❀ genre: arranged marriage!au, chaebol!au, (kind of) enemies to lovers, suggestive, fluff, minor angst
❀ word count: ~6.1k
❀ warnings: explicit language, making out, dry humping, depictions of foreplay (but no smut sorry), arranged marriage, families suck in this
❀ summary: Everyone always said that Kim Gyuvin wasn’t fit for the corporate tech world. So why they would assume he’s fit to be your husband is beyond you. On your honeymoon, Gyuvin shows you exactly why he'll be perfect for you.
❀ a/n: I felt invincible writing this omg. I absolutely adore Gyuvin and this fic! As always, likes, replies, and reblogs are encouraged. Happy reading!
masterlist
You were never under the illusion that your marriage would be your choice. In a world of corporate deals and conglomerate negotiations, you’ve always been aware that there’s no room for feelings. Life is a game of strategy, and marriage is a simple tactic used to get you a couple steps up the ladder.
That doesn’t make this any easier, though.
Your dress is pristine white, a little too conservative for your taste, and trailing for what feels like miles behind you. Your veil is clipped securely into your updo, all but ensuring that you will have a headache later in the night. At least the hard part is over. You’ve already kissed your husband, sealing your fate and tying your future up with a neat bow.
Your distaste for the ceremony was mirrored in the man you were betrothed to, his grimaces and scoffs poorly concealed throughout the day. But you’re not surprised. Kim Gyuvin has never been known for his subtlety.
As a child, Gyuvin was goofy and clumsy, limbs always a bit too big for his tailored suits. He stumbled over his words when he spoke and cracked too many ill-timed jokes. You’re sure that if he wasn’t the Kim family’s eldest son, he would be saved from his fate of being the CEO of the company. He has had too many blunders, too many indications that the corporate world simply isn’t for him.
But fate is a cruel thing.
Gyuvin almost exists as your exact opposite. Where Gyuvin is rough around the edges, you’ve always been a bit too prim, a bit too polished in your family’s company. Your stoicism and lack of mistakes has earned you the teasing nickname of the family’s “robot”. Stories have run rampant in your family’s company about your icy exterior and lack of care for anything other than the business.
While some consider it scary, you have always considered it to be strategic. In the world you live in, emotions do nothing but hinder your success. Staying detached means that you stay nimble, never worrying too much about the project you cared for failing or the employee you favored being fired. Instead, you fulfill your duties, not caring too much about what it may entail.
However, in the front of the banquet hall, with hundreds of eyes on you, you’re hit with an immense feeling of sadness. This is it; this is your life now. You are destined to live a life wed to Kim Gyuvin, the overwhelmingly powerful laughing stock of the tech conglomerate world. You wonder if that means you are destined to become a joke as well.
The ceremony passes in a blur of first dances and shaking hands. It isn’t until you and Gyuvin are alone in the limousine that you remember to breathe again. Even in the dim lighting of the limo, you struggle to ground yourself, the constant reminder that this is your life now bouncing around your mind.
Across from you, Gyuvin doesn’t seem to be faring much better, eyes wide and rounded as they flit nervously around the car. It’s almost endearing, the way he looks like a lost puppy, clearly trying to grasp the gravity of the situation. After a moment, he faces you with a sheepish smile.
“Hey, at least we don’t have to kiss in front of hundreds of people ever again.”
In any other situation, you would appreciate the attempt at breaking the ice. But right now, you can’t do more than roll your eyes.
“Tough crowd,” Gyuvin mumbles.
Something ugly brews in your core, constricting your throat in a tight heat. “You think this is funny or something?”
Gyuvin looks genuinely surprised by your outburst, eyes growing impossibly wider. “No, I-I…it’s just…I was just trying to be nice.”
“Fuck that,” you spit. “We don’t have to pretend to be okay with this anymore. We can just move on with our lives and act like the other doesn’t exist.”
Gyuvin scoffs, the offended sound echoing in the confined space of the car. You know you’re being harsh, but you can’t help the angry heat that is overtaking your body. It doesn’t matter how many jokes you crack or how many niceties you exchange. Your lives are over. Your autonomy is gone. Your strategy has worked to get you both to the top, but at what cost?
“Why are you acting like this is my fault? I had as little of a say in this as you did.”
He’s right, of course. You were both called into a large meeting room a few months ago with no prior notice, assuming it would be the simple exchange of pleasantries necessary to maintain the relationship between two major companies. Instead, you were sat down and hit with the news. Five months of engagement and a major public wedding. In a few years time, the companies would merge and acquire a few other smaller targets in the sector.
It was the perfect business plan, so much so that you had no choice but to accept it. Gyuvin was much more vocal about his disapproval, both of the plan and the situation. But you heard it for what it was, a disapproval of you. With that disapproval, there’s no room for pleasantries, not now.
You sigh loudly, letting your eyes flutter shut in an attempt to ground yourself. “Let’s just drop it. We clearly both don’t want this, so let’s just…drop it.”
You can barely hear Gyuvin’s response, coming out as little more than a mutter under his breath. It’s not worth following up on, not with the way the anger is finally leaving your body. It’s soon replaced by a dull throbbing at the crown of your head. Fuck the stupid veil.
. . .
It would be difficult to ignore Gyuvin if you weren’t married, but it seems to be absolutely impossible given your situation. The two of you only experienced one day of living together before leaving for your honeymoon, and you find yourself instantly missing your new shared home. There, at least, it was easy to dodge Gyuvin as you moved from room to room. When he would be in the bedroom, you would move to the kitchen. When he watched baseball in the living room, you holed up in your office.
But when you arrive at your beachside villa on the northwestern coast of Seychelles, you quickly realize that your avoidance game will soon come to an end.
The villa is beautiful, a one story building divided into four simple rooms. The kitchen and living room are connected by a wooden arch, both with large windows that offer a beautiful view. A small hallway leads both of you to the bedroom, a master bathroom behind a smaller door in the corner of the room. The bedroom is by far the largest of the rooms, equipped with a California king bed sprinkled with rose petals. An ice bucket filled with two champagne bottles sits in the center of the roses, no doubt an homage to the fact that you’re on your honeymoon.
“This is beautiful,” Gyuvin breathes out, face pressed to the sliding glass door that offers you both a direct view of the beach.
You have to agree, with the way the jungle landscape gives way to white sand shores. It’s a private section of beach, something your families no doubt arranged to give you some privacy from wandering eyes. You doubt that here, halfway across the world, there would be anyone who would care about who you and Gyuvin are, but it helps to know that there will be less pressure to pretend.
When Gyuvin turns to you, the wonder in his eyes dims a bit, the smile falling off his face. It hurts a bit, the clear displeasure he regards you with. You are sure it will only get worse with time, leaving you both trapped in a loveless marriage for who knows how long.
“Do you want to take the bed? The couch seems comfy enough for me.”
The question catches you off guard. While you know that the two of you are not quite the closest, you are married. The fact that Gyuvin would rather take the couch than share a bed with his spouse stings more than you expected. For someone known for his overly goofy and kind nature, Gyuvin sure knows how to hit you where it hurts.
“You’re going to sleep on the couch for ten days?” The question leaves you before you can catch it. “Really?”
Gyuvin shrugs. “I mean, yeah.”
“What about the bed?”
“That’s where you’re sleeping,” Gyuvin states plainly, as if that explains everything. “I’m fine with the couch.”
You try your best to ignore the pain in your chest as you nod once, still processing. It alleviates the tiniest bit when Gyuvin sends you a small smile.
“Perfect. Let me go unpack.”
It isn’t until the next day that you feel bad for what you agreed to. You watch as the man in front of you groans, clutching his back as he navigates the narrow path to the private beach. He’s trying his best to be quiet, hoping that his obvious discomfort will fly under the radar. Clearly, it isn’t.
When the two of you arrive at the only two beach chairs on the small cove, Gyuvin is quick to toss off his t-shirt, revealing what seems like miles of tan, unblemished skin.
You’ve never been under the impression that Gyuvin was anything other than ridiculously attractive. He has the perfect proportions, so much so that you would think he would be a model in another life. His limbs stretch for miles, lightly toned as they connect to an even more chiseled torso. It all works in contrast to his boyishly cute face, his round eyes and button nose making him look much younger than he is.
Gyuvin is beautiful; that’s an indisputable fact. You’re sure that in another universe, where facts or feelings could rule your life instead of strategy, you’d probably make a move on him. The you from a parallel universe is probably jumping for joy that you managed to bag a man this attractive. But the you standing in front of him just sighs, trying to dampen the guilt that swirls in your stomach.
“Does it hurt?” You ask after a few moments, watching warily as Gyuvin continuously rolls his shoulders.
The man’s gaze is clearly skeptical, only partially visible behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. “What do you mean?”
“Your shoulders, your back…you keep groaning and stretching them like they’re sore.”
“Yeah, well,” he chuckles awkwardly. “Even though the couch is big, I’m not sure it’s meant to sleep people as tall as me.”
Gyuvin’s cheeks are dusted with a soft pink, the kind that could easily be mistaken for an early sunburn. But the two of you have only been out here for mere minutes, and Gyuvin was too much of a Virgo to let you leave without applying ample SPF. You wonder if he knows how cute he is when he’s embarrassed.
