit, heart lighter. 

Behind you, Sunghoon called after with playful edge, “Try not to be late this time.”

You looked over a shoulder, grin spreading. “Set a reminder for me, tech genius.”

He laughed, unrestrained, head tipped, and the sound echoed like silver bells across the rink. 

You carried it with you off the ice, past the attendant who winked knowingly, past teenagers still buzzing about the cutest video ever, all the way to the lobby where your phone buzzed with a photo from your mother: twins on her sofa, popcorn bowl between them, thumbs-up so wide it nearly cracked the frame.

You texted back: Nice try, tiny masterminds. We’ll talk when you’re home. Love you.

You opened Sunghoon's chat:

You: They’re officially grounded from espionage… but I’m glad they tried. See you Thursday.

Three dots pulsed. His reply came shortly after

Sunghoon: I’m glad too. Good night, Y/N

You slipped the phone away, realizing your cheeks still ached from smiling. 

Outside, dusk mellowed the skyline into lavender and rose. 

You inhaled the bite of winter air the rink expelled each time doors opened and thought maybe patchwork didn’t have to recreate an old quilt; it could stitch something new— imperfect seams, frayed threads, surprisingly strong. 

And thanks to two relentless six-year-olds, the first patch  was already in place.

☆.

You sat across from Jihoon in the hospital’s rooftop garden, wind tugging faintly at the corners of the pale-blue picnic blanket he’d spread on a lunch break more rushed than he admitted. 

A single thermos of his too-strong espresso steamed between you, the scent mingling with oregano from planters that volunteers kept for the pediatric wing. 

His eyes, steady, kind and edged with fatigue from a sixteen-hour shift, searched your face while you traced invisible constellations on the blanket’s plaid.

He smiled, soft. “You’re quiet today. That usually means your brain’s ten paragraphs ahead of your mouth.”

You huffed a small laugh. “Guilty.”

“Talk to me.”

The ease in his invitation nearly unstitched your resolve. 

You folded your hands, thumbs fidgeting. “Jihoon… I need to tell you something, and I don’t know how to do it without sounding ungrateful.”

He uncapped the thermos, poured you half. “Just say it.”

You met his gaze, the gentle brown that had steadied you through late-night panics and blues, and felt the first sharp twist of regret. “I care about you so much. You know that, right?”

“I know.” A faint line appeared between his brows. “And?”

“And I’ve loved how safe I feel with you, how easy things are.” You wrapped cold fingers around the paper cup. “But after what the twins pulled at the rink… I realized easy isn’t the same as… a spark.” The last word trembled in the air.

He swallowed, intake of breath small but audible. “You mean Sunghoon.”

“I mean the life I had with him. The mess, the fire.” You exhaled. “I don’t want to hurt you, you’ve been nothing but wonderful.”

Jihoon’s shoulders sagged, but he nodded once, firm and deliberate. “Feelings aren’t crimes, they just… happen.” He scanned the skyline, blinking hard. “We both knew from the start your heart was still boarded up with ‘handle fragile’ stickers.”

“I thought time would change that, and maybe it could have. But when I stood on that ice and saw the way he steadied me—” Your voice cracked. “I felt something snap back into alignment and I can’t pretend I didn’t.”

Jihoon rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Are you going back to him?”

“I’m going to ask if we can try, slowly. i don’t even know if he wants that.”

He gave a rueful smile. “He’d be a fool not to.” Then, softer, “Do you love him?”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then whispered, “Yes.”

Silence hung, broken only by the flap of pigeons and distant ambulance sirens. 

Jihoon inhaled and squared his shoulders like a surgeon scrubbing in. “Then you owe it to yourself, and to the twins, to see. And I owe it to myself to not be someone’s gentle detour.”

Tears blurred your vision. “You deserve someone who blazes for you.”

“Yeah,” he said, tone light but eyes wet, “I intend to find her.” He leaned forward, brushed a thumb beneath your cheekbone. “Thank you for being honest before resentment set roots. That takes guts.”

You laughed shakily. “Feels more like cowardice.”

“Honesty’s never cowardice.” He squeezed your hand, then released it. “Go tell him, before I change my mind and keep you here for selfish reasons.”

You rose, tucking the cup near the planter. “I’ll always be grateful of you,  Jihoon.”

“Just remember me when the twins need free check-ups. I can still be their uncle Jihoon.” His chuckle chased you to the elevator, bittersweet but genuine.

☆.

Clouds brooded violet over the Han River by the time you stepped from a taxi at Sunghoon’s building. 

You forced a breath, rode the elevator thirty-nine floors, and stared at the steel door, heartbeat ricocheting. 

Before you could knock, it slid open, sunghoon stood framed in warm lamplight, phone pressed to ear, expression surprised. 

He was about to head somewhere, but he ended the call anyways. “Did we schedule something I forgot?”

“No,” you said, voice thin. “Can I come in?”

He stepped aside, bare feet on oak planks, the apartment scented faintly of roasted sesame, maybe early lunch abandoned. 

He waited until the door shut, then folded arms. “Is everything okay with the kids?”

“They’re fine. At Mom’s till tomorrow.” You swallowed. “I needed to talk… without small ears.”

His eyes softened, wariness mingled with curiosity. He gestured toward the sofa where plushies still lounged from last custody swap.

You both sat, leaving a cushion of space that pulsed with old familiarity and new tension.

You braced elbows on knees. “After the rink video, I’ve been… rethinking a lot.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tensed. “Thought we agreed not to scare them with false hope.”

“This isn’t about false hope.” You looked up, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s about real hope, but only if you want it too.”

His breath caught. “You’re serious.”

“Yes.” Words tumbled out, halting at first, then fluid. “I miss the way you used to leave notes in my pockets, how you’d call from the taxi just to hear me breathe. 

you gulped, laying down the cards alongside uour heart “I miss us arguing about which tea to drink and making up before the kettle boiled. I don’t miss the screaming matches or the silence afterwards, but I believe we’ve grown. The twins forced us to see we can still be a team.” You exhaled. “So I broke things off with Jihoon this afternoon.”

Shock flickered across his features, surprise, then something almost like relief. 

He reached for you, stopped, lowered his hand. “I don’t want you to choose me if being with him made you happy.”

“I know,” you murmured. “And lord, he was amazing.” 

You looked up at him, emotions flickering on your face “But he wasn’t you.”

Silence pooled, thick but gentle. Finally he asked, “What does ‘try again’ look like to you?”

“Coffee on Sunday mornings, just us, talking about anything except bills. Shared therapy if we fall into old traps. Dates, real ones, ending in separate apartments if pace matters. Honesty every step.”

“And what if the spark still scorches us?” His voice husky.

“Then we keep ice buckets nearby,” you teased, then sobered. “I’m not promising a fairytale, just the chance to rebuild.”

He stood, paced to the window where Seoul glittered like scattered gemstones. 

Reflection haloed him in citylight. “I never stopped loving you,” he said, quiet, raw. “I just stopped believing love was enough.”

You rose, walked until you stood an arm’s length away. “Love isn’t enough. But love and work, and two pint-sized spies, might be.”

He laughed softly, turned, and took your hands. “Okay,” he breathed. “Slowly.”

“Slowly,” you echoed. The warmth of his palms radiated up your arms, familiar and electric.

He drew you into an embrace— tentative at first, then securing, his chin atop your head, your ear over his heart. 

The rhythm there felt both new and remembered. You closed your eyes, inhaling cedar and a hint of sesame, and let your muscles melt into a shape they’d once known by instinct.

Minutes or hours might have passed, until finally Sunghoon pulled back a fraction, eyes shining. “Stay for dinner? I burned the sesame oil but I can salvage the soup.”

You smiled through wet lashes. “I’ll chop scallions.”

His lips curved, softness where they’d once been rigid with pride. “And after we eat, we’ll draft a co-parenting treaty version two. The kind with glitter.”

“All treaties should have glitter,” you agreed.

Hand in hand, you moved toward the kitchen, steps slow, hearts quicker. 

Behind you the plush phoenix slumped against the penguin on the couch, as if exhausted from orchestrating fate. 

The sizzle of rekindled soup and the gentle scrape of knives against cutting board marked the beginning, not of going back, but of beginning again, eyes open, promises tempered, sparks tended, slow and deliberate as the first stroke of a painter restoring a treasured canvas.

☆.

The slow-burn weeks unfolded like pages warmed by sunlight: 

Thursday pasta in your kitchen where Yohan grated parmesan with the gravity of a jeweler cutting diamonds and Haneul dirtied the whole table with tomato sauce.

Saturday mornings on Sunghoon’s cavernous couch, your sock-clad feet tucked under a shared blanket while Haneul narrated every plot twist.

Sunday morning pancake (very poor) art, followed by polite squabbles over syrup real estate. 

Between those orchestrated family moments lived quieter, riskier hours, you and Sunghoon trading texts about who’d forgotten the dental forms, a lingering brush of knuckles while rinsing dishes, the way his gaze tracked you when he thought the twins weren’t looking. 

No lightning strike, no fireworks, just kindling stacking itself, breath by breath, until even a whisper could set it alight.

The spark finally caught on a drizzly Friday café run. 

You’d slipped into his apartment with take-out bulgogi and a box of those “unnecessarily cute” star-shaped macarons that made the twins squeal. 

Post-dinner they demanded a pillow-fort marathon of Spirited Away, then conked out before Chihiro met Haku. 

You and Sunghoon carried them, limp with sleep, to the joined rooms they had, the very first room you had used.

When you straightened, Sunghoon’s hand stayed at the small of your back a fraction longer than necessary, you turned, breath hitching at how near his lips had drifted.

No audience. No distractions. Just you, him, a hush weighted by weeks of restraint.

“You’re wearing the honey lipstick again,” he murmured, thumb ghosting the corner of your mouth.

You swallowed. “Maybe I remember it’s your favorite.”

His laugh rumbled low, intimate. “Flattery, or a tactical move?”

“Depends,” you whispered, pulse hammering.

He leaned in, tentative once, then confidence flooded as your mouths met, soft and searching, the air swelling with the musk of his cologne and rain on windowpanes. 

The first kiss tasted of nostalgia, salt-sweet like melted macarons; the second tasted of now, your tongue sliding against his, a hungry sigh you’d forgotten your body could make. 

His palm cupped your jaw, thumb tracing your pulse, the heat where he touched felt almost unbearable. 

When he drew back, breathing ragged, he whispered your name the way it used to fall in the quiet just before dawn: reverent, claiming, achingly gentle.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, forehead resting against yours. “If it’s too fast—”

“Don’t stop,” you answered, fingers fisting in the collar of his henley. “Please.”

Walls you’d rebuilt brick by brick tumbled with shocking softness. 

He nudged you against the hallway wall, kisses deepening, teeth grazing your lower lip. 

Dirty words slipped from his mouth, pet names soaked in promise, in memory of every night you’d once mapped each other’s bodies, and you answered with a breathy moan that made him curse softly. 

