bf!sunghoon × fem!reader.⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⠀⠀⠀⠀where love pours out of an extra-emotional and extra-clingy sunghoon when he realizes just how far you'd go to take care of him, and how lucky he is to have you by his side when his body has given up.
CONTAINS ➤ 5.1k+ words. smut. downbad!hoon & bf!hoon aka: E404!sunghoon. college!au. domestic fluff. established relationship. jayke cameo. tiny bit of comedy. angst if ur a pussy. sunghoon is just very sick and very soft and very sensitive (in more ways than one). he's absolute babie. pet names. needy&subby!sunghoon. handjob. (m–rec.) marking. edging, kind of. slight overstimulation. requested here. not proofread.
➤ MAIN MASTERLIST. ┆ EPILOGUE MASTERLIST.
𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨.ᐟ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 ♡
to everyone else, sunghoon was a pillar of strength—literally and figuratively. he's tall, built like a god damn tank, always present, and always reliable.
so when it came time to prepare for your university's founding anniversary celebration, the student bodies didn't hesitate asking him help to set up the main stages.
from delivering big props for different departments to holding the heavy pole steady while other guys marked where the portable stage lights should be placed, if any hard work or heavy lifting had to be done, sunghoon was their guy.
he worked tirelessly that week, not getting rest even during the day of the anniversary itself because he was also tasked with taking photos of the event along with the rest of the photography club.
so instead of roaming around the wide university plaza with his girlfriend and your shared group of friends, sunghoon exhausted himself by running to different booths, back and forth to the main stage in hopes of getting proper shots—all without a single complaint.
the blistering heat of the sun, the lack of rest from nights he spent awake trying to get his academic responsibilities done, on top of the the extra-curricular activities he'd been burdened with naturally took a toll on him.
he woke up one morning and just couldn't find any strength to move.
his sinuses were clogged. pain throbbed in the sides of his head like a firm ball constantly being bounced against the walls of his skull. being in a thin shirt felt too warm, too stuffy. even lifting a finger was far too heavy to carry than the weighted disks he used to bench.
days bled, one into the other.
sunghoon had lost his concept of time, and he didn't bother checking his clock anymore. all he knew was he'd open his eye to see jake leaving him his medicine for the night, and after a blink, they'd be greeting him goodbye to head to uni with sunlight peaking from behind his blackout curtains.
the only constant, the only string to reality he had left in his current state was you.
from: pengoo. 🐧 — angel anglelleee
from: pengoo. 🐧 — show me ur pretty fa
from: pengoo. 🐧 — face
from: pengoo. 🐧 — pls pls pretty pleseas
from: pengoo. 🐧 — please* :(
from: pengoo. 🐧 — imy and everything hurts
from: pengoo. 🐧 — a picture of you would heal me rn. i know it will.
sunghoon's texts come back to back, making several dings in your quiet apartment.
he's been sick for four days now, and though you've offered multiple times to come visit him, he's always turned you down sternly, too afraid of infecting you with whatever plague he had.
but he's still sunghoon: persistent and just a little more clingy and emotional when he's sick like this. which is why he wanted—no, needed—to have you on facetime as much as possible.
"no," he said, compressed tissues stuffed up his nostrils. you could hear each breath he took clearly through the speaker, each heavy and labored exhales rasping through the bottom of your phone.
despite the graininess of the video call, you could still see the faint-blue tint of his stubbles—shadows of his unmaintained beard that made his sickly complexion somehow look sharper, the blood-shot eyes that were fighting to stay open just so he could look at you despite the obvious signs of exhaustion.
it was a sad, sad sight. and the bags under his eyes from his lack of proper sleep completed the miserable visage, enough to effectively crumple your heart to pieces.
you barrage him with one worried question after the other. "are you sure, love? you look like you haven't been sleeping well. are you eating? are the boys making sure you're taking your medicine at the right time?"
"'m fine, angel.. jus.. need to hear ya say.. that you love me." sunghoon reasoned with pauses to breathe after every word his mouth slurred.
"i love you, hoonie. now go take a rest, please? you won't get better if you keep fighting your body."
"n–no.." his thick eyebrows drew together, the screen shaking a bit as he repositioned himself to sit up. he leaned his back against stacked pillows, forcing his eyes to gain clarity just for a moment so he could properly see at you. "say it again for me. please."
"i love you."
he hummed, a weak, dopey smile tugging upward on his lips. "i love you too, angel.. tell me what happened today."
you kept talking to him about random things that happened in uni while doing your homework and his body slowly shifted lower and lower while listening as intently as he could until he was lying back down on the bed.
after two hours of yapping your heart out, you turned to your camera and noticed that sunghoon was already asleep.
his hand was surprisingly steady as it held his phone to his face, like he wanted to keep talking to you despite being so deep in his subconscious already.
you couldn't bring yourself to end the call so you also laid in bed, adoring every little sleepy grunt and quiet whispers of your name as you watched sunghoon dream of you.
you raise your hand, knocking your knuckles once against the familiar door.
it opens quietly with a surprised jay and jake (or two j, as you affectionately like to call them) meeting you on the other side.
you press an index finger to your mouth, slowly stepping inside. "where's sunghoon?" you whisper, taking your shoes off as quietly as you can while jay saunters over to their kitchen with the big bag you brought along with you.
"he's in his room. sicko never really went out today other than to shower."
"yeah, and we tried to get him to eat but the most he'd swallow is like.. three spoons of rice." jake whispered from your side, anxiously looking over at sunghoon's door.
you let out a small sigh and followed to their kitchen, shooting jay a grateful smile as he proactively heated up the soup you'd made for your boyfriend.
"this is too much for him, you know." jay starts.
you take out three big bowls from their cupboard, shrugging. "i made enough for the three of you."
jake watches jay scoop out a portion for the both of them, lips parted at the mouthwatering visual. "i'm not gonna hold you, Y/N—this looks fire as hell. and i'm thankful i get to reap the benefits of sunghoon having an amazing girlfriend… but why? we've been eating just fine."
you move around their kitchen with ease, already familiar with the layout and location of the utensils you need to make a tray for sunghoon. "consider it an appreciation gift. i just assumed it wasn't easy taking care of the guy. i heard him snapping at you over facetime the other night, you know."
jake nods with a hand over his chest, sighing dramatically. "god forbid a guy asks his best friend to make legos."
"he never agreed to do that when you asked him while he was mentally sound. did you think he'd agree to it when he was sick?"
"i thought he might be more open to the idea of spending quality time with me!"
jay snorts. "the only person he's been whining to have quality time with is her so maybe let it go."
he takes out sunghoon's routine medicine and slips them to the side of the tray while you scoop out a more generous portion of the soup into a bowl, even neatly garnishing it with a proud smile on your face.
"go have dinner, you two. i'll take over taking care of hoon now."
you slip inside his room quiet as a mouse.
your boyfriend had his back turned to the door, black tshirt stretching across the expanse of his shoulders. he's curled into a fetal position, blanket tucked under his arm with one of his legs sticking out of the thick material as his body purposelessly searches for both warmth and coldness at the same time.
you take a small step forward and it makes a creak, causing sunghoon to shift slightly.
his tired voice echos out, grumpy because you've been indirectly ignoring his calls and texts all afternoon. "go away, jake. i told you i didn't want to play with your stupid fucking legos."
"now that's not a nice way to talk to jake, is it? no wonder he's sad."
sunghoon's eye widens at the sound of your voice and he sits up in a split second before clutching his head as the sharp, electric pain shoots up to his temple just as quickly.
he's convinced what he heard has been a hallucination. that he's been too sick from both missing his girlfriend and whatever was contaminating his system.
"a–angel?" sunghoon calls out tentatively, eyes screwed shut in pain.
you walk to the side of the bed, laying the tray down gently on the floor before wrapping your arms around his hunched figure. despite his decreased ability to smell, he was able to pick up a faint scent of your perfume and that was enough for him to be put at ease.
"god.. why did you go here? i— i told you not to come. you're going to get s–sick too." sunghoon sniffled.
your palm cradles his flushed cheeks, your lips parting at just how warm he was. "the boys told me your fever wasn't going down quickly enough and that you weren't eating. i was worried, hoonie."
sunghoon's eyes remain shut as he chased after the softness of your hand, his own coming up to keep it close to his face. "mm.. i just didn't have the appetite. and i missed my girlfriend too much to worry about eating."
"that's exactly why you're still sick."
"so don't nag me when i'm already sick."
"i'll nag you whenever i want, park. especially when you blindly push your body to the limit." you mutter, pulling your hand away and guiding him to sit up against the headboard. you cross your arms over your chest. "i told you to say no to those pesky student officers didn't i?"
"they needed help, angel." he argued weakly.
"yeah, and they were also taking advantage of your kindness." you huffed through your nose, shooting him a frustrated glare. "never do that again. never. you hear me?"
sunghoon flinches and nods his head slowly, eyes downturned as he sniffs once. then his voice comes out smaller, more unsure. "a.. a–are you mad at me?"
"i'm—" you bite your lip, regretting the pointedness of your tone as you watch guilt wash over sunghoon's tired face. you take a deep breath in, urging yourself to calm down before talking softer. "i'm not, hoonie.. i'm sorry. i've just been.. worried sick about you. i don't want you putting yourself through this kind of pain again."
he just nods, lips forming into a pout as he silently opens his arms. "if you're not mad.. then hug me. please?"
he requests it in such a tiny, soft voice that you can't help but wrap your arms around him, letting him press his nose against your shoulder while you rub soothing circles on his back, whispering quiet apologies against his hair.
"i'm sorry, baby. i'm sorry. i won't do it again." you soothe him until he's the one peeling himself off of you.
"it's okay.. i kinda deserved it. i just wanted to be helpful."
"i know you did. but now you're sick and you have to take care of yourself." it's then that you pick up the tray from the floor, balancing it atop your crossed legs before showing it to sunghoon. "and that starts by eating something proper."
"you.. made this? for me?" sunghoon's eyes twinkle as he looks at the soup and spread of side dishes on the tray.
"mhm. asked my mom for a recipe. it took a couple of days and even more tries than that but.. it's all worth it." your smile is wide and proud as you take a spoonful of soup, a hand cupped under it while guiding it to sunghoon's parted lips. "say ahhhh."
he takes it all and you continue to beam as his smile widens as well.
you continue to carefully feed him despite him stubbornly arguing he could do it himself. he relents and parts his lips weakly, and you wipe the corner of his lips with your thumb, making small talk to keep him entertained.
he just listens to you animatedly rant about the small errors that happened in your cooking attempts, still silent as he usually is. but the small smile on his lips, no matter how weak, lets you know that sunghoon is savoring every drop of extra attention he could have from you.
you turn your back to him for one second to grab some tissues and the next thing you know, he's hanging his head again, sniffling and roughly wiping tears with the back of his hand while he chews.
the soup is delicious, sunghoon thinks.
he couldn't taste much—considering his current state—but he knows its well-seasoned. he imagines how tired you must have been to be doing all that work after class, how desperate you were to call your mom just so you could make something for your sick boyfriend.
every chew of the soft chicken made him feel cozy, fuzzy, akin to the feeling he got whenever he slipped under the sheets after a long, tiring day. and the fact that he could taste the time and effort you put into it warms sunghoon's body from the inside out.
for a very brief moment, all the pain he's feeling is gone, replaced with the overwhelming, borderline-suffocating love and gratefulness he has in his heart that it just all pours out of him in the form of a stifled sob.
you watch him blindly reach out to you and you hurriedly put the finished tray back down before sighing.
"oh, my pengoo.." you hold his hand, brushing his hair back with the other before wiping his tears.
his glassy eyes stare at you and it tells you everything you need to know.
he doesn't need to explain further, because you've also grown familiar to that feeling. because you've felt it multiple times from how much sunghoon has taken good care of you as well. seeing him cry happy tears is enough to make your eyes water too.
"i love you. i— i'm sorry. i don't know why i'm c–crying… i just love you so much—" he says in between sobs, wetting your shoulder with his tears as you take him into your arms again. "i fucking love you, angel. i'm g–grateful for you. i'm grateful for the world because it led me back to you. thank you, thank you, i don't know how else to say it—"
"shhh. i love you too. and i'm lucky to be the one who gets to see you and take care of you like this." you whisper, kissing the side of his head, lips grazing the shell of his ear each time you spoke.
sunghoon only sobbed harder, muscular arms wrapping tighter around your waist to get you impossibly closer to him. he kept muffling sweet professions of love against your skin. how he can't believe you'd put in this much effort for him, and how he's definitely going to prove to you he deserved being taken care of like this once he's all better.
"the fact that you love me, and that i love you, is enough to prove you deserve this and more, pengoo. but if you want to do that, you have to drink your medicine now. the sooner you get better, the sooner you can take care of me too, right?"
you hated that you were taking advantage of his vulnerable state, but you knew sunghoon—who was an avid hater of taking any sort of bitter supplements—would only accept it right now so you quickly pushed him a glass of water with one hand, the other holding three medicinal tablets atop your open palm.
he took it all without question, adam's apple slowly bobbing as he swallowed the medicine with a slight grimace on his pretty face. you smiled proudly and whispered praises, patting his head.
it was enough to make sunghoon cry again, arms instinctively reaching out for you like a child.