“Sleep in the bed.”
Gyuvin’s eyes widen at your curt response. “But that’s where you—!”
“We’re married,” you state plainly. “It won’t kill us to share a bed. Besides, it’s big enough that we’ll each be able to stick to our own sides.”
“Are you sure?”
“Gyuvin…”
The corner of his lips twitch upwards, as if fighting a smile. “Okay, um thanks! I guess I can be honest now that sleeping on the couch sucked.”
You can’t help but snort out a laugh, surprisingly endeared by Gyuvin’s candor. “Yeah, you weren’t the best at hiding it.”
“Well,” Gyuvin shrugs. “I’ve never been good at hiding things.”
. . .
The first thing you register when you wake up is that it’s hot, oppressively so. But then you remember that you’re on vacation in Seychelles; of course it’s hot. The third realization is that it shouldn’t be this hot. Just as your sleep-addled mind begins to go down a rabbit hole, something twitches against you. Well, it’s more like someone twitches against you.
A toned arm is slung low around your waist, heavy and heated here it presses against you. Your sleep shirt must have ridden up throughout the night, allowing the arm to sit skin to skin. The contact doesn’t seem to end there, though. A tiny shift from behind you forces you to realize that there’s a lengthy body pressed against you from head to toe.
Gyuvin.
He’s surprisingly comfortable despite being so firm against you. The hard planes of muscle and length of limbs palpable where they are pressed behind you. He’s warm, so much warmer than you ever imagined a human to be. While his body is like a furnace, the heat is only amplified by the short puffs of warm breath against the back of your neck, causing the skin to erupt in goosebumps.
You struggle to remember how exactly you got into this position. At dinner, you and Gyuvin shared a few glasses of wine over some small talk, but nothing to get you truly drunk. Gyuvin insisted that honeymoons were for drinking, but knew that getting drunk probably would have ended in a fiery argument. The two of you had come to a silent agreement that the best course of action was to remain quiet but cordial; it would be the only way you could make it through your honeymoon.
After the boring quips and polite commentary were exchanged over dinner and wine, the two of you had come back to the villa, changed for bed, and laid down on opposite sides. You definitely fell asleep on opposite sides. So how did you end up cuddled so close?
You’re snapped out of your reverie by a soft grumble and a shift behind you. You freeze, suddenly all too aware of something stiff pressed to your backside. It can’t be…but another shift from Gyuvin lets you know that it definitely is, and it definitely isn’t small.
This is normal, you tell yourself. Gyuvin is a young man in his twenties, likely sexually repressed since the news of his engagement was made public. You know all too well how impossible it is to find a hookup when every decision you make comes at the expense of your family and their company’s reputation. And now that Gyuvin is married, it will be even harder to find that release. You try to ignore the fact that ideally, you would be the release. In a perfect world, you would have no problem helping Gyuvin out as his wife. But every time you even try to imagine initiating something, the image of Gyuvin’s disappointed face pops into your mind.
The arm slung across your waist suddenly tightens, pulling you impossibly closer. The heat of his body is oppressive at this point, combined with the stiff reminder of your closeness. You feel as though you’re about to crawl out of your skin, shaken but not entirely disgusted by the position that you’ve ended up in. You can admit that you’ve been touch starved since you were a teenager, and Gyuvin feels so good behind you. Maybe you could get used to–.
“Mmh,” Gyuvin grumbles, voice thick and raspy with sleep. “What time is it?”
Your cheeks burn. “I, uh, don’t know.”
Gyuvin shifts again, soft and pliant before suddenly turning rigid. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he pieces together the position that you’re in. In the blink of an eye, you’re stripped of all warmth as Gyuvin extracts himself, flinging his body to the other side of the comically large bed.
“Holy shit,” he breathes out. “I’m so sorry.”
You can’t bear to turn around, not wanting to take in the wide eyed expression he’s no doubt wearing. It would be too much, serving as a reminder of the fact that none of this is real. Gyuvin is probably disgusted with himself, disgusted by the thought of being so close to you. You get it. None of this was his choice either.
“I-it’s fine.”
“Still, I…fuck. I’m sorry.”
“Gyuvin,” you hiss out, hating the way that flames of anger begin to lick at your core. “I said it’s fine.”
Gyuvin audibly gulps. It’s the only response you get before you hear the rustling of sheets, then the soft thump of Gyuvin’s feet hitting the floor. You listen as he takes a few retreating steps, then the bathroom door slams. It’s only then that you let yourself breathe, realizing your heart has been pumping a mile a minute in your chest.
. . .
The rest of the day passes slowly and sticky like molasses, the bright heat of the morning melting into midday, only to puddle into a syrupy afternoon. The heat is both oppressive and refreshing, warming your body from the inside out.
Gyuvin has managed to avoid you all day, despite only having four rooms to rotate through. At some point, you have mercy on him, retreating to the pair of chairs on the private beach. The waves are calm today, as if exhausted under the heat. You share their pain, despite being shaded by an overly large umbrella and indulging in icy cocktails brought to you by beachside service.
The heat mellows out as the sun begins to sink lower in the sky, painting the seascape in front of you in an orangey hue. It’s quite beautiful, the way the sun reflects off the water and glistens like sequins. It’s the view that most couples would take pictures of to send home. It’s the backdrop that they would use for warm gazes and passionate kisses. Some would even take advantage of the privacy and make love right there, exposing the rawest forms of themselves to the ocean and jungle.
Instead, you are stuck enjoying the beautiful scenery by yourself.
For the first time since your wedding, you begin to cry. It starts out as just a few droplets trailing down your tanned cheeks, but it quickly evolves into full body sobs. Your frame shakes as you struggle to choke back your sounds of grief. You cry as if you’ve lost something dear to you, and you suspect you have. Your life will never be the same. Your life will never be yours; it never was to begin with.
The sunset has only grown in vibrancy by the time you hear the rustling of sand behind you. As it draws closer, you rush to wipe at your face, hoping to erase any trace of sadness from your face. Even a mere hotel worker catching sight of your tears could be catastrophic, no doubt spreading rumors of a loveless marriage. Which, although true, could ruin you and your family.
But it’s not a worker that pops into your periphery. Instead, you are greeted by warm, round eyes, bathed in concern. His mouth is turned downwards into an upset frown, bottom lip bitten raw and wobbling. Not for the first time, you understand why everyone in the industry compares him to an overgrown puppy.
“Are you okay?” Gyuvin asks softly.
You clear your throat in an attempt to force your voice back to normalcy. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Gyuvin just sighs, clearly not buying your carefully put together act. “Can I sit?”
Not trusting your voice, you simply nod. It’s a struggle not to look at him, but you know it would just make you break down even more. Instead, you keep your eyes trained on the horizon, where the deep blue of the ocean meets the reddish-orange sky. Its beauty makes you want to cry again.
“This place is so beautiful,” Gyuvin mumbles as he gets settled. “I always knew that my honeymoon would be on a beautiful beach, but this is better than anything I could have ever imagined.”
You just remain silent, continuing to watch the waves lap at the shore.
“Where did you want to have your honeymoon, if it were your choice?”
It’s difficult not to scoff at the question. “I never thought about my honeymoon. It never really crossed my mind.”
“You never thought about it? Everyone thinks about their wedding, their honeymoon, their life.”
This time, you can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, well not me. I knew it would never be my choice, so what’s the point of imagining it. Why desire something that you could never have?”
You spare a glance at Gyuvin, surprised to see him staring right back at you. He’s clearly gotten a tan in the two and a half days you’ve been here, a golden expanse of chest visible behind an unbuttoned shirt. The tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks sport a pretty pink hue, almost red in the setting sun. His brown hair has gone wavy, no doubt from the humidity and salty air, but it’s fitting on him. At least your husband is pleasant to look at.
“You could have it, though. I mean, I know that the wedding is over and we’re mid honeymoon, but that doesn’t mean there are things that we can’t do over,” Gyuvin insists. “Listen, I know this isn’t ideal, and you hate being married to me or whatever, but I don’t want you to be miserable. I don’t want us to be miserable.”
His eyes sparkle in the dimming sunlight, showing glimpses of something earnest, something determined.
“So tell me, how do we do this in a way that neither of us hate? How do we at least get along? Because we’ll be together for a long time, and if you tell me that you want us to live separate lives and only see each other for public events, we can do that. But I can’t stand you looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” you whisper.
“Like I stole something from you.”
The simple statement has the tightness returning to your throat, tears you had kept at bay resurfacing. You can’t say what you want, can’t admit that he has stolen something from you. Your future is forever wedded to his, untethered from being your own.
“I’m sorry.” You’ve never meant the two words more. “I know this isn’t your fault. I’ve been treating you like it is and that’s not fair. We’re in this together, in a way.”
At this, Gyuvin smiles, a genuine smile that you’re not sure you’ve ever seen before. His teeth gleam in the quickly disappearing light, a new sparkle rivaling that of the ocean.
“So, should we be friends or something?” Your voice trembles, floating away in the salty breeze.
“No actually,” Gyuvin chuckles. “I’d like to be your husband, if you’ll let me.”