His hands found the hem of your dress, palms warm against your thighs, but he slowed, seeking permission, you guided his wrists higher. 

Fabric rustled, buttons surrendered, you pressed close, reveling in the feel of his broad back under your roaming hands, the ripple of muscle tightening as he lifted you slightly to fit knees between your legs. 

Desire pooled, insistent yet exquisitely familiar, as though this dance had only paused, never ended.

“Bedroom,” he managed, voice gravel. 

You nodded, mouths colliding again as he half-walked, half-carried you down the hall. 

And you collided in bed, sheets tangled around your forms dancing a tango you had forgotten was so familiar with him. 

Morning sunlight shone through the curtains Sunghoon had forgotten to open the prior night. 

You stirred first, disoriented, then aware of every muscle pleasantly overworked. 

Sunghoon’s arm lay across your waist, his hand splayed over your stomach. You tilted to watch him sleep, lashes fanning his cheeks, lips parted. 

Sheer peace... well, a peace that shattered with the stampede of four small feet. 

The bedroom door crashed open, squeals ricocheted off walls.

“Attack!” Haneul shrieked, launching herself onto the mattress.

“Dad, wake up!” Yohan followed, slightly less feral but equally determined, penguin plush waving like a flag of conquest.

Sunghoon woke with a strangled grunt just before twenty-five kilos of enthusiasm landed on his rib cage. You fumbled to pull the duvet higher— too late. Haneul’s eyes went huge.

“Mommy’s wearing Daddy’s shirt!” she crowed, triumphant as a detective cracking a cold case.

Yohan grinned. “Mission success?”

You gaped, cheeks flaming, while Sunghoon scrubbed a hand over his face, half mortified, half amused. “Guys, personal space?”

“It’s dawn,” Haneul reasoned. “Cartoons await!”

“I think it’s barely seven.” Your voice rasped embarrassingly. “Can’t cartoons wait till coffee?”

Yohan shook his head with solemn conviction. “Cartoons fuel creativity.”

Sunghoon snorted. “Your bedtime documentaries are paying off.” He sat up, duvet after all staying mercifully in place, and hauled both kids into his lap, pressing kisses to disheveled hair. 

His eyes slid to you, warm, just a hint of mischief. “What do you say we make pancakes? Mommy and I can supervise from the couch.”

“With syrup rivers!” Haneul insisted.

“sprinkles too,” Yohan added.

“Deal,” you said, laughter bubbling. You squeezed their ankles affectionately. “But maybe let Mommy find pants first?”

They scampered off, shouting about mixing bowls. You sagged back, exhaling a near-hysterical giggle while Sunghoon tipped his forehead to yours.

“Well,” he murmured, “that escalated quickly.”

You smacked his chest lightly. “You know they’ll brag about this for years.”

“Probably.” He threaded fingers through yours. “Worth it.”

Your smile softened. “Yeah, worth it.”

Down the hall cupboards slammed, utensils clanged, and a shriek informed you a measuring cup had become airborne. 

You swung your legs over the edge, tee skimming thighs, and stood. Sunghoon caught your wrist, pressing a tender kiss to the inside.

“Round two tonight,” he teased, voice low. “Kid curfew enforced.”

Heat curled in your belly even as you rolled eyes. “We’ll see if Chef Daddy survives breakfast first.”

[lovelee-evan]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. — heeseung lee oneshot.

summary. You spend your 20s exactly how you planned it to be—fun, fearless, and unattached. Until your mom introduces you to her old high school friend’s son, who looks exactly like the man you spent one reckless night in another city convincing yourself you’d never see again.

pairing. heeseung x fem!reader

content / warnings. one night stand (flashback, brief), producer!hee, unemployed!reader, the moms are in this, one mention of jungwon, maeumi, nicknames!, protected p in v, oral (fem rec.), fingering, riding, nipple play, lmk if i miss anything xx

w.c. 14k

JUNE 2025

“My head’s throbbing.”

You mutter as you drive to your parents house. Your mom mentioned about inviting her old friend over, who lived across the country, in another city saying something about her staying over for a few days.

You sigh at the thought, blaming the pounding in your skull on last night’s cocktails with your girl friends and the tiny hairs still sticking to your damp shirt from a morning shower. You’re not ready for polite family small talk, questions about your job or relationship—or the endless commentary about how “you should really be settling down.”

You pull over your parents’ street, already noticing a whole luggage outside the house.

“Seems like she’s here.” You mutter to yourself, as you got out the car, quickly looking at the mirror to make yourself presentable, and totally not hangover.

Grabbing your bag, you try to summon your most convincing “I’m totally together” expression. If your mom’s friend was anything like she described, this was going to be a lot of chatter, a lot of smiles, and probably a few pointed questions about your love life that you weren’t ready to answer.

You knock on the door. “I’m home!” you annouce, and almost immediately, you hear your mom’s footsteps scampering over to open it. You chuckle at her cuteness—always so excited to see you, even when you barely had your life together.

“Finally!” she exclaimes, practically dragging you inside. “You’re just in time—she’s already here!”

You groan inwardly, bracing yourself for endless small talk and awkward introductions, but couldn’t help smiling at your mom’s enthusiasm.

When you came inside the house, in the living room, a middle-aged lady—seemingly the same age as your mom—sits on the couch, her posture polite but relaxed. She looks around with a warm smile that could make anyone feel immediately welcome, though your hungover brain mostly registered her as an interruption to your carefully curated morning recovery.

“She must be Mrs. Lee,” you say, glancing at your mom, who was practically glowing with excitement. You couldn’t help but grin despite yourself—your mom always had a way of lighting up a room, and apparently, it was contagious.

“Oh, my, she had grown up to be such a fine young lady!” Mrs. Lee greets with a smile, hugging you warmly.

You return the hug with a polite squeeze, your head still pounding from last night and your brain screaming too early for this kind of energy. “Thank you,” you mutter, secretly hoping your slightly messy hair and damp shirt weren’t too obvious.

“I’ve been telling her so much about you!” your mom chimes in, practically beaming. “All good things, of course.”

You smile faintly, wondering exactly how much she had told her friend about your chaotic, fun-filled nights out with friends—and mentally prepare yourself for a gentle roasting session disguised as small talk.

But Mrs. Lee just look at you softly, a motherly smile plastered on her face, as if she could see right through all the bravado you were trying to put on. It was the kind of smile that made you feel both warm and a little… exposed.

“What about your boy, Lee?” Your mom asks and Mrs. Lee claps her hands as if remembering a completely important detail.

“Right, right!” She laughs. “I told him to buy us some fruits at the supermarket! We can’t stay here and come empty-handed.” She smiles, in which your mom joking hits her arm. “What a hassle! But, thank you anyway,”

Mrs. Lee looks over to you. “I feel like you and my son could be such good friends too!” She grins, in which you awkwardly smile.

Great.

Another one of your mom’s friends trying to set you up with their good-for-nothing sons.

“Honey, help her get her luggage inside!” Your mom says, walking to the kitchen, already arms in arms with Mrs. Lee. You nod before walking towards the entrance.

That’s when you heard a car pull up outside.

The sound of tires against the pavement cut through the room, followed by the soft thud of a door closing. Your mom glanced toward the window almost instinctively, her face lighting up even more than before.

“Oh, perfect timing,” you can hear Mrs. Lee’s voice from inside. “That must be Heeseung!”

You decide to pay no mind to it, as you walked over to carry her luggage.

“Shit, what does she pack in here?”

“Clothes enough for two weeks.” A voice answers your little mutter to yourself.

A familiar one—deep, oh so soft, and far too recognizable—making your breath hitch as you stand straight.

“Do you feel good? Am I making you feel good?”

“Let go for me, baby.”

Your mind suddenly betrayed you, replaying the words spoken in that same voice two months ago—back when you’d been careless, impulsive, and not so smart.

Heat rushed to your face as the memory collided with this current moment. You turn to look and there he was, still wearing the soft eyes you had been so enchanted by that night.

Evan. Evan Lee. At least that’s what he introduced himself as.

The same eyes that had studied you under dim hotel lights now widened, just barely, before masking it with something polite and unreadable.

Mrs. Lee came out before you could even say anything, her voice bright and proud as she introduced you. You barely registered the words, too focused on the way he straightened beside her.

He nodded, polite and distant, the kind of courtesy reserved for strangers. “Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly, without a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

Then he smiled—easy, effortless—before turning to follow his mom into the house. He picked up her luggage, handling it with practiced care as he walked past you, close enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne.

He didn’t even glance back.

So he didn’t remember.

You had both been drunk that night, after all.

…

Dinner is already laid out by the time everyone gathers around the dining table a few hours later. The familiar smell of your mom’s cooking fills the room—warm, comforting, painfully normal for a moment that feels anything but.

You take a seat near the edge of the table, choosing distance over comfort. Across from you, Heeseung pulls out his chair and sits down smoothly, posture relaxed, expression polite. To anyone else, he’s just a guest—your mom’s friend’s son, well-mannered and quiet.

To you, he’s the man whose voice still lingers in the back of your mind—whose hands had memorized you in the dark, whose lips had left impressions you were foolish enough to think time would erase.

Conversation flows easily between your mom and Mrs. Lee, laughter spilling over shared memories from high school, old teachers, stories you’ve heard a hundred times before. You nod at the right moments, pushing food around your plate, forcing yourself to eat despite the tight knot in your stomach.

“So, Heeseung,” your mom says brightly, turning to him, “Are you okay with the spare room? Her brother hasn’t been home since his marriage, and she doesn’t want to give her childhood room for guests,” Your mom turns to you and snickers.

“That’s because I visit you and dad all the time, I still need a room here.” You groan softly, while Mrs. Lee laughs.

“Yes, ma’am. The room is just nice. Very well-kept.” Heeseung smiles at her.

“Well, that’s good,” she continues. “By the way, you two are around the same age. You should show him around a bit, don’t you think? This isn’t a city he always comes by.”

Your grip tightens around your utensils.

Before you can answer, Heeseung looks up—briefly, carefully—meeting your eyes for the first time since earlier. There’s no recognition on his face. No spark. Just polite interest.

“If she’s free,” he says simply.

If you’re free.

You force a smile. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The lie settles between you, heavy and unspoken.

Under the table, his foot shifts slightly—close enough to make your breath hitch, close enough to make you wonder if it’s accidental. He still doesn’t look at you. Still doesn’t acknowledge the past.

But your body remembers a different name.

And for the first time since he walked past you without a second glance, you realize something unsettling.

Heeseung might not remember you.

But Evan would have.

After dinner, the house settles into silence faster than you expect.

Laughter fades. Doors close softly. The hallway light dims until only a thin strip glows beneath bedroom doors. You lie awake longer than you should, staring at the ceiling you’ve known your whole life, listening to the unfamiliar rhythm of another presence in the house.