"you did so good, pengoo. so so good. i know you'll get better soon. i love you, mkay? i love you."
you held him close and kept whispering the same words over and over while running your hand through sunghoon's hair until his tears turned into sniffles. until the sniffles turned into quiet peace. he probably got drowsy after eating and crying so much that he just passed out in your arms.
you wanted to move, but you couldn't risk interrupting what was probably the most meaningful sleep he's been able to get thus far, so you just gently scoot down until you're both properly lying down.
you gently position sunghoon's head until it's laid on your chest, and you hear him whine sleepily. he looked for you even in his slumber, whispering your name quietly, built arms coiling around your waist like he was scared you'd vanish if he didn't hold you tight enough.
you just laughed and combed your fingers through his jet black hair, giving his forehead a kiss until his breathing evened out.
sunghoon's eyes fluttered open slowly to a pillow replacing the spot he knows you should've been in.
his head isn't too foggy anymore. there's no constant dull pulsing behind his eyes, and he could breathe so much better now. still, his body refused to move the way he wanted to. still sluggish, like his muscles couldn't catch up to the orders his brain was making.
he was starting to worry that everything had been a very happy dream, something his brain compensated him with in return for all the sleepless night full of agony he went through.
but he still tastes the broth in his mouth, and when he touched his forehead, he could feel a cooling pad there. something neither of his bestfriends would be smart enough to give him.
"angel?" he calls out.
he hears a pattering of footsteps to his room before you come in with that soft smile you always seem to wear around him. "hoonie, you're up. feeling better yet, big boy?"
you sit on the edge of the bed and sunghoon shivers when he feels the back of your hand press against his neck. "mhm.. why are your hands so cold?"
"one, i just finished washed the dishes. and two, because you're still warm. more stable than you were a while ago but i think you still need to rest some more." you settle on the bed next to him, pulling out his laptop from under his pillow. "you wanna watch a movie?"
the laptop is in front of sunghoon's spread legs with yours outside of his. you would normally be the one in front with your back pressed against his chest but you wanted to indulge his need to be as close to you as possible so you decided to flip the roles. just for tonight.
his bigger frame wasn't too much of an obstruction but you definitely had to lean to the side if you wanted a better view of the screen. and yes, the way the both of you were positioned like right now was a little embarrassing, and if anyone walked in, they'd probably laugh at how much of a baby sunghoon looked like leaning against your smaller figure.
you didn't care though, and neither did he.
it felt good being the little spoon. your arms were wrapped around his waist, and your chin was hooked on his shoulder. that's all he could ever ask for right now.
both of you watch the movie, just basking in the familiar routine. sunghoon would grunt under his breath if he ever felt your hand leaving his, snatching your wrist back until your fingers locked together again.
"you're extra clingy." you murmur, tip of your nose brushing against his nape.
sunghoon huffed. "and you're extra annoying when you don't allow me to bask in my girlfriend's touch when you know i've been deprived of it for nearly a week."
you steal a kiss on the rough skin of his jaw, grinning before shooting him the million dollar question: "then would you let me kiss you?"
sunghoon's taken back, and he sputters for an answer for the first few seconds before settling with a quiet no while shaking his head.
"why not?"
he blinks a few times, fiddling with his thumb before he clears his throat. "because i'm sick! and then you'll get sick, angel. you know i'd.. n–never turn that down—but not when i'm risking your health. i can't be as selfish as that."
you're persistent, breaking down his resolve by pressing your chest further against his back. "but i want a kiss right now, hoonie."
heat creeps up his neck, and while he's very fucking tempted to just throw it all out the window, the hypothetical image of you miserably lying in bed and drowning in cold sweat just like he had been was enough to make him reject the idea.
but even though his mouth says one thing, his body is saying another.
it knew how much he'd been craving for you. the image of kissing you, the way you sound when you're breathless and still asking for more—it was more than enough to get blood rushing to his cock. your breathy pleading so close against his ear and your cool fingertips running up and down his stomach weren't helping either.
your eyes catch the tiny bulge forming under his pajamas and you muffle your laughter against his jaw. "okay, no kisses on the lips," you concede. "but let me take care of you. of that."
his eyes widen, big palms attempting to cover the evidence of his arousal but it was too late. "i can just—"
the protest died in his throat as you slowly trail open-mouthed kisses down the sharp curve of his jaw.
he tried to ignore it. sunghoon willed himself to keep his eyes focused on the laptop's screen instead of the your lips brushing featherlight against his nape. instead of the cold sensation of your fingers pushing up his shirt and tracing the faint indented lines of his abs.
"it's okay. i just want to make my hoonie feel better. this feels good doesn't it?"
"ye—yeah." his voice broke when you move his hand away, pressing you palm against his bulge and rubbing it further against the cotton of his pajama pants. you push it down until his cock is revealed, making sunghoon hiss as the cool air of the room kisses the firmness of his already-damp cock. "fuck…"
you continue to trace lazy shapes on his hips while you held the base of his cock, giving it a few squeezes, slow stroking his thick, meaty cock until it grew even harder.
no wonder your soft boyfriend turned into a different man in bed.
having this much power and control over him, seeing him pathetically chase after your hand was seriously addicting. and hearing the low, breathy whines of your name as he begged for more only pushed you further into the intoxicating headspace.
sunghoon kept whimpering under his breath, hips weakly pushing upward to meet the pump of your hand but you kept him in place, biting the shell of his ear. "quit moving, baby. let me do all the work for you."
sunghoon's chest trembles as he takes in a breath through gritted teeth. he fists the blanket until his knuckles turned white, every muscle tensed as he urged himself to keep still. "okay.. just— p–please, angel. i'm so hard.. it hurts."
"i know it does. it looks like it does." his cock was burning hot and angrily throbbing in your hand. the thick veins of it were popping out as your thumb played with the crown of his cock, the rough pad of it rubbing against the slit and smearing the beads of his precum messily against the sensitive flesh.
you rub your palm against the tip until it was glistening, lubricated enough to properly stroke him. his eyes are unfocused and he's losing more and more control of his muscles the more you squeezed on his length that he has no other choice but to lean his head back against your shoulder.
gooseflesh rose in his skin when you held his jaw and locked it in is place, as if you wanted him to watch, to feel every deliberate move you made to ruin him: lips that bite at the pale skin of his neck which tasted faintly of mint body wash and salty sweat. nails that lightly brushed the sides of his cock—not enough to hurt, but enough to make him release spurts of precum that dripped off of the back of your hand.
you couldn't help but giggle against his neck. "the doors aren't locked.. and if the boys think you're in pain then they'll come barging in. do you really want that, hoonie?" you purr comes out low and sultry, making your boyfriend whine louder.
it was a blatant lie, but it was fun seeing sunghoon squirm and bite on his lips to muffle his own noises.
he's burning up—but for an entirely different reason now.
his cheeks were flushed pink, shell of his ears in an even deeper shade of it. beads of sweat rolled down his neck and you filthily lapped at every drop while darkening the mark you made above his pulse point—all while you maintained your pace, downright pornographic shlick shlick shlicks ringing in his ears each time you tugged on the skin of his cock.
"mmh—b–baby.. hnngh—fuck, it hurts.. h–hurts so good, angel.." sunghoon whimpered, voice still dry and raspy. you tried to pin sunghoon's hips down but he was far too needy, chasing after your hand with breathy pleads of your name.
"yeah? can't even keep yourself still for me, can you? could feel you throbbing against my palm, baby." you squeeze your hands tighter around his cock, causing his hips to falter in surprise but only for a quick second before he went back to fucking your fist like its the only thing he knew how to do.
"i want to.. hnn—can't—" his fingers wrapped around your wrist, keeping it in place. he bit on the tip of his tongue when you rubbed the leaking slit of his cock again, only to let go of it completely.
his eyes fluttered open but before he could even ask, you reached lower, giving his balls a tender squeeze.
his thighs tense up, a small broken moan leaving his swollen lips as his girth pressed against the bottom of his stomach while you continued to massage him, peppering kisses along his shoulder. "did you miss this hoonie? they feel heavier now.. did you need me to touch you that badly?"
he'd tried to touch himself to you. several times already, in fact.
and he hopelessly failed in all of his attempts, lacking the energy and strength to keep rubbing his cock despite how hard it would get at the mere thought of his girlfriend.
but now you're here, touching him and relieving all the aching frustrations he's had and it's taking sunghoon's every last bit of strength not to just explode on the spot.
"yes— f–fuck, yes," he nods, quick and frantic. his cock woefully searched for some sort of friction, bouncing against his pelvis each time it twitched due to your lack of attention. "can't— c–couldn't do it without you angel— please.. i need you to touch me again."
sunghoon begged, pleaded as loud as he could without actually disturbing his roommates. his pride was nowhere to be found, mind overtaken by pleasure to even dwell on the fact that he was letting you have control.
and while the idea of breaking him down until he was a babbling mess graced your mind, you could tell sunghoon was desperate, already with tears in his eyes, so you made the decision not to delay it any longer.
slender finger wrapped around his length again, giving the base a testing squeeze before you started pumping your hand quickly, not giving sunghoon a chance to be eased into it.
"shit—f–fuck! angel—" he leaned further back, eyes rolling to the back of his head as you twist your wrist, making more quiet whimpers escape his parted lips.
the tip of his cock had turned a heated shade of maroon from all the build-up you've done, and using your fingers, you made a tight ring just below it and squeezed with just enough pressure that you knew would get him undone.
"nnh… i c–can't— 'm gonna— f–fuck!"
translucent while ropes exploded out, landing messily all over sunghoon's black shirt and partly exposed stomach. you kept stroking him until he rode out his orgasm, milking out every last drop until his debauched whimpers turned more high-pitched from the overstimulation.
you gracefully let him go and brought your cum-stained hand closer to his face, tongue tracing the shell of his ear. "messy hoonie.. look at what you did."
but he tried to, but he couldn't. he felt dizzy, dishonored, and something akin to shame brewed within his chest as he seated with the fact that he enjoyed what just happened a little too much.
he just grabbed your hand and forced it to press against his shirt until all evidence of his submission was smudged against the fabric of it before turning around to bury his flushed face against your chest.
you coo, giggling heartily at sunghoon before running your fingers through his hair.
you place a soft kiss on the crown on his head, gently kicking the laptop to the side while you let the sound of the long-forgotten rom-com movie play in the background while you lull your sick sunghoon back to sleep.
YAN'S NOTES ➤ this sat in my inbox for quite a while and i've been meaning to get to this after several wips were done but i fear i'm a sucker for the e404 series and it's seriously the only thing that gets me out of a slump. also?? first time writing sub!member on here and of course Of Fucking Course it had to be sunghoon. lmk what u think pls < 3
“baby, please please,” sunghoon mumbles gibberish as he struggles to stand still, “it’s such a good idea, just hear me out!”
under the heavy influence of alcohol and the aftermath of some questionable yet impressive breakdancing at your friend’s wedding, sunghoon now stands flushed and breathless—face red, tie askew, a few shirt buttons undone. his tuxedo is bundled in your arms, and his hands are on your shoulders, trying to stabilize himself.
“we n-need to get married and—” hiccup “and, and m-move in—” hiccup “—will- will be the best hubby f-for you” hiccup
sunghoon grips your shoulders tighter, his weight tipping dangerously forward every time he leans in, eyes half-lidded with determination and booze-fueled affection. his lips purse in slow motion, aiming clumsily for yours.
you push a hand firmly against his chest. “nope. not happening.”
“my wife,” he whines, stumbling back a few steps on the empty road in front of the event, before striding towards you again, “you hurt me, i r-really need you!”
“sunghoon, the cab will be here any minute—”
you couldn’t even finish your sentence as sunghoon slumps his whole body weight over you, gathering you into a bear hug.
somehow, you manage to create a fair space between the two of you. pressing your hands on his chest, you try to push back as sunghoon wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulders.
“i love you,” he barely makes coherent sentences, snuggling his face at the crook of your neck, his lips gently pressing against it, “please marry me. we could elope. vegas. tomorrow.”
you laugh, something between blushing, humour and your heart swelling up to his words. you muster all your strength and push him until he’s just one arm away.
“i swear to god,” you sigh, trying to pry him off as his tux almost slips away from your hold, “you will wake up with zero memory tomorrow morning.”
“i don’t need memory,” sunghoon pouts again, chuckling out loud as he comes closer to you again, stumbling and swaying in his steps as he cups your face, “my body knows, my lips .. know.”
before you can say anything, he leans in and connects his lips with yours in the sloppiest, neediest kiss ever.
your brain short circuits.
his mouth is warm and clumsy, moving with unplanned precision against yours than he usually has— this is all desperation and tipsy affection. he hiccups once, twice into the kiss, chuckling before reconnecting his lips with yours. you feel your knees becoming weaker.
you try to push him away but he only leans in even more, humming into the kiss like he has been craving this all night. he slides his hand up your back, pressing you impossibly close to him, both his hands anchoring to your body.
he pulls back just a little, lips brushing yours, eyes fluttering. “you taste like forever,” he whispers, so seriously that your chest tightens despite the absurdity.
“sunghoon, there are still people here—” you gasp, pulling him back by his raven hair. he winces as the pull softly, but refuses to let you go.
“there’s no one here but us and destiny,” he breathes, and kisses you again before you can even roll your eyes.
this time the kiss is slower, softer, he tilts his head to kiss you deeper, his hands soon finding your cheeks. although he reeked of alcohol still, you couldn’t shake him away. you gasp softly as he tilts his head, deepening it—his mouth opening against yours with such yearning, you nearly forget where you are. his lips trail down to your jaw for a second, then back up, brushing teasingly slow before capturing your bottom lip again with a sigh.
“sunghoon,” you whisper against him, dizzy, drunk in love as well. but sunghoon only hums against your lips, and kisses them soft. slow. longer and lingering, blushing like he’s kissing for the first time.
“enough now,” you pant for breath as he pulls away, hitting his chest, “we have to go— what are you doing?”
sunghoon suddenly drops down on his knees. like, actually drops, hard, on the pavement outside the wedding venue with flickering lights still on.
you gape, “oh my god, ‘hoon! get up, you’re ruining your pants!”