The last bit of sunlight finally dips behind the horizon, leaving you both bathed in a dusky blue glow. Despite the light leaving, Gyuvin’s eyes still sparkle, providing a warmth you didn’t know you needed. For once, you look into those eyes and don’t see a future of torture. You see a life ahead of you.
“Yeah, I'll let you.”
. . .
The next few days morph into what feels like a nonstop first date. If you thought Gyuvin was talkative before, you’ve seen how his chatter has merely doubled over time. He talks to you about anything and everything, from simple observations to cheeky teasing and jokes. What used to seem grating against the calm calls of birds and the woosh of the ocean waves has melted into your own sort of serenity, cocooning you in an oasis of Gyuvin’s own making.
It’s endearing, the way he rushes to point out the nearest cute flower to you or notices an exotic bird. His eyes grow round, dripping with a childlike wonder that has your heart thrumming in your chest. At times, that wonder melts into a soft admiration, his eyes glistening with a genuine appreciation of the landscape before him. It’s times like those when you understand why everyone used to say that Gyuvin wasn’t fit for the corporate world. He’s too soft, too sweet, too appreciative of the small wonders in life to maintain the ruthless composure needed to thrive in the tech business.
His warmth is a surprising compliment to your own cold stoicism, which gradually melts into a simple indifference, finally pooling into a mild sensitivity. It’s odd, how Gyuvin makes you feel softer. It’s even more odd that you actually kind of like it.
Just as the verbal dam between the two of you has been broken, so has the physical one. Gyuvin is never one to shy away from casual touches, whether it be brushing against your arm or leaning against your shoulder in a teasing display of your height difference. You wonder if he’s aware of the way his fingertips burn your skin every time they make contact. You wonder if he knows that the way you tingle at his touch is nothing like you’ve ever experienced before.
If he does, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he lets his long fingers span the circumference of your arm as he teases you, eyes crinkling with his mirth. He’s so handsome. He’s so cute, making your insides go gooey and soft every time he excitedly explains something to you.
You want to kiss him.
The desire comes to you on your second to last day, the first day that the two of you are shut in due to rain. The sound of the drops hitting the leaves of tropical flora is rhythmic, calming as it drowns out the sounds of the ocean. Gyuvin sits by the open sliding glass door, face swathed in a gray hue from the sky. The screen door is able to keep him dry as he simply sits and watches, silent for a period of time that’s almost concerning.
You’re propped up against the bed’s headboard, enjoying a late afternoon cocktail that had been brought by room service. Gyuvin’s own was finished hastily, the glass clouded from humidity as it rests on the bedside table.
“Gyuvin?” You call, unsure of why you felt the need to speak his name.
When he turns to face you, you watch as his rounded eyes melt into something. It’s not too different from the way he looks at the numerous flowers that line the path to the beach. It’s more than just appreciation, it’s a tenderness that has your pulse jumping.
Your voice is soft as you speak, suddenly breathless at the sight in front of you. “Can you come here?”
That’s another thing that has become normal. Ever since the night on the beach, the two of you have resumed sharing a bed. You always start on opposite ends, appreciating the space between you. But now, when both of you wake up with your limbs tangled, a sticky heat between your bodies, neither of you say anything. You simply let grumbly good mornings cross the space between your faces before you part to get ready for the day.
Now, as Gyuvin climbs onto the expanse of the bed, he comes closer than expected. He settles mere inches from you on the bed, back resting against the headboard, despite the way it forces him to twist his neck to look at you. And look at you he does, eyes dripping with a saccharine fondness.
“Everything okay?” He asks, voice barely audible over the pitter-patter of the rain.
“Yeah, just,” you try to take a deep breath, flustered under the intensity of his stare. “I want something, but I’m not sure if it’s okay to want it.”
“Is it something I can give you?” You nod slowly. “Then it’s okay to want it. I told you, I want to be your husband, for real. That means I will give you anything you want, for as long as I can.”
All you can do is nod again, words sticking to your throat. It feels impossible to get them out as you struggle to keep your breathing under control. That’s another thing that has become normal, feeling breathless around Gyuvin. You’d assume that under other circumstances that it makes sense to be breathless in the presence of your husband. But, this is Gyuvin; maybe you need to get used to reconciling with the fact that Gyuvin is your husband.
“I want you to want to kiss me.”
Gyuvin’s eyes widen in confusion for a moment before melting back to their signature softness. A small smile graces his face, and you struggle not to look at the way his lips look oh so plush and inviting.
“Come here,” Gyuvin coos, voice velvety soft.
Your own confusion must be evident on your face, because Gyuvin chuckles. In lieu of a response, he simply reaches over to grasp your arm, pulling you closer. It throws you off kilter, as he practically lifts you and places you on his lap. While you’ve never doubted that Gyuvin was strong, constantly seeing the expanse of his lithe muscles throughout your trip, the extent of his strength still comes as a surprise. You struggle to realize that the lanky, bumbling kid you used to see in business meetings is now a handsome and capable man. Now, he’s your handsome and capable husband.
Gyuvin’s hands are steadying on your hips as you practically straddle his lap. His grip is firm but polite, as if not wanting to scare you off. You’re sure that you look nothing less than spooked, eyes wide as you’ve ended up nose to nose with the man. The proximity forces you to go a little cross eyed as you struggle to make eye contact, hands fidgeting on his shoulders, but Gyuvin just looks amused at your effort.
“Can I tell you something?” Gyuvin asks, breath warm and smelling faintly of mango daiquiri. “I think it might make you feel a bit better.”
You release a shuddery breath, attempting to both nod and maintain eye contact. You fear that if you look away, the moment will be shattered, forcing you to wake up from the dream where this actually works out – a dream where your husband wants you back.
“I have wanted to kiss you since I heard we were getting married. Maybe even before that, I think.”
If anything, the information only shocks you more. “What?”
“I thought the universe was playing some kind of cruel trick on me in that meeting, when they first announced it. I thought that somehow, my family had found out about my crush on you and wanted to punish me for it. A reminder that I could never have you in the way that I wanted.”
“I-I didn’t know,” you stutter out. “I thought you didn’t like me.”
Gyuvin chuckles, gently knocking his forehead against yours. “I wish that were the case. Maybe it would have made all of this more simple.”
“No, it wouldn’t have.”
“No?”
You release a shaky breath. “No, because I would have fallen for you either way. I would have wanted you either way. At least now, I know that it’s okay to want you, because you want me.”
You pull back ever so slightly, forcing Gyuvin to make eye contact once more. You search his eyes, looking for any evidence of the contrary. But his gaze is no longer full of his signature warmth. Instead, it’s something molten, his pupils expanded. You’ve never seen this look before, not in person. But the flames that lick at the pit of your stomach and send tingles up your spine tell you exactly what this is: desire.
“Yeah,” Gyuvin whispers, left hand traveling up to cradle the frizzy hair at the back of your neck. “I want you.”
You’re not sure who moves first, but all you can register is the feeling of lips on yours. Gyuvin kisses exactly how you expected him to, both eagerly and gently. It’s fairly chaste at first, a repeated caress of lips against your own, but it’s enough to have you melting in Gyuvin’s lap. After a few seconds, the two of you part with a wet sound that rivals the rainfall outside. It would be embarrassing, if it weren’t for the way Gyuvin looks at you, red-cheeked and panting as if he has just run a marathon.
“Gyuv–.”
You don’t get to finish before the man is surging forward, capturing your lips in his once again. This one is unlike the previous kiss that you shared. Instead of gentle and polite, Gyuvin lets his overeager nature win, claiming your lips in a way that’s almost sloppy. The hand on the back of your neck turns domineering, tilting you slightly as Gyuvin claims more and more of your mouth.
A shiver runs up your spine as Gyuvin’s tongue traces the seam of your lips, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to slip inside. He’s insistent as he explores your mouth, swallowing every sigh and clipped moan before it can even leave you. You let your hands travel from his strong shoulders to his neck, one hand cupping his cut jaw.
Despite your closeness, it’s not enough. You shift forward, letting your hips knock directly into his. It startles a short groan out of Gyuvin, parting momentarily to let his head fall back. Pleased by the reaction, you roll your hips forward again, core dragging directly over where Gyuvin has begun to harden beneath you.
The two of you don’t even resume kissing, instead staring at each other with hooded eyes as your hips meet in a clumsy grind. The humidity of the room has your clothes sticking to your skin, made worse by the shared body heat. Neither of you seem to mind, though, not wanting to detach for even a minute.
It’s with a particularly deep grind that Gyuvin clutches your hips, the veins in his neck bulging as he bites back a whimper. When you try to move again, you’re trapped in place, unable to move under Gyuvin’s strength. A frustrated whine leaves you as your hips stutter in aborted motions, still seeking friction anywhere you can get it.
“Wait,” Gyuvin pants. “I just…if we keep going, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”
“Then don’t.”
Gyuvin stops you when you dive back in for a kiss, pulling away just enough to maintain eye contact. “Y/N, are you sure we aren’t moving too fast?”
With a frustrated groan, you all but shove your left hand into his face. Your wedding band gleams on your finger, nestled right on top of the giant diamond adorned by your engagement ring. Gyuvin goes a little cross eyed trying to look at it, before he shoots you a confused look.
“We’re married. I don’t think there’s such a thing as too fast.”
“But–.”
