Welcome to a masterlist of my kinda decent x male reader fics! All fics were written with a male reader in mind but some of them (esp. the SFW ones) can be read as a gender-neutral reader. :]]
Thank you for your support and have fun reading! 🤸🤸♂️🤸♀️
Heeseung shattered your belief that straight men could not be friends with gay men, even if he were a star basketball player and you were an editor in your university’s student publication. At one of his standout games, an old flame of his arrives, making you question if your feelings for him could truly remain platonic. In the aftermath, both of you grapple with the blurred lines between friendship and something more.
🪵 Speakeasy Serenade — jake 〔🍃〕
As the token gay guy in your circle of friends, going out drinking just means your friends talking about their boyfriends and you pouring out advice. Tonight you meet Jake, who seems to find you prettier than anyone he has met before.
🪵 Flower Puff Boy — jay 〔🍃〕
Over the past year, people have come to know you as the guy who always gives flowers. You’ve used every occasion as an excuse to purchase flowers from Jay, your neighborhood florist, and each time you walked in, you always ended up with a free flower from him. As Valentine’s Day nears, you realize what flowers truly mean to him and you.
🪵 Mi Sei Mancato — sunghoon 〔🍃〕
There’s no place in your small snowy village for a promising figure skater like Sunghoon. With his family’s increased visits to the city, it comes as no surprise when they announce their plan to send him overseas for professional training. What does he want to tell his closest friend before he leaves?
🪵 XOXO — sunoo 〔🍃〕
Anonymous love letters land in your mailbox, signed “XOXO.” Determined to discover the author, you search for clues in every letter but you only find dead ends. After some red herrings and an erased memory, the real culprit was hidden in plain sight all along.
🪵 One More Shot — heeseung 〔🍂〕
Your best friend Heeseung bursts into your apartment with soju after breaking up with his nth girlfriend of the year. A few bottles later, the true meaning of your relationship with him is put into question.
🪵 Pornographs — jay 〔🍂〕
Two freelance pornstars have gotten awfully close with each other over the past year, masked to their audiences but almost unveiled to each other. Jay, who you suddenly realize to be less familiar than you originally thought, gives you a symbolic gift and a promise you wish he truly keeps.
🪵 Director's Cut — heeseung 〔🍂🔞〕
You are a film editor who frequently collaborates with director Heeseung on his rom-coms and dramas. When his latest project turns out to be an erotic thriller, you find yourself in the editing room struggling to make sex scenes feel real. Heeseung then boldly offers a solution: a hands-on demonstration of authentic sex.
🪵 Good Top Bad Top — jake + jay 〔🍂🔞〕
Worn thin by a grueling school project, you and Jake crash at Jay’s place, innocently drifting off to sleep. The stillness of the night soon warps, jolting you awake as Jay defiles you. Suddenly thrust into a threesome, you struggle between Jay’s brutality and Jake’s tenderness.
🪵 Flavor of the Month — jay 〔🍂🔞〕
Working at the most exclusive gentlemen’s club in the city, you’ve gotten various influential bachelors lining up each night to have a private show with you. Tonight, you might just be meeting your new favorite client.
🪵 Last Meal — jay 〔🍂🔞〕
When Mayor Jay gets exposed for embezzlement and prostitution, you, his favorite escort, must escape the lavish life he provided. On the night of your planned escape, he crashes into your apartment, leading to a cathartic final encounter that strangely mirrors the beginning of your relationship.
🪵 Stealing the Spotlight — sunoo + jay 〔🍂🔞〕
You were always the star of the most exclusive gentlemen’s club in the city, with influential figures lining up each night to have a private show with you. But then Sunoo came, stealing the spotlight and pushing you back to the background. After finding out that he has stolen your favorite client, you decide to remind the rookie who’s on top.
🪵 Just Like We Used To — jaehyun 〔🍂〕
Waking up after a party, you find yourself alone with Jaehyun, stirring unresolved feelings from a drunken kiss a year ago that shifted your once-extremely close friendship. As you deal with the aftermath of meeting him again, you remember this cycle of yearning and his inability to fully reciprocate.
hope ur still here more than a year later babe (┬┬﹏┬┬)
Last Meal — p.js
btm!park jongseong x top!male reader
angsty smut
1.7k words
When Mayor Jay gets exposed for embezzlement and prostitution, you, his favorite escort, must escape the lavish life he provided. On the night of your planned escape, he crashes into your apartment, leading to a cathartic final encounter that strangely mirrors the beginning of your relationship.
Sequel to Flavor of the Month (p.js) and Stealing the Spotlight (k.sn + p.js).
Can be read on its own.
includes: mayor jay is in major trouble with the police! it’s your time to punish him for fucking around~
warning: gunplay (you make him suck a loaded gun, to be clear), !!NONCON!!
Park Jongseong, the current Mayor of Seoul more popularly referred to as Mayor Jay, failed to appear in court today for a scheduled inquiry into allegations of embezzling 50 billion KRW in public funds. The case escalated after financial documents were anonymously leaked online, which reveal suspicious transactions—including multi-billion-won transfers to Kim Heechul, a prominent restaurateur operating in the Itaewon District. Whistleblower KSN claims that Kim’s establishments are being used as fronts for illicit prostitution operations. Supporting their claim, our team was sent exclusive images allegedly depicting the mayor inside one of Kim’s yet-to-be-identified venues.
Grainy photos flash on the TV screen: Jay slipping Heechul an envelope, Jay pouring a bottle of vodka over himself, a half-naked passed out Jay with a thong on his face.
You’re in a rush, shoving whatever you can into a duffel bag in the lavish Gangnam apartment that Jay bought you. These designer clothes, expensive jewelry—every bit of it from the pockets of Jay. Well, pockets of taxpayers, really. You have to leave before you get caught in the crossfire.
You wonder who could have exposed him. A rival politician who spotted him slinking through Heechul’s backrooms? A campaign aide with a grudge? Or someone like you, a pawn of Heechul who finally snapped? It doesn’t really matter, does it? All that matters is Jay stole from the people and they’re now hunting the places where the money went to.
The front door crashes open. Your heart lurches, expecting policemen, but it’s Jay who stumbles into the foyer. His suit’s crumpled, necktie gone, hair disheveled, eyes wild in bloodshot. In his trembling hand is a pistol, glinting like the marble floor. He sways, pointing it at you.
“You did this,” he accuses, stepping closer. “You sold me out. You betrayed me.”
You drop the bag, hands steady despite the mounting panic. “Me?” you retort, voice sharp, stepping toward him. “I had everything to lose. This new life I got is all because of you. Why the hell would I rat you out?”
He laughs, unhinged, waving the gun erratically. “Don’t lie to me. You—you wanted revenge. I’m the last tether to your ugly past. You never loved me; you hated hiding—” He pauses, eyes flickering with something like guilt. “Two bullets,” he simply states. “One for you, one for me. Let’s end this together.”
What a twisted vow. You take another step, closing the distance, gaze locked on his. “I said I was fine hiding; I said I’d stop working for Heechul just for you. It’s you who couldn’t stop running back to Heechul’s business when I left it long ago.”
His face twists, enraged. He lunges, grabs your arm and presses the gun against your chest. You instinctively wrestle for control. He’s stronger, but he’s drunk, sloppy, and uncoordinated. In the struggle, his grip falters, and his finger grazes the trigger.
Jay yelps as a bullet buries itself in the ceiling, cowering in fear. Plaster rains down, dusting your shoulders. Seizing his shock, you wrench the gun from his sweaty grasp, shoving him back. He stumbles and trips over his own feet, landing hard on his ass on a Persian rug.
You step forward, looming over him, presssing the barrel to his lips. “So,” you growl, “there’s one bullet left. And if there were still two, it should be you who goes first, right? You stole from the city, not me.”
His eyes widen, tears welling, the once-charismatic mayor reduced to a sniveling shell. He was all that not so long ago, a hand on your thigh as he promises you everything in the world. You lean closer, gun steady, as you whisper, “Look at you. So proud throwing money around, getting whatever you wanted. And now? You’re about to lose it all.”
He whimpers against the cold metal and you feel a twisted satisfaction bloom in your chest. You tilt your head, studying him—the quivering chin, the sweat beading on his forehead, the way his hands fall uselessly at the rug. For some reason, the sight of Jay so broken and small stirs something in you.
“Suck it,” you order. “Suck it like it’s my cock.”
His breath hitches, eyes pleading. He’s shaking like a dog in cold rain, searching for mercy.
“Suck!” you snap, shoving the barrel forward, forcing it past his lips. The metal clicks against his teeth and he yields, lips parting to take it in, a choked sound escaping. The sight is grotesque, humiliating, and you revel in it; this singular experience of Jay is nothing to the shit you’ve gone through under Heechul’s business. “Touch yourself,” you taunt. “Show me how filthy you are.”
He fumbles with his belt, slipping a hand into his pants. His breathing quickens as he strokes himself, gun still in his mouth. A photo of him in this position could net you millions, but the whistleblower is probably withholding more incriminating material. His eyes flutter shut, a tear slipping down his cheek.
“You love this, don’t you? Having us kneel, bend down for you. Made you feel so superior, when really, you’re this pathetic little bitch,” you whisper. You drag the barrel in and out, the gun’s weight as heavy as any hard cock. One twitch of your finger, and his life ends. The easy route, you’d say, albeit an ending with the worst consequences.
Jay moans, hand moving faster in his pants, cock visibly straining against the fabric. He bucks forward, chasing some kind of release. You slide the gun deeper, nudging the back of his throat and he gags. You grip his hair with your free hand, yanking his head back to force him to look at you; Jay looks at you with terror in his eyes.
“Should’ve been me only,” you murmur, pulling the gun away, letting it clatter across the floor.
You haul him up and shove him to the bed, the chandelier’s light painting him like an abused object of worship. He resists weakly, mumbling, “Stop—” but you silence him with a bruising kiss, teeth clashing until you taste blood. You tear at his shirt, buttons flying away like his shattering ego.
Jay groans to the cold air, in pain and surrender, and you yank his pants down, exposing him. His cock is hard, twitching with precum beading at the tip, pleasure so obvious even in the sickest of situations. You pause, letting the moment stretch. It’s a subtle chance for him to pull away, to scramble to the door and still leave with whatever dignity he has left. But he doesn’t move, vacant eyes locked onto yours.
“Hard for me, even now. You’re disgusting,” you mutter as you play with his cock. He mewls and tips his head back.
You strip off your jeans, leaving your shirt on. He follows every moment, hungry despite the fear. He still wants you, and you hate how much you thrive on this power; it’s a polar opposite to the days when you were the one bending to your clients’ whims.
You kneel between his legs, slicking your fingers with spit, impatient. You press a finger inside, and he cries out, body arching. “All those billions to Heechul and no one’s touched you here?” you chuckle. You add a second finger, curling them enough to make him clutch the bedsheets. You thrust deep and slow, drawing out the burn, and he sobs. Spit isn’t enough.
Jay’s scrabbling hands land on your duffel and he whispers, barely audible, “You’re leaving?”
You ignore him, pulling your fingers out. Instead, you coat your cock with spit and prod it against his hole. Jay gasps, tensing at the pushing pain. Desperate, he tries again, “I know a place in the Philippines—We could hide—”
You thrust, cutting him off as he whimpers. You wrap your hand around his jaw. “I’m not leaving with you,” you snarl. His legs shake, and you grip his thighs to keep them spread wide. “You’re nothing without your money,” you coldly say. “Am I wrong?”
He sobs, voice cracking, “I’m worthless.”
You grunt, slamming into him harder, the wet slap of sweaty skin echoing. His body jolts as he moans shamefully, his hard cock bobbing as more precum leaks in a steady drip.
“Don’t cum yet,” you warn, squeezing his cock painfully. “You haven’t earned it.”
You adjust your angle to hit that spot inside him. His eyes roll back, mouth open in a silent scream. You thrust deeper, faster, watching Jay unravel into a mumbling mess. He cries and he wails, hole clenching around you.
“Wanna cum?” you taunt, pinching his nipple until he squirms. “Beg for it.”
“Please,” he whispers. “Please, I’m sorry—”
“Louder!” you growl, pounding into him faster.
“Please!” he cries. “Please let me cum—”
You let go of his cock and he convulses, hands desperately holding on to you. He cums with a strangled cry, untouched, his warm seed spilling in thick spurts across his stomach and chest. You keep thrusting, relentless, chasing your own release. Jay continues to whimper, soft and so broken. Lost in the unwanted stimulation, his eyes have gone glassy, tear-streaked face contorted.
You pull out abruptly, and stand, gripping his hair in a fist. He gasps as you yank him forward. He kneels and sits on his feet, face forced to your cock. You jerk yourself fast, the sight of him fueling the fire in your veins.
“Open,” you growl. He follows, tongue trembling as he shamefully wants to please you.
You thrust shallowly into his mouth as you hold onto his head, your girth making him gag. Saliva drips down his chin as he anchors himself to your thighs.