You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Just an old insignificant memory overstaying its welcome.

Eventually, thirst wins.

You slip out of bed, careful not to let the floorboards creak, padding your way toward the kitchen. The house smells faintly of detergent and leftover dinner, comforting in a way that almost makes you forget why your chest feels tight.

Almost.

The kitchen light is already on.

You freeze in the doorway.

Heeseung stands by the counter, sleeves rolled up, a glass of water in his hand. His hair is slightly tousled now, stripped of the careful neatness he wore earlier. He looks… different. More real. More like the man you left sleeping behind hotel curtains two months ago.

He looks up when he hears you.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake anyone.”

“You didn’t,” you reply, voice steadier than you feel. “I just—couldn’t sleep.”

He nods, accepting that without question. No tension. No recognition. Or maybe too much control to show either.

You grab a glass from the cupboard, deliberately choosing the one farthest from him. The tap runs. Too loud in the silence. You focus on the sound, on anything but the awareness of him standing only a few feet away.

“Your mom’s cooking was really good,” he says after a moment. “She didn’t exaggerate.”

You let out a small breath of a laugh. “Her cooking is the best.”

A pause.

Then, softer, almost absent-minded: “You mentioned earlier you don’t live here?”

“Not anymore,” you answer. “I moved to my own apartment a year ago.”

“Oh,” he says.

The word hangs between you.

You take a sip of water, finally glancing at him. He isn’t looking at you—his attention fixed on the counter, jaw relaxed, expression unreadable. If he remembers, he gives nothing away. If he doesn’t, then this ease is genuine.

You hate that you can’t tell which one hurts more.

“Well,” you murmur, setting the glass down. “Good night.”

He looks up then, meeting your eyes fully for the first time since dinner.

“Good night,” he says.

Still nothing. No crack in his voice. No hesitation. Just calm, polite distance.

You walk past him toward the hallway, careful not to brush his arm, careful not to slow your steps. Behind you, you hear him turn off the light.

In the darkness of your room, you lie awake again—heart louder now, thoughts sharper.

You were the one who left that morning.

You were the one who chose silence.

And yet somehow, standing in your parent’s kitchen, it feels like he’s the one holding all the control.

…

Morning comes too soon.

Sunlight filters through the curtains, thin and pale, landing across your face like an accusation. For a moment, you forget where you are—until the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen reminds you that you’re back in your parents’ house. And that you aren’t alone.

You sit up slowly, rubbing at your temples. The night had offered no answers. Just silence, politeness, and the unbearable calm of not knowing.

By the time you make it to the kitchen, your mom is already bustling around, apron tied, hair pulled back. Mrs. Lee sits at the table, sipping tea, looking far too refreshed for someone who traveled across the country.

“Morning,” your mom chirps when she sees you. “Perfect timing.”

You hum in response, reaching for a glass of water.

“Could you help Mrs. Yang walk her dog later?” she continues casually. “You remember—next door. You used to do it all the time when you lived here. Besides, little Jungwon is in Uni now, so no one is there to help her.”

You pause.

“Maeum? Yeah,” you say. “I can do that.”

Mrs. Lee’s face lights up. “Walking outside right now would be so refreshing,” she says warmly. Then, almost as an afterthought, she turns toward the hallway. “Heeseung!”

Your stomach tightens at the sound of his name.

He appears a moment later, sleeves rolled up again, hair still slightly damp like he’s just washed his face. He looks… awake. Calm. Completely unaffected. “Hm?”

“You should go with her,” Mrs. Lee says easily. “It’ll be good for you to get some fresh air after traveling.”

Heeseung blinks once, then nods. “Sure.”

Sure.

Your mom smiles, clearly pleased. “Perfect! Two birds with one stone.” You force a smile of your own, even as your pulse starts to pick up. “Yeah. No problem.”

Heeseung glances at you—not searching, not curious. Just attentive.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says.

As you step outside together a few minutes later, the morning air feels too crisp, too quiet. The street looks the same as it always has. Familiar. Safe.

And yet, walking side by side with him, you’re painfully aware of the space between you—and how little it would take to close it.

You’re the one who left. It’s a one-night stand.

You remind yourself of that as you head toward the neighbor’s gate.

So why does it feel like this walk might be the first step toward something you can’t walk away from again.

Heeseung kneels slightly as Maeum charges toward him, tail wagging like it could knock him over.

“He’s… lively,” he says, keeping his voice casual as Maeum circles him, sniffing, then jumping up in excitement. A low chuckle escapes him, and you feel your chest tighten unexpectedly.

“Yeah, Maeum’s a handful,” you reply, gripping the leash before he decides to chase a squirrel or something worse. “But he’s harmless… mostly.”

Heeseung brushes a hand along Maeum’s back. “Mostly is good.”

Maeum barks happily, spinning between the two of you. There’s a brief moment where the dog seems to notice the tension radiating off both of you, but of course, he can’t name it.

“Shall we get going?” you ask, starting toward the sidewalk.

Heeseung falls into step beside you, careful not to crowd, careful not to overstep. Close enough to notice the little things: the way you tense when Maeum yanks, the faint crease in your brow, the subtle sway of your hair in the morning sun.

The street is quiet. Early birds call from the trees. Leaves rustle under your shoes. Maeum dashes ahead, then back, sniffing everything in sight.

“So…” you begin, trying to sound casual, “long drive yesterday?”

He shrugs. “Enough to make me remember why I prefer flights.”

You laugh softly. “Fair enough. It is kind of chaos on the road here sometimes.”

Silence falls for a few steps, filled only with Maeum’s padding and your own heartbeat.

Then Maeum stops abruptly, sniffing at a patch of grass right between you and Heeseung. The leash jerks. You stumble forward slightly, and his hand reaches out before you can think, steadying you.

Fingertips brush.

A fleeting touch—but it’s enough. Enough to spark memory, enough to make your stomach twist.

Heeseung doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t say a word. He takes Maeum’s leash and keeps walking.

And that’s the worst part.

Because whether he remembers—or is pretending—you have no idea.

And it leaves the quiet hanging between you like a question that refuses to be answered.

Maeum slows near the corner, distracted by something only he seems to find interesting. You stop with him, shifting your weight as you wait.

Your fingers curl in on themselves without you noticing.

A slow fist.

Tight enough that your nails press into your palm.

Heeseung’s gaze drops.

Not immediately. Not obviously.

But it lingers just long enough.

“You do that often,” he says.

You look up. “Do what?”

He nods toward your hand. “That.”

You follow his eyes, startled, and force your fingers open. Faint crescent marks bloom red against your skin.

“Oh,” you say lightly. “I guess I clench my hand when I’m waiting.”

“Or when you’re holding back,” he replies, tone even. Too even.

The street feels quieter suddenly.

You laugh, trying to brush it off. “You’re very observant.” He doesn’t smile. Not quite.

“Hard not to notice,” he says.

And just like that—

Your mind betrays you.

Dim light. Your back against unfamiliar sheets.

His voice low, close, asking something you can’t quite remember the words to—only the way your hand had curled then too, nails biting into your palm as you nodded instead of answering.

You remember looking down afterward.

The half-moon marks.

The way he’d gently pried your fingers open, thumb brushing over the indents like he was committing them to memory.

The leash tugs.

You blink, pulled back into the morning air, the quiet street, Maeum wagging his tail impatiently.

Heeseung is already looking ahead again, expression unreadable.

“You good?” he asks, as if nothing had happened.

You nod, heart racing, and start walking again.

But your palm still tingles.

Both of you continue walking with Maeum tugging on his leash once in a while, before stopping infront of a convenient store near the park.

“I’ll buy us drinks, anything you like?” He asks. You look at him as you shake your head. “Anything’s fine.”

He nods, entering the store while you wait outside while Maeum settles at your feet. Through the glass, you watch him move with easy familiarity— scanning the shelves without hesitation.

He came out a few minutes later with two drinks in his hand. Americano for him, and another for you.

Green Grape Ade.

“Green Grape Ade?” His voice rings in the loud bar music, looking at you with precise judgement, while you mockingly glare at him.

“What’s wrong with it?” You ask, voice slightly loud trying to drown out the music at the bar. He smiles.

“You’re original.” He clinks his glass againts yours, the ice chiming softly over the music.

“I just prefer sour drinks. Especially from the convenient store.” You drink as your gaze turn to him. He’s already staring at you.

He hums. “That’s why your face so sour?” He teases in which you gasp, mock-offense.

He laughs, before shaking his head. “That was a lie. You might just be the sweetest girl I’ve ever met.”

The memory fades as quickly as it came.

You’re back outside the convenience store, the morning air cool against your skin. The bottle in your hand is cold, condensation slick against your fingers.

Heeseung is already walking ahead with Maeum, Americano in hand, posture relaxed like he hasn’t just reached into something you never gave him permission to keep.

You take a sip. It tastes exactly how you like it. How you were imagining it when you were admant on telling Heeseung or Evan it was your favourite at the bar.

And for the first time since you woke up that morning, you wonder if leaving first had really meant leaving anything behind at all.

You catch up to them, glancing at Heeseung. He has a questionable smug look on his face.

“What?” You ask. He shrugs before looking at you.

“I have a lot of things I remember about you.”

…

A few hours pass.

The afternoon drifts by slowly, measured in the ticking of the clock and the occasional sound of movement elsewhere in the house. You spend most of it in your room, half-lying on your bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone without really reading anything.

Every so often, you hear his voice. Muted through the walls. Calm. Easy. Laughing lightly at something your mom says.

It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

When hunger finally wins over avoidance, the sun is already dipping lower in the sky. The house smells faintly of reheated food, warm and familiar. You take a breath before leaving your room, practicing a neutral expression in the mirror.

The kitchen is quieter now. You’re just about to turn the corner toward the kitchen when you hear your mom speak.

“…She’s been a little off today,” she says, voice gentle. “Probably tired. Or avoiding something.”

You pause without meaning to. Heeseung answers after a beat. “She does that.”

Your chest tightens instantly.

Your mom chuckles softly. “Does what?”

“Pulls back,” he says, careful. “When she doesn’t know how to react yet.”

Silence. Then the faint clink of a spoon against a bowl. “You sound like you know her pretty well,” your mom says lightly.

Another pause. Short. Measured.

“I had an impression,” Heeseung replies. “A while ago.”

An impression.

Your fingers curl at your side.

“Huh,” your mom hums. “That’s funny. She actually does leaves impressions on people,”

There’s a smile in Heeseung’s voice when he answers. “Yeah. She does.”

Your mom moves on easily, talking about dinner, about how long Mrs. Lee plans to stay. The conversation drifts, harmless again.

But you don’t move because impressions aren’t made in passing. They’re made when someone sees you up close. When you let them.

You step back quietly, retreating before either of them can notice you there. Back in your room, you sit down slowly, heart still racing.

He didn’t say you’d met.

He didn’t say when.