You cut the man off with a kiss, instantly letting it turn filthy in the way you need it to be. But just as Gyuvin begins to respond, you pull away, panting as you look down your nose at him.
“Gyuvin, let’s consummate our marriage.”
You feel the ghost of a twitch below you, Gyuvin’s hips stuttering forward on their own accord. It’s like something takes over the man below you, his face morphing from desperate caution to a heated desire. His hands shift from your hips to paw at your backside, subconsciously drawing you closer once again. You can’t help the satisfied smile that begins to bloom on your face.
“You’re my wife,” Gyuvin states breathlessly. He turns his head to place a kiss on your fingers that rest back on his shoulders, no doubt aiming for the pair of rings.
“I’m your wife,” you echo. “Gyuvin, please treat me like it.”
Within the blink of an eye, you’re laid flat on your back, Gyuvin somehow flipping you so that you’ve landed perfectly on the mountain of pillows. You barely register that you’ve been stripped of the warm body pressed to yours before you’re blinking up. Your husband towers above you, propped up on his knees as he strips himself of his shirt. His torso seems impossibly more tanned where it’s backlit by silvery clouds, sweat gleaming on his chest.
Gyuvin grabs your left hand, guiding it to feel upwards from the waistband of his gym shorts, tented by his arousal. He guides you to feel over every ridge of his abdomen, up to his heaving pectorals, and up his strong neck. It’s only when you arrive at his face that he pulls you away, only to dart forward. His lips are gentle where they kiss your rings.
“G-Gyuvin,” you stutter out.
He shushes you, placing another longer kiss on your set of rings.
“Don’t worry,” he whispers, voice harmonizing with a rumble of thunder. “I got you.”
⊹ summary: when raising actress y/n, is forced into a fake engagement with A-list star hanbin, it’s meant to be nothing more than a publicity stunt, right??
⊹ pairing: actor!hanbin x actress!reader
⊹ genre: rom-com
⊹ status: ongoing
⊹ word count: 2k words | 13.7k characters
⊹ note: yayyyyy part 3 is here!!! did we cheer?
navigation | series masterlist | main masterlist
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I don’t sleep that night.
How could I?
Every time I close my eyes, I see Hanbin—his fingers brushing my skin, the way his voice dipped when he asked, Are we still pretending?
I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that I didn’t have an answer, or the fact that I still don’t.
By morning, I decide one thing.
Something has to give.
I can’t keep playing this game. Not when the lines are already too blurred.
So I do something I probably should’ve done weeks ago.
I text Hanbin:
We need to talk.
His reply comes almost instantly.
Tonight. My place.
My stomach twists.
I don’t know if I’m ready.
But I don’t think I have a choice anymore.
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I stand outside Hanbin’s apartment, heart pounding so loudly I swear he might hear it from the other side of the door.
Before I can overthink it, I knock.
The door swings open almost immediately.
Hanbin leans against the frame, dressed casually in sweatpants and a loose hoodie. The worst part? He looks so unbothered. Like this is just any other night.
Meanwhile, I feel like I’m about to combust.
“You’re early,” he muses.
I fold my arms. “You answered my text in two seconds.”
His lips twitch. “And?”
I narrow my eyes. “Were you waiting for me to text you?”
Hanbin shrugs, stepping aside to let me in. “Maybe.”
I groan, walking past him. “You’re impossible.”
Hanbin’s apartment is exactly what I expected—modern, expensive, and annoyingly perfect.
It’s also dimly lit, the city skyline glowing through the massive windows. Romantic, if I didn’t know better.
He closes the door behind me. “You love it.”
I spin around, flustered. “That’s exactly what we need to talk about!”
Hanbin lifts an eyebrow. “Love?”
I splutter. “No! Not— I meant—”
His grin widens. “So you do love me.”
I throw a pillow at him. “I hate you.”
He catches it effortlessly. “See, I know that’s a lie.”
I glare at him. “Hanbin. I’m serious.”
Something shifts in his expression. The teasing fades just slightly, replaced by something softer.
“I know,” he says quietly.
He waits, but when I don’t continue, he smirks. “Let me guess. You’re over this. You want to end the contract early.”
I hesitate. “No.”
That seems to surprise him. His smirk falters.
“Then what do you want, jagiya?”
My heart clenches. He says it teasingly, the way he always does.
But this time, it feels different.
I take a step closer.
A beat of silence passes.
“I just… I don’t know where we stand anymore.”
Hanbin watches me for a long moment. Then, instead of answering, he steps closer.
Too close.
Close enough that I have to tilt my head up to meet his gaze.
My breath catches.
His voice is barely above a whisper.
“Where do you want us to stand?”
I should have an answer. I should.
But with him looking at me like that, with the warmth of his hand grazing my arm, every rational thought flies out the window.
I shake my head. “That’s not fair.”
Hanbin’s lips twitch. “Why not?”
“Because you’re making it really hard to think.”
He chuckles, and the sound ruins me. “Then don’t think.”
I inhale sharply. “Hanbin—”
His fingers brush my cheek.
My heartbeat stutters.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs.
I should say something. Anything.
But before I can form a word, Hanbin moves.
And this time, he doesn't stop himself.
His lips crash against mine—a collision of pent-up emotion and raw need-and I don't hold back, either.
The kiss is nothing like I expected. It's more.
More urgent. More desperate. More real than anything we've ever done for the cameras.
For a moment, the world falls away. I feel his heart pounding against my chest, the heat of his body melding with mine.
His hands find my waist, pulling me closer, as if he's trying to erase every boundary between us. I can feel the firmness of his grip, the intensity of his desire, and suddenly, I'm melting. Into him, into this, into the moment.
"Hanbin... I-" I whisper, but he only deepens the kiss, as if challenging me to protest.
His hands tighten, and I feel my resolve crumbling. "I'm not pretending anymore," he breathes, his tone raw, exposing a vulnerability l've never seen before. "Every touch, every stolen glance-l need it. I need you."
I cling to him, my heart racing in a symphony of conflicting emotions. "I... I'm scared," | admit, my voice a shaky confession. "Scared that this might be real... that I might actually fall for you."
Hanbin pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his gaze dark with intensity. "Then let yourself," he insists, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair from my face.
"Let yourself feel every moment, every heartbeat. I don't want to pretend anymore."
The silence that follows is charged, heavy with promises and unspoken confessions.
My mind races—what if this is all a mistake?
But then I see it in his eyes: a desperate plea for truth, for realness, for something beyond the staged scripts and fabricated headlines.
"Tell me you feel it too," I whisper, my words trembling like a fragile secret.
Hanbin's expression softens, and he caresses my cheek as if memorizing every detail. "I feel it," he murmurs. "Every time I see you, every time you look at me, I feel something that isn't just for show. I'm done with pretending."
My stomach flips.
“Hanbin—”
“Before you overthink it,” he interrupts, stepping closer again, “just answer one thing.” His eyes search mine. “Do you want this? Not for the media, not for our careers—just us.”
I open my mouth. Then close it.
Do I?
I think about the way he makes my pulse race with just a glance. The way he’s worked his way under my skin in ways I never expected. The way, despite everything, I can’t imagine my life without him in it.
I already know the answer.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Hanbin’s lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting me to actually say it. Then he lets out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Good,” he murmurs.
I bite my lip. “But—”
His smirk fades. “There’s always a ‘but.’”
I sigh. “We’re still under contract. If this gets out the wrong way, it could backfire badly.”
Hanbin watches me for a moment, then nods. “Then we figure it out. Together.”
His confidence makes my chest ache.
And for the first time, I’m not sure if that terrifies me or sets me free.
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The next few weeks are… complicated.
In public, nothing changes. We hold hands at events, smile for the cameras, do interviews where we tell the same rehearsed story.
But pretending has never been the problem.
The problem is what happens when we stop pretending.
And tonight, we finally crash.
It starts at another party.
Hanbin and I arrive together, as always. We smile for the cameras, pose like the perfect couple. But the second we step inside, something shifts.
Hanbin gets pulled into conversation after conversation. Big-name directors, producers, executives who want a piece of his time.
And me?
I’m left in the background, smiling politely while people barely acknowledge my existence.
I should be used to this. Hanbin is an A-list star. I’m still just rising.
But tonight, it stings more than usual.
Especially when, hours later, Hanbin still hasn’t looked for me.
Instead, I find him laughing with a woman I recognize instantly—Minji, an actress he’s been linked to in dating rumors before. She’s beautiful, elegant, and clearly flirting.
And Hanbin?
He’s letting her.
Something sharp lodges in my chest.
I turn on my heel and head straight for the exit.
By the time Hanbin finds me, I’m already outside, gripping the balcony railing, trying to breathe.
“You’re leaving without me?” His voice is light, teasing.
Wrong move.
I whirl around, eyes flashing. “Oh, so you do remember I exist?”
Hanbin blinks. “What?”
“You ignored me all night,” I snap. “But I guess you were too busy to notice.”
His brows furrow. “Are you seriously mad about this?”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, I don’t know, Hanbin. Should I be thrilled watching you flirt with Minji while I stand around like an idiot?”
His expression darkens. “I wasn’t flirting.”
“She touched your arm like three times.”
“You touch me all the time.”
“That’s different!” I shoot back.
“How?”