“Mayor Jay, choking on a lowly boytoy’s cock, covered in his own filth,” you grunt. “What a fucking headline, right?”
His response is muffled to a moan, a mere vibration to your cock. With a guttural groan, you cum, hot and thick down his throat. He flinches but doesn’t pull away, letting what can’t be swallowed drip down his chin.
You release him and he slumps forward, catching himself on his hands. His cock has gone soft yet it still drips weakly. You step back, wiping yourself with one of the shirts you were taking away.
You swiftly fix yourself up, Jay still lost to the aftermath of his final encounter with you. You grab your duffel and zip it up.
“One bullet left,” you say, devoid of any sympathy. “If you want out, you know what to do.”
author’s note: i think i went way too overboard with this one i apologize, i think i need to go back to the fluffy ficssss
bUT WITH THE DESIRE UNLEASH TEASERS LOOKING VERY MMMMMMMMMMMMM they must be going with something darker and more sultry this era right?!?!?
cuz wdym can't touch you, but i'm gonna make you mine??????
top!lee heeseung x btm!male reader
smut with some plot
3.9k words
You are a film editor who frequently collaborates with director Heeseung on his rom-coms and dramas. When his latest project turns out to be an erotic thriller, you find yourself in the editing room struggling to make sex scenes feel real. Heeseung then boldly offers a solution: a hands-on demonstration of authentic sex.
includes: u suck heeseung, he fucks u, then he sucks u; he tells u what to do cuz he’s a director n u’re a struggling editor; then some filmmaking discussion for plot
“Stop it,” you say without looking at Sunghoon, scrolling aimlessly through the timeline on the monitor.
“Stop what?” he replies, tone mocking as he feigns ignorance.
“Staring. Grinning. Wiggling your eyebrows,” you mutter, keeping your voice low as you reach for your water bottle. “It’s just a sex scene.”
There’s too much skin on the screen. Too many shots of heaving and moaning men touching each other. Both your eyes and ears have been overstimulated for the past few hours, editing another film of Heeseung. This one stars Park Jongseong as Jay and Sim Jaeyun as Jake in an erotic thriller; their lifelong friendship strains when they start a casual sexual relationship with an underclassman, leading to escalating jealousy and possessive behavior.
You’ve worked on nearly every film he’s made, but this is the first time both of you are dealing with material that is so… graphic. Rom-coms and melodramas? Done, multiple times. Some arthouse film bordering on softcore porn? For the first time, now.
“I can’t help it. My little baby’s finding out how babies are made, I’m so proud,” Sunghoon whines, sipping noisily on his iced coffee. He leans against your desk, tilting his head. “You’re working on a movie like this with Heeseung. Alone. In this editing room. For hours, maybe days, we don’t know.” He drags out the last word with an exaggerated tone that makes you roll your eyes.
Your butt has practically molded to the cushion of your swivel chair at this point, a few more hours and you’d become one with it. “It’s just work, Sunghoon. Like every other project I’ve had with him. Purely professional. Clean business. Focused on the money,” you tell him, shooting him a warning look.
Sunghoon barks out a laugh, nearly spitting out his drink. “Lies! Professional? Sure. Clean? Hardly. Focused? On the money? Or the way his shirt is always unbuttoned so you can take a peek underneath?” He wiggles his eyebrows again. “You always work in this room that barely fits two and start talking about lighting ratios like it’s fucking foreplay.”
You open your mouth to protest, but Sunghoon cuts you off, wagging a finger in your face.
“Nuh uh. You don’t get to deny your completely obvious crush on the man. Everyone knows at this point. Maybe even Heeseung himself!”
“He doesn’t!” you retort, face heating up. You couldn’t even deny your tiny, harmless, and definitely not obvious crush on Heeseung anymore.
“We have evidence,” he says, donning a sinister grin.
“What evidence?” you sigh, further melting into your seat.
“Well,” Sunghoon begins, ticking off his fingers, “there’s the interviews. He always mentions you, the editor, as the reason why his films end up so well-received. Editors never get shoutouts like that!”
“I’m pretty sure he just appreciates everyone he works with,” you argue.
“Also! He reshot an entire scene because of your feedback a month after filming had ended—which, by the way, directors rarely do. He had to make the production manager book the location again! And the actors who had to reschedule. What a logistical nightmare.”
“Most likely I wasn’t the only one with such kind of feedback!”
“Okay then. He always—always—makes sure you’re comfortable during review sessions. You’re the only editor I know who has the director wrapped around his finger instead of the other way around.”
“He’s just being professional,” you reason, though your voice lacks conviction. It’s just a professional working environment. Nothing more, nothing less.
Sunghoon lets out a dramatic sigh, slumping back in the chair beside you. “Hopeless. Truly. I hope your dick shrivels up and falls off one day.”
“It’s already shriveling up from the amount of fake sex I’ve seen today,” you groan, pausing on a frame of an actor’s crotch covered in plaster. “Everyone’s turned to a Ken doll.”
“It’s okay,” Sunghoon places a hand on your shoulder, fake concern plastered on his face. “I am here to tell you that this film will be a critical and commercial success.”
“This,” you point at the monitor, “film?” you exasperate.
He smirks. “No, this upcoming porno between the director and his editor! Two horny men, stuck in a tiny room, practically watching porn together. The porn writers are salivating over your scenario.”
“Can you not?” you hiss, glancing at the door like Heeseung might walk in any second and hear this ridiculous conversation. “It’s an… experimental film,” you rationalize.
“An experimental film with a ton of sex scenes, blah blah. Or maybe sex sells and Heeseung wants a slice of the pie.”
“I’m the one that needs a slice of that pie, Sunghoon.”
“Are we still talking about money or are you talking about Heeseung’s ass—”
“If you’re not gonna help, just leave,” you groan, massaging the temple of your head.
“You’re working on something so adult—so filthy! How is Heeseung even gonna talk about it? ‘Oh, could you please make it look like they’re really having an orgasm? Oh, you don’t get it? Wait, let me show you how to get one.’ He’s using this project as an excuse to get all sexy with you!”
You snort. “Nothing about what you just said sounds sexy at all.”
“But you imagine it, don’t you?” he counters, raising an eyebrow. “I swear, if I catch the two of you recreating those sex scenes like you’re method acting…”
Before you can shove Sunghoon out of the room yourself, the door opens, and the temperature in the room immediately shifts. You swiftly turn your chair around, and you see Heeseung walk in with a stride, a presence so commanding you and Sunghoon suddenly sit up stiffly. He’s holding a stack of papers, probably copies of script revisions, and his usually calm and collected demeanor is being betrayed by his tousled hair and slightly unbuttoned dress shirt. Your gut says Heeseung is bothered by the subject matter of this film too.
“Sunghoon,” Heeseung hesitantly greets, gaze flicking between you and Sunghoon. He seems surprised to see you not alone in the room. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Not at all, Heeseung,” Sunghoon replies brightly. “I was just leaving. Tried helping him a bit.”
“Oh, thank you,” Heeseung replies. “Quite a difficult film to work with this time.”
“You should be thanking this guy right here real hard,” Sunghoon laughs, throwing you a knowing look. He slips past Heeseung and clicks the door shut behind him, leaving you alone with Heeseung. The already tiny room suddenly feels way more suffocating.
“Hello. Doing okay?”
“Hello,” you politely nod, gesturing to the now-vacant chair beside you. You turn back to the computer. “I just finished the rough cut. But to be completely honest, my cut’s very dull.”
“Let me see,” Heeseung hums, a deep voice sending vibrations through your spine. Rather than sitting beside you, he stands behind you, a hand gently placed on the back of your chair. He leans over slightly, just enough for you to catch the scent of his woody perfume, and maybe to also take a peek at the top of his shirt, but you force yourself to keep staring at the screen. Sunghoon will never be proven right.
You drag your mouse across to one of the difficult scenes, hitting play. It’s a relatively silent scene, bar the moaning of Jake and Jay which reverberated in the speakers in the room. The scene is dimly lit, movements of the actors slow and deliberate. There is an occasional rustle of clothing, and the creak of floorboards. It’s supposed to be a build-up to a sex scene, but something felt off—it didn’t feel authentic. The original footage was so raw and beautiful on its own, yet after some snipping and adjusting some sliders, you made it look… restrained. Scripted.
“I think I ruined the sex scenes,” you explain.
“It’s alright,” Heeseung says, voice low. “But it’s too rushed. Hold Jay’s expression for a few more seconds before cutting to Jake’s reaction.”
You nod, making the adjustment on the timeline. It’s just a few seconds, but the rhythm flows more naturally.
“Better,” Heeseung mutters, a hum of satisfaction accompanying him. Better, but not yet the best, you thought.
You glance at him, surprised to find him already looking at you. His gaze is steady, unreadable, and you can’t tell if he’s studying the scene or something else entirely.
“What else should I do?” you ask, your voice coming out surprisingly quieter and meeker than usual, matching Heeseung’s subdued demeanor.
A smile begins to play on his lips. “Hmm.” His tone is thoughtful, with an edge of teasing. “You usually take the lead when we’re in the cutting room, but you seem lost today.” He lets the words hang in the air. “Is it because you've never experienced scenes like this before?”
Your hands freeze over the keyboard. “It’s normal to be unfamiliar with the content you’re working with,” you defend. “I don’t need to be kinky myself to edit a kinky sex scene.”
“Relax, I’m just kidding,” Heeseung chuckles warmly, finally sitting down beside you.
“The tension doesn’t feel real,” you admit, taking a deep breath, fidgeting in a poor attempt to dissipate the tension around the small space. “It did before I messed with the footage.”
“‘Real,’ you say,” Heeseung mutters, leaning back. “Should I show you what authentic sex feels like?”
You whip your head toward him, eyes wide. “Excuse me, what!?”
He tilts his head, smirking. “I could show you. Right here, right now.”
Your brain short-circuits for. Mouth opening like a fish, you attempt to respond, but all that comes out is a strangled, “Huh?”
Heeseung leans closer, whispering, “You’ve been staring at this screen for how long, trying to fake something you haven’t experienced. I’m offering to help.” He pauses. “For the film, of course.”
Your face burns, and you glance at the door, heart pounding. “Are you hearing yourself?”
He shrugs, unfazed, and nods toward the monitor. “Play the sex scenes. Let’s go step by step.”
Before you can muster a coherent response, the door swings open. Sunghoon peeks, oblivious to his joke on the verge of becoming a reality. “Hey, you two want food? Might be here ‘til the morning,” he grins.
Heeseung smiles. “Actually, yeah. Remember that coffee shop where we shot Buzzer Beater Heartbeat?”
“That’s over an hour away.” Sunghoon blinks. “Do they even do delivery?”
“You could just drive?” Heeseung replies, tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re going to be here for a while anyway, right?” He glances at you, gaze so heavy your stomach flips.
“Uh… yeah,” you manage. “Go now, Sunghoon.”
Sunghoon narrows his eyes, glancing between you two as if he’s piecing together a puzzle. “Okay… I’ll be back.” Then he silently turns and leaves, the door’s thud echoing in the silence.
Heeseung stands up and reaches past you to the monitor, arm brushing your shoulder as he drags the timeline back. Jay’s low groan fills the space—and he adjusts the volume, just enough to be heard outside. “There,” he murmurs. “Sound design covered.”
You turn your head, and he’s closer than you expected. Your pulse quickens, but Heeseung doesn’t hurry. His hand settles on the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair, and he studies your face. “You’ve never really done this before?” he asks, gentle, almost placating.
You shake your head, mumbling, “No. Tell me what to do.”
“That’s okay,” he says, thumb brushing small circles against your skin. “Just follow my lead, yeah? No pressure.”
You nod as he leans in, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s barely there—testing the frame, a screen test for chemistry. He slowly deepens the kiss, allowing you to adjust as your hands settle on the soft fabric of his shirt.
When you part, Heeseung murmurs, “You’re trembling. You wanna stop?”
“No,” you mutter. “What’s next?”
He chuckles as he steps back and sits back down, legs spread wide. “Unbutton my shirt.”
You reach for his buttons, fumbling at first, but he doesn’t rush you, his hot gaze focused on you. His shirt falls open, finally revealing the skin that has haunted your dreams since you started working with him. “Come sit and touch me,” he whispers, “‘wherever feels right.”
You hesitate, glancing at the setting—monitor, keyboard, chairs, equipment. This room doesn’t feel like the greatest place to have sex in. “Won’t we break something?” you ask.
“We won’t,” he replies, not concerned in the slightest, then he raises the arm rests of his chair. “Plenty of room.” He pats his thighs.
A new actor following his director, you follow his calm instruction, letting your fingers trace the lines of his collarbone, then down to his stomach. He hums, encouraging, leaning in to kiss you again.
“You can guess what’s next, right?” he says, as he holds your hand to the waistband of his pants.
You nod, kneeling as you take off his pants and boxers. His erect cock catches you off-guard, a more daunting presence from your position.
“Get comfy, touch it,” he smiles, reassuring. You wrap your fingers around him, warm and firm. You stroke it up and down, an action that you’re already familiar with, albeit only to yourself and not to someone else.