“no!” he shouts, well, slurs incoherently while his arms wrap around your waist, “this is it. i have waited for this and i will say it.”
“get up—”
“y/n,” he cuts you off, dramatically clutching at his chest like he’s been shot. “i am so, so in love with you. like there is nothing in this world i wouldn’t do for you and—”
“oh my god.”
he takes a deep breath, then grabs your hand in both of his, pressing it to his heart. “marry me,” he says, eyes shiny with sincerity and tequila. “please. i’ll be so good. i’ll do the dishes. i’ll learn to cook. i’ll stop trying to do flips at weddings. probably.”
“you’re so drunk,” you try to lean in, eyes pricking with tears of both laughter and yearning.
“but I’m serious,” he insists, eyes locking onto yours like they’re the only steady thing in his spinning world. “i want to marry you. tonight. tomorrow. whenever. just—say yes. please, baby, please.”
“sunghoon, baby,” you sigh, controlling your chuckle as you start to caress his neck and face, “get up.”
“if i—” hiccup “get up, will you marry me?” sunghoon pouts.
“yes!” you almost shout, a little laughter escaping you. your heart aches, he is a total mess, drunk to the nose, shit crumples and knees dirty from the pavement as he stands up. but through all of that, you know he means all of it.
“okay,” sunghoon straightens his back, holding your hands, “we are married now. can i kiss my bride?”
you almost cry, tugging softly at his hands, “yes.”
he doesn’t waste no time, immediately capturing your lips in his, pulling you impossibly close again. hands resting on your cheeks, sunghoon truly loves you.
스루 ܃ never lower your standards, if your man doesn’t get on his knees for you, boy next 😹
in which a sports journalist falls in love with south korea’s star defender
synopsis: when you meet sunghoon park — south korea’s calm, elite centre-back and vice-captain — during the world cup, professional interviews slowly turn into late-night conversations, gentle support, and stolen moments of connection.
as south korea pushes toward glory, so does hiding your growing feelings. through support, laughter, and quiet closeness, you discover something special that stays with you long after the final whistle.
pairing: footballer!sunghoon x reporter!reader
wc: 12.9k
warnings: none! it's mainly fluff with a tiny bit of angst at the end (good ending!!)
cw: slow-burn, mild emotional distress (sports related), talks about being under pressure, disappointments, insecurities, expectations. one kiss, strong language
a/n: SPAIN WON THE WORLD CUP!!!! i'm the happiest person on earth rn :(( i can't believe this fic started because of a silly idea i had rewatching iker casillas and sara carbonero’s 2010 world cup video for the nth time... ugh, i love my team. also, i just had to MAKE sunghoon's trading card because all the others were ai so i took care of it with my poor photo editing skills,,,,, 😁 (you know i had to take the opportunity to make him a player of my favorite team lmao)
the world cup buzzes like electricity in the air, thick and alive under atlanta’s stadium lights. the atmosphere wraps around everything, from the distant hum of distant chants to the sharp scent of fresh turf and street food vendors weaving through the crowds outside. south korea’s national team has arrived with quiet determination this time, not just as participants but as a team who trained for months in secrecy, refining a defense that feels impenetrable. their preparation whispers through insider reports and subtle leaks, hinting at new formations and unbreakable partnerships in the backline.
you step off the plane a few days earlier, notebook already full of notes, press badge hanging around your neck like a second heartbeat. mid-twenties, passionate about the sport since you first watched it as a kid in your living room, knees tucked under a blanket while your family cheered at the screen.
you earned this assignment through sharp reporting and a knack for getting players to open up, chasing stories in smaller leagues and building connections one honest conversation at a time. this is your first world cup covering the men’s side, and the pressure feels exhilarating, a mix of nerves and pure thrill that keeps your pulse quick.
sunghoon park stands out even before the tournament begins.
you know him, everybody does.
starting centre-back, atlético de madrid's star, vice-third captain of south korea's team despite being one of the younger leaders in the squad. his reputation precedes him: ice-prince composure on the pitch, elite defending that reads plays before they happen, precise tackles that disarm attacks without unnecessary force, aerial dominance in duels, and the rare ability to stay calm when everyone else loses their head. fans call him "the wall", a nickname earned through countless highlights of last-ditch clearances and steady leadership. teammates respect him because he leads by example, voice steady in the dressing room, never raising it unless absolutely necessary, offering quiet words of encouragement that carry weight.
off the pitch he carries a quiet politeness, almost shy, with sharp features and dark hair that falls just so, making him look more model than footballer sometimes, his presence drawing second glances even in casual team arrivals. but on it, he transforms into something unforgettable, every movement calculated, his focus turning the chaos of the game into something almost predictable for those watching closely.
the group stage opener arrives fast. south korea versus a tough czech republic known for physicality and counter-attacks, their players built like athletes who thrive on intensity and sudden bursts forward.
the stadium is packed, flags waving in vibrant waves of red and green, chants echoing off the sleek architecture and blending into a roaring symphony. you sit in the press box, heart racing as the teams line up, the bright lights casting long shadows across the pitch.
sunghoon wears the armband tonight as one of the captains rotates, his posture straight, eyes focused under the intense glare. the whistle blows and the match unfolds like a carefully choreographed dance, every pass and movement carrying the weight of national pride.
south korea dominates possession early, controlling the tempo with crisp passes that slice through the midfield. sunghoon organizes the backline with quiet gestures, shouting instructions that cut through the noise, his voice clear and authoritative without ever sounding frantic. when the opponent launches a dangerous cross in the 22nd minute, he rises highest, heading it clear with perfect timing, his body suspended for a moment in perfect athletic poise. you scribble notes furiously: park’s reading of the game is elite. anticipates runs before they develop. tracks shadows and feints with uncanny precision.
the first goal comes from a set-piece he delivers, his long ball finding a teammate who finishes clinically. 1-0. the crowd erupts in a wave of cheers and horns, the energy surging through the stands and into the press area, making your skin tingle.
half-time brings tactical adjustments, the players jogging off with measured steps, sunghoon’s expression unchanging, focused, a thin sheen of sweat on his brows but nothing else. you watch from your seat, analyzing every detail, the way he wipes his face with the hem of his jersey before disappearing into the tunnel.
second half tests them. the opponent pushes hard, physical challenges flying in, boots clashing against shins in audible thuds that make you wince from afar. sunghoon absorbs a heavy tackle but gets up immediately, brushing dirt from his jersey like it’s nothing, his face only shows determination. another key interception in the 68th minute prevents a certain equalizer, his sliding perfectly timed, the ball rolling safely out of bounds as the crowd holds its collective breath.
his composure never cracks, even as the minutes tick down and fatigue sets in for everyone else. south korea holds firm and adds a second goal late, a moment of clinical finishing that seals the result.
final whistle: 2-0. clean sheet. perfect start.
the stadium pulses with celebration, and you lean back in your seat, notebook overflowing, already replaying every touch from the ice-prince at the heart of it all.
the mixed zone after the match is chaotic, journalists crowding the barriers with cameras flashing and recorders thrust forward like eager weapons. the air feels humid and charged, thick with the scent of sweat, grass, and lingering adrenaline from the pitch. the players file through in waves, some pausing for quick quotes with tired smiles, others walking past with headphones on, heads down, lost in their own debriefs. you wait patiently near the designated spot, assigned specifically to sunghoon today, your notebook clutched tight and questions already mentally rehearsed.
when he approaches, towel around his neck, hair damp with sweat and slightly tousled, jersey clinging slightly to his frame from the exertions of ninety minutes, your pulse quickens despite your professionalism. he looks every bit the ice prince under the harsh mixed zone lights, broad shoulders still squared from the game, but up close there’s a subtle tiredness mixed with quiet satisfaction in his eyes, a faint flush on his cheeks that speaks to the effort he poured out.
“sunghoon park,” you begin, microphone steady in your hand, voice warm but professional, cutting through the surrounding din. “congratulations on the win and the clean sheet. you were instrumental at the back tonight. how did the defense hold up against their physical attacks?”
he stops fully, turning toward you with deliberate care. his gaze meets yours directly, polite and attentive, dark eyes steady without any hint of evasion. a small, shy smile touches his lips, the kind that barely shows but feels genuine, softening the sharp lines of his features for just a moment. “thank you. the team prepared well. we communicated a lot on the pitch, stayed compact. it’s a good start, but we know every match gets harder.”
you nod, following up smoothly, the words flowing as the crowd noise fades into background static. “your aerial duel win in the first half was crucial. and that long ball leading to the first goal — was that something practiced in training, or instinctive?”
“a bit of both,” he answers, voice calm and low, carrying that measured tone that makes every syllable feel intentional. “the coaches drilled set-pieces endlessly, but reading the moment… that comes with experience and trust in your teammates.” he shifts slightly on his feet, still looking at you, water bottle in one hand, the towel draped casually.
then you ask the tougher one, the kind that makes some players defensive or curt. “some analysts said before the tournament that the backline might struggle with pace. how do you respond to that after tonight?”
sunghoon pauses briefly, considering, then lets out a genuine laugh — soft, surprised, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that lights up his whole expression. it’s rare post-match, especially after a high-stakes opener, cutting through the usual post-game formality like a breath of fresh air.
“you came prepared with the tough questions, didn't you?” he teases lightly, tone playful but not mocking, a hint of warmth threading through. “i think we showed tonight that we can handle it. pace is one thing, but positioning and timing matter more. we’ll keep proving it match by match.”
you smile back, the chemistry instant and easy, a natural rhythm settling between question and answer. the interview flows naturally after that, a few more questions about team spirit and his leadership role as vice-third captain. he answers thoughtfully, adding small details that most players gloss over — the specific calls he made during transitions, the way the defenders rotated coverage to blunt counters, little insights born from hours on the training ground.
when it ends, he gives a slight bow of his head, respectful and understated. “good questions. thank you. see you.” his eyes linger just a second longer than necessary, holding yours with that same quiet intensity from the pitch, before he moves on down the mixed zone.
you stand there for a moment amid the continuing chaos, replaying the laugh in your head, the way his voice dipped on certain words. "he's handsome, but you're professional. remember the boundaries", you remind yourself firmly, even as your notes feel heavier with more than just match analysis. but the spark is undeniable.
back at the team hotel later that night, the lobby hums with subdued celebration. the space feels alive yet restrained, players and staff moving between rooms in quiet clusters, some heading to recovery sessions with ice baths and physio tables waiting, others grabbing late snacks from the discreet buffet setup in the corner. the hotel is modern, luxurious but secure, with sleek marble floors, towering glass windows overlooking the atlanta night, and strict curfew rules for the squad enforced by attentive staff. you’re staying on one of the lower floors, same as some media and support staff, close enough to the team’s area for convenience but separated by careful zoning that keeps interactions professional and contained.
jet lag keeps you awake, a restless energy humming in your veins, so you head to the lobby lounge for a quiet coffee, laptop open as you type up your match report, fingers flying across the keys in the dim glow. the lights are dimmed low, casting warm pools across the plush seating, soft piano music playing faintly from hidden speakers, a gentle melody that blends with the occasional murmur of conversation.
you’re halfway through your notes, capturing the rhythm of the defense and the weight of sunghoon’s contributions, when movement catches your eye near the entrance.
sunghoon walks in wearing a simple black hoodie and sweats, hair still slightly damp from a shower, the fabric of his clothes loose and comfortable after the intensity of the pitch. he looks younger like this, less captain, more guy in his early twenties carrying the weight of a nation on broad but unassuming shoulders. he spots you almost immediately, hesitation flickering across his face for a brief second before he approaches with measured steps.
“are you still working?” he asks quietly, voice gentle so as not to disturb the quiet space, his korean accent wrapping around the english words comfortably, smooth and familiar.
you look up, surprised but pleased, a small smile tugging at your lips. “yeah, i couldn't sleep. jet lag plus post-match adrenaline. you? should you even be down here this late?”
he gives that small shy smile again, the one that softens his sharp features, and sits in the armchair across from you after a subtle nod seeking permission.
“brief recovery session ran long. and yes, technically within limits if i don’t stay too long.” he glances at your screen with mild curiosity. “are you writing about the match?”
“i'm trying to capture it right. you made it easy with that performance,” you reply, closing the laptop slightly to give him full attention, the screen’s glow fading. conversation starts light, about the game, the flow of possession and the moments that stood out. he talks about specific moments — the tackle on the 68th, how the roar of the crowd affected concentration and forced quicker decisions, the way the backline shifted as a unit to snuff out threats.
you share observations from the press box, how the team’s shape looked solid from above, the defensive lines holding like a well-oiled machine even under pressure. the words come easily, trading perspectives that deepen the understanding of the ninety minutes.
“the jet lag is brutal,” he admits after a pause, leaning back into the cushions, his posture relaxing just a fraction. “it feels like my body is still somewhere over the pacific, caught between time zones. but nights like tonight make it worth it, the win settling something in the chest.”
you nod, sipping your coffee. “i get it. first world cup for me covering like this. the energy is addictive, but exhausting. what helps you unwind? besides perfect defending, obviously.”
he chuckles softly, the sound warm and low in the quiet lobby, a rare unguarded moment. “music sometimes. or thinking about simple things back home. korean food, especially. samgyeopsal after a win would be perfect right now. or even just ramyeon, spicy and comforting. the hotel options are good, but nothing beats street food at home late night after training.”