But he didn’t say you were strangers either. And somehow, that middle ground feels far more dangerous.

A soft knock echoes through your room a few minutes later.

“Hey… you awake?” Heeseung’s voice—calm, controlled, but just close enough to make your heart stutter.

You freeze. Your chest tightens, your pulse spiking. Act normal. Just act like you weren’t eavesdropping.

You smooth your hair with a trembling hand, blink rapidly, and open the door. “Yeah… just woke up,” you say, voice a little too bright, trying to sound casual.

Heeseung steps into the doorway, just enough to glance around your room. His eyes flick over you—not accusatory, not teasing—just aware. The way he looks at you makes the air between you feel suddenly heavy, like it’s charged with electricity you both can’t ignore.

“Your mom’s calling,” he says softly. “Everything’s ready.”

You nod quickly, gripping the doorframe as if it can anchor you. “I’m… not that hungry,” you murmur.

Heeseung tilts his head, that faint, knowing curve of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Uh-huh,” he replies, voice smooth, steady, and sharp enough to cut through your attempts at calm.

You step aside, but your foot catches on the edge of the rug. You curse under your breath, forcing a laugh. Too loud. Too sharp.

He doesn’t comment. He doesn’t need to. The silence itself feels deliberate, heavy. The space between you is so tight that you feel him even when he doesn’t touch you.

“I’ll be eating downstairs,” he finally says, straightening, eyes lingering just long enough to make your stomach clench.

“Okay… see you there,” you say, breath uneven, heart hammering.

He nods once, easily, and leaves, closing the door softly behind him.

The click echoes like a verdict.

You press your back against the door, sliding down slowly, hands trembling.

He knows I was listening.

He remembers… more than he should.

And he didn’t say a word.

The thought alone makes your stomach twist.

You straighten abruptly, forcing yourself to move. Down the stairs. To the dining room. To the table.

Every step is a battle between calm and the chaos churning under your skin.

Because you know tonight, nothing is going to feel casual. Not with him. Not after this.

The whole time during dinner, you caught him staring at you. Shamelessly at that, gave you a sheepish smile when you eye him suspiciously. He’d move his leg closer to yours, it’ll bump a few times, but he doesn’t pull away.

After dinner, you volunteer on doing the dishes. Your mom and Mrs. Lee’s voices fade into the living room, laughter and chatter blending together.

You take a steadying breath and move to the sink, rolling up your sleeves. Warm water runs over your hands, steam curling around your wrists. For a second, it almost feels normal. Almost.

Then you sense him before you hear him.

Heeseung steps beside you, quiet as a shadow. You tense instantly, shoulders stiff, fingers tightening around a plate.

“Need some help?” he asks softly, tilting his head. Not teasing, not accusing. Just calm, measured.

“I’ve got it,” you reply quickly, eyes trained on the suds, forcing the tone casual.

He doesn’t insist. He simply picks up a stray plate, moving closer than necessary, letting his hands brush yours ever so slightly as he rinses it. You flinch, heart hammering, but he doesn’t comment, doesn’t linger. Just present.

The silence stretches, heavy, almost oppressive. Every splash of water, every clink of a dish, echoes too loudly.

You scrub a pan a little harder than needed, trying to focus on anything else—the warmth of the water, the smell of garlic, the mundane rhythm of washing—but his quiet presence keeps threading through every thought.

He moves another plate, sets it down. Your hands brush again.

You feel your pulse spike, your chest tightening. Every subtle movement, every glance he doesn’t make—it’s all charged, all deliberate.

The kitchen is small. Empty. Safe. Except it isn’t. Not with him here.

You swallow hard, scrubbing away your nerves as the quiet stretches on, aware that he notices everything, even the things you think he can’t.

And somehow, that makes it impossible to breathe normally.

The sponge squeaks softly as you scrub, the rhythm steady but your thoughts anything but. You’re just about to reach for another plate when he speaks again.

“You know,” Heeseung says, evenly, like he’s commenting on the weather, “you’re not very good at pretending.”

Your hand stills.

“…Pretending what?” you ask, eyes fixed on the sink.

“That you weren’t listening earlier.” He sets a plate onto the rack, movements unhurried. “In the hallway.”

Your chest tightens. You swallow. “I wasn’t—”

He cuts you off gently. “You were.” Not accusing. Just factual. “You always stop breathing when you do that, though your eyes give it away, that you’re pretending everything’s fine.”

That makes your fingers curl instinctively around the sponge.

You let out a short laugh, more defensive than amused. “You don’t know what I ‘always’ do.”

He glances at your hand, then back to the dish he’s drying. “I know because I’ve seen it before.”

You twist the dish towel in your hands, knuckles whitening. The quiet stretches too long, presses too hard against your ribs.

“Are we really doing this?” You snap, turning to look at him directly.

He raises his eyebrows, “Do what?”

You gesture vaguely between the two of you, before sighing. “Implying things happened, without really saying it?”

He watches you for a second, expression unreadable—not defensive, not amused. Just… attentive.

“I’m not implying,” he says evenly. “You are.”

That only makes your chest tighten.

You scoff, turning back to the sink and reaching for another plate you definitely don’t need to wash. “Right. Of course. Because I’m the one who keeps bringing up impressions and ‘remembering’ and—whatever this is.”

He lets out a quiet breath, more tired than annoyed. “I brought it up once.”

“And you’ve been hovering ever since,” you shoot back, voice sharp but not loud. “So tell me—are we pretending we don’t know each other, or are we circling around it until I crack?” The words hang between you.

He sets the towel down, slow, deliberate. “I’m not trying to crack you.”

“Then what do you want?” you ask, finally facing him again.

He meets your gaze, steady. No smile. No games. “I wanted to know if you leaving meant what I thought it did,” he says simply.

Your throat tightens. “And what did you think it meant, Evan?”

His breath hitches at the usage of his other name, “That you didn’t want to stay,” he replies. “Not just that morning. In general.”

You laugh softly, but it’s brittle. “It’s a one-night stand.”

He nods once. “It is, but I clearly told you before we fell asleep, that I’d prefer you staying.”

Silence settles again, thicker now. The kitchen light hums overhead. Somewhere in the living room, your mom and Mrs. Lee laugh at something on TV.

“I didn’t leave because of you,” you say finally, quieter. “I left because staying would’ve made it… complicated.”

His jaw tightens just a fraction. “And now?”

You hesitate. “Now it already is.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, then exhales slowly. “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

Neither of you move back to the dishes, he wipes the last plate before walking out of the kitchen.

APRIL 2025

The room is dim, lit only by the city glow slipping through the curtains. Everything feels slower, warmer—like the night hasn’t quite caught up with you yet.

You’re tangled in the sheets, limbs heavy, head resting against the pillow. Your skin is still buzzing, your thoughts pleasantly loose around the edges. Somewhere nearby, Heeseung shifts, the mattress dipping slightly as he turns onto his side.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, a little rough around the edges.

You hum, half-laughing into the pillow. “I think so. Might need a minute to remember my name.”

He chuckles softly. “Fair.”

The pause lingers, easy and unforced. The city light paints soft lines across the ceiling, and for a moment, neither of you moves.

You’re the one who breaks it first.

“Evan,” you say, voice lazy, still warm with alcohol and comfort. “What do you actually do when you’re not… here?”

He exhales a quiet laugh, turning his head slightly toward you. “That’s a loaded question.”

You smile into the pillow. “I’m serious. You feel like someone with a very normal answer and a very complicated explanation.”

He considers that. “I work in the music industry. Producing. It sounds fancier than it is.”

“Everything sounds fancier at night,” you mumble. “Especially after drinks.”

“True,” he agrees. Then, after a beat, “What about you?”

You shrug, the sheets rustling. “Still figuring it out. I bounce around a lot, job-hunting.”

He smiles and run his hand on your hair, as if wanting to see your face clearly. “You’re tense, like there’s a lot going on here.” He softly taps on your temple.

You huff a quiet laugh, eyes fluttering shut at the gentle touch. “Is that your professional opinion?” you murmur. “Because I didn’t realize producers did mind-reading too.”

He chuckles, thumb brushing lightly through your hair, unhurried. “Not mind-reading. Just… paying attention.”

You turn your face toward him then, cheek sinking deeper into the pillow. “There’s always a lot going on,” you admit. “I just don’t like sitting still long enough to sort it out.”

“Why not?” he asks, not pushing—just curious.

You think about it for a moment, gaze drifting to the ceiling. “Because if I do, I might realize I’m not as put-together as I pretend to be.”

He hums softly, fingers still tracing slow, absent patterns. “That doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mumble. “You seem like you’ve got things… handled.”

He smiles faintly. “I’m good at looking like I do.”

You glance back at him. “Really?”

“Really,” he says. “I just learned how to keep the chaos quiet.”

That earns a small smile from you. “Guess we’re not that different then.”

“Guess not,” he replies.

The room settles again, the air warm and slow. His hand stays in your hair, grounding, gentle—like he’s in no rush to let the moment slip away.

Neither of you says it, but the thought hangs there between you, soft and dangerous all at once:

This feels easy.

Too easy.

He pulls you closer, lips pressing on your temple as he sighs.

“I’d love it if you stay.”

And you felt your heart breaks a little when you doze off.

…

Three days.

Three days until he leaves.

And for the past two, he hasn’t said a word to you.

You can feel it in every glance across the kitchen, every step in the hall, every time the front door opens and closes. He’s there, moving around the house, calm and composed as ever, but the silence between you? It’s deafening.

You try to keep yourself busy—laundry, dishes, scrolling mindlessly through your phone—but the tension follows you everywhere. Even sitting in your room, pretending to read, you can hear him talking to your mom in the living room, laugh light and easy, and it makes your chest tighten.

Your mom insists on taking Mrs. Lee and Heeseung to the city’s famous park for a “little sightseeing and fresh air,” and somehow, you’re drafted along.

“Come on,” your mom says, practically bouncing. “You’ll enjoy it! The weather’s perfect, and it’s not a usual thing that we all went out together!”

So here you are, in Heeseung’s car with your moms at the back chatting mindlessly, pointing out shops, telling stories, laughing easily, while you sit in the passenger’s seat and him driving beside you.

He doesn’t say much, just drives with that calm, effortless composure that makes your stomach twist in ways you’re not ready to name. Your mom and Mrs. Lee chatter nonstop behind you, oblivious to the tight coil of nerves in the seat beside him.

You glance at him occasionally, catching his profile in the sunlight, the way his hands rest lightly on the wheel, the faint line of concentration in his jaw. He doesn’t meet your eyes, but you can feel the awareness there, quiet, unspoken, like a weight pressing just enough to make you swallow hard.

“I hope you like walking,” your mom says suddenly from the back, as if reading your tension, “the park’s beautiful this time of year. Lots of trees, fountains—perfect for photos!”

“Yeah,” you murmur, keeping your voice neutral, though your chest is still tight.