“Like that?” you ask, eyes flicking to his face for approval.
“Exactly like that,” he groans. “Now, if you’re ready, use your mouth. Just the tip first, don’t force yourself.”
You hesitantly settle your lips on the tip of his dick, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin. He exhales softly, hand steadying on your shoulder. “Breathe through your nose.” You take him in a little, and he hums approvingly, gripping tighter. “So good.”
The praise eases your nerves and you begin to explore, tongue experimenting his length. From the veins to the tip, you try to find a rhythm, but then your teeth graze him. You freeze as he flinches, but he recovers with a smile. “Mistakes are natural… Makes it real.”
The scene on the monitor has changed—Jake and Jay tussling around a kitchen counter, Jake’s slow submission to his best friend’s aggression, and their confused arousal. Jay takes control, the more experienced between the two, the buttons on Jake’s shirt flying away as he tears it open. The rip of a wrapper, the pop of a bottle cap; suddenly, Jake’s about to be fucked by his best friend, who is also his rival in pursuing the same guy.
Heeseung sighs as he gently pulls you back, thumb brushing some spit on your lips as he looks down at you. “You still okay? Let’s switch it up.”
You nod, swallowing hard as Heeseung reaches for his pants on the floor, pulling out a small packet of lube and a condom—the same brand that Jay used onscreen. “Gotta thank the props team for this,” he laughs. “Arms against the desk. Need to prep or it’ll hurt,” he explains, the cadence of his voice almost clinical.
His hands slide to your waist, tugging your pants down. The cool air makes you shiver but his touch grounds you. “Eyes on the screen, notice how they move.”
He preps you carefully, fingers slick with lube. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, one hand resting on your hip as he works through it. It’s not that painful nor is it that pleasurable, but you had no benchmark to base on. The parallel between Heeseung and the scene isn’t subtle: his and Jay’s patience in prepping, you and Jake awkwardly pinned against surfaces.
When he’s satisfied, he rolls the condom on, positioning himself behind you. “Ready?” he asks, lips nipping your earlobe.
“Please,” you reply, gripping the edge of the desk. He presses forward, restrained and controlled. The stretch is intense but he lets you adjust, and he whispers, “Look at the screen, okay? Tell me what you see.”
And you do, every inch, every movement, mirrored by the actors on the screen. “Jay’s grip on Jake’s waist,” you murmur. “The restraint fading as Jay loses himself to the pleasure.” It's just like Heeseung holding you tighter as he starts to find a steady rhythm. “Fuck,” you whine. “Can’t see. Can’t—think.”
Heeseung’s teasing laughter reverberates through your body. “You know what makes it real?” he grunts, “I didn’t give them notes. Told them to interpret the script as they wanted. These aren’t the characters Jay and Jake anymore—it’s Park Jongseong and Sim Jaeyun trying so hard to hold back.” His voice grows breathless, heavier.
His hand slides to your neck, pressing you gently against the desk. “So let’s go off-script too,” he laughs.
He pulls out and turns you around to face him. Heeseung smirks at the mess he’s made, brushing a stray hair from your forehead. “Still okay?” he asks.
You nod, catching your breath, eyes going in and out of focus. On the side, Jay and Jake are already tangled in their climax, while you and Heeseung are still teetering on the edge.
He sits back in his chair. “Sit. Face me and straddle me,” he sighs, stroking his still-hard cock.
You straddle him carefully, his hands quick to steady your hips as you lower yourself onto him. The new angle makes you gasp, the pleasure sharper but the pain renewed.
“Hold on to me,” he says, “I’ll do the work.” You loop your arms around his neck as he begins to rock beneath you. You nestle your head in the crook of his neck but he whines, “I wanna kiss you again.”
You meet his eyes and the intimacy of the situation sinks in—an unguarded close-up shot. The warmth of his minty breath, the slight hitches, his lips parting as he continues grinding.
“Kiss me,” he murmurs again, a plea. You lean forward, your lips meeting as if you were savoring the sweet opportunity. The scene called for it; otherwise, none of this would be happening. He pulls you closer, your chests beating right next to each other.
The pleasure coils tighter, but it’s not enough to push you over the edge yet. For Heeseung, it was more than enough. His hips stutter, groaning against your lips as he cums, body tensing beneath you. “Shit, sorry,” he softly laughs.
You let out a low groan as he pulls out, disposing of the condom with a quick toss.
He lifts you off his lap, setting you on the edge of the desk. He sweeps his arm across the surface, sending his papers and your wireless equipment to the floor with a loud clatter. On any other day, you’d be scrambling to check if your expensive keyboard broke but Heeseung right now is an experience beyond price.
“Sit comfortably and spread your legs for me,” he commands as he moves his chair.
His fingers brush lightly along the inner side of your thighs, teasing it as he murmurs, “I had a scene like this in early drafts—Jay going down on Jake. Producers made me cut it off the script, said it was too explicit for the market.” His lips curve into a wry smile, eyes glinting with mischief. “Wanna film an uncut version with me?”
His hand wraps around the base of your twitching cock, then he presses a kiss to the tip, tongue flicking out to taste you. The sensation is immediate, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. He hums as he takes you in, swirling around the head, the slit, while his eyes are just locked with yours. He strokes the base in time with his mouth, his other hand pressing your thigh open.
“How do you fucking do this?” you mutter in pleasure, fingers tangling in Heeseung’s hair as you push him further down. He only hums, picking up his pace, tongue working faster. And you moan louder, tilt your head back further, the wet heat making your toes curl.
“I’m—close, please,” you gasp, hips bucking and thighs involuntarily locking Heeseung in place. He doesn’t relent, doesn’t fight back, sucks and strokes faster. Your body arches off the desk, cumming hard in his mouth. He doesn’t pull away, swallowing every wave and lapping at you until you’re trembling and fully spent.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand when he pulls back. He pauses the playing cut on your computer, the room falling into silence. “Now you know what to do with the edit?”
Still sprawled across the desk with your head spinning, you barely register his phone buzzing from the floor. “Sunghoon,” he says, picking it up. “Yeah?” You sit up, realizing the disarray of the room. “Your wallet? Hang on.” You scan the floor, pointing to a white leather wallet under Heeseung’s discarded condom. “Oops,” he grins. “Yeah, you left it here.”
“Does it have to be that coffee shop?” he repeats. “No, no. Actually, I think we’re wrapping up for today. Yeah, just buy whatever with what you have.”
He hangs up and shrugs, already buttoning his shirt. “Better move fast ‘cause he’s coming back,” he says, tossing you your pants.
You stare at him, wide-eyed. “You’re making him come back now?”
You scramble to dress as Heeseung watches you, donning an infuriating smirk like he’s already envisioning another scene with you. “Sunghoon will know what happened immediately, and he will never shut up about it. Everyone’s gonna be talking about it,” you say.
“I don’t mind,” he replies. “Just so others know our best films come from working together.” He picks up Sunghoon’s wallet and tosses it onto the desk. “You good? No pain?”
“Tolerable. All good. My personal activities kinda prepared me for this,” you confess.
Heeseung laughs, “So what did you take from this experience?”
You slightly wince at the pain as you pick up your miraculously unbroken keyboard and mouse. “Sex scenes are better if there are real organs involved?” you joke.
“No, but seriously. Did it at least clear up your mind?”
“What’s good already,” you start, pointing at the screen, “is the raw emotion in Park Jongseong and Sim Jaeyun. That’s why you had so many close-ups—droplets of sweat, goosebumps, shit like that.”
Heeseung hums, gathering the papers on the floor. “Their chemistry carried the scenes.”
“I overcut it, rushing to the payoff instead of letting the anticipation build,” you sigh, sitting down and scrolling to a different scene. It’s a static shot, the camera unmoving, no dialogue, just Jake and Jay lying in bed after having sex. The original footage was almost a minute long, but you cut it to around a quarter of its length. Looking at it now, your edit diminished the contemplation and guilt between the two friends.
“It’s technically solid, like you always do, but it’s not…” Heeseung pauses, thinking. “Visceral.”
“It’s sex and it’s usually gratuitous, but if we treat it with the same intricacy as the scenes before and after, it makes it hit harder,” you note.
“You’re really good at this, you know,” he smiles.
Your cheeks warm, but you shrug it off. “You give me good material to work with.”
“It’s enough that you caught something wrong with the edit before I even came here.”
You groan. “Can’t believe we’re back to serious work talk when you just fucked me to heaven and back.”
“We’re just professionals, I say,” Heeseung laughs. “We’ve got a film to finish—and maybe a few more scenes to figure out. Maybe a coffee shop or my place, next time?”
You meet Heeseung’s curious gaze with intrigue. “Only if you keep it to script revisions and some good food. I think we’ve got enough notes on the sex scenes.”
“No promises,” he grins. “My next film’s about the exploits of a film editor.”
author’s note: y'all would not believe that my inspiration is no doubt (okay very obvious and very normal) and a fucking podcast of filmmakers (it’s in filipino sorry) 😭
gist of it is the editor and his director were editing a sex scene together. the director said (roughly) that for a sex scene to be effective, the audience has to feel the release; then, that determines the length of the sex scene. it's censored but i think the director also physically demonstrated the "release"? like not actual sex, just made vaguely sexual gestures oasjfadaiofs
guess when i got the idea for this fic based on the upload dates oafgjaoig 🥹
top!park jongseong + top!sim jaeyun x btm!male reader
smut (pretty much pwp)
2.6k words
Worn thin by a grueling school project, you and Jake crash at Jay’s place, innocently drifting off to sleep. The stillness of the night soon warps, jolting you awake as Jay defiles you. Suddenly thrust into a threesome, you struggle between Jay’s brutality and Jake’s tenderness.
includes: uhhhhhhhhm just filthy sex between u n two college dudes, the plot’s just for foreplay like irl porn aFKOPZKDF
warning: somnophilia, !!NONCON!! (technically dubcon, it just shows up really late after the sex)
You feel suspended in nothingness, drifting in and out of a state of being awake and asleep. The air conditioner blasts through the stillness of Jay’s room, yet your skin prickles with an unnatural heat. Something breathes against you, soft and featherlight, tickling your nape to a rippling shiver down your spine. Then a heavier sensation follows, a weight pressing down across your chest.
Your back feels hot, pinned against something firm and slick—a cock, you realize with a terrifying clarity—grinding lazily against you, a warm and sticky trail sloppily leaving its stains at the small of your back.
“Ah,” a faint sound escapes you, shaky and unintended, as a hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts. Fingers hungrily roam your skin, brushing the length of your hardening dick before settling on the tip, teasing it with a slow and deliberate swipe of your leaking precum.
“Fuck,” Jay grunts, cutting through the haze. “You wake up too fast.”
You blink your eyes open to darkness, only a faint glow coming from the lampshade on Jay’s nightstand. Textbooks and legal pads sit in uneven stacks beside empty energy drinks and coffee cans, remnants of an exhausting school project just a few hours ago. You twist your head, panic rising in your chest, and you desperately move to push away the fingers squeezing your cock, but Jay’s grip is unyielding. An arm snakes around your neck, a muscled vise tightening just enough to make your breath hitch, while a leg slides over your waist, pinning you to the mattress. You’re trapped, Jay’s breath hot and minty with vape residue against your ear, growling words you can’t decipher.
“Jay,” you gasp, “what the fuck!?”
“Sorry,” he mutters, voice dripping with insincerity, “can’t hold it anymore.”
He drags your shorts down, fabric catching on your thighs, teasingly scraping your skin before sliding free, your cock twitching in the cool air. His lips find your neck, a possessive bite breaking the surface with a faint sting that could only be followed by bruise later on. He lingers, sucking hard, then nips at your jaw, before tracing a wet lick behind your ear. “Fuck,” he mutters against your skin, ragged, “you’re so perfect. So unblemished. Gonna look so good fucked raw. You want that, huh?”
You thrash against him, but Jay’s just too immovable—taller, broader, frame honed by arrogance and strength. His hands roam your body with greed, nails scratching your flesh. Every attempt to break free tightens his grip, fingers digging deeper, your skin blooming purple under his touch as your breaths come shallow.
“Don’t squirm too much,” Jay warns, thick with menace. “Jake might wake up.” He pauses, thigh shifting to press harder. “Or maybe you want that? Want him to see me split your tight ass open? Maybe he’ll want a go too,” he grunts, his hard-on rutting against your bare ass and smearing precum across your behind.
You shake your head in disbelief, the thought of Jake getting tangled in this depravity a nightmare you can’t imagine. Your blurry eyes dart across the room, searching for Jake’s shadow on a spare mattress, chest rising and falling steadily, oblivious. In this supposed overnight project session, he is the innocent third, a potential lifeline you can’t quite reach.
“Stop fighting,” Jay snaps, patience fraying. He aggressively shifts his weight, slamming you face-down into the bed. Your stomach presses into the mattress, satin sheets scraping against your skin; your erection throbs painfully with every slight movement. “You waltz in here,” he grunts, “ass begging for it in these slutty little shorts, and think I’ll just lie here beside you with my dick in my hand?”