“ramyeon sounds heavenly,” you agree, smiling as the memory of your own recent meal surfaces. “i had some earlier from a local spot nearby. spicy, just right, with that perfect chew. if you get a chance off-schedule, there’s a place a short drive away that does authentic versions, the noodles are great. though i’m sure team nutrition has you on lock with carefully balanced meals.”
he listens intently, eyes brightening with quiet interest, nodding along as details unfold. the talk drifts naturally — small recommendations for hidden spots, funny stories about travel mishaps like delayed flights and lost luggage in past tournaments, how the world cup atmosphere feels different from league play, more electric and heavy with expectation. he asks about your reporting background, genuinely curious, leaning forward slightly. you tell him about covering smaller leagues first, the grind of rainy pitches and modest crowds that built your eye for the game. he shares a bit about balancing football with everything else, the pressure of being a leader despite his age, the quiet moments needed to stay grounded.
time slips by. maybe twenty minutes, maybe thirty, the lobby emptying further as staff dim the lights even lower and the piano music fades to a softer hum. neither wants to end it abruptly, the conversation weaving comfortably, but reality lingers in the back of both minds.
“i should head up,” he says eventually, standing slowly, stretching with subtle care for his body after the match. “i have a curfew and all of that. but… this was nice. unexpected, but nice.”
“yeah,” you reply, meeting his gaze steadily. “good talk, sunghoon. rest up. next match comes quick.”
he pauses before leaving, that shy smile returning, warmer now in the low light. “goodnight. and thanks again for the interview earlier. you made it… interesting, and easier.” his words carry a little extra weight, the small spark from the mixed zone flickering brighter here in the soft lights of the lounge.
you watch him walk toward the elevators, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands in a casual gesture, footsteps quiet on the marble. alone again, you reopen your laptop but type slower, mind replaying the conversation in fragments. professional. friendly. nothing more. yet the easy chemistry lingers like the aftertaste of good coffee, warm and subtly persistent.
-------
the days after the opening win settle into a rhythm that feels both exhausting and electric. south korea’s second group match arrives, and the team looks even sharper under the georgia sun. the next days settle into tournament rhythm, a steady pulse of preparation and anticipation that fills the air around the venues. training sessions you observe from afar, positioned along the sidelines with other accredited media, notebooks ready and cameras clicking discreetly. press conferences hum with questions in multiple languages, analysis fills late nights back at your temporary workspace. south korea prepares with focused intensity, the squad sharpening transitions and set-piece routines.
sunghoon leads defensive drills with quiet authority, voice steady as he directs younger defenders, demonstrating positioning with precise gestures and calm corrections. his movements remain fluid even in practice, reading imaginary attacks before they unfold, adjusting lines with a few words that carry across the pitch. you catch his eye once across the green during a water break, the brief connection unexpected amid the bustle of cones and passing sequences. he offers a small nod, almost imperceptible, but it warms something in your chest, a quiet acknowledgment that lingers longer than it should.
back in the hotel, paths cross again briefly — a hallway hello in the early evening, his damp hair suggesting another recovery session, your arms full of notes and a coffee cup. another shared elevator ride with staff present, where conversation stays light and public, comments on the weather, the quality of training pitches, nothing that draws attention. the spark simmers beneath the surface, subtle glances and polite smiles building something unspoken match by match.
the second group game arrives under the stadium lights once more. another win, 3-1 this time, the scoreline reflecting growing confidence in the squad. sunghoon marshals the defense like a conductor, his voice cutting calmly through the noise. two key tackles in the first half snuff out dangerous counters. a perfectly timed interception in the 55th minute sparks a fast break. sunghoon scores the opener from a corner, powerful header that sends the ball rocketing into the net, his timing impeccable as he rises above the defenders. composure intact even as teammates pile on him in celebration, the stadium erupting in a sea of red and cheers that shake the stands. you watch from the press box, fingers flying over your keyboard, noting how his positioning seems almost predictive.
post-match mixed zone, you’re the one they send for the team interviews again. when sunghoon reaches you, jersey still on, towel draped around his neck, he lingers. the interview starts professional — questions about the clean sheet streak, his leadership, the set-piece organization, how it felt contributing at both ends. “feels good for the team. defense first, always, but if i can help attack too… it adds something extra.” he answers with more ease now, small smiles appearing. the tease comes again when you ask about a near-miss. “you notice everything, don’t you?” that laugh returns, genuine and rare, soft and crinkling the corners of his eyes, shared just between you amid the surrounding chaos.
the moment stretches comfortably, his answers thoughtful as before, offering insights into the team’s adjustments at halftime and the way the crowd’s energy fueled the second half push. as you wrap up, he pauses instead of moving on immediately.
“you’re becoming the regular,” he says quietly, almost teasing. “it's good to see a familiar face.” his eyes hold yours a second longer before he nods politely and continues down the line. you keep the questions sharp yet fair, the rhythm between you flowing smoother with each exchange, that easy chemistry threading through the professional exchange like a hidden current. the warmth from the brief laugh carries you through the rest of your notes that night.
that night in the hotel lobby, the coffee area is quieter. you’re there with your notes when he appears again, hoodie up, looking refreshed but still buzzing from the win.
“mind if i join?” he asks. this time he seeks you out more deliberately, crossing the quiet lounge with purposeful steps and sitting longer in the armchair across from you. you gesture to the seat across.
conversation flows easier this time. he shares a funny story about a younger teammate’s celebration in the dressing room. you tell him about a chaotic press conference earlier. talk turns to korean food recommendations again — he describes his favorite spots back in seoul with quiet enthusiasm, making you imagine the crowded streets, and the perfect balance of flavors that remind him of home after tough matches.
“are you still craving that ramyeon?” he sends a subtle glance toward the hotel menu.
“always,” you laugh.
you swap travel stories, laughing softly over delayed flights and unfamiliar customs in distant stadiums. jet lag conversations deepen slightly into dreams and why this sport matters, the shared passion for the game threading through late-night reflections. the spark feels warmer, comfortable, hovering in the pauses between words.
by the third group match, a dominant 2-0 victory seals top spot in the group. clean sheets stacking up, a testament to the defensive solidity built over months. sunghoon’s leadership shines through every organized line and timely command on the pitch. he scores the first goal from a corner kick, rising powerfully to head it into the net. his celebration is restrained — a fist pump, quick hug with teammates — but you catch the rare wide smile. his defense remains elite, another strong performance with crucial blocks.
the post-match interview flows like you're old friends now, easy banter mixed with sharp analysis under the mixed zone lights. you’re now the unofficial go-to for the team.
“you’re making my job look too good,” you joke lightly, microphone steady but tone warmer than strict professionalism. sunghoon’s answers come thoughtfully, but he lingers noticeably after each question, adding small extras just for you.
“or you’re making me look good,” he replies softly, eyes warm with that subtle crinkle at the edges, the response quick and genuine. “that goal felt good for the fans,” he says, then softly after the mic dips, “thanks for the steady questions. keeps me grounded.”
the chemistry is obvious to anyone watching closely, but nothing improper. just easy rapport.
the hotel becomes your shared in-between space. quick hallway greetings turn into short conversations when paths cross. one evening after training, you’re heading back to your room when he appears around the corner.
”long day?” he asks. you nod. he walks with you partway, voice low. “we appreciate the fair coverage.”
that night’s lobby meeting stretches further into the quiet hours. recommendations turn personal — favorite movies for recovery days, the ones that distract the mind without demanding too much attention, music playlists that help settle the adrenaline.
your hands brush reaching for drinks from the low table between you, a small touch that sends a small jolt through the air. the eye contact lingers a beat longer each time, charged yet restrained. nothing crosses lines, but the connection feels real, slow-building, like extra time in a tight match where every second carries weight.
late nights in the lobby or coffee corner grow. you talk about pressure, how the tournament amplifies everything.
he admits quietly, “it helps having someone outside the team bubble to talk to. makes it feel less heavy.” you share your own experiences covering high-stakes matches. nothing crosses lines. just comfort. mutual understanding. a crush that simmers beneath polite words.
group stage wraps with top spot secured. advancement feels earned. sunghoon’s clean sheets and that set-piece goal make headlines. you write positively, balanced. you and sunghoon exist in this careful space — reporter and player, budding friends, something warmer underneath the surface of every exchanged word and glance. the ice prince thaws just a little for you in these stolen moments, and you find yourself looking forward to every post-match moment more than you should, the story and the person behind it intertwining in ways that feel both exciting and dangerously delicate.
-------
round of 16 hits on day 13. the atmosphere around the stadium crackles with higher stakes, the air thicker with tension and the roar of fans who have traveled far for this knockout stage. the opponent is tricky, technical, a side known for quick combinations and clever movement that demands constant vigilance. the match is tighter, every touch and challenge carrying the weight of potential elimination, the pitch bathed in bright lights that cast long shadows across the players.
sunghoon shines again, his presence at the back a steady anchor amid the intensity. a spectacular sliding tackle in the 40th minute prevents a goal, his body extending fully with perfect timing, the ball cleared safely as the crowd gasps and then erupts in relief. he organizes relentlessly, voice cutting through the noise with calm instructions, gesturing to teammates to maintain shape, reading the flow of the game with that trademark composure. south korea wins 1-0, a late goal sealing it in dramatic fashion. the clean sheet streak continues, another hard-fought shutout that speaks volumes about the defensive unit’s resilience and cohesion.
post-match, the mixed zone is busier than ever, journalists pressing closer to the barriers, cameras flashing in rapid bursts, the energy electric with the thrill of advancement. voices overlap in a dozen languages as players make their way through, some pausing for brief comments, others moving with exhausted determination. when it’s sunghoon’s turn with you, he lingers the longest yet, his jersey still marked with grass stains and sweat, hair damp and slightly tousled from the battle.
“it was a tough one today,” you say on mic, keeping your tone professional yet warm amid the surrounding chaos.
he answers thoughtfully, detailing the defensive adjustments and the importance of staying compact against their technical threats, his words measured and insightful as always. then, after the formal part winds down and the recorder clicks off, his voice softens, eyes meeting yours with quiet sincerity.
“i know i say this a lot, but… your questions help me reflect properly. see you around the hotel?” the invitation is casual, professional on the surface, but layered with that familiar spark.
that night, the elevator moment happens in the quiet hum of the team hotel. the lobby has mostly emptied, soft lighting casting gentle glows across the marble floors as staff move discreetly in the background. you both end up in the same car after curfew hours, the doors sliding shut to leave just the two of you inside for a brief ride. he presses his floor, you yours, the numbers lighting up softly on the panel. the space feels smaller, more intimate, with the faint scent of his post-shower freshness mingling with the neutral hotel air.
he glances at you with a small grin, the expression boyish and relaxed after the high of the win. “technically we're not breaking rules if it’s just elevator talk, right?” his tone is light, teasing in that understated way.
you laugh quietly, the sound echoing softly in the enclosed space. “team rules are strict. but i won’t tell if you don’t.”
he chuckles, the sound low and warm, filling the brief silence as the elevator ascends smoothly. “good. wouldn’t want to get the reporter in trouble.”
the ride is short but charged, the two of you whisper-joking about imaginary coach surveillance cameras hidden in the corners, trading playful exaggerations about what the staff might think of late-night elevator rides. his eyes crinkle with amusement, the tension of the match melting away in these stolen seconds of normalcy.
when the doors open on your floor, he says softly, “sleep well,” his gaze holding yours for a lingering moment before the doors begin to close behind you. you step out into the hallway, the warmth in your chest blooming brighter, carrying you toward your room as the elevator continues upward.
texts begin the next day. the mixed zone buzz still echoes in your mind as you wrap up another solid interview with sunghoon, the post-round-of-16 energy lingering in the air like static. you give him your number after the formal questions end and the recorders are away, framing it casually as “professional follow-up if needed for quotes or any clarification on comments.” your voice stays steady and professional, but your fingers brush lightly when you hand over the small slip of paper with the digits neatly written. he takes it with a small nod, that shy smile touching his lips again, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a beat longer than necessary.
“thank you. i’ll keep it professional,” he says softly, tucking the note carefully into his pocket.
his first message comes that evening, the notification lighting up your phone screen while you sit in your hotel room reviewing notes. it is a simple photo of his dinner plate with a perfectly arranged meal — grilled protein, colorful vegetables, and a small portion of rice — caption “hotel version of home food. still not as good as ramyeon.”
you smile immediately, the image capturing the quiet discipline of his routine even after a big win. you reply with a meme about strict diets and athlete life, something light and relatable that pokes gentle fun at the sacrifices. he sends back a laughing emoji — rare for him, you imagine, given his usual reserved nature — followed by a single “exactly” that makes your grin widen.
from there, the messages stay light, comforting, a gentle thread connecting the tournament days without crossing into anything overt. he sends silly pitch-side observations during training breaks: “jay almost tripped over a cone today. classic.” the photo attached shows a blurred moment of near chaos on the practice field, his dry humor shining through in the sparse words. you send encouraging articles about south korea’s impressive run or funny football memes that capture the absurdity of the world cup bubble, ones that make him reply with “this one’s accurate” or a simple thumbs up that somehow feels warmer than it should.
there's nothing flirty on the surface. just connection. mutual crush energy that both of you feel but respect the boundaries around, keeping exchanges safe and supportive amid the mounting pressure.
hotel moments multiply in the days that follow, the shared spaces becoming familiar territory for these careful interactions. late-night lobby talks stretch longer, the soft piano music and dimmed lights creating a private world away from the team’s stricter routines. one night on day 15 he brings a small herbal tea from the team area (within rules), the warm cup steaming gently as he sets it down on the low table between you. “thought you might like this. helps with the late nights,” he says quietly, his voice low enough to blend with the ambient hum of the lounge.
you talk about life outside football — his interests in ice skating from younger days, the way the rhythm on the ice once felt like an escape before football took over completely, describing the cold air and smooth glides with a rare nostalgic softness. you share your journey into sports journalism, the early struggles of proving yourself in press boxes filled with veterans, the thrill of finding stories that go beyond the scoreline. hands brush when passing the cup back and forth, the fleeting contact sending small sparks up your arm each time. eye contact lingers, dark eyes holding yours across the table with quiet intensity, the air feels charged but controlled, heavy with unspoken understanding as the hours slip by unnoticed. the conversations flow naturally, deepening the connection without rushing it, each word and glance adding another layer to the careful space you both navigate.