Heeseung hums softly, not answering but shifting slightly in his seat, just enough that you notice.

The car slows, pulling into the park lot. Sunlight streams through the windshield, glinting off the pavement and the scattered autumn leaves. Your mom practically leaps out first, Mrs. Lee following close behind, both chattering excitedly.

You take a deep breath, adjusting your bag, and slide out of the car. Heeseung steps out after you, calm and measured, slipping into the rhythm of the park like he belongs there—yet you feel every step he takes, each one a quiet reminder that the past two days of silence haven’t lessened the tension between you.

As the group moves along the tree-lined path, your mom and Mrs. Lee wander ahead, comparing flowers and pointing out fountains. Heeseung falls in step beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, walking slightly behind but close enough that you can feel the space between you shrinking.

“Nice day,” he says finally, casual.

“Yeah,” you reply, voice careful. “Not too crowded either.”

He hums softly, and you feel that subtle glance he throws your way—quick, unobtrusive, but enough to make your stomach twist again.

The silence between words is heavy, but not hostile. It’s loaded. Sharp. And as you continue along the winding paths of the park, you realize these three days—and these stolen moments in the quiet—might be harder than anything you expected.

You barely get a chance to say more to him before your mom is already digging through her bag.

“Phone—where’s my phone?” she mutters, then brightens. “Oh! There it is.”

Mrs. Lee laughs beside her. “You’re just as excited as ever.”

“Of course I am,” your mom says. “When do we ever get everyone together like this?”

Everyone.

You glance at Heeseung without meaning to. He’s still looking around, taking the place in quietly, like he’s memorizing it. First time here. First time seeing your city like this.

“Alright,” your mom says, raising her phone. “Group photo first.”

You shuffle closer, standing beside Mrs. Lee. Heeseung ends up at the edge, half a step apart from you, hands in his pockets.

“Wait, no,” your mom frowns. “Heeseung, come closer. You’re getting cut out.”

He obeys, stepping in just enough that his shoulder brushes yours—brief, accidental, but it sends a jolt through you anyway.

Click.

“Again,” Mrs. Lee says. “That one was blurry.”

You barely have time to reset before your mom adds, “Okay, now just you two.”

“What?” you and Heeseung say at the same time.

“It’s nice to have one of the younger generation,” your mom insists. “For memories.”

You exchange a quick glance with him—too quick to mean anything, too loaded to be nothing.

“Just stand there and act normal!” your mom says.

Easier said than done.

You stand side by side this time, not touching, but close enough that you’re aware of his presence—his warmth, the way he’s careful not to move too suddenly.

“Smile,” your mom sings.

You do. Heeseung offers something polite, restrained.

Click.

“That’s nice,” Mrs. Lee says warmly. “You both look good.”

You almost laugh at that.

As your mom reviews the photos, muttering happily to herself, you step back without thinking. Heeseung does the same.

You don’t make it five steps more into the park before your mom stops again.

“Wait—stand there,” she says, already lifting her phone. “The trees look really nice from this angle.”

Mrs. Lee nods enthusiastically. “Oh yes, the lighting is beautiful.”

You exchange a look with Heeseung. Not a look—just a flicker. A silent here we go.

Click.

You start walking again. Ten steps this time.

“Oh!” your mom gasps. “The fountain—Heeseung, you’ll love this. You two, go stand near it.”

“We just took one,” you say weakly. “That was over there,” she replies, like it explains everything.

So you move again, standing side by side while people pass behind you. Heeseung keeps his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, expression neutral. You keep your arms crossed, suddenly very aware of where you’re standing.

Click. Click.

Mrs. Lee laughs. “You look very natural together.”

You almost choke on air.

The walk continues. The photos do too.

By the flower beds.

Near the bridge.

In front of the pond.

Each time, your mom adjusts angles, steps back, waves you closer, tells you to smile more, tilt your head, stand straighter.

“You don’t have to look so tense,” she tells you at one point.

You laugh, tight. “I’m fine.”

Heeseung glances at you then, quick and unreadable.

At some point, he murmurs quietly, just for you, “If we keep this up, we’ll have enough photos for a family album.”

You blink, surprised.

“…I’m sorry,” you mutter. “She gets like this.”

He hums. “I noticed.”

There’s no edge in his voice. No teasing. Just observation.

Another photo.

Your shoulder brushes his this time, accidental. Neither of you move away immediately.

Click.

“Perfect!” your mom says.

You step away first.

The walk goes on, but your nerves don’t settle. If anything, they tighten with every forced smile, every staged moment, every second you’re made to look like something you’re very much not.

And the worst part?

Heeseung never once complains.

He just keeps walking beside you—calm, composed—letting the photos pile up like quiet evidence of something neither of you is ready to name.

You make it halfway up the stone path before it happens.

“Wait—wait, here,” your mom says suddenly, already lifting her phone again. “This spot is perfect. The water, the rocks—very scenic.”

You glance down at where she’s pointing and feel a flicker of hesitation. The stones near the edge of the stream are uneven, damp from the spray of the fountain nearby. The drop isn’t dramatic, but it’s enough to make you cautious.

“I don’t think that’s—” you start.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Mrs. Lee says cheerfully. “Just be careful.”

Famous last words.

You step forward anyway, because of course you do. Because this is not the hill you’re dying on today.

Heeseung follows a step behind you, quiet as always.

“Stand just there,” your mom says, framing the shot. “Yes, yes—perfect.”

You shift your weight slightly to adjust your footing.

And then your shoe slips.

It happens fast—too fast for you to catch yourself. One second you’re steady, the next the ground tilts and your stomach drops, breath punching out of you as you instinctively reach for anything.

Strong hands grab your arm.

Another slides to your waist, firm and immediate, pulling you back before you can even gasp.

You stumble—not forward, not down—but straight into him.

Your back hits his chest, solid and warm, his grip tightening just enough to keep you upright. For half a second, you’re frozen there, heart racing, fingers clutching at his sleeve.

He’s close. Too close.

You can feel his breath near your ear, feel the tension in his hold, the way his body adjusts automatically to steady yours.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, voice low—meant only for you.

You nod, a little too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, I—thanks.”

He doesn’t let go immediately.

Just long enough to make sure you’re steady.

Just long enough for the moment to stretch thin and dangerous.

“Careful,” he murmurs, almost instinctively.

Then—click.

“Oh my goodness!” your mom exclaims. “That was scary! But—oh, wait. Hold on.”

You stiffen.

“That one looked nice,” Mrs. Lee says, peering at the phone. “Very… natural.”

You finally step away, cheeks burning, suddenly very aware of how his hands had been on you, how easily he’d caught you, how familiar it felt in a way that made your chest ache.

Heeseung straightens too, composure snapping back into place like nothing happened. Hands back in his pockets. Expression calm.

But when you dare glance at him, his eyes linger on you just a second longer than necessary.

Your mom laughs. “See? Good thing he was there. You’d have fallen otherwise.”

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a laugh. “Good thing.”

The walk continues, the photos continue, but something has shifted.

Your heart doesn’t slow down.

And every time Heeseung walks just a little closer after that, you can’t tell if it’s accidental—

—or if he’s making sure you won’t fall again.

…

After dinner, you decide to hog the living room all by yourself, continue binge watching another C-drama you have postponed watching for the longest time.

It’s almost midnight, the moms had already wished you goodnight. You smile to yourself at the very well-earned time to yourself.

Or not?

Heeseung appears at the bottom, slightly disheveled, hair tousled like he’s just run a hand through it one too many times. He’s in simple grey sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt, the kind that clings just enough to show he didn’t bother thinking about how he looked.

His eyes are still half-lidded with sleep as they settle on the TV screen, expression calm.

He looks at you, before taking a seat.

“I watched this one.” He says softly. Voice hoarse with sleep.

“No spoilers, please.” You says, turning away to look at the TV. He laughs.

“Nothing too extreme, it’s a rom-com. Nothing can be a spoiler.” You clutch your heart, dramatically looking at him.

He shrugs. “What? It’s true. You know in the end they end up together.”

You sigh, leaning back. “Well, true that.” He lean back too, making your shoulders touch.

“Why did you wake up?” I look at him. “It’s barely midnight.”

“Can’t sleep. I mean, I kept waking up.” He replies, fingers tapping on his thigh. You nod, continue watching the romantic scenes on the TV.

“You enjoy stuffs like these?” He asks, not looking at you.

“Anything feel-good is enjoyable.”

“So the concept of romance, you like it?” He asks, carefully.

“Where are you going with this?” You look at him, eyes narrowing. He meets your gaze, his expression looking more earnest.

“Just wondering, if you’d like it in real life too.”

You scoff. “You and your nonstop bull—“

“Is it bullshit, really?” He asks, seriously this time. You felt your heart beating fast, you look away, just anywhere. Not sure where to look when he’s all up in your space like this.

“Evan.” You started,

“No, let me tell you this.” He straighten up, body now fully facing you, as he look directlt into your eyes.

“I’m sorry if I ever come up as pushy, talking about you with your mom, hinting at our past to her, making you feel things you don’t like, that wasn’t my intention.” He winces.

“I just…I just wanted to get to know you, really look at you. No dim lights of the bar, no dark night sky as we walk back to some hotel, and certainly no dark hotel room where I spent the whole night feeling good with the woman I knew nothing about.” He sighs.

“It’s just a one night stand, I get it.” He scoffs, “but what if I told you that I wanted more? That I regret waking up without your presence the next morning, how every sound you let out that night made me fantasize the sounds you’d make if it wasn’t casual?”

At this point, you were looking at him speechless. You’re not trusting your voice right now.

“Evan—“

“Heeseung.” He corrects. “Evan saw you first, but Heeseung fell for you.”

You fall silent again. Just staring at him like he didn’t just pour his heart out while you’re watching some corny C-drama.

“Say something. Anything.”

The TV continues playing, characters confessing under scripted rain.

But this?

This isn’t scripted.

And you’re not sure which feels scarier.

Your throat feels tight.

The drama’s background music swells dramatically, the male lead on screen confessing under artificial rain, but it feels distant—like white noise compared to the very real, very raw man sitting inches away from you.

You swallow.

“Heeseung…” you finally manage.

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t interrupt. Just waits.

“You’re leaving in three days.”

It’s not the response he expected—but it’s the only one that makes sense in your head.

His jaw tightens slightly. “I know.”

“So what is this?” you ask, your voice quieter now. “You confess, we… what? Start something? And then you’re on the road back home in another city?”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his already messy hair. “You think I haven’t thought about that?”

“I think you’re being impulsive,” you snap, but there’s no heat behind it—just fear. “You’re here. It feels intense. Nostalgic. But when you go back—”

“It’s not nostalgia,” he says firmly.

The way he says it makes you pause.

“It wasn’t just that night,” he continues. “I’ve tried to brush it off. I’ve tried to tell myself it was just chemistry. But then I see you here. The way you argue. The way you laugh with your mom. The way you pretend you’re tougher than you are.”