The rumors have been lingering around you for months: Jay begging your professor to pair you for this group project, him brushing against you in the halls, a knowing smirk daring you to deny him. You had dismissed it as gossip, chalked it up to his notorious reputation. Jay always got what he wanted, consequences be damned. The sound of a bottle cap pops and the wet, sloppy noise of Jay slicking something follows, dripping onto the sheets beneath you.
“Please,” you say, having a good guess of what’s coming next. “Jay, don’t.” Your hands clutch the sheets, knuckles whitening.
“Shut up,” he snarls, and a hand comes down hard on your ass. The pain flares, sharp and immediate, making you bite your lip to stifle a scream, the metallic taste of blood spilling as it splits. But he doesn’t stop, another hit lands. Then another. Then another, each one slower and heavier as your vision blurs with tears. “Sluts like you,” he growls, “get fucked raw. Sluts like you need your pretty little holes ruined.”
Jay’s hands find your hips and he yanks you back, ass up, cock dangling humiliatingly in the cold. You feel his cock tease your hole, circling it, taunting and degrading. “Here it comes,” he coldly laughs, and then he moves, slowly at first. He stretches you in an agonizing pace, pausing to let you feel the burn, the intrusion, before slamming in hard.
It’s massive, filling you beyond any preparation, pain searing as he buries himself balls-deep in brutal thrusts. You choke on a scream, sound lodged in your throat, held back by the sheer surprise.
His cock pulses as your walls clench involuntarily. “So fucking tight,” he groans, savoring how your body adjusts to him. “Sucking me right in. Virgin, huh? Shit, you’re mine now.”
Jay thrusts deep and slow at first, bed frame creaking softly. But he picks up speed in no time, practically slamming against the wall. The slow heat bubbles beneath the pain, your cock leaking a shameful puddle onto the mattress, some pleasure sputtering in the agony despite you fighting against it. “Look at you taking it like a whore, been dreaming of this for so long.”
Fuck Jay. His vape-stink breath, his liquor-soaked arrogance, and his invincible throne. Tell anyone about this and they’d doubt you, or he’d ruin you worse. But Jake is here, you repeat to yourself. Jake, who chose to join your pair as your class was odd-numbered. Jake who’s like a golden retriever, always smiling, always energetic, time always spent on studying and nothing else. One of the very few who could stand against Jay.
Yet, to quote some, sometimes the tame ones suppress worse demons.
Jay grabs your hair in a fist, yanking your head back as his other hand delivers a sharp slap to your face. He grimly laughs as he continues pounding, tilting your head to the man stirring across the room.
Jake’s movements are sluggish as he blinks awake. His face scrunches in the dim light, confusion evident before he understands the scene before him—your ass up, Jay owning you with his fucking, air thick with sweat and sex. His eyes widen, a flicker of shock crossing his face, and he sits up, rubbing his eyes with the heel of hand as if to wake from a dream. But his hand hovers near his crotch, hesitating.
“Just gonna watch or you joining?” Jay taunts. He smacks your ass again, slamming your head back to the pillow beneath your face, muffling your cries. “C’mon, Jake,” he adds, “don’t be a pussy now. You knew this was coming.”
You hear footsteps, then a sinking weight on Jay’s bed. “Man,” Jake whispers, “I… I didn’t think it’d be like this. You sure he’s okay with it?”
Your stomach twists as the sinking realiztion dawns—Jake’s in on it? You try your hardest to keep your eyes open, desperate to understand the situation. “Jake,” you rasp, voice raw, eyes on level with Jake’s growing bulge, a wet spot darkening the front. “Please.” You don’t even know anymore if it’s a call for help or an invitation.
Jake’s hands decide to cradle your face and your eyes meet his, and for a moment he freezes, expression softening. “Shit, okay,” he mutters. “Take it off for me?” he asks, almost pleading, a sick contrast to Jay snarling behind you as he continues to fuck you relentlessly.
Your hands tremble, thighs quaking, but you reach for Jake’s sweatpants, fingers fumbling. Jake pulls your hands to his waist, a smile on his face as he helps you tug it down. His cock springs free—hairless, veins bulging faintly, shorter but thicker than Jay’s, precum beading at the tip. You inhale as you take it in your mouth, the salty taste hitting as it slides past your lips. A hand settles in your hair, combing it gently amidst the chaos.
“Good boy,” Jake murmurs as you jerk the base of his dick with your hand, drool spilling down your chin. “Wanna fuck your throat,” he says, voice sickeningly sweet. “Can I?” His eyes search yours, a last flicker of doubt lingering, but you’re too far gone to refuse, nodding slowly as Jake tightens his grip on your head.
You gag as his cock reaches the back of your throat, spit beginning to bubble at the corners of your mouth. He pauses, thumb wiping your tears so tenderly. “You’re doing so well, babe,” he soothes, as he pushes past with a slow and steady thrust. “You’re so good at this,” he heaves, hips rocking to an even rhythm that offsets Jay’s pace.
“What a fucking softie,” Jay mocks, spitting on your back and smearing it. “You love it like that, slut?” he sneers. “Say you love it, you fucking slut.”
You choke on the words, muffled by the cock lodged in your throat. “I love it,” you think you screamed, but the sound is barely heard against the moaning and groaning, the filthy squelch of you being defiled.
“Don’t listen to him,” Jake murmurs, a twisted comfort as he slides even deeper down your throat. “You’re doing this for me, yeah? My good boy.”
Jay’s brutality breaks you, yet Jake’s gentleness keeps you bound. He pauses, pulls out, but leaves his cock hanging on your tongue. He brushes a strand of hair fom your face. “You don’t hate me, do you?” he asks, waiting for an answer as you catch your breath.
“I don’t know,” you slur, only for Jay to roughly thrust forward, jolting you back into sucking Jake’s cock.
“Gonna cum, gonna fill this hole up,” Jay growls, he leans over you, chest slick with sweat against your back. His thrusts turn erratic, each one a deeper plunge. “Take it all, you slut,” he snarls, slamming in one last time to unload with a guttural groan. Thick spurts flood your ass as he grinds through it, the excess dripping down your thighs in a shameful trickle. Your body betrays you, shuddering as your cock spurts in tandem with him.
Jay pulls out, cum and lube oozing from your hole. He smacks it one last time. “Fucking mine,” he pants, collapsing beside you with a triumphant smirk.
Jake nudges Jay aside. “My turn,” he says, rolling you onto your back with a careful motion. He spreads your legs, fingers brushing your cum-filled hole as he positions himself. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, holding your gaze as he slides in. There is no resistance to be found, your body and soul already spent. “Relax,” he soothes, leaning down to kiss you on the forehead as he begins to rock into you unhurriedly.
“Jake,” you whimper. His lips graze yours, a rare intimacy that pulls your presence back in.
“I’ve got you, I’m not like Jay,” he whispers. His lips trail down your neck with soft pecks, as if trying to heal the bruises Jay left. “I know you didn’t want it this rough, but you’re so tough, taking us both like this.”
Jake leans back, hands sliding across your torso, smearing sweat and cum along the way. He ends on your cock, playing with the cum on the tip with his thumb as you squirm in oversensitivity, trying to wake it up from its limp state.
“You don’t hate me, right?” he repeats the question, manipulative eyes pleading.
“I trusted—” you start, voice cracking, but he thrusts deeper, a purposeful push to cut you off.
“I’m here to soften the blow,” he insists, tone firm as he holds your eyes. “I’m different, babe. Tell me you feel it,” he says, languidly stroking your cock to his pace.
“I… feel it,” you mutter, broken and reluctant, feeling yourself approaching another forced climax.
Jay watches from beside you, propped on an elbow, grinning as he strokes himself. “Fucked him stupid,” he laughs, “got him so hooked.” He reaches over, pinching and twisting your nipple until you gasp.
“Shut up,” you rasp, but Jake’s hand turns your face to him.
“Ignore him,” he says. “I’m better, aren’t I? Tell me.” Jake’s gentle voice doesn’t make sense in this situation. Your cock being abused, your hole dripping with cum, his cock owning you with a sweet rhythm as he chases his release—is Jake really any better?
“Please,” he adds, voice faltering, “tell me you don’t hate me for this.”
“I don’t,” you whisper.
“You’ve been such a good boy,” he groans, stroking you harder. “Gonna cum, gonna fill you up too.”
With a shuddering cry, he slams into you, his cum mixing with Jay’s, leaking out and pooling beneath you. Your body arches, a pathetic spurt of cum dribbling from you as you collapse, the room falling into a heavy, exhausted silence. The lamp flickers off, your breathing slowing down back to normal. Before you totally drift off to sleep once again, you feel a kiss to your temple.
—
It wasn’t a dream. Your ass stings with each move you make, the sheets beneath you are tangled and stiff, crusted with dried cum and sweat. Despite the bruises and scratches, your body is clean, just the ache of the night prior remaining. You’re still in Jay’s bed, naked body now pressed close to Jake, arm draped over your waist, breath hot against your neck. Jay has moved to the spare mattress, sprawled on his back, one arm flung over his face as he snores.
Jake wakes up first, a sleepy smile spreading across his face as he squints at you. “Morning, cutie,” he murmurs, voice husky.
Jay stirs next, rolling onto his side. “Fuck,” he grumbles, “too early for this shit.” His eyes find you, smirking as he takes in your disheveled and marked body. “Look at you fucked out. Too hot.”
You ease yourself up to sit against the headboard, wincing as pain shoots through your back. Jake notices, a hand reaching out to your wrist. “Take it easy, yeah?”
“I’m good,” you yawn as you stretch your arms overhead, a few bones cracking. “Almost forgot it, you know? That whole threesome thing you pitched. Figured you were too tired to bother after all the stress.” A faint smirk tugs at your lips as you glance between them.
Jay chuckles, standing with a stretch as well, bare torso flexing under the sunlight. “Well, you said you wanted to make the project fun,” he says, “said you wanted to be surprised.” He steps closer to the bed, grinning. “Breakfast? I’m starving.”
Jake pulls you closer, resting his head on your lap. He squints up at Jay and teases, “Yeah, you cook something up while we cuddle here.”
Jay snorts, “How about you clean up the mess? We’re gonna have to burn these sheets.”
“Sorry,” Jake murmurs, tracing the scratches on your thighs. “We were too rough.”
“It’s okay,” you say, patting Jake’s head. “Your puppy eyes won me then and now.”
“You’re gonna make me vomit, I swear,” Jay groans, rolling his eyes as heads for the door. “Pancakes sound good?”
You nod, leaning your head against the headboard lazily. “Greasy and sticky sweet please.”
Waking up after a party, you find yourself alone with Jaehyun, stirring unresolved feelings from a drunken kiss a year ago that shifted your once-extremely close friendship. As you deal with the aftermath of meeting him again, you remember this cycle of yearning and his inability to fully reciprocate.
includes: flashbacks (non-linear narrative?), dialogue heavy, strong implied internalized homophobia, jaehyun is a dumb and dense asshole (ngl mc here is kinda on the same boat)
A wet sensation on your eyebrow rouses you, blurry vision stirred by sunlight streaming through tacky velvet curtains. You blink your eyes open, meeting Jaehyun’s concerned gaze, a cold water bottle pressed against your forehead.
“You alright?” he gently asks, in a voice that felt too familiar and too comfortable. You nod, realizing that you were sprawled on a couch in Johnny’s living room, clothes disheveled from last night’s party. The room smells of stale alcohol and dried sweat; lucky there was no stench of vomit. Memories dart in and out your head, unlabeled images that you know would linger in your head for the following weeks.
Jaehyun settles beside you, air hanging heavy with things left untold. The warmth of his body immediately tugs you, and you can’t exactly pin if the shivers you’re suddenly having are of longing or discomfort.
“I’m talking to you,” he grumbles.
“Yeah,” you mumble, voice scratchy. “Thank you.”
You sit up a little, taking the water bottle from Jaehyun’s hand and downing it in one go. You grimace at its awful taste, plasticky from being left out in the sun too long.
“Where’s Johnny?” you ask, glancing around for the missing homeowner as you gauge the post-party wreckage.
“Brought the kids back home,” Jaehyun sighs, leaning back against the couch, a hand brushing close to your thigh. “Just you and I at the moment to clean the rest of this.” He pulls the hand away, using it to gesture around the scattered garbage in Johnny’s living room.
“What even happened?” you mutter, reveling in what only looked like the aftermath of a cyclone. Crushed cans, empty bottles, discarded plastic cups, and mysterious stains litter the carpeted floor. You chuckle. “A hurricane struck last night or something?”
“That’s what happens when friends meet again after a long while,” Jaehyun mutters. He looks at you, expression unreadable. He seems to seek some kind of intimacy, like he’s begging you to agree.
You avoid his gaze, focusing on a crushed cup near your feet. “Really?” you tease, but it comes out half-hearted.