-------
quarterfinals arrive around day 18. the stakes feel heavier in the air, the stadium packed with fans whose chants create a wall of sound that vibrates through every seat and press box. the match is intense, a real battle against a formidable side that matches south korea’s determination with sharp attacks and physical duels. every minute stretches, the tension thick on the pitch under the bright lights.
sunghoon is everywhere — key tackles that stop dangerous breakthroughs in their tracks, precise interceptions that shift momentum, and steady leadership in extra time when fatigue threatens to creep in. his voice remains calm yet commanding, organizing the backline with gestures and short calls that cut through the roar. they win 2-1 in a dramatic finish, the late goal sending the entire bench and crowd into frenzy. the team erupts in joy on the pitch, players hugging, jumping, the relief and pride visible in every exhausted smile and raised fist. advancement to semifinals secured, a milestone that echoes through the night.
the hotel celebration that night is big but contained — music pulsing softly in the common areas, players laughing in groups, sharing stories of key moments from the match, staff joining in with congratulatory claps and snacks passed around. the atmosphere buzzes with pride and cautious optimism, lights a little brighter than usual, but everyone mindful of the next challenge looming. you observe from the edges as a reporter, keeping professional distance, notebook in hand and a quiet smile as you absorb the scene without inserting yourself into the core festivities.
later, when things quiet and the main areas begin to empty, sunghoon finds you outside near the hotel gardens, away from the main buzz. the paths are softly lit with low lanterns, the greenery lush and fragrant under the clear seattle sky. the stars are bright overhead, scattered across the dark canvas, the night air warm and still, carrying faint traces of desert breeze and blooming flowers.
“big win today,” you say as he approaches, his steps quiet on the stone path, still dressed in comfortable post-celebration clothes, hair slightly tousled from the long day.
he nods, sitting on the bench beside you with a comfortable distance that still feels close. “the team deserved it. everyone gave everything out there.”
after that, conversation flows deep and unhurried, it comes naturally. he talks about the pressure of the knockout stages, how every match feels like the last, the weight of national expectations sitting on his shoulders alongside the physical demands. his voice stays low and reflective, sharing small vulnerabilities about staying focused when the world watches.
you share how covering it has been a dream but emotionally draining too, the rollercoaster of emotions from the press box mirroring some of the intensity on the field, the responsibility of capturing moments fairly while feeling the pull of the story. an hour passes easily under the stars, time slipping by as words weave between match analysis, personal reflections, and quiet laughter at lighter memories from the tournament so far.
at one point your hands brush again while gesturing animatedly about a particular play, the contact warm and lingering. neither pulls away immediately, the touch extending a second or two longer than accidental. prolonged eye contact follows — his dark eyes soft, searching, reflecting the garden lights and something deeper. the almost-moment hangs in the warm air, charged with crush energy that peaks in the silence, hearts beating a little faster in the quiet night.
he clears his throat gently after a beat, the sound soft and respectful, pulling back just enough to keep the line intact. “i’m glad you’re here for all this. it makes the nights easier, you know?”
you smile, warmth spreading through your chest. “me too, sunghoon.”
he doesn’t push further. respect keeps the line intact, boundaries honored even as the connection deepens. but the friendship has grown, your bond is undeniable in these stolen moments of calm. as you both head inside separately, walking toward the entrance at a respectful distance, the tournament feels brighter, the stars a little clearer, the shared moments adding layers of comfort amid the beautiful game’s relentless pace.
-------
the semifinal week hits like a wave. south korea’s run has captured hearts back home and around the world. media pressure mounts daily — press conferences packed with reporters, questions sharper and more insistent, expectations heavier with every passing hour. training sessions stretch longer under the los angeles sun, tactics refined with extra repetitions, fitness pushed to the limit. sunghoon leads with that signature calm, directing drills and encouraging teammates, but you notice the subtle signs of strain in his shoulders when he thinks no one watches. as vice-third captain, he shoulders quiet responsibility, guiding younger players through tough sequences, voice steady even as fatigue sets in.
you feel the pressure too. your reports gain traction, interviews with the team sought after by bigger outlets. every day brings new deadlines, analysis pieces, and the growing awareness that this story — both the team’s and the one quietly unfolding between you and sunghoon — feels bigger than expected. you keep boundaries professional in public, but the hotel has become a sanctuary of sorts, a place where conversations breathe easier away from the cameras.
one particularly grueling training day ends late. the team disperses for recovery, bodies tired but spirits high. you’re walking the designated paths near the hotel, notebook in hand, reviewing notes under fading light when sunghoon appears. he wears team-issued sweats, hair slightly messy from the shower, a fresh scent of soap following him. a quick glance around confirms the area is quiet, within allowed boundaries for light activity.
“do you mind if i join for a short walk?” he asks, voice low and gentle. his eyes carry that familiar shy warmth, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
you nod, closing your notebook. “of course. rough day out there?”
he falls into step beside you, the path winding gently around landscaped gardens, away from main entrances but still visible enough to stay appropriate. “yeah, long one. legs feel heavy, but we needed it. that drill where the cones kept falling — your face was priceless when you were watching from the side.”
you tease softly, a light laugh escaping. “don’t remind me. you looked so focused, and then everything just tumbled. the younger guys won’t let it go, huh?”
he chuckles, the sound easing the day’s tension, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “no, they keep replaying it in the dressing room. i told them to focus on their own mistakes next time.”
gradually the conversation deepens as the sky turns deep blue, stars emerging one by one overhead. he talks about pressure first, voice thoughtful. “it builds differently in a tournament like this. every mistake feels like it could end everything. as captain… even vice… you feel it for the whole squad. not just for yourself.”
you listen closely, the gravel path crunching softly under your steps. “i can see it in how you carry yourself. what keeps you going when it gets this heavy?”
he thinks for a moment, steps slowing. “dreams from when i was younger. playing at this level, bringing pride home. and… smaller things now. quiet moments like this. reminders that there’s life beyond the pitch.” he glances at you, the air feels thicker. “honestly, you’ve become one of my favorite parts of this crazy tournament. talking to you after matches, the texts, these walks… it makes the pressure feel less lonely. like there’s something steady.”
your heart skips a beat at the admission. you look at him, the words hanging gentle between you under the starlight. “same for me, sunghoon. covering this has been incredible, the biggest assignment of my career, but getting to know you has made it special. in a way i didn’t expect. your perspective after games… it helps me see the match differently too. it makes me better, even.”
he nods, a soft smile appearing. “i’m glad. sometimes after a tough session i look forward to what you might ask next, or what meme you’ll send. it keeps things balanced.”
neither pushes further. hands brush once as you both gesture toward a nearby bench, the contact warm and lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary. prolonged eye contact follows under the stars — his dark eyes soft, searching, full of unspoken feelings. tension coils warmly, but respect holds strong. you sit briefly on the bench, the wood still holding daytime heat.
“tell me about seoul,” you say quietly. “what do you miss most when you’re away like this?”
he leans back slightly, voice warm with memory. “the streets at night, family meals where everyone talks over each other, my little sister teasing me. the quiet ice rink i visit off-season. it feels freeing, just gliding without thinking about the next match.”
you share your own stories in return. “my hometown had this small park where we’d kick a ball around as kids. football was always the escape, even before i started writing about it. now being here, covering your run… it brings that feeling back.”
the walk ends too soon, the hotel lights drawing closer, but the connection sinks deeper, roots forming in these simple, honest exchanges. you part ways near the entrance with quiet goodnights, the warmth of the conversation carrying into the night.
-------
semifinal day arrives heavy with anticipation. the opponent is formidable, a european side with attacking flair and experience in high-stakes matches. the stadium pulses with energy, south korean fans loud and proud, waving flags that create a sea of red across the stands. you sit in the press box, nerves alight as the match kicks off, heart pounding in time with the roar that greets the first whistle. sunghoon anchors the defense, composure like ice even as attacks rain down in waves. early chances for both sides keep everyone on edge. he makes a crucial block in the 18th minute, sliding perfectly to deny a shot, his body a wall that refuses to break.
the first half ends 0-0, tense and locked, both teams probing for weaknesses without success. you scribble notes furiously, the press box filled with the sound of typing and whispered analysis.
second half explodes with action. south korea scores first on a counter, sunghoon’s precise pass starting the move with perfect vision. celebrations are wild, players piling on each other as the stadium shakes. but the opponent equalizes quickly, the drama building with every minute. yellow cards fly, tempers flare, and extra time looms like a shadow. in the 82nd minute, sunghoon wins a vital aerial duel, clearing danger with powerful timing. the team pushes forward relentlessly. in the dying moments of regulation, a dramatic goal from a set-piece they practiced all week seals it.
2-1. south korea reaches the final.
the stadium erupts in pure ecstasy. players collapse in joy and exhaustion on the pitch, embracing, shouting, some dropping to their knees. sunghoon’s face shows rare pure emotion — relief, pride, tears barely held back as he hugs teammates tightly, the ice prince mask cracking in the best way. you watch from above, heart full, a lump in your throat at the magnitude of the moment.
mixed zone post-match is electric, buzzing with louder voices, brighter lights, and the raw energy of a team one step from history. when sunghoon reaches you, sweat-drenched and glowing with exhaustion and triumph, the interview carries extra weight. you ask about the resilience, his leadership, that final clearance, keeping your voice steady despite the rush of feelings.
he answers thoughtfully, voice steady for the cameras, detailing the defensive shape and the belief within the squad even when the score was level. as it wraps, he leans slightly closer to the mic, eyes on you with subtle softness that feels intimate amid the chaos. “thank you for being here,” he says quietly, almost under his breath but picked up on audio. “through all of it.”
the words are professional on the surface, but the delivery and his gaze carry more — warmth, gratitude, and that deeper connection built over weeks. fans and viewers notice immediately. social media lights up with theories about the “vibe” between south korea’s ice prince and the reporter.
he lingers afterward, as always, a stolen smile shared when cameras shift away for a moment. “we did it,” he murmurs, voice low and tired but happy, stepping just a fraction closer.
you nod, pride evident in your expression. “you did. incredible performance. that clearance in the 82nd… everyone in the press box held their breath.”
for a brief second the mixed zone noise fades into background static. he opens his arms slightly in a quiet offer, and you meet him in a quick, careful hug — nothing overt, just a brief, warm press of shoulders and arms, his jersey damp against you, the scent of grass and effort and victory surrounding the moment. it lasts only a heartbeat or two, respectful and hidden in the bustle, but the tension spikes sweetly, hearts beating harder in the small space between you. his hand rests lightly on your back for that instant, steady and reassuring, before you both pull away, cheeks flushed.
“get some rest,” you whisper, voice soft. “you earned it.”
he nods, eyes lingering on yours with that searching softness. “talk soon. hotel later if you’re around?” the words carry quiet hope. you smile, the almost-moment hanging in the air like the roar of the crowd still echoing outside. the connection feels stronger than ever, charged with everything unsaid, yet still carefully contained.
-------
the following days blur with celebration and preparation for the final. the hotel atmosphere buzzes with a mix of joy and focused energy, players moving between recovery sessions and light meetings, laughter echoing down hallways but tempered by the knowledge of the ultimate test ahead. sunghoon’s texts increase slightly in frequency, still light but warmer, carrying a quiet affection that makes your phone feel heavier in your hand each time it lights up.
a food pic arrives one evening with the caption “recovery meal. missing home flavors… and good conversations.” the image shows a neatly plated dish, simple yet carefully arranged, the kind of balanced food that fuels but never fully satisfies the craving for something familiar. you reply with an encouraging article about the final and a meme about dramatic semifinals that perfectly captures the chaos of extra time. he sends back “exactly this” followed by a laughing emoji, the rare sign of his amusement that always brings a smile to your face.
tension builds in beautiful, restrained ways throughout the week. stolen smiles across the lobby when eyes meet from a distance, quick and private amid the staff and players milling about. inside jokes during brief hallway passes — references to the falling cones or that memorable elevator ride — whispered in passing with soft chuckles that linger in the air after you part. these small exchanges become anchors in the busy days, tiny moments of normalcy that recharge both of you.
one evening he finds you in the coffee area again, the lounge quieter than usual after a long day. you’re typing up notes, shoulders tight from hours at the laptop, when he approaches with that familiar shy warmth. he sits across from you, voice low. “long day for you too?”
you nod, closing the screen slightly. “deadlines never stop. but watching you all out there makes it worth it. how are your legs holding up after that semifinal?”
he smiles, leaning back. “sore, but manageable. don’t burn out yourself. this final… we’ll need your steady questions after. you always make me think clearly when i answer them.”
the support flows naturally between you. you listen as he shares the weight of the upcoming match, offering quiet encouragement in return. “you’ve carried so much already. the way you lead the younger guys, the composure under pressure — it shows. rest those shoulders tonight, okay? ice them like the physios say.” he chuckles softly at your gentle teasing about resting his legs, the sound warm and easy, but underneath simmers deeper feelings — mutual crush evolving into something tender, real, built on weeks of understanding and respect.
another quiet moment near the gardens happens on a cooler evening, shorter this time due to stricter schedules and earlier curfews. the paths are dimly lit, the air carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers. hands brush again while walking side by side, the contact sending a familiar spark up your arm. neither pulls away right away. eye contact holds, his dark eyes soft in the low light.