You glare at him slightly. “I am tough.”

His lips twitch faintly. “I know.”

That softness again. It’s worse than teasing.

“I don’t expect you to promise me anything,” he says. “I just needed you to know that I’m not playing around.”

Your fingers tighten around the blanket.

“You don’t get to say all that and then expect me to just… be calm,” you whisper.

“I don’t want you calm,” he admits. “I want you honest.”

The word lands heavily.

Honest.

You look at him then—really look at him. There’s no arrogance. No flirtation. Just a quiet steadiness that makes your chest ache.

“You think this is easy for me?” you ask softly. “Seeing you in my house. At dinner. At the park. Acting like we didn’t—”

Your voice falters.

“Like we didn’t matter,” he finishes.

You nod.

Silence settles again, but it’s no longer suffocating. It’s fragile. Balanced on something sharp.

“I didn’t plan to fall for you,” he says quietly. “It just happened.”

Your heart pounds harder at that word.

Fall.

“You don’t even know me that well,” you argue weakly.

“Then let me,” he replies immediately.

That catches you off guard.

“Let me know you properly,” he says. “Not just the version from one night. Not just the version that pushes me away when things feel too real.”

Your breath hitches.

“You’re scared,” he says gently.

“Of course I am,” you admit, almost frustrated. “You’re leaving. I don’t do long distance. I don’t do uncertainty, I…certainly don’t just date from one good sex.”

“And I don’t do pretending I don’t care,” he counters.

The drama on the TV ends its confession scene with applause-worthy music. You grab the remote and mute it.

The silence now is entirely yours.

“What are you asking from me?” you whisper.

He leans a little closer—not touching, just closing the space enough that you feel his presence fully.

“A chance,” he says. “Not a guarantee. Just… don’t shut the door before we even try.”

Your pulse is loud in your ears.

Three days before he leaves.

Three days to either build something—or protect yourself from it.

You look at him, eyes searching, trying to find a reason to dismiss this as temporary emotion.

You don’t find one.

And that’s what terrifies you.

“Say something,” he murmurs again, softer now.

This time, you don’t look away. You stare at him for one long, overwhelming second.

Your heart is racing too fast. Your thoughts are colliding into each other. Three days. Confessions. “A chance.” It’s too much. Too sudden. Too real.

You stand up abruptly.

“I—I need time to think,” you say, words tumbling out before you can filter them.

Heeseung rises halfway from the couch instinctively. “Hey—”

But you’re already stepping back.

“I just… I can’t answer you right now,” you add quickly. “It’s a lot.”

His expression tightens, but he nods once. “Okay.”

You don’t wait for anything else.

You bolt down the hallway, heart pounding, shutting your bedroom door a little harder than necessary. You lean against it, breath uneven.

Why now?

Why three days before he leaves?

Why does it feel like if you answer wrong, you’ll lose something you didn’t even realize you were holding?

You slide down against the door and press your palms to your eyes. You needed time. You just didn’t expect it to feel like this.

The next morning smells like butter and coffee.

You frown, your mom does not wake up early on weekends.

You shuffle out of your room, still half-asleep, hair messy, expecting silence. Instead, you hear the sound of a pan sizzling. You blink.

Heeseung is in the kitchen.

Sleeves slightly rolled, apron tied awkwardly around his waist (clearly borrowed), hair still soft and unruly from sleep—but this time he looks very awake.

Focused.

Your mom and Mrs. Lee are seated at the table, watching him like he’s some kind of five-star chef.

“He insisted,” your mom says the moment she sees you. “Said we should let him cook.”

He glances up at you.

Not smug, not teasing. Just steady.

“Morning,” he says.

You clear your throat. “Morning.”

He turns back to the stove. “Scrambled eggs or sunny side up?”

You blink. “What?”

“For you,” he clarifies. “How do you like your eggs?”

Your mom gasps softly. “He even asked me what you usually eat.”

You shoot her a look.

He continues like this is completely normal. “I made toast too. And there’s fruit.”

You step closer to the counter, still confused. “Since when do you cook?”

“Since always,” he replies casually. “You just didn’t stay long enough to see.”

Your ears burn, looking over to your moms if they notice it, they don’t.

He plates the food carefully—neatly, intentionally—and sets it in front of you first before sitting down.

That alone makes your stomach flip.

He doesn’t bring up last night.

Doesn’t push.

Doesn’t corner you.

Instead, he talks to your mom about the park photos. Asks his about souvenirs to bring home. Clears plates without being asked.

Too proactive.

Suspiciously proactive.

When your mom mentions needing to run errands later, he immediately says, “I can drive.”

When Mrs. Lee talks about wanting to visit a bakery nearby, he says, “Let’s go after breakfast.”

You watch him the entire time.

He’s not performing.

He’s consistent.

Intentional.

When your mom leaves the table to grab something from her room, and Mrs. Lee follows, you’re briefly alone in the kitchen.

He stands by the sink, rinsing dishes.

“You don’t have to… do all this,” you say quietly. He doesn’t turn around immediately.

“I know,” he replies then glances at you over his shoulder.

“But I want to.” There’s no pressure in his voice, just effort.

You swallow.

“You said you needed time,” he continues calmly. “I’m giving it to you.” The water runs softly between you.

“But I’m not going to act like I didn’t say what I said.” Your pulse stutters.

“I meant it,” he adds. “So I’ll act like I meant it.”

You stare at him and he turns the tap off and dries his hands slowly.

“I’m leaving in three days,” he says. “I don’t want to waste them pretending.”

And somehow, that hits harder than the confession itself.

…

From the moment breakfast ends, he doesn’t leave your side. Not in a suffocating way. Not hovering. Just… present.

When your mom asks you to help bring laundry out to dry, he’s already reaching for the basket before you can. When you struggle with the stubborn sliding door, he steps in quietly, fixing it without making a show of it.

“You don’t have to follow me everywhere,” you mutter at one point, adjusting the clothespins.

“I’m not following you,” he replies lightly. “I’m staying here temporarily too, remember?”

You glance at him. He looks almost amused—but there’s intention behind it.

Later, when you head to the small grocery store nearby because your mom forgot coriander, he walks beside you without even asking if he should come.

The afternoon sun is warm. The air smells like pavement and fried snacks from a stall down the street.

“So,” he says casually, hands in his pockets. “What did you want to be when you were younger?”

You blink. “What?”

“When you were eight. Ten. What was the dream?” You huff softly. “That’s random.”

“It’s not,” he says. “It tells me things.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You analyzing me now?”

“Maybe.”

You roll your eyes—but you answer anyway.

“I wanted to be a novelist,” you admit. “I used to write stories. Cringey ones.”

His eyebrows lift slightly. “You still write?”

You hesitate. “…Rarely now, in my notebooks in my apartment, or my notes app.”

“Why’d you stop wanting to be it?”

The question is gentle. Not invasive. Just curious. You shrug. “Reality. Expectations. It didn’t feel practical.”

He nods slowly, absorbing that like it matters.

“It still matters,” he says after a moment.

You glance at him. “What does?”

“The fact that you wanted to create something.”

Your chest tightens slightly.

He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t brush it off. Just lets it sit there like it’s important.

Back home, when your mom asks you to help reorganize some old boxes in the storage room, he follows again.

It’s dusty. Warm. Dim.

You crouch down to open a box of old photo albums. He kneels beside you, shoulder nearly brushing yours.

“That’s you?” he asks, picking up a picture of you at maybe twelve years old, hair shorter, smile wider.

You snatch it lightly. “Don’t judge.”

“I’m not,” he says. And he isn’t. He studies the photo like he’s memorizing it.

“You looked happy.”

“I was a kid.”

“And now?”

You look at him sharply. “What’s with the interrogation?”

“I told you,” he reminds you quietly. “I want to know you.”

There’s no rush in his tone. No desperation.

Just steadiness.

The day continues like that.

When you wash dishes, he dries them.

He asks about your university. Your friends. What stresses you out. What makes you laugh. What kind of music you secretly listen to when you’re alone.

At one point, he says, “You hum when you’re focused.”

You freeze. “I do not.”

“You do,” he insists softly. “You were doing it while cutting fruit earlier.”

You didn’t even realize.

“The thing you do with your hand? That too.” He points out, while taking your hand, opening it and see the crescent marks on your palm.

“You notice too much,” you murmur.

He doesn’t deny it.

“Someone has to,” he replies.

The living room is dim, only the lamp by the window casting a warm glow across the space. The TV is on but forgotten, some late-night rerun playing to fill the silence.

You’re curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under you. Heeseung sits beside you—not too close, not too far—close enough that you’re aware of him without feeling crowded.

He’s been quieter tonight. Observing.

“Can I ask you something?” he says eventually.

You glance at him warily. “You’ve been doing that all day.”

A faint smile. “Humor me.”

You sigh. “Fine.” Only because you can’t resist his charming smile.

“That night,” he says carefully, “why were you really there?”

You stiffen slightly. “At the bar?”

“In another city. On a random weekend.”

“It wasn’t random,” you reply automatically.

He waits.

You stare at the muted TV screen for a long moment before answering.

“I party a lot with my friends,” you say finally.

He doesn’t react. Just listens. “More than people expect,” you add.

“Why?” he asks softly.

You let out a small breath through your nose. “Because it’s loud.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“Because when the music’s blasting and the lights are flashing and everyone’s moving,” you continue, “I can’t hear my own thoughts.”

The honesty surprises even you.

He doesn’t interrupt.

“You know how exhausting job hunting is?” you ask quietly. “Applications. Tailoring your resume for every company. Writing cover letters that feel fake. Preparing for interviews. Smiling. Selling yourself.”

His expression shifts—more focused now.

“And then the emails,” you continue, voice flattening. “‘We regret to inform you.’ ‘After careful consideration.’ ‘We’ve decided to move forward with other candidates.’”

You laugh softly, but there’s no humor in it.

“Sometimes they don’t even reply.”

Silence stretches.

“It gets to you,” you admit. “You start wondering what’s wrong with you. If you’re not good enough. If everyone else is moving ahead while you’re just… stuck.”

He doesn’t look away.

“So yeah,” you shrug lightly, though your chest feels tight. “I party.”

“To forget?” he asks.

“To breathe,” you correct.

You shift slightly, hugging your knees closer.

“When I’m out with my friends, I’m not the girl refreshing her email at 2 a.m. I’m not the candidate who didn’t make it to the final round. I’m just… me.”

He studies you carefully.

“And that’s why you were in another city.”

You nod.

“We’d just gotten two rejections that week,” you admit. “Back-to-back. I felt so stupid for getting my hopes up.”

Your voice lowers.

“So we booked a cheap place, took a train, and told ourselves we deserved one reckless weekend.”

“You call it reckless,” he says quietly. “But you sound calculated.”

You frown slightly. “What?”