Jaehyun shifts closer and the weight of his presence becomes heavier. There was a time when you craved moments like this, when having him by your side could burn you alive. But now, it reminds you of a dying flame, a friendship fading because you were so brave to start wanting more. The silence stretches, suffocating. You want to fill it, to say something, but what can you say at this moment?
“I miss this,” Jaehyun says, voice low but steady. He confesses, echoing a sentiment that you have begun to forget amid your own struggle. “I miss you,” he adds.
His hand finally settles on your thigh, a gesture that feels too intimate now, something you want and dread all at once. “I miss you the most,” he says, voice soft to a whisper.
A biting reply sits on the tip of your tongue, but all you could do was swallow an audible gulp. Jaehyun had a soft expression on his face, a faint smile touching his lips. The delusional part of you begs that this be a glimmer of hope, thinking that maybe, just maybe, your relationship with him could start anew, that you could go back to seeing him as just a friend and nothing more.
“I miss you too,” you admit, in a context that probably differs from Jaehyun’s. You don’t know if you mean it the way he wants you to, or the way you once wanted to. The words feel hollow.
He studies you, brows furrowing. “Yeah?”
“We’re about to graduate, Jaehyun-ah,” you reason, grasping for logic in a circumstance driven purely by emotion. “Things change. People drift apart. We can’t do dumb shit just like we used to.”
Jaehyun’s hand withdraws, just slightly, and he retreats into himself, expression still frustratingly unreadable.
“Is that really it?” he asks, stance guarded and hesitant. “We’re just… graduating? Growing up? That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?”
Of course, it’s not just that. It’s you. It’s you who was always sober enough to remember the drunken antics of your friends. It’s how Jaehyun always ended up by your side, how everyone else faded into the background as the two of you laid your hearts bare. It’s how in one drunken stupor almost a year ago, he kissed you senseless, then forgot it like the rest of his drunk confessions. And it shouldn’t have meant anything, but it meant everything to you, and it’s a downward spiral that could no longer be stopped.
—
You’ve been leaning against the kitchen counter in Taeyong’s apartment for the better part of an hour, a half-empty cup in hand, your surroundings starting to blur into techno music and shadows of bodies. Across the space was Jaehyun, sprawled on a couch, head tipped back as he laughed at something the pretty woman beside him said. He looks so beautiful—hair tousled, eyes half-lidded, one of the reasons you were so willing to be a wallflower in these parties.
You’ve known him for years, seen him grow from a lanky nerd with too-big clothes to the handsome man he’s become, sharp jawline and all that. You’d been inseparable then. He’d show up to your classes out of nowhere, leaning against the doorframe with such confidence, then whisk you away to whatever adventure he had in mind—desolate food stalls in Dongdaemun where he’d pay for everything even if he only had crumpled bills and small coins, midnight walks along the Han River with you wearing his jacket as you were always more sensitive to cold weather—every bullet point that you’d find in a list of must-dos for couples in Seoul.
Taeyong once said that Jaehyun was yours in “every way but the words” and you have long mulled over whether there was any point in finding those words. In the end, you’ve decided it’s much better to keep things the way they are—some feet away from him, watching him from a distance, and letting him draw the line himself if it ever came to that.
His eyes meet yours from across the room and his smile softens. He excuses himself and slowly strides to the opposite side of the counter. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You’re doing that thing again. People-watching.”
“It’s fun seeing everyone transform under the influence of alcohol,” you reason, tilting your cup towards Doyoung, draped over Johnny’s shoulder and giggling into his neck. “Like Doyoung turning into a clingy mess.” Then you point to Mark, who is staring at Haechan with such affection it’s almost blinding. “Or Mark here who can’t look at anyone else but Haechan.”
Jaehyun tilts his head, staring at you with curiosity, then takes your hand. “Come with me,” he says, coaxing, tugging you toward the balcony, splitting the party’s cacophony like a tide.
The air outside is less humid, cool and crisp to clear someone’s head so quickly. He doesn’t let go of your hand, pulling your hand over the railing with his. You glance at Jaehyun, waiting for him to speak first like you always do.
“How do you see me when I’m drunk, then?” he asks, his thumb tracing circles on your knuckles.
You smile, looking out at the night skyline to buy yourself some time. “Not much changes,” you admit. “Less reserved, more outgoing. You talk with a lot of people, but you always end up next to me.”
A lot of things change, more than that. It’s the way he’d stumble to you in a crowded room, him slurring your name like it was the only word he knew; the way he’d rest his head against yours as if you were his only constant. It’s the way he suddenly becomes vulnerable like this, only to forget everything he has said as the sun rises.
He chuckles, his deep voice vibrating through the cold air. “You’re always the one I look for, drunk or not,” he says, a confession you’re scared to measure.
Your chest tightens. “Yeah, well,” you mumble, deflecting, “I have to keep you from doing stupid shit.”
His hand, still holding yours, lifts to rest against his chest, your knuckles feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat. “Do you know how I see you when I’m drunk?”
“How?” you reply, already cautious of the direction he’s taking you to.
“You’re like… everything.”
You sigh. “Stop,” you warn him.
He’s said it before and you’ve seen it before. To him, you’re everything he wants and it’s devastating, because you imagine it too; but one thing never changes: it’s not you he’s after.
“You’re so pretty and so strong yet so delicate, Jaehyun spills. “I don’t want to lose you. The drunker I get, the more I realize that you’re everything I want...”
In a woman. You wanted to add.
You slip your hand away from his chest, staring at the ground instead of entertaining Jaehyun further. “You’re drunk, we should go.”
You step back, intending to go back inside, but a hand grasps on your wrist. “Tell me you don’t feel it too,” he whispers, almost a plea.
“Look,” you reply, “you can keep this up forever, but I’m a guy, Jaehyun-ah.”
He lets go, voice cracking. “So what?” he replies weakly, a response that seems more like a straining attempt to prove himself wrong rather than to convince you.
“Fine, I’ll bite,” you mutter, stepping closer. You close the distance, hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling into his jacket so you could hold onto him. “So what if I’m everything? Do something about it,” you taunt, eyebrow raised.
Jaehyun shatters the tender tension with a kiss—rough and urgent. His lips are warm and soft, tasting faintly of whiskey, but the unbridled want eclipses everything else. It’s as if he’s distilled all his unresolved confessions into this one fragile moment. His hand cradles your jaw, pulling you closer, and you melt into him, arms looping around his neck, desperate to hold onto this before it burns out. It’s real now, and you both know it’ll end in wreckage.
He reluctantly pulls back, resting his forehead against yours. “Best friends don’t usually do this, right? What are we then?”
You don’t know how to answer, because you’ve never wanted to find one. “We’re us,” you say, a non-answer, because it’s all you can give, really. You’ve been Jaehyun’s shadow, his anchor, and his everything—as he has always said. The reins are his.
He exhales, a shaky, broken sound, and his lips curve into an anguished half-smile. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “us.”
Then the balcony door slides open, Doyoung’s voice piercing like a shard of glass. “There you two are! Let me sing the two of you a song!” he laughs, oblivious.
Jaehyun stiffens, arms loosening around you. There’s the sobering expression that flickers on his face—pain, regret, a quiet resignation. “We got carried away,” he says.
You nod, stepping back, turning to follow Doyoung back inside. The kiss lingers like a bruise, and you never liked the blemishes on your skin.
—
You take a hard swallow, admitting, “I don’t know.”
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says firmly. It’s not a question.
“I’ve been busy,” you lie, the excuse sounding weak even to your own ears. You beg that Jaehyun lets it slide without digging any deeper. But of course, he doesn’t.
“Busy? Bullshit,” he repeats, voice laced with disbelief. “For a whole year? Come on, I know you better than that. You still go partying, for fuck’s sake. Just without me.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you mumble. “I just… needed space.”
Jaehyun shakes his head, frustration across his face. “That’s not it,” he grunts sharply. “You’ve been different ever since that night. The party at Taeyong’s place.”
You feel the blood drain from your face. You try to come up with anything sensible, but you end up stunned into shameful silence. Jaehyun’s not leaving without a concrete answer.
“Was that why? Because of the kiss?”
“It’s complicated—”
Jaehyun scoffs. “If it’s the kiss, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done it. I thought…” He falters, and for a moment, he looks as lost as how you feel. “I thought it didn’t mean anything.”
The truth. There’s no point in prolonging this suffocating pretense of still being close friends. Whether this breaks everything or not should no longer matter to you—it already broke long ago. Nobody knows what the fuck your relationship is.
“That’s the thing. It meant everything to me.”
He exhales, a shaky breath that carries the weight of a thousand unspoken things. A belated confession, and a sober one at that. “You like me.”
“I liked you,” you clarify, a poor attempt at dampening the wounds that you’re reopening. “But it felt wrong exploiting our friendship like that.”
Jaehyun’s eyes soften, and for a split second, you think he might say the right thing to pull you back in. But he shakes his head, looking more lost than ever. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know… I was drunk, I—I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
You try your hardest not to bitterly laugh. “You’re stupid if you really think that one fucking kiss ruined it.”
“If it hadn’t happened, it wouldn’t have hurt you this much.”
“It’s been hurting for a while,” your voice trembles. “You do it every time. Get drunk, make me feel like we’re the only people in the world, like you could love me as a lover even if I’m not a woman, then go back to pretending we’re just friends who are just a little bit too intimate.”
Jaehyun’s eyes widen in surprise, hands reaching out for yours. “No, I didn’t mean—”
“It’d be unfair for both of us, no matter how I looked at it.”
—
You sip your beer, the bitterness sharp on your tongue as you chug it all down. A year ago, Mark had been hovering near Haechan, timid and hesitating; now, they’re tangled together in the corner of the room, an official couple making out without a hint of shame giggling against each other’s lips. Doyoung’s still as clingy as ever, singing some new song directly to Johnny’s face, a grin splitting his features as he still manages to sound lke the great singer that he is. You feel Jaehyun’s presence in your peripheral vision, but he stays where he is, locked in conversation with someone else. And yet, you feel his scrutinizing gaze from far away, a gravitation that pulls you closer with each passing second.
Like every last time, Jaehyun somehow slips past everything and ends up right beside you. It’s not as seamless as it once was, no casual arm around the back, no brushing shoulders. His steps are now measured, hesitant.
“Hey,” he says cautiously, a far cry from the casual intimacy that you used to have with him.
“Hey,” you echo, grip tightening on your bottle of beer.
“You’re still doing that thing,” Jaehyun chuckles. “People-watching,” he says, nodding toward the room.
“Yeah. Mark and Haechan finally figured their shit out,” you say, voice thinner than you mean it to be. “While others…” You trail off, the implications of your thought dawning on you.
Like us.
Jaehyun’s eyes narrow, then he steps closer, a hand hovering near yours. “Dance with me?” he asks, the traces of his usual confidence nowhere to be found.
You should say no, should walk away and spare yourself from repeating the same mistake. But you can’t. You nod, setting your bottle on the counter with a clink that feels too loud and urgent, and follow him to the edge of Johnny’s makeshift dance floor. His hands settle on your waist, and you rest yours on his shoulders, keeping a careful distance. But he pulls you closer, erasing that gap, and you catch the strong stench of alcohol mixed in with his usual perfume, dizzying.
You swear you’re indulging yourself for the last time. It’s the same desperation, the grip on your waist a little too tight. You sway together but the rhythm is off, it’s clumsy, strained.
“You’ve been gone,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear. His eyes, half-lidded, lock onto yours, and there’s that same longing from a year ago—from years before that, in the quiet moments between you two.
“I’ve been around,” you sigh.
He scoffs. “You used to be my everything and now you’re just gone.”
You flinch, because he’s right. His eyes search yours, glassy and raw, and then he kisses you. It’s so slow and so gentle, begging to hold on for a little bit longer. You let him, for a moment, your hands finding their way to his hair, because you’ve missed Jaehyun too.
“I need air,” you mutter, stepping away. He doesn’t follow, like he always does—because what happened tonight will not survive tomorrow.
Johnny doesn’t question you when you come to him asking for stronger liquor.
—
Jaehyun lets his hands fall. There’s nothing left to say that could change the course of things. “I’m sorry… for everything.”
“I’m sorry,” you echo. “I couldn’t be what you want me to be.”
Because neither of you can reconcile with the truth. He looked at you like you were his future, only to be reminded that you’d never fit the shape of his dreams; likewise, you were reaching for something you’d never get from him, and the weight of it could only get so heavy before you seek some temporary relief.
A distant sound breaks the tension, the roar of an engine rumbling as Johnny pulls up the driveway. His timing couldn’t be more perfect. You take this as your cue to leave.
“I should go,” you say, getting to your feet. The disappointment in Jaehyun’s face could not be more obvious, but he masks it with a casual nod.
“Wait,” Jaehyun commands, a hand grabbing your arm to stop you from leaving yet. He stares at your arm, fingers tightening briefly. “Will I still see you around?” he asks, desperation seeping into his words.