“whatever happens in the final… i’m grateful for these weeks,” he says softly, voice sincere and a little vulnerable. “the talks, the texts, even the quick hallway jokes. it’s helped more than you know. having someone outside the team bubble who sees me as more than just the defender.”
you feel the same, words careful but heartfelt. “i’m grateful too, sunghoon. covering this run has been a dream, but getting to know you — the real you behind the ice prince reputation — has made it unforgettable. you’ve helped me stay grounded too, reminded me why i love the game in the first place.”
no lines crossed. just deepening connection, slow and respectful, hearts leaning closer as the biggest match approaches. you part ways with a quiet goodnight, the warmth of his words carrying you back to your room.
the week ends with the team focused and bonded tighter than ever. you prepare your notes for the final, mind full of sunghoon — the defender, the leader, the person who’s quietly become so important through shared laughs, supportive words, and those stolen moments of understanding. the final awaits, but this connection feels like its own victory already, a beautiful thread woven through the chaos of the tournament.
-------
the final week feels like the world has narrowed to a single point. south korea against a powerhouse european side — technically brilliant, physically strong, full of world-class attackers who can change a game in one moment. the hotel is quieter now, heavier with focus. players move through the halls with serious faces. laughter still comes, but it is softer, shorter. training is sharp, tactical, almost silent except for sunghoon’s calm instructions. he stands tall on the pitch, directing the backline with steady words, but you see the weight he carries.
media pressure peaks. every interview, every press conference asks about destiny, about making history, about what it would mean for the whole country. cameras follow the team everywhere. questions get harder. you feel it too, your own reports read by more people each day. but in the middle of all this, you and sunghoon steal small moments. a hallway smile when no one else is looking. a text at night that says “rest well. big day soon.”
the deeper connection from the semifinals carries them both. tension waving underneath, but they keep it light and supportive. inside jokes about elevator rules and ramyeon cravings ease the nerves when things feel too heavy.
the day before the final dawns clear and warm. new york’s sun rises early, painting the hotel windows in soft gold. you wake up with butterflies already dancing in your stomach. today is the last full day before everything reaches its peak. you know sunghoon must feel it even more. as vice-third captain, the expectations sit right on his shoulders. you spend the morning in the press area, typing notes and preparing questions, but your mind keeps drifting to him.
around midday, after the morning training session ends, you see him in the hotel lobby. he looks tired but composed, hair still damp from the shower, wearing simple team sweats. his shoulders seem a little tighter than usual. when his eyes find yours across the space, he gives a small nod. you walk over casually, keeping your voice low.
“hey,” you say softly. “how are you feeling today?”
he glances around to make sure no one is paying too much attention, then sighs a little. “honestly? i'm nervous. more than i thought i would be. this is the final. everything we worked for. what if i make a mistake out there? what if the team needs me and i am not sharp enough?”
his voice is quiet, almost a whisper. you see the worry in his dark eyes, the way he rubs the back of his neck. the ice prince mask is slipping just for you. you step a little closer, not touching yet, but near enough that your presence feels warm.
“sunghoon,” you say gently, “you have been incredible this whole tournament. that sliding tackle in the round of 16, the header in the group stage, the way you read the game in the semifinal. everyone sees it. the team trusts you. i trust you. one match does not erase all the good you have already done.”
he listens, eyes softening as he looks at you. “thank you. it helps hearing that from someone outside the squad. the coaches say the right things, teammates too, but sometimes it still feels heavy. like the whole country is watching.”
you nod, understanding. “it is heavy. but you do not carry it alone. not really. and tomorrow you will go out there and do what you always do — stay calm, read the play, lead by example. that is who you are.”
a small smile touches his lips. “you always know what to say. makes me feel steadier.”
the conversation flows easier after that. you walk together toward a quieter corner of the hotel, a small seating area away from the main bustle. no one bothers you. the moment feels private even in a busy place. you sit side by side on a comfortable couch. your knees brush lightly. neither of you moves away. the contact is simple but comforting, a quiet reminder that you are here with him.
“remember that time in the elevator?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood with an inside joke. “when we joked about coach cameras everywhere?”
he chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. it relaxes his shoulders a bit. “how could i forget? you said you would not tell if i did not. best deal i made all tournament.”
you laugh together, the sound mixing nicely. for a few minutes the final feels farther away. you talk about ramyeon again, what you would both eat right after the match if you could. he describes his favorite spot back in seoul in more detail this time — the spicy broth, the way the noodles feel, the late night vibes with friends. you share stories from your own travels, funny moments from smaller matches you covered before this big one. the talk helps. his voice grows calmer. the nervous edge fades little by little.
later that afternoon, after some recovery work, he texts you. the message is simple. “coffee area in twenty minutes? if you are free.”
you reply quickly. “see you there.”
when you arrive, he is already waiting with two cups of herbal tea. he hands one to you, fingers brushing yours on purpose this time. the touch lingers. you both sit close, closer than before. your arm rests near his on the table. the lobby is quiet enough that it feels like your own small world.
“i keep thinking about the first match,” he says after a sip. “how everything started. you were there with your questions. now here we are. final tomorrow. it feels fast and slow at the same time.”
you nod, turning to face him more. “it does. i have watched you grow even in these weeks. not just as a player. as a person. you let me see the real you. that means a lot.”
he looks at you, eyes steady and warm. “you let me see the real you too. not just the reporter. the person who loves the game, who works hard, who cares. it has been nice. more than nice.”
the words hang between you, full of meaning. tension builds again, the good kind that makes your heart beat faster. you lean in slightly. he does the same. your shoulders touch now, a gentle press that feels safe and exciting. his hand rests near yours on the table. fingers brush, then stay close, almost holding but not quite. the almost is sweet. it stretches the moment, makes it deeper.
“are you scared?” you ask quietly, wanting to give him space to share more.
he thinks for a second. “yes. a little. not of playing. but of letting everyone down. the fans, my family, the team…” then he adds, whispering, almost as if he was scared of pronouncing those words. ”what if i am not enough tomorrow?”
you turn your hand and gently squeeze his fingers for a brief moment. the contact is warm and reassuring. “you are enough, sunghoon. you have already proven it. tomorrow you will play like you always do. strong, smart, calm. and no matter what, i will be proud. the reporter part and the friend part.”
he squeezes back, just as gentle. his thumb rubs a small circle on the back of your hand before you both let go, aware of the surroundings. but the touch stays with you. his eyes look softer now, less nervous.
“thank you,” he whispers. “really. these talks… they help me breathe better. you help me.”
the rest of the afternoon passes in similar small moments. you walk together again near the gardens when schedules allow. the sun is lower, casting long shadows. this time you walk closer, arms brushing with every step. he tells you more about his younger days, the ice skating dreams, the pressure he felt even as a kid. you share your own fears about big assignments, how you sometimes doubt if your writing captures the real feeling.
“you do,” he says firmly. “your questions always make me think deeper. you see things others miss.”
the compliment warms you. you stop near a quiet bench. he sits first. you sit right beside him, thighs touching. the closeness feels natural now. his arm rests behind you on the bench, not quite around you but close enough that you can lean back into the support. you do. your head rests lightly against his shoulder for a few seconds. he does not move away. instead, he leans in too. the contact is soft, comforting. you stay like that for a minute, breathing together under the fading sky.
“whatever happens tomorrow,” he says quietly, voice close to your ear, “i am glad we had this. the connection. it is special.”
“me too,” you reply, heart full. “very special.”
you pull back after a while, but the warmth remains. he walks you partway to your floor later, the elevator ride shared again. this time it is just the two of you. no jokes about cameras. instead, quiet talk. his hand finds yours for a short squeeze as the doors open on your floor.
“rest well,” he says, eyes holding yours. “i will see you after the match.”
“you rest too,” you answer. “you will be great. i believe in you.”
that night the texts continue.
he sends a simple message. “can't sleep yet. thinking too much.”
you reply right away. “what is on your mind?”
“the final. the team. you.” the honesty makes your chest tight in a good way.
you send back encouragement. “you have prepared perfectly. tomorrow you step on the pitch and do what you love. i will be watching every move. cheering in the press box even if i stay professional on the outside.”
he sends a photo this time — just his hand holding the team badge on his sweatshirt, nothing fancy. “this means more with good support. thank you.”
the conversation goes on for a while, light and deep mixed together. he tells you a funny memory from training camp to ease his own nerves. you share a silly story from your first big assignment. laughter comes through the phone even if you can not hear it. slowly his messages slow down. “starting to feel tired. thanks for talking. goodnight.”
“goodnight, sunghoon. sleep well.”
the day before the final ends with you lying in bed, mind full of him. the way his shoulder felt under your head. the gentle squeeze of his hand. the nervous look that softened when you comforted him. the connection has grown so much closer, physically and emotionally. touches that linger. words that mean more. respect still holds everything together, but the tenderness is real. hearts leaning in as the biggest night of the tournament waits just ahead.
-------
the next morning comes early. you see him briefly at breakfast from across the room. he looks focused but calmer. when your eyes meet, he gives a small smile, the kind meant only for you. you smile back, sending silent support. the final is hours away, but the bond you built feels strong enough to carry through whatever comes. sunghoon is still nervous deep down, you know that. but he also knows he is not alone. your words, your presence, your gentle touches — they have become part of his strength. and for you, watching him chase history while sharing these quiet moments has become the most beautiful part of the whole world cup.
the hours before kickoff pass in a blur of preparation. you review your notes one last time in the press area. sunghoon sends one more text in the afternoon. “final walk through done. feeling ready. your words from yesterday helped a lot.”
you reply quickly. “you got this. go out there and be the wall they need. i am proud already.”
his answer is short but warm. “see you on the other side.”
as the team bus leaves for the stadium later, you watch from the hotel entrance. he catches your eye through the window for a brief second. the small nod he gives carries everything — gratitude, nerves, connection. you wave subtly, heart full. the day before the final has brought you closer than ever. touches, talks, comfort, shared silence. the final waits, but this quiet story between you already feels like a win worth cherishing.
-------
the stadium is a cauldron of noise and color long before kickoff, fans from both nations filling every seat, waving flags, singing chants that echo for miles. the air feels electric, thick with anticipation and the weight of history. you take your place in the press box high above the pitch, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. your notebook sits open, but your eyes keep drifting to the field where the teams warm up.
south korea in their iconic red shirt, sunghoon is wearing the captain’s armband tonight, standing tall among his teammates. his expression is focused, that ice-prince calm masking the storm you know is inside after all the quiet talks and shared moments. he moves with purpose during the warm-up, stretching, touching the grass, talking quietly with younger players. you watch every step, remembering the way his shoulder felt under your head, the gentle squeeze of his hand, the nerves he let you see the day before. national anthems play, voices rising strong and proud. sunghoon stands straight, hand over his heart, eyes distant but determined. the whistle blows and the final begins.
the match is a chess game from the start.
both teams circle each other carefully, probing for weaknesses without giving much away. south korea defends resolutely, staying compact and organized. sunghoon is everywhere at the back — reading runs before they develop, winning aerial duels with perfect timing, distributing the ball calmly from the back to start attacks. you lean forward in your seat, eyes locked on him, scribbling notes but mostly just watching the way he commands the defense. his voice carries across the pitch even from your high position, steady instructions cutting through the roar.
the european side presses high, trying to force mistakes, but the defense holds firm. chances come and go. a shot from the opponent is saved brilliantly by the keeper. a dangerous cross is cleared by sunghoon’s powerful header, his body leaping high, timing exact. the crowd roars with every tackle, every clearance. you cheer loudly from the press box every time he wins a duel, your voice joining the thousands of korean fans, heart swelling with pride and worry at the same time. “come on, sunghoon,” you whisper under your breath when a striker gets too close.
0-0 at half-time. the players jog off, faces tired but focused. sunghoon claps teammates on the back, saying quiet words of encouragement. you can see the tension in his shoulders from afar, the way he glances toward the press box once, searching briefly. you hope he feels your support even from this distance.
second half mirrors the first. intense, cagey, every ball contested like it is the last. sunghoon makes a heroic block in the 60th minute, throwing his body fully in front of a powerful strike. the impact looks painful. pain flashes across his face for a split second, but he rises quickly, brushing dirt from his jersey and waving teammates into position, voice strong again. you stand up in the press box, cheering wildly, hands clapping until they sting.
“that’s it! keep going!” the fans around you roar in agreement. he looks toward the stands, toward you, for just a moment, a tiny nod almost imperceptible, but it warms you through.
the game stays locked. legs start to tire as the minutes tick down. extra time begins, the stadium even louder now, the pressure mounting with every pass. sunghoon keeps organizing, never stopping, even as exhaustion shows in slower movements. he wins more duels, makes more key interceptions, leading by pure example.
you watch him the whole time, heart aching with every challenge he faces, proud of how he pushes through. the connection you built makes every moment feel personal. you want this for him so badly. you want him to be happy.
in the dying minutes of extra time, the 118th, disaster strikes. a quick counter from the opponent catches the defense stretched. a through ball splits the line perfectly. sunghoon lunges desperately, sliding with everything he has left, but the striker rounds the keeper and slots it home.