Because it means something. Because when I touch you, it’s not for cameras, it’s not for headlines—I want to.
I don’t say that.
Instead, I cross my arms. “You tell me.”
Hanbin exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.” His voice is quieter now. “I just… I got caught up in everything.”
I look away. “Yeah. I noticed.”
A long silence stretches between us.
Then, softly—
“Why do you care so much?”
I freeze.
When I look up, Hanbin is watching me intently, like he’s waiting for something.
For me to say something.
For me to admit something.
I swallow hard. “Because—”
Because I’m falling for you.
Because I’m already in too deep.
But I can’t say that.
So instead, I shake my head and turn away.
“Forget it,” I mutter. “Let’s just go home.”
And for once, Hanbin doesn’t push.
But the tension between us lingers, heavy and suffocating.
Something is breaking.
And I don’t know if we can fix it.
The fight doesn’t go away.
If anything, it festers.
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We go through the motions—smiling at events, holding hands when necessary—but behind closed doors, there’s a wall between us now.
It comes to a head during a meeting with our agency.
They’re thrilled with how the stunt has been going. The public loves us. Our names are everywhere.
And now, they want to take it a step further.
A fake engagement.
I freeze. “Excuse me?”
Hanbin tenses beside me. “That wasn’t part of the original plan.”
One of the executives waves a hand dismissively. “Plans change. The hype around you two is bigger than we expected. A fake engagement would be the perfect way to capitalize on it.”
My stomach turns.
This was supposed to end eventually. That was the deal.
But now they want to tie me to Hanbin in an even bigger way?
I glance at him. He’s staring straight ahead, jaw tight.
“Give us time to think about it,” he says flatly.
The meeting ends, and we step outside into the hallway.
I don’t even wait until the door closes behind us.
“A fake engagement?” My voice is sharp. “Are they serious?”
Hanbin exhales. “It’s just business.”
“Business?” I gape at him. “This was supposed to end soon! But now they want to drag it out—and you’re okay with that?”
His expression hardens. “What do you want me to do? Say no and risk ruining our careers?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, I don’t know, Hanbin. Maybe actually care about what this means for me?”
His jaw clenches. “Of course I care.”
“Do you?” I challenge. “Because lately, it feels like you only care about your image.”
His eyes darken. “That’s what you think of me?”
I cross my arms. “Prove me wrong.”
Hanbin stares at me, something unreadable flashing in his gaze. Then, after a long silence, he mutters,
“I don’t know how.”
For the first time, he looks lost.
Like he doesn’t know how to fix this.
Like he’s afraid he already can’t.
And for the first time, I wonder—
Maybe we were never meant to be real after all.
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The car ride home is silent.
The next few days? Even worse.
We don’t text. We don’t call.
For the time since this whole mess started, Hanbin and I feel like strangers.
And it hurts more than I ever expected.
A week later, I get a call from my manager.
“They need your decision on the engagement stunt,” she says. “Are you in?”
I hesitate.
I should say no.
But then I think about Hanbin.
The way he kissed me like he meant it.
The way he looked at me that night in his apartment, like I was the only thing that mattered.
And I wonder—
If I agree to this, will we have more time?
Time to fix things.
Time to figure out what we really are.
My heart aches.
Then, quietly, I say,
“I need to talk to Hanbin first.”
Because if we do this.
I need to know it’s not just for the cameras.
I need to know if there’s anything left to save.
And I need to hear it from him.
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I hesitate outside Hanbin’s apartment, my fingers hovering over the doorbell.
I should have called first. Or texted.
But I knew if I did, he might not respond. And I needed to see him—really see him—before I made my decision.
I take a breath and press the button.
A few moments later, the door swings open.
Hanbin looks… exhausted. Like he hasn’t slept in days. His hair is tousled, his shirt slightly wrinkled. But the second he sees me, his eyes sharpen with something unreadable.
“You came,” he says quietly.
I swallow hard. “We need to talk.”
A beat passes. Then, wordlessly, he steps aside, letting me in.
Hanbin stands by the window, arms crossed, his gaze locked on the city lights. He hasn’t looked at me since I stepped inside.
I break the silence first.
“They want an answer.”
He exhales, rubbing his temples. “I know.”
“So what do we do?”
Finally, he turns. His eyes meet mine, and for the first time in weeks, I see it—hesitation. Uncertainty.
Something close to fear.
I steel myself. “Hanbin.”
His jaw tightens. “You already know what they want us to say.”
“Forget what they want,” I snap. “What do you want?”
Silence.
Then—
“I want you,” he says. His voice is low, raw. “But I don’t know how to keep you.”
My breath catches.
Hanbin takes a slow step forward. “From the start, I thought this was just a game. I thought I could play the role, pretend it meant nothing.” His gaze darkens. “But then you started looking at me like I was more than just some star.” He exhales sharply. “And I realized I wanted to be more.”
I swallow hard. “Then why did you pull away?”
“Because I don’t know how to do this,” he admits. “I don’t know how to separate Hanbin, the actor from just… me.” His voice drops. “And I’m scared you fell for the version of me that the world sees—not the real one.”
My heart twists. “You think I don’t know the real you?”
His expression flickers.
I take a step closer. “Hanbin.” My voice softens. “I know you hate early mornings. I know you pretend to like black coffee, but you always steal sips of my caramel latte when you think I’m not looking. I know you keep that stupid stuffed bear in your car because it was your first fan gift.” I take another step. “I know you smirk when you’re nervous. I know you talk in your sleep. I know—” My voice wavers. “I know you.”
Then, before I can say another word, his hands are cupping my face, his lips crashing into mine.
And this time, it’s not for the cameras.
It’s not pretend.
It’s us.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless.
Hanbin rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed. “I don’t want to fake this anymore.”
I swallow. “Then let’s stop.”
He pulls back slightly, searching my gaze. “Really?”
I nod. “If we say yes to this engagement stunt, we have to be sure. No more blurred lines. No more pretending. If we do this… we do it for real.”
His fingers tighten slightly on my waist. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
My chest tightens, but I force myself to meet his gaze. “I’m saying… I want you, too.”
For a second, Hanbin just stares at me. Then, slowly, his lips curve into a smirk. “Took you long enough.”
⊹ summary: when raising actress y/n, is forced into a fake engagement with A-list star hanbin, it’s meant to be nothing more than a publicity stunt, right??
⊹ pairing: actor!hanbin x actress!reader
⊹ genre: rom-com
⊹ status: ongoing
⊹ word count: 2k words | 13.7k characters
⊹ note: sorry guys for not posting for almost 2 months, i got soooooo busy with life, work and ramadan 😭 not proofread!
also my requests are still open 🫶🏻
navigation | series masterlist | main masterlist
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Our first public appearance as a couple comes faster than I expect.
It’s a live-streamed interview for the film, with millions of people watching. No pressure or anything.
Hanbin and I are seated next to each other, our co-stars filling the couch around us. The set is warm, the lights blinding, and my heart is doing this weird, nervous tap dance that I refuse to acknowledge.
The interviewer, a woman with bright eyes and an even brighter smile, leans forward. “First of all, congratulations on the movie,” she says. “But we have to talk about something that’s been breaking the internet…”
Oh no. Here we go.
She turns to Hanbin. “You and Y/N. When did that happen?”
I brace myself.
Hanbin, ever the smooth talker, doesn’t even hesitate. He reaches for my hand, intertwining our fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I freeze.
His palm is warm, his grip firm but gentle. My heart does a weird, traitorous flip.
“It just… happened,” he says smoothly, throwing in a little sheepish smile for extra effect. “We tried to keep it private, but, well—” He turns to me, eyes twinkling. “Some things are hard to hide.”
The interviewer practically melts. “You two are adorable together!”
I force a smile. “Thanks.”
I hope no one notices how I’m gripping his hand a little too tightly. If I suffer, he suffers.
“And you really had no chemistry issues while filming?” the interviewer asks.
Hanbin chuckles, his thumb casually brushing over my knuckles. “Oh, we had plenty of tension. But I think that just made the romance scenes better.”
I elbow him, playing up my flustered and totally in love girlfriend act. “Don’t say it like that!”
The audience laughs. The interviewer beams. Hanbin just grins like he’s having the time of his life.
“Oh, come on,” he teases, nudging me. “You said it yourself—the moment we met, you thought I was a jerk, right?”
I roll my eyes. “Still do, honestly.”
More laughter. Hanbin squeezes my hand in mock offense. “Wow. This is the woman I’m dating, everyone. Publicly humiliating me on live TV.”
I smirk. “I thought you liked public attention?”
The cast bursts into laughter. Even the interviewer giggles.
Hanbin places a hand over his heart, dramatically wounded. “I like it when it’s deserved.”
“Oh, so not when you steal roles?” I quip.
Gasps and laughter from the cast. Hanbin shakes his head, biting back a smile. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Never,” I say sweetly.
The interviewer grins. “I love this dynamic.”
Hanbin leans in slightly, voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “Yeah, she likes to pretend she’s not obsessed with me, but—”
I slap a hand over his mouth.
The audience loses it.
His shoulders shake with laughter against my palm, and I realize—this is the most fun I’ve had in an interview.
Even if Hanbin is an insufferable menace.