You don’t answer anymore. Not when you can’t commit to an answer. Once you see him again, broken and reaching, you won’t be able to stop yourself from settling with whatever he gives you, just like you always used to.
author's note: this story has been sitting in my drafts since my first fic and it’s kinda sad i only got to finish it when y’know… that one dude rn ://
i was hesitating whether or not i should still post this but i decided to keep it as there’s not much going on in the fic (and so it could stop being an unfinished draft asdpvas)
lightly inspired by peach pit - tommy's party
park jongseong x male reader
fluff with very lil angst
2.3k words
Over the past year, people have come to know you as the guy who always gives flowers. You’ve used every occasion as an excuse to purchase flowers from Jay, your neighborhood florist, and each time you walked in, you always ended up with a free flower from him. As Valentine’s Day nears, you realize what flowers truly mean to him and you.
includes: flower language! (might be wrong, i’m not good with flowers myself); a call back to my other xo era-inspired fic (pls read it too if u haven’t yet :’3)
warning: n/a
You were never well-versed in the language of flowers. No special fascination, no favorite blooms nor scents growing up. But over the past year, you have come to be known as the guy who gives flowers. For friends who started new jobs, relatives who celebrated their birthdays, and even your coworker who merely complained about the blandness of her beige desk, flowers had become your go-to gift.
You first stepped into Flower Puffs on a whim, a small shop tucked into a side road with little traffic. Despite its humble appearance, its color always stood out against the dull low-rise apartments beside it. The chalkboard outside boasted seasonal arrangements and flower meanings scribbled in neat, cursive letters. It started simple: a gift for your mother on Mother’s Day.
—
Behind the counter, a young man arranges a bouquet. His sleeves were rolled up, and the veins along his arms were like vines growing on a trellis. He glances up at the sound of the bell jingling above the door. His eyes lock onto yours, lips stretching into a smile as charming as the flowers that surrounded him.
“Hey there. Mother’s Day?”
You hesitate by the entrance. His directness catches you off guard, though it makes sense—most of his clients for the day were probably here for the same reason.
“Yeah,” you nod.
“Good call,” he replies, his smile reaching to his eyes. He wipes his hands on his apron and steps around the counter. “Something classic or something unique?”
You shift on your feet, glancing at the rows of flowers neatly arranged on wooden displays. “Uh… I don’t really know flowers.”
He chuckles softly, approaching the nearest display to you. “Well, that’s what I’m here for.”
He hums as he gestures at his different floral arrangements, voice filled to the brim with enthusiasm. It’s quite captivating—the way he spoke about flowers—detailing their scientific properties, from colors to scents, then unraveling the messages they somehow conveyed without words.
He picks up some delicate stems, their green, fuzzy leaves adorned with tiny yellow flowers that spiral upward along its length. Oddly, they remind you of the herbs you use to season food. “Agrimonias mean gratitude and protection. Old legends say that if you sleep with agrimonias under your pillow, they ward off evil.”
He then picks up another few bright yellow flowers, bigger than but as slender as the agrimonias. “These hawksbeards here mean something similar—protection and contentment.”
“And some Peruvian lilies,” he says, picking up some flowers in a darker shade of yellow, with lines of purple decorating its petals. “They mean a lot of things: wealth, fortune, and devotion. If it’s for your mom, you probably want the most for her, right?”
You nod. There’s a strange intimacy in the interaction, listening to someone speak about something they’re clearly passionate about in such a quiet environment. You reach out to take the bouquet he’s begun assembling, and for a split second, your fingers brush.
He doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, his eyes flicker to your face in amusement then he steps back with a grin. He plucks a white flower from one of the nearby displays and twirls it between his fingers.
“Here,” he says, holding it out to you. “A calla lily. Consider it a welcome gift.”
“What does it mean?”
“Magnificent beauty,” he replies smoothly, “like you.”
You freeze, caught between surprise and amusement. The confidence in his delivery makes you think that this is a regular schtick he does with his customers; however, for a beat too long, you consider if he could be as genuine as the flowers that he sells.
A laugh bubbles up in your throat as you notice the board on the counter that reads Flower Puffs in colorful chalk.
“Well, thank you… Flower Puff Boy,” you finally reply.
“I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” he cackles, slapping a hand over his eyes. “But Jay would probably be better,” he corrects. “And you?”
—
It all began there, and you kept on coming back. Every occasion has become a perfect time to come visit Jay’s shop.
And each time, he gives you a flower. Even on days where you decide not to purchase anything and just pass the time at his shop, you always leave with a single flower in your hand. You keep them all, pressed in between pages of your books, tucked into vases by your windowsill, like tokens of each visit. In your mind, you’ve authored a tiny dictionary of all their meanings.
Wood sorrels for joy, when a childhood friend came to visit you in the city.
Mayflowers for perseverance, when your boss just recovered from a major surgery.
Lemon geraniums for unexpected meetings, when you welcomed a new guy in the workplace.
Then he gave you a lily of the valley for the return of happiness, because he hadn’t expected you to come back so soon.
Then milkvetches, because, as he put it, your presence softened his pains—something he didn’t explain further.
Then French marigolds for jealousy, after you mentioned to him how attractive the new guy at work was.
He didn’t seem to lie about what his flowers meant, yet you never took the time to question if the flowers really meant anything to him—to you. After all, he’s just a merchant, and you’re just a customer. Assuming otherwise would be foolish, especially when, after nearly a year of frequenting his shop, you knew nothing much other than his name and his line of work.
What do you do outside the shop? What else do you like other than flowers?
Were those even questions you could ask?
And yet, you still return. Not exactly for him, but for the giddy feeling you get when you learn something new about a flower—or so you tell yourself.
The bell rings as you step inside, and as always, the familiar florist stands behind the counter, carefully arranging a bouquet. He’s leaning over the counter, speaking with a customer—a guy around your age, donning an oversized sweater and smiling brightly. Jay notices you, glancing at you, but his attention is swiftly drawn back to the man he was talking to.
You really didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the shop is too small not to overhear everything. Turning to the wooden displays, you pretend to browse through the flowers, testing yourself on the meanings you’ve learned.
“With a love letter and everything,” the guy says.
Jay chuckles. “Sounds… romantic… Who’s the lucky guy?”
Mustards. Greenish-yellow, as in the plant with the seeds that are used to make the condiment with the same name. It meant indifference, Jay said, when you wanted to buy something for a leaving coworker who you really didn’t care about.
“No idea. The flowers had me thinking they got it from you.”
Jay hums. “Sunoo got one. Then I think Heeseung?”
Cobaeas. Large, bell-shaped, and violet. Gossip, like you tuning in more to their conversation. Who are these people that they’re mentioning?
The guy laughs. “I don’t think he swings my way. If it’s Sunoo or Heeseung, then this person probably bought it elsewhere.”
Goldenrods. So small, Jay just uses them to fill up his flower arrangements. He said they could mean precaution, but for what exactly?
“I hope you find out soon, or maybe not. Then I’ll make you a better bouquet. No secret messages though, just a delicate arrangement of flowers from your favorite florist.”
French marigolds. Jealousy. Huh.
You turn back to the couple by the counter, finding the guy chuckling and shaking his head. “I’ll take that offer when the mystery turns exhausting. But I’m pretty invested right now.”
Jay smiles at him, all easygoing and warm as usual. “Let me know how it turns out then.”
The guy waves goodbye, taking one last look at the bouquet in his hands before heading out. Jay then exhales, fingers tapping against the wood. He notices you again, now with his full attention, and grins.
“What’re you doing over there? Come tell me your excuse for visiting today. Don’t tell me it’s Lunar New Year.”
You force a chuckle, stepping closer. “Birthday of a friend. Was just testing if I remember the botanical stuff you’ve taught me.”
Jay tilts his head. He points to some oxeye daisies, petals white with a yellow center. “What do those mean?”
“Patience. Purity. The he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not flower.”
“Correct,” he replies, picking one and twirling it between his fingers. “Is this friend you’re talking about a friend-friend or…”
“Or?”
“Friends with ulterior motives,” Jay laughs. “Friends from a different dimension.”
You shake your head, chuckling. “No. A real, very existing friend.”
Jay studies you for a moment, an embarrassing warmth creeping into your face. You might make every occasion an excuse to visit Jay, but you won’t stoop so low as to invent stories about imaginary people.
“You have to stop giving out flowers on a whim like that, your friend might misinterpret,” he says.
You hesitate briefly, then you roll your eyes in realization. “I could say the same thing about you giving free flowers to all your customers.”
Jay furrows his brows. “I don’t?”
“Huh?”
A beat passes.
“I don’t give free flowers to all my customers,” Jay repeats.
“Just me then?”
If not all customers, then maybe just the ones who buy a lot. That makes sense. Definitely not just you, don’t be delusional.
“Just you, yeah.”
“Oh.”
The guy from earlier left with his bouquet and nothing else. Another beat passes. Then Jay claps his hands together.
“So! A birthday bouquet. Got flowers in mind or you want my floral magic again?”
You blankly nod, mind still reeling from what Jay has just told you. “You do your magic, I’ll watch.”
Jay begins to work, slow as he selects the first few flowers, then fingers moving more efficiently as the flower arrangement grows into something more colorful and “meaningful.” You shift your weight from foot to foot as you watch him, letting the faint snip of scissors and rustling of wrapping paper fill in the silence.
After a moment, you find yourself asking: “Do you really believe in it?”
Jay glances up, pausing from cutting a length of pink ribbon. “In what?”
“Flowers and their meanings,” you clarify.
“Well, they mean something if you want them to,” he replies, before resuming what he was doing with the ribbon, gently tying it around the bouquet. “I mean,” Jay hesitates. “Flowers are just like any other gift or gesture. They only matter as much as you let them.”
He pushes the finished bouquet towards you, giving you a warm smile. “Or maybe you just like giving beautiful people something beautiful, and that’s as valid as any other reason,” he adds. “I’ve never been good with words anyway, so I’d appreciate flowers even if they really meant nothing other than pretty, colorful things.”
You nod, smiling back in understanding. Then the words tumble out before you can think too hard about them, a joke too sincere, a humorous statement that’s been stripped of its humor. Because you’re just that good with words unlike this Flower Puff Boy.
“Would it be fraternization with the enemy if I brought you flowers for Valentine’s?”
Jay stills, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Then he catches on. “I guess I’ll give you white catchflies then. Betrayal!”
“I don’t know,” you sigh, prodding at the bouquet on the counter. “Have to check out the competition.”
Jay gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “After all the free flowers!?”
Your lips twitch. “Wasn’t exactly a fan of such a manipulative business tactic,” you joke.
He clicks his tongue in mock offence. “Guess I’ll have to stop the freebies then.”
The playful banter comes easily, but your heart stutters, thumping in your chest and wavering your voice in the process. For almost a year, you thought that Jay’s easy charm was just part of customer service. Maybe it was, but now, it definitely doesn’t feel like it.
“Valentine’s, huh?” Jay grins. “Receiving flowers on that day instead of selling them would be a change.”
You glance at the long-forgotten bouquet for your friend, your fingers idly brushing over the brown paper wrapped around the flowers.
“Actually,” you start, voice a little quieter, “could you make another bouquet for me? To pick up on a different day? Forgot something.”
Jay lifts an eyebrow. “Oh? What occasion?”
You smile, keeping it light. “Secret.”
Jay playfully narrows his eyes. “Am I gonna be jealous of another ‘friend’ of yours?”
“Should you?” you laugh, making Jay grumble in fake frustration. “I’ve got specific flowers in mind.”
“Okay, tell me what flowers you want,” he sighs. “I’ll prepare them by the date you need them.”
White chrysanthemums. Moss rosebuds. Peach blossoms. And lastly, yellow jonquils.
“Do you know what these flowers mean?” Jay slowly asks, as if he’s still processing the list of flowers you just gave him.
You nod, heat once again rushing to your face. “Do you?”
Jay shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “We might have different dictionaries. Spell it out for me, please?”
You take a moment, the words spilling as if it came from a script, though your voice shakes. “I’m not lying when I say that this is a confession. You have captivated me and I desire a return of this affection.”
“That’s quite a specific message,” Jay replies, exhaling. “Who’s it for then?”
You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of what this scene means. “You.”
Jay shakes his head, but you see the fondness in his expression. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters. “When will you be picking it up?”
“On Valentine’s, of course.”
He laughs. “I’m a florist. Wait for my reply in flowers by then.”
A sense of ease washes over you. “I’ll see you by then, Flower Puff Boy.”
Jay watches you with a smile as you turn toward the door, the familiar chime ringing once again.