0-1. south korea is losing.
the stadium erupts in the opponent’s favor, their fans exploding in joy. heartbreak crashes down on the korean side like a wave. the clock ticks away the final moments. south korea pushes desperately for an equalizer, throwing numbers forward, but time runs out cruelly.
sunghoon stands motionless for a second on the pitch, hands on his hips, chest heaving. then he turns his head toward the press box again and again as the whistle approaches. he searches for your face in the crowd, eyes scanning desperately through the sea of people. devastation etches his features clearly now — the pain, the disappointment, the exhaustion. but he stays composed for the team, moving to clap teammates on the back, head high even as the reality sinks in. you cheer his name loudly through the pain in your own chest, voice raw, willing him strength across the distance. “sunghoon! i'm so proud of you!”
the final whistle confirms it.
defeat. 0-1.
the european side celebrates wildly, piling on each other, jumping and shouting. south korea’s players drop to the grass, exhausted and emotional, some covering their faces, others staring blankly at the sky. tears start to flow for many. the weight of coming so close only to fall short hits hard.
sunghoon gathers them slowly, moving from player to player with purpose even as his own eyes glisten.
he puts an arm around the younger ones, pulling them into huddles, voice steady despite the tears he is fighting back. you see him wipe his eyes quickly with the back of his hand, shoulders shaking once before he straightens again. he consoles them with quiet words, hugging tightly, letting some cry on his shoulder while offering comfort in return. they console him too — teammates patting his back, sharing the pain, reminding him how far they came together.
the group stands close in the middle of the pitch, a circle of red jerseys bonded through the heartbreak, sunghoon at the center, leading even in defeat, tears falling freely now as he lets the emotion show while still holding the team together. the moment is raw and beautiful, full of pride mixed with sorrow, the end of an unforgettable run.
medal ceremony follows under the bright stadium lights. the atmosphere is a strange mix of celebration for the winners and quiet pride mixed with sorrow for the runners-up. silver medals hang around necks, gleaming against the red jerseys. sunghoon steps up to receive his with quiet dignity, head held high even as his eyes glisten with unshed tears.
the crowd gives warm applause for the south korean team, chanting their names in appreciation for the run that captured so many hearts. he claps for his teammates, a small, bittersweet smile on his face, but you can see the weight in his posture from your place in the press area. the journey meant everything, and ending here still hurts.
media duties come next. the mixed zone feels somber this time, the usual buzz replaced by quieter voices and heavy emotions. players move through slowly, some with red eyes, others forcing smiles for the cameras.
when sunghoon reaches you, his eyes are teary, shoulders heavy with exhaustion and disappointment. his hair is damp, jersey still marked from the battle, the captain’s armband still on his arm. you keep the interview professional at first, but your voice is gentle, full of care.
“sunghoon, a heartbreaking end after an incredible run. what does this silver mean to you and the team?” you ask, microphone steady but tone soft.
he swallows hard, voice thick but clear as he answers. “it means a lot. we gave everything we had out there. i am proud of the journey, the fans who supported us, the fight we showed together. we will learn from this and come back stronger.” his eyes stay locked on yours the whole time. tears threaten to spill over. the professional facade cracks slightly, the ice prince letting the emotion show more than usual. the moment feels intimate even with cameras rolling.
as the camera holds and the interview continues for a few more questions, you cannot help it. under the barrier, your hand reaches out briefly for his arm, a quick but affectionate squeeze of comfort on his forearm, fingers lingering for a second longer than strictly necessary. the touch is warm and reassuring, right there in public where anyone could notice. he squeezes your hand back gently with his own, eyes saying everything words cannot — gratitude, shared pain, the depth of the connection built over these weeks. the affection is clear in the way his fingers press softly against yours before you both pull away, careful but meaningful. fans will dissect the moment later on social media, replaying the clip, but right now it is just for the two of you, a small anchor in the heartbreak.
you continue with one more gentle question about the team spirit. he answers thoughtfully, voice a little steadier thanks to the touch. “the guys fought so hard. i am proud to lead them. we came so far together.”
the interview ends. he lingers longest with you, teary-eyed and reluctant to move on. you reach out again quickly, this time touching his arm openly for a moment, a light, comforting rub along his sleeve, right there in the mixed zone. “you were amazing out there,” you whisper softly, eyes full of pride and care. “the whole tournament. i mean it.”
he nods, leaning slightly into the brief contact, his own hand covering yours for a heartbeat. “thank you,” he whispers back, voice cracking just a little. “for everything. the talks, the support, being here. it made a difference. really.” his eyes are still glistening, but the small smile he gives you is real and warm, full of affection that goes beyond the game. the public touch feels bold but right in this emotional moment, a quiet way of saying i am here with you.
he finally moves on after one last lingering look, shoulders a little lighter, the comfort from your touch and words carrying him forward. you stand there watching him go, heart full despite the loss, the connection between you stronger than ever even in defeat.
-------
hours later, when the stadium empties and the bittersweet hotel celebrations wind down, the corridors grow quiet. music fades, laughter turns softer, and players slowly retreat to their rooms to process the loss in private. you sit in a quiet corridor near the team floors, away from everyone, the area dimly lit with soft wall lights casting gentle shadows. the air feels still after the chaos of the day. you are replaying the match in your mind, the pride and the pain, when footsteps approach.
sunghoon finds you there. he has changed into a simple black hoodie and sweats, hair messy from the shower, eyes still red from the tears on the pitch and the emotion that followed. he looks tired but real, the captain’s mask completely gone now. you stand up slowly as he approaches, heart beating faster.
“hey,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper.
he stops close, closer than usual, looking at you with raw emotion that makes your chest tighten. his dark eyes search yours, glistening again under the low lights.
“i kept looking for you out there. in the final moments — when the goal went in, when the whistle blew. seeing you in the press box helped more than you know. it kept me going. it also reminded me why we fought so hard.”
silence stretches between you, heavy with everything unsaid over the weeks — the late night talks, the gentle touches, the shared laughs, the comfort you gave each other. the corridor feels like your own private world, far from cameras and teammates. he takes another small step closer, the air thick with tenderness and vulnerability.
“we lost the cup tonight,” he says, voice low and sincere, cracking just a little. “it hurts. a lot. but… i already won. having you here these weeks — getting to know you, talking after every match, those late nights in the lobby, the garden walks, your support when i was nervous. you made this whole journey feel like a win. even in defeat. i don’t know what happens when we go home, when the tournament ends and real life starts again, but i’d really like to keep seeing you. properly. no more careful lines. no more crazy boundaries. no more hiding how i feel.”
your heart swells so much it feels like it might burst. tears prick your own eyes as you look at him, this man who led with quiet strength through the entire world cup.
“sunghoon… i feel the same. you’ve been the best part of this tournament for me too. not just the football. the real you. the way you listened, the way you let me in, the way you made me laugh even on hard days. i don’t want this to end either.”
he steps even closer, almost closing the distance completely. the air thickens with all the built-up tension from weeks of slow glances and gentle touches. you smile through the emotion, trying to lighten it like you always do, voice soft and teasing.
“you know… i was half expecting you to kiss me right here, like iker casillas did with sara carbonero back in 2010 after the final.”
sunghoon blinks for a second, processing the words, then lets out a genuine laugh — surprised, warm, and full, breaking through the sadness in a beautiful way. his shoulders shake lightly as he chuckles, eyes sparkling despite the red rims and the loss.
“casillas did that because he won the world cup,” he points out, still chuckling softly, the sound echoing gently in the empty corridor. “he was champion. i'm not. i lost. so… bad timing on my part, huh?”
the silly joke lands perfectly. both of you start laughing quietly together, the sound mixing with the leftover emotion, tension easing into something sweeter and lighter. you reach out and touch his arm, squeezing it affectionately, feeling the warmth through the hoodie sleeve. he covers your hand with his own, holding it there, the contact grounding and tender. the laughter fades slowly into soft smiles, but the closeness remains.
he reaches up gently with both hands, cupping your face with careful, warm palms. his thumbs brush your cheeks softly, wiping away a stray tear you did not realize had fallen. “but if it’s okay… i’d still like to kiss you now. not because of a trophy. not because we won or lost. just because of you. because of us. these weeks meant everything to me.”
you nod, heart racing, whispering “yes” with a smile that trembles a little from the emotion.
the kiss is soft, tender, full of all the weeks of slow-burn tension and respect. his lips meet yours gently at first, sweet and unhurried, tasting of shared heartbreaks and quiet joys, of late night talks and comforting hugs. one of his hands slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading lightly into your hair. you lean into him, hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under the hoodie. the kiss deepens just a touch, still respectful but full of affection, pouring out everything you both held back for so long. when you pull apart, foreheads resting together, breathing softly in the quiet corridor, he smiles, eyes shining.
“we’ll win the next one,” he murmurs, voice warm against your skin. “together. whatever comes after this.”
you nod, smiling back, fingers tracing his arm gently. “together sounds perfect.”
the tournament ends in silver, bittersweet but proud.
but for sunghoon and you, it marks the beginning of something golden. friendship blossomed into more, slow and steady, just like extra time in a tight match — worth every minute, every glance, every touch, every quiet conversation that led to this moment in the dim corridor.
the future waits, but right now, in each other’s arms, the loss feels a little smaller.
다니 ⦂ sorry this has been rotting in my drafts since october
LEE HEESEUNG
you’ve never been one for pda. heeseung knows that. he's used to the way you slip your hand from his when others pass by, the way you brush off kisses with a quiet smile. you’re usually cool, distant, never the type to show affection when eyes are on you. but tonight? oh, tonight was different. some girl was laughing a little too close, her manicured hand brushing his arm, and before he could even blink, you were there. “missed you,” you murmur, fingers curling around his jaw, tilting his face toward yours. your lips press against his. his hands find your waist instinctively, grounding himself because holy shit. when you finally pull back, he’s grinning, eyes half-lidded, voice low. “oh, you missed me, huh?” he teases, smug as hell. you roll your eyes, but your arm stays around him this time, tight.
PARK JAY
when you’re upset, it’s never loud. no raised voice, no sharp sighs like any normal person would. just that calm, steady tone that makes jay’s chest tighten instantly. he finds you sitting on the couch, legs tucked up, scrolling on your phone like nothing’s wrong, but he knows better. you’re silent, eyes glued to your phone, lips pressed tight. “princess, talk to me.” he’s already pulling you closer, his hand resting gently on your waist, his thumb rubbing slow circles. when you don’t answer, he kisses the top of your head, his fingers brushing through your hair, "please, baby, don’t be mad.” you finally speak, voice low, “you didn’t text when you said you would.” he blinks, trying not to smile, but his heart aches at how serious you are. he feels a rush of relief that it’s not something bigger, but that doesn’t stop him from being apologetic. his hand moves to cup your cheek. "won’t happen again, promise,” he murmurs.
SIM JAKE
jake’s eyes are locked on you, the rare, soft curve of your lips catching him off guard. you don’t smile much, but when you do, it’s like everything stops for a second. he freezes, his heart stuttering, and for a split second, he forgets how to breathe. he’s trying to play it cool, leaning casually against the wall, but his gaze is fixed on you like he’s trying to memorize the way you look when you smile. “god,” he mutters. he swears it's the prettiest thing he's ever seen, and he can't stop watching you. he leans in closer, voice low and teasing, “you know, princess, you should smile more. it's pretty on you," "don't tease me," you murmur, but he can't help but smile back.
PARK SUNGHOON
you walk half a step ahead of him, hands buried in your coat pockets, expression unreadable, eyes fixed forward. sunghoon knows better. he drifts close anyway. he doesn’t comment on it. his shoulder brushing yours, and casually hooks his pinky around yours like it’s nothing. you don’t look at him. you don’t slow down. you definitely don’t react. he smiles to himself. but you don’t pull away either. later, when he squeezes your hand and calls you his pretty girl, you let him (just this once).
KIM SUNOO
you’re quieter than usual, curled into his side on the couch, fever-warm and tired enough than you gave up pretending you weren't sick. sunoo frowns immediately. “look at me. you’re burning. you didn’t tell me you felt this sick,” he says, fingers already in your hair, brushing it back like it’s muscle memory. you mumble, “didn't want to worry you,” and he clicks his tongue. “that’s not an excuse. you have to drink water. and eat. and rest.” he cups your face anyway, thumbs warm against your cheeks. you huff a weak laugh, and he smiles like he’s won something. “sunoo,” you mumble. “mm?” “can you stay?" he grins. “always.”
YANG JUNGWON
jungwon’s leaning against the counter, arms loose, watching you like he always does. “you’re doing that thing again,” he says, stepping closer. . “what thing,” you reply flatly, not moving, just looking at him. he hums, crowding your space, hands sliding to your waist. “waiting.” you don’t answer. he leans in slowly, teasing, noses brushing, and you tilt your head just a fraction. he smiles and pulls back on purpose. "idiot." you grab his jaw with two fingers and pull him back into a kiss. he laughs against your lips, kissing you slow.
NISHIMURA RIKI
you’re both tangled in blankets, knees bumping, riki poking your side for about the tenth time. “move, you’re stealing all the covers,” he whispers. “cry about it,” you mumble, eyes half closed. he grins in the dark. “say it. say you love me.” you roll your eyes, deadpan, staring at the ceiling. “you talk too much.” “that’s not a no,” he grins. you sigh, barely audible, smooth like it slips out on accident. “i love you.” he hums, distracted, still teasing. then freezes. five seconds pass. “wait.” he props himself up. “what did you say?” you turn away. “nothing.” “no, no, repeat it,” you groan. “shut up and go to sleep, idiot.” he kisses your temple anyway. “whatever you say, love,” he smirks. this asshole.