I slowly remove my hand. “Say something stupid again and I’m replacing it with duct tape.”
Hanbin sighs. “See what I go through?”
One of our co-stars pipes up, “I mean, to be fair, you do enjoy pushing her buttons.”
Hanbin grins. “It’s my favorite pastime.”
“Gee, I had no idea,” I deadpan.
The interviewer clasps her hands together, eyes twinkling. “Okay, I have to ask—what was your first date like?”
Crap. We didn’t rehearse that.
I glance at Hanbin. Say something normal. Something believable.
Hanbin, of course, does not.
“Oh, it was magical,” he sighs dreamily, earning more laughter from the audience. “I took her to a fancy restaurant, ordered for her because she was too overwhelmed—”
“You did not ‘order for me’!” I protest.
He smirks. “Sweetheart, you nearly ordered ‘foamed risotto.’”
I groan. “I panicked!”
Hanbin turns to the interviewer. “See? Magical.”
The interviewer laughs. “And what about after dinner?”
Hanbin hums, pretending to think. “Oh, right—then she fell madly in love with me.”
I scoff. “More like I considered pushing you into traffic.”
“Same thing,” Hanbin says smoothly.
The audience is dying.
The interviewer wipes away a tear from laughing. “You guys really are hilarious together.”
Hanbin smirks. “We try.”
I sigh dramatically. “He tries. I’m just surviving.”
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The interview wraps up soon after, with a final round of applause and a few more questions about the movie. Hanbin, of course, doesn’t let go of my hand until the cameras stop rolling.
And even then, it takes him an extra second.
As soon as we’re off camera, I turn to him. “You improvised all of that.”
Hanbin grins. “And?”
“And what if I had said something completely different?”
“I would’ve rolled with it.” He shrugs. “I trust you.”
I pause.
For some reason, that makes my stomach flutter.
Hanbin watches me, amused. “Why do you look like I just confessed my undying love?”
I shake my head. “Because I can’t believe I’m stuck with you.”
Hanbin gasps, placing a hand over his chest. “Sweetheart, you willingly held my hand for thirty minutes.”
“Willingly is a stretch.”
“Oh, so you unwillingly let me interlace our fingers and rub my thumb over yours?”
I almost choke. “Stop talking.”
He leans in, smirking. “Admit it—you like me.”
I place a hand over his face and push him away.
Hanbin just laughs.
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We’re waiting for our drivers. The studio hall is quiet, the only sounds being the distant hum of conversations and the occasional shuffle of crew members passing by. It’s strangely peaceful—if I ignore the fact that I’m stuck here with him.
Hanbin leans against the wall, scrolling through his phone. “We’re trending again.”
I groan. “Of course we are.”
He tilts his screen toward me. Sure enough, clips from the interview are everywhere.
“Hanbin looking at her like that should be illegal.”
“I don’t care if it’s PR, the chemistry is REAL.”
“We lost the role battle, but we won the enemies-to-lovers war.”
I make a noise of protest. “People are delusional.”
Hanbin chuckles, slipping his phone away. “Or maybe they see something you don’t.”
I arch a brow. “And what exactly are they seeing, oh wise one?”
He looks at me for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, with a push off the wall, he steps closer.
“You’re a good actress,” he murmurs. “But sometimes, I wonder…”
I swallow. “Wonder what?”
His gaze flickers—just briefly—to my lips. My heart stutters.
“Which parts of this,” he says, voice lower now, “are really just acting?”
Oh.
Oh no.
My brain completely short-circuits.
The air shifts. My breath catches. My heart is racing in a way that has nothing to do with PR stunts or flashing cameras.
Footsteps echo down the hall.
A crew member walks past us, oblivious to the fact that I was just having a minor existential crisis.
Our cars pull up outside.
Hanbin glances at me, the teasing smile returning like nothing even happened. “See you tomorrow, jagiya.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop calling me that.”
He grins. “Why? It suits you.”
I narrow my eyes. “I will throw my shoe at you.”
Hanbin smirks, stepping backward toward his car. “Go ahead. Just know that if you do, the internet will see me dramatically catching it and proposing on the spot.”
I sputter. “You would.”
He winks. “Gotta give the fans what they want.”
I watch as he slides into his car, flashing a smug wave before the door shuts.
And just like that, the moment is gone.
But the way my pulse is still racing?
Yeah.
That’s a problem.
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The next few weeks are a blur of staged dates, hand-holding in front of cameras, and interviews where we recite our perfectly crafted love story.
It should be easy. Stick to the script. Smile when he teases me. Pretend I don’t notice the way my heart speeds up when his hand brushes mine.
But it’s not easy.
Because sometimes, when we’re alone—when there are no cameras, no reporters, no expectant eyes on us—Hanbin still looks at me like that. Like he’s seeing something he’s not sure he should want.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
Tonight, we’re at a film festival. Our biggest event yet. Hanbin and I arrive in the same car—for the show, of course.
The second we step onto the red carpet, the cameras explode in flashes.
Hanbin, composed as ever, rests his hand lightly on my waist. He leans down slightly, murmuring, “You look nice tonight.”
I almost trip.
I glance at him, suspicious. “Was that real or for the cameras?”
His lips twitch. “Why can’t it be both?”
I hate how my stomach flips. Instead of responding, I plaster on a smile, pretending to be the perfect, completely unaffected girlfriend.
We pose for pictures, smiling and gazing at each other like we’re the most in-love couple in the world. It’s terrifying how easy it’s become to pretend.
Or maybe… it’s terrifying how much it doesn’t feel like pretending anymore.
Later that night, we’re backstage, waiting for our next round of interviews. The event is winding down, and most of the crew is outside. It’s just the two of us in a dimly lit hallway, the muffled sounds of distant chatter in the background.
Hanbin rolls his shoulders, sighing. “I swear, if one more reporter asks me how we ‘fell in love,’ I might actually start making things up.”
I smirk. “Oh? What, our story isn’t romantic enough for you?”
He leans against the wall, looking me over. “I could come up with something better.”
I cross my arms. “Try me.”
Hanbin tilts his head, considering. Then, in a voice smoother than it has any right to be, he says—
“I saw you across the room at the first cast meeting. You weren’t paying attention to me—you were too busy arguing with the director about your character. I remember thinking, ‘She’s trouble.’ And I was right.”
I snort. “Accurate so far.”
He ignores me.
“And then we kept running into each other. You hated me—I could tell.”
I nod. “Still do, actually.”
He grins. “But I liked the way your eyes lit up when you were passionate about something.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “I liked the way you challenged me. And one day, I realized… I wasn’t pretending anymore.”
Silence.
My breath catches.
It’s a story. A fake one, a made-up scenario. I know that.
But then why does he look at me like that?
Hanbin’s gaze flickers to my lips.
For half a second, I swear he’s going to—
A door creaks open down the hall. Voices echo toward us.
I immediately step back, and Hanbin blinks, like he’s shaking off whatever that was.
He clears his throat, straightening. “See? Much more romantic.”
I scoff, trying very hard to ignore the fact that my heart is still hammering. “Completely unrealistic.”
Hanbin smirks. “Why? Because it ends with me realizing I’m secretly in love with you?”
I gag. “Gross.”
He chuckles, but there’s something in his expression I can’t read.
Something that lingers even as we step back into the spotlight.
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It’s been weeks since the almost-kiss. Since the moment that wasn’t acting.
And yet, we haven’t talked about it.
Instead, Hanbin seems determined to drive me insane.
He keeps finding excuses to touch me, to whisper things just close enough to send my pulse racing. I can’t tell if he’s doing it to mess with me or if he actually—
No. Not possible.
I remind myself of this at a fancy industry party a few nights later. The event is packed, the kind of place where deals are made over expensive champagne. Hanbin and I arrive together, as always.
But tonight, something shifts.
Because for the first time, Hanbin isn’t the one teasing me.
He’s the one reacting.
It starts when I run into Seojoon, an actor I used to train with. He’s charming, easygoing, and very obviously flirting with me.
“Look at you, all famous now,” he teases. “I remember when you used to trip over your lines in rehearsals.”
I scoff. “One time.”
He grins. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
Normally, I wouldn’t think much of it.
But then I glance at Hanbin.
He’s watching.
Expression unreadable.
Drink in hand, but untouched.
And when Seojoon leans in, murmuring something near my ear—nothing inappropriate, just a casual joke—Hanbin moves.
In a blink, he’s beside me, arm slipping around my waist.
“Everything okay?” he asks smoothly, but there’s an edge to his voice.
Seojoon raises an eyebrow, glancing between us. “I was just telling her about—”
Hanbin doesn’t let him finish.
Instead, he pulls me closer.
The warmth of his hand burns through the fabric of my dress. My breath catches.
Seojoon chuckles. “Alright, alright. I get the message.” He winks at me. “See you around.”
As soon as he walks off, I turn to Hanbin, eyes narrowed. “What the hell was that?”
Hanbin doesn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightens.
“You looked like you were enjoying that a little too much,” he mutters.
My heart stutters. “Are you—” I stop, realization dawning. “Are you jealous?”
Hanbin scoffs. “Please.”
I smirk. “You are.”
His jaw clenches. “I don’t get jealous.”