For the first time, you leave the shop with no free flower to take home. And for the first time, you’re comfortable admitting that it wasn’t just the flowers that you were always looking forward to.
author's note: it’s over 2 weeks too late for valentine’s but hey i made it! would y’all believe me if i said i broke my arm a few months ago and it stalled everything for a while 😭 i hav a lot of drafts ongoing so let’s hope i don’t disappear for another few months ADF:gpzicvbpzpvo sorry for always slacking y'allllls
references: Flower language taken from the 1867 book “The illustrated language of flowers” by Mrs. L. Burke: https://archive.org/details/illustratedlang00burka
park sunghoon x male reader
light angst
1.7k words
There’s no place in your small snowy village for a promising figure skater like Sunghoon. With his family’s increased visits to the city, it comes as no surprise when they announce their plan to send him overseas for professional training. What does he want to tell his closest friend before he leaves?
includes: written with a male mc but is actually gender neutral! and a lot of things happening in rapid succession woops
warning: n/a
A thick layer of snow blankets the village, the serene winter stillness a familiar presence for most of the year. The rhythm of life in this tight-knit community is usually unhurried and undemanding, but today, everyone is out and about for the annual winter festival. In the heart of the village, next to the bonfire, a makeshift skating rink stands, where Sunghoon is one with the tunes of the tavern musicians, gliding across the ice with effortless grace.
Knowing Sunghoon since childhood, you’ve seen him outgrow the fringes of your small village. It feels like yesterday when you were kids, back when you would both slip and stumble on the ice, giggling as you kept losing your footing. But the years have certainly gone by, and his clumsy steps have now become effortlessly delicate. He’s gonna be a figure skater, he exclaimed, the first time he showed you a blade screwed into some boots that he bought in the city.
“Sunghoon-ie’s so talented, isn’t he?” you hear your mom gush, elbowing Sunghoon’s mom. “He should be competing overseas instead of indulging us here.”
The spark in Sunghoon’s eyes was always conspicuous, the way his face lit up talking about the Olympics, the applause, the medals, all that. You laughed it off then, thinking it was just some pipe dream of his; though watching him perform now, his spark seems to only grow brighter and hotter. Sunghoon is reaching for something bigger, an ambition that cannot be fulfilled in the confines of your village. He’s already a seasoned amateur champion, and with his family’s increasingly frequent travels to the city, you reckon that they’ve been meeting people who could further propel Sunghoon’s career as a budding athlete.
“We’ve been talking to some coaches in the city, actually,” Sunghoon’s mom reveals. “If all goes well, we might be sending him abroad to train for a while.”
Your mom gasps, pulling you closer to the two of them. “Has Sunghoon-ie told you about this?” she asks you.
You shake your head, making Sunghoon’s mom chuckle. “He’s too scared to say goodbye, I guess.”
As Sunghoon ends his performance and skates back to the sidelines, you meet his gaze. You silently agree with his mom. Other than his calculated movements on the ice is his calculated ambiguity recently, dodging questions on where he thinks his future lies. He gives you a tired smile, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “What y’all talking about?” he asks, huffing from exhaustion.
“Oh, I’ve told them about our plans,” Sunghoon’s mom replies.
Sunghoon’s grip on your shoulder tightens. “What plans?” he clarifies.
“You know what I’m talking about,” she waves her hand. “The offer, Sunghoon-ie.”
The warmth of the bonfire does little to ease the sudden chill brought by the winter breeze. You watch as Sunghoon’s gaze shifts between the four of you, a brief flicker of surprise before being replaced by something you can’t quite place. His grip on your shoulder loosens.
“Mom,” he searches for the right words, voice steady despite the tension. “We haven’t made any final decision yet. You shouldn’t have told them already.”
“We’re just waiting for the visa,” his mother insists, tone encouraging. “You’ve worked so hard for this. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
Your mom lightly punches Sunghoon’s arm. “Aigoo, it’s a great opportunity, Sunghoon-ie. Don’t waste it!”
Sunghoon goes back to smiling, one that you certainly know is uncomfortably strained. “It is. It is a great opportunity,” he nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the ice beneath his feet. “Can we talk later?” he whispers to you.
—
As the night seeps in, the bonfire is down to its last embers. The lively chatter has toned down to ambient noise, with families returning to their homes to clean up. You find yourself near the frozen lake with Sunghoon. The silence between you is heavy. You walk in silence, the crunch of snow beneath your boots keeping you grounded.
This was where you two used to play around in. Surrounded by a small grove of trees at the edge of the village, it seems like this is now where you two will soon separate. For a long moment, neither of you says anything, both of you taking in the landscape that used to be the background to many of your stories together.
“Congrats,” you mumble, disrupting the silence.
“I’m sorry,” Sunghoon replies, voice barely above a whisper. “I should have told you earlier.”
You shake your head in disagreement. “I get it. You’re trying to figure out how to break it to us.”
“I won’t leave,” he declares. He’s bluffing. His parents would not go this far if their plans were anything but final.
You turn your head to him in incredulity. Sunghoon’s gaze is fixed to the ice beneath his feet. “That’s a stupid choice, Sunghoon, and you know that.”
“But I’m scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Of failing everyone.”
You let out a laugh, reaching to his gloved hand and gripping it gently. “Why’d you be scared of that? We’ll always be here rooting for you. You can’t stay here felling and bucking trees with the rest of us.”
“But what if everything changes?” his voice cracks, revealing a vulnerability you’ve never seen so openly before. “What if when I come back, nothing’s the same? What if I’m not the same?”
You sigh. “Whether you stay here or not, we’ll change. But we’ll always be here to welcome you with open arms.”
Sunghoon looks up at you, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “It’s just… this place, these memories…”
He puts an arm behind your back and pulls you into an embrace. Your heart aches, the sincerity of it all making it hard to breathe. The weight of his impending departure looming over you only makes you more confused. He nestles his head on your shoulder.
“You’ll always have a place here,” you continue, “I mean, in my heart at least, you’ll always have a place.”
“Do I really?” he mumbles. You don’t reply, only tightening the embrace. “Why are you making it so hard for me to leave?” he whines.
“Why are you blaming me?” you chuckle. “I don’t want you to leave, but I also don’t want to be the reason you give up on your dream.”
“You’re not,” he raises his head and says firmly, pulling back to meet your eyes again. “You’re one of the reasons why I’m still chasing this dream. You’re a part of my dream now too, don’t you know?”
“You’re making it seem like you’re gonna wed me when you come back,” you grin.
“Oh, I will,” he replies, cupping your face in his hands. “I’ll visit here as much as I can. I’ll call you as much as I can. And when I get that gold medal, I’m running to you with a wedding ring.”
You search his face for any sign of humor or doubt, but all you see is that same determination that you’ve always admired in him. He’s serious about this confession, as much as it seems like a joke between best friends. And as you stand there, with snow falling softly around you and Sunghoon’s warm hands against your skin, you’re not against the idea.
“Then I’ll be here, waiting for you, cheering you on, no matter where you go,” you reply.
Sunghoon’s eyes light up and then, he leans in and presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet, even with your chapped lips. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.
“I’ll miss you,” he murmurs.
—
“Sunghoon Park!” the arena’s speakers echo, calling the final figure skater.
The crowd grows loud as Sunghoon steps onto the ice, expression calm and focused. This is the moment he’s been dreaming for years, after leaving his hometown and trading it for countless hours of training and perseverance. Despite his growth and maturity, you still see that young rural Sunghoon in the glint in his eyes. He is as nervous as he is excited to prove his talent on an Olympic scale.
The music starts, a jovial melody filling the arena. It’s a rendition of the village tunes, as if his performance is an homage to the youth he spent in that small town up in the mountains. Sunghoon begins his routine, immediately proving that he has become flawless. He is artistic yet mathematical, his skates carving perfect arcs into the ice. His spins are heavy and powerful, yet he goes back to floating across the ice like it’s nothing. Tears blur your vision as you clap for him, proud of what he has become.
He finishes heaving, face flushed with fatigue. But when he looks up into the stands, his eyes find yours immediately, and the smile that spreads across his face is enough to pay back the years he had spent without you.
Sunghoon lands on the top of the scoreboard, earning the gold medal. As the medal is draped around his neck, he looks so ready to leave. The national anthem plays, and as the flag is raised, he looks straight at you. As it ends, he steps down from the podium and runs straight towards you, medal still hanging around his neck and blades to his boots still attached. He reaches the barrier separating the ice from the stands and pulls a velvet box from his pocket. It seems like he hasn’t forgotten a promise from years ago.
“Come here,” he shouts, voice barely audible over the noise of the audience.
Without hesitation, you stand up and make your way down the stairs, glancing at the staff who seem more interested in the stunt than in the tons of security protocols that Sunghoon must be breaking right now. He reaches for your hand and pulls you close.
“Do you still remember?” he asks, voice loud and filled with emotion.
You nod, tears already flowing. “You said you’d win the gold and run to me with a wedding ring.”
“So will you marry me?”
“Yes, I will.”
He slips the ring onto your finger and the arena erupts to an even louder volume. His lips crash down on yours in a kiss that’s long been overdue. He then wraps his arms tightly around you, laughing.
“I’ve missed you,” he huffs, his breath misting in the cold air.
author's note: this one's for you @haocovr ! thank u for the compliments, sorry i took quite a while 🙇♂️🙇♂️
the paris olympics is over but hey! the next winter olympics will be held in italy, so that’s why my title is that. :]
Anonymous love letters land in your mailbox, signed “XOXO.” Determined to discover the author, you search for clues in every letter but you only find dead ends. After some red herrings and an erased memory, the real culprit was hidden in plain sight all along.
includes: you’re kinda dumb here n sunoo’s kinda uhh… creepy? he has superpowers? VERY VERY LOOSELY inspired by the xo mv
warning: n/a?
Like a sunflower in meadows of green and gold,
I always turn to you, my admiration yet untold.
XOXO
That’s what the scented paper in the navy blue envelope said in neat handwriting. It sat atop your mailbox, along with a small bouquet of sunflowers. The gift and the mysterious message thrilled you, but you have no idea where it came from. Perhaps it was a case of mistaken delivery?
Unable to contain the excitement, you dial Sunoo right away, knowing he’ll be as intrigued as you about romantic things like this.
“Guess what, Sunoo?” you exclaim, a mischievous lilt in your voice. “I got a love letter! And sunflowers—your favorites!”
Sunoo’s loud gasp crackles through your speakers. “Ooh? What does it say? Who sent it?”
“Hold on, let me read it to you,” you say, dramatically clearing your throat and reading the letter aloud to him. “It’s got no name on it though,” you trail off.
Sunoo hums in thought. “Sunflowers… Jay?” he suggests.
“The florist?” you echo, raising an eyebrow. “Just because of the flowers?” you ask, doubtful of the logical leaps.
“Well,” Sunoo muses, “if the bouquet didn’t come from him, then chances are the mystery person bought it from him…”
Taking Sunoo’s advice, you head to the local flower shop the next day. Tucked away on a small side road, it’s a quaint place nestled between dull low-rise apartments. The doorbell softly chimes as you come in, a wave of floral scents welcoming you. Sunlight spills through the windows, casting a warm glow on the polished wood floors. Behind the counter is the familiar florist, humming contentedly as he meticulously arranges a bouquet as usual.
“Good afternoon,” Jay greets without glancing your way. “Need anything? New flowers in season.”
You cut to the chase. “I got a bouquet of sunflowers yesterday and it made me think of you.”
Jay looks up smiling warmly, although he seems to be quite confused. “Someone gave you sunflowers? Well, they’re beautiful and they’re in season.”
You nod. “With a love letter and everything.”
You watch his reaction closely, hoping for a hint of recognition. Jay’s eyes widen, then he chuckles softly. “Sounds… romantic,” he comments, pausing. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
You shake your head. “No idea,” you admit. “The flowers had me thinking they got it from you.”
Jay tilts his head, thinking of his most recent clients. “Sunoo got one. Then I think Heeseung?”
“Heeseung?” you ask, curious how the rugged leather-clad motorbike enthusiast found a reason to visit such a flower shop.
“Said he’s getting ‘em to cheer someone up,” Jay adds. “Maybe it’s him?”
You laugh. “I don’t think he swings my way. If it’s Sunoo or Heeseung, then this person probably bought it elsewhere.”
“I hope you find out soon,” he butts in. “Or maybe not. Then I’ll make you a better bouquet. No secret messages though, just a delicate arrangement of flowers from your favorite florist.”
As you come home to the sunset, you sit at your kitchen table, eyes drawn to the sunflowers that you’ve potted by the windowsill. Their bright yellow petals seemed to glow against the fading daylight. You send Sunoo a message, updating him about what you found out from Jay, but he doesn’t reply.
You then read through the letter again, your finger tracing the ink as if it would help you recognize the handwriting any better. It felt vaguely familiar, with lines and curves you’ve seen elsewhere, but you can’t pin its author.
—
A few days later, another navy blue envelope greets you, this time with a pair of leather gloves. The letter reads:
Under the starry night let's ride,
Where our hearts could race side by side.
XOXO
A single name immediately flashes through your mind: Heeseung. You suddenly recall your shared adventures of racing through empty streets on your motorcycles late at night. It has been a few years since he introduced you to the rush of it all. But his mixed reputation has always drawn him as a ladies’ man, it was a very long shot that Heeseung is the suspect you’ve been looking for.