Idk if your doing requests but I was wondering if you could do angst like idol niki or any enha member x non idol reader and he goes onto a show or smth and flirts with the girl mc of thw show and they get shipped and then like he starts being cold and really dry to the reader in texts and person and they argue about it and he says something really really crazy to her like in a rude way and she starts crying and leaves and yeaa the rest is up to you!!sorry I wrote sm I feel like a yapper🥲
(also they keep their relationship secret for the enha members career)
THE GREATEST ✶ PARK SUNGHOON
𝕰𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋 : "just wanted passion from you, just wanted what i gave you…”
note 。 anon u must know i live for angst cause this prompt is EVERYTHING hopefully it was what u wanted!
it felt almost comical seeing your boyfriend laugh for the nth time on your tiny tv screen. your coworkers all around you, murmuring about how handsome he looked, how good the chemistry was between him and his cohost. you couldn’t even deny it, as much as you wanted to, that the chemistry between them was palpable.
like any other friday, your coworkers would turn on music bank to watch their favorite groups perform and their favorite idols mc; on any other friday, you were always snickering under your breath hearing your peers fawn over the man on the screen knowing you were the only one that got to sleep with him at night.
that being said, this wasn’t like any other friday. you weren’t normally the jealous type; you were secure in your relationship with sunghoon, despite him wanting your relationship to stay between the two of you (for your protection, of course).
you met very late at night at the convenience store ten minutes out from his company building. he joined you after watching you at the window table eating ramen like there was no tomorrow, and around a month after that first meeting, he asked you to be his girlfriend. that was around eight months ago now, so when you say you’re secure in your relationship, you meant it.
and for the past eight months, sunghoon has been nothing short of perfect. you never tried to bother him much, knowing how busy he got. he was always gentle and caring with you in return, so your relationship grew into a more domestic kind of love.
there was nothing to complain about, really. that was until around a month ago.
sunghoon had been preparing strenuously for his new position as a music bank mc, and because of that, his hours got longer, his work doubled, and his time with you lessened.
you really tried not to care, just focused on your work instead of his, because that’s how he preferred it. you just couldn’t help but feel off when you would receive dry messages and one word answers on phone calls all the time.
it didn’t help that his first day on the job led to tons of dating rumors between him and his cohost. who likes seeing their boyfriend be happy with everyone but them?
“did sunghoon just say she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen? he wasn’t even looking at his script-- it’s like he wants dating rumors!” that alone snapped you out of your thoughts. they were right; he was barely looking at his script.
“yah, shouldn’t you be working?” you said as you turned back to your laptop. you heard your coworker sigh, leaning against your cubicle wall. “you’ve been like this since the new mc’s starting hosting… are you just sad your favorite idol has a new girlfriend now?”
you felt your heart pick up, but you let out a snicker to mask it. “what are you talking about mina? i think i’ve been like this since you started playing a music show at your office job.”
“did you see the picture that just came out?”
“...what picture?”
“the picture of sunghoon out with his new girlfriend? i thought you liked him…? wait-- do you even like idols like that?--”
“show me the picture, mina.” she hesitated at your change in tone, but she pulled out her phone anyways. turning her screen to you after a few moments of looking, you saw a very clear picture of him and his mc partner at dinner together. by themselves. he was laughing brightly and feeding her a piece of food.
“when was this?” you heard mina gulp at your sudden interest, “two nights ago? do you actually have a crush on him, y/n--”
“no.” you handed her back her phone and turned back to your laptop. “get back to work, mina.”
“okay mom…” you heard her say before turning around and walking away. “weird…”
. . .
“y/n? what are you doing here? you know you can’t be here.” he looked around the hallway before gently pulling you inside. “i know, i know. i just really needed to talk to you, you know, about what's been going on recently?”
after work, you decided to take matters into your own hands. it was a risk going to sunghoon’s dorm when the sun was still up, but it was a risk you were willing to take.
he sighed deeply as he turned to walk towards the living room, leaving you to take your shoes off at the door.
“alright. jay, heeseung and sunoo are out and jungwon is at the company so we’re good for a little while. jake and ni-ki are gaming inside though, so lets just try to keep it down, yeah?”
usually you wouldn’t question it, but you were starting to since he seemed so okay with going out with his mc partner in public…
you set your bag down on the coffee table wordlessly opting to sit next to him on the couch, looking anywhere but at him. it was clear you weren’t in your right mind; your posture was perfect and you were rubbing your sweaty palms against your work slacks. usually, sunghoon would pick that up, but this time, he was just looking at the ground with his elbows resting on his knees.
if someone were to walk in, they would think you two were at a business meeting with how rigid you guys were.
“where were you two nights ago?” he stiffened at your soft voice.
“i was out.”
you looked at him now, your eyes hardening at his vague response. you quickly pulled out your phone and pulled up the picture, before throwing it in sunghoon’s lap. “yeah i fucking know you were out, hoon.”
he flinched at the contact, picking it up to look at it in detail. he groaned while putting your phone on the coffee table.
“this is what your here for? it was nothing, y/n. i thought you weren’t like that.”
“i’m not “‘like that”’ unless you give me a reason to be-- i mean why the fuck are you feeding her food in the first place?” he leaned back on the couch, looking almost bored of the conversation now. “she couldn’t pick up the meat properly so i just did it for her.”
your eyes widened at his shamelessness. “am i a fucking joke to you, sunghoon?” he groaned again, rubbing his hands over his face. “you know you’re not a joke to me, babe, it was a harmless dinner. our managers were there, they just left early.”
“so why didn’t you guys leave with them?”
silence hit him. for some reason, he couldn’t think of anything to say. you got the hint though, and you felt sick. your eyes started to water quickly.
“you fucking liked it, didn’t you?” you heard him sigh as you stood up from the couch. “be honest sunghoon, you went on a date with another girl, and you liked it?”
“it wasn’t a fucking date, y/n--”
“is that why you want me to be kept secret so bad? so you can go out with whoever and not have a girlfriend on your conscience?”
“i’m doing this for you!” you flinched as he stood to tower over you. that was the first time he ever raised his voice at you. “you think i want to deal with your shit and be private at the same time? you don’t think i’m dealing with enough right now? i’m doing this because i have to, so don’t say dumb shit like that, y/n.”
“how do you expect me to think you’re serious about me when you can’t even bring me around your dorm?”
“you knew what you got into when you got into this relationship.”
“and i dealt with it. but how does hiding me from your own members help either of us? and now this? going out in public with your work partner-- feeding her food-- how are you hiding me “because you have to” after all that?” your breathing was heavy as you sobbed, looking at the ground. sunghoon was silent, but it was clear he was heated.
“how can i even… reassure myself that you still love me if you’re out with other people and keeping me hidden?”
sunghoon’s shoulders dropped.
“y/n, i’m so tired. i’m tired of this job, i’m tired of these accusations, and i’m so tired of your stupid insecurities being projected onto me. i don’t have the energy to reassure you, okay? if you think i don’t love you anymore then so fucking be it. i just want you to leave me alone and let me deal with my own shit-- it’s draining, to be as honest as i can, since that’s all you fucking want from me these days.”
the silence that fell after that was… heavy. he regretted it the second his heavy breaths settled into the tension.
your reaction didn’t help either.
you were at a loss for words; your eyes were wide and glassy, mouth slightly agape. your previous sobs came to a halt when he first said it.
if you think i don’t love you anymore then so be it. you did think it, so he did feel it.
you looked down, nodding to yourself as your tears started to fall to the ground instead of your cheeks. if you think i don’t love you anymore then so be it.
“then so be it, sunghoon.” you wiped a stray tear away as you reached for your things on the coffee table. your previous sadness was so quickly replaced with emptiness, you didn't even know how to process it all. and sunghoon, your once lovesick boyfriend that never even dreamt of saying what he said to you, was at a loss himself.
he didn’t mean it-- any of it, he didn’t mean for things to get this bad, but he himself started to lose his grip on his balance between you and work. his adamance on you staying hidden was draining enough, but he was doing it for you-- or at least that’s what he’s been telling himself.
you couldn’t understand why you had to be hidden from his members too, but you were starting to realize it was because he was afraid that in doing so, you would be real. it was so clear to you now, he was just pushing you away before things got too real, but like him, you were tired too.
the front door opened as you put your shoes on. heeseung, jay, and sunoo froze at the door as they watched you look at them and bow, before sliding past them to go home. the air inside was extremely tense as sunghoon collapsed back onto the couch, his hands rubbing his face in distress.
“uh-- why was there a girl crying in our living room? do you… know her?” heeseung got no response for a minute as the rest of them continued to come inside and settle in.
“she’s my girlfriend.” he heard sunoo spit out the water he was about to drink and jay drop four shopping bags from across the hall. “or-- she was. i fucked up so bad.”
. . .
that night was one of the worst nights of your life. you cried so hard you passed out at four in the morning and you couldn’t open your eyes properly when you woke up. you had to call in sick because your head was pounding and your nose was so clogged you were breathing through your mouth.
you knew sunghoon wouldn’t even have the time to check in on you, and he certainly hasn’t given you a call or a text. not that you would want one-- no, you blocked him the second you left. he was already gone before you had even confronted him about the whole thing anyways. you did wonder what the others thought when you walked in though... maybe sunghoon told them you were a stalker, or maybe that you were his old figure skating friend.
it had been a week since the argument, and you were already learning the hard way that the world doesn’t stop when you’re going through something.
you had just gotten back from a run to clear your head after work, because “out of sight, out of mind” was becoming your new motto. it was starting to become familiar to you, the phrase, until your doorbell rang right as you stepped out the shower.
honestly, the last person you expected to show up at your door was sunghoon. hell, you even expected mina to show up before him-- but to your surprise, sunghoon stood tall in front of you, holding three big gift bags and a flower bouquet.
you didn’t even know how to react, your eyes were wide as you looked up at the boy, who was nothing short of nervous.
“can i… come in?” you barely heard him. his voice was so quiet and gentle that the aircon was almost louder than him. you were seriously debating on if you should because even if it was almost a week ago, his words ran deep. ultimately, your body reacted faster than your brain did, stepping out of the way to make the entrance clear. you heard him release a strangled breath, like it was something he had been holding for years.
he carefully placed the gift bags on your dining table before turning back to you with the large bouquet in hand. he was staring at the flowers, shaking a bit.
“i don’t… expect you to forgive me…” he drew in a deep breath, before looking into your eyes. “but if we’re going to end, let’s end right.”
for some reason, that broke your heart. for the past week, you were so adamant on ignoring the situation overall that you didn’t think about the status of your relationship after everything. facing the reality that maybe things won’t be the same… it made you feel sick. sunghoon continued before you could respond.
“i want to start by saying that i’m sorry. bare minimum, yes, but you deserve that at least--”
his words caught in his throat as you gently took a hand that was holding the bouquet to guide him to the couch. you sat down quickly after, patiently looking up at him to sit beside you. you looked like an angel on earth to him, really. he too, felt his body move before his brain did as he sat down with the bouquet still held tightly.
“what i did was… unforgivable. to be honest with you, i didn’t think anything of it because i would never even think to choose another person over you. that dinner felt like nothing to me, because i was just thinking about how she wasn’t you the whole time.” he sighed, holding the bouquet to his lap now.
“i don’t even know why i got so defensive… i just had a two hour meeting before you came that day-- about everything happening right now. maybe having another talk about it set me off. that isn’t an excuse, but it’s context, i guess.”
you could tell he was starting to word vomit now, but you continued to listen patiently.
“honestly y/n, its been rough, these past few weeks. i couldn’t even look past all that and see how hard you’ve been trying for me. how many times you’ve made meals for me, or sent me coffee. this whole week without made me realize this might’ve been a fraction of what you’ve been feeling like this whole month… i’m just… so deeply sorry for making you feel like that.”
he finally looked up to see your eyes watering as you listened silently. and as if he couldn’t help it, he let go of the bouquet to wipe a stray tear from your cheek.
“I’m drowning all the time, y/n, but you? you’re my breath of fresh air. you’re the reason why i try so hard to swim back up to the surface.” you started to fully cry now, and you could feel sunghoon gently pulling you into his chest.
“i tried to keep you at a distance so i didn’t pull you down with me, baby,” he murmured into your hair. “when we first started dating, i brought up the idea to the members and they were… really against it. they really got in my head about involving others into my personal life because of how intense it can get. honestly, i still agree with them.”
your cries died down, hiccups and sniffles being the only sounds coming from you as you listened intently against his chest. it was nice, his heartbeat never jumped when he talked. just a soothing, steady rhythm.
“and after you left that night, i told them everything. i realized that it’s not fair to you, being left behind to the closet people to me.” there he goes again, speaking softer than the air around him. “i do love you, y/n. i love you more than anything.”
at that, he felt your arms wrapped around his waist tighten, then relax. after a minute of silence, he craned his neck to the side to see your face buried in his chest, eyes closed.
to be fully honest, you haven’t slept properly in days. sunghoon somehow always had that affect on you: his soft voice that he reserves only for you, his calm breathing in contrast to your constant anxious state, and his scent that always smelled like home to you… it almost made you forget the whole thing.
you knew you weren’t going to leave, but you also knew it wasn’t going to be the same, either. there was some trust you had to rebuild, some new friends you had to make. you both knew it wasn’t going to be easy.
he chuckled at your cheek squished against his chest and kiss your head, before laying you back with him on the couch.
honestly, rebuilding seems like a tomorrow problem. you were going to stay here for now, at the safest place where you know you could be.
a/n: yes i know the ending is ahh im trying to get this out before finals week
will your rival give you the comfort your boyfriend never could?
【REPLAY】 ♥︎ rival ! p.sh x 𝑓 reader smau ◜ ‿ ◝ profanity yn has a dick bf dry texts alcohol pics ' back2friends #𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊 — 날 보내줘
OO1 OO2 OO3 more tba..
omg manariee comeback also im so sorry for those who wanted back to friends written i just had a bad feeling and dreaded to post it :( this is basically the same thing tho just smau version! there will be written parts too throughout the chapterssss
hii ur writing and smaus are so amazingly delicious and funny… could i req a sunghoon smau ?
10/10 would ride again! park sunghoon.
SYNOPSIS sunghoon was never good at communicating with girls— or people for that matter. so when he accidentally becomes your personal chauffeur after offering you “unlimited rides,” he realizes that he’s in a world of trouble. how was he supposed to know you’d take it literally?
genre. smau oneshot, crack, fast-paced romance pairing. uber driver! sunghoon x fem!reader warnings. profanity, everyone’s dumb, sexual innuendos author’s note. i’m gonna try and write something. for real. like i swear. also first sunghoon fic on this account HELLO!!!