“Uh-huh. So if I went back and kept talking to him—”
His grip tightens again, just slightly.
“Try it,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “See what happens.”
My breath hitches.
I should pull away. I should.
But instead, I stay right where I am.
Because for the first time since this whole thing started, I realize—
I want him to be jealous.
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It’s late when we finally leave the party. The ride home is quiet, tension thick between us.
Hanbin’s jaw is tight. He hasn’t let go of my hand since we got in the car.
I should say something. But I don’t know what.
Not until we pull up in front of my apartment.
I shift awkwardly. “Well. That was—”
Hanbin moves.
Suddenly, he’s too close. His hand lifts, fingertips brushing my jaw.
I freeze.
“Are we still pretending?” he murmurs.
I forget how to breathe.
His thumb skims my cheek. My heart pounds.
“I don’t know anymore,” I whisper.
Hanbin exhales sharply. His hand lingers for just a second longer.
Then, just as suddenly—he pulls away.
“Goodnight, jagiya,” he says, smirking slightly.
But his eyes tell a different story.
He steps out of the car, walking away before I can even process what just happened.
I sit there for a long moment, staring at the spot where he stood.
⊹ summary: when raising actress y/n, is forced into a fake engagement with A-list star hanbin, it’s meant to be nothing more than a publicity stunt, right??
⊹ pairing: actor!hanbin x actress!reader
⊹ genre: rom-com
⊹ status: ongoing
⊹ word count: 2k words | 15.8k characters
navigation | series masterlist | main masterlist
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I slam the script onto the glossy marble counter, barely resisting the urge to throw it at Hanbin’s stupid, smug face.
“You stole my role.”
Hanbin, leaning lazily against the table, barely glances up from his drink. His lips curl into that infuriating smirk, the one that makes the tabloids call him “charmingly arrogant.” I’d call it “punchable.”
“I didn’t steal anything,” he says, swirling the amber liquid in his cup. “I was offered the role. I accepted. Simple as that.”
My fingers curl into fists. “I auditioned for it! The director said I was perfect! And then you—” I gesture wildly at him, “just waltzed in at the last second and took it!”
Hanbin tilts his head, pretending to think. “Hmm. Maybe they realized they needed someone with more… star power.” His eyes flicker with amusement. “No hard feelings, right?”
Oh, I hate him.
“No hard feelings?” I scoff. “You stole my job, and you expect me to be okay with it?”
He takes a slow sip of his drink, completely unbothered. “I expect you to be professional.”
“Professional?” My voice rises. “You’ve spent half your career coasting on your looks and name recognition, and you have the nerve to talk to me about professionalism?”
Hanbin places his cup down and finally—finally—gives me his full attention. “You really think that, huh?” His voice drops an octave, the teasing edge gone. “That I don’t work hard? That I don’t deserve my success?”
I fold my arms. “I think you’ve never had to fight for anything.”
A slow smirk returns to his lips. “And yet, here I am. The one with the role. Funny how that worked out.”
Before I can hurl an insult, a sudden burst of light flashes in my peripheral vision. I turn sharply—paparazzi. A whole pack of them, cameras clicking, whispering excitedly.
Hanbin notices too, and to my horror, his smirk deepens. “Careful,” he murmurs, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Wouldn’t want them to think we’re fighting.”
I glare at him. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”
“Not from their perspective.”
He’s right. From the outside, we probably look like we’re in some kind of intense, intimate moment—my furious expression, his lazy amusement, the way we’re standing too close.
And then, because the universe has a twisted sense of humor, Hanbin does something outrageous. He leans in, just a fraction, just enough for the cameras to go wild.
The headlines will write themselves.
I shove him away. “You are insufferable.”
Hanbin chuckles, completely unbothered. “And yet, you can’t take your eyes off me.”
I grit my teeth. “That’s because I’m imagining setting you on fire.”
He presses a hand to his heart. “Passionate. I like that.”
The cameras keep flashing, and I swear under my breath. This is not how I wanted tonight to go.
“I’m leaving,” I snap.
Hanbin watches me with that same maddening smirk. “See you at the press conference, sweetheart.”
I turn on my heel and storm off, my blood boiling.
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I storm out of the studio, my heels clicking furiously against the pavement. The cold night air does little to cool my temper. Behind me, the paparazzi are still shouting, their cameras flashing like lightning in a storm.
“Are you and Hanbin dating?”
“Was that a lovers’ quarrel?”
“How long have you been together?”
I clench my jaw and pick up my pace, desperate to escape.
My phone vibrates in my purse, and I yank it out, already knowing who it is.
“What the hell was that?” my manager, Saeun, hisses the moment I answer. “I told you to keep a low profile, not start a scandal!”
I rub my temples. “It wasn’t my fault! Hanbin was being—Hanbin.”
“And you fell for it.” She sighs. “The internet is already exploding. Do you know what the top trend is right now?”
I don’t answer, but my silence says enough.
“#HanbinY/NDating.”
I nearly drop my phone. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope.” I hear furious typing on her end. “There are already fan edits of the two of you. Some people are calling you ‘soulmates,’ and others think you had a secret relationship this entire time.”
I groan. “Unbelievable.”
“What’s unbelievable is that you shoved him. Why would you do that in front of cameras?”
“Because he’s insufferable! And he leaned in on purpose—he wanted this to happen!”
“Of course he did! He thrives on this kind of attention!” saeun sighs again, and I can hear the exhaustion in her voice. “Look, the agency’s calling a meeting first thing tomorrow morning. You and Hanbin need to do damage control.”
Before I can respond, a black car pulls up beside me. The tinted window rolls down, revealing Hanbin, his usual smug expression firmly in place.
“Need a ride, sweetheart?” he drawls.
I glare at him. “I’d rather walk barefoot through broken glass.”
His grin widens. “Suit yourself.” and then he drives away.
I hate him.
I really hate him.
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“Excuse me, what?”
I stare at my manager, waiting for her to take back the absolutely insane thing she just said.
“We need to capitalize on the media buzz,” she says instead, arms crossed like she’s already decided my fate. “The internet thinks you and Hanbin have insane chemistry. We’re turning it into a PR stunt.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “No. Absolutely not.”
Saeun gives me a pointed look. “It’s already been arranged. The studio wants you two to fake date until the movie’s premiere.”
I groan, dragging my hands down my face. “Why me?”
“Because,” she says, as if it’s obvious, “your name is trending for the first time, and this could skyrocket your career.”
I hate that she has a point.
Before I can argue, the door swings open, and he walks in.
Hanbin.
Looking annoyingly perfect as always, dressed in a fitted black sweater that’s way too flattering for his own good. His confidence fills the room before he even speaks, and I instantly know he’s enjoying this way too much.
His gaze sweeps over me, and then he smirks. “Guess you heard the good news.”
I shoot him a glare. “This is your fault.”
He places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “My fault? I didn’t tell the media to fall in love with us.”
“Us?” I scoff. “There is no us.”
Hanbin shrugs. “Not according to the internet.”
I grit my teeth. “I hate you.”
“Aw.” He leans against the desk beside me, tilting his head. “That’s not a very romantic thing to say to your boyfriend.”
Saeun clears her throat. “Let’s focus, please. We have a lot to discuss.”
I throw up my hands. “There’s nothing to discuss! I’m not doing it.”
Saeun pinches the bridge of her nose. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal, but this kind of attention is golden. You’re getting more press than ever, and the studio loves it.”
I cross my arms. “So? I’d rather succeed because of my talent, not some ridiculous fake relationship.”
Hanbin chuckles under his breath. “Well, I think it’s a great idea.”
I whip my head toward him. “Of course you do.”
He grins. “It’s a win-win. More attention for the movie, more fans for you, and I get to spend time with my favorite co-star.”
I glare at him. “I’d rather eat glass.”
Saeun sighs. “Too bad. You’re doing it.”
I gape at her. “You can’t force me.”
She gives me a knowing look. “Oh, really? Should I remind you about your contract? The one that has a promotional obligations clause?”
I freeze.
Crap.
Hanbin whistles lowly. “Oof. You didn’t read the fine print, did you?”
I clench my fists. “Shut up.”
Saeun pats my shoulder. “It’s only for a few months. Smile, hold hands, pretend you don’t hate each other. Simple.”
I shoot Hanbin a death glare. “If you so much as breathe near me, I swear—”
Hanbin smirks, leaning in just enough to make my pulse spike. “Careful, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want the fans to think we’re faking it.”
And somehow, this is only the beginning.
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Our first date is a disaster.
Not that I expected anything else.
The moment we step out of the sleek black car, cameras flash from every direction. Hanbin, ever the professional, slides an arm around my waist like it’s second nature. I stiffen. His touch is light, almost casual, but the way his fingers linger sends an unexpected shiver up my spine.
“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice smooth and calm, as if this is all perfectly normal. “Try to at least look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
I grit my teeth. “Try to at least pretend you’re not an arrogant ass.”
Hanbin chuckles, the low sound vibrating against my skin. “This is going to be so fun.”
“Only for you,” I mutter under my breath.
I don’t get the chance to tell him just how not fun this is before we’re swept into the restaurant—a five-star, ultra-exclusive spot reserved for A-listers and the ridiculously wealthy. The kind of place that probably charges extra for breathing its air. Hanbin, naturally, acts like he owns it.