“You didn’t go there to ruin yourself,” he says. “You went there to survive.”

That makes you blink.

“I like dancing,” you add quickly, deflecting. “I like dressing up. I like feeling wanted without having to prove I’m competent or impressive.”

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly at that word.

“Wanted.”

“It’s simple,” you say. “No resumes. No interviews. No expectations beyond having fun.”

“And me?” he asks gently.

You swallow.

“You weren’t part of the plan,” you admit.

His eyes don’t leave yours.

“I wasn’t looking for something serious,” you continue. “It was easier that way. Temporary city. Temporary connection. No future to mess up.”

“You think you mess things up?” he asks.

You give him a look. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“I’m not,” he says evenly. “I’m trying to understand.”

You hesitate.

“When you don’t get chosen enough,” you say slowly, “you stop expecting to be.”

The words hang in the air.

He goes very still.

“That night,” you continue, quieter now, “I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow. I just wanted to feel good. To not think about rejection emails. To not feel like I was behind in life.”

“And I was… what?” he asks softly.

“A distraction,” you answer honestly.

The word lands heavy.

But before he can retreat into it, you add—

“A good one.”

His gaze sharpens slightly.

“You were easy,” you explain. “Not in a bad way. You didn’t interrogate me. You didn’t act like you were doing me a favor. You just… were there.”

He exhales slowly.

“And when I woke up alone,” he says quietly, “it didn’t feel temporary.”

You look at him.

“I didn’t want to be just a distraction,” he continues. “I wanted to be something that stayed.”

Your heart stutters.

You look away first. “I don’t know how to let things stay,” you admit.

“Because you’re used to them leaving?” he asks.

The vulnerability in the room shifts everything.

He doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t crowd you. He just sits there, steady.

“You party to break free,” he says after a moment. You nod.

“I’m not here to take that away from you.”

You glance at him cautiously.

“But I don’t want to be another escape,” he continues. “I want to be something you choose even when the music stops.”

Your chest tightens again.

Outside, the night is quiet. No music. No flashing lights. No crowd to drown out your thoughts.

Just him.

And the terrifying possibility that this time, you won’t be the one walking away before you can be rejected.

The room feels smaller after that.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

The lamp beside the couch casts a soft golden glow across his face, catching in his eyes. The TV is still muted, forgotten entirely now. Outside, the world is quiet—no music, no city noise, no chaos to hide behind.

Just you.

And him.

“I don’t know how to let things stay,” you admit again, softer this time. “Nor how to stay.”

He doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He doesn’t try to fix you. He just watches you like your words matter.

“Then don’t decide forever,” he says gently. “Just decide now.”

Your heart pounds.

“That’s how it starts,” you whisper. “Now turns into later. Later turns into expectations.”

“And expectations scare you,” he says.

“They fail,” you correct.

He studies you for a long moment. Then he shifts closer—not abruptly, not cornering—just enough that the space between your knees and his disappears.

“I’m not an interview,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to impress me.”

Your throat tightens.

“I already like you,” he continues. “On your stressed days. On your stubborn days. On the days you party too hard to feel free.”

You huff softly. “I don’t party too hard, I still control myself.”

He almost smiles. “You know what I mean.”

The tenderness in his voice makes your chest ache.

“You don’t have to earn staying,” he says.

The words hit somewhere deep.

You look at him, really look at him. His hair is still slightly messy from earlier. He’s not styled, not composed like the first night you met. He’s just… him.

And he’s looking at you like you’re not temporary.

Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. “You’re leaving.”

“In two days,” he says.

“And then?”

“Then we figure it out,” he replies. “Or we try. Or we fail. But at least we won’t be wondering.”

Your breathing feels uneven.

He lifts his hand slowly, like he’s giving you time to pull away.

When you don’t, his fingers brush lightly against your cheek.

The touch is soft. Careful.

Nothing like that first night.

That night was heat and impulse and dim lights and stolen glances.

This is quiet.

Intentional.

His thumb traces gently along your jawline, barely there. You feel your pulse everywhere at once.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You swallow.

He doesn’t laugh at you.

Doesn’t tease.

His hand shifts slightly, cupping your cheek fully now. Warm. Steady.

“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly.

You don’t.

Instead, you lean in first.

It’s small. Barely an inch, but it closes the distance.

His breath brushes your lips before they meet. Slow. Careful. Testing.

When he kisses you, it isn’t rushed.

It isn’t hungry.

It’s soft.

Like he’s asking a question.

Your fingers clutch lightly at the fabric of his T-shirt without thinking. The kiss deepens just slightly—not intense, not overwhelming—just enough to make your heart feel like it might burst.

He pulls back a fraction, forehead resting against yours.

His voice is low. Almost unsteady.

“This isn’t an escape,” he says.

You nod faintly, breath mingling with his.

“I know.”

He kisses you again.

This time with more certainty.

Not claiming. Not demanding.

Choosing.

Your hand slides up to the back of his neck, fingers threading lightly into his hair. He exhales softly against your lips, one hand moving to your waist—secure, but not pulling you in without permission.

The world outside the living room feels nonexistent.

No rejection emails.

No interviews.

No expectations.

Just this moment.

When you finally pull back, your lips feel warm, your thoughts scattered.

“Now,” he murmurs softly, echoing his earlier words.

You let out a shaky breath.

“Now,” you repeat.

And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like something you’re running from.

It feels like something you’re choosing.

The living room feels impossibly small after that kiss. Your pulse is racing, every nerve on fire, yet your mind is dizzy in a way that makes thinking impossible.

Heeseung pulls back just slightly, his forehead still resting against yours, and you can feel the warmth of him everywhere. For a heartbeat, neither of you moves, the air thick with unsaid words.

“I—” you start, but your voice falters.

“I’ve got you,” he says suddenly, firm but gentle. His hands slide under your arms, and before you can protest, he lifts you effortlessly.

Your stomach flips. “Heeseung! Put me down!” you squeak, half-laughing, half-panicking, but you don’t resist.

“I don’t want to,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the side of your temple as he carries you toward your room. His voice is low, intimate, and the closeness makes your chest tighten even more.

Your room feels impossibly far and yet too close. The walls, the soft glow of your lamp, the familiar smell of your space—all of it is suddenly charged.

He sets you down gently on your bed, but the tension doesn’t leave. His hands linger near your waist, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of your shirt. You feel the deliberate weight of his gaze on you, assessing, quiet, patient.

“Are you… okay with this?” he asks, voice husky but careful, and you can’t tell if he’s asking about the kiss, being alone together, or everything.

You swallow hard, your pulse loud in your ears. “I—I think so,” you admit, your words trembling just enough to betray your certainty.

He shifts closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand resting lightly on the mattress near yours. You’re inches apart, every movement amplified. The air feels electric, charged with anticipation and heat.

His eyes trace your face slowly, almost like he’s memorizing every line, every shadow. “You’re warm,” he murmurs, voice softer now, almost a whisper.

Your breath catches. The room is quiet except for the distant hum of the city outside. Your fingers twitch at the edge of the blanket, trying to ground yourself, but he leans in, closing the space further.

His hand moves to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, brushing against your jaw as he does. You feel your own hands rise, unconsciously resting on his forearm. The intimacy is subtle, teasing—every touch deliberate, careful, yet charged with something unspoken.

“You’ve been on my mind,” he admits quietly, gaze locking with yours. “All day. Since breakfast. Even when we were doing the dishes… I couldn’t stop thinking.”

Your chest tightens. The honesty in his tone, combined with the nearness, makes your head spin. “Maybe you also have been lingering in my head all along for the past two months.”

“I—” you start, but he leans in closer, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It’s slower, deliberate, exploratory—but there’s a hunger there too, restrained yet unmistakable.

Your hands find his chest, fingers brushing against the fabric of his T-shirt, feeling the solid warmth underneath. The kiss deepens slightly, teasing, suggestive, daring—but still measured.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, reading your reaction, searching for consent in your gaze. Your pulse is racing, your thoughts scattered, but the answer is clear in the flutter of your heartbeat.

His lips hover over yours again, close enough that you can feel the warmth and breath, and for a moment, nothing else exists: no hesitation, no past regrets, just the two of you, the quiet room, and the thrilling, dangerous pull of something more.

And then he whispers, low and husky, “Do you trust me?”

Your answer is a shiver, a nod, a soft, “Yes,” barely audible—but it’s enough.

The air between you thickens, charged with a suggestion, a promise, a question that doesn’t need words—because the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s close enough to touch, it says it all.

…

Heeseung’s lips trail down your neck with a slow, teasing warmth—each kiss featherlight at first, then lingering just enough to leave faint tingles in their wake. His breathing is uneven but controlled, clearly trying to balance the haze with focus.

“Always smell so good.” He murmur between kisses. One hand rests tentatively against your shoulder while the other tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before continuing his path lower.

Then he pauses abruptly near your collarbone as if remembering something, “I don’t have condoms with me,” He looks at you.

You huff, turning to your handbag. Pulling out the small foil packet, he smiles at you. “For your other one night stands?” You laugh.

“That was the plan, but I stopped doing those after you.” He doesn’t question it, You tug at his shirt, signalling you want it off.

Heeseung makes quick work of his shirt, tossing it aside before popping the button on his pants. His movements are fluid—confident but not rushed—as he steps out of them and kicks them toward the floor.

“Better?” He asks, voice low as he reaches for you again, now only in his boxers.

His fingers are gentle but eager as he helps you out of your own clothes—each piece discarded with care until there’s nothing left between you. His touch lingers on bare skin, like he’s relearning every curve after months of yearning.

"God… I love this,"he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “So beautiful.”

Heeseung trails kisses downward—slow, deliberate—each one hotter than the last. His hands follow, mapping your body like he’s memorizing it anew. When his lips finally reach the place you have been dying for him to touch, he glances up at you through his lashes, smirking.

“Want me to touch you here?”

You nod, he tsks. “Need to hear you, baby.” As his breath brushes your open folds.

“Yes.” You gasped, “Yes, please.”

He smiles, Heeseung doesn’t waste another second—his mouth sealing over you with practiced devotion. Every flick of his tongue, every hum against your skin is calculated to unravel you.

And it works.

His free hand grips your thigh, holding you steady as he focuses entirely on pleasuring and loving you—like this is the only mission that matters tonight.

Heeseung zeroes in on your clit instantly—his tongue circling it with just the right amount of pressure before sucking lightly. His eyes stay locked on yours, gauging every twitch and gasp to adjust his technique.

"This okay?" he murmurs against you, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear you say it anyway.

You nod, he hums in approval—taking your nod as permission to double down. His tongue flicks faster now, alternating between broad strokes and precise little darts while his fingers slip inside you, curling just right.

You yelp at the sudden intrusion, Heeseung pauses immediately—pulling back just enough to check your expression. His brows furrow in concern, but he keeps his fingers still inside you.