The sun is setting as you pull up to his garage later in the afternoon. He’s hunched over his bike, recklessly tinkering with it. His trademark leather jacket is absent and lousily hanging on a nearby hook, leaving him in a tight white shirt covered in grime. The sharp smell of grease and gasoline is a stark contrast to Jay’s flower shop, yet Heeseung looked surprisingly clean. Heeseung looks up as you approach, his eyes lighting up in recognition.
“Ayo!” he greets, wiping his hands on his shirt. “Long time no see. Out tonight?”
“Nah. Just missed you,” you smirk.
“Hm?” Heeseung raises an eyebrow, suspicious of you. “Some shit’s up. My gut says so.”
You hold your hands up. “Got new gloves from a secret admirer,” you proudly announce, showing them off. You study his expression as you did with Jay the previous day, scanning for any hints of shock.
“Attaboy!” he exclaims, leaning on his workbench. “I wish my girl would surprise me like that for a change,” he huffs.
You pause. “Girl?” you ask, not that surprised to finally confirm that it isn’t Heeseung.
“Yeah, been seeing this girl for a while,” he explains. “Been giving her all she wants—flowers, dates, whatever. Not my style, but I kinda wanna make this one last. Settle down, y’know?”
“Good for you, you’ve got a girl. I don’t even know who’s sending me these love letters,” you lament. You proceed to recount the past few days to Heeseung: the envelopes on your mailbox, the poetic messages inside, and the oddly familiar gifts. He listens with a mix of genuine amusement and secondhand embarrassment.
“Poems and gifts!?” he reacts, stunned. “That’s a hopeless romantic, man. Someone real young.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Like who?”
Heeseung grins. “Ni-ki?”
You laugh. “Ni-ki? That kid’s barely out his diapers!”
He shrugs. “You never know. Kids these days grow up too fast.”
You leave Heeseung’s garage still puzzled on who the secret admirer is. Before leaving, you promise to race him again soon, by then with your significant others as passengers. Now you lie in bed, one hand wearing the leather glove, playing with your fist as you continue to wonder who could be behind this stunt.
The mystery weighs on your mind, and you decide it’s time to update Sunoo. Picking up your phone, you dial his number and listen to the familiar ring.
“Hey!” Sunoo answers cheerily after the third ring. “What’s up?”
“It’s not Jay and it’s not Heeseung,” you begin, voice tinged with frustration. “Now, Heeseung’s pointing to Ni-ki.”
Sunoo hums. “What if this person’s totally unrelated to the notes… Like they’re intentionally misleading you?”
You pause in thought.
—
A week passes by and a third letter arrives, with two paper rings delicately interlinked together in a chain. It says:
Slow your pace, no need to chase,
Soon enough you'll meet my familiar face.
XOXO
The message is quite clear: this is someone who is close to you. As you stand there outside, staring at the letter, you hear a voice call out your name. You turn to see Jake, your neighbor, holding a slice of bread and a copy of the daily newspaper.
“Another love letter?” he asks with a playful grin.
Your heart pounds. “How’d you know?”
“It was obvious from the flowers,” he yawns, stretching lazily. “Who’s it from?”
You hand the envelope to him, and he reads it over, chuckling. “No name, huh? Kinda creepy, not gonna lie.”
“It’s cute and wholesome,” you argue, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Any idea who it might be?”
Jake’s smile widens. “I’m an early riser, you know… Might’ve spotted someone familiar delivering these.” He takes a bite of his bread and mumbles, “But it wouldn’t be fair for me to expose them right now. They’ll reveal themselves in their own time.”
“Come on, Jake,” you plead, “just a hint?”
He shakes his head, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Nope.”
You sigh. “I’m gonna assume it’s you,” you tease him, poking his arm.
“If it’s gonna be me, I’d go straight to the real expensive rings,” he laughs. “I can tell you this much: they’re always carrying around this mask. And their hair is…”
“Their hair is what?”
Jake pauses dramatically as he finishes his bread, brushing the crumbs off his pajamas. “I’ll tell you about it if you get another letter.”
With that, Jake waves you goodbye and heads back to his home, leaving you with more questions than answers. As you stand on your porch, processing Jake’s hint, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out and see Sunghoon’s name flashing on the screen.
“Hey, Sunghoon,” you answer.
His calm and collected voice greets you. “Could you meet me at the train station tomorrow?”
Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Why? What’s going on?”
“Just come,” he repeats, tone firm. “I have something to tell you.”
He abruptly ends the call before you could even respond, leaving you staring at your phone in bewilderment. He simply texts you a meeting place and time, and a brief apology for hanging up so quickly. You send Sunoo a text about the odd event, only to be stunned by him calling you almost immediately.
“Don’t go,” he says, uncharacteristically serious.
“Why not?” you ask, puzzled.
“I just… have a bad feeling about it. Don’t you think it’s suspicious? Like a drug deal or something.”
“Another envelope came in today. Then Sunghoon says he’s got something to tell me. What if it’s him?”
“You should stop trying to find out who it is,” Sunoo grumbles. “It’s really dumb.”
“Weren’t you so interested at first?” you protest. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line before he speaks again. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Please don’t go. Trust me on this.”
With your curiosity fueled by Sunoo’s sudden apprehension, you decide to ignore his warning and head to the train station the next day.
—
The sky is heavy with gray clouds, and the nightwind is unusually cold. You realize it was a poor choice for you to walk outside with no umbrella. Some blocks away from the station, the first drops of rain begin to fall, quickly turning into a cloudburst. You curse under your breath, seeking refuge under the awning of a convenience store.
The rain roughly hits the concrete pavement, the chill seeping through your clothes. You begin to consider cancelling your meeting with Sunghoon, watching the bustling city slowly devolve into a muted gloom.
Just then, you see Jungwon approaching, an umbrella in hand. He spots you and rushes over, pace quickening to avoid getting too wet himself.
“Hey! Waiting for the rain to pass?”
“Yep, forgot my umbrella,” you sigh. “Where’re you going?”
“To the station, seeing my parents back home.”
“I’m going there too,” you reply, glancing at Jungwon’s umbrella that could definitely fit two people.
“Wanna share this with me?” he says with a kind smile, waggling his umbrella.
“Thank you, Jungwon,” you smile.
Grateful for his thoughtfulness, you ask him to come with you inside the store, buying popsicles for the both of you.
“Popsicles in the cold,” Jungwon laughs. “Makes sense.”
“Didn’t your parents tell you that you beat cold with cold?” you reply, making him laugh louder.
You huddle under his umbrella, making small talk as you walk together. The rain remains strong, but Jungwon’s presence brings some comfortable warmth.
As you reach the train station, you thank Jungwon again. He hesitates, looking as if he has something important to say. Despite the downpour outside, the station is busy, with people catching the last trains, announcements of delayed departures and chatter filling the air.
“Actually, there’s something I wanted to tell you,” he starts, cheeks slightly blushing. “I’ve been meaning to—”
Before he can finish, Sunghoon’s presence interrupts him. “You came,” he gently calls out, eyes shifting between you and Jungwon.
Jungwon’s expression shifts to a sour one, but he maintains a polite smile. “I’ll tell you next time,” he says quietly to you, handing you his umbrella before walking away. “I’ll see you around. You too, Sunghoon.”
Jungwon promptly leaves, guilt gnawing at your gut for some reason. You shout after him, “Your umbrella!” but he’s already gone. Turning to Sunghoon, you find him staring straight at you.
“So, what did you wanna talk about?” you ask, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts of Jungwon.
“I thought you’d cancel. It’s raining hard,” Sunghoon says, concerned. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to you. “Wipe yourself off, you might catch a cold.”
As you wipe off some droplets of rain on your arm, you repeat, “Tell me why you wanted me to come here.”
Sunghoon takes a deep breath. “I’m moving away tonight,” he begins in his earnest voice. “And before I leave, I want to tell you that… I like you.”
You blink once. Suddenly, your vision dissolves into a hazy blur. Sunghoon seems to be saying something but you only hear incoherent noise. Then all you see is pitch black.
—
Today the third letter lands in your mailbox, along with an eccentric kitsune mask. It says:
My immature guise holds a power sublime,
A single blink could alter our destined time.
XOXO
This one perplexes you, a poem you cannot comprehend and a gift you cannot link to anyone you know. Could the sender just be an insane stalker? As you stand there outside, staring at the letter, you hear a voice call out your name. You turn to see Jake, your neighbor, holding a slice of bread and a copy of the daily newspaper.
“Another love letter?”
“How’d you know?”
“The bouquet,” he yawns. “Who’s it?”
You hand the envelope to him, and he reads it over, grumbling. “That’s too much for my morning brain.”
“Any idea who it might be?” you ask.
Jake’s smile widens. “I’m an early riser, you know… Might’ve spotted someone familiar delivering these.” He takes a bite of his bread and mumbles, “But it wouldn’t be fair for me to expose them right now.”
“Come on, Jake,” you plead, “just a hint?”
Jake pauses. “I can tell you this much: they’re always carrying around this mask. And their hair is blonde.”
“As in this mask?” you ask, raising the mask that came along with today’s love letter.
“Yep,” he nods. “I think that’s more than enough for you to guess correctly.”
Jake waves you goodbye and shuts his door on you. As you stand on your porch, processing his hint to the list of people you know, you hear another voice calling for you. It’s Ni-ki, the kid Heeseung told you about.
You turn to see Ni-ki, looking serious as he steps out of his car.
“Let’s go to Sunoo’s right now,” he says in a commanding tone.
“Why? What’s going on?” you reply, confused with what Ni-ki was trying to do.
“He’s been acting strange lately,” he says. “I think he’s hiding something.”
He grabs your hand to pull you away, noticing the mask you are holding.
“Holy shit!” he exclaims. “That’s exactly the one he was wearing. I knew Sunoo got into a cult—”
“What cult?”
“Hurry up!” Ni-ki tugs at your hand, leading you back to his car.
As Ni-ki pulls away, he glances at you with worried eyes. “I just wanted to surprise him with a visit. But he was going out, and he was wearing that mask.”
You carefully inspect the mask. “What do you think this means?”
Ni-ki sighs, grip tightening on the steering wheel. “I shouldn’t have followed him. He went to your place so early in the morning then left something. Then he did it again. And again.”
The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Sunoo was behind the love letters. You feel shocked, confused, and relieved all at the same time.
You arrive at Sunoo’s house and catch him sneaking back, hooded, holding a kitsune mask that is perfectly identical to yours. Your heart races as the pieces finally fall into place. You rush out of Ni-ki’s car, ignoring his pleas. “What if he casts some curse on you?” he hisses quietly.
“Sunoo!” you shout.
He turns, visibly startled before he musters up a fake smile. “Hey, it’s so early! What brings you to my humble abode?” he awkwardly greets you.
You hold up the latest letter and the mask. “We need to talk.”
Sunoo’s smile falters, spotting Ni-ki’s car behind you. “Ni-ki brought you here?”
“Don’t change the topic,” you grunt, pulling Sunoo inside his home.
The tension in Sunoo’s living room is palpable. Sunoo’s eyes are fixed on his carpet, feet shifting left and right like a child who’s about to be reprimanded.
“Sunoo,” you begin, “I need you to be honest with me. Are you the one who’s been sending me the letters?”
He hesitates for a moment, then nods slowly. “Yes, it’s been me all along.”
You press a finger to your temple and breathe deeply. “Are you making fun of me, Sunoo? Did my enthusiasm satisfy you—”
“It’s not a joke!” Sunoo cuts you off. He meets your eyes, vulnerable. “I didn’t know how to confess, so I came up with all of this. I got a lot more letters prepared but things just went awry.”
You place your mask on his coffee table and pull him into a tight embrace. “You didn’t have to be scared. I’m open to receiving a lot more letters, Sunoo.”
Sunoo chuckles, a bit sheepish. “Although I do admit I enjoyed watching you figure out who I was through our friends.”
You shake your head, smiling. “You really are something else.” You step back, looking at the matching masks that you and Sunoo now have.
“So the sunflowers were because they’re your favorites?” you ask. He nods, a warm grin spreading across his face like the bright petals of a sunflower.
“And the gloves because…?”
“I wanna go on rides with you,” he replies. You nod, imagining Sunoo hugging you from behind as you drive through the city under the night sky.
“And the mask…?”
“That’s a long story,” he replies, voice dropping to a low, enigmatic tone. “You want more letters, right?”
You smile. “I will gladly be your audience. Show me.”
He grabs his mask and slowly puts it on. “I think you should blink first.”
You blink, and immediately your head rings. Your vision blurs, and then everything goes black.
author’s note: i wanted to keep this one very cute and wholesome but i think i just made a horror story AJSFODJZXICVHUOHVBOUAEHRTB
HIII im not really the type to leave comments but when i read ur heeseung fic I JUST HAAADDD to tell u how GOODD IT ISSS i LOVEEE IT SO MUCH ‼️‼️‼️ it feels so real i love everything about the fic 😭 thank u soo so so much for writing, i hope u continue writing joyfully and oh im sure gonna wait for more fics from u hehe 🩶