“Sir, your usual table is ready,” the man says, leading us to a candlelit table by the window—a perfect view for the paparazzi waiting outside.
I scowl as Hanbin picks up his menu, completely at ease. “You could at least pretend to be interested,” he says without looking up.
“I could say the same to you.”
He smirks. “Oh, but I am interested. Just not in the food.” He finally looks up, eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’re much more entertaining.”
I resist the urge to throw my menu at him. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I plan to.”
I ignore him and focus on the menu, which—of course—is filled with dishes that sound more like riddles than actual food.
“What the hell is a ‘deconstructed truffle-infused foam risotto’?” I whisper, horrified.
Hanbin snickers. “Want me to order for you?”
I narrow my eyes. “No. I am perfectly capable of ordering my own food, thank you very much.”
Two minutes later, I point at a random item and try to pronounce it. I fail.
Hanbin grins as the waiter turns to him. “She’ll have the filet mignon, medium rare,” he says smoothly. “And an extra side of truffle fries.”
The waiter nods and disappears. I gape at Hanbin. “Did you just—”
He leans back in his chair, looking way too pleased with himself. “You’ll thank me later.”
I cross my arms. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“I have to say, watching you struggle with fine dining has been a highlight of my week.”
I glare at him. “You know what would be the highlight of my week? Watching you trip and fall on your stupidly perfect face.”
Hanbin smirks. “Careful, sweetheart. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
I groan and drop my head into my hands.
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The night drags on, filled with him teasing me at every opportunity. But the worst part? The cameras love us together.
I can already imagine the headlines:
“Hanbin and Rising Star Caught on Romantic Dinner Date!”
“The Chemistry is Unreal!”
“Are They Really Just Acting?”
I scowl at my plate, stabbing my fork into my filet mignon like it personally offended me. Hanbin watches with open amusement.
“Why do you look like you’re plotting a murder?” he asks.
“Because I am.”
His lips twitch. “Should I be worried?”
“No, you’re not the target.” I glance at the window, where a cluster of paparazzi are snapping photos. “I’m thinking of assassinating a few photographers first.”
Hanbin chuckles. “That’s one way to make headlines.”
I sigh. “This is exhausting.”
He takes a sip of his wine, still looking infuriatingly relaxed. “That’s because you’re trying too hard to fight it.”
I glare at him. “Unlike some people, I don’t have a lifetime of experience pretending to be charming.”
Hanbin gasps dramatically. “Are you saying my charm isn’t natural?”
“I’m saying it’s a carefully manufactured scam, and I see right through it.”
He grins. “And yet, here you are. Fake dating me.”
“Trust me, it wasn’t my idea.”
Hanbin shrugs. “Could be worse. I could be some talentless hack with no social skills.”
“You are a talentless hack with no social skills.”
He laughs, and to my horror, it sounds genuine.
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I feel like I’ve just run a marathon. My face hurts from all the fake smiling.
As we step outside, the paparazzi swarm again.
Just when I think I’m finally free—
Hanbin tugs me close, his lips brushing against my ear. “Smile,” he murmurs. “This is the moment they’ll put on the front page.”
And before I can protest, he kisses my cheek.
The world explodes in camera flashes.
My breath catches, and for a split second, I forget how to function.
Then he pulls back, looking way too pleased with himself.
I narrow my eyes. “I hate you.”
Hanbin grins. “Sure you do.”
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The internet loses its mind overnight.
By the next morning, my phone is flooded with notifications. Twitter is covered in clips of Hanbin’s cheek kiss, slowed down to an infuriating degree.
“Hanbin and (Y/N): Are They Faking It?”
“The Chemistry is Unreal!”
“Forget Their Movie—We Need a Rom-Com Starring Them IRL!”
I groan and throw my phone across the bed.
This is my nightmare.
A sharp knock at my door startles me. I groan again, dragging myself out of bed to answer it.
Standing in my doorway, looking as infuriatingly perfect as ever, is Hanbin.
I blink. “No. Absolutely not.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“You don’t have to. Your existence is already annoying enough.”
Hanbin smirks like he takes that as a compliment. “Charming as ever, sweetheart.”
I cross my arms. “Why are you here?”
He holds up two iced coffees. “Figured you’d need caffeine after last night.”
I eye the coffee suspiciously. “What’s in it?”
Hanbin scoffs. “Do you really think I’d poison you?”
“Honestly? I wouldn’t put it past you.”
He rolls his eyes and takes a dramatic sip of one of the cups. “See? No poison. Just good old-fashioned caffeine to fuel your daily dose of hating me.”
I narrow my eyes but take the coffee anyway. “Fine. But I still don’t trust you.”
“That’s the foundation of every great fake relationship.” He leans against the doorframe, looking way too pleased with himself. “Speaking of which, we should… rehearse.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “Rehearse? For what?”
Hanbin gestures vaguely. “If we’re going to keep this up, we should make sure our stories match. You know, in case we get asked about our relationship.”
I scowl. “Fine. But no unnecessary touching.”
Hanbin raises an eyebrow, that damn smirk creeping back. “Unnecessary? So you admit some of it is necessary?”
I slam the door in his face.
From the other side, I hear him laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I begrudgingly let him in (after making him swear to keep his hands to himself), and we sit across from each other on my couch.
He pulls out his phone, scrolling through something. “Alright, let’s start with the basics. Where did we ‘meet’?”
I frown. “We met at the audition.”
Hanbin snorts. “Right, because nothing says ‘romance’ like you accusing me of stealing your role.”
“Because you did steal it.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Let’s go with something cuter. Maybe we met at a coffee shop.”
I give him a flat look. “That is literally the most cliché fake dating backstory ever.”
He grins. “Exactly. The media eats that stuff up.”
I groan. “Fine. We met at a coffee shop. You spilled your drink on me.”
“You ran into me,” Hanbin corrects.
“Why would I be the one running into you?”
“Because it’s more believable. You, flustered and embarrassed, me, charming and forgiving—”
I throw a pillow at him. “Forgiving? Please. You’d find a way to make me apologize.”
Hanbin dodges the pillow, laughing. “You’re learning.”
I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Fine. We met at a coffee shop, and somehow, despite my better judgment, I agreed to go on a date with you.”
Hanbin nods. “Perfect. Now, favorite things about each other?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“If people ask us, we need to have answers.” He smirks. “So, what do you love most about me?”
I stare at him. “Your ability to survive despite having zero redeeming qualities.”
Hanbin presses a hand to his heart. “Ouch. That was almost mean.”
I shrug. “I’m just being honest.”
“Alright, then. My favorite thing about you?” He taps his chin, pretending to think. “Probably the way you get all flustered when I—”
“Nope!” I grab a second pillow and hurl it at his face.
Hanbin laughs, catching it effortlessly. “You’re so fun to mess with.”
I groan. “This is going to be the worst thing I’ve ever done.”
He grins. “No, sweetheart. This is going to be the performance of a lifetime.”
And for some reason, that makes me even more nervous.
⋆｡𖦹°‧ faking it for real | sung hanbin | series TEASER : staged hearts
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⊹ summary: when raising actress y/n, is forced into a fake engagement with A-list star hanbin, it’s meant to be nothing more than a publicity stunt, right??
⊹ pairing: actor!hanbin x actress!reader
⊹ genre: rom-com
⊹ status: ongoing
part 1: the rules of pretending
part 2: when the cameras stop rolling
part 3: “why do you care?”
part 4: the risks of falling
part 5: if we do this…
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
⊹ note: this is my first time writing, please ignore any mistakes ㅠㅠ
also inspired by @paradise-world (her fic was SOOO good that it inspired me to write my own)
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I slam the script onto the glossy marble counter, barely resisting the urge to throw it at Hanbin’s stupid, smug face.
“You stole my role.”
Hanbin, leaning lazily against the table, barely glances up from his drink. His lips curl into that infuriating smirk, the one that makes the tabloids call him “charmingly arrogant.” I’d call it “punchable.”
“I didn’t steal anything,” he says, swirling the amber liquid in his cup. “I was offered the role. I accepted. Simple as that.”
My fingers curl into fists. “I auditioned for it! The director said I was perfect! And then you—” I gesture wildly at him, “just waltzed in at the last second and took it!”
Hanbin tilts his head, pretending to think. “Hmm. Maybe they realized they needed someone with more… star power.” His eyes flicker with amusement. “No hard feelings, right?”
Oh, I hate him.
Before I can hurl an insult, a sudden burst of light flashes in my peripheral vision. I turn sharply—paparazzi. A whole pack of them, cameras clicking, whispering excitedly.
Hanbin notices too, and to my horror, his smirk deepens. “Careful,” he murmurs, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Wouldn’t want them to think we’re fighting.”
I glare at him. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”
“Not from their perspective.”
He’s right. From the outside, we probably look like we’re in some kind of intense, intimate moment—my furious expression, his lazy amusement, the way we’re standing too close.
And then, because the universe has a twisted sense of humor, Hanbin does something outrageous. He leans in, just a fraction, just enough for the cameras to go wild.
The headlines will write themselves.
I shove him away. “You are insufferable.”
Hanbin chuckles, completely unbothered. “And yet, you can’t take your eyes off me.”
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