"Too much?" he asks softly, ready to adjust at your slightest hint. You shake your head, “It’s good, s’good..”

He exhales in relief—his tension melting into renewed focus. He resumes with even more care now, his movements deliberate and gentle as he coaxes you toward pleasure rather than overwhelming you.

"That’s it," he murmurs, lips brushing your inner thigh between words. "Just relax… I’ve got you."

“I’ll make you feel better than that night.”

He adds a second finger—stretching you gradually as his thumb replaces his tongue, rubbing slow circles over your clit instead. His eyes stay locked on your face, tracking every flutter of pleasure.

“Tell me if anything’s too much," he reminds, voice thick with concern beneath the desire.

Heeseung's touch remains gentle and attentive, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm that builds pleasure without rushing you. Every now and then, he glances up to make sure you're still comfortable—his expression soft with care even as desire burns in his gaze.

“So good for me, you’re so good for me.” He murmurs againts your skin, words warm and reverent.

He senses you're close—your breaths hitching, your body tensing around his fingers. He presses a final open-mouthed kiss to your clit before murmuring,

"Come for me, baby.”

His words are the last push you need—your climax crashing over you in waves as Heeseung rides it out with his fingers, his touch never faltering. When your tremors subside, he presses a kiss to your inner thigh and slowly withdraws his hand.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, crawling up to claim your lips in a deep kiss—letting you taste yourself on him.

“Need you, now.” You breath againts his lips

Heeseung groans at your words, his body responding instantly. In one fluid motion, he flips onto his back—pulling you atop him, before rolling the condom on with practiced ease.

“Ride me,” he rasps, before teasing his tip on your folds and guiding himself to your entrance. He hisses as you sink onto him—his hands flying to your hips, gripping hard as he adjusts to the sudden tightness. His head falls back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut for a second before he forces them open again, needing to see you.

"Fuck," he grits out, "You feel…"

Words fail him—too overwhelmed by how perfectly you take him in.

His breath comes in ragged bursts as you start moving—his hips instinctively bucking up to meet each of your descents. One hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you down into a searing kiss while the other presses possessively against your back.

He loses himself in the rhythm you set—every roll of your hips sending sparks through his veins. His hands roam your body, worshiping every curve as he murmurs praise against your skin.

“Gonna kill me like this, baby.” He cups your breasts as he pinches one of your nipples, you moan.

His control starts to fray—his thrusts becoming less measured, more desperate. He can feel his climax building rapidly, but he refuses to let go until you do first.

Heeseung flips you onto your back with surprising gentleness despite the urgency in his movements. The second he’s nestled between your thighs again, he surges into you—each thrust deep and deliberate.

"Look at me," he demands softly, cradling your face as his pace turns relentless. "Want to see you when we finish."

His thrusts grow erratic—his breath coming in sharp gasps as he chases his release. But even now, at the peak of pleasure, his focus stays on you, making sure you’re right there with him.

“Searched for you like crazy, kept..kept..asking around.” He went down to latch on your nipple, sucking softly and twirling his tongue making you whimper underneath him.

“Need the girl that made me fall hopelessly from just one night.”

Heeseung’s eyes lock onto yours, the intensity in his gaze nearly overwhelming as he pushes you both toward release. His thrusts grow sharper—each one hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb circles your clit with just enough pressure, making your moans slightly louder than before.

"Close?" he rasps, voice strained with restraint.

You nod frantically, your body coiling tight with impending pleasure. Heeseung’s answering grin is fierce—he can feel it too.

"Then let go," he urges, his own rhythm faltering as he chases his own peak alongside you.

The moment your climax hits—waves of pleasure crashing over you in relentless succession—Heeseung follows with a broken groan. His thrusts stutter before he buries himself deep, shuddering through his release as he holds you close.

For several breathless seconds, all either of you can do is cling to each other, sweaty and spent but utterly satisfied.

“Don’t go. Don’t leave this time.” He says, pressing a lazy kiss on your shoulder.

“Can’t run even if I tried,” you laugh, finally aware that you guys fucked in your childhood bedroom, in your parents’ house. With his and your moms just a few doors away.

…

Morning comes softly.

Not with alarms. Not with loud footsteps downstairs.

Just sunlight.

It slips through the thin gap in your curtains, warm and golden, stretching slowly across your walls, across your desk, across the edge of your bed.

You blink awake gradually, consciousness returning in pieces.

The warmth against your back registers first.

Then the weight around your waist.

Then the steady rise and fall of someone else’s breathing.

Your heart stutters.

Heeseung.

His arm is draped securely around you, palm resting flat against your stomach like it belongs there. Your back is pressed lightly to his chest, his face buried somewhere near the back of your neck, breath warm against your skin.

For a second, you don’t move, you just lie there and lets the reality settle.

Last night wasn’t loud or reckless or fleeting. It wasn’t dim bar lights and alcohol-blurred edges.

It was slow.

Intentional.

You remember how careful he was. How he kept checking in. How he looked at you like this wasn’t just physical.

Your cheeks warm at the memory.

Behind you, he shifts slightly. His arm tightens instinctively when you move.

“Mmm,” he hums, voice thick with sleep. “Don’t go.” You freeze.

“I’m not,” you whisper, even though you hadn’t actually planned to.

He exhales softly against your shoulder, clearly not fully awake yet. His fingers flex slightly against your waist, like he’s grounding himself.

The sunlight climbs higher.

You slowly turn your head just enough to glance at him.

His hair is a mess, falling into his eyes. His lips are slightly parted, expression relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before. No guarded composure. No teasing edge.

Just him.

Peaceful.

He blinks awake a moment later, eyes adjusting slowly.

There’s a brief second of confusion.

Then recognition.

Then something softer.

“Morning,” he murmurs. Your heart flips.

“Morning.”

Neither of you moves away.

Neither of you makes it awkward.

He studies your face like he’s making sure you’re real. Like he half-expected to wake up alone again. “You’re still here,” he says quietly.

You swallow. “So are you.” A small smile touches his lips.

He lifts a hand, brushing his thumb gently along your cheekbone. Not suggestive. Not urgent. Just… tender.

“Regrets?” he asks carefully.

You consider it. The sunlight. The warmth. The quiet. His arm still wrapped around you.

“No,” you answer honestly.

Relief flickers across his face so subtly you almost miss it.

“Good,” he murmurs.

Silence settles again, but it’s comfortable.

You’re suddenly aware of the house. Of your mom downstairs. Of Mrs. Lee probably already awake.

Reality creeping back in.

“We should probably get up,” you say softly. He groans lightly. “Five more minutes.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move. His fingers trace lazy patterns against your waist absentmindedly.

“Last night,” he begins quietly, “wasn’t just… heat.”

You turn slightly to face him more fully now, the blanket shifting around you.

“I know,” you reply. His eyes search yours.

“I meant what I said,” he continues. “About wanting more.”

The weight of it is still there. But this time, it doesn’t feel suffocating. It feels steady.

You reach out, brushing a piece of hair away from his forehead. “I’m still scared,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” he says immediately.

“But I don’t want to run,” you add.

Something shifts in his expression—something hopeful. “We’ll figure it out,” he says quietly. “One step at a time.”

He leaves tomorrow.

But right now, he’s here.

Warm. Real. Looking at you like you’re not temporary.

His hand slides into yours under the blanket, fingers intertwining slowly.

SEPTEMBER 2025

Three months later, your apartment feels both fuller and emptier at the same time.

Fuller — because his hoodie is draped over the back of your chair. Because there’s a mug he likes that you bought “accidentally.” Because your call logs are filled with his name. Because there’s a toothbrush tucked into the corner of your sink like it belongs there.

Emptier — because right now, he isn’t here.

Long distance wasn’t glamorous.

It was: falling asleep on video call, propping your phone against your pillow just to see his face, texting “reach home safe” every long rides he takes back home, syncing up dramas and pressing play at the same time,

It was him visiting every three weeks without fail. No excuses.

He comes by Friday night, spends the weekend before saying goodbye Sunday night. Sometimes with a small bouquet.

Sometimes with your favorite snacks.

Once with nothing but a tired smile and open arms.

And every time he left, the goodbye got quieter. Less dramatic. More heavy.

But you were trying. Both of you were.

Tonight, you’re expecting him again.

You’d cleaned the apartment earlier, even though he’s seen it messy before. There’s a faint scent of citrus from the candle you lit. Your heart always beats a little faster on visit days.

When the knock finally comes, you don’t pretend to be calm. You open the door.

Heeseung stands there with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

And that smile, the one that makes three weeks feel like three seconds.

You don’t even greet him properly—you just step forward and hug him. He laughs softly, arms wrapping around you tightly, lifting you slightly off the ground for a brief second.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs into your hair. When you pull back, you notice something. He looks… different.

Not physically.

But there’s a weight behind his eyes.

“What?” you ask immediately. He exhales lightly. “Can I come in first?” You narrow your eyes but step aside.

He drops his bag near the couch, looks around your apartment like he always does—taking it in, grounding himself.

You close the door.

“Okay,” you say, crossing your arms. “What’s going on?”

He runs a hand through his hair—a nervous habit you’ve come to recognize.

“I have news,” he says. Your stomach drops slightly.

“Good news?” you ask cautiously.

He hesitates just enough to make your heart pound.

“I’m moving.” The word hangs in the air.

Your mind scrambles. “Moving?” you repeat. “Where?”

He steps closer. “Here.”

You blink. “…What?”

“I got a transfer,” he continues, the words coming faster now. “There was an opening in the branch here. I applied a month ago.”

“A month ago?” you echo.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to promise something that might not happen.”

Your heart is racing now. “I got it,” he says quietly. “It’s finalized.” Silence fills your apartment.

“You’re… moving here?” you whisper.

He nods. “I don’t want to do long distance anymore,” he says. “Not when I don’t have to.”

Your brain is still catching up.

“But your mom? Your place? Producing?”

“She supports it,” he replies. “And my job is still my job. Just different location.”

You stare at him.

“You did this… because of me?”He steps closer until there’s barely space between you.

“I did this because I want a life where I don’t count down weeks just to see you,” he says. “Because I don’t want to miss small things. Your bad interview days. Your random 2 a.m. thoughts. Your victories.”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t want to visit you,” he continues softly. “I want to be here.” Tears prick at the corner of your eyes before you can stop them.

“You’re serious,” you whisper.

He cups your face gently, thumbs brushing just beneath your eyes.

“I’ve never been more serious.”

Your laugh comes out shaky. “You’re insane.”

“Probably,” he admits. “But I’m yours.”

note: freaking finally! i know i promised you guys this a month ago, and yes i’m alive. just wanted to wrap things up with my semester and have a small break after stressing out for finals, but alas! here we are! first work kinda nervous >< hope u guys love it!

taglist: @gardenwonn @vayuzzz @prettygirlthings-world @yenienha @enhypen437 @rayofsunshineeee @somuchdard